More than once does Shakespeare allude to "broken music." In "Troilus and Cressida " (Act iii. Sc. 1), we find the following:

"Pandarus. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide them! especially to you, fair queen! fair thoughts be your fair pillow!

Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words.

Pandarus. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince, here is good broken music.

Paris. You have broke it, cousin; and, by my life, you shall make it whole again; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance: - Nell, he is full of harmony.

Pandarus. Truly, lady, no."

Richard Grant White considers Shakespeare occasionally to have meant part-music when speaking of broken music, and imagines it so applied in this case, but the weight of evidence is in favour of the explanation given above.

It is natural enough that the great punster should not have omitted the chance to make his play upon words whenever he uses this metaphor. King Henry V., in his wooing of Queen Katharine, speaks thus (Act v. Sc. 2):

"Come, your answer in broken music; for thy voice is music, and thy English broken; therefore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken English. Wilt thou have me?"

In "As You Like It," Act i. Sc. 2, Rosalind punningly speaks of the wrestling, in which the duke's wrestler has broken the ribs of three opponents:

"But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides?"

Naturally enough the poet draws many metaphors from the tuning of instruments. The tuning of heart-strings is spoken of in "Lucrece," in a passage that is so embroidered with musical metaphor that we give it entire :

"You mocking birds,' quoth she, 'your tunes entomb
Within your hollow swelling feather'd breast,
And in my hearing be you mute and dumb!
(My restless discord loves no stops nor rests;
A woful hostess brooks not merry guests :)
Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears;
Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears.

"Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment,

Make thy sad grove in my dishevel'd hair.
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,
So I at each sad strain will strain a tear,
And with deep groans the diapason bear:
For burthen-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still,
While thou on Tereus descant'st better skill.

"And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part,
To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,
To imitate thee well, against my heart

Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye:
Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die.

These means, as frets upon an instrument,
Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment.

"And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day,
As shaming any eye should thee behold,
Some dark deep desert, seated from the way,
That knows not parching heat nor freezing cold,
Will we find out; and there we will unfold

To creatures stern, sad tunes, to change their kinds;
Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.'"

"Discord," "stops," "dumps," "rests," " "diapason (the fundamental bass in this case), "burthen-wise " (containing a burden), "descant," "bearing a part," "frets," and "tuning!" Rarely can one find a poem where music is so heavily drawn upon for similes.

I

A fitting complement to this tuning with heartstrings is found in the stringing of Orpheus's lute with poets' sinews. ' The simile is found in "Two Gentlemen of Verona" (Act iii. Sc. 2) where Proteus hypocritically gives advice to Thurio as to the best mode of wooing Sylvia. It will be noticed that concerted music is again alluded to, and again we meet with that slow dance or song, called the "dump"

'In this connection the description of John of Gaunt's death in

Richard II.," Act ii. Sc. 5, may be mentioned:

"Northumberland. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty.

King Richard. What says he now?

Northumberland. Nay, nothing; all is said:

His tongue is now a stringless instrument."

(see preceding chapter, and also the chapter on dances).

"Proteus. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart;
Write till your ink be dry; and with your tears
Moist it again; and frame some feeling line,
That may discover such integrity:

For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews;
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans

Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.

After your dire lamenting elegies,

Visit by night your lady's chamber window

With some sweet concert: to their instruments

Tune a deploring dump; the night's dead silence
Will well become such sweet complaining grievance.
This, or else nothing, will inherit her.

Duke.

This discipline shews thou hast been in love. Thurio. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice: Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,

Let us into the city presently,

To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music:

I have a sonnet that will serve the turn,

To give the onset to thy good advice."

When the serenade takes place (Act iv. Sc. 2), the musical terms and the punning grow thicker.

"Enter THURIO and Musicians.

Thurio. How, now, Sir Proteus! are you crept before us? Proteus. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love

Will creep in service where it cannot go.

Thurie. Ay; but I hope, sir, that you love not here.
Proteus. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.

Thurio. Who? Silvia?

Proteus. Ay, Silvia, for your sake.

Now, gentlemen,

Thurio. I thank you for your own.

Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile.

Enter Host and JULIA behind; JULIA in boy's clothes.

Host. Now, my young guest, methinks you're allycholly: I pray you, why is it?

Julia. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.
Host. Come, we'll have you merry.

I'll bring you where

you shall hear music and see the gentleman that you asked for.

Julia. But shall I hear him speak?

Host. Ay, that you shall.

This song has been gloriously set to music by Schubert. The Shakespearian music is lost.