The Literary Remains of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Volume 2Coleridge, Samuel Taylor
History
The Literary Remains of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Volume 2
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor
Literature -- History and criticism; Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 -- Criticism and interpretation
No doubt, something of Shakspeare's punning must be attributed to his
age, in which direct and formal combats of wit were a favourite pastime
of the courtly and accomplished. It was an age more favourable, upon the
whole, to vigour of intellect than the present, in which a dread of
being thought pedantic dispirits and flattens the energies of original
minds. But independently of this, I have no hesitation in saying that a
pun, if it be congruous with the feeling of the scene, is not only
allowable in the dramatic dialogue, but oftentimes one of the most
effectual intensives of passion.
'Ib.'
'K. Rich'. Right; you say true: as Hereford's love, so his;
As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.
The depth of this compared with the first scene;--
How high a pitch, &c.
There is scarcely anything in Shakspeare in its degree, more admirably
drawn than York's character;--his religious loyalty struggling with a
deep grief and indignation at the king's follies; his adherence to his
word and faith, once given in spite of all, even the most natural,
feelings. You see in him the weakness of old age, and the
overwhelmingness of circumstances, for a time surmounting his sense of
duty,--the junction of both exhibited in his boldness in words and
feebleness in immediate act; and then again his effort to retrieve
himself in abstract loyalty, even at the heavy price of the loss of his
son. This species of accidental and adventitious weakness is brought
into parallel with Richard's continually increasing energy of thought,
and as constantly diminishing power of acting;--and thus it is Richard
that breathes a harmony and a relation into all the characters of the
play.
'Ib.' sc. 2.
'Queen'. To please the king I did; to please myself
I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks,
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in sorrow's womb,
Is coming toward me; and my inward soul
With nothing trembles: at something it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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