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For with a staffe, without the helpe of hand, She writt these wordes upon the plat of

sand:

"The lustfull sonnes of the proud emperèsse

Are doers of this hateful wickednesse."

I tore the milk-white hairs from off m.ne head,

I curst the houre, wherein I first was bred,

I wisht this hand, that fought for countrie's fame,

In cradle rockt, had first been stroken lame.

The moore delighting still in villainy

Did say, to sett my sonnes from prison free I should unto the king my right hand give, And then my three imprisoned sonnes should live.

The moore I caus'd to strike it off with speede,

Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed,

But for my sonnes would willingly impart,

(She nam'd Revenge, and Rape and Murder they),

To undermine and heare what I would say.

I fed their foolish veines * a certaine space, Until my friendes did find a secret place, Where both her sonnes unto a post were bound,

And just revenge in cruell sort was found.

I cut their throates, my daughter held the pan

Betwixt her stumpes, wherein the bloud it

ran:

And then I ground their bones to powder small,

And made a paste for pyes streight therewithall.

Then with their fleshe I made two mighty pyes,

And at a banquet served in stately wise: Before the empresse set this loathsome meat;

And for their ransome send my bleeding | So of her sonnes own flesh she well did eat. heart.

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XIV. TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY.

THE first stanza of this little sonnet is found in Shakespeare's Measure for Measure, Act iv. Sc. i. Both the stanzas are preserved in Beaum. and Fletcher's Bloody Brother, Act v. Sc. ii. It is not found in Jaggard's old edition of Shakespeare's Passionate Pilgrim, and there is some doubt as to the authorship of it.

TAKE, oh take those lips away,

That so sweetlye were forsworne;
And those eyes, the breake of day,
Lights, that do misleade the morne :
But my kisses bring againe,
Seales of love, but seal'd in vaine.

Hide, oh hide those hills of snowe,

Which thy frozen bosom beares,
On whose tops the pinkes that growe
Are of those that April wears:
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.

XV. KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS.

THE reader has here an ancient ballad on the subject of King Lear, which (as a sensible female critic has well observed) bears so exact an analogy to the argument of Shakespeare's play, that his having copied it could not be doubted, if it were certain that it was written before the tragedy. Here is found the hint of Lear's madness, which the old chronicles do not mention, as also the extravagant cruelty exercised on him by his daughters. In the death of Lear they likewise very exactly coincide. The misfortune is, that there is nothing to assist us in ascertaining the date of the ballad but what little evidence arises from within; this the reader must weigh, and judge for himself.

KING LEIR once ruled in this land

With princely power and peace;
And had all things with hearts content,
That might his joys increase.
Amongst those things that nature gave,
Three daughters fair had he,
So princely seeming beautiful,

As fairer could not be.

So on a time it pleas'd the king

A question thus to move,
Which of his daughters to his grace
Could shew the dearest love:
For to my age you bring content,

Quoth he, then let me hear,
Which of you three in plighted troth
The kindest will appear.

To whom the eldest thus began;

Dear father, mind, quoth she,
Before your face, to do you good,

My blood shall render'd be:
And for your sake my bleeding heart
Shall here be cut in twain,
Ere that I see your reverend age
The smallest grief sustain.

And so will I, the second said;
Dear father, for your sake,
The worst of all extremities

I'll gently undertake :

And serve your highness night and day
With diligence and love;
That sweet content and quietness
Discomforts may remove.

In doing so, you glad my soul,

The aged king reply'd;

But what sayst thou, my youngest girl,

How is thy love ally'd?

My love (quoth young Cordelia then)
Which to your grace I owe,
Shall be the duty of a child,

And that is all I'll show.

And wilt thou shew no more, quoth he,
Than doth thy duty bind?

I well perceive thy love is small,

When as no more I find.
Henceforth I banish thee my court,
Thou art no child of mine;
Nor any part of this my realm
By favour shall be thine.

Thy elder sisters loves are more

Than well I can demand,
To whom I equally bestow

My kingdome and my land,
My pompal state and all my goods,
That lovingly I may

With those thy sisters be maintain'd
Until my dying day.

Thus flattering speeches won renown,
By these two sisters here;
The third had causeless banishment,
Yet was her love more dear:
For poor Cordelia patiently

Went wandering up and down,
Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid,
Through many an English town:

Untill at last in famous France

She gentler fortunes found; Though poor and bare, yet was she deem'd The fairest on the ground:

Where when the king her virtues heard,
And this fair lady seen,

With full consent of all his court
He made his wife and queen.

Her father king Leir this while

With his two daughters staid: Forgetful of their promis'd loves, Full soon the same decay'd;

And living in queen Ragan's court,

The eldest of the twain,

She took from him his chiefest means, And most of all his train.

For whereas twenty men were wont
To wait with bended knee :
She gave allowance but to ten,

And after scarce to three;

Nay, one she thought too much for him;
So took she all away,

In hope that in her court, good king,
He would no longer stay.

Am I rewarded thus, quoth he,
In giving all I have
Unto my children, and to beg

For what I lately gave?
I'll go unto my Gonorell:

My second child, I know,
Will be more kind and pitiful,
And will relieve my woe.

Full fast he hies then to her court;
Where when she heard his moan
Return'd him answer, That she griev'd,
That all his means were gone:
But no way could relieve his wants;
Yet if that he would stay

Within her kitchen, he should have
What scullions gave away.

When he had heard, with bitter tears,
He made his answer then ;
In what I did let me be made
Example to all men.

I will return again, quoth he,
Unto my Ragan's court;
She will not use me thus, I hope,

But in a kinder sort.

Where when he came, she gave command To drive him thence away:

When he was well within her court

(She said) he would not stay. Then back again to Gonorell

The woeful king did hie,
That in her kitchen he might have
What scullion boys set by.

But there of that he was deny'd

Which she had promis'd late: For once refusing, he should not Come after to her gate.

Thus twixt his daughters, for relief

He wandred up and down; Being glad to feed on beggars food,

That lately wore a crown.

And calling to remembrance then
His youngest daughter's words,
That said the duty of a child

Was all that love affords :
But doubting to repair to her,
Whom he had banish'd so,
Grew frantick mad; for in his mind
He bore the wounds of woe:

Which made him rend his milk-white locks,

And tresses from his head,

And all with blood bestain his cheeks,

With age and honour spread.

To hills and woods and watry founts

He made his hourly moan,

Till hills and woods, and sensless things,
Did seem to sigh and groan.

Even thus possest with discontents,
He passed o're to France,

In hopes from fair Cordelia there,

To find some gentler chance;

Most virtuous dame! which when she

heard

Of this her father's grief,

As duty bound, she quickly sent Him comfort and relief:

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XVI.-YOUTH AND AGE

Is found in the little collection of Shakespeare's sonnets, entitled the Passionate Pilgrime, the greatest part of which seems to relate to the amours of Venus and Adonis. The following seems intended for the mouth of Venus, weighing the comparative merits of youthful Adonis and aged Vulcan.

CRABBED Age and Youth
Cannot live together;
Youth is full of pleasance,

Age is full of care:
Youth like summer morn,
Age like winter weather,
Youth like summer brave,
Age like winter bare :

Youth is full of sport,
Ages breath is short;

Youth is nimble, Age is lame:
Youth is hot and bold,

Age is weak and cold;

Youth is wild, and Age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee,
Youth, I do adore thee;

O, my love, my love is young:
Age, I do defie thee;

Oh sweet shepheard, hie thee,
For methinks thou stayst too long.

XVII. THE FROLICKSOME DUKE, OR THE TINKER'S
GOOD FORTUNE.

THE following ballad is upon the same subject as the Introduction to Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew: whether it may be thought to have suggested the hint to the dramatic poet, or is not rather of later date, the reader must determine.

The story is told of Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, "that when at Bruges in Flanders, he would in the evening walke disguised all about the towne. It so fortuned, as he was walking late one night, he found a countrey fellow dead drunke, snorting on a bulke; he caused his followers to bring him to his palace, and there stripping him of his old clothes, and attyring him after the court fashion, when he wakened, he and they were all ready to attend upon his excellency and persuade him that he was some great duke. The poor fellow admiring how he came there, was served in state all day long after supper he saw them dance, heard musicke, and all the rest of those courtlike pleasures; but late at night, when he was well tipled, and again fast asleepe, they put on his old robes, and so conveyed him to the place where they first found him. Now the fellow had not made them so good sport the day before, as he did now, when he returned to himself: all the jest was to see how he looked upon it. In conclusion, after some little admiration, the poore man told his friends he had seen a vision; constantly believed it; would not otherwise be persuaded, and so the jest ended."-Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy.

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