Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the
quick,

Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury,
Do
take part: the rarer action is

In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent,
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend

Not a frown further: Go, release them, Ariel;
My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore,
And they shall be themselves.

Ari.
I'll fetch them, sir. [Exit.
Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes,
and groves';

And ye, that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him
When he comes back; you demy-puppets, that
By moon-shine do the green-sour ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pas-
time

Is to make midnight-mushrooms; that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid
(Weak masters though you be3) I have be-dimm'd
The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault
Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak
With his own bolt: the strong-bas'd promontory
Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck'd up
The pine, and cedar: graves, at my command,
Have wak'd their sleepers; op'd and let them forth,
By my so potent art: But this rough magic
I here abjure: and, when I have requir'd
Some heavenly music, (which even now I do,)
To work mine end upon their senses, that
This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And, deeper than did ever plummet sound,
I'll drown my book.
[Solemn music.

Will shortly fill the reasonable shores,
That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them,
That yet looks on me, or would know me :-Ariel,
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell;

[Exit ARIEL.

I will dis-case me, and myself present,
As I was sometime Milan:-quickly, spirit;
Thou shalt ere long be free.

ARIEL re-enters, singing, and helps to attire
PROSPERO.

Ari. Where the bee sucks, there suck I;
In a cowslip's bell I lie:

There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly,
After summer, merrily:

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. Pro. Why, that's my dainty Ariel; I shall miss thee;

But yet thou shalt have freedom: so, so, so-
To the king's ship, invisible as thou art:
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep
Under the hatches; the master, and the boatswain,
Being awake, enforce them to this place;
And presently, I pr'ythee.

Ari. I drink the air before me and return
Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit ARIEL.
Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amaze

Behold, sir king,
The wronged duke of Milan, Prospero :
For more assurance that a living prince
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body;
And to thee and thy company, I bid
A hearty welcome."
Alon.

I

Re-enter ARIEL: after him, ALONSO, with a fran-Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, Whe'r thou beest he, or no tic gesture, attended by GONZALO SEBASTIAN As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse and ANTONIO in like manner, attended by ADRIAN Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee, and FRANCISCO: They all enter the circle which The affliction of my mind amends, with which, PROSPERO had made, and there stand charmed; fear, a madness held me: this must crave. which PROSPERO observing, speaks. (An if this be at all) a most strange story. Thy dukedom I resign; and do entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs:-But how should Prospero Be living, and be here?

A solemn air, and the best comforter
To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains,

Now useless, boil'd within thy skull! There
stand,

For you are spell-stopp'd.

Holy Gonzalo, honourable man,

Mine eyes, even sociable to the shew of thine,
Fall fellowly drops.-The charm dissolves apace;
And as the morning steals upon the night,
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
Their clearer reason.-O my good Gonzalo,
My true preserver, and a loyal sir

To him thou follow'st; I will pay thy graces
Home, both in word and deed. Most cruelly
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act;-
Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, Sebastian.-Flesh and
blood,

You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition,
Expell'd remorse and nature; who with Sebas-

tian

(Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,)
Would here have kill'd your king; I do forgive
thee,

Unnatural though thou art !-Their understanding
Begins to swell; and the approaching tide

1 This speech is in some measure borrowed from Medea's, in Ovid; the expressions are, many of them in the old translation by Golding. But the exquisite fairy imagery is Shakspeare's own.

2 That is; ye are powerful auxiliaries, but weak if left to yourselves. Your employments are of the trivial nature before mentioned.

3 So in Mids. Night's Dream

"Lovers and madmen have such seething brains." 4 Remorse is pity, tenderness of heart; nature is natural affection.

5 This was the received opinion so in Fairfax's 1asso, B. iv St. 18.

Pro.

First, noble friend,

Seb.
The devil speaks in him. [Aside
Pro.
No:-
For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive
Thy rankest fault; all of them; and require
My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know,
Thou must restore.

Alon.

If thou beest Prospero,
Give us particulars of thy preservation:
How thou hast met us here, who three hours since"

"The goblins, fairies, fiends, and furies mad,
Ranged in flowrie dales, and mountaines hore,
And under every trembling leaf they sit,"
6 Whether.

7 Subtilties are quaint deceptive inventions; the word is common to ancient cookery, in which a disguised or ornamented dish is so termed.

8 The unity of time is most rigidly observed in this piece. The fable scarcely takes up a greater number of hours than are employed in the representation. Mr. Steevens thinks that Shakspeare purposely designed to show the cavillers of the time, that he too could write a play within all the strictest laws of regularity.

Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have lost
(How sharp the point of this remembrance is!)
My dear son Ferdinand.
Pro.

Alon. Irreparable is the
Bays, it is past her cure.
Pro.

I am woe' for't, sir.

loss; and Patience

I rather think,

Sir, she's mortal;

Fer.
But, by immortal Providence, she's mine;
chose her, when I could not ask my father
For his advice; nor thought I had one: she
Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan,
Of whom so often I have heard renown,
But never saw before; of whom I have

This lady makes him to me.
I am her's:
You have not sought her help; of whose soft grace, Received a second life, and second father
Alon.
For the like loss, I have her sovereign aid,
But O, how oddly will it sound, that I
Must ask my child forgiveness!

And rest myself content.

Alon.

You the like loss?

Pro. As great to me, as late; and portable2
To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker
Than you may call to comfort you; for I
Have lost my daughter.

Alon.

A daughter?

O heavens! that they were living both in Naples,
The king and queen there! that they were, I wish
Myself were mudded in that oozy bed
Where my son lies. When did you lose your
daughter?

Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords
At this encounter do so much admire,
That they devour their reason; and scarce think
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words
Are natural breath: but, howsoe'er you have
Been justled from your senses, know for certain,
duke
very
That I am Prospero, and that
Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely
Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was
landed,

To be the lord on't. No more yet of this;
For 'tis a chronicle of day by day,

Not a relation for a breakfast, nor
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir;

This cell's my court: here have I few attendants,
And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in.
My dukedom, since you have given me again,
I will requite you with as good a thing;
At least, bring forth a wonder, to content ye,
As much as me my dukedom.

Pro.

There, sir, stop:

Let us not burden our remembrances
With heaviness that's gone.

Gon.

I have inly wept,

gods,
Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you

And on this couple drop a blessed crown;
Which brought us hither!
For it is you, that have chalk'd forth the way

I say, Amen, Gonzalo
Alon.
Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his
issue

Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice
Beyond a common joy: and set it down
With gold on lasting pillars: In one voyage
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis;
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife
ourselves,
us,
Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom,
In a poor isle; and all of
When no man was his own.
Alon.

Give me your hands:
[To FER. and MIRA.

Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart,
That doth not wish you joy!

Gon.

Be't so! Amen!

Re-enter ARIEL, with the Master and Boatswain
amazedly following.

O look, sir, look, sir; here are more of us!
I prophesied, if a gallows were on land,
FER-This fellow could not drown :-Now, blasphemy,
That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on

The entrance of the Cell opens, and discovers
DINAND and MIRANDA playing at chess.
Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false.
No, my dearest love,
Fer.

I would not for the world.

Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should
wrangle,3

And I would call it fair play.

Alon.

If this prove
A vision of the island, one dear son
Shall I twice lose.

A most high miracle!

Seb.
Fer. Though the seas threaten, they are merci-
ful:

I have curs'd them without cause.

[FER. kneels to ALON. Now all the blessings

Alon.
Of a glad father compass thee about!
Arise, and say how thou cam'st here.

O! wonder!
Mira.
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in't!
Pro.
Alon. What is this maid, with whom thou wast
at play?

"Tis new to thee.

Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours:
Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us,
And brought us thus together?

1 I am sorry for it.

2 Bearable.

shore?

Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news?
Boats. The best news is, that we have safely

found

Our king, and company: the next our ship,
Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split,-
Is tight and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when
We first put out to sea.

Ari.

Sir, all this service
Have I done since I went.

[Aside

My tricksy spirit!

they

strengthen,

Pro.
Alon. These are not natural events;

From strange to stranger:-Say, how came you
hither?

Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake,
I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep,
And (how, we know not,) all clapp'd under hatches,
Where, but even now, with strange and several

noises

Of roaring, shrieking, howling, gingling chains,
And more diversity of sounds, all horrible,
We were awak'd; straightway at liberty:
Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld
Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master
Cap'ring to eye her: On a trice, so please you,
Even in a dream, were we divided from them,
And were brought moping hither.

3 Mr. Pye says, I conceive Shakspeare, who was no expressive and most appropriate. To wrangle, in the
nice weigher of words, meant wrangling to be equiva-language of his time, was to haft or overthwurt; to run
lent with playing false, or with unfair advantage. So in back and yet not cease to contend.
Henry V. the king, in allusion to the tennis balls, directs
the ambassadors to tell the dauphin-

"He hath made a match with such a wrangler,
That all the courts of France shall be disturb'd'
With chases."

Mr. Pye's explanation is correct; but his deduction
that Shakspeare was "no nice weigher of vords" is
totally false. Shakspeare's words are always the most

[Aside.

be free.
Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men
trod:

And there is in this business more than nature
Was ever conduct' of: some oracle
Must rectify our knowledge.

Pro.

Sir, my liege,
Do not infest your mind with beating on
The strangeness of this business: at pick'd leisure,
Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you
(Which to you shall seem probable3) of every
These happen'd accidents: till when, be cheerful,
And think of each thing well.-Come hither, spirit;
[Aside.

How fares my

Set Caliban and his companions free:
Untie the spell. [Exit ARIEL.]
gracious sir?

There are yet missing of your company
Some few odd lads, that you remember not.

Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STEPHANO,
and TRINCULO, in their stolen apparel.

And worship this dull fool!
Pro.

Go to; away!

Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where
you found it.
Seb. Or stole it, rather.

[Exeunt CAL. STE. and TIN.
Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train
To my poor cell: where you shall take your rest
For this one night; which (part of it) I'll waste
With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it
Go quick away: the story of my life,
And the particular accidents, gone by,
Since I came to this isle: And in the morn,
I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,
Where I have hope to see the nuptial
Of these our dear-belov'd solemnized;
And thence retire me to my Milan, where
Every third thought shall be my grave.
Alon.

I long
To hear the story of your life, which must
Take the ear strangely.
I'll deliver all;

Pro.

And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales,
And sail so expeditious, that shall catch
Your royal fleet far off.-My Ariel,-chick,-
Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no That is thy charge; then to the elements

man take care for himself; for all is but fortune:-Be free, and fare thou well!-side.] Please you, Coragio, bully-monster, Coragio!

Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my

head, here's a goodly sight.

Cal. O Setebos, these be brave spirits, indeed!

How fine my master is! I am afraid

He will chastise me.

Seb.

Ha, ha;

What things are these, my lord Antonio!

Will money buy them?

Ant.

Very like; one of them

Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable.

Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my

lords,
Then say, if they be true:-This mis-shapen
knave,

His mother was a witch; and one so strong
That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,
And deal in her command, without her power: 5
These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil
(For he's a bastard one) had plotted with them
To take my life: two of these fellows you
Must know, and own; this thing of darkness I
Acknowledge mine.

Cal.

I shall be pinch'd to death.
Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?
Seb. He is drunk now: Where had he wine?
Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: Where

should they

Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them ?-
How cam'st thou in this pickle?

Trin. I have been in such a pickle, since I saw you last, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing.

Seb. Why, how now, Stephano?

draw near.

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY PROSPERO.

Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own,
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
I must be here confin'd by you,
Or sent to Naples: Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got,
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island, by your spell;
But release me from my bands,
With the help of your good hands,"
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please: Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant ;
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be reliev'd by prayer;
Which pierces so, that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.

[Exeunt.

As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.

[It is observed of The Tempest, that its plan is regu lar; this the author of The Revisal thinks, what I think too, an accidental effect of the story, not intended or regarded by our author. But whatever might be Shak speare's intention in forming or adopting the plot, he has

Ste. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a made it instrumental to the production of many charac

cramp.

on.

Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah?
Ste. I should have been a sore one then.
Alon. This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd
[Pointing to CALIBAN.
Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners,
cell;
As in his shape :-Go, sirrah, to my
Take with you your companions; as you look
To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.

Cal. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter,
And seek for grace: What a thrice double ass
Was I, to take this drunkard for a god,

ters, diversified with boundless invention, and preserved
with profound skill in nature, extensive knowledge of
opinions, and accurate observation of life, In a single
drama are here exhibited princes, courtiers, and sailors,
There is the
all speaking in their real characters.
agency of airy spirits, and of an earthly goblin. The
operations of magic, the tumults of a storm, the adven-
tures of a desert island, the native effusion of untaught
affection, the punishment of guilt, and the final happi
ness of the pair for whom our passions and reason are
JOHNSON.
equally interested.]

5 That is, work the same effects as the moon without her delegated authority.

6 The allusion is to the elixir of the Alchemists. The phrase of being gilded was a trite one for being drunk. Fletcher uses it in the Chances :

Duke. Is she not drunk too?

Wh. A little gilded o'er, sir; old sack, old boys. 7 By your applause. Noise was supposed to dissolve

I have explained to you, then these strange events shall a spell. Thus before in this play :seem more probable than they do now."

4 Honest.

Hush! be mute;
Or else our spell is marr'd."

t

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

THIS is one of Shakspeare's earliest if not his first play. It was not printed until 1623, but it is mentioned by Meres in his Wit's Treasury, printed in 1599. It bears strong internal marks of an early composition. Pope has observed, that "the style of this comedy is less figurative, and more natural and unaffected than the greater part of Shakspeare's, though supposed to be one of the first he wrote." Malone is inclined to consider this to be in consequence of that very circumstance, and that it is natural and unaffected because it was a youthful performance. "Though many young poets of ordinary talents are led by false taste to adopt inflated and figurative language, why should we suppose that such should have been the course pursued by this mas. ter genius? The figurative style of Othello, Lear, and Macbeth, written when he was an established and long practised dramatist, may be ascribed to the additional knowledge of men and things which he had acquired during a period of fifteen years; in consequence of which his mind teemed with images and illustrations, and thoughts crowded so fast upon him, that the construction, in these and some other plays of a still later period, is much more difficult and involved than in the productions of his youth."

condemned for adopting a mode of writing admired by his contemporaries; they were not considered low and trifling in Shakspeare's age, but on the contrary were very generally admired and allowed for pure and ge neine wit. Yet some of these scenes have much farcical drollery and invention: that of Launce with his dog in the fourth act is an instance, and surely "Speed's mode of proving his master to be in love is neither deficient in wit or sense."

"The tender scenes in this play, though not so highly wrought as in some others, have often much sweetness of sentiment and expression." Schlegel says: "it is as if the world was obliged to accommodate itself to a transient youthful caprice, called love." Julia may be considered a light sketch of the lovely characters of Viola and Imogen. Her answer to Lucetta's advice against following her lover in disguise has been pointed out as a beautiful and highly poetical passage.

"That it should ever have been a question whether this comedy were the genuine and entire composition of Shakspeare appears to me very extraordinary," says Malone. "Hanmer and Upton never seem to have considered whether it were his first or one of his latest pieces:-is no allowance to be made for the first flights of a young poet? nothing for the imitation of a preceding celebrated dramatist, which in some of the lower dialogues of this comedy (and these only) may, I think, be traced? But even these, as well as the other parts of the play, are perfectly Shakspearian (1 do not say as finished and beautiful as any of his other pieces ;) and the same judgment must, I conceive, be pronounced concerning the Comedy of Errors and Love's Labour's Lost, by every person who is intimately acquainted with his manner of writing and thinking."

Hanmer thought Shakspeare had no other hand in this play than the enlivening it with some speeches and lines, which, he thinks, are easily distinguished from the rest. Upton peremptorily asserts, "that if any proof can be drawn from manner and style, this play must be sent packing, and seek for its parent elsewhere." "How otherwise," says he, "do painters distinguish copies from originals, and have not authors their peculiar style and manner, from which a true critic can form as unerring judgment as a painter?" To this Johnson replies very satisfactorily: "I am afraid this illustration of a critic's science will not prove what is desired. A painter knows a copy from an original by rules somewhat resembling those by which critics know a translation, which, if it be literal, and literal it must be to resemble the copy of a picture, will be easily distinguished. Copies are known from originals, even when a painter copies his own picture; so if an author should literally translate his work, he would lose the manner of an original. 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 mistaken. 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 work by recurrence to his former ideas; this recurrence produces that repetition which is called habit. The painter, whose work is partly intellectual and partly manual, has habits of the mind, the eye, and the hand; the writer has only habits of the mind. Some of the incidents in this play may be sup Yet some painters have differed as much from them-posed to have been taken from The Arcadia, book 1. selves 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 composition we may discover the author with probability, though seldom with certainty. When I read this play, I cannot but think that I find both in the serious and ludicrous scenes, the language and sentiments of Shakspeare. It is not indeed one of his most powerful effusions; it has neither many diversities of character, nor striking delineation of life, but it abounds in yvopai beyond most of his plays, and few have more lines or passages which, singly considered, are eminently beautiful. 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 transcription."

I

Pope has set what he calls a mark of reprobation upon the low and trifling conceits which are to be found in this play. It is true that the familiar scenes abound with quibbles and conceits; but the poet must not be

Sir William Blackstone observes, "that oue of the great faults of the Two Gentlemen of Verona is the hastening too abruptly, and without preparation, to the denouement, which shows that it was one of Shakspeare's very early performances." Dr. Johnson in his concluding observations has remarked upon the geogra phical errors. They cannot be defended by attributing them to his youthful inexperience, for one of his latest productions is also liable to the same objection. To which Malone replies: "The truth, I believe, is, that as he neglected to observe the rules of the drama with respect to the upities, though before he began to write they had been enforced by Sidney in a treatise which doubtless he had read; so he seems to have thought that the whole terraqueous globe was at his command; and as he brought in a child at the beginning of a play, who in the fourth act appears as a woman, so he seems to have set geography at defiance, and to have considered countries as inland or maritime just as it suited his fancy or convenience."

ch. vi. where Pyrocles consents to head the Helots: The Arcadia was entered on the Stationers' books in 1589. The love adventure of Julia resembles that of Viola in Twelfth Night, and is indeed common to many

of the ancient novels.

Mrs. Lennox informs us, that the story of Proteus and Julia might be taken from a similar one in "The Diana" of Montemayor. This pastoral romance was translated from the Spanish in Shakspeare's time, by Bartholomew Young, and published in 1599. It does not appear that it was previously published, though it was translated two or three years before by one Thomas Wilson, perhaps some parts of it may have been made public, or Shakspeare may have found the tale else. where. It has before been observed that Meres men. tions the Two Gentlemen of Verona in his book, published in 1598. Malone conjectures that this play was the first that Shakspeare wrote, and places the date of its composition in the year 1591.

* Malone points at Lilly, whose comedies were performed with great success and admiration previous to Shakspeare's commencement of his dramatic career