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propound some convenient courses to his Ma- | In 'Twelfth Night,' jesty," &c. (Lodge's 'Illustrations,' vol. iii., 4to., page 189.)

* SCENE L-"Her dispositions she inherits,” &c. To understand this passage we must define the meaning of "virtuous qualities." The Countess has distinguished between "dispositions" and "fair gifts." By the one is meant the natural temper and affections-by the other the results of education. In like manner "virtuous qualities" mean the same as "fair gifts" -they are the acquirements which might find a place in "an unclean mind,” as well as in one of honest "dispositions." Then "they are virtues and traitors too"-they are good in themselves, but they betray to evil, by giving the "unclean mind" the power to deceive. The "virtuous qualities" in Helena are unmixed with any natural defect_" they are the better for their simpleness." The concluding expression," she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness," is one of the many examples of Shakspere's beautiful discrimination as a moralist. How many that are honest by nature can scarcely be called good! "Goodness," in the high sense in which our poet uses it, can only be "achieved."

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3 SCENE I.-"'Tis the best brine," &c.

"To season," says Malone, "has here a culinary sense; to preserve by salting." Upon this, Pye, in his 'Comments upon the Commentators,' says, "Surely, this coarse and vulgar metaphor neither wanted nor merited a note." But why coarse and vulgar?" The "culinary sense" of Malone may raise up associations of the kitchen, which are not perfectly genteel; but suppose he had said "chemical sense"-would the metaphor have been itself different? We would rather make our estimate of what is "coarse and vulgar" upon the authority of Shakspere himself than upon that of Mr. Pye. With our poet this was a favourite metaphor, repeated almost as often as the canker" of the rose. In 'The Rape of Lucrece' we have,

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"But I alone, alone must sit and pine, Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine."

In 'Romeo and Juliet,'

"Jesu Maria! What a deal of brine

Hath wash'd thy sallow cheek for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not taste!"'

"And water once a-day her chamber round
With eye-offending brine: all this to season
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh
And lasting, in her sad remembrance."

The metaphor which these critics call " coarse and vulgar" and "culinary" has the sanction of the very highest authority, in whose mouth the most familiar allusions are employed in connection with the most sacred things: "Ye are the salt of the earth.”

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Of course from the collect in the Liturgy "Grant, we beseech thee, Almighty God, that the words which we have heard this day with our outward ears may through thy grace be so grafted inwardly in our hearts, that they may bring forth the fruit of good living," &c.

But it is noticeable that Shakspere's reverential mind very seldom adopted the phraseology of scripture or prayer for the mere sake of ornamenting his diction, as moderns perpetually do. The passage noted is an exception; but such are very rare. Doubts have been entertained as to Shakspere's religious belief, because few or no notices of it occur in his works. This ought to be attributed to a tender and delicate reserve about holy things, rather than to inattention or neglect. It is not he who talks most

about scripture, or who most frequently adopts its phraseology, who most deeply feels it.

5 SCENE III.-" What does this knave here?" &c.

Douce classes the Clown of this comedy amongst the domestic fools. Of this genus the same writer gives us three species:-The mere natural, or idiot; the silly by nature, yet cunning and sarcastical; the artificial. Of this latter species, to which it appears to us the Clown before us belongs, Puttenham, in his 'Art of English Poesie,' has defined the characteristics:"A buffoon, or counterfeit fool, to hear him speak wisely, which is like himself, it is no sport at all. But for such a counterfeit to talk and look foolishly it maketh us laugh, because it is no part of his natural." Of the real domestic fools of the artificial class-that is, of the class of clever fellows who were content to be called fools for their hire, Gabriel Harvey has given us some minor distinctions:-Scoggin,

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realities. They are the interpreters, to the multitude, of many things that would otherwise "lie too deep" for words.

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• SCENE III.

Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart."

This passage refers to the sour objection of the puritans to the use of the surplice in divine service, for which they wished to substitute the black Genevan gown. At this time the controversy with the puritans raged violently. Hooker's fifth book of Ecclesiastical Polity,' which, in the 29th chapter, discusses this matter at length, was published in 1597. But the question itself is much older-as old as the

Reformation, when it was agitated between the British and continental reformers. During the reign of Mary it troubled Frankfort; and on the accession of Elizabeth it was brought back to England, under the patronage of Archbishop Grindal, whose residence in Germany, during his exile in Mary's reign, had disposed him to Genevan theology. The dispute about ecclesiastical vestments may seem a trifle, but it was at this period made the ground upon which to try the first principles of church authority: a point in itself unimportant becomes vital when so large a question is made to turn upon it. Hence its prominency in the controversial writings of Shakspere's time; and few among his audience would be likely to miss an allusion to a subject fiercely debated at Paul's Cross and elsewhere.

ACT II.

7 SCENE I.-"Then here's a man," &c. MR. Leigh Hunt, in the preface to his very beautiful drama of 'The Legend of Florence,' has the following observation on the rhythm of Shakspere:-"That dramatist, high above all dramatists, has almost sanctified a ten-syllable regularity of structure, scarcely ever varied by a syllable, though rich with every other diversity of modulation. But, noble as the music is

which he has accordingly left us, massy, yet easy, and never failing him, any more than his superhuman abundance of thought and imagery I dare venture to think, that, had he lived farther off from the times of the princely monotony of 'Marlowe's mighty line,' he would have carried still farther that rhythmical freedom, of which he was the first to set his own fashion, and have anticipated, and far surpassed, the sprightly licence of Beaumont and Fletcher."

Without entering into the general theory here involved, we may express an opinion that, in many instances, the freedom of Shakspere's lighter dialogue has been impaired by his editors. We have an instance before us. The three lines spoken by Lafeu are printed by us as in the original copy. Nothing can be more buoyant than their metrical flow, and nothing, therefore, more characteristic of the speaker. To get rid of the short line spoken by the King, some of the "regulators" have transposed the lines after this fashion, and so they are always printed:

"Laf. Then here's a man Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would you Had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy; and That, at my bidding, you could so stand up." In the same way the succeeding lines, which we also print as in the original, are changed by the syllable-counting process into the following:

"King. I would I had, so I had broke thy pate, And ask'd thee mercy for 't. "Laf. Good faith, across: But, my good lord, 't is thus; will you be cur'd Of your infirmity? "King.

"Laf.

No.

O, will you eat

No grapes, my royal fox? Yes, but you will
My noble grapes, an if my royal fox
Could reach them: I have seen a medicine," &c.

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SCENE II.-" It is like a barber's chair."

"As common as a barber's chair" was a proverbial expression, which we find used by Burton (Anatomy of Melancholy,' edit. 1652, P: 665). In a collection of epigrams, entitled 'More Fooles yet,' 1610, we have these lines:

"Moreover, satin suits he doth compare Unto the service of a barber's chair; As fit for every Jack and journeyman, As for a knight or worthy gentleman." The barber's shop, in Shakspere's time, was "a place where news of every kind circled and centered." So Scott has described it in 'The Fortunes of Nigel.' The "knight or worthy

gentleman was nothing loth to exchange gossip with the artist who presided over the chair; and while "the Jack or journeyman " the minutes by touching the ghittern to some took his turn, many a gay gallant has filled up favourite roundelay. Jost Amman, one of the most spirited of designers, has given us a representation of a German barber's shop, which may well enough pass for such an English "emporium of intelligence."

SCENE II.-"A morris for May-day." In A Midsummer Night's Dream' (Illustrations of Act I.) will be found a general notice

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trations of Act IV.) The rider of the hobbyhorse (5) is deemed by Mr. Tollet to be the King of the May at any rate, the hobby-horse was one of the greatest personages of the Maygames. (See 'Love's Labour's Lost,' Illustrations of Act III.) The fool of the Morris (12) is plainly indicated by his cap and bauble; and the Piper, or Taborer (9), in the painted window, is pursuing his avocation with his wonted energy. Drayton has described this personage as Tom Piper,

"Who so bestirs him in the morris-dance

For penny wage."

Mr. Tollet thinks that the dancers in his window were representatives of the various ranks of life, and that the peasant, the franklin, and the nobleman are each to be found here. All the dancers, it will be observed, have bells attached to their ankles or knees; and Douce says "there is good reason for believing that the morris-bells were borrowed from the genuine Moorish dance." At any rate, the bells were indispensable even in Shakspere's time. Will Kemp, the celebrated comic actor, was a great morris-dancer, and in 1599 he undertook the extraordinary feat of dancing the morris from London to Norwich. This singular performance is recorded by himself in a rare tract, republished by the Camden Society, entitled 'Kemp's Nine Daies Wonder; performed in a Dance from London to Norwich.' The opening passage of this curious pamphlet is descriptive of a state of society such as exists not amongst us now. Kemp was a person of high celebrity in his profession, and respectable in his private life. Imagine such an actor making a street exhibition at the present day, and taking sixpences and groats amidst hearty prayers and God-speeds. There is something more frank and cordial in this scene than would be compatible with our refinement.

"The first Monday in Lent, the close morning promising a clear day (attended on by Thomas Sly, my taborer, William Bee, my servant, and George Sprat, appointed for my overseer that I should take no other ease but my prescribed order), myself, that's I, otherwise called Cavaliero Kemp, head master of morrice-dancers, high head-borough of heighs, and only tricker of your trill-lilles and best bell-shangler between Sion and Mount Surrey, began frolickly to foot it from the Right Honorable the Lord Mayor's of London towards the Right Worshipful (and truly bountiful) Master Mayor's of Norwich.

"My setting forward was somewhat before

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seven in the morning; my taborer struck up merrily; and as fast as kind people's thronging together would give me leave, through London I leapt. By the way many good old people, and divers others of younger years, of mere kindness gave me bowed sixpences and groats, blessing me with their hearty prayers and Godspeeds.

"Being past White Chapel, and having left fair London with all that north-east suburb before named, multitudes of Londoners left not me; but, either to keep a custom which many hold, that Mile-end is no walk without a recreation at Stratford Bow with cream and cakes, or else for love they bear toward me, or perhaps to make themselves merry if I should chance (as many thought) to give over my morrice within a mile of Mile-end; however, many a thousand brought me to Bow, where I rested awhile from dancing, but had small rest with those that would have urg'd me to drinking. But, I warrant you, Will Kemp was wise enough: to their full cups kind thanks was my return, with gentlemanlike protestations, as 'Truly, Sir, I dare not.'"

The following extract is amusing in itself, and illustrates some of the peculiarities of the morris:

"In this town of Sudbury there came a lusty, tall fellow, a butcher by his profession, that would in a morrice keep me company to Bury. I, being glad of his friendly offer, gave him thanks, and forward we did set; but, ere ever we had measured half a mile of our way, he gave me over in the plain field, protesting that, if he might get a 100 pound, he would not hold out with me; for indeed my pace in dancing is not ordinary.

"As he and I were parting, a lusty country lass, being among the people, called him fainthearted lout, saying, 'If I had begun to dance, I would have held out one mile though it had cost my life.' At which words many laughed. 'Nay,' saith she, 'if the dancer will lend me a leash of his bells, I'll venture to tread one mile with him myself.' I looked upon her, saw mirth in her eyes, heard boldness in her words, and beheld her ready to tuck up her russet petticoat; I fitted her with bells, which she merrily taking, garnished her thick short legs, and with a smooth brow bade the tabrer begin. The drum struck; forward marched I with my merry Maid Marian, who shook her fat sides, and footed it merrily to Melford, being a long

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