p. 361, edit. 1807, has noticed a passage in Gower's story, full of imagination. The poet is speaking of Medea going out upon the business noticed by Shakspeare: Thus it fell upon a night, When there was nought but starrie light, She was vanish'd right as she list, (12) There's not the smallest orb. The "warbler of wood-notes wild" has here manifestly joined with Plato and other learned spirits to suggest to Milton his own account of the Music of the Spheres, which every reader of taste, I think, must agree with Mr. Knight in thinking "less perfect in sentiment and harmony."-Pictorial Shakspeare, vol. ii. p. 448. The best thing in it is what is observed by Warton: that the listening to the spheres is the recreation of the Genius of the Wood (the speaker) after his day's duty, "when the world is locked up in sleep and silence." Then listen I To the celestial Sirens' harmony, That sit upon the nine infolded spheres, And sing to those that hold the vital shears, * Glode, is glided. If Chaucer's contemporary had written often thus, his name would have been as famous. And turn the adamantine spindle round, And keep unsteady Nature in her law, Arcades, v. 62. The best account I remember to have read of the Music of the Spheres is in the History of Music by Hawkins. (13) Dear lady, welcome home. Never was a sweeter or more fitting and bridal elegance than in the whole of this scene, in which gladness and seriousness prettily struggle, each alternately yielding predominance to the other. The lovers are at once in heaven and earth. The new bride is "drawn home" with the soul of love in the shape of music; and to keep her giddy spirits down, she preached that little womanly sermon upon a good deed shining in a "naughty world." The whole play is, in one sense of the word, the most picturesque in feeling of all Shakspeare's. The sharp and malignant beard of the Jew (himself not unreconciled to us by the affections) comes harmlessly against the soft cheek of love. ANTONY AND THE CLOUDS. Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me? Eros. Ay, noble lord. Ant. Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish : A vapour sometime like a bear, or lion, A tower'd citadel, a pendent rock, A forked mountain, or blue promontory, With trees upon't that nod unto the world, And mock our eyes with air; thou hast seen these signs; Eros. Ay, my lord. Ant. That which is now a horse, even with a thought The rack dislimns; and makes it indistinct, As water is in water. Eros. It does, my lord. Ant. My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is Even such a body:-here I am,—Antony— Yet cannot hold this visible shape. YOUNG WARRIORS. Hotspur. My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul! Sir Richard Vernon. Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord. The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, Is marching hitherwards; with him, Prince John. Hot. No harm: What more? Ver. And further, I have learn'd,The king himself in person is set forth, Or hitherwards intended speedily, With strong and mighty preparation. Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, The nimble-footed mad-cap Prince of Wales, Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms, All plum'd like estridges that wing the wind: As full of spirit as the month of May And witch the world with noble horsemanship. Hot. No more, no more; worse than the sun in March, This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come; They come like sacrifices in their trim, And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war, And yet not ours :-Come, let me take my horse, Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales; Harry to Harry shall, hot (query not?) horse to horse, (1⁄4) (14) Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse. I cannot help thinking that the word hot in this line ought to be not. "Hot horse to horse" is not very obvious mode of speech, and it is too obvious an image. The horses undoubtedly would be hot enough. But does not Hotspur mean to say that the usual shock of horses will not be sufficient for the extremity of his encounter with the Prince of Wales ?-their own bodies are to be dashed together, and not merely the horses: Harry to Harry shall, not horse to horse: so closely does he intend that their combat shall hug. IMOGEN IN BED. (FROM CYMBELINE.) (Iachimo, dared by Imogen's husband to make trial of her fidelity, hides in her chamber in order to bring away pretended proofs against it.) Imo. (reading in bed.) Who's there? my woman Helen? Imo. What hour is it? Lady. Almost midnight, madam. Imo. I have read three hours then: mine eyes are weak Fold down the leaf where I have left :-to bed: Take not away the taper; leave it burning; I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly. To your protection I commend me, gods! [Exit Lady. [Sleeps. IACHIMO, from the trunk. Iach. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense Repairs itself by rest: our Tarquin thus Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd The chastity he wounded.-Cytherea, How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lily! And whiter than the sheets! that I might touch! |