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1*

THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE

All the unsigned footnotes in this volume are by tr writer of the aracie to which they are appended. The ir terpretation of the initials signed to the others is: I. C = Israel Gollancz, M.A. ; H. N. H.= Henry Norma Hudson, A.M. ; C. H. H.= C. H. Herford, Litt.D.

DESDEMONA.

Othello.

The Complete Works

of WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

With copious notes and comments by Henry Norman Hudson, M.A., Israel Gollancz, M.A., C. H. Her- ford, Litt.D., and numerous other Eminent Shakespearian Authorities

Volume VII

Othello

King Lear

All's Well That Ends Well

Macbeth

Current Literature Publishing Company

New York

Copyright. 1909, by Bigelow, Smith & Co.

BRIGHAM YOUNG UNIVERSITY PROVO, UTAH

PREFACE

By Israel Gollancz, M.A.

THE EARLY EDITIONS

The First Edition of Othello was a Quarto, published in 1622, with the following title-page: —

"The I Tragcedy of Othello, | The Moore of Venice. | As it hath beene diuerse times acted at the | Globe, and at the Black-Friers, by | his Maiesties Seruants. Written by William Shakespeare. ! [Vignette] j London, | Printed by N. O. for Thomas Walkley, and are to be sold at his \ shop, at the Eagle and Child, in Brittans Bursse. 1622." *

In 1623 appeared the First Folio, containing Othello among the "Tragedies" (pp. 310-339) ; the text, however, was not derived from the same source as the First Quarto ; an independent MS. must have been obtained. In addition to many improved readings, the play as printed in the Folio contained over one hundred and fifty verses omitted in the earlier edition, while, on the other hand, ten or fif- teen lines in the Quarto were not represented in the folio version. Thomas Walkley had not resigned his interest in the play ; it is clear from the Stationers' Register that it

1 Prefixed to this First Quarto were the following lines : —

"The Stationer to the Reader.

"To set forth a booke without an Epistle, were like to the old Eng- lish prouerbe, A blew coat without a badge, Q the Author being dead, I thought good to take that piece of worke upon mee: To commend it, I will not, for that which is good, I hope euery man will com- mend, without intreaty : and I am the bolder, because* the author's name is sufficient to vent his worke. Thus leaning euery one to the liberty of iudgement; I haue ventered to print this play, and leaue it to the generall censure. Yours, Thomas Walkley.''

vii

/

.nface OTHELLO

remained his property until March 1, 1627 (i. *. 1628) when he assigned "Okthello the More of Venice19 unto Richard Hawkins, who issued the Second Quarto in 1630. A Third Quarto appeared in 1655; and later Quartos in

1681, 1687, 1695.

The text of modern editions of the play is based on that of the First Folio, though it is not denied that we have in the First Quarto a genuine play-house copy; B notable difference, pointing to the Quarto text as the older, is its retention of oaths and asseverations, which are omitted or toned down in the Folio version.

DATE OF COMPOSITION

I

This last point has an important bearing on the date of the play, for it proves that Othello was written before the Act of Parliament was issued in 1606 against the abuse of the name of God in plays. External and internal evi- dence seem in favor of 1604, as the birth-year of the trag- edy, and this date has been generally accepted since the publication of the Variorum Shakespeare of 1821, wherein Malone's views in favor of that year were set forth (Ma- lone had died nine years before the work appeared). After putting forward various theories, he added: — "We know it was acted in 1604, and I have therefore placed it in that year." For twenty years scholars sought in vain to discover upon what evidence he knew this important fact, until at last about the year 1840 Peter Cunningham announced his discovery of certain Accounts of the Revels at Court , containing the following item: —

• /;</ llic /w/wV 'Hallamas Day, being the first of Nov, Mali* Plmiers. A play at the bankettinge House att

Whitehall, called the Moor of Venis [1604].' "i

We now know that this manuscript was a forgery, but strange to say there is every reason to believe that though "the book" itself is spurious, the information which it

1 9, SfinkistH,ire Society Publications, 1842. viii

THE MOOR Preface

yields is genuine, and that Malone had some such entry in his possession when he wrote his emphatic statement (vide Grant White's account of the whole story, quoted in Furness' Variorum edition; cp. pp. 351-357).

The older school of critics, and Malone himself at first, assigned the play to circa 1611 on the strength of the lines, III, iv, 46, 47:—

"The hearts of old gave hands; But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts,"

which seemed to be a reference to the arms of the order of Baronets, instituted by King James in 1611; Malone, however, in his later edition of the play aptly quoted a pas- sage from the Essays of Sir Wm. Cornwallis, the younger, published in 1601, which may have suggested the thought to Shakespeare: — "They (our forefathers) had wont to give their hands and their hearts together, but we think it a finer grace to look asquint, our hand looking one way, and our heart another"

THE ORIGINAL OF OTHELLO

From the elegy on the death of Richard Burbage in the year 1618, it appears that the leading character of the play was assigned to this most famous actor: —

"But let me not forget one chiefest part Wherein, beyond the rest, he mov'd the heart, The grieved Moor, made jealous by a slave, Who sent his wife to fill a timeless grave, Then slew himself upon the bloody bed. All these and many more with him are dead." i

THE SOURCE OF THE PLOT

The story of II Moro di Venezia was taken from the Heccatommithi of the Italian novelist Giraldi Cinthio ; it is the seventh tale of the third decade, which deals with "The unfaithfulness of Husbands and Wives." No Eng-

i». Ingleby's Centurie of Prayse (New Shak. Soc), 2nd edition, p. 131, where the elegy is discussed, and a truer version printed.

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Preface OTHELLO

lish translation of the novel existed in Shakespeare's time (at least we know of none), but a French translation ap- pealed in the year 1584, and through this medium the work may have come to England. Cinthio's novel may have been of Oriental origin, and in its general character ,t somewhat resembles the tale of The Three Apples in The Thousand and One Nights; on the other hand it has been ingeniously maintained that "a certain Christophal Moro, a Luogotenente di Cipro, who returned from Cyprus in 1508, after having lost his wife, was the original of the Moor of Venice of Giraldi Cinthio." "Fronting the summit of the Giants' Stair" writes Mr. Rawdon Brown, the author of this theory, "where the Doges of Venice uere crowned, there are still visible four shields spotted frith mulberries (strawberries in the description of Des- demona's handkerchief), indicating that that part of the palace portal on which they are carved was terminated in the reign of Christopher Moro, whose insignia are three mulberries sable and three bends azure on a field argent; the word Moro signifying in Italian either mulberry-tree or blackamoor." Perhaps Shakespeare learned the true story of his Othello from some of the distinguished Vene- tians in England ; "Cinthio's novel would never have suf- ficed him for his Othello"1 (vide Furness, pp. 372-389). Knowing, however, Shakespeare's transforming power, we may well maintain that, without actual knowledge of Chris- topher Moro's history, he was capable of creating Othello from Cinthio's savage Moor, Iago from the cunning cow- ardly ensign of the original, the gentle lady Desdemona from "the virtuous lady of marvelous beauty, named

i The title of the novel summarizes its contents as follows: — " \ Moorish Captain takes to wife a Venetian Dame, and his Ancient accuses her of adultery to her husband: it is planned that the Ancient is to kill him whom he believes to be the adulterer; the Captain kills the woman, is accused by the Ancient, the Moor does not confess, but after the infliction of extreme torture, is banished; and the wicked Ancient, thinking to injure others, provided for him- M-lf a miserable death."

THE MOOR Preface

Disdemona (L e. 'the hapless one')," 1 who is beaten to death "with a stocking filled with sand," Cassio and Emilia from the vaguest possible outlines. The tale should be read side by side with the play by such as desire to study the process whereby a not altogether artless tale of hor- ror2 has become the subtlest of tragedies — "perhaps the greatest work in the world." 3 " The most pathetic of human compositions." 4

DURATION OF ACTION

The action seems to cover three days : — Act I — one day ; interval for voyage ; Act II — one day ; Acts III, IV, V — one day. In order to get over the difficulty of this time- division various theories have been advanced, notably that of Double Time, propounded by Halpin and Wilson; ac- cording to the latter, "Shakespeare counts off days and hours, as it were, by two clocks, on one of which the true Historic Time is recorded, and on the other the Dramatic Time, or a false show of time, whereby days, weeks, and

i This is the only name given by Cinthio. Steevens first pointed out that "Othello" is found in Reynold's God's Revenge against Adultery, standing in one of his arguments as follows: — "She mar- ries Othello, an old German soldier." The name "Iago" also occurs in the book. It is also found in The first and second part of the History of the famous Euordanus, Prince of Denmark. With the strange adventures of Iago, Prince of Saxonie: and of both their several fortunes in Love. At London, 1605.

2 Mrs. Jameson rightly calls attention to a striking incident of the original story: — Desdemona does not accidentally drop the handkerchief: it is stolen from her by Iago's little child, an infant of three years old, whom he trains and bribes to the theft. The love of Desdemona for this child, her little playfellow — the pretty description of her taking it in her arms and caressing it, while it profits by its situation to steal the handkerchief from her bosom, are well imagined and beautifully told, etc.

3 Macaulay.

* Wordsworth : — "The tragedy of Othello, Plato's records of the last scenes in the career of Socrates, and Izaak Walton's Life of George Herbert are the most pathetic of human compositions." (A valuable summary of criticisms, English and foreign, will be found in Furness' Othello, pp. 407-453.)

i-face . OTHELLO

months may be to the utmost contracted" (Furness, pp.

858 878).

According to Mr. Fleay, the scheme of time for the play

is aa follows: —

Act I — one day. Interval for voyage. Act II — one day. Act III — one day (Sunday). Interval of a week, at lca>t. Act IV, sc. i, ii, iii ; Act V, sc. i, ii, iii — one day. Where- Act IV begins with what is now Act III, sc. iv, and Act V with the present Act IV, sc. iii.

"Dreams, Books, are each a world: and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good; Hound them with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow. There find I personal theme, a plenteous store, Matter wherein right voluble I am, To which I listen with a ready ear; Two shall be named pre-eminently dear, — The gentle Lady married to the Moor; And heavenly Una, with her milk-white Lamb.

Xii

INTRODUCTION

By Henry Norman Hudson, A.M.

II Mora di Venezia is the title of one of the novels in Giraldi Cinthio's Hecatommithi. The material for The Tragedy of Othello, the Moor of Venice, was partly de- rived from this source. Whether the story was accessible to Shakespeare in English, we have no certain knowledge. No translation of so early a date has been seen or heard of in modern times ; and we have already in several cases found reason to think he knew enough of Italian to take the matter directly from the original. We proceed, as usual, to give such an abstract of the tale as may fully dis- cover the nature and extent of the Poet's obligations :

There lived in Venice a valiant Moor who was held in high esteem for his military genius and services. Des- demona, a lady of great virtue and beauty, won by his noble qualities, fell in love with him. He also became equally enamored of her, and, notwithstanding the opposi- tion of her friends, married her. They were altogether happy in each other until the Moor was chosen to the military command of Cyprus. Though much pleased with this honor, he was troubled to think that he must either part from his wife or else expose her to the dangers of the voyage. She, seeing him troubled and not knowing the cause, asked him one day how he could be so melancholy after being thus honored by the Senate ; and, on being told the reason, begged him to dismiss such idle thoughts, as she was resolved to follow him wherever he should go, and, if there were any dangers in the way, to share them with him. So, the necessary preparations being made, he soon afterwards embarked with his wife, and sailed for

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Introduction OTHELLO

(\ prus. In his company he had an ensign, of a fine look- ing person, but exceedingly depraved in heart, a boaster and a coward, who by his craftiness and pretension had imposed on the Moor's simplicity, and gained his friend- ship. This rascal also took his wife along, a handsome and discreet woman, who, being an Italian, was much cher- ished by Dcsdemona. In the same company was also a lieutenant to whom the Moor was much attached, and often bad him to dine with him and his wife; Dcsdemona showing him great attention and civility for her husband's

sake.

The ensign, falling passionately in love with Desdemona, and not daring to avow it lest the Moor should kill him, sought by private means to make her aware of his passion. But when he saw that all his efforts came to nothing, and that she was too much wrapped up in her husband to think of him or any one else, he at last took it into his head that she was in love with the lieutenant, and determined to work the ruin oi them both by accusing them to the Moor of adultery. But he saw that he would have to be very artful in his treachery, else the Moor would not believe him, so great was his affection for his wife, and his friend- ship for the lieutenant. He therefore watched for an op- portunity of putting his design into act; and it was not long before he found one. For, the lieutenant having drawn his sword and wounded a soldier upon guard, the Moor cashiered him. De mona tried Very hard to get him pardoned, and received agar, to f' .or. When the Moor told his ensign how earnest she was in the cause, the villain saw it was the proper time for opening his scheme : so, he suggested that she might be fond of the lieutenant's company; and, th Moor asking him why, he replied, — "Nay, I do ot choose to meddle between man and wife; but watch her properly, and you will then under- stand me." The Moor could get no further explanation from him, and, being stung to the quick by his words, kept brooding upon them, and trying to make out their mean- ing ; and when his wife, some time after, again begged him

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THE MOOR Introduction

to forgive the lieutenant, and not to let one slight fault cancel a friendship of so many years, he at last grew angry, and wondered why she should trouble herself so much about the fellow, as he was no relation of hers. She replied with much sweetness, that her only motive in speak- ing was the pain she felt in seeing her husband deprived of so good a friend.

Upon this solicitation, he began to suspect that the en- sign's words meant that she was in love with the lieutenant. So, being full of melancholy thoughts, he went to the en- sign, and tried to make him speak more intelligibly ; who, feigning great reluctance to say more, and making as though he yielded to his pressing entreaties, at last re- plied,— "You must know, then, tha. Desdemona is grieved for the lieutenant only because, when he comes to your house, she consoles herself with him for the disgust she now has at your blackness." At this, the Moor was more deeply stung than ever; but, wishing to be informed further, he put on a threatening look, and said, — "I know not what keeps me from cutting out that insolent tongue of yours, which has thus attacked the honor of my wife.'' The en- sign replied that he expected no other reward for his friendship, but still protested that he had spoken the truth. "If," said he, "her feigned affection has blinded you to such a degree that you cannot see what is so very visible, that does not lessen the truth of my assertion. The lieu- tenant himself, being one of those who are not content unless some others are made privy to their secret enjoy- ments, told me so ; and I would have given him his death at the time, but that I feared your displeasure: but, since you thus reward my friendship, I am sorry I did not hold my tongue." The Moor answered in great passion, — "If you do not make me see with my own eyes the truth of what you tell me, be assured that I will make you wish you had been born dumb." — "That would have been easy enough," said the ensign, "when the lieutenant came to your house; but now that you have driven him away, it will be hard to prove it. But I do not despair of caus-

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i , . ,• „ OTHELLO

Introduction

ing you to m ( that which you will not believe on my word." The -M<»or then went home with a barbed arrow in his tide, impatient for the time when he was to see what would render him forever miserable. Meanwhile, the known purity of Dcsdemona made the ensign very uneasy lest Ik ihould not be able to convince the Moor of what he said He therefore went to hatching new devices of mal- ic,-. Now, Dcsdemona often went to his house, and spent {..irt of the day with his wife. Having observed that she brought M it li her a handkerchief which the Moor had given her, and which, being delicately worked in the Moorish style, was much prized by them both, he devised to steal it. He had a little girl of three years old, who was much caressed by Dcsdemona. So, one day, when she was at hii house, he put the child into her arms, and while she was pressing the little girl to her bosom, he stole away the handkerchief so dexterously that she did not perceive it. This put him in high spirits. And the lady, being occu- pied with other things, did not think of the handkerchief till some days after, when, not being able to find it, she began to fear lest the Moor should ask for it, as he often did. The ensign, watching his orpc~tunity, went to the lieutenant, and left the handkerchief on his bolster. When the lieutenant found it, he could noi lagine how it came there; but, knowing it to be Desdemona's, he resolved to carry it to her: so, waiting till the Moor waj gone out., he went to the back door and knocked. The Moor, having that instant returned, went to the window, and asked who was there ; whereupon the lieutenant, hearing his voice, ran away without answering. The Moor then went to the door, and, finding no one there, returned full of suspicion, and asked his wife if she knew who it was that had knocked. She answered with truth that she did not; but he, thinking it was the lieutenant, went to the ensign, told him what had happened, .and engaged him to ascertain what he could on the lubject.

The ensign, being much delighted at this incident, con- tv))n\ one day to have an interview with the lieutenant in

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THE MOOR Introduction

a place where the Moor could see them. In the course of their talk, which was on a different subject, he laughed much, and by his motions expressed great surprise. As soon as they had parted, the Moor went to the ensign, to learn what had passed between them ; and he, after much urging, declared that the lieutenant withheld nothing from him, but rather boasted of his frequent wickedness with Desdemona, and how, the last time he was with her, she made him a present of the handkerchief her husband had given her. The Moor thanked him, and thought that if his wife no longer had the handkerchief, this would be a proof that the ensign had told him the truth. So, one day after dinner he asked her for it; and she, being much disconcerted at the question, and blushing deeply, all which was carefully observed by the Moor, ran to her wardrobe, as if to look for it ; but, as she could not find it, and wondered what had become of it, he told her to look for it some other time ; then left her, and began to reflect how he might put her and the lieutenant to death so as not to be held responsible for the murder.

The lieutenant had in his house a woman who, struck with the beauty of the handkerchief, determined to copy it before it should be returned. While she was at the work, sitting by a window where any one passing in the street might see her, the ensign pointed it out to the Moor, who was then fully persuaded of his wife's guilt. The ensign then engaged to kill both her and the lieutenant. So, one dark night, as the lieutenant was coming out of a house where he usually spent his evenings, the ensign stealthily gave him a cut in the leg with his sword, and brought him to the ground, and then rushed upon him to finish the work. But the lieutenant, who was very brave and skill- ful, having drawn his sword, raised himself for defense, and cried out murder as loud as he could. As the alarm presently drew some people to the spot, the ensign fled away, but quickly returned, pretended that he too was brought thither by the noise, and condoled with the lieu- tenant as much as if he had been his brother. The next

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Introduction OTHELlJ

morning, Desdemona, hearing what had happened, ex pressed much concern for the lieutenant, and this greatly strengthened the Moor's conviction of her guilt. He then arranged with the ensign for putting her to death in such a manner as to avoid suspicion. As the Moor's house was very old, and the ceiling broken in divers places, the plan agreed upon at the villain's suggestion was, that she should he beaten to death with a stocking full of sand, as this would leave no marks upon her; and that when this was done they should pull down the ceiling over her head, and then give out that she was killed by a beam falling upon her. To carry this purpose into effect, the Moor one night had the ensign hidden in a closet opening into his chamber. At the proper time, the ensign made a noise, and when Desdemona rose and went to see what it was, he rushed forth and killed her in the manner proposed. They then placed her on the bed, and when all was done ac- cording to the arrangement, the Moor gave an alarm that his house was falling. The neighbors running thither found the lady dead under the beams. The next day, she was buried, the whole island mourning for her.

The Moor, not long after, became distracted with grief and remorse. Unable to bear the sight of the ensign, he would have put him openly to death, but that he feared the justice of the Venetians ; so he drove him from his com- pany and degraded him, whereupon the villain went to studying how to be revenged on the Moor. To this end, he disclosed the whole matter to the lieutenant, who ac- cused the Moor before the Senate, and called the ensign to witness the truth of his charges. The Moor was im- prisoned, banished, and afterwards killed by his wife's re- lations. The ensign, returning to Venice, and continuing Ins old practices, was taken up, put to the torture, and racked so violently that he soon died.

Such are the materials out of which was constructed this greatest of domestic dramas. A comparison of Cinthio's tale With the tragedy built upon it will show the measure of the I oet s judgment better, perhaps, than could be done

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THE MOOR Introduction

by an entirely original performance. For, wherever he departs from the story, it is for a great and manifest gain of truth and nature; so that he appears equally judicious in what he borrowed and in what he created, while his re- sources of invention seem boundless, save as they are self- restrained by the reason and logic of art. The tale has nothing anywise answering to the part of Roderigo, who in the drama is a vastly significant and effective occasion, since upon him the most profound and subtle traits of Iago are made to transpire, and that in such a way as to lift the characters of Othello and Desdemona into a much higher region, and invest them with a far deeper and more pathetic interest and meaning. And even in the other parts, the Poet can scarce be said to have taken any thing more than a few incidents and the outline of the plot; the character, the passion, the pathos, the poetry, being entirely his own.

Until a recent date, The Tragedy of Othello was com- monly supposed to have been among the last of Shake- speare's writing. Chalmers assigned it to 1614, Drake, to 1612; Malone at first set it down to 1611, afterwards to 1604. Mr. Collier has produced an extract from The Egerton Papers, showing that on August 6, 1602, the sum of ten pounds was paid "to Burbage's Players for Othello." At that time, Queen Elizabeth was at Hare- field on a visit to Sir Thomas Egerton, then Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, afterwards Lord Ellesmere ; and it ap- pears that he had the tragedy performed at his residence for her delectation. The company that acted on this occasion were then known as the Lord Chamberlain's Serv- ants, and in The Egerton Papers were spoken of as Bur- bage's Players, probably because Richard Burbage was the leading actor among them. And an elegy on the death of Burbage, lately discovered among Mr. Heber's manu- scripts, ascertains him to have been the original per- former of Othello's part. After mentioning various char- acters in which this actor had been distinguished, the writer proceeds thus :

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Introduction OTHELLO

'But let me not forget one chief est part Wherein, beyond the rest, he mov'd the heart; The grieved Moor, made jealous by a slave, Who sent his wife to fill a timeless grave, Then slew himself upon the bloody bed."

When selected for performance at Harefield, Othello WBM doubtless in the first blush and freshness of its popu- larity, having probably had a run at the Globe in the spring of that year, and thus recommended itself to the audience of the Queen. Whether the play were then in its finished state, we have no means of ascertaining. Its workmanship certainly bespeaks the Poet's highest ma- turity of power and art; which has naturally suggested, that when first brought upon the stage it may have been afl different from what it is now, as the original Hamlet wrai from the enlarged copy. Such is the reasonable con- jecture of Mr. Yerplanck, — a conjecture not a little ap- proved by the fact of the Poet's having rewritten so many of his dramas after his mind had outgrown their original form. The style, however, of the play is throughout so < ven and sustained, so perfect is the coherence and con- gruitv of part with part, and its whole course so free from redundancy and impertinence, that, unless some further i eternal evidence should come to light, the question will have to rest in mere conjecture.

The drama was not printed during the author's life. On October 6\ 1621, it was entered at the Stationers' by Thomas Walk ley, "under the hands of Sir George Buck and of the Wardens." Soon after was issued a quarto pamphlet of forty-eight leaves, the title-page reading thus: "The Tragedy of Othello, the Moor of Venice. As it hath been divers times acted at the Globe and at the Blackfriars, by his Majesty's Servants. Written by Wil- liam Shakespeare. London: Printed by N. O. for Thomas Walklev, and are to be sold at his shop, at the Eagle and Child, in Britain's Bourse. 1622." This edition was set forth with a short preface by the publisher, which will be found in the foot-note on page vii.

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THE MOOR Introduction

In the folio of 1623, Othello stands the tenth in the di- vision of Tragedies, has the acts and scenes regularly marked, and at the end a list of the persons, headed, "The Names of the Actors." Iago is here called "a villain," and Roderigo "a gull'd gentleman." In the folio, the play has a number of passages, some of them highly important, amounting in all to upwards of 160 lines, which are not in the preceding quarto. On the other hand, the *folio omits a few lines that are found in the earlier issue.

The play was again set forth in quarto form in 1630, with a title-page reading substantially the same as that of 1622, save as regards the name and address of the pub- lisher.

Neither one of these copies was merely a repetition of another: on the contrary, all three of them were printed from different and probably independent manuscripts.

The island of Cyprus became subject to the republic of Venice, and was first garrisoned with Venetian troops, in 1471. After this time, the only attempt ever made upon that island by the Turks, was under Selim the Second, in 1570. It was then invaded by a powerful force, and conquered in 1571 ; since which time it has continued a part of the Turkish empire. We learn from the play, that there was a junction of the Turkish fleet at Rhodes, in or- der for the invasion of Cyprus ; that it first sailed towards Cyprus, then went to Rhodes, there met another squadron, and then resumed its course to Cyprus. These are his- torical facts, and took place when Mustapha, Selim's gen- eral, attacked Cyprus, in May, 1570; which is therefore the true period of the action.

In respect of general merit, Othello unquestionably stands in the same rank with the Poet's three other great tragedies, Macbeth, Lear, and Hamlet. As to the par- ticular place it is entitled to hold among the four, the best judges, as we might expect, are not agreed. In the elements and impressions of moral terror, it is certainly inferior to Macbeth; in breadth and variety of character-

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Introduction OTHELLC

ization, to Lear; in compass and reach of thought t< 1 1 ami ft: but it has one advantage over all the others, ii that the passion, the action, the interest, all lie strictly within the sphere of domestic life; for which cause the pkn has a more close and intimate hold on the common sym pathies of mankind. On the whole, perhaps it may b< safely affirmed of these four tragedies, that the most com petenl readers will always like that best which they reac last.

Dr. Johnson winds up his excellent remarks on this trag- edy as follows: "Had the scene opened in Cyprus, am the preceding incidents been occasionally related, there ha< been little wanting to a drama of the most exact and scru-l puloua regularity." This means, no doubt, that the play would have been improved by such a change. The whole of Act I would thus have been spared, and we should have, instead, various narrations in the form of soliloquy, but addressed to the audience. Here, then, would be two im- proprieties,— the turning of the actor into an orator by putting him directly in communication with the audience, and the making him soliloquize matter inconsistent with the nature of the soliloquy.

But, to say nothing of the irregularity thus involved, all the better meaning of Act I would needs be lost in narra- tion. For the very reason of the dramatic form is, that action conveys something which cannot be done up in propositions. So that, if narrative could here supply the place of the scenes in question, it does not appear why there should be any such drama at all. We will go further: This first Act is the very one which could least be spared, as being in effect fundamental to the others, and therefore necessary to the right understanding of them.

One great error of criticism has been, the looking for too much simplicity of purpose in works of art. We are told, for instance, that the end of the drama is, to represent actions; and that, to keep the work clear of redundances, tin action must be one, with a beginning, a middle, and an end ; as if all the details, whether of persons or events,

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THE MOOR Introduction

were merely for the sake of the catastrophe. Thus it is presumed, that any one thing, to be properly understood, should be detached from all others. Such is not the method of nature : to accomplish one aim, she carries many aims along together. And so the proper merit of a work of art, which is its truth to nature, lies in the .harmony of divers coordinate and concurrent purposes, making it, not like a flat abstraction, but like a round, plump fact. Unity of effect is indeed essential; but unity as distin- guished from mere oneness of effect comes, in art as in nature, by complexity of purpose ; — a complexity wherein each purpose is alternately the means and the end of the others.

Whether the object of the drama be more to represent action, or passion, or character, cannot be affirmed, because in the nature of things neither of these can be represented save in vital union wTith the others. If, however, either should have precedence, doubtless it is character, foras- much as this is the common basis of the other two : but the complication and interaction of several characters is nec- essary to the development of any one; the persons serv- ing as the playground of each other's transpirations, and reciprocally furnishing motives, impulses, and occasions. For every society, whether actual or dramatic, is a coi\r cresence of individuals : men do not grow and develop alone, but by and from each other; so that many have to grow up together in order for any one to grow ; the best part even of their individual life coming to them from or through the social organization. And as men are made, so they must be studied; as no one can grow by himself, so none can be understood by himself: his character being partly derived, must also be partly interpreted, from the particular state of things in which he lives, the characters that act with him, and upon him.

It may be from oversight of these things, that the first Act in Othello has been thought superfluous. If the rise, progress, and result of the Moor's passion were the only aim of the work, that Act might indeed be dispensed with.

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Bui we must first know something of his character anc the characters that act upon him, before we can rightly decide what and whence his passion is. This knowledge ought to be, and in fact is, given in the opening scenes oi

the play.

Again : We often speak of men as acting thus or thus, according as they are influenced from without. And in one sense this is true, yet not so, but that the man rather determines the motive, than the motive the man. For the .same Influences often move men in different directions, ac- cording to their several predispositions of character. What is with one a motive to virtue, is with another a motive to vice, and with a third no motive at all. On the other hand, where the outward motions are the same, the inward springs are often very different: so that we can- not rightly interpret a man's actions, without some fore- cast of his actuating principle; his actions being the index of his character, and his character the light whereby that index is to be read. The first business, then, of a drama is, to give some preconception of the characters which may render their actions intelligible, and which may itself in turn receive further illustration from the actions.

Now, there are few things in Shakespeare more remark- able than the judgment shown in his first scenes; and perhaps the very highest instance of this is in the opening of Othello. The play begins strictly at the beginning, and goes regularly forward, instead of beginning in the mid- dle, as Johnson would have it, and then going both ways. The first Act gives the prolific germs from which the whole i- evolved; it is indeed the seminary of the whole play, and unfolds the characters in their principles, as the other Acts do in their phenomena. The not attending duly to what is there disclosed has caused a good deal of false criticism on the play; as, for example, in the case of Iago, Mho, his earlier developments being thus left out of the account, or not properly weighed, has been supposed to act from revenge; and then, as no adequate motives for

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such a revenge are revealed, the character has been thought unnatural.

The main passions and proceedings of the drama all have their primum mobile in Iago ; and the first Act amply discloses what he is made of and moved by. As if on pur- pose to prevent any mistake touching his springs of ac- tion, he is set forth in various aspects having no direct bearing on the main course of the play. He comes before us exercising his faculties on the dupe Roderigo, and there- by spilling out the secret of his habitual motives and im- pulses. That his very frankness may serve to heighten our opinion of his sagacity, the subject he is practising upon is at once seen to be a person who, from strength of passion, weakness of understanding, and want of charac- ter, will be kept from sticking at his own professions of villainy. So that the freedom with which he here unmasks himself only lets us into his keen perceptions of his whens and hows.

We know from the first, that the bond of union between them is the purse. Roderigo thinks he is buying up Iago's talents and efforts. This is just what Iago means to have him think ; and it is something doubtful which glories most, the one in having money to bribe talents, or the other in having wit to catch money. Still it is plain enough that Iago, with a pride of intellectual mastery far stronger than his love of lucre, cares less for the money than for the fun of wheedling and swindling others out of it.

Rut while Iago is selling pledges of assistance to his dupe, there is the stubborn fact of his being in the serv- ice of Othello : and Roderigo cannot understand how he is to serve two masters at once whose interests are so con- flicting. In order, therefore, to engage his faith without forsaking the Moor, he has to persuade Roderigo that he follows the Moor but to serve his turn upon him. A hard task indeed ; but, for that very cause, all the more grate- ful to him, since, from its peril and perplexity, it requires the great stress of cunning, and gives the wider scope for

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his ingenuity. The very anticipation of the thing oils his faculties into ecstacy; his heart seems in a paroxysm of delight while venting his passion for hypocrisy, as if this most Satanical attribute served him for a muse, and in- Bpircd him with an energy and eloquence not his own.

Still, to make his scheme work, he must allege some rea- son- for hifl purpose touching the Moor: for Roderigo, gull though lie be, is not so gullible as to entrust his cause to a groundless treachery; he must know something of the strong provocations which have led Iago to cherish such designs. Iago understands this perfectly: he therefore pretends a secret grudge against Othello, which he is but holding in till he can find or make a fit occasion ; and there- withal assigns such grounds and motives as he knows will secure faith in his pretense; whereupon the other gets too warm with the anticipated fruits of his treachery to sus- pect any similar designs on himself. Wonderful indeed art- the arts whereby the rogue wins and keeps his ascend- ancy over the gull! During their conversation, we can al- most see the former worming himself into the latter, like a corkscrew into a cork.

But Iago has a still harder task, to carry Roderigo along in a criminal quest of Desdemona ; for his character is marked rather by want of principle than by bad prin- ciple, and the passion with which she has inspired him is incompatible with any purpose of dishonoring her. Until the proceeding before the Senate, he hopes her father will break off the match with Othello, so that she will again be open to an honorable solicitation; but, when he finds her married, and the marriage ratified by her father, he i- for giving up in despair. But Iago again besets him, like an evil angel, and plies his witchcraft with augmented vigor. Himself an atheist of female virtue, he has no way to gain his point but by debauching Roderigo's mind with his own atheism. With an overweening pride of wealth Roderigo unites considerable respect for woman- hood. Therefore Iago at once flatters his pride by urg- ing the power of money, and inflames his passion by urg-

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ing the frailty of woman: for the greatest preventive of dishonorable passion is faith in the virtue of its object. Throughout this undertaking, Iago's passionless soul revels amid lewd thoughts and images, like a spirit broke loose from the pit. With his nimble fancy, his facility and felicity of combination, fertile, fluent, and apposite in plausibilities, at one and the same time stimulating Roder- igo's inclination to believe, and stifling his ability to re- fute, what is said, he literally overwhelms his power of resistance. By often iterating the words, "put money in your purse," he tries to make up in earnestness of asser- tion whatever may be wanting in the cogency of his reason- ing, and, in proportion as Roderigo's mind lacks room for his arguments, to subdue him by mere violence of im- pression. Glorying alike in mastery of intellect and of will, he would so make Roderigo part of himself, like his hand or foot, as to be the immediate organ of his own volitions. Nothing can surpass the fiendish chuckle of self-satisfaction with which he turns from his conquest to sneer at the victim :

"Thus do I ever make my fool my purse; For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane, If I would time expend with such a snipe, But for my sport and profit."

So much for Iago's proceedings with the gull. The sagacity with which he feels and forescents his way into Roderigo is only equaled by the skill with which, while clinching the nail of one conquest, he prepares the sub- ject, by a sort of forereaching process, for a further con- quest.

Roderigo, if not preoccupied with vices, is empty of virtues ; so that Iago has but to play upon his vanity and passion, and ruin him through these. But Othello has no such avenues open : the villain can reach him only through his virtues; has no way to work his ruin but by turning his honor and integrity against him. And the same ex- quisite tact of character, which prompts his frankness t©

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OTHELL

<

the former, counsels the utmost closeness to the lattei Knowing Othello's "perfect soul," he dare not make to hir the lead tender of dishonorable services, lest he should repc his confidence, and incur his resentment. Still he is quit moderate in his professions, taking shrewd care not t whiten the Bepulcher so much as to provoke an investiga tioo of its contents. He therefore rather modestly ac knowledges his conscientious scruples than boasts of them as though, being a soldier, he feared that such thing might speak more for his virtue than for his manhood And yet his reputation for exceeding honesty has some thing suspicious about it, for it looks as though he hac studied to make that virtue somewhat of a speciality ir his outward carriage; whereas true honesty, like charity naturally shrinks from being matter of public fame, lesl by notoriety it should get corrupted into vanity or pride Iago's method with the Moor is, to intermix confessior and pretension in such a way that the one may be taken as proof of modesty, the other, of fidelity. When, for exam- ple, he affects to disqualify his own testimony, on the ground that "it is his nature's plague to spy into abuses," he of course designs a contrary impression ; as, in actual life, men often acknowledge real vices, in order to be ac- quitted of them. That his accusation of others may stand the clearer of distrust, he prefaces it by accusing himself. Acting, too, as if he spared no pains to be right, yet still feared he was wrong, his very opinions carry the weight of facts, as having forced themselves upon him against his will. When, watching his occasion, he proceeds to set his scheme of mischief at work, his mind seems struggling with some terrible secret which he dare not let out, yet can- not keep in ; which breaks from him in spite of himself, and even because of his fear to utter it. He thus man- ages to be heard and still seem overheard, that so he may not be held responsible for his words, any more than if he had spoken in his sleep. In those well-known lines, — "Good name, in man and woman, is the immediate jewel of their souls," etc., — he but gives out that he is restrained

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only by tenderness to others from uttering what would blast them. And there is, withal, a dark, frightful sig- nificance in his manner, which puts the hearer in an agony of curiosity: the more he refuses to tell his thoughts, the more he sharpens the desire to know them: when ques- tioned, he so states his reasons for not speaking, that in effect they compel the Moor to extort the secret from him. For his purpose is, not merely to deceive Othello, but to get his thanks for deceiving him.

It is worth remarking, that Iago has a peculiar classi- fication, whereby all the movements of our nature fall under the two heads of sensual and rational. Now, the healthy mind is marked by openness to impressions from without ; is apt to be overmastered by the inspiration of external objects; in which case the understanding is kept subordinate to the social, moral, and religious sentiments. But our ancient despises all this. Man, argues he, is made up altogether of intellect and appetite, so that whatever motions do not spring from the former must be referred to the latter. The yielding to inspirations from without argues an ignoble want of spiritual force ; to be overmas- tered by external objects, infers a conquest of the flesh over the mind ; all the religions of our nature, as love, honor, reverence, according to this liberal and learned spirit are but "a lust of the blood and a permission of the will," and therefore things to be looked down upon with contempt. Hence, when his mind walks amidst the better growings of humanity, he is "nothing, if not critical" : so he pulls up every flower, however beautiful, to find a flaw in the root ; and of course flaws the root in pulling it. For, indeed, he has, properly speaking, no susceptibilities ; his mind is perfectly unimpressible, receives nothing, yields to nothing, but cuts its way through every thing like a flint.

It appears, then, that in Iago intellectuality itself »is made a character; that is, the intellect has cast off all al- legiance to the moral and religious sentiments, and become a law and an impulse to itself ; so that the mere fact of his

xxix

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Introduction OTHELL

being able to do a thing is sufficient reason for doing it For, in such cases, the mind comes to act, not for an} outward ends or objects, but merely for the sake of act- ing; has a passion for feats of agility and strength; anc may even go so far as to revel amid the dangers and diffi- culties of wicked undertakings. We thus have, not in- deed a craving for carnal indulgences, but a cold, dry pruriency of intellect, or as Mr. Dana aptly styles it, "a lust of the brain," which naturally manifests itself in a fanaticism of mischief, a sort of hungering and thirsting after unrighteousness. Of course, therefore, Iago shows no addiction to sensualities: on the contrary, all his pas- sions are concentrated in the head, all his desires eminently spiritual and Satanical ; so that he scorns the lusts of the flesh, or, if indulging them at all, generally does it in a criminal way, and not so much for the indulgence as for the criminality involved. Such appears to be the motive principle of Satan, who, so far as we know, is neither a glutton, nor a wine-bibber, nor a debauchee, but an imper- sonation of pride and self-will ; and therefore prefers such a line of action as will most exercise and demonstrate his power.

Edmund in King Lear, seeing his road clear but for moral restraints, politely bows them out of door, lest they should hinder the free working of his faculties. Iago differs from him, in that he chooses rather to invade than, elude the laws of morality : when he sees Duty coming, he takes no pains to play round or get by her, but rather goes out of his way to meet her, as if on purpose to spit in her face and walk over her. That a thing ought not to be done, is thus with him a motive for doing it, because, the worse the deed, the more it shows his freedom and power. When he owns to himself that "the Moor is of a constant, loving, noble nature," it is not so much that he really feels these qualities in him, as that, granting him to have them, there is the greater merit in hating him. For anybody can hate a man for his faults; but to hate a man for his virtues, is something original; involves, so to

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speak, a declaration of moral independence. So, too, in the soliloquy where he speaks of loving Desdemona, he - first disclaims any unlawful passion for her, and then adds, parenthetically, "though, peradventure, I stand account- ant for as great a sin"; as much as to say, that whether guilty or not he did not care, and dared the responsibility at all events. So that, to adopt a distinction from Dr. Chalmers, he here seems not so much an atheist as an antitheist in morality. We remember that the late Mr. Booth, in pronouncing these words, cast his eyes upwards, as if looking Heaven in the face with a sort of defiant smile !

That Iago prefers lying to telling the truth, is implied A in what we have said. Perhaps, indeed, such a preference is inseparable from his inordinate intellectuality. For it is a great mistake to suppose that a man's love of truth will needs be in proportion to his intellectuality: on the contrary, an excess of this may cause him to prefer lies, as yielding larger scope for activity and display of mind. For they who thrive by the truth naturally attribute their thrift to her power, not to their own ; and success, com- ing to them as a gift, rather humbles than elates them. On the other hand, he who thrives by lying can reckon him- self an overmatch for truth ; he seems to owe none of his success to nature, but rather to have wrung it out in spite of her. Even so, Iago's characteristic satisfaction seems to stand in a practical reversing of moral distinc- tions ; for example, in causing his falsehood to do the work of truth, or another's truth, the work of falsehood. For, to make virtue pass for virtue, and pitch for pitch, is no triumph at all ; but to make the one pass for the other, is a triumph indeed! Iago glories in thus seeming to con- vict appearance of untruth ; in compelling nature, as it were, to own her secret deceptions, and acknowledge him too much for her. Hence his adroit practice to appear as if serving Roderigo, while really using him. Hence his purpose, not merely to deceive the Moor, but to get his

thanks for doing so. Therefore it is that he takes such a

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Introduction OTHELL|

malicious pleasure in turning Desdemona's conduct wro side out ; for, the more angel she, the greater his triuim i in making her seem a devil.

There is, indeed, no touching the bottom of Iago's ai sleepless, unrelenting, inexhaustible, with an energy th never flags, and an alertness that nothing can surprij he outwits every obstacle and turns it into an ally ; t harder the material before him, the more greedily does seize it, the more adroitly work it, the more effective make it tell ; and absolutely persecutes the Moor with redundancy of proof. When, for instance, Othello dro the words, "and yet how nature, erring from itself1 meaning simply that no woman is altogether exempt fro frailty ; Iago with inscrutable sleight-of-hand forthwr steals in upon him, under cover of this remark, a cluster < pregnant insinuations, as but so many inferences from h suggestion ; and so manages to impart his own thoughts the Moor by seeming to derive them from him. Othel is thus brought to distrust all his original perceptions, i renounce his own understanding, and accept Iago's instea And such, in fact, is Iago's aim, the very earnest ar pledge of his intellectual mastery. Nor is there any thin that he seems to take with more gust, than the pain he ii flicts by making the Moor think himself a fool ; that he hi been the easy dupe of Desdemona's arts ; and that he ow his deliverance to the keener insight and sagacity of h honest, faithful ancient.

But there is scarce any wickedness conceivable, in1 which such a lust and pride of intellect and will may n< carry a man. Craving for action of the most excitin kind, there is a fascination for him in the very danger ( crime. Walking the plain, safe, straight-forward pal of truth and nature, does not excite and occupy h enough ; he prefers to thread the dark, perilous intricaci< of some hellish plot, or to balance himself, as it were, c a rope stretched over an abyss, where danger stimulates ar success demonstrates his agility. Even if remorse ove take such a man, its effect is to urge him deeper into crim<

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THE MOOR Introduction

as the desperate gamester naturally tries to bury his chagrin at past losses in the increased excitement of a larger stake.

Critics have puzzled themselves a good deal about Iago's motives. The truth is, "natures such as his spin motives out of their own bowels." What is said of one of Wordsworth's characters in The Borderers, holds equally true of our ancient:

"There needs no other motive Than that most strange incontinence in crime Which haunts this Oswald. Power is life to him And breath and being; where he cannot govern, He will destroy."

If it be objected to this view, that Iago states his mo- tives to Roderigo ; we answer, Iago is a liar, and is trying to dupe Roderigo ; and knows he must allege some motives, to make the other trust him. Or, if it be objected that he states them in soliloquy, when there is no one present for him to deceive ; again we answer, Yes there is ; the very one he cares most to deceive, namely, himself. And in- deed the terms of this statement clearly denote a foregone conclusion, the motives coming in only as an after-thought. The truth is, he cannot quite look his purpose in the face ; it is a little too fiendish for his steady gaze ; and he tries to hunt up or conjure up some motives, to keep the peace be- tween it and his conscience. This is what Coleridge justly calls "the motive-hunting of a j^otionlcsa malignity" ; and well may he add, "how awful it is !" *t01 'v<i "**

Much has been said about Iago's acting from revenge. But he has no cause for revenge, unless to deserve his love be such a cause. For revenge supposes some injury re- ceived, real or fancied ; and the sensibility whence it springs cannot but make some discrimination as to its objects. So that, if this were his motive, he would respect the innocent while crushing the guilty, there being, else, no revenge in the case. The impossibility, indeed, of accounting for his conduct on such grounds is the very reason why the

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Introduction OTHELU

character, judged on such grounds, has been pronounce unnatural. It is true, he tries to suspect, first Othell and then Cassio, of having wronged him: he even finds < feigns a certain rumor to that effect; yet shows, by h manner of talking, about it, that he does not himself b lieve it, or rather does not care whether it be true ( not. And he elsewhere owns that the reasons he alleg are but pretenses after all. Even while using his divii it v, he knows it is the "divinity of hell," else he woa scorn to use it; and boasts of the intention to entrap h victims through their friendship for him, as if his obi gations to them were his only provocations against ther For, to bad men, obligations often are provocation That he ought to honor them, and therefore envies ther is the only wrong they have done him, or that he thinl they have done him ; and he means to indemnify himse for their right to his honor, by ruining them through tl very gifts and virtues which have caused his envy. Meai while, he amuses his reasoning powers by inventing a so of ex-post-facto motives for his purpose ; the san wicked busy-mindedness, that suggests the crime, promp ing him to play with the possible reasons for it.

We have dwelt the longer on Iago, because without just and thorough insight of him Othello cannot be right] understood, as the source and quality of his action requii to be judged from the influences that are made to woi upon him. The Moor has for the most part been r garded as specially illustrating the workings of jealous; Whether there be any thing, and, if so, how much, of th passion in him, may indeed be questions having two side.' but we may confidently affirm that he has no special pr disposition to jealousy; and that whatsoever of it the] may be in him does not grow in such a way, nor from sue causes, that it can justly be held as the leading feature his character, much less as his character itself; thoug such has been the view more commonly taken of him. C this point, there has been a strange ignoring of the ii scrutable practices in which his passion originates. L

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stead of going behind the scene, and taking its grounds of judgment directly from the subject himself, criticism has trusted overmuch in what is said of him by other persons in the drama, to whom he must perforce seem jealous, be- cause they know and can know nothing of the devilish cun- ning that has been at work with him. And the common opinion has no doubt been much furthered by the stage, Iago's villainy being represented as so open and barefaced, that the Moor must have been grossly stupid or grossly jealous not to see through him; whereas, in fact, so subtle is the villain's craft, so close and involved are his designs, that Othello deserves but the more respect and honor for being taken in by him.

Coleridge is very bold and clear in defense of the Moor. "Othello," says he, "does not kill Desdemona in jealousy, but in a conviction forced upon him by the almost super- human art of Iago, — such a conviction as any man would and must have entertained, who had believed Iago's hon- esty as Othello did. We, the audience, know that Iago is a villain from the beginning ; but, in considering the es- sence of the Shakespearean Othello, we must persever- ingly place ourselves in his situation, and under his circumstances. Then we shall immediately feel the funda- mental difference between the solemn agony of the noble Moor, and the wretched fishing jealousy of Leontes." Iago describes jealousy as "the monster that doth make the meat it feeds on." And Emilia speaks to the same sense, when Desdemona acquits her husband of jealousy on the ground that she has never given him cause: "But jealous souls will not be answer'd so ; they are not ever jealous for the cause, but jealous, for they're jealous."

If jealousy be indeed such a thing as is here described, it seems clear enough that a passion thus self-generated and self -sustained ought not to be confounded with a state of mind superinduced, like Othello's, by forgery of ex- ternal proofs, — a forgery wherein himself has no share but as the victim. And we may safely affirm that he has no aptitude for such a passion ; it is against the whole

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grain of his mind and character. Iago evidently knows this; knows the Moor to be incapable of spontaneous dis- trict ; that he must see, before he'll doubt; that when he doubts, be'U prove; and that when he has proved, he will re- tain his honor at all events, and retain his love, if it be compatible with honor. Accordingly, lest the Moor should suspect himself of jealousy, Iago pointedly warns him to beware of it ; puts him on his guard against such self-delu- sions, that so his mind may be more open to the force of evidence, and lest from fear of being jealous he should entrench himself in the opposite extreme, and so be proof aiminst conviction.

The struggle, then, in Othello is not between love and jealousy, but between love and honor; and Iago's machina- tions are exactly adapted to bring these two latter passions into collision. Indeed it is the Moor's very freedom from a jealous temper, that enables the villain to get the mas- t< tv of him. Such a character as his, so open, so gener- ous, so confiding, is just the one to be taken in the strong toils of Iago's cunning; to have escaped them, would have argued him a partaker of the strategy under which he falls. It is both the law and the impulse of a high and delicate honor, to rely on another's word, unless we have proof to the contrary; to presume that things and per- sons are what they seem: and it is an impeachment of our own veracity to suspect falsehood in one who bears a char- acter for truth. Such is precisely the Moor's condition in respect to Iago; a man whom he has long known, and never caught in a lie; whom he as often trusted, and never seen cause to regret it. So that, in our judgment of the Moor, we ought to proceed as if his wife were really guilty of what she is charged with; for, were she ever so guilty, he could scarce have stronger proof than he has; and that the evidence owes all its force to the plotting and lying of another, surely makes nothing against him.

Nevertheless, we are far from upholding that Othello does not at any stage of the proceedings show signs of jealousy. For the elements of this passion exist in the

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strongest and healthiest minds, and may be kindled into a transient sway over their motions, or at least so as to put them on the alert; and all we mean to affirm is, that jealousy is not Othello's characteristic, and does not form the actuating principle of his conduct. It is indeed cer- tain that he doubts before he has proof; but then it is also certain that he does not act upon his doubt, till proof has been given him. As to the rest, it seems to us there can be no dispute about the thing, but only about the term ; some understanding by jealousy one thing, some another. We presume that no one would have spoken of the Moor as acting from jealousy, in case his wife had really been guilty : his course would then have been regarded simply as the result of conviction upon evidence ; which is to our mind nearly decisive of the question.

Accordingly, in the killing of Desdemona we have the proper marks of a judicial as distinguished from a re- vengeful act. The Moor goes about her death calmly and religiously, as a duty from which he would gladly escape by his own death, if he could; and we feel that his heart is wrung with inexpressible anguish, though his hand is firm. It is a part of his heroism, that as he prefers her to himself, so he prefers honor to her; and he manifestly contemplates her death as a sacrifice due to the institution which he fully believes, and has reason to believe, she has mocked and profaned. So that we cordially subscribe to the words of Ulrici respecting him: "Jealousy and re- venge seize his mind but transiently ; they spring up and pass away with the first burst of passion ; being indeed but the momentary phases under which love and honor, the rul- ing principles of his soul, evince the deep wounds they are suffering."

The general custom of the stage has been, to represent Othello as a full-blooded Negro ; and criticism has been a good deal exercised of late on the question whether Shakespeare really meant him for such. The only ex- pression in the play that would fairly infer him to be a Negro, is Roderigo's "thick-lips." But Roderigo there

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OTHELLO

.speaks as a disappointed lover, seeking to revenge him- self on the cause of his disappointment. We all know hou common it is for coxcombs like him, when balked and morti- fied in rivalry with their betters, to fly off into extravaganl terms of disparagement and reproach; their petulant van- it v casing and soothing itself by calling them any thing they 1 11. iv wish them to be. It is true, the Moor is sev- eral times spoken of as black; but this term was ofter used, as it still is, of a tawny skin in comparison wit! one that is fair. So in Antony and Cleopatra the heroine speaks of herself as being "with Phoebus' amorous pinches black"; and in The Two Gentlemen of Verona Thurio. when told that Silvia says his face is a fair one, replies,^ MNay, then the wanton lies: my face is black" But, in deed, the calling a dark-complexioned white person black is as common as almost any form of speech in the Ian guage.

It would seem, from Othello's being so often callec "the Moor," that there ought to be no question aboul what the Poet meant him to be. For the difference be tween Moors and Negroes was probably as well under stood in his time as it is now; and there is no more evi- dence in this play that he thought them the same, than there is in The Merchant of Venice, where the Prince oi Morocco comes as a suitor to Portia, and in a stage-direc tion of the old quarto is called "a tawny Moor." Othellc was a Mauritanian prince, for Iago in Act IV, sc. ii speaks of his purposed retirement to Mauritania as his home. Consistently with this, the same speaker in anothei place uses terms implying him to be a native of Barbary Mauritania being the old name of one of the Barbara States. Iago, to be sure, is an unscrupulous liar; bul then he has more cunning than to lie when telling th( truth will stand with his purpose, as it evidently will here, So that there needs no scruple about endorsing the argu- ment of Mr. White, in his Shakespeare's Scholar "Shakespeare," says he, "nowhere calls Othello an Ethi- opian, and also does not apply the term to Aaron in the

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horrible Titus Andronicus; but he continually speaks of both as Moors ; and as he has used the first word else- where, and certainly had use for it as a reproach in the mouth of Iago, it seems that he must have been fully aware of the distinction in grade between the two races. Indeed I never could see the least reason for supposing that Shakespeare intended Othello to be represented as a Negro. With the Negroes, the Venetians, had nothing to do, that we know of, and could not have in the natural course of things ; whereas, with their over-the-way neigh- bors, the Moors, they were continually brought in con- tact. These were a warlike, civilized, and enterprising race, which could furnish an Othello."

That the question may, if possible, be thoroughly shut up and done with, we will add the remarks of Coleridge on the aforesaid custom of the stage : "Even if we "supposed this an uninterrupted tradition of the theater, and that Shakespeare himself, from want of scenes, and the ex- perience that nothing could be made too marked for the senses of his audience, had practically sanctioned it, — • would this prove aught concerning his own intention as a, poet for all ages? Can we imagine him so utterly ig- norant as to make a barbarous Negro plead royal birth, — it a time, too, when Negroes were not known except as slaves? As for Iago's language to Brabantio, it implies merely that Othello was a Moor, that is, black. Though [ think the rivalry of Roderigo sufficient to account for bis willful confusion of Moor and Negro ; yet, even if zompelled to give this up, I should think it only adapted for the acting of the day, and should complain of an enor- mity built on a single word, in direct contradiction to [ago's 'Barbary horse.' Besides, if we could in good earnest believe Shakespeare ignorant of the distinction, ?till why should we adopt one disagreeable possibility, in- stead of a ten times greater and more pleasing probability ? rt is a common error to mistake the epithets applied by the dramatis personce to each other, as truly descriptive of what the audience ought to see or know. No doubt,

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pesdemona 'saw Othello's visage in his mind'; yet, as w are constituted, and most surely as an English audienc was disposed in the beginning of the seventeenth century it would be something monstrous to conceive this beauti i'ul Venetian girl falling in love with a veritable Negro It would argue a disproportionatencss, a want of balance i Desdemona, which Shakespeare does not appear to have ii the least contemplated."

The character of Othello, direct and single in itself, i worked out with great breadth and clearness. And her again the first Act is peculiarly fruitful of significan points ; furnishing, in respect of him as of Iago, th seminal ideas of which the subsequent details are the nat lira] issues and offshoots. In the opening scene we hav Iago telling various lies about the Moor; yet his lying i so managed as, while affecting its immediate purpose 01 the gull, to be at the same time more or less suggestive o: the truth: he caricatures Othello, but is too artful a cari caturist to let the peculiar features of the subject be los in an excess of misrepresentation; that is, there is trutl enough in what he says, to make it pass with one wh wishes it true, and whose mind is too weak to prevent sucl a wish from growing into belief.

Othello's mind is strongly charged with the natural en thusiasm of high principle and earnest feeling, and thi gives a certain elevated and imaginative turn to his man ner of thought and speech. In the deportment of such «' man there is apt to be something upon which a cold am crafty malice can easily stick the imputation of beinc haughty and grandiloquent, or of "loving his own prid and purposes." Especially, when urged with unseason able or impertinent solicitations, his answers are apt to b in such a style, that they can hardly pass through ai [agoish mind, without catching the air of strutting am bombastic evasion. For a man like Othello will not stooi to be the advocate or apologist of himself: it is enough that he stands justified to his own sense of right, and i others dislike his course, this does not shake him, as h

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did not take it with a view to please them: he acts from his own mind ; and to explain his conduct, save where he is responsible, looks like soliciting an endorsement from others, as though the consciousness of rectitude were not enough to sustain him. Such a man, if his fortune and his other parts be at all in proportion, commonly suc- ceeds ; for by his strength of character he naturally creates a sphere which himself alone can fill, and so makes him- self necessary. On the other hand, a subtle and malig- nant rogue, like Iago, while fearing to be known as the enemy of such a man, envies his success, and from this envy affects contempt of his qualities. For the proper triumph of a bad man over his envied superiors is, to scoff at the very gifts which gnaw him.

The intimations, then, derived from Iago lead us to re- gard the Moor, before we meet with him, as one who de- liberates calmly, and therefore decides firmly. His refus- ing to explain his conduct where he is not responsible, is a pledge that he will not shrink from any responsibility where he truly owes it. In his first reply when urged by Iago to elude Brabantio's pursuit, our expectations are made good. We see that, as he acts from honor and prin- ciple, so he will cheerfully abide the consequences. Full of equanimity and firmness, he is content to let the rea- sons of his course appear in the issues thereof ; whereas Iago delights in stating his reasons, as giving scope for mental activity and display.

From his characteristic intrepidity and calmness, the Moor, as we learn in the sequel, has come to be esteemed, by those who know him best, as one whom "passion can- not shake." For the passions are in him both tempered and strengthened by the energy of higher principles ; and, if kept under reason, the stronger they are, the more they exalt reason. This feature of Othello is well seen at his meeting with Brabantio and attendants, when the parties are on the point of fighting, and he quiets them by ex- claiming, "Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them;" where the belligerent spirit is as much charmed

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OTHELLO

down bj bia playful logic, as overawed by his sternness ojf command So, too, when Brabantio calls out, "Down irith him, thief f and he replies, "Good signior, you shall more command with years than with your weapons."

Such is our sturdy warrior's habitual carriage: no up- start exigency disconcerts him; no obloquy exasperates him to violence or recrimination: peril, perplexity, provo- cation rather augment than impair his self-possession; and the more deeply he is stirred, the more calmly and steadily he acts. This calmness of intensity is most finely dis- played in his address to the Senate, where the words, though they fall on the ear as softly as an evening breeze, m em charged with life from every part of his being. All is grace and modesty and gentleness, yet what strength and dignity ! the union of perfect repose and impassioned energy. Perhaps the finest point of contrast between Othello and Iago lies in the method of their several minds. Iago is morbidly introversive and self-explicative ; his mind is ever busy spinning out its own contents; and he takes no pleasure either in viewing or in showing things, till he has baptized them in his own spirit, and then seems chuckling inwardly as he holds them up reeking with the slime he has dipped them in. In Othello, on the contrary, every thing is direct, healthy, objective; and he reproduces in transparent diction the truth as revealed to him from without; his mind being like a clear, even mirror wThich, in- visible itself, renders back in its exact shape and color what- soever stands before it.

We know of nothing in Shakespeare that has this qual- ity more conspicuous than the Moor's account "how he did thrive in this fair lady's love, and she in his." The dark man eloquent literally speaks in pictures. We see the silent blushing maiden moving about her household tasks, erer and anon turning her eye upon the earnest warrior; leaving the door open as she goes out of the room, that she may catch the tones of his voice; hastening back to her father's side, as though drawn to the spot by some new impulse of filial attachment ; afraid to look the speaker

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in the face, yet unable to keep out of his presence, and drinking in with ear and heart every word of his marvelous tale: the Moor, meanwhile, waxing more elo- quent when this modest listener was by, partly because he saw she was interested, and partly because he wished to in- terest her still more. Yet we believe all he says, for the virtual presence of the things he describes enables us, as it were, to test his fidelity of representation.

In his simplicity, however, he lets out a truth of which he seems not to have been aware. At Brabantio's fireside he has been unwittingly making love by his manner, be- fore he was even conscious of loving ; and thought he was but listening for a disclosure of the lady's feelings, while he was really soliciting a response to his own : for this is a matter wherein heart often calls and answers to heart, without giving the head any notice of its proceedings. His quick perception of the interest he had awakened is a confession of the interest he felt, the state of his mind coming out in his anxiety to know that of hers. And how natural it was that he should thus honestly think he was but returning her passion, while it was his own passion that caused him to see or suspect she had any to be re- turned ! And so she seems to have understood the mat- ter; whereupon, appreciating the modesty that kept him silent, she gave him a hint of encouragement to speak. In his feelings, moreover, respect keeps pace with affec- tion ; and he involuntarily seeks some tacit assurance of a return of his passion as a sort of. permission to cherish and confess it. It is this feeling that originates the deli- cate, reverential courtesy, the ardent, yet distant, and there- fore beautiful regards, with which a truly honorable mind instinctively attires itself towards its best ob j ect ; — a feel- ing that throws a majestic grace around the most unprom- ising figure, and endows the plainest features with some- thing more eloquent than beauty.

The often-alleged unfitness of Othello's match has been mainly disposed of by what we have already said respect- ing his origin. The rest of it, if there be any, may be

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safety left to the facts of his being honored by the Vene- tian Senate and of his being a cherished guest at Bra ban! in'- fireside. At all events, we cannot help thinking thai the noble Moor and his sweet lady have the verj .sort of resemblance which people thus united ought t( have: and their likeness seems all the better for behi£ joined with so much of unlikeness. It is the chaste, beau tiful wedlock of meekness and magnanimity, where the in Ward correspondence stands the more approved for the out ward diversity; and reminds us of what we are too apt tc forget, that the stout, valiant soul is the chosen home oi reverence and tenderness. Our heroic warrior's dark rough exterior is found to enclose a heart strong as i giant's, yet soft and sweet as infancy. Such a marriage of bravery and gentleness proclaims that beauty is an over match for strength; and that true delicacy is among the highest forms of power.

Equally beautiful is the fact, that Dcsdemona has the heart to recognize the proper complement of herself be- neath such an uninviting appearance. Perhaps none bu1 so pure and gentle a being could have discerned the rea gentleness of Othello through so many obscurations. Tc her fine sense, that tale of wild adventures and mischances which often did beguile her of her tears, — a tale whereir another might have seen but the marks of a rude, coarse. animal strength, — disclosed the history of a most meek brave, manly soul. Nobly blind to whatsoever is repulsive in his manhood's vesture of accidents, her thoughts arc| filled with "his honors and his valiant parts"; his ungra- cious aspect is lost to her in his graces of character; anc the shrine, that were else so unattractive to look upon, u made beautiful by the life with which her chaste eye sees it irradiated.

In herself, Desdemona is not more interesting than sev- eral of the Poet's women; but perhaps none of the oth- ers is in a condition so proper for developing the inner- most springs of pathos. In her character and sufferings! there is a nameless something that haunts the reader's mind.

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and hangs like a spell of compassionate sorrow upon the beatings of his heart : his thoughts revert to her and linger about her, as under a mysterious fascination of pity which they cannot shake off, and which is only kept from being painful by the sacred charm of beauty and eloquence that blends with the feeling while kindling it. It is remark- able, that the sympathies are not so deeply moved in the scene of her death, as in that where by the blows of her husband's hand and tongue she is made to feel that she has lost him. Too innocent to suspect that she is sus- pected, she cannot for a long time understand nor imagine the motive of his harshness ; and her errings in quest of ex- cuses and apologies for him are deeply pathetic, inasmuch as they manifestly spring from her incapability of an impure thought. And the sense that the heart of his con- fidence is gone from her, and for what cause it is gone, comes upon her like a dead stifling weight of agony and woe, which benumbs her to all other pains. She does not show any thing that can be properly called pangs of suf- fering ; the effect is too deep for that ; the blow falling so heavy that it stuns her sensibilities into a sort of lethargy.

Desdemona's character may almost be said to consist / in the union of purity and impressibility. All her organs ( of sense and motion seem perfectly ensouled, and her vis-J ible form instinct in every part with the spirit and intelli- gence of moral life.

"We understood Her by her sight; her pure and eloquent blood Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, That one might almost say her body thought."

Hence her father describes her as a "maiden never bold; of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion blush'd at itself." Which gives the idea of a being whose whole frame is so receptive of influences and impressions from without, who lives so entranced amid a world of beauty and delight, that her soul keeps ever looking and listen- ing; and if at any time she chance upon a stray thought

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or vision of herself, she shrinks back surprised and abashed, as though she had caught herself in the presence of a stranger whom modesty kept her from looking in the face. It is through this most delicate impressibility that she sometimes gets frightened out of her real character; as in her equivocation about the handkerchief, and her child- like pleading for life in the last scene; where her perfect candor and resignation are overmastered by sudden im- pressions of terror.

But, with all her openness to influences from without, she is still susceptive only of the good. No element of impurity can insinuate itself. Her nature seems wrought about with some subtle texture of moral sympathies and antipathies, which selects as by instinct whatsoever is pure, without taking any thought or touch of the evil mixed with it. Even Iago's moral oil-of-vitriol cannot eat a passage into her mind: from his envenomed wit she ex- tracts the element of harmless mirth, without receiving or suspecting the venom with which it is charged. Thus the world's contagions pass before her, yet dare not touch nor come near her, because she has nothing to sympathize with them or own their acquaintance. And so her life is like a quiet stream,

"In whose calm depth the beautiful and pure Alone are mirror'd; which, though shapes of ill Do hover round its surface, glides in light, And takes no shadow from them.'*

Desdemona's heroism, we fear, is not of the kind to rake very well with such an age of individual ensconcement as the present. Though of a "high and plenteous wit and invention," this quality never makes any special report of itself: like Cordelia, all the parts of her being speak in such harmony that the intellectual tones may not be dis- tinctly heard. Besides, her mind and character were formed under that old-fashioned way of thinking which, regarding man and wife as socially one, legislated round them, not between them ; so that the wife naturally sought

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protection m her husband, instead of resorting to legal methods for protection against him. Affection does in- deed fill her with courage and energy of purpose: she is heroic to link her life with the man she loves ; heroic to do and suffer with him and for him after she is his ; but, poor gentle soul ! she knows no heroism that can prompt her, in respect of him, to cast aside the awful prerogative of def enselessness : that she has lost him, is what hurts her; and this is a hurt that cannot be salved with anger or re- sentment: so that her only strength is to be meek, uncom- plaining, submissive in the worst that his hand may exe- cute. Swayed by that power whose "favorite seat is fee- ble woman's breast," she is of course "a child to chiding," and sinks beneath unkindness, instead of having the spirit to outface it.

They err greatly, who think to school Desdemona in the doctrine of woman's rights. When her husband has been shaken from his confidence in her truth and loyalty, what can she care for her rights as a woman? To be under the necessity of asserting them, is to have lost and more than lost them. A constrained abstinence from evil deeds and unkind words bears no price with her; and to be sheltered from the wind and storm, is worse than nothing, unless she have a living fountain of light and warmth in the being that shelters her. But, indeed, the beauty of the woman is so hid in the affection and obedience of the wife, that it seems almost a profanation to praise it. As brave to suffer wrong as she is fearful to do it, there is a holiness in her mute resignation which ought, perhaps, to be kept, where the Poet has left it, veiled from all save those whom a severe discipline of humanity may have qualified for duly respecting it. At all events, whoever would get at her se- cret, let him study her as a pupil, not as a critic ; and until his inmost heart speaks her approval, let him rest as- sured that he is not competent to judge her. But if he have the gift to see that her whole course, from the first intimation of the gentle, submissive daughter, to the last groan of the ever-loving, ever-obedient, broken-hearted

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uifV. is replete with the beauty and grace and holiness of womanhood, Hun lei him weep, weep, for her; so may he de- part *\a madder and a wiser man." As for her unresisting suhnii-iviiKss, let no man dare to defend it! Assuredly, we shall do her a great wrong, if we suppose for a mo- ment that she would not rather die by her husband's hand, than owe her life to any protection against him. What, indeed, wire life, what could it be to her, since suspicion has fallen on her innocency? That her husband could not, would not, dure not wrong her, even because she had trusted in him, and because in her sacred defenselessness she could not resist nor resent the wrong, — this is the only protection from which she would not pray to be de- livered.

(OK ridge has justly remarked upon the art shown in I ago, that the character, with all its inscrutable deprav- ity, neither revolts nor seduces the mind: the interest of his part amounts almost to fascination, yet there is not the slightest moral taint or infection about it. Hardly lesa wonderful is the Poet's skill in carrying the Moor through such a course of undeserved infliction, without any loosening from him of our sympathy or respect. Deep and intense as is the feeling that goes along with fresde- mona, Othello fairly divides it with her: nay, more; tti£ virtues and sufferings of each are so managed as to heighten the interest of the other. The impression still waits upon him, that he does "nought in hate, but all in honor." Nor is the mischief made to work through any vice or weakness perceived or left in him, but rather through such qualities as lift him higher in our regard. Under the conviction that she, in whom he had built his faith and garnered up his heart, — that she, in whom he looked to find how much more blessed it is to give than to receive, has desecrated all his gifts, and turned his very religion into sacrilege; — under this conviction, all the poetry, the grace, the consecration, every thing that can beautify or gladden existence is gone; his whole being, with its freight of hopes, memories, affections, is reduced

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to a total wreck; a last farewell to whatsoever has made life attractive, the conditions, motives, prospects of noble achievement, is all there is left him: in brief, he feels lit- erally unmade, robbed not only of the laurels he has won, but of the spirit that manned him to the winning of them ; so that he can neither live nobly nor nobly die, but is doomed to a sort of living death, an object of scorn and loathing unto himself. In this state of mind, no wonder his thoughts reel and totter, and cling convulsively to his honor, which is the only thing that now remains to him, until in his efforts to rescue this he loses all, and has no refuge but in self-destruction. He approaches the aw- ful task in the bitterness as well as the calmness of despair. In sacrificing his love to save his honor, he really performs the most heroic self-sacrifice; for the taking of Desde- mona's life is to him something worse than to lose his own. Nor could he ever have loved her so much, had he not loved honor more. Her love for him, too, is based upon the very principle that now prompts and nerves him to the sacrifice. And as at last our pity for her rises into awe, so our awe of him melts into pity ; the catastrophe thus blending their several virtues and sufferings into one most profound, solemn, sweetly-mournful impression. "Othello," says Coleridge, "had no life but in Desdemona: ) — the belief that she, his angel, had fallen from the heaven of her native innocence, wrought a civil war in his heart. She is his counterpart ; and, like him, is almost sanctified in our eyes by her absolute unsuspiciousness, and holy en- tireness of love. As the curtain drops, which do we pity the most?"

x. x

COMMENTS

By Shakespearean Scholars

OTHELLO

In Othello, Shakespeare means us to recognize the ma of action, whose life has been spent in deeds of militar prowess and adventure, but who has had little experienc either of the ways of society or of the intrigues of weake men. Moreover, he is a man apart. A renegade fror his own faith and an outcast from his own people, he is indeed, the valued servant of the Venetian state, but is no regarded as on an equality with its citizens, and tha though, as being of kingly descent, he regards himself a being at least the equal of its republican citizens. 1 homeless man, who had never experienced the soothing in fluences of domesticity. In short, a man strong in actioi but weak in intellectuality, of natural nobility of character knowing no guile in himself and incapable of seeing it h others; but withal sensitive on the subject of his birth and inclined to regard himself as an inheritor of the curs of outcast Ishmael. — Ransome, Short Studies of Shake speare's Plots.

Othello has a strong and healthy mind and a vivid im agination, but they deal entirely with first impressions with obvious facts. If he trusts a man, he trusts hin Without the faintest shadow of reserve. Iago's suggestioi that Desdemona is false comes upon him like a thunder bolt. lie knows this man to be honest, his every word th- absolute truth. He is stunned, and his mind accept ipecioufl reasonings passively and without examination Yet his love is so intense that he struggles against his owi

Comments OTHELLO

nature, and for a time compels himself to think, though not upon the great question whether she is false. He can- not bring his intellect to attack Iago's conclusions, and only argues the minor point: Why is she false? But even this effort is too much for him. It is, I have said, against nature ; and nature, after the struggle has been carried on unceasingly for hours, revenges herself — he falls into a fit. That this is the legitimate climax of over- powering emotion on an intensely real and single charac- ter is plain. This obstruction and chaos of the faculties is the absolute opposite of the brilliant life into which Ham- let's intellect leaps on its contact with tremendous realities. — Rose, Sudden Emotion: Its Effect upon Different Char- acters as Shown by Shdkspere.

What a fortunate mistake that the Moor, under which name a baptized Saracen of the northern coast of Africa was unquestionably meant in the novel, has been made by Shakespeare, in every respect, a negro ! We recognize in Othello the wild nature of that glowing zone which gen- erates the most raging beasts of prey and the most deadly poisons, tamed only in appearance by the desire of fame, by foreign laws of honor, and by nobler and milder man- ners. His jealousy is not the jealousy of the heart, which is incompatible with the tenderest feeling and adoration of the beloved object; it is of that sensual kind from which, in burning climes, has sprung the disgraceful ill- treatment of women and many other unnatural usages. A drop of this poison flows in his veins, and sets his whole blood in the most disorderly fermentation. The Moor seems noble, frank, confiding, grateful for the love shown him ; and he is all this, and, moreover, a hero that spurns at danger, a worthy leader of an army, a faithful servant of the state ; but the mere physical force of passion puts to flight in one moment all his acquired and accustomed virtues, and gives the upper hand to the savage in him over the moral man. The tyranny of the blood over the will betrays itself even in, the expression of his desire of

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Comments OTHELLO

pevenge against Cassio. In his repentance when he views the evidence of the deed, a genuine tenderness for his mur- dered wife, and the painful feeling of his annihilated honor, at last hurst forth; and he every now and then assails himself with the rage a despot shows in punishing a runaway slave. He suffers as a double man; at once in the higher and lower sphere into which his being was di- vided. — Sc'hlegel, Lectures on Dramatic Art and Liter- ature.

DESDEMONA

The suffering of Desdemona is, unless I mistake, the most nearly intolerable spectacle that Shakespeare offers us. For one thing, it is mere suffering; and, ceteris j) a rib usy that is much worse to witness than suffering that issues in action. Desdemona is helplessly passive. She can do nothing whatever. She cannot retaliate even in speech ; no, not even in silent feeling. And the chief rea- son of her helplessness only makes the sight of her suf- fering more exquisitely painful. She is helpless because her nature is infinitely sweet and her love absolute. I would not challenge Mr. Swinburne's statement that we pity Othello even more than Desdemona; but we wTatch Desdemona with more unmitigated distress. We are never wholly uninfluenced by the feeling that Othello is a man contending with another man ; but Desdemona's suffering is like that of the most loving of dumb creatures tortured without cause by the being he adores. — Bradley, Shake- spearean Tragedy.

Nothing in poetry has ever been written more pathetic than the scene preceding Desdemona's death; I confess I almost always turn away my eyes from the poor girl with her infinitely touching song of "Willow, willow, willow," and I would fain ask the Poet whether his tragic arrow, which always hits the mark, does not here pierce almost too deeply. I would not call the last word with which she dies a lie, or even a "noble" lie; this qualification has

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been wretchedly misused. The lie with which Desdemona dies is divine truth, too good to come within the compass of an earthly moral code. — Horn, Shakespeare's Schau- spiele erlautert.

THE MURDER OF DESDEMONA

When Othello thus bows his own lofty nature before the groveling but most acute worldly intellect of Iago, his habitual view of "all qualities" had been clouded by the breath of the slanderer. His confidence in purity and innocence had been destroyed. The sensual judgment of "human dealings" had taken the place of the spiritual. The enthusiastic love and veneration of his wife had been painted to him as the result of gross passion : —

"Not to affect many proposed matches," &c.

His belief in the general prevalence of virtuous motives and actions had been degraded to a reliance on the liber- tine's creed that all are impure: —

"there's millions now alive," &c.

When the innocent and the high-minded submit themselves to the tutelage of the man of the world, as he is called, the process of mental change is precisely that produced in the mind of Othello. The poetry of life is gone. On them, never more

"The freshness of the heart can fall like dew."

They abandon themselves to the betrayer, and they pros- trate themselves before the energy of his "gain'd knowl- edge." They feel that in their own original powers of judgment they have no support against the dogmatism, and it may be the ridicule, of experience. This is the course with the young when they fall into the power of the tempter. But was not Othello in all essentials young? Was he not of an enthusiastic temperament, confiding, lov- ing,— most sensitive to opinion, — jealous of his honor, —

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truly wise, had he trusted to his own pure impulses? — Bu he was most weak, in adopting an evil opinion against hi own faith, and conviction, and proof in his reliance upo. the honesty and judgment of a man whom he reall doubted and had never proved. Yet this is the course b; which the highest and noblest intellects are too often sub jected to the dominion of the subtle understanding an< the unbridled will. It is an unequal contest between th principles that are struggling for the master in the indi vidua! man, when the attributes of the serpent and the dov are separated, and become conflicting. The wisdom whicl belonged to Othello's enthusiastic temperament was hi confidence in the truth and purity of the being with whor his life was bound up, and his general reliance upon th better part of human nature, in his judgment of his friend When the confidence was destroyed by the craft of hi deadly enemy, his sustaining power was also destroyed;— the balance of his sensitive temperament was lost ; — his en thusiasm became wild passion ; — his new belief in the do minion of grossness over the apparently pure and good shaped itself into gross outrage ; his honor lent itself t< schemes of cruelty and revenge. But even amidst th whirlwind of this passion, we every now and then hea something which sounds as the softest echo of love an* gentleness. Perhaps in the whole compass of the Shak Bperean pathos there is nothing deeper than "But yet th pity of it, Iago ! O, Iago, the pity of it, Iago." It i the contemplated murder of Desdemona which thus tear his heart. But his "disordered power, engendered withi] itself to its own destruction," hurries on the catastrophe We would ask, with Coleridge, "As the curtain drops which do we pity the most?" — Knight, Pictorial Shak speare.

Finally, let me repeat that Othello does not kill Des demona in jealousy, but in a conviction forced upon hir by the almost superhuman art of Iago, — such a convictioi as any man would and must have entertained who hat

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Sieved Iago's honesty as Othello did. We, the audience, low that Iago is a villain from the beginning; but in msidering the essence of the Shaksperian Othello, we ust perseveringly place ourselves in his situation, and nder his circumstances. Then we shall immediately feel le fundamental difference between the solemn agony of le noble Moor, and the wretched fishing jealousies of eontes, and the morbid suspiciousness of Leonatus, who , in other respects, a fine character. Othello had no life it in Desdemona: — the belief that she, his angel, had illen from the heaven of her native innocence, wrought a vil war in his heart. She is his counterpart ; and, like im, is almost sanctified in our eyes by her absolute un- lspiciousness, and holy entireness of love. As the curtain rops, which do we pity the most? — Coleridge, Lectures % Shakspere.

IAGO

The Moor has in his service as "ancient" a young Vene- an, Iago, of tried military capacity, cheerful temperament ad bluff honesty of bearing. No one, to outward seem- ig, could be less of a villain, and yet this plausibly re- sectable exterior covers a fiend in human shape. Iago is le arch-criminal of Shaksperean drama — "more fell than aguish, hunger and the sea." Richard III is in many matures his prototype, but the hunchback king is incited ) his unnatural deeds by the consciousness of his physical sformity. Moreover, though he has taken "Machiavei" 3 his master, he is after all an "Italianate" Englishman, ot an Italian, and though he crushes conscience, as he be- eves, out of existence, it asserts its power at the last, ut in Iago conscience is completely wanting. He is, as oleridge has said, "all will in intellect." He is the incar- ation of absolute egotism, an egotism that without passion r even apparent purpose is at chronic feud with the moral rder of the world. His mind is simply a non-conductor f spiritual elements in life. "Virtue" is to him a "fig," >ve "a lust of the blood, and a permission of the will ;"

Comments OTHELL

>•

reputation, "an idle and most false imposition," whose 1< is a trifle compared with a bodily wound. Hamlet in i agony of disillusion had compared the world to an i weeded garden, occupied solely by things rank and gr< in nature. This is Iago's habitual view, and to him causes no particle of pain. Evil is his native element, a the increase of evil an end in itself. It is, therefore, t profitable to discuss in detail the grounds of his hatred wards Othello or his other victims. His is at bottom, use Coleridge's phrase, a "motiveless malignity," and can scarcely be in earnest with the pretexts which he ur^ for his misdeeds, and which vary from day to di Othello's advancement, over his head, of Cassio, a Flor< tine who knows nothing of war but "the bookish theori blight seem a genuine grievance, yet it is noticeable tl after the first few lines of the play Iago scarcely allu to this, and makes more of what are evidently imaging offenses by Othello and Cassio against his honor as a h baud. In one passage he hints vaguely that he loves Dli demona, and it is significant that this is the only traj left of the ensign's motive for revenge in Cinthio's no^l That Shakspere departed so widely from his origi i proves that he meant Iago to be actuated by nothing li sheer diablerie. — Boas, Shakspere and his Predecessors I

Some allege that Iago is too villainous to be a natui character, but those allegers are simpleton judges of 1 man nature: Fletcher of Saltoun has said that there! many a brave soldier who never wore a sword ; in like m ner, there is many an Iago in the world who never cc mitted murder. Iago's "learned spirit" and exquisite tellect, happily ending in his own destruction, were i requisite for the moral of the piece as for the sustain of Othello's high character; for we should have despi the Moor if he had been deceived by a less consumn i villain than "honest Iago." The latter is a true cr t acter, and the philosophical truth of this tragedy mat it terrible to peruse, in spite of its beautiful pod fc

THE MOOR Comments

Why has Aristotle said that tragedy purifies the passions? for our last wish and hope in reading Othello is that the villain Iago may be well tortured. — Campbell, Remarks on the Life and Writings of Shakespeare.

But Iago ! Aye ! there's the rub. Well may poor Othello look down to his feet, and not seeing them different from those of others, feel convinced that it is a fable which attributes a cloven hoof to the devil. Nor is it wonderful that the parting instruction of Lodovico to Cassio [sic] should be to enforce the most cunning cruelty of torture on the hellish villain, or that all the party should vie with each other in heaping upon him words of contumely and execration. His determination to keep silence when ques- tioned, was at least judicious; for with his utmost ingen- uity he could hardly find anything to say for himself. Is there nothing, then, to be said for him by anybody else?

No more than this. He is the sole exemplar of studied personal revenge in the plays. The philosophical mind of Hamlet ponders too deeply, and sees both sides of the question too clearly, to be able to carry any plan of vengeance into execution. Romeo's revenge on Tybalt for the death of Mercutio is a sudden gust of ungovernable rage. The vengeance in the Historical Plays are those of war or statecraft. In Shylock, the passion is hardly personal against his intended victim. A swaggering Christian is at the mercy of a despised and insulted Jew. The hatred is national and sectarian. Had Bassanio or Gratiano, or any other of their creed, been in his power, he would have been equally relentless. He is only re- torting the wrongs and insults of his tribe in demanding full satisfaction, and imitating the hated Christians in their own practices. It is, on the whole, a passion re- markably seldom exhibited in Shakespeare in any form. Iago, as I have said, is its only example as directed against an individual. Iago had been affronted in the tenderest point. He felt that he had strong claims on the office of lieutenant to Othello. The greatest exertion.

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Comments

OTHELLO

was made to procure it for him, and yet he was refused. I What is still worse, the grounds of the refusal are mili-P tarys Othello assigns to the civilians reasons for passing' over Iago, drawn from his own trade, of which they, of coune, could not pretend to be adequate judges. Andl \\<>r>t of all, when this practised military man is for mili- tary reasons set aside, who is appointed? Some man of greater renown and skill in arms? That might be borne; but it is no such thing. — Maginn, Shakespeare Papers.

EMILIA

A few words on the character of Emilia: when we change meter to rhythm, we vary the stress on our syl- lables ; but a stronger accent in one part of our line im- plies a weaker accent in another part; it may even happen that to produce our fullest music we allow the whole ac-l centual stress of the line to fall on one syllable; this, as we saw in our review of "Julius Cassar," is Shake- speare's method in dealing with his characters; one is heightened if another is lowered ; and it may turn out that the method gives us a sense of unfairness ; I have some such feeling when I approach the character of Emilia ; I refer especially to the conversation between Emilia and her mistress (IV, iii, 60-106). Emilia had summed up lur views of the subject by a line — "The ills we do, their ills instruct us so"; which Desdemona rightly condemns — and with the line all the foregoing remarks of Emilia. It is well to gaze upon one entire and perfect chrysolite, but ill for the foil thereof, when the foil is another woman — the woman, moreover, who would right the wrong though she lost twenty lives — who did lose her life through her devotion, and whose last words were of faithful love — "(), lay me by my mistress' side. — Luce, Handbook to Sh akespcare's Works.

From the moment when Emilia learns Othello's deed from his own lips, the poet disburdens us in a wonderful

lviii

CHE MOOR Comments

nanner of all the tormenting feelings which the course of he catastrophe had awakened in us. Emilia is a woman if coarser texture, good-natured like her sex, but with more pite than others of her sex, light-minded in things which ippear to her light, serious and energetic when great de- nands meet her ; in words she is careless of her reputation ind virtue, which she would not be in action. At her hus- >and's wish she has heedlessly taken away Desdemona's landkerchief, as she fancied for some indifferent object, rhoughtless and light, she had cared neither for return lor for explanation, even when she learned that this hand- cerchief, the importance of which she knows, had caused he quarrel between Othello and Desdemona; in womanly ?ashion she observes less attentively all that is going on iround her, and thus, in similar but worse unwariness than Desdemona, she becomes the real instrument of the un- lappy fate of her mistress. Yet when she knows that Dthello has killed his wife, she unburdens our repressed ?eelings by her words, testifying to Desdemona's innocence oy loud accusations of the Moor. When she hears Iago lamed as the calumniator of her fidelity, she testifies to the purity of her mistress by unsparing invectives against the wickedness of her husband, and seeks to enlighten the slowly apprehending Moor, whilst she continues to draw Dut the feelings of our soul and to give them full expression from her own full heart. At last, when she entirely per- ceives Iago's guilt in the matter of the handkerchief, and therefore her own participation in it, her devoted fidelity to her mistress and her increasing feeling rise to sublim- ity; her testimony against her husband, in the face of threatening death, now becomes a counterpart to Othello's severe exercise of justice, and her death and dying song upon Desdemona's chastity is an expiatory repentance at her grave, which is scarcely surpassed by the Moor's grand and calm retaliation upon himself. The unravelment and expiation in this last scene are wont to reawaken repose and satisfaction even in the most deeply agitated reader. — ■ Gervinus, Shakespeare Commentaries.

lix

Comments OTHELU

RODERIGO

Koderigo is a florid specimen of one of Shakespeare simpleton lovers. Pie has placed his whole fortune at trj disposal of Iago, to use for the purpose of winning favc for him with Desdemona, not having the courage and abi ity to woo for himself; or rather, having an instincthl knowledge of Ii is own incompetence, with so profound an devout a respect for the talent of his adviser, as to leav the whole management of the diplomacy in his hand; Although Koderigo is a compound of vacillation an weakness, even to imbecility; although he suddenly form resolutions, and as suddenly quenches them at the rallying contempt and jeering of Iago ; and even, although beinj entangled in the wily villain's net, he is gradually led on 1 1 act unconsonantly with his real nature; yet witha Koderigo has so much of redemption in him, that we com iniserate his weakness, and wish him a better fate; for h is not wholly destitute of natural kindness : he really is i: love with Desdemona, and was so before her marriage Iago has had his purse, "as though the strings were hi own," to woo her for him ; and yet we find, with all Ro derigo's subserviency to the superior intellect, that th very first words of the play announce his misgiving tha his insidious friend has played him false, since he kne\ of the projected elopement of Desdemona with Othello, am did not apprise him of it. With this first falsehood pal pable to him, he again yields to the counsel of Iago, wru schools him into impatience with the promise that he shal yet obtain his prize. — Clarke, Shakespeare-Characters.

THE SOURCE OF THE PATHOS

The source of the pathos throughout — of that patho which at once softens and deepens the tragic effect — lie in the character pf Desdemona. No woman differently constituted could have excited the same intense and pain ful compassion, without losing something of that exaltec

lx

THE M OOR Comments

charm, wh^h invests her from beginning to end, which we are ar/c to impute to the interest of the situation, and to the poetical coloring, but which lies, in fact, in the very essence of the character. Desdemona, with all her timid flexibility and soft acquiescence, is not weak ; for the nega- tive alone is weak ; and the mere presence of goodness and affection implies in itself a species of power ; power with- out consciousness, power without effort, power with repose — that soul of grace! — Jameson, Shakespeare's Heroines.

INTERMARRIAGE OF THE RACES

Great efforts are often made to show that Othello as con- ceived by Shakespeare was not a Negro ; and true it is that such an addition as "thick lips," given contemptu- ously, does not prove it. Othello, however, himself, says that he is black ; and I have been convinced that Shake- speare had in his mind the proper negro complexion and physiognomy too, and that he even assigned some mental characteristics of the negro type. To these I think be- long an over-affection for high sounding words, for the sake of the sound, an affectation of stateliness that verges upon stiffness, and value for conspicuous position with somewhat excessive feeling for parade — for the pride and pomp of circumstance, the report of the artillery and the waving of the ensign. There are other coincidences be- sides these, and I cannot divest myself of the sense that Othello embodies the ennobled characteristics of the col- ored division of the human family ; and in his position rela- tively to the proudest aristocracy of Europe, his story exemplifies the difficulty the world has yet to solve between the white and the black. The feuds and antipathies of race can be fully conciliated at no other altar than the nuptial bed ; and the marriage of Desdemona, and its con- sequences, typify the obstacles to this conclusion. Some critics moralize the fate of Desdemona as punishment for undutiful and ill-assorted marriage, yet the punishment falls quite as severely on the severity of Brabantio — on his

lxi

Comments OTHELLO

cruelty, we may say, for he is the first — and out of un- natural pique, to belie his own daughter's chastity--

"Look to her, Moor — have a quick eye to see";

and if we must needs make out a scrupulous law of retribu- tion, we shall come at last to an incongruity, and that can in do sense be pious. The revolt of Desdemona was a re- volt against custom and tradition, but it was in favor of the affections of the heart; and if the result was pitiable, it may have been not because custom and tradition wrere right, but because they were strong, and because there was the greater reason for abating their strength by prov- ing it assailable; the justest war does not demand the few- est victims ; and the heroes who are left on the field were no whit less right, but only less fortunate, than their comrades who survive to carry home the laurels. For the matter in hand, however, it is most certain that the most important advance that has yet been made towards estab- lishing even common cordiality between the races has been due as in the case of Desdemona and the redeemed slave, Othello, if not to the love at least to the compassionate sympathy of woman. — Lloyd, Critical Essays.

THE FAULT OF THE PLAY

The fault of the play lies in the fact that Othello has no moral right to conviction. Yet he has more right than Claudio (in Much Ado), far more than Posthumus, and a fortiori more than the hardly sane Leontes. A little closer questioning of Emilia, however, would have brought out the truth ; and this fact concerns Iago's conduct as well as Othello's. — Seccombe and Allen, The Age of Shakespeare.

BEAUTIES OF THE PLAY

The beauties of this play impress themselves so strongly upon the attention of the reader, that they can draw no

lxii

THE MOOR Comments

aid from critical illustration. The fiery openness of Othello, magnanimous, artless, and credulous, boundless in his confidence, ardent in his affection, inflexible in his reso- lution, and obdurate in his revenge ; the cool malignity of Iago, silent in his resentment, subtle in his design, and studious at once of his interest and his vengeance ; the soft simplicity of Desdemona, confident of merit, and conscious of innocence, her artless perseverance in her suit, and her slowness to suspect that she can be suspected, are such proofs of Shakespeare's skill in human nature as, I sup- pose, it is in vain to seek in any modern writer. The gradual progress which Iago makes in the Moor's convic- tion, and the circumstances which he employs to enflame him, are so artfully natural, that, though it will perhaps not be said of him [Othello] as he says of himself, that he is "a man not easily jealous," yet we cannot but pity him, when at last we find him "perplexed in the extreme." — Johnson.

THE FASCINATION OF THE PLAY

The noblest earthly object of the contemplation of man is man himself. The universe, and all its fair and glorious forms, are indeed included in the wide empire of imagina- tion ; but she has placed her home and her sanctuary amidst the inexhaustible varieties and the impenetrable mys- teries of the mind. Othello is, perhaps, the greatest work in the world. From what does it derive its power? From the clouds? From the ocean? From the mountains? Or from love strong as death, and jealousy cruel as the grave? — M acaulay, Essay on Dante.

PUNISHMENT

In every character of every play of Shakespeare's the punishment is in proportion to the wrong-doing. How mild is the punishment of Desdemona, of Cordelia for a slight wrong; how fearful that of Macbeth, — every mo-

lxiii

Cmmcnts OTHELLO THE MOO:

ment from the commission of his crime to his death.

i?

suffers more than all the suffering of these two womd His deliberate crime belongs to the cold passions; as t deed is done with forethought and in cold blood, so it avenged by the long-continued tortures of conscience.- Lud wig, Shakespeare-Studien.

ixiv

THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE

J

DRAMATIS PERSONS

Duke of Venice

Hrahantio, a senator

Other Senators

Ghatiano, brother to Brabantio

Lodovico, kinsman to Brabantio

Othello, a noble Moor in the service of the Venetian state

CAgsio, his lieutenant

I ago, his ancient

K oder ico, a J'enetian gentleman

Montano, Othello's predecessor in the government of Cyprus

Clown, servant to Othello

Desdemona, daughter to Brabantio and wife to Othello ]'. mi i.i a, wife to Iago Bianca, mistress to Cassio

Sailor, Messenger, Herald, Officers, Gentlemen, Musicians, and

Attendants

Scene: Venice: a seaport in Cyprus

SYNOPSIS

By J. Ellis Burdick

act I

Othello, a Moorish general of noble birth, woos and wins Desdemona, daughter to Brabantio, a Venetian senator. Her father, learning of their secret marriage, is very an- gry and accuses him before the Duke of stealing his daugh- ter by means of "spells and medicines bought of mounte- banks." Desdemona herself declares in the council cham- ber her love for the Moor and receives her father's for- giveness. The Duke and the senators then take up state matters. These are very pressing, for word has come that the Turks are making "a most mighty preparation" to take the Island of Cyprus from the Venetians. Othello, as the most able general in Venice, is sent to oppose them. His wife accompanies him. By promoting Cassio to be his lieutenant Othello incurs the secret enmity of Iago, his ancient or ensign. The latter also believes his general has had improper relations with his wife Emilia.

act n

A storm wrecks the Turkish fleet before it reaches Cy- prus. Othello issues a proclamation for general rejoicing because of their deliverance from the Turks and in honor of his marriage. Cassio is placed in charge, with instruc- tions to keep the fun within bounds. Iago plies him with | wine until he is drunk and involves him in a street fight. Othello hears the noise, and, coming to the scene, reduces Cassio to the ranks. The latter is sobered by this disgrace and is anxious to be restored to his rank again. He is

3

Synopsis OTHELIi

advised by Iago to sue for a renewal of favor throu Desdemona, whose influence with her husband must greater than that of anyone else.

act in

Iago aids Cassio to obtain the desired interview w Desdemona and then entices Othello to the scene. Th he begins to hint that Cassio's suit with the lady is not 1 honorable one that it really is. Othello's jealousy aroused and Iago improves every opportunity to add to By means of his wife he obtains a handkerchief whi Othello had given Desdemona in the early days of th courtship and causes it to be found in Cassio's possessic

ACT IV

Othello determines that his wife and Cassio must c To Iago is given the task of killing Cassio and he, glad the opportunity to thus rid himself forever of his riv sets on one of his creatures to kill the former lieutenant.

act v

Cassio wounds his assassin, but is wounded himself be by him and by Iago. The latter, fearful that his hireli will inform on him, stabs him to death. The same nig Othello goes to his wife's bed-chamber and smothers to death. Iago's wife Emilia convinces Othello that has murdered an innocent and faithful wife, and as a ward for her telling of the truth, she is killed by 1 husband. Iago is wounded by Othello, who then kills hi self. Cassio succeeds to the governorship of Cyprus, a Iago is kept a prisoner that he may be tortured.

THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE

ACT FIRST

Scene I

Venice. A street.

Enter Roderigo and lago.

Bod. Tush, never tell me ; I take it much unkindly That thou, lago, who hast had my purse As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this. lago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me: If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me. Rod. Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy

hate. lago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city,

3. "know of this" ; that is, the intended elopement. Roderigo has been suing for Desdemona's hand, employing lago to aid him in his suit, and paying his service in advance. Of course the play opens pat upon her elopement with the Moor, and Roderigo pre- sumes lago to have been in the secret of their intention. — The words, Tush in this speech, and 'Sblood in the next, are not in the folio. — H. N. H.

8. "Despise me if I do not"; admirable is the preparation, so

5

Act i. sc. i. OTHELLCJ

;

2(

In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,

Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man,

1 know my price, I am worth no worse a place

But he, as loving his own pride and purposes,

Evades them, with a bombast circumstance

Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war;

And, in conclusion,

Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he,

'I have already chose my officer/

And what was he?

Forsooth, a great arithmetician,

One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,

A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;

truly and peculiarly Shakespearean, in the introduction of Roderigoj U the dupe on whom Iago shall first exercise his art, and in scl doing display his own character. Roderigo, without any fixed prin-l ciple, but not without the moral notions and sympathies with honoij which his rank and connections had hung upon him, is already! well fitted and predisposed for the purpose; for very want of char-f aeter. Hid strength of passion, like wind loudest in an empty house const it ute his character. The first three lines happily state the! nature and foundation of the friendship between him and Iago,— I the purse, — as also the contrast of Roderigo's intemperance of mincl with Iago's coolness, — the coolness of a preconceiving experimenter! The mere language of protestation, — "If ever I did dream of suclj a matter, ahhor me," — which, falling in with the associative link* determines Roderigo's continuation of complaint, — "Thou told'st m«i thou didst hold him in thy hate," — elicits at length a true feeling of [ftgo'fl mind, the dread of contempt habitual to those who en-j courage in themselves, and have their keenest pleasure in, the exi prettton of contempt for others. Observe Iago's high self-opinion and the moral, that a wicked man will employ real feelings, an well as assume those most alien from his own, as instruments oj| his purposes (Coleridge). — H. N. H.

l.v Omitted In Pf. and Qq. 2, 3.— I. G.

21. "A ft llmr almost damn'd in a fair wife"; if this alludes t( Bianca, the phrase may possibly mean "very near being married t(| a most fair wife." Some explain, "A fellow whose ignorance ol WUff would he condemned in a fair woman." The emendations pro-l posed are unsatisfactorv, and probablv unnecessary. — I. G.

6

THE MOOR Act I. Sc. i

That never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knows More than a spinster ; unless the bookish theoric, Wherein the toged consuls can propose As masterly as he: mere prattle without prac- tice Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the elec- tion: And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and calm'd 30

By debitor and creditor: this counter-caster, He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, And I — God bless the mark! — his Moorship's ancient. Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his

hangman. lago. Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service, Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second

The passage has caused a great deal of controversy. Tyrwhitt would read "fair life" and Coleridge thinks this reading "the true one, as fitting to Iago's contempt for whatever did not display power, and that, intellectual power." The change, however, seems inadmissible. Perhaps it is meant as characteristic of lago to re- gard a wife and a mistress as all one. — Cassio is sneeringly called "a great arithmetician" and a "countercaster," in allusion to the pur- suits for which the Florentines were distinguished. The point is thus stated by Charles Armitage Browne: "A soldier from Flor- ence, famous for its bankers throughout Europe, and for its inven- tion of bills of exchange, book-keeping, and every thing connected with a counting-house, might well be ridiculed for his promotion, by an lago, in this manner." — H. N. H.

2F T

Act I. Sc. i. OTHELLO

Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge your- self Whether I in any just term am affined To love the Moor. Hod. I would not follow him then. 40

Iago. O, sir, content you;

I follow him to serve my turn upon him: We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly f ollow'd. You shall mark Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, That doting on his own obsequious bondage Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For nought but provender, and when he 's old,

cashier'd : Whip me such honest knaves. Others there

are

Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, 50 Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, And throwing but shows of service on their

lords Do well thrive by them, and when they have

lined their coats Do themselves homage: these fellows have some

soul, And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,

It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago : In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end: 6C

50. "Visages"; outward semblances.— C. H. H.

8

THE MOOR Act I. Sc. i

For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, 'tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at : I am not what I am.

Rod. What a full fortune does the thick lips owe, If he can carry 't thus!

Iago. Call up her father,

Rouse him : make after him, poison his delight, Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kins- men, And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, 70 Plague him with flies: though that his joy be

joy>

Yet throw such changes of vexation on 't As it may lose some color. Rod. Here is her father's house; I '11 call aloud. Iago. Do ; with like timorous accent and dire yell As when, by night and negligence, the fire Is spied in populous cities. Rod. What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio,

ho! Iago. Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves! Look to your house, your daughter and your bags! 80

Thieves ! thieves !

Brabantio appears above, at a window.

72. "changes"; Ff. read "chances."— I. G.

76. "by night and negligence" ; that is, in the time of night and negligence; a very common form of expression. — H. N. II.

Act I. So. i. OTHELL

Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summon}

What is the matter there? Bod. Signior, is all your family within? I ago. Are your doors lock'd? lira. Why, wherefore ask you thi:|'

I ago. 'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd; for shame, pi| on your gown; Your heart is burst, you have lost half yoi

soul ; Even now, now, very now, an old black ram Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise ; Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, Or else the devil will make a grandsire of yoi Arise, I say. Bra. What, have you lost your wits?

Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know n

voice ? Bra. Not I : what are you? Rod. My name is Roderigo. Bra. The worser welcome:

I have charged thee not to haunt about n)

doors ; In honest plainness thou hast heard me say My daughter is not for thee; and now, in ma(-

ness, Being full of supper and distemperii

draughts,

Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come 1 3 To start my quiet.

87. 'Hurst," in the next line, is used in the sense of broken. 1 usage was common. — H. N. H. 100. "Upon"; out of.— C. H. H.

10

THE MOOR Act I. Sc. i

Rod. Sir, sir, sir, —

Bra. But thou must needs be sure

My spirit and my place have in them power . To make this bitter to thee.

Rod. Patience, good sir.

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice ; My house is not a grange.

Rod. Most grave Brabantio,

In simple and pure soul I come to you.

I ago. "Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Be- cause we come to do you service and you H° think we are ruffians, you '11 have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you '11 have coursers for cousins, and gen- nets for germans.

Bra. What profane wretch art thou?

Iago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.

Bra. Thou art a villain.

Iago. You are — a senator. 120

Bra. This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo.

Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I be- seech you, If 't be your pleasure and most wise consent,

107. "In simple and pure soul" ; with honest intent. — C. H. H. 112. "Nephews" here means grandchildren. — H. N. H. 114. A "gennet" is a Spanish or Barbary horse. — H. N. H.

11

Act I. 6c. i. OTHELLO

As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter.. At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night, Transported with no worse nor better guard But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor, — If this be known to you, and your allowance, We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs : But if you know not this, my manners tel]

me 131

We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe That, from the sense of all civility, I thus would play and trifle with your reverence Your daughter, if you have not given her leave I say again, hath made a gross revolt, Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes, In an extravagant and wheeling stranger Of here and every where. Straight satisfj

yourself:

If she be in her chamber or your house, 14( Let loose on me the justice of the state For thus deluding you. Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho

Give me a taper ! call up all my people ! This accident is not unlike my dream:

126. "a knave of common hire, a gondolier" ; a writer in th< Pictorial Shakespeare tells us, "that the gondoliers are the only con- veyers of persons, and of a large proportion of property, in Venice that they are thus cognizant of all intrigues, and the fittest agent* in them, and are under perpetual and strong temptation to mak< profit of the secrets of society. Brabantio might well be in horroi at his daughter having, in 'the dull watch o' the night, no worse no better guard.'"— H. N. H.

199. "from the sense of all civility"; that is, departing from tin sense of all civility. — H. N. H.

144. "not unlike my dream"; the careful old senator, being caugh

12

THE MOOR * Act I. Sc. i.

Belief of it oppresses me already. Light, I say! light! [Exit above.

Iago. Farewell; for I must leave you:

It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, To be produced — as, if I stay, I shall — Against the Moor : for I do know, the state, 149 However this may gall him with some check, Cannot with safety cast him ; for he 's embark'd With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, Which even now stand in act, that, for their

souls, Another of his fathom they have none To lead their business : in which regard, Though I do hate him as I do hell pains, Yet for necessity of present life, I must show out a flag and sign of love, Which is indeed but sign. That you shall

surely find him, Lead to the Sagittary the raised search; 160 And there will I be with him. So farewell.

[Exit.

Enter, below, Brabantio, in his night-gown, and Servants with torches.

Bra. It is too true an evil : gone she is ;

And what 's to come of my despised time Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl! With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father!

careless, transfers his caution to his dreaming power at least (Cole- ridge).—H. N. H.

13

Act I. Sc. i. OTHELLC

How didst thou know 'twas she? O, she de|

ceives me Past thought! What said she to you? Gej

more tapers.

Raise all my kindred. Are they married, thinl

you?

Rod. Truly, I think they are. 17(

Bra. O heaven! How got she out? O treason o:

the blood !

Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters

minds By what you see them act. Is there not charm By which the property of youth and maidhooc May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo Of some such thing? Rod. Yes, sir, I have indeed.

Bra. Call up my brother. O, would you had ha< her! Some one way, some another. Do you know Where we may apprehend her and the Moor? Rod. I think I can discover him, if you please 18

To get good guard and go along with me. Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house I '11 call I may command at most. Get weapons, ho ! And raise some special officers of night. On, good Roderigo ; I '11 deserve your pains.

[Exeum

174. "property"; (virtue) proper to.— C. H. H. 183. "I may command at most"; that is, "I may command at moi of the houses."— YL. N. H.

14

11 THE MOOR Act I. Sc. a.

1

Scene II

Another street.

Enter Othello, lago, and Attendants with torches.

f lago. Though in the trade of war I have slain men, Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience To do no contrived murder : I lack iniquity Sometimes to do me service : nine or ten times I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the

rihs. Oth. 'Tis better as it is. lago. Nay, but he prated

And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms Against your honor, That, with the little godliness I have, I did full hard forbear him. But I pray you,

sir, 10

Are you fast married? Be assured of this, That the magnifico is much beloved, And hath in his effect a voice potential As double as the duke's : he will divorce you, Or put upon you what restraint and grievance The law, with all his might to enforce it on, Will give him cable. Oth. Let him do his spite:

My services, which I have done the signiory, Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to

know — 19

8. "against your honor" ; of course lago is speaking of Roderigo, and pretending to relate what he has done and said against Othello. — H. N. H.

15

Act I. Sc. ii. OTHELLO

Which, when I know that boasting is an honor, I shall promulgate — I fetch my life and being From men of royal siege, and my demerits May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune As this that I have reach'd: for know, Iago, But that I love the gentle Desdemona, I would not my unhoused free condition Put into circumscription and confine For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights come yond?

Iago. Those are the raised father and his friends :| You were best go in.

Oth. Not I; I must be found: 30j

My parts, my title and my perfect soul, Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?

Iago. By Janus, I think no.

Enter Cassio, and certain Officers with torches.

Oth. The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant.

The goodness of the night upon you, friends!

What is the news ? Cas. The duke does greet you, general

And he requires your haste-post-haste appear- ance,

Even on the instant. Oth. What is the matter, think you?

Cas. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine:

It is a business of some heat: the galleys 40

Have sent a dozen sequent messengers

28. "sen's tcorth"; Pliny, the naturalist, has a chapter on the riches of (he sea. The expression seems to have been proverbial.— H. N. H. 31. "perfect soul"; flawless honor.— C. H. H.

16

THE MOOR fc Act i. Sc. ii.

This very night at one another's heels ; And many of the consuls, raised and met, Are at the duke's already: you have been hotly

call'd for; When, being not at your lodging to be found, The senate hath sent about three several quests To search you out.

Oth. 'Tis well I am found by you.

I will but spend a word here in the house, And go with you. [Exit.

Cas. Ancient, what makes he here?

Iago. Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land ca- rack : 50

If it prove lawful prize, he 's made for ever.

Cas. I do not understand.

Iago. He's married.

Cas. To who?

Re-enter Othello.

Iago. Marry, to — Come, captain, will you go? Oth. Have with you.

Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. Iago. It is Brabantio: general, be advised; He comes to bad intent.

Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers with torches and weapons.

Oth. Holla! stand there!

Rod. Signior, it is the Moor.

Bra. Down with him, thief!

[They draw on both sides.

Iago. You, Roderigo! come, sir, I am for you. xxv— 2 17

Act I. sc. ii. OTHELLO

Oth. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them. Good si<mior, you shall more command with

years Than with your weapons. Bra. O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my

daughter? Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her; For I '11 refer me to all things of sense, If she in chains of magic were not bound, Whether a maid so tender, fair and happy, So opposite to marriage that she shunn'd The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, Would ever have, to incur a general mock, Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom 7° Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight. Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense That thou hast practised on her with foul

charms, Abused her delicate youth with drugs or min

erals

59. "the dew will rust them"; if we mistake not, there is a sort of playful, good-humored irony expressed in the very rhythm of this line. Throughout this scene, Othello appears at all points "the noble nature, whose solid virtue the shot of accident, nor dart of chance, could neither graze, nor pierce": his calmness and intrepidity of soul his heroic modesty, his manly frankness and considerative firmness of disposition are all displayed at great advantage, marking his character as one made up of the most solid and gentle qualities. Though he has nowise wronged Brabantio, he knows that he seems to have done so: his feelings therefore take the old man's part, and he respects his age and sorrow too much to resent his violence; hears his charges with a kind of reverential defiance, and answers them as knowing them false, yet sensible of their reasonableness and honoring him the more for making them. — H. N. H. 72-77; iii. 16; 36; 63; 118; 123; 194; omitted Q. 1.— I. G.

18

THE MOOR Act I. Sc. ii.

That weaken motion: I '11 have 't disputed on;

'Tis probable, and palpable to thinking.

I therefore apprehend and do attach thee

For an abuser of the world, a practicer

Of arts inhibited and out of warrant.

Lay hold upon him : if he do resist, 80

Subdue him at his peril.

Oth. Hold your hands,

Both you of my inclining and the rest : Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter. Where will you that I

go To answer this your charge?

Bra. To prison, till fit time

Of law and course of direct session Call thee to answer.

Oth. What if I do obey?

How may the duke be therewith satisfied, Whose messengers are here about my side, Upon some present business of the state 90 To bring me to him?

First Off. 'Tis true, most worthy signior;

The duke 's in council, and your noble self, I am sure, is sent for.

Bra. How! the duke in council!

In this time of the night ! Bring him away : Mine 's not an idle cause : the duke himself, Or any of my brothers of the state, Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own;

75. "weaken motion"; Rowe's emendation; Ff. and Qq. 2, 3, "weak- ens motion"; Pope (Ed. 2, Theobald) "weaken notion"; Hammer, "waken motion"; Keightley, "wakens motion"; Anon. conj. in Fur- ness, "wake emotion" &c. — I. G.

19

o

Act I. Sc. iii. OTHELL

For if such actions may have passage free, Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.

[Exeunt.

Scene III

A council-chamber.

The Duke and Senators sitting at a table; Officers

attending.

Duke. There is no composition in these news That gives them credit.

First Sen. Indeed they are disproportion^ ;

My letters say a hundred and seven galleys.

Duke. And mine, a hundred and forty.

Sec. Sen. And mine, two hundred:

But though they jump not on a just account, — As in these cases, where the aim reports, 'Tis oft with difference, — yet do they all confirm A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.

Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment: I do not so secure me in the error, 10

But the main article I do approve In fearful sense.

Sailor. \WitHri\ What, ho! what, ho! what, ho!

First Off. A messenger from the galleys.

99. "bond-slaves and pagans"; this passage has been misunder- stood. Pagan was a word of contempt; and the reason will appear from its etymology: "Paganus, villanus vel incultus. Et derivatur a fag us, quod est villa. Et quicunque habitat in villa est paganus. Praeterea quicunque est extra civitatem Dei, i. e., ecclesiam, dicitur paganus. Anglice, a paynim."—Ortus Vocabulorum, 1528.— H. N. H.

11. "the main article I do approve"; I admit the substantial truth of the report.— C. H. H.

20

HE MOOR Act I. Sc. Hi.

Enter Sailor.

Duke. Now, what 's the business?

Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes; So was I bid report here to the state By Signior Angelo.

Duke. How say you by this change?

First Sen. This cannot be,

By no assay of reason : 'tis a pageant To keep us in false gaze. When we consider The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk, 20 And let ourselves again but understand That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, So may he with more facile question bear it, For that it stands not in such warlike brace, But altogether lacks the abilities That Rhodes is dress'd in: if we make thought

of this, We must not think the Turk is so unskillful To leave that latest which concerns him first, Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain, To wake and wage a danger profitless. 30

Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he 's not for Rhodes.

First Off. Here is more news.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. The Ottomites, reversed and gracious,

Steering with due course toward the isle of

Rhodes Have there in jointed them with an after fleet. First Sen. Aye, so I thought. How many, as you guess?

21

Act I. Sc. iii.

OTHELLC

Mess. Of thirty sail: and now they do re-stem Their backward course, bearing with frank ap

pearance Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Mon

tano,

Your trusty and most valiant servitor, 4(

With his free duty recommends you thus, And prays you to believe him. Duke. 'Tis certain then for Cyprus.

Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town? First Sen. He 's now in Florence. Duke. Write from us to him; post-post-haste dis- patch. First Sen. Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor.

Enter Brabantio, Othello, lago, Roderigo, and

Officers.

Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you Against the general enemy Ottoman. [To Brabantio] I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior; 5C

We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night, Bra. So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me; Neither my place nor aught I heard of business Hath raised me from my bed, nor doth the gen- eral care Take hold on me ; for my particular grief Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows,

22

THE MOOR Act. I. Sc. Hi.

And it is still itself.

Duke. Why, what 's the matter?

Bra. My daughter! O, my daughter!

All. Dead?

Bra. Aye, to me;

She is abused, stol'n from me and corrupted 60 By spells and medicines bought of mounte- banks ; For nature so preposterously to err, Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, Sans witchcraft could not.

'Duke. Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself And you of her, the bloody book of law You shall yourself read in the bitter letter

k After your own sense, yea, though our proper son Stood in your action. Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 70

Here is the man, this Moor; whom now, it

seems, Your special mandate for the state-affairs Hath hither brought. All. We are very sorry for 't.

Duke. [To Othello] What in your own part can

you say to this? Bra. Nothing, but this is so. Oth. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, My very noble and approved good masters,

67. "bloody book of law"; "By the Venetian law the giving of love-potions was highly criminal" (Clarke). — I. G.

70. "Stood in your action"; were the object of your accusation. — C. H. H.

23

Act I. So. Hi OTHELLC

That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter It is most true; true, I have married her: The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in m

speech, And little blest with the soft phrase of peace; For since these arms of mine had seven years!

pith, Till now some nine moons wasted, they hav»

used Their dearest action in the tented field; And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle And therefore little shall I grace my cause In speaking for myself. Yet, by your graciou:

patience,

I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver 9(

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, wha

charms, What conjuration and what mighty magic — For such proceeding I am charged withal — I won his daughter. Bra. A maiden never bold;

Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion Blush'd at herself; and she — in spite of nature Of years, of country, credit, every thing — To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect, That will confess perfection so could err 10< Against all rules of nature ; and must be driver

87. "feats of broil"; Capell's emendation; Q. 1, "feate of broile" F. 1, "Feats of Broilcs," &c— I. G.

24

THE MOOR Act. i. Sc. iii.

To find out practices of cunning hell,

Why this should be. I therefore vouch again,

That with some mixtures powerful o'er the

blood, Or with some dram conjured to this effect, He wrought upon her.

Duke. To vouch this, is no proof

Without more certain and more overt test Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods Of modern seeming do prefer against him.

First Sen. But, Othello, speak: 110

Did you by indirect and forced courses Subdue and poison this young maid's affections? Or came it by request, and such fair question As soul to soul affordeth?

Oth. I do beseech you,

Send for the lady to the Sagittary, And let her speak of me before her father : If you do find me foul in her report, The trust, the office I do hold of you, Not only take away, but let your sentence Even fall upon my life.

Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither, 120

Oth. Ancient, conduct them; you best know the place. [Exeunt I ago and Attendants.

And till she come, as truly as to heaven I do confess the vices of my blood, So justly to your grave ears I '11 present How I did thrive in this fair lady's love And she is mine.

107. "Certain"; so Qq.; Ff., "wider."— I. G. 25

Act I. Sc. iii. OTHELLOl

Duke. Say it, Othello.

Oth. Her father loved me, oft invited me, Still questioned me the story of my life From year to year, the battles, sieges, for-J tunes, 13(

That I have pass'd.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days To the very moment that he bade me tell it: \\ herein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly

breach, Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence, And portance in my travels' history: Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, 140 Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads

touch heaven, It was my hint to speak, — such was the process; And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear

139. "portance in my"; so Ff. and Q. 2; Q. 3, "porlence in my"; Q. 1, "with it all my"; Johnson conj. "portance in't; my," &c; "travels"; the reading of Modern Edd. (Globe Ed.); Qq„ "trauells"; Pope, "travel's"; F. 1, "Trauellours" ; Ff. 2, 3, "Travellers"; F. 4, "Travellers"; Richardson conj. "travellous" or "travailous." — I. G.

144. "whose head* do grow beneath their shoulders" ; nothing ex- cited more universal attention than the account brought by Sir Wal- ter Raleigh, on his return from his celebrated voyage to Guiana in 1506, of the cannibals, amazons, and especially of the nation, "whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders." A short extract of the more wonderful passages was also published in Latin and in several other languages in 1599, adorned with copper-plates, representing these cannibals, amazons, and headless people, &c. These extraor- dinary reports were universally credited; and Othello therefore as-

26

THE MOOR Act. I. Sc. iii.

Would Desdemona seriously incline :

But still the house-affairs would draw her

thence; Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, She 'Id come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: which I observing, 150 Took once a pliant hour, and found good

means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, Whereof by parcels she had something heard, But not intentively: I did consent, And often did beguile her of her tears When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing

strange ; 160

'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd That heaven had made her such a man: she

thank'd me,

sumes no other character but what was very common among the celebrated commanders of the Poet's time. — The folio omits Do, and reads, "These things to hear." — H. N. H.

159. "sighs"; Ff., "kisses"; Southern MS., "thanks."— I. G.

160. "she swore"; to aver upon faith or honor was considered swearing. — H. N. H.

163. "such a man"; a question has lately been raised whether the meaning here is, that Desdemona wished such a man had been made for her, or that she herself had been made such a man; and several have insisted on the latter, lest the lady's delicacy should be im- peached. Her delicacy, we hope, stands in need of no such critical attorneyship. Othello was indeed just such a man as she wanted; and her letting him understand this, was doubtless part of the hint whereon he spoke. — H. N. H.

27

Act I. Sc. iii. OTHELLO

And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her. Upon this hint I

spake: She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I loved her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used. Here comes the lady; let her witness it. 170

Enter Desdemona, lago, and Attendants.

Duke. I think this tale would win my daughter too. Good Brabantio,

Take up this mangled matter at the best : Men do their broken weapons rather use Than their bare hands.

Bra. I pray you, hear her speak :

If she confess that she was half the wooer, Destruction on my head, if my bad blame Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mis- tress : Do you perceive in all this noble company Where most you owe obedience?

Des. My noble father, 180

I do perceive here a divided duty : To you I am bound for life and education; My life and education both do learn me How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty, I am hitherto your daughter: but here's my

husband, And so much duty as my mother show'd To you, preferring you before her father, So much I challenge that I may profess

28

THE MOOR Act. I. Sc. m.

Due to the Moor my lord.

JJra. God be with you! I have done.

Please it your grace, on to the state-affairs : 190 I had rather to adopt a child than get it. Come hither, Moor :

I here do give thee that with all my heart, Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel, I am glad at soul I have no other child ; For thy escape would teach me tyranny, To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord.

Duke. Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sen- tence Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers Into your favor. 201

When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes de- pended. To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on. What cannot be preserved when fortune takes, Patience her injury a mockery makes. The robb'd that smiles steals something from

the thief ; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.

Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile ; 210 We lose it not so long as we can smile.

199. "speak like yourself"; that is, let me speak as yourself would speak, were you not too much heated with passion. — H. N. H.

202. "When remedies are fast"; this is expressed in a common pro- verbial form in Love Labour's Lost: "Past cure is still past care." — H. N. H.

207. "Patience laughs at the loss."— C. H. H.

29

Act I. Sc. m. OTHELLO

He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears But the free comfort which from thence he|

hears ;

But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow, That, to pay grief, must of poor patience bor- row. These sentences, to sugar or to gall, Being strong on both sides, are equivocal: But words are words ; I never yet did hear That the bruised heart was pierced through the

ear. I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state. 220

Duke. The Turk with a most mighty prepara- tion makes for Cyprus. Othello, the forti- tude of the place is best known to you ; and though we have there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer voice on you: you must therefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with this more stubborn and boisterous expedi- tion. 230 Oth. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnize A natural and prompt alacrity I find in hardness ; and do undertake These present wars against the Ottomites. Most humbly therefore bending to your state,

216. "to sugar, or to gall"; (depending on "are equivocal").— C. H. H. + . i

SO

THE MOOK Act i. Sc. in.

I crave fit disposition for my wife, Due reference of place and exhibition, With such accommodation and besort 240

As levels with her breeding.

Duke. If you please,

Be 't at her father's.

Bra. I '11 not have it so.

Oth. Nor I.

Des. Nor I, I would not there reside,

To put my father in impatient thoughts By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear, And let me find a charter in your voice To assist my simpleness.

Duke. What would you, Desdemona?

Des. That I did love the Moor to live with him, 250 My downright violence and storm of fortunes May trumpet to the world : my heart 's subdued Even to the very quality of my lord: I saw Othello's visage in his mind, And to his honors and his valiant parts Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, A moth of peace, and he go to the war, The rites for which I love him are bereft me, And I a heavy interim shall support 260

By his dear absence. Let me go with him.

Oth. Let her have your voices.

251. "and storm of fortunes"; Q. 1, "and scorne of Fortunes" &c. —I. G.

262. "Let her have your voices"; Dyce's correction; Ff., "Let her have your voice"; Qq. read

"Your voyces Lord; beseech you let her will Haue a free way" — I. G.

31

Act I. Sc. iii. OTHELLO

Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not, To please the palate of my appetite ; Nor to comply with heat — the young affects In me defunct — and proper satisfaction; But to be free and bounteous to her mind: And heaven defend your good souls, that you

think I will your serious and great business scant For she is with me. No, when light-wing'd toys 270

Of feather'd Cupid seel with wanton dullness My speculative and officed instruments, That my disports corrupt and taint my business, Let housewives make a skillet of my helm, And all indign and base adversities Make head against my estimation!

Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine, Either for her stay or going: the affair cries

haste, And speed must answer 't; you must hence to- night.

Des. To-night, my lord?

Duke. This night.

Oth. With all my heart. 280

Duke. At nine i' the morning here we '11 meet again. Othello, leave some officer behind,

264-265. "the young affects In me defunct"; Qq., "the young afects In my defunct"; so F. 1; Ff. 2, 3, 4 {"effects"). The read- ing of the text is the simplest and most plausible emendation of the many proposed, the words meaning "the passions of youth which I have now outlived": "proper satis faction"=z"my own gratification." —I. G.

32

THE MOOR Act i. Sc. iii.

tAnd he shall our commission bring to you; With such things else of quality and respect As doth import you. Oth. So please your grace, my ancient;

A man he is of honesty and trust : To his conveyance I assign my wife, With what else needful your good grace shall

think To be sent after me. Duke. Let it be so.

Good night to every one. [To 2?ra&.] And, noble signior, 290

If virtue no delighted beauty lack, Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. First Sen. Adieu, brave Moor; use Desdemona

well. Bra. Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see: She has deceived her father, and may thee.

[Exeunt Duke, Senators, Officers, §c. Oth. My life upon her faith! Honest Iago, My Desdemona must I leave to thee: I prithee, let thy wife attend on her; And bring them after in the best advantage. Come, Desdemona; I have but an hour 300

Of love, of worldly matters and direction, To spend with thee : we must obey the time.

[Exeunt Othello and Desdemona. Rod. Iago!

296. "My life upon her faith"; in real life, how do we look back to little speeches as presentimental of, or contrasted with, an affect- ing event! Even so, Shakespeare, as secure of being read over and over, of becoming a family friend, provides this passage for his readers, and leaves it to them (Coleridge). — H. N. H. XXV— 3 33

A<* I. Sc. iii. OTHELLO

Iago. What say'st thou, noble heart?

Rod. What will I do, thinkest thou?

Iago. Why, go to bed and sleep.

Rod. I will incontinently drown myself.

Iago. If thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly gentleman!

Rod. It is silliness to live when to live is tor-31C ment ; and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.

Iago. O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years; and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say I would drown myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon.

Rod, What should I do? I confess it is my 320

314. ''four times seven years"; this clearly ascertains the age of Iago to be twenty-eight years; though the general impression of him is that of a much older man. The Poet, we doubt not, had a wise purpose in making him so young, as it infers his virulence of mind to be something innate and spontaneous, and not superinduced by h*rsh experience of the world. Mr. Verplanck remarks upon it thus: "An old soldier of acknowledged merit, who, after years of service, sees a young man like Cassio placed over his head, has not a *ittle to plead in justification of deep resentment, and in excuse, thuugh not in defence, of his revenge: such a man may well brood owr imaginary wrongs. The caustic sarcasm and contemptuous estimate of mankind are at least pardonable in a soured and dis- appointed veteran. But in a young man the revenge is more purely gratuitous, the hypocrisy, the knowledge, the dexterous management of the worst and weakest parts of human nature, the recklessness of moral feeling, — even the stern, bitter wit, intellectual and con- temptuous, without any of the gayety of youth, — are all precocious and peculiar; separating Iago from the ordinary sympathies of our nature, and investing him with higher talent and blacker guilt." — H. N. H.

34

THE MOOR Act I. Sc. m.

shame to be so fond; but it is not in my virtue to amend it. Iago. Virtue ! a fig ! 'tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are gardens; to the which our wills are gardeners : so that if we will plant nettles or sow lettuce, set hys- sop and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness or ma- nured with industry, why, the power and cor- 330 rigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions : but we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts ; whereof I take this, that you call love, to be a sect or scion. Rod. It cannot be. 340

Iago. It is merely a lust of the blood and a per- mission of the will. Come, be a man : drown thyself! drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me thy friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of per- durable toughness: I could never better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy

323. "are gardens"; so Qq.; Ff., "are our gardens." — C. H. H.

328. "manured"; tilled.— C. H. H.

332. "balance"; Ff., "brain" and "braine"; Theobald, "beam."— I. G.

348. "Defeat" was used for disfigurement or alteration of features: from the French d4faire. Favor is countenance. — H. N. H.

35

Act I. Sc. iii. OTHELLO

favor with an usurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be that Des- 350 demona should long continue her love to the Moor — put money in thy purse — nor he his to her: it was a violent commencement, and thou shalt see an answerable sequestration; put but money in thy purse. These Moors are changeable in their wills : — fill thy purse with money. The food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. She must change for youth : when she is sated with his body, 360 she will find the error of her choice : she must have change, she must : therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thy- self, do it a more delicate way than drown- ing. Make all the money thou canst: if sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an err- ing barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of drowning thyself! it is 370 clean out of the way : seek thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her.

Rod. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I de- pend on the issue?

I ago. Thou art sure of me: go, make money: I

35a "luscious as locusts"; "perhaps so mentioned from being placed together with wild honey in St. Matthew iii. 4" (Schmidt).— I. G.

3fi2. Omitted in Ff.— I. G.

3G7. "barbarian"; with a play upon Barbary — C. H. H.

36

THE MOOR Act i. Sc. iii.

have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I hate the Moor: my cause is hearted; thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against him -.380 if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a sport. There are many events in the womb of time, which will be delivered. Traverse; go; provide thy mon- ey. We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu.

Rod. Where shall we meet i' the morning?

Iago. At my lodging.

Rod. I '11 be with thee betimes.

Iago. Go to; farewell. Do you hear, Rode- 390 rigo?

Rod. What say you?

Iago. No more of drowning, do you hear?

Rod. I am changed: I '11 go sell all my land. \_Eant.

Iago. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse; For I mine own gain'd knowledge should pro- fane,

384. "Traverse; go"; note Iago's pride of mastery in the repetition, "Go, make money," to his anticipated dupe, even stronger than his love of lucre; and, when Roderigo is completely won, when the effect has been fully produced, the repetition of his triumph: "Go to; farewell: put money enough in your purse!" The remainder — Iago's soliloquy — the motive-hunting of a motiveless malignity — how awful it is! Yea, whilst he is still allowed to bear the divine image, it is too fiendish for his own steady view, — for the lonely gaze of a being next to devil, and only not quite devil; — and yet a character which Shakespeare has attempted and executed, without disgust and without scandal (Coleridge). — H. N. H.

390-394. The reading in the text is that of the second and third Quartos; Q. 1, adds after the words "I am chang'd": —

vGoe to, farewell, put money enough in your purse";

omitting "I'll go sell all my land." — I. G.

37

Act i. sc. in. OTHELLO

If I would time expend with such a snipe But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor; And it is thought abroad that 'twixt my sheets He has done my office: I know not if 't be true; But for mere suspicion in that kind 401

Will do as if for surety. He holds me well; The better shall my purpose work on him. Cassio 's a proper man: let me see now; To get his place, and to plume up my will In double knavery — How, how? — Let's see: — After some time, to abuse Othello's ear That he is too familiar with his wife. He hath a person and a smooth dispose To be suspected ; framed to make women false. The Moor is of a free and open nature, 411 That thinks men honest that but seem to be so; And will as tenderly be led by the nose As asses are.

I have 't. It is engender'd. Hell and night Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.

[Exit.

402. "as if for surety"; that is, I will act as if I were certain of the fact. "He holds me well," is, he entertains a good opinion of me.— H. N. H.

415. "hell and night"; Shakespeare has shown great judgment in the darkness which he makes to prevail in the first counsels of Iago. To the Poet himself, all the succeeding events must have been clear and determined; but to bring himself again into the situation of one who sees them in embryo, to draw a mist over that which he had already cleared, must have required an exertion of genius peculiar to this author alone. In so lively a manner does he make Iao:o show his perplexity about the future management of his conduct, that one is almost tempted to think that the Poet had determined as little himself about some of the particulars of Othello's destruc- tion {Anderson's Bee, vol. i.). — H. N. H.

38

THE MOOR Act ii. Sc. i.

ACT SECOND

Scene I

A sea-port in Cyprus. An open place near

the quay.

Enter Montano and two Gentlemen.

Mon. What from the cape can you discern at sea? First Gent. Nothing at all: it is a high-wrought flood;

I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main,

Descry a sail. Mon. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at hand ;

A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements:

If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea,

What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them,

Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this? Sec. Gent. A segregation of the Turkish fleet: 10

For do but stand upon the foaming shore,

The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds ;

1. A sea-port in Cyprus; the principal seaport town of Cyprus is Famagusta; where there was formerly a strong fort and commodious haven, "neare which," says Knolles, "standeth an old castle, with four towers after the ancient manner of building." To this castle we find that Othello presently repairs. — H. N. H.

3F 39

Act ii. Sc. i. OTHELLO

The wind-shaked surge, with high and mon- strous mane, Seems to cast water on the burning bear, And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole: I never did like molestation view On the enchafed flood. Man. If that the Turkish fleet

Be not shelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd; It is impossible to bear it out.

Enter a third Gentleman.

Third Gent. News, lads! our wars are done. 20 The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the

Turks, That their designment halts: a noble ship of

Venice Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance On most part of their fleet.

Mon. How! is this true?

Third Gent. The ship is here put in,

A Veronesa; Michael Cassio, Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello, Is come on shore: the Moor himself at sea, And is in full commission here for Cyprus.

Mon. I am glad on 't; 'tis a worthy governor. 30

26. "Veronesa"; so this name is spelled in the quartos; in the folio, Verennessa. Modern editors, generally, change it to Veronese, as referring, not to the ship, but to Cassio. It is true, the same speaker has just called the ship "a noble ship of Venice"; but Verona was tributary to the Venetian State; so that there is no reason why she might not belong to Venice, and still take her name from Verona. The explanation sometimes given is, that the speaker makes a mis- take, and calls Cassio a Veronese, who has before been spoken of as a Florentine. — H. N. H.

40

THE MOOR Act II. Sc. i.

Third Gent But this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly And prays the Moor be safe; for they were

parted With foul and violent tempest.

Mon. Pray heavens he be;

For I have served him, and the man commands Like a full soldier. Let 's to the seaside, ho! As well to see the vessel that 's come in As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, Even till we make the main and the aerial blue An indistinct regard.

Third Gent. Come, let 's do so ; 40

For every minute is expectancy Of more arrivance.

Enter Cassio.

Cas. Thanks, you the valiant of this warlike isle, That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens Give him defense against the elements, For I have lost him on a dangerous sea.

Mon. Is he well shipp'd?

Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot Of very expert and approved allowance; Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, 50

38. "for brave Othello"; observe in how many ways Othello is made, first our acquaintance, then our friend, then the object of our anxiety, before the deeper interest is to be approached (Coleridge). — H. N. H.

39-40; 158; 260 ("didst not mark that?"); omitted in Q. 1.— I. G.

49. "approved allowance*' ; that is, of allowed and approved expert- ness.— H. N. H.

50. "hopes, not surfeited to death," is certainly obscure. Dr. John-

41

Act II. Sc. i. OTHELLO

Stand in bold cure.

[A cry within: 'A sail, a sail, a sail!5

Enter a fourth Gentleman.

Cas. What noise?

Fourth Gent. The town is empty; on the brow o the sea

Stand ranks of people, and they cry A sail!' Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor.

[Guns heard Sec. Gent. They do discharge their shot of court- esy :

Our friends at least. Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth,

And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived. Sec. Gent. I shall. [Exit

Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general wived Cas. Most fortunately : he hath achieved a maid 6!

That paragons description and wild fame;

One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,

And in the essential vesture of creation

Does tire the ingener.

Re-enter second Gentleman.

How now ! who has put in

son thought there must be some error in the text, not being able tj understand how hope could be increased till it were destroyed Knight explains it thus: "As 'hope deferred maketh the heart sick, so hope upon hope, without realization, is a surfeit of hope, an< extinguishes hope. Cassio had some reasonable facts to prevent hi hope being surfeited to death." — H. N .H.

<i5. "(ire the ingener"; Knight, Steevens conj.; F. 1, "tyre the In <,<niurr"; Ff. 2, 3, 4, "tire the Ingeniver"; Q. 1, "beare all Excel lency—"; Qq. 2, 3, "beare an excelency" : — Johnson conj. "tire th ingenious verse"; Pope, "beare all excellency — " — I. G.

42

THE MOOR Act II. Sc. i.

Sec. Gent. 'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.

Cos. He has had most favorable and happy speed: Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling

winds, The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands, Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel, 70 As having sense of beauty, do omit Their mortal natures, letting go safely by The divine Desdemona.

Mon. What is she?

Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's cap- tain, Left in the conduct of the bold Iago ; Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello

guard, And swell his sail with thine own powerful

breath, That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits, 81 And bring all Cyprus comfort.

Enter Desdemona,, Emilia, Iago, Roderigo, and Attendants.

O, behold, The riches of the ship is come on shore ! Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. Hail to thee, lady ! and the grace of heaven,

n

69. ''gutter'd"; indented. [Perhaps "embedded in mud or ooze, according to the Scotch and Irish sense of "gutter." — L.] — C. H. H. 82. "And . . . Cyprus"; omitted in Ff.— I. G.

43

^ct II. Sc. i.

OTHELLO

Before, behind thee, and on every hand,

En wheel thee round! l)es. I thank you, valiant Cassio.

What tidings can you tell me of my lord? Cos. He is not yet arrived: nor know I aught

But that he 's well and will be shortly here. 90 Dcs. O, but I fear — How lost you company? Cos. The great contention of the sea and skies

Parted our fellowship — But, hark! a sail. [A cry within: 'A sail, a sail!' Guns heard. Sec. Gent. They give their greeting to the citadel:

This likewise is a friend. Cas. See for the News. [Exit Gentleman.

Good ancient, you are welcome. [To Emilia] Welcome, mistress :

Let it not gall your patience, good Iago,

That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding

That gives me this bold show of courtesy. 100

[Kissing her. Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips

As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,

You 'Id have enough. Des. Alas, she has no speech.

Iago. In faith, too much;

100. "bold show of courtesy"; observe Othello's "honest," and Cas- sio's "bold" Iago; and Cassio's full guileless-hearted wishes for the safety and love-raptures of Othello and "the divine Desdemona." And note also the exquisite circumstance of Cassio's kissing Iago's wife, as if it ought to be impossible that the dullest auditor should not feel Cassio's religious love of Desdemona's purity. Iago's an- swers are the sneers which a proud bad intellect feels towards women, and expresses to a wife. Surely it ought to be considered a very exalted compliment to women, that all the sarcasms on them in Shakespeare are put in the mouths of villains (Coleridge).— H. N. H. v s ;

44

THE MOOR Act II. Sc. i.

I find it still when I have list to sleep: Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, She puts her tongue a little in her heart And chides with thinking.

Emit. You have little cause to say so.

Iago. Come on, come on; you are pictures out of

doors, 110

Bells in your parlors, wild-cats in your kitchens,

Saints in your injuries, devils being offended,

Players in your housewifery, and housewives in

your beds.

Des. O, fie upon thee, slanderer!

Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk : You rise to play, and go to bed to work.

Emil. You shall not write my praise.

Iago. No, let me not.

Des. What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me?

Iago. O gentle lady, do not put me to 't ;

For I am nothing if not critical. 120

Des. Come on, assay — There 's one gone to the harbor?

Iago. Aye, madam.

Des. I am not merry ; but I do beguile The thing I am by seeming otherwise. Come, how wouldst thou praise me?

Iago. I am about it ; but indeed my invention

Comes from my pate as birdlime does from f rize ;

112. "saints in your injuries"; that is, when you have a mind to do injuries, you put on an air of sanctity. — H. N. H.

45

Act II. Sc. i. OTHELLO

It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse

labors, And thus she is deliver'd.

If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, 130 The one 's for use, the other useth it.

Des. Well praised! How if she be black and witty ?

I ago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit,

She '11 find a white that shall her blackness fit.

Des. Worse and worse.

Emil. How if fair and foolish?

Iago. She never yet was foolish that was fair; For even her folly help'd her to an heir.

Des. These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i' the ale house. What miser- 140 able praise hast thou for her that 's foul and foolish ?

Iago. There 's none so foul, and foolish thereunto, But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.

Des. O heavy ignorance! thou praisest the worst best. But what praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that in the authority of her merit did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself? 150

Iago. She that was ever fair and never proud, Had tongue at will and yet was never loud, Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay, Fled from her wish and yet said 'Now I may;' She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly; She that in wisdom never was so frail

46

THE MOOR Act II. Sc. i.

To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail; She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind, See suitors following and not look behind; 160 She was a wight, if ever such wight were, —

Des. To do what?

lago. To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.

Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and liberal counselor?

Cas. He speaks home, madam: you may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar.

Iago. [Aside] He takes her by the palm: aye, 170 well said, whisper : with as little a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Aye, smile upon her, do ; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true; 'tis so, in- deed : if such tricks as these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good; well kissed! an excellent courtesy ! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your 180 fingers to your lips? would they were clyster- pipes for your sake! — [Trumpet within.'] The Moor ! I know his trumpet.

158. "change cod's head for salmon's tail"; that is, to exchange a delicacy for coarser fare. So in Queen Elizabeth's Household Book: "Item, the master cookes have to fee all the salmon's tailes." — H. N. H.

163. "chronicle small beer"; that is, to suckle children and keep the accounts of the household. — H. N. H.

168. "you may relish him more" etc. Iago's bluntness would be repugnant in a scholar, but is becoming in a soldier. — C. H. H.

47

Act ii. So. i. OTHELLO

Cas. Tis truly so.

Des. Let 's meet him and receive him.

Cas. Lo, where he comes !

Enter Othello and Attendants.

Oth. O my fair warrior!

j)cs. My dear Othello !

Olh. It gives me wonder great as my content To see you here before me. O my soul's joy! If after every tempest comes such calms, 190 May the winds blow till they have waken'd

death ! And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas Olympus-high, and duck again as low As hell 's from heaven! If it were now to die, 'Twere now to be most happy! for I fear, My soul hath her content so absolute That not another comfort like to this Succeeds in unknown fate.

Des. The heavens forbid

But that our loves and comforts should increase, Even as our days do grow!

OtJi. Amen to that, sweet powers! 200

I cannot speak enough of this content ; It stops me here; it is too much of joy: And this, and this, the greatest discords be

[Kissing her. That e'er our hearts shall make !

187. "fair warrior"; perhaps Othello intends a playful allusion to the unwillingness Desdemona has expressed to "be left behind, a moth of peace, and he go to the war." Steevens, however, thinks it was a term of endearment derived from the old French poets; as Ron- sard, in his sonnets, often calls the ladies guerrieres. — H. N. H.

48

THE MOOR Act II. Sc. i.

Iago. [Aside] O, you are well tuned now!

But I '11 set down the pegs that make this music, As honest as I am.

Oth< Come, let us to the castle.

News, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks are

drown'd. How does my old acquaintance of this isle ? Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus; I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, 210

I prattle out of fashion, and I dote In mine own comforts. I prithee, good Iago, Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers : Bring thou the master to the citadel ; He is a good one, and his worthiness Does challenge much respect. Come, Desde-

mona, Once more well met at Cyprus.

[Exeunt all but Iago and Roderigo.

Iago. Do thou meet me presently at the har- bor. Come hither. If thou be'st valiant — as, they say, base men being in love have 220 then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them — list me. The lieutenant to- night watches on the court of guard. First,

206. "As honest as I am" ; Coleridge, as we have seen in a former note, pronounces Iago "a being next to devil, and only not quite devil." It is worth noting that Milton's Satan relents at the prospect of ruining the happiness before him, and prefaces the deed with a gush of pity for the victims; whereas the same thought puts Iago in a transport of jubilant ferocity. Is our idea of Satan's wicked- ness enhanced by his thus indulging such feelings, and then acting in defiance of them, or as if he had them not? or is Iago more devilish than he?— H. N. H.

XXV— 4 49

Act ii. Sc. i. OTHELLO

I must tell thee this: Desdemona is directly in love with him.

Rod. With him! why, 'tis not possible.

Iago. Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what violence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging and telling her fantastical lies : and will she 230 love him still for prating? let not thy dis- creet heart think it. Her eye must be fed; and what delight shall she have to look on the devil ? When the blood is made dull with the act of sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to give satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in favor, sympathy in years, man- ners and beauties ; all which the Moor is de- fective in: now, for want of these required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will 240 find itself abused, begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor; very nature will instruct her in it and compel her to some second choice. Now, sir, this granted — as it is a most pregnant and unforced position — who stands so eminently in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a knave very voluble ; no further conscionable than in put- ting on the mere form of civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing of his 250 salt and most hidden loose affection? why, none; why, none: a slipper and subtle knave; a finder out of occasions ; that has an eye can

227. "Lay thy finger thus"; on thy mouth to stop it, while thou art listening to a wiser man. — H. N. H.

50

THE MOOR Act ii. Sc. i.

stamp and counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself : a devel- ish knave ! Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all those requisites in him that folly and green minds look after : a pes- tilent complete knave; and the woman hath found him already. 26°

Rod. I cannot believe that in her ; she 's full of most blest condition.

Iago. Blest fig's-end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had been blest, she would never have loved the Moor : blest pud- ding! Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? didst not mark that?

Rod. Yes, that I did; but that was but cour- tesy.

Iago. Lechery, by this hand; an index and ob-270 scure prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips that their breaths embraced together. Vil- lainous thoughts, Roderigo ! when these mu- tualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main exercise, the in- corporate conclusion : pish ! But, sir, be you ruled by me: I have brought you from Venice. Watch you to-night; for the com- mand, I '11 lay 't upon you : Cassio knows 280

255. "a devilish knave" ; omitted in Qq. — I. G.

265. "blest pudding"; Ff. "Bless'd pudding"; omitted in Qq. — I. G.

276-277. "comes the master and main"; so Ff.; Q. 1 reads "comes the mains"; Qq. 2, 3, "comes Roderigo, the master and the mains" -I. G.

51

fat ii. Sc. i. OTHELLO

you not : I '11 not be far from you : do you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or tainting his disci- pline, or from what other course you please, which the time shall more favorably minister.

Rod, Well

Iago. Sir, he is rash and very sudden in choler, and haply may strike at you: provoke him, that he may ; for even out of that will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny ; whose qualifica- 290 tion shall come into no true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I shall then have to prefer them, and the impediment most profitably removed, without the which there were no expectation of our prosperity.

Rod. I will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity.

Iago. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at 300 the citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell.

Rod. Adieu. [Exit.

Iago. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit: The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not, Is of a constant, loving, noble nature; And I dare think he '11 prove to Desdemona A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too, Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure I stand accountant for as great a sin, 310

288. "haply may"; Qq. read "haply with his Trunchen may."— I. G.

52

THE MOOR Act ii. Sc. i.

But partly led to diet my revenge, For that I do suspect the lusty Moor Hath leap'd into my seat: the thought whereof Doth like a poisonous mineral gnaw my in- wards ; And nothing can or shall content my soul Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife; Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor At least into a jealousy so strong That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to

do, If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash 320 For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, I '11 have our Michael Cassio on the hip, Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb; For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too ; Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward

me, For making him egregiously an ass And practising upon his peace and quiet Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused: Knavery's plain face is never seen till used.

[Exit.

320. "poor trash of Venice, whom I trash"; Steevens' emendation; Q. 1, "poor trash ... I crush"; Ff., Qq. 2, 3, "poor Trash . . . J trace"; Theobald, Warburton conj. "poor brach . . . I trace"; Warburton (later conj.) "poor brach ... 7 cherish." —I. G.

321. "stand the putting on"; prove equal to the chase when cried on to the quarry. Iago hampers Roderigo's "quick hunting" of Des- demona to start him on his own prey. — C. H. H.

329. "never seen till used"; an honest man acts upon a plan, and forecasts his designs; but a knave depends upon temporary and local opportunities, and never knows his own purpose, but at the time of execution (Johnson). — H. N. H.

Act ii. Sc. iii. OTHELLC

Scene II

A street.

Enter a Herald with a proclamation; People fol

lowing.

Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and val- iant general, that upon certain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph; some to dance, some to make bon- fires, each man to what sport and revels his addiction leads him: for, besides these bene- ficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptial. So much was his pleasure should be pro- claimed. All offices are open, and there is 1C full liberty of feasting from this present hour of five till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus and our no- ble general Othello ! [Exeunt

Scene III

A hall in the castle.

Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and Attendants.

Oth. Good Michael, look you to the guard to- niirht:

i&

10. "All offices are open"; All rooms, or places in the castle, at which refreshments are prepared or served out.— H. N. H.

54

rHE MOOR Act II. Sc. iii.

Let 's teach ourselves that honorable stop, Not to outsport discretion. las. Iago hath direction what to do;

But notwithstanding with my personal eye Will I look to 't. )th. Iago is most honest.

Michael, good night: to-morrow with your

earliest Let me have speech with you. Come, my dear

love, The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue; That profit 's yet to come 'tween me and you. Good night. 11

[Exeunt Othello, Desdemona, and Attendants.

Enter Iago.

^as. Welcome, Iago ; we must to the watch.

ago. Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not yet ten o' the clock. Our general cast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not therefore blame: he hath not yet made wanton the night with her, and she is sport for Jove.

las. She 's a most exquisite lady.

ago. And, I '11 warrant her, full of game. 20

las. Indeed she 's a most fresh and delicate creature.

ago. What an eye she has ! methinks it sounds a parley to provocation.

las. An inviting eye; and yet methinks right modest.

55

Act ii. Sc. iii. OTHELL.

lago. And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to love ?

Cas. She is indeed perfection.

lago. Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine; and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain have a measure to the health of black Othello.

Cas. Not to-night, good lago: I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.

lago. O, they are our friends; but one cup: 1 11 drink for you.

Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily qualified too, and behold what innovation it makes here : I am unfor- tunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more.

lago. What, man ! 'tis a night of revels : the gal- lants desire it.

30-46. In these few short speeches of lago is disclosed the inne most soul of a cold intellectual sensualist, his faculties dancing ai capering amidst the provocatives of passion, because himself wit out passion. Senseless or reckless of everything good, but keen alive to whatsoever he can turn to a bad use, his mind acts like sieve, to strain out all the wine and retain only the Jees of woma hood; which lees he delights to hold up as the main constituents the sex. And Cassio's very delicacy and religiousness of thoug prevent his taking offense at the villain's heartless and profane levil lago then goes on to suit himself to all the demands of the franke joviality. As he is without any feelings, so he can feign them * indifferently, to work out his design. Knight justly observes th "other dramatists would have made him gloomy and morose; b Shakespeare knew that the boon companion, and the cheat and tn tor, are not essentially distinct characters." — H. N. H. 43. "here," i. e. in my head.— I. G.

56

rHE MOOR Act II. Sc. iii.

?as. Where are they?

[ago. Here at the door; I pray you, call them in.

7as. I 'lido 't; but it dislikes me. [Exit 50

[ago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him, With that which he hath drunk to-night al- ready, He '11 be as full of quarrel and offense As my young mistress' dog. Now my sick fool

Roderigo, Whom love hath turn'd almost wrong side out, To Desdemona hath to-night caroused Potations pottle-deed; and he 's to watch: Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits, That hold their honors in a wary distance, The very elements of this warlike isle, 60

Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups, And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock

of drunkards, Am I to put our Cassio in some action That may offend the isle. But here they come : If consequence do but approve my dream, My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.

Re-enter Cassio; with him Montano and Gentle- men; Servants following with wine.

Cos. 'Fore God, they have given me a rouse al- ready.

Mon. Good faith, a little one ; not past a pint, as I am a soldier. 70

60. "warlike isle"; as quarrelsome as the discordia semina rerum; as quick in opposition as fire and water (Johnson). — H. N. H.

57

Act II. Sc. iii. OTHELLl

Iago. Some wine, ho!

[Sings] And let me the canakin clink, clink And let me the canakin clink: A soldier 's a man ; A life 's but a span ; Why then let a soldier drink.

Some wine, boys!

Cas. 'Fore God, an excellent song.

Iago. I learned it in England, where indeed they are most potent in potting: your Dane, l your German, and your swag-bellied Hol- lander,— Drink, ho! — are nothing to your English.

Cas. Is your Englishman so expert in his drink- ing?

Iago. Why, he drinks you with facility your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to over- throw your Almain ; he gives your Hollander a vomit ere the next pottle can be filled.

Cas. To the health of our general! «

Mori. I am for it, lieutenant, and I '11 do you justice.

Iago. O sweet England!

[Sings] King Stephen was a worthy peer,

His breeches cost him but a crown; He held them sixpence all too dear, With that he call'd the tailor lown.

91. "do you justice"; that is, drink as much as you do.— H. N. 1 94-101. These lines are from an old song called "Take thy o cloak about thee,'* to be found in Percy's Reliques.—I. G.

58

THE MOOR Act II. Sc. iii.

He was a wight of high renown, And thou art but of low degree:

'Tis pride that pulls the country down; 100 Then take thine auld cloak about thee.

Some wine, ho!

Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other.

Iago. Will you hear 't again?

Cas. No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things. Well : God 's above all ; and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.

Iago. It 's true, good lieutenant. 110

Cas. For mine own part — no offense to the general, nor any man of quality — I hope to be saved.

Iago. And so do I too, lieutenant.

Cas. Aye, but, by your leave, not before me ; the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let 's have no more of this ; let 's to our af- fairs. God forgive us our sins! Gentle- men, let 's look to our business. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk : this is my an- 120 cient: this is my right hand, and this is my left. I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and speak well enough.

All. Excellent well.

Cas. Why, very well then; you must not think then that I am drunk. [Exit*

Mon. To the platform, masters ; come, let 's set the watch.

59

Act II. Sc. iii. OTHELLO

I ago. You see this fellow that is gone before;

He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar 130

And give direction: and do but see his vice;

Tis to his virtue a just equinox,

The one as long as the other: 'tis pity of him.

I fear the trust Othello puts him in

On some odd time of his infirmity

Will shake this island. Man. But is he often thus?

Iago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep :

He '11 watch the horologe a double set,

If drink rock not his cradle. Mon. It were well

The general were put in mind of it. 140

Perhaps he sees it not, or his good nature

Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio

And looks not on his evils: is not this true?

Enter Roderigo.

Iago. [Aside to him] How now, Roderigo!

I pray you, after the lieutenant; go.

[Exit Roderigo. Mon. And 'tis great pity that the noble Mooj

Should hazard such a place as his own second

With one of an ingraft infirmity:

It were an honest action to say

So to the Moor.

130. "a soldier fit to stand by Ccesar"; how differently the liar speaks of Cassio's soldiership to Montano and to Roderigo! He is now talking where he is liable to be called to account for his words.— H. N. H.

138. "set"; series of twelve hours. He will watch a whole day and night.— C. H. H.

60

THE MOOR Act II. Sc. ill.

lago. Not I, for this fair island:

I do love Cassio well, and would do much 150 To cure him of this evil: — But, hark! what noise?

A cry within: 'Help! help!'

Re-enter CassiOj driving in Roderigo.

Cas. 'Zounds ! you rogue ! you rascal ! M on. What 's the matter, lieutenant? Cas. A knave teach me my duty ! But I '11

beat the knave into a wicker bottle. Rod. Beat me !

Cas. Dost thou prate, rogue? [Striking Roderigo. Mon. Nay, good lieutenant; I pray you, sir,

hold your hand. Cas. Let me go, sir, or I '11 knock you o'er the

mazzard. M on. Come, come, you 're drunk. Cas. Drunk! [They fight.

Iago. [Aside to Roderigo] Away, I say; go out and cry a mutiny. [Eooit Roderigo. 160

Nay, good lieutenant! God's will, gentlemen! Help, ho ! — Lieutenant, — sir, — Montano, —

sir; — Help, masters! — Here's a goodly watch in- deed! [A bell rings. Who 's that that rings the bell?— Diablo, ho! The town will rise: God's will, lieutenant, hold; You will be shamed for ever.

Re-enter Othello and Attendants.

Oth. What is the matter here?

61

Act ii. Sc. iii. OTHELLOJ

Moiu 'Zounds, I bleed still; I am hurt to the death]

[Faintsl

Oth. Hold, for your lives!

I ago. Hold, ho; Lieutenant, — sir, — Montano,—

gentlemen, — ^

Have you forgot all sense of place and duty?

Hold ! the general speaks to you ; hold, hold, f 01

shame !

Oth. Why, how now, ho! from whence ariseth this! Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? For Christian shame, put by this barbarous

brawl : He that stirs next to carve for his own rage Holds his soul light ; he dies upon his motion. Silence that dreadful bell: it frights the isle From her propriety. What is the matter, mas- ters? rfl Honest I ago, that look'st dead with grieving, Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee.

Iago. I do not know : friends all but now, even now In quarter, and in terms like bride and grooir Devesting them for bed; and then, but now, As if some planet had unwitted men, Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast, In opposition bloody. I cannot speak Any beginning to this peevish odds, And would in action glorious I had lost

170. "sense of place"; Hanmer's emendation of Qq., Ff., "place o) sense."— I. G.

173. "turn'd Turks"; a bitter piny upon the proverbial phrase which meant to "make a complete change for the worse." — C. H. H

62

THE MOOR Act ii. Sc. iii.

Those legs that brought me to a part of it! 190 Oth. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot? Cas. I pray you, pardon me ; I cannot speak. Oth. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil; The gravity and stillness of your youth The world hath noted, and your name is great In mouths of wisest censure : what 's the matter, That you unlace your reputation thus,

»And spend your rich opinion for the name Of a night-brawler? give me answer to it.

Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger: 200 Your officer, Iago, can inform you — While I spare speech, which something now of- fends me — Of all that I do know : nor know I aught By me that 's said or done amiss this night ; Unless self -charity be sometimes a vice, And to defend ourselves it be a sin When violence assails us.

Oth. Now, by heaven

My blood begins my safer guides to rule, And passion, having my best judgment col- lied, Assays to lead the way : if I once stir, 210

Or do but lift this arm, the best of you Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know How this foul rout began, who set it on, And he that is approved in this offense, Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, Shall lose me. What ! in a town of war, Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, To manage private and domestic quarrel,

63

Act II. Sc. iii. OTHELL(

In night, and on the court and guard of safety Tis monstrous. Iago, who began 't? 22

Man. If partially affined, or leagued in office, Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, Thou art no soldier.

Iago. Touch me not so near:

I had rather have this tongue cut from m;

mouth Than it should do offense to Michael Cassio ; Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general Montano and myself being in speech, There comes a fellow crying out for help, And Cassio following him with determine! sword, 23

To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman Steps in to Cassio and entreats his pause: Myself the crying fellow did pursue, Lest by his clamor — as it so fell out — The town might fall in fright : he, swift of fool Outran my purpose ! and I return'd the rather For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, And Cassio high in oath ; which till to-night I ne'er might say before. When I came back- For this was brief — I found them close to gether, 24

At blow and thrust ; even as again they were When you yourself did part them. More of this matter cannot I report: But men are men; the best sometimes forget: Though Cassio did some little wrong to him,

235. "in fright"; into a panic— C. H. H. 64

THE MOOR Act ii. Sc. iii.

As men in rage strike those that wish them best, Yet surely Cassio, I believe, received From him that fled some strange indignity, Which patience could not pass. Oth. I know, Iago,

Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, 250 Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee ; But never more be officer of mine.

Re-enter Desdemona, attended.

Look, if my gentle love be not raised up ! I '11 make thee an example.

Des. What 's the matter?

Oth. All 's well now, sweeting; come away to bed. Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon :

[To MontanOj who is led off. Lead him off.

Iago, look with care about the town, And silence those whom this vile brawl dis- tracted. Come, Desdemona: 'tis the soldiers' life 260 To have their balmy slumbers waked with strife. [Exeunt all but Iago and Cassio.

Iago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant?

Cas. Aye, past all surgery.

Iago. Marry, heaven forbid!

Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation ! I have lost the im- mortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my reputa- tion!

Iago. As I am an honest man, I thought you 270

XXV-5 65

Act II. Sc. iii. OTHELLO

had received some bodily wound; there is more sense in that than in reputation. Rep- utation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit and lost without de- serving: you have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man! there are ways to recover the general again: you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy than in malice ; even so as one would beat his offense- 28( less dog to affright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he 's yours.

Cos. I will rather sue to be despised than to de- ceive so good a commander with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil ! 29<

I ago. What was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you?

Cas. I know not.

I ago. Is 't possible?

Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly ; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance, revel and ap- plause, transform ourselves into beasts! 30

I ago. Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered?

66

^HE MOOR Act ii. Sc. m.

7as. It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath : one unperf ect- ness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself.

ago. Come, you are too severe a moraler: as the time, the place, and the condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen; but since it is as it is, mend 310 it for your own good.

las. I will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a drunkard! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast ! O strange ! Every inordinate cup is unblest, and the ingredient is a devil.

[ago. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used : exclaim no more 320 against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I love you.

Cas. I have well approved it, sir. I drunk !

lago. You or any man living may be drunk at some time, man. I '11 tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is now the gen- eral. I may say so in this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the contemplation, mark and denotement of her parts and graces : confess yourself freely to 330 her; importune her help to put you in your

317. "approved"; found by experience. — C. H. H. 325. "some time"; so Qq.; Ff., "a time"; Grant White, "one time/* -I. G.

67

Act II. Sc. iii. OTHELL

place again ; she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is re- quested: this broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to splinter; and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow stronger than it was before.

Cas. You advise me well.

lago. I protest, in the sincerity of love and hon- est kindness.

Cas. I think it freely; and betimes in the morn- ing I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me: I am desperate of my fortunes if they check me here.

lago. You are in the right. Good night, lieute ant; I must to the watch.

Cas. Good night, honest lago. [Ex

lago. And what 's he then that says I play the v lain? I

When this advice is free I give and honest, Probal to thinking, and indeed the course To win the Moor again? For 'tis most easy The inclining Desdemona to subdue In any honest suit. She 's framed as fruitful As the free elements. And then for her To win the Moor, were 't to renounce his ba

tism, All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, His soul is so enfetter'd to her love,

337. "lay"; wager.-C. H. H. 68

HE MOOR Act II. Sc. iii.

That she may make, unmake, do what she list,

Even as her appetite shall play the god

With his weak function. How am I then a

villain To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, Directly to his good? Divinity of hell! When devils will the blackest sins put on, They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, As I do now: for whiles this honest fool Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes, And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, I '11 pour this pestilence into his ear, 370

That she repeals him for her body's lust; And by how much she strives to do him good, She shall undo her credit with the Moor. So will I turn her virtue into pitch ; And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all.

Enter Roderigo.

How now, Roderigo! lod. I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent; I have been to-night exceedingly well cudgeled; 380 and I think the issue will be, I shall have so much experience for my pains ; and so, with

363. "Parallel course" for course level or even with his design. — L N. H. *

365. "when devils will"; that is, when devils will instigate to their lackest sins, they tempt, &c. We have repeatedly met with the same se of put on for instigate, and of suggest for tempt. — H. N. H.

69

Act ii. Sc. iii. OTHELLl

no money at all and a little more wit, return again to Venice. Iago. How poor are they that have not patience What wound did ever heal but by degrees? Thou know'st we work by wit and not by witc

craft, And wit depends on dilatory time. Does 't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee, And thou by that small hurt hast cashier

Cassio : 3!

Though other things grow fair against the su Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe : Content thyself awhile. By the mass, 'tis mori

ing;

Pleasure and action make the hours seem shoi Retire thee; go where thou art billeted: Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafte Nay, get thee gone. [Exit Rod.] Two thin|

are to be done: My wife must move for Cassio to her mistres I '11 set her on ; Myself the while to draw the Moor apart, 4i And bring him jump when he may Cassio fir Soliciting his wife : aye, that 's the way ; Dull not device by coldness and delay. [Ex\

392. "fruits that blossom first"; the "blossoming" of things, which Iago alludes, is the removal of Cassio. As their plan h already blossomed, so there was good hope that the fruits of it wou soon be ripe.— The folio substitutes In troth for By th' mass. H. N. H.

70

rHE MOOR Act III. Sc. i.

ACT THIRD

Scene I

Before the castle.

Enter Cassio and some Musicians.

Cas. Masters, play here ; I will content your pains ;

Something that 's brief; and bid 'Good morrow,

general.' [Music.

Enter Clown.

Clo. Why, masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that they speak i' the nose thus?

First Mus. How, sir, how?

Clo. Are these, I pray you, wind-instruments?

First Mus. Aye, marry, are they, sir.

Clo. O, thereby hangs a tail.

First Mus. Whereby hangs a tale, sir?

Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind-instrument 10 that I know. But masters, here 's money for you : and the general so likes your music, that he desires you, for love's sake, to make no more noise with it.

2. "Good morrow, general"; it was usual for friends to serenade a new-married couple on the morning after the celebration of the mar- riage, or to greet them with a morning song to bid them good mor- row.— H. N. H.

13. "for love's sake"; Q. 1, "of all loues."—!. G.

4F 71

2<

Act in. Sc. i. OTHELLi

First Mas. Well, sir, we will not.

Clo. If you have any music that may not be heard, to 't again : but, as they say, to hear music the general does not greatly care.

First Mus. We have none such, sir.

Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I '11 away: go; vanish into air; away!

[Exeunt Musicians

Cas. Dost thou hear, my honest friend?

Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you.

Cas. Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There 's a poor piece of gold for thee: if the gentle- woman that attends the general's wife be stirring, tell her there 's one Cassio entreats her a little favor of speech : wilt thou do this ?

Clo. She is stirring, sir: if she will stir hither, 3( I shall seem to notify unto her.

Cas. Do, good my friend. [Exit Clown

Enter lago.

In happy time, lago. lago. You have not been a-bed, then? Cas. Why, no ; the day had broke

Before we parted. I have made bold, lago, To send in to your wife: my suit to her Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona Procure me some access. lago. I '11 send her to you presently

And I '11 devise a mean to draw the Moor Out of the way, that your converse and busi ness 4«

72

HE MOOR Act in. Sc. i.

May be more free. as. I humbly thank you for 't. [Exit I ago.] I never knew A Florentine more kind and honest.

Enter Emilia.

'mil. Good morrow, good lieutenant: I am sorry For your displeasure; but all will sure be well. The general and his wife are talking of it, And she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor re- plies, That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus And great affinity, and that in wholesome wis- dom He might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you, 50

And needs no other suitor but his likings To take the safest occasion by the front To bring you in again.

1as. Yet, I beseech you,

If you think fit, or that it may be done, Give me advantage of some brief discourse With Desdemona alone.

Imil. Pray you, come in:

I will bestow you where you shall have time To speak your bosom freely.

?as. I am much bound to you.

[Exeunt.

43. "Florentine,'* i. e. "even a Florentine"; Iago was a Venetian. -I. G.

45. "for your displeasure"; that is, the displeasure you have in- urred from Othello.— H. N. H.

52. Omitted in Ff.— I. G.

73

Act in. Sc. iii. OTHELU

Scene II

A room in the castle.

Enter Othello, lago, and Gentlemen.

Oth. These letters give, Iago, to the pilot; And by him do my duties to the senate: That done, I will be walking on the works; Repair there to me. Iago. Well, my good lord, I '11 do

Oth. This fortification, gentlemen, shall we see ' Gent We '11 wait upon your lordship. [Eoceun

Scene III

The garden of the castle.

Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia.

Des. Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do

All my abilities in thy behalf.

Emil. Good madam, do: I warrant it grieves ir

husband

As if the case were his.

Des. O, that 's an honest fellow. Do not dout

Cassio,

But I will have my lord and you again

As friendly as you were.

Cos- Bounteous madam,

Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio,

He 's never any thing but your true servant.

74

THE MOOR Act ill. Sc. iii.

Des. I know't: I thank you. You do love my

lord: 10

You have known him long; and be you well

assured He shall in strangeness stand no farther off Than in a politic distance.

Cas. Aye, but, lady,

That policy may either last so long, Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, Or breed itself so out of circumstance, That, I being absent and my place supplied, My general will forget my love and service.

Des. Do not doubt that; before Emilia here

I give thee warrant of thy place : assure thee, 20 If I do vow a friendship, I '11 perform it To the last article : my lord shall never rest ; I '11 watch him tame and talk him out of pa- tience ; His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; I '11 intermingle every thing he does With Cassio's suit; therefore be merry, Cassio; For thy solicitor shall rather die Than give thy cause away.

Enter Othello and lago, at a distance.

Emil. Madam, here comes my lord.

Cas. Madam, I '11 take my leave. 30

14. "last so long" ; he may either of himself think it politic to keep me out of office so long, or he may be satisfied with such slight rea- sons, or so many accidents may make him think my readmission at that time improper, that I may be quite forgotten (Johnson). — H. N. H.

23. "watch him tame," i. e. tame him by keeping him from sleep (as was done with hawks). — I. G.

75

Act III. Sc. iii. OTHELLO

Des. Nay, stay and hear me speak.

Cas. Madam, not now: I am very ill at ease,

Unfit for mine own purposes. Des, Well, do your discretion. [Exit Cassio.

lao-o. Ha! I like not that.

Oth. What dost thou say ?

Iago. Nothing, my lord: or if — I know not what. Oth. Was not that Cassio parted from my wife? Iago. Cassio, my lord! No, sure, I cannot think

That he would steal away so guilty-like,

Seeing you coming. Oth. I do believe 'twas he. 40

Des. How now, my lord !

I have been talking with a suitor here.

A man that languishes in your displeasure. Oth. Who is 't you mean?

Des. Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my] lord,

If I have any grace or power to move you,

His present reconciliation take;

For if he be not one that truly loves you,

That errs in ignorance and not in cunning,

I have no judgment in an honest face: 50

I prithee, call him back. Oth. Went he hence now?

Des. Aye, sooth ; so humbled,

That he hath left part of his grief with me,

To suffer with him. Good love, call him back. Oth. Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time. Des. But shall 't be shortly?

Oth. The sooner, sweet, for you.

76

THE MOOR Act in. Sc. iii.

Des. Shall 't be to-night at supper?

Oth. No, not to-night.

Des. To-morrow dinner then?

Oth. I shall not dine at home;

I meet the captains at the citadel.

Des. Why then to-morrow night; or Tuesday- morn ; 60 On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday

morn: I prithee, name the time ; but let it not Exceed three days : in faith, he 's penitent ; And yet his trespass, in our common reason — Save that, they say, the wars must make ex- amples Out of their best — is not almost a fault To incur a private check. When shall he come ? Tell me, Othello : I wonder in my soul, What you would ask me, that I should deny, Or stand so mammering on. What! Michael Cassio, 70

That came a-wooing with you, and so many a

time When I have spoke of you dispraisingly Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do To bring him in ! Trust me, I could do much —

Oth. Prithee, no more: let him come when he will; I will deny thee nothing.

Des. Why, this is not a boon ;

'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit To your own person : nay, when I have a suit 80

77

Act in. Sc. iii. OTHELLO

Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed,

It shall be full of poise and difficult weight,

And fearful to be granted. Ql)t I will deny thee nothing:

Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this,

To leave me but a little to myself. Dcs. Shall I deny you? no: farewell, my lord. Oth. Farewell, my Desdemona: I '11 come to thee

straight. Des. Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you;

Whate'er you be, I am obedient.

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. Oth. Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,

But I do love thee ! and when I love thee not, 91

Chaos is come again. Iago. My noble lord, —

Oth. What dost thou say, Iago?

Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady,

Know of your love ? Oth. He did, from first to last: why dost thou ask? Iago. But for a satisfaction of my thought;

No further harm. Oth. Why of thy thought, Iago?

92. "Chaos is come again"; the meaning is, "Ere I cease to love thee, the world itself shall be reduced to its primitive chaos." — But is used in its exceptive sense, be out, but that, or, "if I do not love thee."— H. N. H.

96. "why dost thou ask?"; in Act i. sc. 2, when Iago, speaking of the Moor to Cassio, says, "He's married," Cassio asks, "To whom?" Yet here he seems to have known all about it. Of course the explana- tion is, that Cassio there feigned ignorance, in order to keep his friend's secret till it should be publicly known. — H. N. H.

78

THE MOOR Act III. Sc. iii.

Iago. I did not think he had been acquainted witK her.

Oth. O, yes, and went between us very oft. 100

lago. Indeed!

Oth. Indeed! aye, indeed: discern'st thou aught in that? Is he not honest?

Iago. Honest, my lord!

Oth. Honest! aye, honest.

Iago. My lord, for aught I know.

Oth. What dost thou think?

Iago. Think, my lord !

Oth. Think, my lord! By heaven, he echoes me, As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean

something : I heard thee say even now, thou likedst not that, When Cassio left my wife: what didst not like? And when I told thee he was of my counsel HI In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst

Indeed!' And didst contract and purse thy brow together, As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me, Show me thy thought.

Iago. My lord, you know I love you.

Oth. I think thou dost;

And for I know thou 'rt full of love and hon- esty

106. "By heaven, he echoes me"; Q. 1, "By heauen he ecchoes me" ; Ff., "Alas, thou ecchos't me"; Qq. 2, 3, "why dost thou ecchoe me." —I. G.

79

Act in. Sc. iii. OTHELLO

And weight'st thy words before thou givest

them breath, Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more : 120

For such things in a false disloyal knave Are tricks of custom; but in a man that 's just They 're close delations, working from the heart, That passion cannot rule. Iago. For Michael Cassio,

I dare be sworn I think that he is honest. Oth. I think so too.

Iago. Men should be what they seem;

Or those that be not, would they might seem none! Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem. Iago. Why then I think Cassio 's an honest man. Oth. Nay, yet there 's more in this: 130

I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of

thoughts The worst of words. Iago. Good my lord, pardon me :

Though I am bound to every act of duty, I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile

and false ; As where 's that palace whereinto foul things Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure,

133. -tlnj worst of thoughts"; so Ff., Q. 2; Q. 1, reads "the worn of thoughts"; Q. 3, "thy thoughts"; perhaps we should read:—

"As thou dost rum'nate, give thy worst of thoughts."— I. G.

80

THE MOOR Act ill. Sc. m.

But some uncleanly apprehensions

Keep leets and law-days, and in session sit 140

With meditations lawful?

Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'st him wrong'd and makest his

ear A stranger to thy thoughts.

Iago. I do beseech you —

Though I perchance am vicious in my guess, As, I confess, it is my nature's plague To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy Shapes faults that are not — that your wisdom

yet,

From one that so imperfectly conceits, Would take no notice, nor build yourself a

trouble 150

Out of his scattering and unsure observance. It were not for your quiet nor your good, Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, To let you know my thoughts. Oth. What dost thou mean?

Iago. Good name in man and woman, dear my

lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls:

146. "my nature's plague"; it has been proposed to read "of my jealousy," and change shapes into shape. At first sight, this is plausible, as it satisfies the grammar perfectly. But jealousy is itself, evidently, the "nature's plague" of which Iago is speaking. So that the sense would be, — "It is my nature's plague to spy into abuses, and of my nature's plague to shape faults that are not"; which comes pretty near being nonsense. On the other hand, if we read, — "It is my nature's plague to spy into abuses, and oft my nature's plague shapes faults that are not," — the language is indeed not good, but the sense is perfect. — H. N. H.

156. "the immediate jewel of their souls"; their most intimate pos- session after life itself. — C. H. H. XXV— 6 gl

Act III. Sc. iii. OTHELLO

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something,

nothing ; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thou- sands ; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him 160 And makes me poor indeed.

Oth. By heaven, I '11 know thy thoughts.

I ago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody.

Oth. Ha!

Iago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;

It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on : that cuckold lives in bliss Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger ; But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves ! 170

Oth. O misery!

Iago. Poor and content is rich, and rich enough; But riches fineless is as poor as winter To him that ever fears he shall be poor : Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend From jealousy!

Oth . Why, why is this !

Think'st thou I 'Id make a life of jealousy,

To follow still the changes of the moon

With fresh suspicions ? No ; to be once in doubt

166. "mock", i. e. makes its sport with its prey (like a cat), tor- turing him with "damned minutes" of doubt, instead of making him "certain of his fate" at once. Hanmer read "make."— C. H. H.

1G8. "7m- wronger"; i. e. the wife.— C. H. H.

170. "strongly"; so Qq.; Ff., "soundly"; Knight, "fondly."— I. G.

82

THE MOOR Act in. Sc. iii.

Is once to be resolved : exchange me for a goat, When I shall turn the business of my soul 181 To such exsufflicate and blown surmises, Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me

jealous To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves com- pany, Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well; Where virtue is, these are more virtuous : Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt ; For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago, I '11 see before I doubt ; when I doubt, prove ; And on the proof, there is no more but this, 191 Away at once with love or jealousy! Iago. I am glad of it ; for now I shall have reason To show the love and duty that I bear you With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound, Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. Look to your wife : observe her well with Cassio ; Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure: I would not have your free and noble nature Out of self -bounty be abused ; look to 't : 200 I know our country disposition well ; In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks They dare not show their husbands; their best

conscience Is not to leave 't undone, but keep 't unknown.

204. "but keep't unknown"; this and the following argument of Iago ought to be deeply impressed on every reader. Deceit and falsehood, whatever conveniences they may for a time promise or produce, are in the sum of life obstacles to happiness. Those who profit by the cheat, distrust the deceiver, and the act by which kind-

83

Act in. Sc. iii. OTHELL(

Oth. Dost thou say so?

lago. She did deceive her father, marrying you;

And when she seem'd to shake and fear you looks,

She loved them most. Oth. And so she did.

lago. why> g° t0 then

She that so young could give out such a seem

ing' To seel her father's eyes up close as oak — ^

He thought 'twas witchcraft — but I am mud to blame;

I humbly do beseech you of your pardon

For too much loving you. Oth. I am bound to thee for ever

lago. I see this hath a little dash'd your spirits. Oth. Not a jot, not a jot. lago. V faith, I fear it has

I hope you will consider what is spoke

Comes from my love ; but I do see you 'r< moved :

I am to pray you not to strain my speech

To grosser issues nor to larger reach

Than to suspicion. Oth. I will not.

ness is sought puts an end to confidence. — The same objection ma} be made with a lower degree of strength against the impruden generosity of disproportionate marriages. When the first heat o: passion is over, it is easily succeeded by suspicion, that the same vio lence of inclination, which caused one irregularity, may stimulate to another; and those who have shown that their passions are tot powerful for their prudence, will, with very slight appearances agains them, be censured, as not very likely to restrain them by their virhn (Johnson).— H. N. H.

84

THE MOOR Act in. Sc. iii.

lago. Should you do so, my lord,

My speech should fall into such vile success As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio 's my

worthy friend — My lord, I see you 're moved.

Oth. No, not much moved :

I do not think but Desdemona's honest.

lago. Long live she so ! and long live you to think so!

Oth. And yet, how nature erring from itself —

lago. Aye, there 's the point : as — to be bold with you— Not to affect many proposed matches Of her own clime, complexion and degree, 230 Whereto we see in all things nature tends — Foh! one may smell in such a will most rank, Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. But pardon me; I do not in position Distinctly speak of her; though I may fear Her will, recoiling to her better judgment, May fall to match you with her country forms, And happily repent.

Oth. Farewell, farewell:

If more thou dost perceive, let me know more ; Set on thy wife to observe: leave me, lago. 240

lago. [Going] My lord, I take my leave. Oth. Why did I marry? This honest creature doubtless Sees and knows more, much more, than he un- folds.

236. "recoiling to"; slipping from the control of. — C. H. H. 238. "happily"; haply.— C. H. H.

85

Act III. Sc. iii.

Iago. [Returning] My lord, I would I might er treat your honor To scan this thing no further ; leave it to time : Though it be fit that Cassio have his place, For sure he fills it up with great ability, Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile, You shall by that perceive him and his means Note if your lady strain his entertainment 25 With any strong or vehement importunity ; Much will be seen in that. In the mean time, Let me be thought too busy in my fears — As worthy cause I have to fear I am — And hold her free, I do beseech your honor.

Oth. Fear not my government.

Iago. I once more take my leave. [Eoci

Oth. This fellow 's of exceeding honesty,

And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, Of human dealings. If I do prove her hag gard, 26

Though that her jesses were my dear heart

strings, I 'Id whistle her off and let her down the wind To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black And have not those soft parts of conversatioj That chamberers have, or for I am declined Into the vale of years, — yet that 's not much —

249. "his means"; you shall discover whether he thinks his bes means, his most powerful interest, is by the solicitation of your lach — H. N. H.

250. ''strain his entertainment"; that is, press his readmission to pa and office.— H. N. H.

259. "learned spirit"; the construction is, "He knows with a learne spirit all qualities of human dealings.— H. N. H.

86

T

HE MOOR Act in. Sc. iii.

She 's gone ; I am abused, and my relief Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours, And not their appetites! I had rather be a

toad, 270

And live upon the vapor of a dungeon, Than keep a corner in the thing I love For others' uses. Yet, 'tis the plague of great

ones; Prerogatived are they less than the base ; 'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death: Even then this forked plague is fated to us When we do quicken. Desdemona comes:

"Re-enter Desdemona and Emilia.

If she be false, O, then heaven mpcks itself!

I '11 not believe 't. Des. How now, my dear Othello!

Your dinner, and the generous islanders 280

By you invited, do attend your presence. Oth. I am to blame. Des. Why do you speak so faintly?

Are you not well ? Oth. I have a pain upon my forehead here.

276. "forked plague"; one of Sir John Harington's Epigrams will illustrate this:

"Actaeon guiltless unawares espying Naked Diana bathing in her bowre Was plagued with hornes; his dogs did him devoure; Wherefore take heed, ye that are curious, prying,

fWith some such forked plague you be not smitten, And in your foreheads see your faults be written." — H. N. H.

277. "Desdemona comes"; so Qq.; Ff. read "Looke where she tomes" — I. G.

87

Act III. Sc. iii. OTHELLC

Des. Faith, that's with watching; 'twill awa again : Let me but bind it hard, within this hour It will be well.

Oth. Your napkin is too little;

[He puts the handkerchief from him; and sh

drops it. Let it alone. Come, 1 11 go in with you.

Des. I am very sorry that you are not well.

[Exeunt Othello and Desdemonc

Emit. I am glad I have found this napkin : 29 This was her first remembrance from the Mooi My wayward husband hath a hundred times Woo'd me to steal it ; but she so loves the tokei For he conjured her she should ever keep it, That she reserves it evermore about her To kiss and talk to. I '11 have the work ta'e

out, And give 't Iago : what he will do with it Heaven knows, not I ; I nothing but to please his fantasy.

292. "a hundred times"; of course hundred is here used for an ii definite number; still it shows that the unity of time is much le observed in this play than some have supposed. The play indec seldom gives any note of the lapse of time, save by inference, as ; the case before us. Thus far, only one night, since that of the ma riage, has been expressly accounted for; and this was the night wh> the nuptials were celebrated, and Cassio cashiered; though sever must have passed during the sea-voyage. From Iago's soliloquy ; the close of Act i., it is clear he had his plot even then so ff matured, that he might often woo his wife to steal the handkerchi while at sea. Moreover, we may well enough suppose a conside able interval of time between the first and third scenes of the pre ent Act; since Cassio may not have had the interview with Desd mona immediately after he engaged Emilia to solicit it for him. H. N. H.

88

THE MOOR Act in. Sc. iii.

Re-enter Iago. I ago. How now! what do you here alone? 300

Emil. Do not you chide ; I have a thing for you. Iago. A thing for me? it is a common thing — Emil. Ha!

Iago. To have a foolish wife. Emil. O, is that all? What will you give me now

For that same handkerchief? Iago. What handkerchief?

Emil. What handkerchief !

Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona;

That which so often you did bid me steal. Iago. Hast stol'n it from her? 310

Emil. No, faith; she let it drop by negligence,

And, to the advantage, I being here took 't up.

Look, here it is. Iago. A good wench; give it me.

Emil. What will you do with 't, that you have been so earnest

To have me filch it ? Iago. [Snatching it] Why, what 's that to you ? Emil. If 't be not for some purpose of import,

Give 't me again : poor lady, she '11 run mad

When she shall lack it. Iago. Be not acknown on 't; I have use for it.

Go, leave me. [Exit Emilia. 320

I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin,

And let him find it. Trifles light as air

Are to the jealous confirmations strong

As proofs of holy writ : this may do something.

The Moor already changes with my poison:

325; 383-390; 453-460; iv. 8-10; 195-196. Omitted in Q. 1.— I. G.

89

Act III. Sc. iii.

Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons, Which at the first are scarce found to distaste, But with a little act upon the blood Burn like the mines of sulphur. I did say so: Look, where he comes !

lie-enter Othello.

Not poppy, nor mandragora, 3 Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou owedst yesterday.

Oth. Ha! ha! false to me?

Iago. Why, how now, general! no more of that.

Oth. A vaunt! be gone! thou hast set me on the rack : I swear 'tis better to be much abused Than but to know 't a little.

I ago. How now, my lord !

Oth. What sense had I of her stol'n hours of lust? I saw 't not, thought it not, it harm'd not me : I slept the next night well, was free and merry ; I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips: 341

He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stol'n, Let him not know 't and he 's not robb'd at all.

Iago. I am sorry to hear this.

Otli. I had been happy, if the general camp, Pioners and all, had tasted her sweet body, So I had nothing known. O, now for ever

890. "Look where he comes"; that is, I knew the least touch of such a passion would not permit the Moor a moment of repose: — I have just said that jealousy is a restless commotion of the mind: and look, where Othello approaches, to confirm my observation (Steev- cns).— H. N. H.

90

THE MOOR Act in. Sc. Hi.

Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! Farewell the plumed troop and the big wars That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell, 350 Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill

trump, . The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner and all quality, Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war! And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit, Farewell ! Othello's occupation 's gone J

Iago. Is 't possible, my lord?

Oth. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore ; Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof; 360 Or, by the worth of man's eternal soul, Thou hadst been better have been born a dog Than answer my waked wrath !

Iago. Is 't come to this?

Oth. Make me to see 't ; or at the least so prove it, That the probati n bear no hinge nor loop To hang a doubt on ; or woe upon thy life !

Iago. My noble lord, —

Oth. If thou dost slander her and torture me, Never pray more ; abandon all remorse ; On horror's head horrors accumulate; 370

351. "Farewell the neighing steed"; there is some resemblance be- tween this speech and the following lines in Peele's "Farewell to the Famous and Fortunate Generals of our English Forces/' 1589:

"Change love for armes; gyrt to your blades, my boyes; Your rests and muskets take, take helme and targe, And let god Mars his trumpet make you mirth, The roaring cannon, and the brazen trumpe, The angry-sounding drum, the whistling fife, The shriekes of men, the princelie courser's ney" — H. N. H.

91

Act in. Sc. iii. OTHELLO

Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth

amazed ; For nothing canst thou to damnation add Greater than that. la go. O grace! O heaven defend me!

Are you a man? have you a soul or sense? God be wi' you; take mine office. O wretched

fool, That livest to make thine honesty a vice !

0 monstrous world! Take note, take note, O

world, To be direct and honest is not safe.

1 thank you for this profit, and from hence

I '11 love no friend sith love breeds such offense. Oth. Nay, stay: thou shouldst be honest. 381

Iago. I should be wise ; for honesty 's a fool,

And loses that it works for. Oth. By the world,

I think my wife be honest, and think she is not ;

I think that thou art just, and think thou art not:

I '11 have some proof. Her name, that was as fresh

As Dian's visage, is now begrimed and black

As mine own face. If there be cords, or knives,

Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams,

I '11 not endure it. Would I were satisfied! 390 Iago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion :

I do repent me that I put it to you.

You would be satisfied? Oth. Would! nay, I will.

Iago. And may: but, how? how satisfied, my lord?

92

THE MOOR Act in. Sc. iii.

Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on? Behold her topp'd? Oth. Death and damnation! O!

lago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think,

To bring them to that prospect: damn them

then, If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster More than their own! What then? how then? What shall I say? Where's satisfaction? 401 It is impossible you should see this, Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say, If imputation and strong circumstances, Which lead directly to the door of truth, Will give you satisfaction, you may have 't. Oth. Give me a living reason she 's disloyal. lago. I do not like the office : 410

But sith I am enter'd in this cause so far, Prick'd to 't by foolish honesty and love, I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately, And being troubled with a raging tooth, I could not sleep.

There are a kind of men so loose of soul, That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs : One of this kind is Cassio : In sleep I heard him say * Sweet Desdemona, • Let us be wary, let us hide our loves;' 420

And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my

hand, Cry 'O sweet creature!' and then kiss me hard,

406. "circumstances"; indirect, circumstantial evidence.— C. H. H.

93

Act III. Sc. iii. OTHELLO

As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots,

That grew upon my lips : then laid his leg

Over my thigh, and sigh'd and kiss'd, and then

Cried 'Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!' Oth. O monstrous! monstrous! lago. Nay, this was but his dream.

Oth. But this denoted a foregone conclusion:

Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. lago. And this may help to thicken other proofs 430

That do demonstrate thinly. Oth. I '11 tear her all to pieces.

lago. Nay, but be wise: yet we see nothing done;

She may be honest yet. Tell me but this ;

Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief

Spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand. Oth. I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift. lago. I know not that: but such a handkerchief —

I am sure it was your wife's — did I to-day

See Cassio wipe his beard with. Oth. If it be that —

lago. If it be that, or any that was hers, 440

It speaks against her with the other proofs. Oth. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives!

One is too poor, too weak for my revenge.

Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, lago ;

All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven:

'Tis gone.

Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell!

435. "Spotted"; embroidered.— C. H. H.

440. "any that was hers"; Malone's emendation; Qq., "any, it was hers"; F. 1, "any, it was hers"; Ff. 2, 3, 4, "any, if't was hers"; Anon. conj. "any 'it' was hers"— J. G.

447. "thy hollow cell"; so Qq.; Ff. read "the hollow hell"; War- burton, "th' unhallow'd cell."— I. G.

94

THE MOOR Act in. Sc. m.

Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne To tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy

fraught, For 'tis of aspics' tongues!

Iago. Yet be content. 450

Oth. O, blood, blood, blood!

Iago. Patience, I say; your mind perhaps may* change.

Oth. Never, Iago. Like to the Pontic sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontic and the Hellespont; Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, Till that a capable and wide revenge Swallow them up. Now, by yond marble heaven, 460

In the due reverence of a sacred vow [Kneels. I here engage my words.

Iago. Do not rise yet. [Kneels.

Witness, you ever-burning lights above, You elements that clip us round about, Witness that here Iago doth give up The execution of his wit, hands, heart, To wronged Othello's service! Let him com- mand, And to obey shall be in me remorse, What bloody business ever. \They arise.

456. Steevens compares the following passage in Holland's Pliny: — "And the sea Pontus ever more floweth and runneth out from Propontes, but the sea never retireth back again within Pontus." — I. G.

469. "business ever"; Qq., "worke so euer" '; Collier, "work soe'er," &c— I. G.

95

Act III. Sc. iv. OTHELLO

Oth. I greet thy love,

Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous, 470

And will upon the instant put thee to 't: Within these three days let me hear thee say That Cassio 's not alive.

Iago. My friend is dead ; 'tis done at your request : But let her live.

Oth. Damn her, lewd minx! O, damn her!

Come, go with me apart; I will withdraw, To furnish me with some swift means of death For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieuten- ant.

Iago. I am your own for ever. [Exeunt.

Scene IV

Before the castle. Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown.

Des. Do you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant

Cassio lies? Clo. I dare not say he lies any where. Des. Why, man? Clo. He 's a soldier ; and for one to say a soldier

lies, is stabbing. Des. Go to : where lodges he ? Clo. To tell you wheie he lodges, is to tell you

where I lie. Des. Can any thing be made of this? 10

Clo. I know not where he lodges ; and for me to

96

THE MOOR Act in. Sc. iv.

devise a lodging, and say he lies here or he

lies there, were to lie in mine own throat. Des. Can you inquire him out and be edified byj

report? Clo. I will catechize the world for him; that is,

make questions and by them answer. Des. Seek him, bid him come hither : tell him I

have moved my lord on his behalf and hope

all will be well. 20

Clo. To do this is within the compass of man's wit,

and therefore I will attempt the doing it.[ Exit. Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief,

Emilia ? Emil. I know not, madam. Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse

Full of crusadoes : and, but my noble Moor

17. "by them answer"; that is, and by them, when answered, form my own answer to you. The quaintness of the answer is in character. — H. N. H.

24. "I know not"; objection has been made to the conduct of Emilia in this scene, as inconsistent with the spirit she afterwards shows. We can discover no such inconsistency. Want of principle and strength of attachment are often thus seen united. Emilia loves her mistress deeply; but she has no moral repugnance to theft and falsehood, apprehends no fatal consequences from the Moor's pas- sion, and has no soul to conceive the agony her mistress must suffer by the charge of infidelity; and it is but natural, that when the result comes she should be the more spirited for the very remem- brance of her own guilty part in the process. It is the seeing of the end, that rouses such people, and rouses them all the more that themselves have served as means. "Emilia," says Mrs. Jameson, "is a perfect portrait from common life, a masterpiece in the Flemish style: and, though not necessary as a contrast, it cannot be but that the thorough vulgarity, the loose principles of this plebeian woman, united to a high spirit, energetic feeling, strong sense, and low cunning, serve to place in brighter relief the exquisite refinement, the moral grace, the unblemished truth, and the soft submission of Desdemona."— H. N. H.

XXV— 7 97

Act in. Sc. iv. OTHELLO

Is true of mind and made of no such baseness

As jealous creatures are, it were enough

To put him to ill thinking. Emil. Is he not jealous? 29

Des. Who, he? I think the sun where he was born

Drew all such humors from him. Emil. Look, where he comes.

Des. I will not leave him now till Cassio

Be call'd to him.

Enter Othello.

How is 't with you, my lord?

Oth. Well, my good lady. [Aside] O, hardness to dissemble! How do you, Desdemona?

Des. Well, my good lord.

Oth. Give me your hand: this hand is moist, my lady.

Des. It yet has felt no age nor known no sorrow.

Oth. This argues fruitfulness and liberal heart: Hot, hot, and moist : this hand of yours requires A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer, Much castigation, exercise devout; 41

For here 's a young and sweating devil here, That commonly rebek. 'Tis a good hand, A frank one.

Des. You may, indeed, say so;

For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart.

Oth. A liberal hand: the hearts of old gave hands; But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.

47. "our new heraldy" {vide Preface). — I. G.

98

THE MOOR Act in. Sc. iv.

Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your

promise. Oth. What promise, chuck?

Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you. Oth. I have a salt and sorry rheum offends me ; 51

Lend me thy handkerchief. Des. Here, my lord.

Oth. That which I gave you.

Des. I have it not about me.

Oth. Not?

Des. No, indeed, my lord.

Oth. That 's a fault.

That handkerchief

Did an Egyptian to my mother give;

She was a charmer, and could almost read

The thoughts of people: she told her, while she kept it

'Twould make her amiable and subdue my father

Entirely to her love, but if she lost it 60

Or made a gift of it, my father's eye

Should hold her loathed and his spirits should hunt

After new fancies : she dying gave it me,

And bid me, when my fate would have me wife,

To give it her. I did so : and take heed on 't ;

Make it a darling like your precious eye ;

56. "an Egyptian"; probably a gipsy. — C. H. H.

63. "fancies"; loves.— C. H. H.

65. "her," i. e. to my wife (implied in "wive"). — I. G.

In the last scene of the play, Othello speaks of the handkerchief as "an antique token my father gave my mother." This has been thought an oversight; Steevens regards it as a fresh proof of the

99

Act III. So. iv. OTHELLO

To lose 't or give 't away were such perdition

As nothing else could match. jjes Is 't possible?

Oth. Tis true: there 's magic in a web of it: 7C

A sibyl, that had number'd in the world

The sun to course two hundred compasses,

In her prophetic fury sew'd the work;

The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk;

And it was dyed in mummy which the skillful

Conserved of maidens' hearts. Des. Indeed! is 't true?

Oth. Most veritable; therefore look to 't well. Des. Then would to God that I had never seen' t Oth. Ha! wherefore?

Des. Why do you speak so startingly and rash? 7! Oth. Is 't lost? is 't gone? speak, is it out o' the way! Des. Heaven bless us ! Oth. Say you?

Des. It is not lost; but what an if it were? Oth. How!

Des. I say, it is not lost. Oth. Fetch 't, let me see it.

Poet's art. "The first account," says he, "was purposely ostentatious in order to alarm his wife the more. When he again mentions it the truth was sufficient." We must add a remark from Mrs. Jame- son: "This handkerchief, in the original story of Cinthio, is merely one of those embroidered handkerchiefs which were as fashionabL in Shakespeare's time as in our own; but the minute description o it as 'lavorato alia morisco sottilissimamente,' which in English mean nothing more than that the pattern was what we now call arabesque suggested to the poetical fancy of Shakespeare one of the mos exquisite and characteristic passages in the whole play. OthelL makes poor Desdemona believe that the handkerchief was a talis man."— H. N. H.

100

THE MOOR Act in. Sc. iv.

Des. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now.

This is a trick to put me from my suit:

Pray you, let Cassio be received again. Oth. Fetch me the handkerchief: my mind mis- gives. Des. Come, come ;

You '11 never meet a more sufficient man. 90 Oth. The handkerchief!

Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio.

Oth. The handkerchief! Des. A man that all his time

Hath founded his good fortunes on your love,

Shared dangers with you, — Oth. The handkerchief !

Des. In sooth, you are to blame. Oth. Away! [Exit.

Emil. Is not this man jealous?

Des. I ne'er saw this before.

Sure there 's some wonder in this handkerchief:

I am most unhappy in the loss of it. Emil. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man: 100

They are all but stomachs and we all but food;

They eat us hungerly, and when they are full

They belch us. Look you, Cassio and my hus- band.

Enter Cassio and Iago.

Iago. There is no other way ; 'tis she must do 't :

And, lo, the happiness ! go and importune her. Des. How now, good Cassio ! what 's the news with

you? Cas. Madam, my former suit: I beseech you

101

Act III. Sc. iv. OTHELL(

That by your virtuous means I may again

Exist, and be a member of his love

Whom I with all the office of my heart 11

Entirely honor : I would not be delay'd.

If mv offense be of such mortal kind,

That nor my service past nor present sorrows

Nor purposed merit in futurity

Can ransom me into his love again,

But to know so must be my benefit;

So shall I clothe me in a forced content

And shut myself up in some other course

To fortune's alms.

Des. Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio!

My advocation is not now in tune; U

My lord is not my lord, nor should I know hi] Were he in favor as in humor alter'd. So help me every spirit sanctified, As I have spoken for you all my best And stood within the blank of his displeasui For my free speech! You must awhile I

patient : What I can do I will ; and more I will Than for myself I dare : let that suffice you.

lago. Is my lord angry?

Emil. He went hence but now,

And certainly in strange unquietness.

lago. Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon When it hath blown his ranks into the air, And, like the devil, from his very arm

118. "shut myself up in" &c, i. e., "Confine myself to some otfc course of life, awaiting fortune's charity"; Q. 1, "shoote my set up in"; Capell, "shoot myself upon"; Rann, "shape myself upor Collier MS., "shift myself upon."— I. G.

102

1.

rHE MOOR Act ill. Sc. iv.

Puff'd his own brother; and can he be angry? Something of moment then: I will go meet him: There 's matter in 't indeed if he be angry.

Des. I prithee, do so. [Exit Iago.

Something sure of state, Either from Venice some unhatch'd practice Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, I Hath puddled his clear spirit ; and in such cases I Men's natures wrangle with inferior things, 141 Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even

so; For let our finger ache, and it indues Our other healthful members even to that sense Of pain: nay, we must think men are not gods, Nor of them look for such observancy As fits the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia, I was, unhandsome warrior as I am, Arraigning his unkindness wTith my soul; But now I find I had suborn'd the witness, 150 And he 's indicted falsely.

Emil. Pray heaven it be state-matters, as you think, And no conception nor no jealous toy Concerning you.

Des. Alas the day, I never gave him cause !

Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so; They are not ever jealous for the cause, But jealous for they are jealous: 'tis a monster Begot upon itself, born on itself.

Des. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind! 160

148. "warrior" '; Hanmer "wrangler" ; cp. "O my fair warrior"; (II. i. 184).— I. G.

5 F 103

Act in. Sc. iv. OTHELU

Emil. Lady, amen.

l)cs. I will go seek him. Cassio, walk hereaboul If I do find him fit, I '11 move your suit, And seek to effect it to my uttermost.

Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship.

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilu

Enter Bianca.

Bian. Save you, friend Cassio!

Cas. What make you from horn*

How is it with you, my most fair Bianca?

I' faith, sweet love, I was coming to your hous> Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio.

What, keep a week away? seven days an nights? *•*

Eight score eight hours? and lovers' abser hours,

More tedious than the dial eight score times?

0 weary reckoning!

Cas. Pardon me, Bianca,

1 have this while with leaden thoughts bee

press'd ; But I shall in a more continuate time Strike off this score of absence. Sweet B

anca,

[Giving her Desdemona 's handkerchie Take me this work out.

170. "seven days and nights"; it would seem, by this, that sev< days at least have elapsed since Cassio was cashiered; perhaps mu< more, as the "leaden thoughts" may have been kept off for son time by the hopes built upon Desdemona's promise of intercessio and brought on again by the unexpected delay. See Act iii. sc. — H. N. H.

104

THE MOOR Act ill. Sc. it.

Bian. O Cassio, whence came this?

This is some token from a newer friend :

To the felt absence now I feel a cause :

Is 't come to this? Well, well. Cas. Go to, woman! 180

Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth,

From whence you have them. You are jealous now

That this is from some mistress, some remem- brance :

No, by my faith, Bianca. Bian. Why, whose is it?

Cas. I know not, sweet : I found it in my chamber.

I like the work well: ere it be demanded —

As like enough it will — I 'Id have it copied:

Take it, and do 't ; and leave me for this time. Bian. Leave you! wherefore? Cas. I do attend here on the general; • 190

And think it no addition, nor my wish,

To have him see me woman'd. Bian. Why, I pray you?

Cas. Not that I love you not. Bian. But that you do not love me.

I pray you, bring me on the way a little ;

And say if I shall see you soon at night. Cas 'Tis but a little way that I can bring you;

For I attend here: but I '11 see you soon. Bian. 'Tis very good ; I must be circumstanced.

[Exeunt.

201. "be circumstanced" : submit to circumstances. — C. H. H.

105

Act :v. Sc. I. OTHELLO

ACT FOURTH

Scene I

Cyprus. Before the castle. Enter Othello and lago.

I ago. Will you think so?

Oth. Think so, lago!

Iago. What,

To kiss in private?

Oth. An unauthorized kiss.

Iago. Or to be naked with her friend in bed An hour or more, not meaning any harm.

Oth. Naked in bed, Iago, and not mean harm! It is hypocrisy against the devil: They that mean virtuously and yet do so, The devil their virtue tempts and they tempt heaven.

4. "not meaning any harm" ; we must suppose that Iago had been applying eases of false comfort to Othello; as that, though the parties had been even found in bed together, there might be no harm done: it might be only for trial of their virtue; as was reported of the Romish saint, Robert D'Arbrissel, and his nuns (Warburton). — H. N. H.

8. The "devil tempts their virtue" by stirring up their passions, and they tempt heaven by placing themselves in a situation which makes it scarcely possible to avoid falling by the gratification of them. Perhaps the story of St. Adhelm, related in Bale's Actes of BngUftk Votaries, is referred to: "This Adhelmus never refused women, but wold have them commonly both at borde and bedde, to mocke the devyll with."— H. N. H.

106

THE MOOR Act. IV. Sc. i.

Iago. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip :

But if I give my wife a handkerchief — 10

Oth. What then?

Iago. Why, then, 'tis hers, my lord ; and being hers, She may, I think, bestow 't on any man.

Oth. She is protectress of her honor too : May she give that?

Iago. Her honor is an essence that 's not seen ; They have it very oft that have it not : But for the handkerchief —

Oth. By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it: Thou said'st — O, it comes o'er my memory, 20 As doth the raven o'er the infected house, Boding to all — he had my handkerchief.

Iago. Aye, what of that?

Oth. That 's not so good now.

Iago. What,

If I had said I had seen him do you wrong? Or heard him say — as knaves be such abroad, Who having, by their own importunate suit, Or voluntary dotage of some mistress, Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose But they must blab —

Oth. Hath he said anything?

Iago. He hath, my lord ; but be you well assured, No more than he '11 unswear.

Oth. What hath he said?

Iago. Faith, that he did — I know not what he did.

28. "convinced or supplied"; that is, having either conquered her reluctance or complied with her wish. The proper meaning of con- vince is conquer or overcome. — H. N. H.

107

Act iv. Sc. i. OTHELLO

Oth. What, what? 33

I a go. Lie —

Oth. With her?

I a go. With her, on her ; what you will.

Oth. Lie with her! lie on her! — We say lie on her, when they belie her. — Lie with her! 'Zounds, that 's fulsome ! Handkerchief — confessions — handkerchief ! — To confess, and be hanged for his labor; first, to be hanged, and then to confess. I tremble at 40 it. Nature wTould not invest herself in such

41. ''Nature would not invest"; this passage has called forth a large fund of critical ingenuity. Dr. Johnson explains it thus: "There has always prevailed in the world an opinion, that when any great calamity happens at a distance, notice is given of it to the sufferer hy some dejection or perturbation of mind, of which he discovers no external cause. This is ascribed to that general com- munication of one part of the universe with another, which is called sympathy and antipathy; or to the secret monition, instruction, and influence of a superior Being, which superintends the order of nature and of life. Othello says, 'Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing passion, without some instruction: It is not words that shake me thus.' This passion, which spreads its clouds over me, is the effect of some agency more than the operation of words: it is one of those notices which men have of unseen calamities." — The explanation given by Sir Joshua Reynolds is, that Othello does not here refer to any feelings of his own, but to the story of Cassio's dream, which Iago has fabricated and told him; and of which Othello has already said, "But this denoted a foregone conclusion"; meaning, of course, that Cassio's dream was but an involuntary remembrance and repetition of what he had actually done before. So that the sense may be given something thus: "Nature would not in Cassio clothe herself in such shadowing passion, or would not give out such adumbrations of passion, without some former experience, or the instruction of some foregoing fact." — Either cf these explana- tions may be right, and it is not easy to choose between them; though we rather incline to the latter: for, as Sir Joshua says, "Othello, in broken sentences and single words, all of which have a reference to the cause of his jealousy, shows that all the proofs orr present at once to his mind, which so overpower it that he falls into a trance, — the natural consequence. — H. N. H.

1QS

THE MOOR Act. iv. Sc. i.

shadowing passion without some instruction. It is not words that shakes me thus. Pish! Noses, ears and lips. Is 't possible? — Con- fess ? — Handkerchief ? — O devil !

[Falls in a trance. Iago. Work on,

My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are

caught : And many worthy and chaste dames even thus, All guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho! my

lord! My lord, I say! Othello!

Enter Cassio.

How now, Cassio ! 50

Cos. What's the matter?

Iago. My lord is f all'n into an epilepsy :

This is his second fit; he had one yesterday.

Cas. Rub him about the temples.

Iago. No, forbear;

The lethargy must have his quiet course: If not, he foams at mouth, and by and by Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs : Do you withdraw yourself a little while, He will recover straight: when he is gone,

45. "O devil!"; "The starts," says Warburton, "and broken re- flections in this speech have something in them very terrible, and show the mind of the speaker to be in inexpressible agonies." — The trance is thus justified by Sir Joshua Reynolds: "When many con- fused and very interesting ideas pour in upon the mind all at once, and with such rapidity that it has not time to shape or digest them, if it does not relieve itself by tears, (which we know it often does, whether for joy or grief,) ?t produces stupefaction and fainting." — H. N. H.

109

Act IV. Sc. i. OTHELLO

I would on great occasion speak with you. 60

[Exit Cassio.

How is it, general? have you not hurt your head? Oth. Dost thou mock me? Iago. I mock you ! no, by heaven.

Would you would bear your fortune like a man ! Oth. A horned man 's a monster and a beast. Iago. There 's many a beast then in a populous city,

And many a civil monster. Oth. Did he confess it? Iago. Good sir, be a man ;

Think every bearded fellow that 's but yoked

May draw with you : there 's millions now alive

That nightly lie in those unproper beds 70

Which they dare swear peculiar: your case is better.

O, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock,

To lip a wanton in a secure couch,

And to suppose her chaste! No, let me know;

And knowing what I am, I know what she shall be. Oth. O, thou art wise ; 'tis certain. Iago. Stand you awhile apart;

Confine yourself but in a patient list.

Whilst you were here o'erwhelmed with your grief —

A passion most unsuiting such a man —

Cassio came hither; I shifted him away, 80

And laid good 'scuse upon your ecstasy ;

70. "improper beds"; that is, beds not their own, not peculiar, common. — H. N. H. 78. "here o'erwhelmed"; Q. 1, "here ere while, mad."— I. G.

110

THE MOOR Act. IV. Sc. i.

"Bade him anon return and here speak with me; The which he promised. Do but encave your- self, And mark the fleers, the gibes and notable

scorns, That dwell in every region of his face; For I will make him tell the tale anew, Where, how, how oft, how long ago and when He hath and is again to cope your wife : I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience; Or I shall say you are all in all in spleen, 90 And nothing of a man.

Oth. Dost thou hear, Iago?

I will be found most cunning in my patience ; But — dost thou hear? — most bloody.

Iago. That 's not amiss ;

But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?

[Othello retires. Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, A housewife that by selling her desires Buys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature That dotes on Cassio; as 'tis the strumpet's

plague To beguile many and be beguiled by one. He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain 100 From the excess of laughter. Here he comes.

Re-enter Cassio.

As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad; And his unbookish jealousy must construe Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures and light behav- ior,

111

Act IV. Sc. i. OTHELLO

Quite in the wrong. How do you now, lieu- tenant '{ Cas. The worser that you give me the addition

Whose want even kills me. logo. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure on 't.

Now, if this suit lay in Bianca's power,

How quickly should you speed! Cas. Alas, poor caitiff ! HO

Oth. Look, how he laughs already! Iago. I never knew a woman love man so. Cas. Alas, poor rogue! I think, i' faith, she loves

me. Oth. Now he denies it faintly and laughs it out. Iago. Do you hear, Cassio? Oth. Now he importunes him

To tell it o'er : go to ; well said, well said. Iago. She gives it out that you shall marry her:

Do you intend it? Cas. Ha, ha, ha! 119

Oth. Do you triumph, Roman? do you triumph? Cas. I marry her ! what, a customer ! I prithee,

bear some charity to my wit ; do not think it

so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha! Oth. So, so, so, so: they laugh that win. Iago. Faith, the cry goes that you shall marry

her. Cas. Prithee, say true. Iago. I am a very villain else. Oth. Have you scored me? Well.

106. "addition"; title.— C. H. H.

191. ("What, a customer!"); ii. 73-76; iii. 60-63, 87-104; omitted in Q. 1.— I. G.

112

THE MOOR Act. IV. Sc. i.

Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out: she is persuaded I will marry her, out of her own 130 love and flattery, not out of my promise.

Oth. Iago beckons me; now he begins the story.

Cas. She was here even now: she haunts me in every place. I was the other day talking on the sea-bank with certain Venetians ; and thither comes the bauble, and, by this hand, she falls me thus about my neck —

Oth. Crying 'O dear Cassio!' as it were: his gesture imports it. 140

Cas. So hangs and lolls and weeps upon me ; so hales and pulls me : ha, ha, ha !

Oth. Now he tells how she plucked him to my chamber. O, I see that nose of yours, but not that dog I shall throw it to.

Cas. Well, I must leave her company.

Iago. Before me! look, where she comes.

Cas. 'Tis such another fitchew! marry, a per- fumed one.

Enter Bianca.

What do you mean by this haunting of me ? 150 Bian. Let the devil and his dam haunt you! What did you mean by that same handker- chief you gave me even now! I was a fine fool to take it. I must take out the work? A likely piece of work, that you should find

137-142. "and, by this hand, she falls me"; so Collier; Q. 1, reads "by this hand she fals"; Ff., "and falls me"; Qq. 2, 3, "fals me."— I. G.

XXV— 8

US

Act iv Sc i. OTHELLO

it in your chamber, and not know who left it there! This is some minx's token, and I must take out the work? There; give it your hobby-horse: wheresoever you had it, I '11 take out no work on 't. 160

Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca! how now! how now!

Oth. By heaven, that should be my handker- chief!

Bian. An you '11 come to supper to-night, you may; an you will not, come when you are next prepared for. [Exit.

lago. After her, after her.

Cas. Faith, I must; she '11 rail i' the street else.

lago. Will you sup there? 170

Cas. Faith, I intend so.

lago. Well, I may chance to see you; for I would very fain speak with you.

Cos. Prithee, come; will you?

lago. Go to; say no more. [Exit Cassio.

Oth. [Advancing] How shall I murder him, lago?

lago. Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice?

Oth. Olago! 180

lago. And did you see the handkerchief?

Oth. Was that mine?

lago. Yours, by this hand: and to see how he prizes the foolish woman your wife ! she gave it him, and he hath given it his whore.

Oth. I would have him nine years a-killing.

114

THE MOOR Act. IV. Sc. i.

A fine woman! a fair woman! a sweet woman !

Iago. Nay, you must forget that.

Oth. Aye, let her rot, and perish, and be damned 190 to-night ; for she shall not live : no, my heart is turned to stone ; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. O, the world hath not a sweeter creature : she might lie by an emperor's side, and command him tasks.

Iago. Nay, that 's not your way.

Oth. Hang her! I do but say what she is: so delicate with her needle : an admirable musi- cian : O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear: of so high and plenteous wit and in- 200 vention : —

Iago. She 's the worse for all this.

Oth. O, a thousand thousand times: and then, of so gentle a condition!

Iago. Aye, too gentle.

Oth. Nay, that's certain: but yet the pity of it, Iago! O Iago, the pity of it, Iago!

Iago. If you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to offend; for, if it touch not you, it comes near nobody. 210

Oth. I will chop her into messes: cuckold me!

Iago. O, 'tis foul in her.

Oth. With mine officer!

Iago. That 's fouler.

Oth. Get me some poison, Iago; this night. I '11 not expostulate with her, lest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again: this night, Iago.

115

Act iv. Sc. i. OTHELLO

Iago. Do it not with poison, strangle her in her

bed, even the bed she hath contaminated. 220 Oth. Good, good: the justice of it pleases: very

good. Iago. And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker:

you shall hear more by midnight. Oth. Excellent good. [A trumpet within] What

trumpet is that same? lago. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis Lodo- vico Come from the duke : and, see, your wife is with him.

Enter Lodovico, Desdemona, and Attendants.

Lod. God save the worthy general!

Oth. With all my heart, sir.

Lod. The duke and senators of Venice greet you.

[Gives him a letter. Oth. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. 230

[Opens the letter, and reads. Des. And what 's the news, good cousin Lodovico? Iago. I am very glad to see you, signior;

Welcome to Cyprus. Lod. I thank you. How does Lieutenant Cassio? Iago. Lives, sir.

Des. Cousin, there's fall'n between him and my lord An unkind breach : but you shall make all well. Oth. Are you sure of that? Des. My lord?

Oth. [Reads] 'This fail you not to do, as vou will—' *240

116

THE MOOR Act. IV. Sc. i.

Lod. He did not call ; he 's busy in the paper.

Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio? Des. A most unhappy one : I would do much

To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio. Oth. Fire and brimstone ! Des. My lord?

Oth. Are you wise ?

Des. What, is he angry? Lod. May be the letter moved him;

For, as I think, they do command him home,

Deputing Cassio in his government. Des. By my troth, I am glad on 't. Oth. Indeed!

Des. My lord?

Oth. I am glad to see you mad. Des. Why, sweet Othello? 250

Oth. Devil! [Striking her.

Des. I have not deserved this. Lod. My Lord, this would not be believed in Ven- ice,

Though I should swear I saw 't : 'tis very much :

Make her amends; she weeps. Oth. O devil, devil!

If that the earth could teem with woman's tears,

255. "If that the earth could teem"; "if women's tears could im- pregnate the earth." By the doctrine of equivocal generation new- animals were supposed producible by new combinations of matter. Shakespeare here alludes to the fabulous accounts which make the crocodile the most deceitful of animals. "It is written that he will weep over a man's head when he hath devoured the body, and will then eat up the head too." Wherefore in Latin there is a proverb, "Croco- dili lachrymae, crocodiles teares, to signifie such teares as are feigned, and spent only with intent to deceive or do harm" (Bullokar's Ex- positor, 1616).— H. N. H.

117

.'.d iv. Sc. i. OTHELLCj

Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile. Out of my sight !

Des. I will not stay to offend you. [Going

Lod. Truly, an obedient lady:

I do beseech your lordship, call her back.

Oth. Mistress!

Des. My Lord? 26<

Oth. What would you with her, sir?

Lod. Who, I, my lord

Oth. Aye; you did wish that I would make he: turn: Sir, she can turn and turn, and yet go on, And turn again; and she can weep, sir, weep And she 's obedient, as you say, obedient, Very obedient. Proceed you in your tears. Concerning this, sir, — O well-painted pas

sion ! — I am commanded home. Get you away ; I '11 send for you anon. Sir, I obey the man

date, And will return to Venice. Hence, avaunt ! 27'

[Eooit Desdemona

Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, to-nigh1

I do entreat that we may sup together:

You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats an<

monkeys ! [Eocii

273. "Goats and monkeys"; in this exclamation Shakespeare ha shown great art. I ago in Act iii. sc. 3, being urged to give som evident proof of the guilt of Cassio and Desdemona, tells the Moc it were impossible to have ocular demonstration of it, though the should be as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys. These words, w may suppose, still ring in the ears of Othello, who, being now full convinced of his wife's infidelity, rushes out with this emphatic ea (lunation. — H. N. H.

113

rHE MOOR Act. iv. Sc. i.

hod. Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate

I Call all in all sufficient? This the nature Whom passion could not shake? whose solid vir- tue The shot of accident nor dart of chance Could neither graze nor pierce? lago. He is much changed.

hod. Are his wits safe? is he not light of brain? lago. He 's that he is : I may not breathe my cen- sure 280 What he might be : if what he might he is not, I would to heaven he were ! hod. What, strike his wife. lago. Faith, that was not so well ; yet would I knew

That stroke would prove the worst! Lod. Is it his use?

Or did the letters work upon his blood, And new create this fault? Iago. Alas, alas!

It is not honesty in me to speak What I have seen and known. You shall ob- serve him (And his own courses will denote him so 289

That I may save my speech : do but go after, And mark how he continues. Lod. I am sorry that I am deceived in him.

[Exeunt..

275. "This the nature," Pope's reading; Qq., "This the noble na- ture"; Ff., "Is this the nature."— I. G.

119

Act iv. Sc. ii. OTHELLC

Scene II

A room in the castle. Enter Othello and Emilia.

Oth. You have seen nothing, then?

EmiL Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.

Oth. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she togethei

EmiL But then I saw no harm, and then I heard Each syllable that breath made up betwee: them.

Oth. What, did they never whisper?

EmiL Never, my lord.

Oth. Nor send you out o' the way?

EmiL Never.

Oth. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nc nothing?

EmiL Never my lord.

Oth. That 's strange.

EmiL I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, Lay down my soul at stake: if you think othe Remove your thought ; it doth abuse your boson If any wretch have put this in your head, Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse ! For if she be not honest, chaste and true, There 's no man happy ; the purest of their wiv Is foul as slander.

Oth. Bid her come hither: go. [Eccit Emili

She says enough : yet she 's a simple bawd

That cannot say as much. This is a subt

whore,

120

THE MOOR Act iv. Sc. ii.

A closet lock and key of villainous secrets : And yet she '11 kneel and pray ; I have seen her do't.

Enter Desdemona with Emilia.

Des. My lord, what is your will?

Oth. Pray, chuck, come hither.

Des. What is your pleasure?

Oth. Let me see your eyes ;

Look in my face. Des. What horrible fancy 's this?

Oth. [To Emilia] Some of your function, mistress,

Leave procreants alone and shut the door;

Cough, or cry hem, if any body come:

Your mystery, your mystery : nay, dispatch. 30

[Exit Emilia. Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech im- port?

I understand a fury in your words,

But not the words. Oth. Why, what art thou?

Des. Your wife, my lord ; your true and loyal wife. Oth. Come, swear it, damn thyself;

Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils them- selves

Should fear to seize thee: therefore be double- damn'd;

Swear thou art honest. Des. Heaven doth truly know it.

Oth. Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.

27. "Some of your function"; something that belongs to your occu- pation.—C. H. H.

121

Act iv. Sc. ii. OTHELLO

Des. To whom, my lord? with whom? how am I false? 40

Oth. O Desdemona! Away! away! away!

Des. Alas the heavy day ! Why do you weep ? Am I the motive of these tears, my lord? If haply you my father do suspect An instrument of this your calling back, Lay not your blame on me: if you have lost

him, Why, I have lost him too.

Oth. Had it pleased heaven

To try me with affliction ; had they rain'd All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head, Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips, 50

Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes, I should have found in some place of my soul A drop of patience : but, alas, to make me A fixed figure for the time of scorn To point his slowT unmoving finger at!

55. "unmoving finger"; much has been written upon the passage, and divers changes proposed, such as "hand of scorn," and slowly nu ring, most of them originating in a notion that the Poet had some sort of time-piece in his mind. Probably, not to say certainly, no such reference was intended. So that all the progeny of that notion may be set aside. "The time of scorn" means, no doubt, as Knight says, "the age of scorn," that is, the whole period during which scorn may be said to live. The "fixed figure" is simply the speaker himself, and not any figure on a dial-plate. As to "slow-unmoving," the sense of it can be better felt than expressed: we can see the sneer darting from the inexorable finger, ever slowly moving with the object, never moving from it; but we cannot speak it in any words but Shakespeare's, as they stand in the text. The best of all the proposed changes that we have seen, in fact the only one worth en- tertaining, is Mr. Hunter's, who would transpose for and of, thus: "A fixed figure of the time for Scorn to point," &c. We will add Mr. R. G. White's comment on the last line of the passage: "Some have chosen the reading of the folio, on the ground that if the finger

122.

THE MOOR Act IV. Sc. ii.

Yet could I bear that too; well, very well:

But there, where I have garner'd up my heart,

Where either I must live or bear no life,

The fountain from the which my current runs,

Or else dries up; to be discarded thence! 60

Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads

To knot and gender in! Turn thy complexion

there, Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin, Aye, there, look grim as hell!

Des. I hope my noble lord esteems me honest.

Oth. O, aye; as summer flies are in the shambles, That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed, Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet That the sense aches at thee, would thou had'st ne'er been born !

Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed? 70

Oth. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, Made to write 'whore' upon? What com- mitted ! Committed! O thou public commoner! I should make very forges of my cheeks, That would to cinders burn up modesty, Did I but speak thy deeds. What committed! Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks ; The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,

of scorn be 'slow,' it must move, and therefore, 'unmoving' is an in- congruous epithet! But surely the finger of scorn is 'unmoving,' because it does not move from its object, but points at him fixedly and relentlessly. To say that a thing is 'slow,' and then to add that it moves, is certainly worthy only of an idiot." — H. N. H.

78. "The bawdy wind"; so in The Merchant of Venice: "Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind" — H. N. H.

123

Act iv. 8c. ii. OTHELLO |

Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth, And will not hear it. What committed! 80 Impudent strumpet!

DeSt By heaven, you do me wrong.

Oth. Are not you a strumpet?

DeSt No, as I am a Christian:

If to preserve this vessel for my lord From any other foul unlawful touch Be not to be a strumpet, I am none.

Oth. What, not a whore?

Des. No, as I shall be saved.

Oth. Is 't possible?

Des. O, heaven forgive us!

Oth. I cry you mercy then :

I took you for that cunning whore of Venice That married with Othello. [Raising his voice'] You, mistress, 90

That have the office opposite to Saint Peter, And keep the gate of hell !

Re-enter Emilia.

You, you, aye, you : We have done our course ; there 's money for

your pains: I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel.

[Exit.

83. "preserve this vessel"; this expression is from Sacred Writ: *To possess his vessel in sanctification." — H. N. H.

91. "office opposite to St. Peter"; that is, the office opposed to Saint Peter; alluding, evidently, to "the power of the keys," which was given to the Apostles generally, and especially to Saint Peter as representing them. So that the opposition is between Emilia as keeper of the gate of hell, and Saint Peter as keeper of the gate of heaven. The sense, therefore, requires that the special emphasis, if there be any, should be laid on opposite. — H. N. H.

124

THE MOOR Act IV. Sc. ii.

Emit. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive?

How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady? Des. Faith, half asleep. Emil. Good madam, what 's the matter with my

lord? Des. With who?

Emil. Why, with my lord, madam. 10°

Des. Who is thy lord?

Emil. He that is yours, sweet lady.

Des. I have none: do not talk to me, Emilia;

I cannot weep, nor answer have I none

But what' should go by water. Prithee, to- night

Lay on my bed my wedding sheets: remember;

And call thy husband hither. Emil. Here 's a change indeed!

{Exit. Des. 'Tis meet I should be used so, very meet.

How have I been behaved, that he might stick

The small'st opinion on my least misuse?

Re-enter Emilia, with Iago.

Iago. What is your pleasure, madam? How is 't with you? 110

Des. I cannot tell. Those that do teach young babes Do it with gentle means and easy tasks: He might have chid me so ; for, in good faith, I am a child to chiding.

109. "opinion"; suspicion. — C. H. H.

"least misuse"; Q. 1, "greatest abuse"; Collier MS., "least mis- deede."—l. G.

125

Act IV. Sc. ii. OTHELLO

I ago. What 's the matter, lady ?

Emil. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhored her,

Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her,

As true hearts cannot bear. Dcs. Am I that name, Iago?

Iago. What name, fair lady ?

Dcs. Such as she says my lord did say I was. 119 Emil. He call'd her whore: a beggar in his drink

Could not have laid such terms upon his callet. Iago. Why did he so?

Des. I do not know : I am sure I am none such. Iago. Do not weep, do not weep. Alas the day! Emil. Hath she forsook so many noble matches,

Her father and her country and her friends,

To be call'd whore? would it not make one weep? Des. It is my wretched fortune. Iago. Beshrew him for 't !

How comes this trick upon him? Des. Nay, heaven doth know.

Emil. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain, 130

Some busy and insinuating rogue,

Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office,

Have not devised this slander; I '11 be hang'd else. Iago. Fie, there is no such man ; it is impossible. Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon him! EmiL A halter pardon him! and hell gnaw his bones ?

Why should he call her whore? who keeps her company ?

126

THE MOOR Act iv. Sc. ii.

What place? what time? what form? what like- lihood?

The Moor's abused by some most villainous knave,

Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow.

0 heaven, that such companions thou 'ldst un-

fold, 141

And put in every honest hand a whip To lash the rascals naked through the world Even from the east to the west!

I a go. Speak within door.

Emil. O, fie upon them! Some such squire he was That turn'd your wit the seamy side without, And made you to suspect me with the Moor.

Iago. You are a fool ; go to.

Des. O good Iago,

What shall I do to win my lord again? Good friend, go to him; for, by this light of heaven, 150

1 know not how I lost him. Here I kneel : If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love Either in discourse of thought or actual deed,

144. "Speak within door"; do not clamor so as to be heard beyond the house.— H. N. H.

153. "discourse of thought" probably means much the same as "discourse of reason"; that is, discursive range of thought. See Hamlet, Act i. sc. 2, note 19. — The phrase, "discoursing thoughts," is met with in Sir John Davies' Epigrams. Pope changed "discourse of thought" to "discourse, or thought," which certainly is more in accordance with the solemn and impressive particularity of the speaker's asseveration of innocence. The change has also been ap- proved as referring to the three forms of sin, "by thought, word, and deed," specified in the old catechisms and the eucharistical con- fession of the Church. Nevertheless, we adhere to the text as it stands in all the old copies. — H. N. H.

127

Act IV. Sc. ii.

OTHELLO

Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense, Delighted them in any other form, Or that I do not yet, and ever did, And ever will, though he do shake me off To beggarly divorcement, love him dearly, Comfort foreswear me! Unkindness may do

much; And his unkindness may defeat my life, 160 But never taint my love. I cannot say 'whore' : It doth abhor me now I speak the word; To do the act that might the addition earn Not the world's mass of vanity could make me.

Iago. I pray you, be content ; 'tis but his humor : The business of the state does him offense, And he does chide with you.

Des. If 'twere no other, —

Iago. 'Tis but so, I warrant. [Trumpets within. Hark, how these instruments summon to sup- per! The messengers of Venice stay the meat: 170 Go in, and weep not ; all things shall be well.

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emila.

Enter Roderigo.

How now, Roderigo. Rod. I do not find that thou dealest justly with

me. Iago. What in the contrary?

170. "The messengers of Venice stay the meat"; Knight's reading; F. 1, "The Messengers of Venice staies the meate"; Ff. 2, 3, 4, "The Messenger of Venice staies the meate"; Q. 1, "And the great Mes- *< ngers of Venice stay"; Qq. 2, 3, "The meate, great Messengers of Venice stay" — I. G.

128

THE MOOR Act iv. Sc. ii.

Hod. Every day thou daff est me with some de- vice, Iago ; and rather, as it seems to me now, keepest from me all conveniency than sup- pliest me with the least advantage of hope. I will indeed no longer endure it ; nor am 1 180 yet persuaded to put up in peace what al- ready I have foolishly suffered.

Iago. Will you hear me, Roderigo?

Rod. Faith, I have heard too much; for your words and performances are no kin together.

Iago. You charge me most unjustly.

Rod. With nought but truth. I have wasted myself out of my means. The jewels you have had from me to deliver to Desdemona would half have corrupted a votarist: you 190 have told me she hath received them and re- turned me expectations and comforts of sud- den respect and acquaintance; but I find none.

Iago. Well; go to; very well.

Rod. Very well! go to! I cannot go to, man; nor 'tis not very well: by this hand, I say 'tis very scurvy, and begin to find myself f opped in it.

Iago. Very well. 200

Rod. I tell you 'tis not very well. I will make myself known to Desdemona : if she will re- turn me my jewels, I will give over my suit and repent my unlawful solicitation ; if not, assure yourself I will seek satisfaction of you. Iago. You have said now.

XXV-9 129

Act IV. Sc. ii. OTHELLO

Rod. Aye, and said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing.

Iago. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee; 210 and even from this instant do build on thee a better opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand, Roderigo : thou hast taken against me a most just exception; but yet, I protest, I have dealt most directly in thy affair.

Rod. It hath not appeared.

Iago. I grant indeed it hath not appeared, and your suspicion is not without wit and judg- ment. But, Roderigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed, which I have greater reason to 220 I believe now than ever, I mean purpose, cour- age and valor, this night show it : if thou the next night following enjoy not Desdemona, take me from this world with treachery and devise engines for my life.

Rod. Well, what is it? is it within reason and compass ?

Iago. Sir, there is especial commission come from Venice to depute Cassio in Othello's place.

Rod. Is that true? why then Othello and Des-230 demona return again to Venice.

Iago. O, no ; he goes into Mauritania, and takes

218. "not without wit and judgment"; Shakespeare knew well that most men like to be flattered on account of those endowments in which they are most deficient. Hence Iago's compliment to this snipe on his sagacity and shrewdness (Malone).— H. N. H.

232. "he goes into Mauritania" ; this passage proves, so far as any- thing said by Iago may be believed, that Othello was not meant to be a Negro, as has been represented, both on the stage and off, but a veritable Moor. His kindred, the Mauritanians — from whose "men

130

THE MOOR Act iv. Sc. ii.

away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode be lingered here by some accident : wherein none can be so determinate as the removing of Cassio.

Rod. How do you mean, removing of him?

Iago. Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's place ; knocking out his brains.

Rod. And that you would have me to do? 240

Iago. Aye, if you dare do yourself a profit and a right. He sups to-night with a harlotry, and thither will I go to him : he knows not yet of his honorable fortune. If you will watch his going thence, which I will fash- ion to fall out between twelve and one, you may take him at your pleasure: I will be near to second your attempt, and he shall fall between us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with me ; I will show you 250 such a necessity in his death that you shall think yourself bound to put it on him. It is now high supper-time, and the night grows to waste : about it.

Rod. I will hear further reason for this.

Iago. And you shall be satisfied. [Exeunt.

of royal siege he fetched his life and being," and among whom he was about to retire,— though apt enough to be confounded with the Negroes, were as different from them, externally, as brown is from black; internally, in mind and character, the difference was far greater. — H. N. H.

242. "he sups with a harlotry"; Shakespeare has the expression, "a peerish self-will'd harlotry/' in two other plays.— H. N. H.

131i

Act IV. Sc. iii. OTHELU

Scene III

Another room in the castle.

Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, anty

Attendants.

Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no fur- ther. Oth. O, pardon me ; 'twill do me good to walk. Lod. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your

ladyship. Des. Your honor is most welcome. Oth. Will you walk, sir?

O, — Desdemona, — Des. My lord? Oth. Get you to bed on the instant; I will be

returned forthwith: dismiss your attendant

there: look it be done. Des. I will, my lord. 10

[Exeunt Othello, Lodovico, and Attendants. Emit. How goes it now? he looks gentler than he

did. Des. He says he will return incontinent :

He hath commanded me to go to bed,

And bade me to dismiss you. Emil. Dismiss me!

Des. It was his bidding; therefore, good Emilia,*

Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu:

11. "he looks gentler"; one of those side intimations of the fluctua- tions of passion, which we seldom meet with but in Shakespeare. He has here put into half a line what some authors would have spuni out into ten set speeches (Hazlitt).— H. N. H.

132

THE MOOR Act iv. Sc. iii.

We must not now displease him. Emil. I would you had never seen him! Des. So would not I : my love doth so approve him, That even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns, — 2®

Prithee, unpin me, — have grace and favor in them. Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the

bed. Des. All 's one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds ! If I do die before thee, prithee, shroud me In one of those same sheets. Emil. Come, come, you talk.

Des. My mother had a maid call'd Barbara : She was in love ; and he she loved proved mad And did forsake her: she had a song of 'wil- low;' An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune, And she died singing it: that song to-night 30 Will not go from my mind ; I have much to do But to go hang my head all at one side And sing it like poor Barbara. Prithee, dis- patch. Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown? Des. No, unpin me here.

This Lodovico is a proper man. Emil. A very handsome man.

23. "All's one. Good faith"; Q. 1, "All's one good faith"; Qq. 2, 3, " 'All's one; good father"; Ff., "All's one: good Father"—!. G.

26. "Barbara"; Qq. read "Barhary" ; F. 1, "Barbarie."— I. G.

31. "I have much to do"; that is, I have much ado to do any thing, but to go, &c. To-do was, and still is, often used thus in the sense of ado.— H. N. H.

133

"

Act iv. Sc. iii. OTHELLCJ

Des. He speaks well.

Emil. I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip. 4C

Des. [Singing] The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,

Sing all a green willow; Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,

Sing willow, willow, willow : The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur her moans ; Sing willow, willow, willow; Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones ; —

Lay by these: —

[Singing] Sing willow, willow, willow;

Prithee, hie thee ; he '11 come anon : — 50

[Singing] Sing all a green willow must be my garland.

Let nobody blame him; his scorn I ap- prove,—

Nay, that's not next. Hark! who is 't that knocks ? Emil It 's the wind.

41, &c; the original of Desdemona's song is to be found in Percy's Reliques under the title of "A Lover's Complaint, being forsaken of his Love," where the plaintive lover is a man. — I. G.

41. "sighing"; Ff., "singing"; Q. 3, "singhing"; F. 1, (Dev.) "*w-l ing."—l. G.

134

THE MOOR Act IV. Sc. iii.

Des. [Singing'] I call'd my love false love; but what said he then? Sing willow, willow, willow: If'iNcourt moe women, you '11 couch with moe men ! $®

So get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do

itch ; Doth that bode weeping? Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there.

Des. I have heard it said so. O, these men, these men! Dost thou in conscience think, — tell me, Em- ilia,— That there be women do abuse their husbands In such gross kind? Emil. There be some such, no question.

Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the

world ? Emil. Why, would not you?

Des. No, by this heavenly light!

Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light; I

might do 't as well i' the dark. Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the

world ? Emil. The world's a huge thing: it is a great price For a small vice. Des. In troth, I think thou wouldst not.

Emil. In troth, I think I should ; and undo 't 71 when I had done. Marry, I would not do such a thing for a joint-ring, nor for meas- ures of lawn, nor for gowns, petticoats, nor

6F 135

Act iv. Sc. iii. OTHELLO

caps, nor any petty exhibition; but, for the whole world, — why, who would not make her husband a cuckold to make him a monarch? I should venture purgatory for 't.

Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for the whole world. 80

Emil Why, the wrong is but a wrong i' the world; and having the world for your la- bor, 'tis a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly make it right.

Des. I do not think there is any such woman.

Emil. Yes, a dozen ; and as many to the vantage as would store the world they played for. But I do think it is their husband's faults If wives do fall: say that they slack their duties And pour our treasures into foreign laps, 90 Or else break out in peevish jealousies, Throwing restraint upon us, or say they strike

us, Or scant our former having in despite, Why, we have galls, and though we have some

grace, Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands

know Their wives have sense like them: they see and

smell

And have their palates both for sweet and sour, As husbands have. What is it that they do When they change us for others? Is it sport? I think it is: and doth affection breed it? 100 I think it doth: is 't frailty that thus errs? It is so too : and have not we affections,

136

rHE MOOR Act IV. Sc. iii.

Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have? Then let them use us well: else let the:_i know, The ills we do, their ills instruct us so. Des. Good night, good night: heaven me such uses send, Not to pick bad from bad but by bad mend!

[Exeunt.

137

Act v. Sc. i. OTHELLC

ACT FIFTH

Scene I

Cyprus. A street.

Enter Iago and Roderigo.

Iago. Here, stand behind this bulk; straight wil he come: Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home : Quick, quick; fear nothing; I '11 be at thy el

bow: It makes us, or it mars us; think on that, And fix most firm thy resolution. Rod. Be near at hand; I may miscarry in 't. Iago. Here, at thy hand: be bold, and take th stand. [Retires

Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed ;

And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons

'Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword : he die?

Iago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost to th

sense, 1

And he grows angry. Now, whether he ki

Cassio, Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other, Every way makes my gain: live Roderigo, He calls me to a restitution large Of gold and jewels that I bobb'd from him,

138

THE MOOR Act V. Sc. i.

As gifts to Desdemona:

It must not be : if Cassio do remain,

He hath a daily beauty in his life

That makes me ugly ; and besides, the Moor 20

May unfold me to him; there stand I in much

peril : No, he must die. Be 't so. I hear him coming.

Enter Cassio.

Rod. I know his gait; 'tis he. Villain, thou diestl

[Makes a pass at Cassio. Cos. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed, But that my coat is better than thou know'st: I will make proof of thine^

[Draws and wounds Roderigo. Rod. O, I am slain!

[Iago from behind wounds Cassio in the leg, and

exit.

Cas. I am maim'd for ever. Help, ho! murder!

murder ! [Falls.

Enter Othello.

Oth. The voice of Cassio : Iago keeps his word.

Rod. O, villain that I am!

Oth. It is even so.

Cas. O, help, ho! light! a surgeon! 30

Oth. 'Tis he. O brave Iago, honest and just,

That hast such noble sense of thy friend's

wrong ! Thou teachest me. Minion, your dear lies dead, And your unblest fate hies: strumpet, I come!

i?o

Act v. Sc. i. OTHELLO

Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are

blotted : Thy bed lust-stain'd shall with lust's blood be

spotted. [Exit.

Enter Lodovico and Gratiano.

Cos. What, ho! no watch? no passage? murder!

murder ! Gra. 'Tis some mischance; the cry is very direful. Cos. O, help !

Lod. Hark! 40

Rod. O wretched villain! Lod. Two or three groan : it is a heavy night :

These may be counterfeits : let 's think 't un- safe

To come into the cry without more help. Rod. Nobody come? then shall I bleed to death. Lod. Hark!

Re-enter lago, with a light.

Gra. Here 's one comes in his shirt, with light and

weapons. lago. Who's there? whose noise is this that cries

on murder? Lod. We do not know.

lago. Did you hear a cry? 49

Cos. Here, here ! for heaven's sake, help me ! lago. What 's the matter?

Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it. Lod. The same indeed; a very valiant fellow. lago. What are you here that cry so grievously?

140

THE MOOR Act V. Sc. L

Cas. Iago? O, I am spoil'd, undone by villains!

Give me some help. Iago. O me, lieutenant! what villains have done

this? Cas. I think that one of them is hereabout,

And cannot make away. Iago. O treacherous villains?

What are you there? come in and give some help. [To Lodovico and Gratiano.

Rod. O, help me here! 60

Cas. That 's one of them.

Iago. O murderous slave! O villain!

[Stabs Roderigo. Rod. O damn'd Iago ! O inhuman dog ! Iago. Kill men i' the dark! Where be these bloody thieves ? How silent is this town! Ho! murder! mur- der! What may you be? are you of good or evil? Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us. Iago. Signior Lodovico? Lod. He, sir. Iago. I cry you mercy. Here 's Cassio hurt by

villains. Gra. Cassio! 70

Iago. How is 't, brother? Cas. My leg is cut in two.

Iago. Marry, heaven forbid!

Light, gentlemen : I '11 bind it with my shirt.

Enter Bianca.

Bian. What is the matter, ho? who is 't that cried?

141

Act v. Sc. i. OTHELLO

lago. Who is 't that cried!

Bian. O my dear Cassio! my sweet Cassio! O

Cassio, Cassio, Cassio! lago. O notable strumpet! Cassio, may you sus- pect

Who they should be that have thus mangled you? Cos. No. 80

Gra. I am sorry to find you thus: I have been to

seek you. Iago. Lend me a garter. So. O, for a chair,

To bear him easily hence ! Bian. Alas, he faints! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio! lago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash

To be a party in this injury.

Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come;

Lend me a light. Know we this face or no ?

Alas, my friend and my dear countryman

Roderigo? no: — yes, sure: O heaven! Roder- igo. 90

Gra. What, of Venice? lago. Even he, sir: did you know him? Gra. Know him ! aye.

lago. Signior Gratiano? I cry you gentle pardon ;

These bloody accidents must excuse my man- ners,

That so neglected you. Gra. I am glad to see you.

lago. How do you, Cassio? O, a chair, a chair? Gra. Roderigo!

82-83; omitted in Q. 1.— I. G. 142

THE MOOR Act v. Sc. i.

I ago. He, he, 'tis he. [A chair hr ought in.~\ O,

that 's well said ; the chair : Some good man bear him carefully from hence; I '11 fetch the general's surgeon. [To Bianco]

For you, mistress, 100

Save you your labor. He that lies slain here,

Cassio, Was my dear friend: what malice was between

you? Cas. None in the world ; nor do I know the man. Iago. [To BianJ] What, look you pale? O, bear

him out o' the air.

[Cassio and Roderigo are borne off. Stay you, good gentleman. Look you pale,

mistress? Do you perceive the gastness of her eye? Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon. Behold her well ; I pray you, look upon her : Do you see, gentlemen? nay, guiltiness will

speak, Though tongues were out of use. 110

Enter Emilia.

Emil. "'Las, what 's the matter? what 's the matter, husband?

Iago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark By Roderigo, and fellows that are 'scaped: He 's almost slain, and Roderigo dead.

Emil. Alas, good gentlemen! alas, good Cassio!

105. "gentlemen," the reading of Ff.; Qq., "Gentlewoman" — I. G. 107. "if you stare"; so Ff.; Qq. 1, 2, "an you stirre"; Q. 3, "an you stirr"; Anon. conj. "if you stay." — I. G.

143

Act v. Sc. ii. OTHELLO

lago. This is the fruit of whoring. Prithee, Emilia, Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night. What, do you shake at that? Bian. He supp'd at my house; but I therefore

shake not. lago. O, did he so? I charge you, go with me. 120 EmiL Fie, fie upon thee, strumpet! Bian. I am no strumpet; but of life as honest

As you that thus abuse me. EmiL As I ! f oh ! fie upon thee !

Iago. Kind gentlemen, let 's go see poor Cassio dress'd. Come, mistress, you must tell 's another tale. Emilia, run you to the citadel, And tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd! Will you go on? I pray. [Aside] This is the

night That either makes me or fordoes me quite.

[Exeunt.

Scene II

A bedchamber in the castle: Desdemona in bed asleep; a light burning.

Enter Othello.

Oth. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul: Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!

2. "you chaste stars"; Steevens informs us there is "no classical authority" for "chaste stars." Very likely; but then Othello has "authority" as pood, perhaps, as "classical," in the supposed «»- chastity of his wife, which is "the cause" of his present purpose, and

144

THE MOOR Act v. Sc. ii.

It is the cause. Yet I '11 not shed her blood,

Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow

And smooth as monumental alabaster.

Yet she must die, else she '11 betray niore men.

Put out the light, and then put out the light:

If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,

I can again thy former light restore,

Should I repent me : but once put out thy light,

Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, H

I know not where is that Promethean heat

That can thy light relume. When I have

pluck'd the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It must needs wither : I '11 smell it on the tree.

[Kissing her.

which the purity of the stars withholds him from naming in their presence. No classical authority! — H. N. H.

7. "Put out the light, and then put out the light? ; i. e. "put out the light, and then put out the light of life." The Cambridge Editors give some dozen variant methods of punctuating and reading the line, but it is perfectly clear as it stands. — I. G.

The present regulation of this passage, by which so much beauty and spirit is added to it, was proposed by Mr. Upton, but it is to be found in Ayres's Life of Pope; it may therefore have originated with Warburton, who thus explains it: "The meaning is, I will put out the light, and then proceed to the execution of my purpose. But the expression of putting out the light bringing to mind the effects of the extinction of the light of life, he breaks short, and questions himself about the effects of this metaphorical extinction, introduced by a repetition of his first words, as much as to say, — But hold, let me first weigh the reflection which this expression naturally excites." Dr. Farmer treats this as a refinement of Warburton's, observing that to put out the light was a phrase for to kill. "Broken sen- tences," says Mr. Boswell, "are very much in our Poet's manner, and are surely natural in the perturbed state of Othello's mind. I am unwilling to persuade myself that a regulation of the text which contains so much beauty could be merely the refinement of a critic, and that our great author, in one of his most highly-wrought scenes, instead of it, intended nothing but a cold conceit." — H. N. H. XXV— 10 145

Act V. Sc. ii. OTHELLO

Ah, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade

Justice to break her sword! One more, one more :

Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,

And love thee after : one more, and this the last :

So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep, 20

But they are cruel tears: this sorrow 's heavenly ;

It strikes where it doth love. She wakes. Des. Who's there? Othello? Oth. Aye, Desdemona.

Des. Will you come to bed, my lord? Oth. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona? Des. Aye, my lord. Oth. If you bethink yourself of any crime

Unreconciled as yet to heaven and grace,

Solicit for it straight. Des. Alas, my lord, what may you mean by that? Oth. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by: 30

I would not kill thy unprepared spirit ;

No; heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul. Des. Talk you of killing? Oth. Aye, I do.

Des. Then heaven have mercy on me ! Oth. Amen, with all my heart! Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me. Oth. Hum! Des. And yet I fear you ; for you are fatal then

When your eyes roll so: why I should fear I know not,

Since guiltiness I know not; but yet I feel I fear.

146

THE MOOR Act V. Sc. ii.

Oth. Think on thy sins.

Des. They areJoves 1 bear to you. 40

Oth. Aye, and for that thou diest.

Des. That death 's unnatural that kills for loving.

Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip ?

Some bloody passion shakes your very frame :

These are portents ; but yet I hope, I hope,

They do not point on me. Oth. Peace, and be still!

Des. I will so. What 's the matter? Oth. That handkerchief which I so loved and gave

thee Sha'^ kopP*/

Thou gavestto Cassio. < £ ^

Des. No, by my life and soul ! 49

Send for the man, and ask him.

Oth. Sweet soul, take heed,

Take heed of perjury; thou art on thy death- bed. iWf p<av\

Des. Aye, but not yet to die.

Oth. Yes, presently:

Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin ;

fi For to deny each article with oath

Cannot remove nor choke the strong conception That I do groan withal. Thou art to die.

Des. Then Lord have mercy on me !

Oth. I say, amen.

Des. And have you mercy too ! I never did Offend you in my life; never loved Cassio But with such general warranty of heaven 60 As I might love: I never gave him token.

Oth. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in 's hand. O perjured woman! thou dost stone my heart,

147

Act V. Sc. ii. OTHELLO

And makest me call what I intend to do

A murder, which I thought a sacrifice :

I saw the handkerchief. Des. He found it then;

I never gave it him: send for him hither;

Let him confess a truth. Oth. He hath confess'd.

Des. What, my lord? Oth. That he hath used thee. Des. How? unlawfully?

Oth. Aye. ™

Des. He will not say so. Oth. No, his mouth is stopp'd;

Honest Iago hath ta'en order for 't. Des. O, my fear interprets! what, is he dead? Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge

Had stomach for them all. Des. Alas, he is betray'd, and I undone ! Oth. Out, strumpet! weep'st thou for him to my]

face? Des. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not! Oth. Down, strumpet !

Des. Kill me to-morrow ; let me live to-night ! 80 Oth. Nay, if you strive, — Des. But half an hour !

65. "which I thought a sacrifice"; some editors have managed to stumble at this passage. The language is indeed compressed, but the meaning seems clear enough. Othello goes about the killing of his wife as an act of religion, and he fears lest her perjury may excite his anger, and so corrupt the deed into an act of revenge. This is Johnson's explanation: "Thou hardenest my heart, and makest me kill thee with the rage of a murderer, when I thought to have sacri- ficed thee to justice with the calmness of a priest striking a victim." —The quarto of 1622 reads, "thou dost stone thy heart."— H. N. H.

148

THE MOOR Act v. Sc. ii,

Oth. Being done, there is no pause.

Des. But while I say one prayer! Oth. It is too late. [He stifles her.

Emil. [Within] My lord, my lord! what, ho! my

lord, my lord! Oth. What noise is this? Not dead? not yet quite

dead?

II that am cruel am yet merciful ; < I would not have thee linger in thy pain: So, so. Emil [Within] What, ho! my lord, my lord! Oth. Who's there?

Emil. [Within] O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you ! 90

Oth. Yes : 'tis Emilia. By and by. She 's dead. 'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death. The noise was here. Ha! no more moving? Still as the grave. Shall she come in? were 't

good? I think she stirs again. No. What 's best to

do? If she come in, she '11 sure speak to my wife : My wife ! my wife ! what wife ? I have no wife.

82. "there is no pause"; omitted in Q. 1. — I. G.

Othello regards the act as done, when the conflict between his love and honor is fully over, his resolution finally taken, and his hand raised to strike. To admit any pause in such a case, were but to prolong the suffering of the victim. — H. N. H.

88. "So, so"; at these words, the Othello of the stage is made to stab Desdemona. There is no such direction in any of the old copies ; but still the stage-custom may be right; as, in the agony of the moment, and in his desire "not to have her linger in her pain,'* Othello's resolution not to shed her blood might be overcome. It seems more natural, too, that Desdemona should speak after being stabbed, than after being smothered to death. — H. N. H.

149

[Act v. Sc. ii. OTHELLO

O, insupportable! O heavy hour!

Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse

Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe ^ Should yawn at alteration. 100

Emil. [Within] I do beseech you

That I may speak with you, O, good my lord! Oth. I had forgot thee : O, come in, Emilia. s>

Soft; by and by. Let me the curtains draw.

Where art thou? [Unlocks the door,

Enter Emilia.

What 's the matter with thee now? Emil. O, my good lord, yonder 's foul murders

done! Oth. What, now? Emil. But now, my lord. Oth. It is the very error of the moon ;

She comes more nearer earth than she was wont

And makes men mad. HI

Emil. Cassio, my lord, hath kill'd a young Venetian

CalFd Roderigo. Oth. Roderigo kill'd!

And Cassio kill'd! Emil. No, Cassio is not kill'd.

Oth. Not Cassio kill'd! then murder 's out of tune,

And sweet revenge grows harsh. 'Des. O, falsely, falsely murder'd ! Emil. Alas, what cry is that?

Oth. That! what? Emil. Out, and alas ! that was my lady's voice.

Help! help, ho! help! O lady, speak again! 120

100. "yawn"; as if in bewildered wonder.— C. H. H.

150

THE MOOR Act v. Sc. ii.

Sweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak! Des. A guiltless death I die. Emil. O, who hath done this deed? Des. Nobody ; I myself . Farewell:

Commend me to my kind lord: O, farewell!

[Diec Oth. Why, how should she be murder'd? Emil. Alas, who knows?

Oth. You heard her say herself, It was not I. Emil. She said so : I must needs report the truth. Oth. She 's like a liar gone to burning hell:

'Twas I that kill'd her. Emil. O, the more angel she, 130

And you the blacker devil ! Oth. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil. Oth. She was false as water. Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say

That she was false : O, she was heavenly true ! Oth. Cassio did top her ; ask thy husband else.

O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell,

But that I did proceed upon just grounds

To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all. Emil. My husband !

Oth. Thy husband. 140

Emil. That she was false to wedlock? Oth. Aye, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true,

If heaven would make me such another world

Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,

I 'Id not have sold her for it. Emil. My husband! Oth. Aye, 'twas he that told me first:

151

Act v. Sc. it. OTHELLC

An honest man he is, and hates the slime

That sticks on filthy deeds. Emil. My husband!

Oth. What needs this iteration, woman? I say th? husband. 15<

Emil. O mistress, villainy hath made mocks witl love !

My husband say that she was false ! Oth. He, woman

I say thy husband: dost understand the wrord?

My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago. Emil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul

Rot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart:

She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. Oth. Ha! Emil. Do thy worst:

This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven 16

Than thou wast worthy her. Oth. Peace, you were beslj

Emil. Thou hast not half that power to do me harr

As I have to be hurt. O gull ! O dolt !

As ignorant as dirt ! thou hast done a deed —

I care not for thy sword ; I '11 make thee knowr

Though I lost twenty lives. Help! help, he help !

The Moor hath kilFd my mistress! Murdei murder !

Enter Montano, Gratiano, Iago, and others. Mon. What is the matter? How now, general!

151. "made mocks with love"; "taken advantage to play upon tl weakness of passion" (Johnson). — I. G.

152

THE MOOR Act v. Sc. a.

Emil. O, are you come, Iago? you have done well,

That men must lay their murders on your neck. Gra. What is the matter? 171

Emit. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man :

He says thou toldst him that his wife was false:

I know thou didst not, thou 'rt not such a villain.

Speak, for my heart is full. Iago. I told him what I thought, and told no more

Than what he found himself was apt and true. Emil. But did you ever tell him she was false? Iago. I did. Emil. You told a lie, an odious, damned lie ; 180

Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie !

She false with Cassio! Did you say with Cassio? Iago. With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your

tongue. Emil. I will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak :

My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed, — All. O heavens for fend!

Emil. And your reports have set the murder on. Oth. Nay, stare not, masters : it is true indeed. Gra. 'Tis a strange truth. Mon. O monstrous act! Emil. Villainy, villainy, villainy ! 190

I think upon 't : I think : I smell 't : O villainy !

I thought so then: I '11 kill myself for grief:

O villainy, villainy !

172. "Disprove this villain"; Capell, "Disprove it, villain.'9 — I. G.

185, 193; omitted in Q. 1.— I. G.

19-2. "/ thought so then" ; that is, when she gave Desdemona's hand- kerchief to Iasro: for even then Emilia appears to have suspected it was sought after for no honest purpose. — H. N. H.

Act v. Sc. n. OTHELLO

Iago. What, are you mad? I charge you, get you

home. Emil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak:

Tis proper I obey him, but not now.

Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home. Oth. O! O! O! [Falling on the bed.

Em il. Nay, lay thee down and roar ;

For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent

That e'er did lift up eye. Oth. [Rising] O, she was foul! 200

I scarce did know you, uncle: there lies your niece,

Whose breath indeed these hands have newly stopp'd :

I know this act shows horrible and grim. Gra. Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father's dead:

Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief

Shore his old thread in twain : did he live now,

This sight would make him do a desperate turn,

Yea, curse his better angel from his side,

And fall to reprobation. Oth. JTis pitiful; but yet Iago knows 210

That she with Cassio hath the act of shame

A thousand times committed; Cassio confess'd it:

'212. "thousand times" is evidently put for an indefinite number, or, as Steevens remarks, "an aggravated term for many times.'" Still the expression infers a good deal as to the space of time oc- cupied by the play. We have already seen that a considerable period must have elapsed after the arrival in Cyprus before the end of Act iii. Near the close of the third scene in Act iii., the Moor says to [ago,— "Within these three days let me hear thee say, that Cassio's not alive." We may presume this period to have elapsed between

154

THE MOOR Act v. Sc. ii.

And she did gratify his amorous works With that recognizance and pledge of love" Which I first gave her ; I saw it in his hand : It was a handkerchif, an antique token My father gave my mother.

Emil. O heaven ! O heavenly powers !

lago. 'Zounds ! hold your peace.

Emil. 'Twill out, 'twill out. I peace!

No, I will speak as liberal as the north ; — — - 220 Let heaven and men and devils, let them all, All, all, cry shame against me, yet I '11 speak.

lago. Be wise, and get you home.

Emil. I will not.

[lago offers to stab Emilia.

Gra. Fie!

Your sword upon a woman!

Emil. O thou dull Moor! that handkerchief thou speak'st of I found by fortune and did give my husband ; For often with a solemn earnestness, More than indeed belong'd to such a trifle, He begg'd of me to steal it.

lago. Villainous whore !

Emil. She give it Cassio ! no, alas, I found it, 230 And I did give 't my husband.

Act iii. and Act v. It is not unlikely that Othello may suppose the wickedness between his wife and Cassio to have been in progress before his marriage, when Cassio "came a-wooing with him." This, of course, would greatly aggravate her offense in his eye, by causing the marriage to seem designed on her part but as a cover for her guilty indulgence. The play may be cited as a very remarkable instance of unity of interest making us irrespective of time; for until one goes into a critical scrutinizing of the scenes for that pur- pose, he never thinks but that the catastrophe occurs on the second night after the landing in Cyprus. — H. N. H.

155

Act V. Sc. ii. OTHELLO

Jasro. Filth, thou liest !

EmiL By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen.

O murderous coxcomb ! what should such a fool

Do with so good a wife? Oth. Are there no stones in heaven

But what serve for the thunder? Precious vil- lain !

[H e runs at I ago: I ago, from behind, stabs Emilia and eooit.

Gra. The woman falls ; sure, he hath kill'd his wife. EmiL Aye, aye: O, lay me by my mistress' side. Gra, He 's gone, but his wife 's kill'd. Mon. "Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon,

Which I have here recover'd from the Moor : 240

Come, guard the door without ; let him not pass,

But kill him rather. I '11 after that same villain,

For 'tis a damned slave.

[Exeunt all but Othello and Emilia. Oth. I am not valiant neither,

But every puny whipster gets my sword.

But why should honor outlive honesty ?

Let it go all. EmiL What did thy song bode, lady?

Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan,

235. "no stones in heaven"; that is, "no bolts but what serve for the thunder." We have before had "thunder-stone" for thunder-oo/£. See Cymbeline, Act iv. se. 2. — H. N. H.

239. "notorious villain"; strictly speaking, Iago was not a notorious villain, as his villainy had not been known. Probably the meaning is, worthy to be notorious. See Act iv. sc. 2. — H. N. H.

156

THE MOOR Act v. Sc. ii.

And die in music. [Singing] Willow, willow,

willow. Moor, she was chaste; she loved thee, cruel

Moor; So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true; 250 So speaking as I think, I die, I die. [Dies. Oth. I have another weapon in this chamber; It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook'st temper. — O, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth. Gra. [Within] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear: Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. Oth. Look in upon me then, and speak with me, Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee.

Re-enter Gratiano

Gra. What is the matter?

Oth. Behold, I have a weapon ;

A better never did itself sustain 260

Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day That with this little arm and this good sword I have made my way through more impediments Than twenty times your stop : but, O vain boast ! Who can control his fate? 'tis not so now. Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd; Here is my journey's end, here is my butt And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. Do you go back dismay 'd ? 'tis a lost fear : Man but a rush against Othello's breast, 270 And he retires. Where should Othello go?

266-272; omitted in Q. 1.— I. G.

157

Act v. Sc. ii. OTHELLO

Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd

wench ! Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt, This look of thine will hurl my soul from

heaven, And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my

girl! Even like thy chastity. O cursed slave! Whip me, ye devils,

From the possession of this heavenly sight! Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur! Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire ! 280 O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead! Oh! Oh! Oh!

Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio carried in a chair, and Officers with lago, prisoner.

Lod. Where is this rash and most unfortunate

man? Oth. That 's he that was Othello: here I am. Lod. Where is that viper? bring the villain forth. Oth. I look down towards his feet; but that's a fable. If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee.

[Wounds lago. Lod. Wrench his sword from him. lago. I bleed, sir, but not kill'd.

Oth. I am not sorry neither: I 'Id have thee live; For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die. 290

286. "I look down towards his feet"; alluding to the devil's cloven feet. Othello looks down towards Iago's feet, to see if he has that sign of being a devil, but then concludes that he may be just as much a devil without it. — H. N. H.

158

THE MOOR Act v. Sc. ii.

Lod. O tKou Othello, that wert once so good, Fall'n in the practice of a damned slave, What shall be said to thee?

Oth. Why, any thing:

An honorable murderer, if you will; For nought did I in hate, but all in honor.

Lod. This wretch hath part confess'd his villainy: Did you and he consent in Cassio's death?

Oth. Aye.

Cos. Dear general, I never gave you cause.

Oth. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon. 300 Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil Why he hath thus ensnared my soul and body ?

Iago. Demand me nothing; what you know, you know: From this time forth I never will speak word.

Lod. What, not to pray?

Gra. Torments will ope your lips.

Oth. Well, thou dost best.

Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath be fall'n, Which, as I think, you know not. Here is a

letter Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo, And here another : the one of them imports 310 The death of Cassio to be undertook By Roderigo.

Oth. O villain!

Cas. Most heathenish and most gross !

Lod. Now here 's another discontented paper, Found in his pocket too ; and this, it seems, Roderigo meant to have sent this damned vil- lain;

159

Act v. Sc. ii. OTHELLO

But that, belike, Iago in the interim Came in and satisfied him.

Oih. O the pernicious caitiff!

How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief That was my wife's ?

Cos. I found it in my chamber : 320

And he himself conf ess'd but even now That there he dropp'd it for a special purpose Which wrought to his desire.

Oih. O fool! fool! fool!

Cas. There is besides in Roderigo's letter, How he upbraids Iago, that he made him Brave me upon the watch ; whereon it came That I was cast : and even but now he spake After long seeming dead, Iago hurt him, Iago set him on.

Lod. You must forsake this room, and go with us: Your power and your command is taken off, 331 And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave, If there be any cunning cruelty That can torment him much and hold him long, It shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest, Till that the nature of your fault be known To the Venetian state. Come, bring away.

Oth. Soft you ; a word or two before you go.

I have done the state some service, and they

know 't. No more of that. I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, 341 Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,

337. "bring away"; Qq., "bring him away"; Collier MS., "bring them away." — I. G.

160

THE MOOR Act V. Sc. ii.

Nor set down aught in malice: then must you

speak Of one that loved not wisely but too well; Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought, Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose hand, Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued

eyes, Albeit unused to the melting mood, Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees 350 Their medicinal gum. Set you down this; And say besides, that in Aleppo once, Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk Beat a Venetian and traduced the state, I took by the throat the circumcised dog And smote him, thus. [Stabs himself.

Lod. O bloody period !

Gra. All that 's spoke is marr'd.

Oth. I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee : no way but this, Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.

[Falls on the bed, and dies.

347. "Indian"; F. 1, "ludean"; Theobald proposed "Indian," add- ing, "I am satisfied in his Judian he is alluding to Herod, who, in a fit of blind jealosies threw away such a jewel of a wife as Mariamne was to him." This interpretation was Warburton's. "This it is," as Coleridge put it, "for no-poets to comment on the greatest of poets! To make Othello say that he, who had killed his wife, was like Herod who had killed Mariamne!" Boswell aptly quotes from Habington's Castara: —

"So the unskilful Indian those bright gems Which might add majesty to diadems, 'Mong the waves scatters." — I. G.

350. "Arabian trees"; the acacia Arabica. — C. H. H. 352. "in Aleppo once"; it is said to have been immediate death for a Christian to strike a Turk in Aleppo. — H. N. H. XXV— 11 161

Act v. Sc. ii. OTHELLO

Cas. This did I fear, but thought he had nd weapon ; 36°

For he was great of heart.

Lod. [To Iago] O Spartan dog,

.More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea! Look on the tragic loading of this bed ; This is thy work: the object poisons sight; Let it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house, And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor For they succeed on you. To you, lord gov- ernor, Remains the censure of this hellish villain, The time, the place, the torture : O, enforce it ! Myself will straight aboard, and to the state 370 This heavy act with heavy heart relate.

[Exeunt \

162

GLOSSARY

By Israel Goi/lancz, M.A.

I Abhor; "it doth a. me," it is ab- horrent to me; IV. ii. 162. About, out; I. ii. 46. Abuse, deceive; I. iii. 407. Abused, deceived; I. i. 175. Abuser, corrupter; I. ii. 78. Achieved, won; II. i. 61. Acknown on't, confess any

knowledge of it; III. iii. 319. Act, action, working; III. iii.

328. Action, accusation; I. iii. 70. Addiction, inclination; II. ii. 7. Addition, honor; III. iv. 191. Advantage; "in the best a.", at

the most favorable opportu- nity; I. iii. 299. Advised, careful; I. ii. 55. Advocation, advocacy; III. iv.

120. Affined, bound by any tie; I. i.

39. Affinity, connections; III. i. 49. Agnize, confess with pride; I. iii.

233. Aim, conjecture; I. iii. 6. All in all, wholly, altogether;

IV. i. 90. Allowance; "and your a.," and

has your permission; I. i. 129. Allowed, acknowledged; I. iii.

225. All's one, very well; IV. iii. 23. Almain, German; II. iii. 87. Ancient, ensign; (F. 1, "Aun-

tient') ; I. i. 33.

Anthropophagi, cannibals; (Qq.,

"Anthropophagie" ; F. 1, "An-

tropophague") ; I. iii. 144. Antres, caverns; I. iii. 140. Apart, aside; II. iii. 400. Approve, prove, justify; II. iii.

65.

, love, adore; IV. iii. 19.

Approved, proved to have been

involved; II. iii. 214. Apt, natural; II. i. 304. Arraigning, accusing; III. iv.

149. Arrivance, arrival; (Ff., "Ar-

rivancy" or "Arrivancie") ; II.

i. 42. As, as if; III. iii. 77. Aspics, venomous snakes; III. iii.

450. Assay, a test; I. iii. 18. Assay, try; II. i. 121. Assure thee, be assured; III. iii.

20. At, on; I. ii. 42. Atone, reconcile; IV. i. 244. Attach, arrest; I. ii. 77. Attend, await; III. iii. 281.

Bauble, fool, (used contemptu- ously) ; IV. i. 139.

Bear, the Constellation so called; II. i. 14.

Bear out, get the better of; II. i. 19.

Beer; "small beer," small ac- counts, trifles; II. i. 163.

163

Glossary

Be-lee'd, placed on the lee; (Q.

I. "be led"); I. i. 30. BnHUW me, a mild assevera- tion; III. iv. 147.

Besort, what is becoming; I. iii. MO.

Best; "were b.", had better; I. ii. 30.

Bestow, place; III. i. 57.

Betimes, early; I. iii. 389.

Bid "good morrow," alluding to the custom of friends bidding good morrow by serenading a newly married couple on the morning after their marriage; III. i. 2.

Birdlime, lime to catch birds;

II. i. 127.

Black, opposed to "fair"; III.

iii. 263. Blank, the white mark in the

center of the butt, the aim;

III. iv. 125.

Blazoning, praising; II. i. 63.

Blood, anger, passion; II. iii. 208.

Blown, empty, puffed out; III. iii. 182.

Bobr'd, got cunningly; V. i. 16.

Boding, foreboding, ominous; IV. i. 22.

Bootless, profitless; I. iii. 209.

Brace, state of defense; (prop- erly, armor to protect the arm) ; I. iii. 24.

Brave, defy; V. ii. 326.

Bravery, bravado, defiance; I. i. 100.

Bring on the way, accompany; III. iv. 194.

Bulk, the projecting part of a shop on which goods were ex- posed for sale; V. i. 1.

Butt, goal, limit; V. ii. 267.

By, aside; V. ii. 30.

, "how you say by," what

say you to; I. iii. 17.

By and by, presently; II. iii. 316.

OTHELLO

Cable; "give him c", give him scope; I. ii. 17.

Caitiff, thing, wretch; a term of endearment; IV. i. 110.

Callet, a low woman; IV. ii. 121.

Calm'd, becalmed, kept from mo- tion; I. i. 30.

Canakin, little can; II. iii. 72.

Capable, ample; III. iii. 459.

Carack, large ship, galleon; I. ii. 50.

Caroused, drunk; II. iii. 56.

Carve for, indulge; (Q. 1, "carve forth") ; II. iii. 176.

Case, matter; (Ff., "catise"); III. iii. 4.

Cast, dismissed, degraded from office; V. ii. 327.

Censure, judgment; II. iii. 196.

, opinion; IV. i. 280.

Certes, certainly; I. i. 16.

Challenge, claim; I. iii. 188.

Chamberers, effeminate men; III. iii. 265.

Chances, events; I. iii. 134.

Charm, make silent, restrain; V. ii. 183.

Charmer, enchantress, sorceress; III. iv. 57.

Cherubin, cherub; IV. ii. 62.

Chidden, chiding, making an in- cessant noise; II. i. 12.

Chide, quarrel; IV. ii. 167.

Chuck, a term of endearment; III. iv. 49.

Circumscription, restraint; I. ii. 27.

Circumstance, circumlocution; I. i. 13.

, appurtenances; III. iii. 354.

Circumstanced, give way to cir- cumstances; III. iv. 198.

Civil, civilized; IV. i. 66.

Clean, entirely, altogether; I. iii. 371.

Clime, country; III. iii. 230.

Clip, embrace; III. iii. 464.

164

THE MOOR

Glossary

Clog, encumber; (Ff. 1, 2, 3, "en- clog ge") ; II. i. 70.

Close, secret; III. ill. 123.

"Close as oAK"=:"close as the grain of oak"; III. iii. 210.

Clyster-pipes, tubes used for in- jection; II. i. 181.

Coat, coat of mail; V. i. 25.

Cogging, deceiving by lying; IV. ii. 132.

Collied, blackened, darkened; II. iii. 209.

Coloquintida, colocynth, or bit- ter apple; I. iii. 359.

Commoner, harlot; IV. ii. 72.

Companions, fellows; (used con- temptuously) ; IV. ii. 141.

Compasses, annual circuits; III. iv. 71.

Compliment extern, external show; I. i. 63.

Composition, consistency; I. iii. 1.

Compt, reckoning, day of reck- oning; V. ii. 273.

Conceit, idea; thought; (Q. 1, "counsell") ; III. iii. 115.

Conceits, conceives, judges; III. iii. 149.

Condition, temper, disposition ;

II. i. 262. Confine, limit; I. ii. 27. Conjunctive, closely united; (Q.

1, " communicatee" ; Q. 2, "con-

jectiue") ; I. iii. 380. Conjured, charmed by incanta- tions; I. iii. 105. Conscionable, conscientious ; II.

i. 248. Consent in, plan together; V. ii.

297. Consequence, that which follows

or results; II. iii. 65. Conserved, preserved; (Q. 1,

"conserues" ; Q. 2, "concerue") ;

III. iv. 75.

Consuls, senators ; (Theobald, "Couns'lers" ; Hanmer, "coun- sel"); I. ii. 43.

Content, joy; II. i. 188.

, satisfy, reward; III. i. 1.

Content you, be satisfied, be easy; I. i. 41.

Continuate, continual, uninter- rupted; (Q. 1, "conuenient") ; III. iv. 175.

Contrived, plotted, deliberate; I. ii. 3.

Conveniences, comforts; II. i. 240.

Converse, conversation; III. i. 40.

Cope, meet; IV. i. 88.

Corrigible, corrective; I. iii. 330„

Counselor, prater; (Theobald, "censurer") i II. i. 167.

Counte r-c aster, accountant; (used contemptuously) ; I. i. 31.

Course, proceeding; (Q. 1, "cause"); II. i. 284.

, run; (Q. 1, "make"); III.

iv. 71.

Court and guard of safety, "very spot and guarding place of safety"; (Theobald, "court of guard and safety") ; II. iii. 219.

Court of guard, the main guard- house; II. i. 223.

Courtship, civility, elegance of manners; (Q. 1, "courtesies") ; II. i. 174.

Coxcomb, fool; V. ii. 233.

Cozening, cheating; IV. ii. 132.

Crack, breach; II. iii. 338.

Creation, nature; II. i. 64.

Cries on, cries out; (Ff. 2, 3, 4, "cries out") ; V. i. 48.

Critical, censorious; II. i. 120.

Crusadoes, Portuguese gold coins ; so called from the cross on

165

Glossary

OTHELLO

them (worth between six and seven shillings); III. iv. 26.

Cry, pack of hounds; II. iii. 379.

Cunning, knowledge; III. iii. 49.

Curled, having hair formed into ringlets, hence, affected, fop- pish; I. ii. 68.

Customer, harlot; IV. i. 121.

Daffest, dost put off; (Collier, "datf'st"; Qq., "dofftst"; F. 1, "dafts"); IV. ii. 175.

Danger; "hurt to danger," dan- gerously hurt, wounded; II. iii. 200.

Darlings, favorites; I. ii. 68.

Daws, jack-daws; I. i. 05.

Dear, deeply felt; I. iii. 261.

Dearest, most zealous; I. iii. 85.

Debitor and creditor, "the title of certain ancient treatises on bookkeeping; here used as a nick-name" (Clarke) ; I. i. 31.

Defeat, destroy; IV. ii. 160.

, disfigure; I. iii. 348.

Defend, forbid; I. iii. 268.

Delations, accusations; III. iii. 123.

Delighted, delightful; I. iii. 291.

Deliver, say, relate; II. iii. 222.

Demand, ask; V. ii. 301.

Demerits, merits; I. ii. 22.

Demonstrable; "made d.", dem- onstrated, revealed; III. iv. 139.

Denotement, denoting; II. iii. 329.

Deputing, substituting; IV. i. 248.

Designment, design; II. i. 22.

Desired; "well d.", well loved, a favorite; II. i. 209.

Despite, contempt, aversion; IV. ii. 116.

Determinate, decisive; IV. ii. 086.

Devesting, divesting; II. iii. 184.

Diablo, the Devil; II. iii. 164.

Diet, feed; II. i. 311.

Dilate, relate in detail, at length; I. iii. 153.

Directly, in a direct straight- forward way; IV. ii. 215.

Discontented, full of dissatis- faction; V. ii. 314.

Discourse of thought, faculty of thinking, range of thought; IV. ii. 153.

Dislikes, displeases; II. iii. 50.

Displeasure; "your d.", the dis- favor you have incurred; III. i. 45.

Disports, sports, pastimes; I. iii. 273.

Dispose, disposition; I. iii. 409.

Disprove, refute; V. ii. 172.

Disputed on, argued, investi- gated; I. ii. 75.

Distaste, be distasteful; III. iii. 327.

Division, arrangement; I. i. 23.

Do, act; I. iii. 402.

Dotage, affection for; IV. i. 27.

Double, of two- fold influence; I. ii. 14.

Double set, go twice round; II. iii. 138.

Doubt, suspicion; III. iii. 188.

, fear; III. iii. 19.

Dream, expectation, anticipation; II. iii. 65.

Ecstasy, swoon; IV. i. 81. Elements, a pure extract, the

quintessence; II. iii. 60. Embay'd, land-locked; II. i. 18. Encave, hide, conceal; IV. i. 83. Enchafed, chafed, angry; II. i.

17. Engage, pledge; III. iii. 462. Engines, devices, contrivances,

(?) instruments of torture; IV.

ii. 225.

166

THE MOOR

Glossary

Engluts, engulfs, swallows up; I. iii. 57.

Enshelter'd, sheltered; II. i. 18.

Ensteep'd, steeped, lying con- cealed under water; (Q. 1, "en- scerped") ; II. i. 70.

Entertainment, re-engagement in the service; III. iii. 250.

Enwheel, encompass, surround;

II. i. 87.

Equinox, counterpart; II. iii. 132.

Erring, wandering; III. iii. 227.

Error, deviation, irregularity ; V. ii. 109.

Escape, escapade, wanton freak; I. iii. 197.

Essential, real; II. i. 64.

Estimation, reputation; I. iii. 276.

Eternal, damned (used to ex- press abhorrence) ; IV. ii. 130.

Ever-fixed, fixed for ever; (Qq., "ever- fired") ; II. i. 15.

Execute, to wreak anger; II. iii. 231.

Execution, working; III. iii. 466.

Exercise, religious exercise; III. iv. 41.

Exhibition, allowance; I. iii. 239.

Expert, experienced; II. iii. 84.

Expert and approved allowance, acknowledged and proved abil- ity; II. i. 49.

Exsufflicate, inflated, unsub- stantial; (Qq., Ff. 1, 2, 3, "ex- uflicate" ; F. 4, "exufllicated") ;

III. iii. 182.

Extern, external; I. i. 63.

Extincted, extinct; (Ff. 3, 4, "extinctest" ; Rowe, "extin- guish'd"); II. i. 81.

Extravagant, vagrant, wander- ing; I. i. 138.

Facile, easy; I. iii. 22. Falls, lets fall; IV. i. 256. Fantasy, fancy; III. iii. 299. Fashion, conventional custom ;

II. i. 211.

Fast, faithfully devoted; I. iii.

374. Fathom, reach, capacity; I. i.

154. Favor, countenance, appearance;

III. iv. 122.

Fearful, full of fear; I. iii. 12.

Fell, cruel; V. ii. 362.

Filches, pilfers, steals; III. iii.

159. Filth, used contemptuously; V.

ii. 231. Fineless, without limit, bound- less; III. iii. 173. Fitchew, pole-cat; (used con- temptuously) ; IV. i. 149. Fits, befits; III. iv. 147. Fleers, sneers; IV. i. 84. Flood, sea; I. iii. 135. Flood-gate, rushing, impetuous ;

I. iii. 56. Folly, unchastity; V. ii. 132. Fond, foolish; I. iii. 321. Fopped, befooled, duped; IV. ii.

199. For, because; (Ff., "when") ; I.

iii. 270. Forbear, spare; I. ii. 10. Fordoes, destroys; V. i. 129. Forfend, forbid; V. ii. 32. Forgot; "are thus f.", have so

forgotten yourself; II. iii. 191. Forms and visages, external

show, outward appearance; I.

i. 50. Forth of, forth from, out of;

(F. 1, "For of"; Ff. 2, 3, 4,

"For of"); V. i. 35. Fortitude, strength; I. iii. 222. Fortune, chance, accident; V. ii.

226.

7F

167

Glossary

OTHELLO

Framed, moulded, formed; I. iii.

410. Fraught, freight, burden; III.

iii. 449. Free, innocent, free from guilt;

III. iii. 255.

, liberal; I. iii. 267.

Frights, terrifies; II. iii. 178.

Frize, a kind of coarse woolen stuff; II. i. 127.

From, contrary to; I. i. 133.

Fruitful, generous; II. iii. 355.

Full, perfect; II. i. 36.

Function, exercise of the facul- ties; II. iii. 362.

Fustian; "discourse f.", talk rub- bish; II. iii. 287.

Galls, rancor, bitterness of mind ;

IV. iii. 94.

Garb, fashion, manner; II. i. 323.

Garner'd, treasured; IV. ii. 57.

Gastness, ghastliness; (Qq. 1, 2, "ieastures"; Q. 3, "jestures" ; Q. 1687, "gestures"; Knight, "ghastness") ; V. i. 106.

Gender, kind, sort; I. iii 328.

Generous, noble; III. iii. 280.

Give away, give up; III. iii. 28.

Government, self-control; III. iii. 256.

Gradation, order of promotion; I. i. 37.

Grange, a solitary farm-house; I. i. 106.

Green, raw, inexperienced; II. i. 258.

Grise, step; I. iii. 200.

Gross in sense, palpable to rea- son; I. ii. 72.

Guardage, guardianship; I. ii. 70.

Guards, guardians; ("alluding to the star Arctophylax," (John- son) ; II. i. 15.

Guinea-hen, a term of contempt for a woman; I. iii. 318.

Gyve, fetter, ensnare; II. i. 173.

Habits, appearances, outward

show; I. iii. 108. Haggard, an untrained wild

hawk; III. iii. 260. Hales, hauls, draws; IV. i. 142. Haply, perhaps; II. i. 288. Happ'd, happened, occurred; V.

i. 127. Happiness, good luck; III. iv.

108. Happy; "in h. time," at the right

moment; III. i. 32. Hard at hand, close at hand;

(Qq., "hand at hand") ; II. i.

275. Hardness, hardship; I. iii. 235. Haste-post-haste, very great

haste; I. ii. 37. Have with you, I'll go with you;

I. ii. 53. Having, allowance, (?) "pin- money"; IV. iii. 93. Hearted, seated in the heart;

IIL iii. 448. Heavy, sad; V. ii. 371. ; "a h. night," a thick

cloudy night; V. i. 42. FIeat, urgency; I. ii. 40. Helm, helmet; I. iii. 274. Herself, itself; I. iii. 96. Hie, hasten; IV. iii. 50. High suppertime, high time for

supper; IV. ii. 253. Hint, subject, theme; I. iii. 142. Hip; "have on the h.", catch at

an advantage, (a term in

wrestling) ; II. i. 322. Hold, make to linger; V. ii.

334. Home, to the point; II. i. 168. Honesty, becoming; IV. i. 288. Honey, sweetheart; II. i. 209. Horologe, clock; II. iii. 138. Housewife, hussy; IV. i. 95.

168

THE MOOR

Glossary

Hungerly, hungrily; III. iv. 102.

Hurt; "to be h.", to endure be- ing hurt; V. ii. 163.

Hydra, the fabulous monster with many heads; II. iii. 314.

Ice-brook's temper, i. e. a sword tempered in the frozen brook; alluding to the ancient Spanish custom of hardening steel by plunging red-hot in the rivu- let Salo near Bilbilis; V. ii. 0Sf.

Idle, barren; I. iii. 140.

Idleness, unproductiveness, want of cultivation; I. iii. 329.

Import, importance; III. iii. 316.

Importancy, importance; I. iii. 20.

In, on; I. i. 138.

Inclining, favorably disposed; II. iii. 354.

Incontinent, immediately; IV. iii. 12.

Incontinently, immediately; I. iii. 307.

Index, introduction, prologue; II. i. 270.

Indign, unworthy; I. iii. 275.

Indues, affects, makes sensitive; (Q. 3, "endures" ; Johnson conj. "subdues") ; III. iv. 143.

Ingener, inventor (of praises) ; II. i. 65.

Ingraft, ingrafted; II. iii. 147.

Inhibited, prohibited, forbidden; I. ii. 79.

In jointed them, joined them- selves; I. iii. 35.

Injuries; "in your L", while do- ing injuries; II. i. 112.

Inordinate, immoderate; II. iii. 317.

Intendment, intention; IV. ii. 209.

Intentively, with unbroken at-

tention; (F. 1, "instinctiuely" ;

Ff. 2, 3, 4, "distinctively";

Gould conj. "connectively") ; I.

iii. 155. Invention, mental activity; IV.

i. 200. Issues, conclusions; III. iii. 219. Iteration, repetition; V. ii. 150.

Janus, the two-headed Roman

God; I. ii. 33. Jesses, straps of leather or silk,

with which hawks were tied by

the leg for the falconer to hold

her by; III. iii. 261. Joint-ring, a ring with joints in

it, consisting of two halves;

a lover's token; IV. iii. 73. Jump, exactly; II. iii. 401.

, agree; I. iii. 5.

Just, exact; I. iii. 5.

Justly, truly and faithfully; I.

iii. 124.

Keep up, put up, do not draw; I. ii. 59.

Knave, servant; I. i. 45.

Knee-crooking, fawning, obse- quious; I. i. 45.

Know or, learn from, find out from; V. i. 117.

Lack, miss; III. iii. 318.

Law-days, court-days; III. iii. 140.

Leagued, connected in friend- ship; (Qq., Ff., "league"); II. iii. 221.

Learn, teach; I. iii. 183.

Learned, intelligent; III. iii. 259.

Leets, days on which courts are held; III. iii. 140.

Levels, is in keeping, is suitable; I. iii. 241.

Liberal, free, wanton; II. i. 167.

Lies, resides; III. iv. 2.

169

Glossary

OTHELLO

Like, equal; II. i. 16.

Lingered, prolonged; IV. ii. 234.

List, boundary; "patient 1.", the

bounds of patience; IV. i. 77. , inclination; (Ff., Qq. 2, 3,

"leaue"); II. i. 105. -, listen to, hear; II. i. 222.

Living, real, valid; III. iii. 409. Lost, groundless, vain; V. ii. 269. Lown, lout, stupid, blockhead; II. iii. 97.

Magnifico, a title given to a

Venetian grandee; I. ii. 12. Maidiiood, maidenhood; I. i. 174. Main, sea, ocean; II. i. 3. Make away, get away; V. i. 58. Makes, does; I. ii. 49. Mammering, hesitating; (Ff.,

Qq. 2, 3, "mam'ring"; Q. 1,

"muttering" (Johnson, "mum-

mering") ; III. iii. 70. Man, wield; V. ii. 270. Manage, set on foot; II. iii. 218. Mandragora, mandrake, a plant

supposed to induce sleep; III.

iii. 330. Mane, crest; II. i. 13. Manifest, reveal; I. ii. 32. Marble, (?) everlasting; III. iii.

460. Mass; "by the mass," an oath;

(Ff. 1, 2, 3, "Introth"; F. 4,

"In troth,"); II. iii. 393. Master, captain; II. i. 214. May, can; V. i. 78. Mazzard, head; II. iii. 158. Me; "whip me," whip; (me ethic

dative) ; I. i. 49. Mean, means; III. i. 39. Meet, seemly, becoming; I. i. 147. Mere, utter, absolute; II. ii. 3. Minion, a spoilt darling; V. i. 33. Mischance, misfortune; V. i. 38. Mock, ridicule; I. ii. 69.

Modern, common-place; I. iii. 109.

Moe, more; IV. iii. 57.

Molestation, disturbance; II. i. 16.

Monstrous, (trisyllabic) ; (Capell, "monsterous") ; II. iii. 220.

Moons, months; I. iii. 84.

Moorship's, (formed on analogy of worship; Q. 1 reads "Wor- ship's") ; I. i. 33.

Moraler, moralizer; II. iii. 307.

Mortal, deadly; II. i. 72.

, fatal; V. ii. 205.

Mortise, "a hole made in timber to receive the tenon of another piece of timber") ; II. i. 9.

Moth, "an idle eater"; I. iii. 258.

Motion, impulse, emotion; I. iii. 95.

, natural impulse; I. ii. 75.

Mountebanks, quacks; I. iii. 61.

Mummy, a preparation used for magical, — as well as medicinal, — purposes, made originally from mummies; III. iv. 74.

Mutualities, familiarities; II. i. 274.

Mystery, trade, craft; IV. ii. 30.

Naked, unarmed; V. ii. 258. Napkin, handkerchief; III. iii.

287. Native, natural, real; I. i. 62. New, fresh; (Qq., "more"); I.

iii. 205. Next, nearest; I. iii. 205. North, north wind; V. ii. 220. Notorious, notable, egregious ;

IV. ii. 140. Nuptial, wedding; (Qq., "Nup-

tialls") ; II. ii. 8.

Obscure, abstruse; II. i. 270.

170

THE MOOR

Glossary

Observancy, homage; III. iv. 146.

Odd-even, probably the interval between twelve o'clock at night and one o'clock in the morn- ing; I. i. 125.

Odds, quarrel; II. iii. 188.

Off, away; V. ii. 331.

Off-capp'd, doffed their caps, sa- luted; (Qq., "oft capt"); I. i. 10.

Offends, hurts, pains; II. iii. 202.

Office, duty; (Q. 1, "duty"); III. iv. 110.

Officed, having a special func- tion; I. iii. 272.

Offices, domestic offices, where food and drink were kept; II. ii. 10.

Old, time-honored system; I. i. 37.

On, at; II. iii. 135.

On't, of it; II. i. 30.

Opinion, public opinion, reputa- tion; II. iii. 198.

Opposite, opposed; I. ii. 67.

Other, otherwise; IV. ii. 13.

Ottomites, Ottomans; I. iii. 33.

Out-tongue, bear down; I. ii. 19.

Overt; "o. test," open proofs; I. iii. 107.

Owe, own; I. i. 66.

Owedst, didst own; III. iii. 333.

Paddle, play, toy; II. i. 266. Pageant, show, pretense; I. iii.

18. Paragons, excels, surpasses; II.

i. 62. Parcels, parts, portions; I. iii.

154. Partially, with undue favor;

(Qq. "partiality"); II. iii. 221. Parts, gifts; III. iii. 264.

Passage, people passing; V. i. 37. Passing, surpassingly; I. iii. 160. Patent, privilege; IV. i. 209. Patience, (trisyllabic) ; II. iii.

385. Peculiar, personal; III. iii. 79. Peevish, childish, silly; II. iii.

188. Pegs, "the pins of an instrument

on which the strings are fas- tened"; II. i. 205. Perdurable, durable, lasting; I.

iii. 345. Period, ending; V. ii. 357. Pestilence, poison; II. iii. 370. Pierced, penetrated; I. iii. 219. Pioners, pioneers, the commonest

soldiers, employed for rough,

hard work, such as leveling

roads, forming mines, etc.; III.

iii. 346. Pleasance, pleasure ; (Qq.,

"pleasure"); II. iii. 299. Pliant, convenient; I. iii. 151. Plume up, make to triumph; (Q.

1, "make up"); I. iii. 405. Poise, weight; III. iii. 82. Pontic sea, Euxine or Black Sea;

III. iii. 453. Portance, conduct; I. iii. 139. Position, positive assertion; III.

iii. 234. P o s t-p o s t-h a s t e, very great

haste; I. iii. 46. Pottle-deep, to the bottom of the

tankard, a measure of two

quarts; II. iii. 57. Practice, plotting; III. iv. 138. Precious, used ironically; (Qq. 2,

3, "pernitious") ; V. ii. 235. Prefer, promote; II. i. 294.

, show, present; I. iii. 109.

Preferment, promotion; I. i. 36. Pregnant, probable; II. i. 245. Presently, immediately; III. i.

38.

171

Glossary

Phick'd, incited, spurred; III. iii.

lift Phohal, probable, reasonable; II.

iii. 859. Pronation, proof; III. iii. 365. Profane, coarse, irreverent; II.

i. 167. Piiofit, profitable lesson; III. iii.

Proof; "made p.", test, make

trial; V. i. 26. Propkr, own; I. iii. 69.

, handsome; I. iii. 404.

Propontic, the Sea of Marmora;

III. iii. 456. Propose, speak; I. i. 25. Propriety; "from her p.", out of

herself; II. iii. 179. Prosperity, success; II. i. 297. Prosperous, propitious; I. iii. 246. Puddled, muddled; III. iv. 140. Purse, wrinkle, frown; III. iii.

113. Put on, incite, instigate; II. iii.

365.

Qualification, appeasement; II. i. 290.

Qualified, diluted; II. iii. 42.

Quality; "very q.", i. e. very na- ture; I. iii. 253.

Quarter; "in q.", in peace, friendship; II. iii. 183.

Quat, pistule, pimple (used con- temptuously) ; (Q. 1, "gnat"; Theobald, "knot," etc.); V. i. 11.

Question, trial and decision by force of arms; I. iii. 23.

Quests, bodies of searchers; I. ii. 46.

Quicken, receive life; III. iii. 277.

Quillets, quibbles; III. i. 25.

Quirks, shallow conceits; II. i. 63.

OTHELLC

Raised up, awakened; II. iii. 250

Rank, coarse; II. i. 315.

, lustful (? morbid); III. iii

232.

Recognizance, token; V. ii. 214

Reconciliation, restoration tc favor; III. iii. 47.

Reference, assignment; (Q. 1 "reuerence" ; Ff. 3, 4, "rever ence" ; Johnson conj. "prefer- ence"); I. iii. 239.

Regard, view; II. i. 40.

Region, part; IV. i. 85.

Relume, rekindle; V. ii. 13.

Remorse, pity, compassion; III iii. 369.

Remove, banish; IV. ii. 14.

Repeals, recalls to favor; II. iii 371.

Reprobation, perdition, damna- tion; (Ff., "Reprobance") ; V ii. 209.

Reserves, keeps; III. iii. 295.

Respect, notice; IV. ii. 193.

Re-stem, retrace; I. iii. 37.

Revolt, inconstancy; III. iii. 188.

Rich, valuable, precious; II. iii. 198.

Roman (used ironically) ; IV. i 120.

Round, straightforward, plain; I iii. 90.

Rouse, bumper, full measure; II iii. 67.

Rude, harsh; III. iii. 355.

Ruffian' d, been boisterous raged; II. i. 7.

Sadly, sorrowfully; II. i. 32. Safe, sound; IV. i. 279. Sagittary, a public building ir

Venice; I. i. 160. Salt, lustful; II. i. 251. Sans, without; I. iii. 64. 'Sblood, a corruption of God'i

172

THE MOOR

blood; an oath (the reading of

Q. 1; omitted in others); I. i.

4. Scant, neglect; I. iii. 269. 'Scapes, escapes; I. iii. 136. Scattering, random; III. iii. 151. Scion, slip, off-shoot; (Qq.,

"syen"; Ff. "Seyen"); I. iii.

339. Scored me, "made my reckoning,

settled the term of my life"

(Johnson, Schmidt), "branded

me" (Steevens, Clarke) ; IV. i.

128. Scorns, expressions of scorn; IV.

i. 84. Seamy side without, wrong side

out; IV. ii. 146. Sect, cutting, scion; I. iii. 339. Secure, free from care; IV. i. 73. Secure me, feel myself secure; I.

iii. 10. Seel, blind (originally a term in

falconry) ; I. iii. 271. Seeming, appearance, exterior; I.

iii. 109.

, hypocrisy; III. iii. 209.

Segregation, dispersion; II. i. 10. Self-bounty, "inherent kindness

and benevolence"; III. iii. 200. Self-charity, charity to one's

self; II. iii. 205. Se'nnight's, seven night's, a

week's; II. i. 77. Sense, feeling; (Qq., "offence");

II. iii. 272. , "to the s.", i. e. "to the

quick"; V. i. 11. Sequent, successive; I. ii. 41. Sequester, sequestration; III. iv.

40. Sequestration, rupture, divorce;

I. iii. 354. Shore, did cut; V. ii. 206. Should, could; III. iv. 23. IShbewd, bad, evil; III. iii. 429.

Glossary

Shrift, shriving place, confes- sional; III. iii. 24.

Shut up in, confine to; III. iv. 118.

Sibyl, prophetess; III. iv. 70.

Siege, rank, place; I. ii. 22.

Simpleness, simplicity; I. iii. 248.

Sir; "play the s.", play the fine gentleman; II. i. 178.

Sith, since; (Qq., "since"); III. iii. 380.

Skillet, boiler, kettle; I. iii. 274.

Slight, worthless, frivolous; II. iii. 284.

Slipper, slippery; II. i. Q52.

Slubber, sully, soil; I. iii. 228.

Snipe, simpleton; (F. 1, "Snpe"; F. 2, "a Swaine"; Ff. 3, 4, "a Swain") ; I. iii. 397.

Snorting, snoring; I. i. 90.

Soft, mild, gentle; I. iii. 82.

Soft you, hold; V. ii. 338.

Something, somewhat; II. iii. 202.

Sorry, painful; (Qq., "sullen"; Collier MS., "sudden") ; III. iv. 51.

Spake, said, affirmed; (Q. 3, "speake") ; V. ii. 327.

Spartan dog, the dogs of Spar- tan breed were fiercest; V. ii. 361.

Speak i' the nose, "the Neapoli- tans have a singularly drawl- ing nasal twang in the utterance of their dialect; and Shylock tells of "when the bag- pipe sings i' the nose" (Clarke); (Collier MS., "squeak"; etc.); III. i. 5.

Speak parrot, talk nonsense; II. iii. 286.

Speculative, possessing the power of seeing; I. iii. 272.

Spend, waste, squander; II. iii. 198.

173

Glossary

OTHELLC

Spleen, choler, anger; IV. i. 90.

Splinter, secure by splints; II. iii. 336.

Squire, fellow; (used contemptu- ously); IV. ii. 145.

Stand in act, are in action; I. i. 153.

Start, startle, rouse; I. i. 101.

Startingly, abruptly; (Ff. 3, 4, "staringly"); III. iv. 79.

Stay, are waiting for; IV. ii. 170.

Stead, benefit, help; I. iii. 347.

Still, often, now and again; I. iii. 147.

Stomach, appetite; V. ii. 75.

Stop; "your s.", the impediment you can place in my way; V. ii. 264.

Stoup, a vessel for holding li- quor; II. iii. 31.

Stow'd, bestowed, placed; I. ii. 62.

Straight, straightway; I. i. 139.

Strain, urge, press; III. iii. 250.

Strangeness, estrangement; (Qq. "strangest") ; III. iii. 12.

Stuff o' the conscience, matter of conscience; I. ii. 2.

Subdued, made subject; I. iii. 252.

Success, that which follows, con- sequence; III. iii. 222.

Sudden, quick, hasty; II. i. 287.

Sufferance, damage, loss; II. i. 23.

Sufficiency, ability; I. iii. 225.

Sufficient, able; III. iv. 90.

Suggest, tempt; II. iii. 366.

Supersubtle, excessively crafty; (Collier MS., "super-supple") ;

I. iii. 367.

Sweeting, a term of endearment;

II. iii. 255.

Swelling, inflated; II. iii. 58. Sword of Spain; Spanish swords

were celebrated for their ex cellence; V. ii. 253.

Ta'en order, taken measures; V

ii. 72. Ta'en out, copied; III. iii. 29(5. Tainting, disparaging; II. i. 283 Take out, copy; III. iv. 177. Tare up at the best, make th

best of; I. iii. 173. Talk, talk nonsense; IV. iii. 21 Talk me, speak to me; III. i\

91. Tells o'er, counts; III. iii. 169. Theoric, theory; I. i. 24. Thick-lips; used contemptuousl;

for "Africans"; I. i. 66. Thin, slight, easily seen through

I. iii. 108. Thread, thread of life; V. i

206. Thrice-driven, "referring to th

selection of the feathers b

driving with a fan, to separat

the light from the heavy

(Johnson); I. iii. 233. Thrive in, succeed in gaining;

iii. 125. Time, life; I. i. 163. Timorous, full of fear; I. i. 75. Tire, make tired, weary out; I

i. 65. Toged, wearing the toga; I. i. 2 Told, struck, counted; (Ff. 3,

"toll'd") ; II. ii. 12. Toy, fancy; III. iv. 153. Toys, trifles; I. iii. 270. Trash, worthless thing, dross; I

i. 320. , keep back, hold in check, (

hunter's term) ; II. i. 320. Traverse, march, go on; I. ii

384. Trimm'd in, dressed in, wearing

I. i. 50.

174

iTHE MOOR

Turn,; "t. thy complexion," change color; IV. ii. 62.

Unblest, accursed; II. Hi. 317.

Unbonneted, without taking off

the cap, on equal terms; I. ii.

23.

Unbookish, ignorant; IV. i. 103.

£fUNCAPABLE, incapable; IV. ii.

238.

Undertaker; "his u.", take charge of him, dispatch him; IV. i. 223. Unfold, reveal, bring to light;

IV. ii. 141. Unfolding, communication; I.

iii. 246. Unhandsome, unfair; III. iv.

148. Unhatch'd, undisclosed; III. iv.

138. Unhoused, homeless, not tied to a household and family; I. ii. 26. Unlace, degrade; II. iii. 197. Unperfectness, imperfection; II.

iii. 304. Unprovide, make unprepared;

IV. i. 217. Unsure, uncertain; III. iii. 151. Unvarnish'd, plain, unadorned;

I. iii. 90. Unwitted, deprived of under- standing; II. iii. 185. Upon, incited by, urged by; I. i.

100. Use, custom; IV. i. 284. Uses, manners, habits; (Q. 1, "vsage") ; IV. iii. 106.

Vantage; "to the v.", over and

above; IV. iii. 86. Vessel, body; IV. ii. 83. Vesture, garment; II. i. 64. Violence, bold action; I. iii. 251.

Glossary

Virtuous, having efficacy, power- ful; III. iv. 108. Voices, votes; I. iii. 262, Vouch, assert, maintain; I. iii. 103, 106.

, bear witness; I. iii. 26%.

, testimony; II. i. 150.

Wage, venture, attempt; I. iii. 30. Watch, watchman; V. i. 37. Watch him, keep him from sleeping; a term in falconry; III. iii. 23. Wearing, clothes; IV. iii. 16. Well said, well done; (Qq., "well

sed") ; II. i. 171. What, who; I. i. 18. Wheeling, errant ; (Q. 2,

"wheedling") ; I. i. 138. Whipster, one who whips out his sword; (used contemptu- ously) ; V. ii. 244. White, (used with a play upon

white and wight) ; II. i. 134. Wholesome, reasonable; III. i.

49. Wicker, covered with wicker- work; (Ff. "Twig gen")-, II. ih\ 155. Wight, person; (applied to both

sexes) ; II. i. 161. Wind; "let her down the w."; "the falconers always let the hawk fly against the wind; if she flies with the wind behind her she seldom returns. If therefore a hawk was for any reason to be dismissed, she was let down the wind, and from that time shifted for herself and preyed at fortune" (John- son) ; III. iii. 262. Wind-shaked, wind-shaken; II. i.

13. With, by; II. i. 34. Withal, with; I. iii. 93. With all my heart, used both

175

Glossary

as a salutation, and also as a reply to a salutation; IV. i. 228.

With in door; "speak w. d.", i. e. "not so loud as to be heard outside the house"; IV. ii. 144.

Woman'd, accompanied by a woman; III. iv. 192.

Worser, worse; I. i. 95.

OTHELLO

Wrench, wrest; (Q. 1,

"Wring") ; V. ii. 288. Wretch, a term of endearment;

(Theobald, "wench"); III. iii.

90. Wrought, worked upon; V. ii.

345.

Yerk'd, thrust; I. ii. 5.

Yet, as yet, till now; III. iii. 432.

176

STUDY QUESTIONS

By Anne Throop Craig

GENERAL

1. On what was the tragedy founded? Outline the story.

2. To what period of the poet's development does the workmanship of the play point? With which of his other plays does it take its rank?

3. What are the historical facts of the situation be- tween Venice, Cyprus, and Turkey as existent at the period of the play?

4. How could the play have been cast in four acts? Would it have lost or gained thereby? In the point of dramatic construction, in what way does the first act take the place of a prologue?

ACT I

5. How does Iago show his character in the opening scene? What is the purpose of his relation with Ro- derigo ?

6. What feeling towards Cassio and Othello does Iago betray ?

7. How does Roderigo show himself? Why has he sought out Iago?

8. Why do Iago and Roderigo arouse Brabantio?

9. What impression of character does the first action and speech of Othello make upon his entrance? How does he behave towards Brabantio?

10. Why is Othello summoned by the Duke?

11. Why did Brabantio attribute his daughter's affec- tion for Othello to witchcraft?

XXV— 12 177

Study Questions OTHELLO

12. What is the character of Othello's defense before the senators? How does he explain the course of Desde- mona's gradual falling in love with him?

13. How does Desdemona speak in the matter and what is the outcome of the situation?

14. Where is Othello obliged to go? What attitude towards Iago docs the trust Othello places in him show?

15. What emphasis on Iago's peculiar character does the fact of his youth, place?

16. What is his advice to Roderigo? What is the gist of his final soliloquy?

act n

17. What developments of incident and information are assisted by the introduction of the tempest?

18. What is the character of Iago's comment on his wife and on women? What does it betray of his cast of mind?

19. How are the progressions of Iago's schemes marked through this act? What does he tell Roderigo about Cassio?

20. How does he express his recognition of Othello's character? What emphasis does this put on his own vil- lainy ?

ftl. For what important incidents does the merrymak- ing proclaimed in scene ii give opportunity?

22. How does this scene serve to contrast the charac- ters of Cassio and Iago? What does it show of Cassio?

23. How does Iago mold the incidents to his purposes? What is the outcome? What is the advice of Iago to Cassio ?

act in

24. How is Emilia made an instrument for the designs of Iago? Is she innocent of the purport of what she is asked to do?

25. How does Iago first stir Othello's suspicion? Trace the steps by which he leads Othello's suspicions.

178

THE MOOR Study Questions

26. What qualities of Othello are demonstrated by his openness to Iago's villainy?

27. How does Iago maintain a balance between an out- ward seeming of honesty, and the unceasing pursuit of his villainous ends?

28. What are the points Iago dwells upon as likely to stir up natural causes for suspicion in Othello's mind?

29. What important developments center about the in- cident of the handkerchief? How does Othello warn Desdemona about it?

30. How does the character of Emilia show itself?

31. What color does Othello's state of mind put upon Desdemona's act in putting him off about the handker- chief?

32. What does Emilia say of her suspicions?

33. Who is Bianca? How does she first enter into the tangle of the web Iago is weaving?

ACT IV

34. Trace the method by which Iago prods Othello's suspicions to their height of agony.

35. What does he do to supply Othello with supposed proof?

36. Where does Iago bring the culmination of his evil counsel to bear upon Othello?

37. What is the first open effect of the working of Iago's machinations, expressed by Othello? What is its effect upon Lodovico? How does Iago at once take ad- vantage of the incident?

38. How does Emilia speak of her mistress to Othello?

39. Describe the passage between Othello and Desde- mona in scene ii. Why is it that he is unmoved by her innocent appeals?

40. What construction does he put upon even her words and appearance of innocence?

41. How does Iago account to Desdemona for Othello's actions ?

179

Study Questions OTHELLO

42. Plow docs he lure Roderigo on to the attack upon Cassio ?

43. Does Emilia express any foreboding in scene iii?

44. How is a shadowing of evil made to pervade this scene? Specify marked points that convey the im- pression.

45. How does Emilia's talk serve to show the delicacy of Desdemona's nature and breeding by contrast?

act v

46. Describe the incidents of the attack upon Cassio.

47. How does Iago manage to get Roderigo out of the way ?

48. What other person does he try to put some blame of the attack upon?

49. Describe the expression of Othello's emotions throughout the scene of his killing of Desdemona. De- scribe the scene.

50. What does Emilia say to indicate she had some sus- picion of her husband's honesty from the first? Does this argue for her dishonesty, or for her dullness concerning the serious import of the incidents? How do her views of life, as she expresses them, explain her part in the in- trigues?

51. How does Iago's final behavior serve to incriminate himself?

52. What is the dramatic character of Othello's final passages ?

53. What retribution is brought upon Iago?

54. How is Cassio finally cleared?

180

THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR

All the unsigned footnotes in this volume are by the writer of the article to which they are appended. The in- terpretation of the initials signed to the others is: I. G. = Israel Gollancz, M.A. ; H. N. H.= Henry Norman Hudson, A.M. ; C. H. H.= C. H. Herford, Litt.D.

KING LEAR AND CORNELIA.

Lpar. " Lend me a looking-glass;

If that her breath will mist or stain the stone; Why, then she lives."

K!ng1_eai\ Act 5, Scene 3.

t

or

■

i

■

PREFACE

By Israel Gollancz, M.A.

THE EARLY EDITIONS

Two quarto editions of King Lear appeared in the year 1608, with the following title-pages: — (i) "M. William Shak-speare: | HIS | True Chronicle Historie of the life and ! death of King Lear and his three Daughters. | With the unfortunate life of Edgar, fonne | and heire to the Earle of Gloster, and his | sullen and assumed humor of | Tom of Bedlam : | As io was played before the Kings Maieftie at Whitehall upon \ S. Stephans night in Chrift- mas Hollidayes. By his Maiesties Seruants playing vsu- ally at the Gloabe | on the Bancke-fide. [Device.] Lon- don, | Printed for Nathaniel Butter, and are to be sold at his fhop in Pauls | Church-yard at the figne of the Pide Bull neere | St. Auftins Gate, 1608."

(ii) The title of the second quarto is almost identical with that of (i), but the device is different, and there is no allusion to the shop "at the signe of the Pide Bull."

It is now generally accepted that the "Pide Bull" quarto is the first edition of the play, but the question of priority depends on the minutest of bibliographical criteria, and the Cambridge editors were for a long time misled in their chronological order of the quartos ; the problem is com- plicated by the fact that no two of the extant six copies of the first quarto are exactly alike ; * they differ in hav- ing one, two, three, or four, uncorrected sheets. The Second Quarto was evidently printed from a copy of the

i CapelFs copy; the Duke of Devonshire's; the British Museum's two copies; the Bodleian two copies.

vii

long modern investigations perhaps the re those (i) Delius and (ii) Koppel; ac-

Preface THE TRAGEDY OF

First Quarto, having three uncorrected sheets. A reprint of this edition, with many additional errors, appeared in 1655.

The Folio Edition of the play was derived from an independent manuscript, and the text, from a typograph- ic al point of view, is much better than that of the earlier editions; but it is noteworthy that some two hundred and twenty lines found in the quartos are not found in the folio, while about fifty lines in the folio are wanting in the quartos.1

Much has been written on the discrepancies between the two versions ; ami most important are cording to (i), "in the quartos we have the play as it •was originally performed before King James, and before the audience of the Globe, but sadly marred by misprints, printers' sophistications, and omissions, perhaps due to an imperfect and illegible MS. In the Folio we have a later MS., belonging to the Theater, and more nearly identical with what Shakespeare wrote. The omissions of the Quar- tos are the blunders of the printers ; the omissions of the Folios are the abridgments of the actors ;" according to (ii), "it was Shakespeare's own hand that cut out many of the passages both in the Quarto text and the Folio text.

The original form was, essentially, that of the

Quarto, then followed a longer form, with the additions in the Folio, as substantially our modern editions have again restored them; then the shortest form, as it is preserved for us in the Folio." 2

iTo the latter class belong I. ii. 124-131; I. iv. 347-358; III. i. 22- 29; III. ii. 80-96; to the former, I. iii. 17-23; I. iv. 155-171, 256-259; II. ii. 150-153; III. vi. 19-60, 110-123; III. vii. 99-108; IV. L 60-67; IV. ii. 31-50, 53-59, 62-69; IV. iii.; IV. vii. 88-95; V. i. 23-28; V. iii. 54-59, 207-224. Vide Praetorius' facsimiles of Q. 1 and Q. 2; Vietor's Parallel Text of Q. 1 and F. 1 (Marburg, 1886), Furness' Variorum, etc.

2 Delius' Essay appeared originally in the German Shakespeare Society Vear-Book, X.; and was subsequently translated into English, (New Shak. Soc. Trans. 1875-6).

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KING LEAR Preface

It seems probable that the quarto represents a badly printed revised version of the original form of the play, specially prepared by the poet for performance at Court, whereas the folio is the actors' abridged version. It seems hardly possible to determine the question more definitely.

tate's version

For more than a century and a half, from the year 1680 until the restoration of Shakespeare's tragedy at Covent Garden in 1838, Tate's perversion of Lear held the stage,1 delighting audiences with "the Circumstances of Lear's Restoration, and the virtuous Edgar's Alliance with the amiable Cordelia." It was to this acting-edition that Lamb referred in his famous criticism, "Tate has put his hook into the nostrils of this leviathan for Garrick and his followers," etc. Garrick, Kemble, Kean, and other great actors were quite content with this travesty, but "the Lear of Shakespeare cannot be acted."

DATE OF COMPOSITION

The play of King Lear may safely be assigned to the year 1605: — (i) According to an entry in the Stationers' Register, dated November 26, 1607, it was "played be- fore the King's Majesty at Whitehall upon S. Stephens' night at Christmas last," i. e., on December 26, 1606; (ii) the names of Edgar's devils, and many of the allu- sions in Act III, sc. iv, were evidently derived from Hars- nett's Declaration of egregrious Popish Impostures, which was first published in 1603; (iii) the substitution of "British man" for "Englishman" in the famous nursery- rhyme (Act III, sc. iv, 192) seems to point to a time sub- sequent to the Union of England and Scotland under

Dr. Koppel's investigations are to be found in his Text-Kritische Studien iiber Richard III. u. King Lear (Dresden, 1877). A resumS of the various theories is given in Furness' edition, pp. 359-373.

i Vide Furness, pp. 467-478.

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Preface THE TRAGEDY OF

James I ; the poet Daniel in a congratulatory address to the King (printed in 1603) wrote thus: —

"O thou mightie state, Now thou art all Great Britain, and no more, No Scot, no English now, nor no debate"; i

(iv) the allusions to the "late eclipses" (Act I, sc. ii, 117, 158, 164) have been most plausibly referred to the great eclipse of the sun, which took place in October, 1605, and this supposition is borne out by the fact that John Harvey's Discoursive Probleme concerning Prophesies, printed in 1588, actually contains a striking prediction thereof (hence the point of Edmund's comment, "I am thinking of a prediction I read this other day," etc.) ; per- haps, too, there is a reference to the Gunpowder Plot in Gloucester's words, "machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our graves."

THE SOURCES OF THE PLOT

The story of "Leir, the son of Balderd, ruler over the Britaynes, in the year of the world 3105, at what time Joas reigned as yet in Juda," was among the best-known stories of British history. Its origin must be sought for in the dim world of Celtic legend, or in the more remote realm of simple nature-myths,2 but its place in literature dates from Geoffrey of Monmouth's Latin history of the Britons, Historia Britonum^ composed about 1130, based in all probability on an earlier work connected with the famous name of Nennius, though Geoffrey alleges his chief authority was "an ancient British book." To the Historia Britonum we owe the stories of Leir, Gorboduc, Locrine ; there, too, we find rich treasures of Arthurian romance.

i It is noteworthy that in Act IV. scene vi. 260 the Folio reads "English," where the Quartos have "British.'*

2 According to some Celtic folk-lorists, "Lir"= Neptune; the two cruel daughters = the rough Winds; Cordelia = the gentle Zephyr. I know no better commentary on the tempestuous character of the play; Shakespeare has unconsciously divined the germ of the myth.

KING LEAR Preface

Welsh, French, and English histories of Britain were de- rived, directly or indirectly, from this Latin history. The first to tell these tales in English verse was Layamon, son of Leovenath, priest of the Arley Regis, in Worcester- shire, on the right bank of the Severn, who flourished at the beginning of the thirteenth century, and whose Eng- lish Brut was based on Wace's French Geste des Bretons — ■ a versified translation of Geoffrey's history. At the end of the century the story figures again in Robert of Gloucester's Metrical Chronicle; in the fourteenth century Robert of Brunne, in the fifteenth John Hardyng, re-told in verse these ancient British stories. In the sixteenth cen- tury we have Warner's Albion *s England — the popular metrical history of the period; we have also the prose chronicles of Fabyan, Rastell, Grafton, and over and above all, Holinshed's famous Historie of England; x the story of Leir is to be found in all these books. Three versions of the tale at the end of the sixteenth century show that the poetical possibilities of the subject were recognized before Shakespeare set thereon the stamp of his genius : 2 — (i) in the Mirour for Magistrates "Queene Cordila" tells her life's "tragedy," how "in dispaire" she slew herself "the year before Christ, 800"; (ii) Spenser, in Canto X of the Second Book of the Faery Queene, summarizes, in half a dozen stanzas, the story of "Cordelia" — this form1 of the name, used as a variant of "Cordeill" for metrical purposes, occurring here for the first time ; the last stanza may be quoted to illustrate the closing of the story in the pre-Shakespearean versions : —

'So to his crown she him restor'd again In which he died, made ripe for death by eld, And after will'd it should to her remain: Who peacefully the same long time did weld,

i In Camden's Remains the "Lear" story is told of the West-Saxon King Ina; in the Gesta Romanorum Theodosius takes the place of King Lear.

2 The ballad of King Leir, and his three Daughters (vide Percy's Reliques) is, in all probability, later than Shakespeare's play.

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Preface THE TRAGEDY OF J

I

And all men's hearts in due obedience held;

Till that her sister's children woxen strong

Through proud ambition, against her rebelPd,

And overcommen kept in prison long,

Till weary of that wretched life herself she hong";

(iii) of special interest, however, is the pre-Shakespearear drama, which was entered in the books of the Stationers Company as early as 1594 under the title of The moste famous Chronicle history e of Leire, Kinge of England, and his Three Daughters, but evidently not printed till the year 1605, when perhaps its publication was due to tht popularity of the newer Chronicle History on the same subject; "The | True Chronicle Hi | story of King Leik I and his three daughters, Gonorill, Ragan, and Cor della. | As it hath bene divers and sundry | times lately acted. London | printed | by Simon Stafford for John | Wright, and are to bee sold at his shop at | Christes Church dore, next Newgate- | Market, 1605." *

It is noteworthy that the play was entered in the Regis ters on May 8 as "the tragicall historie of Kinge Leir," though the play is anything but a "tragedy" — its end-l ing is a happy one. It looks, indeed, as though the or- iginal intention of the publishers was to palm off their "Leir" as identical with the great tragedy of the day.

But however worthless it may seem when placed in juxtaposition with "the most perfect specimen of the dra- matic art existing in the world," 2 yet this less ambitious and humble production is not wholly worthless, if only for "a certain childlike sweetness" in the portraiture of "faire Cordelia,"

"Myrrour of vertue, Phoenix of our age! Too kind a daughter for an unkind father!"

It may be pronounced a very favorable specimen of the popular "comedies" of the period to which it belonged

i Vide "Six Old Plays on which Shakespeare founded his Measure for Measure," etc.; Hazlitt's Shakespeare's Library, etc.; an abstract of the play is given by Furness, pp. 393-401.

2 Shelley, Defence of Poetry, Essays, &c, 1840, p. 20,

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ING LEAR Preface

nrca 1592), with its conventional classicism, its charac- ristic attempts at humor, its rhyming couplets ; like so any of its class, it has caught something of the tender- ;ss of the Greenish drama, and something — -rather less -of the aspiration of the Marlowan.1 "With all its de- ;cts," says Dr. Ward, "the play seems only to await the <uch of a powerful hand to be converted into a tragedy * supreme effectiveness ; and while Shakespeare's genius )where exerted itself with more transcendent force and arvelous versatility, it nowhere found more promising ma- rials ready to its command." 2

Yet Shakespeare's debt to the old play was of the slight- t, and some have held that he may not even have read it, it in all probability he derived therefrom at least a val- ible hint for the character of Kent, whose prototype erillus is by no means unskillfully drawn ; perhaps, too, le original of the steward Oswald is to be found in the >urtier Scaliger; again it is noteworthy that messengers ith incriminating letters play an important part in the irlier as in the later drama ; and possibly the first rumb- igs of the wild storm-scene of Lear may be heard in the

i Here are a few lines — perhaps "the salt of the old play" — by way specimen: — [the Gallian king is wooing Cordelia disguised as a ilmer],

"King. Your birth's too high for any but a king. Cordelia. My mind is low enough to love a palmer,

Rather than any king upon the earth. King. O, but you never can endure their life

Which is so straight and full of penury. Cordelia. O yes, I can, and happy if I might:

I'll hold thy palmer's stag within my hand.

And think it is the sceptre of a queen.

Sometime I'll set thy bonnet on my head

And think I wear a rich imperial crown.

Sometime I'll help thee in thy holy prayers,

And think I am with thee in Paradise.

Thus I'll mock fortune, as she mocketh me,

And never will my lovely choice repent:

For having thee, I shall have all content."

2 History of English Dramatic Literature, Vol. I., p. 126.

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Preface THE TRAGEDY O

mimic thunder which in "Leir" strikes terror in the hea of the assassin hired to murder king and comrade — "t parlosest old men that ere he heard."

There is in the Chronicle History no hint of the unde plot of Lear, the almost parallel story of Gloster and E mund, whereby Shakespeare subtly emphasizes the leadii motif of the play ; the vague original thereof is to be foui in Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia (Book II, pp. 133-158, e 1598), ("the pitifull state and story of the Paphlagonu vnkinde king, and his kind sonnc, first related by the so then by the blind father").

DURATION OF ACTION

The time of the play, according to Mr. Daniel (vit Transactions of New Shakespeare Soc.f 1877—1879), co ers ten days, distributed as follows: —

Day 1. Act. I, sc. i.

Day 2. Act I, sc. ii. An interval of something less ihi a fortnight.

Day 3. Act I, sc. iii, iv.

Day 4. Act II, sc. i, ii.

Day 5. Act II, sc. iii, iv ; Act III, sc. i— vi.

Day 6. Act III, sc. vii ; Act IV, sc. i.

Day 7. Act IV, sc. ii. Perhaps an interval of a day two.

Day 8. Act IV, sc. iii.

Day 9. Act IV, sc. iv, v, vi.

Day 10. Act IV, sc. vii ; Act V, sc. i-iii.

"The longest period, including intervals, that can be 8 lowed for this play is one month ; though perhaps litt more than three weeks is sufficient."

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I

INTRODUCTION

By Henry Norman Hudson, A.M.

* The earliest notice that has reached us of The Tragedy f King Lear is an entry at the Stationers' by Nathaniel {utter and John Busby, dated November 26, 1607: "A ook called Mr. William Shakespeare's History of King .ear, as it was played before the King's Majesty at White- all, upon St. Stephen's night at Christmas last, by his lajesty's Servants playing usually at the Globe on the lank-side." This ascertains the play to have been acted n December 26, 1606. Three editions of the tragedy ere also published in 1608, one of which, a quarto pamph- it of forty-one leaves, has a title-page reading as follows : Mr. William Shakespeare: His True Chronicle His- ory of the life and death of King Lear and his three )aughters. With the unfortunate life of Edgar, son and eir to the Earl of Gloster, and his sullen and assumed umor of Tom of Bedlam. As it was played before the [ing's Majesty at Whitehall upon St. Stephen's night in Christmas Holidays, by his Majesty's Servants playing sually at the Globe on the Bank-side. London : Printed or Nathaniel Butter, and are to be sold at his shop in 'aul's Church-yard, at the sign of the Pied Bull, near St. Austin's Gate. 1608."

The title-pages of the other two quarto impressions vary rom this only in omitting the publisher's address. As egards the text, the differences of the three quartos, hough sometimes important, are seldom more than verbal. Ir. Collier, who seems to have examined them with great are, informs us that those without the publisher's address re more accurate than the other; and he thinks that the

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i|(

.11

li

Introduction THE TRAGEDY 01 1

one with the address was issued first. All three of them however, are printed in a very slovenly manner, and fur I nish divers specimens of most edifying typographical disbl order.

As a note-worthy circumstance, we must mention tha|i in the title-pages of the quartos the author's name is mad very conspicuous, being placed at the top, and set fort] in larger type than any thing else in the page. And th I name, "Mr. William Shakespeare," is given with lik prominence again at the head of the page on which th play begins. This was probably meant to distinguish th drama from another on the same subject, and to make th purchaser sure that he was getting the genuine work o Shakespeare: it also argues that the publisher found hi interest, and perhaps his pride, in having that name promi nent on the wares. Mr. Collier mentions it as a peculiarit; not found in any other production that he recollects of tha 11 period.

There can be little doubt, if any, that the quarto issuelt of King Lear were unauthorized. The extreme badnes | of the printing would naturally infer that the publishe had not access to any competent proof-reader. Moreover I none of the other authentic quartos was published by But I ter. It is pretty certain, also, as we have before had occa r sion to observe, that at that time and for several year | previous great care was used by the company to keep th Poet's dramas out of print. How Butter got possessioi of the copy is beyond our means of knowing, and it wer vain to conjecture. The fact of three issues in one yea shows that the play was highly popular ; and this would o course increase the interest both of the publisher to get ; copy, and of the company to keep it from him.

After 1608, there was no edition of King Lear, that w know of, till the folio of 1623, where it makes the nintl in the division of Tragedies, is printed with a fair degre of clearness and accuracy, and has the acts and scene regularly marked throughout. The folio was evidently made up from manuscript, and not from any of the earlie

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i

QNG LEAR Introduction

£sues ; as it has a few passages that are not in the quartos. )n the other hand, the play as there given is considerably bridged, and the omissions are such as to infer that they /ere made with a view to shorten the time of performance. U showing how much we are indebted to the quartos for he play as it now stands, we may mention that the whole f the third scene in Act IV is wanting in the folio ; which cene, though not directly helping forward the action of he play, is one of the finest for reading in the whole com- pass of the Poet's dramas. Several other passages, of jrreat excellence in themselves, and some of considerable length, are also wanting in the folio. The quartos have, |n all, upwards of 220 lines that are not in the later edi- iion ; while, on the other hand, the folio has about 50 lines hat are wanting in the quartos.

We have seen that King Lear was performed at Court m December 26, 1606. Doubtless it had become favor- ibly known on the public stage before it was called for it Whitehall. On the other side, divers names and allu- lions used in setting forth the assumed madness of Edgar vTere taken from Harsnet's Declaration of Popish Im- postures, which was published in 1603. Thus much is all he information we have as to the time when the play was written. So that the Poet must have been not far from lis fortieth year when this stupendous production came rom his hand.

We have already spoken of another drama on the sub- iect of King Lear. This was entered at the Stationers' as larly as May 14, 1594, and again on May 8, 1605, and 3ublished the latter year by Simon Stafford and John Wright, with the following title: "The True Chronicle iistory of King Leir and his three Daughters, Gonorill, iagan, and Cordelia. As it hath been divers and sun- Jry times lately acted." Malone and some others think the publication of this play was owing to the successful course which Shakespeare's drama was at that time run- ning on the stage. It seems nowise improbable that such nay have been the case. Whether there was any earlier

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Introduction THE TRAGEDY OF

edition of the old play, is unknown: it is quite likely, at all events, that Shakespeare was acquainted with it I though the resemblances are such as need infer no knowl- edge of it but what might have been gained by seeing il on the stage. Probably he took from that source somd hints for the part of Kent. Perhaps it should be re marked that his most judicious departures from the his tory, such as the madness of Lear and the death of Leai and Cordelia at the close, were entirely original with him the older play adhering, in these points, to the story as tok by the chroniclers.

Campbell the poet has worked out a very pleasant com- parison of the two dramas, which we probably cannot dc better than subjoin. "The elder tragedy," says he, "is simple and touching. There is one entire scene in it, — the meeting of Cordelia with her father, in a lonely for- est,— which, with Shakespeare's Lear in my memory anc heart, I could scarcely read with dry eyes. The Leai antecedent to our Poet's Lear is a pleasing tragedy; yel the former, though it precedes the latter, is not its proto- type, and its mild merits only show us the wide expans« of difference between respectable talent and commanding inspiration. The two Lears have nothing in common bu their aged weakness, their general goodness of heart, thei: royal rank, and their misfortunes. The ante-Shake spearean Lear is a patient, simple old man ; who bears hi; sorrows very meekly, till Cordelia arrives with her hus band the King of France, and his victorious army, am restores her father to the throne of Britain. Shakespeare' Lear presents the most awful picture that was ever con ceived of the weakness of senility, contrasted with th strength of despair. In the old play, Lear has a friem Perillus, who moves our interest, though not so deeply a Kent. But, independently of Shakespeare's having ere ated a new Lear, he has sublimated the old tragedy into new one, by an entire originality in the spiritual portrait ure of its personages."

The story of King Lear and his three daughters is on

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KING LEAR Introduction

of those old legends with which mediaeval romance peopled "the dark backward and abysm of time," where fact and fancy appear all of the same color and texture. Milton, discoursing of ante-historical Britain, finely compares the gradual emerging of authentic history from the shadows of fable and legend, to the course of one who, "having set out on his way by night, and traveled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, arrives on the confines, where daylight and truth meet him with a clear dawn, representing to his view, though at a far distance, true colors and shapes." In Shakespeare's day, the legendary tale which forms the main plot of this drama was largely interwoven with the popular literature of Europe. It is met with in various forms and under various names, as in that old repository of popular fiction, the Gesta Romanorum, in the Romance of Perceforest, in The Mir- ror for Magistrates, in Spenser's Faerie Queene, in Cam- den's Remains, and in Warner's Albion* s England. The oldest extant version of the tale in connection with British history is in Geoffrey of Monmouth, a Welch monk of the twelfth century, who translated it from the ancient British tongue into Latin. From thence it was abridged by the Poet's favorite old chronicler, Holinshed. This abridg- ment is copied at length in the editions of Knight and Verplanck: for variety's sake, we subjoin the legend mostly in the words of Milton, as given in his History of England.

Lear, the son of Bladud, became ruler over the Britons in the year of the world 3105, at which time Joas reigned in Judea. Lear was a prince of noble demeanor, gov- erned laudably, and had three daughters, but no son. At last, failing through age, he determines to bestow his daughters in marriage, and to divide his kingdom among them. But first, to try which of them loved him best, he resolves to ask them solemnly in order; and which should profess largest, her to believe. Gonorill the eldest, ap- prehending too well her father's weakness, makes answer, invoking Heaven, "That she loved him above her soul."

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introduction THE TRAGEDY OF

"Therefore," quoth the old man, "since thou so honorest my declining age, to thee and the husband whom thou shalt choose I give the third part of my realm." So fair a speeding for a few words soon uttered was to Regan, the second, ample instruction what to say. She, on the same demand, spares no protesting; and the gods must witness, "That she loved him above all creatures": so she receives an equal reward with her sister. But Cordelia the youngest, though hitherto best loved, and now having before her eyes the rich hire of a little easy soothing, and the loss likely to betide plain dealing, yet moves not from the solid purpose of a sincere and virtuous answer. "Fa- ther," saith she, "my love towards you is as my duty bids: what should a father seek, what can a child prom- ise more?" When the old man, sorry to hear this, and wishing her to recall those words, persisted asking; with a loyal sadness at her father's infirmity, but something harsh, and rather glancing at her sisters than speaking her own mind, she made answer, "Look, how much you have, so much is your value, and so much I love you." "Then hear thou," quoth Lear, now all in passion, "what thy ingratitude hath gained thee: because thou hast not reverenced thy aged father equal to thy sisters, part of my kingdom, or what else is mine, reckon to have none." And, without delay, he gives his other daughters in mar- riage, Goronill to Maglanus, Duke of Albania, Regan to Henninus, Duke of Cornwall ; with them in present half his kingdom ; the rest to follow at his death.

Meanwhile, fame was not sparing to divulge the wis- dom and other graces of Cordelia, insomuch that Aganip- pus, a great king in Gaul, seeks her to wife ; and, noth- ing altered at the loss of her dowry, receives her gladly in such manner as she was sent him. After this, King Lear, more and more drooping with years, became an easy prey to his daughters and their husbands ; who now, by daily encroachment, had seized the whole kingdom into their hands; and the old king is put to sojourn with his eldest daughter, attended only by threescore knights.

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[ING LEAR Introduction

Jut they, in a short while grudged at as too numerous and isorderly for continual guests, are reduced to thirty, lot brooking that affront, the old king betakes him to his econd daughter; but there also, discord soon arising be- ween the servants of differing masters in one family, ve only are suffered to attend him. Then back he re- ams to the other, hoping that she could not but have more >ity on his gray hairs ; but she now refuses to admit him, nless he be content with one only of his followers. At ist the remembrance of Cordelia comes to his thoughts ; nd now, acknowledging how true her words had been, he ikes his journey into France.

Now might be seen a difference between the silent af- ection of some children and the talkative obsequiousness f others, while the hope of inheritance overacts them, and n the tongue's end enlarges their duty. Cordelia, out of lere love, at the message only of her father in distress ours forth true filial tears. And, not enduring that her wn or any other eye should see him in such forlorn con- ition as his messenger declared, she appoints one of her srvants first to convey him privately to some good sea- Dwn, there to array him, bathe him, cherish him, and urnish him with such attendance and state as beseemed is dignity; that then, as from his first landing, he might end word of his arrival to her husband. Which done, Cordelia, with her husband and all the barony of his ealm, who tKen first had news of his passing the sea, go ut to meet him ; and, after all honorable and joyful enter- dnment, Aganippus surrenders him, during his abode lere, the power of his whole kingdom ; permitting his ife to go with an army, and set her father upon his irone. Wherein her piety so prospered, that she van- uished her impious sisters and their husbands ; and Lear gain three years obtained thu crown. To whom, dying, lordella, with all regal solemnities, gave burial ; and then, s right heir succeeding, ruled the land five years in eace ; until her two sisters' sons, not bearing that a king- om should be governed by a woman, make war against

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Introduction THE TRAGEDY OF

her, depose her, and imprison her ; of which impatient, and now long unexercised to suffer, she there, as is related, killed herself.

In The Mirror for Magistrates, the same incidents are narrated in full, under the title, "How Queen Cordila in| despair slew herself, the year before Christ 800." The Queen is here represented as telling the story of her own life, in a poem of forty-nine stanzas, each stanza consist-ll ing of seven lines. The poem was written by John Hig- gins, and originally set forth with a dedication dated De- cember 7, 1586. The workmanship has considerable merit; but there is no sign that Shakespeare made any particular use of it, though he was most likely well ac- quainted with it. The Mirror for Magistrates is a col- lection of poems and legends, begun in Mary's reign by Sackville, Earl of Dorset, and continued from time to time by different hands. It was a work of very great popularity, and went through various editions before 1610. There were little need of saying so much about the thing here, but that it shows how widely the story was known when Shakespeare invested it with such tragic glory. We have but to add, that the main circumstances of the tale are briefly told by Spenser, in The Faerie Queene, Book ii, Canto 10, stanzas 27-32, which made its appear- ance in 1590. It was from Spenser that Shakespeare bor- rowed the softening of Cordelia or Cordila into Cordelia.

The subordinate plot of Gloster and his sons was prob- ably taken from an episodical chapter in Sidney's Arca- dia, entitled "The pitiful State and Story of the Paphla- gonian unkind King, and his kind Son ; first related by the son, then by the blind father." Here Pyrocles, the hero of Arcadia, and his companion, Musidorus, are rep- resented as traveling together in Galatia, when, being over taken by a furious tempest, they were driven to take shelter in a hollow rock. Staying there till the violence of the storm was passed, they overheard two men holding a strange disputation, which made them step out, yet so as to see, without being seen. There they saw an aged man,

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KING LEAR Introduction

and a young, both poorly arrayed, extremely weather- beaten ; the old man blind, the young man leading him ; yet through those miseries in both appeared a kind of nobleness not suitable to that affliction. But the first words they heard were these of the old man: "Well, Leonatus, since I cannot persuade thee to lead me to that which should end my grief and thy trouble, let me now intreat thee to leave me. Fear not ; my misery cannot be greater than it is, and nothing doth become me but misery : fear not the danger of my blind steps ; I cannot fall worse than I am." He answered, — "Dear father, do not take away from me the only remnant of my happiness : while I have power to do you service, I am not wholly miserable."

These speeches, and some others to like purpose, moved the princes to go out unto them, and ask the younger what they were. "Sirs," answered he, "I see well you are strangers, that you know not our misery, so well here known. Indeed, our state is such, that, though nothing is so needful to us as pity, yet nothing is more dangerous unto us than to make ourselves so known as may stir pity. This old man whom I lead was lately rightful prince of this country of Paphlagonia ; by the hardhearted ungrate- fulness of a son of his, deprived not only of his kingdom, but of his sight, the riches which nature grants to the poorest creatures. Whereby, and by other unnatural deal- ings, he hath been driven to such grief, that even now he would have had me lead him to the top of this rock, thence to cast himself headlong to death ; and so would have made me, who received life from him, to be the worker of his de- struction. But, noble gentlemen, if either of you have a father, and feel what dutiful affection is engrafted in a son's heart, let me intreat you to convey this afflicted prince to some place of rest and security."

Before they could answer him, his father began to speak : "Ah, my son ! how evil an historian are you, to leave out the chief knot of all the discourse, my wicked- ness. And if thou doest it to spare my ears, assure thy- self thou dost mistake me. I take witness of that sun

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which you sec, that nothing is so welcome to my thoughts as the publishing of my shame. Therefore, know you, gentlemen, that what my son hath said is true. But this is also true : that, having had in lawful marriage this son, and so enjo3^ed men's expectations of him, till he was grown to justify their expectations, I was carried by a bastard son of mine, first to mislike, then to hate, lastly to do my best to destroy this son. If I should tell you what ways he used to bring me to it, I should trouble you with as much hypocrisy, fraud, malice, ambition, and envy, as in any living person could be harbored: but, methinks, the accusing his trains might in some manner excuse my fault, which I loathe to do. The conclusion is, that I gave order to some servants of mine, whom I thought as apt for such charities as myself, to lead him out into a forest, and there to kill him.

"But those thieves spared his life, letting him go to learn to live poorly ; which he did, giving himself to be a private soldier in a country hereby. But, as he was ready to be advanced for some noble service, he heard news of me; who, drunk in my affection to that unlawful son, suf- fered myself so to be governed by him, that, ere I was aware, I had left myself nothing but the name of a king. Soon growing weary of this, he threw me out of my seat, and put out my eyes ; and then let me go, full of wretched- ness, fuller of disgrace, and fullest of guiltiness. And as he came to the crown by unjust means, as unjustly he keeps it, by force of strange soldiers in citadels, the nests of tyranny ; disarming all his countrymen, that no man durst show so much charity as to lend a hand to guide my dark steps ; till this son of mine, forgetting my wrongs, not recking danger, and neglecting the way he was in of doing himself good, came hither to do this kind office, to my unspeakable grief : for well I know, he that now reign- eth will not let slip any advantage to make him away, whose just title may one day shake the seat of a never- secure tyranny. And for this cause I craved of him to lead me to the top of this rock, meaning, I must confess,

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to free him from so serpentine a companion as I am ; but he, finding what I purposed, only therein, since he was horn, showed himself disobedient to me. And now, gentle- men, you have the true story, which, I pray you, publish to the world, that my mischievous proceedings may be the glory of his filial piety, the only reward now left for so great a merit."

The story then goes on to relate how Plexirtus, the wicked son, presently came with a troop of horse to kill his brother; whereupon Pyrocles and Musidorus, joining with Leonatus, beat back the assailants, killing several of them. Other allies soon coming in on both sides, there follows a war between the two parties, which ends in the overthrow of Plexirtus, and the crowning of Leonatus by his blind father; in which very act the old man expires.

The reader now has before him, we believe, a sufficient view of all the known sources which furnished any hints or materials for this great tragedy ; unless we should add, that there is an old ballad on the subject, entitled "A lam- entable Song of the Death of King Lear and his three Daughters," and reprinted in Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry. The ballad, however, was probably of a later date than the play, and partly founded upon it.

There has been a good deal of impertinent criticism spent upon the circumstance, that in the details and cos- tume of this play the Poet did not hold himself to the date of the legend which he adopted as the main plot. That date, as we have seen, was some 800 years before Christ ; yet the play abounds in manners, sentiments, and allusions of a much later time. Malone is scandalized, that while the old chroniclers have dated Lear's reign from the year of the world 3105, yet Edgar speaks of Nero, who was not born till 800 or 900 years after. The pains- taking Mr. Douce, also, is in dire distress at the Poet's blunders in substituting the manners of England under the Tudors for those of the ancient Britons. Now, to make these points, or such as these, any ground of im- peachment, is to mistake totally the nature and design of

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the work. For the play is not, nor was it meant to be, in any proper sense of the term a history : it is a tragedy altogether, and nothing else; and as such it is as free of local and chronological conditions and circumscriptions, as human nature itself. Whatsoever of historical or leg- endary matter there is in it, neither forms nor guides the structure or movement of the piece ; but is used in strict and entire subservience to the general ends of tragic repre- sentation. Of course, therefore, it does not fall within the lines of any jurisdiction for settling dates: it is amenable to no laws but the laws of art, any more than if it were entirely of the Poet's own creation : its true whereabout is in the reader's mind ; and the only proper question is, whether it keeps to the laws of this whereabout ; in wThich reference it will probably stand the severest inquisitions that criticism has strength to prosecute.

On this point, Mr. Verplanck has given us, under the head of Costume, one of the choicest pieces of criticism that we have met with; part of which we subjoin. After referring to the various uses which the story was made to serve, "in poem, ballad, and many ruder ways," he goes on as follows :

"Thus Lear and his 'three daughters fair' belong to the domain of old romance and popular tradition. They have nothing to do with the state of manners or arts in England, in any particular year of the world. They be- long to that unreal but 'most potently believed' history, whose heroes were the household names of Europe, — St. George and his brother champions, King Arthur and Char- lemagne, Don Bellianis, Roland, and his brother Pala- dins, and many others, for part of whom time has done, among those 'who speak the tongue that Shakespeare spake,' what the burning of Don Quixote's library was meant to do for the knight.

"Now, who, that is at all familiar with this long train of imaginary history, does not know that it had its own customs and costume, as well denned as the heathen my- thology or Roman history? All the personages wore the

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arms and habiliments and obeyed the ceremonial mediaeval chivalry, very probably because these several tales were put into legendary or poetic form in those days ; but what- ever was the reason, it was in that garb alone that they formed the popular literature of Europe in Shakespeare's time. It was a costume well fitted for poetical purposes, familiar in its details to the popular understanding, yet so far beyond the habitual associations of readers, as to have some tinge of antiquity, while it was eminently brilliant and picturesque.

"To have deviated from this conventional costume of fiction, half-believed as history, for the sake of stripping off old Lear's civilized 'lendings,' and bringing him to the unsophisticated state of a painted Pictish king, would have shocked the sense of probability in an audience of Eliza- beth's reign, as perhaps it would even now. The positive objective truth of his history would appear far less prob- able than the received truth of poetry and romance, of the nursery and the stage. Accordingly, Shakespeare painted Lear and his times in the attire in which they were most familiar to the imagination of his audience; just as Ra- cine did in respect to the half-fabulous personages of Grecian antiquity when he reproduced them on the French stage ; and, of the two, probably the English bard was the nearest to historical truth.

"Such is our theory, in support of which we throw down our critical glove, daring any champion to meet us on some wider field than our present limits can afford. The advantages of this theory are so obvious and manifold, that it certainly deserves to be true, if not so in fact. To the reader it clears away all anxiety about petty criti- cisms or anachronisms, and 'such small deer,' while it presents the drama to his imagination in the most pic- turesque and poetical attire of which it is susceptible. The artist, too, may luxuriate at pleasure in his decorations, whether for the stage or the canvass, selecting all that he judges most appropriate to the feeling of his scene, from the treasures of the arts of the middle ages, and the pomp

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and splendor of chivalry, without having before his eyes the dread of some criticial antiquary to reprimand him for encasing his knights in plate-armor, or erecting Lear's throne in a hall of Norman architecture, a thousand years or more before either Norman arch or plate-armor had been heard of in England."

This we regard as an ample vindication of the play not only from the criticisms cited, but from whatsoever others of the like sort have been or can be urged. It throws the whole subject, we think, on just the right ground; leav- ing to the drama all the freedom and variety that belong to the Gothic architecture, where the only absolute law is, that the parts shall all meet in one concent, and stand in mutual intelligence ; and the more the structure is diversified in form, aspect, purpose, and expression, the grander and more elevating is the harmony resulting from the combina- tion. It is clearly in the scope and spirit of this great prin- ciple of Gothic art, that King Lear was conceived and worked out. Herein, to be sure, it is like other of the Poet's dramas; only, it seems to us, more so than any of the rest. There is almost no end to the riches here drawn together: on attempting to reckon over the parts and par- ticulars severally, one is amazed to find what varied wealth of poetry, character, passion, pathos, and high philosophy, is accumulated in the work. Yet there is a place for every thing, and every thing is in its place, at once fitting it and rilling it : there is nothing but what makes good its right to be where and as it is ; nothing but what seems per- fectly in keeping and at home with all the rest: so that the accumulation is not more vast and varied in form and matter, than it is united and harmonious in itself. We have spoken of a primary and a secondary plot in the drama ; and we may add, that either of these has scope enough for a great tragedy by itself: yet, be it observed, the two plots are so woven together in organic reciprocity and interdependence, as to be hardly distinguishable, anc not at all separable ; we can scarce think of them apart, oi perceive when one goes out, and the other comes in.

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Accordingly, of all Shakespeare's dramas, this, on the whole, is the one which, whether we regard the qualities of the work or the difficulties of the subject, best illustrates to our mind the measure of his genius ; his masterpiece in that style or order of composition which he, we will not say created, but certainly carried so much higher than any one else, as to make it his peculiar province. The play, indeed, stands as our ideal of what the spirit and princi- ple of Gothic art are capable of in the form of dramatic representation ; in a word, the highest specimen of what has been aptly called the Gothic drama, that literature has to show. Shelley, in his Defence of Poetry, has a passage, referring to the Fool of this play, which ought not to be omitted here. "The modern practice," says he, "of blending comedy with tragedy, though liable to great abuse, is undoubtedly an extension of the dramatic circle; but the comedy should be, as in King Lear, universal, ideal, and sublime. It is, perhaps, the intervention of this, which determines the balance in favor of King Lear against the (Edipiis Tyr annus or the Agamemnon; unless the intense power of the choral poetry should be considered as restor- ing the equilibrium. King Lear, if it can sustain that comparison, may be judged the most perfect specimen of the dramatic art existing in the world."

The style and versification of King Lear do not differ from those of other plays written at or about the same period ; save that here they seem attracted, as by imper- ceptible currents of sympathy, into a freedom and variety of movement answerable to the structure of the piece. There seems, in this case, no possible tone of mind or feel- ing, but that the Poet has a congenial form of imagery to body it forth, and a congenial pitch of rhythm and har- mony to give it voice. Certainly, in none of his plays do we more feel the presence and power of that wonderful diction, not to say language, which he gradually wrought out and built up for himself, as the fitting and necessary organ of his thought. English literature has nothing else like it; and whatsoever else it has, seems tame, stiff, and

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mechanical, in the comparison. Nor is there any of the Poet's dramas wherein we have, in larger measure, the senti- ments of the individual, as they are kindled by special circumstances and exigencies, forthwith expanding into general truth, and so lifting the whole into the clear day- light of a wise and thoughtful humanity. It is by this process that the Poet so plays upon the passions, as, through them, to instruct the reason ; while at the same time the passion so fills the mind, that the instruction steals in unobserved, and therefore yields no food for conceit.

Touching the improbability, often censured, of certain incidents in this tragedy, it seems needful that somewhat be said. Improbable enough, we grant, some of the inci- dents are. But these nowise touch the substantial truth of the drama : the Poet but uses them as the occasion for what he has to develop of the inner life of nature and man. Besides, he did not invent them. They stood dressed in many attractive shapes before him, inviting his hand. And his use of them is amply justified in that they were matters of common and familiar tradition, and as such al- ready domesticated in the popular mind and faith of the time.

As to the alleged improbabilities of character, this is another and a much graver question. The play, it must be confessed, sets forth an extreme diversity of moral com- plexion, but especially a boldness and lustihood of crime, such as cannot but seem unnatural, if tried by the rule, or even by the exceptions, of what we are used to see of nature. Measuring, indeed, the capabilities of man by the standard of our own observations, we shall find all the higher representations of art, and even many well-attested things of history, too much for belief. But this is not the way to deal with such things ; our business is, to be taught by them as they are, and not to crush them down to the measures of what we already know. And so we should bear in mind, that the scene of this play is laid in a period of time when the innate peculiarities of men were much less subjected, than in our day, to the stamp

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of a common impression. For the influences under which we live cannot but generate more uniformity of character ; thus making us apt to regard as monstrous that rankness of growth, those great crimes and great virtues, which are recorded of earlier times, and which furnish the material of deep tragedy. For the process of civilization, if it do not kill out the aptitudes for heroic crime, at least in- volves a constant discipline of prudence, that keeps them in a more decorous reserve. But suppose the pressure of conventional motives and restraints to be wanting, and it will not then appear so very incredible that there should be just such spontaneous outcomings of wicked impulse, just such redundant transpirations of original sin, as are here displayed. Accordingly, while we are amid the Poet's scenes, and subject to his power, he seems to enlarge our knowledge of nature, not to contradict it ; but when we fall back and go to comparing his shows with our ex- periences, he seems rather to have beguiled us with illu- sions, than edified us with truth. All which, we suspect, is more our fault than his. And that criticism is best, which is born rather of what he makes us, than of what we are without him.

In speaking of the several characters of the play, we scarce know where to begin. Much has been written upon them, and the best critics seem to have been so raised and kindled by the theme as to surpass themselves. The per- sons of the drama are variously divisible into groups, ac- cording as we regard their domestic or their moral af- finities. We prefer to consider them as grouped upon the latter principle. And as the main action of the piece is shaped by the prevailing energy of evil, we will begin with those from whom that energy springs.

There is no accounting for the conduct of Goneril and Regan but by supposing them possessed with a very in- stinct and original impulse of malignity. The main points of their action, as we have seen, were taken from the old story. Character, in the proper sense of the term, they have none in the legend; and the Poet but invested them

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with characters suitable to the part they were believed to have acted.

Whatever of soul these beings possess, is all in the head r they have no heart to guide or inspire their understand- ing ; and but enough of understanding to seize occasions and frame excuses for their heartlessness. Without affec- tion, they are also without shame ; there being barely so much of human blood in their veins, as may serve to quicken the brain, without sending a blush to the cheek. Their hypocrisy acts as the instructive cunning of selfish- ness ; with a sort of hell-inspired tact they feel their way to a fit occasion, but drop the mask as soon as their ends are reached. There is a smooth, glib rhetoric in their professions of love, unwarmed with the least grace of real feeling, and a certain wiry virulence and intrepidity of thought in their after-speaking, that is almost terrific. No touch of nature finds a response in their bosoms ; no atmosphere of comfort can abide their presence: we feel that they have somewhat within that turns the milk of hu- manity into venom, which all the wounds they can inflict are but opportunities for casting.

The subordinate plot of the drama serves the purpose of relieving the improbability of their conduct towards their father. Some, indeed, have censured this plot as an embarrassment to the main one ; forgetting, perhaps, that to raise and sustain the feelings at any great height, there must be some breadth of basis. A degree of evil, which, if seen altogether alone, would strike us as superhuman, makes a very different impression, when it has the support of proper sympathies and associations. This effect is in a good measure secured by Edmund's independent con- currence with Goneril and Regan in wickedness. It looks as if some malignant planet had set the elements of evil astir in several hearts at the same time ; so that "unnatural- ness between the child and the parent" were become, sure enough, the order of the day.

Besides, the agreement of the sister-fiends in filial in- gratitude might seem, of itself, to argue some sisterly at-

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tachment between them. So that, to bring out their char- acter truly, it had to be shown, that the same principle which united them against their father would, on the turn- ing of occasion, divide them against each other. Hence the necessity of bringing them forward in relations adapted to set them at strife. In Edmund, accordingly, they find a character wicked enough, and energetic enough in his wickedness, to interest their feelings ; and because they are both alike interested in him, therefore they will cut their way to him through each other's life. Be it observed, too, that their passion for Edmund grows out of his treachery to his father ; as though from such similarity of action they inferred a congeniality of mind. For even to have hated each other from love of any one but a villain, and because of his villainy, had seemed a degree of virtue.

Having said so much, perhaps we need not add, that the action of Goneril and Regan seems to us the most incredible thing in the play. Nor are we quite able to shake off the feeling, that before the heart could get so thoroughly ossified the head must cease to operate. On the whole, we find it not easy to think of Goneril and Regan otherwise than as instruments of the plot ; not so much ungrateful persons as personifications of ingratitude. And it is considerable that they both appear of nearly the same mind and metal; are so much alike in character, that we can scarce distinguish them as individuals.

For the union of wit and wickedness, Edmund stands next to Richard and Iago. His strong and nimble intel- lect, his manifest courage, his energy of character, and his noble, manly person and presence, prepare us on our first acquaintance to expect from him not only great under- takings, but great success in them. But while his per- sonal advantages naturally generate pride, his disgraces of fortune are such as, from pride, to generate guilt. The circumstances of our first meeting with him, the mat- ter and manner of Gloster's conversation about him and to him, sufficiently explain his conduct; while the subse- quent outleakings of his mind in soliloquy let us into his

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secret springs of action. With a mixture of guilt, shame, and waggery, his father, before his face, and in the pres- ence of one whose respect he craves, makes him and his birth the subject of gross and wanton discourse; con- fesses himself ashamed yet compelled to acknowledge him ; avows the design of keeping him from home, as if to avoid the shame of his presence ; and makes comparisons between him and "another son some year elder than this," such as could hardly fail at once to wound his pride, to stimulate his ambition, and awaken his enmity. Thus the kindly influences of human relationship and household ties are turned to their contraries. He feels himself the victim of a disgrace for which he is not to blame ; which he can never hope to outgrow ; which no degree of personal worth can ever efface ; and from which he sees no escape but in pomp and circumstance of worldly power.

Nor is this all. Whatever aptitudes he may have to filial piety are thwarted by his father's open impiety to- wards his mother. Nay, even his duty to her seems to cancel his obligations of love to him ; the religious awe with which we naturally contemplate the mystery of our coming hither, and the mysterious union of those who brought us hither, is kept out of mind by his father's levity respecting his birth and her who bore him. Thus the very beginnings of religion are stifled in him by the impossibility of revering his parents : there is no sanctity about the origin and agents of his being, to inspire him with awe: as they have no religion towards each other, so he can have none towards them. He can only despise them for being his parents ; and the consciousness, that he is him- self a living monument of their shame, tends but to pervert and poison the felicities of his nature.

Moreover, by his residence and education abroad, he is cut off from the fatherly counsels and kindnesses which might else cause him to forget the disgraces entailed upon him. His shame of birth, however, nowise represses his pride of blood: on the contrary, it furnishes the conditions wherein such pride, though the natural auxiliary of many

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virtues, is most apt to fester into crime. For while his shame begets scorn of family ties, his pride passes into greediness of family possessions : the passion for hereditary honors is unrestrained by domestic attachments ; no love of Edgar's person comes in to keep down a lust for his dis- tinctions ; and he is led to envy as a rival the brother whom he would else respect as a superior.

Always thinking, too, of his dishonor, he is ever on the lookout for signs that others are thinking of it ; and the jealousy thus engendered construes every show of respect into an effort of courtesy ; — a thing which inflames his ambition while chafing his pride. The corroding suspi- cion, that others are perhaps secretly scorning his noble descent while outwardly acknowledging it, leads him to find or fancy in them a disposition to indemnify them- selves for his personal superiority out of his social de- basement. The stings of reproach, being personally un- merited, are resented as wrongs ; and with the plea of in- justice he can easily reconcile his mind to the most wicked schemes. Aware of Edgar's virtues, still he has no relent- ings, but shrugs his shoulders, and laughs off all com- punctions with an "I must," as if justice to himself were a sufficient excuse for his criminal purposes.

With "the plague of custom" and "the curiosity of nations" Edmund has no compact: he did not consent to them, and therefore is not bound by them. He came into the world in spite of them ; and may he not thrive in the world by outwitting them? Perhaps he owes his gifts to a breach of them : may he not, then, use his gifts to cir- cumvent them? Since his dimensions are so well com- pact, his mind so generous, and his shape so true, he pre- fers nature as she has made him to nature as she has placed him ; and freely employs the wit she has given, to compass the wealth she has withheld. Thus our philosopher appeals from convention to nature and, as usually hap- pens in such cases, takes only so much of nature as will serve his turn. For convention is itself a part of nature ; it be- ing just as natural that men should grow up together in

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communities, as that they should grow up severally as in- dividuals. But the same principle which prompts the ap- peal orders the tribunal. Nor does nature in such cases ever contradict, or debate, or try conclusions with men ; but nods assent to their propositions, and lets them have their own way, as knowing that "the very devils cannot plague them better."

Nevertheless, there is not in Edmund, as in Iago, any spontaneous or purposeless wickedness. Nay, he does not so much commit crimes, as devise accidents, and then com- mit his cause to them ; not so much makes war on morality, as bows and smiles and shifts her off out of the way, that his wit may have free course. He deceives others without scruple indeed, but then he does not consider them bound to trust him ; and tries to avail himself of their credulity or criminality without becoming responsible for it. True, he is a pretty bold experimenter, but that is because he has nothing to lose if he fails, and much to gain if he suc- ceeds. Nor does he attempt to disguise from himself, or gloss over, or anywise palliate his designs ; but boldly con- fronts and stares them in the face, as though assured of sufficient external grounds to justify or excuse them.

Edmund's strength and acuteness of intellect, unsub- jected as they are to the moral and religious sentiments, of course exempt him from the superstitions that pre- vail about him. He has an eye to discern the error of such things, but no sense for the greater truth they in- volve. For such superstitions are but the natural sugges- tions of the religious instincts unenlightened by revela- tion. So that he who would not be superstitious without revelation, would probably be irreligious with it ; and that there is more of truth in superstition than in irreligion, is implied in the very fact of religious instincts. It is merely the atheism of the heart that makes Edmund so dis- cerning of error in what he does not like; in which case the subtleties of the understanding lead to the rankest un- wisdom.

As a portraiture of individual character Lear himself

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holds, to our mind, much the same pre-eminence over all 3thers, which we accord to the tragedy as a dramatic com- position. Less complex and varied, perhaps, than Hamlet, the character is, however, much more remote from the com- mon feelings and experiences of human life. Few of us arrive at the age, fewer have the capacity, and fewer still are ever in a condition to feel what Lear feels, do what he does, and suffer what he suffers. The delineation im- presses us, beyond any other, with the truth of what some one has said of Shakespeare, — that if he had been the author of the human heart, it seems hardly possible he should have better understood what was in it, and how it was made.

From our first interview with Lear, it becomes manifest that, with his body tottering beneath the weight of years and cares of state, his mind is sliding into that second childhood which is content to play with the shadows of things past, as the first is, with the shadows of things thai are to be. The opening of the play informs us that the division of the kingdom has been already resolved upon, the terms of the division arranged, and the several por- tions allotted. The trial of professions, therefore, is clearly but a trick of the king's, designed, perhaps, to sur- prise his children into expressions which filial modesty would else forbid. Not that Lear distrusts his daughters ; but he has a morbid hungering after the outward tokens of affection ; is not satisfied to know the heart beats for him, but craves to feel and count over its beatings. And he naturally looks for the strongest professions where he feels the deepest attachment. And the same doting fondness that suggested the device makes him angry at its defeat; while its success with the first two heightens his irritation at its failure with the third. Balked of his hope, and that too where he is at once the most confident and the most desirous of success, he naturally enough flies off in a trans- port of rage. Still it is not so much a doubt of Cordelia's love, as a dotage of his trick, that frets and chafes him; for the device is evidently a pet with him.

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And there appears something of obstinacy and sullen- ness in Cordelia's answer, as if she would resent the old man's credulity to her sisters' lies by refusing to tell him the truth. But the fact is, she cannot, if she wills, talk much about what she is, and what she intends. For there is a virgin delicacy in genuine and deep feeling, that causes it to keep in the background of the life ; to be heard rather in its effects than in direct and open declarations ; and the more it is ashamed to be seen, the more it blushes into sight. Such is the beautiful instinct of true feeling to embody itself sweetly and silently in deeds, lest, from show- ing itself in words, it should turn to matter of vanity or pride. It is not strange, therefore, that Cordelia should make it her part to "love and be silent." And perhaps it is as little strange that Lear, impetuous by nature, irritable through age, and self-willed from habit, on the tiptoe of anticipation, and in the full tide of successful experiment, should be surprised by her answer into a tempest of pas- sion. Of course his anger at the failure is proportioned to his confidence of success ; and in the disorder of his thoughts he forgets the thousand little acts that have in- sensibly wrought in him to love her most, and to expect most love from her. In all which the old king, enamored of his trick, and vexed at its defeat, is like a peevish fret- ful child who, if prevented from kissing his nurse, falls to striking her.

Men sometimes take a secret pleasure in the mere exer- cise of the will without or against reason, as if they could make that right or true which is not so in itself. For such a course has to their feelings the effect of ascertain- ing and augmenting their power. The very shame, too, of doing wrong sometimes hurries men into a barring of them- selves off from retreat. Such appears to be the case with Lear in his treatment of Cordelia. In the first place, he trill do the thing, because he knows it to be wrong, and then the uneasy sense of a wrong done prompts him to bind the act with an oath ; that is, because he ought not to have driven the nail, therefore he clinches it. It is clear

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from what follows, especially from his shrinking soreness of mind as shown when the Fool's grief at the loss of Cor- delia is spoken of, that he cannot suppress the feeling that he has done her wrong.

But the great thing in the delineation of Lear, is the effect and progress of his passion in redeveloping his facul- ties. For the character seems designed in part to illus- trate the power of passion to reawaken and raise the faculties from the tomb wherein age hath inurned them. In Lear, accordingly, we have, as it were, a handful of tu- mult embosomed in a sea, gradually overspreading, and pervading, and fearfully convulsing the entire mass. Coming before us at first full of paternal love and of faith in filial piety, his noble mind, freed from the cares of state and settled into repose, seems about to run through the vale of age so deep and smooth and still as to leave us unadmonished of its flowing. The possibility of filial de- sertion appears never to have entered his thoughts ; for so absolute is his trust, that he can scarce admit the evidence of sight against his cherished expectations. Bereft, as he thinks, of one, he clings the closer to the rest, assuring himself that they will spare no pains to make up the loss. Cast off and struck on the heart by another, he flies with still greater confidence to the third. Though proofs that she, too, has fallen off are multiplied upon him, still he can- not give her up, cannot be provoked to curse her; he will not see, will not own to himself the fact of her revolt.

When, however, the truth is forced home, and he can no longer evade or shuffle off the conclusion, the effect is in- deed awful. So long as his heart had something to lay hold of, and cling to, and rest upon, his mind was the abode of order and peace. But now that his feelings are rendered objectless, torn from their accustomed holdings, and thrown back upon themselves, there springs up a wild chaos of the brain, a whirling tumult and anarchy of the thoughts, which, until imagination has time to work, chokes his utterance. The crushing of his aged spirit brings to light its hidden depths and buried riches. Thus his terri-

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ble energy of thought and speech, as soon as imaginatior rallies to his aid, proceeds naturally from the struggle oi his feelings, — a struggle that seems to wrench his whoh being into dislocation, convulsing and upturning his sou from the bottom.

In the transition of his mind from its first stillness anc repose to its subsequent tempest and storm ; in the hurried revulsions and alternations of feeling, — the fast-rooted faith in filial virtue, the keen sensibility to filial ingrati- tude, the mighty hunger of the heart, thrice repelled, yet ever strengthened by repulse ; and in the turning up of sentiments and faculties deeply imbedded beneath the in- crustations of time and place ; — in all this we have a retro spect of the aged sufferer's whole life ; the abridged history of a mind that has passed through many successive stages, each putting off the form, yet retaining and perfecting the grace of those that preceded.

As to the representation here given of madness, we would not willingly trust ourselves to undertake to describe it. Nor need we. The elder Kean's revelations of art (for such they may well be called) were before our day. But they were witnessed by a countryman of ours, who has put on record good evidence that his eye and tongue were equal to the greatest things that even that great artist could do. We refer to Mr. Richard H. Dana's noble paper on Kean's acting, — a paper that may be regarded as settling the question whether criticism be capable of rising into an art. We subjoin that portion of it which relates to the point in hand:

"It has been said that Lear is a study for one who would make himself acquainted with the workings of an insane mind. And it is hardly less true, that the acting of Kean was an embodying of these workings. His eye, when his senses are fast forsaking him, giving an inquir- ing look at what he saw, as if all before him was undergo- ing a strange and bewildering change which confused his brain ; the wandering, lost motions of his hands, which seemed feeling for something familiar to them, on which

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they might take hold and be assured of a safe reality; the under monotone of his voice, as if he was question- ing his own being, and what surrounded him ; the con- tinuous, but slight, oscillating motion of the body ; — all these expressed, with fearful truth, the bewildered state of a mind fast unsettling, and making vain and weak ef- forts to find its way back to its wonted reason. There was a childish, feeble gladness in the eye, and a half-pit- eous smile about the mouth, at times, which one could scarce look upon without tears. As the derangement in- creased upon him, his eye lost its notice of objects about him, wandering over things as if he saw them not, and fastening upon the creatures of his crazed brain. The helpless and delighted fondness with which he clings to Edgar, as an insane brother, is another instance of the justness of Kean's conceptions. Nor does he lose the air of insanity, even in the fine moralizing parts, and where he inveighs against the corruption of the world. There is a madness even in his reason."

Mrs. Jameson aptly says of Cordelia, that "every thing in her lies beyond our view, and affects us in such a man- ner that we rather feel than perceive it." And it is very remarkable that, though but little seen or heard, yet the whole play seems full of her. All that she utters is, forty- three lines in Act I, twenty-four in the fourth and thirty- seven in the seventh scene of Act IV, and five in Act V. Yet we had read the play occasionally for several years, before we could fully realize but she was among the principal speakers ; and even now, on taking up the play, we can scarce persuade ourselves but that the time of read- ing is to be spent chiefly with her.

It is in this remoteness, we take it, this gift of presence without appearance, that the secret of her power mainly consists. Her character has no foreground ; nothing out- standing, or that touches us in a definable way : she is all perspective, self-withdrawn ; so that she comes to us rather by inspiration than by vision. Even when before us, we rather feel than see her: so much "more is meant than

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meets the eye," that what is shown is in a manner lost sight of in what is suggested. Thus she affects us through deeper and finer susceptibilities than consciousness can grasp ; as if she at once used, and developed in us, higher organs of communication than sense; or as if her pres- ence acted in some mysterious way on our very life, so that when it works in us most we perceive it least.

Thus what was stated before respecting her affection is true of her character generally. For she has the same deep, quiet reserve of thought as of feeling, so that her mind becomes conspicuous by its retiringness, and wins the attention by shrinking from it. Though she nowhere says any thing indicating much intelligence, yet she always strikes us somehow as very intelligent, and even the more so, that her intelligence does not appear. And indeed what she knows is so bound up with her affections, that she cannot draw it off into expression by itself; it is held in perfect solution, as it were, with all the other elements of her nature, and nowhere falls down in a sediment, so as to be producible in a separate state. She has a deeper and truer knowledge of her sisters, than any one else about them ; but she knows them rather by heart than by head ; and so can feel and act, but not articulate, a prophecy of what they will do. Ask her, indeed, what she thinks on any subject, and she will answer, that she thinks, — nay, she cannot tell, she can only show you what she thinks : for her thinking involuntarily shapes itself into life, not into speech ; and she uses the proper language of her mind, when, bending over her "child-chang'd father," she in- vokes restoration to "hang its medicine on her lips," cr, kneeling beside him, intreats him to "hold his hands in benediction o'er her."

All which shows a peculiar fitness in Cordelia for the part she was designed to act ; which was, to exemplify the workings of filial piety, as Lear exemplifies those of pater- nal love. To embody this sentiment, the whole character, in all its movements and aspects, is made essentially reli- gious. For filial piety is religion acting under the

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sacredest relation of human life. And religion, we know or ought to know, is a life, and not a language ; and life is the simultaneous and concurrent action of all the ele- ments of our being. Which is illustrated to perfection in Cordelia ; who, be it observed, never thinks of her piety at all, because her piety prompts her to think only of her father. And so she can reveal her good thoughts only by veiling them in good deeds, as the spirit is veiled and re- vealed in the body ; nay, has to be so veiled, in order to be revealed; for, if the veil be torn off, the spirit is no longer there.

Therefore it is, that Cordelia affects us so deeply and constantly without our being able to perceive how or why. Hence, also, the impression of reserve that runs through her character; for where the whole moves equally and at once, the parts are not distinctly seen, and so seem held in reserve. And she affects those about her in the same insensible way as she affects us ; that is, she keeps their thoughts and feelings busy, by keeping what she thinks and feels hidden beneath what she does : an influence goes forth from her by stealth, and stealthily creeps into them ; — an influence which does not appear, and yet is irre- sistible, and is therefore irresistible because it does not ap- pear; and which becomes an undercurrent in their minds, circulates in their blood, as it were, and enriches their life with a beauty which seems their own, and yet is not their own : so that she steals upon us through them, and we think of her the more, because they, without suspecting it, re- mind us of her.

Accordingly, her father loves her most, yet knows not why ; has no assignable reasons for his feeling, and there- fore cannot reason it down. Having cast her off from his bounty, but not out of his heart, he grows full of un- rest, as if there were some secret power about her which he cannot be without, though he did not dream of its ex- istence while she was with him. And "since her going into France the Foci has much pined away" ; as though her presence were necessary to his health; so that he sickens

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upon the loss of her, yet he suspects not wherefore, and knows but that she was by and his spirits were nimble, she is gone and his spirits are drooping.

Such is the influence of a right-minded and right-man- nered woman on those about her: she does not know it, they do not know it; her influence is all the better and stronger, that neither of them knows it: she begins to lose it when she goes about to use it and make them sensible of it : with noiseless step it glides into them unnoticed and un- suspected, but disturbs and repels them as soon as it seeks to make itself heard. For, indeed, her power lies not in what she values herself upon, and voluntarily brings for- ward, and makes use of, but in something far deeper and diviner than all this, which she knows not of and cannot help.

Finally, we know of nothing with which to compare Cordelia, nothing to illustrate her character by. An im- personation of the holiness of womanhood, herself alone is her own parallel; and all the objects that lend beauty when used to illustrate other things, seem dumb or inelo- quent of meaning beside her. Superior, perhaps, to all the rest of Shakespeare's women in beauty of character, she is nevertheless inferior to none of them as a living and breathing reality. We see her only in the relation of daughter, and hardly see her even there ; yet we know what she is or would be in every relation of life, just as well as if we had seen her in them all. "Formed for all sympathies, moved by all tenderness, prompt for all duty, prepared for all suffering," we seem almost to hear her sighs, and see her tears, and feel her breath, as she hangs like a ministering spirit over her reviving father: the vis- ion sinks sweetly and silently into the heart, and in its reality to our feelings, abides with us more as a remem- brance than an imagination, instructing and inspiring us as that of a friend whom we had known and loved in our youth.

It is an interesting feature of this representation, that Lear's faith in filial piety is justified by the event, though

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not his judgment as to the persons in whom it was to be found. Wiser in heart than in understanding, he mis- took the object, but was right in the feeling. In his pride of sovereignty, he thought to command the affection of his children, and to purchase the dues of gratitude by his bounty to them ; but he is at last indebted to the unbought grace of nature for that comfort which he would fain owe to himself; what he seeks, and even more than he seeks, comes as the free return of a love which thrives in spite of him, and which no harshness or injustice of his could extinguish. Thus the confirmation of his faith grows by the ruin of his pride. Such is the frequent les- son of human life. For the fall has hardly more defaced the beauty of human character, than it has marred our per- ception of what remains ; and not the least punishment of our own vices is, that they take from us the power to dis- cern the virtue of others.

There is a strange assemblage of qualities in the Fool^/ and a strange effect arising from their union and posi- tion, which we are not a little at loss to describe. It seems hardly possible that Lear's character should be properly developed without him : indeed he serves as a common gauge and exponent of all the characters about him, — the mirror in which their finest and deepest lineaments are re- flected. Though a privileged person, with the largest op- portunity of seeing and the largest liberty of speaking, he every where turns his privileges into charities, making the immunities of the clown subservient to the noblest sym- pathies of the man. He is therefore by no means a mere harlequinian appendage of the scene, but moves in vital intercourse with the character and passion of the drama. He makes his folly the vehicle of truths which the king will bear in no other shape, while his affectionate tender- ness sanctifies all his nonsense. His being heralded to us by the announcement of his pining away at the banish- ment of Cordelia, sends a consecration before him : that his life feeds on her presence, hallows every thing about him. Lear manifestly loves him, partly for his own sake, and

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partly for hers ; for we feel a delicate, scarce-discernible play of sympathy between them on Cordelia's account ; the more so, perhaps, that neither of them makes any clear al- lusion to her; their very reserve concerning her indicating that their hearts are too full to speak.

We know not, therefore, how to describe the Fool other- wise than as the soul of pathos in a sort of comic mas- querade ; one in whom fun and frolic are sublimed and idealized into tragic beauty ; with the garments of mourn- ing showing through and softened by the law of playful- ness. His "laboring to out jest Lear's heart-struck in- juries" shows that his wits are set a-dancing by grief; that his jests bubble up from the depths of a heart strug- gling with pity and sorrow, as foam enwreaths the face of deeply-troubled waters. So have we seen the lip quiver and the cheek dimple into a smile, to relieve the eye of a burden it was reeling under, yet ashamed to let fall. There is all along a shrinking, velvet-footed delicacy of step in the Fool's antics, as if awed by the holiness of the ground ; and he seems bringing diversion to the thoughts, that he may the better steal a sense of woe into the heart. It is hard to tell whether the inspired antics, that sparkle from the surface of his mind, be in more impressive contrast with the dark tragic scenes into which they are thrown like rockets into a midnight tempest, or with the undercurrent of deep tragic thoughtfulness out of which they falter- ingly issue and play.

If the best grace and happiness of life consist in a for- getting of self and a living for others, Kent and Edgar are those of Shakespeare's men whom one should most wish to resemble. Strikingly similar in virtues and situation, these two persons are, notwithstanding, widely different in character. Brothers in magnanimity and in misfortune ; equally invincible in fidelity, the one to his King, the other to his father; both driven to disguise themselves, and in their disguise both serving where they stand condemned; — Kent, too generous to control himself, is always quick, fiery, and impetuous ; Edgar, controlling himself even be-

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cause of his generosity, is always calm, collected, and de- liberate. Yet it is difficult which of them to prefer. For, if Edgar be the more judicious and prudent, Kent is the more unselfish, of the two : the former disguising himself for his own safety, and then turning his disguise into an opportunity of service; the latter disguising himself merely in order to serve, and then periling his life in the same course whereby the other seeks to preserve it. Nor is Edgar so lost to himself and absorbed in others but that he can and does survive them; whereas Kent's life is so bound up with others, that their death plucks him after. Nevertheless it is hard saying whether one would rather be the subject or the author of Edgar's tale, — "Whilst I was big in clamor," etc.

In Kent and Oswald we have one of those effective con- trasts with which the Poet often deepens the harmony of his greater efforts. As the former is the soul of good- ness clothed in the assembled nobilities of manhood; so the latter is the very extract and embodiment of meanness ; two men, than whom "no contraries hold more anl!pathy." To call the steward wicked, were a misuse of the term: he is absolutely beneath serious censure ; one of those con- venient packhorses whereon guilt often rides to its ends. Except the task of smoothing the way for the passions of a wicked mistress, there were no employment base enough for him. None but a reptile like him could ever have got hatched into notice in such an atmosphere as Goneril's so- ciety ; were he any thing else, there could not be sympathy enough between them to admit the relation of superior and subaltern.

The surpassing power of this drama is most felt in the third and fourth acts, especially those parts where Lear appears. The fierce warring of the elements around the old King, as if mad with enmity against him, while he seeks shelter in their strife from the tempest in his mind, his preternatural illumination of mind when totter- ing on the verge of insanity ; his gradual settling into that unnatural calmness which is far more appalling than any

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agitation, because it marks the pause between order gone and anarchy about to begin; the scattering out of the mind's jewels in the mad revel of his unbound and di- sheveled faculties, until he finally sinks, broken-hearted and broken-witted, into the sleep of utter prostration; — all this, joined to the incessant groanings and howlings of the storm ; the wild, inspired babblings of the Fool ; the desperate fidelity of Kent, outstripping the malice of the elements with his ministries of love; the bedlamitish jargon of Edgar, whose feigned madness, striking in with Lear's real madness, takes away just enough of its horror, and borrows just enough of its dignity, to keep either from becoming insupportable ; — the whole at last dying away into the soft, sweet, solemn discourse of Cordelia, as though the storm had faltered into music at her coming ; and wind- ing up with the revival of Lear, his faculties touched into order and peace by the voice of filial sympathy ; — in all this we have a masterpiece of art, of which every reader's feelings must confess the power, though perhaps no analy- sis can fathom the secret.

It would hardly do to leave the subject without referring to the improvement which this mighty drama has suf- fered at the hands of one Nahum Tate, for the purpose, as would seem, of dwarfing and dementing it down to the capacity of some theatrical showman. Nor need we deem it so very strange that the Tatified Lear should have got- ten and kept possession of the stage, considering how many there are in our day, who prefer some modern berhyming of the Psalms to the Psalms as God and David wrote them. A part of Tate's work lay in rectifying the catas- trophe, so as to make Lear and Cordelia come off tri- umphant, thus rewarding their virtue with worldly success. The cutting out of the precious Fool, and the turning of Cordelia into a lovesick hypocrite, who feigns indifference to her father in order to cheat and enrage him, that so he may abandon her to a forbidden match with Edgar, completes this execrable piece of profanation. Tate im-

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>rove Lear! Set a tailor at work, rather, to improve Niagara !

For the rest that we would say on this point and some ithers, we will substitute Lamb's immortal criticism on the ragedy with reference to the capacities of the stage. ;The Lear of Shakespeare," says he, "cannot be acted, rhe contemptible machinery, by which they mimic the torm he goes out in, is not more inadequate to represent he horrors of the real elements, than any actor can be to epresent Lear: they might more easily propose to per- onate the Satan of Milton on a stage, or one of Michael Ingelo's terrible figures. The greatness of Lear is noFTrT orporal dimension, but in intellectual: the explosions of lis passion are terrible as a volcano ; they are storms turn- ng up and disclosing to the bottom that sea, his mind, rith all its vast riches. It is his mind which is laid bare, rhis case of flesh and blood seems too insignificant to be hought on ; even as he himself neglects it. On the stage ve see nothing but corporal infirmities and weaknesses, the mpotence of rage: while we read it, we see not Lear, but ve are Lear, — we are in his mind; we are sustained by a grandeur which baffles the malice of his daughters and torms: in the aberrations of his reason, we discover a nighty irregular power of reasoning, immethodized from - ;he ordinay purposes of life, but exerting its powers, as he wind blows where it listeth, at will upon the corruptions ind abuses of mankind. What have looks or tones to do vith that sublime identification of his age with that of he heavens themselves, when, in his reproaches to them ?or conniving at the injustice of his children, he reminds ;hem that 'they themselves are old'? What gestures shall ve appropriate to this? What has the voice or the eye o do with such things? But the play is beyond all art, is the tamperings with it show : it is too hard and stony ; t must have love-scenes, and a happy ending. It is not mough that Cordelia is a daughter, she must shine as a 'over too. Tate has put his hook in the nostrils of this

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Leviathan, for Garrick and his followers, the showmen of the scene, to draw the mighty beast about more easily. A happy ending! — as if the living martyrdom that Lear had gone through, the flaying of his feelings alive, did not make a fair dismissal from the stage of life the only de- corous thing for him. If he is to live and be happy after, if he could sustain this world's burden after, why all this pudder and preparation, — why torment us with all this unnecessary sympathy? As if the childish pleasure of getting his gilt robes and scepter again could tempt him to act over again his misused station, — as if, at his years and with his experience, any thing was left but to die."

COMMENTS

By Shakespearean Scholars

LEAR

But this drama is primarily the drama of Lear. Lear disturbs the harmony of the ethical institutions of both State and Family. Long years of absolute power have de- veloped the tyrant dominated by selfishness ; weary of care, he would shirk the responsibilities of government, but re- tain the pleasures of its outward show ; he forsakes reason and suffers the penalty of reason forsaking him ; the State is nothing to him ; he would throw government aside like a cast-off garment ; his daughter Cordelia cannot play false like her treacherous sisters, and he thrusts her aside as easily as an impatient child tosses away the toy which can- not obey his bidding. If she goes with some bitterness in her heart, her inherent love of truth develops into the truth of love, and she returns only to be sacrificed.

Since Lear's sin is so great that Nemesis will only be satisfied with his tragic end, his deed returns upon his own head. Nemesis follows Regan and Goneril, and they suffer the penalty of their own wicked deeds ; if we see in Cordelia's violent death only "dramatic pathos," this by no means infringes upon the general law of retribution, but simply shows that while evil deeds bring their own punish- ment, all misfortune is not necessarily the result of wrong- doing.— Ferris-Gettemy, Outline Studies in Shakespear- ean Drama.

Of all Shakspere's plays Macbeth is the most rapid, Hamlet the slowest, in movement. Lear combines length with rapidity, — like the hurricane and the whirlpool, ab-

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Borbing while it advances. It begins as a stormy day in summer, with brightness ; but that brightness is lurid, and anticipates the tempest.

It was not without forethought, nor is it without its due significance, that the division of Lear's kingdom is in the first six lines of the play stated as a thing already deter- mined in all its particulars, previously to the trial of pro- fessions, as the relative rewards of which the daughters were to be made to consider their several portions. The strange, yet by no means unnatural, mixture of selfishness, sensibility, and habit of feeling derived from, and fostered by, the particular rank and usages of the individual ; — the intense desire of being intensely beloved, — selfish, and yet characteristic of the selfishness of a loving and kindly nature alone ; — the self-supportless leaning for all pleasure on another's breast ; — the cravings after sympathy with a prodigal disinterestedness, frustrated by its own ostenta- tion, and the mode and nature of its claims ; — the anxiety, the distrust, the jealousy, which more or less accompany all selfish affections, and are amongst the surest contra- distinctions of mere fondness from true love, and which originate Lear's eager wish to enjoy his daughter's violent professions, whilst the inveterate habits of sovereignty convert the wish into claim and positive right, and an in- compliance with it into crime and treason ; — these facts, these passions, these moral verities, on which the whole tragedy is founded, are all prepared for, and will to the retrospect be found implied, in these first four or five lines of the play. They let us know that the trial is but a trick ; and that the grossness of the old king's rage is in part the natural result of a silly trick suddenly and most unex- pectedly baffled and disappointed. — Coleridge, Lectures on Sliakspere.

The thoughtless confidence of Lear in his children has something in it far more touching than the self-beggary of Timon; though both one and the other have proto- types enough in real life, and as we give the old king

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more of our pity, so a more intense abhorrence accom- panies his daughters and the evil characters of that drama than we spare for the miserable sycophants of the Athe- nian There seems to have been a period of Shake- speare's life when his heart was ill at ease, and ill-content with the world as his own conscience ; the memory of hours misspent, the pang of affection misplaced or unrequited, the experience of man's worser nature which intercourse with unworthy associates, by choice or circumstance, pe- culiarty teaches ; — these, as they sank down into the depths of his great mind, seem not only to have inspired into it the conception of Lear and Timon, but that of one pri- mary character, the censurer of mankind. — Hallam, Ivir- troduction to the Literature of Europe.

CORDELIA

There is in the beauty of Cordelia's character an effect too sacred for words, and almost too deep for tears ; with- in her heart is a fathomless well of purest affection, but its waters sleep in silence and obscurity, — never failing in their depth and never overflowing in their fullness. Every thing m her seems to lie beyond our view, and affects us in a manner which we feel rather than perceive. The char- acter appears to have no surface, no salient points upon which the fancy can readily seize: there is little external development of intellect, less of passion, and still less of imagination. It is completely made out in the course of a few scenes, and we are surprised to find that in those few scenes there is matter for a life of reflection, and ma- terials enough for twenty heroines. If Lear be the grand- est of Shakespeare's tragedies, Cordelia in herself, as a hu- man being, governed by the purest and holiest impulses and motives, the most refined from all dross of selfishness and passion, approaches near to perfection ; and in her adaptation, as a dramatic personage, to a determinate plan of action, may be pronounced altogether perfect. The character, to speak of it critically as a poetical concep-

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tion, is not, however, to be comprehended at once, or easily ; and in the same manner Cordelia, as a woman, is one whom we must have loved before we could have known her, and known her long before we could have known her truly. — Jameson, Shakespeare's Heroines.

"Of the heavenly beauty of soul of Cordelia, pro- nounced in so few words, I will venture to speak." This was the impression which Shakspere's Cordelia produced upon Schlegel. In the whole range of the Shakspearean drama there is nothing more extraordinary than the ef- fect upon the mind of the character of Cordelia. Mrs. Jameson has truly said, "Everything in her seems to lie beyond our view, and affects us in a manner which we feel rather than perceive." In the first act she has only forty- three lines assigned to her: she does not appear again till the fourth act, in the fourth scene of which she has twenty- four lines, and,, in the seventh, thirty-seven. In the fifth act she has five lines. Yet during the whole progress of the play we can never forget her ; and, after its melancholy close, she lingers about our recollections as if we had seen some being more beautiful and purer than a thing of earth, who had communicated with us by a higher nedium than that of words. And yet she is no mere abstraction ; — she is nothing more nor less than a personification of the holi- ness of womanhood. She is a creature formed for all sym- pathies, moved by all tenderness, prompt for all duty, pre- pared for all suffering; but she cannot talk of what she is, and what she purposes. The King of France describes the apparent reserve of her character as "A tardiness in nature,

Which often leaves the history unspoke

That it intends to do."

She herself says, —

"If for I want that glib and oily art, To speak, and purpose not; since what I well intend, I'll do 't before I speak."

si — Knight, Pictorial Shakspere.

IV

KING LEAR Comments

REGAN AND GONERIL

At the first moment the two sisters display no character- istic difference ; "as like as a crab is to a crab," says the fool ; on a closer inspection it is surprising what a wide and clearly defined contrast there is between the two. The elder, Goneril, with the "wolfish visage" and the dark "frontlet" of ill-humor, is a masculine woman, full of in- dependent purposes and projects, whilst Regan appears Imore feminine, rather instigated by Goneril, more passive, land more dependent. Goneril's boundless "unbordered" nature, which renders her a true child of that fearful age, shows itself in bloody undertakings, originating in her own brain ; whilst Regan's evil nature appears rather in her urging on the atrocities of others, as when Kent is set in the stocks and Gloster's eyes are torn out. The worst of the two is married to a noble gentleman (Albany), whom she reviles as "a moral fool," whose mildness and repose seem to her "milky gentleness," and whose quiet power and resolute manliness she only later finds reason to discover. The better sister has the worst husband inrCornwall, a man whose wrathful disposition allows of no impediment and bears no remonstrance. Goneril at first appears to govern her husband, who recognizes her depth of foresight, and, until he penetrates her character, avoids discords with her ; she pursues her aims independently, scarcely listening to him, and scarcely deigning to answer him ; Regan, on the contrary, is obsequious and dependent towards the gloomy, laconic, and powerful Cornwall, who is immov- able and resolute in his determination. At the first occa- sion (Act I, sc. i) Goneril appears as the instigator and Regan as her echo. She it is who afterwards begins to put restraints upon the king ; she first treats him disre- spectfully, halves and dismisses his attendants, whilst Regan avoids her father with some remains of awe. But she fears her sister still more than her father; she rather suffers her father's messenger to be mistreated than Gon- eril's servant. Her sister knows her weakness ; she does not

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consider it sufficient to write to her; she goes to her and follows her in order to be sure of her co-operation in her measures. Regan cannot hurl forth vehement and hasty words like Goneril ; she has not the same fierce eyes, her glance (though Lear in his madness indeed calls it a squint) is more full of comfort, her nature is softer and more cordial, and Lear, it seems, hardly trusts himself to penetrate her character closely; when, in his delusion, he sits in judgment upon her, he desires to have her heart anatomized. She utters inoffensively harsher things to her father than Goneril does, and yet her father hesitates to pronounce his curse upon her as upon her sister — a curse even twice repeated against Goneril. The latter receives it with marble coldness, but Regan shudders, and fears to draw upon herself the like malediction. It is not until Goneril in her presence has entirely laid open her own un- blushing cruelty and barbarity towards their old father, that Regan grows bolder also, and drives away the king's train of knights ; she will have no one but himself. When Goneril afterwards insists that the old man shall taste the consequences of his obstinacy and folly, and forbids Glos- ter, in spite of the raging storm, to harbor him, she chimes in with her usual dependent weakness. After the brood of serpents have got rid of the old father, there begins a domestic feud between the families. Goneril digs deeper mines, to which the mistreatment of Lear has been only the prelude. She wishes to seize on the whole kingdom, she betroths herself to Edmund during her husband's life ; she rejoices in Cornwall's death, poisons Regan, joins with Edmund in ordering Cordelia's execution, and finally at- tempts the life of her husband, whom she now fears, be- cause he had discovered with horror her misdeeds. Here, again, Regan appears throughout less blamable and vile ; she makes no engagement with Edmund till after Corn- wall's death ; she unsuspectingly confides letters for Ed- mund to Goneril's treacherous servant ; she falls a victim to her sister's poison, being herself clear from all attempts of the kind ; in every respect she is more contracted in her

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ature than her sister, whose "woman's will is of undis- nguish'd space." — Gervinus, Shakespeare Commentaries.

It would be an interesting subject for a prize essay which f the two is the worse, Regan or Goneril. I confess, I am nable to answer the question satisfactorily. I believe lhakespeare meant to leave it a question. It may be said lat Goneril, as she was the first to ill-treat her father, [as the worse; but it may be justly replied, that Regan as still worse, inasmuch as the sight of the tortured old lian, so far from moving her, only causes her to torture im anew, so that nothing is left but madness, which, as e have already intimated, can be regarded as only a relief. Pn the whole, the fool was in the right when he said that loth were of a height, and that one tasted as much like le other as a crab does to a crab. — Franz Horee, Shak- peare's Schauspiele erlautert.

EDGAR

As all proceeds so rapidly, and Edgar, one hardly un- srstands how, is driven by lies from his father's house, it as represented on the stage, scarcely intelligible, hat Edgar comes on the stage as a crazy beggar is no ore clearly explained, yet the reasons of it may be imag- led ; but that, in this disguise of a madman, he utters, ithout any necessity, so much useless talk, becomes ex- •emely wearisome, while the much-admired scene in the nt, through its length, and the inexhaustible stream of *azy speeches, is, according to our feeling, equally fa- guing. It might even be conjectured that Shakespeare tended to give us here a sort of dramatic extravaganza, lowing us specimens of three different kinds of fools all gether, one really crazy, one pretending to be crazy, and le a Fool by profession — these he sets upon the scene side y side, and lets all three figure away in the finest style. — umelin, Shakespeare-Studien.

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Comments THE TRAGEDY OF

THE STEWARD

In the character of the steward to Queen Goneril, Shakespeare has given an impersonation of blind feudal at- tachment. He is the reverse of Kent. He, from the mere servility of slavish obedience, would perpetrate any enor- mity of vice or of good service with the implicit punctu- ality and passiveness of a machine. It is no question with him whether an act be just or unjust, merciful or cruel. Kent speaks of him to this effect when he indignantly describes him as one of those who "turn their halcyon beaks with every gale and vary of their masters ; knowing naught, like dogs, but following." He is, in short, a serf, and carries out the will of his mistress, as an axe obeys the hand of an executioner. The spirit of active and passive fidelity was never more aptly contrasted than in the two charac- ters of Kent and Oswald the steward. The whole world would not stand between Kent and his zeal to serve his friend ; and he has given proof that the whole world would not bring him to commit an unjust act, or to approve of it. The steward goes to his death in the service of his mistress, and with his dying breath entreats Edgar, who has killed him, to deliver the treasonable letter, upon his person, from Goneril to Edmund. He is accurately the character that Edgar gives him : "A serviceable villain, aa dexterous to the vices of his mistress as badness would de- sire."— Clarke, Shakespeare-Characters.

THE FOOL

Shakespeare has many fools in his plays; but the foo in King Lear is different from all the rest. Shakespeare designs him to be one of those poor half-witted kindly creatures who, having once received an idea into their brain, are incapable of parting with it, but whose men tal activity consists solely in harping upon the same string, sometimes with a weird ingenuity, sometimes humorously, sometimes bitterly, but calculated by continual repetitior

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to create an impression upon those who are thrown in their company. He thus acts as a sort of conscience, and that appears to be the chief function -of the fool in King Lear. Up to the point of the arrival of Kent, the folly of his action in parting with his crown does not seem to have oc- curred to Lear at all. "A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king," says Kent. "If thou be as poor for a subject as he is for a king, thou art poor enough." It is from the speeches of Kent and the fool that the gross folly of his conduct is gradually made apparent to Lear ; and it is part of Lear's punishment that whereas in the I first scene he is able to banish conscience in the shape of j Kent, in the latter part of the play he is forced to hug re- morse, in the shape of the fool, as his only companion. — Ransome, Short Studies in Shakespeare's Plots.

Genuine humor breaks forth only out of a loving heart, and through his unbounded love for his master the Fool has purchased the right to tell him the bitter truth, and hold up the mirror before the wrong that he has done. As the Fool represents truth in the guise of humor, he can- not be brought forward until the rupture with the moral law has taken place ; the disguised truth waits ; the king has not for two days seen the Fool. In his grief for Cordelia's banishment, the Fool has almost forgotten his part, and this affords us a pledge that, under the veil of humor, the deepest earnestness is concealed. Only in slight allusions does he touch the fault of the King, for roughly to waken up the injury done were the office not of love but of scorn.

Hence the Fool makes the folly of the King the target of his humor; the harmless words he throws out conceal a deep and penetrating significance. When, immediately after Goneril's first rude speech to her father, the Fool breaks out with the apparently random words, "Out went the candle, and we were left darkling"— the words of an old song — the point is, that the light of the moral world has now ceased to shine, and the darkness incessantly in-

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Comments THE TRAGEDY OF

creases. (Compare the words addressed to Kent by the Fool, Act II, sc. iv. with the words : "We '11 set thee to school to an ant," etc.) As, however, the old king draws ever nearer to the brink of the abyss, the arrows of the Fool, aimed at the folly of the king, grow fewer, he catches oftener at some harmless, jesting remark, to cheer the suffering of his master, and to lighten the burden of his own grief. The whole depth and power of his sorrow he crowds into a little song, for he has become thus rich in songs since the king, as he says, has made his daugh- ters his mothers. In a similar way he expresses his im- pregnable devotion to the king in those deeply significant verses in which he promises not to desert the king in the storm, and the particular theme of which is that the wise are fools before God, but the fools in the eye of the world are justified by a higher power. The Fool has his place in the tragedy only so long as the king is able to perceive the truth veiled by the Fool's humor. There is no longer room or need for him after the king has become crazed. This crisis is the end of the Fool. He vanishes, "goes to bed at mid-day," when his beloved master is hopelessly lost. — Heuse, Vortrdge iiber ausgewdhlte dramatishe Dich- tungen Shakespeare's, Schiller's, and Goethe's.

We have yet a few words to say of a chief person of the piece, which, because this person stands by himself, a single specimen of the kind, we have kept for the last; we mean the Fool. His appearance in this tragedy is very significant, as the tragic effect is heightened in the great- est degree by his humor and the sharpness of his wit. No one but the Fool dared venture to turn Lear's attention to his great folly (the resignation of his power in his life- time). It is of the greatest importance that this unwise proceeding of the king should be directly pointed at, as with the finger of another, and it is made ever plainer to him how foolishly, and, in relation to Cordelia, how un- justly he has acted. But the shrewd Fool knew how to clothe his mockeries so skillfully, and to produce them so

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KING LEAR Comments

opportunely, that, although they are none the less cutting, their design is not so prominent, and the king takes them because they come from the Fool, who is bound to speak truth, and to whom Lear is attached, even as the fool, with the most devoted love, is attached to Lear. But it is not only his wit, never running dry, although indeed alloyed to many a platitude, nor his invariable good humor and his clear understanding by which the Fool commands our sympathy ; but, in an almost still higher degree, it is the lovableness of his character that interests us. He has pined away — as we learn before he appears — after the youngest of the princesses has gone to France, and has sorrowed the more for what the knight who relates his con- dition cannot mention to the king, namely, the unhappy circumstances under which the departure of Cordelia has taken place. And how faithfully does he cling to the king in that fearful night, and, by forcing himself to ap- pear merrier than he possibly could be in that condition, try in every way to calm the wild excitement of his master, and lure him from his heartrending, maddening pain at the shameful ingratitude of his degenerate daughters. But the more the Fool is saddened at the sight of Lear's failing mind, the fewer are his words, until at last the Poet, and with perfect truth, lets him disappear from the scene, as his later appearance would be without significance, and have a disturbing effect. But that we do not learn what becomes of him certainly seems strange, but it is not hard to explain it. It remained for Lear to inquire for him, or, in one way or another, to make mention of him, but | Lear is subsequently so engrossed with his own fortunes I and Cordelia's, and so, as it were, buried in them, that he could not turn his thoughts to anything which was remote from these fortunes. It is highly probable that the Fool's heart was broken by trouble and grief at Lear's cruel fate. — Schick, Shakespeare's King Lear.

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Comments THE TRAGEDY OF

THE MOVEMENT OF THE PLAY

The general action of the play has essentially two move- ments, which pass into each other by the finest and most intricate network. There is in it a double guilt and a double retribution. The first movement (embracing mainly three acts) exhibits the complete disintegration of the family. It portrays the first guilt and the first retri- bution— the wrong of the parents and its punishment. Lear banishes his daughter ; his daughters in turn drive him out of doors. Gloster expels from home and disin- herits his true and faithful son in favor of the illegitimate and faithless son, and is then himself falsely accused and betrayed by the latter. Cordelia, too, falls into guilt in her attempt to avenge the wrongs of her father. Thus the disruption is complete — the parents expelled, the false triumphant, the faithful in disguise and banishment. Such is the first movement — the wrong done by parents to their children, and its punishment. The second movement will unfold the second retribution, springing from the second guilt — the wrong done by the children to their parents, and its punishment. It must be observed, how- ever, that the deeds of the children which are portrayed in the first movement of the drama constitute their guilt. In the one hand they are instruments of retribution, but on the other hand their conduct is a violation of ethical principles as deep as that of their parents. They are the avengers of guilt, but in this very act become themselves guilty, and must receive punishment. The general result, therefore, of the second movement will be the completed retribution. Lear and his three guilty daughters — for we have to include Cordelia under this category — as well as Gloster and his guilty son, perish. The faithful of both families come together, in their banishment, in order to protect their parents; thereby, however, Cordelia assails the established State. The consequence of her deed is death. The faithless of both families also come together; though they triumph in the external conflict, there nec-

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essarily arises a struggle among themselves — for how can the faithless be faithful to one another? The jealousy of the two sisters leads to a conspiracy, and to their final de- struction. Edmund, faithless to both, falls at last by the hand of his brother, whom he has deeply wronged. — Sni- der, System of Shakespeare 's Dramas.

THE BEST OF SHAKESPEAR'S PLAYS

It is the best of all Shakspear's plays, for it is the one in which he was the most in earnest. He was here fairly caught in the web of his own imagination. The passion which he has taken as his subject is that which strikes its root deepest into the human heart ; of which the bond is the hardest to be unloosed ; and the canceling and tear- ing to pieces of which gives the greatest revulsion to the frame. This depth of nature, this force of passion, this tug and war of the elements of our being, this firm faith in nlial piety, and the giddy anarchy and whirling tumult of the thoughts at finding this prop failing it, the con- trast between the fixed, immovable basis of natural af- fection, and the rapid, irregular starts of imagination, suddenly wrenched from all its accustomed holds and rest- ing-places in the soul, this is what Shakespear has given, and what nobody else but he could give. So we believe. — The mind of Lear, staggering between the weight of at- tachment and the hurried movements of passion, is like a tall ship driven about by the winds, buffeted by the furious waves, but that still rides above the storm, having its anchor fixed in the bottom of the sea ; or it is like the sharp rock circled by the eddying whirlpool that foams and beats against it, or like the solid promontory pushed from its basis by the force of an earthquake. — Hazlitt, Char- acters of Shakespear's Plays.

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Comments THE TRAGEDY OF

THE CHARM OF THE PLAY

What Lear has in common with Othello is the soul of the Poet, dark, melancholy, deeply wounded, well-nigh shattered by the world; only here, in Lear, still more than in Othello, has he concentrated in his work, painted in burning colors, all the bitterness which the depravity of human nature must generate in a sensitive heart. The Poet had daughters ; that he had, perhaps, similar ex- periences may be supposed; divested of the historical cos- tume, the features of Lear look out upon us with the naturalness of ordinary life, so that we seem to see an un- happy citizen of the year 1600 wrestling with madness rather than an old English king, much as Lear insists upon his regal dignity. Here is the charm which the poem has for the great public: Lear suffers from the domestic cross which is never wholly absent in any single family. It needs but a small quantity of hypochondria to magnify a situation of small occasions into such giant proportions. In this view, the poem may be styled the poetry or the tragedy of the choleric temperament, as Hamlet is of the melancholic, and Romeo of the sanguine nature. In Lear all is precipitous, in wild haste, thundering on, and this is the case even in the subordinate parts. — Rapp, Shakspere's Schauspiele, Einleitung.

How is it, now, that this defective drama so overpow- ers us that we are either unconscious of its blemishes or regard them as almost irrelevant? As soon as we turn to this question we recognize, not merely that King Lear pos- sesses purely dramatic qualities which far outweigh its de- fects, but that its greatness consists partly in imaginative effects of a wider kind. And, looking for the sources of these effects, we find among them some of those very things which appeared to us dramatically faulty or in- jurious. Thus, to take at once two of the simplest exam- ples of this, that very vagueness in the sense of locality which we have just considered, and again that excess in the

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bulk of the material and the number of figures, events and movements, while they interfere with the clearness of vi- sion, have at the same time a positive value for imagina- tion. They give the feeling of vastness, the feeling not of a scene or particular place, but of a world ; or, to speak more accurately, of a particular place which is also a world. This world is dim to us, partly from its im- mensity, and partly because it is filled with gloom ; and in the gloom shapes approach and recede, whose half -seen faces and motions touch us with dread, horror, or the most painful pity, — sympathies and antipathies which we seem to be feeling not only for them but for the whole race. This world, we are told, is called Britain ; but we should no more look for it in an atlas than for the place, called Caucasus, where Prometheus was chained by Strength and Force and comforted by the daughters of Ocean, or the place where Farinata stands erect in his glowing tomb, "Come avesse lo Inferno in gran dispitto." — Bradley, Shakespearean Tragedy.

THE LESSON OF THE PLAY

J Briefly, I take this to be the lesson of King Lear — • * There's nothing we can call our own but love. ^}

Some learn this lesson for themselves ; to some it must be taught ; and the teaching may be stern or bitter ; it was to King Lear. But, the lesson once learned, the whole man is changed ; and though the very gates of death are opened through the learning, that makes no difference; death is then the consummation of life ; for love implies sacrifice throughout life unto death, and the ideal death of love in tragedy only makes the sacrifice apparent. Or we may put it thus: — If Lear had lived, he would henceforth have lived for love ; as it was, he died for love ; ultimately there is no difference ; death after this is a mere accident ; it will come when it will come. And the same is true of Cordelia, although she had learned the lesson, and death to her was

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always "the consummation of life." — Luce, Handbook to Shakespeare's Works.

What are we to make of it all? Was Gloucester right when he spoke of humanity as the quarry of malignant, irresponsible deities?

"As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; They kill us for their sport."

Is the dead march with which the play closes not only the dirge over the bodies of those that are no more, but over the futility of human ideals, over fruitless loyalties, and martyrdoms in vain? Is it all one to be a Cordelia or a Goneril, since in death they are not divided? Is that Shakspere's "message" to the world, and was the eighteenth century right after all when it rejected such a cheerless conclusion, and showed us Cordelia victorious and happily wedded to Edgar?

No ! this most representative of Shaksperean tragedies is not born of the pessimism that despairs of all things human, nor of the facile optimism that thinks everything is for the best in the best of all possible worlds. It is, as Kreyssig has called it, "the tragedy of the categorical imperative." It boldly recognizes that in the sphere of outward circumstances virtue is not always triumphant nor vice cast down. Amidst the clash of the iron forces of the universe, love and purity are often crushed.

"Streams will not curb their pride The just man not to entomb, Nor lightnings go aside To give his virtues room; Nor is that wind less rough which blows a good man's barge."

But there is an inner sanctuary inviolable by these shocks from without. In the kingdom of the spirit nothing mat- ters except "the good will," and there Cordelia's ardor of love is justified of itself. It exists, and in its existence lies its triumph. But, even on the sternest interpretation of

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Shaksperean ethics, such glorious self-abandonment wins a benediction from above :

"Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, The gods themselves throw incense."

And may we not even venture to interpret Lear's own words as a prophetic salutation, and to think of her as "a soul in bliss," one of "the just spirits that wear victorious palms"? — Boas, Shakspere and his Predecessors.

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/

THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR

DRAMATIS PERSONS

Leah, king of Britain

King of France

Duke of Burgundy . .

Duke of Cornwall

Duke of Albany

Earl of Kent

Earl of Gloucester * a

Edgar, son to Gloucester

Edmund, bastard son to Gloucester

Curan, a courtier

Old Man, tenant to Gloucester

Doctor

Fool

Oswald, steward to Goneril

Captain employed by Edmund

Gentleman attendant on Cordelia

Herald

Servants to Cornwall

Goneril, ^

Regan, ^daughters to Lear

Cordelia, J

Knights of Lear's train, Captains, Messengers, Soldiers, and

Attendants

Scene: Britain

SYNOPSIS

By J. Ellis Burdick

act I

King Lear of Britain, feeling the cares of state too heavy for his years, decides to divide his kingdom among his three daughters. Telling them that their share de- pends on the greatness of their affections for him, he asks each in turn how much she loves him. The two elder ones, Goneril and Regan, protest that their love is be- yond their power to express and that they have no joy 'in life outside his love. On each of them, in conjunction with their husbands, Lear bestows a third of his kingdom. The youngest daughter, Cordelia, sickened by her sisters' hypocrisy, replies, "I cannot heave my heart into my mouth: I love your majesty according to my bond; nor more nor less." The angry Lear divides the third he had reserved for her between her two sisters. The Earl of Kent, for interposing on Cordelia's behalf, is banished. The Duke of Burgundy and the King of France have long been ardently courting Cordelia ; now that she is dowerless, Burgundy withdraws his suit, but the love of the King of France is kindled to inflamed respect and he takes her to be "queen of us, of ours, and our fair France." King Lear has reserved to himself only the name of king and a following of one hundred knights, and he is to spend alternately a month at the courts of Goneril and Regan. Before long these two daughters tire of their father and begin to be discourteous to him. The Earl of Kent re- turns in disguise and enters Lear's service.

3

Synopsis KING LEAR

ACT II

The daughters reduce the number of his attendants, re- fuse to be respectful to him, put the Earl of Kent in the stocks, and finally so irritate the old man that he goes forth on the open heath in a heavy storm.

ACT III

Only two of his retainers accompany him — his court- fool and Kent. They take refuge from the storm in a hovel, and there find Edgar, the son of the Earl of Glou- cester. The latter has been supplanted in his father's affections by Edmund, his natural half-brother. The king's sorrows unbalance his mind. The Earl of Glou- cester pities the old king and follows him that he may aid him. Edmund reports his deeds to Regan and Goneril, and the Duke of Cornwall, the former's husband, tears out Gloucester's eyes and thrusts him out of the gates to shift for himself.

ACT IV

Gloucester, wandering over the heath, is met and cared for by his son Edgar, who does not reveal his identity to his father. In the meantime Kent has sent word to Cor- delia of her father's present condition and the cause of it, and she comes to his relief with a French army. By means of the doctors she has brought with her, Lear is re- stored to his right mind.

act v

In the battle between the French and British troops, Edmund commands for Goneril and Regan. Cordelia is defeated and she and her father taken prisoners. Goneril, for love of Edmund, poisons Regan, but afterward, when her dishonorable conduct is discovered by her husband, kills herself. Edgar charges Edmund with being a traitor and mortally wounds him in combat. Cordelia is hanged in the prison and Lear dies of a broken heart.

4

THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR

ACT FIRST

Scene I

King Lear's palace. Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmund.

Kent. I thought the king had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.

Glou. It did always seem so to us: but now, in the division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the dukes he values most ; for equal- ities are so weighed that curiosity in neither can make choice of either's moiety.

5. The folio has qualities instead of equalities. — Johnson thinks *'there is something of obscurity or inaccuracy" in the opening of the play. Coleridge remarks upon it as follows: "It was not without forethought, nor is it without its due significance, that the division of Lear's kingdom is in the first six lines of the play stated as a thing already determined in all its particulars, previously to the trial of professions, as the relative rewards of which the daughters were to be made to consider their several portions. The strange, yet by no means unnatural, mixture of selfishness, sensibility, and habit of feeling derived from, and fostered by, the particular rank and usages of the individual; the intense desire of being intensely be- loved,— selfish, and yet characteristic of the selfishness of a loving and kindly nature alone; the self-supportless leaning for all pleas- ure on another's breast; the craving after sympathy with a prodigal disinterestedness, frustrated by its own ostentation, and the mode and nature of its claims; the anxiety, the distrust, the jealousy,

5

Act i. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

Kent. Is not this your son, my lord?

Glou. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge : I have so often blushed to acknowl- 10 ed<re him that now I am brazed to it.

Kent. I cannot conceive you.

Glou. Sir, this young fellow's mother could: whereupon she grew round-wombed, and had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?

Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the is- sue of it being so proper.

Glou. But I have, sir, a son by order of law, 20 some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came something saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair; there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund?

which more or less accompany all selfish affections, and are amongst the surest contradistinctions of mere fondness from true love, and which originate Lear's eager wish to enjoy his daughters' violent professions, whilst the inveterate habits of sovereignty convert the wish into claim and positive right, and an incompliance with it into crime and treason; — these facts, these passions, these moral verities, on which the whole tragedy is founded, are all prepared for, and will to the retrospect be found implied, in these first four or five lines of the play. They let us know that the trial is but a trick; and that the grossness of the old king's rage is in part the natural re- sult of a silly trick suddenly and most unexpectedly baffled and dis- appointed."—H. N. H.

"equalities are so weighed," etc.; i. e. their shares are so nicely balanced that the closest scrutiny detects no superiority in either. — C. H. H.

21. "some year"; a year or so. — C. H. H.

23. The folio has to instead of into.— H. N. H.

6

KING LEAR Act I. Sc. i.

Edm. No, my lord.

Glou. My lord of Kent: remember him here- after as my honorable friend. 30

Edm. My services to your lordship.

Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you better.

Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving.

Glou. He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. The king is coming.

Sennet. Enter one bearing a coronet,, King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cor- delia, and Attendants.

Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy,

Gloucester. Glou. I shall, my liege.

[Exeunt Gloucester and Edmund. Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker pur- pose. 39 Give me the map there. Know we have divided In three our kingdom : and 'tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our

age, Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,

38. For "liege" the folio has lord.— H. N. H.

39. That is, "we have already made known our desire of parting the kingdom; we will now discover what has not been told before, the reasons by which we shall regulate the partition." This interpre- tation will justify or palliate the exordial dialogue (Johnson). — H. N. H.

42. "from our age"; so Ff.; Qq., "of our state."— I. G. 43-48. {"while xe . . . now") ; 52-53, omitted in Quartos. — I. G.

7

Act I. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters' several dowers, that future

strife May be prevented now. The princes, France

and Burgundy, Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, Long in our court have made their amorous so- journ, 50 And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my

daughters, Since now we will divest us both of rule, Interest of territory > cares of state, Which of you shall we say doth love us most ? That we our largest bounty may extend Where nature doth with merit challenge.

Goneril, Our eldest-born, speak first. Gon. Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter, Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty, Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare, 60 No less than life, with grace, health, beauty,

honor, As much as child e'er loved or father found ; A love that makes breath poor and speech un- able ; Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

56. "Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril"; so Ff.; Qq. read "Where merit doth most challenge it." — I. G.

60. Beyond all assignable quantity. I love you beyond limits, and cannot say it is so much. — In the next line the quartos have do in- stead of speak. — H. N. H.

8

KING LEAR Act i. Sc. i.

Cor. [Aside] What shall Cordelia do? Love, and

be silent. Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,

With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd,

With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,

We make thee lady. To thine and Albany's issue

Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter, 70

Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak. Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister,

And prize me at her worth. In my true heart

I find she names my very deed of love ;

Only she comes too short : that I profess

Myself an enemy to all other joys

Which the most precious square of sense pos- sesses,

And find I am alone felicitate

In your dear highness' love. Cor. [Aside] Then poor Cordelia! 80

And yet not so, since I am sure my love's

65. "do"; so Qq.; Ff. read "speak."— I. G.

71. "Speak" is wanting in the folio. Probably the omission was accidental, the word being necessary to the measure. — H. N. H.

75. That is, she comes short of me in this, that I profess, &c. — In the next line but one the folio misprints professes instead of possesses. — "Square of sense" probably means whole complement of the senses. The expression is odd, and something awkward. Mr. Collier's cele- brated second folio changes square to sphere; which may be better language, but gives the sense no clearer. Singer proposes to read, "most spacious sphere." Spacious, without sphere, is a very plausible change, but not so necessary or so helpful to the sense as to warrant its adoption. — H. N. H.

8f 9

Act I. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

More ponderous than my tongue.

Lear. To thee and thine hereditary ever

Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom, No less in space, validity and pleasure, Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our joy, Although the last, not least, to whose young love The vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interess'd, what can you say to draw A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

Cor. Nothing, my lord. 91

Lear. Nothing!

Cor. Nothing.

Lear. Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.

Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave

My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According to my bond ; nor more nor less.

Lear. How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little, Lest it may mar your fortunes.

Cor. Good my lord,

82. "Ponderous"; so Ff.; Qq., 'Wicker:'— I. G.

87. "the last, not least"; so Qq.; Ff. read "our last and least." — I. G.

93. This "nothing" is wanting in the quartos. — Coleridge remarks upon Cordelia's answer thus: "There is something of disgust at the ruthless hypocrisy of her sisters, and some little faulty admixture of pride and sullenness in Cordelia's 'Nothing'; and her tone is well contrived, indeed, to lessen the glaring absurdity of Lear's conduct, but yet answers the yet more important purpose of forcing away the attention from the nursery-tale, the moment it has served its end, that of supplying the canvass for the picture. This is also materially furthered by Kent's opposition, which displays Lear's moral in- capability of resigning the sovereign power in the very act of dis- posing of it."— H. N. H.

94-. "Nothing will come of nothing"; alluding to the proverb: "Ex nihilo nihil fit."—C. H. H.

10

KING LEAR Act I. Sc. i.

You have begot me, bred me, loved me : 1 100 Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honor you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall

carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty: Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all.

Lear. But goes thy heart with this?

Cor. Aye, good my lord.

Lear. So young, and so untender? 110

Cor. So young, my lord, and true.

Lear. Let it be so ; thy truth then be thy dower : For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate, and the night ; By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist and cease to be ; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian, 120

Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbor'd, pitied and relieved, As thou my sometime daughter.

108. Omitted in Folios.— I. G.

109. The quartos have a different order, thus: "But goes this with thy heart?"— H. N. H.

114. "mysteries," the reading of Ff. 2, 3, 4; Qq. "mistresse" ; F. 1, "miseries." — I. G.

11

Act I. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

Kent. Good my liege —

Lear. Peace, Kent!

Come not between the dragon and his wrath. I loved her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my

sight ! So be my grave my peace, as here I give Her father's heart from her! Call France. Who stirs? 130

Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany, With my two daughters' dowers digest this

third : Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence and all the large effects That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly

course, With reservation of an hundred knights By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turns. Only we still re- tain The name and all the additions to a king; 140 The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm, This coronet part betwixt you. Kent. Royal Lear,

Whom I have ever honor'd as my king, Loved as my father, as my master f ollow'd, As my great patron thought on in my pray- ers,— Lear. The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft.

12

KING LEAR Act I. Sc. i.

Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade

The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly,

When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old

man? 150

Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to

speak, When power to flattery bows? To plainness

honor's bound, When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy

doom, And in thy best consideration check This hideous rashness: answer my life my judg- ment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound Reverbs no hollowness. Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more.

Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn

To wage against thy enemies, nor fear to lose it, Thy safety being the motive. Lear. Out of my sight! 161

Kent. See better, Lear, and let me still remain

The true blank of thine eye. Lear. Now, by Apollo, —

150. "what wouldst thou do, old man?"; "This is spoken on seeing his master put his hand to his sword" (Capell) ; Ff. 1, 2, "wouldesl" ; Qq., "wilt."— I. G.

153. "stoops to folly"; so Qq.; Ff., "falls to folly" (F. 3, "fall to folly"): "Reverse thy doom"; so Qq.; Ff. read, "reserue thy state"— I. G.

159-161. That is, I never regarded my life as my own, but merely as a thing which was entrusted to me as a pawn or pledge, to be employed in waging war against your enemies. "To wage" says Bullokar, "to undertake, or give security for performance of any thing."— H. N. H.

13

Act I. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

P

Kent . Now, by Apollo, king,

Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. Lear. O, vassal! miscreant!

[Laying his hand on his sword.

r ' I Dear sir, forbear.

Kent. Do;

Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy doom; Or, whilst I can vent clamor from my throat, I '11 tell thee thou dost evil.

Lear. Hear me, recreant ! 171

On thy allegiance, hear me ! Since thou hast sought to make us break our

vow, Which we durst never yet, and with strain'd

pride To come between our sentence and our power, Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, Our potency made good, take thy reward. Five days we do allot thee, for provision To shield thee from diseases of the world, And on the sixth to turn thy hated back 180

Upon our kingdom : if on the tenth day follow- ing Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death. Away ! By Jupiter, This shall not be revoked.

166. Omitted in Quartos. — I. G. 171. "recreant"; omitted in Qq — I. G. 178. "five"; so Ff.; Qq., "Foure."— I. G. 180. "sixth/' so Ff.; Qq., "fift."—!. G.

14

KING LEAR Act I. Sc. i.

Kent. Fare thee well, king : sith thus thou wilt ap- pear,

Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.

[To Cordelia] The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,

That justly think'st and hast most rightly said!

[To Regan and Goneril] And your large speeches may your deeds approve,

That good effects may spring from words of love. 190

Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu ;

He '11 shape his old course in a country new.

[Exit.

Flourish. Re-enter Gloucester, with France, Ber gundy, and Attendants.

Glou. Here 's France and Burgundy, my noble

lord. Lear. My lord of Burgundy,

We first address towards you, who with this

king Hath rival'd for our daughter: what, in the

least, Will you require in present dower with her, Or cease your quest of love? Bur. Most royal majesty,

I crave no more than what your highness off er'd, Nor will you tender less. Lear. Right noble Burgundy, 200

When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;

193. This line is given to Cordelia in Ff .— I. G. 201. "so"; i. e. "dear," of high price.— C. H. H.

15

Act i. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she

stands : If aught within that little seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure pierced, And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, She s there, and she is yours. Bur. I know no answer.

Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dower'd with our curse and stranger'd with our

oath, Take her, or leave her? Bur. Pardon me, royal sir; 210

Election makes not up on such conditions. Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me, I tell you all her wealth. [To France] For you,

great king, I would not from your love make such a stray, To match you where I hate; therefore beseech

you To avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed Almost to acknowledge hers. France. This is most strange,

That she, that even but now was your best ob- ject, The argument of your praise, balm of your age, Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time 221

Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle

16

QNG LEAR Act I. Sc. i.

So many folds of favor. Sure, her offense Must be of such unnatural degree That monsters it, or your f ore-vouch'd affection Fall'n into taint : which to believe of her, Must be a faith that reason without miracle Could never plant in me.

I 'or. I yet beseech your majesty, —

If for I want that glib and oily art, To speak and purpose not, since what I well in- tend, ' . 230 I '11 do 't before I speak, — that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action, or dishonor'd step, That hath deprived me of your grace and favor; But even for want of that for which I am richer, A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue As I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking.

[jear. Better thou

Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better.

Trance. Is it but this ? a tardiness in nature 240 Which often leaves the history unspoke That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady? Love 's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand

223-226. "Sure . . . taint"; her offense must be monstrous, or he former affection which you professed for her must fall into taint; hat is, become the subject of reproach. Taint is here only an bbreviation of attaint. — H. N. H.

238. "better3'; so Ff.; Qq., "go to, go to, better."— I. G.

244. "stand aloof from the entire point"; have no relation to that /hich is the object of "entire" or pure love. — C. H. H.

XXVI— 2 17

feet I. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

Aloof from the entire point. Will you have,

her? She is herself a dowry.

Bur. Royal Lear,

Give but that portion which yourself proposed, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy.

Lear. Nothing: I have sworn, I am firm. 25(

Bur. I am sorry then you have so lost a father That you must lose a husband.

Cor. Peace be with Burgundy!

Since that respects of fortune are his love, I shall not be his wife.

France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poor, Most choice forsaken, and most loved despised, Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon : Be it lawful I take up what 's cast away. Gods, gods ! 'tis strange that from their cold'st

neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect. 260 Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my

chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France : Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy Can buy this unprized precious maid of me. Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: Thou losest here, a better where to find.

246. "Royal Lear"; so in the quartos; the folio, "Royal king.— H. N. H;

253. "respects of fortune"; so Qq.; Ff., "respect and fortunes" — I. G. 266. "where"; (used substantively).— C. H. H.

18

KING LEAR Act I. Sc. i.

Lear. Thou hast her, France: let her be thine, for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison. 270 Come, noble Burgundy.

[Flourish. Exeunt all but France, Goneril, Regan, and Cordelia. France. Bid farewell to your sisters. Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes Cordelia leaves you : I know you what you are ; And, like a sister, am most loath to call Your faults as they are named. Use well our

father : To your professed bosoms I commit him: But yet, alas, stood I within his grace, I would prefer him to a better place. So farewell to you both. 280

Reg. Prescribe not us our duties. Gon. Let your study

Be to content your lord, who hath received you At fortune's alms. You have obedience

scanted, And well are worth the want that you have wanted. Cor. Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides : Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.

273. "The jewels," etc.; (in apposition to "you").— C. H. H.

284. "want"; Qq., "worth." Theobald explains the Folio reading, "You well deserve to meet with that want of love from your husband, which you have professed to want for our Father." — I. G.

286. "shame them derides"; so Qq.; Ff., "with shame derides"; War- burton, "with shame abides" &c. — I. G.

19

Act i. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

Well may you prosper!

France. Come, my fair Cordelia.

{Exeunt France and Cordelia.

Gon. Sister, it is not a little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think our father will hence to-night. 290

Reg. That's most certain, and with you; next month with us.

Gon. You see how full of changes his age is ; the observation we have made of it hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what poor judgment he hath now cast her off appears too grossly.

Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself.

Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath 300 been but rash ; then must we look to receive from his age, not alone the imperfections of long ingrafted condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and chol- eric years bring with them.

Reg. Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent's banishment.

Go n. There is further compliment of leave- taking between France and him. Pray you, let 's hit together : if our father carry author- 310 ity with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us.

Reg. We shall further think on 't.

Gon. We must do something, and i' the heat.

{Exeunt.

294. "hath not been"; so Qq.; Ff., "hath been."— I. G. 314. "and i' the heat"; referring to the phrase, "Strike while the

20

KING LEAR Act I. Sc ii.

Scene II

The Earl of Gloucester's castle.

Enter Edmund, with a letter

Edm. Thou, nature, art my goddess ; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me,

ron's hot." — The main incident of this scene is commented on by, Coleridge thus: "Lear is the only serious performance of Shake- peare, the interest and situations of which are derived from the issumption of a gross improbability. But observe the matchless udgment of our Shakespeare. First, improbable as the conduct of .ear is in the first scene, yet it was an old story rooted in the >opular faith, — a thing taken for granted already, and consequently vithout any of the effects of improbability. Secondly, it is the mere anvass for the characters and passions, — a mere occasion for, — ind not perpetually recurring as the cause and sine qua non of, — he incidents and emotions. Let the first scene of this play have >een lost, and let it only be understood that a fond father had been luped by hypocritical professions of love and duty on the part of wo daughters to disinherit the third, previously, and deservedly, nore dear to him; and all the rest of the tragedy would retain its nterest undiminished, and be perfectly intelligible. The accidental s nowhere the groundwork of the passions, but that which is catholic, vhich in all ages has been, and ever will be, close and native to the leart of man, — parental anguish from filial ingratitude, the genuine- less of worth, though coffined in bluntness, and the execrable vile- less of a smooth iniquity." — H. N. H.

1. In this speech of Edmund you see, as soon as a man cannot •econcile himself to reason, how his conscience flies off by way )f appeal to nature, who is sure upon such occasions never to find fault; and also how shame sharpens a predisposition in the heart :o evil. For it is a profound moral, that shame will naturally generate guilt; the oppressed will be vindictive, like Shylock; and n the anguish of undeserved ignominy the delusion secretly springs up, of getting over the moral quality of an action by fixing the nind on the mere physical act alone (Coleridge). — H. N. H.

21

Act I. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY OF

For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon- shines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore

base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous and my shape as true, As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us With base ? with baseness ? bastardy ? base, base ? Who in the lusty stealth of nature take 11

More composition and fierce quality Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops, Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund As to the legitimate: fine word, 'legitimate'! Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed And my invention thrive, Edmund the base 20 Shall top the legitimate. I grow ; I prosper : Now, gods, stand up for bastards !

Enter Gloucester.

Glou. Kent banish'd thus! and France in choler

parted ! And the king gone to-night! subscribed his

power ! Confined to exhibition ! All this done Upon the gad ! Edmund, how now ! what news ?

8. "generous"; spirited.— C. H. H.

10. so Ff.; Qq. read, "with base, base bastardie."—I. G. 18. "fine word, legitimate"; omitted in Quartos.— I. G. 21. "top the"; Edward's eonj. of Qq. 1, 2, "tooth"; Q. 3, "too h"; Ff. 1, 2, "to'th"; Ff. 3, 4, "to th/> etc.— I. G.

22

KING LEAR Act I. Sc. ii.

Edm. So please your lordship, none.

[Putting up the letter.

Glou. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter ?

Edm. I know no news, my lord.

Glou. What paper were you reading? 30

Edm. Nothing, my lord.

Glou. No? What needed then that terrible dis- patch of it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let 's see : come, if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles.

Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me : it is a let- ter from my brother, that I have not all o'er- read, and for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your o'er-looking. 40

Glou. Give me the letter, sir.

Edm. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame.

Glou. Let 's see, let 's see.

Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue.

Glou. [Reads] 'This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to the best of our 50 times; keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny; who sways, not as it hath

49. "and reverence" ; omitted in Quartos. — I. G.

50. "best of our times"; best part of our lives. — C. H. H.

23

Act I. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY OF

power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your brother, Edgar/ Hum! Conspiracy! — 'Sleep till I waked 60 him, you should enjoy half his revenue!' — My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this ? a heart and brain to breed it in? When came this to you? who brought it?

Edm,. It was not brought me, my lord; there 's the cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet.

Glou. You know the character to be your brother's?

Edm. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst 70 swear it were his; but, in respect of that, I would fain think it were not.

Glou. It is his.

Edm. It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the contents.

Glou. Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business?

Edm. Never, my lord: but I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age, and fathers declining, the father should 80 be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue.

Glou. O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than brutish!

71. "that," i. e. the matter, contents.— I. G. 24

KING LEAR Act I. Sc. ii.

Go, sirrah, seek him; aye, apprehend him: abominable villain! Where is he?

Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my brother till you can derive from 90 him better testimony of his intent, you should run a certain course; where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honor and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him that he hath wrote this to feel my affection to your honor and to no further pretense of danger.

Glou. Think you so? 100

Edm. If your honor judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your sat- isfaction, and that without any further delay than this very evening.

Glou. He cannot be such a monster —

Edm. Nor is not, sure.

Glou. To his father, that so tenderly and en- tirely loves him. Heaven and earth! Ed- mund, seek him out ; wind me into him, I HO pray you : frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself, to be in a due resolution.

Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently, convey the

92. "where"; whereas.— C. H. H. 107-109. Omitted in Folios.— I. G.

25

Act I. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY OF

business as I shall find means, and acquaint you withal.

Glou. These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us: though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent 120 effects: love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in coun- tries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond cracked 'twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the prediction; there 's son against father : the king falls from bias of nature ; there 's father against child. We have seen the best of our time: machinations, hollowness, treachery and all ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our 130 graves. Find out this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing ; do it carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his offense, honesty! 'Tis strange. [Exit*

Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick in fortune — often the surfeit of our own behavior — we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon and the stars : as if we were villains by necessity, fools by heavenly compulsion ; 140

117. "These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good"; v. Preface.— I. G.

That is, though natural philosophy can give account of eclipses, yet we feel their consequences. — H. N. H.

124^131. Omitted in Quartos.— I. G.

137. "surfeit"; so Q. 1; Qq. 2, 3, "surfeF; Ff. 1, 2, 3; "surfets"; F. 4, "surfeits"; Collier conj. "forfeit."—!. G.

26

KING LEAR Act I. Sc. ii.

knaves, thieves and treachers, by spherical predominance ; drunkards, liars and adulter- ers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on : an admirable evasion of whore-master man, to lay his goatish disposi- tion to the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the dragon's tail, and my nativity was under Ursa major; so that it follows I am rough 150 and lecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firma- ment twinkled on my bastardizing, Ed- gar—

Enter Edgar.

And pat he comes like the catastrophe of the old comedy : my cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi.

151. "Tut I" is not in the folio.— Warburton thinks that the do- tages of judicial astrology were meant to be satirized in this speech. Coleridge remarks upon Edmund's philosophizing as follows: "Thus scorn and misanthropy are often the anticipations and mouthpieces of wisdom in the detection of superstitions. Both individuals and nations may be free from such prejudices by being below them, as well as by rising above them." — H. N. H.

155. Perhaps this was intended to ridicule the awkward conclu- sions of the old comedies, where the persons of the scene make their entry inartificially, and just when the poet wants them on the stage. — In the folio, Edgar — and, at the beginning of this sentence, is wanting. The quartos also have out instead of pat. — H. N. H.

158. "fa, sol, la, mi"; Shakespeare shows by the context that he was well acquainted with the property of these syllables in solmisa- tion, which imply a series of sounds so unnatural that ancient musicians prohibited their use. The monkish writers on music say

27

Act I. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Edg. How now, brother Edmund! what serious 160 contemplation are you in?

Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses.

Edg. Do you busy yourself about that?

Edm. I promise you, the effects he writ of suc- ceed unhappily ; as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth, dis- solutions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and maledictions against king 170 and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what.

Edg. How long have you been a sectary as- tronomical ?

Edm. Come, come; when saw you my father last?

Edg. Why, the night gone by.

mi contra fa, est diabolus: the interval fa mi, including a tritonus or sharp fourth, consisting of three tones without the intervention of a semi-tone, expressed in the modern scale by the letters F G A B, would form a musical phrase extremely disagreeable to the ear. Edmund, speaking of eclipses as portents, compares the dislocation of events, the times being out of joint, to the unnatural and offenshe sounds fa sol la mi (Dr. Burney). — H. N. H.

167-175. "as of unnaturalness . . . come"; omitted in Folios. —I. G.

172. "cohorts"; so in all the old copies. Dr. Johnson suggested, plausibly, that cohorts might be a misprint for courts. — The whole of this speech after unhappily , as also the next, and the words, come, come, in the one following, are wanting in the folio. — H. N. H.

173. "and I know not what"; "It is easy to remark that in this speech Edmund, with the common craft of fortunetellers, mingles the past and the future, and tells of the future only what he already foreknows by confederacy, or can attain by probable conjecture" (Johnson).— H. N. H.

28

Iking lear Act i. s* a.

Edm. Spake you with him?

Edg. Aye, two hours together. 180

Edm. Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by word or counte- nance?

Edg. None at all.

Edm. Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him: and at my entreaty forbear his presence till some little time hath quali- fied the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant so rageth in him that with the mis- chief of your person it would scarcely allay. 190

Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong.

Edm. That 's my fear. I pray you, have a continent forbearance till the speed of his rage goes slower, and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: pray ye, go ; there 's my key : if you do stir abroad, go armed.

Edg. Armed, brother!

Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best : go 200 armed: I am no honest man if there be any good meaning towards you : I have told you what I have seen and heard; but faintly, nothing like the image and horror of it: pray you, away.

Edg. Shall I hear from you anon?

Edm. I do serve you in this business. [Exit Edgar.

192-199. "That's my fear . . . Brother," so Ff.; Qq. read "That's my feare brother," omitting rest of speech. — I. G. 198. "go armed"; omitted in Folios. — I. G.

29

Act I. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY OF

A credulous father, and a brother noble, Whose nature is so far from doing harms That he suspects none ; on whose foolish honesty My practices ride easy. I see the business. 211 Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit: All with me 's meet that I can fashion fit. [Eooit.

Scene III

The Duke of Albany's palace. Enter Goneril and Oswald, her steward.

Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?

Osw. Yes, madam.

Gon. By day and night he wrongs me; every hour He flashes into one gross crime or other, That sets us all at odds : I '11 not endure it : His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids

us On every trifle. When he returns from hunt- ing, I will not speak with him ; say I am sick : If you come slack of former services, You shall do well; the fault of it I '11 answer. 10

Osw. He 's coming, madam ; I hear him.

[Horns within.

1. "The Steward," says Coleridge, "should be placed in exact antith- esis to Kent, as the only character of utter irredeemable baseness in Shakespeare. Even in this the judgment and invention of the Poet are very observable: for what else could the willing tool of a Goneril be? Not a vice but this of baseness was left open to him." — H. N. H.

30

KING LEAR Act. I. Sc. iii.

'G&n. Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your fellows; I 'Id have it come to

question : If he distaste it, let him to our sister, Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man, That still would manage those authorities That he hath given away ! Now, by my life, Old fools are babes again, and must be used With checks as flatteries, when they are seen

abused. Remember what I tell you. Osw. Very well, madam. 21

Gem. And let his knights have colder looks among you; What grows of it, no matter; advise your fel- lows so: I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, That I may speak: 1 11 write straight to my

sister, To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.

[Exeunt.

17-21; 24-25; omitted in Folios.— I. G.

20. "With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abused"; Tyr- whitt's explanation seems the most plausible, "with checks, as well as flatterers, when they (i. e. flatterers) are seen to be abused." The emendators have been busy with the line without much success. —I. G.

23. This line and "That I may speak," of the next, are not in the folio.— H. N. H.

31

Act I. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

Scene IV

A hall in the same.

Enter Kent, disguised.

Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I razed my likeness. Now, banish'd

Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand con-

demn'd, So may it come, thy master whom thou lovest Shall find thee full of labors.

Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, and Attendants.

Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready. [Exit an Attendant. ] How now! what art thou? 10

Kent. A man, sir.

Lear. What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?

Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly that will put me in trust; to

6. "so may it come"; omitted in Quartos. — I. G.

8. In Lear old age is itself a character, its natural imperfections being increased by life-long habits of receiving prompt obedience. Any addition of individuality would have been unnecessary and painful; for the relations of others to him, of wondrous fidelity and of frightful ingratitude, alone sufficiently distinguish him. Thus Lear becomes the open and ample play-room of nature's passions (Coleridge).— H. N. H.

32

1

KING LEAR Act I. St. iv,

love him that is honest; to converse with him

that is wise and says little ; to fear judgment ;

to fight when I cannot choose, and to eat no

fish. hear. What art thou? 20

Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as

poor as the king. hear. If thou be as poor for a subject as he is

for a king, thou art poor enough. What

wouldst thou? Kent. Service.

hear. Who wouldst thou serve? Kent. You.

hear. Dost thou know me, fellow? Kent. No, sir ; but you have that in your coun- 30

tenance which I would fain call master. hear. What's that? Kent. Authority.

hear. What services canst thou do? Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a

curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain

message bluntly: that which ordinary men

are fit for, I am qualified in, and the best of

me is diligence. hear. How old art thou? 40

Kent Not so young, sir, to love a woman for

singing, nor so old to dote on her for any

thing : I have years on my back forty eight. hear. Follow me; thou shalt serve me: if I

like thee no worse after dinner, I will not

part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner!

xxvi-3 33

Act I. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

Where 's my knave? my fool? Go you, and call my fool hither. [Exit an Attendant.

Enter Oswald.

You, you, sirrah, where 's my daughter? Osw. So please you, — [Exit. 50

Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back. [Exit a Knight.'] Where 's my fool, ho? I think the world 's asleep.

Re-enter Knight.

How now! where 's that mongrel?

Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.

Lear. Why came not the slave back to me when I called him?

Knight. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not. 6Q

Lear. He would not !

Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is; but, to my judgment, your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont ; there 's a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the general de- pendants as in the duke himself also and your daughter.

Lear. Ha! say est thou so?

Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken ; for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged.

Lear. Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I have perceived a most faint

34

KING LEAR Act I. Sc. iv.

neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretense and purpose of unkindness: I will look further into 't. But where 's my fool? I have not seen him this two days.

Knight. Since my young lady's going into 80 France, sir, the fool hath much pined away.

Lear. No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with her. [Exit an Attendant.] Go you, call hither my fool. [Exit an Attendant.

Re-enter Oswald.

O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: who

am I, sir? Osw. My lady's father. Lear. My lady's father! my lord's knave: you

whoreson dog ! you slave ! you cur ! 90

Osw. I am none of these, my lord; I beseech

your pardon. Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?

[Striking him. Osw. I '11 not be struck, my lord.

76. By "jealous curiosity" Lear appears to mean a punctilious jealousy resulting from a scrupulous watchfulness of his own dig- nity. A "very pretense" is an absolute design. — H. N. H.

81. The Fool is no comic buffoon to make the groundlings laugh; no forced condescension of Shakespeare's genius to the taste of his audience. Accordingly the Poet prepares for his introduction, which he never does with any of his common clowns and fools, by bringing him into living connection with the pathos of the play. He is as wonderful a creation as Caliban: his wild babblings and in- spired idiocy articulate and gauge the horrors of the scene (Cole- ridge).—H. N. H.

85

Act i. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

Kent. Nor tripped neither, you base foot -ball player. [Tripping up his heels.

Lear. I thank thee, fellow ; thou servest me, and I '11 love thee.

Kent. Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences: away, away! If you will meas- 100] ure your lubber's length again, tarry: but away! go to; have you wisdom? so.

[Pushes Oswald out.

Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there 's earnest of thy service.

[Giving Kent money.

Enter Fool.

Fool. Let me hire him too : here 's my cox- comb. [Offering Kent his cap.

Lear. How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou?

Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.

Kent. Why, fool? HO

Fool. Why, for taking one's part that 's out of favor: nay, as thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou 'It catch cold shortly : there, take my coxcomb: why, this fellow hath ban- ished two on 's daughters, and done the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.

105. "coxcomb"; natural ideots and fools have, and still do accus- tome themselves to weare in their cappes coekes feathers, or a hat with a necke and heade of a cocke on the top, and a bell thereon (Minshen's Dictionary, 1617). — H. N. H.

110. "Kent. Why, fool?"; the reading of Qq.; Ff. read "Lear. Why my Boy?"— I. G.

36

KING LEAR Act i. Sc. if.

How now, nuncle! Would I had two cox- combs and two daughters !

Lear. Why, my boy? 120

Fool. If I gave them all my living, I 'Id keep my coxcombs myself. There 's mine ; beg another of thy daughters.

Lear. Take heed, sirrah; the whip.

Fool. Truth 's a dog must to kennel ; he must be whipped out, when Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink.

Lear. A pestilent gall to me !

Fool. Sirrah, I '11 teach thee a speech.

Lear. Do. 130

Fool. Mark it, nuncle :

Have more than thou showest,

Speak less than thou knowest,

Lend less than thou owest,

Ride more than thou goest,

Learn more than thou trowest,

Set less than thou throwest;

Leave thy drink and thy whore,

And keep in-a-door,

And thou shalt have more 140

Than two tens to a score.

131. "nuncle" ; a familiar contraction of mine uncle. In Beaumont and Fletcher's Pilgrim, when Alinda assumes the character of a fool, she uses the same language. She meets Alphonso, and calls him nuncle; to which he replies by calling her naunt. In the Southern States it is customary for a family, especially the younger members of it, to call an old and faithful servant, uncle or aunt, from a mixed feeling of respect for his character, attachment to his person, de- pendence on his service, and authority over his actions. — H. N. H. . 135. "goest"; walkest.— C. H. H.

37

Act I. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

Kent. This is nothing, fool. Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer, you gave me nothing for 't. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle? Lear. Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out

of nothing. Fool. [To Kent~\ Prithee, tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to: he will not be- lieve a fool. 150 Lear. A bitter fool! Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy,

Between a bitter fool and a sweet fool? Lear. No, lad; teach me. Fool. That lord that counsel'd thee To give away thy land, Come place him here by me;

Do thou for him stand : The sweet and bitter fool

Will presently appear ; 160

The one in motley here, The other found out there. Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy? Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away;

that thou wast born with. Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. Fool. No, faith, lords and great men will not let me ; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part on 't: and ladies too, they will not

155-171. Omitted in Folios.— I. G.

169. "Ladies"; Capell's emendation; Qq., "lodes"; Collier, "loads." —I. G.

For the sense of the passage, nothing could be better than ladies;

38

KING LEAR Act i. Sc. iv.

let me have all the fool to myself; they '11 be 170 snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I '11 give thee two crowns.

Lear. What two crowns shall they be?

Fool. Why, after I have cut the egg in the mid- dle and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle and gavest away both parts, thou bor- est thine ass on thy back o'er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like 180 myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so.

[Singing] Fools had ne'er less wit in a year; For wise men are grown foppish, And know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish.

Lear. When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?

Fool. I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mother : for when 190 thou gavest them the rod and puttest down thine own breeches,

nothing worse than loads: it has no more fitness to the place than abracadabra. — H. N. H.

183. "There never was a time when fools were less in favor; and the reason is, that they were never so little wanted, for wise men now supply their place." — H. N. H.

191-194. "puttest"; i. e. didst put.— C. H. H.

So in The Rape of Lucrece, by Thomas Hey wood, 1608:

"When Tarquin first in court began. And was approved king, Some men for sodden joy gan weep, And I for sorrow sing." — H. N. H.

39

Act I. So. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

Singing] Then they for sudden joy did weep, And I for sorrow sung, That such a king should play bo-peep, And go the fools among. Prithee, n uncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie : I would fain learn to lie. Lear. An you lie, sirrah, we '11 have you

whipped. 200

Fool. I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are : they '11 have me whipped for speaking true, thou 'It have me whipped for lying, and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing than a fool: and yet I would not be thee, nuncle ; thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides and left nothing i' the middle. Here comes one o' the parings.

Enter Goneril.

Lear. How now, daughter! what makes that 210 frontlet on? Methinks you are too much of late i' the frown.

Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning ; now thou art an O without a figure : I am better than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing. [To Gon.~\ Yes, forsooth, I will

211. The word "methinks" is wanting in the folio.— A frontlet, or forehead cloth, was worn by ladies of old to prevent wrinkles. So in Zepheria, a collection of Sonnets, 1594:

"But now, my sunne, it fits thou take thy set, And vayle thy face with frownes as with a frontlet."— H. N. H.

215. "an O" ; that is, a cipher.— H. N. H.

40

KING LEAR Act I. Sc. iv.

hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though you say nothing.

Mum, mum: 220

He that keeps nor crust nor crumb,

Weary of all, shall want some. [Pointing to Lear] That 's a shealed peascod. Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth In rank and not to be endured riots. Sir, I had thought, by making this well known unto

you, To have found a safe redress; but now grow

fearful, By what yourself too late have spoke and done, That you protect this course and put it on 231 By your allowance; which if you should, the

fault Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses

sleep, Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, Might in their working do you that offense Which else were shame, that then necessity Will call discreet proceeding. lFool. For, you know, nuncle,

The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,

That it had it head bit off by it young. 240

223. "shealed peascod"; now a mere husk that contains nothing. The robing of Richard II's effigy in Westminster Abbey is wrought with peascods open, and the peas out; perhaps an allusion to his being once in full possession of sovereignty, but soon reduced to an empty title.— H. N. H.

9 F 41

Act I. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

So out went the candle, and we were left dark- ling. Lear. Are you our daughter? Gon. Come, sir,

I would you would make use of that good wis- dom Whereof I know you are fraught, and put

away These dispositions that of late transform you From what you rightly are. Fool. May not an ass know when the cart draws

the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love thee. 249

Lear. Doth any here know me? This is not Lear:

Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are

his eyes? Either his notion weakens, his discernings Are lethargied — Ha! waking? 'tis not so. Who is it that can tell me who I am? Fool. Lear's shadow.

Lear. I would learn that; for, by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge and reason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters. Fool. Which they will make an obedient father.

243. Omitted in Folios.— I. G.

249. "Whoop, Jug," etc. Intentional nonsense to cloak his plain speaking. "Jug" was a colloquial term for a mistress. — C. H. H.

253. "Ha! waking?"; Qq. read "sleeping or waking; ha! sure." — I. G.

254. This speech is greatly mutilated in the folio, being cast into very irregular verse, and reading thus: "Does any here know me? This is not Lear: does Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, his discernings are lethargied. Ha! Waking? 'Tis not so. Who is it that can tell me who I am?" Knight, with singular infelicity, follows this reading. — H. N. H.

256-259. Omitted in Folios.— I. G.

259. Of course it must be understood, that in the speech beginning

42

KING LEAR Act I. Sc. iv.

Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman? 26°

Gon. This admiration, sir, is much o' the savor Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you To understand my purposes aright: As you are old and reverend, you should be wise. Here do you keep a hundred knights and

squires ; Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, That this our court, infected with their manners, Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust Make it more like a tavern or a brothel Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak 270

For instant remedy: be then desired By her that else will take the thing she begs A little to disquantity your train, And the remainder that shall still depend, To be such men as may besort your age, Which know themselves and you.

Lear. Darkness and devils !

Saddle my horses; call my train together. Degenerate bastard! I '11 not trouble thee: Yet have I left a daughter.

Gon. You strike my people, and your disorder'd rabble 280

Make servants of their betters.

Enter Albany.

"I would learn that," Lear is continuing his former speech, and answering his own question, without heeding the Fool's interruption. So, again, in this speech the Fool continues his former one, which referring to shadow. — H. N. H.

261. "savor"; so in the folio; but commonly given favor. — In the quartos this speech, also, begins with, "Come, sir." — H. N. H.

43

Act I. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

Lear. Woe, that too late repents, — [To Alb.~\ O, sir, are you come?

Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my horses.

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,

More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child

Than the sea-monster! Alb. Pray, sir, be patient.

Lear. [To Gon.~] Detested kite! thou liest.

My train are men of choice and rarest parts,

That all particulars of duty know,

And in the most exact regard support 290

The worships of their name. O most small fault,

How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show !

That, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of na- ture

From the fix'd place, drew from my heart all love

And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear !

Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in.

[Striking his head.

And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my peo- ple. Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant

Of what hath moved you.

282. The latter part of this line, "O, sir! are you come/' is not in the folio.— H. N. H.

286. The "sea-monster" is the hippopotamus, the hieroglyphieal symbol of impiety and ingratitude. Sandys, in his Travels, says, "that he killeth his sire and ravisheth his own dam."— H. N. H.

288. "choice and rarest"; (the superlative applies to both). — C. H. H.

299. Omitted in Quartos.— I. G.

44

KING LEAR Act i. Sc. iv.

Lear. It may be so, my lord.

Hear, nature, hear ; dear goddess, hear ! 300

Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend To make this creature fruitful: Into her womb convey sterility : Dry up in her the organs of increase, And from her derogate body never spring A babe to honor her! If she must teem, Create her child of spleen, that it may live And be a thwart disnatured torment to her. Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth ; With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks; Turn all her mother's pains and benefits 311 To laughter and contempt ; that she may feel How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child! Away, away!

[Exit.

Alb. Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

Gon. Never afflict yourself to know the cause, But let his disposition have that scope That dotage gives it.

Re-enter Lear.

Lear. What, fifty of my followers at a clap !

Within a fortnight! 320

Alb. ] What 's the matter, sir?

Lear. I '11 tell thee. [To Gon.'] Life and death! I am ashamed That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus;

306. "teem"; give birth.— C. H. H.

45

Act I. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

That these hot tears, which break from me per- force, Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs

upon thee! The untented woundings of a father's curse Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes, Beweep this cause again, I '11 pluck ye out And cast you with the waters that you lose To temper clay. Yea, is it come to this? Let it be so : yet have I left a daughter, 330 Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable : When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails She '11 flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find That I '11 resume the shape which thou dost

think I have cast off for ever: thou shalt, I warrant thee.

[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants. Gon. Do you mark that, my lord? Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, To the great love I bear you, — Gon. Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho! [To the Fool] You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master. 340

335. We must here quote from Coleridge's remarks on this scene: "The monster Goneril prepares what is necessary, while the char- acter of Albany renders a still more maddening grievance possible, namely, Regan and Cornwall in perfect sympathy of monstrosity. Not a sentiment, not an image, which can give pleasure on its own account, is admitted: whenever these creatures are introduced, and they are brought forward as little as possible, pure horror reigns throughout. In this scene and in all the early speeches of Lear, the one general sentiment of filial ingratitude prevails as the main spring of the feelings; in this early stage the outward object caus- ing the pressure on the mind, which is not yet sufficiently familiarized with the anguish for the imagination to work upon it." — H. N. H.

46

KING LEAR Act I. Sc. iv.

Fool. Nuncle Lear, Nuncle Lear, tarry; take the fool with thee.

A fox, when one has caught her,

And such a daughter,

Should sure to the slaughter,

If my cap would buy a halter:

So the fool follows after. [Exit.

Gon. This man hath had ffood counsel: a hundred

Slights ! 'Tis politic and safe to let him keep At point a hundred knights: yes, that on every

dream, 349

Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powers And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say ! Alb. Well, you may fear too far. Gon. Safer than trust too far :

Let me still take away the harms I fear, Not fear still to be taken : I know his heart. What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister : If she sustain him and his hundred knights, When I have show'd the unfitness, —

Re-enter Oswald.

How, now, Oswald! What, have you writ that letter to my sister? Osw. Yes, madam. 360

Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse : Inform her full of my particular fear, And thereto add such reasons of your own As may compact it more. Get you gone;

347-358. Omitted in Quartos.— I. G.

47

Act I. Sc. v. THE TRAGEDY OF

And hasten your return. [Exit Oswald.} No,

no, my lord, This milky gentleness and course of yours Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon, You are much more attask'd for want of wis- dom Than praised for harmful mildness.

Alb. How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell: Striving to better, oft we mar what 's well. 371

Gon. Nay, then —

Alb. Well, well; the event. [Exeunt.

Scene V

Court before the same.

Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.

Lear. Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you know than comes from

368. "attack'd"; in the folio, at task. The word task is frequently used by Shakespeare and his contemporaries in the sense of tax. So, in the common phrase of our time, "Taken to task." — H. N. H.

373. Observe the baffled endeavor of Goneril to act on the fears of Albany, and yet his passiveness, his inertia: he is not convinced, and yet he is afraid of looking into the thing. Such characters al- ways yield to those who will take the trouble of governing them, or for them. Perhaps the influence of a princess, whose choice of him had rovalized his state, may be some little excuse for Albany's weak- ness (Coleridge). — H. N. H.

1. The word "there" in this speech shows that when the king says, '*Go you before to Gloster," he means the town of Gloster, which Shakespeare chose to make the residence of the Duke of Corn- wall, to increase the probability of their setting out late from thence on a visit to the Earl of Gloster. The old English earls usually

48

KING LEAR Act I. Sc. v.

her demand out of the letter. If your dili- gence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you.

Kent. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have de- livered your letter. [Exit.

Fool. If a man's brains were in 's heels, were 't not in danger of kibes? 10

hear. Aye, boy.

Fool. Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall ne'er go slip-shod.

Lear. Ha, ha, ha!

Fool. Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly ; for though she 's as like this as a crab 's like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.

Lear. Why, what canst thou tell, my boy?

Fool. She will taste as like this as a crab does to 2D a crab. Thou canst tell why one 's nose stands i' the middle on 's face?

Lear. No.

Fool. Why, to keep one's eyes of either side 's nose, that what a man cannot smell out he may spy into.

Lear. I did her wrong —

Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?

Lear. No.

resided in the counties from whence they took their titles. Lear, not finding his son-in-law and his wife at home, follows them to the Earl of Gloster's castle.— H. N. H.

16. "kindly"; the Fool quibbles, using kindly in two senses; as it means affectionately, and like the rest of her kind. — H. N. H.

27. He is musing on Cordelia. — H. N. H.

This and Lear's subsequent ejaculations to himself are in verse; his distracted replies to the Fool in prose. — C. H. H. XXVI— 4 49

40

Act I. Sc. v. THE TRAGEDY OF

Fool. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail 30

has a house. Lear. Why? Fool. Why, to put 's head in ; not to give it away

to his daughters, and leave his horns without

a case. Lear. I will forget my nature. — So kind a

father! — Be my horses ready? Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The

reason why the seven stars are no more than

seven is a pretty reason. Lear. Because they are not eight? Fool. Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good

fool. Lear. To tak 't again perforce! Monster in- gratitude ! Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I 'Id have

thee beaten for being old before thy time. Lear. How's that? Fool. Thou shouldst not have been old till thou

hadst been wise. ; 50

Lear. O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!

Keep me in temper : I would not be mad !

Enter Gentleman. How now ! are the horses ready ?

46. Lear is meditating on what he has before threatened, namely, to "resume the shape which he has cast off." — H. N. H.

52. "The mind's own anticipation of madness! The deepest tragic notes are often struck by a half-sense of an impending blow. The Fool's conclusion of this Act by a grotesque prattling seems to indi- cate the dislocation of feeling that has begun and is to be con- tinued" (Coleridge).— H. N. H.

50

KING LEAR Act I. Sc v.

Gent. Ready, my lord.

Lear. Come, boy.

Fool. She that 's a maid now and laughs at my de- parture Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. [Exeunt.

57, 58. Some good editors think this closing couplet to have been interpolated by the players. There is certainly strong reason for (wishing this opinion to be true. Nor is it unlikely that such lines and phrases, technically called tags, and spoken on making an exit, were at first interpolated on the stage, and afterwards incorporated |with the text in the prompter's book. It is with reference to this practice that Hamlet exhorts the players, — "Let those that play pour clowns speak no more than is set down for them." And the severity with which the custom is there reproved looks as if the Poet had himself suffered in that way. — H. N. H.

51

Act II. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

ACT SECOND

Scene I

The Earl of Gloucester's castle.

Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting.

Edm. Save thee, Curan.

Cur. And you, sir. I have been with your

father and given him notice that the Duke

of Cornwall and Regan his duchess will be

here with him this night. Edm. How comes that? Cur. Nay, I know not. You have heard of the

news abroad, I mean the whispered ones,

for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments ? Edm. Not I : pray you, what are they ? 1

Cur. Have you heard of no lik ly wars toward,

'twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany? Edm. Not a word. Cur. You may do then in time. Fare you well,

sir. [Exit.

Edm. The duke be here to-night? The better! best!

This weaves itself perforce into my business.

My father hath set guard to take my brother ;

And I have one thing, of a queasy question,

11-13. Omitted in Qq. 2, 3.— I. G. 52

KING LEAR Act II. Sc. i.

Which I must act: briefness and fortune, work! Brother, a word; descend: brother, I say! 21

Enter Edgar.

My father watches : O sir, fly this place ;

Intelligence is given where you are hid;

You have now the good advantage of the night:

Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Corn- wall?

He 's coming hither, now, i' the night, i' the haste,

And Regan with him : have you nothing said

Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany?

Advise yourself. Edg. I am sure on 't, not a word.

Edm. I hear my father coming : pardon me : 30

In cunning I must draw my sword upon you :

Draw: seem to defend yourself: now quit you well.

Yield : come before my father. Light, ho, here !

Fly, brother. Torches, torches! So farewell.

[Exit Edgar.

Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion

[Wounds his arm.

Of my more fierce endeavor: I have seen drunk- ards

24. "advantage"; opportunity. — C. H. H.

27, 28. "have you nothing said . . ."; have you said nothing upon the party formed by him against the Duke of Albany? — H. N. H.

36, 37. "I have seen" etc. These drunken feats are mentioned in Marston's Dutch Courtezan: "Have I not been drunk for your health, eat glasses, drunk wine, stabbed arms, and done all offices of p/otested gallantry for your sake?" — H. N. H.

53

Act ii. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

Do more than this in sport. Father, father! Stop, stop ! No help ?

Enter Gloucester,, and Servants with torches.

Glou. Now, Edmund, where 's the villain?

Edm. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword

out, 40

Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the

moon To stand 's auspicious mistress.

Glou. But where is he ?

Edm. Look, sir, I bleed.

Glou. Where is the villain, Edmund?

Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could —

Glou. Pursue him, ho ! — Go after. [Exeunt some Servants.] 'By no means' what?

Edm. Persuade me to the murder of your lordship ; But that I told him the revenging gods 'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend, Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to the father ; sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood 51

To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion With his prepared sword he charges home My unprovided ^ody, lanced mine arm: But when he sa, my best alarum'd spirits

41, 42. Gloucester has already shown himself a believer in such asl-ological t perstitions; so that Edmund here takes hold of him by just the right handle.— H. N. H.

4:. "V; so Q. 1; Q. 2, "his"; Ff. omit.— C. H. H.

48. "their thunders"; so the Qq.; Ff., "the thunder"; Johnson, "their thunder."— I. G.

54

KING LEAR Act II. Sc. i.

Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to the en- counter, Or whether gasted by the noise I made, Full suddenly he fled. Glou. Let him fly far :

Not in this land shall he remain uncaught: And found — dispatch. The noble duke my master, 60

My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night. By his authority I will proclaim it, That he which finds him shall deserve our

thanks, Bringing the murderous caitiff to the stake ; He that conceals him, death. Edm. When I dissuaded him from his intent

And found him pight to do it, with curst speech I threaten'd to discover him : he replied, 'Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think, If I would stand against thee, could the repos- ure 70

Of any trust, virtue, or worth, in thee Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should

deny — As this I would; aye, though thou didst pro- duce My very character — I 'Id turn it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice: And thou must make a dullard of the world,

60. "dispatch"; i. e. "dispatch him"; or perhaps, "dispatch is the word."— I. G.

72. "what I should deny"; so Qq.; Ff., "What should I deny"; Rowe, "by what I should deny"; Hanmer, "what I'd deny"; Warbur- ton, "when I should deny"; Schmidt, "what, should I deny." — I. G.

55

Act ii. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

If they not thought the profits of my death

Were very pregnant and potential spurs

To make thee seek it.' Glou. Strong and fasten'd villain!

Would he deny his letter? I never got him. ,80

[Tucket within.

Hark, the duke's trumpets ! I know not why he comes.

[All ports I '11 bar ; the villain shall not 'scape ;

The duke must grant me that: besides, his pic- ture

I will send far and near, that all the kingdom

May have due note of him; and of my land,

Loyal and natural boy, I '11 work the means

To make thee capable.

Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants.

'Corn. How now, my noble friend! since I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news. Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short 90 Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord? Glou. O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, is crack'd ! Reg. What, did my father's godson seek your life? He whom my father named? your Edgar?

78. "potential spurs"; the folio reads, "potential spirits." — H. N. H.

80. "I never got him"; so Qq.; Ff., "said he?"— I. G.

86. The word "natural" is here used with exquisite art in the double sense of illegitimate and as opposed to unnatural, which latter epithet is implied upon Edgar. — H. N. H.

93, 94. There is a peculiar subtlety and intensity of virulent malice in these speeches of Regan. Coleridge justly observes that she makes

56

KING LEAR Act II. Sc. f.

Glou. O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid! Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous knights

That tend upon my father? Glou. I know not, madam : 'tis too bad, too bad, Edm. Yes, madam, he was of that consort. Reg. No marvel then, though he were ill affected %

'Tis they have put him on the old man's death.

To have the waste and spoil of his revenues. 10*/

I have this present evening from my sister

Been well inf orm'd of them, and with such caur tions

That if they come to sojourn at my house,

I '11 not be there. "Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan.

Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father

A child-like office. Edm. 'Twas my duty, sir.

Glou. He did bewray his practice, and received

This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. HO Corn. Is he pursued? Glou. Aye, my good lord.

Corn. If he be taken, he shall never more

"no reference to the guilt, but only to the accident, which she use9 as an occasion for sneering at her father." And he adds, — "Regan is not, in fact, a greater monster than Goneril, but she has the power of casting more venom." — H. N. H.

99. "of that consort"; so Ff.; omitted in Qq — I. G.

102. "the waste and spoil of his"; Q. 1, "the wast and spoyle of his"; Qq. 2, 3, * 'these — and waste of this his"; Q. 1 (Dev. and Cap.) "these — and waste of this his"; F. 1, "thy expence and wast of his"; Ff. 2, 3, 4, "th* expence and wast of."— I. G.

57

Act II. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own pur*

pose, How in my strength you please. For you, Ed- mund, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours: Natures of such deep trust we shall much need: You we first seize on. Edm. I shall serve you, sir,

Truly, however else. Glou. For him I thank your grace.

Corn. You know not why we came to visit you, — Reg. Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night : 121

Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, Wherein we must have use of your advice : Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, Of differences, which I least thought it fit To answer from our home; the several messen- gers From hence attend dispatch. Our good old

friend, Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow Your needful counsel to our business, Which craves the instant use. Glou. I serve you, madam : 130

Your graces are right welcome.

[Flourish. [Exeunt.

113. "of; as to. "There will be no more harm to fear from him." — C. H. H.

126. "from our home"; that is, not at home, but at some other place.— H. N. H.

58

KING LEAR Act II. Sc. ii.

Scene IT

Before Gloucester's castle. Enter Kent and Oswald, severally.

Vsw. Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?

Kent. Aye.

Osw. Where may we set our horses?

Kent. I' the mire.

Osw. Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me.

Kent. I love thee not.

Osw. Why then I care not for thee.

Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I

would make thee care for me. 1°

Osw. Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.

Kent. Fellow, I know thee.

Osw. What dost thou know me for ?

Kent. A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted- stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave; a whoreson, glass-gazing, superserv- iceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting 20

9. "Lipsbury pinfold" ; that is, Lipsbury pound. Lipsbury pinfold may, perhaps, like Lob's pound, be a coined name; but with what allusion does not appear. — H. N. H.

20. A <c one-trunk-inheriting slave" may be a term for a fellow, the whole of whose possessions were confined to one coffer, and that too inherited from his father, who was no better provided, or had noth- ing more to bequeath. — H. N. H.

5Q

Act ii. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY OF

slave ; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the compo- sition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch : one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition.

Osw. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee!

Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to 30 deny thou knowest me! Is it two days ago since I tripped up thy heels and beat thee be- fore the king? Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon shines ; I '11 » make a sop o' the moonshine of you: draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw. [Drawing his sword.

Osw. Away! I have nothing to do with thee.

Kent. Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the king, and take vanity the pup- 40 pet's part against the royalty of her father : draw, you rogue, or I '11 so carbonado your shanks: draw, you rascal; come your ways.

Osw. Help, ho! murder! help!

Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue; stand, you neat slave, strike. [Beating him.

Osw. Help, ho! murder! help!

40. "vanity"; called vanity by way of antithesis to royalty. — H. N. H.

46. "neat slave" may mean you base cowherd, or, as Steevens sug- gests, you finical rascal, you assemblage of foppery and poverty. — H. N. H.

60

KING LEAR Act II. Sc. ii.

Enter Edmund, with his rapier drawn, Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester, and Servants.

Edm. How now! What's the matter? [Parting

them. Kent. With you, goodman boy, an you please :

come, I '11 flesh you ; come on, young master. 50 Glou. Weapons ! arms ! What 's the matter

here? Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives;

He dies that strikes again. What is the matter? Reg. The messengers from our sister and the

king. Corn. What is your difference? speak. Osw. I am scarce in breath, my lord. Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirred your

valor. You cowardly rascal, nature dis- 60

claims in thee: a tailor made thee. Corn. Thou art a strange fellow : a tailor make

a man? Kent. Aye, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter or a

painter could not have made him so ill,

though he had been but two hours at the

trade. Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? Osw. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have

spared at suit of his gray beard, — 70

49. "With you/' etc. Kent pretends to understand "matter" as "ground of quarrel."— C. H. H.

60. To "disclaim in," for to disclaim simply, was the phraseology of the Poet's age.— H. N. H.

64. The affirmative particle "Aye" is wanting in the folio. The sense seems to require it. — H. N. H.

66. "hours"; Ff., "years."— I. G.

61

Act II. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Kent. Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mor- tar, and daub the walls of a jakes with him. Spare my gray beard, you wagtail?

Corn. Peace, sirrah!

You beastly knave, know you no reverence ?

Kent. Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.

Corn. Why art thou angry?

Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a

sword, 80

Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as

these, Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain Which are too intrinse to unloose ; smooth every

passion That in the natures of their lords rebel ; Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods ; Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gale and vary of their masters, Knowing nought, like dogs, but following. A plague upon your epileptic visage !

71. "zed" is here used as a term of contempt, because it is the last letter in the English alphabet: it is said to be an unnecessary- letter, because its place may be supplied by S. Mulcaster says, "Z is much harder amongst us, and seldom seen. S is become its lieutenant-general." — H. N. H.

73. "unbolted" mortar is mortar made of unsifted lime; and therefore to break the lumps it is necessary to tread it by men in wooden shoes. — H. N. H.

83. "Which are too intrinse to unloose"; F. 1, "are V intrince" ; Ff. 2, 3, 4, "art t' intrince" ; Qq., "are to intrench"; Pope, "Too in- tricate"; Theobald, "Too 'intrinsecate" ; Hanmer, "too intrinsick" : "to unloose"; Ff. "V unloose"; Qq., "to inloose"; Seymour conj. "to en- hose."— I. G.

62

KING LEAR Act II. Be. ii.

Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool? 90 Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, I 'Id drive ye cackling home to Camelot,

Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow?

Glou. How fell you out? say that.

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy Than I and such a knave.

Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?

Kent. His countenance likes me not.

Corn. No more perchance does mine, nor his, nor hers.

Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain: 100

I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.

Corn. This is some fellow,

Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth

affect A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb jQuite from his nature : he cannot flatter, he, — An honest mind and plain, — he must speak

truth! An they will take it, so ; if not, he 's plain.

103. Coleridge has a just remark upon this speech: "In thus plac- ing these profound general truths in the mouths of such men as Cornwall, Edmund, Iago, &c, Shakespeare at once gives them utter- ance, and yet shows how indefinite their application is." We may add, that an inferior dramatist, instead of making his villains use any such vein of original and profound remark, would probably fill their mouths with something either shocking or absurd; which is just what real villains, if they have any wit, never do. For it is not so much by using falsehood, as by abusing truth, that wickedness works. — H. N. H.

63

Act II. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY OF

These kind of knaves I know, which in this

plainness Harbor more craft and more corrupter ends HO Than twenty silly ducking observants That stretch their duties nicely.

Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, Under the allowance of your great aspect, Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire On flickering Phoebus' front, —

Com. What mean'st by this?

Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you dis- commend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer : he that beguiled you in a plain ac- cent was a plain knave ; which, for my part, 120 I will not be, though I should win your dis- pleasure to entreat me to 't.

Corn. What was the offense you gave him ?

Osw. I never gave him any :

It pleased the king his master very late To strike at me, upon his misconstruction; When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeas- ure, Tripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd, And put upon him such a deal of man, That worthied him, got praises of the king 130 For him attempting who was self-subdued, And in the fleshment of this dread exploit Drew on me here again.

121. "your displeasure" seems to be here used as a title of ad- dress; like "your honor," or "your lordship."— H. N. H.

132. "fleshment"; a soldier is said to flesh his sword the first time he draws blood with it. "Fleshment," therefore, is here applied to the first act of service, which Kent, in his new capacity, had done

64

KING LEAR Act II. Sc. a.

Kent. None of these rogues and cowards

But Ajax is their fool. Corn. Fetch forth the stocks !

You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend brag- gart,

We '11 teach you — Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn :

Call not your stocks for me : I serve the king,

On whose employment I was sent to you :

You shall do small respect, show too bold malice

Against the grace and person of my master, 140

Stocking his messenger. Corn. Fetch forth the stocks ! As I have life and honor,

There shall he sit till noon. Reg. Till noon! till night, my lord, and all night

too. Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog,

You should not use me so. Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will.

Corn. This is a fellow of the self -same color

Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks! [Stocks brought out.

Glou. Let me beseech your grace not to do so :

His fault is much, and the good king his master

for his master; and at the same time, in a sarcastic sense, as though he esteemed it an heroic exploit to trip a man behind who was fall- ing. By "him attempting who was self-subdued" the Steward means himself.— H. N. H.

134. "But Ajax is their fool"; that is, Ajax is a fool to them. "These rogues and cowards talk in such a boasting strain that, if we were to credit their account of themselves, Ajax would appear a person of no prowess when compared to them." — H. N. H.

149-153. "His fault . . . punish'd with"; omitted in Ff— I. G.

XXVI-5 65

Act II. Se. ii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Will check him for 't : your purposed low correc- tion 151 Is such as basest and contemned'st wretches For pilf erings and most common trespasses Are punish'd with : the king must take it ill, That he, so slightly valued in his messenger, Should have him thus restraint. 'Corn. I '11 answer that. *Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse, To have her gentleman abused, assaulted, For following her affairs. Put in his legs.

[Kent is put in the stocks. Come, my good lord, away. 160

[Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent. Glou. I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure, Whose disposition, all the world well knows, Will not be rubb'd nor stopp'd: I '11 entreat for thee. Kent. Pray, do not, sir: I have watch'd and trav- el'd hard ; Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I '11 whistle. A good man's fortune may grow out at heels : Give you good morrow ! Glou. The duke 's to blame in this ; 'twill be ill taken. [Exit.

Kent. Good king, that must approve the common saw, Thou out of heaven's benediction comest 170

154. "the king must take it ill"; Ff. read "the King his Master, needs must take it ill." — I. G. 159. Omitted in Ff.— I. G.

170, 171. "out of heaven's benediction comest To the warm sun"; cp.

6ti

ING LEAR Act. II. Sc. ii.

To the warm sun!

Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, That by thy comfortable beams I may Peruse this letter! Nothing almost sees mira- cles But misery : I know 'tis from Cordelia, Who hath most fortunately been inf orm'd Of my obscured course ; and shall find time From this enormous state, seeking to give Losses their remedies. All weary and o'er-

watch'd, Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold 180 This shameful lodging.

Fortune, good night: smile once more; turn thy wheel! [Sleeps.

[eywood's Dialogues on Proverbs; "In your rennyng from hym to

e, ye runne out of God's blessing into the warm sunne"; i. e. from ood to worse. Professor Skeat suggests to me that the proverb

fers to the haste of the congregation to leave the shelter of the lurch, immediately after the priest's benediction, running from

od's blessing into the warm sun. This explanation seems by far le best that has been suggested. — I. G.

174. "miracles"; so Ff.; Qq. 1, 2, 3, "my wracke"; Q. 1 (Bodl.), my rackles." — I. G.

1 177-179. "and shall . . . remedies"; many emendations have leen proposed to remove the obscurity of the lines, but none can le considered satisfactory. Kent, it must be remembered, is "all ireary and o'er-watched." Jennens suggested that Kent is reading jisjointed fragments of Cordelia's letter. "From this enormous \tate" seems to mean "in this abnormal state of affairs." — I. G.

The meaning of this passage, about which there has been much iscussion, appears to be as follows: Kent addresses the sun, for rhose rising he is impatient, that he may read Cordelia's letter. I know," says he, "this letter which I hold in my hand is from Jordelia; who hath most fortunately been informed of my disgrace nd wandering in disguise; and who, seeking it, shall find time out f this disordered, unnatural state of things, to give losses their emedies; to restore her father to his kingdom, herself to his love, and ae to his favor."— H. N. H.

67

Act II. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Scene III

A wood. Enter Edgar.

Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd; And by the happy hollow of a tree Escaped the hunt. No port is free ; no place, That guard and most unusual vigilance Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may

'scape I will preserve myself: and am bethought To take the basest and most poorest shape That ever penury in contempt of man Brought near to beast : my face I '11 grime with

filth, Blanket my loins, elf all my hair in knots, 10 And with presented nakedness out-face The winds and persecutions of the sky. The country gives me proof and precedent Of Bedlam beggars, who with roaring voices

14. "Bedlam beggars"; what these were, may be partly gathered from a passage in The Bell-Man of London, by Dekker, 1640: "He sweares he hath been in Bedlam, and will talke frantickely of pur- pose: you see pinnes stuck in sundry places of his naked flesh, especially in his armes, which paine he gladly puts himselfe to, only to make you believe he is out of his wits. He calls himselfe by the name of Poore Tom, and, coming near any body, cries out, Poor Tom is a-cold. Of these Abraham-men some be exceeding merry, and doe nothing but sing songs fashioned out of their own braines; some will dance, others will doe nothing but either laugh or weepe; others are dogged, and so sullen both in looke and speech, that spying but a small company in a house they boldly and bluntly enter, compelling the servants through feare to give them what they demand."— H. N. H.

68

KING LEAR Act II. Sc. iii.

Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary; And with this horrible object, from low farms, Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills, Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with

prayers, Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod! poor

Tom! 20

That 's something yet: Edgar I nothing am.

[Exit.

20. "Turlygod"; upon this name Douce makes a very interesting lote as follows: "Warburton would read Turlupin, and Hanmer rurlurn; but there is a better reason for rejecting both these terms :han for preferring either; namely, that Turlygood is che corrupted vord in our language. The Turlupins were a fanatical sect that over- •an France, Italy, and Germany, in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. They were first known by the names Beghards or Beg- lins, and brethren and sisters of the free spirit. Their manners md appearance exhibited the strongest indications of lunacy and ifstraction. The common people called them Turlupins; a name vhich, though it has excited much doubt and controversy, seems )bviously connected with the wolvish howlings, which these people n all probability would make when influenced by their religious •avings. Their subsequent appellation of the fraternity of poor nen might have been the cause why the wandering rogues called Bedlam beggars, and one of whom Edgar personates, assumed or )btained the title of Turlupins or Turlygoods, especially if their node of asking alms was accompanied by the gesticulations of mad- nen. Turlupino and Turlurn are old Italian terms for a fool or nadman; and the Flemings had a proverb, as unfortunate as Turlu- oin and his children." — H. N. H.

69

Act ii. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

Scene IV

Before Gloucester's castle. Kent in the stocks.

Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentlemen.

Lear. 'Tis strange that they should so depart from home,

And not send back my messenger. Gent. As I learn'd,

The night before there was no purpose in them

Of this remove. Kent. Hail to thee, noble master!

Lear. Ha!

Makest thou this shame thy pastime? Kent. No, my lord.

Fool. Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses

are tied by the heads, dogs and bears by the

neck, monkeys by the loins, and men by the

legs: when a man's over-lusty at legs, then 10

he wears wooden nether-stocks. Lear. What 's he that hath so much thy place mis- took

To set thee here? Kent. It is both he and she;

Your son and daughter. Lear. No. Kent. Yes. Lear. No, I say. Kent. I say, yea. Lear. No, no, they would not. Kent. Yes, they have. 20

19-20. Omitted in Ff.— I. G. 70

KING LEAR Act II. Sc. iv.

Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no.

Kent. By Juno, I swear, aye.

Lear. They durst not do 't;

They could not, would not do 't; 'tis worse than

murder, To do upon respect such violent outrage : Resolve me with all modest haste which way Thou mightst deserve, or they impose, this

usage, Coming from us.

Kent. My lord, when at their home

I did commend your highness' letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place that show'd My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth 31

From Goneril his mistress salutations ; Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission, Which presently they read: on whose contents They summon'd up their meiny, straight took

horse ; Commanded me to follow and attend The leisure of their answer ; gave me cold looks : And meeting here the other messenger, Whose welcome, I perceived, had poison'd

mine — Being the very fellow that of late 40

Display'd so saucily against your highness — Having more man than wit about me, drew:

33. "spite of intermission"; Goneril's messenger delivered letters, which they read notwithstanding Lear's messenger was yet kneeling unanswered. — H. N. H.

42. The personal pronoun, which is found in the preceding line,

71

Act II. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

He raised the house with loud and coward cries. Your son and daughter found this trespass

worth The shame which here it suffers. Fool. Winter 's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.

Fathers that wear rags

Do make their children blind; But fathers that bear bags 50

Shall see their children kind. Fortune, that arrant whore, Ne'er turns the key to the poor. But, for all this, thou shalt have as many do- lors for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year. Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my heart!

is understood before the word having, or before drew. The same license is taken by Shakespeare in other places. — H. N. H.

46, 47. If this be their behavior, the king's troubles are not yet at an end. This speech is not in the quartos. — H. N. H.

57. Lear affects to pass off the swelling of his heart, ready to burst with grief and indignation, for the disease called the mother, or hysterica passio, which, in the Poet's time, was not thought pe- culiar to women. It is probable that Shakespeare had this sug- gested to him by a passage in Harsnet's Declaration of Popish Impostures, which he may have consulted in order to furnish out his character of Tom of Bedlam with demoniacal gibberish. "Ma. Maynie had a spice of the hysterica passio, as seems, from his youth; he himself termes it the moother." It seems the priests per- suaded him it was from the possession of the devil. "The disease I spake of was a spice of the mother, wherewith I had been troubled before my going into France: whether I doe rightly term it the mother or no, I knowe not. A Scotish Doctor of Physick, then in Paris, called it, as I remember, virtiginem capitis. It riseth of a winde in the bottome of the belly, and proceeding with a great swelling, causeth a very painful collicke in the stomack, and an extraordinary giddines in the head." — H. N. H.

72

KING LEAR Act II. Sc. iv.

Hysterica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow, Thy element 's below! Where is this daughter?

Kent. With the earl, sir, here within. 60

Lear. Follow me not ; stay here. [Exit.

Gent. Made you no more offense but what you speak of?

Kent. None.

How chance the king comes with so small a train ?

Fool. An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that question, thou hadst well deserved it.

Kent. Why, fool?

Fool. We '11 set thee to school to an aunt, to teach thee there 's no laboring i' the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their 70 eyes but blind men ; and there 's not a nose among twenty but can smell him that 's stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it ; but the great one that goes

68, 69. "Go to the ant, thou sluggard," says Solomon; "learn her ways, and be wise; which having no guide, overseer, or ruler, pro- videth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in harvest." If, says the Fool, you had been schooled by the ant, you would have known that the king's train, like that sagacious insect, prefer the summer of prosperity to the colder season of adversity, from which no profit can be derived. — H. N. H.

72. "can smell him," etc.; all men, but blind men, though they follow their noses, are led by their eyes; and this class of mankind, seeing the king ruined, have all deserted him: with respect to the blind, who have nothing but their noses to guide them, they also fly equally from a king whose fortunes are declining; for of the noses of blind men there is not one in twenty but can smell him who, being "muddy'd in fortune's mood, smells somewhat strong of her displeasure." — H. N. H.

10 F 73

act II. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it. That sir which serves and seeks for gain, 80 And follows but for form, Will pack when it begins to rain,

And leave thee in the storm. But I will tarry ; the fool will stay,

And let the wise man fly : The knave turns fool that runs away ; The fool no knave, perdy. Kent. Where learned you this, fool? Fool. Not i' the stocks, fool.

Re-enter Lear, with Gloucester.

Lear. Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary? 90

They have travel'd all the night ? Mere fetches ;

The images of revolt and flying off.

Fetch me a better answer. Glou. My dear lord,

You know the fiery quality of the duke;

How unremovable and fix'd he is

In his own course. Lear. Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!

76. "up"; so the quartos. The folio has upward instead of up the hill.—H. N. H.

86, 87. It is not easy to make any sense out of these last two lines, and perhaps it was not intended that any should be made out of them. Dr. Johnson proposed a slight transposition, which gives them a plenty of very shrewd sense, thus:

"The fool turns knave that runs away, The knave no fool, perdy." — H. N. H.

74

KING LEAR Act II. Sc it.

Fiery? what quality? Why, Gloucester, Glou- cester,

I 'Id speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.

Glou. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them

so. 10°

sLear. Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me,

man? Glou. Aye, my good lord.

Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father

Would with his daughter speak, commands her service :

Are they inform'd of this? My breath and blood !

'Fiery'? 'the fiery duke'? Tell the hot duke that —

No, but not yet : may be he is not well :

Infirmity doth still neglect all office

Whereto our health is bound; we are not our- selves

When nature being oppress'd commands the mind HO

To suffer with the body; I '11 forbear;

And am f all'n out with my more headier will,

To take the indisposed and sickly fit

For the sound man. [Looking on Kent] Death on my state ! wherefore

99-100; 142-147; Omitted in Qq.— I. G.

103. "commands her service"; so Qq. ; Ff ., "commands, tends, serv- ice."—I. G.

Knight retains this; we don't understand it. — H. N. H. 113. "take"; for taking.— C. H. H.

75

Act II. Sc. it. THE TRAGEDY OF

Should he sit here ? This act persuades me That this remotion of the duke and her. Is practice only. Give me my servant forth. Go tell the duke and 's wife I 'Id speak with

them, Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear

me, Or at their chamber-door I '11 beat the drum 120 Till it cry sleep to death. Glou. I would have all well betwixt you. | Exit. Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart! But

down! Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put 'em i' the paste alive ; she

124. "cockney"; Bullokar, in his Expositor, 1616, under the word Cockney, says, "It is sometimes taken for a child that is tenderly or wantonly brought up; or for one that has been brought up in some great town, and knows nothing of the country fashion. It is used also for a Londoner, or one born in or near the city; as we say, within the sound of Bow bell." The etymology, says Mr. Nares, seems most probable, which derives it from cookery. Le fays de cocagne, or coquaine, in old French, means a country of good cheer. Cocagna, in Italian, has the same meaning. Both might be derived from coquina. This famous country, if it could be found, is described as a region "where the hills were made of sugar-candy, and the loaves ran down the hills, crying, Come eat me/' Some lines in Camden's Remaines seem to make cokeney a name for London as well as its inhabitants. This Lubberland, as Florio calls it, seems to have been proverbial for the simplicity or gullibility of its inhabitants. A cockney and a ninny-hammer, or simpleton, were convertible terms. Thus Chaucer, in The Reve's Tale: "I shall be holden a daffe or a cockney." It may be observed that cockney is only a diminutive of cock: a wanton child was so called as a less circumlocutory way of saying, my little cock, or my bra-cock. Dekker, in his Newes from Hell, 1658, says, " 'Tis not our fault; but our mothers, our cockering mothers, who for their labour made us to be called cockneys." In the passages cited from the Tournament of Tottenham and Heywood it literally means a little cock.—H. N. H.

76

lING LEAR Act u. Sc. iv.

knapped 'em o' the coxcombs with a stick, and cried 'Down, wantons, down!' 'Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.

le-enter Gloucester with Cornwall, Regan, and

Servants.

\,ear. Good morrow to you both.

7om. Hail to your grace! 130

[Kent is set at liberty.

leg. I am glad to see your highness. ear. Regan, I think you are ; I know what reason I have to think so: If thou shouldst not be glad, I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, Sepulchring an adultress. [To Kent] O, are you

free? Some other time for that. Beloved Regan, Thy sister 's naught : O Regan, she hath tied Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here:

[Points to his heart. I can scarce speak to thee ; thou It not believe With how depraved a quality — O Regan ! 140

Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience : I have hope You less know how to value her desert Than she to scant her duty.

Lear. Say, how is that?

Reg. I cannot think my sister in the least

141-143. This innocent passage has been worried and persecuted vith a great deal of comment. The plain meaning of it is, — "You ess know how to value Regan's merit, than she knows how to be ranting in duty." — H. N. H.

144. This and the preceding speeches are found only in the folio. — i N. H.

77

Act II. So. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

Would fail her obligation : if, sir, perchance She have restrain'd the riots of your followers, 'Tis on such ground and to such wholesome end As clears her from all blame.

Lear. My curses on her!

Reg. O, sir, you are old;

Nature in you stands on the very verge 150

Of her confine: you should be ruled and led By some discretion that discerns your state Better than you yourself. Therefore I pray you That to our sister you do make return ; Say you have wrong'd her, sir.

Lear. Ask her forgiveness?

Do you but mark how this becomes the house : [Kneeling] 'Dear daughter, I confess that I am

old; Age is unnecessary : on my knees I beg That you '11 vouchsafe me raiment, bed and food.'

Reg. Good sir, no more ; these are unsightly tricks : Return you to my sister.

Lear. [Rising] Never Regan : 161

She hath abated me of half my train ;

155. "Say you have wrong'd her, sir"; nothing is so heart-cutting as a cold unexpected defense or palliation of a cruelty passionately complained of, or so expressive of thorough hard-heartedness. And feel the excessive horror of Regan's "O, sir! you are old"; — and then her drawing from that universal object of reverence and indulgence the very reason of her frightful conclusion: "Say, you have wrong'd her." All Lear's faults increase our pity for him. We refuse to know them otherwise than as means of his sufferings, and aggrava- tions of his daughters' ingratitude (Coleridge). — H. N. H.

156. "becomes the house"; that is, the order of families, duties of relation.— H. N. H.

158. "unnecessary" is here used in the sense of necessitous; in want of necessaries and unable to procure them. — H. N. H.

78

KING LEAR Act II. Sc. iv.

Look'd black upon me; struck me with her

tongue, Most serpent-like, upon the very heart: All the stored vengeances of heaven fall On her ingrateful top! Strike her young

bones, You taking airs, with lameness. Corn. Fie, sir, fie !

Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding

flames Into her scornful eyes. Infect her beauty, You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful

sun 170

To fall and blast her pride. Reg. O the blest gods ! so will you wish on me,

When the rash mood is on. Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse : Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give Thee o'er to harshness: her eyes are fierce, but

thine

166. "young bones"; unborn child. — C. H. H.

171. "and blast her pride"; so Qq.; Ff., "and blister"; Collier MS. and S. Walker conj. "and blast her*'; Schmidt conj. "and blister pride."— I. G.

175. "tender-hefted"; so Ff.; Qq. 2, "tender hested"; Q. 1, "teder hested"; Q. 3, "tender hasted"; Rowe (Ed. 2) and Pope, "tender- hearted," &c— I. G.

"tender-hefted" is the reading of the folio; the quartos read tender-hested. Editors have been somewhat in doubt which to pre- fer. The Poet uses hests in the sense of behests: he also has hefts in the sense of headings, as in The Winter's Tale, Act ii. sc. 1: "He cracks his gorge, his sides, with violent hefts." Mr. Collier's second folio changes the text to tender-hearted, and the same change is made in a copy of the second folio owned by Mr. Singer. "Ten- der-hearted nature" does not feel right to us. We have no doubt that tender-hefted was the Poet's word, as it gives the sense of a nature breathing or sighing tenderlv or with tenderness. — H. N. H.

79

Act II. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

Do comfort and not burn. 'Tis not in thee To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, And in conclusion to oppose the bolt 180

Against my coming in : thou better know'st The offices of nature, bond of childhood, Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude; Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot, Wherein I thee endow'd.

Reg. Good sir, to the purpose.

Lear. Who put my man i' the stocks?

[Tucket within.

Corn. What trumpet 's that?

Reg. I know't ; my sister's : this approves her letter, That she would soon be here.

Enter Oswald.

Is your lady come? Lear. This is a slave whose easy-borrow'd pride Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows. 190 Out, varlet, from my sight ! Corn. What means your grace ?

Lear. Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have good hope Thou didst not know on 't. Who comes here?

Enter Goneril.

O heavens, If you do love old men, if your sweet sway Allow obedience, if yourselves are old, Make it your cause; send down, and take my part!

80

KING LEAR Act n. Sc. ir.

[To Gon.'] Art not ashamed to look upon this beard?

0 Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand? Gon. Why not by the hand, sir? How have I

offended ?

All 's not offense that indiscretion finds 200

And dotage terms so. Lear. O sides, you are too tough;

Will you yet hold? How came my man i' the stocks? Corn. I set him there, sir : but his own disorders

Deserved much less advancement. Lear. You! did you?

Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.

If, till the expiration of your month,

You will return and sojourn with my sister,

Dismissing half your train, come then to me:

1 am now from home and out of that provision Which shall be needful for your entertainment.

Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd? 211 No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To wage against the enmity o' the air, To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, — Necessity's sharp pinch! Return with her? Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless

took Our youngest born, I could as well be brought To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg To keep base life afoot. Return with her?

205. Since you are weak, be content to think yourself so. — H. N. H.

215. The words, "necessity's sharp finch!" appear to be the re- flection of Lear on the wretched sort of existence he had described in the preceding lines. — H. N. H.

XXVI—6 81

Act ii. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter To this detested groom. [Pointing at Oswald.

Gon. At your choice, sir. 221

Lear. I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad: I will not trouble thee, my child ; farewell : We '11 no more meet, no more see one another: But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daugh- ter; Or rather a disease that 's in my flesh, Which I must needs call mine : thou art a boil, A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle, In my corrupted blood. But 1 11 not chide

thee; Let shame come when it will, I do not call it : 230 I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, Nor tell tales of thee to high- judging Jove: Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure: I can be patient ; I can stay with Regan, I and my hundred knights.

Reg. Not altogether so :

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sis- ter; For those that mingle reason with your passion Must be content to think you old, and so — But she knows what she does.

Lear. Is this well spoken?

Reg. I dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty followers? 241 Is it not well? What should you need of more? Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and dan- ger

82

KING LEAR Act II. Sc. iv.

Speak 'gainst so great a number? How in one

house Should many people under two commands Hold amity? 'Tis hard, almost impossible. Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive attend- ance From those that she calls servants or from mine? Reg. Why not, my lord? If then they chanced to slack you, We could control them. If you will come to me, 250

For now I spy a danger, I entreat you To bring but five and twenty : to no more Will I give place or notice. Lear. I gave you all —

Reg. And in good time you gave it.

Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries, But kept a reservation to be f ollow'd With such a number. What, must I come to you

254. "And in good time you gave it"; observe what a compact wolfishness of heart is expressed in these few cold and steady words ! It is chiefly in this readiness of envenomed sarcasm that Regan is discriminated from Goneril: otherwise they seem almost too much like mere repetitions of each other to come fairly within the circle of nature, who never repeats herself. Yet their very agreement in temper and spirit only makes them the fitter for the work they do. For the sameness of treatment thence proceeding renders their course the more galling and unbearable, by causing it to appear the result of a set purpose, a conspiracy coolly formed and unrelentingly pur- sued. That they should lay on their father the blame of their own ingratitude, and stick their poisoned tongues into him under pre- tense of doing him good, is a further refinement of cruelty, not more natural to them than tormenting to him. On the whole, it is not easy to imagine how creatures could be framed more apt to drive mad anyone who had set his heart on receiving any comfort or kindness from them. — H. N. H.

83

Act ft. Sc tt. THE TRAGEDY OF

With five and twenty, Regan? said you so? Reg. And speak '1 again, my lord; no more with

me. Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well- favor'd, 26°

When others are more wicked; not being the

worst Stands in some rank of praise. [To Gon.~\ I '11

go with thee : Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty, And thou art twice her love. Gon. Hear me, my lord:

What need you five and twenty, ten, or five, To follow in a house where twice so many Have a command to tend you? Reg. What need one?

Lear. O, reason not the need : our basest beggars Are in the poorest thing superfluous : Allow not nature more than nature needs, 270 Man's life 's as cheap as beast's: thou art a lady; If only to go warm were gorgeous, Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous

wear'st, Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But for true

need, — You heavens, give me that patience, patience I

need! You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age ; wretched in both :

268. "O, reason not the need"; observe, that the tranquillity which follows the first stunning of the blow oermits Lear to reason (Cole- ridge).—H. N. H.

84

KING LEAR Act II. Sc. iv.

If it be you that stirs these daughters' hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely ; touch me with noble anger, And let not woman's weapons, water-drops, 281 Stain my man's cheeks! No, you unnatural

hags, I will have such revenges on you both That all the world shall — I will do such

things, — What they are, yet I know not, but they shall be The terrors of the earth. You think I '11 weep ; No, I '11 not weep :

I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, Or ere I '11 weep. O fool, I shall go mad ! 290 [Exeunt Lear, Gloucester, Kent, and Fool. Corn. Let us withdraw; 'twill be a storm.

[Storm and tempest. Reg. This house is little : the old man and his peo- ple Cannot be well bestow'd. Gon. 'Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest, And must needs taste his folly. Reg. For his particular, I '11 receive him gladly,

But not one follower. Gon. So am I purposed.

Where is my lord of Gloucester? Corn. Follow'd the old man forth : he is return'd.

Re-enter Gloucester.

Glou. The king is in high rage.

85

Act II. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

Corn. Whither is he going? 300

Glou. He calls to horse; but will I know not

whither. Corn. 'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself. Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay. Glou. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about There 's scarce a bush. Reg. O, sir, to willful men

The injuries that they themselves procure Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your

doors : He is attended with a desperate train ; And what they may incense him to, being apt To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear. 311 Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord; 'tis a wild night : My Regan counsels well : come out o' the storm.

[Exeunt.

300. "whither is he going?"; this question, and the words, "He calls to horse" of Gloucester's reply, are found only in the folio. — H. N. H.

304. "bleak"; so Qq.; Ff., "high."— I. G.

305. "Do sorely ruffle"; thus the folio. The quartos read, "Do sorely russel," that is, rustle. But ruffle is most probably the true reading. — H. N. H.

86

KING LEAR Act ill. Sc. i.

i ACT THIRD

Scene I

A heath. Storm still Enter Kent and a Gentleman,

meeting.

Rent. Who 's there, besides foul weather?

Gent. One minded like the weather, most unquietly.

Kent. I know you. Where 's the king?

Gent. Contending with the fretful elements ; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, That things might change or cease; tears his

white hair, Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, Catch in their fury, and make nothing of; Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn 10 The to-and- fro-conflicting wind and rain. This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would

couch, The lion and the belly-pinched wolf Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, And bids what will take all.

6. The "main" seems to signify here the main land, the continent. So in Bacon's Wars with Spain: "In 1589 we turned challengers, and invaded the main of Spain." This interpretation sets the two objects of Lear's desire in proper opposition to each other. He wishes for the destruction of the world, either by the winds blow- ing the land into the water, or raising the waters so as to over- whelm the land.— H. N. H.

7-15; omitted in the Folios. — I. G.

87

Act ill. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

Kent. But who is with him?

Gent. None but the fool; who labors to out-jest

His heart-struck injuries. Kent. Sir, I do know you ;

And dare, upon the warrant of my note, Commend a dear thing to you. There is divi- sion, Although as yet the face of it be cover'd 20 With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Corn- wall; Who have — as who have not, that their great

stars Throned and set high? — servants, who seem no

less, Which are to France the spies and speculations

18. "warrant of my note"; so in the folio; meaning, of course, my knowledge or observation of your character. The quartos read, "warrant of my art"; which some editors prefer, explaining it "my skill to find the mind's construction in the face" But it appears that Kent "knoics his man," and therefore has no occasion to use the art or skill in question. — H. N. H.

22-29; ii. 80-97; iv. 17-18; 26-27; 37-38; vi. 14-17; 93; omitted in the Quartos. — I. G.

22. This and seven following lines are not in the quartos. The lines lower down, from "But, true it is," to the end of the speech, are not in the folio. So that if the speech be read with omission of the former, it will stand according to the first edition; and if the former lines are read, and the latter omitted, it will then stand according to the second. The second edition is generally best, and was probably nearest to Shakespeare's last copy: but in this speech the first is preferable; for in the folio the messenger is sent, he knows not why, nor whither. — H. N. H.

24, 25. "which . . . state"; that is, "who seem the servants of Albany and Cornwall, but are really engaged in the service of France as spies, having knowledge of our state; of what hath been seen here," &c. The original has speculations instead of speculators. The change is confidently proposed by Mr. Singer, who found it written in his copy of the second folio. Of course, speculator is

88

KING LEAR Act ill. Sc. L

Intelligent of our state ; what hath been seen, Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes, Or the hard rain which both of them have borne Against the old kind king, or something deeper, Whereof perchance these are but furnishings, — But true it is, from France there comes a power Into this scatter'd kingdom; who already, 31 Wise in our negligence, have secret feet In some of our best ports, and are at point To show their open banner. Now to you: If on my credit you dare build so far To make your speed to Dover, you shall find Some that will thank you, making just report Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow The king hath cause to plain. I am a gentleman of blood and breeding, 40 And from some knowledge and assurance offer This office to you.

Gent. I will talk further with you.

Kent. No, do not.

For confirmation that I am much more Than my out-wall, open this purse and take What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia, — As fear not but you shall, — show her this ring, And she will tell you who your fellow is

used in the sense of an observer, one who has "speculation in his eyes."— H. N. H.

29. That is, whereof these things are but the trimmings or ap- pendages; not the thing itself, but only the circumstances or fur- niture of the thing. The word is commonly explained as meaning a sample Or specimen; which is contradicted by the use of something deeper; for the things in question could not well be a sample of something deeper than themselves. Mr. Collier's second folio changes furnishings to flourishings. No change is needed. — H. N. H.

89

Act ill. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY OF

That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm !

I will go seek the king. 50

Gent. Give me your hand :

Have you no more to say? Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet ;

That when we have found the king, — in which your pain

That way, I '11 this, — he that first lights on him

Holla the other. [Exeunt severally.

Scene II

Another part of the heath. Storm still. Enter Lear and Fool.

Lear. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage!

blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown 'd

the cocks ! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking

thunder, Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's molds, all germins spill at once That make ingrateful man!

52. "UT; as to.— C. H. H.

7. "smite"; so Qq.; Ff., "strike."— I. G.

8. There is a parallel passage in The Winter's Tale: "Let nature crush the sides o'the earth together, and mar the seeds within." See Macbeth, Act iv. sc. 1.— H. N. H.

9. "make"; Ff., "makes."— I. G.

90

KING LEAR Act in. Sc. ii.

Fool. O nuncle, court holy- water in a dry house 10 is better than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing : here 's a night pities neither wise man nor fool.

Lear. Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain. Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daugh- ters: I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, You owe me no subscription : then let fall Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand, your slave, A poor, infirm, weak and despised old man : 21 But yet I call you servile ministers,

14. These speeches of Lear amid the tempest contain, we think, the grandest exhibition of creative power to be met with. They seem spun out of the very nerves and sinews of the storm. It is the instinct of strong passion to lay hold of whatever objects and occurrences lie nearest at hand, and twist itself a language out of them, incorporating itself with their substance, and reproducing them charged with its own life. To Lear, accordingly, and to us in his presence, the storm becomes all expressive of filial ingrat- itude; seems spitting its fire, and spouting its water, and hurling its blasts against him. Thus the terrific energies and hostilities of external nature take all their meaning from his mind; and we think of them only as the willing agents or instruments of his daughter's malice, leagued in sympathy with them, and so taking their part in the controversy. In this power of imagination, thus seizing and crushing the embattled elements into its service, there is a sublimity almost too vast for the thoughts. Observe, too, how the thread of association between moral and material nature con- ducts Lear to the strain of half-insane, half-inspired moralizing in his next speech but one, closing with the pathetic exception of himself from the list of those to whom the tempest speaks as a preacher of repentance and "judgment to come." — H. N. H.

22. "have . . . foin'd"; the reading of Qq.; Ff. read "will • . . join." — I. G.

91

Act in. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY OF

That have with two pernicious daughters join'd Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul! Wool. He that has a house to put 's head in has a good head-piece.

The cod-piece that will house

Before the head has any, The head and he shall louse 30

So beggars marry many. The man that makes his toe

What he his heart should make Shall of a corn cry woe, And turn his sleep to wake. For there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass. Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience ; I will say nothing.

Enter Kent.

Kent. Who's there? 40

Fool. Marry, here 's grace and a cod-piece ;

that 's a wise man and a fool. Kent. Alas, sir, are you here? things that love night Love not such nights as these ; the wrathful skies Gallow the very wanderers of the dark, And make them keep their caves: since I was man,

37. "No, I will be the pattern of all patience" ; cp. the description of Leir by Perillus in the old play: — "But he, the rnyrrour of mild patience, Puts up all wrongs, and never gives reply " — I. G.

41. "grace and a cod-piece" ; meaning the king himself. The king's grace was the usual expression in Shakespeare's time: perhaps the latter phrase alludes to the saying of a contemporary wit, that there is no discretion below the girdle. — H. N. H.

92

KING LEAR Act III. Sc. ii.

Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thun- der, Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never Remember to have heard: man's nature cannot carry The affliction nor the fear. Lear. Let the great gods, 50

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou

wretch, That hast within the undivulged crimes, Unwhipp'd of justice: hide thee, thou bloody

hand; Thou perjured, and thou simular man of virtue That art incestuous : caitiff, to pieces shake, That under covert and convenient seeming Hast practised on man's life: close pent-up

guilts, Rive your concealing continents and cry 59 These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man More sinn'd against than sinning. Kent. Alack, bare-headed!

Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel; Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tem- pest: Repose you there ; while I to this hard house — More harder than the stones whereof 'tis raised;

59, 60. "continent" for that which contains or encloses. Thus in Antony and Cleopatra: "Heart, once be stronger than thy continent.'* The quartos read, concealed centers. — "Summoners" are officers that summon offenders before a proper tribunal. — H. N. H.

65. "More harder than the stones"; so Ff.; Qq., "More hard then is the stone." — I. G.

93

Act in. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Which even but now, demanding after you,

Denied me to come in — return, and force

Their scanted courtesy. Lear. My wits begin to turn.

Come on, my boy: how dost, my boy? art cold?

I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fel- low? ™

The art of our necessities is strange,

That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel.

Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart

That 's sorry yet for thee. Fool. [Singing]

He that has and a little tiny wit, —

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, —

Must make content with his fortunes fit,

For the rain it raineth every day. Lear. True, my good boy. Come, bring us to this hovel. [Exeunt Lear and Kent.

Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtezan. 80

I '11 speak a prophecy ere I go :

When priests are more in word than matter ; When brewers mar their malt with water; When nobles are their tailors' tutors; No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors ;

74. "That's sorry"; so Ff.; Qq., "That sorrowes."—!. G. 75-78. Cp. Clown's song in Twelfth Night, V. i. 407.— 1. G. 80-96. This is wanting in Qq., and probably spurious. — C. H. H. 82. A parody of the then familiar verses known as "Chaucer's Prophesy." Lines 92, 93 there appear as: —

Then shall the realm of Albion Be brought to great confusion. — C. H. H. 94

ING LEAR Act III. Sc. iiL

When every case in law is right ;

No squire in debt, nor no poor knight ;

When slanders do not live in tongues,

Nor cutpurses come not to throngs;

When usurers tell their gold i' the field, 90

And bawds and whores do churches build.

Then shall the realm of Albion

Come to great confusion:

Then comes the time, who lives to see 't,

That going shall be used with feet.

his prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live be- fore his time. [Exit.

Scene III

Gloucester s castle. Enter Gloucester and Edmund.

Hou. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this un- natural dealing. When I desired their leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine own house ; charged me, on pain of their perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, nor any way sustain him.

fdm. Most savage and unnatural!

96. "I live before his time" ; according to the legend, Lear was ntemporary with Joash, King of Judah. The whole prophecy, lich does not occur in the Quartos, was probably an interpolation, ?ked on by the actor who played the fool. The passage is an

itation of some lines formerly attributed to Chaucer, called

haucer's Prophecy." — I. G.

95

Act in. Sc. i*, THE TRAGEDY OB

Glou. Go to; say you nothing. There 's a divi- sion betwixt the dukes, and a worse matter 10 than that : I have received a letter this night ; 'tis dangerous to be spoken ; I have locked the letter in my closet: these injuries the king now bears will be revenged home; there is part of a power already footed ; we must in- cline to the king. I will seek him and privily relieve him: go you, and maintain talk with the duke, that my charity be not of him per- ceived : if he ask for me, I am ill and gone to bed. Though I die for it, as no less is 20 threatened me, the king my old master must be relieved. There is some strange thing toward, Edmund ; pray you, be careful. [Exit.

Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke Instantly know, and of that letter too: This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me That which my father loses ; no less than all : The younger rises when the old doth fall.

[Exit

Scene IV

The heath. Before a hovel.

Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.

Kent. Here is the place, my lord: good my lordf enter : The tyranny of the open night 's too rough

15. "footed"; the quartos read, landed.— H. N. H.

16. "seek"; so the quartos; the folio has "look him."— H. N. H.

96

NG LEAR Act in. Sc. iv.

For nature to endure. [Storm still.

ir. Let me alone.

\it. Good my lord, enter here.

ir. Wilt break my heart?

\it. I had rather break mine own. Good my

lord, enter. ir. Thou think 'st 'tis much that this contentious

storm Invades us to the skin : so 'tis to thee ; But where the greater malady is fix'd The lesser is scarce felt. Thou 'ldst shun a

bear, But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea 10 Thou 'ldst meet the bear i' the mouth. When

the mind 's free The body 's delicate : the tempest in my mind Doth from my senses take all feeling else Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude! Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand For lifting food to 't? But I will punish home

"contentious"; so Ff.; Q. 1 (some copies), "tempestious"; Qq. and Q. 1 (some copies), "crulentious." — I. G.

"raging"; so in two of the quartos; in the other quarto and if olio, "roaring sea." — We will here subjoin Coleridge's remarks jhis scene: "O, what a world's convention of agonies is here! I external nature in a storm, all moral nature convulsed, — the I madness of Lear, the feigned madness of Edgar, the babbling lie Fool, the desperate fidelity of Kent, — surely such a scene was r conceived before or since! Take it but as a picture for the (only, it is more terrific than any which a Michael Angelo, in- d by a Dante, could have conceived, and which none but a lael Angelo could have executed. Or let it have been uttered le blind, the howlings of nature would seem converted into the ; of conscious humanity. This scene ends with the first symp-

of positive derangement; and the intervention of the fifth a is particularly judicious; the interruption allowing an interval Lear to appear in full madness in the sixth scene." — H. N. H.

XXVI— a 97

ot

Act III. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY

No, I will weep no more. In such a night To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure. In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril! Your old kind father, whose frank heart gavl you all, — 2

O, that way madness lies; let me shun that; No more of that.

Kent. Good my lord, enter here.

Lear. Prithee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease: This tempest will not give me leave to ponder On things would hurt me more. But I '11 go ill [To the Fool] In, boy; go first. You houseles

poverty, — Nay, get thee in. I '11 pray, and then I '11 sleej

[Fool goes in Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, 3 How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defenj you I

From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou may st shake the superflux to them And show the heavens more just.

\Edg. [ Within] Fathom and half, fathom and hal^ Poor Tom ! [The Fool runs out from the hove\

18. This line is not in the quartos. — H. N. H. 26. This line and the next are only in the folio.— H. N. H. 29. "storm"; so Qq.; Ff., "night."— I. G.

37. This speech of Edgar's is not in the quartos. He gives th sign used by those who are sounding the depth at sea.— H. N. H. I

98

NG LEAR Act III. Sc. iv.

wl. Come not in here, nuncle, here 's a spirit. Help me, help me ! 40

\ent. Give me thy hand. Who 's there?

!ool. A spirit, a spirit : he says his name 's poor Tom. ent. What art thou that dost grumble there i' the straw? Come forth.

Enter Edgar disguised as a madman.

dg. Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! 'Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold

wind.' Hum ! go to thy cold bed and warm thee.

ear. Hast thou given all to thy two daugh- ters ? and art thou come to this ?

dg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom 50 the foul fiend hath led through fire and

16. "Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind" probably

burden of an old song. — I. G. ft. The folio omits the word "cold," both in this and the preceding es: "Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee," occurs again in The> vming of the Shrew. In the next speech, also, the folio reads, >idst thou give all to thy daughters?" — Coleridge remarks upon the itter of this scene as follows: "Edgar's assumed madness serves ; great purpose of taking off part of the shock which would other- jse be caused by the true madness of Lear, and further displays p profound difference between the two. In every attempt at rep- jsenting madness throughout the whole range of dramatic literature, th the single exception of Lear, it is mere light-headedness, es- cially in Otway. In Edgar's ravings Shakespeare all the while :s you see a fixed purpose, a practical end in view; — in Lear's, ere is only the brooding of the one anguish, an eddy without ogression." — H. N. H.

1 51. "the foul fiend"; alluding to the ignis fatuus, supposed to be hts kindled by mischievous beings to lead travelers into destruction. H. N. H.

99

'Act III. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY Ol

through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire ; that hath laid knives under his pillow and halters in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge; made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. Bless thy five wits! Tom 's a-cold. O, do de, do de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds, starblasting, | and taking! Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have him now, and there, and there again, and there. [Storm stil

Lear. What, have his daughters brought him t

this pass? Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou giv

them all? Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had

been all shamed. Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendulou

air Hang fated o'er men's faults light on th

daughters !

53-54. "knives tinder his pillow and halters in his pew" (to temp him to suicide). Theobald pointed out that the allusion is to 3 incident mentioned in Harsnet's Declaration. — I. G.

58. "five wits"; the five senses were formerly called the five wits.^ H. N. H.

59. "O, do, de"; these syllables are probably meant to represei the chattering of one who shivers with cold. — H. N. H.

61. "taking"; to take is to strike with malignant influence. So i Act ii. sc. 4, of this play: "Strike her young bones, you taking air with lameness!" See, also, The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act iv. si 4.— H. N. H.

65. "What!" is wanting in the folio. And in the next line tr folio has would'st instead of "didst."— H. N. H.

100

ING LEAR Act in. Sc. iv.

eni. He hath no daughters, sir. 70

tear. Death, traitor! nothing could have subdued nature To such a lowness but his unkind daughters. Is it the fashion that discarded fathers Should have thus little mercy on their flesh? Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh begot Those pelican daughters.

"dg. Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill :

Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!

^ool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen. 80

Vdg. Take heed o' the foul fiend: obey thy parents; keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with man's sworn spouse ; set not thy sweet heart on proud array. Tom 's a-cold.

r^ear. What hast thou been?

Hdg. A serving-man, proud in heart and mind ; that curled my hair ; wore gloves in my cap ; served the lust of my mistress' heart and did the act of darkness with her ; swore as many 90 oaths as I spake words and broke them in the sweet face of heaven: one that slept in the

77, 78. In illustration of this, Mr. Halliwell has pointed out the bllowing couplet in Ritson's Gammer Gurton's Garland:

"Pillycock, Pillycock sat on a hill; If he's not gone, he sits there still."

He adds, that the meaning of Pillicock is found in manuscripts of is early a date as the thirteenth century. Cotgrave interprets "Mow, Furelureau, My Pillicock, my pretty knave." Killico is one of the levils mentioned in Harsnet's book. — H. N. H.

82. "thy word justly"; Pope's emendation; Qq. read, "thy word* iustly"; F. 1, "thy words Iustice/'—I. G.

101

-I

Act in. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY O

contriving of lust and waked to do it : wine loved I deeply, dice dearly, and in woman out-paramoured the Turk: false of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling of silks betray thy poor heart to woman : keep thy foot out of 100 brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend. 'Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind.' Says suum, mun, ha, no, nonny. Dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa ! let him trot by. !

[Storm still. Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy uncovered body this ex- tremity of the skies. Is man no more than

95-98. "false . . . prey"; "Shortly after they [the seven spirits] were all cast forth, and in such manner as Ma. Edmunds directed them, which was, that every devil should depart in some certaine forme, representing either a beast or some other creature that had the resemblance of that sinne whereof he was the chief author: whereupon the spirit of Pride departed in the forme of a peacock; the spirit of Sloth in the likeness of an asse; the spirit of Envie in the similitude of a dog; the spirit of Gluttony in \he form of a wolfe; and the other devils had also in their departure their particular likenesses agreeable to their natures" (Harsnet's Declaration). — H. N. H.

101. A placket is a covering for the breast. See The Winter's Tale, Act iv. sc. 3.— H. N. H.

105. "sessa"; Malone's emendation; F. 1, "Sesey"; Q. 1, "caese"; Q. 2, "cease"; Capell, "sesse," &c— I. G.

"sessa" means cease, be quiet; so used by Sly in The Taming of the Shrew, Induction, sc. 1. The ballad represents that the French king, unwilling to put the Dauphin's courage to trial, keeps objecting to the champions that appear, and repeats every time the first of the lines quoted; and at last has a dead body propped up against a tree, for him to try his valor upon. — H. N. H.

102

ING LEAR Act III. Sc. iv.

this? Consider him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep HO no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha ! here 's three on 's are sophisticated. Thou art the thing itself : unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings! come, unbutton here. [Tearing off his clothes,

ool. Prithee, nuncle, be contented; 'tis a naughty night to swim in. Now a little fire in a wild field were like an old lecher's heart, a small spark, all the rest on 's body cold. 120 Look, here comes a walking fire.

Enter Gloucester,, with a torch.

Idg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins at curfew and walks till the first cock ; he gives the web and the pin, squints the eye

112. "three on's"; meaning, probably, himself, Kent, and the Fool; id they three are sophisticated out of nature in wearing clothes, herefore, to become unsophisticated, he will off with his "lendings," id be as Edgar is. — H. N. H.

118. "naughty" signifies bad, unfit, improper. This epithet, which, j it stands here, excites a smile, in the age of Shakespeare was biployed on serious occasions. — H. N. H.

! 122. "Flibbertigibbet" ; the name of this fiend, and most of the lends mentioned by Edgar were found in Bishop Harsnet's book, imong those which the Jesuits, about the time of the Spanish in- asion, pretended to cast out, for the purpose of making converts: Frateretto, Fliberdigibet, Hoberdidance, Tocobatto, were four devils f the round or morrice. These four had forty assistants under tiem, as themselves doe confesse." Flebergibbe is used by Latimer or a sycophant. And Cotgrave explains Coquette by a Flebergibet r Titifill. It was an old tradition that spirits were relieved from onfinement at the time of curfew, that is, at the close of the day, nd were permitted to wander at large till the first cock-crowing, lence, in The Tempest, they are said to "rejoice to hear the solemn urfew."— H. N. H.

103

Act in. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY cj

and makes the hare-lip; mildews the white wheat and hurts the poor creature of earth.

Saint Withold footed thrice the 'old; He met the night-mare and her nine-fold;

Bid her alight,

And her troth plight, 13^

And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!

Kent. How fares your grace?

Lear. What 's he?

Kent. Who 's there? What is 't you seek?

Glou. What are you there? Your names?

Edg. Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt and the water ; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog ; 14Q drinks the green mantle of the standing pool ; who is whipped from tithing to tithing,

127-131. In the old copies "S. Withold" is contracted into Swithold In 2 Henry IV, Act iii. sc. 2, we are told of "Will Squele a Cotswolc man." Who St. Withold was, or was supposed to have been, is un- certain. "Nine- fold" is put for nine foals, to rhyme with wold. Th< "troth-plight" here referred to was meant as a charm against the1 night-mare. — There is some diversity of opinion as to the origin an<$ meaning of "aroint." See Macbeth, Act i. sc. 3. "Aroint thee, witch," seems there to have been used as a charm against witchcraft^ and the angry threatenings of the Witch at having it pronounced} to her by the "rump-fed ronyon" looks as if she had been baffled by it. And we learn from Wilbraham's Glossary of Cheshire words, that "rynt thee" is used by milk-maids when the cows are supposed to be bewitched, and will not stand still. So that the more likely meaning seems to be, stand off or begone; something like the "get thee behind me," of Scripture. — H. N. H.

142. "from tithing to tithing" is from parish to parish. The severities inflicted on the wretched beings, one of whom Edgar is here personating, are set forth in Harrison's Description of England, published with Holinshed's Chronicle: "The rogue being appre-

104

:iNG LEAR Act in. Sc. iv.

and stock-punished, and imprisoned; who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, horse to ride and weapon to wear ;

But mice and rats and such small deer Have been Tom's food for seven long year. Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!

rlou. What, hath your grace no better com- pany ? 150

Vdg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman: Modo he 's call'd, and Mahu.

rlou. Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord, That it doth hate what gets it.

fdg. Poor Tom 's a-cold.

tIou. Go in with me : my duty cannot suffer To obey in all your daughters' hard commands : Though their injunction be to bar my doors And let this tyrannous night take hold upon

you, Yet have I ventured to come seek you out 160 And bring you where both fire and food is ready.

[jear. First let me talk with this philosopher. What is the cause of thunder?

ended, committed to prison, and tried at the next assizes, if he e convicted for a vagabond, he is then adjudged to be grievously- hipped, and burned through the gristle of the right ear with a hoc :on, as a manifestation of his wicked life, and due punishment rec- eived for the same. If he be taken the second time, he shall theik e whipped again," etc. — H. N. H. 146, 147. Cp. The Romance of Sir Bevis of Hamptoun; —

"Rattes and myce and suche small dere, Was his meate that seuen yere" — I. G.

11 F 105

•

Act ill. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY O:

Kent. Good my lord, take his offer; go into th

house.

Lear. I '11 talk a word with this same learned Theban. What is your study? Edg. How to prevent the fiend and to kill vermi Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. Kent. Importune him once more to go, my lord ;

His wits begin to unsettle. Glou. Canst thou blame him? 17<j

[Storm stilu His daughters seek his death: ah, that gooq

Kent! He said it would be thus, poor banish'd man! Thou say'st the king grows mad; I '11 tell thee,

friend, I am almost mad myself: I had a son, Now outlaw'd from my blood; he sought my

life, But lately, very late: I loved him, friend, No father his son dearer: truth to tell thee,

170. "his wits begin to unsettle"; Lord Orford has the following in the postscript to his Mysterious Mother: "When Belvidera talks oi lutes, laurels, seas of milk, and ships of Amber, she is not mad, but light-headed. When madness has taken possession of a person, such character ceases to be fit for the stage, or at least should appeal there but for a short time; it being the business of the theatre tc exhibit passions, not distempers. The finest picture ever drawn oi a head discomposed by misfortune is that of King Lear. Hij thoughts dwell on the ingratitude of his daughters, and every sen- tence that falls from his wildness excites reflection and pity. Hac* frenzy entirely seized him, our compassion would abate; we shoulc conclude that he no longer felt unhappiness. Shakespeare wrote aj a philosopher, Otway as a poet." — H. N. H.

106

ING LEAR Act III. Sc. iv.

The grief hath crazed my wits. What a night 's

this! I do beseech your grace, — ear. O, cry you mercy, sir.

Noble philosopher, your company. 180

Idg. Tom 's a-cold. lou. In, fellow, there, into the hovel: keep thee

warm. jear. Come, let 's in all. lent. This way, my lord.

tear. With him;

I will keep still with my philosopher. Cent. Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the

fellow. lou. Take him you on. Cent. Sirrah, come on; go along with us. ^ear. Come, good Athenian. flou. No words, no words : hush. rdg. Child Rowland to the dark tower came : 190

190-192. "Child Rowland to the dark tower came," &c. Jamieson, i his Illustrations of Northern Antiquities (1814) has preserved he story as told him by a tailor in his youth; this Scottish Version as since been reprinted and studied (Cp. Childs' English and Scot' ish Ballads, and Jacob's English Fairy Tales). — I. G.

In the second part of Jack and the Giants, which, if not older han the play, may have been compiled from something that was o, are the following, spoken by a giant:

"Fee, faw, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman: Be he alive, or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make my bread."

Ihild Rowland, it appears, was the youngest son of King Arthur. I^apell thinks a line has been lost, "which spoke of some giant, :he inhabitant of that tower, and the smeller-out of Child Row- and, who comes to encounter him"; and he proposes to fill up the sassage thus:

107

Act in. Sc. v. THE TRAGEDY O

1

His word was still Tie, foh, and fum, I smell the blood of a British man/

[Exeunt

Scene V

Gloucester's castle. Enter Cornwall and Edmund.

Corn. I will have my revenge ere I depart his house.

Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think of.

Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether your brother's evil disposition made him seek his death, but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reprovable badness in himself.

Edm. How malicious is my fortune, that I 9 must repent to be just! This is the letter he spoke of, which approves him an intelli- gent party to the advantages of France.

"Child Rowland to the dark tower came; The giant roar'd, and out he ran: His word was still, — Fie, foh, and fum, I smell the blood of a British man."— H. N. H.

191. "His word was still" refers, of course, to the giant, and nol to Childe Rowland. The same story (with the refrain Fee fo fum Here is the Englishman) is alluded to in Peele's Old Wives Tale, and it is just possible that it may be the ultimate original of the plot of Milton's Comus (v. Preface, on British for English). — I. G

8. "a provoking merit"; Cornwall seems to mean the merit of Ed- mund; which, being noticed by Gloster, provoked or instigated Edgar to seek his father's death.— H. N. H.

108

ING LEAR Act ill. Sc. vi.

0 heavens! that this treason were not, or not

1 the detector!

rn. Go with me to the duchess.

Im. If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in hand.

rn. True or false, it hath made thee earl of Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, 20 that he may be ready for our apprehension.

Im. [Aside] If I find him comforting the king, it will stuff his suspicion more fully. — I will persever in my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore between that and my blood.

*rn. I will lay trust upon thee, and thou shalt find a dearer father in my love. [Exeunt.

Scene VI

chamber in a farmhouse adjoining the castle, nter Gloucester, Lear, Kent, Fool and Edgar.

lou. Here is better than the open air; take it thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what addition I can : I will not be long from you.

ent. All the power of his wits have given way to his impatience: the gods reward your kindness ! [Exit Gloucester.

k, 28. So the quartos; the folio has dear instead of dearer. — N. H.

109

Act in. Sc. vi. THE TRAGEDY 0)

Edg. Frateretto calls me, and tells me Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, in- nocent, and beware the foul fiend.

Fool. Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a mad- man be a gentleman or a yeoman.

Lear. A king, a king!

Fool. No, he 's a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son, for he 's a mad yeoman that sees his son a gentleman before him.

Lear. To have a thousand with red burning spil Come hissing in upon 'em, —

Edg. The foul fiend bites my back.

Fool. He 's mad that trusts in the tameness of a I wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath.

Lear. It shall be done; I will arraign them straight. [To Edgar] Come, sit thou here, most

learned justicer; [To the Fool] Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she foxes!

8. "Nero is an angler"; Rabelais says that Nero was a fiddler hell, and Trajan an angler. The history of Garagantua had a peared in English before 1575, being mentioned in Laneham's Lett from Killingworth, printed in that year. — H. N. H.

19-60. Omitted in the Folios.— I. G.

21. "a horse's health"; so in all the old copies. Several comme tators are very positive it should be "a horse's heels," there being i old proverb in Ray's Collection, — "Trust not a horse's heels, nor dog's tooth." But men that way skilled know it is about as unsa to trust in the soundness of a horse, as in the .other things me tioned by the Fool.— H. N. H.

24. "justicer" is the older and better word for what we now call justice. See Cymbeline, Act v. sc. 5. The old copies have justi here; but the change is warranted by "false justicer" a little aft< — H. N. H.

110

KING LEAR Act in. Sc. vi.

Edg. Look, where he stands and glares! Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam? Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me. Fool. Her boat hath a leak,

And she must not speak 30

Why she dares not come over to thee. Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for two white herring. Croak not, black angel ; I have no food for thee. Kent. How do you, sir ? Stand you not so amazed : Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions? Lear. I '11 see their trial first. Bring in the evi- dence. [To Edgar] Thou robed man of justice, take

thy place ; [To the Fool] And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, 40

Bench by his side. [To Kent] You are o' the

commission ; Sit you too.

26, 27. When Edgar says, "Look, where he stands and glares!" he seems to be speaking in the character of a madman, who thinks he sees the fiend. "Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam?" is a ques- tion addressed to some visionary spectator, and may mean no more than "Do you want eyes when you should use them most, that you cannot see his specter?" — H. N. H.

28. "Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me." Mr. Chappell (Popular Music of the Olden Time, p. 305, note) says, "The allusion is to an English ballad by William Birch, entitled, 'A Songe betwene the Quene's Majestie and England,' a copy of which is in the library of the Society of Antiquaries. England commences the dialogue, inviting Queen Elizabeth in the following words: —

"Come over the born, Bessy, come over the born, Bessy, Swete Bessy, come over to me." The date of Birch's song is 1558, and it is printed in full in the Harleian Miscellany, X. 260. — I. G.

Ill

Act in. Sc. vi. THE TRAGEDY OF

Edg. Let us deal justly.

Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd:

Thy sheep be in the corn ; And for one blast of thy minikin mouth, Thy sheep shall take no harm.

Pur! the cat is gray. Lear. Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I here

take my oath before this honorable assembly, 50

she kicked the poor king her father. Fool. Come hither, mistress. Is your name

Goneril ? Lear. She cannot deny it.

Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint- stool. Lear. And here 's another, whose warp'd looks pro- claim

What store her heart is made on. Stop her there !

Arms, arms, sword, fire! Corruption in the place !

False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape? 60 Edg. Bless thy five wits ! Kent. O pity! Sir, where is the patience now,

That vou so oft have boasted to retain? Edg. [Aside] My tears begin to take his part so much,

They '11 mar my counterfeiting. Lear. The little dogs and all,

44-47. Put into verse by Theobald. Steevens quotes a line from an old song,

"Sleepeyst thou, wakyst thou, Jefery Coke," found in The Interlude of the Four Elements (1519).— I. G.

112

KING LEAR Act in. Sc. vi.

Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me. Edg. Tom will throw his head at them. Avaunt, you curs !

Be thy mouth or black or white, 70

Tooth that poisons if it bite; Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, Hound or spaniel, brach or lym, Or bobtail tike or trundle-tail, Tom will make them weep and wail: For, with throwing thus my head, Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.

80

Do de, de, de. Sessa! Come, march to wakes and fairs and market-towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.

Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan ; see what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts? [To Edgar] You, sir, I entertain for one of my hundred; only I do not like the fash- ion of your garments. You will say they are Persian attire; but let them be changed.

Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.

Lear. Make no noise, make no noise; draw the 90 curtains : so, so, so. We '11 go to supper i' the morning. So, so, so.

80. "Thy horn is dry." "A horn was usually carried about by every Tom of Bedlam, to receive such drink as the charitable might afford him, with whatever scraps of food they might give him" (Malone), &c— I. G.

XXVI— 8 H3

Act in. Sc. vi. THE TRAGEDY OF

Fool. And I '11 go to bed at noon.

Re-enter Gloucester. Glou. Come hither, friend: where is the king my

master? Kent. Here, sir; but trouble him not: his wits are

gone. Glou. Good friend, I prithee, take him in thy arms ; I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him: There is a litter ready ; lay him in 't, And drive toward Dover, friend, where thou

shalt meet Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master : 100

If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life, With thine and all that offer to defend him, Stand in assured loss. Take up, take up, And follow me, that will to some provision Give thee quick conduct. Kent. Oppressed nature sleeps.

93. These words, found only in the folio, are the last we have from the precious Fool. They are probably meant as a charac- teristic notice that the poor dear fellow's heart is breaking. He has been pining away ever "since my young lady's going into France," and now a still deeper sorrow has fallen upon him: his beloved master's wits are all shattered in pieces, so that he has no longer anything to live for; he feels that he cannot survive to see the evening of the terrible day that has overtaken him; and even this feeling must play out in a witticism. Well may Ulrici call his humor "the sublime of Comic."— H. N. H.

98-111. "Every editor from Theobald downwards," as the Cam- bridge Editors observe, "except Hanmer, has reprinted this speech from the Quartos. In deference to this consensus of authority we have retained it, though, as it seems to us, internal evidence is conclusive against the supposition that the lines were written by Shakespeare." — I. G.

105-109. "oppressed . . . behind"; omitted in the Folios.— I. G.

114

KING LEAR Act III. Sc. vi.

This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken

sinews, Which, if convenience will not allow, Stand in hard cure. [To the Fool] Come,

help to bear thy master ; Thou must not stay behind. Glou. Come, come, away.

[Exeunt all but Edgar. Edg. When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes. HI Who alone suffers suffers most i' the mind, Leaving free things and happy shows behind: But then the mind much sufferance doth o'er-

skip, When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. How light and portable my pain seems now, When that which makes me bend makes the

king bow, He childed as I father'd! Tom, away! Mark the high noises, and thyself bewray When false opinion, whose wrong thought de- files thee, ' 120 In thy just proof repeals and reconciles thee. < What will hap more to-night, safe 'scape the

king! Lurk, lurk. [Exit.

110-123. "When . . . lurk"; omitted in Ff.— I. G. 119. "high noises"; the great events that are approaching. — H. N. H.

115

Act in. Sc. vii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Scene VII

Gloucester's castle.

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund, and

Servants.

Corn. Post speedily to my lord your husband; show him this letter: the army of France is landed. Seek out the traitor Gloucester.

[Exeunt some of the Servants.

Reg. Hang him instantly.

Gon. Pluck out his eyes.

Corn. Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our sister company: the revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit for your beholding Ad- vise the duke, where you are going, to a most 10 festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift and intel- ligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister: farewell, my lord of Gloucester.

Enter Oswald.

How now ! where 's the king ? Osw. My lord of Gloucester hath convey'd him hence : Some five or six and thirty of his knights, Hot questrists after him, met him at gate;

3. "traitor"; the quartos have villain instead of traitor. — H. N. H.

14. "my lord of Gloucester" ; meaning Edmund invested with his father's titles. The Steward, speaking immediately after, mentions the old earl by the same title. — H. N. H.

116

KING LEAR Act in. Sc. vii.

Who, with some other of the lords dependants, Are gone with him toward Dover; where they boast 20

To have well-armed friends. Corn. Get horses for your mistress.

Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. Corn. Edmund, farewell.

[Exeunt Goneril, Edmund, and Oswald. Go seek the traitor Gloucester. Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us.

[Exeunt other Servants. Though well we may not pass upon his life Without the form of justice, yet our power Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men May blame but not control. Who 's there? the traitor?

Enter Gloucester, brought in by two or three.

Reg. Ingratef ul fox ! 'tis he.

Corn. Bind fast his corky arms. 30

Glou. What mean your graces? Good my friends,

consider You are my guests : do me no foul play, friends. Corn. Bind him, I say. [Servants bind him.

Reg. Hard, hard. O filthy traitor!

Glou. Unmerciful lady as you are, I 'm none. Corn. To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt

find — [Regan plucks his beard.

Glou. By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done

To pluck me by the beard. Reg. So white, and such a traitor ! Glou. Naughty lady,

117

Act III. Sc. vii. THE TRAGEDY OF

These hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin Will quicken and accuse thee: I am your host: With robbers' hands my hospitable favors 41 You should not ruffle thus. What will you do? Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late from

France? Reg. Be simple answerer, for we know the truth. Corn. And what confederacy have you with the traitors Late footed in the kingdom? Reg. To whose hands have you sent the lunatic king? Speak. Glou. I have a letter guessingly set down,

Which came from one that 's of a neutral heart, And not from one opposed. Corn. Cunning.

Reg. And false. 51

Corn. Where hast thou sent the king? Glou. To Dover.

Reg. Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not

charged at peril — Corn. Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer

that. Glou. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the

course. Reg. Wherefore to Dover, sir? Glou. Because I would not see thv cruel nails

Pluck out his poor old eyes, nor thy fierce sister In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs.

59. "stick," the reading of Ff.; Qq., "rash."— I. G. In what follows, the quartos have "lov'd head" for "bare head/*

118

KING LEAR Act in. Sc. vii.

The sea, with such a storm as his bare head 60

In hell-black night endured, would have buoy'd up,

And quench'd the stelled fires :

Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain.

If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time,

Thou shouldst have said, 'Good porter, turn the key,'

All cruels else subscribed: but I shall see

The winged vengeance overtake such children. Corn. See 't shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair.

Upon these eyes of thine I '11 set my foot. Glou. He that will think to live till he be old, 70

Give me some help! O cruel! O you gods! Reg. One side will mock another; the other too. Corn. If you see vengeance —

"lay'd up" for "buoy'd up," "steeled fires" for "stelled fires," rage for rain, and deam for stern. — H. N. H.

64. "howl'd that stern" ; Qq., "heard that dearne"; Capell, "howl'd that deam"; ("dearn"= obscure, dark, gloomy). — I. G.

65. "shouldst"; wouldst.— C. H. H.

66. "All cruels else subscribed"; so Qq. ; Ff. "subscribe." The passage has been variously interpreted; the weight of authority favoring the Folio reading, Schmidt's explanation being perhaps the most plausible: — "Everything which is at other times cruel, shows feeling or regard; you alone have not done so." Furness makes the words part of the speech addressed to the porter, "acknowledge the claims of all creatures, however cruel they may be at other times," or "give up all cruel things else; i. e., forget that they are cruel." This approximates to the interpretation given by Mr. Wright to the reading in the text, "all their other cruelties being yielded or forgiven." — I. G.

But this makes Gloster shift his ground rather awkwardly. He has just urged that even Cornwall would pity wolves (though not men); he would now argue: Cornwall alone among cruel men has no pity.— C. H. H.

119

Act in. Sc. vii. . THE TRAGEDY OF

First Serv. Hold your hand, my lord:

I have served you ever since I was a child; But better service have I never done you Than now to bid you hold. Jteg. How now, you dog!

First Serv. If you did wear a beard upon your chin, I 'Id shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean? Corn. My villain! [They draw and fight.

First Serv. Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger. 80

Reg. Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus!

[Takes a sword and runs at him behind.

First Serv. O, I am slain! My lord, you have

one eye left

To see some mischief on him. O ! [Dies.

Corn. Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile

jelly! Where is thy luster now? Glou. All dark and comfortless. Where 's my son Edmund? Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature, To quit this horrid act.

84. This scene, horrid enough at the best, is rendered much more so in modern editions until Knight's by the stage-directions which are unwarrantably thrust into it, representing everything to be done in the full view of the audience. Coleridge says, — "I will not disguise my conviction that, in this one point, the tragic in this play has been urged beyond the outermost mark and ne plus ultra of the dramatic." And again: "What shall I say to this scene? There is my reluctance to think Shakespeare wrong, and yet — " Tieck argues that the tearing out of Gloster's eyes did not take place on the stage proper. — H. N. H.

120

KING LEAR Act in. Sc. vii.

Beg. Out, treacherous villain!

Thou calFst on him that hates thee : it was he That made the overture of thy treasons to us ; Who is too good to pity thee. 91

Glou. O my follies! Then Edgar was abused.

Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him! Reg. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Dover. [Exit one with Gloucester. ,] How is 't, my lord? how look you? Corn. I have received a hurt: follow me, lady. Turn out that eyeless villain: throw this slave Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace: Untimely comes this hurt : give me your arm.

[Exit Cornwall, led by Regan. Sec. Serv. I '11 never care what wickedness I do, 100

If this man come to good. Third Serv. If she live long,

And in the end meet the old course of death, Women will all turn monsters. VSec. Serv. Let 's follow the old earl, and get the Bedlam To lead him where he would: his roguish mad- ness Allows itself to any thing. Third Serv. Go thou : I '11 fetch some flax and whites of eggs To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help him! [Exeunt severally.

100-107. Omitted in the Folios.— I. G.

121

Act IV. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

ACT FOURTH

Scene I

The heath.

Enter Edgar.

Edg. Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd, Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To Be

worst, The lowest and most dejected thing of for- tune, Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear: The lamentable change is from the best ; The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then, Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace! The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes here?

Enter Gloucester, led by an Old Man.

My father, poorly led? World, world, O world! 10

But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,

Life would not yield to age.

6-9. "Welcome . . . blasts"; vi. 169-174 ("Plate . . . lips") ; vii. 61 ; omitted in the Quartos. — I. G.

12. "Life would not yield to age," i. e. life would not gladly lapse into old age and death. — I. G.

122

KING LEAR Act. IV. Sc. i.

Old Man. O, my good lord, I have been your tenant, and your father's tenant, these four- score years.

Glou. Away, get thee away ; good friend, be gone : Thy comforts can do me no good at all; Thee they may hurt.

Old Man. Alack, sir, you cannot see your way,,

Glou. I have no way and therefore want no eyes; I stumbled when I saw: full oft 'tis seen, 21 Our means secure us, and our mere defects Prove our commodities. Ah, dear son Edgar, The food of thy abused father's wrath! Might I but live to see thee in my touch, I 'Id say I had eyes again.

Old Man. How now! Who's there?

Edg. [Aside] O gods! Who is 't can say 'I am at the worst'? I am worse than e'er I was.

Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom.

Edg. [Aside] And worse I may be yet: the worst is not So long as we can say 'This is the worst.' 30

Old Man. Fellow, where goest?

Glou. Is it a beggar-man?

Old Man. Madman and beggar too.

Glou. He has some reason, else he could not beg. I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw, Which made me think a man a worm: my son Came then into my mind, and yet my mind Was then scarce friends with him: I have heard more since.

19. The words, "Alack, sir!" are omitted in the folio.— H. N. H.

123

LCt IV. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods ;

They kill us for their sport. Vdg. [Aside] How should this be?

Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,

Angering1 itself and others. Bless thee, mas- ter! 41 tIou. Is that the naked fellow? )ld Man. Aye, my lord. Irlou. Then, prithee, get thee gone : if for my sake

Thou wilt o'ertake us hence a mile or twain

I' the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love;

And bring some covering for this naked soul,

Who I '11 entreat to lead me. lid Man. Alack, sir, he is mad.

tIou. 'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.

Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ;

Above the rest, be gone. 50

Jld Man. I '11 bring him the best 'parel that I have,

Come on 't what will. [Exit.

jttou. Sirrah, naked fellow, — Edg. Poor Tom 's a-cold. [Aside} I cannot daub

it further. j^lou. Come hither, fellow. Edg. [Aside] And yet I must. — Bless thy sweet

eyes, they bleed. orlou. Know'st thou the way to Dover? Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-

39. "Kill"; Q. 1, "bitt"; Qq. 2, 3, "bit"; (probably an error for lit).— I. G.

43. So the quartos. Instead of "Then, prithee, get thee gone," the folio has only "Get thee away." — H. N. H.

124

KING LEAR Act. IV. Sc. i.

path. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits. Bless thee, good man's son, 60 from the foul fiend ! Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as Obidicut; Hobbididence, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of stealing ; Modo, of murder ; Flibbertigib- bet, of mopping and mowing; who since possesses chambermaids and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master!

Glou. Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens' plagues Have humble to all strokes : that I am wretched Makes thee the happier. Heavens, deal so still ! Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, 71 That slaves your ordinance, that will not see Because he doth not feel, feel your power

quickly ; So distribution should undo excess And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?

Edg. Aye, master.

Glou. There is a cliff wThose high and bending head Looks fearfully in the confined deep: Bring me but to the very brim of it,

60. So the folio: the quartos read, "bless the good man from the foul fiend!"— H. N. H.

61-67. "Five fiends . . . master"; omitted in the Folios. — I. G.

65. "mopping and mowing" ; "If she have a little helpe of the mother, epilepsie, or cramp, to teach her role her eyes, wrie her mouth, gnash her teeth, starte with her body, hold her armes and handes stiffe, make antike faces, grinne, mow and mop like an ape, then no doubt the young girle is owle-blasted, and possessed" (Hars- net).— H. N. H.

125

Act iv. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY OF

And I '11 repair the misery thou dost bear 80 With something rich about me : from that place I shall no leading need. Edg. Give me thy arm:

Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt.

Scene II

Before the Duke of Albany's palace.

Enter Goneril and Edmund.

Gon. Welcome, my lord: I marvel our mild hus- band Not met us on the way.

Enter Oswald.

Now, where 's your master? Osw. Madam, within; but never man so changed. I told him of the army that was landed ; He smiled at it : I told him you were coming ; His answer was, 'The worse:' of Gloucester's

treachery And of the loyal service of his son When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out : What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him ; 10

What like, offensive. Gon. [To Edm.~\ Then shall you go no further. It is the cowish terror of his spirit,

126

KING LEAR Act IV. Sc. (L

That dares not undertake : he '11 not feel

wrongs, Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the

way May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my

brother ; Hasten his musters and conduct his powers: I must change arms at home and give the dis- taff Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant Shall pass between us: ere long you are like to

hear, If you dare venture in your own behalf, 20 A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech; [Giving a favor.

Decline your head : this kiss, if it durst speak, Would stretch thy spirits up into the air : Conceive, and fare thee well. Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. Gon. My most dear Gloucester!

[Exit Edmund. O, the difference of man and man ! To thee a woman's services are due : My fool usurps my body. Osw. Madam, here comes my lord.

[Exit.

Enter Albany

22. She bids him decline his head, that she might give him a kiss (the Steward being present) and that might appear only to him as a whisper. — H. N. H.

28. "My fool usurps my body"; so Ff.; Q. 1, "A foole usurps my bed" ; Q. 2, "My foote usurps my head" ; Malone, "My fool usurps my bed."— I. G.

127

Act IV. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Gon. I have been worth the whistle.

Alb. O Goneril! 29

You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face. I fear your disposition: That nature which contemns its origin Cannot be border'd certain in itself; She that herself will sliver and disbranch From her material sap, perforce must wither And come to deadly use.

Gon. No more; the text is foolish.

Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile: Filths savor but themselves. What have you

done? Tigers, not daughters, what have you per- form'd? 40

A father, and a gracious aged man, Whose reverence even the head-lugg'd bear

would lick, Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you

madded. Could my good brother suffer you to do it?

29. Alluding to the proverb, "It is a poor dog that is not worth the whistling."— H. N. H.

31-50. Omitted in the Folios.— I. G.

33. The meaning, as Heath thinks, is, that that nature, which has reached such a pitch of unnaturalness as to contemn its origin, cannot be restrained within any certain bounds. Albany's reason- ing is, that if she will take her father's life, whose life will she spare? therefore he "feares her disposition." — H. N. H.

35. "must wither," etc.; alluding to the use that witches and en- chanters are said to make of withered branches in their charms. A fine insinuation in the speaker, that she was ready for the most unnatural mischief, and a preparative of the Poet to her plotting with Edmund against her husband's life (Warburton). — H. N. H.

42. "head-lugg'd bear" probably means a bear made savage by having his head plucked or torn. — H. N. H.

128

NG LEAR Act IV. Sc. .

A man, a prince, by him so benefited !

If that the heavens do not their visible spirits

Send quickly down to tame these vile offenses,

It will come,

Humanity must perforce prey on itself,

Like monsters of the deep. m. Milk-liver'd man ! 50

That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs ;

Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning

Thine honor from thy suffering; that not know'st

Fools do those villains pity who are punish'd

Ere they have done their mischief. Where 's thy drum?

France spreads his banners in our noiseless land,

With plumed helm thy state begins to threat,

Whiles thou, a moral fool, sit'st still and criest

* Alack, why does he so?' b. See thyself, devil!

Proper deformity seems not in the fiend 60

So horrid as in woman. m. O vain fool!

6. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shame,

t "tame these vile offenses"; Schmidt conj. "take the vild of- lers"; Heath conj. "these vile"; Q. 1, "this vild"; Pope, "the "—I. G.

$-59. Omitted in the Folios.— I. G.

L "thy state begins to threat"; Jennens conj.; Q. 1, "thy state :ns thereat"; Qq. 2, 3, "thy slaier begins threats"; Theobald, "thy er begins his threats," &c. — I. G.

I. "changed and self-cover'd" ; the meaning appears to be, thou hast hid the woman under the fiend; thou that hast disguised XXVI-9 129

Act IV. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY O

i

Be-monster not thy feature. Were 't my fij

ness To let these hands obey my blood, They are apt enough to dislocate and tear Thy flesh and bones : howe'er thou art a fiend, A woman's shape doth shield thee. Gon. Marry, your manhood! mew!

Enter a Messenger.

Alb. What news?

Mess. O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall I

dead, 71

Slain by his servant, going to put out

The other eye of Gloucester.

Alb. Gloucester's eyes!

Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse Opposed against the act, bending his sword To his great master; who thereat enraged Flew on him and amongst them fell'd him dead But not without that harmful stroke whicl

since Hath pluck'd him after.

Alb. This shows you are above,

You justicers, that these our nether crimes So speedily can venge. But, O poor Glouces- ter! 81

nature by wickedness. Some would read, "chang'd and self -conver let thing."— H. N. H.

62-68. Omitted in the Folios.— I. G.

65. "apt"; ready.— C. H. H.

68. "your manhood! mew!"; some copies of Q. 1 read "manhoo mew"; others "manhood now"; so the later Qq.; according to tl present reading "mew" is evidently a cat-like interjection of coi tempt.— I. G.

suppress it. — C. H. H.

ISO

NG LEAR Act IV. Sc. ii.

Lost he his other eye? >ss. Both, both, my lord.

This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer; "Tis from your sister.

m. [Aside] One way I like this well;

But being widow, and my Gloucester with her, May all the building in my fancy pluck Upon my hateful life: another way, The news is not so tart. — I '11 read, and answer.

[Eodt. b. Where was his son when they did take his

eyes? ess. Come with my lady hither. b. He is not here. 90

ess. No, my good lord; I met him back again. b. Knows he the wickedness? ess. Aye, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd against him, And quit the house on purpose, that their pun- ishment Might have the freer course. lb. Gloucester, I live

To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the

king, And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither,

friend : Tell me what more thou know'st. [Exeunt.

3. "One way I like this well"; Goneril's plan was to poison her :er, to marry Edmund, to murder Albany, and to get possession of whole kingdom. As the death of Cornwall facilitated the last *t of her scheme, she was pleased at it; but disliked it, as it put n the power of her sister to marry Edmund. — H. N. H.

131

Act IV. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY

Scene III

The French camp near Dover. Enter Kent and a Gentleman.

o,

Kent. Why the King of France is so suddenly

gone back know you the reason? Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state

which since his coming forth is thought of,

which imports to the kingdom so much fear

and danger that his personal return was

most required and necessary. Kent. Who hath he left behind him general? Gent. The Marshal of France, Monsieur La

Far. 1<

Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any

demonstration of grief? Gent. Aye, sir; she took them, read them in m; presence,

And now and then an ample tear trill'd down

Scene III; the whole scene omitted in the Folios. — I. G.

1. The "gentleman" whom he sent in the foregoing act with let ters to Cordelia.— H. N. H.

2, 3. The king of France being no longer a necessary personage it was fit that some pretext for getting rid of him should b formed before the play was too near advanced towards a conchi sion. It is difficult to say what use could have been made of hira hnd he appeared at the head of his own armament, and survive the murder of his queen. His conjugal concern on the occasioi might have weakened the effect of Lear's paternal sorrow; am being an object of respect as well as pity, he would naturally hav divided the spectator's attention, and thereby diminished the cob sequence of Albany, Edgar, and Kent, whose exemplary virtues de served to be ultimately placed in the most conspicuous point of viei (Steevens).— H. N. H.

132

NG LEAR Act IV. Sc. iii.

Her delicate cheek : it seem'd she was a queen Over her passion, who most rebel-like Sought to be king o'er her. nt. O, then it moved her.

nt. Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove Who should express her goodliest. You have

seen Sunshine and rain at once : her smiles and tears Were like a better way : those happy smilets 20 That play'd on her ripe lip seem'd not to know What guests were in her eyes; which parted

thence As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief, Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved, If all could so become it.

nt. Made she no verbal question?

nt. Faith, once or twice she heaved the name of

'father'

. "like a better way"; so Qq. ; the passage seems to mean that smiles and tears resembled sunshine and rain, but in a more itiful manner; many emendations have been proposed — "like a er May" (Warburton) ; "like a better May" (Malone) ; "like; — ■tter way" (Boaden), &c. — I. G.

iat the point of comparison was neither a "better day," nor a :ter May," is proved by the following passages, cited by Steevens Malone: "Her tears came dropping down like rain in sun- e" (Sidney's Arcadia). Again: "And with that she prettily ed, which mingled with her tears, one could not tell whether ere a mourning pleasure, or a delightful sorrow; but like when ew April drops are scattered by a gentle zephyrus among fine- ured flowers." — H. N. H.

L "dropp'd" ; Steevens would read dropping, but as must be erstood to signify as if. A similar beautiful thought in Middle- 3 Game of Chess has caught the eye of Milton:

"The holy dew lies like a pearl Dropt from the opening eyelids of the morn Upon the bashful rose."— H. N. H.

133

Act IV. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart;

Cried 'Sisters! sisters!' Shame of ladies! sis* ters !

Kent! father! sisters! What, i' the storm! i] the night? 30

Let pity not be believed!' There she shook

The holy water from her heavenly eyes,

And clamor moisten' d : then away she started

To deal with grief alone. Kent. It is the stars,

The stars above us, govern our conditions ;

Else one self mate and mate could not beget

Such different issues. You spoke not with her since ? Gent. No.

Kent. Was this before the king return'd? Gent. No, since.

Kent. Well, sir, the poor distress'd Lear 's i' the town : 40

Who sometime in his better tune remembers

What we are come about, and by no means

Will yield to see his daughter. Gent. Why, good sir?

Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own unkindness

26. "verbal question"; that is, discourse, conversation. — H. N. H.

31. "Let pity not be believed"; Pope, "Let pity ne'er believe it"; Capell, "Let it not be believed" (but "believed"= believed to exist). —I. G.

That is, let not pity be supposed to exist. — H. N. H.

33. "clamor moisten'd"; CapelPs reading; Qq., "And clamour moistened her"; Theobald, "And, clamour-motion' d" ; Grant White, "And, clamour-moist en' d," &c. — I. G.

That is, her outcries were accompanied with tears. — H. N. H.

134

ING LEAR Act IV. Sc. iv.

That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd

her To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights To his dog-hearted daughters: these things

sting His mind so venomously that burning shame Detains him from Cordelia.

rent. Alack, poor gentleman!

lent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not? 50

rent. 'Tis so; they are afoot.

lent. Well, sir, I '11 bring you to our Master Lear, And leave you to attend him: some dear cause Will in concealment wrap me up awhile; When I am known aright, you shall not grieve Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go Along with me. [Eoceunt.

Scene IV

The same. A tent.

■inter, with drum and colors, Cordelia, Doctor, and

Soldiers.

lor. Alack, 'tis he : why, he was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo- flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow

46. "foreign casualties" ; the hazards of life abroad. — C. H. H.

135

Act IV. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY OF

In our sustaining corn. A century send forth; Search every acre in the high-grown field, And bring him to our eye. [Exit an officer.]]

What can man's wisdom In the restoring his bereaved sense? He that helps him take all my outward worth.

Doct. There is means, madam: 11

Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, The which he lacks : that to provoke in him, Are many simples operative, whose power Will close the eye of anguish.

Cor. All blest secrets,

All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth, Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate' In the good man's distress! Seek, seek for

him; Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life That wants the means to lead it.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. News, madam; 20

The British powers are marching hitherward.

Cor. 'Tis known before; our preparation stands In expectation of them. O dear father, It is thy business that I go about ; Therefore great France My mourning and important tears hath pitied. No blown ambition doth our arms incite, But love, dear love, and our aged father's right : Soon may I hear and see him! [Exeunt.

136

[ING LEAR Act IV. Sc. v.

Scene V

Gloucester's castle.

Enter Regan and Oswald.

'eg. But are my brother's powers set forth?

)sw. Aye, madam.

'eg. Himself in person there?

WW. Madam, with much ado:

Your sister is the better soldier. leg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at

home? >sw. No, madam.

leg. What might import my sister's letter to him? WW. I know not, lady. \eg. Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter.

It was great ignorance, Gloucester's eyes being out,

To let him live : where he arrives he moves 10

All hearts against us: Edmund, I think, is gone,

In pity of his misery, to dispatch

His nighted life ; moreover, to descry

The strength o' the enemy. sw. I must needs after him, madam, with my let- ter. eg. Our troops set forth to-morrow: stay with us;

The ways are dangerous. ]sw. I may not, madam :

4. "lord"; so Ff.; Qq. read "lady/'— I. G. 12 F 137

Act IV. Sc. v. THE TRAGEDY OF

My lady charged my duty in this business.

Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you Transport her purposes by word? Belike, 20 Something — I know not what: I '11 love thee

much, Let me unseal the letter.

Osw. Madam, I had rather —

Reg. I know your lady does not love her husband ; I am sure of that : and at her late being here She gave strange oeillades and most speaking

looks To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.

Osw. I, madam?

Reg. I speak in understanding : you are, I know 't : Therefore I do advise you, take this note : My lord is dead ; Edmund and I have talk'd ; 30 And more convenient is he for my hand Than for your lady's : you may gather more. If you do find him, pray you, give him this; And when your mistress hears thus much from

you, I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her. So, fare you well.

If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.

25. "oeillades"; it cannot be decided whether Shakespeare wrote the French word or some anglicized form of it. — C. H. H.

32. "qather"; you may infer more than I have directly told you. — H. N. H.

33. "give him this"; perhaps a ring, or some token. — H. N. H.

13S

EQNG LEAR Act IV. Sc. vi.

Jsw. Would I could meet him, madam! I should show What party I do follow. Reg. Fare thee well. [Exeunt. 40

Scene VI

Fields near Dover.

Enter Gloucester,, and Edgar dressed like a

peasant.

Glou. When shall we come to the top of that same

hill? Edg. You do climb up it now : look, how we labor. Glou. Methinks the ground is even. Edg. Horrible steep.

Hark, do you hear the sea? Glou, No, truly.

Edg. Why then your other senses grow imperfect

By your eyes' anguish. Glou. So may it be indeed:

Methinks thy voice is alter'd, and thou speak'st

In better phrase and matter than thou didst. Edg. You're much deceived: in nothing am I changed

But in my garments. Glou. Methinks you 're better spoken.

Edg. Come on, sir; here's the place: stand still. How fearful 11

And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low!

139

Act IV. Sc. vi. THE TRAGEDY OF'

The crows and enoughs that wing the midway

air Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful

trade ! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen that walk upon the beach Appear like mice ; and yond tall anchoring bark Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy Almost too small for sight: the murmuring

surge 20

That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes Cannot be heard so high. I '11 look no more, Lest my brain turn and the deficient sight Topple down headlong. Glou. Set me where you stand.

Edg. Give me your hand: you are now within a

foot Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon Would I not leap upright. Glou. Let go my hand.

Here, friend, 's another purse; in it a jewel Well worth a poor man's taking: fairies and

gods

15. "samphire"; in Shakespeare's time the cliffs of Dover, as the neighboring parts of the coast are still, were celebrated for the pro- duction of this article. It is thus spoken of in Smith's History of Water ford, 1774: "Samphire grows in great plenty on most of the seacliffs in this country. It is terrible to see how people gather it, hanging by a rope several fathom from the top of the impending rocks, as it were in the air." It was made into a pickle and eaten as a relish; which, we are told, is still done in some parts of Eng- land.—H. N. H.

The current Elizabethan spellings were "sampire" (so Ff., Q. 1, i Q. 2), "sampier."— C. H. H.

140

|NG LEAR Act IV. Sc. vi.

Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off; 30 Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. g. Now fare you well, good sir. ju. With all my heart.

m. Why I do trifle thus with his despair Is done to cure it.

\ou. [Kneeling] O you mighty gods!

This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off: If I could bear it longer and not fall To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, My snuff and loathed part of nature should Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O bless him! Now, fellow, fare thee well. [He falls forward. Ig. Gone, sir: farewell. 41

And yet I know not how conceit may rob The treasury of life, when life itself Yields to the theft: had he been where he

thought, By this had thought been past. Alive or dead? Ho, you sir! friend! Hear you, sir! speak! Thus might he pass indeed: yet he revives. What are you, sir? \ou. Away, and let me die.

\lg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feath- ers, air,

1. "Gone, sir''; that is, "I am gone, sir." As commonly printed, stage-direction, "He leaps, and falls along" comes in before gar speaks, and then he is made to ask a question, whether fster is gone, thus: "Gone, sir? farewell." — H. N. H. [4. "yields to the theft"; that is, when life is willing to be de- >yed*— H. N. H.

9. "gossamer"; "The substance called gossamer is formed of the ected webs of flying spiders, and during calm weather in autumn

141

Act IV. Sc. vL THE TRAGEDY OP

'

,

So many fathom down precipitating, Thou'dst shiver'd like an egg: but thou do

breathe ; Hast heavy substance; bleed'st not; speak'sl

art sound. Ten masts at each make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell: Thy life 's a miracle. Speak yet again.

Glou. But have I fall'n, or no?

Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn Look up a-height ; the shrill-gorged lark so f ai Cannot be seen or heard : do but look up.

Glou. Alack, I have no eyes.

Is wretchedness deprived that benefit,

To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some com

fort, When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage And frustrate his proud will.

Edg. Give me your arm:

Up : so. How is 't ? Feel you your legs ? Yoi stand.

Glou. Too well, too well.

sometimes fall in amazing quantities" (Holt White). Some think it the down of plants; others the vapor arising from boggy or marshy ground in warm weather. The etymon of this word, which has puzzled the lexicographers, is said to be summer goose or summer gauze, hence "gauze o'the summer," its well known name in the north.— H. N. H.

53. "ten masts at each'*; so read all the old copies, probably mean ing, drawn out in length, or added one to another. Pope changec "at each" to attacht; Johnson proposes on end; Steevens would reac at reach. The old reading, however, has been vindicated by going to the original of each, which is from the Anglo-Saxon eacan, to adi to augment, or lengthen. Eke, sometimes spelled eche is from the same source. — H. N. H.

142

KING LEAR Act IV. Sc. vi.

\jEdg. This is above all strangeness.

Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that

Which parted from you? Glou. A poor unfortunate beggar.

Edg. As I stood here below, methought his eyes

Were two full moons ; he had a thousand noses,

Horns whelk'd and waved like the enridged sea: 71

It was some fiend ; therefore, thou happy father,

Think that the clearest gods, who make them honors

Of men's impossibilities, have preserved thee. Glou. I do remember now: henceforth I '11 bear

Affliction till it do cry out itself

'Enough, enough,' and die. That thing you speak of,

I took it for a man; often 'twould say

'The fiend, the fiend:' he led me to that place. Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here? 80

Enter Lear, fantastically dressed with wild flowers.

The safer sense will ne'er accommodate His master thus.

71. "enridged" is from the quartos, the folio reading enraged. Of course the sea is enridged when blown into waves. — H. N. H.

74. "men's impossibilities" ; the incident of Gloster being made to believe himself ascending, and leaping from, the chalky cliff has always struck us as a very notable case of inherent improbability overcome in effect by opulence of description. Great as is the miracle of the eyeless old man's belief, it is authenticated to our -feelings, though not to our reason perhaps, by the array of vivid and truthful imagery that induces it. Thus does the Poet, when occasion bids, enhance the beauty of his representation so as to atone for its want of verisimilitude. — H. N. H.

S3, "his"; we have often seen that in the Poet's time his was conr

143

Act IV. Sc. vi. THE TRAGEDY OF

Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining; I am the king himself.

Edg. O thou side-piercing sight!

Lear. Nature 's above art in that respect. There 's your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper ; draw me a clothier's yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace; this piece of toasted cheese 90 will do 't. There 's my gauntlet; I '11 prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird! i' the clout, i' the clout: hewgh! Give the word.

Edg. Sweet marjoram.

Lear. Pass.

Glou. I know that voice.

Lear. Ha! Goneril, with a white beard! They flattered me like a dog, and told me I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones 100 were there. To say 'aye' and 'no' to every thing that I said! 'Aye' and 'no' too was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once and the wind to make me chatter;

stantly used where we should use its. His here evidently refers to sense. Edgar is speaking of Lear's fantastical dressing, and judges from this that he is not in his safer-sense; that is, in his senses. This need not be said, but that some have thought safer sense to mean eyesight, his to refer to Gloster, and master, to Lear; the meaning thus being, that Lear's eyesight will never serve him so well as Gloster will be served by "free and patient thoughts." — H. N. H.

86. In what follows Lear imagines himself first collecting recruits, then testing them at archery; then from the "crow-keeper" fancy wanders to mouse-catching, back to battle ("Bring up the brown bills"), falconry, and archery again. — C. H. H.

99, 100. "I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there,'' i. e., "I had the wisdom of age before I had attained to that of youth" (Capell).— I. G.

144

KING LEAR Act IV. Sc. vi.

when the thunder would not peace at my bid- ding; there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go to, they are not men o' their words : they told me I was every thing; 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.

Glou. The trick of that voice I do well remember: Is 't not the king?

Lear. Aye, every inch a king: HI

When I do stare, see how the subject quakes. I pardon that man's life. What was thy cause? Adultery?

Thou shalt not die: die for adultery! No: The wren goes to 't, and the small gilded fly Does lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive; for Gloucester's bastard

son Was kinder to his father than my daughters Got 'tween the lawful sheets. 120

To 't, luxury, pell-mell ! for I lack soldiers. Behold yond simpering dame, Whose face between her forks presages snow, That minces virtue and does shake the head To hear of pleasure's name ; The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to 't With a more riotous appetite. Down from the waist they are Centaurs, Though women all above:

But to the girdle do the gods inherit, 130

Beneath is all the fiends' ;

There 's hell, there 's darkness, there 's the sul- phurous pit,

Burning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie, XXVI— 10 143

Act iv. Sc. vi. THE TRAGEDY OF

fie, fie! pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civit, good apothecary, to sweeten my im- agination : there 's money for thee.

Glou. O, let me kiss that hand!

Lear. Let me wipe it first ; it smells of mortality.

Glou. O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world

Shall so wear out to nought. Dost thou know

me? 140

Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid ; I '11 not love. Read thou this challenge ; mark but the penning on 't.

Glou. Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.

Edg. I would not take this from report: it is, And my heart breaks at it.

Lear. Read.

Glou. What, with the case of eyes?

Lear. O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes 150 in your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light : yet you see how this world goes.

Glou. I see it feelingly.

Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yond justice rails upon yond simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places, and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast 160 seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar?

Glou. Aye, sir.

159. "handy -dandy"; a sleight of hand, by which a thing is im- perceptibly changed from one hand to the other. — C. H. H.

146

KING LEAR Act IV. Sc. vi.

Lear. And the creature run from the cur?

There thou mightst behold the great image

of authority : a dog 's obeyed in office.

Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!

Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back ;

Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind

For which thou whip'st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.

Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear;

Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold, 171

And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks;

Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.

None does offend, none, I say, none; I '11 able 'em:

Take that of me, my friend, who have the power

To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes,

And, like a scurvy politician, seem

To see the things thou dost not.

Now, now, now, now: pull off my boots:

harder, harder: so. 180

Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd!

Reason in madness! Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.

I know thee well enough; thy name is Glou- cester :

Thou must me patient ; we came crying hither :

171. "Plate sin"; what follows down to "accuser's lips" is not in the quartos. The folio has Place sins instead of Plate sin. Pope made the correction. "I'll able 'em/' third line below, is, "I'll sus- tain, uphold them." — H. N. H.

147

Act IV. Sc. vi. THE TRAGEDY OF

Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air,

We wawl and cry. I will preach to thee : mark. Glou. Alack, alack the day! Lear. When we are born, we cry that we are come

To this great stage of fools. This 's a good block.

It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe

A troop of horse with felt: I '11 put 't in proof;

And when I have stol'n upon these sons-in-law,

Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill !

Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants.

Gent. O, here he is: lay hand upon him. Sir,

Your most dear daughter — Lear. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even

The natural fool of fortune. Use me well;

You shall have ransom. Let me have a sur- geon ;

I am cut to the brains.

192. "with felt"; we learn from Lord Herbert's Life of King Henry VIII that such a thing was actually done at the tournament held at Lisle in 1513: the horses, to prevent their slipping on a black stone pavement, were shod with felt or flocks. So, too, in Fenton's Tragical Discourses, 1567: "He attyreth himself for the purpose in a night-gowne girt to hym, with a payre of shoes of felte, leaste the noyse of his feete might discover his goinge." — We should understand, probably, that when Lear goes to preaching he takes off his hat and holds it in his hand, as preachers were wont to do in the Poet's time. "This a good block?" doubtless refers to the shape or form of the hat. As he is holding it in his hand, or per- haps molding it into some new shape, the thought strikes him what the hat is made of, and he starts off upon the stratagem of shoeing a troop of horses with felt. — H. N. H.

194. This was the cry formerly in the English army when an onset was made on the enemy. — H. N. H.

148

KING LEAR Act iv. Sc. vi.

Gent. You shall have any thing.

Lear. No seconds? all myself? 201

Why, this would make a man a man of salt,

To use his eyes for garden water-pots,

Aye, and laying autumn's dust. Gent. Good sir, —

Lear. I will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom. What!

I will be jovial: come, come! I am a king,

My masters, know you that. Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. Lear. Then there 's life in 't. Nay, an you get

it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. 211

[Exit running; Attendants follow.

Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,

Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter,

Who redeems nature from the general curse

Which twain have brought her to. Edg. Hail, gentle sir.

Gent. Sir, speed you: what 's your will?

Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward? Gent. Most sure and vulgar: every one hears that,

Which can distinguish sound. Edg. But, by your favor,

How near 's the other army? 220

Gent. Near and on speedy foot ; the main descry

204. This line and "good sir" following are not in the folio. — H. N. H.

210. "there's life in 't" ; the case is not yet desperate. In what fol- lows, the folio has "Come" instead of KNay."—H. N. H.

221-222. "the main descry . . . thought"; the main body is expected to be descried every hour. — H. N. H.

149

Act IV. Sc. vi. THE TRAGEDY OF

Stands on the hourly thought. Edg. I thank you, sir: that 's all.

Gent. Though that the queen on special cause is here,

Her army is moved on. Edg. I thank you, sir. [Exit Gent.

Glou. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me;

Let not my worser spirit tempt me again

To die before you please! Edg. Well pray you, father.

Glou. Now, good sir, what are you? Edg. A most poor man, made tame to fortune's blows ;

Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,

Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, 231

I '11 lead you to some biding. Glou. Hearty thanks ;

The bounty and the benison of heaven

To boot, and boot!

Enter Oswald.

Osw. A proclaim'd prize! Most happy!

That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy]

traitor, Briefly thyself remember: the sword is out That must destroy thee.

229. "tame to," so Ff.; Qq<<lame by."— I. G.

237. "Briefly thyself remeirwer"; that is, quickly recollect the past offenses of thy life, and repent. — H. N. H.

150

KING LEAR Act IV. 3c. vi.

Glou. Now let thy friendly hand

Put strength enough to 't. [Edgar interposes.

Osw. Wherefore, bold peasant,

Darest thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence! 240

Lest that the infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.

Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion.

Osw. Let go, slave, or thou diest !

Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk pass. An chud ha' been zwag- gered out of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th' old man ; keep out, che vor ye, 250 or I 'se try whether your costard or my hal- low be the harder : chill be plain with you.

Osw. Out, dunghill ! [They fight.

Edg. Chill pick your teeth, zir: come; no mat- ter vor your foins. [Oswald falls.

Osw. Slave, thou hast slain me. Villain, take my purse : If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body; And give the letters which thou flnd'st about

me To Edmund earl of Gloucester; seek him out Upon the British party. O, untimely death! Death! [Dies.

Edg. I know thee well: a serviceable villain, As duteous to the vices of thy mistress 262

260. "British party"; so the quartos; the folio, "English party."— H. N. H.

151

Act IV. Sc. vi. THE TRAGEDY OF

As badness would desire. Glou. What, is he dead?

Edg. Sit you down, father ; rest you.

Let 's see these pockets : the letters that he

speaks of May be my friends. He's dead; I am only

sorry He had no other deathsman. Let us see: Leave, gentle wax ; and, manners, blame us not : To know our enemies' minds, we 'Id rip their hearts ; 27°

Their papers, is more lawful. [Reads] 'Let our reciprocal vows be remem- bered. You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror: then am I the prisoner, and his bed my jail; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labor.

'Your — wife, so I would say — 280 'affectionate servant,

'Goneril.'

O undistinguish'd space of woman's will! A plot upon her virtuous husband's life ;

283. Such is the reading .of the folio. The meaning probably is, that woman's will has no distinguishable bounds, or no assignable limits; there is no telling what she will do, or where she will stop. The quartos have wit instead of will. Mr. Collier finds great fault with the old text, and thinks it should certainly be, "O, unextin- guish'd blaze of woman's will!" which is found in his second folio. Pshaw!— H. N. H.

152

KING LEAR Act IV. Sc. vii.

And the exchange my brother! Here, in the

sands, Thee I '11 rake up, the most unsanctified Of murderous lechers ; and in the mature time With this ungracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practiced duke: for him 'tis well That of thy death and business I can tell. 290

Glou. The king is mad: how stiff is my vile sense, That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract: So should my thoughts be sever'd from my

griefs, And woes by wrong imaginations lose The knowledge of themselves. [Drum afar off.

Edg. Give me your hand:

Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum : Come, father, I '11 bestow you with a friend.

[Exeunt.

Scene VII

A tent in the French camp. Lear on a bed asleep, soft music playing; Gentlemen, and others attending. Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Doctor.

Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work, To match thy goodness? My life will be too

short, And every measure fail me.

290. Modern editions until Collier's insert a stasre-direction here, "Exit Edgar, dragging out the Body" ; and another at the close of Glouster's speech, "Re-enter Edgar." There is nothing of the sort in the old copies ; nor should there be. — H. N. H.

153

Act iv. Sc. vii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Kent. To be acknowledged, madam, is o'erpaid.

All my reports go with the modest truth,

Nor more nor clipp'd, but so. Cor. Be better suited:

These weeds are memories of those worser hours :

I prithee, put them off. Kent. Pardon me, dear madam;

Yet to be known shortens my made intent:

My boon I make it, that you know me not 10

Till time and I think meet. Cor. Then be 't so, my good lord. [To the Doc- tor] How does the king? Doct. Madam, sleeps still. Cor. O you kind gods,

Cure this great breach in his abused nature!

The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up

Of this child-changed father! Doct. So please your majesty

That we may wake the king : he hath slept long. Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed

I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd ? 20 Gent. Aye, madam ; in the heaviness of his sleep

We put fresh garments on him. Doct. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him;

I doubt not of his temperance. Cor. Very well.

Doct. Please you, draw near. Louder the music there !

9. A "made intent" is an intent formed. — H. N. H.

24-25. Omitted in the Folios.— I. G.

25. "Please you, draw near"; Shakespeare considered soft music

154

KING LEAR Act IV. 3d. vii.

Cor. O my dear father ! Restoration hang Thy medicine on my lips, and let this kiss Repair those violent harms that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made!

Kent. Kind and dear princess!

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes 30

Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face To be opposed against the warring winds? To stand against the deep dread-bolted thun- der? In the most terrible and nimble stroke Of quick, cross lightning? to watch — poor

perdu ! — With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog,

as favorable to sleep. Lear, we may suppose, had been thus com- posed to rest; and now the Physician desires louder music to be played, for the purpose of waking him. — H. N. H.

32. "opposed against the warring winds"; Qq., "Exposed" ; Ff., "jarring." — I. G.

33-36. Omitted in the Folios.— I. G.

36. "thin helm"; that is, this thin helmet of "white flakes," or gray hair. The allusion is to the forlorn hope of an army, called in French enfans Perdus; who, among other desperate services, often engage in night-watches. So in Beaumont and Fletcher's Little French Lawyer: "I am set here like a perdu, to watch a fellow that has wrong'd my mistress." — This and the three foregoing lines are not in the folio. The folio also has "jarring winds." — H. N. H.

"Mine enemy's"; Ff., "Mine Enemies"; Qq. 1, 2, "Mine iniurious"; Q. 2, "Mine injurious" ; Theobald, "My very enemy's" &c. — I. G.

"Mine enemy's dog" etc.; Mr. Verplanck tells us that Jarvis, the American painter-artist, used often to quote this passage as accumu- lating in the shortest compass the greatest causes of dislike, to be overcome by good-natured pity. "It is not merely the personal enemy, for whom there might be human sympathy, that is admitted to the family fireside, but his dog, and that a dog that had in- flicted his own share of personal injury, and that, too, upon a gentle being from whom it was not possible that he could have received any provocation." — H. N. H.

155

Act iv. Sc. vii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Though he had bit me, should have stood that

night Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor

father, To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn, In short and musty straw? Alack, alack! 40 'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him. Doct. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest. Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your

majesty? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave : Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead. Cor. Sir, do you know me?

Lear. You are a spirit, I know: when did you die? Cor. Still, still, far wide! 50

Doct. He 's scarce awake : let him alone awhile. Lear. Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight ? I am mightily abused. I should e'en die with

pity,

To see another thus. I know not what to say. I will not swear these are my hands : let 's see ; I feel this pin prick. Would I were assured Of my condition! Cor. O, look upon me, sir,

And hold your hands in benediction o'er me. No, sir, you must not kneel.

156

vING LEAR Act IV. Sc. vii.

Lear. Pray, do not mock me:

I am a very foolish fond old man, 60

Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor

less; And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks I should know you and know this

man; Yet I am doubtful; for I am mainly ignorant What place this is, and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments, nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at

me; For, as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child Cordelia. Cor. And so I am, I am. 70

Lear. Be your tears wet? yes, faith. I pray, weep

not: If you have poison for me, I will drink it. I know you do not love me; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong : You have some cause, they have not.

61. So reads the folio: the words, "not an hour more nor less," are not in the quartos. Those words have been unceremoniously cast out by divers editors, as having no business in the text. We quote, and cordially endorse, Knight's remarks on the subject: Malone says, 'The folio absurdly adds, not an hour more nor less; that is, not an hour more nor less than an indeterminate number, for such is fourscore and upwards.' Why, who is speaking? One who speaks logically and collectedly? No! one who immediately after says, 'I fear I am not in my perfect mind.' It was the half-consciousness of the 'foolish fond old man' which Shakespeare meant to express by the mixture of a determinate and an indeterminate idea; a depth of poetical truth which Steevens and Ritson call 'the interpo- lation of some foolish player.' " — H. N. H.

157

Act IV. Sc. vii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Cor. No cause, no cause.

Lear. Am I in France?

Kent. In your own kingdom, sir,

Lear. Do not abuse me.

Doct. Be comforted, good madam: the great rage, You see, is kill'd in him : and yet it is danger To make him even o'er the time he has lost. 80 Desire him to go in ; trouble him no more Till further settling.

Cor. Will 't please your highness walk?

Lear. You must bear with me.

Pray you now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish.

[Exeunt all but Kent and Gentleman.

Gent. Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain?

Kent. Most certain, sir.

Gent. Who is conductor of his people?

Kent. As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester.

Gent. They say Edgar, his banished son, is with the Earl of Kent in Germany. 91

Kent. Report is changeable. 'Tis time to look

79. "kill'd"; so Ff.; Qq., "cured"; Collier conj. "qvelVd."— I. G. 79-80. Omitted in the Folios.— I. G.

80. Mrs. Jameson has the following not more beautiful than just remark of this wonderful scene: "The subdued pathos and sim- plicity of Cordelia's character, her quiet but intense feeling, the misery and humiliation of the bewildered old man, are brought be- fore us in so few words, and sustained with such a deep intuitive knowledge of the innermost working of the human heart, that as there is nothing surpassing this scene in Shakespeare himself, so there is nothing that can be compared with it in any other writer." — H. N. H.

85-98. Omitted in the Folios.— I. G.

158

KING LEAR Act iv. Sc. vii.

about ; the powers of the kingdom approach apace. Gent. The arbitrement is like to be bloody.

Fare you well, sir. [Exit.

Kent. My point and period will be thoroughly wrought, Or well or ill, as this day's battle 's fought.

Exit.

159

Act v. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

ACT FIFTH

Scene I

The British camp near Dover.

Enter, with drum and colors, Edmund, Regan, Gentlemen, and Soldiers.

Edm. Know of the duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is advised by aught To change the course ; he 's full of alteration And self -reproving : bring his constant pleasure.

[To a Gentleman, who goes out.

Reg. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried.

Edm. 'Tis to be doubted, madam.

Reg. Now, sweet lord,

You know the goodness I intend upon you : Tell me, but truly, but then speak the truth, Do you not love my sister?

Edm. In honor'd love.

Reg. But have you never found my brother's way 10

To the forf ended place?

Edm. That thought abuses you.

Reg. I am doubtful that you have been conjunct And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers.

11-13, omitted in the Folios.— I. G. 13. "bosom'd"; taken into her confidence.— C. H. H.

160

:ING LEAR Act v. Sc. i.

1dm. No, by mine honor, madam.

leg. I never shall endure her : dear my lord,

Be not familiar with her. 1dm. Fear me not. —

She and the duke her husband !

Enter, with drum and colors, Albany, Goneril,

and Soldiers.

}on. [Aside] I had rather lose the battle than that sister Should loosen him and me.

lib. Our very loving sister, well be-met. 20

Sir, this I hear; the king is come to his daugh- ter, With others whom the rigor of our state Forced to cry out. Where I could not be hon- est, I never yet was valiant : for this business, It toucheth us, as France invades our land, Not bolds the king, with others, whom1, I fear, Most just and heavy causes make oppose.

1dm. Sir, you speak nobly.

leg. Why is this reason'd?

ron. Combine together 'gainst the enemy;

17. That is, "here she comes, and the duke her husband." The >eech is commonly pointed as if interrupted and left incomplete, ius: "She, and the duke her husband, — " — H. N. H. 18-19, 23-28, omitted in the Folios.— I. G.

25-26. Mason's conj. "Not the old king" for "not bolds the king" worthy of mention. Albany's point is that the invading enemy is ranee and not the wronged king, together with others whom heavy mses compel to fight against them; otherwise "not bolds the king" ="not as it emboldens the king"; an awkward and harsh construe- on.— I. G.

XXVI— 11 161

Act V. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY OF

For these domestic and particular broils 30

Are not the question here. Alb. Let 's then determine

With the ancient of war on our proceedings. Edni. I shall attend you presently at your tent. Reg. Sister, you '11 go with us? Gon. No.

Reg. 'Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us. Gon. [Aside} O, ho, I know the riddle. — I will go.

As they are going out, enter Edgar disguised.

Edg. If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor, Hear me one word.

Alb. I '11 overtake you. Speak.

[Exeunt all but Albany and Edgar.

Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this letter. If you have victory, let the trumpet sound 41 For him that brought it: wretched though I

seem, I can produce a champion that will prove What is avouched there. If you miscarry, Your business of the world hath so an end, And machination ceases. Fortune love you!

Alb. Stay till I have read the letter.

Edg. I was forbid it.

When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, And I '11 appear again.

33. Omitted in the Folios.— I. G. 46. "and . . . ceases"; iii. 76, 90, 144, 282, omitted in the Quartos. — I. G.

That is, all designs against your life will have an end. — H. N. H.

162

QNG LEAR Act V. Se. i.

lib. Why, fare thee well: I will o'erlook thy paper. 50

[Exit Edgar.

Re-enter Edmund.

Vdm. The enemy 's in view : draw up your powers. Here is the guess of their true strength and

forces By diligent discovery; but your haste Is now urged on you.

4.1b. We will greet the time. [Exit.

Vdm. To both these sisters have I sworn my love; Each jealous of the other, as the stung Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take? Both? one? or neither? Neither can be enjoy'd, If both remain alive: to take the widow Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril; 60 And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being alive. Now then we '11 use His countenance for the battle; which being

done, Let her who would bedrid of him devise His speedy taking off. As for the mercy Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, The battle done, and they within our power, Shall never see his pardon ; for my state Stands on me to defend, not to debate. 69

[Exit.

163

!Act V. Sc. it THE TRAGEDY OF

Scene II

A field between the two camps.

Alarum within. Enter, with drum and colors,

Lear, Cordelia, and Soldiers, over the

stage; and exeunt.

Enter Edgar and Gloucester.

Edg. Here, father, take the shadow of this tree For your good host; pray that the right may

thrive : If ever I return to you again, I '11 bring you comfort. Glou. Grace go with you, sir!

[Exit Edgar.

Alarum and retreat within. Re-enter Edgar.

Edg. Away, old man; give me thy hand; away!

King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en:

Give me thy hand ; come on. Glou. No further, sir ; a man may rot even here. Edg. What, in ill thoughts again? Men must en- dure

Their going hence, even as their coming hither:

Ripeness is all: come on. Glou. And that 's true too. H

[Exeunt.

5. Mr. Spedding (New Shak. Soc. Trans., Pari I.) plausibly sug- gested that the Fifth Act really begins here, and that the battle takes place between Edgar's exit and re-entrance, the imagination having leisure to fill with anxiety for the issue. — I. G.

164

KING LEAR Act v. Sc iii.

Scene III

The British camp near Dover.

Enter, in conquest, with drum and colors, Edmund; Lear and Cordelia, as prison- ers; Captain, Soldiers, §c.

Edm. Some officers take them away: good guard, Until their greater pleasures first be known That are to censure them. Cor. We are not the first

Who with best meaning have incurr'd the worst. For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down; Myself could else out-frown false fortune's

frown. Shall we not see these daughters and these sis- ters? Lear. No, no, no, no ! Come, let 's away to prison : We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage : When thou dost ask me blessing, I '11 kneel down 10

And ask of thee forgiveness : so we '11 live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and

laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news ; and we '11 talk with them

too, Who loses and who wins, who 's in, who 's out; And take upon 's the mystery of things, — As if we were God's spies : and we '11 wear out, In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones That ebb and flow by the moon.

165

Act V. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Edm. Take them away.

Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, 20

The gods themselves throw incense. Have I

caught thee? He that parts us shall bring a brand from

heaven, And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes ; The good-years shall devour them, flesh and

fell, Ere they shall make us weep : we '11 see 'em

starve first. Come. [Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded. Edm. Come hither, captain; hark.

Take thou this note: go follow them to prison: One step I have advanced thee ; if thou dost As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way To noble fortunes : know thou this, that men 30 Are as the time is : to be tender-minded Does not become a sword: thy great employ- ment Will not bear question ; either say thou 'It do 't, Or thrive by other means. Capt. I '11 do 't, my lord.

Edm. About it; and write happy when thou hast done. Mark ; I say, instantly, and carry it so As I have set it down. Capt. I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats ; If it be man's work, I '11 do 't. [Eant.

27. "this note"; this is a warrant signed by Edmund and Goneril, for the execution of Lear and Cordelia, referred to afterwards. — H. N. H.

38-39, 47, 54-59, omitted in the Folios.— I. G.

166

:iNG LEAR Act v. Sc. iii.

Nourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, another Captain, and Soldiers.

lib. Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant strain, 40

And fortune led you well: you have the cap- tives That were the opposites of this day's strife : We do require them of you, so to use them As we shall find their merits and our safety May equally determine. Jdm. Sir, I thought it fit

To send the old and miserable king To some retention and appointed guard; Whose age has charms in it, whose title more, To pluck the common bosom on his side, And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes 50 Which do command them. With him I sent

the queen: My reason all the same ; and they are ready To-morrow or at further space to appear Where you shall hold your session. At this

time We sweat and bleed: the friend hath lost his

friend ; And the best quarrels, in the heat, are cursed By those that feel their sharpness. The question of Cordelia and her father Requires a fitter place. lib. Sir, by your patience,

I hold you but a subject of this war, 60

Not as a brother.

167

Act V. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Reg. That 's as we list to grace him,

Methinks our pleasure might have been de- manded, Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers, Bore the commission of my place and person : The which immediacy may well stand up And call itself your brother.

Gon. Not so hot:

In his own grace he doth exalt himself More than in your addition.

Reg. In my rights,

By me invested, he compeers the best.

Gon. That were the most, if he should husband you. 70

Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets.

Gon. Holla, holla!

That eye that told you so look'd but a-squint.

Reg. Lady, I am not well; else I should answer From a full-flowing stomach. General, Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony; Dispose of them, of me ; the walls are thine : Witness the world, that I create thee here

65. "immediacy3'; this apt and forcible word is probably of the Poet's own coinage. Nares says that "the word, so far as is known, is peculiar to this passage." Of course the meaning is, that Edmund has his commission directly from her, and not through any- one else; that is, he is her lieutenant, not Albany's. So in Hamlet we have "the most immediate to the throne." In the next speech, the quartos have advancement instead of addition. — H. N. H.

72. Alluding to the proverb, "Love being jealous makes a good eye look a-squint." So in Milton's Comus: "And gladly banish squint suspicion." — H. N. H.

76. "the walls are thine"; Theobald conj. "they all are thine"; (but perhaps the castle-walls are referred to). — I. G.

A metaphor taken from the camp, and signifying to surrender at discretion. This line is not in the quartos. — H. N. H.

168

[ING LEAR Act v. Sc. ft.

My lord and master. ion. Mean you to enjoy him?

lib. The let-alone lies not in your good will. 1dm. Nor in thine, lord.

[lb. Half -blooded fellow, yes. 80

leg. [To Edmund'] Let the drum strike, and

prove my title thine. lib. Stay yet; hear reason. Edmund, I arrest thee

On capital treason; and in thine attaint

This gilded serpent [pointing to Gon.]. For your claim, fair sister,

I bar it in the interest of my wife;

'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord,

And I, her husband, contradict your bans.

If you will marry, make your loves to me ;

My lady is bespoke. ron. An interlude!

lib. Thou art arm'd, Gloucester: let the trumpet sound : 90

If none appear to prove upon thy person

Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,

There is my pledge [throwing down a glove] : I '11 prove it on thy heart,

Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less

Than I have here proclaim'd thee. leg. Sick, O, sick!

Ton. [Aside] If not, I '11 ne'er trust medicine.

79. To obstruct their union lies not in your power. — H. N. H. 93. "prove it"; so Qq.; Ff., "make it"; Anon. conj. "mark it" J oilier MS., "make good"— I. G. 96. "medicine;' Ff.; Qq., "poyson."— I. G.

13 F 169

Act v. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Edm. [Throwing down a glove'] There 's my ex- change: what in the world he is That names me traitor, villain-like he lies: Call by thy trumpet : he that dares approach, On him, on you, — who not ? — I will maintain 100 My truth and honor firmly.

Alb. A herald, ho!

Edm. A herald, ho, a herald!

Alb. Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers, All levied in my name, have in my name Took their discharge.

Reg. My sickness grows upon me.

Alb. She is not well; convey her to my tent.

[Exit Regan, led.

Enter a Herald.

Come hither, herald, — Let the trumpet sound, — And read out this.

Capt. Sound, trumpet! [A trumpet sounds.

Her. [Reads] 'If any man of quality or de- HO gree within the lists of the army will main- tain upon Edmund, supposed Earl of Glou- cester, that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear by the third sound of the trumpet: he is bold in his defense,'

Edm. Sound! [First trumpet.

Her. Again! [Second trumpet.

Her. Again! [Third trumpet.

[Trumpet answers within.

Enter Edgar, at the third sound, armed, with a trumpet before him.

102, 109, omitted in the Folios.— I. G. 170

ING LEAR Act V. Sc. iii.

Jb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears Upon this call o' the trumpet.

rer. What are you? 120

Your name, your quality? and why you answer This present summons?

dg. Know, my name is lost ;

By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit: Yet am I noble as the adversary I come to cope.

lb. Which is that adversary?

'dg. What 's he that speaks for Edmund, Earl of Gloucester ?

'dm. Himself: what say'st thou to him?

'dg. Draw thy sword,

That if my speech offend a noble heart, Thy arm may do thee justice: here is mine. Behold, it is the privilege of mine honors, 130 My oath, and my profession : I protest, Maugre thy strength, youth, place and emi- nence, Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune, Thy valor and thy heart, thou art a traitor, False to thy gods, thy brother and thy father, Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious prince, And from the extremest upward of thy head

1119, 120. This is according to the ceremonials of the trial by corn- lit in cases criminal. "The appellant and his procurator first come i the gate. The constable and marshall demand by voice of herald, hat he is, and why he comes so arrayed" (Selden's Duello). — . N. H.

130, 131. "the privilege of mine honors"; Pope's reading; Qq. :ads "the priuiledge of my tongue"; Ff., "my priuiledge, The nuiledge of mine Honours." Edgar refers to "the right of bring- g the charge" as the privilege of his profession as knight. — I. G.

171

Act v. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY OP

To the descent and dust below thy foot, A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou 'No,' This sword, this arm and my best spirits are bent 140

To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, Thou liest.

Edm. In wisdom I should ask thy name,

But since thy outside looks so fair and warlike And that thy tongue some say of breeding

breathes, What safe and nicely I might well delay By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn: Back do I toss these treasons to thy head; With the hell-hated lie o'er whelm thy heart; Which for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise, This sword of mine shall give them instant way, Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak ! 152

[ Alarums. They fight. Edmund falls.

Alb. Save him, save him!

Gon. This is practice, Gloucester:

By the law of arms thou wast not bound to an- swer An unknown opposite ; thou art not vanquish'd, But cozen'd and beguiled.

Alb. Shut your mouth, dame,

143. Because, if his adversary was not of equal rank, Edmund might have declined the combat. — H. N. H.

146. "safe and nicely"; with perfect technical justification. — C. H. H.

148. Omitted in Q. 2; Q. 1 reads "Heere do I tosse those treasons to thy head"— I. G.

152. "where they shall rest"; to that place where they shall rest forever; that is, thy heart. — H. N. H.

172

:NG LEAR Act v. Sc. iii.

Or with this paper shall I stop it. Hold, sir ;

Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil.

No tearing, lady; I perceive you know it. m. Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine : 160

Who can arraign me for 't? }b. Most monstrous!

Know'st thou this paper? yn. Ask me not what I know.

[Exit.

lb. Go after her : she 's desperate ; govern her. im. What you have charged me with, that have I done;

And more, much more; the time will bring it out:

'Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou

That hast this fortune on me? If thou 'rt noble,

I do forgive thee. dg. Let 's exchange charity.

I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;

158. "name"; Qq. read "thing/'— I. G.

[61. "Most monstrous! know'st"; Steevens' emendation; Q. 1 j.ds "Most monstrous knowst"; Qq. 2, 3, "Monster, knowst"; Ff., lost monstrous! O know'st"; Capell, "Most monsterous! know'st"; d. Globe Ed., "Most monstrous! Oh! know'st."— I. G. .62. "Know'st thou this paper?"; in the quartos, this speech is dressed to Goneril, whose exit does not occur till after the next »ech, which is assigned to her. In this point, all the modern tions that we know of, except Knight's, follow the quartos. But bany has already said to Goneril, "I perceive you know it." He ght well ask Edmund, "know'st thou this paper?" for, in fact, »neril's letter did not reach Edmund; he had not seen it. Edmund, th some spirit of manhood, refuses to make any answers that 11 criminate or blacken a woman by whom he is beloved; and m proceeds, consistently, to answer Edgar's charges. — H. N. H. "Ask me not what I know"; the Ff. give this line to Edmund; the [. to Goneril.— I. G.

173

Act v. Sc. m. THE TRAGEDY OF

If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me. 170 My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague us: The dark and vicious place where thee he got Cost him his eyes.

Ed. Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true;

The wheel is come full circle ; I am here.

L4Z6. Methought thy very gait did prophesy A royal nobleness : I must embrace thee : Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I Did hate thee or thy father !

Edg. Worthy prince, I know 't.

Alb. Where have you hid yourself? 181

How have you known the miseries of your father ?

Edg. By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale; And when 'tis told, O, that my heart would;

burst ! The bloody proclamation to escape That f ollow'd me so near, — O, our lives' sweet- ness: That we the pain of death would hourly die Rather than die at once ! — taught me to shift Into a madman's rags, to assume a semblance That very dogs disdain'd : and in this habit 190

172-173. "vices . . . plague us"; so Ff.; Qq. read "vertues . . . scourge us"; Hanmer, "vices . . . plague and punish us"; Keightley, "vices . . . plague us in their time"; Anon. conj. "vices . . . scourge us and to plague us"; cp. "Wherewith a man sinneth, by the same also shall he be punished" (Wisdom xi. 16).— I. G.

174

/

KING LEAR Act v. Sc. iii.

Met I my father with his bleeding rings, Their precious stones new lost; became his

guide, Led him, begg'd for him, saved him from de- spair ; Never — O fault! — reveal'd myself unto him, Until some half -hour past, when I was arm'd; Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last Told him my pilgrimage : but his flaw'd heart, — Alack, too weak the conflict to support! — 199 'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, Burst smilingly.

Edm. This speech of yours hath moved me,

And shall perchance do good : but speak you on ; You look as you had something more to say.

Alb. If there be more, more woeful, hold it in; For I am almost ready to dissolve, Hearing of this.

Edg. This would have seem'd a period

To such as love not sorrow; but another, To amplify too much, would make much more, And top extremity.

206-223. Omitted in the Folios.— I. G.

207. "but another," &c., i. e. "one more such circumstance only, by amplifying what is already too much, would add to it, and so exceed what seemed to be the limit of sorrow" (Wright). — I. G.

209. "and top extremity" ; this passage is probably corrupt. The quartos are shockingly printed, and we have not the folio here to help us. The most likely meaning seems to be, "but another man, or another sort of men, to amplify what is already too much, would make the tale much worse, and so pass beyond the extreme of suffer- ing. This, at all events, is the best we can do with it. Divers ex- planations have been offered, and no editor seems satisfied with his own, much less with another's. — H. N. H.

175

Act v. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Whilst I was big in clamor, came there in a man, Who, having seen me in my worst estate, 211 Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding Who 'twas that so endured, with his strong

arms He f asten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out As he 'Id burst heaven ; threw him on my father ; Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him That ever ear received; which in recounting His grief grew puissant, and the strings of

life Began to crack: twice then the trumpet sounded, And there I left him tranced. Alb. But who was this? 220

Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in dis- guise Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service Improper for a slave.

Enter a Gentleman, with a bloody knife.

Gent. Help, help, O, help! Edg. What kind of help ?

Alb. Speak, man.

Edg. What means this bloody knife? Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes;

It came even from the heart of — O, she 's dead ! Alb. Who dead? speak, man.

215. "threw him on my father"; the old copies read "threw me on my father." Steevens thus defends the present reading: "There is a tragic propriety in Kent's throwing himself on the body of a deceased friend; but this propriety is lost in the act of clumsily- tumbling a son over the lifeless remains of his father." — H. N. H.

176

KING LEAR Act V. Sc. iii.

Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady : and her sister

By her is poisoned ; she hath conf ess'd it. Edm. I was contracted to them both: all three 230

Now marry in an instant. Edg. Here comes Kent.

Alb. Produce the bodies, be they alive or dead.

[Exit Gentleman.

This judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble,

Touches us not with pity.

Enter Kent.

O, is this he?

The time will not allow the compliment

Which very manners urges. Kent. I am come

To bid my king and master aye good night :

Is he not here? Alb. Great thing of us forgot!

Speak, Edmund, where 's the king? and where 's Cordelia?

See'st thou this object, Kent? 240

[The bodies of Goneril and Regan are brought in. Kent. Alack, why thus? Edm. Yet Edmund was beloved:

The one the other poison'd for my sake,

And after slew herself. Alb. Even so. Cover their faces. Edm. I pant for life: some good I mean to do,

229. "she hath conf ess'd it"; thus the quarto. The folio reads "she confesses it." — H. N. H.

XXVI— 12 177

Act v. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send, Be brief in it, to the castle; for my writ Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia: Nay, send in time. Alb. Run, run, O, run!

Edg. To who, my lord? Who hath the office? send 25°

Thy token of reprieve. Edm. Well thought on: take my sword,

Give it the captain. Alb. Haste thee, for thy life.

[Exit Edgar. Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me To hang Cordelia in the prison, and To lay the blame upon her own despair, That she fordid herself. Alb. The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile.

[Edmund is borne off.

Re-enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in his arms; Edgar, Captain, and others following.

Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men

of stones: Had I your tongues and eyes, I Id use them so That heaven's vault should crack. She 's gone

for ever! 261

I know when one is dead and when one lives ; She 's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass ; If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, Why, then she lives.

245. "pant"; gasp for life.— C. H. H. 178

KING LEAR Act v. Sc. iii.

Kent. Is this the promised end?

Edg. Or image of that horror? Alb. Fall and cease.

Lear. This feather stirs; she lives. If it be so,

It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows

That ever I have felt. Kent. \Kneeling\0 my good master!

Lear. Prithee, away.

Edg. . 'Tis noble Kent, your friend.

Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!

I might have saved her ; now she 's gone for ever ! 272

Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!

What is 't thou say 'st ? Her voice was ever soft,

Gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.

I kill'd the slave that was a-hanging thee. Capt. 'Tis true, my lords, he did. Lear. Did I not, fellow?

I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion

I would have made them skip : I am old now,

265. "Is this the promised end?"; Kent, in contemplating the un- exampled scene of affliction which was then before him, and the unnatural attempt of Goneril and Regan against their father's life, recollects those passages of St. Mark's Gospel in which Christ fore- tells to his disciples the end of the world, and hence his question, "Is this the end of all things, which has been foretold to us?" To which Edgar adds, "Or only a representation or resemblance of that horror?" (Mason).— H. N. H.

266. To "cease" is to die. Albany is looking with attention on the pains employed by Lear to recover his child, and knows to what miseries he must survive, when he finds them to be ineffectual. Having these images present to his eyes and imagination, he cries out, "Rather fall, and cease to be at once, than continue in ex- istence only to be wretched." — H. N. H.

179

Act V. Sc. iii. % THE TRAGEDY OF

And these same crosses spoil me. Who are

you ? 280

Mine eyes are not o' the best, I '11 tell you

straight.

Kent. If fortune brag of two she loved and hated,

One of them we behold. Lear. This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent? Kent. The same,

Your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius ? Lear. He 's a good fellow, I can tell you that ; He '11 strike, and quickly too : he 's dead and rotten. Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very man — Lear. I '11 see that straight.

Kent. That from your first of difference and de- cay 290 Have f ollow'd your sad steps. Lear. You are welcome hither. Kent. Nor no man else: all's cheerless, dark and deadly. Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves, And desperately are dead. Lear. Aye, so I think. Alb. He knows not what he says, and vain is it

That we present us to him. Edg. Very bootless.

283. "One of them we behold" i. e. each beholding the other sees one of fortune's two notable objects of love and hate; (? for "we" read "ye," as has been suggested). — I. G.

Referring, no doubt, to Lear's reverses. He has been both loved and hated by fortune; has felt her best and her worst. — H. N. H.

293. "fordone"; so reads the folio; the quartos have foredoom' d instead of fordone. — H. N. H.

180

\ING LEAR Act V. Sc. u.

Enter a Captain.

?apt. Edmund is dead, my lord. tlb. That 's but a trifle here.

You lords and noble friends, know our intent. What comfort to this great decay may come Shall be applied: for us, we will resign, 300 During the life of this old majesty, To him our absolute power: [To Edgar and

Kent] you, to your rights ; With boot, and such addition as your honors Have more than merited. All friends shall

taste The wages of their virtue, and all foes The cup of their deservings. O, see, see ! Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no

life!

295. In this speech the quartos have sees instead of says. It is tot quite certain which is the better reading; and either may be ight; says agreeing better with what precedes, and sees with what ?ollows. And the latter may have some countenance from what L.ear says a little before, "This is a dull sight," if, as some have nought, we should there understand him as referring to his eye- sight, which was dying out with the breaking of his heart. Never- heless, on the whole, the folio reading seems the better. — H. N. H.

299. "This great decay" is Lear. Shakespeare means the same is if he had said, "this piece of decayed royalty." Gloster calls rim in a preceding scene "ruin'd piece of nature." — H. N. H.

303. "boot"; enhancement.— C. H. H.

307. "my poor fool"; this is an expression of tenderness for his lead Cordelia, (not his Fool, as some have thought,) on whose lips le is still intent, and dies while he is searching there for indica- ions of life. Poor fool, in the age of Shakespeare, was an expres- iion of endearment. The Fool of Lear was long ago forgotten: laving filled the space allotted to him in the arrangement of the )lay, he appears to have been slightly withdrawn in the sixth scene >f the third act. Besides this, Cordelia was recently hanged; but ve know not that the Fool had suffered in the same manner, nor can magine why he should. There is an ingenious note by Sir Joshua.

181

Act V. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY OF

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,

And thou no breath at all? Thou 'It come no more,

Never, never, never, never, never! 310

Pray you, undo this button : thank you, sir.

Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,

Look there, look there! [Diem

Edg. He faints. My lord, my lord!

Kent. Break, heart; I prithee, break! Edg. Look up, my lord.

Kent. Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he hates him

That would upon the rack of this tough world

Stretch him out longer. Edg. He is gone indeed.

Kent. The wonder is he hath endured so long :

He but usurp'd his life. Alb. Bear them from hence. Our present busi- ness 320

Is general woe. [To Kent and Edgar] Friends of my soul, you twain

Rule in this realm and the gored state sustain. Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go;

My master calls me, I must not say no.

Reynolds in the variorum Shakespeare, sustaining a contrary opinion; but, as Malone observes, "Lear from the time of his entrance in this scene to his uttering these words, and from thence to his death, is wholly occupied by the loss of his daughter. He is now in the agony of death, and surely at such a time, when his heart was just breaking, it would be highly unnatural that he should think of his Fool."— H. N. H.

312. "Look on her, look, her lips"; Johnson's emendation; F. 1 reads "Looke her lips"; Ff., *'looke (or look) on her lips." — I. G.

315. "he hates him"; "he" is the subject of "that would"; "him" is Lear.— €. H. H.

182

KING LEAR Act V. Sc iii.

Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey, Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most : we that are young Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

[Exeunt,, with a dead march.

325. This speech is given in the Ff. to Edgar, and probably it was so intended by the poet. It has been suggested that the first two lines should be given to Edgar, the last two to Albany. — I. G.

183

GLOSSARY

By Israel Goixancz, M.A.

Abated, diminished, deprived; II. iv. 162.

Able, uphold, answer for; IV. vi. 174.

Abused, deceived; IV. i. 24.

Action-taking, "resenting an in- jury by a law-suit, instead of fighting it out like a man of honor" (Schmidt); II. ii. 18.

Addition, distinction, title; II. ii. 26; V. iii. 301. "Your a.", the title you have given him; V. iii. 68.

Additions, outward honor, titles; I. i. 140.

Address, address ourselves; I. i. 195.

Admiration, amazement, aston- ishment; I. iv. 261.

Advise yourself, consider; II. i. 29.

Affected; "had more a.", had better liked, been more partial to; I. i. 1.

After, afterwards; V. iii. 243.

A-height, aloft, to the height; IV. vi. 58.

Aidant, helpful; IV. iv. 17.

Ajax, taken as a typical boaster; (according to some, a plain, blunt, brave fellow) ; II. ii. 134.

Alarum'd; "best a. spirits," spirits thoroughly aroused to the combat; II. i. 55.

All, altogether; I. i. 104.

Allay, be allayed; I. ii. 190.

Allow, approve of; II. iv. 195.

Allowance, countenance, per- mission; I. iv. 232.

Alms; "at fortune's a.", as an alms of Fortune; I. i. 283.

Amity, friendship; II. iv. 246.

An, if; I. iv. 199.

Ancient of war, experienced offi- cers; V. i. 32.

Answer; "a. my life," let my life answer for; I. i. 155.

Apollo; "by Apollo," an oath; I. i. 164.

Appear; "wilt a.", dost wish to seem; I. i. 185.

Approve, prove; II. ii. 169.

Approves, confirms; II. iv. 187.

, proves; III. v. 12.

Arbitrement, contest, decision; IV. vii. 95.

Arch, chief; II. i. 61.

Argument, subject; I. i. 220.

Aroint thee, make room, away with thee; (Qq., "arint thee"); III. iv. 131.

As, as if; III. iv. 15.

Assured loss, certainty of loss; III. vi. 103.

Attaint, impeachment; V. iii. 83.

Attask'd for, blamed for; (Ff. 1, 2, 3, "at task for"; some copies of Q. 1, "attaskt for"; Qq. 2, 3, "alapt"); I. iv. 368.

184

KING LEAR

Attend, await; II. i. 127. , watch, wait; II. iii. 5.

Auricular, got by hearing; (Qq., "aurigular") ; I. ii. 103.

Avert, turn; I. i. 216.

Avouch, own, acknowledge; II. iv. 241.

Avouched, asserted; V. i. 44.

Back, on his way back; IV. ii.

90. Ballow, cudgel; (Q. 2, "bat") ;

IV. vi. 251. Balm'd, cured, healed; III. vi.

106. Bandy, beat to and fro (a term

in tennis) ; I. iv. 93. Bans, curses; II. iii. 19. Bar, shut; II. i. 82.

, debar, exclude; V. iii. 85.

Barber-monger, frequenter of

barbers' shops, fop; II. ii. 36. Bearing, suffering; III. vi. 115. Becomes, suits, agrees with; II.

iv. 156. Bedlam, lunatic; III. vii. 104. Bedlam beggars, mad beggars;

II. iii. 14. Beguiled, deceived; II. ii. 119. Belike, it may be, perhaps; IV.

v. 20. Bemadding, maddening; III. i.

38. Be-met, met; V. i. 20. Bench, sit on the judgment- seat; III. vi. 41. Bending, directing, raising; IV.

ii. 74. Benison, blessing; I. i. 270. Besort, become; I. iv. 275. Best; "were b.", had better; I.

iv. 109. Bethought; "am b.", have de- cided; II. iii. 6. Bestow, place, lodge; IV. vi. 298.

Glossary

Bestow'd, housed, lodged; II. iv. 293.

Betwixt, between; I. i. 143.

Bewray, betray, reveal; (Qq., "betray") ; II. i. 109.

Bias of nature, natural direc- tion, tendency; I. ii. 127.

Bide, bear; III. iv. 29.

Biding, abiding place; IV. vi. 232.

Big, loud; V. iii. 210.

Blame, fault; II. iv. 294.

Blank, the white mark in the center of the butt at which the arrow is aimed; I. i. 163.

Block, fashion of a hat; IV. vi. 190.

Blood, nature; III. v. 26.

, impulse, passion; (Theo- bald, "boiling blood") ; IV. ii. 64.

Blown, ambitious, inflated; IV. iv. 27.

Boil, inflamed tumor; (Qq., Ff., "bile," "byle"); II. iv. 227.

Bolds, encourages; V. i. 26.

Bond, duty, obligation; I. i. 97.

Bones; "young b.", i. e. unborn infant; II. iv. 166.

Boot; "to b., and b.", for your reward ( ? "over and above my thanks"); IV. vi. 234.

Bootless, useless; V. iii. 294.

Border'd, limited, confined; IV. ii. 33.

Bosom; "of her b.'\ in her con- fidence; IV. v. 26.

, "common b.", affection of

the people; V. iii. 49.

Bosom'd, in her confidence; V. i. 13.

Bound, ready; III. vii. 11.

Bourn, brook; III. vi. 27.

, limit, boundary; IV. vi. 57.

Brach, a female hound; (Ff., "the Lady Brach"-, Qq., "Lady

185

Glossary

THE TRAGEDY OF

oth'e brack"; A. Smith, "Lye

the brack") ; I. iv. 126. Brazed, brazened, hardened; I.

i. 11. Brief; "be b. in it," be quick

about it; V. iii. 247. British, (Ff. "English") ; IV. vi.

260. Brow of youth, youthful brow;

I. iv. 309. Brown bills, browned halberds

used by foot-soldiers; IV. vi.

92. Buoy'd, lifted itself; (Q. 1, Mus.

per. and Bodl. 2, "bod"; Q. 1,

Cap. Dev. Mus. imp. and

Bodl. 1, "layd"; Qq. 2, 3,

"laid"); III. vii. 61. Bur-docks, the plant Arctrum

Lappa; (Hanmer's emenda- tion; Qq., "hor docks"; Ff. 1, 2,

"Hardokes"; Ff. 3, 4, "Har-

docks"; Farmer conj. 1778,

"harlocks" ; Collier Steevens

conj. "hoar-docks"); IV. iv. 4. But, only; IV. vi. 130. Buzz, whisper; I. iv. 350. try; I. i. 67.

By, from; (Ff. "on"); I. ii. 139. Chance, chances it; II. iv. 64.

Character, handwriting; I. ii.

Capable, capable of inheriting;

II. i. 87. Carbonado, cut across like a

piece of meat for broiling or

grilling; II. ii. 42. Carry, bear; III. ii. 49. , carry out, contrive; V. iii,

36. Carry out my side, "be a winner,

in the game" (Schmidt) ; V. i.

61. Case, empty socket; IV. vi. 149. Cat, civet cat; III. iv. 111. Cataracts, water-spouts; (Q. 1,

"caterickes") ; III. ii. 2. Censure, judge, pass sentence

upon; V. iii. 3. Centaurs, fabulous monsters,

half man, half horse; IV. vi.

128. Century, troop of a hundred

men; IV. iv. 6. Challenge, claim as due; I. i.

56. Challenged, claimed; IV. vii. 31. Champains, plains, open coun-

Cadent, falling; (Qq. 1, 2, "ac- cent"; Q. 3, "accient"); I. iv. 310.

Caitiff, wretch; (Ff., "coward") ; II. i. 64.

Camelot, "I'd drive ye cackling home to C"; probably a prov- erb not yet satisfactorily ex- plained; it is said that near Cadbury in Somersetshire, the supposed site of Camelot, there are large pools, upon which many geese are bred; II. ii. 92.

Can, can do; IV. iv. 8.

Canker-bit, canker-bitten; V. iii. 123.

68.

Charge, expense, cost; II. iv. 243.

Check, censure, rebuke; II. ii. 151.

Che vor ye, I warn you; IV. vi, 250.

Child-changed, changed by chil- dren's conduct; IV. vii. 17.

Child Rowland, (v. Note) ; III. iv. 190.

Chill, I will; (Somerset or south-country dialect) ; IV. vi. 243.

Chud, I should, or I would (cp. "chill") ; IV. vi. 247.

Clearest, most pure, most glo- rious; IV. vi. 73.

186

KING LEAR

Glossary

Clipp'd, curtailed; IV. vii. 6. Closet, room, chamber; I. ii. 67. Clothier's yard, cloth-yard-shaft, arrow; IV. vi. 89.

Dlotpoll, blockhead; (Ff., "Clot- pole"; Qq., "clat-pole"); I. iv. 52.

Clout, the white mark in the center of the target; IV vi. 93.

Cock, cockcrow; III. iv. 123. — , cockboat; IV. vi. 19.

Cockney, a cook's assistant; (originally a person connected with the Kitchen; later, a pam- pered child) ; II. iv. 124.

Cocks, weathercocks; III. ii. 3.

Cod-piece, a part of the male at- tire; III. ii. 28.

Cold; "catch c", be turned out of doors; I. iv. 113.

Color, kind; (Qq., "nature") ; II. ii. 147.

Comfortable, able to comfort; I. iv. 331.

, comforting; II. ii. 173.

Comforting, "giving aid and comfort to"; (used in a tech- nical legal sense) ; III. v. 22.

Commend, deliver; II. iv. 28.

Commission, warrant to act as representative; V. iii. 64.

Commodities, advantages; IV. i. 23.

Compact, put together; I. ii. 7.

, give consistency to; I. iv.

364.

Compeers, is equal with; V. iii. 69.

Conceit, imagination; IV. vi. 42.

Conceive, understand; IV. ii. 24.

Concluded; "had not c. all," had not come to an end altogether; IV. vii. 42.

Condition, character, habit; I. i. 303.

Conditions, character, temper; IV. iii. 35.

Confine, limit, boundary; II. iv. 151.

Confined, restricted, limited; I. ii. 25.

Conjunct, in concert with; (F., "compact") ; II. ii. 127.

, closely united; V. i. 12.

Conjuring, employing incanta- tions; II. i. 41.

Consort, company; II. i. 99.

Conspirant, conspirator; V. iii. 136.

Constant pleasure, fixed re- solve; V. i. 4.

Constrains, forces; II. ii. 105.

Contemned'st, most despised; (Qq. "temnest"; Pope, "the meanest") ; II. ii. 152.

Continent, restraining; I. ii. 193.

Continents, that which contains or encloses; III. ii. 59.

Convenient, proper; V. i. 36.

Converse, associate, have inter- course; I. iv. 16.

Convey, manage with secrecy; I. ii. 114.

Cope, cope with; V. iii. 125.

Corky, withered, dry; III. vii. 30.

Coronet, crown; I. i. 143.

Costard, head; IV. vi. 251.

Couch, lie close and hidden; III. i. 12.

Course, way of life; II. ii. 177.

, "my very c", the same

course as I do; (Ff., "my course") ; I. iii. 26.

, "gentleness and c. of

yours," gentleness of your course; I. iv. 366. -, "the old c. of death," a

natural death; III. vii. 102.

Court holy- water, flattery ;

("Ray, among his proverbial

187

Glossary

THE TRAGEDY OF

phrases, mentions court holy- water meaning fair words. The French have the same phrase: Eau benite de Cour" Steevens); III. ii. 10.

Courtesy; "do a c. to"; yield, give way to; III. vii. 27.

Cover, hide; I. i. 286.

Cowish, "cowish terror," coward- ly terror; [Q. 1 (some copies), "cowish curre" ; Wright conj. "currish terror"] ; IV. ii. 12.

Coxcomb, fool's cap; I. iv. 105.

Coxcombs, heads; II. iv. 127.

Cozen'd, cheated, deceived; V. iii. 156.

Cozener, cheater; IV. vi. 169.

Crab, crab-apple; I. v. 20.

Craves, demands; II. i. 130.

Crow-keeper, one who scares crows away from a field; IV. vi. 88.

Cruel, a play upon crewel worsted, of which garters were made; (Qq. 1, 2, "crewell"; Q. 3, "crewill"; Ff. 3, 4, "crew- el"); II. iv. 7.

Cruels; "all c. else," "all their other cruelties" (v. Note) ; III. vii. 66.

Cry; "till it c. sleep to death," till its clamor murders sleep; II. iv. 121.

Cry grace, cry for pardon; III. ii. 60.

Cub-drawn, sucked dry by cubs, famished; III. i. 12.

Cuckoo-flowers, cowslips; IV. iv. 4.

Cue, catch-word; I. ii. 156.

Cullionly, wretched; II. ii. 36.

Cunning, dissimulation; II. i. 31.

Curiosity, minute scrutiny; I. i. 6.

, suspicious watchfulness,

scrupulousness; I. iv. 76.

Curiosity, over-nice scrupulous- ness; (Theobald, Warburton conj. "curtesie") ;' I. ii. 4.

Curious, nice, elegant; I. iv. 36.

Curst, shrewish; II. i. 67.

Darkling, in the dark; I. iv. 241. Daub it, keep up my disguise;

(Qq., "dance it") ; IV. i. 54. Dawning, morning; (Qq. "euen";

Pope, "evening") ; II. ii. 1. Day and night, an oath; I. iii. 4. Dear, precious, valued; I. iv. 297.

, important; III. i. 19.

Death-practised; "the d. duke,"

i. e., whose death is plotted;

IV. vi. 289. Deathsman, executioner; IV. vi.

268. Debosh'd, debauched; (Qq., "de-

boyst") ; I. iv. 266. Decline, bend; IV. ii. 22. Declining, becoming feeble; (Ff.

"declin'd") ; I. ii. 80. Deed; "my very d. of love," my

love in very deed; I. i. 74. Deer, game; III. iv. 146. Deficient, defective; IV. vi. 23. Defuse, disorder, disguise; I. iv.

2. Dejected; "d. thing of fortune,"

thing dejected by fortune; IV.

i. 3. Demanding, asking, enquiring;

III. ii. 66. Deny, refuse; II. iv. 90. Depart, depart from; III. v. 1. Depend, be dependent, remain;

I. iv. 274. Deprive, "disinherit"; I. ii. 4. Derogate, degraded; I. iv. 305. Descry; "main d.", full view of

the main body; IV. vi. 221. Descry, spy out, discover; IV. v.

13. Deserving, desert; III. iii. 26,

188

KING LEAR

Desperately, in despair; V. iii. 294.

Detested, detestable; I. ii. 85.

Difference; "your first of d.", the first reverse of your for- tune; V. iii. 290.

Differences, dissensions; II. i. 125.

Diffidences, suspicions; I. ii. 171.

Digest, dispose of, use, enjoy; I. i. 132.

Dimensions, parts of the body; I. ii. 7.

Disasters, (used perhaps in its original astrological sense) ; I. ii. 138.

Disbranch, slip, tear off from the tree; IV. ii. 34.

Disclaims in, disowns; II. ii. 60.

Discommend, disapprove; II. ii. 117.

Discovery, reconnoitering; V. i. 53.

Discretion, common sense, wis- dom^ discreet person; II. iv. 152.

Diseases, discomforts; (Ff., "dis- asters")-, I. i. 179.

Disnatured, unnatural ; I. iv. 308.

Display'd so saucily, made so saucy a display; II. iv. 41.

Dispositions, moods, humors; I. iv. 246.

Disquantity, diminish; I. iv. 273.

Disquietly, causing disquiet; I. ii. 130.

Distaff, spinning wheel; IV. ii. 17.

Distaste, dislike; (Qq.» "dis- like") ; I. iii. 15.

Distract, distracted; IV. vi. 293.

Dolors, used with a play upon "dollars"; (Ff. 1, 2, 3, "Do- lors") ; II. iv. 54.

1

Glossary

Dolphin my boy, probably a

fragment of an old song; III.

iv. 105. Doom, sentence; (F. 1, "guift";

Ff. 2, 3, 4, "gift") ; I. i. 169. Doubted, feared; V. i. 6. Doubtful, fearful; V. i. 12. Drew, I drew my sword; II. iv.

42. Ducking, bowing, fawning; II.

ii. 111. Dullard, idiot; II. i. 76.

Each; "at e.", fastened each to

each; IV. vi. 53. Ear-kissing, whispered in the

ear; (Qq., " ear e-bus sing" )\ II.

i. 9. Earnest, earnest money, money

paid beforehand as a pledge;

I. iv. 104.

Effects, outward show; I. i. 135. , actions, manifestations; II.

iv. 183. Effects; "prove e.", be realized;

IV. ii. 15. Elbows, stands at his elbow; IV.

iii. 44. Elements, air and sky; (Qq.,

"element")-, III. i. 4. Elf all my hair, tangle, mat

my hair, (supposed to be the

work of elves or fairies); II.

iii. 10. Embossed, protuberant, swollen ;

II. iv. 228.

End, end of the world; V. iii.

265. Engine, rack; I. iv. 293. Enguard, guard; I. iv. 351. Enormous, abnormal; II. ii. 178. Enridged, formed into ridges;

IV. vi. 71. Entertain, engage; III. vi. 84. Entire, main; I. i. 245.

89

Glossary

THE TRAGEDY OF

Epileptic, "distorted by grin- ning"; II. ii. 89.

Equalities, equal conditions; (Ff., "qualities"); I. i. 5.

Esperance, hope; IV. i. 4.

Essay, assay, trial; I. ii. 47.

Estate, condition; V. iii. 211.

Even; "even o'er," pass over in his memory; IV. vii. 80.

Event; "the e.", i. e., the result will prove; I. iv. 373.

Evidence, witnesses; III. vi. 38.

Exhibition, allowance; I. ii. 25.

Eyeless, blind; III. i. 8.

Fain, gladly; I. iv. 198. Faint, slight; I. iv. 74. Faith'd, believed; II. i. 72. Fall, cause to fall; II. iv. 171. Fast, firm, fixed; (Qq., "first");

I. i. 41. Fault, mistake; V. iii. 194. Favors; "my hospitable f.", the

features of me your host; III.

vii. 41. Fear, am afraid of; IV. ii. 31. Fears, frightens; III. v. 5. Feature, outward form; IV. ii.

63. Feeling, heartfelt; IV. vi. 230. Felicitate, made happy; I. i. 78. Fellow, companion; III. i. 48. Fellows, comrades; I. iii. 14. Fetch, bring; (Ff. 3, 4, "fet";

Pope, "bring") ; II. iv. 93. Fetches, pretexts, excuses; II. iv.

91. Fire; "f. us like foxes," alluding

to the practice of smoking

foxes out of their holes; V.

iii. 23. Fire-new, brand new, fresh from

the mint; V. iii. 133. Fish; "eat no f.'\ i. e. be a Prot- estant; (alluding to the Pa-

pist custom of eating fish on

Fridays) ; I. iv. 18. Fitchew, polecat; IV. vi. 126. Fitness; "my f.", a thing be- coming me; IV. ii. 63. Flaw'd, shattered, broken; V. iii.

198. Flaws, shivers, particles; II. iv.

289. Flesh, "feed with flesh for the

first time, initiate" (Schmidt);

(Qq., "/leash") ; II. ii. 50. Flesh and fell, flesh and skin;

V. iii. 24. Fleshment; "in the f. of," being

fleshed with; (Qq. 1, 2,

"flechuent"; Q. 3, flechuent");

II. ii. 132. Flibbertigibbet, the name of a

fiend; III. iv. 122. Flying off, desertion; II. iv. 92. F'oins, thrusts in fencing; IV. vi.

255. Fond, foolish; I. ii. 53; I. iv. 326;

IV. vii. 60. Fool; "poor fool," used as a term

of endearment (addressed to

Cordelia) ; V. iii. 307. Fool; "their f.", a fool to them;

II. ii. 134. Footed, landed; III. iii. 15. Foppish, foolish; I. iv. 184. For, because; I. i. 229.

, as for; II. i. 114; V. i. 24.

Forbid, forbidden; III. iii. 24. Fordid, destroyed; V. iii. 257. Fordone, destroyed; V. iii. 293. Fore-vouch'd, affirmed before; I.

i. 225. Forfended, forbidden; V. i. 11. Forgot, forgotten; V. iii. 238. Fork, barbed arrow head; I. i.

148. For that, because; I. ii. 5. Fortune, success; V. iii. 167. Frame, manage; I. ii. 111.

190

QNG LEAR

Glossary

rance, King of France; II. iv.

216. 'rateretto, the name of one of

Harsnet's fiends; III. vi. 8. Fraught, filled; I. iv. 245. 'ree, sound, not diseased; IV. vi. , 80.

'ret, wear; I. iv. 310. 'rom, away from; II. i. 126. Frontlet, frown; I. iv. 211. Fruitfully, fully; IV. vi. 275. Full, fully; I. iv. 362. Full-flowing, "freely venting its

passion"; V. iii. 74. ^umiter, fumitory; IV. iv. 3. "urnishings, pretenses, outward

shows; III. i. 29. Burrow-weeds, weeds growing

on plowed land; IV. iv. 3.

jad; "upon the g.", on the spur of the moment, suddenly; I. ii. 26.

jait, way; IV. vi. 246.

, bearing; V. iii. 177.

jallow, frighten, terrify; III. ii. 45.

}arb, manner of speech; II. ii. 105.

jasted, frightened; II. i. 57.

jate; "at g.", at the gate; III. vii. 18.

jeneration, offspring; I. i. 121.

jermins, germs, seeds; (Theo- bald's emendation; Qq., "Ger- mains" ; Ff. 1, 2, "germaines" ; Ff. 3, 4, "germanes" ; Capell; "germens") ; III. ii. 8.

jive you good morrow, God give you good morning; II. ii. 167.

jlass-gazing, contemplating him- self in a mirror, vain, foppish; II. ii. 19.

jloves; "wore g. in my cap," i. e., as favors of my mistress; III. iv. 88.

Good; "made g.'\ maintained, as- serted; I. i. 177.

Goodman boy, a contemptuous mode of address; II. ii. 49.

Good-years, supposed to be cor- rupted from goujei'e, the French disease; (Qq., "good"; Theobald, "goodjers" ; Han- mer, "goujeres") ; V. iii. 24.

Got, begot; II. i. 80.

Go to, an exclamation; III. iii. 9.

Govern, restrain; V. iii. 163.

Graced, dignified; (Qq., "great") ;

I. iv. 270.

Greet the time, "be ready to greet the occasion"; V. i. 54.

Gross, large; IV. vi. 14.

Grossly, "palpably, evidently"; I. i. 297.

Grow out at heels, reduced to poor condition (cp. "out at el- bows"); II. ii. 166.

Guardians; "my g.", "the guar- dians under me of my realm";

II. iv. 255.

Habit, dress, garb; V. iii. 190.

Halcyon, kingfisher; ("a lytle byrde called the King's Fysher, being hanged up in the ayre by the neck, his nebbe or byll wyll be alwayes dyrect or strayght against ye winde" — Thomas Lupton, Notable Things, B. x.) ; II. ii. 86.

Half-blooded, partly of noble, partly of mean birth; V. iii. 80.

Hand y-d a n d y, the children's game; "which hand will you have?"; IV. vi. 159.

Hap; "what will h.", let what will happen; III. vi. 122.

Haply, perhaps; I. i. 104.

Happy, fortunate; II. iii. 2.

191

Glossary

THE TRAGEDY OF

Hatch, half-door; III. vi. 77. Headier; "more h.", more head- strong, impetuous; II. iv. 112. Head-lugg'd, led by the head;

IV. ii. 42.

Heat; **V the heat," a reference probably to the proverb, "Strike the iron while it is hot";

. I. i. 314.

Hecate (dissyllabic) ; (Qq. and F. 1, "Heccat"; F. 2, "Hecat") ; I. i. 114.

Hell-hated, "abhorred like hell" ;

V. iii. 149.

Helps, heals, cures; IV. iv. 10.

Here (used substantively) ; I. i. 266.

High-engender'd, engendered on high, in the heavens; III. ii. 24.

Him, himself; V. iii. 215.

Hit, agree, be of one mind; (Ff., "tit") ; I. i. 310.

Hold, keep, maintain; II. iv. 246.

Holp, helped; III. vii. 63.

Home, thoroughly, vitally; III. iii. 14.

Honor'd, honorable; V. i. 9.

Hopdance, the name of a fiend, (probably "Hoberdidance") ; (Qq., "Hoppedance" ; Capell, "Hopdance"); III. vi. 33.

Horse's health, alluding to the belief that "a horse is above all other animals subject to disease" (Johnson); III. vi. 21.

Hot-blooded, passionate; II. iv. 216.

House; "the h." i. e. "the order of families, the duties of rela- tion;" (Theobold, "the use?"; Collier MS., "the mouth?") ; II. iv. 156.

Howe'er, although; IV. ii. 66.

Hundred-pound, used as a term of reproach for a person who

had saved just enough to pose as a gentleman) ; II. ii. 17. Hurricanoes, water-spouts; (Ff. 2, 3, 4, "Hurricano's"; F. 1, "Hyrricano's"; Qq. 1, 2, "Hir- canios" ; Q. 3, "Hercantos") ;

III. ii. 2.

Hysterica passio, hysteria; (Qq. Ff. 1, 2, "Historica passio"; F. 3, "Hysterica passio") ; II. iv. 58.

Idle, foolish, silly; I. iii. 17.

, worthless; IV. iv. 5.

Ill affected, evilly disposed; II.

i. 100. Images, signs; II. iv. 92. Immediacy, being immediately

next in authority; V. iii. 65. Impertinency, that which is not

to the point; IV. vi. 181. Important, importunate; IV. iv. 1

26. Impossibilities; "men's i.", things

impossible to man; IV. vi. 74. Impress'd, pressed into our serv- I

ice; V. iii. 50. In, at; I. iv. 352; into; IV. i. 78. Incense, incite, instigate; II. iv.

310. Incite, impel; IV. iv. 27. Infect, pollute, poison; II. iv.

169. Influence (used as astrological

term) ; I. ii. 144. Ingenious, intelligent, conscious;

IV. vi. 292.

Ingrateful, ungrateful; II. iv. 166.

Innocent, idiot, (addressed to the fool) ; III. vi. 9.

Intelligent, bearing intelli- gence; (Qq. "intelligence"); III. vii. 12.

Intend upon, t. e., intend to con- fer upon; V. i. 7.

192

ING LEAR

tent, intention; I. i. 41.

tent; "made i.", intention, plan I had formed; (Collier itS., "main L") ; IV. vii. 9.

terlude; properly, a short play performed during a ban- quet; used loosely for a com- edy or farce; V. iii. 89. ttrinse, tightly drawn; II. ii. 83.

rvADE, pierce, penetrate into; I. i. 148.

rvADES, penetrates; III. iv. 7. L its; I. iv. 240.

is, it is true; IV. vi. 146.

ikes, privy; II. ii. 74. :alous, suspicious; V. i. 56. lo i n t-s tool, a folding-chair (used in proverbial expression, "I took you for a joint- stool"); III. vi. 55. [jdicious, judicial; III. iv. 75. [jsticer, justice; (Theobald's emendation; Qq., "iustice") ; III. vi. 24.

napped, cracked, tapped (Qq.,

"rapt") ; II. iv. 126.

nee, kneel down before; II. iv.

218.

Glossary ,

Light of ear, foolishly credu- lous; III. iv. 96.

Lights on, comes across his path; III. i. 54.

Like, please; I. i. 205.

Like, likely; I. i. 306.

Likes, pleases; II. ii. 98.

Lily-livehed, white-livered, cow- ardly; II. ii. 18.

Lipsbury pinfold; perhaps a *- coined name = the teeth, as be- ing the pinfold, or pound, within the lips (Xares); II. ii. 9.

List, please; V. iii. 61.

List, listen to; V. iii. 183.

Litter, couch for carrying sick persons and ladies when trav- eling; III. vi. 98.

Living, possessions; I. iv. 121.

Loathly, with abhorrence; II. i. 51.

Look'd for, expected; II. iv. 236.

Loop'd, full of holes (loop-holes) ; III. iv. 31.

Luxury, lust; IV. vi. 121.

Lym, bloodhound led in a line or leash ; ( Hanmer's correction ; Qq. 1, 3, "him"; Q. 2, "Him"; Ff., "Hym"; Collier MS., "Trim"); III. vi. 73.

ag of, later than; I. ii. 6. anced, cut; (Theobald's emen- dation; Qq. "launcht" and "lancht"; Ff., "latch'd"); II. i. 54.

ances, i. e. soldiers carrying lances, lancers; V. iii. 50. ate, lately; I. iv. 230; III. iv. 176.

— , "of 1.", lately; II. iv. 40. east; "in the 1.", at the least; I. i. 196.

eave, with your permission; IV. vi. 269.

Madded, maddened; IV. ii. 43.

Mahu, a name in Harsnet's cate- gory of devils; III. iv. 152.

Main, sea, ocean (Pmainland); III. i. 6.

Mainly, mightily; IV. vii. 65.

Make from, get out of the way of; I. i. 147.

Makes up, decides; I. i. 211.

Mate; "one self m. and m.", the same husband and wife, one and the same pair; IV. iii. 36.

Material, forming the substance;

193

{Glossary

THE TRAGEDY OF

(Theobald, "maternal"; Collier conj. "natural") ; IV. ii. 35.

Matter, cause of quarrel; II. ii. 48.

, meaning, good sense; IV.

vi. 181.

Mattimj; "no m.", does not mat- ter; I. iii. 23.

Maugre, in spite of; V. iii. 132.

Means, resources; IV. i. 22.

Meet, good, fit; I. ii. 101.

Meiny, household, retinue; (Ff.

I. 2, "meiney"; Qq. "men");

II. iv. 35.

Memories, memorials; IV. vii. 7. Merit,= desert, in a bad sense;

III. v. 8.

Merlin, the ancient magician of

the Arthurian romance; III. ii.

96. Mew, (v. note) ; IV. ii. 68. Milk-livered, faint-hearted; IV.

ii. 50. Minikin; "m. mouth," i. e.,

pretty little mouth; III. vi. 46. Miscarried, lost; V. i. 5. Miscarry, lose; V. i. 44. Mischief; "with the m. of your

person," with harm to your

life; (Hanmer, "without" ;

Johnson conj. "but with") ; I.

ii. 189. Misconstruction; "upon his m.",

through his misunderstanding

me; II. ii. 126. Miscreant, vile wretch, (?) mis- believer, (Qq., "recreant") ; I.

i. 165. Modest, becoming; II. iv. 25.

, moderate; IV. vii. 5.

Mono, a name from Harsnet's

category of devils; III. iv. 152. Moiety, share, portion; I. i. 7. Monsters, makes monstrous; I.

i. 225. Moonshines, months; I. ii. 5.

Mopping and mowing, t. e., mak- ing grimaces; (Theobald's emendation; Qq., "Mobing, and mohing") ; IV. i. 65.

Moral, moralizing; IV. ii. 58.

Mortified, insensible; II. iii. 15.

Mother, i. e., Hysterica passio, hysteria; II. iv. 57.

Motion, thrust, impulse; II. i. 52.

Motley, the parti-colored dress of the fool or jester; I. iv. 161.

Mouths; "made m.", made gri- maces; III. ii. 37.

Much, great; II. ii. 150.

Mumbling of, mumbling; (Qq., "warbling") ; II. i. 41.

Natural, used in the two senses of the word; II. i. 86.

Naught, naughty, wicked; II. iv. 137.

Naughty, bad; III. iv. 118.

Neat, finical, foppish, spruce; II. ii. 46.

Need of, have need of, need; II. iv. 242.

Nero, (Upton conj. "Trajan," because, according to Rabelais, Nero is a fiddler in hell, and Trajan a fisher of frogs); III. vi. 8.

Nether, committed on earth; IV. ii. 79.

Nether-stocks, short stockings ; (Q. a, "neather-stockes") ; II. iv. 11.

Nicely, with the greatest exact- ness; II. ii. 112.

Nighted, darkened; IV. v. 13.

Nine-fold, "nine imps" ( ? = nine foals); III. iv. 128.

Noiseless, devoid of noise betok- ening preparations for war;. IV. ii. 56.

Nor, neither; III. ii. 16.

1.0-4

■

QNG LEAR

Glossary

ote; "take this n.", take note of this, observe this; IV. v. 29.

— , notice; II. i. 85.

Ioted, noticed; I. iv. 82.

Iothing; "I n. am," I cease to be; II. iii. 21.

Nothing will come of xoth- inc," an allusion to the old proverb, "Ex nihilo nihil fit";

I. i. 94.

[otice, attention, countenance ;

II. iv. 253.

!otion, intellectual power, mind;

I. iv. 252.

[uncle, "the customary address of a licensed fool to his supe- riors"; I. iv. 118.

ruRSERY, nursing; I. i. 128.

>bject; "your best o.", "the de- light of your eye"; I. i. 219. >bscured, disguised; II. ii. 177. •bservants, obsequious courtiers;

II. ii. 111.

Occasions, causes; II. i. 122. Eillades, glances of the eye;

(Qq., "aliads"; F. 1, "Eliads" ;

Ff. 2, 3, 4, "Iliads"); IV. v.

25.

>'erlook, read over; V. i. 50. >'er-looking, looking over; I. ii.

40. I'erpaid, to be overpaid; IV. vii.

4.

>'er-read, read over; I. ii. 38. >'er-watch'd, worn out, exhaust- ed with watching; II. ii. 179. >f, from; IV. vii. 31. >ffend, injure; I. i. 312. >ffice, duty, service; II. iv. 108. Dld, wold; III. iv. 127. >ldness, old age; I. ii. 52. >n, of; I. i. 146; III. vi. 58; V.

iii. 250.

, at; II. ii. 28.

, "our wishes on the way,"

t. e., expressed to each other on.

the way hither; IV. ii. 14. On't, of it; II. i. 29. Ope, open; V. i. 40. Operative, effective; IV. iv. 14, Oppose; "make o.", compel to

fight against us; V. i. 27. Opposeless, not to be opposed,

irresistible; IV. vi. 38. Opposite, adverse, hostile; II. i.

51. Opposites, opponents; V. iii. 42. Ordinance, divine law; IV. i. 72. Or ere, before; II. iv. 290. Other, others; I. iv. 225. Out, abroad; I. i. 34. Out- wall, outward appearance ;

III. i. 45. Overture, opening, disclosure ;

III. vii. 90. O, well flown, bird! a phrase

taken from falconry; here used

figuratively for an arrow; IV.

vi 93. Owes, possesses; I. i. 207. Owest, dost own; I. iv. 134.

Pack, make off; II. iv. 82.

Packings, plottings; III. i. 26.

Packs, confederacies; V. iii. 18.

Pain, pains, labor, lies; III. i. 53.

'Parel, apparel; IV. i. 51.

Particular; "for his p.", as re- gards himself personally; II. iv. 296.

, personal; V. i. 30.

Party, side; (Qq. "Lady"); IV. v. 40.

Party; "intelligent p.", party in- telligent to; III. v. 13.

; "upon his p.", on his side;

II. i. 28.

Pass, pass away, die; IV. vi. 47. Pass upon, pass sentence upon;

III. vii. 25.

195

Glossary

THE TRAGEDY OF

Pat, just to the purpose, in the nick of time; I. ii. 155.

Pawn, a stake hazarded in a wager; I. i. 159.

Pawn down, pledge; I. ii. 96.

Peace, hold its peace; IV. vi. 105.

Pelican; the pelican is supposed to feed her young with her own blood; III. iv. 76.

Pelting, paltry; II. iii. 18.

Pendulous, hanging, impending; III. iv. 68.

Perdu, lost one; IV. vii. 35.

Perdy, a corruption of Fr. par Dieu; II. iv. 87.

Perfect, mature; I. ii. 79.

Perforce, of necessity; IV. ii. 49.

Period, end, termination; V. iii. 206.

Persever, the older pronunciation of the word persevere; III. v. 24.

Persian attire, alluding to the gorgeous robes of the East; (used ironically) ; (Ff., "Per- sian") ; III. vi. 87.

Piece, master-piece, model; IV. vi. 139.

Pierced, added; I. i. 204.

Pight, firmly resolved; II. i. 67.

Pillicock, properly a term of endearment used in old nur- sery rhymes; suggested by "pelican"; III. iv. 77.

Plackets, part of woman's at- tire; III. iv. 101.

Plague; "stand in the p. of," perhaps, be plagued by; (War- burton, "plage"— place; Simp- son conj. "place" etc.) ; I. ii. 3.

Plain, complain; III. i. 39.

Plaited, folded; (Qq. 1, % "pleated"; Ff., "plighted"); I. i. 285.

Plate, "clothe in plate armor*';

(Ff., "place"; corrected by

Theobald); IV. vi. 171. Plight, troth-plight; I. i. 105. Point; "at p.", ready for any

emergency; I. iv. 349. , "at p.", on the point of, pre- pared; III. i. 33. Poise, moment; (Qq. 2, 3, Ff.

"prize"; Hanmer "peize"); II,

i. 122. Policy and reverence, "policy

of holding in reverence"

(Schmidt) ; I. ii. 49. Port, harbor; II. iii. 3. Portable, bearable; III. vi. 116. Ports, gates, (?) harbors; II. i.

82. Potency, power; I. i. 177. Potential, powerful; II. i. 78. Pother, turmoil; III. ii. 51. Power, armed force; III. i. 30. Practice, plotting, stratagem; II.

i. 75. , stratagem, artifice; II. iv.

117. Practices, plots; I. ii. 211. Practised on, plotted against;

III. ii. 58. Predominance, influence; I. ii,

142. Prefer, recommend; I. i. 279. Pregnant, ready, easily moved;

II. i. 78; IV. vi. 231. Presently, immediately; I. ii.

114. Press-money, money given to a

soldier when pressed into serv- ice; IV. vi. t*7. Pretense, intention, purpose; I,

ii. 99. , "very p.", deliberate inten* I

tion; I. iv. 77. Prevent, to anticipate and checks

mate; III. iv. 167. Proceedings, course of action; V.

i. 32.

196

:iNG LEAR

Glossary

iofess, pretend; ? with play upon "profess,' —"to set up for"; I. iv. 14.

iofess; "what dost thou p.", what is thy trade, profession; I. iv. 12.

iofessed, full of professions; I. i. 277.

ioper, handsome; I. i. 19. — ; "p. deformity," moral de- pravity which is natural to him i. e., the fiend) ; IV. ii. 60. jissant, powerful, masterful ; V. iii. 218.

jppet, used perhaps contemptu- ously for a wanton; II. ii. 40. jr, imitation of the noise made by a cat, (but "Purre" also the name of a devil in Hars- net) ; III. vi. 48. cjt on, encourage; I. iv. 231. — , incited to; II. i. 101.

ctality, nature, disposition; II. iv. 94; II. iv. 140. — , rank; V. iii. 110, 121. ceasy, ticklish; II. i. 19. uestion, matter, cause; V. iii. 58.

— , "bear q.'\ bear to be ar- gued about; V. iii. 33. uestrists, searchers; III. vii. 18. uicken, come to life; III. vii. 40.

uit, requite, revenge; III. vii. 88.

uit you, acquit yourself; II. i. 32.

aging, angry, furious; (Ff.,

"roaring") ; III. iv. 10.

ake up, cover with earth; IV.

vi. 286.

ank, gross, flagrant; I. iv. 227.

azed, erased; I. iv. 4.

Reason, argue; II. iv. 268. Reason'd, argued, talked about;

V. i. 28. Regards, considerations; (Qq.,

"respects"); I. i. 244. Remediate, healing; IV. iv. 17. Remember; "r. thyself," confess

thy sins; IV. vi. 237. Rememberest, remindest; I. iv.

73. Remorse, compassion, pity; IV.

ii. 73. Remotion, removal; II. iv. 116. Remove, removal; II. iv. 4. Renege, deny; (F. 1, "Reuenge"

Schmidt* "Renegue") ; II. ii.

86. Repeals, recalls; III. vi. 121. Reposure, attributing; the act of

reposing; (Qq., "could the re- posure"; Ff., "would the re- posal") ; II. i. 70. Reprovable, blamable; III. v.

9. Resolution; "due r.", freedom

from doubt; I. ii. 113. Resolve me, tell me, satisfy me;

II. iv. 25. Respect; "do r.", show respect,

reverence; (Ff., "respects") ;

II. ii. 137. , "upon r.", deliberately; II.

iv. 24. Respects, consideration, motive ;

I. i. 253.

Rest; "set my r.", repose myself (derived probably from the game of cards = to stand upon the cards in one's hand) ; I. i. 125.

Retention, custody; V. iii. 47.

Return; "make r.", return; II. iv. 154.

Revenging, avenging, taking vengeance; (Qq., "reuengiue") ;

II. i. 47.

19'

Glossary

THE TRAGEDY OF

Reverbs, reverberates, re-echoes;

I. i. 158. Reverend, old; (Q. 2, "vnreue-

rent") ; II. ii. 135. Rich'd, enriched; I. i. 67. Rings, sockets; V. iii. 191. Ripeness, readiness; V. ii. 11. Rival'd; "hath r.," hath been

a rival; I. i. 196. Roundest, most direct, plainest;

L iv. 59. Rubb'd, hindered (a term in the

game of bowls) ; II. ii. 163. Ruffle; "do r.", are boisterous;

(Qq., "russel" "russell;" Ca-

pell, "rustle") ; II. iv. 305.

Safer, sounder, more sober; IV. vi. 81.

Saint withold, a corruption of Saint Vitalis, who was sup- posed to protect from night- mare; (Qq., "swithald" Ff., "swithold"); III. iv. 126.

Sallets, salads; III. iv. 139.

Salt; "a man of s.", a man of tears; IV. Ti. 202.

Samphire, sea-fennel; IV. vi. 15.

Save thee, God save thee; II. i. 1.

Savor but, have only a relish for; IV. ii. 39.

Saw, saying, proyerb; II. ii. 169.

Say, assay, proof; (Pope, '"say"); V. iii. 145.

Scant, fall short in; II. iv. 143.

, diminish; II. iv. 179.

Scanted, grudged; I. i. 283.

Scatter'd, disunited; III. i. 31.

Scythian, considered as a type of cruelty; I. i. 120.

Sea-monster, perhaps an allusion to the hippopotamus or the whale; I. iv. 286.

Sectary, disciple; I. ii. 174.

Secure, make careless; IV. i. 22,

Seeming, hypocrisy; III. ii. 57.

, "little seeming," seemingly

small, little in appearance; I. i, 203.

Self, self-same; I. i. 72.

Self-cover'd, "thou s. thing," thou who a woman hast dis- guised thyself in this diabolical shape; (Theobald, "self -con- verted" ; Crosby, "sex-cov* er'd") ; IV. ii. 62.

Sennet, a set of notes on the cornet or trumpet; I. i. 34-35, Stage Direc.

Sequent, consequent, following; I. ii. 120.

Servant, lover; IV. vi. 281.

Sessa, onward! (probably a hunting term); III. vi. 78.

Set, stake, wager; I. iv. 137.

Settling; "till further s.", till his mind is more composed; IV. vii. 82.

Seven stars, the Pleiades; I. v. 39.

Shadowy, shady; (Qq., "shady") ; I. i. 67.

Shealed peascod, shelled pea- pod; I. iv. 223.

Shows, seems, appears; I. iv. 268.

Shrill-gorged, shrill-throated; IV. vi. 58.

Simple; "simple answerer," sim ply answerer; (Ff., "simpU answer' d") ; III. vii. 44.

Simples, medicinal herbs; IV. iv. 14.

Simular; "s. man of virtue," man who counterfeitest virtue III. ii. 55.

Sir, man; ("that sir which," F. 4, "that, sir, which") ; II. iv, 80.

Sith, since; (Qq., "since") ; I. i 185.

198

KING LEAR

Sizes, allowance; II. iv. 179.

[Slack you, neglect their duty to you; II. iv. 249.

Slaves, treats as a slave ("by making it subservient to his views of pleasure or interest") ; IV. i. 72.

Sleep out, sleep away; (Q. 1, "sleep ont"); II. ii. 165.

Sliver, tear off like a branch from a tree; IV. ii. 34.

Smile, smile at, laugh to scorn; (Ff. and Qq., "smoile" or "smoyle"); II. ii. 90.

Smilets, smiles; IV. iii. 21.

Smooth, flatter, humor; II. ii. 83.

Smug, trim, spruce; IV. vi. 206.

Smulkin, a fiend's name, bor- rowed from Harsnet's category of devils; (Qq., "snulbug" ; Theobald, "Smolkin") ; III. iv. 148.

Snuff, flickering old age; IV. vi. 39.

Snuffs, quarrels, "huffs"; III. i. 26.

So, so be it; II. ii. 108.

Soiled; "s. horse," said of "a horse turned out in the spring to take the first flush of grass"; IV. vi. 126.

Something, somewhat; I. i. 23.

Some, someone; III. i. 37.

Sometime, once, former; I. i. 124.

, sometimes; (Ff., "some- times") ; II. iii. 19.

Soothe, humor; III. iv. 185.

Sophisticated, adulterated, not genuine; III. iv. 112.

Sop o' the Moonshine; prob- ably alluding to the dish called eggs in moonshine, i. e. "eggs broken and boiled in salad-oil till the yolks became hard; they were eaten with slices of onion fried in oil, butter, ver-

Glossary

juice, nutmeg, and salt"; II. ii.

35. Sot, blockhead; IV. ii. 8. Space, i. e. "space in general, the

world"; I. i. 59. Speak for, call for; I. iv. 270. Speculations, scouts ; (Johnson,

"speculators" ; Collier MS.,

"spectators"); III. i. 24. Speed you, God speed you; IV.

vi. 216. Spherical, planetary ; (Qq.,

"spiritual") ; I. ii. 141. Spill, destroy; III. ii. 8. Spite of intermission, in spite

of interruption; II. iv. 33. Spoil, wasting, ruining; II. i. 102. Spurs, incentives, incitements ;

(Ff., "spirits") ; II. i. 78. Square; "the most precious s. of

sense," i. e. "the most delicately

sensitive part" (Wright) ; I. i.

77. Squints, makes to squint; III. iv.

124. Squire-like, like a squire, at- tendant; II. iv. 218. Squiny, squint; IV. vi. 142. Stands; "s. on the hourly

thought," is hourly expected;

IV. vi. 222. Stand's, stand his; (Qq. 2, 3,

"stand his"; Ff., "stand"); II.

i. 42. Stands on, it becomes, is incum- bent on; V. i. 69. Star-blasting, blighting by the

influence of the stars; III. iv.

60. Stelled, starry; III. vii. 62. Still, continually, always; III.

iv. 184. Still-soliciting, ever begging; I.

i. 236. Stirs; "who s.?", does no one

stir?; I. i. 130.

199

Glossary

THE TRAGEDY OF

Stock'd, put in the stocks; (Ff., Superfluous, having too much; "stockt"; Q. 1, "struck''; Qq. IV. i. 71.

2, 3, "strucke"); II. iv. 192.

Stocking, putting in the stocks; (Qq. "Stopping"); II. ii. 141.

Stock-punished, punished by be- ing set in the stocks; (Ff.

Superflux, superfluity; III. iv. 35.

Superserviceable, one who is above his work; (Ff., "super- serviceable, finical"; Qq., "su- perfinicaU"); II. ii. 19.

"stockt, punish'd"); III. iv. Supposed, pretended; V. iii. 112.

Sustain, support; V. iii. 322. Sustaining, nourishing; IV. iv.

6. Svvear'st, swearest by; I. i. 165.

143.

Stomach, anger, resentment; V. iii. 74.

Stone, crystal; V. iii. 264.

Straight, straightway, imme- diately; II. iv. 35.

Strain, descent, race; V. iii. 40.

S t r a i n ' d, excessive ; (Qq. "straied"); I. i. 174.

Stranger'd, estranged; I. i. 209.

Stray; "make such a s.", go so far astray; I. i. 214.

Strength; "in my s.", with power from me, with my au- thority; II. i. 114.

Strings of life, heart-strings; V. iii. 218.

Strong and fasten'd, determined and hardened; (so Qq. ; Ff.,

Taint, disgrace; I. i. 226.

Taken, overtaken; I. iv. 355.

Taking, infection; III. iv. 61.

, "my t.", to capture me; II.

iii. 5.

, bewitching, blasting; II. iv.

167.

Taking off, slaughter, death; V. i. 65.

Taste, test, trial; I. ii. 47.

Tell, count, recount; II. iv. 55.

Temperance, self-restraint, calm- ness; IV. vii. 24.

Tend, wait on; II. iv. 267. O strange and fastened"); II. Tend upon, wait upon; II. i. 97.

i. 79.

Subscribed, surrendered; (Ff., "Prescrib'd"); I. ii. 24.

, forgiven; III. vii. 66.

Subscription, submission; III. ii. 19.

Succeed, come true, follow; I. ii. 166.

Success; "good s.", favorable re- sult, issue; V. iii. 196.

Sufferance, suffering; III. vi. 114.

Suggestion, prompting, tempt- ing; II. i. 75.

Suited, clad, dressed; IV. vii. 6.

Sumpter, pack-horse, hence a drudge; II. iv. 219.

Tender, regard, care for; I. iv.

234. Tender-hefted, tenderly framed;

II. iv. 175. Terrible, terrified, affrighted; I.

ii. 32. That, in that; I. i. 75. There; "are you there with me?"

is that what you mean?; IV.

vi. 150. This, this time forth; I. i. 120. THis's = this is; (Qq. Ff.

"this"); IV. vi. 190. Thought-executing, "doing ex- ecution with rapidity equal to

thought"; III. ii. 4. Threading, passing through,

200

QNG LEAR

Glossary

(like a thread through the eye of a needle); (Ff. "threa- ding"} Qq. "threatning"; Theo- bald conj. "treading") ; II. i. 121.

hree-suited, used contemptu- ously for a beggarly person; probably, having three suits of apparel a year; or the allow- ance from a master to his servant; II. ii. 17. hroitghly, thoroughly; IV. vii. 97.

h w a r t, perverse (Qq»» "thourt"); I. iv. 308. ike, a small dog; III. vi. 74. [me, life; I. i. 300. imes; "best of our t.", best part of our lives; I. ii. 51. [thing; district, ward; III. iv. 142.

5, as to; III. i. 52. — , against; IV. ii. 75. — , into; II. iv. 121. )ad-spotted, "tainted and pol- luted with venom like the toad"; V. iii. 139. )M o* Bedlam, "the common name of vagabond beggars, either mad or feigning to be so"; I. ii. 157. )ok, taken; V. iii. 105. >p, head; II. iv. 166. — , overtop, surpass; V. iii. 209.

)ward, at hand; IV. vi. 215. ) wards, to; I. i. 195. tAiN, retinue; (Ff., "number'') ; TT. iv. 64.

ianced, entranced; V. iii. 220. beachers, traitors ; (Qq., "Trecherers") ; I. ii. 141. lick, peculiarity, characteris- tic; IV. vi. 110.

iifle; "on every tr.", on every trifling opportunity; I. iii. 8.

Trill'd, trickled; IV. iii. 14.

Troop with, accompany, follow in the train of; I. i. 136.

Trowest, knowest; I. iv. 136.

Trumpet, trumpeter; (F. 1 "Trumper"); V. iii. 107.

Trundle-tail, a curly-tailed dog; III. vi. 74.

Trust, reliance; II. i. 117.

Tucket, a set of notes played on the trumpet or cornet; II. i. 80-81.

Tune, humor; IV. iii. 41.

Turlygod, a name given to mad beggars; possibly a corruption of "Turlupin," the name of a fraternity of naked beggars in the 14th century; (Q. 1., "Tuelygod," Theobald "Turly- good"; Warburton conj. "Tur- lupin") ; II. iii. 20.

Turns; "by due t.", in turn; I. i. 139.

Unaccommodated, unsupplied

with necessaries; III. iv. 113. Unbolted, unsifted, coarse; II.

ii. 73. Unbonneted, with uncovered

head; III. i. 14. Unconstant, inconstant, fickle;

I. i. 306. Undistinguish'd, indistinguish- able, boundless; IV. vi. 283. Unkind, unnatural; I. i. 265;

III. iv. 72. Unnumber'd, innumerable ; IV.

vi. 21. Unpossessing, landless; II. i. 69. Unprized, not appreciated, or,

perhaps, priceless; I. i. 264. Unremovable, immovable; II. iv.

95. Unsanctified, wicked; IV. vi.

286. Unspoke, unspoken ; I. i. 241.

14 F

201

Glossary

THE TRAGEDY OE

Unstate, deprive of estate; I. ii.

112. Untented, incurable; I. iv. 325. Untimely, inopportunely; III.

vii. 99. Upon, against; III. vi. 97. Upward, top; V. iii. 137. Usage, treatment; II. iv. 26.

Validity, value; I. i. 85.

Vanity the Puppet's Part, "al- luding to the old moralities or allegorical plays, in which Vanity, Iniquity, and other vices were personified" (John- son) ; II. ii. 40. #

Varlet, rascal; II. ii. 30.

Vary, change; II. ii. 87.

Vaunt -gouriers, forerunners ; (Qq. "vaunt-currers" ; Ff. "V a u n t-c u r r i o r s" ; Capell, "Vant-couriers") ; III. ii. 5.

Venge, avenge; IV. ii. 80.

Villain, serf, servant; III. vii. 78.

Virtue, valor; V. iii. 103.

Vulgar, commonly known; IV. vi. 218.

Wage, wage war, struggle; II.

iv. 213; stake; I. i. 160. Wagtail, the name of a bird;

II. ii. 75. Wake, waking; III. ii. 35. Wall-newt, lizard; III. iv. 137. Wash'd; "w. eyes," eyes washed

with tears; I. i. 273. Waste, wasting, squandering; II.

i. 102. Water, water-newt; III. iv. 138. Waterish, abounding with rivers;

(used contemptuously) ; I. i.

263. Wawl, cry, wail; IV. vi. 188. Ways; "come your w.", come on;

II. ii. 43.

Weal; "wholesome w.", healthy commonwealth; I. iv. 234.

Web and the Pin, a disease of the eye, cataract; III. iv. 124,

Weeds, garments, dress; IV. vii. 7.

Well-favor'd, handsome, good- looking; II. iv. 260.

What, who; V. iii. 120.

Wheel, the wheel of fortune; V. iii. 176.

Whelk'd, swollen, protruding like whelks; IV. vi. 71.

Where; (used substantively); I. i. 266.

, whereas; I. ii. 92.

Which, who; IV. vi. 219.

White Herring, fresh herrings ( ? pickled herring, as in North ern dialects); III. vi. 34.

Who, which; I. ii. 54.

Whoop, Jug ! I Love Thee, prob- ably a line from an old song; I. iv. 249.

Wield, manage, express; I. i. 57.

Wind; "w. me into him," i. e., worm yourself into his confi- dence; ("we," used redundant- ly); I. ii. 110.

Window'd, holes forming win- dows; III. iv. 31.

Wisdom of nature, natural philo- sophy; I. ii. 118.

With, by; II. iv. 257.

Wits; "five w.", the five intel- lectual powers (common wit, imagination, fantasy, estima- tion, and memory) ; III. iv. 58.

Wont, accustomed to be; I. iv. 65.

Wooden pricks, skewers; II. iii. 16.

Word, pass-word; IV. vi. 94.

, word of mouth; IV. v. 20.

Worships, dignity; I. iv. 291.

Worsted-stocking, worn by the

202

:iNG LEAR

lower classes and serving-men in distinction to silk ones which were worn by the gentry; II. ii. 17.

'orth; "are w.", deserve; I. i. 284.

orthied him, won him reputa- tion; II. ii. 130. ould, should; II. i. 70. rit, warrant; V. iii. 247.

Glossary

Write happy, consider yourself

fortunate; V. iii. 35. Wrote, written; I. ii. 97.

Yeoman, a freeholder not ad- vanced to the rank of a gen- tleman; III. vi. 12.

Yoke-fellow, companion; III. vi. 40.

203

STUDY QUESTIONS

By Anne Throop Craig

GENERAL

1. Where are the sources of the story of Lear to be found?

2. What travesty of Shakespeare's play was presented in England for over a hundred years?

3. Why is the character of Lear a difficult problem for an actor?

4. Analyze the effects of the characters in their-relations to each other and the development of the theme, as fol- lows : The Fool, his relation to Lear, and to Cordelia ; as a sympathetic element, and as a dramatic motive. Goneril and Regan : their common and contrasted qualities ; the causes of their influence over those other persons of the drama whom they draw into their groups. Edmund: his relation to the central theme dramatically and ethically ; the development of his action as an independent problem. Gloucester: his relation to the ethos of the theme, and by contrast, his personal integrity and goodness of heart with relation to Lear. Edgar: his relation to the ethos of the theme; his personal character, and spring of action by comparison with Kent's. Cordelia : the element introduced by her into the play, and its persistent influence.

5. What are the supremely effective elements in the play ; — in the presentation of scenes, their juxtaposition, — and in the development of the action?

6. What characterizes the play as a poetic achievement? as a vehicle for its theme?

7. Trace the demonstration of the philosophy of the theme throughout the play.

204

ING LEAR Study Questions

ACT I

8. What relation has the introductory scene between loucester, his son, and Kent, to the main point upon hich the theme hinges? What is its value as an intro- lctory scene?

9. What personal condition, state of mind, and elements f character had probably led Lear to his plan of dividing s kingdom?

10. In what ways can his judgment among his daugh- rs be explained?

11. How does their judgment of Cordelia bespeak the laracters of France and Kent?

12. Do Kent's words to Goneril and Regan suggest his strust of them?

13. What would be the natural impression of Goneril's id Regan's protestations to their father, upon a sincere id intelligent hearer? -

14. What does the dialogue of Goneril and Regan at the id of the first scene reveal?

15. WTiat perversity of mind is created in Edmund by le combination of conditions in which he is placed? Ex- lain it.

16. How does he first move towards his ends? Why is easy for him to take advantage of Edgar? Does he

low an appreciation of Edgar's qualities?

17. What is the first step of Goneril in her malignity to er father?

18. What does Kent do after his banishment?

19. What does the Fool mean throughout his talk with 'ent and Lear upon his first entrance, and after, upon the itrance of Goneril? Explain his several speeches.

20. How does Albany treat the behavior of Goneril at rst?

21. How is Lear affected by Goneril's behavior, and hat does he do following it?

22. Describe the last passage in the act, between Lear nd the Fool.

205

Study Questions THE TRAGEDY OF

ACT II

23. What is the next development of the action through Regan and Cornwall, and how does their coming serve the purposes of Edmund?

24. What is the extent of Edmund's villainy with regard to Edgar? To what is Edgar driven through it?

25. How does Regan use the color of this episode to throw disrepute upon her father's train?

26. What happens to Kent disguised, upon his first er- rand for the King?

27. How is Lear affected upon discovering Regan also to be false?

28. What are the final cruel terms Regan and Goneril make for their father?

29. What are his final words before he goes out with Gloucester, Kent, and the Fool?

30. How does the storm at this juncture enhance the effect of the situation ?

ACT III

31. What commission does Kent entrust to the "Gentle- man" he meets on the Heath?

32. Describe the passage between Lear and the Fool in the storm. What is peculiarly touching in the sentiment of this scene?

33. For what treachery is Edmund given further op- portunity by his father's confidence, in scene iii?

34. Where does Kent take Lear and the Fool for pro- tection from the storm, and whom do they come upon? Describe this scene. What constitutes its great dramatic effectiveness ?

35. Follow and describe the gradual effects of Lear's grief and distress of mind, as expressed through his utter- ances and behavior during these scenes of the night fol- lowing the expulsion by Regan and her husband.

36. Describe the scene in Gloucester's farm-house room,

206

lING LEAR Study Questions

nd the condition to which Lear has come as evidenced irough it.

37. What plot overheard by Gloucester necessitates -ear's removal? and to what place do his and Gloucester's ttendants set out to take him ?

38. What message is sent to Albany by Cornwall?

39. To what disaster at the hands of Cornwall does Edmund's treachery betray his father? How does this :ene emphasize the malignity of Goneril and Regan?

ACT IV

40. Why has it a particularly touching and felicitous elation to the theme that Edgar should be the one encoun- sred on the Heath by his father?

41. What does Oswald report of Albany, to Goneril? nd what is the outcome of this for Edmund?

42. What is Albany's reproof to Goneril, and what does e resolve because of the cruelties perpetrated?

43. What news of Cornwall's fate arrives in scene ii?

44. What is the dramatic purpose in obliging France ) return to his kingdom while the French are encamped at )over?

45. What is the description given Kent of Cordelia's eception of news concerning her father's troubles? How oes it reveal her nature ?

46. Why did Lear shrink from seeing Cordelia at this uncture?

47. How does Regan scheme to thwart Goneril's intrigue ith Edmund? What is her motive?

48. How does Edgar succeed in overcoming his father's uicidal intent?

49. How is his method in accord with proven knowl- dge of the power of mental suggestion ?

50. What is the dramatic effect of Lear's appearance at is entrance upon the scene in which he meets with Edgar nd Gloucester? Describe the scene. What are its tragic lements? To what state has the passion of Lear's dis-

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Study Questions KING LEAR

tress developed his utterance in this scene? — and what pow- ers does it reveal in him?

51. What is particularly pitiful in his behavior when Cordelia's attendants come to take him to her? Why is it so?

52. What letter is discovered by Edgar through Os- wald's attack upon Gloucester? How does Edgar set out to act upon it?

53. How is Lear restored? What are Cordelia's lines over him as he sleeps?

act v

54. What does Edgar charge Albany to do with regard to the letter he takes him?

55. How does Edmund plan the outcome of the situation and what is his charge to the captain with regard to Lear and Cordelia?

56. What is the outcome of the intrigues of the sisters, and the charge against Edmund?

57. What fatality stands in Albany's line, "Great thing of us forgot !" How is it necessary to make the event, as it is presented, consistent?

58. What is the tragic element in Edmund's line: "Yet Edmund was beloved:" — and in his final attempt to save Cordelia and Lear?

59. Describe the final rhapsody of Lear's grief.

60. What do Kent's last lines import? and what is the resolution of the situation as left between him, Albany, and Edgar? Describe the sentiment of this passage in its revelation of the characters of these men.

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ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

All the unsigned footnotes in this volume are by the writer of the article to which they are appended. The in- terpretation of the initials signed to the others is : I. G. = Israel Gollancz, M.A. ; H. N. H.= Henry Norman Hudson, A.M.; C. H. H.= C. H. Herford, Litt.D.

Hel. "That you are well restored, my lord, I'm glad : Let the rest go." King. "My honor's at the stake; which to defeat,

I must produce my power, — Here, take her hand, Proud, scornful boy,"

All's Well That Ends Well. Act 2, Scene 3,

PREFACE

By Israel Goklancz, M.A.

THE FIRST EDITIONS

AIVs Well that Ends Well appeared for the first time in le First Folio. It is certain that no earlier edition ex- ted ; the play was mentioned in the Stationers' Register rider November 8, 1623, among the plays not previously itered. The text of the first edition is corrupt in many laces, and gives the impression of having been carelessly rinted from an imperfectly revised copy. There is no >cord of the performance of AIVs Well that Ends Well uring Shakespeare's lifetime ; the earliest theatrical no- ces belong to the middle of the eighteenth century.

THE DATE OF COMPOSITION

The remarkable incongruity of style characteristic of U's Well that Ends Well — the striking contrast of ma- lre and early work — can only be accounted for by re- arding the play as a recast of an earlier version of the 3medy. Rhyming lines, the sonnet-like letters, the lyrical ialogues and speeches, remind the reader of such a play 3 Love's Labor's Lost. The following passages have not laptly been described as "boulders from the old strata nbedded in the later deposits" : — Act I, i, 241-254 ; I, i, 143-151; II, i, 133-214; II, iii, 77-110, 131-150; II, iv, 4-17 ; IV, iii, 262-270 ; V, iii, 60-72, 326-335 ; Epilogue, 1-6. It seems very probable, almost certain, that the play is revision of Low's Labors Wonne, mentioned by Meres l his Palladis Tamia (1598). Love's Labours Wonne

vii

Preface ALLS WELL

has been variously identified by scholars with Much Ado about Nothing, The Taming of the Shrew, The Tempest. A strong case can, however, be made for the present play, and there is perhaps an allusion to the old title in Helena's words (V, iii, 315, 316):—

"This is done; Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?"

The play was probably originally a companion play to Love's Labor's Lost, and was written about the years 1590-1592. It may well have belonged to the group of early comedies. The story, divested of its tragic intensity, may perhaps link it to The Two Gentlemen of Verona; the original Helena may have been a twin-sister to the "Helena" of the Dream; the diction and meter through- out may have resembled the passages to which attention has already been called.

There is no very definite evidence for the date of the re- vision of the play. The links which connect it with Ham- let are unmistakable; the Countess's advice to Bertram an- ticipates Polonius's advice to Laertes ; Helena's strength of will and clearness of purpose make her a sort of coun- terpart to Hamlet, as she herself says : —

"Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull."

— (I. i. 241-244.)

Furthermore, the name "Corambus" (IV, iii, 192) recalls the "Corambis" of the First Quarto of Hamlet; similarly the name "Escalus" is the name of the Governor in Measure for Measure. In the latter play, indeed, we have almost the same situation as in AIVs Well, — the honest in-, trigue of a betrothed to win an irresponsive lover. Fi- nally, the undoing of the braggart Parolles recalls Fal- stafF's exposure in Henry IV, and Malvolio's humiliation in Twelfth Night. All things considered, the play, as we have it, may safely be dated "about 1602."

viii

HAT ENDS WELL Preface

THE SOURCE OF THE PLOT

The story of Helena and Bertram was derived by Shake- eare from the Decameron through the medium of Payn- r's translation in the Palace of Pleasure (1566). The ovels of the Third Day of the Decameron tell of those vers who have overcome insuperable obstacles ; they are,

fact, stories of "Love's Labors Won," and if Shake- teare had turned to the Italian, the original title Love's ibor's Won may have been suggested by the words con- cting the Novels of the Second and Third Days. The inth Novel of the Third Day narrates how "Giletta, a rysician's daughter of Narbon, healed the French King

a Fistula, for reward whereof she demanded Beltramo, ount of Rossiglione, to husband. The Count being arried against his will, for despite fled to Florence and ved another. Giletta, his wife, by policy found means

be with hej husband in place of his lover, and was be- )tten with child of two sons ; which known to her husband, I received her again, and afterwards he lived in great inor and felicity."

The following are among the most noteworthy of Shake- fare's variations from his original: — (i) the whole in- rest of the story is centered in the heroine — according to )leridge, Shakespeare's "loveliest creation" ; to this char- ter-study, all else in the play is subordinated ; the poor elena of AIVs Well, unlike the wealthy Giletta of the ovel, derives "no dignity or interest from place or cir- imstance," and rests for all our sympathy and respect lely upon the truth and intensity of her affections; (ii) e moral character of Bertram, the Beltramo of the novel,

darkened ; his personal beauty and valor is emphasized ; bile (iii) Shakespeare has embodied his evil genius in ie character of the vile Parolles, of whom there is no hint

the original story; (iv) similarly, generous old Lafeu, ie Countess, — "like one of Titian's old ladies, reminding > still amid their wrinkles of that soul of beauty and sensi- lity which must have animated them when young" —

ix

Preface ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

the Steward, and the Clown, are entirely his own crea- tions.

DURATION OF ACTION

The time of the play is eleven days, distributed over three months, arranged as follows by Mr. Daniel (Trans, of New Shakespeare Soc, 1877-79): —

Day 1. Act I, i. Interval. Bertram's journey to Court.

Day %. Act I, ii and iii. Interval. Helena's journey.

Day S. Act II, i and ii. Interval. Cure of the King's malady.

Day 4. Act II, iii, iv, and v. Interval. Helena's re- turn to Rousillon. Bertram's journey to Florence.

Day 5. Act III, i and ii.

Day 6. Act III, iii and iv. Interval — some two months.

Day 7. Act III, v.

Day 8. Act III, vi and vii ; Act IV, i, ii, and iii.

Day 9. Act IV, iv. Interval. Bertram's return to Rousillon. Helena's return to Marseilles.

Day 10. Act IV, v ; Act V, i.

Day 11. Act V, ii and iii.

INTRODUCTION

By Henry Norman Hudson, A.M.

The only probable contemporary notice that has come )wn to us of All's Well that Ends Well is in Meres's alladis Tamia, under the title of Love's Labor Won, r. Farmer, in his Essay on the Learning of Shakespeare, r67, first gave out the conjecture, that the two titles be- nged to one and the same play ; and this opinion has since ?en concurred or acquiesced in by so many good judg- ents, that it might well be left pass unsifted. There is 3 other of the Poet's dramas extant, to which that title > well applies, while, on the other hand, it certainly fits lis play better than the title it now bears. The whole lay is emphatically love's labor : its main interest through- it turns on the unwearied and finally, successful struggles f affection against the most stubborn and disheartening rawbacks. It may perhaps be urged that the play enti- ed Love's Labor Won has been lost ; but this, considering hat esteem the Poet's works were held in, both in his time id ever since, is so very improbable as to be hardly worth le dwelling upon.

The Rev. Joseph Hunter has spent a deal of learning id ingenuity in trying to show, that the play referred to y Meres in 1598 as Love's Labor Won was The Tempest, mong Shakespeare's dramas he could scarce have pitched pon a more unfit subject for such a title. There is no ipe's labor in The Tempest, For though a lover does ideed labor awhile in bearing logs, this is not from love, at simply because he cannot help himself. Nor does he lereby win the lady, for she was won before, — "at the rst sight they have chang'd eyes ;" — and the labor was

xi

Introduction ALL'S WELL

imposed for the testing of his love, not for the gaining of its object; and was all the while refreshed with the "sweet thoughts" that in heart and will she was already his. In short, there is no external evidence whatsoever in favor of Mr. Hunter's conjecture, while the internal evi- dence makes strongly against it.

Coleridge in his Literary Remains sets down this play as "originally intended as the counterpart of Love's La- bor's Lost"; which would seem to imply that he thought it to be the play mentioned by Meres. And Mr. Collier tells us it was the opinion of Coleridge, first given out in 1813, and again in 1818, though not found in his Literary Re- mains, "that All's Well that Ends Well, as it has come down to us, was written at two different and rather dis- tant periods of the Poet's life" ; and that "he pointed out very clearly two distinct styles, not only of thought, but of expression." The same opinion has since been enforced by Tieck ; and the grounds of it are so manifest in the play itself, that no considerate reader will be apt to question it. In none of the Author's plays do we meet with greater di- versities of manner ; one must be dull indeed not to observe them.

In 1598 Love's Labor's Lost was "newly corrected and augmented." The probable truth, then, seems to be, that All's Well that Ends Well underwent a similar process. There being no external proofs, the date of this revisal must needs be uncertain ; but one can scarce doubt that it was some years later than in case of the former play.

Love's Labor's Lost was acted at court "between New- Year's Day and Twelfth Day," 1605. The reviv- ing of this might n&turally enough draw on a revival of its counterpart. We agree, therefore, with Mr. Col- lier in the conjecture — for it is nothing more — that All's Well that Ends Well was revived with alterations and additions about the same time, and its title changed, per- haps with a view to give an air of greater novelty to the performance. It is true, indeed, as Mr. Hunter argues, that the play twice bespeaks its present title: but both in-

xii

THAT ENDS WELL Introduction

stances occur precisely in those parts which taste most strongly of the Poet's later style ; and in both the phrase, "All's well that ends well," is printed in the same type as the rest of the text. And the line near the close, "All is well ended, if this suit be won" may be fairly understood as intimating some connection between the two titles which we suppose the play to have borne.

As to the rest, this play was first printed in the folio of 1623, where it makes the twelfth in th*1 list of Comedies. In the original the acts are distinguished, but not the scenes. And there are several dark and doubtful words and passages, which cause us again to regret the want of earlier copies to correct or confirm the reading as it there stands. In one or two places both the first writing and the subsequent correction appear to have been printed to- gether, thus making the sense very perplexed and obscure.

The only known source, from which the Poet could have borrowed any part of this play, is a story in Boc- caccio's Decameron entitled Giglietta di Nerbona. In 1566 William Paynter published the first volume of his Palace of Pleasure, containing an English version of this tale; an outline of which will show the nature and extent of Shakespeare's obligations.

Isnardo, count of Rousillon, being sickly, always kept in his house a physician named Gerardo of Narbona. The count had a son named Beltramo, the physician a daugh- ter named Giglietta, who were brought up together. The count dying, his son was left in the care of the king and sent to Paris. The physician dying some while after, his daughter, who had loved the young count so long that she knew not when she began to love him, sought occasion of going to Paris, that she might see him ; but being dili- gently looked to by her kinsfolk, because she was rich and had many suitors, she could not see her way clear. Now the king had a swelling on his breast, which through ill treatment was grown to a fistula ; and, having tried all the best physicians and being only made worse by their efforts, he resolved to take no further counsel or help.

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Introduction ALL'S WELL

The young maiden, hearing of this, was very glad, as it suggested an apt reason for visiting Paris, and showed a chance of compassing her secret and most cherished wish. Putting at work such knowledge in the healing art as she had gathered from her father, she rode to Paris, and re- paired to the king, praying him to show her his disease. He consenting, as soon as she saw it she told him that, if he pleased, she would within eight days make him whole. He asked how it were possible for her, being a young woman, to do that which the best physicians in the world could not ; and, thanking her for her good will, said he was resolved to try no more remedies. She begged him not to despise her knowledge because she was a young woman, assuring him that she ministered physic by the help of God, and with the cunning of master Gerardo of Narbona, who was her father. The king, hearing this, and thinking that peradventure she was sent of God, asked what might follow, if she caused him to break his resolu- tion, and did not heal him. She said, — "Let me be kept in what guard you list, and if I do not heal }rou let me be burnt; but if I do, what recompense shall I have?" He answered, that since she waa a maiden, he would bestow her in marriage upon some gentleman of right good wor- ship and estimation. To this she agreed, on condition that she might have such a husband as herself should ask, without presumption to any member of his family ; which he readily granted. This done, she set about her task, and before the eight days were passed he was entirely well ; whereupon he told her she had deserved such a husband as herself should choose, and she declared her choice of Bel- tramo, saying she had loved him from her youth. The king was very loth to grant him to her; but because he would not break his promise, he had him called forth, and told him what had been done. The count, thinking her stock unsuitable to his nobility, disdainfully said, — "Will you, then, sir, give me a physician to wife?" The king pressing him to comply, he answered, — "Sire, you may take from me all that I have, and give my person to whom

xiv

THAT ENDS WELL Introduction

you please, because I am your subject; but I assure you I shall never be contented with that marriage." To which he replied, — "Well, you shall have her, for the maiden is fair and wise, and loveth you entirely ; and verily you shall lead a more joyful life with her than with a lady of a greater house;" whereupon the count held his peace. The marriage over, the count asked leave to go home, hav- ing settled beforehand what he would do. Knowing that the Florentines and the Senois were at war, he was no sooner on horseback than he stole off to Tuscany, meaning to side with the Florentines ; by whom being honorably re- ceived and made a captain, he continued a long time in their service.

His wife, hoping by her well-doing to win his heart, returned home, where, finding all things spoiled and dis- ordered through his absence, she like a sage lady carefully put them in order, making all his subjects very glad of her presence and loving to her person. Having done this, she sent word thereof to the count by two knights, adding that if she were the cause of his forsaking home, he had but to let her know it, and she, to do him pleasure, would depart from thence. Now he had a ring which he greatly loved, and kept very carefully, and never took off his fin- ger, for a certain virtue he knew it had. When the knights came he said to them churlishly, — "Let her do what she list ; for I do purpose to dwell with her, when she shall have this ring upon her finger, and a son of mine in her arms." The knights, after trying in vain to change his purpose, returned to the lady and told his answer: whereat she was very sorrowful, and bethought herself a good while how she might accomplish those two things. Then, assembling the noblest of the country, she told them what she had done to win her husband's love ; that she was loth he should dwell in perpetual exile on her account ; and therefore would spend the rest of her life in pilgrimages and devotion ; praying them to let him understand that she had left his house with purpose never to return. Then, taking with her a maid and one of her kinsmen, she set

xv

Introduction ALL'S WELL

out in the habit of a pilgrim, well furnished with silver and jewels, telling no man whither she went, and rested not till she came to Florence. She put up at the house of a poor widow ; and the next day, seeing her husband pass by on horseback with his company, she asked who he was. The widow told her this, and that he was a courteous knight, well beloved in the city, and marvelously in love with a neighbor of hers, a gentlewoman that was very poor, but of right honest life and report, and because of her poverty was yet unmarried, and dwelt with her mother, a wise and honest lady. After hearing this she was not long in determining what to do. Repairing secretly to the house, and getting a private interview with the mother, she said, — "Madam, methinks fortune doth frown upon you as well as upon me ; but, if you please, you may com- fort both me and yourself." The other answering, that there was nothing in the world she was more desirous of than of honest comfort, she then told her whole story, and how she hoped to thrive in her undertaking, if the mother and daughter would lend their aid. In recompense she proposed to give the daughter a handsome marriage portion, and the mother, liking the offer well, yet having a noble heart, replied, — "Madam, tell me wherein I may do you service; if it be honest, I will gladly perform it, and, that being done, do as it shall please you." The interview resulted in an arrangement, that the daughter should encourage the count, and signify her readiness to grant his wish, provided he would first send her the ring he prized so highly, as a token of his love. Proceeding with great subtlety as she was instructed, the daughter in a few days got the ring, and at the time appointed for the meeting the countess supplied her place ; the result of which was, that she became the mother of two fine boys, and so was prepared to claim her dues as a wife upon the seemingly impossible terms which her husband himself had proposed. When in reward of the service thus done the mother asked only a hundred pounds, to marry her daugh-

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^AT ENDS WELL Introduction

ar, the countess gave five hundred, and added a like value i fair and costly jewels.

Meanwhile, the count, hearing how his wife was gone, ad returned to his country. In due time the countess also ook her journey homeward, and arrived at Montpellier, 'here resting a few days, and hearing that the count was bout to have a great feast and assembly of ladies and nights at his house, she determined to go thither in her >ilgrim's weeds. Just as they were ready to sit down ,t the table, she came to the place where her husband was, nd fell at his feet weeping, and said, — "My lord, I am hy poor unfortunate wife, who, that thou mightest re- urn and dwell in thine house, have been a great while •egging about the world. Therefore I now beseech thee o observe the conditions which the two knights that I ent to thee did command me to do : for behold, here in my irms, not only one son of thine, but twain, and likewise he ring : it is now time, if thou keep promise, that I should >e received as thy wife." The count knew the ring, and ;he children also, they were so like him, and desired her ;o rehearse in order all how these things came about. When she had told her story, he knew it to be true ; and, Derceiving her constant mind and good wit, and the two fair young boys, to keep his promise, and to please his subjects, and the ladies that made suit to him, he caused ler to rise up, and embraced and kissed her, and from that lay forth loved and honored her as his wife.

From this sketch it will be seen that the Poet anglicized Beltramo to Bertram, changed Giglietta to Helena, and closely followed Boccaccio in the main features of the plot, so far as regards both these persons and the widow ind her daughter. Beyond this, the story yields no hints towards the play; the characters of Lafeu, the Countess, the Clown, Parolles, and all the comic proceedings, be- ing, so far as we know, purely his own. And it is quite remarkable what an original cast is given to his develop- ment of the former characters by the presence of the lat-

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Introduction ALL'S WELL

ter; and how in the light shed from each other the con- duct of all becomes, not indeed right or just, but consist- ent and clear. Helena's native force and rectitude of mind are made out from the first in her just appreciation of Parolles, and her nobility of soul and beauty of charac- ter are reflected all along in the honest sagacity of Lafeu and the wise motherly affection of the Countess, who never see or think of her, but to turn her advocates and wax elo- quent in her behalf. Thus her modest, self-sacrificing wrorth is brought home to our feelings by the impression she makes upon the good, while in turn our sense of their goodness is proportionably heightened by their noble sen- sibility to hers. Parolles, again, is puffed up into a more magnificent whiffet than ever, by being taken into the con- fidence of a haughty young nobleman ; while on the other side the stultifying effects of Bertram's pride are seen in that it renders him the easy dup; of a most base and bungling counterfeit of manhood. It was natural and right that such a shallow, paltry word-gun should ply him with impudent flatteries, and thereby gain an ascendency over him, and finally draw him into the shames and the crimes that were to whip down his )rid? ; and it was equally natural that his scorn of Helena should begin to relax, when he was brought to ~ee what a pitiful rascal, by play- ing upon that pride, had been making a fool of him. It is plain that he must first be mortified, before he can be purified. The springs of moral health within him have been overspread by a foul disease ; and the proper medicine is such an exposure of the latter as shall cause him to feel that he is himself a most fit object of the scorn which he has been so forward to bestow. Accordingly, the em- bossing and untrussing of his favorite is the beginning of his amendment: he begins to distrust the counsels of his cherished passion, when he can no longer hide from him-| self into what a vile misplacing of trust they have be-l trayed him. Herein, also, we have a full justification,! both moral and dramatic, of the game so mercilessly prac-l ticed upon Parolles: it is avowedly undertaken with a|

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THAT ENDS WELL Introduction

dew to rescue Bertram, whose friends know full well that lothing can be done for his good, till the fascination of hat crawling reptile is broken up. Finally, Helena's just hscernment of character, as shown In case of Parolles, pleads an arrest of judgment in behalf of Bertram. And :he fact that with all her love for him she is not blind to lis faults, is a sort of pledge that she sees through them nto a worth which they hide from others. For, indeed, ;he has known him in childhood, before his heart got pride- lound through conceit of rank and titles ; and therefore nay well have a reasonable faith, that beneath the follies md vices which have overcrusted his character there is still in undercurrent of sense and virtue, a wisdom of nature, lot dead, but asleep, whereby he may yet be recovered to nanhood. So that, in effect, we are not unwilling to see him through her eyes, and, in the strength of her well- ipproved wisdom, to take upon trust, that he has good qualities which we are unable of ourselves to discover. — Thus the several parts are drawn into each other, and in virtue thereof are made to evolve a manifold rich sig- nificance ; so that the characters of Helena and Bertram, as Shakespeare conceived them, cannot be understood apart from the others with which they are dramatically asso- ciated.

Coleridge incidentally speaks of Helena as "Shake- speare's loveliest character" ; and Mrs. Jameson, from whose judgment we shall take no appeal to our own, sets her down as exemplifying that union of strength and ten- derness, which Foster describes in one of his Essays as be- ing "the utmost and rarest endowment of humanity" ; — • a character, she adds, "almost as hard to delineate in fic- tion as to find in real life." Without either questioning or subscribing these statements, we have to confess, that for depth, sweetness, energy, and solidity of character, all drawn into one, Helena is not surpassed by any of Shakespeare's heroines. Her great strength of mind is finely apparent in that, absorbed as she is in the passion that shapes her life, scarce any of the Poet's characters,

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Introduction ALL'S WELL

after Hamlet, deals more in propositions of general truth, as distinguished from the utterances of individual senti- ment and emotion. We should suppose that all her thoughts, being struck out in such a glowing heat, would so cleave to the circumstances as to have little force apart from them ; yet much that she says holds as good in a general application as in reference to her own particular. And perhaps for the same cause, her feelings, strong as they are, never so get the upper hand as to betray her into any self-delusion ; as appears in the unbosoming of herself to the Countess, where we have the sweet reluct-' ance of modesty yielding to a holy regard for truth. In her condition there is much indeed to move our pity ; yet her behavior and the grounds thereof are such that she never suffers any loss of our respect ; one reason of which is, because we see that her fine faculties are wide awake and her fine feelings keenly alive to the nature of what she undertakes. Thus she passes unharmed through the most terrible outward dishonors, firmly relying on her rec-j titude of purpose ; and we dare not think any thing to her ( hurt, because she has taken the measure of her danger,! looks it full in the face, and nobly feels secure in that ap-' pareling of strength. Here, truly, we have somewhat very like the sublimity of moral courage. And this » precious, peerless jewel in a setting of the most tender, delicate, sensitive womanhood ! It is a clean triumph of j the inward and essential over the outward and accidental;! her character being radiant of a spiritual grace which the) lowest and ugliest situation cannot obscure.

There needs no scruple, that the delineation is one of extraordinary power: perhaps, indeed, it may stand as the) Poet's masterpiece in the conquest of inherent difficulties ; I and it is observable that here for once he does not con-j quer them without betraying his exertions. Of course, the hardness of the task was to represent her as doing what! were scarce pardonable in another, yet as acting on such J grounds, from such motives, and to such issues, that thej undertaking not only is but appears commendable in her. I

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HAT ENDS WELL Introduction

d the Poet seems to have felt, that something like a jsterious, supernatural impulse, together with all the

erence and authority of the good old Countess, were

dful to bring her off with dignity and honor. And,

[•haps, after all, nothing but success could vindicate her lirse ; for such a thing, to be proper, must be practicable ; id who could so enter into her mind as to see its practi- !)ility till it be done? — While on the subject we may i well remark, that though Helena is herself all dignity d delicacy, some of her talk with Parolles in the first ine is neither delicate nor dignified: it is simply a foul

mish, and we can but regret the Poet did not throw it t in the revisal ; sure we are, that he did not retain it to .»ase himself.

Almost every body falls in love with the Countess, id, truly, one so meek, and sweet, and venerable, who can Ip loving her? or who, if he can resist her, will dare to n it? We can almost find in our heart to adore the auty of youth ; yet this blessed old creature is enough

persuade us that age may be more beautiful still. Br generous sensibility to native worth amply atones for r son's mean pride of birth: all her honors of rank and ace she would gladly resign, to have been the mother

the poor orphan left in her care: Campbell says, — >he redeems nobility by reverting to nature." Mr. Ver- anck thinks, as well he may, that the Poet's special pur- »se in this play was to set forth the precedence of innate er circumstantial distinctions. Yet observe with what catholic spirit he teaches this great lesson, recognizing e noble man in the nobleman, and telling us that none iow so well how to prize the nobilities of nature, as those 10, like the King and the Countess in this play, have ex- rienced the nothingness of all other claims. Dr. Johnson says, — "I cannot reconcile my heart to ?rtram ; a man noble without generosity, and young with- it truth ; who marries Helena as a coward, and leaves her

a profligate : when she is dead by his unkindness, sneaks >me to a second marriage: is accused by a woman whom

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Introduction ALL'S WELL

he has wronged, defends himself by falsehood, and is dis- missed to happiness." A terrible sentence indeed! and its vigor, if not its justice, is attested by the frequency with which it is quoted. In the first place, the Poet did not mean we should reconcile our hearts to Bertram, but that he should not unreconcile them to Helena ; nay, that her love should appear to the greater advantage for the un- worthiness of its object. Then, he does not marry her as a coward, but merely because he has no choice ; and does not yield till he has shown all the courage that were com- patible with discretion. Nor does he leave her as a prof- ligate, but to escape from what is to him an unholy match, as being on his side without love ; and his profligacy is not so much the cause as the consequence of his flight and exile. Finally, he is not dismissed to happiness, but rather left where he cannot be happy, unless he have dismissed his faults. And, surely, he may have some allowance, be- cause of the tyranny laid upon him, and that, too, in a sentiment where nature pleads loudest for freedom, and which, if free, yields the strongest motives to virtue ; if not, to vice. For his falsehood there is truly no excuse; save that he pays a round penalty in the shame that so quickly overtakes him ; which shows how careful the Poet was to make due provision for his amendment. His orig- inal fault, as already indicated, was an overweening pride of birth ; yet in due time he unfolds in himself better titles to honor than ancestry can bestow ; and, this done, he natf urally grows more willing to allow similar titles in an4 other. Thus Shakespeare purposely represents him as a man of very mixed character, in whom the evil for a whilfl gets a sad mastery ; and he takes care to provide the canon whereby he would have us judge him: "The web of oui life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together : our virtuef would be proud, if our faults whipp'd them not ; and ouf crimes would despair, if they were not cherish'd by oui virtues."

Several critics have managed somehow to speak ol Parolles and FalstafF together. A foul sin against Sil

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[HAT ENDS WELL Introduction

hn! Schlegel, however, justly remarks, that the scenes

1'ere our captain figures contain matter enough for an client comedy. Such a compound of volubility, impu- 'nce, rascality, and poltroonery, is he not a most illus- ous pronoun of a man? And is it not a marvel that one I inexpressibly mean, and withal so fully aware of his

anness, does not cut his own acquaintance? But the eatest wonder about him is, how the Poet could run his n intellectuality into such a windbag without marring |; windbag perfection. That the goddess whom Bertram rships does not whisper in his ear the unfathomable base- ss of this "lump of counterfeit ore," is a piece of dra- itic retribution at once natural and just. Far as the ke is pushed upon Parolles, we never feel like crying out, jld ! enough ! we make the utmost reprisals upon him thout compunction ; for "that he should know what he

and be that he is" seems an offense for which infinite ames are a scarce sufficient indemnification.

nm

COMMENTS

By Shakespearean Scholars

HELENA

There never was, perhaps, a more beautiful picture of a woman's love, cherished in secret, not self -consuming in silent languishment — not pining in thought — not passive and "desponding over its idol" — but patient and hopeful, strong in its own intensity, and sustained by its own fond faith. The passion here reposes upon itself for all its interest ; it derives nothing from art or ornament or cir- cumstance ; it has nothing of the picturesque charm oi glowing romance of Juliet ; nothing of the poetical splen- dor of Portia, or the vestal grandeur of Isabel. The sit/ uation of Helena is the most painful and degrading in which a woman can be placed. She is poor and lowly: she loves a man who is far her superior in rank, who re- pays her love with indifference, and rejects her hand with scorn. She marries him against his will; he leaves her with contumely on the day of their marriage, and makes his return to her arms depend on conditions apparently impossible. All the circumstances and details with which Helena is surrounded, are shocking to our feelings andi wounding to our delicacy; and yet the beauty of the chat> acter is made to triumph over all ; and Shakespeare, resting for all his effect on its internal resources and its genuine truth and sweetness, has not even availed himself of son* extraneous advantages with which Helena is represented in the original story. But Helena, in the play, derives no dignity or interest from place or circumstance, and rests for all our sympathy and respect solely upon tl truth and intensity of her affections.

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\ LL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL Comments

She is indeed represented to us as one

Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes: whose words all ears took captive; Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serve, Humbly called mistress.

, 5 her dignity is derived from mental power, without

iy alloy of pride, so her humility has a peculiar grace.

she feels and repines over her lowly birth, it is merely

an obstacle which separates her from the man she loves.

le is more sensible to his greatness than her own little-

;ss: she is continually looking from herself up to him,

')t from him down to herself. She has been bred up

ider the same roof with him ; she has adored him from

fancy. Her love is not "th' infection taken in at the

res," nor kindled by youthful romance: it appears to

ive taken root in her being; to have grown with her

ars ; and to have gradually absorbed all her thoughts

id faculties, until her fancy "carries no favor in it but

ertram's," and "there is no living, none, if Bertram be

vay. — Jameson, Shakespeare's Heroines.

A woman who seeks her husband, and gains him against Is will ; who af terwards by a fraud — a fraud however ious — defeats his intention of estranging her, and be- Dmes the mother of his child ; such a personage it would ;em a sufficiently difficult task to render attractive or dmirable. Yet Helena has been named by Coleridge the loveliest of Shakspere's characters." Possibly Cole- dge recognized in Helena the single quality which, if rought to bear upon himself by one to whom he yielded >ve and worship, would have given definiteness and energy ) his somewhat vague and incoherent life. For sake of lis one thing Shakspere was interested in the story, and ) admirable did it seem to him, that he could not choose at endeavor to make beautiful and noble the entire char- ter and action of Helena. This one thing is the energy, le leap-up, the direct advance of the will of Helena, her

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prompt, unerroneous tendency towards the right and ef- ficient deed. She does not display herself through her words ; she does not, except on rarest occasions, allow her feelings to expand and deploy themselves ; her entire force of character is concentrated in what she does. And there- fore we see her quite as much indirectly, through the ef- fect which she has produced upon other persons of the drama, as through self-confession or immediate presenta- tion of her character. — Dowden, Shakspere — His Mind mid Art.

The character of Helena is one of great sweetness and delicacy. She is placed in circumstances of the most crit- ical kind, and has to court her husband both as a virgin and a wife: yet the most scrupulous nicety of female modesty is not once violated. There is not one thought or action that ought to bring a blush into her cheeks, or that for a moment lessens her in our esteem. Perhaps the ro- mantic attachment of a beautiful and virtuous girl to one placed above her hopes by the circumstances of birth and fortune, was never so exquisitely expressed as in the re- flections which she utters when young Rousillon leaves his mother's house, under whose protection she has been brought up with him, to repair to the French king's court.

The interest excited by this beautiful picture of a fond and innocent heart is kept up afterwards by her resolu- tion to follow him to France, the success of her experi- ment in restoring the king's health, her demanding Ber- tram in marriage as a recompense, his leaving her in dis- dain, her interview with him afterwards disguised as Diana, a young lady whom he importunes with his secret addresses, and their final reconciliation when the consequences of her stratagem and the proofs of her love are fully made known. « — Hazlitt, Characters of Shakespear's Plays.

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HAT ENDS WELL Comments1

BERTRAM

! But Bertram is one of the many characters in Shake- teare — and indeed in all fiction — who are more sinned gainst by antithesis than sinful in themselves ; his mother Dproves him ; her son was a second husband, and the lsband was noble ; Helena approves him ; she had known m well and long — " 'Twas pretty, to see him every hour" ; id she had discernment; she saw through Parolles at a lance. Yet Bertram, thus presented as unimpeachable, ust be degraded, in order to give color to the forward laims of Helena, and to restore to her love the virtue it iid lost, by making it henceforth a work of redemption, 'herefore Bertram will lean on the hollow Parolles, whom o one else would think of trusting; he must demean him- ?lf and quibble and lie, till at length we wish Helena joy f her bargain. — Luce, Handbook to Shakespeare's Vorks.

Bertram, like all mixed characters, whether in the drama r in real life, is a great puzzle to those who look with Dlerance on human motives and actions. In a one-sided iew he has no redeeming qualities. Johnson says, "I can- ot reconcile my heart to Bertram ; a man noble without ;enerosity, and young without truth ; who marries Helena s a coward, and leaves her as a profligate: when she is ead by his unkindness sneaks home to a second marriage: 3 accused by a woman whom he has wronged, defends limself by falsehood, and is dismissed to happiness." If he Bertram of the comedy were a real personage of flesh nd blood, with whom the business of life associated us, nd of whom the exercise of prudence demanded that we hould form an accurate estimate, we should say —

"Too bad for a blessing, too good for a curse, I wish from my soul thou wer't better or worse."

3ut we are called upon for no such judgment when the )oet presents to us a character of contradictory qualities.

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Comments ALLS WELL

All that we have then to ask is, whether the character is natural, and consistent with the circumstances amidst which he moves? We have no desire to reconcile our hearts to Bertram; all that we demand is, that he should not move our indignation beyond the point in which his qualities shall consist with our sympathy for Helena in her love for him. And in this view, the poet, as it appears to us, has drawn Bertram's character most skillfully. Without his defects the dramatic action could not have proceeded ; without his merits the dramatic sentiment could not have been maintained. — Knight, Pictorial Shak- spear.

Lofty position has its special temptations, and it is well if it be not allowed too liberally its special indulgences. It is the way of the world to extend the interpretation of morals in favor of the noble, wealthy, youthful, and hand- some, and this form of adulation above all others encour- ages and confirms the germs of egotism which probably i nothing but shame the most humiliating can ever perfectly | cure. In Bertram the pride of race disowns and disregards the gifts and nobilities of nature, yet he overrates the worth of the lowest born Parolles, who has crept into favor by assentation ; he places himself above all regard either to delicacy or honor in pursuit of gratification at the expense of the happiness of others, and makes hollow pro- fessions to high and low unscrupulously, when an annoy- ance is to be averted or an advantage gained. Those who appreciate the weakness and baseness of his conduct most clearly, stand cap in hand respectfully as he goes by, and in comment among themselves palliate too much by gen- eralization on the weakness of human nature, and find on such an argument that even vice has its advantages — to whip our virtues into humility. — Lloyd, Critical Essays.

Bertram demands a good actor, if the spectator is to j perceive that this is a man capable of rewarding efforts so great on the part of a woman, a man whose painful woo-

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?HAT ENDS WELL Comments

\g promises a grateful possession. That this unsenti- lental youth has a heart, this corrupted libertine a good eart, that this scorner can ever love the scorned, this is ideed read in his scanty words, but few readers of the •resent day are free enough from sentimentality to be- ieve such things on the credit of a few words. The case 5 entirely different when, in the acted Bertram, they see he noble nature, the ruin of his character at Florence, nd the contrition which his sins and his simplicity call orth; when, from the whole bearing of the brusque man, hey perceive what the one word "pardon" signified in is mouth, when they see his breast heave at the last ap- •earance of Helena bringing ease to his conscience. Credence is then given to his last words ; for the great hange in his nature — of which now only a forlorn word r two is read and overlooked — would then have been wit- essed. Seldom has a task so independent as the charac- er of Bertram been left to the art of the actor. — Ger- inus, Shakespeare Commentaries.

THE COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON

The Countess, who is purely a creation of Shakspere, 3 the most engaging type of French character that he las drawn. She is, in the very best sense, a grande dame if the aneien regime. She has the aristocratic virtues without their defects. Her rich experience of life has aught her valuable lessons, in which she schools her son ►efore he plunges into the temptations of the Court. To . high-bred graciousness of speech and bearing, she unites hat dislike of outward emotional display, that repose of nanner which stamps her caste. She has felt too many 'quirks of joy and grief" to be readily demonstrative, but ler sympathies are wonderfully keen and alert ; she is one >f the women who never break with the memory of their >wn past, and who thus, with the silvered hair and the raded cheek, preserve the secret of perpetual youth. — 3oas, Shakspere and his Predecessors.

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Comments ALL'S WELL

PAROLLES

Parolles is the type of all the cowards that have been introduced on the stage since his time. Doctor Johnson, again, in comparing him with Falstaff, manifested that he could have had but little perception of even the broadest distinctions in human character. There is as strong and as marked a distinction between Falstaff and Parolles, as between an impudent witty cheat — a fellow who will joke and laugh the money out of your pocket — and a dull, hard,: sordid, and vulgar swindler. The cowardice of Falstaff arose quite as much from his constitutional love of ease, sociality, and self -enjoyment, as from an inherent want of principle and self-respect ; it was the cowardice of fat and luxuriousness. Falstaff possessed qualities which attached to him friends of each sex. We all know the speech ut- tered by Bardolph after the fat knight's death, "Would I were with him, wherever he is, in heaven or in hell." A more genuine apotheosis to the social qualities of a man never was uttered. Even the women hated Parolles ; and, upon my life, that man has. little enough to recommend him whom women dislike. The Countess Rousillon speaks of him as a "very tainted fellow, full of wickedness" ; and that her son "corrupts a well-derived nature with his in- ducement." He held the respectable office of toad-eater, and something worse, to the weak young lord. Mariana, too, whom he had addressed in love-terms, says of him, "I know the knave ! — hang him ! — a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl." And lastly, Helena describes him as a "notorious liar, a great way fool, and solely a coward." She, too, although of a gen- tle nature, cannot forbear girding at him for being a pal- pable and transparent poltroon. — Clarke, Shakespeare- Characters.

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THAT ENDS WELL Comments

THE GRAVITATING POINT

Love, therefore, is here also the center and gravitating joint upon which turns the development — beginning, mid- lie and end — of the action. It is, however, not conceived n so general and independent a light as in The Two Gentlemen of Verona. The significance of the whole is jased rather on the one main feature of love, its freedom; :his is so essentially a part of its nature that, in fact, love exists only as a free, unmerited and unrequited gift, by rirtue of which it has the right — it may be even to its 3wn unhappiness — of sometimes choosing and striving to obtain what circumstances would deny it, and of rejecting what is best and most beautiful, simply because it is forced upon it. But this very freedom is its weak point, as long as it has not freed itself from caprice ; for it either de- generates into arrogance and error, or into blind self-will and pride. Helena pays the penalty of this arrogance which, in spite of her otherwise modest and unpretending nature, shows itself in her wanting to deprive the man she loves of his right to make that free choice which she herself had exercised in so unlimited a manner; for, not- withstanding her acquired rights, she is compelled to have recourse to degrading artifice to obtain possession of what belongs to her. The Count, on the other hand, willfully rejects what he himself secretly and half-unconsciously wished ; he falls from freedom into caprice, because he prides himself in his freedom, and this pride feels itself hurt at being required to take what he had hoped to be able to give freely. Once the victim of caprice and a slave to his desires, whims, inclinations, and wishes, he is even in danger of losing his innate nobleness of heart. He becomes a frivolous deceiver and seducer, till at last, an act of deception restores him to his better self. His unsuc- cessful wooing of Diana proves that love can as little be forced by promises and gifts, as by merits and good deeds. — -Ulrici, Shakspeare's Dramatic Art.

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ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

DRAMATIS PERSONS

King of France

Duke of Florence

Bertram, Count of Bousillon

Lafeu, an old lord

Parolles, a follower of Bertram

Steward, "| ,

Lavache, a clown) 8eroants to the C™ntes* of Bousillon

A Page

Countess of Rousillon, mother to Bertram Helena, a gentlewoman protected by the Countess An old Widow of Florence Diana, daughter to the Widow

«, ' {neighbors and friends to the Widow

Lords, Officers, Soldiers, &c, French and Florentine Scene: Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles

SYNOPSIS

By J. Ellis Burdick

act I

The king of France, desiring to show favor to Bertram, m of the late Count of Rousillon, summons him to court, afeu, an old lord, whom the king has sent to fetch the oung man, tells the widowed Countess of the king's rious illness — of how the physicians had pronounced his isease without cure. Living with the Countess is a young oman, Helena by name, who is the daughter of a physi- an who had been very famous in his lifetime. She has illen in love with the young Count, but he is too much tterested in other things to notice her particularly. The buntess discovers this state of affairs and is not dis- leased, for she knows Helena's worth. The latter has in er possession a prescription left her by her father for the 2ry disease from which the king is suffering, and she btains permission from the Countess to go to Paris and to ffer it to the king.

act n

By Lafeu's aid, Helena obtains an audience with the ing. She persuades him to try the medicine, promising ) forfeit her life, if he should not be cured in two days, ad if he should be cured the king was to give her the loice of any man in France, the princes excepted, for

husband. The medicine acted just as Helena expected id she chooses Bertram. The latter does not hesitate to ?clare his dislike of this gift of the king's, but is forced > marry Helena or to suffer his majesty's displeasure, nmediately following the ceremony, Bertram sends Helena

3

Synopsis ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

home to his mother and he himself departs for the Floren- tine wars.

act in

Bertram sends a message to his wife that when she can get a ring which he wears upon his finger and can show him a child of hers to which he is father, then may she call him husband, and that till he have no wife he has noth- ing in France. Immediately Helena dresses herself as a pilgrim and departs fror* Rousillon, hoping that when the ^ount hears that the has gone he may return to his home. In the meantime the Duke of Florence has made Bertram his general of horse and in battle the young man does "most honorable service." Helena arrives in the city in her pilgrim disguise and takes lodging with a widow and her daughter. From them she learns that her husband is attempting to seduce the daughter. Helena confides her identity and troubles to her hostesses and asks their aid.

ACT IV

Diana, the daughter, gets from Bertram the ring he had told Helena she must obtain before he would acknowledge her and arranges for a nocturnal visit from him. But it is Helena and not Diana whom he meets. In Rousillon, the Countess mourns her daughter-in-law as dead and Ber- tram, hearing of Helena's death, returns home.

act v

The king goes on a visit to Rousillon. He forgives Bertram for his conduct and has given his consent to his marriage with the daughter of the old lord, Lafeu, when his attention is called to a ring Bertram is wearing and which he had given to Helena. The king, remembering Bertram's hatred of his wife, fears that he has murdered her and orders him under arrest. Helena comes to Rousil- lon at this moment, accompanied by the Florentine widow and her daughter. Soon all is explained. Bertram is sat- isfied that his conditions have been fulfilled and he gladly acknowledges his wife.

4

U,L'S well that ends well

ACT FIRST Scene I

Rousillon. The Count's palace.

Writer Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, Helena, and Lafeu, all in black.

Jount. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.

ler. And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection.

L<af. You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you, sir, a father: he that so gen- erally is at all times good, must of neces- sity hold his virtue to you ; whose worthiness 10 would stir it up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such abundance.

?ount. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?

6. "ward"; under the old feudal law of England, the heirs of reat fortunes were the king's wards. The same was also the case in lormandy, and Shakespeare but extends a law of a province over tie whole nation. — H. N. H.

Act i. Sc. i. ALL'S WELL

Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose practices he hath per- secuted time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time.

Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, 20 — O, that 'had'! how sad a passage 'tis! whose skill was almost as great as his hon- esty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for the king's sake, he were Tving! I think it would be the death of the king's disease.

Laf. How called you the man you speak of, madam?

Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, 30 and it was his great right to be so, — Gerard de Narbon.

Laf. He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very lately spoke of hin. admiringly and mourningly: he was skillfil enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality.

Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king lan- guishes of?

Laf. A fistula, my lord. 40

Ber. I heard not of it before.

Laf. I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

Count. His sole child, my lord; and bequeathed

45-54. Some of the terms in this passage are used in such senses as

6

HAT ENDS WELL Act I. Sc. I.

to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education promises; her dispositions she inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer ; for where an unclean mind car- ries virtuous qualities, there commendations 50 go with pity; they are virtues and traitors too: in her they are the better for their sim- pleness ; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness.

af. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.

ount. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood 60 from her cheek. No more of this, Helena, go to, no more ; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow than to have —

T.el. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too.

render the meaning of the whole rather obscure. Dispositions i what belongs to her nature; the clean mind that was born with p: fair gifts are the same as virtuous qualities; the results of ucation and breeding. And such graces of art, if grafted into vicious nature, are traitors, inasmuch as they lodge power in nds that are apt to use it for evil ends: the unclean mind yields )tives to turn the fruits of good culture into a snare. But in dena these fair gifts and virtuous qualities are the better for ;ir simphness, that is, for being unmixed with any such native lliness. Thus she is naturally honest; her nature is framed to jith, as yielding no motive to seem other than she is; whereas odness, as the term is here used, is a thing that cannot be, unless ibe achieved. — H. N. H.

57. "'Tis the best brine"; of course to keep it fresh and sweet, me editors think this "a coarse and vulgar metaphor": alas, what a :yl— H. N. H.

64. "I do affect"; Helena's affected sorrow was for the death of r father; her real grief related to Bertram and his departure. — . N. H.

7

Act I. Sc i. ALL'S WELL

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right cf the dead; excessive grief the enemy to the liv- ing.

Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. 70

Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes.

Laf. How understand we that?

Count. Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father

In manners, as in shape ! thy blood and virtue Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a

few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, 80

That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck

down, Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord;

69, 70. This speech, enigmatical enough at best, is rendered quite unintelligible, both in the original and in modern editions, by being put into the mouth of the Countess. We therefore believe with Tieck and Knight that it should be Helena's. It is in the same style of significant obscurity as her preceding speech; and we can see no meaning in it apart from her state of mind; absorbed, as she is, with a feeling which she dare not show and cannot suppress. Of course she refers to Bertram, and means that the grief of her unrequited love for him makes mortal, that is, kills the grief she felt at her father's death. The speech is so mysterious that none but the quick, sagacious mind of Lafeu is arrested by it: he at once understands that he does not understand the speaker. Coleridge, says, — "Bertram and Lafeu, I imagine, both speak together.* Whether this be the case or not, there can be no doubt that Lafeu's question refers to what Helena has just said. — H. N. H.

8

HAT ENDS WELT, Act I. Sc. i.

'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, Advise him.

af. He cannot want the best

That shall attend his love.

yunt. Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.

[Ewit

er. [to Helena] The best wishes that can be forged in your thoughts be servants to you ! Be comfortable to my mother, your mis- tress, and make much of her. 90

af. Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of your father.

[Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu.

el. O, were that all! I think not on my father, And these great tears grace his remembrance

more Than those I shed for him. What was he like? I have forgot him : my imagination Carries no favor in 't but Bertram's. I anxundone : there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one That I should love a bright particular star And think to wed it, he is so above me : 101 In his bright radiance and collateral light

37, 88. That is, may you be mistress of your wishes, and have wer to bring them to effect. — H. N. H. )4, 95.

"These great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him";

e. "the big and copious tears she then shed herself, which were lsed in reality by Bertram's departure, though attributed by feu and the Countess to the loss of her father; and from this sapprehension of theirs graced his remembrance more than those ; actually shed for him." — I. G.

9

Act I Sc. L ALL'S WELL

Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a

plague, To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table ; heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favor: HO But now he 's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here?

Enter Parolles.

[Aside] One that goes with him: I love him for his sake; And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we

see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.

Par. Save you, fair queen ! 120

Hel. And you, monarch !

109. "heart's table"; Helena considers her heart as the tablet on which his picture was drawn. — H. N. H.

110. "favor" is here used, as a little before, for countenance. "Trick" the commentators say, here bears the sense of trace; an heraldic use of the word, found in Ben Jonson: but why may it not have the ordinary meaning of a snare, or any taking device that captivates the beholder? — H. N. H.

118. "cold" for naked, as superfluous for overclothed. This makes the propriety of the antithesis. — H. N. H.

121. "monarch"; perhaps there is an allusion here to the fantastic

10

3AT ENDS WELL Act I. Sc i.

r. No.

d. And no.

jr. Are you meditating on virginity?

el. Aye. You have some stain of soldier in you: let me ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him?

ir. Keep him out.

el. But he assails ; and our virginity, though 130 valiant, in the defense, yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance.

ir. There is none: man, sitting down before you, will undermine you and blow you up.

el. Bless our poor virginity from under- miners and blowers up! Is there no mili- tary policy, how virgins might blow up men ?

ir. Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves 140 made, you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational in- crease, and there was never virgin got till

narcho mentioned in Love's Labor's Lost, Act iv. sc. 1. — N. H.

24-186. These lines are struck out by some editors; the Cam- ige editors rightly call them "a blot on the play"; they were bably "an interpolation, 'to tickle the ears of the groundlings.' " ; opening words of the speech which follows are obscure, and enumeration of "the loves" looks like "the nonsense of some lish conceited player." Hanmer proposed: —

"Not my virginity yet. — You're for the Court: There shall your master," etc. — I. G.

25. "stain"; that is, some tincture, some little of the hue or color a soldier.— H. N. H.

11

Act I. Sc. i. ALL'S WELL

virginity was first lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Virgin- ity by being once lost may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion ; away with 't !

Hel. I will stand f or 't a little, though there- 150 fore I die a virgin.

Par. There 's little can be said in 't ; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin: virginity murders itself; and should be buried in highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offen- dress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself 160 to the very paring, and so dies with feed- ing his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by 't : out with 't ! within ten year it will make itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the principal itself not much the worse : away with 't !

Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her 170 own liking?

167. "make itself ten"; the old copy reads, "within ten years it will make itself two." The emendation is Hanmer's. "Out with if is used equivocally. Applied to virginity, it means, give it away; part with it: considered in another light, it signifies put it out to interest, it will produce you ten for one. — H. N. H.

12

CHAT ENDS WELL Act I. Sc. i.

^ar. Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth : off with 't while 'tis vendible ; an- swer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fash- ion; richly suited, but unsuitable: just like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your pie 180 and your porridge than in your cheek: and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears, it looks ill, it eats dryly ; marry, 'tis a withered pear ; it was formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you any thing with it?

EZeZ. Not my virginity yet. . . .

There shall your master have a thousand loves,

A mother and a mistress and a friend,

A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, 190

A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,

A counselor, a traitress, and a dear;

His humble ambition, proud humility,

His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,

His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world

171. Parolles plays upon the word liking, and says, "She must o ill to like him that likes not virginity." — H. N. H.

180. "Your date"; a quibble on date, which means age, and a andied fruit then much used in pies. — H. N. H.

187. That is, my virginity is not yet a wither'd pear. "There/' n the next line, apparently refers to some words that have been ost. Hanmer and Johnson thought they might be, — You're for the •ourt, or something to that effect. That there means the court, is )lain enough from what she says afterwards: "The court's a earning-place." — H. N. H.

13

Act L Sc. i. ALL'S WELL

Of pretty, fond, adoptious Christendoms, That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he — I know not what he shall. God send him well! The court 's a learning place, and he is one — Par. What one, i' faith? 200

H el. That I wish well. 'Tis pity- Par. What 's pity? Hel. That wishing well had not a body in 't,

Which might be felt ; that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And show what we alone must think, which

never Returns us thanks.

Enter Page.

Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.

{Exit. Par. Little Helen, farewell : if I can remember 210

thee, I will think of thee at court. Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a

charitable star. Par. Under Mars, I. Hel. I especially think, under Mars. Par. Why under Mars? Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that

you must needs be born under Mars. Par. When he was predominant.

196. "Christendoms" is here used in the sense* of christenings. So, in Bishop Corbet's verses To the Lord Mordaunt:

"One, were he well examin'd, and made looke His name in his own parish and church booke, Could hardly prove his christendome." — H. N. H.

14

HAT ENDS WELL Act I. Sc. i.

lei. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. 220

far. Why think you so?

lei. You go so much backward when you fight.

*ar. That 's for advantage.

lei. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: but the composition that your valor and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.

*ar. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier ; 230 in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what ad- vice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine igno- rance makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers ; when thou hast none, remember thy friends: get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee : so, farewell. [Exit 240

lei. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope ; only doth backward pull Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. What power is it which mounts my love so

high; That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings

247. "The mightiest space in fortune" appears to mean those irthest asunder in fortune. "Likes" is used for equals. "Native tings" are things of the same nativity. So that the meaning of the hole is, — Nature brings those that are farthest asunder in fortune

15

Act I. Sc. ii. ALLS WELL

To join like likes and kiss like native things.

Impossible be strange attempts to those

That weigh their pains in sense, and do sup- pose 250

What hath been cannot be : who ever strove

To show her merit, that did miss her love?

The king's disease — my project may deceive me,

But my intents are flx'd, and will not leave me.

[Exit.

Scene II

Paris. The King's palace.

Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France with letters, and divers Attendants.

King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears ; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war.

First Lord. So 'tis reported, sir.

King. Nay, 'tis most credible ; we here receive it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business, and would seem To have us make denial.

First Lord. His love and wisdom,

Approved so to your majesty, may plead 10 For amplest credence.

to join like equals, and makes them kiss like things bred out of the same stock. — H. N. H.

16

^HAT ENDS WELL Act I. Sc. ii.

Zing. He hath arm'd our answer,

And Florence is denied before he comes: Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part.

)ec. Lord, It well may serve

A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit.

ting. What 's he comes here?

Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles.

first Lord. It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram.

King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face ;

Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, 20 Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral

parts Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's.

King. I would I had that corporal soundness now,

As when thy father and myself in friendship

First tried our soldiership ! He did look far

Into the service of the time, and was

Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long;

But on us both did haggish age steal on,

And wore us out of act. It much repairs me 30

To talk of your good father. In his youth

He had the wit, which I can well observe

To-day in our young lords; but they may jest

Till their own scorn return to them unnoted

Ere they can hide their levity in honor : xxvn— 2 17

Act I. Sc. ii. ALL'S WELL

< So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, His equal had awaked them; and his honor, Clock to itself, knew the true minute when Exception bid him speak, and at this time 40 His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below

him He used as creatures of another place; And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, Making them proud of his humility, In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man Might be a copy to these younger times; Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them

now But goers backward. Ber. His good remembrance, sir,

Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; So in approof lives not his epitaph 50

As in your royal speech. King. Would I were with him! He would always

say— Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, To grow there and to bear, — 'Let me not

live,'—

41. "His tongue obey'd his hand"; the figure of a clock is kept up, his hand being put for its hand. The tongue of the clock speaks the hour to which the hand points. — H. N. H.

54. "He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them"; cp. the Collect in the Liturgy: "Grant, we beseech thee, Almighty God, that the words which we have heard this day with our outward ears may through thy grace be so grafted inwardly in our hearts, that they may bring forth the fruit of good living," etc. — I. G.

18

THAT ENDS WELL Act I. Sc. ii.

This his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out, — 'Let me not live/ quoth he, 'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain; whose judgments are 61

Mere fathers of their garments; whose con- stancies Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd: I after him do after him wish too, Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, I quickly were dissolved from my hive, To give some laborers room.

Sec. Lord. You are loved, sir;

They that least lend it you shall lack you first.

King. I fill a place, I know 't. How long is 't, count, Since the physician at your father's died? 70 He was much famed.

Ber. Some six months since, my lord.

King. If he were living, I would try him yet. Lend me an arm ; the rest have worn me out With several applications: nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son 's no dearer.

Ber. Thank your majesty.

[Exeunt. Flourish.

56. "this," so the Folio; Pope read "Thus" possibly the right word here. — I. G.

15 F 19

Act I. Sc. m. ALLS WELL

Scene III

Eousillon. The Count's palace. Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown.

Count. I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman ?

Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calen- dar of my past endeavors; for then we wound our modesty and make foul the clear- ness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.

Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: the complaints I have heard 10 of you I do not all believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not ; for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours.

Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

Count. Well, sir.

Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have your ladyship's good will to 20 go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may.

The Clown in this comedy is a domestic fool of the same kind as Touchstone. Such fools were, in the Poet's time, maintained in great families to keep up merriment in the house. Cartwright, in one of the copies of verses prefixed to the works of Beaumont and Fletcher, censures such dialogues as this, and that between Olivia and the Clown in Twelfth Night.— H. N. H.

20

Act I. Sc. iii.

ount. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

lo. I do beg your good will in this case.

ount. In what case?

lo. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no heritage: and I think I shall never have the blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for they say barnes are blessings,

'ount. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt 30 marry.

7o. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives.

'ount. Is this all your worship's reason?

7o. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are.

yount. May the world know them?

Uo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, in- 40 deed, I do marry that I may repent.

^ount. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wicked- ness.

?lo. I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake.

lount. Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

7/o. You 're shallow, madam, in great friends ; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am aweary of. He that ears my

26. "service is no heritage"; the idea seems to be that "if service 5 no blessing, children are"; Psalm cxxvii. 3. has been appro- priately cited in connection with this expression: — "Lo, children are n heritage of the Lord." — I. G.

29. "barnes are blessings"; the adage referred to by the Clown probably grew from the passage in Psalm cxxvii.: "Happy is he man that hath his quiver full of them." — H. N. H.

21

Act I. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELL

land spares my team, and gives me leave to 50 in the crop ; if I be his cuckold, he 's my drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan and old Poysam the papist, howsome'er their 60 hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one; they may joul horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way:

For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find ; Your marriage comes by destiny, 7C

Your cuckoo sings by kind.

Count. Get you gone, sir ; I '11 talk with you more anon.

59. "Young Charbon the puritan and old Poysam the papist"; "Charbon" possibly for "Chair-bonne/' and "Poysam" for "Poisson," alluding to the respective lenten fares of the Puritan and Papist (cp. the old French proverb, ((Jeune chair et viel poisson"= young flesh and old fish are the best). — I. G.

59-63. It used to be thought in Shakespeare's time that the Puri- tans and Papists stood so far apart as to meet round on the other side, as extremes are apt to do. And something like fifty years later Dr. Jackson, a man of great candor and moderation, said "the great aim and endeavor of the Jesuits had long been to draw the Church into Calvinism."— H. N. H.

HAT ENDS WELL Act I. Sc. iii.

L£W. May it please you, madam, that he bid

Helen come to you : of her I am to speak.

ount. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would

speak with her; Helen I mean. lo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond done, done fond, 80

Was this King Priam's joy? With that she sighed as she stood, With that she sighed as she stood,

And gave this sentence then ;

Among nine bad if one be good,

Among nine bad if one be good,

There 's yet one good in ten.

ount. What, one good in ten? you corrupt

the song, sirrah. lo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song : would God would serve the world so all the year ! we 'd find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson : one in ten, quoth a' ! an we might have a good woman born but one every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well : a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck one.

30. This line seems incomplete, and Warburton proposed to add, r Paris he, on the ground that Paris, not Helen, was Priam's joy. course the name of Helen brings to the Clown's mind this igment of an old ballad. — H. N. H.

95. "one"; the original reads ore. Mr. Dyce says, — "Mr. Knight s, I have no doubt, given the right reading, viz., for." Mr. illier has ere; upon which Dyce remarks, — "Blazing stars are men- >ned by our old writers as portending prodigies, not as coming ter them."— H. N. H.

23

90

Act I. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELL

Count. You '11 be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you. 100

Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. [Exit

Count. Well, now.

Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentle- woman entirely. HO

Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me ; and she herself, without other advan- tage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her than is paid ; and more shall be paid her than she '11 demand.

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears ; she thought, I dare 120 vow for her, they touched not any stranger

104. "wear the surplice . . . heart" ; the controversy touching such things as kneeling at the Communion and wearing the surplice was raging quite fiercely in Shakespeare's time: everybody was in- terested in it; so that the allusion in the text would be generally understood. The Puritans would have compelled everyone to wear the black gown, which was to them the symbol of Calvinism. Some of them, however, conformed so far as to wear the surplice over the gown, because their conscience would not suffer them to officiate without the latter, nor the law of the Church without the former. It is hard to conceive why they should have been so hot against these things, unless it were that the removing of them was only a pretense, while in reality they aimed at other things. — H. N. H.

24

HAT ENDS WELL Act I. Sc. iii.

sense. Her matter was, she loved your son : Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two es- tates; Love no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; . . . queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surprised, without rescue in the first assault, or ransom afterward. This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sor- 130 row that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in : which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that may hap- pen, it concerns you something to know it. 'ount. You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods in- formed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bosom ; and I thank you 140 for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon. [Exit Steward.

Enter Helena.

Even so it was with me when I was young : If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn

Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; Our blood to us, this to our blood is born ;

It is the show and seal of nature's truth,

127. ". . . queen of virgins"; Theobald inserted "Dian no" be- 3re "queen." — I. G

25

Act I. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELL

Where love's strong passion is impressed in

youth : By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. 150

Her eye is sick on 't : I observe her now.

Hel. What is your pleasure, madam?

Count. You know, Helen,

I am a mother to you.

Hel. Mine honorable mistress.

Count. Nay, a mother:

Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother/ Methought you saw a serpent: what's in

'mother,' That you start at it? I say, I am your mother; And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen Adoption strives with nature ; and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds : 161

You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, Yet I express to you a mother's care: God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood To say I am thy mother? What 's the matter, That this distemper'd messenger of wet, The many-color'd Iris, rounds thine eye? Why? that you are my daughter?

167. ec many-color'd" ; there is something exquisitely beautiful in this reference to the suffusion of colors which glimmers around the eye when wet with tears. The Poet has described the same appear- ance in his Rape of Lucrece:

"And round about her tear-distained eye Blue circles stream'd like rainbows in the sky."

— H. N. H.

26

HAT ENDS WELL Act I. Sc. iii.

rel. That I am not.

\ount. I say, I am your mother.

ml. Pardon, madam;

The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother : 170 I am from humble, he from honor' d name; No note upon my parents, his all noble: My master, my dear lord he is; and I His servant live, and will his vassal die : He must not be my brother.

ount. Nor I your mother?

lei. You are my mother, madam; would you were, — So that my lord your son were not my

brother, — Indeed my mother! or were you both our

mothers, I care no more for than I do for heaven, So I were not his sister. Can't no other, 180 But I your daughter, he must be my brother?

'ount. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in- law: God shield you mean it not! daughter and

mother So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again? My fear hath catch'd your fondness : now I see The mystery of your loneliness, and find Your salt tears' head : now to all sense 'tis gross You love my son; invention is ashamed, Against the proclamation of thy passion,

179. "I care no more"; there is a designed ambiguity; I care as

uch for.— H. N. H.

187. "head"; the source, the cause of your grief. — H. N. H.

27

Act I. Sc. iii. ALLS WELL

To say thou dost not ; therefore tell me true; 190 But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look, thy cheeks Confess it, th' one to th' other ; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors, That in their kind they speak it: only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected. Speak, is 't

so? If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; If it be not, forswear 't : howe'er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, To tell me truly.

Hel. Good madam, pardon me! 200

Count. Do you love my son?

Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress !

Count. Love you my son?

Hel. Do you not love him, madam?

Count. Go not about ; my love hath in 't a bond, Whereof the world takes note : come, come, dis- close The state of your affection ; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd.

Hel. Then, I confess,

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son.

My friends were poor, but honest; so 's my love: Be not offended; for it hurts not him 211

That he is loved of me : I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit;

194. ''kind"; in their language.— H. N. H.

28

FHAT ENDS WELL Act I. Sc. fit

Nor would I have him till I do deserve him ; Yet never know how that desert should be. I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve, I still pour in the waters of my love, And lack not to lose still : thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore 220

The sun, that looks upon his worshiper, But knows of him no more. My dearest

madam, Let not your hate encounter with my love For loving where you do : but if yourself, Whose aged honor cites a virtuous youth, Did ever in so true a flame of liking Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and love; O, then, give pity To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose But lend and give where she is sure to lose; 230 That seeks not to find that her search implies, But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies! ?ount. Had you not lately an intent, — speak

truly,— To go to Paris?

217. "captious" is plainly from the Latin capio, and means apt to ake in or receive: "intenible/* unable to hold or retain. A singular ise, indeed, of captious, but every way a legitimate and appro- bate one. The usual meaning of the word in Shakespeare's time ^as deceitful. Singer insists on giving it that meaning here, and lr. Verplanck concurs with him, objecting to the explanation we ave adopted, that it makes intenible contradict captious. Wherein ie seems rather captious; for does not a sieve receive all the /ater one can pour in, and let it out as fast as it is poured in? )n the other hand, how may a sieve, a thing so easily seen through, >e said to deceive, unless it be in the sense of taking in? which is the ense we have supposed captious in this case to bear. — H. N. H.

29

Act I. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELL

Hel. Madam, I had.

Count. Wherefore? tell true.

Hel. I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear. You know my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading And manifest experience had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me In heedf ull'st reservation to bestow them, 240 As notes, whose faculties inclusive were, More than they were in note : amongst the rest, There is a remedy, approved, set down, To cure the desperate languishings whereof The king is render'd lost.

Count. This was your motive

For Paris, was it? speak.

Hel. My lord your son made me to think of this ; Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, Had from the conversation of my thoughts Haply been absent then.

Count. But think you, Helen, 250

If you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? he and his physicians Are of a mind ; he, that they cannot help him, They, that they cannot help: how shall they

credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowel'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself?

Hel. There 's something in 't,

241. "whose faculties inclusive were," etc.; receipts in which greater virtues were enclosed than appeared to observation. — H. N. H.

SO

:hat ends well Act i. sc. k.

More than my father's skill, which was the

great'st Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall for my legacy be sanctified 260

By the luckiest stars in heaven : and, would your

honor But give me leave to try success, I 'Id venture The well-lost life of mine on his Grace's cure By such a day and hour. 7ount. Dost thou believe 't?

lei. Aye, madam, knowingly. 7ount. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love, Means and attendants, and my loving greetings To those of mine in court : I '11 stay at home And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, 270 What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss.

[Exeunt.

31

Act II. Sc. i. ALL'S WELL

ACT SECOND Scene I

Paris. The King's palace.

Flourish of comets. Enter the King, attended with divers young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; Bertram and Parolles.

King. Farewell, young lords; these warlike prin- ciples

Do not throw from you: and you, my lords, farewell:

Share the advice betwixt you ; if both gain, all

The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received,

And is enough for both. First Lord. 'Tis our hope, sir,

After well-enter'd soldiers, to return

And find your Grace in health. King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart

Will not confess he owes the malady

That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords ; 10

Whether I live or die, be you the sons

Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy, —

1, 2. "lord's** . . . "lords"; probably the young noblemen are divided into two sections according as they intend to take service with the "Florentines" or the "Senoys" (cp. Note vi. Cambridge edition). — I. G.

12-15. "let higher Italy, — Those bated/' etc.; the passage is prob-

32

HAT ENDS WELL Act II. Sc. i.

Those bated that inherit but the fall

Of the last monarchy, — see that you come

Not to woo honor, but to wed it; when

The bravest questant shrinks, find what you

seek, That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell.

ec. Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty!

ing. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them: They say, our French lack language to deny, 20 If they demand: beware of being captives, Before you serve.

oth. Our hearts receive your warnings.

ing. Farewell. Come hither to me. [Exit.

irst Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us !

ar. 'Tis not his fault, the spark.

ec. Lord. O, 'tis brave wars!

ar. Most admirable: I have seen those wars.

er. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with 'Too young,' and 'the next year,' and "tis too early.'

ly corrupt. "Higher Italy" has been variously interpreted to jan (1) Upper Italy; (2) the side of Italy next to the Adriatic ut both Florence and Sienna are on the other side) ; (3) Italy *her in rank and dignity than France; (4) the noblest of Italy, ; worthiest among Italians. Johnson paraphrased as follows: — ,et upper Italy, where you are to exercise your valor, see that u come to gain honor, to the abatement, that is, to the disgrace d depression of those that have now lost their ancient military me, and inherit but the fall of the last monarchy." Schmidt pro- sed "high" for "higher"; Coleridge, "hired"; Hanmer, "bastards" r "bated" Knight took "bated" to mean "excepted," Schmidt, eaten down." — I. G.

21. "beware of being captives"; be not captives before you are sol- jrs.— H. N. H.

XXVII— 3 33

Act ii. Sc. i. ALL'S WELL

Par. An thy mind stand to 't, boy, steal away bravely.

Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, 30 Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honor be bought up, and no sword worn But one to dance with! By heaven, I '11 steal away.

First Lord. There 's honor in the theft.

Par. Commit it, Count.

Sec. Lord. I am your accessary ; and so, farewell.

Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body.

First Lord. Farewell, captain.

Sec. Lord. Sweet Monsieur Parolles!

Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, 40 good metals: you shall find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sin- ister cheek ; it was this very sword entrenched it : say to him, I live ; and observe his reports for me.

First Lord. We shall, noble captain.

[Exeunt Lords.

Par. Mars dote on you for his novices! what will ye do?

Ber. Stay: the king.

Re-enter king.

32-33. "No sword worn but one to dance with"; alluding to the light swords worn for dancing. — I. G.

36. Our parting is as it were to dissever or torture a body.— H. N. H.

[AT ENDS WELL Act II. Sc. L

[Aside to Ber.~\ Use a more spacious 50 ceremony to the noble lords; you have re- strained yourself within the list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them: for they wear themselves in the cap of the time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most re- ceived star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell. \ And I will do so. 60

I Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men.

[Exeunt Bertram and Parolles.

Enter Lafeu.

f. [Kneeling] Pardon, my lord, for me and for

my tidings. ig. I '11 fee thee to stand up. f. Then here 's a man stands, that has brought

his pardon. I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me

mercy ;

-59. "for they wear . . . farewell" ; Henley, explaining this ige, says its obscurity arises from the fantastical language of lies, whose affectation of wit urges him from one allusion to tier, without giving him time to judge of their congruity. The of the time being the first image that occurs, true gait, manner iting, speaking, &c, are the several ornaments which they muster, rrange in time's cap. This is done under the influence of the ; approved fashion-setter; and such are to be followed in the mre or dance of fashion, even though the devil lead them. —

r. h.

. "I'll fee"; Theobald's emendation. Folios, "lie see."— I G. le meaning appears to be, I'll see you on your feet. — H. N. H.

35

Act II. So. i. ALL'S WEL

And that at my bidding you could so stand u[*

King. I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, And asked thee mercy for 't.

Laf. Good faith, across: but, my good lord, thus ; Will you be cured of your infirmity?

King. No.

Laf. O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox? Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if My royal fox could reach them: I have seen

medicine That 's able to breathe life into a stone, Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary With spritely fire and motion; whose simp

touch Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay, To give great Charlemain a pen in 's hand, And write to her a love-line.

King. What 'her' is this?

Laf. Why, Doctor She : my lord, there 's one a rived, If you will see her: now, by my faith and honc|j If seriously I may convey my thoughts In this my light deliverance, I have spoke With one that, in her sex, her years, prof essic Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me mo Than I dare blame my weakness: will you s

her, For that is her demand, and know her busines That done, laugh well at me.

81-82. "To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand"; Charlemag late in life attempted to learn to write.— I. G.

36

THAT ENDS WELL Act II. Sc i.

King. Now, good Lafeu, 91

Bring in the admiration; that we with thee May spend our wonder too, or take off thine By wondering how thou took'st it.

Laf. Nay, I'll fit you,

And not be all day neither. [Exit.

King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.

He-enter Lafeu, with Helena.

Laf. Nay, come your ways.

King. This haste hath wings indeed.

Laf. Nay, come your ways ;

This is his majesty, say your mind to him: A traitor you do look like; but such traitors 100 His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle, That dare leave two together ; fare you well, fc^ [Exit.

King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us?

Hel. Aye, my good lord.

Gerard de Narbon was my father; In what he did profess, well found.

King. I knew him.

Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards him; Knowing him is enough. On 's bed of death Many receipts he gave me; chiefly one, Which, as the dearest issue of his practice, HO And of his old experience the only darling, He bade me store up, as a triple eye, Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have

so: And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd

37

Act II. Sc. i. ALL'S WEL]

With that malignant cause, wherein the hone Of my dear father's gift stands chief in powe: I come to tender it and my appliance, With all bound humbleness.

King. We thank you, maider

But may not be so credulous of cure, When our most learned doctors leave us, and The congregated college have concluded That laboring art can never ransom nature 12 From her inaidible estate ; I say we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, To prostitute our past-cure malady To empirics, or to dissever so Our great self and our credit, to esteem A senseless help, when help past sense we deen

Hel. My duty, then, shall pay me for my pains : I will no more enforce mine office on you ; 13 Humbly entreating from your royal thought A modest one, to bear me back again.

King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grate ful: Thou thought'st to help me ; and such thanks

give As one near death to those that wish him live : But, what at full I know, thou know'st n

part ; I knowing all my peril, thou no art.

Hel. What I can do can do no hurt to try, Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. He that of greatest works is finisher, 14

Oft does them by the weakest minister: So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown,

38

THAT ENDS WELL Act II. Sc. i.

When judges have been babes; great floods have'

flown From simple sources ; and great seas have dried, When miracles have by the greatest been denied. Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises ; and oft it hits Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.

King. I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid; Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid : 150 Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward.

Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd :

It is not so with Him that all things knows, As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows; But most it is presumption in us when The help of heaven we count the act of men. Dear sir, to my endeavors give consent; Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. I am not an impostor, that proclaim Myself against the level of mine aim; 160

But know I think, and think I know most sure, My art is not past power, nor you past cure.

King. Art thou so confident? within what space Hopest thou my cure?

143. "When judges have been babes"; evidently an allusion to St. Matthew xi. 25: "I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes." See, also, 1 Cor. i. 21. — H. N. H.

"great floods/' etc.; that is, when Moses smote the rock in Horeb. — H. N. H.

145. "miracles . . . denied"; this must refer to the children of Israel passing the Red Sea, when miracles had been denied by Pharaoh.— H. N. H.

160. That is, proclaim one thing and design another. — H. N. H.

39

Act II. So. i. ALL'S WELI

j[el The great'st grace lending grace

Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring ; Ere twice in murk and occidental damp Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass 1® Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly Health shall live free, and sickness freely die.

King. Upon thy certainty and confidence What darest thou venture?

H el. Tax of impudence,

A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame Traduced by odious ballads : my maiden's nam Sear'd otherwise, ne worse of worst extended, With vilest torture let my life be ended.

King. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit dot speak His powerful sound within an organ weak : 18 And what impossibility would slay In common sense, sense saves another way.

177.

"ne worse of worst extended, With vilest torture let my life be ended";

so Folio 1; the other Folios read "no" for "ne." Malone's "nay for "ne" commends itself, though his explanation of "extended" i "my body being extended on the rack" seems weak: it is probabl used here simply in the sense of "meted out to me," or merely use for the purpose of emphasising "worse of worst" A mass of coi jectural emendations are recorded in the Cambridge edition of tl play.— I. G.

"Xe" is an old form of nor. "Worse of worst extended" meai much the same as our phrase, Let worse come to worst; that i let the loss of my good name be extended to the worst of evil death by torture.— H. N. H.

40

THAT ENDS WELL Act II. Sc. i.

Thy life is dear; for all, that life can rate Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate, Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all That happiness and prime can happy call: Thou this to hazard needs must intimate Skill infinite or monstrous desperate. Sweet practicer, thy physic I will try, That ministers thine own death if I die. 190

Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die, And well deserved : not helping, death 's my fee ; But, if I help, what do you promise me?

King. Make thy demand.

Hel. But will you make it even?

King. Aye, by my scepter and my hopes of heaven.

Hel. Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand What husband in thy power I will command: Exempted be from me the arrogance To choose from forth the royal blood of France, My low and humble name to propagate 201

With any branch or image of thy state ; But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.

King. Here is my hand ; the premises observed, Thy will by my performance shall be served: . So make the choice of thy own time ; for I, Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely. More should I question thee, and more I must,

185. The beauty of this line is, that eight syllables are allowed ie time of ten; all which the meter-mongers have spoiled by foist- ig in virtue after tourage. — H. N. H.

41

act II. Sc. ii. ALL'S WE]

Though more to know could not be more

trust, From whence thou earnest, how tended on:

rest Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest Give me some help here, ho! If thou proc As high as word, my deed shall match thy de

[Flourish. Exei

Scene II

Rousillon. The Count's palace. Enter Countess and Clown.

Count. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding.

Clo. I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I know my business is but to the court.

Count. To the court! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt ? But to the court !

Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make a leg, put off 's cap kiss his hand, and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all men.

43

30

THAT ENDS WELL Act. II. Sc. ii.

Count. Marry, that 's a bountiful answer that fits all questions.

Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all but- tocks, the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, 20 the brawn-buttock, or any buttock.

Count. Will your answer serve fit to all ques- tions ?

Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an at- torney, as your French crown for your taf- feta punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefin- ger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin.

Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fit- ness for all questions?

Clo. From below your duke to beneath your constable, it will fit any question.

Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit all demands.

Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that belongs to 't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall do you no harm to learn.

Count. To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser

26. "Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger"; "Tib and Tom" were used like "Jack and Jill"; Tib was a cant term for any low or vulgar woman. "Rush rings" were sometimes used at marriage ceremonies, especially where the marriages were somewhat doubtful (cp. Douce's Illustrations, p. 196). — I. G.

43

40

Act ii. Sc. ii. ALL'S WELI

by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier?

Clo. O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off*. More, more, a hundred of them.

Count Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves vou.

Clo. O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me. m

Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat.

Clo. O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to 't, I war- rant you.

Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.

Clo. O Lord, sir ! spare not me.

Count. Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whip- ping, and 'spare not me'? Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very sequent to your whip- ping : you would answer very well to a whip- 6( ping, if you were but bound to 't.

Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord, sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever.

Count. I play the noble housewife with the time, To entertain 't so merrily with a fool.

Clo. O Lord, sir ! why, there 't serves well again.

Count. An end, sir; to your business. Give Helei this And urge her to a present answer back : 7(

Commend me to my kinsmen and my son :

46. "O Lord, sir!"; a ridicule on this silly expletive of speech, thei in vogue at court. Thus Clove and Orange, in Every Man in Hi, Humour: "You conceive me, sir?— O Lord, sir!" And Clevelanc in one of his songs: "Answer, O Lord, sir! and talk play-bool oaths."— H. N. H.

44

THAT ENDS WELL Act n. Sc. in.

This is not much. Clo. Not much commendation to them. Count. Not much employment for you: you

understand me? Clo. Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs. Count. Haste you again, [Exeunt severally.

Scene III

Paris. The King's palace.

Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles.

Laf. They say miracles are past; and we have our philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar, things supernatural and cause- less. Hence is it that we make trifles of ter-

1-45. Johnson changed the distribution of the speakers, so as to bring out "the whole merriment of the scene," which, according to him, "consists in the pretensions of Parolles to knowledge and sentiments which he has not." Johnson has been generally followed by modern editors. The Folio arrangement has been kept in the Cambridge text. — I. G.

2. "modem" is here used in the sense of trite, common; as in the line, — "Full of wise saws and modern instances." — Coleridge has a characteristic remark upon this passage: "Shakespeare, inspired, as might seem, with all knowledge, here uses the word "causeless" in its strict philosophical sense; — cause being truly predicable only of phenomena, that is, things natural, not of noumena, or things supernatural." — Lord Bacon, in his Essay, Of Atheism, has a re- mark apparently born of the same experience that dictated the passage in the text: "It is true, that a little philosophy inclineth man's mind to atheism, but depth in philosophy bringeth men's minds about to religion; for while the mind of man looketh upon, second causes scattered, it may sometimes rest in them, and go no further; but when it beholdeth the chain of them confederate, and linked together, it must needs fly to Providence and Deity."

45

Act ii. So. iii. ALL'S WEL

rors; ensconcing ourselves into seeming

knowledge, when we should submit ourselves

to an unknown fear. Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder

that hath shot out in our latter times. Bcr. And so 'tis.

Laf. To be relinquished of the artists, — Par. So I say ; both of Galen and Paracelsus. Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows, — Par. Right; so I say. Laf. That gave him out incurable, — Par. Why, there 'tis; so say I too. Laf. Not to be helped, — Par. Right; as 'twere, a man assured of a — Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death. Par. Just, you say well; so would I have said. Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the

world. Par. It is, indeed: if you will have it in show- ing, you shall read it in — what do ye call

there ? Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an

earthly actor. Par. That 's it ; I would have said the very

same. Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore ;

me, I speak in respect — Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that

5. "ensconcing"; sconce being a term of fortification for a chi fortress, to ensconce literally signifies to secure as in a fort.

26. "a showing of a heavenly efect in an earthly actor"; the title some pamphlet is evidently ridiculed in these words.— I. G.

46

THAT ENDS WELL Act n. Sc. m.

is the brief and the tedious of it ; and he 's of a most facinerious spirit that will not ac- knowledge it to be the —

Laf. Very hand of heaven.

Par. Aye, so I say.

Laf. In a most weak —

Par. And debile minister, great power, great transcendence: which should, indeed, give 40 us a further use to be made than alone the recovery of the king, as to be —

Laf. Generally thankful.

Par. I would have said it ; you say well. Here comes the king.

Enter King, Helena, and Attendants.

Laf. Lustig, as the Dutchman says : I '11 like a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head : why, he 's able to lead her a coranto.

Par. Mort du vinaigre! is not this Helen?

Laf. 'Fore God, I think so. 50

King. Go, call before me all the lords in court. Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ; And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense

I Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive The confirmation of my promised gift, Which but attends thy naming. Enter three or four Lords. Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful

parcel Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing,

47

Act ii. sc. iii. ALL'S WEL]

O'er whom both sovereign power and father

voice I have to use: thy frank election make: 6

Thou hast power to choose, and they none t forsake. Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous mis tress Fall, when Love please ! marry, to each, but one Laf. I 'Id give bay Curtal and his furniture, My mouth no more were broken than thes

boys', And writ as little beard. King. Peruse them well:

Not one of those but had a noble father. Hel. Gentlemen,

Heaven hath through me restored the king t health.

All. We understand it, and thank heaven for yoi H el. I am a simple maid ; and therein wealthiest, 1 That I protest I simply am a maid. Please it your majesty, I have done already: The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, 'We blush that thou shouldst choose ; but, be re

fused, Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever ; We '11 ne'er come there again.'

64. A "curtal" was the common name for a horse: "I'd gr my bay horse, &c, that my age were not greater than these boys/'- H. N. H.

76. That is, but, if thou be refused, let thy cheeks be for ev< pale; we will never visit them again. "Be refused" means the sarr as thou being refused, or be thou refused. The "white death" is tl paleness of death. — H. N. H.

48

THAT ENDS WELL Act n. Sc. iii.

King. Make choice; and, see,

Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me.

Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly ;

And to imperial Love, that god most high, 80 Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit?

First Lord. And grant it.

Hel. Thanks sir ; all the rest is mute.

Laf. I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace for my life.

Hel. The honor, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, Before I speak, too threateningly replies: Love make your fortunes twenty times above Her that so wishes and her humble love!

Sec. Lord. No better, if you please.

Hel. My wish receive,

Which great Love grant! and so, I take my

leave. 90

Laf. Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine, I 'Id have them whipped; or I would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of.

Hel. Be not afraid that I your hand should take; I '11 never do you wrong for your own sake: Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!

Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they '11 none

80. "Imperial Love"; Folio 1, "imperiall loue"; Folio 2, "imperiall love"; Folio 3, "impartiall Jove" — I. G.

84. "ames-ace," i. e. two aces; the lowest throw at dice: one would expect it, from the context, to mean just the contrary, but Lafeu is probably making "a comparison by contraries," — "an ironical com- parison," used with humorous effect. "One lauding a sweet-songed prima donna," aptly observed Brinsley Nicholson, "says, I'd rather hear her than walk a hundred miles with peas in my boots." — I. G. XXVII— 4 49

Act ii. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELL

have her: sure, they are bastards to the Eng- lish; the French ne'er got 'em. 10°

Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good, To make yourself a son out of my blood.

Fourth Lord. Fair one, I think not so.

Laf. There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk wine: but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already.

Hel. [To Bertram] I dare not say I take you; but I give Me and my service, ever whilst I live, Into your guiding power. This is the man. HO

King. Why, then, young Bertram, take her ; she 's thy wife.

Ber. My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness, In such a business give me leave to use The help of mine own eyes.

King. Know'st thou not, Bertram,

What she has done for me?

Ber. Yes, my good lord;

104-107. This speech is usually printed as if the whole of it re- ferred to Bertram; which seems to us to render the latter part of it unintelligible. To get over the difficulty, Theobald, and Hanmer and Warburton after him, broke it into three speeches, giving to La feu "There's one grape yet," to Parolles "I am sure thy father drunk wine," and the rest to Lafeu. There is no authority for this besides, taking the latter part of the speech as addressed to Pan rolles, all seems clear enough, and agrees well with what after- wards passes between them. Of course, during this part of the scene Lafeu and Parolles stand at some distance from the rest where they can see what is done, but not hear what is said: there- fore Lafeu has been speaking as if Helena were the refused, no1 the refuser.— H. N. H.

50

THAT ENDS WELL Act II. St. iii.

But never hope to know why I should marry her. King. Thou know'st she has raised me from my

sickly bed. Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down Must answer for your raising? I know her

well: She had her breeding at my father's charge. A poor physician's daughter my wife! Dis- dain 121 Rather corrupt me ever! King. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods, Of color, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off In differences so mighty. If she be All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest, A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest Of virtue for the name: but do not so: 130 From lowest place when virtuous things pro- ceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed : Where great additions swell 's, and virtue none, It is a dropsied honor. Good alone Is good without a name. Vileness is so: The property by what it is should go, Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; In these to nature she 's immediate heir,

133. That is, where great titles swell us, and there is no virtue. The original has swell's, but the contraction 's for us has been left 3ut of most editions.— H. N. H.

16 F 51

Act ii. Sc. iii. ALL'S WEL]

And these breed honor: that is honor's scorn, Which challenges itself as honor 's born, 14 And is not like the sire : honors thrive, When rather from our acts we them derive Than our foregoers: the mere word 's a slave Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave A lying trophy; and as oft is dumb Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb Of honor 'd bones indeed. What should I

said? If thou canst like this creature as a maid, I can create the rest: virtue and she Is her own dower ; honor and wealth from me.

Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do 't. II

King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou should: strive to choose.

Hel. That you are well restored, my lord, I glad: Let the rest go.

King. My honor 's at the stake ; which to defeat, I must produce my power. Here, take h<

hand, Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift; That dost in vile misprision shackle up My love and her desert ; that canst not drear We, poising us in her defective scale, 1<

Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt n<

know, It is in us to plant thine honor where

155. "which" of course refers not to honor, but to the precedii clause, or to the danger implied in it. A similar constructs occurs in Othello: "She dying gave it me, and bid me, when E fate would have me wive, to give it her."— H. N. H.

52

THAT ENDS WELL Act n. Sc. iii.

We please to have it grow. Check thy con- tempt: Obey our will, which travails in thy good: Believe not thy disdain, but presently Do thine own fortunes that obedient right Which both thy duty owes and our power

claims ; Or I will throw thee from my care for ever Into the staggers and the careless lapse Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate 170

Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice, Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine an- swer.

Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit My fancy to your eyes : when I consider What great creation and what dole of honor Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now The praised of the king ; who, so ennobled, Is as 't were born so.

King. Take her by the hand,

And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise A counterpoise ; if not to thy estate, 181

A balance more replete.

Ber. I take her hand.

King. Good fortune and the favor of the king Smile upon this contract ; whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, And be perf orm'd to-night : the solemn feast Shall more attend upon the coming space, Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her,

53

Act ii. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELI

Thy love 's to me religious; else, does err.

[Exeunt all but Lafeu and Parolles

Laf. Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you.

Par. Your pleasure, sir? 19

Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his recantation.

Par. Recantation! My lord! my master!

Laf. Aye; is it not a language I speak?

Par. A most harsh one, and not to be under- stood without bloody succeeding. My mas- ter!

Laf. Are you companion to the Count Rousil- lon? ; 20'

Par. To any count, to all counts, to what is man.

Laf. To what is count's man : count's master is of another style.

Par. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old.

Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee.

Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do.

Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow ; thou didst make tolera- 21 ble vent of thy travel ; it might pass : yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee did man- ifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not : yet art thou good for nothing but tak- ing up ; and that thou 'rt scarce worth.

216. "taking up"; to take up is to contradict, to call to accoun — H. N. H.

54

THAT ENDS WELL Act II. Sc. iii.

Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee, —

Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, 220 lest thou hasten thy trial; which if — Lord have mercy on thee for a hen ! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well: thy case- ment I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand.

Par. My lord, you give me most egregious in- dignity.

Laf. Aye, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it.

Par. I have not, my Lord, deserved it. 230

Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple.

Par. Well, I shall be wiser.

Laf. Ev'n as soon as thou cans , for thou hast to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my ac- quaintance with thee, or rather my knowl- edge, that I may say in th^ default, he is a 240 man I know.

Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.

Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal: for doing I am past; as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. [Exit.

245-247. "doing I am past," says Lafeu, "as I will by thee, in *f what motion age will give me leave"; that is, "as I will pass by thee as fast as I am able": and he immediately goes out. — H. N. H,

55

Act ii. Sc. m. ALL'S WELI

Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this dis- grace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must be patient ; there is no fetter- 25 ing of authority. I '11 beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I '11 have no more pity of his age than I would have of — I '11 beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

Re-enter Lafeu.

Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there 's news for you : you have a new mis- tress.

Par. I most unf eignedly beseech your lordship 2( to make some reservation of your wrongs : he is my good lord: whom I serve above is my master.

Laf. Who? God?

Par. Aye, sir.

Laf. The devil it is that 's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of thy sleeves ? do other serv- ants so? Thou wert b^st set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honor, if I 2' were but two hours younger, I 'Id beat thee : methinks 't thou art r general offense, and every man should beat thee: I think thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.

56

'HAT ENDS WELL Act II. 8b. iii.

'daf. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate ; you are a vagabond, and no true traveler: you 280 are more saucy with lords and honorable personages than the commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I 'Id call you knave. I leave you. [Exit.

*ar. Good, very good ; it is so then : good, very good ; let it be concealed awhile.

Re-enter Bertram.

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

Par. What 's the matter, sweet-heart?

Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, 290

I will not bed her.

Par. What, what, sweet-heart?

Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me ! I '11 to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits The tread of a man's foot : to the wars !

Ber. There 's letters from my mother : what the import is, I know not yet.

Par. Aye, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars ! 300

He wears his honor in a box unseen, That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, Spending his manly marrow in her arms, Which should sustain the bound and high cur- vet Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions!

57

Act ii. Sc. iv. ALL'S WEL

France is a stable; we that dwell in 't jades; Therefore, to the war!

Ber. It shall be so: I '11 send her to my house, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled; write to the king 3 That which I durst not speak: his present gi Shall furnish me to those Italian fields, Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife To the dark house and the detested wife.

Par. Will this capriccio hold in thee, art sure ?

Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I '11 send her straight away : to-morrow I '11 to the wars, she to her single sorrow.

Par. Why, these balls bound ; there 's noise in 'Tis hard: A young man married is a man that 's marr Therefore away, and leave her bravely ; go : ^ The king has done you wrong : but, hush, 'tis

[Exeu

Scene IV

Paris. The King's palace. Enter Helena and Clown.

Hel. My mother greets me kindly: is she well?

Clo. She is not well; but yet she has her health: she 's very merry ; but yet she is not well : but thanks be given, she 's very well and wants nothing i' the world ; but yet she is not well.

314. "the dark house" is a house made gloomy by disconten H. N. H. * :TT J- ■'. ■

58

THAT ENDS WELL Act II. 6c. iv.

Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that

she 's not very well? Clo. Truly, she 's very well indeed, but for two

things. Hel. What two things? 10

Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither

God send her quickly! the other, that she 's

in earth, from whence God send her quickly!

Enter Parolles.

Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady!

Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes.

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on ; and to keep them on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady?

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money, I would she did as you say.

Par. Why, I say nothing.

Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man ; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undo- ing: to say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing.

Par. Away ! thou 'rt a knave.

Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave 30 thou 'rt a knave ; that 's, before me thou 'rt a knave: this had been truth, sir.

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee.

Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were

59

20

Act ii. sc. iv. ALL'S WELL

you taught to find me? The search, sir, was

profitable; and much fool may you find in

you, even to the world's pleasure and the

increase of laughter. Par. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. 40

Madam, my lord will go away to-night;

A very serious business calls on him.

The greatest prerogative and rite of love,

Which, as your due, time claims, he does ac- knowledge ;

But puts it off to a compell'd restraint;

Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets,

Which they distil now in the curbed time,

To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy,

And pleasure drown the brim. Hel. What 's his will else?

Par. That you will take your instant leave o' the king, 50

And make this haste as your own good proceed- ing,

Strengthen'd with what apology you think

May make it probable need. Hel. What more commands he?

40. "well fed"; perhaps the old saying, "better fed than taught," is alluded to here, as in a preceding scene, where the clown says, "I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught."— H. N. H.

45. That is, puts it off in obedience to an enforced restraint; the passive, "compell'd," for the active, compelling.— H. N. H.

48. The meaning appears to be, that the delay of the joys, and the expectation of them, would make them more delightful when they come. The "curbed time" means the time of restraint: "whose want" means the want of which; referring to prerogative and rite.

60

THAT ENDS WELL Act II; Sc. v.

Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently

Attend his further pleasure. Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will. Par. I shall report it so.

Hel. I pray you. [Exit Parolles.~\ Come, sirrah.

[Exeunt.

Scene V

Paris. The King's palace. Enter Lafeu and Bertram

Laf. But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier.

Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof .

Laf. You have it from his own deliverance.

Ber. And by other warranted testimony.

Laf. Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark for a bunting.

Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant.

Laf. I have then sinned against his experience and transgressed against his valor; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot 10 yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes: I pray you, make us friends; I will pursue the amity.

Enter Parolles.

Par. These things shall be done, sir. [To Bertram. Laf. Pray you, sir, who 's his tailor? Par. Sir?

61

Act ii. Sc. v. ALL'S WEL|,

Laf. O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good workman, a very good tailor.

Ber. Is she gone to the king? [Aside to Parolle

Par. She is.

Ber. Will she away to-night?

Par. As you '11 have her.

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasur Given order for our horses ; and to-night, When I should take possession of the bride, End ere I do begin.

Laf. A good traveler is something at the latter end of a dinner ; but one that lies three thirds, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten. God save you, captain.

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur ?

Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure.

Laf. You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and out of it you '11 run again, rather than suffer question for your resi- dence.

Ber. It may be you have mistaken him, my lord.

Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at 's prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his

26. "end"; the Folios have "And"; the correction, from the Elle mere copy of the First Folio, has been generally adopted.— I. G.

62

rHAT ENDS WELL Act II. Sc. v.

clothes. Trust him not in matter of heavy consequence ; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur: I have spoken better of you than you have or 50 will to deserve at my hand ; but we must do good against evil. [Exit.

Par. An idle lord, I swear.

Ber. I think so.

Par. Why, do you not know him?

Ber. Yes, I do know him well, and common speech Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

Enter Helena.

Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, Spoke with the king, and have procured his

leave For present parting; only he desires 60

Some private speech with you.

Ber. I shall obey his will.

You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, Which holds not color with the time, nor does The ministration and required office On my particular. Prepared I was not For such a business ; therefore am I found So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat

you, That presently you take your way for home, And rather muse than ask why I entreat you; For my respects are better than they seem, 70

50. "Have or will to deserve"; Malone proposed "have qualities or cUl," etc.; Singer, "wit or will"; the later Folios omit "to" and read \have, or will deserve"; the reading in the text is that of Folio 1. —

:.g.

63

Act II. Sc. r. ALL'S WEL]

And my appointments have in them a need Greater than shows itself at the first view To you that know them not. This to m mother: [Giving a lette.

'Twill be two days ere I shall see you ; so, I leave you to your wisdom. Hel. Sir, I can nothing sa?

But that I am your most obedient servant. Ber. Come, come, no more of that. H el. And ever sha

With true observance seek to eke out that Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail' To equal my great fortune. Ber. Let that go : *

My haste is very great: farewell; hie home.

Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon.

Ber. Well, what would you saj

Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe;

Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is ;

But, like a timorous thief, most fain would ste

What law does vouch mine own.

Ber. What would you hav<

Hel. Something; and scarce so much: nothing, h

deed.

I would not tell you what I would, my lor<

faith, yes; Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lor Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur? Far well! [Exit Helen

64

THAT ENDS WELL Act II. Sc. v.

Go thou toward home ; where I will never come, Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum. Away, and for our flight. Por. Bravely, coragio! [Exeunt.

XXVII— 5

65

Act in. Sc. i. ALL'S WELL

ACT THIRD

Scene I

Florence. The Duke's palace.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, attended} the two Frenchmen with a troop of soldiers.

Duke. So that from point to point now have yoi

heard

The fundamental reasons of this war,

Whose great decision hath much blood let f ortl

And more thirsts after.

First Lord. Holy seems the quarrel

Upon your Grace's part; black and fearful On the opposer.

Duke. Therefore we marvel much our cousii France Would in so just a business shut his bosom Against our borrowing prayers.

Sec. Lord. Good my lore

The reasons of our state I cannot yield, But like a common and an outward man, That the great figure of a council frames By self -unable motion: therefore dare not

12-13.

"That the great figure of a council frames By self-unable motion1";

probably Clarke's explanation of these difficult lines is the besi —"The reasons of our state I cannot give you, excepting as a ordinary and uninitiated man, whom the august body of a goi

66

THAT ENDS WELL Act III. Sc. ii.

Say what I think of it, since I have found Myself in my incertain grounds to fail As often as I guess'd.

Duke. Be it his pleasure.

First Lord. But I am sure the younger of our nature, That surfeit on their ease, will day by day Come here for physic.

Duke. Welcome shall they be;

And all the honors that can fly from us 20

Shall on them settle. You know your places

well; When better fall, for your avails they fell : To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. Eccewit.

Scene II

Rousillon. The Count's palace. Enter Countess and Clown.

Count. It hath happened all as I would have had it, save that he comes not along with her.

Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man.

Count. By what observance, I pray you ?

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot and sing;

ernment-council creates with power unable of itself to act, or with power incapable of acting of its own accord or independently.'* Others make "that" the subject of "frames," explaining "motion" as "mental sight," or "intuition." — I. G.

17. "the younger of our nature"; as we say at present, our young fellows —H. N. H.

67

Act in. Sc. ii. ALL'S WELL

mend the ruff and sing; ask questions and sing ; pick his teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song. 10

Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. [Opening a letter.

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court: the brains of my Cupid 's knocked out, and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

Count. What have we here?

Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit. 2<

Count, [reads] I have sent you a daughter-in- law: she hath recovered the king, and un- done me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not' eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it be- fore the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long dis- tance. My duty to you.

Your unfortunate son,

Bertram. 3(

This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, To fly the favors of so good a king; To pluck his indignation on thy head By the misprising of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire.

9. "sold"; so Folios 3, 4; Folios 1, 2, "hold"; Harness propose 'holdi a goodly manner for" — I. G.

68

THAT ENDS WELL Act ill. Sc. ii.

Re-enter Clown.

Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young lady !

Count. What is the matter?

Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so 40 soon as I thought he would.

Count. Why should he be killed?

Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does : the danger is in standing to 't ; that 's the loss of men, though it be the get- ting of children. Here they come will tell you more : for my part, I only hear your son was run away. [EaAt.

Enter Helena and two Gentlemen.

First Gent. Save you, good madam.

Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 50

Sec. Gent. Do not say so.

Count. Think upon patience. Pray you, gentle- men, I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, That the first face of neither, on the start, Can woman me unto 't : where is my son, I pray you?

Sec. Gent. Madam, he 's gone to serve the duke of Florence : We met him thitherward ; from thence we came, And, after some dispatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again.

Hel. Look on his letter, madam; here 's my 60

69

Act in. Sc. ii. ALL'S WELL

passport, [reads] When thou can'st get

the ring upon my finger which never shall

come off, and show me a child begotten of

thy body that I am father to, then call me

husband: but in such a 'then' I write a

'never.'

This is a dreadful sentence.

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

First Gent. Aye, madam

And for the contents' sake are sorry for oui

pains.

Count. I prithee, lady, have a better cheer; 7( If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of a moiety : he was my son ; But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?

Sec. Gent. Aye, madam.

Count. And to be a soldier?

Sec. Gent. Such is his noble purpose ; and, believe 't The Duke will lay upon him all the honor That good convenience claims.

Count. Return you thither!

First Gent. Aye, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

Hel. [reads'] Till I have no wife, I have nothing ir

France. 8(

'Tis bitter.

Count. Find you that there?

71. "If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine"; the omission oi the relative is common in Shakespeare. Rowe unnecessarily altered the line to ((all the griefs as thine."— I. G.

70

THAT ENDS WELL Act III. Sc. ii.

Hel. Aye, madam.

First Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his heart was not consenting to.

Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife ! There 's nothing here that is too good for him But only she ; and she deserves a lord That twenty such rude boys might tend upon And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?

First Gent. A servant only, and a gentleman 90 Which I have sometime known.

Count. Parolles, was it not?

First Gent. Aye, my good lady, he.

Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked- ness. My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement.

First Gent. Indeed, good lady,

The fellow has a deal of that too much, Which holds him much to have.

Count. Y' are welcome, gentlemen.

I will entreat you, when you see my son,

To tell him that his sword can never win 100

97. "holds him much to have"; so the Folios; Theobald conjec- tured "soils him much to have"; others suggested, "hoves him not much to have"; "fouls him much to have," etc. Rolfe's view of the passage seems by far the most satisfactory: — "He has a deal of that too-much, i. e. excess of vanity, which makes him fancy he has many good qualities." — I. G.

An obscure passage indeed; but perhaps it can be understood well enough, if the reader bear in mind that Parolles' greatest having is in impudence, and at the same time make him emphatic. The fellow has a deal too much of impudence; and yet it holds, behooves him to have a large stock of that, inasmuch as he bar nothing else. — H. N. H.

71

Act III. Sc. ii.

The honor that he loses; more I '11 entreat you Written to bear along.

Sec. Gent. We serve you, madam,

In that and all your worthiest affairs.

Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near?

[Exeunt Countess and Gentlemt

Hel. 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing France.' Nothing in France, until he has no wife! Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none

France ; Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is 't I That chase thee from thy country and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event Of the none-sparing war? and is it I That drive thee from the sportive court, wh*

thou Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengeji That ride upon the violent speed of fire, Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air That sings with piercing ; do not touch my loi j Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ; Whoever charges on his forward breast,

104. In reply to the gentlemen's declaration that they are servants, the countess answers — no otherwise than as we retifc the same offices of civility. — H. N. H.

117. "still-peering air"; so Folio 1; Folio 2, "still-piercing"; pr[* ably an error for "still-piecing," i. e. "still-closing." A pass R in The Wisdom of Solomon has been appropriately compared, ;jj may be the source of the thought: — "As when an arrow is shot a mark, it parteth the air, which immediately cometh together agi so that a man cannot know where it went through." — I. G.

72

THAT ENDS WELL Act III. Sc. iii.

I am the caitiff that do hold him to 't ;

And, though I kill him not, I am the cause

His death was so effected: better 'twere

I met the ravin lion when he roar'd

With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere

That all the miseries which nature owes

Were mine at once. No, come thou home,

Rousillon, Whence honor but of danger wins a scar, As oft it loses all: I will be gone; My being here it is that holds thee hence : 130 Shall I stay here to do 't? no, no, although The air of paradise did fan the house, And angels officed all : I will be gone, That pitiful rumor may report my flight, To consolate thine ear. Come, night ; end, day ! For with the dark, poor thief, I '11 steal away.

[Exit.

Scene III

Florence. Before the Duke's palace.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Parolles, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets.

Duke. The general of our horse thou art; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence

*

Upon thy promising fortune.

128, 129. The sense is "From that place, where all the advantage that honor usually reaps from the danger it rushes upon, is only i scar in testimony of its bravery, as, on the other hand, it often 3 the cause of losing all, even life itself." — H. N. H.

73

Act in. Sc. iv. ALL'S WEL

Ber. Sir, it is

A charge too heavy for my strength ; but yet

We '11 strive to bear it for your worthy sake

To the extreme edge of hazard. Duke. Then go thou fort

And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,

As thy auspicious mistress! Ber. This very day,

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file :

Make me but like my thoughts, and I shj prove

A lover of thy drum, hater of love. [Eoceui

Scene IV

Rousillon. The Count's palace.

Enter Countess and Steward.

Count. Alas ! and would you take the letter of h Might you not know she would do as she I

done, By sending me a letter? Read it again. Stew. \_reads~\ I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thitl gone:

6. "extreme edge of hazard"; so in Shakespeare's 116th Son "But bears it out even to the edge of doom." And Milton's Par. I B. i.: "You see our danger on the utmost edge of hazard."- N. H.

7. In Richard HI: "Fortune and victory sit on thy helm H. N. H.

4. "Saint Jaques' pilgrim"; at Orleans was a church dedicate* I St. Jaques, to which pilgrims formerly used to resort to ado part of the cross.— H. N. H.

74

THAT ENDS WELL Act III. Sc. ir/

Ambitious love hath so in me offended, That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon,

With sainted vow my faults to have amended. Write, write, that from the bloody course of war My dearest master, your dear son, may hie : Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far 10

His name with zealous fervor sanctify: His taken labors bid him me forgive ;

I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth From courtly friends with camping foes to live, Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth : He is too good and fair for death and me ; Whom I myself embrace to set him free. Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words ! Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, As letting her pass so : had I spoke with her, 20 I could have well diverted her intents, Which thus she hath prevented. Stew. Pardon me, madam:

If I had given you this at over-night, She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she

writes, Pursuit would be but vain. Count. What angel shall

Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive, Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear

13. "I, his despiteful Juno"; alluding to the story of Hercules. — H. N. H.

75

Act in. Sc v. ALL'S WELI

And loves to grant, reprieve him from th<

wrath Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo To this unworthy husband of his wife ; 31

Let every word weigh heavy of her worth That he does weigh too light : my greatest grief Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. Dispatch the most convenient messenger : When haply he shall hear that she is gone, He will return ; and hope I may that she, Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, Led hither by pure love : which of them both Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense To make distinction: provide this messenger My heart is heavy and mine age is weak ; 4 Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids m

speak. [Exeunt

Scene V

Florence. Without the walls. A tucket afar off

Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violentc and Mariana, with other Citizens.

Wid. Nay, come; for if they do approach the

city, we shall lose all the sight. Dia. They say the French count has done most

honorable service. Wid. It is reported that he has taken their

greatest commander; and that with his own

32. "weigh"; value or esteem.— H. N. H.

76

20

THAT ENDS WELL Act in. Sc. v.

hand he slew the Duke's brother. [Tucket.'] We have lost our labor ; they are gone a con- trary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets. 10

Mar. Come, let 's return again, and suffice our- selves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl: the honor of a maid is her name ; and no legacy is so rich as honesty.

Wid. I have told my neighbor how you have been solicited by a gentleman his compan- ion.

Mar. I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a filthy officer he is in those sug- gestions for the young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to advise you further; 30 but I hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger known but the modesty which is so lost.

Dia. You shall not need to fear me.

Wid. I hope so.

Enter Helena, disguised like a Pilgrim.

77

Act in. sc. v. ALL'S WELL

Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at my house; thither they send one an- other: I'll question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound? 4C

Hel. To Saint Jaques le Grand.

Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

Wid. At the Saint Francis here beside the port.

Hel. Is this the way?

Wid. Aye, marry, is 't. [A march afar.'] Hark you! they come this way. If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, But till the troops come by, I will conduct you where you shall be lodged J The rather, for I think I know your hostess As ample as myself.

Hel. Is it yourself? 5(

Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim.

Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure

Wid. You came, I think, from France?

Hel. I did so.

Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours That has done worthy service.

Hel. His name, I pray you

Dia. The Count Rousillon: know you such a one

Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him His face I know not.

58. "His face I know not"; touching this passage, Coleridge ask? — "Shall we say here, that Shakespeare has unnecessarily made hi loveliest character utter a lie? Or shall we dare think that, wher to deceive was necessary, he thought a pretended verbal verity i double crime, equally with the other a lie to the hearer, and at th same time an attempt to lie to one's own conscience ?" Whatsoeve may be the truth in this case, such, no doubt, is often the result o overstraining the rule against deceiving others; it puts people upo

78

THAT ENDS WELL Act III. Sc. v.

Dia. Whatsom'er he is,

He 's bravely taken here. He stole from France,

As 'tis reported, for the king had married him

Against his liking : think you it is so ? 61

Hel. Aye, surely, mere the truth : I know his lady. Dia. There is a gentleman that serves the count

Reports but coarsely of her. Hel. What 's his name?

Dia. Monsieur Parolles. Hel. O, believe with him,

In argument of praise, or to the worth

Of the great count himself, she is too mean

To have her name repeated : all her deserving

Is a reserved honesty, and that

I have not heard examined. Dia. Alas, poor lady! 70

'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife

Of a detesting lord. Wid. I write good creature, whereso'er she is,

Her heart weighs sadly : this young maid might do her

A shrewd turn, if she pleased. Hel. How do you mean?

May be the amorous count solicits her

In the unlawful purpose.

skulking behind subterfuges for the deceiving of themselves. We have often seen them use great art to speak the truth in such a way as to deceive, and then hug themselves in the conceit that they had not spoken falsely. — H. N. H.

73. "I write, good creature," so Folio 1; Folios 2, 3, 4, ul right"; Rowe, "Ah! right good creature!" The Globe edition, "I warrant, good creature"; Kinnear, "I war'nt (= warrant), good creature." — I. G.

19

Act ill. Sc. v. ALL'S WELL

JJ77J. He does indeed;

And brokes with all that can in such a suit Corrupt the tender honor of a maid: But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard In honestest defense.

Mar. The gods forbid else! 81

Wid. So, now they come :

Drum and Colors. Enter Bertram, Parolles, and the whole army.

That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest son ;

That, Escalus. Hel. Which is the Frenchman?

Dia. He;

That with the plume : 'tis a most gallant fellow,

I would he loved his wife : if he were honester

He were much goodlier : is 't not a handsome gentleman ? H eh I like him well.

Dia. 'Tis pity he is not honest: yond 's that same knave

That leads him to these places : were I his lady

I would poison that vile rascal. Hel Which is he? \v

Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs: why is he

melancholy ? Hel. Perchance he 's hurt i' the battle. Par. Lose our drum ! well. Mar. He 's shrewdly vexed at something: look,

he has spied us. Wid. Marry, hang you!

80

THAT ENDS WELL Act III. Sc. vi.

Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

[Exeunt Bertram, ParolleSj and army.

Wid. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will

bring you 100

Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents

There 's four or five, to great Saint Jaques

bound, Already at my house. Hel. I humbly thank you:

Please it this matron and this gentle maid To eat with us to-night, the charge and thank- ing Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further, I will bestow some precepts of this virgin Worthy the note. Both. We 11 take your offer kindly.

[Exeunt.

Scene VI

Camp before Florence. Enter Bertram and the two French Lords.

Sec. Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to 't;

let him have his way. First Lord. If your lordship find him not a

hilding, hold me no more in your respect. Sec. Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. Ber. Do you think I am so far deceived in

him? Sec. Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own

direct knowledge, without any malice, but to

XXVII— 6 81

Act III. Sc. vi. ALL'S WELI

speak of him as my kinsman, he 's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's en- tertainment.

First Lord. It were fit you knew him; lest, re- posing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might at some great and trusty busi- ness in a main danger fail you.

Ber. I would I knew in what particular action to try him.

First Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confi- dently undertake to do.

Sec. Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly surprise him; such I will have, whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship present at his examina- tion : if he do not, for the promise of his life and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you and deliver all the intel- ligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing.

First Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says he has a stratagem for 't : when your lordship sees the bottom of his success in 't, and to what metal this coun-

82

THAT ENDS WELL Act III. Sc. vi.

terfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes.

Enter Parolles.

Sec. Lord. [Aside to Ber.~\ O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honor of his design : let him fetch off his drum in any hand.

Ber. How now, monsieur! this drum sticks sorely in your disposition. 50

First Lord. A pox on 't, let it go ; 'tis but a drum.

Par. 'But a drum' ! is 't 'but a drum' ? A drum so lost ! There was excellent command, — to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers!

First Lord. That was not to be blamed in the command of the service: it was a disaster of war that Csesar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command. 60

Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc-

43. "John Drum's Entertainment" ; "to give a person John Drum's Entertainment" probably meant to give him such an entertainment as the drum gets; hence "to give a person a drumming," to turn him forcibly out of your company. Theobald quotes the following from Holinshed's Description of Ireland: — "His porter, or none other officer, durst not, for both his ears, give the simplest man that re- sorted to his house, Tom Drum his entertainment, which is to hale a man in by the head, and thrust him out by both the shoulders." In Marston's interlude, Jack Drum's Entertainment (1601), Jack Drum is a servant who is constantly baffled in his knavish tricks. — JG.

47. "the honor of his design" is the honor he thinks to gain by it. Honor has been usually printed humor; a change, says Collier, "with- out either warranty or fitness." — H. N. H.

17 f 83

Act III. Sc. vi. ALLS WELL

cess : some dishonor we had in the loss of that drum ; but it is not to be recovered.

Par. It might have been recovered.

Ber. It might; but it is not now.

Par. It is to be recovered: but that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or 'hie jacet.'

'Ber. Why, if you have a stomach, to 't, mon- 70 sieur: if you think your mystery in strat- agem can bring this instrument of honor again into his native quarter, be magnani- mous in the enterprise and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well in it, the Duke shall both speak of it, and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness.

Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake #0 it.

Ber. But you must not now slumber in it.

Par. I '11 about it this evening : and I will pres- ently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation ; and by midnight look to hear further from me.

Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his Grace you are gone about it?

Par. I know not what the success will be, my 9 lord ; but the attempt I vow.

Ber. I know thou 'rt valiant; and, to the pos-

84

THAT ENDS WELL Act in. Sc. vi.

sibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell.

Par. I love not many words. [Exit.

Sec. Lord. No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is not to be done; damns himself to do, and dares better be damned 100 than to do 't?

First Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it is, that he will steal him- self into a man's favor and for a week es- cape a great deal of discoveries; but when you find him out, you have him ever after.

Ber. Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of this that so seriously he does ad- dress himself unto?

Sec. Lord. None in the world ; but return with HO an invention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we have almost em- bossed him; you shall see his fall to-night; for indeed he is not for your lordship's re- spect.

First Lord. We '11 make you some sport with the fox ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord Laf eu : when his dis- guise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this 120 very night.

Sec. Lord. I must go look my twigs: he shall be caught.

122. So in the third scene of this act: "They are limed with the

85

Ad III. Sc. vii. ALLS WELL

Ber. Your brother he shall go along with me. Sec. Lord. As 't please your lordship : I '11 leave you. \Eocit.

Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you The lass I spoke of. First Lord. But you say she 's honest.

Ber. That 's all the fault : I spoke with her but once And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to

her, By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, Tokens and letters which she did re-send ; 130 And this is all I have done. She ys a fair

creature : Will you go see her? First Lord. With all my heart, my lord.

[Eooeunt.

Scene VII

Florence. The Widow's house.

Enter Helena and Widow.

Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, I know not how I shall assure you further,

twigs that threaten them." To lime is to catch or entangle; and twigs was a common term for the trap or snare, whether it were made of twigs or of thoughts; of material or mental wickerwork.—\ H. N. H.

Wtj V the wind"; this proverbial phrase is thus explained by Cot- grave: "Estre sur vent, To be in the wind, or to have the wind of. To get the wind, advantage, upper hand of: to have a man under] his lee."-H. N. H.

86

rHAT ENDS WELL Act in. Sc. vii.

But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.

Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was well born, Nothing acquainted with these businesses; And would not put my reputation now In any staining act.

Hel. Nor would I wish you.

First, give me trust, the count he is my hus- band, And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken Is so from word to word ; and then you cannot, By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, H Err in bestowing it.

Wid. I should believe you ;

For you have show'd me that which well ap- proves You 're great in fortune.

Hel. Take this purse of gold,

And let me buy your friendly help thus far, Which I will over-pay and pay again When I have found it. The count he wooes

your daughter, Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, Resolved to carry her : let her in fine consent, As we '11 direct her how 'tis best to bear it. 20 Now his important blood will nought deny That she '11 demand : a ring the county wears, That downward hath succeeded in his house From son to son, some four or five descents Since the first father wore it : this ring he holds In most rich choice ; yet in his idle fire, To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,

3. That is, by discovering herself to the count. — H. N. H.

67

Act in. Be vii. ALL'S WE:

Howe'er repented after.

Wid. Now I see

The bottom of your purpose.

Hel. You see it lawful, then: it is no more, But that your daughter, ere she seems as woi Desires this ring ; appoints him an encounter In fine, delivers me to fill the time, Herself most chastely absent : after this, To marry her, I '11 add three thousand crowr To what is past already.

Wid. I have yielded:

Instruct my daughter how she shall perseve That time and place with this deceit so lawfi May prove coherent. Every night he com With musics of all sorts and songs composec To her unworthiness : it nothing steads us To chide him from our eaves ; for he persisp As if his life lay on 't.

Hel. Why then to-night

Let us assay our plot ; which, if it speed, Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed, And lawful meaning in a lawful act, Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact: But let *& about it. [Exfo

45-47. The explanation of this riddle is, that Bertram was telle lawful deed with a wicked intent; Helena, the same deed \ I good intent; and that what was really to be on both sides m f ul embrace, was to seem in them both an act of adultery.— H.

88

THAT ENDS WELL Act IV. Sc i.

ACT FOURTH

Scene I

Without the Florentine camp.

Enter Second French Lord, with five or six other Soldiers in ambush.

Sec. Lord. He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner. When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will: though you understand it not yourselves, no matter ; for we must not seem to understand him, unless some one among us whom we must produce for an interpreter.

First Sold. Good captain, let me be the inter- preter.

Vec. Lord. Art not acquainted with him? knows 10 he not thy voice ?

first Sold. No, sir, I warrant you.

lee. Lord. But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to speak to us again?

first Sold. E'en such as you speak to me.

jec. Lord. He must think us some band of strangers i' the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighboring lan- guages; therefore we must every one be a

19-21. "therefore . . . purpose"; the sense of this passage

89

Act iv. Sc. i. ALL'S WEL

man of his own fancy, not to know what we speak one to another ; so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose : choughs' lan- guage, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch, ho! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to re- turn and swear the lies he forges.

Enter Parolles.

Par. Ten o'clock : within these three hours 'twill be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that carries it ; they begin to smoke me; and disgraces have of late knocked too often at my door. I find my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it and of his crea- tures, not daring the reports of my tongue.

Sec. Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of.

Par. What the devil should move me to under- take the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in exploit: yet slight ones will not carry it; they will say, 'Came you off with so little?' and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what 's

appears to be: "We must each fancy a jargon for himself, witl aiming to be understood by each other; for, provided we appea understand, that will be sufficient." The "chough" is a bird of jack-daw kind.— H. N. H.

90

THAT ENDS WELL Act iv. Sc. i.

the instance ? Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman's mouth, and buy myself another of Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils. 50

Sec. Lord. Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is?

Par. I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword.

Sec. Lord. We cannot afford you so.

Par. Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in stratagem.

Sec. Lord. 'Twould not do.

Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say I was 60 stripped.

Sec. Lord. Hardly serve.

Par. Though I swore I leaped from the win- dow of the citadel —

Sec. Lord. How deep?

Par. Thirty fathom.

Sec. Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.

Par. I would I had any drum of the enemy's: I would swear I recovered it. 70

Sec. Lord. You shall hear one anon.

47-50. "Tongue" etc.; Parolles is in a quandary: slight wounds will not serve his turn; great ones he dare not give himself; and so he is casting about what scheme he shall light upon next. He then goes on to lecture his tongue for getting him into such a scrape. — H. N. H.

49. "Bajazet's mule"; the allusion has not yet been explained; perhaps "Bajazet's" is a blunder on the part of Parolles for "Balaam's."— I. G.

91

Act IV. Sc. i. ALL'S WELL

Par. A drum now of the enemy's, —

[Alarum within, Sec. Lord. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo,

cargo. All. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo,

cargo. Par. O, ransom, ransom ! do not hide mine eyes.

[They seize and blindfold him, First Sold. Boskos thromuldo boskos. Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment : 78

And I shall lose my life for want of language :|

If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch.

Italian, or French, let him speak to me ; I '11

Discover that which shall undo the Florentine. First Sold. Boskos vauvado : I understand thee,

and can speak thy tongue. Kerelybonto,

sir, betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen

poniards are at thy bosom. Par. O! First Sold. O, pray, pray, pray! Manka re-

vania dulche. 9C

Sec. Lord. Oscorbidulchos volivorco. First Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet;

And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on

To gather from thee : haply thou mayst inform

Something to save thy life. Par. O, let me live!

And all the secrets of our camp I '11 show,

Their force, their purposes; nay, I '11 speak thai

Which you will wonder at. First Sold. But wilt thou faithfully!

92

THAT ENDS WELL Act IV. Sc. ii.

Par. If I do not, damn me.

First Sold. Acordo linta. 100

Come on; thou art granted space.

\Eocit, with Parolles guarded. A short alarum within. Sec. Lord. Go, tell the Count Rousillon and my brother, We have caught the woodcock, and will keep

him muffled Till we do hear from them. Sec. Sold. Captain, I will.

Sec. Lord. A' will betray us all unto ourselves :

Inform on that. Sec. Sold. So I will, sir.

Sec. Lord. Till then I '11 keep him dark and safely lock'd. [Exeunt.

Scene II

Florence. The Widow's house. Enter Bertram and Diana.

Ber. They told me that your name was Fontibell.

Dia. No, my good lord, Diana.

Ber. Titled goddess;

And worth it, with addition ! But, fair soul, In your fine frame hath love no quality ? If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, You are no maiden, but a monument : When you are dead, you should be such a one As you are now, for you are cold and stern; And now you should be as your mother was

93

Act iv. Sc. li. ALL'S WELI|

When your sweet self was got. 'Dia. She then was honest. Ber. So should you be.

Dia. No:

My mother did but duty ; such, my lord,

As you owe to your wife. Ber. No more o' that;

I prithee, do not strive against my vows :

I was compell'd to her ; but I love thee

By love's own sweet constraint, and will fo ever

Do thee all rights of service. Dia. Aye, so you serve ul

Till we serve you ; but when you have our rosed

You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves

And mock us with our bareness. Ber. How have I sworn! 2|

Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths that makes the trutl

But the plain single vow that is vow'd true.

14. "vows"; his vows never to treat Helena as his wife. — H. N. ¥.

20-31. Few passages in Shakespeare have been more belabore than this. To understand it, we must bear in mind what Bertrai has been doing and trying to do. He has been swearing love t Diana, and in the strength of that oath wants she should do th* which would ruin her. This is what she justly calls loving he ill, because it is a love that seeks to injure her. She therefoi retorts upon him, that oaths in such a suit are but an adding c perjury to lust. As to the latter part of the passage, we agrc entirely with Mr. Collier, that "these lines have not been unde: stood on account of the inversion." The first him refers to Jov and whom, not to this, but to the second him; or rather whom an the latter him are correlative. The meaning, then, at once aj pears, if we render the sentence thus: "This has no holding, th will not hold, to swear by Heaven that I will work against him, < seek his hurt, whom I protest to love." What, therefore, do« she conclude? why, that his oaths are no oaths, but mere words ai poor, unseal'd, unratified conditions. — H. N. H.

94

rHAT ENDS WELL Act IV. Sc. ii.

What is not holy, that we swear not by,

But take the High'st to witness : then, pray you,

tell me, If I should swear by Jove's great attributes, I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? This has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love, That I will work against him: therefore your

oaths Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd, 30 At least in my opinion.

Ber. Change it, change it ;

Be not so holy-cruel: love is holy; And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts That you do charge men with. Stand no more

off, But give thyself unto my sick desires, Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever My love as it begins shall so persever.

Oia. I see that men make rope's in such a scarre

25. "Jove's," probably substituted for the original God's, in obedi- nee to the statute against profanity. Johnson conjectured "Love's" rl. G.

36. "'Who then recover"; the Folios read, "who then recovers," Ranged unnecessarily by Pope to "which then recover," but "who" i often used for "an irrational antecedent personified," though in lis passage the antecedent may be "of me" implied in "my" ; "my Ick desires"="the sick desires of me"; in this latter case "re- ivers" is the more common third person singular, instead of the rst person after "who." — I. G.

38. "I see that men make rope's in such a scarre," the reading of olios 1, 2; Folio 3, "make ropes"; Folio 4, "make ropes . . . wr." This is one of the standing cruxes in the text of Shake- )eare; some thirty emendations have been proposed for "ropes" ,id "scarre." e. g. "hopes . . . affairs"; "hopes . . . scenes"; wpes . . . scare"; "slopes . . . scarre": other suggestions *e, "may cope's . . . sorte" ; "may rope's . . . snarle";

95

Act IV. Sc. ii. ALL'S WELI

That we '11 forsake ourselves. Give me tha ring. Ber. I '11 lend it thee, my dear; but have n< power 4

To give it from me. Dia. Will you not, my lord?

Ber. It is an honor 'longing to our house,

Bequeathed down from many ancestors;

Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world

In me to lose. Dia. Mine honor 's such a ring :

My chastity 's the jewel of our house,

Bequeathed down from many ancestors ;

Which were the greatest obloquy i' the worl

In me to lose: thus your own proper wisdom

Brings in the champion Honor on my part,

Against your vain assault. Ber. Here, take my ring :

My house, mine honor, yea, my life, be thine;

And I '11 be bid by thee. Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my chambe: window :

I '11 order take my mother shall not hear.

Now will I charge you in the band of truth,

When you have conquer'd my yet maiden be

Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me:

"may rope's . . . snare," &c. The apostrophe in the First ai Second Folios makes it almost certain that " V stands for "us." Pd sibly "make" is used as an auxiliary; "make rope's" would th mean "do constrain, or ensnare us." Or is "make rope" a compou; verb? "Scarre" may be "scare33 ( t. e. "fright"). The genei sense seems to be, "I see that men may reduce us to such a frig! that we'll forsake ourselves." — I. G.

96

:HAT ENDS WELL Act iv. Sc. ii.

My reasons are most strong; and you shall

know them When back again this ring shall be deliver'd: 60 And on your ringer in the night I '11 put Another ring, that what in time proceeds May token to the future our past deeds. Adieu, till then ; then, fail not. You have won A wife of me, though there my hope be done. \er. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing

thee. [Exit.

Ma. For which live long to thank both heaven and

me! You may so in the end. My mother told me just how he would woo, As if she sat in 's heart; she says all men 70 Have the like oaths : he had sworn to marry me When his wife 's dead ; therefore I '11 lie with

him When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so

braid, Marry that will, I live and die a maid: Only in this disguise I think 't no sin To cozen him that would unjustly win. [Exit.

73. "braid"; Richardson derives braid from the Anglo-Saxon broe- n, and explains it to mean hasty, sudden, violent. Mr. Dyce ac- 3ts his derivation, but thinks its meaning here to be "violent in sire, lustful." But the balance of authority seems to be with eevens and Singer, who make it another word, from the Anglo- xon bred, and explain it as meaning false, deceitful, perfidious, is agrees very well with the old character which foreign writers 3m Tacitus to Coleridge have generally set upon the French as a tion. And it is noticeable that Diana speaks as if she had now und an individual example of what she considered a national iracteristic. — H. N. H.

XXVII— 7 Q7

Act IV. Sc. iii. ALL'S WEL

Scene III

The Florentine camp.

Enter the two French Lords and some two or three Soldiers.

First Lord. You have not given him his mother's letter?

Sec. Lord. I have delivered it an hour since: there is something in 't that stings his nature; for on the reading it he changed almost into another man.

First Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife and so sweet a lady.

Sec. Lord. Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.

First Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it.

Sec. Lord. He hath perverted a young gentle- woman here in Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honor: he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition.

First Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion! as we are ourselves, what things are we!

Sec. Lord. Merely our own traitors. And

98

30

THAT ENDS WELL Act IV. Sc. iii.

as in the common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal themselves, till they at- tain to their abhorred ends, so he that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself.

First Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night ?

Sec. Lord. Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to this hour.

First Lord. That approaches apace: I would gladly have him see his company anato- mized, that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit. 40

Sec. Lord. We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other.

First Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of these wars?

Sec. Lord. I hear there is an overture of peace.

First Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace con- cluded.

27, 28. "reveal themselves . . . ends"; this may mean, "they are perpetually talking about the mischief they intend to do, till they have obtained an opportunity of doing it." — H. N. H.

29, 30. "in his proper stream" etc.; that is, betrays his own se- crets in his talk. — H. N. H.

31. "damnable" for damnably; the adjective used adverbially. — H. N. H.

36-40. "I would gladly" etc.; this is a very just and moral rea- son. Bertram, by finding how ill he has judged, will be less confident and more open to admonition. Counterfeit, besides its ordinary signification of a person pretending to be what he is not, also meant a picture: the word set shows that it is used in both senses here. — H. N. H.

99

Act iv. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELI

Sec. Lord. What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel higher, or return again 5' into France?

First Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his council.

Sec. Lord. Let it be forbid, sir ; so should I be a great deal of his act.

First Lord. Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his house: her pretense is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere sanctimony she accomplished; and, there 6< residing, the tenderness of her nature be- came as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven.

Sec. Lord. How is this justified?

First Lord. The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true, even to the point of her death: her death itself, which could not be her office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by the rector of the place.

Sec. Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence?

First Lord. Aye, and the particular confirma- tions, point from point, to the full arming of the verity.

Sec. Lord. I am heartily sorry that he '11 be glad of this.

First Lord. How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses !

Sec. Lord. And how mightily some other times

100

THAT ENDS WELL Act IV. So. iii.

we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity that his valor hath here acquired for him shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample. First Lord. The web of our life is of a min- gled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues.

Enter a Messenger.

How now! where 's your master! 90

Serv. He met the Duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave: his lord- ship will next morning for France. The Duke hath offered him letters of commen- dations to the king. Sec. Lord. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can com- mend.

First Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness. Here 's his lordship now. 100

Enter Bertram.

How now, my lord! is 't not after midnight? \ter. I have to-night dispatched sixteen busi- nesses, a month's length a-piece, by an ab- stract of success: I have congied with the Duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my lady mother I am returning; entertained my convoy; and between these main parcels

101

Act iv. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELL

of dispatch effected many nicer needs: the last was the greatest, but that I have not HO ended yet.

Sec. Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship.

Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as fear- ing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue between the fool and the soldier? Come, bring forth this counter- feit module, has deceived me, like a double- meaning prophesier. 12C!

Sec. Lord. Bring him forth: has sat i' the stocks all night, poor gallant knave.

Ber. No matter; his heels have deserved it, in usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself ?

Sec. Lord. I have told your lordship already, the stocks carry him. But to answer you as you would be understood; he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk: he hath con- fessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remem- brance to this very instant disaster of his set- ting i' the stocks: and what think you he hath confessed?

Ber. Nothing of me, has a'?

Sec. Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face : if your lordship be in 't,

117. "dialogue"; Mr. Collier thinks this probably refers to som popular stage performance of the time.— H. N. H.

102

THAT ENDS WELL Act IV. Sc. iii.

as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it.

Enter Parolles guarded, and First Soldier.

Ber. A plague upon him! muffled! he can say 140

nothing of me : hush, hush ! First Lord. Hoodman comes ! Portotartarossa. First Sold. He calls for the tortures : what will

you say without 'em? Par. I will confess what I know without con- straint: if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can

say no more. First Sold. Bosko chimurcho. First Lord. Boblibindo chicurmurco. First. Sold. You are a merciful general. Our 150

general bids you answer to what I shall ask

you out of a note. Par. And truly, as I hope to live. First Sold, [reads'] First demand of him how

many horse the Duke is strong. What say

you to that? Par. Five or six thousand; but very weak and

unserviceable : the troops are all scattered, and

the commanders very poor rogues, upon my

reputation and credit, and as I hope to live. 160 First Sold. Shall I set down your answer so? Par. Do : I '11 take the sacrament on 't, how and

which way you will. Ber. All 's one to him. What a past-saving

slave is this ! First Lord. You 're deceived, my lord : this is

103

Act IV. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELL

Monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist, — that was his own phrase, — that had the whole theoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger. 170

Sec. Lord. I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword clean, nor believe he can have every thing in him by wearing his ap- parel neatly.

First Sold. Well, that 's set down.

Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, — I will say true, — or thereabouts, set down, for I '11 speak truth.

First Lord. He 's very near the truth in this.

Ber. But I con him no thanks for % in the 180 nature he delivers it.

Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say.

First Sold. Well, that 's set down.

Par. I humbly thank you, sir : a truth 's a truth, the rogues are marvelous poor.

First Sold, [reads] Demand of him, of what strength they are a-foot. What say you to that?

Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I will tell true. Let me see : 190 Spurio, a hundred and fifty; Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so many; Jaques, so

180. "con . . . thanks*'; that is, I am not beholden to him for it. To con thanks exactly answers to the French savoir gre. It is found in several writers of Shakespeare's time. To con and to ken are from the Saxon cunnan, to know, to may or can, to be able. — H. N. H.

189, 190. "were to live this present hour"; perhaps we should read, "if I were but to live this present hour"; unless the blunder be meant to show the fright of Parolles.— H. N. H.

104

THAT ENDS WELL Act iv. Sc. iii.

many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake the snow from off their cassocks, lest they shake 200 themselves to pieces.

3er. What shall be done to him? irst Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition, and what credit I have with the Duke.

Hrst Sold. Well, that 's set down. [Reads] You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain be i' the camp, a French- man; what his reputation is with the Duke; what his valor, honesty, and expertness in 210 wars; or whether he thinks it were not pos- sible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt. What say you to this? what do you know of it?

*ar. I beseech you, let me answer to the par- ticular of the inter'gatories: demand them singly.

200. "cassocks-; soldier's cloaks or upper garments. There was a .beian cassock, or gaberdine, worn by country people, which is

Ive -H N H U1 fr°m ^^ ^ Ni°0t and hlS f°ll0Wer Cot"

?08. yumairf; we thus learn at last that the French gentleman's me is Dumain. We have already seen, in Act iii. sc. 6, that the ench Envoy is his brother. In the original there is a good deal confusion, both in their entrances, and in the prefixes to their ^ecnes. — rl. .n. H.

105

Act IV. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELL

First Sold. Do you know this Captain Du- main? I

Par. I know him: a' was a botcher's 'prentice 220 in Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieve's fool with child, — a dumb innocent, that could not say him nay.

Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls.

First Sold. Well, is this captain in the Duke of Florence's camp?

Par. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.

First Lord. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall 23< hear of your lordship anon.

First Sold. What is his reputation with the Duke?

Par. The Duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him out o' the band: I think I have his letter in my pocket.

First Sold. Marry, we '11 search.

Par. In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there, or it is upon a file with the Duke 's 24 other letters in my tent.

First Sold. Here 'tis ; here 's a paper : shall I read it to you?

222. "fool"; not an "allowed fool," or a fool by art and profei sion, but a natural fool; probably assigned to the sheriff's care an keeping. — H. N. H.

224-226. In Whitney's Emblems there is a story of three wome who threw dice to ascertain which of them should die first. She wl lost affected to laugh at the decrees of fate, when a tile sudden] falling put an end to her existence. — H. N. H.

106

THAT ENDS WELL Act IV. Sc. iii.

Par. I do not know if it be it or no.

Ber. Our interpreter does it well.

First Lord. Excellently.

First Sold, [reads] Dian, the count 's a fool, and full of gold, —

Par. That is not the Duke's letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Flor- ence, one Diana, to take heed of the allure- 250 ment of one Count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again.

First Sold. Nay, I '11 read it first, by your favor.

Par. My meaning in 't, I protest, was very hon- est in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and las- civious boy, who is a whale to virginity and devours up all the fry it finds. 260

Ber. Damnable both-sides rogue!

First Sold, [reads] When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it; After he scores, he never pays the score:

Half won is match well made; match, and well make it; He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before ;

And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this,

Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss:

For count of this, the count 's a fool, I know it,

259. "whale"; there is probably an allusion here to the Story of Andromeda in old prints, where the monster is frequently repre- sented as a whale. — H. N. H.

264. That is, a match well made is half won; make your match therefore, but make it well. — H. N. H.

107

Act iv. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELL

Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.

Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear, 270

Parolles.

Ber. He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme in 's forehead.

Sec. Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold linguist and the armipotent soldier.

Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now he 's a cat to me.

First Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be fain to hang you.

Par. My life, sir, in any case: not that I am 280 afraid to die; but that, my offenses being many, I would repent out the remainder of nature: let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or any where, so I may live.

First Sold. We '11 see what may be done, so you confess freely; therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you have answered to his reputation with the Duke and to his valor: what is his honesty?

Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister : 290 for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nes- sus: he professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 'em he is stronger than Hercules: he will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were a fool: drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk;

276, 277. For some account of such as "are mad if they behold a eat," see The Merchant of Venice, Act iv. sc. 1.— H. N. H.

290. "He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister/' i. e. "anything, however trifling, from any place, however holy."— I. G.

291. "Nessus"; the Centaur killed by Hercules.— H. N. H.

108

THAT ENDS WELL Act IV. Sc. iii.

and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty : he 300 has every thing that an honest man should not have ; what an honest man should have, he has nothing.

First Lord. I begin to love him for this.

Ber. For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him for me, he 's more and more a cats

First Sold. What say you to his expertness in war?

Pur. Faith, sir, has led the drum before the 310 English tragedians; to belie him, I will not, and more of his soldiership I know not ; ex- cept, in that country he had the honor to be the officer at a place called there Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of files : I would do the man what honor I can, but of this I am not certain.

First Lord. He hath out-villained villainy so far, that the rarity redeems him.

Ber. A pox on him, he 's a cat still. 320

First Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I need not to ask you if gold will cor- rupt him to revolt.

Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee- simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it ; and cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual succession for it perpetually.

327. "and a 'perpetual succession for it"; some such verb as "grant"

109

Act iv. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELL

First Sold. What 's his brother, the other Cap- tain Dumain?

Sec. Lord. Why does he ask him of me? 330

First Sold. What 'she?

Par. E'en a crow o' the same nest; not alto- gether so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil: he excels his brother for a coward, yet his brother is re- puted one of the best that is : in a retreat he outruns any lackey ; marry, in coming on he has the cramp.

First Sold. If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine? 340

Par. Aye, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon.

First Sold. I '11 whisper with the general, and know his pleasure.

Par. [Aside] I '11 no more drumming; a plague of all drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who would have sus- pected an ambush where I was taken? 35(

First Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: the general says, you that have so traitorously discovered the secrets of your army and made such pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use; therefore you must die. Come, headsman, off with his head.

is to be supplied. Hanmer altered "for it" to "in it"; Kinnear COD jectured "free in perpetuity."— J. G.

110

THAT ENDS WELL Act IV. 6c. iii.

Par. O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death !

First Sold. That shall you, and take your leave 360 of all your friends. [Unblinding him.

So, look about you: know you any here?

Ber. Good morrow, noble captain.

Sec. Lord. God bless you, Captain Parolles.

First Lord. God save you, noble captain.

Sec. Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to mv Lord Lafeu? I am for France.

First Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in be- half of the Count Rousillon? an I were not 370 a very coward, I 'Id compel it of you: but fare you well. [Exeunt Bertram and Lords.

First Sold. You are undone, captain, all but your scarf; that has a knot on 't yet.

Par. Who cannot be crushed with a plot?

First Sold. If you could find out a country where but women were that had received so much shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France too : we shall speak of you there. 380

[Exit with Soldiers.

Par. Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great, 'Twould burst at this. Captain I '11 be no more ; But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft As captain shall : simply the thing I am Shall make me live. Who knows himself a

braggart, Let him fear this, for it will come to pass That every braggart shall be found an ass.

in

Act iv. Sc. iv. ALLS WELL

Rust, sword! cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live Safest in shame ! being f ool'd, by foolery thrive ! There 's place and means for every man alive. 390 I '11 after them. [Exit.

Scene IV

Florence. The Widow's house.

Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana.

Hel. That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you, One of the greatest in the Christian world Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis need- ful, Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel: Time was, I did him a desired office, Dear almost as his life; which gratitude Through flinty tartar's bosom would peep forth, And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd His Grace is at Marseilles; to which place We have convenient convoy. You must know, I am supposed dead: the army breaking, 11

My husband hies him home; where, heaven aid- ing. I And by the leave of my good lord the king, We '11 be before our welcome. Wid. Gentle madam,

9. "Marseilles" ; it appears that Marseilles was pronounced as a word of three syllables. In the old copy it is written Marcellce.— H. N. H. ^

112

THAT ENDS WELL Act IV. Sc. iv.

You never had a servant to whose trust Your business was more welcome.

Hel. Nor you, mistress,

Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labor To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven Hath brought me up to be your daughter's

dower, As it hath fated her to be my motive 20

And helper to a husband. But, O strange men ! That can such sweet use make of what they hate, When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play With what it loathes for that which is away. But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, * Under my poor instructions yet must suffer Something in my behalf.

Dla- Let death and honesty

Go with your impositions, I am yours Upon your will to suffer.

Hel Yet, I pray you: 30

But with the word the time will bring on sum- mer, When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us :

23. "saucy" was sometimes used in the sense of wanton.— H. N. H.

30. "/ pray you"; Blackstone proposed to read,— "Yet I fray you but with the word," referring, of course, to the word sufer. To fray is to frighten. There is something of plausibility in this; but, besides that it does not fadge very well with what Diana has just said, the sense runs clear enough, if with Warburton we understand but with the word to mean in a very short time.—H. N. H

34. "revives"; so the Folios; "reviles/' "invites;' "requires" have been variously proposed; it is doubtful whether any change is neces- sary: "Time," says Helena, "gives us fresh courage."— I. G. XXVII — 8 US

Act iv. So. v. ALL'S WELL

All 's well that ends well : still the fine 's

the crown; Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.

[Exeunt.

Scene V

Rousillon. The Count's palace. Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown.

Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villainous saffron would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in his color: your daughter-in-law had been alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more ad- vanced by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of.

Count. I would I had not known him; it was the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman 10 that ever nature had praise for creating. If she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me

1-8. In The Winter's Tale, Act iv. sc. 2, the Clown says,— "I must have saffron to color the warden pies/' From which it appears that in Shakespeare's time saffron was used to color pastry with. The phrase "unbak'd and doughy youth" shows that the same custom is alluded to here. Reference is also had to the coxcombical finery, "the scarfs and the bannerets," which this strutting vacuum cuts his dashes in. Yellow was then the prevailing color in the dress of such as Parolles, whose soul was in their clothes. Various passages might be cited in proof of this. Thus Sir Philip Sidney has "safron- eolored coat," and Ben Jonson in one of his songs speaks of "ribands, bells, and safrond lynnen." The concluding part of La- feu's description identifies red as the color of a fantastical cox- comb's hose. — H. N. H.

114

THAT ENDS WELL Act IV. Sc. v.

the dearest groans of a mother, I could not

have owed her a more rooted love. Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady : we

may pick a thousand salads ere we light on

such another herb. lo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of

the salad, or rather, the herb of grace. Laf. They are not herbs, you knave; they are 20

nose-herbs. lo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir ; I have

not much skill in grass. Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself, a

knave or a fool? lo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a

knave at a man's. r^af. Your distinction? lo. I would cozen the man of his wife and do

his service. 30

r^af. So you were a knave at his service, in- deed. llo. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir,

to do her service. laf. I will subscribe for thee, thou art both

knave and fool. Uo. At your service.

21. "nose-herbs"; that is, herbs to be swelled of, not herbs to be iten. "Salad" is not in the original copy: it was supplied by Rowe, iid has been universally received. — H. N. H.

j 33. "bauble"; the fool's bauble, says Douce, was "a short stick •namented at the end with the figure of a fool's head, or sometimes ith that of a doll or puppet. To this instrument there was fre- lently annexed an inflated bladder, with which the fool belabored hose who offended him, or with whom he was inclined to make Wt."— H. N. H.

18 F 115

Act IV. Sc. v. ALL'S WEL1

Laf. No, no, no.

Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are.

Laf. Who 's that? a Frenchman?

Clo. Faith, sir, a' has an English name ; but his fisnomy is more hotter in France than there.

Laf. What prince is that?

Clo. The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of darkness ; alias, the devil.

Laf. Hold thee, there 's my purse : I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of; serve him still.

Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire ; and the master I speak of ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world; let his nobility remain in 's court. I am for the house with the nar- row gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter : some that humble themselves may ; but the many will be too chill and ten- der, and they '11 be for the flowery way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire.

Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee ; and I tell thee so before, because I would

42. "an English name"; Folios 1, 2, "maine"; Folio 3, "main' Folio 4, "mean"; Rowe first suggested "name"; the allusion i obviously to the Black Prince.— I. G.

43. "his fisnomy is more hotter"; Hanmer's proposal "honor'd for "hotter" seems to be a most plausible emendation.— I. G.

^ Warburton thought we should read honor'd; but the Clown's alh sion is double; to Edward the Black Prince, and to the prince o darkness. The presence of Edward was indeed hot in France: th other allusion is obvious. — H. N. H.

58. "flowery way"; so in Macbeth, Act ii. sc. 3: "That go tb primrose way to the everlasting bonfire."— H. N. H.

116

^HAT ENDS WELL Act IV. Sc. v.

not fall out with thee. Go thy ways : let my horses he well looked to, without any tricks.

7o. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law of nature. [Exit.

<af. A shrewd knave and an unhappy.

'ount. So he is. My lord that 's gone made himself much sport out of him: by his au- thority he remains here, which he thinks is 70 a patent for his sauciness; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will.

\af. I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death and that my lord your son was upon his return home, I moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his majesty, out of a self -gracious re- membrance, did first propose: his highness 80 hath promised me to do it: and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it?

ount. With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily effected.

af. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty : he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom SO failed.

ount. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters that my son

117

Act iv. Sc. v. ALL'S WELI

will be here to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain with me till they meet to- gether.

Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what man- ners I might safely be admitted.

Count. You need but plead your honorable privilege. 10

Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but I thank my God it holds yet.

Re-enter Clown.

Clo. O madam, yonder 's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on 's face : whether there be a scar under 't or no, the velvet knows ; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare.

Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honor ; so belike is that. 11

Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face.

Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you : I long to talk with the young noble soldier.

Clo. Faith, there 's a dozen of 'em, with deli- cate fine hats and most courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man.

[Eoceun

107. "'pile"; referring to the pile of the velvet patch.— H. N. H.

118

DHAT ENDS WELL Act V. Se. L

ACT FIFTH

Scene I

Marseilles. A street

Unter Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two At- tendants.

riel. But this exceeding posting day and night Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it: But since you have made the days and nights as

one, To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, Be bold you do so grow in my requital As nothing can unroot you. In happy time ;

IZnter a Gentleman.

This man may help me to his majesty's ear, If he would spend his power. God save you, sir.

jrent. And you.

Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.

jrent . I have been sometimes there. 11

6. "Enter a Gentleman" ; Folio 1 reads "A gentle Astringer" ; ''olio 2, "A gentle A stranger" ; Folios 3, 4, "A Gentleman a stranger'* A string er"z=:a. keeper of goshawks; the word occurs nowhere else n Shakespeare. There seems, however, no very particular reason, 'or its omission in modern editions, though it is true that in the ''olio the speeches given to "the Astringer" all have the prefix Gent."— I. G.

119

Act v. Sc. i. ALL'S WELI

Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen From the report that goes upon your goodness And therefore, goaded with most sharp occa

sions, Which lay nice manners by, I put you to The use of your own virtues, for the which I shall continue thankful.

Gent. What 's your will?

Hel. That it will please you

To give this poor petition to the king,

And aid me with that store of power you have

To come into his presence. 2

Gent. The king 's not here.

Hel. Not here, sir!

Gent. Not, indeed

He hence removed last night and with mor

haste Than is his use.

Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains !

Hel. All 's well that ends well yet,

Though time seem so adverse and means unfit I do beseech you, whither is he gone?

Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; Whither I am going.

Hel. I do beseech you, sir,

Since you are like to see the king before me, 31 Commend the paper to his gracious hand, Which I presume shall render you no blame But rather make you thank your pains for ii I will come after you with what good speed Our means will make us means.

Gent. This I '11 do for you

120

'HAT ENDS WELL Act v. Sc if.

lei. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again. Go, go, provide. [Exeunt.

Scene II

Rousillon. Before the Count's palace. Enter Clown, and Parolles, following.

*ar. Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu, this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held fa- miliarity with fresher clothes ; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure.

lo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's but- tering. Prithee, allow the wind. 10

ar. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor.

lo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will

l. "Good Monsieur Lavache"; Folio 1, "Lauatch"; Folio 2, "La- %ch" ; Folios, 3, 4, "Levatch"; Toilet's conjecture "Lavache" has m generally adopted. Clarke suggests that it may have been fa- ded for Lavage, which, in familiar French, is used to express op," "puddle," "washiness." Something is to be said in favor I Jervis' proposed reading, "Lapatch," i. e. "patch"= clown, with i prefix "la" in imitation of "Lafeu" — I. G.

\. "fortune's mood" is several times used by Shakespeare for the Mmsical caprice of fortune. — H. N. H.

iO. "allow the wind"; that is, stand to the leeward of me. — ■ If N. H.

121

Act v. So. ii. ALL'S WELL

stop my nose; or against any man's meta- phor. Prithee, get thee further.

Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.

Clo. Foh! prithee, stand away: a paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself.

Enter Lafeu.

Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of for- 2C tune's cat,- — but not a musk-cat, — that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her dis- pleasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal : pray, you, sir, use the carp as you may ; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, fool- ish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort and leave him to your lordship. [Exit

Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched. <&

Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady and would not have knaves thrive long under her? There 's a quart d'ecu for you: let the justices make you and fortune friends : I am for other business.

Par. I beseech your honor to hear me one sin- gle word. 4(

27. "Similes of comfort"; Theobald's certain emendation for the reading of the Folios, "smiles of comfort."— I. G.

122

THAT ENDS WELL Act v. Sc. ii.

Laf. You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha 't ; save your word.

Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles.

Laf. You beg more than 'word,' then. Cox my passion ! give me your hand. How does your drum?

Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found me!

Laf. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee. 50

Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out.

Laf. Out upon thee, knave ! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? One brings thee in grace and the other brings thee out. [Trumpets sounds The king 's coming ; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me ; I had talk of you last night : though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. 60

Par. I praise God for you. [Exeunt.

44. "word"; a quibble is intended on the word Parolles, which in French signifies words. — H. N. H.

123

Act V. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELL

Scene III

Rousillon. The Count's palace.

Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, the two French lords, with Attendants.

King. We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem Was made much poorer by it : but your son, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her estimation home.

Count. 'Tis past, my liege ;

And I beseech your majesty to make it Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth ; When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, O'erbears it and burns on.

King. My honor'd lady,

I have forgiven and forgotten all ; Though my revenges were high bent upon him, And watch'd the time to shoot. 11

Laf. This I must say,

But first I beg my pardon, the young lord Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady Offense of mighty note; but to himself The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took cap- tive,

1, 2. That is, in losing her we lost a large portion of our esteem, which she possessed. — H. N. H.

6. "blaze"; the old copy reads blade. Theobald proposed the pres- ent reading. — H. N. H.

124

rHAT ENDS WELL Act v. Sc. iii.

Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to

serve Humbly call'd mistress.

&ng* Praising what is lost

Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither ; 20

We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill All repetition: let him not ask our pardon; The nature of his great offense is dead, And deeper than oblivion we do bury The incensing relics of it: let him approach, A stranger, no offender; and inform him So 'tis our will he should.

lent- I shall, my liege. [Exit.

Mg. What says he to your daughter? have you spoke?

<af. All that he is hath reference to your highness.

'ing. Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me 30

That set him high in fame.

Enter Bertram.

af- He looks well on 't.

ing. I am not a day of season, For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail In me at once: but to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth; The time is fair again.

*r* My high-repented blames,

Dear sovereign, pardon to me.

In£- All is whole:

Not one word more of the consumed time.

125

Act V. Sc iii. ALL'S WELI

Let 's take the instant by the forward top ; For we are old, and on our quickest decrees 4' The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time Steals ere we can effect them. You remembe The daughter of this lord? Ber. Admiringly, my liege, at first

I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue: Where the impression of mine eye infixing, Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me Which warp'd the line of every other favor ; Scorn'd a fair color, or express'd it stolen; Extended or contracted all proportions To a most hideous object: thence it came That she whom all men praised and whom my

self,

Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine ey<

The dust that did offend it.

King. Well excused:

That thou didst love her, strikes some score

away From the great compt : but love that comes to<

late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offense, Crying That 's good that 's gone.' Our rasl

faults 61

Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave: Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends and after weep their dust Our own love waking cries to see what 's done

126

?HAT ENDS WELL Act v. Sc. m.

While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maud-

lin: The main consents are had; and here we '11 stay- To see our widower's second marriage-day. 70

^ount. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless ! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!

jdf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name Must be digested, give a favor from you To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come. [Bertram gives a

ring.'] By my old beard, And every hair that 's on 't, Helen, that 's dead, Was a sweet creature : such a ring as this, The last that e'er I took her leave at court, I saw upon her finger.

ter. Hers it was not. 80

Zing. Now, pray you, let me see it ; for mine eye, While I was speaking, oft was f asten'd to 't. This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it Helen, I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood

65, 66.

"Our own love waking cries to see what's done, While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon."

Dhnson conjectured "slept" for "sleeps," i. e. "love cries to see what as done while hatred slept, and suffered mischief to be done." tason proposed "old" for "own" W. G. Clarke ingeniously nended "shameful hate" into "shame full late," but the emendation cstroys the antithesis between "love" and "hate." It is best to •ave the lines as they stand, though the words "our own love" are )mewhat doubtful: the general meaning is simple enough. — I. G. | 84. "bade"; I told her.— H. N. H.

127

[Act v. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELI

Necessitied to help, that by this token

I would relieve her. Had you that craft, t«

reave her Of what should stead her most?

jg£r# My gracious sovereign

Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never hers.

Count Son, on my life,

I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it '] At her life's rate.

Laf. I am sure I saw her wear it.

Ber. You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it In Florence was it from a casement thrown me Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the nami Of her that threw it: noble she was, and though I stood engaged : but when I had subscribed To mine own fortune and inf orm'd her fully I could not r.nswer in that course of honor As she had made the overture, she ceased In heavy satisfaction and would never 10*

Receive the 1 AAig again.

King. Plutus himself,

That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine Hath not in nature's mystery more science Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'tw&

Helen's, Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know

93. Johnson remarks that Bertram still has too little virtue t( deserve Helen. He did not know it was Helen's ring, but he kne\* that he had it not from a window.— H. N. H.

102. "multiplying medicine"; the philosopher's stone. Plutus, the great alchymist, who knows the secrets of the elixir and philosopher* stone, by which the alchymists pretended that base metals might b< transmuted into gold.— H. N. H.

128

THAT ENDS WELL Act v. Sfe. ift

That you are well acquainted with yourself, Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforce- ment You got it from her: she call'd the saints to

surety That she would never put it from her finger, Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, 110

Where you have never come, or sent it us Upon her great disaster. ^r- She never saw it.

King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honor ; And makest conjectural fears to come into me, Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove

That thou art so inhuman, — 'twill not prove so; —

And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly, And she is dead; which nothing, but to close Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, More than to see this ring. Take him away. 120

[Guards seize Bertram. My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, Shall tax my fears of little vanity, Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with

him! We '11 sift this matter further.

^r- m If you shall prove

This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy

.121. "my fore-past proofs," etc.; i. e. "the proofs which I have ready had are sufficient to show that my fears were not vain and rational. I have rather been hitherto more easv than sought, and ive unreasonably had too little fear" (Johnson)!— I G XXVII-9 l25 *

Act v. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELI]

Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she never was. [Exit, guarded

King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings.

Enter a Gentleman.

Gent. Gracious sovereign

Whether I have been to blame or no, I knov

not:

Here's a petition from a Florentine, 13<

Who hath for four or five removes come shor To tender it herself. I undertook it, Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speed Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know Is here attending : her business looks in her With an importing visage ; and she told me, In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern Your highness with herself.

King, [reads'] Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to 14 say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousil- lon a widower : his vows are forfeited to me, and my honor 's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: grant it me, O king ! in you it best lies ; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone.

Diana Capilet.

Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and

toll for this : I '11 none of him. M

King. The heavens have thought well on the* Lafeu,

130

THAT ENDS WELL Act V. Sc. iii.

To bring forth this discovery. Seek these

suitors : Go speedily and bring again the count. I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatch'd. Count. Now, justice on the doers!

Re-enter Bertram, guarded.

King. I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you, And that you fly them as you swear them lord- ship, Yet you desire to marry.

Enter Widow and Diana.

What woman 's that ?

Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,

Derived from the ancient Capilet : 160

My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far I may be pitied.

Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honor Both suffer under this complaint we bring, And both shall cease, without your remedy.

King. Come hither, count; do you know these women ?

Ber. My lord, I neither can nor will deny

But that I know them: do they charge me fur- ther?

Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife?

Ber. She 's none of mine, my lord.

Dia. If you shall marry, 170

157. "as" means as soon as. — H. N. H. 165. "cease"; decease, die. — H. N. H.

131

Act v. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELL

You give away this hand, and that is mine ;

You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine ;

You give away myself, which is known mine ;

For I by vow am so embodied yours,

That she which marries you must marry me,

Either both or none. Laf. Your reputation comes too short for my

daughter; you are no husband for her. Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature,

Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your highness 180

Lay a more noble thought upon mine honor

Than for to think that I would sink it here. King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend

Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honor

Than in my thought it lies. Dia. Good my lord,

Ask him upon his oath, if he does think

He had not my virginity. King. What say'st thou to her? Ber. She 's impudent, my lord,

And was a common gamester to the camp. Dia. He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so, 190

He might have bought me at a common price:

Do not believe him. O, behold this ring,

Whose high respect and rich validity

Did lack a parallel; yet for all that

He gave it to a commoner o' the camp,

If I be one.

132

'HAT ENDS WELL Act V. So. iii.

'ount. He blushes, and 'tis it :

Of six preceding ancestors, that gem, Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife; That ring 's a thousand proofs.

'ing. Methought you said 200

You saw one here in court could witness it.

ma. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce So bad an instrument: his name's Parolles.

af. I saw the man to-day, if man he be.

ing. Find him, and bring him hither.

[Exit an Attendant.

r- 9 What of him?

He 's quoted for a most perfidious slave, With all the spots o' the world tax'd and de-

bosh'd ; Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. Am I or that or this for what he '11 utter, That will speak any thing?

mS- She hath that ring of yours.

r. I think she has: certain it is I liked her, 211 And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth: She knew her distance, and did angle for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine,

jHS. "He blushes, and 'tis it"; Folios "'tis hit," which has been lousty explained as an Archaic form of "it"; as an error for s his, or 'is hit." It seems unnecessary to alter the Folio; shit can very well mean "the blow has been well aimed, it has ck home,' "it" being used impersonally.— I. G. )6. , "quoted"; quote was often used for note, observe, as in Ham-

~Juam»S°Uy^ht WUh b6tter heed and Judgment I had not ed him. — H. N. H.

133

Act v. Sc. iii. ALL'S WEL

Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace, Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring; And I had that which any inferior might At market-price have bought.

Dia. I must be patient : 2!

You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wif May justly diet me. I pray you yet, Since you lack virtue I will lose a husband, Send for your ring, I will return it home, And give me mine again.

Ber. I have it not.

King. What ring was yours, I pray you?

Dia. Sir, much lil

The same upon your finger.

King. Know you this ring? this ring was his < late.

Dia. And this was it I gave him, being abed.

King. The story then goes false, you threw it hi Out of a casement. 2

Dia. I have spoke the truth.

Enter Parolles. Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.

217. "Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace*'; Walk* certain emendation of the Folio reading "her instate commiih other suggestions have been made: — "Her instant comity" (Bubie "Her Jesuit cunning" (Bulloch); eeHer own suit, coming" (Perrin —I. G.

217. "modern" ; Shakespeare frequently has modern in the se of common, ordinary; but here it seems to have the force youth fid, fresh. Thus Florio: "Modernaglie, moderne things; i taken for young wenches." The meaning, however, may be, t though her beauty be but common, yet her solicitation was such, artful, as to subdue me.— H. N. H.

134

I

CHAT ENDS WELL Act v. Sc. iii.

Zing. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts you. Is this the man you speak of?

ma. Aye, my lord.

Zing. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master, Which on your just proceeding I '11 keep off, By him and by this woman here what know you?

yar. So please your majesty, my master hath been an honorable gentleman : tricks that he 240 hath had in him, which gentlemen have.

Zing. Come, come, to the purpose : did he love this woman?

*ar. Faith, sir, he did love her; but how?

Zing. How, I pray you ?

far. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman.

Zing. How is that?

*ar. He loved her, sir, and loved her not.

Zing. As thou art a knave, and no knave. 250 What an equivocal companion is this !

yar. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command.

jaf. He 's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator.

)ia. Do you know he promised me marriage?

'ar. Faith, I know more than I '11 speak.

^ing. But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest?

far. Yes, so please your majesty. I did go be- tween them, as I said ; but more than that, he 260 loved her : for indeed he was mad for her, and

Act v. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELI

talked of Satan, and of Limbo, and of Fu- ries, and I know not what : yet I was in that credit with them at that time, that I knew of their going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would derive me ill will to speak of; there- fore I will not speak what I know.

King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married : but thou art too 27< fine in thy evidence ; therefore stand aside. This ring, you say, was yours?

Dia. Aye, my good lord

King. Where did you buy it? or who gave it you

Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.

King. Who lent it you?

Dia. It was not lent me neither

King. Where did you find it then?

Dia. I found it not.

King. If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him?

Dia. I never gave it him

Laf. This woman 's an easy glove, my lord ; she goes off and on at pleasure. 28'

King. This ring was mine ; I gave it his first wife

Dia. It might be yours or hers, for aught I know

King. Take her away; I do not like her now; To prison with her: and away with him. Unless thou telFst me where thou hadst thi

ring, Thou diest within this hour.

Dia. I '11 never tell you.

King. Take her away.

136

THAT ENDS WELL Act V. Sc. iii.

■N«- I 'H put in bail, my liege.

King. I think thee now some common customer. Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. King. Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while? 290

Dia. Because he 's guilty, and he is not guilty:

He knows I am no maid, and he '11 swear to 't;

I '11 swear I am a maid, and he knows not.

Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life; ^ I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. Zing. She does abuse our ears: to prison with her. lia. Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir:

{Exit Widow. The jeweler that owes the ring is sent for, And he shall surety me. But for this lord, Who hath abused me, as he knows himself, SOO Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him : He knows himself my bed he hath defiled ; And at that time he got his wife with child: Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick :

So there's my riddle,— One that's dead is quick :

And now behold the meaning.

Re-enter Widow, with Helena.

mS- Is there no exorcist

Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?

Is 't real that I see? WL No, my good lord;

'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,

The name and not the thing.

137

Act v. Sc. iii. ALL'S WELL

jger% Both, both. O, pardon!

Hel. O my good lord, when I was like this maid, 311 I found you wondrous kind. There is your

ring; And, look you, here 's your letter; this it says : 'When from my finger you can get this ring And are by me with child,' &c. This is done: Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?

Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I '11 love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.

Hel. If it appear not plain and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you ! 320

0 my dear mother, do I see you living? Laf. Mine eyes smell onions ; I shall weep anon :

[To Parolles] Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so,

1 thank thee : wait on me home, I '11 make sport

with thee : Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. King. Let us from point to point this story know, To make the even truth in pleasure flow. [To Diana] If thou be'st yet a fresh uncroppe

flower, Choose thou thy husband, and I '11 pay thy

dower ;

For I can guess that by thy honest aid 330

Thou kep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. Of that and all the progress, more and less, Resolvedly more leisure shall express: All yet seems well; and if it end so meet, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

[Flourish

138

d

THAT ENDS WELL Epilogue

EPILOGUE

King. The king 's a beggar, now the play is done: All is well ended, if this suit be won, That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day: Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts ; Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.

[Exeunt.

1. "The King's a beggar"; an allusion to the old storv of «TA„

Zl^JtfT" (cp- Percy's *-*"•»>• °ften 5™S 'J*

isg

GLOSSARY

By Israel Goklancz, M.A.

A=one; I. iii. 253.

About, "go not about," "do not beat about the bush"; I. iii. 203.

Accordingly, equally ; II. v. 9.

Across, "break across," a term used in tilting; here used for a passage at arms of wit; II. i. 71.

Act, action; I. ii. 30.

Admiration-, that which excites admiration; II. i. 92.

Adoptious, "a. christendoms"= "adopted christian names"; I. i. 196.

Advertisement, advice; IV. iii. 249.

Advice, discretion; III. iv. 19.

Alone, "alone must think," must only think; I. i. 207.

Ample, amply; III. v. 50.

Anatomized, laid open, shown up; IV. iii. 37.

Antiquity, old age; II. iii. 218.

AppEACH'Drir impeached, inform- ed against (you); I. iii. 206.

Applications, attempts at heal- ing; I. ii. 74.

Apprehensive, "ruled by imagi- nations and caprices," fantas- tic; I. ii. 60.

Approof, "so in a. lives not his epitaph as in your royal speech"="his epitaph receives by nothing such confirmation and living truth as by your

speech"; I. ii. 51; "valiant a." == approved valor; II. v. 3.

Approved, proved; I. ii. 10.

Araise, raise from the dead; II i. 80.

Armipotent, omnipotent; IV. iii 274.

Artists, "relinquished of the artists," i. e. given up, de- spaired of by learned doctors

II. iii. 11. Attempt, venture; I. iii. 269. Attends, awaits; II. iii. 56. Authentic, of acknowledged au

thority; II. iii. 13. Avails, advantage, promotion

III. i. 22.

Band = bond; IV. ii. 56. Barber's chair, "like a b.c." i

proverbial expression (found ii

Ray's Proverbs, etc.) ; II. ii. IS Baring, shaving; IV. i. 57. Barnes (the reading of Folio 1

the other Folios "beams" o

"barns"), children; I. iii. 29. Be, "to be"=to be called; I. i

59. Bestow, guard, treasure up; I. ii

240. Better = men your superior

III. i. 22. Big, haughty; I. iii. 105. Blaze (Theobald's conjectur

for "blade" of the Folios;

heat, fire; V. iii. 6.

140

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL Glossary

Blood, nature, disposition; I. iii. 146; passion; III. vii. 21.

Boarded, wooed; V. iii. 212.

Bold, assured; V. i. 5.

Bond, duty, obligation; I. iii. 203.

Both, "both our mothers," the mother of us both; I. iii. 178.

Braid, deceitful; IV. ii. 73.

Braving, defiant; I. ii. 3.

Breaking, breaking up, disband- ing; IV. iv. 11.

Breathe, takes exercise; II. iii. 274.

Breathing, exercise, action; I. ii. 17.

Brief, "now-born br." i. e. "the contract recently made" (War- burton, "new born") ; II. iii. 185.

Brings take; III. v. 100.

Broken, "my mouth no more were broken," had not lost its teeth; II. iii. 65.

Brokes, uses as a medium; III. v. 78.

Brought, (?) "brought with him" (changed by Theobald to "bought"); II. i. 66.

Bunting, a bird resembling a lark in every particular, but with little or no song; II. v. 7.

Buttock; "pin b., quatch b., brawn b."= thin b., flat b., fleshy b.; II. ii. 20.

By, pass by; (Warburton sup- poses a line to be lost after "past") ; II. iii. 246.

Canary, "a quick and lively

dance"; II. i. 78. 'Can't no other," can it be no

other way; I. iii. 180. Capable of, apt to receive the

impress of, susceptible; I. i.

109: I. i. 232.

"Cap of the time," "they wear themselves in the c."="they are the very ornaments of the time"; II. i. 54.

Capriccio, caprice, whim; II. iii. 315.

Captious, "recipient, capable of receiving what is put into it" (Malone) ; others suggest "cap'cious" or "capacious," or — Latin "captiosus," i. e. de- ceitful or fallacious; I. iii. 219.

Carbonadoed, cut across, like meat for broiling; IV. v. 111.

Case, flay, skin; strip off his disguise; III. vi. 117.

Catch'd, caught, perceived; I. iii. 187.

Cesse (the reading of Folio I.; F. 2, ceasse; F. 3, ceass), cease; V. iii. 72.

Champion, knight who fought for a person; IV. ii. 50.

Change, interchange; III. ii. 104.

Chape, "the metallic part at the end of the scabbard"; IV. iii. 170.

Charge, cost; II. iii. 119.

Choice; "most rich c." choicest treasure; III. vii. 26.

Choughs' language, chattering; IV. i. 22.

Cites, proves; I. iii. 225.

Clew, a ball of thread; I. iii. 197.

Coil, ado, fuss; "kept a coil with," made a fuss about; II. i. 27.

Collateral, indirect; I. i. 102.

Color; "holds not c." is not in keeping; II. v. 63.

Commission, warrant; II. iii. 282.

Commoner, harlot; V. iii. 195.

Companion, fellow (used con- temptuously) ; V. iii. 251.

Company, companion; IV. iii. 37.

141

Glossary

ALL'S WELL

Composition, compact; IV. iii. 22.

Compt, account; V. iii. 57.

Condition, character; IV. iii. 204.

Congied with, taken my leave of; IV. iii. 104.

Consolate, console; III. ii. 135.

Convenience, propriety; III. ii. 78.

Conversation, intercourse; I. iii. 249.

Coragio, courage; II. v. 95.

Coranto, a quick, lively dance; II. iii. 48.

Corrupt, misquote; I. iii. 88.

Count of, take c. of; IV. iii. 268.

County, Count; III. vii. 22.

"Cox my passion," a corruption of "God's my passion!"; V. ii. 44.

Credence, trust; III. iii. 2.

Cressid's uncle, i, e. Pandarus; II. i. 101.

Crown; "French c"; bald head; II. ii. 25.

Crown, "the fine's the c"; prob- ably a translation of the Latin proverb, "Finis coronat opus"; IV. iv. 35.

Curd, curdle; I. iii. 164.

Curious, careful; I. ii. 20.

Curiously, carefully; IV. iii. 39.

Custard; "Like him that leaped into the custard," an allusion to the custom at City ban- quets for the City fool to leap into a large bowl of custard set for the purpose; II. v. 38.

Customer, harlot; V. iii. 287.

Darkly, secretly; IV. iii. 14.

Deadly (used adverbially) ; V. iii. 117.

Death; "the white d." the pale- ness of death; II. iii. 76.

Debate it, strive for the mas- tery; I. ii. 75. Debosh'd— debauched, perverted;

II. iii. 144.

Default, at need; II. iii. 240.

Deliverance = delivery; II. i. 86.

Delivers, tells; IV. iii. 181.

Dial, clock, watch; II. v. 6.

Diet, to prescribe a regimen or scanty diet (hence "to deny me the full rights of wife") ; V. iii. 222; "he is dieted to his hour," i. e. "the hour of his appointment is fixed"; IV. iii. 35.

Digested, absorbed; V. iii. 74.

Dilated, prolonged, detailed; II. i. 59.

Dilemmas, perplexing situations;

III. vi. 84. Distinction; "confound d.,"

make it impossible to distin- guish them one from the other;

II. iii. 126.

Diurnal, "d. ring," daily cir- cuit; II. i. 166.

Dole, portion, share; II. iii. 175.

Dolphin, possibly used with a quibbling allusion to Dolphin = Dauphin; but perhaps only "the sportive, lively fish" is alluded to; II. iii. 30.

Ears, plows, cultivates; I. iii. 49.

Embossed, inclosed (like game in a wood), a term used in hunt- ing; III. vi. 112.

Embowel'd, exhausted; I. iii. 256.

Encounter, meeting; III. vii. 32.

Entertainment, service, pay;

III. vi. 13; IV. i. 17. Entrenched, cut; II. i. 44. Estate, rank, social grade; III

vii. 4.

142

THAT ENDS WELL

Glossary

Estates, ranks, social status; I.

iii. 124. Esteem, high estimation, worth;

V. iii. 1. Estimate; "in thee hath e.," is

enjoyed by thee; II. i. 184. Even, act up to; I. iii. 3; "make

it e.," grant it; II. i. 195; full;

V. iii. 326. Examined, questioned; III. v. 70. Exorcist, one who raises spirits;

V. iii. 306. Expedient, (?) expeditious,

quick; II. iii. 185. Expressive, open-hearted; II. i.

53.

Facinerious, Parolles' blunder for "facinorous"; II. iii. 34.

Faith, religious faith; IV. i. 86.

Falls, befalls; V. i. 37.

Fancy, liking, love; II. iii. 174.

Fated, fateful; I. i. 242.

Favor, face, figure, counte- nance; I. i. 97; V. iii. 49.

Fed; "highly fed," used quib- blingly in double sense; (1) well fed, and (2) well bred; perhaps also with an allusion to the proverb "better fed than taught"; II. ii. 3.

Fee-simple, unconditional pos- session; IV. iii. 324.

Fetch off, rescue; III. vi. 21.

Fine; "in fine"=:in short; III. vii. 33.

Fine, artful; V. iii. 271.

Fisnomy, the clown's corruption of "physionomy" ; IV. v. 43.

Fleshes, satiates; IV. iii. 19. i Fond; "fond done, done fond," done foolishly, done fondly; I. iii. 80; foolish; V. iii. 179. I Fondness, love; I. iii. 185.

For sa because; III. v. 49.

Foregone, gone before, past; I.

iii. 149. Found =■ found out; II. iii. 215;

II. iv. 33.

Frank, liberal, generous; I. ii. 20.

Gamester, harlot; V. iii. 189. Grace, favor; V. ii. 52. Gossips, stands gossip, L e, spon- sor for; I. i. 197. Go under, pass for; III. v. 24. Gross, palpable; I. iii. 187.

Haggish, ugly and wrinkled, like

a hag; I. ii. 29. Hand, "in any h." in any case;

III. vi. 48.

Haply, perhaps; III. ii. 84.

Happy; "in h. time," i. e. "in the nick of time"; V. i. 6.

Hawking, hawk-like; I. i. 108.

Helm m helmet; III. iii. 7.

Heraldry; "gives you h." en- titles you to; II. iii. 283.

Herb of grace, i. e. rue; IV. v. 19.

"Hie jacet," the beginning of an epitaph meaning "here lies," die in the attempt; III. vi. 69.

High bent (a metaphor taken from the bending of a bow) ; V. iii. 10.

Higher, further up (into Italy) ;

IV. iii. 50. High-repented, deeply repented;

V. iii. 36.

Hilding, a base wretch; III. vi.

4. His, its; I. ii. 41. Hold, maintain; I. i. 91. Holding, binding force; IV. ii.

27. Home, thoroughly; V. iii. 4. Honesty, chastity; III. v. 68. Hoodman (an allusion to the

143

Glossary

ALL'S WELL

game of "hood-man blind," or "Blindmanbuff") j IV. iii. 142.

Host, lodge; III. v. 101.

Housewife; "I play the noble h. With the time," spoken iron- ically; II. ii. 65.

Howbome'er (Folios 1, 2, "how- somere"; Folio 3, howsomeere; Folio 4, howsomere), howso- ever; I. iii. 60.

Idle, foolish, reckless; II. v. 53;

III. vii. 26. Important, importunate; III. vii.

91. Importing, full of import; V. iii.

136. Impositions, things imposed, com- mands; IV. iv. 29. In, into; V. ii. 51. In; "to in," to get in; I. iii. 51. Inaidible, cureless, incurable; II.

i. 1:23. Inducement, instigation; III. ii.

96. Instance, proof; IV. i. 4-7. Intenible, incapable of holding

or retaining; I. iii. 217. Intents, intentions; III. iv. 21. Into (so Folios 1, 2; Folio 3, 4,

"unto"), upon; I. iii. 269. Isbels, waiting women generally;

III. ii. 13, 14.

Jack-an-apes, ape, monkey; used as a term of contempt; III. v. 92.

Joul, knock; I. iii. 62.

Justified, proved; IV. iii. 65.

Kicky-wicky, "a ludicrous term for a wife"; II. iii. 302.

Kind, nature; I. iii. 71; I. iii. 194.

Knowingly, from experience; I. iii. 265.

Lack, want, need; III. iv. 19.

Languishings, lingering malady; I. iii. 244.

Last, last time; V. iii. 79.

Late, lately; I. iii. 117.

Leaguer, camp of besieging army; III. vi. 29.

Led, carried; "Has led the drum before the English tragedians"; alluding to the strolling play- ers who were wont to announce their advent by a drum; IV. iii. 310.

Left off, abandoned; I. iii. 256.

Leg; "make a leg," make a bow; II. ii. 11.

Lend it, give love; I. ii. 68.

Lie, lodge; III. v. 37.

Ling, a fish eaten during Lent; here used in the general sense of meager food; III. ii. 14, 15.

Linsey-woolsey, literally a fabric of wool and linen; here a med- ley of words; IV. i. 13.

List, limit; II. i. 52.

Live, to live; II. i. 135.

Livelihood, liveliness, animation; I. i. 60.

'Longing (Folios correctly "long- ing"), belonging; IV. ii. 42.

Lordship, conjugal right and duty; V. iii. 157.

Lustic, lusty, sprightly; II. iii. 46.

Madding, maddening; V. iii. 214.

Make, look upon as; V. iii. 5.

Manifest, acknowledged, well- known; I. iii. 238.

Married. . . marr'd ; pro- nounced much alike in Eliza- bethan English; hence used quibblingly; II. iii. 320.

Marseilles (trisyllabic; Folio 1 spells the name "Marcella?," ;

144

THAT ENDS WELL

Glossary

IV. iv. 9; "Marcellus,"; IV. v. 85).

Maudlin, colloquial form of Magdalen; V. iii. 68.

Measure, dance; II. i. 58.

Medicine, physician; II. i. 76.

Mell, meddle; IV. iii. 267.

Mere, merely, nothing but; III. v. 62.

Merely, absolutely; IV. iii. 25.

Methinks 't, it seems to me; II. iii. 272.

Mile-end; alluding to the fact that the citizens of London used to be mustered and drilled there; IV. iii. 314.

Misdoubt, mistrust; I. iii. 139.

Misprising, despising; III. ii. 34.

Misprision, contempt; II. iii. 158.

Modern, common; II. iii. 2.

Modern ("modest" has been sug- gested as an emendation), modish, stylish (rather than "ordinary," "commonplace") ;

V. iii. 217.

Modest, "a m. one"; i. e. "a

moderately favorable one"; II.

i. 132. Module, pattern, model; IV. iii.

119. Moiety, part, share; III. ii. 72. Monstrous, monstrously; II. i.

188. Monumental, memorial; IV. iii.

21. VI orris, Morris-dance; II. ii. 28. Mort du vinaigre" (Folios

"mor du vinager"), a meaning- i less oath used by Parolles; II. I iii. 49.

tjvIoTivE, instrument; IV. iv. 20. IJIurk, murky; II. i. 167. II use, wonder, conjecture; II. v. I 69.

Iute; "all the rest is mute," I XXVII— 10 1

have no more to say to you; II. iii. 82. Mystery, professional skill; III. vi. 71.

Nature, temperament; III. i. IT; way; IV. iii. 181.

Naughty, good for nothing; V. iii. 255.

Necessitied to, in need of; V. iii. 85.

Next, nearest; I. iii. 67.

Nice, prudish; V. i. 15.

Note, mark of distinction, rec- ord; I. iii. 172.

Of, by; I. iii. 212; V. iii. 197; on; II. iii. 254; III. v. 107.

Officed all, performed all the duties or offices; III. ii. 133.

Of them, some of that kind; II. v. 48.

"O Lord, sir!" An exclamation much used in fashionable so- ciety in Shakespeare's time; II. ii. 46.

On, of; I. iii. 151.

Order, precautions, measures; IV. ii. 55.

Ordinaries, meals, repasts; II. iii. 209.

Out, over; I. ii. 58.

Outward, not in the secret, un- initiated; III. i. 11.

Overlooking, supervision; L i. 46.

Owe, own; II. v. 83; owes, owns; II. i. 9; owed, owned; V. iii. 199.

Pace, "a certain and prescribed walk"; IV. v. 72.

Palmers, pilgrims; III. v. 37.

Particular, part; II. v. 65."

Parting; "present p." imme- diate departure; II. v. 60.

45

Glossary

ALLS WELI

Passage, anything that passes, or

occurs; an event; I. i. 21. Passport, sentence of death; III.

ii. 61. Patience, "ours be your p." let

your patient hearing be ours;

Epil. 5. Perspective, "a glass so cut as to

produce an optical deception";

V. iii. 48. Picking; "p. a kernel out of a

pomegranate"; stealing the

most trifling article; II. iii.

279. "Pilot's glass," hour glass; II. i.

169. Place, precedence; I. i. 117. Plausive, plausible, pleasing; I.

ii. 53. Please it, if it please; III. v.

104. Plutus (Rowe's correction of

"Platus," the reading of the

Folios), the god of wealth; V.

iii. 101. Poising us, adding the weight

of patronage; II. iii. 160. Port, gate; III. v. 43. Practicer, practitioner; II. i.

189. Predominant, in the ascendant;

I. i. 219

Prejudicates, prejudices; I. ii. 8. Present, immediate; II. ii. 70. Presently, immediately, at once;

II. iii. 165.

Prime, flower of life; II. i. 186.

Probable need, apparently nec- essary; II. iv. 53.

Proceeds, results; IV. ii. 62.

Profession, that which she pro- fesses to be able to do; II. i. 87.

Proper, used to emphasize own; IV. ii. 49.

Proper, virtuous; IV. iii. 249.

Property, "that which is prope to," "particular quality"; II. 191.

Quart d'ecu (the Folios "card< cue"; V. ii. 36; Folio 1, "care ceu," Folios 2, 3, 4, "card* cue"; IV. iii. 324; the Foli spellings represent the coll( quial pronunciation of the wor in English); the quarter c a "French crown' — fiftee pence.

Questant, he who is on the ques seeker; II. i. 16.

Quick, living; V. iii. 305.

Quit, acquit; V. iii. 301.

Rate, price; V. iii. 218.

Ravin, ravenous; III. ii. 124.

Reave, bereave, deprive; V. ii 86.

Rebellion,; "natural r." rebellio of nature; V. iii. 6; "God dela our r.," i. e. "put off the da when our flesh shall rebel" IV. iii. 23.

Religious, a holy obligation; I] iii. 189.

Remainder (a legal term)= something limited over to I third person on the creation o an estate less than that whid the grantor has; IV. iii. 326.

Removes, post-stages; V. iii. 131

Repairs, restores, does me good I. ii. 30.

Repeal'd, called back; II. iii. 54

Repetition, remembrance; V. iii 22.

Replete, full; II. iii. 182.

Resolvedly, satisfactorily; V. iii 333.

Respects, reasons; II. v. 70.

Rest, "set up your r." are re solved; II. i. 139.

146

THAT ENDS WELL

Glossary

Richest; "r. eyes," i. e. eyes hav- ing seen the most; V. iii. 17.

Ring-carrier, go-between, pan- dar; III. v. 99.

Rousillon, an old province of France, separated from Spain by the Pyrenees; I. ii. 18.

Ruff, (?) the ruffle of the boot (that is, the part turned over the top) ; III. ii. 7.

Ruttish, lustful; IV. iii. 252.

Sacrament; "take the s. on it," take my oath on it; IV. iii. 162.

Sadness; "in good s." in all se- riousness; IV. iii. 239.

Saffron; "villainous s.," alluding to the fashion of wearing yel- low; IV. v. 3.

Sanctimony, sanctity; IV. iii. 60.

Satisfaction; "heavy s." sorrow- ful acquiescence; V. iii. 100.

"Scarfs and bannerets," silken ornaments hung upon various parts of the attire; II. iii. 212.

Schools, medical schools; I. iii. 255.

Season; "a day of s." a season- able day; V. iii. 32.

Senoys, Sienese, inhabitants of Siena; I. ii. 1.

Sense, thought; I. i. 250.

Shall = will assuredly; III. ii. 25.

Shallow; "you're shallow in great friends," "you are a superficial judge of the char- acter of great friends"; I. iii. 47.

Shrewd, evil, bad; III. v. 75.

Shrewdly, highly, badly; III. v. 96.

Sick for, pining for; I. ii. 16.

Sinister, left; II. i. 43.

Sith (Folio 1 reads "sir"; emended by Dyce), since; V. iii. 156.

Sithence, since; I. iii. 133.

Smock; "the f orehorse to a smock," as a squire of ladies; used contemptuously; II. i. 30.

Smoked, scented; III. vi. 118.

"Snipt-taffeta fellow," a fel- low dressed in silks and rib- bons; IV. v. 2.

Solely, absolutely, altogether; I. i. 115.

Solemn, ceremonious; IV. iii. 92.

Sovereignty; "general s." "sover- eign remedies in various cases";

I. iii. 239.

Spark, fashionable young man;

II. i. 25.

Spend, use, employ; V. i. 8.

Spirit (monosyllabic = sprite) ; II. i. 179.

Spoke, spoken; II. v. 59.

Sportive, pleasure-giving; III. ii. 113.

Sprat, a worthless fellow, used contemptuously; III. vi. 119.

Staggers, "perplexity, bewilder- ment"; II. iii. 169.

St. Jaques le Grand, probably St. James of Compostella, in Spain, though probably Shake- speare had no particular shrine of St. James in mind; III. v. 41.

Stall, keep close, conceal; I. iii. 140.

Star; "the most received s." leader of fashion; II. i. 57.

Stead, help, aid; V. iii. 87.

Steely; "virtue's steely bones," — "steel-boned, unyielding, and uncomplying virtue"; I. i. 117.

Stomach, inclination; III. vi. 70.

Straight, directly, straightway; IV. i. 22.

19 F

147

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELI

Strangers, foreign troops; IV. i. 17.

Stronger, most important; IV. iii. G6.

Si HsnuHKi) to, "acknowledged the state of; V. iii. 96.

Success, issue; III. vi. 90.

Success; "abstract of s." success- ful summary proceeding; IV. iii. 104.

Succession, others from doing the same; III. v. 25.

Suggest, tempt; IV. v. 48.

Superfluous, having more than enough; I. i. 119.

Supposition, "beguile the s." de- ceive the opinion; set at rest the doubt; IV. iii. 347.

Surprised, to be surprised; I. iii. 128.

Sword; "Spanish s." (swords of Toledo were famous) ; IV. i. 55.

Sworn counsel, pledge of se- crecy; III. vii. 9.

Table, tablet; I. i. 109.

Tax, reproach; II. i. 174.

Theoric, theory; IV. iii. 169.

Thitherward, on his way thith- er; III. ii. 57.

Those of mine, those kinsmen of mine; I. iii. 268.

Tinct, tincture; V. iii. 102.

Title, want of rank; II. iii. 123.

To, for; II. iii. 312.

Toll (Folio 1 "toule"), probably ="pay a tax for the liberty of selling"; V. iii. 150.

Too much, excess; III. ii. 96.

Took = taken; II. i. 151.

Top, head; I. ii. 43.

Travails in, works for; II. iii. 164.

Triple, third; II. i. 112.

Tucket, a flourish on the trum pet; III. v. 7.

Undone, used quibblingly; I\

iii. 373.

Unhappy, mischievous; IV. v. 61 Unseason'd, inexperienced; I.

84. Use, custom; V. i. 24. Used, treated; I. ii. 42.

Validity, value; V. iii. 192.

Wanted, was lacking; I. i. 12. Ward, guardianship; I. i. 6. Was = had; III. ii. 48. Wear, wear out; V. i. 4. Well-enter'd, being well-init

ated; II. i. 6. Well found, of known skill; I

i. 106. Whence, from that place when

III. ii. 128. Whereof, with which; I. iii. 24 Whom, which (i. e. death) ; II

iv. 17. Wing; "of a good w.," a term ■

rived from falconry = stror

in flight; I. i. 228. Woman, make me weak as

woman; III. ii. 55. Woodcock, a popular name for

brainless fellow, a fool; IV.

103. Word, promise; i. e. thy word,

promise; II. i. 214. World; "to go to the world,":

to get married; I. iii. 20-21. | Worthy, well-deserved; IV. i

7. Write, call myself, claim to b

II. iii. 206.

Yield, supply, tell; III. i. 10.

.143

STUDY QUESTIONS

By Emma D. Sanford

GENERAL

1. Give a reason for the assumption that this play was t produced during Shakespeare's life-time. £. To what one of Shakespeare's plays did he prob- ly write AIVs Well that Ends Well as a companion

ay?

3. What is the dominant characteristic of Helena?

4. Give a brief s3^nopsis of the source and compare it th Shakespeare's plot. To what other Shakespearean ays is this play similar?

ACT I

5. In what country does the action first take place? hat is the next change of scene?

6. Explain (scene i) the expressions "in ward," and hat 'had' !"

7. Define the sorrow which Helena says she affects and at which she says she has.

8. In the opening scene of the play, what idea is given of Helena's birth, and of her social aspirations?

9. Which kind of clown was the one of this play — "idiot," one "silly by nature," or an "artificial" clown?

10. In scene iii, what Biblical phrase is suggested by arnes are blessings"?

11. What religious controversy of the period is al- lied to in "wear the surplice of humility over the black \wn of a big heart"?

12. How does the Countess prevail upon Helena to dis-

149

Study Question, ALL'S WELI

close her love for Bertram? Is she sincere in her pose o

a mother?

13. Does the Countess suspect Helena's true motive to

rendering aid to the king (scene i) ?

ACT II

14. What might the king's admonitions to the youn Lords, upon their conduct in time of war, indicate regan ing national characteristics?

15. Give one explanation of "higher Italy" (scene l

16. Why is the king not in favor of Bertram's going t

the war? _J

17. In Helena's speech to the king (scene l) wn Biblical knowledge does Shakespeare reveal?

18. What spirit does Helena evince, in her choice < Bertram for a husband, when she says, "I dare not say take you; but give " (scene iii)?

19. Briefly narrate Bertram's rejection, and subscquei acceptance of, Helena's proposal. What sentiment do his conduct arouse? — favorable, or unfavorable to hir

self?

20. Explain the allusion to "leaping into the custarc

(scene v).

21. How does Helena show her great faith in eventual winning Bertram's love, upon his farewell to her?

act ni

22. What word does Helena receive from Bertram regard to their marriage? What effect does this lett have upon his mother's attitude towards him and towar Helena?

23. In scenes iii and iv what are the changed situatio of Bertram and Helena?

24. Why is scene v an important one, dramatically?

25. Explain Helena's final speech in scene vii.

iro

THAT ENDS WELL Study Questions

ACT IV

26. What is the similarity of the characters Parolles and Falstaff?

27. What addition to the plot is made in scene ii?

28. Does Bertram know of his wife's (reported) death when he makes love to Diana (scene iii)?

29. What dramatic use is served by the examination of jParolles (scene iii)?

30. What is the meaning of "the fine's the crown" (scene iv) ?

31. In scene v, what proposition does Lafeu make to the Countess ?

32. Explain the phrase "patch of velvet two

>ile and a half " (scene v).

act v

33. What odd metaphor is used by the Clown in scene i?

34. Explain Lafeu's allusions to Parolles' drum.

35. In scene iii, what does Lafeu mean to convey by :richest eyes"?

36. What character and scene in Much Ado About Nothing are we reminded of, when Bertram expresses his Wllingness to wed Lafeu's daughter?

37. Whose ring does Bertram use in plighting his troth ith Lafeu's daughter?

38. What falsehood is Bertram guilty of and why oes he, therefore, seem to be vastly unworthy of the love ,f Helena ?

39. How does the episode of the two rings finally work ut?

40. How is Parolles made use of in humiliating Ber- *am?

41. What is the significance of the name "Parolles" and hy is it an appropriate one?

42. Is the flippancy of Diana's replies to the king erely to lengthen out the examination? If so, why?

151

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELI

43. Is the quick action of the last scene a strong, or, i

°44 Are we led to suppose that, through the deceptioi nractified by Helena on Bertram, the latter had actually become enamored of his wife? Does this account for hi pledge to "love her dearly"?

4.5. In the Epilogue, explain the use of "the king s j 1 ??

46. How many times is the title of the play quoted h

the text? , ,

47. Compare the Countess with other Shakespearean

^S^Name some other plays in which Shakespeare ha for his plot the testing of marital fidelity.

49 Is the character of Helena used by Shakespeare I demonstrate the possible superiority of a noble characte

over a noble birth?

50. Does the fact that Helena "stoops to conquer mak her character any the less attractive?

152

THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH

All the unsigned footnotes in this volume are by the writer of the article to which they are appended. The in- terpretation of the initials signed to the others is: I. G. = Israel Gollancz, M.A. ; H. N. H.= Henry Norman Hudson, A.M. ; C. H. H.= C. H. Herford, Litt.D.

PREFACE

By Israel Gollancz, M.A.

THE FIRST EDITION

Macbeth was first printed in the First Folio, where it occupies pp. 131 to 151, and is placed between Julius Ccesar and Hamlet. It is mentioned among the plays reg- istered in the books of the Stationers' Company by the publishers of the Folio as "not formerly entered to other men." The text is perhaps one of the worst printed of ill the plays, and textual criticism has been busy emend- ing and explaining away the many difficulties of the play. Even the editors of the Second Folio were struck by the nany hopeless corruptions, and attempted to provide a setter text. The first printers certainly had before them a yery faulty transcript, and critics have attempted to ex- plain the discrepancies by assuming that Shakespeare's original version had been tampered with by another hand.

"macbeth" and middleton's "witch"

Some striking resemblances in the incantation scenes of Macbeth and Middleton's Witch have led to a somewhat generally accepted belief that Thomas Middleton was an- jwerable for the alleged un-Shakespearean portions of Macbeth. This view has received confirmation from the ?act that the stage-directions of Macbeth contain allusions ;o two songs which are found in Middleton's Witch (viz. 'Come away, come away" III, v; "Black Spirits and vhite" IV, i). Moreover, these very songs are found in 3'Avenant's re-cast of Macbeth (1674).1 It is, however,

i The first of these songs is found in the edition of 1673, which ontains also two other songs not found in the Folio version.

vii

Preface THE TRAGEDY

possible that Middleton took Shakespeare's songs and ex- panded them, and that D'Avenant had before him a copy containing additions transferred from Middleton's cognate scenes. This view is held by the most competent of Mid- dleton's editors, Mr. A. H. Bullen, who puts forward strong reasons for assigning the Witch to a later date than Macbeth, and rightly resents the proposals on the part of able scholars to hand over to Middleton some of the finest passages of the play.1 Charles Lamb had already noted the essential differences between Shakespeare's and Middle- ton's Witches. "Their names and some of the properties, which Middleton has given to his hags, excites smiles. The Weird Sisters are serious things. Their presence can- not co-exist with mirth. But in a lesser degree, the Witches of Middleton are fine creatures. Their power, too, is in some measure over the mind. They raise jars, jealousies, strifes, like a thick scurf o'er life'9 (Specimens of English Dramatic Poets).

THE PORTER'S SPEECH

Among the passages in Macbeth, that have been doubted are the soliloquy of the Porter, and the short dialogue that follows between the Porter and Macduff. Even Cole- ridge objected to "the low soliloquy of the Porter"; he believed them to have been written for the mob by some other hand, perhaps with Shakespeare's consent, though he was willing to make an exception in the case of the Shake-

1 The following are among the chief passages supposed to resemble Middleton's style, and rejected as Shakespeare's by the Clarendon Press editors:— Act I. Sc. ii. iii. 1-37; Act II. Sc. i. 61, iii. (Por- ter's part); Act III. Sc. v.; Act IV. Sc. i. 39-47, 125-132; iii. 140- 159; Act V. (?) ii., v. 47-50; viii. 32-33, 35-75.

The second scene of the First Act is certainly somewhat dis- appointing, and it is also inconsistent (cp. 11. 52, 53, with Sc. iii., 11. 72, 73, and 112, etc.), but probably the scene represents the com- pression of a much longer account. The introduction of the super- fluous Hecate is perhaps the strongest argument for rejecting cer- tain witch-scenes, viz.: Act III. Sc. v.; Act IV. Sc. i. 39-47, 125-132.

viii

)F MACBETH Preface

pearean words, "Fit devil-porter it no further: I had hought to let in some of all professions, that go the mmose way to the everlasting bonfire.'9 But the Porter's Speech is as essential a part of the design of the play as s the Knocking at the Gate, the effect of which was so ubtly analyzed by De Quincey in his well-known essay on he subject. "The effect was that it reflected back upon he murderer a peculiar awfulness and a depth of sol-

mnity when the deed is done, when the work of

larkness is perfect, then the world of darkness passes away ike a pageantry in the clouds ; the knocking at the gate is leard; and it makes known audibly that the reaction has ommenced ; the human has made its reflex upon the fiend- sh ; the pulses of life are beginning to beat again ; and he reestablishment of the goings-on of the world in which ve live first makes us profoundly sensible of the awful >arenthesis that had suspended them."

The introduction of the Porter, a character derived from he Porter of Hell in the old Mysteries, is as dramatically elevant, as are the grotesque words he utters ; and both the ;haracter and the speech are thoroughly Shakespearean in conception (cp. The Porter in Macbeth, New SJiak. Soc., L874, by Prof. Hales).

DATE OF COMPOSITION

The undoubted allusion to the union of England and Scotland under James I (Act IV, sc. i, 120), gives us one imit for the date of Macbeth, viz., March, 1603, while a lotice in the MS. diary of Dr. Simon Forman, a notori- ous quack and astrologer, gives 1610 as the other limit; ?or in that year he saw the play performed at the Globe.1 Between these two dates, in the year 1607, "The Puritan,

1 The Diary is among the Ashmolean MSS. (208) in the Bodleian library; its title is a Book of Plaies and Notes thereof for common °ollicie. Halliwell-Phillipps privately reprinted the valuable and in- eresting booklet. The account of the play as given by Forman is lot very accurate.

ix

Preface THE TRAGEDY,'

or, the Widow of Wailing Street" was published, contain- ing a distinct reference to Banquo's Ghost — "Instead of a jester we'll have a ghost in a white sheet sit at the upper end of the table." x

It is remarkable that when James visited Oxford in 1605 he was "addressed on entering the city by three students of St. John's College, who alternately accosted his Maj- esty, reciting some Latin verses, founded on the prediction of the weird sisters relative to Banquo and Macbeth.'* The popularity of the subject is further attested by the insertion of the Historie of Macbeth in the 1606 edition of Albion's England. The former incident may have sug- gested the subject to Shakespeare; the latter fact may; have been due to the popularity of Shakespeare's play. At all events authorities are almost unanimous in assign- ing Macbeth to 1605-1606; and this view is borne out by minor points of internal evidence.2 As far as metrical characteristics are concerned the comparatively large num- ber of light-endings, twenty-one in all (contrasted with eight in Hamlet, and ten in Julius Ccesar) places Macbeth near the plays of the Fourth Period.3 With an early play of this period, viz. Antony and Cleopatra, it has strong ethical affinities.

i Similarly, in Beaumont and Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, produced in 1611: —

"When thou art at the table with thy friends, Merry in heart and fill'd with swelling wine, I'll come in midst of all thy pride and mirth, Invisible to all men but thyself."

%E. g. II. iii. 5, "expectation of plenty" probably refers to the abundance of corn in the autumn of 1606; the reference to the "Equivocator" seems to allude to Garnet and other Jesuits who were tried in the spring of 1606.

3 Macbeth numbers but two weak-endings, while Hamlet and Julius Casar have none. Antony and Cleopatra has not less than seventy- one light-endings and twenty-eight weak-endings. It would seem that Shakespeare, in this latter play, broke away from his earlier style as with a mighty bound.

OF MACBETH Preface

THE SOURCES OF THE PLOT

Shakespeare derived his materials for Macbeth from Holinshed's Chronicle of England and Scotland, first pub- lished in 1577, and subsequently in 1587 ; the latter was in all probability the edition used by the poet. Holinshed's authority was Hector Boece, whose Scotorum Historian was first printed in 1526 ; Boece drew from the work of the Scotch historian Fordun, who lived in the fourteenth century. Shakespeare's indebtedness to Holinshcd for the plot of the present play is not limited to the chapters deal- ing with Macbeth; certain details of the murder of Dun- can belong to the murder of King DufFe, the great grand- father of Lady Macbeth. Shakespeare's most noteworthy departure from his original is to be found in his character- ization of Banquo.

The Macbeth of legend has been whitened by recent his- torians ; and the Macbeth of history, according to Free- man, seems to have been quite a worthy monarh ; (cp. Freeman's Norman Conquest, Skene's Celtic Scotland, etc.).

Shakespeare, in all probability, took some hints from Scot's Discoverie of Witchcraft (1584) for his witch-lore. It should also be noted that King James, a profound be- liver in witchcraft, published in 1599 his Demonologie, maintaining his belief against Scot's skepticism. In 1604 a statute was passed to suppress witches.

There may have been other sources for the plot ; possi- bly an older play existed on the subject of Macbeth; in Kempe's Nine Bays' Wonder (1600) occur the following WOrds: — "I met a proper upright youth, only for a little stooping in the shoulders, all heart to the heel, a penny poet, whose first making was the miserable story of Mac- doel, or Mac-dobeth, or Mac-somewhat," etc. Further- more, a ballad (? a stage-play) on Macdobeth was regis- tered in the year 1596.

DURATION OF ACTION

Preface THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH

The Time of the play, as analyzed by Mr. P. A. Daniel (New Shakespeare Soc, 1877-79) is nine days represented on the stage, and intervals : —

Day 1. Act I, sc. i to iii.

Day 2. Act I, sc. iv to vii.

Day 3. Act II, sc. i to iv. An interval, say a couple of weeks.

Day 4. Act III, sc. i to v. [Act III, sc. vi, an impossi- ble time.]

Day 5. Act IV, sc. i.

Day 6. Act IV, sc. ii. An interval. Ross's journey to England.

Day 7. Act IV, sc. iii, Act V, sc. 1. An interval. Mal- colm's return to Scoland.

Day 8. Act V, sc. ii and iii.

Day 9. Act V, sc. iv to viii.

Xll

INTRODUCTION

By Henry Norman Hudson, A.M.

In the folio of 1623 The Tragedy of Macbeth, as it is here called, makes the seventh in the list of Tragedies, n modern editions generally, the Chiswick among others, ; stands as first in the division of Histories — an order [early and entirely wrong. Macbeth has indeed some- ling of an historical basis, and so have Hamlet and Lear; ut in all three the historical matter is so merged in the orm and transfigured with the spirit of tragedv, as to ut it well nigh out of thought to class them as histories ; Ince this is subjecting them to wrong tests, implies the ight to censure them for not being what they were never leant to be. In them historical truth was nowise the 'oet's aim; they are to be viewed simply as works of Art: o that the proper question concerning them is, whether nd how far they have that truth to nature, that organic •roportion and self -consistency which the laws of Art re- uire.

The tragedy was never printed that we know of till in he folio, and was registered in the Stationers' books by Mount and Jaggard, November 8, 1623, as one of the Jays "not formerly entered to other men." The original ext is remarkably clear and complete, the acts and scenes eing regularly marked throughout.

Malone and Chalmers agreed upon the year 1606 as the tme when Macbeth was probably written ; their chief ground for this opinion being what the Porter says in ^ct II, sc. iii: "Here's a farmer that hang'd himself on he expectation of plenty" ; and again, — "Here's an equiv- cator, that could swear in both scales against either scale ;

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Introduction THE TRAGEDY

who committed treason enough for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to Heaven." As 1606 was indeed a year of plenty, Malone thought the former passage re- f erred to that fact ; and that the latter "had a direct refer- ence to the doctrine of equivocation avowed and maintained by Henry Garnet, superior of the order of Jesuits in] England, at his trial for the Gunpowder Treason, March 28, 1606." These arguments, we confess, neither seem strong enough to uphold the conclusion, nor so weak, on' the other hand, as to warrant the scorn which Mr. Knight has vented upon them. And, however inadequate the basis, the conclusion appears to be about right ; at least no better one has been offered.

That Macbeth was probably written after the union of the three kingdoms, has been justly inferred from what the? hero says in his last interview with the Weird Sisters, Act IV, sc. i: "And some I see, that twofold balls and treble scepters carry." James I came to the throne of England in March, 1603; but the English and Scottish crowns werel not formally united, at least the union was not proclaimed, till October, 1604. That they were to be united, was doubtless well understood some time before it actually took place: so that the passage in question does not af- ford a certain guide to the date of the composition. The most we can affirm is, that the writing was probably after 1604, and certainly before 1610 ; the ground of which cer- tainty is from Dr. Simon Forman's Book of Plays, and Notes thereof, for common Policy; a manuscript discov- ered by Mr. Collier in the Ashmolean Museum. Formally gives a minute and particular account of the plot and lead- ing incidents of Macbeth, as he saw it played at the Globe Theater, April 20, 1610. The notice is too long for our space.

The play in hand yields cause, in the accuracy of local description and allusion, for thinking the Poet had been in Scotland. And these internal likelihoods are not a lit- tle strengthened by external arguments. It hath been fully ascertained that companies of English players did

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F MACBETH Introduction

sit Scotland several times during Shakespeare's connec- on with the^ stage. The earliest visit of this kind that we ?ar of was in 1589, when Ashby, the English minister at le Scottish court, wrote to Burleigh how "my Lord Both- ell sheweth great kindness to our nation, using Her May tyys Players and Canoniers with all courtesy." And a ke visit was again made in 1599, as we learn from Arch- shop Spottiswood, who writing the history of that year is the following: "In the end of the year happened >me new jars betwixt the King and the ministers of dinburgh; because of a company of English comedians horn the King had licensed to play within the burgh, 'he ministers, being offended with the liberty given them, id exclaim in their sermons against stage-players, their nruliness and immodest behavior; and in their sessions ade an act, prohibiting people to resort unto their plays, rider pain of church censures. The King, taking this to 2 a discharge of his license, called the sessions before the Uracil, and ordained them to annul their act, and not to ^strain the people from going to these comedies : which ley promised, and accordingly performed ; whereof pub- cation was made the day after, and all that pleased per- dtted to repair unto the same, to the great offense of the inisters."

This account is confirmed by the public records of Scot- ,nd, which show that the English players were liberally re- arded by the King, no less a sum than 828Z. 5s. 4:d. be- ig distributed to them between October, 1599, and lecember, 1601. And it appears from the registers of le Town Council of Aberdeen, that the same players were ?ceived by the public authorities of that place, under le sanction of a special letter from the King, styling lem "our servants." There, also, they had a gratuity f 32 marks, and the freedom of the city was conferred pon "Laurence Fletcher, Comedian to His Majesty," who, p doubt, was the leader of the company. That this was lie same company to which Shakespeare belonged, or a 'art of it, is highly probable from the patent which was

Introduction THE TRAGEDY

made out by the King's order, May 7, 1603, authorizing Laurence Fletcher, William Shakespeare, Richard Bur- bage, and others, to perform plays in any part of the kingdoms. In this instrument the players are termed "our servants," — the same title whereby the King had recom- mended them to the authorities of Aberdeen. All which, to be sure, is no positive proof that Shakespeare was of the number who went to Scotland ; yet we do not well see how it can fail to impress any one as making strongly that way, there being no positive proof to the contrary. And the probability thence arising, together with the internal like- lihoods of Macbeth, may very well warrant a belief of the thing in question.

At the date of Shakespeare's tragedy the story of Mac- beth, as handed down by tradition, had been told by Holin- shed, whose Chronicles first appeared in 1577, and bjl George Buchanan, the learned preceptor of James I, who has been termed the Scotch Livy, and whose History of Scotland came forth in 1582. In the main features of the story, so far as it is adopted by the Poet, both these writers agree, save that Buchanan represents Macbeth to have merely dreamed of meeting with the Weird Sisters, and of being hailed by them successively as Thane of An- gus, of Murray, and as King. We shall see hereafter that Holinshed was Shakespeare's usual authority in matters of British history. And in the present case the Poet shows no traces of obligation to Buchanan, unless, which is barely possible, he may have taken a hint from the historian, where, speaking of Macbeth's reign, he says, — "Multa hie f abulose quidam nostrorum affingunt ; sed quia theatris aut Milesiis fabulis sunt aptiora quam historian, ea omitto." A passage which, as showing the author's care for the truth of what he wrote, perhaps should render us wary of trusting too much in later writers, who would have us believe that, a war of factions breaking out, Duncan was killed in battle, and Macbeth took the crown by just and lawful title. It is considerable that both Hume and Lin- gard acquiesce in the old account which represents Mac-

xvi

'F MACBETH Introduction

>th to have murdered Duncan and usurped the throne, he following outline of the story as told by Holinshcd ay suffice to show both whence and how much the Poet >rrowed.

Malcolm, king of Scotland, had two daughters, Beatrice id Doada, severally married to Abbanath Crinen and i Sinel, thanes of the Isles and of Glamis, by whom they id each a son, named Duncan and Macbeth. The former icceeded his grandfather in the kingdom; and, being of soft and gentle nature, his reign was at first very quiet id peaceable, but afterwards, by reason of his slackness, reatly harassed with troubles and seditions, wherein his >usin, who was of a valiant and warlike spirit, did great rvice to the state. His first exploit was in company with anquo, thane of Lochquaber, against Macdowald, who id headed a rebellion, and drawn together a great power ? natives and foreigners. The rebels being soon broken id routed, Macdowald sought refuge in a castle with his imily, and when he saw he could no longer hold the place, I first slew his wife and children, then himself; where- pon Macbeth entered, and, finding his body among the ist, had his head cut off, set upon a pole, and sent to the ng. Macbeth was very severe, not to say cruel, towards te conquered ; and when some of them murmured thereat ? would have let loose his revenge upon them, but that he as partly appeased by their gifts, and partly dissuaded y his friends. By the time this trouble was well over, weno, king of Norway, arrived with an army in Fife, and >gan to slaughter the people without distinction of age r sex. Which caused Duncan to bestir himself in good irnest: he went forth with all the forces he could rally, [mself, Macbeth, and Banquo leading them, and met the ivaders at Culros, where after a fierce fight the Scots were Baten. Then Sweno, thinking he could now have the eople for his own without killing them, gave order that one should be hurt but such as were found in an atti- ide of resistance. Macbeth went forthwith to gathering

new power, and Duncan, having fled into the castle

xvii

Introduction THE TRAGEDY

of Bertha, and being there hotly besieged by Sweno, opened a communication with him to gain time, and mean- while sent a secret message to Macbeth to wait at a cer- tain place till he should hear further. When all things were ready, Duncan, having by this time settled the terms of surrender, offered to send forth a good supply of food and refreshment to the besiegers ; which offer they gladly accepted, being much straitened for the means of living: whereupon the Scots mixed the juice of mekilwort berries in the bread and ale, and thereby got their enemies into so sleepy a state that they could make no defense; in which condition Macbeth fell upon them, and cut them to pieces, only Sweno himself and ten others escaping to the ships. While the people were giving thanks for this vic- tory word came that a fleet of Danes had landed at King- corn, sent thither by Canute, Sweno's brother. Macbeth and Banquo, being sent against the new invaders, slew part of them, and chased the rest back to their ships. There- upon a peace was knit up between the Scots and Danes, the latter giving a great sum of gold for the privilege of burying their dead in Colmes Inch.

Not long after, Macbeth and Banquo being on their way to Fores where the king then lay, as they were passing through the fields without other company, three women in strange and wild apparel suddenly met them ; and while they were rapt with wonder at the sight, the first woman said, — All hail, Macbeth, thane of Glamis ; the second, — Hail, Macbeth, thane of Cawdor; the third, — All hail, Macbeth, that hereafter shalt be king of Scotland. Then said Banquo, — What manner of women are you, that to my fellow here, besides high offices, ye assign the kingdom, but promise nothing at all to me? Yes, said the first, we promise greater things to thee ; for he shall reign indeed, but with an unlucky end, and shall have no issue to suc- ceed him ; whereas thou indeed shalt not reign, but from thee shall spring a long line of kings. Then the women immediately vanished. At first Macbeth and Banquo thought this was but a fantastical illusion, insomuch that

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OF MACBETH Introduction

Banquo would call Macbeth king in jest, and Macbeth in like sort would call him father of many kings. But after- wards the women were believed to be the Weird Sisters; because, the thane of Cawdor being condemned for trea- son, his lands and titles were given to Macbeth. Where- upon Banquo said to him jestingly, — Now, Macbeth, thou hast what two of the Sisters promised; there remaineth only what the other said should come to pass. And Mac- beth began even then to devise how he might come to the throne, but thought he must wait for time to work his way, as in the former preferment. But when, shortly after, the king made his oldest son Prince of Cumber- land, thereby in effect appointing him successor, Macbeth was sorely troubled thereat, as it seemed to cut off his hope ; and, thinking the purpose was to defeat his title to the crown, he studied how to usurp it by force. For the law of Scotland then was, that if at the death of a king the lineal heir were not of sufficient age for the govern- ment, the next in blood should take it in his stead. En- couraged by the words of the Weird Sisters, and urged on by his wife, who was "burning with unquenchable desire to bear the name of queen," Macbeth at length whispered his design to some trusty friends, of whom Banquo was chief, and, having a promise of their aid, slew the king at Inverness: then, by the help of his confederates, he got himself proclaimed king, and forthwith went to Scone where, by common consent, he was invested after the usual manner. Duncan's body was first buried at Elgin, but afterwards removed to Colmekill, and laid in a sepulcher with his predecessors.

Macbeth now set himself about the administration of the state, as though he would fain make up for his want of title by his fitness for the office ; using great liberality to- wards the nobles, enforcing justice on all offenders, and correcting the abuses that had grown up in Duncan's fee- ble reign; insomuch that he was accounted the sure de- fense and buckler of innocent people: he made many wholesome laws, and, in short, so good was his government,

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Introduction THE TRAGEDY

that had he attained it by lawful means, and continued as just and upright as he began, he might well have been numbered among the best princes that ever were. But it turned out that all this was done but to gain popular fa- vor. For the pricking of conscience made him fear lest another should serve him as he had served Duncan ; and the promise of the Weird Sisters to Banquo would not out of his mind. So he had a great supper, and invited Banquo and his son Fleance, having hired certain murderers to kill them as they were going home, that himself might seem clear of the crime, should it ever be laid to his charge. It chanced, however, through the darkness, that Fleance es- caped, and, being afterwards warned of what was in plot against him, he fled into Wales. Thenceforth nothing went well with Macbeth. For men began to fear for their lives, so that they scarce dared come in his presence ; and as many feared him, so he stood in fear of many, and therefore by one pretense or another made away with such as were most able to work him any danger. And he had double profit by this course, in that both those whom he feared were got rid of, and his coffers were enriched with their goods, thus enabling him to keep a guard of armed men about his person : for which causes he at length found such sweetness in putting the nobles to death, that his thirst of blood might nowise be satisfied. For better security against the growing dangers, he resolved to build a strong castle on the top of a very high hill called Dunsi- nane, and to make the thanes of each shire come and help on the building in turn. When the turn fell to Macduff, thane of Fife, he sent his men well furnished, telling them to be very diligent in the work, but himself stayed away; which when Macbeth knew, he said, — I perceive this man will never obey me till he be ridden with a snaffle: nor could he afterwards bear to look upon Macduff, either because he thought him too powerful for a subject, or be- cause he had been warned to beware of him by certain wizards in whom he trusted ; and indeed he would have put him to death, had not the same counselors assured him

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»F MACBETH Introduction

iat he should never be slain by any man born of a oman, nor be vanquished till the wood of Birnam came to le castle of Dunsinane. Trusting in this prophecy, he 3W became still more cruel from security than he had 2en from fear. At last Macduff, to avoid peril of life, urposed with himself to flee into England; which pur- ose Macbeth soon got wind of, for in every nobleman's 9use he had one sly fellow or another in fee, to let him aow all that wras going on: so he hastened with a power ito Fife, to besiege Macduff's castle; which being freely pened to him, when he found Macduff was already gone, i caused his wife and children to be slain, confiscated his oods, and proclaimed him a traitor.

After the murder of Duncan his two sons, named Mal- )lm and Donaldbain, had taken refuge, the one in Eng- nd, where he was well received by Edward the Confessor, id the other in Ireland, where he also was kindly treated f the king of that land. The mother of these two princes as sister to Siward, Earl of Northumberland. Macduff, lerefore, went straight to Malcolm as the only hope of oor Scotland, and earnestly besought him to undertake le deliverance of his suffering country, assuring him iat the hearts and hands of the people would be with him, ' he would but go and claim the crown. But the prince signed to excuse himself, because of his having certain icurable vices which made him totally unfit to be king, 'or, said he, so great is my lust that I should seek to eflower all the young maids and matrons ; which intern- erance would be worse than Macbeth's cruelty. Macduff nswered that this was indeed a very great fault, and had jined many kings: nevertheless, said he, there are women aough in Scotland: make thyself king, and I will pro- are you satisfaction herein so secretly that no man shall now of it. Malcolm then said, I am also the most avari- ious being on earth, insomuch that, having the power, I fiould make pretenses for slaying most of the nobles, thai might enjoy their estates. The other replied, — This is far worse fault than the former, for avarice is the root of

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all evil : notwithstanding, follow my counsel ; there are riches enough in Scotland to satisfy thy greediness. Then said the prince again, I am furthermore given to lying and all kinds of deceit, and nothing delights me more than to he- tray all such as put any trust in my words. Thereupon Macduff gave over the suit, saying, This is the worst of all, and here I leave thee. O miserable Scotchmen, ye have one cursed tyrant now reigning over you without any right; and this other that hath the right is nothing fit to reign ; for by his own confession he is not only full of lust and avarice, but so false withal that no trust is to be put in aught he says. Adieu, Scotland, for now I ac- count myself a banished man forever. Then, he being about to depart, the prince said, Be of good cheer, Mac- duff, for I have none of those vices, and have only jested with thee, to prove thy mind ; for Macbeth hath often sought by such means to get me into his hands : but the slower I have seemed to entertain thy request the more diligent I shall be to accomplish it. Hereupon, after em- bracing and swearing mutual fidelity, they fell to consult- ing how they might bring their wishes to good effect. Macduff soon repaired to the borders of Scotland, and sent letters thence to the nobles, urging them to assist the prince with all their powers, to recover the crown out of the usurper's hands.

Now the prince, being much beloved of good King Ed- ward, procured that his uncle Siward might go with ten thousand men to aid him in the enterprise. Meanwhile the Scottish nobles, apprised of what was on foot, drew into two factions, some siding with Malcolm, others with Macbeth. When Macbeth saw how the prince was strengthening with allies, he retreated to Dunsinane, mean- ing to abide there in a fortified camp ; and, being advised to withdraw into the Isles and there wait for better times, he still refused, trusting in the prophecies of the Weird Sisters. Malcolm, following close upon his retreat, came at night to Birnam wood, where, his men having taken food and rest, he gave order for them to get each a bough

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as big as he could carry, and march therewith, so as to hide their strength from the enemy. The next day Mac- beth, seeing their approach, at first marveled what it meant, then, calling to mind the prophecy, thought it was like to be fulfilled: nevertheless, he resolved to fight, and drew up his men in order of battle; but when those of the other side cast away their boughs, and he saw how many they were, he betook himself to flight. Macduff was hot in pursuit, and overhauled him at Lanfanan, where at last Macbeth sprung from his horse, saying, Thou traitor, why dost thou thus follow me in vain, who am not to be slain by any man that was born of a woman? Macduff answered, — It is true, Macbeth ; and now shall thy cruelty end; for I am even he that the wizards told thee of, who was never born of my mother, but ripped out of her womb : therewithal he stepped forth and slew him, then cut off his head, and set it upon a pole, and brought it to Malcolm. — The murder of Duncan took place in 1039, and Macbeth was killed in 1054 ; so that the events of the play, dewed historically, stretch over a period of more than fif- :een years.

From another part of the same history Shakespeare took several circumstances of the assassination. It is where Holinshed relates how King Duff, being the guest of Don- vald and his wife at their castle in Fores, was there mur- lered. We will condense so much of the narrative as bears lpon the matter in hand.

The king having retired for the rest of the night, his wo chamberlains, as soon as they sawT him well abed, came ?orth again, and fell to banqueting with Donwald and lis wife, who had prepared many choice dishes and drinks 'or their rear-supper ; wherewith they so gorged themselves, hat their heads no sooner got to the pillow than they vere so fast asleep that the chamber might have been re- noved without waking them. Then Donwald, goaded on )y his wife, though in heart he greatly abhorred the act, 'ailed four of his servants, whom he had already framed ;o the purpose with large gifts, and instructed them how

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to proceed; and they, entering the king's chamher a little before cock's crow, without any bustle cut his throat as he lay asleep, and immediately carried the body forth into the fields. In the morning, a noise being made that the king was slain, Donwald ran thither with the watch, as though he knew nothing of it, and finding cakes of blood in the bed and on the floor, forthwith slew the chamberlains as guilty of the murder.

Thomas Middleton has a play called The Witch, wherein are delineated with considerable skill the vulgar hags of old superstition, whose delight was to " raise jars, jealou- sies, strifes, and heart-burning disagreements, like a thick scurf o'er life." Much question has been had whether this or Macbeth were written first, with the view on one side, as would seem, to make out for Middleton the honor of contributing somewhat towards the Poet's Weird Sis- ters. Malone has perhaps done all the case admits of, to show that The Witch was not written before 1613; but in truth there is hardly enough to ground an opinion upon one way or the other. And the question may be safely dismissed as altogether vain ; for the two plays have noth- ing in common, but what may well enough have been de- rived from Scot's Discoverie of Witchcraft, or from the floating witchcraft lore of the time, some relics of which have drifted down in the popular belief to a period within our remembrance.

The old witches of superstition were foul, ugly, mis- chievous beings, generally actuated by vulgar envy or hate ; not so much wicked as mean, and therefore apt to excite disgust, but not to inspire terror or awe ; who could in- flict injury, but not guilt; could work men's physical ruin, but not win them to work their own spiritual ruin. The Weird Sisters of Shakespeare, as hath been often re- marked, are essentially different, and are beholden to them for little if any thing more than the drapery of the repre- sentation. Resembling old women, save that they have long beards, they bubble up in human shape, but own no human relations ; . are without age, or sex, or kin ; with-

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ut birth or death : passionless and motiveless. A combi- ation of the terrible and the grotesque, unlike the Furies f Eschylus they are petrific, not to the senses, but to the houghts. At first, indeed, on merely looking at them, e can scarce help laughing, so uncouth and grotesque is heir appearance: but afterwards, on looking into them, e find them terrible beyond description ; and the more we )ok, the more terrible do they become; the blood almost urdling in our veins, as, dancing and singing their in- ernal glees over embryo murders, they unfold to our loughts the cold, passionless, inexhaustible malignity and eformity of their nature. Towards Macbeth they have othing of personal hatred or revenge: their malice is of

higher strain, and savors as little of any such human inklings as the thunderstorms and elemental perturbations midst which they come and go. But with all their essen- al wickedness there is nothing gross, or vulgar, or sen- lal about them. They are the very purity of sin incar- ate ; the vestal virgins, so to speak, of hell ; in whom 7ery thing seems reversed ; whose ascent is downwards ; hose proper eucharist is a sacrament of evil ; and the law f whose being is violation of law !

The later critics, Coleridge, especially, dwell much on hat they conceive to be the most distinctive and essential mature of Shakespeare's art, affirming it to be the or- anic involution of the universal in the particular; that is characters are classes individualized ; that his men and omen are those of his own age and nation indeed, yet not i such sort but that they are equally the men and women f all ages and nations ; for which cause they can never Bcome obsolete, or cease to be natural and true. Herein ie Weird Sisters are thoroughly Shakespearean, there ?ing nothing in his whole circle of character, wherein lis method of art is more profoundly exemplified. Prob- Dly no form of superstition ever prevailed to any great dent, but that it had a ground and principle of truth. 'he old system of witchcraft was no doubt an embodi- lent of some natural law, a local and temporary out-

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growth from something as general and permanent as hu- man nature itself. Our moral being must breathe, and because it must have breath, therefore, in defect of other provision, it puts forth some such arrangement of breath- ing organs, as a tree puts forth leaves. The point of art, then, in this case was to raise and transfigure the lit- eral into the symbolical ; to take the body, so brittle and perishable in itself, and endow it with immortality ; which of course could be done only by filling and animating it with the efficacy of imperishable truth. Accordingly the Poet took enough of current and traditionary matter to enlist old credulity in behalf of agents suited to his pecu- liar purpose ; representing to the age its own thoughts, and at the same time informing the representation with a deep moral significance suited to all ages alike. In The Witch we have but the literal form of a transient super- stition: in Macbeth that form is made the transparent ve- hicle of a truth coeval and coextensive with the workings of human guilt. In their literal character the Weird Sis- ters answer to something that was, and is not ; in their symbolical character they answer to something that was, and is, and will abide ; for they represent the mysterious action and reaction between the evil mind and external na- ture.

For the external world serves in some sort as a looking- glass, wherein man beholds the image of his fallen nature; and he still regards that image as his friend or his foe, and so parleys with it or turns from it, according as his will is more disposed to evil or to good. For the evil sug- gestions, which seem to us written in the face or speaking from the mouth of external objects and occasions, are in reality but projections from our own evil hearts: these are instances wherein "we do receive but what we give" : the things we look upon seem inviting us to crime, whereas in truth our wishes construe their innocent meanings into wicked invitations. In the spirit and virtue of which prin- ciple the Weird Sisters symbolize the inward moral history of each and every man, and therefore may be expected to

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live in the faith of reason so long as the present moral arder of things shall last. So that they may be aptly enough described as poetical or mythical impersonations of ivil influences; as bodying forth in living form the fear- ful echo which the natural world gives back to the evil ;hat speaks out from the human heart. And the secret of :heir power over Macbeth lies mainly in that they present :o him his embryo wishes and half -formed thoughts: at me time they harp his fear aright, at another time his lope ; and that, too, even before such hope and fear have listinctly reported themselves in his consciousness ; and by ;hus harping them, strengthen them into resolution and de- velop them into act. As men often know they would iomething, yet know not clearly what, until they hear it poken by another ; and sometimes even dream of being told hings which their minds have been tugging at, but could tot put into words.

All which may serve to suggest the real nature and scope )f the effect which the Weird Sisters have on the action if the play ; that their office is not so properly to deprave ,s to develop the characters whereon they act ; not to cre- ,te the evil heart, but to untie the evil hands. They put lothing into Macbeth's mind, but only draw out what was lready there, breathing fructification upon his indwelling rerms of sin, and thus acting as mediators, so to speak, etween the secret upspringing purpose and the final ac- omplishment of crime. It is quite worthy of remark how Buchanan represents their appearance and prophecies to lave been the coinage of his dreams ; as if his mind were o swollen with ambitious thoughts, that they must needs aunt his pillow and people his sleep ; and afterwards, when

part of the dream came to pass without his help, this put im upon working out for himself the fulfillment of the emainder. And in this view of the matter it is not easy to ze but that a dream would every way satisfy the moral de- lands of the case, though it would by no means answer the urposes of the drama.

And the Poet evidently supposes from the first that

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Macbeth already had the will, and that what he wanted further was an earnest and assurance of success. And it is the ordering of things so as to meet this want, and the tracing of the mental processes and the subtle workings of evil consequent thereon, that renders this drama such a paragon of philosophy organized into art. The Weird Sisters rightly strike the key-note and lead off the terrible chorus, because they embody and realize to us, and even to the hero himself, that secret preparation of evil within him, out of which the whole action proceeds. In their fantastical and unearthly aspect, awakening mingled emo- tions of terror and mirth ; in their mysterious reserve and oracular brevity of speech, so fitted at once to sharpen curiosity and awe down skepticism ; in the circumstances of their prophetic greeting, — a blasted heath, as a spot sa- cred to infernal orgies, — the influences of the place thus falling in with the preternatural style and matter of their disclosures ; — in all this we may discern a peculiar aptness to generate even in strong minds a belief in their predic- tions. And such belief, for aught appears, takes hold on Banquo equally as on Macbeth ; yet the only effect thereof in the former is to test and approve his virtue. He sees and hears them with simple wonder; has no other inter- est in them than that of a natural and innocent curiosity ; questions them merely with a view to learn what they are, not to draw out further promises ; remains calm, collected, and perfectly planless, his thoughts being wholly taken up with what is before him ; and because he sees nothing of himself in them, and has no germs of wickedness for them to work upon, therefore he "neither begs nor fears their favors nor their hate." Macbeth, on the other hand, kindles and starts at their words, his heart leaps forth to catch what they say, and he is eager and impatient to have them speak further; they seem to mean more than meets the ear, and he craves to hear that meaning expressed in full : all which is because they show him his own mind, and set astir the wicked desires his breast is teeming with: his mind all at once becomes strangely introversive, self-

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Dccupied, and absent from what is before him, "that he seems rapt withal" ; and afterwards, as soon as his ear is saluted with a partial fulfillment of their promise In forth- with gets lost in thought, and shudders and goe intc ar cstasy of terror at the horrid suggestions awaKened within him, and his shuddering at them is even because of his yielding to them.

It is observable that Macbeth himself never thinks of making the Weird Sisters anywise responsible for his acts or intentions. The workings of his mind all along mani- festly infer that he feels himself just as free to do right, and therefore just as guilty in doing wrong, as if no su- pernatural soliciting had come near him. He therefore never offers to soothe his conscience or satisfy his reason on the score of his being drawn or urged on by any fatal charm or fascination of hell; it being no less clear to him than to us, that whatsoever of such mighty magic there may be in the prophetic greeting is all owing to his own Imoral predisposition. For, in truth, the promise of the throne by the Weird Sisters, how firmly soever believed in, lis no more an instigation to murder for it, than a promise of wealth in like sort would be to steal. To a truly just and virtuous man such a promise, in so far as he had faith therein, would preclude the motives to theft ; his argument would be, that inasmuch as he was fated to be rich he had nothing to do but wait for the riches to come. If, how- ever, he were already a thief at heart, and kept from steal- ing only by fear of the consequences, he would be apt to construe the promise of wealth into a promise of impunity in theft. Which appears to strike something near the difference between Banquo and Macbeth; for, in effect, with Banquo the prophetic words preclude, but with Mac- beth themselves become, the motives to crime. So much for the origin of the murderous purpose, and the agency of the Weird Sisters in bringing it to a head.

Henceforth Macbeth's doubts and difficulties, his shrink- ings and misgivings, spring from the peculiar structure and movement of his intellect, as sympathetically inflamed

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and wrought upon by the poison of meditated guilt. His whole state of man suffers an insurrection ; conscience forthwith sets his understanding and imagination into mor- bid, irregular, convulsive action, insomuch that the for- mer disappears in the tempestuous agitations of thought which itself stirs up : his will is buffeted and staggered with prudential reasonings and fantastical terrors, both of which are self-generated out of his disordered and unnat- ural state of mind. Here begins his long and fatal course of self-delusion. He misderives his scruples, misplaces his apprehensions, mistranslates the whispers and writhings of conscience into the suggestions of prudence, the forecast- ings of reason, the threatenings of danger. His strong and excitable imagination, set on fire of conscience, fasci- nates and spell-binds the other faculties, and so gives an objective force and effect to its internal workings. Under this guilt-begotten hallucination, "present fears are less than horrible imaginings." Thus, instead of acting di- rectly in the form of remorse, conscience comes to act cir- cuitously through imaginary terrors, which again react on the conscience, as fire is kept burning by the current of air which itself generates. Hence his apparent freedom from compunctious visitings even when he is really most subject to them. It is probably from oversight of this that some have set him down as a timid, cautious, re- morseless villain, withheld from crime only by a shrinking, selfish apprehensiveness. He does indeed seem strangely dead to the guilt and morbidly alive to the dangers of his enterprise ; free from remorses of conscience, and filled with imaginary fears : but whence his uncontrollable irritability of imagination? how comes it that his mind so swarms with horrible imaginings, but that his imagination itself is set on fire of hell? So that he seems remorseless, because in his mind the agonies of remorse project and translate them- selves into the specters of a conscience-stricken imagina- tion.

His conscience thus acting, as it were, in disguise and masquerade, the natural effect at first is, to make him wav-

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ering and irresolute : the harrowings of guilty fear have a certain prospective and preventive operation, causing him to recoil, he scarce knows why, from the work he lias in hand. So that he would never be able to go through, but for the coming in of a partner and helpmeet in the wicked purpose. But afterwards, the first crime having passed from prospect into retrospect, the self-same working of conscience has the effect of goading and hurrying him on from crime to crime. He still mistakes his inward pangs for outward perils : guilt peoples his whereabout with fan- tastical terrors, which in seeking to beat down he only multiplies. Amidst his efforts to dissimulate he loses his self-control, and spills the awful secret he is trying to hide ; and in giving others cause to suspect him, he makes him- self cause to suspect them. Thus his cowardice of con- science urges him on to fresh murders, and every murder 3ut adds to that cowardice; the very blood which he spills to quiet his fears sprouting up in "gorgons and chimeras dire" to awaken new fears and call for more victims.

The critics of a certain school have in characteristic fashion found fault with the huddling together and con- fusion of metaphors, which Macbeth pours forth when his Lnind is preternaturally heated and wrought up. Doubt- less they would have him talk always according to the rules if grammar and rhetoric. Shakespeare was content to let iiim talk according to his state of mind and the laws of his character. Nor, in this view, could any thing better serve |:he Poet's purpose, than this preternatural rush and re- dundancy of imagination, hurrying on from thought to thought, and running and massing a multitude of\ half- formed images together. And such a cast of mind in the jiero was necessary to the health of the drama: otherwise j;uch a manifold tragedy had been in danger of turning out im accumulation of horrors. As it is, the impression is it once softened and deepened, after a style of art winch Shakespeare alone could evoke and manage: the terrible is Bade to tread, sometimes to tremble, on the outmost edge, yet never passes into the horrible; what were else too

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Introduction THE TRAGEDY

frightful to be born being thus kept within the limits of pleasurable emotion. Macbeth's imagination so over- wrought and self-accelerating, this it is that glorifies the drama with such an interfusion of tragic terror and lyrical sweetness, and pours over the whole that baptism of terri- ble beauty which forms its distinctive excellence.

In the structure and working of her mind and moral frame Lady Macbeth is the opposite of her husband, and for that reason all the better fitted to piece out and make up his deficiency. Of a firm, sharp, wiry, matter-of-fact intellect, doubly charged with energy of will she has little in common with him save a red-hot ambition ; for which cause, while the prophetic disclosures have the same effect on her will as on his, and she forthwith jumps into the same purpose, the effect on her mind is just the reverse; she being subject to no such involuntary and uncontrollable tumults of thought : without his irritability of understand- ing and imagination, she therefore has no such prudential misgivings or terrible illusions to make her shake, and fal- ter, and recoil. So that what terrifies him, transports her; what stimulates his reflective powers, stifles hers.

Almost any other dramatist would have brought the Weird Sisters to act immediately upon Lady Macbeth, and through her upon her husband, as thinking her more open to superstitious allurements and charms. Shakespeare seems to have understood that aptness of mind for them to work upon would have unfitted her for working upon her husband in aid of them. Enough of such influence has already been brought to bear: what is wanted further is quite another sort of influence ; such a sort as could only be wielded by a mind not much accessible to the former. There was strong dramatic reason, therefore, why nothing should move or impress her, when awake, but facts ; why she should not be of a constitution and method of mind, that the evil which has struck its roots so deep within should come back to her in the elements and aspects of nature, either to mature the guilty purpose, or to obstruct the guilty act. It is quite remarkable that she never once

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)F MACBETH Introduction

ecurs to the Weird Sisters, or lays any stress on their alutations : they seem to have no weight with her but for he impression they have made on Macbeth; that which npression may grow to the desired effect she refrains rom using it or meddling with it, and seeks only to fortify t with such other impressions as lie in her power to make. )oes not all this look as though she were skeptical touch- ng the contents of his letter, and durst not attempt to ifluence him with arguments that had no influence with erself , lest her want of sincerity therein should still further nknit his purpose? And what could better set forth her icomparable shrewdness and tact, than that, instead of verstraining this one motive, and thereby weakening it, he should thus let it alone, and endeavor to strengthen ; by mixing others with it? Moreover, it does not elude er penetration, that his fears still more than his hopes re wrought up by the preternatural soliciting: for the Veird Sisters represent in most appalling sort the wick- dness of the purpose which they suggest ; and the thought f them scares up a throng of horrid images, and puts im under a fascination of terror: the instant he reverts o them his imagination springs into action, — an organ hereof while ambition works the bellows, conscience still governs the stops and keys. So that her surest course is o draw his thoughts off to the natural motives and solieit- ags of the opportunity that has made itself to his hands : therwise there is danger that the opportunity will unmake im ; for, so long as his mind is taken up with those stimu- ints of imagination, outward facilities for his purpose ugment his inward recoilings from the act.

Coleridge justly remarks upon her consummate art in rst urging in favor of the deed those very circumstances 'Inch to her husband's conscience plead most movingly gainst it. That the King has unreservedly cast himself pon their loyalty and hospitality, this she puts forth as he strongest argument for murdering him. An awful troke of character indeed ! and therefore awful, because aturaL By thus anticipating his greatest drawbacks,

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and urging them as the chief incentives, she forecloses all debate, and leaves him nothing to say; which is just what she wants ; for she knows well enough that the thing is a horrible crime, and will not stand the tests of reason a moment ; and therefore that the more he talks the less apt he will be for the work. And throughout this dreadful wrestling-match she surveys the whole ground and darts upon the strongest points with all the quickness and sure- ness of instinct: her powers of foresight and self-control seem to grow as the horrors thicken ; the exigency being to her a sort of practical inspiration. The finishing touch in this part of the picture is when, her husband's resolu- tion being all in a totter, she boldly cuts the very sinews of retreat by casting the thing into a personal controversy and making it a theme of domestic war, so that he has no way but either to fall in with her leading or else to take her life. To gain the crown she literally hazards all, put- ting it out of the question for them to live together, unless he do the deed, and thus embattling all the virtues and affections of the husband against the conscience of the man. He accordingly goes about the deed, and goes through it, with an assumed ferocity caught from her.

Nor is it to be supposed that this ferocity is native to her own breast : in her case, too, surely it is assumed ; for though in her intense overheat of expectant passion it be temporarily fused and absorbed into her character, it is disengaged and thrown off as soon as that heat passes away. Those will readily take our meaning, who have ever seen how, from the excitement of successful effort, men will sometimes pass for a while into and become identified with a character which they undertake to play. And so Lady Macbeth, for a special purpose, begins with acting a part which is really foreign to her, but which, notwithstanding, such is her iron fixedness of will, she braves out to issues so overwhelming as to make her husband and many oth- ers believe it is her own. In herself, indeed, she is a great bad woman whom we fear and pity; yet neither so great nor so bad, we are apt to think, as she is generally repre-

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sented. She has closely studied her husband, and pene- trated far into the heart of his mystery; yet she knows him rather as he is to her than as he is in himself: hence in describing his character she interprets her own, and shows more of the warm-hearted wife than of the cool- headed philosopher. Mr. Verplanck, with great felicity, distinguishes her as "a woman of high intellect, bold spirit, and lofty desires, who is mastered by a fiery thirst for power, and that for her husband as well as herself."

Two very different characters, however, may easily be made out for her, according as we lay the chief stress on what she says, or what she does. For surely none can fail to remark, that the promise of a fiend conveyed in her earlier speeches is by no means made good in her subse- quent acts. That Shakespeare well understood the princi- ple whereon Sophocles sprinkled the songs of nightingales amid the grove of the Furies, could not be better shown than in that, when Lady Macbeth looks upon the face of her sleeping Sovereign, at whose heart her steel is aimed, and sees the murderous thought passing, as it were, into a fact before her, a gush of womanly feeling or of native tenderness suddenly stays her uplifted arm. And, again, when she hears from Macbeth how he has done two or more murders to screen the first, she sinks down at the tale, thus showing that the woman she had so fearfully disclaimed has already returned to torment and waste her into the grave. So that the sequel proves her to have been better than she was herself aware ; for at first her thoughts were so centered and nailed to the object she was in quest of, that she had no place for introversion, and did not sus- pect what fires of hell she was planting in her bosom. In :ruth, she had undertaken too much : in her efforts to screw ler own and her husband's courage to the sticking-place :here was exerted a force of will which answered the end ndeed, but at the same time cracked the sinews of nature ; :hough that force of will still enables her to hide the dread- ill work that is doing within. She has quite as much if lot more of conscience than Macbeth ; but its workings are

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retrospective, proceed upon deeds, not thoughts; and she is not so made, she has no such sensitive redundancy of imagination, that conscience should be in her senses, caus- ing the howlings of the storm to syllable the awful notes of remorse. And as her conscience is without an organ to project and body forth its revenges, so she may indeed possess them in secret, but she can never repress them: subject to no fantastical terrors nor moral illusions, she therefore never loses her self-control: the unmitigable cor- rodings of her rooted sorrow may destroy, but cannot be- tray her, unless when her energy of will is bound up in sleep. And for the same cause she is free alike from the terrible apprehensions which make her husband flinch from the first crime, and from the maddening and merciless sus- picions of guilty fear that lash and spur him on to other crimes. But the truth of her inward state comes out with an awful mingling of pathos and terror, in the scene where her conscience, sleepless amid the sleep of nature, nay, most restless even when all other cares are at rest, drives her forth, open-eyed, yet sightless, to sigh and groan over spots on her hands, that are visible to none but herself, nor even to herself, but when she is blind to every thing else. And what an awful mystery, too, hangs about her death! We know not, the Poet himself seems not to know, whether the gnawings of the undying worm drive her to suicidal violence, or themselves cut asunder the cords of her life: all we know is, that the death of her body springs some- how from the inextinguishable life and the immedicable wound of her soul. What a history of her woman's heart is written in her thus sinking, sinking away whither imag- ination shrinks from following, under the violence of an invisible yet unmistakable disease, which still sharpens its inflictions and at the same time quickens her sensibility!

This guilty couple are patterns of conjugal virtue. A tender, delicate, respectful affection sweetens and dignifies their intercourse ; the effect of which is rather heightened than otherwise by their ambition, because they seem to thirst for each other's honor as much as for their own.

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^nd this sentiment of mutual respect even grows by their crimes, since their inborn greatness is developed through ;hem, not buried beneath them. And when they find that ;he crown, which they have waded through so much blood o grasp, does but scald their brows and stuff their pillow vith thorns, this begets a still deeper and finer play of ympathies between them. Thenceforth, (and how touch- ng its effect!) a soft subdued undertone of inward sym- pathetic woe and anguish mingles audibly in the wild •ushing of the moral tempest that hangs round their f oot- teps. Need we add how free they are from any thing ittle or mean, vulgar or gross? the very intensity of their ricked passion seeming to have assoiled their minds of all uch earthly and ignoble incumbrances. And so manifest vithal is their innate fitness to reign, that their ambi- ion almost passes as the instinct of faculty for its proper phere.

Dr. Johnson observes with rare infelicity that this play ;has no nice discriminations of character." How far from ust is this remark, we trust hath already been made clear nough. In this respect the hero and heroine are equaled mly by the Poet's other masterpieces, — by Shylock, Ham- et, Lear, and Iago ; while the Weird Sisters, so seemingly kin (though whether as mothers, or sisters, or daughters, ve cannot tell) to the thunder-storms that keep them com- >any, occupy the summit of his preternatural creations. Nevertheless it must be owned that the grandeur of the Iramatic combination oversways our impression of the in- lividual characters, and, unless we make a special effort hat way, prevents a due notice of their merits ; that the lelicate limning of the agents is apt to be lost sight of in he magnitude, the manifold unity, and thought-like ra- )idity of the action.

The style of this drama is pitched in the same high ragic key as the action : throughout we have an explosion, s of purpose into act, so also of thought into speech, both iterally kindling with their own swiftness. No sooner nought than said, no sooner said than done, is everywhere

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the order of the day. And, therewithal, thoughts and images come crowding and jostling each other in so quick succession that none can gain full utterance, a second still leaping upon the tongue before the first is fairly off. Thus the Poet seems to have endeavored his utmost how much of meaning could be conveyed in how little of ex- pression ; with the least touching of the ear to send vibra- tions through all the chambers of the mind. Hence the large manifold suggestiveness that lurks in the words ; they seem instinct with something which the speakers cannot stay to unfold. And between these invitations to linger and the continual drawings onward, the reader's mind is kindled into an almost preternatural illumination and activ- ity. Doubtless this prolonged stretch and tension of thought would at length grow wearisome, and cause an in- ward flagging and faintness, but that the play, moreover, is throughout a fierce conflict of antagonist elements and opposite extremes, which are so managed as to brace up the interest on every side ; so that the effect of the whole is to refresh, not exhaust the powers, the mind being sustained in its long and lofty flight by the wings that grow forth of their own accord from its superadded life. In general, the lyrical, instead of being interspersed here and there in the form of musical lulls and pauses, is thoroughly inter- fused with the dramatic ; while the ethical sense underlies them both, and is occasionally forced up through them by their own pressure. May we not say, in short, that the entire drama is, as it were, a tempest set to music?

Many writers have spoken strongly against the Porter- scene ; Coleridge denounces it as unquestionably none of Shakespeare's work. Which makes us almost afraid to trust our own judgment concerning it; yet we cannot but feel it to be in the true spirit of the Poet's method. This strain of droll broad humor, oozing out, so to speak, amid such a congregation of terrors, has always in our case deepened their effect, the strange but momentary diversion causing them to return with the greater force. Of the murder scene, the banquet scene, and the sleep-walking

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scene, with their dagger of the mind, and Banquo of the nind, and blood-spots of the mind, it were vain to speak. iTet over these sublimely-terrific passages there hovers a magic light of poetry, at once disclosing the horrors, and annealing them into matter of delight. — Hallam sets Mac- 3eth down as being, in the language of Drake, "the great- est effort of our author's genius, the most sublime and impressive drama which the world has ever beheld" ; — a judgment from which most readers will probably be less inclined to dissent, the older they grow.

xxxix

COMMENTS

By Shakespearean Scholars

MACBETH

To the Christian moralist Macbeth's guilt is so dark that its degree cannot be estimated, as there are no shades in black. But to the mental physiologist, to whom nerve rather than conscience, the function of the brain rather than the power of the will, is an object of study, it is im- possible to omit from calculation the influences of the supernatural event, which is not only the starting-point of the action, but the remote causes of the mental phenomena. — Bucknill, The Mad Folk of Shakespeare.

Macbeth wants no disguise of his natural disposition, for it is not bad; he does not affect more piety than he has : on the contrary, a part of his distress arises from a real sense of religion: which makes him regret that he could not join the chamberlains in prayer for God's bless- ing, and bewail that he has "given his eternal jewel to the common enemy of man." He continually reproaches him- self for his deeds ; no use can harden him ; confidence can- not silence, and even despair cannot stifle, the cries of his conscience. By the first murder he put "rancor in the vessel of his peace" ; and of the last he owns to Macduff, "My soul is too charged with blood of thine already." — Whately, Remarks on Some Characters of Shakespere.

LADY MACBETH

We may be sure that there were few "more thorough- bred or fairer fingers" in the land of Scotland than those of its queen, whose bearing in public towards Duncan,

2d

THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH Comments

Banquo and the nobles, is marked by elegance and maj- esty; and, in private, by affectionate anxiety for her sanguinary lord. He duly appreciated her feelings, but it is a pity that such a woman should have been united to such a man. If she had been less strong of purpose, less worthy of confidence, he would not have disclosed to her his ambitious designs ; less resolute and prompt of thought and action, she would not have been called upon to share his guilt; less sensitive or more hardened, she would not have suffered it to prey forever like a vulture upon her heart. She affords, as I consider it, only another instance of what women will be brought to, by a love which listens to no considerations, which disregards all else beside, when the interests, the wishes, the happiness, the honor, or even the passions, caprices, and failings of the beloved object are concerned : and if the world, in a compassionate mood, will gently scan the softer errors of sister-woman, may we not claim a kindly construing for the motives which plunged into the Aceldama of the blood-washed tragedy the sorely-urged and broken-hearted Lady Macbeth? — Maginn, Shakespeare Papers.

Lady Macbeth is not thoroughly hateful, for she is not a virago, not an adulteress, not impelled by revenge. On ithe contrary, she expresses no feeling of personal malig- nity towards any human being in the whole course of her part. Shakespeare could have easily displayed her crimes in a more commonplace and accountable light, by as- signing some feudal grudge as a mixed motive of her cru- elty to Duncan; but he makes her a murderess in cold blood, and from the sole motive of ambition, well know- ing that if he had broken up the inhuman serenity of he* remorselessness by the ruffling of anger, he would have vulgarized the features of the splendid Titaness.

By this entire absence of petty vice and personal viru- lence, and by concentrating all the springs of her conduct into the one determined feeling of ambition, the mighty poet has given her character a statue-like simplicity, which,

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Comments THE TRAGEDY

though cold, is spirit-stirring, from the wonder it excites, and which is imposing, although its respectability consists, as far as the heart is concerned, in merely negative decen- cies. How many villains walk the earth in credit to their graves, from the mere fulfillment of these negative decen- cies ! Had Lady Macbeth been able to smother her hus- band's babblings, she might have been one of them. — Campbell, Life of Mrs, Siddons,

As she is commonly represented, Lady Macbeth is noth- ing more than the maximum of ambition, a person, who, in order to obtain a crown, avails herself of every means, even the most horrible. Such, indeed, is she, and much more. It may be said that she would set half the earth on fire to reach the throne of the other half. But, — and here lies the depth of her peculiar character, — not for herself alone; but for him, her beloved husband. She is a tigress who could rend all who oppose her; but her mate, who, in comparison with her, is gentle, and dis- posed somewhat to melancholy, him she embraces with genuine love. In relation to him her affection is great and powerful, and bound up with all the roots and veins of her life, and consequently it passes into weakness. The connection of this fearful pair is not without a certain touching passionateness, and it is through this that the Lady first lives before us, as otherwise she would be al- most without distinctive features, and would appear only as the idea of the most monstrous criminality. Ambition without Love is cold, French-tragic, and incapable of awakening deep interest. Here Love is the more moving as it reigns in the conjugal relation; and truly, to the atrocious crimes perpetrated by this pair, there was need of such a counterpoise, in order that they may appear as human beings suffering wreck, and not as perfect devils. — Hoen, Shakespeare Erlautert.

This is certain, that Shakespeare in the part of Lady Macbeth, as in all his parts, actually relied upon the young

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OF MACBETH Commcnt3

actor to whom the part might be assigned to carry out and complete the representation ; and therefore at the pres- ent day it becomes the special duty of the actress in this ipart not in tone, look, or gesture to aggravate the ab- horrence which might thus be excited, but to alleviate it, so that to intelligent spectators will be presented not the picture of a Northern Fury, nor of a monster, still less of a heroine or martyr to conjugal love, but that of a woman capable of the greatest elevation, but seized mysteriously by the magic of Passion, only to fall the more terribly, and thus, in spite of our horror at her crime, wringing from us our deepest sympathy. — Von Friesen, Jahrbuck ier deutschen Shakespeare-Gesellschaft.

THE GHOST

It is the skepticism as to the objective reality of Ban- jUio's Ghost which has originated the question as to whether le should be made visible to the spectators in the theater, ;ince, as the skeptics observe, he is invisible to all the as- sembled guests, and does not speak at all. But for this kepticism, it would never have been doubted that the jhost should be made visible to the theater, although he is nvisible to Macbeth's company, and although no words are jtssigned to him. This doubt existing, illustrates to us how tage-management itself is affected by the philosophy yhich may prevail upon certain subjects. Upon the Spiritualist view, Banquo's Ghost, and the Witches them- elves, are all in the same category, all belonging to the piritual world, and seen by the spiritual eye; and the mere fact that the Ghost does not speak, is felt to have no earing at all upon the question of his presentation- as an bjective reality. The Spiritualist, when contending for the absolute ob- jectivity of Banquo's Ghost, may possibly be asked Whether he also claims a like reality for "the air-drawn jlagger." To this he would reply, that, to the best of liis belief, a like reality was not to be affirmed of that

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Comments THE TRAGEDY

dagger, which he conceives to have been a representation, in the spiritual world, of a dagger, not, however, being on that account less real (if by unreality we are to under- stand that it was, in some incomprehensible way, generated in the material brain), but only differing from what we should term a real bond fide dagger, as a painting of a dagger differs from a real one. — Roffe, An Essay upon the Ghost Belief of Shakespeare.

THE WEIRD SISTERS

The Weird Sisters who preside over the play as the min- isters of evil are partly "metaphysical," as Coleridge, following Lady Macbeth's phrase of "metaphysical aid," justly called them. It has been said that Shakespeare meant them to be no more than the witches of his day as they were commonly conceived. This is quite incred- ible when we think of that high poetic genius in him which could not have left them unspiritualized by imagination, and which must have felt that these personages, if con- ceived only as the vulgar witches, would be below the dig- nity of his tragedy. It is also said that all that was not vulgar in them was in the soul of Macbeth, and not in them. That is a credible theory, but it is not borne out by the text ; and it seems to assert that Shakespeare did not believe in, or at least did not as a poet conceive of, spir- itual creatures, other than ghosts, who dwelt in a world outside of humanity, and yet could touch it at intervals when certain conditions were fulfilled. These spiritual creatures, as he conceived them, had chiefly to do with nature ; were either embodiments of its elemental forces, or theif masters. Such were Oberon and Ariel, but they had most to do with the beneficent forces of nature. Here the Weird Sisters command its evil forces. Whether Shakespeare believed in this half-spiritual world of beings, dwelling and acting in a supposed zone between us and the loftier spiritual world, and having powers over the natural world — I cannot tell, but at least he conceived this realm;

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3F MACBETH Comments

and if he believed in it, there were hundreds of persons at his time who were with him in that belief, as there are lumbers now who share in it, in spite of science. I do lot think, then, that the spiritual part of his conception )f the witches was intended by him to exist solely in the nind of Macbeth. On the contrary, I hold that it is in- credible Shakespeare should have taken up witches into lis tragedy and left them as James I and the rest of the rorld commonly conceived them. His imagination was ar too intense, his representing power much too exacting,

0 allow him to leave them unidealized. It is true he kept heir vulgar elements for the sake of the common folk fho did not think; but for those who did, Shakespeare 'jivulgarized the witches. They materialize themselves nly for their purpose of temptation; their normal exist- nce is impalpable, invisible, unearthly. — Brooke, Lec- ures on Shakespeare,

Shakespeare's picture of the witches is truly magical:

1 the short scenes where they enter, he has created for iem a peculiar language, which, although composed of le usual elements, still seems to be a collection of formu- e of incantation. The sound of the words, the accumu- ition of rhymes, and the rhythmus of the verse, form, as ; were, the hollow music of a dreary dance of witches. These repulsive things, from which the imagination irinks back, are here a symbol of the hostile powers hich operate in nature, and the mental horror outweighs lie repugnance of our senses. The witches discourse with jne another like women of the very lowest class, for this as the class to which witches were supposed to belong; hen, however, they address Macbeth, their tone assumes ore elevation ; their predictions, which they either them- lves pronounce, or allow their apparitions to deliver, ive all the obscure brevity, the majestic solemnity, by hich oracles have in all times contrived to inspire mortals ith reverential awe. We here see that the witches are erely instruments; they are governed by an invisible

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Comments THE TRAGEDY

spirit, or the ordering of such great and dreadful events would be above their sphere. — Schlegel, Lectures on Shakespeare,

THE INCANTATION SCENES

It has been objected to the incantation scenes in Macbeth, that the subjects and language in them are revolting. They are so ; nothing, however, can be more irrational than to take exception against them on that score. The witches are an impersonation of those qualities which are antag- onist to all that is gentle, and lovely, and peaceful, and good. They are loathsome abstractions of the "evil prin- ciple," and are the precursors, as well as providers of all the stormy passions that shake this poor citadel of man. They represent the repulsive as well as the cruel propensi- ties of our nature ; every one, therefore, who is a slave to his lower passions, is spell-bound by the "weird sisters" ; and this, I have little doubt, was the moral that Shakespeare intended to read to his brother mortals : for, we should bear in mind that Macbeth was, by nature, an honorable and even generous man ; but as he was unable to withstand the impulse of an unworthy ambition, and could not resist the sneers of his uncompromising partner, he rushed into that bottomless hell of torment — a guilty and an upbraiding conscience. — Clarke, Shakespeare-Characters.

THE INFLUENCE OF THE UNSEEN WORLD

Every device of Shakespeare has been designed to ac- centuate the overweening influence of the unseen world. So long as Macbeth is striving to bring about the fulfill- ment of the prophecy, he is a bungler ; but at every turn the unseen agency brings fortune to his aid. So soon, however, as he bends his efforts to defeat the intentions of the supernatural world, fortune deserts him. Everything goes wrong. Fleance escapes. Suspicion seizes his no- bles. Macduff flies, and Macbeth's insensate revenge has

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OF MACBETH Comments

the effect of bringing to a head the smouldering anger of the nobility. Finally, the unseen universe interferes di- rectly in the scene, and by its deceitful oracles lulls him into a state of false security. Were it not for the proph- ecy about Birnam wood, Macbeth would have met his foes in the field, and not cooped himself up in his castle of Dunsinane, where, as he says himself, "he is tied as a bear to the stake." Had it not been for his belief in his charmed existence he would never have risked his life in single combat with all and sundry of the besieging host. He the protege of destiny had attempted to defy his pa- tron ; and to the last farthing he was called upon to pay the price of his temerity. — Ransome, Short Studies in Shakespeare's Plots.

THE KEYNOTE

The keynote of this, the most picturesque, the most lurid and fiercely rapid of all tragedies, is struck in the first scene by a miracle of imagination, and maintained to the end in spite of inequalities. A storm of fear blows through the short five acts. Macbeth's imagination appals him; he struggles entangled in a hellish net. His wife screws her courage to a point at which it will not stick, and the cord snaps under the tension. — Seccombe and Allen, The Age of Shakespeare.

DARKNESS IN THIS TRAGEDY

Darkness, we may even say blackness, broods over this tragedy. It is remarkable that almost all the scenes which at once recur to memory take place either at night or in some dark spot. The vision of the dagger, the murder of Duncan, the murder of Banquo, the sleep-walking of Lady Macbeth, all come in night-scenes. The Witches dance in the thick air of a storm, or, "black and midnight hags," re- ceive Macbeth in a cavern. The blackness of night is to the hero a thing of fear, even of horror ; and that which he

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Comments THE TRAGEDY!

feels becomes the spirit of the play. The faint glimmer- ings of the western sky at twilight are here menacing: it is the hour when the traveler hastens to reach safety in his inn, and when Banquo rides homeward to meet his assassins ; the hour when "light thickens," when "night's black agents to their prey do rouse," when the wolf begins to howl, and the owl to scream, and withered murder steals forth to his wrork. Macbeth bids the stars hide their fires that his "black" desires may be concealed ; Lady Macbeth calls on thick night to come, palled in the dunnest smoke of hell. The moon is down and no stars shine when Banquo, dreading the dreams of the coming night, goes unwillingly to bed, and leaves Macbeth to wait for the summons of the little bell. When the next day should dawn, its light is "strangled," and "darkness does the face of earth en- tomb." In the whole drama the sun seems to shine only twice: first, in the beautiful but ironical passage where Duncan sees the swallows flitting round the castle of death ; and, afterwards, when at the close the avenging army gath- ers to rid the earth of its shame. Of the many slighter touches which deepen this effect I notice only one. The failure of nature in Lady Macbeth is marked by her fear of darkness ; "she has light by her continually." And in the one phrase of fear that escapes her lips even in sleep, it is of the darkness of the place of torment that she speaks. — Bradley, Shakespearean Tragedy.

POPULARITY OF "MACBETH"

One might have expected that Macbeth would prove the most popular of Shakespeare's tragedies, both with the ac- tors and with audiences. Such has, however, not been the case. Except on rare occasions, Macbeth, despite its ap- parent supremacy as an "acting play," has less attraction than Lear, Othello, and, above all, Hamlet. Nor is the reason far to seek. Of the two elements which Aristotle's definition requires in tragedy, it has but one. It works by terror alone, and does not touch the springs of pity. It

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OF MACBETH Comments

has no bursts and swells of pathos, no outpours of tender- ness, no sweet dews of hapless love. Lacking these, it lacks charm. The characters on whom the interest is con- centrated are not the innocent sufferers, but the guilty workers of woe, and, if not outcasts from our sympathy in the woe they thereby bring upon themselves, they are far from making any demands upon our affection. Macbeth stands alone among Shakespeare's great productions as a picture of crime and retribution unrelieved by any softer features. Like some awful Alpine peak, girdled with gla- ciers and abysses, with no glimpses of flower-bespangled vales and pastures. — Kirke, Atlantic Monthly, April, 1895.

THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH

DRAMATIS PERSONS

Duncan, king of Scotland Malcolm, -\ ,

DONALBAIN, \h*"0*l

Macbeth, \ \,l\t>&

Banquo, J 9enera^s °f the King's army ^r

Macduff, " Lennox,

Ross» Inoblemen of Scotland

Menteith,

Angus,

Caithness,

Fleance, son to Banquo

Siward, earl of Northumberland, general of the English forces

Young Siward, his son

Seyton, an officer attending on Macbeth

Boy, son to Macduf

An English Doctor

A Scotch Doctor

A Sergeant

A Porter

An Old Man

Lady Macbeth Lady Macduff Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth

Hecate Three \ Apparitions

Three Witches

Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants, and

Messengers

Scene: Scotland; England

SYNOPSIS

By J. Ellis Buedick

act I

The Thane of Cawdor, who has rebelled against his king, Duncan of Scotland, is defeated by Macbeth and Banquo, two Scottish generals. Three witches meet the victorious generals on their return from the battle and greet Macbeth as Thane of Glamis, Thane of Cawdor, and he that shall be king of Scotland hereafter. To Banquo they promise that he shall be the father of kings, though he be not one himself. While Macbeth is still talking of these [prophecies, messengers arrive from Duncan and address jhim by the king's order, and as a reward for his services, as Thane of Cawdor. As Macbeth is already Thane of Glamis, he begins to hope that he may one day be king of Scotland. He tells his desire to his wife and she plots the murder of Duncan, who comes on a visit to their castle.

ACT II

Macbeth, assisted by his wife, murders Duncan, laying the crime on the king's drunken guard. Malcolm and Donalbain, Duncan's sons, flee, the former to England and the latter to Ireland, and therefore they are believed to have suborned the servants to do the deed. Macbeth, as the next heir, is crowned king of Scotland at Scone.

act in

The three prophecies have been fulfilled for Macbeth and now he fears that what was promised Banquo may also come true, and that for Banquo's children has he mur

3

Synopsis THE TRAGEDY

dered Duncan and destroyed his own peace of mind. He desires the death of Banquo and his only son Fleance, be- lieving that the succession would then be secured to his own descendants. To accomplish this purpose he makes a great feast, particularly inviting Banquo and Fleance. But on their way to the dinner they are set upon by men in Macbeth's pay. Banquo is slain but Fleance escapes. The guests are all assembled except Banquo and the king, about to take his place at the table, when in comes Ban- quo's ghost. Although it is invisible to all but Macbeth, his fear and remarks break up the feast.

ACT IV

Macbeth consults the witches about the future. They call up apparitions ; the first tells him to beware Macduff ; the second, "Laugh to scorn the power of man, for none of woman born shall harm Macbeth" ; the third, that he "shall never vanquished be until great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill shall come against him." He then asks plainly, "Shall Banquo's issue ever reign in this king- dom?" In reply he is shown the shadows of eight kings, followed by the ghost of Banquo, and is convinced that Banquo's descendants will reign. Joining his followers after his interview with the witches, he is greeted with the news that Macduff has fled to England. Macbeth sur- prises the castle of Macduff and kills Lady Macduff and her children.

act v

Lady Macbeth is unable to throw aside the thought of the murders she and her husband have or have had com- mitted. They trouble her sleeping hours, and she rises from her bed in her sleep, walks the floor, tries to wash imaginary blood-spots from her hands, and talks aloud of the murders. Macbeth fortifies his castle of Dunsinane in preparation for an attack by Macduff, but, relying on the witches' promises, he tries to cast off his fears. Word is

4

OF MACBETH Synopsis

brought him of Lady Macbeth's death, probably by her own hand, and almost at the same moment, a messenger an- nounces that Birnam wood is coming toward the castle. This illusion of the moving wood was caused by each man of the attacking army lopping off a limb of a tree as he passed through Birnam wood to use as a covering for his advance. Macbeth, although his nerves are shaken by this materializing of the witch's threat, leads his men forth from the castle, saying, " A.t least we '11 die with har- ness on our back." He meets Macduff and they fight till Macbeth remembers the words of the spirit, and he tells Macduff that his labor is in * ain, for he, Macbeth, bears a charmed life which cannot yield to one born of woman. But his last hope is taken from him when Macduff replies, "Despair thy charm. Macduff was from his mother's womb untimely ripped." The fight is continued and Mac- beth is killed. Malcolm, son of Duncan, is proclaimed king of Scotland.

THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH

ACT FIRST

Scene I

A desert place. Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches.

First Witch. When shall we three meet again

In thunder, lightning, or in rain? Sec. Witch. When the hurlyburly 's done,

When the battle 's lost and won. Third Witch. That will be ere the set of sun. First Witch. Where the place?

1. Perhaps we should follow the punctuation of the Folio, and place a note of interrogation after "again." — I. G.

3. "hurlyburly" ; the original and sense of this word are thus given by Peacham in his Garden of Eloquence, 1577: "Onomatopeia, when we invent, devise, fayne, and make a name imitating the sound of that it signifyeth, as hurlyburly, for an uprore and tumultuous stirre" Thus also in Holinshed: "There were such hurlie burlies kept in every place, to the great danger of overthrowing the whole state of all government in this land." Of course the word here refers to the tumult of battle, not to the storm, the latter being their element. — The reason of this scene is thus stated by Coleridge: "In Macbeth the Poet's object was to raise the mind at once to the high tragic tone, that the audience might be ready for the precipitate consummation of guilt in the early part of the play. The true reason for the first appearance of the Witches is to strike the key note of the character of the whole drama, as is proved by their re- appearance in the third scene, after such an order of the king's as establishes their supernatural power of information." — H. N. H.

7

Act I. Sc. iL THE TRAGEDY

Sec. Witch. Upon the heath.

Third Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. First Witch. I come, Graymalkin. All. Paddock calls: — anon! 1°

Fair is foul, and foul is fair.

Hover through the fog and filthy air. [Exeunt*

Scene II

A camp near Forres.

Alarum within. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donal- bain, Lennox, with Attendants, meeting a bleed- ing Sergeant.

Dun. What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state.

Mai. This is the sergeant

Exeunt. "The Weird Sisters," says Coleridge, "are as true a creation of Shakespeare's, as his Ariel and Caliban, — fates, furies, and materializing witches being the elements. They are wholly different from any representation of witches in the contemporary writers, and yet presented a sufficient external resemblance to the creatures of vulgar prejudice to act immediately on the audience. Their character consists in the imaginative disconnected from the good; they are the shadowy obscure and fearfully anomalous of physical nature, the lawless of human nature, — elemental avengers without sex or kin." Elsewhere he speaks of the "direful music, the wild wayward rhythm, and abrupt lyrics of the opening of Macbeth." Words scarcely less true to the Poet's, than the Poet's are to the characters. — H. N. H.

3. "sergeant"; sergeants, in ancient times, were not the petty offi- cers now distinguished by that title; but men performing one kind of feudal military service, in rank next to esquires. In the stage- direction of the original this sergeant is called a captain. — H. N. H^

8

OF MACBETH Act I. Sc ii.

Who like a good and hardy soldier fought 'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend! Say to the king the knowledge of the broil As thou didst leave it. Ser. Doubtful it stood;

As two spent swimmers, that do cling together And choke their art. The merciless Macdon-

wald — Worthy to be a rebel, for to that 1°

The multiplying villainies of nature Do swarm upon him — from the western isles Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Show'd like a rebel's whore : but all 's too weak : For brave Macbeth — well he deserves that

name — Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel Which smoked with bloody execution, Like valor's minion carved out his passage Till he faced the slave ; 20

13. "Of" here bears the sense of with, the two words being then used indiscriminately. — Thus in Holinshed: "Out of Ireland in hope of the spoile came no small number of Kernes and Galloglasses, offering gladlie to serve under him, whither it should please him to lead them." Barnabe Rich thus describes them in his New Irish Prognostication: "The Galloglas succeedeth the Horseman, and he is commonly armed with a scull, a shirt of maile, and a Galloglas- axe. . . . The Kernes of Ireland are next in request, the very drosse and scum of the countrey, a generation of villaines not worthy to live. . . . These are they that are ready to run out with every rebel, and these are the very hags of hell, fit for nothing but the gallows."— H. N. H.

14. "damned quarrel" ; Johnson's, perhaps unnecessary, emenda- tion of Ff., "damned quarry" (cp. IV. iii. 206) ; but Holinshed uses "quarrel" in the corresponding passage. — I. G.

"damned" is doomed, fated to destruction. — H. N. H.

20-21. Many emendations and interpretations have been advanced

9

Act I. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY

Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to

him, Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements. Dun. O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! Ser. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection

Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders

break, So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to

come Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland,

mark: No sooner justice had, with valor arm'd, Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their

heels, 30

But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men, Began a fresh assault. Dun. Dismay'd not this

Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? Ser. Yes;

As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. If I say sooth, I must report they were As cannons overcharged with double cracks; so

they

for this passage; Koppel's explanation {Shakespeare Studien, 1896) is as follows: — "he faced the slave, who never found time for the preliminary formalities of a duel, t. e. shaking hands with and bid- ding farewell to the opponent"; seemingly, however, "which" should have "he" (i. e. Macbeth) and not "slave" as its antecedent. — I. G.

25, 26. "As storms often come from the east, the region of the dawn, so victory may be the starting-point for a fresh attack.'*— C. H. H.

37. "so they"; Ff. give these words at the beginning of 1. 38. The

10

OF MACBETH Act i. Sc. ii.

Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe : Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorize another Golgotha, 40

I cannot tell —

But I am faint; my gashes cry for help. Dun. So well thy words become thee as thy wounds ; They smack of honor both. Go get him sur- geons.

[Exit Sergeant, attended. Who comes here?

Enter Ross.

Mai. The worthy thane of Ross.

Len. What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look That seems to speak things strange.

Ross. God save the king!

Dun. Whence earnest thou, worthy thane?

Ross. From Fife, great king;

Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky And fan our people cold. Norway himself 50 With terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict; Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof,

two lines cannot be made into normal verse; but the present arrange- ment is less harsh to the ear. — C. H. H.

40. To "memorize*' is to make memorable. "The style," says Cole- ridge, "and rhythm of the Captain's speeches in the second scene should be illustrated by reference to the interlude in Hamlet, in which the epic is substituted for the tragic, in order to. make the latter be felt as the real life diction."— H. N. H.

54. Steevens. chuckles over the Poet's ignorance in making Bel- lona the wife of Mars. Surely a man must be ignorant not to see

11

Act I. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY

Confronted him with self -comparisons, Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, The victory fell on us.

Dun. Great happiness!

Ross. That now

Sweno, the Norway's king, craves composition; Nor would we deign him burial of his men 60 Till he disbursed, at Saint Colme's inch, Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present

death, And with his former title greet Macbeth.

Ross. I '11 see it done.

Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won.

[Exeunt.

that the Poet makes Macbeth the husband of Bellona. — "Lapp'd in proof is covered with armor of proof. — H. N. H.

55. By "him" is meant Norway, and by "self -comparisons" is meant that he gave him as good as he brought, showed that he was his equal. — H. N. H.

u

OF MACBETH Act. L fc m.

Scene III

A heath.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

First Witch. Where hast thou been, sister? Sec. Witch. Killing swine. Third Witch. Sister, where thou?

First Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,

And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd.

Give me,' quoth I: ^roint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband 's to Aleppo gone, master o' the

1 lger ;

But in a sieve I '11 thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail,

assumed the W of rytl but' it K^JS- "&££

owcver puts it down as from Rodere or Ranger to 2°' i hat the meaning here would be, as we stilf sav <W on » - •r "a p/a^e take you."— H. N. H. 7 '

"rump-fed ronyon"; a scabby or mangy woman fed nn nffaic <-

,ell through and under the tempestuous seas." And in Mother

' fc If- ^T9^SrMAU Life of Doctor «■*«££*

ive and went " ' ^ t0ge'her Went„ t0 Sea' each one in » "'ddle or ve, and went in the same very suhstantially, with flaggons of wine

ve "? jT™' trVrf"! £ the Wayi" the »™ ^"dde 'o some the foL o% f °' *?\tl,neg that thoU'h a •** eonld antTng H N H ? * P'eaSe<J- the "** wouId sti" be

13

Act I. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY

I '11 do, I '11 do, and I '11 do. 10

Sec. Witch. I '11 give thee a wind. First Witch. Thou 'rt kind. Third Witch. And I another. First Witch. I myself have all the other;

And the very ports they blow,

All the quarters that they know

I' the shipman's card.

I will drain him dry as hay :

Sleep shall neither night nor day

Hang upon his pent-house lid; 20

He shall live a man forbid:

Weary se'nnights nine times nine

Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine:

Though his bark cannot be lost,

Yet it shall be tempest-tost.

Look what I have. Sec. Witch. Show me, show me.

-

10. 'Til do"; i. e. like a rat, gnaw a hole in the ship's bottom. C. H. H.

11. This free gift of a wind is to be considered as an act of sisterly friendship; for witches were supposed to sell them.— H. N. H.

15. "And the very forts they blow"; Johnson conj. "various" for "very"; Pope reads "points" for "ports"; Clar. Press edd. "orts": "blow"="b\ow upon."— I. G.

23. This was supposed to be done by means of a waxen figure. Holinshed, speaking of the witchcraft practiced to destroy King Duff, says that they found one of the witches roasting, upon a wooden broach, an image of wax at the fire, resembling in each feature the king's person; "for as the image did waste afore the fire, so did the bodie of the king break forth in sweat: and as for the words of the inchantment, they served to keepe him still wak- ing from sleepe." — H. N. H.

25. In the pamphlet about Dr. Fian, already quoted: Agame it is confessed, that the said christined cat was the cause of the Kinae's majestie's shippe, at his coming forth of Denmarke, had a contrarie winde to the rest of his shippes then being in his com- panie."— H. N. H.

14

3F MACBETH Act i. Sc. m.

First Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd as homeward he did come.

[Drum within. Third Witch. A drum, a drum ! 30

Macbeth doth come. 4.11. The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about: Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again, to make up nine. Peace ! the charm 's wound up.

Enter Macbeth and Banquo.

Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

3 an. How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these So wither'd, and so wild in their attire, 40

That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on 't? Live you? or are you aught

32. "weird"; Ff., "weyward" (prob.="ioeini") ; Keightley, "wey- rd."—l. G.

"weird" is from the Saxon wyrd, and means the same as the Latin itum; so that weird sisters is the fatal sisters, or the sisters of fate. rawin Douglas, in his translation of Virgil, renders Parcce by weird sters. Which agrees well with Holinshed in the passage which the ioet no doubt had in his eye: "The common opinion was, that these lomen were either the weird sisters, that is (as ye would say) the ioddesses of destinie, or else some nymphs or feiries, indued with howledge of prophesie by their necromanticall science, bicause |rerie thing came to passe as they had spoken." — H. N. H. ; 38. "On one of those days when sunshine and storm struggle for ie mastery," Macbeth stands at the critical moment of his fortunes.

is surroundings harmonize with the moral strife; and he is signifi-

ntly made to echo unconsciously the parting cry of the witches the first scene (1. 11): —

"Fair is foul, and foul is fair." — C. H. H.

15

AA I. Sc. m. THE TRACED Y

That man may question? You seem to underA

stand me, By each at once her choppy finger laying Upon her skinny lips: you should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. Macb. Speak, if you can: what are you?

First Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane

of Glamis! Sec. Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of

Cawdor !

Third Witch. All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king

hereafter! ^ 50

Ban. Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear

Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of

truth, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My noble partnei You greet with present grace and great predic- tion Of noble having and of royal hope, That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak not If you can look into the seeds of time, And say which grain will grow and which wif

not, Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear Your favors nor your hate. First Witch. Hail! Sec. Witch. Hail! Third Witch. Hail!

First Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. Sec. Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier.

16

6<

F MACBETH Act L Sc. iiL

hird Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! irst Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! 69 acb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis; But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; and to be king Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence You owe this strange intelligence? or why Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you.

[Witches vanish, m. The earth hath bubbles as the water has, 79 And these are of them: whither are they van- ish'd?

bd>. Into the air, and what seem'd corporal melted

As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd! *

n. Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the insane root I That takes the reason prisoner? kcb. Your children shall be kings.

K A a , You shall be king.

%cb. And thane of Cawdor too: went it not so? \n. To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here?

84. "insane root"; henbane or hemlock.— H. N. H. XXVIII— 2 17

Act I. Sc. iii. THE TRAGED1

Enter Ross and Angus.

Ross. The king hath happily received, Macbeth, The news of thy success : and when he reads S Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend Which should be thine or his : silenced with tha In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself did'st make, Strange images of death. As thick as hail Came post with post, and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defense, And pour'd them down before him.

Ang. We are sent 1C

To give thee, from our royal master, thanks; Only to herald thee into his sight, Not pay thee.

Ross. And for an earnest of a greater honor, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Caw

dor: In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! For it is thine.

Ban. What, can the devil speak true?

Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives: why do yoi dress me In borrow'd robes?

Ang. Who was the thane lives ye

But under heavy judgment bears that life U

97-98. "As thick as hail Came post"; Rowe's emendation; F lead "As thick as tale Can post." — I. G.

That is, posts come as fast as you can count. — H. N. H.

18

i1 MACBETH Act. I. Sc. iii.

Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was

combined With those of Norway, or did line the rebel With hidden help and vantage, or that with both He labor'd in his country's wreck, I know not; But treasons capital, cbnf ess'd and proved, Have overthrown him.

icb. [Aside] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor:

The greatest is behind. — Thanks for your

pains. — Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to

me Promised no less to them?

m. That, trusted home, 120

Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange: And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's In deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you. icb. [Aside] Two truths are told,

As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme. — I thank you, gentle- men.— [Aside] This supernatural soliciting 130

Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : if ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success,

0. "that trusted home"; such trust, pushed to its logical con- lence.— C. H. H.

20 F

19

, _ B ... THE TRAGEDY!

Act I. Sc. m.

Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Caw- dor : If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings: My thought, whose murder yet is but iantas-

tlC*£Ll

Shakes to my single state of man that func-

ti011 i ^t

Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is

But what is not. ■Ban Look, how our partner s rapt.

Macb. [Aside} If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me,

Without my stir.

Ml. 148. "and nothing to but what is not"; that is, facts are ^ lost

c, Jht of I see nothing, but what is unreal, nothing but the specters

of mv own fancy So, likewise, in the preceding clause: the mind

yXrt disabled for its proper function or office by the appre-

here acts through his ^ i-ag.nat.on sets^ t all on flre^a ^ J terror-stricken and lost to the things ^ iurc » themselves

„f evil, hitherto «*^£'CS« into the wicked purpose. H.s mind I has an a » s

reaching forward for grounds to «^ de *gn SJK^J he no sooner begins to build them ttaB_Be v> sow horrors which he knows to/e imaginary yet earnmtaU V wonderful development of character C°'e™fsu^d c/us'e an,

surely is the *™ »^%^ "f^E^JS o 'his soliloqu; immediate temptation." And ^ aSam'- **"£ J* dn the swellin shows the early birthdate of h,s guilt How PW . on

evil of his ^tffenrint%ftcaTontZs Paving indeed8 that th after another, the offerings o i ol * M b ing surprisc

**»**. of crime ^.^J^^esC the guilty P«rP<» X-t affltf fitfS unused to it.-H. N. H.

20

3F MACBETH Act I. Sc. iv.

Ban. New honors come upon him,

Like our strange garments, cleave not to their

mold But with the aid of use. Macb. [Aside] Come what come may,

Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. Ban. Worthy Macheth, we stay upon your leisure. Macb. Give me your favor: my dull brain was wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains 150

Are register'd where every day I turn The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king. Think upon what hath chanced, and at more

time, The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other. Ban. Very gladly.

Macb. Till then, enough. Come, friends.

[Exeunt.

Scene IV

Forres. The palace.

lourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, and Attendants.

lun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not

Those in commission yet return'd? lal. My liege,

They are not yet come back. But I have spoke

21

Act I. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY

With one that saw him die, who did report That very frankly he confess'd his treasons, Implored your highness' pardon and set forth A deep repentance : nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it ; he died As one that had been studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he owed 10

. As 'twere a careless trifle.

Dun. There 's no art

To find the mind's construction in the face: He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust.

Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Ross, and Angus.

O worthiest cousin! The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me: thou art so far before, That swiftest wing of recompense is slow To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less de- served, That the proportion both of thanks and pay- ment Might have been mine ! only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay. 21 Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe,

9. "studied"; that is, well instructed in the art of dying. The be- havior of the thane of Cawdor corresponds in almost every circum-i stance with that of the unfortunate earl of Essex, as related by Stowe. His asking the queen's forgiveness, his confession, re- pentance, and concern about behaving with propriety on the scaffold, are minutely described by that historian. — H. N. H.

13. "He was a gentleman" etc. The entrance of Macbeth as these words are spoken gives them the effect of tragic irony. — C. H. H. '22-27. "Here, in contrast with Duncan's 'plenteous joys,- Macbe

22

OF MACBETH Act I. Sc. iv.

In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part Is to receive our duties : and our duties

IAre to your throne and state children and serv- ants; Which do but what they should, by doing every

thing Safe toward your love and honor. Dun. Welcome hither :

I have begun to plant thee, and will labor To make thee full of growing. Noble Ban- quo, That hast no less deserved, nor must be known No less to have done so : let me infold thee 31 And hold thee to my heart. Ban. There if I grow.

The harvest is your own. Dun. My plenteous joys,

Wanton in fullness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know, We will establish our estate upon Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The Prince of Cumberland: which honor must

las nothing but the commonplaces of loyalty, in which he hides limself with 'our duties.' Note the exceeding effort of Macbeth's iddresses to the king, his reasoning on his allegiance, and then especially when a new difficulty, the designation of a successor, ;uggests a new crime." Such is Coleridge's comment on the text. — 3. N. H.

38, 39. Holinshed says, "Duncan, having two sons, made the elder >f them, called Malcolm, prince of Cumberland, as it was thereby o appoint him his successor in his kingdome immediatelie after >iis decease. Macbeth sorely troubled herewith, for that he saw >y this means his hope sore hindered, (where, by the old laws of he realme the ordinance was, that if he that should succeed were

23

Act I. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY

Not unaccompanied invest him only, 40

But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers. From hence to Inverness, And bind us further to you.

Macb. The rest is labor, which is not used for you : I '11 be myself the harbinger, and make joyful The hearing of my wife with your approach ; So humbly take my leave.

'Dun. My worthy Cawdor !

Macb. [Aside] The Prince of Cumberland! that is a step On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires : 51 The eye wink at the hand ; yet let that be Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

[Exit.

Dun. True, worthy Banquo ; he is full so valiant, And in his commendations I am fed ; It is a banquet to me. Let 's after him, Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome : It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt.

not of able age to take the charge upon himself, he that was next of blood unto him should be admitted,) he began to take counsel how he might usurpe the kingdome by force, having a just quarrel so to doe, (as he tooke the matter,) for that Duncane did what in him lay to defraud him of all manner of title and claime, which he might in time to come pretend, unto the crowne." Cumber- land was then held in fief of the English crown. — H. N. H.

54-58. Of course during Macbeth's last speech Duncan and Banquo were conversing apart, he being the subject of their talk. The beginning of Duncan's speech refers to something Banquo has said in praise of Macbeth. Coleridge says, — "I always think there is something especially Shakespearean in Duncan's speeches through- out this scene, such pourings-forth, such abandonments, compared with the language of vulgar dramatists, whose characters seem to have made their speeches as the actors learn them." — H. N. H.

DF MACBETH

Act I. Sc. v.

Scene V

Inverness. Macbeth' s castle.

Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter.

Lady M. 'They met me in the day of success; and I have learned by the perfectest report,' they have more in them than mortal knowl- edge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me "Thane of Cawdor;" by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming 10 on of time, with "Hail, king that shalt be!" This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.' Claims thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be What thou art promised: yet do I fear thy

nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be

great; 20

Are not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly,

25

Act I. Sc. v. THE TRAGEDY,

That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not plaj^

false, And yet wouldst wrongly win; thou 'ldst have,

great Glamis, That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou

have it ; And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee

hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear, And chastise with the valor of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, 3C Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal.

Enter a Messenger.

What is your tidings

Mess. The king comes here to-night.

Lady M. Thou 'rt mad to. say it

Is not thy master with him? who, were 't so, Would have inform'd for preparation.

25-27. The difficulty of these lines arises from the repeated word "that which" in line 26, and some editors have consequently place the inverted commas after "undone"; but "that which" is probabl due to the same expression in the previous line, and we should pel haps read "and that's which" or "and that's what." — I. G.

"Macbeth," says Coleridge, "is described by Lady Macbeth so •« at the same time to reveal her own character. Could he have ever thing he wanted, he would rather have it innocently; — ignorant, a alas ! how many of us are, that he who wishes a temporal end f< itself does in truth will the means; and hence the danger of indulgiD fancies."— H. N. H.

32. "To have thee crown'd" is to desire that you should be crown© C Thus in All's Well that Ends Well, Act i. sc. 2: "Our dearest frier k| prejudicates the business, and would seem to have us make denial'1' — H. N. H.

26

fro

)F MACBETH Act L Sc. v,

less. So please you, it is true: our thane is coming : One of my fellows had the speed of him, Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Than would make up his message.

<adyM. Give him tending;

He brings great news. [Exit Messenger.

The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 41 Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood, Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,

40-42. "The raven himself," etc.; this passage is often sadly marred the reading by laying peculiar stress upon "my"; as the next itence also is in the printing by repeating "come," thus suppressing 5 pause wherein the speaker gathers and nerves herself up to the nble strain that follows.— H. N. H.

12. The "spirits" here addressed are thus described in Nashe's tree Pennilesse: "The second kind of devils, which he most em- >yeth, are those northern Martii, called the spirits of revenge, and | authors of massacres, and seedsmen of mischief; for they have nmission to incense men to rapines, sacrilege, theft, murder, wrath, ry, and all manner of cruelties: and they command certain of the ithern spirits to wait upon them, as also great Arioch, that is med the spirit of revenge." — H. N. H.

18, 49. "nor keep peace . . . it"; one might naturally think s should read,— "Nor break peace between the effect and it"; that nor make the effect contradict, or fall at strife with, the purpose. e sense, however, doubtless is, nor make any delay, any rest, any use for thought, between the purpose and the act. Thus in Dave- nt's alteration of this play: "That no relapses into mercy may

27

Act I. Sc. v. THE TRAGEDY

And take my milk for gall, you murdering min- isters, 50 Wherever in your sightless substances .You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick

night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the

dark, To cry 'Hold, hold!'

Enter Macbeth.

Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter ! Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant.

shake my design, nor make it fall before 'tis ripen'd to effect."— H. N. H.

54. At the outset Lady Macbeth is ready to commit the murder with her own hands. — C. H. H.

55. A similar expression occurs in Drayton's Mortimeriados, 1596: "The sullen night in mistie rugge is wrapp'd." — This appalling speech has been aptly commented on by Coleridge: "Lady Mac- beth, like all in Shakespeare, is a class individualized; — of high rank, left much alone, and feeding herself with day-dreams of ambition, she mistakes the courage of fantasy for the power of bearing the consequences of the realities of guilt. Hers is the mock fortitude of a mind deluded by ambition; she shames her husband with 8 superhuman audacity of fancy which she cannot support, but sinks in the season of remorse, and dies in suicidal agony. Her speech is that of one who had habitually familiarized her imagination tc dreadful conceptions, and was trying to do so still more. Her in vocations and requisitions are all the false efforts of a mind accus tomed only hitherto to the shadows of the imagination, vivid enough to throw the every-day substances of life into shadow, but never as yet brought into direct contact with their own corresponden realities."— H. N. H.

88

OF MACBETH Act I. Sc. v.

Macb. My dearest love, 60

Duncan comes here to-night.

LadyM. And when goes hence?

Macb. To-morrow, as he purposes.

Lady M. O, never

Shall sun that morrow see ! Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the

time, Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent

flower, But be the serpent under 't. He that 's coming Must be provided for : and you shall put This night's great business into my dispatch; 70 Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

Macb. We will speak further.

Lady M. Only look up clear ;

To alter favor ever is to fear : Leave all the rest to me. [Exeunt.

65. "To beguile the time"; to deceive the world. — C. H. H.

29

Act i. Sc. vi. THE TRAGEDY

Scene VI

Before Macbeth' s castle.

Hautboys and torches. Enter Duncan, Malcolm,

Donalbain, Banquo, Lennox, Macduff,

Ross, Angus, and Attendants.

Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat ; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses.

Ban. This guest of summer,

The temple-haunting martlet, does approve By his loved mansionry that the heaven's

breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendant bed and procreant cradle:

1. "The subject of this quiet and easy conversation gives that repose so necessary to the mind after the tumultuous bustle of the preceding scenes, and perfectly contrasts the scene of horror that immediately succeeds. It seems as if Shakespeare asked himself, What is a prince likely to say to h*s attendants on such an occa- sion? Whereas the modern writers seem, on the contrary, to be always searching for new thoughts, such as would never occur to men in the situation which is represented. This also is frequently the practice of Homer, who, from the midst of battles and horrors, relieves and refreshes the mind of the reader, by introducing some quiet rural image or picture of familiar domestic life" (Sir J. Reynolds).— H. N. H.

4. "martlet"; Rowe's emendation of Ff., "Barlet."—1. G.

5. "loved mansionry"; Theobald's emendation of Ff., "loved man* sonry" ; Pope (ed. 2), "loved masonry." — I. G.

6. "jutty, frieze"; Pope, "jutting frieze"; Staunton conj. "jutty, nor frieze," &c. — I. G.

30

OF MACBETH Act I. Sc vi.

[Where they most breed and haunt, I have ob- served iThe air is delicate.

Enter Lady Macbeth.

\Dun. See, see, our honor'ed hostess! 10

The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach

you How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble.

'Lady M. All our service

In every point twice done, and then done double, Were poor and single business to contend Against those honors deep and broad wherewith Your majesty loads our house: for those of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits.

Dun. Where 's the thane of Cawdor?

9. "most"; Rowe's emendation of Ff., "must"; Collier MS., "much." —I. G.

13. To "bid" is here used in the Saxon sense of to pray. "God 'ild us" is God reward us. Malone and Steevens were perplexed by what they call the obscurity of this passage. If this be obscure, we should like to know what isn't. Is anything more common than to thank people for annoying us, as knowing tha' they do it from love? And does not Duncan clearly mean, that his love is what puts him upon troubling them thus, and therefore they will be grateful to him for the pains he causes them to take? — H. N. H.

14. Here again we must quote from Coleridge: "The lyrical move- ment with which this scene opens, and the free and unengaged mind of Banquo, loving nature, and rewarded in the love itself, form a highly dramatic contrast with the labored rhythm and hypocritical over-much of Lady Macbeth's welcome, in which you cannot detect a ray of personal feeling, but all is thrown upon the dignities, the general duty."— H. N. H.

31

Act I. Sc. vii. THE TRAGEDY

We coursed him at the heels, and had a pur- pose

To be his purveyor: but he rides well,

And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him

To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess,

We are your guest to-night. Lady M. Your servants ever

Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt,

To make their audit at your highness' pleasure,

Still to return your own. Dun. Give me your hand ;

Conduct me to mine host : we love him highly,

And shall continue our graces towards him. 30

By your leave, hostess. [Exeunt.

Scene VII

Macbeth 's castle.

'Hautboys and torches. Enter a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes and service, and pass over the stage. Then enter Macbeth.

Macb. If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly : if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, With his surcease, success ; that but this blow

"Enter a Sewer"; an officer so called from his placing the dishes On the table. Asseour, French; from asseoir, to place. — H. N. H. 4. "his" for its, referring to assassination. — H. N. H.

32

OF MACBETH Act I. Sc. vii.

q Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We 'Id jump the life to come. But in these cases

We still have judgment here; that we but teach

Bloody instructions, which being taught return

To plague the inventor: this even-handed

justice 10

Commends the ingredients of our poison'd

chalice To our own lips.\ He 's here in double trust: First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against ic murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Dun- can

Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels trumpet-tongued against The deep damnation of his taking-off; 20

And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur > y

To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other.

8. "IS* HmHdati°n °f ^ h *> "WW*-* G.

^:^s^<::iz^Vh are what the poet *-■

* XxTieil^Serted 8idB hCre Up°n COnJ'ectur* •»* "me editors

Act I. Sc. vii. THE TRAGEDY

Enter Lady dlacbeth.

How now! what news?

Lady M. He has almost supp'd: why have you left the chamber?

Macb. Hath he ask'd for me?

Lady M. Know you not he has ? 30

Macb. We will proceed no further in this business : He hath honor'd me of late ; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, •Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon.

Lady M. Was the hope drunk

Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept

since ? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valor 40 As thou art in desire ? Would'st thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon T would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage ?

have followed him. Side may have been meant by the Poet, but it was not said. And the sense feels better without it, as this shows the speaker to be in such an eagerly-expectant state of mind as to break off the instant he has a prospect of any news. — It hath been ingeniously proposed to change itself into its sell, an old word for saddle. But no change is necessary, the using of self for aim or purpose being quite lawful and idiomatic; as we often say, such a one overshot himself, that is, overshot his mark, his aim. — H. N. H. 45. "Like the poor cat V the adage"; "The cat would eat fvshe, and would not wet her feete," Heywood's Proverbs; the low Latin form of the same proverb is: —

"Catus amat pisces, sed non vult tingere plantas." — I. G.

34

F MACBETH Act I. Sc. viii

racb. Prithee, peace:

I dare do all that may become a man ; Who dares do more is none.

fdy M. What beast was 't then

That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man ; 49 And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that their fit- ness now

Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know

How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: [ would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,

And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as

you Have done to this.

acb- If we should fail?

ldV M- We fail! 59

7. "do more"; Rowe's emendation of Ff., "no more "—I G

). "to be"; by being.-C. H. H. *

1-59. "I June given," etc.; it is said that Mrs. Siddons, in her per-

ation of Lady Macbeth, used to utter the horrible words of this

u "V,? SC^eJam, aS th°Ugh She were almost lightened out of her « by the audacity of her own tongue. And we can easily con- e how a spasmodic action of fear might lend her the appear- e of superhuman or inhuman boldness. At all events, it should observed that Lady Macbeth's energy and intensity of purp0Se -bears the feelings of the woman, and that some of her words are ken more as suiting the former, than as springing from the latter 1 her convulsive struggle of feeling against that overbearing vio- e of purpose might well be expressed by a scream.— H N H h "We fail!"; three modes of pointing have been pitched upon

35

Act I. Sc. vii. THE TRAGEDY

But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we '11 not fail. When Duncan is asleep — Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him — his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince, That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbec only: when in swinish sleep Their drenched natures he as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon 70 His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell? Macb. Bring forth men-children only;

For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be received, When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy

two Of his own chamber, and used their very dag- gers, That they have done 't? Lady M. Who dares receive it other,

As we shall make our griefs and clamor roar Upon his death?

here by different critics, namely, (!) (?) (.). Here, again, we have recourse to Mrs. Siddons, who, it is said, tried "three different intonations in giving the words We fail. At first, a quick contemp- tuous interrogation, We fail? Afterwards, with a note of admira- tion, We fail! and an accent of indignant astonishment, laying the principal emphasis on the word we. Lastly, she fixed on the simple period, modulating her voice to a deep, low, resolute tone, which settled the issue at once; as though she had said, 'If we fail, why, then we fail, and all is over.' This is consistent with the dark fatal- ism of the character, and the sense of the following lines; and the effect was sublime." — H. N. H.

36

OF MACBETH Act I. Sc. vii.

Macb. I am settled, and bend up

Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 80 Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False face must hide what the false heart doth know. [Exeunt.

ffl

Act II. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY

ACT SECOND

Scene I

Inverness. Court of Macbeth' s castle.

Enter Banquo, and Fleance bearing a torch before

him.

Ban. How goes the night, boy?

Fie. The moon is down ; I have not heard the clock.

Ban. And she goes down at twelve.

Fie. I take 't, 'tis later, sir.

Ban. Hold, take my sword. There 's husbandry in heaven, Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose !

5. "that"; some other part of his accoutrement, probably the shield or targe. "On the stage the action would explain, and all Shake- speare's plays were written for the stage" (Chambers). — C. H. H.

7-9. "Merciful powers . . . repose!"; it is apparent from what Banquo says afterwards, that he had been solicited in a dream to attempt something in consequence of the prophecy of the witches, that his waking senses were shocked at; and Shakespeare has here most exquisitely contrasted his character with that of Macbeth. Banquo is praying against being tempted to encourage thoughts of guilt even in his sleep; while Macbeth is hurrying into temptation, and revolving in his mind every scheme, however flagitious, that may assist him to complete his purpose. — H. N. H.

38

3F MACBETH Act n. Sc. i.

Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch.

Give me my sword Who's there? 10

Macb. A friend.

3 an. What, sir, not yet at rest? The king 's a-bed: He hath been in unusual pleasure, and Sent forth great largess to your offices: This diamond he greets your wife withal, By the name of most kind hostess ; and shut up In measureless content.

Macb. Being unprepared,

Our will became the servant to defect, Which else should free have wrought.

3an. All 's well. 19

I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: To you they have show'd some truth.

Macb. I think not of them:

Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that

business, If you would grant the time.

3an. At your kind'st leisure.

Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis, It shall make honor for you.

14. "offices"; so in the original, but usually changed to officers. )f course the bounty was sent forth for those employed in the ijices.—H. N. H.

23. "We"; perhaps an involuntary anticipation of the kingly "we." lacbeth's acting is, at this stage, far inferior to his wife's. — C. H. H.

24-26. "At your kind'st leisure . . . for you"; a deal of critical nd editorial ink has been needlessly spent about this innocent pas- age. The meaning evidently is, if you will stick to my side, to what as my consent; if you will tie yourself to my fortunes and counsel. -H. N. H.

39

Act ii. Sc. i. THE TRAGEKE

Ban. So I lose none

In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchisee! and allegiance clear, I shall be counsel'd.

Macb. Good repose the while!

Ban. Thanks, sir: the like to you! 30

[Exeunt Banquo and Fleance.

Macb. Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.

[Eccit Servant. Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me

clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable 40

As this which now I draw. Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still; And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There 's no such

thing : It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half- world 49

40

OF MACBETH Act n. Sc. i.

Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep ; witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy

pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his

design Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set

earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for

fear

50. "Nature seems dead"; in the second part of Marston's Antonio and Mellida, 1602, we have the following lines:

" 'Tis yet the dead of night, yet all the earth is clutch'd In the dull leaden hand of snoring sleep: No breath disturbs the quiet of the air, No spirit moves upon the breast of earth, Save howling dogs, night-crows, and screeching owls, Save meagre ghosts, Piero, and black thoughts.

I am great in blood,

UnequalFd in revenge: — you horrid scouts That sentinel swart night, give loud applause From your large palms." — H. N. H.

51. "sleep"; Steevens conj. "sleeper," but no emendation is neces- sary; the pause after "sleep" is evidently equivalent to a syllable. — I. G.

55. "Tarquin's ravishing strides"; Pope's emendation; Ff., "Tar- quins ravishing sides." — I. G.

The original has sides, which Pope changed to strides. This, how- ever, has been objected to as not cohering with "stealthy pace," and "moves like a ghost." But strides did not always carry an idea of violence or noise. Thus in the Faerie Queene, book iv. can. 8, stan. 37:

"They passing forth kept on their readie way, With easie steps so soft as foot could stryde." — H. N. H.

56. "sure"; Pope's conj., adopted by Capell; Ff. 1, 2, "sowre" — I. G.

57. "which way they walk?' ; Rowe's emendation; Ff., "which they may walk" — I. G.

41

Act ii. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY

Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives : 60

Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.

[A bell rings. I go, and it is done : the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven, or to hell.

lExit.

Scene II

The same. Enter Lady Macbeth.

Lady M. That which hath made them drunk hath

made me bold; What hath quench' d them hath given me fire.

Hark ! Peace ! It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman,

60. "which now suits with it"; Macbeth would have nothing break through the universal silence that added such horror to the night, as well suited with the bloody deed he was about to perform. Burke, in his Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful, observes, that "all general privations are great because they are terrible." The poets of antiquity have many of them heightened their scenes of terror by dwelling on the silence which accompanied them. — H. N. H.

3. "the fatal bellman"; the owl, as a bird of ill omen, is com- pared to the "bellman" sent to condemn persons the night before they suffer.

Webster imitated this in the Duchess of Malfl, iv. 2: —

"Hark now everything is still The screech-owl and the whistler shrill Call upon our dame aloud, And bid her quickly don her shroud." — C. H. H.

42

OE MACBETH Act n. Sc. ii.

Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is

about it : The doors are open, and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores. I have

drugg'd their possets, That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die. Macb. [Within] Who's there? what, hoi

Lady M. Alack, I am afraid they have awaked 10 And 'tis not done : the attempt and not the deed Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers

ready ; He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done 't.

Enter Macbeth.

mm~~ My husband!

Macb. I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear

a noise? Lady M. I heard the owl scream and the crickets

cry.

13, 14. "had he not resembled" etc.; Warburton has remarked upon the fine art discovered in this "one touch of nature." That some fancied resemblance to her father should thus rise up and stay her uplifted arm, shows that in her case conscience works quite as effectually through the feelings, as through the imagination in case of her husband. And the difference between imagination and feel- ing is, that the one acts most at a distance, the other on the spot. This gush of native tenderness, coming in thus after her terrible au- dacity of thought and speech, has often reminded us of a line in Schiller's noble drama, The Piccolomini, Act iv. sc. 4: "Bold were my words, because my deeds were not" And we are apt to think that the hair-stiffening extravagance of her previous speeches arose in part from the sharp conflict between her feelings and her pur- pose; she endeavoring thereby to school and steel herself into a firmness and fierceness of which she feels the want. — H. N. H.

43

Act ii. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY.

Did not you speak? Macb. When?

Lady M. Now.

Macb. As I descended?

Lady M. Aye. Macb. Hark!

Who lies i' the second chamber? Lady M. Donalbain. 19

Macb. This is a sorry sight.

[Looking on his hands. Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. Macb. There 's one did laugh in 's sleep, and one cried 'Murder!' That they did wake each other: I stood and

heard them: But they did say their prayers, and address'd

them Again to sleep. Lady M. There are two lodged together.

Macb. One cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other, As they had seen me with these hangman's

hands : Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,' When they did say 'God bless us!' Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 30

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'? I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' Stuck in my throat. Lady M. These deeds must not be thought

27. "as"; as if.— C. H. H. 44

OF MACBETH Act. IL ^ ^

After these ways; so, it will make us mad. Macb. Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more !

Macbeth does murder sleep'— the innocent sleep, II Sleep that knits up the ravel'd sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second

course, Chief nourisher in life's feast, — r^ady M. What do you mean? 40

Macb. Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house:

'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor

Shall sleep no more: Macbeth shall sleep no more.'

Mdy M. Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly of things. Go get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place?

35-36 There are no inverted commas in the Folios. The arranee- E£Jn ™.teXt,!S SeneralI7 Allowed (similarly, 11. 42-43).-I. G. 35-40. This whole speech is commonly printed as what Macbeth lagines himself to have heard; whereas all from the innocent sleep evidently his own conscience-stricken reflections on the imaginary

owtharthP0l ^? ^"-V^ C°leridSe thus ™a^ sow that the deed is done or doing,-now that the first reality

JETS? L\dy ^a^Cth Shrinks' The most simP!e sound strikes rror the most natural consequences are horrible; whilst previously 7Y th'nf'howeyer awful, appeared a mere trifle: conscience, which fore had been hidden to Macbeth in selfish and prudential fears w rushes upon him in her own veritable person."— H. N. H.

Act II. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY

They must lie there: go carry them, and smear

The sleepy grooms with blood. Macb. I '11 go no more: 50

I am afraid to think what I have done ;

Look on 't again I dare not. Lady M. Infirm of purpose !

Give me the daggers : the sleeping and the dead

Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood

That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,

I '11 gild the faces of the grooms withal,

For it must seem their guilt.

[Exit. Knocking within. Macb. Whence is that knocking?

How is 't with me, when every noise appals me?

What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes ! 59

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood

Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather

The multitudinous seas incarnadine,

Making the green one red.

53-55. "Give me . . . devil"; with her firm self-control, this bold bad woman, when awake, Mas to be moved by nothing but facts: when her powers of self-control were unknit by sleep, then was the time for her to see things that were not, save in her own conscience.— H. N. H.

60. "Will all great Neptune's ocean," etc.; this is one of the most remarkable reminiscences of Seneca in Shakespeare: —

"Quis eluet me Tanais? aut quae barbaris Maeotis undis pontico incumbens mari? non ipse toto magnus oceano pater tantum expiarit sceleris" (Hippolytus, 723).— €. H. H.

63. To "incarnadine," is to color red. — H. N. H.

64. "Making the green one red"; of course the sense of the line is "Making the green water all red." Milton's Comus has a like expression: "And makes one blot of all the air."— H. N. H.

46

)F MACBETH Act II. Sc. it

Re-enter Lady Macbeth.

r^ady M. My hands are of your color, but I shame To wear a heart so white. [Knocking within.]

I hear a knocking At the south entry : retire we to our chamber : A little water clears us of this deed: How easy is it then! Your constancy Hath left you unattended. [Knocking within.]

Hark! more knocking: Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us 70 And show us to be watchers : be not lost So poorly in your thoughts. 1 acb. To know my deed, 'twere best not know my- self. [Knocking within.] Wake Duncan with thy knocking ! I would thou could'st ! [Exeunt.

68, 69. "Your constancy" etc.; that is, your firmness hath forsaken m, doth not attend you. — H. N. H.

73. This is an answer to Lady Macbeth's reproof. "While I have ie thought of this deed, it were best not know, or be lost to my- :lf."— H. N. H.

47

Act II. Sc. m. THE TRAGEDY

Scene III

The same.

Enter a Porter. Knocking within.

Porter. Here 's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. [Knocking within.] Knock, knock, knock ! Who 's there, i' the name of Beelzebub? Here 's a farmer, that hanged himself on th' expectation of plenty: come in time ; have napkins enow about you ; here you '11 sweat for 't. [Knocking within.] Knock, knock ! Who 's there, in th' other devil's name? Faith, here 's an equivocator, 10 that could swear in both the scales against either scale ; who committed treason enough for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in, equivocator. [Knock- ing within.] Knock, knock, knock! Who's there? Faith, here's an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French

Sc. 3. "Knocking within"; some sentences from De Quincey's sug- gestive note on this interruption and the following scene may be quoted: — "When the deed is done, when the work of darkness is perfect, then the world of darkness passes away like a pageantry in the clouds: the knocking at the gate is heard, and it makes known audibly that the reaction has commenced: the human has made its reflux upon the fiendish; the pulses of life are beginning to beat again; and the reestablishment of the goings-on of the world in which we live, first makes us profoundly sensible of the awful parenthesis that had suspended them." — C. H. H.

2. "old" was a common augmentative. — H. N. H.

48

)F MACBETH Act II. Sc. iii.

hose: come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose. [Knocking within.] Knock, knock; never at quiet! What are you? But 20 this place is too cold for hell. I '11 devil- porter it no further: I had thought to have let in some of all professions, that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. [Knocking within.] Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter. [Opens the gate.

Enter Macduff and Lennox.

lacd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, That you do lie so late?

yort. Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock: and drink, sir, is a great pro- 30 voker of three things.

lacd. What three things does drink especially provoke ?

*ort. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes and unpro- vokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance: therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him and it mars him; it sets him on and it takes him off; it per- 40 suades him and disheartens him; makes him stand to and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and giving him the lie, leaves him.

23. "the primrose way," etc.; so in Hamlet: "Himself the prim- )se path of dalliance treads." And in All's Well that Ends Well: The flowery way that leads to the great fire." — H. N. H.

XXVIII— 4 49

Act II. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY

Macd. I believe drink gave thee the lie last night.

Port. That it did, sir, i' the very throat on me: but I requited him for his lie, and, I think, being too strong for him, though he took up my leg sometime, yet I made a shift to cast 50 him.

Macd. Is thy master stirring?

Enter Macbeth.

Our knocking has awaked him; here he comes. Len. Good morrow, noble sir. Macb. Good morrow, both.

Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane? Macb. Not yet. 50

Macd. He did command me to call timely on him:

I had almost slipp'd the hour. Macb. I '11 bring you to him.

Macd. I know this is a joyful trouble to you;

But yet 'tis one. Macb. The labor we delight in physics pain. 60

This is the door. Macd. I '11 make so bold to call,

For 'tis my limited service. [Exit.

Len. Goes the king hence to-day? Macb. He does : he did appoint so.

Len. The night has been unruly : where we lay,

Our chimneys were blown down, and, as they say,

Lamentings heard i' the air, strange screams of death,

50

)F MACBETH Act IL Sc. ^

And prophesying with accents terrible Of dire combustion and confused events New hatch'd to the woeful time: the obscure bird 69

Clamor'd the livelong- night: some say, the earth Was feverous and did shake.

tach\ _ 'Twas a rough night.

<en. My young remembrance cannot parallel A fellow to it.

Re-enter Macduff.

lacd. O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart

Cannot conceive nor name thee. r.acb. \ en. J What 's the matter?

racd. Confusion now hath made his masterpiece. Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence The life o' the building.

acb- What is 't you say ? the life ?

en. Mean you his majesty? 80

acd. Approach the chamber, and destrov vour sight J

With a new Gorgon: do not bid me speak; See, and then speak yourselves.

[Exeunt Macbeth and Lennox. Awake, awake!

8. "The Lord's anointed temple"; a blending of two scriptural ases: "the Lord's anointed" (as in Rich. 777, iv. 4.) and' We temple of the living God."— C. H. H. 7

2. There were three Gorgons, but the reference is to Medusa

?H H °n MinCrVa'S ^^ tUrnCd aU beh0lders £22

21 F 51

let ii. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY,

Ring the alarum-bell. Murder and treason!

Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake!

Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit,

And look on death itself! up, up, and see

The great doom's image! Malcolm! Ban- quo!

As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites,

To countenance this horror. Ring the bell. 90

[Bell rings.

Enter Lady Macbeth.

Lady M. What 's the business,

That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley

The sleepers of the house? speak, speak! Macd. O gentle lady,

'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak:

The repetition, in a woman's ear,

Would murder as it fell.

Enter Banquo.

O Banquo, Banquo!

Our royal master 's murder'd. Lady M. Woe, alas!

What, in our house? Ban. Too cruel any where.

Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself,

And say it is not so. 10°

Re-enter Macbeth and Lennox, with Ross.

Macb. Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time ; for from this instant

52

)F MACBETH Act II. Sc. iii.

There 's nothing serious in mortality : All is but toys: renown and grace is dead; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.

Enter Malcolm and Donalbain.

Don. What is amiss?

Wacb. You are, and do not know 't:

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood

Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd. Wacd. Your royal father 's murder'd. Mai O, by whom? HO

Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done 't :

Their hands and faces were all badged with blood ;

So were their daggers, which un wiped we found

Upon their pillows :

They stared, and were distracted ; no man's life

Was to be trusted with them. Wacb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury,

That I did kill them. Macd. Wherefore did you so?

Wacb. Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious,

Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: 120

The expedition of my violent love

Outrun the pauser reason. Here lay Duncan,

His silver skin laced with his golden blood,

123. "golden blood"; to gild with blood is a very common phrase q old plays. Johnson says, "It is not improbable that Shakespeare

53

Act II. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY

And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in

nature For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the mur- derers, Steep'd in the colors of their trade, their dag- gers Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could re- frain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make 's love known? Lady M. Help me hence, ho!

Macd. Look to the lady.

Mai. [Aside to Don.] Why do we. hold our tongues, 130

That most may claim this argument for ours ? Don. [Aside to Mai.'] What should be spoken here, where our fate, Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us? Let 's away ;

Our tears are not yet brew'd. Mai. [Aside to Don.] Nor our strong sorrow

Upon the foot of motion. Ban. Look to the lady:

[Lady Macbeth is carried out. And when we have our naked frailties hid, That suffer in exposure, let us meet,

put these forced and unnatural metaphors into the mouth of Macbeth, as a mark of artifice and dissimulation, to show the difference be- tween the studied language of hypocrisy and the natural outcries of sudden passion. This whole speech, so considered, is a remarkable instance of judgment, as it consists of antithesis only." — H. N. H.

138. That is, when we have clothed our half -dressed bodies.— H. N. H.

54

F MACBETH Act II. Sc. iii.

And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: 141

In the great hand of God I stand, and thence Against the undivulged pretense I fight Of treasonous malice. lacd. And so do I.

II. So all.

[acb. Let 's briefly put on manly readiness,

And meet i' the hall together. 11. Well contented.

[Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain. tal. What will you do? Let's not consort with them: To show an unf elt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy. I '11 to Eng- land. ^on. To Ireland, I ; our separated fortune 150

Shall keep us both the safer: where we are There 's daggers in men's smiles : the near in

blood, The nearer bloody. ral. This murderous shaft that 's shot

Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way

145-144. Banquo's meaning is, — Relying upon God, I swear per- ual war against this treason, and all the secret plottings of malice, ence it sprung. — H. N. H.

45. "manly readiness" ; i. e. the equipment and mood of battle. — H. H.

52. "the near in blood"; meaning that he suspects Macbeth, who > the next in blood. — H. N. H.

54. "hath not yet lighted"; suspecting this murder to be the work Macbeth, Malcolm thinks it could have no purpose but what him- I and his brother equally stand in the way of; that the "murderous ft" must pass through them to reach its mark. — H. N. H.

55

Act II. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY

Is to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse ; And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, But shift away : there 's warrant in that theft Which steals itself when there 's no mercy left.

[Eoceunt.

Scene IV

Outside Macbeth' s castle.

Enter Ross with an old Man.

OldM. Threescore and ten I can remember well: Within the volume of which time I have seen Hours dreadful and things strange, but this

sore night Hath trifled former knowings. Ross. Ah, good father,

Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's

act, Threaten his bloody stage : by the clock 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the traveling

lamp: Is 't night's predominance, or the day's shame,

7. "traveling" ; Collier and Verplanck change traveling to travail- ing here, on the ground that the former "gives a puerile idea"; whereupon Mr. Dyce remarks: "In this speech no mention is made of the sun till it is described as 'the traveling lamp,' the epithet 'traveling' determining what 'lamp' was intended: the instant, there- fore, that 'traveling' is changed to 'travailing,' the word 'lamp' ceases to signify the sun,." To which we will add, that if traveling lamp "gives a puerile idea," it may be thought, nevertheless, to have a pretty good sanction in Psalm xix.: "In them hath he set a taber- nacle for the sun; which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race." It should be remarked that in the Poet's time the same form of the word was used in the two senses of travel and travail. — H. N. H.

56

W MACBETH Act II. Sc. iv.

That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it? ]td M. 'Tis unnatural, 10

Even like the deed that 's done. On Tuesday

last A falcon towering in her pride of place Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. loss. And Duncan's horses — a thing most strange and certain — Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,

Contending gainst obedience, as they would make

War with mankind. f M- 'Tis said they eat each other.

*oss. They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes,

That look'd upon 't.

Enter Macduff.

Here comes the good Macduff. 20 How goes the world, sir, now?

Tac^' f Why, see you not?

oss. Is 't known who did this more than bloodv

deed? J

S-10. "After the murder of King Duffe" says Holinshed, "for the ice of six months togither there appeared no sunne by daye, r moone by night, in anie part of the realme; but still the sky s covered with continual clouds; and sometimes such outrageous ids arose with lightenings and tempests, that the people were in ;at fear of present destruction."— H. N. H.

18 "eat each other"; Holinshed relates that after King Duff's rder there was a sparhawk strangled by an owl," and that 'nH Sm9 be<XUty and swiftness did eat their own flesh."—

57

Act II. So. iv. THE TRAGEDY

Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain.

r0Ss. Alas, the day!

What good could they pretend? Macdt They were suborn'd:

Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons,

Are stol'n away and fled, which puts upon them

Suspicion of the deed. Ross. 'Gainst nature still:

Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up

Thine own life's means! Then 'tis most like

The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. Macd. He is already named, and gone to Scone

To be invested. R0Ss. Where is Duncan's body?

Macd. Carried to Colme-kill,

The sacred storehouse of his predecessors

And guardian of their bones. jl0SSt Will you to Scone?

Macd. No, cousin, I '11 to Fife. Ross. Well, I will thither.

Macd. Well, may you see things well done there: adieu !

Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! Ross. Farewell, father. Old M. God's benison go with you, and with those

That would make good of bad and friends of

foes!

[Exeunt

58

OF MACBETH Act IIL fe ,

ACT THIRD

Scene I

Forres. The palace.

Enter Banquo.

Ian Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the weird women promised, and I fear Thou play'dst most foully for 't: yet it was said It should not stand in thy posterity, But that myself should be the root' and father Of many kings. If there come truth from them —

As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine- Why, by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my oracles as well And set me up in hope? But hush, no more. 10

mnet sounded. Enter Macbeth, as king • Lady Macbeth, as queen; Lennox, Ross, ' Lords Ladies, and Attendants.

acb. Here 's our chief guest.

%dji ?\i v. If he had been f ^gotten,

It had been as a gap in our great feast,

And all-thing unbecoming. acb. To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir, And I '11 request your presence.

in' Let your highness

59

Act in. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY

Command upon me, to the which my duties Are with a most indissoluble tie For ever knit.

Macb. Ride you this afternoon?

Ban. Aye, my good lord. 20

Macb. We should have else desired your good ad- vice, Which still hath been both grave and prosper- ous, In this day's council ; but we '11 take to-morrow. Is 't far you ride?

Ban. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the

better, I must become a borrower of the night For a dark hour or twain.

Macb. Fail not our feast.

Ban. My lord, I will not.

Macb. We hear our bloody cousins are bestow'd 30 In England and in Ireland, not confessing Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers With strange invention : but of that to-morrow, When therewithal we shall have cause of state Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu, Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you?

Ban. Aye, my good lord : our time does call upon 's.

Macb. I wish your horses swift and sure of foot, And so I do commend you to their backs. Farewell. [Exit Banquo. 40

Let every man be master of his time Till seven at night; to make society

fit

OF MACBETH Act III. Sc. i.

The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself Till supper-time alone : while then, God be with you!

[Exeunt all but Macbeth and an Attendant. Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men Our pleasure ? Attend. They are, my lord, without the palace- gate. Macb. Bring them before us. [Exit Attendant.

To be thus is nothing; But to be safely thus: our fears in Banquo Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature 50 Reigns that which would be f ear'd : 'tis much he

dares, And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valor To act in safety. There is none but he Whose being I do fear : and under him My Genius is rebuked, as it is said Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the

sisters, •When first they put the name of king upon me, And bade them speak to him ; then prophet-like They hail'd him father to a line of kings: 60 Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown And put a barren scepter in my gripe, Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so, For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind; For them the gracious Duncan have I mur- der'd ; Put rancors in the vessel of my peace

61

Act in. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY

Only for them, and mine eternal jewel Given to the common enemy of man, To make them kings, the seed of Banquo

kings ! 70

Rather than so, come, fate, into the list, And champion me to the utterance ! Who 's

there ?

Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers.

Now go to the door, and stay there till we call.

[Exit Attendant. Was it not yesterday we spoke together? First Mur. It was, so please your highness. Macb. Well then, now

Have you consider'd of my speeches ? Know That it was he in the times past which held you So under fortune, which you thought had been Our innocent self: this I made good to you In our last conference ; pass'd in probation with you, 80

How you were borne in hand, how cross' d, the

instruments, Who wrought with them, and all things else

that might To half a soul and to a notion crazed Say 'Thus did Banquo.' First Mur. You made it known to us.

71, 72. "Let fate, that has foredoomed the exaltation of Banquo's sons, enter the lists in aid of its own decrees, I will fight against it to the uttermost, whatever be the consequence." — H. N. ,H.

81. "borne in hand"; to bear in hand is to delude by encouraging hope and holding out fair prospects, without any intention of per- formance.— H. N. H.

62

OF MACBETH Act III. 8c. L

Macb. I did so ; and went further, which is now Our point of second meeting. Do you find Your patience so predominant in your nature, That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd, To pray for this good man and for his issue, Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave 90

And beggar'd yours for ever?

First Mur. We are men, my liege.

Macb. Aye, in the catalogue ye go for men;

As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels,

curs, Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept All by the name of dogs: the valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, The housekeeper, the hunter, every one According to the gift which bounteous nature Hath in him closed, whereby he does receive Particular addition, from the bill 100

That writes them all alike: and so of men. Now if you have a station in the file, Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say it, And I will put that business in your bosoms Whose execution takes your enemy off, Grapples you to the heart and love of us, Who wear our health but sickly in his life, Which in his death were perfect.

Sec. Mur. I am one, my liege,

Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what HO

101. "writes them all alike"; includes all their varieties under the ;ame generic name of "dog." — C. H. H.

63

Act in. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY

I do to spite the world.

First Mur. And I another

So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my life on any chance, To mend it or be rid on 't.

Macb. . Both of you

Know Banquo was your enemy.

Both Mur. True, my lord.

Macb. So is he mine, and in such bloody distance That every minute of his being thrusts Against my near'st of life: and though I could With barefaced power sweep him from my

sight And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, 120 For certain friends that are both his and mine, Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall Who I myself struck down : and thence it is That I to your assistance do make love, Masking the business from the common eye For sundry weighty reasons.

Sec. Mur. We shall, my lord,

Perform what you command us.

First Mur. Though our lives —

Macb. Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most I will advise you where to plant yourselves, 129 Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time,

130. "you with the perfect spy o' the time"; Johnson conj. "you with a"; Tyrwhitt conj. "you with the perfect spot, the time"; Beckett- conj. ((you with the perfectry o' the time"; Grant White, from Collier MS., "you, with a perfect spy, o' the time"; Schmidt interprets "spy" to mean "an advanced guard; that time which will precede the time of the deed, and indicate that it is at hand";

64

OF MACBETH Act III. Sc. i.

The moment on 't ; for 't must be done to-night, And something from the palace; always

thought That I require a clearness: and with him — To leave no rubs nor botches in the work — Fleance his son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me Than is his father's, must embrace the fate Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart: I '11 come to you anon.

Both Mur. We are resolved, my lord.

Macb. I '11 call upon you straight: abide within. 140

[Exeunt Murderers. It is concluded: Banquo thy soul's flight, If it find heaven, must find it out to-night.

[Exit.

according to others "spy"=z the person who gives the information; the simplest explanation is, perhaps, "the exact spying out of the time," i. e. "the moment on 't," which in the text follows in apposi- tion.— I. G.

XXVIII— 5 65

Act in. Sc. a. THE TRAGEDY

Scene II

The palace. Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant.

Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court?

Serv. Aye, madam, but returns again to-night.

Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his leisure For a few words.

Serv . Madam, I will. [Exit.

Lady M. Naught 's had, all 's spent,

Where our desire is got without content : 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

Enter Macbeth.

How now, my lord! why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making ; Using those thoughts which should indeed have

died 10

With them they think on? Things without all

remedy Should be without regard : what 's done is done. Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it: She '11 close and be herself, whilst our poor

malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let the frame of things disjoint, both the

worlds suffer,

16-19. "But let . . . nightly"; the process of Macbeth's mind is thus suggested by Coleridge: "Ever and ever mistaking the

66

F MACBETH Act ill. Sc. ii.

Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly: better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie 21

In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor

poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further. ady M. Come on;

Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; Be bright and jovial among your guests to- night. acb. So shall I, love ; and so, I pray, be you : Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; 3® Present him eminence, both with eye and

tongue : Unsafe the while, that we Must lave our honors in these flattering

streams, And make our faces visards to our hearts, Disguising what they are.

jjuish of conscience for fears of selfishness, and thus, as a punish- nt of that selfishness, plunging still deeper in guilt and ruin." t is it not the natural result of an imagination so redundant ji excitable as his, that the agonies of remorse should project and )ody themselves in imaginary terrors, and so, for security against >e, put him upon new crimes? — H. N. H.

0. "our peace"; so F. 1; Ff. 2, 3, 4, "our place."— I. G.

1. "on the torture of the mind to lie"; an allusion to the rack. — 1H. H.

1, 35. The sense of this passage appears to be, — It is a sign that

67

Act in. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY

Lady M. You must leave this.

Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. Lady M. But in them nature's copy 's not eterne. Macb. There 's comfort yet ; they are assailable ; Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight; ere to black Hecate's sum- mons 41 The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall

be done A deed of dreadful note. Lady M. What 's to be done?

Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling

night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day, And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale! Light thickens, and the crow 50

our royalty is unsafe, when it must descend to flattery, and stoop to dissimulation. — H. N. H.

38. Ritson has justly observed that "nature's copy alludes to copy- hold tenure; in which the tenant holds an estate for life, having nothing but the copy of the rolls of his lord's court to show for it A life-hold tenure may well be said to be not eternal. — H. N. H.

49. "Cancel" etc.; a contin ation of the image in line 37. — C. H. H. "that great bond" is Banquo's life. So in Richard III, Act iv. sc

4: "Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray." — H. N. H.

50. "Light thickens"; thus in Fletcher's Faithful Shepherdess:

"Fold your flocks up, for the air 'Gins to thicken, and the sun Already his great course hath run." — H. N. H. 68

OF MACBETH Act III. Sc. iii.

Makes wing to the rocky wood :

Good things of day begin to droop and drowse,

Whiles night's black agents to their preys do

rouse. Thou marvel'st at my words : but hold thee still ; Things bad begun make strong themselves by

ill: So, prithee, go with me. [Exeunt.

Scene III

A park near the palace.

Enter three Murderers.

First Mur. But who did bid thee join with us? Third Mur. Macbeth.

Sec. Mur. He needs not our mistrust; since he de- livers

Our offices, and what we have to do,

To the direction just. First Mur. Then stand with us.

The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day:

Now spurs the lated traveler apace

To gain the timely inn, and near approaches

The subject of our watch. Third Mur. Hark! I hear horses.

Ban. [Within] Give us a light there, ho! Sec. Mur. Then 'tis he: the rest

That are within the note of expectation 10

Already are i' the court. First Mur. His horses go about.

09

Act III. Sc. iv.

THE TRAGEDY

Third Mur. Almost a mile: but he does usually — So all men do — from hence to the palace gate Make it their walk.

Sec. Mur. A light, a light !

Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch.

Third Mur. 'Tishe.

First Mur. Stand to 't.

Ban. It will be rain to-night.

First Mur. Let it come down.

[They set upon Banquo. Ban. O, treachery ! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly !

Thou mayst revenge. O slave!

[Dies. Fleance escapes. Third Mur. Who did strike out the light? First Mur. Was 't not the way?

Third Mur. There 's but one down ; the son is fled. Sec. Mur. We have lost 20

Best half of our affair. First Mur. Well, let 's away and say how much is done. [Exeunt.

Scene IV

Hall in the palace.

A banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady Mac- beth, Ross, Lennox, Lords, and Attendants.

Macb. You know your own degrees; sit down: at first And last a hearty welcome.

1. "at first"; Johnson with great plausibility proposes to read "to first and last/'— H. N. H.

70

OF MACBETH Act in. Sc. iv.

Lords. Thanks to your majesty.

Macb. Ourself will mingle with society

And play the humble host.

Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time

We will require her welcome. Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends,

For my heart speaks they are welcome.

Enter first Murderer to the door.

Macb. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. Both sides are even : here I '11 sit i' the midst : 10 Be large in mirth; anon we '11 drink a measure The table round. [Approaching the door] There 's blood upon thy face. Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. Macb. 'Tis better thee without than he within.

Is he dispatch'd? Mur. My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. Macb. Thou art the best o' the cut-throats : yet he 's good That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it, Thou art the nonpareil. Mur. Most royal sir,

Fleance is 'scaped. 20

Macb. [Aside] Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect, Whole as the marble, founded as the rock,

14. "'Tis better thee without than he within"; probably "he" istead of "him" for the sake of effective antithesis with "thee"; nless, as is possible, "he within"="he in this room."— I. G.

That is, I am better pleased that his blood should be on thy face lan he in this room. — H. N. H.

71

Act in. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY

As broad and general as the casing air :

But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound

in I

To saucy doubts and fears. — But Banquo 's safe? Mur. Aye, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head ; The least a death to nature. Macb. Thanks for that.

[Aside] There the grown serpent lies; the worm

that 's fled Hath nature that in time will venom breed, 30 No teeth for the present. Get thee gone: to- morrow We '11 hear ourselves again. [Exit Murderer. Lady M. My royal lord,

You do not give the cheer : the feast is sold That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making, 'Tis given with welcome: to feed were best at

home; From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony ; Meeting were bare without it. Macb. Sweet remembrancer!

Now good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both! Len. May 't please your highness sit.

[The Ghost of Banquo enters, and sits in Macbeth's

place.

34. "that is not often vouch'd"; the last clause of this sentence evidently depends upon vouch'd: "that is not often vouch'd to be given with welcome." There were no need of saying this, but that Mr. Collier mars the sense by putting a semicolon after making.— H. N. H.

72 • -

OF MACBETH Act ill. Sc. iv.

Macb. Here had we now our country's honor roof'd, 40

Were the graced person of our Banquo present ;

Who may I rather challenge for unkindness

Than pity for mischance ! Ross. His absence, sir,

Lays blame upon his promise. Please 't your highness

To grace us with your royal company. Macb. The table 's full.

l*en. Here is a place reserved, sir.

Macb. Where? Len. Here, my good lord. What is 't that moves

your highness? Macb. Which of you have done this? Lords. What, my good lord?

Macb. Thou canst not say I did it : never shake 50

Thy gory locks at me. Ross. Gentlemen, rise ; his highness is not well. Lady M. Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus,

And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep

seat; The fit is momentary; upon a thought He will again be well: if much you note him, You shall offend him and extend his passion : Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man?

Macb. Aye, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil.

Lady M. O proper stuff! 60

This is the very painting of your fear: This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said,

73

Act ill. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY

Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, Impostors to true fear, would well become A woman's story at a winter's fire, Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces? When all's

done, You look but on a stool.

Macb. Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. 70

If charnel-houses and our graves must send Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites. [Exit Ghost.

Lady M. What, quite unmann'd in folly?

Macb. If I stand here, I saw him.

Lady M. Fie, for shame!

Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere humane statute purged the gentle weal; Aye, and since too, murders have been perf orm'd Too terrible for the ear: the time has been,

64. "Impostors to true fear"; that is, these self-generated fears are impostors, compared to true fear, — that fear which springs from real danger, — such danger as you have often outfaced. This use of to for compared to, or in comparison with, has puzzled the com- mentators hugely, but was very common in the old writers, and is so still.— H. N. H.

72, 73. "our monuments/' etc.; the same thought occurs in The Faerie Queene, b. ii. can. 8: "Be not entombed in the raven or the kight."—H. N. H.

76. "purged the (jentle weal"; purged the state of violence and hence made it "gentle."— C. H. H.

78. "time has"; F. 1, "times has"; Ff. 2, 3, 4, "times have"; the reading of the First Folio is probably what Shakespeare intended. —I. G.

74

OF MACBETH . Act III. Sc. iv.

That, when the brains were out, the man would die,

And there an end ; but now they rise again, 80

With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,

And push us from our stools: this is more strange

Than such a murder is. Lady M . My worthy lord,

Your noble friends do lack you. Macb. I do forget.

Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends ;

I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing

To those that know me. Come, love and health to all;

Then I '11 sit down. Give me some wine, fill full.

I drink to the general joy o' the whole table,

And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss ;

Would he were here ! to all and him we thirst,

And all to all. Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 92

Re-enter Ghost.

Macb. Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee!

92. "Re-enter Ghost"; much question has been made of late, whether there be not two several ghosts in this scene; some maintaining that Duncan's enters here, and Banquo's before; others, that Banquo's enters here, and Duncan's before. The whole question seems absurd enough. But perhaps it will be best disposed of by referring to Dr. Forman, who, as we have seen in the Introduction, witnessed this play at the Globe, April 20, 1610, and Who, as he speaks of Ban- quo's ghost, would doubtless have spoken of Duncan's, had there been any such. "The night, being at supper with his noblemen,

75

Act in. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY

Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with.

Lady M. • Think of this, good peers,

But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other ; Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.

Macb. What man dare, I dare:

Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; 101 Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble: or be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword ; If trembling I inhabit then, protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! Unreal mockery, hence! [Exit Ghost.

Why, so : being gone, I am a man again. Pray you, sit still.

whom he had bid to a feast, (to the which also Banquo should have come,) he began to speak of noble Banquo, and to wish that he were there. And as he thus did, standing up to drink a carouse to him. the ghost of Banquo came, and sat down in his chair be- hind him. And he, turning about to sit down again, saw the ghost of Banquo," which fronted him, so that he fell in a great passion of fear and fury, uttering many words about his murder, by which, when they heard that Banquo was murdered, they suspected Mac- beth."—H. N. H.

105-106. "If trembling I inhabit then"; various emendations have been proposed, e. g. "I inhibit ,"=" 'me inhibit," "I inhibit thee," "I inherit," &C; probably the text is correct, and the words mean "If I then put on the habit of trembling," i. e. "if I invest myself in trembling" (cp. Koppel, p. 76). — I. G.

That is, if I stay at home then. The passage is thus explained by Home Tooke: "Dare me to the desert with thy sword; if then I do not meet thee there; if trembling I stay in my castle, or any habitation; if I then hide, my head, or dwell in any place through fear, protest me the baby of a girl." But for the meddling of Pope and others, this passage would have hardly required a note.— H. N. H.

76

3F MACBETH Act m. Sc. iv.

ady M. You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admired disorder. ^acl>. Can such things be, 110

And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder? You make me

strange Even to the disposition that I owe, When now I think you can behold such sights, And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, When mine is blanch'd with fear. *oss' What sights, my lord?

My M. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse; Question enrages him: at once, good night: Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once.

en- Good night ; and better health 120

Attend his majesty!

ady M. A kind good night to all !

[Exeunt all but Macbeth and Lady M. Tacb. It will have blood: they say blood will have blood :

Stones have been known to move and trees to speak ;

Augures and understood relations have

'"-"overcome"; pass over us without wonder, as a casual sum- r s cloud passes, unregarded.— H. N H

Ln3*I^hLmake mC f f Fanger CVen t0 ^ own disposition, now

oo JL ^ T°U °an l00k upon such siShts unmoved.-H. N. H 22. The Folios read: —

"It trill have blood they say; Blood will have blood." — I. G.

77

Act III. Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY

By maggot-pies and choughs and rooks brought

forth The secret'st man of blood. What is the night? Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is

which. Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person At our great bidding ? Lady M. Did you send to him, sir?

Macb, I hear it by the way, but I will send: 130

There 's not a one of them but in his house I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, And betimes I will, to the weird sisters : More shall they speak, for now I am bent to

know, By the worst means, the worst. For mine own

good All causes shall give way : I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er: Strange things I have in head that will to hand, Which must be acted ere they may be scann'de Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. Macb. Come, we '11 to sleep. My strange and self- abuse 142 Is the initiate fear that wants hard use : We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt.

144. "in deed"; Theobald's emendation of Ff., "indeed"; Hanmer, 'in deeds."— I. G.

78

f

OF MACBETH Act m. Sc. v.

Scene V

A heath.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting

Hecate.

First Witch. Why, how now, Hecate! you look an- gerly.

ptec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, Saucy and over-bold? How did you dare To trade and traffic with Macbeth In riddles and affairs of death; And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never call'd to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art? And, which is worse, all you have done 10

Hath been but for a wayward son,

Sc. 5. The scene is probably an interpolation.— C. H. H

1. Shakespeare has been censured for bringing in Hecate anion*

ufUd ""4 7 ™foundin* ancient with modern superstIS ut besides that this censure itself confounds the Weird Sisters ith the witches of popular belief, the common notions of witch- •att in his time took classical names for the chiefs and leaders of ie witches In Jonson's Sad Shepherd Hecate is spoken of as istress of the witches, "our dame Hecate." We have already, in

?J;SV frveV o?aSSagC fr°m Coleri<%e> ^ting the difference tween the Weird Sisters and the vulgar witches. It is worth re- aring, also, how Dr. Forman speaks of the Weird Sisters, as he w them on the Poet's own stage. "There was to be observed, first, »w Macbeth and Banquo, two noblemen of Scotland, riding through wood, there stood before them three women Fairies or Nvmvhs sauted Macbeth, saying three times unto him, Hail, Macbeth" \\ hich looks as if this dealer in occult science knew better than

call them witches, yet scarce knew what else to call them —

N. H.

79

!Act in. Sc. v. THE TRAGEDY

Spiteful and wrathful ; who, as others do,

Loves for his own ends, not for you.

But make amends now : get you gone,

And at the pit of Acheron

Meet me i' the morning : thither he

Will come to know his destiny:

Your vessels and your spells provide,

Your charms and every thing beside.

I am for the air ; this night I '11 spend 20

Unto a dismal and a fatal end :

Great business must be wrought ere noon :

Upon the corner of the moon

There hangs a vaporous drop profound ;

I '11 catch it ere it comes to ground:

And that distill'd by magic sleights

Shall raise such artificial sprights

As by the strength of their illusion

Shall draw him on to his confusion :

He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear 30

His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear :

And you all know security

Is mortals' chief est enemy.

[Music and a song within: 'Come away,

come away/ §c.

Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see,

Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit.

First Witch. Come, let 's make haste ; she '11 soon

be back again. [Exeunt

13. "Loves"; Halliwell conj. "Lives"; Staunton conj. "Loves evil." —I. G.

24. "vaporous drop" seems to have been the same as the virus lunare of the ancients, being a foam which the moon was supposed to shed on particular herbs, or other objects, when strongly solicited by enchantments. — H. N. H.

80

OF MACBETH Act IIL s, vi.

Scene VI

Forres. The palace.

Enter Lennox and another Lord.

Len. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, Which can interpret farther: only I say Things have been strangely borne. The gra- cious Duncan Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead: And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late; Whom, you may say, if 't please you, Fleance kilFd,

For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late. Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain To kill their gracious father ? damned fact ! 10 How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight, In pious rage, the two delinquents tear, That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep ?

Was not that nobly done? Aye, and wisely too; J

For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive To hear the men deny 't. So that, I say, He has borne all things well: and I do think That, had he Duncan's sons under his key- As, an 't please heaven, he shall not— thev should find y

xxviiL7°W' is Capeirs suggestion--€- H- H-

ol

Act III. Sc. vi. THE TRAGEDY

What 'twere to kill a father ; so should Fleance. But, peace! for from broad words, and 'cause he fail'd 21

His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear, Macduff lives in disgrace : sir, can you tell Where he bestows himself?

Lord, The son of Duncan,

From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, Lives in the English court, and is received Of the most pious Edward with such grace That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect. Thither Mac- duff Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid 30 To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward: That by the help of these, with Him above To ratify the work, we may again Give to our tables meat, sleep 1 3 our nights, Free from our feasts and banquets bloody

knives, Do faithful homage and receive free honors: All which we pine for now: and this report Hath so exasperate the king that he Prepares for some attempt of war.

Len. Sent he to Macduff?

Lord. He did: and with an absolute 'Sir, not I,' 40 The cloudy messenger turns me his back, And hums, as who should say 'You '11 rue the

time That clogs me with this answer.'

27. "the most pious Edward," i. e. Edward the Confessor. — I. G. 35. The construction is: "Free our feasts and banquets from bloody knives." — H. N. H.

82

F MACBETH Act m. s* *.

en\,. ,. And that well might

Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel Fly to the court of England and unfold His message ere he come, that a swift blessing May soon return to this our suffering country Under a hand accursed !

)rdt 1 'U send my prayers with him.

{Exeunt.

^3F 83

Act iv. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY

i

ACT FOURTH

Scene I

A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

First Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. Sec. Witch. Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined Third Witch. Harpier cries "Tis time, 'tis time.' First Witch. Round about the cauldron go:

In the poison'd entrails throw.

Toad, that under cold stone

Days and nights has thirty one

Swelter'd venom sleeping got,

Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. All Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Sec. Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,

6 So in the original. Pope would read, "under the cold stone" Steevens, "under coldest stone"; the latter of which is commonlj followed. There seems, indeed, no call for any discord here, su( as comes by omitting a syllable from the verse, and perhaps some thing dropped out in the printing. Yet to our ear the extending cold to the time of two syllables feels right enough. At all evert we stick to the original. — H. N. H.

84

OF MACBETH Act IV. Sc. i.

Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,

For a charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. All. Double, double toil and trouble; 20

Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Third Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,

Witches' mummy, maw and gulf

Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,

Root of hemlock digged i' the dark,

Liver of blaspheming Jew,

Gall of goat and slips of yew

Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse,

Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips,

Finger of birth-strangled babe 30

Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,

Make the gruel thick and slab :

Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,

For the ingredients of our cauldron. All. Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

25. "the dark"; as the season of misdeeds. — C. H. H.

28. "in the moon's eclipse"; a season proverbially ill-omened; cf» Lear i. 2. 117, Sonnets lx. and cvii. — C. H. H.

34. In sorting the materials wherewith the Weird Sisters celebrate their infernal orgies, and compound their "hell-broth," Shakespeare gathered and condensed the popular belief of his time. Ben Jonson, whose mind dwelt more in the circumstantial, and who spun his poetry much more out of the local and particular, made a grand showing from the same source in his Mask of Queens. But his powers did not permit, nor did his purpose require, him to select and dispose his materials so as to cause anything like such an im- pression of terror. Shakespeare so weaves his incantations as to cast a spell upon the mind, and force its acquiescence in what he represents: explode as we may the witchcraft he describes, there is no exploding the witchcraft of his description; the effect springing not so much from what he borrows as from his own ordering thereof. — H. N. H.

85

Act IV. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY

Sec. Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good.

Enter Hecate to the other three Witches.

Hec. O, well done ! I commend your pains ;

And every one shall share i' the gains : 40

And now about the cauldron sing,

Like elves and fairies in a ring,

Enchanting all that you put in.

[Music and a song: ' Black spirits/ 8$c.

[Hecate retires. Sec. Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs,

Something wicked this way comes:

Open, locks,

Whoever knocks!

Enter Macbeth.

Macb. How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags! What is 't you do?

All. A deed without a name.

Macb. I conjure you, by that which you profess, Howe'er you come to know it, answer me: 51 Though you untie the winds and let them fight Against the churches ! though the yesty waves

43. "Black spirits"; this song also, like the former, was not given in the printed copy of the play, and has been supplied from Mid- dleton's Witch, the manuscript of which was discovered towards the close of the last century. We give it here, not feeling author- ized to print it in the text:

"Black spirits and white, red spirits and gray; Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may."

Probably both songs were taken from "the traditional wizard poetry of the drama."— H. N. H.

8C

OF MACBETH . ,

Act IV. Sc. i.

Confound and swallow navigation up;

dUoln C°rn ^ l0dged and treeS blown

Though castles topple on their warders' heads; lhough palaces and pyramids do slope Their heads to their foundations; though the

treasure

Of nature's germins tumble all together £ven till destruction sicken; answer me' 60 lo what I ask you. first Witch. Speak.

KL^S* Demand-

hird Witch. w ,„

fr*t Witch. Say, if thou 'dst rather hear SXom our mouths, Or from our masters?

wVv i. v ■ Cal1 'em' let me see 'em.

irst Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten

Mer nine farrow; grease that 's sweaten

irom the murderer's gibbet throw

Into the flame.

H' ,„ Come, high or low;

Inyself and office deftly show!

Thunder. First Apparition: an armed Head.

acb. Tell me, thou unknown power

N Witch. He knows' thy thought:

8. The ''armed head" represents symbolically Macbeth', h«H , ^ and brought to Malcolm by jLcduff. The bloody cht is eduff, unhmely ripped from his mother's womb. The child ha crown on his head and a bough in his hand, is the ro al lcom who ordered his soldiers to hew them down a boil Lfd r it before them to Dunsinane (Upton).-H. N. H.

87

Act IV. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY

Hear his speech, but say thou nought. 70

First App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! be- ware Macduff; Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me: enough.

[Descends. Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution thanks ; Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: but one word more, — First Witch. He will not be commanded: here's another, More potent than the first.

Thunder. Second Apparition: a bloody Child. Sec. App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Macb. Had I three ears, I 'Id hear thee. Sec. App. Be bloody, bold and resolute; laugh to

scorn The power of man, for none of woman born 80 Shall harm Macbeth. [Descends.

Macb. Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee ? But yet I '11 make assurance doubly sure, And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, l

And sleep in spite of thunder. Thunder. Third Appantion: a Child crowned with a tree in his hand.

70. Silence was necessary during all incantations. So in Th Tempest: "Be mute, or else our spell is marr'd."— H. N. H.

72. "Dismiss me: enough"; spirits thus evoked were supposed t< be impatient of being questioned.— H. N. H.

78. So the expression still in use: "I listened with all the eart had."—H. N. H.

88

OF MACBETH Act IV- fc .

_ . What is this,

lhat rises like the issue of a king, And wears upon his baby-brow the round And top of sovereignty?

W : , A „ Listen, but speak not to 't.

Ffttrrf ^. Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care ^q

Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are- Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him. {Descends.

la<ib- . That will never be:

Who can impress the forest, bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root ? Sweet bodements ! good !

Rebellion's head, rise never, till the wood Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth Shall hve the lease of nature, pay his breath 1 o time and mortal custom. Yet my heart 100 Ihrobs to know one thing: tell me, if your art Can tell so much: shall Banquo's issue ever Keign in this kingdom?

r ' 7 T •» i . ^eek to know no more.

lacb. I will be satisfied: deny me this

Anknow-eternal °UrSe faU °n y°Ul Let me

93. The present accent of Dunsinane is right In ever. „»,, fence the accent is misplaced. Thus in HerveV's Li7e Z « 5° Wert Bruce, 1729: *ier\eys L,\fe of King

"Whose deeds let Birnam and Dunsinnan tell, i «r> ,T, °re bBttled and the villai" felI."-H N H

ebellious head.»-I.G. Warburt°ns conJ" ad°P*ed by Theobald,

89

Act IV. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY

Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this*

[Hautboys, First Witch. Show! Sec. Witch. Show! Third Witch. Show! All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; 1H

Come like shadows, so depart !

A show of eight Kings, the last with a glass in hi hand; Banquo3 s Ghost following.

Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo

down! Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And th

hair, Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. A third is like the former. Filthy hags ! Why do you show me this? A fourth! Star

eyes! What, will the line stretch out to the crack c

doom? Another yet ! A seventh ! I '11 see no more : And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass Which shows me many more ; and some I see U

111. "A show of Eight Kings"; Banquo is reputed to have been I ancestor of the Stuarts. Walter Stuart married the grand-daud ter of Robert Bruce, and their son was Robert II. His descer ants, who sat upon the throne, were Robert III and the six kir called James. Mary, daughter of James V, is omitted in 1 vision, as the witches' prophecy related only to kings. — C. H. H.

119. "a glass"; the notion of a magic glass or charmed mirr wherein anyone might see whatsoever of the distant or the fut pertained to himself, seems to have been a part of the old Druidi mythology. There is an allusion to it in Measure for Measure, J II. scene ii.: "And, like a prophet, looks in a glass that shows w future evils," &c— H. N. H.

90

OF MACBETH Act IV. Sc. i.

That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry :

Horrible sight ! Now I see 'tis true ;

For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,

And points at them for his. What, is this so? First Witch. Aye, sir, all this is so : but why

Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?

Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites,

And show the best of our delights:

I '11 charm the air to give a sound,

While you perform your antic round, 130

That this great king may kindly say

Our duties did his welcome pay.

[Music. The Witches dance, and then

vanish, with Hecate. Macb. Where are they? Gone? Let this perni- cious hour

Stand aye accursed in the calendar !

Come in, without there !

Enter Lennox.

hen. What 's your grace's will?

Macb. Saw you the weird sisters? hen. No, my lord.

Macb. Came they not by you ?

\hen. No indeed, my lord.

Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride,

And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear

121. "balls"; the globe, part of the king's insignia. In 1542 Henry

H VIII took the title of King of Ireland. When James VI of Scot-

^| land came to the English throne the three scepters were \inited.

■j Thus he alone of the eight could carry "two-fold balls and treble

| scepters."— C. H. H.

91

Act IV. Sc. u. THE TRACED!

The galloping of horse: who was 't came by? 14 Len. ,rrfs two or three, my lord, that bring yoi word Macduff is fled to England. Macb. Fled to England

Len. Aye, my good lord. Macb. [Aside] Time, thou anticipatest my drea< exploits : The flighty purpose never is o'ertook Unless the deed go with it: from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thougl

and done: The castle of Macduff I will surprise; Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls That trace him in his line. No boasting like

fool; This deed I '11 do before this purpose cool: But no more sights! — Where are these gent]

men? Come, bring me where they are. [Exem

Scene II

Fife. Macduff's castle.

Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Ross.

L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly i

land? Ross. You must have patience, madam.

92

OF MACBETH Act IV. Sc. ii.

L. Macd. He had none :

His flight was madness : when our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors.

Ross. You know not

Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.

L. Macd. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes, His mansion and his titles, in a place From whence himself does fly? He loves us

not; He wants the natural touch : for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, 10 Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. All is the fear and nothing is the love ; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason.

Ross. My dearest coz,

I pray you, school yourself: but, for your hus- band, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much

further : But cruel are the times, when we are traitors And do not know ourselves; when we hold ru- mor

3, 4. "when our actions . . . traitors"; our flight is considered as evidence of treason. — H. N. H.

18. "when we are traitors And do not know ourselves" i. e. when we are accounted traitors, and do not know that we are, having no consciousness of guilt. Hanmer, "know 't o"; Keightley, "know it ourselves"; but no change seems necessary. — I. G.

19-20. "when we hold rumor," &c; i. e. "when we interpret rumor in accordance with our fear, yet know not exactly what it is we fear."— I. G.

93

Act IV. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY

From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, But float upon a wild and violent sea 21

Each way and move. I take my leave of you : Shall not be long but I '11 be here again : Things at the worst will cease, or else climb up- ward To what they were before. My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you !

L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he 's fatherless.

Ross. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace and your discomfort: I take my leave at once. [Exit.

L. Macd. Sirrah, your father 's dead : 30

And what will you do now ? How will you live ?

Son. As birds do, mother.

L. Macd. What, with worms and flies ?

Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do they.

L. Macd. Poor bird! thou 'ldst never fear the net nor lime, The pitfall nor the gin.

Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for. My father is not dead, for all your saying.

22. "Each way and move"; Theobald conj. "Each way and wave"; Capell, "And move each way"; Steevens conj. "And each way move" ; Johnson conj. "Each way, and move — "; Jackson conj. "Each wail and moan"; Ingleby conj. "Which way we move"; Anon. conj. "And move each wave"; Staunton conj. "Each sway and move"; Daniel conj. "Each way it moves"; Camb. edd. conj. "Each way and none" ; perhaps "Each way we move" is the simplest reading of the words. — I. G.

"and move"; if right, these obscure words probably make explicit the idea of movement to and fro implied in "floating" on "a wild and violent sea." — C. H. H.

94

OF MACBETH Act iv. Sc. ii.

L. Macd. Yes, he is dead: how wilt thou do for a

father? Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband? L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any mar- ket. 40 Son. Then you '11 buy 'em to sell again. L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit, and yet, F faith,

With wit enough for thee. Son. Was my father a traitor, mother? L. Macd. Aye, that he was. Son. What is a traitor? L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies. Son. And be all traitors that do so? L. Macd. Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged. 50

Son. And must they all be hanged that swear and

lie? L. Macd. Every one. Son. Who must hang them? L. Macd. Why, the honest men. Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools; for

there are liars and swearers enow to beat the

honest men and hang up them. L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor monkey!

But how wilt thou do for a father? 60

Son. If he were dead, you 'Id weep for him: if

you would not, it were a good sign that I

should quickly have a new father. L. Macd. Poor prattler, how thou talk'st!

Enter a Messenger. 95

Act iv. Sc. ii. THE TRAGEDY

Mess. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honor I am perfect. I doubt some danger does approach you nearly : If you will take a homely man's advice, Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. To fright you thus, methinks I am too savage; To do worse to you were fell cruelty, 71

Which is too nigh your person. Heaven pre- serve you! I dare abide no longer. [Exit.

L. Macd. Whither should I fly?

I have done no harm. But I remember now I am in this earthly world, where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas, Do I put up that womanly defense, To say I have done no harm? — What are these faces?

Enter Murderers.

First Mur. Where is your husband? 80

L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified

Where such as thou mayst find him. First Mur. He 's a traitor.

Son. Thou liest, thou shag-ear'd villain!

71. "do worse" i. e. "let her and her children be destroyed withh out warning" (Johnson); (Hanmer, "do less"; Capell, "do less"). — I. G.

83. "shag-ear'd" ; the old copy has shag-ear'd, upon which Mr." Knight remarks, — "This should be probably shag-hair'd." Mr. Dyce, quoting this remark, adds, — "Assuredly it should: formerly, hair was often written hear; and shag-hear d was doubtless altered by a mistake of the transcriber, or the original compositor, to shag-

96

OF MACBETH Act IV. St. iii.

First Mur. What, you eggl

[Stabbing him.

Young fry of treachery!

Son. He has kill'd me, mother:

Run away, I pray you ! [Dies.

[Exit Lady Macduff, crying 'Murderer!'

Exeunt murderers, following her.

Scene III

England. Before the King's palace.

Enter Malcolm and Macduff.

Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there

Weep our sad bosoms empty. Macd. Let us rather

Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new

morn New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sor- rows

ear'd. King Midas, after his decision in favor of Pan, is the only human being on record to whom the latter epithet could be applied." Shag-hair'd was a common term of abuse. In Lodge's Incarnate Devils of this Age, 1596, we hare "shag-heard slave." — H. N. H.

85. Exit, etc.; "This scene," says Coleridge, "dreadful as it is, is still a relief, because a variety, because domestic, and therefore sooth- ing, as associated with the only real pleasures of life. The conversa- tion between Lady Macduff and her child heightens the pathos, and is preparatory for the deep tragedy of their assassination. Shake- speare's fondness for children is everywhere shown; — in Prince Ar- thur in King John; in the sweet scene in The Winter's Tale between Hermione and her son; nay, even in honest Evans' examination of Mrs. Page's schoolboy." — H. N. H. XXVIII— 7 97

Act iv. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY

Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds . As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out

Like syllable of dolor. Mai What I believe, I '11 wail;

What know, believe ; and what I can redress,

As I shall find the time to friend, I will. 10

What you have spoke, it may be so perchance.

This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,

Was once thought honest: you have loved him well ;

He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something

You may deserve of him through me ; and wis- dom

To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb

To appease an angry god. Macd. I am not treacherous. Mai. But Macbeth is.

A good and virtuous nature may recoil

In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon ; 20

That which you are, my thoughts cannot trans- pose:

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell :

10. "to friend"; opportune.— C. H. H.

15. "deserve"; Warburton's emendation, adopted by Theobald;

Ff. 1, 2, "discerne"; Ff. 3, 4, "discern"; , "and wisdom"; there

is some corruption of text here, probably a line has dropped out. Hanmer reads "'tis wisdom"; Steevens conj. "and wisdom is it"; Collier eonj. "and 'tis wisdom"; Staunton conj. "and wisdom 'tis" or "and wisdom bids"; Keightley, "and wisdom 'twere." — I. G.

"through me" means, by putting me out of the way. — H. N. H.

98

OF MACBETH Act IV. Sc. iii.

Though all things foul would wear the brows of

grace, Yet grace must still look so. Macd. I have lost my hopes.

Mai. Perchance even there where I did find my

doubts. Why in that rawness left you wife and child, Those precious motives, those strong knots of

love, Without leave-taking? I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonors, But mine own safeties. You may be rightly

just, 30

Whatever I shall think. Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country:

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dare not check thee: wear thou

thy wrongs ; The title is affeer'd. Fare thee well, lord: I would not be the villain that thou think'st For the whole space that 's in the tyrant's grasp And the rich East to boot. Mai. Be not offended:

I speak not as in absolute fear of you. I think our country sinks beneath the yoke ; It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gash 40 Is added to her wounds: I think withal There would be hands uplifted in my right; And here from gracious England have I offer

24. "my hopes" ; i. e. hopes of welcome from Malcolm, who with- holds it from distrust, aroused by Macduff's abandonment of wife and children.— C. H. H.

99

!Act IV. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY;

Of goodly thousands: but for all this, When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Shall have more vices than it had before, More suffer and more sundry ways than ever, By him that shall succeed.

Macd. What should he be?

Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom I know 50

All the particulars of vice so grafted That, when they shall be open'd, black Mac- beth Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state Esteem him as a lamb, being compared With my confineless harms.

Macd. Not in the legions

Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd In evils to top Macbeth.

Mai. I grant him bloody,

Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name : but there 's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness : your wives, your daugh- ters, 61 Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust, and my desire All continent impediments would o'erbear, That did oppose my will : better Macbeth Than such an one to reign.

Macd. Boundless intemperance

In nature is a tyranny ; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne, And fall of many kings. But fear not yet

100

OF MACBETH Act IV. Sc iii.

To take upon you what is yours : you may 70 Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood- wink: We have willing dames enough ; there cannot be That vulture in you, to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclined.

Mai. With this there grows

In my most ill-composed affection such A stanchless avarice that, were I king, I should cut off the nobles for their lands, Desire his jewels and this other's house: 80

And my more-having would be as a sauce To make me hunger more, that I should forge Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, Destroying them for wealth.

Macd. This avarice

Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been The sword of our slain kings : yet do not fear ; Scotland hath f oisons to fill up your will Of your mere own: all these are portable, With other graces weigh' d.

Mai. But I have none: the king-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, I have no relish of them, but abound In the division of each several crime,

72. "time"; world.— C. H. H.

101

Act iv. Sc. m. THE TRAGEDY

Acting in many ways. Nay, had I power, I should • Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth. Macd. O Scotland, Scotland! 100

Mai. If such a one be fit to govern, speak :

I am as I have spoken. Macd. Fit to govern!

No, not to live. O nation miserable! With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, Since that the truest issue of thy throne By his own interdiction stands accursed, And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal

father Was a most sainted king: the queen that bore

thee, Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, HO Died every day she lived. Fare thee well ! These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself Have banish'd me from Scotland. O my

breast, Thy hope ends here! Mai. Macduff, this noble passion,

Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my

thoughts To thy good truth and honor. Devilish Mac- beth

111. "Died every day she lived/' "lived a life of daily mortification" (Delius).— I. G.

102

OF MACBETH Act IV. Sc. iii.

By many of these trains hath sought to win me Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me From over-credulous haste : but God above 120 Deal between thee and me! for even now I put myself to thy direction, and Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure The taints and blames I laid upon myself, For strangers to my nature. I am yet Unknown to woman, never was forsworn, Scarcely have coveted what was mine own, At no time broke my faith, would not betray The devil to his fellow, and delight No less in truth than life : my first false speak- ing 130 Was this upon myself: what I am truly, Is thine and my poor country's to command : Whither indeed, before thy here-approach, Old Si ward, with ten thousand warlike men, Already at a point, was setting forth. Now we '11 together, and the chance of goodness Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent ? Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once 'Tis hard to reconcile.

Enter a Doctor.

Mai. Well, more anon. Comes the king forth, I pray you ? 140

Doct. Aye, sir; there are a crew of wretched souls That stay his cure: their malady convinces The great assay of art ; but at his touch,

103

Act IV. Sc. m. THE TRAGEDY

Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, They presently amend.

Mai. I thank you, doctor. [Eooit Doctor.

Macd. What 's the disease he means?

Mai 'Tiscall'd the evil:

A most miraculous work in this good king ; Which often, since my here-remain in England, I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, Himself best knows: but strangely -visited peo- ple, 150 All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures, Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves The healing benediction. With this strange

virtue He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy, And sundry blessings hang about his throne That speak him full of grace.

Enter Ross.

149-159. Holinshed has the following respecting Edward the Con- fessor: "As it has been thought, he was inspired with the gift of prophecy, and also to have the gift of healing infirmities and dis- eases. He used to help those that were vexed with the disease com- monly called the king's evil, and left that virtue as it were a por- tion of inheritance unto his successors, the kings of this realm." The custom of touching for the king's evil was not wholly laid aside till the days of Queen Anne, who used it on the infant Dr. John- son.— The "golden stamp" was the coin called angel. — H. N. H.

153. "Hanging a golden stamp/'; etc.; each person touched re- ceived a gold coin. Sir Thomas Browne wrote sixty years later r. "The King's Purse knows that the King's Evil grows more com- mon."—C. H. H.

104

OF MACBETH Act IV. Sc. m.

Macd. See, who comes here?

Mai. My countryman ; but yet I know him not. 160 Macd. My ever gentle cousin, welcome hither. Mai. I know him now: good God, betimes remove

The means that makes us strangers ! Eoss. Sir, amen.

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did? Ross. Alas, poor country!

Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot

Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing,

But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;

Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend the air,

Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems

A modern ecstasy : the dead man's knell 170

Is there scarce ask'd for who; and good men's lives

Expire before the flowers in their caps,

Dying or ere they sicken. Macd. O, relation

Too nice, and yet too true ! Mai. What 's the newest grief?

Ross. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker;

Each minute teems a new one. Macd. How does my wife?

Ross. Why, well.

Macd. And all my children?

Ross. Well too.

177. "well"; thus in Antony and Cleopatra: "We use to say, the dead are well" — H. N. H.

105

Act IV. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY

Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?

Ross. No; they were well at peace when I did leave 'em.

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes't? 180

Ross. When I came hither to transport the tid- ings, Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor Of many worthy fellows that were out; Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, For that I saw the tyrant's power a-f oot : Now is the time of help ; your eye in Scotland Would create soldiers, make our women fight, To doff their dire distresses.

Mai. Be 't their comfort

We are coming thither : gracious England hath Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men ; 190 An older and a better soldier none That Christendom gives out.

Ross. Would I could answer

This comfort with the like ! But I have words That would be howl'd out in the desert air, Where hearing should not latch them.

Macd. What concern thev ?

The general cause ? or is it a fee-grief Due to some single breast?

Ross. No mind that 's honest

But in it shares some woe, though the main part Pertains to you alone.

Macd. If it be mine,

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. 200

106

OF MACBETH Act IV. Sc. iii.

Ross. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,

Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound

That ever yet they heard. Macd. Hum! I guess at it.

Ross. Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes

Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,

Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,

To add the death of you. Mai. Merciful heaven!

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows ;

Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak

Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break. 210

Macd. My children too? Ross. Wife, children, servants, all

That could be found. Macd. And I must be from thence !

My wife kill'd too? Ross. I have said.

Mai. Be comforted:

Let 's make us medicines of our great revenge,

To cure this deadly grief. Macd. He has no children. All my pretty ones?

Did you say all? O hell-kite! All?

What, all my pretty chickens and their dam

At one fell swoop?

216. "He has no children"; "he" is probably Malcolm, whose talk of comfort at such a moment is thus rebutted and explained. Mac- beth lies wholly beyond the pale of such reproach. — C. H. H.

;lo7

Act IV. Sc. iu. THE TRAGEDY

Mai. Dispute it like a man.

Macd. I shall do so; 220

But I must also feel it as a man : I cannot but remember such things were, That were most precious to me. Did heaven

look on, And would not take their part? Sinful Mac- duff, They were all struck for thee ! naught that I am, Not for their own demerits, but for mine, Fell slaughter on their souls: heaven rest them now! Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief Convert to anger ; blunt not the heart, enrage it. Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens, 231

Cut short all intermission ; front to front Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape, Heaven forgive him too! Mai. This tune goes manly.

Come, go we to the king ; our power is ready ; Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer

you may; The night is long that never finds the day. 240

[Exeunt.

235. "tune"; Rowe's emendation of Ff., "time."— I. G.

108

OF MACBETH Act V. Sc i.

ACT FIFTH

Scene I

Dunsinane. Ante -room in the castle.

Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-Gentle- woman.

Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked ?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon 't, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

Doct. A great perturbation in nature, to receive 10 at once the benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching! In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual per- formances, what, at any time, have you heard her say?

Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her.

Doct. You may to me, and 'tis most meet you should.

Gent. Neither to you nor any one, having no 20 witness to confirm my speech.

109

Act V. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDY

Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper.

Lo you, here she comes! This is her very- guise, and, upon my life, fast asleep. Ob- serve her ; stand close.

Doct. How came she by that light?

Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by; her continually ; 'tis her command.

Doct. You see, her eyes are open.

Gent. Aye, but their sense is shut.

Doct. What is it she does now? Look, how 30 she rubs her hands.

Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands : I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady M. Yet here 's a spot.

Doct. Hark! she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.

Lady M. Out, damned spot ! out, I say ! One : two : why, then 'tis time to do 't. Hell is 40 murky. Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and af eard ? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

Doct. Do you mark that?

29. "sense is shut"; Rowe's emendation of Ff., "sense are shut"; S. Walker conj., adopted by Dyce, "sense' are shut." The reading of the Folio probably gives the right reading, "sense" being taken as a plural. — I. G.

40. "Hell is murky"; of course Lady Macbeth dreams of being in talk with her husband; and, he having said through fear, "Hell is murky," she repeats his words, as in scorn of his cowardice. — H. N. H.

110

OF MACBETH Act V. 6c i.

Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife ; where is she now? What, will these hands ne'er be clean? No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this starting. 50

Doct. Go to, go to ; you have known what you should not.

Gent . She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: heaven knows what she has known.

Lady M. Here 's the smell of the blood still : all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh !

Doct. What a sigh is there ! The heart is sorely charged. 60

50. "starting"; she is alluding to the terrors of Macbeth when the Ghost broke in on the festivity of the banquet. — H. N. H.

56-58. Upon this, the awfulest passage in this most awful scene, Mr. Verplanck has written in so high a style of criticism that we can- not forbear to quote him. After remarking how fertile is the sense of smell in the milder and gentler charms of poetry, he observes: "But the smell has never been successfully used as the means of impressing the imagination with terror, pity, or any of the deeper emotions, except in this dreadful sleep-walking of the guilty Queen, and in one parallel scene of the Greek drama, as wildly terrible as this. It is that passage of the Agamemnon of iEschylus, where the captive prophetess Cassandra, wrapt in visionary inspiration, scents first the smell of blood, and then the vapors of the tomb breathing from the palace of Atrides, as ominous of his approach- ing murder. These two stand alone in poetry; and Fuseli in his lectures informs us, that when, in the kindred art of painting, it -ias been attempted to produce tragic effect through the medium of ideas drawn from 'this squeamish sense,' even Raphael and Poussin have failed, and excited disgust instead of terror or com- passion."— And Mrs. Siddons, after quoting Lady Macbeth's — "All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand" — adds, —

I "How beautifully contrasted is the exclamation with the bolder imasre of Macbeth, in expressing the same feeling: 'Will all great Neptune's ocean wash the blood clean from this hand? And how

! approoriately either sex illustrates the same idea!" — H. N. H.

Ill

Act v. Sc. i. THE TRAGEDJ

Gent. I would not have such a heart in mjr bosom for the dignity of the whole body.

Doct. Well, well, well, —

Gent. Pray God it be, sir.

Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep who have died holily in their beds.

Lady M. Wash your hands ; put on your night- gown; look not so pale: I tell you yet again, Banquo 's buried ; he cannot come out on 's 71 grave.

'Doct. Even so?

Lady M. To bed, to bed; there 's knocking at the gate: come, come, come, come, give me your hand : what 's done cannot be undone : to bed, to bed, to bed. [Exit

Doct. Will she go now to bed?

Gent. Directly.

Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatura deeds Do breed unnatural troubles : infected minds & To their deaf pillows will discharge thei

secrets : More needs she the divine than the physician. God, God forgive us all ! Look after her ; Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And still keep eyes upon her. So good night My mind she has mated and amazed my sight I think, but dare not speak.

Gent. Good night, good doctoi

[Exeum

112

OF MACBETH Act V. Sc. ii.

Scene II

The country near Dunsinane.

Drum and colors. Enter Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox, and Soldiers,

Ment, The English power is near, led on by- Malcolm, His uncle Siward and the good Macduff : Revenges burn in them ; for their dear causes Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm Excite the mortified man.

Ang, Near Birnam wood

Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.

Caith, Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother?

Len. For certain, sir, he is not : I have a file Of all the gentry: there is Siward's son, And many unrough youths, that even now 10 Protest their first of manhood.

Ment, What does the tyrant?

Caith, Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies: Some say he 's mad ; others, that lesser hate him, Do call it valiant fury : but, for certain, He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause Within the belt of rule.

Ang, Now does he feel

His secret murders sticking on his hands; Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; Those he commands move only in command,

XXVIII— 8 H3

Act v. Sc. m. THE TRAGEDY

Nothing in love : now does he feel his title 2( Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe Upon a dwarfish thief.

Ment. Who then shall blame

His pester'd senses to recoil and start, When all that is within him does condemn Itself for being there?

Caith. Well, march we on,

To give obedience where 'tis truly owed: Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal, And with him pour we, in our country's purge Each drop of us.

Len. Or so much as it needs

To dew the sovereign flower and drown th weeds. 3

Make we our march towards Birnam.

[Exeunt, marching

Scene III

Dunsinane. A room in the castle.

Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants.

Macb. Bring me no more reports ; let them fly all Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane I cannot taint with fear. What 's the bo

Malcolm? Was he not born of woman? The spirits th£

know

1. "them;' i. e. the thanes.— I. G. 114

OF MACBETH Act v. 8c. iii.

All mortal consequences have pronounced me

thus: Tear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of

woman Shall e'er have power upon thee.' Then fly, K\ false thanes,

And mingle with the English epicures :

The mind I sway by and the heart I bear 9

Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.

Enter a Servant.

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!

Where got'st thou that goose look? Serv. There is ten thousand — Macb. Geese, villain?

Serv. Soldiers, sir.

Macb. Go prick thy face and over-red thy fear,

Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch!

Death of my soul ! those linen cheeks of thine

Are counselors to fear. What soldiers, whey- face! Serv. The English force, so please you. Macb. Take thy face hence. [Exit Servant.

Seyton ! — I am sick at heart,

When I behold — Seyton, I say! — This push 20

Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now.

ill. "cream- faced loon" ; this word, which signifies a base abject fellow, is now only used in Scotland; it was formerly common in England, but spelled lown, and is justly considered by Home Tooke is the past participle of to low or abase. Lout has the same origin. -H. N. H.

21. "cheer"; Percy conj., adopted by Dyce, "chair": ; "dis-

)eat," Jennens and Capell conj., adopted by Steevens; F. 1, "dis- 23 F 115

Act v. Sc. iii. THE TRAGEDY

I have lived long enough: my way of life Is f all'n into the sear, the yellow leaf, And that which should accompany old age, As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but, in their stead, Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honor, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare

not. Seyton!

Enter Seyton.

Sey. What 's your gracious pleasure? Macb. What news more? 30

Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported. Macb. I '11 fight, till from my bones my flesh be hacked.

Give me my armor, Sey. 'Tis not needed yet.

Macb. I '11 put it on.

Send out moe horses, skirr the country round;

Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armor.

How does your patient, doctor?

eate"; Ff. 2, 3, 4, "disease"; Bailey conj. "disseize"; Daniel conj. "defeat"; Furness, "dis-ease"; Perring conj. "disheart."—!. G.

22. "way of life"; Johnson proposed the unnecessary emendation "May of life," and several editors have accepted the conjecture.— T C

For "way of life" Johnson and others would read "May oi life,' which will not go at all with the context; for Macbeth is not in the spring, but in the autumn of life; and the cause of his distress is not that his old age is premature, but that it is without its propel accompaniments. Gifford in his edition of Massinger says,— "Wap of life is neither more nor less than a simple peraphrasis for life"; and he makes it good by many examples.— H. N. H.

116

OF MACBETH Act v. Sc. iii.

Doct. Not so sick, my lord,

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, That keep her from her rest.

Macb. Cure her of that.

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, 40 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain, And with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart?

Doct. Therein the patient

Must minister to himself.

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I '11 none of it. Come, put mine armor on ; give me my staff. Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from

me. Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, cast 50

The water of my land, find her disease And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud again. Pull 't off, I say. What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou of them?

44. "stuff' d"; Ff. 2, 3, 4, "stuff; Pope, "full"; Steevens conj., adopted by Hunter, "foul"; Anon. conj. "fraught"; "press' d"; Bailey

conj. " stain' d"; Mull conj. "steep'd": ; "stuff"; so Ff. 3, 4;

Jackson conj. "tuft"; Collier (ed. 2), from Collier MS., "grief"; Keightley, "matter'*; Anon. conj. "slough" "freight"; Kinnear conj. {"fraught."— I. G.

50, 54, 58. In his disturbed state Macbeth puts on and takes off his armor. — C. H. H.

55. "senna"; so F. 4; F. 1, "Cyme"; Ff. 2, 3, "Caeny"; Bulloch conj. "sirrah" — I. G.

117

'Act v Sc. iv. THE TRAGEDY

Doct. Aye, my good lord; your royal preparation

Makes us hear something. Macb. Bring it after me.

I will not be afraid of death and bane Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. 60

QDoct. [Aside] Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here.

[Exeunt.

Scene IV

Country near Birnam wood

Drum and colors. Enter Malcolm, old Siward and his Son, Macduff, Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox, Ross and Soldiers, marching.

Mai. Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand

That chambers will be safe. Ment. We doubt it nothing.

Siw. What wood is this before us? Ment. The wood of Birnam.

Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a bough,

And bear 't before him : thereby shall we shadow

The numbers of our host, and make discovery

Err in report of us. Soldiers. It shall be done.

Siw. We learn no other but the confident tyrant

Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure

Our setting down before 't. Mai. 'Tis his main hope: 10

58. "it," i. e. the armor.— I. G. 118

OF MACBETH Act V. Sc. y.

For where there is advantage to be given, Both more and less have given him the revolt, And none serve with him but constrained things Whose hearts are absent too.

Macd. Let our just censures

Attend the true event, and put we on Industrious soldiership.

Siw. The time approaches,

That will with due decision make us know What we shall say we have and what we owe. Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate, But certain issue strokes must arbitrate: 20 Towards which advance the war.

[Exeunt, marching.

Scene V

Dunsinane. Within the castle.

Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers, with drum

and colors.

Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward walls ; The cry is still 'They come;' our castle's strength Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie

11. Dr. Johnson thought that we should read,— "where there is I vantage to be gone,"— that is, when there is an opportunity to :>e gone, all ranks desert him. We might perhaps read —"where -.here is advantage to be gain'd";— and the sense would be nearly similar, with less violence to the text of the old copy.— H. N. H.

18. Evidently meaning, when we have a king that will rule by aw we shall know both our rights and our duties. We make this lote simply because Mason and Singer have vented an unworthy •neer, not indeed at the Poet, but at the brave old warrior for peaking thus.— H. N. H.

119

Act v. Sc. v. THE TRAGEDY

Till famine and the ague eat them up :

Were they not forced with those that should be

ours, We might have met them dareful, beard to

beard, And beat them backward home.

[A cry of women within. What is that noise ? Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. [Exit. Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears: 9 The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek, and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in 't : I have supp'd full with hor- rors; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me.

Re-enter Seyton.

Wherefore was that cry? Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead. Macb. She should have died hereafter ;

6. "dareful"; defiantly.— C. H. H.

17. Lady Macbeth's dying thus before her husband has been justly remarked upon as a most judicious point in the drama. It touches Macbeth in the only spot where he seems to retain the feelings of a man, and draws from him some deeply-solemn, sooth- ing, elegiac tones; so that one rises from the contemplation of his awful history "a sadder and a wiser man." A critic in the Edin- burgh Review is almost eloquent upon these closing passages: "Mac- beth, left alone, resumes much of that connection with humanityl which he had so long abandoned: his thoughtfulness becomes pathetic;! and when at last he dies the death of a soldier, the stern satisfaction]" with which we contemplate the act of justice that destroys him, if unalloyed by feelings of personal wrath or hatred. His fall is t\ sacrifice, and not a butchery." — H. N. H.

120

OF MACBETH Act v. Sc v.

There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 20 To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life 's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. Signifying nothing.

Enter a Messenger.

Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. Mess. Gracious my lord, 30

I should report that which I say I saw,

But know not how to do it. Macb- Well, say, sir.

Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill,

I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought,

The wood began to move. Macb. Ljar an(j sjavet

21. "the last syllable of recorded time" seems to signify the utmost ?enod fixed in the decrees of Heaven for the period of life.—

B. N. H.

23. "dusty death"; death brings back "dust to dust."— C. H H 28. Coleridge is eloquent upon this: "Alas for Macbeth! Now ill is inward with him; he has no more prudential prospective rea- dings. His wife, the only being who could have had any seat in us affections, dies: he puts on despondency, the final heart-armor »f the wretched, and would fain think every thing shadowy and insubstantial; as indeed all things are to those who cannot regard hem as symbols of goodness."— H. N. H. 35. Here most modern editions insert a stage-direction, "[Striking

121

Act V. So. v. THE TRAGEDY

Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not so : Within this three mile may you see it coming I say, a moving grove.

Macb. If thou speak'st false,

Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, 3! Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much. I pull in resolution, and begin To doubt the equivocation of the fiend That lies like truth: Tear not, till Birnan

wood Do come to Dunsinane;' and now a wood Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out If this which he avouches does appear, There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, And wish the estate o' the world were now un

done. Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! com*

wrack ! At least we '11 die with harness on our back.

[Eoceun

him.]" There is none such in the old copies, and Mr. Kemble hi shown ample reason why there should be none. "Such outraged violence," says he, "does not belong to the feelings of a perse overwhelmed with surprise, half doubting, half believing an ever at once in nature most strange, and to himself of the most fat importance." — H. N. H.

42. ut pull in"; Johnson thought this should read, — "I pall in res lution," that is, fag; but Mason has brought from Fletcher a passa showing that pull is probably right: "All my spirits, as if they h heard my passing bell go for me, pull in their powers, and give i up to destiny."— H. N. H.

122

)E MACBETH Act y. Sc vi.-vii.

Scene VI

Dunsinane. Before the castle.

Jrum and colors. Enter Malcolm, old Siwardj Macduff, and their Army, with boughs.

lal. Now near enough; your leavy screens throw down, And show like those you are. You, worthy

uncle, Shall, with my cousin, your right noble son, Lead our first battle : worthy Macduff and we Shall take upon 's what else remains to do, According to our order. WW. Fare you well.

Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. lacd. Make all our trumpets speak ; give them all breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. 10

[Exeunt.

Scene VII

"Another part of the field. Alarums. Enter Macbeth.

iacb. They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly, But bear-like I must fight the course. What 's he

2. "bear-like" ; this was a phrase at bear-baiting. "Also you shall

12$

Act v. Sc. vii. THE TRAGEDY

That was not born of woman? Such a one Am I to fear, or none.

Enter young Siward.

Yo. Siw. What is thy name? Macb. Thou 'It be afraid to hear i

Yo. Siw. No; though thou calTst thyself a hotte name Than any is in hell. Macb. My name 's Macbeth.

Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce title More hateful to mine ear. Macb. No, nor more fearfu

Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with m sword J

I '11 prove the lie thou speak'st.

[They fight, and young Siward is slah Macb. Thou wast born of womai

But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorj Brandish'd by man that 's of a woman born.

[Eon

Alarums. Enter Macduff.

Macd. That way the noise is. Tyrant, show tl

face ! If thou be'st slain and with no stroke of mine, My wife and children's ghosts will haunt e

still. I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arm*

see two ten-dog courses at the great bear" (Antipodes, by Brome) H. N. H.

124

OF MACBETH Act v. Sc. viii.

Are hired to bear their staves: either thou,

Macbeth, Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge, I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst

be; 20

By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seems bruited: let me find him, fortune! And more I beg not. [Exit Alarums.

Enter Malcolm and old Siward.

Siw. This way, my lord; the castle's gently ren- der'd :

The tyrant's people on both sides do fight;

The noble thanes do bravely in the war;

The day almost itself professes yours,

And little is to do. Mai. We have met with foes

That strike beside us. Siw. Enter, sir, the castle.

[Exeunt. Alarum.

Scene VIII

Another part of the field.

Enter Macbeth.

Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the

gashes Do better upon them.

22. "bruited" is reported, noised abroad; from bruit, Fr. — H. N. H. 24. "gently rendered"; surrendered without resistance. — C. H. H. 1. Alluding probably to the suicide of Cato of Utica. — H. N. H.

125

Act v. Sc. viii. THE TRAGEDY

Enter Macduff.

Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn!

Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee:

But get thee back ; my soul is too much charged

With blood of thine already. Macd. I have no words:

My voice is in my sword, thou bloodier villain

Than terms can give thee out! [They fight. Macb. Thou losest labor:

As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air

With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed: 10

Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests ;

I bear a charmed life, which must not vield

To one of woman born. Macd. Despair thy charm,

And let the angel whom thou still hast served

Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb

Untimely ripp'd. Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,

For it hath cow'd my better part of man !

And be these juggling fiends no more believed,

That palter with us in a double sense ; 20

7. "my voice is in my sword"; thus Casca, in Julius Caesar: "Speak, hands, for me."— H. N. H.

9. "intrenchant"; the air which cannot be cut. So in Hamlet: "For it is as the air invulnerable." — H. N. H.

12. "I bear a charmed life"; in the days of chivalry, the cham- pion's arms being ceremoniously blessed, each took an oath that he used no charmed weapons. Macbeth, in allusion to this custom, tells Macduff of the security he had in the prediction of the spirit. To this likewise Posthumus alludes in Cymbeline, Act v.: "I, in mine own woe charm'd, could not find death." — H. N. H.

20. "'palter"; equivocate.— C. H. H.

126

OF MACBETH Act v. Sc. riil.

That keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope. I '11 not fight with thee. Macd. Then yield thee, coward,

And live to be the show and gaze o' the time : We '11 have thee, as our rarer monsters are, Painted upon a pole, and underwrit, 4 Here may you see the tyrant.' \Macb. I will not yield,

To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's

feet, And to be baited with the rabble's curse. 29 Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou opposed, being of no woman born, Yet I will try the last : before my body I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff; Ajid damn'd be him that first cries 'Hold, enough !'

[Exeunt, fighting. Alarums.

Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colors* Malcolm, old Siward, Ross, the other Thanes, and Soldiers.

Mai. I would the friends we miss were safe ar- rived.

34. "Hold, enough"; to cry hold! was the word of yielding, that is, when one of the combatants cries so. To cry hold! when per- sons were fighting, was an authoritative way of separating them, according to the old military laws. This is shown by a passage in Bellay's Instructions for the Wars, declaring it to be a capital offense "Whosoever shall strike stroke at his adversary, either in the heat or otherwise, if a third do cry hold, to the intent to part them." This illustrates the passage in Act i. sc. 5, of this play: "Nor heav'n peep through the blanket of the dark to cry Hold! hold!"— H. N. H.

127

Act v. Sc. viii. THE TRAGEDY

Siw. Some must go off: and yet, by these I see, So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble son.

Ross. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt : He only lived but till he was a man ; 40

The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd In the unshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he died.

Siw. Then he is dead?

Ross. Aye, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow Must not be measured by his worth, for then It hath no end.

Siw. Had he his hurts before?

Ross. Aye, on the front.

Siw. Why then, God's soldier be he!

Had I as many sons as I have hairs, I would not wish them to a fairer death : And so his knell is knoll'd.

Mai. He 's worth more sorrow, 50

And that I '11 spend for him.

Siw. He 's worth no more :

They say he parted well and paid his score: And so God be with him! Here comes newer comfort.

Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth' 's head.

49. The same incident is related in Camden's Remains, from Henry of Huntingdon: "When Siward, the martial Earl of Northumber- land, understood that his son, whom he had sent against the Scotch- men, was slain, he demanded whether his wounds were in the fore part or hinder part of his body. When it was answered, 'in the fore part,' he replied, 'I am right glad; neither wish I any other death to me or mine.' " — H. N. H.

128

OF MACBETH Act v. St. m.

Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art: behold, where stands The usurper's cursed head : the time is free : I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, That speak my salutation in their minds ; Whose voices I desire aloud with mine : Hail, King of Scotland!

All. Hail, King of Scotland!

[Flourish.

Mai. We shall not spend a large expense of time 60 Before we reckon with your several loves, And make us even with you. My thanes and

kinsmen, Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland In such an honor named. What 's more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time, As calling home our exiled friends abroad That fled the snares of watchful tyranny, Producing forth the cruel ministers Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen, Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands Took off her life ; this, and what needful else 71 That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace We will perform in measure, time and place : So thanks to all at once and to each one, Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

56. "thy kingdom's pearl"; the flower of thy nobles. — C. H. H.

63. "Henceforth be earls"; "Malcolm, immediately after his coro- nation, called a parliament at Forfair; in the which he rewarded them with lands and livings that had assisted him against Macbeth. Manie of them that were before thanes were at this time made earles; as Fife, Menteith, Atholl, Lennox, Murrey, Caithness, Rosse, and Angus" (Holinshed).— H. N. H.

XXVIII— 9 129

GLOSSARY

By Israel Gollancz, M.A.

A one, a man; (Theobald from Davenant, "a Thane"; Grant White, "a man") ; III. iv. 131.

Absolute, positive; III. vi. 40.

Abuse, deceive; II. i. 50.

Acheron, the river of the in- fernal regions; III. v. 15.

Adder's fork, the forked tongue of the adder; IV. i. 16.

Addition, title; I. iii. 106.

Address'd them, prepared them- selves; II. ii. 24.

Adhere, were in accordance; I. vii. 52.

Admired, wondrous-strange; IIL iv. 110.

Advise, instruct; III. i. 129.

Afeard, afraid; I. iii. 96.

Affection, disposition; IV. iii. 77.

Affeer'd, confirmed; IV. iii. 34.

Alarm, call to arms; V. ii. 4.

Alarum'd, alarmed; II. i. 53.

All, any; III. ii. 11.

; "and all to all," i. e. and

we all (drink) to all; III. iv. 92.

All-thing, in every way; III. i. 13.

A-makino, in course of progress; III. iv. 34.

Angel, genius, demon; V. viii. 14.

Angerly, angrily; III. v. 1.

Annoyance, hurt, harm; V. i. 84.

Anon, immediately; I. i. 10.

Anon, anon, "coming, coming"; the general answer of waiters;

II. iii. 25.

An't, if it; (Ff., "and V) ; III.

vi. 19. Antic, grotesque, old-fashioned;

IV. i. 130. Anticipatest, dost prevent; IV.

i. 144. Apace, quickly; III. iii. 6. Apply, be devoted; III. ii. 30. Approve, prove; I. vi. 4. Argument, subject, theme; II.

iii. 131. Arm'd, encased in armor; III. iv.

101. Aroint thee, begone; I. iii. 6. Artificial, made by art; III. v.

27. As, as if; II. iv. 18. Assay; "the great a. of art," the

greatest effort of skill; IV. iii.

143. Attend, await; III. ii. 3. Augures, auguries; (?) augurs;

III. iv. 124.

Authorized by, given on the au- thority of; III. iv. 66. Avouch, assert; III. i. 120.

Baby of a girl, (?) girl's doll;

according to others, "feeble

child of an immature mother";

III. iv. 106. Badged, smeared, marked (as

with a badge) ; II. iii. 112.

130

THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH Glossary

Bake, evil, harm; V. iii. 59. Battle, division of an army; V.

vi. 4. Beguile, deceive; I. v. 65. Bellona, the goddess of war; I.

ii. 54. Bend up, strain; I. vii. 79. Benison, blessing; II. iv. 40. Bent, determined; III. iv. 134. Best, good, suitable; III. iv. 5. Bestow'd, staying; III. i. 30. Bestows himself, has settled;

III. vi. 24. Bestride, stand over in posture

of defense; IV. iii. 4. Bides, lies; III. iv. 26. Bill, catalogue; III. i. 100. Birnam, a high hill twelve miles

from Dunsinane; IV. i. 93. Birthdom, land of our birth,

mother-country; IV. iii. 4. Bladed; "b. corn," corn in the

blade, when the ear is still

green; IV. i. 55. Blind- worm, glow-worm; IV. i.

16. Blood-bolter'd, locks matted in- to hard clotted blood; IV. i.

123. Blow, blow upon; I. iii. 15. Bodements, f orebodings ; IV. i.

96. Boot; "to b.", in addition; IV.

iii. 37. Borne, conducted, managed; III.

vi. 3. Borne in hand, kept up by

false hopes; III. i. 81. Bosom, close and intimate; I. ii.

64. Brainsickly, madly; II. ii. 46. Break, disclose; I. vii. 48. Breech'd, "having the very hilt,

or breech, covered with blood";

(according to some "covered

as with breeches") ; II. iii. 127.

13

Breed, family, parentage; IV. iii.

108. Brinded, brindled, streaked; IV.

i. 1. Bring, conduct; II. iii. 57. Broad, plain-spoken; III. vi 21. Broil, battle; I. ii. 6. Broke ope, broken open; II. iii.

77. But, only; I. vii. 6. By, past; IV. i. 137. By the way, casually; III. iv.

130.

Cabin'd, confined; III. iv. 24.

Captains, trisyllabic; (S. Walker conj. "captains twain"); I. ii. 34.

Careless, uncared for; I. iv. 11.

Casing, encompassing, all sur- rounding; III. iv. 23.

'Cause, because; III. vi. 21.

Censures, opinion; V. iv. 14.

Champion me, fight in single combat with me; III. i. 72.

Chanced, happened, taken place; I. iii. 153.

Chaps, jaws, mouth; I. ii. 22.

Charge; "in an imperial c", in executing a royal command;

IV. iii. 20.

Charged, burdened, oppressed ;

V. i. 60.

Chaudron, entrails; IV. i. 33. Children (trisyllabic) ; IV. iii.

177. Choke their art, render their

skill useless; I. ii. 9. Chuck, a term of endearment;

III. ii. 45. Clear, serenely; I. v. 73. , innocent, guiltless; I. vii.

18.

, unstained; II. i. 28.

Clearness, clear from suspicion; III. i. 133.

Glossary

THE TRAGEDY

Clept, called; III. i. 94. Cling, shrivel up; V. v. 40. Close, join, unite; III. ii. 14. Close, secret; III. v. 7. Closed, enclosed; III. i. 99. Cloudy, sullen, frowning; III. vi.

41. Cock, cock-crow; "the second c",

t. e.f about three o'clock in the

morning; II. iii. 29. Coign of vantage, convenient

corner; I. vi. 7. Cold, (?) dissyllabic; IV. i. 6. Colme-kill, i. e. Icolmkill, the

cell of St. Columba; II. iv. 33. Come, which have come; I. iii.

144. Command upon, put your com- mands upon; III. i. 16. Commends, commits, offers; I. vii.

11. Commission; "those in c", those

entrusted with the commission;

I. iv. 2. Composition, terms of peace; I.

ii. 59. Compt; "in c", in account; I. vi.

26. Compunctious, prickling the con- science; I. v. 47. Concluded, decided; III. i. 141. Confineless, boundless, limitless;

IV. iii. 55. Confounds, destroys, ruins; II. ii.

11. Confronted, met face to face;

I. ii. 55. Confusion, destruction; II. iii.

76. Consequences; v. mortal; V. iii.

5. Consent, counsel, proposal; II.

i. 25. Constancy, firmness; II. ii. 68. Contend against, vie with; I. vi.

16.

Content, satisfaction; III. ii. 5. Continent, restraining; IV. iii.

64. Convert, change; IV. iii. 229. Convey, "indulge secretly"; IV.

iii. 71. Convince, overpower; I. vii. 64. Convinces, overpowers; IV. iii.

142. Copy, (?) copyhold, non-perma- nent tenure; III. ii. 38. Corporal, corporeal; I. iii. 81. ; "each c. agent," i. e. "each

faculty of the body"; I. vii. 80. Counselors; "c. to fear," fear's

counselors, i. e. "suggest fear";

V. iii. 17. Countenance, "be in keeping

with"; II. iii. 90. Crack of doom, burst of sound,

thunder, at the day of doom;

IV. i. 117. Cracks, charges; I. ii. 37. Crown, head; IV. i. 113.

Dainty of, particular about; IJ^

iii. 155. Dear, deeply felt; V. ii. 3. Degrees, degrees of rank; III. iv.

1. Deliver thee, report to thee; I.

v. 12. Delivers, communicates to us;

III. iii. 2. Demi-wolves, a cross between

dogs and wolves; III. i. 94. Denies, refuses; III. iv. 128. Detraction, defamation; "mine

own d.", the evil things I have

spoken against myself; IV. iii.

123. Devil (monosyllabic) ; I. iii. 107. Dew, bedew; V. ii. 30. Disjoint, fall to pieces; III. ii.

16. Displaced, banished; III. iv. 109.

132

OF MACBETH

Glossary

Dispute it, fight against it; (?) reason upon it (Schmidt) ; IV. iii. 220.

Disseat, unseat; V. iii. 21.

Distan.ce, hostility; III. i. 116.

Doff, do off, put off; IV. iii. 188.

Doubt, fear, suspect; IV. ii. 67.

Drink; "my d.," i. e. "my pos- set"; II. i. 31.

Drowse, become drowsy; III. ii. 52.

Dudgeon, handle of a dagger; II. i. 46.

Dunnest, darkest; I. v. 53.

Earnest, pledge, money paid be- forehand; I. iii. 104.

Easy, easily; II. iii. 148.

Ecstasy, any state of being be- side one's self, violent emotion;

III. ii. 22.

Effects, acts, actions; V. i. 11. Egg, term of contempt; IV. ii. 83. Eminence, distinction; III. ii. 31. England, the King of England;

IV. iii. 43.

Enkindle, incite; I. iii. 121.

Enow, enough; II. iii. 7.

Entrance, (trisyllabic) ; I. v. 41.

Equivocate to heaven, get to heaven by equivocation; II. iii. 13.

Equivocator, (probably alluding to Jesuitical equivocation; Gar- net, the superior of the order was on his trial in March, 1606) ; II. iii. 10.

Estate, royal dignity, succession to the crown; I. iv. 37.

Eternal jewel, immortal soul; III. i. 68.

Eterne, perpetual; III. ii. 38.

Evil, king's evil, scrofula; IV. iii. 146.

Exasperate, exasperated; III. vi. 38.

Expectation, those guests who

are expected; III. iii. 10. Expedition, haste; II. iii. 121. Extend, prolong; III. iv. 57.

Fact, act, deed; III. vi. 10. Faculties, powers, prerogatives;

I. vii. 17. Fain, gladly; V. iii. 28. Fantastical, imaginary; I. iii.

53; I. iii. 139. Farrow, litter of pigs; IV. i. 65. Favor, pardon; I. iii. 149.

, countenance, face; I. v. 74.

Fears, objects of fear; I. iii. 137. Feed, "to f.", feeding; III. iv.

35. Fle-grief, "grief that hath a

single owner"; IV. iii. 196. Fell, scalp; V. v. 11.

, cruel, dire; IV. ii. 71.

Fellow, equal; II. iii. 73.

File, list; V. ii. 8.

; "the valued f.", list of

qualities; III. i. 95. Filed, made foul, defiled; III. i.

65. First; "at f. and last," (?) once

for all, from the beginning to

the end; (Johnson conj. "to f.

and next") ; III. iv. 1. Fits, caprices; IV. ii. 17. Flaws, storms of passion; III.

iv. 63. Flighty, fleeting; IV. i. 145. Flout, mock, defy; I. ii. 49. Fly, fly from me; V. iii. 1. Foisons, plenty, rich harvests;

IV. iii. 88. Follows, attends; I. vi. 11. For, because of; III. i. 121. , as for, as regards; IV. ii.

15. Forbid, cursed, blasted; I. iii. 21. Forced, strengthened; V. v. 5.

133

Glossary

THE TRAGEDY

Forge, fabricate, invent; IV. iii. 82.

Forsworn, perjured; IV. iii. 126.

Founded, firmly fixed; III. iv. 22.

Frame of things, universe; III. ii. 16.

Franchised, free, unstained; II. i. 28.

Free, freely; I. iii. 155.

, honorable; III. vi. 36.

, remove, do away; (Stee-

vens conj. "Fright" or "Fray"; Bailey conj., adopted by Hud- son, "Keep"; Kinnear conj. "Rid") ; III. vi. 35.

French hose, probably a refer- ence to the narrow, straight hose, in contradistinction to the round, wide hose; II. iii. 17.

Fright, frighten, terrify; IV. ii. 70.

From, differently from; III. i. 100.

, in consequence of, on ac- count of; III. vi. 21.

Fry, literally a swarm of young fishes; here used as a term of contempt; IV. ii. 84.

Function, power of action; I. iii. 140.

Furbish'd, burnished; I. ii. 32.

Gallowglasses, heavy-armed Irish troops; (F. 1, "Gallow gross- es") ; I. ii. 13.

Genius, spirit of good or ill; III. i. 56.

Gentle senses, senses which are soothed (by the "gentle" air) ; (Warburton, "general sense"; Johnson conj., adopted by Capell, "gentle sense") ; I. vi. 3.

Germins, germs, seeds; IV. i. 59.

Get, beget; I. iii. 67.

Gin, a trap to catch birds; IV.

ii. 35. 'Gins, begins; I. ii. 25. Gives out, proclaims; IV. iii.

192. God 'ild us, corruption of "God

yield us"; (Ff., "God-eyid

us"); I. vi. 13. Golgotha, i. e. "the place of a

skull" (cp. Mark xv. 22); I. ii.

40. Good, brave; IV. iii. 3. Goodness; "the chance of g."

"the chance of success"; IV.

iii. 136. Goose, a tailor's smoothing iron;

II. iii. 19.

Gospell'd, imbued with Gospel

teaching; III. i. 88. Go to, go to, an exclamation of

reproach; V. i. 51. Gouts, drops; II. i. 46. Graced, gracious, full of graces;

III. iv. 41.

Grandam, grandmother; III. iv.

66. Grave, weighty; III. i. 22. Graymalkin, p, gray cat, (the

familiar spirit of the First

Witch; "malkin" diminutive of

"Mary"); I. i. 9. Gripe, grasp; III. i. 62. Grooms, servants of any kind;

II. ii. 5. Gulf, gullet; IV. i. 23.

Hail (dissyllabic) ; I. ii. 5.

Harbinger, forerunner, an officer of the king's household; I. iv. 45.

Hardly, with difficulty; V. iii. 62.

Harms, injuries; "my h.", in- juries inflicted by me; IV. iii. 55.

Harp'd, hit, touched; IV. i. 74.

134

OF MACBETH

Glossary

Harpier, probably a corruption of Harpy; IV. i. 3.

Having, possessions; I. iii. 56.

Hear, talk with; III. iv. 32.

Heart; "any h.", the heart of any man; III. vi. 15.

Heavily, sadly; IV. iii. 182.

Hecate, the goddess of hell; (one of the names of Artemis- Diana, as goddess of the in- fernal regions) ; II. i. 52.

Hedge-pig, hedge-hog; IV. i. 2.

Hermits, beadsmen; men bound to pray for their benefactors; (F. 1, "Ermites"); I. vi. 20.

Hie thee, hasten; I. v. 27.

His, this man's; IV. iii. 80.

Holds, withholds; III. vi. 25.

Holp, helped; I. vi. 23.

Home, thoroughly, completely; I. iii. 120.

Homely, humble; IV. ii. 68.

Hoodwink, blind; IV. iii. 72.

Horses (monosyllabic) ; II. iv. 14.

Housekeeper, watch dog; III. i. 97.

Howlet's, owlet's; IV. i. 17.

How say'st thou, what do you think!; III. iv. 128.

Humane, human; III. iv. 76.

Hurlyburly, tumult, uproar; I. i. 3.

Husbandry, economy; II. i. 4.

Hyrcan tiger, i. e. tiger of Hyr- cania, a district south of the Caspian; III. iv. 101.

Ignorant, i. e. of future events;

I. v. 59. Ill-composed, compounded of evil

qualities; IV. iii. 77. Illness, evil; I. v. 22. Impress, force into his service;

IV. i. 95. In, under the weight of; IV. iii.

20.

Incarnadine, make red; II. ii.

62. Informs, takes visible form; II.

i. 48. Initiate; "the i. fear," "the fear

that attends, i. e. the first ini- tiation (into guilt)"; III. iv.

143. Insane; "the i. root," the root

which causes insanity; I. iii.

84. Instant, present moment; I. v.

60. Interdiction, exclusion; IV. iii.

107. Intermission, delay; IV. iii. 232. Intrenchant, indivisible; V. viii.

9.

Jealousies, suspicions; IV. iii.

29. Jump, hazard, risk; I. vii. 7. Just, exactly; III. iii. 4. Jutty, jetty, projection; I. vi. 6.

Kerns, light-armed Irish troops; I. ii. 13.

Knowings, knowledge, experi- ences; II. iv. 4.

Knowledge; "the k.", what you know; (Collier MS. and Walker conj. "thy &."); I. ii. 6.

Lack, want, requirement; IV. iii.

237. Lack, miss; III. iv. 84. Lapp'd, wrapped; I. ii. 54. Large, liberal, unrestrained; III.

iv. 11. Latch, catch; IV. iii. 195. Lated, belated; III. iii. 6. Lave, keep clear and unsullied;

III. ii. 33. Lavish, unrestrained, insolent; I.

ii. 57.

135

Glossary

THE TRAGEDY

Lay, did lodge; II. iii. 64.

Lease of nature, term of natural life; IV. i. 99.

Leave, leave off; III. ii. 35.

Left unattended, forsaken, de- serted; II. ii. 69.

Lesser, less; V. ii. 13.

Lies; "swears and 1.", i. e. "swears allegiance and commits perjury"; (cp. IV. ii. 51 for the literal sense of the phrase) ; IV. ii. 47.

Lighted, descended; II. iii. 153.

Like, same; II. i. 30.

, likely; II. i v. 29.

, equal, the same; IV. iii. 8.

Lily-liver'd, cowardly; V. iii. 15.

Limbec, alembic, still; I. vii. 67.

Lime, bird-lime; IV. ii. 34.

Limited, appointed; II. iii. 62.

Line, strengthen; I. iii. 112.

List, lists, place marked out for a combat; III. i. 71.

Listening, listening to; II. ii. 28.

Lo; "lo you," i. e. look you; V. i. 22.

Lodged, laid, thrown down; IV. i. 55.

Look, expect; V. iii. Q6.

Loon, brute; V. iii. 11.

Luxurious, lustful; IV. iii. 58.

Maggot-pies, magpies; III. iv. 125.

Mansionry, abode; I. vi. 5.

Mark, take heed, listen; I. ii. 28.

, notice; V. i. 46.

Mahry, a corruption of the Vir- gin Mary; a slight oath; III. vi. 4.

Mated, bewildered; V. i. 86.

Maws, stomachs; III. iv. 73.

May I, I hope I may; III. iv. 42.

Medicine, "physician" ; (?) physic; V. ii. 27.

Meek, meekly; I. vii. 17.

Memorize, make memorable,

make famous; I. ii. 40. Mere, absolutely; IV. iii. 89. Mere, utter, absolute; IV. iii.

152. Metaphysical, supernatural; I.

v. 31. Minion, darling, favorite; I. iL

19; II. iv. 15. Minutely, "happening every

minute, continual"; V. ii. 18. Missives, messengers; I. v. 7. Mistrust; "he needs not our m.",

i. e. we need not mistrust him;

III. iii. 2. Mockery, delusive imitation; III.

iv. 107. Modern, ordinary; IV. iii. 170. Moe, more; V. iii. 35. Monstrous (trisyllabic) ; III. vi.

8. Mortal, deadly, murderous; I. v.

43. , "m. murders," deadly

wounds; III. iv. 81. -, "m. consequences," what be-

falh man in the course of time;

V. iii. 5. Mortality, mortal life; II. iii.

103. Mortified, dead, insensible; V. ii.

5. Mounch'd, chewed with closed

lips; I. iii. 5. Muse, wonder; III. iv. 85. Must be, was destined to be; IV.

iii. 212.

Napkins, handkerchiefs; II. iii. 7.

Nature; "nature's mischief," man's evil propensities; I. v. 52.

; "in n.", in their whole na- ture; II. iv. 16.

Naught, vile thing; IV. iii. 225.

136

OF MACBETH

Glossary

Nave, navel, middle; (Warbur-

ton "nape") ; I. ii. 22. Near, nearer; II. iii. 152. Near'st of life, inmost life,

most vital parts; III. i. 118. Nice, precise, minute; IV. iii.

174. Nightgown, dressing gown; II.

ii. 70. Noise, music; IV. i. 106. Nor ways', Norwegians'; I. ii. 59. Norweyan, Norwegian; I. ii. 31. Note, notoriety; III. ii. 44.

, list; III. iii. 10.

, notice; III. iv. 56.

Nothing, not at all; I. iii. 96.

, nobody; IV. iii. 166.

Notion, apprehension; III. i. 83.

Oblivious, causing forgetf ulness ; V. iii. 43.

Obscure; "o. bird," i. e. the bird delighting in darkness, the owl; II. iii. 69.

Odds; "at o.", at variance; III. iv. 127.

O'erfr aught, overcharged, over- loaded; IV. iii. 210.

Of, from; IV. i. 81.

, with; (Hanmer, "with");

I. ii. 13.

, over; I. iii. 33.

, by; III. vi. 4; III. vi. 27.

, for; IV. iii. 95.

Offices, duty, employment; III. iii. 3.

, i. e. domestic offices, serv- ants' quarters; II. i. 14.

Old (used colloquially) ; II. iii. 2.

On, of; I. iii. 84.

Once, ever; IV. iii. 167.

One, wholly, uniformly; II. ii. 63.

On's, of his; V. i. 70.

On't, of it; III. i. 114.

Open'd, unfolded; IV. iii. 52.

Oa ere, before; IV. iii. 173. Other, others; I. iii. 14.

, "the o.", i. e. the other

side; I. vii. 28. -, otherwise; I. vii. 77.

Other's, other man's; IV. iii. 80. Ourselves, one another; III. iv.

32. Out, i. e. in the field; IV. iii.

183. Outrun, did outrun; (Johnson,

"outran"); II. iii. 122. Overcome, overshadow; III. iv.

111. Over-red, redden over; V. iii. 14. Owe, own, possess; I. iii. 76. Owed, owned; I. iv. 10.

Paddock, toad (the familiar spirit of the second witch) ;

I. i. 10.

Pall, wrap, envelop; I. v. 53.

Passion, strong emotion; III. iv. 57.

Patch, fool (supposed to be de- rived from the patched or motley coat of the jester) ; V. iii. 15.

Peak, dwindle away; I. iii. 23.

Pent-house lid, i. e. eye-lids; I. iii. 20.

Perfect, well, perfectly ac- quainted; IV. ii. 66.

Pester'd, troubled; V. ii. 23.

Place, "pitch, the highest eleva- tion of a hawk"; a term of falconry; II. iv. 12.

Point; "at a p.", "prepared for any emergency"; IV. iii. 135.

Poor, feeble; III. ii. 14.

Poorly, dejectedly, unworthily;

II. ii. 72.

Portable, endurable; IV. iii. 89. Possess, fill; IV. iii. 202. Possets, drink; "posset is hot milk poured on ale or sack,

137

Glossary

THE TRAGEDY,

having sugar, grated bisket, and eggs, with other ingre- dients boiled in it, which goes all to a curd"; (Randle Holmes' Academy of Armourie, 1688); II. ii. 6.

Posters, speedy travelers; I. iii. 33.

Power, armed force, army; IV. iii. 185.

Predominance, superior power, influence; an astrological term; II. iv. 8.

Present, present time; I. v. 59.

, instant, immediate; I. ii.

64.

, offer; III. ii. 31.

Presently, immediately; IV. iii. 145.

Pretense, purpose, intention; II. iii. 142.

Pretend, intend; II. iv. 24,

Probation; "passed in p. with you," proved, passing them in detail, one by one; III. i. 80.

Profound, "having deep or hid- den qualities" (Johnson); (?) "deep, and therefore ready to fall" (Clar. Pr.); III. v. 24.

Proof, proved armor; I. ii. 54.

Proper, fine, excellent (used ironically) ; III. iv. 60.

Protest, show publicly, proclaim; V. ii. 11.

Purged, cleansed; III. iv. 76.

Purveyor, an officer of the king sent before to provide food for the King and his retinue, as the harbinger provided lodg- ing; I. vi. 22.

Push, attack, onset; V. iii. 20.

Put on, set on, (?) set to work; IV. iii. 239.

Put upon, falsely attribute; I. vii. 70.

Quarry, a heap of slaughtered

game; IV. iii. 206. Quell, murder; I. vii. 72. Quiet; "at q.", in quiet, at

peace; II. iii. 20.

Ravel'd, tangled; II. ii. 37. Ravin'd, ravenous; IV. i. 24. Ravin up, devour greedily; II.

iv. 28. Rawness, hurry; IV. iii. 26. Readiness; "manly r.", complete

clothing (opposed to "naked

frailties"); II. iii. 144. Receipt, receptacle; I. vii. 66. Received, believed; I. vii. 74. Recoil, swerve; IV. iii. 19. ; "to r.", for recoiling; V.

ii. 23. Relation, narrative; IV. iii. 173. Relations, "the connection of

effects with causes"; III. iv.

124. Relish, smack; IV. iii. 95. Remembrance, quadrisyllable;

III. ii. 30. Remembrancer, reminder; III. iv.

37. Remorse, pity; I. v. 46. Require, ask her to give; III. iv.

6. Resolve yourselves, decide, make

up your minds; III. i. 138. Rest, remain; I. vi. 20.

, give rest; IV. iii. 227.

Return, give back; I. vi. 28. Ron yon, a term of contempt; I.

iii. 6. Roof'd, gathered under one roof;

III. iv. 40. Rooky, gloomy, foggy; (Jennens,

"rocky"); III. ii. 51. Round, circlet, crown; I. v. 30. ; "r. and top of sovereignty ,"

t. e. "the crown, the top or

138

)F MACBETH

Glossary

summit of sovereign power";

IV. i. 87.

— , dance in a circle; IV. i. 130. Lubs, hindrances, impediments ;

III. i. 134. Lump-fed, well-fed, pampered; I.

iii. 6.

afe toward, with a sure regard

to; I. iv. 27.

ag, droop, sink; V. iii. 10. aint Colme's inch, the island

of Columba, now Inchcolm, in

the Firth of Forth; I. ii. 61. aucy, insolent, importunate; (?)

pungent, sharp, gnawing

(Koppel); III. iv. 25. ay to, tell; I. ii. 6. Icaped, escaped; III. iv. 20. carf up, blindfold; III. ii. 47. cone, the ancient coronation

place of the kings of Scotland;

II. iv. 31.

cotch'd, "cut with shallow in- cisions" (Theobald's emenda- tion of Ff., " scorch' d") ; III. ii. 13.

eason, seasoning; III. iv. 141. sat, situation; I. vi. 1. sated, fixed firmly; I. iii. 136. scurity, confidence, conscious- ness of security, carelessness;

III. v. 32.

seling, blinding (originally a term of falconry); III. ii. 46. sems; "that s. to speak things strange," i. e. "whose appear- ance corresponds with the strangeness of his message" (Clar. Pr.) ; (Johnson conj. "teems"; Collier MS., "comes," etc.); I. ii. 47.

slf-abuse, self-delusion ; III. iv. 142. :lf-comparisons, measuring

himself with the other; I. ii. 55.

Selfsame, very same; I. iii. 88.

Sennet, a set of notes on trum- pet or cornet; III. i. 10-11.

Se'nnights, seven nights, weeks;

I. iii. 22.

Sensible, perceptible, tangible;

II. i. 36.

Sergeant (trisyllabic) ; I. ii. 3.

Set forth, showed; I. iv. 6.

Settled, determined; I. vii. 79.

Sewer, one who tasted each dish to prove there was no poison in it; I. vii. (direct.).

Shag-ear'd, having hairy ears; (Steevens conj., adopted by Singer (ed. 2) and Hudson, " shag-hair' d") ; IV. ii. 83.

Shall, will; II. i. 29.

, I shall; IV. ii. 23.

Shame, am ashamed; II. ii. 64.

Shard-borne, borne by scaly wingcases; (Davenant, " sharp- brow' d"; Daniel conj. "sham- bode"; Upton conj. "sharn- born") ; III. ii. 42.

Shift, steal, quietly get; II. iii. 156.

Shipman's card, the card of the compass; I. iii. 17.

Shough, a kind of shaggy dog; (Ff., "Showghes"; Capell, "shocks"); III. i. 94.

Should be, appear to be; I. iii. 45.

Show, dumb-show; IV. i. Ill— 112.

, appear; I. iii. 54.

Shut up, enclosed, enveloped; II. i. 16.

Sicken, be surfeited; IV. i. 60.

Sightless, invisible; I. vii. 23.

Sights; Collier MS. and Singer MS. "flights"; Grant White "sprites"; IV. i. 155.

139

Glossary

THE TRAGEDY

Sinel, Macbeth's father, accord- ing to Holinshed; I. iii. 71.

Single, individual; I. iii. 140.

, simple, small; I. vi. 1G.

Siuuah, used in addressing an in- ferior; here used playfully; IV. ii. 30.

Skibb, scour; V. iii. 35.

Slab, thick, glutinous; IV. i. 32.

Sleave, sleave-silk, floss silk; II. ii. 37.

Sleek o'er, smooth; III. ii. 27.

Sleights, feats of dexterity; III. v. 26.

Slipp'd, let slip; II. iii. 57.

Sliveb'd, slipped off; IV. i. 28.

Smack, have the taste, savor; I. ii. 44.

So, like grace, gracious; IV. iii. 24.

So well, as well; I. ii. 43.

Sole, alone, mere; IV. iii. 12.

Solemn, ceremonious, formal; III. i. 14.

Soliciting, inciting; I. iii. 130.

Solicits, entreats, moves by prayer; IV. iii. 149.

Something, some distance; III. i. 132.

Sometime, sometimes; I. vi. 11.

Sorely, heavily; V. i. 59.

Sorriest, saddest; III. ii. 9.

Sorry, sad; II. ii. 20.

Speak, bespeak, proclaim; IV. iii. 159.

Speculation, intelligence; III. iv. 95.

Speed; "had the s. of him," has outstripped him; I. v. 37.

Spongy, imbibing like a sponge; I. vii. 71.

Spring, source; I. ii. 27.

Sprites, spirits; IV. i. 127.

Spy, v. Note; III. i. 130.

Stableness, constancy; IV. iii. 92.

Staff, lance; V. iii. 48. Stamp, stamped coin; IV. ii

153. Stanch less, insatiable; IV. ii

78. Stand, remain; III. i. 4. Stand not upon, do not be pai

ticular about; III. iv. 119. State, chair of State; III. iv. State of honor, noble ran]

condition; IV. ii. 66. Stay, wait for; IV. iii. 142. Stays, waits; III. v. 35. Sticking-place, i. e. "the pla(

in which the peg of a stringe

instrument remains fast; u

proper degree of tension";

vii. 60. Stir, stirring, moving; I. iii. 14 Storehouse, place of burial; I

iv. 34. Strange, new; I. iii. 145. ; "s. and self-abuse," t.

(?) "my abuse of others ar

myself"; III. iv. 142. Strangely-visited, afflicted wr

strange diseases; IV. iii. 150. Stuff'd, crammed, full to burs

ing; V. iii. 44. Substances, forms; I. v. 51. Sudden, violent; IV. iii. 59. Suffeb, perish; III. ii. 16. Suffebing; "our s. country," t.

our country suffering; III.

48. Suggestion, temptation, incil

ment; I. iii. 134. Summeb-seeming, "appearing li

summer; seeming to be t

effect of a transitory a

short-lived heat of the bloo

(Schmidt); (Warburt*

"summer-teeming"; Johns*"

"fume, or seething," &c); I

iii. 86. Sundby, various; IV. iii. 48.

01

140

F MACBETH

Glossary

wcease, cessation; I. vii. 4.

mvEYiNG, noticing, perceiving;

I. ii. 31.

pay by, am directed by; V. iii.

9.

fears, swears allegiance; IV. ii.

47.

u:nt, be infected; V. iii. 3. wring-off, murder, death; I. vii. 20.

sems, teems with; IV. iii. 176. smperance, moderation, self-re- straint; IV. iii. 92. snding, tendance, attendance; I. v. 39.

cnd on, wait on; I. v. 43. hat, so that; I. ii. 58. — ; "to th.", to that end, for that purpose; I. ii. 10. herewithal, therewith; III. i. 34.

hirst, desire to drink; III. iv. 91.

bought; "upon a th.", in as small an interval as one can think a thought; III. iv. 55. — , being borne in mind; III. i. 132.

hralls, slaves, bondmen; III. vi. 13. |Hreat, threaten; II. i. 60.

ll that, till; I. ii. 54.

mely, betimes, early; II. iii. ,56.

— , "to gain the t. inn," oppor- tune; III. iii. 7.

tles, possessions; IV. ii. 7.

i, in addition to; I. vi. 19.

I — , according to; III. iii. 4.

— , compared to; III. iv. 64.

— , for, as; IV. iii. 10.

— , linked with, "prisoner to";

ill. iv. 25.

!p, overtop, surpass; IV. iii. 57.

Top-full, full to the top, brim- ful; I. v. 44.

Touch, affection, feeling; IV. ii. 9.

Touch'd, injured, hurt; IV. iii. 14.

Towering, turning about, soar- ing, flying high (a term of fal- conry) ; II. iv. 12.

Trace, follow; IV. i. 153.

Trains, artifices, devices; IV. iii. 118.

Trammel up, entangle as in a net; I. vii. 3.

Transport, convey; IV. iii. 181.

Transpose, change; IV. iii. 21.

Treble scepters, symbolical of the three kingdoms — England, Scotland, and Ireland; IV. k 121.

Trifled, made trifling, made to sink into insignificance; II. iv. 4.

Tugg'd; "t. with fortune," pulled about in wrestling with for- tune; III. i. 112.

Two-fold balls, probably refer- ring to the double coronation of James, at Scone and West- minster (Clar. Pr.); according to others the reference is to the union of the two islands; IV. i. 121.

Tyranny, usurpation; IV. iii. 67.

Tyrant, usurper; III. vi. 22.

Unfix, make to stand on end;

I. iii. 135. Unrough, beardless; V. ii. 10. Unspeak, recall, withdraw; IV.

iii. 123. Untitled, having no title or

claim; IV. iii. 104. Unto, to; I. iii. 121. Upon, to; III. vi. 30. Uproar, "stir up to tumult*1

141

Glossary THE TRAGEDY OF MACBET]

(Schmidt); (Ff. 1, 2, "uprore" ;

Keightley, "Uproot"); IV. iii.

99. Use, experience; III. iv. 143. Using, cherishing, entertaining;

III. ii. 10. Utterance; "to the u.", t. e. a

outrance — to the uttermost ;

III. i. 72.

Vantage, opportunity; I. ii. 31. Verity, truthfulness; IV. iii. 92. Visards, masks; III. ii. 34. Vouch'd, assured, warranted ; III. iv. 34.

Want; "cannot w.", can help;

III. vi. 8. "Warranted, justified; IV. iii.

137. Wassail, revelry; I. vii. 64. Watching, waking; V. i. 12. Water-rug, a kind of poodle;

III. i. 94. What, who; IV. iii. 49.

What is, ff. e. what is the tit

of; III. iv. 126. When 'tis, L e. "when the matt

is effected"; II. i. 25. Whether (monosyllabic) ; I. i

111. Which, who; V. i. 66. While then, till then; III. i. 4 Whispers, whispers to; IV. i

210. Wholesome, healthy; IV. iii. 1C With, against; IV. iii. 90.

, by; III. i. 63.

, on; IV. ii. 32.

Without, outside; III. iv. 14.

, beyond; III. ii. 11, 12.

Witness, testimony, evidence; ]

ii. 47. Worm, small serpent; III. iv. 2 Would, should; I. vii. 34. Wrought, agitated; I. iii. 149.

Yawning peal, a peal which lui

to sleep; III. ii. 43. Yesty, foaming; IV. i. 53. Yet, in spite of all, notwithstan

ing; IV. iii. 69.

142

»J

STUDY QUESTIONS

By Anne Throop Craig

GENERAL

'1. What is the historic basis of the action of this drama ? £. What is the dramatic divergence from the Chronicles the portrayal of Macbeth?

3. What social condition characterized the times in fiich the scene is laid?

4. Trace the development of Macbeth's course of crimes, om step to step. Analyze the impelling causes.

5. Upon what state of mind in Macbeth do the Weird sters react? Of what are they the abiding symbol?

6. Had Macbeth legally, according to record, an equal lim to the throne with Duncan ? How would such a pre- ninary situation for him make the Sisters' prophecy nat- ally take swift hold upon his fancy?

7. What impression is given of Lady Macbeth's nature? escribe her intellectual processes with regard to the imes to which she is accessory; — the development of her lotional experiences as they are made to appear, because

them.

8. Describe the influence of these two persons, Macbeth d his wife, upon each other, in instigation and reaction.

9. What are the qualities of the drama, and iis marked iitures in respect of movement, color, and the casting of

plan?

10. What is historically said of the government of mean? What is the main feature of it brought forward I the drama ? Is there a dramatic purpose in this, and, \ so, what, especially by contrast with the dramatic por- lyal of his cousin, Macbeth?

143

Study Questions THE TRAGED

ACT I

11. For what does the opening of the play prepare u

12. In scene ii what is the report of Macbeth?

13. With what people were the Scots at war?

14. What is the significance of the effect of the Wei: Sisters' prophecy upon Banquo as compared with that has upon Macbeth?

15. What does Banquo say that might be construed a warning to Macbeth against dangerous ambitions, — i his own suspicions of their possibility in Macbeth's mini

16. What do we infer as to the keynote of MacbetJ nature from Lady Macbeth's words upon reading his lc ter?

17. What gives the effect of fatality to the messengei news of Duncan's approach, close upon the receipt t Lady Macbeth of her husband's letter?

18. Trace the development of her idea with regard Duncan.

19. What is the dramatic effect of her manner of me< ing with Duncan, in the midst of her treacherous schei mg?

20. What is the distinguishing feature of Lady Mfi beth's attitude toward the contemplated deed, by contn with her husband's?

ACT II

21. What is portentous in the opening lines?

22. What may we suppose has been the drift of 1 "cursed thoughts" Banquo refers to? Does this make necessary to judge that he has any definite suspicions Macbeth or only vague ones, that his nature would try repudiate? Which is most in keeping with Banquo's ch acter as portrayed ?

23. Describe scene ii, especially the effect of the noi of the night upon the two guilty ones after the murder been done, and the effect of the knocking upon the atrr phere and tension of the scene.

144

OF MACBETH Study Questions

24. Comment upon the interlude of the Porter's entrance and soliloquy. Describe its relation to the immediately preceding and succeeding incidents.

25. Why does Lady Macbeth swoon and cry to be taken out?

26. What is the apparent view of Donalbain and Mal- colm concerning the murder of their father? What do they do accordingly?

27. Upon whom is suspicion of the deed placed, through their flight?

28. Does the Old Man imply anything significant of the truth of the situation, in any of his lines? What does his introduction serve?

ACT III

29. How do Macbeth and his queen arrange to get Ban- quo in their power?

30. What do Banquo's opening lines import? Is there any significant contrast between him and Macbeth con- veyed through them?

31. How does Macbeth work upon the minds of the hired murderers, to stir them against Banquo ?

32. What is Macbeth's reflection upon hearing of the escape of Fleance? In what state of mind does it leave him? How does this serve the development of the theme?

33. Describe the banquet scene, and the effect of the apparition of Banquo upon Macbeth.

34. What is Lady Macbeth's counter action during this scene?

35. Against whom next is Macbeth's suspicion aroused?

36. What does he say to show his means of keeping himself informed for his protection ? What does this argue of the state of his mind resultant upon his crimes ?

37. What is the import of the talk between Lennox and the other Lord at Forres?

38. What are the Witches to do for Macbeth, at Hecate's instigation ?

XXVIII— 10 145

Study Questions THE TRAGEDY

ACT IV

39. Describe the incantation scene. Its lyrical form Its dramatic effect.

40. By what oath does Macbeth conjure them to answei his demands ? What does this signify of the state of mine at which he has arrived?

41. What apparitions are called up for his benefit, anc what are their several utterances?

42. What is the powerful significance in the wish of th( Witches to withhold the final vision which Macbeth de- mands ?

43. When he sees it, how does he receive it?

44. What is the reason of Macbeth's regret and fear a1 hearing of Macduff's flight to England? What crirm does he immediately purpose?

45. What is the fate of Lady Macduff and her chil- dren ?

46. What is the substance of the passage between Mal- colm and Macduff in England?

47. Is there any explanation of Malcolm's tirade againsl himself? If so, what can be its meaning, and what it* purpose ?

48. Who is the king of England referred to at this time?

49. Whom does Malcolm get to join him in his advance against Macbeth?

50. How does Macduff receive the news of Ross? De- scribe what is interestingly true to life in the passage.

act v

51. Describe the sleep-walking scene. Analyze the tech- nic of Lady Macbeth's lines. What do they convey oi her mental state?

52. What does Caithness report of Macbeth in scene iii How further is he discussed in this scene?

53. How does Macbeth receive the first news of tht force that is coming against him?

146

OF MACBETH 2 a „

Study Questions « ww iS f P°rted t0 him of LadJ Macbeth?

Lrt's W«^ Y6 Macbeth's w°rds on hearing of the Queen's death? What 1S the dramatic effect of the wail he hears

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57. What is the effect upon Macbeth of the messenger's

58 m T?„ What are hiS kst WOrds ^on hi egxTt?

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DATE DUE

OCTtt»*
MAR 3 1 '*99a
MAR " 9 1993
SEP 1 Q 1°°Q
SEP i 5 :r.7
MAY i 5 2000?r,rs0
APR (1 6 2001
MAS 1 9 ?nf11
MAY U ?f!01
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