Histoire de la Littérature Anglaise (Volume 2 de 5)
1: The very age and body of the time, his form and pressure.
(Shakspeare.)
2: Ben Jonson, Every man in his humour;—Cynthia's Revels.
3: Winter's tale; Cymbeline; Julius Cæsar.
4: «Parmi les laïques, il y avait peu de dévotion; le jour du Seigneur était grandement profané et peu observé; les prières communes n'étaient pas fréquentées; plusieurs vivaient sans rendre aucun culte à Dieu. Beaucoup étaient purement païens et athées; la cour de la reine elle-même était un asile d'épicuriens et d'athées et de gens sans loi.» (Strype, année 1572.) «Dans ma jeunesse.... le dimanche.... le peuple ne voulait pas interrompre ses jeux et ses danses, et bien des fois celui qui lisait la Bible était forcé de s'arrêter jusqu'à ce que le joueur de flageolet et les acteurs eussent fini. Parfois les danseurs entraient dans l'église avec tous leurs accoutrements, leurs écharpes, leurs déguisements, et des clochettes qui sonnaient à leurs jambes, et, aussitôt que la prière commune était dite, retournaient ensuite à leur divertissement.» (Baxter's Narrative.)
5: Ben Jonson, Every man in his humour.
6: Chronique d'Hardinge.
7: Holinshed, 806, Lodge; Fenton; Harrington, Nugæ antiquæ. M. Philarète Chasles, Études sur Shakspeare. Voy. Shakspeare et tous les auteurs dramatiques.
8: Rôle de Calypso dans Massinger; de Putana dans Ford; de Protalyce dans Beaumont and Fletcher.
9: Middleton, Dutch Courtezan cité par Phil. Chasles, Études sur Shakspeare, 99.
10: Commission donnée par Henri VIII au comte d'Hertford, 1544.
You are there to put all to fire and sword, to burn Edinburg town, and to raze and deface it, when you have sacked it and gotten what you can out of it. Do what you can out of hand and without long tarrying, to beat down and overthrow the castle, sack Holyrood-House, and as many towns and villages about Edinburg as you conveniently can; sack Leith, and burn and subvert it, and all the rest, putting man, woman and child to fire and sword, without exception when any resistance shall be made against you; and this done, pass over to the Fife land, and extend like extremities and destructions in all towns and villages whereunto you may reach conveniently, not forgetting among all the rest to spoil and turn upside down the cardinal's town of St Andrew, as the upper stone may be the nether, and not one stick stand by another, sparing no creature alive within the same, specially such as either in friendship or blood be allied to the cardinal. This journey shall succeed most to His Majesty's honour. (T. II, 440, Pictorial history of England by Craig and Mac-Farlane.)
11: Laneham, A goodly relief.
12: 13 février 1587. Voy., pour tous ces détails, Nathan Drake, Shakspeare and his times; Phil. Chasles, Études sur le seizième siècle.
13: Essex, souffleté par la reine, mit la main sur la garde de son épée.
14: Le grand chancelier Burleigh pleurait souvent, tant il était rudoyé par Élisabeth.
15: Middleton.
16: Voyez, pour comprendre ce caractère, les rôles de James Harlowe dans Richardson, du vieil Osborne dans Thackeray, de sir Giles Overreach dans Massinger, de Manly dans Wycherley.
17: Hentzner's Travels.—Benvenuto Cellini; voyez passim les costumes avec notices, imprimés à Venise et en Allemagne: Bellicosissimi.—Froude, t. I, p. 19, 52.
18: Voyez Froude, History of England, tomes I, II, III.
19: «Quand son cœur fut arraché, il poussa un gros gémissement.» Exécution de Parry, Strype, III, 251. Consulter Lingard, IV, 259; Holinshed, II, 938.
20: Holinshed, 940.
21: Sous Henri IV et Henri V.
22: Froude, I, 15.
23: Machine de bois qui servait pour les punitions; c'est une sorte de cangue.
24: En 1547. Pictorial history, t. II, 467.
25: Pictorial history, tome II, 907, année 1596.
26: Démonologie du roi Jacques, statuts du Parlement de 1597 à 1613: «Un nommé Scot, dit le roi Jacques, n'a pas eu honte de nier dans un imprimé public qu'il y eût une chose telle que la sorcellerie, soutenant ainsi la vieille erreur des Saducéens, lesquels niaient qu'il y eût des esprits.» Voyez le livre de Reginald Scot. 1584 (Nathan Drake).
27: Shakspeare, Measure for Measure, Tempest, Hamlet, Macbeth.—Beaumont and Fletcher, Thierry and Theodoret, acte IV.
To die, and go we know not where;
To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world, or to be worse them worst
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts
Imagine howling!—'Tis too horrible!
(Shakspeare, Measure for Measure, III, 2.)
We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
28: Διεπονήθη δὲ ἐν παισὶ χαὶ περὶ παλαίστραν χαὶ μουσιχὴν, ἐξ ὡν ἀμφότέρων ἐστεφανώθη. Φιλαθηναιότατος χαὶ θεοφιλής. (Scoliaste.)
29: Excepté Beaumont et Fletcher.
30: A literary hack, comme on dit aujourd'hui.
31: Drummond, à propos de Ben Jonson.
32: Voyez, entre autres, a Woman killed with kindness de Heywood. Mistress Frankford, si honnête de cœur, accepte Wendoll à la première proposition. Sir Francis Acton, à l'aspect de celle qu'il veut déshonorer et qu'il hait, tombe «en extase» et ne souhaite plus que de l'épouser.—Voyez l'entraînement subit de Juliette, de Roméo, de Macbeth, de Miranda, etc.; les recommandations de Prospero à Fernando, quand il le laisse seul un instant avec Miranda.
33: Paroles de Nash.
34: Voyez pareillement la Vie de Bohême et les Nuits d'hiver, de Murger; la Confession d'un enfant du siècle, par de Musset.
35: Brûlé en 1589.
36: Marlowe's Works, édition Dyce, appendice II.
37: Drab.
38: Voyez surtout le Titus Andronicus attribué à Shakspeare; il y a des parricides, des mères à qui on fait manger leurs enfants, une jeune fille violée qui paraît sur la scène avec la langue et les deux mains coupées.
39:
For in a field whose superficies
Is cover'd with a liquid purple veil,
And sprinkled with the brains of slaughter'd men,
My royal chair of state shall be advanc'd,
And he that means to place himself therein,
Must armed wade up to the chin in blood....
And I whould strive to swim through pools of blood,
Or make a bridge of murder'd carcasses,
Whose arches should be fram'd with bones of Turks,
Ere I whould lose the title of a king.
(Tamburlain, part. II, acte I, sc. iii.)
40:
First, be thou void of these affections,
Compassion, love, vain hope, and heartless fear;
Be mov'd at nothing, see thou pity none,
But to thyself smile when the Christian moan.
.... I walk abroad o'nights,
And kill sick people groaning under walls,
Sometimes, I go out and poison wells....
Being young, I studied physic and began
To practise first upon the Italian,
There I enrich'd the priests with burials,
And always kept the sexton's arms in use,
With digging graves and ringing dead men's knells....
I fill'd the gaols with bankrupts in a year,
And with young orphans planted hospitals,
And every moon made some or other mad,
And now and then one hang himself for grief,
Pinning upon his breast a long great scroll,
How I with interest tormented him.
ITHAMORE.
O, how I long to see him shake his heels!...
.... Pull amain.
'Tis neatly done, sir; here's no print at all.
41: So let him lean upon his staff. Excellent! He stands as if he were begging of bacon.
O mistress, I have the bravest, gravest, secret, subtle, bottle-nosed knave to my master that ever gentleman had.
42:
BARABBAS.
Heaven bless us! what, a friar a murderer!
When shall you see a Jew commit the like?
ITHAMORE.
Why, a Turk could ha' done no more.
BARABBAS.
To morrow is the sessions, you shall to it.
Come, Ithamore, let's help to take him hence.
FRIAR.
Villains, I am a sacred person; touch me not.
BARABBAS.
The law shall touch you; we'll but led you, we.
'Las, I could weep at your calamity!
(The Jew of Malt.)
43: À cette époque encore, en Angleterre, les empoisonneurs étaient jetés dans une chaudière bouillante.
44: Musée de Gand.
45: Voyez la séduction d'Ithamore, par Bellamira, peinture fruste et d'une vérité admirable.
46: Rien de plus faux que le Guillaume Tell de Schiller, ses hésitations et ses raisonnements; voyez par contraste le Gœtz, de Gœthe.—En 1377, Wyclef plaidait dans l'église de Saint-Paul devant l'évêque de Londres, et cela fit une dispute. Le duc de Lancastre, protecteur de Wyclef, «menaça de traîner l'évêque hors de l'église par les cheveux;» et le lendemain la foule furieuse pilla le palais du duc.—Pictorial history, I, 780.
47:
KING EDWARD.
Throw off his golden mitre, rend his stole,
And in the channel christen him anew....
Fawn not on me, French strumpet;
Get thee gone.
Speak not unto her, let her droop and pine.
48:
LANCASTER.
He comes not back,
Unless the sea cast up his shipwreck'd body.
MORTIMER.
And to behold so sweet a sight as that,
There's none here but would run his horse to death....
LANCASTER.
We'll hale him by the ears unto the block.
KENT.
Let these their heads
Preach upon poles, for trespass of their tongues.
49:
Base Fortune, now I see that in thy wheel
There is a point to which when men aspire,
They tumble headlong down. That point I touch'd,
And seeing that there was no place to mount higher,
Why should I grieve to my declining fall?
Farewell, faire queen; weep not for Mortimer,
That scorns the world, and as a traveller,
Goes to discover countries yet unknown.
(Edward the second.)
50:
A sound magician is a mighty God....
How I am glutted with conceit of this!...
I'll have them fly to India for gold,
Ransack the ocean for orient pearl....
I'll have them read me strange philosophy,
And tell the secrets of foreign kings;
I'll have them wall all Germany with brass,
And make swift Rhine circle fair Wertenberg....
Like lions shall they guard us when we please,
Like Almain rutters with their horsemen's staves,
Or Lapland giants, trotting by our sides;
Sometimes like women, or unwedded maids,
Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows
Than have the white breasts of the queen of Love.
51: How I am glutted with conceit of this!
52:
Had I as many souls as there be stars,
I'd give them all for Mephistophilis.
By him I'll be great emperor of the world,
And make a bridge thorough the moving air....
Why should'st thou not? Is not thy soul thy own?
53:
O this feeds my soul!
LUCIFER.
Know, Faustus, in hell is all manner of delight.
FAUSTUS.
O, might I see hell, and return again!
How happy were I then!...
I will renounce this magic and repent.
54:
My heart's so harden'd, I cannot repent;
Scarce can I name salvation, faith, or heaven,
But fearful echoes thunder unto my ears,
"Faustus, thou art damn'd!" Then swords, and knives,
Poison, guns, halters, and envenom'd steel
Are laid before me to dispatch myself.
And long ere this I should have slain myself,
Had not sweet pleasure conquer'd deep despair.
Have I not made blind Homer sing to me
Of Alexander's love and Œnon's death?
And hath not he that built the walls of Thebes,
With ravishing sound of his melodious harp,
Made music with my Mephistophilis?
Why should I die then, or basely despair?
I am resolv'd; Faustus shall ne'er repent.—
Come, Mephistophilis, let us dispute again,
And argue of divine astrology.
Tell me, are there many heavens above the moon?
Are all celestial bodies but one globe,
As is the substance of this centric earth?...
One thing.... let me crave of thee
To glut the longing of my heart's desire....
Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships
And burn'd the topless towers of Ilium?
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss!
Her lips suck forth my soul—see where it flies.
Come, Helen, come give me my soul again;
Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,
And all is dross that is not Helena.
O thou art fairer than the evening air,
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars!
55:
Ah, my God, I would weep! But the devil draws in my tears. Gush forth, blood, instead of tears! Yea, life and soul! O, he stays my tongue! I would lift up my hands. But see, they hold them, they hold them; Lucifer and Mephistophilis.
Oh, Faustus,
Now hast thou but one bare hour to live;
And then thou must be damn'd perpetually.
Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven,
That time may cease and midnight never come.
The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,
The devil will come, and Faustus must be damn'd.
Oh, I will leap to heaven: who pulls me down?
See where Christ's blood streams in the firmament:
One drop of blood will save me: Oh, my Christ,
Rend not my heart for naming of my Christ.
Yet will I call on him:
Oh, half the hour is past: 't will all be past anon.
Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years,
A hundred thousand, and at the last be saved:
It strikes, it strikes;
Oh soul, be chang'd into small water drops,
And fall into the ocean: ne'er be found.
56: Voir le jugement de Vittoria Accoramboni, celui de Virginia dans Webster, Coriolan et Jules César dans Shakspeare.
57: Rôle de Falstaff, dans Shakspeare; rôle de la reine, dans London, de Greene et Decker; rôle de Rosalinde, dans Shakespeare.
58: Voyez dans Webster, Duchess of Malfi, une scène d'accouchement admirable.
59: Voyez Hamlet, Coriolan, Hotspur.
Our son is fat and scant of breath.
60: Middleton, the Honest Whore.
61: Beaumont and Fletcher, Valentinian; Thierry and Theodoret. Voir dans Massinger, the Picture: c'est la Barberine de Musset. La crudité, l'énergie extraordinaire et repoussante montreront la différence des deux siècles.
62: Massinger, Duke of Milan.
63:
For with this arm I'll swim through seas of blood,
Or make a bridge arch'd with the bones of men,
But I will grasp my aims in you, my dearest,
Dearest and best of women!
(Massinger, Duke of Milan, acte II, sc. i.)
I'll follow him to hell, but I will find him,
And there live a fourth fury to torment him.
Then, for this cursed hand and arm that guided
The wicked steel, I'll have them joint by joint,
With burning irons sear'd off, which I will eat,
I being a vulture fit to taste such carrion.
(Ibid., acte V, sc. ii.)
64: Massinger, The Fatal Dowry; Webster and Ford, A late meurther of the soun upon the mother; Ford, 'Tis a pity she is a whore. Voir encore The Broken Heart, de Ford, et les sublimes scènes d'agonie et de folie.
65:
Lost! I am lost! My fates have doom'd my death!
The more I strive, I love. The more I love,
The less I hope. I see my ruin certain....
I have even wearied heaven with pray'rs, dried up
The spring of my continual tears, even starv'd
My veins with continual fasts: what wit or art
Could counsel, I have practised; but alas!
I find all these but dreams, and old men's tales,
To fright unsteady youth. I am still the same,
Or I must speak or burst.
('T is a pity she is a whore, acte I.)
66:
Come, strumpet, famous whore!
Harlot, rare, notable harlot,
That with thy brazen face maintain'st thy sin,
Was there no man in Parma to be bawd
To your loose cunning whoredom else but I?
Must your hot itch and pleurisy of lust,
The heyday of your luxury, be fed
Up to a surfeit, and could none but I
Be pick'd out to be cloak to your close tricks,
Your belly-sports?—Now, I must be the dad
To all that gallimaufry that is stuff'd
In thy corrupted bastard-bearing womb?
Why, must I?
ANNABELLA.
Beastly man! why? 'Tis thy fate.
I sued not for thee.
SORANZO.
Tell me by whom.
ANNABELLA.
Soft, 'Twas not in my bargain.
Yet somewhat, sir, to stay your longing stomach
I am content t'acquaint you with: the Man,
The more than man, that got this sprightly boy
(For 'tis a boy, and therefore glory, sir,
Your heir shall be a son).
SORANZO.
Damnable monster!
ANNABELLA.
Nay, an you will not hear, I'll speak no more.
SORANZO.
Yes speak, and speak thy last.
ANNABELLA.
A match, a match!...
... You! why, you are not worthy once to name
His name without true worship, or indeed
Unless you kneel'd, to hear another name him.
SORANZO.
What was he call'd?
ANNABELLA.
We are not come to that.
Let it suffice, that you shall have the glory
To father what so brave a father begot....
SORANZO.
Dost thou laugh?
Come, whore, tell me your lover, or by truth
I'll hew thy flesh to shreds. Who is he?
ANNABELLA.
(Sings) Che morte piu dolce che morire per amore.
SORANZO.
Thus will I pull thy hair and thus I'll drag
Thy lust be-leper'd body through the dust....
(Hales her up and down.)
ANNABELLA.
Be a gallant hangman.
I dare thee to the worst; strike and strike home.
I leave revenge behind, and thou shall feel it.
(To Vasquez.) Pish, do not beg for me, I prize my life
As nothing, if the man will needs be mad,
Why, let him take it.
(Ibid., acte IV, sc. iii.)
67:
These are the funeral tears
Shed on your grave; these furrowed my cheeks
When first I lov'd and knew not how to woo....
Give me your hand; how sweetly life doth run
In these well-colour'd veins! How constantly
These palms do promise health!...
Kiss me again, forgive me.... Farewell....
Soranzo, see this heart, which was thy wife's.
Thus I exchange it royally for thine.
(Ibid., acte V, sc. v.)
68: Édition Dyce, Duchess of Malfi, 60.
For places in court are but like beds in the hospital, where this man's head lies at that man's foot, and so lower and lower.
(Duchess of Malfi, acte II, sc. I.)
69: Personnages de Bosola, de Flaminio.
70: Voyez Stendhal, Chroniques italiennes: les Cenci, la Duchesse de Palliano, et toutes les Vies du temps; celle des Borgia, de Bianca Capello, de Vittoria Accoramboni, etc.
71:
I would have their bodies
Burnt in a coal pit, with the ventage stopp'd,
That their curs'd smoke might not ascend to heaven;
Or dip the sheets they lie in pitch or sulphur,
Wrap them in't, and then light them as a match;
Or else to boil their bastard to a cullis
And give't his lecherous father to renew
The sin of his back.
72:
DUCHESS.
Good comfortable fellow,
Persuade a wretch that's broke upon the wheel
To have all his bones new set: entreat him live
To be executed again. Who must despatch me?
BOSOLA.
Come, be of comfort, I will save your life.
DUCHESS.
Indeed, I have not leisure to tend
So small a business.
BOSOLA.
Now, by my life, I pity you.
DUCHESS.
Thou art a fool then
To wast thy pity upon a thing so wretched
As cannot pity itself. I am full of daggers.
(Ibid., acte V, sc. i.)
73:
CARIOLA.
What think you of, madam?
DUCHESS.
Of nothing:
When I muse thus, I sleep.
CARIOLA.
Like a madman, with your eyes open?
DUCHESS.
Dost thou think we shall know one another
In the other world?
CARIOLA.
Yes, out of question.
DUCHESS.
O, that it were possible we might
But hold some two days conference with the dead!
From them I should learn somewhat, I am sure,
I never shall know here. I'll tell thee a miracle:
I am not mad yet....
The heaven o'er my head seems made of molten brass.
The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad.
I am acquainted with sad misery
As the tann'd galley-slave is with his oar....
DUCHESS.
Farewell, Cariola.
I pray thee, look thou giv'st my little boy
Some syrup for his cold, and let the girl
Say her prayers ere she sleep.... Now what you please.
What death?
BOSOLA.
Strangling; here are your executioners.
DUCHESS.
I forgive them.
The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o'the lungs
Would do as much as they do....
.... My body
Bestow upon my women, will you?
Go, tell my brothers, when I am laid out,
They may then feed in quiet....
CARIOLA.
I will not die; I must not; I am contracted
To a young gentleman.
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
Here's your wedding-ring.
CARIOLA.
If you kill me now,
I am damn'd. I have not been at confession
These two years.
BOSOLA.
When?
CARIOLA.
I am quick with child.
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
She bites and scratches.
BOSOLA.
Delays, throttle her.
(Ibid., acte IV, sc. ii.)
74:
O this gloomy world!
In what a shadow, or deep pit of darkness
Doth womanish and fearful mankind live!...
We are only like dead walls or vaulted graves
That, ruined, yield no echo.
(Duchess of Malfi, V, v.)
Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright,
But look'ed to near, have neither heat nor light.
(Vittoria, page 36.)
75:
This busy trade of life appears most vain,
Since rest breeds rest, where all seek pain by pain.
(The White Devil, dernière scène.)
76:
VITTORIA.
To pass away the time, I'll tell your grace
A dream I had last night....
FLAMINIO.
Excellent devil! she has taught him in a dream
To make away his duchess and her husband!
77:
VITTORIA.
Pray, my lord, let him speak his usual tongue;
I'll make no answer else.
FRANCESCO DE MEDICIS.
Why, you understand Latin.
VITTORIA.
I do, sir; but amongst that auditory
Which comes to hear my cause, the half or more
May be ignorant in it....
I am at the mark, sir; I'll give aim to you
And tell you how near you shoot....
Surely, my lords, this lawyer here hath swallow'd
Some pothecaries' bills or proclamations;
And now the hard and indigestible words
Come up, like stones we use give hawks for physic.
Why, this is Welsh to Latin.
To the point.
78:
Find me guilty, sever head from body,
We'll part good friends: I scorn to hold my life,
At yours or any man's entreaty, sir....
These are but feigned shadows of my evils:
Terrify babes, my lord, with painted devils;
I am past such needless palsy. For your names
Of whore and murderess, they proceed from you,
As if a man should spit against the wind,
The filth returns in's face.
(The White Devil, p. 22, Ed. Dyce.)
79:
.... Take you your course; it seems you have beggar'd me first,
And now would fain undo me. I have houses,
Jewels, and a poor remnant of crusadoes.
Would those would make you charitable!...
In faith, my lord, you might go to pistol flies;
The sport would be more noble.
80:
VITTORIA.
A house of convertites! What's that?
MONTICELSO.
A house
Of penitent whores.
VITTORIA.
Do the noblemen in Rome
Erect it for their wives, that I am sent
To lodge there?...
I will not weep.
No, I do scorn to call one poor tear
To fawn on your injustice. Bear me hence
Unto this house of.... What's your mitigating title?
MONTICELSO.
Of convertites.
VITTORIA.
It shall not be a house of convertites;
My mind shall make it honester to me
Than the Pope's palace, and more peaceable
Than thy soul, though thou art a cardinal.
(Ibidem.)
81: Comparez à Mme Marneffe, de Balzac.
82:
Yes, I shall welcome death
As princes do some great ambassadors;
I'll meet thy weapon half way....
'Twas a manly blow,
The next thou giv'st, murder some sucking infant;
And then thou wilt be famous....
My soul, like a ship in a black storm,
Is driven, I know not whither.
(Dernière scène.)
83: De là le bonheur et la solidité de leur mariage. En France, il n'est qu'une association de deux camarades, presque semblables et presque égaux, ce qui produit les tiraillements et la tracasserie continue.
84: Voir la peinture de ce caractère dans toute la littérature anglaise et allemande. Le plus grand des observateurs, Stendhal, tout imprégné des mœurs et des idées italiennes et françaises, est stupéfait à cette vue. Il ne comprend rien à cette espèce de dévouement, «à cette servitude, que les maris anglais, sous le nom de devoir, ont eu l'esprit d'imposer à leurs femmes.» Ce sont «des mœurs de sérail.» Voyez aussi Corinne.
85:
A perfect woman already: meek and patient.
Heywood.
86: Voir par contraste toutes les femmes de Molière, si françaises, même Agnès et la petite Louison.]
87: Beaumont and Fletcher. Philaster, acte V, sc. v.
EUPHRASIA.
My father oft would speak
Your worth and virtue; and as I did grow
More and more apprehensive, I did thirst
To see the man so praised; but yet all this
Was but a maiden longing, to be lost
As soon as found; till sitting in my window,
Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a God,
I thought (but it was you), enter our gates.
My blood flew out, and back again as fast,
As I had puff'd it forth and suck'd it in
Like breath. Then was I call'd away in haste
To entertain you. Never was a man
Heaved from a sheep-cote to a sceptre, raised
So high in thought as I: You left a kiss
Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep
From you for ever; I did hear you talk,
Far above singing! After you were gone,
I grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd
What stirr'd it so: Alas I found it love:
Yet far from lust. For could I have but lived
In presence of you, I had had my end....
.... Blest be that hand!
It meant me well; Again for pity's sake!
.... Never, sir, will I
Marry; it is a thing within my vow:
But if I may have leave to serve the princess,
To see the virtues of her lord and her,
I shall have hope to live:
ARETHUSA
Come, live with me;
Live free as I do; she that loves my lord,
Curst be the wife that hates her!
88: Rôle de Kaled dans Lara, de lord Byron.
89: Chose étrange! la princesse n'est point jalouse: «Viens, vis avec moi, vis aussi librement que moi-même. Celle qui aime mon seigneur, maudite soit l'épouse qui voudrait la haïr!»
90:
I saw a god.
(Philaster, acte V, sc. v.)
91:
BIANCA.
So dearly I respected both your fame
And quality, that I would first have perish'd
In my sick thought, than e'er have given consent
To have undone your fortunes, by inviting
A marriage with so mean a one as I am.
I should have died sure, and no creature known
The sickness that had kill'd me....
Now since I know
There is no difference 'twixt your birth and mine,
Not much 'twixt our estates (if any be,
The advantage is on my side), I come willingly
To tender you the first-fruits of my heart,
And am content so accept you for my husband
Now when you are at lowest.
CESARIO.
Why, Bianca,
Report has cozen'd thee. I am not fallen
From my expected honours or possessions,
Though from the hope of birth-right.
BIANCA.
Are you not?
Then I am lost again! I have a suit too;
You'll grant it, if you be a good man.
Pray, do not talk of aught I have said to you....
.... Pity me,
But never love me more....
I will pray for you,
That you may have a virtuous wife, a fair one;
And when I am dead....
CESARIO.
Fy, fy!
BIANCA.
Think on me sometimes,
With mercy for this trespass!
CESARIO.
Let us kiss
At parting as at coming.
BIANCA.
This I have
As a free dower to a virgin's grave.
All goodness dwell with you!
(The fair maid of the Inn, acte IV, sc. i.)
Beaumont and Fletcher.
92: Beaumont and Fletcher, Thierry and Theodoret, The Maid's tragedy, Philaster. Voyez aussi le rôle de Lucina dans Valentinian.
93:
ORDELLA.
Let it be what it may be then, what it dare,
I have a mind will hasard it.
THIERRY.
But, hark you;
What may that woman merit, makes this blessing?
ORDELLA.
Only her duty sir.
THIERRY.
'Tis terrible!
ORDELLA.
'Tis so much the more noble.
THIERRY.
'Tis full of fearful shadows!
ORDELLA.
So is sleep, sir,
Or anything that's merely ours and mortal.
We were begotten Gods else. But those fears,
Feeling but once the fires of nobler thoughts,
Fly, like the shapes of the clouds we form, to nothing.
THIERRY.
Suppose it death!
ORDELLA.
I do.
THIERRY.
And endless parting
With all we can call ours, with all our sweetness
With youth, strength, pleasure, people, time, nay reason!
For in the silent grave, no conversation,
No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers,
No careful father's counsel, nothing's heard,
Nor nothing is, but all oblivion,
Dust and an endless darkness: and dare you, woman,
Desire this place?
ORDELLA.
'Tis of all sleeps the sweetest:
Children begin it to us, strong men seek it
And kings from height of all their painted glories,
Fall, like spent exhalations, to this centre....
THIERRY.
Then you can suffer?
ORDELLA.
As willingly as say it.
THIERRY.
Martell, a wonder!
Here's a woman that dares die.—Yet tell me,
Are you a wife?
ORDELLA.
I am, sir.
THIERRY.
And have children?
She sighs, and weeps.
ORDELLA.
Oh none, sir.
THIERRY.
Dare you venture,
For a poor barren praise you never shall hear,
To part with these sweet hopes?
ORDELLA.
With all but heaven.
(Thierry and Theodoret, acte IV.)
94:
This lady
Walks discontented, with her watery eyes
Bent on the earth. The unfrequented woods
Are her delights; and when she sees a bank
Stuck full of flowers, she with a sigh will tell
Her servants what a pretty place it were
To bury lovers in; and make her maids
Pluck 'em, and strew her over like a corpse.
She carries with her an infectious grief,
That strikes all her beholders; she will sing
The mournful'st things that ever ear hath heard,
And sigh, and sing again; and when the rest
Of our young ladies, in their wanton blood,
Tell mirthful tales in course, that fill the room
With laughter, she will, with so sad a look,
Bring forth a story of the silent death
Of some forsaken virgin, which her grief
Will put in such a phrase, that, ere she end,
She'll send them weeping, one by one, away.
(The Maid's tragedy, acte I.)
95:
Avant d'abandonner mon âme à mes douleurs,
Il me faut essayer la force de mes pleurs;
En qualité de fille ou de femme, j'espère
Qu'ils vaincront un époux ou fléchiront un père:
Que si sur l'un ou l'autre ils manquent de pouvoir,
Je ne prendrai conseil que de mon désespoir.
Apprends-moi cependant ce qu'ils ont fait au temple.
Impossible de rencontrer une femme plus raisonnable et plus raisonneuse. De même Éliante, Henriette, dans Molière.
96:
PENTHEA.
Pray, kill me....
Kill me, pray, nay, will you?
ITHOCLES.
How does thy lord esteem thee?
PENTHEA.
Such an one
As only you have made me; a faith-breaker,
A spotted whore. Forgive me, I am one,
In act, not in desires, the Gods must witness...:
For she that's wife to Orgilus, and lives
In known adultery with Bassanes
Is, at the best, a whore. Will kill me now?
The hand-maid to the wages
Of country toil, drinks the untroubled streams
With leaping kids and with the bleating lambs,
And so allays her thirst secure; whilst I
Quench my hot sighs with fleetings of my tears.
(Ford, the Broken heart.)
97:
My glass of life, sweet princess, has few minutes
Remaining to run down; the sands are spent.
For by an inward messenger I feel
The summons of departure short and certain.
Glories
Of human greatness are but pleasing dreams
And shadows soon decaying; on the stage
Of my mortality, my youth has acted
Some scenes of vanity, drawn out at length
By varied pleasures, sweetened in the mixture,
But tragical in issue.
That remedy
Must be a winding sheet, a fold of lead,
And some untrod-on corner in the earth.
(Ibid.)
In vain we labour in this course of life
To piece our journey out at length, or crave
Respite of breath; our home is in the grave.
(Ibid.)
98:
Sure if we were all sirens, we should sing pitifully,
And 'twere a comely music, when in parts
One sung another's knell; the turtle sighs
When he hath lost his mate; and yet some say
He must be dead first. 'Tis a fine deceit
To pass away in a dream! Indeed, I've slept
With mine eyes open, a great while. No falsehood
Equals a broken faith. There's not a hair
Sticks on my head, but, like a leaden plummet,
It sinks me to the grave; I must creep thither,
This journey is not long.
.... Since I was first a wife, I might have been
Mother to many pretty prattling babes;
They would have smiled when I smiled; and, for certain,
I would have cried, when they cried;—Truly, brother,
My father would have pick'd me out a husband,
And then my little ones had been no bastards;
But 'tis too late for me to marry now,
I am past child bearing; 'tis not my fault....
Spare your hand.
Believe me, I'll not hurt it....
Complain not though I wring it hard; I'll kiss it;
Oh 'tis a fine soft palm!—Hark, in thine ear;
Like whom I look, prithee?—Nay, no whispering.
Goodness! we had been too happy; too much happiness
Will make folk proud, they say....
There is no peace left for a ravish'd wife
Widow'd by lawless marriage. To all memory
Penthea's, poor Penthea's name is strumpeted....
Forgive me, oh, I faint.
(Ibidem.)
99: Schopenhauer, Métaphysique de l'amour et de la mort. Swift aussi disait que «la mort et l'amour sont les deux choses où l'homme soit foncièrement déraisonnable.» En effet, c'est l'espèce et l'instinct qui s'y manifestent, non la volonté et l'individu.
100: Mort d'Ophélia, funérailles d'Imogène.
101:
There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead-men's fingers call them.
There on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook.
(Hamlet, acte V, sc. i.)
With fairest flowers,...
I'll sweeten thy sad grave; thou shallt not lack
The flower, that's like thy face; pale primrose; nor
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Outsweeten'd not thy breath.
(Cymbeline, IV, ii.)
102:
Hunting the buck
I found him sitting by a fountain's side,
Of which he borrowed some to quench his thirst,
And paid the nymph again so much in tears.
A garland laid him by, made by himself,
Of many several flowers, bred in the bay,
Stuck in that mystic order, that the rareness
Delighted me: but ever when he turn'd
His tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep,
As if he meant to make 'em grow again.
Seeing such pretty helpless innocence
Dwell in his face, I ask'd him all his story.
He told me that his parents gentle died,
Leaving him to the mercy of the fields.
Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs
Which did not stop their courses; and the sun
Which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his light.
Then he took up his garland, and did shew
What every flower, as country people hold,
Did signify; and how all, order'd thus
Express'd his grief; and to my thoughts, did read
The prettiest lecture of his country art
That could be wish'd....
.... I gladly entertain'd him,
Who was as glad to follow, and have got
The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy,
That ever master kept.
(Philaster, I, 2.)
103: The Sad Shepherd; The Faithful Shepherdess.
104:
Through yon same bending plain
That flings his arms down to the main,
And through these thick woods, have I run,
Whose bottom never kiss'd the sun
Since the lusty spring began....
(The Faithful Shepherdess, acte I, sc. i.)
For to that holy wood is consecrate
A virtuous well, about whose flow'ry banks
The nimble-footed fairies dance their rounds,
By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes.
Their stolen children, so to make them free
From dying flesh, and dull mortality.
(Ibid., sc. ii.)
See the dew-drops how they kiss
Every little flower that is,
Hanging on their velvet heads,
Like a rope of crystal beads;
See the heavy clouds low falling,
And bright Hesperus down calling
The dead night from under ground.
(Ibid., acte II, sc. i.)
Oh, you are fairer far
Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star
That guides the wandering seaman through the deep!
.... I do believe thee: 'Tis as hard for me
To think thee false, and harder than for thee
To hold me foul.
(Ibid., acte I, sc. ii.)
105: Voyez la description de cette coutume dans Nathan Drake.
106:
Speak if thou be there, My Perigot! Thy Amoret, thy dear, Calles on thy loved name....
'Tis thy friend,
Thy Amoret; come hither, to give end
To these consumings. Look up, gentle boy!
I have forgot those pains and dear annoy
I suffer'd for thy sake, and am content
To be thy love again. Why hast thou rent
Those curled locks, where I have often hung
Ribbons and damask roses, and have flung
Waters distill'd to make thee fresh and gay,
Sweeter than nosegays on a bridal day?
Why dost thou cross thine arms, and hang thy face
Down to thy bosom, letting fall apace
From those two little heavens, upon the ground,
Showers of more price, more orient, and more round,
Than those that hang upon the moon's pale brow?
Cease these complainings, shepherd! I am now
The same I ever was, as kind and free,
And can forgive before you ask of me:
Indeed I am and will....
So this work hath end!
Farewell and live! Be constant to thy friend
That loves thee next!
I am thy love!
Thy Amoret, for ever more thy love!
Strike once more on my naked breast, I'll prove
As constant still. Oh! could'st thou love me yet,
How soon could I my former griefs forget!
(The Faithful Shepherdess, acte V, sc. iii et v.)
107: Comparez, pour voir le contraste des races, les pastorales italiennes, l'Aminta du Tasse, il Pastor fido, de Guarini, etc.
108: Fuller's Worthies.
109: «Mountain belly, ungracious gait.» Paroles de Jonson sur lui-même.—Ed. Gifford.
110: Voyez, dans l'histoire de lord Castlereagh, une hallucination analogue. Lord Castlereagh s'est coupé la gorge.
111: Ce caractère tient le milieu entre ceux de Fielding et de Samuel Jonson.
112: À quarante-quatre ans, il s'en alla en Écosse à pied.
113: Rôles de Critès et d'Asper.
114: New Inn, 1627.
115:
If you expect more than you had to-night,
The maker is sick and sad....
All that his faint and faltering tongue doth crave,
Is, that you not impute it to his brain,
That's yet unhurt, although, set round with pain,
It cannot long hold out.
(The New Inn, épilogue.)
116:
Thy Pegasus....
He had bequeathed his belly unto thee
To hold that little learning which is fled,
Into thy guts from out thy emptye head.
117:
Disease the enemy, and his engineers,
Want, with the rest of his conceal'd compeers
Have cast a trench about me, now five years....
The muse not peeps out, one of hundred days;
But lies block'd up, and straiten'd, narrow'd in,
Fix'd to bed and boards, unlike to win
Health, or scarce breath, as she had never been.
(An Epistle mendicant, 1631.)
118: The Devil is an ass.
119: Séjan, Catilina, passim.
120: Alfred de Musset, préface de La Coupe et les Lèvres. Platon, Ion.
121: Comparez sir Épicure Mammon au baron Hulot (Balzac, Parents pauvres). Balzac, qui est savant comme Jonson, fait des êtres réels comme Shakspeare.
122: Prologue de Every man out of his humour.
With an armed and resolute hand,
I'll strip the ragged follies of the time.
Naked as at their birth....
And with a whip of steel,
Print wounding lashes in their iron ribs.
I fear no mood stamp'd in a private brow,
When I am pleased t'unmask a public vice;
I fear no strumpet's drugs, no ruffian's stab,
Shoud I detect their hateful luxuries.
(Every man out of his humour; Prologue.)
123:
O sacred Poesy, thou spirit of arts
The soul of science, and the queen of souls,
What profane violence, almost sacrilege,
Hath here been offered thy divinities!
That thine own guiltless poverty should arm
Prodigious ignorance to wound thee thus!...
.... Would men learn but to distinguish spirits,
And set true difference 'twixt those jaded wits,
That run a broken pace for common hire,
And the high raptures of a happy muse,
Borne on the wings of her immortal thought
That kicks at earth with a disdainful heel,
And beats at heaven gates with her bright hoofs;
They would not then, with such distorted faces,
And desperate censures, stab at Poesy.
(Poetaster, acte I, sc. i.)
124: Voir le deuxième acte de Catilina.
125:
.... Now I see your wisdom, judgment, strength,
Quickness and will, to apprehend the means
To your own good and greatness, I protest
Myself through rarified, and turn'd all flame
In your affection.
(Sejan, acte II, sc. i.)
126:
LIVIA.
How do I look to-day?
EUDEMUS.
Excellent clear, believe it. This same fucus
Was well laid on.
LIVIA.
Methinks 'tis here not white.
EUDEMUS.
Lend me your scarlet, lady. 'Tis the sun,
Hath giv'n some little taint unto the ceruse.
You should have used of the white oil I gave you.
Sejanus for your love! his very name
Commandeth above Cupid or his shafts....
'Tis now well, lady, you should
Use the dentifrice I prescribed to you too,
To clear your teeth, and the prepared pomatum
To smooth the skin.—A lady cannot be
Too curious of her form, that still would hold
The heart of such a person, made her captive,
As you have his; who to endear him more
In your clear eye, hath put away his wife,
Fair Apicata, and made spacious room
To your new pleasures.
LIVIA.
Have not we return'd
That with our hate to Drusus, and discovery
Of all his counsels?
127:
When will you take some physik, lady?
LIVIA.
When
I shall, Eudemus; but let Drusus' drug
Be first prepared.
EUDEMUS.
Were Lygdus made, that's done;
I have it ready. And to morrow morning
I'll sent you a perfume, first to resolve
And procure sweat; and then prepare a bath
To cleanse and clear the cutis; against when
I'll have an excellent new fucus made
Resistive gainst the Sun, the rain or wind
Which you shall lay on with a breath or oil
As you but like, and last some fourteen hours.
This change came timely, lady, for your health....
(Ibidem.)
128: Voy. Catilina, acte II, une très-belle scène, non moins franche et non moins vivante, sur la haute bohême de Rome.
129:
Protest not.
Thy looks are vows to me....
Thou art a man made to make consuls. Go.
(Acte I, sc. ii.)
130:
Cæsar,
Live long and happy, great and royal Cæsar;
The Gods preserve thee, and thy modesty,
Thy wisdom and thy innocence!
Guard
His meekness, Jove; his piety, his care,
His bounty.
(Acte III, sc. i.)
131:
The majesty of great Tiberius Cæsar
Propounds to this grave senate the bestowing
Upon the man he loves, honour'd Sejanus,
The tribunitial dignity and power.
Here are his letters, signed with his signet.
What pleaseth now the fathers to be done?
SENATORS.
Read them, read them, open, publicly read them.
COTTA.
Cæsar hath honour'd his own greatness much
In thinking of this act.
TRIO.
It was a thought
Happy, and worthy Cæsar.
LATIARIS.
And the lord
As worthy it, on whom it is directed!
HATERIUS.
Most worthy!
SANQUINIUS.
Rome did never boast the virtue
That could give envy bounds but his: Sejanus.
FIRST SENATOR.
Honour'd and noble!
SECOND SENATOR.
Good and great Sejanus!
PRÆCO.
Silence!
(Acte V, sc. x.)
132:
«Some there be that would interpret his public severity to be particular ambition; and under a pretext of service to us, he doth but remove his own lets; alleging the strength he has made to himself by the prætorian soldiers, by his faction in court and senate, by the offices he holds himself, and confers on others, his popularity and dependents, his urging and almost driving us to this our unwilling retirement, and, lastly, his aspiring to be our son-in-law.
SENATOR.
«This is strange!»
133:
«Your wisdoms, conscript fathers, are able to examine and censure these suggestions. But were they left to our absolving voice, we durst pronounce them, as we think them, most malicious.
SENATOR.
«O, he has restored all; list!
«Yet they are offered to be avered, and on the lives of the informers....»
134:
FIRST SENATOR.
Away.
SECOND SENATOR.
Sit farther.
COTTA.
Let's remove....
REGULUS.
Take him hence.
And all the gods guard Cæsar!
TRIO.
Take him hence.
HATERIUS.
Hence.
COTTA.
To the dungeon with him.
SANQUINIUS.
He deserves it.
SENATOR.
Crown all our doors with bays.
SANQUINIUS.
And let an ox,
With gilded horns and garlands, straight be led
Unto the Capitol.
HATERIUS.
And sacrified
To Jove, for Cæsar's safety.
TRIO.
All our Gods
Be present still to Cæsar!...
COTTA.
Let all the traitor's titles be defaced.
TRIO.
His images and statues be pull'd down.
SENATOR.
Liberty! liberty! liberty! Lead on,
And praised be Macro, that hath saved Rome!
(Ibidem.)
135:
Though need make many poets, and some such
As art and nature have not better'd much,
Yet ours for want hath not so loved the stage,
As he dare serve the ill customs of the age,
Or purchase your delight at such a rate,
As, for it, he himself must justly hate.
To make a child new-swaddled to proceed
Man, and then shoot up, in one beard and weed,
Past threescore years; or with three rusty swords,
And help of some few foot and half-foot words,
Fight over York and Lancaster's long jars....
He rather prays you will be pleas'd to see
One such to-day as other plays should be;
Where neither chorus wafts you o'er the seas,
Nor creaking throne comes down the boys to please,
Nor nimble squib is seen to make afear
The gentlewomen....
But deeds and language such as men do use....
You, that have so grac'd monsters, may like men.
(Every man in his humour, Prologue.)
136:
When some one peculiar quality
Doth so possess a man, that it doth draw
All his affects, his spirits and his powers,
In their confluctions, all to run one way,
This may be truly said to be a humour....
137:
I will scourge those apes,
And to those courteous eyes oppose a mirror,
As large as is the stage whereon we act;
Where they shall see the time's deformity
Anatomized in every nerve and sinew,
With constant courage and contempt of fear....
My strict hand
Was made to seize on vice, and with a gripe
Squeeze out the humour of such spongy souls
As lick up every idle vanity.
(Every man out of his humour, Prologue.)
138: Comparez le Volpone au Légataire de Regnard, le seizième siècle qui finit au dix-huitième qui commence.
139:
Good morning to the day, and, next, my gold!
Open the shrine, that I may see my saint.
Hail the world's soul and mine!... O thou son of Sol,
But brighter than thy father, let me kiss,
With adoration, thee and every relick
Of sacred treasure in this blessed room!
(Acte I, sc. i.)
140:
Letting the cherry knock against their lips,
And draw it by their mouths, and back again.
(Ibidem.)
141:
VOLTORE.
Am I inscribed his heir for certain?
MOSCA.
Are you?
I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe
To write me in your family. All my hopes
Depend upon your worship. I am lost,
Except the rising sun do shine on me.
VOLTORE.
It shall both shine and warm thee, Mosca.
MOSCA.
Sir,
I am a man that hath not done your love
All the worst offices; here I wear your keys,
See all your coffers and your caskets lock'd,
Keep the poor inventory of your jewels,
Your plate and monies; am your steward, sir,
Husband your goods here.
VOLTORE.
But am I sole heir?
MOSCA.
Without a partner, sir; confirm'd this morning;
The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry
Upon the parchment.
VOLTORE.
Happy, happy me!
By what good chance, sweet Mosca?
MOSCA.
Your desert, sir;
I know no second cause....
When will you have your inventory brought, sir?
Or see a copy of the will?
(Acte I, sc. i.)
142:
MOSCA.
His mouth
Is ever gaping and his eyelids hang.
CORBACCIO.
Good.
MOSCA.
A freezing numbness stiffens all his joints
And makes the colour of his flesh like lead.
CORBACCIO.
'Tis good.
MOSCA.
His pulse beats slow and dull.
CORBACCIO.
Good symptoms still.
MOSCA.
And from his brain....
CORBACCIO.
I conceive you; good.
MOSCA.
Flows a cold sweat, with a continual rheum,
Forth the resolved corners of his eyes.
CORBACCIO.
Is't possible? Yet I am better, ha!
How does he, with the swimming of his head?
MOSCA.
O, sir, 'tis past the scotomy; he now
Hath left his feeling, and has left to snort:
You hardly can perceive him, that he breathes.
CORBACCIO.
Excellent, excellent! Sure, I shall outlast him.
This makes me young again, a score of years.
(Ibid.)
143:
CORVINO.
Am I his heir?
MOSCA.
Sir, I am sworn, I may not show the will
Till he be dead; but here has been Corbaccio,
Here has been Voltore, here were others too;
I cannot number 'em, they were so many,
All gaping here for legacies; but I,
Taking the vantage of his naming you,
Signior Corvino, signior Corvino, took
Paper and pen and ink, and there I asked him,
Whom he would have his heir? Corvino. Who
Should be executor? Corvino. And
To any question he was silent to,
I still interpreted the nods he made
Through weakness for consent, and sent home th' others,
Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry and curse.
CORVINO.
O, my dear Mosca!... Has he children?
MOSCA.
Bastards,
Some dozen or more, that he begat on beggars,
Gypsies and Jews, and black-moors, when he was drunk....
Speak out,
You may be louder yet.
Faith, I could stifle him rarely with a pillow,
As well as any woman that should keep him.
CORVINO.
Do as you will; but I'll begone.
144:
My divine Mosca!
Thou hast to-day outgone thyself....
Prepare
Me music, dances, banquets, all delights;
The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasures
Than will Volpone.
(Ibid.)
145:
VOLPONE.
Mosca, take my keys,
Gold, plate and jewels, all's at thy devotion;
Employ them how thou wilt; nay, coin me too,
So thou, in this, but crown my longings, Mosca....
MOSCA.
Have you no kinswoman?...
... Think, think, think, think, think, think, think, sir.
One o' the doctors offer'd his daughter.
CORVINO.
How?
MOSCA.
Yes, signior Lupo, the physician.
CORVINO.
His daughter!
MOSCA.
And a virgin, sir....
CORVINO.
Wretch!
Covetous wretch!
(Acte II, sc. iii.)
146: Nous supplions le lecteur de nous pardonner les grossièretés de Jonson. Si je les omets, je ne puis plus peindre le seizième siècle. Accordez la même indulgence à l'historien qu'à l'anatomiste.
147:
Be damn'd!
Heart, I will drag thee hence, home, by the hair,
Cry thee a strumpet through the streets; rip up
Thy mouth into thine ears; and slit thy nose,
Like a raw rocket!—Do not tempt me, come,
Yield, I am loth.—Death! I will buy some slave
Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him, alive,
And at my window hang you forth, devising
Some monstrous crime, which I, in capital letters,
Will eat into thy flesh with aqua-fortis,
And burning corsives on this stubborn breast.
Now, by the blood thou hast incensed, I'll do it!
CELIA.
Sir, what you please, you may, I am your martyr.
CORVINO.
Be not thus obstinate; I have not deserved it.
Think who it is intreats you. 'Prithee, sweet.
Good faith, thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires,
What thou wilt think and ask. Do but go kiss him.
Or touch him, but. For my sake, at my suit.
This once.—No? not? I shall remember this.
Will you disgrace me thus? Do you thirst my undoing?
(Acte III, v.)
148:
MOSCA.
Sir,
Signior Corvino.... hearing of the consultation had
So lately for your health, is come to offer,
Or rather, sir, to prostitute....
CORVINO.
Thanks, sweet Mosca.
MOSCA.
Freely, unask'd, or unintreated.
CORVINO.
Well.
MOSCA.
As the true fervent instance of his love,
His own most fair and proper wife; the beauty
Only of price in Venice.
CORVINO.
'Tis well urged.
(Ibid.)
149:
Take these,
And wear, and lose them; yet remains an ear ring,
To purchase them again, and this whole state.
A gem but worth a private patrimony
Is nothing. We will eat such at a meal.
The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales,
The brains of peacocks and of estriches
Shall be our food....
Conscience? 'Tis the beggar's virtue....
Thy bathes shall be the juice of july-flower,
Spirit of roses and violets,
The milk of unicorns and panther's breath
Gather'd in bags, and mixt with Cretan wines.
Our drink shall be prepared gold and amber,
Which we will take, until my roof whirl round
With the vertigo; and my dwarf shall dance,
My eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic,
Whilst we, in changed shapes, act Ovid's tales,
Thou like Europa now, and I like Jove,
Then I like Mars, and thou like Erycine,
So of the rest, till we have quite run through,
And wearied all the fables of the Gods.
(Acte III, sc. v.)
150:
CORVINO.
This woman, please your fatherhoods, is a whore,
Of most hot exercise, more than a partrich,
Upon record.
FIRST AVOCAT.
No more.
CORVINO.
Neighs like a jennet.
NOTARY.
Preserve the honour of the court.
CORVINO.
I shall,
And modesty of your most reverend ears.
And yet I hope that I may say, these eyes
Have seen her glued unto that piece of cedar,
That fine well timber'd gallant; and that here
The letters may be read, through the horn,
That make the story perfect.
THIRD AVOCAT.
His grief hath made him frantic.
(Cœlia swoons.)
CORVINO.
Rare!
Prettily feign'd; again!...
151:
MOSCA.
To gull the court.
VOLPONE.
And quite divert the torrent
Upon the innocent....
MOSCA.
You are not taken with it enough, methinks.
VOLPONE.
O, more than if I had enjoy'd the wench!
(Acte IV, sc. ii; acte V, sc. i.)
152:
Why would you stay here? With what thought, what promise?
Hear you; do you not know, I know you an ass,
And that you would most fain have been a wittol,
If fortune would have let you? That you are
A declared cuckold, on good terms? This pearl,
You'll say, was yours? Right. This diamond?
I'll not deny't, but thank you. Much here else?
It may be so. Why, think that all these good works
May help to hide your bad....
CORBACCIO.
I am cozen'd, cheated, by a parasite slave;
Harlot, thou hast gull'd me.
MOSCA.
Yes, sir; stop your mouth,
Or I shall draw the only tooth is left.
Are you not he, that filthy covetous wretch,
With the three legs, that here, in hope of prey,
Have, any time, this three years, snuff'd about,
With your most grovelling nose, and would have hired
Me to the poisoning of my patron, sir?
Are you not he that have to day in court
Profess'd the disinheriting of your son,
Perjured yourself? Go home, and die, and stink.
(Acte V, sc. i.)
153:
CORVINO.
Yes,
And have mine eyes beat out with stinking fish,
Bruised fruit, and rotten eggs.—'Tis well. I am glad
I shall not see my shame yet.
(Acte V, sc. viii.)
154:
Why, did you think you had married a statue, or a motion only? one of the French puppets, with the eyes turned with a wire? or some innocent out of the hospital that would stand with her hands thus, and a plaise mouth, and look upon you?
(Acte III, scène ii.)
155:
Rogues, hell-hounds, Stentors!... They have rent my roof, walls, and all my windows asunder, with their brazen throats.
(Acte IV, scène ii.)
156: Comparez M. de Pourceaugnac, dans Molière.
157: Polichinelle dans le Malade imaginaire, Géronte dans Scapin.
158: L'École des Femmes, Tartuffe, le Misanthrope, le Bourgeois gentilhomme, le Malade imaginaire, Georges Dandin.
159: Analogue aux Fourberies de Scapin.
160: Analogue aux Fâcheux.
161: Analogue aux Précieuses.
162: Analogue aux pièces de Destouches.
163: Entendez la reine Élisabeth.
164:
My light-feather-heel'd coz, what are you any more than my uncle Jove's pander? a lacquey that runs on errands for him and can whisper a light message to a loose wench, with some round volubility? one that sweeps the gods' drinking room every morning and set the cushions in order again, which they threw one at another's head over night?
(Cynthia's Revels, acte I, sc. i.)
165:
See, see the mourning fount, whose springs
Th' untimely fate of that too beauteous boy weep yet,
That trophy of self-love, and spoil of nature,
Who, now transform'd into this drooping flower,
Hangs the repentant head, back from the stream....
Witness thy youth's dear sweets here spent untasted,
Like a fair taper with his own flame wasted!...
But with thy water let this curse remain,
As an inseparate plague, that who but taste
A drop thereof, may with the instant touch,
Grow dotingly enamour'd on themselves.
(Ibid.)
166:
But knowing myself an essence too sublimated and refined by travel.... able to speak the mere extraction of language, one that was your first that ever enrich'd his country with the true laws of duello, whose optics have drunk the spirit of beauty in some eight score and eighteen prince's courts where I have resided, and been there fortunate in the amours of three hundred forty and five ladies, all nobly, if not princely descended.... In all so happy, as even admiration herself doth seem to fasten her kisses upon me.
(Ibid.)
167:
O vanity,
How are thy painted beauties doted on,
By light and empty idiots! How pursued
With open and extended appetite!
How they do sweat, and run themselves from breath,
Raised on their toes to catch thy airy forms,
Still turning giddy, till they reel like drunkards,
That buy the merry madness of an hour,
With the long irksomeness of following time!
(Ibid.)
168:
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep....
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal shining quiver,
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever.
(Acte V, sc. iii.)
169: A celebration of Charis. Miscellaneous poems.
170: Masque of Beauty.
171:
Earine,
Who had her very being and her name,
With the first knots or buddings of the spring,
Born with the primrose, or the violet
Or earliest roses blown; when Cupid smiled,
And Venus led the Graces out to dance,
And all the flowers and sweets in Nature's lap
Leap'd out, and made their solemn conjuration
To last but while she lived.
(Acte I, sc. ii.)
But she, as chaste as was her name, Earine,
Died undeflower'd; and now her sweet soul hovers
Here in the air above us.
(Acte III, sc. i.)
172: On pourra suivre cette idée en psychologie: la perception extérieure, la mémoire sont des hallucinations vraies, etc. Ceci est le point de vue analytique: à un autre point de vue, au contraire, la raison, la santé sont des buts naturels.
173: Voy. Spinosa et D. Stewart: La conception à son état naturel est croyance.
174: Halliwell's Life of Shakspeare.
175: Né en 1564, mort en 1616. Il retouche des pièces dès 1591. La première pièce qui soit de lui tout entière est de 1593. (Payne Collier.)
176: M. Halliwell et d'autres commentateurs tâchent de prouver qu'à cette époque les fiançailles préalables constituaient le vrai mariage; que ces fiançailles avaient eu lieu, et qu'ainsi il n'y a rien d'irrégulier dans la conduite de Shakspeare.
177: Halliwell, 123.
178: Toutes ces anecdotes sont des traditions, et partant plus ou moins douteuses; mais les autres faits sont authentiques.
179: 1589. Termes d'un document conservé. Il est nommé avec Burbadge et Greene.
180:
Alas; 'tis true, I have gone here and there,
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gor'd mine own thoughts; sold cheap what is most dear.
181: Sonnets 91 et 111. Hamlet, III, scène ii. Plusieurs des paroles d'Hamlet sont moins bien placées dans la bouche d'un prince que dans celle de l'auteur. Comparez le sonnet: Tired with all these; etc.
182:
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my out-cast state,
And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope;
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd...,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in those thoughts myself almost despising.
183:
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?
184:
O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
That did not better for my life provide,
Than public means, which public manners breed.
185: Anecdote écrite en 1602, d'après l'acteur Tooley.
186: William, nom de Shakspeare.
187: Le comte de Southampton avait dix-neuf ans quand Shakspeare lui dédia son Adonis.
188: Voy. les Amours des dieux, au château de Blenheim, par Titien.
189:
With blindfold fury she begins to forage,
Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil.
190:
And, glutton-like, she feeds, yet never filleth;
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,
Paying what ransom the insulter willeth,
Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high
That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry.
Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,
Lives with her beak on feathers, flesh, and bone,
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuff'd, or prey be gone;
Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends she doth anew begin.
191:
Lo, hear the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts on up high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast,
The sun ariseth in his majesty;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold,
The cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.
192: Comparez les premières poésies d'Alfred de Musset, Contes d'Italie et d'Espagne.
193: Crawley, cité par Chasles, Études sur Shakspeare.
194:
When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies.
195:
Those lips of thine
That have profan'd their scarlet ornaments,
And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee.
196: Voy. la fin de Gérard de Nerval.
197:
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame,
Which, like a canker in a fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!
That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport,
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise;
Naming thy name blesses an ill report.
198:
Elle était brune, ni belle, ni jeune, et mal famée. (Sonnets.)
199:
From you I have been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,
Had put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
200:
Nor did I wonder at the lilies white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose.
201:
The forward violet thus I did chide:
«Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride,
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells,
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd.»
The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair:
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair.
A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both,
And to this robbery had annex'd thy breath;
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see
But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee.
202:
Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Who, like two spirits, do suggest me still.
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side.
.... Love is too young to know what conscience is....
For thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason....
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
203: Cette interprétation nouvelle des Sonnets est due aux conjectures ingénieuses et solides de M. Chasles.
204: Love is my sin. (142e sonnet.)
205: Miranda, Desdémona, Viola. Premières paroles du duc dans la Nuit des Rois:
DUKE.
If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.—
That strain again;—it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing, and giving odour.—Enough, no more,
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soever,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute, so full of shapes is fancy,
That it alone is high-fantastical.
206: Témoignages de Jonson et de Chettle. Melliferous, honey-tongued. Voy. Halliwell, 183.
207:
Haply I think of thee,—and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate.
208:
That time of year thou mayst in me behold,
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest....
209:
No longer mourn for me, when I am dead,
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
210: Le rôle où il excellait était celui du fantôme dans Hamlet.
211: In his own conceit the only shake-scene in the country.
212: «He was a respectable man.—A good word: what does it mean?—He kept a gig.» Procès anglais.
213: Voy. ses portraits et surtout son buste.
214: Voy. surtout ses dernières pièces: Tempest, Twelfth night.
215: Hamlet, III, scène iv.
216:
The single and peculiar life is bound,
With all the strength and armour of the mind,
To keep itself from 'noyance; but much more
That spirit, upon whose weal depend and rest
The lives of many. The cease of majesty
Dies not alone, but, like a gulf, doth draw
What's near it, with it: it is a massy wheel,
Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount,
To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things
Are mortis'd and adjoin'd, which, when it falls,
Each small annexment, petty consequence,
Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone
Did the king sigh, but with a general groan.
217:
A station like the herald Mercury
New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill.
218:
Such an act, that blurs the grace and blush of modesty;
Calls virtue, hypocrite; takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows
As false as dicers' oaths: O such a deed
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very soul; and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words: Heaven's face doth glow;
Yea, this solidity and compound mass,
With tristful visage, as against the doom,
Is thought sick at the act.
219: C'est pourquoi, aux yeux d'un écrivain du dix-septième siècle, le style de Shakspeare est le plus obscur, le plus prétentieux, le plus pénible, le plus barbare et le plus absurde qui fut jamais.
220: Le Dictionnaire de Shakspeare est le plus abondant de tous. Il comprend environ 15000 mots, et celui de Milton 8000.
221: Voy. dans Hamlet le discours de Laërtes à sa sœur, et de Polonius à Laërtes. Le style est hors de la situation, et on voit là à nu le procédé naturel et obligé de Shakspeare.
222: Winter's Tale, acte I, scène i.
223: Il y a ici un calembour intraduisible.
224:
What, hast smutch'd thy nose?—
They say it's a copy out of mine. Come, captain,
We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:...
Come, sir page, look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain!
Most dear'st! my collop! Looking on the lines
Of my boy's face, methought, I did recoil
Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd
In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled
Lest it should bite its master....
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
This squash, this gentleman:...
My brother, are you so fond of your prince,
As we do seem to be of ours?
225:
POLYXENES.
If at home, sir,
He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter:
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy;
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all!
He makes a July's day short as December;
And, with his varying childness, cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood.
226:
How now! how now, chop-logic? What is this?
Proud,—and I thank you,—and I thank you not;—
And yet not proud:—mistress minion, you,
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds;
But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,
To go with Paris to Saint Peter's church,
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.
Out, you green sick carrion! out, you baggage,
You tallow-face!
JULIET.
Good father, I beseech you on my knees,
Hear me with patience but to speak a word.
CAPULET.
Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!
I tell thee what,—get thee to church o'Thursday,
Or never after look me in the face:
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me;
My fingers itch....
LADY CAPULET.
You are too hot.
CAPULET.
God's bread! it makes me mad. Day, night, early,
At home, abroad, alone, in company,
Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been
To have her match'd: and having now provided
A gentleman of princely parentage;
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,
Stuff'd (as they say) with honourable parts,
Proportion'd as one's heart could wish a man,—
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
To answer, "I'll not wed,—I cannot love,—
I am too young,—I pray you pardon me;—"
But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you:
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me;
Look to't, think on 't, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:
An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets,
For, by my soul, I'll never acknowledge thee.
227: King Henri VIII, acte II, scène iii, etc.
228: Much ado about nothing. Voy. la façon dont Henri V fait la cour à Catherine de France.
229:
BENEDICT.
I will go to the antipodes... rather than bold three words' conference with this harpy.... I cannot endure my lady Tongue.
DON PEDRO.
You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.
BEATRICE.
So I would not he should do me, my lord, but I should prove the mother of fools.
230:
He call'd her whore; a beggar, in his drink,
Could not have laid such terms upon his callet.
231: Henri VI, 2e part., acte IV, scène iii.
232:
JAKE CADE.
There shall be in England seven half-penny loaves sold for a penny.... There shall be no money: all shall eat and drink on my score, and I will apparel them all in our livery.
And here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and command, that, of the city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing but claret-wine this first year of our reign.... Away, burn all the records of the realm; my mouth shall be the parliament of England.... And henceforth all things shall be held in common.... What canst thou answer to my majesty for giving up of Normandy unto Monsieur Basimecu, the dauphin of France?
The proudest peer of the realm shall not wear a head on his shoulders unless he pays me tribute; there shall not be a maid married, but she shall pay to me her maidenhead ere they have it. (Re-enter rebels with the heads of Lord Say and his son-in-law.) But is not this braver? Let them kiss one another, for they loved well when they were alive.
233:
Fellows, hold the chair: Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot.
(Gloster is held down in the chair, while Cornwall plucks out one of his eyes, and sets his foot on it.)
GLOSTER.
He that will think to live till he be old,
Give me some help:—O cruel! O ye gods!
REGAN.
One side will mock another; the other too.
CORNWALL.
If you see vengeance....
SERVANT.
Hold your hand, my lord.
I have serv'd you ever since I was a child:
But better service have I never done you,
Than now to bid you hold.
CORNWALL.
How now, you dog?
SERVANT.
If you did wear a beard upon your chin,
I'd shake it in this quarrel: What do you mean?
CORNWALL.
My villain! (Draws, and runs at him.)
SERVANT.
Nay, then come down, and take the chance of anger.
(Draws; they fight; Cornwall is wounded.)
REGAN.
Give me thy sword. (To another servant.)
A peasant stand up thus!
(Snatches a sword, comes behind, and stabs him.)
SERVANT.
O, I am slain! My lord! you have one eye left
To see some mischief in him:—O! (Dies.)
CORNWALL.
Lest it see more, prevent it:—Out, vile jelly:
Where is thy lustre now?
(Tears out Gloster's other eye, and throws it on the ground.)
GLOSTER.
All dark and comfortless. Where's my son?...
REGAN.
Go, thrust him out at gates, and let him smell
His way to Dover....
234:
CALIBAN.
Beat him enough: after a little time,
I'll beat him too.
Pry thee, my king, be quiet: seest thou here,
This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter:
Do that good mischief, which may make this island
Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,
For aye thy foot-licker.
235:
I am not warm yet: let us fight again.
Voyez acte III, scène II, la plaisante façon dont les généraux poussent en avant cette vaillante brute.
236:
CLOTEN.
His garment? Now, the devil,—
IMOGEN.
To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.
CLOTEN.
You have abus'd me? His meanest garment?
I'll be reveng'd:—his meanest garment, well.
With that suit upon my back, will I ravish her: First, kill him and in her eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He, on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body,—and when my lust has dined,—(which, as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the clothes that she so praised) to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home again.
237: Roméo et Juliette.
238:
NURSE.
'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
LADY CAPULET.
She's not fourteen.
NURSE.
Come Lammas eve at night, shall she be fourteen.
Susan and she,—God rest all Christian souls!—
Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God;
She was too good for me: But, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd—I never shall forget it,—
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug.
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall,
My lord and you were then at Mantua:—
Nay, I do bear a brain:—but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool!
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug.
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow,
To bid me trudge.
And since that time it is eleven years:
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all about.
For even the day before she broke her brow.
239:
NURSE.
Jesu! What haste? Can you not stay awhile?
Do you not see that I am out of breath?
JULIET.
How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath
To say to me that thou art out of breath?
Is thy news good, or bad? Answer to that:
Say either, and I will stay the circumstance:
Let me be satisfied, is it good or bad?
NURSE.
Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo, no, not he; though his face be better than any man's. Yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body,—though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: He is not the flower of courtesy,—but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb.—Go thy ways, wench; serve God:—What, have you dined at home?
JULIET.
No, no: but all this did I know before:
What says he of our marriage? What of that?
NURSE.
Lord! how my head aches,—what a head have I!
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
My back, o' t'other side,—O my back, my back!—
Beshrew your heart, for sending me about,
To catch my death with jaunting up and down!
JULIET.
I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well,—
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?
NURSE.
Your love says like an honest gentleman,
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,
And, I warrant, a virtuous:—Where is your mother?
240:
NURSE.
O, he's a lovely gentleman!
Romeo's a dishclout to him; an eagle, Madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye,
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you are happy in this second match,
For it excels your first.
241:
Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! Stabbed with a white wench's black eyes; shot through the ear with a love-song, the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft.
242:
O, she misused me past the endurance of a block; an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would have answered her; my very visor began to assume life, and scold with her.
243:
O, then, I see, Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
In shape no bigger than the agate-stone
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bones; the lash, of film;
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat;
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut;
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight:
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream....
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as he lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometimes she driveth on a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscades, Spanish blades,
Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear; at which he starts, and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes the elf locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This, this is she....
244:
There's but a shirt and a half in all my company; and the half-shirt is two napkins tacked together.... and the shirt stolen from my host at St. Alban.... they'll find linen enough on every hedge.
PRINCE.
I never did see such pitiful rascals.
FALSTAFF.
Tut, tut; good enough to toss; food for powder, food for powder. They'll fill a pit as well as better. Tush, man, mortal men, mortal men.
245:
Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold.... What, shall we be merry? Shall we have a play extempore?
246:
Be thou assur'd, good Cassio....
My lord shall never rest;
I'll watch him tame, and talk him out of patience;
His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift;
I'll intermingle everything he does
With Cassio's suit....
247:
OTHELLO.
Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time.
DESDEMONA.
But shall't be shortly?
OTHELLO.
The sooner, sweet, for you.
DESDEMONA.
Shall't be to-night at supper?
OTHELLO.
No, not to-night.
DESDEMONA.
To-morrow dinner, then?
OTHELLO.
I shall not dine at home.
DESDEMONA.
Why, then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday,
Or Tuesday noon, or night; or Wednesday morn;—
I pray thee, name the time, but let it not
Exceed three days; in faith, he's penitent....
Why, this is not a boon;
'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,
Or keep you warm, or sue to you to do peculiar profit
To your own person....
Shall I deny you? No: farewell, my lord;
Emilia, come:—be it as your fancies teach you.
Whate'er you be, I am obedient.
248: