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not with any propriety be spoken of dung, (to say nothing of the coarseness of the expression) not even with the aid of a figure. The speech, though wanting in accurate reasoning, in logical deduction, may yet be understood as I have altered it. B.

Pro. Hold, worthy lady, hold:

Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this
Reliev'd, but not betray'd.

Cleo. What, of death too, that rids

languish?

-who are in this

Reliev'd, but not betray'd.

rids our dogs of

As plausible as this reading is, it is corrupt. Had Shakspeare used the word reliev'd, he would have added, and not betray'd. But that he used another word the reply shews: What of death too? which will not agree with reliev'd; but will direct us to the genuine word, which is:

Bereay'd but not betray'd.

i. e. bereaved of death, or of the means of destroying yourself, but not betrayed to your destruction. By the particle too, in the reply, she alludes to her being before bereaved of Antony. And thus his speech becomes correct, and her reply pertinent. WARB.

I do not think the emendation necessary, since the sense is not made better by it, and the abruptness in Cleopatra's answer is more forcible in the old reading. JOHN.

'Who are in this

Reliev'd but not "betray'd.' The learned commentators appear to be wrong. I do not think that either relieved or bereav'd will be the proper word. Some of the words are surely misplaced. I read :

who are in this

Betray'd not, but relev'd!'

(Relevé, French, raised up, set high,) you are not betrayed; but on the contrary set high by Cæsar. You will be raised, as it were, above yourself! Cleopatra (in mockery of the elevation designed her, mixed at the same time with a greatness of soul which seems to consider death as the supreme good) makes answer, what by death too,' &c. i. e. Death likewise can raise me high and,' (as she would imply), 'set me far above Cæsar.' 'Of,' as in many other places, is by. B.

—languish] For languish, I think we may read, anguish. Joan. 'Languish.' Shakspeare is not here speaking of death that deprives an animal of pain, but which hinders him from languishing in torments. B.

Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I'll not drink, sir ;

If idle talk will once be necessary,

I'll not sleep neither;

If idle talk will once be necessary,] This nonsense should be reformed thus:

If idle time will once be necessary.

i. e. if repose be necessary to cherish life, I will not sleep. WARB. I do not see that the nonsense is made sense by the change. Sir T. Hanmer reads:

If idle talk will once he accessary;

Neither is this better. I know not what to offer better than an easy explanation. That is, I will not eat, and if it will be necessary now for once to waste a moment in idle talk of my purpose, I will not sleep neither. In common conversation we often use will be, with as little relation to futurity. As, Now I am going, it will be fit for me to dine first. JOHN.

If idle talk will once be necessary. Johnson has rightly interpreted the passage. I would, however, place the second line first, which will give a greater clearness to the whole. It should be printed as a broken, interrupted sentence ;

'If idle falk will once be necessary

Sir! I will eat no meat,' &c. B.

Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean; his rear'd arm
Crested the world; his voice was property'd

As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;

-and that to friends.] Thus the old copy. The modern editors read, with no less obscurity:

---When that to friends. STEEV.

'His legs bestrid the ocean; his rear'd arm
Crested the world: his voice was property'd

As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;'

This, as Mr. Steevens has observed, is obscure. To exhibit a just and proper reasoning, to give clearness, in short, to the passage, we must change the order of the words. I regulate the speech as follows ; the difficulty lies in the latter part of it:

'His legs bestrid the ocean: his rear'd arm

Crested the world: his voice was that of all

The tuned spheres, and property'd to friends.'

i. e. His voice was melodious as the music of the Spheres: and ever ready to be given in favor of, in assistance to his friends. They might consider it as a property, they might lay claim to it as a right. B.

Dol. Would I might never

Q'ertake pursu'd success, but I do feel,

By the rebound of yours, a grief that shoots

My very heart at root.

-shoots] The old copy reads

suites. STEEV.

'A grief that shoots My very heart at root.' The suites' of the old copy · should in all probability be smites. The change is easy and the word recommended is surely preferable to shoots: since for grief to smite the heart, is conformable to the English mode of speech; which in the other is not the case. Add to this that it comes nearer to the original reading suites. B.

Cleo. Sole sir o' the world,

I cannot project mine own cause so well
To make it clear;

I cannot project mine own cause so well] Project signifies to invent a cause, not to plead it; which is the sense here required. It is plain that we should read:

I cannot procter my own cause so well.

The technical term, 10 plead by an advocate. WARB.

Sir T. Hanmer reads;

I cannot parget my own rause—

meaning. I cannot whitewash, varnish, or gloss my cause. I believe the present reading to be right. To project a cause is to represent a cause; to project it well, is to plan or contrive a scheme of defence. JOHN.

I cannot project mine own cause so well.' Warburton's reading must be wrong, since Cleopatra is here made to speak in her own proper cause. But still the present reading cannot be right, for that she should project a cause well' or contrive a scheme of defence, as Johnson would interpret it, and, at the same time, acknowledge it to Cæsar, is absurd. I would read; I cannot prolate, &c.' (a latin sense) i. e. I cannot shew, set forth, or dilate on, &c. The 7 might be mistaken by the printer for j; or he might possibly be deceived by his ear, the word being read to him projate. B.

Cleo. That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me,
Doing the honor of thy lordliness

To one so meek, that mine own servant should
Parcel the sum of my disgraces by

Addition of his envy

To one so meek,-] Meek, I suppose, means here, tame, subdued by adversity. So, in the parallel passage in Plutarch :- poor wretch, and caitiff creature, brought into this pitiful and miserable estateCleopatra in any other sense was not eminent for meekness. MAL.

Weak, I think, would be a better word from the lips of CleopaOne so weakened or reduced by adversity, that my servant takes advantage of it. B.

tra.

Parcel the sum of my disgraces by] To parcel her disgraces, might be expressed in vulgar language, to bundle up her calamities. JOHN.

I do not see any thing inelegant here. Parcel is augment. B.

Cleo.

Antony

Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see

Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness

-boy my greatness,] The parts of women were acted on the stage by boys. HAN.

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-boy my greatness.'

I think it not unlikely that the Poet may have written buoy, i. e. maintain or support my greatness, &c. B.

Cleo. Why, that's the way

To fool their preparation, and to conquer
Their most absurd intents.

Their most absurd intents.-] Why should Cleopatra call Cæsar's designs absurd? She could not think his intent of carrying her in triumph, such, with regard to his own glory and her finding an expedient to disappoint him, could not bring it under that predicament. I much rather think the poet wrote,

Their most assur'd intentse. the purposes, ing. THEOB.

i.

:

which they make themselves most sure of accomplish

I have preserved the old reading. The design certainly appeared absurd enough to Cleopatra, both as she thought it unreasonable in itself, and as she knew it would fail. JOHN.

'Their most absurd intents.'

Absurd in this place, I think, is ill-judged, unbefitting. Such as will do them great discredit. B.

Cas.

For her physician tells me,

She hath pursued conclusions infinite

Of easy ways to die.

-conclusions infinite] i. e. numberless experiments. MAL.

'Conclusions infinite.'

The meaning is, I believe, not that Cleopatra made experiments, but inquiries as to the easiest way to die, and with the view of drawing some conclusion respecting it, from the report that should be made to her by her physician. B.

Timon of Athens.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Poet. But what particular rarity? what strange,
Which manifold record not matches? See,
Magick of bounty! all these spirits thy power
Hath conjur'd to attend.

But what particular rarity, &c.] Our author, it is observable, has made his poet in this play a knave. But that it might not reflect upon the profession, he has made him only a pretender to it, as appears from his having drawn him, all the way, with a false taste and judgment. One infallible mark of which is, a fondness for every thing strange, surprising, and portentous; and, a disregard for whatever is common, or in nature. Shakspeare therefore has with great delicacy of judgment put his poetaster upon this inquiry. WARE.

The learned commentator's note must shift for itself. I cannot but think that this passage is at present in confusion. The poet asks a question, and stays not for an answer, nor has his question any apparent drift or consequence. I would range the passage thus:

Poet. Ay, that's well known.

But what particular rarity? what so strange,

That manifold record not matches?

Pain. See!

Poet. Magick of bounty, &c.

It may not be improperly observed here, that as there is only one copy of this play, no help can he had from collation, and more liberty must be allowed to conjecture. JOHN.

But what particular rarity? What strange' [thing?] I cannot subscribe to the opinion of Johnson in regard to this speech. What, for instance, can he mean by giving a part of it to the painter, and in making him exclaim, See! Is it the performance of the artist which is to be seen, and is it here produced in consequence of the poet's question - What particular rarity,' &c. If answer be given to me in the affirmative, I will maintain that the critic is doubly mistaken in his allotment of the lines; for the painter in making such exclamation, and by way of reply to the poet, would shew himself an arrant coxcomb. Besides, it is afterwards demanded of him, 'What have you there?' to this, he says, A picture;' and on the poet's observing that it is excellent, he farther says, It is evident, then, that the speech belongs entirely to the poet. I

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