P. 72.-520.-554.

Glo. So wise so young, they say, do ne'er live long [Aside.
Prince. What say you, uncle?

Glo. I say, without characters, fame lives long.
Thus like the formal vice, iniquity,

I moralize two meanings in one word.

}

[Aside.

Mr. M. Mason's explanation of these words appears to me most satisfactory.

P. 88.-535.-578.

Glo. My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn,
I saw good strawberries in your garden there;
I do beseech you, send for some of them.

This circumstance was certainly mentioned by the historians, and used by the poet for the latter reason assigned by Mr. Steevens. That Shakespeare meant it so I think clearly appears from the next speech that Hastings speaks

P. 114.-561.-615.

K. Rich. How now, lord Stanley? what's the news?

Stan.

Know, my loving lord,

K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her?

Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose but have thee,
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.

I think Mr. Steevens has done rightly.

P. 139-585.-650.

K. Rich. Plead what I will be, not what I have been ;
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve:
Urge the necessity and state of times,
And be not peevish found in great designs.

I think Mr. Steevens is right.

P. 150.-597.-668.

K. Rich. Fill me a bowl of wine.-Give me a watch:

Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.

[To Catesby.

I believe watch here means a watch-light.

I

P. 157.-603.-676.

Ghost. Harry, that prophecy'd thou should'st be king,
Doth comfort thee in thy sleep; live and flourish!

agree with Mr. Steevens.

P. 159.-605.-679.

Ghost of Buck. I died for hope, ere I could lend thee aid.

[To Richmond.

But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd.

I think these words are rightly explained by Mr. Steevens. I can by no means assent to the emendation which he proposes.

P. 160.-605.-680.

K. Rich. O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
The lights burn blue.-It is not dead midnight.

It is now dead midnight is, I think, the true reading.

P. 162.-607.-683.

K. Rich. Who's there?

Rat. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village cock
Hath twice done salutation to the morn.

Surely we ought to read,

My lord, 'tis I. The early village cock.

P. 169.-615.-694.

Cate. Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!
The king enacts more wonders than a man,

Daring an opposite to every danger.

I incline, with Mr. M. Mason, to adopt Mr.

Tyrwhitt's emendation.

I cannot think Mr.

Malone's explanation the true one.

Nor. The force of his own merit makes his way;
A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys
A place next to the king.

I incline (with Mr. M. Mason) to receive Dr. Johnson's correction.

P. 200.-19.-26.

Buck. My surveyor is false; the o'er great cardinal
Hath show'd him gold: my life is spann'd already:
I am the shadow of poor Buckingham;
Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on,
By dark'ning my clear sun.

I concur with Sir William Blackstone.

Nor.

P. 203.-21.-30.

for upon these taxations,

The clothiers all, not able to maintain

The many to them 'longing, have put off
The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers.

Mr. Steevens is right.

P. 204.-23.—32.

Q. Kath. Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze
Allegiance in them; their curses now

Live where their prayers did and it's come to pass,
That tractable obedience is a slave

To each incensed will.

Malone's is the right explanation.

P. 205.-23.-32.

I would, your highness

Would give it quick consideration, for
There is no primer business.

I think Warburton's correction is right. Mr. Steevens has produced an authority from Othello for an acknowledged sense of the word prime: had he cited any instance to prove that baseness ever means mischief, I should have been more ready to concur with him in retaining that word.

P. 205.-24.-33.

Wol. If I am traduced by tongues, which neither know
My faculties, nor person, yet will be

The chronicles of my doing,-let me say,

'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake
That virtue must go through.

I think Mr. Steevens has done rightly.

P. 206.-24.-34.

What we oft do best,

By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is
Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft,
Hitting a grosser quality, is cry'd up
For our best act.

Wol. Ladies you are not merry ;-gentlemen,

Whose fault is this?

Sands.

The red wine first must rise

In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have them

Talk us to silence.

Anne.

My lord Sands.

You are a merry gamester,

Sands. Yes, if I make my play.

Ritson's is the true explanation.