portrayed from its commencement, through its progress, to its fatal development. A beautiful, virtuous, and happy woman is driven to despair and suicide, a throne is overturned, and a state is revolutionised. The progress of Tarquin's passion is described in masterly touches, though occasionally overlaid with a certain prolixity, and disfigured with farfetched conceits and overstrained similies. The description of Lucretia's chamber will bear comparison with the similar scene of Imogen asleep in "Cymbeline." The finest portion of the Poem is where Lucretia, brought practically face to face with the dire, unspeakable, and unexpected calamity that has overtaken her, which has blotted hopelessly out the remembrance of her past happy life of unsullied purity and love, and has placed a hideous impassable chasm between the unbearable present, and a loveless future, leaving nothing for her but death as the only possible solution of the dreadful problem-the only escape from the intolerable misery pressing upon her. In the interval between despatching the message to her husband, and his arrival, she wanders through her house, in this life but not of it, and beguiles the benumbing sense of her overwhelming grief, by her reflections on a picture of the capture and destruction of Troy. Also in the passage describing her address to her husband and assembled friends, ending with the self-inflicted death, the Poet furnishes a splendid presentiment of the tragic power displayed more fully in his Dramatic Poems.

Great as are undeniably the merits of the two Poems, it is a question if they would have survived the age in which they were written, or would be read in the present day with much interest and admiration, but for their association with the Shakspeare, of "Macbeth," "Lear," "Hamlet," and "Othello." Shakspeare's genius was essentially dramatic : in narrative poetry it was "cabined, cribbed, confined." These Poems were tentative efforts of a mighty intellect in search of its proper vein, containing glorious but incomplete revelations of its wondrous power, and as such are deserving the reverent study of all who have bowed before the skill of its fuller development.

"A VERY, VERY PEACOCK!”
Hamlet, Act III. Scene 2.

Such was the inscription upon one of the dishes at the late banquet at Stratford-on-Avon. Having some doubts as to the quotation being really and truly an extract from Shakspeare, I was induced to refer to the several copies in my possession of his works, and the result of my examination was that the last word, according to the old editions, should not be "peacock," but "paiock," (or "paiocke"). What "paiock" might mean none of the annotators knew; so all were agreed in writing it down a mistake. One has rendered it "peacock" as above, and, to my mind, given as his reason why it should be so read, a very good reason why it should not be:-"The word has been thought to bear reference to the fable of the crow adorning itself in peacock's feathers, as the King had done in usurping the robes of his murdered brother."

66

Another has gone to the Italian for "baiocco," a word which signifies a piece of money of about three farthings value;" with such a reading, the passage would stand in meaning thus:Hamlet.-For thou dost know, O Damon dear,

This realm dismantled was

Of Jove himself; and now reigns here

A very, very—three farthings.

The idea is not worth one farthing; here-at the most impressive point of the grandest scene of Shakspeare's greatest play, for the principal character to say

"A very, very-three farthings!"

preposterous! Why it were better to retain the meaningless "paiock," than add such a blemish to such a character in such

a scene.

In a case of this kind when there can be little doubt that the word-the single word-is a mistake, there is a chance of the mystery being solved by considering what would be the most appropriate one to use in accordance with the character and situation. Hamlet is no madman: his language is full of the eccentricities of an assumed madness, and, being a man brimful of learning, we must expect to hear from him, wordy witticisms and find deep thoughts and subtle meanings in his darkest speeches. Why should this passage be meaningless and all others so full of wit, thought, or grandeur? We don't want all these qualifications in the missing word, but we do protest against Hamlet being turned into an idiot, by either "peacock" or baiocco."

This speech occurs immediately after the excitement and confusion caused by the King's abrupt exit after witnessing the murder scene represented by the players, and Hamlet, full of glee at the success of his stratagem to work upon the King's feelings, utters the lines which appear to be, if they are not, a quotation; in the midst of which he stops short.

For thou dost know, O Damon dear,

This realm dismantled was

Of Jove himself; and now reigns here

A very, very

The rhyme would be supplied by the word "ass." It is evident that such a word is not an apt one-that it does not illustrate Hamlet's thought, the thought which would naturally follow his first outburst of glee, and is consequently left unsaid.

A sudden stop in a speech denotes a change of thought; a quick change of thought as naturally calls forth an exclamation; what would be more suitable at this point, than an exclamation having reference to the murder-scene and Hamlet's own confirmed suspicions. The word then which I would substitute for "paiock" is-Mock!

Horatio immediately remarks upon this substitute for ass"You might have rhymed." To which remark Hamlet pays no attention but continues-"I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound," and this speech, I think, confirms my reading. Hamlet.-Mock? O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound.

But the sense and suitableness of the word are not all the evidences in its favour.

How did the mistake occur? Why was so simple a word as "Mock" ever printed "paiock?" If reference is made to the writing of the time of Elizabeth, it will be found that the capital M was formed in such a way that a straggling ill-made letter might very easily be mistaken for pai. Shakspeare's Will supplies several M's, and I think an examination of these may probably remove all doubt as to the proper reading.

Whether the word "Mock," was used from its similarity to the word "moke,"-another name for a donkey-I leave the learned in such matters to decide. If however, it should be decided that "moke" was a word in use in Elizabeth's time and that a play upon words was intended-suggestel by the omitted word "ass"-what a fearful mistake was made by the cook at the Stratford banquet in serving up, as a principal dish —“a very, very peacock !"

There is another passage in Hamlet which can be explained, I think, in the same way :

"Woul't drink up esile ? eat a crocodile ?"-Act V. Scene 1. I consider the correct reading to be

"Woul't drink up Nile? eat a crocodile ?"

The capital N of Shakspeare's time is so like the small e and s that it is not at all surprising for the printer to substitute esile for Nile. At all events, as a witty friend of mine remarked, "The new reading is esiley understood."-W. BRADFIELD.

London: Printed and Published by William Reader, at the Office, 16, Alma Street, Hoxton, N.-April, 1864.

SELECTIONS FROM SHAKSPEARE.

BY E. A. MASTERMAN.

We have much pleasure in completing our record of the Shakspeare Tercentenary of the Gleaners' Literary Club, by the addition of the following adinirable Selections from the Plays of Shakspeare, made by our friend Mr. Mastermanan old and influential Member of that talented fraternity.

This reading-from the pressure of unforeseen circumstances we regret to say, was never delivered; nevertheless, we consider it worthy of recognition by those who were more fortunate and also of preservation, as a compilation of considerable merit, in a special niche of our literary valhalla. Practically acquainted with business-life-with every-day life in all its phases-our friend Mr. Masterman has brought his Selections to bear most forcibly on the ways of the world -on the follies and vices as heedless and heartless in the reign of Victoria as in the days of "good Queen Bess!" Human nature-whether rude or refined-is still radically the same is still of the earth, earthy. We preach what is right-but do we not too frequently practice what is wrong? We may possibly become wiser, but we are certainly not better than our fathers. Education - that specious nostrum of our modern philanthropists-that panacea for all the ills of benighted intelligence, has irrefutibly proved the truth of the Poet's assertion-that "a little learning is a dangerous thing." And yet, it is equally true that "for the soul to be without knowledge is not good." The Wise Man hath said, "Wisdom is the principal thing, therefore get wisdom," and in this inspired and immutable maxim, the earnest and the hopeful of all generations must acquiesce.

A taste for literature (notwithstanding it is sometimes very lamentably perverted and misused) is most assuredly an evidence, not only of a lofty intellect, but of an ardent desire for the attainment of knowledge-which, as Lord Bacon emphatically observes, is power: and power-mental power, immortal power-is indisputably the master of all. Pre-eminently endowed with this divine attribute is our matchless Poet-our great pioneer in the path of progressthe prophet, the preacher, and the preceptor of mankind.

Mr. Masterman has judiciously interspersed his graphic illustrations of life's dark realities with several beautiful aphorisms-well-chosen themes for thoughtful meditationfrom which we may gather sage advice and sound instruction.

A FATHER'S ADVICE TO HIS SON.

Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act;
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar;
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel:
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment

Of each new-hatched, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in,
Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:

Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be;

For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This, above all, to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou can'st not then be false to any man.

Hamlet, Act I. Scenc 3.

MERCY.

The quality of mercy is not strained;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
His sceptre shews the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings:
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthronéd in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then shew likest God's
When mercy seasons justice.

Merchant of Venice, Act IV. Scene 1.

HOPE.

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings;
Kings make it gods, and meaner creatures kings.

King Richard the Third, Act V. Scene 2.

REFLECTIONS ON LIFE.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Macbeth, Act V. Scene 6.

THE DANGER OF DELAY.

Let's take the instant by the forward top;
For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
Th' inaudible and noiseless foot of time
Steals, ere we can effect them.

All's Well that Ends Well, Act V. Scene 3.
GREAT MEN'S ABUSE OF POWER.

Could great men thunder,

As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet;
For every pelting, petty officer,
Would use his heav'n for thunder!
Nothing but thunder! Merciful Heav'n!
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulph'rous bolt
Split'st the unwedgable and gnarled oak,
Than the soft myrtle. O, but man! proud man,
Drest in a little brief authority,

Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heav'n,
As make the angels weep: who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal.

Measure for Measure, Act II. Scene 2.

SILENT RESENTMENT DEEPEST.

Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep;
And in his simple show he harbours treason.

King Henry the Sixth, Part II. Act III. Scene 1.

DESPONDENCY.

There's nothing in this world can make me joy;
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.

King John, Act III. Scene 4.

MENTAL DISEASE INCURABLE. Macbeth.-Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain; And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff, Which weighs upon the heart?

Macbeth, Act V. Scene 3.

Wolsey.

AMBITION.

Nay then, farewell:

I have touched the highest point of all my greatness;
And, from that full meridian of my glory,
I haste now to my setting. I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.

*

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*

So farewell to the little good you bear me.-
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root;
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy

Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye:
I feel my heart new opened. O how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on Princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspéct of Princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have :-
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

*

*

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear

In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of, say I taught thee,
Say Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in:
A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me.
Cromwell, I charge thee fling away ambition:
By that sin fell the angels: how can man, then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?

Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee:
Corruption wins not more than honesty.

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

To silence envious tongues. Be just and fear not:

Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,

Thy God's, and truth's: then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the King,
And-pr'y thee, lead me in:

There take an inventory of all I have,

To the last penny: 't is the King's; my robe

And my integrity to heaven is all

I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,

Had I but served my God with half the zeal

I served my King, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

King Henry the Eighth, Act III. Scene 2.

SPEAK OF MEN AS YOU FIND THEM.

Othello.-Soft you; a word or two before you go.

I have done the state some service, and they know it:
No more of that:-I pray you, in your letters,
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,
Speak of me as I am: nothing extenuate,

Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak
Of one that loved not wisely, but too well;

Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought,
Perplexed in the extreme.

Othello, Act V. Scene 2.

Flavius.

FAIR-WEATHER FRIENDS.

Who is not Timon's?

What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is lord Timon's?
Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon!

Ah! when the means are gone that buy this praise,
The breath is gone whereof this praise is made:
Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers,
These flies are couched.

Timon.

Come, sermon me no further:

No villanous bounty yet hath passed my heart;
Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.

Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack,
To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart;

If I would broach the vessels of my love,

And try the argument of hearts by borrowing,
Men, and men's fortunes, could I frankly use,
As I can bid thee speak.

Flavius.-- Assurance bless your thoughts!
Timon.-And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crowned,
That I account them blessings; for by these
Shall I try friends: you shall perceive how you
Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends.

*

Flavius.

*

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*

I have been bold

To them to use your signet and your name; But they do shake their heads, and I am here No richer in return.

Timon.

Is 't true? can it be?

Flavius.-They answer, in a joint and corporate voice,
That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot

Do what they would; are sorry-you are honourable-
But yet they could have wished-they know not--
Something hath been amiss-a noble nature

May catch a wrench-would all were well-'t is pity-
And so, intending other serious matters,

After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions,
With certain half-caps, and cold-moving nods,
They froze me into silence.

Timon of Athens, Act II. Scene 2.

THE WORLD'S IDOL.

Who dares,

If one be,

In purity of manhood stand upright,
And
say, "This man's a flatterer?
So are they all;

the learned pate
Ducks to the golden fool: all is oblique ;
There's nothing level in our curséd natures,
But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorred
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains:
Destruction fang mankind!-Earth, yield me roots!
What is here?

Gold?--yellow, glittering, precious gold?.

Thus much of this, will make

Black, white; foul, fair; wrong, right;
Base, noble; old, young; coward, valiant.

Ha, you gods! why this? What this, you gods? Why this
Will lug your priests and servants from your sides;
Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads:
This yellow slave

Will knit and break religions; bless the accursed;
Make the hoar leprosy adored; place thieves,
And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With senators on the bench.

Timon of Athens, Act IV. Scene 3.

OPPORTUNITY TO BE SEIZED ON ALL OCCASIONS Of Life.

There is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows, and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now a-float:

And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

Julius Cæsar, Act IV. Seene 3.