# Blackwood's Magazine/Volume 74/Issue 454/New Readings in Shakespeare (No. 1)

New Readings in Shakespeare No. 1
No. 2→
In the original magazine, the READINGS under review were displayed at the bottom of this first page, 181.
NEW READINGS IN SHAKESPEARE.
A copy of almost any ancient author, with its margins studded with antique manuscript jottings, is a treasure to the scholar who possesses it, and a sore temptation to all his antiquarian friends. What, then, must be the pricelessness of an early folio, thus annotated, of Shakespeare the Emperor of all the Literatures? Would not a lover of the poet be almost inclined to sell his whole library in order to purchase that single book? And when secured, with what zest would he not set himself to decipher the crabbed hieroglyphics on the margins of the intoxicating windfall! The 'various readings, recommended by the charm of novelty, and yet apparently as old, and perhaps as genuine as the printed text, would gradually become its rivals. Alterations, occasionally felicitous, would throw an air of respectability over their less insinuating associates. Sole possession would enhance the importance of the discovery. Solitary enjoyment would deepen the relish of the entertainment. The situation is one not at all favourable to the exercise of a sound critical judgment. Imagination goes to work, and colours the facts according to its own wishes; and faith and hope, "hovering o'er," at length drive away all misgivings as to the authenticity of the emendations. That fine old handwriting, which is as conscientious as it is curious, is itself a guarantee that the corrections are not spurious—are not merely conjectural. The manuscript-corrector must have had good grounds for what he did. He may have been Shakespeare's bosom friend, his boon companion, his chosen confidant, and perhaps the assistant in his labours; or, if not that, at any rate the friend of some one who had known the great dramatist well—was acquainted with his innermost thoughts—and as intimate with his works, and with all that he intended to express, as if he himself had written them. At all events, the corrector must have had access to sources of information respecting the text of the plays, the results of which have perished to all the world—except me, the happy holder of this unique and inestimable volume. Such, we conceive, would be the state of mind and the train of reasoning into which a man would naturally be thrown by the acquisition of such an agitating prize as we have supposed. Under the excitement of his feelings, the authority of the corrector of the work would, in all likelihood, supersede the authority of its composer; the penman would carry the day against the printer; and the possessor of the book would do his best to press the "new readings" into the ears and down the throats of a somewhat uncritical but not altogether passive or unsuspicious public. The case which we have described is to be understood as a general and ideal one; but something of this kind ​seems to have befallen Mr Collier, whom accident lately placed in possession of a copy of the folio of Shakespeare, 1632, plentifully garnished with manuscript note and emendations. in these trying circumstances he has acted very much in the way which might have been anticipated It is true that he announces his good fortune in a strain of moderated enthusiasm. "In the spring of 1849," says he, "I happened to be it the shop of the late Mr Rodd, of Great Newport Street, at a time when a package of books arrived from the country." Among them was a very indifferent copy of the folio of Shakespeare, 1632, which Mr Collier, concluding hastily that it would complete an imperfect copy of the same edition which he had purchased from the same bookseller some time before, bought for thirty shillings. The purchase did not answer its purpose. The two leaves that were wanted to complete the other folio "were unfit for my purpose, not merely by being too short" (how very particular these book-fanciers are), "but otherwise damaged and defaced. Thus disappointed, I threw it by, and did not see it again until I made a selection of books I would take with me on quitting London. On consulting it afterwards," continues Mr Collier, "it struck me that Thomas Perkins, whose name, with the addition of 'his Booke,' was upon the cover, might be the old actor who had performed in Marlowe's Jew of Malta on its revival shortly before 1633." That would have been an important fact, as helping to connect the MS. corrections closely with the Shakespearian era. But here Mr Collier was doomed to disappointment. On further inquiry he found that the actor's name was Richard Perkins: "still," says he, with a faith too buoyant to be submerged by such a trifle, "Thomas Perkins might have been a descendant of Richard," from whom, of course, he probably inherited a large portion of the emendations. "This circumstance," says Mr Collier, "and others, induced me to examine the volume more particularly: I then discovered, to my surprise, that there was hardly a page which did not present, in a handwriting of the time, some emendations in the pointing or in the text, while on most of them they were frequent, and on many numerous. Of course I now submitted the folio to a most careful scrutiny; and as it occupied a considerable time to complete the inspection, how much more must it have consumed to make the alterations? The ink was or various shades, differing sometimes on the same page, and was once disposed to think that two distinct hands had been employed upon them. This notion I have since abandoned, and I am now decidedly of opinion that the same writing prevails from beginning to end, but that the amendments must have been introduced from time to time during perhaps the course of several years."
But although Mr Collier speaks thus calmly of his prize we are nevertheless convinced, by the rapidity of his conversion from the old readings to the new, that he, like the rest of us, is liable to be carried a little off his feet by any sudden stroke of prosperity, and is keenly alive (as most people are) to the superior merits of anything that happens to be his own. It is our nature to admire what we alone have been privileged to possess or to discover. Hence Mr Collier has stepped at one plunge from possession into cordial approbation and unhesitating adoption of most of the corrections set forth on the margins of his folio. Formerly the stanchest defender of the old Shakesperian text, he is now the advocate of changes in it, to an extent which calls for very grave considerations on the part of those who regard the language of the poet as a sacred inheritance, not to be disturbed by innovations, without the strongest evidence, the most conclusive reasons, and the most clamant necessity being adduced in their support.
We are far from blaming Mr Collier for having published his volume of "Notes and Emendations." Although it might be advantageously reduced in balk by the omission of many details occupied with the settlement of matters which have been long ago settled, still it is in some respects a valuable contribution to the literature of Shakespeare. We have no faith whatever in the authenticity of the new readings; a ​few of them, however—a very few—seem to us to be irresistibly established by their own self-evidence; while the whole of them are invested with a certain degree of interest as the interpretations of an indefatigable, though thick-headed-—of a blundering, yet early and perhaps almost contemporary, scholiast. As a matter of curiosity, and as indicative of the state of English criticism in the 17th century, the new readings are acceptable; and the thanks of the literary portion of the community are due to Collier for having favoured them with this publication. But here the obligation stops. To insert the new readings into the text, and to publish them as the genuine words of Shakespeare (which we understand Mr Collier has either done or threatens to do), is a proceeding which cannot be too solemnly denounced. This is to poison our Language in its very "wells of English undefiled." It is to obliterate the distinctions which characterise the various eras of our vernacular tongue; for however near to the time of Shakespeare our newly discovered scholiast may have lived, there was doubtless some interval between them—an interval during which our language was undergoing considerable changes. It is to lose hold of old modes of thought, as well as of old forms of expression;—it is to confound the different styles of our literature;—it is to vitiate with anachronisms the chronology of our speech;—it is to profane the memory of Shakespeare.
When we look for evidence in favour of the authenticity of these (so-called) "Emendations," we look for it in vain. The state of the case may perhaps be understood, by attending to the following particulars. Of Shakespeare's handwriting, so far as is known, there is not now extant so much as "the scrape of a pen," with the exception of the autograph of his name. Of his plays, thirteen were published in an authentic form during his life, and four in spurious or "pirated" editions. These are called the quartos. After his death, one of his plays was published, by itself, for the first time—"Othello." In 1623, seven years after his death, the first folio appeared. It contains the eighteen plays just referred to, with the addition of eighteen, now published for the first time. This folio 1623 was printed (if we are to believe its editors, and there is no reason to doubt their word) from Shakespeare's own manuscripts, and from the quarto editions, revised and corrected to some extent, either by his own hand or under his authority. So that the folio 1623 is the highest authority that can be appealed to in the settlement of his text. It ranks even before the quartos, except in cases of obvious misprint, or other self-evident oversights. To it, in so far as external evidence is concerned, all other proofs must yield. Internal evidence may occasionally solicit the alteration of its text; but such emendations must, in every case, be merely conjectural. It is the basis of every genuine edition, and must continue so, until Shakespeare's own manuscripts be brought to light.
Out of these circumstances an important consideration arises. It is this, that we are not entitled, on any account, to alter the text of the folio 1623, even in cases where manifest improvements might be made, so long as the old reading makes sense. If any reasonable meaning can be extracted from the received lection, we are bound to retain it, because we have every reason to believe that it is what Shakespeare wrote; and it is our object to possess his words and his meaning, not as we may suppose they ought to have been, but as they actually were. Where no sense at all can be obtained from a passage, a slight, perhaps a considerable, alteration is allowable; because any man's intelligibility is to be preferred to even Shakespeare's unintelligibility. But we are never to flatter ourselves, with any strong degree of assurance, that the correction has restored to us the exact language of the poet.
This consideration had, in former years, its due weight with Mr Collier. No one was a keener advocate than he for preserving the original text inviolate. He now views the matter in a different light. He is tolerant of new readings, even in cases where sense can be elicited from the received text. Further, he frequently gives the preference to new readings, as we hope to show, even in cases where the ​old reading is far the more forcible and intelligible of the two. And on what ground does he countenance them? Setting aside at present the question of their internal evidence, we reply, that he countenances them on the ground that the folio 1623 is of doubtful authenticity. He denies that it was prepared from Shakespeare's own papers. This is the foundation of his case. He maintains that the copy which the printer used had been (probably) dictated by some underling of the theatre, to some scribe whose ear (probably) often deceived him in taking up the right word, and who consequently put down a wrong one, which was subsequently set up in type by the printer. He is further of opinion that a text of Shakespeare, purer than any that ever got into print, was preserved orally in the theatre, and that the corrector of his folio, who was decidedly of a theatrical turn, and perhaps himself a manager, picked up his new readings from the mouths of the players themselves. But he has entirely failed to prove these improbable assertions. His theory in regard to the printing of the folio 1623 is contradicted by the distinct announcement of its editors, who say of their great master that "his mind and hand went together, and what he thought he uttered with that easiness that we have scarce received from him a blot in his papers." This declaration, that the materials from which they worked were derived directly from Shakespeare himself, seems to establish conclusively the authenticity of the folio 1623; and that point being made good, all external evidence in favour of the new readings must of necessity fail.
But perhaps these new readings are supported by their internal evidence—perhaps they bring along with them such an amount of force and propriety as carries conviction on the very face of it, and entitles them to a decided preference in comparison with the old? Mr Collier would fain think so. On their evident superiority, both in sense and in style, he rests the main strength of his case. Speaking of his volume, he says, "I ought not to hesitate in avowing my conviction, that we are bound to admit by far the grater body of the substitutions it contains, as the restored language of Shakespeare. As he was especially the poet of common life, so he was emphatically the poet of common sense; and to the verdict of common sense I am willing to submit all the more material alterations recommended on the authority before me. If they will not bear that test, I for one am willing to relinquish them."
Our principal object in the following pages is to show that "by far the greater body of the substitutions" will not stand this test; and that many of them present such a perverse depravation of the true text, that if the design of the corrector had been to damage the literary character of Shakespeare, he could not have accomplished his purpose more effectually than by representing these new readings as his. At the same time, we shall endeavour to bring forward everything in Mr Collier's volume which tells in the manuscript-corrector's favour. This will probably cause the corrector's notes and emendations to be more highly thought of than they deserve; because, while it will be no difficult matter to lay before the reader all, or nearly all, his judicious amendment, our space will not permit us to present to him one-twentieth part of his astounding aberrations. Selecting, then, as many of the more important alterations as our limits will allow, and weighing what their internal evidence is worth, we shall go over the plays seriatim, commencing with "The Tempest."
"He being thus lorded,
Not only with what my revenue yielded,
But what my power might else exact,—like one Who having, unto truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory To credit his own lie,—he did believe He was indeed the duke."
For "lorded," Mr Collier's emendator would read "loaded "—a correction which Mr Collier himself admits to be "questionable," and which we throw overboard at once. For "unto truth" he proposes "to untruth"—
"like one Who having, to untruth, by telling of it," &c.
But here, if one flaw is mended, another and a worse one is made. By reading "to untruth" we obtain, indeed, a proper antecedent to "it," which otherwise must be looked for, awkwardly enough, in the subsequent word "lie." But as a set-off against this improvement, we would ask, how can a man be said to make his memory a sinner to untruth? This would mean, if it meant anything, that the man's memory was true; and this is precisely what Prospero says Antonio's memory was not. We must leave, therefore, the text as it stands, regarding it as one of those passages in which Shakespeare has expressed himself with less than his usual care and felicity.
The substitution of "all" for "are" in the lines,
"They all have met again, And are upon the Mediterranean float"—
Or, as the MS. corrector reads it,
"They all upon the Mediterranean float"—
strikes us as peculiarly un-Shakesperian. But this instance of the corrector's injudicious meddling is a small matter. The following passage deserves more careful consideration, for we are convinced that the text of the first and second folios, which has been universally rejected since the days of Theobald, is, after all, the right reading. Act III. Scene 1 opens with the soliloquy of Ferdinand, who declares that the irksome tasks to which he has been set by Prospero are sweetly alleviated by the consciousness that he has secured the interest and sympathy of Miranda. He says—
"There be some sports are painful; but their labour Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness Are nobly undergone: and most poor matters Point to rich ends. This my mean task Would be as heavy to me as odious; but The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead, And makes my labours pleasures. Oh, she is
Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed, And he's composed of harshness. I must remove Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up Upon a sore injunction. My sweet mistress
Weeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness Had never like executor. I forget: But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours, Most busy-less, when I do it."
The last line, as it here stands, is Theobald's reading; and it has been adopted almost unanimously by subsequent editors—by the compilers of the variorum Shakespeare—by Mr Knight—and most recently by Mr Halliwell, in his magnificent folio. Mr Singer, in his edition of 1826, and Mr Collier's emendator, are, so far as we can learn,' the only dissentients. The former proposes, "most busiest when I do it;" and the latter, "most busy,—blest when I do it;" which reading we agree with Mr Singer in thinking "the very worst and most improbable of all that have been suggested;"—will he excuse us for adding—except perhaps, his own? Theobald's text is certainly greatly to be preferred to either of these alterations. Had the MS. corrector's emendation been a compound epithet, "busyblest" (that is, blest with my business, because it is associated with thoughts of Miranda), something, though perhaps not much, might possibly have been said in its behalf. But Mr Collier regards the correction as consisting of two distinct words; and, therefore, he must excuse us for saying that it is one in which sense and grammar are equally set at defiance. We now take up the original reading, which has been universally discarded, but which, as we hope clearly to show, calls for no alteration; and an attention to which, at an earlier stage in the revision of Shakespeare's text, might have prevented a large expenditure of very unnecessary criticism. The original text of the line under consideration is this— ​ "Most busy, least when I do it."
This is the reading of the second folio. The first folio has "lest;" but, of course, least and lest are the same word in the arbitrary spelling of that early period. We maintain that this lection makes as excellent and undeniable sense as could be desired.
"Most busy, least when I do it;"
—that is, "when I do it (or work) least, then am I most busy, most oppressed by toil." More fully stated, the obvious meaning is "this labour of mine is so preciously sweetened, so agreeably refreshed by thoughts of Miranda's kindness, that I really feel most busy, most burthened, most fatigued, when I am least occupied with my task; because, then I am not so sensible of being the object of her sympathy and approval." Shakespeare intends that Ferdinand should express the ardour of his attachment to Miranda in a strong hyperbole; accordingly, he makes him say, "I am most busy, when I am least busy;" because the spirit of Miranda does not cheer and inspire my idleness, in the way in which it cheers and inspires my labour. Theobald's line expresses, although in an imperfect manner, this same hyperbole conversely. "I am least busy, when I am most busy; because, when I am working hardest, the spirit of Miranda is present to refresh and alleviate my toils." But Shakespeare's mode of expressing the exaggeration is both stronger and finer than Theobald's, which in point of language is exceedingly lame and defective. Our only doubt, in restoring the old reading, is in regard to the word "it" Perhaps it would be as well away, and we might read more perspicuously
"Most busy,—least when I do."
The measure being already redundant, the word could be spared. But its absence or presence makes little or no difference, and, with it, or without it, we hope to see this restoration of the original text, which, of course, requires no authority except its own to establish it, embodied is all future editions of our great national dramatist
The only new reading in this play which we have some hesitation in condemning, is the following. The witch Sycorax is spoken of (Act V. Scene 1.) as one
"That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,
And deal in her command without her power."
This is the ordinary text. The MS. corrector proposes " with all power" and, at first sight, this correction looks like an improvement; for how could the witch deal in the moon's command, if she had not got the moon's power? On second thoughts, however, we believe that Mr Knight, who defends the common reading, is right. By power, we are here to understand legitimate authority; and of this Sycorax has none. By means of her spells and counternatural incantations she could make ebbs and flows, and thus wielded to some extent the lunar influences; but she had none of that rightful and natural dominion over the tides of the ocean which belongs only to the moon. Our verdict, therefore, is in favour of the old reading. We pass from "The Tempest" with the remark that the other new readings proposed by Mr Collier's emendator have here and elsewhere been conclusively set aside, in our estimation, by the observations of Mr Knight and Mr Singer; and we again protest against any adulteration of the text of this play by the introduction even of a single word which the MS. corrector has suggested.
The Two Gentlemen of Verona.—Nothing connected with Shakespeare is small, and therefore we make no apology for calling the reader's attention to what some people might consider a very small matter—the difference between for and but in the following lines. Act I. Scene 1.—Valentine and Proteus, "The Two Gentlemen of Verona," are saying good-bye to each other, the former being on the eve of setting out on his travels. Valentine, the traveller, says to his friend—
—"on some love-book pray for my success.
Proteus. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee.
Valentine. That's on some shallow story of deep love,
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.
Proteus. That's a deep story of a deeper love,
For he was more than over shoes in love.
Valentine. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,
And yet you never swam the Hellespont."
In place of "for" in the last line but one, the corrector proposes "but," and Mr Collier approves, remarking that but "seems more consistent with the course of the dialogue." If, however, we attend to the sequence of thought in this passage, it will be apparent that the change not only fails to render the dialogue more consistent, but that it altogether destroys its consistency, converting very good sense into downright nonsense; smartness into drivel. When Proteus says that Leander who crossed the Hellespont was more than over shoes in love, Valentine catches him up," 'tis true: no doubt of it: he must have been more than over shoes in love; for you, who never swam the Hellespont at all, are actually over boots in love." The reasoning here seems very plain. If Proteus, without swimming the Hellespont, was over boots in love, surely the very least that could be said of Leander, who did swim it, must be that he was more than over shoes in love. "Your remark, friend Proteus, though very true, is not very recondite. It is decidedly common-place, and such as I should scarcely have expected to hear from a person of your wit and penetration. Pray favour us with something a little more original and profound." All this banter, and we venture to think it rather happy, is implied in Valentine's words—
" 'Tis true; For you are over boots in love,
And yet you never swam the Hellespont."
But change this "for" into "but," and the whole point of the dialogue is gone. Let this new reading be adopted, and future commentators will be justified in declaring that Shakespeare's words were sometimes without meaning. This single and apparently in-significant instance in which the corrector has palpably misconceived his author, compels us to distrust his capacity, and ought to go far to shake the general credit of his emendations.
To alter "blasting in the bud," into "blasted in the bud," is merely an instance of excessive bad taste on the part of the MS. corrector. We see nothing worthy of approval or animadversion until we come to two lines which are quoted from Act III. Scene 2—
"But say, this weed her love from Valentine,
It follows not that she will love Sir Thurie"—
where it may be a question whether "wean" (the corrector's suggestion), might not be judiciously substituted for "weed." If rapid extirpation was intended to be expressed, "weed" is the word; otherwise we are disposed to prefer "wean," as better fitted to denote the contemplated alienation of Julia's affections from Proteus.
In Act IV. Scene 2, a whole new line is introduced; and as there is no evidence to prove that the corrector did not write this line himself, we must protest against its insertion in the genuine writings of Shakespeare. The interpolation is in italics. Eglamour says to the distressed Silvia, who is requesting him to be her escort—
"Madam, I pity much your grievances,
And the most true affections that you bear,
Which since I know they virtuously are placed,
I give consent to go along with you."
Johnson explains grievances as sorrows, sorrowful affections—an explanation which renders the interpolated line quite unnecessary. Shakespeare understood the art of ne quid nimis, and frequently leaves something to be supplied by the imagination of his reader or hearer. Besides, it would have been indelicate in Eglamour to have alluded more particularly to the "loves" of Silvia and Valentine.
If the MS. corrector had ever sees Scene IV. effectively acted, he must have perceived how completely one good point would have been destroyed by his unwise insertion of the word "cur." Launce, servant to Proteus, has been sent by his master with a little dog as a present to Silvia. Launce has lost the lap-dog, and has endeavoured to make compensation by offering to Silvia his own hulking mongrel in its place. These particulars are thus recounted
"Launce.—Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.
Proteus.—And what says she to my little jewel?
Launce.—Marry, she says your dog was a cur; and tells you currish thanks it good enough for such a present.
Proteus.—But she received my present?
Launce.—No, indeed, she did not. Here I have brought him back again. Proteus—What! didst thou offer her this from me?
Launce.—Ay, sir, the other squirrel was stolen from me by the hangman's boys in the marketplace; and then I offered her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater."
The question is, whether the word "this "is better by itself, or whether it should be coupled with the word "cur," as the MS. emendator proposes. Our notion is, that the single pronoun is greatly the more expressive. "Did you offer her this" (of course pointing to the brute with an expression of indignation and abhorrence, which disdained to call him anything but this) "this!!! from me? The lady must think me mad!" In regard to the other corrections, we perceive no such force or propriety in any of them as might incline us to disturb, for their sake, the received text of "The Two Gentlemen of Verona."
The Merry Wives of Winsor.—In Act II. Scene 1, the commentators have all been gravelled by the word "an-heires," as it stands in all the early editions in the following page
"Host.—My hand, bully, thou shalt have egress and regress; said I well, and thy name shall be Brook. It is a merry knight—will you go, anheires?"
In place of this unintelligible word, various substitutes have been proposed. The MS. corrector would read—"Will you go on here?" This is very poor, and sounds to our ears very unlike the host's ordinary slang; and we have no hesitation in agreeing with Mr Dyce, who gives the preference over the other readings to that of Sir John Hanmer, the editor of the Oxford edition: "Will you go on, mynheers?"—will you go on, my masters? The word is proved to have been used in England in the time of Shakespeare.
In Act II. Scene 3, this same host, who deals somewhat largely in the unknown tongue, again says—
"I will bring thee where Mistress Page is, at a farm-house feasting and thou shalt woo her. Cried game, said I well?"
This obsolete slang has puzzled the commentators sorely. Mr Dyce suggests "cried I aim," which means, it appears, "Did I give you encouragement?"—(vide Singer, p. 7.) We confess ourselves incompetent to form an opinion, except to this extent, that Mr Collier's corrector, who proposes "curds and cream," seems to us to have made the worst shot of any that have been fired.
In Act IV. Scene I, we rather think that the MS. corrector is right in changing "let" into "get," in the following passage: "How now," says Mrs Page to Sir Hugh Evans the schoolmaster; "How now, Sir Hugh?—no school to-day?" "No," answers Sir Hugh; "Master Slender is let (read get) the boys leave to play." In Sir Hugh's somewhat Celtic dialect, he is get the boys a holiday.
In the following passage, Act IV. Scene 6, the received text is this—
" Simple.—I would I could have spoken with the woman herself. I had other things to have spoke with her, too, from him."
Falstaff.—What are they?—let us know.
Host.—Ay, come; quick.
Simple.—I may not conceal them, sir.
Falstaff.— Conceal them, or thou diest."
Good Dr Farmer thought that, in both instances, we should read "reveal"—not perceiving that the humour of the dialogue (such as it is) consists in reading "conceal," and in understanding "reveal." But the MS. emendator, with an innocence beyond even Dr Farmer's, would alter the passage thus-—
" Falstaff.—What are they?—let us know.
Host.—Ay, come quick. Falstaff.—You may not conceal them, sir.
Host.—Conceal them, and thou diest."
And Mr Collier approves of this variation, as "making the dialogue run quite consistently."
Measure for Measure.—In the Duke's speech, at the opening of the play, a formidable difficulty presents itself. Addressing Escalus, of whose statesmanlike qualities he has the highest opinion, the Duke says, as all the editions give it—
"Of government the properties to unfold,
Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse,
Since I am put to know that your own science Exceeds in that the lists of all advice My strength can give you. Then no more remains But that, to your sufficiency, as your worth is able,
And let them work."
The two last lines of this passage have been a grievous stumbling-block to the commentators. The variorum men, with Johnson at their head, have made nothing of it. Mr Singer reads—
"Then no more remains But there to your sufficiency as your worth is able,
And let them work;"
which seems quite as dark and perplexing as the original text. Mr Collier's man, cutting the knot with desperate hook, which slashes away a good many words, gives us—
"Then no more remains,
But add to your sufficiency your worth, And let them work."
These words are sufficiently intelligible; but this is not to rectify Shakespeare's text—it is to re-write it; and this no man can be permitted to do. As a private speculation of our own, we venture to propose the following, altering merely one word of the authentic version—
"Then no more remains,
But that (to your sufficiency as your worth is able)
You let them work."
The Duke has remarked that he is not competent to give Escalus any advice on matters of public policy, as he is much better versed in such affairs than himself. He then goes on to say, "No more remains, but that (seeing your worth is able—that is, is equal—to your sufficiency or acquired knowledge) you should let the two, your worth and your sufficiency, work together for the good of your country." Or it might be allowable to introduce "equal" into the text, thereby making the sense still plainer—
"Then no more remains But that (to your sufficiency as your worth is equal)
You let them work."
But if any auxiliar authority could be found for the use of the word "able" as here employed (a point about which we are doubtful, though not desperate), we should prefer to retain it in the text. By making the words to and as change places, we obtain a still more perspicuous reading—
"Then no more remains,
But that (as your sufficiency to your worth is equal)
You let them work."
Mr Collier remarks (p. 42), "Near the end of Mrs Overdone's speech, 'is' is required before the words 'to be chopped off.' It is deficient in all printed copies, and is inserted in manuscript in the corrected folio 1632." We can inform Mr Collier that the word "is" stands, in this place, in the variorum edition of 1786.
Act I. Scene 4.—The Duke, who has abdicated for a time in favour of Angelo, says, in allusion to the abuses which Angelo is expected to correct—
"I have on Angelo imposed my office,
Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home,
And yet, my nature never in the sight,
To do it slander."
The corrector of Mr Collier's folio suggests to draw on slander; and as a gloss or explanation of an antiquated or awkward expression, this variation may be accepted; but it certainly has no title to be admitted into the text as the authentic language of Shakespeare. The change of" story" into "scorn" (Scene 6), is perhaps admissible. Alluding to a false species of repentance, the friar, in Act II. Scene 3., says that such insufficient
"Sorrow is always towards ourselves, not heaven,
Showing we would not spare heaven, as we love it,
But as we stand in fear."
On the margin of Mr Collier's folio, "serve "is written, and "spare" is scored out. We greatly prefer the ​old reading, in spite of Mr Collier's assertion that it is corrupt, and "seems little better than nonsense. To spare heaven is not nonsense; it means to refrain from sin. To serve heaven means something more; it means to practise holiness. The difference is but slight, but it is quite sufficient to establish the language of Shakespeare as greatly superior to that of his anonymous corrector, because the point here in question is much rather abstinence from vice than the positive practice of virtue.
In Act II. Scene 4, the following somewhat obscure expression occurs: "in the loss of question "—what does it mean? "It means," says Mr Singer (p. 11), "in the looseness of conversation." That is a most satisfactory explanation. Yet if Mr Collier and his emendator had their own way, we should be deprived of this genuine Shakesperian phrase, and be put off with the unmeaning words "In the force of question."
In Act III. Scene 1, the alteration of "blessed" into "boasted," in the speech in which the Duke so finely moralises on the vanity of human life, cannot be too decidedly condemned—
"Thou" (oh Life)" hast nor youth nor age
But as it were an after-dinner's sleep,
Dreaming on both, for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied old."
Some people may not be able to understand how the period of youth can, in one and the same breath, be called blessed, and yet miserable as old age. They look on that as a contradiction. Such people ought never to read poetry. At any rate, they ought first to learn that the poet is privileged, nay, is often bound to declare as actual that which is only potential or ideal. Thus, he may say that blessed youth is a miserable season of existence, meaning thereby that misery overspreads even that time of life which ought to be, and which ideally is, the happiest in the pilgrimage of man. The manuscript corrector has but an obtuse perception of these niceties, and hence he substitutes boasted for blessed—converting Shakespeare's language into mere verbiage.
Comedy of Errors.— Act I. Scene 1.—The alteration of the word "nature" into "fortune" in the following lines, is an undoubted departure from the genuine language of Shakespeare, and a perversion of his sense. Ægeon, whose life has been forfeited by his accidental arrival at Ephesus, says—
"Yet that the world may witness that my end.
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave."
Mr Collier, slightly doubtful of the propriety of the new reading (fortune), says, "Possibly by 'nature' we might understand the natural course of events." We say, certainly this is what we must understand by the word. I die by nature, says Ægeon, not by vile offense; or, as Warburton interprets it, "My death is according to the ordinary course of Providence, and not the effects of Divine vengeance overtaking my crimes. But the word "fortune," had Ægeon used it, would rather have implied that he regarded himself as an object of Divine displeasure; and there-fore this word must not only not be adopted, but it must be specially avoided, if we would preserve the meaning of Shakespeare. In this case, the internal evidence is certainly in favour of the ordinary reading.
In a subsequent part of the same scene, the Duke, who is mercifully inclined towards Ægeon, advises him
"To seek thy help by beneficial help."
That is, he recommends him to borrow such a sum of money as may be sufficient to ransom his life. The MS. corrector reads not very intelligibly—
"To seek thy hope by beneficial help."
And Mr Collier, explaining the obscurum per obscurius, remarks that Ægeon was to seek what he hoped to obtain (viz, money to purchase his life) by the 'beneficial help' of some persons in Ephesus." The "beneficial help" was itself the money by which he was to "seek his help," or save his life. "Beneficial help" means "pecuniary assistance," and therefore we are at a loss to understand Mr Collier when he says that Ægeon was to seek money by the "beneficial help" or pecuniary assistance of ​certainpersons in Ephesus. All that he required to do was to obtain this pecuniary assistance; obtaining that, he of course would obtain the money by which his life was to be redeemed. The received text of the line ought on no account to be disturbed. The repetition of the word "help" is peculiarly Shakesperian.
Act II. Scene 1.—A very little consideration may convince any one that the following correction is untenable. The ordinary text is this: Dromio the slave having been well drubbed by his master, says—
"He told his mind upon mine ear; Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.
"Luciana.—Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning?
Dromio.—Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully that I could scarce understand them."
The manuscript corrector proposes "doubly" for "doubtfully," in both instances; losing sight, as we think, of the plain meaning of words. To speak doubly is to speak deceitfully; to speak doubtfully is to speak obscurely or unintelligibly. But certainly Luciana had no intention of asking Dromio if his master had spoken to him deceitfully. Such a question would have been irrelevant and senseless. She asks, spake he so obscurely that you could not understand his words?—and the slave answers, "By my troth, so obscurely that I could scarce understand (that is, stand under) them." This is the only quibble.
In Act II. Scene 2, the expression "she moves me for her theme," that is, "she makes me the subject of her discourse," occurs. This is changed by the MS. corrector into "she means me for her theme;" that is, "she means to make me the subject of her discourse." But the "she" who is here referred to is actually, at that very moment, talking most vehemently about the person who utters these words; and therefore this emendation is certainly no restoration, but a corruption of the genuine language of Shakespeare.
Act IV. Scene 2.—The bum-bailiff Is thus maltreated. The words in italics are the MS. corrector's wanton and damaging interpolations.
"Adriana.—Where is thy master, Dromio, is he well?
Dromio.—No: he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell;
A devil in an everlasting garment hath him, fell;
One whose hard heart is buttoned up with steel,
Who has no touch of mercy, cannot feel;
A fiend, a fury, pitiless, and rough;
A wolf, nay worse, a fellow all in buff."
Here the only doubt is, whether the word "fury" (the MS., and also Theobald's reading) is a judicious substitute for the word "fairy," which the old copies present. We think that it is not, being satisfied with Johnson's note, who observes—"There were fairies like hobgoblins, pitiless and rough, and described as malevolent and mischievous."—Nowadays a fairy is an elegant creature dressed in green. So she was in Shakespeare's time. But in Shakespeare's time there was also another kind of fairy—a fellow clothed in a buff jerkin, made of such durable materials as to be well-nigh "everlasting;" and whose vocation it was, as it still is, to pay his addresses to those who may have imprudently allowed their debts to get into confusion. Let us not allow the old usages of language to drop into oblivion.
Act IV. Scene 3.—"The vigor of his rage," is obviously a much more vigorous expression than "the rigor of his rage," which the MS. corrector proposes in its place.
Act V. Scene 1.—" The following lines," says Mr Collier, "as they are printed in the folio 1623, have been the source of considerable cavil," meaning, we presume, dispute. The words are uttered by the Abbess, who has been parted from her sons for a great many years, and has but recently discovered them.
"Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail Of you, my sons, and till this present hour
My heavy burden are delivered."
"That the above is corrupt," continues Mr Collier, "there can be no question; and in the folio 1632, the printer attempted thus to amend the passage:—
'Thirty-three years have I been gone in travail Of you my sons, and till this present hour My heavy burthens are delivered.'
"Malone gives it thus:—
'Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail Of you my sons; until this present hour
My heavy burthen not delivered.'
"The MS. corrector," continues Mr Collier, "of the folio 1632 makes the slightest possible change in the second line, and at once removes the difficulty: he puts it—
"Thirty-three years have I been gone in travail Of you my sons, and at this present hour
My heavy burthens are delivered."'
In his edition 1826, Mr Singer reads—
"Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail Of you, my sons, and till this present hour My heavy burthen ne'er delivered."
We are of opinion that a better reading than any here given, and than any ever given, might be proposed. Thus
"Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail Of you, my sons, and till this present hour
My heavy burthen has delivered."
That is, I have done nothing but go in travail of you, my children, for thirty-three years; and, moreover (I have gone in travail of you), till this present hour has delivered me of my heavy burden. This reading brings her pains up to the present moment, when she declares herself joyfully relieved from them by the unexpected restoration of her children. This amendment seems to yield a more emphatic meaning than any of the others; and it departs as little as any of them from the original text of 1623.
Much Ado About Nothing.— Act I. Scene 3.—The brothers Don Pedro and Don John have quarrelled, and have been reconciled. Conrade remarks to the latter, "You have of late stood out against your brother, and he hath ta'en you newly into his grace." The MS. correction is, "till of late," which, as any one looking at the context even with half an eye, may perceive both spoils the idiom and impairs the meaning of the passage.
Act II. Scene. 1.—We admit that Shakespeare might—nay, ought—to have written as follows, but we doubt whether he did. "Wooing, wedding, and repenting," says Beatrice, "is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace; the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and fall as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly modest; as a measure full of state and ancienty; and then comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink apace into his grave." "Apace" is MS. corrector's contribution.
In the following much-disputed passage, we are of opinion that Shakespeare uses somewhat licentiously the word "impossible" in the sense of inconceivable and that Johnson's and the MS. Corrector's substitution of "importable" (i.e. insupportable) is unnecessary. "She told me," says Benedick, speaking of Beatrice, "that I was the prince's jester, and that I was duller than a great thaw, huddling jest upon jest, with such impossible conveyance, upon me, that I stood like a man at mark with a whole army shooting at me." "Impossible conveyance" means inconceivable rapidity.
Act III. Scene 1.—There surely can be no question as to the superior excellence of the received reading in the following lines. The repentant Beatrice, who has overheard her character severely censured, says—
"What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?
Stand I condemned for pride and scorn so much?
Contempt farewell, and maiden pride adieu!
No glory lives behind the back of such."
Beatrice means to say that contempt and maiden pride are never the screen to any true nobleness of character. This is well expressed in the line,
No glory lives behind the back of such."
A vigorous expression, which the MS corrector recommends us to exchange for the frivolous feebleness of
No glory lives but in the back of such."
This substitution, we ought to say, is worse than feeble and frivolous. It is a perversion of Beatrice's sentiments. She never meant to say that a maiden should lack maiden pride, but only that it should not occupy a prominent position in the front of her character. Let her have as much of it as she ​pleases, and the more the better, only let it be drawn up as a reserve in the background, and kept for defensive rather than for offensive operations. This is all that Beatrice can seriously mean when she says, "maiden pride adieu."
Act IV. Scene 1.—In the following passage we back Shakespeare's word against the MS. corrector's, not only in point of authenticity, but in point of taste. Leonato, greatly exasperated with his daughter, says to her—
"For did I think thou wouldst not quickly die, Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,
Strike at thy life."
This is the reading of the folio 1632. The folio 1623 reads "reward," but that is obviously a misprint for "rearward." The MS. corrector proposes hazard. As if the infuriated father would have cared one straw what the world might think or say of him for slaying his daughter. In his passion he was far beyond minding such a trifle as public opinion, and would never have paused to give utterance to the sentiment which the corrector puts into his mouth. What he says is this—that after heaping reproaches on his daughter to the uttermost, he would follow them up by slaying her with his own hand. This is admirably expressed by the words, "rearward of reproaches." In this same scene the fine old word "frame," in the sense of fabrication, is twice most wantonly displaced, to make way, in the one instance, for "frown," and in the other for "fraud."
Act V. Scene 1.—Let any reader who has an ear read the opening speech of Leonato, and he will perceive at once how grievously its effect is damaged by the insertion of the words "to me" in this line.
"And bid him speak (to me) of patience."
In the same speech the following lines are a problem. Leonato, rebuffing his comforters, says, "Bring to me a person as miserable as myself, and
"If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard, And, sorrow wag! cry, Hem, when he should groan, Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk With candlewasters, bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience."
"And sorrow wag! cry," is the main difficulty. Johnson explains it thus: "If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard, and cry, Sorrow, begone!" This, in our opinion, is quite satisfactory; but what is the philology of the word "wag?" We believe it to be the German word "weg"—away—off with you. The MS. corrector cuts the knot which he cannot untie, by reading "call sorrow joy." This is a gloss, not a reparation of the text.
Act V. Scene 4.—We may be assured that a far finer sense is contained under Hero's expression, when she says, according to the common reading,
"One Hero died defiled, but I do live,"
than under the pseudo-emendation,
"One Hero died belied, but I do live."
Love's Labour Lost.— Act I. Scene 1.—We agree with Mr Dyce in thinking that a quibble is intended in Biron's speech, when he says that he and his friends will "climb in the merriness," according as the absurd style of Armado's letter shall give them cause. At any rate, nothing can be poorer than the MS. correction of this place, "chime in the merriness." We think, however, that the corrector is right in giving the words, "Sirrah, come on," to Dull the constable, and not to Biron, to whom they are usually assigned. We also consider the change of manager into armiger rather a happy alteration; at any rate, we can say this of it, that had armiger been the received reading, we should not have been disposed to accept manager in its place. This is a compliment which we can pay to very few of the MS. corrections. Had they formed the original text, and had the original text formed the marginalia, we should have had little hesitation as to which we would, in most cases, adopt. On the ground of their internal evidence—that is, of their superior excellence—the marginalia would certainly have obtained ​the preference. The passage to which we refer is this—"Adieu, valour!" says the fantastical Armado, "rust rapier! be still drum, for your armiger is in love." This reading, we think, is worthy of being perpetuated in a note though scarcely entitled to be elevated into the text
Act III. Scene 1.—The corrector very soon relapses into his blunders. Passing over several, here is one, not so conspicuous perhaps, but as decided as any into which he has fallen. Armado, speaking to Moth his page, says, "Fetch hither the swain (i.e., Costard the clown), he must carry me a letter." Moth replies, "A message well-sympathed—a horse to be ambassador for an ass." The MS. corrector reads, "A messenger well-sympathised," not perceiving that this destroys the point, and meaning, and pertinency of Moth's remark. "A message well-sympathised" means a mission well concocted, an embassy consistent with itself, which, says Moth this one is, inasmuch as it is a case of horse (Costard) representing an ass—(to-wit, yourself; master mine.) Yet Mr Collier says that "we ought unquestionably to substitute messenger for message."
Moth, the page, having gone to fetch Costard, Armado says—
"A most acute juvenal, voluble, and free of grace.
By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face,
Most rude Melancholy, valour gives thee place."
The MS. corrector alters the last line into "moist-eyed melancholy;" and Mr Collier remarks, "'Most rude melancholy' has no particular appropriateness, whereas 'moist-eyed melancholy' is peculiarly accordant with the sighs Armado breathes, in due apology, to the face of the welkin." No particular appropriateness! when the euphuist is in the very act of apologizing to the welkin for the breach of good manners of which his "most rude melancholy" has compelled him to be guilty. What else could he, in the circumstances, have called his melancholy with any degree of propriety? Oh, silly margins! you have much to answer for. You are not only stupid yourselves, but you are the cause of stupidity in other people.
Act IV. Scene 1.—Having considered the following passage very carefully, we are compelled to side with Mr Singer and Mr Dyce in favour of the old reading "fair" against " faith," which is advocated by the MS. corrector, Mr Collier, and Mr Hunter. The princess, giving money to the forester, whom she playfully charges with having called her any-thing but good-looking, says—
"Fair payment for foul words is more than due. Forester. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. Princess. See, see, my beauty will be saved by merit.
Oh, heresy in fair, fit for these days!
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
The new reading proposed is, "Oh, heresy in faith. "But this change is not necessary; indeed it spoils the passage. The princess, when the forester compliments her, says—See, see, my beauty will be saved" (not on its own account, for, in this man's opinion, I have little or none) but "by merit," that is, because I have given him money. He calls me an angel of light because I have given him half-a-crown. Oh, heresy in regard to beauty! None but the really beautiful ought to be so complimented. Those who like me are plain (as this man thinks me in his heart), and have "foul hands," ought not to obtain fair praise—ought not to be praised as fair, however "giving" or liberal these hands maybe. The heresy here playfully alluded to is the error of supposing that people can be beautified by their gifts as well as by their appearance; just as a religious heresy consists in the idea that a person can be justified by his works as well as by his faith.
Act IV. Scene 3.—The following passage has given some trouble to the commentators—
Black is the badge of hell,
The hue of dungeons, and the school of night."
Various substitutes have been proposed for the word "school." The variorum reads "scowl," which was introduced by Warburton. Theobald conjectured "stole." The marginalia present "shade" which is as poor as poor can be. We believe the original ​word "school" to be right, and that the allusion is to the different badges and colours by which different schools or sects or fraternities were formerly distinguished. "Black," says the passage before us, "is the hue worn by all who belong to the school or brotherhood of night."
The context of the following passage seems fairly to justify the MS. correction, by which "beauty" is changed into "learning." Beauty may have been a misprint. Loquitur Biron—
"For where is any author in the world
Teaches such learning as a woman's eye?
Learning is but an adjunct to ourself,
And where we are our learning likewise is,
Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes,
Do we not likewise see our learning there?"
This, we think, is one of the very few emendations which ought to be admitted into the text.
It is curious to remark, what we learn incidentally from this play, that, in Shakespeare's time, the words "doubt" and "debt" were pronounced as they are spelt, the "b" being sounded no less than the "t," and that it was the height of affectation to say "dout" and "det," as we do nowadays. So changes the norma loquendi.
Act V. Scene 2.—The following, in the old copies, is obviously a misprint—
"So pertaunt-like would I o'ersway his state,
That he should be my fool, and I his fate."
The variorum edition reads "portent-like." In 1826, Mr Singer published "potent-like." The MS. corrector suggests "potently;" and this we rather prefer.
When the princess is informed of the intended wit-assault on her and her ladies by the king and his lords, she exclaims—
What are they That charge their breath against us?"
"To 'charge their breath,' " says Mr Collier, "is nonsense, and the corrector alters it most naturally to
What are they That charge the breach against us
"Should any one," says Mr Singer, "wish to be convinced of the utter impossibility of the corrector having had access to better authority than we possess—nay, of his utter incapacity to comprehend the poet, I would recommend this example of his skill to their consideration. The encounters with which the ladies are threatened, are encounters of words, wit combats;" and therefore it was quite natural that they should talk of their opponents as "charging their breath against them." We agree with Mr Singer; but we willingly change "love-feat," in this same scene, into "love-suit," at the bidding of the MS. corrector.
"Oh, poverty in wit!" exclaims the princess, when she and her ladies have demolished the king and his companions in the wit-encounter. "Kingly-poor flout!" The MS. corrector reads, "killed by pure flout;" and Mr Singer "has no doubt" that "stung by poor flout" is the true reading. We see no reason for disturbing the original text. A double meaning is no doubt intended in the expression "kingly-poor flout." It means "mighty poor badinage;" and then, a king being one of the performers, it also means "repartee as poor as might have been expected from royal lips;" these being usually understood to be better fitted for taking in than for giving out "good things."
Midsummer Night's Dream.— Act I. Scene 1.—"Near the end of Helena's speech," says Mr Collier, "occurs this couplet where she is stating her determination to inform Demetrius of the intended flight of Lysander and Hermia—
'And for this intelligence If I have thanks, it is a dear expense—
which," continues Mr Collier, "is only just intelligible; but the old corrector singularly improves the passage by the word he substitutes—
'And for this intelligence If I have thanks, it is dear recompense.' "
The old corrector is an old woman who, in this case, has not merely mistaken, but has directly reversed Shakespeare's meaning. So far from saying that Demetrius's thanks will be any recompense" for what she proposes doing, Helena says the very reverse, ​that they will be a severe aggravation of her pain. "A dear expense" here means a painful purchase, a bitter bargain. "If I have thanks, the sacrifice which I make in giving Demetrius this information will be doubly distressing to me." Of course she would much rather that Demetrius, her old lover, did not thank her for setting him on the traces of his new mistress. Thanks would be a mockery in the circumstances, and this is what Helena means to say. Such is manifestly the meaning of the passage, as may be gathered both from the words themselves, and from their connection with the context, which is this—
"I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight:
Then to the wood will he to-morrow night
Pursue her; and for this intelligence,
If I have thanks, it is a dear expense;
But herein mean I to enrich my pain,
To have his sight thither, and back again."
The sight of Demetrius, and not his thanks, was to be Helena's recompense.
Act II. Scene 1.—The corrector is unquestionably wrong in his version of these lines. Of Titania it is said by one of the fairies, that
"The cowslips tall her pensioners be,
In their gold coats spots you see,
Those be rubies, fairy favours," &c.
The MS. corrector reads "all" for "tall," and "cups" for "coats," to the manifest deterioration of the text. Mr Singer thus explains the matter, to the satisfaction, we should think, of all readers. "This passage has reference to the band of gentlemen-pensioners in which Queen Elizabeth took so much pride. They were some of the handsomest and tallest young men of the best families and fortune, and their dress was of remarkable splendour—their coats might well be said to be of gold. Mr Collier's objection that 'cowslips are never tall,' is a strange one. Drayton in his Nymphidia thought otherwise, and surely a long-stalked cowslip would be well designated by a fairy as tall."
Act II. Scene 3.—The alteration of "conference" into "confidence" in the following lines is an improvement, most decidedly, for the worse. Lysander and Hermia are going to sleep in the wood. She says to him—
"Nay, good Lysander, for my sake, my dear,
Lye further off yet, do not lye so near.
Lysander.—Oh, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence;
Love takes the meaning, in love's conference."
That is, love puts a good construction on all that is said or done in the "conference," or intercourse of love. "Confidence," the MS. correction, makes nonsense.
Act III. Scene 2.—The margins seem to be right in changing "What news, my love?" into "What means my love?" in the speech in which Hermia is appealing passionately to her old lover Lysander.
Act V. Scene 1.—But we cannot accept the substitution of "hot ice and wondrous seething snow" for the much more Shakespearian "hot ice and wonderous strange snow." The late Mr Barron Field's excellent emendation of the following lines is borne out by the MS. correction—
"Then know that I, as Snug the joiner, am
A lion's fell, nor else no lion's dam."
"Fell" means skin. The old reading was—
"Then know that I, as Snug the joiner, am
A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam."
This ought to go into the text, if it has not done so already.
The Merchant of Venice.— Act I. Scene 1.—In the following passage the margins make rather a good hit in restoring "when" of the old editions, which had been converted into "who," and in changing "would" into " 'twould."
"Oh, my Antonio, I do know of these
That therefore only are reputed wise
For saying nothing, when, I am very sure,
If they should speak, 'twould almost damn these ears,
Which hearing them would call their brothers fools."
Act II. Scene 1.—The Prince of Morocco says—
"Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadowed livery of the burnished sun."
Altered by the MS. corrector into "burning sun," which, says Mr Collier, "seems much more proper when the African prince is speaking of his black complexion as the effects of the sun's rays." Mr Collier will excuse us: the African Prince is doing nothing of the kind. He is merely throwing ​brightness and darkness into picturesque contrast—as the sun is bright, or "burnished," so am I his retainer dark, or "shadowed." "To speak of the sun," continues Mr Collier, "as artificially 'burnished,' is very unworthy." True: but Shakespeare speaks of it as naturally burnished; and so far is this from being unworthy, it is, in the circumstances, highly poetical.
Act II. Scene 9—To change the words "pries not to the interior," into "prize not the interior," in the following lines, is wantonly to deface the undoubted language of Shakespeare.
"What many men desire!—that many may be meant
Of the fool multitude, that chuse by show,
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach,
Which pries not to the interior; but, like the martlet,
Builds in the weather, on the outward wall."
Act III. Scene 2.—The MS. corrector proposes a very plausible reading in the lines where Bassanio is moralising on the deceitfulness of external appearance.
"Thus ornament is but the guiled surf
To a moot dangerous sea, the beauteous scarf
Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word,
The seeming truth winch cunning times put on,
To entrap the wisest"
The corrector proposes to put a full stop after Indian, and to read on—"beauty, in a word," (is) "the seeming truth," &c. Mr Singer says, "this variation in the pointing is no novelty; it occurs in an edition of Shakespeare, published by Scott and Webster in 1833, and has been satisfactorily shown to be erroneous and untenable by a correspondent in Notes and Queries, vol. v. p. 483." We regret that it is not in our power, at this time, to consult the volume of Notes and Queries referred to; but we confess that we see no very serious objection to this new reading, except the awkwardness and peculiarly unShakespearian character of the construction which it presents. That there is a difficulty in the passage is evident from the changes that have been proposed. Sir Thomas Hanmer gave "Indian dowdy"—Mr Singer, "Indian gipsy," which, however, he now abandons. We still confess a partiality for the old text, both in the words and in the pointing. "An Indian beauty" may mean the worst species of ugliness, just as a Dutch nightingale means a toad. Still we believe that a good deal might be said in favour of the MS. corrector's punctuation.
Bassanio, descanting on the portrait of Portia, and on the difficulties the painter must have had to contend with, thus expresses his admiration of the eyes—
"How could he see to do them? having made one,
Methinks, it should have power to steal both his,
And leave itself unfurnished."
The corrector reads "unfinished," which Johnson long ago condemned. "Unfurnished" means, as Mr Collier formerly admitted, unprovided with a counterpart—a fellow-eye.
We willingly concede to Mr Collier the "bollen" instead of the "woolen" bagpipe. And when he next "blaws up his chanter," may the devil dance away with his anonymous corrector, and the bulk of his emendations, as effectually as he ever did with the exciseman.
As You Like It.—Act I. Scene 2.—In opposition to Mr Collier, we take leave to say that Sir Thomas Hanmer was not right in altering "there is such odds in the man" to "there is such odds in the men." What is meant to be said is, "there is such superiority (of strength) in the man;" and "odds" formerly signified superiority, as may be learnt from the following sentence of Hobbes—" The passion of laughter," says Hobbes, "proceedeth from the sudden imagination of our own odds and eminency." Mr Collier's man, who concurs with Sir Thomas Hanmer, is, of course, equally at fault.
Act I. Scene 3.—"Safest haste"—that is, most convenient despatch—is much more probable than "fastest haste," inasmuch as the lady to whom the words "despatch you with your ​safest haste" are addressed, is allowed ten days to take herself off in.
Act II. Scene 3.—When Orlando, speaking of his unnatural brother, in whose hands he expresses his determination to place himself, rather than take to robbing on the highway, says,
"I will rather subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother,"
the language is so strikingly Shakesperian, that nothing but the most extreme obtuseness can excuse the MS. corrector's perverse reading—
"Of a diverted, proud, and bloody brother."
"Diverted blood," says Dr Johnson, means "blood turned out of the course of nature;" and there cannot be a finer phrase for an unnatural kinsman.
Act II. Scene 7.—The following passage is obviously corrupt. Jacques, inveighing against the pride of going finely dressed, says—
"Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
Till that the very very means do ebb?"
The MS. correction is—
"Till that the very means of 'wear do ebb."
Mr Singer suggests, "Till that the wearer's very means do ebb." The two meanings are the same: people, carried away by pride, dress finely, until their means are exhausted. But Mr Singer keeps nearest to the old text.
Act III. Scene 4.—"Capable impressure" must be vindicated as the undoubted language of Shakespeare, against the MS. corrector, Mr Collier, and Mr Singer, all of whom would advocate "palpable impressure."
"Lean but on a rush
The cicatrice and capable impressure,
Thy palm a moment keeps."
"Capable impressure" means an indentation in the palm of the hand sufficiently deep to contain something within it.
Act IV. Scene 1.—Both the MS. corrector and Mr Collier have totally misunderstood Rosalind, when she says. "Marry, that should you, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit." The meaning, one would think, is sufficiently obvious.
Act V. Scene 4.—And equally obvious is the meaning of the following line, which requires no emendation. Orlando says that he is
"As those who fear they hope, and know they fear."
That is, he is as those who fear that they are feeding on mere hope—hope which as not to end in fruition—and who are certain that they fear or apprehend the worst:—a painful state to be in. The marginal correction, "As those who fear to hope, and know they fear," is nonsense.
The Taming of the Shrew.— Induction. Scene 1.—We agree with the margins in thinking that the following line requires to be amended, by the insertion of "what" or "who." In the directions given about the tricks to be played off on Sly, it is said—
"And when he says he is, say that he dreams."
The MS. corrector reads, properly as we think—
"And when he says what he is, say that he dreams."
Scene 2.—There is something very feasible in the corrector's gloss on the word "sheer-ale." For "sheer" he writes "Warwickshire," and we have no doubt that "shire (pronounced sheer) "is the true reading.
Act I. Scene 1.—One of the happiest and most undoubted emendations in Mr Collier's folio, and one which, in his preface, he wisely places in the front of his case, now comes before us—"ethics" for "checks," in thee lines in which Tranio gives advice to his muter Lucentio—
"Let's be so stoics, nor no stocks, I ray,
Or so devote to Aristotle's checks,
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured."
We have no hesitation in condemning "checks" as a misprint for "ethics," which from this time henceforward we hope to see the universal reading. It is surprising that it should not have become so long ago, having been proposed by Sir W. Blackstone nearly a hundred years since, and staring every recent editor in the face from among the notes of the variorum Mr Singer alone had the good taste to print it in his text of 1826.
Lotus bore bestow a passing ​commendationon Mr Hunter for a very ingenious reading, or rather for what is better, a very acceptable restoration of the old text, which had been corrupted by Rowe and all subsequent editors. In the same speech, Tranio, who is advising Lucentio not to study too hard, says, according to all the common copies—
"Talk logic wi' th' acquaintance that you have."
The elder copies read—
"Balk logic, wi' th' acquaintance that you have."
This means, cut logic, with such a smattering of it as you already possess; or, as Mr Hunter explains it, "give the go-by to logic, as satisfied with the acquaintance you have already gained with it." "Balk" ought certainly to replace "talk" in all future editions, and our thanks are due to Mr Hunter for the emendation.
How scandalous it is to change "mould" into "mood" in the following lines, addressed by Hortensio to the termagant Kate:—
"Mates, maid! how mean you that? No mates for you:
Unless you were of gentler, milder mould."
Kate was not, at least so thought Hortensio, one of those,
"Quas meliore luto finxit præcordia Titan."
Act II. Scene 1.—We greatly prefer Mr Singer's amendment of what follows to the MS. corrector's. The common text is this
"Petruchio (to Kate).—Women were made to bear, and so were you.
Katherine.—No such jade, sir, as you, if me you mean."
This being scarcely sense, the corrector says—
"No such jade to bear you, if me you mean."
Mr Singer says,
"No such load as you, sir, if me you mean."
Act IV. Scene 2.—"An ancient angel coming down the hill" has puzzled the commentators. The margins read "ambler." We prefer the received text—the word "angel" being probably used in its old sense of messenger, with a spice of the ludicrous in its employment.
Act V. Scene 1.—Vincentio, who is on the point of being carried to jail, exclaims—
"Thus strangers may be haled and abused."
The MS. corrector proposes "handled;" and Mr Collier says that "haled" is a misprint, and the line "hardly a verse." It is a very good verse; and "haled" is the very, indeed the only, word proper to the place. On turning, however, to Mr Collier's appendix, we find that he says, "lit may be doubted whether 'haled' is not to be taken as hauled; but still the true word may have been. handled." This is not to be doubted; "haled" is certainly to be taken for hauled, and "handled" cannot have been the right word.
All's Well That Ends Well.— Act I. Scene 1.—In Helena's soliloquy, near the end of the scene, the corrector, by the perverse transposition of two words, changes sense into nonsense. She says—
"The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes and kiss like native things."
The lady is in love with Bertram, who is greatly above her in rank and in fortune; and the meaning is, that all-powerful nature brings things (herself, for example, and Bertram) which are separated by the widest interval of fortune, to join as if they were "likes" or pairs, and to kiss as if they were kindred things. The MS. corrector reverses this meaning, and reads—
"The mightiest space in nature fortune brings To join like likes and kiss like native things."
But there was no "space" at all between Helena and Bertram in point of "nature." They were both unexceptionable human beings. They were separated. only by a disparity of "fortune." Why does the MS. corrector go so assiduously out of his way for the mere purpose of blundering, and why does Mr Collier so patiently endorse his eccentricities? That is indeed marvellous. ​ Act I. Scene 3.—Helena says—
"You know my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and proved effects, such was his reading And manifest experience."
Read "manifold," says the corrector; and Mr Collier adds, "we may safely admit the emendation." Retain the old reading, say we; "manifest" means sure, well-grounded, indisputable, and is much more likely to have been Shakespeare's word than "manifold."
Act III. Scene 2.—The countess, comforting Helena, who has been deserted by Bertram, says—
"I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer,
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
Thou robb'st me of a moiety."
"The old corrector," says Mr Collier, "tells us, and we may readily believe him, that there is a small but important error in the second line. He reads—
"If thou engrossest all the griefs as thine Thou robbest me of a moiety.'"
The small but important error here referred to is committed by the old corrector himself. The countess, to give her words in plain prose, says—if you keep to yourself all the griefs which are thine, you rob me of my share of them. The context where the countess adds—
"He was my son,
But I do wash his name out of my blood,
And thou art all my child,"
seems to have misled the old corrector. He appears to have supposed that the countess had griefs of her own, occasioned by the conduct of her son Bertram, and that she protests against Helena's monopolising these together with her own. This is the only ground on which "as" can be defended. But the answer is, that although the countess may have had such griefs, she was too proud to express them. She merely expresses her desire to participate in the afflictions which are Helena's. This is one of the innumerable instances in which Shakespeare shows his fine knowledge of human nature. Whatever grief a proud mother may feel on account of a disobedient son, anger is the only sentiment which she will express towards him. The word "as," however, had the countess used it, would have been equivalent to an expression of grief, and not merely of indignation; and therefore we strongly advocate its rejection, and the retention in the text of the word "are."
Act IV. Scene 2.—The following is a troublesome passage. Diana says to Bertram, who is pressing his suit upon her—
"I see that men make ropes, in such a scarre,
That we'll forsake ourselves."
This is the old reading, and it is-manifestly corrupt. Rowe, the earliest of the variorum editors, reads—
"I see that men make hopes, in such affairs,
That we'll forsake ourselves."
Malone gives "in such a scene" for "in such a scarre." The MS. corrector proposes "in such a suit." Mr Singer says "that it is not necessary to change the word scarre at all: it here signifies any surprise or alarm, and what we should now write a scare." We agree with Mr Singer; and, following his suggestion, we give our vote for the following correction—
"I see that men make hopes, in such a scare
That we'll forsake ourselves."
That is, I see that men expect that we (poor women) will lose our self-possession in the flurry or agitation, into which we are thrown by the vehemence of their addresses.
Act V. Scene 1.—We willingly change the received stage direction, "enter a gentle astringer"—a most perplexing character certainly—into "enter a gentleman, a stranger," as proposed by the old corrector, who, in this case, corrects like a human being.
Act V. Scene 3.—To change the fine expression
"Natural rebellion done in the blade of youth."
into "Natural rebellion done in the blaze of youth," is to convert a poeticism into a barbarism. "The blade of youth" is the springtime of life. Besides, there is an affinity between the word "natural" and the word "blade," which proves the latter to have been Shakespeare's expression.
If "all was well that ended well," as the title of this play declares to be ​the case, the MS. corrections throughout it would be impregnable; for these end with one of the very happiest conjectural emendations that ever was proposed. Bertram, explaining how Diana obtained from him the ring, says, according to the received text,
"Her insuit coming, and her modern grace
Subdued me to her rate."
"Insuit coming" has baffled the world. The marginalia give us, "Her infinite cunning and her modern grace subdued me to her rate." It ought to be mentioned that this excellent emendation, which ought unquestionably to be admitted into the text, was also started some years ago by the late Mr Walker, author of the "original."
Twelfth Night, or What You Will.—Act II. Scene 1.—The following words in italics are probably corrupt; but the MS. correction of the place is certainly a very bad piece of tinkering. Sebastian is speaking of his reputed likeness to his sister Viola—"A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was of many accounted beautiful; but though I could not, with such estimable wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her," &c. The margins give us—" But though I could not with self-estimation wander so far to believe that." But who can believe that, Shakespeare would wander so far in his speech as to write in such a roundabout feckless fashion as this? What he really wrote it may now be hopeless to inquire.
Act II. Scene V.—Malvolio congratulating himself on his ideal elevation says, "And then to have the humour of state," which the MS. corrector changes into the poverty of "the honour of state," overlooking the consideration that "the humour of state" means the high airs, the capricious insolence, of authority, which is precisely what Malvolio is glorying that he shall by and by have it in his power to exhibit.
Act III. Scene 4.—We never can consent to change "venerable" into "veritable," at the bidding of the venerable corrector, in these lines—
"And to his image which methought did promise Most venerable worth, did I devotion."
"The word 'devotion,' " says Mr Singer, "at once determines that venerable was the poet's word."
Act V. Scene 1.—How much more Shakesperian is the line—"A contract of eternal bond of love," than the. corrector's
"A contract and eternal bond of love."
The word "bond" is here used not as a legal term, but in the more poetical sense of union.
Winter's Tale.— Act I. Scene 2.—We agree with Mr Collier in his remark, that "there is no doubt we ought to amend the words of the old copies, 'What lady she her lord' by reading, 'What lady should her lord,' " as given by the MS. corrector.
In the same scene, Leontes, expatiating on the falsehood of women, says—
"But were they false As o'er dy'd blacks, as winds, as waters."
That is, as false as "blacks" that have been dyed again and again until they have become quite rotten. This seems sufficiently intelligible; but it does not satisfy our anonymous friend, who proposes "as our dead blacks;" that is, as our mourning clothes, which, says Mr Collier, being "worn at the death of persons whose loss was not at all lamented," may therefore be termed false or hypocritical. But surely all persons who wear mourning are not hypocrites; and therefore this new reading falls ineffectual to the ground.
Act IV. Scene 3.—We perceive nothing worthy of adoption or animadversion till we come to the following. Florizel is making himself very agreeable to Perdita, whereupon Camillo, noticing their intimacy, remarks, as the old copies give it—
"He tells her something That makes her blood look on't."
There is something obviously wrong here. Theobald proposed—
"He tells her something That makes her blood look out."
Something that calls up her blushes. This is the received reading, and an excellent emendation it is. But on the whole we prefer the MS. corrector's, which, though perhaps not quite ​so poetical as Theobald's, strikes us as more natural and simple when taken with the context.
"He tells her something Which wakes her blood Look on't! Good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream."
On second thoughts, we are not sure that this is not more poetical and dramatic than the other. At any rate, we give it our suffrage.
There is, it seems, an old word "jape," signifying a jest, which we willingly accept on the authority of the MS. corrector, in place of the unintelligible word "gap," in the speech where" some stretch-mouthed rascal" is said "to break a foul jape into the matter." The reading hitherto has been "gap." This, however, is a hiatus only mediocriter deflendus. The next is a very lamentable case.
Act V. Scene 3.—Here the corrector interpolates a whole line of his own, which we can by no means accept. The miserable Leontes, gazing on the supposed statue of his wife, Hermione, which is in reality her living self, says, according to the received text—
"Let be, let be,
Would I were dead; but that methinks already— What was he that did make it? see, my lord,
Would you not deem it breathed, and that those veins Did verily bear blood?"
Here the train of emotion is evidently this:—Would I were dead, but that methinks already (he is about to add) I am, when the life-like appearance of the statue forcibly impresses his sense, whereupon he checks himself and exclaims," What was he that did make it"—a god or a mere man, &c. The MS. corrector favours us with the following version—
"Let be, let be,
Would I were dead, but that methinks already I am but dead, stone looking upon stone:
What was he that did make it? see, my lord,
Would you not deem it breathed?" &c.
The corrector is not satisfied with making Shakespeare write poorly, he frequently insists on making him write contradictorily, as in the present instance. I am stone, says Leontes, according to this version, looking upon stone, for see, my lord, the statue breathes, these veins do verily bear blood. Is not that a proof, my lord, that this statue is mere stone? Most people would have considered this a proof of the very contrary. Not so the MS. corrector, who is the father of the emendation; not so Mr Collier, who says that "we may be thankful that this line has been furnished, since it adds so much to the force and clearness of the speech of Leontes." Truly, we must be thankful for very small literary mercies! Mr Collier may be assured that the very thing which Leontes says most strongly, by implication, in this speech is, that he is not stone looking upon stone.
Our space being exhausted, we must reserve for our next Number the continuation of our survey of Shakespeare's Plays as amended by Mr Collier's anonymous corrector.
* ↑ Notes and Emendations to the Text of Shakespeare's Plays, from Early MS Corrections in a Copy of the Folio, 1632, in the possession of J. Payne Collier, Esq., F.S.A.; forming a Supplemental Volume to the Works of Shakespeare, by the same Editor. The Text of Shakespeare vindicated from the Interpolations and Corruptions advocated by J. P. Collier, Esq., in his Notes and Emendations. By Samuel Weller Singer. 1853. Old Lamps or New? A Plea for the Original Editions of the Text of Shakespeare, forming an Introductory Notice to the Stratford Shakespeare. Edited by Charles Knight. 1853. A Few Notes on Shakespeare, with Occasional Remarks on the Emendations of the MS. Corrector in Mr Collier's Copy of the Folio, 1632. By the Rev. Alexander Dyce. 1853. A Few Remarks on the Emendation "Who smothers her with Painting," in the Play of Cymbeline, discovered by Mr Collier in a Corrected Copy of the Second Edition of Shakespeare. 1852. New Illustration, of the Life, Studies, and Writings of Shakespeare, supplementary to all Editions. By Joseph Hunter. In 2 vols. 1845.
* ↑ A Few Notes on Shakespeare, &c., p. 22.
* ↑ This expression, "to cry aim," occurs, in a serious application, in the following lines from "King John," Act II. Scene. 1:— "K. Philip.—Peace, lady; pause or be more temperate: It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim To these ill-tuned repetitions"— that is, to give encouragement to these ill-tuned wranglings.
* ↑ A Few Notes, &c., p. 50.
* ↑ The Text of Shakespeare Vindicated, &c., p. 24.
* ↑ Molesworth's edition, vol. iv. p. 46.
* ↑ See New Illustrations, &c., vol. i. p. 356.