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Here I cannot help taking notice that as the poet's want of art made it neceffary to fet the queen to prate of her former crimes, to let us into the fable; so ignorance of human nature betrayed him, in a fucceeding scene, into the enormous abfurdity of making both Rodogune and the queen without hesitation, the one advise the lover to murder his miftrefs, the other the fon to murder his mother. Here again an inftance offers itself of our Shakespear's fuperior knowledge of the heart of man. King John wishes to inftigate Hubert to kill Prince Arthur, but obferve with what difficulty he expreffes his horrid purpofe.

King JOHN.

Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,
We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh
There is a foul counts thee her creditor,
And with advantage means to pay thy love:
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bofom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand, I had a thing to fay→→→
But I will fit it with fome better time,

By

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By heaven, Hubert, I'm almost asham'd

To fay what good refpect I have of thee.

HUBERT.

I am much bounden to your majesty.

King JOHN.

Good friend, thou haft no cause to say so yet,But thou fhalt have-and creep time ne'er fo flow,

Yet it shall come for me to do thee good.

I had a thing to say-but, let it go:
The fun is in the heav'n, and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton, and too full of gaudes,
To give me audience. If the midnight bell:
Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth
Sound one unto the drowfy race of night;
If this fame were a church-yard where we stand,
And thou poffeffed with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that furly spirit melancholy

Had bak'd thy blood and made it heavy-thick,
Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot laughter keep mens eyes,
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment;
(A paffion hateful to my purposes)

Or if thou could'ft fee me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply

Without

Without a tongue, ufing conceit alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful found of words;
Then, in despight of broad-ey'd watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
But ah, I will not-yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'ft me well.

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ON THE

PRETERNATURAL

BEING S.

The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,

Doth glance from heav'n to earth, from earth to heav'ng
And, as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to fhape, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

Midfummer Night's Dream.

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