Maid.
Sleep, sweet babe; sorrow makes thy mother sleep:
It bodes small good when heaviness falls so deep.
Hush, pretty boy; thy hopes might have been better.
'Tis lost at dice, what ancient honour won:
Hard, when the father plays away the son!

Nothing but Misery serves in this house^{7 note}
;
Ruin and Desolation. Oh! Enter Husband, with his son bleeding.

Hus.
Whore, give me that boy. [Strives with her for the child.

Maid.
O help, help! Out alas! murder, murder!

Hus.
Are you gossiping, you prating, sturdy quean?
I'll break your clamour with your neck. Down stairs;
Tumble, tumble, headlong. So:— [He throws her down, and stabs the child.
The surest way to charm a woman's tongue^{8 note},
Is—break her neck: a politician did it^{9 note}

^note

.”

When this book was republished for reasons of policy, in 1641, a metrical monologue called Leicester's Ghost, was appended to it, and there likewise the same fact is recorded. The following quotation is from a more perfect and ample Ms. copy of the same poem.

Lest it should be objected to the probability of Shakspeare's having written the Yorkshire Tragedy, that he would not, on account of his intimacy with the friend of Essex, have treated the memory of Leicester with so much freedom, let me add, that the former was executed in 1600, and our author was therefore left at full liberty to adopt the common sentiments relative to this great but profligate statesman.

The foregoing passage in the Yorkshire Tragedy has indeed always stood within the reach of illustration, Leicester's Commonwealth being a printed work, and consequently in many hands. As the satire however, or foundation of the following line in the Rape of the Lock has not the same advantage, I am tempted to desert my subject, and render a long note still longer, lest a fact should be forgotten which may afford gratification to innocent curiosity.

The fanciful person here alluded to, was Dr. Edward Pelling, one of the chaplains to K. Charles II. James II. William III. and Queen Anne. He held the livings of Great St. Helen's and Ludgate, a prebend of Westminster, &c. Having studied himself into the disorder of mind vulgarly called the hyp, (for he rarely quitted his study except during dinner-time,) between the age of forty and fifty he imagined himself to be pregnant, and forebore all manner of exercise, lest motion should prove injurious to his ideal burden. Nor did the whim evaporate till his wife had assured him she was really in his supposed condition. This lady was masculine and large-bon'd in the extreme; and our merry monarch Charles being told of the strange conceit adopted by his chaplain, desired to see her. He did; and, as she quitted his presence, he exclaimed with a good round oath, that “if any woman could get her husband with child, it must be Mrs. Pelling.” I received this narrative from one of the doctor's grandaughters, who is still alive, and remembers that the line of Pope already quoted, was always supposed to have reference to the story I have here intruded on the reader.

I may also add that Mr. Pope has adopted the merriment in the next line,

from the Loyal Subject of Beaumont and Fletcher, act iv. sc. 2:

Son.
Mother, mother; I am kill'd, mother^{1 note}
. [Wife awakes.

Wife.
Ha, who's that cry'd? O me! my children!
Both, both, bloody, bloody! [Catches up the youngest child.

Hus.
Strumpet, let go the boy; let go the beggar.

Wife.
O my sweet husband!

Hus.
Filth, harlot.

Wife.
O, what will you do, dear husband?

Hus.
Give me the bastard.

Wife.
Your own sweet boy—

Hus.
There are too many beggars.

Wife.
Good my husband—

Hus.
Dost thou prevent me still?

Wife.
O God!

Hus.
Have at his heart. [Stabs at the child in her arms.

Wife.
O, my dear boy!

Hus.
Brat, thou shalt not live to shame thy house—

Wife.
Oh heaven! [She is hurt, and sinks down.

Hus.
And perish!—Now be gone:
There's whores enough, and want would make thee one^{2 note}

. Enter a Servant^{3 note}

Ser.
O sir, what deeds are these?

Hus.
Base slave, my vassal!
Com'st thou between my fury to question me^{4 note}
?

Ser.
Were you the devil, I would hold you, sir.

Hus.
Hold me? Presumption! I'll undo thee for it.

Ser.
'Sblood, you have undone us all, sir.

Hus.
Tug at thy master?

Ser.
Tug at a monster.

Hus.
Have I no power? Shall my slave fetter me?

Ser.
Nay then the devil wrestles; I am thrown.

Hus.
O villain! now I'll tug thee, now I'll tear thee;

Set quick spurs to my vassal^{5 note}