Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward. Hel. Infpired merit fo by breath is barr'd: s Myself against the level of mine aim; But know I think, and think I know moft fure, King. Art thou fo confident? within what space Hel. The greateft grace lending grace, Hel. Tax of impudence, A ftrumpet's boldness, a divulged fhame " 5 Mfelf against the level of mine aim; i. e, pretend to greater things than befits the mediocrity of my condition. WARBURTON. I rather think that the means to fay, I am not an impoftor that proclaim one thing and defign another, that preclaim a cure and Sear'd Sear'd otherwise, no worse of worst extended; King. Methinks, in thee fome bleffed Spirit doth speak His powerful found, within an organ weak; parently corrupt, and how shall it be rectified? I have no great hope of fuccefs, but fomething must be tried. I read the whole thus, King. What dareft thou venture? Hel. Tax of impudence, A ftrumpet's boldness; a divulged fame, Traduc'd by odious ballads my maiden name; Sear'd otherwife, to worst of worst extended; With vileft torture let my life be ended. When this alteration first came into my mind, I fuppofed Helen to mean thus, First, I venture what is dearest to me, my maiden reputation; but if your diftruft extends my character to the worst of the worst, and fuppofes me feared against the fenfe of infamy, I will add to the ftake of reputation, the stake of life. This certainly is sense,and the language as grammatical as many other Faffages of Shakespeare. Yet we may try another experiment. Fear other wife to worst of worst extended; With vileft torture let my life be ended. That is, let me aft under the greatest terrors poffible. Yet once again we will try to find the right way by the glimmer of Hanmer's emendation, who reads thus, my maiden name And Sear'd; otherwife the worst of worft extended, &c. Perhaps it were better thus, - my maiden name Sear'd; otherwise the worst to worst extended; With vileft torture let my life be ended. Methinks, in thee fome bleffed organ weak;] To Speak a found is a barbarifm: For to Speak fignifies to utter an articulate found, i e. a voice. So ShakeSpeare, in Love's Labour Loft, fays with propriety, And when love fpeaks the voice of all the Gods. To Speak a found therefore is improper, tho' to utter a found is not; because the word utter may be applied either to an articulate or inarticulate. Besides, the conftruction is vicious with the two ablatives, in thee, and, within an organ weak. The lines therefore fhould be thus read and pointed, Methinks, in thee fome bleffed But the Oxford Editor would be It And what impoffibility would flay In common fenfe, fenfe faves another way. That minifters thine own death, if I die. And well deferv'd! Not helping, death's my fee; King. Make thy demand. Hel. But will you make it even? King. Ay, by my fcepter, and my hopes of heaven. Hel. Then fhalt thou give me, with thy kingly hand, What Husband in thy power I will command. Exempted be from me the arrogance To chufe from forth the royal blood of France; It powerful founds within an or gan weak. WARBURT. 8 in thee hath estimate May be counted among the gifts enjoyed by thee. 9 Youth, Beauty, wifom, courage, all] The verfe wants a foot. VIRTUE, by mifchance, has dropt out of the line. WARBURTON. -trime] Youth; the fpring or morning of life. 2 King. Make thy Demand. Hel. But will you make it even? King. Ay, by Scepter and my hopes of help.] The King But could have but a very flight Hope of Help from her, fcarce enough to fwear by: and therefore Helen might fufpect he meant to equivocate with her. Befides, obferve, the greatest Part of the Scene is ftrictly in Rhime and there is no Shadow of Reason why it fhould be interrupted here. I rather imagine the Poet wrote, Ay, by my Scepter, and my Hopes of Heaven. THIRLBY. With any branch or IMAGE of thy flate: Shakespeare unquestionably wrote IMPAGE, grafting. IMPE a graff, or flip, or But fuch a one thy vaffal, whom I know King. Here is my hand, the premises obferv'd, More fhould I question thee, and more I muft; Count. [Exeunt. OME on, Sir; I fhall now put you to the height of your breeding. Clo. I will fhew myself highly fed, and lowly taught; I know, my bufinefs is but to the court. Count. But to the court? why, what place make you special, when you put off that with fuch contempt? But to the court! Clo. Truly, Madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may eafily put it off at court: he that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand, and fay nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and, indeed, fuch a fellow, to fay precisely, were not for the court: but for me, I have an answer will ferve all men. Count. Marry, that's a bountiful anfwer that fits all queftions. Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks; or fucker by which the means Caxton calls our Prince Arthur, one of the fons of France. So that noble IMPE of fame. WARB. the the pin-buttock, the quatch buttock, the brawn-buttock, or any buttock. Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions? Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffaty punk, as Tib's rufh for Tom's fore-finger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a fcolding quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth; nay, as the pudding to his skin. Count. Have you, I fay, an answer of such fitness for all questions? Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your conftable, it will fit any question. Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous fize, that must fit all demands. Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned fhould fpeak truth of it: here it is, and all that belongs to't. Afk me, if I am a courtier ;-it shall do you no harm to learn. Count. To be young again, if we could. I will be a fool in a queftion, hoping to be the wifer by your anfwer. I pray you, Sir, are you a courtier ? Clo. O Lord, Sir there's a fimple putting off-more, more, a hundred of them. Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. Clo. O Lord, Sir-thick, thick, fpare not me. Count. I think, Sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. Clo. O Lord, Sir,rant you. nay, put me to't, I war Count. You were lately whip'd, Sir, as I think. |