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III.-JEPHTHAH, JUDGE OF ISRAEL.

IN Shakespeare's Hamlet, Act ii., the hero of the play takes occasion to banter Polonius with some scraps of an old ballad, which has never appeared yet in any collection: for which reason, as it is but short, it will not perhaps be unacceptable to the reader, who will also be diverted with the pleasant absurdities of the composition.

The banter of Hamlet is as follows:

Hamlet. "O Jeptha, Judge of Israel," what a treasure hadst thou!

Polonius. What a treasure had he, my lord?

Ham. Why, "One faire daughter, and no more,

The which he loved passing well."

Polon. Still on my daughter.

Ham. Am not I i' th' right, old Jeptha?

Polon. If you call me Jeptha, my lord, I have a daughter, that I love passing well. Ham. Nay, that follows not.

Polon. What follows then, my lord?

Ham. Why, "As by lot, God wot:" and then you know, "It came to passe, As most like it was.' The first row of the pious chanson will shew you more.

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IN his Twelfth Night, Shakespeare introduces the Clown singing part of the two first stanzas of the following song; which song is here printed from what appears the most ancient of Dr. Harrington's poetical MSS., and which seems to have been written in the reign of King Henry VIII.

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V.-A SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE.

THIS Sonnet (which is ascribed to Richard Edwards, in the Paradise of Daintie Devises, fo. 31, b.) is by Shakespeare made the subject of some pleasant ridicule in his Romeo and Juliet, Act iv. Sc. v., where he introduces Peter putting this question to the musicians:

Peter.

why "Silver Sound"? why

say you, Simon Catling?

"Musicke with her silver sound"? what

I Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.

Pet. Pretty! what say you, Hugh Rebecke?

2 Mus. I say, silver sound, because musicians sound for silver.

Pet. Pretty too! what say you, James Sound-post?

3 Mus. Faith, I know not what to say.

Pet. . . . . . . I will say it for you: It is "Musicke with her silver sound," because musi cians have no gold for sounding.

WHERE gripinge grefes the hart would

wounde,

The Gods by musicke have theire prayse;

The lyfe, the soul therein doth joye :

And dolefulle dumps the mynde For, as the Romayne poet sayes,

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VI.-KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR MAID

Is a story often alluded to by our old dramatic writers. Shakespeare, in his Romeo and Juliet, Act ii. Sc. i., makes Mercutio say:

In the second part saying to Pistoll:

"Her (Venus') purblind son and heir,

Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so true,

When King Cophetua loved the beggar maid."

of Henry IV., Act v. Sc. iii., Falstaff is introduced affectedly

"O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?

Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof.'

Shakespeare also alludes to the ballad in Love's Labour Lost, Act iv. Sc. i. And there is an allusion to the story in King Richard II., Act v. Sc. iii.

I READ that once in Affrica
A princely wight did raine,
Who had to name Cophetua,
As poets they did faine:

From natures lawes he did decline,
For sure he was not of my mind,
He cared not for women-kinde,

But did them all disdaine.
But, marke, what hapned on a day,
As he out of his window lay,
He saw a beggar all in gray,
The which did cause his paine.

The blinded boy, that shootes so trim,
From heaven downe did hie;
He drew a dart and shot at him,
In place where he did lye:

Which soone did pierse him to the quicke,
And when he felt the arrow pricke,
Which in his tender heart did sticke,

He looketh as he would dye.
What sudden chance is this, quoth he,
That I to love must subject be,
Which never thereto would agree,
But still did it defie?

Then from the window he did come,
And laid him on his bed,
A thousand heapes of care did runne
Within his troubled head:

For now he meanes to crave her love,
And now he seekes which way to proove
How he his fancie might remoove,
And not this beggar wed.

But Cupid had him so in snare,

That this poor begger must prepare
A salve to cure him of his care,
Or els he would be dead.

And, as he musing thus did lye,
He thought for to devise
How he might have her companye,
That so did 'maze his eyes.
In thee, quoth he, doth rest my life;
For surely thou shalt be my wife,
Or else this hand with bloody knife

The Gods shall sure suffice.
Then from his bed he soon arose,
And to his pallace gate he goes;
Full little then this begger knowes
When she the king espies.

The Gods preserve your majesty,
The beggers all gan cry:
Vouchsafe to give your charity
Our childrens food to buy.

The king to them his pursse did cast,
And they to part it made great haste;
This silly woman was the last

That after them did hye.
The king he cal'd her back againe,
And unto her he gave his chaine;
And said, With us you shal remaine
Till such time as we dye :

For thou, quoth he, shalt be my wife,
And honoured for my queene;
With thee I meane to lead my life,

As shortly shall be seene:
Our wedding shall appointed be,
And every thing in its degree:
Come on, quoth he, and follow me,

Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.

What is thy name, faire maid? quoth he.
Penelophon, O king, quoth she:
With that she made a lowe courtsey;

A trim one as I weene.

Thus hand in hand along they walke
Unto the king's pallàce:
The king with courteous comly talke
This begger doth imbrace :

The begger blusheth scarlet red, And straight againe as pale as lead, But not a word at all she said,

She was in such amaze.

At last she spake with trembling voyce,
And said, O king, I doe rejoyce
That you wil take me for your choyce,

And my degree's so base.

And when the wedding day was come,
The king commanded strait
The noblemen both all and some

Upon the queene to wait.
And she behaved herself that day,
As if she had never walkt the way;
She had forgot her gowne of gray,

Which she did weare of late.
The proverbe old is come to passe,
The priest, when he begins his masse,
Forgets that ever clerke he was;

He knowth not his estate.

Here you may read, Cophetua,

Though long time fancie-fed, Compelled by the blinded boy

The begger for to wed:

He that did lovers lookes disdaine,
To do the same was glad and faine,
Or else he would himselfe have slaine,
In storie, as we read.
Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,
But pitty now thy servant heere,
Least that it hap to thee this
yeare,

As to that king it did.

And thus they led a quiet life

During their princely raigne;
And in a tombe were buried both,
As writers sheweth plaine.
The lords they tooke it grievously,
The ladies tooke it heavily,
The commons cryed pitiously,

Their death to them was paine,
Their fame did sound so passingly,
That it did pierce the starry sky,
And throughout all the world did flye
To every prince's realme.

VII. TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE. GIVEN in the folio under the title of Bell my Wiffe. This piece is more than a controversy between man and wife. It notes the tendency of the age, the struggle between social revolution and social conservatism. The man is anxious to do as his neighbours, and to do away with distinctions and rise to a higher level. The wife thinks old things are best, and wishes not to meddle with new. Shakespeare quotes the 7th stanza in Act ii. of Othello.

THIS winters weather itt waxeth cold,
And frost doth freese on every hill,
And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold,
That all our cattell are like to spill;
Bell my wiffe, who loves noe strife,

She sayd unto me quietlye,
Rise up, and save cow Crumbockes liffe,
Man, put thine old cloake about thee.

HE.

O Bell, why dost thou flyte "and scorne?"
Thou kenst my cloak is very thin:

Itt is soe bare and overworne

A cricke he theron cannot renn:
Then Ile noe longer borrowe nor lend,
"For once Ile new appareld bee,
To-morrow Ile to towne and spend,"
For Ile have a new cloake about mee.

SHE.

Cow Crumbocke is a very good cowe,
Shee ha beene alwayes true to the payle,
Shee has helpt us to butter and cheese, I
trow,

And other things shee will not fayle;
I wold be loth to see her pine,

Good husband, councell take of mee, It is not for us to go soe fine,

Man, take thine old cloake about thee.

HE.

My cloake it was a verry good cloake,
Itt hath been alwayes true to the weare,
But now it is not worth a groat;

I have had it four and forty yeere:
Sometime itt was of cloth in graine,

'Tis now but a sigh clout as you may

see,

It will neither hold out winde nor raine;

And Ile have a new cloake about mee.

SHE.

It is four and fortye yeeres agoe

Since the one of us the other did ken, And we have had betwixt us towe

Of children either nine or ten; Wee have brought them up to women and men;

In the feare of God I trow they bee;
And why wilt thou thyselfe misken ?

Man, take thine old cloake about thee.
HE.

O Bell my wiffe, why dost thou "floute!"
Now is nowe, and then was then :
Seeke now all the world throughout,

Thou kenst not clownes from gentlemen.
They are cladd in blacke, greene, yellowe,

or "

gray,"

Soe far above their owne degree:
Once in my life Ile "doe as they,"

For Ile have a new cloake about mee.
SHE.

King Stephen was a worthy peere,
His breeches cost him but a crowne,
He held them sixpence all too deere;
Therefore he calld the taylor Lowne.
He was a wight of high renowne,

And thouse but of a low degree:
Itt's pride that putts this countrye downe,
Man, take thine old cloake about thee.
HE.

"Bell my wife she loves not strife,
Yet she will lead me if she can ;
And oft, to live a quiet life,

I am forced to yield, though Ime good-
man;"

Itt's not for a man with a woman to threape,
Unlesse he first gave oer the plea :

As wee began wee now will leave,

And Ile take mine old cloake about mee.

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