under a penalty of three hundred crowns, or three years' imprisonment in the galleys. Bravoes by profession and villains of every kind, used to wear a long lock of hair, which they drew over the face like a vizor on meeting any one, so that the lock might almost be considered a part of the armour, and a distinctive mark of bravoes and vagabonds, whence those characters commonly bore the name of Ciuffi, i. e. Locks."— I Promessi Sposi, Cap. 3.

(4) SCENE IV.-Carduus Benedictus.] "Blessed Thistle is called in Latine every where Carduus Benedictus, and in shops by a compound word, Cardo-benedictus; it is a kinde of wilde bastard Saffron.

"Blessed Thistle, taken in meate or drinke, is good for the swimming and giddinesse of the head, it strengthneth memorie, and is a singular remedie against deafnesse."-GERARD'S Herbal.

"Carduus Benedictus, or blessed Thistell, so worthily named for the singular vertues that it hath. Howsoever it be used it strengtheneth all the principall partes of the bodie, it sharpeneth both the wit and memory, quickeneth all the senses, comforteth the stomacke, procureth appetite, and hath a special vertue against poison, and preserveth from the pestilence, and is excellent good against any kind of Fever being used in this manner: Take a dramme of the powder, put it into a good draught of ale or wine, warme it and drinke it a quarter of an hour before the fit doth come, then goe to bed, cover you well with clothes, and procure sweate, which by the force of the herbe will easily come foorth, and so continue until the fit be past: or else you may take the distilled water after the same maner. By this meanes you may recover in a short time, yea if it were a pestilentiall fever. So that this remedie be used before twelve houres be past after the disease felt. For which notable effects this herb may worthily be called Benedictus or Omnimorbia, that is a salve for everie sore, not known to Physitians of old time, but lately revealed by the speciall providence of Almightie God."-The Haven of Health, by Thomas Cogan, Maister of Artes and Bacheler of Physicke. Lond. 4to. b. 7. 1596.

(1) SCENE I.

ACT V.

Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb.]

In some curious observations attached to Pietro Aretino's book of "The Three Impostors," M. De la Monnoie refers to the practice of suspending epitaphs on the hearse and monuments of important personages, as being common in the sixteenth century. "It is the custom with Catholics," he remarks, "to attach to some pillar or other place near to the tombs of deceased persons, and especially such as were of reputation, papers of funeral inscriptions. These inscriptions were, in fact, as they always ought to be, to the honour of the departed individual; but as Aretino had been a notorious libertine, it is quite possible that after his interment some satirist hung the condemnatory epitaph preserved by Moréri, on the door of St. Luke's church, where he was buried." The custom was still general in England when Shakespeare lived; many fine and interesting examples of it existing in the old cathedral of St. Paul's, and other churches of London, down to the time of the Great Fire, in the form of pensile-tables of wood and metal, painted or engraved with poetical memorials, suspended against the columns and walls. Among these may be particularized the well-known verses on Queen Elizabeth, beginning:

"Spaines Rod, Romes Ruine, Netherlands Reliefe;"

which appear to have been very generally displayed in the churches of the realm. There is another allusion to this graceful custom in the present Comedy, Act IV. Sc. 1:

"Maintain a mourning ostentation;

And, on your family's old monument,
Hang mournful epitaphs."

And Izaak Walton, in his "Life of Dr. Donne," supplies a curious illustration of it

* See Stow, Weever, and Dugdale.

under the date of 1631.

"The next day after his burial some one of the many lovers and admirers of his virtue and learning, writ this epitaph with a coal on the wall over his grave:

'Reader! I am to let Thee know

Donne's Body only lies below;

For, could the Earth his Soul comprise,
Earth would be Richer than the Skies!'"

(2) SCENE II.-I give thee the bucklers.] This is an expression borrowed from Sword and Buckler play, and often adopted by our old writers, meaning, I yield myself vanquished. Thus, in P. Holland's translation of “Pliny's Natural History," B. x. Ch. xxi.:-"It goeth against his stomach (the cock's) to yeeld the gantlet and give the bucklers."

Again, in Greene's Second Part of "Coney-Catching," 1592:-" At this his master laught, and was glad for further advantage, to yield the bucklers to his prentice." And in Chapman's "May-Day," 1611:—

"And now I lay the bucklers at your feet."

ANCIENT BALLAD OF "LIGHT O' LOVE.”

(See page 200.)

From the original black-letter copy in the Library of GEORGE DANIEL, Esq.

Abery proper dittie to the tune of Fightie lobe.

Leave Lightie love Ladies for feare of yll name:
And True love embrace ye, to purchase your fame.

By force I am stred my fancie to write,
Ingratitude willeth mee not to refraine:
Then blame me not Ladies although I indite
What lighty love now amongst you doth raigne.
Your traces in places, in outward allurements
Doth moove my endevour to be the more playne;
Your nicyngs and ticings with sundrie procurementes
To publish your lightie love doth mee constrayne.

Deceite is not daintie, it coms at eche dish,
Fraude goes a fisshyng with frendly lookes,
Throughe frendship is spoyled the seely poore fish,
That hoover and shover upon your false hookes,
With baight, you lay waight, to catch here and there,
Whiche causeth poore fisshes their freedome to lose:
Then loute ye, and floute ye, wherby doth appere,
Your lightie love Ladies, styll cloaked with glose.

With DIAN so chaste, you seeme to compare,
When HELLENS you bee, and hang on her trayne:
Mee thinkes faithfull Thisbies bee now very rare,
Not one CLEOPATRA, I doubt doth remayne:
You wincke, and you twincke, tyll Cupid have caught,
And forceth through flames your Lovers to sue:
Your lyghtie love Ladies, too deere they have bought,
When nothyng wyll moove you, their causes to rue.

I speake not for spite, ne do I disdayne,
Your beautie fayre Ladies, in any respect:
But ones Ingratitude doth mee constrayne,
A childe hurt with fire, the same to neglect:
For proovyng in lovyng, I finde by good triall,
When Beautie had brought mee unto her becke:
She staying, not waying, but made a deniall,
And shewyng her lightie love, gave me the checke..

Thus fraude for frendship, did lodge in her brest,
Suche are most women, that when they espie,
Their lovers inflamed with sorowes opprest,

They stande then with Cupid against their replic.

They taunte, and they vaunte, they smile when they vew,
How Cupid had caught them under his trayne,

But warned, discerned, the proofe is most true,

That lightie love Ladies, amongst you doth reigne.

It seemes by your doynges, that Cressed doth scoole ye,

Penelopes vertues are cleane out of thought:

Mee thinkes by your constantnesse, Heleyne doth rule ye,
Whiche, both Greece and Troy, to ruyne hath brought

No doubt, to tell out, your many folde driftes,

Would shew you as constant, as is the Sea sande:

To truste so unjust, that all is but shieftes,

With lightie love bearying your lovers in hande.

were in nomber,

If ARGUS were lyvying whose eyes were
The Peacockes plume painted, as Writers replie,
Yet Women by wiles, full sore would him cumber,
For all his quicke eyes, their driftes to espie :
Suche feates, with disceates, they dayly frequent,
To conquere Mennes mindes, their humours to feede,
That bouldly I may geve Arbittrement:

Of this your lightie love, Ladies in deede.

Ye men that are subject to Cupid his stroke,
And therein seemeth to have your delight:
Thinke when you see baight theres hidden a hooke,
Whiche sure wyll have you, if that you do bight:
Suche wiles, and suche guiles, by women are wrought,
That halfe their mischiefes, men cannot prevent,
When they are most pleasant unto your thought,
Then nothyng but lightie love, is their intent.

Consider that poyson doth lurke often tyme

In shape of sugre, to put some to payne:

And fayre wordes paynted, as Dames can desire,
The olde Proverbe saith doth make some fooles faine:

Be wise and precise, take warning by mee,

Trust not the Crocodile, least you do rue :
To womens faire wordes, do never agree:
For all is but lightie love, this is most true.

ANEXES so daintie, Example may bee,

Whose lightie love caused young IPHIS his woe,
His true love was tryed by death, as you see,
Her lightie love forced the knight therunto:
For shame then refrayne you Ladies therefore,

The Cloudes they doo vanish, and light doth appeare:
'You can not dissemble, nor hide it no more,
Your love is but lightie love, this is most cleare.

For Troylus tried the same over well,

In lovyng his Ladie, as Fame doth reporte:
And likewise Menander, as Stories doth tell,
Who swam the salt Seas, to his love, to resorte:
So true, that I rue, such lovers should lose
Their labour in seekyng their Ladies unkinde :

Whose love, thei did proove, as the Proverbe nowe goes
Even very lightie love, lodgde in their minde.

I touche no suche Ladies, as true love imbrace,
But suche as to lightie love dayly applie:
And none wyll be grieved, in this kinde of case,
Save suche as are minded, true love to denie:
Yet frendly and kindly, I shew you my minde,
Fayre Ladies I wish you, to use it no more,
But say what you list, thus I have definde,
That lightie love Ladies, you ought to abhore.

To trust womens wordes, in any respect,
The danger by mee right well it is seene:

And Love and his Lawes, who would not neglect,
The tryall whereof, moste peryllous beene:
Pretendyng, the endyng, if I have offended,
I crave of you Ladies an Answere againe :
Amende, and whats said, shall soone be amended,

If case that your lightie love, no longer do rayne.

Finis. By Leonard Gybson. Imprinted at LONDON, in the upper end of Fleet lane, by Richard Thones: and are to be solde at his shop joyning to the South-West Dore of Saint Paules Church.

CRITICAL OPINIONS.

"THE main plot in Much Ado about Nothing is the same with the story of Ariodante and Ginevra, in Ariosto; the secondary circumstances and development are no doubt very different. The mode in which the innocent Hero before the altar at the moment of the wedding, and in the presence of her family and many witnesses, is put to shame by a most degrading charge, false indeed, yet clothed with every appearance of truth, is a grand piece of theatrical effect in the true and justifiable sense. The impression would have been too tragical had not Shakspeare carefully softened it, in order to prepare for a fortunate catastrophe. The discovery of the plot against Hero has been already partly made, though not by the persons interested; and the poet has contrived, by means of the blundering simplicity of a couple of constables and watchmen, to convert the arrest and the examination of the guilty individuals into scenes full of the most delightful amusement. There is also a second piece of theatrical effect not inferior to the first, where Claudio, now convinced of his error, and in obedience to the penance laid on his fault, thinking to give his hand to a relation of his injured bride, whom he supposes dead, discovers, on her unmasking, Hero herself. The extraordinary success of this play in Shakspeare's own day, and even since in England, is, however, to be ascribed more particularly to the parts of Benedick and Beatrice, two humorsome beings, who incessantly attack each other with all the resources of raillery. Avowedly rebels to love, they are both entangled in its net by a merry plot of their friends to make them believe that each is the object of the secret passion of the other. Some one or other, not over-stocked with penetration, has objected to the same artifice being twice used in entrapping them; the drollery, however, lies in the very symmetry of the deception. Their friends attribute the whole effect to their own device, but the exclusive direction of their raillery against each other is in itself a proof of a growing inclination. Their witty vivacity does not even abandon them in the avowal of love; and their behaviour only assumes a serious appearance for the purpose of defending the slandered Hero. This is exceedingly well imagined; the lovers of jesting must fix a point beyond which they are not to indulge in their humour, if they would not be mistaken for buffoons by trade."-SCHLEGEL.

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