M.POPE supposed the story of this play to have been borrowed from a novel of Boccace; but he was mistaken, as an imitation of it is found in an old story-book entitled Westward for Smelts. This imitation differs in as many particulars from the Italian novelist, as from Shakspeare, though they concur in some material parts of the fable. It was published in a quarto pamphlet 1603. This is the only copy of it which I have hitherto seen.

There is a late entry of it in the books of the Stationer's Company, Jan. 1619, where it is said to have been written, by Kitt of Kingston. STEEVENS.

The only part of the fable which can be pronounced with certainty to be drawn from the above, is, Imogen's wandering about after Pisanio has left her in the forest: her being almost famished and being taken, at a subsequent period, into the service of the Roman General as a page. The general scheme of Cymbeline is, in my opinion, formed on Boccace's novel (Day 2, Nov. 9.) and Shakspeare has taken a circumstance from it, that is not mentioned in the other tale. See Act II. sc. ii. It appears from the preface to the old translation of the Decamerone, printed in 1620, that many of the novels had before received an English dress, and had been printed separately: "I know, most worthy lord (says the printer in his Epistle Dedicatory), that many of them [the novels of Boccace] have long since been published before, as stolen from the original author, and yet not beautified with his sweet style and elocution of phrase, neither savouring of his singular moral applications."

Cymbeline, I imagine, was written in the year 1690. The king, from whom the play takes its title, began his reign, according to Holinshed, in the 19th year of the reign of Augustus Cæsar; and the play commences in or about the twenty-fourth year of Cymbeline's reign, which was the forty-second year of the reign of Augustus, and the 16th of the Christian æra; notwithstanding which, Shakspeare has peopled

Rome with modern Italians; Philario, Iachi mo, &c. Cymbeline is said to have reigned thirty-five years, leaving at his death two sons, Guiderius and Arviragus. MALONE.

An ancient translation, or rather, a deformed and interpolated imitation, of the ninth novel of the second day of the Decameron of Boccacio, has recently occurred. The title and Colophon of this rare piece are as follows:

"This mater treateth of a merchantes wyfe that afterwarde went lyke a man and becam a great lorde and was called Frederyke of Jennen afterwarde."

"Thus endeth this lytell story of lorde Frederyke. Imprynted in Anwarpe by me John Dusborowhge, dwellynge besyde ye Camer porte in the yere of our lorde god a. M. CCCCC. and xviij."

This novel exhibits the material features of its original; though the names of the characters are changed, their sentiments debased, and their conduct rendered still more improbable than in the scenes before us. John of Florence is the Ambrogiulo, Ambrosius of Jennens the Bernabo of the story. Of the translator's elegance of imagination, and felicity of expression, the two following instances may be sufficient. He has converted the picturesque mole under the left breast of the lady, into a black wart on her left arm; and when at last, in a male habit, she discovers her sex, instead of displaying her bosom only, he obliges her to appear before the king and his whole court completely" naked, save that she had a karcher of sylke before hyr members."-The whole work is illustrated with wooden cuts, representing every scene throughout the narrative.

I know not that any advantage is gained by the discovery of this antiquated piece, unless it serves to strengthen our belief that some more faithful translation had furnished Shakspeare with incidents which, in their original Italian, to him at least were inaccessible. STEEVENS.

I something fear my father's wrath, but nothing,
(Always reserv'd my holy duty,) what

His rage can do on me: You must be gone;
And I shall here abide the hourly shot
Of

angry eyes; not comforted to live, But there is this jewel in the world, That I may see again.

Post. My queen! my mistress!

O, lady, weep no more; lest I give cause
To be suspected of more tenderness
Than doth become a man! I will remain

The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth.
My residence in Rome at one Philario's ;
Who to my father was a friend, to me
Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,
And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
Though ink be made of gall.

O thou vile one.

Sir,

Queen. 'Beseech your patience :-Peace, Dear lady daughter, peace ;-Sweet sovereign, Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some Out of your best advice.

Cym.

(Exit.

To walk this way: I never do him wrong,
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
Pays dear for my offences.
Post.
Should we be taking leave
As long a term as yet we have to live,
The loathness to depart would grow: Adieu!
Imo. Nay, stay a little :

Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
Such party were too petty. Look here, love;
This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;
But keep it till you woo another wife,
When Imogen is dead.

Post. How! how! another?—
You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
And sear up my embracements from a next
With bonds of death!-Remain thou here,

(Putting on the ring.)
While sense can keep it on! And sweetest, fairest,
As I my poor self did exchange for you,
To your so infinite loss; so, in our trifles
I still win of you: For my sake, wear this;
It is a manacle of love; I'll place it
Upon this fairest prisoner.

Imo.

(Putting a bracelet on her arm.) O, the gods!

When shall we see again?

Die of this folly!

[comfort

Nay, let her languish

[Exit.

No harm, I trust, is done?
Pis.

But that my master rather play'd than fought,
And had no help of anger: they were parted
By gentlemen at hand.

[part.

Queen I am very glad on't.
Imo. Your son's my father's friend; he takes his
To draw upon an exile!-O brave sir!-

I would they were in Afric both together;
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
The goer back.-Why came you from your master?
Pis. On his command: He would not suffer me
To bring him to the haven: left these notes
Of what commands I should be subject to,
When it pleas'd you to employ me.

Queen.
This hath been
Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour,
He will remain so.
Pis.

I humbly thank your highness. Queen. Pray, walk a while. Imo.

About some half hour hence, I pray you, speak with me: you shall, at least, Go see my lord aboard: for this time, leave me.

SCENE III-A public Place.

Enter CLOTEN and two Lords.

[Exeunt.

1 Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt ; the violence of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice: Where air comes out, air comes in: there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.

Clo. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift itHave I hurt him?

2 Lord. No, faith; not so much as his patience, (Aside.)

1 Lord. Hurt him? his body's a passable carcass, if he be not hurt: it is a thoroughfare for steel, if it be not hurt.

2 Lord. His steel was in debt; it went o'the backside the town. (Aside.)

Clo. The vilain would not stand me. 2 Lord. No; but he fled forward still, toward your face. (Aside.)

1 Lord. Stand you! You have land enough of your own but he added to your having; gave you some ground.

2 Lord. As many inches as you have oceans: Puppies! (Aside. Clo. I would, they had not come between us.