Gary Taylor, John Jowett, Terri Bourus, and Gabriel Egan (eds), The New Oxford Shakespeare: Modern Critical Edition
pg 1681Addition 3
hieronimo 'Tis neither as you think, nor as you think,
Editor’s Note2Nor as you think; you're wide all.
3These slippers are not mine, they were my son Horatio's.
Editor’s Note4My son—and what's a son? A thing begot
5Within a pair of minutes, thereabout;
Editor’s Note6A lump bred up in darkness, and doth serve
Editor’s Note7To ballast these light creatures we call women,
Editor’s Note8And at nine months' end creeps forth to light.
9What is there yet in a son
10To make a father dote, rave, or run mad?
11Being born, it pouts, cries, and breeds teeth.
12What is there yet in a son? He must be fed,
Editor’s Note13Be taught to go, and speak. Ay, ere that.
Editor’s Note14Why might not a man love a calf as well?
Editor’s Note15Or melt in passion o'er a frisking kid
Editor’s Note16As for a son? Methinks a young bacon
17Or a fine little smooth horse-colt
18Should move a man as much as doth a son.
19For one of these in very little time
20Will grow to some good use, whereas a son,
21The more he grows in stature and in years,
Editor’s Note22The more unsquared, unbevelled he appears,
23Reckons his parents among the rank of fools,
Editor’s Note24Strikes care upon their heads with his mad riots,
25Makes them look old before they meet with age.
26This is a son. And what a loss were this,
27Considered truly? O, but my Horatio
Editor’s Note28Grew out of reach of these insatiate humours.
29He loved his loving parents,
30He was my comfort, and his mother's joy,
31The very arm that did hold up our house;
32Our hopes were stored up in him.
33None but a damnèd murderer could hate him.
34He had not seen the back of nineteen year
Editor’s Note35When his strong arm unhorsed
36The proud Prince Balthazar, and his great mind,
37Too full of honour, took him unto mercy,
Editor’s Note38That valiant but ignoble Portugal.
39Well, heaven is heaven still,
pg 1682Editor’s Note40And there is Nemesis and Furies,
41And things called whips,
42And they sometimes do meet with murderers.
43They do not always scape, that's some comfòrt.
44Ay, ay, ay, and then time steals on,
45And steals, and steals, till violence leaps forth
46Like thunder wrapped in a ball of fire,
Editor’s Note47And so doth bring confusion to them all.