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Conf. Oh, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,
Teach thou this forrow how to make me die;
And let belief and life encounter so,
As doth the fury of two desperate men,
Which in the very meeting, fall, and die.-
Lewis marry Blanch ! O boy, then where art thou ?
France friend with England! what becomes of me?-
Fellow, be gone; I cannot brook thy sight:
This news hath made thee a most ugly man.

Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done,
But spoke the harm that is by others done?

. Which harm within itself so heinous is, As it makes harmful all that speak of it.

Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content.

Conft. If thou ', that bidst me be content, wert grim, Ugly, and Nand'rous to thy mother's womb, Full of unpleasing blots, and” sightless stains, Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious 3, Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks, I would not care, I then would be content :

If thou bads, &c.] Massinger appears to have copied this Fastage in the Unnatural Combat,

" If thou hadit been born
“ Deform'd and crooked in the features of
“ Thy body, as the manners of thy mind,
“Moor-lip'd, Aat-nos'd, &c. &c.
“ I had been bleit.” ST E EVEN 3.

- fightlejs -] The poet uses fightless for that which we now express by unsightly, disagreeable to the eyes. Johnson.

3 - prodigious, ] That is, portentous, fo deformed as to be taken for a foretoken of evil. Johnson.

In this sense it is used by Decker in the first part of The Homet Wbore, 1635)

yon comet Mews his head again,
" Twice hath he thus at cross-turns thrown on us

Prodigious looks."
Again, in The Revenger's Tragedy, 1607,

“ Over whose roof hangs this prodigious comet," So in the Mid/ummer's Night Dream, sc. ult.

Nor mark prodigious, such as are
" Despised,” &c. Steevens.

• For


nor scar

For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou
Become thy great birth, nor deserye a crown.
But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy!
Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great.
Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast,
And with the half-blown rose. But fortune, oh!
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee;
She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John;
And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France
To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,
And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.
France is a bawd to fortune, and king John ;
That ftrumpet fortune, that ufurping John!
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn ?
Envenom him with words; or get

get thee gone, And leave these woes alone, which I alone Aim bound to under-bear.

Sal. Pardon me, madani,
I may not go without you to the kings.
Coist. Thou may’rt, thou shalt, I will not go with

thee :
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ;
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout 4.
To me, and to the state of my great grief 5,

makes its owner fout.] The old editions have, makes its owner stoop: the en endation is Hanmer's JOHNSON.

5 To me, and to the fate of my great grief,

Let kings afimble; ] In Much Ado about Nothing, the fą. ther of Hero, deprefied by her disgrace, declares himself so subducd by grief that a thread nay lead him. How is it that grief in Leonato and lady Constance produces effects directly opposite, and yet both agreeable to nature. Sorrow softens the mird while it is yet warmed by hope, but hardens it when it is congealed by despair. Difrels, while there remains any profpect of relief, is weak and flexible, but when no succour remains, is fearless and stubborn; angry alike at those that injure, and at those that do not help ; carelcfs to please where nothing can be gained, and fearless to offend when there is nothing further to be dreaded. Such was this writer's knowledge of the pas. fions. JOHNSON,


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Let kings assemble ; for my grief's so great,
That no supporter but the huge firm earth
Can hold it up: here I and forrow sit:
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it 6.

[Sits down on the floor.
bid kings come bow to it.] I must here account for
the liberty I have taken to make a change in the division of the
2d and 3d acts. In the old editions, the ad act was made to end
here ; though it is evident, lady. Constance here, in her despair,
seats herself on the floor : and the must be supposed, as I for-
merly observed, immediately to rise again, only to go off and
end the act decently ; or the flat scene mult shut her in from the
fight of the audience, an absurdity I cannot accufe Shakespeare
of. Mr. Gildon and some other criticks fancied, that a cons
siderable part of the ad act was loft ; and that the chasm began
hete. I had joined in this suspicion of a scene or two being loit;
and unwittingly drew Mr. Pope into this error.
be jo, says he, und it were to be wifi'd the resorer (meaning

me) could supply it.To deserve this great man's thanks, I'll venture at the talk; and hope to convince my readers, that nothing is loft; but that I have supplied the suspected cliasm,

only by re&tifying the division of the acts. Upon looking a little more narrowly into the constitution of the play, I am fatished that the 3d act ought to begin with that feene, which has hitherto been accounted the last of the ad act ; and my reasons for it are these : the match being concluded, in the scene before that, betwixt the Dauphin and Blanch, a mcfienger is fent for lady Constance to king Philip’s tent, for her to come to Saint Mary's church to the folemnity. The princes all go out, as to the marriage; and the Baltard itaying a little behind, to defcant on interest and commodity, very properly ends the act. The next scene then, in the French king's tent, brings us Salistury delivering his message to Constance, who, refafing to go to the solemnity, sets herself down on the fioor. The whole train returning from the church to the French king's pavilion, Prilip expreffes such satisfaction on occasion of the happy folemnity of that day, that Contance rif:s from the floor, and joins in the fcene by entering her protest again their joy, and curing the business of the day. Thus, I conceive, the scenes are fairly continued ; and there is no chasm in the action, but a proper interval made both for Salisbury's coming to lady Conilance, and for the solemnization of the marriage. Befucs, as Faulconbridge is evidently the poet's favourite charakter, it was very well judged to close the act with his soliloquy. THEOBALD.

This whole note seems judicious cnough; but Mr. Theobald forgets that there were, in Shakespeare's time, ro moveable scenes in common playhouses. JOHNSON.


Enter king John, king Philip, Lewis, Blanch, Elinor,

Faulconbridge, and Austria.
K. Phil. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this blessed

Ever in France shall be kept festival :
To folemnize this day?, the glorious sun
Stays in his course, and plays the alchymist 8;
Turning, with splendor of his precious eye,
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold.
The yearly course, that brings this day about,
Shall never see it, but a holy-day.
Conft. A wicked day, and not a holy-day!

What hath this day deserv'd ? what hath it done,
That it in golden letters should be set,
Among the high tides, in the kalendar ?
Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week;
This day of shame, oppression, perjury:
Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child
Pray, that their burthens may not fall this day,
Lelt that their hopes prodigiously be croft:
But on this day 9, let seamen fear no wreck;
No bargains break, that are not this day made:


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? To folemnize this day, &c.] From this passage Rowe seems to have borrowed the first lines of his Fair Penitent. JOHNSON.

and plays the alchymist;] Milton has borrowed this thought, P. L. B.

" when with one virtuous touch !. Th'arch-chemic fun," &c. , STEEVENS. But on this day',No bargains break, &c.] That is, except on this day. JOHNSON.

In the ancient almanacs (one of which I have in my pofseslion, dated 1562) the days supposed to be favourable or unfavourable to bargains are distinguished, among a number of other particulars of the like importance. This circumstance is aliuded to in Webster's Dutchess of Malfy, 1623,

By the almanac, I think
To choose good days and fun the critical."



This day, all things begun come to ill end;
Yea, faith itself to hollow falfhood change!

K. Pbil. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
To curse the fair proceedings of this day :
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty ?

Conjt. You have beguild me with a counterfeit Resembling majesty; which, touch'd and try'd, Proves valueless : you are forsworn, forsworn! * You came in arms to spill my enemies blood, But now in arms, you strengthen it with yours. The grappling vigour, and rough frown of war, Is cold in amity and painted peace, And our oppression hath made up this league:Arm, arm, ye heavens, against these perjur'd kings! A widow cries, be husband to me, heaven! Let not the hours of this ungodly day Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sun-set, 3 Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings. Hear me, oh, hear me !

Auft. Lady Constance, peace.

Conft. War! war! no peace ! peace is to me a war. +0 Lymoges ! O Auftria! thou dost shame That bloody spoil: thou save, thou wretch, thou coward,

Thou So in T'he Elder Brother of Beaumont and Fletcher,

an almanac
Which thou art daily poring in, to pick out

Days of iniquity to cozen fools in.” Steevens. * You came in arms to spill my enemies blood,

But now in arms, you strengthen it with yours.] I am afraid here is a clinch intended ; You came in war to destroy my enemies, but now you frengthen them in embraces. JOHNSON.

Set armed discord, &c.] Shakespeare makes this bitter curse effeétual. JOHNSON.

* O Lymoges! O Auftria!-] The propriety or impropriety of these titles, which every editor has suffered to pass unnoted, de, serves a little confideration. Shakespeare has, on this occasion, followed the old play, which at once furnihed him with the character of Faulconbridge, and ascribed the death of Richard I. to the duke of Austria. In the person of Austria, he has conjoined the two well-known enemies of Caur-de-lion. Leopold, duke of Auftria, threw him into prison in a former expedition ; but the neef Chalus, before which he fell, belonged to Vi


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