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Biron. Pompey the great,-
Cost.

Your servant, and Costard.
Biron. Take away the conqueror, take
Alisander.

away

Cost. O, sir, [To NATH.] you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds his poll-ax sitting on a close-stool, will be given to A-jax: he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisander. [NATH. retires.] There, an't shall please you; foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dash'd! He is a marvellous good neighbour, in sooth; and a very good bowler: but, for Alisander, alas, you see how 'tis ;-a little o'erparted:-But there are worthies a coming will speak their mind in some other sort.

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.

Enter HOLOFERNES arm'd, for Judas, and MOTH arm'd, for Hercules.

Hol. Great Hercules is presented by this imp, Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canus, And, when he was a babe, a child, o shrimp,

Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus; Quoniam, he seemeth in minority;

Ergo, I come with this apology.

Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.

Hol. Judas I am,

Dum. A Judas!

Hot. Not Iscariot, sir.

Judas I am, ycleped Machabæus.

[Exit MOTH.

Dum. Judas Machabæus clipt, is plain Judas.
Biron. A kissing traitor :-How art thou prov'd

Judas?

Hol. Judas I am,—

Dum. The more shame for you, Judas.

Hol. What mean you, sir?

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself.

Hol. Begin, sir; you are my elder.

Biron. Well follow'd: Judas was hang'd on an elder.

Hol. I will not be put out of countenance.

Biron. Because thou hast no face.

Hol. What is this?

Boyet. A cittern head.2

Dum. The head of a bodkin.

Biron. A death's face in a ring.

Long, The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.

Boyet. The pummel of Cæsar's faulchion.
Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask.'
Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch.4
Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer:
And now, forward; for we have put thee in coun-

tenance.

Hol. You have put me out of countenance.
Biron. False; we have given thee faces.
Hol. But you have out-fac'd them all.
Biron. An thou wert a hon, we would do so.
Boyet. Therefore, as he is, an ass, let him go.
And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay?
Dum. For the latter end of his name.

Biron. For the ass to the Jude? give it him:-
Jud-as, away.

Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.
Boyet. A light for monsieur Judas: it grows dark,
he may stumble.

This alludes to the arms given, in the old history of the Nine Worthies, to Alexander, the which did bear geules a lion or, seiante in a chayer, holding a battle-axe argent.'

2 The cittern, a musical instrument like a guitar, had usually a head grotesquely carved at the extremity of the neck and finger-board: hence these jests. 3 i. e. a soldier's powder-horn.

4 A brooch was an ornamental clasp for fastening

Prin. Alas, poor Machabæus, how hath he been baited!

Enter ARMADO arm'd, for Hector.

Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector in arms.

Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.

King, Hector was but a Trojan' in respect of this.
Boyet. But is this Hector?"

Dum. I think, Hector was not so clean-timber'd.
Lmg. His leg is too big for Hector.
Dum. More calf, certain.

Boyet. No; he is best indued in the small.

Biron. This cannot be Hector.

Dum. He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces. Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances" the almighty,

Gave Hector a gift,-
Dum. A gilt nutmeg,
Biron. A lemon.

Long. Stuck with cloves.
Dum. No, cloven.

Arm. Peace.

The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;

A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
am that flower,—

Dum.

Long.

That mint.

That columbine.

Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. Long. I must rather give it the rein; for it runs against Hector.

Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.

Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he breath'd, he was a man-But I will forcess] bestow on me the sense of hearing. ward with my device: Sweet royalty, [to the Prin

[BIRON whispers COSTARD. Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted.

Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.
Boyet. Loves her by the foot.

Dum. He may not by the yard.

Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way.

Arm. What meanest thou?

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is cast away: she's quick; the child brags in her belly already; 'tis yours.

Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? thou shalt die.

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd, for Jaquenetta that is quick by him; and hang'd, for Pompey that is dead by him.

Dum. Most rare Pompey!
Boyet. Renowned Pompey!

Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great
Pompey! Pompey the huge!

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Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee.
Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern
man; I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword:-I pray
you, let me borrow my arms again.

hat-bands, girdles, mantles, &c. a brooch of lead, be
cause of his pale and wan complexion, his leaden hue.
a thief. It was, however, a familiar name for any equal
5 Trojan is supposed to have been a cant term for
or inferior.

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Dum. Room for the incensed worthies.
Cost. I'll do it in my shirt.
Dum. Most resolute Pompey!

1

Moth. Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? you will lose your reputation. Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me ; will not combat in my shirt.

Dum. You may not deny it; Pompey hath made the challenge.

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. Biron. What reasons have you for't? Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward' for penance.

"Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linen: since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's; and that a' wears next his heart for a favour.

Enter a Messenger MONSIEUR MERCADE.
Mer. God save you, Madam.

Prin. Welcome, Mercade;

But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.

Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring, Is heavy in my tongue. The king your fatherPrin. Dead, for my life.

Mer. Even so; my tale is told. Biron. Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud. Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath: I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. [Exeunt Worthies.

King. How fares your majesty?

Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night.
King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.
Prin. Prepare, I say.-I thank you, gracious
lords,

For all your fair endeavours; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide,
The liberal' opposition of our spirits:
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath, your gentleness
Was guilty of it.-Farewell, worthy lord!
A heavy heart bears not an humble* tongue :
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain❜d.

Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
Suggested us to make: Therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false,
By being once false for ever to be true
To those that make us both,-fair ladies, you:
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,
Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace.

Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love;
Your favours, the embassadors of love;
And, in our maiden council, rated them
At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy,
As bombast, and as lining to the time:
But more devout than this, in our respects,
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.
Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more
than jest.

Long. So did our looks.

Ros. We did not quote them.so. King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves.

Prin.

A time, methinks, too short
To make a world-without-end bargain in:
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much,
Full of dear guiltiness; and, therefore this,
If for my love (as there is no such cause)
You will do aught, this shall you do for me:
Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay, until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning:
If this austere insociable life

Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds,1
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love;
Then at the expiration of the year,

Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts,
And, by this virgin palm, now kissing thine,
I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut
My woful self up in a mourning house;
Raining the tears of lamentation,

For the remembrance of my father's death.

King. The extreme parts of time extremely form If this thou do deny, let our hands part;

All causes to the purpose of his speed;
And often, at his very loose, decides

That which long process could not arbitrate:
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love,

The holy suit which fain it would convince ;
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it

From what it purpos'd; since, to wail friends lost,
Is not by much so wholesome, profitable,
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

Prin. I understand you not; my griefs are double.
Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of
grief;

And by these badges understand the king.
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Even to the opposed end of our intents;
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,-.
As love is full of unbefitting strains;
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain;
Form'd by the eye, and therefore, like the eye,
Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance:
Which party-coated presence of loose love

1 That is, clothed in wool, and not in linen. A pen

ance often enjoined in times of superstition.

One may

2 Armado probably means to say in his affected style that he had discovered he was wronged.' see day at a little hole,' is a proverb.

3 Free, to excess.

4 By bumble is here meant obsequiously thankful.

Neither intitled in the other's heart.

King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!

Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to

me?

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1

Long. I'll stay with patience: but the time is long.

Mar. The liker you; few taller are so young. Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me, Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, What humble suit attends thy answer there: Impose some service on me for thy love.

Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron, Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks; Full of comparisons and wounding flouts; Which you on all estates will execute, That lie within the mercy of your wit:

To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain; And, therewithal, to win me, if you please (Without the which I am not to be won,)

You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day

Visit the speechless sick, and still converse

With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce' endeavour of your wit,
To enforce the pained impotent to smile.

Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death?

It cannot be; it is impossible:

Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear

Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears,

Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear2 groans,

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King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. Arm. Holla! approach.

Enter HOLOFERNES, NATHANIEL, MOTH, COSTARD, and others.

This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring; the one maintain'd by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin.

SONG. I.

Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,

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Winter.

Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
Cuckoo ;

Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
II.

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,

And maidens bleach their summer smocks, The cuckoo, then, on every tree,

Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
Cuckoo;

Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

III.

When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who;

To-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
IV.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,

And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who;

To-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the
songs of Apollo. You that way; we, this way.

[Exeunt.

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MERCHANT OF VENICE

"THE

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

making some exceptions to his condemnation of drama-
tic performances, mentions among others: The Jewe
shown at the Bull, representing the greediness of workdly
choosers, and the bloody minds of usurers.-These
plays,' continues he, are good and sweete plays.'
It cannot be doubted that Shakspeare, as in other in-
stances, availed himself of this ancient piece. Mr.
Douce observes, 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 con-
struction 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 co-
tained both the main incidents; and that Shakspeare
expanded and improved them, partly from his own ge-
nius, 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 res
dence of the lady at Belmont; the introduction of the
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 be taken
from the ballad of Gernutus. Shakspeare was likew
indebted to an authority that could not have occurred to
the original author of the play in an English form; thi
was Silvayn's Orator, as translated by Munday. From
that work Shylock's reasoning before the senate is evi-
dently borrowed; but at the same time it has been most
skilfully improved.*

THE Merchant of Venice," says Schlegel, is one of Shakspeare's most perfect works: popular to an extraordinary degree, and calculated to produce the most powerful effect on the stage, and at the same time a wonder of ingenuity and art for the reflecting crític. | Shylock, the Jew, is one of the inconceivable masterpieces of characterisation of which Shakspeare alone furnishes us with examples. It is easy for the poet and the player to exhibit a caricature of national sentiments, modes of speaking, and gestures. Shylock, however, is every thing but a common Jew; he possesses a very determinate and original individuality, and yet we perceive a slight touch of Judaism in every thing which he says or does. We imagine we hear a sprinkling of the Jewish pronunciation in the mere written words, as we sometimes still find it in the higher classes, notwithstanding their social refinement. In tranquil situations what is foreign to the European blood and Christian sentiments is less perceivable, but in passion the national stamp appears more strongly marked. All these inimitable niceties the finished art of a great actor can alone properly express. Shylock is a man of information, even a thinker in his own way; he has only not discovered the region where human feelings dwell: his morality is founded on the disbelief in goodness and magnanimity. The desire of revenging he oppressions and humiliations suffered by his nation is, after avarice, his principal spring of action. His hate is naturally directed chiefly against those Christians who possess truly Christian sentiments: the example of disinterested love of our neighbour seems to him the most unrelenting persecution of the Jews. The letter of the law is his idol; he refuses to lend an ear to the voice of mercy, which speaks to him from the mouth of Portia with heavenly eloquence he insists on severe and inflexible justice, and it at last recoils on his own head. Here he becomes a symbol of the general history of his unfortunate nation. The melancholy and self-neglectful magnanimity of Antonio is affectingly sublime. Like a royal merchant, he is surrounded with a whole train of noble friends. The contrast which this forms to the selfish cruelty of the usurer Shylock, was necessary to redeem the honour of human nature. The judgment scene with which the fourth act is occupied is alone a perfect drama, concentrating in itself the interest of the whole. The knot is now untied, and according to the common idea the curtain might drop. But the poet was unwilling to dismiss his audience with the gloomy impressions which the delivery of Antonio, accomplished with so much difficulty, contrary to all expectation, and the punishment But as many of the incidents in the bond story of the of Shylock, were calculated to leave behind: he has Merchant of Venice have a more striking resem therefore added the fifth act by way of a musical after-blance to the first tale of the fourth day of the Pecorane piece in the play itself. The episode of Jessica, the fu- of Ser Giovanni, this part of the plot was most probably gitive daughter of the Jew, in whom Shakspeare has taken immediately from thence. The story may have contrived to throw a disguise of sweetness over the na- been extant in English in Shakspeare's time, though it tional features, and the artifice by which Portia and her has not hitherto been discovered. companion are enabled to rally their newly married husbands supply him with materials."

"The scene opens with the playful prattling of two lovers in a summer moonlight,

"When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees.' It is followed by soft music and a rapturous eulogy on this powerful disposer of the human mind and the world; the principal characters then make their appearance, and after an assumed dissension, which is elegantly carried on, the whole ends with the most exhilarating mirth."

Malone places the date of the composition of this play in 1599, Chalmers supposed it to have been written in 1597, and to this opinion Dr. Drake gives his sanction.

It appears, from a passage in Stephen Gosson's School of Abuse, &c. 1579, that a play comprehending the distinct plots of Shakpeare's Merchant of Venice had been exhibited long before he commenced writer. Gosson,

There are two distinct collections under the title of Gesta Romanorum. The one has been frequently printed in Latin, but never in English; there is however a manuscript version, of the reign of Henry the Sixth, among the Harleian MSS. in the British Museum. This collection seems to have originally furnished the story of the bond. The other Gesta has never been printed in Latin, but a portion of it has been several times printed in English. The earliest edition referred to by Warton and Doctor Farmer, is by Wynken de Words, without date, but of the beginning of the sixteenth cen tury. It was long doubted whether this early edition existed, but it has recently been described in the Retrospective Review. The latter part of the thirty-second history in this collection may have furnished the inc dents of the caskets.

The Pecorone was first printed in 1550 (not 1558, as erroneously stated by Mr. Steevens,) but was wren almost two centuries before.

After all, unless we could recover the old play of The Jew mentioned by Gosson, it is idle to conjecture how far Shakspeare improved upon the plot of that piece. The various materials which may have contributed to furnish the complicated plot of Shakspeare's play are to be found in the Variorum Editions, and in Mr. Douce's very interesting work.

"The Orator, handling a hundred several Dis courses, in form of Declamations, &c. written in French by Alexander Silvayn, and Englished by L. P. (Lazarus Pyol, i. e. Anthony Munday,) London, Printed by Adam Islip, 1596." Declamation 95. Of a Jew wha would for his debt have a pound of flesh of a Christian

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TUBAL, a Jew, his Friend.

Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Jailer, Servants, and other Attendants.

LAUNCELOT GOBBO, a Clown, Servant to Shylock. SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, OLD GOBBO, Father to Launcelot.

the Seat of Portia, on the Continent.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Venice. A Street. Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO.

Antonio.

In sooth, I know not why I am so sad;
It wearies me; you say, it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn;

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
There, where your argosies with portly sail,-
Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or, as it were the pageants of the sea,—
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,

That curt'sy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
The better part of my affections would

Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind;
Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads;
And every object that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,
Would make me sad.

Salar.
My wind, cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought,
What harm a wind too great might do at sea.
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
But I should think of shallows and of flats;
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs,
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,
And see the holy edifice of stone,

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks;
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side,
Would scatter all her spices on the stream;
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks;
And, in a word, but even now worth this,
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
To think on this; and shall I lack the thought,
That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad?
But, tell not me; I know, Antonio

Is sad to think upon his merchandise.

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Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper;
And other of such vinegar aspect,

That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO. Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,

Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well;
We leave you now with better company.
Salar. I would have staid till I had made you
merry,

If worthier friends had not prevented me.

I take it, your own business calls on you,
Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard,
And you embrace the occasion to depart.
Salar. Good morrow, my good lords.

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh?
say, when?

You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so?
Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.
[Exeunt SALAR. and SALAN.
Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found
Antonio,

We two will leave you: but, at dinner time,
(I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.
Bass. I will not fail

you.

Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio ; You have too much respect upon the world: They lose it, that do buy it with much care. Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd.

Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
A stage, where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.

Gra.
Let me play the fool:
And let my liver rather heat with wine,
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;

Than

Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice

Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,

My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
Upon the fortune of this present year:
Therefore, my merchandise makes me not sad.
Salan. Why, then you are in love.
Ant.

Fye, fye! Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you are sad,

1 This enumeration of the Dramatis Persone is by Mr. Rowe.

2 Argosies are large ships either for merchandise or The word has been supposed to be derived from the classical ship Argo, as a vessel eminently famous;

war.

I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ;-
There are a sort of men, whose visages
Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond;
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
As who should say, I am Sir Oracle,
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;

and this seems the more probable from Argis being used for a ship in low Latin.

3 To rail is to lower, to let fall. From the French avaler. ii. e. an obstinate silence.

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