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SCENE I. Before Prospero's Cell. Enter PROSPERO, Ferdinand, and MIRANDA. Pro. If I have too austerely punish'd you, Your compensation makes amends; for I Have given you here a thread of mine own life, Or that for which I live; whom once again I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, Do not smile at me, that I boast her off, For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, And make it halt behind her.

I do believe it,


Against an oracle.

Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition Worthily purchas'd, take my child, but not Till sanctimonious ceremonies may With full and holy rites be minister'd. Then Hymen's lamps shall light you.


As I hope For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, With such love as 'tis now; the strong'st suggestion Our worser Genius can, shall never taint My honour.



Pro. Ay, with a twink.

Ari. Before you can say, Come, and go, And breathe twice; and cry, so, so;



Fairly spoke:

Sit then, and talk with her, she is thine own. —
What, Ariel; my industrious servant Ariel!
Enter ARIEL.

Ari. What would my potent master? here I am.
Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service
Did worthily perform; and I must use you
In such another trick: go, bring the rabble,
O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place:
Incite them to quick motion; for I must
Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple
Some vanity of mine art; it is my promise,
And they expect it from me.

Each one, tripping on his toe,
Will be here with mop and mowe:
Do you love me, master? no.

Pro. Look, thou be true.


Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel: Do not approach,

Till thou dost hear me call.

Well I conceive. [Exit.

I warrant you, sir.

Now come, my Ariel; bring a corollary 4,
Rather than want a spirit; appear, and pertly.
No tongue; all eyes; be silent. [Soft musick.

And hinder them from what this ecstacy 5 May now provoke them to.


A Masque. Enter IRIS. Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas;

4 Surplus.

Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to ke
Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims,
Which spongy April at thy hest betrims,
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy
broom groves,

Follow, I pray you. [Excunt

Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard;
And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard,
Where thou thyself dost air: The queen o' the sky,
Whose wat'ry arch, and messenger, am I,
Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace,
Here, on this grass-plot, in this very place,
To come and sport: her peacocks fly amain;
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.

Enter CERES.

Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers; And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown My bosky 7 acres, and my unshrubb'd down, Rich scarf to my proud earth; Why hath thy queen Summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd green? Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate; And some donation freely to estate On the bless'd lovers.

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Spring come to you, at the farthest, the very end of harvest! Scarcity and want shall shun you; Ceres' blessing so is on you.

Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and Harmonious charmingly: May I be bold To think these spirits?

Fer. Let me live here ever; So rare a wonder'd' father, and a wife, Make this place paradise.


Spirit, Pro. Spirits, which by mine art We must prepare to meet with Caliban. I have from their confines call'd to enact Ari. Ay, my commander: when I presented My present fancies. Ceres,

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Is almost come. [To the Spirits.] Well done;. avoid; -no more.

Fer. This is most strange: your father's in some passion That works him strongly.

Never till this day,
Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd.
Pro. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort,
As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir :
Our revels now are ended: these our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabrick of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve;
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind: We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd;
Bear with my weakness: my old brain is troubled.
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity:
If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell,
And there repose; a turn or two I'll walk,

To still my beating mind.
Fer. Mira.

Able to produce such wonders.

Pro. Come with a thought: - I thank you:Ariel, come.

We wish your peace. [Exeunt.

Enter ARIEL.

Ari. Thy thoughts I cleave to: What's thy plea


I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear'd,
Lest I might anger thee.

Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these

Ari. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with

So full of valour, that they smote the air
For breathing in their faces; beat the ground
For kissing of their feet; yet always bending
Towards their project: Then I beat my tabor,
At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears,
Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses,
As they smelt musick; so I charm'd their ears,
That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd, through
Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and
Which enter'd their frail shins; at last I left them
I' the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell,
Up to the chins.

This was well done, my bird.
Thy shape invisible retain thou still :
The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither,
For stale 2 to catch these thieves.

Ari. I go, I go. [Exit. Pro. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature Nurture 3 can never stick; on whom my pains, Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; And as, with age, his body uglier grows, So his mind cankers: I will plague them all, Re-enter ARIEL, loaden with glistering apparel, &c. Even to roaring: :- Come, hang them on this line.

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Ir has been observed by a learned writer in a preface to his second edition, that the feelings of an author at that time, are very different from those which he experiences, when he offers a new work at the tribunal of public opinion. The truth of this observation must of course be felt more strongly in the present instance, when a fourth edition is committed to the press. The reception which the FAMILY SHAKSPEARE has experienced from the Public has indeed been gratifying. It has been commended by all those who have examined it, and censured by those only who do not appear to have made any enquiry into the merits or demerits of the performance, but condemn every attempt at removing indecency from Shakspeare. It would, indeed, have given me real pleasure, if any judicious and intelligent reader had perused the work with the eye of rigid criticism, and had pointed out any improper words which were still to be found in it. All observations of that nature would have been candidly and maturely considered, and if well founded, would have been followed by the erasure of what was faulty. On the other hand, I cannot but be gratified, at perceiving that no person appears to have detected any indecent expression in these volumes: but this has not made me less solicitous to direct my own attention to that object, and to endeavour to render this work as unobjectionable as possible. I have, therefore, in preparing this Edition for the press, taken great pains to discover and correct any defects which might formerly have escaped my notice, but they have appeared in this last perusal of the work to be very few in number, and not of any great importance. Such, however, as I have been able to perceive, I have carefully removed, and I hope I may venture to assure the parents and guardians of youth, that they may read the FAMILY SHAKSPEARE aloud in the mixed society of young persons of both sexes, sans peur et sans reproche.

My next object was to observe, whether the sense and meaning of the author were in any degree perverted or impaired by the erasures which I had made. The final decision of this question must be left to the careful and intelligent critic; but to myself it appears, that very few instances will be found in which the reader will have any cause to regret the loss of the words that have been omitted. The great objection which has been urged against the FAMILY SHAKSPEARE, and it has been urged with vehemence by those who have not examined the work, is the apprehension, that, with the erasure of the indecent passages, the spirit and fire of the poet would often be much injured, and sometimes be entirely destroyed. This objection arises principally from those persons who have confined their study of Shakspeare to the closet, and have not learned in the theatre, with how much safety it is possible to make the necessary alterations. They have not learned, or they have forgot, that except in one, or at most in two instances, the plays of our author are never presented to the public without being corrected, and more or less cleared of indecency; yet Macbeth and Othello, Lear, Hamlet, and As you Like it, continue still to exhibit the superior genius of the first of dramatic poets. The same may be said of his other transcendent works; but those which I have named are selected as being five of the finest plays in the world, the most frequently acted, the most universally admired; but of which, there is not one that can be read aloud by a gentleman to a lady, without undergoing some correction. I have attempted to do for the library what the manager does for the stage, and I wish that the persons who urge this objection would examine the plays with attention. I venture to assert, that in the far greater part of them, they would find that it is not difficult to separate the indecent from the decent expressions; and they would soon be convinced, that, by removing the stains, they would view the picture not only uninjured, but possessed of additional beauty. The truth of this observation has been expressed with such elegance, and in terms so honourable to Shakspeare, by a very superior judge of poetic composition, that I cannot resist the temptation of inserting the whole


After censuring the indecencies of Dryden and Congreve, as being the exponents of licentious principles, the reviewer observes, in language more expressive than any which I could have employed, "that it has in general been found easy to extirpate the offensive 66 expressions of our great poet, without any injury to the context, or any visible scar, or "blank in the composition. They turn out, not to be so much cankers in the flowers, "as weeds that have sprung up by their side: not flaws in the metal, but impurities that "have gathered on its surface, and that, so far from being missed on their removal, the "work generally appears more natural and harmonious without them."* I will not * Edinburgh Review, No. lxxi. p. 53,

weaken the foregoing quotation by adding any less forcible language of my own, but I will endeavour to prove by examples the perfect justice of the observation. It is indeed a difficulty, and a very great one, under which I labour, that it is not possible for me to state the words which I have omitted; but I think that I may adduce one instance, which, without offending the eye or the ear of modesty, will sufficiently confirm the remarks of the judicious reviewer, and prove that a whole scene may be omitted, not only without injury, but with manifest advantage to the drama.

In the second scene of the third act of Henry V., the English monarch, after taking Harfleur, is preparing to march towards Calais. In the fourth scene of that act, we find the French king and his counsellors deliberating on the means of intercepting the English army. These scenes naturally follow each other but what is the intermediate scene, the third of the third act? It is a dialogue between the French princess and her female attendant, of whom she is endeavouring to learn the English language. She asks her,

Kath. Comment appellez-vous la main en Anglois ?
Alice. La main? Elle est appellée de hand.
Kath. De hand. Et les doigts?
Alice. Les doigts? Je pense qu'ils sont appellée de fingres, ouy de fingres.
Kath. Comment appellez-vous les ongles?
Alice. Les ongles? les appellons de nails.

I will not tire my readers with a longer extract from this uninteresting dialogue; it is continued through more than twenty questions and answers of the very same nature; and as there is not a single word on any subject but the foregoing, every person will be ready to ask, what could induce Shakspeare to insert so useless a scene? The answer, I believe, must be, that it was written in compliance with the bad taste of the age, for the express purpose of raising a laugh at the conclusion, by introducing, through the medium of imperfect pronunciation, the two most indecent words in the French language. At the mention of those words, the princess is shocked, as every virtuous woman would be, if she were either here or elsewhere, to see them written, or hear them repeated. Is it possible that any person will feel regret at perceiving that, in the FAMILY SHAKSPEARE, the beautiful play of Henry V. is not interrupted in a very interesting part of the narrative, by so improper a scene - - by a scene so totally unconnected with every thing which precedes or which follows after it, that if it were taken by itself, no reader would be able to discover in what act it was meant to be inserted? Let it not be said as an excuse, that it introduces to our acquaintance the princess, who is afterwards to be the wife of Henry. The excuse is too trifling to be admitted.

I may next observe, that the scene which I have here quoted, is by no means a solitary instance. Examples of a similar nature are to be found in several of the plays, comedies as well as tragedies. In most of these cases, the objectionable parts are so completely unconnected with the play, that one might almost be inclined to suppose, that Shakspeare, in the first instance, composed one of his beautiful dramas, and after it was finished, was compelled, by the wretched taste of the age, to add something of a low and ludicrous nature. The passages thus inserted, have really, in many cases, the appearance of interpolations; and adopting the expressive language of the reviewer, they are weeds which have sprung up by the side of the flowers, and the former being removed, the latter appear with additional beauty. What has been said of whole scenes in some instances, may be applied in a great many, to speeches, to parts of speeches, and to single words. From Macbeth, the noblest effort of dramatic genius that ever was exhibited in any age or in any language (I do not except the Edipus of Sophocles), very little has been erased; but the description of the effects of drunkenness, which is given to Macduff by the porter at the gate of the castle, is of so gross a nature, that it is impossible that any person should be sorry for its omission. The same may be said of the indecent words which are addressed by Hamlet to Ophelia, before the representation of the play. These, like most other alterations, were made without difficulty, but I confess that there are three plays, which form exceptions to what I have advanced respecting the facility of the task that I have undertaken. To Measure for Measure, Henry IV., and Othello, I have annexed particular prefaces, stating the difficulties which existed, and the method by which I should endeavour to overcome them. In the first of the three, I hope I have succeeded; and I should not be sorry if the merit of this whole work were to be decided by a comparison of this very extraordinary play, in the original, and in the FAMILY SHAKSPEARE. Of Falstaff and Othello, I shall only say, that I acknowledge the difficulty of my task. I have indeed endeavoured, as cautiously as possible, to remove the objectionable speeches, without injuring the characters; but wantonness of expression and action are very closely connected with Falstaff; and the infuriate passions of rage, jealousy, and revenge, which torture the breast of Othello, are like " Macbeth's distempered cause,' incapable of being completely buckled within the belt of rule."


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Ir a a presumptuous artist should undertake to remove a supposed defect in the Transfiguration of Raphael, or in the Belvidere Apollo, and in making the attempt should injure one of those invaluable productions of art and genius, I should consider his name as deserving never to be mentioned, or mentioned only with him who set fire to the Temple of Diana. But the works of the poet may be considered in a very different light from those of the painter and the statuary. Shakspeare, inimitable Shakspeare, will remain the subject of admiration as long as taste and literature shall exist, and his writings will be handed down to posterity in their native beauty, although the present attempt to add to his fame should prove entirely abortive. Here, then, is the great difference. If the endeavour to improve the picture or the statue should be unsuccessful, the beauty of the original would be destroyed, and the injury be irreparable. In such a case, let the artist refrain from using the chisel or the pencil: but with the works of the poet no such danger occurs, and the critic need not be afraid of employing his pen; for the original will continue unimpaired, although his own labours should immediately be consigned to oblivion. That Shakspeare is the first of dramatic writers will be denied by few, and I doubt whether it will be denied by any who have really studied his works, and compared the beauties which they contain with the very finest productions either of our own or of former ages. It must, however, be acknowledged, by his warmest admirers, that some defects are to be found in the writings of our immortal bard. The language is not always faultless. Many words and expressions occur which are of so indecent a nature as to render it highly desirable that they should be erased. Of these, the greater part are evidently introduced to gratify the bad taste of the age in which he lived, and the rest may perhaps be ascribed to his own unbridled fancy. But neither the vicious taste of the age, nor the most brilliant effusions of wit, can afford an excuse for profaneness or obscenity; and if these could be obliterated, the transcendent genius of the poet would undoubtedly shine with more unclouded lustre. To banish every thing of this nature from the writings of Shakspeare is the object of the present undertaking. My earnest wish is to render his plays unsullied by any scene, by any speech, or, if possible, by any word that can give pain to the most chaste, or offence to the most religious of his readers. Of the latter kind, the examples are by no means numerous, for the writings of our author are, for the most part, favourable to religion and morality. There are, however, in some of his plays, allusions to Scripture, which are introduced so unnecessarily, and on such trifling occasions, and are expressed with so much levity, as to call imperiously for their erasement. As an example of this kind I may quote a scene in the fifth act of Love's Labour's Lost, in which an allusion is made (very improperly) to one of the most serious and awful passages in the New Testament. I flatter myself that every reader of the FAMILY SHAKSPEARE will be pleased at perceiving that what is so manifestly improper, is not permitted to be seen in it. The most Sacred Word in our language is omitted in several instances, in which it appeared as a mere expletive; and it is changed into the word Heaven, in a still greater number, where the occasion of using it did not appear sufficiently serious to justify its employment.

Nec Deus intersit nisi dignus vindice nodus.

In the original folio of 1623, the same alteration from the old quartos is made in a great variety of places, and I have followed the folio.

I wish it were in my power to say of indecency as I have said of profaneness, that the examples of it are not very numerous. Unfortunately the reverse is the case. Those persons whose acquaintance with Shakspeare depends on theatrical representations, in which great alterations are made in the plays, can have little idea of the frequent recurrence in the original text, of expressions, which, however they might be tolerated in the sixteenth century, are by no means admissible in the nineteenth. Of these expressions no example can in this place be given, for an obvious reason. I feel it, however, incumbent on me to observe, in behalf of my favourite author, that, in comparison with most of the contemporary poets, and with the dramatists of the seventeenth century, the plays

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