—­and thy air,
  Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first.

NOTE XXXVII.

  I will—­give to the edge o’ th’ sword
  His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
  That trace him in his line.—­No boasting like a fool: 
  This deed I’ll do before my purpose cool.

Both the sense and measure of the third line, which, as it rhymes, ought, according to the practice of this author, to be regular, are, at present, injured by two superfluous syllables, which may easily be removed by reading,

—­souls
That trace his line:—­No boasting like a fool.

NOTE XXXVIII.

SCENE III.

Rosse.  My dearest cousin,
I pray you, school yourself:  But for your husband,
He’s noble, wise, judicious, and best knows
The fits o’th’time, I dare not speak much further,
But cruel are the times when we are traitors,
And do not know’t ourselves, when we (a)_hold rumour
From what we fear_, yet know not what we fear;
But float upon a wild and violent sea,
Each way, and (b)_move_.  I’ll take my leave of you: 
Shall not be long but I’ll be here again: 
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward
To what they were before:  my pretty cousin,
Blessing upon you!

(a)—­When we hold rumour
    From what we fear, yet know not what we fear.

The present reading seems to afford no sense; and, therefore, some critical experiments may be properly tried upon it, though, the verses being without any connexion, there is room for suspicion, that some intermediate lines are lost, and that the passage is, therefore, irretrievable.  If it be supposed that the fault arises only from the corruption of some words, and that the traces of the true reading are still to be found, the passage may be changed thus: 

 —­when we bode ruin
  From what we fear, yet know not what we fear.

Or, in a sense very applicable to the occasion of the conference: 

—­when the bold, running
  From what they fear, yet know not what they fear.

(b) But float upon a wild and violent sea
    Each way, and move.

That he who floats upon a rough sea must move, is evident, too evident for Shakespeare so emphatically to assert.  The line, therefore, is to be written thus: 

  Each way, and move—­I’ll take my leave of you.

Rosse is about to proceed, but, finding himself overpowered by his tenderness, breaks off abruptly, for which he makes a short apology, and retires.

NOTE XXXIX.

SCENE IV.