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King. Yet ftill she is the moon, and I the man. (45) The musick plays,vouchsafe some motion to it
Rofa. Our ears vouchsafe it.
chance, We'll not be nice; take hands; — we will not dance.
King. Why take you hands then!
Rosa. Only to part friends;
King. More measure of this measure; be not nice.
Roja. Then cannot we be bought; and so, adieu ; Twice to your visor, and half once to you.
King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat,
thee. Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar, there is three. Biron. Nay then, two treys; and if you grow so
nice, Methegline, wort, and malmsey; - well
dice: There's half a dozen sweets.
Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu ;
Our Ears vouchfafę it.] This Verse, about the Man in the Moon, I verily believe to be spurious, and an Interpolation : because, in the first place, the Conceit of it is not pursued; and then it entirely breaks in upon the Chain of the Couplets, and has no Rhyme to it. However, I have not ventur'd ta casheer it. The 2d Verse is given to Rosaline, but very absurdly. The King is intended to sollicit the Princess to dance ; but the Ladies had beforehand declar'd their Resolutions of not complying. It is evident therefore, that it is the King, who should impergune Rosaline, whom be mistakes for the Princess, to dance with him,
Biron. One word in secret.
Mar. Say you so? fair lord :
Dum. Please it you ; As much in private; and I'll bid adieu. Cath. What, was your vizor made without a
tongue ? Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. Cath. O, for your reason! quickly, Sir ; I long.
Long. You have a double tongue within your mask,
Cath. No, I'll not be your half;
Cath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.
As is the razor's edge, invincible,
Above the sense of sense, so sensible
Biron. By heaven, all dry beaten with pure scoff
. — King. Farewell, mad wenches, you have simple wits.
[Exeunt King and Lords.
fat. Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly poor flout: Will they not (think you) hang themselves to night?
Or ever, but in vizors, Thew their faces? This pert Biron was out of count’nance quite.
Rofa. O! they were all in lamentable cases. The King was weeping-ripe for a good word.
Prin. Biron did swear himself out of all suit. Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword: No, point, quoth I; my servant strait was mute.
Cath. Lotd Longaville faid, I came o'er his heart;
Prin. Qualm, perhaps.
Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.
Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give car:
Prin. Will they return?
Boyet. They will, they will, God knows;
Boyet. Fair ladies, maskt, are roses in their bud; (46)
damask (weet Commixture shewn.
Rof. Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,
Boyet. Ladies, withdraw, the Gallants are at hand.
A CT V.
SCENĘ, before the Princess's Pavilion.
Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in
Boyet. Gone to her Tent.
(46) Fair Ladies maskt are roses in the bud:
Dismaskt, their damask sweet Commixture shown,
Are Angels wailing Clouds, or roses blown.] As thefe Lines itand in all the Editions, there is not only an Anticlimax with a Vengeance; but fuch a Jumble, that makes the whole, I think, fark Nonsense. I have ventur'd at a Transposition of the 2d and 3d Lines, by the Advice of my Friend Mr. Warburton ; and by a minute Change, or two, clear'd up the Sense, I hope, to the Poet's Intention.
King That she vouchsafe me audience for one word. Boyet. I will; and so will fhc, I know, my lord. [Exit.
Biron. This fellow picks up wit, as pigeons peas ; And utters it again, when Fove doth plcase : He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares At wakes and wassals, meetings, markets, fairs : And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know, Have not the grace to grace it with such show. This Gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve ; Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve. He can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he, That kift away his hand in courtele; This is the ape of form, Monsieur the nice, That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice In honourable terms: nay, he can sing A mean most mainly; and, in ulhering, Mend him who can; the ladies call him sweet ; The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet. This is the flower, that smiles on cvery one, (47) To show his teeth, as white as whale his bone.
(47) This is the Flow'r, that smiles on ev'ry one, -] A flower smiling, is a very odd Image. I once fufpected, that the Poet might have wrote;
This is the Fleerer, smiles on ev'ry One. But nothing is to be alter'd in the Text. The Metaphor is to be juftified by our Author's Ulage in other Passages.
Romeo and Juliet.
Rom. Pink for Flower.
He is not the Flower of Courtefie; but, I warrant him as gentle as a Lamb. But the complex Metaphor, as it stands in the Passage before us, will be much better juftified by a fine piece of Criticism, which my ingenious Friend Mr. Warburton sent me upon this Subject. I'll subjoin it in his own Words. “ What the Criticks call the broken, disjointed, and mixt
Metaphor are very great Faults in Writing. But then observe this “ Rule, which, I think, is of general and constant Use in Writing, “ and very necessary to direct one's Judgment in this part of Style. " That when a Metaphor is grown fo common as to desert, as 'twere, " the figurative, and to be receiv'd into the fimple or common Style, “ then what may be affirm'd of the Substance, may be affirm'd of the " Image, i. c. the Metaphor : For a Métaphor is an Image. To illu