Imatges de pàgina
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And all indign and base adversities
Make head against my estimation.

Othello, A. 1, S. 3.
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burnt on the water; the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the fails, and so perfuin'd, that
The winds were love-sick with them : the oars were

filver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat, to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all description : she did lie
In her pavilion (cloth of gold, of tissue),
O’er-picturing that Venus, where we see
The fancy out-work nature: on each side her,
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling cupids,
With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem
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 sovereign 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.

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

Tam. Sbrew. Induct. S. I.

Brass,

-Tender well my

hounds : Brach Merriman,-ihe poor cur is imboft. Sir J. Hanmer reads, "leach Merriman;" that is, apply fome remedies to Merriman, the poor cur has his joints (well'd. PerF 3

haps

Brass, cur 2!
Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat,
Offer'st me brass?

Henry V. A. 4, S. 4.

CURREN T.

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 unsteadfast footing of a spear.

Hen. IV. P. 1. A. I, S. 3,
The current, that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopp’d, impatiently doth rage.

Two Gent. of Verona, A. 2. S. 7.

CU R S E.
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy-
Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips,

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haps we might read - bathe Merriman, which is, I believe, the common practice of huntsmen.

Johnson. If for 1 hounds," we read hound, and point the paffage differently, the whole will be sufficiently clear.

“ Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hound 6 Brach Merriman :-the poor cur is imbost.”

A. B. ? Brass, cur !] Either Shakespeare had very little knowledge of the French language, or his over-fondness 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 sound 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 sufpected some other man wrote the French lines. Johnson.

The editors are mistaken. Bras is not pronounced braw, unless it be by the English. The s is always founded by a Frenchman,

A. B.

To

1

To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue :
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;
Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife,
Shall cumber all the

parts

of Italy.

7. Cæsar, A. 3, S. 1. Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen, To my keen curses; 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 curse, A mother's curse, on her revolting son.

King John, A. 3, S. 1.

Thou know'st, 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 curses.

Coriolanus, A. 5, S. 3.

Wherefore should I curse them? Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, I would invent as bitter searching terms, As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, With full as many signs of deadly hate, As lean-fac'd envy in her loathsome 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

curses ! Though not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder, to make him a king !

Rich. III. A. I, S. 3. What! I that kill'd her husband, and his father, To take her in her heart's extremelt hate;

With

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With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of her hatred by:
With God, her conscience, and these bars against

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

Rich. III. A. 1, S. 2.
Sir, 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? Lear, A. 1, S. 1.

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'll pluck you out,
And cast you, with the waters that you lose,
To temper clay.

Lear, A. I, S. 4,

-Owes.] i, e. is poffeffed of.

STEEVENS. Owes," for orns. “ Infirmities she owes,Infirmities which She cannot but acknowledge. We do not say that a person is poleled of infirmities.

A. B. 2. The untented woundings.] Untented wounds, means wounds in their worst state, not having a tent in them to digest them; and may possibly fignify here such 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 unsented or unshended woundings. To fhend, in Chaucer and Spenser, is to blame.Unshented woundings of a father's curse," may therefore mean the unblamed or unblameable curses of a father, &c.-Curses, which confidering your conduct, no one will cenfure me for,

A. B.
CUSTOM.

CU S TO M.
The tyrant custom, most grave senators,
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war,
My thrice-driven bed of down.

Othello, A. 1, S. 3.
New customs,
Though they be never so ridiculous,
Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.

Henry VIII. A. 1. S. 3.

D.

DANCE,

DAN CER.

WHE

HEN

you

do dance, I wish you
A wave o’the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, ftill so,
And own no other function.

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

He, at Philippi, kept His sword even like a dancer, while I struck The lean and wrinkled Cassius; and 'twas I, That the mad Brutus ended. Ant. & Cleop. A. 3, S. 9. Suppose the singing birds, musicians ; The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence strow'd; The flowers, fair ladies; and thy steps, 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. Two Gent. of Verona, A. I, S. 1.

Omillion 3

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