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 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFDRNIA 
 
 RIVERSID^: 
 
 Ex Libris 
 C. K. OGDEN
 
 ^pivit 
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL, 
 
 stationers' hall court. 
 
 1830.
 
 -P) K j / t 
 O { 
 
 C. BAYNES, Primer, 
 II, Dtikt-Xraat, Linci>ln'i Inn Flaldt.
 
 m 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The sole object of the Author in making 
 this compilation has been to bring into as small 
 a compass as possible, the beauties and spirit, as 
 1=:^ well as the most edifying passages of the tragic 
 ^ Dramatists of this Country, who flourished 
 ^ durinsr the lifetime of the " immortal Bard," to 
 ^ the middle of the last century. He has omitted 
 N the works of Shakspeare, because the public 
 "^ has already been inundated with selections from 
 his Plays, to which, he flatters himself, the pre- 
 sent work will prove a valuable companion, 
 many parts of it being, in point either of interest, 
 V- energy of expression, or brilliancy of concep- 
 \ tion, not inferior. It was not till the last sheet 
 ^ of the following pages had been printed, the
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 Author met with a copy of a work on a some- 
 what similar plan. On perusing that publica- 
 tion, however, he has not discovered any reason 
 to lament his not having been previously ac- 
 quainted with it. It is his intention, should the 
 present work be honoured with the patronage 
 of the public, to add a Second Volume, con- 
 taining similar selections from the English 
 Dramatists, who have flourished since the 
 period to which the present is carried. 
 
 London, Jan. 1, 1830.
 
 THE SPIRIT 
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 MfSiiction. 
 
 What is this world? — Thy school, oh, misery! 
 Our only lesson is, to learn to suffer ; 
 And he who knows not that, was born for nothing. 
 Revenge. Young. 
 
 But O ! the accent of my voice is changed : 
 You cannot know it now in misery. 
 There was a time, in the gay spring of life, 
 When every note was as the mounting lark's, 
 Merry, and cheerful, to salute the morn ; 
 When all the day was made of melody. 
 But it is past, that day is spent, and done, 
 
 B
 
 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 And it has long been night, long night with me. 
 I have been happier, you have known me so. 
 Fate of Capua. Southerne. 
 
 An awful melancholy 
 
 Broods o'er my mind. If thou wouldst speak to me, 
 Talk of despair, and death, and groaning ghosts, 
 That glide through dreary vaults, and make their moan 
 At midnight o'er some solitary tomb- 
 Behold, and in this fatal volume read 
 How vain is Beauty, noble birth how vain ! 
 And as thou seest me weeping o'er him thus, 
 Learn to improve thy mind, nor ask the gods 
 Glory or power, since thou hast seen such woes 
 Heap'd on the head of an afflicted Queen. — 
 Do you mourn, too, that thus you stand around 
 Like marble statues fix'd? Your grief, alas, 
 Is a mere mockery, compared to mine ! 
 Had you but half my cause — What sound was that, 
 Doleful, and sad, which breaks upon my ear? 
 — 'Twas the low murmur of the midnight echo. 
 That thro' the lengthen'd aisle breathesback my groans. 
 And swells the melancholy in my soul. 
 
 The Virgin Queen. Barford.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 ONE BORN IN AFFLICTION. 
 
 Her's was the rudest welcome to this world 
 That e'er was prince's child: Born on the sea, 
 Hence she is call'd Marina, in a tempest, 
 When the high-working billows kiss'd the moon, 
 And the shrill whistle of the boatswain's pipe 
 Seem'd as a whisper in the ear of death; 
 Born when her mother died. 
 
 Marina. Lillo. 
 
 OF RUINED BEAUTY. 
 
 My form, alas! has long forgot to please; 
 The scene of beauty and delight is changed; 
 No roses bloom upon my fading cheek, 
 Nor laughing graces wanton in my eyes; 
 But haggard grief, lean-looking, sallow care, 
 And pining discontent, a rueful train, 
 Dwell on my brow, all hideous and forlorn. 
 
 Jane Shore. Rowe. 
 
 OF A SON. 
 
 For me — my portion provide in Heaven: 
 My root is earth'd, and I, a desolate branch, 
 Left scatter'd in the highway of the world — 
 Trod under foot, that might have been a column 
 Mainly supporting our demolish'd house. 
 
 Fatal Doiery. Massinger and Field.
 
 THE S PI 11 IT OF 
 
 OF A KING, SUSPECTING THE VIRTUE OF HIS QUEEN. 
 
 Mariamne ! — With my setting sun, 
 
 111 fortune now projects a deeper shade: 
 
 1 wish I were as I had never been; 
 Number'd among the dead! 
 
 Where's the monarch now ? 
 
 The vulgar call us gods, and fondly think 
 
 That kings are cast in more than mortal moulds : 
 
 Alas! they little know that when the mind 
 
 Is cloy'd with pomp, our taste is pall'd to joy ; 
 
 But grows more sensible of grief or pain. 
 
 The stupid peasant with as quick a sense 
 
 Enjoys the fragrance of a rose, as I ; 
 
 And his rough hand is proof against the thorn. 
 
 Which, rankling in my tender skin, would seem 
 
 A viper's tooth. O blissful povei'ty! 
 
 Nature, too partial ! to thy lot assigns 
 
 Health, freedom, innocence, and downy peace. 
 
 Her real goods: and only mocks the great 
 
 With empty pageantries! Had I been born 
 
 A cottager, my homely bowl had flow'd 
 
 Secure from pois'nous drugs; but now, my wife!- 
 
 Let me, good Heav'n! forget that guilty name, 
 
 Or madness will ensue 
 
 Mariamne. Fej 
 
 NTON.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 OF A WOMAN DESERTED BY FRIENDS. 
 
 Yet, yet endure, nor murmur, O, my soul! 
 
 For are not thy transgressions great and numberless? 
 
 Do they not cover thee like rising floods. 
 
 And press thee like a weight of waters down? 
 
 Wait then with patience, till the circling hours 
 
 Shall bring the time of thy appointed rest, 
 
 And lay thee down in death. 
 
 And, hark! methinks the roar, that late pursued me, 
 
 Sinks like the murmurs of a falling wind. 
 
 And softens into silence. Do revenge 
 
 And malice then grow weary, and forsake me ? 
 
 My guard, too, that observed me still so close. 
 
 Tire in the task of their inhuman oftice, 
 
 And loiter far behind. Alas ! I faint. 
 
 Receive me, thou cold earth, 
 
 Thou common parent, take me to thy bosom, 
 And let me rest with thee. 
 
 Enter Belmoiir. 
 
 Bel. Upon the ground! 
 Thy miseries can never lay thee lower. 
 Look up, thou poor afflicted one! thou mourner, 
 Whom none has comforted! Where are thy friends, 
 The dear companions of thy joyful days. 
 Whose hearts thy warm prosperity made glad, 
 Whose arms were taught to grow like ivy round thee. 
 And bind thee to their bosoms? Thus, with thee.
 
 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Thus let us live, and let us die, they said. 
 Now where are they? 
 
 Ah, Belmour! where, indeed? They stand 
 
 aloof. 
 And view my desolation from afar! 
 
 Jane Shore. Rowe. 
 
 OF A GAMBLER. 
 
 Like a man dreaming of death and horrors. — When 
 they led him to his cell, he flung himself upon a 
 wretched bed, and lay speechless till day-break. I 
 spoke to him, l)ut he would not hear me; and when I 
 persisted, he raised his hand at me, and knit his brow 
 so — I thought he would have struck me. I bid him 
 be of comfort. — Be gone, old wretch, says he. My 
 wife! my child! my sister! I have undone them all, 
 and will know no comfort! Then, falling upon his 
 knees, he imprecated curses upon himself. 
 
 The Gamester. Moore. 
 
 OF A gambler's wife. 
 
 Can Heaven be just, and these dear infants wretched? 
 What have they done, to merit all this misery? 
 Brought forth in sorrow! nourish'd in distress! 
 Their hopes, despair! their very living, death! 
 O fatal fruits of gaming! baneful mischief. 
 That, like contagion, spreads itself around, 
 And blasts alike the innocent and guilty!
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 Dire punishment, that, for a father's folly, 
 Reaches the souls and fortune of his offsprino- ! 
 Fatal Extravagance. Hill and Mitchell. 
 
 OF PRIDE HUMBLED. 
 
 'Tis misery enough to be reduced 
 To the low level of the common herd, 
 Who, born to beg-g^'ry, envy all above them ; 
 But 'tis the curse of curses, to endure 
 The insolent contempt of those we scorn. 
 
 Fatal Curiosity. Lillo, 
 
 OF EARLY MANHOOD. 
 
 There's not a wretch that lives on common charity, 
 But's happier than me: for I have known 
 The luscious sweets of plenty; every night 
 Have slept with soft content about my head, 
 And never waked but to a joyful morning: 
 Yet now must fall like a full ear of corn, 
 Whose blossom 'scap'd, yet's wither'd in the ripening. 
 Venice Preserved. Otway. 
 
 A BENEFIT EVEN FROM AFFLICTION. 
 
 Distress is Virtue's opportunity ; 
 We only live, to teach us how to die. 
 
 Fate of Capua. Southerne.
 
 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 OVER A MURDERED WIFE. 
 
 Come, thou delicious treasure of mankind, 
 To him that knows what virtuous woman is. 
 And can discreetly love her! The whole world 
 Yields not a jewel like her; ransack rocks 
 And caves beneath the deep: Oh, thou fair spring 
 Of honest and religious desires. 
 Fountain of weeping honour, I will kiss thee. 
 After Death's marble lip ! 
 The Second Maiden's Tragedy. Anonymous. 
 
 OF A PENITENT WOMAN. 
 
 Why art thou slow, thou rest of trouble, Death, 
 
 To stop a wretch's breath, 
 That calls on thee, and offers her sad heart 
 
 A prey unto thy dart ? 
 I am not young, nor fair ; be therefore bold : 
 
 Sorrow hath made me old, 
 Deform'd, and wrinkled ; all that I can crave. 
 
 Is quiet in my grave. 
 Such as live happy, hold long life a jewel ; 
 
 But to me thou art cruel, 
 If thou end not my tedious misery. 
 
 And I soon cease to be. 
 Strike, and strike home, then ; Pity unto me. 
 
 In one short hour's delay, is tyranny.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 Thus, like a dying swan, to a sad tune 
 I sing my own dirge, would a requiem follow, 
 Which in my penitence I despair not of, 
 This brittle glass of life, already broken 
 With misery, the long and quiet sleep 
 Of death would be most welcome. — Yet, before 
 We end our pilgrimage, 'tis fit that we 
 Should leave corruption, and foul sins behind us. 
 But with wash'd feet, and hands, the heathens dare not 
 Enter their profane temples ; and for me 
 To hope my passage to eternity 
 Can be made easy, till I have shook off 
 The burden of my sins in free confession. 
 Aided with sorrow, and repentance for them, 
 Is against reason. 'Tis not laying by 
 My royal ornaments, or putting on 
 This garment of humility and contrition ; 
 The throwing dust and ashes on my head; 
 Long fasts to tame my proud flesh, that can make 
 Atonement for my soul; that must be humbled; 
 All outward signs of penitence, else, are useless. 
 Emperor of the East. Massinoer.
 
 10 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 ^mtittton. 
 
 -What is ambition, sir? 
 -The lust of power. 
 
 Like glory, boy, it licenses to kill ; 
 A strong temptation to do bravely ill; 
 A bait to draw the bold and backward in, 
 The dear-bought recompence of highest sin : 
 For when to death we make the conquer'd yield, 
 What are we but the murd'rers of the field ? 
 
 In gallant souls, ambition is no more 
 
 The bawd of empire, or the lust of pow'r. 
 Than lawful mirth is lewdness in a bride. 
 Or neatness, in a vestal virgin, pride. 
 
 Sophonisba. Lee. 
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF 
 
 What! at expense of pow'r? why, Lucifer 
 Drew half the host of Heav'n t' espouse his cause, 
 (So tempting is the bait of sov'reign pow'r,) 
 They of ethereal mould ! How then should man. 
 Gross man, resist? the ape of angels fall'n. 
 
 Belisarius. W. Phillips. 
 
 THE SWAY OF 
 
 This sov'reign passion, scornful of restraint, 
 E'en from the birth affects supreme command,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 11 
 
 Swells in the breast, and with resistless force 
 O'erbears each gentler motion of the mind. 
 As when a deluge overspreads the plains, 
 The wand'ring rivulet, and silver lake. 
 Mix undistinguish'd with the gen'ral roar. 
 
 Irene. Dr. Johnson. 
 
 THE NOBLENESS OF 
 
 Ambition is the stamp impress'd by Heaven 
 To mark the noblest minds; with active heat 
 Inform'd, they mount the precipice of power, 
 Grasp at command, and tower in quest of empire ; 
 While vulgar souls compassionate their cares. 
 Gaze at their height and tremble at their dang-er. 
 Thus meaner spirits with amazement mark 
 The varying seasons, and revolving skies, 
 And ask, what guilty power's rebellious hand 
 Rolls with eternal toil the pond'rous orbs? 
 While some archangel, nearer to perfection, 
 In easy state presides o'er all their motions, 
 Directs the planets with a careless nod. 
 Conducts the sun, and regulates the spheres. 
 Irene. Dr. Johnson. 
 
 THE DANGER OF 
 
 Why was my choice ambition? The worst ground 
 A wretch can build on ! 'tis, indeed, at distance, 
 A goodly prospect, tempting to the view;
 
 12 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 The height delights us, and the mountain top 
 Looks beautiful, because 'tis nigh to Heav'n; 
 But we ne'er think how sandy 's the foundation, 
 What storm will batter, and what tempest shake us. 
 f^enice Preserved. Otway. 
 
 THE SUPREME PASSION. 
 
 Ambition, like a torrent, ne'er looks back — 
 
 And is a swelling and the last affection 
 
 A high mind can put off; being both a rebel 
 
 Unto the soul and reason, and enforceth 
 
 All laws, all conscience, treads upon religion. 
 
 And offereth violence to nature's self. 
 
 Catiline. Ben. Jonson. 
 
 DESPOTIC ambition DEFEATED BY VIRTUE. 
 
 In ev'ry climate, and in ev'ry age. 
 
 Where arts and arms and public virtue flourish'd. 
 
 Ambition, dangerous only to itself, 
 
 Crush'd in its infancy, still found a grave 
 
 Where it attempted to erect a throne. 
 
 The Christian Hero. Lillo. 
 
 VANITY OF 
 
 The bus'ness of our life's a senseless thing; 
 Why burns th' ambitious man to be a king ? 
 Or to what purpose does the warrior call 
 For arms ? or gownmen bustle in the hall ?
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 13 
 
 Sport for the gods, they whirl us here and there, 
 As boys blow wat'ry bubbles in the air. 
 
 Sophonisba. Lee. 
 
 Like a rash boy, who a steep mountain climbs. 
 Big with brave thoughts of reaching Heav'n betimes. 
 But having reach'd the top, he views aloof. 
 The fancied Heav'n, and all the painted roof. 
 Svphonisba. Lee. 
 
 Beauty 1 which Jove could draw from Heaven's high 
 
 tower, 
 When nymphs in groves his godhead stoop'd t' adore. 
 So much he loved delight, above almighty power : 
 In his deep blood the soft contagion ran. 
 Staining his son, that vast immortal man, 
 The great Alcides, who a distaff made 
 Of that huge club, which nations could invade; 
 Would in his mistress' glass kind looks devise, 
 Less'ning the glories of his god-like eyes. 
 And tun'd his mighty voice to tender cries. 
 
 Sophonisba. Lee.
 
 14 THE J-PIRIT OF 
 
 INNOCENT. 
 
 -This blushing artless creature. 
 
 Whose mirror scarce has taiioht her 
 Whether she's fair or no — whose eyes unskilful 
 Shine upon all alike, nor ever learnt 
 The art, the heav'nly husbandry of beauty. 
 
 Themistocles. Madden. 
 
 Oh! how unhappy is the fate of beauty? 
 It tempts the ruflian hand of violence, 
 And, like the diamond, sparkling in the mine, 
 With its own lustre lights the greedy spoiler. 
 Ilenry and Rosamond. Hawkins. 
 
 TEMPTS AND IS TEMPTED. 
 
 I swear I trust it, but I fear your beauty : 
 'Tis a fair fruit that hangs upon the bough ; 
 Tempts, and is tempted. 
 
 'Tis, indeed, a fruit, 
 
 Seen and desired of all, while yet unpull'd. 
 But can be gather'd by one only hand. 
 
 Love Triumphant. Dryden. 
 
 IDOLATRY OF 
 
 Mark how she whispers, like a western wind 
 Which trembles thro' the forest; she, whose eyes
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 15 
 
 Meet ready victory where'er they glance ; 
 Whom gazing crowds admire, whom nations court, 
 One who could change the worship of all climates, 
 And make a new religion where she comes: 
 Unite the differing faith of all the world, 
 To idolise her face. 
 
 And well she may: 
 
 Her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, her shape, her features. 
 Seem to be drawn by Love's own hand; by Love 
 Himself in love. 
 
 Love Triumphant. Dryden. 
 
 WITCHCRAFT OF 
 
 Her eyes have pow'r beyond Thessalian charms 
 To draw the moon from Heav'n ; for eloquence, 
 The sea-green syrens taught her voice their flatt'ry; 
 And, while she speaks, night steals upon the day, 
 Unmark'd of those that hear: then she's so charming, 
 Ao-e buds at sight of her, and swells to youth: 
 The holy priests gaze on her when she smiles; 
 And with heav'd hands forgetting gravity. 
 They bless her wanton eyes: even I, who hate her, 
 With a malignant joy behold such beauty ; 
 And, while I curse, desire it. 
 
 All for Love. Dryden. 
 
 AFTER DEATH. 
 
 Oh, what is beauty that's so much adored? 
 A flattering glass that cozens her beholders;
 
 16 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 One night of death makes it look pale and horrid: 
 The dainty preserved flesh liow soon it moulders! 
 To love it, living, it bewitcheth many, 
 But, after life, is seldom heard of any. 
 Tlie Second Maiden's Tragedy. Anonymous. 
 
 With all his tumid boasts, is like the sword-fish, 
 Who only wears his weapon in his mouth. 
 
 Themistocles. Madden. 
 
 Peace, you tinder-boxes. 
 
 That only carry matter to make a flame, 
 
 Which will consume you. 
 
 Rollo. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 (tiiv. 
 
 description of one. 
 
 This ancient city, Memphis the renown'd. 
 
 Almost coeval with the sun himself. 
 
 And boasting strength scarce sooner to decay. 
 
 How wanton sits she amid Nature's smiles 
 
 Nor from her highest turret has to view
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 17 
 
 But golden landscapes, and luxuriant scenes, 
 A waste of wealth, the storehouse of the world! 
 Here, fruitful vales far stretching fly the sight, 
 There, sails unnumber'd whiten all the stream ; 
 While from the banks full twenty thousand cities 
 Survey their pride, and see their gilded towers 
 Float on the waves, and break against the shore : 
 To crown the whole, this rising pyramid 
 Lengthens in air, and ends among the stars; 
 While every other object shrinks beneath 
 Its mighty shade, and lessens to the view. 
 
 Busiris. Young. 
 
 Conscience, what art thou? thou tremendous power! 
 
 Who dost inhabit us without our leave ; 
 
 And art, within ourselves, another self, 
 
 A master self, that loves to domineer 
 
 And treat the monarch frankly as the slave. 
 
 How dost thou light a torch to distant deeds ! 
 
 Make the past, present; and the future frown! 
 
 How, ever and anon, awake the soul. 
 
 As with a peal of thunder, to strange horrors. 
 
 In this long restless dream, which idiots hug, 
 
 Nay, wise men flatter with the name of life ! 
 
 The Brothers. Young.
 
 18 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 AN IDLE FEAR. 
 
 A fear they tie up fools in : nature's coward, 
 Tasting the blood, and chilling the full spirits. 
 With apprehension of mere clouds and shadows. 
 Rollo. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 HORRORS OF A GUILTY ONE. 
 
 Oh, hide me — from myself, if it be possible; for 
 while I bear my conscience in my bosom, though I 
 were hid where man's eye never saw, nor light e'er 
 dawned, 'twere all in vain. For, oh, that innate, that 
 impartial judge, will try, convict, and sentence me for 
 murder, and execute me with never-ending torments. 
 Behold these hands, all crimsoned o'er with my dear 
 uncle's blood. Here's a sight to make a statue start 
 with horror, or turn a living man into a statue! 
 George Barnwell. Lillo. 
 
 OTontent 
 
 When man has cast off his ambitious greatness. 
 And sunk into the sweetness of himself. 
 Built his foundation upon honest thoughts. 
 Not great but good desires his daily servants, 
 How quietly he sleeps! How joyfully
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 19 
 
 He wakes again, and looks on his possessions, 
 And from his wiUing labours feeds with pleasure! 
 Prophetess. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 Poor tho' he is, the man whose mind's at ease. 
 Beneath the straw-built roof enjoys his sleep; 
 At pinching hunger's importunity. 
 Epicure-like, devours his savoury fragment; 
 And, joyous, as the brain-sick reveller, 
 Quaffs down the unadulterated stream. 
 But O ! how bitter is the scanty morsel. 
 That, feeding life, but nourishes despair ! 
 
 Henry and Rosamond. Haatkins. 
 
 atountre* 
 
 With what delight we breathe our native air, 
 And tread the genial soil that bore us first ! 
 'Tis said, the world is ev'ry wise man's country; 
 Yet, after having view'd its various nations, 
 I'm weak enough, still to prefer my own. 
 To all I've seen beside. — You smile, my friend! 
 And think, perhaps, 'tis instinct more than reason 
 Why, be it so. Instinct preceded reason. 
 E'en in the wisest men, and may sometimes 
 Be much the better guide. But, be it either,
 
 ^0 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 [ must confess, that even death itself 
 Appear'd to me with twice its native horrors, 
 When apprehended in a foreign land. 
 Death is, no doubt, in ev'ry place the same : 
 Yet Nature casts a look towards home, and most, 
 Who have it in their power, choose to expire 
 Where they first drew their breath. 
 ■ Fatal Ciiriositi/. Lillo. 
 
 Know'st thou, Themistocles, that these thou speak'st to 
 Are men, born honest, free, and brave, as thou art? 
 Grecians and soldiers! — Men, whose dauntless souls 
 Have sought for glory in the fields of death, 
 And for their country's safety staked their blood ? 
 Barest thou then hope, because, oppress'd by fortune, 
 We are thy pris'ners now, that these vile chains 
 Should bow our souls so low, that we should pawn 
 Our sacred faith to Xerxes for his gold ? 
 No, Athens knows us for her faithful sons : 
 Thus low, thus wretched, still we own her cause, 
 And firm, unalterably firm to honour, 
 We stand unchanged, amidst the shocks of fate, 
 Of fate and thee, Themistocles. 
 
 Themistocles. Madden. 
 
 arourt0» 
 
 It is a golden circle: 
 
 But, like the Carthaginian hero's ring,
 
 ENGLISH TUAGEDY. 21 
 
 It carries poison: 'tis a fatal circle, 
 Upon whose magic skirts a thousand devils. 
 In crystal forms, sit, tempting innocence, 
 And beckon early Virtue from its centre. 
 
 Nero. Lee. 
 
 Thy father's poverty has made thee happy; 
 
 For though, 'tis true, this solitary life 
 
 Suits not with youth and beauty, O, my child, 
 
 Yet 'tis the sweetest guardian to protect 
 
 Chaste names from court aspersions; there, a lady, 
 
 Tender and delicate in years and graces. 
 
 That doats upon the charms of ease and pleasure, 
 
 Is ship-wreck'd on the shore; for 'tis much safer 
 
 To trust the ocean in a leaking ship, 
 
 Than follow greatness in the wanton rites 
 
 Of luxury and sloth. 
 
 The Laws of Candij. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 Thou canst command when danger is not near. 
 And walk the tame and lazy round of peace. 
 But darest thou search thy foe, or free thy friend, 
 Thro' blood and horror in the sweat of war ? 
 Would'st thou not wish for these protecting gates, 
 Long for the lowest cell in all this shop 
 Of darkness, to conceal thy coward paleness? 
 Sir Walter Rakish. Sewell.
 
 22 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 LYING, THE SUBTERFUGE OF A COWARD. 
 
 Lying-'s a certain mark of cowardice : 
 
 And, when the tongue forgets its honesty, 
 
 The heart and hand may drop their functions too, 
 
 And nothing worthy be resolved or done. 
 
 Oronooko. Southerne. 
 
 But how to think of what the living know not. 
 And the dead cannot, or else may not tell ! 
 What art thou, oh! thou great mysterious terror? 
 The way to thee we know ! Disease, famine, 
 Sword, fire, and all thy ever-open g'ates, 
 That day and night stand ready to receive us. 
 But what's beyond them? — Who will draw that veil? 
 Yet Death's not there! — No; 'tis a point of time. 
 The vergre 'twixt mortal and immortal beings. 
 It mocks our thoughts. On this side all is life : 
 And when we've reach'd it, in that very instant, 
 'Tis past the thinking of. 
 
 Siege of Damascus. Hughes. 
 
 Sooner or later, all things pass away, 
 
 And are no more. The beggar and the king.
 
 KNGLISH TRAGEDY. 23 
 
 With equal steps, tread forward to their end: 
 The reconciling- grave 
 
 Swallows distinction first, that made us foes; 
 Then all alike lie down in peace together. 
 
 Isabella. Southerne. 
 
 This vast and solid earth, that blazing sun, 
 
 Those skies, through which it rolls, must all have end. 
 
 What then is man? the smallest part of nothing. 
 
 Day buries day; month, month; and year, the year. 
 
 Our life is but a chain of many deaths; 
 
 Can then death's self be fear'd ? our life much rather. 
 
 Life is the desart, life the solitude. 
 
 Death joins us to the great majority: 
 
 'Tis to be borne to Platos and to Caesars; 
 
 'Tis to be great for ever; 
 
 'Tis pleasure, 'tis ambition, then, to die. 
 
 Revenge. Young. 
 
 -But, madam, do you know what 'tis to die? 
 -Yes, 'tis to lay these clogs our bodies by, 
 
 And be removed to blest eternity. 
 By death, relief from all our griefs we gain, 
 And by one put an end to years of pain ; 
 By that, we in one minute find out more. 
 Than all the busy gownmen study for;
 
 24 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Who, after in dull search they've ag-es spent, 
 Learn nothing but to know they're ignorant. 
 Alcibiades. Otway. 
 
 For, in the silent g-rave, no conversation, 
 
 No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers, 
 
 No careful father's counsel, nothing's heard, 
 
 Nor nothing is, but all oblivion, 
 
 Dust, and an endless darkness : and dare you, woman, 
 
 Desire this place r 
 
 'Tis of all sleeps the sw^eetest. 
 
 Children begin it to us, strong men seek it. 
 
 And kings, from height of all their painted glories*, 
 
 Fall, like spent exhalations, to this centre; 
 
 And those are fools that fear it, or imagine 
 
 A fevp unhandsome pleasures, or life's profits, 
 
 Can recompence this place, and mad that stay it; 
 
 Till ag-e blow out their ligfhts, or rotten humours 
 
 Bring them dispersed to th' earth. 
 
 Thierry Sf Theodoret. Beaumont & Fletcher. 
 
 OF BEAUTY. 
 
 A deadly cold has froze the blood, 
 The pliant limbs grow stiff, and lose their use, 
 And all the animating fire is* quench'd; 
 E'en beauty too is dead; an ashy pale
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 25 
 
 Grows o'er the roses, the red lips have lost 
 Their fragrant hue, for want of that sweet breath 
 That bless'd them with its odours as it pass'd. 
 Tamerlane. Rowe. 
 
 Could I now send for one to renew heat 
 Within her bosom, that were a fine workman, 
 I should but too much love him; but, alas! 
 'Tis as impossible for living fire 
 To take hold there, as for dead ashes 
 To burn back again 
 
 Into those hard tough bodies whence they fell. — 
 Life is removed from her now, as the warmth 
 Of the bright sun from us, when it makes winter. 
 And kills with unkind coldness; so is't yonder. 
 Second Maiden's Tragedy. Anonymous. 
 
 For ever gone ; all her sweet stock of breath 
 Spent in one sigh; the riot of rich Death. 
 
 Mithridates. Lee.
 
 26 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 OF A PHILOSOPHEK. 
 
 O eloquent! O just! O mighty Death! 
 Who shall recount the wonders of thy hand? 
 Whom none could counsel, thou hast well advised, 
 And whisper'd wisdom to the deafest ear : 
 Whom all have trembled at, thy mig-ht has dared; 
 Whom all have flatter'd, thou alone hast scorn'd, 
 And swept poor deified mortality 
 With common ashes to an humble grave. 
 Long' have I pluck'd thy terrors from my heart, 
 Call'd thee companion in my active life, 
 My solitary days, and studious hours, 
 Made thee familiar to my couch as sleep. 
 Come, then, my g'uest: — The guilty soul depends 
 'Twixt doubt and fear: — But thou and I are friends. 
 Sir I'Valter Raleigh. Sewell.- 
 
 OF A VIRTUOUS KING. 
 
 His death, my daughter, was that happy period 
 
 Which few attain. The duties of his day 
 
 Were all discharged; 
 
 Calm as evening skies 
 
 Was his pure mind, and lighted up with hopes 
 
 That open Heaven ; when, for his last long sleep 
 
 Timely prepared, a lassitude of life, 
 
 A pleasing weariness of mortal joy. 
 
 Fell on his soul, and down lie sunk to rest. 
 
 Tanrrcd. Thomson.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 27 
 
 OF A GAMESTER. 
 
 Why there's an end then; I have judged deHbe- 
 rately, and the result is death! How the self-mur- 
 derer's account may stand, I know not; but this I 
 know — the load of hateful life oppresses me too 
 much! — The horrors of my soul are more than I can 
 bear! [Offers to kneel.~\ Father of mercy! — I cannot 
 pray — Despair has laid his iron hand upon me, and 
 sealed me for perdition — Conscience! conscience! 
 thy clamours are too loud! — Here's that shall silence 
 thee. [Takes a phial out of his pockety and looks atit.^ 
 Thou art most friendly to the miserable. Come, then, 
 thou cordial for sick minds — come to my heart. 
 [Drinks.~\ Oh, that the grave would bury memory 
 as well as body! For if the soul sees and feels the 
 sufferings of those dear ones it leaves behind, the 
 Everlasting has no vengeance to torment it deeper — 
 I'll think no more on't — Reflection comes too late — 
 Once there was a time for't — but now 'tis past. 
 Gamester. Moore. 
 
 OF A VIRTUOUS MAN. 
 
 -He is dead. 
 
 And nothing lives but death of every goodness. 
 Rollo. Beaumont and Fletchek.
 
 28 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 NOT APPREHENDED BY THE GOOD. 
 
 The name of Death was never terrible 
 
 To him that knew to live; nor the loud torrent 
 
 Of all afflictions, singing as they swim, 
 
 A gall of heart but to a guilty conscience: 
 
 Whilst we stand fair, though by a two-edged storm 
 
 We find untimely falls, like early roses 
 
 Bent to the earth we bear our native sweetness. 
 
 The Double Marriage. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 Death is unwelcome never, 
 
 Unless it be to tortured minds and sick souls, 
 That make their own hells: it is such a benefit 
 When it comes crown'd with honour, shews so sweet too, 
 Though they paint it ugly, that's but to restrain us — 
 For every living thing would love it else, 
 Fly boldly to their peace ere Nature call'd them; 
 The rest we have from labour and from trouble 
 Is some incitement: every thing alike, 
 The poor slave that lies private has his liberty. 
 As amply as his master, in that tonib; — 
 The earth as light upon him, and the flowers 
 That grow about him smell as sweet, and flourish; 
 But when we love with honour to our ends, 
 When memory and virtues are our mourners, 
 What pleasures there! they're infinite, Evanthe. 
 A IVijc for (I Month. Beaumont and Fletcher.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 29 
 
 -Is life so sweet. 
 
 With all its pains, that Death's great writ of ease 
 Should be so dreadful to us, which is but 
 Kind Nature's alms, to Fortune's wretched beggars ? 
 Sure he, who through his life, like us, hath scorn'd 
 (When tempted) to shake off the human nature, 
 The awe of Virtue, and the love of Ileav'n, 
 Can never tremble, when his honour calls. 
 And bids him quit this veil of flesh and misery! 
 All we should fear is, while we act the part 
 Of men, we sink not from the glorious character; 
 Or, by some vile or vicious act, disgrace 
 The noble human being. — If we've fear'd that. 
 Then, unappall'd, our hearts may face Death's terrors. 
 Themistoch's. Madden. 
 
 EQUALITY OF 
 
 -Talk not of low condition. 
 
 And of my public rank; when life or death 
 Becomes the question, all distinctions vanish ; 
 Then the first monarch and the lowest slave 
 On the same level stand, in this the sons 
 Of equal Nature all. 
 
 Edicard and Eleonora. Thomson.
 
 30 THE SPIKIT OF 
 
 That fear is base 
 
 Of death, when that death doth but life displace 
 Out of her place of earth : you only dread 
 The stroke, and not what follows when you're dead ; 
 There is the fear indeed. 
 
 The Virgin Martyr. Massinger. 
 
 'Tis not the stoic's lessons got by rote. 
 The pomp of words, and pedant dissertations, 
 That can sustain thee in that hour of terror: 
 Books have taught cowards to talk nobly of it, 
 But when the trial comes they stand aghast. 
 
 Fair Penitent. Rowe. 
 
 OF GUILT. 
 
 Revolted all? Support me, for I go. 
 My soul is on the beach, and straight must launch 
 Into the abyss of the black sea of death. 
 Where furies stand upon the smoky rocks. 
 Prepared to meet one greater than themselves. 
 Here, lay me bleeding by these murder'd lovers; 
 And, oh, when I am dead, let Sorrow stalk 
 In sacred silence to my gaping tomb. 
 Fororet that ever Mithridates was;
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 31 
 
 No tongue relate the deeds this hand has done ; 
 Let thought be still, or work beneath the ground! 
 But oh, he's come : cold tyrant, I obey, 
 And hug thy dart, that bears my life away. 
 
 Mithridates. Lee. 
 
 BY POISON. 
 
 Now mourn, now weep. O, I will catch your tears, 
 
 And drink the precious drops: I burn, I burn; 
 
 Fall, fall, you gentle rills, you melting show'rs; 
 
 Call all the winds to fan my furious fires; 
 
 Bring the cold north, I'll kiss his out-blown cheeks. 
 
 Upon my flaming breast I'll lay his head. 
 
 And hug him in my heart, for he is cold ; 
 
 With my hot arms I'll clasp his frosty limbs. 
 
 And twine about him like a wanton girl. 
 
 Nero. Lee. 
 
 A BLESSING. 
 
 Death is a blessing, and a thing so far 
 
 'J 
 
 Above that worst of all our frailties, fear. 
 It claims our joy, since by it we put on 
 The top of happiness, perfection. 
 
 Alcibiades. Otway.
 
 32 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 
 
 Oh, Death! thou strang-e, mysterious power, seen 
 every day, yet never understood but by the incom- 
 municative dead, what art thou? The extensive 
 mind of man, that with a thought circles the earth's 
 vast globe, sinks to the centre, or ascends above the 
 stars; that worlds exotic finds, or thinks it finds; thy 
 thick clouds, attempts to pass in vain ; lost and be- 
 wildered in the horrid gloom, defeated she returns, 
 more doubtful than before, of nothing certain but of 
 labour lost. 
 
 George Barnwell. Lillo. 
 
 I'm here ; and thus, the shades of nig-ht around me, 
 
 I look as if all hell were in my heart, 
 
 And I in hell. Nay, surely, 'tis so with me! — 
 
 For, every step I tread, methinks some fiend 
 
 Knocks at my breast, and bids it not be quiet. 
 
 I've heard how desperate wretches, like myself, 
 
 Have wander'd out at this dead time of night 
 
 To meet the foe of mankind in his walk: 
 
 Sure I'm so cursed, that, though of Heav'n forsaken, 
 
 No minister of darkness cares to tempt me. 
 
 Venice Preserved, Otway.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 33 
 
 Why should I study a defence, or comfort, 
 
 In whom black guilt and misery, if balanced, 
 
 I know not which would turn the scale ? Look upward 
 
 I dare not; for should it but be believed 
 
 That I (dyed deep in hell's most horrid colours) 
 
 Should dare to hope for mercy, it would leave 
 
 No check or feeling, in men innocent. 
 
 To catch at sins, the devil ne'er taught mankind yet. 
 
 No, I must downward, downward, though repentance 
 
 Should borrow all the glorious wings of Grace, 
 
 My mountainous weight of sins would crack their pinions 
 
 And sink them to hell with me. 
 
 Renesado, Massinger. 
 
 ****** 
 
 There's nought so monstrous but the mind of man 
 In some conditions may be brought t'approve; 
 Theft, sacrilege, treason, and parricide, 
 When flatt'ring opportunity enticed, 
 And desperation drove, have been committed 
 By those who once would start to hear them named. 
 Fatal Curiosity. Lillo.
 
 34 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 or ONE SUMMONED BY THE EVIL SPIRIT, WITH WHOM 
 HE HAD MADE A COMPACT. 
 
 The sands run yet, O do not shake the glass! 
 
 \_The Devil shakes the glass. 
 I shall be thine too soon ! Could I repent, 
 Heav'n's not confined to moments; mercy, mercy! 
 
 1 see thy prayers dispersed into the winds, 
 
 And Heav'n has puff 'd them by : 
 I was an angel once, of foremost rank. 
 Stood next the shining throne, and wink'd but half, 
 So almost gazed I Glory in the face 
 That I could bear it, and stared farther in. 
 'Twas but a moment's pride, and yet I fell, 
 For ever fell; but man, base earth-born man, 
 Sins past a sum, and might be pardon'd more: 
 And yet 'tis just, for we were perfect light, 
 And saw our crimes ; man, in his body's mire, 
 Half-soul, half-clod, sinks blindfold into sin, 
 Betray'd by frauds without, and lusts within. 
 
 Then I have hope. 
 
 Not so; I preach'd on purpose 
 
 To make thee lose this moment of thy prayer : 
 Thy sands creep low — Despair, despair, despair! 
 
 Where am I now ? Upon the brink of life, 
 
 The gulf before me, devils to push me on, 
 And Heav'n behind me closing all its doors. 
 A thousand years for ev'ry hour I've pass'd, 
 O could I 'scape so cheap! But ever, ever,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 35 
 
 Still to begin an endless round of woes, 
 To be renew'd for pains, and last for hell? 
 Yet can pains last, when bodies cannot last? 
 Can earthy substance endless flames endure ? 
 Or when one body wears and flits away. 
 Do souls thrust forth another crust of clay. 
 To fence and guard their tender forms from fire ? — 
 I feel my heart-strings rend — I'm here — I'm gone. 
 Thus men, too careless of their future state, 
 Dispute, know nothing, and believe too late. 
 Duke of Guise. Dryden and Lee. 
 
 OF A TRAITOR. 
 
 Oh, merciless! 
 
 Yet, righteous powers, what claim have I to mercy ? 
 
 Did I shew mercy, on this fatal morn. 
 
 To my poor bleeding country, when this arm 
 
 Made widows childless? — Darest thou, then, bold 
 
 wretch, 
 Darest thou agfainst the afflictinsr hand of Heaven 
 To rise and plead for mercy? — Rather bow thee 
 Low in the dust! Yes, thou shalt be my bed, 
 
 [ Throzss himself on the ground. 
 Cold earth! Here will I lie, till anguish end me I 
 Now rise, ye ghosts of my wrong'd countrymen ! 
 Ye spectres pale, rise with your gaping wounds, 
 And hideous yell! — Bring with you dire Despair, 
 Fi-om the dread caverns of eternal night. 
 Where deep she dwells with agonising groans,
 
 36 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 And sleepless terrors! Rise, array'd in blood, 
 Plant round your horrors, 'till affrighted reason 
 Start from my brain; and I, the prey of frenzy, 
 Like the fierce mountain-wolf in madness foaming, 
 Howl to the midnight moon ! 
 
 Athelstan. Hill. 
 
 OF A FORSAKEN WOMAN. 
 
 My sad soul 
 Has form'd a dismal, melancholy scene. 
 Such a retreat as I would wish to find; 
 An unfrequented vale, o'ergrown with trees 
 Mossy and old, within whose lonesome shade 
 Ravens and birds ill-omen'd only dwell ; 
 No sound to break the silence, but a brook 
 That bubbling winds among the weeds: no mark 
 Of any human shape that had been there. 
 Unless a skeleton of some poor wretch. 
 Who had long since, like me, by love undone. 
 Sought that sad place out to despair and die in. 
 Fair Petutent. Rowe. 
 
 OF A GAMBLER. 
 
 How like an outcast do I wander! Loaded with 
 every curse that drives the soul to desperation! The 
 midnight robber, as he walks his rounds, sees, by the 
 glimmering lamp, my frantic looks, and dreads to 
 meet me. Whither am I going? My home lies
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 37 
 
 there; all that is dear on earth it holds too; yet are 
 the gates of death more welcome to me — I'll enter it 
 no more. — 
 
 Gamester. Moore. 
 
 Why should I pause ? Nothing can be a crime 
 Which puts a stop to evil. A thousand men 
 May have been poor as I — and yet lived happy ! 
 Miseries, vv^e make ourselves, are borne with ease; 
 But he, who beggars his posterity, 
 Begets a race, to curse him. Profuse in ills. 
 He, propagating ruin, with his name, 
 Entails descent of anguish! — Every scorn. 
 Which wrings the soul of any future Belmour, 
 Whom want shall pinch the bones of, ages hence, 
 Will mark, with shame, my unforgotten grave. 
 And reach my guilty soul, where'er it wanders. 
 
 If to give misery to those, to whom 
 
 We once gave life, is an inhuman crime. 
 How can it be a sin to take life back. 
 And put an end to misery ? To live. 
 Is to be rack'd, if life must still be poor: 
 For poverty gives up the wise man's worth, 
 To the contempt of tasteless ignorance. 
 Oh! — could I feel no misery, but my own! 
 How easy were it for this sword to free me 
 From all that anguish which embitters life i 
 But when the grave has given my sorrows rest.
 
 38 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Where shall my miserable wife find comfort? 
 
 Unfriended, and alone, in want's bleak storm, 
 
 Not all the angelic virtues of her mind. 
 
 Will shield her from the unpitying world's derision. 
 
 Can it be kind to leave her so exposed, 
 
 And while I sleep in death, not dream of her? 
 
 Better a thousand times to lead her with me, 
 
 Through the dark doubtfulness of deep futurity ! 
 
 W^hate'er uncertain fate attends hereafter. 
 
 It can but be the worst of what is bad. 
 
 And that's our state already — It shall be done! 
 
 But how? that asks some thought — Death in itself 
 
 Comes soft and sweetly as an infant's sleep. 
 
 When Nature unalarm'd expects it not. 
 
 Fatal Extravagance. Hill and Mitchell. 
 
 OF A GUILTY WIFE. 
 
 Sweet peace of mind! whence pleasure borrows taste, 
 Daughter of Virtue, whither art thou fled? 
 To what calm cottage, to what blameless shade. 
 Far from these guilty walls ? O walls ! O race ! 
 To horrors doom'd ! Before me gathers fast 
 A deep'ning gloom, with unknown terrors big. 
 Not quite unknown. — Gods ! what a dreadful hint 
 Flash'd from Egisthus, when I saw him last! 
 And to what desperate action cannot safety, 
 Ambition, love, and vengeance drive the soul ? 
 Distraction lies that way — yet, how escape ? 
 Shame urges on behind, unpitying shame.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 39 
 
 That worst of furies, whose fell aspect frights 
 Each tender feeling from the human breast. 
 Goodness itself even turns in me to gall, 
 And serves alone to heighten my despair. 
 How kind was Agamemnon, generous, fond, 
 How more than usual mild! As if, on purpose. 
 To give these tortures their severest sting. 
 Happy! — compared to this tormented state. 
 Where honour only lives, with inward lash. 
 To punish guilt, — happy the harden'd wretch. 
 Who feels no conscience, and who fears no crime ! 
 Oh horrid! horrid! Oh, flagitious thought! 
 How is it with the mind that can endure 
 A thought so dire ? — My sole remaining hope 
 Is death, kind Death, that amiable sleep, 
 Which wakes no more, at least to mortal care. 
 But then the dark hereafter that may come. 
 There is no anchor that against this storm. 
 This mighty sea of doubts and fears, can hold. 
 Hopeless I drive. One thought destroys another. 
 This stranger, too! Should it be Melisander — 
 Is there a fear, however idle, wild, 
 And even almost impossible, which guilt. 
 The feeble-hearted guilt, not entertains? 
 
 Agamemnon. Thomson. 
 
 THE KNELL OF 
 
 Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tolls 
 The sick man's passport in her hollow beak,
 
 40 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 And in the shadow of the silent night 
 Doth shake contagion from her sable wings. 
 
 The Jew of Malta. Marlow. 
 
 THE REFUGE OF 
 
 Fly with thy infamy to some dark cell, 
 Where, on the confines of eternal night. 
 Mourning, misfortune, cares, and anguish dwell ; 
 Where ugly shame hides her opprobrious head, 
 And death and hell detested rule maintain; 
 There howl out the remainder of thy life. 
 And wish thy name may be no more remember'd. 
 Fair Penitent. Rowe. 
 
 THE CALMNESS OF 
 
 She lives — but, oh, how bless'd 
 
 Are they which are no more \ By stealth I saw her : 
 Cast on the ground in mourning weeds she lies, 
 Her torn and loosen'd tresses shade her round. 
 Through which her face, all pale, as she were dead. 
 Gleams like a sickly moon. Too great her grief 
 For words or tears ; but, ever and anon, 
 After a dreadful, still, insidious calm, 
 Collecting all her breath, long, long suppress'd. 
 She sobs her soul out in a lengthen'd groan, 
 So sad, it breaks the hearts of all that hear. 
 And sends her maids in agonies away. 
 
 Busiris. Young.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 41 
 
 View this majestic ruin, and then judge, 
 By what remains, how excellent a pile 
 Grief hath defaced: absent to all things else, 
 And self-resign'd to silence and despair, 
 See — he appears his own sad monument. 
 
 Marina. Lillo. 
 
 THE FANTASIES OF 
 
 Still when the golden sun withdraws his beams. 
 And drowsy night invades the weary world, 
 Forth flies the god of dreams, fantastic Morpheus, 
 Ten thousand mimic phantoms fleet around him, 
 Subtle as air, and various in their natures; 
 Each has ten thousand thousand diff''rent forms. 
 In which they dance confused before the sleeper. 
 While the vain god laughs to behold what pain 
 Imaginary evils give mankind. 
 
 Ulysses. Rowe. 
 
 OF MITHRIDATES 
 
 Press'd with remorse, I rested on my couch, 
 And slept: but, oh, a dream so full of terror,
 
 42 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 The pale, the trembling' midnight ravisher 
 Ne'er saw, when cold Lucretia's mourning shadow 
 His curtains drew, and lash'd him in his eyes, 
 With her bright tresses dabbled in her blood, 
 
 Methought, by heav'nly order I was doom'd 
 
 To seek my fate alike in th' other world : 
 
 Straight, like a feather, I was borne by winds 
 
 To a steep promontory's top, from whence 
 
 I saw the very mouth of op'ning hell ; 
 
 Shooting so fast through the void caves of night, 
 
 I had not time to ponder of my passage. 
 
 I shot the lake of oaths, where fleetinsf g-hosts. 
 
 Whose bodies were unburied, begg'd for waftage: 
 
 Then was I thrown down the infernal courts, 
 
 Infinite fathoms, till I soar'd again 
 
 To the bright heav'nly plains, the happy fields. 
 
 After that heavenly sounds had charm'd my ears, 
 
 Methought I saw the spirits of my sons. 
 
 Slain by my jealousy of their ambition, 
 
 Who shriek'd. He's come! our cruel father's come! 
 
 Arm, arm! they cried, thro' all th' enamel'd grove; 
 
 Straight had their cries alarm'd the wounded host 
 
 Of all those Romans massacred in Asia: 
 
 I heard the empty clank of their thin arms. 
 
 And tender voices cry. Lead, Pompey, lead ! 
 
 Straight they came on, with chariots, horse and fooi : 
 
 When I had leisure to discern (heir chief.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 43 
 
 Methought, that Pompey was my son Ziphares; 
 Who cast his dreadful pile, and pierced my heart: 
 Then, such a din of death, and swords and javelins 
 Clatter'd about me, that I waked with terror, 
 And found myself extended on the floor. 
 
 Mithridates. Lee. 
 
 Thou subterranean sepulchre of peace ! 
 Thou home of horror! hideous nest of crimes! 
 Guilt's first sad stage in her dark road to hell! 
 Ye thick-barr'd sunless passages for air. 
 To keep alive the wretch that longs to die ! 
 Ye low-brow'd arches, through whose sullen gloom 
 Resound the ceaseless groans of pale despair ! 
 Ye dreadful shambles, caked with human blood! 
 Receive a guest, from far, far other scenes. 
 From pompous courts, from shouting victories, 
 Carousing festivals, harmonious bow'rs. 
 And the soft chains of heart-dissolving love. 
 
 Brothers. Young. 
 
 -How like 
 
 A prison's to a grave ! When dead, we are
 
 44 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 With solemn pomp brought thither; and our heirs 
 Mastering their joy in false dissembled tears, 
 Weep o'er the hearse : but earth no sooner covers 
 The earth brought thither, but they turn away 
 With inward smiles, the dead no more remember'd. 
 So, enter'd into a prison. 
 
 Maid of Honour. Massinger. 
 
 A FAMILY CONFINED IN ONE, AND CONDEMNED TO A 
 LINGERING DEATU BY HUNGER. 
 
 No food : And this the third arising sun. 
 
 But what have I to do with telling suns. 
 
 And measuring time ? That runs no more for me ! 
 
 Yet sure the Gods are good : I would think so, 
 
 If they would give me leave; 
 
 But virtue in distress, and vice in triumph 
 
 Make atheists of mankind. 
 
 Enter Cratesidea. 
 
 What comfort, mother ? 
 
 Crat. A soul, not conscious to itself of ill. 
 Undaunted courage, and a master-mind: 
 No comfort else but Death ; 
 Who, like a lazy master, stands aloof. 
 And leaves his work to the slow hands of Famine. 
 
 Cleom. All I would ask of Heav'n, 
 Is, but to die alone ; a single ruin; 
 But to die o'er and o'er, in each of you, 
 With my own hunger pinch'd, but pierced with yours!
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 45 
 
 Crat. Grieve not for me ! 
 
 Cleom. What! not for you, my mother! 
 I'm strangely tempted to blaspheme the Gods, 
 For giving me so good, so kind a parent: 
 And this is my return, to cause her death 
 
 Crat. Peace! your misfortunes cause it, not your 
 fault. 
 
 Enter Cleora, his wife. 
 
 Cleom. What! my Cleora? 
 I stretch'd my bounds as far as I could go, 
 To shun the sight of what I cannot help; 
 A flow'r witherinof on the stalk for want 
 Of nourishment from earth, and showers from Heaven ; 
 All I can give thee is but rain of eyes — \JViping his eyes. 
 
 Clear. Alas ! I have not wherewithal to weep : 
 My eyes grow dim, and, stiffen'd up with drought, 
 Can hardly roll and walk their feeble round. 
 
 Cleomenes. Dryden. 
 
 There is in princes' courts a lean-faced monster 
 Term'd Envy, reigning in unworthy breasts, 
 To fame's heroic sons. Such as know to cringe 
 With subtle motion to their prince's smiles, 
 Adore his footsteps and his awful nods, 
 And can, like asps, instil into his ears
 
 46 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 A sweet yet killing vcuoiii ; these thin souls, 
 When the blunt soldier has, on piles of wounds, 
 Built up his country's peace, whisper — Beware 
 In time, my lord, lest he do grow too great! 
 
 Albertus Wallenstein. Glapthgune. 
 
 See how the moon, through all th' unclouded sky, 
 Spreads her mild radiance, and descending dews 
 Revive the languid flowers; thus Nature shone 
 New from the Maker's hand, and fair array'd 
 In the bright colours of primeval spring; 
 When purity, while fraud was yet unknown, 
 Play'd fearless in th' inviolated shades. 
 This elemental joy, this gen'ral calm, 
 Is sure the smile of unoffended Heaven. 
 
 Irene. Dr. Johnson. 
 
 ****** 
 
 All is hush'd, as Nature wertj retired, 
 
 And the perpetual motion standing still. 
 
 So much she from her work appears to cease, 
 
 And ev'ry warring element's at peace; 
 
 All the wild herds are in their coverts couch'd ; 
 
 The fishes to their banks or ooze repair'd. 
 
 And to the murmurs of the waters sleep;
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 47 
 
 The feeling air's at rest, and feels no noise, 
 Except of some soft breaths among the trees, 
 Rocking the harmless birds that rest upon 'em. 
 Orphan. Otway. 
 
 Fame! What is that, if courted for herself? 
 Less than a vision; a mere sound, an echo, 
 That calls, with mimic voice, through vv^oods and 
 
 labyrinths. 
 Her cheated lovers; lost and heard by fits, 
 But never fix'd: a seeming nymph, yet nothing. 
 Siege of Damascus. Hughes. 
 
 ARDOUR OF — 
 
 No, let me purchase in my youth renovpn, 
 To make me loved and valued when I'm old ; 
 I would be busy in the world, and learn. 
 Not like a coarse and useless dunghill weed, 
 Fix'd to one spot, and rot just as I grow. 
 
 Orphan. Otway.
 
 48 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 SPEAKING OF HIS CHILD. 
 
 And yet who is the owner of a treasure, 
 
 Above all value, but without offence 
 
 May glory in the glad possession of it. 
 
 Nor let it in your excellence beget wonder, 
 
 Or any here, that, looking on the daughter, 
 
 I feast myself in the imagination 
 
 Of those sweet pleasures, and allow'd delights, 
 
 I tasted fi'om the mother, who still lives 
 
 In this her perfect model ; for she had 
 
 Such smooth and high arch'd brows, such sparkling 
 
 eyes. 
 Whose every glance stored Cupid's emptied quiver ; 
 Such ruby lips, and such a lovely brown, 
 Disdaining all adult'rate aids of art. 
 Kept a perpetual spring upon her face, 
 As Death himself lamented, being forced 
 To blast it with his paleness. 
 
 Unnatural Combat. Massingeu. 
 
 What pity 'tis the social heart of man, 
 
 Form'd to possess, and shine with heav'nly virtues,
 
 ENGLISH TUAGEDY. 49 
 
 Should license base distrust and fears of treachery! 
 
 Shun fear, it is the ague of the soul ! 
 
 A passion man created for himself, 
 
 For sure, that cramp of nature could not dwell 
 
 In the warm realms of glory! 
 
 Elfrid. Hill. 
 
 It was a fancied noise, for all is hush'd. 
 
 It bore the accent of a human voice. 
 
 It was thy fear, or else some transient wind 
 
 Whistling: throuorh hollows of this vaulted aisle. 
 We'll listen. 
 
 Hark! 
 
 No ; all is hush'd, and still as death. 'Tis dreadful ! 
 
 How rev'rend is the face of this tall pile, 
 Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads, 
 To bear aloft its arch, and pond'rous roof. 
 By its own weight made steadfast and immovable. 
 Looking tranquillity. It strikes an awe 
 And terror on my aching sight: the tombs 
 And monumental caves of death look cold. 
 And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart. 
 Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice; 
 Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear 
 Thy voice ; my own affrights me with its echoes. 
 The Mourning Bride. Congreve.
 
 50 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 MAKES IMAGINARY ILLS. 
 
 Ha! again that scream of woe ! 
 
 Thrice have I licard, thrice since the morning dawn'd 
 
 It hallooed loud, as if my guardian spirit 
 
 Call'd from some vaulted mansion, (Edipus? 
 
 Or is it but the work of melancholy ? 
 
 When the sun sets, shadows, that shew'd at noon 
 
 But small, appear most long and terrible ; 
 
 So when we think Fate hovers o'er our heads. 
 
 Our apprehensions shoot beyond all bounds. 
 
 Owls, ravens, crickets, seem the watch of death, 
 
 Nature's worst vermin scare her godlike sons. 
 
 Echoes, the very leavings of a voice. 
 
 Grow babbling ghosts, and call us to our graves : 
 
 Each mole-hill thought swells to a huge Olympus, 
 
 While we fantastic dreamers heave and pufF, 
 
 And sweat with an imagination's weight; 
 
 As if, like Atlas, with these mortal shoulders 
 
 We could sustain the burden of the world. 
 
 CEdipus. Dryden and Lee. 
 
 JFiMttv* 
 
 No flattery, boy! an honest man can't live by't; 
 It is a little sneaking art, which knaves 
 Use to cajole and soften fools withal.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 51 
 
 If tliou hast flattery in thy nature, out with't, 
 Or send it to a court, for there 'twill thrive. 
 
 Orphan. Otway. 
 
 A FLATTERER. 
 
 Bawd of the state, 
 
 No less than of thy master's lusts, I now 
 
 See nothing can redeem thee ! Barest thou mention 
 
 Affection, or a heart, that ne'er hadst any ? 
 
 Know'st not to love or hate, but by the scale. 
 
 As thy Prince dost before thee ; that dost never 
 
 Wear thine own face, but putt'st on his, and gather'st 
 
 Baits for his ears, liv'st wholly at his beck, 
 
 And, ere thou durst utter a thought, thine own 
 
 Must expect his; creep'st forth and wad'st into him. 
 
 As if thou wert to pass a ford, there proving 
 
 Yet if thy tongue may step on safely or no. 
 
 Then bring'st his virtue asleep, and stay'st the wheel 
 
 Both of his reason and judgment that they move not. 
 
 Whit'st over all his vices, and, at last, 
 
 Dost draw a cloud of words before his eyes, 
 
 Till neither he can see thee nor himself. 
 
 Rollo. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 FLATTERY AND TRUTH- 
 
 Beware of flatt'ry! 'tis a flow'ry weed. 
 
 Which oft offends the very idol-vice, 
 Whose shrine it would perfume.
 
 5% THE SPIRIT or 
 
 But rigid truth 
 
 Turns praise to incense, which the nicest sense 
 Of virtue may receive. 
 
 Mariamne. Fenton. 
 
 Of all wild beasts preserve me from a tyrant^ 
 And, all tame, a flatterer. 
 
 Sejanus. Ben. Jonson. 
 
 REBUKE TO FLATTEKERS. 
 
 Why do ye flatter a belief into me, 
 
 That I am all that is? — ' The world's my creature; 
 
 ' The trees bring forth their fruits when I say — 
 
 Summer ; 
 ' The wind, that knows no limit but his wildness, 
 ' At my command moves not a leaf; the sea, 
 ' With his proud mountain-waters envying Heaven, 
 ' When I say — stil! — runs into chrystal mirrors !' — 
 
 Why, ye bubbles, 
 
 That with my least breath break, no more remember'd \ 
 Ye moths, that fly about my flame and perish ! 
 Ye golden canker-worms, that eat my honours, 
 Living no longer than my spring of favour, — 
 Why do ve make me God — that can do nothing? 
 Valehtinian. Beaumont and Fletcher.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 53 
 
 CONTEMPT FOR 
 
 I'd rather hear a storm that threatens shipwreck, 
 Than bear a single breath of such vile flattery! — 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. Seweli.. 
 
 So prone to error is our mortal frame, 
 Time could not step without a trace of horroi , 
 If wary Nature on the human heart. 
 Amid its wild variety of passions, 
 Had not impress'd a soft and yielding sense. 
 That, when offences give resentment birth, 
 The kindly dews of penitence may raise 
 The seeds of mutual mercy and forgiveness. 
 
 Boadicea. Glover. 
 
 Great souls forgive not injuries, 'till Time 
 Has put their enemies into their power. 
 That they may show forgiveness is their own ; 
 For else, 'tis fear to punish that forgives: 
 The coward, not the king. 
 
 Duke of Guise. Dryden and Lee.
 
 54 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 If more be wanting' on so plain a theme, 
 Think on the slippery state of human things, 
 The strange vicissitudes and sudden turns 
 Of war, and fate recoiling on the proud. 
 To crush a merciless and cruel victor. 
 Think there are bounds of fortune, set above ; 
 Periods of time, and progress of success ; 
 Which none can stop before th' appointed limits, 
 And none can push beyond. 
 
 Love Triumphant. Dryden. 
 
 FORTUNE ACCOUNTED VIRTUE BY THE WORLD. 
 
 He who flies. 
 
 In war or peace, who his great purpose yields. 
 He is the only villain of this world: 
 But he who labours firm, and gains his point. 
 Be what it will; who crowns him with success; 
 He is the son of Fortune and of Fame, 
 By those admired, those specious villains most. 
 That else had bellow'd out reproach against him. 
 Agamemnon. Thomson.
 
 I 
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 55 
 
 Dost thou know what Friendship is? 
 
 'Tis not the fawning cringe, the studied smile, 
 
 The oil-smooth speech, big word, or solemn vow; 
 
 It is a sacred ray of heav'nly love: 
 
 Like that, rejoicing in the good of others, 
 
 It scorns the narrow bounds of selfishness. 
 
 And knows no bliss sincere, but social joy: 
 
 Simple and plain, it shines in naked truth, 
 
 And opens all the sluices of the heart. 
 
 Henry and Rosamond. Hawkins. 
 
 Friendship delights in equal fellowship, 
 Where parity of rank and mutual offices 
 Engage both sides alike, and keep the balance even. 
 'Tis irksome to a gen'rous grateful soul. 
 To be oppress'd beneath a load of favours, 
 Still to receive, and run in debt to Friendship, 
 AVithout the power of paying something back. 
 Ulysses. RowE.
 
 56 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 THE VIRTUE OF 
 
 There's virtue in thy Friendship, 
 
 Would make the saddest tale of sorrow^ pleasing, 
 Strengthen iny constancy, and w^elcome ruin. 
 Venice Preserved. Otway 
 
 APPEAL to — 
 
 Oh! think a little what thy heart is doing: 
 How, from our infancy, we hand in hand 
 Have trod the path of life in love together. 
 One bed has held us, and the same desires, 
 The same aversions, still employ'd our thoughts. 
 Whene'er had I a friend that was not Polydore's, 
 Or Polydore a foe that was not mine ? 
 E'en in the womb we embraced ; and wilt thou now. 
 For the first fault, abandon and forsake me ? 
 Leave me, amidst afflictions, to myself, 
 Plunged in the gulf of grief, and none to help me? 
 Orphan. Otway. 
 
 EARLY FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 In life's first spring, 
 
 Our green affections grew apace and prosper'd; 
 The genial summer swell'd our joyful hearts. 
 To meet and mix each growing fruitful wish. 
 Earl of Essex. Jones.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 57 
 
 O summer Friendship, 
 
 Whose flattering leaves, that shadow'd us in 
 Our yjrosperity, with the least gust drop off 
 In the autumn of adversity. 
 
 Maid of Honour. Massinger. 
 
 CONSTANT. 
 
 But how ffi'ows Gratitude to that desfree. 
 
 To be afflicted thus, and weep for me? 
 
 Alas! that is the least that I could do ; 
 
 To our worst enemies our tears we owe. 
 Friendship to such a noble height should rise, 
 As their devotion does in sacrifice. 
 Who think they shew a zeal remiss and small. 
 Except themselves as nobler victims fall. 
 With as great courage could I for you die. 
 And my triumphant soul to Heav'n should fly: 
 There I again my friendship would renew, 
 And lay up chiefest joys in store for you. 
 
 What vast and boundless flights does friendship 
 
 take! 
 Beyond what search can see, or fancy track ? 
 'Tis the improvement of the part divine. 
 When souls in their seraphic transports join ; 
 In souls united, so we friendship see. 
 As many glories make a deity. 
 
 Akibiades. Otway.
 
 58 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 TRIED BY ADVERSITY. 
 
 What woes can make a man forget himself? 
 Such is a friend — he lives but in his friend — 
 The bond of Nature cannot be more firm : 
 Adversity does search its very soul, 
 And bring-s to light its qualities and virtues; 
 It sets it off w^ith a redoubled lustre. 
 Fatal Extravagance. Hill and Mitchell. 
 
 HAPPINESS IN 
 
 To serve the worthy, and to share their pain, 
 Is to distinguish natures. — It exalts us ! 
 A noble mind feels recompence, in pleasure. 
 And pleasure flows from consciousness of virtue. 
 To share your happiness would less delight me. 
 Than to be able to promote, or make it. 
 Fatal Extravagance. Hill and Mitchell. 
 
 LOVE MELLOWED TO FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Ah! there was, 
 
 There was a time — I will indulge the thought — 
 
 When everlasting transport tuned our souls : 
 
 When, join'd to vernal life, the spring of love 
 
 Around us gaily blow'd ; and Heaven and earth, 
 
 All smiling Nature look'd delig-hted on. 
 
 Yet, would my Clytemncstra lend her aid,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 59 
 
 I know a passion still more deeply charming' 
 Than fever'd youth e'er felt; and that is love, 
 By long- experience mellow'd into friendship. 
 How far beyond that froward child of fancy ! 
 With beauty pleased awhile, anon disgusted. 
 Seeking' some other toy ; how nobler far 
 Is this bright offspring of unchanging reason, 
 That fonder grows with age, and charms for ever! 
 Agamemnon. Thomson. 
 
 ^xinctah 
 
 How like a silent stream, shaded with night. 
 And gliding softly with our windy sighs. 
 Moves the whole frame of this solemnity : 
 Tears, sighs, and blacks, filling the simile ! 
 
 Fatal Dowry. Massinger and Field. 
 
 When gratitude o'erflows the swelling heart. 
 And breathes in free and incorrupted praise 
 For benefits received, propitious Heaven 
 Takes such acknowledgment as fragrant incense, 
 And doubles all its blessings. 
 
 Elmerick. Lillo.
 
 60 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 THE LAW OF NATURE. 
 
 He that hath Nature in him, must be grateful; 
 'Tis the Creator's primary great law, 
 That links the chain of beings each to other, 
 Joining the greater to the lesser nature, 
 Tying the weak and strong, the poor and pow'rful, 
 Subduing men to Heav'n, and e'en brutes to men. 
 Themistocles. Madden. 
 
 ENRICHING THE BENEFACTOR. 
 
 The favours monarchs do to worthy natures 
 Still, borne on the wings of love and duty, 
 Return unto themselves, proving, indeed, 
 The source e'en of \hi\i power whence they flow ; 
 Resembling thus the rains Heav'n showers on earth. 
 Which make it rich, yet still ascend in vapours, 
 To feed the fountain whence they drew their treasures. 
 Themistocles. Madden. 
 
 c^rratni^00* 
 
 Nature, that framed us of four elements 
 Warring within our breast for regimen, 
 Doth teach us all to have aspiring minds:
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 61 
 
 Our souls, whose faculties can comprehend 
 The wondrous architecture of the world, 
 And measure ev'ry wand'ring planet's course. 
 Still climbina: after knowledore infinite. 
 And always moving as the restless spheres, 
 Wills us to wear ourselves, and never rest 
 Until we reach the ripest fruit of all. 
 
 For he is gross, and like the massy earth. 
 
 That moves not upwards, nor by princely deeds 
 Doth mean to soar above the highest sort. 
 
 Tamberlaine the Great. Marlow. 
 
 CARES OF — 
 
 Great honours are great burdens; but on whom 
 They're cast with envy, he doth bear two loads j 
 His cares must still be double to his joys 
 In any dignity; where, if he err. 
 He findi-. no pardon; and, for doing well, 
 A most small praise, and that wrung out by force. 
 Catiline. Ben Jonson. 
 
 PERILS OF — 
 
 Greatness, thou gaudy torment of our souls. 
 The wise man's fetter, and the range of fools. 
 Who is't would court thee, if he knew thy ills? 
 He who the greatest heap of honour piles. 
 Does nothinor else but build a dano-'rous shelf. 
 Or erect mountains to o'erwhcim himself. 
 
 Alcibiades . O r w a v .
 
 62 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 QUITTED WITH RELUCTANCE. 
 
 As newly waked from all my dreams of glory, 
 
 Those gilded visions of deceitful joys, 
 
 I stand confounded at the unlook'd-for change, 
 
 And scarcely feel this thunderbolt of fate. 
 
 The painted clouds, which bore my hopes aloft, 
 
 Alas! are now vanish'd to yielding air, 
 
 And I am fall'n, indeed! 
 
 How weak is reason, when affection pleads! 
 
 How hard to turn the fond, deluded heart 
 
 From flatt'ring toys, which sooth'd its vanity! 
 
 The laurell'd trophy, and the loud applause, 
 
 The victor's triumph, and the people's gaze. 
 
 The high-hung banner, and recording gold. 
 
 Subdue me still, still cling around my heart. 
 
 And pull my reason down. 
 
 Earl of Ess ex. Jones. 
 
 ^titt 
 
 AT THE TOMB OF A WIFE. 
 
 Already mine eye melts; the monument 
 No sooner stood before it, but a tear 
 Ran swiftly from me to express her duty. 
 Temple of honour! I salute thee early,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 63 
 
 The time that my griefs rise ; chamber of peace ! 
 Where wounded virtue sleeps lock'd from the world, 
 I bring, to be acquainted with thy silence, 
 Sorrows that love no noise ; they dwell all inward. 
 Where truth and love in every man should dwell. 
 Be ready, boy! give me the strain again, 
 'Twill show well here, whilst in my griePs devotion, 
 At every rest mine eye lets fall a bead. 
 To keep the number perfect. 
 
 The Second Maiden's Tragedy. Anonymous. 
 
 OF A FATHER FOR HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 Fair queen, adieu. — Your kindness to my child 
 
 The Gods return you double. Yet consider. 
 
 And view the frailty of your state in me. 
 
 Once princes sate like stars about my throne. 
 
 And vail'd their crowns to my supremacy : 
 
 Then, like the sun, all paid me reverence 
 
 For what I was, and all the grateful loved me 
 
 For what I did bestow ; now, not a worm 
 
 But in the cheerless night displays more brightness, 
 
 And is of greater use than darken'd Pericles. 
 
 Be not high minded, queen, be not high minded : 
 
 Time is omnipotent, the king of kings, 
 
 Their parent and their grave. Beware, beware, 
 
 Let those who drink of sweet prosperity 
 
 In flowing cups, mingle their draughts with pity ; 
 
 And think, when they behold th' afflicted's tears. 
 
 The misery of others may be theirs. 
 
 Marina. Lillo.
 
 64 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 OF A BEAUTIFUL MOTHER. 
 
 Awhile she stood 
 
 Transform'd by grief to marble, and appear'd 
 
 Her own pale monument; but, when she breathed 
 
 The secret anguish of her wounded soul, 
 
 So moving' were the plaints, they would have sooth'd 
 
 The stooping falcon to suspend his flight, 
 
 And spare his morning prey ! 
 
 Mariamne. Fenton. 
 
 OF A SUITOR to A LOVELY WOMAN, WHO DESTROYED 
 HERSELF RATHER THAN SUBMIT TO HIS PASSION. 
 
 Her own fair hand so cruel! Did she choose 
 
 Destruction before me? Was I no better? 
 
 How much am I exalted to my face. 
 
 And when I would be graced, how little worthy! 
 
 There's few kings know how rich they are — in 
 
 goodness, 
 Or what estate they have in grace and virtue: 
 There is so much deceit in gflosers' tonarues. 
 The truth is taken from us; we know nothing 
 But what is for their purpose; that's our stint — 
 We are allowed no more. — Oh! wretched greatness! 
 I'll cause a sessions for my flatterers, 
 And have them all hang'd up. — 'Tis done too late: 
 Oh — she's destroyed, married to death and silence, 
 Which nothing can divorce: riches nor laws.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 65 
 
 Nor all the violence this frame can raise. 
 I've lost the comfort of her sight for ever ! 
 I cannot call this life that flames within me, 
 But everlasting torment Hghted up, 
 To show my soul her beggary. 
 
 The Second Maiden'' s Tragedy. Anonymous, 
 
 Guilt is the source of sorrow! 'tis the fiend, 
 Th' avenging fiend, that follows us behind. 
 With whips and stings. The blest know none of this, 
 But rest in everlasting peace of mind, 
 And find the height of all their Heav'n is goodness. 
 Fair Penitent. Rowe. 
 
 THE FIRST STEP OF 
 
 Henceforth let no man trust the first false step 
 Of guilt; it hangs upon a precipice. 
 Whose steep descent in last perdition ends! 
 
 Busiris. Young. 
 
 When guilt is in its blush of infancy. 
 It trembles in a tenderness of shame, 
 And the first eye that pierces thro' the veil 
 That hides the secret, brings it to the face : 
 
 Spartan Dame. Southerne. 
 
 V
 
 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 -What do you see 
 
 That looks like ruin here ? 
 
 Guilt: — That is ruin. 
 
 Elmerick. Lillo. 
 
 THE PUNISHMENT OF 
 
 Curses and deprecations are in vain. 
 
 The sun will shine, and all things have their course, 
 
 When we, the curse and burthen of the earth, 
 
 Shall be absorb'd, and mingled with its dust. 
 
 Our guilt and desolation must be told, 
 
 From age to age, to teach desponding mortals, 
 
 How far, beyond the reach of human thought. 
 
 Heaven, when incensed, can punish. 
 
 Fatal Curiosity. Lillo. 
 
 BETRAYED BY FEAR. 
 
 All fear, but fear of Heaven, betrays a guilt, 
 And guilt is villany. 
 
 Constantine. Lee.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 67 
 
 mate. 
 
 That was the very night 
 Before the battle — Mem'ry, set down (hat; 
 It has the essence of a crocodile, 
 Though yet but in the shell — I'll give it birth. — 
 Revenge. Young. 
 
 To one whose father and whose family 
 
 I so detest, that I would lose my essence, 
 
 And be transformed to a basilisk 
 
 To look them dead. 
 
 The Fair Maid of the Inn. Beaumont & Fletcher. 
 
 THE IMPRECATION OF 
 
 Why, get thee gone! horror and night go with thee. 
 Sisters of Acheron, go hand in hand. 
 Go dance around the bow'r, and close them in; 
 And tell them that I sent you to salute them. 
 Profane the ground; and for th' ambrosial rose. 
 And breath of jess'mine, let hemlock blacken. 
 And deadly nightshade poison, all the air. 
 For the sweet nightingale, may ravens croak, 
 Toads pant, and adders rustle through the leaves; 
 May serpents, winding up the trees, let fall
 
 68 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Their hissing- necks upon them from above, 
 And mingle kisses — such as I should give them! 
 Revenge. Young. 
 
 E'en thy malice serves 
 To me but as a ladder to mount up 
 To such a height of happiness, where I shall 
 Look down with scorn on thee and on the world ; 
 Where, circled with true pleasures, placed above 
 The reach of Death or Time, 'twill be my glory 
 To think at what an easy price I bought it. 
 There's a perpetual spring, perpetual youth; 
 No joint-benumbing cold, nor scorching heat, 
 Famine nor age, have any being there. 
 Forget — for shame — your temple; bury in 
 Oblivion your feign'd Hesperian orchards; 
 The golden fruit kept by the watchful dragon, 
 Which did require a Hercules to guard it, 
 Compared with what grows in all plenty there, 
 Deserves not to be named. The power I serve 
 Laughs at your happy Araby, or the 
 Elysian shades; for he hath made his bowers 
 Better indeed than you can fancy yours. 
 
 The Virgin Martyr. Massinger.
 
 ENGLISH TKAGEDY. 69 
 
 THE WAYS OF 
 
 The ways of Heaven are dark and intricate; 
 Puzzled in mazes, and perplex'd with errorSj 
 Our understanding traces them in vain, 
 Lost and bewilder'd in the fruitless search; 
 Nor sees with how much art the windings run, 
 Nor where the regular confusion ends. 
 
 Cato. Addison 
 
 O Heav'n, how dark a riddle's thy decree, 
 
 Which bounds our wills, yet seems to leave 'em free! 
 
 Since thy fore-knowledge cannot be in vain, 
 
 Our choice must be what thou didst first ordain. 
 
 Thus, like a captive in an isle confined, 
 
 Man walks at large, a pris'ner of the mind : 
 
 Let fate be fate; the lover and the brave 
 Are rank'd, at least, above the vulgar slave. 
 
 Conquest of Grenada. Dryden. 
 
 Think not a crown alone lights up my name. 
 My hand is deep in fight. Forbid it, Isis,
 
 70 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 That whilst Busiris treads the sanguine field, 
 
 The foremost spirit of his host should conquer 
 
 But by example, and beneath the shade 
 
 Of this hiofh-brandish'd arm. Didst thou e'er fear? 
 
 Sure 'tis an art. I know not how to fear. 
 
 'Tis one of the few things beyond my power; 
 
 And if death must be fear'd before 'tis felt, 
 
 Thy master is immortal, oh, Auletes 
 
 But while I speak, they live ! 
 Where fall the sounding cataracts of Nile, 
 The mountains tremble, and the waters boil; 
 Like them I'll rush, like them my fury pour. 
 And give the future world one wonder more. 
 Bus ins. Young. 
 
 I saw the child of honour, for he was young. 
 Deal such alms amongst the spiteful Pagans; 
 His lowering sword flew like an eager falcon . 
 And round about his reach invade the Turks: 
 He had intrench'd himself in his dead quarries; 
 The silver crescents on the tops they carried 
 Shrunk in their heads to see his rage so bloody, 
 And from his fury suffer'd sad eclipses; 
 The game of Death was never play'd more nobly; 
 The meagre thief grew wanton in his mischiefs, 
 And his shrunk hollow eyes smiled on his ruins. 
 A Wife for a Month. BEAtiMONx and Fletciikr.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY- 71 
 
 A HERO AT THE HEAD OF BATTLE. 
 
 At your command 
 
 I went; and, from a neighb'ring summit, view'd 
 Where either host stood adverse, sternly wedged; 
 Reflecting, on each other's gloomy front, 
 Fell hate and fix'd defiance. — When at once 
 The foe moved on, attendant to the steps 
 Of their Gustavus — He, with mournful pace. 
 Came slow and silent; till two hapless Danes 
 Prick'd forth, and on his helm discharged their fury : 
 Then roused the lion ! To my wond'ring sight 
 His stature grew twofold, before his eye 
 All force seem'd wither'd, and his horrid plume 
 Shook wild dismay around ; as Heav'n's dread bolt 
 He shot, he pierced our legions; in his strength 
 His shouting squadron gloried, rushing on 
 Where'er he led their battle — 
 
 Gustavus Vasa. Brooks. 
 
 SHOULD BE EVER RESOLUTE. 
 
 I cannot bear to see a brave man doubt; 
 If ruin threatens, let him meet it greatly, 
 Not whine for pains he feels not. Servile doubt 
 Argues an impotence of mind, that says 
 We fear, because we dare not meet misfortunes. 
 Elfrid, Hill.
 
 72 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 THE ANGUISH OF ONE PURSUING DISHONOURABLE 
 MEANS OF REVENGE. 
 
 O dire necessity ! is this my province ? 
 Whither, my soul, ah ! whither art thou sunk ? 
 Does this become a soldier? this become 
 Whom armies follow'd, and a people loved? 
 My martial glory withers at the thought. 
 
 Revenge. Young. 
 
 OF one WHO DIED IN WANT. 
 
 And though this country, like a viperous mother, 
 Not only hath eat up ungratefully 
 All means of thee her son, but last thyself, 
 Leaving thy heir so bare and indigent, 
 He cannot raise thee a poor monument 
 Such as a flatterer or an usurer hath; 
 Thy worth in every honest breast builds one, 
 Making their friendly hearts thy funeral stone. 
 Fatal Dov:)ry. Massinger and Field. 
 
 WEAKNESS OF ONE. 
 
 And yet this tough impracticable heart, 
 
 Is govern'd by a dainty-finger'd girl ; 
 
 Such flaws are found in the most worthy natures ; 
 
 A laughing, toying, wheedling, whimpering she, 
 
 Shall make him amble on a gossip's message,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 73 
 
 And take the distaff with a hand as patient 
 As e'er did Hercules. 
 
 Jane Shore. Rowe. 
 
 GREAT IN ADVERSITY. 
 
 Awful in ruin : like their kindred oaks, 
 Tho' blasted by the thunder of the war, 
 They proudly bear their scorched ribs aloft, 
 And brave the pow'r that struck them. 
 
 Athelstan. Hill. 
 
 CONQUERED. 
 
 He looks as man was made, with face erect, 
 That scorns his brittle corps, and seems ashamed 
 He's not all spirit; his eyes with a dumb pride 
 Accusing' fortune that he fell not warm; 
 Yet now disdains to live. 
 
 Don Sebastian. Dryden. 
 
 THE FALL OF ONE. 
 
 Then there's no more to manage ! if I fall, 
 It shall be like myself; a setting sun 
 Should leave a track of glory in the skies. 
 
 Don Sebastian. Dryden.
 
 74 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 THE REPLY OF ONE. 
 
 Thou talk'st as if 
 
 Still at the head of battle 
 
 Thou mistakest, 
 
 For then I would not talk. 
 
 Don Sebastian. Dryden. 
 
 PREFERS DEATH TO BONDAGE. 
 
 Ne'er shall the hands of Dumnorix endure 
 The shame of fetters; ne'er shall Rome behold 
 This breast, which honourable war hath seam'd, 
 Pant with the load of bondage : gen'rous wounds, 
 Ye deep-engraven characters of glory, 
 Ye faithful monitors of Albion's cause, 
 Oft, when your midnight anguish hath rebuked 
 Oblivious slumber from my watchful pillow. 
 And in her danger kept my virtue waking : 
 You, when that office can avail no more. 
 Will look more graceful on my death-cold bosom, 
 Than to be shown before the scoffing Romans, 
 Should they behold that Dumnorix in shackles. 
 Whom once they dreaded in the field of war. 
 Boadicea. Glover.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 75 
 
 THE LEGACY OF ONE. 
 
 Wear thou this medal of himself; that like 
 A hearty oak grew'st close to this tall pine, 
 (E'en in the wildest wilderness of war) 
 Whereon foes broke their swords, and tired themselves; 
 Wounded and hack'd ye were, but never fell'd. 
 Fatal Dowry. Massinger and Field. 
 
 THE GRIEF OF ONE AT AN INGLORIOUS DEATH, 
 
 O ! Death ! I've sought thee in the listed field, 
 'Midst shouting squadrons, and embattled hosts. 
 Pursued thee in the noon-day sweat of war, 
 And listen'd for thee on the midnight watch. 
 In frozen regions, and in sun-burnt climes; 
 In winds, in tempests, and in troubled seas. 
 
 In ev'ry element I sought But thou 
 
 Hast shunn'd the searcher in each dangerous path, 
 Spared him in seas, in battles, and in storms. 
 To seize the weary wanderer at his rest, 
 And sink him in the coward arms of peace. 
 Who, Providence, shall mark thy secret ways, 
 Measure thy wisdom, or dispute thy pow'r? 
 
 Sir Walter Raleiich. Sew ell.
 
 76 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 THE DYING 
 
 O, thou bright sun! now hast'ning to those climes, 
 That parent isle, which I no more shall see; 
 
 thither bear, resplendent orb of day, 
 
 To that dear spot of earth my last farewell ! 
 And thee, eternal Providence, whose course. 
 Amidst the various maze of life, is fix'd. 
 By boundless wisdom and by boundless love, 
 
 1 follow thee, with resignation, hope. 
 
 With confidence, and joy; for thou art good. 
 And of thy rising goodness is no end ! 
 Welcome, my dearest friends! the villain's threatning 
 It was too true, and now I nearly touch 
 The awful hour which every man must prove. 
 Come, then, and let us fill the space between 
 These last important moments, whence we take 
 Our latest tincture for eternity. 
 With solemn converse and exalting friendship. 
 Edward 8f Eleonora. Thomson. 
 
 THE DEAD 
 
 As for Sebastian, we must search the field, 
 And where we see a mountain of the slain, 
 Send one to climb, and looking down below. 
 There he shall find him at his manly length. 
 With his face up to Heav'n, in the red monument, 
 Which his true sword has digg'd. 
 
 Don Sebastian. Dry den.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 77 
 
 Thou hallowed relic, thou rich diamond 
 Cut with thine own dust; thou for whose wide fame 
 The world appears too narrow, man's all thoughts, 
 Had they all tongues, too silent; thus I bow 
 To thy most honour'd ashes : though an enemy. 
 Yet friend to all thy worth, sleep peaceably ; 
 Happiness crown thy soul, and in thy earth 
 Som6 laurel fix his seat, there grow and flourish. 
 And make thy grave an everlasting triumph. 
 Farewell all glorious wars, now thou art gone, 
 And honest arms adieu : all noble battles, 
 Maintain'd in thirst of honour, not of blood. 
 Farewell for ever. 
 
 Bonduca. Beaumont and Fletciieu. 
 
 j^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 Who shall now lead ye fortunate? whose valour 
 
 Preserve ye to the glory of your country? 
 
 Who shall march out before ye, coy'd and courted 
 
 By all the mistresses of war, care, counsel, 
 
 Quick-eyed experience, and victory twined to him ? 
 
 Who shall beget ye deeds beyond inheritance 
 
 To speak your names, and keep your honours living, 
 
 When children fail, and Time that takes all with him, 
 
 Build houses for ye to oblivion? 
 
 O, ye poor desperate fools: no more now, soldiers;
 
 78 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Go home, and hang- your arms up, let rust rot 'em; 
 And humble your stern valours to soft prayers; 
 For ye have sunk the frame of all your virtues; 
 The sun that w^arm'd your bloods is set for ever; 
 I'll kiss thy honour'd cheek. Farewell, great Penius, 
 Thou thunderbolt, farewell. Take up the body : 
 To-morrow morning' to the camp convey it, 
 There to receive due ceremonies. That eye 
 That blinds himself with weeping, gets most glory. 
 Bonduca. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 i^OM^tfi* 
 
 3^ ^ *it 5(£ 6^ ^ 
 
 O honesty, thou elder child of virtue, 
 Thou seed of Heaven, why, to acquire thy goodness, 
 Should malice and distrust stick thorns before us ? 
 And make us swim unto thee hung with hazards. 
 But Heaven is got by suffering, not disputing. 
 Rollo. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 BLUNT honesty. 
 
 That man is brave, his mistress is the sea, 
 And on my soul I think he likes her more, 
 Because her qualities resemble his ; 
 Whose depth is fraught with rich and hidden treasure, 
 While storms and tempests on the surface blow. 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. Sewell.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 79 
 
 Honour's a sacred tie, the law of kings, 
 
 The noble mind's distinguishing perfection. 
 
 That aids and strengthens virtue where it meets her, 
 
 And imitates her actions where she is not: 
 
 It ought not to be sported with. 
 
 Cato. Addison. 
 
 Yes, 'tis the conscience of an act well done. 
 Which gives us pow'r our own desire to shun. 
 The strong and secret curb of headlong will, 
 The self-reward of good, and shame of ill. 
 
 Conquest of Grenada. Dryden. 
 
 As you're a profess'd soldier, court your honour; 
 
 Though she be stern, she's honest, a brave mistress! 
 
 The greater danger you oppose to win her. 
 
 She shews the sweeter, and rewards the nobler; 
 
 Woman's best love to her's mere shadows be. 
 
 For after death she weds your memory. 
 
 The Lover's Progress, Beaumont & Fletcher.
 
 80 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Honour is — 
 Virtue's allowed ascent; honour that clasps 
 All perfect justice in her arms: that craves 
 No more respect than what she gives, that does 
 Nothing but what she'll suffer. 
 
 A Very Woman. Massinger. 
 
 TRUE AND FALSE HONOUR. 
 
 False honour, like a comet, blazes broad, 
 But blazes for extinction. Real merit 
 Shines like th' eternal sun, to shine for ever. 
 
 Elfrid. Hill. 
 
 THE HEIGHT OF 
 
 No man to offend — 
 Ne'er to reveal the secrets of a friend ; 
 Rather to suffer, than to do a wrong, 
 To make the heart no stranger to the tongue ; 
 Provoked, not to betray an enemy. 
 Nor at his meat I choke with flattery; 
 Blushless to tell wherefore I wear my scars. 
 Or for my conscience, or my country's wars; 
 To aim at just things, if we've wildly run 
 Into offences, wish them all undone, 
 'Tis poor, in grief for a wrong done, to die, 
 Honour to dare to live, and satisfy. 
 
 A Very Woman. Massinger.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 81 
 
 Hope is the fawning' traitor of the mind, 
 
 Which while it cozens with a colour'd friendship, 
 
 Robs us of our last virtue, resolution. 
 
 Constantine the Great. Lee. 
 
 O Hope, sweet flatt'rer, whose delusive touch 
 Sheds on afflicted minds the balm of comfort, 
 Relieves the load of poverty, sustains 
 The captive, bending with the weight of bonds. 
 And smooths the pillow of disease and pain. 
 
 Boadkea. Glover. 
 
 Alas! how soon 
 The flatterer, Hope, is ready with his song. 
 To charm us to forgetfulness ! 
 
 Siege of Damascus. Hughes. 
 
 courage in hope. 
 
 Talk not of death, for that ev'n cowards dare, 
 When their base fears compel 'em to despair: 
 Hope's the far nobler passion of the mind; 
 Fortune's a mistress that with caution kind
 
 82 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Knows that the constant merit her alone, 
 They who, tho' she seem'd froward, yet court on. 
 Don Carlos. Otway. 
 
 THE VANITY OF 
 
 Hope, thou hast told me lies from day to day, 
 
 For more than twenty years; vile promiser! 
 
 None here are happy, but the very fool. 
 
 Or very wise : I am not fool enough 
 
 To smile in vanities, and hug a shadow ; 
 
 Nor have I wisdom to elaborate 
 
 An artificial happiness from pains : 
 
 Ev'n joys are pains, because they cannot last. 
 
 How many lift the head, look gay, and smile. 
 
 Against their consciences ? And this we know, 
 
 Yet, knowing, disbelieve, and try again 
 
 What we have tried, and struggle with conviction. 
 
 Each new experience gives the former credit; 
 
 And rev'rend grey threescore is but a voucher, 
 
 That thirty told us true. 
 
 Revenge. Young.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 83 
 
 His prayers are never said but to deceive us ; 
 And when he weeps, as you think for his vices, 
 'Tis but as killing- drops from baneful yew-trees, 
 That rot their honest neighbour. 
 
 Valentinian. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 THE HYPOCRITE. 
 
 Dissimulation dwells, 
 
 As at her home, in every smile he wears. 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. Sewell. 
 
 On a soul secure 
 
 In native innocence, or grief or joy 
 
 Should make no deeper prints than air retains; 
 
 Where fleet alike the vulture and the dove, 
 
 And leave no trace. 
 
 Mariamne. Fenton.
 
 84 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 That modest grace subdued my soul. 
 That chastity of look, which seems to hang 
 A veil of purest light o'er all her beauties, 
 And by forbidding most inflames desire. 
 
 Busiris. Young. 
 
 The face of beauty, on these rising horrors, 
 Looks like the midnight moon upon a murder. 
 Massacre of Paris. Lee. 
 
 GIVES TRUE FORTITUDE. 
 
 Sighs are the language of a broken heart. 
 And tears the tribute each enlighten'd eye 
 Pays, and must pay, for vice and folly past. 
 And yet the painful'st virtue hath its pleasure ; 
 Tho' dangers rise, yet, peace restored within. 
 My soul collected shall undaunted meet them. 
 Tho' trouble, grief, and death, the lot of all, 
 On good and bad, without distinction, fall; 
 The soul, which conscious innocence sustains, 
 Supports with ease these temporary pains; 
 But, stung with guilt, and loaded by despair. 
 Becomes itself a burden none can bear. 
 
 Arden of Feversham. Lillo.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 85 
 
 THE POWER OF 
 
 Lascivious courtings among sinful mistresses 
 Come ever seasonable, please best — 
 But let the boldest ruffian touch the ear 
 Of modest ladies with adult'rous sounds, 
 Their very looks confound him, and force grace 
 Into that cheek where impudence sets her seal ; 
 That work is never undertook with courage, 
 That makes his master blush. 
 The Second Maiden's Tragedy. Anonymous. 
 
 THE AGONY OF 
 
 I HAVE turn'd o'er the catalogue of human woes. 
 
 Which sting the heart of man, and find none equal. 
 
 It is the hydra of calamities. 
 
 The sev'nfold death; the jealous are the damn'd. 
 
 Oh, jealousy, each other passion's calm 
 
 To thee, thou conflagration of the soul! 
 
 Thou king of torments, thou grand counterpoise 
 
 For all the transports beauty can inspire' 
 
 Revenge. Young.
 
 86 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Hence, gordian jealousy ! 
 Cam'st thou uncall'd to set me on the rack ? 
 Be gone, I say, she's chaste, and I defy thee. 
 O plague me, Heav'n, plague me with all the woes 
 That man can suffer ; root up my possessions. 
 Shipwreck my far-sought ballast in the haven; 
 Fire all my cities, burn my dukedoms down, 
 Let midnight wolves howl in my desart chambers; 
 May the earth yawn; shatter the frame of Nature; 
 Let the rac k'd orbs in whirlwinds round me move. 
 But save me from the rage of jealous love. 
 
 CcBsar Borgia. Lee. 
 
 Accursed jealousy ! 
 O merciless, wild, and unforgiving fiend! 
 Blindfold it runs to undistinguish'd mischief. 
 And murders all it meets. Curst be its ragfe. 
 For there is none so deadly ; doubly cursed 
 Be all those easy fools who give it harbour: 
 Who turn a monster loose among mankind, 
 Fiercer than famine, war, or spotted pestilence; 
 Baneful as death, and horrible as hell. 
 
 Jane Shore. Rowe.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 87 
 
 SUSPICIOUS. 
 
 O Jealousy ! thou bane of social joy ! 
 Oh! she's a monster, made of contradictions! 
 Let Truth in all her native charms appear, 
 And with the voice of harmony itself 
 Plead the just cause of innocence traduced; 
 Deaf as the adder, blind as upstart greatness. 
 She sees nor hears. And yet, let slander w^hisper. 
 Rumour has fewer tongues than she has ears; 
 And Argus' hundred eyes are dim and slow, 
 To piercing Jealousy's. 
 
 Arden of Fever sham . Li l l o . 
 
 Love's last retreat and covert ; 
 Where it lies hid in shades, watchful in silence, 
 And list'ning for the sound that calls it back. 
 All for Love. Dryden. 
 
 ON DISCOVERING A LETTER. 
 
 For soon Alonzo found it ; I observed him 
 From out my secret stand. He took it up ; 
 But scarce was it unfolded to his sight. 
 When he, as if an arrow pierced his eye. 
 Started, and trembling dropp'd it on the ground. 
 Pale and aghast awhile my victim stood,
 
 88 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Disguised a sigh or two, and pufF'd them from him ; 
 Then rubb'd his brow and took it up again. 
 At first he look'd as if he meant to read it ; 
 But, check'd by rising fears, he crush'd it thus. 
 And thrust it, like an adder, in his bosom. 
 
 Revenge. Young. 
 
 A GOOD KING. 
 
 Yes, we have lost a father! 
 
 The greatest blessing Heaven bestows on mortals, 
 
 A good, a worthy king! — Hear me, my Tancred, 
 
 And I will tell thee, in a few plain words, 
 
 How he deserved that best, that glorious title. 
 
 He loved his people, deem'd them all his children; 
 
 The good exalted, and depress'd the bad. 
 
 He sought, alone, the good of those for whom 
 
 He was entrusted with the sovereign power : 
 
 Well knowing that a people in their rights 
 
 And industry protected, living safe 
 
 Beneath the sacred shelter of the laws. 
 
 Are ne'er ungrateful. With unsparing hand 
 
 They will for him provide ; their filial love 
 
 And confidence are his unfailing treasure. 
 
 And every honest man his faithful guard. 
 
 Tancred. Thomson,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 89 
 
 GAIN NO JOY FROM OPPRESSION. 
 
 To make a people wretched, to entail 
 The curse of bondage on their drooping race, 
 Can add no joy to sense, can soothe no passion 
 That hath its seal in Nature. 
 
 Elmerick. Lillo. 
 
 AGAINST INDOLENCE IN ONE 
 
 Kings, like Heav'n's eye, should spread their beams 
 
 around. 
 Pleased to be seen, while glory's race they run : 
 Rest is not for the chariot of the sun. 
 
 Aurengzebe. Dryden. 
 
 A GOOD STEWARD OF HIS PEOPLE. 
 
 Heav'n does a tribute for your pow'r demand : 
 He leaves th' oppress'd and poor upon your hand. 
 And those who stewards of his pity prove, 
 He blesses, in return, with public love. 
 In his distress some miracle is shown: 
 If exiled, Heav'n restores him to his throne. 
 He needs no guard, while any subject's near: 
 Nor, like his tyrant neighbours, lives in fear: 
 No plots th' alarm to his retirements give: 
 'Tis all mankind's concern that he should live. 
 Aurengzebe. Dryden.
 
 90 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 THEIR BOUNTIES WHEN TOO MAGNIFICENT ARE 
 DANGEROUS. 
 
 Royal bounties 
 
 Are great, and gracious while they are dispensed 
 
 With moderation, but when their excess. 
 
 In giving giant bulks to others, takes from 
 
 The prince's just proportion, they lose 
 
 The names of virtues, and, their natures changed, 
 
 Grow the most dangerous vices. 
 
 Emperor of the East. Massinger. 
 
 A VAIN DISTINCTION. 
 
 Oh! vain distinction of exalted state! 
 No rank ascends above the reach of care. 
 Nor dignity can shield a queen from woe 
 Despotic Nature's stronger sceptre rules. 
 And pain and passion in her right prevail. 
 Oh! the unpitied lot, severe condition, 
 Of solitary, sad, dejected grandeur! 
 Alone condemn'd to bear th' unsocial throb 
 Of heart-felt anguish, and corroding grief; 
 Deprived of what, within his homely shed. 
 The poorest peasant in affliction finds, 
 The kind, condoling comfort of a dear 
 Partaking friend. 
 
 Earl of Essex. Jones.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 91 
 
 Suppose this done, or were it possible 
 
 I could rise higher still — I am a man : 
 
 And all these glories, empires heap'd upon me, 
 
 Confirm'd by constant friends and faithful guards, 
 
 Camiot defend me from a shaking fever, 
 
 Or bribe the incorrupted dart of Death 
 
 To spare me one short minute. Thus adorn'd 
 
 In these triumphant robes, my body yields not 
 
 A greater shadow than it did, when I 
 
 Lived both poor and obscure ; a sword's sharp point 
 
 Enters mv flesh as far — dreams break my sleep, 
 
 As when I was a private man ; — my passions 
 
 Are stronorer t%Tants on me : — nor is greatness 
 
 A saving antidote to keep me from 
 
 A traitor's poison. Shall I praise my fortune, 
 
 Or raise the building of my happiness 
 
 On her uncertain favour? or presume 
 
 She is mv own and sure, that yet was never 
 
 Constant to any r Should my reason fail me, 
 
 (As flatt'rv oft corrupts it) here is an example 
 
 To speak, how far her smiles are to be trusted : 
 
 The rising sun this mornins: saw this man 
 
 The Persian monarch, and those subjects proud 
 
 That had the honour but to kiss his feet : 
 
 And yet. ere his diurnal progress ends, 
 
 He is the scorn of fortune. 
 
 The Prophetess. Beaumoxt and Fletcher.
 
 92 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 -Wherefore pay you 
 
 This adoration to a sinful creature ? 
 I'm flesh and blood, as you are ; sensible 
 Of heat and cold; as much a slave unto 
 The tyranny of my passions, as the meanest 
 Of my poor subjects. The proud attributes 
 (By oil-tongued flattery imposed upon us) 
 As sacred, glorious, high, invincible. 
 The deputy of Heaven, and in that 
 Omnipotent, vv^ith all false titles else, 
 Coin'd to abuse our frailty, though compounded 
 And by the breath of sycophants applied, 
 Cure not the least fit of an ague in us. 
 We may give poor men riches, confer honours 
 On undeservers; raise or ruin such 
 As are beneath us ; and with this puff''d up, 
 Ambition would persuade us to forget 
 That we are men; but He that sits above us. 
 And to whom, at our utmost rate, we are 
 But pageant properties, derides our weakness. 
 Emperor of the East. Massinger.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 93 
 
 Hatu. 
 
 REDRESS OF- 
 
 Blest, blest be ever 
 
 The memory of that happy age, when justice 
 Had no guards to keep off wrong'd innocence 
 From flying' to her succours, and in that, 
 Assurance of redress: whereas now, Romont, 
 The damn'd with more ease may ascend from hell. 
 Than we arrive at her. One Cerberus there 
 Forbids the passage; in our courts a thousand 
 As loud and fertile headed; and the client, 
 That wants the sops to fill their ravenous throats, 
 Must hope for no success. 
 
 Fatal Dowry. Massinger and Field. 
 
 O LIBERTY, Heav'n's choice prerogative! 
 
 True bond of law, thou social soul of property. 
 
 Thou breath of reason, life of life itself. 
 
 For thee the valiant bleed! O, sacred liberty! 
 
 Wing'd from the summer's snare, from flatt'ring ruin, 
 
 Like the bold stork you seek the wint'ry shore,
 
 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Leave courts, and pomps, and palaces to slaves, 
 Cleave to the cold, and rest upon the storm. 
 
 Gustavus Vasa. Brook. 
 
 LIFE VALUELESS WITHOUT IT. 
 
 But vrhat is life ? 
 
 'Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air 
 From time to time, or gaze upon the sun; — 
 'Tis to be free. When liberty is gone. 
 Life grows insipid, and has lost its relish. 
 
 Cato. Addison. 
 
 JUSTLY FORFEITED BY CRIME. 
 
 For I have ever loved 
 
 An equal freedom, and proclaim all such 
 As would usurp another's liberties. 
 Rebels to Nature, to whose bounteous blessings 
 All men lay claim as true legitimate sons. 
 But such as have made forfeit of themselves 
 By vicious courses, and their birthright lost, 
 'Tis not injustice they are mark'd for slaves 
 To serve the virtuous. 
 
 Bondman. Massinger. 
 
 ALL FREE BY NATURE. 
 
 Equal Nature fashion'd us 
 
 All in one mould: The bear serves not the bear,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 95 
 
 Nor the wolf the wolf; 'twas odds of strength in tyrants, 
 That pluck'd the first link from the golden chain 
 With which that thing of things bound in the world — 
 Why then, since we are taught by their examples 
 To love our liberty, if not command, 
 Should the strong serve the weak, the fair deform'd 
 
 ones ? 
 Or such as know the cause of things, pay tribute 
 To ignorant fools ? All's but the outward gloss 
 And politic form that does distinguish us. 
 
 Bondman. Massinger. 
 
 Ah, what is "human life ? 
 How like the dial's tardy-moving shade ! 
 Day after day slides from us unperceived I 
 The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth, 
 Too subtle is the movement to be seen. 
 Yet soon the hour is up — and we are gone. 
 
 Busiris. Young. 
 
 ****** 
 
 How cross the ways of life lie ! While we think 
 
 We travel on direct in one high road, 
 
 And have our journey's end opposed in view,
 
 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 A thousand thwarting- paths break in upon us, 
 To puzzle and perplex our wand'ring steps. 
 Love, friendship, hatred, in their turns mislead us, 
 And ev'ry passion has its separate interest. 
 Where is that piercing foresight can unfold 
 Where all this mazy error will have end, 
 And tell the doom reserved for me and Pembroke ! 
 There is but one end certain, that is — Death : 
 Yet ev'n that certainty is still uncertain. 
 For of these several tracks vi^hich lie before us. 
 We know that one leads certainly to death. 
 But know not which that one is. 'Tis in vain, 
 This blind divining : let me think no more on't. 
 Lady Jane Grey. Rowe. 
 
 Life ! what is life ? A shadow ! 
 
 Its date is but the immediate breath we draw; 
 
 Nor have we surety for a second g-ale ; 
 
 Ten thousand accidents in ambush lie 
 
 A frail and fickle tenement it is. 
 
 Which, like the brittle glass that measures time. 
 
 Is often broke, ere half its sands are run. 
 
 Earl of Essex. Jones.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 97 
 
 When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat; 
 Yet, fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit; 
 Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay: 
 To-morrow's falser than the former day ; 
 Lies worse; and while it says, we shall be bless'd 
 With some new joys, cuts off what we possess'd. 
 Strange cozenage! none would live past years again. 
 Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain; 
 And, from the dregs of life, think to receive 
 What the first sprightly running could not give. 
 I'm tired with waiting for this chymic gold. 
 Which fools us young, and beggars us when old. 
 Aurengzebe. D r y den . 
 
 VANITY OF 
 
 The day is far advanced; the cheerful sun 
 Pursues with vigour his repeated course; 
 No labour lessens, nor no time decays 
 His strength or splendor; evermore the same, 
 From ag-e to asfe his influence sustains 
 Dependent worlds, bestows both life and motion 
 On the dull mass that forms their dusky orbs, 
 Cheers them with heat, and gilds them with his 
 
 brightness. 
 Yet man, of jarring elements composed, 
 Who posts from change to change, from the first hour 
 
 II
 
 98 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Of his frail being' till his dissolution, 
 
 Enjoys the sad prerog-ative above him, 
 
 To think, and to be wretched — What is life, 
 
 To him that's born to die ! or what that wisdom 
 
 Whose perfection ends in knowing we know nothing! 
 
 Mere contradiction all! A tragic farce. 
 
 Tedious tho' short, and without art elab'rate. 
 
 Ridiculously sad. 
 
 Fatal Curiosify. Lili.o. 
 
 WORTHLESS WITHOUT VIRTUE. 
 
 Reflect that life and death, affecting sounds, 
 
 Are only varied modes of endless being ; 
 
 Reflect that life, like ev'ry other blessing. 
 
 Derives its value from its use alone ; 
 
 Not for itself but for a nobler end 
 
 Th' Eternal gave it, and that end is virtue. 
 
 When inconsistent with a greater good, 
 
 Reason commands to cast the less away; 
 
 Thus life, with loss of wealth, is well preserved. 
 
 And virtue cheaply saved with loss of life. 
 
 Irene. Dr. Johnson. 
 
 AGAINST AN INDIFFERENCE TO LIFE. 
 
 Think not I hold that vain philosophy 
 Of proud indiff'erence, that pretends to look 
 On pain and pleasure with an equal eye. 
 To be, is better far than not to be.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. QQ 
 
 Else Nature cheated us in our formation. 
 And when we are, the sweet delusion wears 
 Such various charms and prospects of delight, 
 That what we could not will, we make our choice, 
 Desirous to prolong the life she gave. 
 Madmen and fools may hurry o'er the scene, 
 The wise man walks an easy, sober pace : , 
 
 And tho' he sees one precipice for all, 
 Declines the fatal brink, oft looking back 
 On what he leaves, and thinking where he falls. 
 Sir Walter Ralewh. Sewell. 
 
 ilobe* 
 
 ITS POWER. 
 
 There is a pow'r in love, subdues to itself 
 All other passions in the human mind. 
 This wretch, more fearful than the lonely murderer, 
 Whom with inquiring eyes some stranger views, 
 Would meet the king of terrors undismay'd 
 For her he loves, and dare him to the combat. 
 Arden of Fevers ham. Ltllo. 
 
 What is the boasted majesty of kings. 
 Their godlike greatness, if their fate depend 
 Upon that meanest of their passion*, love?
 
 100 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 The pile their warlike fathers toil'd to raise, 
 
 To raise a monument of deathless fame, 
 
 A woman's hand o'erturns. The cedar thus. 
 
 That lifted his aspiring head to Heav'n, 
 
 Secure, and fearless of the sounding axe. 
 
 Is made the prey of worms; his root destroy'd. 
 
 He sinks at once to earth, the mighty ruin. 
 
 And triumph of a wretched insect's pow'r. 
 
 Koyal Convert. Roave. 
 
 Mysterious all, and dark! yet such is love. 
 And such the laws of his fantastic empire. 
 The wanton boy delights to bend the mighty. 
 And scoffs at the vain wisdom of the wise. 
 
 Royal Convert. Rowe. 
 
 If love were endless, men were gods; 'tis that 
 Does counterbalance travel, danger, pain — 
 'Tis Heav'n's expedient to make mortals bear 
 The light, and cheat them of the peaceful grave. 
 Revenge. Young. 
 
 Alas I Beliza, thou hast never known 
 The fatal power of a resistless love :
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 101 
 
 Like that avenging guilt that haunts the impious, 
 
 In vain we hope by flying to avoid it ; 
 
 In courts and temples it pursues us still, 
 
 And in the loudest clamours will be heard : 
 
 It grows a part of us, lives in our blood, 
 
 And every beating pulse proclaims its force. 
 
 Ambitious Stepmother. Rowe. 
 
 Love is, or ought to be, our greatest bliss; 
 Since ev'ry other joy, how dear soever. 
 Gives way to that, and we leave all for love. 
 At the imperious tyrant's lordly call. 
 In spite of reason and restraint we come, 
 Leave kindred, parents, and our native home; 
 The trembling maid, with all her fears, he charms, 
 And pulls her from her weeping mother's arms: 
 He laughs at all our leagues, and in proud scorn 
 Commands the bands of friendship to be torn: 
 Disdains a partner should partake his throne, 
 But reigns unbounded, lawless, and alone. 
 
 Lady June Gray. Rowe. 
 
 TO reason against it USELESS. 
 
 Hast thou grown old amidst the crowd of courts. 
 And turn'd the instructive page of human life. 
 To cant at last of reason to a lover?
 
 i02 THE SPIlllT OF 
 
 Such ill-timed gravity, such serious folly, 
 Might well befit the solitary student, 
 Th' unpractised dervise, or sequester'd faquir. 
 Know'st thou not yet, when Love invades the soul, 
 That all her faculties receive his chains? 
 That reason gives her sceptre to his hand, 
 Or only struggles to be more enslaved? 
 Aspasia, who can look upon thy beauties, 
 Who hear thee speak, and not abandon reason ? 
 Reason ! the hoary dotard's dull directress. 
 That loses all because she hazards nothing: 
 Reason ! the tim'rous pilot, that to shun 
 The rocks of life, for ever flies the port. 
 
 Irene. Dr. Johnson. 
 
 NEVER GAINED BY ARGUMENT. 
 
 Have I not languish'd prostrate at thy feet ? 
 Have I not lived whole days upon thy sight? 
 Have I not seen thee where thou hast not been ? 
 And, mad with the idea, clasp'd the wind, 
 And doated upon nothing? 
 
 Court me not. 
 
 Good Carlos, by recounting of my faults, 
 And telling how ungrateful I have been. 
 Alas, my lord, if talking would prevail, 
 I could suggest much better arguments 
 Than those regards you threw away on me; 
 Your valour, honour, wisdom, praised by all.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY' 103 
 
 But bid physicians talk our veins to temper, 
 And with an argument new-set a pulse ; 
 Then think, my lord, of reas'ning into love. 
 
 Revenge. Young. 
 
 TRUE LOVE WITHOUT LIMIT, 
 
 A day! a single day! O, poor Olympia! 
 Can a sun's journey measure thy account 
 Of endless love ? O niggard, cruel father ! 
 All other things have stated space of time 
 To work their periods, and attain their ends ; 
 Business is lost, or finish'd in a day; 
 Wealth, honour, wisdom, are the growth of time; 
 But love is only at one instant born, 
 Ev'n at the gate of death, the seeming date 
 Of our duration, love looks forward still, 
 And promises ten thousand years to come. 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. Sewell. 
 
 VIRTUOUS LOVE. 
 
 When hearts are join'd 
 In virtuous union, love's impartial beams 
 Gild the low cottage of the faithful swain 
 With equal warmth, as when he darts his fires 
 On canopies of state. 
 
 Mariamne. Fenton.
 
 104 THK SPIRIT Of 
 
 With all his strength and resolution arm'd, 
 
 See what a weak, defenceless thing- is man, 
 
 When love and virtue, in a woman's form 
 
 United, bid tlie boaster to the field. 
 
 One glance of pity, one half-dropping tear, 
 
 Disarms his anger, melts his stubborn scorn. 
 
 And turns the tyrant to a coward boy. 
 
 But if she talks, and vows, and promises, 
 
 Hypocrisy itself grows sick of feigning, 
 
 Flings off the cumbrous cloak of form and shew, 
 
 And opens all the heart for mighty love. 
 
 Sir Walter Raleish. Sewell. 
 
 The happiness of love is contemplation; 
 The blessedness of love is pure affection, 
 Where no alloy of actual dull desire, 
 Of pleasure that partakes with wantonness, 
 Of human fire, that burns out as it kindles. 
 And leaves the body but a poor repentance, 
 Can ever mix. Let's fix on that, Evanthe, 
 That's everlasting — the other casual r 
 Eternity breeds one, the other Fortune, 
 Blind as herself, and full of all afflictions. 
 
 A Wife for a Month. Beaumont and Fletcher.
 
 ENGLISJI TRAGEDY. 105 
 
 REVIVAL OF HOPELESS LOVE. 
 
 O sir! reflect J if thus 
 The hare recital wounds your fancy now, 
 A yet more dreadful pain may pierce your heart. 
 Love may once more revive, vain hopeless love! 
 When the dear object of your longing soul 
 Lies mould'ring in the dust. If so, the wretch 
 Who, buried in a trance, returns to life, 
 And walks distracted o'er the rattling bones 
 Of his dead fathers, in the dreary vault 
 Less horror feels, than sad remorse will raise 
 Within your breast! 
 
 Mariamne. Fenton. 
 
 INANITY OF 
 
 Why, when the balm of sleep descends on man. 
 
 Do gay delusions, wand'ring o'er the brain. 
 
 Sooth the delighted soul with empty bliss? 
 
 To want give affluence ? and to slav'ry freedom ? 
 
 Such are love's joys, the lenitives of life, 
 
 A fancied treasure, and a waking dream. 
 
 Irene. Dr. Johnson. 
 
 extreme of love. 
 
 Think but what intervals must lie between 
 Extremes of hatred, and extremes of love,
 
 106 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Nor fancy that the sweet and salted wave 
 Are ever parted by a single line. 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. Sewell. 
 
 WELL-TIMED. 
 
 When love's well timed, 'tis not a fault to love — 
 The strong, the brave, the virtuous, and the wise, 
 Sink in the soft captivity together. 
 
 Cato. Addison. 
 
 EVER APPREHENSIVE. 
 
 Love, strong in wish, is weak in reason still, 
 Forming a thousand ills which ne'er shall be ; 
 And, like a coward, kills itself to-day 
 With fancied grief, for fear it die to-morrow. 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. Sewell. 
 
 WEDDED LOVE. 
 
 For wedded love is founded on esteem. 
 Which the fair merits of the mind engage : 
 For those are charms which never can decay ; 
 But time, which gives new whiteness to the swan. 
 Improves their lustre. 
 
 Mariamne. Fenton.
 
 ENGLISH TKAGEDV. 107 
 
 Oh ! my dearest- 
 
 Here hang no comets in the shape of crowns 
 To shake our sweet contents ; nor here, Drusilla, 
 Cares like echpses darken our endeavours: 
 We love here without rivals, kiss with innocence : 
 Our thoughts as gentle as our lips, our children 
 The double heirs both of our forms and faiths. 
 Prophetess. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 NOT DEPENDENT ON CKEEDS. 
 
 Love busies not 
 Himself with reconciling creeds, nor heeds 
 The jarring of contentious priests : from courts 
 To shades, from shades to courts he flies. 
 To conquer hearts and overthrow distinction, 
 Treating alike the monarch and the slave. 
 
 The Christian Hero. Lillo. 
 
 PARAMOUNT TO RUIN. 
 
 Yet thus, thus fall'n, thus level'd with the vilest, 
 If I have gain'd thy love, 'tis glorious ruin ; 
 Ruin! 'tis still to reign, and to be more 
 A queen; for what are riches, empire, power. 
 But larger means to gratify the will ?
 
 108 TUE SPIUIT OF 
 
 The steps on which we tread, to rise and reach 
 Our wish; and thatobtain'd, down with the scaffolding 
 Of sceptres, crowns, and thrones; they have served 
 
 their end, 
 And are, like lumber, to be left and scorn'd. 
 
 Mournins Bride. Congreve. 
 
 DEPENDENT ON THE FANCY. 
 
 Love is an airy good, opinion makes : 
 Which he who only thinks he has, partakes. 
 Seen by a strong imagination's beam. 
 That tricks and dresses up the gaudy dream. 
 Presented so, with rapture 'tis enjoy'd : 
 liaised by high fancy, and by low destroy'd. 
 
 Aurengzebe. Dryden. 
 
 THE NOBLEST PASSION, AVHEN WORTHILY DIRECTED. 
 
 As love the noblest passion we account, 
 
 So to the highest object it should mount. 
 
 It shows you brave when mean desires you shun — 
 
 An eagle only can behold the sun. 
 
 Aurengzebe. Dryden. 
 
 UNIVERSAL. 
 
 What age, what sex, or what profession. 
 Divine or human, from the man that cries 
 For alms in the highway, to him that sings
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 109 
 
 At the high altar, and doth sacrifice, 
 Can truly say, he knows not what love is ? 
 
 The Knight of Malta. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 When most I strive to praise thee, I appear 
 
 A poor detractor ; for thou art, indeed. 
 
 So absolute in body and in mind. 
 
 That, but to speak the least part to the height, 
 
 Would ask an angel's tongue, and yet then end 
 
 In silent admiration ! 
 
 Duke of Milan. Massinger. 
 
 O, my Jocasta, 'tis for this the wet 
 Starved soldier lies on the cold ground; 
 For this he bears the storms 
 Of winter camps, and freezes in his arms, 
 To be thus circled, to be thus embraced. 
 
 (JEclipus. Dryden and Lee. 
 
 TO HIS false mistress. 
 
 I came to seek for painted virtue here. 
 For one exceeding- false, exceedino: fair :
 
 1 10 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 For one whose breast shone like a silver cloud, 
 But did a heart composed of thunder shroud; 
 For one more weeping than the face of Nile, 
 Whose liquid crystal hides the crocodile ; 
 For one who, like a God from Heav'n, did pour 
 Rich rain, but lust was in the golden show'r; 
 For one who, like Pandora, beauteous flew, 
 But a long train of curses with her drew ; 
 For one who like a rock of diamonds stood, 
 But hemm'd with Death, and universal flood. 
 Court of August7/s Ccesar. Lee. 
 
 AFTER A SEPARATION. 
 
 Oh ? I'll not ask, nor answer how, or why. 
 We both have backward trod the paths of fate 
 To meet again in life; to know I have thee, 
 Is knowing more than any circumstance 
 Or means by which I have thee. 
 To fold thee thus, to press thy balmy lips. 
 And gaze upon thy eyes, is so much joy, 
 I have no leisure to reflect or know. 
 Or trifle time in thinking. 
 
 Mourning Bride. Congreve. 
 
 IN ABSENCE. 
 
 Her absent beauties glow'd upon my mind. 
 And sparkled in each thought. She never left me-
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. Ill 
 
 Wouldst thou believe it? In the field of battle, 
 In the mid terror, and the flame of fight, 
 Mandane, thou hast stolen away my soul, 
 And left my fame in dang-er — My raised arm 
 Has hung in air, forgetful to descend, 
 And for a moment spared the pi-ostrate foe. 
 
 Busiris. Young. 
 
 TRANSPORTS OF ONE 
 
 Where am I? Surely, Paradise is round me! 
 Sweets planted by the hand of Heaven grow here, 
 And every sense is full of thy perfection. 
 Sure, framing thee. Heaven took unusual care; 
 As its own beauty it design'd thee fair. 
 And form'd thee by the best-loved angel there. 
 Orphan. Otway. 
 
 DISAPPOINTED ONE. 
 
 Oh, Jafiier! I had so fix'd my heart upon her. 
 That, wheresoe'er I framed a scheme of life 
 For time to come, she was my only joy. 
 With which I wish'd to sweeten future cares; 
 I fancied pleasures, none, but one that loves 
 And doats as I did, can imagine like 'em: 
 When in the extremity of all these hopes, 
 In the most charming hour of expectation, 
 Then, when our eager wishes soar the highest. 
 Ready to stoop and grasp the lovely game,
 
 112 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 A hagg^ard owl, a worthless kite of prey, 
 AVith his foul wings sail'd in, and s])oil'd my quarry. 
 Venice Preserved. Otway. 
 
 Oh, she was all! — 
 
 My fame, my friendship, and my love of arms. 
 All stoop'd to her; my blood was her possession. 
 Deep in the secret foldings of my heart 
 She lived with life, and far the dearer she. 
 To think on't is the torment of the damn'd ; 
 And not to think on't is impossible. 
 IIow fair the cheek that first alarm'd my soul ! 
 How bright the eye that set it in a flame ! 
 How soft the breast on which I laid my peace, 
 For years to slumber, unawaked by care! 
 How fierce the transport! how sublime the bliss! 
 How deep, how black, the horror and despair! 
 Revenue, Young. 
 
 THE KINGLY LOVER. 
 
 -Whate'er I am, I owe to royal Xerxes, 
 
 Who took me up, friendless, oppress'd, and destitute, 
 From the base fury of an unjust world, 
 And made me his; — to that I owe my worth; 
 And, like rude ingots, from their dross refined, 
 I wear your stamp, and thence derive my value. 
 No, beauteous maid, thou might'st as well maintain
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 113 
 
 It is the worshipper that makes the gods, 
 
 And not the bright perfection of their nature : 
 
 No, I beheld, admired and loved thy virtues; 
 
 My soul hath chose thee out, to be her own; 
 
 And I henceforth will triumph in thy arms, 
 
 And ravage o'er thy shining Heaven of beauty. 
 
 With greater joy, than the all-forming sun 
 
 Rose on the new-made world, warm'd by his beams, 
 
 And bid it bask within its rays for ever. 
 
 Themistocles. Madden. 
 
 PARTING OF 
 
 Something within sobs to my boding heart, 
 
 Semandra ne'er shall see Ziphares more. 
 
 Away, then; part, for ever part, Semandra! 
 
 Let me alone sustain those rav'nous fates. 
 Which like to famish'd tigers are gone out. 
 And have us in the wind. Death, come upon me; 
 Night, and the bloodiest deed of darkness end me. 
 But oh, for thee, for thee, if thou must die, 
 I beg of Heav'n this last, this only favour, 
 To give thy life a painless dissolution : 
 Oh! may those ravish'd beauties fall to earth 
 Gently, as wither'd roses leave their stalks : 
 May Death be mild to thee, as Love was cruel; 
 Calm, as the spirits in a trance decay; 
 And soft, as those who sleep their souls away. 
 Miihridates. Lee.
 
 114 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Thus we with smiles will entertain our fate; 
 
 My dearest lord, farewell ; let not a sigh 
 
 Or tear proclaim we grieve our parting's nigh. 
 
 Were it to quit our happiness a pain, 
 
 Joy were not then a blessing, but a chain. 
 
 No, let us part as dying- martyrs do. 
 
 Who leave this world only to gain a new. 
 
 Grief equally ignoble were as vain, 
 
 Since we at least in Heav'n shall meet again. 
 
 So from their oracles the deities 
 
 Instruct the ignorant world in mysteries. 
 But, part ! that word would make a saint despair. 
 Obedience cannot be a virtue here. 
 If so, ye gods, ye have such precepts given, 
 That an example would confound your Heav'n: 
 Duties beyond omnipotence you enjoin; 
 Can you forsake your Heav'n, or I leave mine? 
 Till when, thus. King, I'm fix'd beyond remove, 
 With all the cements of an endless love. 
 Kill me, thou yet shalt of thy ends despair, 
 My soul shall wait upon her ev'ry where. 
 Nay, I'd not fly to Heav'n till she came there. 
 Alcibiades. Otavay.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 115 
 
 Farewell My soul lives with thee. 
 
 Death is parting-, 
 
 'Tis the last sad adieu 'twixt soul and body, 
 But this is somewhat worse — my joy, my comfort, 
 All that was left in life, fleets after thee. 
 My aching- sig-ht hangs on thy parting beauties, 
 Thy lovely eyes all drown'd in floods of sorrow. 
 So sinks the setting sun beneath the waves, 
 And leaves the traveller in pathless woods, 
 Benighted and forlorn — Thus, with sad eyes, 
 Westward he turns, to mark the light's decay. 
 Till having lost the last faint glimpse of day, 
 Cheerless, in darkness, he pursues his way. 
 
 Tamerlane. Rowe. 
 
 DEATH OF 
 
 From dreadful to more dreadful I am plunged, 
 And find in deepest anguish deeper still. 
 
 I can't complain in common with mankind 
 
 But am a wretched species all alone. 
 
 Must I not only lose thee, but be cursed 
 
 To sprinkle my own hands with thy life-blood? 
 
 It cannot be avoided. 
 
 Nor perform'd. 
 
 Lift up my hand against thee as a foe ! 
 
 I, who should save thee from thy very father,
 
 116 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 And teach thy dearest friends to use thee well, 
 Make kindness kind, and soften all their smiles? 
 Oh, my Mandane! Think how I have loved! 
 Oh, my Mandane! Think upon thy pow'r! 
 How often hast thou seen me pale with joy, 
 
 And trembling at a smile ? and shall I 
 
 Myron * 
 
 \_ylt that Memnon starts up suddenly. 
 Ah,hold!Icharg-ethee,hold! One glance that way 
 
 Awakes my hell, and blows up all its flames. 
 The world turns round, my heart is sick to death! 
 Oh, my distraction! perfect loss of thought! 
 
 Why stand you like a statue? Are you dead? 
 
 What do you fold so fast within your arms? 
 Why with fix'd eye-balls do you pierce the ground? 
 Why shift your place, as if you trod on fire? 
 Why gnaw your lip, and groan so dreadfully? 
 My Lord, if I have spent whole live-long nights 
 In tears, and sigh'd away the day in private, 
 Only oppress'd with an excess of love. 
 Oh, turn, and speak to me! 
 
 And these, no doubt. 
 
 Are arguments that I should draw thy blood. 
 
 No child was ever lull'd upon the breast 
 
 With half that tenderness has melted from thee, 
 
 And fell like balm upon my wounded soul. 
 
 And shall I murder thee ? Yes, thus — thus — thus. 
 
 \_Embracing some time. 
 
 * Mandane had been violated by Myron.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 117 
 
 -Alas! My Lord forgets we are to die. 
 
 [Memnon gazes u/ih laonder on llie (ktgger. 
 -By Heav'n I had! my soul had took her flight 
 
 In bliss Why, is not this our bridal-day? 
 
 That way distraction lies. 
 
 Indeed it does. 
 
 Oh! Oh! 
 
 Thy sighs and groans are sharper than thy steel. 
 
 The guard is on us. 
 
 Then it must be done. 
 
 Sun, hide thy face, and put the world in mourning, 
 
 Though blood start out for tears, 'tis done — but one, 
 
 One last embrace. 
 
 \_As he embraces her, she bursts into tears. 
 
 Let me not see a tear. — I could as soon 
 
 Stab at the face of Heaven, as kill thee weeping. 
 
 'Tis past, I am composed. 
 
 And now, and now. 
 
 Be not so fearful, 'tis the second blow 
 
 Will pain my heart — indeed, this will not hurt me. 
 
 Oh, thou hast stung my soul quite thro' and thro'. 
 
 With those kind words; I had just steel'd my breast, 
 
 \_Dashmg doun the dagger. 
 
 And thou undo'st it all 1 could not bear 
 
 To raze thy skin, to save the world from ruin. 
 
 If you're a woman, I'll be something more. 
 
 [^Stabs herself. 
 I shall not taste of Heav'n till you arrive. \_Dies. 
 
 Struck home — and in her heart. — She's dead 
 
 already,
 
 118 THE SPIltlT OF 
 
 And now with nie h1! Nature is expired. 
 
 [^Stabs hiinself. 
 My lovely bride, now we again are happy, 
 
 Bunirix. Young. 
 
 DEATH OF- 
 
 See how the lovers lie in state together, 
 As they were giving laws to half mankind! 
 Th' impression of a smile left in her face, 
 Shows she died please;! with him for whom she lived, 
 And went to charm him in another world. 
 Sleep, blest pair, 
 
 Secure from human chance, long ages out, 
 While all the storms of fate fly o'er your tomb ; 
 And fame to late posterity shall tell, 
 No lovers lived ^o great, or died so well. 
 All for Love. Dryden. 
 
 iLU0t 
 
 Nay, seen them 
 Tie heart to heart, one in another's arms, 
 Multiplying kisses, as if they meant 
 To pose arithmetic, or whose eyes would 
 Be first burnt out with jjazins' on the other's. 
 r saw their mouths engender, and iheir palms 
 Glued as if love had lock'd them : their words flow 
 And melt each other's like two circling flames,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 119 
 
 Where chastity, like a phoenix, methought, burned, 
 But left the world nor ashes nor an heir. 
 
 Fatal Dowry. Massinger a\d Field. 
 
 MAGNIFICENT IN HER BOUNTIES. 
 
 Threadbare Chastity 
 Is poor in the advancement of her servants, 
 But AVantonness magnificent ; and 'tis frequent 
 To have the salary of Vice weigh down 
 The pay of Virtue. 
 
 The Roman Actor. Massingeu. 
 
 REBUKED AND CONQUERED BY VIRTUE. 
 
 Cruel fair one ! 
 
 Are you still resolute to persist in your 
 Strano-e tyranny, and scorn my constant love? 
 
 Do not, sir. 
 
 Abuse that sacred title, which the saints 
 And powers celestial glory in, by ascribing 
 It to your loose desires; pray rather clothe them 
 In their own attribute; term them your lust, sir. 
 Your wild irregular lust, which, like those firedrakes 
 Misguiding 'nighted travellers, will lead you 
 Forth of the fair path of your fame and virtue. 
 To unavoided ruin. 
 
 This is coyness, 
 
 A cunning coyness, to make me esteem. 
 At a high rate, that jewel which you seem
 
 120 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 To part from so unwillingly; merchants use it 
 To put bad wares away: dear Isabella, 
 Think what excessive honour thou shalt reap 
 In the exchange of one poor trivial gem, 
 And that but merely imaginary, a voice, 
 An unsubstantial essence ; yet for that 
 Thou shalt have real pleasures, such as queens, 
 Prone to delicious luxury, would covet 
 To sate their appetites. — — 
 
 I would be loth 
 
 That you should see me angry ; 'tis a passion 
 
 My modesty is unacquainted with ; 
 
 Yet, in this cause, dear to me as my honour, 
 
 I needs must chide your passion. Oh ! consider. 
 
 Look what a precipice of certain ruin 
 
 Your violent will, as on some dangerous rock. 
 
 That strikes whate'er dashes upon't in pieces. 
 
 Has cast your heedless youth upon! My lord. 
 
 Why should you venture your whole stock of goodness 
 
 Upon forbidden merchandise ? A prize 
 
 Which the most barbarous pirates to the laws 
 
 Of moral honesty would fear to seize on. 
 
 Both for its sanctity and trivial value. 
 
 What foolish thief, my lord, would rob an altar, 
 
 Be guilty of the sacrilege, to gain 
 
 A brazen censer ? Why should you, then, affect 
 
 A sin so great as spoiling me of honour. 
 
 For such a poor gain as the satisfying 
 
 Your sensual appetite ? Think, good my lord,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 121 
 
 The pleasures you so covet are but like flatt'ring 
 
 mornincfs. 
 That show the risinsf sun in his full brightness. 
 Yet do, ere night, bury his head in tempests. 
 
 I'm disenchanted ! all the charms are fled 
 
 That hung like mists about my soul, and robb'd it 
 Of the fair light of virtue. Excellent angel ! 
 You have that povper in goodness as shall teach 
 Wonder, that child of ignorance, a faith 
 No woman can be bad. — — 
 — — — Pi"^y) sweet, forgive me ! 
 Seal it with one chaste kiss; and henceforth let me 
 Adore you as the saver of my honour, 
 My truth and fame's preserver. 
 
 Albertus Wallenstein. Glaptiiorne. 
 
 BY POISON. 
 
 Give me more air, air, more air! blow, blow! 
 Open, thou eastern gate, and blow upon me! 
 Distil thy cold dews, oh, thou icy moon. 
 And rivers run thro' my afflicted spirit ! 
 I am all fire, fire, fire! The raging dog-star 
 Reigns in my blood ! Oh, which way shall I turn me ? 
 Etna, and all his flames, burn in my head. 
 Fling me into the ocean, or I perish!
 
 122 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Dig, dig, dig, till the springs fly up — 
 The cold, cold springs, that I may leap into them, 
 And bathe my scorch'd limbs in their purling plea- 
 sures ! 
 Or shoot me up into the higher region, 
 Where treasures of delicious snow are nourish'd. 
 And banquets of sweet hail ! 
 
 Bring hither Charity, 
 
 And let me hug her, friar: they say she's cold. 
 
 Infinite cold ! devotion cannot warm her. 
 
 Draw me a river of false lovers' tears 
 
 Clean through my breast ; they're dull, cold, and 
 
 forgetful. 
 And will give ease. Let virgins sigh upon me — 
 Forsaken souls I their sighs are precious. 
 Let them all sigh. Oh, hell, hell, hell! oh, horror I 
 
 To bed, good sir. 
 
 My bed will burn about me; 
 
 Like Phajton, in all-consuming flashes 
 
 I am enclosed. Let me fly, let me fly ! give room ! 
 
 'Twixt the cold bears, far from the raging lion, 
 
 Lies my safe way. Oh, for a cake of ice, now. 
 
 To clap into my heart, to comfort me ! 
 
 Decrepid Winter, hang upon my shoulders. 
 
 And let me wear thy frozen icicles. 
 
 Like jewels, round about my head, to cool me ! 
 
 My eyes burn out, and sink into their sockets; 
 
 And my infected brain like brimstone boils ! 
 
 I live in hell, and several furies vex me!
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 123 
 
 Oh, carry me where no sun ever shewed yet 
 A face of comfort! where the earth is crystal, 
 Never to be dissolved ! where nought inhabits 
 But night and cold, and nipping frosts, and winds 
 That cut the stubborn rocks and make them shiver. 
 Set me there, friends! 
 A Wife for a Month. Beaumont and Fletcheu. 
 
 FROM REJECTED LOVE. 
 
 Who art thou? Say. Methinks I ought to hate thee, 
 And yet could stand and gaze for ever on thee. 
 In savage desarts wonder at thy beauties. 
 Fearless, tho' howling monsters grinn'd around ; 
 With transport view thee 'midst the wreck of nature; 
 'Midst storms, and fires, and waves, and crushing 
 
 worlds, 
 Grasp thee with joy, nor think upon my ruin. 
 If thou'rt some airy messenger from Heaven, 
 For such thou seem'st by thy bright-beaming radiance, 
 And com'st to waft me to th' Elysian shades. 
 Guide me, O guide me, with thy sacred wand. 
 Thro' the dark horrors of the dreary way; 
 The shadowy people of th' infernal world 
 Shall part, and faintly murmur as I pass. 
 See there! Artesia in the myrtle groves 
 Basks in eternal joy ; she clasps her prince, 
 But frowns as I pass by. The grinning furies 
 Leap from their den, and brandish high their whips ! 
 O save me, save me ! Sec, the curling snakes
 
 124 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Drop their black poison ; now they mount aloft, 
 Now twist in horrid volumes round my neck. 
 The Virgin Queen. Barford. 
 
 Men are but children of a larg-er growth, 
 Our appetites as apt to change as theirs. 
 And full as craving too, and full as vain ; 
 And yet the soul, shut up in her dark room. 
 Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees nothing ; 
 But, like a mole in earth, busy and blind. 
 Works all her folly up, and casts it outward 
 To the world's open view. 
 
 All for Love. Dryden. 
 
 ON HIS SUBJECTION TO WOMAN. 
 
 How poor a thing is he, how worthy scorn, 
 Who leaves the guidance of imperial manhood 
 To such a paltry piece of stuff as this is ! 
 A moppet made of prettiness and pride ; 
 That oflener does her giddy fancies change. 
 Than glittering dew-drops in the sun do colours — 
 Now, shame upon it! was our reason given 
 For such a use ; to be thus puff 'd about ? 
 
 Jane Shore. Rowe.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 125 
 
 HIS INSIGNIFICANCE. 
 
 Can we call conquest ours ? 
 Shall man, this pigmy, with a giant's pride. 
 Vaunt of himself, and say, thus have I done this? 
 Oh! vain pretence to greatness! Like the moon, 
 We borrow all the brightness which we boast. 
 Dark in ourselves, and useless. 
 
 Tamerlane, Rowe. 
 
 THE VANITY OF HIS LABOURS. 
 
 Now Heaven, in scorn of human arrogance, 
 Commits to trivial chance the fate of nations ! 
 While with incessant thought laborious man 
 Extends his mighty schemes of wealth and power, 
 And tow'rs and triumphs in ideal greatness, 
 Some accidental gust of opposition 
 Blasts all the beauties of his new creation, 
 O'erturns the fabric of presumptuous reason. 
 And whelms the swelling architect beneath it. 
 Irene. Dr. Johnson. 
 
 NONE PERFECT. 
 
 He, who knows no fault, knows no perfection. 
 The rectitude, that Heav'n appoints to man. 
 Leads on through error; and the kindly sense
 
 126 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Of having stray'd, endears the road to bliss; 
 It makes Heav'n's way more pleasing ! 
 
 Gustavtis Vasa. Brook. 
 
 HIS POSTHUMOUS VANITY. 
 
 Idle care ! 
 Posthumous vanity of foolish man ! 
 Can pomp and pride make difference in our dust ? 
 Go, cast a curious look on Helen's tomb ; 
 Do roses flourish there, or myrtles bloom : 
 The mighty Alexander's grave survey; 
 See, is there ought uncommon in the clay? 
 Shines the earth brighter round it, to declare 
 
 The glorious robber of the world lies there? 
 
 What, Egypt, do thy pyramids comprise? 
 What greatness in the high-raised folly lies? 
 The line of Ninus this poor comfort brings, 
 We sell their dust, and traffic for their kino-s. 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. Sewell. 
 
 HIS WEAKNESS UNDER TEMPTATION. 
 
 Oh, you immortal powers! 
 What is your influence on the heart of man, 
 If every slight temptation wins him from you ? 
 Shall painted clay, shall white and red, less pure 
 Than that which decks the lily and the rose, 
 Seduce you fi"t>m the bright unfading joys 
 Your goodness yields r 
 
 Marina. Lillo.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 127 
 
 DISQUIETUDE OF 
 
 O wretched man, whose too too busy thoughts 
 Ride swifter than the galloping^ Heav'ns round, 
 With an eternal hurry of the soul : 
 Nay, there's a time when ev'n the rolling year 
 Seems to stand still ; dead calms are in the ocean, 
 When not a breath disturbs the drowsy waves: 
 But man, the very monster of the world, 
 Is ne'er at rest, the soul for ever wakes. 
 
 CEdipus. Dryden and Lee. 
 
 LOT OF — 
 
 Man's common course of nature is distress: 
 His joys are prodigies; and like them, too, 
 Portend approaching ill. The wise man starts, 
 And trembles at the perils of a bliss. 
 To hope, how bold! how daring to be fond. 
 When, what our fondness grasps, is not immortalt 
 Brothers. Young. 
 
 THE DESIRES OF A VAIN MAN. 
 
 But when bold expectation, nursed by vanity. 
 Brooks no denial, and assumes to weigh 
 Its own fantastic worth; — what earthly pow'r 
 Can satisfy its cravings, or fill up 
 Til' unfathoni'd measure of self-love and pride! 
 Jthelsian. Hii,r.
 
 128 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 THE UNCERTAINTY OF HIS JOYS. 
 
 Oh, what a change can one short hour bestow ! 
 To bury man's best hopes in endless woe 
 Beauty's frail bloom's a cheat! Valour's brief fame 
 
 An empty sound the shadow of a name ; 
 
 Riches are envy's bait — Scorn haunts the poor, — 
 In death alone, from pain we rest secure. 
 
 The Insolvent. HiLt. 
 
 NATURE BOUNTIFUL TO ALL. 
 
 Be patient, prince, be more humane and just. 
 You have your virtues, have your vices, too; 
 And we have ours. The liberal hand of Nature 
 Has not created us, nor any nation. 
 Beneath the blessed canopy of Heaven, 
 Of such malignant clay, but each may boast 
 Their native virtues, and their Maker's bounty. 
 Edicard Sf Eleonora. Thomson. 
 
 THE MEMORY OF A GREAT ONE. 
 
 Some, when they die, die all : their mould'ring' clay 
 
 Is but an emblem of their memories: 
 
 The space quite closes up through which they pass'd. 
 
 That I have lived, I leave a mark behind. 
 
 Shall pluck the shining age from vulgar time, 
 
 And give it whole to late posterity.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 129 
 
 My name is writ in mighty characters, 
 Triumphant columns, and eternal domes. 
 Whose splendor heightens our Egyptian day, 
 Whose strength shall laugh at time, till their great basis, 
 Old earth itself, shall fail. In after-ages. 
 Who war or build, shall build or war from me, 
 Grow great in each, as my example fires; 
 'Tis I of art the future wonders raise; 
 
 I fight the future battles of the world. 
 
 Busiris. Young. 
 
 THE MEMORY OF A VIRTUOUS 
 
 The memory and monuments of good men 
 
 Are more than lives, and though their tombs want 
 
 tongues. 
 Yet have they eyes that daily sweat their losses. 
 And such a tear fi'om stone no time can value. 
 To die both good and young are Nature's curses. 
 As the world says; ask Truth, they are bounteous 
 
 blessings; 
 For then we reach at Heaven, in our full virtues, 
 A nd fix ourselves new stars crown'd with our goodness. 
 The Double Marriage. Beaumont & Fletcher. 
 
 His name was, while he lived, above all envy; 
 And, being dead, without it. 
 
 Sejanus. Ben Jonson. 
 
 K
 
 130 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 A tender husband hast thou show'd thyself, 
 
 My dearest brother, and thy memory, 
 
 After thy life, in brazen characters 
 
 Shall monumentally be register'd 
 
 To ages consequent, till Time's ruining hand 
 
 Beats back the world to undistinguish'd chaos, 
 
 And on the top of that thy name shall stand 
 
 Fresh, and without decay. 
 
 The Knight of Malta. Beaumont & Fletcher. 
 
 How vain all outward efforts to supply 
 The soul with joy ! The noontide sun is dark. 
 And music discord, when the heart is low I 
 Avert its omen ! what a damp hangs on me ! 
 These sprightly tuneful airs but skim along 
 The surface of my soul, not enter there ; 
 She does not dance to this enchanting sound. 
 How, like a broken instrument, beneath 
 The skilful touch, my joyless heart lies dead. 
 Nor answers to the master's hand divine ! 
 
 Brothers. Young.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 131 
 
 THE mind's lethargy. 
 
 This melancholy flatters, but unmans you. 
 What is it else, but penury of soul; 
 A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind ; 
 That locks up all the vigour to attempt, 
 By barely crying, 'tis impossible? 
 
 Cleomenes. Da yd en. 
 
 MELANCHOLY HUSBAND. 
 
 He walks at midnight in thick shady woods, 
 
 Where scarce the moon is starlight; I have watch'd him 
 
 In silent nights, when all the earth was drest 
 
 Up like a virgin, in white innocent beams, — 
 
 Stood in my window, cold and thinly clad, 
 
 T' observe him through the bounty of the moon, 
 
 That liberally bestow'd her graces on me; 
 
 And when the morning dew began to fall, 
 
 Then was my time to weep. 
 
 The Second Maiden's Tnigedy. Anonymous. 
 
 The greatest attribute of Heav'n is mercy ; 
 And 'tis the crown of justice, and the glory 
 Where it may kill with right, to save with pity. 
 Lover^s Progress. Beaumont & Fletcher.
 
 132 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 A DAUGHTER SUPPLICATING FOR ULil FATHER'S LIFE. 
 
 — — O stay there, duke, 
 And in the midst of all thy blood and fury, 
 Hear a poor maid's petitions'. Hear a daughter, 
 The only daughter of a wretched father^ 
 
 stay yonr haste, as you shall need this mercy. 
 Away with this fond woman ! 
 
 You must hear me : 
 
 If there be any spark of pity in you, 
 If sweet humanity and mercy rule you! 
 
 1 do confess you are a prince, your anger 
 As great as you, your execution greater. 
 
 ■ Away with him. 
 
 O captain, by thy manhood, 
 
 By her soft soul that bore thee : — I do confess, sir, 
 Your doom of justice on your foes most righteous; 
 Good, noble prince, look on me. 
 
 Take her from me. 
 
 A curse upon his life that hinders me ! 
 
 May father's blessing never fall upon him, 
 
 May Heaven never hear his prayers! I beseech you, 
 
 O sir, these tears beseech you, these chaste hands 
 
 woo you, 
 That never yet were heaved but to things holy, 
 Things like yourself; you are a god above us. 
 Be as a god, then, full of saving mercy. 
 Mercy, O mercy, sir, for his sake mercy. 
 That when your stout heart weeps, shall give you pity,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 133 
 
 When under thy black mischiefs thy flesh trembles. 
 Here I must grow. 
 
 By Heaven, I'll strike thee, woman. 
 
 Most willingly, let all thy anger seize me, 
 
 All the most studied torments, so this good man, 
 This old man, and this innocent, escape thee. 
 
 Carry him away, I say. 
 
 Now blessing on thee : O sweet pity, 
 
 I see it in thy eyes. I charge ye, soldiers, 
 Even by the prince's power, release my father! 
 The prince is merciful, why do ye hold him? 
 The prince forgets his fury, why do ye tug him? 
 He is old, why do ye hurt him? Speak, O speak, sir! 
 Speak, as you are a man; a man's life hangs, sir, 
 A friend's life, and a foster life, upon you. 
 'Tis but a word, but mercy, quickly spoke, sir, 
 O speak, prince, speak ! 
 
 Will no man here obey me ? 
 
 Have I no rule yet? as I live, he dies 
 
 That does not execute my will, and suddenly. 
 
 Hew off her hands. 
 
 Lady, hold off. 
 
 No, hew 'em, 
 
 Hew off my innocent hands, as he commands you, 
 They'll hang the faster on for death's convulsion. 
 Thou seed of rocks, will nothing move thee, then? 
 Are all my tears lost? All my righteous prayers 
 Drown'd in thy drunken wrath ? I stand up thus, then. 
 Thus boldly, bloody tyrant. 
 
 And to thy face, in Heaven's high name, <h;fy thee: 
 And may sweet mercy, when thy soul sighs for it,
 
 134 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 When neither strength nor youth, nor friends nor gold, 
 Can stay one hour; when thy most wretched conscience, 
 Waked from her dream of death, hke fire shall melt 
 
 thee; 
 When all thy mother's tears, thy brother's wounds. 
 Thy people's fears and curses, and my loss. 
 
 My aged father's loss, shall stand before thee 
 
 Rolb. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 Cfte l^inli* 
 
 Charm'd by the virtues which adorn this man, 
 I grieve with shame, that I so long mistook 
 The pride of courts for real happiness. 
 Now judgment widens; and I see with scorn 
 That rich and poor, the vulgar and the great. 
 Are false distinctions — 'Tis the mind alone 
 Should give the man deserved pre-eminence. 
 Fatal Vision. Hill. 
 
 THE INFIRMITY OF 
 
 For 'tis th' infirmity of noblest minds, 
 
 When ruffled with an unexpected woe, 
 
 To speak what settled prudence would conceal: 
 
 As the vex'd ocean working in a storm, 
 
 Oft brings to light the wrecks which long lay calm 
 
 In the dark bosom of the secret deep. 
 
 Mariamne. Fenton.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 135 
 
 THE FORTITUDE OF 
 
 Valour soars above 
 What the world calls misfortune and affliction. 
 These are not ills ; else would they never fall 
 On Heav'n's first fav'rites, and the best of men. 
 The gods, in bounty, work up storms about us, 
 That give mankind occasion to exert 
 Their hidden strength, and throw out into practice 
 Virtues which shun the day, and lie conceal'd 
 In the smooth seasons and the calm of life. 
 
 Cato. Addison. 
 
 As a pine 
 Rent from Oeta by a sweeping tempest. 
 Jointed again, and made a mast, defies 
 Those angry winds that split him, so will I, 
 Pieced to my never-failing strength and fortune, 
 Steer thro' these swelling dangers, plough their 
 
 pride up. 
 And bear, like thunder, thro' their loudest tempests. 
 Bonducn. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Then we forsake 
 The strong fort of ourselves, when we once yield 
 Or shrink at her assaults.* I am still myself, 
 
 » Of Fortune.
 
 136 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 And, tho' disrobed of sovereignty, and ravish'd 
 Of ceremonious duty that attends it — 
 Nay, grant they'd 'slaved my body, my free mind. 
 Like to the palm-tree walling fruitful Nile, 
 Shall grow up straighter, and enlarge itself, 
 Spite of the envious weight that loads it. 
 
 The False One. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 THE INDEPENDENCE OF 
 
 Cowards are scared with threat'nings; boys are whipt 
 Into confessions: but a steady mind 
 Acts of itself, ne'er asks the body counsel. 
 
 Venice Preserved. O t w a y . 
 
 PRESENCE OF 
 
 And, in extremes, bold counsels are the best. 
 Like emp'ric remedies, they last are tried ; 
 And by th' event condemn'd, or justified. 
 Presence of mind, and courage in distress, 
 Are more than armies to procure success. 
 
 Aurengzebe. Dryden. 
 
 THE FREEDOM OF 
 
 He's lost the kingdom — but his mind's restored; 
 Which is the larger empire ? Prithee tell me. 
 Dominions have their limits — the whole earth 
 Is but a prisoner, nor the sea her gaoler. 
 That, with a silver hoop, locks in her body;
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 137 
 
 They're fellow prisoners, though the sea looks bigger 
 Because it is in office — and pride swells him; 
 But the unbounded kingdom of the mind 
 Is as unlimitable as Heaven, that glorious court of 
 spirits. 
 The Second Maiden'' s Tragedy. Anonymous. 
 
 A GREAT MIND. 
 
 Great minds, like Heaven, are pleased in doing good, 
 Though the ungrateful subjects of their favours 
 Are barren in return. 
 
 Tamerlane. Rowe. 
 
 SELF-GOVERNMENT OF 
 
 To conquer kingdoms, and on sceptres tread, 
 
 Is but to imitate great heroes dead : 
 
 Should you your arms to the world's limits bear. 
 
 The mighty Alexander pierced as far : 
 
 But, if ungovern'd passion you can bind. 
 
 And quench th' inglorious ardour of your mind, 
 
 Your fame shall with that haughty victor's vie, 
 
 Which all the eastern beauties could defy. 
 
 Sophonisha. Lee. 
 
 THE BEAUTY OF THE MIND SUPERIOR TO THE BODY's. 
 
 Am I to blame, if Nature threw my body 
 In so perverse a mould? Yet, when she cast
 
 138 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Her envious hand upon my supple joints, 
 Unable to i-esist, and rumpled 'em 
 On heaps in their dark lodging, to revenge 
 Her bungled work she stamped my mind more fair: 
 And as from chaos, huddled and deform'd, 
 The God struck fire, and lighted up the lamps 
 That beautify the sky, so he inform'd 
 This ill-shaped body with a daring soul : 
 And making less than man, she made me more. 
 CEdipus. Dryden and Lee. 
 
 PRIDE IN HER SON. 
 
 Heav'ns ! I had once a son ! 
 Yes, I will picture him — — — 
 
 — — These eyes shall ne'er behold 
 A form so delicate ; all other youths 
 Seem'd cold and lifeless images to him. 
 A soul so rich in virtue, it chastised 
 Vice without speech, and utter'd thro' his eyes 
 Silent persuasion; in the field of war 
 Cautious as age, and daring as despair. 
 Yet humble as the conquer'd, when victorious. 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. Sewell.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 139 
 
 HER GRIEF FOR HIM. 
 
 Vain empty words 
 Of honour, glory, and immortal fame. 
 Can these recal the spirit from its place, 
 Or re-inspire the breathless clay with life? 
 What, tho' your Fame, with all its thousand trumpets, 
 Sound o'er the sepulchre, will that awake 
 The sleeping dead, and give me back my son? 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. Seweil. 
 
 IN SEPARATION. 
 
 Could you feel 
 The strong emotions of a mother's woe. 
 When ravish'd from her loved one, who hath lived 
 Most in her sight, and ever in her soul : 
 Not all the wounds which Fortune is empower'd 
 T' inflict, nor instant death, would move your mind 
 Amid his dangers to regard your own. 
 Ev'n life, that dear ennobling gift of Heav'n, 
 Which, in the order of creation, ranks 
 The palest glow-worm's animated ray 
 Above the brightest star, with me will lose 
 Its boasted value, when I lose my child. 
 With him I truly lived ; his presence crown'd 
 The day with pleasure, and the night with peace. 
 Then, breath consumed in sighs will not deserve 
 The name of life ! These roofs shall only sound
 
 140 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 With mournful accents, sad as niurm'ring winds, 
 Which throuofh the clefts of ruin'd cloisters roar. 
 Such music best will please the mother's ear. 
 If, in a distant land, her tender son 
 Must weep the rigour of a foreign lord. 
 With no kind friend to pity or revenge 
 The wrongs he there sustains ! 
 
 Mariamne. Fenton. 
 
 Wish'd Morning's come ! And now upon the plains 
 And distant mountains, where they feed their flocks. 
 The happy shepherds leave their homely huts, 
 And with their pipes proclaim the new-born day. 
 The lusty swain comes with his well-fiU'd scrip 
 Of healthful viands; which, when hunger calls, 
 With much content and appetite he eats, 
 To follow in the fields his daily toil. 
 And dress the grateful glebe, that yields him fruits. 
 The beasts, that under the warm hedges slept, 
 And weather'd out the cold bleak night, are up. 
 And looking tow'rds the neighb'ring pastures, raise 
 The voice, and bid their fellow-brutes good-morrow; 
 The cheerful birds, too, on the tops of trees. 
 Assemble all in choirs, and with their notes 
 Salute and welcome up the rising sun. 
 
 Orphan. Otway.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 141 
 
 You and your hungry herd depart untouch'd ; 
 For justice cannot stoop so low, to reach 
 The grovelling sin of crowds ; but cursed be they 
 Who trust revenge with such mad instrumentSj 
 Whose blindfold business is but to destroy: 
 And, like the fire commission'd by the winds. 
 Begins on sheds, but rolling in a round, 
 On palaces returns. Away, ye scum. 
 That still rise upmost when the nation boils ; 
 That have but just enough of sense to know 
 The master's voice, when rated to depart. 
 
 Sebastian. Dryden. 
 
 INCONSTANT. 
 
 The silly crowd, by factious teachers brought 
 To think that faith untrue their youth was taught, 
 Run on in new opinions blindly bold ; 
 Neglect, contemn, and then assault the old. 
 Th' infectious madness seizes every part, 
 And from the head distils upon the heart. 
 And first they think their prince's faith not true. 
 And then proceed to offer him a new; 
 Which, if refused, all duty from 'em cast. 
 To their new faith they make new kings at last. 
 Tyrannic Love. Dryden.
 
 142 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 O ! think what 'tis to be the people's slave, 
 
 To owe your pow'r to their inconstancy; 
 
 For should the good gods leave their heav'nly thrones 
 
 To rule below, they would not please us long : 
 
 The saucy censurers of sovereign sway 
 
 Wou'd tax their government : Divinity 
 
 Itself were not secure, without a guard 
 
 Of bolts, and flames, to awe rebellious man. 
 
 The Spartan Dame. Southerne. 
 
 THEIR IDOL. 
 
 'Tis he, the pageant of the crowd, who rears 
 His head above you all, amid the Heavens, 
 Like some vast temple form'd for adoration. 
 That veils within some wonder-working god, 
 And looks with scorn on ev'ry meaner edifice. 
 Themistocles. Madden. 
 
 Hollow was his aspect. 
 Graves in his smiles, death in his bloodless hands. 
 Massacre of Paris. Lee.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 143 
 
 Music shall wake her : That hath pow'r to charm 
 Pale sickness, and avert the stings of pain ; 
 But ever on the mind the sure effects 
 Are most conspicuous, where the varied notes 
 Can raise or quell our passions, and becalm 
 In sweet oblivion the too wakeful sense 
 Of grief or love ; and print a dimpled smile 
 On the green bloodless cheek of dumb despair. 
 Such pow'rful strains bid Harmony resound : 
 Such as good spirits are supposed to sing 
 O'er saints, while death dissolves the union band, 
 And frees them from the fretful dream of life. 
 Mariamne. Fenton. 
 
 A THEME FOR MUSIC. 
 
 There's sure no passion in the human soul 
 But finds its food in music — I would hear 
 The song composed by that unhappy maid 
 Whose faithful lover 'scap'd a thousand perils 
 From rocks and sands, and the devouring deep ; 
 And after all, being arrived at home, 
 Passing a narrow brook, was drowned there, 
 And perishTl in her sight. 
 
 Fatal Curiosity. Lillo.
 
 144 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 The drowsy night grows on the world, and now 
 The busy craftsmen and the o'er-labour'd hind 
 Forget the travail of the day in sleep : 
 Care only wakes, and moping Pensiveness ; 
 With meagre discontented looks they sit, 
 And watch the wasting of the midnight taper. 
 Jane Shore. Rowe. 
 
 'Tis night; the season when the happy take 
 Repose, and. only wretches are awake : 
 Now discontented ghosts begin their rounds, 
 Haunt ruin'd buildings and unwholesome grounds ; 
 Or at the curtains of the restless wait. 
 To frighten them with some sad tale of fate. 
 Don Carlos. Otway. 
 
 Fair eldest child of Love, thou spotless Night, 
 Empress of silence, and the queen of sleep. 
 Who, with thy black cheeks' pure complexion, 
 Makest lovers' eyes enamour'd of thy beauty. 
 Lusfs Dominion. MARLOM^
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 145 
 
 'Tis nig-ht, the time that Nature has appointed 
 For soft repose ; 'tis still, all still around, 
 Save in these courtly walls, whose midnight echoes 
 Swell every breath to sound, and awe the mind. 
 Lo, yond' the moon in silence mounts the sky. 
 And leads her starry train : she's now at full. 
 What time she acts most strongly on the earth. 
 Now fiends and spectres from the earth's dark womb 
 Rise horribly to view, in black cabals ; 
 Or, lonely wand'ring thro' the awful gloom. 
 With dreadful wailing swell the nightly horrors. 
 Virgin Queen. Bauford. 
 
 TEMPESTUOUS 
 
 So black the night, as if no star e'er shone 
 In all the wide expanse ; the lightning's flash 
 But shows the darkness, and the bursting clouds 
 With peals of thunder seem to rock the land. 
 Not beasts of prey dare now from shelter roam, 
 But howl in dens, and make the forests groan. 
 Busiris. Young.
 
 146 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 A VENERABLE aspect! 
 Age sits with decent grace upon his visage, 
 And worthily becomes his silver locks ; 
 He wears the marks of many years well spent, 
 Of virtue, truth well tried, and wise experience ; 
 A friend like this would suit my sorrows well. 
 Jane Shore. Rowe. 
 
 Even as an ajred oak 
 Push'd to and fro, the labour of the storm ; 
 Whose largest branches are struck off by thunder ; 
 Yet still he lives, and on the mountain groans ; 
 Strong in affliction, awful from his wounds, 
 And more revered in ruin than in glory. 
 
 Brothers. Young. 
 
 A BARREN 
 
 *Tis irksome to remembrance, to look back 
 Upon your youth, that happier part of life. 
 Like some fair field, or rich and fertile soil, 
 That might have blest the owner with abundance ; 
 But left unheeded, like a barren moor, 
 Lies fenceless, wild, uncultivate, and waste. 
 
 Ulysses. RowE.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 147 
 
 SLOW TO FORGIVE. 
 
 Young men soon give, and soon forget, affronts: 
 Old age is slow in both. 
 
 Cato. Addison. 
 
 A RIPE OLD AGE. 
 
 Of no distemper, of no blast he died, 
 But fell like autumn-fruit that meliow'd long: 
 E'en wonder'd at, because he dropp'd no sooner. 
 Fate seem'd to wind him up for fourscore years; 
 Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more : 
 Till, like a clock worn out with eating Time, 
 The wheels of weary life at last stood still. 
 
 CEdipus. Dryden and Lee. 
 
 WITHOUT PRUDENCE. 
 
 Prudence, thou vainly in our youth art sought, 
 And with age purchased art too dearly bought : 
 We're past the use of wit, for which we toil ; 
 Late fruit, and planted in too cold a soil. 
 
 Aurengzebe. Dryden. 
 
 SEEKING ADVANCEMENT. 
 
 Hast thou the leisure, thou forgetful man. 
 To think upon advancement at these years ?
 
 148 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 What would'st thou do with greatness ? dost thou hope 
 To fray deatli with't? Or hast thou that conceit 
 That honour will restore thy youth again? 
 Thou art but mock'd, old fellow ! 'tis not so : 
 Thy hopes abuse thee ; follow thine own business, 
 And list not to the syren of the world. 
 Alas ! thou hadst more need kneel at an altar 
 Than to a chair of state ; 
 
 And search thy conscience for thy sins of youth : 
 That's work enough for age ; it needs no greater. 
 Thou'rt called within; thy very eyes look inward, 
 To teach thy thoughts the way. 
 
 The Second Maiden's Tragedy. Anonymous. 
 
 THE VIRTUE OF 
 
 There is no instant in the tide of time 
 But man may seize, and fill the vacant space 
 With useful searches of improving thought. 
 The light attracts him with ten thousand views, 
 Offering her objects to the sense unsought. 
 That ask, and court, and press him to be known. 
 Then, soon as night succeeds, the darken'd air 
 Warns him to sweet retreat, and silent musings, 
 That trace the past ideas thro' the brain, 
 Now mix, and now divide the various heap, 
 Then form anew the separated kinds,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 149 
 
 Trying all ways to feed the greedy soul. 
 
 Thus even here I'm happy, thus disjoin'd 
 
 From pomps and thrones, from camps and noisy war, 
 
 The boasted scenes and glory of my youth. 
 
 Well they are past ; this prison now is all, 
 
 And this I will enjoy there's something here 
 
 I never tasted in the courts of kino-s. 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. Sewell. 
 
 FORTITUDE OF 
 
 Let them plot on 1 have a part within 
 
 Their malice cannot reach Yes, yes, my soul, 
 
 Thou shalt be feasted with a rich repast. 
 The grave historian, and the moral sage; 
 The searching minds, that scorn to be confined 
 On this dim spot, but travel to the seats 
 Of nobler beings, and more finish'd worlds; 
 All call, and wait on thee. The Muses' song 
 Breathes near, to temper the fatigue of thought. 
 Hail, blest companions of my lonely hours ! 
 Better converse whole ages with the dead. 
 Pore on a broken marble, to retrieve 
 A single letter of a brave man's name, 
 Who died at Marathon, or Agincourt, 
 Than spend one moment with deceit and vice. 
 Sir Walter Rakish. Sewell.
 
 150 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Thus pleasure never comes sincere to man ; 
 But lent by Heav'n upon hard usury : 
 And, while Jove holds us out the bowl of joy, 
 Ere it can reach our lips, it's dash'd with gall 
 By some left-handed god. 
 
 (Edipus. Dryden and Lee. 
 
 DEAF TO PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Here, take this Seneca, this haughty pedant, 
 Who, o-overning the master of mankind. 
 And awing power imperial, prates of — patience ; 
 And praises poverty — possess'd of millions : 
 Sell him, and buy us bread. The scantiest meal 
 The vilest copy of his book e'er purchased 
 Will give us more relief, in this distress. 
 Than all his boasted precepts. 
 
 Fatal Curiosity. Lillo. 
 
 fallen pride in — 
 
 But here comes one 
 Whose pride seems to increase with her misfortunes.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 151 
 
 Her faded dress, unfashionably fine. 
 
 As ill conceals her poverty, as that 
 
 Strain'd complaisance her haug-hty, swelling- heart. 
 
 Though perishing with want, so far from askino-^ 
 
 She ne'er receives a favour uncompell'd, 
 
 And while she ruins, scorns to be obliged. 
 
 Fatal Curiosity. Lillo. 
 
 To-MORROw's action! Can that hoary wisdom, 
 Borne down with years, still doat upon to-morrow ? 
 That fatal mistress of the young, the lazy. 
 The coward, and the fool, condemn'd to lose 
 An useless life in waiting for to-morrow. 
 To gaze with longing eyes upon to-morrow, 
 Till interposing death destroys the prospect! 
 Strange! that this gen'ral fraud from day to day, 
 Should fill the world with wrelches undetected ! 
 The soldier lab'ring through a winter's march, 
 Still sees to-morrow drest in robes of triumph; 
 Still to the lover's long-expecting arms, 
 To-morrow bikings the visionary bride. 
 But thou, too old to bear another cheat. 
 Learn, that the present hour alone is man's. 
 
 Irene. Dr. Johnson.
 
 152 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Beltgton» 
 
 THE FORTITUDE OF 
 
 Yes, I have seen him when the tempest raged; 
 When, from the precipice of mountain waves, 
 All hearts have trembled at the g-ulf below, 
 He, with a steady, supplicating look, 
 Display'd his trust in that tremendous pow'r, 
 Who curbs the billows, and cuts short the wings 
 Of the rude whirlwind, in its midway course, 
 And bids the madness of the waves to cease. 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. Sewell. 
 
 -Must we part, then? 
 
 What are those hopes that flatter'd us but now ? 
 Those joys, that, like the Spring, with all its flow'rs, 
 Pour'd out their pleasures every where around us? 
 In one poor minute gone : at once they wither'd, 
 And left their place all desolate behind them. 
 
 Such is this foolish world, and such the certainty 
 
 Of all the boasted blessings it bestows : 
 
 Then, Guilford, let us have no more to do with it; 
 
 Think only how to leave it as we ought; 
 
 But trust no more, and be deceived no more.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 153 
 
 Yes, I will copy thy divine example, 
 
 And tread the paths are pointed out by thee : 
 By thee instructed, to the fatal block 
 I bend my head with joy, and think it happiness 
 To give my life a ransom for my faith. 
 From thee, thou angel of my heart, I learn 
 That greatest, hardest task, to part with thee. 
 
 Oh, gloriously resolved! Heav'n is my witness, 
 My heart rejoices in thee more ev'n now, 
 Thus constant as thou art, in death thus faithful. 
 Than when the holy priest first join'd our hands, 
 And knit the sacred knot of bridal love. 
 
 Lady Jane Gray. Rowe. 
 
 PURITY OF — 
 
 The immortal ffods 
 Accept the meanest altars that are raised 
 By pure devotion, and sometimes prefer 
 An ounce of frankincense, honey or milk, 
 Before whole hecatombs or Sabaean gums 
 Offer'd in ostentation. 
 
 Bondman. Massinger. 
 
 IDOIATRY OF — 
 
 A king of Egypt, being to erect 
 The image of Osiris, whom they honour, 
 Took from the matrons' necks the richest jewels, 
 And purest gold, as the materials
 
 154 THE SPIKIT OF 
 
 To finish up his work; which perfected, 
 
 With all solemnity he set it up^ 
 
 To be adored ; and served, himself, his idol. 
 
 Desiring it to give him victory 
 
 Against his enemies. But being overthrown, 
 
 Enraged against his god, (these are fine gods, 
 
 Subject to human fury!) he took down 
 
 The senseless thing, and, melting it again. 
 
 He made a basin, in which eunuchs wash'd 
 
 His concubines' feet; and for this sordid use 
 
 Some months it served: his mistress proving false, 
 
 As most indeed do so, and grace concluded 
 
 Between them and the priests, of the same basin 
 
 He made his god again. Think — think of this. 
 
 And then consider, if all worldly honours. 
 
 Or pleasures that do leave sharp stings behind them. 
 
 Have pow'r to win such as have reasonable souls, 
 
 To put their trust in dross. 
 
 The Virgin Martyr. Massinger. 
 
 TUE FORTITUDE OF TWO LOVERS, CONDEMNED TO 
 DEATH FOR NOT RENOUNCING THEIR RELIGION. 
 
 When this, the last of all our days of sorrow. 
 Flies fast, and hastens to fulfil its course; 
 When the blest hour of death at length is near. 
 Why dost thou mourn? when that good time is come, 
 When we shall weep no more, but live for ever : 
 In that dear place, where no misfortunes come;
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 155 
 
 Where age, and want, and sickness are not known, 
 And where this wicked world shall cease from 
 
 troubling ; 
 When thick descending- angels crowd the air. 
 And wait with crowns of glory to reward us; 
 Why art thou sad, my love, my lord, my Aribert? 
 
 • It comes, indeed, the cruel moment comes. 
 
 That must divide our faithful loves for ever. 
 A few short minutes more, and both shall perish, 
 Sink to the place where all things are forgotten. 
 Our youth and fair affections shall be barren; 
 Shall know no joys, which other lovers know. 
 Shall leave no name behind us, no posterity. 
 Only the sad remembrance of our woes, 
 To draw a tear from each who reads our story. 
 And dost thou ask me wherefore I am sad? 
 
 'Tis hard indeed, 'tis very hard to part; 
 
 Tho' my heart grieves to want its Heav'n so long. 
 Pants for its bliss, and sickens with delay; 
 Yet I could be content to live for thee. 
 Yes, I will own thy image stands before me. 
 And intercepts my journey to the stars. 
 Calls back the fervent breathings of my soul 
 To earth and thee; with longing looks I turn, 
 Forget my flight, and linger here below. 
 
 Is it decreed by Heav'n's eternal will, 
 
 That none shall pass the golden gates above ; 
 But those who sorrow here ? Must we be wretched ? 
 Must we be drown'd in many floods of tears, 
 To wash our deep, our inborn stains away,
 
 156 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Or never see the saints, and taste their joys? 
 
 The great o'er-ruling- Author of our beings, 
 
 Deals with his creature man in various ways. 
 
 Gracious and good in all ; some feel the rod, 
 
 And own, like us, the father's chast'ning hand. 
 
 Sev'n times, like gold, they pass the purging flame, 
 
 And are at last refined ; while gently some 
 
 Tread all the paths of life without a rub. 
 
 With honour, health, with friends and plenty bless'd, 
 
 Their years roll round in innocence and ease. 
 
 Hoary at length, and in a good old age. 
 
 They go declining to the grave in peace, 
 
 And change their pleasures here for joys above. 
 
 ' To have so many blessings heap'd on me, 
 
 Transcends my wish. I ask'd but only thee. 
 Give me, I said, but life and Ethelinda; 
 Let us but run the common course together. 
 Grow kindly old in one another's arms, 
 And take us to thy mercy then, good Heav'n. 
 But Heav'n thought that too much. 
 
 If our dear hopes. 
 
 If what we value most on earth, our loves, 
 
 Are blasted thus by death's untimely hand ; 
 
 If nothing good remains for us below, 
 
 So much the rather let us turn our thoughts 
 
 To seek beyond the stars our better portion; 
 
 That wond'rous bliss which Heav'n reserves in store. 
 
 Well to reward us for our losses here ; 
 
 That bliss which Heav'n, and only Heav'n can give. 
 
 Which shall be more to thee than Ethelinda,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 157 
 
 And more to me — Oh, vast excess of happiness! 
 Where shall my soul make room for more than Aribert ! 
 Royal Convert. Rowe. 
 
 Sure — I beheld them, or the air condensed 
 
 Into their lively figures. — In their shrouds, 
 
 Pale and as meagre as they had conversed 
 
 A year with the inhabitants of the earth, 
 
 And drunk the dew of charnel houses, shew'd 
 
 Albertus and his lovely bride. They waved 
 
 Their ghastly hands to me, as if in that 
 
 Dumb language they'd invited me to come 
 
 And visit them in their cold urns. To die — 
 
 Why — 'tis man's nature, not his punishment: 
 
 With this condition we all enter life, 
 
 To put it off again ; 'tis but a garment, 
 
 And cannot last for ever; both its fashion 
 
 And stuff will soon wear out: why then should death, 
 
 If I were now creeping into my marble, 
 
 To me be terrible, since 'tis main folly, 
 
 To fear that which we no way can avoid; 
 
 Nor is't much matter how we die — by force, 
 
 Or naturally chequer'd with grisly wounds, 
 
 Or in our beds, since all's but the same death still : — 
 
 Oh! but to die surcharged with mortal sins, 
 
 Such as can kill our everlasting beings — 
 
 Our souls, — and send them hence to bathe in floods
 
 158 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Of living fire ; there — that's the frightful mischief; 
 The other's but a trifle : I who never 
 Could fear the other, at the thought of this 
 Am one with death already; my vast crimes, 
 My horrid murders kill that conscience in me, 
 Which makes me know my guilt; that conscience 
 Which as my shadow follows me. 
 
 Albertus Wallenstein. Glapthorne. 
 
 OF A GUILTY WIFE. 
 
 I friendless, flatter'd, importuned and charm'd, 
 Was left alone with all-seducing love ; 
 Love, to the future blind, each sober thought 
 Each consequence despising, scorning all, 
 Save what its own enchanting dreams suggest. 
 What could I do? — Away! Self-flattering guilt! 
 I should have thought, when honour once is sullied. 
 Not weeping mercy's tears can wash it clean; 
 And that one blot on mine diffused a stain 
 O'er the proud honour of a wedded King, 
 And o'er my children's, my poor blameless children's ! 
 Whose cheeks will kindle at their mother's name : 
 I should have thought — Would I could think no more ! 
 To think is torture ! 
 
 Ammemnon. Thomson.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 159 
 
 Gome, fair Repentance, daughter of the skies! 
 Soft harbinger of soon-returning- virtue ! 
 The weeping messenger of grace from Heav'n! 
 Athelstan. Hill. 
 
 O reputation! dearer far than life, 
 
 Thou precious balsam, lovely, sweet of smell. 
 
 Whose cordial drops once spilt by some rash hand, 
 
 Not all thy owner's care, nor the repenting toil 
 
 Of the rude spiller, ever can collect 
 
 To its first purity, and native sweetness. 
 
 ir Walter Raleigh. Sewell. 
 
 What is revenge, but courage to call in 
 Our honour's debts, and wisdom to convert 
 Other's self-love into our own protection? 
 
 Revenue. Young.
 
 160 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 And thou, Harold, 
 
 Shalt thank my brave revenge. — Come, valiant Dane, 
 
 We'll roam the midnight camp, like prowling wolves, 
 
 Trooping in quest of blood! Now, injured Nature, 
 
 Brace my old arm ! Oh, touch this deadly steel 
 
 With more than aconite ! Give it the speed 
 
 And fiery stroke of lightning, when it shoots 
 
 Thro' the dun sphere of night; too swift for thought. 
 
 Or fear, or slow defence ! — Now, ruthless Gothmund ! 
 
 Vengeance awaked shall slake her thirst in blood ; 
 
 And justice, riding on the raven wing 
 
 Of midnight darkness, wrapt in clouded wrath. 
 
 Comes like avenging Heav'n! 
 
 Athelstan. Hill. 
 
 Rats die in holes and corners, dogs run mad ; 
 Man knows a braver remedy for sorrow; 
 Revenge, the attribute of Gods; they stamp'd it 
 With their great image on our natures. 
 
 Venice Preserved. Otwat. 
 
 IMPLACABLE. 
 
 Though hills were set on hills. 
 And seas met seas to guard thee, I would through;
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 161 
 
 I'd plough up rocks steep as the Alps in dust, 
 And lave the Tyrrhene waters into clouds, 
 But I would reach thy head — thy head — proud city ! 
 Catiline. Ben Jonson. 
 
 Elude my vengeance ? No. — My troops shall range 
 Th' eternal snows that freeze beyond Meotis, 
 And Afric's torrid sands in search of Cali. 
 Should the fierce North upon his frozen wings 
 Bear him aloft above the wond'ring clouds, 
 And seat him in the pleiads' golden chariots, 
 Thence should my fury drag him down to tortures; 
 Wherever guilt can fly, revenge can follow. 
 
 Irene. Du. Johnson. 
 
 Mum« 
 
 OF A NATION. 
 
 Oh, horror, horror! 
 
 yEgypt has been; the latest hour is come. 
 
 The queen of nations, from her ancient seat, 
 
 Is sunk for ever in the dark abyss. 
 
 Time has unroU'd her glories to the last. 
 
 And now closed up the volume. 
 
 All for Love. Dry DEN,
 
 162 THE SPllllT OF 
 
 The noble horse, 
 That in his fiery youth from his wide nostrils 
 Neigh'd courage to his rider, and broke through 
 Groves of opposed pikes, bearing his lord 
 Safe to triumphant victory, — old or wounded, 
 Was set at liberty and freed from service. 
 The Athenian mules that from the quarry drew 
 Marble, hew'd for the temples of the gods, 
 The great work ended, were dismiss'd and fed 
 At the public cost; nay, faithful dogs have found 
 Their sepulchres; but man, to man more cruel. 
 Appoints no end to the sufferings of his slave. 
 Bondman. Massinger. 
 
 Impartial as the grave, 
 Sleep robs the cruel tyrant of his pow'r. 
 Gives rest and freedom to the o'erwrought slave, 
 And steals the wretched beggar from his want. 
 Arden of Feversham. Lillo.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 163 
 
 INVOCATION TO 
 
 Care-charming sleep, thou easer of all woes, 
 Brother to death, sweetly thyself dispose 
 On this afflicted prince : fall like a cloud. 
 In gentle showers ; give nothing that is loud. 
 Or painful to his slumbers; easy, sweet. 
 And as a purling stream, thou Son of Night, 
 Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain. 
 Like hollow murmuring wind, or silver rain. 
 Into this prince gently, oh! gently glide. 
 And kiss him into slumbers, like a bride ! 
 
 Valentinian. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 These wild fields are my gardens; 
 The crystal rivers they afford their waters. 
 And grudge not their sweet streams to quench afflic- 
 tions; 
 The hollow rocks their beds, which, though they're 
 
 hard, 
 (The emblems of a doting lover's fortune,) 
 Yet they are quiet; and the weary slumbers 
 The eyes catch there, softer than beds of down, friend ; 
 The birds my bell to call me to devotions; 
 My book the story of my wand'rlng life.
 
 164 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 In which I find more hours due to repentance 
 Than time hath told me yet. 
 
 The Lover^s Progress. Beaumont & Fletcher. 
 
 : .7 ■:: > ; ••!•:•. 'fiu"-; 
 THE GUILTT SOUL. 
 
 The thought of death to one near death is dreadful! 
 
 O, 'tis a fearful thing to be no more. 
 
 Or if to be, to wander after death; 
 
 To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day ; 
 
 And when the darkness comes, to glide in paths 
 
 That lead to graves : and in the silent vault, 
 
 Where lies your own pale «hroud, to hover o'er it, 
 
 Striving to enter your forbidden corpse; 
 
 And often, often, vainly breathe your ghost 
 
 Into your lifeless lips : 
 
 Then, like a lone benighted traveller 
 
 Shut out from lodging, shall your groans be answered 
 
 By whistling winds, whose every blast will shake 
 
 Your tender form to atoms. 
 
 CEdipus. Dryden and Lee. 
 
 ON THE IMMORTALITY OF 
 
 It must be so — Plato, thou reason'st well — 
 Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 
 This longing after immortality ?
 
 ENCxLISH TRAGEDY. 165 
 
 Or whence this secret dread, this inward horror, 
 
 Of falHng into nought? Why shrinks the soul 
 
 Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 
 
 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; 
 
 'Tis Heav'n itself that points out an hereafter, 
 
 And intimates eternity to man. 
 
 Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful, thought! 
 
 Through what variety of untried being. 
 
 Through what new scenes and changes, must we pass? 
 
 The wide, the unbounded, prospect lies before me: 
 
 But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. 
 
 Here will I hold. If there's a power above us, 
 
 (And that there is, all Nature cries aloud 
 
 Through all her works,) He must delight in virtue ; 
 
 And that which He delights in must be happy. 
 
 But when, or where ? — This world was made for Caesar . 
 
 I'm weary of conjectures; — this must end them. 
 
 \^Laying his hand on his sicor(L 
 Thus am I doubly arm'd : my death and life. 
 My bane and antidote, are both before me. 
 This in a moment brings me to an end; 
 But this informs me I shall never die. 
 The soul, secured in her existence, smiles 
 At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 
 The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
 Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years, 
 But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth. 
 Unhurt amidst the war of elements, 
 The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. 
 Cafo. Addison*.
 
 166 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Is it a truth? or does Fame tell us lies, 
 
 When it reports that the soul never dies, 
 
 But mantled sits, and acts in gloomy shrouds, 
 
 Like Cynthia, when she's hemm'd with circling clouds ? 
 
 When the soft partner of our griefs and joys. 
 
 With trembling hands shall close our dying eyes; 
 
 When in sad sort our friends shall stand and mourn. 
 
 To see the fatal torch these relics burn. 
 
 Is there an end of thought? no further care? 
 
 No throne of bliss, nor caverns of despair? 
 
 No dens of darkness, nor no seats of glory ? 
 
 Then all our grave discourse is but a story. 
 
 Nero. Lee. 
 
 This Roman resolution of self-murder 
 Will not hold water, at the high tribunal. 
 When it comes to be argued ; my good genius 
 Prompts me to this consideration. He 
 That kills himself to avoid misery, fears it. 
 And at the best shows but a bastard valour. 
 This life's a fort, committed to my trust. 
 Which I must not yield up, 'till it be forced — 
 Nor will I. He's not valiant that dares die. 
 But he that boldly bears calamity. 
 
 The Maid of Honour. Massinger.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 167 
 
 What more speaks 
 Greatness of man than valiant patience, 
 That shrinks not under his fate's strongest strokes ? 
 These Roman deaths, as falling- on a sword, 
 Opening of veins, with poison quenching thirst, 
 Which we erroneously do style the deeds 
 Of the heroic and magnanimous man, 
 Were dead-eyed cowardice, and white-cheek'd fear; 
 Who doubting tyranny, and fainting under 
 Fortune's false lottery, desperately run 
 To death, for dread of death : that soul's most stout. 
 That, daring all mischance, dares last it out. 
 The Honest Man^s Fortune. Beaumont & Fletcher. 
 
 Why should it be a sin, when life grows painful, 
 
 To end it, and to trust futurity? 
 
 Whom can the wretched here offend above, 
 
 By hastening to hereafter ? Guilt, indeed. 
 
 Might pale the expiring murd'rer's conscious cheek, 
 Ghastly with fear to meet the dead man's eye. 
 Now glazed to glare a vengeance. But the wrong'd — 
 The soul-sick suff'rer — ^the despised — the insulted — 
 The poor pined loneling, that, grown old in want. 
 Begs his cold draught, and drinks it mix'd with scorn — 
 What have these ofroundlinsf windfalls of the world
 
 168 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 To fear from future tempests ? Out, false meteor! 
 
 Faithless in every form. This life deludes us. 
 
 Valour's but pride's big^ bubble. Honesty, 
 
 The plain man's devious path to shun prosperity. 
 
 Learning and vv^it (not prostitutes to power) 
 
 Are marks for shafted envy. Beauty 
 
 Lures us to ev'ry choice of ev'ry joy, 
 
 That ev'ry plag-ue may blast us — Love's blind fool 
 
 mark, 
 Stamp'd on the Almighty's weaken'd image, man. 
 Tempts but a woman's mischief. 
 
 Insolvent. Hill. 
 
 It draws the grossness off the understanding, 
 
 And renders active and industrious spirits. 
 
 He that knows most men's manners must of necessity 
 
 Best know his own, and mend those, by example. 
 
 'Tis a dull thing to travel like a mill horse, 
 
 Still in the place he was born in, lamed and blinded ; 
 
 Living at home is like it. Pure and strong spirits. 
 
 That, like the fire, still covet to fly upward, 
 
 And to give fire, as well as take it, cased up and 
 
 mew'd here — 
 I mean at home, like lusty-mettled horses. 
 Only tied up in stables to please their masters. 
 Beat out their fiery lives in their own litters. 
 
 Queen of Corinth. Beaumont ano Fletcher.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 169 
 
 Curse on the coward or perfidious tongue, 
 That dares not, even to kings, avow the truth! 
 Let traitors wrap them in delusive incense, 
 On flattery flattery heap, on falsehood falsehood : 
 Truth is the living liberal breath of Heaven; 
 That sweeps these fogs away, with all their vermin. 
 Agamemnon. Thomson. 
 
 Truth, tho' sometimes clad 
 In painful lustre, yet is always welcome ; 
 Dear as the light that shows the lurking rock : 
 'Tis the fair star that, ne'er into the main 
 Descending, leads us safe thro' stormy life. 
 
 Agamemnon. Thomson. 
 
 NOUGHT CAN INTIMIDATE 
 
 Menace to me, means nothing. Spare thy terrors, 
 Not ev'n threats of Heaven alarm the just; 
 Should the contending elements break loose. 
 And into formless atoms rend the world. 
 The friend of truth must fall, but falls unshaken. 
 Roman Revenge. Hill.
 
 170 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Vice* 
 
 Vice in a flatt'ring mirror views mankind, 
 Judging of others from its own similitude. 
 The good are few, and known to fewer still: 
 And rogues believe us not temptation-proof. 
 
 Sir PValter Raleigh. Sewell. 
 
 THE DEFEAT OF VILLANY. 
 
 How crest-fall'n they look, 
 
 Like baffled demons, when some friendly spirit 
 Allays the tempest that their malice raised, 
 And wafts the threaten'd vessel safe to land. 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. Sewell. 
 
 INNOCENT DEMEANOUR OF 
 
 Will he! — and can a villain be so brave? 
 
 He may: For often vice, provoked to shame, 
 
 Borrows the colour of a virtuous deed. 
 Thus libertines are chaste, and misers good, 
 A coward valiant, and a priest sincere. 
 
 Sir IValter Raleigh. Sewell.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 171 
 
 GREAT VILLAINS ARE DESPERATELY BRAVE. 
 
 I would not rate my enemy so high, 
 
 As to believe he dares be greatly wicked, 
 
 Till he has wrong'd me into proofs he is so : 
 
 For, let me tell you, lady, villains' souls 
 
 Should be possess'd of more than mortal courage; 
 
 They who fight men, fight equal enemies. 
 
 But they who war with conscience, meet such odds. 
 
 They lose by victory; thought, rest, and solitude, 
 
 The balmy relaxations of our care, 
 
 Drag their repose to torments; and the wretches 
 
 Are not alone forbid to hope for Heav'n, 
 
 But bear a hell about them! 
 
 Elfrid. Hill. 
 
 THE JOYS OF VICE DECEITFUL. 
 
 Deceit is the false road to happiness; 
 And all thejoys we travel to through vice. 
 Like fairy banquets vanish, when we touch them. 
 Elfrid. Hill. 
 
 MAN VICIOUS FROM CUSTOM. 
 
 Not many, sir, stand fix'd 
 On the deep principles of reason'd virtue, 
 Whom Time nor steals, nor passion bears away. 
 Mankind, in general, float along the stream
 
 172 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Of custom, good or bad; and oft the mind, 
 To that familiar grows, by gradual use 
 And still-encroaching vice, whose first regard 
 Gave horror. 
 
 Agamemnon. Thomson. 
 
 Virtue's a solid rock, whereat being aim'd 
 The keenest darts of envy, yet unhurt 
 Her marble heroes stand, built of such bases, 
 Whilst they recoil, and wound the shooters' faces. 
 Queen of Corinth. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 The mind, to virtue train'd, in ev'ry state 
 Rejoicing, grieving, dying, must possess 
 Th' exalted pleasure to exert that virtue. 
 
 Boadicea. Glover. 
 
 O, miracle of love! O, wondrous princess! 
 
 Souls such as thine alone preserve the flame, 
 
 That animates society, alive. 
 
 That makes the dwellings of mankind delightful. 
 
 What is vain life ? An idle flight of days, 
 
 A still delusive round of sickly joys,
 
 t.VGLISH TRAGEDY. 173 
 
 A scene of little cares and trifling passions, 
 If not ennobled by such deeds of virtue? 
 
 Edicard and Eleonora. Thomson. 
 
 WE OFTEN JliUGE OF VIRTUE BY OUR DESIRES. 
 
 Alas, good youth! Thou hast not learnt to know, 
 
 That man is feeble, not averse to virtue; 
 
 For virtue cannot woo the soul in vain: 
 
 But indolent, and all-enslaved to sense, 
 
 We see the pleasure-baited hook of sin. 
 
 And, seeing, gape to swallow it. We know. 
 
 But knowing will not toil to shun the net. 
 
 That bitter-hearted sweetness spreads to take us. 
 
 Supinely thoughtless, all misled by appetite. 
 
 We judge things good, or ill, not as they are. 
 
 But as they quadrate with our wild desires. 
 
 Fatal Fision. Hill. 
 
 IRRESOLUTE. 
 
 His good and ill so chequer out his nature. 
 That which excels is doubtful. Nobly will'd. 
 His pitying heart flows out in generous purposes: 
 But, wanting pow'r, to stem the tide of pleasure, 
 Irresolute, he drives, and floats, to ruin. 
 Men must be rigid, and severe, in virtue ! 
 Serious and noble aims distinguish reason! 
 To live for taste, is not to live at all. 
 The man of pleasure dreams away his days,
 
 174 THE SPIUn OF 
 
 And dies, to be forgotten. Belmour's soul, 
 
 Had contemplation bent it to a bias, 
 
 Had given a point to Fame's proud pinnacle, 
 
 And purpled o'er his name with deathless glory ! 
 
 Now it lies low in dust! 
 
 Fatal Extravagance. Hill and Mitchell. 
 
 When Vice has spread her poison through the soul, 
 How lifeless, slow, confused, and insincere, 
 Are our resolves in the pursuits of virtue! 
 What wonder, then, Heaven should refuse its aid 
 To thoughts, that only blossom for a time ; 
 Look blooming to the eye, but yield no fruit. 
 Arden of Fevei'sham. Lillo. 
 
 IN ACTION. 
 
 As you have 
 A soul moulded from Heaven, and do desire 
 To have it made a star there, make the means 
 Of your ascent to that celestial height 
 Virtue wing'd with brave action. They draw near 
 The nature and the essence of the gods, 
 Who imitate their goodness. 
 
 Emperor of the East. Massinger.
 
 ENGLISH TKAGEDY. 175 
 
 SUFFERING. 
 
 And why, you gods, was virtue made to suffer? 
 Unless this world be but as fire, to purge 
 Her dross, that she may mount and bs a star. 
 Mithridates. Lee. 
 
 REPAYS ITSELF. 
 
 Virtue still does 
 With scorn the mercenary world regard. 
 Where abject souls do good, and hope reward : 
 Above the worthless trophies men can raise, 
 She seeks not honours, wealth, nor airy praise, 
 But MMth herself, herself the goddess pays. 
 
 Tamerlane. Rowe. 
 
 NEVER EXCUSES HER FAULTS. 
 
 Bad men excuse their faults, good men will leave them; 
 He acts the third crime who defends the first. 
 Catiline. Ben Jonson. 
 
 IN ADVERSITY. 
 
 You sons and daughters of adversity. 
 Preserve your innocence, and each light grief, 
 (So bounteous are the gods to those who serve them) 
 Shall be rewarded with ten thousand joys. 
 
 Marina. Lillo.
 
 176 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 TRUE NOBILITY. 
 
 If being lowly born disgraces worth, 
 Where is the call to virtue? Race, and name. 
 Are but the equipage and noise of honour: 
 The truly noble are not known by pomp. 
 But inborn greatness and diffusive good. 
 
 Fatal Vision. Hill. 
 
 For to be basely born. 
 If not base-born, detracts not from the bounty 
 Of Nature's freedom, or an honest birth. 
 Nobility, claim'd by the right of blood. 
 Shows chiefly that our ancestors deserved 
 What we inherit: but that man, whose actions 
 Purchase a real merit to himself. 
 And rank him in the file of praise and honour, 
 Creates his own advancement. 
 The Fair Maid of the Inn. Beaumont & Fletcher. 
 
 MAINTAINED IN AFFLICTION. 
 
 Oh ! most noble sir. 
 Though I have lost my fortune, and lost you 
 For a worthy father, yet I will not lose 
 My former virtue. My integrity 
 Shall not yet forsake me, but as the wild ivy
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 177 
 
 Spreads and thrives better in some piteous ruin 
 
 Of tower or defaced temple, than it does 
 
 Planted by a new building-, so shall I 
 
 Make my adversity my instrument 
 
 To wind me up into a full content. 
 
 The Fair Maid of the Inn. Beaumont & Fletcher. 
 
 Oh, I fear 
 The war is now at work. — As winds, methought, 
 Long borne thro' hollow vaults, the sound approach'd ; 
 One sound, yet laden with a thousand notes 
 Of fearful variation ; then it swell'd 
 To distant shouts, now coming on the gale ; 
 Again borne backward with a parting groan, 
 All sunk to horrid stillness. 
 
 Gustavus Vusa. Brook. 
 
 Yet, yet a little, and destructive slaughter 
 
 Shall rage around, and mar this beauteous prospect; 
 
 Pass but an hour which stands betwixt the lives 
 
 Of thousands and eternity: What chang-e 
 
 Shall hasty Death make in yon glitt'ring plain ? 
 
 Oh, thou fell monster, War! that in a moment 
 
 Lay'st waste the noblest part of the creation.
 
 178 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 The boast and master-piece of the Great Maker, 
 That wears in vain th' impression of his image, 
 Unprivileged from thee. 
 
 Tamerlane. Rowe. 
 
 CIVIL WAR. 
 
 Have we so soon forgot those days of ruin, 
 
 When York and Lancaster drew foi-th their battles? 
 
 When, like a matron butcher'd by her sons, 
 
 Our groaning country bled at every vein; 
 
 When murders, rapes, and massacres, prevail'd; 
 
 When churches, palaces, and cities, blazed; 
 
 When insolence and barbarism triumph'd. 
 
 And swept away distinction: peasants trod 
 
 Upon the necks of nobles : low were laid 
 
 The reverend crosier and the holy mitre. 
 
 And desolation cover'd all the land? 
 
 Jane Shore. Rowe. 
 
 Crowns are perpetual cares, and to their heads 
 That wear the wreath imperial are annex'd; 
 Foreign invasions oft may shake a state. 
 But civil bi'oils are the impetuous firebrands 
 That burn up commonwealths. 
 
 Albertus IVallenstcin. Glapthorne.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 179 
 
 INVOCATION TO WAR. 
 
 Ye powerful gods of Britain, hear our prayers; 
 Hear us, you great revengers, ami this day 
 Take pity from our swords, doubt from our valours. 
 Double the sad remembrance of our wrongs 
 In every breast; the vengeance due to those 
 Make infinite and endless: on our pikes 
 This day pale terror sit, horrors and ruins 
 Upon our executions; claps of thunder 
 Hang on our armed carts, and 'fore our troops 
 Despair and death; shame beyond these attend 'em. 
 Rise from the dust, ye relics of the dead, 
 Whose noble deeds our holy Druids sing! 
 O rise, ye valiant bones, let not base earth 
 Oppress your honours, whilst the pride of Rome 
 Treads on your stocks, and wipes out all your stories. 
 Bonduca. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 Divine Andate, thou who hold'st the reins 
 
 Of furious battles, and disorder'd war, 
 
 And proudly roU'st thy swarthy chariot-wheels 
 
 Over the heaps of wounds and carcases, 
 
 Sailinsr throujjh seas of blood: thou sure-steel'd 
 
 sternness. 
 Give us this day good hearts, good enemies. 
 Good blows o' both sides, wounds that fear or flight
 
 180 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Can claim no share in; steel us both with angers 
 And warlike executions fit thy viewing; 
 Let Rome put on her best strength, and thy Britain, 
 Thy little Britain, but as great in fortune. 
 Meet her as strong as she, as proud, as daring; 
 And then look on, thou red-eyed god: who does best, 
 Reward with honour; who despair makes fly. 
 Unarm for ever, and brand with infamy : 
 Grant this, divine Andate, 'tis but justice. 
 
 Bonduca. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 REPOSE OF 
 
 The dreadful business of the war is o'er; 
 And Slaughter, that, from yestermorn till ev'n. 
 With giant steps pass'd striding o'er the field, 
 Besmear'd and horrid with the blood of nations, 
 Now weary sits among the mangled heaps, 
 And slumbers o'er her prey. 
 
 Tamerlane. RowE. 
 
 NIGHT after a BATTLE. 
 
 I have been led by solitary care 
 
 To yon dark branches, spreading o'er the brook. 
 
 Which murmurs through the camp ; this mighty camp, 
 
 Where once two hundred thousand sons of war 
 
 With restless dins awaked the midnight hour. 
 
 Now horrid stillness in the vacant tents 
 
 Sits undisturb'd; and these incessant rills,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 181 
 
 Whose pebbled channel breaks their shallow stream. 
 
 Fill with their melancholy sound my ears, 
 
 As if I wander'd like a lonely hind, 
 
 O'er some dead fallow far from all resort: 
 
 Unless that ever and anon a groan 
 
 Bursts from a soldier, pillow'd on his shield 
 
 In torment, or expiring with his wounds, 
 
 And turns my fix'd attention into horror. 
 
 Boadicea. Glover. 
 
 FAREWELL TO WAR. 
 
 Glorious war, farewell! 
 Thou child of honour and ambitious thoughts. 
 Begot in blood, and nursed with kingdom's ruins; 
 Thou golden danger, courted by thy followers 
 Through fires and famines, for one title from thee 
 Prodigal mankind spending all his fortunes; 
 A long farewell I give thee ! Noble arms. 
 You ribs for mighty minds, you iron-houses. 
 Made to defy the thunder-claps of fortune, 
 Rust and consuming time must now dwell with ye ! 
 And thou, good sword, that knew'stthe way to conquest, 
 Upon whose fatal edge despair and death dwelt. 
 That, when I shook thee thus, foreshow'd destruction, 
 Sleep now from blood upon my monument 
 
 Loyal Subject. Beaumont and Fletcher.
 
 182 THE SPIKIT OF 
 
 ^mttmrnit 
 
 Through a close lane, as I pursued my journey, 
 And meditating on the last night's vision, 
 I spied a wrinkled hag, with age grown double. 
 Picking dry sticks, and mumbling to herself; 
 Her eyes with scalding rheum were gall'd and red : 
 Cold palsy shook her head, her hands seem'd wither'd. 
 And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapp'd 
 The tatter'd remnant of an old striped hanging. 
 Which served to keep her carcase from the cold: 
 So there was nothing of a piece about her. 
 Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patch'd 
 With diff'rent colour'd rags, black, red, white, yellow. 
 And seem'd to speak variety of wretchedness. 
 Orphan. Otway. 
 
 POWER OF — 
 
 Behold my arm, thus blasted, dry, and wither'd, 
 Shrunk like a foul abortion, and decay'd, 
 Like some untimely product of the seasons, 
 Robb'd of its properties of strength and office. 
 This is the sorcery of Edward's wife. 
 Who, in conjunction with that harlot Shore, 
 And other like confed'rate midnioht haafs.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 183 
 
 By force of potent spells, of bloody characters, 
 
 And conjurations horrible to hear. 
 
 Call fiends and spectres from the yawning deep, 
 
 And set the ministers of hell at work. 
 
 To torture and despoil me of my life. 
 
 Jane Shore. '^ Rowe. 
 
 When, in his Maker's likeness, man first rose, 
 And wond'rins: ang-els ffazed on the new form. 
 Proclaiming him perfection's utmost boast. 
 To prove his glorious pow'r unlimited, 
 Ev'n from the late-made man, man's mighty Maker 
 Stamp'd a new form, still nearer to his own; 
 That form was woman, and that woman, wife. 
 Woman, like sweet May dews on summer's droughts, 
 Breathes her all-softening influence; peace and rest 
 Are woman's gifts to man; when toils and cares 
 Have worn our weary souls, woman, dear woman. 
 Is nature's downy pillow of repose. 
 
 E/fricl. Hill. 
 
 Oh woman! lovely woman! Nature made thee 
 To temper man : we had been brutes without you : 
 Angels are painted fair to look like you: 
 There's in you all that we believe of Heaven,
 
 184 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Amazing brightness, purity and truth, 
 Eternal joy, and everlasting love. 
 
 Venice Preserved. Otway. 
 
 TEMPER OF 
 
 Women, like summer storms, awhile are cloudy, 
 Burst out in thunder, and impetuous shovi^'rs; 
 But straight the sun of beauty dawns abroad, 
 And all the fair horizon is serene. 
 
 Tamerlane. Rowe. 
 
 Rage is the shortest passion of our souls : 
 
 Like narrow brooks that rise with sudden show'rs, 
 
 It swells in haste, and falls again as soon; 
 
 Still as it ebbs the softer thoughts flow in, 
 
 And the deceiver Love supplies its place. 
 
 Fair Penitent. Rowe. 
 
 EASILY JEALOUS. 
 
 I heard him tell. 
 How once when Antony, in amorous pomp. 
 With Cleopatra sail'd along the Nile, 
 To grieve the proud Egyptian, he produced 
 A miniature of Mariamne's face. 
 
 And what said Antony ? 
 
 With vast surprise
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 185 
 
 He view'd each lineament, but yet forbore 
 
 To praise or blame it, which he knew the queen 
 
 Would soon interpret love; but softly sigh'd. 
 
 And shpt it in his bosom. Straight her cheeks 
 
 Glow'd with an angry blush, which faded soon, 
 
 And left them lily -pale : breathless and faint 
 
 She then reclined her head, and from his breast 
 
 Snatch'd what she fear'd might lie too near his heart. 
 
 With amorous reluctance while he strove 
 
 To gain the ravish'd prize, she let it fall 
 
 (More by design than chance) into the Nile : 
 
 He springing up to catch it, half o'er-set 
 
 The gilded barge; anS, with a sterner brow 
 
 And haughtier tone than e'er she knew before, 
 
 He cried, your river is too well repaid. 
 
 For all the wealth you ow'd. 
 
 Mariamne. Fenton. 
 
 WHEN JEALOUS. 
 
 How frail, how cowardly is woman's mind ? 
 We shriek at thunder, dread the rustling wind. 
 And glitt'ring swords the brightest eyes will blind. 
 Yet when strong jealousy inflames the soul. 
 The weak will roar, and calms to tempests roll. 
 Alexander the Great. Lee.
 
 186 THE SPIKIT OF 
 
 IIEll WEAKNESS. 
 
 The weakness we lament, ourselves create : 
 Instructed from onr infant years to court 
 With counterfeited fears the aid of man, 
 We learn to shudder at the rustling breeze, 
 Start at the light, and tremble in the dark ; 
 Till affectation, rip'ning to belief, 
 And folly, frighted at her own chimeras, 
 Habitual cowardice usurps the soul. 
 
 Irene. Du. Johnson. 
 
 PASSION OF — 
 
 How fierce a fiend is passion! With what wildness. 
 What tyranny, untamed it reigns in woman! 
 Unhappy sex ! whose easy yielding temper 
 Gives way to ev'ry appetite alike : 
 And love in their weak bosoms is a rage 
 As terrible as hate, and as destructive. 
 
 Jane Shore. Rowe. 
 
 Woman's passions, 
 More violent than ours, and less controH'd 
 By reason, hurry on; and often find 
 Prodigious means, to act prodigious ills. 
 
 Fatal Vision. Hill.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 187 
 
 HER FORTITUDE. 
 
 -Oh! Porcia! Porcial What a soul was thine? 
 -That Porcia was a woman: and when Brutus- 
 
 Big with the fate of Rome, (Heav'n guard thy safety !) 
 Conceal'd from her the labours of his mind; 
 She let him see her blood was great as his, 
 Flow'd from a spring as noble, and a heart 
 Fit to partake his troubles, as his love. 
 Fetch, fetch that daorcrer back, the dreadful dower 
 Thou gav'st last night in parting with me; strike H 
 Here to my heart, and as the blood flows from it, 
 Judge if it run not pure as Cato's daughter's. 
 Venice Preserved. Otway. 
 
 IN TEARS. 
 
 Give me, ye gods, the harmony of war, 
 
 The trumpet's clangour, and the clash of arms; 
 
 That concert animates the glowing breast 
 
 To rush on death ; but when our ear is pierced 
 
 With the sad notes which mournful beauty yields, 
 
 Our manhood melts in sympathising tears. 
 
 Mariamne. Fenton.
 
 188 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Oh, cease to weep — words have theii* weight to wound 
 
 us, 
 But 'tis not in the pow'r of man to bear 
 The silent eloquence of woman's tears. 
 
 Fatal Vision. Hill. 
 
 Hadst thou but seen, as I did, how at last 
 Thy beauteous Belvidera, like a wretch 
 That's doom'd to banishment, came weeping forth, 
 Shining thro' tears, like April suns in showers, 
 That labour to o'ercome the cloud that loads 'em ; 
 Whilst two young virgins, on whose arms she lean'd. 
 Kindly look'd up, and at her grief grew sad. 
 As if they catch'd the sorrows that fell from her; 
 E'en the lewd rabble, that were gather'd round 
 To see the sight, stood mute when they beheld her; 
 Govern'd their roaring throats, and grumbled pity. . 
 Venice Preserved. Otway. 
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF HER WILL. 
 
 What trivial influences hold dominion 
 O'er wise men's counsels, and the fate of empire ? 
 The greatest schemes that human wit can forge. 
 Or bold ambition dares to put in practice. 
 Depend upon our husbanding a moment,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 189 
 
 And the light lasting of a woman's will; 
 As if the Lord of nature should delight 
 To hang this pond'rous globe upon a hair, 
 And bid it dance before a breath of wind. 
 
 Lady Jane Grey. Rowe. 
 
 CONSTANCY OF 
 
 Oh, Belvidera! doubly I'm a beggar, 
 
 Undone by Fortune, and in debt to thee. 
 
 Want, worldly Want, that hungry, meagre fiend 
 
 Is at my heels, and chaces me in view. 
 
 Can'st thou bear cold and hunger? Can these limbs, 
 
 Framed for the tender offices of love. 
 
 Endure the bitter gripes of smarting poverty ? 
 
 When banish'd by our miseries abroad 
 
 (As suddenly we shall be) to seek out 
 
 In some fair climate, where our names are strangers, 
 
 For charitable succour ; wilt thou then. 
 
 When in a bed of straw we shrink together. 
 
 And the bleak winds shall whistle round our heads; 
 
 Wilt thou then talk thus to me ? Wilt thou then 
 
 Hush my cares thus, and shelter me with love ? 
 
 Oh! I will love thee, even in madness love thee: 
 
 Tho' my distracted senses should forsake me, 
 I'd find some intervals, when my poor heart 
 Should 'suage itself, and be let loose to thine. 
 Tho' the bare earth be all our resting-place. 
 Its roots our food, some clift our habitation, 
 I'll make this arm a pillow for thine head;
 
 190 THE SPIUIT OF 
 
 As thou sighing liest, and swell'd with sorrow, 
 Creep to thy bosom, pour the bahn of love 
 Into thy soul, and kiss thee to thy rest; 
 Then praise our God, and watch thee till the morning. 
 Venice Preserved. Otway. 
 
 I will not say, when absent from my bed, 
 How this fond aching heart has bled for him; 
 How watchM the thund'ring mine at midnight sieges, 
 Tluobb'd in the war, and sicken'd in the storm. 
 Sir IValter Raleigh. Sewell. 
 
 HER PERIL IN LOVING- 
 
 The maid that loves, 
 
 Goes out to sea upon a shatter'd plank, 
 
 And puts her trust in miracles for safety. 
 
 Revenge. Young. 
 
 A SLAVE TO PASSION. 
 
 Oh Nature! wherefore. Nature, are we form'd 
 One contradiction? the continual sport 
 Of fighting powers? Oh! wherefore hast thou sown 
 Such war within us, such unequal conflict 
 Between slow reason and impetuous passion? 
 Passion resistless hurries us away,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 191 
 
 Ere lingering reason to our aid can come, 
 And to upbraid us then it only serves. 
 
 Agamemnon. Thomson. 
 
 OF EXALTED VIRTUE. 
 
 Let me perish, 
 But if there can be virtue, if that name 
 Be any thing but name and empty title, 
 If it be so as fools have been pleased to feign it — 
 A power that can preserve us after ashes, 
 And make the names of men out-reckon ages, — 
 This woman has a god of virtue in her! 
 
 Valentiniun. Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 All this while she lives. 
 But dead, her very name will be a statue. 
 Not wrought for time, but rooted in the minds 
 Of all posterity; when brass and marble, 
 Ay, and the capitol itself, is dust. 
 
 Catiline. Ben Jonson. 
 
 WHEN FORSAKEN. 
 
 But I am true. 
 
 And live to make you happy. 
 
 1 prefer the hate 
 
 Of Sforza, thousrh it mark me for the grave,
 
 192 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Before thy base affection. I am yet 
 Pure and unspotted in my true love to him ; 
 Nor shall it be corrupted, though he's tainted; 
 Nor will I part with innocence, because 
 He is found guilty. 
 
 Duke of Milan. Massingeu. 
 
 HER LOT, THROUGH ERROR. 
 
 Mark by what partial justice we are judged; 
 "Such is the fate unhappy women find, 
 And such the curse entail'd upon our kind, 
 That man, the lawless libertine, may rove. 
 Free and unquestion'd through the wilds of love ; 
 While woman, — sense and nature's easy fool, 
 If poor weak woman swerve from virtue's rule ; 
 If, strongly charm'd, she leave the thorny way. 
 And in the softer paths of pleasure stray; 
 Ruin ensues, reproach and endless shame. 
 And one false step entirely damns her fame; 
 In vain, with tears the loss she may deplore, 
 In vain, look back on what she was before ; 
 She sets, like stars that fall, to rise no more. 
 
 Jane Shore. Rowe. 
 
 Oh, woman, when thou once leavest to be good, 
 Thou carest not who stands next thee; every sin 
 Is a companion for thee; for thy once-crack'd honesty
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 193 
 
 Is like the breaking of whole money. 
 
 It never comes to g-ood — but wastes away. 
 
 The Second Maiden's Tragedy. Anonymous. 
 
 ONE FALLEN. 
 
 And can she bear it? Can that delicate frame 
 Endure the beating of a storm so rude ? 
 Can she, for whom the various seasons changed 
 To court her appetite and crown her board, 
 For whom the foreign vintages were press'd, 
 For whom the merchant spread his silken stores, 
 
 Can she 
 
 Entreat for bread, and want the needful raiment 
 To wrap her shiv'ring bosom from the weather? 
 When she was mine, no care came ever nigh her; 
 I thought the gentlest breeze that wakes the Spring 
 Too rough to breathe upon her; cheerfulness 
 Danced all the day before her, and at night 
 Soft slumbers waited on her downy pillow — 
 Now, sad and shelterless, perhaps she lies. 
 Where piercing winds blow sharp, and the chill rain 
 Drops from some pent-house on her wretched head, 
 Drenches her locks, and kills her with the cold. 
 Jane Shore. Rowe. 
 
 DECEIVED AND FORSAKEN. 
 
 You took her up, a little tender flower, 
 Just sprouted on a bank, which the next frost 
 
 o
 
 194 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Had nipp'd ; and with a careful, loving hand, 
 
 Transplanted her into your own fair garden. 
 
 Where the sun always shines : there long she flourish'd ; 
 
 Grew sweet to sense, and lovely to the eye; 
 
 Till at the last a cruel spoiler came, 
 
 Cropp'd this fair rose, and rifled all its sweetness, 
 
 Then cast it like a loathsome weed away. 
 
 Orphan. Otwat. 
 
 THE witchery OF 
 
 Sure there is something more than witchcraft in them. 
 That masters ev'n the wisest of us all. 
 
 Ju7ie Shore. Rowe. 
 
 THE wanton. 
 
 Beware the dang'rous beauty of the wanton. 
 Shun their enticements; ruin, like a vulture, 
 Waitsontheirconquests : falsehood too 's their business : 
 They put false beauty off to all the world; 
 Use false endearments to the fools that love 'em ; 
 And when they marry, to their silly husbands 
 They bring false virtue, broken fame and fortune. 
 Orphan. Otway, 
 
 Fatally fair they are, and in their smiles 
 
 The graces, little loves, and young desires, inhabit;
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 195 
 
 But all that gaze upon them are undone ; 
 For they are false, luxurious in their appetites, 
 And all the Heav'n they hope for is variety : 
 One lover to another still succeeds, 
 Another, and another after that, 
 And the last fool is welcome as the former; 
 Till, having loved his hour out, he gives place, 
 And mingles with the herd that went before him. 
 Fair Penitent. Rowe. 
 
 To stay a woman 
 Spurr'd headlong by hot lust to her own ruin. 
 Is harder than to prop a falling tower 
 With a deceiving reed. 
 
 Fatal Dowry. Massinger and Field. 
 
 YOUTHFUL AND MATURED COMPARED. 
 
 Take then the prospect of a summer's morn, 
 The gaudy Ileav'n all streak'd with dappled fires. 
 And fleck'd with blushes like a rising bride. 
 With sweets so pour'd from such a lavish Spring, 
 That it must beggar all the years to come: 
 From this bright view, from Marguerite's form. 
 Now turn thine eye upon the yellow Autumn, 
 On Porcien's wife, the widow of the seasons. 
 Massacre of Paris. Lee,
 
 196 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 THE DISTRACTION OF ONE AT THE THOUGHT OF BEING 
 DESERTED. 
 
 You think he loves you 
 
 With unexampled fervour; nay, dotes on you, 
 
 As there were something in you more than woman; 
 
 When, on my knowledge, he long since hath wisli'd 
 
 You were among the dead. 
 
 Bless me, good angels. 
 
 Or I am blasted ! Lies so false and wicked, 
 And fashion'd to so damnable a purpose, 
 Cannot be spoken by a human tongue. 
 My husband hate me ! give thyself the lie. 
 False and accursed! Thy soul, if thou hast any, 
 Can witness, never lady stood so bound 
 To the unfeign'd affections of her lord. 
 As I do to my Sforza. If thou wouldst work 
 Upon my weak credulity, tell me, rather. 
 There's peace between the lion and the lamb; 
 Or, that the ravenous eagle and the dove 
 Keep in one aerie, and bring up their young; 
 Or anything that is averse to nature; 
 And I will sooner credit it, than that 
 My lord can think of me but as a jewel 
 He loves more than himself, and all the world. 
 Duke of Milan. Massinger.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 197 
 
 REFERRING TO HER LOVERS. 
 
 Hard state of lovers! subject to our laws! 
 
 Fools we must have, or else we cannot sway; 
 
 For none but fools will womankind obey. 
 
 If they prove stubborn and resist our will, 
 
 We exercise our pow'r, and use them ill. 
 
 The passive slave that whines, adores, and dies, 
 
 Sometimes we pity; but we still despise. 
 
 But when we doat, the self-same fate we prove, 
 
 Fools at the best; but double fools in love. 
 
 We rage at first with ill-dissembled scorn; 
 
 Then falling from our height, more basely mourn ; 
 
 And man, th' insulting tyrant, takes his turn : 
 
 Leaves us to weep for our neglected charms, 
 
 And hugs another mistress in his arms: 
 
 And, that which humbles our proud sex the most. 
 
 Of all our slijrhted favours makes his boast. 
 
 Cleomenes. Dryden. 
 
 DEPENDENCE ON MAN. 
 
 Man is a staff for your soft sex to lean on ; 
 The prop, your beauty's tender stalk is bound to; 
 The wall, to yield your branching vine a shelter: 
 Man is the circled oak; woman the ivy. 
 
 Elfrid. Hill.
 
 198 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 ADVICE TO- 
 
 AVere you, ye fair, but cautious whom ye trust, 
 Did you but think how seldom fools are just. 
 So many of your sex would not in vain 
 Of broken vows, and faithless men, complain; 
 Of all the various wretches love has made, 
 IIow few have been by men of sense betray'd ? 
 Convinced by reason, they your pow'r confess, 
 Pleased to be happy, as you're pleased to bless. 
 And, conscious of your worth, can never love yon less. 
 Fair Penitent. Rowe. 
 
 TO AVOID CURIOSITY. 
 
 Let not that devil, which undoes your sex. 
 That cursed curiosity, seduce you 
 To hunt for needless secrets, which, neglected, 
 Shall never hurt your quiet; but, once known. 
 Shall sit upon your heart, pinch it with pain, 
 And banish the sweet sleep for ever from you. 
 Jane Shore. Rowe. 
 
 DISPRAISE OF — 
 
 Woman, the fountain of all human frailty ! 
 What mighty ills have not been done by woman? 
 Who was't betray'd the capitol? — a woman! 
 Who lost Mark Antony the world? — a woman!
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 199 
 
 Who was the cause of a long ten years' war, 
 And laid at last old Troy in ashes? — Woman! 
 Destructive, damnable, deceitful woman! 
 Woman, to man first as a blessing given; 
 When innocence and love were in their prime. 
 Happy awhile in Paradise they lay; 
 But quickly woman long'd to go astray : 
 Some foolish new adventure needs must prove, 
 And the first devil she saw, she changed her love : 
 To his temptations lewdly she inclined 
 Her soul, and for an apple damn'd mankind. 
 Orphan. Otway. 
 
 Ah, traitress! Ah, ingrate ! Ah, faithless mind! 
 Ah, sex, invented first to damn mankind ! 
 Nature took care to dress you up for sin: 
 Adorn'd, without; unfinish'd left, within. 
 Hence, by no judgment you your loves direct; 
 Talk much, ne'er think, and still the wrong affect. 
 So much self-love in your composure's mix'd, 
 That love to others still remains unfix'd ; 
 Greatness, and noise, and show, are your delight; 
 Yet wise men love you, in their own despite : 
 And, finding in their native wit no ease. 
 Are forced to put your folly on, to please. 
 
 Aurengzebe. Drtden.
 
 200 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Thou'rt woman, a true copy of the first, 
 In whom the race of all mankind was cursed. 
 Your sex by beauty Wcib .. Heav'n allied; 
 But your great lord, the devil, taught you pride. 
 He too an angel, till he durst rebel : 
 And you are sure the stars that with him fell. 
 Don Carlos. Otway. 
 
 Sout!)» 
 
 EXTENUATION OF ITS FAULTS. 
 
 Oh, permit me 
 
 To plead the cause of youth Their virtue oft. 
 
 In pleasure's soft enchantment luU'd awhile. 
 Forgets itself; it sleeps and gaily dreams, 
 Till great occasion rouse it; then, all flame. 
 It walks abroad, with heighten'd soul and vigour, 
 And by the change astonishes the world. 
 
 Tancred. Thomson.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 201 
 
 TO BE CAUTIOUS OF LOVE. 
 
 Oh ! let the steps of youth be cautious, 
 How they advance into a dangerous world ; 
 Our duty only can conduct nt ^^afe : 
 Our passions are seducers: Bui. of all, 
 The strongest, Love : He first approaches us, 
 In childish play, wantoning in our walks: 
 If heedlessly we wander after him. 
 As he will pick out all the dancing way, 
 We're lost, and haidly do return again; 
 We should take warning, he is painted blind, 
 To show us, if we fondly follow him. 
 The precipices we may fall into. 
 Therefore let Virtue take him by the hand, 
 Directed so, he leads to certain joy. 
 
 The Fate of Capua. Southerne. 
 
 A VIRTUOUS YOUTH. 
 
 Therefore I love thee more, because, my son, 
 
 Thou hast deserved it; for, to speak sincerely, 
 
 There's such a sweetness still in all thy manners, 
 
 An air so open, and a brow so clear, 
 
 A temper so removed from villany. 
 
 With such a manly plainness in thy dealing,
 
 202 THE SPIRIT OF ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 That not to love thee, oh, my son, my Titus! 
 Were to be envious of so great a virtue. 
 
 Lucius Junius Brutus. Lee. 
 
 OUR YOUTH TO BE ENJOYED. 
 
 But youth, the perishing good, runs on too fast: 
 And unenjoy'd will spend itself to waste; 
 Few know the use of life before 'tis past. 
 
 Aurengzebe. Dryden.
 
 ^ttnm.
 
 SCENES. 
 
 THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN BRUTUS AND HIS SON TITUS, 
 WHEN THE FATHER TELLS HIM, THAT FOR THE 
 SAFETY OF HIS COUNTRY HE SHOULD DIE. 
 
 Brut. Well, Titus, speak; how is it with thee now? 
 I would attend awhile this mighty motion. 
 Wait till the tempest were quite o'erblown. 
 That I might take thee in the calm of nature, 
 With all thy gentler virtues brooding on thee ; 
 So hush'd a stillness, as if all the g-ods 
 Look'd down, and listen'd to what we were saying: 
 Speak, then, and tell me, oh! my best beloved, 
 My son, my Titus, is all well again ? 
 
 Titus. So well, that saying how, must make it nothing ; 
 So well, that I could wish to die this moment ; 
 For so my heart, with pow'rful throbs, persuades me 
 That were indeed to make you reparation; 
 That were, my lord, to thank you home — to die, 
 And that for Titus, too, would be most happy. 
 
 Brut. How's that, my son ? Would death for thee 
 be happy?
 
 206 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Titus. Most certain, sir; for, in my grave, I 'scape 
 All those affronts which I in life must look for; 
 All those reproaches which the eyes, and fingers, 
 And tongues of Rome will daily cast upon me ; 
 From whom, to a soul so sensible as mine. 
 Each single scorn would be far worse than dying: 
 Besides, I 'scape the stings of my own conscience. 
 Which will for ever rack me with remembrance. 
 Haunt me by day, and torture me by night. 
 Casting my blotted honour in the way 
 Where'er my melancholy thoughts shall guide me. 
 
 Brut. But is not death a very dreadful thing ? 
 
 7\'tus. Not to a mind resolved. No, sir, to me 
 It seems as natural as to be born : 
 Groans, and convulsions, and discolour'd faces, 
 Friends weeping round us, blacks and obsequies, 
 Make it a dreadful thing ; the pomp of death 
 Is far more terrible than death itself. 
 Yes, sir, I call the powers of Heaven to witness, 
 Titus dares die, if so you have decreed ; 
 Nay, he shall die with joy, to honour Brutus, 
 To make your justice famous through the world, 
 And fix the liberty of Rome for ever : 
 Not but I must confess my weakness, too ; 
 Yet it is great thus to resolve against it, 
 To have the frailty of a mortal man, 
 But the security of th' immortal gods. 
 
 Brut. Oh, Titus! Oh, thou absolute young man ! 
 Thou flatt'ring mirror of thy father's image, 
 ^Vhere I behold myself at such advantage!
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 207 
 
 Thou perfect glory of the Junian race ! 
 
 Let me endear thee once more to my bosom, 
 
 Groan an eternal farewell to thy soul; 
 
 Instead of tears, weep blood, if possible ; 
 
 Blood, the heart-blood of Brutus, on his child, 
 
 For thou must die, my Titus — die, my son; 
 
 I swear the gods have doom'd thee to the grave ; 
 
 The violated genius of thy country 
 
 Rears his sad head, and passes sentence on thee : 
 
 This morning sun, that lights my sorrows on 
 
 To the tribunal of this horrid vengeance, 
 
 Shall never see thee inore. 
 
 Titus. Alas, my lord! 
 Why are you mov'd thus ? Why am I worth your sorrow? 
 Why should the godlike Brutus shake to doom me"? 
 Why all these trappings for a traitor's hearse ? 
 The gods will have it so. 
 
 Brut. They will, my Titus : 
 Nor Heaven, nor earth, can have it otherwise. 
 Nay, Titus, mark ; the deeper that I search. 
 My harass'd soul returns the more confirm'd : 
 Methinks I see the very hand of Jove 
 Moving the dreadful wheels of this affair, 
 That whirl thee, like a machine, to thy fate : 
 It seems as if the gods had pre-ordain'd it, 
 To fix the reeling spirits of the people, 
 And settle the loose liberty of Rome. 
 'Tis fix'd; oh, therefore, let not fancy fond thee ; 
 So fix'd thy death, that 'tis not in the power 
 Of ffods or men to save thee from the axe.
 
 208 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Titus. The axe! O Heaven! Then must I fall so 
 basely ? 
 What, shall I perish by the common hangmen'? 
 
 Bnit. If thou deny me this, thou giv'st me nothing. 
 Yes, Titus, since the gods have so decreed 
 That I must lose thee, I will take th' advantage 
 Of thy important fate; cement Rome's flaws. 
 And heal her wounded freedom with thy blood : 
 I will ascend myself the sad tribunal. 
 And sit upon my son; on thee, my Titus; 
 Behold thee suffer all the shame of death. 
 The lictor's lashes, bleed before the people ; 
 Then, with thy hopes and all thy youth upon thee, 
 See thy head taken by the common axe. 
 Without a groan, without one pitying tear. 
 If that the Gods can hold me to my purpose, 
 To make my justice quite transcend example. 
 
 Titus. Scourged Hke a bondman! Ha! A beaten 
 slave ! 
 But I deserve it all ; yet here I fail : 
 The image of this suif'ring quite unmans me ; 
 Nor can I longer stop the gushing tears. 
 O, sir ! O, Brutus! Must I call you father. 
 Yet have no token of your tenderness? 
 No sign of mercy? What, not bate me that? 
 Can you resolve on all th' extremity 
 Of cruel rigour? To behold me, too? 
 To sit unmoved, and see me whipp'd to death ! 
 Where are your bowels now? Is this a father? 
 Ah, sir, why should you make my heart suspect
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 209 
 
 That all your late compassion was dissembled? 
 How can I think that you did ever love me? 
 
 Brut. Think that I love thee by my present passion, 
 By these unmanly tears, these earthquakes here. 
 These sighs, that twitch the very strings of life : 
 Think that no other cause on earth could move me 
 To tremble thus, to sob, or shed a tear. 
 Nor shake my solid virtue from her point, 
 But Titus' death : Oh, do not call it shameful 
 That thus shall fix the glory of the world ! 
 I own thy sufF'rings ought t' unman me thus, 
 To make me throw my body on the ground. 
 To bellow like a beast, to gnaw the earth, 
 To tear my hair, to curse the cruel Fates 
 That force a father thus to drag his bowels. 
 
 Titus. Oh rise, thou violated majesty, 
 Rise from the earth ; or I shall beg those Fates, 
 Which you would curse, to bolt me to the centre ! 
 I now submit to all your threaten'd vengeance : 
 Come forth, you executioners of justice. 
 Nay, all you lictors, slaves, and common hangmen — 
 Come, strip me bare, unrobe me in his sight, 
 And lash me till I bleed ! Whip me, like furies ; 
 And, when you have scourged me till I foam and fall. 
 For want of spirits, grovelling in the dust. 
 Then take my head, and give it his revenge: 
 By all the gods, I greedily resign it. 
 
 Brut. No more ! Farewell, eternally farewell ! 
 If there be gods, they will reserve a room, 
 
 p
 
 210 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 A throne for thee in Heav'n. One last embrace ! 
 What is it makes thy eyes thus swim again ? 
 
 Tilus. I had forgot : be good to Teraminta, 
 When I am ashes. 
 
 Brut. Leave her to my care. 
 See her thou must not, for thou can'st not bear it. 
 Oh, for one more, this pull, this tug of heart-strings ! 
 Farewell for ever '. 
 
 Titus. Oh, Brutus ! Oh, my father ! 
 
 Brut. Can'st thou not say farewell ? 
 
 Titus. Farewell for ever ! 
 
 Brut. For ever, then ; but, oh, my tears run o'er, 
 Groans choke my words, and I can speak no more ! 
 Lucius Junius Brutus. Lee. 
 
 BELMOUR (ruined BY GAMBLING) IN HIS DESPAIR 
 SEEKS TO DESTROY HIS WIFE AND CHILDREN. 
 
 Belm. My baleful hand has mix'd the deadly draught. 
 
 To give it as a cordial ! Give it ! whom ? 
 
 Start from thy burning orb, thou conscious sun, 
 And chill thyself to frost, at my black purpose. 
 Am I a parent? a protector? lover? 
 Or has this devil, that heaves about my heart, 
 Transform'd me to a fiend? He has! he has! 
 Chain him, some angel, millions of fathoms down; 
 Heap him with mountains, lest he rise again. 
 And, in a husband's and a father's breast,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 211 
 
 Brew horrid murders'. 1 am myself once more. 
 
 Now let cool Reason's undistracted search 
 
 Answer my bleeding soul, which dreadful ill 
 
 May best be borne by Nature : — To leave our friends 
 
 To grinding sorrow, poverty, and scorn. 
 
 With sense of his not feeling any pain 
 
 Who gave them all? — or, to quit life together, 
 
 And, wanting power to bless, make it some merit 
 
 Not to leave curses to surviving innocence ? 
 
 I'm mad again ! Reason herself betrays me, 
 
 And whispers, that the first is cruelty, 
 
 And murder grows a mercy! 
 
 Enter Louisa. 
 
 Louisa. Found you the cordial ? 
 Your little wanderers are ready dress'd 
 To act the pilgrim with us: perhaps 'twill aid 
 Their fainting spirits, yet untried in hardships. 
 
 Belm. I cannot move my feet, bound down by 
 
 Nature, 
 Rebel against my heart. Oh! if one moment. 
 One short thought longer, she oppress me thus 
 With melting, innocent talk, I shall grow soft. 
 Yield her to want, and live to be a beggar! \_Asuk. 
 
 Louisa. Still you are doubtful 
 
 Belm. No, no! I'm fix'd Oh! Nature! [Jside. 
 
 I left my closet open on a table, 
 
 In that gold cup, which v/as my father's present. 
 When thy first favourite boy's last birth-day came, 
 Thou'lt find the fittest cordial. I tried 'em all.
 
 212 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 And what seem'd properest for the boys and thee, 
 Waits, in that cup, thy tasting-. 
 
 Louisa. Come, my boys, 
 Let's taste this boasted cordial. [ Exit. 
 
 Belm. Be firm, my heart ! 
 Stop thy big beat ! Thaw, thaw this curdling blood. 
 That, through my icy veins, creeps cold as death, 
 
 And freezes in its passage. Where is Louisa? 
 
 But a few moments, and she is no more ! 
 
 Now! now! the unsuspecting innocent 
 
 Lifts that last cup — now, now she tastes a draught 
 
 That snatches her, for ever, from my sight, 
 
 And robs me of her comfort I Never more 
 
 Shall her sweet voica enchant me! Never more 
 
 Shall her soft eyes look fondly into mine, 
 
 And shine with swimming languor ! Never, never 
 
 Will her unwearied wit beguile my cares, 
 
 Or hush me more to peace, when passion shakes me ! 
 
 Open, engulph me, and conceal my shame, 
 
 Befriending Earth ! or, from thy yawning depth 
 
 Stream up a night of gloom, to blot out memory. 
 
 And darken o'er reflection ! 1 feel my blood 
 
 Cool, and grow thick, as melted lead flows heavy, 
 And hardens in its motion. A little longer. 
 And I, who have a heart already marble. 
 Shall petrify throughout, and be a statue ! 
 
 Louisa. My life ! my Belmour ! [^Within. 
 
 Belm. Ha! 'tis her voice that calls me — 
 It sounded not reproachful. 
 
 Louisa. Look, look, my Belmour! [Within.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 213 
 
 These little strugglers will not quit the cordial, 
 But sip it to the bottom. 
 
 Belm. Torturing horror ! [Aside. 
 
 Enter Louisa, with an empty cup. 
 
 Louisa. How cou'd you be so rigid, not to come, 
 When I twice call'd you"? 'Twou'd have been a scene 
 Of pleasure, to observe with how much eagerness 
 The little wranglers quarrel'd for the cup. 
 Which, having drank myself, I brought to them. 
 I bid 'em taste it only — and told the prattlers 
 It was their father's present : but that word 
 Transported them, to lift their pretty hands, 
 And brought a war about me. 
 
 Belm. Furies tear me ! 
 
 Louisa. Did you not give permission they should 
 taste it. 
 Ere they began the journey? 
 
 Belm. Alas, Louisa! 
 A long, long journey, is indeed begun. 
 But endless as eternity ! Thyself, 
 And those dear infants, are — poison'd by that cordial. 
 
 Louisa. Poison'd! by thee? Thou say'st it but to 
 try me ! 
 If 'twere thy wish that I should die, thy love — 
 At least, thy pity — would have given some warning. 
 Death is a dreadful journey, and requires 
 Much length of preparation. 
 
 Belm. By those charms, 
 Which I no more must gaze on, and be bless'd. 
 Thou can'st not live an hour ! A last, long sleep
 
 214 THE SPIIIIT OF 
 
 Will steal, with cold advances, o'er thy beauties; 
 And those two beamy suns, which sparkle on me, 
 Anon shall set in death ! Even while we talk 
 The eternal shade will rise, at once, between us. 
 And sever us for ever. 
 
 Louisa. Dreadful contraction 
 Of that short span, which, at its longest stretch, 
 Was much too narrow to allow me scope 
 To speak, or look, or think, my love for thee : 
 
 What shall I say?' A thousand tender thoughts 
 
 Struggle, at once, for vent. I cannot speak ! 
 Death is too hasty ! I have yet, undone, 
 Unspoke, unthought, a thousand weighty things ! 
 
 O Heavens ! my little ones ! Let me fly to them ! 
 
 Have I so short a time to gaze upon them ? 
 
 Yet ne'er must see 'em more ! I cannot leave thee. 
 
 What shall I do"? O! bring my children hither: 
 
 Fly with 'em to my arms ! — Dear, dying innocents ! 
 Oh ! Belmour! Belmour! Why has this been done? 
 
 Belm. That we might baffle woe, and die together, 
 And leave no beggars of our race behind us. 
 See ! my Louisa ! I have a faithful guide, 
 
 [Drawing a dagger. 
 That will not let me lose thee. \_Stabs himself. 
 
 Louisa. Oh ! cruel Belmour ! 
 What hast thou done? Now I am kill'd indeed ! 
 
 Help, help ! Oh! Uncle! what a dreadful scene 
 
 Are you return'd to? 
 
 The Fatal Extravagance. Hill and Mitchell. 
 
 %* Belmour's intention of poisoning his wife and children had 
 bnen overheard by his iinclr, who rhan^cd the cordial.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 215 
 
 THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN JAFFIER AND BELTIDERA, 
 WHEN PIERRE HAD BEEN CONDEMNED BY THE 
 SENATE. 
 
 Belv. The faithful senators, 'tis they've decreed it : 
 They say, according to our friend's request, 
 They shall have death, and no ignoble bondage: 
 Declare their promised mercy all as forfeited : 
 False to their oaths, and deaf to intercession, 
 Warrants are pass'd for public death to-morrow. 
 
 Jaff. Death! Doom'dtodie! Condemn'd unheard ! 
 unpleaded ! 
 
 Belv. Nay, cruel'st racks and torments are pre- 
 paring. 
 To force confession from their dying pangs. 
 Oh ! do not look so terribly upon me ! 
 How your lips shake, and all your face disorder'd ! 
 What means my love'? 
 
 Jaff. Leave me, I charge thee, leave me Strong 
 
 temptations 
 Wake in my heart. 
 
 Belv. For what? 
 
 Jaff. No more, but leave me. 
 
 Belv. Why? 
 
 Jaff. Oh ! by Heav'n I love thee with that fondness, 
 1 would not have thee stay a moment longer 
 Near these cursed hands : Are they not cold upon thee ? 
 [^PuUs the dagger half out of his bosom, 
 and puis it back again.
 
 216 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Belv. No, everlasting comfort's in thy arms : 
 To lean thus on thy breast is softer ease 
 Than downy pillows deck'd with leaves of roses. 
 Juff. Alas ! thou think'st not of the thorns 'tis fill'd 
 with : 
 Fly, ere they gall thee : there's a lurking serpent 
 Ready to leap, and sting thee to the heart : 
 Art thou not terrified? 
 Bclv. No. 
 Jaff. Call to mind 
 What thou hast done, and whither thou hast brought 
 me. 
 Belv. Ha! 
 
 Jaff. Where's my friend"? my friend! thou smiling 
 mischief! 
 Nay, shrink not; now 'tis too late : thou should'st have 
 
 fled, 
 When thy guilt first had cause: for dire Revenge 
 Is up, and raging for my friend. He groans ! 
 
 Hark how he groans! his screams are in my 
 
 ears 
 Already; see, they've fix'd him on the wheel. 
 
 And now they tear him Murder ! perjured senate ! 
 
 Murder — oh! hark thee, traitress, thou hast done 
 
 this; 
 Thanks to thy tears, and false persuading love. 
 How her eyes speak ! O, thou bewitching creature, 
 
 [Feeling for his dagger. 
 Madness can't hurt thee ! Come, thou little trembler, 
 Creep even into my heart, and there lie safe:
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 217 
 
 'Tis thy own citadel ha! yet stand off! 
 
 Heav'n must have justice, and my broken vows 
 Will sink me else beneath its reaching mercy. 
 I'll wink, and then 'tis done 
 
 Belv, What means the lord 
 Of me, my life, and love ? What's in thy bosom, 
 Thou grasp'st at so'? Nay, why am I thus treated? 
 
 [^Draws the dagger — offers to stab her. 
 What wilt thou do? Ah! do not kill me, Jaffier : 
 Pity these panting breasts, and trembling limbs, 
 That used to clasp thee when thy looks were milder. 
 
 Jaff. Know, Belvidera, when we parted last, 
 I gave this dagger with thee, as in trust 
 To be thy portion, if I e'er proved false. 
 On such condition was my truth believed : 
 But now 'tis forfeited, and must be paid for. 
 
 [^Offers to stab her again. 
 
 Belv. Oh ! Mercy ! \_Kneeling. 
 
 Jaff. Nay, no struggling. 
 
 Belv. Now then kill me. 
 
 \_Leaps upon his neck, and kisses him. 
 While thus I cling about thy cruel neck. 
 Kiss thy revengeful lips, and die in joys 
 Greater than any I can guess hereafter. 
 
 Jaff. I am, I am a coward, witness 't, Heav'n! 
 Witness it, Earth, and every being, witness : 
 'Tis but one blow ! yet, by immortal Love, 
 I cannot longer bear a thought to harm thee. 
 
 \_He throws away the dagger, and embraces her. 
 The seal of Providence is sure upon thee;
 
 218 TUE SPIRIT OF 
 
 And thou wert born for yet unheard-of wonders : 
 O ! thou wert either born to save or damn me. 
 By all the power that's given thee o'er my soul, 
 By thy resistless tears and conquering smiles, 
 By the victorious love that still waits on thee; 
 Fly to thy cruel father, save my friend. 
 Or all our future quiet's lost for ever. 
 Fall at his feet, cling round his reverend knees : 
 Speak to him with thy eyes, and with thy tears 
 Melt his hard heart, and wake dead Nature in him; 
 Crush him in th' arms, torture him with thy softness ; 
 Nor, till thy prayers are granted, set him free, 
 But conquer him, as thou hast conquer'd me. 
 Venice Preserved. Otway. 
 
 ARTAXERXES AND MEMNON LIBERATED BY CLEQNE, 
 WHO HAD CHERISHED A SECRET ATTACHMENT TO THE 
 
 PRINCE SUSPECTED OF TREACHERV, SHE PROVES 
 
 HER DEVOTION BY HER DEATH. 
 
 Scene — Within the Temple. 
 
 Cle. I grieve, my lord, to find your hard suspicion 
 Debars me from preserving your dear life. 
 Which not your own Amestris wishes more. 
 To-morrow's dawn (oh ! let me yet prevail) 
 The cruel Queen resolves shall be your last. 
 Oh, fly! let me conjure you, save yourself. 
 May that most awful god that here is worshipp'd
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 219 
 
 Deprive me of his cheerful beams for ever, 
 Make me the wretched'st thing he sees while living, 
 And after death the lowest of the damn'd, 
 If I have any thought but for your safety. 
 
 Arta. No, I have found the malice of thy mistress ; 
 Since I refused her love, when she was proffer'd 
 By her ambitious father for my bride, 
 And on a worthier choice bestow'd my heart, 
 She vows revenge on me for slighted beauty. 
 
 Cle. My lord, you do her most unmanly wrong : 
 She owns the merit of the fair Amestris, 
 Nor ever durst imagine she deserved you. 
 Oh ! spare that thought, nor blot her virgin fame. 
 In silence still she wonder'd at your virtues, 
 Bless'd you, nor at her own ill fate repined : 
 This wounds her most, that you suspect, unkindly, 
 Th' officious piety that would have saved you. 
 Careless of an offended father's rage. 
 For you alone concern'd, she charged me guide you, 
 When midnight sleep had closed observing eyes, 
 
 Safe through her father's palace with this key 
 
 And if I met with any that durst bar 
 
 Your passage forth, she bid me greet him thus 
 
 \_Stabs herself, Artaxerxes catches her as she falls. 
 
 Arta. What hast thou done, rash boy? 
 
 Cle. Given you the last. 
 And only proof remain'd, that could convince you 
 I held your life much dearer than my own. 
 
 Mem. Horrid amazement chills my freezing veins! 
 
 Cle. Let me conjure you with my latest breath.
 
 220 THE SPIUIT OF 
 
 Make haste to seize the means that may preserve you : 
 This key, amidst the tumult of this night, 
 
 \_Giving the key. 
 Will open you a way through Mirza's palace. 
 May every god assist and guard your flight; 
 And, oh I when all your hopes of love and glory 
 Are crown'd with just success, will you be good, 
 And think with pity on the lost Cleone? 
 
 Arta. Ten thousand dismal fancies crowd my 
 thoughts : 
 Oh I is it possible thou canst be she, 
 Thou most unhappy fair one? 
 
 Cle. Spare my shame, 
 Nor call the blood, that flows to give me peace, 
 Back to my dying cheeks. Can you forget 
 Who was my father; and remember only 
 How much I wish'd I had deserved your friendship — 
 Nay, let my tongue grow bold, and say, your love? 
 But 'twas not in my fate. 
 
 Arta. What shall I say, 
 To witness how my grateful heart is touch'd ? 
 But, oh! why wouldst thou give this fatal instance? 
 Why hast thou stain'd me with thy virgin blood? 
 I swear, sweet saint, for thee I could forgive 
 The malice of thy father, though he seeks 
 My life and crown ; thy goodness might atone 
 Ev'n for a nation's sins. Look up and live. 
 And thou shalt still be near me as my heart. 
 
 Cle. Oh, charming sounds, that gently lull my soul 
 To everlasting rest I I swear 'tis more —
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 221 
 
 More joy to die thus bless'd, than to have lived 
 A monarch's bride : may every blessing- wait you ; 
 In war and peace, still may you be the greatest, 
 
 The favourite of the gods, and joy of men 
 
 I faint — Oh, let me lean upon your arm — \_She dies. 
 
 Arta. Hold up the light, my father. Ha ! she 
 swoons ! 
 The ii'on hand of death is on her beauties : 
 And see, like lilies nipp'd with frost, they languish. 
 
 Me/n. My tough old soldier's heart melts at the 
 sight, 
 And an unwonted pity moves my breast : 
 Ill-fated maid ! too good for that damn'd race 
 From which thou drew'st thy being ! sure, the gods, 
 Angry erewhile, will be at length appeased 
 With this egregious victim : let us tempt 'em 
 Now, while they seem to smile. 
 
 Arta. A beam of hope 
 Strikes through my soul, like the first infant light 
 That glanced upon the chaos ; if we reach 
 The open city, fate may be ours again : 
 But, oh! whate'er success or happiness 
 Attend my life, still, fair, unhappy maid, 
 Still shall thy memory be my grief and honour : 
 On one fix'd day in each returning year 
 Cypress and myrtle, for thy sake, I'll wear ; 
 Ev'n my Amestris thy hard fate shall mourn. 
 And with fresh roses crown thy virgin urn. 
 Till, in Elysium bless'd, thy gentle shade 
 Shall own my vows of sorrow justly paid. 
 
 Ambitious Step-Mother. Rowe.
 
 222 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 HEROD, FROM THE EXCESS OF LOVE, READILY SUS- 
 PECTS THE FIDELITY OF MARIAMNE, AND, IN A FIT 
 OF JEALOUSY, ORDERS HER TO BE POISONED. HIS 
 ANGUISH AND REMORSE, WHEN CONVINCED OF HER 
 INNOCENCE, IS DEPICTED; AND HE DIES BROKEN- 
 HEARTED. 
 
 [Mariamne enters^ supported by the High Priest and 
 Narbal ; Arsinoe follows, zcHh the youvg Prince. 
 
 Her. Heav'ns avert 
 
 The bodings of my soul ! I fear the Queen 
 
 //. Pr. Oh, sir ! 
 
 Her. Ha I say'st thou ? 
 
 //. Pr. A few moments more 
 Will rank her with the dead ! 
 
 Ar. Ere I arrived 
 The deadly draught was given, which soon will end 
 The sense of all her woes. 
 
 Her. And all my joys! 
 
 O call, call our physicians ! now let art 
 Exert her saving power, or ever prove 
 The minister of death ! 
 
 Mar. The venom's spread 
 Too far for art ! 
 
 Her. O ! wish to live, and Heav'n 
 Will crown thy wish with life : Heav'n will be just 
 To that bright innocence which I have wrong'd ! 
 
 Wrong'dwith excess of love to fury wrought! 
 
 O wretch, wretch, wretch !
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 223 
 
 Mar. Death's welcome, now I hear 
 My innocence avow'd. 
 
 Her. I ! I ! whose life 
 Was bound with thine, by striving to secure 
 Thy beauties all my own, have kill'd the dove 
 
 I fondly grasp'd too close ! O see ! she's pale : 
 
 Take, take, ye pow'rs! my life to lengthen hers : 
 Chain me, ye furies ! to your burning wheel ! 
 Whip me ten thousand years with scorpions there. 
 To save her life ! 
 
 Mar. I pity and forgive 
 Your violence of passion, which hath wrought 
 The ruin of us both ! 
 
 Her. I ill deserve 
 
 Thy pardon or thy pity yet vouchsafe, 
 
 Thou fairest pattern of transcendent goodness ! 
 Vouchsafe thy wretched lord a lust embrace ; 
 Whose soul is ready wing'd to wait on thine : 
 Oh ! bless the dying penitent with peace. 
 The moments which remain ! 
 
 Mar. Good Heav'n insure \Tliey embrace. 
 
 Eternal peace to both ! 
 
 Her. Thou shalt not die ! 
 Thou art too young, too faultless, and too fair. 
 To fall a prey to death ! 
 
 Mar. The thick'ning shades 
 O'erspread my swimming eyes — Where is my child? 
 
 Bring him, poor babe ! to take a parting kiss ! 
 
 Farewell ! I'm now at peace ! \_Shc dies.
 
 224 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 H. Pr. In that soft sigh 
 The gentle spirit soar'd. 
 
 Ar. Oh ! dead, dead, dead ! 
 
 Her. Then, Death! strike on; 
 Fate, thou hast done thy worst! [^JJe faints. 
 
 Phe. My royal brother ! Oh ! 
 
 Nar. My gracious lord ! 
 
 II. Pr. Good Heav'n ! restore to wretched Palestine 
 Her sole support, and grace ! 
 
 Her. What minister \_Raising himself. 
 
 Of this dark realm art thou? If 'tis thy post 
 
 To guide the dead through this disastrous gloom, 
 Lead to that mournful mansion, where the ghosts 
 Of those abide, whom fatal beauty sent 
 
 Untimely to the shades ! See ! see ! she soars ! — 
 
 How bright a track she leaves along the sky ; 
 
 And looks with pity down ! Oh, see ! she rests 
 
 On the soft fleece of yonder purple cloud. 
 Where angels fan her with their golden plumes : 
 Stay, Mariamne, stay ! [//e sinks into their arms. 
 
 Phe. O ! from his face 
 The blush of life retires. 
 
 Nar. His bosom heaves 
 With strong convulsive throes ! 
 
 Fla. Raise him, my lords. 
 
 Her. Alas! forbear; ye but prolong the pains 
 Of lab'ring Nature; let me sink to peace ! 
 And may Oblivion cast her sable veil 
 O'er my sad story, and conceal the crimes
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 225 
 
 Of majesty misled ! My urn, alas ! 
 Can hope for no compassion : when the doom 
 Of my dear, lovely, virtuous Queen is told, 
 The tears vpill freeze on Pity's gentle cheek. 
 
 And not bedew my ashes! To your care [To Flu. 
 
 Receive this royal orphan, and implore 
 Caesar's protection, to preserve his crown; 
 And when, mature in manhood, he receives 
 A consort to his throne, may every grace 
 And every virtue join, to make her styled 
 The Mariamne of th' admiring age ! 
 May sweet compliance, honour, dear esteem, 
 And mutual faith cement their mutual joys ! 
 But ever may he shun too fond excess ! 
 That soft, seducing impotence of mind. 
 By which subdued, his wretched father fell ! 
 Led by imperious Love, a tortured slave, 
 To the sad refuge of an early grave ! \_He dies. 
 
 Mariamne. , Fenton. 
 
 CiESAB BORGIA AND HIS BROTHER GANDIA ARE ENA- 
 MOURED OF BELLAMIBA BORGIA RESIGNED HIS 
 
 CLAIMS, BUT HAS BEEN INSTIGATED TO FALSIFY 
 HIS PROMISE, WHEN THE FOLLOWING INTERVIEW 
 TAKES PLACE. 
 
 Borg. So, sir, you see I have obey'd your summons : 
 You must be satisfied, though beauty stays. 
 Though the bride stays, though Bellamira stays; 
 
 Q
 
 226 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 That is, though Heav'n, with all its waiting glories, 
 Stops at your call, and stands to give you hearing. 
 
 Gand. You've used me basely. 
 
 Borg. No. 
 
 Gand. I say, you have. 
 Without a provocation. 
 
 Borg. That were base 
 Indeed ! When, unprovoked, I do a wrong, 
 May I, when justly urged, want due revenge ! 
 
 Gand. You've falsified your word, — betray'd me 
 basely ! 
 Betray'd a brother! O, my stars ! a brother 
 That would have burst through all the bars of death. 
 And yielded all things to you, but his love. 
 O, foolish eyes ! but these are your last tears, 
 And I must mend your course with blood. 
 
 Borg. He weeps! 
 
 Was ever seen hypocrisy like this? 
 O ! thou young, impudent, and blooming liar. 
 Who, like our courtesans, are early practised. 
 And, in their nonage, taught the arts of vice : 
 
 But I forego my temper Is this all? 
 
 You know I am in haste, and cannot brook 
 A longer conference. 
 
 Gand. I know you cannot. 
 But I shall force you : yes, thou tyrant brother. 
 Thou that art fallen from all the height of glory 
 To the low practice of the worst of slaves, 
 I will revenge the honour thou hast lost: 
 Nor shalt thou pass to Bellamira's arms.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 227 
 
 Till through my heart thou cutt'st thy liorrid way. 
 Draw, then^ 
 
 Borg. I will not. 
 
 Gand. By Revenge and Fury, 
 Thou shalt not pass but on my rapier's point. 
 
 Borg. Think not, thou young practitioner in arms, 
 That all thy force, though levell'd at me naked, 
 Should stop me, if I once resolved my way : 
 But I am calm; and wish thee, for thy safety, 
 To let me pass. Thou talk'dst a while ago 
 
 Of Lucrece but no more of that my father. 
 
 O, fear'd I not his thunder, which so oft 
 
 Has menaced me, if e'er I rose against thee, 
 
 Long, long ere this hadst thou been dust — even now, 
 
 For that abuse which late thou gav'st ir.y ear, 
 
 For that abhorr'd conception of my sister, 
 
 For that damn'd mention, by the lowest hell. 
 
 And by the burning fiends, thou shouldst be ashes. 
 
 Gand. Blush not, nor purse thy threat'ning brow, 
 but draw. 
 And dare not to despise the weakest arm 
 That strikes with justice. Yes, upon thy breast. 
 Elate and haughty as thou carry'st it, 
 I doubt not but my sword shall write thee traitor ! 
 
 Borg. No more ! O that I had 
 Some one, renown'd and winter'd as myself, 
 T' encounter, like an oak, the rooting storm ! 
 But thou art weak, and to the earth wilt bend, 
 With my least blast, thy head of blossoms down ; 
 If by thy hand I fall (as who e'er dived
 
 228 THE SPIIUT OF 
 
 So deep in fate but sometimes was deceived ?) 
 I do bequeath thee more than all my dukedoms, 
 Far more indeed than worlds — my beauteous bride ! 
 But if I conquer thee, and shew thee mercy. 
 Never love more ; nor, after I am married. 
 Dare for thy soul to speak of Bellamira. 
 
 Gand. I thank thee, and accept the terms with joy, 
 Which blood must ratify: and here I swear. 
 If, vanquish'd by thy arm, ([hough Death, I hope, 
 Will, more than oaths, confirm the fatal bargain,) 
 For ever to renounce all claim, and yield, 
 By my eternal absence, Bellamira. 
 
 Borg. Come on, then; and let Love and Glory steel 
 Thy unflesh'd arm : think, on this moment hangs 
 Thy whole life's joy, or, worse than death, despair ! 
 I would not win such beauty without blood: 
 But, as the brave Gonsalvo, being shot. 
 Moved not at all, nor changed his mighty look, 
 As if the gallantry of his demeanour 
 Could charm coy Victory to raise the siege. 
 So would I, with my blood distilling down. 
 Answering her tears, lead Bellamira on. 
 And woo her at the altar with my wounds. 
 
 Gand. No more. 
 
 Burg. Agreed. The word is Bellamira 
 
 [They fight — Gandia is wounded. 
 CcEsar Borgia. Lee.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 229 
 
 THE SENATORS OF CAPUA, RATTIER THAN SUBMIT TO 
 THE TERMS PROPOSED TO THEM BY THE ROMANS, 
 ASSEMBLE AT A FEAST, WHERE EACH DRINKS FROM 
 A POISONED BOWL. 
 
 Pacuvius, Vibius Virius, Marius Blosius, lEith seven or 
 eight Senators, rising from a Futsf. 
 
 Pac. Who, who would basely lag behind in life, 
 Only to see how many wretched ways 
 Our enemies will find out to punish us ? 
 
 5th Sen. These eyes shall never be spectators of 
 My country's ruin. 
 
 Fib. Nor will I behold 
 The ravage, and the havoc of our spoils 
 
 6th Sen. Nor Capua's honours trampled in the 
 dust 
 
 7th Sen. Nor shining' horrid with involving flames. 
 
 Bio. Shall our chaste matrons, and our blushing 
 maids, 
 Our generous youth, bred up to nobler hopes. 
 Attempted, seized, o'erpower'd, be tamed at last 
 To the insults of all unnatural lusts ? 
 
 Vib. If there was nothing else to undergo 
 
 Bb. You cannot call it living on such terms. 
 
 Pac. If we agree, that life would be a load. 
 Not to be borne, with these indignities. 
 Here is the helping hand to throw it off: 
 
 \_A servant gives him a bowl. 
 This bowl I have reserved to crown the feast.
 
 230 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Hannibal carries poison in a ring, 
 
 Still to be near him in adversity : 
 
 I have prepared this cordial draught for us — 
 
 A noble and preventing remedy, 
 
 To free our bodies from the punishment, 
 
 Our minds from the reproach and infamy, 
 
 Our eyes and ears from being w^itnesses 
 
 Of all those cruelties that are design'd, 
 
 Contrived, reserved, and wait for conquer'd men. 
 
 Vib. We vi'ould not rob our virtue of its fame, 
 To think that any here can stand in need 
 Of words, to argue him into a deed 
 Of this high consequence and character. 
 
 Bio. We are confirm'd in reason, and resolved. 
 
 Pac. Then thus I offer you deliverance, 
 And do begin — A health to Liberty ! [Drinks. 
 
 5th Sen. A generous health, and send it round to all. 
 
 Bio. Fill all the bowls at once, that we may join 
 In that most noble pledge : let no man have 
 Priority, or place, in this last scene. 
 But all unite in honour of the deed. 
 
 Vib. Let us unite our hands, as well as hearts, 
 In this great work ! And, since we are to part, 
 We'll part like friends, lock'd in a strict embrace. 
 
 [ They embrace in a circle. 
 
 Enter Magius, as they are in the ceremony. 
 
 Mag. I must not be shut out. I come to be 
 Admitted to the gallant fellowship 
 Of your great enterprise. I hear you are
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 231 
 
 Determined and resolved — 
 
 \_Servants give each man a bozel. 
 Give me a cup, 
 Among the rest. 
 
 5th Sen. 'Tis poison 
 
 Mag. Not to me ; 
 Or, if it should be so, I come to die. 
 
 6th Sen. We'll shew you, then, the way. 
 
 Mag. I'm old, and weak. 
 And cannot follow fast, unless you stay 
 To take me with you in your company. 
 
 6th Sen. We will. 
 
 Pac. I'm sorry to see you reduced to die. 
 
 Mag. I'm sorry to see you reduced to live. 
 
 Pac. That would be poverty of soul indeed : 
 'Tis not so poor with me. 
 
 Mag. I'm glad of it. 
 
 6th Sen. Pacuvius has drank his cordial off. 
 
 Mag. Secure me mine, and then, at leisure, I 
 Will tell you the particulars at large 
 Of what I went about — the Consuls' doom, 
 
 And Capua's fate 
 
 \_Servant gives Magius a bowl — Ihe^ all drink 
 together. 
 But this delivers me. 
 
 5th Sen. And all of us. 
 
 Bio. Now we defy the doom. 
 Pronounce it in the threat'ning Consuls' words : 
 Though it should thunder from the judgment seat, 
 It shakes not us. We have our pardon seal'd.
 
 232 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Mag. I was not suffer'd to approach their camp, 
 But as a private person and a friend : 
 They utterly refused the prisoners, 
 Disdaining to receive 'em as a bribe ; 
 And would not hear me upon any terms 
 That 1 could offer. All I could obtain 
 Was, to inform myself what they design'd 
 To do with us. 
 
 6th Sen. It must be terrible. 
 
 Mag. Why, fourscore senators are condemn'd to 
 death ; 
 Three hundred of our noblest families 
 To be dispersed into the Latin towns, 
 There to remain as prisoners at large ; 
 Our treasure all confiscated to Rome ; 
 Our lands and public buildings forfeited ; 
 Capua to be disfranchised of her rights, 
 Her liberties, and her chief citizens; 
 The populace by out-cry to be sold 
 Into the several States of Italy ; 
 And none permitted to inhabit here. 
 But slaves made free, strangers, and meanest trades ; 
 Never to be incorporated more 
 In a community, to have a voice 
 In free election of its magistrates, 
 But live enthrall'd under the scourge of Rome. 
 
 Vib. More dreadful far than fire or sword could be ! 
 Bio. It had been mercy to extirpate quite 
 The name and memory of Capua. 
 
 Mag. As to myself, 'tis true, they offer'd all,
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 233 
 
 All honourable terms for me, and mine : 
 But what is honour, fortune, when we have 
 No friends, no country, to rejoice with us ? 
 I could not think of life after that loss. 
 Therefore came timely to prevent it here. 
 
 Pac. O, Magius 1 let me witness to the worth 
 I always envied. We have rival'd long' 
 For Capua's love ; but this last act of yours 
 Has forced me to confess it was your due ; 
 Has thrown all emulation so behind, 
 The honour of the race is wholly yours. 
 Had I proceeded with that openness, 
 With that clear spirit, in my country's cause 
 
 Mag. May be it had been better for us all. 
 This is no time for long confessions : 
 If you have done amiss, amend it now; 
 And, by the brave example of your death. 
 Correct the influence of an ill-spent life. 
 
 Pac. I've found this easy, honest way to death — 
 The only way, my friends, to vanquish Rome, 
 To rob her Consuls of their triumph here, 
 And bear ourselves the palm of victory. 
 
 Mag. I thank the gods I have lived long enough, 
 To all the reasonable ends of life ; 
 Lived to my friends, my country, and my fame ', 
 Have glutted Nature with satiety. 
 Tired all lier various appetites of change : 
 And 'twould be an unmannerly return 
 For my good cheer, and welcome of the feast, 
 When I have sat it out, to grudge to rise.
 
 234 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Blo. We are all ready now to take our leave. 
 
 Mag. But one word more, and then I go with you: 
 [They support each other. 
 The dead live after in the memory 
 Of those alive, so to be handed down 
 Through all the ages of posterity, 
 As triers of their fame ; abhorr'd, or loved, 
 According to their good, or ill, in life. 
 
 Pac. I would be mention'd only in my death. 
 
 Mag. Let it be said of us, we would have died 
 To save our country: since we could not that, 
 Nothing could tempt us to survive its fate. 
 Now lay us gently down. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Vib. What is thy news ? 
 
 Mess. Our gates are open'd to the enemy ; 
 And Capua is no more. 
 
 Blo. Would it were so : 
 Better be nothing than be miserable ! 
 
 Pac. Thou com'st too late to do us good, or harm. 
 By any news that thou canst bring us now. 
 
 Mag. I pity our poor friends that stay behind. 
 Our minds are going to their native home ; 
 And for the earthy part 
 
 Pac. I've taken care. 
 When we are honourably laid in death. 
 My clients have their orders to bestow 
 Our bodies on a funeral pile, that's raised 
 On purpose, to preserve our last remains.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 235 
 
 Mag. 'Tis well : now kindle it, and we shall mount 
 Up to the skies in the aspiring flame, 
 And live immortal in a glorious name. \_Dies. 
 
 The Fate of Capua. Southerne. 
 
 BEAUMELLE, THE WIFE OF CHARALOIS, HAVING BEEN 
 TAKEN IN ADULTERY, IS BROUGHT BEFORE HER FA- 
 THER, WHO PRONOUNCES HER UNWORTHY TO LIVE. 
 CHARALOIS STABS HER IN HIS PRESENCE. 
 
 Beautn. Oh, my fate ! 
 That never would consent that I should see 
 How worthy thou wert both of love and duty, 
 Before I lost you ; and my misery made 
 The glass, in which I now behold your virtue. 
 While I was good, I was a part of you, 
 And of two, by the virtuous harmony 
 Of our fair minds, made one: but, since I wander'd 
 In the forbidden labyrinth of lust. 
 What was inseparable is by me divided. 
 With justice, therefore, you may cut me oflT, 
 And from your memory wash the remembrance 
 That e'er I was ; like to some vicious purpose 
 Within your better judgment, you repent of, 
 And study to forget. 
 
 Char. Oh, Beaumelle, 
 That you can speak so well, and do so ill! 
 But you had been too great a blessing, if 
 You had continued chaste. See how you force me
 
 236 • THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 To this, because mine honour will not yield 
 That I again should love you. 
 
 Beautn. In this life 
 It is not fit you should : yet you shall find, 
 Though I was bold enough to be a strumpet, 
 I dare not live one. Let those famed matrons, 
 That are canonized, worthy of our sex. 
 Transcend me in their sanctity of life, 
 I yet will equal them in dying nobly; 
 Ambitious of no honours after life, 
 But that, when I am dead, you will forgive me. 
 
 Char. How pity steals upon me ! Should I hear her 
 
 But ten words more, I were lost One knocks — go 
 
 , in. [Exit Beaumelle. 
 
 That to be merciful should be a sin ! 
 
 Enter Rochfort. 
 Oh, sir, most welcome ! Let me take your cloak, — 
 1 must not be denied. Here are your robes : 
 As you love justice, once more put them on : 
 There is a cause to be determined of, 
 That does require such an integrity 
 As you have ever used. I'll put you to 
 The trial of your constancy and goodness ; 
 And look that you, that have been eagle-eyed 
 In other men's affairs, prove not a mole 
 In what concerns yourself. Take you your seat — 
 I will before you presently. \_Exit. 
 
 Roch. Angels guard me ! 
 To what strange tragedy does this distraction 
 Serve for a prologue ?
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 237 
 
 Enter Charalois, zcith Novall's bodj/^ and Beaumelle. 
 
 Char. So set it down before 
 
 The judgment seat, and stand you at the bar 
 
 For me — I am the accuser. 
 
 Koch, Novall slain! 
 And Beaumelle, my daughter, in the place 
 Of one to be arraign'd ! 
 
 Char. Oh, you are touch'd ! 
 I find that I must take another course : 
 
 \_Hoodit:inks Rochfort. 
 Fear nothing; I will only blind your eyes, 
 For justice should do so, when 'tis to meet 
 An object that may sway her equal doom 
 From what it should be aim'd at. Good, my lord, 
 A day of hearing. 
 
 Rock. It is granted. Speak : you shall have justice. 
 
 Char. I, then, here accuse, 
 Most equal judge, the prisoner, your fair daughter, 
 For whom I ow'd so much to you : your daughter. 
 So worthy in her own parts, and that worth 
 Set forth by yours ; to whose so rare pretensions. 
 Truth witness with me, in the place of service 
 I almost paid idolatrous sacrifice — 
 To be a false adulteress ! 
 
 Roch. With whom ? 
 
 Char. With this Novall, here dead. 
 
 Roch. Bt' well advised. 
 And ere you say adulteress again. 
 Her fame depending on it, be most sure 
 That she is one.
 
 238 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Char. I took them in the act ! 
 I know no proof beyond it. 
 Roch. Oh, my heart ! 
 Char. A judge should feel no passions. 
 Roch. Yet, remember 
 lie is a man, and cannot put off nature. 
 What answer makes the prisoner "? 
 
 Beaum. I confess 
 The fact I am charged with, and yield myself 
 Most miserably guilty. 
 
 Roch. Heaven take mercy 
 Upon your soul then 1 It must leave your body. 
 Now free mine eyes : I dare unmoved look on her, 
 And fortify my sentence with strong reasons. 
 Since that the politic law provides that servants, 
 To whose care we commit our goods, shall die, 
 If they abuse our trust; what can you look for. 
 To whose charge this most hopeful Lord gave up 
 All he received from his brave ancestors. 
 Or he could leave to his posterity? 
 His honour, wicked woman ! in whose safety 
 All this life's joys and comforts were lock'd up. 
 With thy lust, a thief hath now stolen from him ; 
 
 And therefore 
 
 Char. Stay, just judge. May not what's lost 
 By her own fault, (for I am charitable. 
 And charge her not with many,) be forgotten 
 In her fair life hereafter ? 
 
 Roch. Never, sir ! 
 The wronsf that's done to the chaste married bed
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 239 
 
 Repentant tears can never expiate ; 
 And, be assured, to pardon such a sin 
 Is an offence as great as to commit it. 
 
 Char. I may not, then, forgive her ? 
 
 Roch. Nor she hope it ; 
 Nor can she wish to live. No sun shall rise, 
 But, ere it set, shall shew her ugly lust 
 In a new shape, and every one more horrid : 
 Nay, even those prayers, which, with such humble 
 
 fervour. 
 She seems to send up yonder, are beat back ; 
 And all suits which her penitence can proffer. 
 As soon as made, are, with contempt, thrown 
 Off all the courts of mercy. 
 
 Char. Let her die then ! \_Kills Beaumelle. 
 
 Better prepared, I am sure I could not take her ; 
 Nor she accuse her father, as a judge 
 Partial against her. 
 
 Beaum. I approve his sentence. 
 And kiss the executioner. My lust 
 Is now run from me, in that blood in which 
 It was begot and nourish'd. \_Dies. 
 
 Roch. Is she dead, then ? 
 
 Char. Yes, sir; this is her heart-blood, is it not? 
 I think it be. 
 
 Roch. And you have kill'd her? 
 
 Char. True, and did it by your doom. 
 
 Roch. But I pronounced it 
 As a judge only, and a friend to justice; 
 And, zealous in defence of your wrong'd honour,
 
 240 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Broke all the ties of nature, and cast off 
 The love and soft affection of a father. 
 I, in your cause, put on a scarlet robe 
 Of red-dyed cruelty; but, in return, 
 You have advanced for me no flag of mercy: 
 I look'd on you as a wrong'd husband, but 
 You closed your eyes against me as a father. 
 Oh, Beaumelle ! my daughter! 
 Char. This is madness, 
 
 Roch. Keep from me ! Could not one good thought 
 rise up 
 To tell you that she was my age's comfort; 
 Begot by a weak man, and born a woman. 
 And could not therefore but partake of frailty? 
 Or wherefore did not thankfulness step forth 
 To urge my many merits, which I may 
 Object unto you, since you prove ungrateful, 
 Flinty-hearted Charalois '? 
 
 Char. Nature does prevail above your virtue. 
 Roch. No ; it gives me eyes 
 To pierce the heart of your design against me. 
 I find it now : it was my 'state you aim'd at ! 
 A nobler match was sought for; and the hours 
 I lived grew tedious to you : my compassion 
 Towards you hath render'd me most miserable, 
 And foolish charity undone myself! 
 But there's a Heaven above, from whose just wreak 
 No mists of policy can hide offenders. 
 
 Fatal Dowri/. Massinger.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 241 
 
 THE AFFECTING INTERVIEW BETWEEN TELEMACHUS 
 AND SEMANTHE, AFTER THE DEATH OF HER FATHER, 
 EURYMACHUS, SLAIN BY HER LOVER IN THE AT- 
 TEMPT TO ENTER THE CHAMBER OF PENELOPE, WHICH 
 TELEMACHUS HAD BEEN ORDERED BY ULYSSES TO 
 GUARD. 
 
 Sem. Cruel ! — unkind and cruel ! 
 [^She faints, and falls upon the body q/'Eurymachus. 
 
 Tel. She faints ! 
 Her cheeks are cold, and the last leaden sleep 
 Hangs heavy on her lids — Wake, wake, Semanthe ! 
 Oh, let me raise thee from this seat of death : 
 
 [^Raisiiig her up, and supporting her in his arms. 
 Lift up thy eyes wilt thou not speak to me ? 
 
 Sem. Let me forget the use of ev'ry sense : 
 Let me not see, nor hear, nor speak again. 
 After that sight, and those most dreadful sounds. 
 Where am I now ? — What! — lodged within thy arms ? 
 Stand off, and let me fly from thee for ever, 
 Swifter than lightning, winds, or winged time ; 
 Fly from thee till there be whole worlds to part us. 
 Till Nature fix her barriers to divide us, 
 Her frozen regions, and her burning zones; 
 Till danger, death, and hell, do stand betwixt us. 
 And make it fate that we shall never meet. 
 
 Tel. 'Tisjust; I own thy rage is just, Semanthe! 
 Each fatal circumstance is strong against me : 
 Then, if thy heart severely is resolved 
 
 R
 
 242 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Never to listen when I plead for mercy, 
 Thouo-h piety and honour join with love, 
 And humbly at thy feet make intercession ; 
 If thou art deaf to all, then this alone 
 Is left me — to receive my doom, and die. 
 
 Setn. Are Love, are Piety and Honour parricides? 
 Are they like thee ? do they delight in blood ? 
 Oh, no ! Celestial sweetness dwells with them, 
 Friendly forgiveness, gentleness and peace, 
 Mercy and joy ; but thou hast violated 
 The sacred train, brought murder in amongst 'em : 
 And see, displeased, to Heav'n they take their flight. 
 And have abandon'd thee and me for ever. 
 
 Tel. If sudden fury have not changed thee quite, 
 If there be any of Semanthe left, 
 One tender thought of that dear maid remaining. 
 Yet, I conjure thee, hear me. 
 
 Sem. 'Tis in vain. 
 And that known voice can never charm me more. 
 
 Tel. Be witness for me, Heav'n, with what reluc- 
 tance 
 My hand was lifted for this fatal stroke. 
 With injuries which manhood could not brook. 
 With violence, with proud, insulting scorn, 
 And ignominious threat'nings, was I urged : 
 Long, long I strove with rising indignation. 
 And long repress'd my swelling, youthful rage ; 
 I groan'd, and felt an agony within : 
 
 'Twas hard, indeed but to myself I said. 
 
 It is Semanthe's father, and I'll bear it.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 243 
 
 Setn. And couldst thou do no more ? call'st thou 
 these suffering's — 
 These short, tumultuous, momentary passions? 
 What would not I have borne for thee, thou cruel one ? 
 For thee, so fondly was my heart set on thee, 
 Forgetful of my tender, helpless sex, 
 I would have wander'd over the wide world. 
 Known all calamities and all distresses. 
 Sickness and hunger, cold and bitter want ; 
 For thee, retired within some gloomy cave, 
 I would have wasted all my days in weeping, 
 And lived and died a wretch, to make thee happy ; 
 Till I had been a story to posterity; 
 Till maids, in after times, had said. Behold 
 How much she suffer'd for the man she loved. 
 
 Tel. And is there any one, the most afflicting 
 Of all those miseries mankind is born to. 
 Which, for thy sake, I would refuse '? — But, oh ! 
 Mine was a harder, a severer task ; 
 The Queen, my mother, trusted to my charge. 
 My royal father's honour, and my own. 
 The pledges of eternal fame or infamy. 
 United urged, and call'd upon my sword. 
 
 Sem. What is this vain, fantastic pageant, honour — 
 This busy, angry thing, that scatters discord 
 Amongst the mighty princes of the earth. 
 And sets the madding nations in an uproar"? 
 But let it be the worship of the great. 
 Well hast thou warn'd me, and I'll make it mine : 
 Yes, Prince, its dread command shall be obey'd —
 
 244 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Our Samian arms shall pour destruction on you ; 
 Your yellow harvests and your towns shall blaze, 
 The sword shall rage, and universal wailings 
 Be heard among'st the mothers of your Ithaca, 
 Till War itself grow weary, and relent. 
 And that poor bleeding King be well revenged. 
 
 Tel. Haste, then, and let the trumpet sound to arms, 
 Semanthe's vengeance shall not be delay'd : 
 Prepare for slaughter and wide-wasting ruin. 
 Prepare to feel her wrath, ye wretched Ithacans : 
 Lift not a sword, nor bend a bow against her. 
 But all, like me, with low submission meet her; 
 And let us yield up our devoted lives. 
 
 Nor once implore her mercy for, alas ! 
 
 Cruel Semanthe has forgot to pardon : 
 
 For blood, destruction, and revenge she calls. 
 
 And gentleness and love are strangers to her. 
 
 Sem. Love! — Didst thou speak of love? — Oh, ill- 
 timed thought ! 
 Behold it there ! behold the love thou bear'st me ! 
 
 \_Pointing to the body of Eurymachus. 
 Behold that ! that ! — more dreadful than Medusa, 
 It drives my soul back to her inmost seats. 
 And freezes ev'ry stiff'ning limb to marble. 
 Seest thou that gaping wound, and that black blood 
 Congealing on that pale — -that ashy breast? 
 Then mark the face — how pain and rage, with all 
 The agonies of death, sit fresh upon it : 
 This was my father — Was there none on earth. 
 No hand but thine
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 246 
 
 Tel. Within my own sad heart 
 
 I felt the steel before it reach'd to his. 
 
 How much more happy in his lot! — 'The sleep 
 
 Of death is on him, and he is in peace; 
 
 While I, condemn'd to live, must mourn for him, 
 
 Mourn for myself, and, to complete my woes, 
 
 Feel all thy pains redoubled on Telemachus. 
 
 Sem. I know thou hatest me, and that deadly blow 
 
 Was meant to do a murder on Semanthe. 
 
 But, oh ! it needed not, for thy unkindness 
 
 Had been as fatal to me as thy sword : 
 
 If one cold look, one angry word had told me 
 
 That thou wert changed, and I was grown a burden 
 
 to thee, 
 I should have understood thy cruel purpose, 
 
 Sat down to weep, and broke my heart, and died. 
 Tel. It is too much, and I will bear no more! 
 
 Oh, thou unjust, thou lovely, false accuser. 
 
 How hast thou wrong'd my tender, faithful love? 
 
 In spite of all these horrors of my guilt. 
 
 And that malignant fate that doom'd me to it ', 
 
 In spite of all, I will appeal to thee, 
 
 Ev'n to thyself, inhuman as thou art. 
 
 If ever maid was yet beloved before thee 
 
 With such heart-aching, eager, anxious fondness. 
 
 As that with which my soul desires my dear Semanthe ? 
 
 Sem. Detested be the name of love for ever ! 
 Henceforth let easy maids be warn'd by me, 
 No more to trust your breasts that heave with sighing, 
 Your moving accents, and your melting eyes ;
 
 246 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Whene'er you boast your truth, then let 'em fly you, 
 Then scorn you, for 'tis then you mean deceiving ; 
 If yet there should some fond believer be, 
 Let the false man betray the wretch like thee, 
 Like thee, the lost, repenting fool disclaim, 
 For crowns, ambition, and your idol, fame; 
 When warm, when lang'uishing with sweet delight, 
 Wishing she meets him, may he blast her sight 
 With such a murder on her bridal night ! 
 
 Ulysses. Rowe. 
 
 TUEMISTOCLES, IN THE SERVICE OF XERXES, HAS OVER- 
 THROAVN THE GRECIANS, AND OFFERS LIBERTY AND 
 A REWARD TO THE CAPTIVE THAT WOULD DELIVER 
 UP HIS FOE ARISTIDES, WHO, UNKNOWN TO HIM, 
 HAS BEEN TAKEX PRISONER. ARISTIDES ACCEPTS 
 THE OFFER, AVOWS HIMSELF, AND UPBRAIDS TUE- 
 MISTOCLES WITH TREACHERY TO HIS COUNTRY. 
 
 Them. Be 't so — I see no hosts he brings to aid him : 
 He's but a man, and has a man to cope with : 
 Leave us alone. And know, when I can fear 
 Ought but the gods, I am no more Themistocles. 
 
 [^Exit Demaratus. 
 Now speak — unfold thyself, and thy high business : 
 Whose slave art thou"? 
 
 Arist. It matters not; but know, whate'er I am, 
 I am no slave to Persia, like Themistocles ;
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 247 
 
 No slave to Xerxes, and oppressive tyranny : 
 
 I have not sold myself to the base views 
 
 Of foul ambition, and the thirst of power ; 
 
 And though I wear these servile marks of bondage, 
 
 I'm free, and own no other lord on earth. 
 
 But reason, and the gods from whom I hold it. 
 
 Them. What means this daring preface'? Wretch, 
 
 what wouldst thou '? 
 Arist. I would be what I was, and hope to die, 
 A free-born Grecian, born to act, and think. 
 As suits the noble being of a man. 
 I would, that thou shouldst dare to be Themistocles ! 
 To be thyself! to re-assume thy reason. 
 And wear that high-raised name, which graced thee 
 
 once. 
 The boast ! the prop ! the friend of thy brave country ! 
 But, O ! vain hope ! thy power, thy pride, thy passions. 
 
 Are all in arms against me Yet I come. 
 
 With Truth, with Reason, and the gods, to 'friend. 
 To take a nearer prospect of thy soul. 
 And boldly lay great Athens' wrongs before thee. 
 Them. Rush not upon thy death my hand is 
 
 arm'd. \_Half drawing. 
 
 Arist. True, with thy sword — but I am arm'd with 
 
 innocence. 
 Less penetrable than the steel-ribb'd coats 
 That harness round thy warriors. O, Themistocles! 
 Thy sword is blunt, and thy strong arm is sinewless 
 To souls like mine, who, in an honest death, 
 Behold no terrors, like a guilty life.
 
 248 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Blotted with wrongs, injustice, and oppression, 
 
 Daring and great as thine 
 
 Them, Vile wretch ! Behold, how calm the guilt- 
 less soul 
 
 Can smile at malice- be my scorn thy safety. 
 
 Thou'st learnt among thy free-born Greeks to think 
 Slander and envy are the patriot's virtues ; 
 Therefore bark on ! rail ! name that act, that thing, 
 Which can attaint my fame with such dishonours. 
 Arist. I will — Think of that field besmear'd with 
 
 blood. 
 When thy fell sword loaded th' Egyptian plain 
 With the red carnage of the vanquish'd Greeks, 
 Thy murder'd brethren ! — Think ! recal the hour. 
 When, choked with gore, and gash'd with gaping 
 
 wounds. 
 They cried, in vain, " Themistocles, have mercy! 
 *' Save, save thy kindred tribes, and stop the slaughter !" 
 Them. Slanderer, 'tis false, most false ! My pierced 
 
 heart 
 Bled at their cries, and my fond eyes pour'd tears 
 Fast as their wounds stream'd blood^ Through the 
 
 mix'd hosts 
 I rush'd, I flew, and saved the lives of thousands. 
 Arist. Yes, to reserve them for new woes, new 
 
 injuries ; 
 To lead them boastful to adorn thy triumphs. 
 And shew thy Persian slaves a sight, before 
 Unknown — the Grecians chain'd and bound ! O, 
 
 Heav'n !
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 249 
 
 Where slept, that day, the soul of this Themistocles, 
 That mercy could not wake it? Lo, these bonds, 
 
 [_Shakes his chains. 
 That rattle in thine ears, 'tis thou hast tied them : 
 Are these the due rewards of all my toils, 
 For fighting for my country in the field; 
 For our dear, native soil, the land of liberty; 
 For Greece, the favourite nation of the gods : 
 When, like a robber, thou o'ermatch'd our strength, 
 And tore my dearest wealth, my freedom, from me ? 
 
 Them. If that were guilt, that guilt is wiped away, 
 Since he who tied those bonds did loose them too, 
 Pitied your suflT'rings, and restored your freedom. 
 
 Arist, At last you did so true — but on such 
 
 terms, 
 That I am come to render back thy gifts, 
 And tell thee, I prefer my chains before them. 
 Think'st thou, Themistocles, thy unjust shackles 
 Can bow a Grecian soul to stoop so low, 
 To guard thy tyrant's standards; to unloose 
 The everlasting bonds that ought to tie 
 The brave man to his country, to his conscience? 
 To bribe him, with his freedom, to embrace 
 The slav'ry of hell ; and, like the fiends, 
 Condemn'd to all the stings of horrid guilt. 
 Wage savage conflict, and unnatural war, 
 E'en with that power whence they derived their being? 
 Ah, no ! Such terms disgrace the gen'rous views 
 For which, alone, Grecians are wont to live. 
 Or bravely choose to die
 
 250 THE SPIUIT OF 
 
 Them. Go, get thee hence — begone ! The ser- 
 pent's tongue 
 Hath, with its venom, piercea my heart, and thrill'd 
 
 The boiling flood that warm'd it. \_Aside.'] Have 
 
 done away 
 
 My sword hath drunk too deep of Grecian blood — 
 Why should it blush with thine? 
 
 Arist. Because I am thy country's stedfast friend, 
 And ever wish'd destruction to her foes, 
 And therefore most to thee. Nay, more, because 
 I'll turn a traitor for the bribes you promised. 
 And place within thy power thy stubborn foe — 
 This hated Aristides [Throv:s off his disguise. 
 
 Them. Ha! By the gods, 'tis he! — I've found mine 
 enemy. \_Sla7'ts surprised — sword half drawn. 
 By Heav'n! I think I fear him — or my wrath 
 Hath watch'd itself to drowsiness. I've, ere now, 
 Beheld Fate perching on my foeman's sword. 
 And hov'rinsf round mine head — I have seen dano-ers 
 As near resembling death, as mighty rivers. 
 Ere they be past, do the vast ocean's self; 
 Yet never did my heart beat so appall'd 
 As now, to see thee here, unarm'd and helpless. 
 
 Arist. Thus, sure, at Minos' judgment seat shall 
 stand 
 The innocent and guilty; one o'erwhelm'd 
 With conscious shame, the other bold and dauntless ! 
 W'hence loiters thus thy sword ? I thought, ere this, 
 
 It would have pierced my breast Behold, I la» 
 
 It open to thee Strike fiercely, as thou didst
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 251 
 
 In Eo-ypt's fields, when thy revenge, insatiate, 
 Made half the Grecian matrons childless. 
 
 Them. My heart pleads for thee and thy virtue 
 
 charms me ! \_Sheuths his sword. 
 
 Themislodes. Madden. 
 
 DUMNORIX, KING OF BRITAIN, PREVAILS UPON HIS 
 QUEEN TO POISON HERSELF, RATHER THAN THAT SHE 
 SHOULD FALL INTO THE HANDS OF THE ROMANS. 
 
 Dum. The sun is ris'n. All hail ! thou last^of days 
 To this nigh-finish'd being. Radiant povi^'r ! 
 Thou through thy endless journey mayst proclaim 
 That Dumnorix died free, for thou shalt viev7 it. 
 Now, then, ye honour'd mansions of our fathers. 
 Ye hallow'd altars, and ye awful groves. 
 The habitation of our gods, farewell! 
 This last embrace And now prepare, Venusia. 
 
 Ven. Oh, my lord ! 
 
 Dum. Why heaves that sigh ? 
 
 Fen. Alas, I am a woman ! 
 
 Dum. True, a defenceless woman, and exposed 
 To keener sorrow by thy matchless beauty — 
 That charm, which captivates the victor's eye. 
 Yet, helpless to withstand his savage force. 
 Throws wretched woman under double ruin, 
 jjjltt wherefore this? Thy virtue knows its duty. 
 Ven. Stay but a little.
 
 252 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Duni. Would I might for years ! 
 But die that thought! — False tenderness, away! 
 Thou British genius, who art now retiring 
 From this lost region, yet suspend thy flight, 
 
 And in this conflict lend me all thy spirit 
 
 We only ask thee to be free, and die. [^Aside, 
 
 Well, my Venusia, is thy soul resolved, 
 Or shall I still afford a longer pause ? 
 
 Ven. Though my weak sex by Nature is not arm'd 
 With fortitude like thine, of this be sure. 
 That dear subjection to thy honour'd will. 
 Which hath my life directed, ev'n in death 
 Shall not forsake me ; and thy faithful wife 
 Shall with obedience meet thy last commands. 
 But canst thou tell me — Is it hard to die ? 
 
 Dum. Oh I rather ask me, if to live in shame, 
 Captivity, and sorrow, be not hard? 
 
 Ven. Oh, miserable ! 
 
 Dum. In a foreign land 
 The painful toils of servitude to bear, 
 From an imperious mistress ? 
 
 Ven. Dreadful thought ! 
 
 Dum. Or be insulted with the hateful love 
 Of some proud master? 
 
 Ven. Oh, proceed 
 No further ! 
 
 Dum. From thy native seat of dwelling. 
 From all the known endearments of thy home. 
 From parents, children, friends, and — husband torn ? 
 
 Ven. Stop there, and reach the potion; nor to drink
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 263 
 
 The cure of troubles will I long'er pause. [^Exit Dum. 
 
 For ev'ry past possession of delight, 
 
 Both in my offspring- and their godlike sire, 
 
 A dying matron bends her grateful knee. 
 
 Ye all-disposing pow'rs ! as now these blessings 
 
 Must reach their period, to my sons transfer 
 
 That copious goodness I have shared so long! 
 
 Through my resigning soul that promise breathe, 
 
 And my last moments comfort thus with peace ! 
 
 Re-enter Dumnorix, zcith a bowl. 
 
 Dum. [^Aside, seeing Venusia on her knees.'\ Hold, 
 
 resolution; now be doubly arm'd 
 
 \_He gives her the bowl, and she drinks. 
 How dost thou fare, Venusia? 
 
 Ven. I perceive 
 No alteration ; every sense remains 
 Yet unimpair'd. Then, while these moments las!, 
 Let me on thee direct my eyes to gaze. 
 While unobstructed still their sight endures ; 
 Let me receive thee to my faithful bosom. 
 Before my heart is motionless and cold. 
 Speak to me, Dumnorix, my lord, my husband ! 
 Give one kind accent to thy dying wife. 
 Ere yet my ears be frozen, and thy voice 
 Be heard no longer ; join thy lip to mine. 
 While I can feel thy last and tend'rest kisses. 
 
 Dum. Yes, I will utter to thy dying ear 
 All my fond heart, sustain thee on my bosom, 
 And cheer thy parting spirit in its flight.
 
 254 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Oh, wheresoe'er thy fleeting- breath shall pass, 
 
 Whate'er new body, as the Druids sing, 
 
 Thou shalt inform hereafter, still thy soul. 
 
 Thou gentle, kind, and ever-pleasing creature, 
 
 Shall bear its own felicity along. 
 
 Still in its native sweetness shall be bless'd, 
 
 And in its virtue, which can thus subdue 
 
 The fear of death, still brave the pow'r of fortune ! 
 
 But thou beginn'st to droop. 
 
 Fen. My eyes grow dizzy. 
 
 Dum. Keep firm, my heart ! \^Aside. 
 
 Ven. A heaviness, like sleep, 
 
 O'ercomes my senses — Every limb is faint 
 
 Thy voice is scarce distinguish'd in my ears. 
 
 Dum. Indeed ! 
 
 Ven. Alas, thou look'st so kindly on me ! 
 My weak and darken'd sight deceives me sure. 
 Or thy fond eye did never yet o'erflow 
 With tenderness like this. 
 
 Dum. I never view'd thee 
 For the last time. 
 
 Ven. Look, look upon me still 
 
 Why dost thou turn thy face away"? 
 
 Dum. For nothing. 
 
 Ven. Nay, thou art weeping, Dumnorix And 
 
 wherefore 
 Wouldst thou conceal thy tears ? 
 
 Dum. I cannot hide them. 
 
 Ven. And dost thou weep? 
 
 Dum. I do.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 255 
 
 Ven. Then didst thou love me 
 With such excess of fondness? — For Venusia 
 Do these soft streams bedew that awful face? 
 
 Dum. Love thee ! Behold, when Albion groan? 
 around me, 
 Yet thou these springs of tenderness canst open, 
 To wet the cheeks of British Dumnorix. 
 
 Fen. Oh, ecstacy! which stops my parting soul. 
 
 And gives it vigour to enjoy these transports! 
 
 Once more receive me to thy breast. 
 
 Dum. Venusia ! 
 
 Ven. Thy tenderness makes death delightful to 
 
 me 
 
 Oh, I would speak ! — would answer to thy kindness ! 
 My falt'ring tongue 
 
 Dum. What say'st thou*? 
 
 Ven. Cease to sfrieve 
 
 No pain molests me — every thought is calm- 
 Support my drowsy burthen to that couch 
 
 Where Death serenely smiles. \_He bears her off. 
 
 Boadicea. Glover. 
 
 ZANGA, WHO HAD LONG CHERISHED A DEEP HATRED 
 
 TOWARDS ALONZO, ON ACCOUNT OF A BLOW HE 
 
 ONCE GAVE HIM, TRIUMPHANTLY EXULTS IN THE 
 SUCCESS OF HIS REVENGE. 
 
 Alon. Oh, Zanga ! 
 
 Zan. Do not tremble so, but speak. 
 
 Alon. I dare not. [^Falls on Mm.
 
 256 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Zan. You will drown me with your tears. 
 
 Alon. Have I not cause"? 
 
 Zan. As yet you have no cause. 
 
 Alon. Dost thou, too, rave? , 
 
 Zan. Your anguish is to come : 
 You much have been abused. 
 
 Alon. Abused! by whom? 
 
 Zan. To know, were little comfort. 
 
 Alon. O, 'twere much ! 
 
 Zan. Indeed ! 
 
 Alon. By Heaven! Oh, give him to my fury! 
 
 Zan. Born for your use, I live but to oblige you. 
 Know, then, 'twas — I. 
 
 Alon. Am I awake? 
 
 Zan. For ever. 
 Thy wife is guiltless — that's one transport to me ; 
 And I, I let thee know it — that's another. 
 I urged Don Carlos to resign his mistress; 
 I forged the letter; I disposed the picture ; — 
 I hated, I despised, and I destroy. 
 
 Alon. Oh ! [^Swoons. 
 
 Zan. Why, this is well — why, this is blow for blow ! 
 Where are you? Crown me, shadow me with laurels, 
 Ye spirits, which delight in just revenge ! 
 Let Europe and her pallid sons go weep ; 
 Let Afric and her hundred thrones rejoice : 
 O, my dear countrymen, look down, and see 
 How I bestride your prostrate conqueror ! ' 
 I tread on haughty Spain, and all her kings. 
 But this is mercy, this is my indulgence ;
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 257 
 
 'Tis peace, 'tis refuge from my indignation. 
 I must awake him into horrors ! Ho ! 
 Alonzo, ho ! the Moor is at the gate ! 
 Awake, invincible, omnipotent ! 
 Thou, who dost all subdue ! 
 
 Alon. Inhuman slave ! 
 
 Zan. Fall'n Christian, thou mistak'st my character 
 Look on me. Who am I? I know, thou say'st, 
 The Moor, a slave, an abject, beaten slave : 
 (Eternal woes to him that made me so!) 
 But look again. Has six years' cruel bondage 
 Extinguished majesty so far, that nought 
 Shines here to give an awe of one above thee? 
 When the great Moorish king, Abdallah, fell ; 
 Fell by thy hand accursed, I fought fast by him, 
 His son; though, through his fondness, in disguise 
 Less to expose me to th' ambitious foe. — 
 Ha! does it wake thee? — O'er my father's corse 
 I stood astride, till I had clove thy crest : 
 And then was made the captive of a squadron. 
 And sunk into thy servant — But, oh ! what, 
 
 What were my wages? Hear, nor Heaver nor 
 
 earth ! 
 My wages were a blow! by Heaven, a blow! 
 And from a mortal hand ! 
 
 Alon. Oh, villain, villain ! 
 
 Zan. All strife is vain. [^Shewing a dagger. 
 
 Alon. Is thus my love return'd? 
 Is this my recompencc? Make friends of tigers; 
 
 s
 
 258 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Lay not your young, O mothers, on the breast, 
 For fear they turn to serpents as they lie. 
 And pay you for their nourishment with death. 
 Carlos is dead, and Leonora dying ! 
 Both innocent, both murder'd, both by me. 
 Oh, shame! Oh, guilt! Oh, horror! Oh, remorse ! 
 Oh, punishment! Had Satan never fall'n. 
 Hell had been made for me. — Oh, Leonora ! Leo- 
 nora! Leonora! 
 Zaii. Must I despise thee, too, as well as hate thee'? 
 Complain of grief! complain thou art a man. 
 Priam from fortune's lofty summit fell; 
 Great Alexander 'midst his conquests mourn'd ; 
 Heroes and demi-gods have known their sorrows; 
 Csesars have wept; and I have had — my blow : 
 But, 'tis revenged, and now my work is done. 
 Yet, ere I fall, be it one part of vengeance 
 To force thee to confess that I am just. — 
 Thou seest a prince, whose father thou hast slain, 
 Whose native country thou hast laid in blood. 
 Whose sacred person (oh !) thou hast profaned. 
 Whose reign extinguish'd — what was left to me, 
 So highly born'? No kingdom, but revenge; 
 No treasure, but thy tortures and thy groans. 
 If cold white mortals censure this great deed, 
 Warn them, they judge not of superior beings, 
 Souls made of lire, and children of the sun. 
 With whom revenge is virtue. Fare thee M^ell — 
 Now, fully satisfied, I should take leave ;
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 259 
 
 But one thing grieves me, since thy death is near, 
 I leave thee my example how to die. 
 
 \_As he is going to stab hi/nself] Alonzo 7'iislies 
 upon himj (md prevents him. Etifer Don Al- 
 varez, tcifh Attendants. They seize Zanga. 
 Alonzo yj/</s the dagger in his bosom, 
 Alon. No, monster, thou shalt not escape by death. 
 My father 1 
 
 Alv. O, Alonzo — Isabella, 
 Touch'd with remorse to see her mistress' pangs. 
 Told all the dreadful tale. 
 Alon. What groan was that '? 
 Zan. As I have been a vulture to thy heart, 
 So will I be a raven to thine ear, 
 
 Enter Manuel, who whispers Alvarez. 
 And true as ever snuff 'd the scent of blood. 
 As ever flapp'd its heavy wing against 
 The window of the sick, and croak'd despair. 
 Thy wife is dead. 
 
 Alv. The dreadful news is true. 
 Alon. Prepare the rack ; invent newtortures for him. 
 Zan. This, too, is well. The fix'd and noble mind 
 Turns all occurrence to its own advantage ; 
 And I'll make vengeance of calamity. 
 Were I not thus reduced, thou wouldst not know 
 That, thus reduced, I dare defy thee still. 
 Torture thou may'st, but thou shalt ne'er despise me. 
 The blood will follow where the knife is driven, 
 The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear, 
 And sighs and cries by nature grow on pain
 
 260 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 But these are foreign to the soul : not mine 
 The groans that issue, or the tears that fall; 
 They disobey me : on the rack I scorn thee, 
 As when my falchion clove thy helm in battle. 
 
 Alv. Peace, villain I 
 
 Zan. While I live, old man, I'll speak : 
 And well I know thou darest not kill me yet ; 
 For that would rob thy bloodhounds of their prey. 
 
 j4lon. Who call'd Alonzo? 
 Again ! 'Tis Carlos' voice, and I obey. 
 Oh, how I laugh at all that this can do. \_Stabs himself. 
 The wounds that pain'd, the wounds that murder'd me, 
 W'ere given before ; I was already dead ; 
 This only marks my body for the grave. 
 Afric, thou art revenged — O, Leonora! \_Dies. 
 
 Zan. Good ruffians, give me leave ; my blood is 
 yours ; 
 The wheel's prepared, and you shall have it all; 
 Let me but look one moment on the dead. 
 And pay yourselves with gazing on my pangs. 
 
 [/7e goes to Alonzo's body. 
 Is this Alonzo"? Where's the haughty mien? 
 Is that the hand which smote me? Heavens, how 
 
 pale I 
 And art thou dead"? So is my enmity. 
 I war not with the dust. The great, the proud, 
 The conqueror of Afric was my foe — 
 A lion preys not upon carcases. 
 This was thy only method to subdue me. 
 Terror and doubt fall on me : all thy good
 
 E.NGLISH TKAGEDY. 261 
 
 Now blazes, all thy guilt is in the grave. 
 Never had man such funeral applause ; 
 If I lament thee, sure thy worth was great. 
 O vengeance, I have followed thee too far, 
 And, to receive me, hell blows all her fires. 
 
 Revenge. Young. 
 
 QUEEN PHILOTEN, JEALOUS OF MARINA S BEAUTY, COM- 
 MISSIONS LEONINE TO KILL HER. MAKINA's INNO- 
 CENT SUPPLICATION. 
 
 Marina, with a Wreath of Flowers. 
 
 Mar. No ; I will rob gay Tellus of her weed. 
 To strew thy grave with flowers. The yellows, blues, 
 The purple violets, and marigolds. 
 Shall, as a carpet, hang upon the tomb. 
 While Summer days do last. Ah me ! poor maid ! 
 Born in a tempest when my mother died. 
 And now I mourn a second mother's loss. 
 This world, to me, is like a lasting storm, 
 That swallow?, piece by piece, the merchant's wealth, 
 And, in the end, himself. 
 
 Queen. Why, sweet Marina, 
 Will yoa consume your youth in fruitless grief. 
 And choose to dwell 'midst tombs and dreary graves? 
 You harm yourself, and profit not the dead. 
 Give me that wreath, who have most cause to mourn. 
 And let your heart take comfort : T will leave you
 
 262 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 To the sweet conversation of this lord, 
 Who has the art of dissipating- sadness. 
 
 Mar. Pray let me not bereave you of his service — 
 I choose to be alone. 
 
 Queen. You know I love you 
 With more than foreign heart, and will not see 
 The beauty marr'd that fame reports so perfect. 
 Should your good father come, at length, to seek you, 
 And find his hopes and all reports so blasted. 
 He may repent the breadth of his great voyage, 
 And blame our want of care. 
 
 Mar. You may command, 
 But I have no desire to tarry here. 
 
 Queen, Once more be cheerful, and preserve that 
 form. 
 That wins from all competitors the hearts 
 Of young and old. 'Tis no new thing for me 
 To walk alone, while you are well attended. 
 
 Mar. I hope you're not offended? 
 
 Queen. Nothing less. 
 Farewell, sweet lady ! — Sir, you will remember. 
 
 Leon. Fear not ; she ne'er shall vex your quiet 
 more. - {Exit Queen. 
 
 Mar. I know no cause, yet think the gentle Queen 
 Went hence in some displeasure. Is she well? — 
 What are your thoughts? 
 
 Jjcon. That she's nor well, nor gentle. 
 
 Mar. I'm sorry for't — Is the wind westerly? 
 
 Leon. South-west. 
 
 Mar. When I was born, the wind was north.
 
 ENGLISH TKAGEUY. 263 
 
 Leon. The wind was north, you say 1 should 
 
 not hear her, 
 Lest I relent. The Queen's enamour'd of me : 
 She praised my blooming- youth and good proportion; 
 And shall I lose a crown for foolish pity"? 
 
 Mar. My father, as Lychorida hath told me, 
 (My nurse that's dead) did never fear ; but, then, 
 Galling' his kingly hands with hauling ropes, 
 And cheering the faint sailors v/ith his voice, 
 Endured a sea that almost burst the deck. 
 
 Leon. And when was this'? 
 
 Mar. I said, when I was born. 
 Never were waves nor winds more violent. 
 This tempest, and my birth, kill'd my poor mother: 
 I was preserved, and left an infant here. 
 Now, do you think I e'er shall see my father? 
 
 Leon. Never Come, say your prayers. 
 
 Mar. What do you mean? 
 
 Leon. If you require a little space for pray'r, 
 That I'll allow you — pray, but be not tedious : 
 The gods are quick of ear, and I'm in haste. 
 
 Mar. Why will you kill me, sir"? 
 
 J^eon. T' obey the Queen. 
 
 Mar. W hy will she have me kill'd ? I never wronged 
 her ! 
 In all my life, I never spake bad word. 
 Nor did ill turn to any living creature : 
 By chance, I once trod on a simple worm; 
 But I wept for't. How have I offended? 
 
 Leon. I'm not to reason of the deed, but do it.
 
 264 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Mar. You will not do't for all the world, I hope. — 
 You are well-favour'd, and your looks bespeak 
 A very gentle heart. I saw you lately. 
 When you caught hurt in parting two that fought : 
 Good sooth ! it shew'd well in you — do so now : 
 If the Queen seeks my life, come you between, 
 And save poor me, the weaker. 
 
 Leo?i. I have sworn. 
 And will dispatch. 
 
 Mar. Yet hear me speak once more — \_Kneeling 
 Oh ! do not kill me. Thoug-h I know no cause 
 Why I should wish to live, who ne'er knew joy; 
 Or fear to die, who ever fear'd the gods; 
 But 'tis, perhaps, the property of youth 
 To doat on its new being, and depend, 
 Howe'er depress'd, on pleasures in reversion. 
 You are but young yourself — then, as you hope 
 To prove the fancied bliss of years to come, 
 Spare me ! oh, spare me now! 
 
 Leon. You plead in vain 
 
 Commit your soul to Heaven. 
 
 Mar. Can you speak thus ? 
 Oh ! can you have compassion for my soul, 
 Yet at the instant, by a cruel deed. 
 That Heaven and earth must hate, destroy your own ? 
 Pirates interpose, and Leonine escapes. 
 
 Marina. Lillo.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 265 
 
 WILMOT AND HIS WIFE, AT THE PERIOD OF THEIK 
 GREATEST DISTRESS, ADMIT A STRANGER FOR A 
 night's SHELTER. AGNES RECEIVES FROM HIM A 
 CASKET OF JEWELS, FOR SAFE CUSTODY, WHICH SHE 
 HAS THE CURIOSITY TO OPEN. AT THE SIGHT OF 
 THE TREASURE, SHE MEDITATES HIS MURDER WHILE 
 HE SLEEPS, AND URGES HER HUSBAND ON TO THE 
 DEED, WHEN HE BECOMES THE MURDERER OF HIS 
 OWN SON. 
 
 Enter Agnes, zcith lourigWilmoVs dagger. 
 
 Agn. The stranger 
 Sleeps at present ; but so restless 
 His slumbers seem, they can't continue long. 
 Come, come, dispatch — Here, I've secured his dagger. 
 O. Wilm. O Agnes ! Agnes ! if there be a hell, 'tis 
 just [Goes to take the dagger^ but lets it fall. 
 We should expect it. 
 
 Agn. Nay, for shame, shake off this panic, and be 
 
 more yourself. 
 O. Wilm. What's to be done ? On what had we 
 determined ? 
 
 Agn. You're quite dismay'd I'll do 
 
 The deed myself. \_Takes up the dagger. 
 
 0. Wilm. Give me the fatal steel, 
 'Tis but a single murder ! 
 Necessity, impatience, and despair, 
 The three wide mouths, of that true Cerberus, 
 Grim poverty, demands — they shall be stopp'd.
 
 566 THK SPIRIT OF 
 
 Ambition, persecution, and revenge. 
 
 Devour their millions daily: and shall I 
 
 But, follow me, and see how little cause 
 
 You had to think there was the least remains 
 
 Of manhood, pity, mercy, or remorse. 
 
 Left in this savage breast. [Going the zcrong zoay. 
 
 Agn. Where do you go? 
 The street is that way. 
 
 O. Wilm. True ! I had forgot. 
 Agn. Quite, quite confounded. 
 
 0. IVilm. Well, I recover 
 
 I shall find the way. [Exit. 
 
 Agn. O, softly! softly! 
 
 The least noise undoes us. 
 
 Still I fear him 
 
 No, now he seems determined O! that pause, 
 
 That cowardly pause ! His resolution fails. 
 
 'Tis wisely done to lift your eyes to Heav'n ; 
 
 When did you pray before? I have no patience 
 
 How he surveys him ! What a look was there ! 
 
 How full of anguish, pity, and remorse. 
 
 He'll never do it Strike, or give it o'er 
 
 No, he recovers ! But that trembling arm 
 May miss its aim : and if he fails, we're lost 
 
 'Tis done O, no ! he lives, he struggles yet. 
 
 Y. Wilm. O ! father ! father ! [In another room. 
 
 Agn. Quick, repeat the blovv . 
 What pow'r shall I invoke to aid thee, Wilmot! 
 Yet, hold thy hand Inconstant, wretched wo- 
 man —
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 267 
 
 What, doth my heart recoil, and bleed with him 
 
 Whose murder you contrived? 0,Wilmot! Wil- 
 
 mot ! '[Exit. 
 
 Fmter Chariot, Maria, Eustace, Randal, and of hem. 
 
 Char. What strangle nefflectl The doors are all 
 unbarr'd, 
 And not a living creature to be seen. 
 
 Enter Old Wilmot and Agnes. 
 
 Char. Sir, we are come to give and to receive 
 
 A thousand fifreetinofs Ha! what can this mean? 
 
 Why do you look with such amazement on us? 
 Are these your transports for your son's return ? 
 Where is my Wilmot? Has he not been here ? 
 Would he defer your happiness so long; 
 Or could a habit so disguise your son, 
 That you refused to own him ? 
 
 Agn. Heard you that? 
 What prodigy of horror is disclosing, 
 To I'ender murder venial ? 
 
 O.Wilm. Prithee, peace! 
 The miserable damn'd suspend their howling, 
 And the swift orbs are fix'd in deep attention. 
 Y.Wilm. IGroam.'] Oh! oh! oh! 
 
 East. Sure that deep groan came from the inner 
 room. 
 
 Rand. It did : and seem'd the voice of one ex- 
 piring. 
 Merciful Heaven! where will these terrors end?
 
 268 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 That is the dag-ger my young master wore; 
 And see, his father's hands are stain'd with blood I 
 
 [Young Wihnot groans again. 
 East. Another groan! Why do we stand to gaze 
 On these dumb phantoms of despair and horror? 
 Let us search further : Randal, shew the way. 
 
 Char. This is the third time those fantastic forms 
 Have forced themselves upon my mental eyes, 
 And sleeping gave me more than waking pains. 
 O, you eternal pow'rs! if all your mercy 
 To wretched mortals be not quite extinguish'd. 
 And terrors only guard your awful thrones, 
 
 Remove this dreadful vision Let me wake, 
 
 Or sleep the sleep of death. 
 
 \Exeunt C\\n.Y\oi., Maria, Eustace, Randal, 8^c. 
 O. Wibn. Sleep those who may ; 
 I know my lot is endless perturbation. 
 
 Agn. Let life forsake the earth, and light the sun ; 
 And death and darkness bury in oblivion 
 Mankind and all their deeds ; that no posterity 
 May ever rise to hear oar horrid tale. 
 Or view the grave of such detested parricides. 
 
 0. J'Vilm. Curses and deprecations are in vain : 
 The sun will shine, and all things have their course : 
 When we, the curse and burthen of the earth. 
 Shall be absorb'd, and mingled with its dust. 
 Our guilt and desolation must be told 
 From age to age, to teach desponding mortals. 
 How far beyond the reach of human thought 
 Heav'n,when incensed, can punish. — Die thou first —
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 269 
 
 I dare not trust thy weakness. [^Stabs Agnes. 
 
 Agn. Ever kind, 
 But most in this. 
 
 O. Wilm. I will not long survive thee. 
 
 Agn. Do not accuse thy erring mother, Wilmot! 
 With too much rigour, when we meet above. 
 Rivers of tears, and agfes soent in howlino- 
 
 7 1 O 7 
 
 Could ne'er express the anguish of my heart. 
 
 To give thee life for life, and blood for blood, 
 
 Is not enough. Had I ten thousand lives, 
 
 I'd give them all to speak my penitence 
 
 Deep, and sincere, and equal to my crime. \^Dies. 
 
 Enter Chariot, led by Maria; and Randal, Eustace, 
 and the rest. 
 
 Char. Welcome, despair ! I'll never hope again — 
 Why have you forced me from my Wilmot's side ? 
 
 Let me return Unhand me Let me die. 
 
 Patience, that till this moment ne'er forsook me. 
 Has took her flight; and my abandon'd mind. 
 Rebellious to a lot so void of mercy. 
 
 And so unexpected, rages to madness. 
 
 O Thou! who know'st our frame, who know'st these 
 
 woes 
 Ai'e more than human fortitude can bear, 
 O! take me — take me hence, ere I relapse ; 
 And, in distraction, with unhallow'd tongue. 
 Again arraign your mercy [Faints. 
 
 Eust. Unhappy maid ! This strange event my 
 strensrth
 
 270 THE SPIKIT OF 
 
 Can scarce support ; no wonder thine should fail. 
 How shall I vent my grief? O, Wilmot! Wilmot! 
 Thou truest lover, and thou best of friends, 
 Are these the fruits of all thy anxious cares 
 
 For thy ungrateful parents '? Cruel fiends ! 
 
 To use thee thus ! to recompense with death 
 
 Thy most unequall'd duty and affection ! 
 
 O. fVitm. What whining fool art thou, who would'st 
 usurp 
 
 My sovereign right of grief"? Was he thy son'? 
 
 Say! Canst thou shew thy hands, reeking with blood 
 That flow'd, through purer channels, from thy loins'? 
 
 Euxl. Forbid it, Heaven ! that I should know such 
 guilt : 
 Yet his sad fate demands commiseration. 
 
 O. Wilm. Compute the sands that bound the spa- 
 cious ocean, 
 And swell their number with a single grain : 
 Increase the noise of thunder with thy voice; 
 Or, when the raging sea lays nature waste. 
 Assist the tempest with thy feeble breath ; 
 Add water to the sea, and fire to Etna; 
 But name not thy faint sorrow with the anguish 
 Of a cursed wretch who only hopes for this — 
 
 [^Stabbing himself. 
 To change the scene, but not relieve his pain. 
 
 Rand. A dreadful instance of the last remorse ! 
 May all your woes end here. 
 
 0. Wilm. O, would they end 
 A thousand ages hence ! I then should suffer
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 271 
 
 Much less than I deserve. Yet let me say, 
 You'll do but justice, to inform the world, 
 This horrid deed, that punishes itself. 
 Was not intended as he was our son ; 
 For that we knew not, till it was too late. 
 Proud and impatient under our afflictions, 
 While Heaven was labouring to make us happy, 
 We brought this dreadful ruin on ourselves. 
 
 Mankind may learn but oh ! \_Dies. 
 
 Fatal Cuiiositij. Lillo. 
 
 IMOINDA, THE WIFE OF OROONOKO, A CAPTIVE PRINCE, 
 STABS HERSELF, WITH HER HUSBAND, TO AVOID THE 
 LUST AND REVENGE OF THE GOVERNOR. 
 
 Oro. It is not always granted to the great 
 To be most happy : If the angry Pow'rs 
 Repent their favours, let them take 'em back : 
 The hopes of empire, which they gave my youth, 
 By making me a prince, I here resign. 
 Let them quench in me all those glorious fires 
 Which kindled at their beams ; that lust of fame. 
 That fever of ambition, restless still, 
 And burning with the sacred thirst of sway. 
 Which they inspired, to qualify my fate. 
 And make me fit to govern under them. 
 Let them extinguish. I submit myself 
 To their high pleasure, and devoted bow
 
 272 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Yet lower, to continue still a slave, 
 Hopeless of liberty; and, if I could 
 Live after it, would give up honour too, 
 To satisfy their vengeance, to avert 
 This only curse, the curse of losing thee. 
 
 Imu. If Ileav'n could be appeased, these cruel men 
 Are not to be entreated, or believed : 
 O ! think on that, and be no more deceived. 
 Oro. What can we do? 
 Imo. Can I do anything? 
 Oro. But we were born to suffer. 
 Imo. Suffer both ! 
 Both die, and so prevent them. 
 
 Oro. By thy death ! 
 O ! let me hunt my travell'd thoughts again ; 
 Range the wide waste of desolate despair; 
 
 Start any hope Alas! I lose myself: 
 
 'Tis pathless, dark, and barren all to me. 
 Thou art my only guide, my light of life ; 
 And thou art leaving me ! Send out thy beams 
 Upon the wing; let them fly all around. 
 Discover every way: Is there a dawn, 
 A glimmering of comfort? the great God, 
 That rises on the world, must shine on us. 
 Imo. And see us set before him. 
 Oro. Thou bespeak'st. 
 And goest before me. 
 
 Imo. So I would, in love ; 
 In the dear, unsuspected part of life. 
 In death for love. Alas! what hopes for me?
 
 ENOLISH TRAGEDY. 273 
 
 I was preserved but to acquit myself, 
 To beg to die with you. 
 
 Oro. And canst thou ask it? 
 I never durst inquire into myself 
 About thy fate, and thou resolv'st it all. 
 
 Imo. Alas, my lord, my fate's resolved in yours. 
 Oro. O ! keep thee there : let not thy virtue shrink 
 From my support, and I will gather strength, 
 
 Fast as I can, to tell thee 
 
 Imo. I must die. 
 I know 'tis fit, and I can die with you. 
 
 Oro, O ! thou hast banish'd hence a thousand fears, 
 Which sicken'd at my heart, and quite unmann'd me. 
 Imo. Your fears for me I know — you fear'd my 
 strength, 
 And could not overcome your tenderness. 
 To pass this sentence on me; and, indeed, 
 There you were kind, as I have always found you — 
 As you have ever been : for, though I am 
 Resign'd, and ready to obey my doom, 
 Methinks it should not be pronounced by you. 
 Oro. O ! that was all the labour of my grief. 
 My heart and tongue forsook me in the strife: 
 I never could pronounce it. 
 
 Imo. I have for you, for both of us. 
 Oro. Alas! for me — my death 
 I could regard as the last scene of life. 
 And act it through with joy, to have it done: 
 
 But then to part with thee 
 
 Imo. 'Tis hard to part. 
 
 T
 
 274 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 But, parting thus, as the most happy must, 
 Parting in death, makes it the easier. 
 You might have thrown me off, forsaken me 
 And my misfortunes : that had been a death, 
 Indeed, of terror, to have trembled at. 
 
 Oro. Forsaken! thrown thee off! 
 
 Imo. But, 'tis a pleasure more than life can give, 
 That, with unconquer'd passion, to the last 
 You struggle still, and fain would hold me to you. 
 
 Oro. Ever, ever! and let those stars, which are my 
 enemies. 
 Witness against me in the other world, 
 If I would leave this mansion of my bliss. 
 To be the brightest ruler of their skies. 
 
 ! that we could incorporate, be one, \_Embracing her. 
 One body, as we have been long one mind : 
 
 That, blended so, we might together mix. 
 And, losing thus our beings to the world. 
 Be only found to one another's joys. 
 
 Imo. Is this the way to part ? 
 
 Oro. Which is the way? 
 
 Imo. The god of love is blind, and cannot find it. 
 But quick, make haste; our enemies have eyes 
 To find us out, and shew us the worst way 
 Of parting: think on them. 
 
 Oro. Why dost thou wake me ? 
 
 Imo. Oj no more of love ! 
 For, if I listen to you, I shall quite 
 Forget my dangers, and desire to live. 
 
 1 can't live yours. [Takes up the dagger.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 275 
 
 Oro. There all the stings of death 
 Are shot into my heart what shall I do? 
 
 Imo. This dagger will instruct you. \Gives it him. 
 
 Oro. Ha! this dagger! 
 Like Fate, it points me to the horrid deed. 
 
 Imo. Strike, strike it home, and bravely save us 
 both — 
 There is no other safety. 
 
 Oro. It must be : 
 
 But, first, a dying kiss \_Kisses her. 
 
 This last embrace \_Embracing her. 
 
 And now 
 
 Imo. I'm ready. 
 
 Oi'o. O ! where shall I strike ? 
 Is there a smallest grain of that loved body 
 That is not dearer to me than my eyes, 
 My bosom'd heart, and all the life-blood there ? 
 Bid me cut off these limbs, hew off these hands, 
 Dig out these eyes, though I would keep them last 
 To gaze upon thee. But, to murder thee ! 
 The joy and charm of every ravish'd sense — 
 My wife ! forbid it. Nature. 
 
 Imo. 'Tis your wife. 
 Who, on her knees, conjures you. O ! in time 
 Prevent those mischiefs that are falling on us. 
 You may be hurried to a shameful death ; 
 And I, too, dragg'd to the vile Governor. 
 Then I may cry aloud — when you are gone, 
 Where shall I find a friend again to save me? 
 
 Oro. It will be so. Thou unexampled virtue!
 
 27f5 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Thy resolution has recover'd mine — 
 And, now, prepare thee. 
 
 Imu. Thus, with open arms, 
 I welcome you, and death ! 
 
 \_He drops his dagger as he looks on her, and 
 iht^ozcs himself on the ground. 
 
 Oro. 1 cannot bear it. 
 O ! let me dash against this rock of fate. 
 Dig uj) this earth — tear, tear her bowels out, 
 To make a grave, deep as the centre down, 
 To swallow wide, and bury us together. 
 It will not be. O ! then, some pitying god 
 (If there be one a friend to innocence) 
 Find yet a way to lay her beauties down 
 Gently in death, and save me from her blood. 
 
 Imo. O rise, 'tis more than death to see you thus. 
 
 I'll ease your love, and do the deed myself 
 
 [She takes up the dagger — he rises in husle to 
 take it from her. 
 
 Oro. O! hold, I charge thee, hold! 
 
 Imo. Though I must own 
 It would be nobler for us both from you. 
 
 Oro. O ! for a whirlwincl's wing, to hurry us 
 To yonder cliff, which frowns upon the flood, 
 That, in embraces lock'd, we might plunge in. 
 And perish thus in one another's arms. 
 
 Imo. Alas! what shout is that'? 
 
 Oro. I see them coming 
 
 They shall not o'ertake us. This last kiss; 
 And, now, farewell!
 
 ENGblSH TRAGEDY. 277 
 
 Imo. Farewell ! farewell for ever. 
 Oro. I'll turn my face away, and do it so — 
 Now, are you ready'? 
 
 Imo. Now But do not grudge me 
 
 The pleasure, in my death, of a last look. 
 
 Pray look upon me Now I'm satisfied. 
 
 Oro. So Fate must be by this. 
 
 \Gomg to stab her, he stops short — she lays her 
 hands on his, in order to give the blow. 
 Imo. Nay, then, I must assist you ; 
 And, since it is the common cause of both, 
 'Tis just that both should be employed in it. 
 Thus, thus 'tis finish'd, and I bless my fate, 
 
 \^Stabs herself. 
 
 That, where I lived, I die — in these loved arms. \_Dies. 
 
 Oro. She's gone ; and now all's at an end with me. 
 
 Soft, lay her down. O, we will part no more 
 
 [^Throws himself by her. 
 But let me pay the tribute of my grief — 
 A few sad tears to thy loved memory; 
 
 And then I follow [Weeps over her. 
 
 But I stay too long \_A ?io/se again. 
 
 The noise comes nearer. Hold, before I go 
 There's something would be done. It shall be so. 
 And then, Imoinda, I'll come all to thee. [Rises. 
 
 Blanford and his party enter before the Governor and 
 his party — szcords drawn on both sides. 
 
 Gov. You strive in vain to save him — he shall die. 
 Blan. Not while we can defend him with our lives.
 
 278 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Gov. Where is he? 
 
 Oro, Here's the wretch whom you would have. 
 Put up your swords, and let not civil broils 
 Engage you in the cursed cause of one 
 AVho cannot live, and now entreats to die. 
 This object will convince you. 
 
 Blan. 'Tis his wife! [They gather about the body. 
 Alas ! there was no other remedy. 
 
 Gov. Who did the bloody deed"? 
 
 Oro. The deed was mine. 
 Bloody I know it is, and I expect 
 Your laws should tell me so. Thus, self-condemn'd, 
 I do resign myself into your hands — 
 
 The hands of justice But I hold the sword 
 
 For you — and for myself 
 
 \_Stubs the Governor^ and himself^ then throizs 
 himself bi) Imoinda's bodij. 
 'Tis as it should be now. I have sent his ghost 
 To be a witness of that happiness 
 In the next world, which he denied us here. \_Dies. 
 Oroonoko. Southerne.
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 279 
 
 SFORZA, DUKE OF MILAN, IS SO PASSIONATELY ENA- 
 MOURED OF HIS WIFE. MARCELIA, THAT HE CANNOT 
 BEAR THE THOUGHT OF HER SURVIVING HIM, TO BE- 
 COME THE WIFE OF ANOTHER. ON THE OCCASION 
 OF HIS LEAVING HOME, HE COMMISSIONS FRANCISCO, 
 IF HE SHOULD NOT RETURN, TO KILL HER. 
 
 Sfor. Stay, you, Francisco. 
 You see how thing's stand with me. 
 
 Fran. To my grief: 
 And if the loss of my poor life could be 
 A sacrifice to restore them as they were, 
 I willingly would lay it down. 
 
 Sfor. I think so ; 
 For I have ever found you true and thankful. 
 Which makes me love the building I have raised 
 In your advancement ; and repent no grace 
 I have conferr'd upon you. And, believe me, 
 (Though now I should repeat my favours to you,) 
 The titles I have given you, and the means 
 Suitable to your honours ; that I thought you 
 Worthy my sister and my family, 
 And in my dukedom made you next myself: 
 It is not to upbraid you, but to tell you 
 I find you are worthy of them, in your love 
 And service to me. 
 
 Fran. Sir, I am your creature ; 
 And any shape that you would have me wear, 
 I gladly will put on.
 
 280 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Sfor. Thus, then, Francisco; 
 I now am to deliver to your trust 
 A weighty secret, of so strange a nature, 
 And 'twill, I know, appear so monstrous to you, 
 That you will tremble in the execution, 
 As much as I am tortured to command it: 
 For 'tis a deed so horrid, that, but to hear it, 
 Would strike into a ruffian flesh'd in murders, 
 Or an obdurate hang-man, soft compassion ; 
 And yet, Francisco, of all men the dearest. 
 And from me most deserving, such my state 
 
 And strange condition is, that thou alone 
 
 Must know the fatal service, and perform it. 
 
 Fran. These preparations, sir, to work a stranger. 
 
 Or to one unacquainted with your bounties, 
 
 Might appear useful; but to me they are 
 
 Needless impertinences; for I dare do 
 
 Whate'er you dare commund. 
 Sfor. But you must swear it : 
 
 And put into the oath all joys or torments 
 
 That fright the wicked, or confirm the good ; 
 
 Not to conceal it only, that is nothing; 
 
 But, whensoe'er my will shall speak, " Strike now!" 
 
 To fall upon't like thunder. 
 Fran. Minister 
 
 The oath in any way or form yon please, 
 
 I stand resolved to take it. 
 S/or. Thou must do, then. 
 
 What no malevolent star will dare to look on, 
 
 It is so wicked: for which men will curse thee
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 281 
 
 For being the instrument; and the blest angels 
 
 Forsake me at my need, for being the author : 
 
 For 'tis a deed of night, of night, Francisco ! 
 
 In which the memory of all good actions 
 
 We can pretend to, shall be buried quick: 
 
 Or, if we be remember'd, it shall be 
 
 To fright posterity by our example. 
 
 That have outgone all precedents of villains 
 
 That were before us ; and such as succeed. 
 
 Though taught in hell's black school, shall ne'er come 
 
 near us. 
 Art thou not shaken yet? 
 
 Fran. I grant you move me : 
 But to a man confirm'd 
 
 Sfor. I'll try your temper : 
 What think you of my wife ? 
 
 Fran. As a thing sacred ; 
 To whose fair name and memory I pay gladly 
 These signs of duty. 
 
 Sfor. Is she not the abstract 
 Of all that's rare, or to be wish'd in woman? 
 
 Fran. It were a kind of blasphemy to dispute it. 
 But to the purpose, sir. 
 
 Sfor. Add, too, her goodness. 
 Her tenderness of me, her care to please me. 
 Her unsuspected chastity, ne'er equall'd ; 
 Her innocence, her honour — Oh, I am lost 
 In the ocean of her virtues and her graces, 
 When I think of them. 
 
 Fran. Now I find the end
 
 283 THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 Of all your conjurations: there's some service 
 
 To be done for this sweet lady. If she have enemies, 
 
 That she would have removed — 
 
 Sfor. Alas! Francisco, 
 Her greatest enemy is her greatest lover; 
 Yet, in that hatred, her idolater. 
 One smile of hers would make a savage tame; 
 One accent of that tongue Would calm the seas. 
 Though all the winds at once strove there for empire. 
 Yet I, for whom she thinks all this too little, 
 (Should I miscarry in this present journey, 
 From whence it is all number to a cipher, 
 I ne'er return with honour,) by thy hand 
 Must have her murder'd. 
 
 Fran. Murder'd! — She that loves so. 
 And so deserves to be beloved again! 
 And I, who sometimes you were pleased to favour, 
 Pick'd out the instrument ! 
 
 Sfor. Do not fly oflp. 
 What is decreed can never be recall'd. 
 'Tis more than love to her, that marks her out 
 A wish'd companion to me in both foi'tunes : 
 And strong assurance of thy zealous faith. 
 That gives up to thy trust a secret, that 
 Racks should not have forced from me. Oh! Fran- 
 cisco, 
 There is no heaven without her, nor a hell 
 Where she resides. I ask from her but justice. 
 And what I would have paid to her, had sickness, 
 Or any other accident, divorced
 
 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 283 
 
 Her purer soul from her unspotted body. 
 Express a ready purpose to perform 
 What I command ; or, by Marcelia's soul, 
 This is thy latest minute. 
 
 Fran. 'Tis not fear 
 Of death, but love to you, makes me embrace it: 
 But for mine own security, when 'tis done. 
 What warrant have I ? If you please to sign one, 
 I shall, though with unwillingness and horror, 
 Perform your dreadful charge. 
 
 Sfor. I will, Francisco : 
 But, still, remember that a prince's secrets 
 Are balm, conceal'd ; but poison, if discover'd 
 I may come back; then this is but a trial 
 To purchase thee, if it were possible, 
 A nearer place in my affection : but 
 I know thee honest. 
 
 Fran. 'Tis a character 
 I will not part with. 
 
 Sfor. I may live to reward it. 
 
 The Duke of Milan. Massinger.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 AFFLICTION. 
 
 Thoughts on . 
 One born in 
 Of ruined beauty 
 • — a son . 
 
 — a king suspecting the 
 virtue of his queen 
 
 — a woman deserted by 
 her friends . 
 
 — a gambler . 
 
 — a gambler's wife . 
 
 — pride when humbled 
 In early manhood 
 
 A benefit even from aflic 
 
 tion 
 Of a penitent woman 
 Over a murdered wife 
 Love, man's comfort in af 
 
 fliction . 
 Virtue maintained in 
 Guilt the source of . 
 
 AMBITION. 
 
 Thoughts on 
 Temptation of . 
 Sway of . 
 Nobleness of . 
 Danger of 
 
 The supreme passion 
 Despotic, defeated by virtue 
 Vanity of ... 
 
 Affliction of ruined 
 Influence of 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 Innocent . 
 
 . 14 
 
 
 Fate of . . . 
 
 . ib. 
 
 1, 2 
 
 Tempting and tempted 
 
 . ib. 
 
 3 
 
 Idolatry of 
 
 . ib. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Witchcraft of , 
 
 . 15 
 
 ib. 
 
 After death . , 
 
 . ib. 
 
 
 Death of . 
 
 24,25 
 
 4 
 
 Of person inferior to 
 
 the 
 
 
 mind's . 
 
 . 137 
 
 6 
 
 6 
 
 ib. 
 
 7 
 ib. 
 
 ib. 
 
 100 
 
 176 
 
 65 
 
 10 
 ib. 
 ib. 
 
 11 
 ib. 
 
 12 
 ib. 
 ib. 
 
 BOASTERS. 
 Insignificance of 
 
 CITY. 
 Description of a great 
 
 CONSCIENCE. 
 
 Defined . . . . 
 An idle fear . . . 
 Horrors of a guilty . 
 
 CONTENT. 
 
 The full amount of happi- 
 ness .... 
 
 Love of 
 
 COUNTRY. 
 
 COURTS. 
 
 Endangering virtue . 
 Envy in . 
 
 16 
 
 16 
 
 17 
 18 
 ib. 
 
 18 
 
 19 
 
 20 
 45
 
 286 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 COWARDICE. 
 
 
 ENVY. 
 
 
 Assuming boldness, out ol 
 
 
 In courts .... 
 
 45 
 
 danger . . . . 
 
 21 
 
 
 
 Lying, the subterfuge of . 
 
 22 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 
 DEATU. 
 
 
 The trauqnillity of . 
 
 46 
 
 Reflections on . . 22, 
 
 23,24 
 
 FAME. 
 
 
 Of beauty 
 
 24,25 
 
 
 — a philosopher 
 
 26 
 
 A vanity . . . . 
 
 47 
 
 — a viituous king . 
 
 ib. 
 
 Ardour of . . . 
 
 ib. 
 
 — a gamester . 
 
 27 
 
 
 
 — a good man . 
 
 ib. 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 
 Not apprehended by the 
 
 
 
 
 good 
 
 28 
 
 Pride for his child . 
 
 48 
 
 Equality of 
 
 29 
 
 r^ ^; ^c t^w. 
 
 63 
 
 
 Fear of 
 
 30 
 
 A daughter imploring 
 
 
 Of guilt . 
 
 ib. 
 
 mercy for her 
 
 132 
 
 By poison 
 
 31 
 
 
 
 Considered a blessing 
 
 ib. 
 
 FEAR. 
 
 
 Incomprehensible 
 
 32 
 
 
 
 Of a hero 
 
 . 76 
 
 Of death . . . . 
 
 30 
 
 — two lovers . 
 
 . 115 
 
 The ague of the soul 
 
 48 
 
 
 
 Of one in a sepulchre 
 
 49 
 
 
 
 Makes imaginary ills 
 
 60 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 
 
 Betrays guilt . 
 
 66 
 
 Described 
 
 32, 33 
 
 
 
 Of one summoned by ai 
 
 1 
 
 FLATTERY. 
 
 
 evil spirit 
 
 34 
 
 
 
 — a traitor 
 
 . 35 
 
 An unworthy art 
 
 . 50 
 
 — a forsaken woman 
 
 . 36 
 
 Flatterer described . 
 
 . 51 
 
 — a gambler . 
 
 36,37 
 
 Compared with truth 
 
 . ib. 
 
 — a guilty wife 
 
 . 38 
 
 Rebuke to a flatterer 
 
 . 52 
 
 The knell of . 
 
 . 39 
 
 Contempt for . 
 
 . 53 
 
 — refuge of . 
 
 . 40 
 
 
 
 — calmness of 
 
 . ib. 
 
 FORGIVENESS. 
 
 
 DREAMS. 
 
 
 Impressed upon the hear 
 by nature 
 
 t 
 
 . 53 
 
 The fantasies of 
 
 . 41 
 
 Of great men . 
 
 . ib. 
 
 Dream of Mitbridates 
 
 . ib. 
 
 Old age slow to forgive 
 
 . 147 
 
 DUNGEON. 
 
 
 FORTUNE. 
 
 
 Description of 
 
 . 43 
 
 Changeable, yet bounde 
 
 d 
 
 A family shut up in on 
 
 e. 
 
 by fate . 
 
 . 54 
 
 and condemned to die 
 
 Df 
 
 Accounted virtue by th 
 
 e 
 
 hunger . 
 
 44 
 
 world . 
 
 . ib.
 
 287 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 
 De6nefl . . . . 
 
 55 
 
 In equal fellowship, the 
 
 
 strong-est 
 
 ib. 
 
 The virtue of . 
 
 56 
 
 Appeal to a friend . 
 
 ib. 
 
 Early friendship 
 
 ib. 
 
 False 
 
 57 
 
 Constant . 
 
 ib. 
 
 Tried by adversity . 
 
 58 
 
 Happiness in . 
 
 ib. 
 
 Founded on love 
 
 . ib. 
 
 FUNERAL. 
 
 
 Description of a 
 
 . 59 
 
 GAMBLER. 
 
 
 Affliction of a . 
 
 6 
 
 his wife 
 
 . ib. 
 
 Death of a 
 
 . 27 
 
 Despair of a . 
 
 36,37 
 
 GRATITUDE. 
 
 
 The grateful heart . . 59 
 The impulse of nature . 60 
 Enriches the benefactor . ib. 
 
 GREATNESS. 
 
 Desire of, natural . . 60 
 
 Cares of . . . .61 
 
 Perils of . . . . ib. 
 
 Quitted reluctantly . . 62 
 
 GRIEF. 
 
 Of a husband at the tomb 
 of his wife ... 62 
 
 — a father for his child . 63 
 
 — a mother ... 64 
 
 — a lover for one who des- 
 troyed herself . . ib. 
 
 — a hero at an inglorious 
 death . . . .75 
 
 A woman in tears . 187, 188 
 
 Death of . . . .80 
 
 The source of sorrow . 65 
 
 first step of . . ib. 
 
 Defined as ruin . . 66 
 
 Mental punishment of . ib. 
 
 Betrayed by fear . . ib. 
 
 HATE. 
 
 The wariness of . .67 
 Intense .... ib. 
 The imprecations of . ib. 
 
 HEAVEN. 
 
 The Christian's . . 68 
 The ways of, intricate . 69 
 
 HERO — HEROISM. 
 
 Heroism described . 69, 70 
 A hero at the head of battle 71 
 
 ever resolute . ib. 
 
 subdued by woman 72 
 
 pursuing disho- 
 
 nour — his anguish 
 
 who died in want 
 
 great in adversity 
 
 conquered 
 
 fall of . 
 
 reply of 
 
 prefers death to 
 
 bondage 
 
 the legacy of 
 
 grief of, at an in 
 
 glorious death 
 
 dying 
 
 dead . 
 
 On the death of a hero 
 
 HONESTY. 
 
 Surrounded by hazards 
 Blunt honesty . 
 
 ib. 
 ib. 
 73 
 ib. 
 ib. 
 74 
 
 26. 
 
 76 
 
 ib. 
 76 
 ib. 
 
 77 
 
 78 
 if,.
 
 288 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 HONOUR. 
 
 
 Has no joy from oppress- 
 ing .... 
 
 89 
 
 Defined 
 
 79 
 
 Should not be indolent 
 
 ib. 
 
 Noblest when tried tiit 
 
 
 The steward of his people 
 
 ib. 
 
 most 
 
 ib. 
 
 His too great munificence, 
 
 
 The ascent of virtue 
 
 80 
 
 dangerous 
 
 90 
 
 True and false compared 
 
 ib. 
 
 Reflections on kingly dis- 
 
 
 The height of . 
 
 ib. 
 
 tinction . . 90,91 
 
 ,92 
 
 
 
 A kingly lover 
 
 112 
 
 
 
 Death of a virtuous . 
 
 26 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 
 Affliction of, suspecting his 
 
 
 Deceitful . . . . 
 
 81 
 
 queen .... 
 
 4 
 
 A comforter 
 
 ib. 
 
 
 
 (lives courage 
 
 ib. 
 
 LAW. 
 
 
 Vanity of . . . 
 
 82 
 
 
 
 
 
 Its uncertain redress 
 
 93 
 
 HUSBAND. 
 
 
 LIBERTY. 
 
 
 Grief of . . . . 
 
 62 
 
 
 
 • for a murdered wife 
 
 8 
 
 Address to . . . 
 
 93 
 
 Jealousy of a . 
 
 87 
 
 Life valueless without 
 
 94 
 
 The memory of a good . 
 
 130 
 
 Justly forfeited by crime 
 
 ib. 
 
 Melancholy husband 
 
 131 
 
 All free by nature . 
 
 ib. 
 
 HYPOCRISY. 
 
 The hypocrite defined . 83 
 Innocent demeanour of a 
 villain .... 170 
 
 INNOCENCE. 
 
 Unmoved at the tumults of 
 
 mankind ... 83 
 The beauty of . . 84 
 
 Gives true fortitude . ib. 
 
 The power of . . .85 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
 Agony of . . . 85, 86 
 Ever suspicious . . 87 
 At the discovery of a letter ib. 
 Woman easily jealous . 184 
 • when jealous . 185 
 
 KING. 
 
 A good kin J 
 
 88 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 Reflections on . . 95, 96 
 
 Vanity of ... 97 
 
 Worthless without virtue 98 
 Against indifference to . ib. 
 Valueless without liberty 94 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Of country ... 19 
 The foundation of friend- 
 ship . ... 58 
 The power of . . .99 
 Subdues majesty . . ib. 
 
 wisdom , . 100 
 
 Man's comfort in affliction ib. 
 Once felt, ever remains , ib. 
 All other passions submis- 
 sive to . . . . lOl 
 Reasoning against it, use- 
 less .... ib. 
 Never won by arguments 102 
 Not limited by time . 103 
 Virtuous .... ib.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 289 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Its influence - . 104 
 
 — blessedness . . ib. 
 Hopeless love revived . 105 
 Its emptiness . . . ib. 
 
 — extreme bordering on 
 hate .... ib. 
 
 Well-timed . . .106 
 Ever apprehensive . . ib. 
 Wedded . . .106, l(i7 
 
 Independent of creeds 
 Paramount to ruin . 
 A thing of fancy 
 The noblest passion, when 
 
 worthily directed 
 When rejected, producing 
 
 madness 
 Universal 
 Perils of woman in loving 
 Youth to be cautious of 
 
 LOVER. 
 
 A lover to 
 mistress 
 
 his devoted 
 — false mis 
 
 tress 
 
 tion 
 
 after his separa^ 
 
 grief of 
 in absence 
 transports ot" 
 disappointed 
 
 ■ the 
 
 ib. 
 ib. 
 
 108 
 
 ib. 
 
 123 
 
 108 
 190 
 201 
 
 109 
 ib. 
 
 113 
 
 64 
 110 
 111 
 
 ib. 
 
 misery of . . .112 
 A kingly lover . . ib. 
 
 The parting of lovers 113-14-15 
 The death of two toge- 
 ther . . . 115-16-17 
 On two lying dead . .118 
 The fortitude of two con- 
 demned for not renoun- 
 cing tlieir religion . 154 
 Woman's opinion of lovers 167 
 
 A scene of . . .118 
 Magnificent in its bounties 119 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Rebuked and conquered by 
 
 virtue . . . .119 
 The wanton . 194 
 
 From poison . . .121 
 
 rejected love . . 123 
 
 MAN. 
 
 Reflections on . . . 124 
 
 His subjection to woman ib. 
 
 — insignificance in crea- 
 tion .... 125 
 
 Vanity of human labours . ib 
 None perfect . . . ib. 
 Posthumous vanity of .126 
 Weakness of, under temp- 
 tation .... ib. 
 Ever dissatisfied . .127 
 The worldly lot of . . ib 
 The desires of a vain • ib 
 Uncertainty of the joys of 128 
 Nature bountiful to . ib. 
 The memory of a great . ib. 
 
 virtuous 129-30 
 
 Woman's dependance on 197 
 Love his comfort in afflic- 
 tion .... 100 
 Vicious from custom . 171 
 
 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 Described . . . 130 
 
 The mind's lethargy . 131 
 
 The melancholy husband ib. 
 
 MERCY. 
 
 131 
 
 Defined .... 
 A daughter imploring mer- 
 cy for her father . 132 
 
 Pre-eminent . - 134 
 The infirmity of the noblest ib. 
 — fortitude of the . . 135 
 independence of the . 136
 
 290 
 
 The presence of 
 
 freedom of 
 
 great 
 
 goTernment of 
 
 Superior to the beauty of 
 person .... 
 
 MORNING. 
 The description of . 
 
 136 
 ib. 
 137 
 ib. 
 
 ib. 
 
 140 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Pride for her child . .138 
 Grief of a . . 64,139 
 , in separation . ib. 
 
 THE MULTITUDE. 
 
 The madness of . . 141 
 Their inconstancy . 
 
 The idol of 
 
 ib. 
 142 
 
 MURDERER. 
 
 Description of a 
 Remorse of a . 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 The power of 
 A theme for 
 
 Description of 
 A tempestuous 
 After a battle 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 Described 
 
 In ruin, a comparison 
 
 A barren . 
 
 A ripe 
 
 Slow to forgive 
 
 Without prudence 
 
 Seelving advancement 
 
 142 
 
 158 
 
 143 
 ib. 
 
 144, 145 
 145 
 
 . 180 
 
 146 
 ib. 
 ib. 
 ib. 
 147 
 
 77*. 
 
 ib. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The death of a philosopher 26 
 
 virtue of . . . 148 
 
 fortitude of . .149 
 
 Poverty, deaf to . . 150 
 
 PLEASURE. 
 
 Never sincere . 
 Of vice, deceitful 
 Youth to be enjoyed 
 
 Death from 
 Madness from . 
 
 POVERTY. 
 
 Deaf to philosophy 
 Fallen pride in 
 
 PROCRASTINATION. 
 Thoughts on 
 
 RELIGION. 
 
 The fortitude of 
 
 purity of . 
 
 idolatry of 
 
 fortitude of two lovers 
 
 condemned for not re- 
 nouncing their religion 
 
 REMORSE. 
 
 Of a murderer , 
 guilty wife 
 
 REPENTANCE. 
 
 Address to 
 
 Of a fallen woman . 
 
 REPUTATION. 
 The value of . 
 
 150 
 171 
 202 
 
 8i 
 121 
 
 150 
 ib. 
 
 151 
 
 152 
 153 
 
 ib. 
 
 154 
 
 157 
 
 158 
 
 159 
 
 159
 
 INDEX. 
 
 291 
 
 REVENGE. 
 
 1 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGE 1 
 
 Of hope .... 
 
 82 
 
 Thoughts on . . 159, 
 
 160 
 
 — kingly distinctions . 91, 92 
 
 Implacable 
 
 ib. 
 
 — lite .... 
 
 97 
 
 
 
 — human labours 
 
 125 
 
 
 
 Man's posthumous . 
 
 126 
 
 RUIN. 
 
 
 Desires of a vain man 
 
 
 Guilt defined as 
 
 66 
 
 boundless 
 
 127 
 
 Love paramount to . 
 
 107 
 
 
 
 Of a nation 
 
 161 
 
 VICE. 
 
 
 
 
 Flattering . . 
 
 170 
 
 SLAVERT. 
 
 
 The defeat of villany 
 
 ih. 
 
 Man, the greatest slave . 
 
 162 
 
 Innocent demeanour of a 
 
 
 
 
 villain .... 
 
 ib. 
 
 SLEEP. 
 
 
 Great villains desperately 
 brave . 
 
 171 
 
 The comforts of 
 
 162 
 
 The joys of, deceitful 
 
 ib. 
 
 Invocation to . 
 
 163 
 
 Man vicious from custom 
 
 ib. 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 
 
 VIRTUE. 
 
 
 A hermit's . . 
 
 163 
 
 Defeats despotic ambition 
 
 12 
 
 
 
 In danger at courts . 
 
 20 
 
 
 
 Fortune accounted as 
 
 61 
 
 THE SOUL. 
 
 
 Of friendship , 
 
 66 
 
 The fate of a guilty 
 
 164 
 
 Honour, the ascent of 
 
 80 
 
 Reflections on the immor- 
 
 
 Life worthless without 
 
 98 
 
 tality of . . . 
 
 166 
 
 Virtuous love . 
 
 103 
 
 
 
 Rebuking lust 
 
 119 
 
 
 
 On the might of 
 
 172 
 
 SUICIDE. 
 
 
 Judged by our desires 
 
 173 
 
 Against its commission 166 
 
 ,167 
 
 Irresolute 
 
 ib. 
 
 In favour of . . . 
 
 167 
 
 In action 
 
 174 
 
 
 
 Suffering . 
 
 175 
 
 TRAVEL. 
 
 
 Repays itself . 
 
 Never excuses her own 
 
 ib. 
 
 
 
 
 The advantages of . 
 
 168 
 
 faults . 
 
 . ib. 
 
 
 
 In adversity 
 
 . ib. 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 
 True nobility . 
 Maintained in affliction 
 
 . 176 
 
 . ib. 
 
 Against the coward who 
 
 
 A woman of exalted 
 
 . 191 
 
 dares not avow it 
 
 169 
 
 — youth 
 
 . 201 
 
 The glory of . 
 
 ib. 
 
 
 
 Nothing can intimidate . 
 
 ib. 
 
 WAR. 
 
 
 VANITY. 
 
 
 Reflections on its dcstruc 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 tion 
 
 . 177 
 
 Of ambition 
 
 12 
 
 Civil war 
 
 . 178 
 
 — fame .... 
 
 47 
 
 Invocation to . 
 
 . 179
 
 292 
 
 Repose of 
 
 Night after a battle 
 
 Farewell to 
 
 Affliction of a gambler's 
 Grief for one murdered 
 
 PAGE 
 
 180 
 ib. 
 ISl 
 
 Despair of a guilty . 
 Grief at the tomb of one 
 
 . 38 
 62 
 
 Remorse of a guilty . 
 
 168 
 
 WITCHCRAFT. 
 
 
 Of beauty 
 
 Description of a witch 
 Power of. 
 
 . 15 
 
 . 182 
 
 ib. 
 
 Of woman 
 
 194. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 
 Affliction of a deserted 
 
 5 
 
 
 8 
 36 
 
 Despair of a forsaken 
 
 Thoughts on her influence 
 
 183 
 
 Praise of 
 
 ib. 
 
 Temper of 
 
 184 
 
 Easily jealous 
 
 ib. 
 
 When jealous . 
 
 185 
 
 Weakness of . 
 
 186 
 
 Passions of 
 
 ib. 
 
 Fortitude of . . . 
 
 187 
 
 PAGE 
 
 In tears . . . 187, 188 
 Influence of her will . 188 
 
 Constancy of . . 189, 190 
 Perils of, in loving . . 190 
 Slave to passion . . ib. 
 Of exalted virtue . . 191 
 Constant though forsaken 192 
 Iler lot through error . ib. 
 A fallen . . . .193 
 Deceived and forsaken . ib. 
 Witchery of . . .194 
 The wanton . . . ib. 
 Youthful and matured, 
 
 compared . . . 195 
 Distraction of one at the 
 thought of being de- 
 serted .... 196 
 Referring to her lovers . 197 
 Dependance on man . ib. 
 
 Man's subjection to . 124 
 
 Advice to . . . 198 
 
 To avoid curiosity . . ih. 
 Dispraise of . . 198, 200 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 Extenuation of the faults 
 
 of .... 200 
 
 To be cautious of love . 201 
 
 A virtuous youth . . ib. 
 
 To be enjoyed . . 202 
 
 FINIS. 
 
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