From tiie Library of 
 Frank Simpson 
 
i 
 
C AT A L O G U *E 
 
 O F 
 
 THE PICTURES, be. 
 
 I N THE 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 FALL-MALL, 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE PROPRIETORS, 
 AND SOLO AT THE PLACE OF EXHIBITION 
 
 M,DCC,XCI|H • 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 1789. 
 
 I cannot permit this Catalogue to appear be- 
 fore the Public, without returning my sincere 
 thanks to the numerous Subscribers to this Under- 
 taking, who, with a liberality and a confidence 
 unparalleled on any former occasion, have laid me 
 under the most flattering obligations. I hope, 
 upon inspection of what has been done, and is now 
 doing, the Subscribers will be satisfied with the 
 exertions that have been made, and will think that 
 their confidence has not been misplaced; espe- 
 cially when they consider the difficulties that a 
 great undertaking, like the present, has to en- 
 counter in a country where Historical Painting is 
 still but in its Infancy — To advance that art to- 
 wards maturity, and establish an English School 
 of Historical Painting, was the great object of 
 the present design. 
 
 In the course of many years endeavours, I 
 flatter myself I have somewhat contributed to the 
 establishment of an English School of Engraving. 
 These exertions have not been unnoticed at home 
 — But in foreign countries they have been esti- 
 mated, perhaps, above their value. — When I be- 
 gan the business of publishing and selling Prints, 
 
XV 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 all the fine Engravings sold in England were iflfiu 
 ported from foreign countries, particularly from 
 France — Happily, the reverse is now the case : 
 for few are imported, and many are exported, to* 
 a great annual amount. I mention this eircum-* 
 stance, because there ate of those, who, not put-' 
 ting much value on the advancement of National 
 Taste, still feel the advantage of promoting the 
 Arts, in a commercial point of view. 
 
 I flatter myself that the present undertaking, in 
 that, and many other points of view, will essen^ 
 tially serve this country. The mofe objects of 
 attraction and amusement are held out to Fo- 
 reigners, that may induce them to visit this Metro- 
 polis, the more are our manufactures promoted ; 
 for every one, on his return, carries with him some 
 specimen of them : and I believe it will be readily 
 granted, that the Manufactures of this Country 
 need only be seen and cornpared, to be preferred to 
 those of any other. — To the great number of Fo- 
 reigners who have of late visited this country, may 
 in some degree be attributed the very flourishing 
 state of our Commerce ; and that great demand for 
 English Manufactures, which at present so univer- 
 sally prevails all over the Continent. — At least, I 
 can with certainty say, I feel the effect of this cir- 
 cumstance in mv own branch of business. 
 j 
 
 That the love of the fine Arts is more prevalent 
 abroad than in this country, cannot be denied; but 
 I still hope to see them attain (advanced in years 
 as I am) such a state of perfection in England, 
 that no man in Europe will be entitled to the name 
 of a Connoisseur, who has not personally witnessed 
 their rapid progress — >And that their progress has 
 been wonderfully rapid in this country, within these 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 v 
 
 twenty years, the whole world will readily allow* 
 This progress we principally owe to his present 
 Majesty ; who, sensible of their importance in every 
 point of view, has cultivated the fine Arts with a 
 success that the annals of no other country, in the 
 same space of time, can produce. The enterprise 
 and liberality of several individuals also have not 
 been wanting to contribute to so great an end. — - 
 For my own part, I can with truth say, that the 
 Arts have always had my best endeavours for their 
 success; and my countrymen will I hope give me 
 credit, when I assure them, that where I failed, I 
 failed more from want of Power, than from want 
 of Zeal. 
 
 In this progress of the fine Arts, though Fo-* 
 feigners have allowed our lately acquired superio- 
 rity of Engraving, and readily admitted the great 
 Talents of the principal Painters, yet they have 
 said, with some severity, and I am sorry to say 
 with some truth, that the abilities of our best Ar- 
 tists are chiefly employed in painting Portraits of 
 those who, in less than half a century, will be lost 
 in oblivion — While the noblest part of the Art — 
 Historical Painting— -is much neglected. 
 To obviate this national reflection was, as I have 
 already hinted, the principal cause of the present 
 undertaking — An undertaking, that originated in a 
 private company, where Painting was the subject 
 of Conversation. — But as some short account of 
 the rise and progress of the whole work may at a 
 future time be given to the Subscribers, it is not 
 now necessary to say, who first promulgated the 
 plan — who has promoted it — or who has endea- 
 voured to impede its success. -Suffice it to say, 
 
VI 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 at present, that the Artists, in general, have with 
 an ardour that does them credit, contributed their 
 best endeavours to carry into execution an under- 
 taking, where the national honour, the advance- 
 ment of the Arts, and their own advantage, are 
 equally concerned. 
 
 Though I believe it will be readily admitted^ 
 that no subjects seem so proper to form an English 
 School of Historical Painting, as the scenes of the 
 immortal Shakspeare ; yet it must be always re- 
 membered, that he possessed powers which no 
 pencil can reach; for such was the force of his 
 creative imagination, that though he frequently 
 goes beyond nature, he still continues to be na- 
 tural, and seems only to do that which nature 
 would have done, had she o'erstepp'd her usual 
 limits — It must not, then, be expected, that the art 
 of the Painter can ever equal the sublimity of our 
 Poet. The strength of Michael Angelo, united to 
 the grace of Raphael, would here have laboured 
 in vain-— — For what pencil can give to his airy 
 beings "a local habitation, and a name. 0 
 
 It is therefore hoped, that the spectator will view 
 these Pictures with this regard, and not allow his 
 imagination, warmed by the magic powers of the 
 Poet, to expect from Painting, what Painting can- 
 not perform. 
 
 It is not however meant, to deprecate Criticism 
 • — Candid Criticism is the soul of improvement — 
 and those artists who shut their ears against it, must 
 
 never expect to improve At the same time, 
 
 every artist ought to despise and contemn the ca- 
 vils of Pseudo- critics, who, rather than not at- 
 tempt to shew their wit, would crush all merit in 
 its bud The discerning part of the Public, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 vii 
 
 however, place all these attempts to the true ac- 
 count — Malignity. — But as the world was never 
 entirely free from such critics, the present under- 
 taking must expect to have its share. 
 
 Upon the merits of the Pictures themselves, it 
 is not for me to speak; I believe there never was 
 a perfect Picture, in all the three great requisites of 
 Composition, Colouring, and Design — It must 
 not therefore be expected that such a phaenome* 
 non will be found here. — This much, however, I 
 will venture to say, that in every Picture in the 
 Gallery there is something to be praised, and I 
 hope sufficient marks of merit, to justify the lovers 
 of their country, in holding out the fostering hand 
 of Encouragement to native Genius. — I flatter 
 myself, on the present occasion, that the estab- 
 lished Masters will support and increase their for- 
 mer reputation, and that the younger Artists will 
 daily improve, under the benign influence of the 
 Public patronage — They all know, that their fu- 
 ture fame depends on their present exertions: for 
 here the Painter's labours will be perpetually un- 
 der the public eye, and compared with those of 
 his cotemporaries— while his other works, either 
 locked up in the cabinets of the curious, or dis- 
 persed over the country, in the houses of the dif- 
 ferent possessors, can comparatively contribute but 
 little, to his present fortune or future fame. 
 
 I must again express my hopes, that the Sub- 
 scribers will be satisfied with the progress made 
 in this arduous undertaking, for it is to be con- 
 sidered, that works of genius cannot be hurried on, 
 like the operations of a manufactory, and that En- 
 graving, in particular, i$ a work of very slow and 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 laborious progress 1 confess, I am anxious on 
 
 this subject, for I could wish the Subscribers to 
 be convinced (of what indeed is the fact) that not 
 a moment of time has been lost. 
 
 It happens indeed, unavoidably in this under- 
 taking, that the Artists employed on the 2d, 3d, 
 4th, 5th, and subsequent Numbers, are as far ad- 
 vanced as those employed on the first. And it is 
 difficult to retard the one, or accelerate the other 
 
 This much, however, the Subscribers may 
 
 rely on — that every exertion will be made, con- 
 sistent with that excellence that is aimed at, to pub- 
 lish the first Number with all possible speed, and 
 that after that, the work will go on uninterrupt- 
 edly. 
 
 I cannot conclude this Address, without men- 
 tioning the very great assistance the work receives 
 from the unwearied exertions of my nephew and 
 partner, Mr. Josiah Boydell, whose knowledge in 
 the elementary part of Painting, enables him to be 
 of singular service in conducting this undertaking 
 — Indeed his love and enthusiasm for the fine Arts, 
 peculiarly qualify him for the conduct of works of 
 this nature; and without that Love and Enthusi- 
 asm for the Arts, such an undertaking can never 
 be carried on with becoming spirit His nu- 
 merous avocations in the management of the va- 
 rious branches of our business, particularly in mak- 
 ing drawings from the pictures, for the most ca- 
 pital engravings in our Collection — have not al- 
 lowed him much time to pursue the practical part 
 of Painting — nevertheless, willing to contribute 
 his mite to this great work — (in the management 
 ©f which he has so considerable a share) he has 
 
PREFACE. & 
 
 made an attempt in this line of the Art. Under 
 these circumstances, I hope the Public will have 
 the candour to receive his performances. 
 
 The Typographical part of the Work (of which 
 a specimen may now be seen) is under the direc- 
 tion of Mr. Nicol, his Majesty's Bookseller, whose 
 zeal for the improvement of Printing in this coun- 
 try is well known The Types, &c. are made 
 
 in his own house — and I flatter myself, that, with 
 the assistance he has, in the various branches, up- 
 on which the Beauty of Printing depends, he will 
 be able to contribute something towards restor- 
 ing the reputation of this country in that most use- 
 ful art. — At present, indeed, to our disgrace be it 
 spoken, we are far behind every neighbouring na- 
 tion, many of whom have lately brought the Art of 
 Printing to great perfection. — In his present endea- 
 vour, he has had the assistance and advice of some gen- 
 tlemen, who,were I at liberty to mention their names, 
 would do him honour, and the undertaking credit. 
 
 The Public are so well acquainted with the 
 merits of Mr. Steevens, in elucidating the text of 
 our author, that it would be impertinent in me to 
 say a syllable on this part of the subject— I can- 
 not, however, omit mentioning the readiness he has 
 always shown, to contribute his labours to this 
 tional Edition of the Works of Shakspeare. 
 
 Sbakspeare Gallery, 
 May 1, 178*. 
 
 JOHN BOyDEi L 
 
 b 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 1790. 
 
 A o what has been already said, little is to be added. — The 
 satisfaction that the Subscribers in particular, and the Pub- 
 lic in general expressed, at the progress of this arduous Work 
 last year, was highly gratifying : And it certainly has (as in. 
 deed it ought) redoubled the ardour, of every one concerned 
 in this great National Undertaking. 
 
 The Subscribers therefore it is hoped will be satisfied with 
 the exertions of this year; for beside the New Pictures now 
 exhibited, a great number more are still in the hands of the 
 different Artists. 
 
 Of the Engravings several Specimens may be seen, in such 
 forwardness, as it is hoped will secure the Publication of the 
 first Number this season. But it is ever to be remembered, 
 that Exellence is more aimed at in this Undertaking than 
 Dispatch. 
 
 With regard to any delay that may have taken place in the 
 Typographical part of this Work — it is to be considered, that 
 when the Paper, the Ink, the Types, and the manner of print- 
 ing the first Sheet of any Work is fixed, all improvement 
 so far as regards that Work, is at an end, as uniformity must 
 be preserved. The delay, therefore, must be altogether in 
 the beginning of a Work, where considerable improvements 
 are attempted. — The principal object of the improvements in 
 the present Work, has been an endeavour, to retain the beau- 
 ty of the best Printing, and yet to avoid the dazzling effect, 
 
xii 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 which is so distressing to the eye of the Reader, in most of 
 the fine Specimens of that Art. — With what success this at- 
 tempt of uniting Beauty with Utility has been made, the Pub- 
 lic alone must finally determine: And, previous to that de- 
 termination, it is not necessary, nor pehaps proper, to men- 
 tion the names of several Gentlemen of the first Talents, wha 
 have lent their assistance in the present pursuit, nor even to 
 name the Young Man who cut the Types. — If the object of 
 uniting a certain degree of Beauty, with perfect Utility has 
 been attained, the merit is theirs. — If not, the Undertakers 
 are willing to bear the blame. 
 
 This much, however, with great truth can be said, that 
 the attempt was made from the most disinterested motives, 
 and has been prosecuted for these two years past at no trif- 
 ling expence. — All the parties concerned have been rryich 
 flattered with the approbation of several Gentlemen of the 
 first Taste in the Typographical Art — And, no doubt, the 
 very attempt at improvement will meet the approbation of 
 those who profess Printing ; many of whom, but for the hur- 
 ry of an extensive business, that leaves them no leisure to at- 
 tend to the improvement of their Art, — would perhaps have 
 performed that with ease, which in the present case has been 
 done with difficulty. The Printing is at present under the 
 direction of a Gentleman, who has already contributed much 
 to the improvement of his profession, and who will now have 
 an opportunity of shewing the World, that we can print as 
 well in England, it is hoped, as they do at Parma, Paris, or 
 Madrid, where undoubtedly they have lately carried the Art 
 to great perfection. 
 
 And it will be a peculiar pride to the Undertakers of this 
 Work, if they have been at all instrumental, in establishing a 
 Press in London, that will rival those of foreign Nations. 
 
 Concerning the present Exhibition, it is perhaps necessary 
 to say, that several pictures are now added not connected 
 with the Shakspeare plan. — Most of them were painted how- 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 xiii 
 
 ever on the same principal, upon which this great Work was 
 originally undertaken— A desire of promoting an Historical 
 School of Painting in England.— There is also added a large 
 Collection of high- finished Drawings, and small Copies, 
 which have been made at a very great expence, from some of 
 the first Cabinets of Pictures in this Kingdom, by various 
 young Artists, several of whom have since risen to great emi* 
 nence. — Some indeed have paid the Debt of Nature, and, 
 from the present Specimens of their Talents, have left this 
 Country to lament their loss. 
 
 As most of these Drawings * have been engraved, or are now 
 engraving, they have served at once to encourage that Art in 
 England, and to shew foreign Nations, that we are not so 
 destitute ot Taste' for the fine Arts, nor so poor in the pos- 
 session of Pictures, as some of their most eminent Writers 
 have been pleased to represent us. — The fact is, that there 
 are in this Country many of the finest Specimens of the best 
 Masters — but not being collected together in public places, 
 nor (as is the case on the Continent ) confined to the Capi- 
 tal, Foreigners cannot see them, without visiting the Houses 
 of the Nobility and Gentry, from one end of the Island to 
 the other. 
 
 It is not intended however to be denied, that the fine Arts 
 are yet but in their Infancy in this Country. When that cir- 
 cumstance is taken into consideration, and when the merits 
 of the Drawings and Paintings in this Exhibition are duly 
 weighed, it is hoped the Travelled Connoisseur will admit, 
 that few Countries, under such circumstances, have produ- 
 ced at one moment a superior Exhibition of National Art, 
 — And as our Taste for the fine Arts is daily encreasing 
 among all ranks of People, this Exhibition will be daily en- 
 riched. — There cannot be a stronger proof of this fact, than 
 
 * The Pictures and Drawings here alluded to, a^e now ia the Gal* 
 lery of Mess. Boydell, No go, Cheapside* 
 
Xiv 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 the very liberal offer of a Lady of high Birth and Accom- 
 plishments, to contribute her extraordinary Talents, to add 
 to this Collection— Talents of which her Country ought to 
 be proud, as neither G reece nor Rome, where Sculpture was 
 in its Glory, could, in that department of the fine Arts, boast 
 of a Female Artist. 
 
 If by these various additions to the present Exhibition, the 
 entertainment of the Subscribers to The Shakspeare 
 should be encreased, the Undertakers will be amply rewarded 
 —For though it was not originally held out, in the Propo- 
 sals of this Work, that the Subscribers should be entitled to 
 see the progress of the Paintings, nor at any period to a free 
 admission to the Gallery, much less to an Exhibition of Art, 
 unconnected with the Undertaking; yet the uncommon Con- 
 fidence reposed in the Undertakers of this Work, by the Sub- 
 scribers, naturally inspired them with the ambition, which, 
 they hope is laudable, of wishing not to be outdone, on the 
 score of Liberality.— And they are happy in foreseeing, that 
 the Subscribers will have a perpetual renovation of their A- 
 musement, by the succession of new Pictures, that will be 
 consantly passing from the Painter to the Engraver, during 
 the progress of this Wotk. 
 
 Shakspeare Gallery, 
 March 15, 1790. 
 
 JOHN BOYDELL. 
 JOSIAH BOYDELL 
 GEORGE NICOL. 
 
THE 
 
 ALTO-RELIEVO, 
 
 In the Front of the Gallery, towards Pall-Mall, 
 By Mr. Banks, R A. 
 
 Represents Shakspeare seated on a Rock, between 
 Poetry and Painting. Poetry is on his Right-hand, ad- 
 dressing Shakspeare, and presenting him with a Wreath 
 of Bays, while she celebrates his Praise on her Lyre. Her 
 Head is ornamented with a double Mask, to shew she has 
 bestowed the double power of Tragedy and Comedy upon 
 her favourite Son. Shakspeare is represented as listening 
 to her with Pleasure and Attention. On his Left is Painting, 
 who is addressing the Spectator, with one Hand extended to- 
 wards Shakspe are's Breast, pointing him out as the proper 
 Object of her Pencil, while he leans his Left hand on her 
 shoulder, as if accepting her assistance. 
 
PICTURES 
 
 IN THE 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. L 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 
 Prosperous Cell. 
 
 Prosper 6, Ferdinand, Miranda, a Masque exhi- 
 biting Iris, Ceres, Juno, Nymphs, Caliban, Trin- 
 culo, and Stepbano, at a distance. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Wright, of Derby . 
 
 Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and 
 Harmonious charmingly: May I be bold 
 To think these spirits ? 
 
 Pro. Spirits, which by mine art 
 I have from their confines caird to enact 
 My present fancies. 
 
 Fer. Let me live here ever : 
 So rare a wonder'd father, and a wife, 
 Make this place paradise. 
 
 [Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment. 
 
 Pro. Sweet now, silence : 
 Juno and Ceres whisper seriously; 
 There's something else to do: hush, and be mute, 
 Or else our spell is marr'd. 
 
 Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wand'ring brooks. 
 With your sedg'd crowns, and ever-harmless looks, 
 Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land 
 Aqswer your summons; Juno does command: 
 
 B 
 
9 
 
 Sit AKSEEARE gallery. 
 
 Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
 A contract of true love : be not too late. 
 
 Enter certain Nymphs. 
 
 You sun-burn'd sicklemen, of August weary, 
 Come hither from the furrow and be merry; 
 Make holyday: your rye-straw hats put on, 
 And these fresh nymphs encounter every one 
 In country footing. 
 
 Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they joimviib 
 the Nymphs in a graceful dance ; towards the end 
 whereof Prosper o starts suddenly, and speaks ; after 
 which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, they 
 heavily vanish. 
 Pro. J had forgot that foul conspiracy [Aside. 
 Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates. 
 Against my life-, the minute of their plot 
 Is almost come. — [to the Spirits] Well done', avoid ; — no 
 more. 
 
 Fer. This is strange : your father's in some passion 
 That works him strongly. 
 
 Mir a. Never, till this day, 
 Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 
 
 Pro. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, 
 As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir: 
 Our revels now are ended : these our actors, 
 As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
 Are melted into air, into thin air : 
 And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
 The cloud-cap t towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; 
 And like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind : We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made on, and our little life 
 
 Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd ; 
 
 Bear with my weakness ; my old brain is troubled* 
 Be not disturb'd with my infirmity : 
 If thou be pleas'd, retire into my cell, 
 And there repose ; a turn or two I'll walk, 
 To still my beating mind. 
 
 Fer. Mira. We wish your peace. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 3 
 
 No. II. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 ACT IL SCENE I. 
 Before Page's House. 
 Mrs. Page with a letter, Mrs. Ford with another. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Peters. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What! have I 'scap'cl love-letters in the 
 holy day time of my beauty, and am I now a subject for 
 them ? Let me see : [Reads. 
 
 Ask me no reason why I love you; for though love use rea~ 
 son for his precision, he admits him not for his counsellor: 
 You are not young, no more am I ; go to then, there's sym- 
 pathy : you are merry, so am I ; Ha! ha! then there's more 
 sympathy: Ton love sack, and so do I ; would you desire 
 better sympathy ? let it suffice thee, mistress Page ( at the 
 least, if the love of a soldier can suffice J that I love thee. I 
 will not say, pity me ; His not a soldier-like phrase : but I say, 
 love vie. By me, 
 
 Thine own true knight, 
 
 By day or night, 
 
 Or any kind of light, 
 
 With all my might, 
 
 For thee to fight. John Falstaff. 
 
 What a Herod of Jewry is this ? — O wicked wicked world ! 
 — one that is well nigh worn to pieces with age, to shew 
 himself a young gallant ! What an unweigh'd behaviour 
 hath this Flemish drunkard pick'd (with the devil's name) 
 out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner assay 
 me ? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company ! - — 
 What should I say to him — I was then frugal of my mirth : 
 — Heaven forgive me !— Why, I'll exhibit a bill in the par- 
 liament for the putting down of fat men. How shall I be re- 
 venged on him ? for revenged I will be, as sure as his guts 
 are made of puddings. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Ford. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page! trust me, I was going to your 
 house. 
 
* 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Mrs. Page. And trust me, I was coming to you. You 
 look very ill. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that ; I have to shew 
 to the contrary. 
 
 Mrs. Page. 'Faith, but you do, in my mind. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then ; yet, I say, I could shew you 
 to the contrary : O, mistress Page, give me some counsel ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. What's the matter, woman? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. O woman, if it were not for one trifling re- 
 spect, I could come to such honour! 
 
 Mrs. Page, Ffang the trifle, woman ; take the honour ; 
 What is it I — dispense with trifles ; — what is it ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to hell, for an eternal mo- 
 ment, or so, I could be k lighted. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What? — thou best ! -—Sir Alice Ford 
 These knights will hack; and so thou shouldst not alter 
 the article of thy gentry. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We burn daylight:- — here, read, read; — 
 perceive how I might be knighted. — I shall think the worse 
 of fat men, as long as I have an eye to make difference of 
 men's liking : And yet he would not swear ; prais ? d women's 
 modesty ; and gave such orderly and well-behav'd reproof 
 to all uncomeliness, that I would have sworn his disposition 
 would have gone to the truth of his words: but they do no 
 more adhere, and keep place together* than the hundredth 
 psalm to the tune of Green Sleeves. What tempest, I trow, 
 threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly, ashore 
 at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on him? I think the 
 best way were to entertain him with hope, till the wicked 
 lire of lust have melted him in his own grease. — Did yon 
 ever hear the like ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Letter for letter ; but that the name of Page 
 and Ford differs ! — To thy great comfort in this mystery of 
 ill opinions, here's the twin-brother of thy letter : but let 
 thine inherit first; for, I protest mine never shall. I war- 
 rant be hath a thousand of these letters, writ with blank 
 space for different names (sure more) and these are of the 
 second edition ; He will print them, out of doubt ; for he 
 cares not what he puts into the press, when he would put 
 us two. I had rather be a giantess, and lie under mount 
 Pelion. Well, I will find you twenty lascivious turtles, ere 
 one chaste man. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why; this is the very same; the very hand, the 
 very words : What doth he think qJ us ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, 1 know not : It makes me almost ready 
 to wrangle with mine own honesty. — 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. III. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 ACT. IV. SCENE II. 
 
 Ford y Sballoxi 1 , Page, Cains, Sir Hugh Evans , 
 JFalstaff as the old wcman of Brentjvr.d> Mrs, 
 Ford, and Mrs. Page. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Durno. 
 
 Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, master Page, have you 
 any way then to unfool me again ?— Set down the basket, 
 villain — Somebody call my wife — You, youth in a basket, 
 come out here I — O, you panderly rascals ! there's a knot, 
 a gang, a pack, a conspiracy, against me : Now shall the 
 devil be sham'cf. What! wife, I say, come, come forth ; 
 behold what honest clothes you send forth to bleaching. 
 
 Page. Why, this passes ! Master Fond, you are not to 
 go loose any longer: you musr bepinion'd. 
 
 Eva. Why, this is lunatics ! this is mad as a mad dog! 
 
 Shal. Indeed, master Ford, this is not well ; judeed. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Ford. 
 
 Ford. So say I too, sir.— Come hither, mistress Ford; — 
 mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest wife, the vir- 
 tuous creature, that hath the jealous fool to her husband ; — «■ 
 I suspect without cause, mistress, do i ? 
 • Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you suspect 
 me in any dishonesty. 
 
 Ford/ Well said, brazen-face; hold it out.-— Come forth, 
 sirrah. [Pulls t he clothes out oj the basket. 
 
 Page. This passes. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Are you not ashamed ? Let the clothes alone. 
 Ford. I shall find you anon. 
 
 Eva. 'Tis unreasonable ! Will you take up your wife's 
 clothes? come away. 
 
 Ford. Empty the basket, I say. 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why, — >~ 
 
6 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one con- 
 vey'd out of my house yesterday in this basket: Why may 
 not he be there again? In my house I am sure he is : my 
 intelligence is true; my jealousy is reasonable: Pluck me 
 out all the linen. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die a flea's 
 death. 
 
 Page. Here's no man. 
 
 Shal. By my rtdelity, this is not well, master Ford ; this 
 wrongs you. 
 
 Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the 
 imaginations of your own heart: this is jealousies. 
 
 Ford. Well, he's not here I seek for. 
 
 Page. No, nor no where else, but in your brain. 
 
 Ford. Help to search my house this onetime: if I find 
 not what I seek, shew no colour for my extremity, let me 
 for ever be your table-sport ; let them say of me, As jealous 
 as Ford, that search'd a hollow walnut for his wife's ieman. 
 Satisfy me once more, once more search with me. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What hoa, mistress Page ! come you and the 
 old woman down ; my husband will corns into the chamber* 
 
 Ford. Old woman ! what old woman's that ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brentford. 
 
 Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean ! Have I 
 not forbid her my house? She comes of errands, does she? 
 We are simple men ; we do not know what's brought to pass 
 under the profession of fortune-telling. She works by 
 charms, by spells, by the figure, and such daubery as this is ; 
 
 beyond our element : we know nothing. Come down, 
 
 you witch, you hag, you ; come down, I say. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband; — good gentle- 
 "men, let him not strike the old woman. 
 
 Enter Falstaff in woman's clothes, led by Mrs. Page. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, mother Prat, come, give me your 
 hand. 
 
 Ford. Pit prat her: — Out of my door, you witch! [Beats 
 him.] you rag, you baggage, you poulcat, you ronyon I out! 
 tut ! Vli conjure you, VII fortune-tell you. [Exit. Fal. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Are you not ashamed: J think you have 
 kill'd the poor woman. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, he will do it: — 'Tis a goodly credit for 
 you. 
 
 Ford. Hang her, witch ! 
 
 Eva. By yea and no, I think, the 'ornan is a witch in- 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 7 
 
 deed ; I like not when a 'oman has a great peard ; I spy a 
 great peard under her muffler. 
 
 Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen ? I beseech you foU 
 low; see but the issue of my jealousy; if I cry out thus 
 upon no trail, never trust me when I open again. 
 
 Page. Let's obey his humour a little "further: Come, 
 gentlemen. [Exeunt. 
 
 No. IV. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE t 
 
 Duke in a Friar's habit, Varrius, Lords, Angela, 
 Escalus, Lucio, and Citizens. Isabella, Peter, 
 Mariana, Provost, &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Kirk, 
 
 Escal. I will go darkly to work with her. 
 
 Lucio. That's the way ; for women are light at midnight, 
 
 Escal Come on, mistress [to Isabella.]; here's a gen* 
 tlewoman denies all that you have said. 
 
 Lucio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of; here 
 with the provost. 
 
 Escal. In very good time : — speak not you to him till we 
 call upon you. 
 
 Lucio. Mum. 
 
 Escal. Come, sir; Did you set these women on to slan- 
 der lord Angelo ? they have confessed you did. 
 Duke. 'Tis false. 
 
 Escal. How ! know you where you are? 
 
 Duke. Respect to your great place ! and let the devil 
 Be sometimes honour'd for his burning throne : — 
 Where is the duke? 'tis he should hear me speak. 
 
 Escal. The duke's in us; and we will hear you speak; 
 Look you speak justly. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY* 
 
 Duke . Boldly, at least : — But, O poor souls, 
 Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox ? 
 Good night to your redress : Is the duke gone ; 
 Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust 
 't'hus to retort your manifest appeal, 
 And put your trial in the villain's mouth, 
 Which here you come to accuse. 
 
 Lucio. This is the rascal ; this is he I spoke of. 
 
 EscaL Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar t 
 Is't not enough, thou hast suborn 'd these women 
 To accuse this worthy man ; but in foul mouth, 
 And in the witness of his- proper ear, 
 To call him villain ? 
 
 And then to glance from him to the duke himself, 
 To tax him with- injustice? — Take him hence; 
 To the rack with him : — We'll touze you joint by joint 
 But we will know this purpose? — What, unjust? 
 
 Duke. Be not so hot; the duke 
 Dare no more stretch this finger of mine, than he 
 Dare rack his own ; his subject am I riot, 
 Nor here provincial : My business in this state 
 Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, 
 Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble 
 Till it o'er-run the stew : laws for all faults ; 
 But faults so countenance that the strong statutes 
 Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, 
 \ As much in mock as mark. 
 
 Escal. Slander to the state 1 Away with him to prison. 
 
 Aug. What can you vo^ch against him, signior Lucio ? 
 Is this the man that you did tell us of? 
 
 Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither* good man bald- 
 pate: Do you know me? 
 
 Duke. I remember yon, sir, by the sound of your voice : 
 I met you at the prison in the absence of the duke. 
 
 Lucio. O, did you so? And do you remember what you 
 said of the duke? 
 
 Duke. Most notedly, sir. 
 
 Lucio. Do you so, sir? And was the duke a fishmonger, 
 a fool, and a coward, as you then reported him to be? 
 
 Duke. You must, shy change persons with me, ere you 
 make that my report: you, indeed, spoke so of him; and 
 much more, much worse. 
 
 Lucio. O thou damnable feLlow! Did not I pluck thee 
 by the nose for thy speeches ? 
 
 Duke. I protest, I love the duke as I love myself. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY 9 
 
 Ang. Hark! how the villain would close now, after his 
 treasonable abuses. 
 
 Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talKd withal : Away with 
 him to prison ; — Where is the provost t — away with him to 
 prison; lay bolts enough upon him: let him speak no more: — 
 away with those giglots too, and xvith the other confederate 
 companion. _ . 
 
 [The Provost lays hands on the Duke- 
 Duke. Stay, sir; stay a while. 
 Ang. What! resists hef Help him, Lucio. 
 Lucio. Come, sir ; come sir ; come, sir ; fob, sir : Why, 
 you bald-pated, lying rascal! you must be hooded, must you? 
 show your knave's visage, with a pox to you! show your 
 sheep-biting face, and be bang'd an hour! WilVt not off? 
 
 [Pulls off the friar's hood, and discovers the Duke. 
 Duke. Thou art the first knave that e'er made a duke. — 
 First, provost, let me bail these gentle three : — 
 Sneak not away, sir ; [to Lucio.] for the friar and you 
 Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him. 
 
 Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging. 
 Duke. What you have spoke, I pardon; sit you down. — 
 
 [To Escalus. 
 
 We'll borrow place of him : — Sir, by your leave : 
 
 [To Angela* 
 
 Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence, 
 That yet can do thee office ? if thou hast, 
 Rely upon it till my tale be heard, 
 And hold no longer out. 
 
 Ang. O my dread lord, 
 I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, 
 To think I can be undiscernible, 
 When I perceive your grace, like power divine, 
 Hath look'd upon my passes : Then, good prince, 
 No longer session hold upon my shame, 
 But let my trial be mine own confession ; 
 Immediate sentence then, and sequent death, 
 Is all the grace I beg. 
 
 Duke. Come hither, Mariana s — 
 Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman ? 
 
 Ang. I was, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Go take her hence, and marry her instantly 
 Do you the office, friar; which consummate, 
 Return him here again : — Go with him, provost. 
 C 
 
w SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 No. V. 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS, 
 
 ACT V. SCENE I. 
 
 A Street before the 'Priory. 
 
 Merchant ; Angelo, Lady Abbess, Adriana, Cour-< 
 tezan, Duke, JEgeon, Antipholus and Dromio of 
 Syracuse, Antipholus and Dromio of Ephesus, 
 Headsman, &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Rigauo, R. A. 
 
 JEgeon. Not know my voice ! O, time's extremity I 
 Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue, 
 In seven short years, that here my only son 
 Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares? 
 Though now this grained face of mine be hid 
 In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, 
 And all the conduits of my blood froze up ; 
 Yet hath my night of life some memory, 
 My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, 
 My dull deaf ears a little use to hear: 
 All these old witnesses (I cannot err) 
 Tell me thou art my son Antipholus. 
 
 Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life, 
 
 jEgeon. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, 
 Thou knowest, we parted: but, perhaps, my son, 
 Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. 
 
 Ant. JE. The duke, and all that knaw me in the cityy 
 Can witness with me that it is not so ; 
 I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. 
 
 Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years 
 Have I been patron to Antipholus, 
 During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa: 
 I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. n 
 
 Enter Abbess, with Antipholus Syracusan, and DromiQ 
 Syracusan. 
 
 Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd. 
 
 [All gather to see him, 
 
 Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. 
 
 Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other. 
 And so of these : which is the natural man, 
 And which the spirit ? who deciphers tbein ? 
 
 Dro.S. J, sir, am Dromio; command him away. 
 
 Dro. E. J, sir, am Dromio ; pray, let me stay. 
 
 Ant. S. JEgeon, art thou not ? or else his ghost? 
 
 Dro. S. O, my old master! who hath bound him here ? 
 
 Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds, 
 And gain a husband by his liberty : — 
 Speak, old JEgton, if thou be'st the man 
 That hadst a wife once call'd ^Emilia, 
 That bore thee at a burden two fair sons ? 
 
 0, if thou be'st the same iEgeon, speak, 
 And speak unto the same Emilia i 
 
 JEgeon. If I dream not, thou art Emilia; 
 If thou art she, tell me, where is that sou 
 That floated with thee on the fatal raft ? 
 
 Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I, 
 And the twin Dromio, all were taken up ; 
 But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth 
 By force took Dromio and my son from them, 
 And me they left with those of Epidamnum ; 
 What then became of them, I cannot tell ; 
 
 1, to this fortune that you see me in. 
 
 Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right * 
 These two Antipholuses, these two so like, 
 And these two Dromios, one in semblance,*-**- 
 Besides her urging of her wreck at sea,—- 
 These are the parents to these children, 
 Which accidentally are met together. 
 Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first. 
 
 Ant. S. No, sir, not I ; I came from Syracuse. 
 
 Duke. Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which. 
 
 Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord. 
 
 Dro. E. And I with him. 
 
 Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous war- 
 rior, 
 
 Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. 
 
 Adr. Which of you two did dine with mj to-day ? 
 
it SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. 
 
 Adr. And are not you my husband? 
 
 Ant. E. No, I say, Nay, to that. 
 
 Ant* S. And so do I, yet did she call me so : 
 And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, 
 Did call me brother : — What I told you then, 
 I hope I shall have leisure to make good ; 
 If this be not a dream, I see, and hear. 
 
 Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me* 
 
 Ant. S. I think it be, sir, I deny it not. 
 
 Ant. E. And you, sir; for this chain arrested me. 
 
 Ang. I think I did, sir ; I deny it npt. 
 
 Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, 
 By Dromio; but I think he brought it not. 
 
 Dro. E. No, none by me. 
 
 Ant. S. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from you; 
 And Dromio, my man, did bring them me : 
 I see, we still did meet each other's man ; 
 And I was ta'en for him, and he for me ; 
 And thereupon these Errors are arose. 
 
 Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. 
 
 Duke. It shall not need ; thy father hath his life. 
 
 Court. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. 
 
 Ant. E. There, take it ; and much thanks for my good 
 cheer. 
 
 No. VL 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE t 
 An Orchard. 
 Hero, Ursula, and Beatrice. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Peters. 
 
 Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 
 Hero. Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour: 
 There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice 
 Proposing with the Prince and Claudio : 
 Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 *1 
 
 Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse 
 
 Is all of her ; say, that thou overheard'st us : 
 
 And bid her steal into the pleached bower, 
 
 Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the sun, 
 
 Forbid the sun to enter; — like favourites, 
 
 Made proud by princes, that advance their pride 
 
 Against that power that bred it : — there will she hide her 
 
 To listen our propose : This is thy office, 
 
 Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone. 
 
 Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently. 
 
 [Exit* 
 
 Hero, Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come* 
 As we do trace this alley up and down, 
 Our talk must only be of Benedick: 
 When I do name him, let it be thy part 
 To praise him more than ever man did merit*. 
 My talk to thee must be, how Benedick 
 Is sick in love with Beatrice : Of this matter 
 Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, 
 That only wounds by hear-say. Now begin; 
 
 Enter Beatrice, behind. 
 
 For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 
 Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 
 
 Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish 
 Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, 
 And greedily devour the treacherous bait : 
 So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now 
 Is couched in the woodbine coverture. 
 Fear you not my part of the dialogue. 
 
 Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing 
 Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. — 
 
 [They advance to the bower,. 
 No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; 
 I know, her spirits are as coy and wild 
 As haggards of the rock. 
 
 Urs. But are you sure 
 That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? 
 
 Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord. 
 
 Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam ? 
 
 Hero. They did intreat me to acquaint her of it \ 
 But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick* 
 To wish him wrestle with affection, 
 And never to l£t Beatrice Know of it. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Urs. Why did you so ? Doth not the gentleman 
 Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed, 
 As ever Beatrice shall couch upon ? 
 
 Hero. O God of love ! I know he doth deserve 
 As much as may be yielded to a man : 
 But nature never fram'd a woman's heart 
 Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice ; 
 Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
 Misprising what they look on ; and her wit 
 Values itself so highly, that to her 
 All matter else seems weak : she cannot love, 
 Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 
 She is so self-endear'd. 
 
 Urs. Sure, I think so ; 
 And therefore, certainly, it were not good 
 She knew his love, lest she made sport at it; 
 
 Hero. Why, you speak truth : I never yet saw man, 
 How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd, 
 But she would spell him backward : if fair-fae'd, 
 She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister ; 
 If black, why, nature drawing of an antick, 
 Made a foul blot : if tall, a lance ill-headed ; 
 If low, an agate very vilely cut : 
 If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds : 
 If silent, why, a block moved with none. 
 So turns she every man the wrong side out; 
 And never gives to truth and virtue, that 
 Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. 
 
 Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable ; 
 
 Hero. No ; not to be so odd, and from all fashions. 
 As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable : 
 But who dare tell her so ? If I should speak, 
 She'd mock me into air ; O, she would laugh me 
 Out of myself, press me to death with wit f 
 Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, 
 Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly : 
 It were a better death than die with mocks ; 
 Which is as bad as die with tickling. 
 
 Urs. Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say, 
 
 Hero. £Jo ; rather I will go to Benedick, 
 And counsel him to fight against his passion : 
 And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders 
 To stain my cousin with. One doth not know, 
 How much an ill word may empoison liking. 
 
 Urs. O, dp not do your cousin such a wrong. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 15 
 
 She cannot be so much without true judgment 
 (Having so swift and excellent a wit 
 As she is priz'd to have,) as to refuse 
 So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick. 
 
 Hero. He is the only man of Italy, 
 Always excepted my dear Glaudio. 
 
 Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam, 
 Speaking my fancy ; signior Benedick, * 
 For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour, 
 Goes foremost in report through Italy. 
 
 Hero. Indeed he hath an excellent good name. 
 
 Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.— — 
 When are you married, madam ? 
 
 Hero. Why every day ; — to-morrow. Come, go in, 
 I'll shew thee some attires ; and have thy counsel 
 Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. 
 
 Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you ; we have caught her, 
 madam. 
 
 No. VIL 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 A Church* 
 
 Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar, Claudio f 
 Benedick, Hero, and Beatrice. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Hamilton, R. A. 
 
 Claud. Leonato, stand I here ? 
 Is this the prince? Is this the prince's brother? 
 Is this face Hero's ? Are our eyes our own ? 
 
 Leon. All this is so : But what of this, my lord ? 
 
 Claud. Let me but move one question to your daughter ; 
 And by that fatherly and kindly power 
 That you have in her, bid her answer truly. 
 
 Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. 
 
16 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 Hero. O God defend me ! how am I beset !— 
 What kind of catechising call you this ? \ 
 Claud. To make you answer truly to your name.* 
 Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name 
 With any just reproach ? 
 
 Claud. Marry, that can Hero ; 
 Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. 
 What man was he talk'd with you yesternight 
 Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one ? 
 Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. 
 
 Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. 
 Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. — Leonato, 
 I am sorry you must hear. Upon mine honour, 
 Myself, my brother, and this grieved count, 
 Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night, 
 Talk with a ruffian at her chamber window ; 
 Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal villain* 
 Confess'd the vile encounters they have had 
 A thousand times in secret. 
 
 John. Fie, fie ! they are 
 Not to be nam'd, my lord, not to be spoke of; 
 There is not chastity enough in language, 
 Without offence, to utter them: Thus, pretty lady* 
 I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. 
 
 Claud. O Hero! what a Herohadst thou been 
 If half thy outward graces had been plac'd 
 About the thoughts and counsels of thy heart! 
 But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair ! farewell* 
 Thou pure impiety, and impious purity! 
 For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love, 
 And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang 
 To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, 
 And never shall it more be gracious. 
 
 Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me ? 
 
 [Hero swoons , 
 
 Beat. Why, bow now, cousin! wherefore sink you down ? 
 
 John. Come t let us go : these things, come thus to light, 
 Smother her spirits up. [Exeunt D. Ped. D. John, and Claud. 
 
 Bene. How doth the lady ? 
 
 Beat. Dead, I think; — Help, uncle ;— 
 Hero 1 why, Hero !— uncle !— signior Benedick ! — 
 Friar ! 
 
 Leon. O fate ! take not away thy heavy hand ! 
 Death is the fairest cover for her shame 
 That may be wish'd for. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. VIII. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE II. 
 A Prison. 
 
 Dogberry, Verges, Borachio, Conrade, the Town- 
 Clerk, and Sexton. 
 
 Painted by Mr- Smirke. 
 
 Dogb. Is our whole dissembly appear'd ? 
 Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton ! 
 Sexton. Which be the malefactors ? 
 Dogb. Marry, that am I and my partner. 
 Verg. Nay, that's certain; we have the exhibition to ex- 
 amine. 
 
 Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be exa- 
 mined ? let them come before master constable. 
 
 Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me. — What is 
 your name, friend? 
 
 Bora. Borachio. 
 
 Dobg. Pray, write down — Borachio. Yours, sirrah ? 
 
 Conr. I am a gentleman, sir; and my name is Conrade. 
 Dogb. Write down — master gentleman Conrade. — 
 Masters, do you serve God ? 
 Both. Yea, sir, we hope. 
 
 Dogb. Write down — that they hope they serve God:— 
 and write God first : for God defend but God should go be- 
 fore such villains! — Masters, it is proved already that you 
 are little better than false knaves ; and it will go near to be 
 thought so shortly. How answer you for yourselves ? 
 
 Conr. Marry, sir, we say, we are none. 
 
 Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but I 
 will go about with him. — Come you hither, sirrah ; a word 
 in your ear, sir ; I say to you, it is thought you are false 
 knaves. 
 
 Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. 
 Dogb. Well, stand aside. — 'Fore God, they are both in 
 a tale : — Have vou writ down — that they are none ? 
 
 D 
 
I IS SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way to examine i 
 you must call forth the watch that are their accusers. 
 
 Dogb. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way: — Let the watch 
 come forth : — Masters, I charge you, in the prince's name, 
 accuse these men. 
 
 1 Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince's 
 brother, was a villain. 
 
 Dogb. Write down — prince John a villain.— Why this i£ 
 flat perjury, to call a prince's brother — villain. 
 Bora. Master constable — 
 
 Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace! I do not like- thy look, 
 I promise thee. 
 
 Sexton. What heard you him say else? 
 
 2 Watch. Marry y that he had received a thousand ducat* 
 of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero wrongfully. 
 
 Dogb. Flat burglary as ever was committed. 
 Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is. 
 Sexton. What else, fellow ? 
 
 1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, upon his* 
 words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and 
 not marry her. 
 
 Dogb. O villain:! thou wilt be condemned into everlast- 
 ing redemption/or this. 
 
 Sexton. What else ? 
 
 2 Watch. This is all. 
 
 Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can deny. 
 Prince John is this morning secretly stolen away : Hero was 
 in this manner accused, in this very manner refused, and 
 upon the grief of this, suddenly died .-^-Master constable, 
 let these men be bound, and brought to Leonato's ; I will 
 go before, and shew him their examination. [Exit. 
 
 Dogb. Come, let them be opinion'd. 
 
 Verg. Let them be in the hands* 
 
 Conr. Off, coxcomb ! 
 
 Dogb. God's my life! where's the sexton? let him 
 write down — the prince's officer, coxcomb. — Come, bind 
 them : Thou naughty varlet ! 
 
 Conr. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. 
 
 Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place ? Dost thou not 
 suspect my years? O that he were here to write me down — 
 an ass ! — but, masters, remember, that I am an ass ! — though 
 it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass: — 
 No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved 
 upon thee by good witness : I am a wise fellow; and* 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 19 
 
 which is more, an officer; and, which is more, a house- 
 holder; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any 
 is in Messina; and one that knows the law, go to; and a 
 rich teiiow enough, go to ; and a fellow that hath had 
 losses; and one that hath two gowns, and every thing 
 handsome about him. — Bring him away. O, that I had 
 been writ down — an ass! [Exeunt. 
 
 No. IX. 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 
 A Pavilion in the Park near the Palace. 
 
 Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, Lords, 
 Attendants, and a Forester. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Hamilton, R. A. 
 
 Prin. Was that the king that spurr'd his horse so hard 
 Against the steep uprising of the hill ? 
 
 Boy. I know not ; but, I think, it was not he. 
 
 Prin. Whoe'er he was, he shew'd a mounting mind, 
 Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch ; 
 On Saturday we will return to France. — 
 
 Then, forester, my friend, where is the busb 
 That we must stand and play the murderer in? 
 
 For. Here by upon the edge of yonder coppice : 
 A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot* 
 
 Prin. I thank my beauty ; I am fair that shoot, 
 And thereupon thou speak'st, the fairest shoot. 
 
 For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. 
 
 Prin. What, what ? first praise me, and again say, no ? 
 O short-liv'd pride ! Not fair? alack for woe ! 
 
 For. Yes, madam, fair. 
 
 Prin. Nay, never paint me now; 
 Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. 
 Here, good my glass, take this for telling true ; 
 
 [Giving him money. 
 Fair payment for foul words is more than due. 
 
20 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. X. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 A Wood. 
 
 Titania, Queen of the Fairies , Bottom, Fairies aU 
 tending \ &c. &c. &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Fusel i, R. A. 
 
 Tita. Come sit thee down upon this flow'ry bed, 
 
 While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, 
 And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, 
 
 And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 
 Bot. Where's Pease-blossom? 
 Pease. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Scratch my head, Pease-blossom. — Where's monsieur 
 Cobweb. 
 
 Cob. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Monsieur Cobweb', good monsieur, get your wea- 
 pons in your hand, and kill me a red-hip 'd humble bee on the 
 top of a thistle ; and, good monsieur, bring me the honey-bag. 
 Do not fret yourself too much in the action, monsieur; and, 
 good monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not ; I 
 would be loth to have you overflown with a honey-bag, 
 signior. — Where's monsieur Mustard-seed ? 
 
 Must. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Give me your neif, monsieur Mustard-seed. Pray 
 you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur. 
 Must. What's your will. 
 
 Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cavalero Cob- 
 web to scratch. I must to the barber's, monsieur ;for me- 
 thinks, I am marvellous hairy about the face: and I am such 
 a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch. 
 
 Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love ? 
 
 Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music: let us have 
 the tongs and the bones. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY- zi 
 
 Tita. Or say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat. 
 
 Bot. Truly, a peck of provender : I could munch your 
 good dry oats. Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle 
 of hay : good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow. 
 
 Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek 
 The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 
 
 Bot. I had rather have a handful or two of dried pease. 
 But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me ; I have an 
 exposition of sleep come upon me. 
 
 Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. 
 Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away. 
 So doth the woodbine the sweet honey-suckle 
 Gently en twist ; — the female ivy so 
 Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 
 O, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee. [They sleep. 
 
 No. XL 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM, 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 A Wood. 
 
 Theseus, Egeus, Hippolita and train, Demetrius, 
 Lysander, Hermia, and Helena. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Wheatley, R. A. 
 
 The. Go, one of you, find out the forester ; — 
 For now our observation is performed : 
 And since we have the vaward of the day, 
 My love shall hear the music of my hounds. — 
 Uncouple in the western valley go : — 
 Dispatch, I say, and find the forester. — 
 We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, 
 And mark the musical confusion 
 Of hounds and echo in conj unction. 
 
 Hip. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once, 
 When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
 With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves, 
 The skies, the fountains, every region near, 
 SeemM all one mutual cry ; I never heard 
 So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 
 
 The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
 So flew'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung 
 With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
 Crook-knee'd, and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls : 
 Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, 
 Each under each. A cry more tuneable 
 Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, 
 In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : 
 Judge when you hear.— But, soft; what nymphs are these? 
 
 Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep; 
 And this, Lysander; this Demetrius is; 
 This Helena, old Nedar's Helena : 
 I wonder of their being here together, 
 
 The. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe 
 The rite of May ; and, hearing our intent, 
 Came here in grace of our solemnity. — 
 But, speak, Egeus ; is not this the day 
 That Hermia should give answer of her choice ? 
 
 Ege. It is, my lord. 
 
 The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their boms. 
 
 [Honis, and shout within; Demetrius, Lysander, 
 Hermia, and Helena, wake, and start up. 
 
 The. Good -morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past ; 
 Begin these wood-birds but to couple now? 
 
 Lys. Pardon, my lord. [He and the rest kneel to Theseus. 
 
 The. I pray you all, stand up. 
 I know, you two are rival enemies ; 
 How comes this gentle concord in the world, 
 That hatred is so far from jealousy, 
 To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ? 
 
 Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedfy, 
 Half 'sleep, half waking : But as yet, I swear, 
 I cannot truly say how I came here: 
 But, as I think, (for truly would I speak, — ! 
 And now I do bethink me, so it is) 
 I came with Hermia hither : our intent 
 Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be 
 Without the peril of the Athenian law. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. XII. 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 ACT L SCENE II. 
 
 Before the Duke's Palace. 
 
 Rosalind, Celia, Orlando, Duke, and Attendants* 
 &c. Charles carried off. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Down man. 
 
 Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles the 
 wrestler? 
 
 Orla. No, fair princess ? he is the general challenger : I 
 come but in, as others do, to try with him the Strength of 
 my youth. 
 
 Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your 
 years : You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength : 
 if you saw yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with 
 your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel 
 you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own 
 sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over this at- 
 tempt. 
 
 Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore 
 be misprised : we will make it our suit to the duke, that 
 the wrestling might not go forward. 
 
 Orla. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard 
 thoughts ; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny so 
 fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes 
 and gentle wishes go with me to my trial : wherein, if I be 
 foiPd, there is but one shamed that was never gracious ; if 
 kilPd, but one dead that is willing to be so: I shall do my 
 friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me ; the world 
 no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill 
 up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made 
 it empty. 
 
24 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it were with 
 you. 
 
 Cel. And mine to eke out hers. 
 
 Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven I be deceived in you ! 
 
 Cel. Your heart's desires be with you ! 
 
 Cba. Come, where is this young gallant, that is so desir- 
 ous to lie with his mother earth? 
 
 Orla. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest 
 working. 
 
 Duke. You shall try but one fall. 
 
 Cba. No, I warrant your grace ; you shall not intreat 
 him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from 
 a first. 
 
 Orla. You mean to mock me after ; you should not have 
 mocked me before : but come your ways. 
 
 Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man ! 
 
 Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow 
 by the leg. [Charles and Orlando wrestle* 
 
 Ros. O excellent young man ! 
 
 Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who 
 should down. [Charles is thrown. Shout. 
 
 Duke. No more, no more. 
 
 Orla. Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet well 
 breathed. 
 
 Duke. How dost thou, Charles ? 
 
 Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Bear him away. What is thy name, young man ? 
 
 Orla. Orlando, my liege ; the youngest son of sir Row- 
 land de Boys. 
 
 Duke. I would thou hadst been son to some man else. 
 The world esteem'd thy father honourable, 
 But I did find him still mine enemy : 
 Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed, 
 Hadst thou descended from another house. 
 But fare thee well ; thou art a gallant youth ; 
 I would, thou hadst told me of another father. 
 
 [Exeunt Duke, train, and Le Bean. 
 
 Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this ? 
 
 Orla. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son, 
 His youngest son ; — and would not change that calling , 
 To be adopted heir to Frederick. 
 
 Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul, 
 And all the world was of my father's mind : 
 Had I before known this young man his son, 
 I should h^ve given him tears unto entreaties. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 25 
 
 Ere he should thus have ventur'd. 
 
 Cel. Gentle cousin, 
 Let us go thank him, and encourage him : 
 My father's rough and envious disposition 
 Sticks me at heart. — Sir, you have well deserv'd: 
 If you do keep your promises in love 
 But justly as you have exceeded all promise, 
 Your mistress shall be happy. 
 
 Ros. Gentleman, 
 
 [Giving him a chain from her neck. 
 Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune ; 
 That could give more, but that her band lacks means. 
 Shall we go, coz ? 
 
 Cel. Ay : — Fare you well, fair gentleman. 
 
 Orla. Can I not say, I thank you ? My better parts 
 Are all thrown down ; and that which here stands up, 
 Is but a quintaine, a mere lifeless block. 
 
 No. XIII. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE I. 
 
 Forest of Arden. 
 Jaques, Amiens> &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Hodges, R. A. 
 
 Duke Sen. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? 
 And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, 
 Being native burghers of this desert city, 
 Should, in their own confines, with forked heads 
 Have their round haunches gor'd. 
 
 1 Lord. Indeed, my lord, 
 The melancholy Jaques grieves at that ; 
 And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp 
 Than dorh your brother that hath banish'd you, 
 E 
 
26 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY* 
 
 To-day, my lord of Amiens and myself 
 Did steal behind him, as be lay along 
 Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out 
 Upon the brook that brawls along this wood s 
 To the which place a poor sequesVred stag, 
 That from the hunters aim had ta'en a hurt, 
 Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord, 
 The wretched animal beav'd forth such groans, 
 That their discharge did stretch bis leathern coat 
 Almost to bursting ; and the big round tears 
 Cours y d one another down his innocent nose 
 In piteous chace : and thus the hairy fool, 
 Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
 Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook* 
 Augmenting it with tears. 
 
 Duke Sen. But what said Jaques ? 
 Did he not moralize this spectacle? 
 
 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes 
 First, for his weeping in the needless stream; 
 
 Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament 
 
 As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more 
 
 To that which bad too much : Then, being there alone^ 
 
 Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends, 
 
 'Tis right, quoth he; thus misery doth part 
 
 The flux of company : Anon, a careless herd, 
 
 Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, 
 
 And never stays to greet him : Ay, quoth Jaques* 
 
 Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens', 
 
 'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you look 
 
 Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there? 
 
 Thus most invectively he pierceth through 
 The body of country, city, court; 
 Yea, and of this our life ; swearing, that we 
 Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse. 
 To fright the animals, and to kill them up, 
 In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. 
 
 Duke Sen. And did you leave him in this contemplation I 
 
 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting 
 Upon the sobbing deer. 
 
 Duke Sen. Shew me the place ; 
 I love to cope him in these sullen fits; 
 For then he's full of matter. 
 
 i Lord. I'll bring j ou to him straight,. [Exeunu. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 27 
 
 No. XIV. 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 ACT. V. SCENE IV. 
 Forest. 
 
 JOake Senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, Oliver, 
 Celia, Rosalind, Audrey, Clown, Silvius,Pbebe, 
 and Hymen. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Hamilton, R. A. 
 
 Still Music. 
 Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven 
 When earthly things made even 
 
 Atone together. 
 Good duke, receive thy daughter; 
 Hymen from heaven brought her, 
 
 Yea, brought her hither, 
 That thou might'st join her hand with his, 
 Whose heart within her bosom is, 
 
 Ros. To you I give myself, for I am yours, [To the Duke. 
 To you I give myself, for I am yours. [To Orlando. 
 
 Duke Sen* If there be truth in sight, you are my daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 Or I. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. 
 Pbe. If sight and shape be true, 
 Why then, — my love adieu ! 
 
 Ros. Til have no father, if you be not he : — 
 
 [To the Duke. 
 
 I'll have no husband, if you be not he : — [To Orlando. 
 Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. [To Phebe. 
 
 Hym. Peace, ho ! I bar confusion : 
 5 Tis I must make conclusion 
 
 Of these most strange events : 
 Here's eight that must take hands. 
 To join in Hymen's bands, 
 If truth holds true contents. 
 
2 S SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 You and you no cross shall part; [To Orlando and Rosalind, 
 You and you are hearj; in heart: [2b Oliver and Celia. 
 You [To Pbebe.] to his love must accord, 
 Or have a woman to your lord. — 
 
 You and you are sure together, [To the Clown and Audrey. 
 
 As the winter to foul weather. 
 
 Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, 
 
 Feed yourselves with questioning; 
 
 That reason wonder may diminish, 
 
 How thus we met, and these things finish. 
 
 No. XV. 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW, 
 
 ACT III. SCENE II. 
 
 Baptista's house. 
 
 Petrucbio, Katharine > Bianca, Hortensio y Baptist % 
 Grumio> and Train. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Wheatley, R. A. 
 
 Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains : 
 I know you think to dine with me to-day, 
 And have prepaid great store of w; dding cheer : 
 But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, 
 And therefore here I mean to take my leave. 
 
 Bap. Is't possible you will away to-night ? 
 
 Pet. I must away to-day, before night come: — 
 Make it no wonder : if you knew my business, 
 You would intreat me rather go than stay. 
 And, honest company, I thank you all, 
 That have beheld me give away myself 
 To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife : 
 Dine with my father, drink a he; ltft to me ; 
 For I must hence, and farewell to you all. 
 
 Tra. Let us intreat you stay till after dinner. 
 
 Pet. It may not be. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 29 
 
 Gre. Let me intreat you. 
 Pet. It cannot be. 
 Katb. Let me intreat you. 
 Pet. I am content. 
 Katb. Are you content to stay ? 
 Pet. I am content you shall intreat me stay; 
 But yet not stay, intreat me how you can. 
 Katb. Now, if you love me, stay. 
 Pet. Grumio, my horse. 
 
 Gru. Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the 
 horses. 
 
 Katb. Nay, then, 
 Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day ; 
 No, nor to-morrow, nor till I please myself. 
 The door is open, sir, there lies your way, 
 You may be jogging whiles your boots are green; 
 For me, I'll not be gone till I please myself: 
 'Tis like, you'll prove a jolly surly groom, 
 That take it on you at the first so roundly. 
 
 Pet. O Kate, content thee ; pr'ythee be not angry. 
 
 Katb. I will be angry : What hast thou to do ? — 
 Father, be quiet, he shall stay my leisure. 
 
 Gre. Ay, marry, sir; now it begins to work. 
 
 Katb. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner : — 
 I see, a woman maybe made a fool, 
 If she had not a spirit to resist. 
 
 Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command : — 
 Obey the bride, you that attend on her: 
 Go to the feast, revel and domineer, 
 Carouse full measure to her maidenhead, 
 Be mad and merry, — or go hang yourselves ; 
 But for my bonny Kate, sbe must witb me. 
 Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret : 
 I will be master of what is mine own: 
 Sbe is my goods, my chattels ; sbe is my bouse, 
 My bouse bold stuff, my field, my barn, 
 My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing ; 
 And here she stands, touch her whoever dare ; 
 Pll bring mine action on the proudest he 
 That stops my way in Padua. — Grumio, 
 Draw forth thy weapon, we're beset with thieves ; 
 Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man : 
 Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, Kate; 
 I'll buckler thee against a million. 
 
 [Exeunt Pet. Kath.and Gnu 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. 
 
 Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing, 
 
 Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like ! 
 
 Luc. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister? 
 
 Bian. That, being mad herself, she's madly mated. 
 
 Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. 
 
 No. XVI. 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 ACT II. SCENE lit 
 A Palace. 
 
 LtcmteSy Antigonus, Lords, Attendants^ and the 
 infant Perdita. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Opie, R. A. 
 
 Leo. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.— * 
 My child ? away with't ! — even thou, that hast 
 A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence, 
 And see it instantly consum'd with fire; 
 Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight ; 
 Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, 
 (And by good testimony) or I'll seize thy life, 
 With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse, 
 And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so ; 
 The bastard brains with these my proper hands 
 Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire ; 
 For thou sett'st on thy wife. 
 
 Ant. I did not, sir: 
 These lords, my noble fellows, if they pleass, 
 Can clear me in't. 
 
 i Lord. We can. My royal liegie, 
 He is not guilty of her coming hither. 
 
 Leo. You are liars all. 
 
 I Lord. 'Beseech your highness, give us betfref credit: 
 We have always truly serv'd you ; and beseech 
 So to esteem of us • And on our knees we beg 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 (As recompense of our dear services, 
 
 Past, and to come,) that you do change this purpose; 
 
 Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must 
 
 Lead on to some foul issue: We all kneel. 
 
 Leo. I am a feather for each wind that blows : — 
 Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel 
 And call me father? better burn it now 
 Than curse it then. But, be it : let it live: 
 It shall not neither. — -You, sir, come you hither: 
 
 [To Antigonus* 
 
 You that have been so tenderly officious 
 
 With lady Margery, your midwife, there, 
 
 To save this bastard's life : — for 'tis a bastard, 
 
 So sure as this beard's grey — what will you adventure 
 
 To save this brat's life ? 
 
 Ant. Any thing, my lord, 
 That my ability may undergo, 
 And nobleness impose : at least, thus much* 
 I'll pawn the little blood which I have left, 
 To save the innocent : any thing possible. 
 
 Leo. It shall be possible : Swear by this sword, 
 Thou wilt perform my bidding. 
 Ant. I will, my lord. 
 
 Leo. Mark, and perform it ; ( seest thou t) for the fail 
 Of any point in r i shall not only be 
 Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu\l wife ; 
 Whom, for this time, zve pardon. We enjoin thee, 
 As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry 
 This female bastard hence ; and that thou bear it 
 To some remote and desert place, quite out 
 Of our do?ninio?is; and that there thou leave it, 
 Without more mercy, to its own protection, 
 And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune 
 It came to us, I do injustice charge thee — 
 On thy soul's peril, and thy body's torture — 
 That thou commend it strangely to some place, 
 Where chance may nurse, or end it. Take it up. 
 
 Ant, I swear to do this ; though a present death 
 Had been more merciful. — Come on, poor babe : 
 Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens 
 To be thy nurses ! Wolves and bears, they say, 
 Casting their savageness aside, have done 
 Like offices of pity. — Sir, be prosperous 
 I-n more than this deed does require! and blessing, 
 
Shakspeare gallery. 
 
 Against this cruelty, fight on thy side, 
 
 Poor thing, condemn'd to loss ! [Exit, with the child ~ 
 
 Leo. No, I'll not rear 
 Another's issue. 
 
 No. XVII 
 
 WINTER'S TALE, 
 
 ACT III. SCENE III. 
 A desert place near the Sea. 
 
 Antigonus torn by a Bear ; Old Shepherd> Clown, 
 and the infant Perdita, at a distance. 
 
 Painted by Mr, Hodges, R. A. 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. Hilloa, loa! 
 
 Sbep. What, art so near ? If thou'lt see a thing to talk 
 on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail's t 
 thou, man ? 
 
 Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea, and by land : — 
 but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky ; betwixt 
 the firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point. 
 
 Sbep. Why, boy, how is it? 
 
 Clo. J would you did but see bow it chafes, how it rages, 
 bow it takes up the shore! but that's not to the point-' O, the 
 most piteous cry of the poor souls I sometimes to see 'em, and 
 not to see 'em : now the ship boring the moon with her main- 
 mast; and anon swallowed witbyest and froth, as you'd thrust 
 a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land-service — To 
 see how the bear tore out his shoulder -bone ; bow he cry'd to 
 me for help, and said bis name was Antigonus, a nobleman: 
 — But to make an end of the ship; — to see bow the sea flap* 
 dragon 9 d it: — but, first, bow the poor souls roar'd, and the 
 sea mock' d them ; — and how the poor gentleman roar'd, and 
 the bear mock'd him, both roaring louder than the sea, or 
 weather. 
 
 Sbep 'Name of mercy, when was this, boy r 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 33 
 
 Clo. Now, now ; I have not winked since I saw these 
 sights : the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear 
 half dined on the gentleman ; he's at it now. 
 
 Sbep. Would I had been by, to have helped the old man ! 
 
 Clo. I would you had been by the ship side, to have help- 
 ed her ; there your charity would have lacked footing. 
 
 [Aside* 
 
 Sbep. Heavy matters ! heavy matters ! but look thee 
 here, boy. Now bless thyself ; thou met'st with things dy- 
 ing, I with things new born. Here's a sight for thee; look 
 thee, a bearing-cloth for a 'squire's child ! Look thee here ; 
 take up, take up, boy ; open't. So, let's see;— It was told 
 me I should be rich by the fairies: this is some change- 
 ling Open't: What's within, boy? 
 
 Clo. You're a made old man ; if the sins of your youth 
 are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold ! all gold! 
 
 Sbep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up 
 with it, keep it close; home, home, the next way. We are 
 lucky, boy; and to be so still, requires nothing but secrecy. 
 Let my sheep go: — Come, good boy, the next way- 
 home. 
 
 No. XVIIL 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 ACT IV. SCENE lit 
 
 Before a Shepherd's Cottage. 
 
 Florizel, Perdita, Shepherd, Clown, Mvpsa y Dor- 
 cas, Servants, Polixenes and Camillo disguised. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Wheatley, R. A. 
 
 Flo. See, your guests approach : 
 Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, 
 And let's be red with mirth. 
 
 Sbep. Fye, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon 
 This day she was both pantler, butler, cook ; 
 Both dame and servant : welcom'd all, serv'd all : 
 
 F 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Would sing her song, and dance her turn : now here* 
 At upper end o'the table, now, i'the middle ; 
 On his shoulder, and his : her face o'fire 
 With labour ; and the thing she took to quench it 
 She would to each one sip : You are retir'd 
 As if you were a feasted one, and not 
 The hostess of the meeting : Pray you, bid 
 These unknown friends to us welcome , for it is 
 A way to make us better friends, more known. 
 Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself 
 That which you are, mistress o'the feast. Come on, 
 And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, 
 As your good flock shall prosper. 
 
 Per. Sir, welcome! [To PoL 
 
 It is my father's will, I should take on me 
 The hostefsship 6* the day : — You're welcome, sir! [To Cam. 
 Give me those flowers there, Dorcas — Reverend sirs. 
 For you there's rosemary, and rue; these keep 
 Seeming and savour all the winter long : 
 Grace and remembrance be to you both, 
 And welcome to our shearing! 
 
 PoL Shepherdess, 
 (A fair one are you) well you fit our ages 
 With flowers of winter. 
 
 Per. Sir, the year growing ancient, — 
 Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 
 Of trembling winter— the fairest flowers o'the season 
 Are our carnations and streak'd gilly-flovvers, 
 Which some call nature's bastards : of that kind 
 Our rustic garden's barren ; and I care not 
 To get slips of them. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 3> 
 
 No. XIX. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 ACT L SCENE UL 
 
 A Heath. 
 Macbeth, Banquo, and three Witches. 
 
 Painted by Mr, Fuseli, R. A. 
 
 Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. , 
 Ban. How far is't calPd to Forres ? — What are these, 
 So wither'd, and so wild in their attire, 
 That look not like the inhabitants o'the earth, 
 And yet are on't ? Live you ? or are you aught 
 That man may question ? You seem to understand me, 
 By each at once her choppy finger laying 
 Upon her skinny lips. You should be women, 
 And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
 That you are so. 
 
 Macb. Speak, if you can; — What are you ? 
 
 1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of Glamis ! 
 
 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor ! 
 
 3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! that shalt be king hereafter. 
 Ban. Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear 
 
 Things that do sound so fair? — Fthe name of truth, 
 
 Are ye fantastical, or that indeed 
 
 Which outwardly ye shew ? My noble partner 
 
 You greet with present grace, and great prediction 
 
 Of noble having, and of royal hope, 
 
 That he seems rapt withal ; to me you speak not : 
 
 If you can look into the seeds of time, 
 
 And say which grain will grow, and which will not^ 
 
 Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear 
 
 Your favours, nor your hate. 
 
36 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 j Witch. Hail! 
 
 2 Witch. Hail! 
 
 3 Witch. Hail ! 
 
 1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 
 
 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 
 
 3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none, 
 So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo. 
 
 i Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! 
 
 Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more; 
 By SineVs death, 1 know I am thane of Glumis ; 
 But how of Cawdor ? the thane of Cawdor lives, 
 A prosperous gentleman ; and to pe king, 
 Stands not within the prospect of belief, 
 No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence 
 You owe this strange intelligence ? or why 
 Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
 With such prophetic greeting ? — Speak, I charge you. 
 
 [Witches van 
 
 Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, 
 And these are of them : — Whither are they vanish' d? 
 
 Macb. Into the air ; and what seem'd corporal melted> 
 As breath into the wind. — 'Would they had staid ! 
 
 Ban. Were such things here as we do speak about? 
 Or have we eaten of the insane root 
 That takes the reason prisoner ? 
 
 Macb. Your children shall be kings. 
 
 Ban. You shall be king. 
 
 Macb. Arid thane of Cawdor too ; went it not so ? 
 Ban. To the self-same tune and words* Who's here 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 37 
 
 No. XX. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 
 A Prison. 
 Arthur, Hubert, and Attendants. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Northcote, R. A. 
 
 Hub. Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand 
 Within the arras : when I strike my foot 
 Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, 
 And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 
 Fast to the chair : be heedful: hence, and watch. 
 
 Alt en. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. — 
 Huh. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you ; look to't. — 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants. 
 Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 
 
 E?iter Arthur. 
 
 Artb. Good morrow, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Good morrow, little prince. 
 
 Artb. As little prince (having so great a title 
 To be more prince) as may be. — You are sad. 
 
 Hub. Indeed I have been merrier. 
 
 Artb. Mercy on me ! 
 Methinks, nobody should be sad but I : 
 Yet, I remember, when I was in France, 
 Young gentlemen' would be as sad as night, 
 Only for wantoaness. By my Christendom, 
 So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
 I should be as merry as the day is long ; 
 And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
 My uncle practises more harm to me ; 
 He is afraid of me, and I of him : 
 Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son? 
 No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven 
 I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 
 
 Hub* If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
 He will awake my mercy, which lies dead ; 
 
3* 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch. [J side, 
 
 Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day. 
 In sooth, I would you were a little sick, 
 That I might sit all night, and watch with you. 
 I warrant, I love you more than you do me. 
 
 Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.— 
 Read here, young Arthur. [Shewing a paper.] How now, 
 foolish rheum ! [Aside. 
 Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! 
 I must be brief, lest resolution drop 
 Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.—— 
 Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ ? 
 
 Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect. 
 Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? 
 
 Hub, Young boy, I must. 
 
 Arih. And will you? 
 
 Hub. And I will. 
 
 Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did but ake, 
 I knit my handkerchief about your brows 
 (The best I had, a princess wrought it me) 
 And I did never ask it you again : 
 And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
 And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, 
 Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time ; 
 Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? 
 Or, What good love may I perform for you ; 
 Many a poor man's son would have lain still, 
 And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
 But you, at your sick service had a prince. 
 Nay, you may think my love was crafty love. 
 And call it cunning. Do, an if you will : 
 If heaven be pleas ? d that you must use me ill, 
 Why then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes? 
 These eyes that never did, nor never shall, 
 So much as frown on your 
 
 Hub. I have sworn to do it ; 
 And with hot irons must I burn them out. 
 
 Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it ! 
 The iron of itself though heat red-hot, 
 Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
 And quench this fiery indignation, 
 Even in the matter of mine innocence : 
 Nay, after that, consume away in rust, 
 But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
 Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron ; 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 39 
 
 An if an angel should have come to me, 
 And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
 I would not have believ'd him ; no tongue but Hubert's. 
 Hub. Come forth. [Stamps. 
 
 [Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, &c. 
 Do as I bid you. 
 
 Arth. O save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out, 
 Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 
 
 Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 
 
 Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough? 
 I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
 For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be boundl 
 Nay, bear me, Hubert I drive these men away, 
 And I will sit as quiet as a lamb', 
 I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
 Nor look upon the iron angrily : 
 Thrust but these men away, and Til forgive you. 
 Whatever torment you do put me to. 
 
 Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 
 
 Atten. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed, 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants. 
 
 Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend ; 
 He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart ; — 
 Let him come back, that his compassion may 
 Give life to yours. 
 
 Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 
 
 Arth. Is there no remedy ? 
 
 Hub. None but to lose your eyes. 
 
 Arth. O heaven! — that there were but a moth in yours, 
 A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, 
 Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
 Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, 
 Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 
 
 Hub. Is this your promise ? go to, hold your tongue. 
 
 Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
 Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
 Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! 
 Or, Hubert, if you will cut out my tongue, 
 So I may keep mine eyes ; O, spare mine eyes 5 
 Though to no use but still to look on you ! 
 Lo ! by my troth, the instrument is cold. 
 And would not harm me. 
 
 Hub. I can heat it, boy. 
 
 Arth. No, In good sooth; the fire is dead with grief, 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Being create for comfort, to be us'd 
 In undeserv'd extremes : See else yourself ; 
 There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
 The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, 
 And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. 
 
 Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 
 
 Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, 
 And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert: 
 Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; 
 And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight, 
 Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. 
 All things that you should use to do me wrong 
 Deny their office : only you do lack 
 That mercy, which fierce fire and iron extends, 
 Creatures of note for mercy -lacking uses. 
 
 Hub. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine eye 
 For all tbe treasure that thine uncle owes : 
 Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, 
 With this same very iron to burn them out. 
 
 Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this while 
 You were disguised. 
 
 Hub. Peace : no more. Adieu ; 
 Your uncle must not know but you are dead : 
 I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
 And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure, 
 That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 
 Will not offend thee. 
 
 Arth. O heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Silence! no more. Go closely in with me ; 
 Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt* 
 
 \ 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 41 
 
 No. XXL 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 ACT III. SCENE II. 
 
 Justice Shallow's Seat in Gloucestershire. 
 Shallow, Silence, Falstaff, Bardolph, Boy .Mouldy, 
 Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bull-calf. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Durno. 
 
 Bull. Good master corporate Bardolph, stand my friend ^ 
 and here is four Harry ten shillings in French crowns for 
 you. iln very truth, sir, I had as lief be hang'd, sir, as go : 
 and yet for mine own part, sir, I do not care; but, rather, 
 because I am unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a de- 
 sire to stay with my friends ; else, sir, I did not care, for 
 mine own part, so much. 
 
 Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 
 
 Mouldy. And good master corporal captain, for my old 
 dame's sake, stand my friend ; she has nobody to do any 
 thing about her, when I am gone ; and she is old, and can- 
 not help herself : you shall have Forty, sir. 
 
 Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 
 
 Feeble. By my troth I care not ; — a man can die but once: 
 — we owe God a death; — I'll ne'er bear a base mind: — an't 
 be my destiny, so ; an't be not, so : No man's too good to 
 serve his prince : and, let it go which way it will, he that 
 dies this year, is quit for the next. 
 
 Bard. Well said : thou'rt a good fellow. 
 
 Feeble. Faith, I'll bear no base mind. 
 
 Re-enter Falstaff, and Justices. 
 Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have ? 
 Sbal. Four of which you please. 
 
 Bard. Sir, a word with you: — I have three pound to free 
 Mouldy and Bull-calf. 
 Fal. Go to ; well. 
 
 G 
 
4* SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Sbal. Come, sir John, which four will you have ? 
 Fal. Do you choose for me. 
 
 Sbal. Marry, then, Mouldy, Full-calf, Feeble, ani 
 
 Shadow. 
 
 Fal. Mouldy, and Bull-calf : — For you, Mouldy, stay at 
 home till you are past service : — and for your part, Bull- 
 calf,— grow till you come unto it; I will none of you. 
 
 Sbal. Sir John, sir John, do not yourself wrong; they' 
 are your likeliest men ; and I would have you served with 
 the best. 
 
 Fal. Will you tell me, rnaster Shallow, how to choose a 
 man? Care I for the limb, the thewes, the stature, bulk and 
 big assemblance of a man ! Give me the spirit, master Shal- 
 low.— Here's Wart ^-you see what a ragged appearance it 
 is : he shall charge you, and discharge you, with the motion 
 of a pewterer's hammer ; come off, and on, swifter than h& 
 that gibbets-on the brewer's bucket. And this same half- 
 fac'd fellow, Shadow, — give me this man ; he presents no 
 niark to the enemy ; the foeman may with as great aim le- 
 vel at the edge of a pen-knife ; And, for a retreat, — how 
 swiftly will this Feeble, the woman's tailor, rim off? O, give 
 
 me the spare men, and spare me the great dries. Put me 
 
 a caliver into Wart's hand, Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. Hold, Wart, traverse ; thus, thus, thus. 
 
 Fal. Come y manage me your caliper. So : — very well: 
 —go to :—very good ; — exceeding good. O, give me al- 
 ways a little lean, old, cbopp'd, bald shot. Well said, 
 
 I'faitb, Wart: tbou'rt a good scab : bold, there's a tester 
 for tbee. 
 
 Sbal. He is not his craft's-master, he doth not do it rignt. 
 I remember at Mile-end Green (when f lay at Clement's 
 Inn, I was then SirDagonet in Arthur's show) there was a 
 little quiver fellow, and 'a would manage you his piece thus : 
 and 'a would about and about, and come you in, and come 
 you in ; rab, tab, tab, would 'a say ; bounce, would 'a say : 
 and away again would 'a go, and again would 'a come ;— I 
 shall never see such a fellow. 
 
 Fal. These fellows Will do well, master Shallow. — God 
 keep you, master Silence ; I will not use many words with 
 you: — Fare you well, gentlemen both: I thank you: I 
 must a dozen mile to-night. —Bardolph, give the soldiers 
 coats. 
 
 Sbal. Sir John, heaven bless you, and prosper your af- 
 fairs* and send us peace ! As you return, visit my house ; let- 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 mr old acquaintance be renew'd: peradventure, I will 
 with you to the court. 
 
 Fal. I would you would, master Shallow. 
 
 Sbal. Goto; I have spoke, at a word. Fare you well. 
 
 [Exeunt Shallow and Silence. 
 
 FaL Fare you well, gentle gentleman. — On, Bardoiph ; 
 lead the men away. — [Exeunt Bardoiph, Recruits, 
 As I return, I will fetch off these justices : I do see the bot- 
 tom of Justice Shallow. Lord, lord, how subject we old men 
 are to this vice of lying ! This same starv'd justice hath done 
 nothing but prate to me of the wildness of his youth, and 
 the feats he hath done about Turnbull-street ; and every 
 third word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Turk's tri- 
 bute. I do remember him at Clement's Inn, like a man 
 made after supper of a cheese-paring : when he was naked, 
 he was, for all the world, like a fork'd radish ; with a head 
 fantastically carved upon it with a knife : he was so forlorn, 
 that his dimensions to any thick sight were invincible : he 
 was the very genius of famine, yet lecherous as a monkey, 
 and the whores call'd him — Mandrake : he came ever in the 
 rearward of the fashion, and sung those tunes to the over- 
 scutch'd huswives, that he heard the carmen whistle; and 
 sware — they were his fancies, or his good-nights. And now 
 is this vice's dagger become a 'squire ; and talks as famili- 
 arly of John of Gaunt, as if he had been sworn brother to 
 him: and I'll be sworn, he never saw him but once in the 
 Tilt-yard : and then he burst his head for crowding among 
 the marshal's men. I saw it; and told John of Gaunt he 
 beat his own name : for you might have truss'd him, and all 
 his apparel, into an eel-skin ; the case of a treble hautboy 
 was a mansion for him, a court : and now he has land and 
 beeves. Well; I will be acquainted with him, if 1 return: 
 and it shall go hard, but I will make him a philosopher's 
 two stories to me: if the young dace be a bait for the old 
 pike, I see no reason in the law of nature, but I may snap 
 at him. Let time shape, and there an end. [Exeunt. 
 
44 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. XXII. 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VL 
 ACT It SCENE IV. 
 
 London. The Temple Garden. 
 
 Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick; Richard 
 Plantagenet, Vernon, and another Lawyer. 
 
 Painted by Mr. J. Boydell. 
 
 Plant. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means this 
 silence? 
 
 Dare no man answer in a case of truth. 
 
 Suf. Within the Temple-hall we were too loud; 
 The garden here is more convenient. 
 
 Plant. Then say at once, if I maintain'd the truth % 
 Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error ? 
 
 Suf. 'Faith, I have been a truant in the law t ; 
 I never yet could frame my will to it ; 
 And, therefore, frame the law unto my will, 
 
 Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then between us. 
 
 War. between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch; 
 Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth ; 
 Between two blades, which bears the better temper; 
 Between two horses, which doth bear him best ; 
 Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye,— 
 I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment ; 
 But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, 
 Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. 
 
 Plant. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance : 
 The truth appears so naked on my side, 
 That any purblind eye may find it out. 
 
 Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, 
 So clear, so shining, and so evident, 
 That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 45 
 
 Plant. Since you are tongue-ty } d, and soiotb to $peak> 
 In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts : 
 Let him that is a true-born gentleman, 
 And stands upon the honour of bis birth, 
 If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, 
 From off this briar pluck a white rose with me. 
 
 Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer, 
 But dare maintain the party of the truth, 
 Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. 
 
 War. I love no colours ; and without all colour 
 Of base insinuating flattery, 
 I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. 
 
 Suf I pluck this red rose with young Somerset, 
 And say withal, I think he held the right. 
 
 Ver. Stay, lords, and gentlemen, and pluck no more* 
 Till you conclude— that he upon whose side 
 The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree, 
 Shall yield the other in the right opinion. 
 
 Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected ; 
 If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. 
 
 Plant. And I. 
 
 Ver. Then for the truth and plainness of the case, 
 I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, 
 Giving my verdict on the white rose side. 
 
 Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; 
 Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, 
 And fall on my side so against your will. 
 
 Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, 
 Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, 
 And keep me on the side where still I am. 
 
 Som. Well, well, come on. Who else? 
 
 Lawyer. Unless my study and my books be false, 
 The argument you held was wrong in you ; [To Somerset* 
 In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too. 
 
 Plant. Now, Somerset, where is your argument? 
 
 Som. Here, in my scabbard ; meditating that, 
 Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. 
 
46 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 No. XXIII. 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VL 
 ACT III. SCENE III. 
 
 Cardinal Beaufort's Bed Chamber. 
 King Henry, Salisbury, and Warwick., 
 
 Painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
 
 LATE PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY. 
 
 K. Henry. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to t% 
 sovereign. 
 
 Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treat 
 sure, 
 
 Enough to purchase such another island, 
 So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. 
 
 K. Henry. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, 
 When death's approach is seen so terrible! 
 
 War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. 
 
 Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. 
 Dy'd he not in his bed ? where shquld he die ? 
 Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no ? — ■ 
 O ! torture me no more, I will confess.— 
 Alive again ? then shew me where he is ; 
 I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. — 
 He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. — 
 Comb down his hair ; look ! look ! it stands upright, 
 Like lime-twigs s$t tQ catch my winged soul ! — 
 Give me some drink ; and bid the apothecary 
 Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. 
 
 K- Henry. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens,. 
 Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch ! 
 O, beat away the busy meddling fiend, 
 That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, 
 And from his bosom purge this black despair J| 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 47 
 
 War. See, how the pangs of death do make him grin! 
 
 Sal. Disturb him not ; let him pass peaceably. 
 
 K. Henry. Peace to bis soul, if God's good pleasure bel-~ 
 Lord Cardinal, if thou think' st on heaven's bliss s 
 Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. — 
 He dies, and makes no sign: — O God, forgive him! 
 
 War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. 
 
 K. Henry. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. ■ 
 Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close ; 
 And let us all to meditation [Exeunt. 
 
 No. XXIV. 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VL 
 
 ACT V. SCENE VII 
 The Palace in London. 
 
 King Edward, the Queen, with the young Prince, 
 Clarence, Gloster, and Hastings. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Northcote, R. A. 
 
 K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal throne* 
 Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies. 
 What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn, 
 Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride! 
 Three dukes of Somerset, three-fold renown'd 
 For hardy and undoubted champions : 
 Two Cliffords, as the father and the son, 
 And two North umberlands ; two braver meri 
 Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound : 
 With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague 1 ,- 
 That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion, 
 And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat# 
 And made our footstool of security ^ 
 
 Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy. 
 
 [Taking the child. 
 Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles, and myself 
 Have in our armours watch d the winter's night ; 
 Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat, 
 That thou mighVst repossess the crown in peace; 
 And of our labours thou shall reap the gain. 
 
 Glo. Pll blast his harvest, if your head were laid\ 
 For yet I am not looVd on in the world. 
 This shoulder was ordain 'd so thick, to heave ; 
 And heave it shall some weight, or break my back : — 
 Work thou the way,— and thou shalt execute. [Aside. 
 
 K. Edw* Clarence and Gloster, love my lovely queen ; 
 And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. 
 
 Clar. The duty that I owe unto your majesty, 
 I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. 
 
 K. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence ; worthy brother, thanks. 
 
 Glo. And that I love the tree from whence thou sprangst, 
 Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit :— 
 To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master ; \[As 'de 
 And cry'd — all hail ! when as he meant — all harm. J «• 1 
 
 K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights, 
 Having my country's peace, and brothers loves. 
 
 Clar* What will your grace have done with Margaret? 
 Reignier, her father, to the king of France 
 Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, 
 And hither have they sent it for her ransoitf. 
 
 K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence to France. 
 And now what rests, but that we spend the time 
 With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, 
 Such as befit the pleasures of the court ; — — 
 Sound, drums and trumpets !— farewell, sour annoy ! 
 For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy, [Exeunt. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 49 
 
 No. XXV. 
 KING RICHARD IJI* 
 ACT III. SCENE f. 
 London. 
 
 Prince of Wales, Duke of York his brother, Dukes 
 ofGlosterand Buckingham, Cardinal Bourchier, 
 Lord Hastings, Lord Mayor, and his train. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Northcote> R. A. 
 
 Buck. Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of York. 
 
 Prince. Richard of York I how fares our loving brother? 
 
 York. Well, my dread lord; so must I call you now. 
 
 Prince. Ay, brother, to our grief as it is yours : 
 Too late he died that might have kept that title, 
 Which by his death hath lost much majesty. 
 
 Glo. How fares our cousin, noble lord of York t 
 
 York. I thank you, gentle Uncle. O, my lord, 
 You said that idle weeds are fast in growth : 
 The grince, my brother, hath outgrown me far. 
 Grfo. He hath my lord. 
 York. Arid therefore is he idle ? 
 Glo. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so. 
 York. Then is he more beholden to you than I. 
 Glo. He may command me, as my sovereign; 
 But you have power in me, as in a kinsman. 
 York. I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger. 
 Glo. My dagger, little cousin ? with all my heart. 
 Prince. A beggar, brother? 
 York. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give ; 
 And being but a toy, which is no grief to give. 
 Glo. A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin. 
 York. A greater gift ! O ! that's the sword to it. 
 Glo. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. 
 
 H 
 
SHAKSPEARfi GALLERY. 
 
 York. O then, I see, you'll part but with light gifts ; 
 In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay. 
 Glo. It is too weighty for your grace to wear. 
 York. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. 
 Glo. A^ihat, would you have my weapon, little lord i 
 York. I would, that I might thank you as you call me. 
 Glo. How? 
 York. Little. 
 
 Prince. My lord of York will still be cross in talk : — 
 Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. 
 
 York. You mean to bear me, not to bear with me. — 
 Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me ; 
 Because that I am little, like an ape, 
 He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders. 
 
 Buck. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons ! 
 To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, 
 He prettily and aptly taunts himself. 
 So cunning, and so young, is wonderful. 
 
 Glo. My gracious lord, will't please you pass along ? 
 Myself and my good cousin Buckingham, 
 Will to your mother, to entreat of her 
 To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you. 
 
 York. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord ? 
 
 Prince. My lord protector needs will have it so. 
 
 York. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. 
 
 Glo. Why, what should you fear? 
 
 York. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost : 
 My grandam told me, he was murder'd there. 
 
 Prince. I fear no uncles dead. 
 
 Glo. Nor none that live, I hope. 
 
 Prince. An if they live, I hope I need not fear. 
 But come, my lord, and with a heavy heart, 
 Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower, 
 
•SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. XXVIL 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE HI. 
 
 The Royal Children ; Dighton and Forrest, the 
 Murderers. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Northcote, R. A. 
 
 Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done ; 
 The most arch deed of piteous massacre 
 That ever yet this land was guUty of. 
 Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn 
 To do this piece of ruthless butchery, 
 A'heit they were fleslvd villains, bloody dogs, 
 Melting with tenderness and mild compassion, 
 Wept like two children in their deaths' sad story. 
 
 O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes. — 
 
 Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another 
 
 Within their alabaster innocent arms: 
 
 Their lips were four red roses on a stalk. 
 
 Which in their summer beauty, kissed each other. 
 
 A book of prayers on their pillow lay ; 
 
 Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my mind . 
 
 But, O, the devil — there the villain stopp'd ; 
 
 When Dighton thus told on — we smothered 
 
 The most replenished sweet work of nature 
 
 That, from the prime creation, e'er she framed. — 
 
 Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse; 
 They could not speak : and so I left them both, 
 To bear this tidings to the bloody king, 
 
 N. B. This picture was painted before the present work was under- 
 taken : but has been deemed by the best judges highly deserving of a 
 place in it. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. XXVIIL 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS, 
 ACT IV. SCENE L 
 
 Titus's House. 
 
 Titus, AndronicuSi Marcus Andronicus, and young 
 Lucius, pursued by Layini#. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Kirk. 
 
 Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia 
 Follows me everywhere, I know not why* — 
 Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes I 
 Alas, sweet a ' nt, I know not what you mean. 
 
 Mar. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt. 
 
 Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do the harm. 
 
 Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did. 
 
 Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs? 
 
 Tit. Fear her not, Lucius: — Somewhat doth she mean. 
 See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee: 
 Somewhither would she have thee go with her. 
 Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care 
 Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee, 
 Sweet poetry, and Tully's orator. 
 Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus? 
 
 Boy. My lord, I know nqt, I, nor can I guess, 
 Unless some fit of frenzy do possess her: 
 For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, 
 Extremity of griefs would make men mad; 
 And I have read, that Hecuba of Troy 
 Ran mad, through sorrow : That made me to fear ; 
 Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt 
 Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did, 
 And would not, but in fury, fright my youth : 
 Which made me down to throw my books, and fly, 
 Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt : 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. S3 
 
 And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, 
 
 I will most willingly attend your ladyship. 
 
 Mar. Lucius, I will. [Lavinia turns over the books which 
 Lucius has let fall. 
 
 Tit. How now, Lavinia? — Marcus, what means this ? 
 Some book there is that she desires to see : — 
 Which is it, girl, of these ? open them, boy. — 
 But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd; 
 Come, take choice of all my library, 
 And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens 
 Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. 
 Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus ? 
 
 Mar. I think she means, that there was more than one 
 Confederate in the fact. — Ay, more there was : — 
 Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. 
 
 Tit. Lucius, what book is it that she tosseth so f 
 
 Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphosis ; 
 My mother gave it me. 
 
 Mar. For love of her that's gone, 
 Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest. 
 
 Tit. Soft ! see how busily she turns the leaves? 
 Help her : What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read? 
 This is the tragic tale of Philomel, 
 And treats of Tereus ? treason and his rape; 
 And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. 
 
 Mar. See, brother, see; note how she quotes the, leaves. 
 
 Tit. Lavinia, wer't thou thus surpriz'd, sweet girl, 
 Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was, 
 Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods ! — 
 See, see ! 
 
 Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt, 
 (O, had we never, never hunted there !) 
 Pattern'd by that the poet here describes, 
 By nature made for murders and for rapes. 
 
 Mar. O, why should nature build so foul a den, 
 Unless the gods delight in tragedies ! 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 No. XXIX. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE t 
 Lear's Palace. 
 
 Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Corde- 
 lia, King of France, Kent, Attendants, &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Fusel i, R. A. 
 
 Lear. To thee and thine, hereditary ever, 
 Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom ; 
 No less in space, validity, and pleasure, 
 Than that conflrm'd on GpneriL — Now, our joy, 
 Although the last, not least ; to whose young love 
 The vines of France and milk of Burgundy 
 Strive to be interess'd, what can you say to draw 
 A third, more opulent than your sisters? Speak. 
 
 Cor. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Lear. Nothing ? 
 
 Cor. Nothing. 
 
 Lear. Nothing can come of nothing : speak again , 
 
 Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave 
 My heart into my mouth. I love your majesty 
 According to my bond ; nor more nor less. 
 
 Lear. How, how, Cordelia ? mend your speech a little 4 
 Lest it may mar your fortunes. 
 
 Cor. Good my lord, 
 You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me : I 
 Return those duties back as are right fit ; 
 Obey you, love you, and most honour you. 
 Why have my sisters husbands, if they say 
 They love you, all ? Haply, when I shall wed, 
 That lord whose hand must take my plight, shall carry 
 Half my love with him, half my care and duty. 
 Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, 
 To love my father all. 
 
 Lear. But goes this with thy heart? 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 55 
 
 Cor. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Lear. So young, and so untender ? 
 
 Cor. So young, my lord, and true. 
 
 Lear. Let it be so — Thy truth then be thy dower* 
 For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, 
 The mysteries of Hecate, and the night ; 
 By all the operations of the orbs, 
 From whom we do exist and cease to be A , 
 Here I disclaim all my paternal care, 
 Propinquity , and property of blood ; 
 And as a stranger to my heart and me, 
 Hold thee, from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian, 
 Or be that makes his generation messes 
 To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom 
 Be as well neighboured, pitied, and relieved 
 ^ As thou, my sometime daughter. 
 
 Kent. Good my liege, — 
 
 Lear. Peace, Kent ! 
 Come not between the dragon and his wrath : 
 I lovd her most, and thought to set my rest 
 On her kind nursery, — Hence, and avoid my sight! 
 
 [To Cordelia. 
 
 So be my grave my peace, as here I give 
 Her father's heart from herl—Qd\\ France.— Who stirs ? 
 Call Burgundy.— Cornwall and Albany, 
 With my two daughters' dowers digest this third : 
 Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her, 
 - I do invest you jointly with my power, 
 Pre-eminence, and all the large effects 
 That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course, 
 With reservation of an hundred knights, 
 By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode 
 Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain 
 The name, and all the additions to a king ; 
 The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, 
 Beloved sons, be yours : which to confirm, 
 *This coronet part between you. [Giving the crown. 
 
 Kent. Royal Lear, 
 Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, 
 Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd, 
 As my great patron thought on in my prayers, — 
 
 Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. 
 
 Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 
 The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly 
 When Lear is mad. 
 
56 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 No. XXX. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 ACT III. SCENE IV. 
 
 Part of a Heath, with a Hovel. 
 
 hear, Kent, Fool ; Edgar disguised as a Madman, 
 and Gloster, with a Torch. 
 
 Painted by Mr. West, R. A. 
 
 PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY. 
 
 Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter; 
 The tyranny of the open night's too rough 
 For nature to endure. ['Storm still. 
 
 Lear. Let me alone. 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
 
 Lear. Wilt break my heart? 
 
 Kent. I'd rather break mine own: Good my lord, enter. 
 
 Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious storm 
 Invades us to the skin : so 'tis to thee ; 
 But where the greater malady is fix'd, 
 The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear; 
 But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, 
 Thou'dst meet the bear i'the mouth. When the mind's free^ 
 The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind 
 Doth from my senses take all feeling else, 
 Save what beats there. — Filial ingratitude ! 
 Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand 
 For lifting food to't ? — But I will punish home :— <■ 
 No, I will weep no more. — • — In such a night 
 
 To shut me out ! Four on, I will endure 
 
 In such a night as this ! O Regan, Goneril! » 
 
 Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave you all— 
 O, that way madness lies ; let me shun that; 
 No more of Aiat 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 57 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
 
 Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease; 
 This tempest will not give me leave to ponder 
 On things would hurt me more. — But I'll go in — 
 In, boy; go first. — [To tbefooL] You houseless poverty, — 
 Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. — 
 
 [Fool goes in* 
 
 Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
 That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, 
 How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, 
 Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you 
 From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en 
 Too little care of this 1 Take physic, pomp ; 
 Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel ; 
 That thou may'st shake the superflux to them, 
 And shew the heavens more just. 
 
 Edg. [within.'] Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor 
 Tom ! [The Fool runs out from the hovel. 
 
 Fool. Come not in here, nuncle ; here's a spirit. 
 Help me, help me ! 
 
 Kent. Give me thy hand. — Who's there ? 
 
 Fool. A spirit, a spirit ; he says his name's poor Tom. 
 
 Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i'the straw ? 
 Come forth. 
 
 Enter Edgar, disguised as a madman. 
 
 Edg, Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! — 
 Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. — 
 Humph ! go to thy cold bed and warm thee. 
 
 Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters ? 
 And art thou come to this ? 
 
 Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom ? whom the foul 
 fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford 
 and whirlpool, over bog and quagmire ; that hath laid 
 knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew ; set rats- 
 bane by his porridge ; made him proud of heart to ride on 
 a bay trotting-horse over four-inch'd bridges, to course his 
 own shadow for a traitors — Bless thy five wits ! Tom's a« 
 cold. — O, do, de, do, de, do, de.> — Bless thee from whirlwinds, 
 star-blasting, and taking ! Do poor Tom some charity, whom 
 the foul fiend vexes : — There could I have him now, — and 
 there, — -and there, — and there again, and there. [Storm still. 
 
 Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to this 
 pass ? — 
 
 Couldst thou save nothing ? Didst thou give them all ? 
 
 J 
 
58 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Fool. Nay, he reseiVd a blanket, else we had been all 
 shamed. 
 
 Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air 
 Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters ! 
 Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. 
 
 Lear. Death, traitor ! nothing could have subdu'd nature 
 To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters. — — 
 Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers 
 Should have thus little mercy on their flesh ? 
 Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh begot 
 Those pelican daughters. 
 
 Edg. Pillicock sat on pillicock's hill ; — 
 Halloo, halloo, loo, loo ! 
 
 Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and mad- 
 men. 
 
 Edg. Take heed o'the foul fiend : Obey thy parents ; 
 keep thy word justly ; swear not; commit not with man's 
 sworn spouse ; set not thy sweet heart on proud array.— 
 Tom's a-cold. 
 
 Lear. What hast thou been ? 
 
 Edg. A serving-man, proud in heart and mind ; that 
 curl'd my hair, wore gloves in my cap, serv'd the lust of my 
 mistress's heart, and did the act of darkness with her : swore 
 as many oaths as I spake words, and broke them in the 
 sweet face of heaven : one that slept in the contriving of 
 lust, and wak'd to do it. Wine lov'd I deeply ; dice dear- 
 ly ; and in women out-paramour'd the Turk : false of heart, 
 light of ear, bloody of hand ; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, 
 wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not 
 the creaking of shoes, nor the rustling of silks, betray thy 
 poor heart to women : Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy 
 hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender's books, and 
 defy the foul fiend. — Still through the hawthorn blows the 
 cold wind ; Says suum, mun, ha no nonny, dolphin my boy, 
 my boy, sessa ; let him trot by. [Storm still. 
 
 Lear. Why, thou were better in thy grave than to answer 
 with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies.— Is man 
 no more than this ¥ Consider him well: Thou owest the worm 
 no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no per- 
 fume: — Hal here's three of us are sophisticated I — Thou art 
 the thing itself: unaccommodated man is no more but such ft 
 poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. — Off, off, you lend- 
 i?igs: — Come, unbutton here.— 
 
 [Tearing off his clothes. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 59 
 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented ; this is a naughty 
 night to swim in — Now a little fire in a wild field were 
 like an old lecher's heart ; a small spark, all the rest of 
 his body cold. — Look, here comes a walking fire. 
 
 Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet : he begins at 
 curfeu, and walks till the first cock ; he gives the web and 
 the pin, squints the eye, and makes the hare-lip ; mildew? 
 the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth. 
 Saint Withold footed thrice the wold ; 
 He met the night-mare and her ninefold ; 
 Bid her alight, 
 And her troth plight, 
 And, Aroint thee, witch, aroint thee ! 
 Kent, How fares your grace ? 
 
 Enter Gloster, with a torch, 
 
 Lear, What's he ? 
 
 Kent, Who's there ? what is't you seek ? 
 
 Glo. What are you there? Your names ? 
 
 Edg. Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the toad, 
 the tadpole, the wall-newt, and water; that in the fury 
 of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for 
 sallads; swallows the old rat, and the ditch-dog; drinks 
 the green mantle of the standing pool ; who is whipt from 
 tything to tything, and stock'd, punish'd, and imprisoned; 
 who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, 
 horse to ride, and weapon to wear, 
 
 But mice, and rats, and such small deer, 
 Have been Tom's food for seven long year. 
 
 Beware my follower: — Peace, Smolkin! peace, thou fiend! 
 
 Glo. What, hath your grace no better company ? 
 
 Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman j 
 Modo he's call'd, and Mahu. 
 
 Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile. 
 That it doth hate what gets it. 
 
 Edg, Poor Tom's a-cold. 
 
 Glo, Go in with me ; my duty cannot suffer 
 To obey in all your daughters hard commands ; 
 Though their injunction be to bar my doors, 
 And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you ; 
 Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out, 
 And bring you where both fire and food is ready. 
 
6o 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. XXXL 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 ACT V. SCENE III. 
 
 A Campy near Dover. 
 
 Lear, with Cordelia dead; Edgar, Albany, and 
 Kent. Regan, Goneril, and Edmund, dead. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Barry, R. A. 
 
 PROFESSOR OF PAINTING TO THE ROYAL ACADEMY. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody knife. 
 
 Gent. Help! help! Ohelp! 
 Edg. What kind of help? 
 Alb. Speak, man* 
 
 Edg. What means that bloody knife ? 
 Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes ; 
 
 It came even from the heart of 
 
 Alb. Who, man? speak. 
 
 Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady: and her sister 
 By her is poison'd ; she hath confess'd it. 
 
 Edm. I was contracted to them both ; all three 
 Now marry in an instant. 
 
 Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead !— 
 This judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble, 
 Touches us not with pity. [Exit Gent, 
 
 Enter Kent. 
 
 Edg. Here comes Kent, sir. 
 
 Alb. O ! 'tis he. 
 The time will not allow the compliment 
 Which very manners urges. 
 
 Kent. I am come 
 To bid my king and master aye good-night; 
 Is he not here ? 
 
 Alb. Great thing of us forgot ! 
 
 Speak, Edmund, where's the king ? and where's Cordelia?— 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 61 
 
 Seest thou this object, Kent ? [The bodies of Goneril ani 
 
 Kent. Alack, why thus ? Regan are brought itu 
 
 Edm. Yet Edmund was belov'd: 
 The one the other poison'd for my sake, 
 And after slew herself. 
 
 Alb. Even so. — Cover their faces. 
 
 Edm. I pant for life : — Some good I mean to dew 
 Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send,— 
 Be brief in it, — to the castle; for my writ 
 Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia. — 
 Nay, send in time. 
 
 Alb. Run, run, O, run 
 
 Edg. To whom, my lord ? — Who has the office ? sencj 
 Thy token of reprieve. 
 
 Edm. Well thought on; take my sword, 
 Give it the captain. 
 
 Alb. Haste thee for thy life. [Exit Edgar, 
 
 Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me, 
 To hang Cordelia in the prison, and 
 To lay the blame upon her own despair. 
 
 Alb. The gods defend her ! Bear him hence awhile. 
 
 [Edmund is borne off. 
 
 Enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in his arms; Edgar, Officer, 
 and others. 
 
 Lear. Howl, bowl, bowl, bowl! — O, you are men of 
 
 stones I 
 
 Had I your tongues and eyes, Pd use them so 
 
 That heaven's vault should crack : O, she is gone for ever!— 
 
 I know when one is dead, and when one lives ; 
 She's dead as earth: — Lend me a looking-glass ; 
 If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, 
 Why, then she lives. 
 
6z 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. XXXIL 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 ACT I; SCENE V. 
 
 A Hall in CapuleVs House. 
 
 Romeo, Juliet, Nurse, Capulet, &c. with the 
 Guests and the Maskers. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Miller. 
 
 1 Cap. Welcome, gentlemen ! ladies, that have their toes 
 Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you. — 
 
 Ah ha, my mistress ; which of you all 
 
 Will now deny to dance ? she that makes dainty, she, 
 
 I'll swear, hath corns. Am I come near you now? 
 
 You are welcome, gentlemen ! I have seen the day, 
 
 That I have worn a visor ; and could tell 
 
 A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, 
 
 Such as would please: — 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone. 
 
 You are welcome, gentlemen. — Come, musicians, play. 
 
 A hall ! a hall ! give room, and foot it, girls. 
 
 [Music plays, and they dance.. 
 More light, ye knaves ; and turn the tables up, 
 And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. — 
 Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. 
 Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet 5 
 For you and I are past our dancing days. 
 How long is't now since last yourself and I 
 Were in a mask ? 
 
 2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years. 
 
 1 Cap. What, man ! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much • 
 *Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, 
 
 Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, 
 
 Some five-and-twenty years, and then we mask'd. 
 
 2 Cap, 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, sir; 
 His son is thirty. 
 
 1 Cap. Will you tell me that ? 
 His son was but a ward two years ago. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Ro?n. What lady's that which doth enrich the hand 
 Of yonder knight ? 
 Serv. I know not, sir. 
 
 Rom. G, she doth teach the torches to burnbrightl 
 It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night 
 Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear : 
 Beauty too rich for use ; for earth too dear ! 
 So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, 
 As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. 
 The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, 
 And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand; 
 Did my heart love till now ? forswear it, sight ! 
 For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. 
 
 Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague :— 
 Fetch me my rapier, boy. — What, dares the slave 
 Come hither, cover 'd with an an tick face, 
 To fleer and scorn at our solemnity ? 
 Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, 
 To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. 
 
 i Cap. Whv, how now, kinsman ? wherefore storm ) 
 so? 
 
 Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; 
 A villain, that is hither come in spite, 
 To scorn at our solemnity this night. 
 
 i Cap. Young Romeo, is't ? 
 
 Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. 
 
 I Cap. Content thee, gentle coz ; let him alone ; 
 He bears him like a portly gentleman ; 
 And, to say truth, Verona brags of him 
 To be a virtuous and well-govern 'd youth ; 
 I would not, for the wealth of all this town, 
 Here in my house, do him disparagement : 
 Therefore be patient, take no note of him ; 
 It is my will, the which if thou respect, 
 Shew a fair presence, and put off these frowns : 
 An ill beseeming semblance for a feast. 
 
 Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest, 
 I'll not endure him. 
 
 I Cap. He shall be endur'd ; 
 What, goodman boy : — I say, he shall : — Go to ~ 
 Am I the master here, or you ? go to. 
 You'll not endure him ! — God shall mend my soul — *" 
 You'll make a mutiny among my guests ! 
 You will set cock-a-hoop ; you'll be the man .! 
 
6 4 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. 
 
 I Cap. Go to, go to, 
 You are a saucy boy : — Is't so, indeed ? — — 
 This trick may chance to scathe you — I know what. 
 
 You must contrary me ! marry, 'tis time 
 
 Well said, my hearts : — You are a princox ; go :— 
 Be quiet, or — More light, more light, for shame! 
 I'll make you quiet ; What ! Cheerly, my hearts. 
 
 Tyb. Patience perforce, with wilful choler meeting, 
 Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. 
 I will withdraw : but this intrusion shall, 
 Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit, 
 
 Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand [To Juliet, 
 
 This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this 
 
 My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand 
 
 To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. 
 
 JuL Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much* 
 Which mannerly devotion shews in this ; 
 For saints have hands that pilgrims hands do touch, 
 And palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss. 
 
 Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too ? 
 
 JuL Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. 
 
 Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do ; 
 They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. 
 
 JuL Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. 
 
 Rom. Then move not while my prayers' effect I take. 
 Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. [Kissing her. 
 
 Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. 
 
 Rom. Sin from my lips ? O trespass sweetly urg'd ! 
 Give me my sin again. 
 
 JuL You kiss by the book. 
 
 Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you. 
 
 Rom. What is her mother ? 
 
 Nurse. Marry, bachelor, 
 Her mother is the lady of the house, 
 And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous : 
 I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal ; 
 I tell you — he that can lay hold of her, 
 Shall have the chinks. 
 
 Rom. Is she a Capulet? 
 O dear account ! my life is my foe's debt. 
 
 Ben. Away, begone ; the sport is at the best. 
 
 Rom. Ay, so I fear ; the more is my unrest. 
 
 i Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone ; 
 We have a trifling foolish banquet towards . 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 6 5 
 
 Is it e'en so ? Why, then I thank you all : 
 
 I thank you, honest gentleman ; good night. 
 
 More torches here ! — Come on then, let's to bed. 
 
 Ah, sirrah, [To 2 Cap.] by my fay, it waxes late : 
 
 I'll to my rest. [Exeunt. 
 
 No. XXXIII. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 A C T I V. S C E N E V. 
 
 Juliet on her Bed. 
 
 Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, Friar, Nurse, Mu- 
 sicians, &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Opie, R, A. 
 
 La. Cap. What noise is here ? 
 
 Nurse. O lamentable day ! 
 
 La. Cap. What's the matter? 
 
 Nurse. Look, look ! O heavy day ! 
 
 La. Cap. O me! O me! — my child, my only life ! 
 Revive, look up, or I will die with thee ! — 
 Help, help ! — call help. 
 
 Enter Capulet. 
 Cap. For shame, bring Juliet forth ; her lord is come. 
 Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd; she's dead, alack the day ! 
 La. Cap. Alack the day ! she's dead, she's dead, she's 
 dead. 
 
 Cap. Ha! let me see her: — Out, alas! she's cold; 
 Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff ; 
 Life and these lips have long been separated : 
 Death lies on her, like an untimely frost 
 Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. 
 Accursed time ! unfortunate old man. 
 
 Nurse. O lamentable day! 
 
 La. Cap. O woeful time ! 
 
 K 
 
66 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, 
 Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. 
 
 Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris, with Musicians. 
 
 Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church ? 
 
 Cap. Ready to go, but never to return. 
 O son, the night before thy wedding-day 
 Hath Death lain with thy bride. — See, there she lies, 
 Flower as she was, deflower'd by him. 
 Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir; 
 My daughter he hath wedded ! I will die, 
 And leave him all; life leaving, all is Death's. 
 
 Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's face, 
 And doth it give me such a sight as this ? 
 
 La. Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day 1 
 Most miserable hour that e'er time saw 
 In lasting labour of his pilgrimage ! 
 But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, 
 But one thing to rejoice and solace in, 
 And cruel Death hath cutch'd it from my sight. 
 
 Nurse. O woe ! O woeful, woeful, woeful day ! 
 Most lamentable day ! most woeful day 
 That ever, ever I did yet behold ! 
 O day ! O day ! O day ! O hateful day ! 
 Never was seen so black a day as this ! 
 O woeful day ! O woeful day ! 
 
 Par. ReguiPd, divorced, wrong'd, spighted, slain ! 
 Most detestable Death, by thee beguil'd, 
 By cruel, cruel thee, quite overthrown !- — — 
 O love ! O life ! — not life, but love in death ! 
 
 Cap. Despis'd distressed, hated, martyr'd, kilPd ! 
 
 Uncomfortable time ! why cam'st thou now 
 To murder, murder our solemnity? 
 O child ! O child 1 — my soul, and not my child ! 
 Dead art thou ! — alack ! my child is dead ; 
 And, with my child, my joys are buried ! 
 
 Fri. Peace, ho, for shame I confusion's cure lives not 
 In these confusions. Heaven and yourself 
 Had part in this fair maid : now heaven hath all, 
 And all the better is it for the maid: 
 Tour part in her you could not keep from death, 
 But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. 
 The most you sought was — her promotion: 
 For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced ; 
 hid weep ye ?ww, seeing she is advanced 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 6 7 
 
 Above the clouds , as high as heaven itself? 
 O, in this love, you love your child so ill, 
 That you run mad, seeing that she is well; 
 She's not well marry 9 d tljat lives marry 9 d long ? 
 But she 9 s best marry 9 d that dies marry 9 d young. 
 Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary 
 On this fair corse ; and as the custom is, 
 In all her best array bear her to the church: 
 For though fond nature bids us all lament^ 
 Tet nature's tears are reason's merriment. 
 
 Cap. All things that we ordained festival, 
 Turn from their office to black funeral ; 
 Our instruments to melancholy bells ; 
 Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast ; 
 Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change; 
 Our bridal flowers serve for a bury'd corse, 
 And all things change them to the contrary, 
 
 Fri. Sir, go you in, — and, madam, go with him ; — • 
 And go, sir Paris ; — every one prepare 
 To follow this fair corse unto her grave : 
 The heavens do lowr upon you for some ill ; 
 Move them no more, by crossing their high will. 
 
 No. XXXIV. 
 
 HAMLET, 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE IV. 
 
 The Platform before the Palace at Elsineur. 
 
 Hamlet, Horatio y Marcellus, and the 
 Ghost. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Fusel i, R. A. 
 
 Ham. The air bites shrewdly ; it is very cold, 
 Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. 
 Ham. What hour now? 
 Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve. 
 
68 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Mar. No, it is struck. 
 
 Hor. Indeed I heard it not : it then draws near the season 
 Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. 
 
 [A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off> within. 
 What does this mean, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes his rouse. 
 Keeps wassel, and the swaggering up -spring reels ; 
 And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, 
 The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
 The triumph of his pledge. 
 
 Hor, Is it a custom ? 
 
 Ham. Ay, marry, is't; 
 But to my mind, — though I am native here, 
 And to the manner born, — it is a custom 
 More honour'd in the breach than the observance. 
 This heavy-headed revel, east and we^t, 
 Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations : 
 They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase 
 Soil our addition ; and, indeed, it takes 
 From our atchievements, though perform'd at height, 
 The pith and marrow of our attribute. 
 So, oft it changes in particular men, 
 That for some vicious mole of nature in them, 
 As, in their birth ( wherein they are not guilty, 
 Since nature cannot choose his origin) 
 By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, 
 Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason ; 
 Or, by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens 
 The form of plausive manners ! — that these men, — 
 Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect ; 
 Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, — 
 Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace, 
 As infinite as man may undergo) 
 Shall, in the general censure, take corruption 
 From that particular fault : The dram of base 
 Doth all the noble substance of worth doubt, 
 To his own scandal. 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 
 Hor. Look, my lord, it comes ! 
 
 Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! 
 Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, 
 Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, 
 Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, 
 Thou com'st in such a questionable shape; 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 6 9 
 
 That I will speak to thee : I'll call thee, Hamlet, 
 King, father, royal Dane ; O, answer me ! 
 Let me not hurst in ignorance I but tell, 
 Why thy caroniz'd bones, hears'd in death, 
 Have burst their cerements ? why the sepulchre, 
 Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, 
 Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, 
 To cast thee up again ? What may this mean, — 
 That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, 
 Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, 
 Making night hideous ; and we, fools of nature, 
 So horridly to shake our disposition 
 With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? 
 Say, why is this ? wherefore? what should we do ? 
 
 Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, 
 As if it^some impartment did desire 
 To you alone. 
 
 Mar. Look, with what courteous action 
 It waves you to a more removed ground : 
 But do not go with it. 
 
 Hor. No, by no means. 
 
 Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it. 
 
 Hor. Do not, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, what should be the fear ? 
 I do not set my life at a pjn's fee ; 
 And, for my soul, what can it do to that, 
 Being a thing immortal as itself? 
 It waves me forth again : — I'll follow it. 
 
 Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord ? 
 Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, 
 That beetles o'er his base into the sea ? 
 And there assume some other horrible form, 
 Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, 
 And draw you into madness? Think of it: 
 The very place puts toys of desperation, 
 Without more motive into every brain, 
 That looks so many fathoms to the sea, 
 And hears it roar beneath. 
 
 Ham. It waves me still : — 
 Go on, I'll follow thee. 
 
 Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Hold off your hands. 
 
 Hor. Be rul'd ; you shall not go. 
 
 Ham . My fate cries out, 
 And makes each petty artery in this body 
 
7© 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY! 
 
 As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. [Gbost beckons. 
 
 Still am I calVd* — unhand me, g entlemen ; 
 
 [Breaking from them. 
 By heaven, Vll make a ghost of him that lets me : — 
 
 I say, away : — Go on, Fit follow thee. 
 
 [Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet. 
 
 Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. 
 Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. 
 Hor. Have after : — To what issue will this come ? 
 Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. 
 Hor. Heaven will direct it. 
 
 Mar. Nay, let's follow him. [Exeunt 
 
1790. 
 
 No. XXXV. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 The inchanted Island : before the Cell of Pros per 0. 
 Prospero and Miranda. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Romney. 
 
 Mir a. If by your art, my dearest father, you have 
 Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them: 
 The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, 
 But that the ^sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, 
 Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd 
 With those that I saw suffer ! a brave vessel, 
 Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her, 
 Dasti'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock 
 Against my very heart ! Poor souls ! they perish'd. 
 Had I been any god of power, I would 
 Have sunk the sea within the earth, or ere 
 It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and 
 The freighting souls within her. 
 
 Pro. Be collected ; 
 No more amazement : tell your piteous heart 
 There's no harm done. 
 
 * # # * # * 
 
 Enter Ariel, 
 
 Ari. All hail, great master ! grave sir, hail ! I come 
 To answer thy best pleasure ; be't to fly, 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 
 
 On the curl'd clouds : to thy strong bidding, task 
 
 Ariel, and all his quality. 
 
 Pro. Hast thou, spirit, 
 Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee ? 
 
 Ari. To every article. 
 I boardeci the king's ship ; now on the beak, 
 Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
 I flam'd amazement : Sometimes I'd divide, 
 And burn in many places ; on the top^mast, 
 The yards and boltsprit, would I flame distinctly, 
 Then meet and join : Jove's lightnings, the precursors 
 O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
 And sight out-running were not: the fire, and cracks 
 Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune 
 Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble* 
 Yea, his dread trident shake. 
 
 Pro. My brave spirit ! 
 Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 
 Would not infect his reason ? 
 
 Ari. Not a soul 
 But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd 
 Some tricks of desperation : All, but mariners, 
 Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, 
 Then all a- fire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand, 
 With hair up-starting (then like reeds, not hair) 
 Was the first man that leap'd ; cry'd, Hell is empty, 
 And all the devils are here. 
 
 Pro. Why, that's my spirit ! 
 But was not this nigh shore ? 
 
 Ari . Close by, my master* 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 73 
 
 No. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 T E M 
 
 PEST. 
 
 ACT I 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The inchanted Island: before the Cell of Prosper 0. 
 Prospero, Miranda, Caliban, and Ariel. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Fusel r, R. A. 
 
 Pro* Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself 
 Upon thy wicked dam, come forth! 
 
 Enter Caliban. 
 Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd 
 With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, 
 Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye, 
 And blister you all o'er ! 
 
 Pro. For this* be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps. 
 Side-stitcbes that shall pen thy breath up ; urchins 
 S bally for that vast of night that they may work. 
 All e. ercise on thee : thou shalt be pinch d 
 As tb, k as honey-combs, each pinch more stinging 
 Than l ees that made them. 
 
 Cal. I must eat my dinner. 
 This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, 
 Which thou tak'stfrom me. When thou earnest first, 
 Thou strok'st me, and mad 9 st much of me; would' st give n\e 
 Water with berries inH ; and teach me how 
 To name the bigger light, and how the less, 
 That burn by day arid night: and then I lov'd thee, 
 And shewed thee all the qualities 0' the isle, 
 The fresh springs, brine -pits, barren place, and fertile,; 
 Curs' d be 1, that did sol — All the charms 
 Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you ! 
 For I am all the subjects that you have, 
 Which first zvas mine own king : and here you sty me 
 In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me 
 The rest of the island. 
 
 I 
 
74 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY 
 
 Pro. Thou most lying slave, 
 Whom stripes may ?nove, not kindness : / have us'd tbee £ 
 Tilth as thou art, with hu?nan care ; and lodged thee 
 In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate 
 The honour of my child. 
 
 Cal. Oh bo , oh ho! — would it had been done! 
 Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else 
 This isle with Calibans. 
 
 Pro. Abhorred slave ; 
 Which any print of goodness will not take, 
 Being capable of all ill ! I pity'd thee, 
 Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour 
 One thing or other : when thou didst not, savage, 
 Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like 
 A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes 
 With words that made them known : But thy vild race, 
 Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures 
 Could not abide to be with ; therefore v/ast thou 
 Deservedly confinM into this rock, 
 Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison. 
 
 Cal. You taught me language ; and my profit on't 
 Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you 
 For learning me your language ! 
 
 Pro. Hag-seed, hence ; 
 Fetch us in few el ; and be quick, thou wert best 
 To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice? 
 If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly 
 What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps, 
 Fill all thy bones with aches ; make thee roar, 
 That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 
 
 Cal. No, 'pray thee ! — 
 I must obey: his art is of such power, [Aside 4 
 
 It would controul my dam's god, Setebos*, 
 And make a vassal of him. 
 
 Pro. So, slave, hence ! [Exit, Call 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 75 
 
 No. XXXVII. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE I. 
 
 The Entrance of the Cell opens y and discovers Fer- 
 dinand and Miranda playing at Chess. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Wheatley, R. Ac 
 
 Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false. 
 
 Fer. No, my dearest love, 
 I would not for the world. 
 
 Mira Yes. for a score of kingdoms, you should wrangle ; 
 And I would call it fair play. 
 
 No, XXXVIII. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, 
 ACT. V. SCENE III. 
 
 A Forest. 
 Valentine, Protheus, Silvia, and Julia. 
 
 Painted by Mrs. Angelica Kauffman 
 Zucchi, R. A. 
 
 Enter Valentine. 
 
 Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man ! 
 This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
 I better brook than flourishing peopled towns : 
 Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, 
 And, to the nightingale's complaining notes, 
 Tune my distresses, and record my woes. 
 
7 6 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY 
 
 O thou, that dost inhabit in my breast* 
 
 Leave not the mansion so long tenantless, 
 
 Lest growing ruinous, the building fall. 
 
 And leave no memory of what it was ! 
 
 Repair me with thy presence, Silvia ; 
 
 Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain !— 
 
 What hallooing and what stir is this to-day ? 
 
 These are my mates, that make their wills their law, 
 
 Have some unhappy passenger in chace : 
 
 They love me well ; yet I have much to do 
 
 To keep them from uncivil outrages. 
 
 Withdraw thee, Valentine. Who's this comes here? 
 
 [Steps aside. 
 
 Enter Protheus, Silvia, and Julia. 
 
 Pro. Madam, this service I have done for you 
 (Though you respect not aught your servant doth) 
 To hazard life, and rescue you from him 
 That would have forc'd your honour and your love. 
 Vouchsafe me for my meed, but one fair look; 
 A smaller boon than this I cannot beg : 
 And less than this, I'm sure you cannot give. 
 
 Val. How like a dream is this I see and hear! 
 Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. [Aside. 
 
 SiL O miserable, unhappy that I am ! 
 
 Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came; 
 But, by my coming, I have made you happy. 
 
 SiL By thy approach thou mak'st me most unhappy. 
 
 Jul. And me, when he approacheth to your presence. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 SiL Had I been seized by a hungry lion, 
 I would have been a breakfast to the beast, 
 Rather than have false Protheus rescue me. 
 O, heaven be judge, how I love Valentine, 
 Whose life's as tender to me as my soul ; 
 And full as much (for more there cannot be) 
 I do detest false, perjur'd Ppotheus: 
 Therefore be gone, solicit me no more. 
 
 Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to death, 
 Would I not undergo, for one calm look ! 
 O, 'tis +he curse in love, and still approv'd, 
 When women cannot love, where they're belov'd ! 
 
 SiL When Protheus cannot love where he's belov'd. 
 Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, 
 For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 77 
 
 Into a thousand oaths : and all those oaths 
 Descended into perjury, to love me. 
 Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou had'st two, 
 And that's far worse than none ; better have none 
 Than plural faith, which is too much by one: 
 Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! 
 
 Pro. In love, 
 Who respects friend ? 
 
 SiL Ail men but Protheus. 
 
 Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
 Can no way change you to a milder form, 
 I'll woo you, like a soldier, at arm's end ; 
 And love you 'gainst the nature of love, force you. 
 
 Sil. O heaven! 
 
 Pro. F 11 force tbee yield to my desire. 
 Val. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch', 
 Thou friend of an ill fashion! 
 Pro. Valentine! 
 
 Val. Thou common friend, that's without faith or love 
 ( Tor such is a friend now ) ; treacherous man! 
 Thou hast beguiVd my hopes ; nought but mine eye 
 Could have persuaded me : Now I dare not say 
 I have one friend alive; thou would' st disprove me. 
 Who should be trusted, when one's own right hand 
 Is perjur'd to the bosom? Protheus, 
 I am sorry, I must never trust thee more, 
 But count the world a stranger for thy sake. 
 The private wound is deepest! O time, most accurst! 
 r Mongst all foes, that a friend should be the worst! 
 
7* 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 No. XXXIX. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 ACT I. SCENE I. 
 Anne Page, Slender, and Simple. 
 Painted by Mr. Smirke. 
 
 Re-enter Anne Page, 
 
 Shal. Here comes fair mistress Anne ; — would I were 
 young, for your sake, mistress Anne ! 
 
 Anne. The dinner is on the table ; my father desires your 
 worship's company. 
 
 Sbal. I will wait on him, fair mistress Anne. 
 
 Eva. Od's plessed will I I will not be absence at the 
 grace. [Exeunt Sbal. and Evans. 
 
 Anne. WilLH please your worship so come in, sir? 
 
 Slen. No 9 I thank you, forsooth, heartily, I am very welL 
 
 Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. 
 
 Slen. J am not a hungry , / thank you, forsooth : — Go sir- 
 rah. for all you are my man, go wait upon my cousin Shallow. 
 [Exit Simple.] A justice of peace sometime may be beholden 
 to his friend for a man: — I keep but three men and a boy yet, 
 till my mother be dead: But what though ? yet I live like a 
 poor gentleman born. 
 
 Anne. J may not go in without your worship : they will 
 not sit till you come. 
 
 Slen. I faith Fll eat nothing : I thank you as much as tho y 
 I did. 
 
 Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. 
 
 Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you : I bruis'd my 
 shin the other day with playing at sword and dagger with a 
 master of fence ; three veneys for a dish of stew'd prunes ; 
 and, by my troth, I cannot abide the smell of hot meat since* 
 Why do your dogs bark so ? be there bears i'the town ? 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 79 
 
 Anne, I think, there are, sir; I heard them talked of. 
 
 Slen. I love the sport well ; but I shall as soon quarrel 
 at has any man in England.-** You are afraid, if you sec 
 the bear loose, are you not ? 
 
 Anne Ay, indeed, sir. 
 
 Slen. That's meat and drink to me now: I have seen 
 Sackerson loose twenty times, and have taken him by the 
 chain : but, I warrant you, the women have so cried and 
 shriek'd at it, that it pass'd : — but women, indeed, cannot 
 abide 'em! they are very ill-favour'd rough things. 
 
 No. XL. 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 ACT II* SCENE I. 
 Angelo's House. 
 
 Escalus, a Justice, Elbow, Froth, Clown, Of- 
 ficers, &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr, Smirke. 
 
 Elb* Come, bring them away : if these be good people 
 in a commonweal, that do nothing but use their abuses in 
 common houses, I know no law : bring them away. 
 
 Ang. How now> sir ! What's your name ? and what's 
 the matter? 
 
 Elb. If it please your honour, I am the poor Duke's 
 constable, and my name is Elbow: I do lean upon justice, 
 sir, and do bring in here before your good honour two no- 
 torious benefactprs. 
 
 Ang. Benefactors? Well; what benefactors are they? 
 are they not malefactors? 
 
 Elb. If it please your honour, 1 know not well what they 
 are : but precise villains they are, that I am sure of; and 
 void of all profanation in the world that good christians 
 ought to have. 
 
 EscaL This comes off well ; here's a wise officer. 
 
So SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Ang. Go to : What quality are they of? Elbow is your 
 name ? Why dost thou not speak, Elbow, 
 Clown. He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow. 
 Ang. What are you, sir? 
 
 Elb. He, sir? a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that 
 serves a bad woman ; whose house, sir, was, as they say, 
 pluck'd down in the suburbs ; and now she professes a hot- 
 house, which, I think, is a very ill house too. 
 
 Escal. How know you that ? 
 
 Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your 
 honour — 
 
 Escal. How ! thy wife ? 
 
 Elb. "Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest wo- 
 man ; — 
 
 Escal. Dost thou detest her therefore ? 
 
 Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as she, 
 that this house, if it be not a bawd's house, it is pity of her 
 life, for it is a naughty house. 
 
 Escal. How dost thou know that, cons'table ? 
 
 Elb. Marry, sir, by my wife ; who, if she had been a 
 woman cardinally given, might have been accused in forni- 
 cation, adultery, and all uncleanness there. 
 
 Escal. By the woman's means ? 
 
 Elb. Ay, sir, by mistress Overdone's means: but as she 
 spit in his face, so she defy'd him. 
 
 Clown. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so, 
 
 Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable 
 man ; prove it. 
 
 Escal. Do you hear how he misplaces? [To Angelo. 
 
 Clown. Sir, she came in great with child ; a«d longing 
 (saving your honour's reverence) for stew'd prunes; sir, 
 we had but two in the house, which at that very distant 
 time stood, as it were, in a fruit-dish, a dish of some three- 
 pence ; your honours have seen such dishes ; they are not 
 China dishes, but very good dishes. 
 
 Escal. Go to, go to; no matter for the dish, sir. 
 
 Clown. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein in 
 the right: but, to the point: — As I say, this mistress El- 
 bow, being, as I say, with child, and being great-belly'd, 
 and longing, as I said, for prunes ; and having but two in 
 the dish, as I said, master Froth here, this very man, hav- 
 ing eaten the rest, as I said, and, as I say, paying for them 
 very honestly; — for, as you know, master Froth, I could 
 not give you three-pence again. 
 
 Froth. No, indeed. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 81 
 
 Clown. Very well : you being then, if you be remem- 
 bered, cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes. 
 Frotb. Ay, so I did, indeed. 
 
 Clown. Why, very well: I telling you then, if you be 
 remembered, that such a one, and such a one, were past cure 
 of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as 
 I told you. 
 
 Frotb. All this is true. 
 
 Clown. Why, very well, then. 
 
 Escal. Come, you are a tedious fool : to the purpose.— 
 What was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath cause to com- 
 plain of? come me to what was done to her. 
 
 Clown. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. 
 
 Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not. 
 
 Clown. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's 
 leave: And I beseech you, look into master Froth, here, 
 sir ; a man of fourscore pound a year ; whose father died at 
 Hallowmas. — Was't not at Hallowmas, master Froth ? 
 
 Frotb. All-hallond eve. 
 
 Clown. Why, very well ; I hope here be truths : Hs, sir, 
 sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir; — 'twas in the Bunch 
 of Grapes, where indeed you have a delight to sit : Have you 
 not ? 
 
 Frotb. I have so? because it is an open room, and good 
 for winter. 
 
 Clown. Why, very well then ; — I hope here be truths. 
 
 Ang. This will last out a night in Russia, 
 When nights are longest there. — I'll take my leave, 
 And leave you to the hearing of the cause ; 
 Hoping, you'll find good cause to whip them all. 
 
 Escal. I think no less : Good-morrow to your lordship. 
 
 [Exit Angelo. 
 
 Now, sir, come on ; what was done to Elbow's wife, once 
 more ? 
 
 Clown. Once, sir ? there was nothing done to her once. 
 Elb. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my 
 wire. 
 
 Clown. I beseech your honpur, ask me. • 
 
 Escal. Well, sir, What did this gentleman to her ? 
 
 Clown. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face : 
 — Good master Froth, look upon his honour ; 'ti? for a good 
 purpose : Doth your honour mark his face? 
 
 Escal. Ay, sir, very well. 
 
 Clown* Nay, I beseech you, mark it well. 
 
 M 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Escal. Well, I do so. 
 
 Clown. Doth your honour see any harm in his face? 
 Escal. Why, no. 
 
 Clown. I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst 
 thing about him : Good then ; if his face be the worst thing 
 about him, how could master Froth do the constable's wite 
 any harm ? I would know that of your honour. 
 
 Escal. He's in the right. Constable, what say you to it? 
 
 Elb. First, an it like you, the house is a respected house ; 
 next, this is a respected fellow ; and his mistress is a respect- 
 ed woman. 
 
 Clown. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected per- 
 son than any of us all* 
 
 Elb. Variety thou liest; thou liest, wicked variety the time 
 is yet to come that she was ever respected with man, woman, 
 or child. 
 
 Clown. Sir, she was respected with him before he marred 
 with her. 
 
 Escal. Which is the wiser here ? Justice or Iniquity ?—Is 
 this true ? 
 
 Elb. O thou caitiff I O thou varlet! O thou wicked Han- 
 nibal! 1 respected with her before I was marry'd to her! If 
 ever I was respected with her, or she with me, let not your 
 worship think me the poor duke's officer. — Prove this, thou 
 wicked Hanibal, or I'll have mine action of battery on thee. 
 
 Escal* If he took you a box o'the ear, yoti might have 
 your action of slander too. 
 
 Elb. Marry, I thank your good worship for it: What's't 
 your worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked cai- 
 tiff? 
 
 Escal. Truly, officer, because he has some offences in 
 him, that thou would'st discover if thou couldst, let him 
 continue in his courses till thou knowest what they are. 
 
 Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it: — Thou seest, 
 thou wicked varlet now, what's come upon thee; thou art 
 to continue now, thou varlet; thou art to continue. 
 
 Escal. Where were you born, friend ? [To Froth. 
 
 Froth. Here in Vienna, sir. 
 
 Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a year ? 
 
 Froth. Yes, an't please you, sir. 
 
 Escal. So. — What trade are you of, sir ? [To the Clown. 
 Clown. A tapster ; a poor widow's tapster. 
 Escal. Your mistress's name ? 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. $3 
 
 Clown. Mistress Overdone. 
 
 Escal. Hath she had any more than one husband ? 
 
 Clown. Nine, sir : Overdone by the last. 
 
 Escal. Nine! Come hitherto me, master Froth. Mas- 
 ter Froth, I would not have you acquainted with tapsters; 
 they will draw you, master Froth, and you will hang them. 
 Get you gone, and let me hear no more of you. 
 
 No. XLI. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 ACT II. SCENE I. 
 Puck. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Fuseli, R. A, 
 
 Puck. Thou speak'st aright; 
 I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
 I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, 
 When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, 
 Neighing in likeness of a silly foal. 
 And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl. 
 In very likeness of a roasted crab ; 
 And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob ; 
 And on lier withered dew-lap pour the ale: 
 The wisest aunt telling the saddest tale* 
 Sometimes for three-foot stools mistaketh me ; 
 Then slip I from her burn, down topples she, 
 And tailor cries, and falls into a cough, 
 And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe. 
 And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear. 
 
 A merrier hour was never wasted there.— 
 
 ^ut room, Faery, here comes Oberon. 
 
84 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY* 
 
 No. XLIL 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 ACT II. SCENE II. 
 Puck. 
 
 Painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
 
 LATE PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY. 
 
 Puck Through the forest have I gone, 
 But Athenian found I none. 
 On whose eyes I might approve 
 This flower's force in stirring love. 
 
 No. XLIII. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 ACT V. SCENE I. 
 
 Belmont. A Grove, and Lawn, before Portia's 
 House. 
 
 Jessica, Lorenzo, and Stephano. 
 Painted by Mr. Hodges, R. A. 
 
 Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming. 
 Ana yet no matter ; why should we go in ? 
 My friend Stephano, signify, J pray you, 
 Within the Louse, your mistress is at hand; 
 And bring your music forth into the air. — [Exit Servant. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank! 
 Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music 
 Creep in our ears ; Svft stillness and the night 
 Became the touches of sweet harmony. 
 Sity Jessica : Look, how the floor of heaven 
 Is thick inlay* d with patines of bright gold ; 
 There 9 snot the smallest orb which thou behold' st, 
 But in this motion like an jngle sings, 
 Siill quiring to the young-ey'd cherubims: 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
 
 But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
 Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. — » 
 
 Enter Muskia?is. 
 Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn ; 
 With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, 
 And draw her home with music. 
 
 jfes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. 
 Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: 
 For do but note a wild and wanton herd, 
 Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
 Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, 
 Which is the hot condition of their blood ; 
 If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, 
 Or any air of music touch their ears, 
 You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 
 Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze 
 By the sweet power of music : Therefore, the poet 
 Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ; 
 Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, 
 But music for the time doth change his nature. 
 The man that hath no music in himself, 
 Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, 
 Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; 
 The motions of his spirit are dull as night, 
 And his affections dark as Erebus. 
 Let no such man be trusted. — Mark the music. 
 
 [Music. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. XLIV. 
 ALL s WELL THAT ENDS WELL, 
 
 ACT V. SCENE III. 
 
 King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords y Attendants, &c* 
 Bertram guarded, Diana, and Widow % 
 
 Painted by Mr. WheatleY, R. A, 
 
 Enter Helena and Widow, 
 
 King, Is there no exorcist, 
 Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes ? 
 Is't real that I see? 
 
 Hel. No, my good lord ; 
 'Tis but a shadow of a wife you see ; 
 The name, and not the thing. 
 
 Ber. Both, both; oh, pardon ! 
 
 Hel. Ob, my good lord, when I was like this maid, 
 I found you wonoVrous kind. There is your ring ; 
 And, look you, here's your letter: — This it says, 
 When from my finger you can get this ri'ng, 
 And are by me with child, — This is done : 
 Will you be mine now you are doubly won ? 
 
 Ber. If she, my liege,can make me know this clearly, 
 I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. 
 
 Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrije. 
 Deadly divorce step between me and you ! 
 O, my dear mother, do I see you living ? 
 
 Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon :-— Good 
 Tom Drum, lend me a handkerchief: So, I thank thee; 
 wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee; Let thy 
 eourt'sies alone, they are scurvy ones. 
 
 King. Let us from point to point this story know, 
 
 To make the even truth in pleasure flow. 
 
 If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, [To Diana. 
 Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower; 
 For I can gi>ess, that, by thy honest aid, 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 *7 
 
 Thou kept'st 1 wife herself, thyself a maid.- 
 Of th r, and ail the progress, more and less, 
 Re olvedly more leisure snail express: 
 All yet seems well ; and, it it end so meet, 
 The bittei past, more welcome is the sweet. 
 
 No. XLV. 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE IV. 
 
 Oliver's House. 
 Olivia, Maria, and Malvolio. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Ramberg. 
 
 Enter Olivia and Maria. 
 
 Oli. I have sent after him : He says he'll come; 
 How shall I feast him ? what bestow of him ? 
 For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or borrow'd. 
 I speak too loud.— — — r 
 Where is Malvolio ?— he's sad and civil, 
 And suits well for a servant with my fortunes* — 
 Where is Malvolio ? 
 
 Mar. He's coming, madam, but in very strange manrfer 
 He is sure possest, madam. 
 
 Oli. Why, what's the matter ? does he rave ? 
 
 Mar. No, madam, 
 He does nothing but smile : your ladyship wef e best 
 To have some guard about you, if he come ; 
 For, sure, the man is tainted in bis wits. 
 
 Oli. Go, call him hither. — -I'm as mad as he, 
 
 Enter Malvolio. 
 
 If sad and merry madness equal be<— 
 How now, Malvolie ? 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Mai. Sweet lady, bo bo. [Smiles fantastically. 
 
 Oli. Smil'st tbou? 
 I serttfor thee upon a sad occasion. 
 
 Mai. Sad lady ? I could be sad : This does make some ob- 
 struction in the blood, this cross-gartering — But what of 
 that? if it please the eye of one , it is with me as the very true 
 sonnet is : Please one, and please all. 
 
 Oli. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the matter 
 with thee ? 
 
 Mai. Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. 
 It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed- 
 I think we do know the sweet Roman hand. 
 
 Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio? 
 
 Mai. To bed? Ay, sweetheart; and I'll come to thee. 
 
 Oli. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and 
 kiss thy hand so oft ? 
 
 Mar. How do you, Malvolio? 
 
 Mai. At your request? Yes ; nightingales answer daws. 
 Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness be- 
 fore my lady ? 
 
 Mai. Be not afraid of greatness: 'T was well writ. 
 OIL What meanest thou by that, Malvolio ? 
 Mai. Some are born great, — 
 Oli. Ha? 
 
 Mai. Some atcbieve greatness, — 
 Oli. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Mai. And some have greatness thrust upon them. 
 Oli. Heaven restore thee ! 
 
 Mai. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings ; — 
 
 Oli. Thy yellow stockings ? 
 
 Mai. And wisb'd to see thee cross-garter* d. 
 
 Oli. Cross-garter'd ? 
 
 Mai. Go to : tbou art made, if thou deslr'st to be so ; — 
 Oli. Am I made ? 
 
 Mai. If not, let me see thee a servant still. 
 Oli. Why, this is very midsummer madness. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 89 
 
 No. XLVI. 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE I. 
 
 The Street. 
 
 Duke 3 Viola, Antonio, Officers, Olivia, Priest, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Hamilton, R. A. 
 
 Enter Olivia and Attendants* 
 Duke. Here comes the countess ; now heaven walks on 
 earth. 
 
 But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness : 
 Three months this youth hath tended upon me; 
 But more of that anon. Take him aside. 
 
 OH. What would my lord, but that he may not have, 
 Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable ? — 
 Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 
 
 Vio. Madam? 
 
 Duke. Gracious Olivia. — 
 
 OIL What do you say, Cesario ? — Good my lord, — 
 
 Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. 
 
 Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, 
 It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear 
 As howling after music. 
 
 Duke. Still so cruel ? 
 
 Oli. Still so constant, lord 
 
 Duke. What ! to perverseuess ? you uncivil lady, 
 To whose ingrate and inauspicious altars 
 My soul the faithful'st offerings hath breath'd out, 
 That e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I do ? 
 
 Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall become him. 
 
 Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, 
 Like to the Egyptian thief, at point of death, 
 Kill what I love ; a savage jealousy, 
 That sometimes savours nobly ? But hear me this : 
 Since you to non-regardance cast mv faith, 
 
 N 
 
9 o 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 And that I partly know the instrument 
 
 That screws me from my true place in your favour, 
 
 Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still ; 
 
 But this your minion, whom, I know, you love, 
 
 And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, 
 
 Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, 
 
 Where he sits crowned In his master's spight. — 
 
 Come, boy, with me ; my thoughts are ripe in mischief: 
 
 I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, 
 
 To spite a raven's heart within a dove. [Going. 
 
 Vio. And I, most jocund, apt and willingly, 
 To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. [Following, 
 
 Oli. Where goes Cesario ? 
 
 Vio. After him I love, 
 More than I love these eyes, more than my life, 
 More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife : 
 If I do feign, you witnesses above, 
 Punish my life for tainting of my love ! 
 
 Oli, Ah me, detested ! how am I beguil'd ! 
 
 Vio, Who does beguile you ? who does do you wrong? 
 
 Oli. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long ? — 
 Call forth the holy father. , [Exit an Attendant. 
 
 Diike* Come away. [To Viola, 
 
 Oli. Whither, my lord? — Cesario, husband, stay. 
 
 Duke Husband ? 
 
 Oli. Ay, husband; can he that deny? 
 
 Duke. Her husband, sirrah? 
 
 Vio. No, my lord, not I. 
 
 Oli. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear 
 That makes thee strangle thy propriety: 
 Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up ; 
 Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art 
 As great as that thou fear'st. — O welcome, father ! 
 
 Re-enter Attendant and Priest. 
 Father, I o/jarge thee by thy reverence, 
 Here to unfold ( though lately we intended 
 To keep in darkness what occasion now 
 Reveals before 'tis ripe ) what thou dost know 
 Hath newly past between this youth and me. 
 
 Priest. A contract of eternal hand of love, 
 Coifirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, 
 Attested by the holy close of lips, 
 Strengthen 'd by interchangement of your rings ; 
 And all the ceremony of this compact 
 SeaVd m my function by my testimony : 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave 
 I have traveled but two hours. 
 
 Duke. O thou dissembling cub ! what wilt thou be 
 When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case ? 
 Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, 
 That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow? 
 Farewell, and take her : but direct thy feet 
 Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. 
 
 Vio. My lord, I do protest, 
 
 OH. O, do not swear ; 
 Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. 
 
 No. XLVII. 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IV, 
 
 ACT V. SCENE IV. ; 
 
 Plain near Shrewsbury. 
 Prince Henry, Hotspur, and Falstaff. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Rigaud,R. A. 
 
 Enter Hotspur. 
 
 Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. 
 
 P. Henry. Thou speak'stas if I would deny my name. 
 
 Hot- My name is Harry Percy. 
 
 P. Henry. Why, then I see 
 A very valiant rebel of the name. 
 I am the prince of Wales ; and think not, Percy, 
 To share with me in glory any more : 
 Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere ; 
 Nor can one England brook a double reign 
 Of Harry Percy and the prince of Wales, 
 
9 2 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Hot . Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come 
 To end the one of us : And would to God 
 Thy name in arms were now as great as mine ! 
 
 P. Henry* I'll make it greater ere I part from thee ; 
 And all the budding honours on thy crest 
 I'll crop, to make a garland for my head. 
 
 Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. [They fight. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. Well said, Hal ! to it, Hal '.—Nay, you shall find no 
 boy's play here, I can tell you. 
 
 Enter Douglas ; he fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if 
 he were dead, and exit Douglas. Hotspur is wounded, 
 and falls. 
 
 Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth ; 
 / better brook the loss of brittle life 
 Than those proud titles thou hast won of me ; 
 They wound my thoughts worse than the sword my flesh : — 
 But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool ; 
 And time, that takes survey of all the world, 
 Must have a stop. 0,1 could prophesy, 
 But that the earthy and cold hand of death 
 Lies on my tongue : — No, Percy, thou art dust, 
 And food for—* [ Dies . 
 
 P.Henry* For worms, brave Percy : Fare thee well, great 
 heart ! — 
 
 111 weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! 
 
 When that this body did contain a spirit, 
 
 A kingdom, for it was too small a bound ; 
 
 But now, two paces of the vilest earth 
 
 Is room enough : — This earth, that bears thee dead. 
 
 Bears not alive so stout a gentleman, 
 
 If thou wert sensible of courtesy, 
 
 I should not make so dear a show of zeal : — 
 
 But let my favours hide thy mangled face ; 
 
 And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself 
 
 For doing these fair rites of tenderness. 
 
 Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven ! 
 
 Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, 
 
 But not remember'd in thy epitaph ! — • 
 
 [He sees Falstaff on the ground. 
 What ! old acquaintance ! could not all this flesh 
 Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack, farewell ! 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 91 
 
 1 could have better spar'd a better man. 
 O, I should have a heavy miss of thee, 
 If I were much in love with vanity. 
 Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, 
 Though many dearer, in this bloody fray. — ■ 
 ImbowelPd will I see thee by and by : 
 
 Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. 
 Falstaff rising slowly. 
 Fal. ImbowelPd ! If thou imbowel me to-day, I'll give 
 you leave to powder me, and eat me too, to-morrow. 
 'Sblood, 'twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant 
 Scot had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, I 
 am no counterfeit : To die, is to be a counterfeit ; for he 
 is but the counterfeit of a man who hath not the life of a 
 man : but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liveth, 
 is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of 
 life indeed. The better part of valour is — discretion ; in the 
 which better part, I have saved my life. Zounds, I am 
 afraid of this gun-powder Percy, though he be dead. How if 
 he should counterfeit too, and rise? I am afraid he would 
 prove the better counterfeit. Therefore I'll make him 
 sure: yea, and I'll swear I kilPd him. Why may not he 
 rise, as well as I ? Nothing confutes me but my eyes ; and 
 nobody sees me. — Therefore, sirrah [stabbing him] with a 
 new wound in your thigh, come you along with me. 
 
 [Takts Hotspur on bis back* 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. XLVIIL 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE IV. 
 The Palace - at Westminster. 
 King Henry asleep ; Prince of W ales. 
 
 Painted by Mr. J. Boydell. 
 
 Enter Westmoreland, 
 
 West. Health to my sovereign ! and new happiness 
 Added to that I am to deliver ! 
 Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand; 
 Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all, 
 Are brought to the correction of your law ; 
 There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd, 
 But peace puts forth her olive every where. 
 The manner how this action hath been borne, 
 Here, at more leisure, may your highness read ; 
 With every course in his particular. 
 
 K. Henry. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird* 
 Which ever in the haunch of winter sings 
 The lifting up of-day. Look ! here's more news. 
 
 Enter Har court. 
 
 Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty ; 
 And, when they stand against you, may they fall 
 As those that I am come to tell you of! 
 The earl of Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph,, 
 With a great power of English, and of Scots, 
 Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown : 
 The manner and true order of the fight, 
 This packet, please it ycu, contains at large. 
 
 K. Henry. And wherefore should these good news make 
 me sick ? 
 
 Will fortune never come with both hands full, 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 95 
 
 But write her fair words still in foulest letters I 
 
 She either gives a stomach, and no food — 
 
 Such are the poor in health ; or else a feast, 
 
 And takes away the stomach — Such are the rich 
 
 That hath abundance, ana enjoy it not. 
 
 I should rejoice now at this happy news; 
 
 And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy: — 
 
 O me ! come near me, now I am much ill. [Swoons. 
 
 P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty! 
 
 Cla. O my royal father ! 
 
 West, My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up I 
 
 War. Be patient, princes ; you do know these iits 
 Are with his highness very ordinary. 
 Stand from him, give him air; he'il straight be well. 
 
 Cla. No, no ; he cannot long hold out these pangs : 
 The incessant care and labour of his mind 
 Hath wrought the mure, that should confine it in, 
 So thin, that life looks through, and will break oiit. 
 
 P. Humph. The people fear me ; for they do observe 
 Unfather'd heirs, and loathly births of nature: 
 The seasons change their manners ; as the year 
 Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them over. 
 
 Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between : 
 And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, 
 Say, it did so a little time before 
 That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and dy'd. 
 
 War. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers. 
 
 P. Humph. This apoplexy will, certain, be his end. 
 
 K. Henry. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence 
 Into some other chamber. Softly, pray. 
 
 [They convey the king to an inner part of the 
 room, and place him on a bed.] 
 Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends, 
 Unless some dull and favourable hand 
 Will whisper music to my weary spirit. 
 
 War. Call for the music in the other room. 
 
 K. Henry. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. 
 
 Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. 
 
 War. Less noise, less noise. 
 
 Enter Prince Henry. 
 
 P. Henry. Whd saw the duke of Clarence? 
 
 Cla. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. 
 
 P. Henry. How now ! rain within doors, and none 
 abroad ! 
 How doth tht king; ? 
 
9 6 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 P. Humph. Exceeding ill. 
 P. Henry. Heard he the good news yet? 
 Tell it him. 
 
 P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. 
 
 P. Henry. If he be sick 
 With joy, he will recover without physic. 
 
 War. Not so much noise, my lords :— sweet prince, 
 speak low; 
 The king your father is dispos'd to sleep. 
 
 Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room. 
 
 War. Will't please your grace to go along with us ? 
 
 P. Henry. No : I will sit and watch here by the king. 
 
 [Exeunt all but P. Henry* 
 tVhy doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, 
 Being so troublesome a bed-fellow ? 
 O polish'd perturbation ! golden care ! 
 That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide 
 To many a watchful night! sleep with it now ! 
 Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet, 
 As he whose brow with homely biggen bound, 
 Snores out the watch of night. O majesty ! 
 When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit 
 Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, 
 That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath 
 There lies a downy feather, which stirs not: 
 Did he suspire, that light and weightless down 
 Perforce must move.— My gracious lord! my father! — 
 This sleep is sound, indeed; this is a sleep 
 That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd 
 So many English kings. Thy due, from me, 
 Is tears, and heavy sorrows of thy blood ; 
 Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, 
 Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteou sly: 
 My due from thee is this imperial crown ', 
 Which, as immediate from thy place and blood* 
 Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits — 
 
 [Putting it on his head. 
 Which heaven shall guard: and put the world's whole strength 
 Into one giant arm, it shall not force 
 This lineal honour from me : This from thee 
 Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me [Exit. 
 
 K. Henry. Warwick! Gloster! Clarence! 
 
 Re-enter Warwick, and the rest. 
 
 Cla. Doth the king call? 
 
 War. What would your majesty? How fares your grace ? 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 97 
 
 K. Henry. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords ? 
 Cla. We left the prince my brother here, my liege, 
 Who undertook to sit and watch by you. 
 
 K. Henry. The prince of Wales? Where is he? let me 
 see him : 
 He is not here. 
 
 War. This door is open ; he is gone this way. 
 P. Humph. He came not through the chamber where we 
 stay'd. 
 
 K. Henry. Where is the crown? who took it from my 
 pillow ? 
 
 War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. 
 K. Henry. The prince hath ta'en it hence; — go seek 
 him out. 
 
 Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose 
 My sleep my death? 
 
 Find him, my lord of Warwick ; chide him hither. 
 
 This part of his conjoins with my disease, 
 
 And helps to end me. — See, sons, what things you are ! 
 
 How quickly nature falls into revolt 
 
 When gold becomes her object! 
 
 For this the foolish over-careful fathers 
 
 Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, 
 
 Their bones with industry; 
 
 For this they have engrossed and pil'd up 
 
 The canker'd heaps of strange-atchieved gold ; 
 
 For this they have been thoughtful to invest 
 
 Their sons with arts and martial exercises ; 
 
 When, like the bee, tolling from every flower 
 
 The virtuous sweets ; 
 
 Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with honey, 
 We bring it to the hive ; and, like the bees, 
 Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste 
 Yield his engrossments to the ending father. 
 
 Re -enter Warwick. 
 
 Now, where is he that will not stay so long 
 Till his friend sickness hath determin'd me? 
 
 War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room, 
 Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks ! 
 With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, 
 That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood, 
 Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife 
 With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. 
 
 K. Henry. But wherefore did he take away the crown? 
 O 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. L. 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 ACT II. SCENE V. 
 
 A Field of battle, near Tozvton in Yorkshire. 
 King Henry. Son that bad killed his Father — 
 Father that had killed his Son. Queen, Prince 
 of Wales, and Exeter, in the Distance. 
 
 Painted by Mr. J. Boydell. 
 
 K. Henry. This battle fares like to the morning's war y 
 When dying clouds contend with growing light ; 
 What time the shepherd blowing of his nails, 
 Can neither call it perfect day nor night. 
 Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea, 
 Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind : 
 Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea, 
 Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind : 
 Sometime, the flood prevails ; and then, the wind ; 
 Now, one the better; then, another best; 
 Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, 
 Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered : 
 So is the equal poise of this fell war. 
 Here on this mole-hill will 1 sit me down. 
 To whom God will, there be the victory ! 
 For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, 
 Have chid me from the battle ; swearing both, 
 They prosper best of all when I am thence. 
 'Would I were dead ! if God's good will were so : 
 For what is in this world but grief and woe ? 
 O God ! methinks, it were a happy life 
 To be no better than a homely swain j 
 To sit upon a hill as I do now, 
 To carve out dials quaintly point by point, 
 Thereby to see the minutes how they run : 
 How many make the hour full complete; 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 How many hours bring about the day ; 
 How many days will finish up the year; 
 How many years a mortal man may live. 
 When this is known, then to divide the time ; 
 So many hours must 1 tend my flock ; 
 So many hours must I take my rest ; 
 So many hours must I contemplate ; 
 So many hours must I sport myself; 
 So many days my ewes have been with young ; 
 So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ; 
 So many years ere I shall sheer the fleece : 
 So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, 
 Past over to the end they were created, 
 Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 
 Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet ! how lovely ! 
 Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 
 To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, 
 Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy 
 To kings that fear their subjects' treachery ? 
 O, yes, it doth; a thousand fold it doth. 
 And to conclude,— the shepherds homely curds. 
 His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, 
 His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, 
 All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, 
 Is far beyond a prince's delicates, 
 His viands sparkling in a golden cup, 
 His body couched in a curious bed, 
 When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him. 
 Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his Father, dragging 
 the dead body. 
 Son. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. — 
 This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight, 
 May be possessed with some store of crowns : 
 And I, that haply take them from him now, 
 May yet ere night yield both my life and them 
 To some man else, as this dead man doth me.™ 
 Who's this ? — Oh God ! it is my father's face, 
 Whom in this conflict I unawares have kill'd. 
 O heavy times, begetting such events ! 
 From London by the king was I press'd forth ; 
 My father, being the earl of Warwick's man, 
 Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; 
 And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life, 
 Have by my hands of life bereav'd him. — 
 Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did ! 
 
too SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 And pardon, father, fori knew not thee ! 
 
 My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks ; 
 
 And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill. 
 
 K.Henry. O piteous spectacle ! O bloody times ! 
 Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens, 
 Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.— 
 Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear: 
 And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, 
 Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief. 
 
 Enter a Father, who has killed his Son, with the body in 
 his arms. 
 
 Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, 
 Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold ; 
 For I have bought it with an hundred blows. — 
 
 But let me see ; — Is this our foeman's face? 
 Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son I 
 Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, 
 Throw up thine eye ; see, see, what show'rs arise, 
 Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, 
 TJpon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart! — 
 O, pity, God, this miserable age ! 
 What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, 
 Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, 
 This deadly quarrel daily doth beget ' 
 O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, 
 And hath bereft thee of thy life too late ! 
 K. Henry. Woe, above woe ! grief, more than common 
 grief! 
 
 O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds ! 
 
 O pity, pity, genth Heaven, pity ! 
 
 The red rose and the white are on his face, 
 The fatal colours of our striving houses : 
 The one, his purple blood right well resembles; 
 The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present. 
 Wither one rose, and let the other flourish ! 
 If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. 
 
 Son. How will my mother, for a father's death, 
 Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfy'd ! 
 
 Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, 
 Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfy'd ! 
 
 King Henry. How will the country, for these woeful 
 chances, 
 
 Mis-think the king, and not be satisfy'd ! 
 Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death I 
 
/ 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY- 101 
 
 Fatb. Was ever father, so bemoan'd his son? 
 
 K. Henry. Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe ? 
 Much is your sorrow ; mine, ten times so much. 
 
 Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. 
 
 [Exit, with the body. 
 
 Fatb. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet ; 
 My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre ; 
 For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go. 
 My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell ; 
 And so obsequious will thy father be, 
 Sad for the loss of thee, having no more, 
 As Priam was for all his valiant sons. 
 I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, 
 For I have murder'd where I should not kill. 
 
 [Exit, with the body* 
 
 K, Henry. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, 
 Here sits a king more woeful than you are. 
 
 Alarums. Excursions. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince 
 of Wales, and Exeter. 
 
 Prince. Fly, father, fly ! for all your friends are fled, 
 And Warwick rages like a chafed bull : 
 Away ! for death doth hold us in pursuit. 
 
 Queen. Mount you, my lord, towards Berwick post amain: 
 Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds 
 Having the fearful flying hare in sight, 
 With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath, 
 And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, 
 Are at our backs : and therefore hence amain. 
 
 Exe. Away ! for vengence comes along with them : 
 Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed ; 
 Or else come after, I'll away before. 
 
 K. Henry. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter ; 
 Not that I fear to stay, but love to go 
 
 Whither the queen intends. Forward ; away! [Exeunt 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. LL 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 ACT h SCENE IV. 
 
 York-Place. 
 
 Cardinal Wolsey, Lord Sands, Anne Bullen, 
 King Henry, &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Stothart. 
 
 Wol. You are welcome, my fair guests : that noble lady, 
 Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, 
 Is not my friend. This to confirm my welcome ; 
 And to you all good health. [Drinks. 
 
 Sands. Your grace is noble 
 Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, 
 And save me so much talking. 
 
 Wol. My lord Sands, 
 I am beholden to you: cheer your neighbours. — » 
 Ladies, you are not merry. Gentlemen, 
 Whose fault is this? 
 
 Sands* The red wine first must rise 
 In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have them 
 Talk us to silence. 
 
 Anne. You are a merry gamester, my lord Sands, 
 
 Sands. Yes, if I make my play. 
 Here's to your ladyship ; and pledge it, madam, 
 For 'tis to such a thing — 
 
 Anne. You cannot shew me. 
 
 Sands. I told your grace, they would talk anon, 
 
 [Drum and trumpets within, chambers discharged. 
 
 Wol. What's that? 
 
 Cham. Look out there, some of you, [Exit a servant. 
 
 WoL What warlike voice ? 
 And to what end'is this r— Nay, ladies, fear not j 
 By all the laws of war, you are privileg'd. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 Cham. How now ? what is't ? 
 Serv. A noble troop of strangers; 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 103 
 
 For so they seem : They have left their barge, and landed, 
 And hither make, as great ambassadors 
 From foreign princes. 
 
 Wol. Good lord Chamberlain, 
 Go, give them welcome, you can speak the French tongue ; 
 And, pray receive them nobly, and conduct them 
 Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty 
 Shall shine at full upon them : — Some attend him. — 
 
 [All arise, and tables removed. 
 You have now a broken banquet ; but we'll mend it. 
 A good digestion to you all : and, once more, 
 I shower a welcome on you :- — Welcome all. 
 
 Hautboys. Enter the King, and others, as maskers, habited 
 like Shepherds, ushered by the Lord Chamberlain. They 
 pass directly before the Cardinal, and gracefully salute him 
 
 A noble company ! What are their pleasures ? 
 
 Cham. Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd 
 To tell your grace : — That, having heard by fame 
 Of this so noble and so fair assembly 
 This night to meet here, they could do no less, 
 Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, 
 But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct, 
 Crave leave to view these ladies, and entreat 
 An hour of revels with them. 
 
 Wol. Say, lord Chamberlain, 
 They have done my poor house grace ; for which I pay them 
 A thousand thanks, and pray them take their pleasures. 
 
 [Ladies choose for the dance. King and Anne Bullen* 
 
 King. The fairest hand I ever touch'd ! O, beauty, 
 Tillnow I never knew thee. [Music. Dance. 
 
 Wol. My lord. — 
 
 Cham. Your grace? 
 
 Wol. Pray tell them thus much from me : 
 There should be one amongst them, by his person, 
 More worthy this place than myself ; to whom, 
 If I but knew him, with my love and duty 
 I would surrender it. 
 
 Cham. I will, my lord. 
 
 [Cham, goes to the company, and returns. 
 
 Wol. What say they ? 
 
 Cham. Such a one, they all confess 
 There is, indeed ; which they would have your grace 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY* 
 
 Find out, and he will take it, 
 
 Wol- Let me see then. — 
 By all your good leaves, gentlemen ; — Here I'll make 
 My royal choice. 
 
 King. You have found him, cardinal : 
 You hold a fair assembly ; you do well, lord : 
 Yo 1 are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal, 
 I should judge now unhappily. 
 
 Wol I am glad 
 Your grace is grown so pleasant. 
 
 King. My lord chamberlain, 
 Pr'ythee, come hither : What fair lady's that ? 
 
 Cham. An't please your grace, sir Thomas BullenV 
 daughter, 
 
 The viscount Rochford, one of her highness* women. 
 King. By heaven, she is a dainty one. — Sweetheart, 
 
 J were unmannerly, to take you out 
 
 And not to kiss you. — A health, gentlemen ; 
 
 Let it go round. 
 
 WoL Sir Thomas Lovel, is the banquet ready 
 I 'the privy chamber ? 
 
 Lov. Yes, my lord. 
 
 Wol. Your grace, 
 I fear, with dancing is a little heated. 
 
 King. I fear, too much. 
 
 Wol. There's fresher air, my lord, 
 In the next chamber. 
 
 King. Lead in your ladies, every one. Sweet partner, 
 
 I must not yet forsake you : — Let's be merry ; — 
 Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths 
 To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure 
 To lead them once again ; and then let's dream 
 Who's best in favour. — Let the music knock it. 
 
 [Exeunt with trumpets* 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 105 
 
 No. LII. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE IV. 
 The Palace. 
 
 Muter Trumpets, sounding ; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor* 
 Garter 9 Cr \inmer Duke of Norfolk with his Marshal sstqjf, 
 Duke of Suffolk, two noblemen bearing greut standing bowls 
 for the christening gifts; then four noblemen bearing aca- 
 nopy under which the Duchess of Norfolk god mother, bear- 
 ing the child richly habited in a mantle, &c. Train borne by 
 a Lady : then follows the Marchioness of Dorset, the other 
 godmother, and Udies. The troop pass once about the stage, 
 and Garter speaks. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Peters. 
 
 Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosper- 
 ous life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty prin- 
 cess of England, Elizabeth ! 
 
 Flourish. Enter King and Train. 
 Cran. [Kneeling] And to your royal grace, and the good 
 queen, 
 
 My noble partners, and myself, thus pray ; — 
 All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady, 
 Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, 
 May hourly fall upon ye ! 
 
 King. Thank you, good lord archbishop : 
 What is her name ? 
 
 Cran- Elizabeth. 
 
 King. Stand up, lord. — [The King kisses the child. 
 With this kiss take my blessing : God protect thee ! 
 Into whose hand I give thy life. 
 
 Cran. Amen. 
 
 King. My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal : 
 I thank ye heartily ; so shall this lady, 
 When she has so much English. 
 
 Cran. Let me speak, sir, 
 For Heaven now bids me ; and the words I utter 
 Let none think flattery , for they'll find them truth. 
 This royal infant ( Heaven still move about her ! j 
 
io6 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 Though in her cradle, yet now promises 
 
 Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, 
 
 Which time shall bring to ripeness : she shall be 
 
 ( But few now living can behold that goodness ) 
 
 A pattern to all princes living with her, 
 
 And all that shall succeed ; Sheba was never 
 
 More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue 
 
 Than this pure soul shall be ; all princely grace 
 
 That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 
 
 With all the virtues that attend the good, 
 
 Shall still be doubled on her : truth shall nurse her : 
 
 Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her : 
 
 She shall be lov'd and fear'd : her own shall bless her ; 
 
 Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, 
 
 And hang their heads with sorrow : Good grows with her: 
 
 In her days, every man shall eat in safety, 
 
 Under his own vine, what he plants : and sing 
 
 The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours : 
 
 God shall be truly known ; and those about her, 
 
 From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, 
 And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 
 Nor shall this peace sleep with her : But as when 
 The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, 
 
 Her ashes new create another heir, 
 
 As great in admiration as herself, 
 
 So shall she leave her blessedness to one 
 
 (When Heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness) 
 
 Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour, 
 Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, 
 
 And so stand nVd : peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, 
 
 That were the servants to this chosen infant 
 
 Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ; 
 
 Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, 
 
 His honour, and the greatness of his name 
 
 Shall be, and make new nations : He shall flourish, 
 
 And like a mountain cedar, reach his branches 
 
 To all the plains about him ; — Our childrens children 
 
 Shall see this, and bless Heaven. 
 King. Thou speakest wonders. 
 Cran. She shall be to the happiness of England, 
 
 An aged princess ; many days shall see her, 
 
 And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 
 
 Would I had known no more ! but she must die ; 
 
 She must, the saints must have her: yet a virgin, 
 
 A most unspotted lily, shall she pass 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 107 
 
 To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. 
 
 King O, lord archbishop, 
 Thou hast made me now a man ; never, before 
 This happy child, did I get any thing : 
 This oracle of comfort has so pleas 'd me, 
 That, when I am in heaven, 1 shall desire 
 To see what this child does, and praise my maker. — 
 I thank ye all. — To you, my good lord mayor, 
 And your good brethren, 1 am much beholden ; 
 I have received much honour by your presence, 
 And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords; 
 Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye. 
 She will be sick else. This day, no man think 
 He has business at his house, for all shall stay ; 
 This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt* 
 
 No. LIII. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 ACT, III. SCENE IX. 
 
 "The Palace in Alexandria. 
 
 Antony , Cleopatra^ Eros, Gharmian, Iras , &c. &c 9 
 
 Painted by Mr. Tresham. 
 
 Ant. Hark, the land bids me tread no more upon't : 
 It is asham'd to bear me ! Friends, come hither ; 
 I am so lated in the world, that I 
 Have lost my way for ever : — I have a ship> 
 Laden with gold ; take that, divide it ; fly, 
 And make your peace with Caesar. 
 
 Omnes. Fly ! not we. 
 
 Ant. I have fled myself ; and have instructed cowards 
 To run and shew their shoulders.— Friends, begone : 
 I have myself resolv'd upon a course, 
 Which has no need of you ; begone : 
 My treasure's in the harbour, take it . — O, 
 I follow M that I blush to look upon : 
 My very hairs do mutiny ; for the white 
 
io8 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them 
 For fear and doating. — Friends, be gone ; you shal! 
 Have letters from me to some friends, that will 
 Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad, 
 Nor make replies ol lothness : take the hint 
 Which my despair proclaims; let that be left 
 Which leaves itself: to the sea-side straightway : 
 I will possess you of that ship and treasure. 
 Leave me, 1 pray, a little : pray you now : — 
 Nay, do so ; for, indeed, I have losr command, 
 Therefore I pray you. — 1'il see you by and by. 
 
 Enter Eros and Cleopatra, led by Cbarmian and Iras* 
 
 Eros. Nay, gentle madam, to him. — Comfort him, 
 
 Iras. Do, most dear queen. 
 
 Char. Do! Wny, what else ? 
 
 Cleo. Let me sit down. O Juno ! 
 
 Ant. No, no, no, no, no. 
 
 Eros. See you here, sir ? 
 
 Ant. O lye, fye, fye ! 
 
 C/jar. Madam. 
 
 Iras. M adam ! O good empress ! 
 
 Eros. Sir, sir> 
 
 Ant. Yes, my lord, yes ; — he at Philippi kept 
 
 His sword even like a dancer, while I struck 
 
 The lean and wrinkled Cassius ; and 'twas I 
 
 That the mad Brutus ended : he alone 
 
 Dealt on Ikurenantry, and no practice had 
 
 In the brave squares of war : — Yet now. — No matter. 
 
 Cteo. Ah, stand by. 
 
 Eros. The queen, my lord, the queen. 
 
 Irs. Go to htm, madam ; speak to him ; 
 He is unqualified with very shame. 
 
 Cieo. Well then. — Sustain me : — O / 
 
 Eros. Most noble sir, arise ; the queen approaches ; 
 Her head's declined, and death will seize her : but 
 Tour comfort makes the rescue* 
 
 Ant. / have aff\nded reputation ; 
 A most unnoble swerving. 
 
 Eros. Sir, the queen. 
 
 Ant. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt ? See, 
 How I convey my shame out of thine eyes, 
 By looking back on what 1 have left behind 
 'Stroy'd in dishonour. 
 
 Cleo. O my lord, my lord ! 
 
3HAKSPEARE GALLERY. 109 
 
 Forgive my fearful sails ! I little thought 
 You would have foilow'd. 
 
 Ant. JEgypt, thou knew'st too well, 
 My heart was to thy rudder tyM by the strings, 
 And thou should'st tow me after : O'er my spirit 
 Thy full supremacy thou knew'st ; and that 
 Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods 
 Command me. 
 
 Cleo* O ! my pardon ! 
 
 Ant. Now I musl 
 To the young man send humble treaties, dodge 
 And piker in the shifts of lowness ; who 
 With half the bulk o'er the world play'd as I pleas'd, 
 Making, and marring fortunes You did know, 
 Kow much you were my conqueror ; and that 
 My sword, made weak by my affection, would 
 Obey it on all cause. 
 
 Cleo. Pardon, pardon ! 
 
 Ant. Fall not a tear, I say ; one of them rates 
 All that is won and lost : Give me a kiss ; 
 E T 'en this repays me — We sent our school-master ; 
 Is he come back? — Love, 1 am full of lead : — 
 Some wine, within there, and our viands : — Fortune knows, 
 We scorn her most, when most she offers blows. [Exeunt. 
 
 No. LIV. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 ACT IV. SCENE III. 
 A Wood. 
 
 Timon % Alcibiades, Phrjnia^ and Tyniandra. 
 Painted by Mr. Opie, R. A. 
 
 Ale. What art thou there ? speak. 
 
 Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker knaw thy heart, 
 For shewing me again the eyes of man ! 
 
 Ale. Wnat is thy name ? Is man so hateful to thee, 
 That art thyself a man ! 
 
 Tim. I am misonthropos, and hate mankind. 
 
no 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, 
 That I might love thee something. 
 
 Ale. I know thee well ; 
 But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. 
 
 Tim. 1 know thee too; and more, than that I know thee; 
 I not desire to know. Follow thy drum ; 
 With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules : 
 Religious canons, civil laws are cruel ; 
 Then what should war be ? this fell whore of thine 
 Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, 
 For all her cherubim look. 
 
 Phry. Thy lips rot off! j 
 
 Tim. I will not kiss thee ; then the rot returns 
 To thine own lips again. 
 
 Ale. How came the noble Timon to this change ? 
 
 Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light to give : 
 But then renew I could not, like the moon : 
 There were no suns to borrow of. 
 
 Ale. Noble Timon, 
 What friendship may I do thee ? 
 
 Tim. None, but to 
 Maintain my opinion. 
 
 Ale. What is it, Timon ? 
 
 Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform none : If 
 Thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, 
 For thou art a man ! if thou dost perform, 
 Confound thee, for thou art a man ! 
 
 Ale. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries, 
 
 Tim. Thou saw'st them when I had prosperity, 
 
 Ale. I see them now ; then was a blessed time. 
 
 Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. 
 
 Tyman. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world 
 Voic'd so regardful ly ? 
 
 Tim. Art thou Tymandra ? 
 
 Tyman. Yes. 
 
 Tim. Be a whore still ! they love thee not, that use thee ; 
 Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. 
 Make use of thy salt hours : season the slaves 
 For tubs and baths ; bring down rose-cheek'd youth 
 To the tub-fast, and the diet. 
 
 Tyman* Hang thee, monster ! 
 
 Ale. Pardon him, sweet Tymandra ; for his wits 
 Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. — 
 I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, 
 The want whereof doth daily make revolt 
 In my pernicious band: I have heard, and griev'd, 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY* in 
 
 How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, 
 Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, 
 But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them, — 
 
 Tim. I pr'ythee beat thy drum, and get thee gone. 
 
 Ale. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. 
 
 Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost trouble? 
 I had rather be alone. 
 
 Ale. Why, fare thee well : 
 Here is some gold for thee. 
 
 Tim. Keep it, 1 cannot eat it. 
 
 Ale. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap, — 
 
 Tim. Warr*st thou 'gainst Athens? 
 
 Ale. Ay, Timon, and have cause. 
 
 Tim. The gods confound them all in thy conquest ! and 
 Thee after, when thou hast conquer'd ? 
 Ale. Why me, Timon ? 
 
 Tim. That, by killing of villains, thou wast born 
 To conquer my country. 
 Put up thy gold : go on — here's gold, — go on ; 
 Be as a planetary plague, when Jove 
 Will o'er some high-vie'd city hang his poison 
 In the sick air : Let not thy sword skip one : 
 Pity not honoured age for his white beard ; 
 He is an usurer: Strike me the counterfeit matron ; 
 It is her habit only that is honest, 
 Herself's a bawd : Let not the virgin's cheek 
 Make soft thy trenchant sword ; for those milk-paps, 
 That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, 
 Are not within the leaf of pity writ ; 
 But set them down horrible traitors : Spare not the bake* 
 Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy ; 
 Think it a bastard, whom the oracle 
 Hath doubtfully pronoune'd thy throat shall cut, 
 And mince it sans remorse : Swear against objects : 
 Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes ; 
 Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, 
 Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, 
 Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers: 
 Make large confusion : and, thy fury spent, 
 Confounded be thyself! Speak not, begone. 
 
 Ale. Hast thou gold yet ? I'll take the gold thou giv'st me^ 
 Not all thy counsel. 
 
 Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heav'ns curse upon 
 thee! 
 
112 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Phr. and Tym. Give us some gold, good Timon : Hast 
 thou more ? 
 
 Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, 
 And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, 
 Your aprons mountant : You are not oathable — 
 Although, I know, you 9 11 swear, terribly swear, 
 Into strong shudders, and to heavenly agues, 
 The immortal gods that hear you, -spare your oaths> 
 I'll trust to your conditions : whores still ; 
 And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, 
 Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up ; 
 Let your close fire predominate his smoke, 
 And be no turn-coats : Yet may your pains six months, 
 Be quite contrary : And thatch your poor thin roofs 
 With burdens of the dead; — some that were hang'd, 
 No matter : — wear them, betray with them : whore still ^ 
 Paint till a horse may mire upon your face 5 
 A pox of wrinkles ! 
 
 Phr. and Tym. Well, more gold ; — What then ?— 
 Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold. 
 
 Tym. Consumption sow 
 In hollow bones of man ; strike their sharp shins, 
 And marr men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, 
 That he may never more false titles plead, 
 Nor sound his quillets shrilly : hoar the flamen, 
 That scolds against the quality of flesh, 
 And not believes himself : down with the nose, 
 Down with it flat ; take the bridge quite away 
 Of him, that is particular to foresee, 
 
 Smells from the general weal : make curl'd pate ruffians 
 bald; 
 
 And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war 
 Derive some pain from you : Plague all ; 
 That your activity may defeat and quell 
 The source of all erection. — There's more gold i — 
 Do you damn others, and let this damn you, 
 And ditches grave you all ! 
 Phr. and Tym. More counsel with more money, boun- 
 teous Timon. 
 
 Tim. More whore, more mischief first ; I have given you 
 earnest. 
 
 Ale. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Farewell, Ti- 
 mon ; 
 
 If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 ii3 
 
 Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more. 
 Ale. I never did thee harm. 
 Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me. 
 Ale. Call 'stthou that harm ? 
 Tim. Men daily find it. 
 Get thee away, and take thy beagles with thee. 
 
 Ale. We but offend him. — Strike. [Drum beats. Exeunt. 
 
 No. LV. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE II. 
 Diomed, Gressida, Troilus, and Ulysses. 
 
 Painted by Mrs. Angelica Kauffman 
 Zucchi, R. A. 
 
 Enter Diomed. 
 
 Dio. What are you up here, ho ? speak. 
 Cat. Who calls? 
 Dio. Diomed. — — 
 Calchas, I think. Where's your daughter? 
 Cal. She comes to you. 
 
 Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance. 
 
 Ulysses. Stand where the torch may not discover us. 
 
 Enter Cressida. 
 
 Troi. Cressid comes forth to him ! 
 Dio. How now, my charge ? 
 Cre. Now, my sweet guardian ! — Hark ! 
 A word with you [ Whispers. 
 
 Troi. Yea, so familiar ! 
 Ulys. She will sing any man at first sight. 
 
 0. 
 
ii 4 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Ther. And any man 
 May sing her, if he can take her cliff; she's noted. 
 
 Dio. Will you remember ? 
 
 Cre. Remember? yes. 
 
 Dio. Nay, but do then ; 
 And let your mind be coupled with your words. 
 
 Troi. What should she remember ? 
 
 Ulys. List! 
 
 Cre. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly. 
 
 Dio. Nay, then. 
 
 Cre. I'll tell you what. 
 
 Dio. Pho ! pho ; come tell a pin ; You are forsworn. — 
 Cre> In faith I cannot ; What would you have me do ? 
 Dio. What did you swear you would bestow on me ? 
 Cre. I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath ; 
 Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek. 
 Dio. Good night. 
 Troi. Hold, patience ! 
 Ulys. How now, Trojan ? 
 Cre. Diomed. — 
 
 Dio. No, no, good night : I'll be your fool no more. 
 
 Troi. Thy better must. 
 
 Cre. Hark, one word in your ear. 
 
 Troi. O plague and madness ! 
 
 Ulys. You are mov'd, prince ; let us depart, I pray you, 
 Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself 
 To wrathful terms : this place is dangerous ; 
 The time right deadly ; I beseech you, go. 
 
 Troi. Behold, I pray you ! 
 
 Ulys. Now, good my lord, go off : 
 You flow to great destruction : come, my lord. 
 
 Troi. I pr'ythee, stay. 
 
 Ulys. You have no patience ; come. 
 
 Troi. I pray you, stay ; by hell, and all hell's torments, 
 I will not speak a word. 
 
 Dio. And so, good night. 
 
 Cre. Nay, but you part in anger. 
 
 Troi. Doth that grieve thee ? 
 O wither'd truth ! 
 
 Ulys. Why, how now lord r 
 
 Troi. By Jove, I will be patient. 
 
 Cre. Guardian! — why, Greek ! 
 
 Dio. Pho, pho! adieu: you palter. 
 
 Cre. In faith, I do not ; come hither once again. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. n S 
 
 Ulys. You shake, my lord, at something; will you go? 
 You will break out. 
 
 Troi. She strokes his cheek! 
 Ulys. Come, come, 
 
 Troi. Nay, stay ; by Jove I will not speak a word : 
 There is between my will and all offences 
 A guard of patience : — stay a little while. 
 
 Dio. But will you then ? 
 
 Cre. In faith, I will, la; never trust me else. 
 
 Dio. Give me some token for the surety of it. 
 
 Cre. I'll fetch you one. 
 
 Ulys. You have sworn patience. 
 
 Troi. Fear me not, my lord ; 
 I will not be myself, nor have cognition 
 Of what I feel ; I am all patience. 
 
 No. LVI. ; 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 ACT V, SCENE III. 
 
 Monument belonging to the Caftulets, 
 
 Romeo and Paris dead; Juliet and Friar Lau- 
 rence. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Northcote, R. A. 
 
 Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenching iron. 
 Hold, take this letter ; early in the morning 
 See thou deliver it to my lord and father. 
 Give me the light : Upon thy life I charge thee, 
 Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, 
 And do not interrupt me in my course. 
 Why I descend into this bed of death 
 Is, partly, to behold my lady's face ; 
 
il6 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 But, chiefly, to take thence from her dead finger 
 
 A precious ring; a ring, that I must use 
 
 In dear employment : therefore hence, begone 
 
 But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
 
 In what I further shall intend to do, 
 
 By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint, 
 
 And strew this hungry church-yard with thy limbs. 
 
 The time and my intents are savage-wild ; 
 
 More fierce, and more inexorable far, 
 
 Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea. 
 
 Baltb. I will begone, sir, and not trouble you. 
 
 Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. — Take thou 
 that: 
 
 Live, and be prosperous ; and farewell, good fellow. 
 
 Baltb. For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout; 
 His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retires. 
 
 Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, 
 Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth, 
 Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open. 
 
 {Breaking up the monument, 
 And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food ! 
 
 Par. This is that banish'd, haughty Montague, 
 That murder'd my love's cousin ! with which grief. 
 It is supposed, the fair creature dy'd, — - 
 And here is come to do some villainous shame 
 To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him.— 
 Stop thy un hallo w'd toil, vile Montague ; 
 Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death ? 
 Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee : 
 Obey, and go with me ; for thou must die. 
 
 Rom, I must, indeed ; and therefore came I hither.— 
 Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man, 
 Fly hence and leave me; — think upon these gone ; 
 Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, 
 Heap not another sin upon my head, 
 By urging me to fury: O, be gone ! 
 By heaven, I love thee better than myself; 
 For I come hither arm'd against myself: 
 Stay not, be gone; — live, and hereafter say — 
 A madman's mercy bade thee run away. 
 
 Par. I do defy thy conjurations, 
 And do attach thee as a felon here. 
 
 Rom. Wilt thcu provoke me ? then have at thee, boy. 
 
 Page. O lord! they fight : I will go call the watch. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 117 
 
 Par. O, I am slain ! [Jails.]— If thou be merciful, 
 Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies. 
 
 Rom. In faith, I will : — Let me peruse this face :— • 
 Mercutio's kinsman, noble county Paris : — 
 What said my man, when my betossed soul 
 Did not attend him as we rode ? I think, 
 He told me, Paris should have marry 'd Juliet : 
 Said he not so ? or did I dream it so ? 
 Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, 
 To think it was so ? — O, give me thy hand. 
 One writ with me in sour misfortune's book ! 
 I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave, — 
 A grave ? O, no, a lantern, slaughter'd youth, 
 For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes 
 This vault a feasting presence full of light. 
 
 Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. 
 
 [Laying Paris in the monument. 
 
 How oft, when men are at the point of death 
 
 Have they been merry ? which their keepers call 
 A lightning before death : O, how may I 
 
 Call this a lightning ? — O, my love ! my wife ! 
 
 Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, 
 
 Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : 
 
 Thou art not conquer 'd ; beauty's ensign yet 
 
 Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks, 
 
 And death's pale flag is not advanced there. — 
 
 Tybalt, ly'st thou there in thy bloody sheet ? 
 
 O , what more favour can I do to thee, 
 
 Than with that hand, that cut thy youth in twain, 
 
 To sunder his that was thine enemy ? 
 
 Forgive me, cousin ? — Ah, dear Juliet, 
 
 Why art thou yet so fair ? Shall I believe 
 
 That unsubstantial death is amorous ; 
 
 And that the lean abhorred monster keeps 
 
 Thee here in dark, to be his paramour ? 
 
 For fear of that, I will still stay with thee ; 
 
 And never from this palace of dim night 
 
 Depart again : here, here will I remain 
 
 With worms that are thy chamber-maids ; O, here 
 
 Will I set up my everlasting rest, 
 
 And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars 
 
 From this world-wearied flesh. — Eyes, look your last ! 
 
 Arms, take your last embrace ! and lips, O you 
 
 The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss 
 
uS 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 A dateless bargain to engrossing death ! — 
 
 Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide ! 
 
 Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 
 
 The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark ! 
 
 Here's to my love ! — [Drinks.] O, true apothecary ! 
 
 Thy drugs are quick. — Thus, with a kiss I die. [Dies. 
 
 Enter Friar Laurence, with a lantern, crow, and spade. 
 
 Lau. Saint Francis be my speed ! how oft to night 
 Have my old feet stumbled at graves ! Who's there? 
 
 Baltb. Here's one, a friesid, and one that knows you well. 
 
 Lau. Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, 
 What torch is yond', that vainly lends his light 
 Tq grubs and eyeless sculls ! as I discern, 
 It burneth in the Capels' monument. 
 
 Baltb. It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, 
 One that you love. 
 
 Lau. Who is it ? 
 
 Baltb. Romeo. 
 
 Lau. How long hath he been there? 
 
 Baltb. Full half an hour. 
 
 Lau. Go with me to the vault. 
 
 Baltb. I dare not, sir: 
 My master knows not, but I am gone hence ; 
 And fearfully did menace me with death, 
 If I did stay to look on his intents. 
 
 Lau. Stay then, I'll go alone: — Fear comes upon me ; 
 O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. 
 
 Baltb. As I did sleep under this yew tree here, 
 I dreamt my master and another fought, 
 And that my master slew him. 
 
 Lau. Romeo? — [Advances. 
 Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains 
 The stony entrance of this sepulchre ? 
 What mean these masterless and gory swords 
 To lie discolour'd by this place of peace ? — 
 
 [Enters tbe monument. 
 Romeo ! O, pale ! — Who else ? what, Paris too ? 
 And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour 
 Is guilty of this lamentable chance ! — 
 The lady stirs. 
 
 Jul. [wakening] O comfortable friar! wbere is my lord? 
 I do remember well wbere I should be, 
 And there I am : — Wbere is my Romeo ? [Noise without. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 119 
 
 Lau. I bear some noise, — Lady, come from that nest 
 Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep', 
 A greater power than we can contradict 
 Hath thwarted our intents; come, come away : 
 Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead - y 
 And Paris too; come, I'll dispose of thee 
 Among a sisterhood of holy nuns ; 
 Stay not to question, for the watch is coming ; 
 Come, go, good Juliet, — [noise again.] I dare no longer 
 stay, [Exit, 
 
1 79 1 - 
 
 No. LVIL 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE HI. 
 
 Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Falstaff. 
 
 Falstaff goes into the basket; they cover him xvitk 
 foul linen. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Peters. 
 
 Ford's House. 
 Mrs. Ford. What, John ! what, Robert ! 
 Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly ; is the buck-basket — 
 Mrs. Ford. I warrant : — What, Robin, I say. 
 
 Enter Servants, with a basket. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, come, come. 
 Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Give your men the charge ; we must be brief. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John, and Ro- 
 bert, be ready here hard-by in the brew-house ; and when I 
 suddenly call you, come forth, and (without any pause or 
 staggering) take this basket on your shoulders : that done, 
 trudge with it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters 
 in Datchet mead, and there empty it in the muddy ditch, 
 close by the Thames' side. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You will do it ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I have told them over and over ; they lack no 
 direction : Be gone, and come when you are called. 
 
 [Exeunt Servants. 
 
 Mrs, Page. Here comes little Robin. 
 
 R 
 
tzz SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Enter Robin. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas-musket ? what news with 
 you ? 
 
 Rob. My master, sir John, is come in at your back-door, 
 Mrs. Ford ; and requests your company. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You little Jack-a-lent, have you been true to 
 
 us ! 
 
 Rob. Aye, I'll be sworn : My master knows not of your 
 being here ; and hath threatened to put me into everlasting 
 liberty, if I tell you of it ; for, he swears, he'U turn me 
 away. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Thou'rt a good boy; this secrecy of thine 
 shall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee a new doublet 
 and hose. — I'll go hide me. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Do so : — Go tell thy master, I am alone. 
 Mistress Page, remember you your cue. [Exit Robin. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I warrant thee ; if I do not act it, hiss me. 
 
 [Exit Mrs. Page. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go to then ; — we'll use this unwholesome 
 humidity, this gross watry pumpion ; — we'll teach him to 
 know turtles from jays. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. Havel caught thee, ?ny heavenly jewel ? Why, now 
 let me die, for I have lived long enough ; this is the period 
 of my ambition: O this blessed hour! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. O sweet sir John ! 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, mistress 
 Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish : I would thy husband 
 were dead ; I'll speak it before the best lord, I would make 
 thee my lady. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I your lady, sir John ! alas, I should be a pi- 
 tiful lady. 
 
 Fal. Let the court of France shew me such another ; I 
 see how thine eye would emulate the diamond : Thou hast 
 the right arched bent of the brow, that becomes the ship- 
 tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian admittance. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, sir John ; my brows be- 
 come nothing else : nor that well neither. 
 
 Fal. Thou art a traitor to say so: thou would'st make 
 an absolute courtier : and the firm fixture of thy foot would 
 give an excellent motion to thy gait, in a semi-circled far- 
 thingale. I see what thou wert, if fortune thy foe were not; 
 jiature is thy friend : Come, thou canst not hide it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford, Believe me, there's no such thing in me- 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 123 
 
 Fal. What made me love thee ? let that persuade thee, 
 .there's something extraordinary in thee. Come, I cannot 
 cog, and say, thon art this and that, like a many of these 
 lisping haw-thorn buds, that come like women in men's ap- 
 parel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple-time; I can- 
 not: but I love thee ; none but thee; and thou deservest it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir ; J fear you love mis- 
 tress Page. 
 
 Fal. Thou might'st as well say, I love to walk by the 
 Counter-gate ; which is as hateful to me as the reek of a 
 lime-kiln. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Well, heaven knows how I love you ; and 
 you shall one day find it. 
 
 Fal. Keep in. that mind ; I'll deserve it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I must fell you, so you do ; or else I 
 could not be in that mind. 
 
 Rob. [within.] Mistress Ford, mistress Ford! here's 
 mistress Page at the door, sweating, and blowing, and 
 looking wildly, and would needs speak with you pre- 
 sently. 
 
 Fal. She shall not see me ; I will ensconce me behind the 
 arras. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so ; she is a very tattling wo- 
 man. [F alstqff hides himselj. 
 
 Fnter Mistress Page, and Robin. 
 What's the matter? how nowf 
 
 Mrs. Page. O mistress Ford, what have ypu done ? 
 you are shamed, you are overthrown, you are undone for 
 ever ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What's the matter, good mistress Page? 
 
 Mrs. Page. O well-a-day, mistress *Ford ! having an ho- 
 nest man to your husband, to give him such cause of suspi- 
 cion ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. What cause of suspicion ?— Out upon you ! — = 
 how am I mistook in you 1 
 
 Mrs. ford. Why, alas ! what's the matter? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Your husband's coming hither, woman, with 
 all the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman, that, 
 he says, is here now in the house, by your consent, to take 
 an ill advantage or his absence : You are undone. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Speak louder--^ [Aside.] 'Tis not so, I hope- 
 
 Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you have such 
 a man here ; but 'tis most certain your husband's coming 
 
I2 4 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a one. I 
 come before to tell you: If you know yourself clear, why I 
 am glad of it : but If you have a friend here, convey, con- 
 vey him out. Be not amazM ; call al; your senses to you ; 
 defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good lite for 
 ever. 
 
 Mrs. Ford, What shall I do? — There is a gentleman, 
 my dear friend ; and I fear not mine own shame, so much as 
 his peril : I had rather than a thousand pound he were out 
 of the house. 
 
 Mrs. Page. For shame, never stand you had rather, and 
 you bad rather ; your husband's here at hand, be-think you 
 of some conveyance: in the house you cannot hide him. — 
 O, how have you. deceived me ! — Look, here is a basket; if 
 he be of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here ; and 
 throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking : 
 Or, it is whiting-time, send him by your two men to Datchet 
 mead. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He's too big to go in there : What shall I do ? 
 Re-enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fat. Let me see'f, let me ?ee't ! O let me see't ! I'll in, 
 I'll in; — fellow your friend's counsel ; — i'll in. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What, sir John Falstaff? Are these your 
 letters, knight? 
 
 Fal. I love thee, and none but thee ; — help me away : let 
 me creep in here ; Pll never — 
 
 [He goes into the b .sket ; they cover him with foul linen. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy: Call your 
 men, mistress Ford: — You dissembling knight I 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What, John, Robert, John ! Go take up 
 these clothes here, quickly: Where's the cowlstaff? look 
 how you d rumble: carry them to the laundress in Datchet 
 mead ; quickly, come. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 125 
 
 No. LVIII. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 
 Oberon, Queen of the Fairies, Puck, Bottom, and 
 Fairies a fading, &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Fuseli, R. A. 
 
 Ob. Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou this sweet sight? 
 Her dotage now I do begin to pity. 
 For meeting her of late, behind the wood, 
 Seeking sweet savours for this hateful fool, 
 I did upbraid her, and fall out with her : 
 For she his hairy temples then had rounded 
 With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers: 
 And that same dew, which sometime on the buds 
 Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls^ 
 Stood now within the pretty flowret's eyes, 
 Like tears, that did their own disgrace bewail. 
 When I had, at my pleasure, taunted her, 
 And she, in mild terms, begg'd my patience, 
 I then did ask of her her changeling child ; 
 Which straight she gave me, and her rairy sent 
 To bear him to my bower in fairy land. 
 And now I have the boy, I will undo 
 This hateful imperfection of her eyes. 
 And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 
 From off the head of this Athenian swain ; 
 That he awaking when the others do, 
 May all to Athens back again repair; 
 And think no more of this night's accidents, 
 But as the fierce vexation of a dream. 
 But first I will release the fairy queen ; 
 
 Be as thou wast wont to be ; 
 
 [Touching her eyes with an herb* 
 
 See, as thou wast wont to see : 
 
u6 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower 
 Hath such force and blessed power. 
 Now, myTitania; wake you, my sweet queen. 
 
 Queen. My Oberonl what visions have I seen! 
 Metbought, I was enamour' d of an ass, 
 
 Ob. There lies your love. 
 
 Queen. How came these things to pass ? 
 O, how mine eyes do loath his visage now ! 
 
 Ob. Silence, a while. — Robin, take off this bead.— 
 
 Titania/ music call ; and strike more dead 
 Than common sleep, of all these five the sense. 
 
 Queen. Music, ho ! music ; such as charmeth sleep. 
 
 Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own fool's eyes 
 peep. 
 
 Ob. Sound, music. [Still music] Come, my queen, take 
 hands with me, 
 And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. 
 Now thou and I are new in amity ; 
 And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly, 
 Dance in duke Theseus' house triumphantly, 
 And bless it to all fair prosperity: 
 There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 
 Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. 
 
 Puck. Fairy king, attend, and mark ; 
 I do hear the morning lark. 
 
 Ob. Then, my queen, in silence sad, 
 Trip we after the night's shade: 
 We the globe can compass soon. 
 Swifter than the wand'ring moon, 
 
 Queen. Come, my lord; and in our flight, 
 Tell me how it came this night, 
 That I sleeping here was found, 
 With these mortals, on the ground, [ExeunU 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. LIX. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE, 
 ACT II. SCENE V. 
 Sbylock's House. 
 Sbylock, Jessica, and Launcelot* 
 
 Painted by Mr. Smirke. 
 
 Sby. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judgfc, 
 The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio : — 
 What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandize, 
 As thou hast done with me :— What, Jessica ! — 
 And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; — 
 Why, Jessica ! I say. 
 
 Laun. Why, Jessica ! 
 
 Sby. Who bids thee call ? I do not bid thee call. 
 Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I could do no- 
 thing without bidding. 
 
 Enter Jessica. 
 
 yes. Call you ? What is your will ? , 
 
 Sby. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica ; 
 There are my keys But wherefore should I go ? 
 I am not bid for love ; they flatter me : 
 But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon 
 The prodigal Christian.— Jessica, my girl, 
 Look to my house I am right loth to go ; 
 There is some ill a brewing towards my rest, 
 For I did dream of money-bags to*night. 
 
 Laun. I beseech you, sir, go ; my young master doth ex- 
 pect your reproach. 
 
 Sby. So do I his. 
 
 Laun. And they have conspired together,— I will not say, 
 you shall see a masque ; but if you do, then it was not for 
 nothing that my nose fell a bleeding on Black-Monday last, 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 at six o,clock i'the morning, falling out that year on Ash- 
 Wednesday was four year in the afternoon. 
 
 Shy. What I are there masques ? Hear you me, Jessica : 
 Lock up my doors ; and when you bear the drum, 
 And the vile squeaking of the wry -neck' d fife, 
 Clamber not you up to the casements then. 
 Nor thrust y out h tad into the public street. 
 To gnze on Christian fools with varnish d faces : 
 But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements ; 
 Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
 My sober house. — By Jacobs staff, I swear, 
 I have no mind of feasting forth to-night: 
 But I will go. — Go you before me, sirrah; 
 Say, I will come. 
 
 Laun. I will go before, sir. — 
 Mistress, look out at window, for all this ; 
 
 There will come a Christian by, 
 
 Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit Laun. 
 
 Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha? 
 
 Jes. His words were, farewell, mistress ; nothing else: 
 
 Shy. The patch is kind enough ; but a huge feeder, 
 Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
 More than the wild cat ; drones hive not with me ; 
 Therefore I part with him ; and part with him 
 To one that I would have him help to waste 
 His borrow'd purse. — Well, Jessica, go in; 
 Perhaps, I will return immediately ; 
 Do as I bid you, 
 
 Shut doors after you : Fast bind, fast find ; 
 
 A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit. 
 
 Jes. Farewell ; and if my fortune be not crost, 
 I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 !2f> 
 
 No. LX. 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE III. 
 
 A Forest. 
 Orlando, and Oliver. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Raph l . West. 
 
 Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you, 
 He left a promise to return again 
 Within an hour ; and, pacing through the forest, 
 Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
 Lo, what befel! he threw his eye aside, 
 And, mark, what object did present itself! 
 
 Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age, 
 
 And high top bald zuith dry antiquity, 
 
 A wretched ragged man, o'er grown with hair* 
 
 Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck 
 
 A green and gilded snake had wreath' d itself, 
 
 Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach' d 
 
 The opening of bis mouth ; but suddenly 
 
 Seeing Orlando, it unlink' d itself, 
 
 And with indented glides did slip away 
 
 Into a bush : under which bush's shade 
 
 A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, 
 
 Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watcb» 
 
 When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis 
 The royal disposition of that beast, 
 To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead : 
 This seen, Orlando did approach the man, 
 And found it was his brother, his elder brother. 
 
 Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother ; 
 And he did render him the most unnatural 
 That liv'd 'mongst men. 
 
 Oli. And well he might so do, 
 For well I know he was unnatural, 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Ros. But to Orlando; — Did he leave him there, 
 Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness ? 
 
 OIL Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so: 
 But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, 
 And nature, stronger than his just occasion, 
 Made him give battle to the lioness, 
 Who quickly fell before him ; in which hurtling. 
 From miserable slumber, I awak'd. 
 
 Cel. Are you his brother ? 
 
 Ros, Was it you he rescu'd ? 
 
 Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him/ 
 
 OH. 'Twas I ; but 'tis not I : I do not shame 
 To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
 So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 
 
 Ros. But, for the bloody napkin? 
 
 Oli. By and by. 
 When from the first to last, betwixt us two, 
 Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd, 
 
 As how I came into that desert place ; 
 
 In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, 
 
 Who gave me fresh array, and entertainment, 
 
 Committing me unto my brother's love ; 
 
 Who led me instantly unto his cave, 
 
 There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm 
 
 The lioness had torn some flesh away, 
 
 Which all this while had bled ; and now he fainted, 
 
 And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind. 
 
 Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound ; 
 
 And, after some small space, being strong at heart, 
 
 He sent me hither, stranger as I am, 
 
 To tell this story, that you might excuse 
 
 His broken promise, and to give this napkin* 
 
 Dy'd in this blood, unto the shepherd youth 
 
 That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 131 
 
 No. LXL 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 INDUCTION. 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Room in the Lord's House. 
 
 Sly, with Lord and Attendants ; some with appa- 
 rel, bason, and ewer, and other appurtenances. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Smirke. 
 
 Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 
 
 1 Scrv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack ? 
 
 2 Serv. Will't please your honour taste of these conserves ? 
 
 3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to-day ? 
 Sly. I am Christophero Sly ; call not me — honour, nor 
 
 lordship: I ne'er drank sack in my life: and if you give 
 me any conserves, give me conserves of beef : Ne'er ask me 
 what raiment I'll wear ; for I have no more doublets than 
 backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than 
 feet ; nay, sometimes, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as 
 my toes look through the overleather. 
 
 Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour ! 
 O, that a mighty man, of such descent, 
 Of such possessions, and so high esteem, 
 Should be infused with so foul a spirit ! 
 
 Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christo- 
 pher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath ; by birth a pedlar, 
 by education a card- maker, by transmutation a bear-herd, 
 and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hac- 
 ket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not ; if she 
 say I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score 
 me up for the lying'st knave in Christendom. What, I am 
 not bestraught: Here's 
 
 3 Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 
 
i 3 s SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 2 Serv. O, this it is that makes your servants droop* 
 Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your 
 house, 
 
 As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. 
 
 O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth ; 
 
 Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, 
 
 And banish hence these abject lowly dreams : 
 
 Look how thy servants do attend on thee, 
 
 Each in his office ready at thy beck. 
 
 Wilt thou have music? hark ! Apollo plays, [Musk. 
 
 And twenty caged nightingales do sing: 
 
 Or wilt thou sleep ? we'll have thee to a couch, 
 
 Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed 
 
 On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. 
 
 Say, thou wilt walk ; we will bestrow the ground : 
 
 Or wilt thou ride ? thy horses shall be trapp'd, 
 
 Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. 
 
 Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks, will soar 
 
 Above the morning lark : Or wilt thou hunt ? 
 
 Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them, 
 
 And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 
 
 1 Serv. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as 
 
 swift 
 
 As breathed stags ; ay, fleeter than the roe. 
 
 2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee 
 
 straight 
 
 Adonis, painted by a running brook ; 
 
 And Cytherea all in sedges hid ; 
 
 Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, 
 
 Even as the waving sedges play with wind. 
 
 Lord, We'll shew thee Io, as she was a maid ; 
 And how she was beguiled and surpriz'd, 
 As lively painted as the deed was done. 
 
 3 Serv. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny wood j 
 Scratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds : 
 And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, 
 
 So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. 
 
 Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord : 
 Thou hast a lady far more beautiful 
 Than any woman in this waining age. 
 
 1 Serv. And, till the tears, that she hath shed for thee, 
 Like envious floods, o'er-ran her love ly face, 
 She was the fairest creature in the world; 
 And yet she is inferior to none. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 153 
 
 Sly. Am I a lord f and have I such a lady ? 
 Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now ? 
 / do not sleep : I see, I bear, I speak ; 
 I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things :— - 
 Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed ; 
 And not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly.— 
 Well, bring our lady hither to our sight; 
 And once again, a pot o* the smallest ale. 
 
 2 Serv. WilPt please your mightiness to wash your hands? 
 
 [Servants present an ewer, bason and napkin* 
 O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd ! 
 O, that once more you knew but what you are ! 
 These fifteen years you have been in a dream ; 
 Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. 
 
 Sly. These fifteen years ! by my fay, a goodly nape 
 But did I never speak of all that time ? 
 
 1 Serv. O, yes, my lord : but very idle words : — 
 For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, 
 Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of door ; 
 And rail upon the hostess of the house ; 
 And say, you would present her at the leet, 
 Because she brought stone jugs, and no seaPd quarts: 
 Sometimes, you would call out for Cicely Hacket. 
 
 Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 
 
 3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such maid ; 
 Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up,—* 
 
 As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, 
 And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell ; 
 And twenty more such names and men as these, 
 Which never were, nor no man ever saw. 
 
 Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends ! 
 
 AIL Amen. 
 
 Sly. I thank thee ; thou shalt not lose by it. 
 
 Enter Page, as a lady, with attendants. 
 
 Page. How fares my noble lord ? 
 
 Sly. Marry, I fare well ; for here is cheer enough. 
 Where is my wife ? 
 
 Page. Here, noble lord; what is thy will with her? 
 
 Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me— husband? 
 My men should call me — lord, I am your good man. 
 
 Page. My husband and my lord, my lord and husband. 9 
 I am your wife in all obedience. 
 
 Sly. I know it well : What must I call her? 
 
 Lord. Madam. 
 
134 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Sly. Al'ce Madam, or Joan Madam ? 
 Lord. Madam, and nothing else ; so lords call ladies. 
 Sly. Madam, wife, they say, that I have dream'd, and 
 slept 
 
 Above some fifteen years or more. 
 
 Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me ; 
 Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. 
 
 Sly. 'Tis much ; Servants, leave me and her alone.—* 
 
 Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. 
 
 Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you, 
 To pardon me yet for a night or two ; 
 Or, if not so, until the sun be set : 
 For your physicians have expressly charg'd, 
 In peril to incur your former malady, 
 That I should yet absent me from your bed : 
 I hope this reason stands for my excuse. 
 
 Sly. Ay, it stands so, that I may hardly tarry so long. 
 But I would be loth to fall into my dreams again : I will 
 therefore tarry, in despite of the flesh and the blood. 
 
 No.LXII. 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 ACT V. SCENE III. 
 
 Paulina's House. 
 
 Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo y 
 Paulina, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Painted by Mr. W. Hamilton. R. A. 
 
 Leo. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort - 
 That I have had of thee. 
 
 Paul. What, sovereign sir, 
 I did not well, I meant well : All my services 
 You have paid home : but that you have vouchsafe, 
 With your crown'd brother,and these your contracted 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit y 
 It is a surplus of your grace, which never 
 My life may last to answer. 
 
 Leo. O Paulina, 
 We honour you with trouble ; But we came 
 To see the statue of our queen : your gallery 
 Have we pass'd through, not without much content 
 In many singularities ; but we saw not 
 That which my daughter came to look upon, 
 The statue of her mother. 
 
 Paul. As she liv'd peerless, 
 So her dead likeness, I do well believe, 
 Excels what ever yet you look'd upon, 
 Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it 
 Lonely, apart: But here it is : prepare 
 To see the life as lively mock'd as ever 
 Still sleep mock'd death : behold ; and say, 'tis well. 
 
 [Paulina undraws a curtain, and discovers a statue. 
 I like your silence, it the more shews off 
 Your wonder : But yet speak ; — first, you, my liege, 
 Comes it not something near ? 
 
 Leo. Her natural posture ! — 
 Chide me dear stone ; that I may say, indeed, 
 Thou art Hermione : or, rather, thou art she, 
 In thy not chiding ; for she was as tender, 
 As infancy, and grace. — But yet, Paulina, 
 Hermione was not so much wrinkled ; nothing 
 So aged, as this seems. 
 
 Pol. O, not by much. 
 
 Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence ; 
 Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her 
 As she liv'd now. 
 
 Leo. As now she might have done, 
 So much to my good comfort, as it is 
 Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, 
 Even with such life of majesty, (warm life. 
 As now it coldly stands) when first I woo'd her I 
 I am asham'd : does not the stone rebuke me, 
 For being more stone than it ? O, royal piece, 
 There's magic in thy majesty ; which has 
 My evils conjur'd to remembrance ; and 
 From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, 
 Standing like stone with thee ? 
 
 Per. And give me leave ; 
 And do not say 'tis superstition, that 
 
IS 6 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 J kneel, and then implore her blessing. — Lady, 
 Dear queen, that ended when I but began, 
 Give me that hand of yours, to kiss. 
 
 Paul. O, patience ; 
 The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's 
 Not dry. 
 
 Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on ; 
 Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, 
 So many summers, dry: scarce any joy 
 Did ever so long live ; no sorrow, 
 But kilPd itself much sooner. 
 
 Pol. Dear my brother, 
 Let him, that was the cause of this, have power 
 To take off so much grief from you, as he 
 Will piece up in himself. 
 
 Paul. Indeed, my lord, 
 If I had thought, the sight of my poor image 
 Would thus have wrought you, (for the stone is mine) 
 I'd not have shew'd it. 
 
 Leo. Do not draw the curtain. 
 
 Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't ; lest your fancy 
 May think anon, it moves. 
 
 Leo. Let be, let be. 
 Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already— 
 What was he, that did make it ? — See, my lord, 
 Would you not deem, it breath'd ? and that those veins 
 Did verily bear blood ? 
 
 Pol. Masterly done : 
 The very life seems warm upon her lip. 
 
 Leo. The fixure of her eye has motion in'!, 
 As we are mock'd with art. 
 
 Paul. I'll draw the curtain ; 
 My lord's almost so far transported, that 
 He'll thmk anon, it lives. 
 
 Leo. O sweet Paulina, 
 Make me to think so twenty years together ; 
 No settled senses of the world can match 
 The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone. 
 
 Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you ; but 
 I could afflict you further. 
 
 Leo. Do, Paulina ; 
 For this affliction has a taste as sweet 
 As any cordial comfort. — Still, methinks, 
 There is an air comes from her ; What fine chisel 
 Could ever yet cut breath ? Let no man mock me, 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 137 
 
 Tor 1 will kiss bef. 
 
 Paul. Good my lord, forbear: 
 The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; 
 You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own 
 With oily painting : Shall I draw the curtain ? 
 
 No. LXIII. 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VL 
 ACT I. SCENE III. 
 
 A Field of Battle, betwixt Sandal Castle and 
 Wakefield. 
 
 Rutland and his Tutor, Clifford and Soldiers. 
 Painted by Mr. Northcote, R. A. 
 
 Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly, to 'scape their hands ! 
 Ah, tutor ! look, where bloody Clifford comes ! 
 
 Enter Clifford and Soldiers. 
 
 Clif Chaplain, away ! thy priesthood saves thy life. 
 As for the brat of this accursed duke,— 
 Whose father slew my father, — he shall die. 
 
 Tutor. And I, my lord, will bear him company. 
 
 Clif* Soldiers, away with him. 
 
 Tutor. Ah, Clifford! murder not this innocent child, 
 Lest thou be hated both of God and man. 
 
 [Exit, dragg'd off, 
 Clif. How now! is be dead already? Or, is it fear ', 
 That makes him close his eyes? — Pll open them. 
 
 Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch 
 That trembles under his devouring paws : 
 And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey ; 
 And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.— 
 
 T 
 
138 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, 
 And not with such a cruel threat'nihg look. 
 Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die ; — 
 I am too mean a subject tor thy wrath, 
 Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live. 
 
 Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy ; my father's blood 
 Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. 
 
 Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again ; 
 He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. 
 
 Clif* Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and thine, 
 Were not revenge sufficient for me : 
 No, if 1 digg'd up thy forefathers' graves, 
 And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, 
 It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. 
 The sight of any of the house of York 
 Is as a fury to torment my soul ; 
 And 'till I root out their accursed line, 
 And leave not one alive, I live in heil. 
 
 Therefore [Lifting bis band. 
 
 Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death : 
 To thee I pray ; sweet Clifford, pity me ! 
 
 Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. 
 
 Rut. I never did thee harm : Why wilt thou slay me * 
 
 Clif. Thy father hath. 
 
 Rut. But 'twas ere I was born. 
 Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me ; 
 Lest, in revenge thereof, — sith God is just, — 
 He be as miserably slain as I. 
 Ah, let me live in prison all my days ; 
 And when I give occasion of offence, 
 Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 
 
 Clif. No cause ? 
 Thy father slew my father ; therefore, die. 
 
 [Clifford stabs him. 
 
 Rut. Diifaciant, laudis summa sit ista tuce ! [Dies. 
 
 Clif. Plantagenet ! I come, Plantagenet ! 
 And this thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade, 
 Shall rust upon my weapon, 'till thy blood, 
 Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 139 
 
 No. LXIV. 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE V. 
 
 A Park, near Middleham Castle in Yorkshire. 
 
 Gloster, Hastings, Sir William Stanley, King 
 Ediuard, and Huntsman. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Miller. 
 
 Glo. Now, my lord Hastings, and sir William Stanley, 
 Leave off to wonder why I drew you. hither, 
 Into this chiefest thicket of the park. 
 Thus stands the case : You know, our king, my brother, 
 Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands 
 He hath good usage, and great liberty ; 
 And often, but attended with weak guard, 
 Comes hunting this way to disport himself. 
 I have advertis'd him by secret means, 
 That if, about this hour, he make this way, 
 Under the colour of his usual game, 
 He shall here find his friends* with horse and men, 
 To set him free from his captivity. 
 
 Enter King Edward, and a Huntsman. 
 Hunt. This way, my lord ; for this way lies the game. 
 K. Edw. Nay, this way, man ; see, where the huntsmen 
 stand. 
 
 Now, brother of Gloster, lord Hastings, and the rest, 
 Stand you thus close to steal the bishop's deer ? 
 
 Glo. Brother, the time and case requireth haste ; 
 Your horse stands ready at the park corner. 
 
 K. Edw. But whither shall we then ? 
 
 Hast. To Lynn, my lord ; and ship from thence to Flanders. 
 
 Glo. Weil guess'd, believe me ; for that was my meaning. 
 
 K. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. 
 
 Glo. But wherefore stay we ? 'tis no time to talk. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 K. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thou i wilt thou go 
 along ? 
 
 Hunt. Better do so, than tarry and be hang'd. 
 Glo. Come then, away ; let's have no more ado. 
 K. Edw. Bishop, farewell: shield thee from Warwick's 
 frown ; 
 
 And pray that I may repossess the crown. [Exeunt. 
 
 No. LXV. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE III. 
 
 Coriolanus, Aufidius, Virgilia, Volumnia y Young 
 Marcius y Valeria, and Attendants. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Gavin Hamilton. 
 
 Cor. I beseech you, peace : 
 Or, if you'd ask, remember this before ; 
 The things, I have forsworn to grant, may never 
 Be held by you denials. Do not bid me 
 Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate 
 Again with Rome's mechanics: — Tell me not 
 Wherein I seem unnatural : Desire not 
 To allay my rage and revenges, with 
 Your colder reasons. 
 
 Vol. O, no more, no more ! 
 You have said, you will not grant us any thing °, 
 For we have nothing else to ask, but that 
 Which you deny already : Yet we will ask ; 
 That, if you fail in our request, the blame 
 May hang upon your hardness : therefore hear us. 
 
 Cor. Aufidius, and you Voices, mark ; for we'll 
 Hear naught from Rome in private.— Your request ? 
 
 Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment 
 And state of bodies would bewray what life 
 We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself. 
 How more unfortunate than all living women 
 Are we come hither : since that thy sight, which should 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts, 
 
 Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and sorrow; 
 
 Making the mother, wife, and child, to see 
 
 The son, the husband, and the father tearing 
 
 His country's bowels out. And to poor we 
 
 Thine enmity's most capital ; thou barr'st us 
 
 Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort 
 
 That all but we enjoy : for how can we, 
 
 Alas ! how can we for our country pray, 
 
 Whereto we are bound ; together with thy victory, 
 
 Whereto we are bound; Alack! or we must lose 
 
 The country, our dear nurse ; or else thy person, 
 
 Our comfort in the country. We must find 
 
 An evident calamity, though we had 
 
 Our wish, which side should win : for either thou 
 
 Must, as a foreign recreant, be led 
 
 With manacles thorough our streets ; or else 
 
 Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin; 
 
 And bear the palm, for having bravely shed 
 
 Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, 
 
 I purpose not to wait on fortune, 'till 
 
 These wars determine : if I cannot persuade thee 
 
 Rather to shew a noble grace to both parts, 
 
 Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner 
 
 March to assault thy country, than to tread 
 
 (Trust to't, thou shalt not) on thy mother's womb. 
 
 That brought thee to this world. 
 Virg. Aye, and mine, 
 
 That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name 
 
 Living to time. 
 
 Boy. He shall not tread on me: 
 
 I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight. 
 Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be, 
 
 Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. 
 
 I have sat too long. [Rising. 
 VoU Nay, go not from us thus. 
 
 If it were so, that our request did tend 
 
 To save the Romans, thereby to destroy 
 
 The Voices, whom you serve, you might condemn us, 
 
 As poisons of your honour : No ; our suit 
 
 Is, that you reconcile them : while the Voices 
 
 May say, c < This mercy we have shew'd ;" the Romans, 
 
 " This we receiv'd ;" and each in either side 
 
 Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, " Be blest 
 
 " For making up this peace l" Thou know'st, great son, 
 
1 42 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 The end of war's uncertain; but this certain, 
 
 That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit 
 
 Which thou shalt thereby reap, is such a name, 
 
 Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses f 
 
 Whose chronicle thus writ, — " The man was noble, 
 
 " But with his last attempt he wip'd it out : 
 
 " Destroy'd his country, and his name remains 
 
 " To the ensuing age, abhorrM." Speak to me, son : 
 
 Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour, 
 
 To imitate the graces of the gods ; 
 
 To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air, 
 
 And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt 
 
 That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak ? 
 
 Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man 
 
 Still to remember wrongs? — Daughter, speak you : 
 
 He cares not for your weeping. — Speak thou, boy ; 
 
 Perhaps, thy childishness will move him more 
 
 Than can-our reasons. — There is no man in the world 
 
 More bound to his mother ; yet here he lets me prate 
 
 Like one V the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life 
 
 Shew'd thy dear mother any courtesy ; 
 
 When she (poor hen !) fond of no second brood, 
 
 Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home, 
 
 Loaden with honours. Say, my request's unjust, 
 
 And spurn me back : But, if it be not so, 
 
 Tbou art not honest ; and the gods will plague thee, 
 
 That tbou restrain'' st .from me the duty, which 
 
 To a mother's part belongs, — He turns away : 
 
 Down ladies ; let us shame him with our knees. 
 
 To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride. 
 
 Than pity to oar prayers. — Down: An end; 
 
 This is the last : — So we will home to Rome, 
 
 And die among our neighbours. — -Nay', behold us : 
 
 This boy, that cannot tell what he would have, 
 
 But kneels, and holds up hands, for fellowship, 
 
 Does reason our petition with more strength 
 
 Than thou hast to deny't. — Come, let us go : 
 
 This fellow had a Volcian to his mother ; 
 
 His wife is in Corioli, and his child 
 
 Like him by chance ; — Yet give us our dispatch : 
 
 I am hush'd until our city be afire, 
 
 And then I'll speak a little. 
 
 Cor. Mother, mother ! 
 
 [Holding her by the bands, silent* 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 What have you done ? Behold, the heavens do ope, 
 The gods look down, and this unnatural scene 
 They laugh at. O my mother, mother ! O ! 
 You have won a happy victory to Rome : 
 But for your son, — believe it, O, believe it, 
 Most dangerously you have with him prevaiPd, 
 If not most mortal to him. But, let it come : — 
 Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, 
 I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, 
 Were you in my stead, would you have heard 
 A mother less ? or granted less, Aufidius ! 
 Auj, I was mov'd withal. 
 
1792. 
 
 No. LXVI. 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE V. 
 
 Windsor Park. 
 
 Falstaff( disguised with a buck's head on, ) Fairies, 
 Mrs. Ford, Mrs. Page, Quickly, Pistol, Sir 
 Hugh Evans, Fenton, and Anne Page. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Smirke, A. R. 
 
 Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve ; the minute 
 draws on : Now, the hot-blooded gods assist me ! — Remem- 
 ber, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa ; love set on thy 
 horns. — O powerful love ! that, in some respects, makes a 
 beast a man ; in some other, a man a beast. — You were also, 
 Jupiter, a swan, for the love of Leda ; — O omnipotent love! 
 how near the god drew to the complexion of a goose ? — A 
 fault done first in the form of a beast : — O Jove, a beastly 
 fault ! and then another fault in the semblance of a fowl ; 
 think on't, Jove ; a foul fault. — When gods have hot backs, 
 what shall poor men do ? For me, I am here a Windsor 
 stag ; and the fattest, I think i'the forest : send me a cool 
 rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss my tallow ? Who 
 comes here ? my doe ? 
 
 Enter Mrs. Ford, and Mrs. Page. 
 Mrs. Ford. Sir John ? art thou there, my deer ? my male 
 deer ? 
 
 Fal. My doe, with the black scut ? — Let the sky rain 
 potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune of Green Sleeves ; hail 
 
 U 
 
146 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 kissing-comflts, and snow eringoes ; let there come a tempest 
 of provocation, I will shelter me here. [Embracing her. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, sweet- 
 heart. 
 
 Fal. Divide me like a bride-buck, each a haunch : I will 
 keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow of this 
 walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands. Am I a 
 woodman ? ha ! Speak I like Heme the hunter ? Why, now, 
 is Cupid a child of conscience ; he makes restitution. As I 
 am a true spirit, welcome ! [Noise within. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas ! what noise ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins ! 
 
 Fal. What shall this be ? 
 
 Fal. I think the devil will not have me damn'd, lest the ' 
 oil that is in me should set hell on fire ; he would never else 
 cross me thus. 
 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans, like a satyr ; Mrs. Quickly, and 
 Pistol ; Anne Page, as the Fairy Queen, attended by her 
 brother and others, dressed like fairies, with waxen ta- 
 pers on their heads. 
 
 Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, • 
 You moon-shine revellers, and shades of night, 
 You orphan heirs of fixed destiny, 
 
 Attend your office and your quality. 
 
 Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes. — 
 
 Pist. Elves, list your names ; silence, you airy toys. 
 Cricket, to Windsor chimnies shalt thou leap : 
 Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths unswept, 
 There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry : 
 Our radient queen hates sluts, and sluttery. 
 
 Fal. They are fairies ; he that speaks to them, shall die : 
 I'll wink and couch ; No man their works must eye. 
 
 [Lies down upon his face. 
 
 Evans. Where's Pede ? Go you, and where you find a maid, 
 That, ere she sleep, hath thrice her prayers said, 
 Raise up the organs of her fantasy, 
 Sleep she as sound as careless infancy ; 
 But those, as sleep, and think not on their sins, 
 Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins. 
 
 Quick. About, about ; 
 Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out : 
 Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room ; 
 That it may stand till the perpetual doom, 
 
 [They run off. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 147 
 
 In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit ; 
 Worthy the owner, and the owner it. 
 The several chairs of order look you scour, 
 With juice of balm, and every precious flower: 
 Each fair instalment coat, and several crest, 
 With loyal blazon, evermore be blest ! 
 And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing, 
 Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring : 
 The expressure that it bears, green let it be, 
 More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ; 
 And, Hani Soit Qui Mai y Pense, write, 
 In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white ; 
 Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, 
 Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee ; 
 Fairies use flowers for their charactery. 
 Away ; disperse : but till 'tis one o'clock, 
 Our dance of custom, round about the oak 
 Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget. 
 
 Evans. Pray you, lock hand in hand ; yourselves in order 
 set : 
 
 And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, 
 To guide our measure round about the tree. 
 But, stay ; I smell a man of middle earth. 
 
 Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welch fairy ! lest he 
 transform me to a piece of cheese ! 
 
 Pist. Vile worm, thou wast o'er-look'd even in thy 
 birth. 
 
 Quick. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end : 
 If he be chaste, the flame will back descend, 
 And turn him to no pain ; but if he start, 
 It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. 
 
 Fist. A trial, come. 
 
 Evans. Come, will this wood take fire ? 
 
 [They burn him with their tapers. 
 
 Fal. Oh, oh y oh I 
 
 Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire ! 
 About him, fairies, sing a scornful rhyme : 
 And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Fie on sinful fantasy ! 
 
 Fie on lust and luxury! 
 
 Lust is but a bloody fire, 
 
 Kindled with unchaste desire, 
 
 Fed in heart ; whose flames aspire, 
 
 As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher • 
 
14S SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Pinch him, fairies, mutually; 
 
 Pinch him for his villainy ; 
 Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, 
 Till candles, and star-light, and moonshine be out. 
 
 [During this song, the fairies pinch Falstaff. Doctor Caius 
 comes one way, and steals away a fairy in green ; Slender 
 another way, and takes off a fairy in white ; and Fenton 
 comes, and steals away Mrs. Anne Page. A noise of 
 hunting is made within. All the fairies run away. Fal- 
 staff pulls off his buck's head, and rises.] 
 
 Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, and Mrs. Ford. They lay 
 hold on him* 
 
 Page. Nay, do not fly: I think, we have watch'd you 
 now ; 
 
 Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn ? 
 
 Mrs* Page* I pray you, come ; hold up the jest no 
 higher : — 
 
 Now, good sir John, how like you Windsor wives ? 
 See you these, husband r do not these fair yokes 
 Become the forest better than the town ? 
 
 Ford. Now, sir, who*s a cuckold, now ? — Master Brook, 
 FalstafFs a knave, a cuckoldly knave ; here are his horns, 
 master Brook : And, master Brook, he hath enjoyed no- 
 thing of Ford's but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty 
 pounds of money ; which must be paid to master Brook ; his 
 horses are arrested for it, master Brook. 
 
 Mrs* Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could ne- 
 ver meet. I will never take you for my love again, but I will 
 always count you my deer. 
 
 Fal. I do begin to perceive, that I am made an ass. 
 
 For d. Ay, and an ox too ; both the proofs are extant. 
 
 Fal. And these are not fairies ? I was three or four times 
 in the thought, they were not fairies ; and yet the guiltiness 
 of my mind, the sudden surprise of my powers, drove the 
 grossness of the foppery into a received belief, in despite of 
 the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they were fairies. 
 See now, how wit may be made a Jack-a-lenr, when 'tis 
 upon ill employment ! 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 149 
 
 No, LXVII. 
 
 RICHARD IL 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 
 Parliament House. 
 
 K. Richard, Bolingbroke, York y Aumerle, North- 
 umberland, Percy, Fitzwater, Surrey, Bishop 
 of Carlisle, Abbot of Westminster, Herald, &c. 
 and Bagot. 
 
 Painted by Mr. M. Brown. 
 
 Baling Fetch hither Richard, that in common view- 
 He may surrender; so we shall proceed 
 Without suspicion, 
 
 York. I will be his conduct. [Exit, 
 Boiing. Lords, you that are here under our arrest, 
 Procure your sureties for your days of answer : 
 Little are we beholding to your love, [To Carlisle, 
 
 And little look'd for at your helping hands. 
 
 Re-enter York, with King Richardy and Officers bearing 
 the Regalia. 
 K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, 
 Before I have shook off the regal thoughts 
 Wherewith I reign'd ? I hardly yet have learn 'd 
 To insinuate, natter, bow, and bend my knee : — 
 Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me 
 To this submission. Yet I well remember 
 The favours of these men : Were they not mine ? 
 Did they not sometime cry, all hail ! to me? 
 So Judas did to Christ : but he in twelve, 
 Found truth in all, but one ; I, in twelve thousand, none. 
 God save the king ! — Will no man say, amen ? 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 Am I both priest and clerk ? well then, amen • 
 God save the king ! although I be not he ; 
 And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me, — 
 To do what service am I sent for hither ? 
 
 York. To do that office, of thine own good will , 
 Which tried majesty did make thee offer. — 
 The resignation of thy state and crown 
 To Henry Bolingbroke. 
 
 K. Rich. Give me the crown : Here, cousin, seize the 
 crown ; 
 
 Here, cousin, on this side, my hand ; on that side, thine. 
 
 Now is this golden crown like a deep well, 
 
 That owes two buckets filling one another ; 
 
 The emptier ever dancing in the air, 
 
 The other down, unseen, and full of water : 
 
 That bucket down, and full of tears am I, 
 
 Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. 
 
 BoL I thought, you had been willing to resign. 
 
 K. Rich. My crown, I am, but still my griefs are mine : 
 You may my glories and my state depose, 
 But not my griefs ; still am I king of those. 
 
 BoL Part of your cares you give me with your crown, 
 
*HAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. LXVIIL 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IV, 
 
 ACT XI. SCENE IV. 
 Doll Tearsbeet y Falstaff, Henry, and Poins. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Fusel i, R. A. 
 
 Page. The music is come, sir. 
 
 Fal. Let them play ; — Play, sirs. — Sit on my knee, Doll. 
 A rascal bragging slave ! the rogue fled from me like quick- 
 silver. 
 
 Dol. Ffaitb, and thou followd'st him like a church. 
 Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar -pig, when wilt 
 thou leave fighting o'days, and Joining o'nights, and begin 
 to patch up thine old body for heaven. 
 
 Enter behind. Prince Henry and Poins> disguised like 
 drawers. 
 
 Fal. Peace, good Doll ; do not speak like a death's-head ; 
 do not bid me remember mine end. 
 
 DoL Sirrah, what humour is the prince of r 
 
 Fal. A good shallow young fellow : he would have made 
 a good pantler ; he would have chipp'd bread well. 
 
 Dol. They say, Poins has a good wit. 
 
 Fal. He a good wit ? hang him, baboon ! his wit is as 
 thick as Tewkesbury mustard ; there is no more conceit in 
 him, than is in a mallet. 
 
 Dol. Why does the prince love him so then ? 
 
 Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness : and he 
 plays at quoits well; and eats conger and fennel; and 
 drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons ; and rides the 
 wild mare with the boys ; and jumps upon joint-stools ; and 
 swears with a good grace ; and wears his boot very smooth, 
 like unto the sign of the leg ; and breeds no bate with 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 telling of discreet stories : and such other gambol faculties 
 he hath, that show a weak mind and an able body, for the 
 which the prince admits him : for the prince himself is such 
 another ; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between 
 their avoirdupois. 
 
 P. Henry. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears 
 cut off ? 
 
 Poins. Let's beat him before his whore. 
 
 P. Hen. Look, if the wither'd elder hath not his poll 
 claw'd like a parrot. 
 
 Poins. Is it not strangp, that desire should so many years 
 outlive performance ? 
 
 Fal. Kiss me, Doll. 
 
 P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction ! what 
 says the almanack to that ? 
 
 Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be 
 not lisping to his master's old tables ; his note-book, his 
 counsel-keeper. 
 
 Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. 
 
 Doll. Nay, truly, I kiss thee with a most constant heart. 
 
 Fal. I am old, I am old. 
 
 Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young 
 boy of them all. 
 
 Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of ? I shall receive 
 money on Thursday : thou shalt have a cap to-morrow. A 
 merry song, come : it grows late, we'll to bed. Thou'lt 
 forget me, when I am gone. 
 
 Dol. By my troth, thou'lt set me a weeping, an thou 
 say'st so : prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy 
 return. — Well, hearken the end. 
 
 Fal. Some sack, Francis. 
 
 P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. [advancing. 
 
 Fal. Ha ! a bastard son of the king's ? — And art not thou 
 Poins his brother ? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life 
 dost thou lead. 
 
 Fal. A better than thou ; I am a gentleman, thou art a 
 drawer. 
 
 P. Hen, Very true, sir; and I come to draw you out by 
 the ears. 
 
 Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace ! by my troth, 
 welcome to London. — Now the Lord bless that sweet face 
 of thine ! O Jesu ! are you come from Wales ? 
 
 Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, — by 
 this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome. 
 
 [Leaning his band upon Doll. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 153 
 
 Dol. How ! you fat fool, I scorn you. 
 
 Poms. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge, 
 and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the heat. 
 
 P. Hen. You whor son candle-mine, you, how vilely did 
 you speak of me even now, before this honest, virtuous, 
 civil gentlewoman ? 
 
 Host. Blessing o'your good heart ! and so she is, by my 
 troth. 
 
 Fal. Did'st thou hear me ? 
 
 P. Hen. Yes : and you knew me, as you did when you 
 ran away by Gads-hill : you knew I was at your back ; and 
 spoke it on purpose, to try my patience. 
 
 Fal. No, no, no ; not so ; I did not think thou wast 
 within hearing. 
 
 P. Hen. I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse; 
 and then I know how to handle you. 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour ; no abuse. 
 
 P. Hen. Not ! to dispraise me ; and call me pantler, and 
 bread-ehipper, and I know not what ? 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Hal. 
 
 Poins. No abuse ! 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world ; honest Ned, none. 
 I disprais'd him before the wicked, that the wicked might 
 not fall in love with him : — in which doing, I have done 
 the part of a careful friend, and a true subject, and thy fa- 
 ther is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal ; — none, 
 Ned, none ; — no, boys, none. 
 
 X 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 No. LXIX. 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 ACT 1M SCENE V. 
 
 A Room in the Tower, 
 
 Mortimer in a chair, Jailor, and Richard 
 Plantagenet. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Northcote, R. A- 
 
 Mot. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, 
 Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. — 
 Even like a man new haled from the rack, 
 So fare my limbs with long imprisonment : 
 And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death, 
 Nestor-like aged, in an age of care, 
 Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. 
 These eyes. — like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, — 
 Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent : 
 Weak shoulders, over-borne with burth'ning grief ; 
 And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine 
 That droops his sapless branches to the ground : 
 Yet are these feet — whose strengthless stay is numb. 
 Unable to support this lump of clay, — 
 Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, 
 As witting I no other comfort have. — 
 But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come ? 
 
 Keep, Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come: 
 We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber ; 
 And answer was return'd, that he will come. 
 
 Mort. Enough ; my soul shall then be satisfy'd. — 
 Poor gentleman ! his wrong doth equal mine. 
 Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, 
 (Before whose glory I was great in arms) 
 This loathsome sequestration have I had ; 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd, 
 
 Depriv'd of honour and inheritance : 
 
 But now, the arbitrator of despairs, 
 
 Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries, 
 
 With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence; 
 
 I would, his troubles likewise were expir'd, 
 
 That so he might recover what was lost. 
 
 Enter Richard Plantagenet. 
 
 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. 
 
 Mort. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come ? 
 
 Plan. Aye, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd, 
 Tour nephew, late-despised Richard, comes. 
 
 Mor. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck, 
 And in his bosom spend my latter gasp : 
 O, tell me, when my lips do touch his cheeks, 
 That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. — 
 And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock, 
 Why didst thou say— of late thou wert despis'd ? 
 
 Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm 
 And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease. 
 This day, in argument upon a case, 
 Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me : 
 Among which terms, he us'd his lavish tongue, 
 And did upbraid me with my father's death ; 
 Which obloquy set bars before my tongue, 
 Else with the like I had requited him : 
 Therefore, good uncle, — for my father's sake, 
 In honour of a true Plantagenet 
 And for alliance' sake,— declare the cause 
 My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head. 
 
 Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me, 
 And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth, 
 Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, 
 Was cursed instrument of his disease. 
 
 Plan. Discover more at large what cause that was ; 
 For I am ignorant, and cannot guess. 
 
 Mor. I will; if that my fading breath permit. 
 And death approach not ere my tale be done. 
 Henry the fourth, grandfather to this king, 
 Depos'd his nephew Richard; Edward's son, 
 The first-begotten, and the lawful heir 
 Of Edward king, the third of that descent : r 
 During whose reign, the Percies of the north. 
 Finding his usurpation most unjust, 
 
t$6 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne : 
 
 The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this, 
 
 Was — foi that (young Richard thus removed, 
 
 Leaving no heir begotten of his body,) 
 
 I was the next by birth and parentage ; 
 
 For by my mother I derived am 
 
 From Lionel duke of Clarence, third son 
 
 To king Edward the third, whereas he 
 
 From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, 
 
 Being but fourth of that heroic line. 
 
 But mark ; as, in this haughty great attempt, 
 
 They laboured to plant the rightful heir, 
 
 I lost my liberty, and they their lives. 
 
 Long after this, when Henry the fifth, — 
 
 Succeeding his father Bolingbroke,-i— did reign, 
 
 Thy father, earl of Cambridge,— then deriv'd 
 
 From famous Edmund LangTey, duke of York,— 
 
 Marrying my sister, that thy mother was, 
 
 Again, in pity of my hard distress, 
 
 Levied an army ; weening to redeem, 
 
 And have install'd me in the diadem : 
 
 But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl, 
 
 And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, 
 
 In whom the title rested, were suppress'd. 
 
 Plan. Of which, my lord, your honour is the last- 
 Mor. True ; and thou seest, that I no issue have ; 
 And that my fainting words do warrant death : 
 Thou art my heir ; the rest, I wish thee gather v 
 But yet be wary in thy studious care, 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 157 
 
 No. LXX. 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE IV. 
 
 Mother Jourdain, Hume, Southwell, Bolingbroke, 
 and Eleanor. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Opie, R. A. 
 
 Hume. Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell you, ex- 
 pects performance of your promises. 
 
 Baling. Master Hume, we are therefore provided : Will 
 her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms ? 
 
 Hume. Ay ; What else ; fear you not her courage. 
 
 Boling. I have heard her reported to be a woman of an 
 inv .icible spirit : But k shall be convenient, master Hume, 
 that you be by her aloft, while you be busy below ; and so, I 
 pray you, go in God's name, and leave us. [Exit Hume. 
 Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate, and grovel on the earth; 
 —John Southwell, read you ; and let us to our work. 
 
 Enter Duchess above. 
 Ducb. Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To 
 this geer ; the sooner the better. 
 
 Boling. Patience, good lady; wizards know their times t 
 Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, 
 The time ot night when Troy was set on fire ; 
 The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs howl, 
 And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves, 
 That time best fits the work we have in hand. 
 Madam, sit you, and fear not ; whom we raise, 
 We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. 
 
 [Here tbey perform the ceremonies appertaining , and 
 make the circle ; Bolingbroke, or Southwell, reads, 
 Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and lightens ter- 
 ribly ; then the Spirit riseth. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Spir. Adsum. 
 
 M. Jourd. Asmatb, 
 By tbe eternal God, whose name and power 
 Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask ; 
 For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence, 
 
 Spir. Ask what thou wilt : — That I had said and done I 
 
 Boling. First, of the king. What shall of him become ? 
 
 [Reading out of a paper. 
 
 Spir. The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose ; 
 But him out-live, and die a voilent death. 5 
 : [As the Spirit speaks, Southwell writes the answer. 
 
 Boling. What fate awaits the duke of Suffolk f 
 
 Spir. By water shall be die, and take his end* 
 
 Boling. What shall befall the duke of Someset ? 
 
 Spir. Let him shun castles ; 
 Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, 
 Than where castles mounted stand. 
 Have done, for more I hardly can endure. 
 
 Boling. Desend to darkness, and tbe burning lake : 
 False fiend, avoid ! 
 
 [Thunder and lightning. Spirit desends. 
 
 Enter York, and Buckingham, hastily, with their guards, 
 and others. 
 
 York, Lay hands upon these traitors, and their trash. 
 Beldame, I think, we watch'd you at an inch. — 
 What, madam, are you there? the king and commonweal 
 Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains ? 
 My lord protector will, I doubt it not, 
 See you well'guerdon'd for these good deserts. 
 
 Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England's king, 
 Injurious duke ; that threat'st where is no cause. 
 
 Buck. True, madam, none at all. What call you this ? 
 
 [Shewing her the papers. 
 Away with them ; let them be ciapp'd up close, 
 And kept asunder : — You, madam, shall with us : — 
 Stafford, take her to thee. — [Exit Duchess from above. 
 We'll see your trinkets here all forth-coming ; 
 AIL — Away ! — [Exeunt guards, with South. Boling. &c. 
 
 York. Lord Buckingham, methinks you watch'd her well : 
 A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon ! 
 Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. 
 What have we here ? [Reads. 
 « The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose, 
 "But him out-live and die a voilent death.-" 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 159 
 
 Why, this is just, 
 
 Aio te, jEucida, Romanos vincere posse. 
 Well, to the rest : 
 
 * c Tell me, what fate awaits the duke of Suffolk ? 
 
 «* By Water shall he die and take his end. — 
 
 " What shall betide the duke of Somerset ? 
 
 €4 Let him shun castles ; 
 
 " Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, 
 
 4e Than where castles mounted stand." 
 
 Come, come, my lords ; 
 
 These oracles are hardly tfttain'd, 
 
 And hardly understood. 
 
 The king is now in progress towards Saint Albans ; 
 With him, the husband of this lovely lady : 
 Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them ; 
 / A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. 
 
 Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord of York, 
 To be the post, in hope of his reward, 
 
 York. At your pleasure, my good Lord. — Who's within 
 there, ho ! 
 
 No.LXXL 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 ACT III. SCENE L 
 A Room in the Queen's Apartment. 
 
 The Queen, and some of her Women, at work. 
 Cardinals Wolsey and Campeius* 
 
 Painted by Mr. Peters. 
 
 Q. Cath. Take thy lute wench : my soul grows sad with 
 troubles ; 
 
 Sing, and disperse them, if thou canst : leave working. 
 
l6o SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Orpheus with his lute made trees, 
 And the mountain tops, that freeze, 
 
 Bow themselves when he did sing : 
 To his music, plants, and flowers, 
 Ever sprung ; as sun, and showers, 
 
 There had made a lasting spring. 
 Every thing that heard him play, 
 Even the billows of the sea, 
 
 Hung their heads, and then lay by« 
 In sweet music is such art ; 
 Killing care, and grief of heart, 
 
 Fall asleep, or hearing* die 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 g. Cath. How now ? 
 ent, An't please your grace, the two great cardinals 
 Wait in the presence. 
 Q. Cath* Would they speak with me ? 
 Gent. They will'd me say so, madam. 
 Q. Catb. Pray their graces 
 To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be their business 
 With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour ? 
 I do not like their coming, now I think on't. 
 They should be good men ; their affairs as righteous : 
 But all hoods make not monks. 
 
 Enter Wolsey and Campeius. 
 Wol. Peace to your highness ! 
 
 O. Catb. Your graces find me here part of a housewife ; 
 I would be all, against the worst may happen. 
 What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords ? 
 
 Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw 
 Into your private chamber, we shall give you 
 The full cause of our coming. 
 
 Q. Catb. Speak it here ; 
 There's nothing I have done yet, o* my conscience, 
 Deserves a corner : 'Would all other women 
 Could speak this with as free a soul as I do I 
 My lords, I care not, (so much I am happy 
 Above a number,) if my actions 
 Were try'd by every tongue, every eye saw them, 
 Envy and base opinions set against them, 
 I know my life so even : If your business 
 Seek me out, and that way 1 am wife in, 
 Out with it boldly ; Truth loves open dealing. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 161 
 
 WoL Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenis- 
 sima, — 
 
 Q. Catb. O, good my lord, no Latin ; 
 I am not such a truant since my coming, 
 As not to know the language I have liv'd in : 
 A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious ; 
 Pray, speak in English : here are some will thank you, 
 If you speak truth, for their mistress's sake : 
 Believe me, she has had much wrong . Lord Cardinal, 
 The willing'st sin I ever yet committed, 
 May be absolv'd in English. 
 
 WoL Noble lady, 
 I am sorry, my integrity should breed, 
 (And service to his Majesty and you) 
 So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. 
 We come not by the way of accusation, 
 To taint that honour every good tongue blesses ; 
 Nor to betray you any way to sorrow ; 
 You have too much, good lady : but to know 
 How you stand minded in the weighty difference 
 Between the king and you ; and to deliver, 
 Like free and honest men, our just opinions, 
 And comforts to your cause. 
 
 Cam. Most honour'd Madam, 
 My lord of York, — out of his noble nature, 
 Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace ; 
 Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure 
 Both of his truth and him, (which was too far,) — 
 Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, 
 His service and his counsel. 
 
 Q. Catb. To betray me. . [Aside. 
 My lords, I thank you both for your good wills, 
 Ye speak like honest men, (pray God ye prove so!) 
 But how to make ye suddenly an answer, 
 In such a point of weight, so near mine honour, 
 (More near my life, I fear,) with my weak wit, 
 And to such men of gravity and learning, 
 In truth I know not. I was set at work 
 Among my maids ; full little, God knows, looking 
 Either tor such men, or such business. 
 For her sake that I have been, (for I feel 
 The last fit of my greatness,) good your graces, 
 Let me have time and counsel, for my cause y 
 Alas ! Iam a woman, friendless, hopeless. 
 
 WoL Madam, you wrong the king's love with these fears ; 
 Y 
 
%6z SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Your hopes and friends are infinite. 
 
 Q. Catb. In England, 
 But little for my profit : Can you think, lords, 
 That any Englishman dare give me counsel ? 
 Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure, 
 (Though he be grown so desperate to be honest,) 
 And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends, 
 They that must weigh out my afflictions, 
 They that my trust must grow to, live not here ; 
 They are, as all my other comforts, far hence, 
 In mine own country, lords. 
 
 Cam. I would; your grace 
 Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. 
 
 Q. Catb. How, sir? 
 , Cam. Put your main cause into the king's protection 
 He's loving, and most gracious : 'twill be much 
 Both for your honour better, and your cause ; 
 For, if the trial of the law o'ertake you, 
 You'll part away disgrac'd. 
 
 Wol. He tells you rightly. 
 
 Q^Cath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruin: 
 Is this your christian counsel? Out upon ye I 
 Heaven is above all yet ; there sits a judge, 
 That no king can corrupt. 
 
 Cam. Your rage mistakes us. 
 
 Q. Catb. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought 
 Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues ; 
 But cardinal sins, and hollow hearts, I fear ye : 
 Mend them for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort? 
 The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady ? 
 A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd ? 
 I will not wish ye half my miseries, 
 I have more charity : But say, I warn'd ye ; 
 Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once 
 The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye. 
 
 W ol. Madam, this is a mere distraction ; 
 You turn the good we offer into envy. 
 
 Q. Catb. Ye turn me into nothing : Woe upon ye, 
 And all such false professors ! Would ye have me 
 (If you have any justice, any pity ; 
 If you be any thing but churchmen's habits,) 
 Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me ? 
 Alas ! he has banish'd me his bed already ; 
 His love, too, long ago : I am old, my lords, 
 And all the fellowship I hold now with him 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 163 
 
 Is only my obedience. What can happen 
 To me, above this wretchedness ? all your studies 
 Make me a curse like this. 
 Cam, Your fears are worse. 
 
 Q. Cath. Have I hVd thus long — (let me speak myself, 
 Since virtue finds no friends,) — a wife, a true one ? 
 A woman (I dare say, without vain-glory,) * 
 Never yet branded with suspicion ? 
 Have I with all my full affections 
 
 Still met the king ? lov'd him next heaven ? obey'd him ? 
 Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him ? 
 Almost forgot my prayers to content him ? 
 And am I thus rewarded ? 'tis not well, lords. 
 Bring me a constant woman to her husband, 
 One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure ; 
 And to that woman, when she has done most, 
 Yet will I add an honour, — a great patience. 
 
 WoL Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. 
 
 Q. Catb. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty, 
 To give up willingly that noble title 
 Your master wed me to : nothing but death 
 Shall e'er divorce my dignities. 
 
 Wol. Pray, hear me. 
 
 Q. Catb, 'Would I had never trod this English earth, 
 Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it ! 
 Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. 
 What will become of me now, wretched lady ? 
 I am the most unhappy woman living.- — 
 Alas ! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes ? 
 
 [To her women* 
 
 Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, 
 No friends, no hope ; no kindred weep for me, 
 Almost, no grave allow'd me : — Like the lily, 
 That once was mistress of the field, and fiourish'd, 
 I'll hang my head, and perish. 
 
 Wol, If your grace 
 Could but be brought to know, our ends are honest, 
 You'd feel more comfort : why should we, good lady, 
 Upon what cause wrong you ? alas ! our places, 
 The way of our profession, is against it ; 
 We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow them. 
 For goodness' sake, consider what you do ; 
 How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly 
 Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage. 
 The hearts of princes kiss obedience, 
 
1 64 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 So much they love it ; but, to stubborn spirits, 
 
 They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. 
 
 I know, you have a gentle, noble temper, 
 
 A soul as even as a calm ; Pray, think us 
 
 Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants. 
 
 Cam. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues 
 With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit, 
 As yours was put into you, ever casts 
 Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves you ; 
 Beware, you lose it not : For us, if you please 
 To trust us in your business, we are ready 
 To use our utmost studies in your service. 
 
 Q. Cath. Do what you will, my lords : And, pray, forgive 
 me, ' ^ 
 
 If I have us'd myself unmannerly ; 
 You know, I am a woman, lacking wit 
 To make a seemly answer to such persons. 
 Pray, do my service to his majesty : 
 He has my heart yet ; and shall have my prayers, 
 While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers, 
 Bestow your counsels on me : she now begs, 
 That little thought, when she set footing here, 
 She should have bought her dignities so dear. [Exeunt. 
 
 No. LXXII. 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 ACT IV. SCENE II. 
 Abbey of Leicester. 
 
 Wolsey, Northumberland, and Attendants, 
 Abbot of Leicester, &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Westal. 
 
 As described by Griffith to Queen Catherine. 
 
 Grif. How does your grace ? 
 Cath. O, Griffith, sick to death : 
 My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth, 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Willing to leave their burden : Reach a chair ; — 
 So, — now, methinks I feel a little ease. 
 Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me, 
 That the great child of honour, cardinal Wolsey, 
 Was dead j 
 
 Grif. Yes, madam ; but, I think, your grace, 
 Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't. 
 
 Cath. Pry'thee, good Griffith, tell me how he dy'd ; 
 If well, he stepp'd before me, happily, 
 For my example. 
 
 Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam : 
 For after the stout earl'Northumberland 
 Arrested him at York, and brought him forward 
 (As a man sorely tainted) to his answer, 
 He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill, 
 He could not sit his mule. 
 
 Cath. Alas, poor man ! 
 
 Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester, 
 Lodg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot, 
 With all his convent, honourably received him ; 
 To whom he gave these words, — s< O father abbot, 
 An old many broken with the storms of state, 
 Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; 
 Give him a little earth for charity! 79 
 So went to bed, where eagerly his sickness 
 Pursu'd him still ; and, three nights after this 
 About the hour of eight, (which he himself 
 Foretold should be his last,) full of repentance, 
 Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, 
 He gave his honours to the world again, 
 His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 
 
 Cath. So may he rest ; his faults lie gently on him ! 
 Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, 
 And yet with chanty, — He was a man 
 Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
 Himself with princes ; one, that by suggestion 
 Ty'd all the kingdom : simony was fair play ; 
 His own opinion was his law : I' the presence 
 He would say untruths ; and be ever double, 
 Both in his words and meaning : He was never, 
 But where he meant to ruin, pitiful : 
 His promises were, as he then was, mighty ; 
 But his performance, as he is now, nothing. 
 Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
 The clergy ill example. 
 
166 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 Grif. Noble madam, 
 Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues 
 We write in water. May it please your highness 
 To hear me speak his good now ? 
 
 Cath. Yes, good Griffith ; 
 I were malicious else. 
 
 Grif* This cardinal, 
 Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
 Was fashion'd to much honour. From his cradle, 
 He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one : 
 Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading: 
 Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not ; 
 But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer. 
 And though he were unsatisfy'd in getting, 
 (Which was a sin,) yet in bestowing, madam, 
 He was most princely : Ever witness for him 
 Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you, 
 Ipswich, and Oxford ! one of which fell with him, 
 Unwilling to outlive the good that did it ; 
 The other, though unfinished, yet so famous, 
 So excellent in art, and still so rising, 
 That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 
 His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ; 
 For then, and not till then, he felt himself, 
 And found the blessedness of being little : 
 And, to add greater honours to his age 
 Than man could give him, he dy'd fearing God. 
 
 Cath. After my death I wish no other herald, 
 No other speaker of my living actions, 
 To keep mine honour from corruption, 
 But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
 Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me 
 With thy religious truth and modesty, 
 Now in his ashes honour : Peace be with him ! — 
 Patience, be near me still ; and set me lower : 
 I have not long to trouble thee. — Good Griffith, 
 Cause the musicians play me that sad note 
 I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating 
 On that celestial harmony I go to. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. LXXIIL 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE II. 
 Imogen, Postbumus.Queen^Cymbeliney &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr. W. Hamilton, R. A. 
 
 Queen. No, be assur'd, you shall not find me, daughter, 
 After the slander of most step-mothers, 
 Evil-ey'd unto you : you are my prisoner, but 
 Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys 
 That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, 
 So soon as I can win the offended king, 
 I will be known your advocate : marry, yet 
 The fire of rage is in him ; and 'twere good, 
 You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience 
 Your wisdom may inform you. 
 
 Post. Please your highness, 
 . I will from hence to-day. 
 
 Queen. You know the peril : 
 I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying 
 The pangs of barr'd affections ; though the king 
 Hath charg'd you should not speak together [Exit. 
 
 Imo. O 
 
 Dissembling courtesy ! How fine this tyrant 
 
 Can tickle where she wounds ! — My dearest husband, 
 
 I something fear my father's wrath ; but nothing, 
 
 (Always reserv'd my holy duty) what 
 
 His rage can do on me : You must be gone ; 
 
 And I shall here abide the hourly shot 
 
 Of angry eyes ; not comforted to live, 
 
 But that there is this jewel in the world 
 
 That I may see again. 
 
 Post. My queen ! my mistress ! 
 O, lady, weep no more ; lest I give cause 
 To be suspected of more tenderness 
 Than doth become a man ! I will remain 
 
i68 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 The loyaPst husband that did e'er plight troth. 
 
 My residence in Rome, at one Philario's ; 
 
 Who to my father was a friend, to me 
 
 Known but by letter : thither write, my queen, 
 
 And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, 
 
 Though ink be made of gall. 
 
 Re-enter Queen. 
 
 Queen. Be brief, I pray you : 
 If the king come, I shall incur I know not 
 How much of his displeasure : — Yet I'll move him [Aside. 
 To walk this way : I never do him wrong, 
 But he does buy my injuries, to be friends : 
 Pays dear for my offences. [Exit. 
 
 Post. Should we be taking leave 
 As long a term as yet we have to live, 
 The loathness to depart would grow : Adieu ! 
 
 Imo. Nay, stay a little : 
 Were you but riding forth to air yourself, 
 Such parting were too petty. Look here, love ; 
 This diamond was my mother's : take it, heart ; 
 But keep it till you woo another wife, 
 When Imogen is dead, 
 
 Post. How! how! another? — 
 You gentle gods, give me but this I have, 
 And sear up my embracements from a next 
 With bonds of death ! — Remain, remain thou here 
 
 [Putting on the ring. 
 While sense can keep it on ! And sweetest, fairest, 
 As I my poor self did exchange for you, 
 To your so infinite loss ; so, in our trifles 
 
 I still win of you : For my sake, wear this ; 
 It is a manacle of love ; Vll place it 
 
 Upon this fairest prisoner. [Putting a bracelet on her arm. 
 
 Imo. O, the gods! — 
 When shall we see again ? 
 
 Enter Cymbeline, and Lords. 
 Post. Alack, the king ! 
 
 Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid ! hence, from my sight ! 
 If, after this command, thou fraught the court 
 With thy unworthiness, thou dy'st : Away ! 
 Thou art poison to my blood. 
 
 Post. The gods protect you ! 
 And bless the good remainders of the court ! 
 I am gone. [Exit. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 169 
 
 lino. There cannot be a pinch in death 
 More sharp than this is. 
 
 Cym. O disloyal thing, 
 That should'st repair my youth ; thou heapest 
 A year's age on me ! 
 
 Imo. I beseech you, sir, 
 Harm not yourself with your vexation ; I 
 Am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare 
 Subdues all pangs, all fears. 
 
 Cym. Past grace ? obedience ? 
 
 Imo. Past hope, #nd in despair ; that way past grace. 
 
 Cym. That might'st have had the sole son of my queen ! 
 
 Imo. O blest, that I might not ! I chose an eagle, 
 And did avoid a puttock. 
 
 Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; would'st have made my 
 throne 
 A seat for baseness. 
 
 Imo. No ; I rather added 
 A lustre to it. 
 
 Cym. O thou vile one ! 
 
 Imo. Sir, 
 
 It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus : 
 You bred him as my play-fellow ; and he is 
 A man, worth any woman ; over-buys me 
 Almost the sum he pays. 
 Cym. What ! art thou mad? 
 
 Imo. Almost, sir : Heaven restore me ! — 'Would I were 
 A neat-herd's daughter ; and my Leonatus 
 Our neighbour shepherd's son ! 
 
 Z 
 
StfAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 No. LXXIV. 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE II. 
 A Bedchamber. Desdemona in Bed, asleep. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Graham. 
 
 Enter Othello, 
 
 Oth. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — ' 
 Let me not name it, to you, you chaste stars I — 
 " It is the cause. — Yet Fit not shed her blood ; 
 Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, 
 And smooth as monumental alabaster. 
 Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. 
 
 Put out the .light, and then put out the light : 
 If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, 
 I can again thy former light restore, 
 v Should I repent me : but once put out thy light, 
 Thou cunning'st pattern of excellent nature, 
 I know not where is that Promethean heat, 
 That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd thy rose, 
 I cannot give it vital growth again, 
 It needs must wither :— I'll smell it on the tree. — 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 
 O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
 Justice herself to break her sword !«— Once more. — 
 Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee. 
 And love thee after : Once more, and this the last : 
 So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep, 
 But they are cruel tears : This sorrow's heavenly, 
 It strikes, where it doth love. — She wakes— 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. %7 l 
 
 Des. Who's there? Othello? 
 
 Oth. Ay, Desdemona. 
 
 Des. Will you come to bed, my lord ? 
 
 Oth. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona? 
 
 Des. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Oth. If you bethink yourself of any crime, 
 Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace, 
 Solicit for it straight. 
 
 Des. Alas, my lord, what may you mean by that ? 
 
 Oth. Well, do it, and be brief ; I will walk by : 
 I would not kill thy unprepared spirit: 
 No, — heaven forefend ! — I would not kill thy soul, 
 
 Des. Talk you of killing ? 
 
 Oth. Ay, I do. 
 
 Des. Then, heaven 
 Have mercy on me ! 
 
 Oth. Amen, with all my heart ! 
 
 Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me. 
 
 Oth. Humph! 
 
 Des. And yet I fear you ; for you are fatal then, 
 When your eyes roll so : Why I should fear, I know not, 
 Since guiltiness I know not ; hut yet, I feel, I fear. 
 
 Oth. Think on thy sins. 
 
 Des. They are loves I bear to you. 
 
 Oth. Ay, and for that thou dy'st. 
 
 Des. That death's unnatural, that kills for loving, 
 Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip ? 
 Some bloody passion shakes your very frame : 
 These are portents ; but yet I hope, I hope, 
 They do not point to me. 
 
 Oth. Peace, and be still ! 
 
 Des. I will so : What's the matter ? 
 
 Oth. That handkerchief, which I so Jov'd, and gave thee. 
 Thou gav'st to Cassio. 
 
 Des. No, by my life and soul ; 
 Send for the man, and ask him. 
 
 Oth. Sweet soul, take heed, 
 Take heed of perjury ; thou art on thy deathrbed. 
 
 Des. Ay, but not yet to die, 
 
 Oth. Yes, presently ; 
 Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin ; 
 P'or to deny each article with oath, 
 Cannot remove, ror choke the strong conception 
 That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Des. Then, Lord have mercy on me. 
 Oth. I say, amen. 
 
 Des. And have you mercy too ? — I never did 
 Offend you in my life ; never lov'd Cassio, 
 But with such general warranty of heaven 
 As I might love : I never gave him token. 
 
 Oth. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in his hand. 
 
 0 perjur'd woman ! thou dost stone my heart 
 And mak'st me call, what I intend to do, — 
 A murder, which I thought a sacrifice : 
 
 1 saw the handkerchief. 
 Des. He found it then ; 
 
 I never gave it him ; — Send for him hither, 
 And let him confess a truth. 
 
 Olh. He hath confess'd. 
 
 Des, What, my lord? 
 
 Oth. That he hath — us'd thee. 
 
 Des. How? unlawfully? 
 
 Oth. Ay. 
 
 Des. He will not say so. 
 
 Oth. No, his mouth is stopp'd ; 
 Honest Iago hath ta'en order for't. 
 
 Des. My fear interprets then, — What, is he dead? 
 
 Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge 
 Had stomach for them all. 
 
 Des. Alas ! he is betray'd, and I undone. 
 
 Oth. Out, strumpet ! Weep'st thou for him to my face ? 
 
 Des. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not. 
 
 Oth. Down, strumpet! 
 
 Des. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night. 
 
 Oth. Nay, if you strive, — 
 
 Des. But half an hour. 
 
 Oth. Being done, 
 There is no pause. 
 
 Des. But while J say one prayer . 
 
 Oth. It is too late. [He smothers her. 
 
 I 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 173 
 
 No. LXXV. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 ACT IL SCENE Ih 
 Scene Troy. Cassandra raving. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Romney. 
 
 Cas. [within] Cry, Trojans, cry ! ^ 
 
 Pri. What noise? what shriek is this ? 
 
 Tro. 'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice. 
 
 Cas. [within] Cry, Trojans ! 
 
 Hect. It is Cassandra. 
 
 Enter Cassandra, raving. 
 
 Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand eyes, 
 And I will Jill them with prophetic tears. 
 
 Hect. Peace, sister, peace. 
 
 Cas. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled elders, 
 Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, 
 Add to my clamours \ let us pay betimes 
 A moiety of that mass of moan to come. 
 Cry, Trojans, cry I practise your eyes with tears ! 
 Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand ; 
 Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all. 
 Cry, Trojans, cry ! a Helen, and a woe : 
 Cry, cry ! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [Exit* 
 
174 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. LXXVI. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE III. 
 Tower of London. 
 Painted by Mr. Northcote, R. A. 
 
 K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel ! am I happy in thy news ? 
 
 Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in charge 
 Beget your happiness, be happy then. 
 For it is done. 
 
 K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead f 
 
 Tyr. J did, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel? 
 
 Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them ; 
 But where, to say the truth, I do not know*. 
 
 K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper, 
 When thou shalt tell the process of their death. 
 Mean time, but think how I may do th@e good, 
 And be inheritor of thy desire. 
 Farewell till them 
 
 Tyr. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. 
 
 K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I pen'd up close ; 
 His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage ; 
 The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, 
 And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night. 
 Now, for I know the Bretagne Richmond aims 
 At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, 
 And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown, 
 To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. 
 
 * Here lie the relicks of Edward the Vth, King of 
 England, and Richard Duke of York; who, being con- 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 *7S 
 
 fined in the Tower, and there stifled with pillows, were 
 privately and meanly buried, by order of their perfidious 
 uncle, Richard the Usurper ; their bones, long inquired 
 after, and wished for, after lying 201 years in the rubbish 
 of the stairs ( i. e. those lately leading to the Chapel of the 
 White Tower), were, on the 7th of July, 1674, by un- 
 doubted proofs, discovered; being buried deep in that place. 
 Charles II. pitying their unhappy fate, ordered these un- 
 fortunate Princes to be laid among the relicks of their pre- 
 decessors, in the year 1678. 
 
 Vide the Latin inscription on their tomb, in Henry the 
 VTIth's Chapel, Westminster Abbey. 
 
1 793- 
 
 No. LXXIX, 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 
 A dark Cave, In the middle, a Cauldron boiling. 
 Three Witches, Macbeth, Hecate, &c. 
 
 Painted by the late Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
 
 PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY. 
 
 1. Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 
 
 2. Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whinM 
 
 3. Witch. Harper cries : — 'tis time, 'tis time. 
 1. Witch. Round about the cauldron go; 
 
 In the poison'd entrails throw. — *» 
 Toad, that under the cold stone, 
 Days and nights hast thirty one 
 Swelter'd venom sleeping got, 
 Boil thou first i'the charmed pot ! 
 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 1. Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, 
 In the cauldron boil and bake: 
 Eye of newt, and toe of frog, 
 Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, 
 Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting. 
 Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, 
 For a charm of powerful trouble, 
 Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 
 
 A a 
 
tj9 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 3. Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf 5 
 Witches' mummy: maw, and gulf, 
 Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark ; 
 Root of hemlock, digg'd i'the dark ; 
 Liver of blaspheming Jew; 
 Gall of goat, and slips of yew, 
 Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse i 
 Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips ; 
 Finger of birth-strangled babe, 
 Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,- 
 Make the gruel thick and slab: 
 Add thereto a tyger's chaudron, 
 For the ingredients of our cauldron. 
 
 AIL Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 2. Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, 
 Then the charm is firm and good. 
 
 Enter Hecate, and other three Witches. 
 
 Hec. O, well done ! I commend your pains; 
 And every one shall share i'the gains. 
 And now about the cauldron sing, 
 Like elves and fairies in a ring, 
 
 Tnchanting all that you put in* [Musics 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Black spirits and white, 
 / Red spirits and grey; 
 Mingle, mingle, mingle, 
 You that mingle may. 
 2. Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs, 
 Something wicked this way comes : — 
 Open, locks, whoever knocks. 
 
 ' Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags ? 
 What is't you do. 
 
 All. A deed without a name. 
 
 Macb. I conjure you, by that which you profess, 
 (Howe'er you come to know it), answer me: 
 Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 
 Against the churches ; though the yesty waves 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 179 
 
 Confound and swallow navigation up; 
 
 Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown down ; 
 
 Though castles topple on their warders' heads; 
 
 Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope 
 
 Their heads to their foundations ; though the treasure 
 
 Of nature's germins tumble all together, 
 
 Even till destruction sicken, answer me 
 
 To what I ask you. 
 
 1. Witch. Speak. 
 
 2. Witch. Demand. 
 
 3. Witch. We'll answer. 
 
 1 . Witch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths, 
 Or from our masters' ? 
 
 Macb. Call them, let me see them. 
 
 1. Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten 
 Her nine farrow ; grease, that's sweaten 
 From the murderer's gibbet, throw 
 Into the flame. 
 
 All. Come, high, or low ; 
 Thyself, and office, deftly show. 
 Thunder. An Apparition of an armed head rises, 
 Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power, — 
 1 . Witch. He knows thy thought ; 
 Hear his speech, but say thou nought. 
 
 App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff; 
 Beware the thane of Fife.- — Dismiss me >- — Enough. 
 
 [Descends, 
 
 Macb. What- e'er thou art, for thy good caution thanks ; 
 Thou hast harp'd my fear aright But one word more :— 
 
 1 . Witch. He will not be commanded : Here's another, 
 More potent than the first. 
 
 Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody child rises. 
 
 App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! — 
 
 Macb. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee. 
 
 App. Be bloody, bold, and resolute : laugh to scorn 
 The power of man ; for none of woman born 
 Shall harm Macbeth. [Descends. 
 
 Macb. Then live, Macduff; What need I fear of thee? 
 But yet I'll make assurance double sure, 
 And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live 5 
 That I may tell pale-hearted fear, it lies, 
 And sleep in spite of thunder. — What is this, 
 Thunder. An Apparition of a child crowned, with a ire? 
 
 in his hand, rlsfS 
 That rises like the issue of a king ; 
 
i8o SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 And wears upon his baby brow the round 
 And top of sovereignty ? 
 
 AIL Listen, but speak not to't. 
 
 App. Be lion-mettled, proud ; and take no care 
 Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are : 
 Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until 
 Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
 Shall come against him. [Descends, 
 
 Macb, That will never be : 
 Who can impress the forest ; bid the tree 
 Unfix his earth-bound root ? sweet bodements ! good \ 
 Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood 
 Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth 
 Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath 
 To time, and mortal custom. — Yet my heart 
 Throbs to know one thing ; Tell me, (if your art 
 Can tell so much), shall Banquo's issue ever 
 Reign in this kingdom ? 
 
 AIL Seek to know no more. 
 
 Macb. I will be satisfy 'd : deny me this, 
 And an eternal curse fall on you ! let me know : — 
 Why sinks that cauldron ? and what noise is this ? 
 
 [ Hautboys. 
 
 i. Witch. Shew! 2. Witch. Shew! 3. Witch. Shew ! 
 AIL Shew his eyes; and grieve his heart; 
 Come like shadows, so depart. 
 
 Eight kings appear, and pass over the stage in order ; the 
 last, with a glass in his hand'. Banquo following. 
 
 Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo-, down! 
 Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls : — And thy hair, 
 Thou other gold bound brow, is like the first: — 
 A third is like the former : — Filthy hags! 
 Why do you shew me this? — A fourth? — Start, eyes! 
 What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom? — r 
 Another yet? — A seventh ? — /'// see no more : — 
 And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass, 
 Which shews me many more, and some I see, 
 That twofold balls and treble scepters cany : 
 Horrible sight! — Ay, now, I see, His true; 
 For the blood-botter'd Banquo smiles upon me, 
 And points at them for his. — What, is this so ? 
 
 1. Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so ; — But why 
 Stands Macbeth thus amazedly ? — 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. i$i 
 
 Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights, 
 And shew the best of our delights ; 
 I'll charm the air to give a sound, 
 While you perform your antique round : 
 That this great king may kindly say, 
 Our duties did his welcome pay. 
 
 [Music. The Witches dance, and vanish. 
 Macb. Where are they ? Gone ? — Let this pernicious hour 
 Stand aye accursed in the calendar ! 
 Come in, without there ! 
 
 No. LXXX. 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE II. 
 
 The Road by Gadshill. 
 
 Prince Henry y Poins y Peto y Falstaff, Gads-hill^ 
 Bardolph. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Smirke, and Mr. Fa- 
 rington, R. A. 
 
 Poins. Come, shelter, shelter ; I have remov'd FalstafPs 
 horse, and he frets like a gumm'd velvet. 
 P. Henry. Stand close. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. Poins! Poins, and be hang'd! Poins! 
 P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-kidney'd rascal! What a brawling 
 dost thou keep? 
 Fal. Where's Poins, Hal? 
 
i$z SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 P. Hen. He is walk'd up to the top of the hill ; I'll go 
 seek him. [Pretends to seek Poins. 
 
 Fal. I am accurst to rob in that thief's company: the 
 rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I know not 
 where. If I travel but four foot by the squire further 
 afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but to die 
 a fair death for all this, if I 'scape hanging for killing that 
 rogue. I have forsworn his company hourly any time this 
 two and twenty years, and yet I am bewitch'd with the 
 rogue's company. If the rascal hath not given me medi- 
 cines to make me love him, I'll be hang'd ; it could not be 
 else; I have drunk medicines. — Poins! — Hal! — a plague 
 upon you both! — Bardolph ! — Peto! — I'll starve, ere Fll 
 rob a foot further. An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, 
 to turn true man, and to leave these rogues, I am the veriest 
 varlet that ever chew'd with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven 
 ground, is threescore and ten miles afoot with me; and the 
 stony-hearted villains know it well enough: a plague upon't, 
 when thieves cannot be true to one another! [Tbey whistle.] 
 Whew ! — A plague upon you all ! Give me my horse, you 
 rogues ; give me my horse, and be hang'd. 
 
 P. Hen, Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine ear 
 dose to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of 
 travellers. , 
 
 Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, being 
 down? 'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot 
 again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer. What a 
 plague mean ye, to colt me thus ? 
 
 P. Hen. Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art un- 
 coiled. 
 
 Fal. I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my horse; 
 go.od king's son. 
 
 P. Hen. Out, you rogue ! shall I be your ostler? 
 
 Fal. Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent gar-* 
 ters ! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have not bal- 
 lads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of 
 sack be my poison : When a jest is so forward, and afoot toq, 
 —I hate it. 
 
 Enter Gads-bill. 
 
 Gads. Stand. 
 
 Fal. Sol do, against my will. 
 
 Poins. O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. 
 
 Bard. What news ? 
 
 Gads. Case ye, case ye ; on with your visors ; there's- 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY- 
 
 183 
 
 money of the king's coming down the hill, 'tis going to the 
 king's exchequer. 
 
 Fal. You lie, you rogue; 'tis going to the king's ta- 
 vern. 
 
 Gads. There's enough to make us all. 
 Fal. Tobehang'd. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow 
 lane ; Ned Poins and I will walk lower : if they 'scape 
 from your encounter, then they light on us. 
 
 Peto. How many be there of them? 
 
 Gads. Some eight, or ten. 
 
 Fal. Zounds ! will they not rob us ? 
 
 P. Hen. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? 
 
 Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; 
 but yet no coward, Hal. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof. 
 
 Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge ; 
 when thou needst him, there thou shalt find him. Fare- 
 well, and stand fast. 
 
 Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hang'd. 
 
 P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises ? 
 
 Poins. Here, hard by ; stand close. 
 
 [Exeunt P. Henry and Poins. 
 
 Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I ; 
 every man to his business. 
 
 Enter Travellers. 
 I Trav. Come, neighbour ; the boy shall lead our horses 
 down the hill: we'll walk afoot a while, and ease our legs. 
 Thieves. Stand. 
 Trav. Jesu bless us ! 
 
 Fal. Strike; down with them ; cut the villains' throats: 
 Ah ! whorson caterpillars ! bacon-fed knaves ; they hate us 
 youth : down with them ; fleece them. 
 
 i Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours, for ever. 
 
 Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves; are ye undone? No, ye 
 fat chuffs ; I would, your store were here ! On, bacons, on ! 
 What, ye knaves ? young men must live : You are grand- 
 jurors, are ye ? We'll jure ye, i' faith. 
 
 [Exeunt Falstaff, &c. driving the travellers out. 
 
 Re-enter Prince Henry and Poms. 
 P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men : Now 
 could thou and I rob the thieves, and go merrily to London, 
 it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and 
 3 good jest for ever, 
 
1 84 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Poins. Stand close, I here them coming. 
 
 Re-enter Thieves. 
 
 Fat. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse 
 before day. An the Prince and Poins be not two arrant 
 cowards, there's no equity stirring : there's no more valour 
 in that Poins, than in a wild duck. 
 
 P. Hen. Tour money! [rushing out upon them. 
 
 Poins. Villains! 
 
 [As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon 
 them. Falstqff, after a blow or two, and the rest y 
 run away, leaving their booty behind them.] 
 
 P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse: 
 The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear 
 So strongly, that they dare not meet each other : 
 Each takes his fellow for an officer. 
 Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, 
 And lards the lean earth as he walks along: 
 Wer't not for laughing, I should pity him. 
 
 Poins. How the rogue roar'd ! [Exeunt* 
 
 No. LXXXL 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 act ii. scene nr. 
 
 The Countess of Auvergne's Castle. 
 Countess, Porter, Talbot, &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Opie, R. A. 
 
 Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge; 
 And, when you have done so, bring the keys to me. 
 Port. Madam, I will. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 185 
 
 Count . The plot is laid : if all things fall out right, 
 I shall as famous be by this exploit, 
 As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death. 
 Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight, 
 And his achievements of no less account : 
 Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, 
 To give their censure of these rare reports. 
 
 Enter Messenger, and Talbot. 
 
 Mess. Madam, according as your ladyship desir'd, 
 By message crav'd, so is lord Taibot come. 
 
 Count. And he is welcome. What! is this the man? 
 
 Mess. Madam, it is. 
 
 Count. Is this the scourge of France? 
 Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad, 
 That with his name the mothers still their babes ? 
 I see, report is fabulous and false : 
 I thought, I should have seen some Hercules, 
 A second Hector, for his grim aspect, 
 And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs, 
 Alas, this is a child, a silly dwart: 
 It cannot be, this weak and writhled shrimp 
 Should strike such terror to his enemies. 
 
 Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you : 
 But, since your ladyship is not at leisure, 
 I'll sort some other time to visit you. 
 
 Count. What means he now ? — Go ask him, whither he goes. 
 
 Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot ; for my lady craves 
 To know the cause of your abrupt departure. 
 
 Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, 
 I go to certify her, Talbot's here. 
 
 Re-enter Porter, with keys. 
 
 Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. 
 
 Tal. Prisoner ! to whom ? 
 
 Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord ; 
 And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. 
 Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, 
 For in my gallery thy picture hangs : 
 But now the substance shall endure the like ; 
 And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, 
 That hast by tyranny, these many years, 
 Wasted our country, slain our citizens, 
 And sent our sons and husbands captivate. 
 
 Tal. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall turn to 
 moan. 
 
 Bb 
 
1 86 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond, 
 To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow. 
 
 Whereon to practise your severity. 
 
 Count. Why, art not thou the man ? 
 
 Tal. I am, indeed. 
 
 Count. Then have I substance too. 
 
 Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: 
 You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here ; 
 For what you see, is but the smallest part 
 And least proportion of humanity : 
 I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, 
 It is of such a spacious lofty pitch, 
 Your roof were not sufficient to contain it. 
 
 Count. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce; 
 He will be here, and yet he is not here : 
 How can these contrarieties agree ? 
 
 Tal. That will I shew you presently. 
 [He winds a horn. Drums heard; then a peal of ordnance 
 
 The gates hdng forced ; enter Soldiers. 
 How say you, madam? are you now persuaded, 
 That Talbot is but shadow of himself? 
 These are his substance, sinews, arms, a id strength, 
 With which he yoketh your rebellious necks ; 
 Raze th your cities, and subverts your towns, 
 And in a moment makes them desolate* 
 
 Count* Victorious Talbot ! pardon my abuse : 
 I find, thou art no less than fame hath bruited, 
 And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. 
 Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath ; 
 For I am sorry, that with reverence 
 I did not entertain thee as thou art. 
 
 Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady ; nor misconstrue 
 The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake 
 The outward composition of his body. 
 What you have done, hath not offended me: 
 Nor other satisfaction do I crave, 
 But only (with your patience) that we may 
 Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have; 
 For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. 
 
 Count. With all my heart ; and think me honoured 
 To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Exeunt* 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 187 
 
 No. LXXXII. 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 ACT IV: SCENE V. 
 Elsinore. 
 
 King, Queen, Laertes, Ophelia, &c. 
 Painted by Mr. West, R. A, 
 
 PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY. 
 
 Laer. How now ! what noise is that ? 
 Enter Ophelia, fantastically dressed with straws and 
 flowers. 
 
 O heat, dry up my brains ! tears, seven times salt, 
 
 Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye ! 
 
 By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight, 
 
 Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May ! 
 
 Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia !— 
 
 O heavens ! is't possible a young maid's wits 
 
 Should be as mortal as an old man's life ? 
 
 Nature is fine in love : and, where 'tis fine, 
 
 It sends some precious instance of itself 
 
 After the thing it loves. 
 
 Oph. They bore him bare fac'd on the bier; 
 Hey no nonny, nonny hey nonny : 
 And in bis grave rain'd many a tigjfT*** 
 Fare you well, my dove! 
 
 Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge, 
 It could not move thus, 
 
 Oph. Tou must sing, Down-a-down, an you call him 
 a-down-a. O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false 
 steward, that stole his master's daughter. 
 
 Laer. This nothing's more than matter. 
 
 Oph. There s rosemary, that's for remembrance ; pray 
 you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for 
 thoughts. 
 
 Laer. A document in madness'; thoughts and remem- 
 brance fitted. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines : — there's 
 rue for you ; — and here's some for me: — we may call it herb 
 of grace o' Sundays :—you may wear your rue with a dif- 
 ference. — There's a daisy : — / would give you some violets; 
 but they withered all, when my father died : — They say he 
 made a good end, — 
 
 For bonny szoeet Robin is all my joy, — [sings.. 
 Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, bell itself, 
 She turns to favour, and to prettiness. 
 
 Oph. And will he not come again? [sings. 
 And will he not come again ? 
 No, no, be is dead, 
 Go to thy death-bed, 
 He never will come again. 
 His beard was as white as snow, 
 All flaxen was his poll: 
 He is gone, he is gone, 
 And we cast away moan ; 
 God 'a mercy on bis soul! 
 And of all christian souls! I pray God. God be wi y you I 
 
 [Exit Oph. 
 
 Laer. Do you see this, 0 God? 
 
 King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief, 
 Or you deny me right. Go but apart, 
 Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will, 
 And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me : 
 If by direct or by collateral hand 
 They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, 
 Our crown, our life, and all that we calr ours, 
 To you in satisfaction : but, if not, 
 Be you content to lend your patience to us, 
 And we shall jointly labour with your soul 
 To give it due content. 
 
 Laer. Let this be so; 
 His means of death, his obscure funeral, — 
 No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones, 
 No noble rite, nor formal ostentation, — 
 Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth, 
 That I must calPt in question. 
 
 King. So you shall ; 
 And, where the offence is, let the great axe fall. 
 I pray you, go with me. [Exeunt. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. LXXXIIL 
 
 CYMBELIN E 
 
 ACT III. SCENE IV. 
 Near Mil ford Haven. 
 Pisanio and Imogen. 
 
 Painted by Mr. John Hoppner, 
 
 FAINTER TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF 
 WALES. 
 
 Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the 
 place 
 
 Was near at hand : — Ne'er long'd my mother so 
 
 To see me first, as I have now : — Pisanio ! Man ! 
 
 Where is Posthumus ? What is in thy mind, 
 
 That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh 
 
 From the inward of thee ? One, but painted thus, 
 
 Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd 
 
 Beyond self-explication : Put thyself 
 
 Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness 
 
 Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter? 
 
 Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with 
 
 A look untender ? If it be summer news, 
 
 Smile to't before : if winterly, thou need'st 
 
 But keep that countenance still. — My husband's hand ! 
 
 That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-crafted him, 
 
 And he's at some hard point. — Speak, man; thy tongue 
 
 May take off some extremity, which to read 
 
 Would be even mortal to me. 
 Pis. Please you, read ; 
 
 And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing 
 
 The most disdain'd of fortune. 
 
 I mo. [reads.] Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play'd the 
 
 strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie bleeding 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 in me. I speak not out of weak surmises; but from proof 
 as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge* 
 That part, thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not 
 tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take 
 away her life: I shall give thee opportunity at Miiford- 
 Haven: she hath my letter for the purpose: Where, if 
 thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou 
 art the pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal. 
 
 Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper 
 Hath cut her throat already. — No, 'tis slander ; 
 Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue 
 Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath 
 Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie 
 All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states, 
 Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 
 This viperous slander enters. — What cheer, madam ? 
 
 Imo False to his bed ! What is it, to be falfe ? 
 To lie in watch there, and to think on him ? 
 To weep 'twixt clock and clock ? if sleep charge nature, 
 To break it with a fearful dream of him, 
 And cry myself awake? that's false to his bed? 
 Is it? 
 
 Pis. Alas, good lady ! 
 
 Imo. I false? Thy conscience witness : — Iachimo, 
 Thcu didst accuse him of incontinency ; 
 Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, m^hinks, 
 Thy favour's good enough. — Some jay o Italy, 
 Whose mother was her painting, hath betra) 'd him: 
 Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion ; 
 And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, 
 I must be ript: — to pieces with me : — O, 
 Men's vows are women's traitors ! All good seeming, 
 By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought 
 Put on for villniny ; not born, where't grows ; 
 But worn, a bait for ladies. 
 
 Pis, Good madam, hear me. 
 
 Imo. True honest men being heard, like false jEneas, 
 Were, in his time, thought false : and Sinon's weeping 
 Did scandal many a holy tear ; took pity 
 From most true wretchedness : So, thou, Posthumus, 
 Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men ; 
 Goodly, and gallant, shall be false, and perjur'd, 
 From thy great fail. — Come, fellow, be thou honest: 
 Do thou thy master's bidding : When thou see'st him, 
 A little witness my obedience : Look! 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 1 draw the sword myself: take it, and bit 
 The innocent mansion of my love, my heart : 
 Fear not; 'tis empty of all things, but grief > 
 Thy master is not there ; who zvas, indeed, 
 The riches of it: Do his bidding ; strike. 
 Thou may' st be valiant hi a better cause; 
 But hjw thou seem'st a coward. 
 
 Pis. Hence, vile instrument! 
 Thou shalt not damn my hand. 
 
 Imo. Why, I must die ; 
 And if I do not by thy hand, thou art 
 No servant of thy master's : Against self-slaughter 
 There is a prohibition so divine 
 
 That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart ;■ 
 
 Something's afore't Soft, soft ; we'll no defence; 
 
 Obedient as the scabbard. — What is here ? 
 
 The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, 
 
 All turn'd to heresy ? Away, away, 
 
 Corrupters of my faith ! You shall no more 
 
 Be stomachers to my heart I Thus may poor fools 
 
 Believe false teachers : Though those that are betray'd 
 
 Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor 
 
 Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus, 
 
 That did'st set up my disobedience 'gainst 
 
 The king my father, and make me put into contempt 
 
 The suits or princely fellows, shalt hereafter find 
 
 It is no act of common passage, but 
 
 A strain of rareness : and I grieve myself, 
 
 To think, when thou shalt be dis-edg'd by her 
 
 That thou now tir'st on, how thy memory 
 
 Will then be pang'd by me. — Pr'ythee, dispatch: 
 
 The lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knife } 
 
 Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, 
 
 When I desire it too. 
 
 Pis. O gracious lady! 
 Since I receiv'd command to do this business^ 
 I have not slept one wink. 
 
 Imo. Do't, and to bed then. 
 
 Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first. 
 
 1 mo. Wherefore then 
 Did'st undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd 
 So many miles, with a pretence? this place? 
 Mine action, and thine own ? our horses' labour ? 
 The time inviting thee ? the perturb'd court, 
 For my being absent; whereunto I never 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Purpose return ? Why hast thou gone so far, 
 To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand, 
 The elected deer before thee? 
 
 Pis. But to win time 
 To lose so bad employment : in the which 
 I have consider'd of a course ; Good lady, 
 Hear me with patience. 
 
 Imo. Talk thy tongue weary ; speak : 
 I have heard, I am a strumpet; and mine ear 
 Therein false struck, can take no greater wound V 
 Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. 
 
 Pis. Then, madam, 
 I thought you would not back again. 
 
 Imo. Most like; 
 Bringing me here to kill me. 
 
 Pis. Not so, neither : 
 But if I were as wise as honest, then 
 My purpose would prove well. It cannot be 5 
 But that my master is abus'd : 
 Some villain, ay, and singular in his art, 
 Hath done you both this cursed injury. 
 
 Imo. Some Roman courtezan. 
 
 Pis. No, on my life. 
 I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him 
 Some bloody sign of it ; for 'tis commanded 
 I should do so : You shall be miss'd at court, 
 And that will well confirm it. 
 
 Imo. Why, good fellow, 
 What shall I do the while ? Where bide ? How live 
 Or in my life what comfort, when I am 
 Dead to my husband ? 
 
 Pis. If you'll back to the court, — 
 
 Imo* No court, no father ; nor no more adp 
 With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing ; 
 That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me 
 As fearful as a siege. 
 
 Pis. If not at court, 
 Then not in Britain must you bide. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. LXXXIV. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 ACT II. SCENE II. 
 A Bedchamber. 
 Imogen in Bed. lachimo. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Barry, R.A. 
 
 Itno. Who's there? my woman Helen? 
 
 Lady. Please you, madam. 
 
 Imo. What hour is it? 
 
 Lady. Almost midnight, madam. 
 
 Into. 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 ; 
 And if thou can'st awake by four o' the clock, 
 I pr'ythee, call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me wholly. 
 
 [Exit. Lady. 
 
 To your protection I commend me, gods ! 
 
 From fairies, and the tempters of the night, 
 
 Guard me, beseech ye! [Sleeps. lachimo 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 wakened 
 The chastity he wounded. — Cytherea, 
 How bravely thou becom'st thy bed ! fresh lily ! 
 And whiter than the sheets ! That I might touch ! 
 But kiss ! one kiss ! — Rubies unparagon'd, 
 How dearly they do't ! — 'Tis her breathing that 
 Perfumes the chamber thus : The flame o' the taper 
 Bows toward her ; and would under-peep her lids, 
 To see the inclosed lights, now canopy'd 
 Under these windows : white and azure, lac'd ; 
 With blue of heaven's own tinct. — But my design ? 
 To note the chamber : — I will write all down : — 
 Such, and such pictures; — There the window : — Such 
 
 C c 
 
i 9 4 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 The adornment of her bed ; — The arras, figures, 
 
 Why, such, and such : — And the contents o' the story,—- 
 
 Ah, but some natural notes about her body, 
 
 Above ten thousand meaner moveables 
 
 Would testify, to enrich mine inventory : 
 
 O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! 
 
 And be her sense but as a monument, 
 
 Thus in a chapel lying ! — Come off, come off ;— 
 
 [Taking off her bracelet. 
 As slippery, as the Gordian knot was hard ! — 
 'Tis mine, and this will witness outwardly, 
 As strongly as the conscience does within, 
 To the madding of her lord. On her left breast 
 A mole cinque T spotted, like the crimson drops 
 I* the bottom of a cowslip : Here's a voucher, 
 Stronger than ever law could make : this secret 
 Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and ta'en 
 The treasure of her honour. No more. — To what end I 
 Why should I write this down, that's rivetted, 
 Screw'd to my memory ? She hath been reading late 
 The tale of Tereus ; here the leaf's turn'd down, 
 Where Philomel gave up ; — I have enough : 
 To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. 
 Swift, swift, you dragons of the night ! that dawning 
 May bare the raven's eye : I lodge in fear ; 
 Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. [Clock strikes. 
 One, two, three, — Time, time ! 
 
 [Goes into the trunk. The scene closet* 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY* 19S 
 
 No. LXXXV. 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE I. 
 
 A Platform. 
 
 Desdemona, Othello, Iago, Cassio, Roderigo, 
 Emilia, &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Stothard, A. R. 
 
 Cas. The riches of the ship is come on shore ! 
 Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees :— 
 Hail to thee, lady ! and the grace of heaven, 
 Before, behind thee, and on every hand, 
 Enwheel thee round ! 
 
 Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio. 
 What tidings can you tell me of my lord ? 
 
 Cas. He is not yet arrived ; nor know I aught 
 But that he's well, and will be shortly here. 
 
 Des. O, but I fear ; — How lost you company ? 
 
 Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies 
 Parted our fellowship : But, hark ! a sail. 
 
 [Cry within. A sail, a sail ! Then guns beard. 
 
 2. Gent. They give their greeting to the citadel ; 
 This likewise is a friend. 
 
 Cas. See for the news. — [Exit Gentleman. 
 
 Good ancient, you are welcome ; — Welcome, mistress : — 
 
 [To Emilia. 
 
 Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, 
 
 That I extend my manners ; 'tis my breeding 
 
 That gives me this bold shew of courtesy. [Kissing her. 
 
 Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips, 
 As ot her tongue she oft bestows on me, 
 You'd have enough. 
 
 Des. Alas, she has no speech. 
 
 Iago. In faith, too much ; 
 I find it still, when I have list to sleep : 
 Marry, before your ladyship, I grant. 
 
i 9 6 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 She puts her tongue a little in her heart, 
 And chides with thinking. 
 
 Emit. You have little cause to say so. 
 
 Iago. Come on, come on ; you are pictures out of doors, 
 Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens, 
 Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, 
 Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds. 
 
 Des. O, fie upon thee, slanderer ! 
 
 Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk ; 
 You rise to play, and go to bed to work. 
 
 EmiL You shall not write my praise. 
 
 Iago. No, let me not. 
 
 Des. What would'st thou write of me, if thou should 'st 
 
 praise me ? 
 Iago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't ; 
 For I am nothing, if not critical. 
 
 Des. Come on, assay : — There's one gone to the harbour t 
 Iago. Ay madam. 
 
 Des. I am not merry ; but I do beguile 
 The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. — 
 Come, how would'st thou praise me ? 
 
 Iago. I am about it; but, indeed, my invention 
 Comes from my pate, as bird-lime does from frize, 
 It plucks out brains and all: But my muse labours, 
 Aud thus she is deliver'd. 
 If she be fair and wise, — fairness, and wit, 
 The one's for use, the other useth it. 
 
 Des. Well prais'd ! How if she be black and witty t 
 
 Iago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit, 
 She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit. 
 
 Des. Worse and worse. 
 
 EmiL How, if fair and foolish ? 
 
 Iago. She never yet was foolish that was fair;. 
 For even her folly help'd her to an heir. 
 
 Des. These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh 
 i' the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her 
 that's foul and foolish ? 
 
 Iago. There's none so foul, and foolish thereunto, 
 But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. 
 
 Des. O heavy ignorance ! — thou praisest the worst best. 
 But what praise could'st thou bestow on a deserving woman 
 indeed ? one, that, in the authority of her merit did justly 
 put on the vouch of very malice itself? 
 
 Iago. She that was ever fair and never proud ; 
 Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud ; 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 193 
 
 Never lack'd gold — and yet went never gay ; 
 Fled from her wish, and yet said — now I may ; 
 She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, 
 Bade her wrong stay, and her displeasure fly ; 
 She that in wisdom never was so frail, 
 To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail ; 
 She that could think, and ne'er disclose her mind. 
 See suitors following, and not look behind ; 
 She was a wight, — if ever such wight were, — 
 Des. To do what? 
 
 Iago. To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer. 
 
 Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion! — Do not 
 learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. — How 
 gay you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and liberal 
 counsellor? 
 
 Cas. He speaks home, madam ; you may relish him 
 snore in the soldier, than in the scholar. 
 
 Iago. [aside.] He takes her by the palm: Ay, well 
 said, whisper: with as little a web as this, will I ensnare 
 as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do ; I will 
 gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true: 'tis so, 
 indeed: if such tricks as these strip you out of your lieute- 
 nantry, it had been better you had not kiss'd your three 
 fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the 
 sir in. Very good ; well kiss'd ! an excellent courtesy 1 
 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your ringers to your lips? would 
 they were clyster-pipes for your sake! — [Trumpet.] — The 
 Moor, — I know his trumpet. 
 
 Cas. 'Tis truly so. 
 
 Des. Let's meet him, and receive him. 
 Cas. Lo, where comes ! 
 
 Enter Othello and Attendants. 
 
 Oth. O my fair warrior. 
 Des. My dear Othello I 
 
 Oth. It gives me wonder great as my content, 
 To see you here before me. O my souFsjoy! 
 If after every tempest comes such calmness, 
 May the winds blow till they have waken* d death! 
 And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas, 
 Olympus high ; and duck again as low 
 As helV s from heaven ? If it were now to die, 
 'Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear, 
 My soul hath her content so absolute, 
 That not another comfort like to this 
 Succeeds in u?iknown fate. 
 
398 Shakspeare gallery. 
 
 I)es. The heavens forbid, 
 But that oar loves and comforts should increase, 
 Even as our days do grow ! 
 
 Otb. Amen to that, sweet powers !— 
 I cannot speak enough of this content, 
 It stops me here ; it is too much of joy ; 
 And this, and this, the greatest discords be [Kissing ben 
 That e'er our hearts shall make ! 
 
 I ago, O, you are Well tun'd now ! 
 But I'll set down the pegs that make this music, 
 As honest as I am. [Aside. 
 
 Otb. Come, let's to the castle.— 
 News, friends ; our wars are done ; the Turks are drown'd. 
 How do our old acquaintance of this isle? — • 
 Honey, you shall be well desir'd in Cyprus, 
 I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, 
 I prattle out of fashion, and I dote 
 In mine own comforts. — I pr'ythee, good Iago, 
 Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers : 
 Bring thou the master to the citadel; 
 He is a good one, and his worthiness 
 Does challenge much respect. — Come, Desdemona, 
 Once more well met at Cyprus. 
 
 [Exeunt Othello, Desdemona y and Attendants. 
 
 THE INFANT SHAKSPEARE, 
 
 ATTENDED BY 
 
 NATURE AND THE PASSIONS. 
 Painted by Mr. Romney. 
 
 Nature is represented with her face unveiled to her 
 favourite Child, who is placed between Joy and Sorrow. — 
 On the Right-Hand of Nature are Love, Hatred, and 
 Jealousy: on her Left-Hand, Anger, Envy, anil 
 Fear. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 199 
 
 BASSO-RELIEVOS, 
 
 By the Honourable Mrs, Damer. 
 
 No. L 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 ACT II. SCENE I. 
 MeneniuSy Sicinius, Volumnia, Virgilia, &c* 
 
 Enter Coriolanus in Triumph. 
 AIL Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus ! 
 Cor. No more of this, it does offend my heart; 
 Pray now, no more. 
 
 Com. Look, sir, your mother, 
 
 Cor. O! 
 
 You have, I know, petitioned all the gods 
 
 For my prosperity. [ Kneels. 
 
 Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up ; 
 My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and 
 By deed-atchieving honour newly nam'd, 
 What is it? Coriolanus, must I call thee? 
 But O, thy wife 
 
 Cor. My gracious silence, bail! 
 Would 'st thou have laugh' d, bad I come coffin* d home, 
 That weep'st to see me triumph ? Ah, my dear, 
 Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, 
 And mothers that lack sons, 
 
206 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. II. CORIOLANUS. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE V. 
 Aufidiusy Coriolanus. 
 
 Auf. Whence comes t thou ? What wouldest thou? Thy 
 
 name ? 
 
 Why speak'st not ? Speak, man : What's thy name ? 
 
 Cor. If, Tullus, [unmuffling* 
 Not yet thou know'st me, and seeing me, dost not 
 Think me for the man I am, necessity 
 Commands me name myself. 
 
 Auf. What is thy name ? 
 
 Cor. A name unmusical to the Volcian's ears, 
 And harsh in sound to thine. 
 
 Auf. Say, what's thy name ? 
 Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face 
 Bears a command in't ; though thy tackle's torn, 
 7'hou shew'st a noble vessel : What's thy name ? 
 
 No. III. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 ACT V. 
 Death of Cleopatra. 
 
 Char. O, eastern star ! 
 
 Cleo. Peace, peace ! 
 Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, 
 That sucks the nurse asleep ? 
 
 Char. O, break ! O, break ! 
 
 Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle, — 
 
 O, Antony ! — Nay, I will take thee too : 
 
 [Applying another asp to her arm. 
 What should I stay— [Dies. 
 
i 7 94- 
 
 No. LXXXVL 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE II. 
 Richard, Bolingbroke, &c. 
 Painted by Mr. Northcote, R. A. 
 
 Enter York and his Dutchess- 
 
 Butch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest, 
 When weeping made you break the story off 
 Of our two cousins coming into London. 
 
 York. Where did I leave? 
 
 Dutch. At that sad stop, my lord, 
 Where rude misgoverned hands, from windows' tops, 
 Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard s head* 
 
 York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke, 
 Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, 
 Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, — 
 With slow but stately pace, kept on bis course, 
 While all tongues cryd—£od save thee, Bolingbroke! 
 Tou would have thought the very windozvs spake, 
 So many greedy looks of young and old 
 Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
 Upon his visage, and that all the walls, 
 With painted imagery, had said at once, — 
 J esu, preserve thee I welcome, Bolingbroke! 
 Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, 
 Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
 Bespake them thus, — I thank you, countrymen : 
 And thus still doing, thus he past along. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Dutch. Alas, poor Richard ! where rides he the while ? 
 
 T ork. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, 
 After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, 
 Are idly bent on him that enters next, 
 Thinking his prattle to be tedious : 
 Even so, or with much more contempt, men's ey s 
 Did scowl on Richard ; no man cry'd, God save him ; 
 No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : 
 But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; 
 Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, — 
 His face still combating with tears and smiles, 
 The badges of his grief and patience, — ■ 
 That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd 
 The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, 
 And barbarism itself have pitied him . 
 But heaven hath a hand in these events ; 
 To whose high will we bound our calm contents. 
 To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, 
 Whose state and honour I for aye allow. 
 
 No. LXXXVII. 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IY- 
 ACT III. SCENE I. 
 
 The Archdeacon of Bangor's House , in Wales. 
 
 Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and Owen 
 Glendower. 
 
 Painted by Mr. West all, R. A. 
 
 Mor. These promises are fair, the parties sure, 
 And our induction full of prosperous hope. 
 Hot. Lord Mortimer, — and cousin Glendower,— 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 203 
 
 Will you sit down ? — 
 
 And, uncle Worcester : — A plague upon it ! 
 I have forgot the map. 
 
 Glend. No, here it is. 
 Sit, cousin Percy ; sit, good cousin Hotspur : 
 For by that name as oft as Lancaster 
 Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale ; and, with 
 A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. 
 
 Hot. And you in hell as oft as he hears 
 Owen Glendower spoke of. 
 
 Glend. I cannot blame him : at my nativity, 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, 
 Of burning cressets ; and, at my birth, 
 The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
 Shak'd like a coward. 
 
 Hot. Why, so it would have done 
 At the same season, if your mother's cat 
 Had but kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born. 
 
 Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. 
 
 Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind, 
 If you suppose, as fearing you it shook. 
 
 Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did 
 tremble 
 
 Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire, 
 And not in fear of your nativity. 
 Diseased nature often times breaks forth 
 In strange eruptions : oft the teeming earth 
 Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd 
 By the imprisoning of unruly wind 
 Within her womb ; which., for enlargement striving, 
 Shakes the old beldam earth, and topples down 
 Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth, 
 Our grandam earth, having this distemperalure, 
 In passion shook. 
 
 Glend. Cousin, of many men 
 I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
 To tell you once again, — that, at my birth, 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes ; 
 The goats ran from the mountains., and the herds 
 Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. 
 These signs have mark'd me extraordinary; 
 And all the courses of my life do shew, 
 I am not in the roll of common men. 
 Where is he living, — clipp'd in with the sea, 
 That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales, — 
 
20.4 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me ? 
 And bring him. out, that is but woman's son, 
 Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, 
 And hold me pace in deep experiments. 
 
 Hot. I think, chere is no man speaks better Welsh : — 
 I will co dinner. 
 
 Mori. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad. 
 
 Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 
 
 Hot. Why, so can I ; or so can any man : 
 But will they come, when you do call for them ? 
 
 Glend. Why, 1 can teach you, cousin, to command 
 The devil. 
 
 Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil. 
 By telling truth ; Tell truth, and shame the devil, — 
 It thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, 
 And Pll be sworn, I have power to shame him hence. 
 O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. 
 
 Mart. Come, come, 
 No more of this unprofitable chat. 
 
 Glend, Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head 
 Against my power : thrice, from the banks of Wye, 
 And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him, 
 Booteless home, and weather-beaten back. 
 
 Hot Home without boots, and in foul weather too 1 
 How 'scapes he agues in the devil's name ? 
 
 Glend. Come, here's the map ; Shall we divide our right, 
 According to our three-fold order ta'en ? 
 
 Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it 
 Into three limits, very equally : 
 England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, 
 By south and east, is to my part assign'd : 
 All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, 
 And all the fertile land within that bound, 
 To Owen Glendower : — and, dear coz, to you 
 The remnant northward, lying off from Trent. 
 And our indentures tripartite are drawn ; 
 Which being sealed interchangeably, 
 (A business that this night may execute.) 
 To morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I, 
 And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth, 
 To meet your father, and the Scottish power, 
 As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. 
 My father Glendower is not ready yet, 
 Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days : — 
 Within that space, [to Glen.] you may have drawn together 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. 
 
 Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords, 
 And in my conduct shall your ladies come : 
 From whom you now must steal, and t,ake no leave ; 
 For there will be a world of water shed, 
 Upon the parting of your wives and you. 
 
 Hot. Metbinks y my moiety, north from Burton here, 
 In quantity equals not one of yours : 
 See, how this river comes me cranking in, 
 And cuts me, from the best of all my land, 
 A huge half moony a monstrous cantle out. 
 PR have the current in this place damm'd up ; 
 And here the smug and silver Trent shall run, 
 In a new channel, fair and evenly : 
 It shall not wind with such a deep indent, 
 \ To rob me of so rich a bottom here. 
 
 Glend. Not wind P it shall, it must; you see, it doth. 
 Mort. Tea, but mark, 
 How he bears bis course, and runs me up 
 With like advantage on the other side ; 
 Gelding the opposed continent as much, 
 As on the other side it takes from you. 
 
 Wor. Tea, but a little charge will trench him here. 
 And on this north side win this cape of land; 
 And then he runs straight and even. 
 
 Hot. Til have it so ; a little charge will do it* 
 Glend. I will not have it altered. 
 Hot. Will not you ? 
 Glend. No, nor you shall not. 
 Hot. Who shall say me nay ? 
 Glend. Why, that will I. 
 Hot. Let me not understand you then, 
 Speak it in Welsh. 
 
 Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you ; 
 For J was train'd up in the English court : 
 Where, being but young, I framed to the harp 
 Many an English ditty lovely well, 
 And gave the tongue a helpful ornament ; 
 A virtue that was never seen in you. 
 
 Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of it with all my heart ; 
 I had rather be a kitten, and cry — mew, 
 Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers : 
 I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd, 
 Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree ; 
 And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, 
 
2 o6 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY, 
 
 Nothing so much as mincing poetry ; 
 'Tis like the farc'd gait of a shuffling nag. 
 
 Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. 
 
 Hot. I do not care : I'll give thrice so much land 
 To any well-deserving friend ; 
 But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me, 
 I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. 
 Are the indentures drawn ? shall we be gone ? 
 
 No. LXXXVIIL 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE IV. 
 
 The Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap. 
 Prince Henry, Falstaff, Poins, &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Smirke, R. A. 
 
 P. Hen. Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. 
 How now my sweet creature of bombast? How long is't 
 ago, Jack, since thou saw'st thine own knee? 
 
 Fal. My own knee ? when I was about thy years, Hal, 
 I was not an eagle's talon in the waist ; I could have crept 
 into any alderman's thumb-ring : A plague of sighing and 
 grief! it blows a man up like a bladder. There's villain- 
 ous news abroad : here was sir John Bracy from your fa- 
 ther ; you must to the court in the morning. That same 
 mad fellow of the north, Percy ; and he of Wales, that gave 
 Amaimon the bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and 
 swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh 
 hook, — What a plague call you him ? — 
 
 Poins. O, Glendower. 
 
 FaL Owen, Owen ; the same ; — and his son-in-law, Mor- 
 timer ; and old Northumberland ; and that sprightly Scot 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 207 
 
 of Scots, Douglas, that runs o* horse-back up a hill perpen- 
 dicular. 
 
 P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with his pistol 
 kills a sparrow flying. 
 
 Fal. You have hit it. 
 
 P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow. 
 
 Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him ; and will 
 not run. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise 
 him so for running? 
 
 Fal. O' horseback, ye cuckoo ! but, afoot, he will not 
 budge a foot. 
 
 P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. 
 
 Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, 
 and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more : Wor- 
 cester is stolen away to-night ; thy father's beard is turn'd 
 white with the news ; you may buy land now as cheap as 
 stinking mackarel. 
 
 P. Hen. Why then, 'tis like, if there come a hot June, 
 and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maiden-heads as 
 they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds. 
 
 Fal. By the mass, lad, thou say'st true ; it is like we 
 shall have good trading that way. — But, tell me, Hal, art 
 thou not horribly afeard ? thou being heir apparent, could 
 the world pick thee out three such enemies again as that 
 fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower } 
 Art thou not horribly afraid ? doth not thy blood thrill at 
 it. 
 
 P. Hen. Not a whit, i' faith ; I lack some of thy instinct. 
 
 Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, when 
 thou comest to thy father : if thou love me, practise an 
 answer. 
 
 P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and examine me 
 upon the particulars of my life. 
 
 Fal. Shall IP content: — This chair shall be my state, 
 this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown. 
 
 P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden 
 sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for 
 a pitiful bald crown ! 
 
 Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, 
 now shalt thou be moved. — Give me a cup of sack, to make 
 mine eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept ; 
 for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in king Cam- 
 by ses' vein. * 
 
 P. Hen. Well, here is my leg. 
 
208 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Fal. And here is my speech : — Stand aside, nobility. 
 
 Host. This is excellent sport i'faith. 
 
 Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain. 
 
 Host. O the father, how he holds his countenance I 
 
 Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen, 
 For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. 
 
 Host. O rare ! he doth it as like one of these harlotry 
 players, as I ever see. 
 
 Fal. Peace, good pint-pot ; peace, good tickle-brain. 
 — Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy 
 time, but also how thou art accompanied : for though the 
 camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, 
 yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That 
 thou art my son, I have partly thy mother's word, partly 
 my own opinion ; but chiefly, a villainous trick of thine 
 eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth 
 warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the 
 point ; — Why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at ? 
 Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher, and eat 
 black-berries : a question not to be ask'd. Shall the son of 
 England prove a thief, and take purses ? a question to be 
 ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often 
 heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name 
 of pitch : this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth 
 defile ; so doth the company thou keepest : for, Hany, 
 now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears ; not in 
 pleasure, but in passion ; not in words only, but in woes 
 also : — And yet there is a virtuous man, whom I have often 
 noted in thy company, but I know not his name. 
 
 P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your majesty ? 
 
 Fal. A good portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent ; of a 
 cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage ; 
 and, as I think, his age some fifty, or by'r-lady, inclining 
 to threescore ; and now I remember me, his name is Fal- 
 staff : if that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me ; 
 for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may 
 be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, pe- 
 remptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that FalstafF : him 
 keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty 
 varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this month ? 
 
 P. Henry. Dost thou speak like a king ? Do thou stand 
 for me, and Til play my father. 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 No. LXXXIX. 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE IV. 
 King Henry y and the Prince of Wales. 
 
 Painted by Mr. J. Boydell. 
 
 War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room, 
 Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks; 
 Wich such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, 
 That tyranny, which never quafPd but blood, 
 Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife 
 With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. 
 
 K. Hen. But wherefore did he take away the crown? 
 
 Enter Prince Henry. 
 Lo, where he comes, — Come hither to me, Harry: — 
 Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. 
 
 [Exeunt Clarence, Prince Humphrey, Lords, Sic* 
 
 P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. 
 
 K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought : 
 I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. 
 Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair, 
 That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honours 
 Before thy hour be ripe ? O foolish youth ! 
 Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. 
 Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity 
 Is held from falling with so weak a wind, 
 Thjt it will quickly drop : my day is dim. 
 Thou hast stolen that, which, after some few hours, 
 Were thine without offence ; and, at my death, 
 Thou hast seal'd up my expectation : 
 Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dstme not, 
 And thou wilt have me die assured of it. 
 Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts : 
 
2lO 
 
 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, 
 
 To stab at half an hour of my life. 
 
 What ! canst thou not forbear me half an hour ? 
 
 Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself ; 
 
 And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear, 
 
 That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. 
 
 Let all the tears, that should bedew my hearse, 
 
 Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head : 
 
 Only compound me with forgotten dust ; 
 
 Give that which gave thee life, unto the worms. 
 
 Pluck down my officers, break my decrees ; 
 
 For now a time is come to mock at form, 
 
 Harry the fifth is crown'd : — Up, vanity: 
 
 Down, royal state! all you sage counsellors, hence ! 
 
 And to the English court assemble now, 
 
 From every region, apes of idleness I 
 
 Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum ; 
 
 Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance, 
 
 Revel the night ; rob, murder, and commit 
 
 The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ; 
 
 Be happy, he will trouble you no more: 
 
 England shall double gild his treble guilt ; 
 
 England shall give him office, honour, might : 
 
 For the fifth Harry from curb'd licence plucks 
 
 The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 
 
 Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent. 
 
 0 my poor kingdom, sick with civii blows ! 
 When that my care could not withhold thy riots, 
 What wilt thou do when riot is thy care ? 
 
 O, thou wilt be a wilderness again. 
 Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants ! 
 P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege! but for my tears, 
 
 [kneeli 
 
 The moist impediments unto my speech, 
 
 1 had fore-staW d this dear and deep rebuke, 
 Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard 
 The course of it so far. There is your crown ; 
 And He that wears the crown immortally, 
 Long guard it yours I If I affect it more, 
 Than as your honour, and as your renown, 
 Let me no more from this obedience rise, 
 
 ( Which my most true and inward-duteous spirit 
 Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending I 
 Heaven witness with me, when I here came in, 
 And found no course of breath within you majesty, 
 
SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 How cold it struck my heart ! if I do feign, 
 
 O, let me in my present wildness die ; 
 
 And never live to shew the incredulous world 
 
 The noble change that I have purposed ! 
 
 Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, 
 
 (And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,) 
 
 I spake unto the crown, as having sense, 
 
 And thus upbraided it. ' The care on thee depending, 
 
 * Hath fed upon the body of my father ; 
 
 c Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold. 
 
 * Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, 
 
 * Preserving life in med'cine potable : 
 
 * But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd, 
 ■ Hast eat thy bearer up.' Thus, my most royal liege, 
 Accusing it, I put it on my head ; 
 
 To try with it, — as with an enemy, 
 
 That had before my face murder'd my father,—- 
 
 The quarrel of a true inheritor. 
 
 But if it did infect my blood with joy, 
 
 Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride ; 
 
 If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 
 
 Did, with the least affection of a welcome, 
 
 Give entertainment to the might of it, 
 
 Let God for ever keep it from my head ! 
 
 And make me as the poorest vassal is, 
 
 That doth with awe and terror kneel to it ! 
 
 K. Hen. O my son ! 
 Heaven put it in thy mind, to take it hence, 
 That thou might'st win the more thy father's lore, 
 Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. 
 Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed ; 
 And hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
 That ever 1 shall breathe. 
 
212 SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 The Quotations from Shakspeare, expla- 
 natory of the following Pictures, were 
 printed in the former part of the Ca- 
 talogue though the Pictures are now 
 for the first time exhibited. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE III. 
 A Desart place near the Sea. 
 Antigonus pursued by a Bear. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Wright of Derby, 
 N. B. See No. XVII. in the Catalogue. 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE II. 
 
 Prince Henry, Poins, Peto y Falstaff> Gadshill, 
 and Bardolph. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Smirke,R. A. and 
 Mr. Farington, R. A, 
 
 N. B, See No. LXXX. in the Catalogue. 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 Desdemona, Othello, Iago, Cassio, Roderigo f 
 Emilia, &c. 
 
 Painted by Mr. Stothart, R. A. 
 N. B. See No. LXXXV. in the Catalogue. 
 
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 the place of Exhibition. 
 
 Where may be had, 
 
 1. Complete Sets of Hogarth's Original Works, large 
 Folio. Price, half bound, 16/. 16s. 
 
 2. A new Edition of Hogarth Illustrated, (being the 2d) 
 by J. Ireland, 2 Vols, large 8vo, with Plates. Price 2/. 1 2s .6 d. 
 will be published in June 1793. 
 
 3. Speedily will be published, a print from Hogarth's paint- 
 ing of Sigismunda, engraved by Mr. Ridley. Price 10s. 6d. 
 
 4. The Houghton Gallery ; or a Collection of Prints en- 
 graved by the first Masters after the Pictures in the Earl of 
 Orford's celebrated Gallery at Houghton in Norfolk, since 
 purchased by the Empress of Russia. The whole forming 
 Two ver,y large Volumes Imperial Folio. Price 3c/. 
 
 5. Captain Baillie's Works of Etchings and Engravings, 
 after celebrated Pictures and Drawings in different Collec- 
 tions, and on various subjects, in Two large Volumes Folio. 
 Price 21I 
 
Shakspeare Gallery > May 15, 1793, 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 * Boy dells and Nicol most re- 
 spectfully beg leave to inform the Subscribers to the Sh ak- 
 spe are in particular, and the Public in general, that they 
 are about to publish the 
 
 POETICAL WORKS OF MILTON, 
 
 exactly uniform with their edition of Shakspeare. 
 
 The Work will be printed by W. Bulmer and Co. at the 
 Shakspeare Press, and comprised in Three large Volumes, 
 ornamented with Thirty-six Plates, the size of the book. 
 
 The Plates to be executed by the best engravers, after the 
 designs of the first artists, in a style superior to the ornaments 
 of any work, that has hitherto appeared in this, or any other 
 country. 
 
 The Price to Subscribers will be Twelve Guineas — Two 
 to be paid at the time of subscribing, — and two more on the 
 delivery of the First Volume ; — and so in proportion for the 
 two subsequent Volumes. 
 
 As this National Edition of our first Heroic Poet is in- 
 tended as a companion to that of our first Dramatic Poet, 
 the Subscribers to the Shakspeare, who have so liberally 
 encouraged that work, are entreated to be early in their ap- 
 plication, that the impressions of their copies of the Milton 
 may be equal to those of their Shakspeare. 
 
 Messrs. Boydells and Nicol flatter themselves that 
 the First Volume will be finished next January; and that 
 the whole work will be delivered to the Subscribers in two 
 years, from the date hereof, as the necessary preparations for 
 this magnificent Edition of Milton have been for some 
 time in great forwardness. 
 
 They did not mean, however, to have solicited public at- 
 tention or encouragement, until the work had been nearer 
 publication, — but proposals for plans of somewhat a similar 
 
MILTON. 
 
 nature having been advertised, they now think it their duty, 
 to give this notice. 
 
 How competent they are to conduct such a work, the Sub- 
 scribers to the Shakspeare are enabled to judge, from the 
 specimens of that publication, which they have lately had the 
 honour to lay before them. 
 
 N. B. The Fourth Number of the Shakspeare is pro- 
 posed to be published in about a month. 
 
 The six capital Drawings by Mr. West a l, now exhibiting 
 at the Shakspeare Gallery, are intended for the first Volume 
 of the MILTON — They are selected from the following 
 
 subjects. 
 
 PARADISE LOST. Book I. — Line 315. 
 
 -Princes, Potentates, 
 
 Warriors, trie flower of Heaven, once yours, 
 
 now lost, 
 If such astonishment as this can seize 
 Eternal spirits ; or have ye chosen this place. 
 After the toil of battle, to repose 
 Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find 
 . To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven ? 
 Or in this abject posture have ye sworn 
 To adore the Conqueror? who now beholds 
 Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood, 
 With scatter'd arms and ensigns, till anon 
 His swift pursuers from Heaven gates discern 
 The advantage, and descending tread us down 
 Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts 
 Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf. 
 Awake, arise, or be for ever fall'ii! 
 
 PARADISE LOST. Book II.— Lina 752. 
 
 Ail on a sudden miserable pain 
 
 Surprised thee, dim thine eyes, and dizzy swum 
 
 In darkness, while thy head flames thick and 
 
 fast 
 
 Threw forth, till on the Jeft side opening wide, 
 I*ikestto thee in shape and countenance bright, 
 Then shining heavenly fair, a goddess arm'd 
 Out of thy head I sprung : amazement seized 
 All the host of Heaven; back they rccoil'd, 
 afraid 
 
 At first, andcall'd me Sin, and for a sign 
 Portentous held me; but familiar grown, 
 I pleased, and with attractive graces won 
 The most averse, thee chiefly, who full aft 
 Thyself in me thy perfect image viewing, 
 Becamest enamour'd, and such joy thou took'st 
 With me in secret, that my womb conceived 
 A growing burden. . 
 
 PARADISE LOST. Book III.— Line 260. 
 
 Then with the multitu.de of my redeem'd 
 Shall enter Heaven, long absent, and return. 
 Father, to see thy face ; wherein no cloud 
 Of anger shall remain, but peace assured 
 
 And reconcilement : wrath shall be no more 
 Thenceforth, but in thy presence joy entire. 
 
 PARADISE LOST. Book IV.— Line 985. 
 
 On t'other side Satan alarm'd, 
 
 Collecting all his might dilated stood, 
 Like Tenerift* or Atlas unremoved : 
 His stature reach'd the sky, and on his crest 
 Sat Horror plumed; nor wanted in his grasp 
 What seem'd both spear and shield— 
 
 PARADISE LOST. ' Book V.— Line 1 ; 
 
 Now Morn her rosy steps in the eastern 
 
 clime 
 
 Advancing, sow'd the Earth with orient pearl, 
 When Adam waked, so custom'd, for his sleep 
 Was aery light from pure digestion bred, 
 And temperate vapours bland, which the only 
 
 sound 
 
 Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan, 
 Lightiy dispersed, and the shrill matin song 
 Of birds on every bough ; so much the more 
 His wonder was to find unwaken'd Eve 
 With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek-, 
 As through unquiet rest : he on his side 
 Leaning half rais'd, with looks of cordial love 
 Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld 
 Beauty, which whether waking or asleep, 
 S*hot Forth peculiar graces; then with voice 
 Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes, 
 Her hand soft touching, whisper'd thus 
 
 PARADISE LOST. Book VI.— Line 831* 
 
 Full soon 
 
 Among them he arrived, in his right hand 
 Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent 
 Before him, such as in their souls infix'd 
 Plagues; they astonish'd all resistance lost, 
 All courage ; down their idle weapons dropt ; 
 O'er shields and helms and helmed heads he 
 
 rode, . % 
 
 Of thrones and mighty seraphim prostrate, 
 That wish'd the mountains now might be again 
 Thrown on them as a shelter from his irc« 
 
MILTON. 
 
 The Engravings from these Designs, are all in great for- 
 wardness, by Mr. Simon — Specimens of which may now be 
 een. 
 
 Beside the six Books of the Paradise Lost, the First Vo- 
 lume of the Work will contain a new Life of Milton, writ., 
 ten by Mr. Hayley, which will be ornamented with 
 
 I. A Portrait of Milton, when a Boy — From an original 
 Picture in the possession of Thomas Brand Hollis, Esq. 
 
 II. Another Portrait, when a young Man, from an origi- 
 nal Picture in the possession of Lord Onslow. 
 
 III. Another, when in advanced Life, from a Drawing id 
 the possession of Thomas Brand Hollis, Esq. 
 
 IV. A Print representing Milton when blind, dictating 
 the Paradise Lost to his daughter writing, from a capital Pic* 
 ture painted by Mr. Romney.