Some of the alterations in the manuscript corrections in Mr. Collier's old edition of Shakspeare's plays I agree with, but certainly not in this one, since we lose much and gain nothing by it. Shakspeare, in drawing a character such as Falstaff, loaded with every vice that flesh is heir to, and yet making him a favourite with the audience, must have been most anxious respecting his death, and therefore awakened our sympathy in his favour. In ushering in the account of the death-bed scene, he makes Bardolph say:
"Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in heaven or in hell."
This expression Burns the poet considered the highest mark of regard that one man could pay to another, for in his poem on a departed friend, he says:
"With such as he, where'er he be,
May I be saved, or damn'd."
Mrs. Quickly, in describing the scene, says:
"He's in Arthur's (Abraham's) bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a finer end, and went away, an it had been any christom child; for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his finger's ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields."
Mrs. Quickly, after describing the outward signs of decay and second childishness, tells us he babbled. Shakspeare, as the only means of gaining our forgiveness, makes him die in repentance for his sins, and seems to have had the Twenty-third Psalm in his mind, where David puts his trust in God's grace, when amongst other passages it says: "He maketh me lie down in green pastures," and further on, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me." I have endeavoured to give you a reason why I prefer the old reading of the text: if any of your correspondents will give a better for the new, I shall be glad to see it, as I am convinced the more we examine into the works of our wonderful bard, the more we shall be convinced of his superhuman genius; we are, therefore, all indebted to Mr. Collier for his searching investigations, as they set us in a reflective mood.
J. B.
Your just remarks on Theobald's "'a babbled of green fields" recalls to me a note which I find appended to the passage in the margin of my Shakspeare,