And all indign and base adverfities
Make head against my estimation.

Othello, A. 1, S. 3.

The barge fhe fat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burnt on the water; the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the fails, and fo perfum'd, that

The winds were love-fick with them: the oars were

filver,

Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat, to follow fafter,
As amorous of their ftrokes. For her own perfon,
It beggar'd all defcription: fhe did lie
In her pavilion (cloth of gold, of tiffue),
O'er-picturing that Venus, where we fee

The fancy out-work nature: on each fide her,
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling cupids,
With divers-colour'd fans, whofe wind did feem
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
And what they undid, did.

Antony and Cleopatra, A. 2, S. 2.
This Signior Junio's giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;
Regent of love rhimes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed fovereign of fighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,

And I to be a corporal of his field.

Love's Labour Loft, A. 3, S. 1.

CUR.

hounds:

Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my
Brach Merriman, the poor cur is imboft.

Tam. Shrew. Induct. S. I.

Brass,

-Tender well my hounds:

Brach Merriman, the poor cur is imboft.

Sir J. Hanmer reads, "leach Merriman ;" that is, apply fome remedies to Merriman, the poor cur has his joints fwell'd. Per

F 3

haps

Brafs, cur2!

Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat,

Offer'ft me brass?

Henry V. A. 4, S. 4.

CURRENT.

I'll read you matter, deep, and dangerous;
As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit,
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud,
On the unfteadfast footing of a fpear.

Hen. IV. P. I. A. 1, S. 3

The current, that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'ft, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage.
Two Gent. of Verona, A. 2. S. 7.

CURS E.

Over thy wounds now do I prophefy-
Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips,

haps we might read-bathe Merriman, which is, I believe, the common practice of huntfmen. JOHNSON. If for "bounds," we read bound, and point the paffage differently, the whole will be fufficiently clear.

"Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hound "Brach Merriman :-the poor cur is imbost."

A. B.

2 Brafs, cur!] Either Shakespeare had very little knowledge of the French language, or his over-fondnefs for punning led him in this place, contrary to his own judgment, into an error. Almost every one knows that the French word bras, is pronounced braw; and what resemblance of found does this bear to brass, that Pistol should reply, brass, cur? RAWLINSON.

If the pronunciation of the French language be not changed fince Shakespeare's time, which is not unlikely, it may be fufpected fome other man wrote the French lines. JOHNSON.

The editors are mistaken. unless it be by the English. Frenchman.

Bras is not pronounced braw,
The s is always founded by a
A. B.

To

To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue :
A curfe fhall light upon the limbs of men;
Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife,
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy.

J. Cafar, A. 3, S. 1.

Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen,

To my keen curfes; for without my wrong,

There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.

King John, A. 3, S. 1.

To arms! be champion of our church! Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curfe, A mother's curfe, on her revolting fon.

King John, A. 3, S. 1.

Thou know'ft, great fon,

The end of war's uncertain; but this certain,
That if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
Which thou shalt thereby reap, is such a name,
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curfes.

Coriolanus, A. 5, S. 3.

Wherefore should I curse them? Would curfes kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, I would invent as bitter fearching terms, As curft, as harsh, and horrible to hear, Deliver'd ftrongly through my fixed teeth, With full as many figns of deadly hate, As lean-fac'd envy in her loathfome cave.

Hen. VI. P. 2. A. 3, S. 2. Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven?— Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick

curfes !

Though not by war, by furfeit die your king,

As ours by murder, to make him a king!

Rich. III. A. 1, S. 3.

What! I that kill'd her husband, and his father,
To take her in her heart's extremest hate;

With curfes in her mouth, tears in her eyes,

The bleeding witness of her hatred by :

With God, her confcience, and thefe bars against

me!

And I no friends to back my fuit withal,
But the plain devil, and diffembling looks,
And yet to win her-all the world to nothing!

Rich. III. A. 1, S. 2.

Sir, will you, with those infirmities fhe owes,'
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,

Dower'd with our curfe, and ftranger'd with our

oath,

Take her, or leave her?

Lear, A. 1, S. 1.

Blafts and fogs upon thee!

The untented woundings of a father's curse,
Pierce every sense about thee !-Old fond eyes,
Beweep this caufe again, I'll pluck you out,
And caft you, with the waters that
with the waters that you lofe,

To temper clay.

Lear, A. 1, S. 4.

STEEVENS.

"Owes," for owns. "Infirmities fhe owes," Infirmities which She cannot but acknowledge. We do not fay that a perfon is poffefed of infirmities.

A. B.

2 The untented woundings.] Untented wounds, means wounds in their worst state, not having a tent in them to digeft them; and may poffibly fignify here fuch as will not admit of having a tent put into them for that purpose. STEEVENS.

"Untented wounds" may perhaps be understood; but "untented woundings" is, in my opinion, without a meaning. I think we may read unfbented or unfbended woundings. To fhend, in Chaucer and Spenfer, is to blame. "Unfhented woundings of a father's curfe," may therefore mean the unblamed or unblameable curfes of a father, &c.-Curfes, which confidering your conduct, no one will cenfure me for.

A. B,

CUSTOM.

CUSTO M.
том.

The tyrant cuftom, moft grave fenators,
Hath made the flinty and fteel couch of war,
My thrice-driven bed of down.

New customs,

Othello, A. 1, S. 3.

Though they be never fo ridiculous,

Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.

Henry VIII. A. 1. S. 3.

D.

DANCE,

DANCE R.

HEN

WHE

you do dance, I wish you

A wave o'the fea, that you might ever do

Nothing but that; move ftill, ftill so,

And own no other function.

Winter's Tale, A. 4, S. 3.

He, at Philippi, kept

His fword even like a dancer, while I ftruck

The lean and wrinkled Caffius; and 'twas I,

That the mad Brutus ended. Ant. & Cleop. A. 3, S. 9.

Suppose the finging birds, musicians;

The grafs whereon thou tread'ft, the prefence ftrow'd; The flowers, fair ladies; and thy fteps, no more, Than a delightful measure or a dance.

Richard II. A. 1, S. 3.

DANGER.

In thy danger;

If ever danger do environ thee,

Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,

For I will be thy bead's-man.

3

Two Gent. of Verona, A. 1, S. 1.

Omiffion