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Edmond Malone [1780], Supplement to the edition of Shakspeare's plays published in 1778 By Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. In two volumes. Containing additional observations by several of the former commentators: to which are subjoined the genuine poems of the same author, and seven plays that have been ascribed to him; with notes By the editor and others (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10911]. To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.
Sep. 7, 1593, was entered on the Stationers' Books, by R. Jones “A comedie entitled A knack how to know a knave, newly set forth, as it hath been sundrye times plaied by Ned Allen and his company, with Kempe's applauded merryment of the Men of Gotham.” In the Bodleian Library, among the books given to it by Robert Burton, is the following tract, bound up with a few others of the same size in a quarto volume marked L, 62d. art. “Kemp's nine daies wonder performed in a daunce from London to Norwich Containing the pleasure, paines and kind entertainment of William Kemp between London and that city, in his late morrice. Wherein is somewhat set downe worth note; to reprooue the slaunders spred of him: many things merry, nothing hurtfull. Written by himselfe to satisfie his friends.” (Lond. E. A. for Nicholas Ling. 1600. b. l.—With a wooden cut of Kemp as a morris dancer, preceded by a fellow with a pipe and drum, whom he (in the book) calls Thomas Slye, his taberer.) It is dedicated to “The true ennobled lady, and his most bountifull mistris, mistris Anne Fitton, mayde of honour to the most sacred mayde royall queene Elizabeth.” Malone. *&stellam;*The following references are to the volumes and pages of the last edition of Shakspeare's plays. country, its natives, and præternatural inhabitants, gave ample scope to the poet for displaying a system of magick and dæmonology, happily adapted to the popular belief of his time; and also for ridiculing that boundless credulity and avarice, which then so generally prevailed. Henley. With those that I saw suffer! a brave vessel, Who had, no doubt, some noble creatures in her, Dash'd all to pieces.] How fine a contrast to the sentiment in Lucretius! Suave, mari magno turbantibus æquora ventis, E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem; Non quia vexari quemquam est jucunda voluptas, Sed, quibus ipse malis careas, quia cernere suave est. nor set, &c.]
There is in this line a redundant syllable. Perhaps nor ought
to be omitted, and the passage thus regulated:
“&lblank; Dear, they durst not “(So dear the love my people bore me) set “A mark so bloody on the business.” Malone. boat] The first folio reads, butt. Henley. Ibid. When I havedeck'd the sea with drops full salt.] To deck, I am told, signifies in the North, to sprinkle; dæ&yogh;, Sax. See Ray's Dict. of North Country Words, v. to deg and to leck; and his Dict. of South and East Country Words, v. dag. The latter signifies dew upon grass; hence daggle-tailed. Malone. princes can] First folio, princesse.
Henley.To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, &c.] Imitated by Fletcher in the Faithful Shepherdess: “&lblank; tell me sweetest, “What new service now is meetest “For the satyre; shall I stray “In the middle ayre, and stay “The sailing racke, or nimbly take “Hold by the moone, and gently make “Suit to the pale queene of night, “For a beame to give me light? “Shall I dive into the sea, “And bring thee coral, making way “Through the rising waves, &c.” Henley. Which of these two pieces preceded the other has not been ascertained. The first edition of the Faithful Shepherdess has no date. It was, however, exhibited before 1611, being mentioned by John Davies of Hereford, in his Scourge of Folly, printed in that year. It appears from a prologue of D'Avenant's that some of Fletcher's dramatick performances were produced as early as the year 1605. Malone. still-vex'd Bermoothes.] The epithet
here applied to the Bermudas, will be best understood by
those who have seen the chasing of the sea over the rugged
rocks by which they are surrounded, and which render access
to them so dangerous. It was in our poet's time the
current opinion, that Bermudas was inhabited by monsters,
and devils.—Setebos, the god of Caliban's dam, was an American
devil, worshipped by the giants of Patagonia.
Henley.“Faster than the windmill sailes.” Henley. lush and lusty the grass looks?] The words, how green? which immediately follow, might have intimated to sir T. Hanmer, that lush here signifies rank, and not a dark full colour. In Arthur Golding's translation of Julius Solinus, printed 1587, a passage occurs, in which the word is explained.—“Shrubbes lushe and almost like a grystle.” So, in A Midsummer Night's Dream: “Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine. Dunbar, in The Contemplation of Manis Mortalitie, uses lusty in the like sense with Shakspeare: “Thy lustye bewte, and thy youth “Shall feid as dois the somer flouris.” Henley. Execute all things, &c.] The poet in this passage seems to ridicule the absurd projects proposed in the meetings of the merchant-adventurers for the government of their new settlements, which produced so much mismanagement as at last to occasion the loss of their privileges. Henley. suggestion, as a cat laps milk.] That
is, will adopt, and bear witness to, any tale you shall invent;
you may suborn them as evidences to clear you from
all suspicion of having murthered the king. A similar signification
occurs in the Two Gentlemen of Verona:
“Love bad me swear, and love bids me forswear: “O sweet suggesting love, if thou hast sinn'd, “Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!” Henley.
It is still
customary in the west of England, when the conditions of a
bargain are agreed upon, for the parties to ratify it by joining
their hands, and at the same time for the purchaser to
give an earnest. To this practice the poet alludes. So, in
the Two Gent. of Verona: Thus also, in the Winter's Tale: And again, in the Two Gent. of Verona:
p. 86, which I find is erroneous. The plot of the Two Gent. of Verona is taken from the second book of the first part of the Diana of George of Montemayor. Malone. Animum picturâ pascit inani. Virg. Henley. For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight;] This hath always been a favourite subject with the poets, but none of them seemed to have succeeded better in describing it than Catullus, and the authors of The Maid's Tragedy. Henley. Sir Hugh] The title of sir was formerly conferred
upon graduates on their taking the first degree in
arts.—“The first Roman (i. e types) which we remember
being a marginal quotation in pica at the latter end of the
second part of a book entitled The Extirpation of ignorancy,
compyled by SIR Paule Bushe preest and bonhome of Edynton,
printed by Pynson.” More's Dissertation upon English Typographical
Founders and Founderies, p. 5.
Henley.Add to my note (inserted among the Supplemental Observations, ante, Vol I. p. 90.) Tightly however may signify alertly, cleverly;—and is supported by the following passage in Antony and Cleopatra: “&lblank; my queen's a squire “More tight at this than thou.” The first quarto, I find, reads as the folio does. Malone.
This phrase is often found
in old plays, and seldom, if ever, with any variation. The
change therefore proposed by sir John Hawkins, cannot be
received without great violence to the text. Whenever the
words occur, they always bear the same meaning, and that
meaning is obvious enough without any explanation. The
origin of the phrase may however admit of some dispute, and
it is by no means certain that the account of it here adopted
by Mr. Steevens from Dr. Johnson, is well-founded. That
there ever existed such a mode of disqualifying dogs by the
laws of the forest as is here asserted, cannot be acknowledged
without evidence, and no authority is quoted to prove that
such a custom at any time prevailed. The writers on this
subject are totally silent as far as they have come to my knowledge.
Manhood, who wrote on the Forest Laws before they
were entirely disused, mentions expeditation or cutting off
three claws of the fore-foot, as the only manner of lawing
dogs; and with his account the Charter of the Forest seems to
agree. Were I permitted to offer a conjecture, I should suppose
that the phrase originally referred to horses, which
might be denominated cut and long tail, as they were curtailed
of this part of their bodies, or allowed to enjoy its full
growth; and this might be practised according to the difference
of their value, or the uses to which they were put.
In this view, cut and long tail would include the whole species
of horses good and bad. In support of this opinion it
may be added, that formerly a cut was a word of reproach in
vulgar colloquial abuse, and I believe is never to be found
applied to horses but to those of the worst kind. After all,
if any authority can be produced to countenance Dr. Johnson's
explanation, I shall be very ready to retract every thing
that is here said.
Reed. The last conversation I had the honour to enjoy with sir
William Blackstone, was on this subject; and by a series of
accurate references to the whole collection of ancient Forest
Laws, he convinced me of our repeated error, expeditation
and genuscission being the only established and technical modes
ever used for disabling the canine species. Part of the tails
of spaniels indeed are generally cut off (ornamenti gratia) while
they are puppies, so that (admitting a loose description)
every kind of dog is comprehended in the phrase of cut and
long-tail, and every rank of people in the same expression, if
metaphorically used. See my note among Mr. Malone's Supplemental
Observations, p. 92. Being now unrestrained from avowing that the notes accompanied
by the signature—E. are the productions of
the consummate lawyer and polite scholar already mentioned,
I must add, with the deepest regret, that but a few weeks
ago he taught me to expect a still greater mark of his friendship
and condescension. Had his life been spared, he would
have examined these volumes before they were entirely printed
off, that he might have enriched them with whatever the
stores of maturer consideration could supply.—But when I
reflect that the general fund of judicial knowledge, and consequently
of publick welfare, is diminished by an event
which even the wise and great must deplore, perhaps the
sigh of subordinate interest and respectful gratitude like mine,
would too presumptuously intrude itself among the weightier
sorrows of more distinguished mourners.
Steevens.
The story of The two Lovers of Pisa, from which
(as Dr. Farmer has observed) Falstaff's adventures in this play
seem to have been taken, is thus related in Tarleton's Newes
out of Purgatorie, bl. let. no date* note. “In Pisa a famous cittie of Italye, there liued a gentleman
of good linage and landes, feared as well for his wealth, as
honoured for his vertue; but indeed well thought on for
both: yet the better for his riches. This gentleman had one
onelye daughter called Margaret, who for her beauty was
liked of all, and desired of many: but neither might their
sutes, nor her owne preuaile about her fathers resolution,
who was determyned not to marrye her, but to such a man
as should be able in abundance to maintain the excellency of
her beauty. Diuers young gentlemen proffered large feoffments,
but in vaine: a maide shee must bee still: till at last
an olde doctor in the towne, that professed phisicke, became a
sutor to her; who was a welcome man to her father, in that
he was one of the welthiest men in all Pisa. A tall stripling
he was and a proper youth, his age about fourescore; his
heade as white as milke, wherein for offence sake there was
left neuer a tooth: but it is no matter; what he wanted in
person he had in the purse; which the poore gentlewoman
little regarded, wishing rather to tie her self to one that might
fit her content, though they liued meanely, then to him with
all the wealth in Italye. But shee was yong and forcst to follow
her fathers direction, who vpon large couenants was content
his daughter should marry with the doctor, and whether
she likte him or no, the match was made vp, and in short
time she was married. The poore wench was bound to the
stake, and had not onely an olde impotent man, but one that
was so iealous, as none might enter into his house without
suspicion, nor shee doo any thing without blame: the least
glance, the smallest countenance, any smile was a manifest
instance to him, that shee thought of others better than himselfe;
thvs he himselfe liued in a hell, and tormented his wife
in as ill perplexitie. At last it chaunced, that a young gentleman
of the citie comming by her house, and seeing her looke
out at her window, noting her rare and excellent proportion,
fell in loue with her, and that so extreamelye, as his passions
had no means till her fauour might mittigate his heartsicke
discontent. The yong man that was ignorant in amorous
matters, and had neuer beene vsed to courte anye gentlewoman,
thought to reueale his passions to some one freend,
that might giue him counsaile for the winning of her loue;
and thinking experience was the surest maister, on a daye
seeing the olde doctor walking in the churche, (that was Margarets
husband,) little knowing who he was, he thought this
the fittest man to whom he might discouer his passions, for
that hee was olde and knewe much, and was a phisition that
with his drugges might helpe him forward in his purposes:
so that seeing the old man walke solitary, he ioinde vnto
him, and after a curteous salute, tolde him he was to impart
a matter of great import vnto him; wherein if hee
would not onely be secrete, but indeuour to pleasure him,
his pains should bee euery way to the full considered. You
must imagine, gentleman, quoth Mutio, for so was the doctors
name, that men of our profession are no blabs, but hold
their secrets in their hearts' bottome; and therefore reueale
what you please, it shall not onely be concealed, but cured;
if either my art or counsaile may do it. Upon this Lionell,
(so was the young gentleman called) told and discourst vnto
him from point to point how he was falne in loue with a
gentlewoman that was maried to one of his profession; discouered
her dwelling and the house; and for that he was
vnacquainted with the woman, and a man little experienced
in loue matters, he required his fauour to further him with
his aduise. Mutio at this motion was stung to the hart,
knowing it was his wife hee was fallen in loue withall:
yet to conceale the matter, and to experience his wiue's
chastity, and that if she plaide false, he might be reuengde
on them both, he dissembled the matter, and answered, that
he knewe the woman very well, and commended her highly;
but saide, she had a churle to her husband, and therefore
he thought shee would bee the more tractable: trie her man
quoth hee; fainte hart neuer woonne fair lady; and if shee
will not be brought to the bent of your bowe, I will provide
such a potion as shall dispatch all to your owne content;
and to giue you further instructions for oportunitie, knowe
that her husband is foorth euery afternoone from three till
sixe. Thus farre I haue aduised you, because I pitty your
passions as my selfe being once a louer: but now I charge thee
reueale it to none whomsoeuer, least it doo disparage my
credit, to meddle in amorous matters. The young gentleman
not onely promised all carefull secrecy, but gaue him
harty thanks for his good counsell, promising to meete him
there the next day, and tell him what newes. Then hee
left the old man, who was almost mad for feare his wife any
way should play false. He saw by experience, braue men
came to besiege the castle, and seeing it was in a womans
custodie, and had so weake a gouernor as himselfe, he
doubted it would in time be deliuered up: which feare made
him almost franticke, yet he driude of the time in great torment,
till he might heare from his riual. Lionello, he hastes
him home, and sutes him in his brauerye, and goes downe towards
the house of Mutio, where he sees her at her windowe,
whome he courted with a passionate looke, with such an
humble salute, as shee might perceiue how the gentleman
was affectionate. Margaretta looking earnestlye upon him,
and noting the perfection of his proportion, accounted him
in her eye the flower of all Pisa; thinkte her selfe fortunate
if she might haue him for her freend, to supply those defaultes
that she found in Mutio. Sundry times that afternoone
he past by her window, and he cast not vp more louing
lookes, then he receiued gratious fauours: which did so incourage
him, that the next daye betweene three and sixe hee
went to her house, and knocking at the doore, desired to
speake with the mistris of the house, who hearing by her
maids description what he was, commaunded him to come
in, where she interteined him with all curtesie. “The youth that neuer before had giuen the attempt to
couet a ladye, began his exordium with a blushe; and yet
went forward so well, that hee discourst vnto her howe hee
loued her, and that if it might please her so to accept of his
seruice, as of a freende euer vowde in all duetye to bee at her
commaunde, the care of her honour should bee deerer to
him then his life, and hee would bee ready to prise her discontent
with his bloud at all times. “The gentlewoman was a little coye, but before they
part they concluded that the next day at foure of the clock
hee should come thither and eate a pound of cherries, which
was resolued on with a succado des labres; and so with a loath
to departe they tooke their leaues. Lionello, as ioyfull a man
as might be, hyed him to the church to meete his olde doctor,
where hee found him in his olde walke. What newes, syr,
quoth Mutio? How haue you sped? Euen as I can wishe,
quoth Lionello; for I haue been with my mistresse, and
haue found her so tractable, that I hope to make the olde peasant
her husband looke broad-headded by a paire of brow-antlers.
How deepe this strooke into Mutios hart, let them imagine
that can coniecture what ielousie is; insomuch that the olde
doctor askte, when should be the time: marry, quoth Lionello,
to morrow at foure of the clocke in the afternoone; and then
maister doctor, quoth hee, will I dub the olde squire knight
of the forked order. “Thus they past on in that, till it grew late; and then
Lyonello went home to his lodging, and Mutio to his house,
couering all his sorrowes with a merrye countenaunce, with
full resolution to reuenge them both the next day with extremetie.
He past the night as patiently as he could, and
the next day after dinner awaye hee went, watching when it
should bee foure of the clocke. At the houre iustly came
Lyonello, and was intertained with all curtesie: but scarse
had they kist, ere the maide cried out to her mistresse that
her maister was at the doore; for he hasted, knowing that
a horne was but a little while in grafting. Margaret at this
alarum was amazed, and yet for a shifte chopt Lionello into
a great driefatte full of feathers, and sat her downe close to
her woorke: by that came Mutio in blowing; and as though
hee came to looke somewhat in haste, called for the keyes of
his chambers, and looked in euerye place, searching so narrowlye
in euerye corner of the house, that he left not the
very priuie vnsearcht. Seeing he could not finde him, hee
saide nothing, but fayning himselfe not well at ease, staide at
home, so that poore Lionello was faine to staye in the drifatte
till the olde churle was in bed with his wife: and then the
maide let him out at a backe doore, who went home with a
flea in his eare to his lodging.
“Well, the next daye he went againe to meete his doctor,
whome hee found in his woonted walke. What news,
quoth Mutio? How haue you sped? A poxe of the olde slaue,
quoth Lionello, I was no sooner in, and had giuen my mistresse
one kisse, but the iealous asse was at the doore; the
maide spied him, and cryed her maister: so that the poore
gentlewoman for verye shifte, was faine to put me in a driefatte
of feathers that stoode in an olde chamber, and there I
was faine to tarrie while he was in bed and asleepe, and then
the maide let me out, and I departed. “But it is no matter; twas but a chaunce; and I hope to
crye quittance with him ere it be long. As how, quoth Mutio?
Marry thus, quoth Lionello: she sent me woord by her
maide this daye, that upon Thursday next the old churle
suppeth with a patient of his a mile out of Pisa, and then I
feare not but to quitte him for all. It is well, quoth Mutio;
fortune bee your freende. I thank you, quoth Lionello; and
so after a little more prattle they departed. “To bee shorte, Thursdaye came; and about sixe of the
clocke foorth goes Mutio, no further than a freendes house
of his, from whence hee might descrye who went into his
house. Straight hee sawe Lionello enter in; and after goes
hee, insomuche that hee was scarselye sitten downe, before
the mayde cryed out againe, my maister comes. The good
wife that before had provided for afterclaps, had found out
a priuie place between two feelings of a plauncher, and
there she thrust Lionello; and her husband came sweting.
What news, quoth shee, driues you home againe so soone husband?
Marrye sweete wife (quoth he) a fearefull dreame that
I had this night which came to my remembrance, & that
was this: Methought there was a villeine that came secretly
into my house with a naked poinard in his hand, and hid
himselfe; but I could not finde the place: with that mine
nose bled, and I came backe; and by the grace of God I
will seeke euery corner in the house for the quiet of my
minde. Marry I pray you doo, husband, quoth she. With
that he lockt in all the doors, and began to search euery
chamber, euery hole, euery chest, euery tub, the very well;
he stabd euery fetherbed through, and made hauocke, like
a mad man, which made him thinke all was in vaine, and
hee began to blame his eies that thought they saw that
which they did not. Upon this he reste halfe lunaticke, and
all night he was very wakefull; that towards the morning he
fell into a dead sleepe, and then was Lionello conueighed
away. “In the morning when Mutio wakened, hee thought
how by no meanes hee should be able to take Lyonello tardy:
yet he laid in his head a most dangerous plot, and that was
this. Wife, quoth he, I must the next Monday ride to Vycensa
to visit an olde patient of mine; till my returne, which
will be some ten dayes, I will haue thee stay at our little
graunge house in the countrey. Marry very well content, husband,
quoth she: with that he kist her, and was verye pleasant,
as though he had suspected nothing, and away hee
flinges to the church, where hee meetes Lionello. What
sir, quoth he, what newes? Is your mistresse yours in possession?
No, a plague of the old slaue, quoth he: I think he
is either a witch, or els woorkes by magick: for I can no
sooner enter in the doors, but he is at my backe, and so he
was againe yesternight; for I was not warme in my seate before
the maide cried, my maister comes; and then was the
poore soule faine to conueigh me betweene two feelings of a
chamber in a fit place for the purpose: wher I laught hartely
to myself, to see how he sought euery corner, ransackt euery
tub, and stabd euery featherbed,—but in vaine; I was safe
enough till the morning, and then when he was fast asleepe,
I lept out. Fortune frowns on you, quoth Mutio: Ay, but I
hope, quoth Lionello, this is the last time, and now shee wil
begin to smile; for on Monday next he rides to Vicensa, and
his wife lyes at a grange house a little of the towne, and
there in his absence I will reuenge all forepassed missfortunes.
God send it be so, quoth Mutio; and took his leaue. These
two louers longed for Monday, and at last it came. Early
in the morning Mutio horst himselfe, and his wife, his
maide, and a man, and no more, and away he rides to his
grange house; where after he had brok his fast he took his
leaue, and away towards Vicensa. He rode not far ere by
a false way he returned into a thicket, and there with a company
of cuntry peasants lay in an ambuscade to take the young
gentleman. In the afternoon comes Lionello gallopping; and
assoon as he came within sight of the house, he sent back his
horse by his boy, & went easily afoot, & there at the very
entry was entertained by Margaret, who led him vp ye staires,
and conuaid him into her bedchamber, saying he was welcome
into so mean a cottage: but quoth she, now I hope fortune
shal not enuy the purity of our loues. Alas, alas, mistris,
(cried the maid,) heer is my maister, and 100 men with him,
with bils and staues. We are betraid, quoth Lionel, and I am
but a dead man. Feare not, quoth she, but follow me; and
straight she carried him downe into a lowe parlor, where
stoode an old rotten chest full of writinges. She put him into
that, and couered him with olde papers and euidences, and
went to the gate to meet her husband. Why signior Mutio,
what means this hurly burly, quoth she? Vile & shamelesse
strumpet as thou art, thou shalt know by and by, quoth he.
Where is thy loue? All we haue watcht him, & seen him enter
in: now quoth he, shal neither thy tub of feathers nor
thy seeling serue; for perish he shall with fire, or els fall into
my hands. Doo thy worst, iealous foole, quoth she; I ask thee
no fauour. With that in a rage he beset the house round, and
then set fire on it. Oh in what a perplexitie was poore Lionello
that was shut in a chest, and the fire about his eares?
And how was Margaret passionat, that knew her louer in such
danger? Yet she made light of the matter, and as one in a
rage called her maid to her and said: Come on wench; seing
thy maister mad with ielousie hath set the house and al my
liuing on fire, I will be reuengd vpon him; help me heer to
lift this old chest where all his writings and deeds are, let
that burne first, and assoon as I see that on fire I will walk
towards my freends: for the old foole wil be beggard, and I
will refuse him. Mutio that knew al his obligations and
statutes lay there, puld her back, and bad two of his men
carry the chest into the feeld, and see it were safe; himself
standing by and seeing his house burnd downe, sticke and
stone. Then quieted in his minde he went home with his
wife, and began to flatter her, thinking assuredly yt he had
burnd her paramour; causing his chest to be carried in a
cart to his house at Pisa. Margaret impatient went to her
mothers, and complained to her and to her brethren of the iealousie
of her husband; who maintained her it be true, and
desired but a daies respite to prooue it. Wel, hee was bidden
to supper the next night at her mothers, she thinking to
make her daughter and him freends againe. In the meane
time he to his woonted walk in the church, & there præter
expectationem he found Lionello walking. Wondring at this,
he straight enquires, what news? What newes, maister docter,
quoth he, and he fell in a great laughing: in faith yesterday I
scapt a scowring; for, syrrah, I went to the grange house,
where I was appointed to come, and I was no sooner gotten
vp the chamber, but the magicall villeine her husband beset
the house with bils & staues, and that he might be sure no
seeling nor corner should shrowde me, he set the house on
fire, and so burnt it down to the ground. Why quoth Mutio,
and how did you escape? Alas, quoth he, wel fare a womans
wit! She conueighed me into an old chest ful of writings,
which she knew her husband durst not burne; and so was
I saued and brought to Pisa, and yesternight by her maide
let home to my lodging. This, quoth he, is the pleasantest
iest that euer I heard; and vpon this I haue a sute to you.
I am this night bidden foorth to supper; you shall be my
guest; onelye I will craue so much fauour, as after supper
for a pleasant sporte to make relation what successe you
haue had in your loues. For that I will not sticke, quoth he;
and so he caried Lionello to his mother-in-lawes house
with him, and discouered to his wiues brethren who he was,
and how at supper he would disclose the whole matter: for
quoth he, he knowes not that I am Margarets husband. At
this all the brethren bad him welcome, & so did the mother
too; and Margaret she was kept out of sight. Supper time being
come, they fell to their victals, & Lionello was carrowst
vnto by Muto, who was very pleasant to draw him to a merry
humor that he might to the ful discourse the effect & fortunes
of his loue. Supper being ended, Mutio requested
him to tel to the gentlemen what had hapned between him
& his mistresse. Lionello with a smiling countenance began
to describe his mistresse, the house and street where she
dwelt, how he fell in loue with her, and how he vsed the
counsell of this doctor, who in al his affaires was his secretarye.
Margaret heard all this with a great feare; & when
he came at the last point she caused a cup of wine to be
given him by one of her sisters wherein was a ring that he
had giuen Margaret. As he had told how he escapt burning,
and was ready to confirme all for a troth, the gentlewoman
drunke to him; who taking the cup, and seing the ring, hauing
a quick wit and a reaching head, spide the fetch, and perceiued
that all this while this was his louers husband, to
whome hee had reuealed these escapes. At this drinking
ye wine, and swallowing the ring into his mouth, he went
forward: Gentlemen, quoth he, how like you of my loues
and my fortunes? Wel, quoth the gentlemen; I pray you is
it true? As true quoth he, as if I would be so simple as to
reueal what I did to Margarets husband: for know you, gentlemen,
that I knew this Mutio to be her husband whom I
notified to be my louer; and for yt he was generally known
through Pisa to be a iealous fool, therfore with these tales I
brought him into this paradice, which indeed are follies of
mine owne braine: for trust me, by the faith of a gentleman,
I neuer spake to the woman, was neuer in her companye,
neither doo I know her if I see her. At this they all fell in
a laughing at Mutio, who was ashamde that Lionello had so
scoft him: but all was well,—they were made friends; but the
iest went so to his hart, that he shortly after died, and Lionello
enioyed the ladye: and for that they two were the death of the
old man, now are they plagued in purgatory, and he whips
them with nettles.” It is observable that in the foregoing novel (which, I believe,
our author had read,) there is no trace of the buck-basket.—In
the first tale of the Fortunate, the Deceived, and Unfortunate
Louers, 1684, a young student of Bologna is taught by an old
doctor how to make love; and his first essay is practised on his
instructor's wife. The jealous husband having tracked his pupil
to his house, enters unexpectedly, fully persuaded that he
should detect his wife and her lover together; but the gallant
is protected from his fury by being concealed under a heap of
linnen half-dried; and afterwards informs him (not knowing
that his tutor was likewise his mistress's husband) what a lucky
escape he had. It is therefore, I think, highly probable that
Shakspeare had read both stories.
Malone. words of heaven &c.] Notwithstanding Dr. Roberts's ingenious conjecture, the text is certainly right. Authority, being absolute in Angelo, is finely stiled by Claudio, the demi-god. To his uncontroulable power, the poet applies a passage from St. Paul to the Romans, ch. ix. v. 15, 18. which he properly stiles, the words of heaven: for he saith to Moses, I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, &c. And again: Therefore hath he mercy on whom he will have mercy, &c. Henley. It should be remembered however that the poet is here speaking not of mercy but punishment. Malone. flourish the deceit.] Dr. Warburton's illustration of the metaphor seems to be inaccurate. The passage from another of Shakspeare's plays, quoted by Mr. Steevens, suggests to us the true one, “&lblank; empty trunks o'erflourish'd, &c.” The term flourish alludes to the flowers impressed on the waste printed paper and old books, with which trunks, &c. are commonly lined. Henley.
Dr. Warburton is evidently
right with respect to this reading, though wrong in
his explication. The expression is a provincial one, and very
intelligible: That is, reason defies her to do it, as by this means she
would not only publish her “maiden loss,” but also as she
would certainly suffer from the imposing credit of his station
and power, which would repel with disgrace any attack on
his reputation; Shakspeare has more than once availed himself of such incidents as occurred to him from history, &c. to compliment the princes before whom his pieces were performed. A striking instance of flattery to James occurs in Macbeth; perhaps the passage here quoted was not less grateful to Elizabeth, as it apparently alludes to an extraordinary trait in one of the letters pretended to have been written by the hated Mary to Bothwell. “I am nakit * note, and ganging to sleep, and zit I cease not to scribble all this paper, in so meikle as rest is thairof.” That is, I am naked, and going to sleep, and yet I cease not to scribble to the end of my paper, much as there remains of it unwritten on. Henley. cream] The poet here alludes to the manner in which the film extends itself over milk in scalding; and he had the same appearance in his eye when writing a foregoing line: “With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.” So also, the author of Bussy d' Ambois: “Not any wrinkle creaming in their faces.” Henley. Perhaps there is no character through all Shakspeare, drawn with more spirit, and just discrimination, than Shylock's. His language, allusions, and ideas, are every where so appropriate to a Jew, that Shylock might be exhibited for an examplar of that peculiar people. Henley. This, Dr. Johnson observes, is a phrase taken from the practice of wrestlers, and (he might have added) is an allusion to the angel's thus laying hold on Jacob when he wrestled with him. See Gen. 32, 24, &c. Henley. In this conversation between Lancelot and his blind father, there are frequent references to the deception practised on the blindness of Isaac, and the blessing obtained in consequence of it. Henley. beard hast thou got!] And she put the skins of the kids of the goats on the smooth of his neck. Gen. xxvii. 16. Henley.
Mr. Gray (dropping the particularity of allusion to the parable
of the prodigal) seems to have caught from this passage the
imagery of the following: The grim-repose however, was suggested by Thomson's The hint of this wrestling match, and the incident of Orlando's contest with Charles, seem to be taken from Vicentio Sauiolo, Of Honour and honourable Quarrels, printed by Wolfe, 1595; a book which is afterwards particularly referred to. Henley.
This wrestling match is minutely described in Lodge's Rosalynde, or Euphues Golden Legacy, 1592, the novel on which As You Like It is founded. We may be certain therefore that the poet took this incident from thence, and not from Sauiolo's book. Malone. One of Chapman's plays (Two Wise Men and all the rest Fools) is in seven acts. This however is the only comedy which I have found so divided. Malone. Many passages from old writers might be brought to shew the fantastical taste of our forefathers in trimming their beards. In the Merry Wives of Windsor, Quickly inquires: “Does he not wear a great round beard, like a glover's paring-knife?” Henley. rate to market.]
There can be no reason sufficient for changing rate to rant.
The Clown is here speaking in reference to the ambling pace
of the metre, which, after giving a specimen of, to prove his
assertion, he affirms to be “the very false gallop of verses.”
Henley.like Diana in the fountain.]
The poet had perhaps some well-known conduit in his
thoughts. See Mr. Henley's remark on the words—“which
stands by like a weather-beaten conduit”—Winter's Tale.
Malone.snake.] This term was in our author's time frequently used to express a poor contemptible fellow. So in Lord Cromwell, 1602: “&lblank; the poorest snake “That feeds on lemons, pilchards, &c. Again, in Sir John Oldcastle, 1600: “&lblank; and you, poor snakes, come seldom to a booty.” Malone. worships you.] To
worship is used in the marriage service in a similar, but
more extended, sense: “With my body I thee worship.”—
“Not,” said a late learned divine from the pulpit, “that
a man promises when he is married to make a god of his
wife; No, for religious worship differs from conjugal in this,
that the former is performed on our knees only, but the latter
on our knees and hands also.”
White.
So, Gray:
“Mons.
The first folio reads inhabit, and
places the comma immediately after then: The meaning seems to be this: Should you challenge me to
the desert, and I then remain trembling in my castle, protest
me, &c. The best living commentator on Shakspeare had acutely
conjectured that the poet might have written—If trembling I
The magpie is called in the west
to this hour, a magatipie, and the import of the augury is
determined by the number of these birds that are seen together:
“One for sorrow: Two for mirth: Three for a
wedding: Four for death.” It is very observable that in the unfrequented villages of
Devonshire, not only a greater part of the customs to which
Shakspeare alludes, but also most of his colloquial phrases
and expressions, are still in common use.
Henley.
have been fully explained. Malcolm, who exhorts to vengeance,
had been deprived by Macbeth of his father; and
Macduff, who is exhorted to vengeance, of his children:
what then does the answer to this exhortation imply?—We
cannot retaliate in kind, because you can neither make his
children fatherless, as he hath made you; nor I, him childless,
as he hath made me. That Macbeth had been a father,
is to be inferred from the declaration of his wife:
““ I have given suck; and know
“How tender 'tis, to love the babe that milks me.”
Henley.
Shakspeare is not
the only writer that compares a glance of the eye to a sword.
The same image occurs in a poem of Mrs. Phillips, the celebrated
Orinda: The author of Ælla, in the Bristol Poems
attributed to Rowley, had this passage in his mind:
Much
labour hath been bestowed on this passage, and many emendations
offered. Might I be allowed to augment their number,
it should be by reading understanding by the young affect, that “unmastered importunity,”
as the poet stiles it in another place, which irritates
the passions in the prime of life, and postpones every other
consideration to enjoyment. It is natural to expect, that this
youthful heat should be defunct in Othello, when he says of
himself unless we refer him to that class whom Chaucer compares
to leeks, the heads of which are white while their tails are
green. Nothing however can more appositely illustrate the
expression of Shakspeare, than that of Massigner so similar
to it: If, nevertheless, we adhere to the printed copies, the
word, are, or rather, being, must be considered as understood,
[the young affects In forming a conjecture concerning any doubtful passage
in these plays, we should never forget that what our author
wrote was calculated to be spoken; and that however fair
any regulation may appear on paper, if the lines, when reformed,
will not bear recitation, the emendation is probably
not right. If the passage before us be tried by this test, I
believe it will be found that it yet stands in need of correction;
for (not to insist on the awkwardness of using the adjective
proper without any possessive pronoun prefixed to it,) by
the introduction of a parenthesis the words are now regulated
in such a manner, that he must be a skilful speaker indeed
who could pronounce them so as to prevent the latter hemistich
from forming a “most lame and impotent conclusion.” For this reason I am persuaded that my, the reading of all
the old copies, is right, and that there is no error except in
the word defunct. I would read: i. e. for the sake of my separate and private enjoyment. So
afterwards: “Let us be conjunctive in our revenge.”—Our
author has disjoin and disjunctive in two other plays; and in the
present tragedy we find many words equally uncommon
with that now proposed; as agnize—sequestration—congregated
—guttered—sequent—extincted—exsuffolate—indign—segregated,
&c. &c.
Malone.
this was to be effected, was an expedient adopted for the same
purpose by Autolycus; as appears from his pocketing up his
pedlar's excrement, that the shepherd and clown might not
know him when dressed in the prince's cloaths. Shakspeare
hath used a similar expression in King Richard III:
So in Whetstone's Heptameron, 1582. Sig. L. ii: “Thou couche [quoth he] soyled with dishonour, washe
out thy staynes with the adulterer's blood.”
Steevens. *&stellam;*The following references are to the pages of the first of these volumes. On a second inspection of the
books belonging to the Stationers' Company, I find I was
guilty of an omission on a former occasion, which I seize
this opportunity to point out. May 9, 1594, was entered
by Mr. Harrison, sen. “a booke intituled The Ravyshement
of Lucrece,” B. 306. b.
On the same books, Sep. 9. 1653, Mr. Mosely among
other plays has the following entries: This play was acted in 1613 by Heminge, &c. Had it
therefore been written by our author, it would surely have
been published in the folio 1623, or at least would have been
ascribed to him in some ancient catalogue. Mr. Reed suggests to me that being founded on a story
interwoven with the adventures of Don Quixote, it may be
the same as the dramatick piece which Theobald produced
with the title of the Double Falshood, or the Distress'd Lovers;
the frenzy, &c. of Julio being only those of Cardenio under
another name. “Henry the Ist and Henry the IId by Shakespeare and Davenport;”
meaning I suppose that the latter was the composition
of Davenport. Again, on the same books June 29, 1660, Humphrey
Mosely enters “The History of King Stephen, “Duke Humphrey, a tragedy, “Iphis and Iantha, or a Marriage without a Man, a comedy,”
as the works of our author. What degree of credit is due to these entries I cannot determine;
but there is no reason why they should be withheld
from the publick. Very soon after the civil wars a
great number of dramatick pieces which are no where to be
found were registered at Stationers' Hall; but I fear that our
acquaintance with them will never reach beyond their titles.
Steevens. It is remarkable that a line of exactly the same import with
that in the Double Falshood, for which Theobald (the supposed
writer) was so much ridiculed, is found in the Duke of Millain by Massinger, who, I believe,
was the author of the other piece also: In the concluding speech of the first act of the Double Falshood
we meet So Massinger, in the Duke of Millain: which lines were afterwards imitated by Dryden,
and furnished the late Dr. Goldsmith with the title of his last
comedy. The second of the lines above quoted from the Double
Falshood, is in our author's Antony and Cleopatra, and (if not an
interpolation of Theobald's) would serve to confirm Massinger's
title to this play, he having very frequently imitated
Shakspeare. It appears from the Stationers' Books that Massinger wrote
the following eleven plays, which have not been published,
and probably are now all lost: The noble Choice, or the Orator
—The Wandering Lovers, or the Painter—The Italian Nightpiece,
or the unfortunate Piety—The Judge, or believe as you
list, a tragedy—The Prisoner, or the fair Anchoress—The Spanish
Viceroy, or the Honour of Woman—Minerva's Sacrifice, or
the forc'd Lady—The Tyrant, a tragedy—Philenzo and Hyppolita,
a tragi-comedy—Antonio and Vallia, a comedy—
Taste and Welcome, a comedy.
Malone.
So
in Dr. Young's Busiris: So in Troilus and Cressida: Thus in
Measure for Measure: The allusion here is to the
tasters to princes. So in King John:
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