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jest," says Sir Toby.

"Nor I neither," says Sir Andrew. And Sir

Toby does marry her, as Fabian tells at the end.

"Maria writ

The letter at Sir Toby's great importance;

In recompence whereof, he hath married her.'

In the Third Act, it is in the third scene-in the middle of the play-that Sebastian first comes among the other persons of the story, and the few hours' confusion begins between brother and sister, which leads on to the happy close. At the first, when Antonio, finding her as Cesario, mistakes Viola for Sebastian, and at the profession of ignorance says,

"Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.

In nature there's no blemish but the mind;
None can be called deformed but the unkind,"

Viola's after-thought is,

"He named Sebastian: I my brother knew
Yet living in my glass; even such, and so,
In favour was my brother; and he went
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament,
For him I imitate. O, if it prove,

Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love."

The Fourth Act is of cross-purposes that lead to the close of the Act with the marriage of Sebastian to Olivia, who takes him for Cesario.

"Oli. Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well,
Now go with me and with this holy man
Into the chantry by; there, before him,
And underneath that consecrated roof,
Plight me the full assurance of your faith;
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace. He shall conceal it,
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note,
What time we will our celebration keep
According to my birth.-What do you say?

Sebastian. I'll follow this good man, and go with you,

And, having sworn truth, ever will be true."

X-VOL. X.

There is not in Bandello, nor in Belleforest, nor in Barnabe Riche, nor in "Gl' Ingannati," nor in "Inganni," this consecration of the lady's love.

The Fifth Act is occupied with the untying of the knot; the close of this Act being, according to the testimony of the priest, only two hours after the marriage of Olivia. The lapse of three months since the shipwreck is twice made clear: by the testimony of Antonio that he had nursed Sebastian for three months, and the reply of the duke, "Three months this youth hath tended upon me." It is equally clear that from the beginning of the fourth scene of the Second Act we have the adventures of a single day. Malvolio was not long kept in the dark. Sir Toby cannot be said to have gone to bed drunk last night, for he drank till it was too late to go to bed, and burnt more sack. He has gone through the day as usual, with cunning enough to amuse himself and keep Sir Andrew well in hand :

"Fabian. Sir Toby. strong, or so."

This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby.

I have been dear to him, lad; some two thousand

When Sir Andrew proposes to make peace by giving Cesario his horse grey Capilet, Sir Toby sees his way to a bit of filching, and says to himself, "Marry, I'll ride your horse as well as you." But Sir Toby is drunk before the day is over, very drunk when we see the last of him. Whether he was sober when he married Maria, does not matter to her. He is a knight with good possessions, which he will not diminish while he lives a short life and a merry one on the contents of other folks' pockets, and cellars. Maria will have made, in the world's opinion, a good match. She will soon be a knight's widow, with handsome possessions; and she will have no difficulty in changing the unsavoury name of Lady Belch for that of some good man whom she may really care for.

But to Olivia and to Orsino, who finds in Viola "his fancy's queen," Sebastian and Viola will bring the satisfaction of young longing for a love that glorifies all beauty of the world, that feeds on music, and "lies rich when canopied with bowers." Their pure ideal will put noblest aims into the workday life of all their years to come. They will wake from the young dream of perfections impossible on earth, but wake to a reality of helpful sympathy and trust, that makes the light of every day the light of God upon the way to heaven.

"The Taming of the Shrew" is an old play revised by Shakespeare. It was first printed in the folio of

1623, and not published in quarto until 1631, though there may have been a quarto of which issue was stayed in 1607 or 1609.

"The Taming of the Shrew."

A copy of the first known edition of the older play is dated 1594, and is in the library of the Duke of Devonshire. It is entitled "A Pleasant Conceited History, called The Taming of a Shrew. As it was sundry times acted by the Right Honorable the Earle of Pembrook his servants. Printed at London by Peter Short, and are to be sold by Cuthbert Burbie, at his shop at the Royal Exchange." It was reprinted in 1596 and again in 1607.

This older play is given as presented before Christopher Sly. Shakespeare took the idea of the "Induction" he found it, and was answerable only for touches that enhance its humour. Thomas Warton, in his "History of English Poetry,” says that he had seen, in a collection afterwards dispersed, a volume of comic stories by Richard Edwards, published in 1570, that contained a tale with incidents resembling those of the induction to "The Taming of the Shrew." That volume could not again be found. But in the papers of the old Shakespeare Society Mr. H. G. Norton printed in 1845, from a fragment of a book printed about 1620, a tale, called "The Waking Man's Dream," which, he thought, might be part of a reprint of the book that Thomas Warton saw. I do not think it was. "The Waking Man's Dream" gives, moralised at length, the same story that is to be found in Goulart's "Admirable and Memorable Histories," published in 1607. In Goulart it is a short story, which may be repeated here in full :

"The Waking Man's Dream."

"Philip called the good Duke of Bourgondy, in the memory of our ancestors, being at Bruxells with his Court and walking one night after supper through the streets, accompanied with some of his fauorits he found lying vpon the stones a certaine Artisan that was

very dronke, and that slept soundly. It pleased the Prince in this Artisan to make a triall of the vanity of our life, whereof he had before discoursed with his familiar friends. Hee therfore caused this sleeper to bee taken vp and carried into his Pallace; hee commands him to bee layed in one of the richest beds, a riche Night-cap to bee giuen him, his foule shirt to bee taken off, and to have an other put on him of fine Holland: whenas this Dronkard had disgested his wine, and began to awake: behold there comes about his bed, Pages and Groomes of the Dukes Chamber, who drawe the Curteines, make many courtesies, and being bare-headed, aske him if it please him to rise, and what apparell it would please him to put on that day. They bring him rich apparrell. This new Monsieur amazed at such curtesie, and doubting whether hee dreampt or waked, suffered himselfe to be drest, and led out of the Chamber. There came Noblemen which saluted him with all honour, and conduct him to the Masse, where with great ceremonie they giue him the Booke of the Gospell, and the Pixe to kisse, as they did vsually vnto the Duke from the Masse they bring him backe vnto the Pallace: hee washes his hands, and sittes downe at the Table well furnished. After dinner, the great Chamberlaine commandes Cardes to be brought with a great summe of money. This Duke in Imagination playes with the chiefe of the Court. Then they carrie him to walke in the Gardein, and to hunt the Hare and to Hawke. They bring him back vnto the Pallace, where hee sups in state. Candles beeing light, the Musitions begin to play, and the Tables taken away, the Gentlemen and Gentle-women fell to dancing, then they played a pleasant Comedie, after which followed a Banket, whereas they had presently store of Ipocras and precious Wine, with all sorts of confitures, to this Prince of the new Impression, so as he was drunke, & fell soundlie a sleepe. Here-upon the Duke commanded that hee should bee disrobed of all his riche attire. Hee was put into his olde ragges and carried into the same place, where hee had been found, the night before, where hee spent that night. Being awake in the morning, hee beganne to remember what had happened before, hee knewe not whether it was true in deede, or a dreame that had troubled his braine. But in the end, after many discourses, hee concluds that all was but a dreame that had happened vnto him, and so entertained his wife, his Children and his neighbours, without any other apprehension. This Historie put mee in minde of that which Seneca sayth in the ende of his 59 letter to Lvcilivs. No man saies he can reioyce and content himselfe, if he be not nobly minded, iust and temperate. What then? Are the wicked depriued of all ioye? they are glad as the Lions that haue found their prey.

Being full of wine and luxury, hauing spent the night in gourmandise, whenas pleasures poored into this vessell of the bodie (beeing to little to conteine so much) beganne to foame out, these miserables wretches crie with him of whome Virgill speakes

"Thou knowest, how in the midest of pastimes false & vaine,

We cast and past our latest night of paine.'

"The dissolute spend the night, yea the last night in false ioyes. O man, this stately vsage of the aboue named Artisan, is like vnto a dreame that passeth. And his goodly day, and the years of a wicked life differ nothing, but in more and lesse. He slept foure and twenty houres, other wicked men some-times foure and twenty thousands of houres. It is a little or a great dreame: and nothing more."

The story is told also in Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy," and before its use in the old play it was evidently taken seriously as a picture of the vanity of earthly pomp. In "The Waking Man's Dream" the story is told as an old one, and after a prelude asking "who can in these passages of this world distinguish the things which have been done from those that have been dreamed? Vanities, delights, riches, pleasures and all are past and gone; are they not dreams?" the writer believes that the serious pleasantness of this example "will supply its want of novelty, and that its repetition will neither be unfruitful nor unpleasing."

The old moral of this tale was dropped by the first dramatist who used it, and was not revived by Shakespeare, who has only enlivened with many delightful touches the picture of a man who is little more than animal in his perceptions, with little more than animal desires and apprehensions, not, like Falstaff, by the misuse of his brains, but simply because he has never learnt to use them. It is rather Seneca's thought that no man can rejoice and content himself if he be not nobly minded, just and temperate.

Christopher Sly represents the untaught mind in relation

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