Part 14

"Selestinus reignid a wyse emperoure in Rome, and he had a faire dowter; and in his tyme ther was a knyᵹte that lovid this dowter, but he thowte in himselfe that he dud al in veyne, for he thouᵹt as forsothe that the emperoure wolde not late him to have hir, for he was unworthi therto; nevertheles he thought yf he myght be any wey have love of the damiselle it were inowe to me. He yede ofte tyme to the damisell and aspied hir wille; and she said to him ayene that he travaylid al in veyne, for trowist thow, quod she, with thi deseyvable of faire wordes to begile me? Nay sir, be my soule, hit shal not be so. Thenne saide the kniᵹte, What shal I yeve to the and late me lye by the a nyght? Not thowh thou woldest yeve me an C marke of florens, quod she, thou shalt not lye by me a nyght. Then hit shal be as thou wilte, quod he. What dude he but purveyde him of so muche mony, s. an C. marke of floreyns, and yaf hir. Whenne nyght come the kniᵹte enterid into the bed of the mayde, and anoon he was aslepe, and she dude of hir harnes, and come and laye downe by him. So the kniᵹte laye slepynge al the nyght. On the morow she ros, and did on hir clothis, and wishe hir hondes. And the kniᵹte awoke of his slepe, and thenne he said, Come hedir to me that I may do my wille with the. Nay, by the helth of my fadir, that wolle I not, quod she; for frende, I do the no wronge. Thow accordiste with me that I shulde lye with the al nyght, and so it is idon; for I lay by the al nyght, and thou sleptest and preferdest me no solace, and therrfore blame thi selfe, and not me. And the kniᵹte was hevy, and seide, What shal I yeve to the and lete me lygge by the another nyght? As much, quod she, as thou did afor, and no lesse. I assente, seide he. And the kniᵹte yede and solde alle his movable goodes, and made redy an C. marke of floreynse. But se now a marvelouse case; for right as hit was the furste nyght, so hit was in the secounde. Thenne the kniᵹte mervaylid mor thanne man may suppose, and hevy he was, and saide, Allas, for now have I spend al my godes withoute spede; and therfore thow I shulle dye therefor I woll make another ende, how moch shall I yeve the, and late us be togeder the thirde nyght, quod the kniᵹte to the damisell. Sothely, she saide, yf thou have me, as thou paide afore, _fiat voluntas tua_. I assent, quod he, thou shalte have thin askynge and thi wille. The kniᵹte yede into fer contree, til he come to a grete citee, in the whiche wer many marchaunts and many philesophers, amonge the wiche was master Virgile the philesopher. Then the kniᵹte yede to a grete marchaunt, and saide, I have [nede] of monye, and yf thou wolt lende me an C marke unto a certeyne day, I wolle ley to the al my londes undir this conducion that if I holde not my day thow shalt have my londes for evere. Thenne seyde the marchaunt, Der frend, I sette not so muche be thi londes, but yf thow wolt make this covenaunt, that I shal sey to the, I wolle fulfill thi wille. This saide he I am redy to do thi wille, yf thou wolt do my petucion. Thenne, seide he, when this covenaunt is made that I shalle seye unto the, thenne I shalle fulfille thyne askynge; and the covenaunt shalle be this, that thou make to me a charter of thine owne blood, in conducion that yf thowe kepe not thi day of payment, hit shalle be lefulle to me for to draw awey alle the flesh of thi body froo the bone with a sharp swerde, and yf thow wolt assent herto, I shalle fulfille thi wille. The kniᵹte lovid the damisell so moch that he grauntid al this, and made a charter of his owne bloode, and selid it, and after the selyng this marchaunt toke him the money that he askid. When he had the moneye, he thoute to him selfe, yf I gete my wylle by this moneye, I am but dede; nay, nay, it may not be so. When he harde tell of the grete name of maister Virgile, he yede to him, and seide, Gode sir, I have previ counseill to speke a twene us too, and I beseche yow of your wise counseill in this cas. Sey on, quod Virgile, and I shalle telle the aftir my discrecion. Sir, I love the dowter of the emperoure more than ye wolle trowe, and I accordid with her for a certen sum of money. I have be disceyvid two nyghts in swiche maner; and tolde alle the cas as welle as he coude, and sir nowe I have borowed of a marchaunt so much moneye for the same cas to be fulfillid, and undir this conducion, that yf I holde not my day of payment, hit shalle thenne be lefulle to him to helde of alle the skynne of my body with his swerde, and then I am but dede, and therfor sir, I am com to you to have counsaill and wyt how I may bothe have helpe ayenste swiche a parill, and also to have the love of that lovely lady. Thou hast made a lewde covenaunt, seide Virgile, for as a man bindithe him with his owne wille, right so he shall be servid be lawe of the emperoure; and therefore thou shalt do wysely for to kepe the day of thi payment alle things lefte. And towchinge the damesell I shall yeve the a tale of truthe. Bitwene her shete and her coverlyte of hir bed is a letter of swiche vertu, that whoso ever gothe with hir to bed, he shall anon falle into a dede slepe; and he shalle not wake til time that hit be put awey: and therfor when thou comest to hir bed, seche a twene the shete and the coverlyte, and thow shalt fynde the letter; and when thow hast founde hit caste hit fer from the bedde, and then entre into the bed, for thou shalte not slepe til tyme that thow haste doon thi wille with the damiselle, and that shalle torne to the gret honour and joye. The kniᵹte toke his leve at Virgile, and thonkid him moche of his hie counseill and yede to the damysell, and yafe hir the monye. When nyᵹt come the kniᵹt enterid the chaumber, and preveli putte his honde bitwene the coverlite and the shete, and there he fonde the letter; and whenne he hadde hit he caste hit fer fro the bedde, and lay downe and feynid as he hadde islepte, and thenne the damiselle knowing that he had yslepte as he dude afor, she caste of hir clothis, and went to bedde. Anon the kniᵹte sette hande to hir as is the maner of bed, and she perceyved that, and prayd him of grace, and to save hir maydinhede, and I shall dobble al the monye that thow hast yevin to me and yeve it to the.... And aftur he lovid hir so muche that he drow so moche to hir compane that he forᵹate the marchaunt and the day of payment was passid by the space of xiiii dayes. And as he lay in a certen nyght in his bed, hit come to his mynde the day that he made to the marchaunt, and alle his bowells wer storid therewithe, and thenne said to her, Alas woman that ever I saw the, for I am but dede. I borowed for thi love swiche a some of mony for to pay at a certeyne day bi this conducion, that yf I pay not at my day he shall have full power for to hilde of the fleshe of my body without contradiccion; and now my day is passid fourtenyte ago, so hih I sette myn hert in the. Then seide she, Sorowithe not so moche, gothe to him, and debbelithe the mony to him, and yf he wolle not, aske howe moche he wolle have, and I shalle paye it. Tho was the kniᵹte comfortid. He yede to the citee, and there he mette with the marchaunt in the stret, and lowly he saluid him. Tho saide the marchaunt, So sey I not to the. Thenne seyde the kniᵹte, Sir, for the trespas that I have made ayenste youre convencion I wolle dowble the payment. Naye seide the marchaunt, that spake we not of, I wolle have right as thou dudest bynde the to me. Aske of me, quod the knight, as much mony as thou wolte, and thowe shalt be paide for my trespas. It is veyne that thow spekist, quod the marchaunt, for thowhe thou geve to me al the gode of thi citee, I wolle have the covenaunt I holde, and non othere wolle I have of the than as the charter asselid makith mencioun of; and anon he made the kniᵹt to be itake and lad to the castell, and sette him in a safe ward, abyding the justice. When the juge was come and satte in the dome, the kniᵹt come to barr among other prisoners, and the marchaunt shewid his lettire afor the juge. Anoon as the juge sawe there his owne dede, he said to alle that stode aboute, Sirs, ye know welle it is the law of the emperour that yf enye man bynde him by his owne freewille he shal resseyve as he servithe, and therefore this marchaunt shalle have covenaunt as lawe wolle. Now in al this tyme the damysell his love had sent kniᵹts for to aspie and enquer how the law was pursued ayenst him, and whenne she harde telle that the lawe passid ayenst him, she kytte of al the longe her of hir hede, and cladde hir in precious clothing like to a man, and yede to the palys there as hir lemon was to be demyd, and saluyd the justice, and all they trowid that she had be a kniᵹte; and the juge enquerid of what contree she was, and what she had to do ther. She said, I am a kniᵹte, and come of fer contree, and her tithings that there is a kniᵹte amonge yowe that shuld be demid to dethe for an obligacion that he made to a marchaunt, and therefor I am come to deliver him. Thenne the juge said, It is lawe of the emperoure that who so ever byndethe him with his owne propre wille and consent withoute enye constraynynge he shulde be servid so ayene. When the damisell harde this she turnid to the marchaunt and saide, Der frende, what profite is it to the that this kniᵹte that stondithe her redy to the dome be slayne? it wer [better] to the to have monye than to have him slayne. Thou spekest al in veyne, quod the marchaunt, for withoute doute I wolle have the lawe sithe he bonde him so frely, and therefor he shalle have noon other grace than lawe wolle, for he come to me, and I not to him. I desirid him not thereto ayenste his wille. Thenne saide she, I praye the howe moche shall I yeve to have my petucion? I shalle yeve the thi monye double, and yf that be not plesynge to the, aske of me what thou wolte, and Thou shalt have. Then saide he, thow harde me never seye but that I wolde have my covenaunte kept. Sothely, seyde she, and thou shalt trowe me afor your [you] sir juge, and afor yowe alle, I sey now sir juge ywithe a right wisdome of that that I shal seye to yowe; ye have ihard howe moche I have proferid this marchaunt for the lyf of this kniᵹte, and he forsakithe all, and askithe the lawe, and that likith me moche; and therfore lordinges that beye her, herithe me what I shalle seye. Ye knowithe welle that the kniᵹt bonde him never by letter but that the marchaunt shulde have power to kutte his fleshe fro the boons, but there was no covenaunt made of sheding of blode, thereof was nothing ispoke, and therefor late him set hond on him anoon, and yf he shede ony bloode with his shavinge of the fleshe forsothe then shalle the kynge have goode lawe upon him. And when the marchaunt harde this he said, Yef me my monye, and I foryeve my accion. Fforsothe, quod she, thou shalt not have oo penye, for afor al this companye I proferid to the al that I myght, and thou forsoke hit, and saydist with a lowde wyse, I shalle have my covenaunte; and therfor do thi beste with him, but loke that thow shede no blode I charge the; for it is not thin, ne no covenaunt was thereof. Thenne the marchaunt seynge this yede away confus. And so was the Kniᵹt's lyf savid, and no penye ipayde. And she yede home ayene, and dude of that clothinge, and clothid hit as she was afor like to a woman. And the kniᵹte yede home ayene, and the damisell turnid and met him, and askid howe he had ispedde, as thowhe she had not knowen therof. A, lady, quod he, this day was I in poynt to be dede for thy love, but as I was in point to be dampned, there come in sodeynlye a knite, a fair and well ishape, the whiche I saw never afor, and he delivirid me by his exellent wisdom bothe from dethe and eke from payment of moneye. Thenne were thowhe, quod she, unkynde that woldest nat bidde that kniᵹte to mete, that so faire had savid the. He aunswerde therto, and saide that he come sodeinly and sodenly yede. Thenne seide she, Knowiste thow him if thou seye him? Yee, quod he, right wele. She yede up and cladde hir as she dide afore, and then she yede forthe. And the kniᵹte knew her thenne wele, and for joye fel doune upon hire, and said, Blessid be thow, and the houre in the whiche I fyrste knew the. And he wepte, and aftir he weddid hir and livid and deyde in the service of God, and yelde to God goode sowlis."

On the whole, then, it is conceived that the outline of the _bond story_ is of Oriental origin;[13] that the author of the old play of _The Jew_, and Shakspeare in his Merchant of Venice, have not confined themselves to one source only in the construction of their plot; but that the _Pecorone_, the _Gesta Romanorum_, and perhaps the old _Ballad of Gernutus_, have been respectively resorted to. It is however most probable that the original play was indebted chiefly, if not altogether, to the _Gesta Romanorum_, which contained both the main incidents; and that Shakspeare expanded and improved them, partly from his own genius, and partly, as to the bond, from the _Pecorone_, where the coincidences are too manifest to leave any doubt. Thus, the scene being laid at Venice; the residence of the lady at Belmont; the introduction of a person bound for the principal; the double infraction of the bond, viz., the taking more or less than a pound of flesh and the shedding of blood, together with the after-incident of the ring, are common to the novel and the play. The whetting of the knife might perhaps have been taken from the _Ballad of Gernutus_. Shakspeare was likewise indebted to an authority that could not have occurred to the original author of the play in an English form; this was, Silvayn's _Orator_, as translated by Munday. From that work Shylock's reasoning before the senate is evidently borrowed; but at the same time it has been most skilfully improved.

The frequent allusions to the _different Gesta Romanorum_ may have excited a wish to be more familiarly acquainted with that singular and interesting work; but as the discussion of the subject in this place would have augmented the tediousness of the note, it has been thought better to make the attempt in a separate dissertation, where it is hoped that any obscurity in the preceding remarks will be removed.

It is much to be lamented that this exquisitely beautiful drama can neither be read nor performed, without exciting in every humane and liberal mind an abhorrence of its professed design to vilify an ancient and respectable, but persecuted, nation. It should be remembered that contempt and intolerance must naturally excite hatred; that to provoke revenge is, in fact, to become responsible for the crimes it may occasion; that to those who would degrade and oppress us, it is but justice to oppose craft; and that nature has supplied even the brute creation with the means of resisting persecution. It will be readily conceded that there happily exist in the present moment but few remains of the illiberal prejudices complained of, the asperity of which has been greatly mitigated by the laudable and successful exertions of a modern dramatic writer, to whom the Jewish people are under the highest obligations.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] It may be worth remarking that the historian Stowe has made great use of this curious and valuable Life of Wolsey, without naming the author. It has been several times printed, but the manuscript copies have greatly the advantage in fullness and accuracy.

[13] If the horrible incident of the cutting off the flesh had not occurred in the several Oriental stories that have been mentioned, one should have supposed that it had been suggested by that atrocious decemviral law of the Twelve Tables, which empowered a creditor to mangle the living body of his debtor without fear of punishment for cutting more or less than the magistrate allowed. For the honour of the Roman law, it is not recorded that the above inhuman decree was ever enforced.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

ACT I.

SCENE 2. Page 16.

CEL. This is not fortune's work neither, but _nature's_, who perceiving our _natural_ wits too dull to reason of such Goddesses, hath sent this _natural_ for our whetstone.

It must be observed that Touchstone is here called a _natural_ merely for the sake of alliteration and a punning jingle of words; for he is undoubtedly an artificial fool.

SCENE 2. Page 29.

LE BEAU. More suits you to conceive, _than me_ to speak of.

The old copy had, _than I_. These grammatical errors in the use of the personal pronoun should either be _uniformly_ corrected or left entirely to themselves. Mr. Steevens in p. 9, note 7, seems to regard them as the anomalies of the play-house editors; but Mr. Malone, probably with more reason, is inclined to place them to the author's own account. If the present correction by Mr. Rowe be retained in future editions, we ought not to find such expressions as "hates nothing more than _he_," p. 14; "no child but _I_," p. 15, and _who_ for _whom_ perpetually.

ACT II.

SCENE 1. Page 37.

DUKE S. Which like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious _jewel_ in his head.

What that stone which many people suppose to come from the head of a toad really was, would be no easy task at present to determine. Various conjectures have made it the _bsatrachites_, _chelonites_, _brontia_, _ceraunia_, _glossopetra_, &c. Neither is it certain that the text alludes to a _stone_; for Gesner informs us that in his time, and _in England more particularly_, the common people made superstitious uses of a _real jewel_ that always could be found in a toad's head, viz., its _forehead bone_. To obtain this they severed the animal in two parts, and exposed it to be devoured by ants; by which means it presently became a skeleton. The above author carefully distinguishes this bone from the toadstone, and from Pliny's bone mentioned in Mr. Steevens's note. He has likewise with great industry, as on all occasions, collected much that relates to the subject of the toadstone. See his work _De quadrup. ovipar._ p. 65. It must be owned that better naturalists than Shakspeare believed in the common accounts of the toadstone. Batman in his edition to the article relating to the _botrax_ or _rubeta_ in Bartholomæus _De propr. rerum_, informs us that "some toads that breed in Italy and about Naples, have in their heads a stone called a _crapo_, of bignes like a big peach, but flat, of colour gray, with a browne spot in the midst _said to be of vertue_. In times past they were much worne, and used in ringes, as the forewarning against venime." Another learned divine who is often very witty, but on this occasion perfectly grave, has told us that "some report that the toad before her death sucks up (if not prevented with sudden surprisal) the precious stone (as yet but a jelly) in her head, grudging mankind the good thereof."--Fuller's _Church history_, p. 151. In a medical work too we are informed that "in the head of a greate tode there is a stone, which stone being stampt and geven to the pacyent to drinke in warme wine, maketh him to pise the stone out incontinent," &c.--Lloyd's _Treasure of helth_, pr. by Copland, n. d. 12mo. The notion of jewels in the heads of animals is very widely spread. Mr. Wilkins has informed us that it is a vulgar notion in India that some species of serpents have precious stones in their heads. _Hectopades_, p. 302. The best account of the different sorts of toadstones, so far as regards the illustration of the above superstitious notions, is in Topsell's _History of serpents_, 1608, folio, p. 188.

SCENE 1. Page 39.

1. LORD. To the which place a poor sequester'd stag Did come to languish ... ... and _the big round tears_ Cours'd one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase.

The stag is said to possess a very large secretion of tears. "When the hart is arered, he fleethe to a ryver or ponde, and roreth cryeth and _wepeth_ when he is take."--Bartholomæus _De propriet. rerum_, 1. xviii. c. 30. Batman, in his commentary on that work, adds, from Gesner, that "when the hart is sick and hath eaten many serpents for his recoverie, he is brought unto so great a heate, that he hasteth to the water, and their covereth his body unto the very eares and eyes, at which time _distilleth many teares_ from which the [Bezoar] stone is gendered," &c. The translator of _The noble arte of Venerie_ makes the hart thus address the hunter:

"O cruell, be content, to take in worth my _teares_, Which growe to gumme, and fall from me; content thee with my heares, Content thee with my hornes, which every yeare I mew, Since all these three make medicines, some sicknesse to eschew. My _teares_ congeal'd to gumme, by peeces from me fall, And thee preserve from pestilence, in pomander or ball. Such wholesome _teares_ shedde I, when thou pursewest me so."

Compare also Virgil's description of the wounded stag in the seventh book of the Æneid.

SCENE 2. Page 43.

DUKE. And let not search and inquisition _quail_ To bring again these foolish runaways.

"To _quail_," says Mr. Steevens, "is to _faint_, to sink into dejection;" and so it certainly is, but not in this instance; for neither search nor inquisition could very well faint or become dejected. They might indeed _slacken_, _relax_, or _diminish_, and such is really the present meaning of the word. Thus "Hunger cureth love, for love _quaileth_ when good cheare faileth."--_The choise of change_, 1585, 4to, sign. L. i. _To quail_ is also used in the several senses of to _sink_, _abate_, _deaden_, _enfeeble_, _press down_, and _oppress_; all of which might be exemplified from the writings of authors contemporary with Shakspeare, and some of them from his own. It seems to be a modification of to quell, i. e. to destroy altogether, to kill, from the Saxon cƿellan.

SCENE 2. Page 54.

JAQ. But that they call compliment, is like the encounter of two _dog-apes_.

Bartholomæus, speaking of apes, says, "some be called _cenophe_; and be lyke to an _hounde_ in the face, and in the body lyke to an _ape_."--Lib. xviii. c. 96.

SCENE 5. Page 55.

JAQ. Ducdáme, ducdáme, ducdáme.

The stanza which the facetious old squire sang before Dr. Farmer has occurred in the following shape; but where is the Œdipus who shall unfold the connexion of either with Jaques's song?

"O _damy_ what makes my _ducks_ to die? What can ail them, Oh! They eat their victuals and down they lie, What can ail them, Oh!"

SCENE 7. Page 66.

JAQ. ... All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players.

Mr. Steevens refers to the _totus mundus exerceat histrioniam_ of Petronius, with whom probably the sentiment originated; but this author had not been translated in Shakspeare's time. The play of _Damon and Pythias_, which Mr. Malone has cited, might have furnished the observation. There are likewise two other probable sources that are worthy of notice on this occasion. The first is Withal's _Short dictionarie in Latine and English_, several times printed in the reign of Elizabeth, where in fo. 69 of the edit. 1599, is the following passage: "This life is a certain enterlude or _plaie_. _The world is a stage_ full of chang everie way, _everie man is a plaier_." The other is Pettie's translation of Guazzo's _Civile conversation_, 1586, 4to, where one of the parties introduces the saying of some philosopher "that this _world_ was a _stage_, we the _players_ which present the comedie." Shakspeare had himself used nearly the same language in the first act of _The merchant of Venice_:

"I hold the world, but as the world, Gratiano, A stage, where every man must play a part."

A portion of Jaques's speech has been imitated in some lines by Thomas Heywood among the commendatory verses prefixed to his _Actors vindication_, 1658, 4to:

"The world 's a theater, the earth a stage, Which God and nature doth with actors fill; All men have parts, and each man acts his own," &c.