110. Alas, 't is true, I have gone here and there, Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth C These blenches gave my heart another youth, On newer proof, to try an older friend, A God in love, to whom I am confin'd. Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, 111. O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, Than public means, which public manners breeds. Pity me then, and wish I were renew'd; a Motley. Jaques, in‹ As You Like It,' exclaims, “Invest me in my motley.” Motley was the dress of the domestic fool or jester; and thus the buffoon himself came to be called a motley. Jaques, addressing Touchstone, says, "Will you be married, Motley? is b Gor'd-wounded. In Hamlet' we have "I have a voice and precedent of peace To keep my name ungor'd." c Blenches-deviations. d Have. This is the word of the old copy. The reading of all modern editions "Now all is done, save what shall have no end." Malone says the original reading is unintelligible. His conjectural reading, which "Now all is done" clearly ap plies to the blenches, the worse essays; but the poet then adds, "have thou what shall have no end,"-my constant affection, my undivided friendship. Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink 112. Your love and pity doth the impression fill That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wrong. Of other's voices, that my adder's sense That all the world besides methinks are dead." This passage is obscure, and there is probably some slight misprint. Steevens says, with his usual amenity, "The meaning of this purblind and obscure stuff seems to be- You are the only person who has the power to change my stubborn resolution, either to what is right, or to what is wrong.' We have little doubt that something like this is the meaning; but why has not this great conjectural critic, instead of calling out "purblind and obscure stuff," tried his hand at some slight emendation? He is venturous enough when the text is clear. We might read thus: "That my steel'd sense so changes right or wrong;" or we might read, as Malone has proposed, "E'er changes." d This line presents in the old copy one of the many examples of how little the context was heeded. We there find "That all the world besides me thinks y' are dead." Malone changes this to "That all the world besides methinks they are dead." We adopt Mr. Dyce's better reading. 113. Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind; go about Doth part his function, and is partly blind, For it no form delivers to the heart Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth latch ;* The most sweet favour, or deformed'st creature, My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue.c 114. Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you, If it be poison'd, 't is the lesser sin That mine eye loves it, and doth first begin. a Latch. The original has lack. Malone substituted latch, which signifies to lay hold of. b Favour-countenance. e Untrue is here used as a substantive. So in Measure for Measure' "Say what you can, my false outweighs your true." 115. Those lines that I before have writ, do lie; Might I not then say, "Now I love you best," Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? To give full growth to that which still doth grow ? 116. Let me not to the marriage of true minds Or bends with the remover to remove : O no; it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and checks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error, and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. 117. Accuse me thus; that I have scanted all Forgot upon your dearest love to call, That I have frequent been with unknown minds, Which should transport me farthest from your sight. a 118. Like as, to make our appetites more keen, We sicken to shun sickness, when we purge; And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness The ills that were not, grew to faults assured, 119. you. What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, What wretched errors hath my heart committed, Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never! |