King. Would, I were with him! he would always

fay,

Methinks, I hear him now; his plaufive words
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them
To grow there, and to bear-Let me not live,
-Thus his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe and heel of paftime,
When it was out-let me not live (quoth he)
After my flame lacks oil; to be the fnuff
Of younger fpirits, whofe apprehensive senses
All but new things difdain; whofe judgments are
2 Meer fathers of their garments; whose conftancies
Expire before their fashions:- - this he wish'd.
I, after him, do after him wish too,

Since I nor wax, nor honey can bring home,
I quickly were diffolved from my hive,
To give some labourers room.

2 Lord. You're loved, Sir;

They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first.
King. I fill a place, I know't-How long is't, count,
Since the phyfician at your father's died?

He was much fam'd.

Ber. Some fix months fince, my Lord.

King. If he were living, I would try him yet ;— Lend me an arm ;- -the reft have worn me out With feveral applications-nature and sickness Debate it at their leifure-Welcome, count, My fon's no dearer.

2

Ber. Thank your Majefty.

Whofe judgments are

Mere fathers of their garments.] Who have no other ufe of their

[Flourish. Exeunt.

faculties, than to invent new modes of dress.

SCENE

Count.

I

Changes to the Countess's at Roufillon.

Enter Countess, Steward and Clown 3:

Will now hear; what fay you of this gen-
tlewoman?

Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I with might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modefty, and make foul the clearness of our defervings, when of ourselves we publish them.

Count. What does this knave here? get you gone, Sirrah; the complaints, I have heard of you, I do not all believe; 'tis my flowness that I do not, for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make fuch knaveries yours.

Clo.

3 Steward and Clown.] A 5 3 you lack not folly to commit Clown in Shakespeare is common- them, and have ability enough to ly taken for a licensed jefter, or make fuch knaveries YOURS; domeftick fool. We are not to Well, but if he had folly to wonder that we find this charac-_commit them, he neither wanted ter often in his plays, fince fools knavery, nor any thing else, were, at that time, maintained fure, to make them his own. in all great families, to keep up This nonfenfe fhould be read, merriment in the houfe. In the To make fuch knaveries YARE; picture of Sir Thomas More's fa- nimble, dextrous, i. e. Tho' mily, by Hans Holbein, the only you be fool enough to commit fervant reprefented is Patifon the knaveries, yet you have quickfool. This is a proof of the fa- nefs enough to commit them dexmiliarity to which they were ad- troufly: for this obfervation was mitted, not by the great only, to let us into his character. But but the wife. now, tho' this be fet right, and, I dare fay, in Shakespeare's own words, yet the former part of the fentence will still be inaccurate you lack not folly to commit THEM. Them, what? the fenfe requires knaveries, but the anteU 3 cedent

In fome plays, a fervant, or ruftic, of remarkable petulance and freedom of fpeech, is like wife called a Clown.

To even your content.] To act up to your defires.

Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, Madam, I am a poor fellow.

Count. Well, Sir.

Clo. No, Madam, 'tis not fo well that I am poor, tho' many of the rich are damn'd; but, if I have your ladyfhip's good will to go to the world, Ibel the woman and I will do as we may.

Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

Clo. I do beg your good will in this cafe.
Count. In what cafe?

Clo. In bel's cafe, and my own; fervice is no heritage, and, I think, I fhall never have the bleffing of God, till I have iffue of my body; for they fay, bearns are bleffings.

Count. Tell me the reafon why thou wilt marry.

Clo. My poor body, Madam, requires it. I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil drives.

Count. Is this all your worship's reafon ?

Clo. Faith, Madam, I have other holy reasons, fuch as they are.

Count. May the world know them?

Clo. I have been, Madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and; indeed, I do marry, that I may repent.

Count. Thy marriage, fooner than thy wickedness. Clo. I am out of friends, Madam, and I hope to have friends for my wife's fake.

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

cedent referr'd to, is complaints. But this was certainly a negligence of Shakespeare's, and there Jore to be left as we find it. And the reader, who cannot fee that this is an inaccuracy which the Author might well commit, and the other what he never could, has either read Shakespeare very

little, or greatly mifpent his pains. The principal office of a critic is to diftinguish between these two things. But 'tis that branch of criticifm which no precepts can teach the writer to difcharge, or the reader to judge of.

WARBURTON.

Clo.

Clo. Y'are fhallow, Madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am weary of; he, that eares my land, fpares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop; If I be his cuckold, he's my drudge; he, that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he, that cherisheth my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he, that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend: ergo, he that kiffes my wife, is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poyfam the papist, howfoe'er their hearts fever'd in religion, their heads are both one; they may joul horns together, like any deer i' th' herd.

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious knave?

Clo. A prophet, I, Madam; and I fpeak the truth the next way;

"For I the ballad will repeat, which men full true "fhall find;

"Your marriage comes by deftiny, your cuckow fings by kind.

Count. Get you gone, Sir, I'll talk with you more

Stew. May it pleafe you, Madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to speak.

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen I mean.

Clo. Was this fair face the caufe, quoth fhe,

"Why the Grecians facked Troy? "Fond done, fond done;-for Paris, he,

"Was this King Priam's joy.

"With that she fighed as fhe ftood,

"And gave this fentence then ;

Among nine bad if one be good,

"There's yet one good in ten ".

[Singing.

Count. What, one good in ten? You corrupt the fong, Sirrah.

Clo. One good woman in ten, Madam, which is a purifying o' th' fong: 'would, God would ferve the world fo all the year! we'd find no fault with the tythewoman, if I were the Parfon; one in ten, quoth a' ! an we might have a good woman born but every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lot

This fecond ftanza of the ballad is turned to a joke upon the women: a confeffion, that there was one good in ten. Whereon the Countess obferved, that he corrupted the fong; which shews the fong faid, Nine good in ten.

If one be bad among st nine good, There's but one bad in ten. This relates to the ten fons of Priam, who all behaved themfelves well but Paris. For tho' he once had fifty, yet at this unfortunate period of his reign he had but ten; Agathon, Antiphon, Deiphobus, Dius, Hector, Helenus, Hippotbeus, Pemmon, Paris, and Polites. WARBURTON.

tcry