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Of what we blame him for.

Arv. The bird is dead,

That we have made fo much on! I had rather
Have skipt from fixteen years of age, to fixty;
And turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,
Than have feen this.

Guid. Oh fweeteft, fairest lilly!

My Brother wears thee not one half fo well,
As when thou grew'ft thy felf.

Bel. (44) Oh melancholy!

Who ever yet could found thy bottom? find
The ooze, to fhew what coaft thy fluggish Carrack
Might eas❜lieft harbour in? thou bleffed thing!
Jove knows, what man thou might'ft have made; but
ah!

Thou dy'dft, a moft rare boy, of melancholy!
How found you him?

Arv. Stark, as you

fee:

Thus fmiling, as fome fly had tickled flumber;
Not as Death's dart being laugh'd at: his right cheek
Repofing on a cushion,

Guid. Where?

(44) Oh, Melancholy!

Who ever yet could found thy Bottom? find

The Ooze, to fhew what Coaft thy fluggish Care

Might eas'lieft harbour in ?] But as plaufible as This at first Sight may feem, all Thofe, who know any Thing of good Writing, will agree That our Author must have wrote;

to shew what Coaft thy fuggish Carrack

Might eas lieft harbour in?

Carrack is a flow, heavy-built, Veffel of Burthen. This reftores the Uniformity of the Metaphor, compleats the Senfe, and is a Word of great Propriety and Beauty to defign a melancholic Perfon.

Mr. Warburton.

The Word is us'd again by our Author in his Othello;
Faith, be to night hath boarded a land Carrack ;
If it prove lawful Prize, he's made for ever.
And We meet with it likewise in Beaumont and Fletcher;
But here's the Wonder, tho' their Weight would fink
A Spanish Carrack, without other Ballaft, &c.

Carraca, Navis oneraria ingens.
Carraque, Navis ampliffima.

Elder Brother.
SKINNER.
RICHELET.

Arv. O'th' floor:

His arms thus leagu'd; I thought, he flept; and put My clouted brogues from off my feet, whofe rudeness Anfwer'd my fteps too loud.

Guid. Why, he but fleeps;

If he be gone, he'll make his Grave a Bed;
With female Fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come near thee.

Arv. With faireft flow'rs,

(Whilft fummer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,)
I'll sweeten thy fad Grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flow'r that's like thy face, pale Primrofe; nor
The azur'd Hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of Eglantine; which not to flander,
Out-fweet'n'd not thy breath. (45) The Raddock would,
With charitable bill, (oh bill, fore thaming
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lye
Without a Monument!) bring thee all this;
Yea, and furr'd mofs befides, when flow'rs are none
To winter-gown thy coarfe.

Guid. Pr'ythee, have done;

And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is fo ferious. Let us bury him,

And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt. To th' Grave.
Arv. Say, where fhall's lay him?
Guid. By good Euriphile, our Mother.
Arv. Be't fo:

And let us, Paladour, though now our voices
Have got the mannish crack, fing him to th' ground;

(45)

The Radock would,

With charitable Bill, bring thee all this;

Yea, and furr'd Mofs befides. When Flow'rs are none

To winter-ground thy Courfe] Here, again, the Metaphor is ftrangely mangled. What Senfe is there in winter-grounding a Coarfe with Mofs? A Coarfe might indeed be faid to be winter-grounded in good thick Clay. But the Epithet furr'd to Mofs directs us plainly to another Reading.

To Winter-gown thy Coarfe.

i. e. Thy Summer Habit fhall be a light Gown of Flowers, thy Winter Habit a good warm furr'd Gown of Mofs. Mr. Warburton.

As,

As, once, our Mother: ufe like note, and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Guid. Cadwall,

I cannot fing: I'll weep, and word it with thee;
For notes of forrow, out of tune, are worfe
Than Priefts and Fanes that lie.

Arv. We'll fpeak it then.

Bel. Great griefs, I fee, med'cine the lefs. For Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a Queen's Son, Boys,
And though he came our enemy, remember,
Was paid for that: the mean and mighty, rotting
Together, have one duft; yet reverence,

(That angel of the world,) doth make distinction
Of place 'twixt high and low. Our foe was princely,
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him, as a Prince.

Guid. Pray, fetch him hither.
Therfites body is as good as Ajax,

When neither are alive.

Arv. If you'll go fetch him,

We'll fay our Song the whilft: Brother, begin.
Guid. Nay, Cadwall, we muft lay his head to th

Eaft

My Father hath a reason for't.

Arv. 'Tis true.

Guid. Come on then, and remove him.

Arv. So, begin.

SONG.

Guid. Fear no more the heat o'ib' Sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task haft done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages.

Golden lads and girls all muft,

As chimney Sweepers, come to duft.
Arv. Fear no more the frown o'th' Great,
Thou art past the tyrant's ftroke;

Care no more to cloath and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:

The

The Scepter, learning, phyfick, muft
All follow this, and come to duft.
Guid. Fear no more the lightning-flafb.
Arv. Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-ftone.
Guid. Fear no flander, cenfure rafb.
Arv. Thou haft finish'd joy and moan.
Both. All lovers young, all lovers, muft
Confign to thee, and come to duft.
Guid. No Exorcifer harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Guid. Ghoft, unlaid, forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet confummation have,

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And renowned be thy Grave! A

Enter Belarius, with the body of Cloten.

Guid. We've done our obfequies: come, lay him down.

Bel. Here's a few flow'rs, but about midnight more; The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'th' night, Are ftrewings fitt'ft for Graves. Upon their faces You were as flow'rs, now wither'd; even fo These herbetets fhall, which we upon you ftrow. Come on, away, apart upon our knees

The ground, that gave them firft, has them again; Their pleasure here is pait, fo is their pain. [Exeunt.

Imogen, awaking.

Imo. Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven, which is the way?

I thank you thither?

Ods pittikins.

by yond bush?

pray, how far

can it be fix mile yet?

I've gone all night-'faith, I'll lye down and fleep.
But, foft! no bedfellow. Oh Gods, and Goddeffes!
[Seeing the body.
These flow'rs are like the pleasures of the world;
This bloody man the care on't. I hope, I dream;
For, fure, I thought I was a cave-keeper,

And cook to honeft creatures. But 'tis not fo:

'Twas

'Twas but a bolt of nothing, fhot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes
Are fometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
(46) I tremble still with fear; but if there be
Yet left in heav'n as fmall a drop of Pity
As a wren's eye, oh Gods! a part of it!
The dream's here still; ev'n when I wake, it is
Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A headless man! the garments of Pofthumus?
I know the shape of's leg, this is his hand,
His foot mercurial, his martial thigh,

3

The brawns of Hercules: but his jovial face ——
Murther in heaven?- how!

: fanio!

'tis gone! Pi

All curfes madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! thou,
'Twas thou, confpiring with that devil Cloten,
Haft here cut off my lord. To write, and read,
Be henceforth treach'rous! Damn'd Pifanio
Hath with his forged letters damn'd Pifanio!-
From this the braveft veffel of the world

1

"

Struck the main-top! oh Pofthumus, alas,

Where is thy head? where's That Pay me, where's

(46)

That?

But if there be

Yet left in Heav'n as fmall a Drop of Pity
As a Wren's Eye, oh, Gods! a Part of it ! ]
So again, in Othello;

Ifhould have found in fome Place of my Soul"
A Drop of Patience,

Tho' this Expreffion is very pathetic and fine in both these Places of our
Author, it brings to my Mind a very humourous Paffage in the Achar
nenfes of Ariftophanes. An Athenian Ruftick, in Time of War, is robb'd
of a Yoak of Oxen by the Baotians; he has almoft cry'd his Eyes out,
he fays,
s; for the Lofs of his Cattle; and he comes to beg for a Drop of
Peace in a Quill, to anoint his Eyes with.

Συ δ' ἀλλὰ μας αλαγμὸν εἰρήνης ἕνα

Εἰς + καλαμίσκον ἐνς αλαξον τετονί.

Tho' I have tranflated καλαμίσκον (which is a Diminutive from καλα u) a Quill: I know, it fignifies, among the Surgeons, a Probe; an Inftrument to convey Balfam into Wounds Specillum. I am furpriz'd that neither Hefychius nor Suidas acknowledge the Word, which has fo

good an Authority as Ariftophanes.- But Julius Pollux quotes it and brings the Pallage from our Comic Poet in Confirmation.

Pifanio

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