Chapter 15

_Rosse_. My dearest cousin, I pray you, school yourself: But for your husband, He's noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o'th'time, I dare not speak much further, But cruel are the times when we are traitors, And do not know't ourselves, when we (a)_hold rumour From what we fear_, yet know not what we fear; But float upon a wild and violent sea, Each way, and (b)_move_. I'll take my leave of you: Shall not be long but I'll be here again: Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward To what they were before: my pretty cousin, Blessing upon you!

(a)--When we hold rumour From what we fear, yet know not what we fear.

The present reading seems to afford no sense; and, therefore, some critical experiments may be properly tried upon it, though, the verses being without any connexion, there is room for suspicion, that some intermediate lines are lost, and that the passage is, therefore, irretrievable. If it be supposed that the fault arises only from the corruption of some words, and that the traces of the true reading are still to be found, the passage may be changed thus:

--when we _bode ruin_ From what we fear, yet know not what we fear.

Or, in a sense very applicable to the occasion of the conference:

--when the _bold, running_ From what they fear, yet know not what they fear.

(b) But float upon a wild and violent sea Each way, and move.

That he who _floats_ upon a _rough sea_ must move, is evident, too evident for Shakespeare so emphatically to assert. The line, therefore, is to be written thus:

Each way, and move--I'll take my leave of you.

Rosse is about to proceed, but, finding himself overpowered by his tenderness, breaks off abruptly, for which he makes a short apology, and retires.

NOTE XXXIX.