Had I as many lives at there be stars,_,
_As many heavens to go to as those lives,
I'd give them all, ay, and my soul to boot,
But I would see thee ride in this red pool.
Methinks, since I grew inward with revenge,
I cannot look with scorn enough on death._
KING. What! dost thou mock us, slave? Bring tortures forth.
HIERON. _Do, do, do; and meantime I'll torture you.
You had a son as I take it, and your son
Should have been married to your daughter: ha! was it not so?
You had a son too, he was my liege's nephew.
He was proud and politic--had he lived,
He might have come to wear the crown of Spain:
I think 't was so--'t was I that killed him;
Look you--this same hand was it that stabb'd
His heart--do you see this hand?
For one Horatio, if you ever knew him--
A youth, one that they hang'd up in his father's garden--
One that did force your valiant son to yield_," &c.--ED. ]
_April_ 7. 1833.
LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.--GIFFORD'S MASSINGER.--SHAKSPEARE.--THE OLD DRAMATISTS.
I think I could point out to a half line what is really Shakspeare's in
Love's Labour Lost, and some other of the not entirely genuine plays. What
he wrote in that play is of his earliest manner, having the all-pervading
sweetness which he never lost, and that extreme condensation which makes
the couplets fall into epigrams, as in the Venus and Adonis, and Rape of
Lucrece.
Pages:
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339