Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth emmew, Isabella. Oh, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, Thou might'st be freed? Claudio. Oh, heavens! it cannot be. Isabella. Yes, he would give it thee, for this rank offence, So to offend him still: this night's the time That I should do what I abhor to name, Or else thou dy'st to-morrow. Claudio. Thou shalt not do't. Isabella. Oh, were it but my life, I'd throw it down for your deliverance As frankly as a pin. Claudio. Thanks, dear Isabel. Isabella. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. Claudio. Yes.-Has he affections in him, That thus can make him bite the law by the nose? When he would force it, sure it is no sin; Or of the deadly seven it is the least. Isabella. Which is the least? Claudio. If it were damnable, he, being so wise, Why should he for the momentary trick Be perdurably fin'd? Oh, Isabel! Isabella. What says my brother? Claudio. Death is a fearful thing. Isabella. And shamed life a hateful. Claudio. Aye, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; To what we fear of death. Isabella. Alas! alas! Claudio. Sweet sister, let me live: What sin you do to save a brother's life, Nature dispenses with the deed so far, That it becomes a virtue." What adds to the dramatic beauty of this scene and the effect of Claudio's passionate attachment to life is, that it immediately follows the Duke's lecture to him, in the character of the Friar, recommending an absolute indifference to it. "Reason thus with life, If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing, That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences That do this habitation, where thou keep'st, Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool; For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun, And yet run'st toward him still: thou art not noble ; For all the accommodations, that thou bear'st, Are nurs'd by baseness: thou art by no means valiant ; For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get; And what thou hast, forget'st: thou art not certain ; After the moon: if thou t rich, thou art poor; Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, For ending thee no sooner; thou hast nor youth, nor age; But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied eld; and when thou art old, and rich, What's yet in this, To make thy riches pleasant. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR is no doubt a very amusing play, with a great deal of humour, character, and nature in it: but we should have liked it much better, if any one else had been the hero of it, instead of Falstaff. We could have been contented if Shakespear had not been "commanded to shew the knight in love." Wits and philosophers, for the most part, do not shine in that character; and Sir John himself, by no means, comes off with flying colours. Many people complain of the degradation and insults to which Don Quixote is so frequently exposed in his various adventures. But what are the unconscious indignities which he suffers, compared with the sensible mortifications which Falstaff is made to bring upon himself? What And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get; Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, For ending thee no sooner; thou hast nor youth, nor age; But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both for all thy blessed youth : Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied eld; and when thou art old, and rich, What's yet in this, To make thy riches pleasant. |