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INTRODUCTION

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THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN.

THIS play was first printed in 1634, with the fol- | the rivals and their friends, and the final catastrophe owing title: "The Two Noble Kinsmen: presented at the Black Friers by the King's majesty's servants, with great applause: written by the memorable worthies of their time, Mr. John Fletcher and Mr. William Shakspeare, gent., and printed at London by Thos. Cotes, for John Waterstone, and are to be solde at the signe of the Crowne in Paul's churchyard1634." In the first folio edition of the works of Beaumont and Fletcher, in 1647, the Two Noble Kinsmen did not appear. It is reprinted in the second folio edition, with some slight alterations from the quarto.

which determines the fate of the triumphant party. Another of the obstacles to the complete dramatic success of this tragedy, is that want of personal prominence and individual superiority in either of the chief characters, on which so much of the success of a play depends. The rival youths, Palamon and Arcite, are distinguished rather by the descriptive passages of the author, than by their own performances, or, in these, only in the minor and less impressive portions of the piece. There is no such inequality of character, between the princes, as will permit the audience to choose between them. The spectator knows not which to make his favorite, and dare not yield his sympathies to one of the parties, lest he should do wrong to the claims of the other. They are both equally pure, brave, and virtuous equally accomplished in arms, and alike graceful and winning in deportment. To decide between them, the author himself finds impossible, and can only extricate himself from his embarrassment by throw ing the catastrophe upon the gods an accident determining the success of one of the princes, after the prize has actually been awarded to his opponent.

The story is taken from the "Knight's Tale," in the Canterbury Tales of Chaucer. It is certainly a very fine performance; marked by considerable inequalities of execution, but lifted by frequent passages of great nobleness, delicacy and power. In some portions, the plot is managed with skill and spirit; the slightest suggestions of Chaucer's muse being seized upon and brought out with the happiest and most dramatic effect. In other parts, we have to regret that the dramatist has slurred over some of the points made by the old poet, which might have been illustrated with rare scenic ability. The opening scene, considering the action only, is quite worthy of Shakspeare's hand, even if it did not employ it. It presents a dramatic spectacle of great and tragic interest. Other scenes correspond with this in merit: we may instance that in which the broth-quarto of 1634, are therefore the only direct external ers assist each other in putting on their armor before the duel, and that in which they appear severally be fore their favorite deities with their invocations and offerings. These scenes must have shown very impressively upon the stage. They unite high tragic dignity with a progressive dramatic interest, which, while it raised the expectations of the audience, filled their hearts with solemnity and emotion.

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The story is one of considerable difficulties, being better suited, in some of the most interesting portions, for narrative and epic, than for dramatic purposes. Some of the most important events are conveyed to the spectator by narration, rather than in action. It is enough to indicate the combat between

The question of the authorship of this play is one much more difficult to decide than its merits. An old tradition of the play-house reports that the first act was written by Shakspeare, and the rest by Fletcher. The tradition, with the titlepage of the

evidence in favor of the notion that Shakspeare had a hand in its production. The evidence is almost equally doubtful, indeed, of Fletcher's participation in it. The first editors of the collected edition of Beaumont and Fletcher's works omit the Two Noble Kinsmen, with seventeen other plays, because it had been printed before in separate form. It is included in the second edition of 1679, in order, as they allege, that the writings of these authors may be "perfect and complete." That they were not prepared to make it so, with proper circumspection, may be inferred from the fact that they included in this collection one, at least, of the known performances of another writer. The truth is, the external testimony is very

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just above and without touching it. His most difficult thoughts, ordinarily, are those which flow most musically; and the more comprehensive the range of his passions and ideas, they seem to choose for themselves an utterance of special clearness in due degree with the natural obstacles of the conception. Now, let the reader examine the metaphysical verse of the Two Noble Kinsmen, and he will see what embarrassments occur to the utterance of the writer in proportion to the subtlety of the sentiment. The nearest approach which he makes to Shakspeare's acknowledged writings, is to portions of such plays as Troilus and Cressida, of which the piece before us seems partly an imitation. Nor are these difficulties

nearly a blank in regard to the claims of both drama- | a wing from his subject, however low that may be tists. It may be Shakspeare's, or it may be Fletcher's. as we see birds skim along the surface of the ground, The claim of the latter, from intrinsic evidence, seems to me the better founded. On the same evidence, could we rely upon it solely-were it not, indeed, the most uncertain and most illusory of all modes of determining authorship - we should say that Shakspeare never wrote a syllable of the piece before us, though much of it is directly imitated from Shakspeare. Yet we must express ourselves with becoming deference. Mr. Pope supposes that the hand of Shakspeare may be discerned in some of the scenes. Dr. Warburton believes that he "wrote the first act, but in his worst manner." Mr. Coleridge says boldly, though, as he was wont to say many things, adventurously: "I can scarcely retain a doubt as to the first act's having been written by Shakspeare." | of utterance, when profound thoughts are to be exCharles Lamb speaks of some of the scenes as giving (( strong countenance to the tradition that Shakspeare had a hand in this play. . . . . They have a luxuriance in them which strongly resembles Shakspeare's manner, in those parts of his plays where, the progress of the scene being subordinate, the poet was at leisure for description." The German critics, who claim to know more about Shakspeare than the English, and who certainly have shown a just sympathy with his genius, by their fine and instinctive appreciation of it, concur in this opinion; but their speculations, as well as those which we have quoted, are wholly conjectural, and based upon assumptions, few of which will bear the test of a close examination. As we have seen, we have not a tittle of external evidence available at the present moment, which can furnish any sufficient clues to the mystery. A glance at the internal proofs satisfies us that the Two Noble Kinsmen-a noble play, worthy of Fletcher, Chapman, or Ben Jonson-is yet not Shakspeare's. It does not show, to us at least, any satisfactory marks of his footstep. Ex pede Herculem. The versification is not his. In spite of what Mr. Lamb has said on this subject, it lacks his flow and vivacity. The great marks of Shakspeare are his equal profundity and lucidity. He rises always with

pressed, calling for a new phraseology, to be account-
ed for by supposing that this was a production of our
great dramatist in his youth. The Two Noble Kins-
men is not the work of an apprentice. It shows the
familiarity of a master with his tools
one who
would have done greatly better, had he trusted to
himself wholly, avoiding anything like imitation
His versification, if not that of Shakspeare, has
force, readiness, compactness and animation. It is
distinct and manly, if wanting something in freedom;
and the sentiment is declared with confidence and
promptness, as the voice of one who has been long
accustomed to speak. Were there less promptness,
less skill and spirit, we might better be prepared to
admit Shakspeare's agency in the piece at a time
when he had not yet learned the extent and
strength of his own resources. It is too confident a
performance for the inexperienced writer, and too
wanting in the higher freedoms of music and imagin-
ation, for Shakspeare, in the day of his mature man-
hood. It is very certain that Shakspeare never con-
ceived the clumsy copy of his Ophelia which appears
in this performance. Is it probable that he would
have participated in the composition of a play in
which his associate should presume upon such a
gross caricature?

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Oxlips in their cradles growing, Marigolds on death-beds blowing, Larks'-heels trim.

All, dear Nature's children sweet,
Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet,
Blessing their sense!

Not an angel of the air,3

Bird melodious, or bird fair,

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Be4 absent hence.

[Strew flowers.

The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor The boding raven, nor chough hoar,5

Nor chatt'ring pie,

May on our bridehouse perch or sing, Or with them any discord bring,

But from it fly!

Enter three Queens, in black, with veils stained, with imperial crowns. The first Queen falls down at the foot of THESEUS; the second falls down at the foot of HIPPOLYTA; the third before Emilia.

1 Queen. For pity's sake, and true gentility, Hear and respect me!

2 Queen. For your mother's sake,

And as you wish your womb may thrive with fair Hear and respect me!

[ones,

3 Queen. Now for the love of him whom Jove hath marked

The honor of your bed, and for the sake
Of clear virginity, be advocate
For us, and our distresses! This good deed
Shall raze you out o' the book of trespasses
All you are set down there.

Thes.

Hip. Stand up!

Sad lady, rise!

Emi. No knees to me!
What woman I may stead that is distressed,
Does bind me to her.

Thes. What's your request? Deliver you for all. 1 Queen. We are three queens, whose sovereigns fell before

The wrath of cruel Creon; who endured
The beaks of ravens, talons of the kites,
And pecks of crows, in the foul fields of Thebes.
He will not suffer us to burn their bones,
To urn their ashes, nor to take th' offence
Of mortal loathsomeness from the blessed eye

Of holy Phœbus, but infects the winds

3 Angel is used for bird. Dekker calls the Roman eagle "the Roman angel."—Gifford's Massinger, vol. i., p. 36. 4 Be. The early copies, is.

5 Clough he is the reading of the old editions.

With stench of our slain lords. Oh, pity, duke !
Thou purger of the earth, draw thy feared sword,
That does good turns to the world; give us the bones
Of our dead kings, that we may chapel them!
And, of thy boundless goodness, take some note,
That, for our crowned heads, we have no roof
Save this, which is the lion's and the bear's,
And vault to everything!

Thes. Pray you kneel not!

I was transported with your speech, and suffered Your knees to wrong themselves. I have heard the fortunes

Of your dead lords, which gives me such lamenting
As wakes my vengeance and revenge for them.
King Capaneus was your lord: the day
That he should marry you, at such a season
As now it is with me, I met your groom
By Mars's altar; you were that time fair,
Not Juno's mantle fairer than your tresses,
Nor in more bounty spread ;1 your wheaten wreath
Was then nor thrashed, nor blasted. Fortune at you
Dimpled her cheek with smiles. Her'cles, our kins-

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2 Queen. Honored Hippolyta, Most dreaded Amazonian, that hast slain The scythe-tusked boar ;-that, with thy arm as As it is white, wast near to make the male To thy sex captive; but that this thy lord (Born to uphold creation in that honor First nature styled2 it in) shrunk thee into The bound thou wast o'erflowing; at once subduing Thy force and thy affection;- - soldieress, That equally canst poise sternness with pity, Who now, I know, hast much more power on him Than ever he had on thee; who own'st his strength, And his love too, who is a servant3 for The tenor of thy speech; dear glass of ladies, Bid him, that we, whom flaming war doth scorch, Under the shadow of his sword may cool us! Require him he advance it o'er our heads; . Speak 't in a woman's key, like such a woman As any of us three; weep ere you fail; Lend us a knee

;

But touch the ground for us no longer time
Than a dove's motion, when the head's plucked off!
Tell him, if he in the blood-sized1 field lay swoll'n,

1 "Nor in more bounty spread her," is the old reading. The omission equally helps the sense and the measure. 2 I should prefer to read "stoled it in," that is, dressed or habited in,-meaning the masculine dignity with which man was endowed, as superior, at the creation, and with which, though an Amazon, the queen of Theseus must not conflict.

3 Servant, attendant, one who even now waits to hear what you have to say. 4 Blood stained. employed by painters.

Size or sizing, is a glutinous ground

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Oh, my petition was

[Kneels to EMILIA. Set down in ice, which by hot grief uncandied Melts into drops; so sorrow wanting form Is pressed with deeper matter. Emi. Pray stand up; Your grief is written in your cheek.

3 Queen. Oh, woe! You cannot read it there; here, through my tears, Like wrinkled pebbles in a glassy stream, You may behold them! Lady, lady, alack, He that will all the treasure know o' the earth, Must know the centre too. He that will fish For my least minnow, let him lead his line To catch one at my heart. Oh, pardon me! Extremity, that sharpens sundry wits, Makes me a fool.

Emi. Pray you, say nothing; pray you Who cannot feel nor see the rain, being in't, Knows neither wet nor dry. If that you were The ground-piece of some painter, I would buy you To instruct me 'gainst a capital grief indeed; Such heart-pierced demonstration ! — but, alas, Being a natural sister of our sex,

Your sorrow beats so ardently upon me,

That it shall make a counter-reflect 'gainst
My brother's heart, and warm it to some pity
Though it were made of stone; pray have good
comfort!

Thes. Forward to the temple! leave not out a jot
Of the sacred ceremony.
1 Queen.
Oh, this celebration
Will longer last, and be more costly, than
Your suppliants' war! Remember that fame
your
Knolls in the ear o' the world. What you do quickly
Is not done rashly; your first thought is more
Than others' labored meditance; your premeditating
More than their actions: but, (oh Jove!) your actions,
Soon as they move, as ospreys do the fish,5
Subdue before they touch. Think, dear duke, think
What beds our slain kings have?

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3 Queen.
None fit for the dead.
Those that with cords, knives', drams, precipitance,7
Weary of this world's light, have to themselves
Been death's most horrid agents ;-human grace
Affords them dust and shadow.

1 Queen.
But our lords
Lie blistering 'fore the visitating9 sun,
And were good kings, when living.

Thes. It is true: and I will give you comfort,
To give your dead lords graves. The which to do,
[doing:
Must make some work with Creon.

1 Queen. And that work now presents itself to the

5 Query: willingly? 6 Osprey, or ospring, the sea-eagle. 7 Dram, in the sense of drug; suicide, by poison.

8 This is usually printed

"Those that with cords, knives, drams, precipitance." We receive "cords," &c., as genitive cases to "precipitance.” 9 Query vegetating?

Now 't will take form. The heats are gone to-mor- | This business we are going about, and hang

[row;

Your shield afore your heart, about that neck
Which is my fee, and which I freely lend
To do these poor queens service!
All Queens.

Oh, help now!

[TO EMILIA. If you grant not

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This is a service whereto I am going, Greater than any war;2 it more imports me Than all the actions that I have foregone, Or futurely can cope.

1 Queen.

The more proclaiming
Our suit shall be neglected, when her arms,
Able to lock Jove from a synod, shall

By warranting moonlight corslet thee. Oh, when
Her twinning3 cherries shall their sweetness fall4.
Upon thy tasteful lips, what wilt thou think

Of rotten kings, or blubberéd5 queens? what care For what thou feel'st not,-what thou feel'st being able

To make Mars spurn his drum? Oh, if thou couch
But one night with her, every hour in't will
Take hostage of thee for a hundred, and
Thou shalt remember nothing more than what
That banquet bids thee to.

Hip.
Though much I like6
You should be so transported, as much sorry
I should be such a suitor; yet I think
Did I not, by the abstaining of my joy,
Which breeds a deeper longing, cure their surfeit,
That craves a present medicine, I should pluck
All ladies' scandal on me: therefore, sir,
As I shall here make trial of my prayers,
Either presuming them to have some force,
Or seeing" for aye their vigor dumb, prorogue

1 See the speech in Hamlet, where Hamlet, forbearing to slay the king at his prayers, proposes to take him "when he is drunk," &c., as his father had been taken "when full of bread," &c.

2 War. The early copies, was.

Our cause cries for your knee.
Emi.

My sister her petition, in that force,
With that celerity and nature, which
She makes it in, from henceforth I'll not dare
To ask you anything, nor be so hardy
Ever to take a husband.

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I am entreating of myself to do
That which you kneel to have me. Perithous,
Lead on the bride! Get you and pray the gods
For success and return; omit not anything
In the pretended celebration. Queens,
Follow your soldier, as before. Hence you,
And at the banks of Aulis meet us with

The forces you can raise, where we shall find
The moiety of a number, for a business
More bigger looked!-Since that our theme is haste,
stamp this kiss upon thy currant lip.
Sweet, keep it as my token! Set you forward;
For I will see you gone.

[Exeunt toward the Temple.
Farewell, my beauteous sister! Perithous,
Keep the feast full; bate not an hour on 't!
Per.

Sir,

I'll follow you at heels; the feast's solemnity Shall wants till your return.

Thes.

Cousin, I charge you

Budge not from Athens; we shall be returning
Ere you can end this feast, of which I pray you,
Make no abatement. Once more, farewell all.

1 Queen. Thus dost thou still make good the tongue o' the world.

2 Queen. And earn'st a deity equal with Mars.
3 Queen. If not above him; for,
Thou, being but mortal, mak'st affections bend
To godlike honors; they themselves, some say,
Groan under such a mastery.

Thes.
As we are men,
Thus should we do; being sensually subdued,
We lose our humane title. Good cheer, ladies!

Now turn we toward your comforts.

SCENE II.

Enter PALAMON and ARCITE.

[Flourish. [Exeunt.

Arc. Dear Palamon, dearer in love than blood, And our prime cousin, yet unhardened in The crimes of nature; let us leave the city, Thebes, and the temptings in't, before we further Sully our gloss of youth!

And here to keep in abstinence were9 shame

3 Other copies read twining. Twinned, is the proper As in incontinence: for not to swim word.

4 Fall-an active verb. 5 Weeping.

6 In former editions, "Though much unlike," &c. She addresses Theseus, and means to say, though it pleases her, his passion, and though it makes her sorry to have such a painful visit to him, yet she is compelled to join with the suitors, even to the delay of her own happiness. As it formerly read, the sense was wanting.

7 "Sentencing for aye," is the language of former copies.

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