« AnteriorContinua »
He, he, and you ; and you, my liege, and I
Dum. Now the number is even.
Biron. True, true ; we are four :
King. Hence, Sirs, away.
Exeunt Coftard and Jaquenetta. Bironi Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace :
As true we are, as flesh and blood can be.
Young blood doth not obey an old decree.
King. What, did these rent lines shew some love of thine?
At the first opening of the gorgeous east)
Kisses the base ground with obedient brealt? What peremptory eagle-lighted eye
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, That is not blinded by her Majesty ?
King. What zeal, what fury, hath inspir'd thee now? My love fher mistress) is a gracious moon; She (an attending ítar) scarce seen a light. Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron.
O, but for my love, day would turn to night. Of all complexions the culld Sovereignty
Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek; Where several worthies make one dignity;
Where nothing wants, that want itself doch seek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues ;
Fy, painted rhetorick! O, she needs it not: To things of sale a feller's praise belongs :
She passes praise, the praise, too short, doth blot.
A wither'd hermit, fivescore winters worn,
Might fhake off fifty, looking in her eye : Beauty doch varnish Age, as if new-born,
And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy;
King. By heav'n, thy love is black as ebony.
A wife of fuch wood were felicity.
That I may fwear, Beauty doth beauty lack, If that the learn not of her eye to look?
No face is fair, that is not full so black? King. Oparadox, black is the badge of hell ;
The bue of dungeons, and the fowl of night; (25). And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well.
Biron. Devils sooneft tempt, resembling spirits of light: O, if in black my lady's brow be deckt,
It mourns, that painting and ufurping hair Should ravish doters with a false aspect :
And therefore is she born to make black fais. Her Favour turns the fashion of the days,
For native blood is counted painting now ; And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,
Paints itself black to imitate her brow. Dum. To look like her, are chimney-fweepers black. Long. And since her time, are colliers counted bright. King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack.
(24) Is Ebony like her? 0 Word divine ! ] This is the Reading of all the Editions that I have seen : but both Dr. Thirlby and Mr. Warburton concurr’d in reading, (as I had likewise conjectur'd,) O Wood divine !
(25) black is the badge of Hell; The hue of Dungeons, and the School of Nigbr.] Black, being the Scbool of Night, is a Piece of Mystery above my Comprehension. I had guess’d, it thould be, the Stole of Nigbt : but I have preferr'd the Conjecture of my Friend Mr. Warburton, as it comes nearer in Pronunciation to the corrupted Reading, as well as agrøes better with the other Imagesa
Dum. Dark needs no candles, now, for dark is light. Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in rain,
For fear their colours should be wash'd away. King: 'Twere good, yours did : for, Sir, to tell you plain,
I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day : Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk ’till dooms-day here.
King. No devil will fright thee then so much as she. Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear, Long, Look, here's thy love; my foot and her face' see. Biron. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes,
Her feet were much too dainty for such tread. Dum. O vile ! then as she goes, what upward lies
The street should fee as the walk: over head. King. But what of this, are we not all in love?
Biron. Nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworn. King. Then leave this chat; and, good Biron, now prove
Our loving lawful, and our faith not corn.
Long. O, fome authority how to proceed;
Dum. Some salve for perjury,
Biron, O, 'tis more than need.
first did fwear unto :
The nimble spirits in the arteries;
(26) A Lover's Ear will hear the lower Sound,
When tbe Suspicious Head of Theft is ftoppid.] I have ventured to substitute a Word here, against the Authority of all the printed Copies. There is no Contrast of Terms, betwixt a Lover and a Thief: but betwixt a Lover and a Man of Thrift there is a remarkable Antirbelis. Nor is it true in fact, I believe, that a
Love's Feeling is more foft and sensible,
Thief, harden'd to the Profeffion, is always fufpicious of being apprehended; but he may feep as found as an honefter Man. But, accorda ing to the Ideas we have of a Miser, a Man who makes Lucre and Pelf his sole Object and Pursuit, his sleeps are broken and disturbid with perpetual Apprehenfions of being robbed of his darling Treasure : consequently, his Ear is upon the attentive Bent, even when be sleeps best.
(27) For Valour is not Love a Hercules,
Still climbing Trees in the Hesperides ? ] I have here again ventur'd to trangress against the printed Books. The Poet is here observing how all the Senses are refined by Love. But what has the poor Sense of Smelling done, 'not to keep its Place among its Brethren? Then Hercules's Valour was not in climbing tbe Trees, but in attacking the Dragon gardant. I rather think, the Poet meant that Hercules was allured by the Odeur and Fragrancy of the golden Apples.
(28) And when Love speaks, tbe Voice of all the Gods,
Make Heaven drowsy with the Harmony.] As this is writ and pointed in all the Copies, there is neither Sense, nor Concord; as will be obvious to every understanding Reader. The fine and easy Emendation, which I have inserted in the Text, I
to my ingenious Friend Mr. Warburton. His comment on Heaven being drowsy with the Harmony is no less ingeniows; and therefore, I'll subjoin it in his own Words. " Mufack, we must “ obferve, in our Author's time had a very different Use to what « it has now.
At present, it is only employed to raise and inflame “ the Pafiors; then, to calm and allay all kind of Perturbations. “ And agreeable to this Observation, throughout all Sbakespeare's " Plays, where Mufick is either actually used, or its Power de“ scribed, 'tis always said to be for these Ends.