Good people, that doe heare this song,

For trueth I dare well say, That many a wretch as ill as hee Doth live now at this day;

That seeketh nothing but the spoyle
Of many a wealthey man,
And for to trap the innocent

Deviseth what they can.

From whome the Lord deliver me,

And every Christian too,

And send to them like sentence eke
That meaneth so to do.

**Since the first edition of this book was printed, the editor hath had reason to believe that both Shakespeare and the author of this ballad are indebted for their story of the Jew (however they came by it) to an Italian novel, which was first printed at Milan in the year 1554, in a book entitled, Il Pecorone, nel quale si contengono Cinquanta Novelle antiche, etc., republished at Florence about the year 1748 or 1749. The author was Ser. Giovanni Fiorentino, who wrote in 1378, thirty years after the time in which the scene of Boccace's Decameron is laid.

(Vid. Manni Istoria del Decamerone di Giov. Boccac. 4to, Fior. 1744.)

That Shakespeare had his plot from the novel itself, is evident from his having some incidents from it, which are not found in the ballad: and I think it will also be found that he borrowed from the ballad some hints that were not suggested by the novel. (See above, Part ii. ver. 25, etc., where, instead of that spirited description of the whetted blade, etc., the prose narrative coldly says, "The Jew had prepared a razor," etc. See also some other passages in the same piece.) This, however, is spoken with diffidence, as I have at present before me only the abridgment of the novel which Mr. Johnson has given us at the end of his commentary on Shakespeare's play. The translation of the Italian story at large is not easy to be met with, having I believe never been published, though it was printed some years ago with this title : -"The Novel, from which the Merchant of Venice written by Shakespeare is taken, translated from the Italian. To which is added a translation of a novel from the Decamerone of Boccacio. London, printed for M. Cooper, 1755, 8vo."

XII. THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. THIS beautiful sonnet is quoted in the Merry Wives of Windsor, Act iii. Sc. i., and has often been ascribed (together with the reply) to Shakespeare himself.

There is, however, abundant reason to believe that it was written by Christopher Marlow. Isaac Walton in his Compleat Angler, first printed in the year 1658, but probably written some time before, speaks of it as that smooth song, which was made by Kit Marlow, now fifty years ago: and. . . an answer to it which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger days."

There are also other proofs of the author of the one being Christopher Marlow; of the other, Sir Walter Raleigh.

COME live with me and be my love,
And we wil all the pleasures prove
That hils and vallies, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.

There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals,

ས ས ཨ

There will I make thee beds of roses
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Imbrodered all with leaves of mirtle;

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold;
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw, and ivie buds,
With coral clasps, and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning :
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

THE NYMPH'S REPLY.

If that the World and Love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's toung,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

But time drives flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb,
And all complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yield:
A honey tongue, a hart of gall,
Is fancies spring, but sorrows fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw, and ivie buds,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs;
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee, and be thy love.

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joyes no date, nor age no need;
Then those delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

XIII. TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.

THE same question arises with this ballad as with that of Gernutus, as to whether Shakespeare took his play from the ballad, or whether the ballad was written from the play. In both cases there are marked differences. But there is good reason to believe that Shakespeare did not write, but simply improved the play of Titus Andronicus, which is much inferior to any of his other works.

You noble minds, and famous martiall
wights,

That in defence of native country fights,
Give eare to me, that ten yeeres fought for
Rome,

Yet reapt disgrace at my returning home.

In Rome I lived in fame fulle threescore

yeeres,

My name beloved was of all my peeres;
Full five and twenty valiant sonnes I had,
Whose forwarde vertues made their

father glad.

For when Romes foes their warlike forces bent,

Against them stille my sonnes and I were
sent;

Against the Goths full ten yeeres weary warre
We spent, receiving many a bloudy scarre.

Just two and twenty of my sonnes were
slaine

Before we did returne to Rome againe : Of five and twenty sonnes, I brought but three

Alive, the stately towers of Rome to see.

When wars were done, I conquest home The moore then fetcht the emperour with

But nowe, behold! what wounded most my mind,

The empresses two sonnes of savage kind

The moore, with her two sonnes did growe My daughter ravished without remorse,

With my three sonnes, who fell into the Whereby those bloudy tyrants out we