The time will not allow the compliment, I am come Kent. Alb. Great thing of us forgot! Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and where's Cordelia ? See'st thou this object, Kent? It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows Kent. O, my good master! [Kneeling. Edg. What is't thou say'st ?-Her voice was ever soft, Kent. Alack, why thus? Alb. Even so.-Cover their faces. Edm. I pant for life :-Some good I mean to do, Alb. Run, run, O, run Edg. To whom, my lord ?-Who has the office? send Thy token of reprieve. Edm. Well thought on; Give it the captain. take my sword, Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit EDGAR. Alb. The gods defend her! Bear him hence Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl!-O, you are men of stones; Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so for ever! I know when one is dead, and when one lives; Kent. To fordo signifies to destroy. It is used again in Fordo its own life.' Did I not, fellow? Lear. This is a lull sight:" Are you not Kent? Kent. That from your first of difference and decay, Lear. Your eldest daughters have fore-doom'd' them- Very bootless. Enter an Officer. Off. Edmund is dead, my lord. tion on the pains employed by Lear to recover his child, and knows to what miseries he must survive, when he finds them to be ineffectual. Having these images present to his eyes and imagination, he cries out, Rather 2 The old historians say that Cordelia retired with vic-fall, and cease to be at once, than continue in existence tory from the battle, which she conducted in her father's only to be wretched.' cause, and thereby replaced him on the throne: but in a 5 It is difficult for an author who never peruses his subsequent one fought against her, (after the death of first works to avoid repeating some of the same thoughts the old king,) by the sons of Regan and Goneril, she in his later productions. What Lear has just said has was taken, and died miserably in prison (Geoffrey, of been anticipated by Justice Shallow, in The Merry Monmouth, the original relater of the story, says that Wives of Windsor-I have seen the time with my she killed herself.) The dramatic writers of Shak-long sword I would have made you four tall fellows skip speare's age suffered as small a number of their heroes like rats. It is again repeated in Othello :and heroines to escape as possible; nor could the filial piety of this lady, any more than the innocence of I have seen the day Ophelia, prevail on the poet to extend her life beyond her misfortunes.- Steevens. 3 Kent, in contemplating the unexampled scene of exquisite affection which was then before him, and the unnatural attempt of Goneril and Regan against their father's life, recollects those passages of St. Mark's Gos. pel in which Christ foretells to his disciples the end of the world, and hence his question,' Is this the promised end of all things, which has been foretold to us?" To which Edgar adds, or only a representation or resemblance of that horror? So Macbeth, when he calls upon Banquo, Malcolm, &c. to view Duncan murdered, says: 6 That with this little arm and this good sword 6 If Fortune, to display the plenitude of her power, should brag of two persons, one of whom she had highly elevated, and the other she had wofully depressed we now behold the latter. The quarto reads 'She lov'd or hated, which confirms this sense. 7 I think, with Mr. Blakeway, that Lear means his eyesight was bedimmed either by excess of grief, or, as is usual, by the approach of death. So in Baret, Dull eyes, inertes oculi:- To dull the eyesight, hebetare oculos.' Albany says of Lear below, He knows not what he sees,' where the folio erroneously reads 'he says.' up, up, and see The great doom's image! Malcolm Banquo! S Thus the quartos: the folio reads foredone, which As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites, is probably right. See note 1, in the preceding column. To countenance this horror, 9 This great decay' is Lear, whom Shakspeare There is an allusion to the same passage of Scripture poetically calls so; and means the same as if he had in a speech of Gloster's in the second scene of the first said, this piece of decayed royalty,' this ruined maact-Mason. jesty. Gloster calls him in a preceding scene ruin'd 4 To cease, is to die. Albany is looking with atten-piece of nature.' 432 And, Have more than merited: -All friends shall taste | histories at that time vulgarly received as true. have life, perhaps, if we turn our thoughts upon the barbarny and ignorance of the age to which this story is referred, it will appear not so unlikely as while we estimate daughter to another, or resignation of dominion on such conditions, would le yet credible, if told of a petty life: Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come no prince of Guinea or Madagascar. Shakspeare, indeed, more, Never, never, never, never, never!— 'Pray you, undo this button: Thank you, sir.- Look up, my lord. Kent. Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he hates him, That would upon the rack of this tough world Alb. Bear them from hence.--Our present bu- Is general wo. Friends of my soul, you twain [To KENT and EDGAR. [Exeunt, with a dead March. THE tragedy of Lear is deservedly celebrated among the dramas of Shakspeare. There is perhaps no play which keeps the attention so strongly fixed; which so much agitates our passions, and interests our curiosity The artful involutions of distinct interests, the striking oppositions of contrary characters, the sudden changes of fortune, and the quick succession of events, fill the mind with a perpetual tumult of indignation, pity, and hope. There is no scene which does not contribute to the aggravation of the distress or conduct of the action, and scarce a line which does not conduce to the progress of the scene. So powerful is the current of the poet's imagination, that the mind, which once ventures within it, is hurried irresistibly along. 'On the seeming improbability of Lear's conduct, it may be observed, that he is represented according to 1 These lines are addressed to Kent as well as to Ed. gar, else the word honours would not have been in the plural number. Boot is advantage, increase. By honours is meant, honourable conduct. So in With other in by the mention of his earls and dukes, has given us the idea of times more civilized, and of life regulated by softer manners; and the truth is, that though he so nicely discriminates, and so minutely describes the characters of men, he commonly neglects and confounds the characters of ages, by mingling customs ancient and modern, English and foreign. My learned friend, Mr. Warton, who has, in The Adventurer, very minutely criticised this play, remarks, that the instances of cruelty are too savage and shocking, and that the intervention of Edmund destroys the simplicity of the story. These objections may, I think, be answered by repeating that the cruelty of the daughters is an historical fact, to which the poet has added little, having only drawn it into a series of diaJogue and action. But I am not able to apologize with equal plausibility for the extrusion of Gloster's eyes, which seems an act too horrid to be endured in dramatic exhibition, and such as must always compel the mind to relieve its distress by incredulity. Yet let it be remembered that our author well knew what would please the audience for which he wrote. The injury done by Edmund to the simplicity of the action is abundantly recompensed by the addition of variety, by the art with which he is made to co-operate with the chief design, and the opportunity which be gives the poet of combining perfidy with perfidy, and connecting the wicked son with the wicked daughters, to impress this important moral, that villany is never at a stop, that crimes lead to crimes, and at last terminate in ruin. But though this moral be incidentally enforced, Shakspeare has suffered the virtue of Cordelia to perish in a just cause, contrary to the natural ideas of justice, to the hope of the reader, and, what is yet more strange, to the faith of chronicles. Yet this conduct is justified by The Spectator, who blames Tate for giving Cordella success and happiness in his alteration, and declares, that in his opinion the tragedy has lost half its beauty. Dennis has remarked, whether justly or not, that, to secure the favourable reception of Cato, the town was poisoned with much false and abominable criticism, and that endeavours had been used to discredit and decry poetical justice. A play in which the wicked pros per, and the virtuous miscarry, may doubtless be good, because it is a just representation of the common events of human life: but since all reasonable beings naturally love justice, I cannot easily be persuaded that the el servation of justice makes a play worse: or that, f other excellencies are equal, the audience will not always rise better pleased from the final triumph of persecuted virtue. In the present case the public has decided. Cer 2 This is an expression of tenderness for his dead delia, from the time of Tate has always retired with Cordelia, (not his fool, as some have thought,) on whose victory and felicity. And, if my sensations could add lips he is still intent, and dies while he is searching there any thing to the general suffrage, I might relate, I was for indications of life. Poor fool,' in the age of Shak-many years ago so shocked by Cordelia's death, that I know not whether I ever endured to read again the last speare, was an expression of endearment. Twelfth Night Alas, poor fool, how have they baf-scenes of the play till I undertook to revise them as an editor. fled thee. Again, in The Two Gentlemen of Verona :There is another controversy among the critics cen'Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him? stances which will present themselves to the reader's Cerning this play. It is disputed whether the predomi memory. The fool of Lear was long ago forgotten; hav-ant image in Lear's disordered mind be the loss of His ing filled the space allotted to him in the arrangement kingdom or the cruelty of his daughters. Mr. Murphy, of the play, he appears to have been silently withdrawn a very judicious critic, has evinced by induction of in the sixth scene of the third act. Besides this, Cordelia was recently hanged; but we know not that the Fool had suffered in the same manner, nor can imagine why he should. That the thoughts of a father, in the bit terest of all moments, when his favourite child lay dead in his arms, should recur to the antic, who had formerly diverted him. has somewhat in it that cannot be * Dr. Johnson should rather have said that the mareconciled to the idea of genuine despair and sorrow.nagers of the theatres royal have decided, and the public Steevens. There is an ingenious note by Sir Joshua Reynolds in the variorum Shakspeare, for which I regret I cannot find space, sustaining a contrary opinion; but, as Malone observes, Lear from the time of his entrance in this scene to his uttering these words, and from thence to his death, is wholly occupied by the loss of his daughter. He is now in the agony of death, and surely at such a time, when his heart was just breaking, it would be highly unnatural that he should think of his fool. He had just seen his daughter hanged, having unfortunately been admitted too late to preserve her life, though time enough to punish the perpetrator of the act.' particular passages, that the cruelty of his daughters is the primary source of his distress, and that the loss of royalty affects him only as a secondary and subordinate evil. He observes, with great justness, that Lear would move our compassion but little, did we not rather consider the injured father than the degraded king. has been obliged to acquiesce in their decision. The Victrix causa Diis placuit sed victa Catonit This fool's bolt was shot for the sake of the wretched pun drawn from the line of Lucan. Steevens puts the opinion of Johnson himself as nothing; perhaps some of his readers may think it equivalent, at least, with that of Addison Johnson speaks from his own feelings here. Addison from a blind deference to the opinion of Aristotle.-Pye. The story of this play, except the episode of Edmund, which is derived, I think, from Sidney, is taken originally from Geoffry of Monmouth, whom Holinshed generally copied; but perhaps inmediately from an old historical ballad. My reason for believing that the play was posterior to the ballad, rather than the ballad to the play, is, that the ballad has nothing of Shakspeare's nocturnal tempest, which is too striking to have been omitted, and that it follows the chronicle: it has the rudiments of the play, but none of its amplifications: it first hinted Lear's madness, but did not array it in circumstances. The writer of the ballad added something to the history, which is a proof that he would have added more, if more had occurred to his mind, and more must have occurred if he had seen Shakspeare. JOHNSON, ROMEO AND JULIET. PRELIMINARY REMARKS. THE original relater of this story appears to have been Luigi da Porto, a gentleman of Vicenza, who died in 1529. His novel seems not to have been printed till some years after his death; being first published at Venice, in 1535, under the title of La Giulietta: there is, however, a dateless copy by the same printer. In the dedication to Madonna Lucina Savorgana, he tells her that the story was related to him by one of his archers, named Peregrino, a native of Verona, while serving in Friuli, to beguile the solitary road that leads from Gradisca to Udine. Girolamo della Corte, in his History of Verona, relates it circumstantially as a true event, occurring in 1303; but Maffei does not give him the highest credit as an historian: he carries his history down to the year 1560, and probably adopted the novel to grace his book. The earlier annalists of Verona, and above all, Torello Sarayna, who published, in 1542, Le Histoire e Fatti de Veronesi nell Tempi d'il Popolo e Signori Scaligeri,' are entirely silent upon the subject, though some other domestic tragedies grace their narrations. As to the origin of this interesting story, Mr. Douce has observed that its material incidents are to be found in the Ephesiacs of Xenophon of Ephesus, a Greek romance of the middle ages; he admits, indeed, that this work was not published nor translated in the time of Luigi da Porto, but suggests that he might have seen a copy of the original in manuscript. Mr. Dunlop, in his History of Fiction, has traced it to the thirty-second novel of Massuccio Salernitano, whose Novelino,' a collection of tales, was first printed in 1476. The hero of Massuccio is named Mariotto di Giannozza, and his catastrophe is different; yet there are sufficient points of resemblance between the two narratives. Mr. Boswell observes, that we may perhaps carry the fiction back to a much greater antiquity, and doubts whether, after all, it is not the tale of Pyramus and Thisbe, enlarged and varied by the luxuriant imagination of the novelist.' The story is also to be found in the second volume of the Novels of Bandello, (Novel ix. ;) and it is remarkable that he says it was related to him, when at the baths of Caldera, by the Captain Alexander Peregrino, a native of Verona; we may presume the same person from whom Da Porto received it: unless this appropriation is to be considered supposititious. The story also exists in Italian verse; and I had once a glance of a copy of it in that form, but neglected to note the title or date, and had not time for a more particular examination. It was translated from the Italian of Bandello into French, by Pierre Boisteau, who varies from his original in many particulars; and, from the French, Painter gave a translation in the second volume of his Palace of Pleasure, 1567, which he entitled Rhomeo and Julietta. From Boisteau's novel the same story was, in 1562, formed into an English poem, with considerable alterations and large additions, by Arthur Brooke; this poem the curious reader will find reprinted entire in the variorum editions of Shakspeare: it was originally printed by Richard Tottel, with the following title: The Tragicall Hystorye of Romeus and Juliet, Captain Breval, in his Travels, tells us that he was shown at Verona what was called the tomb of these unhappy lovers; and that, on a strict inquiry into the histories of Verona, he found that Shakspeare had varied very little from the truth, either in the names, characters, or other circumstances of this play. The fact seems to be, that the invention of the novelist has been adopted into the popular history of the city, just as Shakspeare's historical dramas furnish numbers with their notions of the events to which they relate. | written first in Italian, by Bandell; and nowe in English, by Ar. Br. Upon this piece Malone has shown, by unequivocal testimony, that the play was formed: numerous circumstances are introduced from the poem, which the novelist would not have supplied; and even the identity of expression, which not unfrequently occurs, is sufficient to settle the question. Steevens, without expressly controverting the fact, endeavoured to throw a doubt upon it by his repeated quotations from the Palace of Pleasure. In two passages, it is true, he has quoted Painter, where Brooke is silent; but very little weight belongs to either of them. In one there is very little resemblance; and in the other the circumstance might be inferred from the poem, though not exactly specified. The poem of Arthur Brooke was republished in 1587, with the title thus amplified :"Containing a rare Example of true Constancie: with the subtill Counsells and Practices of an old Fryer, and their ill Event.' In the preface to Arthur Brooke's poem there is a very curious passage, in which he says, 'I saw the same argument lately set foorth on stage with more commendation than I can looke for, (being there much better set forth then I have or can doe.') He has not, however, stated in what country this play was represented: the rude state of our drama, prior to 1562, renders it improbable that it was in England. Yet, (says Mr. Boswell,) I cannot but be of opinion that Romeo and Juliet may be added to the list, already numerous, of plays in which our great poet has had a dramatic precursor, and that some slight remains of the old play are still to be traced in the earliest quarto.' The story has at all times been eminently popular in all parts of Europe. A Spanish play was formed on it by Lope de Vega, entitled Los Castelĺvies y Monteses; and another in the same language, by Don Francisco de Roxas, under the name of Los Vandos de Verona. In Italy, as may well be supposed, it has not been ne glected. The modern productions on this subject are too numerous to be specified; but, as early as 1578, Luigi Groto produced a drama upon the subject, called Hadriana, of which an analysis may be found in Mr. Walker's Memoir on Italian Tragedy. Groto has stated in his prologue, that the story is drawn from the ancient history of Adria, his native place; so that Verona is not the only place that has appropriated this interesting fable. This has been generally considered one of Shakspeare's earliest plays and Schlegel has eloquently said, that it shines with the colours of the dawn of morning, but a dawn whose purple clouds already announce the thunder of a sultry day.' Romeo and Juliet (says the same admirable critic) is a picture of love and its pitiable fate, in a world whose atmosphere is too rough for this tenderest blossom of human life. Two beings, created for each other, feel mutual love at first glance; every consideration disappears before the irresistible influence of living in one another; they join themselves secretly, under circumstances hostile in the Malone thinks that the foundation of the play might be laid in 1591, and finished in 1596. Mr. George Chalmers places the date of its composition in the spring of 1592. And Dr. Drake, with greater probability, ascribes it to 1593. There are four early quarto editions in 1537, 1599, 1609, and one without a date The first edition is less ample than those which succeed Shakspeare appears to have revised the play; but in the succeeding impressions no fresh incidents are introduced, the alterations are merely additions to the length of particular speeches and scenes. The principal variations are pointed out in the notes highest degree to their union, relying merely on the protection of an invisible power. By unfriendly events following blow upon blow, their heroic constancy is exposed to all manner of trials, till forcibly separated from each other, by a voluntary death they are united in the grave to meet again in another world. All this is to be found in the beautiful story which Shakspeare has not invented, and which, however simply told, will always excite a tender sympathy: but it was reserved for Shakspeare to unite purity of heart and the glow of imagination, sweetness and dignity of manners and passionate violence, in one ideal picture. By the manner in which he has handled it, it has become a glorious song of praise on that inexpressible feeling which ennobles the soul, and gives to it its highest sublimity, and which elevates even the senses themselves into soul, and at the same time is a melancholy elegy on its frailty from its own nature and external circumstances; at once the deification and the burial of love. It appears here like a heavenly spark, that, descending to the earth, is converted into a flash of lightning, by to in a note at the end of the play; in which he remarks, that there can be nothing more diffuse, more weari some, than the rhyming history, which Shakspeare's genius, "like richest alchymy," has changed to beauty and to worthiness. Nothing but the delight of seeing into this wonderful metamorphosis can compen sate for the laborious task of reading through more than three thousand six and seven-footed iambics, which, in respect of every thing that amuses, affects, and enraptures us in this play, are as a mere blank leaf.-Here all interest is entirely smothered under the coarse, heavy pretensions of an elaborate exposition. How much was to be cleared away, before life could be breathed into the shapeless mass! In many parts what is here given bears the same relation to what Shakspeare has made out of it, which any commen description of a thing bears to the thing itself. Thus out of the following hint A courtier, that eche-where was highly had in pryce, For he was courteous of his speche and pleasant of devise: Even as a lyon would emong the lambes be bolde, Such was emonge the bashfull maydes Mercutio to beholde ;' which mortal creatures are almost in the same moment set on fire and consumed. Whatever is most intoxicating in the odour of a southern spring, languishing in the song of the nightingale, or voluptuous in the first opening of the rose, is to be found in this poem. But even more rapidly than the earliest blossoms of youth and the addition that the said Mercutio had from his and beauty decay, it hurries on from the first timidly-swathing-bands constantly had cold hands,-has arisen bold declaration of love and modest return, to the most a splendid character decked out with the utmost profu unlimited passion, to an irrevocable union; then, sion of wit. Not to mention a number of nicer deviaamidst alternating storms of rapture and despair, to the tions, we find also some important incidents from the death of the two lovers, who still appear enviable invention; for instance, the meeting and the combat as their love survives them, and as by their death between Paris and Romeo at Juliet's grave.Shakthey have obtained a triumph over every separating speare knew how to transform by enchantment letters power. The sweetest and the bitterest, love and hatred, to spirit, a workman's daub into a poetical masterfestivity and dark forebodings, tender embraces and piece. sepulchres, the fulness of life and self-annihilation, are all here brought close to each other; and all these contrasts are so blended in the harmonious and wonderful work into a unity of impression, that the echo which the whole leaves behind in the mind resembles a single but endless sigh. The excellent dramatic arrangement, the signification of each character in its place, the judicious selection of all the circumstances, even the most minute,' have been pointed out by Schlegel in a dissertation referred 'Lessing declared Romeo and Juliet to be the only tragedy, that he knew, which love himself had assisted to compose. I know not (says Schlegel) how to end more gracefully than with these simple words, wherein so much lies :-One may call this poem an harmonious miracle, whose component parts that heavenly power alone could so melt together. It is at the same time enchantingly sweet and sorrowful, pure and glowing. gentle and impetuous, full of elegiac softness, and tragically overpowering.' run'st away. Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:-therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men. Sam. "Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids; I will cut off their heads. Gre. The heads of the maids? Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. Gre. They must take it in sense that feel it. Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand: and, 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes two of the house of the Montagues.' Enter ABRAM and BALTHAZAR. Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee. Gre. How? turn thy back, and run? Gre. No, marry: I fear thee! Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. Gre. I will frown, as I pass by; and let them take it as they list. Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb4 Gre. Say-better; here comes one of my mas- Abr. You lie. Sam. Draw, if you be men.-Gregory, remember thy swashings blow. [They fight. Ben. Part, fools; put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats down their Swords. Enter TYBALT. Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heart- Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: 1 Cit. Clubs, bills, and partizans! strike! beat Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! Cap. What noise is this?-Give me my long Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE. Mon. Thou villain Capulet,-Hold me not, let me go. La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe. That quench the fire of your pernicious rage 4 This mode of insult, in order to begin a quarrel, seems to have been common in Shakspeare's time. Decker, in his Dead Term, 1608, describing the various groups that daily frequented St. Paul's Church, says, 1 To carry coals is to put up with insults, to submit to any degradation. Anciently, in great families, the scullions, turnspits, and carriers of wood and coals were esteemed the very lowest of menials, the drudges of all the rest. Such attendants upon the royal household, in progresses, were called the black-guard; and hence the origin of that term. Thus in May Day, a Comedy What swearing is there, what shouldering, what justby Geo. Chapman, 1609 :- You must swear by no ling, what jeering, what byting of thumbs, to beget man's beard but your own; for that may breed a quar- quarrels! And Lodge, in his Wits Miserie, 1596rel: above all things, you must carry no coals. Again, Behold, next I see Contempt marching forth, giving in the same play: Now my ancient being of an un-me the fico with his thumbe in his mouthe.' The mode coal-carrying spirit,' &c. And in Ben Jonson's Every in which this contemptuous action was performed is thus Man in his Humour :-'Here comes one that will carry described by Cotgrave, in a passage which has escaped coals; ergo, will hold my dog. Again in King Henry V. Act iii. Sc. 2:- At Calais they stole a fireshovel; I knew by that piece of service the men would carry coals.' 2 Poor John is hake, dried and salted. 3 The disregard of concord is in character. It should be observed that the partisans of the Montague family wore a token in their hats in order to distinguish them from their enemies the Capulets. Hence throughout this play they are known at a distance. Gascoigne adverts to this circumstance in a Masque written for Viscount Montacute, in 1575: And for a further proofe, he shewed in his hat Thys token, which the Montacutes did beare always, for that They covet to be knowne from Capels, where they pass For ancient grutch whych long ago tweens these two houses was.' the industry of all the commentators :- Faire la nique: To bite his thumb at me! Wear I a sword 5 Gregory is a servant of the Capulets: he must therefore mean Tybalt, who enters immediately after Benvolio. 6 i. e. swaggering or dashing. 7 The long sword was the weapon used in active warfare; a lighter, shorter, and less desperate weapon was worn for ornament, to which we have other allusions. No sword worn, but one to dance with |