That private men enjoy? And what have kings,
That private have not too,-save ceremony?—
Save gen❜ral ceremony ?

And what art thou, thou idle ceremony?
What kind of god art thou, that fuffer'st more
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
What are thy rents? What are thy comings-in?
O ceremony, fhew me but thy worth:

(13) What is the foul of adoration?

Art thou aught elfe but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men?

Wherein thou art lefs happy, being fear'd
Than they in fearing.

What drink'st thou oft, inftead of homage fweet,
But poifon'd flatt'ry? O be fick, great greatnefs,
And bid thy ceremony give the cure.

Think'ft

(13) What, &c.] What is thy foul of adoration-is the common reading: there wants but the alteration of thy into the, as in the text, and all is well: the meaning is, as well explained by Mr. Upton, what is the foul, i. e. the real worth, what subftantial good is there in adoration or ceremony? what are the rents? what are the comings-in, Oh, ceremony! fhew me but thy worth, tell me what is the foul, the very utmost value of adoration?" Shakespear ufes the word foul in this sense very often ;-in this play, he says,

There is fome foul of goodness in things evil;

i. e. fome real or fubftantial good.

In his Midfummer Night's Dream,

But you must join in fouls to mock me too ;

.e. unite together heartily, and in earnest.

And in Meafure for Measure;

3. c. particularly and fpecially fpeciamente. The alterations foifted into the texts in the feveral places, are too ridiculous to need mentioning. Upton's Observations, p. 406.

Think'ft thou, the fiery fever will go out
With titles blown from adulation?

Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
Can't thou, when thou command'ft the beggar's knee,
Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,
That play'it fo fubtly with a king's repofe;
I am a king, that find thee, and I know,
'Tis not the balm, the fceptre, and the ball,
The fword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The enter-tiffued robe of gold and pearl,
The farfed titled running 'fore the king,
The throne he fits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high fhore of this world?
No, not all these thrice gorgeous ceremonies,
Not all thefe, laid in bed majestical,

Can fleep fo foundly as the wretched flave,
Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind,
Gets him to reft, cramm'd with diftressful bread;
Never fees horrid night, the child of hell:
(14) But, like a lacquey, from the rife to fet,

Sweats

(14) But like, &c.] The poet in this most beautiful paffage is comparing the laborious flave to the lacquey or footman of Phobus: He never beholds night,' fays the poet, but like a lacquey obliged ever to attend and follow his mafter, fweats from rife to fet, in the eye of Phoebus, his mafter, fleeps all night, where be (Phabus) fleeps, in Elyfium, and the next day, after dawn, rifes to his business, and helps his master, Hyperion, to his horfe; in whofe fight he again fweats from rife to fet as before, and thus follows the ever-running year, &c. Nothing can be more exquifite, and more nobly bespeak the hand of Shakespear. Mr. Sewa d's. alteration is quite unneceffary; for this manner of expreffion is entirely agreeable to our author. That gentleman, in his preface, brings the following paffage from Philafter, A. 4. as worthy to be placed in competition with that of Shakepcar, and where the hands, he says, are fcarcely to be diftinguished, except from one fingle expreffion of Shakespear. 'A prince, depriv'd of his throne, and betray'd, as he thought, in love, thus mourns his melancholy ftate. See Beaumont and Fletsher's Works, Vol. I. preface, p. 24.

Qh

Sweats in the eye of Phebus; and all night
Sleeps in Elyfium: next day, after dawn,
Doth rife and help Hyperion to his horse:
And follows fo the ever-running year
With profitable labour to his grave:
And (but for ceremony) fuch a wretch,

Winding up days with toil, and nights with fleep,
Hath the fore-hand and vantage of a king.

SCENE VII. A Defcription of the miferable State of the English Army.

Yon ifland carrions, defp'rate of their bones,
Ill favour'dly become the morning field:
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
And our air fhakes them paffing fcornfully.
Big Mars feems bankrupt in their beggard host,
And faintly through a rufty beaver peeps.
The horsemen fit like fixed candlesticks,

:

With torch-staves in their hands and their poor jades
Lob down their heads, dropping the hide and hips:
The gum down roping from their pale dead eyes;
And in their pale dull mouths the (15) jymold bit
Lies fowl with chaw'd grafs, ftill and motionless;

Oh that I had been nourish'd in these woods,
With milk of goats and acorns, and not known
The right of crowns, or the diffembling train
Of woman's looks; but digg'd myself a cave,
Where I, my fire, my cattle, and my bed,
Might have been fhut together in one shed:
And then had taken me fome mountain girl,

Beaten with winds, chafte as the harden'd rocks

And

Whereon fhe dwells: that might have strew'd my bed
With leaves and reeds, and with the skins of beasts,
Our neighbours, and have borne at her big breasts.
My large coarse iffue!

(15) Fymold.] Jymold, or rather gimmald, which fignifies a ring of two rounds, Gemellus, Skynner, Mr. Pope.

And their executors, the knavish crows,

Fly o'er them all impatient for their hour.

SCENE X. King Henry's Speech before the Battle at Agincourt.

He that out-lives this day, and comes fafe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd:
And roufe him at the name of Crifpian:
He that out-lives this day, and fees old-age,
Will yearly on the vigil feaft his neighbour,
And fay, to-morrow is Saint Crifpian;

Then will he strip his fleeve, and fhew his fcars;
Old men forget; yet fhall not all forget,

But they'll remember, with advantages,

What feats they did that day. Then fhall our names, Familiar in their mouth, as houshold words,

Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter,

Warwick, and Talbot, Salisbury, and Glofter,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.

SCENE XII.

Defcription of the Earl of York's
Death.

(16) He fmil'd me in the face, gave me his hand And, with a feeble gripe, fays, dear my lord,

Commen

(16) He fmil'd, &c.] This tender and pathetic description of the earl of York's death always reminds me of Virgil's celebrated epifode on the friendship of Nijus and Euryalus, who fell undivided in death, and lovely as they had lived-Euryalus was wounded when his friend rufh'd to his affiftance, and begg'd his life: the poet tells us ;

* In vain he spoke, for ah, the sword addreft
With ruthless rage, had pierc'd his lovely breast,
With blood his fnowy limbs are purpled o'e
And pale in death he welters in his gore

Nifus.

As

Commend my service to my fovereign;

So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck

He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips;
And fo efpous'd to death, with blood he feal'd
A teftament of noble-ending love.

The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd

Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd;
But I had not fo much of man in me;

And all my mother came into mine eyes,

And gave me up to tears.

ACT V. SCENE III.

The Miferies of War.

(17) Her vine, the merry chearer of the heart, Unpruned lies: her hedges even pleach'd, Like prisoners, wildly over-grown with hair,

As a gay flower with blooming beauties crown'd,
Cut by the share, lies languid on the ground:
Or fome tall poppy, that o'er-charg'd with rain
Bends the faint head and finks upon the plain:
So fair, fo languishingly fweet he lies,
His head declin'd, and drooping, as he dies.
Now 'midft the foe, diftracted Nisus flew ;
Volfcens, and him alone, he keeps in view:
The gathering train, the furious youth furround,

Darts follow darts; and wound fucceeds to wound :
All, all unfelt: he feeks their guilty lord,

In fiery circles, flies his thundering fword:

Nor ceas'd, but found at length the deftin'd way

And buried in his mouth the falchion lay.

Thus cover'd o'er with wounds on every fide,
Brave Nifus flew the murderer as he died;
Then on the dear Euryalus his breast,
Sunk down, and flumber'd in eternal reft.

Put

See Pitt, Æn. 9.

(17) Her, &c. This is from the pfalms, Wine that maketh glad the heart of man, Pf. 104. 15. The word lies in the text is an emendation of Mr. Warburton's: the old reading is dies 褥

VOL. III.

D