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Host. How now? are you fadder than you were

before ?
How do you, man ? the musick likes you not.

Jul. You mistake; the musician likes me not.
Host. Why, my pretty youth?
Jul. He plays false, father.
Host. How? out of tune on the strings?

Jul. Not so; but yet so false, that he grieves my very heart-strings.

Host. You have a quick ear.

Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf! it makes me have a slow heart.

Host. I perceive, you delight not in musick.
Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so.
Host. Hark, what fine change is in the musick!
Jul. Ay; that change is the spite.

Host. You would have them always play but one thing?

Jul. I would always have one play but one thing. But, host, doth this fir Proteus, that we talk on, often resort unto this gentlewoman?

Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me, he loved her out of all nick.

Jul. Where is Launce ?

-out of all nick.) Beyond all reckoning or count. Reckonings are kept upon nicked or notched sticks or tallies.

WARBURTON. So, in A Woman never vex'd, 1632 :

I have carried
“ The tallies at my girdle seven years together,

“ For I did ever love to deal honestly in the nick." As it is an inn-keeper who employs the allufion, it is much in character. STEEVENS, Vol. III.


Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. VAL. A woman sometime scorns what best con.

tents her: Send her another; never give her o'er; For scorn at first makes after-love the more. If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, But rather to beget more love in you : If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ; For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away: Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces ; Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels' faces. That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

[sign. I 2.] written by Stephen Hawes, near a century before those of Shakspeare:

• Forsake her not, though that she saye nay;
" A womans guise is evermore delay.
“ No caftell can be of so great a strength,
“ If that there be a sure liege to it layed,
“ It must yelde up, or els be won at length,
“ Though that 'to-fore it hath bene long delayed ;
“ So continuance may you right well ayde :
“ Some womans harte can not so harded be,

“ But busy labour may make it agree." Another earlier writer than Shakspeare, speaking of women, has also the same unfavourable and, I hope, unfounded) sentiment:

'Tis wisdom to give much; a gift prevails,
“ When deep persuasive oratory fails."

MALONE. that I sent her.] To produce a more accurate rhime, we might read:

that I sent, Sir :" Mr. M. Mason observes that the rhime, which was evidently here intended, requires that we should read~" what best content her.” The word what may imply those which, as well as that which.


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That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit ;
And by and by intend to chide myself,
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.

Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady: But she is dead.

Jul. 'Twere false, if I should speak it; For, I am sure, she is not buried.

[ Afide. Sil. Say, that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend, Survives ; to whom, thyself art witness, I am betroth’d: And art thou not asham'd To wrong

him with thy importúnacy? Pro. I likewise hear, that Valentine is dead.

Sil. And so, suppose, am I; for in his grave ? * Afsure thyself, my love is buried.

Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.

Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call her's thence; Or, at the leaft, in her’s sepulchre thine. JUL. He heard not that.

[ Aside. Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, The picture that is hanging in your

chamber; To that I'll speak, to that I'll figh and weep: For, since the substance of your perfect self Is else devoted, I am but a shadow; And to your shadow will I make true love. Jul. If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, de

ceive it, And make it but a shadow, as I am. [Afide.

Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, fir;

in his grave -] The old copy has her grave. The emendation was made by the editor of the second folio.


I'll get me one of such another length.

VAL. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.

Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?-I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.What letter is this fame? What's here?-To Silvia? And here an engine fit for my proceeding! I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [reads. My thoughts do barbour with my Silvia nightly;

And saves they are to me, that send them flying: O, could their master come and go as lightly,

Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying. My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them;

While I, their king, that thither them importune, Docurse the grace that with such grace bath bless'd them,

Because myself do want my servants' fortune : I curse myself, for they are sent by me, * That they should barbour where their lord should be. What's here? Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee: 'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose.Why, Phaëton, (for thou art Merops' son,)s Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, And with thy daring folly burn the world? Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee? Go, base intruder! over-weening slave!



for they are sent by me,] For is the same as for that, fince.

JOHNSON. Merops' fon,)] Thou art Phaëton in thy rashness, but without his pretensions ; thou art not the son of a divinity, but a terrce filius, a low-born wretch; Merops is thy true father, with whom Phaëton was falsely reproached. Johnson.

This scrap of mythology Shakspeare might have found in the spurious play of K. John, 1591 :

as sometime Phaëton Miftrusting filly Merops for his fire." Or in Robert Greene's Orlando Furioso, 1594:

Why, foolish, hardy, daring, simple groom, • Follower of fond conceited Phaëton," &c. STEEVENS,

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Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates ;
And think, my patience, more than thy desert,
Is privilege for thy departure hence:
Thank me for this, more than for all the favours,
Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee.
But if thou linger in my territories,
Longer than swiftest expedition
Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love
I ever bore my daughter, or thyself.
Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse,
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence.

[Exit Duke. VAL. And why not death, rather than living tor,

To die, is to be banish'd from myself;
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her,
Is self from self; a deadly banishment !
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
What joy is joy, if Şilvia be not by?
And feed upon the Thadow of perfection.

Except I be by Silvia in the night,
There is no mufick in the nightingale;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon:
She is my essence; and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
I Aly not death, to fy his deadly doom :'

6 And feed upon the shadow of perfe&tion.]

Animum picturâ pafcit inani. Virg. HENLEY. 7 I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom :) To fly his dogm, ufed for by flying, or in flying, is a gallicism. The sense is, By avoid


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