Imatges de pàgina
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Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moor ! ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it Love; for, at your age,
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment
Would step from this to this ? Sense, sure, you have, (50)
Else could you not have motion : but, sure, that sente
Is apoplex'd : for madness would not err ;
Nor sense to ecstacy was ne'er so thralld,
But it reserv'd some quantity of choice
To serve in such a diff'rence. What devil was't,
That thus had cozen'd you at hoodman blind ?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without fight,
Ears without hands or eyes,

smelling fans all,
Or but a fickly part of one true fense
Could not fo mope.
Ofhame! where is thy blush? rebellious hell,
If thou canst mutiny in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame, (51)
When the compulfive ardour gives the charge ;
Since frost itfelf as actively doth burn,
And Reason parders Will.

Queen (50) SenseJure, you bave, &c.) Mr. Pope has left out the quantity of about eight verses here, which I have taken care to replace. They are not, indeed, to be found in the two elder folio's, but they carry the stile, expression, and cast of thought, peculiar to our Author; and that they were not an interpolation from another hand needs no better proof, than that they are in all the oldest quarto's. The first motive of their being 'left out, I am perswaded, was 'to shorten Hamlet's speech, and consult the ease of the actor : and the reason, why they find no plate in 'the folio impreffions, is, that they were printed from the playboufe caftrated copies. But, surely, this can be no-authority for a modern 'editor to confpire in. mutilating his author: fuch omissions, rather, mult betray a want of diligence, in collaring; or a want of justice, in the voluntary fifling. 151)

-Proclaim no foame,
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge;
Since froff it felf as a Etively does burn,

Andrea fon pardons will.] This is, indeed, the reading of Some of the elder copies; and Mr. Pope has a strange fatality, whendyer there is a various reading, of elpouling the wrong one. The

whole

Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more.
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very foul,
And there I see such black and grained spots,
As will not leave their tinct.

Ham. Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an incestuous bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honying and making love
Over the nafty sty;

Queen. Oh, speak no more ;
These words like daggers enter in mine ears.
No more, sweet Hamlet.

Ham, A murderer, and a villain!
A slave, that is not twentieth part the tythe
Of your precedent Lord. A Vice of Kings; -(52)
A cutpurse of the Empire and the Rule,
That from a shelf the precious Diadem stole
And put it in his pocket.
Qyeen. No more.

Enter Gbot.
Ham. A King of shreds and patches-
Save me! and hover o'er me with your wings,

[Starting up: You heav'nly guards! what would your gracious figure?

Queen. Alas, he's mad

Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, whole tenour of the context demands the word degraded by that judi. cious editor ;

And reason panders will. This is the reflexion which Hamlet is making, “ Let us not call it “ fhame, when heat of blood compells young people to indulge their

appetites; since frost too can burn, and age, at that season when “ judgment should predominate, yet feels the stings of inclination,

and suffers reason to be the bawd to appetite."

(52 A Vice of Kings.] This does not mean, a very vicious king; as, on the other hand, in King Henry V. this Grace of King. means, this gracious King, this honour to royalty. But bere, I take it, a person, and not a quality, is to be understood. By a Vice, (as í have explain'd the word in several preceding notes) is meant that buffoon character, which us'd to play the fool in old plays; so that Hamlet is here design'd call his uncle, a ridiculous ape of majesty ; but the mimickry of a king.

That,

That, laps'd in time and passion, let's go by
Th' important acting of your dread command ?
O fay!

Ghoff. Do not forget: this visitation
Is but to whet thy almot blunted purpose.
But, look! amazement on thy mother fits ;
O step between her and her fighting foul :
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.
Speak to her, Hamlet.
Ham. How is it with you, Lady?

Queen. Alas, how is't with you?
That thus you bend your eye on vacancy,
And with th' incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth'at your eyes your spirits wildly peep,
And, as the sleeping foldiers in th’alarm,
Your bedded hairs, like life in excrements, (5 ;)
Start up, and stand on end. O gentle son,
Upon the heat and flame of thy diftemper

Sprinkle (53) Your bedded hairs, like life in excrements,

Start up and fand on end.) I took notice, in my SHAKESPEARE Restor'd, that this expression as much wanted an explanation, as any the most antiquated word in our Poet wants a glofs. Mr. Hughs, in his impresion of ibis play, has left it out: either because he could make nothing of ii, or thought it aliuded to an image too nauseous. The Poet's meaning is founded on a gryfica! determinativn, that the bair and nails are excrementitious parts of the body (as indeed, they are) without life or sensation. MACROEIUS, in his Saturnalia, (lib. vii.cap. 9.) not only speaks of those paris of the human body which have no sensation; but likewise afligns the reasons, why they can have none.' Ofja, dentes, rum unguibus capillis, nimia facciate irà densata sunt, ut penetrabilia non fint effectui anime qui fenlum miniftrat. Therefore the Poet means to say, fear and surprise had such an effect upon Hamlet, that his hairs, as if there were life in those excrementitious paris, started up and food on end. He has exprefe'd the same thought more plainly in Macbeth.

-and my fell of hair Would at a dismal creatise tową,

As life were in't. That our Poet was acquainted with this notion in physics, of the hair being without life, we need no stronger warrant, ihan that he frequently mentions it as an excrement.

Why is time fuch a niggard of bair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement?

Comedy of Errors, • Voe. VIII.

1

Hew

and fiir,

Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?

Hom. On him! on him!- look you, how pale he glares! His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, Would make them capable. Do not look on me, I eft with this piteous action you convert My stern effects ; then what I have to do, Will want true colour; tears, perchance, for blood.

een. To whom do you speak this?
Fam. Do you see nothing there? [Pointing to the Gh.
Queer. Nothing at all ; yet all, that is, I see.
Ham. Nor did you nothing hear?

Queen. No, nothing but ourselves.
Ham. Why, look you there! look, how it steals away

! My father in his habit as he liv'd! Look, where he goes ev’n now, out at the portal.

[ Exit Ghost. Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain,

his bodiless creation ecstasy Is very cunning in.

Ham. What ecstasy?
My pulse, as yours, doth temp'rately keep time,
And makes as healthful musick. Tis not madness
That I have utter'd; bring me to the test,
And I the matter will re-word; which madness
Would gambol from. Mother, from love of grace,
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul,
That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks :
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place; (54)

Whilit
How many cowards, wh hearts are all as false
As ftairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars;
Who, inwaru search's, have livers white as milk?
And there affume but valour's excrement
To render them redoubced.

Mercbant of Venice. For I must tell thee, it will please his grace (by the world !) sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder, and with his royal finger thus dally with my excrement, with my mufiacbio.

Love's Labour Loft. &c. &c. (54) It will but skin and film tbe ulcerous place,

Wbilf rank corruption, running all witbin,

Infeets unseen.] So, our Poet elsewhere speaking of the force of power;

Because

Whilft rank corruption, mining all within,
Infects unszen. Confefs yourlelf to heav'n ;
Rezent what's past, avoid what is to come;
And do not spread the comport on the weeds
To make thein ranker. Forgive me this my virtue ;
For, in the fatness of these pursy times,
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg,
Yea, courb, and woce, for leave to do it good.

Queen. Oh Hamlet! thou hait cleft my heart in twain.

Han. O, throw away the worfer part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good night; but go not to mine uncle's bed:
Assume a virtue, if he have it not.
That monster cuitoin, who all sense doth eat (55)

Because authority, tho' it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself,
That skins the vice o'th''op.

Mias. for Meas. But why, in the pailuge before us, has Mr. Pope given us a reading that is warranted by none of the copies, and degraded one, that bas the countenance of all of them?

Wb.llt rank corruprion, mining all within,

Infeets unseen. The Poet describes corruption as having a corrosive quality, eating its secret way, and undermining the parts that are skin'd over,

and seem sound to exteriour view. He, in another place, uses the simple verb for the compound.

He lets me seed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education.

As You Like it. (55) Tbat monster Cuftom, who all sense do:beat,

Of babit's devil, is angel yet in obis;
That is the use of actions fair and good
Ile likewise grves a frock, or livery,

That aptly is put on.] This paflage is left out in the two eller folios : it is certainly corrupt, and the players did the discreet part ro itiile what they did not understand. Habit's devil certainly arose from some conceited tan perer with the text, who thought it was necese {ary, in contrast to angei. Tne einen Jation of the text I owe to the sagacity of Dr. Thirlby.

That monster Cuftom, who all jen, e dotb eat

Of habuis evil, is ange', &c. i.e. Cuitom, which by inuring us to ill habits, m-kes us lose the apprehension of their being really ill, as ealily will reconcilc us to the practice of goud actions,

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