Lafeu.
Cou.
In delivering my son from me, I bury a second
husband.
[to Lafeu, presenting her Son.
Ber.
And I note, in going, madam, weep o'er my father's
death anew: but I must attend his majesty's command;
to whom I am now in ward, evermore in
subjection.
Laf.
You shall find of the king a husband, madam;—
you, sir, a father: He, that so generally is at all times
good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose
worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather than
slack note it14Q0367 where there is such abundance.
Cou.
What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?
Laf.
He hath abandon'd his physicians, madam:
under whose practises he hath persecuted time with
hope; and finds no other advantage in the process, but
only the losing of hope by time.
-- 4 --
Cou.
This young gentlewoman [showing Helena.]
had a father, (O, that had! how sad a passage 'tis!14Q0368)
whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it
stretch'd so far, would have made nature immortal, and
death should have play for lack of work. 'Would, for
the king's sake, he were living! I think, it would be
the death of the king's disease.
Laf.
How call'd you the man you speak of, madam?
Cou.
He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it
was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.
Laf.
He was excellent, indeed, madam; the king
very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and mourningly:
he was skilful enough to have liv'd still, if knowledge
could be set up against mortality.
Ber.
What is it, my good lord, the king languishes
of?
Laf.
A fistula, my lord.
Ber.
I heard not of it before.
Laf.
I would it were not notorious.—Was this gentlewoman
the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?
Cou.
His sole child, my lord; and bequeathed to my
o'er-looking. I have those hopes of her good, that her
education promises: her dispositions she inherits,14Q0369 which
makes fair gifts fairer: for where an unclean mind carries
virtuous qualities, there commendations go with
pity, they are virtues and traitors too; in her they are
the better for her simpleness note; she derives her honesty,
and atchieves her goodness.
Laf.
Your commendations, madam, get from her
tears.
Cou.
'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her
praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches
-- 5 --
her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows takes
all livelihood from her cheek.—No more of this, Helena,
go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a
sorrow, than have it note.
Hel.
I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too.
Laf.
Moderate lamentation note is the right of the dead,
excessive grief the enemy to the living.
Cou.
If the living be not enemy to the grief, the
excess makes it soon mortal.
Ber.
Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
Laf.
How understand we that?14Q0370
Cou.
Be thou blest, Bertram! and succeed thy father
In manners, as in shape! thy blood, and virtue,
Contend for empire in thee; and thy goodness
Share with thy birth-right! Love all, trust a few,
Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy
Rather in power, than use; and keep thy friend
Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence,
But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will,
That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head note! Farewel.—My lord Lafeu,
'Tis an unseason'd courtier, good my lord,
Advise him you.
Laf.
He cannot want the best,14Q0371
That shall attend his love.
Cou.
Heaven bless him!—Farewel, Bertram.
[Exit.
Ber.
The best wishes, that can be forg'd in your
thoughts, [to Helena.] be servants to you! Be comfortable
to my mother, your mistress, and make much
of her.
Laf.
Farewel, pretty lady: You must hold the credit
of your father.
[Exeunt Bertram, and Lafeu.
-- 6 --
Hel.
O, were that all! I think not on my father;
And these great tears grace his remembrance more,
Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
I have forgot him: my imagination
Carries no favour in it, but of Bertram. note
I am undone; there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. It were all one,
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me:
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
The hind, that would be mated by the lion,
Must dye for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague,
To see him every hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table; heart, too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour:
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relicks. Who comes here?
Enter Parolles.
One that goes with him: I love him for his sake;
And yet I know him a notorious liar,
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
Yet these fixt evils sit so fit in him,
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
Looks bleak14Q0372 in the cold wind: withal, full oft we see
Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
Par.
Save you, fair queen.
Hel.
And you, monárch.14Q0373
Par.
No.
Hel.
And no.
-- 7 --
Par.
Are you meditating on virginity?
Hel.
Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you;
let me ask you a question: Man is enemy to virginity;
how may we barricado it against him?
Par.
Keep him out.14Q0374
Hel.
But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant,
in the defence yet is weak: unfold to note us some
warlike resistance.
Par.
There is none; man, setting down before you,
will undermine you, and blow you up.
Hel.
Bless our poor virginity from underminers, and
blowers up!—Is there no military policy, how virgins
might blow up men?
Par.
Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier
be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again,
with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city.
It is not politick in the common-wealth of nature, to
preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase;
and there was never virgin got, note 'till virginity was first
lost. That, you were made of, is metal to make virgins,
Virginity, by being once lost, may be ten times found;
by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion;
away with't.
Hel.
I will stand for't a little, though therefore I dye
a virgin.
Par.
There's little can be said in't; 'tis against
the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity,
is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible
disobedience. He, that hangs himself, is a virgin: virginity
murders itself; and should be bury'd in highways,
out of all sanctify'd limit, as a desperate offendress
against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a
-- 8 --
cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies
with feeding it's own stomack. Besides, virginity is
peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the
most inhibited note sin in the canon: Keep it not; you
cannot choose but lose by't: Out with't: within ten
years note it will make itself ten, note which is a goodly increase;
and the principal itself not much the worse:
Away with't.
Hel.
How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own
liking?
Par.
Let me see: Marry, ill, to like him that ne'er
it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying;
the longer kept, the less worth: off with't, while
'tis vendible: answer the time of request. Virginity,
like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion;
richly suted, but unsuteable: just like the brooch, and
the tooth-pick, which wear not note now. Your date is
better in your pye, and your porridge, than in your
cheek: And your virginity, your old virginity, is like
one of our French wither'd pears; it looks ill, it eats
drily; marry, 'tis a wither'd pear: it was formerly
better; marry, yet 'tis a wither'd pear: Will you any
thing with it?
Hel.
Not my virginity yet.14Q0375 You're for the court:
There shall your master have a thousand loves,
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,
A phœnix, captain, and an enemy,
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
His humble note ambition, proud humility,
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
-- 9 --
Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms,
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he—
I know not what he shall: God send him well!
The court's a learning place; and he is one—
Par.
What one, i'faith?
Hel.
That I wish well. 'Tis pity.
Par.
What's pity?
Hel.
That wishing well had not a body in't,
Which might be felt: that we, the note poorer born,
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
Might with effects of them follow our friends,
And shew what we alone must think; which never
Returns us thanks.
Enter a Page.
Pag.
Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.
Par.
Little Helen, farewel: if I can remember thee,
I will think of thee at court.
Hel.
Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable
star.
Par.
Under Mars I.
Hel.
I especially think, under Mars.
Par.
Why under Mars?
Hel.
The wars have so note kept you under, that you must
needs be born under Mars.
Par.
When he was predominant.
Hel.
When he was retrograde, I think, rather.
Par.
Why think you so?
Hel.
You go so much backward, when you fight.
Par.
That's for advantage.
Hel.
So is running away, when fear proposes the
safety: But the composition, that your valour and fear
makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I like
-- 10 --
the wear well.
Par.
I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee
acutely: I will return perfect courtier; in the which,
my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou
wilt be capable of a courtier's note counsel, and understand
what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou dyest in
thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee
away; farewel: When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers;
when thou hast none, remember thy friends: get thee
a good husband, and use him as he uses thee: so
farewel.
[Exeunt Parolles, and Page.
Hel.
Our remedies14Q0376 oft in ourselves do lye,
Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.
What power is it, which mounts my love so high;
Which makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes, and kiss like native things.
Impossible be strange attempts, to those
That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose,
What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove
To shew her merit, that did miss her love?
The king's disease—my project may deceive me,
But my intents are fixt, and will not leave me.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Paris. A Room in the King's Palace.
Enter the King of France, with Letters;
Lords, and divers other note, attending.
Kin.
The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears;
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
A braving war.
-- 11 --
1. L.
So 'tis reported, sir.
Kin.
Nay, 'tis most credible; we here † receive it
A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,
With caution, that the Florentine will move us
For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
Prejudicates the business, and would seem
To have us make denial.
1. L.
His love, and wisdom,
Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead
For amplest credence.
Kin.
He hath arm'd our answer,
And Florence is deny'd before he comes:
Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
To stand on either part.
2. L.
It well may serve
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
For breathing, and exploit.
Kin.
What's he comes here?
Enter Bertram, with Lafeu, Parolles, and Others.
1. L.
It is the count Rosillion, my good lord,
Young Bertram.
Kin.
Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face;
Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
Hath well compos'd thee; Thy father's moral parts
May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.
Ber.
My thanks, and duty, are your majesty's.
Kin.
I would I had14Q0377 that corporal soundness now,
As when thy father, and myself, in friendship,
First try'd our soldiership! He did look far
Into the service of the time, and was
-- 12 --
Discipl'd of the bravest: he lasted long;
But on us both did haggish age steal on,
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me,
To talk of your good father: In his youth
He had the wit, which I can well observe
To-day in our young lords; but they may jest,
'Till their own scorn return to them unnoted,
Ere they can hide their levity in honour,
So like a courtier: no contempt nor bitterness
Were in him, pride note or sharpness; if they were,
His equal had awak'd them; and his honour,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him speak, and, at this time,
His tongue obey'd it's hand: note who were below him,
He us'd as creatures of another place;
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,
In their poor praise he humbl'd: Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times;
Which, follow'd well, would démonstrate them now
But goers backward.
Ber.
His good remembrance, sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb;
So his approof lives not in note epitaph,
As in your royal speech.
Kin.
'Would I were with him! He would always say,
(Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
To grow there, and to bear) Let me not live,—
Thus note his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
When it was out,—let me not live, quoth he,
-- 13 --
After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
Of younger spirits; whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
Meer fathers of their garments; whose constancies
Expire before their fashions: This he wish'd;
I, after him, do after him wish too,
Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home,
I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
To give some labourer note room.
2. L.
You are lov'd, sir;
They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first.
Kin.
I fill a place, I know't.—How long is't, count,
Since the physician at your father's dy'd?
He was much fam'd.
Ber.
Some six months since, my lord.
Kin.
If he were living, I would try him yet;—
Lend me an arm;—the rest have worn me out
With several applications: nature and sickness
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count;
My son's no dearer.
Ber.
Thank your majesty.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Rosillion. A Room in the Count's Palace.
Enter Countess, and Steward; Clown behind.
Cou.
I will now hear14Q0378 what you say note of this gentlewoman.
Ste.
Madam, the care I have had to even your content,
I wish might be found in the calendar of my past
endeavours; for then we wound our modesty, and make
foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves
we publish them.
Cou.
What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah:
-- 14 --
The complaints, I have heard of you, I do not all
believe; 'tis my slowness, that I do not: for, I know,
you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability
enough to make such knaveries yours.
Clo.
'Tis not unknown to you, madam, that I am a
poor fellow:
Cou.
Well, sir.
Clo.
No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor;
though many of the rich are damn'd: But if I may note
have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel
the woman and I note will do as we may.
Cou.
Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
Clo.
I do beg your good will in this case.
Cou.
In what case?
Clo.
In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no
heritage: and, I think, I shall never have the blessing
of God, 'till I have issue o' my body; for, they say,
bearns note are blessings.
Cou.
Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.
Clo.
My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven
on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil
drives.
Cou.
Is this all your worship's reason?
Clo.
'Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such
as they are.
Cou.
May the world know them?
Clo.
I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you
and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry,
that I may repent.
Cou.
Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.
Clo.
I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have
friends for my wife's sake.
-- 15 --
Cou.
Such friends are thine enemies, knave.
Clo.
You're shallow, madam; e'en great note friends;
for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am
aweary of. He, that eares note my land, spares my team,
and gives me leave to inn the crop: if I be his cuckold,
he's my drudge: He, that comforts my wife, is the
cherisher note of my flesh and blood; he, that cherishes my
flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he, that loves
my flesh and blood, is my friend: ergo, he, that kisses
my wife, is my friend: If men could be contented to
be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for
young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist,
howsom'ere their hearts are sever'd in religion, their
heads are both one, they may jowl horns together like
any deer i' the herd.
Cou.
Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious
knave?
Clo.
A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the
next way:
For I the ballad will repeat,
which men full true shall find;
Your marriage comes by destiny,
your cuckoo sings by kind.
Cou.
Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon.
Ste.
May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen
come to you; of her I am to speak.
Cou.
Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would speak
with her; Helen I mean.14Q0379
Clo.
Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
[singing.
why the Grecians sacked Troy?
Fond done, fond note done! for Paris, he,
was this king Priam's joy.
-- 16 --
With that she sighed as she stood,
With that, &c.
and gave this sentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good,
Among, &c.
there's yet one good in ten.
Cou.
What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song,
sirrah.
Clo.
One good woman in ten, madam; which is a
purifying o' the song: 'Would God would serve the
world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the
tythe woman, if I were the parson: One in ten, quoth
a'! an we might have a good woman born but or every note
blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the
lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere he
pluck one.
Cou.
You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command
you?
Clo.
That man should be at a note woman's command,
and yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan,14Q0380
yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility
over the black gown of a big heart.—I am going,
forsooth; the business is, for Helen to come hither.
[Exit Clown.
Cou.
Well, now.
Ste.
I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman
intirely.
Cou.
'Faith, I do: her father bequeath'd her to me;
and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully
make title to as much love as she finds: there is more
owing her, than is pay'd; and more shall be pay'd her,
than she'll demand.
-- 17 --
Ste.
Madam, I was very late more near her than,
I think, she wish'd me: alone she was, and did communicate
to herself, her own words to her own ears;
she thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any
stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son:
Fortune, she said, was no goddess,14Q0381 that had put such
difference betwixt their two estates; Love, no god,
that should note not extend his might, only where qualities
were level; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would
suffer her poor knight to be surpriz'd in the first assault,
without rescue note, or ransom afterward: This she deliver'd
in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er
I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty,
speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss
that may happen, it concerns you something to know
it.
Cou.
You have discharg'd this honestly; keep it
to yourself: many likelihoods inform'd me of this
before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that
I could neither believe note, nor misdoubt: Pray you, leave
me: stall this in your bosom, and I thank you for your
honest care: I will speak with you further anon.
[Exit Steward.
Enter Helena.
Cou.
Even so it was with me, when I was young:
If we note are nature's, these are ours; this thorn
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
It is the show, and seal, of nature's truth,
When love's strong passion is imprest in youth:
By our remembrances of days foregone,
Such were our faults,—O, then note we thought them none.
-- 18 --
Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now.
Hel.
What is your pleasure, madam?
Cou.
You know, Helen,
I am a mother to you.
Hel.
Mine honourable mistress.
Cou.
Nay, a mother;
Why not a mother? When I said, a mother,
Methought, you saw a serpent: What's in mother,
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those,
That were enwombed mine: 'Tis often seen,
Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds14Q0382
A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
Yet I express to you a mother's care:—
God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood,
To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter,
That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
Why? that you are my note daughter?
&clquo;Hel.
&clquo;That I am not.&crquo;
Cou.
I say, I am your mother.
Hel.
Pardon, madam;
The count Rosillion cannot be my brother:
I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
No note upon my parents, his all noble:
My master, my dear lord he is; and I
His servant live, and will his vassal dye:
He must not be my brother.
Cou.
Nor I your mother.
Hel.
You are my mother, madam,14Q0383—'Would you were,
So that my lord your son were not my brother!—
-- 19 --
Indeed, my mother: Or, were you both our mothers,
I'd care no more for't than I do for heaven,
So I were not his sister: Can't no other,
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?
Cou.
Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law;
God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother,
So strive upon your pulse: What, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: Now I see
The mystery of your loneliness note, and find
Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross,
You love my son; invention is asham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say, thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so: for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it, one to the other note; and thine eyes
See it so note grosly shown in thy behaviours,
That in their kind they speak it; only sin,
And hellish obstinacy tye thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected: Speak, is't so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue;
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail note,
To tell me truly.
Hel.
Good madam, pardon me!
Cou.
Do you love my son?
Hel.
Your pardon, noble mistress!
Cou.
Love you my son?
Hel.
Do not you love him, madam?
Cou.
Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,
Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose
The state of your affection; for your passions
Have to the full appeach'd.
-- 20 --
Hel.
Then I confess,
Here † on my knee, before high heaven note, and you,
That, before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son:—
My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love:
Be not offended; for it hurts not him,
That he is lov'd of me: I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit;
Nor would I have him, 'till I do deserve him;
Yet never know, how that desert should be:
I know, I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible note sieve,
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian like,
Religious in mine error, I adore
The sun, that looks upon his worshiper,
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love,
For loving where you do: but, if yourself,
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking note,
Wish chastly, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love; o then, give pity
To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose
But lend, and give, where she is sure to lose;
That seeks not to find that, her note search implies,
But, riddle like, lives sweetly where she dies.
Cou.
Had you not lately an intent, speak truly,
To go to Paris?
Hel.
Madam, I had.
Cou.
Wherefóre?
Tell true.
-- 21 --
Hel.
I will tell you true note; note by grace itself, I swear.
You know, my father left me some prescriptions,
Of rare, and prov'd effects, such as his reading,
And manifest experience, had collected
For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfullest reservation to bestow them,
As notes, whose faculties inclusive were
More than they were in note: among'st note the rest,
There is a remedy, approv'd, set down,
To cure the desperate languishings, whereof
The king is render'd lost.
Cou.
This was your motive
For Paris, was it, speak?
Hel.
My lord your son made me to think of this;
Else Paris, and the med'cine, and the king,
Had, from the conversation of my thoughts,
Haply, been absent then.
Cou.
But think you, Helen,
If you should tender your supposed aid,
He would receive it? He and his physicians
Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him,
They, that they cannot help14Q0384; How shall they credit
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
Embowel'd of their doctrine, have left off
The danger to itself?
Hel.
There's something note hints,
More than my father's skill, which was the greatest
Of his profession, that his good receipt
Shall, for my legacy, be sanctify'd
By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour
But give me leave to try note success, I'd venture
The well note-lost life of mine on his grace's cure,
-- 22 --
By such a day, and hour note.
Cou.
Dost thou believe't?
Hel.
Ay, madam, knowingly.
Cou.
Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave, and love,
Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings
To those of mine in court; I'll stay at home,
And pray God's blessing unto note thy attempt:
Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss.
[Exeunt.
Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
