Not a flower, not a flower sweet,

On my black coffin let there be ftrown:

Not a friend, not a friend greet

My poor corps, where my bones fhall be thrown.
A thousand thousand fighs to fave,

Lay me, O! where

True lover never find my grave,
To weep there.

Duke. There's for thy pains.

Clo. No pains, Sir, I take pleasure in finging, Sir.
Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Clo. Truly, Sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or other.

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.

Clo. Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the taylor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, for thy mind is a very opal! I would have men of fuch constancy put to fea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every where; for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewel.

[Exit.

SCENE VI.

Duke. Let the reft give place.

[Exeunt.

Once more, Cefario,

Get thee to yond fame fovereign cruelty:

2

a very opal!] A precious ftone of almoft all colours.

POPE.

man who fuffers himfelf to run' with every wind, and fo makes his bufinefs every where, cannot 3 that their business might be be faid to have any intent; for every thing, and their intent EVE- that word fignifies a determinaRY where;] Both the preferva- tion of the mind to fomething. tion of the antithefis, and the Befides, the conclufion of makrecovery of the fenfe, require ing a good voyage out of nothing, we should read, and their directs to this emendation. intent NO abere. Becaufe a

Cc 3

WARBURTON.

Tell

Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;

The parts, that fortune hath beftow'd upon her,
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune:

4 But 'tis that miracle, and Queen of Gems,
That nature pranks her in, attracts my foul.
Vio. But if fhe cannot love you, Sir
Duke. I cannot be fo anfwer'd.

Vio. Sooth, but you must.

Say, that fome Lady, as, perhaps, there is,
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;
You tell her fo; muft fhe not then be anfwer'd?
Duke. There is no woman's fides

Can bide the beating of fo ftrong a paffion,
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big to hold fo much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite :
No motion of the liver, but the palate,
That fuffers furfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the fea,

And can digest as much; make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me,
And that I owe Olivia.

Vio. Ay, but I know——

nature pranks, i. e. fets out, adorns. WARBURTON.

+ But 'tis that miracle, and Queen of Gems, That nature pranks her IN,-] What is that miracle, and Queen of Gems? we are not told in this reading. Befides, what is meant by nature pranking her in a miracle ?-We fhould read, But'tis that miracle, and Queen of Gems, That nature pranks, HER education.

MIND.

i. e. what attracts my foul, is not her Fortune, but her Mind, that miracle, and Queen of Gems that

The miracle and Queen of Gems is her beauty, which the commentator might have found without fo emphatical an enquiry. As to her mind, he that fhould be captious would fay, that though it may be formed by nature, it must be prankea by

Shakespeare does not fay that nature pranks her in a miracle, but in the miracle of gems; that is, in a Gem miraculously beautiful. Duke.

Duke. What doft thou know?

Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe; In faith, they are as true of heart, as we. My father had a daughter lov'd a man, As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your Lordship.

Duke. And what's her hiftory?

Vio. A blank, my Lord: She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i'th' bud,

Feed on her damaík cheek: fhe pin'd in thought;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She fat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at Grief. Was not this love indeed ?

5 She fat like Patience on a mo

nument,

Smiling at Grief.] Mr. Theobald fuppofes this might poffibly be borrowed from Chaucer.

And her befidis wonder diferetlie Dame Pacience fittinge there I fonde

With face pale, upon an hill of
fonde.

And adds, If he was indebted,
however, for the firft rude draught,
bow amply has be repaid that debt,
in heightening the picture! How
much does the green and yellow
melancholy tranfcend the old
bard's pale face; the monument
his hill of fand!
I hope
this Critick does not imagine
Shakespeare meant to give us a
picture of the face of Patience,
by his green and yellow melancho-
ly; becaufe, he fays, it tran-
fcends the pale face of Patience
given us by Chaucer. To throw
Patience into a fit of melancholy,
would be indeed very extraordi-
nary. The green and yellow then
belonged not to Patience, but to

We

her who fat like Patience. To give Patience a pale face, was proper and had Shakespeare de fcribed her, he had done it as Chaucer did. But Shakespeare is fpeaking of a marble statue of Patience; Chaucer, of Patience herfelf. And the two reprefentations of her, are in quite different views. Our Poet, fpeaking of a defpairing lover, judicioufly compares her to Patience excrcited on the death of friends and relations; which affords him the beautiful picture of Patience on a monument. The old Bard fpeaking of Patience herfelf, directly, and not by comparison, as judicioufly draws her in that circumflance where fhe is most exercifed, and has occafion for all her virtue; that is to fay, under the lofjes of shipwreck. And now we fee why he is reprefented as fitting on an hill of fand, to defign the fcene to be the fea fhore. It is finely imagined; and one of the noble fimplicitics of that admirable Poet. But the

Cc4

Cri.ick

We men may fay more, fwear more, but, indeed,
Qur fhows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. But dy'd the fifter of her love, my boy?
Vio. I'm all the daughters of my father's houfe,
And all the brothers too-and yet I know not
Sir, fhall I to this Lady?

Duke. Ay, that's the theme.

To her in hafte; give her this jewel: fay,
My love can give no place, bide no denay.

SCENE VII.

Changes to Olivia's Garden.

[Exeunt.

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.

Sir To. Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lofe a fcruC

OME thy ways, Signior Fabian.

ple of this fport, let me be boil'd to death with melancholy.

Sir To. Would't thou not be glad to have the

raised fufpicion. This has the
appearance of a direct answer,
that the fifter died of her love;
the (who paffed for a man) say-
ing, he was all the daughters
of her father's houfe. But the
Oxford Editor, a great enemy,
as fhould feem, to all equivoca-
tion, obliges her to answer thus,
She's all the daughters of my fa
ther's house,
And I am all the fons
But if it fhould be asked now,
how the Duke came to take this
for an answer to his question, to
be fure the Editor can tell us.

WARBURTON.

niggardly

niggardly rafcally fheep-biter come by fome notable fhame?

Fab. I would exult, man; you know, he brought me out of favour with my Lady, about a bear-baiting here.

Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue, fhall we not, Sir Andrew?

Sir And. And we do not, it's pity of our lives.

Enter Maria.

Sir To. Here comes the little villain: how now, my nettle of India * ?

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree; Malvolio's coming down this walk, he has been yonder i'th' sun practifing behaviour to his own fhadow this half hour. Observe him, for the love of mockery; for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jefting! lye thou there; for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. Throws down a letter, and Exit.

Mal. 'Tis but fortune, all is fortune.

Maria once told me, fhe did affect me; and I have heard herself come thus near, that fhould fhe fancy, it fhould be one of my complexion. Befides, fhe ufes me with at more exalted refpect, than any one elfe that follows her. What fhall I think on't?

Sir To. Here's an over-weening rogue..
Fab. O, peace: contemplation makes a rare Tur-.

* Nettle of India means, I believe, nothing more than precious nettle. key