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George, seeing this, could not with-hold himselfe from shedding teares, and with pitie he let fall his sword, saying,—Mistris, that I have used you so roughly, pray pardon me, for I was commanded so by my master, who hath vowed, if I let you live, to kill me. But I being perswaded that you are innocent, I will rather undergoe the danger of his wrath than to staine my hands with the bloud of your cleere and spotlesse breast: yet let me intreat you so much, that you would not come in his sight, lest in his rage he turne your butcher, but live in some disguise, till time have opened the cause of his mistrust, and shewed you guiltless ; which, I hope, will not be long.

"To this she willingly granted, being loth to die causelesse, and thanked him for his kindnesse; so parted they both, having teares in their eyes. George went home, where he shewed his master's ring, for the government of the house till his master and mistris returne, which he said lived a while at London, 'cause the time was so troublesome, and that was a place where they were more secure than in the country. This his fellowes believed, and were obedient to his will; amongst whom he used himselfe so kindely that he had all their loves. This poore gentlewoman (mistris of the house) in short time got man's apparel for her disguise; so wandered she up and downe the countrey, for she could get no service, because the time was so dangerous that no man knew whom he might trust: onely she maintained herselfe with the price of those jewels which she had, all which she sold. At the last, being quite out of money, and having nothing left (which she could well spare) to make money of, she resolved rather to starve than so much to debase herselfe to become a beggar. With this resolution she went to a solitary place beside Yorke, where she lived the space of two dayes on hearbs, and such things as she could there finde.

"In this time it chanced that king Edward, being come out of France, and lying thereabout with the small forces hee had, came that way with some two or three noblemen, with an intent to discover if any ambushes were laid to take them at an advantage. He seeing there this gentlewoman, whom he supposed to be a boy, asked her what she was, and what she made there in that private place? To whom she very wisely and modestly withall, answered, that she was a poore boy, whose bringing up had bin better than her outward parts then shewed, but at that time she was both friendlesse and comfortlesse, by reason of the late warre. He beeing moved to see one so well featured as she was, to want, entertained her for one of his pages: to whom she showed herself so dutiful and loving, that in short time she had his love above all her fellows. Still followed she the fortunes of K. Edward, hoping at last (as not long after it did fall out) to be reconciled to her husband.

"After the battel at Barnet, where K. Edward got the best, she going up and down amongst the slaine men, to know whether her husband, which was on K. Henrie's side, was dead or escaped, happened to see the other who had been her ghest, lying there for dead. She remembring him, and thinking him to be one whom her husband loved, went to him, and finding him not dead, she caused one to helpe her with him to a house there-by; where opening his brest to dresse his wounds, she espied her crucifix, at sight of which her heart was joyfull, hoping by this to find him that was the originall of her disgrace: for she remembring herselfe, found that she had lost that crucifix ever since that morning he departed from her house so suddenly. But saying nothing of it at that time, she caused him to be carefully looked unto, and brought up to London after her, whither she went with the king, carrying the crucifix with her.

"On a time, when he was a little recovered, she went to him, giving him the crucifix which she had taken from about his necke; to whom he said, 'Good gentle youth, keep the same: for now in my misery of sicknes, when the sight of that picture should be most comfortable, it is to me most uncomfortable; and breedeth such horrour in my conscience, when I think how wrongfully I got the same, that long as I see it I shall never be at rest.' Now knew she that he was the man that caused the separation 'twixt her husband and her selfe; yet said she nothing, using him as respectively as she had before: onely she caused the man in whose house he lay, to remember the words he had spoken concerning the crucifix. Not long after, she being alone, attending on the king, beseeched his grace to do her justice on a villain that had bin the cause of all the misery she had suffered. He loving her above all his other pages, most dearly, said, ' Edmund (for so had she named herself,) thou shalt have what right thou wilt on thy enemy; cause him to be sent for, and I will be thy judge my selfe.' She being glad of this, with the king's authority sent for her husband, whom she heard was one of the prisoners that was taken at the battle of Barnet; she appointing the other, now now recovered, to be at the court at the same time. They being both come, but not one seeing of the other, the king sent for the wounded man into the presence: before whom the page asked him how he came by the crucifix. He fearing that his villainy would come forth, denyed the words he had said before his oast, affirming he bought it. With that, she called in the oast of the house where he lay, bidding him boldly speake what he had heard this man say concerning the crucifix. The oast then told the king, that in the presence of this page he heard him intreat that the crucifix might be taken from his sight, for it did wound his conscience, to thinke how wrongfully he had gotten the same. These words did the page averre; yet he utterly denyed the same,

affirming that he bought it, and if that he did speake such words in his sicknesse, they proceeded from the lightnesse of his braine, and were untruthes.

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She seeing this villain's impudency, sent for her husband in, to whom she shewed the crucifix, saying, Sir, doe you know this? Yes, answered hee, but would God I ne're had known the owner of it! It was my wife's, a woman virtuous till the divell (speaking to the other) did corrupt her purity,-who brought me this crucifix as a token of her inconstancie.

"With that the king said, Sirra, now are you found to be a knave. Did you not, even now, affirme you bought it? Το whom he answered with fearfull countenance, And it like your grace, I said so to preserve this gentleman's honour, and his wife's, which by my telling of the truth would have been much indamaged; for indeed she, being a secret friend of mine, gave me this as a testimony of her love.

"The gentlewoman, not being able longer to cover her selfe in that disguise, said, ' And it like your majesty, give mee leave to speake, and you shall see me make this villain confesse how he hath abused that good gentleman.' The king having given her leave, she said, First, sir, you confessed before your oast and my selfe, that you had wrongfully got this jewell; then before his majestie you affirmed you bought it; so denying your former words: Now you have denyed that which you so boldly affirmed before, and said it was this gentleman's wife's gift. With his majestie's leave I say, thou art a villaine, and this is likewise false.' With that she discovered herselfe to be a woman, saying -Hadst thou, villaine, ever any strumpet's favour at my hands? Did I, for any sinfull pleasure I received from thee, bestow this on thee! Speake, and if thou have any goodness left in thee, speak the truth.'

1

"With that, he being daunted at her sudden sight, fell on his knees before the king, beseeching his grace to be mercifull unto him for he had wronged that gentlewoman. Therewith told he the king of the match betweene the gentleman and him selfe, and how be stole the crucifix from her, and by that meanes persuaded her husband that she was a whore. The king wondered how he durst, knowing God to be just, commit so great a villainy; but much more admired he to see his page to turn a gentlewoman. But ceasing to admire, he said-'Sir, (speaking to her husband,) did the part of an unwise man to lay so foolish a wager, for which offence the remembrance of your folly is punishment inough; but seeing it concerns me not, your wife shall be your judge. With that Mrs. Dorrill, thanking his majestie, went to her husband, saying, Sir, all my anger to you I lay down with this kisse.' He wondering all this while to see this strange and unlooked-for change, wept for joy, desiring her to tell him how she was preserved; wherein she satisfied him at full. The king was like

you

wise glad that he had preserved this gentlewoman from wilfull famine, and gave judgment on the other in this manner :—' -That he should restore the money treble which he had wrongfully got from him; and so was to have a yeere's imprisonment. So this gentleman and his wife, went with the king's leave, lovingly home, where they were kindely welcomed by George, to whom for recompence he gave the money which he received: so lived they ever after in great content. MALONE.

See p. 31, 32, n. 7. “ - If she went before others I have seen, as that diamond of yours out-lustres many I have beheld, I could not but believe she excell'd many: but I have not seen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady." The old copy reads― I could not believe she excell'd many. Dr. Warburton very properly asks, “What, if she did really excell others, could he not believe that she did excell them?" To restore therefore the passage to sense, he omits the word not, and reads-" I could believe she excell'd many," which undoubtedly affords a clear sense.

"The old reading, (says Mr. Steevens,) may very well stand. If, says Iachimo, your mistress went before some others I have seen, only in the same degree your diamond out-lustres many I have likewise seen, I should not admit on that account that she excelled many; but I ought not to make myself the judge of who is the fairest lady, or which is the brightest diamond, till I have beheld the finest of either kind which nature has hitherto produced."

To this paraphrase I make the same objection that I have done to many others in revising these plays; namely, that a meaning is extracted from the words that they in no sort warrant. In the first

place Mr. S. understands the word as to mean only as, or as little as; and assumes that lachimo means, not merely to deny the supereminent and unparallel'd value of the diamond of Posthumus, but greatly to depretiate it; though both the context, and the words

went before, most precious, and out-lustres, must present to every reader a meaning directly opposite. 2dly. According to this interpretation, the adversative particle but is used without any propriety; as will appear at once by shortening Mr. Steevens's paraphrase, and adding a few words that are necessary to make the deduction consequential :

"If your mistress went before others I have seen, only in the same degree your diamond out-lustres many I have likewise seen, I should not admit on that account that she excelled many, [for your diamond is an ordinary stone, and does not excell many:] But I have not seen the most precious diamond in the world, nor you the most beautiful lady: and therefore I can not admit she excells all."

Here after asserting that "he could not admit she excelled

many," he is made to add, by way of qualification, and in opposition to what he has already said, that "inasmuch as he has not seen all the fine women and fine diamonds in the world, he cannot admit that she excells all." If he had admitted that she excelled many, this conclusion would be consistent and intelligible; but not admitting that position, as he is thus made to do, it is inconsequential, if not absurd.

I agree therefore entirely with Dr. Warburton and Dr. Johnson in thinking that the passage as it stands in the old copy, is nonsense, and that some emendation is necessary.

Dr. Warburton, as I have already observed, amended the passage by omitting the word not; but of all the modes of emendation this is the most exceptionable. I have often had occasion to observe that one of the most frequent errours of the press is omission, and consequently the least exceptionable of all emendations. is the insertion of a word that appears from the context, or from the metre, to have been omitted. In the first folio edition of Love's Labour's Lost, we find

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'O, that your face were full of oes -." Instead of the true reading, which is furnished by the quarto, 1598 :

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O, that your face were not so full of oes Again, in Timon of Athens, Act V. edit. 1623: Nothing can you steal

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"But thieves do lose it. Steal less; for this,

All the modern editions here rightly read—“ Steal not less; for this."

Again, in Romeo and Juliet, folio, 1632: they stand so much on the new form, that they can sit at ease on the old bench:" instead of " they can not sit," &c. Again, in The Merry Wives of Windsor, folio, 1623, p. 55: "good gentlemen, let him strike the old woman ;' instead of "6. let him not strike the old woman." Again, in King Lear, 1623, folio: the observation we have made of it hath been little ;" instead of the true reading which is found in the quarto,“ hath not been little." I could easily add twenty other instances of the same kind.

In the passage before us, I am persuaded that either the word but was omitted after not, by the carelessness of the compositor or transcriber, or, that not was printed instead of but: a mistake that has often happened in these plays. See vol. vi. p. 379.

Of the latter opinion is Mr. Heath, who proposes to read, " I could but believe," and this affords nearly the same meaning as the reading now adopted. I rather incline to the emendation which I proposed some years ago, and which is now placed in the text, because the adversative particle in the next clause of the sentence is thus more fully opposed to what pre