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From fairies and the tempters of the night,
Guard me, I beseech ye.

[Iachimo rifis from the Trunk.
Iach. The crickets fing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense
Repairs itself by reft : our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes, e'er he waken'd
The chastity he wounded. Cyrborea,
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lilly,
And whiter than the sheets !' That I might touch,
But kiss, one kiss-Rubies unparagon'd
How dearly they do't—'Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus : the flame o'th' taper
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,

To see th' inclosed light, now canopy'd
Under the windows, white and azure, lac'd
With blue of heav'ns own tinct-but my design
To note the chamber-I will write all down :
Such and such pictures—there the window—such
Th’ adornment of her bed the arras, figures-
Why such, and such,—and the contents o'th' story
Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
Above ten thousand meaner moveables,
Would teftify, t'enrich mine inventory.
(4) O, fleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her,
And be her sense but as a monument,
Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off.

[Taking off her Bracelet, As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard. 'Tis mine, and this will witness outwardly, As strongly as the conscience does within, To th' madding of her lord. On her left breast. A mole cinque fpotted, like the crimfon drops I'th' bottom of a cowslip. Here's a voucher,


(4) Ofep, &c.] So Ovid says,

Stulte quid eft fomnus, gelidæ nisi mortis imago?

Fool, what is neep, but th’ image of cold death? See Measure for Measure (the Duke's fins speech to Claudio.

Stronger than ever law could make : this secret
Will force him think, I have pick'd the lock, and ta’en
The treasure of her honour. No more to what end?
Why should I write this down, that's rivetted,
Screw'd to my memory. She hath been reading late
The tale of Tereus, here the leaf's turn'd down
Where Philomel gave up— I have enough,
To th’trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift you dragons of the night, that dawning
(5) May bear the raven's eye; I lodge in fear ;
Tho' this a heav'nly angel, hell is here.

[He goes into the Trunk, the Scene closes.
Scene IV. Gold.

(6) 'Tis gold Which buys admittance, oft it doth, yea, makes


(5) May bear, &c.] Some copies read, bare, or make bare ; others, ope: but the true reading is, bear, a term taken - from heraldry, and very sublimely applied. The meaning is, that morning may assume the colour of the raven's eye, which is grey: hence it is so commonly called, the grey-cy'd morning; in Romeo and Juliet, I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye.

Warburton. No term in heraldry is so common as to bear, so that, doubtless, Mr. Warburion's explanation must be allowed : Shakespear uses it in Much ado about Nothing ;

“ So that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between him and his horse."

(6) Tis, &c.] See the ad part of Henry IV. Act 4. Sc. 11. Virgil says,

-Quid non mortalia pectora cogis,
Auri facra fames ?
Curs'd gold, how high will daring mortals rise
In every guilt to reach the glitt'ring prize ?

Pitt, Æn. 3. v. 57.



Diana's rangers falfe themselves, and yield up
Their deer to th' ftaná o'th' stealer : and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief;
Nay, sometimes hangs both thief and true man.; what
Can it not do, and undo ?


A Satire on Women,

(7) Is there no way for men to be, but women Must be half-workers? We are bastards all;


Horace has an ode expressly on this subject, That gold makes its
way thro' all things:'tis in his 3d book, and the 16th ode. Take
part of it in the words of Creech;

A tower of brass, gates strong and barr'd,
And watchful dogs sufpicious guard,
From creeping night-adulterers
That sought imprison's Danae’s bed
Might have secur'd one maidenhead,
And freed the old Acrifius from his fears.

But Jove and Venus soon betray'd
The jealous guardian of the maid :
They knew the way to take the hold,
They knew the pass must open lie

To ev'ry hand and ev'ry eye,
When Jove himself was bribe, and turn'd to gold,

Gold loves to break thro' gates and bars
It is the thunderbolt of wars :
It flies thro' walls, and breaks away :
By gold the Argive augur fell,

It taught the children to rebel,
And made the wife her fatal lord betray.

When engines, and when arts do fail,
The golden wedge can cleave the wall;
Gold, Philip's rival, kings o’erthrew ;
'Rough seaman, stubborn as the food,

And angry seas that they have plough'd, Bribes quickly snare and easily subdue, &c. (7) Is there, &c.] Milton says,

O why did God
Creator wise, that peopled highest heaven
With spirits masculine, create at last

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And that most venerable man, which I
Did call my father, was, I know not where


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This novelty on earth, this fair defect
Of nature, and not fill the world at once
With men, as angels without feminine,
Or find some other way to generate
Mankind ?

Par. Lof, B. 1o. v.888. This thought, as Dr. Newton has well observed, both in Shakea and Milton, was originally from Euripides, who makes Hippolitus, in like manner, expostulate with Jupiter, for not creating man without woman.” See Hip. 616.

O Jupiter, why woman, man's sole woe,
Halt thou created? Wherefore didst thou not,
Minding to people earth, perfom thy purpose

Without this female race, 'this fair defect?
And Jason is made to talk in the fame strain, in the Medka, 573,

Children by other means should be created,
"Without the aid of women, these not born,

Man then had Thunn's variety of ills.
Dr. Newlon adds, “ Such sentiments as these, we suppose, pro-
cured Euripides the name of woman-hater. Ariosto, however, hath
ventured upon the same, in Rodomont's invective against woman.
Orlando Furioso, Cant. 27. S. 120.

Why did not nature rather 'so provide,
Without your help, that man of man miglit come,
And one be grafted on another's fide,
As are the apples with the pear and plumb ?

Harrington, St. 97.
It would be endtefs to quote from authors, passages similar to
this in Shakespea: thofe of our own nation have greatly labour'd
on the topic : Mr. Wa-burton him felf hath joined the band, and
fought against the ladies, as his pithy reflections on the wife of
Fob, in his Diviie Legation, shew: however, we still find them re-
iaining their power in spite of all the malice of their foes, and
amidst so many enemies still triumphant.

The manner in which the jealous Pofthitmus defcribes the ana parent modesty of his wife, deferves to be compared with the following passage from Philater, who having received a letter to inform him of the falfhood of his mistress,whom he dearly loved and believed perfectly chaste, fays;

0, lec

When I was stampt. Some coiner with his tools,
Made me a counterfeit; yet iny mother seem'd
The Dian of that time; fo doth


The nonpareil of this Oh, vengeance, vengeance !
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd,
And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with
A pudency fo rory, the sweet view on't
Might well have warm'd old Saturn—that I thought her
As chaste as unfunn'd snow.

Could I find out
The woman's part in me;--for there's no motion




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0, let all women,
That love black deeds learn to difsemble here!
Here by this paper she doth write to me,
As if her heart were mines of adamant
To all the world beside : but unto me,
A maiden snow that melted with my looks.

See Philaster, Act. 3.
A little further in the same act, he thus declaims against the fex.

Some far place,
Where never womankind durft set her foot,
For bursting with her poisons, must I seek,
And live to curse you :
There dig a cave and preach to birds and beasts,
What woman is, and help to save them from you:
How heav'n is in your eyes, but, in your hearts
More hell, than hell has : how your tongues like scor-

Both heal and poison ; how your thoughts are woven
With thousand changes in on subtle web,
And worn so by you. How that foolish man,
That reads the story of a woman's face,
And dies believing it, is lost for ever.
How all the good you have is but a shadow,
I'th' morning with you, and at night behind you,
Past and forgotten: how your vows are frosts,
Last for a night, and with the next sun gone :
How you are, being taken all together,
A mere confusion, and so dead a chaos,
That love cannot distinguish. These sad texts,
Till my last hour I'm bound to utter of you,
So, farewel all my woe, all my delight.

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