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A Perfon in Defpair, compared to one
For now I ftand, as one upon a rock,
·Tears compar'd to Dew on a Lilly.
(5) When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey-dew Upon a gather'd lilly almost wither'd.
Reflections on killing a fly.
Mar. (6) Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. Tit. But?-how if that fly had a father and mother? How
Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny :
(5) See Vol. I. p. 86. n. 13.
(6) Alas.] The mind of Titus is wholly taken up with a reflection on his misfortunes, and his miferies as a parent: His brother Marcus killing a fly, he reprehends him for his cruelty; for, fays he,
How wou'd they hang their flender gilded wings
And he further reflects upon it, and brings him to himself: "How, fays he, if this poor fly, had a father and motherhow? what would be hang, &c. The reader muft fee the impropriety; for furely, he would add, "how would they, the father and the mother, for the lofs, hang their flender gilded wings. and buz-lamenting doings in the air? So that doubtless we should read,
For the fly after being kill'd, could not hang his wings himself, nor buz-lamenting doings; which word, though perhaps not al
How would he hang his flender gilded wings,
Poor harmlefs fly,
That with his pretty buzzing melody,
And thou haft kill'd him.
Lo, by thy fide where rape, and murder, ftands
together fo expreffive, feems to me the true one; it is frequently ufed for an action, a thing done: Mr. Theobald proposes,
Though he was conscious of the fimilarity between the word and the epithet; notwithstanding which the Oxford editor gives us, Laments and Dolings.
Troilus and Creffida.
Love, in a brave young Soldier.
ALL here my varlet: I'll un-arm again.
(1) C Why thould I. war without the walls of
That find fuch cruel battle here within?
(1) Call, &c.] Mr. Theobald and Mr. Upton both perceiv'd our author's allufion here to an ode of Anacreon, (or, as the latter fays," to a thought printed among thofe poems, which are afcribed to Anacreon.) Ben Johnson, as well as our author, alludes to it in the following paffage :
Volpone. O I am wounded!.
Mef. Where, Sir?
Vol. Not without.
Those blows were nothing; I could bear them ever,
Hath hot himself into me, like a flame;
Whofe vent is ftopt. The fight is all within me
Volpone A& 2. S. 3
ΜΑΧΗΣ ΕΣΩ Μ' ΕΧΟΥΣΗΣ ;
The Greeks are ftrong, and fkilful to their strength,
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant.
O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lye drown'd,
They lye indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gate, her voice;
Deinde feipfum projecit in modum teli: mediufque cordis mei penetravit & me folvit. Fruftra itaque habeo fcutum : quid enim muniamur extra, bello intus me exercente. Mr. Upton, speaking of the feveral translations of the last line but one, adds "Now I will fet Shakespear's tranflation against them them all: Why Should I war without. Tyag Baλwμeł εžw— For this is the meaning of the phrafe, quid hoftem petam, vel quid bostem ferire aggrediar extra; cum hoftis intus eft? &c. See Remarks on three plays of Ben Johnson, p. 28.
(2) Her hand, &c.] In the Midfummer night's Dream, speak, ing of a white hand, he fays;
That pure congealed white high Taurus' Inow,
A 31 1.6.
I don't know what to make of the words and fpirit of sense, nor do any of the crities fatisfy me: the Oxford editor reads
Neither of which appear to me as from the hand of Shakespear: whether by the fpirit of sense, he means the fenfe of touching, I can not tell; that feems the most probable, to the feifure of her hand the down of the cignet is harth, and its fpirit of fenfe [the foft and delicate fenfe, its touch gives us hard as the the plowman's palm." Writing
Writing their own reproach: to whofe foft feizure
SCENE V. Succefs, not equal to our Hopes.
The ample propofition that hope.makes,
Fails in the promis'd largeness: checks and difafters
Take but degree away; untune that string,
And the rude fon would ftrike his father dead :
(3) Refides] The thought here is beautiful and fublime: Right and wrong are fuppofed as enemies, who are perpetually at war, between whom Justice hath her place of refidence, and fits as an umpire; for 'tis the endless jar of right and wrong, that only gives occafion for the interpofition of justice. Mr. Warburton hath, in this place, been too fevere on poor Theobald, the critic, (as he calls him) for dropping a flight remark, which, were it not defenfible, fhould rather be excus'd than cenfur'd; and introduc'd an alteration of his own, which an ill-natur'd remarker might poffibly find pleaLure in retorting upon him, But, as the only bufinels of a com