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Thou offer'ft fairly to thy brother's wedding;
To one, his lands with-held; and to the other,
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
Firft, in this forest, let us do those ends
That here were well begun, and well bogot:
And, after, every of this happy number,
That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us,
Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
According to the measure of their states.
Mean time forget this new-fall'n dignity,
And fall into our rustick revelry :
Play, musick; and you brides and bridegrooms all,
With measure heap'd in joy, to th' measures fall.

JAQ. Sir, by your patience : if I heard you rightly,
The duke hath put on a religious life,
And thrown into neglect the pompous court.

JAQ. DE B. He hath.

JAQ. To him will I : out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn’d. You to your former honour I bequeath. : [To the duke. Your patience and your virtue well deserve it. You to a love, that your true faith doth merit; [To Orla. You to your land, and love, and great allies; (To Oli, You to a long and well-deserved bed;

[To Silv. And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage [To the Clo. Is but for two months victuall'd-fo to your pleasures; I am for oth r than for dancing measures.

Duke sen. Stay, Jaques, stay.

JAQ. To see no pastime, I-what you would have,. I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave.

[Exit. Duke sen. Proceed, proceed; we will begin these rites; As, we do trust, they'll end in true delights.

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Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the Epilogue ; but it is no more unhandsome, than to see the lord the Prologue. If it be true, that “ good wine needs no bush,” 'tis true, that a good play needs no epilogue. Yet to good wine they do use good bushes : and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor can insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play? I am not furnish'a like a beggar; therefore to beg will not become me. My way is to conjure you, and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear the men, to like as much of this play as pleases you : and I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women (as I perceive by your fimpring, none of you hate them) that between you and the women, the play may please. If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleas'd me, complexions that lik'd me, and breaths that I defy'd not : and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will for my kind offer, when I make curt'sy bid me farewel.

[Exeunt omnes,

Ο Ν Τ Η Ε TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

Tbe Reader to find the Line referred to, muft reckon the Lines of tbe Text only, beginning at the Top of the Page, and omit. ting all Lines relating to the Entry of Characters, &c.

The Notes not in Dr. Johnson's Edition are marked with

an Afterisk (*] thus.

TULIA's love-adventures being in some respects the J same with those of Viola in “ Twelfth Night,” the fame novel might give rise to them both; and Valentine's falling amongst out-laws, and becoming their captain, is an incident that has some resemblance to one in the “ Arcadia,” (Book 1, Chap. 6) where Pyrocles beads the Hetots: all the other circuinstances which constitute the fable of this play, are, probably, of the Poet's own invention.

CAPELL.* It is observable (I know not for what cause) that the stile of this comedy is less figurative, and more natural and unaffected than the greater part of this Author's, tho' fuppofed to be one of the first he wrote.

POPE. It may very well be doubted, whether Shakespear had any other hand in this play than the enlivening it with some Speeches and lines thrown in here and there, which are eafily distinguished as being of a different stamp from the rest.

HANMER. To the observation of Mr. Pope, which is very just, Mr. Theobald has added, that this is one of Shakespear's “ worst plays, and is less corrupted than any other," Mr. Upton peremptorily determines, « that if any proof can be drawn from manner and stile, this play must be sent packing and feek for its parent elsewhere. How otherwise, says he, do painters distinguish copies from originals, and have not auThors cheir peculiar ftile and manner from which a true cri.

tick can form as unerring a judgment as a Painter ?” I am afraid this illustration of a critick's science will not prove what is defired. A Painter knows a copy from an original by rules somewhat resembling those by which criticks know a translation, which if it be literal, and literal it muft be to resemble the copy of a picture, will be easily diftinguished. Copies are known from originals even when the painter copies his own picture; so if an author should literally tranNate his work he would lose the manner of an original.

Mr. Upton confounds the copy of a picture with the imitation of a painter's manner. Copies are easily known, but good imitations are not detected with equal certainty, and are, by the best judges, often miftaken. Nor is it true that the writer has always peculiarities equally distinguishable with those of the painter. The peculiar manner of each arises from the desire, natural to every performer, of facilitating his subsequent works by recurrence to his former ideas; this recurrence produces that repetition which is called habit. The painter, whose work is partly intelleclual and partly manual, has habits of the mind, the eye and the hand, the writer has only habits of the mind. Yet, some painters have differed as much from themselves as from any other; and I have been told, that there is little resemblance between the first works of Raphael and the last. The same variation may be expected in writers; and if it be true, as it seems, that they are less subject to habit, the difference between their works may be yet greater.

But by the internal marks of a compofition we may dir. cover the author with probability, though seldom with certainty. When I read this play I cannot but think that I discover both in the serious and ludicrous scenes, the language and sentiments of Shakespear. It is not indeed one of his most powerful effusions, it has neither many diversities of character, nor striking delineations of life, but it abounds in qwuàs beyond most of his plays, and few have more lines or passages which, fingly considered, are eminently beautiful. I am yet inclined to believe that it was not very successful, and suspect that it has escaped corruption, only because being seldom played it was less exposed to the hazards of tranfcription.

JOHNSON,

P. 161. L. 8. - papeless idleness] The expression is fine, as implying that idleness prevents the giving any form or character to the manners.

WARB. P. 162. Lines 5 to 13, inclusive, rejected by HANM.*

L. II. ~ nay, give me not the Boots] A proverbial Expression, tho' now disused, signifying, don't make a laughing Stock of me; don't play upon me. The French have a Phrase, Bailler foin en Corne; which Cotgrave thus interprets, To give one the Boots; to sell him a Bargain. THEOB.

L, 19. Horvever, but a folly] This love will end in 'a foolis action, to produce which you are long to spend your · wit, or it will end in the loss of your wit, which will be over-powered by the folly of love.

JOHNS. P. 163. L. 22. Made wit with musing weak] For made read make. Tkou, Julia, bast made me war with good counsel, and make wit weak with mufing.

JOHNS. Ibid. This whole Scene, like many others in these plays (some of which I believe were written by Shakespear, and others interpolated by the players) is composed of the lowest and most trifiing conceits, to be accounted for only from the gross taste of the age he lived in ; Populo ut placerent. I wish I had authority to leave them out; but I have done all I could, fet a mark of reprobation upon them throughout this

POPE. Ibid.] That this, like many other Scenes, is mean and vulgar, will be universally allowed; but that it was interpolated by the players seems advanced without any proof, only to give a greater licence to criticism.

Johns, P. 164. L. 20. I, a lost Mutton, gave your letter to ber, a lac'd Mutton;] Speed calls himself a lojî Mutton, because he had lost his Master, and because Protheus had been proving him a Sheep. But why does he call the Lady a lacd Mution? Wenchers are to this Day called Murton-mongers : and cone fequently the Object of their Paffion mus, by the Metaphor, be the Mutton. . And Cotgrave, in his English-French Dictionary, explains lac'd Mutton, Une Garfe, putain, fille de

Foye. And Mr. Motteux has rendered this Passage of Rabe. lais, in the Prologue of his fourth Book, Cailles coipbees mig Honnement chantans, in this manner; Coated Quails ar.d laced

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