going. Who does not see now, that it ought to be read : -should salve my going. Mr. Upton reads, I think rightly: -safe my going. JOHN. THEOB. And that which most with you should save my going.' The modern editors have altered safe' to save. This latter expression, however, is wrong. They seem not to have known that safe is vouchsafe, i. e. grant, agree to. It should be printed with an elision. Not having this mark of contraction, it would seem that neither Upton nor Johnson have understood the word rightly. B. Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness :-Can Fulvia die? Can Fulvia die ? That Fulvia was mortal, Cleopatra could have no reason to doubt; the meaning therefore of her question seems to be:-Will there ever be an end of your excuses? As often as you want to leave me, will not some Fulvia, some new pretext be found for your departure? She has already said that though age could not exempt her from follies, at least it frees her from a childish belief in all he says. STEEV. Can Fulvia die? The meaning evidently is,-'will not the memory of Fulvia remain ? Can she ever be forgotten by you?' This is said with a kind of sneer. The Si fata, &c. tu Marcellus eris of Virgil, has, however, suggested the expression. Cleo. O, my oblivion is a very Antony, O, my oblivion is a very Antony, And I am all forgotten.] B. The plain meaning is, My forgetfulness makes me forget myself. But she expresses it by calling forgetfulness Antony; because forgetfulness had forgot her, as Antony had done. For want of apprehending this quaintness of expression, the Oxford editor is forced to tell us news, That all forgotten is an old way of speaking, for apt to forget every thing. WARB. I cannot understand the learned critic's explanation. It appears to me, that she should rather have said: O my remembrance is a very Antony, It was her memory, not her oblivion, that, like Antony, was forgetting and deserting her. I think a slight change will restore the passage. The queen having something to say, which she is not able, or would not seem able to recollect, cries out: O my oblivion!-'Tis a very Antony. The thought of which I was in quest is a very Antony, is treacherous and fugitive, and has irrevocably left me: And I am all forgotten. If this reading stand, I think the explanation of Harmer must be received. JOHN. : Oh! my oblivion is a very Antony and I am all forgotten.' With the present reading, no explication can be satisfactory. 'Forgotten' should be forlotten, i. e. forlorn, deserted. That this is the proper word will be readily acknowledged when it is remembered that Antony is merely leaving Cleopatra for a time, and by reason of his sense of honor,' of his duty as a soldier: and that he had almost immediately before observed to her— The strong necessity of time commands Our services awhile but my full heart Cleopatra then may certainly complain of his being about to leave her; but she as certainly could have nothing to say in regard to his forgetfulness, and which indeed it would be absurd to charge him with when his constancy had not been tried. I read : 'Oh me! Oblivion is a very Antony, And I am all forlotten.' " The sense of the passage is this- All is oblivious with me. My memory has deserted me even as Antony is preparing to do.' She calls oblivion a very Antony,' as having gained a power over her and caused her distresses: she wanted recollection: she was unable to make herself understood. B. Cæs. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, One great competitor; One great competitor:] Perhaps, Our great competitor. JoHN. One great competitor.' This should probably be 'ane great competitor,' ane i. e. any. Meaning any competitor however great, however distinguished. B. Cæs. Yet must Antony No way excuse his foils, when we do bear So great weight in his lightness: No way excuse his foils,] The meaning is clear; but is there any instance of this word being used in the sense here required, by Shakspeare or any other writer?-The old copy has foyles. believe wrote, soils, formerly spelt soyles. MAL. Our author I 'No way excuse his foils.' Fail' for fault, error, failure through neglect, is used by Shakspeare in other of his plays: and this is the word I would prefer. B. Cas. It hath been taught us from the primal state, To rot itself with motion. -he, which is, was wish'd, until he were ; And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd, 'till ne'er worth love, Let us examine the sense of this in plain prose. The earliest histories in form us, that the man in supreme command was always wish'd to gain that command, till he had obtained it And he, whom the multitude has contentedly seen in a low condition, when he begins to be wanted by them, becomes to be fear'd by them. But do the multitude fear a man because they want him? Certainly, we must read. Comes dear'd, by being lack'd i. e. endear'd, a favourite to them. Besides, the context requires this reading; for it was not fear, but love, that made the people flock to young Pompey, and what occasion'd this reflection. So, in Coriolanus: 'I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd' WARB. This passage has been happily amended by Dr. Warburton; but surely there is something yet wanting. What is the meaning of 'ne'er lov'd, till ne'er worth love?' I have no doubt that the second ne'er was inadvertently repeated at the press, and that we should read— 'ne'er lov'd, till not worth love.' MAL. 'He which is, was wished, until he were, &c.' This emendation by Dr. Warburton is no way deserving of praise; he has evidently mistaken the sense. Fear'd,' which is found in all the old copies, is certainly the poet's word. This, however, the learned critic has changed to dear; an alteration which he attempts to justify by the following question. Do the multitude fear a man because they want him?" Certainly not: that is they do not necessarily fear him: they do not fear him by reason that they are in want of him. But nothing like this (though Dr. W. has so considered it) is to be understood of the passage; and it will be readily admitted, I believe, that there may be reasons, political reasons, why a man may be wanted and yet be feared at the same time. In the second line, indeed, there is a fault, and which I correct as follows: 'He which is, was wish'd until he were ; And the ebb'd man, worth love, (ne'er lov'd till near) Thus much observed, I explain the reading thus: The ebb'd man' the man of fallen fortunes, and who has retired, who has sheltered himself from the turbulence of the times, though deserving of love, is never lov'd till near. That is, till called on [his abilities at length acknowledged] and approaching, returning to his country to take on him a command.' But why, it may be asked, is he to be feared? Why for this plain reason, that having been long neglected, and then called for in a time of distress, the multitude might very naturally suppose him to be influenced by passions like their own. They are therefore supposed to fear, to be apprehensive that he may become, from finding himself lacked by them, too assuming: and this, for the reasons already assigned, their former neglect of him. We should at the same time remember that no part of the passage is to be taken in a consequential sense or as being said in reference to Pompey. It is merely expressive of the fickleness, the wavering disposition of the people. B. Goes to, and back, lashing the varying tide, To rot itself with motion.] How can a flag, or rush, floating upon a stream, and that has no motion but what the fluctuation of the water gives it, be said to lash the tide? This is making a scourge of a weak ineffective thing, and giving it an active violence in its own power. All the old editions read lucking. Tis true, there is no sense in that reading; but the addition of a single letter will not only give us good sense, but the genuine word of our author into the bargain. -Lacquing the varying tide, i. e. floating backwards and forwards with the variation of the tide, like a page or lucquey, at his master's heels. THEOB. 'Goes to and back, lashing the varying tide.' Theobald's reading (lackying) is forced, and presents a ridiculous image. Beside, the signification is not that the flag lashes the tide; but simply that the tide lashes. The whole matter is, that the article is out of its place: read, Goes to and back, the lashing varying tide.' i. e. Goes to and fro' [with] the lashing, varying tide.' This mode of expression is found in the earlier writers. The preposition is frequently understood by them. B. And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed, Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke -arm-gaunt steed,] i. e. his steed worn lean and thin by much service in war. WARB. Mr. Seward, in his preface to Beaumont and Fletcher, has very elaborately endeavoured to prove, that an arm-gaunt steed is a steed with lean shoulders. Arm is the Teutonic word for want, or poverty. Armgaunt may be therefore an old word, signifying, lean for want, ill fed. Edwards's observation, that a worn-out horse is not proper for Atlas to mount in battle, is impertinent; the horse here mentioned seems to be a post-horse, rather than a war-horse. Yet as arm-gaunt seems not intended to imply any defect, it perhaps means, a horse so slender that a man might clasp him, and therefore formed for expedition. JoHN. 'An arm-gaunt steed.' The commentators have puzzled themselves in explication of an expression, which after all it is scarcely possible to explain, and which is apparently a misprint. 'Arm-gaunt' should, I think, be arm-gent. Gent is fine, handsomely clad. An arm-gent steed' will therefore mean, a warsteed, gayly caparisoned; and such as, when we consider the situation of Antony, we may well suppose would be presented him ⚫to mount. That a lean, or ill-fed horse should be brought to him is highly improbable: beside, the very circumstance of the loud neighing of the animal, speaks him on the contrary to be high-fed, spirited, and proper for a soldier to bestride. There are yet two other readings. 1. Arm-gaud which comes nearer the letters in the text; and will have the same meaning as arm-gent: and 2. arm-vaunt, which more resembles the original in sound. But this latter epithet, I do not altogether like: it is ill compounded. Yet arm vaunt steed,' may well enough stand for 'boastful, pampered war-horse.' The reader will take his choice. SHAK. II. M We find in Richard III. and when speaking of the war-horse Was beastly dumb by him.] Mr. Theobald reads dumb'd, put to silence. "Alexas means, (says he) the horse made such a neighing, that if he had spoke he could not have been heard." JouN. Was beastly dumb by him.' The editors have surely mistaken the meaning of the lines. That Alexas should say he was beastly dumb'd by the horse, is uncommonly harsh: and of beastly done, (as given by Warburton) we may observe the same. By him' will signify, I think, standing by him (the horse): in the presence of. I read, "He neigh'd so high, that what I would have said, Was basely dump by him.' 'What I said and wished to be listened to was vilely dumpish, standing by, and hearing him.' In better language- what I had to say, seemed worthless: it was dull and heavy compared with his high and lively sounds.' Dump,' in Shakspeare's time, had not the ludicrous meaning that is now affixed to it: formerly and in the Musician's vocabulary, a slow and solemn air was called a dump. B. Cleo. My sallad days! When I was green in judgment: Bold in blood, To say, as I said then! This puzzles the late editor, Mr. Theobald. He says: "Cleopatra may speak very naturally here with contempt of her judgment at that period: but how truly with regard to the coldness of her blood may admit some question:" and then employs his learning to prove, that at this 'cold season of her blood, she had seen twenty good years. But Shakspeare's best justification is restoring his own sense, which is done merely by a different pointing: My sallad days; When I was green in judgment. Cold in blood! To say as I said then. Cold in blood, is an upbraiding expostulation to her maid. Those, says she, were my sallad days, when I was green in judgment; but your blood is as cold as my judgment, if you have the same opinion of things now as I had then. WARB. I would prefer ballad days. What are sallad days? Does sallad give any particular or appropriate idea of youth? or do the editors read sallad, because Cleopatra is here speaking of her green judgment? Green, in this place, however, has not the smallest reference to color, it certainly means unripe; and do we say of sallad that it is unripe? The true reading, I should suppose, is ballad days, i. e. Days when she was little given to thought or reflection. We now say, our dancing days,' when we speak of the earliest and liveliest part of our life. B. Pomp. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays |