« ZurückWeiter »
SCENE changes to the Court of France. Flourish Cornets. Enter the King of France with letters, and divers Attendants.
HE Florentines and Senoys are by th' ears;
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war.
1 Lord. So 'tis reported, Sir.
King. Nay, 'tis moft credible; we here receive it,
1 Lord. His love and wisdom,
Approv'd fo to your Majefty, may plead
King. He hath arm'd our answer;
2 Lord. It may well ferve
A nursery to our gentry, who are fick
King. What's he comes here?
Enter Bertram, Lafeu and Parolles.
1 Lord. It is the Count Roufillon, my good Lord, Young Bertram.
King. Youth, thou bear'ft thy father's face.
Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts
Ber. My thanks and duty are your Majesty's.
But on us both did haggish age steal on,
So like a courtier, no contempt or bitterness (4) ́*
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks;
In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man
Which, follow'd well, would now demonftrate them But goers backward.
Ber. His good remembrance, Sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb;
As in your royal speech.
King. Would, I were with him! he would always fay, (Methinks, I hear him now; his plaufive words He fcatter'd not-in ears, but grafted them To grow there and to bear ;) Let me not live,(Thus his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe and heel of paftime,
(4) So like a courtier, no contempt or bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
His equal bad awak'd them.-]
This paffage feems fo very incorrectly pointed, that the author's meaning is loft in the carelessness. As the text and flops are reform'd, these are moft beautiful lines, and the fenfe this.“ He had no contempt or bitterness; if he had any thing that look'd like pride or fharpnes, (of which qualities contempt and bitterness are the exceffes,) his equal had awaked them, not his inferior; to "whom he feorn'd to difcover any thing that bore the fhadow of "pride or fharpness. Mr. Warburton.
When it was out,) let me not live, (quoth he,)
(Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home,)
To give fome labourers room.
2 Lord. You're loved, Sir;
They, that least lend it
you, fhall lack you firft. King. I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, Count, Since the phyfician at your father's died?
He was much fam'd.
Ber. Some fix months, fince, my Lord.
King. If he were living, I would try him yet;-
Ber. Thank your Majesty.
SCENE changes to the Countefs's at Roufillon, Enter Countefs, Steward and Clown.
Will now hear; what fay you of this gentlewoman?
Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my paft endeavours; (5) for then we wound our modefty,
(5) For then we wound our modefty, and make foul the clearness of our defervings, when of ourselves we publish them.] This fentiment our author has again inculcated in his Troilus and Creffida.
The worthinefs of praise diftains his worth,
If he, that's prais'd, himself bring the praise forth.
I won't pretend, that Shakespeare is here treading in the steps of fchylus; but that poet has fomething in his Agamemnon, which might very well be a foundation to what our author has advanced in both thefe paffages.
and make foul the clearness of our defervings, when of ourselves we publish them.
Count. What does this knave here? get you gone, firrah: the complaints, 'I have heard of you, I do not all believe; 'tis my flowness that I do not, for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make fuch knaveries yours.
Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, Madam, I am poor fellow.
Count. Well, Sir.
Clo. No, Madam; 'tis not fo well that I am poor, tho' many of the rich are damn'd; but if I have your Ladyfhip's good will to go to the world, Ifbel the woman and I will do as we may.
Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
Clo. I do beg your good will in this cafe.
Clo. In Ibel's cafe, and mine own; fervice is no heritage, and, I think, I fhall never have the bleffing of God, 'till I have iffue o' my body; for they say, bearns are blefings.
Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.
Clo. My poor body, Madam, requires it. I am driven on by the flesh; and he muft needs go, that the devil drives.
Count. Is this all your worship's reason?
Clo. Faith, Madam, I have other holy reafons, fuch as they are.
Count. 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.
Count. Thy marriage, fooner than thy wickedness. Clo. I am out of friends, Madam, and I hope to have friends for my wife's fake.
Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave.
· ἀλλ ̓ ἐναισίμως
Αἰνεῖν, παρ ̓ ἄλλων χρὴ τόδ ̓ ἔρχεσθαι γέρας.
Clo. Y'are fhallow, Madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am weary of; he, that eares my land, fpares my team, and gives me leave to inne the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge; he, that comforts my wife, is the cherifher of my flesh and blood; he, that cherisheth my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he, that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend: ergo, he, that kiffes 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 Poyfam the papift, howfoe'er their hearts are fever'd in religion, their heads are both one; they may joul horns together, like any deer i' th' herd.
Count. 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 ❝ fhall find;
"Your marriage comes by deftiny, your cuckow fings "by kind.
Count. Get you gone, Sir, I'll talk with you more
Stew. May it please you, Madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to speak.
Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her, Helen I mean.
Clo. "Was this fair face the caufe, quoth fhe, (6)
ftanza, that follows, is wanting to fe in the ift The old folio's give us a
(6) Was this fair face the caufe, quoth fee, Why the Grecians fucked froy? Was this King Priam's joy?] As the in alternate rhyme, and as a rhyme is here verfe; 'tis evident, the 3d line is wanting. part of it; but how to fupply the loft part, was the queftion. Mr. Rowe has given us the fragment honeftly, as he found it: but Mr. Pope, rather than to feem founder'a, has funk it upon us.-I communicated to my ingenious friend Mr. Warburton how I found the paffage in the old books,
[Fond done, done, fond,