[132] Should we not rather read “Hath but one little wicket thorough which”?
[133] Old eds. “Speake.”
[134] Ed. 1. “honour.”
[135] Old eds. “chy condura sorta.”
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Sea-shore near Venice.
Enter Antonio, in his sea-gown running.
Ant. Stop, stop Antonio, stay Antonio!
Vain breath, vain breath, Antonio’s lost;
He cannot find himself, not seize himself.
Alas, this that you see is not Antonio;
His spirit hovers in Piero’s court,
Hurling about his agile faculties,
To apprehend the sight of Mellida:
But poor, poor soul, wanting apt instruments
To speak or see, stands dumb and blind, sad spirit,
Roll’d up in gloomy clouds as black as air 10
Through which the rusty coach of Night is drawn.
’Tis so; I’ll give you instance that ’tis so.
Conceit you me: as having clasp’d a rose[136]
Within my palm, the rose being ta’en away,
My hand retains a little breath of sweet:
So may man’s trunk, his spirit slipp’d away,
Hold[137] still a faint perfume of his sweet guest.
’Tis so; for when discursive powers fly out,
And roam in progress through the bounds of heaven,
The soul itself gallops along with them, 20
As chieftain of this wingèd troop of thought,
Whilst the dull lodge of spirit standeth waste,
Until the soul return from——. What was’t I said?
O, this is naught but speckling melancholy.
I have been—
That Morpheus’ tender skinp[138] —Cousin german
Bear with me, good—
Mellida: clod upon clod thus fall.
Hell is beneath, yet heaven is over all.