Imatges de pàgina
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Pif. What shall I need to draw my fword? the

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Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis flander;
Whose edge is sharper than the fword, whofe tongue
Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whofe breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belye

All corners of the world. Kings, Queens, and ftates,
Maids, matrons, nay, the fecrets of the Grave
This viperous flander enters. What chear, madam ?
Imo. Falfe to his bed! what is it to be false?

To lye in watch there, and to think on him?
To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if fleep charge

nature,

To break it with a fearful dream of him,

And cry my self awake? that falfe to's bed!

Pif. Alas, good lady!

Ime. I falfe? thy confcience witnefs, Lachimo, Thou did❜ft accufe him of incontinency,

Thou then lookd'ft like a villain: now, methinks, Thy favour's good enough. Some Jay of Italy (33) (Whose mother was her painting) hath betray'd him ;

(33)

Some Fay of Italy

(Whofe Mother was her Painting,) hath betray'd him.] This Paffage has ftrongly lain under my Sufpicion, tho' I have not ventur'd to give it an Emendation. If the Text be genuine as it ftands, it seems to me to have this Senfe, whofe Mother was a Bird of the fame Feather; i. e. fuch another gay Strumpet: which is severe enough. I have imagin'd, the Poet might have wrote;

(Whofe Mother was her planting)

i. e. was Bawd to her, and planted her on Pofthumus: which is ftill more farcastical. Again, Mr. Rowe gives us a Reading, which I fhould very eagerly efpoufe, were I fure the Word were standard, and that it were not coin'd by the cafual Inverfion of an M into a W:

(Whofe Wother was her Painting)

i. e. whofe chief Beauty was her artificial Face, her false Complexion.
For Mr. Gildon, in his fhort Gloffary prefix'd to Shakespeare's Poems,
comes and boldly tells us, Wother fignifies Merit, Beauty, &c. But I
fhrewdly fufpect, he ftruck out these Interpretations to fort with the
Senfe of the Reading he found in Mr. Rowe; and trufted implicitly to
his Theme being genuine. But I have fearch'd in vain, and can find
no fuch word as Wother. SPELMAN in his Gloffary has p
(i. e. Woth) which he expounds, Eloquentia, facundia, eloquence. But
this, I am afraid, in no kind will ferve our Turn.

Poor

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Poor I am ftale, a garment out of fashion;
And, for I'm richer than to hang by th' walls,
I must be ript: to pieces with me: oh,
Mens vows are womens traitors.

ing

All good Seem

By thy revolt, oh husband, fhall be thought
Put on for villany: not born, where't grows;
But worn, a bait for ladies.

Pif. Madam, hear me

Imo. True honeft men being heard, like falfe Eneas, Were in his time thought falfe: and Sinon's Weeping Did fcandal many a holy tear; took pity

From most true wretchedness. So thou, Pofthumus, Wilt lay the leven to all proper men;

Goodly, and gallant, fhall be false and perjur'd,
From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest,
Do thou thy mafter's bidding: when thou feeft him,
A little witnefs my obedience. Look!

I draw the fword my felf, take it, and hit
The innocent manfion of my love, my heart;
Fear not, 'tis empty of all things, but grief;
Thy mafter is not there; who was, indeed,
The riches of it: Do his Bidding, ftrike,
Thou may'ft be valiant in a better cause,
But now thou feem'ft a coward.
Pif. Hence, vile instrument!

Thou shalt not damn my hand.
Imo. Why, I muft die;

And if I do not by thy hand, thou art

No fervant of thy mafter's.

'Gainft felf-flaughter

There is a prohibition fo divine,

That cravens my weak hand: come, here's my

heart

(Something's afore't

fence;

foft, foft, we'll no de

[Opening her breast.

Obedient as the fcabbard! What is here?

The Scriptures of the loyal Leonatus

All turn'd to Herefie? away, away,

VOL. VI.

[Puiling his letters out of her bofom. D d

Cor

Corrupters of

faith! my

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Be ftomachers to my heart: thus may poor fools
Believe falfe teachers: tho' thofe, that are betray'd,
Do feel the treafon fharply, yet the traitor

Stands in worse cafe of woe. And thou, Pofthumus,
That fet my difobedience 'gainst the King,
And mad'ft me put into contempt the fuits
Of princely fellows, fhalt hereafter find,
It is no act of common paffage, but

A ftrain of rarenefs: and I grieve my self,
To think, when thou shalt be dif-edg'd by her
Whom now thou tir'ft on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.

-Pr'ythee, difpatch; The lamb entreats the butcher. Where's thy knife? Thou art too flow to do thy master's bidding,

When I defire it too.

Pif. O gracious lady!

Since I receiv'd command to do this business,

I have not flept one wink.

Imo. Do't, and to bed then.

Pif. I'll break mine eye-balls first.

Imo. Ah, wherefore then

Didst undertake it? why haft thou abus'd

So many miles, with a pretence? this place?
Mine action? and thine own? our horfes labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd Court,
For my being abfent? whereunto I never
Purpose Return. Why haft thou gone fo far,
To be unbent, when thou haft ta'en thy ftand,
Th' elected deer before thee?

Pif But to win time

To lose so bad employment, in the which
I have confider'd of a courfe; good lady,
Hear me with patience.

Ino. Talk thy tongue weary, fpeak.
I've heard, I am a ftrumpet; and mine ear
(Therein falfe ftruck) can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom That. But, fpeak.

Pif. Then, Madam,

I thought

I thought, you would not back again.

Imo. Moit like,

Bringing me here to kill me.

Pif. Not fo neither;

But if I were as wile as honeft, then

My purpose would prove well; it cannot be,
But that my mafter is abus'd; fome villain,
And fingular in his art, hath done

This curled injury.

Imo. Some Roman Curtezan

Pif. No, on my life.

you Both

I'll give him notice you are dead, and fend him
Some bloody fign of it: for 'tis commanded,
I fhould do fo. You fhall be mifs'd at Court,
And that will well confirm it.

Imo. Why, good fellow,

What fhall I do the while? where bide? how live?.

Or in my life?

comfort, when I am

Dead to my husband?

Pif. If you'll back to th' Court

Imo. No Court, no Father; nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, fimple, Nothing, Cloten:
That Cloten, whofe love-fuit hath been to me
As fearful as a fiege.

Pif. If not at Court,

Then not in Britaine muft you bide.

Imo. Where then?

Hath Britaine all the Sun that fhines? Day, night,
Are they not but in Britaine? I'th' world's volume
Our Britaine feems as of it, but not in it;

In a great pool, a fwan's neit. Pr'ythee, think,
There's living out of Britaine...

Pif. I'm most glad,

You think of other place: th' Ambaffador,

Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven

To morrow. (34) Now, if you could wear a Mien Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise

(34)

That,

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Now, if you could wear a Mind

Dark as your Fortune is,] But the Difguife of her Perfon is the only Thing which Pifanio is here advifing; not that the should the any

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Qua

That, which, t'appear it self, muft not yet be,
But by felf-danger; you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view; yea, haply, near
The refidence of Pofthumus; fo nigh, at least,
That though his actions were not visible,
Report fhould render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.

Imo. Oh! for fuch means,

(Though peril to my modefty, not death on't) I would adventure.

Pif. Well then, here's the point :

You must forget to be a woman; change
Command into obedience; fear and nicenefs,
(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
Woman its pretty felf,) to waggish courage;
Ready in gybes, quick-anfwer'd, fawcy, and
As quarrellous as the weazel: (35) nay, you must
Forget that rareft treasure of your cheek;
Expofing it (but, oh, the harder Hap!
Alack, no remedy) to the greedy touch
Of common-kiffing Titan; and forget

Qualifications or Beauties of her Mind. I therefore think, we may
ly read;

Now, if you could wear a Mien

Dark as your Fortune is,

fafe

Or, according to the French Orthography, from whence, I prefume, arofe the Corruption ;

Now, if you could wear a Mine.

Mr. Warburton. I have fhewn in a Note, upon one of the former Plays, that Mien fignifies, not only Mine du Vifage, oris Facies, the Air and Turn of the Face; but alfo, habitus, geftus Corporis, the Form and Gesture of the whole Perfon.

(35)

nay, you must

Forget that rareft Treasure of your Cheek;
Expofing it, (but oh the harder Heart,

Alack, no Remedy)] Now, who does This harder Heart relate to? Pofthumus is not here talk'd of: befides, he knew Nothing of her being thus expos'd to the Inclemencies of Weather: He had enjoy n'd a Courfe, which would have fecur'd her from thefe incidental Hardships. I think, common Senfe obliges us to read :

But, oh, the harder Hap!

f. e. the more cruel your Fortune, that you must be oblig'd to fuch Shifts.

Mr. Warburton.
Your

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