Pif. What shall I need to draw my fword? the paper Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis flander; All corners of the world. Kings, Queens, and ftates, To lye in watch there, and to think on him? 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. Poor Poor I am ftale, a garment out of fashion; ing All good Seem By thy revolt, oh husband, fhall be thought 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, I draw the fword my felf, take it, and hit Thou shalt not damn my hand. 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 Be ftomachers to my heart: thus may poor fools Stands in worse cafe of woe. And thou, Pofthumus, A ftrain of rarenefs: and I grieve my self, -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? Pif But to win time To lose so bad employment, in the which Ino. Talk thy tongue weary, 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, 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 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 Pif. If not at Court, Then not in Britaine muft you bide. Imo. Where then? Hath Britaine all the Sun that fhines? Day, night, In a great pool, a fwan's neit. Pr'ythee, think, 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, 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 Dd 2 Qua That, which, t'appear it self, muft not yet be, 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 Qualifications or Beauties of her Mind. I therefore think, we may 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; 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. |