When they had tasted of soe sweete a flowre,
Fearing this sweete should shortly turne to sowre,
They cutt her tongue, whereby she could not tell
How that dishonoure unto her befell.

55

Then both her hands they basely cutt off quite,
Whereby their wickednesse she could not write;
Nor with her needle on her sampler sowe
The bloudye workers of her direfull woe.

60

My brother Marcus found her in the wood,

Staining the grassie ground with purple bloud,

That trickled from her stumpes, and bloudlesse armes : Noe tongue at all she had to tell her harmes.

But when I sawe her in that woefull case,

65

With teares of bloud I wet mine aged face;

For

my Lavinia I lamented more

Then for my two and twenty sonnes before.

When as I sawe she could not write ncr speake,

With grief mine aged heart began to breake;

70

We spred an heape of sand upon the ground,
Whereby those bloudy tyrants out we found.

For with a staffe, without the helpe of hand, She writt these wordes upon the plat of sand: "The lustfull sonnes of the proud emperèsse "Are doers of this hateful wickednèsse."

75

I tore

I tore the milk-white hairs from off mine head,
I curst the houre, wherein I first was bred,
I wisht this hand, that fought for countrie's fame,
In cradle rockt, had first been stroken lame.

The moore delighting still in villainy
Did say, to sett my sonnes from prison free
I should unto the king my right hand give,
And then my three imprisoned sonnes should live.

The moore I caus'd to strike it off with speede,
Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed,

But for my sonnes would willingly impart,

And for their ransome send my bleeding heart.

But as my life did linger thus in paine,

80

85

They sent to me my bootlesse hand againe,

90

And therewithal the heades of my three sonnes,

Which filld my dying heart with fresher moanes.

Then past reliefe I upp and downe did goe,
And with my tears writ in the dust my woe:

I shot my arrowes * towards heaven hie,

95

And for revenge to hell did often crye.

If the ballad was written before the play, I should suppose this to be only a metaphorical expression, taken from that in the Psalms, "They shoot out their arrows, even bitter words." Ps. 64. 3.

The

The empresse then, thinking that I was mad,
Like Furies she and both her sonnes were clad,

(She nam'd Revenge, and Rape and Murder they)
To undermine and heare what I would

say.

I fed their foolish veines * a certaine space,
Untill my friendes did find a secret place,
Where both her sonnes unto a post were bound,
And just revenge in cruell sort was found.

I cut their throates, my daughter held the pan
Betwixt her stumpes, wherein the bloud it ran:
And then I ground their bones to powder small,
And made a paste for pyes streight therewithall.

Then with their fleshe I made two mighty pyes,
And at a banquet served in stately wise:
Before the empresse set this loathsome meat;
So of her sonnes own flesh she well did eat.

100

105

110

Myselfe bereav'd my daughter then of life,

The empresse then I slewe with bloudy knife,

And stabb'd the emperour immediatelie,

115

And then myself: even soe did Titus die.

Then this revenge against the moore was found,

Alive they sett him halfe into the ground,
Whereas he stood untill such time he starv'd.

And soe God send all murderers may be serv'd.

120

* i. e. encouraged them in their foolish humours, or fancies.

XIV. TAKE

*

XIV.

TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY.

The first stanza of this little sonnet, which an eminent critic justly admires for its extreme sweetness, is found in Shakespeare's MEASURE FOR MEASURE, act iv. sc. 1. Both the stanzas are preserved in Beaum. and Fletcher's BLOODY BROTHER, act v. sc, 2. Sewel and Gildon have printed it among Shakespeare's smaller poems; but they have done the same by twenty other pieces that were never writ by him, their book being a wretched heap of inaccuracies and mistakes, It is not found in Jaggard's

old edition of Shakespeare's PASSIONATE PILGRIM †, &¤,

TAKE
AKE, oh take those lips away,

That so sweetlye were forsworne;
And those eyes, the breake of day,

Lights, that do misleade the morne :

But my kisses bring againe,

Seales of love, but seal'd in vaine.

Hide, oh hide those hills of snowe,

Which thy frozen bosom beares,
On whose tops the pinkes that growe

Are of those that April wears:
But first set my poor heart free,

Bound in those icy chains by thee.

* Dr. Warburton in his Shakesp.

5

.10

+ Mr. Malone, in his improved edition of Shakespeare's SonNETS & hath substituted this instead of Marlow's Madrigal, printed above; for which he hath assigned reasons, which the Reader may see in his vol, x, p. 340.

XV. KING

XV.

KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS.

The Reader has here an ancient ballad on the subject of KING LEAR, which (as a sensible female critic has well observed*) bears so exact an analogy to the argument of Shakespeare's play, that his having copied it could not be doubted, if it were certain that it was writ ten before the tragedy. Here is found the hint of Lear's madness, which the old chronicles † do not mention, as also the extravagant cruelty exercised on him by his daughters. In the death of Lear they likewise very exactly coincide.-The misfortune is, that there is nothing to assist us in ascertaining the date of the ballad but what little evidence arises from within; this the Reader must weigh, and judge for himself.

It may be proper to observe, that Shakespeare was not the first of our Dramatic Poets who fitted the Story of LEIR to the Stage. His first 4to edition is dated 1608; but three years before that had been printed a play enti"tled The true Chronicle History of Leir and his three "daughters Gonorill, Ragan, and Cordella, as it hath "been divers and sundry times lately acted, 1605, 4to." -This is a very poor and dull performance, but happily excited Shakespeare to undertake the subject, which he has given with very different incidents. It is remarkable, that neither the circumstances of Leir's madness, nor his

* Mrs. Lennox. Shakespeare illustrated, vol. iii. p. 302. + See Jeffery of Monmouth, Holingshed, &c. who relate Leir's history in many respects the same as the ballad.

retinue