And I a maid at your window, to be your Valentine. Then up be rofe, and don'd his cloaths, and dupt the chamberdoor; Let in the maid, that out a maid never departed more. Oph. Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end on't. Alack, and fie for fhame, Young men will do't, if they come tot, Quoth fhe, before you tumbled me, You promis'd me to wed: So would I ba' done, by yonder fun, And thou hadst not come to my bed. King. How long hath the been thus? 1 Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be patient; but I cannot chufe but weep, to think, they fhould lay him i'th' cold ground; my brother fhall know of it, and fo I thank you for your good counfel. Come, my coach; good night, ladies; good night, fweet ladies; good night, good night. [Exit. King. Follow her clofe, give her good watch, I pray [Exit Horatio. you; ༢།། This is the poifon of deep grief; it fprings Divided from her felf, and her fair judgment; Will nothing stick our perfons to arraign Queen. Alack! what Noife is this? Enter a Meffenger. [A Noife within. King. Where are my Switzers? let them guard the door. What is the matter? Mef. Save your felf, my lord. The ocean, over-peering of his lift, Eats not the flats with more impetuous hafte, O'er-bears your officers; the rabble call him lord, The ratifiers and props of every Ward; (60) Queen. How chearfully on the falfe trail they cry! [Noife within. Enter Laertes, with a Party at the Door. King. The doors are broke. Laer. Where is this King? Sirs! ftand you Laer. I pray you, give me leave. all without. (60) The Ratifiers and Props of ev'ry Word;] The whole Tenour of the Context is fufficient to fhew, that this is a mistaken Reading. What can Antiquity and Cuftom, being the Props of Words, have to do with the Business in hand? Or what Idea is convey'd by it? Certainly, the Poet wrote; The Ratifiers and Props of ev'ry Ward; The Meffenger is complaining, that the riotous Head had over-born the King's Officers, and then fubjoins, that Antiquity and Custom were for got, which were the Ratifiers and Props of every Ward, i. e. of every one of thofe Securities that Nature and Law place about the Perfon of a King. All this is rational and confequential. Mr. Warburtons All. All. We will, we will. Laer. I thank you; keep the door. O thou vile King, give me my father. Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. [Exeunt. Laer. That drop of blood that's calm, proclaims me baftard; Crys cuckold to my father; brands the harlot Even here, between the chafte and unfmirch'd brow King. What is the caufe, Laertes, That thy Rebellion looks fo giant-like? Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our perfon: Why are you thus incenft? Let him go, Gertrude Speak, man. Laer. Where is my father? King. Dead. Queen. But not by him. King. Let him demand his fill. Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with: To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackeft devil! (61) Confcience and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation; to this point I stand, 1 (61) To Hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackeft Devil!] Laertes is a good Character; But he is here in actual Rebellion. Leaft, therefore, this Character fhould feem to fanctify Rebellion, inftead of putting into his Mouth a reasonable Defence of his Proceedings, fuch as the Right the Subject has of shaking off Oppreffion, the Ufurpation, and the Tyranny of the King, &c. Shakespeare gives him Nothing but abfurd and blafphemous Sentiments: fuch as tend, only to inspire the Audience with Horror at the Action. This Conduct is exceeding nice. Where. his Agents Plays, a Circumftance of Rebellion is founded on Hiftory, or the of it infamous in their Characters, there was no Danger in the Reprefentation: But as here, where the Circumftance is fictitious, and the Agent honourable, he could not be too cautious. For the Jealoufie of the Two Reigns, he wrote in, would not difpenfe with lefs Exactnefs. Mr. Warburton. 3 9 King. King. Who fhall stay you? Laer. My will, not all the world And for my means, I'll husband them fo well, King. Good Laertes, If you defire to know the certainty. Of dear father, is't writ in your revenge, Laer. None but his enemies. King. Will you know them then? Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms, And, like the kind life-rendring pelican, Repaft them with my blood. King. Why, now you fpeak Like a good child, and a true gentleman. As day does to your eye. [A Noife within, Let her come in. Enter Ophelia fantastically dreft with straws and flowers. O heav'ns, is't poffible a young maid's wits (62) Nature is fine in Love,] Mr. Pope feems puzzled at this Paffage, and therefore in both his Editions fubjoins this Conjecture, Perhaps, fays He, Nature is fire in love, and where tis fire, I own, this Conjecture to me imparts no Satisfactory Idea. Nature is fuppos'd to be the Fire, and to furnish the Incenfe too: Had Love been fuppos'd It fends fome precious inftance of it felf Oph. They bore him bare-fac'd on the bier, Laer. Hadft thou thy wits, and didft perfwade Re venge, It could not move thus. Oph. You must fing, down a-down, and you call him a-down-a. O how the wheel becomes it! it is the falfe fteward that ftole his master's daughter. Laer. This nothing's more than matter. Oph. There's rofemary, that's for remembrance; pray, love, remember; and there's pancies, that's for thoughts. Laer. A document in madnefs, thoughts and remembrance fitted. fuppos'd the Fire, and Nature fent out the Incenfe, I fhould more readily have been reconcil'd to the Sentiment. But no Change, in my Opinion, is neceffary to the Text; I conceive, that This might be the Poet's Meaning. "In the Paffion of Love, Nature becomes more exquifite "of Senfation, is more delicate and refin'd; that is, Natural Affection, "rais'd and fublim'd into a Love-Paffion, becomes more inflamed and "intense than usual; and where it is fo, as People in Love generally fend " what they have of most valuable after their Lovers; fo poor Ophelia "has fent her moft precious Senfes after the Object of her inflamed Af"fection." If I mistake not, our Poet has play'd with this Thought, of the Powers being refin'd by the Paffions, in feveral other of his Plays. His Clown, in As you like it, feems fenfible of this Refinement; but, talking in his own Way, interprets it a fort of Frantickness. We, that are true Lovers, run into ftrange Capers; but as All is mortal in Nature, fo is all Nature in Love mortal in Folly. Again, in Troilus and Creffida, the latter expreffes herself concerning Grief, exactly as Laertes does here of Nature. The Grief is fine, full, perfect, that 1 tafte; But Jago, in Othello, delivers himself much more directly to the_Purpofe of the Sentiment here before us. Gome hither, if thou beeft valiant; as they fay, bafe Men, bave then a Nobility in their Natures more than is nativing in Love, them. Oph. |