Imatges de pÓgina

And he but naked (though lock'd up in steel)
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

Scene VIII. Remorselefs Hatred. A plague upon 'em! wherefore should I curse them: Would curses kill, as doth the Mandrake's groan, I would invent as bitter searching terms, As curs'd, as harsh, as horrible to hear, Deliver'd strongly through iny fixed teeth, With full as many signs of deadly hate, (6) As lean-fac'd envy in her loathsome cave. My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words,


This sentiment is plainly shadow'd from two celebrated odes of Horace; the 22d of the first book, and the 3d of the 3d book. The first begins, Integer vitæ, &c.

From virtue's laws who never parts,
Without the Moorise lance or bow,
Or quiver stor'd with poison'd darts,

Secure thro' savage realms may go, &c.
The other, Julum ac tenacem propofui virum, &c.

That upright man, who's steady to his trust,
Inflexible to ill, and obftinately juft,
The fury of the populace defies,

And dares the tyrant's threat'ning frowns despise, & I only just refer the reader to them, as they are so generally known : Horace too in his epistles has a fine sentiment to this purpose:

--Hic murus ahencis efto,
Nil conscire fibi, nulla pallefcere culpa.
Be this thy guard, and this thy strong defence
A virtuous heart, and spotless innocence:
Not to be conscious of a fhameful fin,

Nor to look pale for scarlet crimes within. Crecch. (6) As, &c.] This is as fine a picture of envy as could poffibly be given in so narrow a compass: Spencer hath described her twice in his Faerie Queene, and in both places given us a moft loathsome picture, which Longinus would surely have greatly



eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint, Mine hair be fix'd on end like one distract: Ay, ev'ry joint should seem to curse and ban, And ev'n now, my burden's heart would break, Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink! Gall, worse than gall, the daiņtiest meat they taste ! Their fweereit-fhade, a grove of cypress-trees! Their sweetest prospect, murd’ring basilisks ! Their softeit touch, as smart as lizard's stings ! Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss ! And boding screech-owls make the concert full! All the foui terrors of dark-feated hell

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Now by the ground that I am banith'd from,
Well could I curse away a winter's night,
Though standing naked on a mountain-top,
Where biting cold would never let grass grow.

Parting Lovers.

And banished I am, if but from thee:
Go, fpeak not to me: ev’n now be gone-
Oh! go not yet-ev'n thus two friends condemn'd
Embrace and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves,
Loather a hundred times to part than die :
Yet, now farewel, and farewel life with thee!

Suff. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee. (7) 'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence';

A wil.


ft. 30.

discommended, when we find him fo fevere, on an author for one line representing a nauseous image. See lis Elay on the Sublime, fect. 9. See Spencer's Faerie Queenc, B. 15. 1. and B. 5. 1. 12. st. 29. It may be worth while to remark, how exactly Shakespear suits his language to his characters : how different are these curses from the mouth of Suffolk, to those, from the mouth of Caliban, in the Tempeft.

(7) 'Tis not, &c.] This passage, as Mr. Wally has observed in ms Inquiry into the Learning of Shakesp:ar, is the ancient


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A wilderness is populous enough,
So Suffolk had thy heavenly company,
For where thou art, there is the world itself:
With ev'ry fev'ral pleasure in the world :
And where thou art not, desolation.

SCENE IX. Dying, with the Person belov'd, pre

ferable to parting.
If I depart from thee, I cannot live;
And in thy fight to die, what wert it else,
But like a pleasant flumber in thy lap?
Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe
Dying with mother's dug between his lips.

Scene X. The Death-bed Horrors of a guilty

(8) Bring me unto my trial, when you

will. Dyd he not in his bed 'Where should he die? Can I make men live whether they will or no?


language of love, and employed by Tibullus to his own mif. tress,

Sic ego fecretis possum bene vivere fylvis,

Qua nulla humano fit via trita pede :
Tu mihi curarum requics, tu noéte vel atra
Lumen & in Solis tu mihi turba locis.

L. 4. e. 121
A wilderness, unknown to man, with thee
Were bleft, and populous enough for me ;
For where thou art each sorrow flies away,

Desarts are worlds, and night outshines the day. I have often lamented we have not so good a translation of this delicate poet and polite lover, as his excellence deserves.

(8) Bring, &c.] Nothing can more admirably picture to us the horror of a guilty conscience, than this frantic raving of the cardinal :


Oh, torture me no more, I will confess.
Alive again? Then shew me where he is :
I'll give a thousand pounds to look upon him-
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them:
Comb down his hair ; look! look! it stands upright,
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged foul :
Give me some drink, and bid th’apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.


Night. (9) The gaudy, babling, and remorseful day Is crept into the bofom of the sea : (10) And now loud howling wolves arouse the jades, That dragic melancholy night;


When death's approach is seen fo terrible

Ah, what a sign it is of evil life! Thus hath guilt, even in this world, its due reward, and iniquity is not suffered to go unpunished : the well-weighing such frightful scenes might, perhaps, be of no small service to fuch. as despise lectures from the pulpit, and laugh at the interested representations of divines.

(9) The, &c,] See the last passage in the Midsummer Night's Dream. Spencer, speaking of night, says;

And all the while she stood upon the ground,
The wakeful dogs did never cease to bay,
As giving warning of th’ unwonted sound,
With which her iron wheels did them affray,
And her dark griefly look, them much dismay.
The messenger of death, the ghaitly owl,
With dreary shrieks, did also her bewray,
And hungry wolves continually did howl,
At her abhorred face, fo filthy and so foul.

See Faerie Queene, B. 1. C. 5. I. 30. (10) No numbers can better express the thing than these, Shakespear shews us, that he can as well excel in that, as in every other branch of poetry. None of the so celebrated lines of Ho


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Who with their drowsy, flow, and flagging wings,
Clip dead mens graves; and from their misty jaws
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.

(11) Kent, in the commentaries Cæfar writ,
Is term’d the civil'st place of all this ifle;
Sweet is the country, because full of riches;
The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy.

Lord Say's Apology for himself.
Justice, with favour, have I always done;
Prayers and tears have mov'd me, gists could never :
(12) When have I aught exacted at your

hands? Kent, to maintain, the king, the realm and you.


mer and Virgil, of this fort, deserve more commendation : here
the line, as it ought, justly labours, and the verse moves flow.
However, I intend not to enter into any criticism on Shakespear's
versification, wherein could we prove him superior to all other
writers, we muit still acknowledge it the least and most trifing
matter wherein he is superior. It is worth observing, that
what Shakespear says of the clipping dead mens graves, might
not impoffibly be taken from Theocritus, who, speaking of He-
cate, the infernal and nocturnal deity, in his 2d Idyllium, says-

Τα χθονια Εκατα, &c.
Infernal Hecate, howling dogs abhor,
When ʼmidst the dead mens graves, and putrid gore,

She stalks-
(11) Kent, &c.] York, in the next play, A. i. S. 4. speaking
of the Keniiflimen, says,

In them I trust; for they are soldiers,
Wealthy and courteous, liberal, full of spirit.

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(12) When, &c.] The interrogation in all the editions is placed at the end of this line: the passage, in my opinion, hould be pointed chus:


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