Now, when Silvia says this, which, according to the meaning which has been attached to the words servant and mistress, would be a speech of endearment, she had accepted Valentine really as her betrothed lover, and she had been told by Valentine that Proteus

"Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks." It appears, therefore, that we must receive these words in a very vague sense, and regard them as titles of courtesy, derived, perhaps, from the chivalric times, when many a harness'd knight and sportive troubadour described the lady whom they had gazed upon in the tilt-yard as their "mistress," and the same lady looked upon each of the gallant train as a "servant" dedicated to the defence of her honour, or the praise of her beauty.

5 SCENE II." Why then we'll make exchange."

The priest in Twelfth Night (Act. V. Sc. I.), describes the ceremonial of bethrothing, for which the Catholic church had a ritual:

"A contract of eternal bond of love,

Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands,
Attested by the holy close of lips,

Strengthen'd by interchangement of your rings."

This contract was made, in private, by Proteus and Julia; and it was also made by Valentine and Silvia-"we are betroth'd."

6 SCENE III.-" This left shoe."

A passage in King John also shews that each foot was formerly fitted with its shoe, a fashion of unquestionable utility, which was revived many years ago:

"Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet."

7 SCENE IV. "My jerkin is a doublet." The jerkin, or jacket, was generally worn over the doublet; but occasionally the doublet was worn alone, and, in many instances, is confounded with the jerkin. Either had sleeves or not, as the wearer fancied; for by the inventories and wardrobe accounts of the time, we find that the sleeves were frequently separate articles of dress, and attached to the doublet, jerkin, coat, or even woman's gown, by laces or ribbands, at the pleasure of the wearer. A "doblet jaquet" and hose of blue velvet, cut upon cloth of gold, embroidered, and a" doblet hose and jaquet" of purple velvet, embroidered, and cut upon cloth of gold, and lined with black satin, are entries in an inventory of the wardrobe of Henry VIII.

In 1535, a jerkin of purple velvet, with purple satin sleeves, embroidered all over with Venice gold, was presented to the king by Sir Richard Cromwell; and another jerkin of crimson velvet, with wide sleeves of the same coloured satin, is mentioned in the same inventory.

SCENE VIL-" The table wherein all my thoughts Are visibly character'd."

The allusion is to the table-book, or tables, which were used, as at present, for noting down something to be remembered. Hamlet says:

"My tables,-meet it is I set it down."

They were made sometimes of ivory, and sometimes of slate. The Archbishop of York, in Henry IV., says:

"And, therefore, will he wipe his tables clean."

The table-book of slate is engraved and described in Gesner's treatise, De Rerum Fossilium Figuris, 1565; and it has been copied in Douce's Illustrations.

"SCENE VII." And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee."

Malone prints the word conjure with an accent on the first syllable, conjure. In the same way, in the next line but one, he marks the accent on charácter'd. Since the publication of our first edition we have been led, through a consideration of the many false theories which have prevailed as to the general versification of Shakspere, to believe that this system of accenting words differently from their ordinary pronunciation, and constantly varying, is a false one. For example, in the passage before us, Malone prints

"And, e'en in kind love, I do conjure thee." The emphasis must here be on kind and con. But read,

"And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee." placing the emphasis on love and jure, and the metre is perfect enough, without such a variation from the common pronunciation. Upon a just metrical system there is no difficulty in such passages. Our opinion is much strengthened by the communication of a friend on this subject; and we therefore omit these arbitrary marks.

10 SCENE VII.-"A true devoted pilgrim."

The comparison which Julia makes between the ardour of her passion, and the enthusiasm of the pilgrim, is exceedingly beautiful. When travelling was a business of considerable danger and personal suffering, the pilgrim, who was not weary

"To traverse kingdoms with his feeble steps," to encounter the perils of a journey to Rome, or Loretto, or Compostella, or Jerusalem, was a person to be looked upon as thoroughly in earnest.

In the time of Shakspere the pilgrimages to the tomb of St. Thomas à Becket, at Canterbury, which Chaucer has rendered immortal, were discontinued; and few, perhaps, undertook the sea voyage to Jerusalem. But the pilgrimage to the shrine of St. James, or St. Jago, the patron-saint of Spain, at Compostella, was undertaken by all classes of Catholics. The house of our Lady at Loretto was, however, the great object of the devotee's vows; and, at particular seasons, there were not fewer than two hundred thousand pilgrims visiting it at once. The Holy House (the Santa Casa) is the house in which the Blessed Virgin is said to have been born, in which she was betrothed to Joseph, and where the annunciation of the Angel was made. It is pretended that it was carried, on the 9th of May, 1291, by supernatural means from Galilee to Tersato, in Dalmatia; and from thence removed, on the 10th of December, 1294, to Italy, where it was deposited in a wood at midnight. The Santa Casa (which now stands within the large church of Loretto) consists of one room, the length of which is 31 feet, the breadth 13 feet, and the height 18 feet. On the ceiling is painted the Assumption of the Virgin Mary; and other paintings once adorned the walls of the apartment. On the west side is the window through which the Angel is said to have entered the house; and facing it, in a niche, is the image of the Virgin and Child, which was once enriched by the offerings of princes and devotees. The mantle, or robe, which she had on was covered with innumerable jewels of inestimable value, and she had a triple crown of gold enriched with pearls and diamonds, given her by Louis XIII. of France. The niche in which the figure stands was adorned with seventy-one large Bohemian topazes, and on the right side of the image is an angel of cast gold, profusely enriched with diamonds and other gems. A great part of these treasures was taken by Pope Pius VII., in order to pay to France the sum extorted by the treaty of Tolentino, in 1797. They have been partially replaced since by new contributors, among whom have been Murat, Eugene Beauharnois, and other members of the Bonaparte family. There are a few relics considered more valuable than the richest jewels that have been

carried away. Notwithstanding the mean appearance of the walls within the Santa Casa, the outside is encased, and adorned with the finest Carrara marble. This work was begun in 1514, in the pontificate of Leo X., and the House of our Lady was consecrated in 1538. The expense of this casing amounted to 50,000 crowns, and the most celebrated sculptors of the age were employed. Bramante was the architect, and Baccio Bandinelli assisted in the sculptures. The whole was com pleted in 1579, in the pontificate of Gregory XIII. The munificent expenditure upon the house of our Lady at Loretto, had, probably, contributed greatly to make the pilgrimage the most attractive in Europe, when Shakspere wrote.

"Habitus variarum Orbis Gentium, 1581;" and the other from a print of the sixteenth century, may be supposed to illustrate the fashion of Shakspere's own time here mentioned.

SCENE I.-Milan. An Ante-room in the Duke's

Palace.

Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS.

Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;

We have some secrets to confer about.

[Exit THURIO. Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would discover,

The law of friendship bids me to conceal :
But, when I call to mind your gracious favours
Done to me, undeserving as I am,
My duty pricks me on to utter that

Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend,
This night intends to steal away your daughter;
Myself am one made privy to the plot.

I know you have determin'd to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
And should she thus be stolen away from you,
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose
To cross my friend in his intended drift,
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
A pack of sorrows, which would press you down,
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.

Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care;

Which to requite, command me while I live.
This love of theirs myself have often seen,

42

Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep;
And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid
Sir Valentine her company, and my court:
But, fearing lest my jealous aim" might err,
And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,
(A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,)
I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find
That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.
And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this,
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,b
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,
The key whereof myself have ever kept;
And thence she cannot be convey'd away.

Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a

mean

How he her chamber-window will ascend,
And with a corded ladder fetch her down;
For which the youthful lover now is gone,
And this way comes he with it presently;
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly,
That my discovery be not aim'd at;

a Aim. Steevens explains this noun as meaning guess. Professor Craik says, "Aim, in old French, eyme, esme, and estme, is the same word as esteem, and should, therefore, signify properly a judgment or conjecture of the mind." Julius Cæsar,'37.

b Suggested-tempted.

Aimed at. Here the word is again stated, both by Steevens and Johnson, to mean, to guess. The common interpretation of aim,-to point at, to level at,-will, however, give the meaning of the passage quite as well. At first sight it might appear that the word aim, which, literally or metaphorically, is ordinarily taken to mean the act of looking towards a definite object with a precise intention, cannot include the random determination of the mind which we imply by the word guess. But we must go a little further. The etymology of both words is somewhat doubtful.

That stays to bear my letters to my friends,
And I am going to deliver them.

Duke. Be they of much import?

Val. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court.

Duke. Nay, then no matter; stay with me a while;

I am to break with thee of some affairs, That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter. Val. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match

Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman

Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter:
Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?

Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward,

Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;
Neither regarding that she is my child,
Nor fearing me as if I were her father:
And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;
And, where I thought the remnant of mine age

Aim is supposed to be derived from æstimare, to weigh attentively; guess, from the Anglo-Saxon wiss-an, wis, to think (See Richardson's Dictionary). Here the separate meanings of the two words almost slide into one and the same. It is certain that in the original and literal use of the word aim, in archery, was meant the act of the mind in considering the various circumstances connected with the flight of the arrow, rather than the mere operation of the sense in pointing at the mark. When Locksley, in Ivanhoe, tells his adversary, "You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert, or that would have been a better shot," he furnishes Hubert with a new element of calculation for his next aim. There is a passage of Bishop Jewell: "He that seethe no marke must shoote by ayme." This certainly does not mean must shoot at random-although it may mean must shoot by guess-must shoot by calculation. To give aim, in archery, was the business of one who stood within view of the butts, to call out how near the arrows fell to the mark,-as " Wide on the bow-hand;-wide on the shaft-hand;-short;-gone." To give aim was, therefore, to give the knowledge of a fact, by which the intention, the aim, of the archer might be better regulated in future. In the fifth Act (4th scene) of this comedy, the passage

"Behold her, that gave aim to all thy oaths," has reference to the aim-giver of the butts.

A Pretence-design.

b Where-whereas.

Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty,
I now am full resolv'd to take a wife,
And turn her out to who will take her in.
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower;
For me and my possessions she esteems not.
Val. What would your grace have me to do
in this ?

Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here,"
Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy,
And nought esteems my aged eloquence :
Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor,
(For long agone I have forgot to court:
Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd ;)
How, and which way, I may bestow myself,
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.

Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words;

Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, More than quick words, do move a woman's mind.

Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.

Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best
contents her:

Send her another; never give her o'er;
For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
If she do frown, 't is not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you:
If she do chide, 't is not to have you gone;
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone.
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say:
For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away;
Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces;
Though ne'er so black, say they have angels'
faces.

That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
Duke. But, she I mean is promis'd by her
friends

Unto a youthful gentleman of worth;
And kept severely from resort of men,
That no man hath access by day to her.

Val. Why then I would resort to her by night.
Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys

kept safe,

That no man hath recourse to her by night.
Val. What lets," but one may enter at her

window?

Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground;

And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life.

Val. Why then, a ladder, quaintly made of cords, a Mr. Dyce prefers Mr. Collier's correction"There is a lady in Milano here." Mr. Halliwell reads, "of Verona." b Lets-hinders.

To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks,
Would serve to scale another Hero's tower,
So bold Leander would adventure it.

Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,
Advise me where I may have such a ladder.
Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell
me that.

Duke. This very night; for love is like a child, That longs for every thing that he can come by. Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder.

Duke. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone; How shall I best convey the ladder thither?

Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it

Under a cloak, that is of any length.

Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn!

Val. Ay, my good lord.

Duke. Then let me see thy cloak: I'll get me one of such another length.

Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.

Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a

cloak ?—

I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.— What letter is this same? What's here ?-To

Silvia?

And here an engine fit for my proceeding!
I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads.

My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly;
And slaves they are to me, that send them flying:
O, could their master come and go as lightly,

Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying.
My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them;
While I, their king, that thither them importune,
Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd
them,

Because myself do want my servants' fortune:

I curse myself, for they are sent by me,

That they should harbour where their lord should be.

What's here ?

Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.

'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose.
Why Phaeton, (for thou art Merops' son,)
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,
And with thy daring folly burn the world?
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee?
Go, base intruder! over-weening slave!
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates;
And think my patience, more than thy desert,
Is privilege for thy departure hence:

Thank me for this, more than for all the favours,
Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee.
But if thou linger in my territories,
Longer than swiftest expedition

Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love
I ever bore my daughter, or thyself.
Be
gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse,
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from
hence.
[Exit DUKE.
Val. And why not death, rather than living
torment ?

To die, is to be banish'd from myself;
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her,
Is self from self: a deadly banishment!
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?
Unless it be to think that she is by,
And feed upon the shadow of perfection.
Except I be by Silvia in the night,
There is no music in the nightingale;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon:
She is my essence; and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom
Tarry I here, I but attend on death;
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.