May bear the raven's eye: I lodge in fear, Though this a heav'nly angel, hell is here. [Clock ftrikes. One, two, three: time, time [Goes into the trunk, the Scene cl fes. SCENE changes to another part of the Palace, facing Imogen's Apartment. 1 Lord. Y Enter Cloten, and Lords. Our Lordship is the most patient man in lofs, the coldeft that ever turn'd up ace. -that dawning May bear the raven's eye. If I agreed with Mr. Pope in the meaning of this expreffion, I could help him to an emendation, with a very minute change of the letters: that dawning May bare the raven's eye. i.e. make bare, naked: and this would be a much more poetical word than ope. Befides, most birds, as well as many quadrupeds, have a membrane for nitation, call'd propior, which they can at pleafure draw over their eyes, to defend them from too ftrong a light: and when this membrane is withdrawn, the eye may very properly be faid to be bared.But, notwithstanding all this, the old books give us the genuine reading; which, I'll be bold to fay, Mr. Pope has rejected, because he did not understand. Why should the dawn be faid peculiarly to open the raven's eye? The lark has always been counted the earlicft ftirrer amongst the feather'd kind. For the dawn' to bear the raven's eye, is, as Mr. Warburton ingeniously obferv'd to me, a very grand and poetical expreffion. It is a metaphor borrow'd from heraldry; as, again, in Much Ado about Nothing: So that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse. That the dawn should bear the raven's eye, means, that it should rife, and fhew that colour. Now the raven's eye is remarkably grey and grey-ey'd, 'tis known, is the epithet univerfaily join'd to the morning. Nor has our Shakespeare forgot to allude to the morning being grey in other paffages. -and, look, the gentle day, Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about For ruffet is dark-brown, grey. Much Ado, &c. The grey-ey'd morn fmiles on the frowning night, Check'ring the eastern clouds with ftreaks of light. &c. &.c. &c. Jul. Caf Rom, and Jul. Clo'. It would make any man cold to lofe. 1 Lord. But not every man patient, after the noble temper of your lordship; you are moft hot, and furious, when you win. Clo. Winning will put any man into courage: if I could get this foolish Imager, I fhould have gold enough: It's almost morning, is't not? 1 Lor. Day, my i ord. Clot. I would, this mufick would come: I am advis'd to give her muficko'mornings; they fay, it will penetrate. Enter Muficians. Come on, tune; if you can penetrate her with your fingering, fo; we'll try with tongue too; if none will do, let her remain: but I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good conceited thing; after, a wonderful fweet air with admirable rich words to it; and then let her confider. SONG. Hart, bark! the lark at heav'n's gate fing', His feeds to water at thofe Springs On chalic'd flowers that lies: And winking Mary-buds begin To ape their golden eyes; With every thing that pretty i, So, get you gone-if this penetrate, I will confider your mufick the better: if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cats-guts, nor the voice of unpav'd eunuch to boot, can never amend. [Exeunt Muficians, Enter Queen and Cymbeline. 2 Lord. Here comes the King. 1 Clot. I am glad I was up fo late, for that's the reason I was up fo early: he cannot chufe but take this service I have done, fatherly. Good-morrow to your Majefty, and to my gracious mother. Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? Will the not forth? Clot. I have affail'd her with muficks, but she vouch- fafes no notice. Cymb. The exile of her minion is too`new; Queen. You are most bound to th' King, Clot. Senfelefs? not fo.. Enter a Menger. Mef. So like you, Sir, Ambassadors from Rom'; The one is Caius Lucius. Cym. A worthy fellow, Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; But that's no fault of his: we must receive him a 1 And towards himself, his goodness fore-fpent on us, When you have giv'n good morning to your mistress, Co. If the be up, I'll speak with her; if not, Let her lie ftill, and dream. By your leave, ho! [Exeunt. [Knocks. -what, -'tis gold, L 5 Which I know, her women are about her- Which buys admittance, (oft it doth,) yea, makes Their deer to th' stand o'th' stealer: and 'tis gold, One of her women lawyer to me, for Clot. Yes, and a gentlewoman's fon. Lady. That's more [Knocks. Than fome, whofe taylors are as dear as yours, Lady. Ay, to keep her chamber. Clot. There is gold for you, fell me your good report. Lady. How, my good name? or to report of you What I fhall think is good? The princefs Enter Imogen. Clot. Good-morrow, fairest: fifter, your fweet hand. Imo. Good-morrow, Sir; you lay out too much pains For purchafing but trouble; the thanks. I give, Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, And scarce can spare them. Clot. Still, I fwear, I love you.. Imo. If you but faid fo, 'twere as deep with me: If you fwear ftill, your recompence is still That I regard it not. Clot. This is no answer. Imo. But that you shall not fay I yield, being filent, I would not fpeak. I pray you, fpare me I fhall unfold equal difcourtesy -faith, Το your best kindness: one of our great knowing 2 Clot Clot. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my fin; (14) I will not. Imo. Fools cure not mad folks.. Clat. Do you call me fool? Imo. As I am mad, I do: If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; T'accufe myself, I hate you: which I had rather Clot. You fin against Obedience, which you owe your father; for (14) To leave you in your madness, 'twere my fin ; · I will not. Imo. Fools are not mad folks. But does the really call him fool? The foundeft logician would be puzzled to find it out, as the text stands. The reafoning is perplex'd' in a flight corruption; and we must reftore, as Mr. Warburton likewife faw, Fools cure not mad folks. You are mad, fays he, and it would be a crime in me to leave you to yourfelf.- -Nay, fays the, why should you ftay? A fool never cur'd madness.- -Do you call me fool? replies he, &c. All this is eafy and natural. And that cure was certainly the Poet's word, I think is very evident from what Imogen immediately fubjoins. If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad, That cures us bath.. i.e. If you'll cease to torture me with your foolish follicitations, I'll ceafe to fhew towards you any thing like madness: so a double cure will be effected, of your folly, and my suppos'd frenzy. (15) You put me to forget a lady's manners By being fo verbal.] This reflexion of Imogen upon her own fex, that it ill becomes a lady to be loquacious, might very well be borrow'd from what Ajax fays to Tecmefa, in Sophocles; Γύναι, γυναιξὶ κόσμον ἡ σιγὴ φέρει. L. 6 Ajac, Flagell. v. 295•· (One, |