“And what poor duty cannot do, _yet would_,
Noble respect,” &c.
_Ib._ sc. 2.—
“_Puck._ Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores
All with weary task foredone,” &c.
Very Anacreon in perfectness, proportion, grace, and spontaneity! So far
it is Greek;—but then add, O! what wealth, what wild ranging, and yet what
compression and condensation of, English fancy! In truth, there is nothing
in Anacreon more perfect than these thirty lines, or half so rich and
imaginative. They form a speckless diamond.
“Comedy Of Errors.”
The myriad-minded man, our, and all men’s Shakespeare, has in this piece
presented us with a legitimate farce in exactest consonance with the
philosophical principles and character of farce, as distinguished from
comedy and from entertainments. A proper farce is mainly distinguished
from comedy by the licence allowed, and even required, in the fable, in
order to produce strange and laughable situations. The story need not be
probable, it is enough that it is possible. A comedy would scarcely allow
even the two Antipholuses; because, although there have been instances of
almost indistinguishable likeness in two persons, yet these are mere
individual accidents, _casus ludentis naturæ_, and the _verum_ will not
excuse the _inverisimile_. But farce dares add the two Dromios, and is
justified in so doing by the laws of its end and constitution. In a word,
farces commence in a postulate, which must be granted.
“As You Like It.”
Act i. sc. 1.
“_Oli._ What, boy!
_Orla._ Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.
_Oli._ Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?”
There is a beauty here. The word “boy” naturally provokes and awakens in
Orlando the sense of his manly powers; and with the retort of “elder
brother,” he grasps him with firm hands, and makes him feel he is no boy.
_Ib._—
“_Oli._ Farewell, good Charles. Now will I stir this gamester: I hope, I
shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing
more than him. Yet he’s gentle; never school’d, and yet learn’d; full of
noble device; of all sorts enchantingly beloved! and, indeed, so much in
the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know
him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this
wrestler shall clear all.”
This has always appeared to me one of the most un-Shakespearian speeches
in all the genuine works of our poet; yet I should be nothing surprised,
and greatly pleased, to find it hereafter a fresh beauty, as has so often
happened to me with other supposed defects of great men.—1810.
It is too venturous to charge a passage in Shakespeare with want of truth
to nature; and yet at first sight this speech of Oliver’s expresses
truths, which it seems almost impossible that any mind should so
distinctly, so livelily, and so voluntarily, have presented to itself, in
connection with feelings and intentions so malignant, and so contrary to
those which the qualities expressed would naturally have called forth. But
I dare not say that this seeming unnaturalness is not in the nature of an
abused wilfulness, when united with a strong intellect. In such characters
there is sometimes a gloomy self-gratification in making the absoluteness
of the will (_sit pro ratione voluntas!_) evident to themselves by setting
the reason and the conscience in full array against it.—1818.
_Ib._ sc. 2.—
“_Celia._ If your saw yourself with _your_ eyes, or knew yourself with
_your_ judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more
equal enterprise.”
Surely it should be “_our_ eyes” and “_our_ judgment.”
_Ib._ sc 3.—
“_Cel._ But is all this for your father?
_Ros._ No; some of it is for _my child’s father_.”
Theobald restores this as the reading of the older editions. It may be so:
but who can doubt that it is a mistake for “my father’s child,” meaning
herself? According to Theobald’s note, a most indelicate anticipation is
put into the mouth of Rosalind without reason;—and besides, what a strange
thought, and how out of place and unintelligible!