INTRODUCTION.

I. The Text.

1.

In reading and criticising the plays of Shakespeare, we must always bear in mind that they were written for the stage, not for the closet, to be acted, not to be read. Shakespeare, as it would appear, was utterly regardless of literary fame; he had, as we have seen, one sole object in view, to acquire as much money as would enable him to quit the hurry and bustle of London, and settle down in his native Stratford-on-Avon as a man of independent property, and be, if possible, the founder of a family. Pouring forth, therefore, his tragic and comic strains, with as little apparent effort as the songsters of the grove warble their native notes, he set no value on them but as they filled the Globe and the Blackfriars and thus tended to the realization of the great object of all his ambition; and he never gave a single one of them to the press, as was done by Jonson and others who sought for literary fame by their dramas. Hence, though the verse is always melodious, we must not look in them for the finish and perfection which we find in those of a Racine or a Molière; we must, on the contrary, be prepared to meet with all the marks of haste and carelessness, with contradictions and even with absurdities. It would really dismay one to think of their being submitted to the ordeal through which the pieces of the great Corneille have been made to pass by Voltaire. Corneille, by the way, like Shakespeare, valued his plays by the money they produced.

Copies of about one-half of his plays were surreptitiously obtained by the booksellers, who printed them with more or less of care; but of this he took no heed: and when he finally retired to Stratford, he left in the hands of his fellowplayers the manuscripts of his plays, published and unpublished. There is not the slightest ground for supposing that he ever had any intention of collecting and publishing his dramatic writings—a thing of which there had as yet been no instance. In 1616, the very year of Shakespeare's death, Ben Jonson, who, widely different from the great dramatist, set a high value, and a just one, on his plays as literary compositions, collected all he had written up to that date and published them, with his other poetical pieces, in a folio volume. It may have been this that induced Heminge and Condell, two members of the company to which Shakespeare had belonged, to make a collection of his pieces also, and give them to the world in a folio volume. For this purpose they used the 4to impressions of such plays as had been printed, making some corrections and alterations in them from the playhouse copies; and adding to these the manuscript plays which were in the possession of the theatre, they put the whole into the hands of the publishers, one of whom, Edward Blount, who was a man of some literary pretensions, is supposed, not without probability, to have undertaken the task of seeing the work through the press. Such was the origin of the celebrated folio of 1623, of which it was, in my opinion most justly, said by the late Mr. Hunter, that "perhaps in the whole annals of English typography there is no record of any book of any extent and any reputation having been dismissed from the press with less care and attention;" while Mr. Knight (who ought to have known a good deal about such matters) boldly declares that "perhaps, all things considered, there never was a book so correctly printed!" Such as it is, however, it and the previous 4to impressions are the only authority we have for the text of these marvellous creations of the human intellect.

2.

Few, I should hope, will refuse to assent to the two following postulates.

I. No eminent writer—however he might obscure his meaning by metaphor, ellipsis, or other figures of speech—has ever written pure nonsense.

II. No true poet ever wrote limping, imperfect, or inharmonious verses.

We may add to these the plain facts, that printers are not, and never were, infallible, and that those works of which the authors themselves read the proof-sheets are in general more correct than those of which those sheets were read by others.

3.

Now the plays of Shakespeare are, as is well known, full of passages of which it is nearly impossible to make any good sense, and they abound in imperfect and inharmonious verses. On the other hand, the poems of Venus and Adonis, and of Lucrece, which he himself probably saw through the press, are almost entirely free from error, and do not contain a single unmelodious verse. The natural inference, then, is, that the defects of the plays are all owing to the transcribers and printers, and that the correction of them and the restoration of sense and melody, when possible, is the legitimate office of sound emendatory criticism. The truth of this has been felt from the very beginning; for in the 2nd folio, published in 1632, only nine years after the first, there are numerous corrections, which must have been made by the editor solely on his own authority, for, many of them being very bad, he could not have derived them from any manuscripts. And the same is the case in the subsequent folios, of all of which there are many copies in existence, like that which Mr. Collier met with to his misfortune, and which has excited such a storm in a puddle,—of which, by the way, my own opinion is that the corrections in it were made between 1744, the date of Hanmer's, and 1765, that of Johnson's edition; whence I only cite it for the corrections later than the former date. These contain manuscript corrections, some, like that copy, anonymously, others by Southern and other men of repute. In the beginning of the last century Rowe gave the first example of an annotated edition of Shakespeare's works, and from that time to the present edition has succeeded edition bearing the names of critics of various degrees of ability and eminence, but all agreeing in the necessity of revising the text and rendering it as correct as may be possible.

Of the early editors, Rowe and Pope made little more than the most obvious corrections, Warburton, always ingenious and almost always wrong, made notwithstanding some that were very good, as also did Hanmer. But they were all eclipsed by Theobald, one of the acutest emendatory critics that this country has produced, whose merits, though long clouded through the malignity of Pope, are now fully acknowledged. Capell, the next in order of time, also rendered good service; but Johnson, Steevens, and Malone have done much less than might have been expected. Of these the last was a native of Ireland, the only emendatory critic that country has produced; and, in my opinion, he is not at all inferior to his English rival Steevens. That true critic Tyrwhitt should also be noticed as an emendator of a high order. It is surprising how little has really been done in the present century; and I was perfectly astonished to find what a number of passages still remained in a corrupt or imperfect state when I ventured on the task of emendation. It would seem as if critical sagacity, low in rank as it may be, is one of those talents most rarely bestowed; and besides, print appears to exercise almost a magic power over most persons; they seem to think that what is in print cannot be wrong: it is in fact only very few minds that can fully emancipate themselves from its influence. It must, however, be remembered that alteration and critical emendation are widely different. The former is in the power of almost any one; the latter, as I said, requires a peculiar faculty. It is a curious fact that in nothing does critical sagacity show itself more than in, as I may say, seeing what is before the eyes. For an instance see the first note on Henry V. Another curious fact is this, that poets (Coleridge for example) are rarely good emendators. It is, in fine, the merest folly, and a proof of the grossest ignorance, to sneer at such labours and represent them as needless, if not mischievous. Editors, however, ought to be very cautious about introducing their conjectures into the text, and should place them only in notes, unless when they are such as must almost command assent, and the place corrected had previously yielded no tolerable sense or metric melody. It is a good rule to let well alone, as we say, and not to alter what gives tolerable good sense. I have, I believe, transgressed this rule only in a couple of places.

4.

The following instance is a convincing proof of the evil consequences of the proof-sheets not having passed under the author's own eye. Sismondi, the celebrated historian of France, wrote an historic tale named Julia Severa, which was of course written in French, and it was printed at one of the best offices in Paris; but the author himself did not see the proofs, whence, though it makes only two rather slender duodecimo volumes, there are actually whole pages of errata! I know, by the way, no better mode of weaning oneself from what I shall presently describe as printer-worship than a habit of examining the errata in books printed in the two last centuries. Further, in good printing-offices, at least in this country, it is the practice that the proofs, after they come from the compositor, should be read in the office and corrected before they are sent to the author or editor; while, even at the present day, in the Royal printing-office in Copenhagen there are no readers, and the sheets are sent out just as they come from the compositor, and what that state is must be known to any one conversant with printing-offices. Now it is very possible, or rather highly probable, if not certain, that such was the case in England also in former times; and supposing that it was the editors, and not Blount, that read the proofs, as the wretched state of the punctuation might seem to indicate, we need not feel any surprise at the very unsatisfactory state of the text of the folio of 1623. In opposition, however, to this opinion, the Cambridge editors think that "there were no proof-sheets, in those days, sent either to author or editor," and that "after a MS. had been sent to press it was seen only by the printers, and one or more correctors of the press employed by the publishers for that purpose." But on this hypothesis how are we to account for the great correctness of our author's Poems, Spenser's Shepherd's Calendar, the Works of Jonson, Drayton, and others? The following words on the title-page of Marston's Fawne, 2nd edition, offer decisive evidence that authors did read the proof-sheets of their works:—"Now corrected of many faults, which, by reason of the author's absence, were let slip in the first edition."

5.

Notwithstanding all this, there are editors of Shakespeare who, rejecting the evidence of sense, grammar, and logic, obstinately adhere to the printed text, terming that alone authority, and even holding the second and later folios to be such; and it is really pitiable to see them superstitiously retaining for instance 'tis or it's when the metre requires it is, and syncopated forms as lov'd, own'd, etc., when the verse has need of the complete word, and vice versâ. These I denominate Printer-worshipers; for it is in reality to the authority of the printer, not of the poet, that they bow. The most extraordinary instance of this propensity in existence is the retention of "strain at a gnat" in our authorized version of the New Testament, a most manifest printer's error; for no schoolboy could have made it in translating, and in all the previous English versions the word is out. Yet there it has stood uncorrected for two centuries and a half! Hardly inferior as a piece of printer-worship is the following. A stanza of a song in Fletcher's Spanish Curate (ii. 5) ends thus:

thus expressing the very contrary of what was meant! Theobald, a true critic, therefore most properly added doth—in the wrong place, however, as it should begin the line; yet Mr. Dyce says, "the old text is doubtless what the poet wrote"!!

To conclude, then, if the printed text cannot be made to yield sense the fault must lie, not with the poet, but with the transcriber or the printer, and a correction, made in conformity with the language and mode of thinking of the poet and his time, as it may give what he wrote, or may have written, should be admitted into the text. I must here, en passant, impress it on the reader as a maxim, that no word should be used in correction that is not to be found in the poet himself, or in his contemporaries.

6.

A printer is a transcriber or copyist, with the only difference that he uses type instead of a pen. He looks at the copy, as it is termed, and takes up the whole or part of a sentence in his mind, and then goes on composing or setting up the type. Meanwhile he is very possibly engaged in conversation, or he is listening to that of others, or he is thinking of something else. His mind being thus distracted, errors will naturally arise in what he is composing. Besides, he has very often to contend with the difficulties caused by illegible writing in the manuscript. There is another source of error—and one in which the printer is perfectly blameless—which I have never seen noticed. It is this, that in speaking and reading we often slur over, elide or suppress the final consonant if the following word begin with a consonant; and this is not peculiar to the English, but is to be found in the French, German, and other languages, being in fact a law of nature, the result of our organization. The most usual case is when, as in the following example, the first word ends and the next begins with the same consonant. Thus in one of the Irish Melodies of Moore, a poet more devoted to euphony than to sense, we have

where it will be seen that the letters in italics are not, and cannot be pronounced, without making a pause between the words. In another song of the same poet we have

Here, if it were not for the second line, no one, on only hearing the first, could tell whether the word was believed or believe; for the sound is exactly the same: see on Much Ado, iv. 1; M. N. D. ii. 1. We surely then cannot blame the printer who makes a mistake in such cases, but we should not hesitate to correct it. We should also remember that this suppression or clipping is more frequent with the classes to which the printer probably belonged than with the educated.

It is chiefly the dentals t and d that are thus suppressed before words commencing with a mute consonant; and it is surprising what a number of words there are in common use that have been thus curtailed. Thus in and the d is rarely sounded, even before vowels; of is so generally pronounced o' that it were needless printing it so, as is usual in the dramatists, were it not that o' represents on as well as of; we all say "Who did you see?" though we should write it "Whom did you see?" Instances, in fine, are numberless; but we should keep the principle constantly in mind. See the note on sly-slow, Rich. II. i. 3; and on by peeping, Cymb. i. 7.

On the other hand, there is sometimes a transference of a consonant from the end of one word to the beginning of the next, which injures the sense,—ex. gr.,

F. Q. iii. 12. 42.

Here the poet probably wrote allayed, and the printer transferred to it the d of found. See on Temp. iv. 1.

While treating of elision, it may not be useless to remark that when a word beginning with h is monosyllabic, or is not accented on its first syllable, the h is not sounded. Any one who will observe will find that his, for example, is usually pronounced is; so that there is no occasion for the 's of the dramatists. So we should write and pronounce a history, but write an historian and pronounce an 'istorian; for a historian, as it is too often written and pronounced, makes a most unpleasant hiatus. We may observe how constantly the aspirate is suppressed in the poetry of Greece and Rome.

The errors of transcribers and printers are Omission, Addition, Transposition, Substitution. Of these I will now give instances, chiefly from my own experience. I must, however, previously notice the rather curious fact, that these four sources of error, which I had traced out in our printed works, are all, and no other, acted upon by that, in my mind, most able of the German critics, J. Olshausen, in that chef d'œuvre of criticism, his Comment on the Book of Psalms, thus showing how universal they are.

7.

Omission.—If any one will examine a proof-sheet as it comes from the hands of a compositor, he will find abundant instances of this source of error. One would think that such could hardly escape the author's eye; and yet, in the edition of Ben Jonson's plays corrected by himself, almost the only errors detected by the editors have been those of omission; and a few more have, I think, escaped them. I may add that the words supplied by them seem to me to be almost invariably the very words which had been omitted. In Notes and Queries (3 S. vii.) there is a list of the principal errata in the reprint of the First Folio, in 1808; and the far larger portion of them are omissions which can easily be supplied. From my own experience in the case of reprints, I can further assert that corrections of this kind are by no means a matter of hap-hazard; for where I have supplied the words I supposed lost or altered I have almost invariably found, on referring to the original edition, that I had hit on the exact word. As an instance, in a late reprint of Akenside's Poems, the following line occurs in the Hymn to the Naiads:

Here I at once corrected salutary, and on looking at the original edition I found I was right. Yet, had this correction been made in Shakespeare, we know how it would have been disputed. As to omissions I can give the following instances. In a reprint (Lond. 1816) of Fletcher's Purple Island, we find (xii. 74, 85) the following lines:

Each line being short, I read in the first "sweetly plain her," and in the second one and "fairer borrow'd gold," and on looking at the original 4to I found I had supplied the poet's very words. In Chaucer's Romaunt of the Rose, the following line is in all the MSS. and editions,

which is evidently a foot short. I read 'She had in hand,' and on looking at the original I found en sa main.

It is not often that proofs have been read more carefully than were those of my edition of Milton's Poems, both by myself and by others; and yet, in the reprint of the text, in one place (Par. Lost, x. 422) it will be found that the word to is missing, thus destroying the metre; and yet none of us perceived it.

A far stronger case is the following. Never apparently was a work edited with greater care than Mr. Panizzi's edition of Bojardo and Ariosto; and yet in the Orlando Innamorato, II. xxiv. 54, the concluding couplet of the stanza is printed thus:

Here a reader, who has even but the slightest knowledge of Italian, will see at once that the word avviso has been omitted at the end of the second line; and yet this escaped not merely the printer's reader, who, even if ignorant of the language, might be supposed to have missed the rime, but the lynx-eyed editor himself, not only in the proof, but in the fair sheets which he was evidently in the habit of examining most carefully. The more I think of this error the more I feel astonished at its occurrence, a thing for which I cannot in any manner account; the following, however, is nearly a parallel. In a most carefully edited Greek Testament (Lond. 1837), in 1 Cor. xi. 23, three important words are omitted! Need we, then, wonder at omissions in Shakespeare?

The omission is generally, as in these cases, of single words, from noun to interjection, all parts of speech included, and also of single letters or syllables. It is rather curious, too, that when a word has been repeated by the poet it is sometimes omitted by the printer. Thus "What wheels? what racks? what fires?" W. T. iii. 2, is printed, "What wheels? racks? fires?" There is another instance in the same play, and many in the other plays. In Chaucer the instances are numerous. Addresses, as sir, my lord, etc., are sometimes left out, as also are pray, now, only, and others which are not absolutely necessary for the sense—and even two or more words; in all which cases the omission is indicated by the defect of metre. This the reader will do well to keep constantly in mind. For an example see on Tam. of Shrew, i. 1. It is surprising how often the negative particle is wanting in these plays of Shakespeare's. I have discovered its absence in between twenty and thirty places, not one-half of which had been observed by preceding editors. But not merely single words have been left out by printers; want of rime or want of connexion shows that entire lines have been omitted. Mr. Collier observes that three lines are wanting in various places of the Variorum Shakespeare; and such being the case in the present century, we need not wonder at so many having been passed over by the original printers. The reader will find about two dozen such cases noticed in my Edition and in the following pages, not one-half of which had been observed by preceding editors. Shakespeare himself furnishes the following remarkable instance. In Com. of Err. ii. 2, the three last folios omit the two lines beginning with "Wear gold and no man," etc. Nares gives in his Glossary (v. Portingall) a curious instance of the omission of a line, which escaped the author's own notice in the proof-sheet. So also in Massinger's Unnatural Combat, lines are wanting in two places, though he himself must have read the proofs. In 2 Hen. VI. iv. 1, there is a line wanting in the folio, to recover which we are actually obliged to go to the original play of The Contention, etc.

Parts of lines, generally the latter part, are also often wanting, but not so often as it may seem; for short lines, and also over-long lines, generally are caused by malarrangement of the text. The main cause, however, of these losses is the ill-usage to which the manuscripts seem to have been subjected in the part of the theatre in which they were kept, and the careless treatment of them by those who had occasion to use them. Hence in some places the writing may have been obliterated by ink-blots, in others effaced by friction, or by damp or dust; while sometimes a part of a leaf may have been torn away. We must remember that a large number of Shakespeare's plays were lying thus exposed to ill-usage, probably in the property-room of the Globe or Blackfriars, for a space of from twenty to thirty years.

The parts most likely to have thus sustained injury must have been those nearest the edges of the page; and hence the part effaced would be the beginning of the line or the end of it; and as the lines run evenly at the beginning, while they are of irregular length, the effacement at the beginning would be in general of mere monosyllables, as I, in, with, and, &c., while that at the end might be of several words, at times even of half a line. In the beginning, too—as will be seen in the notes on Merchant of Venice, iv. 1, As You Like It, ii. 7, and elsewhere—more than one word has been sometimes effaced. In the case of entire lines or large parts of lines, the cause may have been their position at the top or bottom of the page, and their consequent proximity to the edge.

It is rather strange that I should have been—as I believe I am—the first to notice this very simple and natural mode of accounting for the losses in the text. The number of these losses which I have, or seem to have, detected in the beginnings is over seventy, those at the ends more than double that number. As they are all supplied in my Edition, and noted in the following pages, the reader will have ample occasion for ascertaining whether my theory is correct or not. I will here, however, give a couple of instances.

1 Hen. IV. iii. 1.

Here the critics are perplexed with "wilful-blame," which is a compound without example; but let us suppose that the poet wrote "wilful-blameable," and that the final letters had been effaced, we get a compound term of which examples are numerous. The other is,

Cymb. iv. 2.

In the following pages it will be seen that occasionally I attempt to supply the losses of lines and parts of lines. It will not, I hope, be supposed that I am so presumptuous as to expect my productions to be admitted into the text. My object has merely been, by showing how easily and naturally something could be supplied, to make the reader see more clearly that something had been lost. In three places, however (All's Well, i. 1, Tr. & Cr. ii. 1, Cor. ii. 3), I have ventured to place them in the text of my Edition.

I must, in fine, request the reader most earnestly not to pooh-pooh this principle of effacement, but to keep it steadily in mind in reading the other dramatists, as well as Shakespeare; for he will find it a most valuable aid. Among the instances of effacement at the end is to be noted that of compound words of which the last part has been lost. In five places I have thought myself justified in supplying the missing word, namely, Winter's Tale, i. 2, Rich. III. v. 3, Ham. iii. 4, Tim. i. 2, ii. 2; for it is almost only at the end of a line that we ever find reason to suspect this kind of effacement.

In editing the Plays, the additions made to the text should always be marked, so as not to mislead the reader. In my edition, and in this volume, they are always printed in italics.

8.

Addition.—Of this also we meet with instances; but, as might naturally be expected, they are not so numerous as those of omission. In the following pages I place between brackets such words as I regard as additions made by the compositor or transcriber. As proofs of such additions being made I give the following, from the reprint of the text in my own edition of Milton's Poems.

Lyc. 126.

Son. xii.

P. L. vi. 36.

Ib. vii. 618.

Ib. vii. 634.

Ib. x. 366.

Ib. x. 926.

To which I add the following:—

F. Q. iii. 5. 14.

So it is printed in the edition of 1750.

I may here add that printers have a wonderful propensity to add or omit—the former much more frequently—the letter s at the end of words. I remember having one time had to strike out in a single page no less than five of these ss thus liberally bestowed upon me. So also—but whether owing to the poet or the printer is dubious—we meet in Shakespeare with whom used as a nominative. See on Winter's Tale, v. 3, ad fin. In making corrections relating to these finals, our only guides therefore must be grammar, logic, and poetic melody.

9.

Transposition.—Of all modes of restoring the melody, and at times the sense, of verses this is perhaps the most legitimate and the most certain. I have therefore had recourse to it without scruple; and it will be seen that in my Edition and in this volume I have thus restored the sense or the melody of about sixty lines, of which not quite a fourth had attracted the attention of preceding editors. In my Life of Milton (p. 286) will be found a very curious instance of transposition and omission combined in the poet's own reprint of Comus, neither of which he notices, though he made two corrections in one of the lines.

In Chaucer's Romaunt of the Rose, the transpositions in the latter part are so numerous that it was necessary to have recourse to the original poem for the proper arrangement; and I suspect that this source of error will be found in most languages. Mr. Brandreth, in his very curious and interesting edition of the Ilias, has made many transpositions, and they are well deserving of attention. His note on Il. i. 18, is "Verborum transpositio tutissimum remedium est, cum saltem, quoad grammaticam, ita dixisse potuerit poeta. Recitatores sæpe verba retinent, dum ordinem obliviscuntur." This most exactly accords with what we find in Shakespeare. I think also that many might be, as some have been, made in the poetic and prophetic books of the Old Testament—ex. gr.,

Now surely the royal poet must have written,

and it appears still more certain when we look at the original Hebrew.

A chief cause of errors of this kind seems to have been the addition, by the author, of one or more lines to a place which he had previously deemed complete, and this addition, having been made in the margin, was taken in by the printer in the wrong place; as such I regard the transposition in M. N. D. ii. 1. Another cause was the omission of something by a transcriber, who, when he detected his error, wrote what he had left out in the margin, and the next transcriber or the printer carelessly inserted it in the wrong place. Of this we have very striking instances in the Chorus to Hen. V. ii., 2 Hen. VI. iii. 1, and Rom. & Jul. iii. 3. As in these cases, entire lines or even couplets get out of place, sometimes parts of lines (King John, iii. 3, Rich. II. v. 3), at other times single words. Thus adjectives change places (Temp. i. 1. iv. 1), and substantives do the same (All's Well, ii. 3, M. N. D. ii. 1, L. L. L. iv. 3). The following is a notable instance. In Massinger's Maid of Honour (i. 1), a play of which the proofs were probably read by the poet himself, we read, "A gentleman and yet no lord," where the context shows that the very opposite is meant. Gifford saw this, but he did not see the cause, namely, that a and no had changed places in the printer's mind.

I have remarked several errors of this kind in Chaucer, in whom, in fact, they are most numerous—ex. gr.,

In the Faerie Queene, we have

vi. 2. 3.

Here, as the riming line ends in appears, we must transpose "eyes" and "ears." Again, in all editions of Parnell's poems, from the first (edited by Pope), we read in the Hermit,

where both the context and common sense show that "rising" properly belongs to "sun." The original printer, however, joined it with "journey," and he has been, of course, duteously followed by his successors, while editors never seem to have discerned the incongruity.

In the edition of Akenside above mentioned, I met with

where it is quite plain that the two first substantives had changed places in the printer's mind.

Surely Wordsworth did not write

Prelude, ed. 1858.

In a proof-sheet of my Edition, I found

3 Hen. VI. iv. 1.

In Troilus and Cressida, v. 2, there is a passage to which transposition, and it alone, gives sense. It is difficult to see how the printer could have made such a jumble; and yet it is manifest that he must have done so. There is, however, as I have shown in my note on the place, just such another in the play of The Two Noble Kinsmen, which the editors have made no attempt at correcting. In the following passage of Chaucer,

Book of the Duchesse.

I would read

In the same poet's Romaunt of the Rose, we have the following passage, unnoticed by any editor,

where in the first line we should read "abrode sprede," and in the second reject "were" as an addition of the copyist. An exactly similar transposition occurs in a later part of that poem.

10.

Substitution.—"He who has not repeatedly observed how a copyist, from inattention, sets down a word which his mind has presented to him instead of that which is before his eyes, must have seen little of copies of print or manuscript." These are the words of a Spanish writer, and they are of universal application. I remember myself once, with Herodotus before my eyes, writing Sestos for Abydos; and the changes I have made in copying passages for this work have amazed me. In Corneille's play of Rodogune (i. 1), we read enlever where the proper word is élever, and Voltaire justly suspected that it was an error of the original printer. Further on the reader will meet with a similar error in the original edition of Tasso's Gerusalemme.

The most ordinary case of substitution seems to be that of synonyms; at least there is none to which I have been so subject myself. In giving examples I will commence with Spenser.

F. Q. ii. 2. 42.

Now, as the rimes are hold, told, the poet must have written, or have intended to write, hold.

Ib. ii. 8. 29.

Here the word must have been upheave, the rimes being leave, cleave, bereave.

Ib. iii. 6. 40.

As the rimes are law, draw, we must of course read saw.

Chapman, Iliads, xxiii. 249.

The right word, it is quite plain, is cup.

Fletch. Valentinian, v. 2.

Here, as it has been shown, the proper word is light; yet Mr. Dyce has not ventured to receive it.

My late friend Rossetti, in copying out this passage of Petrarca in his Amor Platonico, etc., wrote gelo for ghiaccio, and never saw the error, even in reading the proof; and so it is printed.

On the other hand, the adjacent or riming lines sometimes terminate in the same word. There are many instances in Shakespeare, and I have met with the following in Italian.

B. Tasso, Amadigi, xxii. 67.

where, as the rimes show, the first line should end with una stanza.

F. Q. iii. 11. 47.

We meet also with places where the sense or the metre, unaided by rime, must be our guide in correcting—ex. gr.,

Chapman, Iliads, i. 395.

Here the metre shows that the right word is Minerva, not Pallas.

There is one most remarkable case of substitution to which sufficient attention has never been given by the critics. It may be termed reaction or repetition, and arises from the impression made by some particular word on the mind of the transcriber or printer, or even of the writer himself.

Thus in a proof-sheet of my Milton I found

Par. Lost, i. 61.

while the word before the compositor's eyes was dungeon.

Par. Reg. iv. 205: Todd's 4th edit.

Here, again, the true reading is so; yet, as most makes good sense, if the error had been in the original edition it would in all probability never have been detected. Opening by chance Bloomfield's pretty poem of The Farmer's Boy (ed. 1857), I met with

Winter, 173.

We may find in Chaucer—

Knt's Tale.

Here for dauncing we should probably read loking.

Tr. and Cr. i.

The poet probably wrote goodnesse.

Ib. ii.

We should read commaundes in the second line.

Thierry and Theodoret, i. 1.

We should for the first almost, which must be wrong, probably read and the. Mr. Dyce seems never to have seen this; for he had no conception of this source of error: yet I wonder common sense did not suggest that something must be wrong.

F. Q. i. 8. 44.

For delight in the last line we might read dislike, but I think we should rather read annoy; for in these cases, as we may see, no resemblance in form or sound is to be sought. I therefore in Othel. iii. 3, reject the emendation of Pope and 4to 1630 of feels for keeps, because it was evidently suggested by the slight similarity of form, and does not perfectly suit the context. The reader will find an excellent instance in As You Like It, ii. 3.

Ham. ii. 2.

So the folio reads; the 4to has more correctly fruit.

Surely Shakespeare never wrote

Com. of Err. i. 1.

All's Well, i. 3.

As this error never occurs in Jonson and Massinger, and only, I believe, in the instance given above in Beaumont and Fletcher, and has no æsthetic advantage or beauty to recommend it, it seems quite absurd to suppose that Shakespeare, whose vocabulary was the largest of all, and whose ear was so fine and correct, should have found pleasure in it. Surely a just critic will sooner lay the blame on the printer and the careless editors, very different in this respect from those of Beaumont and Fletcher, who seem never to have hesitated to correct an error when they discovered it.

The resemblance in form above alluded to is of great importance, under the name of ductus literarum, in the eyes of Mr. Dyce, and it should always be attended to; for it is usually caused by the attempt of the printer to make out illegible writing. The following are striking instances:—

In Peele's Edward I. these lines occur.

That the last line is nonsense was clear to every one; but no critic ever could emend it. The true reading, however, is doubtless The enkindled, which flashed suddenly on my mind one time when I was considering the passage. It was probably the resemblance of sound chiefly that misled the printer.

At the end of Marston's Insatiate Countess we meet the following unmeaning line,

which Steevens corrected most happily thus—

having discerned the allusion to Herod. ii. 133.

It is very curious that the word substituted is often the very opposite of the right word. I myself once wrote—and so it is printed—diameter for circumference. In Mrs. C. Clarke's most valuable Concordance we have "humorous plebeian" for "humorous patrician." I have met with next for last and none for some; so in The Mer. of Ven., ii. 2, where the folio has "Is sum of nothing," the 4tos read "Is sum of something." In Lear v. 3, the folio reads

while the 4tos have "pleasant virtues."

In All's Well, iii. 2, and Taming of the Shrew, iii. 1, we have old for new. In a proof-sheet which I lately saw there was a quotation of

and the printer had substituted life for "grave," though, as the entire stanza was given, he had the rime to guide him. Many instances of this practice will be found in Love's Labour's Lost. In La Giovanezza, a poem of the Italian poet Pindemonte, I have just met with brutte where the rime and the sense require belle.

It does not seem to have been observed that printers will actually insert words, for the sake of sense or metre, when they have made a mistake. In my Life of Milton, I had occasion to quote a passage from his prose works containing "with a conscience that would retch;" and of this the printer made "with a conscience that he would relish;" and so, I am sorry to say, it is printed. See on Mer. of Ven. iv. 1.

F. Q. v. 12. 43.

As the rimes are deserved, preserved, observed, the poet must have written e'er swerved or nothing swerved.

F. Q. iii. 12, 17.

The rimes are embost, lost, so that Spenser must have written tost, making, as usual, a dissyllable of fire. That it was not the poet himself that made the mistake is clear; for in

the edition of 1750 has did defray.

A contrary error to this is where the printer has made one word of two, caused either by sound or by illegible writing. For instances, see on Com. of Err. iii. 1, Tw. Night, i. 1, Mer. Wives, v. 5, Ant. and Cleop. iv. 9, Macb. iii. 4.

The fact of effacement in the manuscript, on which I have laid such stress in the section on Omission, has also been a cause of substitution; for, the original word having become nearly or totally illegible, the transcriber or compositor, in order to make sense, used to give some term of his own. Thus we have yes for I will, Meas. for Meas. iii. 1, yea for even so, Rich. II. iii. 1, ay for I will, Ham. iv. 7, as is proved by the metre. These are all at the beginning of the line, and hence their liability to effacement. See also on All's Well, ii. 1, Twelfth Night, iv. 3, Rich. II. i. 3, and elsewhere.

Finally, substitutions are often quite capricious, making no sense whatever. For "he went circuit," where my manuscript was perfectly legible, I once got "the local circuit;" so also "the merits" for "there an echo;" "establishment" for "established government." In Alison's Life of Lord Castlereagh, one of the pall-bearers at the funeral of the Duke of Wellington was Sir Peregrine Pickle (Maitland); in all editions of Joseph Andrews we have in one place "Sir John" for "Sir Thomas" Booby.

It is to be observed that to unto, till until, on upon, though although, e'er ever, &c., were frequently confounded. It is therefore the merest printer-worship to hesitate at altering them when the metre requires it. A further observation is, that even down into the eighteenth century, it was the custom to write y for th in monosyllables beginning with this last (þ, A. S.), as y^e the, yⁿ then, y^t that, y^u thou; y^r your was another abridgment; and hence confusion has often arisen. In these plays we have that for then in four places (see on Tr. and Cr. i. 2); and in Paradise Regained (i. 137) we have then for thou, and also, I think, in Tw. Night, v. 1.

11.

Such, then, are the various sources of error in the original editions of Shakespeare's plays, the correction of which and restoration of the poet's real sense are, as I have said, the task of the genuine critic, and one in which, except in a very few instances, success is not to be by any means despaired of.

As a means of obtaining it, I would, as I have done, lay it down as a rule that no word or phrase should be employed in restoration which is not to be found in the poet's own works, or at least in those of his contemporaries. It is obvious that by so doing we shall greatly diminish the risk of failure. It is a curious fact, that not unfrequently two or even three corrections are so equally good, that it is exceedingly difficult to choose between them, and that the final choice thus becomes a matter of mere chance. In such cases I think the critic should select the one which is the most poetic and most worthy of the poet. The coincidence of two or more independent critics in a correction is, in general, a proof of its truth; yet even this is not infallible. See on Merry Wives, ii. 3.

For correction, then, the first requisite is a thorough knowledge of the poet's language, the acquisition of which is a work demanding both time and close attention. Shakespeare's vocabulary, as we have seen, is extremely copious, and from his not having had the advantage of a regular education his plays present more anomalies, and offer more difficulties to the modern reader than those of the contemporary dramatists.

In his early pieces there is an incessant play on words; and in his later the language is often very elliptical and the sentences greatly involved. These difficulties are enhanced by the ignorance of punctuation, or neglect of it, with which the editors are chargeable. Thus it is only in very plain cases that they notice the break in sense caused by the aposiopesis, the anacoluthon, or an interruption, of which the reader will find so many examples in my Edition and in the following pages, marked for the first time, and designated by the sign (...). I would particularly direct his attention to Temp. iii. 1, 2 Hen. IV. iv. 1, Ham. i. 2, i. 4.

12.

In the dramas and other works of those days we may observe the following peculiarities.

The infinitive mood is used with or without to differently from the present usage—prefixed where we omit, omitted where we prefix. It is also employed, like the Hebrew infinitive absolute, where we use the present participle active, sometimes with a preposition, ex. gr.,

Lydgate, Book of Troy.

Even in Cowley we meet with

The Gazers.

Here it is plain we should use the participle in seeing.

In "He is grown too proud to be so valiant," Cor. i. l, "to be" seems to be i. q. being; too being apparently used in the sense of trop, Fr., i.e. excessively.

The passive participle was continually used in the place of the present or past participle active or of the future. Chapman, for instance, is profuse in his use of it in his Homer. Of this, as of the former, we have some remains among us still, but few indeed compared with what our forefathers had. The perfect was also frequently used as a part. past, and of this also we have still some remains.

In imitation of the Latin and French, the writers of the sixteenth century—for we do not meet with it in Chaucer or Gower—used the verb as a noun, as dispose for disposal, suspect for suspicion.

A further peculiarity was the use of what grammarians call collectives, i.e., the singular noun used for the plural. We still retain this in sheep, swine, fowl, and partially in year, day; but in our older writers we meet with it in horse (Much Ado, i. 1, Hen. V. iv. 1, and in Chapman's Homer continually), pearl (Macb. ad fin.), tree, corpse, witness, business, subject, princess (Temp. i. 2), and other words.

Writers of those days—and Shakespeare more than any—were fond of using verbs in a causative sense, as fall for cause to fall, let fall, fear for make fear. In these plays we meet, in a causative sense, with cease, linger, neglect, silence, faint, perish, &c. Thus learn became teach, take give. It is only thus that "smiles his cheek in years" (L. L. L. v. 2) becomes sense.

13.

There was a peculiarity of the grammar of those days which is now confined to the vulgar, namely, that of joining a plural nominative with a singular verb, ex. gr.,

L. L. L. v. 2.

The rimes here and in several other places prove that this is no printer's error; and this construction is actually most frequent in Peele, Marston, and Fletcher—all University men! Editors, Mr. Dyce for example, are in the habit of taking the most unwarrantable liberty of altering this construction, except where restrained by the rimes. This practice is highly reprehensible and should be avoided; for we should give the text as it came from the poet's pen.

The origin of this structure is very simple. In the Anglo-Saxon the verbs made their plural in th, not in n, as afterwards became the usage. This plural of the verb occurs continually in the Vision of Piers Ploughman, and we find it not unfrequently even in the State Papers of the early Tudor period, in its later form; for, as in the singular, the th was gradually changed to s.

In the more artistic compositions of Chaucer and Gower, however, it is very rare. The following line in Chaucer,

House of Fame.

shows that even in his time the th had been converted into s. The present practice, then, we may see is merely a change of fashion, and our ancestors' mode of forming the plural was perfectly correct and grammatical, with one exception—of which we still meet instances—that of using is and was as a plural. In my Edition of our poet's plays, I have therefore very generally preserved this structure; for we may alter orthography and punctuation, but not grammar.

On the other hand, I must maintain, in opposition to Mr. Dyce, that the union of a single noun with a plural verb was never a rule of the language, but always an error of the copyist, or a slip of the writer. Of this I can give positive instances.

I one day met in my own History of England the following words, "The blood of Catesby and two others alone were shed;" and on looking at the first edition I found of course that my word had been was. In Mr. Lloyd's Critical Remarks on Measure for Measure, in Singer's Shakespeare, we may read "the five acts of the first part of Promos and Cassandra concludes the iniquity of the deputy." Nor is this confined to English; in the Gerusalemme Liberata, and unnoticed by any editor, we find

In all cases it will be found to be the consequence of a noun of a different number having intervened between the nominative and the verb. Mr. Dyce, however, tries to make a rule of it by saying that "our early writers" did it when a genitive plural intervened; but that will not apply to passages like these—

Valentinian, iv. 1.

Shakespeare, Son. cxii.

This last is the error of the poet, who probably had ears in his mind; yet sense may be a collective: all the others are perhaps to be ascribed to the original printers.

The intensive particle be was prefixed to verbs much more frequently than at present. There was also a frequent ellipsis of the first personal pronoun before such verbs as cry, beseech, beshrew, &c.; and finally the habit—still retained by the vulgar—of cutting away the first syllable of a word prevailed to some extent.

14.

The pronunciation of Shakespeare's time of course differed in many points from that of the present day. Thus aspect and many other words were accented, and properly, on the last syllable; we also have obdúrate, árchbishop, cónfessor, &c. In words such as case, pace, lace, the French sound of the a seems to have been partially retained—Chaucer writes these words cas, caas, paas, laas—along with the ordinary English sound. Chaucer also writes 'made' maad, Raleigh 'safe' sauf; and as the Master of the Revels wrote Shakespeare's name Shaxberd, we may suppose that shake and terms of a similar form were pronounced shak, &c. If we do not pronounce lac'd as last in "lac'd mutton" (Two Gent. i. 2), we lose the humour of the passage. When Spenser therefore makes prepar'd, for example, rime with hard, he was probably doing nothing very unusual; for these double sounds—as we may see by the example of shew show, shrew shrow, lese lose—were by no means uncommon. I suspect that sea may have been one of these, and that besides riming with see, as indeed Chaucer always writes it, it retained the sound of the Anglo-Saxon ɼæ; for F. Beaumont in his Poems almost invariably makes it rime with such words as day, lay, ray. Waller, followed by Pope, Gay, and other poets, most improperly made ea rime with ai, ay, as tea with obey, &c. As haste, chaste, waist, &c., constantly rime with fast, last, &c., they were probably, I think certainly, pronounced as they were written, like them; or they may have had a double pronunciation like the words just quoted. As the more usual orthography was chaunge, raunge, &c., these words would seem to have been pronounced as in French, and as we still pronounce daunt, haunt, avaunt. In words chiefly from the French, terminating in ci, si, ti followed by a vowel, as in nation, fashion, passion, &c.—to which we may add ocean—the usual sound was s, not sh as at present. On the whole, the language seems to have been more euphonious than that of the present day.

While on the subject of euphony, I must direct attention to one point. Our ancestors probably pronounced my, thy (mín, þín, A.-S.), mee, thee, with a short sound also, when not emphatic, as in by, to, &c. Owing to its falling out of familiar use, and its employment in the Bible and Liturgy, thy has long—except by the Quakers and the peasantry—been pronounced so as to rime with fly, try; but my retained its proper sound till within the last few years; Walker, for instance, knew nothing of a change. But now our ears are constantly dinned with an egotistic my like thy. I mention this because this new-fangled pronunciation is ruinous to both euphony and humour in our elder writers.

I shall conclude with some remarks upon its, a word of which Shakespeare may almost be regarded as the originator; though Spenser, no doubt, had used it once (F. Q. vi. 11. 34) before him. Singer says it "occurs but twice or thrice" in Shakespeare; and Archbishop Trench and others say "three or four times;" while the fact is that its occurs twelve, and it, as a genitive, no less than fifteen times. We meet its only nine times in the numerous plays of Beaumont and Fletcher, and but half a dozen times in those of Jonson or Massinger.

The Chinese language makes the genitive by merely prefixing the substantive; thus houe jin (houe kingdom) is "man of the kingdom." The same is the structure of the Teutonic and Scandinavian languages, ex. gr., day light, &c.; but while all the others make the two substantives form one word, the English sometimes keeps them separate, sometimes unites them by a hyphen, and at other times makes them into one word. Hence we may observe, by the way, that it is needless, as well as cacophonous, to add an 's to a substantive ending in that letter; even the simple turned comma is superfluous, the position alone indicating its genitive sense.

It appears that not only nouns but pronouns were so employed. In the first page of the Canterbury Tales we have—

Here which is a genitive, for which we should now use whose (the genitive of who), a pronoun that our forefathers used of things as well as persons.

In like manner, though his was the usual genitive of it as well as of he, it was not uncommon to make the genitive by simply prefixing it, as in

Romeus and Juliet, 1562.

and other passages. I do not think it ever occurs in Chaucer, Gower, or Piers Ploughman.

I am therefore of opinion that Shakespeare may be regarded as the chief agent in introducing its into the language. It is to be noticed that it never occurs in the Bible, only thrice, or rather only twice, in Milton, and but once in Waller. Chatterton used it twice in the very first page of his Poems of Rowley; yet the critics of the time did not discern this plain proof of forgery!

On the disputed question of the use of his for the genitive, I will only observe that the fact is that the preceding noun is used absolutely. Thus, as we have "The king, he is hunting the deer," so we have "the king, his palace." The same structure precisely is to be met with in Dutch and German—we meet with it, for instance, in Schiller's Wallenstein; and Captain Burton informs us that in the Kariri language of Eastern Africa, "The Kazi's brother," for example, is Kazi-ih-zo, literally "The Kazi, his brother."

II. THE VERSE.

15.

Chaucer introduced into English poetry the iambic verse of five feet, formed by the Provençals in imitation of the Classic Phaleucian and Sapphic hendecasyllables, and adopted from them by the Italian poets. These last, however, though they held the principle of admitting but five ictus in a line, did not limit themselves to eleven syllables, as the following examples will show:—

Dante, Inf. xvii. 2.

Petr. Son. xxxi.

Tasso, Ger. Lib. xii. 55.

So the Greeks in their dramatic iambics admitted trisyllabic feet, Æschylus admitting one foot, Sophocles two, Euripides three; while the comic poets, both Greek and Latin, used these feet still more freely, not, however, exceeding the limit of three.

Chaucer did not allow himself the same licence as his masters. He sometimes admits one such foot, rarely two, and three, I believe, only once. He also uses at times the Alexandrine or verse of six feet.

The first who used this verse for the drama in England was Bishop Bale, who in 1538 published three Interludes, as he termed them, or dramatic pieces on Scriptural subjects. Here are a few lines from the one named God's Promises:—

The feet, it will be seen, are here of two or three syllables indifferently; and the same is the case in the couplets which occur also in these plays.

About the same time Nicholas Udall wrote his comedy of Ralph Roister Doister—not printed till 1566—in which we have the earliest specimen of the verse afterwards chiefly used for comedy, namely, one of four feet, the foot of two, three, and even four syllables. It commences thus:—

This measure may be seen in Damon and Pitheas, New Custom, Gammer Gurton's Needle, and other plays, in which we shall find it admitting lines of five and even six and seven feet,—ex. gr.,

Contemporary with Bale and Udall, the illustrious Earl of Surrey had introduced into English a new species of verse—blank verse. This was a five-foot iambic measure without rime, and admitting of verses of six feet. His version of two books of the Æneis in this measure was printed in 1557; and five years later, Jan. 18, 1561-2, a play written in it and named Gordebuc, by Norton and Sackville, was performed before Queen Elizabeth at Whitehall, and it was given to the press in 1566. But more than twenty years elapsed before blank verse made its first appearance on the public stage in the Tamburlain of Marlow. From its inherent superiority, it at once became the established form for the drama, still mingled, however, with riming couplets and stanzas.

16.

I have already expressed my opinion that the earliest among the extant dramas of Shakespeare may have been The Comedy of Errors. This is in blank verse, in general strictly decasyllabic, mingled with the riming measures above noticed. His next play would seem to have been The Two Gentlemen of Verona, much of the same form, but differing from it, and from its immediate successors, by admitting in its blank verse trisyllabic feet, as in

It might seem as if the poet were hesitating about the adoption of a freer kind of verse such as came afterwards into use. Love's Labour's Lost, and the other plays in Meres' list—to which, as may be seen, The Taming of the Shrew is to be added—are all of the same kind. As he advanced in his career, he gradually discarded rime, and admitted the trisyllabic foot more frequently. He also learned to run his verses into each other, thus forming a system; the preposition, for instance, ending one line, and the word it governed beginning the next line.

The blank verse of Surrey and of the authors of Gordebuc—admitting, as we have seen, verses of six feet—may be regarded as strictly decasyllabic. But when it became the standard verse of the theatres it gradually relaxed from its strictness, and admitted trisyllabic feet more and more as it advanced, so that in Fletcher we actually meet with lines containing fifteen syllables, though of no more than five feet. It is most strange that, with these facts staring them, as I may say, in the face, editors, almost without exception, seem to have been haunted by a spectre of five decasyllabic feet. "How often," says Gifford, "will it be necessary to observe that our old dramatists never counted their syllables on their fingers!" They also seem to be unaware of the existence of Alexandrines, or verses of six feet. The play of Othello, for instance, is as full of them as Dryden's riming couplet verse; and yet Mr. Dyce—whom I generally notice as being usually regarded as a leading critic—writes frequently as if such a line were not admissible in dramatic verse.

Again, there are critics who regard a verse as good if it contains ten syllables, no matter how made or how arranged.

Thus Malone gives as good verses,

Mr. Collier regards as a good verse,

"Doth comfort thee in thy sleep. Live and flourish" is the usual reading in Rich. III. v. 5; mine is at least more euphonious.

It has never to my knowledge been sufficiently noticed that Shakespeare makes occasional use of the seven-foot verse of Golding's Ovid and Phaer's Virgil, works in which it is evident he was extremely well-read. Such are the following lines:—

Rich. III. i. 1.

Ib.

Ib. v. 5.

These last six, we may see, all belong to Ancient Pistol. We possibly might add:

17.

I will now make a few general observations on the dramatic verse of Shakespeare and his contemporaries. In the first place, as observed above, we may lay it down as a general rule that their verse—I may perhaps include even that of Marston—is never rugged or inharmonious, but that when it appears to be so it is owing to the copyist or the printer, or to the fact of the manuscript having been damaged, and not unfrequently to want of skill in the reader.

An apparent cause of imperfection in lines is the reader's ignorance of the poet's mode of pronunciation. Thus it was then the custom—one not quite lost yet—in prose as well as in verse, if two words came together, one ending, the other beginning, with an accented syllable to throw back the former accent: hence Shakespeare said, for example, "the dívine Desdemona." If critics kept this fact in mind, they would not reject Tieck's excellent emendation of "the précise Angelo" for "the prenzic Angelo" in Measure for Measure, on account of the accent, when in the very same play we have "a cómplete bosom," i. 4; "O just, but sévere law!" ii. 2; "Will bélieve this," ib.; "Our cómpell'd sins," ib. 4, &c.; we have actually "précise villains," ii. 1. How would they read

(Hen. VIII. v. 1)?

In fine, it must be remembered that ion, ien, and other double vowels were pronounced dissyllabically, as oceän, &c.

Again, neither editors nor readers are in general aware that poets like Shakespeare, who were born in those parts of England where the r at the end of words or syllables has the light sound peculiar to the English language, frequently pronounce as dissyllables those monosyllables, such as fire, hour, more, where, &c., ending in r after a long vowel or diphthong, as in

Here "where" is to be pronounced nearly wheaa; for so the English really do pronounce it, though they may fancy such not to be the case. Malone, as being an Irishman, seems to have been the first to notice it. Of these monosyllables there are upwards of thirty in Shakespeare, and as many in Fletcher; while in the learned Jonson we only meet with fire, hour, our, your, wear. In my Edition, and in this work, I have marked them with a diæresis, as whëre, heär, &c. It is rather remarkable that it is almost solely to his higher characters, such as Hamlet and Coriolanus, that Shakespeare gives this pronunciation. We also find this dissyllabic pronunciation in such words as born, morn, horn, &c.

As in French poetry the e muet in words forms a distinct syllable, ennemi, for example, being read as a trisyllable; so we find angry, entrance, children, mistress (often written misteris), country, witness, juggler, wondrous, &c., forming three, remembrance four syllables. Captain was sometimes capitain, as in French. Many of these cases, we may observe, are mere solutions of contractions, angry, for example, being simply angery contracted.

18.

In opposition to the commonly received theory, I will venture to lay it down as a fixed principle that the dramatic poets rarely, if ever, used short lines, except in speeches of a single line, or in the first or the last line of a speech. This will be apparent to any one who examines the pages of Jonson and Massinger, who printed their plays themselves, or those plays of Shakespeare, Fletcher, and others which are the most correctly printed. Wherever a line of less than five feet occurs, it will be found to have been produced by omission of words or by malarrangement of the text. In plays such as Timon, Troilus and Cressida, or Fletcher's Sea Voyage, of which the original copy was in bad condition, lines of this kind are of course most numerous. I may here observe that in this last-named play, the metre of which Mr. Dyce has pronounced to be "incurably defective," I have, by simple rearrangement of the text, rendered it as correct as in any other of Fletcher's plays.

Even in this also Shakespeare took liberties in which his brethren did not venture to indulge. He began and ended not only speeches, but paragraphs of speeches, with short lines. Nay, he even made the concluding short line of one paragraph and the incipient short line of the next form a single line, thus—

All's Well, iii. 4.

Ant. and Cleop. v. 1.

In the case of final riming couplets the first line may be short, but never the second.

19.

Nothing is more common in the works of our old dramatists than malarrangement of the text, some lines being too long, some too short; but among them they are sure to contain the requisite number of feet. Editors have often taken the most justifiable liberty of rearranging the text; but on other occasions they have exclaimed against those who have followed their example. In this case, however, the only limit to the discretion of an editor is that of not putting—except in the cases above mentioned—more or less than five or six feet in a line. I must not omit to observe that editors have done injury to many passages, by the decasyllabic superstition which I have already noticed.

I will give one instance of a place where a most slight rearrangement gives perfect harmony to what has been a stumblingblock to editors:—

1 Hen. IV. iii. 1.

The last line, it will be seen, is the merest prose, but transfer "him" to it from the preceding line, and we at once get harmonious verse.

The following passages are thus arranged in the original editions:—

Mids. Night's Dream, v. 1.

Temp. ii. 1.

Those, then, who would refuse an editor the right of rearrangement are bound, if they would be consistent, to retain such passages as these unaltered. I may here make the boast that mine is the only edition of these plays in which the text is strictly metrical throughout.

20.

Beside all those forms of verse, the plays of our old dramatists contain a large quantity of prose. But it is only prose to the eye; for it is in reality as metrical as what is printed in separate metric lines, consisting of lines of five or six feet, each of two or three syllables, but printed continuously like prose. I therefore denominate it "Metric Prose" as being metric in substance, prose in form, and as, moreover, it is termed prose both by Chaucer and Shakespeare, probably from its less elevated character and from its being written continuously and without rime or alliteration. I am disposed to regard the former as being its inventor; and perhaps his reason for writing it continuously may have been merely the wish to save paper. We know, from M. de Maucroix's letter to Boileau, that the French poet Racan, whose poems were of course in rime, also wrote them continuously, and, as it would appear, for the same reason, though paper must have been less valuable in his time. As, however, the Anglo-Saxon and early English alliterative verse was written continuously, Chaucer may have been only following an established mode. It may be remarked that the poetry of the Hebrew Scriptures is also written and printed continuously.

Surely it is no egotism to state a plain truth! I therefore say that, as far as I know, I am myself the very first who, for the last century or more, has discerned the existence of this metric prose. My discovery was very gradual. I first recognized it in the plays of Beaumont and Fletcher, and, advancing step by step, I at length arrived at the certainty that for three centuries and a half, from Chaucer and Wickliffe to Dryden and Tillotson, almost every work claiming to be regarded as a literary composition is in this form. Such are histories from Sir T. More to Clarendon, translations, controversial and philosophical works, as those of Hooker, Brown, Taylor, and Cudworth, versions of the Scriptures from Wickliffe to the authorized one inclusive, sermons, inclusive of those of Barrow, South, and Tillotson, the Liturgy, except the Creeds, Te Deum, and Catechism, all prefaces, dedications and letters of compliment, &c. The chief exceptions were Hall and the other chroniclers, Purchas, Hakluyt, Fuller, Bunyan, Ludlow, L'Estrange, and Mrs. Hutchinson. The Ecclesiastical Policy, The Liberty of Prophesying, and The Areopagitica, for example, are as decidedly metrical as The Paradise Lost, only admitting more trisyllabic feet, and being printed continuously. Hence, too, in a great measure, arises the charm which we find in the prose of our old writers, and of which we have been ignorant of the secret source; as when Cowper styles Sidney "warbler of poetic prose."

I do not, however, say that this prose was read as verse, with a slight elevation of tone at the end of each metric line. It was, I think, read as prose, as Cowper of course read the Arcadia; but the metre diffused a secret charm through it, which could be felt even by those who were ignorant of the cause. How easy, by the way, must this mode of writing prose have made verse-making to the writers of those days! and how rapidly that prose could be written is proved by the assertion of Sir Kenelm Digby, who says that in the space of twenty-four hours he sent out and bought the Religio Medici, read it through, and wrote his Observations on it, which fill upwards of seventy printed pages, and are metrical—a fact almost inconceivable.

The only writer of the last century who, as far as I am aware, used this metric prose—for we seek it in vain in Addison, Pope, Johnson, Gibbon, &c.—is the historian Robertson, of which fact Mr. Buckle seems to have had a dim conception; for he speaks of his "measured style." It is a question where Robertson got it; for he could hardly have invented it, and I think it must have been in Knox, Spottiswoode, and the Scottish writers of the two preceding centuries, who all wrote like their English contemporaries. At the same period, however, his countryman Macpherson invented a new kind of metric prose for his 'Poems of Ossian.' Even the present century presents us with an instance in Mr. Lecky's eloquent 'History of Rationalism,' which is as metrical as the Areopagitica of Milton. Possibly my own remarks on the subject in 'Notes and Queries' may have directed his attention to it.

Gascoigne's comedy of The Supposes, performed in 1566, a translation from the Italian of Ariosto, appears to have been the first play written in this metric prose; Lyly also, somewhat later, wrote in it his courtly comedies; and it gradually, combined with blank verse, got entire possession of the scene. The last, I believe, to use it was Dryden. Ordinary prose—probably in imitation of the French and Italian comic drama—seems to have been first used after the Restoration, in the comedies of Killigrew, Shadwell, Wycherley, Etheridge, Sedley, and other dramatists of that period.

It is rather remarkable that a union of verse and prose, similar to this union of regular and irregular verse of our drama, occurs also in that of India. Sir William Jones tells us, in his preface to Sacontala, that the Hindoo plays "are all in verse where the dialogue is elevated, and in prose where it is familiar." Coleridge, who had not the slightest suspicion of the existence of metre in the dramatic prose, makes the following just remarks in a note on Fletcher's Custom of the Country:—"In all comic metres the gulping of short syllables and the abbreviation of syllables ordinarily long, by the rapid pronunciation of eagerness and vehemence, are not so much a licence as a law—a faithful copy of nature." This I think completely justifies the frequent use of the syncope and synæresis in metric prose.

The same critic again says of Milton's noble conclusion of his treatise 'Of Reformation in England,' "Written in the fervour of his youthful imagination, in a high poetic strain that wanted metre only to become a lyrical poem." He felt, but did not see, that the metre actually was there.

The fact of this prose being metric causes us sometimes to doubt whether a passage should be printed as verse or as prose; and sometimes what is verse in one edition is prose in another. Thus Mercutio's celebrated account of Queen Mab, in Romeo and Juliet, which is most perfect decasyllabic verse, is properly printed as such in the 4to, 1597, while in all the subsequent early editions it is made prose; and prose it would probably have been at this day had no copy of that edition remained. On the other hand, most modern editors have most improperly printed the Nurse's speeches in the preceding scene as verse, while they are, and rightly, prose in all the original editions. An editor is, I think, at perfect liberty to use his judgement in this matter.

The following extracts, in which the termination of each line is marked, will enable the reader to judge of the truth of my theory. I must at the same time remind him that such contractions as I'll, I've, are rare in these prose scenes, such being left to the knowledge and skill of the actor or reader.

"As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion. | He bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns; | and, as thou sayest, charged my brother on his blessing | to breed me well; and there begins my sadness. | My brother Jacques he keeps at school, and report | speaks goldenly of his profit; for my part he keeps me | rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, | stays me here at home unkept; for call you that keeping | for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling | of an ox? His horses are bred better; for besides that | they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, | and to that end riders dearly hired; but I, his brother,| gain nothing under him but growth, for the which | his animals on his dunghills are as much | bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he | so plentifully gives me, the something that Nature gave me | his countenance seems to take from me. He lets me feed | with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and as much as | in him lies mines my gentility with my education. | This it is, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, | which I think is within me, begins to mutiny | against this servitude. I will no longer endure it, | though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it."—As You Like It, i. 1.

"I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation | prevent your discovery, and your secresy | to the king and queen moult no feather. I have of late |—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth, | foregone all custom of exercises, and indeed | it goes so heavily with my disposition, | that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile | promontory, this most excellent canopy, | the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, | this majestical roof, fretted with golden fire, | why, it appeareth nothing to me but | a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. | What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! | how infinite in faculties! in form and moving | how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! | in apprehension how like a god! | the beauty of the world! the paragon | of animals! And yet to me what is | this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; | no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so."—Hamlet, ii. 2.

"Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.—Without his roe, | like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! | Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in; | Laura to his lady was a kitchen-wench; | marry, she had a better love to be-rime her; | Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gypsy; | Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisby | a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. | Signior Romeo, bon jour. There's a French salutation | to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit | fairly last night."—Romeo and Juliet, ii. 4.

"Nay, sure, | he's not in hell. He's in Arthur's bosom, if ever | man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a finer end, | and went away as it had been any christom child. | 'A parted even just between twelve and one, | even at the turning of the tide. For after I saw him | fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile | upon his finger's end, I knew there was but one way; | for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields. | How now, Sir John! quoth I. What, man! be of good cheer! | So 'a cried out God, God, God! three or four times. | Now I, to comfort him, bid him he should not think of God; | I hoped there was no need to trouble himself | with any such thoughts yet. So 'a bade me lay | more clothes on his feet. I put my hand into the bed, | and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone. | Then I felt to his knees, and so upward and upward, and all was | as cold as any stone."—King Henry V. ii. 3.