Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

Arv. 7 What should we speak of

When we are as old as you? when we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
In this our pinching cave, fhall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have feen nothing:
We are beaftly; fubtle as the fox for prey;
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat :
Our valour is, to chace what flies; our cage
We make a quire, as doth the prifon'd bird,
And fing our bondage freely.

Bel. How you speak!

Did you but know the city's ufuries,

And felt them knowingly; the art o' the court,
As hard to leave as keep; whofe top to climb,
Is certain falling, or fo flipp'ry, that

The fear's as bad as falling: the toil of the war,
A pain, that only feems to feek out danger

I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i' the

fearch,

And hath as oft a flanderous epitaph,

As record of fair act; nay, many times
Doth ill deferve by doing well: what's worse,
Muft curt'fy at the cenfure.-Oh, boys, this ftory
The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
With Roman fwords; and my report was once
Firft with the best of note: Cymbeline lov'd me;
And when a foldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off: then was I as a tree,
Whofe boughs did bend with fruit: but, in one night,
A ftorm, or robbery, call it what you will,

What should we speak of] This dread of an old age, unfupplied with matter for difcourfe and meditation, is a fentiment natural and noble. No ftate can be more deftitute than that of him who, when the delights of fenfe forfake him, has no pleafures of the mind. JOHNSON.

How you speak!] Otway feems to have taken many hints for the converfation that paffes between Acafto and his fons, from the fcene before us. STEEVENS.

Shook

Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, And left me bare to weather.

Guid. Uncertain favour!

Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told
you oft)
But that two villains, whofe falfe oaths prevail'd
Before my perfect honour, fwore to Cymbeline,
I was confederate with the Romans: fo
Followed my banishment; and, thefe twenty years,
This rock and these demefnes have been
my world:
Where I have liv'd at honeft freedom; paid
More pious debts to heaven, than in all

The fore-end of my time.-But, up to the mountain!
This is not hunters' language: he, that strikes
The venifon firft, fhall be the lord o' the feast;
To him the other two fhall minifter;

And we will fear no poison, which attends

In place of greater ftate.

I'll meet you in the valleys.

[Exeunt Guid. and Arv.

How hard it is to hide the fparks of nature!

These boys know little they are fons to the king;
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.

They think they are mine: and tho' train'd up thus

meanly

I' the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit The roof of palaces; and nature prompts them,

I the cave, &c.] Mr. POPE reads,

Here in the cave, wherein their thoughts do hit
The roof of palaces ;-

In

but the fentence breaks off imperfectly. The old editions read, I' the cave, whereon the bow their thoughts do hit, &c. Mr. Rowe faw this likewife was faulty; and therefore amended it thus:

I' the cave, where, on the bow, their thoughts do hit, &c. I think it should be only with the alteration of one letter, and the addition of another;

I' the cave, there, on the brow,And fo the grammar and fyntax of the fentence is complete. We call the arching of a cavern, or everhanging of a bill, metaphorically,

In fimple and low things, to prince it much
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
The king his father call'd Guiderius-Jove!
When on my three-foot stool I fit, and tell
The warlike feats I have done, his fpirits fly out
Into my ftory: fay,
"thus mine enemy fell,
"And thus I fet my foot on his neck;"-even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,

metaphorically, the brow; and in like manner the Greeks and Latins ufed op, and fupercilium. THEOBALD.

tho' train'd up thus meanly,

I' the cave, THERE ON THE BROW,

editions read,

I' the cave whereon the brow ;

-] The old

which, though very corrupt, will direct us to the true reading; which, when rightly pointed, is thus,

though train'd up thus meanly

I' the cave wherein they bow

i. e. Thus meanly brought up. Yet in this very cave, which is fo low that they must bow or bend in entering it, yet are their thoughts fo exalted, &c. This is the antithefis. Belarius had fpoken before of the lowness of this cave:

A goodly day! not to keep house with fuch

Whofe roof's as low as ours. See, boys! this gate
Inftructs you how to adore the heaven's; and bows you
To morning's holy office. WARBURTON.

HANMER reads,

I' the cave, here in this brow.

I think the reading is this:

I' the cave, wherein the Bow, &c.

That is, they are trained up in the cave, where their thoughts in hitting the bow, or arch of their habitation, hit the roofs of palaces. In other words, though their condition is low, their thoughts are high. The fentence is at last, as THEOBALD remarks, abrupt, but perhaps no lefs fuitable to Shakespeare. I know not whether Dr. WARBURTON'S conjecture be not better than mine. JOHNSON.

This Polydore,] The old copy of this play (except in this first inftance, where it can be only a blunder of the printer) calls this eldest fon of Cymbeline, Polidore, as often as the name occurs. I have therefore replaced it. STEEVENS.

Strains

Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in pofture That acts my words. The younger brother Cadwal, (Once Arviragus) in as like a figure,

Strikes life into my fpeech, and fhews much more
His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rouz'd !—
Oh Cymbeline! heaven and my confcience know,
Thou didst unjustly banish me; whereon,

At three and two years old 2 I ftole these babes;
Thinking to bar thee of fucceffion, as

Thou reft'ft me of lands. Euriphile,

my

Thou waft their nurfe; they took thee for their mother,

And every day do honour to her grave:
Myfelf Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural father. The game's up. [Exit.

[blocks in formation]

Imo. Thou told'ft me, when we came from horse, the place

Was near at hand. Ne'er long'd my mother fo To fee me first, as I have now. Pifanio! man! • Where is Pofthumus? What is in thy mind,

2 I ftole thefe babes ;] Shakespeare feems to intend Belarius for a good character, yet he makes him forget the injury which he has done to the young princes, whom he has robbed of a kingdom only to rob their father of heirs.The latter part of this fliloquy is very inartificial, there being no particular reafon why Belarius fhould now tell to himself what he could not know better by telling it. JOHNSON.

I

Where is Pofthumus?] Shakespeare's apparent ignorance of quantity is not the leaft, among many, proofs of his want of learning. Throughout this, play he calls Pofthumus, Pofthumus; and Arviragus, Arviragus. STEEVENS.

That

That makes thee ftare thus ? wherefore breaks that figh
From the inward of thee? one, but painted thus,
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond felf-explication. Put thyfelf

Into a 'haviour of lefs fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my ftaider fenfes. What's the matter?
Why tender'st thou that paper to me with
A look untender? If it be fummer news,
Smile to't before: if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that countenance ftill.
That drug-damn'd Italy hath
And he's at fome hard point.-

tongue

My husband's hand! out-crafted him, -Speak, man; thy

May take off fome extremity, which to read
Would be e'en mortal to me.

Pif. Please you, read;

And you fhall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most difdain'd of fortune.

Imogen reads.

THY miftrefs, Pifanio, hath play'd the ftrumpet in my bed, the teftimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak furmises; but from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pifanio, must act for me. If thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers, let thine hands take away her life: I shall give thee opportunity at MilfordHaven. She bath my letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to ftrike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pander to her difhonour, and equally t me difloyal.

Pif. What fhall I need to draw my fword? the paper

Hath cut her throat already.No, 'tis flander;

drug-damn'd-] This is another allufion to Italian.

poifons. JOHNSON.

Whofe

« ZurückWeiter »