Soon flees, spent so, while each irreguler haire This forenoones task perform'd, his way he takes, ACT IV. (1) SCENE II.-Clear-stories.] The clear-stories are the upper story or row of windows in a church, hall, or other erection, rising clear above the adjoining parts of the building, adopted as a means of obtaining an increase of light. "Whereupon a iij thousand werkmen was werkynge ij monethes to make it so grete in quantyté, so statly, and all with clere-story lyghtys, lyk a lantorne, the roffis garnyshed with sarsnettys and buddys of golde, and borderyd over all the aras over longe to dysturbe the rychnes therof."-ARNOLD'S Chronicle. (2) SCENE II. Hey Robin, jolly Robin, Tell me how thy lady does !] "The original of this song is preserved in a MS. containing poems by Sir Thomas Wyatt, and is entitled "The careful Lover complaineth, and the happy Lover counselleth : ACT V. (1) SCENE 1. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, This relates, perhaps, as Theobald suggested, to a story found in the Ethiopics of Heliodorus. The Egyptian thief was Thyamis, a native of Memphis, and the chief of a band of robbers. Theagenes and Chariclea falling into their hands. Thyamis fell desperately in love with the lady, and would have married her. Soon after, a strong body of robbers coming down upon the band of Thyamis, he was under such apprehensions for his beloved that he had her shut up in a cave with his treasure. It was customary for those barbarians, "when they despaired of their own safety, first to make away with those whom they held dear," and desired for companions in the next life. Thyamis, therefore, benetted round with his enemies, raging with love, jealousy, and anger, betook himself to his cave; and calling aloud in the Egyptian tongue, so soon as he heard himself answered towards the mouth of the cave by a Grecian, making to the speaker by the direction of the voice, he caught her by the hair with his left hand, and (supposing her to be Chariclea) with his right hand plunged his sword into her breast. (2) SCENE I. A contract of eternal bond of love, Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, Strengthen'd by interchangement of your rings.] The ceremony which had taken place between Olivia and Sebastian, Mr. Douce has conclusively shown, was not an actual marriage, but that which was called espousals, namely, a betrothing, affiancing, or promise of future marriage. "Vincent de Beauvais, a writer of the thirteenth century, in his Speculum historiale, lib. ix. c. 70, has defined posals to be a contract of future marriage, made either by a simple promise, by earnest or security given, by a ring, or by an oath. During the same period, and the following centuries, we may trace several other modes of betrothing, some of which it may be worth while to describe more at large. I. The interchangement of rings.-Thus in Chaucer's Troilus and Creseide, book 3:— "Soon after this they spake of sondry things As fill to purpose of this aventure, And playing enter chaungeden her rings When espousals took place at church, rings were also interchanged. According to the ritual of the Greek church, the priest first placed the rings on the fingers of the parties who afterwards exchanged them. Sometimes the man only gave a ring. II. The kiss that was mutually given. When this ceremony took place at church, the lady of course withdrew the veil which was usually worn on the occasion; when in private, the drinking of healths generally followed. III. The joining of hands. This is often alluded to by Shakspeare himself. IV. The testimony of witnesses. That of the priest alone was generally sufficient, though we often find many other persons attending the ceremony. The words 'there before him,' and 'he shall conceal it,' in Olivia's speech, sufficiently demonstrate that betrothing and not marriage is intended; for in the latter the presence of the priest alone would not have sufficed. In later times, espousals in the church were often prohibited in France, because instances frequently occurred where the parties, relying on the testimony of the priest, scrupled not to live together as man and wife; which gave rise to much scandal and disorder."-DOUCE's Illustrations of Shakspeare, I. 109-113. (3) SCENE I. When that I was and a little tiny boy.] It is to be regretted, perhaps, that this "nonsensical ditty," as Steevens terms it, has not been long since degraded to the foot-notes. It was evidently one of those jigs, with which it was the rude custom of the Clown to gratify the groundlings upon the conclusion of a play. These absurd compositions, intended only as a vehicle for buffoonery, were usually improvisations of the singer, tagged to some popular ballad-burden-or the first lines of various songs strung together in ludicrous juxtaposition, at the end of each of which, the performer indulged in hideous grimace, and a grotesque sort of "Jump Jim Crow dance. Of these "nonsense songs," we had formerly preserved three or four specimens, but they have unfortunately got mislaid. CRITICAL OPINIONS ON TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. "The Twelfth Night, or What you Will, unites the entertainment of an intrigue, contrived with great ingenuity, to a rich fund of comic characters and situations, and the beauteous colours of an ethereal poetry. In most of his plays, Shakspeare treats love more as an affair of the imagination than the heart; but here he has taken particular care to remind us that, in his language, the same word, fancy, signified both fancy and love. The love of the music-enraptured Duke for Olivia is not merely a fancy, but an imagination; Viola appears at first to fall arbitrarily in love with the Duke, whom she serves as a page, although she afterwards touches the tenderest strings of feeling; the proud Olivia is captivated by the modest and insinuating messenger of the Duke, in whom she is far from suspecting a disguised rival, and at last, by a second deception, takes the brother for the sister. To these, which I might call ideal follies, a contrast is formed by the naked absurdities to which the entertaining tricks of the ludicrous persons of the piece give rise, under the pretext also of love: the silly and profligate knight's awkward courtship of Olivia, and her declaration of love to Viola; the imagination of the pedantic steward, Malvolio, that his mistress is secretly in love with him, which carries him so far that he is at last shut up as a lunatic, and visited by the clown in the dress of a priest. These scenes are admirably conceived, and as significant as they are laughable. If this were really, as is asserted, Shakspeare's latest work, he must have enjoyed to the last the same youthful elasticity of mind, and have carried with him to the grave the undiminished fulness of his talents."-SCHLEGEL. "The serious and the humorous scenes are alike excellent; the former give a very echo to the seat Where love is thron'd,' and are tinted with those romantic hues, which impart to passion the fascinations of fancy, and which stamp the poetry of Shakespeare with a character so transcendently his own, so sweetly wild, so tenderly imaginative. Of this description are the loves of Viola and Orsino, which, though involving a few improbabilities of incident, are told in a manner so true to nature, and in a strain of such melancholy enthusiasm, as instantly put to flight all petty objections, and leave the mind wrapt in a dream of the most delicious sadness. The fourth scene of the second act more particularly breathes the blended emotions of love, of hope, and of despair, opening with a highly interesting description of the soothing effects of music in allaying the pangs of unrequited affection, and in which the attachment of Shakespeare to the simple melodies of the olden time is strongly and beautifully expressed. "From the same source which has given birth to this delightful portion of the drama, appears to spring a large share of that rich and frolic humour which distinguishes its gayer incidents. The delusion of Malvolio, in supposing himself the object of Olivia's desires, and the ludicrous pretension of Sir Andrew Aguecheek to the same lady, fostered as they are by the comic manœuvres of the convivial Sir Toby and the keen-witted Maria, furnish, together with the professional drollery of Feste the jester, an ever-varying fund of pleasantry and mirth; scenes in which wit and raillery are finely blended with touches of original character, and strokes of poignant satire."-DRAKE. CLO. O, he's drunk, sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i' the morning. SIR TO. Then he's a rogue, after a passy-measure's pavin; I hate a drunken rogue. OLI. Away with him! Who hath made this havoc with them? SIR AND. I'll help you, sir Toby, because we'll be dressed together. SIR To. Will you help?-an ass-head and a coxcomb and a knave!-a thin-faced knave, a gull! OLI. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to. [Exeunt Clown, FABIAN, Sir TOBY, and Sir ANDREW. Enter SEBASTIAN. SEB. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman; But had it been the brother of my blood, a After a passy-measure's pavin;] The first folio reads, " and a passy measures panyn." In a MS. list of old dances, Mr. Collier DUKE. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons! b A natural perspective, that is and is not! ANT. Sebastian are you? SEB. Do I stand there? I never had a brother; Nor can there be that deity in my nature, Of here and every where. I had a sister, Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd:Of charity, what kin are you to me? [To VIOLA. What countryman? what name? what parentage? Vio. Of Messaline: Sebastian was my father; SEB. has found one dance called "The passinge measure Pavyon." b Perspective,-] See note (4), p. 498, Vol. I. Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, Vro. My father had a mole upon his brow,— Vro. And died that day when Viola from her Had number'd thirteen years. SEB. O, that record is lively in my soul ! Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help I was preserv❜d to serve this noble count; But nature to her bias drew in that. DUKE. Be not amaz'd; right noble is his blood.- DUKE. Give me thy hand; Hath my maid's garments: he, upon some action, And yet, alas, now I remember me, Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help To correct the prosody of the first line, Theobald reads, "my said's weeds;" perhaps the object is attained more effectually by adding than subtracting a syllable: "Where lie my maiden weeds; he by whose gentle help," &c. His alteration of preferr'd for preserv'd in the second line is, however, an undeniable improvement, and is almost verified by the passage in Act I. Sc. 2, where Viola tells the captain she is here speaking of, Re-enter Clown, with a letter, and FABIAN. b A most extracting frenzy of mine own CLO. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave's end, as well as a man in his case may do: h'as here writ a letter to you, I should have given you to-day morning; but as a madman's epistles are no gospels, so it skills not much when they are delivered. 't OLI. Open 't, and read it. CLO. Look then to be well edified, when the fool delivers the madman: [Reads.] By the Lord, madam, OLI. How now! art thou mad? CLO. No, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must allow vox. OLI. Pr'ythee, read i' thy right wits. CLO. So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits is to read thus: therefore perpend, my princess, and give ear. OLI. Read it you, sirrah. [TO FABIAN. FAB. [Reads.] By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world shall know it: though you have put me into darkness, and given your drunken cousin rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your ladyship. I have your own letter that induced me to the semblance I put on; with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right, or you much shame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak out of my injury. The madly-used MALVOLIO. |