FOOTNOTES:
[881] Mr. Malone thinks 1591 to be the æra when our author commenced a writer for the stage. See in his Shakesp. the ingenious Attempt to ascertain the order in which the plays of Shakespeare were written.
[882] Since the above was written, Shakespeare's memory has been fully vindicated from the charge of writing the above play by the best criticks. See what has been urged by Steevens and Malone in their excellent editions of Shakespeare, &c. [The question of Shakspere's authorship is not by any means so completely settled in the negative as this note would imply. The external evidence for its authenticity is as strong as for most of the other plays. See New Shakspere Society's Transactions, Part i. p. 126, for a list of passages which seem to bear evidence of Shakspere's hand in their composition.]
[883] If the ballad was written before the play, I should suppose this to be only a metaphorical expression, taken from that in the Psalms, "They shoot out their arrows, even bitter words." Ps. 64. 3.
[884] i.e. encouraged them in their foolish humours, or fancies
XIV.
TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY.
The first stanza of this little sonnet, which an eminent critic[885] justly admires for its extreme sweetness, is found in Shakespeare's Measure for Measure, act iv. sc. 1. Both the stanzas are preserved in Beaum. and Fletcher's Bloody Brother, act v. sc. 2. Sewel and Gildon have printed it among Shakespeare's smaller poems, but they have done the same by twenty other pieces that were never writ by him; their book being a wretched heap of inaccuracies and mistakes. It is not found in Jaggard's old edition of Shakespeare's Passionate Pilgrim,[886] &c.
[The second stanza is an evident addition by another and inferior hand, so that Percy's expression above—"both the stanzas are preserved"—gives a false impression.]
Take, oh take those lips away,
That so sweetlye were forsworne;
And those eyes, the breake of day,
Lights, that do misleade the morne:
But my kisses bring againe,5
Seales of love, but seal'd in vaine
Hide, oh hide those hills of snowe,
Which thy frozen bosom beares,
On whose tops the pinkes that growe,
Are of those that April wears:10
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.