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THE PLAYS

PHILIP MASSINGEB.

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THE

PLAYS

PHILIP MASSINGEK,

WITH

NOTES, CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY,

BY WILLIAM GIFFORD.

0AUD TAKEN INYIDEAS VOTA QUEM PULPITA PASCUNT.

ElJition,
COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME.

N E W - Y O R K :
H. B. MAHN, 61 JOHN STRi:ET,

1857.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

CHARLES LONG,

ONE OP THE LORDS OF HIS MAJESTY'S TREASURY
THIS EDITION

THE WORKS

PHILIP MASSINGER,

18 INSCRIBED
AS A SINCERE TESTIMONY OF RESPECT TO HIS PUBLIC CHARACTER,

AND OF

GRATITUDE FOR MANY ACTS OF FRIENDSHIP AND PERSONAL KINDNESS,

HI8 OBLIGED AND FAITHFUL SERVANT.

THE EDITOR.

J%, 1805.

PREFACE.

THE present Edition of this admired writer has been published with a design of meeting the
spirit of the age for cheap literature ; and its triumphant success is a gratifying proof of
the manner in which the exertions of the publishers are appreciated. Previous to the
appearance of this volume, the public, owing to the scarcity of former editions, possessed
but a slight acquaintance with the writings of Massinger, and that derived only from occa-
sional notices and extracts in periodicals, and the representation of " A New Way to
Pay Old Debts," the only one of his Plays still acted on the stage. In this undertaking,
accuracy of text and good critical notes were deemed indispensable ; and the editor had
but to choose between the gross negligence of Coxeter, and the odious vanity of Monk
Muson, on the one hand, and the carefully and accurately edited compilation of Mr. Gifford,
on the other. Never was an author under greater obligations to an editor, than is Massinger
to Gifford. It is true his works had already appeared in a collected form ; but the bungling
inaccuracies, unwarrantable interpolations, and absurd commentaries, which disfigured
these editions, had rather contributed to involve the author in still deeper obscurity,
than to rescue him from that in which he had originally slumbered.

In his attempt to do justice to his favourite poet, Mr. Gifford had many difficulties to
contend against, and no hope of assistance from the labours of his predecessors. Of a
patient and vigorous cast of mind, his unclouded intellect was the first to form a due esti-
mate of the manly productions of this author ; he sat down to his task as to a labour of
love, and after careful and repeated collations of the text with the original editions, suc-
ceeded in expunging from its pages a mass of stupid criticism and crude innovations,
such as never, perhaps, disfigured the works of any other author. None but those
who are acquainted with the editions referred to, can fully estimate the labours of
this critic, of whose admirable qualifications as an editor, his exertions in favour of this
abused poet will remain a lasting- monument. He has been justly called by one who
was himself no common master of the art, " a giant in literature, in criticism, in poli-
tics, and in morals, and an ornament and an honour to his country and the age in whH-
he lived."

Brt fcr him. thpse exquisite dramas would be as little known to us as the mstitu
tions of the Chinese ; and the re-action of public taste in favour of the productions of

*h PREFACE.

Our early dramatists, so conspicuous at the present day, received its first impulse from
the endeavours of the translator of Juvenal, and the champion of Jonson and Massinger
A valuable appendage to his labours, are the critical observations subjoined to each Play,
the masterly delineation of Massinger's character, and the general criticism on his
works, furnished by Dr. Ireland, the Dean of Westminster.

There is something interesting in the consideration of this literary partnership ; it
reminds us of the old days of Beaumont and Fletcher, and Fletcher and Massinger, and
Dekker and Greene ; and was not without a pleasing effect upon the feelings of the two
friends. In closing his preface to Jonson, a splendid vindication of that calumniated
poet, Gifford, in allusion to their long uninterrupted friendship, thus writes, " With what
feelings do I trace the words of the Dean of Westminster. Five and forty springs have
passed over my head since I first found Dr. Ireland, some years my junior, m our little
school, at his spelling-book. During this long period our friendship ha^ been without a
cloud, my delight in youth, my pride and consolation in old age." The writer of these
affectionate lines has long been an inhabitant of the dark and narrow house ; he died on
the last day of the year 1826, aged 70 ; and the survivor, for whom these tender senti-
ments were expressed, well stricken in years, is fast hastening to the land where " the
wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest."

In Sir Walter Scott's Diary appears the following admirable character of Gifford :
" As a commentator he was capital, could he but have suppressed his rancours against
those who had preceded him in the task ; but a misconstruction or misinterpretation, nay
the misplacing of a comma, was in Giflford's eyes a crime worthy of the most severe
animadversion. This lack of temper probably arose from indifferent health ; for he was
very valetudinary, and realised two verses, wherein he says Fortune assigned him

" One eye not over good,

Two sides that to their cost have stood

A ten years' hectic cough,
Aches, stitches, all the various ills
That swell the devilish doctors' bills

And sweep poor mortals off."

2ut he might justly claim, as his gift, the moral qualities expressed in the next fine
stanza

A soul

That spurns the crowds' malign control,

A firm contempt of wrong ;
Spirits above affliction's power,
And skill to soothe the lingering hour

With no inglorious song."

The rigour, with which the derelictions of his predecessors were visited, auovc
alluded to, is displayed in an uncommon degree in the work beture us; ana tour

PREFACE.

years after its first appearance in 1805, the Edinburgh Reviewers," losing their sense of
the criminal's guilt in dislike of the savage pleasure which the executioner seemed to
take in inflicting the punishment," appeared as the champions of Monk Mason and
Coxeter, and had the hardihood to attack not only the judgment but even the accuracy
of Gifford.

In his second edition of 1813, the abused commentator turned upon his foes, and in a pre-
face, powerful and energetic, successfully defended himsell from th-eir aspersions; with regard
to the charge of inaccuracy, he justly says, " I did not expect this. I will take upon me
to f>?sert, that a more perfect text of an old poet never issued from the English press. It
was revised in the first instance with a care of which there is scarcely an example ; and a
subsequent examination enables me to speak with a degree of positiveness on the subject
which sets all fear of contradiction at defiance." An accusation, such as the above,
could only have been made by those who had never looked into Coxeter and Monk
Mason's editions, or had never consulted the old copies. From internal evidence, it
appears that all that these reviewers knew of Massinger and his editors, was learned
from the very " Introduction" whose accuracy they pretended to impeach.

It has been the fate of Massinger to have been generally but imperfectly understood
or appreciated by the lovers of the Drama ; while to Jonson, and Beaumont and Fletcher,
have been assigned the place nearest to Shakspeare in the scale of superiority, he has
scarcely ever been mentioned but as a writer of inferior merit. Although far from con-
curring in the opinion of Gifford, which would reduce Shakspeare to the level of his
contemporaries, it appears to us that singular injustice has been done to this harmonious
poet. Hazlitt, whose genius revelled in the more glowing conceptions of the Swan of
Avon, has pronounced this harsh sentence on Massinger : " Massinger makes an
impression by hardness and repulsiveness of manner. In the intellectual processes which
he delights to describe, ' reason panders will ;' he fixes arbitrarily on some object
which there is no motive to pursue, or every motive combined against it, and then, by
screwing up his heroes and heroines to the deliberate and blind accomplishment of this,
thinks to arrive at ' the true pathos and sublime of life.' That is not the way. He
seldom touches the heart or kindles the fancy." Did Mr. Hazlitt forget the speech of
Sforza before the Emperor in " The Duke of Milan," that noble picture of a good man
buffetting with adversity ; or the pathos of " The Fatal Dowry ;" the fine character of
Pisander in " The Bondman ;" the interview between Don John Antonio, disguised as a
slave, and his mistress, in " A Very Woman ;" or those splendid conceptions, Luke and
Sir Giles Overreach, in "The City Madam," and " A New Way to Pay Old Debts"?
Our respect for Hazlitt, as a critic, is great; but we certainly cannot assent to his low
estimate of Massinger. Schlegel, who bestows so much elaborate and philosophical criti-
cism upon his contemporaries, dismisses the merits of this writer in a few lines, conspicuous
neither for justice nor an intimate acquaintance with the writings he professes to criticize-
The late Charles Lamb was one of the first to direct the public attention to the works of
this and other of our neglected dramatists ; and it has been admirably observed by a late
writer in the " Quarterly Review," that Lamb's Essays and Gifford's editions have most
powerfully contributed to disseminate a knowledge of the manly and vigorous writers of the

PREFACE.

Elizabethan age. In the year 1786 an elegant essay on the dramatic writings of Mas-
singer by Dr. Ferriar, appeared in the third volume of the " Manchester Transactions,"
and was afterwards, with permission of the author, reprinted by Gifford at the close of his
introduction. In this pleasing performance the plays of Massinger are philosophically
analysed ; and the cause of the general neglect of our old dramatists is ingeniously attri-
buted to their too frequent delineation of perishable manners.

In his closing notice of Massinger, Dr. Ireland feelingly observes, " It is truly sur-
prising that the genius which produced these Flays should have obtained so little notice
from the world /' and Hallam, the critic who next to Gifford displays the most profound
knowledge of his writings, and the fullest appreciation of his genius, does not hesitate to
place him as a tragic writer second only to Shakspeare, and in the lighter comedy scarcely
inferior to Jonson. Any comparison of Massinger to Shakspeare would be invidious; but
though second to that great writer in the vastness and variety of his conceptions, he may
certainly take the lead of those who have hitherto been considered his superiors. His in-
vention is as fertile, and his management of his plots as ingenious, as those of Beaumont and
Fletcher; wh.le the poetry of his language, the knowledge of human nature, and the fine
development of the passions displayed in his Tragedies, can only be surpassed by the great
master himself. By Ben Jonson he is excelled in the studied exactness and classical
polish of his style ; but in the freezing coldness of this writer he is deficient. The charm
of his Plays consists in the versatility of his imagination, and the fine bursts of pathos
which embellish his tender scenes. In his female characters he is particularly happy ;
and while proclaiming our veneration for Juliet, Desdemona, or Cordelia, we should
not heedlessly overlook the graces of Dorothea*, Theocrinef, Matilda^, Camiola,
and Pulcheria||.

Massinger was the last of his tribe ultimus Romanorum. With him expired the dra-
inatic genius of this country. In the anarchy which followed the outbreak of the civil
war, the stage was neglected, and the emasculated school of dramatic poetry, subse-
quently founded by Dryden and his followers, can never bear comparison with the
productions of the vigorous intellects of the Elizabethan era. Since that period many
unsuccessful attempts have been made to revive the drama ; and though many have
appeared bearing an outward resemblance to our old plays, yet that true dramatic
essence, which can only flourish in a soil uncorrupted by ultra refinement, is evidently
wanting.

Virgin Martyr, t Unnatural Combat. \ Bashful Lover. Maid of Honour. 1) Emperor of the Eat

INTRODUCTION.

PHIMP MASSINGF.R, the author of the following
Plavs, was born in the year 1584. Of his mother
nothing is known ; but his father was Arthur Alas-
singer*, a gentleman attached to the family of
Henry second Earl of Pembroke : " Many years,"
says the poet, to his descendant, Philip Earl of
Montgomery, "my father spent in the service of
your honourable house, and died a servant to it. "

The writers of Massinger's life have thought it
necessary to observe in this place, that the word
servant carries with it no sense of degradation.
Tins requires no proof: at a ptriod when the great
lords and officers of the court numbered inferior
nobles among their followers, we may be confident
that neither the name nor the situation was looked
upon us humiliating. Many considerations united to
render this state of dependence respectable, and
even honourable. 1 he secretaries, clerks, and assist-
ants, t f various departments, were not then, as now,
nominated by the Government ; but left to the
choice of the person who held the employment;
and as no particular dwelling was officially set
apart for their residence, they were entertained in
the house of their principal.

'1 hut communication, too, between noblemen of
power and trust, both of a public and private nature,
which is now committed to the post, was, in those
days, managed by confidential servants, who were
di.s|>Hti-h"d from one to the other, and even to the
Boverrknt: when to this we add the unbounded

His father vat Arthur Massinyer,'] " I cannot gnes,"
D-tiies s.i}f, "from what information Oldys, in his inamt-
tt-iipi noies (to LangbaineJ, gives the Christian name Of
Arthur to Mas.-inger's father, nor why lie should lepioach
\S Mid lor calling him Philip ; since Massinyer himself, in
the Dedication of " The Bondman," to the "Earl of Mont-
d"iiier}, *a>s expressly that his father Philip Massinger
livx-l and ilied in the service of the honourable house of
Pembroke." Life of Massinyer prefixed to the last edi-
tion.

This preliminary observation augurs but ill for the accu-
racy of what follows. Old} s, who was a very cartful writer,
yot his information from the first edi.ion of " The Bond-
man,'' lt>-23, which, it appears from this, Mr. Davies never
aw. In ttie second edition, published many >ears alter the
torsi (1638), he is, indeed, called Philip; bin that is not the
only error in the Dedication, which, is well as the Play it-
ell, is most carelessly printed.

t An in.-tance of this occurs with respect to Massins;er's
father, who was thuseioployed to Elizabeth: " Mr. Malinger
is newly come up from the Karl . f Pembroke with letters
lo the Queen, for IMS lordship's leave to be away this St.
George's day." .Sidney Lettert, Vol. II. p. 933. The bearer
of letters to Elizabell on an occasion which she pt<hap
thought important, could, as Davies justly observes, bt no

state and grandeur which the great men of Eliza.
be th's days assumed on a variety of occasions, we
may form some idea of the nature of those services
discharged by men of birth and fortune, and the
manner in which such numbers of them were em-
ployed.

Massinger was born, as all the writers of his life
agree, at Salisbury, probably at Wilton, the seat of
the Earl of Pembroke, in whose family he appears
to have been educated. When he reached his six-
teenth year, he sustained an irreparable loss in the
death of that worthy nobleman*, who, from attach-
ment to the father, would, not improbably, have
extended his powerful patronage to the young poet.
He was succeeded in his titles and estates by his
son William, the third Earl of Pembroke; one of the
brightest characters that adorned the court of Eliza-
beth and James. "He was," says Wood, "not
only a great favourer of learned and ingenious men,
but was himself learned, and endowed to admiration
with a poetical geny, as by those amorous and
poetical aires and poems of his composition doth
evidently nppear ; some of which had musical notes
set to them by Hen. Lawes and Nk'h. Laneare."
Ath. I. 546.

Massinger's father continued in the service of
this nobleman till his death. It is not possible to
ascertain the precise period at which this took place,
but it was not later, perhaps, than 1606 : in the
interim he had bestowed, as Langbaine says, a
liberal education on his son, and sent him to the
University of Oxford, where he became a com-
moner of St. Alban's Hall < 1602), in the eighteenth
year of his age. Wood's account varies from this
in several particulars. He says, he was entered
at St. Alban's Hall in 1601. when he was in his
seventeenth year, and supported there, not by his
father, but the Earl of Pembroke. Antony had

menu person : for no monarch ever exacted from the nobi-
lity in genera!, and tin- omcers of Mate in particular, a more
rigid and scrupulous compliance to Mate I order, in in this
piince*;.

Death of that worthy nnbtfraan.] This took place on
the 1 th ol January, 1601 It is impossible to speak of bint
without mtntioniug, at the same tune, that In- w:<s the hat-
band of Sir Philip Sidney's sister, the all-accomplished lady
for whom Jonson wrote the celebrated epitaph :
" Underneath this marble herse,
Lies the subject of all verse,
Sidney's sister, Pembroke'* mother;
Death, ere thoii hast slain another,
Learn 'd, and lair, and good as >h.
Time shall throw a dm at *hn."

INTRODUCTION.

many opportunities for ascertaining these facts, if he
had desired to avail himself of them, and therefore
Davies inclines to his authority. The seeming dif-
feren.'e, he adds, between the two periods respect-
ively assigned for Massinger's matriculation, may
be easily reconciled, for the year then began and
tnded according to that mode which took place be-
fore the alteration of the style. It is seldom safe
to speak by guess, and Davies had no authority for
his ingenious solution ; wLich unfortunately will
not apply in the present case. Tke memorandum
of Massinger's entrance now lies before me, and
proves Wood to be incorrect; i', is dated May 14,
1602*. How he came to mistake in a matter where
it required so little pains to be accurate, is difficult
to say.

Langbaine and Wood agree in the time Massinjjer
spent at Oxford, but differ as to the object* of bis
pursuit. The former observes, that during his
reside'nce there he applied himself closely to bis
studies ; while the latter writes, that he " gave his
mind more to poetry and romances for about four years
or more, than to logic and philosophy, which he ought
to have done, as he was patronized to that end."
What ideas this tasteless but useful drudge bad of
logic and philosophy it may be vain to enquire ; but,
with respect to the first, Massinger's reasoning will
not be found deficient either in method or effect ;
and it might easily be proved that he was no mean
proficient in philosophy of the noblest kind : the
truth is, that he must have applied himself to study
with uncommon energy ; for his literary acquisitions
at this early period appear to be multifarious and
extensive.

From the account of Wood, however, Davies
concludes that the Earl of Pembroke was offended
at this misapplication of his time to the superficial
but alluring pursuits of poetry and romance, and
therefore withdrew his support, which compelled
the young man to quit the University without a de-
gree; " for which," adds he, "attention to logic and
philosophy was absolutely necessary ; as the candi-
date for that honour must pass through an examina-
tion in both, before he can obtain it." Dans (e pays
des aveugles, says the proverb, les borgnes sont roit:
and Davies, who apparently had not these valuable
acquisitions, entertained probably a vast idea of
their magnitude and importance. A shorter period,
however, than four years, would be found amply
sufficient to furnish even an ordinary mind with
enough of school logic and philosophy, to pass the
examination for a bachelor's degree ; and I am,
therefore, unwilling to believe that Massinger
missed it on the score of incapacity in these notable
arts.

However this may be, he certainly left the Uni-
versity abruptly : not, I apprehend, on account of
the Earl of Pembroke withholding his assistance, for
it does not appear that he ever afforded any, but of a
much more calamitous event, the death of his fa-
ther ; from whom, I incline to think with Lang-
baine, his sole support was derived.

Why the Earl of Pembroke, the liberal friend
and protector of literature in all its branchesf, ne-

* In it be is styled the son of a gentleman : " 1'liili p Mas-
linger, Sariilnu-ienxit, yeneroii Jilius.''

+ To this noblniMii and his yoim<:er brother Philip)
Rctniuge and Condtll dedicaied their edition of Sli,,k.-pc,irc '=

glected a young man to whom his assistance iras ao
necessary, and who, from the acknowledged services
of his father, had so many and just claims on it ; one,
too, who would have done his patronage such singular
honour, I have no means of ascertaining ; that he was
never indebted to it is, I fear, indisputable, since the
poet, of whose character gratitude forms a striking
part, while he recurs perpetually to his hereditary
obligations to the Herbert family, anxiously avoids
all mention of his name. I sometimes, indeed,
imagine that I have discovered the cause of this
alienation, but cannot flatter myself that it will be
very generally or even partially allowed : not to
keep the reader in suspense, I attribute it to the
poet's having, during his residence at the Univer-
sity, exchanged the religion of his father, for one,
at this time the object of persecution, hatred, and
terror. A close and repeated perusal of Massinger's
works has convinced me that he was a Catholic.
"The Virgin-Martyr," "The Renegado," "The
Maid of Honour," exhibit innumerable proofs of it;
to say nothing of those casual intimations that are
scattered over his remaining dramas : a consciousness
of this might prevent him from applying to the Earl
of Pembroke for assistance, or a knowledge of it
might determine that nobleman to withhold bis
hand : for it is difficult to believe that his displea-
sure (if he really entertained any) could arise from
Massinger's attachment to an art of which he and
his brother* were universally considered as the
patrons, and which, indeed, he himself cultivated,
with assiduity at least, if not with successf.

However this be, the period of Massinger's mis-
fortunes commenced with his arrival in London.
His father had probably applied most of his property
to the education of his son ; and when the small
remainder was exhausted, he was driven (as he
more than once observes) by his necessities, and
somewhat inclined, perhaps, by the peculiar bent of
his talents, to dedicate himself to the service of the
stage.

This expedient, though not the most prudent,
nor, indeed, the most encouraging to a young ad-
venturer, was not altogether hopeless. Men who
will ever be considered as the pride and boast of
their country, Shakspeare, Johnson, and Fletcher,
were solely, or in a considerable degree, dependent on
it : nor were there others wanting of an inferior rank,
such as Rowley, Middleton, Field, Decker, Shirley,
and Ford ; writers to whom Massinger, without
any impeachment of his modesty, might consider
himself as fully equal, who subsisted on the emolu-
ments derived from dramatic writing. There was

Plays; to him, also, Jonson inscribed his Epigrams, " as the
great example of honour and viittie," an idea on which he
enlarged in one of his minor poems. It is evident that there
was iitile cordiality between Jonson and our Author; the
former could bear no rival near the throne:

nanguam partitur amieum,

fiolvf habet :

yet it wniiM be unju-t to accuse, or even to suspect him of
doing Massinger an ill office with his lather's friend, on no
better grounds than his unhappy disposition.

The first folio edition of Beaumont and Fletcher's Play*
was dedicated, by the players, to the Earl of Montgomery.

t In UiliO was pnhli>hf(i a collection of " amorous and
poetical airs and compositions," Wood tells ns, "with this
title: Poem* written by H'illiam arl of Pembroke, i^c.,
many of which are antwered by it ay of repartee, by A'ir
lienj Hudyard, with other Poems written by ther* ocea-
\ionally and apart." Atheu. Vol. 1. p. i u

INTRODUCTION.

also something to tempt the ambition, or, if it must
be so, the vanity, of a young adventurer in this pur-
suit literature was the sole means by which a per-
son undistinguished by birth and fortune could,
at this time, hope to acquire the familiarity, or
secure the friendship of the great; and of all its
branches none was so favourably received, or so
liberally encouraged, as that of the drama. Tilts
and tournaments, the boisterous but magnificent
entertainments of the court, together with pageant-
ries and processions, the absurd and costly mum-
meries of the city, were rapidly giving way to
more elegant and rational amusements, to re-
vels, masks, and plays : nor were the latter
merely encouraged by the presence of the nobility ;
the writers of them were adopted into the number
of their acquaintance, and made at once the objects
of their bounty and esteem. It is gratifying to
observe how the names of Shakspeare, Jonson,
&c.. are come down to us in connection with
the Sidneys, the Pembrokes, the Southamptons, and
other great and splendid ornaments of the courts of
Elizabeth and James.

Considerations of this or a similar kind may na-
turally be supposed to have had their weight with
Massinger, as with so many others : but whatever
was the motive, Wood informs us, that " being
sufficiently famed for several specimens of wit, he
betook himself to making plays." Of what
description these specimens were, Antony does not
say ; he probably spoke without much examination
into a subject for which he had little relish or soli-
cituue ; and, indeed, it seems more reasonable to
conclude, from the peculiar nature of Massinger's
talents, that the drama was his first and sole pur-
suit.

It must appear singular, after what has been ob-
served, that with only one exception we should hear
nothing of Massinger for the Inns period of sixteen
years, th.it is, from his first appearance in London,
1606 to 162*, when his "Virgin Martyr," the first
of his jirinted works, was given to the public.
That his necessities would not admit of relaxation in
ais efforts for subsistence, is certain ; and we have
the tt-siiniony of a contemporary poet, as preserved
by I HML; I'aine, for the rapidity with which he usually
composed :

" Ingenious Shakespeare, Massinger, that knows
The strength of plot, to write in verse and prose,
\\ hose ensy Pegasus will amble o'er
Some threescore miles of fancy in a hour."

The best solution of the difficulty which occurs
to me, is, that the poet's modesty, combined with
the urgency of his wants, deterred him, at first,
from attempting to write alone : and that he, there-
fore, lent his assistance to others of a more con-
fiimeil reputation, who could depend on a ready
vent for their joint productions. When men labour
for the demands of the day, it is imprudent to leave
much to hazard ; such certainly was the case with
Massinger.

Sir Aston Cockayne, the affectionate friend and
patron of our author, printed a collection of, what
he is pleased to call, Poems, Epigrams, &c., in
1638. Among these, is one addressed to Hum-
phrey Moseley, the publisher of Beaumont and
Fletcher in folio :

" In the large book of plays you late did print
In Beaumont and in Fletcher's name, why in't

Did you not justice give ; to each his due .'
For Beaumont of those many writ but few :
And Massinger in other few ; the main
Being sweet issues of sweet Fletcher's brain
But how came I, you ask, so much to know 1
Fletcher's chief bosom friend inform 'd me so."

Davies, for what reason I cannot discover, seems
inclined to dispute that part of the assertion which
relates to Massinger : he calls it vague and hearsay
evidence, and adds, with sufficient want of preci-
sion, " Sir Aston was well acquainted with Mas-
singer, who would, in all probability, have com-
municated to his friend a circumstance so honourable
to himself." There can be no doubt of it ; and we
may be confident that the information </<Wcome from
him ; but Mr. Davies mistakes the drift of Sir
Aston 's expostulation : the fact was notorious, that
Beaumont and Massinger had written in conjunction
with Fletclier ; what he complains of is, that the
main, the bulk of the book, should not be attributed
to the latter, by whom it was undoubtedly composed.
Beaumont died in 161 5, and Fletcher produced in
the interval between that year and the period of his
own death (162.i), between thirty and forty plays:
it is not, therefore, unreasonable to suppose that he
was assisted in a few of them by Massinger, as Sir
Aston affirms : it happens, however, that the fact
does not rest solely on his testimony ; for we can
produce a melancholy proof of it, from an authentic
voucher, which the enquiries set on foot by the un-
wearied assiduity of Mr. Malone have occasioned
to be dragged from the dust of Dulwich College :

" To our most loving friend, Mr. Philip Hinchlovr,

esquire, These,
" Mr. Hinchlovr,

" You understand our unfortunate extremitie, and
I doe not thincke you so void of Cristianitie but
that -ou would throw so much money into the
Thames as wee request now of you, rather than en-
danger so many innocent lives. You know there is
x/. more at least to be receaved of you for the play.
We desire you to lend us v/. of that : which shall
be allowed to you, without which we cannot be
bayled, nor / play any more till this be dispatch'd.
It will lose YOU xxi. ere the end of the next weeke,
besides the hinderance of the next new play. Pray,
sir. consider our cases with humanity, and now give
us cause to acknowledge you our true friend in time
of neede. Wee have entreated Mr. Davison to de-
liver this note, as well to witness your love as our
promises, and alwayes acknowledgement to be ever
" Your most thanckfull and loving friends,
" NAT FIELD."

''The money shall be abated out of the money
remayns for the play of Mr. Fletcher and our*.

" ROB. DABORSE*."

" I have ever found you a true loving friend to
mee, and in soe small a suite, it beeinge honest, I
hope you will not fail us.

" PHILIP MASSINGER.'

Robert Daborne is the author of two Plays, " The Christian
Turned Turk," 4to, 1 61 *, and "The Poor Man's Comfort," 4to,
1055. He was a gentleman of a liberal education, master ol
arts, and in holy orders. His humble fortunes appear to have
improved after this period, for there is extant a fernum
preached by him at Waterford in Ireland, 1618, where the
authors of the " Biographia Dramatica" think it prubWe that
he had a living.

INTRODUCTION.

" Indorsed:

" Received by mee Robert Davison, of Mr.
Hinchlow, for the use of Mr. Daboerne, Mr. Feeld,
Mr. Messenger, the sum of v/.

"Ron. DAVISON*."

This letter tripartite, which it is impossible to
read without the most poignant regret at the distress
of such men, fully establishes the partnership
between Massinger and Fletcher, who must, indeed,
have had considerable assistance to enable him to
bring forward the numerous plays attributed to his
name.

We can now account for a part of the time which
Massinger spent in London before his appearance
in print as a professed writer for the stage : but this
is not all. Among the manuscript plays collected
with such care by Mr. Warburton (Somerset He-
rald) and applied with such perseverance by his
cook to the covering of his pies, were no less than
twelve said to be writien by Massingerf ; and
though it is now made probable that two of the
number do not belong to him, yet scattered notices
of others which assuredly do, prove that he was not
inactive.

Addition* to Malone'* Historical Account of the Eng-
lish .Staye, p. 488.

t No UK* than twelve, &c.] Their titles, as given by Mr.
Warbtuton, are

Minerva'* Sacrifice,
The Forced Lady.
Antonio and I' alia.
The. Woman'* Plot.
The Tyrant.

Philenzo aud Hippolita.
The Judge.
Fast and Welcome.
Believe at you List.
The Honour nf Women.
The Noble Choice. And,
The Pariiami-nt of Love.

When it it added that, together with these, forty other
manuscript plays of various authors were destroyed, it will
i radii} be allowed that English literature has seldom sus-
tained a greater loss than by tlie strange conduct of Mr.
Warbi rtun, who, becoming the master of treasures which
ages may not re-produce, lodge* them, as he says, in the hand*
of an ignorant servant, and whtn, after a lapse of years, he
condescends to revisit his ii arils, finds that they have been
burnt from an economical wish to save him the charges of
more valuable brown paper! It is time to bring on shore
the book bunting passenger; in Locher's " Navis Stultifera,"
an-l exchange him for one 'more suitable to the rest of the
cargo.

Tardy, however, as Mr. \Vaib ut<>n was, it appears that
be came in lime to preserve three drama! from the general
wreck :

The Second Maid's Tragedy.
The Bugbear*. And,
The Qiieen of Corsica.

These, it is said, are now in the library of the Marquis of
Lan.-.low ne, where they will probably remain in safety, till
moths, or damps, or in t ., mingle their " forgotten dust"
with that of their late companions.

When it is considered at how trifling an expense a manu-
script play may be placed beyond the reach of accident, the
withholding it from the press will be allowed to prove a
strange indifference to the ancient literature of the country.
The fact, however, seems to be, that these treasures are
maile subservient to the gratification of a spurious rage for
notoriety; it is not that any benefit may accrue from them,
either to the proprietors or others, that manuscripts are now
hoarded, but that A or H may be celebrated for possessing
what no other letter of the alphabet can hope to acquire.
Nor is this all. The hateful passion of literary avarice (a
compound of vanity and envy) is becoming epidemic, and

{ fiprm qtinqur nre part-am collecta volumina priebent
('alien nee oerbutn, nee libri tentio rnfntem
Attamen in JIAG.NO per me servaiitur HONOR*

Four only of the plays named in Mr. Warburton'B
list occur in the Office-book of Sir Henry Herbert,
wliich is continued up to the latest period of Mas-
singer's life; it is, therefore, evident that they must
have been written previous to its commencement,
these, therefore; with " The Old Law," " The
Virgin Martyr," " The Unnatural Combat," and
" The Duke of Milan," which are also unnoticed in
it, will sufficiently fill up the time till 1622.

There are no data to ascertain the respective pe-
riods at which these plays were produced "The
Virgin Martyr" is confidently mentioned by th
former editors as the earliest of Massing-er's works,
probably because it was the first that appeared in
print : but this drama, which they have considerably
under-rated, in consequence, jierhaps, of the dull
ribaldry with which it is vitiated by Decker evinces
a style decidedly formed, a hand accustomed to com-
position, and a mind stored with the richest acqui-
sitions of a long and successful study.

" Th Old Law," which was not printed till
many years after Massinger's death, is said to have
been wiitten by him in conjunction with Middleton
and Rowley*. The latter of these is ranked by the
author of "The Companion to the Play House," in
the third class of dramatic writers ; higher, it is
impossible to place him : but the former was a
man of considerable powers, who has lately been
the object of much discussion, on account of the
liberal use Shakspeare is supposed to have made
of his recently discovered iragi-comedv of " The
Witch*."

It is said, by Steevens, that "The Old Law" was
acted in 1559. If it be really so, Massinger's name
must, in future, be erased from the title-page of
that play, for he was, at that date, only in the fif-

branching out in every direction. It has many of the worst
symptoms of that madness which once raged among the
Dutch for the possession of tulips; here, as well a- in Hol-
land, an an ifici.il rarily is first created, and then rn-ide a
plea for extortion or a ground tor low-minded and tclfish
exultation. 1 speak not of works never intended for sale,
and of which, therefore, the owner may print as few 01 a*
many as his feelings will allow ; but of those which are os-
tensibly designed for the public, and which, notwithstanding,
prove the editors to labour under this ixli.ni- 'lisease. Here
an old manuscript is brought for want, and after a few opies
are printed, the press is broken up, that there ma\ be a pre-
tence for selling them at a price which none but a collector
canre'di: there, explanatory plates are engraved for
work of general n-e, ami, as soon as twenty or thirty im-
pressions are taken off, destrojed with gratuitous malice
(for it deserves no other name), that there may be a mad
competition for the favoured copies! To conclude, tor this
i; no pleasant subject, books are purchased now at extrava-
gant rates ; not because they are good, but because they are
scarce ; so that a tire, or an enterprising trunk-maker, that
should take oft" nearly the whole of a worthless work, would
instantly render the small remainder invaluable.

" The Parliament of Love" is entered on the stationers*
books as the production of William Rowley It is now
known from infinitely better authority, the Official Register
of the Master of the Revels, to be the composition of Mas-
singer; indeed, the abilities of Rowley were altogether un-
equal to the execution of such a work, to the .-t\ le and
manner of which his acknowledged performances bear not
the slightest resemblance.

t It would be unjust to mention this manuscript Play,
without noticing, at the same time, the striking contrast
which the conduct of its possessor. Air. Isaac Reed, form*
with that of those alluded to in the. preceding note. " The
Witch," from the circumstance men'ioned above, wa a
literary curiosity of the most valuable kind ; >et he printed
it at his own expense, and, with a liberality that has found
more admirers than imitator*, gratuitously distributed the
copies among his friend). It is thus placcd'out of the reach
of accident.

INTRODUCTION.

xvu

eenth year of bis age, and probably had not left
he residence of his father. Steevens produces no
authority for his assertion ; but as he does not
usually write at random, it is entitled to notice. In
Act III. Scene 1, of that play, in which the clown
*onsults the church-book on the age of his wife, the
clerk reads and comments upon it thus : " Agatha,
the daughter of Pollux, born in an. 1540, and NOW
'tis 1599." The observation of Steevens is, pro-
bably, founded upon this passage (at least I am
aware of no other), and it will not, perhaps, be easy
to conjecture why the authors should fix upon this
particular year, unless it really were the current
one. It is to no purpose to object that the scene is
laid in a distant country, and the period of action
necessarily remote, for the dramatic writers of those
days confounded all climes and all ages with a fa-
cility truly wonderful. On the whole, I am inclined
to attribute the greater part of " The Old Law" to
Middleton and Rowley: it has not many charac-
teristic traits of Massinger, and the style, with the
exception of a few places, which are pointed out by
Dr. Ireland, is rery unlike that of his acknowledged
pieces.

It is by no means improbable that Massinger, an
author in high repute, was employed by the actors
to alter or to add a few scenes to a popular drama,
and that his pretensions to this partnership of wit
were thus recognized and established. A process
like this was consonant to the manners of the age,
when the players, who were usually the proprietors,
exerted, and not unfrequently abused, the privilege
of interlarding such pieces as were once in vogue,
from time to time, with new matter*. Who will
say that Shakspeare's claims to many dramas which
formerly passed under his name, and probably with
no intent, on the part of the publishers, to deceive,
had not this or a similar foundation ?

What has been said of " The Virgin Martyr,"
applies with equal, perhaps with greater force, to
" The Unnatural Combat" and " The Duke of
Milan," of which the style is easy, vigorous, and
harmonious, bespeaking a confirmed habit of com-
position, and serving, with the rest, to prove that
Massinger began to write for the stage at an earlier
period than has been hitherto supposed.

Massinger appears for the first lime in the office-
book of the Master of the Revels, Dec. 3, 1623, on
which day his play of " The Bondman" was brought
forward. About this time, too, he printed " The
Duke of Milan," with a short dedication to Liicly
Katheriue Stanhopef ; in which he speaks with

A very curious instance oftliis occurs in the OHice-Book
of Sir Henry Herbert; " Received tor the adding of a
new icene to "The Virgin Martjr," (his 7lh of Jnlj, 1024,
10.-+." Such were the liberties taken wi h our ulil i'lays !
" The Virgin Martyr" had now bren a twelvemonth before
the public, being printed in 16*2; the new scene, which was
probably a piece of low buifoonery, does not appear in the
subsequent editions, which are ui-re copies of the first ; had
that, however, not been committed to the press previous to
these additions, we may be prett_ confident that the whole
would have come down to us as the joint production of Mas-
cinger and Decker.

j Lad'i Catherine Stanhope ;] daughter of Francis Lord
Hastings, and tirst wife of l j hilip Stanhope, Baron of Sliel-
ford, and afterwards (IMS) Earl of Chesterfield, a nobleman

This was Sir Henry's fee ; for this mean and rapacious
overseer not only insisted on being paid for allowing a new
I'laj, but for every trifling audition which might sut-sequcutlv
te ma le to it.

great modesty of his course of studies, to which he
insinuates (what he more than once repeats in his
subsequent publications), misfortune rather than
choice had determined him.

In 1624, he published "The Bondman," and de-
dicated it to Philip Earl of Montgomery, who being
present at the first representation, had shown his
discernment and good taste, by what the author
calls a liberal suffrage in its favour. Philip was the
second son of Henry Earl of Pembroke, the friend
and patron of Massinger's father. At an early age
he came to court, and was distinguished by the par-
ticular favour of James I., who conferred the honour
of knighthood upon him ; and, on his marriage*
with Lady Susan Veref, daughter of Edward Earl
of Oxford, and grand-daughter of William Lord
Burleigh, gave him lands to a considerable amount,
and soon afterwards created him a baron and an
earl$.

of great honour and virtue. He opposed the hi,licomt
measures, till he discovered that the parliament were vio-
lently usurping on the prerogatives of the other brandies of
the state; when, after an ineltei-tual struggle to bring them
iuto constitutional limits, and preserve peace, he joined the
arms of his royal master. Shelford, the seat from which lie
deriveil his title, was burnt in the conflict, two of his OD
fell in battle, and he himself stiffen d a long and severe xm-
prisonment ; yet he preserved his loyalty and faith, and died
as he had lived, unblemished.

* On his marriage.} There is an account of this marriage,
in a letter from Sir Dudlev Carlton to Mr. Winwood, which
is preserved in the seco xt volume of liis Alemoires, and
which, as affording a very curious picturi of the gro^ness
that prevailed at the court of James l.,ir.a> not be unworthy
of insertion : " On St. John's day, we han the marriage ot
SirPhilip Herbert and the Lady Susan performed at White-
ball, with all the honour could be done a great favourite.
The court was great, and for that day put on the best brav-
erie. The prince and Duke of Hoist led the bride to church ;
the ftu-un followed her from thence. The king gave her,
and she, in her ties.-rs and trinkets, brided and bridled it so
handsomely, and indeed became herself so well, that the king
said, if he were unmarried, he would not give her, but keep
her himself. The marriage dinner was kept in the great
chamber, where the prince and the Duke ol Hoist, and the
great lords and ladies, accompanied the bride. The ambas-
sador of Venice w.is the only bid'ien guest of strangers,
and he had place above the Duke of Hol-t, which the duke
took not well. But after dinnei, he was a little pleased
himself; for being brought into the closet to retire himself,
he was then suffered to walk out, his supper unthought of.
At night, there was a mask in the hall, which, for conceit
and fashion, was suitable to the occasion. The actors were
the Earl of Pembroke, the Lord W illoby, Sir Samuel Hays,
Sir Thomas Germain, Sir Robert Cary, Sir John Lee, Sir
Richard Preston, and Sir Thomas Bager. There was no
Mil :ll loss that night of chains and jewels, and many great
1 Klii-s were made shorter by the skirls, and were very well
>ervel, that they could keep cut no better. The presents ot
plate and other things given by tl:e nobltmcn were valued
at 2,51)01.; but that which made it a good marriage, was a
gift of the king's, of 50U1. laud, for "the bride's joyntnre.
They were lodged in the council chamber, where the king,
in hi> shirt and night gown, gave them a reveille -matin be-
fore they were up, and spei't a good time in or upon the
bed, chuse which you will believe. No ceremony was omit-
ted of bride-cakes, points, gaiters, and gloves, which have
been ever since the livery of the court, and at night there
was sew ing into the sheet, casting oli the bride's left hose,
with many other petty sorceiiest. Jan. 1605."

; Jjaay Susan fere,] To this lady Jonson addressed the
poem beginning,

" Were they that named you prophets? did they see
Even in the dew of grace, w hat you would be f
Or did our limes requite it, to behold
A new Susanna equal to that old t" &c. Epig. civ.
The dew of grace is an elegant and beautiful periphrasis for
the baptismal sprinkling.

j Davies, after noticing the favours heaped on him, as re-
corded by Lord Clarendon, petulant!) adds, " But Clarendon,

t There is an allusion to one of these " petty sorcerie'
iu the speech of Mirtilla, " Guardian," Act. III. 8

INTRODUCTION.

This dedication, which is sensible, modest, and
affecting, serves to prove that whatever might be
the unfortunate circumstance which deprived the
author of the patronage and protection of the elder
branch of the Herberts, he did not imagine it to be
of a disgraceful nature ; or he would not, in the face
of the public, have appealed to his connections
with the family : at the same time, it is manifest
that some cause of alienation existed, otherwise he
would scarcely have overlooked so fair an opportu-
nity of alluding to the characteristic generosity of
the Earl of Pembroke, whom on this, as on every
other occasion, he scrupulously forbears to name,
or even to hint at.

This dedication, which was kindly received, led
the way to a closer connection, and a certain degree
of familiarity, for which, perhaps, the approbation
so openly expressed of " The Bondman," might
be designed by Montgomery as an overture ; at a
subsequent period*, Massinger styles the earl his
" most singular good lord and patron," and speaks
of the greatness of his obligations :

" mine being more

" Than they could owe, who since, or heretofore,
" Have labour'd with exalted lines to raise
" Brave piles, or rather pyramids of praise
*' To Pembrokef, and his family."

What pecnniary advantages he derived from the
present address, cannot be known ; whatever they
were, they did not preclude the necessity of writing
for the stage, which he continued to do with great

perhaps, did not know the real cause of Lord Herbert's ad-
vancement. The behaviour of the Scots on James's accession
to the throne of England was generally obnoxions and much
resenti-d. At a meeting of KnglUh and Scotch at a horse-race
near Croydon, a sudden quarrel arose between them, occa-
sioned, by a Mr. Ramsey's striking Philip Lord Herbert in
the face with a switch. The Koglih would have made it a
national quarrel, and Mr. John Pinchbeck rode about the field
with a dagger in his hand, crying, Let us break o-.tr fast with
them fiert,and dine with them in London. But Herbert not
resenting it, the king was so charmed with his peaceable dis-
position, that he made him a knight, a baron, a viscount, and
an earl, in one day." Life of Massinger, p. liii. This is
taken from Osborne, one of those gossipping talemongers in
which the times of James so greatly abounded, and who, with
Weldon, Wilson, Peyton, Sanderson, and others, contributed
lo propagate an infinite uiimbcr of scandalous stories, which
should have been left sub lodici; where most ot them perhaps
had birth \V hat reliance may be placed on them, in general,
is sufficiently apparent from the assertion of Osborne. The
fact is, thai Herbert had long been a knight, and was never a
viscount. He was married in the beginning of 1605 (he was
then Sir Philip), and created Baron Herbert of Sliurland in
the Isle of Shoppy, and Earl of Montgomery, June 4:h, in
the same year: and so far were these titles from being the
reward of what Osborne calls his cowardice at Croydon, that
they were all confened o him two years before that event
took place. Osborne himself allows that if Montgomery had
not, by his forbearance, " stanched the blood then ready to
be spilt, not only that day, but all afier, must have proved
fatal to the Scots, sn long as any had staid in England, the
royal family excepted, which, in respect to majesty, or their
own safety, they mast have spared, or the kingdom been
left to the misery of seeing so much blood laid out as the
trial of so many crabbed titles would have required." The
prevention of these horrors might, in some minds, have
raised feelings favourable to the temperance of the young
earl ; bat Osborne, whose object and whose office was ca-
lumny, contrives to convert it into a new accusation : " they
could not be these considerations," he says, "that restrained
Herbert, who wanted leisure, no less than capacity, to use
them, though laid in his way by others!"

Memoirs of King James.

* On the loss of his eldest son, who died of the small-
pox at Florence, Jan. 1035.

t Montgomery had now succeeded to the title and estates
pf bis eldei brother, who deceased April 10, 1630

industry, seldom producing less than two new
pieces annually. In 1629, his occasions, perhaps,
again pressing upon him, he gave lo the press " The
Henegado" and " The Roman Actor," both of which
had now been several years before the public. The
first of these he inscribed to Lord Berkeley in a short
address composed witli taste and elegance. He"
speaks with some complacency of the merits of the
piece, but trusts that he shall live " to render his
humble thankfulness in some higher strain :" this
confidence in his abilities, the plensing concomitant
of true genius, Massinger often felt and expressed.
The latter play he presented to Sir Philip Kny vet
and Sir Thomas Jeay*, with a desire, as he savs,
that the world might take notice of his being in-
debted to their support for power to compose the
piece : he expatiates on their kindness in warm and
energetic language, and accounts for addressing
" the most perfect hirth of his Minerva" to them,
from their superior demands on his gratitude.

Little more than four years had elapsed since
"The Bondman" was printed ; in that period
Massinger had written seven plays, all of which,
it is probable, were favourably received : it there-
fore becomes a question, what were the emoluments
derived from the stage which could thus leave a popu-
lar and successful writer to struggle with adversity.

There seem to have been two methods of dis-
posing of a new piece; the first, and perhaps the
most general, was to sell the copy to one of the
theatres; the price cannot be exactly ascertained,
hut appears to have fluctuated between ten' and
twenty pounds, seldom falling short of the former,
and still more seldom, I believe, exceeding the
latter. In this case, the author could only print his
play by permission of the proprietors, a favour
which was sometimes granted to the necessities of a
favourite writer, and to none, perhaps, more fre-
quently than to Massinger. The other method wag
by offering it to the stage for the advantage of
benefit, which was commonly taken on the seconc
or third night, and which seldom produced, there
is reason to suppose, the net sum of twenty pounds.
There yet remain the profits of publication : Mr.
Malone, from whose " Historical Account of the
English Stage" (one of the most instructive essays
that ever appeared on the subject), many of these
notices are taken, says, that, in the time of Shak-
speare, the customary price was twenty nobles
(til. 13s. 4d.) ; if at a somewhat later period we fix
it at thirty (101.), we shall not, probably, be far from
the truth. The usual dedication fee, which yet re-
mains to be added, was forty shillings : where any
connection subsisted betwen the parties, it was doubt-
less increased.

We may be pretty confident, therefore, that Mas-
singer seldom, if ever, received for his most stre-
nuous and fortunate exertions more than fifty
pounds a-year; this, indeed, if regularly enjoyed,
would be sufficient, with decent enconomy, to have
preserved him from absolute want : but nothing is
better known than the precarious nature of dramatic
writing. Some of his pieces might fail of success
(indeed, we are assured that they actually did so),

Sir Thomas Jeay was himself a poet : several commend-
atory copies of verses by him are prefixed to Massinger's
Plays. He calls the author his worthy friend, and gives
many proets that his esteem was founded on judgment, and
his kindness candid and sincere

INTRODUCTION.

Others might experience n lf thin third day ;" and a
variety of circumstances, not difficult to enumerate,
contribute to diminish the petty sum which we have
ventured to state as the maximum of the poet's re-
venue. Nor could the benefit which lie derived
from the press be very extensive, as of the seventeen
dramas which make up his printed works (exclusive
of the " Parliament of Love," which now appears
for the first time\ only twelve were published dur-
ing his l.fe, and of these, two (" The Virgin-
Martyr" and " The Fatal Dowry") were not wholly
bis own.

In 1630 he printed " The Picture," which had
appeared on the stage the preceding year. This
play was warmly supported by many of the " no'ble
Society of the Inner Temple," to whom it is ad-
dressed. '1 hese gentlemen were so sensible of the
extraordinary merits of this admirable per-
formance, that they gave the author leave to par-
ticularize their names at the head of the dedication,
an honour which he declined, because, as he mo-
destly observes, and evidently with an allusion to
some of his contemporaries, he " had rather ei.joy
the real proofs of their friendship, than, moun-
tebank-like, boast their numbers in a catalogue."

In 1631 Massinger appears to have been unu-
sually industrious, for he brought forward three
pieces in little more than as many months. Two of
these, " Believe as you List," and " The Unfortu-
nate Piety," are lost; the third is " The Emperor of
the East," which was published in the following
year, and inscribed to Lord Mohun, who was so
much pleased with the perusal of the author's
printed works, that he commissioned his nephew,
Sir Aston Cockayne*, to express his high opinion
of them, and to present the writer " with a token of
his love ar.d intended favour."

" The Fatal Dowry" was printed in 1632. 1
once supposed this to be the play which is men-
tioned above by the name of " The Unfortunate
Piety," ns it does not appear under its present ti:le
in the office-book of Sir Henry Herbert ; but I now
believe it to have been written previou>ly to 1623.
His coadjutor in this play was Nathaniel Field, of
whom I can give the reader but little ;ccount. His
name stands at the head of the principal come-
dians who performed " Cynthia's Revels," and he
is joined with Heminge, Condell, Burbadge, and
otheis, in the preface to the fuho edition of Shak-
speare. He was also the author of two comedies,
''A Woman is a Weathercock," 1612, and
" Amends for Ladies," 1618. Mr. Reed, however,
conjectures the writer of these plays, the assistant
of Massinger in " The Fatal Dowry," to be a dis-
tinct person from the actor above mentioned, and
"a Nath. Field, M. A., Fellow of New Coll., who
wrote some Latin verses printed in Oian. Academic
Parentalia, 1625, and who, being of the same uni-

This is the only place in which Ma?singer makes any
mention of Sir Asion.whu was not less delighted with "The
Eii/pernr of ihe East" than his uncle, and who, in a copy
of verses which he prefixed toit.cnlls Massinger his worthy
friend. It is 10 the praise of Sir Aston Cockayne, thai he
nut only maintained his encem and admiration of Massin-
ger during the poet's life, but preserved an affectionate regard
lor his memory, of which his %\ritings ttmiUli many proofs.
He was, as 1 have supposed Massinger to be, a Catholic, and
suffered much for his religion. I \ ill not lake upon m>sclf
to ay that this communiiy of faith strengthened their mu-
tual attachment, though I do not think it altogether im-
probable.

versify with Massinger, might there join with him
in the composition of the play ascribed to tln-m*.'
It is seldom safe to differ from Mr. Reed on sub-
jects of this nature, yet I still incline to think that
field the actor was the person meant. There ia
no authority for supposing that Massinger wrota.
plays at college ; arid if there were it it- not likely
thai " The Fatal Dowry" should be one of them. But
Mr. Reed's chief reason for his assertion is, that no
contemporary author speaks of Field as a writer:
this argument, in the refutation of which I can
claim no merit, is now completely disproved by the
discovery of the letter to Mr. Henslowe. Mr. Ma-
lone, too, thinks that the person who wrote the two
comedies ln-re mentioned, and assisted Ma-singer,
could not be Field the actor, since the first of them
was printed in 1612, at which time he must have
been a youth, having performed as one of the chil-
dren of the revels in __ Jonson's " Silent Woman,"
1609t- I know not to what age these children were
confined, but Bark.-tead, who was one of them, and
who, from his situation in the list, was probably
younger than Field, published, in 1611, a poem
called ' Hiren (Irene) the Fair Greek," consisting
of 1 14 stanzas, which is yet earlier than the date of
" Woman's a Weathercock."

Mr. Malone conjectures that the affecting letter
(p. xv.) was written between 1612 and 1615 : if we
take the latest period, Field will be then not far
from his twenty-eighth year, a period sufficiently
advanced for the production of any work of fancy
1 havf sometimes felt a pang at imagining that the
play on which they were then engaged, and for
which they solicit a trifling advance in such moving
terms, was " The Fatal Dowry," one of the not. lest
compositions that ever graced the English stage !
Even though it should not be so, it is yet impossible
to be unaffected, when we consider that those who
actually did produce it were in danger of perishing
in gaol lor want of a loan of five pounds !

In the following year, Massinger brought forward
" The City Madam." As this play was undoubtedly
disposed of to the performers, it remained in manu-
script till the distress brought on the stage by the
persecution of the Puritans, induced them to com-
mit it to the press. The person to whom we are in-
debted foi its appearance was Andrew Pennycuicke,
an actor of some note. In the dedication to the
Countess of Oxford}:, he observes, with a spirited
reference to the restrictions then laid on the drama,
" In that age, when wit and learning were not con-
quered 61; it-jury and violence, this poem was the ob-
ject of love and commendations :" he then adds,
" the encouragement I had to prefer this dedication
to your powerful protection, proceeds from the uni-
versal fame of the deceased author^, who (although

* Old Plays, Vol. XII., p. 350.

t It had probably escaped Mr. Malone's observation, that
Field appears as the principal performer in " Cj nthia's Re
vi-ls," acted in 1599 or 1000. He could not then have well
been less than twelve j ears old, and, at the time mentioned
by Mr. Malone, as loo early for the prodiiciion of his firsJ
play, must have been turned of one and twenty.

; Countess of Oxford, &c.j Ann, first wife of Aubrey de
Vere, twentieth and last Earl of Oxtoid. She was a distant
relation of the Pembroke family.

The deceased author,} " The City Madam" was printed
in" 165H. This furticiently proves the absurdity of the ac-
count give. i by Langbaine, Jacob, \Vhincop, and Cibber,
who concur in pl.u-ing his death in 1669, and who, cer-
laiiily, never oerused his works with any attention: nor il

INTRODUCTION.

he competed many) wrote none amiss, and tins may
jusdy be ranked among his best." Pennycuicke
might hnTe gene further; but this little address is
sufficient to show in what estimation the poet was
held by his " fellows." He had now been dead
nineteen years.

About this time too (1632), Massinger printed
"The .Maid of Honour," with a dedication to Sir
Francis Foljambe*, and Sir Thomas Bland, which
cannot be r>-ad without sorrow. He observes, that
these gentlemen, who appear to have been engaged
in an amicable suit at law, bad continued for many
years the patrons of him and his despised studies,
and he calls upon the world to take notice, as from
himself, that lie had not to that time subsisted, but that
he was supported by their frequent courtesies and
favours.

It is not improbable, however, that he was now-
labouring: under the pressure of more than usual
want ; as the failure of two of his plays had damped
his spirits, and materially checked the prosecution
f his dramatic studies. No account of the unsuc-
tessful pieces is come down to us ; their names do
not occur in the Office-book of Sir H. Herbert, nor
should we have known the circumstance, had not
the author, with a modesty which shames some of his
contemporaries, and a deference to the judgment of
the public, which becomes all who write for it, re-
corded the fact in the prologue to " The Guardian."
To this, probably, we owe the publication of " A
New Way to Pay Old Debts," which was now first
printed with a sensible and manly address to the
Earl of Caernarvon, who had married Lady Sophia
Herbert, the sister of his patron, Philip Earl of
Pembroke and Montgomery. " I was born," he
says, " a devoted servant to the thrice noble family
of your incomparable lady, and am most ambitious,
but with a becoming distance, to be known to your
lordship." All Massinger's patrons appear to be
persons of worth and eminence. Philip had not,
at this time, tarnished the name of Pembroke by in-
gratitude, and the Earl of Caernarvon was a man
of unimpeachable honour and integrity. He fol-
lowed the declining fortunes of his royal master,
and fell at Newbury, where he commanded the ca-
valry, after defeating that part of the parliamentary
army to which he was opposed. In his last mo-
ments, says Fuller, as he lay on the field, a noble-
man of the royal party desired to know if he had
any request to make to the king, to whom he was
deservedly dear, comforting him with the assurance
that it would be readily granted. His reply was
such as became a brave and conscientious soldier :
I will not die with a suit in my mouth, but to the
king of kings !

Flattered by the success of " The Guardian,"
which was licensed on the 31st of October, 1633,
Massinyer exerted himself with unusual energy, and
produced three plays before the expiration of the
following year. One of them, the delightful comedy

that of Chetwoocl more rational, who asserts that he died in
105!), since bit epitaph i printed among the poems of Sir
AMon Cocka) ne, which were published in 1058, and
written much earlier. It is, therefore, worse than a waste
of time to repeat from book to book such palpable
errors.

* A'ir Francis Foljambe, &c.] I suspect that Sir Francis
was also a C.rh-'Hc. From the brief account of this ancient
family which is given in Lodge's " Illustrations," they ap-
pear lo have Mitten-d severely on account of their religion,
to which they were zealously attached.

of " A Very Woman," is come down to us; of the
others, nothing is known but the names, which are
registered by the Master of the Revels. In 1635,
it does not appear that he brought any thing forward :
but in 1636, he wrote " The Bashful Lover," and
printed " The Great Duke of Florence," which had
now been many years on the stage, with a dedica-
tion to Sir Robert Wiseman, of Thorrells Hall, in
Essex. In this, which is merely expressive of his
gratitude for a long continuation of kindness, he ac'
knowledges, " and with a zealous thankfulness, that
for many years, he had but faintly subsisted, if he
had not often tasted of his bounty." In this pre-
carious state of dependance passed the life of a man
who is charged with no want of industry, suspected
of no extravagance, and whose works were, at thaj
very period, the boast and delight of the stage !

" The Bashful Lover" is the latest play of Mas-
singer's writing which we possess, but there were
three others posterior to it, of which the last, " The
Anchoress of Psiusilippo, was acted Jan. 26, 1640,
about six weeks before his death. Previous to this,
he sent to the press one of his early plays, " The
Unnatural Combat," which he inscribed to Anthony
Sentleger (whose father, Sir Wareham, had been his
particular admirer), being., as he says, ambitious to
publish his many favours to the world. It is pleasant
to find the author, at the close of his blameless life,
avowing, as he here does, with an amiable modesty,
that the noble and eminent persons to whom his
former works were dedicated, did not think them-
selves disparaged by being " celebrated as the pa-
trons of his humble studies, in the first file of
which," he contines " I am confident you shall have
no cause to blush to find your name written."

Massinger died on the 17th of March, 1640. He
went to bed in good health, says Langbaine, and
was found dead in the morning in his own house on
the Bankside. He was buried in the churchyard of
St. Saviour's, and the comedians paid the last sad
duty to his name, by attending him to the grave.

It does not appear, from the strictest search, that
a stone, or inscription of any kind, marked the place
where his dust was deposited : even the memorial
of his mortality is given with a pathetic brevity,
which accords but too well with the obscure and
humble passages of his life : " March 20. 1639-40.
buried Philip Massinger, A STRANGER!" No flowers
were flung into his grave, no elegies " soothed his
hovering spirit," and of all the admirers of his tal-
ents and his worth, none but Sir Aston Cockayne,
dedicated a line to his memory. It would be an
abuse of language to honour any composition of Sir
Aston with the name of poetry, but the steadiness
of his regard for Massinger may be justly praised.
In that collection of doggrel rhymes, which I have
already mentioned, (p. xv.) there is "an epitaph on
Mr. John Fletcher, and Mr. Philip Massinger, who
lie both buried in one grave in St. Mary Overy's
church, in Southwark :

" In the same grave was Fletcher buried, here
Lies the stage-poet Philip Massinger;
Plays they did write together, were great friends,
And now one grave includes them in their ends.
To whom on earth nothing could part, beneath
Here in their fame they lie, in spight of death."

It is surely somewhat singular that of a man of
such eminence, nothing should be known. What I
have presumed to gire, is merely the history of the

INTRODUCTON.

successive appearance of bis works ; and I am aware
of no source from whence any additional information
can be derived : no anecdotes are recorded of him
bv his contemporaries, few casual mentions of his
name occur in the writings of the time, and he had
not the good fortune which attended many of less
eminence, to attract attention at the revival of dra-
matic literature from the deathlike torpor of the In-
terregnum*. But though we are ignorant of every
circumstance respecting Massinger, but that lie lived
and diedf, we may yet form to ourselves some idea
of his personal character from the incidental hints
scattered through his works. In what light he was
regarded may be collected from the recommendatory
poems prefixed to his several plays, in which the
language of his panegyrists, though warm, expresses
an attachment apparently derived not so much from
his talents as his virtues ; he is, as Davies has ob-
served, their beloved, much-esteemed, dear, wortliij,
deserving, honoured, long knotcn, and long loved friend,
&.C., &c. All the writers of his life unite in repre-
senting him as a man of singular modesty, gentle-
ness, candour, and affability ; nor does it appear that
he ever made or found an enemy. He speaks, indeed,
of opponents on the stage, but the contention of
rival candidates for popular favour must not be con-
founded with personal hostility. With all this,
however, he appears to have maintained a constant
struggle with adversity ; since not only the stage,
from which, perhaps, his natural reserve prevented
him from deriving the usual advantages, but even
the bounty of his particular friends, on which he
chiefly relied, left him in a state of absolute depend-
ance. Jonson, Fletcher, Shirley, and others, not
superior to him in abilities, had their periods of good
fortune, their bright, as-well as their stormy hours ;
but Mnssirtger seems to have enjoyed no gleam of
sunshine ; his life was all one wintry day, and
" shadows, clouds, and darkness," rested upon it.

Davies finds a servility in his dedications which
I have not been able to discover ; they are princi-
pally characterized by gratitude and humility, without
a single trait of that gross and servile adulation
which distinguishes and disgraces the addresses
of some of his contemporaries. 'I hat he did not
conceal his misery, his editors appear inclined to
reckon among bis faults; he bore it, however, with-
out impatience, and we only hear of it when it is
relieved. Poverty made him no flatterer, and, what
is still more rare, no maligner of the great; nor is
one symptom of envy manifested in any part of his
compositions.

His principles of patriotism appear irrepreben-
sihle ; the extravagant and slavish doctrines which
are found in the dramas of his great contemporaries,
make no part of his creed, in which the warmest
loyalty is skilfully combined with just and rational
ideas of political freedom. Nor is this the only
instance in which the rectitude of his mind is ap-
parent ; the writers of his day abound in recom-
mendations of suicide ; he is uniform in the repre-

One exception we ehall hereafter mention. Even in
this tlie poit's ill fate pursued him, and he was dung
back into obscurity, (bat his Sj.oils might be worn without
dtticiu n.

t Jt is seriously to be lamented that Sir Aston Cock vane,
iiiMi'iid i't' wasting his leisure in measuring out dull "prose
which cannot be read, had not employed a part of it in
tumUliing some notices if the dramatic potts, \\ilh whom
he was ?o well acquainted, and whom he profiles so much
o admire.

hension of it, with a single exception, to which,
perhaps, he was led by the peculiar turn of his
studies*. Guilt of every kind is usually left ;.o the
punishment of divine justice : even the wretched
Malefort excuses himself to his son on his s^per-
natural appearance, because the latter was not marked
out by heaven for his mother's avenger ; and the
young, the brave, the pious Charalois accounts his
death fallen upon him by the will of heaven, be-
cause "he marie himself a judge in his otrn cause.''

But the great, the glorious distinction of Mas-
singer, is the uniform respect with which he treats
religion and its ministers, in an age when it was
found necessary to add regulation to regulation, to
stop the growth of impiety on the stage. No priests
are introduced by him, " to set on some quantity of
barren spectators" to laugh at their licentious fol-
lies ; the sacred name is not lightly invoked, nor
daringly sported with ; nor is Scripture profaned by
buffoon allusions lavishly put into the mouths of
fools and women.

To this brief and desultory delineation of his
mind, it may be expected that something should here
he added of his talents for dramatic composition;
but this is happily rendered unnecessary. The
kindness of Dr. Ferriar has allowed me to annex to
this introduction the elegant and ingenious " Essav
on Massinger," first printed in the third volume of
the " Manchester Transactions ;" and I shall pre-
sently have to notice, in a more particular manner,
the value of the assistance which has been expressly
given to me for this work. These, if I do not de-
ceive mvself, leave little or nothing to be desired on
the peculiar qualities, the excellencies, and defects,
of this much neglected and much injured writer.

Mr. M. Mason has remarked the general har-
mony of his numbers, in which, indeed, Massinger
stands unrivalled. He seems, however, inclined to
make a partial exception in favour of Shakspeare ;
but I cannot admit of its propriety. The claims of
this great poet on the admiration of mankind are
innumerable, but rhythmical modulation is not one
of them, nor do I think it either wise or just to hold
him forth as supereminent in every quality which
constitutes genius. Beaumont is as sublime,
Fletcher as pathetic, and Jonson as nervous : nor
let it be accounted poor or niggard praise, to allow
him only an equality with these extraordinary men
in their peculiar excellencies, while he is admitted
to possess many others, to which they make no ap-
proaches. Indeed, if I were asked for the dis-
criminating quality of Shakspeare's mind, that by
which he is raised above all competition, above al 1
prospect of rivalry, I should say it was WIT. Ti
wit Massinger has no pretensions, though he is in.
without a considerable portion of humour ; in which,
however, he is surpassed by Fletcher, whose style
bears some affinity to his own ; there is, indeed, a
morbid softness in the poetry of the latter, which is
not visible in the flowing and vigorous metre of
Massinger, hut the general manner is not unlikef.

See "The Duke of Milan." The frequent violation of
female chasiity, which took place on iheir motion of
the barbarians into Italy, gave rise to many curious dis-
quisitions among the fathers of the church, respecting
the degree of guilt incurred in preventing it by self-mur-
der. Massinger hail tliese, probably, in I it thoughts.

i There is yet a peculiarly which it may be proper to
notice, us il contribute in a slight degree to the fluency of

INTRODUCTION.

With Massinger terminated the triumph of dra-
matic poetry ; indeed, the stage itself survived him
hut a short time. The nation was convulsed to
its centre by contending factions, and a set of
austere and gloomy fanatics, enemies to every ele-
gant amusement, and every social relaxation, rose
upon the ruins of tiie state. Exasperated hy the
ridicule with which they had long been covered by
the stage, they persecuted the actors with unrelent-
ing severity, and consigned them, together with the
writers, to hopeless obscurity and wretchedness.
Taylor died in the extreme of poverty, Shirley
opened a little scliool, and Lowin, the boast of the
stage, kept an alehouse at Brentford :

Balneolitm Gabiis, furncs conducere Rome
Tentarunt !

Others, and those the far greater number, joined the
royal standard, and exerted themselves with more
gallantry than good fortune in the service of their
old and indulgent master.

We have not yet, perhaps, fully estimated, and
certainly not yet fully recovered, what was lost in
that unfortunate struggle. The arts were rapidly
advancing to perfection under the fostering wing of
a monarch who united in himself taste to feel, spirit
to undertake, and munificence to reward. Archi-
tecture, painting, and poetry, were by turns the ob-
jects of his paternal care. Shakspeare was Lis
" closet companion,*" Jonson his poet, and in con-
junction with Inigo Jones, his favoured architect,
produced those magnificent entertainments which,
though modern refinement may affect to despise

Massinger't style; it is, the resolution of his words (and
principally or those which are derived from the Latin
through the medium of the French) into their component
syllables. J-'irtuout, partial, nation, &c., &c., lie usually
makes dactyls (if it be not ped.intic to apply terms of
measure to a language acquainted only with accent), passing
over the last two syllables with a gentle but distinct enun-
ciation. This practice, indeed, is occasionally adopted by all
the writers of his time, but in Massinger it is frequent and
habitual. This singularity may slightly embarrass the reader
at nrt, but a little acquaintance will show its advantages,
and render ii not only easy but delightful.

fJif "Closet Companion,"} Milton, and certainly with
no symptoms of disapprobation, mentions, as a fact univer-
ally known, the fonducss of the unfortunate Charles for
the plays of Shakspeare; and it appears, '.VOID those curious
particulars collected from Sir Henry Herbert, by Mr. Ma-
lone, that his attachment to the drama, and his anxiety for
it* perfection, began with his reign. The plot of "The
Gamester," one of the best of Shirley's pieces, was given
to him by the kin;:; and there is an anecdote recorded by
the Master of the Revels, which shows that he was not inat-
tentive to the succrss of Massinger.

" Al Greenwich this 4 of June (I63S), Mr. W. Murray
gave mee power from the king to allow of "The King and
the Subject," and tould mee that lit would warrant it :

" ' Monies! We'll raise inpplics what way we please,
And io! ce you to subscribe to blanks, in which
We'll mulct yon as we shall think lit. The Caisari
In Rome were wise, acknowledging no laws
But what their sword* dU ratil), the wives
And daughters of the senators bow ing to
Their will, as deities,' " &c.

"This is a peece taken out of Philip Messenger's play-
called 'The King and the Subject,' and entered here tor
ever to bee remembered by my son and those that cast
their eyes on it, in honour of Kinj; Charles, my master,
who leadings over the play at Newmarket, set his marke
upon the place with his own liande, and in these words:
' This it too insolent., and to bee changed?

"Note, that the pi>et makes it the speech of a king, Don
Pedro of Spayne, and spoken to his subjects."

them, modem splendour never reached even in
thought*.

That the tyranny of the commonwealth should
sweep all this away, was to be expected : the cir-
cumstance not less to he wondered at than regretted
is, that when the revival of monarchy afforded an
opportunity for restoring every thing to its pristine
place, no advantage should be taken of it. Such,
however, was the horror created in the general
mind, by the perverse and unsocial government from
which they had so fortunately escaped, that the
people appear to have anxiously avoided all retro-
spect ; and with Prynne and \ r icars, to have lost
sight of Shakspeare and " his fellows." Instead,
therefore, of taking up dramatic poetry (for to this
my subject confines me) where it abruptly ceased in
the labours of Massinger, they elicited, as it were, a
manner of their own, or fetched it from the heavy
monotony of their continental neighbours. The
ease, the elegance, the simplicity, the copiousness of
the former period, were as if they had never been ;
and jangling an;l blustering declamation took place
of nature, truth, and sense. Even criucijm, which,
in the former reign, had been making no inconsi-
derable progress under the influence and direction
of the great masters of Italy, was now diverted into
a new channel, and only studied in the puny and
jejune canons of their unworthy followers, the
French.

The Restoration did little for Massinger ; this,
however, will the less surprise us, when we find
that he but shared the fortune of a grea'.er name. It
appears from a list of revived plays preserved by
Downes the prompter, that of twenty-one, two
onlyf were written by Shakspeare ! " The Bond-
man," and " The Roman Actor," were at length
brought forward hy Betterton, who probably con-
ceived them to be favourable to his fine powers of
declamation. We are told by Downes, that he
gained "great applause" in them: his success,
however, did not incite him to the revival of the
rest, though he might have found among the num-
ber ample scope for the display of his highest
Jalents. I can find but two more of Massinger's
plays which were acted in the period immediately
following the Restoration, " The Virgin-Mariyr,"
and "The Renegade:" I have, indeed, some idea
that " The Old Law" should be added to the scanty
list ; but hering mislaid my memorandums, 1 can-
not affirm it.

The time, however, arrived, when he was to be
remembered. Nicholas Rowe, a man gifted hy na-
ture with taste and feeling, disgusted at the tumid
vapidity of his own times, turned his attention to
the poets of a former age, and, among the rest, to

That the exhibition of those masks was attended with a
considerable degree of expense cannot be denied : and yet a
question may be modestly started, whether a tliuusa::<t pounds
niitht not have been as rationally and as creditably laid out
on one of them at Tibbald's, Althorpe, er Ludlow Casilc, a*
on a basket of unripe fruit I

But we are fallen indeed ! The festival of the knights of
the Bath presented an opportunity for a mask appropriate
to the subject, in which taste should have united with gran-
deur. Whose talents were employed on the jjri'at oc-
casion I cannot pretend to say, but assuredly the fre-
quentets of Bartholomew fair were never invited to so vile
and senseless an exhibition, as was produced at Kanelayli tor
the rniertaiunient of the nobility and gentry of the uuiu.-d
kingdom.

t Tiro only} And of these two, one was "Titus Aniiro-
nicuj '."

INTRODUCTION.

Massinger. Pleased at the discovery of a mind
congenial to his own, be studied him with attention,
and endeavoured to form a stvle on his model.
Suavity, ease, elegance, all that close application ;ind
sedulous imitation could give, Rowe acquired from
the peiusal of Massinger : humour, richness, vi-
gour, and sublimity, the gifts of nature, were not to
be caught, and do not, indeed, appear in any of Lis
multifarious compositions.

Rowe, however, had discrimination and judg-
ment : he was alive to the great and striking excel-
lencies of the Poet, and formed the resolution of
presenting him to the world in a correct and uniform
edition. It is told in the preface to " The Bond-
man" (printed in 1719), and there is no reason to
doubt the veracity of ihe affirmation, that Rowe had
revised the whole of Massinger's works, with a
view to their publication: unfortunately, however,
he was seduced from his purpose by the merits of
" The fatal Dowry." The pathetic and interesting
scenes of this domestic drama have such irresistible
power over the best feelings of the reader, that he
determined to avail himself of their excellence, and
frame a second tragedy on the same story. How be
altered and adapted the events to his own concep-
tions is told by Mr. Cumberland, with equal ele-
gance and taste, in the Kssay which follows the
original piece*."

Pleased with the success of his performance-)-,
Rowe conceived the ungenerous idea of appropri-
ating the whole o'' its merits ; and, from that in-
stant, appears not only to have given up all thoughts
of Masaitiger, but to have avoided all mention ol his
name. In the base and servile dedication of his
tragedy to the Duchess of Ormorid, while he founds
his claim to her patronage on the interesting nature
of the scenes, he .sutfeis not a hint to escape him
that he ws indebted for them to any preceding
writer.

It may seem strange that Rowe should flatter him-
self with the hope ot evading detection : that hope,
however, was not so extravagant as it may appear at
present. Few of our old dramas were then on sale :
Those of Sbakspeare, Jonson, and Fletcher, indeed,

A few words may yet be hazarded on this subject. The
moral of" The Fatal Dowry" is infinitely superior to that of
" The Fair Penitent," w Inch indeed, is litlle hotter lhan a speci-
ous apology for adultery, Howe has lavished the most reducing
colours ol liis eloquence on Lothario, anil acted, tin ougi. out
the piece, as if lie studied to frame an excuse for Calista :
whereas Mas-singer has placed the crime of tiiMiimtlle
in an odious ami proper light. Ueaumelle can have no
follower* in her guilt: no frail one can urge that she was
misled by her example: for Nov.ill has nothing but personal
charm?, aivi even in these he is surpassed lij Ch raloi-. For the
unhappy husband of Calista, Rowe evinces no consideration,
where Massinger has rendered Charalois the most inter-
esting character that was ever produced on the stage.

Keaiimelle, who falls a sacrifice, in some measure, to the
artifice.- of her maid, the proiligate agent of joung Novall,
is much superior to C.ilista. Indeed, ihe impression which
fhe made on Rowe was so strong, that he nan.ed his tragedy
after her, and not after the heroine of his own piece: beau
melle is truly the Fair Penitent, whereas Calista is neither
more nor less lhan a haughi> and abandoned strumpet.

t The nitwit* oj his performance,} This was somewhat
problematical at first. For though "The Fair Penitent" be
now a general favourite with the (own, it cxptiience con-
tjflerabfe opposition on its appearance, owing, as Uownes
informs us, "to the Hat ness of the found and fifth acts."
The poverty of Rowe's genius is principally apparent in Ihe
las; ; ol which the plot and ihe execution are equally
rootempablc.

had been collected ; depredations on them, .there-
fore, though frequently made, were attended will,
some degree of hazard ; but the works of Massin-
ger, few of whii h had reached a second edition, lay
scattered in single plays, and might be appropriated
without fear. What printed copies or manuscripts
were extant, were chiefly to be found in private li-
braries, not easily accessible, nor often brought to
sale; and it is not, perhaps, too much to say that
more old plavs mav now be found in the hands of a
single bookseller, than, in the days of Howe, wero
supposed to be in exi-tence.

" 1 he Fair Penitent " was produced in 1703, and
the Author, having abandoned his first design, un-
dertook to prepare for the press the works of a poet
more wortln. it must be confessed, of his care, but
not in equal wa;>t of his assistance; and, in 1709,
gave the public the first octavo edition of Shakspeare.

What might have been the present rank of Massin-
ger, if Rowe had completed his purpose, it would be
presumptuous to determine : it may, however, be
conjectured that, reprinted witli accuracy, corrected
witli judgment, and illustrated witb ingenuity, he
would, at least, have been more generally known*,
and suffered to occupy a station of greater respecta-
bility than he has hitherto been permitted to assume.

Massinger, thus plundered and abandoned by
Rowe, was. after a considerable lapse of time, taken
up by Thomas Coxeter, of whom I know nothing
more than is delivered by Mr. Egerton Brydges,
in his useful and ingenious additions to the " Thea-

* More generally knoit-n,] Itd<-es not appear from John-
son's observations on "The F.iir Penitent," that he had any
knowledge of Massinger; Steevens, I have some reason to
think, took him up l.ite in life ; and Mr. M alone observes to
nit , ihat he only consulted him tor verbal illustrations of bhak-
speare. This is merely a subject for regret; but we may be
allowed to complain a little of those who discuss his merits
without examining his works, and traduce his character on
their own misconceptions. C'api II, whose dull fidelity forms
the sole claim on our kindness, becomes both inaccurate and
unjust the instant he speaks of Massinger; he accuses him of
being one of the props of Jonson's throne, in opposition to the
pretensions of Shakspeartf ! The reverse of this is the truth:
he was the admirer and imitator of Shakspeare, and it is scarce-
ly possible to look into one of his prologues, without discover-
ing some allusion, more or less concealed, to the overwhelm-
ing pride and arrogance of Jonson. This disinclination to
the latter was no secret to his contemporaries, while his par-
tiality to the former was so notorious, that in a mock
romance, entitled " Wit and Fancy in a Maze, or Don
Zara del Fogo," 12mo, 16S6 (the knowledge of which wa
obligingly communicated to me by the Rev. W. Tidd,),
where an uproar amongst the English poets is described,
Mattlnger is expressly introduced as "one of the life
guards to Shakspeare." So much for Ihe sneerof Capell !
but Massinger's ill fite still pursues him. In a late Essay on
Ihe stage, written with considerable ingenuity, ths author, in
giving a chronological history of dramatic writers from
Sackville downwards, overlooks Massinger till he arrives at
onr own limes. He then recollect" that he was one of the
fathers of the drama; and adds, that his style was rnuyh,
manly, and vigorous, that he pressed upon his subject with
a severe but masterly hand, that his wit was caustic," &c. If
this gentleman had ever looked into the poet he thus charac-
terises, he must have instantly recognized his error. Mas-
singer has no wit, ami his humour, in which he abounds, U
of a light and fro ic nature ; he presses not on his subject with
severity, hut with fulness of knowledge; and his sl)le is so
far from roughness, Ihat )'* characteristic excellence is
sweetness beyond example. " \\ hoever," fa>s Johnson,
" wi-hes to attain an English style familiar but not coarse,
and elegant but not ostentations, must give his days and
nights to the volumes of Addison." Whoever would add to
these Ihe qualities of simplicity, purity, sweetness, and
strength, must devote hi^ hours to ihe study of Massinger.

t See hi* " Introduction to Shakipeare'* I'lays," Vol. I. p. 14.

INTRODUCTION.

trum Poeiarum*." " He was born of an ancient
nnd respectable family, at Lechlade, in Gloucester-
shire, in 1689. and educated at Trinity College,
Oxford where he wore a civilian's gown, and about
1710. abandoning the civil law, and every other
profession, came to London. Here continuing
without any settled purpose, he became acquainted
with booksellers and authors, and amassed materials
for a biography of our old poets. He had a curious
collection of old plays, and was the first who formed
the scheme adopted by Dodsley, of publishing a
selection of them," &c.

Warton too calls Coxeter a faithful and industrious
amasser of our old English literature, and this praise,
whatever be its worth, is all that can be fairly said to
belong to himf : as an editor he is miserably defi-
cient ; though it appears that he was not without
assistance which, in other hands, might have been
tuined to some account. " When I left London,"
says the accurate and ingenious Oldys, " in the year
17^4, to reside in Yorkshire, I lett in the care of the
Rev. Mr. Burridge's family, with whom 1 had
several years lodged, amongst many other books,
a copy of this Langbaine, in which I had written
several notes and references to further the know-
)ede of these poets. \\henlreturned to London
in 1730, I understood my books had been dispersed ;
and afterwards becoming acquainted with Mr.
Coxeter, 1 found that he had bought my Langbaine
of a bookseller, as he was a great collector of plays
and poetical books. This must have been of service
to him, and he has kept it so carefully from my sight
that I never could have the opportunity of trans-
cribing into this I am now writing, the notes I had
collected in that. \\hether 1 had entered any
remarks upon Massinger, I remember not ; but he
had coiumunica'ions from me concerning him, when
he was undertaking to give us a new edition of his
piays, which is not published yet. He (Mr. Cox-
eter) died on the 10th (or 19..h, 1 cannot tell which)
of April, being Easter Sunday, 1747, of a fever
which grew from a cold lie caught at an auction of
books over Exeter I hange, or by sitting up late at
the tavern afterwards}."

On the death of Coxeter, his collections for the
purposed edition of Massinger fell into the hands of
a bookseller, of the name of Dell, who gave them to
tie world in 1759. From the publisher's preface it
appears that Coxeter did not live to complete his
design. " The late ingenious Mr. Coxeter,"
he says, " bad corrected and collated all the
various editions^ ;" and, if I may judge from
his copies, he had spared no diligence and care to
make them as correct as possible. Several inge-
nious observations and notes he had likewise pre-

* I take the offered opportunity to express my thanks to
this gentleman for the obliging manner in which he trans-
milled to me the manuscript notts of Oldys and others,
copied into his edition of Laugbaine, formerly in the posses-
sion of Air. Steevens.

+ Johnson told Boswell that "a Mr. Coxeteri whom he
knew, had collected about live hundred volumes of poets
whose works were most known; bnt that, upon his death,
Tom Osborne bought them, and they were dispersed, which
he thought a piiy ; as it was curious to see any
series complete, and in every volume of poems something
good might be found." Boswell's '' Lite," &c. vol. II.,
p. -I52.

} Manuscript notes on Langbainr, in the British
Museum.

This is also asserted in the title-page bnt it is not v

pared for his intended edition, which are all inserted
in the present. Had he lived to have completed his
design, 1 dare say he would have added many more,
and that his work would have met with a very fa-
vourable reception from every person of true taste
and genius."

As Dell professes to have followed Coxeter's
papers, and given all his notes, we may form nt>
inadequate idea of what the edition would have
been. Though educated at the University, Cox-
eter exhibits no proofs of literature. To critical
sagacity he has not the smallest pretensions; his
conjectures are void alike of ingenuity and proba-
bility, and his historical references at once puerile
and incorrect. Even his parallel passages (the
easiest part of an editor's labour) are more calcu-
lated to produce a smile at the collector's expense,
than to illustrate his author ; while every page of
his work bears the strongest impression of imbe-
cility. The praise of fidelity may be allowed him ;
but in doing this the unfortunate Deil must be
charged (how justly I know not) with the innu-
merable errors which over-run and deform the
edition. I need not inform those who are convers-
ant with old copies, that the printers were less at-
tentive to the measure of the original, than to tilling
up the line, and saving their paper : this Coxeter
attempted to remedy ; his success, however, was
but partial ; his vigilance relaxed, or his tar failed
him, and hundreds, perhaps thousands, ot verses
are given in the cacophonous and unmetrical state in
which they appear in the early editions. A few-
palpable blunders are removed ; others, not less
remarkable, are continued, and where a word is
altered, under the idea of improving the sense, it is
almost invariably for the worse. Upon the whole,
Massinger appeared to less advantage than in the
old copies.

Two years afterwards (1761), a second edition*
of this work was published by Mr. Thomas Davies,
accompanied by an ' Kssay on the Old English
Dramatic Writer," furnished by Mr. Colman, and
addressed to David (Jarrick, Esq., to whom Dell's
edition was also inscribed.

It may tend to mortify those, who, after bestow-
ing unwearied pains on a work, look for some
trifling return of praise, to find the approbation, which
should be justly reserved for themselves, thought-
lessly lavished on the most worthless productions.
Of this publication, the most ignorant and incorrect
(if we except that of Mr. M. Mason, to which we
shall speedily arrive) that ever issued from the
press, tiishop Percy thus speaks : " Air. Coxeter's
vtrsv coiiHb.cr EDITION of Massinger's Plays
has lately been published in 4 vols. 8vo, by Air.
T. Davies (which T. Davies was many years an
actor on Drury-lane stage/and 1 believe still con-
tinues so, notwithstanding his shop). To this
edition is prefixed a superficial letter to Mr. Gar-
rick, written by .Mr. Colman, but giving not the
least account ot Massinger, or of the old editions
from whence this was composed. ' 1'is great pity
Mr. Coxeter did not live to finish it himself." It is

* A second edition] So, at least, it insinuates : but Mr.
W..lilron, of Drury Lane (a most friendly and in(;eni..uj
man, to whose small but curious library 1 am much iiUeuiedj,
who is belter acquainted with the ad-oitness of booksellers
tuan 1 (neiend to bo, informs me that it is only Dai's with
new tillu-pagi>.

INTRODUCTION.

manifest that his lordship never compared a single
page of this " correct edition" with the old copies :
and I mention the circumstance to point out to
writers of eminence the folly, as well as the danger,
of deciding at random on any subject which they
have not previously considered.

It will readily be supposed that a publication
like this was not much calculated to extend the
celebrity or raise the reputation of the poet ; it
found, however, a certain quantity of readers, and
was now growing scarce, when it fell by accident into
the hands of John Monk Mason, Esq.

In 1777 he was favoured by a friend, as he tells
the story, with a copy of Massiriger j he received
from it a high degree of pleasure, and having con-
tracted a habit of rectifying, in the margin, the mis-
takes of such books as he read, he proceeded in
this manner with those before him ; his emenda-
tions were accidentally discovered by two of his
acquaintance, who expressed their approbation of
them in very flattering terms, and requested the
author to give them to the public*.

.Mr. M. Mason was unfortunate in his friends :
they should have considered (a matter which had
completely escaped him) that the great duty
of an editor is fidelity : that the ignorance of
Coseter in admitting so many gross faults could
give no reasonable mind the slightest plea for rely-
ing on his general accuracy, and that however high
thev might rate their friend's sagacity, it was not
morally certain that when he displaced his prede-
cessor's words to make room for his own, he fell
upon the genuine text. Nothing of this, however,
occurred to them, and Mr. M. Mason was prevailed
upon, in an evil hour, to send his corrected Coxeter
to the press.

In a preface which accords but too well with
the rest of the work, he observes, that he had
" never heard of Massinger till about two years
before lie reprinted liimf." It must be confessed
that he lost no time in boasting of his acquaintance
it appears, however, to have been but superficial.
In the second page he asserts that the whole of
Massinser's plays were published while the author
was living ! This is a specimen of the care with
which he usually proceeds : the life of the author,
prefixed to his own edition, tells that he died in
1640, and in the list which immediately follows it,
no less than four plays are given in succession,
which were not published till near twenty years
after that period !

The oscitancy of Mr. M. Mason is so great, that
it is impossible to say whether he supposed there
was any older edition than that before him. He
talks indeed of Massinger, but he always means
Coxeter ; and it is beyond any common powers of
face to hear him discourse of the verbal and gram-
matical inaccuracies of an author whose woiks he
probably never saw, without a smile of pity or
contempt.

* Preface to M. Mason's edition, p. ii.

* Yet if ij strange (he adds; that a writer of snch evident
excellence should be so little known. Preface, p. i. As si'ine
alleviation of Mr. M. Mason's amazement* I "ill tell him
a short story: "Tradition says, that on a certain time, a
man, who had < ccasion 10 rise very early, was met by
another person, who expressed his astonishment at his getting
up also unseasonable an hour, the man answered, O, nias-
Itr wonder monger, as yon have dune the same thing, what
reason have you to be surprised?"

He says, " I have admitted into the text all my
own amendments, in order that ihose who may wish
to give free scope to their fancy and their feelings,
and without turning aside to verbal criticism, may
read these plays in that which appears to me the
most perfect state;" (what intolerable conceit!)
" but for the satisfaction of more critical readers, 1
have directed that the words rejected by me should
be inserted in the margin*." This is not the case;
and 1 cannot account, on any common principles of
prudence, for the gratuitous temerity with which BO
strange an assertion is advanced: not one in twenty
is noticed, and the reader is misled on almost erery
occasion.

I do not wish to examine the preface further ; and
shall therefore conclude with observing, that Mr.
M. Mason's edition is infinitely worse than Coxeter's
It rectifies a few mistakes, and suggests a few im
provements ; but, on the other hand, it abounds in
errors and omissions, not only beyond that, but per-
haps beyond anv other work that ever appeared in
print. Nor is this all : the ignorant fidelity of
Coxeter has certainly given us many absurd readings
of the old printers or transcribers ; this, however,
is far more tolerable than the mischievous ingenuity
of Mr. M. Mason : the words he has silently intro-
duced bear a specious appearance of truth, and are
therefore calculated to elude the vigilance of many
readers, whom the text of Coxe er would have
startled, and compelled to seek the genuine sense
elsewhere. To sum up the account between the
two editions, both bear the marks of ignorance,
inexperience, and inattention ; in both the faults are
incredibly numerous ; but whete Coxeter drops
words, Mr. M. Mason drops lines ; and where the
former omits lines, the latter leaves out whole
speeches!

After what I have just said, the reader, perhaps,
will feel an inclination to smile at the concluding
sentence of Mr. M. Mason's preface: "I FLATTER

MYSELF, THAT THIS EDITION OF MASSING t-'R WILL BE
FOUND MORE CORRECT (AND CORRECTNESS IS TI1F. ONLY
MERIT IT PRETENDS TO) THAN THE BEST OK THOSE
WHICH HAVE AS YET BEEN PUBLISHED OF AN* OTIIEU
ANCIENT DRAMATIC WRITER. t"

The genuine merits of the Poet, however, were
strong enough to overcome these wretched remoras.
The impression was become scarce, and though
never worth the paper on which it was printed, sold,
at an extravagant price, when a new edition was
proposed to me by Mr. Evans of Pali-Mall. Mas-
singer was a favourite ; and 1 had frequently la-
mented, with many others, that he had fsillen into
such hands. I saw, without the assistance of the
old copies, that bis metre was disregarded, that his
sense was disjointed and broken, that his dialogue
was imperfect, and that he was encumbired with
explanatory trash which would disgrace the pages
of a sixpenny magazine ; and in the hope of remedy-
ing these, and enabling the Author to take his place
on the same shelf, 1 will not say with Shakspeare,
but with Jonson, Beaumont, and his associate Flet-
cher, 1 readily undertook the labour.

My first care was to look round for the old
editions. To collect these is not at all times possi-
ble, and in every case, is a work of tio'ible and ex-
pense : but the kindness of individuals supplied me
with all that 1 wanted. Octavius Gilchrist,

Preface, p. ix.

t Preface, p. xi.

INTRODUCTION.

gentleman of Stamford*, no sooner heard of my de-
sign, than he obligingly sent ine all the copies^ which
be possessed; the Kev. P. Buyles of Colchester
(only known to me bv this act of kindness) pre-
sented me with a small but choice selection ; and
Mr. Malone, with a liberality which I shall ever
remember with gratitude and delight, furnished me,
unsolicited, with his invaluable collection!, among
which I found all the first editions^: these, with
such as I could procure in the course of a few months
frtfm the booksellers, in addition to the copies in the
Museum, and in the rich collection of his .Majesty,
which 1 consulted from time to time, form tLe basis
of the present Work.

With these aids 1 sat down to the business of colla-
tion : it was now that I discovered, with no less
surprise than indignation, those alterations arid omis-

* I must not omit that Mr. Gilchrist ("hose name will
occur mor: ili.ui mice in the ensuing pages:, together with
his copies of Massiuger, transmitted a number of n.-i n.l and
judicious observations on the Pott, derived from his exten-
sive acquaintance with our old historians.

t For this, I owe Mr. M alone in y peculiar thanks: but
the admin r.- of Massingcr must join unli me in expressing
(heir gratitude to him for an obligation of a more public
kind; for the communication of that beautiful n-.ii.nnnt,
which now appears in piint for the first lime, " The Parli.i-
ment of Lo\t." From "The History of ihe Knglish .Stage,"
preh'xed to Air. Malone's edition of Shakspcaie, I [earned
that " Four acts of an unpublished drama, by UaMinter,
were still extant in manusciipt." As I axiou.-ly wished to
render this edition as perfect as possible, I wrote to Mr.
Malone, wi h win 'in I had not the pleasure of being per-
tonally acquainted, to know where it minht be found ; in
return, he informed me that the manuscript was in his pos-
session : it:- stale. he added, was such, that he doubted uhtther
nun h advantage could be derived Ironi it, but that I was
entirely welcome to make the experiment. Of this pcunis-
ion, which I accepted with singular pleasure, I instantly
availed myself, and received the manuscript. It was,
indeed, in a forlorn condition: several leave* were torn from
the beginning, and the top aud bottom of every page wasttd
by damps, to which it had formerly been exposed. On ex-
amination, however, I had Ihe satisfaction to find, that a
considerable part of the first act, which was supposed to be
lost, jet exi.-tcd, and that a certain degree of attention,
which I was not unwilling to bestow on it, might recover
nearly Ihe whole of ihe remainder. How I succeeded, may
be eeen in Ihe present volume; where the reader will lind
inch an account, as was consistent with the brevity of my
plan, of the singular institution on which the fable is founded.
Perhaps the subject merits no further con.<ideralion : 1 would,
however, jiisl observe, thai, since Ihe article was plinled, I
have been furnished by my frit-nd, Ihe Rev. U. Nares, with
a curious old volume, ca'lltd " Are-ta Ainorniii, or Arrets
d'Ani'iur," written in French by Martial d'Auver^ne, hu
died in 1508. It is not possible to imagine any thing
more frivolous than the causes, or rather appeals, which are
supposed to be heard in this Court of Love. What is, how-
ever somewhat extraordinary, i>, that these miserable trifles
are commented upon by Bi-noit le Court, a celebrated juris-
consult of th se times, with a degree of scrinusmss which
would not disgrace the most important questions. Every
Greek and Roman writer, then known, is quoad with pro-
fn>ion, 10 prove some trite position dropt at random : occa-
sion is also taken to descant on many subtle points of law,
which might not be altogether, perhaps, without iheir in-
terest. I have nothing further to say of this elaborate piece
of foolery, which 1 read with equal weari.-omeness and dis-
gust, but which serves, perhaps, to show that these I'.ulia-
meuts of Love, though confessedly imaginary, occupied
much of the public attention, than thai it had pmbably fallen
into Massinger'j hands, as the scene between Bellis.,nt and
Clariudore (page 156) seems to be founded on the first
appeal which is heard in the " Arrets d'Amour."

j 1 have no intention of entering into the dispute respecting
the conparativc merits of the first and second lolios of
Shakspeare. Of Vassingcr, however. I may be allowed to
(ay, that I constantly found the earliest editions the most
correct. A palpable eiror might he. and, indeed, sometimes
was removed in the subsequent ones, but the spirit, and
what I would call the raciness, of the author only appealed
complete in the original copies.

sions of which I have already spoken ; and which 7
made it my first care to reform and supply. At tno
outset, finding it difficult to conceive that the Taria-
tions in Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason were the effect
of ignorance or caprice, I imagined that an authority
for them might be somewhere found, and therefore
collated not only every edition, but even several
copies of the same edition* ; what began in necessity
was continued by choice, and every play has under,
gone, at least, five close examinations with the ori
ginal text. On this strictness of revision rests the
great distinction of this edition from the preceding
ones, from which it will be found to vary in an in-
finite number of places : indeed, accuracy, as Mr.
M. .Mason says, is all the merit to which it pretends ;
and though I not provoke, yet I see no reason to
deprecate the consequent es of the severest scrutiny.
There is yet another distinction. The old copies
rarely specify the place of action : such, indeed, was
the poverty of the stage, that it admitted of little
varietv. A plain curtain hung up in a corner, se-
parated distant regions ; and if a board were ad-
vanced with Milan and Florence wiitten upon it,
the delusion was complete. " A table with pen and
ink thrust in," signified that the stage was a counting-
house ; if these were withdrawn, and two stools
put in their places, it was then a tavern. Instances
of this may be found in the margin of all our old
plays, which seem to be copied from the prompters'
books ; and Mr. M alone might have produced from
his Massinger alone, more than enough to satisfy
the veriest sceptic, that the notion of scenery, as we
now understand it, was utterly unknown to the
stage. Indeed, he had so much the advantage of
the argument without these aids, that I have always
wondered how Steevens could so long support, and
so strenuously contend for, his most hopeless cause.
Hut he was a wit and a scholar ; and there is some
pride in showing how dexterously a clumsy wea-
pon may b wielded by a practised swordsman. With
all this, however, 1 have ventured on an arrange-
ment of the scenery. Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason
attempted it in two or three plays, and their ill
success in a mailer of no extraordinary difficulty,
proves how much they mistook their talents, when
they commenced the trade of editorship, with little
more than the negative qualities of heedlessness and
inexperience. t

* In some of these plays I discovered that an error had
been detected after a part of the impres.-ion was worked olt,
and consequently corrected, or what was more frequently
Ihe case, exchanged for another.

t Heed lamest and inexperience-] Those who recollect the
boast of Mr. M. V : ason, will be somewhat surprised, per-
haps, even after all which they have heard, at learning that,
in so -imple a matter as mat king the exit*, this gentleman
blunders at every .step. If Pope now wre alive, he need,
n t applj to his black- letter plays lor such niceties as exit
omnes, enter three blitek vitc/ienxf.lus,l &c. Mr. M. Mason's
ediiiun, which he "flatters himself will be found more cor-
rect than the be.-t of those which have been jet published
of any other ancient dramatic writer," would fiur.ish abund-
ance of them. His copy of 'The Fatal Dowry,' now lies
before me, ami, in the compass of a few pages, 1 observe,
Ej-it officers with A'ovall (I9ti), Exit Charaluis, Creditnrt,
and (>J/i<eis (-.all)), Exit Itomont and Servant (215), Exit
Niivall sen'wr and / J ontalirr (,'iSS), &c. All rxi t, occurs in
"The Kmperor of the East (3\l),Etit Gent lemen ('2-24 ), and
Exit Tiberin and Stephana (245), in " The Duke of M ilaii :
these la.-t blunders aie voluntary on the part of the editor.
Coxcler, whom he usually follows, reads Ex. for Exe-mt :
the tilling up, therefore, is solely due to his own ingenuity.
Similar instances might be produced from every play. I would

J See his Preface to Shakspeare.

INTRODUCTION.

I come now to the notes. Those who are accustomed
to the crowded pages of our modern editors, will
probably be somewhat startled at the comparative
nakedness. If this be an enor it is a voluntary one.
1 never could conceive why the readers of cur old
dramatists should be suspected of labouring under
a greater degree of ignorance than those of any other
class of writers; yet, from the trite and iu'.gcfi-
cant materials amassed for their information, ii is
evident that a persuasion of this nature is uncom-
monly prevalent. Customs which are universal, and
expressions ''familiar as household words" in
every mouth, are illustrated, that is to sav, over-
laid, by an immensity of parallel passages, with
just as much wisdom and reach of thought as would
be evinced by him who, to explain any simple word
in this line, should empty upon the reader all the
examples to be found under it in Johnson's Dic-
tionary !

This cheap and miserable display of minute
erudition grew up, in great measure, with \Varton :
peace to his manes ! the cause of sound litera-
ture has been fearfully avenged upon his bend : and,
the knight-errant who, with his attendant Bowles,
the dullest of all mortal squires, sullied forth in quest
of the original proprietor of every common word in
Milton, has had his copulatives and disjunctives,
bis buts and his ands, sedulously ferretted out from
all the school-books in the kingdom. As a prose
writer, he will long continue to instruct and delight ;
but as a poet he is buried lost. He is not of the
Titans, nor does he possess sufficient vigour to
shake off the weight of incumbent mountains.

However this may be, I have proceeded on a dif-
ferent plan. Passages that only exercise the me-
mory, by suggesting similar thoughts and expres-
sions in other writers, are, if somewhat obvious,
generally left to the reader's own discover}'. Un-
common and obsolete words are briefly explained,

not infer from this, that Mr. M. Mason is unacquainted with
the meaning of so common a wont ; but if we relieve him
from the charge of ignorance, what becomes of hisaccuracj !
Indeed, it is difficult to say on \\hat precise exertion of this
faculty his claims to favour were founded. Sometimes cha-
racters come in that never go out, arid go out that never
come in ; at other times they speak before they enter, or
after they have lett the stn;;e, nay, "to make it the more
gracious," after they are asleep or dead ! Here one mode
of spelling is adopted, there another; here Coxeter 13 ser-
vilely followed, there capiirionsly deserted ; here the scenes
are numbered, there continued i without distinclion ; here
asides are multiplied without necessity, there suppressed
w-itu manifest injury to the sense: while the page is every
where encuinbeied 'with marginal directions, Which being
intended solely lor the property-man, who, as has been already
mentioned, h^d but few properties at his disposal, can now-
only be regarded as designed to txrite a smile at the ex-
pense of Ihe author. Nor is this all: the absurd scenery in-
troduce'! by Coxeter is continued, in deepight of common
sense: the lists of dramatis persona; are imperfectly given
in every instance; and even that of "The Fatal Dowry,"
which has no description of the rhaiacters, is left by Mr. M.
Mason as he found it, though nothing can be more destruc-
tive of that uniformity which the reader is Ud to expect
from the bold pretensions of his preface. I In.pe it is nterl-
less to add. that these irregularities will not be found in the
present vulurne.

and, wbere the phraseology was doubtful or ob-
scu;e, it is illustrated and confirmed bv quotations
from contemporary authors. In this part of the
work no abuse has been attempted of the render's
patience : the most positive that could be found,
are given, and a scrupulous attention is every
where paid to brevity ; as it has been always mv
fjiv: ision,

" That where one's proofs are aptly chosen,
Four are as valid as four dozen."

I do not know whether it may be proper to add
here, that the freedoms of the author (of which, as
none can be more sensible than myself, so none can
more lament them) hive obtained lit^'e o~~ my soli-
citude : those, therefore, who examine the notes
with a prurient eye, will find no gratification in
their licentiousness. I have called in no Amner
to drivel out gnituifous obscenities in uncouth lan-
guage* ; no Collins (whose name should be devoted
to lasting infamy) to ransack the annals of a brothel
for secret "better hidf ;" where I wished not todetain
the reader, I have been silent, and instead of aspiring
to the fame of a licentious commentator, sought
only for the quiet approbation wiih which the
father or the husband may reward the faithful
editor.

But whatever may be thought of my own notes,
the critical observations that follow each play, and,
above all, the eloquent and masterly delineation of
^Lissinger's character, subjoined to " The Old
Law," by the companion of my you'.h, the friend
of my maturrr years, the inseparable and affection-
ate associate of my pleasures and my pains, my
graver and my lighter siudies, the Rev. Dr. Ire-
landj, will, 1 arn persuaded, be received with pecu-
liar pleasure, if precision, vigour, discrimination,
and originality, preserve their usual claiais to
esteem.

The head of Massinger, prefixed to this volume,
was copied by my young friend Lascelles Hoppner,
from the pr;nt before three octavo plays published
by If. JMoseley, 1655. Whether it be really the
" vera effigies'" of the poet, 1 cannot pretend to say : it
was produced sufficiently near his time to be accurate,
r.nd it has not the air of a fancy portrait. There is,
I believe, no other.

* In uncouth language] It is singular that Mr. Stecven,
who was so well acquainted wiih the words of our ancient
writers, should be so ignorant of their sijle. The language
which he has put imo the mouth of Amner is a barbarous
inmble of different ages, that never had, and never could
have, a prototype.

tOne book which (not being, perhaps, among the
arc' ives so carefully explond for the benefit <>f the youthful
reader* of Sliakspeare) seems to Uave escaped the notice of
Mr. Collins, may yet be safely commended to his future
researches as not unlikely to reward his pains. He will
find in it. among many other thing* equally valuable,
that " The knowledge of irictednesx is not wis<!ot, m i-
ther at any lime the counsel of sinners prudence." EccU*.
xix. 2->.

; Prebendary of Westminster, and Vicar of Croydon i
Surrey.

INTRODUCTION.

gentleman of Stamford*, no sooner heard of my de-
sign, than he obligingly sent me all the copie^which
be possessed ; the Kev. P. Bayles of Colchester
(only known to me by this act of kindness) pre-
sented me with a small but choice selection ; and
Mr. Malone, with a liberality which I shall ever
remember with gratitude and delight, furnished me,
unsolicited, with his invaluable collection!, among
which I found all the first editions}: these, with
sucl) as I could procure in the course ofa few months
fnfm the booksellers, in addition to the copies in the
Museum, and in the rich collection of his Majesty,
which 1 consulted from time to time, form tl.e basis
of the present Work.

With these aids 1 sat down to the business of colla-
tion : it was now that I discovered, with no less
surprise ihan indignation, those alterations and omis-

I must not omit lliat Mr. GilchrUt (whose name will
occur more th.ui once in the ensuing pages', together with
bis copies of Massinger, transmitted a number ol list nil and
judicious observations on the Poel, derived from his exten.
ive acquaintance with our ol<l historians.

t For this, I owe Mr. Malone my peculiar thanks: but
the admin rs of Massinger must join wiih me in expressing
their gratitude to liim lor an obligation of a more public
kind; lor tl.c communication of thai beautilul ir.iiiiiit nt,
which now appears in piint for the first lime, " The I'arli.i-
ment of Lo\t." From " The History of ihe English $tagc,"
prefixed to Mr. Malone's edition of Shakspi-aie, I learned
that " Four acts of an unpublished drama, by Uaninycr,
were still extant in manusc.iipt." As I an\iou.-ly wished to
render this edition as perfect as possible. 1 wrote to Mr.
Malone, wi h \\limn 1 iiad not the pleasure of being per-
sonally acquainted, to know where it mieht be IOIMH! ; in
return, he informed me that the manuscript was in bis pos-
session : its stale, he added, was such, that he doubled win ther
mnch advantage could be derived I rout it, but that I was
entirely welcome to make the experiment. Of this pennis-
ion, which 1 accepted with singular plea-ure, I instantly
availed myself, and received the manuscript, it was,
indeed, in a forlorn condition : several leave? were torn from
the beginning, and the top and bottom of every page wa.-ttd
by damps, to which it had formerly been exposed. On ex-
amination, however, I had the satisfaction to find, that a
considerable part of the first act, which was suppostd to be
lost, jet esi-ted, and that a certain degree of attention,
which I was not unwilling to bestow on it, mijjit recover
nearly the whole of the remainder. How I succeeded, may
be seen in the present volume; where the reader will liml
nidi an account, is was consistent with the brevity of my
plan, of the singular institution on which the fable is lonmlrd.
Perhaps the subject merits no further consideration : 1 would,
however, just observe, that, since Ihe article was pliiiltd, I
have been furnished by my frit-lid, the Kev. R. Nares, with
a curious old volume, called "Arcsta Ainorum, or Arrets
d'Amoiir," written in French by Mailial d'Auveriine, who
died in I .MIS. It is not possible to imagine any tl ing
inure frivolous than the causes, or rather appeals, which are
tnpposed to be heard in this Court of Love. What is, how-
ever somewhat extraordinary, \-, that these miserable trifles
ire commented upon by Benoit le Court, a crlehrated juris
consult of Ih se limes, with a degree of sciiousntss which
would not disgrace the most important <|i:e.tions. Every
Greek and Roman writer, then known, is c|Uoitd with pro-
fnsi lo pi ove. some trite position dropt at random: occa-
sion is also taken lo descant on many subtle points <-f lau,
which might nut lie aliogether, perhaps, without iheir in-
terest. 1 have nothing further lo say of this elaborate piece
of foolery, which I read with equal wearsomeness and ilis-
gusl, but which serves, perhaps, ID show that these I'ailia
nients of Love, though confessedly imaginary, occupied
much of the public attention, than (ha! it had probably fallen
into Massingcr's hands, as the scene between Krlli-.,i.t and
Clariudore (page 156) seems to be founded on the first
appeal uhich is heard in the " Arrets d'Amour."

J 1 have no inlenlion of entering into the dispute respecting
the conparativc merits of Ihe first and second tolios of
Shakspeare. (If > atsinger, however. I may be allow id to
say. that I constantly found the earliest editions the most
correct. A palpable eiror might be. and, indeed, sometimes
was removed in the subsequent ones, but the spirit, and
what I would call the raeiness, of the author only appealed
complete in the original copies.

sions of which I have already spoken ; and which 7
made it my first care, to reform and supply. At tna
outset, finding it difficult to conceive that the varia-
tions in Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason were the effect
of ignorance or caprice, I imagined that an authority
for them might be somewhere found, and therefore
collated not only every edition, but even several
copies of the same edition* ; what began in necessity
was continued by choice, and every p!uy has under,
gone, at least, five close examinations with the ori
ginal text. On this strictness of revision rests the
great distinction of this edition from the preceding
ones, from which it will be found to vary in an in-
finite number of places : indeed, accuracy, as Mr.
M. .Mason says, is all the merit to which it pretends ;
and though I not provoke, yet 1 see no reason to
deprecate the consequent es of the severest scrutiny.
There is yet another distinclion. The old copies
rarely specify the place of action : such, indeed, was
the poverty of the stage, that it admitted of little
viirietv. A plain curtain hung up in a corner, se-
parated distant regions ; and if a board were ad-
vanced with Milan and Florence wiitten upon it,
the delusion was complete. " A table with pen and
ink thrust in," signified I bat the stage was a counting-
house ; if these were withdrawn, and two stools
put in their places, it was then a tavern. Instances
of this miiy be found in the margin of all our old
plays, which seem to be copied from the prompters'
books ; and Mr. Malone might have produced from
his Massinger alone, more than enough to satisfy
the veriest sceptic, that the notion of scenery, as we
now understand it, was utterly unknown to the
stage. Indeed, he had so much the advantage of
the argument without ihese aids, that I have always
Wondered how Steevens could so long support, and
so strenuously contend for, his most hopeless cause.
But he was a wit and a scholar; and there is some
pride in showing how dexterously a clumsy wea-
pon may b wielded by a practised swordsman. With
all this, however, 1 have ventured on an arrange-
ment of the scenery. Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason
attempted it in two or three plays, and their ill
success in a maiter of no extraordinary difficulty,
proves how much they mistook their talents, when
they commenced the trade of editorship, with little
more than the negative qualities of heedlessuess and
inexperience. t

In some of these plays I discovered that an error had
been detected after a part of the impression was vvoiked oft,
anil consequently corrected, or what was more frequently
the case, exchanged for another.

+ }]eeiilistnest and inexperience-} Those who recollect the
boast of Mr. M. Masi/n, will be somewhat surprised, per-
haps, even after all which tiny have heard, at learning that,
in &o simple a matter as inaiking Ihe exits, this gentleman
blunders at every step. If J'ope new wire alive, he need
n t apply to his black-letter plays lor such niceties as exit
omnrs, enter three blaek vitche**(.lut,l &c. Mr. M. Mason's
edition, which he "flatUrs himself will be found more cor-
rect than the best of those which have been jet published
of any oilier ancient dramatic writer," would furnish abund-
ance of them. His copy of 'The Fatal Dowry,' now lies
before me, and, in the compass of a few pages, I observe,
Ej-it officers with \ovall (190), Exit Charaluis, Creditnrt,
and (,'Jfti e: * (200), Exit liomont and Servant (215;, Exit
Nmall senior and /-'onlatier t'258), &c. All exit, occurs in
"The Kmperor of the East (31 l),.rif Gentlemen (224), and
EfUTlberio and Stephana (IMS), in " The Duke of Milan :
these last blunders aie voluntary on the. part of the editor.
Coxder, whoih he usually follows, reads Ex. for Exe-mt :
the tilling up, tlureloie, is solely due to his own ingenuity.
Similar instances might be produced from every play. I would

J See his Preface to Shukspearc.

INTRODUCTION.

I come DOW to the notes. Those who are accustomed
to the crowded pages of our modern editors, will
probvibly be somewhat startled at the comparative
nakedness. If this be an error it is a voluntary one.
1 never could conceive why the readers of cur old
dramatists should be suspected of labouring under
a greater degree of ignorance than those of any oilier
class of writers ; yet, from the trite and iu'.gc fi-
cant materials amassed for their information, ii is
evident that a persuasion of this nature is uncom-
monly prevalent. Customs which are universal, and
expressions "familiar as household words" in
every mouth, are illustrated, that is to say, over-
laid, by an immensity of parallel passages, with
just as much wisdom and reach of thought as would
be evinced by him who, to explain any simple word
in this line, should empty upon the reader all the
examples to be found under it in Johnson's Dic-
tionary !

This cheap and miserable display of minute
erudition grew up, in great measure, with Warton :
peace to his manes ! the cause of sound litera-
ture has been fearfully avenged upon his head : and,
the knight-errant who, with his attendant Bowles,
the dullest of all mortal squires, sallied forth in quest
of the original proprietor of every common word in
Slilton, has had his copulatives and disjunctives,
his bitts and his ands, sedulously ferretted out from
all the school-books in the kingdom. As a prose
writer, lie will long continue to instruct and delight ;
but as a poet he is buried lost. He is not of the
Titans, nor does he possess sufficient vigour to
shake off the weight of incumbent mountains.

However this may be, I have proceeded on a dif-
ferent plan. Passages that only exercise the me-
mory, by suggesting similar thoughts and expres-
sions in other writers, are, if somewhat obvious,
generally left to the reader's own discovery. Un-
common and obsolete words are briefly explained,

not infer from this, tliat Mr. M. Mason is unacquainted with
the meaning of 50 common a word ; but if we relieve him
from Ihe charge of ignorance, what becomes of his accuracy I
Indeed, it is difficult to say on what precise exertion of this
faculty his cl.iim.- to favour were founded. Sometimes cha-
racters come in that never go out, and go out that never
come in ; at other times they speak before they enter, or
after they have lelt the stasje, nay, "to make ft the more
gracious," after they are asleep or dead ! Here one mode
of spelling is adopted, there another; here Coxeter 13 ser-
vilely followed, there capriciously deserted; here the scenes
are numbered, there continued without distinction; here
af'ides are multiplied without necessity, there suppressed
with manifest injury to the sense : while the pa<;e is every
where encumbered with marginal direction?, which being
intended solely lor the property-man, who, as has been already
mentioned, h.d but few properties at his disposal, can now
only be regarded as designed to excite a smile at the ex-
pense of the author. Nor is this all: the absurd scenery in-
troduced by Coxeter is continued, in de;pight of common
sense: the lists of dramatis persona: are imperfectly given
in every instance; and even that of "The Fatal Dowry."
which has no description of the chaiactets, is left by Mr.'M.
Mason as he found it, though nothing can be more destruc-
tive of that uniformity which the reader is ltd to expect
from the bold pretensions of his preface. I hope it is neerl-
less to ,K!I|. that the-c irregularities will not be fouud in the
present volume.

and, wbere the phraseology was doubtful or ob-
scuie, it is illustrated and confirmed bv quotations
from contemporary authors. In this part of the
work no abuse has been attempted of the reader's
patience: the most positive that could be found,
are given, and a scrupulous attention is every
where paid to brevity ; as it Las been always mv
jr.rb- ision,

" That where one's proofs are aptly chosen,
Four are as valid as four dozen."

I do not know whether it may be proper to add
here, that the freedoms of the author (of which, as
none can be more sensible than myself, so none can
more lament them) hive obtained lii''e o~~ my soli-
citude: those, therefore, who examine the notes
with a prurient eye, will find no gratification in
their licentiousness. I have called in no Amner
to drivel out graiuiious obscenities in uncouth lan-
guage* ; no Collins (whose name should be devoted
to lasting infamy) to ransack the annals of a brothel
for secret "better hidf ;" where I wished not to detain
the reader, I have been silent, and instead of aspiring
to the fame of a licentious commentator, sought
only for the quiet approbation with which the
father or the busband may reward the faithful
editor.

But whatever may be thought of my own notes,
the critical observations that follow each play, and,
above all, the eloquent and masterly delineation of
Massinger's character, subjoined to " The Old
Law," by the companion of my youth, the friend
of my maturer years, the inseparable and affection-
ate associate of my pleasures and my pains, my
graver and mv lighter studies, the Rev. JJr. Ire-
land}, will, 1 am persuaded, be received with pecu-
liar pleasure, if precision, vigour, discrimination,
and originality, preserve their usual claims to
esteem.

The head of Massinger, prefixed to this volume,
was copied by my young friend Lascelles Hoppner,
from the print before three octavo plays published
by If. Moseley, 1655. Whether it be really the
" vera effigies" of the poet, 1 cannot pretend to say : it
was produced sufficiently near his time to be accurate,
and it has not the air of a fancy portrait. There is,
I believe, no other.

* In uncouth language] It is singular that Mr. Stccven.%
who was so well acquainted with the words of our ancient
wrilers> should be so ignorant of their style. The language
which he has put imo the mouth of Amner is a barbarous
jumble of dittereiit ages, that never had, and never could
have, a prototype.

tOne book which (not being, perhaps, among the
arc' ives so carefully explond for the benefit f the youthful
reader* of Shak?peare) seems to l;ave escaped the notice of
Mr. Collins, may yet be safely commended to his future
rcsearche*. as not unlikely to reward his pains. He wil|
find in it, among many other thing* equally valuable,
that " The knowledge of wickedness is not wisdom, nei-
ther at any time the counsel of sinners prudence." Eccle*.
xix. 2'2.

; Prebendary of Westminster, and Vicar of Croydon in
Surrey.

ESSAY

DRAMATIC WRITINGS OF MASSINGER,

BY JOHN FERRIAR, M.D.

- Res antiguee laudis et artis

Ingredior, sanetos ausus rccludere f antes. Vino.

IT might be urged, as a proof of our possessing a
uperfluity of good plays in our language, that one
of our best dramatic writers is very generally dis-
jegarded. But whatever conclusion may be drawn
from this fact, it will not be easy to free the public
from the suspicion of caprice, while it continues to
idolize Shiikspeare, and to neglect an author not
often much inferior, and sometimes nearly ecjual, to
that wonderful poet. Massinger's fate has, indeed,
been hard, far beyond the common topics of the
infelicity of genius. He was not merely denied the
fortune for which he laboured, and the fame which
he merited ; a still more cruel circumstance has at-
tended his productions : literary pilferers have
built their reputation on his obscurity, and the
popularity of their stolen beauties has diverted
the public attention from the excellent original.

An attempt was made in favour of this injured
poet, in 1761, by a new edition of his works, at-
tended with a critical dissertation on the old Knglish
dramatists, in which, though composed with spirit
and elegance, there is little to be found respecting
Massinger. Another edition appeared in 1773,
but the poet remained unexamined. Perhaps Mas-
singer is still unfortunate in his vindicator.

The same irregularity of plot, and disregard of
rules, iippear in Massinger's productions as in those
of his contemporaries. On this subject Shakspeare
has been so well defended that it is unnecessary to
add any arguments in vindication of our poet.
There is every reason to suppose that Massinger
did not neglect the ancient rules from ignorance,
for he appears to be one of our most learned writers,
(notwithstanding the insipid sneer of Antony
Wood*) : and Cartwriyht, who was confessedly a

At/tents Oxon. Vol. I.

i man of great erudition, is not more attentive to the
unities than any other poet of that age. But our
author, like Shakspeare, wrote for bread : it ap-
pears from different parts of his works*, that much
of his life had passed in slavish dependence, and
penury is not apt to encourage a desire of fame.

One observation, however, may be risked, on our
irregular and regular plays ; that the former are
more pleasing to the taste, and the latter to the
understanding; readers must determine, then, whe-
ther it is better to feel or to approve. .Massinger's
dramatic art is too great to allow a faint sense of"pro-
priety to dwell on the mind, in perusing his pieces ;
he inflames or soothes, excites the strongest terror,
or the softest pity, with ali the energy and power
of a true poet.

But if we must admit that an irregular plot
subjects a writer to peculiar disadvantages, the
force of Massinger's genius will appear more evi-
dently from this very concession. The interest of
his pieces is, for the most part, strong and well
denned ; the story, though worked up to a studied
intricacy, is, in general, resolved with as much
ease and probability as its nature will permit;
attention is never disgusted by anticipation, nor
tortured with unnecessary delay. These characters
are applicable to most of Massinger's own produc-
tions ; but in those which he wrote jointly witli
other dramatists, the interest is often weakened, by
incidents which that age permitted, but which the
present would not endure. Thus, in " The Kene-
gadoj," the honor of Paulina is preserved Ironi the
brutality of her Turkish master, by the influence of a

* See particularly the dedication of" The Maid of iliwur,'
and "Tlie Great i>nl,e of MOI-MUV."
t This play was written by Malinger alone.

ESSAY ON THE WRITINGS OF MASSINGER.

relic, which she wears on her breast: in "The
Virgin Martyr," the heroine is attended, through
all her sufferings, by an angel disgui.-ed as her page ;
her persecutor is urged on to destroy her by an
attendant fiend, also in disguise. Here our anxiety
for tha distressed, and our hatred of the Tricked,
are completely stifled, and we are morj easily
affected by some burlesque passages which follow
in the same legendary strain. In the last quoted
plav, the attendant angel picks the pockets of
two dfbaucbees, and Tbeopbilus overcomes the
devil by means of a cross composed of flowers,
which Dorothea had sent him from Paradise.

The story of " The Bondman" is more intricate
than that of " The Duke of Milan," yet the former
is a more interesting play ; for in the latter, the
motives of Fnmcisco's conduct, which occasions
the distress of the piece, ate only disclosed in nar-
ration, at the beginning of the fifth act : we there-
fore consider him, till that moment, as a man
absurdly and unnaturally vicious : but in " The
Bondman," we have frequent glimpses of a concealed
splendour in the character of Pisander, which keep
our attention fixed, and exalt our expectation of the
catastrophe. A more striking comparison might
be instituted between " The Fatal Dowry'' of our
author, and Rowe's copy of it in his " Fair Penitent ;"
but this is very fully and judiciously done, by the
author of " The Observer*," who has proved suf-
ficiently, that the interest of " The Fair Penitent"
is much weakened, by throwing into narration what
Massinger had forcibly represented on the stage.
Yet Howe's play is rendered much more regular by
the alteration. Farquhar's " Inconstant," which is
taken from our author's " Guardian," and Fletcher's
" Wild-goose Chace, is considerably less elegant
and less interesting ; by the plagiarist's indiscretion,
the lively, facetious Durazzo of Massinger is trans-
formed into a nauseous buffoon, in the character of
Id Mirabel.

The art and judgment with which our poet con-
ducts his incidents are every where admirable. In
" The Duke of Milan," our pity for Marcelia would
inspire a detestation of all the other characters, if she
did not facilitate her ruin by the indulgence of an
excessive pride. In" ) he bondman," Cleora would
be despicable when she changes her lover, if Leos-
thenes had not rendered himself unworthy of her,
by a mean jealousy. The violence of Almira's
passion in the " Very Woman," prepares us for its
decay. Many detached scenes in these pieces pos-
sess uncommon beauties of incident and situation.
Of this kind are, the interview between Charles V.
and Sforzaf, which, though notoriously contrary to
true history, and very deficient in the representation
of the emperor, arrests our attention, and awakens
our teelings in the strongest manner; the conference
of Matthias and Baptista, when Sophia's virtue
becomes suspected J ; the pleadings in ' The Fatal
Dowry," respecting the funeral lites of Charalois ;
the interview between Doc John, disguised as a
slave, and his mistress, to whom he relates his
story$ ; but, above all, the meeting of Pisander <md
Cleor;i||, ai'ier he has excited the revolt of the slaves,
in order io get her within his power. These scenes
are eminently distinguished by their novelty, cor-

No. I.XXXVIIF, LXXX1X, XC.

f " Diile of Milan," Arl. II.

J " Picture." j" A Very Woman."

Jl " Bondman.'

rectness, and interest ; the most minute critic will
find little wanting, and the lover of truth and nature
can suffer nothing to be taken away.

It is no reproach of our author, that the foundation
of several, perhaps all, of his plots may be traced in
different .historians, or novelists ; for in supplying
himself from these sources, he followed the practice
of the age. Shakspeare, Jonson, and the rest, are
not more original, in this respect, than our Poet ; if
Cartwright may be exempted, he is the only ex-
ception to this remark. As the minds of an audience,
unacquainted with the models of antiquity, could
only be affected by immediate application to their
passions, our old writers crowded as many incidents,
and of as perplexing a nature us possible, into their
works, to support anxiety and expectation to their
utmost height. In our reformed tragic school, our
| pleasure arises from the contemplation of the writer's
art ; and instead of eagerly watching for the unfolding
of the plot (the imagination being left at liberty by
the simplicity of the action), we consider whether it
be properly conducted. Another reason, however,
may be assigned for the intricacy of those plots,
namely, the prevailing taste for the manners and
writings of Italy. During the whole of the sixteenth
and part of the seventeenth centuries, Italy was
the seat of elegance and arts, which the other Euro-
pean nations had begun to admire, but not to imitate.
From causes which it would be foreign to the pre-
sent purpose to enumerate, the Italian writers
abounded in complicated and interesting stories,
which were eagerly seized by a people not well
qualified for invention* ; but the richness, variety,
and distinctness of character which our writers
added to those tales, conferred beauties on them which
charm us at this hour, however disguised by the
alteration of manners and language.

Exact discrimination and consistency of character
appear in all Massinger's productions ; sometimes,
indeed, the interest of the play suffers by his scru-
pulous attention to them. Thus, in " The Fatal
Dowry," Charalois 's fortitude and determined sense
of honour are carried to a most unfeeling awl bar-
barous degree ; and Francisco's villainy, in " The
Duke of Milan," is cold and considerate beyond na-
ture. But here we must again plead the sad neces-
sity under which our poet laboured, of pleasing his
audience at any rate. It was the prevailing opinion,
that the characters ought to approach towards each
other as little as possible. This was termed art, and
in consequence of this, as Dr. Hurd saysf, some
writers of that time have founded their characters on
abstract ideas, instead of copying from real life.
Those delicate and beautiful shades of manners,
which we admire in Shakspeare, were reckoned in-
accuracies by his contemporaries. Thus Cartwright
says, in his verses to Fletcher, speaking of Shak-
speare, whom, he undervalues, " nature was all hit
art."

General manners must always influence the stage;
unhappily, the manners of Massingei's age were
pedantic. Yet it must be allowed that our Author's
characters are less abstract th'an those of Jonson or
Ciirtwright, and that, with more dignity, they are

* Cartwright and Congreve, who resemble each other
strongly in some remarkable circumstance?, are almost oat
only dramatics who have any claim to originality in theii
plot*.

t " Essay on the Provinces of the Drama.

IXX

ESSAY ON THE WRITINGS OF MASSINGER.

equally natural with those of Fletcher. His con-
ceptions are, for the most part, just and noble. We
have a fine instance of this in the character of Dio-
cletian, who, vrry differently from the ranting ty-
rants by whom the stage has been so long possessed,
is generous to his vanquished enemies, and perse-
cutes from policy as much as from zeal. He attracts
our respect, immediately on his appearance, by the
following sentiments :

- In all growing empires,
Even cruelty is useful ; some must suffer.
And be set up examples to strike terror
In others, though far off: but, when a state
Is raisrd to her perfection, and her bases
Too firm to shrink, or yield, we may use mercy,
And do't with safety :

Virgin Martyr, Act. I. so. i.

Sforza is an elevated character, cast in a different
mould ; brave, frank, and generous, he is hurried,
by the unrestrained force of his passions, into fatal
excesses in love and friendship. He appears with
great dignity before the emperor, on whose mercy he
is thrown, by the defeat of his allies, the French, at
the battle of Pa'via. After recounting his obliga-
tions to Francis, he proceeds :

If that, then, to he grateful

For courtesies received, or not to leave
A friend in his necessities, be a crime
Amongst you Spaniards,

- Sforza brings his head
To pay the forfeit. Nor come I as a slave,
Pinion'd and fetter'd, in a squalid weed,
Falling before thy feet, kneeling and howling,
For a forestall'd remission : that were poor,
And would hut shame thy victory ; for conquest
Ovi r base foes, is a captivity,
And not a triumph. 1 ne'er fear'd to die,
Wore than 1 wish'd to live. When I had reach'd
JVIy ends in being a duke, I wore these robes,
This crown upon my head, and to my side
This sword was girt ; and witness truth, that, now
'Tis in anothei's power when I shall part
With them and life together, I'm the same:
My veins then did not swell with pride; nor now
Shrink they for fear.

The Dtikeof Milan, Act III. sc. ii.

In the scene where Sforza enjoins Francisco to dis-
patch Marcelia, in case of the emperor's proceeding
to extremities against him, the poet has given him
a strong expression of horror at his own purpose.
After disposing Francisco to obey his commands
without reserve, by recapitulating the favours con-
ferred on him, Sforza proceeds to impress him with
the blackest view of the intended deed :

- 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.

Thou must do, then,

What no malevolent star will dare to look on,
It is so wicked : for which men will curse thee
For being the instrument; and (he 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 he 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 ;

The Duke of Milan, Act I. sc. ult.

If we compare this scene, and especially the pas-
sage quoted, with the celebrated scene between King
John and Hubert, we shall perceive this remarkable
difference, that Sforza, while he proposes to hia
brother-in-law and favourite, the eventful murder of
his wife, whom he idolizes, is consistent and deter-
mined ; his mind is filled with the horror of the
deed, but borne to the execution of it by the im-
pulse of an extravagant and fantastic delicacy ;
John, who is actuated solely by the desire of re-
moving his rival in the crown, not only fears to
communicate his purpose to Hubert, though he per-
ceives him to be

A fellow by tlie hand of nature mark'd,
Quoted, and sign'd to do a deed of shame ;

but after he has sounded him, and found him ready
to execute whatever he can propose, he only hints
at the deed. Sforza enlarges on the cruelty and
atrocity of his design ; John is afraid to utter his
in the view of the sun : nay, the sanguinary Richard
hesitates in proposing the murder of his nephews
to Buckingham. In this instance then, as well as
that of Charalois, our poet may seem to deviate from
nature, for ambition is a stronger passion than love,
yet Sforza decides with more promptness and confi-
dence than either of Shakspeare's characters. We
must consider, however, that timidity and irresolu-
tion are characteristics of John, and that Richard's
hesitation appears to be assumed, only in order to
transfer the guilt and odium of the action to Buck-
ingham.

It was hinted before, that the character of Pisan
der, in "The Bondman," is more interesting than that
of Sforza. His virtues, so unsuitable to the character
of a slave, the boldness of his designs, and the
steadiness of his courage, excite attention and anx-
iety in the most powerful manner. He is perfectly
consistent, and, though lightly shaded with chivalry,
is not deficient in nature or passion. Leosthenes is
also the child of nature, whom perhaps we trace in
some later jealous characters. Cleora is finely
drawn, but to the present age, perhaps, appears
rather too masculine : the exhibition of characters
which should wear an unalterable charm, in their
finest and almost insensible touches, was peculiar to
the prophetic genius of Shakspeare*. Massinger
has given a strong proof of his genius, by intro-
ducing in a different play, a similar character, in a
like situation to that of Pisander, yet with sufficient
discrimination of manners and incident : I mean don
John, in" TheVery Woman," wholike Pisander, gains
his mistress's heart, under the disguise of a slave.
Don John is a model of magnanimity, superior to
Cato, because he is free from pedantry and osten-

ESSAY ON THE WRITINGS OF MASSIXGER.

tation. I believe he may be regarded as an original
character. It was easy to interest our feelings for
all the characters already described, but no writer,
before Massinger, had attempted to make a plaver
the hero of tragedy. This, however, lie has exe-
cuted with surprising- address, in " The Roman
Actor." It must be confessed that Paris, the actor,
owes much of his dignity to incidents ; at the open-
ing of the play, he defends his profession success-
fully before the senate ; this artful introduction
raises him, in our ideas, above the level of his situa-
tion, for the poet has " graced him with all the
power of words ;" the empress's passion for him
places him in a still more distinguished light, and
he meets his death from the hand of the emperor
himself, in a mock play. It is, perhaps, from a sense
of the difficulty of exalting Pans's character, and of
the dexterity requisite to fix the attention of the
audience on it, that Massinger savs, in the dedica-
tion of this play, that " he ever held it the most
perfect birth of his Minerva." I know not whether
it is owing to design, or to want of art, that Ilomont,
in " The Fatal Dowry," interests us as much as
Charalois, the hero. If Charalois surrenders his
liberty to procure t'uneral rites for his father, Ro-
mont previously provokes the court to imprison
him, by speaking with two much animation in the
cause of his friend. Ilomont, though insulted by
Charalois, who discredits his report of Beaumelle's
infidulity, flies to him with all the eagerness of at-
tachment, when Charalois is involved in difficulties
by tbe murder of Nova'l and his wife, and revenges
his death, when he is assassinated by Pontalier.
Rowe, who neglected the finest parts of this tragedy
in his plagiarism "The Fair Penitent," has not
failed to copy the fault I have pointed out. His
Horatio is a much finer character than his Altamout,
yet he is but a puppet when compared with Mas-
singer's Romont. Camiola, " The Maid of Honour,"
is a most delightful character; her fidehtv, gene-
rosity, dignity of manners, and elevation of senti-
ments are finely displayed, and nobly sustained
throughout. It is pity that the poet thought him-
self obliged to debase all the other characters in
the piece in order to ex-alt her. There is an admirable
portrait of Old Malefort, in that extravagant com-
position "Tbe Unnatural Combat." The Poet
seems to equal the art of the writer whom he here
imitates :

I have known him

From his first youth, but never yet observed,
In all the passages of his life and fortunes,
Virtues so mix'd with vices : valiant the world

speaks him,

But with that, bloody ; liberal in his gifts too,
But to maintain his prodigal expense,
A fierce extortioner ; an impotent lover
Of women for a flash, but, his fires quench'd,
Hating as deadly : Act. 111. sc. ii.

Almira and Cardenes, in " The Very Woman,"
are copied from nature, and therefore never obso-
lete. They appear, like many favourite characters
in our present comedy, amiable in their tempers, and
warm in their attachments, but capricious, and im-
patient of control. Massinger, with unusual charity,
has introduced a plnsiciaii in a respectable point of
view, in this play. We are agreeably interested in
Durazzo*, who has all the good nature of Terence's

"The Guardian."

Micio, with more spirit. His picture of country
sports may be viewed with delight, even by those
who might not relish the reality :

- rise before the sun,

i hen make a breakfast of the morning- dew,
Served up by nature on some grassy hill ;
You'll find it nectar.

In " The City Madam" we are presented with the
character of a finished hypocrite, but so artfully
drawn, that he appears, to be rather governed by
external circumstances, to which he adapts himself,
than to act, like Moliere's Tartuflv, t'roin a formal
system of wickedness. His humility and benevo-
lence, while he appears as a ruined man, and as his
brother's servant, are evidently produced by the
pressure of his misfortunes, and he discovers a
lameness, amidst the insults of his relations, that
indicates an inherent baseness of disposition*.
When he is informed that his brother has retired
from the world, and has left him his immense for-
tune, he seems at first to apprehend a deception ;

O my good lord !

This heap of wealth which you possess me of,
Which to a vvordly man had been a blessing,
And to the messenger might with justice challenge
A kind of adoration, is to me
A curse I cannot thank you for; and much less
Rejoice in that tranquillity of mind
My brjther's vows must purchase. I have made
A dear exchange with him: he now enjoys
My peace and poverty, the trouble of
His wealth conferr'd on me, and that a burthen
Too heavy for my weak shoulders.

Act III. sc. ii.

On receiving the will, he begins to promise un-
bounded lenity to his servants, and makes pro-
fessions and promises to the ladies who used him
so cruelly in his adversity, which appear at last to
be ironical, though they take them to be sincere
He does not display himself till he has visited his
wealth, the sight of which dazzles and astonishes
him so far as to throw him off his guard, and to
render him insolent. Massinger displays a know-
ledge of man, not very usual with drama'ic writers,
while he represents the same person as prodigal of
a small fortune in his youth, servile and hypocritical
in his distresses, arbitrary and r.ipacious in tha
possession of wealth suddenly acquired : for those
seeming changes of character depend on the same
disposition variously influenced ; I mean on a base
and feeble mind, incapable of resisting the power of
external circumstances. In order, hoiTever, to
prepare us for the extravagances of this character,
after he is enriched, the poet delineates Li exces-
sive transports on viewing his wealth, in a speech
which cannot be injured by a comparison with any
soliloquy in our language

Twas no fantastic object, but a truth,
A real truth ; nor dream : 1 dk! not slumber)
Arvl could wake ever with a-brooding eye
To gazeupon't! it did endure the touch,
I saw and felt it ! Yet what I beheld
And handled oft, did so transcend belief,
(My wonder and astonishment pass'd o'er),
1 faintly could give credit to my senses.

See particularly hissoliloquy, Act III. Sc. ii.

ESSAY ON THE WRITINGS OF MASSINGER.

Thou dumb magician [Taking out a key~\, that

without a charm

Did'st make my entrance easy, to possess
What wise men wish and toil foi ! Hermes'

moly,

Sibylla's golden bough, the great elixir,
Imagined only by the alchynust,
Compared with thee are shadows, thou the

substance,

And guardian of felicity ! No marvel
My brother made thy place of rest his bosom,
Thou being the keeper of his heart, a mistress
To be hugg'd ever ! In by-corners of
This sacred room, silver in bags, heap'd up
Like billets saw'd and ready for the fire,
Unworthy to hold fellowship with bright gold
That flovv'd about the room, conceal'd itself.
There needs no artificial light ; the splendour
Makes a perpetual day there, night and darkness
By that still-burning lamp for ever banish'd !
But when, guided by that, my eyes had made
Discovery of the caskets, and they open'd,
Each sparkling diamond Jrom itselj shotjurth
A pyramid of flatties, and in iherooj
Fii'd it a glorious star, and made the place
Heaven's abstract or epitome ! rubies, sapphires,
And ropes of oriental pearl ; these seen, I could

not
But look on gold with contempt*. And yet I

found

What weak credulity could have no faith in,
A treasure far exceeding these : here lay
A manor bound fast in a skin of parchment,
The wax continuing hard, the acres melting ;
Here a sure deed of gift for a market town,
]f not redeem'd this day, which is not in
The unthrit't's power ; there being scarce one shire
In Wales or Kngland where my monies are not
Lent out at usury, the certain hook
To draw in more. 1 am sublimed! gross earth
Supports me not ; I walk on air ! Who's

there ?
Enter Lard LACY with Sir JOHN FRUGAL, Sir MAURICE

LACY, and PLENTY, disguised as Indians.
Thieves ! raise the street ! thieves !

Act III. sc. iii.

It was a great effort, by which such a train of vio-
lent emotions, and beautiful images was drawn, with
the strictest propriety, from the indulgence of a pas-
sion to which other poets can only give interest in
its anxieties and disappointments. Every sentiment
in this fine soliloquy is touched with the hand of a
master ; the speaker, overcome by the splendour of
his acquisitions, can scarcely persuade himself that
the event is real ; " it is no fantasy, but a truth ; a
real truth, no dream ; he does not slumber ;" the
natural language of one who strives to convince
himself that he is fortunate beyond all probable
expectation ; for " he could wake ever to gaze upon
his treasure :" again he reverts to his assurances .

* In these quotations, the present edition has been hitherto
followed. Dr. Ferriar, it appears, made use of Mr. M.
Mason's, to whose vitiated readings it is necessary to recur
on (he present occasion, aa the Doctor founds on them his
exception to the general excellence of Massinger's versifica-
tion. Tht reader who wishes to know how these lines were
re:Ily given by the 1'oet, must turn to piiuc 3U3, where he
will find them to be as flowing and harmoiiioui as any part
of the speech. EuiTOU.

" it did endure the touch, he saw and felt it."
These broken exclamations and anxious repetitions,
are the pure voice of nature. Recovering from his
astonishment, his mind dilutes with the value of his
possessions, and the poet finely directs the whole
gratitude of this mean character to the key of his
stores. In the description which follows, there is a
striking climax in sordid luxury ; that passage where

Each sparkling diamond from itself shot forth
A pyramid of flames, and in the roof
Fix'd it a gloiious star, and made the place
Heaven's abstract, or epitome !

though founded on a false idea in natural history
long since exploded, is amply excused by tbe sin-
gular and beautiful image which it presents. The
contemplation of his enoimous wealth, still ampli-
fied by his fancy, transports him at length to a degree
of frenzy ; and now seeing strangers approach, he
cannot conceive them to come upon >my design but
that of robbing him, and with the appeasing of his
ridiculous alarm, this storm of passion subsides,
which stands unrivalled in its kind in dramatic
history. The soliloquy possesses a very uncommon
beauty, that of forcible description united with
passion and character. I should scarcely hesitate
to prefer the description of Sir John Frugal's count-
ing-house to Spenser's house of riches.

it is verv remarkable, that in this passage the
versification is so exact (two lines only txtepied),
and the diction so pure and elegant, that, although
much more than a century has elapsed since it was
written, it would be, perhaps, impossible to alter the
measure or language without injury, and certainly very
difficult to produce an equal length of blank verse,
from any modern poet, which should bear a compari-
son with Massinger's, even in the mechanical part of
its construction. This observation may ho extended to
all our poet's productions : majesty, elegance, and
sweetness of diction predominate in them. It is
needless to quote anv single passage for proof of
this, because none of those which 1 am going
to introduce will afford any exception to the
remark. Independent of character, the writings of
this great poet abound with noble passages. It is
only in the productions of true poetical genius that
we meet successful allusions to sublime natural
objects; the attempts of an inferior writer, in this
kind, are either borrowed or disgusting. If Mat-
singer were to be tried by this rule alone, we must
rank him very high ; a few instances will prove this.
Theopbilus, speaking of Dioclesian's arrival, says,

- - - The marches of great princes,
Like to the motions of prodigeous meteors,
Are step by step observed ;

Virgin Martyr, Act I. sc. i.

The introductory circumstances of a threatening piece
of intelligence, are

but creeping billows.
Not got to shore yet: Ib. Act II. sc. ii.

In the same play, we meet with this charming image,

applied to a modest young nobleman :

The sunbeams which the emperor throws upon him,

Shine there but as in water, and gild him

Not with one spot of pride : Ib* sc. ii:.

No other figure could so happily illustrate tba

peace and purity of an ingenuous mind, uncorrupted

ESSAY ON THE WRITINGS OF MASSINGER.

by favour. Massinger seems fcad of this thought ;
we meet with a similar one in " The Guardian :"

I have seen those eyes with pleasant glances play

Upon Adorio's, like Phoebe's shine,

Gilding a crystal river ; Act 1 V. sc. i.

There are two parallel passages in Shakspeare, to
whom we are prohably indebted for this, as well as
for many other tine images of our poet. The first
is in " The Winter's Tale:"

He says he lores my daughter :
I think so too : for never gazed" the moon
Upon the water, as he'll stand and read,
As 'twere my daughter's eyes. Act IV. sc. iv.

The second is ludicrous :

King. Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars,

to slime
(Those clouds remov'd) upon our wat'ry

eyne.
Jlos. O, vain petitioner! beg a greater matter ;

Thou now request's! but moon-shine in the
water.

Love's Labour's Lost, Act V. sc. ii.

The following images are applied, I think, in a new
manner :

as the sun,
Thou didst rise gloriously, kept'st a constant

course

lu all thy journey ; and now, in the evening,
When thou shpufd'st pass with honour to thy rest,
\Vilt thou fall like a meteor?

Virgin-Martyr, Act V. sc. ii.

O summer friendship,

W hose flattering leaves that sbadow'd us in our
Prosperity, with the least gust drop off
lu the autumn of adversity.

Maid of Honour, Act III. SC. i.

In the last quoted play, Camiola says, in perplexity,

- What a sea

Of melting ice I walk on ! Act III. sc. iv.

A very noble figure, in the following passage, seems
borrowed from Shakspeare :

- What a bridge

Of glass I walk upon, over a river
Of certain ru:n, mine own weighty fear*
Cracking vhat should support me !

The Bondman, Act IV. sc. iii.

I'll read you matter deep and dangerous ;
As full of peril and advent'rous spirit,
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud,
On the unsteadfast fooling of a spear.

Henry 1 V., Part I. Act I. SC. iii.

It cannot be denied that Massinger has improved
on his original : he cannot be said to borrow,
so properly as to imitate. 1 his remark may be
applied to many other passages : thus Harpax's
menace,

I'll take thee - - and hang thee
In a contorted chain of icicles
In the frigid zone :

The Virgin-Martyr, Act V. sc. i.

Is derived from the same source with that passage
in " Measure for Measure," where it is said to be
a punishment in a future state,

to reside
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice.

Again, in " The Old Law," we meet with a passage
similar to a much celebrated one of Shakspeara's,
but copied with no common hand :

In my youth

I was a soldier, no coward in my age;
I never turn'd my back upon my foe ;
I have felt nature's winters, sicknesses,
Vet ever kept a lively sap in me
To greet the cheerful spring of health again.

Act I. sc. i.

Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty :
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors to my blood;
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility ;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly*.

As You- Like It, Act. II. sc. iii.

Our poet's writings are stored with fine senti-
ments, and tbe same observation which has been
made on Shakspeare's, holds true of our Author, that
his sentiments are so artfully introduced, that they
appear to come uncalled, and so force themselves on
the mind of the speakerf. In the legendary play of
" The Virgin-Martyr," Angelo delivers a beau-
tiful sentiment, perfectly in the spirit of the piece :

Look on the poor

With gentle eyes, for in such habits, often,
Angels desire an alms.

When Francisco, in " The Duke of Milan," suc-
ceeds in his designs against the life of MarceLa, he
remarks with exultation, that

When he's a suitor, that brings cunning arm'd
With power, to be his advocaies, the denial
Is a disease as killing as the plague,
And chastity a clue that leads to death.

Act IV. sc. ii.

Pisander, in " Tbe Bondman," moralizes the inso-
lence of the slaves to their late tyrants, after the
revolt, in a manner that tends strongly to interes*
us in his character:

Here they, that never see themselves, but in
The glass of servile flattery, might behold
The weak loundation upon which they build
1 heir trust in human fraiity. Happy are those,
That knowing, in their births, they are subject tc
Uncertain change, are still prepared, and arm'd
For either fortune : a rare principle,
And with much labour, learn d in wisdom's

school !

For, as these bondmen, by their actions show-
That their prosperity, like too large a sail
For their small bark of judgment, sinks them with
A fore-right gale ot liberty, ere they reach
The port they long to touch at : so these wretches,

In an expression of Archid.imiis, in " The Bou'lnian,''
we discover, perhaps, the origin of an image in " ParadiM
Lost ;'

O'er our heads, with sail Krctch'cl wing',

Detraction hovers. 'Ihe llvndman, Act 1. e. lit.

Hilton says of Satan,

His tail broad vannt

He spreads lor flight.

t Mrs. Alonugu's " Essay on Shkspar.

ESSAY OX THE WRITINGS OF MASSINGER.

Swollen with the false opinion of their wort'i.
And proud of blessings left them, not acquired ;
That did believe they could with giant arras
Fathom the earth, and were above their fates,
Those oorrow'd helps that did support them,

vanish'd,

Fall of themselves, nnd by unmanly suffering-,
Betray their proper weakness. Act JII. sc. iii.

His complaint of the hardships of slavery must not
*>e entirely passed over :

The noble horse,

That, in his fiery youth, from his wide nostrils
Keigk'd courage to his rider, and brake 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, hevv'd for the temples of the gods,
The great work ended, were dismissed 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.

Ib. Act IV. sc. ii.

The sensa of degradation in a lofty mind, hurried
into vice by a furious and irresistible passion,
is expressed very happily in " The Reuegado," by
Donusa :

- What poor means

Must I make use of now ! and flatter such,

To whom, till I betray'd my liberty,

One gracious look of mine would have erected

An altar to my service ! Act II. sc. i.

Again,

that I should blush
To speak what 1 so much desire to do !

When Mathias, in " The Picture," is informed by
the magical skill of his friend, that his wife's honour
is in danger, his first exclamations have at least as
much sentiment as passion :

It is not more

Impossible in nature for gross bodies,
Descending of themselves to hang in the air;
Or with my single arm to underprop
A falling tower : nay, in its violent course
To stop the lightning, than to stay a woman
Hurried by two furies, lust and falsehood,
In her full career to wickedness !

1 am thrown

From a steep rock headlong into a gulph

Of misery, and find myself past hope,

In the same moment that I apprehend

That 1 am falling. Act IV. sc. i.

But if Massinger does not always exhibit the live-
liest and most natural expressions of passion ; if,
like most olher poets, he sometimes substitutes de-
clamation for those expressions ; in description at
least he puts forth all his strength, and never
disappoints us of an astonishing exertion. We may
be content, to rest his character, in the description
cf passion, on the following single instance. In
" The Very Woman," Almira's Lover, Cardenes, is
dangerously wounded in a quarrel, by don John
Antonio, who pays his addresses to her. Take,
now, a description of Almira's frenzy on this event,
which the prodigal author has put into the mouth
>f a chambermaid i

- If she slumber'd, straight,

As if some dreadful vision had nppear'd,
She started up, her hair unbound, and, with
Distracted looks, staring about the chamber,
She asks aloud, Where is Martina? where
Have you concealed him ? sometimes names

Antonio,

Trembling in every joint, her broics contracted,
Her fair face as 'twere changed into <t curse,
Her hands held up thus ; and, as if her words
Were too big to find passage through her mouth,
She groans, then throws herself upon her bed,
Beating her breast. Act II. sc. iii.

To praise or to elucidate this passage, would be
equally superfluous; I am acquainted with nothing
superior to it, in descriptive poetry, and it would be
hardy to bring any single instance in competition
with it. Our poet is not less happy in his descrip-
tions of inanimate nature, and his descriptions bear
the peculiar stamp of true genius in their beautiful
conciseness. What an exquisite picture does he
present in the compass of less than two lines !

- yon hanging clift', that glasses
His rugged forehead in the neighbouring lake,

Renegatlt>, Act II. sc. v.

Thus, also Dorothea's description of Paradise :

There's a perpetual spring, perpetual youth :
No joint-benumbing cold, or scorching heat,
Famine, nor age, have any being there.

The Virgin Martyr, Act IV. Sc. iii.

After all the encomiums on a rural life, and after
all the soothing sentiments and beautiful images
lavished on it by poets who never lived in the
country, Massinger has furnished one of the most
charming unborrowed descriptions that can be pro-
duced on the subject:

Happy the golden mean ! had I been born

In a poor sordid cottage, not nurs'd up

With expectation to command a court,

I might, like such of your condition, sweetest,

Have ta'en a safe and middle course, and not,

As I am now, against my choice, compell'd

Or to lie grovelling on the earth, or raised

So high upon the pinnacles of state,

That I must either keep my height with danger,

Or fall with certain ruin

- we might walk

In solitary groves, or in choice gardens;

From the variety of curious flowers

Contemplate nature's workmanship nacl wonders

And then, for change, near to the murmur of

Some bubbling fountain, 1 might hear you sing,

And, from the well-tuned accents of your tongue,

In my imagination conceive

With what melodious harmony a quire

Of angels sing above their Maker's praises.

And then with chaste discourse, as we return'd,

Imp feathers to the broken wings of time :

- walk into

The silent groves, and hear the amorous birds
Warbling their wanton notes ; here, a sure shade
Of barren siccamores, which the all-seeing sun
Could not pierce through ; near that, an arbour hung
With spreading eglantine ; there, a bubbling spring
Watering a bank of hyacinths and lilies ;

The Great Duhe of 'Florence, Act I. Sc. i. and
A".t IV. Sc. ii.

ESSAY ON THE WRITINGS OF MASSINGER.

Let us oppose to these peaceful and inglorious ima-
ges, the picture of a triumph by the same masterly
band :

- when she views you,

Like a triumphant conqueror, carried through
The streets of Syracusa, the glad people
Pressing to meet you, and the senators
Contending who shall heap most honours on you ;
The oxen, crown'd with garlands, led before you,
Appointed for the sacrifice ; and the altars
Smoking with thankful incense to the gods :
The soldiers chaunting loud hymns to your praise,
The windows fill'd with matrons and with virgins,
Throwing upon your head, as you pass by,
The choicest flowers, and silently invoking
The queen of love, with their particular vows,
To be thought worthy of you

the Bondman, Act III. Sc. iv.

Every thing here is animated, yeX every action is ap-
propriate : a painter might work after this sketch,
without requiring an additional circumstance.

The speech of young Charalois, in the funeral pro-
cession, if too metaphorical for his character and
situation, is at least highly poetical:

How like a silent stream shaded with night,
And gliding softly with our windy sighs,
Moves the whole frame of this solemnity !

Whilst I, the only murmur in this grove
Of death, thus hollowly break forth.

The' Fatal Dowry, Act II. Sc. i.

It may afford some consolation to inferior genius,
to remark that even MasMnger sometimes employs
pedantic and overstrained allusions. He was fond
of displaying' the little military knowledge he pos-
sessed, which he introduces in the following
passage, in a most extraoidmary manner: one beau-
tiful image in it must excuse the rest :

- were Margaret only fair,
The cannon of her more than earthly form,
Though mounted high, commanding all beneath it,
And ramm'd with bullets of her sparkling eyes,
Cf all the bulwiirks that defend your senses
Could batter none, but that which guards your sight.
But

when you feel her touch, and breath
Like a soft western wind, when it glides o'er
Arabia, creating gums and spices ;
And in the van, the nectar of her lips,
Which you must taste, bring the battalia on,
Well arm'd, and strongly lined with her discourse,

Hippolytus himself would leave Diana,
To follow such a Venus.

A New Way to Pay Old Debts, Act II F. Sc. i.

What pity, that he should ever write so extrava-
gantly, who could produce this tender and delicate
image, in another piece :

What's that? oh.nothingbut the wliispering wind
Breathes through yon churlish hawthorn, that grew

rude,
As if it chid the gentle breath that kiss'd it.

The Old Law, Act IV. Sc. ii.

I wish it could be added to Massinger's just praises,
that he I, ad preserved his scenes from the impure
dialogue which disgusts us in most of our old

writers. But we may observe, in defence of his
failure, that several causes operated at that lime
to produce such a dialogue, and that an author who
subsisted by writing, was absolutely subjected to
the influence of those causes. The manners of the
age permitted great freedoms in language; the the-
atre was not frequented by the best company : the
male part of the audience was by much the more
numerous ; and what, perhaps, had a greater effect
than any of these, the women's parts were performed
by boys. So powerful was the effect of those cir-
cumstances, that Cariwright is the only dramatist of
that age whose works are tolerably free from inde-
cency. Massinger's error, perhaps, appears more
strongly, because his indelicacy has not always the
apology of wit ; for, either from a natural deficiency
in that quality, or from the peculiar model on which
he had formed himself, his comic characters are less
witty than those of his contemporaries, and when
he attempts wit, he frequently degenerates into
buffoonery. But he has showed, in a remarkable
manner, the justness of his taste, in declining the
practice of quibbling ; and as wit and a quibble were
supposed, in that age, to be inseparable, we are per-
haps to seek, in his aversion to the prevailing folly,
the true cause of his sparing emplojment of wit.

Our Poet excels more in the description than in
the expression of passion ; this may be ascribed, in
some measure, to his nice attention to the fable :
while his scenes are managed with consummate skill,
the lighter shades of character and sentiment are
lost in the tendency of each part to the catastrophe.

The prevailing beauties of liis productions are
dignity and elegance ; their predominant fault is
want of passion.

The melody, force, and variety of his versification
are every where remarkable : admitting the force of
all the objections which are made to the employment
of blank verse in comedy, Massinger possesses
charms sufficient to dissipate them all. It is, indeed,
equally different from that which modern authors
are pleased to style blank verse, and from the flip-
pant prose so loudly celebrated in the comedies of
the day. The neglect of our old comedies seems
to arise from other causes, than from the employ-
ment of blank verse in their dialogue ; for, in
general, its construction is so natural, that in the
mouth of a good actor it runs into elegant prose.
The frequent delineations of perishable manners, in
our old comedy, "have occasioned this neglect, and
we may foresee the fate of our present fashionable
pieces, in that which has attended Jonson's, Fletcher s,
and Massinger's : they are either entirely overlooked,
or so mutilated, to fit them for representation, as
neither to retain the dignity of the old comedy, nor
to acquire the graces of the new.

The changes of manners have necessarily pro-
duced very remarkable effects on theatrical perform-
ances. In proportion as our best writers are
further removed from the present times, they
exhibit bolder and more diversified characters,
because the prevailing manners admitted a fuller
display of sentiments in the common intercourse of
life. Our own limes, in which the intention of
j polite education is to produce a general, uniform
manner, afford little diversity of character for the
stage. Our dramatists, therefore, mark the dis-
tinctions of their characters, by incidents more than
by sentiments, and abound more in striking situ-
ations, than interesting dialogue.

In the old

ESSAY ON THE WRITINGS OF MASSINGER.

comedy, the catastrophe is occasioned, in general,
bv n change in the mind of some principal character,
artfully prepared, and cautiously conducted ; in the
modern, the unfolding of the plot is effected by the
overturning of a screen, the opening of a door, or
by some other equally dignified machine.

When we compare Massinger with the other
dramatic writers of his age, we cannot long hesitate
where to place him. More natural in his charac-
ters, and more poetical in his diction than Jonson
or Cartwright, more eleyated and nervous than
Fletcher, the onlv writers who can be supposed to
contest his pre-eminence, Massinger ranks imme-
diately under Shakspeare himself.

It must be confessed, that in comedy Massinger
falls considerably beneath Shakspeare ; his wit is
less brilliant, arid his ridicule less delicate and
rarious ; but he affords a specimen of elegant

comedy*, of which there is no archetype in hia
great predecessor. By the rules of a very judicious
criticf. the characters in this piece srppear to he of
too elevated a rank for comedy : yet thougli
the plot is somewhat embarrassed by this circam-
stance, the diversity, spirit, and consistency of th
characters render it a most interesting play. In
tragedy, Massinger is rather eloquent than pathetic;
yet he is often as majestic, and generally more
elegant than his master ; he is as powerful a ruler
of the understanding as Shakspeare is of the paa-
sions : with the disadvantages of succeeding that
matchless poet, there is still much original beauty in
his works ; and the most extensive acquaintance
with poetry will hardly diminish the pleasure of a
reader and admirer of Massinger.

" The Great Duke of Florence."

* See (be " Kssay on the Provinces of the Drann,"

COMMENDATORY VERSES ON MASSINGER.

UPON THIS WORK (THE DUKE OF MILAN) OF HIS BFLOVID
FRIEND THE AUTHOR.

I AM snapt already, and may go my way ;

The poet-critic's come ; I hear him sav

This youth's mistook, the author's work's a play.

He could not miss it, he will straight appear
At such a bait ; 'twas laid on purpose tliere
To take the vermin, and I have him here.

Sirrah ! you will be nibbling ; a small bit,
A syllable, when you're in the hungry fit,
Will serve to stay the stomach of your wit.

Fool, knave, what worse, for worse cannot deprave

thee ;

And were the devil now instantly to have thee,
Thou canst not instancesuch a work to save thee,

'Mongst all the ballads which thou dost compose,
And what thou stvlest thy poems, ill as those,
And void of rhyme and reason, thy worse prose

Yet like a rude jack-sauce in poesy,

With thoughts unblest, and hand unmannerly,

Ravishing branches from Apollo's tree ;

Thou mak'st a garland, for thy touch unfit,

And boldly deck'st thy pig-brain'd sconce with it,

As if it were the supreme head of wit :

The blameless Muses blush ; who not allow
That reverend order to each vulgar brow,
Whose sinful touch profanes the holy bough.

Hence, shallow prophet, and admire the strain
Of thine own pen, or thy poor cope-mate's vein ;
This piece too curious is for thy coarse brain.

Here wit, more fortunate, is join'd with art,
And that most secret frenzy bears a part,
Infused by nature in the poet's heart.

Here may the puny wits themselves direct,
Here may the wisest find what to affect,
And kings may learn their proper dialect.

On then, dear friend, thy pen, thy name, shall spread,
AD'} shouldst thou write, while thou shall not to

read,

The Muse must labour, when thy hand is dead.

W.B*.

THE AUTHOR'S FRIEND TO THE READER, ON "TH

BONDMAN."

THE printer's ha>te calls on ; I must not drive

My time past six, though I begin at five.

One hour I have entire, and 'tis enough,

Here are no gipsy jigs, no drumming stuff,

Dances, or other trumpery to delight,

Or take, by common way, the common sight.

Tlie author of this poem, as he dares

To stand the austerest censures, so he cares

W. B.] 'Tis the opinion of Mr. Reed, that the initials
W. B. stand for William Brown, the author of " Briitannia'i
Pastorals. 1 see no reason to think otherwise, except that
Ben Jonson, whom VV. B. seems to attack all through this
poem, had greatly celebrated Brown's " I'astorals;" but,
indeed, Joh*on was so capricious in his temper, that we
must not suppose him to be very constant in his friendships,
DA VIES.

This is a pretty early specimen of the judgment which
Davies brought to the elucidation of his work. Not a line,
not a syllable of this little pot in can, by any violence, be
tortured into a reflection on Jonson, whom he supposes to
be " attacked all through it !" In I Oil, when it WHS written,
that great poet was at ~lhe height of his reputation, the envy,
the admiration, and the terror, of his contemporaries : would
a "young" writer presume to term such a man "fool,
knave ,"&c.? would lie but the enquiry is too absurd for
further pursuit.

I know not the motives which induced Mr. Reed to at-
tribute these stanzas to W. Brown ; they may, 1 think, with
some probability, be referred to \V. Basse, a minor poet,
whose tribute of praise is placed at the head of the commen-
datory verses on Shakspe.ire; or to W. Barksted, author of
" Myrrha the Moth.r of Adonis," a poem, 1607. Barksted
was an actor, as appears from a list of " the principal come-
dims" who represented Jonson's " Silent Woman;" and,
Jlit-refore, not less likely than the author of "Britannia!
1'astorals," to say , that,

in the way of poetry, now a-days,

Of all that are call'd works the best are play '

There is not much to be said for these introductory poeraf,

whicii must be viewed rather as pro"fs of friendship than

of talents. In die former edition* they are given with a

decree of ignorance and inattention truly scandalou*.

COMMENDATORY VERSES ON MASSINGER.

As little what it is ; his own hest way

Is to be judge, and author of his play ;

It is his knowledge makes him thus secure ;

Nor does he write to please, but to endure.

And. reader, if you have disburs'd a shilling,

To see this worthy story, and are willing

To have a large increase, if ruled by me,

You may a merchant and a poet be.

'Tis granted for your twelve-pence you did sit,

And see, and hear, and understand not yet.

The author, in a Christian pity, takes

Care of your good, and prints it for your sakes,

That such as will but venture sixpence more,

May know what they but saw and heard before ;

'Twill not be money lost, if you can read

("There's all the doubt now), but your gains exceed,

If you can understand, and you are made

Free of the freest and the noblest trade ;

And in the way of poetry, now-a-days,

Of all that are call'd works the best are plays.

W. B.

TO MY HONOURED FRIEND, MASTER PHILIP MAS-
SINGER, UPON HIS " HENEGADO."

DABBLER* in poetry, that only can
Court this weak lady, or that gentleman,
With some loose wit in rhyme ;
Others that fright the time
Into belief, with mighty words that tear
A passage through the ear;

Or nicer men,

That through a perspective will see a play,
And use it the wrong way

(Not worth thy pen),

Though all their pride exalt them, cannot be
Competent judges of thy lines or thee.

I must confess I have no public name
To rescue judgment, no poetic flame
To dress thy Muse with praise,
And Phcebus his own bays ;
Yet I commend this poem, and dare tell
The world 1 liked it well ;

And if there be

A tribe who in their wisdoms dare accuse
This offspring of thy Muse,

Let them agree

Conspire one comedy, and they will say,
''Tis easier to commend than make a play.

JAMES SHIRLEY*.

TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND, MASTER PHILIP MASSINGER, ON
HIS PLAY CALL'D THE " HESEGADO."

THE bosom of a friend cannot breath forth

A flattering phrase to speak the noble worth

Of him that hath lodged in his honest breast

So large a title : I, among the rest

That honour thee, do only seem to praise,

Wanting the flowers of art to deck that bays

Merit has crown'd thy temples with. Knov,

friend.
Though there are some who merely do commend

* JAMES SHIRLEY.] A well-known dramatic writer.
His works, \\liicli are very voluminous, have never been
coll. clod in au uniform edition, though highly deserving of
it. He assisted Fletcher in many of his plays; am) some,
lay his biographers, thought liim equal to that great pott.
tie died in lliou. (They were afterwards collected and
tubliaued in 6 Vols., by Mr. Uiiiord him-clr.

To live i' the world's opinion such as can

Censure with judgment, no such piece of man

Makes up my spirit; where desert does live,

There will I plant my wonder, and there give

My best endeavours to build up his story

That truly merits. I did ever glory

To behold virtue rich ; though cruel Fate

In scornful malice does beat low their state

That best deserve ; when others that but know

Only to scribble, and no more, oft grow

Great in their favours that would seem to be

Patrons of wit, and modest poesy ;

Yet, with your abler friends, let me say this,

Many may strive to equal you, but miss

Of your fair scope ; this work of yours men may

Throw in the face of envy, and then say

To those, that are in great men's thoughts morn

blest,

Imitate this, and call that work your best.
Yet wise men, in this, and too often err,
When they their love before the work prefer.
If I should say more, some may blame me for't,
Seeing your merits speak you, not report.

DANIEL LAKYN.

TO HIS DEAR FRINED THE AUTHOR, ON THE " ROMAN
ACTOR."

I AM no great admirer of the plays,

Poets, or actors, that are now-a-days ;

Yet, in this work of thine, methinks, I see

Sufficient reason for idolatry.

Each line thouhast taught Caesar is as high

As he could speak, when groveling flattery,

And his own pride (forgetting heaven's rod)

By his edicts styled himself great Lord and God.

By thee, again, the laurel crowns his head,

And, thus revived, who can affirm him dead?

Such power lies in this lofty strain as can

Give swords and legions to Domitian :

And when thy Paris pleads in the defence

Of actors, every grace and excellence

Of argument for that subject are by thee

Contracted in a sweet epitome.

Nor do thy women the tired hearers vex

With language no way proper to their sex.

Just like a cunning painter thou let's fall

Copies more fair than the original.

I'll add but this : from all the modern plays

The stage hath lately born, this wins the bays;

And if it come to trial, boldly look

To carry it clear, thy witness being thy book.

T. J*

IN PHILLIPI MASSINGERI POET* ELEGANTISS ACTOREM
ROMANUM TYPIS EXCUbUM.

ECCE Philippine celebrata Tragoedia Musae,
buam Hoseus Britonum Rosciust egit, adest.

T. J.] Coxetcr gives these initials to Sir Thomas Jay,
or Jeay, to whom the play is dedicated: he is, probably
right. Sir Thomas, who was "no great admirer" of the
pla>sof his days, when Jonson, Shirley, Ford, &c. were
in full vigour, would not, I siupect, be altogether enrap-
tured if he could witiu^s those ot ours!

t Jto.nnii3.} Tills was Joseph Taylor, whose name occur!
in a subsequent page.

COMMENDATORY VERSES ON MASSINGER.

Semper fronde ambo vireant Parnasside, semper

Liber ab invidize dentibus esto, liber.
Crebra papyrivori spernas incendia pasti,

Thus, vsenum expositi tegraina suta libri:
Net metuas raucos, Momorum sibila, rhoncos,

Tarn bardus nebulo si tamen ullus erit.
Nam toties festis, actum, placuisse theatris

Quod liquet, hcc, cusum, crede, placebit, opus.

TBO. GOFF*.

TO HIS DESERTING FRIEND, MR. PHILIP MASSINGER,
UPON HIS TRAGEDY " THE ROMAN ACTOR."

PARIS, the best of actors in bis age,

Acts yet, and speaks upon our Roman stage

Such lines by tbee as do not derogate

From Rome's proud heights, and her then learned

state.

Nor great Domitian's favour ; nor the embraces
Of a fair empress, nor those often graces
Which from th' applauding theatres were paid
To his brave action, nor his ashes laid
In the Flaminian way. where people strow'd
His grave with flowers, and Martial's wit bestow'd
A lasting epitaph ; not all these same
Do add so much renown to Paris' name
As this that thou present's! his history
So well to us : for which, in thanks, would he
(If that his soul, as thought Pythagoras,
Could into any of our actors pass)
Life to these lines by action gladly give,
Whose pen so well has made his story live.

THO.

UPON MR. MASSINGER HIS " ROMAN ACTO*."

To write is grown so common in our time,
That every one who can but frame a rhyme,
However monstrous gives himself that praise
Which only he should claim that may wear bays
Bu' their applause whose judgments apprehend
The weight and truth of what they dare commend,
In this besotted age, friend, 'tis thy glory
That here tbou hast outdone the Roman story.
Domitian's pride : his wife's lust unabated
In death ; with Paris merely were related
Without a soul, until thy abler pen
Spoke them, and made them speak, nay, act again
In such a height, that here to know their deeds,
He may become an actor that but reads.

JOHN FORD}.

UPON MR. MASSINGER'S " ROMAN ACTOR."

LONO'ST thou to see proud Ceesar set in state,
His morning greatness, or his evening fate,
With admiration here behold him fall,
And yet outlive his tragic funeral :
For 'tis a question whether Cicsar's glory
Rose to its height before or in this story ;

THO. GOFF.] Goff was a man of considerable learning
and highly celebrated for his oratorical powers, which he
tin iied to the best of purposes, in the service of the church.
He also wrote several plays; but these do no honour to his
memory, being full of the most ridiculous bombast.

J THO. MAY.] May translated 7,t/cai into English verse.
and was a candidate for the office of Poet l.anreat with Sir
William Davenant. He wrote several plays; his Latin
" Supplement to Lucan" is much admired by the learned.
DAVIJS.

1 JOTTN Ford.] Ford was a very good poet. \Ve have
eleven plays of his wrking, none of which are without
merit. The writers of his time opposed him with some suc-
cess to Jonson.

Or whether Paris, in Domitian's favour,
Were more exalted that in this thy labour.
Each line speaks him an emperor, every phrase
Crowns thy deserving temples with the bays ;
So that reciprocally both agree,
ThouJiv'st in him, and he survives in thee.

ROBERT HARVEY.

TO HIS LONG-KNOWN AND LOVED FRIEND, MR. PHILIP
MASSINGER, UPON HIS " ROMAN ACTOR."

IF that my lines, being placed before thy book,
Could make it sell, or alter but a look
Of some sour censurer, who's apt to say,
No one in these times can produce a play
Worthy his reading, since of late, 'tis true,
The old accepted are more than the new :
Or, could I on some spot o'the court work so,
To make him speak no more than he doth know;
Not borrowing from his flatt'ring flatter'd friend
What to dispraise, or wherefore to commend :
Then, gentle friend, I should not blush to be
Rank'd 'mongst those worthy ones which here I see
Ushering this work ; but why I write to thee
Is, to profess our love's antiquity,
Which to this tragedy must give my test,
Thou hast made many good, but this thy best.

JOSEPH TAYI.OP..

TO MR. PHILIP MASSINGER, MY MUCH-ESTEEM D FHIEXD,
ON HIS " GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE."

ENJOY thy laurel ! 'tis a noble choice.

Not by the suffrages of voice
Procured, but by a conquest so achieved,

As that thou hast at full relieved
Almost neglected poetry, whose bays,

Sullied by childish thirst of praise, i

Wither'd into a dullness of despair,

Had not thy later labour (heir
Unto a former industry) made known

This work, which thou mayst call thine own,
So rich in worth, that th' ignorant may grudge
To find true virtue is become their judge.

GEORGE DONNE.

TO THE DESERVING MEMORY OF THIS WORTHY WOHI
("THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE") AND THE AU-
THOR, MR. PHILIP MASSINGER.

ACTION gives many poems right to live .

This piece gave life to action ; nd will give

For state and language, in each change of age,

To time delight, and honour to the stage.

Should late prescription fail which fames that seat

This pen might style the Duke of Florence Great.

Let many write, let much be printed, read

And censur'd ; toys no sooner hatch'd than dead.

Here, without blush to truth of commendation,

Is proved, how art hath outgone imitation.

JOHN FHD.

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, THE AUTHOR, UPON HIS TRAOI
COMEDY " THE MAID OF HONOUR."

WAS not thy Emperor enough before
For thee to give, that thou dost give us more?
I would be just, but cannot: that I know
I did not slander, this I fear 1 do.

COMMENDATORY VERSES ON MASSINGER.

But pardon me, if I offend ; thy -e
Let equal poets praise, while 1 adi*ire.
If any say that 1 enough have writ.
They are thy foes, and envy at thy wit.
Believe not them, nor me ; they know thy lines
Deserve applause, hut speak against their minds.
I, out of justice, would commend thy play,
But (friend forgive me) 'tis above my way.
One word, and 1 have done (and from my heart
Would I could speak the whole truth, not the part
Because 'tis thine), it henceforth will be said.
Not the Maid of Honour, but the Honour'd Maid.
ASTON COCKAINE*.

TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND, MR. PHILIP MASSINGER, UPON
HIS TRAGI-COMEDY, STYLED " THE PICTURE"

METHINKS I hear some busy critic say,

Who's this that singly ushers in this play ?

'Tis boldness, I confess, and yet perchance

It may be construed love, not arrogance.

I do not here upon this leaf intrude,

By praising one to wrong a multitude.

Nor do I think that all are tied to be

(Forced by my vote) in the same creed with me,

Each man hath liberty to judge ; free will,

At his own pleasure to speak good or ill.

But yet your Muse already's known so well

Her worth will hardly find an infidel.

Here she hath drawn a picture which shall lie

Safe for all future times to practice by ;

Whate'er shall follow are but copies, some

Preceding works were types of this to come.

'Tis your own lively image, and sets forih,

When we are dust, the beauty of your worth.

He that shall duly read, and not advance

Aught that is here, betrays his ignorance :

Yet whosoe'er beyond desert commends,

Errs more by much than he that reprehends;

For praise misplaced, and honour set upon,

A worthless subject, is detraction.

I cannot sin so here, unless I went

About to style you only excellent.

Apollo's gifts are not confined alone

To your dispose, he hath more heirs than one,

And such as do derive from his blest hand

A large inheritance in the poets' land,

As well as you ; nor are you, I assure

Myself, so envious, but you can endure

To hear their praise, whose worth long since was

known,

And justly too preferr'd before your own,
I know you'd take it for an injury,
(And 'tis a well-becoming modesty),
To be parallel'd with Beaumont, or to hear
Your name by some too partial friend writ near
Unequall'd Jonson ; being men whose fire
At distance, and with reverence, you admire.
Do so, and you shall find your gain will be
Much more, by yielding them priority,
Than with a certainty of loss, to hold
A foolish competition : 'tis too bold
A task, and to be shunn'd : nor shall my praise,
With too much weight, ruin what it would raise.

THOMAS JAY.

COCKAINC.] See the Introduction pattim.

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, Mr. PHILIP MASSINGER
UPON HIS TRAGI-COMtDV CALLED THE " EMPEROR Of
THE EAST."

SUFFER, my friend, these lines to have the grace,
That they mav be a mole on Venus' face.
There is no fault about thy book but this,
And it will show how fair thy Emperor is,
Thou more than poet! our Mercury, that art
Apollo's messenger, and dost impart
His best expressions to our ears, live long
To purify the slighted Enrlish tongue,
That both the nymphs of Tagus and of Po
May not henceforth despise our language so.
Nor could they do it, if they e'er had seen
The matchless features of the Fairy Queen ;
Read Jonson, Shukspeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, or
Thy neat-limned pieces, skilful Massinger.
Thou known, all the Castilians must confess
Vego de Carpio thy foil, and bless
His language can translate thee, and the fine
Italian wits yield to this work of thine.
Were old Pythagoras alive again,
In thee he might find reason to maintain
His paradox, that souls by transmigration
In divers bodies make their habitation:
And more, than all poetic souls yet known,
Are met in thee, contracted into one.
This is a truth, not an applause : I am
One that at furthest distance views thy flame,
Yet may pronounce, that, were Apollo dead,
In thee his poesy might all be read.
Forbear thy modesty : thy Emperor's vein
Shall live admired, when poets shall complain
It is a pattern of too high a reach,
And what great Phoebus might the Muses teach.
Let it live, therefore, and I dare he bold
To say, it with the world shall not grow old.

ASTON

A FRIEND TO THE AUTHOR, AND WELL-WISHER TO
THE READER, ON THE EMPEROR OF " THE EAST."

WHO with a liberal hand freely bestows

His bounty on all comers, and yet knows

No ebb, nor formal limits, but proceeds

Continuing his hospitable deeds,

With daily welcome shall advance his nnme

Beyond the art of flattery ; with such fame

May yours, dear friend, compare. Your muse hath

been

Most bountiful, and I have often seen
The willing seats receive such as have fed,
And risen thankful ; yet were some misled
By NICETY, when this fair banquet came
(So I allude) their stomachs were to blame,
Because that excellent, sharp, and poignant sauce
Was wanting, they arose without due grace,
Lo ! thus a second time he doth invite you :
Be your own carvers, and it may delight you.

JOHN CLAVILL.

TO MY THUE FRIEND AND KINSMAN, PHILIP MASSiN-
CER, ON HIS " EMPEROR OF THE EAST."

I TAKE not upon trust, nor am I led
By an implicit faith : what 1 have read
With an impartial censure 1 dare crown
With a deserved applause, howe'er cried down
By such whose malice will not let them be
Equal to any piece liran'd forth by thee.

COMMENDATORY VERSES ON MASSINGER.

Contemn their poor detraction, and still write
Poems like this, that can endure the light,
And search of abler judgments. This will raise
Thy name ; the others' scandal is thy praise.
This, oft perused by grave wits, shall live long,
Not die as soon as past the actor's tongue,
The fate of slighter toys ; and 1 must say,
'Tis not enough to make a passing play
In a true poet : works that should end"ure
Must have a genius ; n the\n strong as pure,
And such is thi'-e, friend : nor shall time devour
The well-forin'd features of thy Emperor.

WILLIAM SINGLETON.

TO THE INGENIOUS AUTHOR MASTER PHILIP MAS-
SINGER, ON HIS' COMEDY CALLED " A NEW WAY TO
PAY OLD DEBfi."

'Tis a rare charity, and thou couldst not

So proper to the time have found a plot :

Yet whilst you teach to pay, you lend; the age

We wretches live in, that to come the stage,

The thronged audience that was thither brought,

Invited by you fame, and to be taught

This lesson ; all are grown indebted more,

And when they look for freedom, ran in score.

It was a cruel courtesy to call

In hope of liberty, and then, inthrall.

The nobles are your bondmen, gentry, and

All besides those that did not understand.

They were no men of credit, bankrupts born.

Fit to be trusted with no stock but scorn-

You have more wisely credited to such,
That though they cannot pay, can value much.
I am your debtor too, but, to my shame,
Repay you nothing back but your own fame.

HENRY MOODY*. Miles.

TO HIS FRIEND THE AUTHOR, ON " A NEW WAY TO
PAY OLD DEBTS.

You may remember how you chid me, when

I rank'd you equal with those glorious men,

Beaumont and Fletcher : if you love not praise,

You must forbear the publishing of plays.

The crafty mazes of the cunning plot,

The polish'd phrase, the sweet expressions, got

Neither by theft nor violence ; the conceit

Fresh and unsullied ; all is of weight,

Able to make the captive reader know

I did but justice when I placed you so.

A shamefaced blushing would become the brow

Of some weak virgin writer; we allow

To you a kind of pride, and there where most

Should blush at commendations, you should boast.

If any think I flatter, let him look

Off from my idle trifles on thy book.

THOMAS JAY. Miles

HENRY MOODY.! Sir Henry Moody play on the titte
of the piece. He has not much of the poet in him, but ap
pears to be a friendly, good-natured rjan. A short poem ot
his i prefixed to the folio edition of Beaumont and Fletcher.
He was one of the gentlemen who had Honorary degree*
conferred on them by Charles I., on h'u return to Oxford
from the battle of Edge-hill.

GLOSSARIAL INDEX.

ABRAM HEN, 356

absurd, 294

abase, 240

acts of parliament, 497

actuate, 189

aerie, 72, 230

affects, 97

alba regalis, 271

Itar, 158

a many, 11

amorous, 207

Amsterdam, 121

Anaxarete, 185

ngel (bird), 11

ape, 105

apostata, 25, 29, 37. 38

apple, 305

Argiers, 37

arrearages, 264

as (as if) 359

astrology, 386

atheism, 240

atonement, 82

Aventine, 173

bake-house, 166
bandog, 13
banquet, 44,384
banqueting-house, 93
Baptista Porta, 254
bar, 157
barathrum, 363
barley-break, 28
bases, 260

basket, 337, 353, 379
battalia. 260
batile of Sabla, 472
beadsmen, 383, 391
bearing dishes, 374
Beaumelle, 322
betco, *32
bees, 399
beetles. 73
beg estates, 588
bglerbeg, 135

Bellona, 262

cautelus, 10J

bells ring backward, 62

cavallery, 234

bend the body, 7 2, 482

censure, 116, 221

beneath the salt, 378

ceruse, 3%

beso las rnanos, 213

chamber, 147

betake, 399

chapel fall, 118

bind with, 412

chapines, 123

bird-bolts, 420

Charles the robber, 418

birthright, 99

charms on rubies, 207

Biscan, 459

cheese-trenchers, 502

bisognion, 241

chiaus, 135

blacks, 319

chine evil, 274

blasphemous, 210

choice and richest, 126

bloods, 333

chreokopia, 496

blue gown, 405

chuffs, 73

braches, 54,349, 390

church-book, 496

brave, 142, 461

circular, 296

braveries, 92, 155

civil, 144, 08!

bravery, 54, 261, 501

clap-dish, 154

Breda, 351

clemm'd, 182

Brennus, 339

close breeches, 331

broadside (to shew), 147

clubs, 125, 380

brother in arms, 233

coats, 507

buck, 24

Colbrand, 331

bug, 365

colon, 35.260

bullion,321

come aloft, 105

buoy'd, 354

comfort, 471

burial denied, 316

coming in, 74

burse, 389

commence, 80, 293

bury money, 515

commodities, 102

but, 123, S06

come off, 54

Butler (Dr.), 504.

commoner, 20

comparison, 263

comrogues, 395

calver'd salmon, 237, 429

conceited, 101

camel, 322

conclusions, 80

cancelier, 41S

conduit, 166

canters, 349

conquering Romans, 105

Caranra, 42, 422

consort. 259, 331

carcanet, 400, 439

constable, to steal a, 246

caroch, 123, 248

constant in, 4

carouse, 62

constantly, 220

carpet knights, 235

cooks' shops, 358

caster, 397

Corinth, 93

casting, 278

corsives, 192,3(10

cast suit, 275

counsel, 74, loV*

cater, 385

counterfeit gold dread, 3A4

GLOSSARIAL INDEX.

courtesy, 208

courtship, 79, 77, 203, 217, 439

courtesies, 372

cpw-eyes, 51 , 293

crack, 34

crincomes, 430

crone, 34

crosses, 130

crowd. 522

crowns o' the sun, 35

cry absurd ! 294

cry aim, 96. 122

Cupid and Death, 24

culliona, 419

cunning, 417

curiosity, 379

Curious Impertinent, 329

curiousness, 49, 151

cyprets, 481

dags, 332

dalliance, 22

danger, 318, 404

dead pays, 54

death, the, 66

deck, 422

decline, 227

deduct, 506

deep ascent, 480

deer of ten, 301

defeature, 108

defensible, 411

degrees, 184

Delphos, ?39

demeans, 253

denying burial, 316

depart, 123

dependencies, 226

deserved me, 369

Diana, 82

discourse and reason, 39

disclose, 230

dispartations, 131

dissolve, 83, 186

distaste, 49, 123

divert, 202

doctor, go out, 80,

doctrine, 226, 297

diad,8

drawer-on, 417

dresser, cook's drum, 43, 422

drum-wine, 889

Dunkirk, 77

elenchs, 294
elysium, 95
empiric, 303
entradas, 433
equal, 35
equal mart, 477
estridge, 234
extend, 373, 404
eyasses, 278

faith, 17
fame, 462
far-fetch'd, 419

fault, 114, 510

fautors, 117

fellow, 266

festival exceedings, 278

fetch in, 188

fewterer, 232, 278

Fielding, 398

fineness, 137

Fiorinda, 199

flies, 11

for, 27

forks, 213

forms, 46

fore-right, 147

forth, 308

frequent, 174, 176

frippery, 379

fur, 380

gabel, 289

gallant of the last edition, 379

galley foist, 321

galliard, 511

garden-house, 93

gauntlets, 47

Gay, 320

gazet, 237

gemonies, 174

gimcrack, 83

Giovanni, 199

gliid to, 11

glorious, 37, 51,202

go by, 246

God be wi* you, 389

gods to friend, 174

gold and store, 263, 397

"olden arrow, 186

less, 393, 484
golls, 395
jo near, 129
jood, 394
rood fellows, 435
rood lord, 284
jood man, 317
jood mistress, 176
joody wisdom, 321
aorgon, 471
governor's place, 8
iranson, 317
Great Britain ,27
jreen apron, 122
jresset, 470
jrim sir, 46
rub up forests, 419
juard, 256

iairy comet, 36
land, 133
lawking, 278
leats, 97

lecatombaion, 507
'rlecuba, 187
iell, 378, 478
ligh forehead, 34
lole, 378

lorued moons, 130
hose, 213
uraanity, 319

hunt's up, 71
hurricano, 58

Jane of apes, 105
jewel, 432, 457
imp, 147, 195. 201
impotence, 192, 444
impotent, 45
Indians, 402
induction, 335
ingles, 395
interess, 63
Iphis, 185

ka me ka tbee, 385
katexochien, 420
keeper of the door, 164
knock on the dresser, 43

Lachrymje, 226, 281

lackeying, 4

Lady Compton, 387

lady of the lake, 356

lanceprezado, 237

lapwing's cunning, 516

lavender, 273

lavolta, 215, 390

leaden dart, 7

leaguer, 254, 326

leege, 301

Lent, 143

I'envoy, 484, 490

leper, 154

lets, 8, 57

tightly, 106

line, 11

little, 69

lively grave, 319

living funeral, 110

looking-glasses at the girdle, 378

ost, 146

loth to depart, 514

lottery, 167

overs perjuries, 208

Lowin, John, 173

Ludgate, 382

Luke, 402

ye abroad, 121

M. for master, 398
magic picture, 255
magnificent, 292

Mahomet, 121

Malefort, 36

Mammon, 181
mandrakes, 3 1
mankind, 390
marginal fingers, 329
marmoset, 389
IMars.262
Marseilles, 35, 151
masters of dependencies, 226

Mephostophilus, 280
mermaid, 514

Minerva, 194
miniver cap, 400

GLOSSARIAL INDEX.

mirror of knighthood, 414

possessed. 209

shining slices, 419

mistress, 48, 152

power of th'ngs, 174

Sir Giles Mompesson, 354

mistress' colours, 116

practice, 167, 223

skills not. 62, 170, 173

moppes, 105

practick, 29 +

sleep on either ear, 416

Moral, 317

precisian, 319

small legs, 450

more, 262

prest, 393

softer neck, 50

most an end, 449

prettv. 40

so, ho, birds, 278

music, 333

prevent, .371, 498

solve. 83

music-master, 333

prevented, 126

sort, 20

progress, 410

sovereign, 522

provant sword, 226

sought to, 57

Nancy, 317

providence, 361

sparred, 22

Mvtr-felting, 288

pull down the side, 40, 216

Spartan boy, 426

Nell of Greece, 515

puppet, 70

sphered, 22

niggle, 310

purer, 68

spit, 28

nightingale, 202

purge, 265

spitnl, 390

night-rail, 393

put on, 79, 314, 363, 403

spittle, 274, 327, 390

nimming, 434

spring, 48

no cunning quean, 92

squire o'dames, 164, 287

north passage, 388
Novall, 330

quality, 176, 260, 333, 510

squire o' Troy, 421
stale the jest, 53, 487

number his years, 178

quirpo, 321
quited, 505

stiirtup, 279
state, 93, 93, 222

statute against witches, 373

October, 98

__ ota/?

staunch, 93

oil of angels, 76
oil of talc, 396
Olympus, 367

rag, 3zo
Ram Alley, 358
remarkable, 41

i-oli/t 1 ao

steal a constable, 226
steal courtesy from heaven, 208
Sterne, 321

Ovid, 484
outcry, 382

relic, i zo
remember, 111, 156, 429

stiletto, 271
still an end, 449

owe, 99

remora, 130

stones, 278

owes, 7, 128

re-refine, 289

story, 215

resolved, 72, 281

strange, 92

packing 212

rest on it, 95
riches of catholic king, 483

strongly, 302
street tired, 118

padder, 356

ride, 390

strengths, 139, 146, 301

palo-spirited, 356

rivo. 131

striker, 54

Pandarus, 421

roarer, 126

suit, 391

paned hose, 213, 501
pantofle, sworn to, 46

Roman, 398
roses, 379, 401

sworn servant, 181
Swiss, 517

parallel, 81,230

rouse, 62, 102
royal merchant, 129

synonyma, 287, 336

|)HrlG t 4/1

parted, 12, 217

rubies, 207

parts, 2 13

table, 502

pash, 12

taint, 164

passionately, 508

Sabla, battle of, 472

take in, 374

passions, 496, 524

sacer, 305

take me with you, 215, 241, 459

pastry fortifications, 351

sacratus, 305

take up, 203

Patch, 364. 374

sacred badj;e, 141

tall ships, 30

Pavia, battle of, 63

sacrifice, 320

tall trenchermen, 44

peat, 233

sail-stretch'd, 37

tamin,361

peevish, 20

tainted, 277

tattered, 13

peevishness, 371

St. Dennis, 154

Termagant, 121

perfected 49

St. Martin's, 397

theatre, 173

perseVer, 4, 250

sanzacke, 135

Theocrine, 38

personate, 217, 254

salt, above the, 44

thick-skinned, 82

Pescara, 66

scarabs, 73

thing of things, 102

physicians, 445

scenery, 381

third meal, 73

piety, 476

scholar, 254

thought for, 373

pine-tree, 70

seirophorion, 507

Thrace, 262

pip, 321

scotomy, 511

time, 180

place, 413, 492

sea-rats, 461

Timoleon, 94

play my prize, 370

Sedgely curse, 387

to-to, 453

plumed victory. 40

seisactheia, 496

token, 349, 399

plurisy, 5t

servant, 48, 50, 152, 414

toothful, 28

Plymouth cloak, 349, 397

shadows, 43

toothpicks, 213

Ponialier, 328

shall be, is, 416

tosses, 263

poor John, 121, 265

shape, 117, 164, 184, 186, 299

touch, 484

porter's lodge, 76, 350

she-Dunkirk, 77

train, 53

ports, 4

sheriffs basket, 379

tramontane!, 206

GLOSSARIAL INDEX.

trillibubs, 511

roley, 270

where, (whereas) 152, 314, 349

trimmed, 153

votes, 431

441,464

try conclusions, 80

while, 194, 499

tune, 180

whiting-mop, 429

turn Turk, 145, 232

waistcoateer, 390

whole field wide, 232, 392

twines, 411

walk after supper, 44

why, when ! 1 92

walk the round, 259, 423

witches, 373

ward, 256

witness, 295

uncivil, 330

wards, 409

wishes, as well as, 455

unequal 308

wardship, 409

wolf, 471

uses, 226, 297

watchmen, 497

work of grace, 137

way of youth, 175, 456

wreak, 122

weakness the last, 462

rail, 241, 289

wear the caster, 397

varlets. 336

wear scarlet, 381

yaws, 453

Venice glasses, 125

well, 323

yellow, 80

\irbius, 185

wheel, 262

yeoman fewterer, 232, 27t

A LIST

MASSINGER'S PLAYS.

Thoat marked thu* * are in the present Edition.

1. THE Forced Lady, T. This was one of the plays destroyed by Mr. Warburton's servant*.

2. The Noble Choice, C. ~j Entered on the Stationers' books, by H. Moseley,

3. The Wandering Lovers, C. /-"Sept. 9, 1653 ; but not printed. These were among the

4. Philenzo and Hippolita, T. C. J plays destroyed by Mr. Waiburton's servant.

5. Antonio and Valliaf, C. ~) Entered on the Stationers' books, by H. Mosely, June 29,

6. The Tyrant, T. V1660, but not printed. These too were among the plays

7. Fast and Welcome, C. J destroyed by Mr. Warburton's servant.

8. The Woman's Plot, C. Acted at court 1621. Destroyed by Mr. Warburton's servant.

9. *The Old Law, C. Assisted by Rowley and Middleton, Quarto, 1656.

10. *The Virgin-Martyr, T. Assisted by Decker. Acted by the servants of his Majesty's revels. Quarto,

1622 ; Quarto, 1631 ; Quarto, 1661.

11. *The Unnatural Combat, T. Acted at the Globe. Quarto, 1639.

12. *The Duke of Milan, T. Acted at Black-Friars. Quarto, 1623 ; Quarto, 1638.

13. "The Bondman, T. C. Acted December 3, 16'23, at the Cockpit, Drury Lane. Quarto, 1624 ;

Quarto, 1638.

14. *The Renegado, T. C. Acted April 17, 1624, at the Cockpit, Drury Lane. Quarto, 1630.

15. *The Parliament of Love, C. Unfinished. Acted November 3, 1624, at the Cockpit, Drury

Lane.

16. The Spanish Viceroy, C. Acted in 1624. Entered on the Stationers' books, September 9, 1653,

by H. Moseley, but not printed. This was one of the plays destroyed by Mr. Warburton's
servant.

17. "The Roman Actor, T. Acted October 11,1626, by the King's company. Quarto, 1629.

18. The Judge. Acted June 6, 1627, by the King's company. This play is lost.

19. *The Great Duke of Florence. Acted July 5, 1627, at the Phoenix, Drury Lane. Quarto, 1636.

20. The Honour of Women. Acted May 6, 1628. This play is lost.

21. *The Maid of Honour, T. Cj. Acted at the Phoenix, Drury Lane. Date of its first appearance

uncertain. Quarto, 1632.

22. *The Picture, T.C. Acted June 3, 1629, at the Globe. Quarto, 1630.

23. Minerva's Sacrifice, T. Acted November 3, 1629, by the King's company. Entered on the

Stationers' books Sept. 9, 1653, but not printed. This was one of the plays destroyed by Mr.
Warburton's servant.

In his first edition, Mr. Gifford had entered after this play Me Secretary, of which the title appears in the catalogue
wliich furnished the materials for Poole's Parnassus. Mr. Gilchnst having discovered among some old rubbish in^a
village library, that the work referred to is a translation of familiar letters by Mons. La Serre, aud that the translator's
name was John Massinger.it was omitted in the list furnished for tlie second edition.

+ In Ihat most curious MS. Register discovered at Dulwich College, and subjoined by Mr. Malone to his " Historical
Account of the English St.ige, is the following entry, " R. 20 of June, 1695, at antany and vallea 01. xxs. Od " If this
be the play entered by Mosely, Massinger's claims can only arise from his having revised and altered it; for he must have
be!n a mere child when it was first produced. See the Introduction, p.

J Mr. Malone thinks this to be the play immediately preceding it, with a new title. This is, however, extremely doubtful

LIST OF MASLINGER'S PLAtS

4. 'The Emperor of the East, T. C. Acted March 11, 1831. at Black Friars. Quarto, 1632.

85. Believe as you List, C. Acted May 7, 1631. Entered on the Stationers' books, September 9, 1653.

and again June 29, 1660, but not printed. This also was one of the plays destroyed by Mr

\Varb urton's servant.
4t>. The Italian Nightpiece, or The Unfortunate Piety, T. Acted June 13, 1631, by the King's companj.

1'bis play is lost.
T. "The Fatal" Dowry, T. Assisted by Field. Acted by the King's company. Quarto, 1632.

28. *A New Way to Pay Old Debts, C. Acted at the Phoenix, Drury Lane. Quarto, 1633.

29. *The City Madam, C. Acted May 2.5, 1632, by the King's company. Quarto, 1659.
SO. * The Guardian, C. Acted October 31, 1633, by the King's company. Octavo, 1655.

31. The Tragedy of Cleander. Acted May 7, 1634, by the King's company. This play is lost.

32. *A Very Woman, T. C. Acted June 6, 1634. by the King's company. Octavo, 1655.

33. The Orator. Acted June 10, 1635, by the King's company. This play is lost.

34. *The Bashful Lover, T. C. Acted May 9, 1636, by the King's company. Octavo, 1655.

35. The King and the Subject. Acted June 5, 1638, by the King's company. This play is lost.

36. Alexius, or the Chaste Lover.|| Acted September 25, 1639, by the King's company. This

play is lost.

37. The Prisoner, or the Fair Anchoress of Pausilippo. Acted June 26, 1640, by the King's company

This play is lost.

THE

VIRGIN MARTYR.

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.] Of this Tragedy, which appears to nave been very popular, there are three
editions in quarto, 1622, 1631, and 1661; the last of which is infinitely the worst. It is not possible to
ascertain when it was first produced ; but as it is not mentioned among the dramatic pieces " read and
allowed " by Sir H. Herbert, whose account commences with 1622, it was probably amongst the author's
earliest efforts. In the composition of it he was assisted by Decker, a poet of sufficient reputation to
provoke the hostility or the envy of Jonson, and the writer of several plays much esteemed bj ms con-
temporaries.

In the first edition of this tragedy it is said to have been " divers times publicly acted with great applause
by the servants of his Majesty's Revels." The plot of it, as Coxeter observes, is founded on the tenth and
last general persecution of the Christians, which broke out in the nineteenth year of Dioclesian's reign, with
a fury hardly to be expressed ; the Christians being every where, without distinction of sex, age, or
condition, dragged to execution, and subjected to the most exquisite torments that rage, cruelty, and hatred
could suggest.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

DlOCLESIAN,

MAXIMINOS,
King of Pontus.
King of Epire.
King of Macedon.
SAPRITIUS, Governor of Cresarea.
TIIF.OPHILUS, a zealous persecutor of the Chriitiant
SEMPRONIUS, captain of SAPRITIUS' guards.
ANTONINUS, son to SAPRITIVS.
MACRINUS, friend to ANTONINUS.
HAIIPAX, an evil spirit, following THEOPHILUS in the
shape of a secretary.

ANOELO, a good spirit, serving DOROTHEA in the habit of

a page.

HIRCIUS, a whoremaster, > .. _.

SPUNGIUS, a drunkard, I*** J DOROTHEA.
Priest of Jupiter.
British Slavs.

AUTEMIA, daughter to DIOCLESIAN.

CHmsTETA,}^^ to THEOPHILW.
DOROTHEA, the Virgin-Martyr.
Officers and Executioners.

SCENE, Cajsarea.

ACT I.

SCENE L The GOVERNOR'S Palace.

Enter THEOPHILUS and HARPAX.

Theoph. Come to Cresarea to-night !

Harp. Most true, sir.

Theoph. The emperor in person !

farp. Do I live ?

r heoph. 'Tis wondrous strange ! The marches of

great princes,

Lu ) to the motions of prodigious meteors,
Art step by step observed ; and loud-tongued Fame
Tht, harbinger to prepare their entertainment :
And, were it possible so great an army,
Though coverd with the night, could be so near,
The governor cannot be so unfriended
Among the many, that attend his person,
But, by some secret means, he should have notice

Of Czesar's purpose* ; in this then excuse me.
If I appear incredulous.

Harp. At your pleasure.

Theoph. Yet, when I call to mind you never fail'd
In things more difficult, but have discover'd [me,
Deeds that were done thousand leagues distant from

me,

When neither woods, nor caves, nor secret vaults,
No, nor the Power they serve, could keep these

Christians
Or from my reach or punishment, but thy magic

Of Censor's p trpose ; in this then excuse me,} Before
Mr. M. Masoa's e ii;ion, it stood :

lie should have noticg

Of Conor's purpose in this,

meaning, perhaps, in this hasty and unexpected visit : i
have not, however, allured the pointing.

a 2

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr L

Still laid them open ; I begin again
To be as confident as heretofore.
It is not possible thy powerful art
Should meet a check, or fail.
Enter a Priest with the Image of Jupiter, CALISTA
and CHRISTETA.

Harp. Look on the Vestals,
The holy pledges that the gods have given you,
Your chaste, fair daughters. Wer't not to upbraid
A service to a master not unthankful,
I could say these, in spite of your prevention,
Seduced by an imagined faith, not reason,
(Which is the strength of nature,) quite forsaking
The Gentile gods, had yielded up themselves
To this new-found religion. This I cross'd,
Discover'd their intentions, taught you to use,
With gentle words and mild persuasions,
The power and the authority of a father
Set off with cruel threats ; and so reclaim'd them :
And, whereas they with torments should have died,
(Hell's furies to me, had they undergone it !)

[Aside.

They are now votaries in great Jupiter's temple,
And, by his priest instructed, grown familiar
With all the mysteries, nay, the most abstruse ones,
Belonging to his deity.

Theoph. 'Twas a benefit,

For which I ever owe you. Hail, Jove's flamen !
Have these my daughters reconciled themselves,
Abandoning for ever the Christian way,
To your opinion ?

Priest. And are constant in* it. [nient,

They teach their teachers with their depth of judg-
And are with arguments able to convert
The enemies to our gods, and answer all
They can object against us.

Theoph. My dear daughters ! [sect,

Cal. We dare dispute against this new-sprung
In private or in public.

Harp. My best lady,
PerseVerf in it.

Chris. And what we maintain,
We will seal with our bloods.

Harp. Brave resolution !
I e'en grow fat to see my labours prosper.

Tlieopli. I young again. To your devotions.

Harp. Do
My prayers be present with you.

[Exeunt Priest and Daughter of Theophilus.

Theoph. O my Harpax !

Thou engine of my wishes, thou that steel'st
My bloody resolutions ; thou that arm'st [sion ;
My eyes 'gainst womanish tears and soft compas-
Instructing me, without a sigh, to look on
Babes torn by violence from their mothers' breasts
To feed the fire, and with them make one flame ;
Old men, as beasts, in beasts' skins torn by dogs ;
Virgins and matrons tire the executioners ;
Yet I, unsatisfied, think their torments easy.

Harp. And in that, just, not cruel.

* Priest And are constant in it.] So the first two edi-
tions. The last, which is very incorrectly printed, reads to
it, and is followed by the modern editors.

t Persever in it.] So this word was anciently written
and pronounced : thus the king, in Hamlet :

but to persever

In obttinate condolement.

Coxeter adopts the unmetrical reading of the third quarto,
persevere in it, and is followed by Mr. M. Mason, who how-
ever, warns the reader to lay the accent on the penultimate.

Theoph. Were all sceptres
That grace the hands of kings, made into one,
And oifer'd me, all crowns laid at my feet,
I would contemn them all, thus spit at them ;
So 1 to all posterities might be call'd
f he strongest champion of the Pagan gods,
And rooter out of Christians.

Harp. Oh, mine own.

Mine own dear lord ! to further this great work,
I ever live thy slave.

Enter SAPIUTIUS and SEMPRONIUS.

Theoph. No more the governor. [doubled j

Sap. Keep the ports close*, and let the guards be
Disarm the Christians, call it death in any
To wear a sword, or in his house to have one.

Semp. I .shall be careful, sir.

Sap. Twill well become you.
Such as refuse to offer sacrifice
To any of our gods, put to the torture.
Grub up this growing mischief by the roots ;
And know, when we are merciful to them,
We to ourselves are cruel.

Semp. You pour oil

On fire that burns already at the height :
I know the emperor's edict, and my charge.
And they shall find no favour.

Theoph. My good lord,
This tare is timely for the entertainment
Of our great master, who this night in person
Comes here to thank you.

Sap. Who ! the emperor ? [triumph,

Harp. To clear your doubts, he doth return iu
Kings lackeying t by his triumphant chariot ;
And in this glorious victory, my lord,
You have an ample share : for know, your son,
The ne'er-enough commended Antoninus,
So well hath flesh'd his maiden sword i, and died
His snowy plumes so deep in enemies' blood,
That, besides public grace beyond his hopes,
There are rewards propounded.

Sap. I would know
No mean in thine, could this be true.

Harp. My head
Answer the forfeit.

Sap. Of his victory-
There was some rumour ; but it was assured,

Sap. Keep the ports dote,] Thij word, which is di-
rectly from the Latin, is so frequently used by Alassiiiger
and the writers of his time, for the yatcs of a town, that it
appears superfluous to produce any examples of it. To have
noticed it once is sufficient.

t Kinys lackeying by his triumphant chariot ;] Running
by the side of ii Use lackies, or loot boys. So in Marston'ti
Antonio and Mellida:

" Oh that our power
Could lackey or keep pace with our desire!"

J So well hath fltsh'd, &c.] Massingerwas a great reader
and admirer of Shakspeare : he has here not only adopted
his sentiment, but his words .

" Come, brother John, full bravely hast thoujlesh'd

7 ky maiden sword"

But Shakspeare is in every one's head, or, at least, in every
one's hand ; and I should therefore be constantly antici-
pated, in such remarks as these.

I will take this opportunity to say, that it is not my in-
tention to encumber the page with tracing every phrase of
Massinger to it imaginary source. This is a compliment
which should only be paid to great and ruighty geniusei;
with respect to those of a second or third order, it it gome
what worse than superfluous to hunt them through innu-
merable works of all descriptions, for tlie purpose of disco
vering whence every common epithet, or trivial expression
was taken.

THE VIRGIN MARTYR,

The army pass'cl a full day's journey higher,
Into the country.

Harp. It was so determined ;
But, for the further honour of your son.
And to observe the government of the city,
And with what rigour, or remiss indulgence,
The Christians are pursued, he makes his stay here :

[Trumpets.
For proof, his trumpets speak his near arrival.

Sap. Haste, good Sempronius, draw up our guards,
And with all ceremonious pomp receive
The conquering army. Let our garrison speak
Their welcome in loud shouts, the city shew
Her state and wealth.

Semp. I'm gone. [Exit.

Sap. O, I am ravish'd

With this great honour ! cherish, good Theophilus,
This knowing scholar ; send [for] your fair datigh-
I will present them to the emperor, [ters*;

And in their sweet conversion, as a mirror,
Express your zeal and duty.

Theoph. Fetch them, good Ilarpax.

[Eiit Ilarpax.

A guard brought in hif SEMPRONU'S, soldiers leading
in three kings bound ; ANTONINUS and MACHINVS
carrying tie Emperor's eagles ; DIOCI.ISIAN icith
a gilt laurel on his head, boding in ARTEMIA :
SAPRIITUS kisses tl,e Emperor's hand, then em-
braces his Son; HARPAX brings in CAJ.ISTA and
CHRISTETA. Loud iliouts.

Diode. So : at all parts I find Cwsarea
Completely govern'd ; the licentious soldier f
Confined in modest limits, and the people
Taught to obey, and, not compell'd with rigour :
The ancient Roman discipline revived, [her

Which raised Rome to her greatness, and proclaim'd
The glorious mistress of the comjuer'd world ;
But, above all, the service of the gods
So zealously observed, that, good Sapritius,
In words to thank you for your care and duty,
Were much unworthy Dioclesian's honour,
Or his magnificence to his loyal servants.
But I shall find a time with noble titles
To recompense your merits.

Sap. Mightiest Cjusar,

J Whose power upon this globe of earth is equal
To Jove's in heaven ; whose victorious triumphs
On proud rebellious kings that stir against it,
Are perfect figures of his immortal trophies
\\oii in the Giants' war ; whose cono-iering sword,
Guided by hi.3 strong arm, as deaJl'-" I'J.'j
As did Lis thunder ! all that I have done,
Or, if my strength were centupled, could do,
Conies short of what my loyalty must challenge.

* said [fin] your fair daughters ;] AH the copies

read, send your fair dauyldcrs ; for, which I lime inserted
steins um^.-.'.n, t complete the Mi:se as \M-11 as the metre;
as Harpax is immediately dispatched to bring Ihein.

t the licentious soldier] \.r. M. Mason reads tol-

dierg, the old and true lection is soldier. The stage direction
in this place is very strangely yiven by the former editors.
I may t.ere observe, that [ do nut mean 10 notice every
slj jrt: correction : already several errors have been silently
reformed by the assistance of the first quarto : without
reckoning the removal of such barbarous contractions as
conq'ring, ad'inant, ranc'rons, iyn'rance, rhet'iick, Jcr. with
which the modern edition* are everywhere deformed with-
out authority or reason.

I II' hone power, &c.] A translation of the well-known
line :

Divisum imperium ?um Jove Ccesar habet.

But, if in any tiling I have deserved
Great Ca-sar's smile, 'tis in mv humble care
Still to preserve the honour of those gods,
That make him what he is : my zeal to them,

I ever have express'd in my fell hate
Against the Christian sect that, with one blow,
(Ascribing all things to an unknown power,)
Would strike down all their temples, and allowi
Nor sacrifice nor altars. [them*

Diode. Thou, in this,

U alk'st hand in hand with me : my will and power
Shall not alone confirm, but honour all
That are in this most forward.

Sap. Sacred Caesar,

If- your imperial majesty stand pleased
To shower your favours upon such as are
The boldest champions of our religion ;
Look on this reverend man, to whom the power
Of searching out, and punishing such delinquents,
Was by your choice committed; and, for proof,
He hath deserved the grace imposed upon him,
And with a lair and even hand proceeded,
Partial to none, not to himself; or those
Of equal nearness to himself; behold

I 1 his pair of virgins.
Diode. What are these 1

Sap. His daughters. [ones,

Artcm. Now by your sacred fortune, they are fait
Exceeding fair ones : would 'twere in my power
To make them mine !

Theoph. They are the gods', great lady,
They were most happy in your service else :
On these, when they fell from their father's faith,
I used a judge's power, entreaties failing
(They being seduced) to win them to adore
The holy powers we worship ; 1 put on
The scarlet robe of bold authority,
And as they had been strangers to my blood,
Presented them, in the most horrid form,
All kind of tortures : part of which they suffer'd
With Roman constancy.

Artem. And could you endure,
Being a father, to behold their limbs
Extended on the rack >

Theoph. 1 did ; but must

Confess there was a strange contention in me,
Between the impartial office of a judge,
And pity of a father ; to help justice
Religion stept in, under which odds
Compassion fell : yet still I was a father;
For e'en then, when the flinty hangman's whips
Were worn with stripes spent on their tender limbs
I kneel'd and wept, and begged them, though thej
Be cruel to themselves they would take pity [would
On my grey hairs : now note a sudden change,
\\ hich 1 with joy remember ; those whom torture,
Nor fear of death could terrify, were o'eicome
By seeing of my sufferings; and so won,
Returning to the faith that they were born in,
I gave them to the gods : and be assured,
1 that used justice with a rigorous hand,
Upon such beauteous virgins, and mine own,
\\ ill use no favour, where the cause commands me,

and allows them

Nor sacrifice, nor altars.] 'I he modem editors haye,

and allow them

No sacrifice nor til/ttrs :
which is the corrupt reading of the ruiart", 10(51.

t This pair of viryins.} Changed, I know not why, by
the modern editors, into These ]?air of ciiyinr.

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr L

To any other ; but, as rocks, be deaf
To all entreaties.

Diocle. Thou deserv'st thy place ;
Still hold it, and with honour. Things thus order'd
Touching the gods; 'tis lawful to descend
To human cares, and exercise that power
Heaven has conferr'd upon me ; which that you,
Rebels and traitors to the power of Rome,
Should not with all extremities undergo,
What can you urge to qualify your crimes,
Or mitigate my anger?

*K. of Epire. We are now

Slaves to thy power, that yesterday were kings,
And had command o'er others ; we confess
Our grandsires paid yours tribute, yet left us,
As their forefathers had, desire of freedom.
Aud, if you Romans hold it glorious honour
Not only to defend what is your own,
But to enlarge your empire, (though our fortune
Denies that happiness,) who can accuse
The famish'd mouth if it attempt to feed ?
Or such, whose fetters eat into their freedoms,
If they desire to shake them off?

K. of Pontus. We stand
The last examples, to prove how uncertain
All human happiness is ; and are prepared
To endure the worst.

K. of Macedon. That spoke, which now is highest
In fortune's wheel, must when she turns it next,
Decline as low as we are. This consider'd,
Taught the /Egyptian Hercules, Sesostris,
That had his chariot drawn by captive kings,
To free them from that slavery ; but to hope
Such mercy from a Roman, where mere madness :
We are familiar with what cruelty
Rome, since her infant greatness, ever used
Such as she triumph'd over ; age nor sex
Exempted from her tyranny : scepter'd princes
Kept in her common dungeons, and their children,
In scorn train'd up in base mechanic arts,
For public bondmen. In the catalogue
Of those unfortunate men, we expect to have
Our names remember'd.

Diode. In all growing empires,
Even cruelty is useful ; some must suffer,
And be set up examples to strike terror
In others, though far off : but when a state
Is nii.sed to her perfection, and her bases
Too firm to shrink, or yield, we may use mercy,
And do't with safety :f but to whom? not cowards,
Or such whose baseness shames the conqueror,

* K. of Epire. We are now

Slaves to thy power, &c.] I have observed several imi-
tations of Massinger in the dramas of Mason : there is, for
Instance, a striking similarity between this spirited speech,
and the indignant exclamation of the brave but unfortu-
nate Caractacus :

" Soldier, I had arms,

Had neighing steeds to whirl my iron cars,
Had wealth, dominions : Dost thou wonder, Roman,
I fought to save them ! What if Ciesar aims
To lord it universal o'er the world,
Shall the world tamely crouch to Caesar's footstool ?"
I And do't with safety :] This is admirably expressed ;
the maxim however, though just, is of the most dangerous
nature, for what ambitious chief will ever allow the state to
be " raised to her perfection," or that the lime for using
" merry with safety" is arrived'? even Dioclcsian lias his
exceptions, strong ones too ! for Rome was old enough in
bis time. There is au allusion to Virgil, in the opening of
this speech :

ftes dura, et novita* reyni me talia coyunt
Afvliri, 4&

And robs him of his victory, as weak Perseus

Did great ^'Emilius.* Know, therefore, kings

Of Epire, Pontus, and of Macedon,

That I with courtesy can use my prisoners, :

As well as make them mine by force, provided

That they are noble enemies : such I found you,

Before I made you mine ; and, since you were so,

You have not lost the courages of princes

Although the fortune. Had you born yourselves

Dejectedly, and base, no slavery

Had been ',00 easy for you : but such is

The power of nobie valour, that we love it

Even in our enemies, and taken with it,

Desire to make them friends, as I will you.

K. of' Epire. Mock us not, Ctcsar.

Diode. By the gods, I do not.

Unloose theirbonds ; I nowas friends embrace you ;
Give them their crowns again.

K. of Pontus. We are twice o'ercome ;
By courage and by courtesy.

K. of Macedon. But this latter,
Shall teach us to live ever faithful vassals
To Dioclesian, and the power of Home.

K. of Epire. All kingdoms fall before her '

K. of Pontus. And all kings
Contend to honour Caesar !

Diode. I believe

Your tongues are the true trumpets of your hearts,
And in it I most happy. Queen of fate,
Imperious fortune ! mix some light disaster
With my so many joys, to season them,
And give them sweeter relish : I'm girt round
With true felicity ; faithful subjects here,
Here bold commanders, here with new-made friends
But, what's the crown of all, in thee, Artemia,
My only child, whose love to me and duty,
Strive to exceed each other !

Artem. I make payment
But of a debt, which I stand bound to tender
As a daughter and a subject.

Diode. Which requires yet
A retribution from me, Artemia,
Tied by a father's care, how to bestow
A jewel, of all things to me most precious :
Nor will I therefore longer keep thee from
The chief joys of creation, marriage rites ; [of,

Which that thou may'st with greater pleasures taste
Thou shall not like with mine eyes, but thine own.
Among these kings, forgetting they were captives
Or those, remembering not they are my subjects,
Make choice of any ; by Jove's dreadful thunder,
My will shall rank with thine.

Artem. It is a bounty

The daughters of great princes seldom meet with ;
For they, to make up breaches in the state,
Or for some other public ends, are forced
To match where (hey affect iiot.f May my life
Deserve this favour !

Diode. Speak ; I long to know
The man thou wilt make happy.

as weak Perseus

o w/r. A vt turns

Did yreat ^Kmilitts.} It is said that Perseus sent to desire
i aulus .'Kniiliiis 1101 to exhibit him as a spectacle to the
Romans, and to spare him the indignity of being led in
triumph. yEmilius replied coldly : The favour he ask* of
me is in his own power ; he can procure it for himself.
COXETER.

t To match where they affect not.] This does better for
modern than Roman practice; ami indeed the author was
thinking more of Hamlet than Diocletian, in this part of
(he dialogue.

SCENE I.]

THE VIBGIN-MARTYR.

Artem. If that titles,

Or the adcred name of Queen could take me,
Here would 1 fix mine eyes, and look no further :
But these are baits to take a mean-born lady,
Not her, that boldly may call Caesar father;
In that I can bring: honour unto any,
Hut from no king that lives receive addition:
To raise desert and virtue bv my fortune,
Though in a low estate, were greater glory
Than to mix greatness with a prince that owes*
No worth but that name only.

Diode. 1 commend thee,
'Tis like myself.

Artem. If then, of men beneath me,
My choice is to be made, where shall I seek,
But among those that best deserve from vou ?
That have served you most faithfully ; that in dangers
Have stood next to you ; 4hat have interposed
Their breasts as shields of proof, to dull the swordsf
Aim'd at your bosom ; that have spent their blood
To crown your brows with laurel .'

Alacr. Cytherea,
Great Queen of Love, be now propitious to me !

Harp, (to Sap.) Now mark what I foretold.

Anton. Her eye's on me.
Fair Venus' son, draw forth a leaden dart, i
And. that she may hate me, transfix her with it J
Or, if thou needs wilt use a golden one,
Shoot it in the behalf of any other :
Thou know'st I am thy votary elsewhere. [Aside.

Artem. (to An ton . ) Sir.

Theoph. How he blushes !

Sap. Welcome, fool, thy fortune.
Stand like a block when such an angel courts thee !

Artem. I am no object to divert your eye
From the beholding:.

Anton. Rather a bright sun,
Too glorious for him to sjaze upon,
That took not first flight from the eagle's aerie.
As I look on the temples, or the gods,
And with that reverence, lady, I behold you,
And shall do ever.

Artem. And it will become you,
While thus we stand at distance ; but, if love,
Love born out of the assurance of your virtues,
1 each me to stoop so low

Auton. O, rather take
A higher flight.

Artem. Why, fear you to be raised ?
Say I put off the dreadful awe that waits
On majesty, or with you share my beams,
Nay, make you to outshine me ; change the name
Of Subject into Lord, rob you of service
That's due from you to me, and in me make it
Duty to honour you, would you refuse me ?

Anton. Refuse you, madam 1 such a worm as I amt

* Than to mix greatness with a prince that owe*]
Wherever the former editors meet with this w rd, in the'
sense uf possess, they alter it into oirns, though it is so used
in almost every page of our old dramatists.

t to dull the swords] So the old copies. Mr.

M. Mam*, reads, to dull tbeir swords >

; Fair Venus 1 ton draw forth a leaden dart,} The idea
of this double etlect, to which Massiu<;er has more than one
aHiiMon, is from Ovid :

Filius hnic Veneris ; Figat tnus omnia, Phcebe,
Te rneus arcus, ait ; Parna.'si constitit arce,
Eque sagittifera promsit duo ttU pharetra
Uiversorimi operum : fugat hoc. lacit illnd amorcm.
Quod (Hci 1 , auratum est, ct cuspide fulget acnta ;
Quod lugat, obtusum est, et habct sub ai undine plumbum.

Met. lib 1. 470.

Refuse what kings upon their knees would sue for!

Call it, great lady, by another name ;

An humble modesty, that would not matci

A molehill with Olympus.

Artem. He that's famous
For honourable actions in the war,
As you are, Antoninus, a proved soldier,
Is fellow to a king.

Anton. If you love valour,
As 'tis a kingly virtue, seek it out,
And cherish it in a king : there it shines brightest,
And yields the bravest lustre. Look on Epire,
A prince, in whom it is incorporate ;
And let it not disgrace him that he was
O'ercome by Ca?sar ; it was victory.
To stand so long against him : had you seen him,
How in one bloody scene he did discharge
The parts of a commander and a soldier,
W ise in direction, bo'd in execution ;
Vou would have said. Great C;esar's self excepted,
The world yields not his equal.

Artem. Yet I have heard,

Encountering him alone, in the head of his troop,
\ ou took him prisoner.

A', of Epire. 'Tis a truth, great princess ;
I'll not detract from valour.

Anton. T\vas mere fortune;
Courage had no hand in it.

Tlieoph. Did ever man
Strive so atrainst iiis > wn good ?

S</;>. Spiritless villain !

How I am tortured ! By the immortal gods,
I now could kill him.

Diode. Hold, Sapritius, hind,
On our displeasure hold !

Harp. Why, this would make
A father mad, 'tis not to be emluxtxl ;
\ our honour's tainted in't.

Zap. By heaven, it is ;
I shall think of it.

Harp. 'Tis not to be forgotten.

Artem. Nay, kneel not, sir, I am no ravisher,
Nor so far gone in fond affection to you,
But that I can retire, my honour safe :
Yet say, hereafter, that thou hast neglected
What, hut seen in possession of another,
Will make thee mad with envy.

Anton. In her looks
Revenge is written.

Mac. As you love your life,
Study to appease her.

Anton. Gracious madam, hear me.

Artem. And be again refused?

Anton. The tender of

My life, my service, or, since you vouchsafe it,*
My love, my heart, my all : and pardon me,
Pardon, dread princess, that I made some scruple
To leave a valley of security,
To mount up to the hill of majesty,
On which, the nearer Jove, the nearer lightning.
What knew I, but your grace made trial of me :
Durst I presume to embrace, where but to touch
With an unmanner'd hand, was death ? Tbe fox.
When he saw first the forest's king, the lion,

* Uly life, my service, or, since you vouchsafe it.

My love, &c.] This is the rcaiiing of the first edition
ana is evidently right. Coxeter follows the Kcond ami third,
which read not instead of or. How did this nonsense escape
Mr. M. Mason 1

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr II.

Was almost dead with fear ;* the second view
Onlv a little daunted him; the third,
He durst salute him boldly : pray you, apply this;
And you shall find a little' time will teach me
To look with more familiar eyes upon you,
Than duty yet allows me.

Sap. Well excused.

A rtem. You may redeem all yet.

Diode. And, that he may
Have means and opportunity to do so,
Artemia, I leave you my substitute
In fair Cresarea.

Sap. And here, as yourself,
We will obey and serve her.

Diode. Antoninus,

So you prove hers, I wish no other heir ;
Think on't : be careful of your charge, Theophilus ;
Sapritius, be you my daughter's guardian.
Your company I wish, confederate princes,
In our Dalmatian wars, which finished
With victory I hope, and Maximinus,
Our brother and copartner in the empire,
At my request won to confirm as much.
The kingdoms I took from you we'll restore,
And make you greater than you were before.

[Exeunt all but Antoninus and Macri/uis.

Anton. Oh, I am lost for ever ! lost, Macrinus !
The anchor of the wretched, hope, forsakes me,
And with one blast of fortune all my light
Of happiness is put out.

Mac. You are like to those
That are ill only, 'cause they are too well ;
That, surfeiting in the excess of blessings,
Call their abundance want. What could you wish,
That is not fall'n upon you ? honour, greatness,
Respect, wealth, favour, the whole world for a dower ;
And with a princess, whose excelling form
Exceeds her fortune.

Anton. Yet poison still is poison,
Though drunk in gold ; and all these nattering glories
To me, ready to starve, a painted banquet,
And no essential food. When I am scorch'd
With fire, can flames in any other quench me ?
What is her love to me, greatness, or empire,
That am slave to another, who alone
Can give me ease or freedom ?

Mac. Sir, you point at
Your dotage on the scornful Dorothea :

| Is she, though fair, the same day to be named
With best Artemia ? In all their courses,
Wise men propose their ends : with sweet Artemia
There comes along pleasure, secui ity,
Usher'd by all that in this life is precious :
With Dorothea (though her birth be noblw.
The daughter of a senator of Rome,
By him left rich, yet with a private wealth.
And far inferior to yours) arrives
The emperor's frown, which, like a mortal plague,
Speaks death is near ; the princess' heavy scorn,
Under which you will shrink ;t your father's fury,
Which to resist, even piety forbids :
And but remember that she stands suspected
A favourer of the Christian sect ; she brings
Not danger, but assured destruction with her.
This truly weigh'd one smile of great Artemia
Is to be cherish'd, and pr-eferr'd before
All joys in Dorothea : therefore leave her. [thoti art
Anton. In what thou think'st thou art most wise
Grossly abused, Macrinus, and most foolish.
For any man to match above his rank,
Is but to sell his liberty. With Artemh
I still must live a servant ; but enjoying
Divinest Dorothea, I shall rule,
Rule as becomes a husband : for the danger,
Or call it, if you will, assured destruction,
I slight it vhus. If, then, thou art my friend,
As I dare swear thou art, and wilt not take
A governor's place upon thee.t be my helper.

Mac. You know I dare, and will do any thing ;
Put me unto the test.

Anton. Go then, Macrinus,
To Dorothea ; tell her I have worn.
In all the battles I have fought, her figure,
Her figure in my heart, which, like a deity,
Hath still protected me. Thou can'st speak well,
And of thy choicest language spare a little,
i To make her understand how much I love her,
And how I languish for her. Bear these jewels,
j Sent in the way of sacrifice, not service,
| As to my goddess : all lets$ thrown behind me,
Or fears that may deter me, say, this morning:
I mean to visit her by the name of friendship :
No words to contradict this.

Mac. I am yours ;

And, if my travail this way be ill spent,
Judge not my readier will by the event. [Eueunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Room in DOROTHEA'S Hvuse.

Enter SPUNGIUS, and HIRCIUS.||
Spun. Turn Christian \V >u Id he that first tempted

I \ 'at almost dead with fear ,-] The reading of the first
quarto is drad, which may perhaps, be the genuine word.
The fabl* is from the Greek. In a preceding line there is
an allusion to the proverb : Procul a Jove, scd pron.1
fit /mine.

f Under which you will shrink ;] So all the old copies.
Modern editors incorrectly, and unmctrically read :
Under which you'll sink, &c. (omitted in Edit, of 1813.)

t A governor's place vpon thee.\ From the Latin : nc sis
mihi tutor.

6 All lets thrman behind me,"] i. e. All impedi-
menta. So in the Mayor of Quinborouyh :

me to have my shoes walk upon Christian soles, had
turn'd me into a capon ; for I am sure now, the
stones of all my pleasure, in this fleshly life, are
cut off.

" Hope, and be sure I'll soon remove the let
That stands between thee and thy glory."

U Very few of our old English plajs are free from these
dialogues of low wit and buttbonery : 'twas the \ice of the
asje > nor ' 8 Massingcr less free from it thap his cotcmpo-
rarics. To defend them is impossible, nor snail I attempt
it. They arc of this use, that they mark the taste, display
the manners, and shew us what was the chief delight and
entertainment of our forefathers. COXETEK.

It should, however, be observed, in jnslice to our old
plays, that few, or rather none of them, are contaminated
with such detestable ribaldry as the present. To " low wit,"

SCF.NE I.J

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR,

Hir. So then, if any coxcomb has a galloping de-
sire to ride, here's a gelding, if he can but sit hi n.

Spun. I kick, for all that, like a horse ; look
else.

Hir. But that is a kickish jade, fellow Spungius.
Have not I as much cause to complain as thou hast ?
When 1 was a pagan, there was an infidel punk of
mine, would have let me come upon trust for my
curvetting: a pox on your Christian cockatrices !
they cry, like poulterers' wives: No money, no
coney.

Spun. Bacchus, the god of brew'd wine and sugar,
grand patron of rob-pots, upsy-freesy tipplers, and
super-naculum takers ; this Bacchus, who is head
warden of Vintners'-hall, ale-conner, mayor of all
victualling-houses, the sole liquid benefactor to bawdy
houses; lanceprezade to red noses, and invincible
adelantado over the armado of pimpled, deep-scarleted,
rubified, and carbuncled faces

Hir. What of all this ?

Spun. This boon Bacchanalian skinker, did I make
legs to.

Hir. Scurvy ones, when thou wert drunk.

Spun. There is no danger of losing a man's ears
by making these indentures ; he that will not now
and then be Calabingo, is worse than a Calamoothe.
When I was a pagan, and kneeled to this Bacchus,
I durst out-drink a lord ; but your Christian lords
out-bowl me. I was in hope to lead a sober life,
when I was converted ; but, now amongst the Chris-
tians, I can no sooner stagger out of one alehouse,
but I reel into another : they have whole streets of
nothing but drin king-rooms, and drabbing-cham-
bers, jumbled together.

Hir. Bawdy Priapus, the first schoolmaster chat
taught butchers to stick pricks in flesh, and make it
swell, thou know'st, was the only ninglethat I cared
for under the moon ; but, since I left him to follow
a scurvy lady, what with her praying and our fast-
ing, if now I come to a wench, and offer to use her
any thing hardly (telling her, being a Christian, she
must endure), she presently handles me as if I were
a clove, and cleaves me with disdain, as if I were a
calf s head.

Spun. L see no remedy, fellow Hircius, but that
thou and I must be half pagans, and half Christians ;
for we know very fools that are Christians.

Hir. Right : the quarters of Christians are good
for nothing but to feed crows.

Spun. True : Christian brokers, thou know'st, are
made up of the quarters of Christians ; par-boil one
of these rogues, and he is not meat for a dog : no,

or indeed to wit of any kind, it has not the slighest preten-
sion; being, in fact, nothing more than a loathsome sooter-
Uin engendered of filth and dulness. (It was c\iilenlly the
anchor's, design to personify Lust and Drunkenneti in the
characters of Hircius and Spungius, and this muy account
for t:,e ribaldry in which they indulge.) That Massinger is
in. t free from dialogues of low wit and butt'oonery (llimii.li
certaiaijr, notwithstanding Coxeter's assertion, he is much
more so than his contemporaries) may readily be granted;
butTlie person who, after perusing this execrable tr.^h, can
imagine it to bear any resemblance to his style and manner,
niii.-t have reail him to very little purpose, "it was assuredly
_written by Decker, as was the rest of this act, in which there
b much to approve : with respect to this scene, and every
;her in which the present speakers are introduced, I recom-
mend them to the reader's supreme scorn and contempt ; if
he pass them entirely over, he will lose little of the story,
and nothing of his respect for the author. I have carefully
""netted the text in innumerable places, but given it no
farther consideration. 1 repeat my eutix-aty th.it the reader
woulJ reject it altogether.

j no, I am resolved to have an infidel's heart, though
in shew I carry a Christian's face.

Hir. Thy last shall serve my foot : so will I.

Spun. Our whimpering lady and mistress sent me
with two great baskets full of beef, mutton, veal
and goose, fellow Hircius

Hir. And woodcock, fellow Spungius.

Spun. Upon the poor lean ass-fellow, on which I
ride, to all the almswomen : what think'st thou I
have done with all this good cheer ?

7/i'r. t.u it ; or be cbok-jd else.

Spun. Would my ass, basket and all, were in thy
maw, if I did ! Xo, as I am a demi-pagan, I sold the
victuals, and coined the money into pottle pots of
wine.

Hir. Therein thou shewed'st thyself a perfect
demi-christian too, to let the poor beg, starve, and
hang, or die of the pip. O^r puling, snotty-nose
lady sent me out likewise with a purse of money, to
relieve and release prisoners : Did I so, think you ?

Spun. Would thy ribs were turned into grates of
iron then.

Hir. As I am a total pagan, I swore they should
be hanged first ; for, sirrah Spungius, I lay at my
old ward of lechery, and cried, a pox on your two-
penny wards ! and so I took scurvy common flesh
for the money.

Spun. And wisely done ; for our lady, sending it
to prisoners, had bestowed it out upon lousy knaves :
and thou, to save that labour, cast'st it away upon
rotten whores.

Hir. All my fear is of that pink-an-eye jack-au-
apes boy, her page.

Spun. As I am a pagan from my cod-piece down-
ward, that white-faced monkey frights me too. I
stole but a dirty pudding, last day, out of an alms-
basket, to give my dog when he was hungry, and the
peaking chitty-face page hit me in the teeth with it.

Hir. With the dirty pudding ! so he did me once
with a cow-turd, which in knavery I would have
crumb 'd into one's porridge, who was half a pagan
too. The smug dandiprat smells us out, whatsoever
we are doing. ,

Spun. Does he t let him take heed I prove not
his back-friend : I'll make him curse his smelling
what I do.

Hir. 'Tis my lady spoils the boy ; for he is ever
at her tail, and she is never well but in his company.

Enter AsctLO with a book, and a taper lighted; they
seeing him, counterfeit devotion,

Ang. O ! now your hearts make ladders of your

eyes,

In shew to climb to heaven, when your devotion
Walks upon crutches. Where did you waste your
When the religious man was on his knees, [time.
Speaking the heavenly language?

Spun. Why, fellow Angelo, we were speaking in
pedlar's French, I hope,

Hir. We have not been idle, take it upon my worl.

Ang. Have you the baskets emptied, which your
Sent, from her charitable hands, to women ^lad '
That dwell upon her pity ?

Spun. Emptied them ! yes ; I'd be loth to hare
my belly so empty ; yet, I am sure, I munched not
one bit of them neither.

An*. And went your money to the prisoners?

Hir. Went ! no ; I carried it, and with these fin-
gers paid it away.

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr II.

Aug. What way ? the devil's way, the way of sin,
The way of hot damnation, way of lust !
And you, to wash away the poor man's bread
In bowls of drunkenness.

Spun. Drunkenness ! yes, yes, I use to be druuk ;
our next neighbour's man, called Christopher, hath
often seen me drunk, hath he not?

Hir. Or me given so to the flesh ! my cheeks
speak my doings.

Ang. Arrant, ye thieves, and hollow hypocrites !
Your hearts to me lie open like black books,
And there I read your doings.

Spun. And what do you read in my heart ?
Hir. Or in mine ? come, amiable Angelo, beat the
flint of your brains.

Spun. And let's see what sparks of wit fly out to
kindle your cerebrum. [n'i us call'd,

Ang. Your names even brand you ; youareSpun-
And like a spunge, you suck up lickerish wines,
Till your soul reels to hell.

Spun. To hell ! can any drunkard's legs carry him

so far ? food,

Ang. For blood of grapes you sold the widows'

And starving them 'tis murder : what's this but

hell ?

Ilircius your name, and goatish is your nature :
You snatch the meat out of the prisoner's mouth,
To fatten harlots : is not this hell too 1
No angel, but. the devil, waits on you.
Spun, Shall I cut his throat ?
Hir. No ; better burn him, for I think he is a
witch ; but sooth, sooth him

Spun. Fellow Angelo, true it is, that falling into

the company of wicked he-christians, for my part

Hir. And she-ones, for mine, we have them

swim in shoals hard by

Spun. We must confess, I took too much out of
the pot ; and he of t'other hollow commodity.

Hir. Yes, indeed, we laid Jill on both of us : we
cozen 'd the poor ; but 'tis a common thing ; many a
one, that counts himself a better Christian than we
two, has done it, by this light.

Spun. But pray, sweet Angelo, play not the tell-
tale to my lady ; and, if you take us creeping into
any of these mouse-holes of sin any more, let cats
flay off our skins.

Hir. And put nothing but the poison'd tails of
rats into those skins.

Ang. Will you dishonour her sweet, charity,
Who saved you from the tree of death and shame ?

Hir. Would I were hang'd, rather than thus be
told of my faults.

Spun. She took us, tis true, from the gallows ;
yet I hope she will not bar yeomen sprats to have
their swing.

Ang, She comes, beware and mend.

Hir. Let's break his neck, and bid him mend.

Enter DOROTHEA.

Dor. Have you my messages, sent to the poor,
Deliver'd with good hands, not robbing them
Of a*iy jot was theirs?

Spun. Rob them, lady ! I hope neither my fellow
nor I am thieves.

IJir. Delivered with good hands, madam ! else
let me never lick my fingers more when I eat but-
ter'd fish.

Dor. Who cheat the poor, and from them pluck

their alms.
Pilfer from heaven ; and there are thunderbolts

From thence to beat them ever. Do not lie,
Were you both faithful, true distributers ?

Spun. Lie, madam ! what grief is it to see you
turn swaggerer, and give your poor-minded rascally
servants the lie.

Dor. I'm gliid you do not ; if those wretched people
Tell you they pine for want of any thing,
Whisper but to mine ear, and you shall furnish them.
Hir. Whisper! nay, lady, for my part I'll cry

whoop.
Aug. Play no more, villains, with so good a lady ;

For, if you do

Spun. Are we Christians ?
Hir. The foul fiend snap all pagans for me.
A tig. Away, and, once more, mend.
Spun. Takes us for hoteliers.
Hir. A patch, a patch !* [Exeunt Spun, and Hir
Dor. My book and taper.f
Aug. Here, most holy mistress.
Dor. Thy rvoice sends forth such music, that I
Was ravish 'd with a more celestial sound. [never
Werf every servant in the world like thee,
So full of goodness, angels would come down
To dwell with us : thy name is Angelo,
And like that name thou art ; get thee to res<,
Thy youth with too much watching is opprest.
Ang. No, my dear lady, I could weary stars,
And force the wakeful moon to lose her eyes
By my late watching, but to wait on you.
When at your prayers you kneel before the altar,
Methinks I'm singing with some quire in heaven,
So blest I hold me in your company :
Therefore, my most loved mistress, do not bid
Your boy, so serviceable, to get hence ;
For then you break his heart.

Dor. Be nigh me still, then ;
In golden letters down I'll set that day,
Which gave thee to me. Little did I hope
To meet such worlds of comfort in thyself,
This little, pretty body ; when I, coming
Forth of the temple, heard my beggar-boy,
My sweet-faced, godly beggar boy, crave an alms,
Which with glad hand I gave, with lucky hand !
Arid when I took thee home, my most chaste bosom,
Methought, was fill'd with no riot wanton fire,
But with a holy flame, mounting since higher,
On wings if cherubins, than it did before.

Ang. Proud am I, that my lady's modest eye
So likes so poor a servant.

Doc. I have offer'd

Ilandfuls of gold but to behold thy parents.
I would leave kingdoms, were I queen of some,
To dwell with thy good father ; for, the son
Bewitching me so deeply with his presence,
He that begot him must do't ten times more.
1 pray thee, my sweet boy, shew me thy parents ;
Be not ashamed.

Ang. I am not : I did never
Know who my mother was : but, by yon palace

* Hir. ' patch, a patch !} A knave a fool in this sense
the word is evidently used in the following.

"Here is such patcherie, such iugling and such knaverie."

fihak. Troilns & Ores. Act II. Sc. 3.

although now obsolete in the sense here intended ;t frequently
occurs in the old dramatists. ED.

+ Dor. My booh and taper.] What follows, to the end of
the scene, is exquisitely bediitilul. What pity that a man .so
capable or interesting our best passions (tor I am persuaded
that this also was written by Decker), shonld 'piMsiiiute his
genius and his judgment to the production of what eould
only disgrace himself, and disgust his reader.

SCENE II.]

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

Fill'd with bright heavenly courtiers, I dare assure

And pawn these eyes upon it, and this hand, [you,

My father is in heaven : and pretty mistress,

If vour illustrious hour-glass spend his sand

No worse than yet it does, upon my life,

You and I both shall meet my father there,

And he shall bid you welcome.

Dor. A blessed" day !
We all long to be there, but lose the way.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Street near DOROTHEA'S House.
Enter MACRINUS, met by THEOPUILUS and HAUPAX.

Theop. The Sun, god of the day, guide thee,

Mac. And thee, Theophilus ! [Macrinus !

Theoph. Glad'st thou in such scorn* ?
I call my wish b.ick.

Mac. I'm in haste.

Theoph. One word.
Take the least hand of time up : stay :

Mac. Be brief. [Macrinus,

Theoph. As thought : I prithee tell me, good
How health and our fair princess lay together
This night, for you can tell ; courtiers have fliesf
That buzz all news unto them.

Mac. She slept but ill.

Theoph. Doublethy courtesy ; how does Antoninus?

Mac. Ill, well, straight, crooked, I know not how.

Theoph. Once more ;

Thy head is full of windmills : when doth the
Fill a bed full of beauty, and bestow it [princess
On Antoninus, on the wedding-night'?

Mac. I know not.

Thenph. No ! thou art the manuscript,
Where Antoninus writes down all his secrets :
Honest Macrinus, tell me.

Mac. Fare you well, sir. [Exit.

Harp. Honesty is some fiend, and frights him
A many courtiers love it not}. [hence ;

Theoph. What piece

Of this state-wheel, which winds up Antoninus,
Is broke, it runs so jarringly 1 the man
Is from himself divided : O thou, the eye
By which I wonders see, tell me, my Harpax,
What gad-fly tickles this Macrinus so,
That, flinging up the tail, he breaks thus from me.

Harp. Oh, sir, his brain-pan is a bed of snakes,
Whose stings shoot through his eye balls, whose

poisonous spawn

Ingenders such a fry of speckled villainies,
That, unless charms more strong than adamant
Be used, the Roman angel's$ wings shall melt,

* Theoph. Glad'st thou in such scorn .'] Tliis is the reading
of all the ol<l copies, and appeal s to be the genuine out.
Theophilus, who is represented as a fin ions zealot for pa-
ganism, is mollified at the indifference with which Macrinus
returns the happiness he had wished him by his god. Mr.
M. Mason reads, G.iddest thou in such scorn?

t courtiers have flies] This word is used by

Ben Jon-on, a close and devoted imitator of the ancients,
fora domestic parasite, a familiar, &.:. and from him, pro-
bably, Decker adopted it in tiie picscnt sense.

I A many courtiers love it not ] This is the reading of the
first quarto. The editors follow that of the last two : And
many &c. which is in>t so good.

j the Raman ang-.l's] As angels wore no part

of the pagan theology, this should certainly be auyel from
the Italian aiigeUo, wliieh means a bird. M. MASON.

I. were to be wished that critics would sometimes apply
lo themselves the advice which Guuerill gives t pool old
Lear :

. " I pray you, father, being weak, seem so ;"

And Caesar's diadem be from his head

Spurn'd by base feet ; the laurel which he wears,

Returning victor, be enforced to kiss,

That which it hates, the fire. And can this ram,

This Antoninus-engine, being made ready

To so much mischief, keep a steady motion ?

His eyes and feet, you see, give strange assaults.

Theoph. I'm turn'd a marble statue at thy language
Which printed is in such crabb'd characters,
It puzzles all my reading : what, in the name
Of Pluto, now is hatching ?

Harp. This Macrinus*
The line is, upon which love-errands run
'Twixt Antoninus and that ghost of women,
The bloodless Dorothea, who in prayer
And meditation, mocking all your gods,
Drinks up her ruby colour : yet Antoninus
Plays the Endyrnion to this pale-faced moon,
Courts, seeks to catch her eyes

Theoph. And what of this ?

Harp. These are but creeping billows,
Not got to shore yet : but if Dorothea
Fall on his bosom, and be fired with love,
(\our coldest women do so,) had you ink
Brew'd from the infernal Styx, not all that blackness
Can make a thing so foul, as the dishonours,
Disgraces, buffetings, and most base affronts
Upon the bright Artemia, star o' th" court,
Great Caesar's daughter.

Theoph. I now conster thee. [fill'd

Harp. Nay, more ; a firmament of clouds, being
With Jove's artillery, shot down at once,
To pashf your gods in pieces, cannot give,

we should not then find so many of these certainties. The
b.irbirons word auyel, of which Mr. M. Mason speaks so
confidently, is foreign to our language, whereas anyel, in
the sense of birds, occurs frequently. JUIIMHI beautifully
calls the nightingale, "the dear good angel of the spiiiig ;"
and if this should be thought, as it probably is, a Grecism ;
yet we have the same term in another passage, which will
admit of no dispuie :

" Not an angel of the air
ird melodious, or bird fair, &c.

Two Noble Kinsmen.

In Mandeville, the barbarous Herodotus of a baibar^u
age, there is an account of a people (probably the remain*
of the old Guebres) who exp< scd the dead bu!ii> c.f their
parents to \\iefotrles of the air. They icserved, however,
the sculls, of which, says he, the son, " letethe make a cuppe,
and thereof drynkethe he with gret devocionn, in reniem-
braunce of the holy man that the aunyelcs of God had eten.

" By this expression," says Mr. Hole, " Mandeville postK-
bly meant to insinuate that they were considered as> sacred
messengers." No, surely : aunyeles of God, was synony-
mous in Mandeville's vocabulary, lofowles of the air. With
Greek phraseology he wa, perhaps, but little acquainted, but
he knew his own language well. (By anyel is meant the
Roman ensign, the eayle).

The reader cannot but have already observed how ill the
style of Decker assimilates wilh that of Massinger : in the
former act Harpax had spoken surticiently plain, and told
Theophilus of strange and important events, without these
ha r h and violent starts and metaphors.

* Harp. This Macrinus

The line is, SfC.] The old copies read time. Before I w
Mr. M. Mason's emendation, 1 had altered 'motiving. Line
however, appears to be the genuine word. The allusion ii
to the rude lire-works of our ancestors. So, in the fawn*
by Marston.

" Page. There be squibs, sir, running upon lines, like
so.-r.e ot our gawdy gallants," &c., (an. I in Decker's Honest
Whore. "Troth mistress, to tell you true, the fire-works
then ran from me upon lines," o c. )

+ To pash your yods in pieces ] So the old copies. Cox-
eter (who is followed, as usual, by Mr. M. Mason), ignorant
perhaps of the sense of pash, changed it to dash, a word of
far lei* energy, and of a different meaning. The latter sig
nines, to throw one thing with violence against another ; th

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr 11.

With all those thunderbolts, so deep a blow
To the religion there, and pagan lore,
As this ; for Dorothea hates your gods,
And, if she once blast Antoninus' soul,
Making it foul like hers, Oh ! the example

Tkeofih. Eats through Caesarea's heart like liquid

poison.

Have I invented tortures to tear Christians,
To see but which, could all that feel hell's torments
Have leave to stand aloof here on earth's stage,
They would be mad 'till they again descended,
Holding the pains most horrid of such souls,
May-games to those of mine : has this my hand
Set down a Christian's execution
In such dire postures, that the very hangman
Fell at my foot dead, hearing but their figures ;
And shall Macrinus and his fellow-masker
Strangle me in a dance?

Harp. N o ; on ; I hug thee,
For drilling thy quick brains in this rich plot
Of tortures 'gainst these Christians : on ; I hug thee !

Theoph. Both hug and holy me ; to this Dorothea
Fly thou and I in thunder.

Harp. Not for kingdoms
Piled upon kingdoms : there's a villain page
Waits on her, whom I would not for the world
Hold traffic with ; I do so hate his sight
That, should 1 look on him, I must sink down.

Theoph. I will not lose thee then, her to confound ;
None but this head with glories shall be crown'd.

Harp. Oh ! mine own as I would wish thee.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Room in DOROTHEA'S House.
Enter DOROTHEA, MACRINUS, and ANGELO.

Dor. My trusty Angelo, with that curious eye
Of thine, which ever waits upon my busine'ss,
I prithee watch those my still-negligent servants,
That they perform my will, in what's enjoin'd them
To the good of others ; else will you find them flies,
Not lying still, yet in them no good lies :
Be careful, dear boy.

Ang. Yes, my sweetest mistress.* [Exit.

Dor. Now, sir, you may go on.

Mac. I then must study
A new arithmetic, to sum up the virtues
Which Antoninus gratefully become.
There is in him so much man, so much goodness,

ormer, to strike a thing with such force as to crush it to
piece*. Thus in Act IV. of this tragedy :

when the battering ram

Was fetching his career backwards, to path,
Me witb his horns in pieces."

The word is now obsolete ; which it to be regretted, as we
have none that can adequately supply its place : it is used in
its proper sense by Dryden, which is tiie latest instance 1
recollect :

" Thy cunning engines have with labour raised
My heavy anger, like a mighty weight,
To fall and path thee."

Mr. Gifford might have added the following illustration iu
which the distinction between posh and dash is pointedly
marked.

" They left him (Bccket) not till they had cut and poshed
out his brains, and dashed them about upon the church
pavement." Holinshed, Hen. II. an. 1171.

It would not be difficult to cite many c.thcr authorities to
mpport of the use here made of this now obsolete word. Shaks-
peare frequently u.es it. ED.

Ang. Yeg, my sweetest mistress.] So the old copies :
the modern editors read, Ye>, my sweet mistress, which de-
Uovs the metre.

So much of honour, and of all things else,

Which make our being excellent, that from his store

He can enough lend others ; yet, much ta'en from

him,

The want shall be as little, as when seas
Lend from their bounty, to fill up the poorness*
Of needy rivers.

Dor. Sir he is more indebted
To you for praise, than you to him that owes it.
Mac. If queens, viewing his presents paid to th

whiteness

Of your chaste hand alone, should be ambitious
But to be parted in their numerous shares ;f
This he counts nothing : could you see main armies
Make battles in the quarrel of his valour,
That 'tis the best, the truest, this were nothing j
The greatness of his state, his father's voice
And arm awing Ca;sarea,| he ne'er boasts of;
The sunbeams which the emperor throws upon him,
Shine there but us in water, and gild him
Not with one spot of priile : no, dearest beauty,
All these, heap'd up together in one scale,
Cannot weigh down the love he bears to you,
Being put into the other.

Dor. Could gold buy you

To speak thus for a friend, you, sir, are worthy
Of more than I will number ; and this your language
Hath power to win upon another woman,
Top of whose heart the feathers of this world
Are gaily stuck : but all which first you numed,
And now this last, his love, to me are nothing.
Mac. You make me a sad messenger ; but him-
self

Enter ANTONINUS.

Being come in person, shall, I hope, hear from you
Music more pleasing.

Anton. Has your ear, Macrinus,
Heard none, then ?

Mac. None I like.

Anton. But can there be
In such a noble casket, wherein lie
Beauty and chastity in their full perfections,
A rocky heart, killing with cruelty
A life that's prostrated beneath your feet?

Dor. 1 am guilty of a shame I yet ne'er knew,
Thus to hold parley with you ; pray, sir, pardon.

Anton. Good sweetness, you now have it, and shall
Be but so merciful, before your wounding me [goj
With such a mortal weapon as Farewell,
To let me murmur to your virgin ear,
What I was loth to lay on any tongue
But this mine own.

Dor. If one immodest accent
Fly out, 1 ha!e you everlastingly.

Anton. My true love dares not do it.

Mac. Hermes inspire thee !

* to Jill up the poorness.] The modern editors read

I know not why to Jill up their poornets .'

1 Jiut to be paite;! in their numerous shares ;] This the
former editors have modernized into

But to be partners, &c.

a better word, perhaps, but not for that, to be unwarrantably
thrust into the text. The expression may be found in the
writers of our author's age, especially in Ben Jonson, in the
sense here required: to be parted ; to be favoured, or en-
dowed with a part.

J And arm awing Ctesarca.] I have ventured to differ
here from all the copies, which read owing ; the error, if it
be one, as I think it is, probably arose from llic expression
being taken down by the ear.

SCENE III.]

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

Enter above, ARTEMIA, SAPRITIUS, TUEOPHILUS,
SFVXGIUS, and HIRCICS.

Spun. So, now, do you see ? Our work is done ;
the fish you angle for is nibbling at the hook, and
therefore untruss the cod-piece-point of our reward
no matter if the breeches of conscience fall about our
heels.

Theoph. The gold you earn is here ; dam up your
And no words of it. [mouths,

Hir. No ; nor no words from you of too much
damning neither. I know women sell themselves
dailv, and are hacknied out for silver : why may not
we, then, betray a scurvy mistress for gold ?

Spun. She saved us from the gallows, and, only

to keep one proverb from breaking his neck, we'll

hang her. [white boys.

Theoph. 'Tis well done ; go, go, you're my fine

Spun. If your red boys, 'tis well known more ill-
favoured faces than ours are painted.

Sap. Those fellows trouble us.

Theoph. Away, away!

Hir. I to my sweet placket.

Spun. And I to my full pot.

[Exeunt. Hir. and Spun.

Anton. Come let me tune you : glaze not thus
With self-love of a vowed virginity, [your eyes

Make every man your glass ; you see our sex
Do never murder propagation ;
We all desire your sweet society,
And if you bar me from it, you do kill me,
And of my blood are guilty.

Artem. O base villain !

Sap. Bridle your rage, sweet princess.

Anton. Could not my fortunes,
Rear'd higher far than yours, be worthy of you,
Methinks my dear affection makes you mine.

Dor. Sir, for your fortunes, were they mines of
He that I love is richer ; and for w orth, [gold,

You are to him lower than any slave
Is to a monarch.

Sap. So insolent, base Christian !

Dor. Can I, with wearing out mv knees before
Get you but be his servant, you shall boast [him,
You re equal to a king.

Sap. Confusion on thee,
For playing thus the lying sorceress ! [the sun

Anton. Your mocks are great ones ; none beneath
Will I be servant to. On my knees 1 beg it,
Pity me, wondrous maid.

Sap. I curse thy baseness.

Theoph. Listen to more.

Dor. O kneel not, sir, to me.

Anton, This knee is emblem of an humbled heart :
That heart which tortured is with your disdain,
Justly for scorning others, even this heart,
To which for pity such a princess sues,
As in her hand offers me all the world,
Great Caesar's daughter.

Artem. Slave, thou liest.

Anton. Yet this

Is adamant to her, that melts to you
In drops of blood.

Theoph. A very dog !

Anton. Perhaps

Tis my religion makes you knit the brow ;
Yet be you mine, and ever be your own :
I ne'er will screw your conscience from that Power,
On which you Christians lean.

Sap. I can no longer

Fret out my life with weeping at thee, villain.
Sirrah ! [AUmd,

Would, when I got thee, the high Thunderer's hand
Had struck thee in the womb !

Mac. We are betrav'd.

Artem. Is that the Idol, traitor, which thou kneel'st
Trampling upon my beauty ? [to,

Theoph. Sirrah, bandog* !
Wilt thou in pieces tear our Jupiter
For her? our .Mars for her ? our Sol for her ?
A whore! a hell-hound ! In this globe of brains,
Where a whole world of furies for such tortures
Have fought, as in a chaos, which should exceed,
These nails shall grubbing lie from skull to skull,
To find one horrider than all, for you,
You three !

Artem. Threaten not, but strike : quick vengeance
Into my bosomf ! caitiff! here all love dies. [flies

[Ezeunl above.

Anton. O ! I am thunderstruck ! \Ve are both
o'erwhelm'd

Mac. With one high-raging billow.

Dor. You a soldier,
And sink beneath the violence of a woman !

Anton. A woman ! a wrong'd princess. From

such a star

Blazing with fires of hate, what can be look'd for,
But tragical events? my life is now
The subject of her tyranny.

Dor. That fear is base.

Of death, when that death doth but life displace
Out of her house of earth ; you only dread
The stroke, and not what follows when you're dead
There's the great fear, indeed^ : come, let your eyes
Dwell where mine do, you'll scorn their tyrannies.

He-enter below, ARTEMIA, SAPRITIUS, TIIEOPHILUS, o
guard ; ANGEI.O comes and stands close by DORO-
THEA.

Artem. My father's nerves put vigour in minearm,
And I his strength must use. Because I once
Shed beams of favour on thee, and, with the lion,
Play'd with thee gently, when thou struck'st my
I'll not insult on a base, humbled prey, [heart,

Theoph. Sirrah, bandog.

J T'ilt thou in pieces tear our Jvpiter.] A bandog, as the
name imports, was a (log so fierce, as to require to be
chained up. Bandogs are frequently mentioned by our old
writers (indeed the word ocrurs three times in this very
play) and always with a reference to their savage nature.
If the term was appropriated to a species, it probably meant
a large dog, of the mastiff kind, which, tlu-ugh no longer
met with here, is still common in many parts of Germany :
it was familiar to Snyders.and is found in most of his hunt-
ing-pieces.

In this country the bandog was kept to bait bears: with
the dtclinc of that " noble !-port," peihap.*, tlie animal fell
into disuse, as he was too ferocious fur any domestic pur-
pose. !Mr. (lilchrist has furnished me with a curious pas-
fage from Laneham, which renders any further details on
the subject unnecessary. ' On the sjxili d.iy </t her majes-
ty es cummins, a great sort of bandoijs whear tlit-ar tyed in
the utter cooitrt, and thyrteen bears in the inner. Wlioo<o-
evcr made the panucll thear wear tnoow lor a queast, and
one for a challenge and need wear. A w ight of great w is-
doom and gravitie seemed their foi email to be, had it
cum to a jury : but it fell omit that they wear caused to
appeer thear upon no Mich matter, but onlic too cnswear
to. i ail avnclent quarrele between them and the bandogs," &c.
Qiu-en Elizabeth s Entertainment at KillingiKorth Castle, in
1575.

t quick vengeance .flies

Into my bosom, &c.] The old copies read, Into thy
bosom. For the change, which is obviously necessary, I am
ai.swerable.

I There's the great fear indeed:] The modern editon
omit yrcat, which is louud in the first ai"l second quarto*.

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr II

By lingering out thy terrors ; but with one frown
Kill thee : hence wiih "em ;ill to execution.
Seize him ; but let even death itself be weary
In torturing her. I'll change those smiles to shrieks ;
Give the fool what she's proud of, martyrdom :
In pieces rack that bawd too.

Sap. Albeit the reverence
I owe our sods, and you, are in my bosom,
Torrents so strong, that pity quite lies clrown'd
From saving 1 this young man ; yet, when I sen
What face death gives him, and that a thing within
Says, 'tis my son, I am forced to be a man, [me
And grow fond of his life, which thus I beg.

Artem. And I deny.

Anton. Sir, you dishonour me,
To sue for that which I disclaim to have.
I shall more glory in my sufferings gain
Than you in giving judgment, since I offer
My blood up to your anger ; nor do I kneel
To keep a wretched life of mine from ruin ;
Preserve this temple, builded fair as yours is*,
And Cresar never vent in greater triumph,
Than I shall to the scaffold.

Artem. Are you so brave, sir?
Set forward to his triumph, and let those two
Go cursing along with him.

Dor. No, but pitying,

For my part, I, that you lose ten times more
By torturing me, than I that dare your tortures :
Through all the army of my sins, I have even
Labour'd to break, and cope with death to th' face.
The visage of a hangman frights not me ;
The sight of whips, racks, gibbets, axes, fires,
Are scaffoldings by which my soul climbs up
To an eternal habitation.

Theoph. Cmsar's imperial daughter, hear me speak
Let not this Christian thing, in this her pageantry
Of proud deriding both our gods and Cssar,
Build to herself a kingdom in her death.
Goingf laughing from us : no ; her bitterest torment
Shall be, to feel her constancy beaten down :
The bravery of her resolution lie
Batter'd, by argument, into such pieces,
That she again shall, on her belly, creep
To kiss the pavements of our painim gods.

Artem. How to be done ?

Theoph. I'll send my daughters to her,
And they shall turn her rocky faith to wax ;
Else spit at me, let me be made your slave,
And meet no Roman's but a villain's grave.

Artem. Thy prisoner let her be, then ; and,

Sapritius, .

Your s.on and thatf, be yours : death shall be sent
To him that suffers them, by voice or letters,
To greet each other. Rifle her estate ;
Christians to beggary brought, grow desparate.

* Preserve this temple, build it fair as your* is.} As this
line stands, Antoninus's request is, not merely that Aiirmia
should preserve Dorothea, but tli.it she should raise her to a
degre o f splendour equal to her own. The absurdity of
supposing that lie should make this request to a princess,
who had condemned him to death, in favour of her rival,
made me suppose that there must be an error in this pas-
sage, and suggested ilie amendment. M. MASON.

Wonderfully sagacious! A Mingle glance at either of the
first three editions wonM have saved all this labour : build
it is the blunder of the quarto, Ititil, which Coxeter fol-
lowed ; in the others it Mauds as in the text.

t (loing lauyhiny from us:} So the old copies; which is
far more correct than the modern reading Go, laughing
from us.

I Your snn and that,] Meaning Macrinus, whom before
the had railed a bawd. M. MASON.

Dor. Still on the bread of poverty let me feed.

Ang. ! ray admired mistress, quench not out
The holy fires within you, though temptations
Shower down upon you : clasp thine armour on,
Fight well, and thou shalt see, after these wars,
Thy head wear sunbeams, and thy fe<-t touch stars,
[Exeunt all but Angelo.

Enter Ilirtcius and SPUNOIUS.

Hir. How now, Angelo ; how is it, how is it ?
What thread spins that whore Fortune upon her
wheel now ?

.S/WM. Com' estn, coin 1 esta, poor knave'

Hir. Comment portes-vous, comment portez-rouz,
man petit garfon ?

Spun. My pretty wee comrade, my half-inch of
man's flesh, how run the dice of this cheating world,
ha?

An*. Too well on your sides ; you are hid in gold
O'er head and ears.

Hir. We thank our fates, the sign of the gingle-
boys hangs at the doors of our pockets.

Spun. Who would think that we, coming forth
of the a , asitwere, or fag-end of the world, should
yet see the golden age, when so little silver is
stirring.

Ilir. Nay, who can say any citizen is an ass, for
loading his own back with money till his soul cracks
again, only to leave his son like a gilded coxcomb
behind him? Will not any fool take me for a wise
man now, seeing me draw out of the pit of my trea-
sury this little god with his belly full of gold?

Spun. And this, full of the same meat, out of my
ambry.

Ang. That gold will melt to poison.

Spun. Poison ! would it would ; whole pints for
healths should down my throat.

Hir. Gold, poison ! there is never a she-thrasher
in Cajsarea, that lives on the flail of money, will call
it so.

Ang. Like slaves you sold your souls for golden
Bewraying her to death, who stept between [dross,
You and the gallows.

Spun. It was an easy matter to save us, she being
so well back'd.

Hir. The gallows and we fell out ; so she did but
part us.

Ang. The misery of that mistress is mine own ;
She beggar'd, I left wretched.

Hir. I can but let my nose drop in sorrow, with
wet eyes for her.

Spun, The petticoat of her estate is unlaced, I
confess.

Hir. Yes, and the smock of her charity is now all
to pieces.

Ang. For love you bear to her, for some good tarns
Done you by me, give me one piece of silver.

Hir. How ! a piece of silver ! if thou wert an
angel of gold, I would not put thee into white money,
unless I weighed thee ; and I weigh thee not a rush.

Spun. A piece of silver ! I never had but two
calves in my life, and those my mother left me ; I
will rather part from the fat of tliem, than from a
mustard-token's worth of argent.

Hir. And so, sweet nit, we crawl from thee.

Spun. Adieu, demi-dandiprat, adieu !
Aug. Stay, one word yet ; you now are full of
gold.

Hir. I would be sorry my dog were so full of the
pox.

THE VIRGIX-MARTYR.

Spun. Or any sow of mine of the meazles either.

Aug. Go, go! you're beggars both ; you are not
That leather on your feet. [worth

Hir. Away, away, hoy !

Spun. Page, you do nothing but set patches on
the soies of your jests.

Aug. I am glad 1 tried your love, which, see ! I
So long as this is full. [ want not,

Both. And so long as this, so long as this.

Hir. Spungius, you are a pickpocket.

Spun. Hircius, thou hast nini'd: So long as !
not so much money is left as will buy a louse.

Hir. Thou art a thief, and thou liest in that gut
through which thy wine runs, if thou deniest it.

Spun. Thou liest deeper than the bottom of mine
enraged pocket, if thou affrontest it.

Aug. No blows, no bitter language ; all your
gold gone !

Spun. Can the devil creep into one's breeches ?

Hir, Yes, if his horns once get into the cod-piece.

Ang. Come, sigli not ; I so little am in love
With that whose loss kills you, that, see ! 'tis yours.

I All yours : divide the heap in equal share,
So you will go along with me to prison,
And in our mistress* sorrows bear a part-
Sav, will you?

'Buth. Will we!

Spun. If she were going to hanging, no gallows
should part us.

Hir. Let us both be turn'd into a rope of ocions,
if we do not.

Ang. Follow me, then : repair your bad deeds past ;
Happy are men, when their best days are last !

Spun. True, master Angelo ; pray, sir, lead the
way. [Exit Angelo.

Hir. Let him lead that way, but follow thou me
this way.

Spun. I live in a gaol !

Hir. Away, and shift for ourselves: She'll do
well enough there ; for prisoners are more hungry
after mutton, than catchpoles after prisoners.

Spun. Let her starve then, if a whole gaol will
not fill her belly. [Exeunt

ACT III.

SCENE I. A Room in DOROTHEA'S House.

Enter SAPIUTIUS, THEOPHILUS, Priest, CALISTA, and
CHRISTETA.

Sap. Sick to the death, I fear*.

Theopk. I meet your sorrow,
With my true feeling of it.

Sap. She's a witch,
A sorceress, Theopbilus ; my son
Is charm'd by her enchanting eyes ; and, like
An image made of wax, her beams of beauty
Melt him to nothing : all my hopes' in him,
And all his gotten honours, find their grave
In his strange dotage on her. Would, when first
He saw and loved her, that the earth had open'd
And swallow'd both alive !

Theoph. There's hope left yet.

Sap. IS ot any : though the princess were appeased,
All title in her love surrender 'd up ;
Yet this coy Christian is so transported
Wi:h her religion, that unless my son
H3ut let hire perish first ! ) drink the same potion,
And be of her belief, she'll not vouchsafe
To be his lawful wife.

Priest. But, once removed
From her opinion, as I rest assured
The reasons of these holy maids will win her,
You'll find her tractable to any thing,
For your content or his.

Iheoph. If she refuse it,
The Stygian damps, breeding infectious airs,
The mandrake's shrieks, the basilisk's killing eye,
The dreadful lightning that does crush the bones,
And never singe the skin, shall not appear

* Sap. Sick to the death, I fear.} It is delightful, aftei
the vile ribaldry and harshness of the preceding act, to fall
in again with the clear and harmonious periods of Massinger.
From hence to the conclusion of the second scene, where
Decker takes up the story, every page is crowded with
beauties of no common kind.

'Less fatal to her, than my zeal made hot
With love unto my gods. I have deferr'd it,
In hopes to draw hack this apostile,
Which will he greater honour than her death,
Unto her father's faith ; and, to that end,
Have brought my daughters hither.

Cat. And we doubt not
To do what you desire.

Sap. Let her be sent for.
Prosper in your good work ; and were I not
To attend the princess, I would see and hear
How you succeed.

Theoph. I am commanded too,
I'll bear you company.

Sap. Give them your ring,
To lead her as in triumph, if they win her
Before her highness. [ Exit.

Theoph. Spare no promises,
Persuasions, or threats, I do conjure you ;
If you prevail, 'tis the most glorious work
You ever undertook.

Enter DOROTHEA and ANGELO.

Priest. She comes.

Theoph. We leave you ;
Be constant, and be careful.

[Exeunt Theoph and Priest.

Ctil. We are sorry
To meet you under guard.

Dor. But I more grieved
You are t liberty. So well I love you,
That I could wish, for such a cause as mine,
You were my fellow-prisoners : Prithee, Angelo,
Reach us some chairs. Please you sit

Cat. We thank you :
Our visit is for love, love to your safety.

Christ. Our conference must be private, pray you,
Command your boy to leave us. (_ therefore,

Dor. You may trust him
With any secret that concerns my hie,
Falsehood and he are strangers : had you, ladles,

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr IIL

Been bless'd with such a servant, you had never

Forsook that way, your journey even half ended,

That leads to joys eternal. In the place

Of loose lascivious mirth, he would have stirr'd you

To holy meditations ; and so far

He is from flattery, that lie would have told you,

Your pride being at the height, how miserable

And wretched tilings you were, that, for an hour

Of pleasure here, have made a desperate sale

Of all your right in happiness hereafter.

lie must not leave me ; without him I fall :

In this life he's my servant, in the other

A wish'd companion.

Ang. 'Tis not in the devil,
Nor all his wicked arts, to shake such goodness.

Dor. But you were speaking, lady.

Cat. As a friend

And lover of your safety, and I pray you
So to receive it ; and, if you remember
How near in love our parents were, that we,
Even from the cradle, were brought up together,
Our amity increasing with our years,
We cannot stand suspected.

Dor. To the purpose.

Cal. We come, then, as good angels, Dorothea,
To make you happy ; and the means so easy,
That, be not you an enemy to yourself,
Already you enjoy it.

Christ. Look on us,

Ruin'd as you are, once, and brought unto it '

By your persuasion.

Cal. But what follow'd, lady ?

Leaving those blessings which our gods gave freely,
And shower'd upon us with a prodigal hand,
As to be noble born, youth, beauty, wealth,
And the free use of these without control,
Check, curb, or stop, such is our law's indulgence !
All happiness forsook us ; bonds and fetters
For amorous twines ; the rack and hangman's whips
In place of choice delights ; our parents' curses
Instead of blessings ; scorn, neglect, contempt,
Fell thick upon us.

Christ. This consider'd wisely,
\\ e made a fair retreat ; and reconciled
To our forsaken gods, we live again
In all prosperity.

Cal. By our example,
Bequeathing misery to such as love it,
Learn to be happy. The Christian yoke's too heavy
For such a dainty neck ; it was framed rather
To be the shrine of A^enus, or a pillar
Wore precious than crystal, to support
Our Cupid's image : our religion, lady,
Is but a varied pleasure ; yours a toil,
Slaves would shrink under. [devils 1

Dor. Have you not cloven feet ? are you not
Dare any say so much, or dare I hear it
Without a virtuous or religious anger ?
Now to put on a virgin modesty,
Or maiden silence, when His power is question'd
That is omnipotent, were a greater crime
Than in a bad cause to be impudent.
Your gods ! your temples ! brothelhouses rather,
Or wicked actions of the worst of men
Pursued and practised. Your religious rites !
Oh ! call them rather juggling mysteries,
The baits and nets of hell : your souls the prey
For which the devil angles ; your false pleasures
A steep descent, by which you headlong fall
Into eternal torments.

Cal. Do not tempt
Our powerful gods.

Dor. Which of your powerful gods ?
Your gold, your silver, brass, or wooden ones,
That can nor do me hurt, nor protect you * ?
Most pitied women ! will you sacrifice
To such, or call them gods or goddesses,
Your parents would disdain to be the same,
Or you yourselves ? O blinded ignorance !
Tell me, Calista, by the truth, I charge you,
Or any thing you hold more dear, would you,
To have him d'eified to posterity,
Desire your father an adulterer,
A ravisher, almost a parricide,
A vile incestuous wretch?

Cal. That, piety
And duty answer for me.

Dor. Or you, Christeta,
To be hereafter register'd a goddess,
Give your chaste body up to the embraces
Of goatish lust ? have it writ on your forehead :
" This is the common whore, the prostitute,
The mistress in the art of wantonness.
Knows every trick and labyrinth of desires
That are immodest V

Christ. You judge better of me,
Or my affection is ill placed on you j
Shall I turn strumpet 1

Dm: No, I think you would not ;
Yet Venus, whom you worship, was a whore j
Flora, the foundress of the public stews,
And has, for that, her sacrifice ; your great god,
Your Jupiter, a loose adulterer,
Incestuous with his sister : read but those
That have canonized them, you'll find them worse
Than, in chaste language, I can speak them to you.
Are they immortal then, that did partake
Of human weakness, and had ample share
In men's most base affections ; subject to
Unchaste loves, anger, bondage, wounds, as men are?
Here, Jupiter, to serve his lust, turn'd bull,
The shape f, indeed, in which he stole Europa ;
Neptune, for gain, builds up the walls of Troy,
As a day-labourer ; Apollo keeps
Admetus' sheep for bread ; the Lemnian smith
Sweats at the forge for hire ; Prometheus here,
With his still-growing liver, feeds the vulture ;
Saturn bound fast in hell with adamant chains ;
And thousands more, on whom abused error
Bestows a deity. Will you then, dear sisters,
For I would have you such, pay your devotions
To things of less power than yourselves 1

Cal. We worship
Their good deeds in their images.

Dor. By whom fashion 'd ?
By sinful men. I'll tell you a short talej,
Nor can you but confess it is a true one :

That can nor do me hurt, nor protect you f[ More
spirited, and more in the author's manner, than the reading
ot' the last quarto, which the modern editors follow :
That cannot do me hurt, nor protect you !

+ The shape, indeed, &c.] The old copies read, The ship,
indeed, &c. Corrected by Coxeter. [Omitted in edit, of
1813.]

I'll tell you a short tale, &c.] I once thought

I had read this short tale in Arnobiiis, from whom, and
from Augusta, much of the preceding speech is taken
but, upon looking him over again, 1 can scarcely find a
trace of it. Herodotus lias, indeed, a story of a king o'
Egypt (Amasis,), which bears a distant resemblance to it
but the application is altogether different : there is 2 baton

IT.]

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

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,

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 line gods,

Subject to human fury !), he took down

The senseless thing, and melting it again,

He made a bason, in which eunuchs wash'd

His concubine's feet ; and for this sordid use

Some months it served : his mistress proving false,

As most indeed do so, and grace concluded

Between him and the priests, of the same bason

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 power to win such as have reasonable souls,

To put their trust in dross.

Cat. Oh, that I had been born
Without a father !

Christ. Piety to him
Ilath ruin'd us for ever.

Dor. Think not so ;
You may repair all yet : the attribute
That speaks his Godhead most, is merciful :
Revenge is proper to the fiends you worship,
Yet cvsmot strike wi'.hout his leave. You weep,
Oh, 'tis a heavenly shower ! celestial balm
To cine your wounded conscience ! let it fall,
Fall ihick upon it ; and, when that is spent,
I'll help it with another of my tears :
And may your true repentance prove the child
Of my true sorrow, never mother had
A birth so happy !

Cal. We are caught ourselves,
That came to take you ; and, assured of conquest,
\\ e are your captives.

Dor. And in that you triumph :
\ our victory had been eternal loss,
And this your loss immortal g'ain. Fix here,
And you shall feel yourselves inwardly arm'd
'Gainst tortures, death, and hell : but, take heed,
sisters, [suasions,

That, or through weakness, threats, or mild per-
'1 hough of a father, you fall not into
A second and a worse apostacy.

Cat. Never, oh never ! steel'd by your example,
We dare the worst of tyranny.

Christ. Here's our warrant,
You shall along and witness it.

Dor. Be confirm 'd then ;
And rest assured, the more you suffer here,
The more your glory, you to heaven more dear.

[Exeunt,

SCENE II. The Governor's Palace.

Enter AIITEJIIA, SAPRITIUS, THKOPHILUS, and

HARPAX.

Artem. Sapritius, though your son deserves no pity,
We grieve his sickness : his contempt of us,
We cast behind us, and look back upon
His service done to Ca?sar, that weighs down

ofynhl in which lie and his guests were accustomed to spit,
wash their feet, &c. which is formed into a yod : but whether
tiiis furnished tin: pott with any hints, I cannot undertake
!o say.

Our just displeasure. If his malady
Have growth from his restraint, or that you think
His liberty can cure him, let him have it :
Say, we forgive him freely.

Sap. Your grace binds us
Ever your humblest vassals.

Artem. Use all means
For his recovery ; though yet I love him,
I will not force affection. If the Christian,
Whose beauty hath out-rivall'd me, be won
To be of our belief, let him enjoy her ;
That all may know, when the cause wills, I can
Command my own desires.

Theoph. Be happy then,
My lord Sapritius : I am confident.
Such eloquence and sweet persuasion dwell
Upon my daughters' tongues, that they will work
To any thing they please. [her

Sap. I wish they may :
Yet 'tis no easy task to undertake,
To alter a perverse and obstinate woman.

[A shout within : loud mutic,

Artem. What means this shout'!

Sap. 'Tis seconded with music,
Triumphant music. Ha !

Enter SEMPRONIUS.

Semp. My lord, your daughters,
The pillars of our faith*, having converted,
For so report gives out, the Christian lady,
The image of great Jupiter born before them,
Sue for access.

Theoph. My soul divined as much.
Blest be the time when first they saw this light !
Their mother, when she bore them to support
My feeble age, fill'd not my longing heart
With so much joy, as they in this good work
Have thrown upon me.

Enter Priest with the Image of Jupiter, incense and
censers ; followed by CALISTA and CIIRISTETA
leading DOROTHEA.
Welcome, oh, thrice welcome,
Daughters, both of my body and my mind!
Let me embrace in you my bliss, my comfort ;
And, Dorothea, now more welcome too,
Than if you never had fallen off! I am ravish 'd
With the excess of joy : speak, happy daughters,
The blest event.

Cal. We never gain'd so much
By any undertaking.

Theoph. O my dear girl,
Our gods reward thee !

Dor. Nor was ever time
On my part better spent.

Christ. We are all now
Of one opinion.

Theaph. My best Christeta !
Madam, if ever you did grace to worth,
Vouchsafe your princely hands.

Artem. Most willingly

Do you refuse it !

Cat. Let us first deserve it. [prepare

Theoph. My own child still ! here set our god ;
The incense quickly : Come, fair Dorothea,
I will myself support you ; now kneel down
And pay your vows to Jupiter.

* The pillars o/ourfaiUi, &c I Here as in many other
places, the language of Christianity and paganism is con-
founded ; faith w%s always the distinctive term for the
former, iu oi>Dsition to heathenism.

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr. III.

Dor. I shall do it
Better by their example.

Theoph. They shall guide you,
They are familiar with the sacrifice.
Forward, my twins of comfort, and, to teach her,
Make a joint offering.

Christ. Thus [they both spit at the image,

Cal. And thus throw it down, and spurn it.

Harp^ Profane,

And impious ! stand you now like a statue ?
Are you the champion of the gods ? where is
Your holy zeal, your anger?

Theoph. I am blasted ;
And, as my feet were rooted here, I find
T have no motion ; I would I hud no sight too !
Or if my eyes can serve to any use*,
Give me, thou injured Power! a sea of tears,
To expiate this madness in my daughters ;
For, being themselves, they would have trembled at

So blasphemous a deed in any other :

For my sake, hold awhile thy dreadful thunder,
And give me patience to demand a reason
Fur this accursed act.

Dor. ' I'was bravely done. [should look on you

Theo h. Peace, damn'd enchantress, peace! I
With eyes made red with fury, and my hand,
That shakes with rage, should much outstrip my

tongue,

And seal my vengeance on your hearts ; but nature,
To you that have fallen once, bids me again
To be a father. Oh ! how durst you tempt
The anger of great Jove ?

Dor. Alack, poor Jove !
He is no swaggerer ; how smug he stands '
He'll take a kick, or any thing.

Sap. Stop her mouth.

Dor. It is the patient'st godlingf; do not fear him ;
He would not hurt the thief that stole away
Two of his golden locks ; indeed he could not
And still 'tis the same quiet thing

Tlieop. Blasphemer !
Ingenious cruelty shall punish this ;
Thou art past hope : but for you yt j t$, dear daughters,
Again bewitch'd, the dew of mild forgiveness
May gently fall, provided you deserve it
With true contrition : be yourselves again ;
Sue to the offended deity.

Christ. Not to be
The mistress of the earth.

Cal. 1 will (iot offer

A grain of incense to it, much less kneel,
Nor look on it but with contempt and scorn,
To have a thousand years conferr'd upon me
Of worldly blessings.- We profess ourselves
To be, like Dorothea, Christians,
And owe her for that happiness.

Theop. My ears

Receive, in hearing this, all deadly charms,
Powerful to make man wretched.

Artem. Are these they
You bragg'd could convert others !

Or if my eyes can serve to any use,} The modern
editors roHti ;

Or if my ei/es can serve to any other use.
Other, which desiroys ; ,t once Hit n, ire and ihe jenje is
an absurd interpolation ,,f i| le quartos 1631 and 16C1

Dor. Jt is the patient'si yodling ; I have inserted this
word at the recommendation ol Mr. M. Mason. The old
copies concur in reading ancirnt'gt.

bxtforyou yet,] Yet. which completes the verse,

I now restored from the tirst edil'on.

Sap. That want strength
To stand themselves !

Harp. Your honour is engaged,
The credit of your cause depends upon it ;
Something you must do suddenly.

Theoph. And 1 will.

Harp. They merit death ; but, falling by your hand,
'Twill be recorded for a just revenge,
And holy fury in vou.

Theoph. Do not blow

The furnace of a wrath thrice hot already ;
^Ctna is in mv breast, wildfire burns here,
Which only blood must quench. Incensed Power !
Which from my infancy I have adored,
Look down with favourable beams upon
The sacrifice, though not allow 'd thy priest,
Which I will offer to thee , and be pleased
(My fiery zeal inciting me to act)
To call that justice others may style murder.
Come, you accurs'd, thus by the hair I drag you
Before this holy altar ; thus look on you,
Less pitiful than tigers to their prey :
And thus with mine own hand 1 take that life
Which I gave to you. [Kills them.

Dor. O most cruel butcher !

Theoph. My anger ends not here : hell's dreadful
Receive into thy ever-open gates, [porter.

Their damned souls, and let the Furies' whips
On them alone be wasted ; and, when death
Closes these eyes, 'twill be Elysium to me
To hear their shrieks and bowlings. Make me, Pluto,
Thy instrument to furnish thee with souls
Of that accursed sect ; nor let me fall,
Till my fell vengeance hath consumed them all.

[Exit, Harpax hugging him.

Artem. 'Tis a brave zeal*.

[Enter Angela smiling.

Dor. Oh, call him back again,
Call back your hangman ! here's one prisoner left
To be the subject of his knife.

Art. Not so ;

We are not so near reconciled unto thee ;
Thou shalt not perish such an easy way.
Be she your charge, Sapritius, now ; and suffer
None to come near her, till we have found out
Some torments worthy of her.

Ang. Courage, mistress,

These martyrs but prepare your glorious fate ;
You shall exceed them, and not imitate. [Exeunt,

SCENE III. A Room in DOROTHEA'S House.
Enter SPUNGIUS and Hincius, ragged, at apposite doors-

Hir. Spungius ! [tattered world* ?

Spun. My line rogue, how is it? how goes this

Hir. Hast any money ?

Spun. Money ! No, The tavern ivy clings about
my money, and kills it. Hast thou any mone\M ?

Hir. No. My money is a mad bull ; and finding
any gap opened, away it runs.

* Artem "J'it a brave zeal.] The first two quartos have
a stage direction here, which Coxeter and M. Mason lol-
low : Enter Artemia lauyhiny. But Anemia continues on
the stage : the error was i-ten and removed by ihe quarto
1051, which roads as 1 have tiven it.

+ how goes this tattered world? These odion

wretches hut tliey are not woith a line. Mr. Malone ob-
serves that tattered is spelt with an o in the old editions ol
Sliak.'peare: this is the first opportunity I have ha:i fc
mentioning, that Massingrr conforms to the s^me practice
The modem editors sometimes adopl one mode of spelling
it, and sometime* another, as if the woids were ditierentl
It is bust to be uniform.

SCENE III.]

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

Spiin. I see then a tavern and a bawdy-house have
faces much alike ; the one hath red grates next the
door, the other hath peeping- holes within- doors :
the tavern hath evermore a bush, the bawdy-house
sometimes neither hedge nor bush. From a tavern

man comes reeling ; from a bawdy-house, not able
to btand In the tavern you are cozen'd with paltry
wine ; in a bawdv-house, by a painted whore : money
may have wine, and a whore will have money ; but
to neither can you cry, Drawer, you rogue ! or,
Keep door, rotten bawd ! without a silver whistle :
We are justly plagued, therefore, for running from
our mistress.

Hir. Thou didst ; I did not : Yet I had run too,
but that one gave me turpentine pills, and that staid
my running,

Spun. Well ! the thread of my life is drawn through
the needle of necessity, whose eye, looking upon my
lousy breeches, cries out it cannot mend them ; which
so pricks the linings of my body (and those are,
heirt, lights, lungs, guts, and midriff), that I beg
on my knees, to have Afropos, the tailor to the Des-
tinies, to take her sheers, and cut my thread in two,
or to heat the iron goose of mortality, and so press
me to death.

Hir. Sure thy father was some botcher, and thy
hungry tongue bit off these shreds of complaints, to
patch up the elbows of thy nitty eloquence.

Spun. And what was thy father ?

Hir. A low-minded cobler, a cobler whose zeal set
many a woman upright ; the remembrance of whose
awl (I now having nofning)thrusts such scurvyatitcb.es
into my soul, that the heel of my happiness is gone
awry.

Spun. Pity that e'er thou trod'st thy shoe awry.

Hir. Long I cannot last ; for all sovvterly wax of
comfort melting away, and misery taking- the length
of my foot, it boots not me to sue for life, when all
my hopes are seam-rent, and go wet-shod.

Spun. This shews thou art a cobler's son, by going
through stitch : O Hircius, would thou and I were
so happy to be coblers !

Hir. So would I ; for both of us being weary of
our lives, should then be sure of shoemakers' ends.

Spun. I see the beginning of my end, for I am
almost starved.

Hir. So am not I ; but I am more than famish'd.

Spun. All the members in my body are in a re-
bellion one against another.

///). So are mine ; and nothing but a cook, being
a constable, can appease them, presenting to my nose
instead of his painted staff, a spit full of roast meat.

Spun. But in this rebellion, what uproars do they
make ! my belly cries to my mouth, \Vhy dost not
g-ape and feed me 1

Hir. And my mouth sets out a throat to my hand,
A\ hy dost not thou lift up meat, and cram mv chops
with it ?

Spun. Then my hand hath a fling at mine eyes
because they look not out, and shark for victuals.

Hir. Which mine eyes seeing, full of tears, cry
aloud, and curse my feet, for not ambling up and
down to feed colon, sithence if good meat be in any
place, 'tis known my feet can smell.

Spun. But then my feet, like lazy rogues, lie still,
and had rather^do nothing, than run to and fro to
purchase any thing.

Hir. Why, among so many millions of people,
should thou and I only be miserable tatterdema^ons,
ragamuffins, and lousy desperates 1

Spun. Thou art a mere I-am-an-o, I-am-an-as :
consider the whole world, and 'tis as we are.

Hir. Lousy, beggarly ! thou whoreson assa foetidal

Spun. Worse; all tottering, all out of frame, thou
fooliamini !

Hir. As how, arsenic ? c^rtm, make the world
smart .

Spun. Old honour goes on crutches, beggary rides
caroched ; honest men make feasts, knaves sit at
tables, cowards are lapp'd in velvet, soldiers (as we)
in rags ; beauty turns whore, whore, bawd, and both
die of the pox : why then, when all the world
stumbles, should thou and I walk upright 1

Hir. Stop, look! who's yonder''

Enter ANGELO.

Spun. Fellow Angelo! how does my little man,

Ang. Yes ; [well '!

And would you did so, too. Where are your clothes?

Hir. Clothes ! You see every woman almost go
in her loose gown, and why should not we have our
clothes loose '!

Spun. Would they were loose !

Ang. Why, where are they ?

Spun. Where many a velvet cloak, I warrant, at
this hour, keeps them company ; they are pawned
to a broker.

Ang. Why pawn'd ? where's all the gold I left
with you ?

Hir. The gold ! we put that into a scrivener's
hands, and he hath cozened us.

Spun. And therefore, I prithee, Angelo, if 'thou
hast another purse, let it be confiscate, and brought
to devastation. [way

Ang. Are you made all of lies ? I know which
Your guilt-wing'd pieces flew. I will no more
Be mockt by you : be sorry for your riots,
Tame your wild flesh by labour ; eat the bread
Got with hard hands ; let sorrow be your whip,
To draw drops of repentance from your heart :
When I read this amendment in your eyes,
You shall not want ; till then, my pity dies. [Exit.

Spun. Is it not a shame, that this scurvy puerilis
should give us lessons.

Hir. I have dwelt, thou tnow'st, a long time in
the suburbs of conscience, and they are ever bawdy ;
but now my heart shall take a house within the
walls of honesty.

Enter HARPAX behind.

Spun. O you drawers of wine, draw me nd more
to the bar of beggary ; the sound of score a pottle oj
sack, is worse than the noise of a scolding oyster-
wench, or two cats incorporating.

Harp. This must not be 1 do not like when
conscience [tei ~ .

Thaws ; keep her frozen still. How now, my mas-
Dejected 1 drooping? drown'd in tears? clothes
torn ? [wind

Lean, and iU colour'd ? sighing ? where's the whirl-
Which raises all these mischiefs ? I have seen you
Drawn better on't. O ! but a spirit told me
You both would come to this, when in you thrust*
Yourselves into the service of that lady, [praying 1
W r ho shortly now must die. Where's now Ler

when in you thrust. I In, which completes the

verse, was omitted by Mr. M. Mason, from an opinion
perhaps, that it was superfluous to the S(.'U~e. But this \va
the language of the times : for the rest, this whole act ii
most carel-ssly priatel by the Ivt editors.

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr. Ill

What good got you by wearing out your feet,
To run on scurvy errands to the poor,
And to bear money to a sort* of rogue
And lousy prisoners ?

Hir. Pox on them ! I never prospered since I did
it.

Spun. Had I been a pagan still, I should not
have spit white for want of drink ; but come to any
vintner now, and bid him trust me, because 1 turned
Christian, and he cries, Poh !

Harp. You're rightly served ; before that peevishf

lady

Had to do with you, women, wine and money
Flow'd in abundance with you, did it not 1

Hir. Oh, those days ! those days! f

Harp. Beat not your breasts, tear not your hair

in madness ;

Those days shall come again, be ruled by me,
And better, mark me, better.

Spun. I have seen you, sir, as I take it, an attendant
on the lord Theophilus.

Harp. Yes, yes ; in shew his servant ; but hark,
Take heed no body listens. [hither !

Spun. Not a mouse stirs.

Harp. I am a prince disguised.

Hir. Disguised ! how } drunk ?

Harp Yes, my fine boy ! I'll drink too, and be
I am a prince, and any man by me, [drunk ;

Let him but keep my rules, shall soon grow rich,
Exceeding rich, most infinitely rich :
lie that shall serve me, is not starved from pleasures
As other poor knaves are ; no, take their nil.

Spun, But that, sir, we're so ragged

Harp. You'll say, you'd serve me ?

Hir. Before any master under the zodiac.

Harp. For clothes no matter ; I've a mind to both.
And one thing I like in you ; now that you see
The bonfire of your lady's state burnt out,
You give it over, do you not ?

Hir. Let her be liang'd !

Spun. And pox'd !

Harp. Why, now you're mine;
Come, let my bosom touch you.

Spuu. We have bugs, sir.

Harp. There's money, fetch your clothes home ;
there's for you.

* And to bear money to a sort of rogues, -&c.] Or, as we
fhoiil'l now say to a set, or parcel of rogues. The word
recur: so frequently in this sense, in our old writers, that it
seems almost miiici-i:>-;ny to give any examples of it :
" Here are a tort of poor petitioners,
That are importunate." Spanish Tragedy.

Again :

" And, like a tort of true born scavenger?,
Scour me this famous realm of enemies."

Anight of tJte Burning Pestle.

(This word, will) asimilHr.nieaning to that here intended,
frequently occurs in Sliakspeare, as " But tl.ty can see a
sort of Traitors here." Richard, II.

Again in Richard III. "a sort of vagabonds, rascaU, and
runaways." ED).

+ before that peevish ! ;dy

Had to do with you,] Peevish is foolish ; thus, in the
Merry W'lves of H indsor, Mrs. Quickly sa^s of her felbw-
ciTvaiit, " His worst fault is, that lie is given to prayer ; he
is something peevish that way." Mr Malone thinks this to
he one of dame Quickly'* blunders, and that she means to
say precise: but 1 believe he is mistaken. In Jlycke
ticorner, the word is used in the very sense here given :
For an 1 shulcle do alter your scole

To loarn to pater to make me pcvysse."
Again, in God't liecenge ayainst Adultery ; " Albemare
kept a man-fool of, some lorty yeais old in his house, who
indeed was so naturally peevish, as not Milan, haidly Italy,
could match him lor simplicity."

Hir. Avoid, vermin ! give over our mistress !
man cannot prosper worse, if he serve the devil.

Harp. How ! the devil ? I'll tell you what now of
the devil.

He's no such horrid creature ; cloven-footed
Black, saucer-eyed, his nostrils breathing fire,
As these lying Christians make him.

Both. No!

Harp. He's more loving
To man, than man to man is*.

Hir. Is he so ? Would we two might come
acquainted with him !

Harp. You shall: he's a wondrous good fellow,
loves a cup of wine, a whore, any thing ; if you
have money, it's ten to one but I'll bring him to
him.
some tavern to you or other.

Spun. I'll bespeak the best room in the house foi

Harp. Some people he cannot endure.

Hir. We'll give him no such cause.

Harp. He hates a civil lawyer, as a soldier does
peace.

Spun. How a commoner f?

Harp. Loves him from the teeth outward.

Spun. Pray, my lord at.d prince, let me encounter
you with one foolish question : does the devil eat
any mace in his broth ?

Harp. Exceeding much, when his burning fever
takes him ; and then he has the knuckles of ;. bailiff
boiled to his breakfast.

Hir. Then, my lord, he loves a catchpole, does he
not?

Harp. As a bearward doth a dog. A catchpole '
he hath sworn, if ever he dies, to make a Serjeant his
heir, and a yeoman his overseer.

Spun. How if lie come to any great man's gate,
will the porter let him come in, sir!

Harp. Oh ! he loves porters of great men's gates
because they are ever so near the wicket.

Hir. Do not they whom he makes much on, for
all his streaking their cheeks, lead hellish lives
under him ? *

Harp. No, no, no, no ; he will be damn'd before
he hurts any man : do but you (when you are
throughly acquainted with him) ask for any thing,
see if it does not come.

^l^iin. Any thing !

Harp. Call for a delicate rare whore, she is brought
you.

Hir. Oh! my elbow itches. Will the devil keep
the door?

Harp. Be drunk as a beggar, he helps you home.

Spun. O my fine devil ! some watchman, I war-
rant ; I wonder who is his constable.

Harp. Will you swear, roar, swagger? he claps
you

Hir. How ? on the chaps ?

Harp. No, on the shoulder ; and cries, O, my
brave boys ! Will any of you kill a man ?

Spun. Yes, yes; 1, I.

Harp. What is his word? Hang! hang! t's
nothing. Or stab a woman?

Harp. lie's more lot ing

To man, than man to man is.] Thongli this horrid pros-
titution of that line sentiment in Juvenal, Carior eat Hits
homo quum sibi, may not be altogether out of character lor
the speaker ; it were to be wished it had not been employed.
To say the truth, the whole of this scene, more especially
what jet remains ol it, is as foolish as it is profligate.

t Spun. How a commoner?] That is a common lawyer.
M. Mason.

SCENE I.]

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

Hir. Yes, yes ; I, I.

Harp. Here is the worst word he gives you : A
pox on't, go on !

Hir. O inveigling rascal ! I am ravish'd.

Harp. Go, get your clothes ; turn up your glass

of youth,

And let the sands run merrily ; nor do I care
From what a lavish hand your money flies,
So you give none away to beggars

Hie. Hang them !

Harp. And to the scrubbing poor.

Hir. I'll see them hang'd first.

Hurp. One service you must do me.

Both. Any thing.

Harp. Your mistress, Dorothea, ere she suffers,
Is to be put to tortures : have you hearts

To tear her into shrieks, to fetch her soul
Up in the pangs of death, yet not to die 1

Hir. Suppose this she, and that 1 had no hands,
here's my teeth.

Spun. Suppose this she, and that I had no teeth,
here's my nails.

Hir. But will not you be there, sir? [master

Harp. No, not for hills of diamonds; the grand
Who schools her in the Christian discipline.
Abhors my company : should I be there, [quarrel
You'd think all hell broke loose, we should so
Ply you this business ; he, her flesh who spares,
Is lost, and in my love never more shares. [Exit.

Spun. Here's a master, you rogue !

Hir. t Sure he cannot choose but have a horrible
number of servants. [Exeunt.

ACT IV

SCENE I. The Governor's Palace.

ANTONINUS sick, u-itJi Doctors about him ;
SAPRITIUS and MACRIXVS.

Sap. O you, (hat are half gods, lengthen that life
Their deities lend us ; turn o'er all the volumes
Of your mysterious JEsculapian science,
T' increase the number of this young man's days ;
And, for each minute of his time prolong'd,
Your fee shall be a piece of Roman gold
With Caesar's stamp, such as he sends his captains
When in the wars they earn well : do but save him,
And, as he's half myself, be you all mine. [hand

Doct. What art can do, we promise ; physic's
As apt is to destroy as to preserve,
If heaven make not the med'cine : all this while,
Our skill hath combat held with his disease ;
But 'tis' so arm'd, and a deep melancholy,
To be such in part with death*, we are in fear
The grave must mock our labours.

Mac. I have been

His keeper in this sickness, with such eyes
As I have seen my mother watch o'er me ;
And, from that observation, sure I find
It is a midwife must deliver him.

Sap. Is he with child 1 a midwife t !

Mac. Yes, with child ;
And will, I fear, lose life, if by a woman
He is not brought to bed. Stand by his pillow
Some little while, and in his broken slumbers,
Him shall you hear cry out on Dorothea ;
And, when his arms fly open to catch her,
Closing together, he falls fast asleep,
Pleased with embracings of her airy form.
Physicians but torment him, his disease
Laughs at their gibberish language ; let him hear
The voice of Dorothea, nay, but the name,
He starts up with high colour in his face :

* To be tuch in part with death,] Mr. M. Mason reads,
after Coxeter, To tuch in part with death, and explains it
to mean " To sucli a degree. " I doubt whether he under-
stood his own explanation or not. The genuine reading,
which 1 have restored, takes away all difficulty I'ro.n tlie
passage.

t Sap. /* hf with ch'-ld? a midwife ! ! The modern
editon read, 4 inidirij'e ' i* he with child ? Had they no

She, or none, cures him ; and how that can be,
The princess* strict command, barring that happiness,
To me impossible seems.

Sap. To me it shall not :
I'll be no subject to the greatest Ca;sar
Was ever crown'd with laurel, rather than cease
To be a father. [Erit

Mac. Silence, sir, l.e wakes.

Anton. Thou kill'st me, Dorothea ; oh, Dorothea!

Mac. She's here : enjoy her.

Anton. Where? Why do vou mock me 1
Age on my head hath stuck no white hairs yet,
Yet I am an old man, a fond dealing fool
Upon a woman. I, to buy her beauty,
(In truth I am be witch 'd,') offer my life,
And she, for my acquaintance, hazards hers ;
Yet, for our equal sufferings none holds out
A hand of pity.

Doct. Let him have some music.

Anton. Hell on your fiddling!

Doct. Take again your bed, sir ,
Sleep is a sovereign physic.

Anton. Take an ass's head, sir :
Confusion on your fooleries, your charms !
Thou stinking clyster-pipe, where's the god of rest,
Thy pills and base apothecary drugs
Threaten'd to bring unto me ? Out, you impostors!
Quacksalving, cheating mountebanks ! your skill
Is to make sound men sick, and sick men kill.

Mac. Oh, be yourself, dear friend.

Anton. Myself, Macrinus !
How can I be myself when I am mangled
Into a thousand pieces ? here moves my head,
But where's my heart? wherever that lies dead.

Ee-enter SAFIUTIUS, dragging in DOROTHEA by the
hair, ANGF.IO attending.

Sap. Follow me, thou damn'd sorceress ! call up

thy spirits,

And, if they can, now let them from my hard
Untwine these witching hairs.

Anton. I am that spirit :
Or, if I be not, were you not my father,
One made of iron should hew that hand in pieces,
That so defaces this sweet monument
Of my love's beauty.

Sap. Art thou sick ?

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr IV

Anton. To death.

Sap. Wouldst them recover ?

Anton. Would I live in bliss !

Sap. And <lo thine eyes shoot daggers at that man
That brings thee health ?

Anton. It is not in the world.

Sap. It's here.

Anton. To treasure*, by enchantment lock'd
In caves as deep as hell, am 1 as near.

Sap. Break that enchanted cave ; enter, and rifle
The spoils thy lust hunts after ; I descend
To a base office, and become thy pander,
In bringing thee this proud thing : make her thy

whore,

Thy health lies here ; if she deny to give it,
Force it: imagine thou assault's! a town's
Weak wall ; to't 'tis thine own, but beat this down.
Come, and, unseen, be witness to this battery
How the coy strumpet yields f-

Doct. Shall the boy stay, sir 1

Sap No matter for the boy : pages are used
To these odd bauwdy shufflings ; and, indeed, are
Those little young snakes in a fury's head,
Will sting worse than the great ones.
Let the pimp stay. [Exeunt Sap. Mac. and Doct.

Dor. O. guard me, angels !
What tragedy must begin now?

Anton. When a tiger

Leaps into a timorous herd, with ravenous jaws,
Being hunger-starved, what tragedy then begins ?

Dor. Death : I am happy so ; you, hitherto,
Have still had goodness sphered within your eyes,
Let not that orb be b oken $.

Ang. Fear not, mistress ;
If he dare offer violence, we two
Are strong enough for such a sickly man.

Dor. What is your horrid purpose, sir ? your eye
Bears danger in it.

Anton. I must

Dor. What?

Sap. [within.] Speak it out.

Anton. Climb that sweet virgin tree.

Sap. [within.] Plague o' your trees.

Anton. And piuck that fruit which none, I think,

e'er tasted.
Sap. [icirtm.] A soldier, and stand fumbling so !

Dor. Oh, kill me, [kneels.

And heaven will take it as a sacrifice ;
But, if you play the ravisher, there is
A hell to swallow you.

Sap. [within.] Let her swallow thee !

Anton. Rise : for the Roman empire, Dorothea,
I would not wound thine honour. Pleasures forced
Are unripe apples ; sour, not worth the plucking :
Yet, let me tell you, 'tis my father's will,
That I should seize upon you, as my prey ;

Ant. To treasure, &c.] Thia i> the emendation of Mr.
M. Mason. It appear* a happy substitution for the old
reading, which w:is, O treasure, &c.

t Come, and, unseen, be witness to this battery

How the coy strumpet yields.} These two lines are ad-
dressed to Macrinus and the doctors. 'M. Mason.

t you, hitherto,

Have still had yoodnen jp.ir'd within your eyes,

Let not that orb be broken. , The word urb in this last
line proves that we should read sphered instead of spar'd ;
the latter, indeed, made the passage nonsense, which is now
very poetical. M. Mason.

Mr. M. Mason if somewhat rash in his assertion : sparred,
Is shvtup, ittclofed, it is not therefore nonsense. 1 have,
however, adopted his emendation, which, if not just, is at
least ingenious.

Wliich I abhor, as much as the blackest sin
The villainy of man did ever act.

[Sapritms breaks in with Macrinus.
Ang. Die happy for this language.
Sap. Die a slave
A blockish idiot !

Mac. Dear sir, vex him not. [geldings :

Sap. Yes, and vex thee too ; both, I think, are
Cold, phlegmatic bastard, thou'rt no brat of mine;
One spark of me, when I had heat like thine,
By this had made a bonfire : a tempting whore,
For whom thou'rt mad, thrust e'en into thine arms,
And stand'st thou puling! had a tailor seen her
At this advantage, he, with his cross capers
Had ruffled her by this : but thou shall curse
Thy dalliance*, and here, before her eyes,
Tear thy own flesh in pieces, when a slave
In hot lust bathes himself, and gluts those pleasures
Thy niceness durst not touch. Call out a slave;
You, captain of our guard, fetch a slave hither.
Anton. What will you do, dear sir? [learn

Sap. Teach her a trade, which many a one would
In less than half an hour, to play the whore.

Enter A SLAVE.

Mac. A slave is come ; what now ?

Sap. Thou hast bones and flesh
Enough to ply thy labour : from what country
Wert thou ta'en prisoner, here to be our slave;

Slave. From Britain.

Sap. In the west ocean?

Slave, Yes.

Sap. An island ?

Slave. Yes.

Sap. I'm fitted: of all nations
Our Roman swords e'er conquered, none comes near
The Briton for true whoring. Sirrah fellow,
What wouldst thou do to gain thy liberty?

Slave. Do ! liberty ! fight naked wth a lion,
Venture to pluck a standard from the heart
Of an arm'd legion. Liberty! I'd thus
Bestride a rampire, and defiance spit
I' the face of death, then, when the battering-ram
Was fetching his career backward, to pash
Me with his horns in pieces. To shake my chains ofi,
And that 1 could not do't but by thy death,
Stood'st thou on this dry shore, I on a rock
Ten pyramids high, down would I leap to kill thee,
Or die myself: what is for man to do
I'll venture on, to be no more a slave. [thee

Sap. Thou shalt, then, be no slave, for I will set
Upon a piece of work is fit for man,
Brave for a Briton : drag that thing aside,
And ravish her,

Slave. And ravish her ! is this your manly service ?
A devil scorns to do it ; 'tis for a beast,
A villain, not a man : I am as yet,
But half a slave; but when that work is past,
A damned whole one, a black ugly slave,
The slave of all base slaves : do't thyself, Roman,
'Tis drudgery fit for thee.

Sap. He's bewitch'd too :
Bind him, and with a bastinado give him,
Upon his naked belly, two hundred blows.

Slave. Thou art more slave than I.

[He is carried in.

-but thou shalt curse

Thy dalliance,] i. e. thy hesitation, thy delay :

" Coo I lord ! you use this dalliance to excnse
Your breach of promise." Comedy <j/" Errort

SCENE II.]

THE VIRGIN MARTYR.

Dor. That power supernal, on whom waits my
Is captain o'er my chastity. [soul,

Anton. Good sir, give o'er :
The more you wronsf her, yourself s vex'd, the more.

Sap. Plagues light on her and thee ! thus down

1 throw

Thy harlot, thus by the hair nail her to earth.
Call in ten sluves, let every one discover
What lust desires, and surfeit here his fill.
Call in ten slaves.

Mac*. They are come sir, st vour call.

Sap. Oh, oh ! [Falls down.

Enter THEOPIIILUS.

Theoph. Where is the governor?

Anton. There's my wretched father.

Theoph. My lord Sapritius he's not dead! my
That witch there [lord :

Anton. 'Tis no Roman gods can strike
These fearful terrors. O, thou happy maid,
Forgive this wicked purpose of my father.

Dor. I do.

Theoph. Gone, gone ; he's peppered. It is thou
Hast done this act infernal.

Dor. Heaven pardon you !

And if my wrongs from thence pull vengeance down,
(I can no miracles work) yet, from my soul,
Pray to those powers I serve, he may recover.

Theoph. He stirs help, raise him up, my lord !

Sap. Where am I ?

Theoph. One cheek is blasted.

Sap. Blasted ! where's the lamia f
That tears my entrails? I'm bewitch'd ; seize on her.

Dor. I'm here ; do what you please.

Theoph. Spurn her to the bar. [we are.

DC-. Come, boy, being there, more near to heaven

Sap. Kick harder; go out witch! [Exeunt.

Anton. O bloody hangmen ! Thine own gods give

thee breath !
Each of thy tortures in my several death. [Exit.

SCENE II. ,4 Public Square.
Enter HAKPAX, Hindus, and SPUNGIUS.

Harp. Do you like my service now? say, am not I
A master worth attendance ?

Spun. Attendance! I bad rather lick clean the
soles of your dirty boots, than wear the richest suit
of any infected lord, whose rotten life hangs between
x the two poles,

Hir. A lord's suit! I would not give up the cloak
of your service, to meet the splayfoot estate of any
left-eyed knight above the antipodes ; because they
are unlucky to meet.

Harp. This day I'll try your loves to me ; 'tis only
But well to use die agility of your arms

Spun. Or legs, 1 am lusty at them. ^

Hir. Or any other member that has no legs.

Spun. Thou'lt run into some hole.

Hir. If I meet one that's more than my match,
and that I cannot stand in their hands, I must and
will creep on my knees. [me,

Harp. Hear me, my little team of villians, hear
I cannot teach you fencing with these cudgels,

Mac. They are come, Sec. ' The old copies give this
ipcvch to Angclu : ii is ; however, -o palpable an error, that
the emendation \\hich I have introduced requires no
apology.

t Lamia, LAT. Aoge. hag.

Yet you must use them ; lay them on but soundly ;
That's all.

Hir. Nay, if we come to mauling once, pah !

Spun. But what walnut-tree is it we must beat ?

Harp. Your mistress.

Hir. How ! my mistress ? I begin to have a
Christian's heart made of sweet butter, I melt ; I
cannot strike a woman.

Spun. Nor I, unless she scratch ; bum my mis-
tress !

Harp. You're coxcombs, silly animals.

Hir. What's that ? [thrust

7/orp. Drones, asses, blinded moles, that dare not
Your arms out to catch fortune ; say, you fall off,
It must be done. You are converted rascals,
And, that once spread abroad, why every slave
Will kick you, call you motley Christians,
And half-faced Christians.

Spun. The guts of my conscience begin to be of
whitleather.

Hir. I doubt me, I shall have no sweet butter in
me. [meet,

Harp. Deny this, and each pagan* whom you
Shall forked fingers thrust into your eyes

Hir. If we be cuckolds. [to,

Harp. Do this, and every god the Gentiles bow
Shall add a fathom to your line of years.

Spun.. A hundred fathom, I desire no more.

Hir. I desire but one inch longer.

Harp. The senators will, as you pass along,
Clap you upon your shoulders with this hand,
And with this give you gold : when you are dead,
Happy that man shall be, can get a nail,
The paring, nay, the dirt under the nail,
Of any of you both, to say, this dirt
Belong'd to Spungius or Hircius.

Spun. They shall not want dirt under my nails, I
will keep them long of purpose, for now my ringers
itch to be at her.

Hir. The first thing I do, I'll take her over the
lips.

Spun. And 1 the hips, we may strike any where

Harp. Yes, any where.

Hir. Then I know where I'll hit her.

Harp. Prosper, and be mine own ; stand by, I

must not

To see this done, great business calls me hence :
He's made can make her curse his violence. [Exit.

Spun, Fear it not, sir ; her ribs shall be basted.

Hir. I'll come upon her with rounce, robble-hob-
ble, and thwick-thwack thirlery bouncing.

Enter DOROTHEA, led prisoner; SAPRITIUS, THEOPHI-
LUS, AXOELO, and a Hangman, who sets up a Pillar;
SAPRITIUS and TIIEOPHILUS sit; ANGEI.O stands by
DOROTHEA. A Guard attending.

Sap. According to our Roman customs, bind that
Christian to a pillar.

Theojih. Infernal Furies,

Could they into my hand thrust all their whips
To tear thy flesh, thy soul, 'tis not a torture
Fit to the vengeance I should heap on thee,
For wrongs done me ; me ! for flagitious facts
By thee done to our gods : yet, so it stand
To great Caesarea's governor's high pleasure.
Bow but thy knee to Jupiter, and offer

and each pagan.'] So the Orjl two qnsitcs,

latt reads roery : which, as it mars tlie verse, is followed
the modern editors. [ Omitted in Edit. 1813.] En.

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr IV

Any slight sacrifice, or do but swear

By Caesar's fortune, and be free.

Sap. Thou shalt.

Dor. Not for all Caesar's fortune, were it chain'd
To more worlds than are kingdoms in the world,
And all those worlds drawn after him. I defy
Your hangmen ; you now show me whither to fly.
Sap. Are her tormentors ready ?
Ang. Shrink not, dear mistress.
Spun and Hir. My lord, we are ready for the
business.

Dor. You two ! whom I like foster'd children fed
And lengthen'd out your starved life with bread :
You be my hangmen ! whom, when up the ladder
Death haled you to he strangled, I fetch'd down,
Clothed you, and warm'd you, you two my tormen-
Both. Yes, we. [tors , r

Dor. Divine Powers pardon you* !
Sap. Strike.

[They strike at lier. ANGELO kneeling holdt her fast
Theoph. Beat out her brains.
Dor. Receive me, you bright angels !
Sop. Faster, slaves.

Spun. Faster ! I am out of breath, I am sure ; if]
were to beat a buck f, I can strike no harder.

Hir. O mine arms ! I cannot lift them to my head.
Dor. Joy above joys ! are my tormentors weary
In torturing me, and, in my sufferings,
I fainting in no limb ! tyrants, strike home,
And feast your fury full.

Theoph. These dogs are curs,

[Comes from his seat,

Which snarl, yet bite not. See. my lord, her face
Has more bewitching beauty than before :
Proud whore, it smiles | ! cannot an eye start out
With these?

Hir. No, sir. nor the bridge of her nose fall ; 'tis

fiill of iron work, [feit

Sap. Let's view the cudgels, are they not counter-

Ang. There fix thine eye still; thy glorious

crown must come

Not from soft pleasure, but by martyrdom.
There fix thine eye still ; when we next do meet,
Not thorns, but roses, shall bear up thy feet :
There fix thine eye still. [Exit.

Enter HARPAX sneaking.
Dor. Ever, ever, ever !
Theoph. We're mock'd ; these bats have power to

fell down giants,
Yet her skin is not scarr'd.
Sap. What rogues are these ?
Theoph. Cannot these force a shriek ?

[Bents Spungiits.

Spun. Oh ! a woman has one of my ribs, and now
five more are broken.

Theoph. Cannot this make her roar ]

[Beats Hirciits ; he roars.
Sap. Who hired these slaves ? what are they ?

Dor. Divine Power* pardon you] I know not whether
by inadverlance or design ; but M. Mason, in opposition to
*ll the editions, reads, Divine Powers, pardon me !

t If I were to beat a. buck, / can strike no harder.} To
Ouck, Johnson say*, " is to wash cloilies." This is but a
tame explanation of the term : to buck is to wash clothes by
laying them on a smooth stone, and beating them wiih a
p>le flattened at the end,

} Proud whore, it milet .'] So the old copies ; the modern
editors read, sh* smile*. lu every page, and almost in every
speech, I have had to remove these imaginary improvements
of the author's phraseology.

Spun. We serve that noble gentleman*, there ; he
enticed us to this dry beating: oh! for one half pot.

Harp. My servants ! two base rogues, and some-
time servants
To her, and for that cause forbear to hurt her.

Sop. Unbind her, hang up these.

Theoph. Hang the two hounds on the next tree.

Hir. Hang us ! master Harpax, what a devil,
shall we be thus used ? [a woman.

Harp. What bandogs but you two would worry
Your mistress ? I but clapt you, you flew on.
Say I should get your lives, each rascal beggar
Would, when he met you, cry out Hell-hounds !

traitors !

Spit at you, fling dirt at you ; and no woman
Ever endure your sight : 'tis your best course
Now, had you secret knives, to stab yourselves ;
But, since you have not, go and be hang'd.

Hir. I thank you.

Harp. 'Tis your best course.

Theoph. Why stay they trifling here ?
To th' gallows drag them by the heels ; away.

Spun. By the heels ! no, sir, we have legs to do
us that service.

Hir. Ay, ay, if no woman can endure my sight,
away with me.

Harp. Dispatch them.

Spun. The devil dispatch thee !

[Exeunt Guard with Spungius and Hirciut,

Sap. Death this day rides in triumph, Theophilus.
See this witch made away too.

Theoph. My soul thirsts for it.
Come, I myself the hangman's part could play.

Dor. haste me to my coronation day!

[Exeunt.

SCENE Illf. The Place of Execution. A sea/old,
block, Jfc.

Enter ANTONINUS, MACRINUS, and Servants

Anton. Is this the place where virtue is to suffer,
And heavenly beauty leaving this base earth,
To make a glad return from whence it came ?
Is it, Macrinus ?

Mac. By this preparation,
You well may rest assured that Dorothea
This hour is to die here.

Anton. Then with her dies
The abstract of all sweetness that's in woman !
Set me down, friend, that, ere the iron hand
Of death close up mine eyes, they may at once
Take my last leave both of this light and her :
For, she being gone, the glorious sun himself
To me's Cimmerian darkness.

Mac. Strange affection! !

* Spun, ffg serve that noble gentleman, fee.] Thi is the
lectfen of the first quarto. The modern editors follow the
others, which incorrectly read, We sere'd, &c.

+ From hence, to the conclusion of the act, I recognise
the hand of Massinger. There may be (and probably are)
finer passages in our dramatic poets, but I am not acquainted
with them.

J Mac. fitrange affrctitm T

Cupid once more hath changed his fhafts with Death,

And kilt*, instead of giving life.] This is a most beauti-
ful allusion to a littie poem among the Eleyies of fiteundu*.
Jupiil and Death unite in the destruction of a lover, and in
udeavouring to recover their weapons from the body ot
he victim, commit a mutual mistake, each plucking out the
' thal'ts" of the other. The consequences of this are pret
ily described :

Missa peregrinis sparcunter vnlnera nervis,
Et man us ignoto ssevit utrinque malo

SCENE 11I.J

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

Cupid once more hath changed his shafts with Death,
And kills, instead of giving life.

Anton. Nay, weep not ;

Though tears of friendship be a sovereign balm,
On me they're cast away. It is decreed
That I must die with her j our clue of life
Was spun together.

Mac. Yet, sir, 'tis my wonder,
That you, who, hearing only what she suffers,
Partake of all her tortures, yet will be,
To add to your calamity, an eyewitness
Of her last tragic scene, which must pierce deeper*,
And make the wound more desperate.

Anton. Oh, Macrinus !

'Twould linger out my torments else, not kill me,
Which is the end I aim at : being to die too,
What instrument more glorious can I wish for,
Than what is made sharp by my constant love
And true affection? It may be,' the duty
And loyal service, with which I pursued her,
And seal'd it with my death, will be remember'd
Among her blessed actions ; and what honour
Can I desire beyond it ?

Enter a Guard, bringing in DOROTHEA, a Headsman

before her; followed by THEOPHILUS, SAPRITIUS,

and HARPAX.

See, she comes ;

How sweet her innocence appears ! more like
To heaven itself, than any sacrifice
Than can be offer 'd to it. By my hopes
Of joys hereafter, the sight makes me doubtful
In my belief; nor can 1 think our gods
Are good, or to be served, that take delight
In offerings of this kind : that, to maintain
Their power, deface the master-piece of nature,
Which they themselves come short of. She ascends,
And every step raises her nearer heaven.
What god soe'er thou art, that must enjoy her,
Receive in her a boundless happiness !

Sap. You are to blame
To let him come abroad.

Mac. It was his will ;
And we were left to serve him, not command him.

Anton. Good sir, be not offended ; nor deny
My last of pleasures in this happy object,
That I shall e'er be blest with.

Theoph. Now, proud contemner
Of us, and of our gods, tremble to tbink
It is not in the Power thou serv'st to save thee.
Not all the riches of the sea, increased
By violent shipwrecks, nor the unsearch'd mines
(Mammon's unknown exchequer), shall redeem thee.
And, therefore, having first with horror weigh'd
What 'tis to die, and to die young ; to part with
All pleasures and delights; lastly, to go
Where all antipathies to comfort dwell,
Furies behind, about thee, and before thee;
And, to add to affliction, the remembrance

Irrita More arcus valid! molimina damn.il,

Plorat Amor teneras tain valuisse m.inus;
F.vcl.ibant juvt'nes piinias in polvere malas

Oscula quas, heu, ad blanda vocabat Amor.
Canicies verms florebat mnlta corollis

Persephone crinem vnlserat undc sibi
Quiil t'acerent ! '.lisas prucul abjecere sagittas,

Uv pharetra jaculum prompsit uterque oovnm.
Res b.nia ! >cd virus pueri penetravit in arcum ;

K\ illo ini-tros tot dedit ille neci. Lib. ii. Eleg. 0.

which must pierce deeper,] So the first editions.

Flie q-iarto Hitil, reads, in defiance of melre, which most

III' <lrr;,er pierce, and is followed by Coxcter and M.

M.UJOII !

Of the Elysian joys thou might'st have tasted,
Hadst thou not turn'd apostata* to those gods
That so reward their servants ; let despair
Prevent the hangman's sword and on this scaffold
Make thy first entrance into hell.

Anton. She smiles

Unmoved, by Mars ! as if she were assured
Death, looking on her constancy, would forget
The use of his inevitable hand.

Theoph. Derided too ! dispatch, I say.

Dor. Thou fool !

That gloriest in having power to ravish
A trifle from me I am weary of:
What is this life to me? not worth a thought;
Or, if it be esteem'd, 'tis that I lose it
To win a better : even 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, or scorching heat,
Famine, nor age, havef any being there.
Forget, for shame, your Tempe ; bury in
Oblivion your feign'd Hesperian orchards :
The golden fruit, kept by the watchful dragon,
Which did require a Hercules to getf it,
Compared with what grows in all plenty therj,
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 in deed, than you can fancy yours.

Anton. O, take me thither with you!

Dor. Trace my steps,
And be assured you shall.

Sap. With my own hands
I'll rather stop that little breath is left thee,
And rob thy killing fever.

Theoph. liy no means;

Let him go with her : do, seduced young man
And wait upon thy saint in death ; do, do :
And, when you come to that imagined place,
That place of all delights pray you, observe me,
And meet those cursed things 1 once called Daughters,
Whom I have sent as harbingers before you ;

Hadst thou not turn'd apostata to those god*.} Our old
writers usually said, apostata, statua. Sic. where we now
say, apostate, statue. Massinger's editors, however, who
were ignorant alike of his language and that of his contem-
poraries, resolutely persist in modernizing him upon all oc-
casions : they read, apostate !

t have any being there.} Here again, the modem

editors follow the miserable quarto of 1C6I, and tamely
read having any being there. [Omitted in edit. 1813.]

J Which did require a Hercules to get it.] The modern
editors read, to guard it. This deviation from the old copies
is at the expense of sense. It was the dragon which guarded
it : the object of Hercules was to yet it. In almost every
speech Massinger is thus injured by carelessness or igno-
rance. It is the more inexcusable here, as the very same
expression is to be found in the Emperor of the East.

This beautiful description of Elysium, as Mr. Gilchrist
observes to me, has been imitated by Nbbes, in that very-
poetic rhapsody, Microcosmus : some of the lines may bt
given :

" Cold there compels no use of rugged furs.
Nor makes the mountains barren ; there's no dog
To rage, and scorch the land. Spring's always there
And paints the valleys; whilst a temperafeair
Sweeps their embroider'd fare with his :url d ?"<**.
And breathes perfumes : -there night doth Clever tpread
Her ebon wings ; but day-light's always **** m
Aiid one blest season crowns the eternal year.

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr IV

If there be any truth in your religion,
In thankfulness to me, that with care hasten
Your journey thither, pray you send me some
Small pittance of that curious fruit you boast of.

Anton. Grant that I may go with her, and 1 will.

Sap. Wilt thou in thy hist minute damn thyself?

Theoph. The gates to hell are open.

Dor. Know, thou tyrant,
Thou agent for the devil, thy great master,
Though thou art most unworthy to taste of it,
I can. and will.

Enter ANGELO, in the Angel's habit.*

Harp. Oh ! mountains fall upon me,
Or hide me in the bottom of the deep.
Where light may never find me !

Theoph. What's the matter?

fiap. This is prodigious, and confirms her witch-

Theoph. Harpax, my Harpax, speak ! [craft.

Harp. I dare not stay :

Should I but hear her once more, T were lost.
Some whirlwind snatch me from this cursed place,
To which compared (and with what I now suffer),
Hell's torments are sweet slumbers! [Exit.

Sap. Follow him.

Theoph. He is distracted, and I must not lose him.
Thy charms upon my servant, cursed witch,
Give thee a short reprieve. Let her not die
Till my return. [Exeunt Sap. and Theoph.

Anton, She minds him not: what object
Is her eye fix'd on?

Mac. I see nothing.

Anton. Mark her.

Dor. Thou glorious minister of the Power I serve
(For thou art more than mortal), is't for me,
Poor sinner, thou art pleased awhile to leave
Thy heavenly habitation, and vouchsafest.
Though glorified, to take my servant's habit?
For, put off thy divinity, so look'd
My lovely Angelo.

Aug. Know, I am the same ;
And still the servant to your piety.
Your zealous prayers, and pious deeds first won me
(But 'twas by His command to whom you sent
To guide your steps. I tried your charity, [them,
When in a beggar's shape you took me up.
And clothed my naked limbs, and after fed,
As you believed, my famish 'd mouth. Learn all,
By your example, to look on the poor
With gentle eyes ! for in such habits, often,
Angels desire an alms f. I never left you,
Nor will I now ; for I am sent to carry
Your pure and innocent soul to joys eternal,
Your martyrdom once suffer'd ; and before it,
Ask any thing from me, and rest assured,
You shall obtain it.

Enter \KCKLO inthe Angel's habit, &c.] It appears that

not to see the character invested with it.

* Learn all,

By your example to look on the poor
With gentle eyes ! for in such habits, often,
Anyels desire an alms.} " Be not forgetful to entertain
traner; for thereby some have entertained angels un-
awares." Heb. c. xiii. v. 2. Hero is also a beautiful allusion
to thfe parting speech of the " ocuble archangel " lo Tobit
ami his son.

Dor. I am largely paid

For all my torments : since I find such grace,
Grant that the love of this young man to me,
In which he languisheth to death, may be
Changed to the love of heaven.

Ang. I will perform it ;
And in that instant when the sword sets free
Your happy soul, his shall have liberty.
Is there aught else ?

Dor. For proof that I forgive
My persecutor, who in scorn desired
To taste of that most sacred fruit 1 go to ;
After my death, as sent from me, be pleased
To give him of it.
. Ang. Willingly, dear mistress.
. Mac. I am amazed.

Anton. I feel a holy fire,
That yields a comfortable heat within me ;
J am quite alter'd from the thing I was.
See ! I can stand, and go alone ; thus kneel
To heavenly Dorothea, touch her hand
With a religious kiss. [Kneeling

Re-enter SAPRITIUS and THEOPHILUS.
Sap. He is well now,
But will not be drawn back.

Theoph. It matters not,

We can discharge this work without his help.
But see your son.
Sap. Villain!

Anton. Sir, I beseech you,
Being so near our ends, divorce us not.

Theoph. I'll quickly make a separation of them :
Hast thou aught else to say ?

Dor. Nothing, but to blame
Thy tardiness in sending me to rest;
My peace is made with heaven, to which my soul
Begins to take her flight : strike, ! strike quickly ;
And, though you are unmoved to see my death,
Hereafter, when my story shall be read,
As they were present now, the hearers shall
Say this of Dorothea, with wet eyes,
She lived a virgin, and a virgin dies.

[Her head struck off,

Anton. O, take my soul along, to wait on thine !
Mac. Your son sinks too [Antoninus sinki.

Sap. A Iready dead !
Theoph. Die all

That are, or favour this accursed * sect :
I triumph in their ends, and will raise up
A hill of their dead carcasses, to o'erlook
The Pyrenean hills, but I'll root out
These superstitious fools, and leave the world
No name of Christian.

[Loud music : Exit Angela, having frst laid hit
hand upon the mouths tf Anton, and Dor,
Sap. Ha ! heavenly music !
Mac. 'Tis in the air.
Theoph. Illusions of the devil,
Wrought by some witch of her religion,
That fain would make her death a miracle:
It frights not me. Because he is your son,
Let him have burial, but let her body
Be cast forth with contempt in some highway,
And be to vultures and to dogs a prey. [Einmt.

m,-,r*. a !i are> T faVOur this r,<-d sect :} So the old
?dT V r " t ' :li "' r!S lo a(ii 'l" ""- <" to their own

e^ifnT'T^'T'' 1 '."' are '"'' Or *"*"" * C ' bu
in. need ot aturailon ; tins mode of expression recur

mem; = ' 00> " Ut thu iut Twlai>u destroys the

Sen** I.]

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

ACT V.

SCENE I. THEOPHILUS discovered in his Study: books
about him.

Theoph. I'st holiday, O Caesar, that thy servant,
Thy provost, to see execution done
On these base Christians in Cajsarea,
Should now want work ? Sleep these idolaters,
That none are stirring ? As a curious painter,
When he has made some honourable piece,
Stands off, and with a searching eye examines
Each colour how 'tis sweeten 'd: and then hugs
Himself for his rare workmanship so here
Will I my drolleries, and bloody landscapes,
Long past wrapt up, unfold, to make me merry
With shadows, now I want the substances.
My muster-book of hell-hounds. Were the Christians,
Whose names stand here, alive and arm'd, not Rome
Could move upon her hinges. What I've done,
Or shall hereafter, is not out of hate
To poor tormented wretches*; no, I'm carried
With violence of zeal, and streams of service
I owe our Roman gods. Great Britain, whatf ?

[reads.

A thousand wives, with brats sucking their breasts,
Had hot irons pinch them off, and thrown to swine :
And then their fleshy back-parts, hew'd with hatchets,
Were minced, and baked in pies, to feed starved

Christians.
Ha ! ha !

Again, again, East Angles, oh, East Angles :
Bandogs, kept three days hungry, worried
A thousand British rascals, stied up fat
Of purpose, stripped naked, and disarmed.
I could outstare a year of suns and moons,
To sit at these sweet bull-baitings, so I
Could thereby but one Christian win to fall
In adoration to my Jupiter. Twelve hundred
Eyes bored with augres out Oh! eleven thousand
Torn by wild beasts : two hundred ramm'd in the earth
To the armpits, and full platters round about them,
But far enough for reaching^ : Eat, dogs, ha ! ha !
ha ! [He rises.

Tush, all these tortures are but fillipings,
Fleabitings; I, before the Destinies

Enter ANGELO with a basket filled with fruit and

flowers.

My bottom did wind up, would flesh myself
Once more upon some one remarkable

-is not out of hate

To poor tormented wretches, &c. j This is said to dietinjmsh
his character from that of Sapritius, whose zeal is influenced
by motives of interest, and by many other considerations,
which appear u> weigh nothing with Thtophilus.

t Great Britain, what ?\ Great Britain, is a curious
anachronism ; but this our old dramatic writers were little
solicitous to avoid. The reader wants not my assistance to
din-cover that this rugged narative is by Decker : the horrible
numeration of facts, is taken from the histories of those
times.

I Hut far enough (or reaching :] For occurs perpetually in
these plays, in the sense of prevention, yet the modern edi-
tors have here altered itto_/rom! indeed, the word it thus
used by every writer of Massinger's age; thus Fletcher:
" Walk ort, sirrah,
And stir my horse for taking cold."

Love't Pilyriinage.

Again ;

" he'll not tell me,

For breaking of my heart."

Maid in

Above all these. This Christian slut was well,
A pretty one ; but let such horror follow
The next I feed with torments, that when Rome
Shall hear it, her foundation at the sound '

May feel an earthquake. How now ? [Mtufe.

Ang. Are you amazed, sir?
So great a Roman spirit and doth it tremble !

Theoph. How cam'st thou in ? to whom thy busi-
ness.

Ang. To you :

1 had a mistress, late sent hence by you
Upon a bloody errand ; you entreated,
That, when she came into that blessed garden
Whither she knew she went, and where, now happy,
She feeds upon all joy, she would send to you
Some of that garden fruit and flowers ; which here,
To have her promise saved, are brought by me.

Theoph. Cannot I see this garden 1

Ang. Yes, if the master
Will give you entrance 1 [He i:unishcth.

Theoph. Tis a tempting fruit,
And the most bright-cheek'd child I ever view'd ;
Sweet smelling, goodly fruit. What flowers are

these ?

In Dioclesian's gardens ; the most beauteous,
Compared with these, are weeds: is knot February
The second day she died ? frost, ice, and snow,
Hang on the beard of winter : where's the sun
That gilds this summer? pretty, sweet boy, say,
In what country shall a man find this garden 1
My delicate boy, gone ! vanished ! within there,
Juliauus ! Geta!

Enter JULIANUS and GETA.

Both. My lord.

Theoph. Are my gates shut !

Geta. And guarded.

Theoph. Saw you not
A boy?

Jul. Where?

Theoph. Here he enter'd ; a young lad ;
A thousand blessings danced upon his eyes,
A smoothfaced, glorious thing, that brought this
basket*.

Geta. No, sir !

Theoph. Away but be in reach, if my voice calls
you. [Exetmt.

No ! vanish 'd, and not seen ! Be thou a spirit
Sent from that witch to mock me, I am sure
This is essential, and, howe'er it grows,
Will taste it. [Eott.

Harp, [within."] Ha, ha, ha, ha !

Theoph. So good ! I'll have some more, sure.

Now I am on the subject, let me observe, that a similar al-
teration has been unnecessarily made in Periclet. The old
reading is,

" And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist,
For going on death's net, which none resist."
" This is corrupt," says the editor, " I think it should be
from going;" and so he has primed it ; place a comma after
desist, and all will be right: "for going," i. e. for fear of
going, &c.

* Thpoph. Here he enter'd : &c.] It may give the readei
some idea of the metrical skill with which Massinger ha*
been hitherto treated, to print these lines as they stand in
Coxeter and M. Mason :

Theoph. Here he enter'd, a young lad ; a. fhoutand

Blessings danc'd upon hit eyes ; a smoothfaC'dglorvHtt

Thing, that brought this basket.

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr V

Harp. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! great liquorish fool.

Theoph. What art thou ?

Harp. A fisherman.

Theoph. What dost thou catch ?

Harp. Souls, souls ; a fish call'd souls.

Theoph. Geta !

Enter GETA.

Geta. My lord.

Harp. [ivithin.] Ha, ha, ha, ha !

Theoph. What insolent slave is this, dares laugh
Or what is't the dog grins at so ? [at me '!

Geta. I neither know, my lord, at what, nor whom ?
for there is none without, hut my fellow Julianus,
and he is making a garland for Jupiter.

Theoph. Jupiter ! all within me is not well ;
An;l yet not sick.

Harp. Ha, ha, ha, ha !

Theofih. What's thy name, slave?

Harp, [at one end.] Go look.

Geta. Tis I Inrpax' voice.

Theoph. Harpax ! go, drag the caitiff to my foot,
That I may stamp upon him.

Harp, [at the other end.] Fool, thou liest !

Geta. He's yonder, now, my lord.

Theoph. Watch thou that end,
Whilst I make good this.

Harp, [at the middle.] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha !

Theoph. He is at barley-break, and the last couple
Are now in hell.* [is bloody,

Search for him. [E.i it Geta.] All this ground, methinks,
And paved with thousands of those Christians' eyes
Whom I have tortured, and they stare upon me.
What was this apparition ? sure it had

Theoph. fie it at barley-break, and the last couple
Are now in hell.] i. e. in the middle; alluding to the
situation of Harpax. This wretched copy of a wretched
original, the Ate et ubique of the Ghost in Hamlet, is much
loo puerile for the occasion, and the character: decipit ex-
emplar vitiit imitabile. With respect to the amusement of
barley-break, allusions to it occur repeatedly in our old
writers; and their commentators have piled one parallel
passage upon another, without advancing a single step
towards explaining what this celebrated pastime really was
It was played by six people (three of each sex), who were
coupled by lot. A piece of ground was then chosen, and
divided into three compartments, of which the middle one
was called HelL It was the object of the couple condemned
to this division, to catch the other*, who advanced from the
two extremities ; in which case a chmge of situation took
plaoe, and hell was filled by the couple who were excluded
by preoccupation, from the other places: in this" catching,"
however, there was some difficulty, as, by the regulations of
the game, the middle couple were not to separate before
they had succeeded, while the others might break hands
whenever they found themselves hard pressed. When all
had been taken in turn, the last couple was said to be in
hell, and the game ended. In tenni labor.' Mr. M. Mason
has given the following description of this pastime with
allegorical personages, from Sir John Suckling:

" Love, Reason, Hate, did once bespeak

Three mates to play at barley-break ;

Love Folly took ; and Reason Fancy ;

And Hate consorts with Pride ; sodance they :

Love coupled last, and so it fell

That Love and Folly were in hell.

They break ; and Love would Reason meet,
But Hate was nimbler on her feet;
Fancy looks for Pride, and thither
Hies, and they two hug together :
Yet this new coupling still doth tell
That Love and Folly were in hell.

The rest do breaV again, and Pride
Hath now got Reason on her side ;
Hate and Fancy meet, and stand
Untouch'd by Love in Folly's hand ;
Folly was dull, but Love ran well,
So Love and Folly were in hell."

A shape angelical. Mine eyes, though dazzled

And daunted at first sight, tell me, it wore

A pair of glorious wings ; yes, they were wings,

A nd hence he flew : 'tis vanish d Jupiter,

For all my sacrifices done to him,
Never once gave me smile. How can stone smile,
Or wooden image laugh? [music.] Ha! I remember
Such music gave a welcome to mine ear,
When the fair youth came to me : 'tis in the air,
Or from some better place* ; a power divine,
Through my dark ignorance on my soul does shine,
And makes me see a conscience all stain'd o'er,
Nay, drown'd and damn'd for ever in Christian gore.
Harp, [within.] Ha, ha, ha ! [tongue

Theoph. Again ! What dainty relish on my
This fruit hath left ! some angel hath me fed ;
If so toothfull t I will be banqueted. [Eats.

Enter HARPAX in a fearful shape, fire fashing out of
the Study.

Harp. Hold!

Theoph. Not for Caesar.

Harp. But for me thou shalt. [here.

Theoph. Thou art no twin to him that last was
Ye Powers, whom my soul bids me reverence,
What art thou ? [guard me !

Harp. I am thy master.

Theoph. Mine !

Harp. And thou my everlasting slave ;that Harpax,
Who hand in hand hath led thee to thy hell,
Ami.

Theoph. Avaunt?

Harp. 1 will not ; cast thou down
That basket with the things in't, and fetch up
What thou hast swallow'd, and then take a drink,
Which I shall give thee, and I'm gone.

Theoph, My fruit ?
Does this offend thee ? see ! [Eats again.

Harp. Spit it to the earthf,
And tread upon it, or I'll piecemeal tear thee.

Theoph. Art thou with this affrighted ? see, here's
more. [Pulls out a handful of flowers.

Harp. Fling them away, I'll take thee else, and

hang thee

In a contorted chain of isicles
In the frigid zone : down with them !

Theoph. At the bottom
One tiling I found not yet. See !

[Holds up a cross of flowers.

Harp. Oh ! I am tortured. (hence !

Theoph. Can this do't ? hence, thou fiend infernal,

Harp. Clasp Jupiter's image, and away with that.

Theoph. At thee I'll fling that Jupiter ; for, ine-

thinks,

I serve a better master : he now checks me
For murdering my two daughters, put on$ by thee

Or from some better place;] In Coxeter's edition, placf
was dropt at the press, I suppose : and M. Mason, who
srems to have no conception of any older or other copy,
blindly followed him; though the line has neither measur
nor sense without the word, inserted from the old quartos :
but indeed the whole of this scene, as it stands in the two
former editious, especially the last, is full of the most shame-
ful tlonders.

T Jf to toothfull, &c.] So the old copies, the modern edi
tions have toothsome : it may perhaps be a better word, but
should not have been silently foisted upon the author.

t Harp. Spit it to the earth,] The first and second quartos
read spet, which was now beginning to grow obsolete; in the
succeeding one it is spit.

put on by thee] i. e. encouraged, instigated.

So in Shakspeare :

SCENE II.]

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

By thy damn'd rhetoric did I hunt the life

Of Dorothea, the holy virgin-martyr.

She is not angry with the axe, nor me,

But sends these presents to me ; and I'll travel

O'er worlds to find her, and from her white hand

Beg a forgiveness.

Harp. No; I'll bind thee here. [weapon*,

Theoph. I serve a strength above thine ; this small
Methinks is armour hard enough.

Harp. Keep from me [Sinks a little.

Thtoph. Art posting to thy centre? down, hell-
hound ! down ;

Me thou hast lost : that arm, which hurls thee
hence, [Harpax disappears.

Save me, and set me 1,1, the strong defence
In the fair Christian's quarrel !

Enter ANGELO.

Ang. Fix thy foot there,
Nor be thou shaken with a Cresar's voice,
Though thousand deaths were in it ; and I then
Will bring thee to a river, that shall wash
Thy bloody hands clean and more white than snow ;
And to that garden where these blest tilings grow,
And to that martyr'd virgin, who hath sent
That heavenly token to thee : spread this brave wing,
And serve, than Caesar, a far greater king. [Eaif.

Theop. It is, it is some angel. Vanish'd again !
Oh, come back, ravishing boy ! bright messenger !
Thou hast, by these mine eyes fix'd on thy beauty,
Illumined all my soul. Now look 1 back
On my black tyrannies, which, as they did [me,
Outdare the bloodiest, thou, blest spirit, that lead'st
Teach me what I must to do, and, to do well,
That my last act the best may parallelf. [Exit.

SCENE II. DIOCLESIAN'S Palace.

Enter DIOCLESIAN, MAXIMINUS, the Kings of Epire.
Pontus, and Macedon, meeting AHTEMIA ; Atten-
dants.

Ariem. Glory and conquest still attend upon tri-
umphant Caesar I

Diocle. Let thy wish, fair daughter,
Be equally divided ; and hweafter
Learn thou to know and reverence Maximinus,
Whose power, with mine united: makes one Caesar.

Mai. But that I fear 'twould be held flattery,
The bonds consider'd in which we stand tied,
As love and empire, I should say, till now
I ne'er had seen a lady I thought worthy
To be my mistress.

Artem. Sir, you show yourself
Both courtier and soldier ; but take heed,
Take heed, my lord, though my dull-pointed beauty,
Stain 'd by a harsh refusal in my servant,
Cannot dart forth such beams as may inflame you,
You may encounter such a powerful one,
That with a pleasing heat will thaw your heart,
Though bound in ribs of ice. Love still is love,

Macbeth

Is ripe for shaking, and the Powers above
Put on their instruments."

thii frnall weapon,] Meaning, I believe,

the " cross of flowers," which he ha'l just found. The
language and ideas of this play are purely catholic.

t That my last act the bett may parallel J Thus far
Decker ; what follows I apprehend was written by Massiu-
jer; (and is unsurpassed in me English language.)

His bow and arrows are the same : great Julius,
That to his successors left the name of Caesar,
Whom war could never tame, that with dry eyes
Beheld the large plains of Pharsalia cover'd
With the dead carcases of senators
And citizens of Rorp fhen the world knew
No other lord but Inr. , struck deep in years too,
(And men gray-bai~'d forget the lusts of youth)
After all th's, meeting fair Cleopatra,
A suppliant too, the magic of her eye,
Even in his pride of conquest, took him captive ;
Nor are you more secure.

Max. Were you deform'd
(But, by the gods, you are most excellent),
Your gravity and discretion would o'ercome me ;
And I should be more proud in being prisoner
To your fair virtues, than of all the honours,
Wealth, title, empire, that my sword hath purchased.

Diocle. This meets my wishes. Welcome %

Artemia,

With outstretch'd arms, and study to forget
That Antoninus ever was ; thy fate
Reserved thee for this better choice, embrace it.

Max.* This happy match brings new nerves to

give strength
To our continued league.

Diocle Hymen himself

Will bless this marriage, which we'll solemnize
In the presence of these kings.

K. of Pontus. Who rest most happy,
To be eyewitnesses of a match that brings
Peace to the empire.

Diocle. We much thank your loves ;
But where's Sapritius, our governor,
And our most zealous provost, good Theophilus 1
If ever prince were blest in a true servant,
Or could the gods be debtors to a man,
Both they and we stand far engaged to cherish
His piety and service.

Artem. Sir, the governor

Brooks sadly his son's loss, although he turn'd
Apostata in death f ; but bold Theophilus,
Who, for the same cause, in my presence, seal'd
His holy anger on his daughters' hearts ;
Having with tortures first tried to convert her,
Dragg'd the bewitching Christian to the scaffold,
And saw her lose her head.

Diocle. He is all worthy :
And from his own mouth I would gladly hear
The manner how she suffer'd.

Artem. 'Twill be deliver'd

With such contempt and scorn (I know his nature)
That rather 'twill beget your highness' laughter,
Than the least pity.

Diocle. To that end I would hear it.

Enter THEOPHILUS, SAPRITII-S, and MACRIXUS.

Artem. He comes ; with him the governor.

Diocle. O, Sapritius,
I am to chide you for your tenderness ;
But yet, remembering that you are a father,

* Max. This happy match, &c.] The old copies give this
to the K. of Epire ; it is evident, however, that he cannot
be the speaker ; I make no apology for restoring it to Max-
/miiins.

t Apostata in death ;i Here again the modern editors,
rcail, Apostate in death, though it absolutely destroys the
iiHMMire. It is very strange that the frequent recurrence of
this word should not teach them to hesitate on the propriety
of corrupting it upon all occasions.

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr V

I will forget it. Good Theophilus,

I'll speak with you anon Nearer, your ear.

[To Sapritius.

Theoph. [aside to Macrinus.'] By Antoninus' soul,

I do conjure you,

And though not for religion, for his friendship,
Without demanding what's the cause that moves me,
Receive my signet ; by the power of this,
Go to my prisons, and release all Christians
That are in fetters there by my command.

Mac. But what shall follow ?

Theoph. Haste then to the port ;
You there shall find two tall ships ready rigg'd*,
In which embark the poor distressed souls,
And bear them from the reach of tyranny.
Enquire not whither you are bound ; the Deity
That they adore will give you prosperous winds,
And make your voyage such, and largely pay for
Your hazard, and your travail. Leave me here ;
There is a scene that I must act alone. [y ou '

Haste, good Macrinus ; and the great God guide

Mac. I'll undertake'!, there's something prompts

me to it ;

'Tis to save innocent blood, a saint-like act ;
And to be merciful has never been
By moral men themselves f esteem'd a sin. [Erit.

Diocle. You know your charge ?

Sap. And will with care observe it.

Diocle. For I profess he is not Cresar's friend,
That sheds a tear for any torture that
A Christian suffers. Welcome, my best servant,
My careful zealous provost ! thou hast toil'd
To satisfy my will, though in extremes :
I love thee for't ; thou art firm rock, no changeling.
Prithee deliver, and for my sake do it,
Without excess of bitterness, or scoffs,
Before my brother and these kings, how took
The Christian her death ?

Theoph. And such a presence,
Though every private head in this large room
Were circled round with an imperial crown,
Her story will deserve, it is so full
Of excellence and wonder.

Diocle. Ha! how is this?

Theoph. O ! mark it, therefore, and with that

attention,

As you would hear an embassy from heaven
By a wing'd legate ; for the truth deliver'd
Both how, and what, this blessed virgin suffer'd,
And Dorothea hut hereafter named,
You will rise up with reverence, and no more,
As things unworthy of your thoughts, remember
What the canonized Spartan ladies were, [matrons,
Which lying Greece so boasts of. Your own
Y'our Roman dames, whose figures you yet keep
As holy relics, in her history
Will find a second urn : Gracchus' Cornelia J,

You there shall find two tall ships ready riffy'd,] We
should now say, two stout t>hi}>s; but sec the Unnatural
Combat.

f By moral men themselves, &c,] This is the reading of
the first copy : all the the others have, mortal men.

% Gracchus' Cornelia, This passage, as punted in the olil
edition, is nonsense. M. MASON.

Thi is somewhat bold in one who never saw the old edi-
tions. In Coxcter, indeed, it is printed, or rather pointed,
as nonsense : but to call his the old edition is scarcely cor-
rect. The first quarto reads as in P e text with the exception
of an apostrophe accidentally misplaced ; the second follows
it, and both are more correct than Mr. M. Mason, either in
his text or note.

Paulina, that, in death desired to follow
Her husband Seneca, nor Brutus' Portia,
That swallow'd burning coals to overtake him,
Though all their several worths were given to one,
With this is to be mention'd.

Max. Is he mad 1

Diocle. Why, they did die, Theophilus, and boldly;
This did no more.

Theoph. They, out of desperation,
Or for vain glory of an after-name.
Parted with life: this had not mutinous sons,
As the rash Gracchi were ; nor was this saint
A doating mother, as Cornelia was:
This lost no husband, in whose overthrow
Her wealth and honour sunk ; no fear of want
Did make her being tedious ; but, aiming
At an immortal crown, and in his cause
Who only can bestow it, who sent down
Legions of ministering angels to bear up
Her spotless soul to heaven ; who entertain'd it
With choice celestial music, equal to
The motion of the spheres, she, uncompell'd,
Changed this life for a better. My lord Sapritius
You were present at her death ; did you e'er hear
Such ravishing sounds ?

Sap. Yet you said then 'twas witchcraft,
And devilish illusions.

Theoph. I then heard it

With sinful ears, and belch'd out blasphemous words
Against his Deity, which then I knew not
Nor did believe in him.

Diocle. Why, dost thou now*
Or dar'st thou, in our hearing

Theoph. Were my voice
As loud as is his thunder, to be heard
Through all the world, all potentates on earth
Ready to burst with rage, should they but hear it ;
Though hell, to aid their malice, lent her furies,
Yet I would speak, and speak again, and boldly,
I am a Christian, and the Powers you worship
But dreams of fools and madmen.

Max. Lay hands on him.

Diocle. Thou twice a child! for doating age so

makes thee,

Thou couldst not else, thy pilgrimage of life
Being almost past through, in this last moment
Destroy whate'er thou hast done good or great
Thy youth did promise much ; and, grown a man,
Thou mad'st it good, and, with increase of years,
Thy actions still better'd : as the sun,
Thou did'st rise gloriously, kept'st a constant course
In all thy journey ; and now, in the evening,
When thou should'st pass with honour to thy rest,
Wilt thou fall like a meteor ?

Sap. Yet confess

That thou art mad, and that thy tongue and heart
Had no agreement.

Mai. Do ; no way is left, else,
To save thy life, Theophilus.

Diocle. But, refuse it,
Destruction as horrid, and as sudden,
Shall fall upon thee, as if hell stood open,
And thou wert sinking thither.

Theoph. Hear me, yet ;
Hear for my service past.

Artem. What will he say ?

Theoph. As ever I deserved your favour, hear me,
And grant one boon : 'tis not for life I sue for *,

Tit not for life I sue for ' The modern editors omil

SCENE II.]

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

Nor is it fit that I, that ne'er knew pity

To any Christian, being one myself,

Should look for any ; no, I rather beg

The utmost of your cruelty ; I stand

Accomptuble for thousand Christians' deaths ;

And, were it possible that I could die

A day for every one, then live again

To be again tormented, 'twere to me

An easy penance, and I should pass through

A gentle cleansing fire ; but, that denied me,

It being beyond the strength of feeble nature,

My suit is, you would have no pity on me.

In mine own house there are thousand engines

Of studied cruelty, which I did prepare

For miserable Christians ; let me feel,

As the Sicilian did his brazen bull,

The horrid'styou can find, and I will say,

In death that you are merciful.

Diocle. Despair not,
In this thou shall prevail. Go fetch them hither :

[Exit. Guard.

Death shall put on a thousand shapes at once,
And so appear before thee ; racks, and whips!
Thy flesh, with burning pincers torn, shall feed
The fire that heats them ; and what's wanting to
The torture of thy body, I'll supply
In punishing thy mind. Fetch all the Christians
That are in hold ; and here, before his face,
Cut them in pieces.

Theopk. 'Tis not in thy power :
It was the first good deed I ever did.
They are removed out of thy reach ; howe'er
I was determined for my sins to die,

I first took order for their liberty,
And still I dare thy worst.

Re-enter Guard with the instruments of torture.
Diocle. Bind him I say ;
Make every artery and sinew crack :
The slave that makes him give the loudest shriek,*
Shall have ten thousand drachmas : wretch ! I'll
To curse the Power thou worship's! : [force thee

Theoph. Never, never;
No breath of mine shall e'er be spent on him,

[They torment him.

But what shall speak his majesty or mercy.
I'm honour'd in my sufferings. Weak tormentors,
More tortures, more : alas ! you are unskilful
For neaven's sake more ; my breast is yet untorn :

I 1 ere purchase the reward that was propounded.
The irons cool, here are arms yet, and thighs;
Spare no part of me.

Max. He endures beyond
The sufferance of a man.

Sap, No sigh nor groan,
To witness he hath feeling.

Diocle. Harder, villains !

Enter HARPAX.

Harp. Unless that he blaspheme he's lost for ever.
2f torments ever could bring forth despair,

the last for: but they are too squeamish. This reduplica-
tion was practised by all the writers of our author's lime ;
of which I could, if it were necessary, give a thousand c\- ,'
amples ; Massinger himself would furnish a considerable
lumber.

The slave that makes him give the loudest shriek,] So [
read all the editions before the last; when Mr. M. Mason, to j
suit the line to his own ideas of harmony, discarded The tlave \
for He I

Let these compel him to it : Oh me,

My ancient enemies again ! [_FaUs down.

Enter DOROTHEA in a white ~obe, a crown upon her
head, led in by ANGELO ; ANTONINUS, CALISTA, and
CIIRISTETA J allowing, all in white, but less glorious
ANGELO holds out a crown to THEOPHILUS.

Theoph. Most glorious vision !

Did e'er so hard abed yield man a dream
So heavenly as this? I am confirm 'd,
Confirm'd, you blessed spirits, and make haste
To take that crown of immortality
You offer to me. Death, till tins blest minute,
1 never thought thee slow-paced ; nor would I
Hasten thee now, for any pain I suffer,
But that thou keep'st me from a glorious wreath,
Which through this stormy way I would creep to,
And, humbly kneeling, with humility wear it.
Oh ! now I feel thee : blessed spirits ! I come ;
And, witness for me all these wounds and scars,
I die a soldier in the Christian wars. [Diet

Sap. I have seen thousands tortured, but ne'er yet
A constancy like this.

Harp. I am twice damn'd.

Aug. Haste to thy place appointed, cursed fiend '
In spite of hell, this soldier's not thy prey ;
'Tis I have \von, thou that hast lost the day. [Exii
[Harpax sinks with thunder and lightning.
Diocle. I think the centre of the earth be crack'd,
Yet I stand still unmoved, and will go on :
The persecution that is here begun,
Through all the world with violence shall run.

[Flourish. Exeunt*

Mr. M. Mason capriciously deranged the order in which
Coxeter printed these plays, and began with The Picture, a
piece which bears the strongest internal marks of being a
late production. With resptct to the t'iryhi-Martyr, he
considerably under-rate it, and indeed displays no portion
of judgment in appreciating either its beauties or flefecti.
He adopts Coxeter's idea tliat it was indebted for its succest
to the abominable scenes between Hirciuj and Spungius,
pronounces the subject of the tragedy to be unpleasant, the
incidents' unnatural, and the supernatural agents employed
to bring them about, destitute of the singularity and wildnesa
which distinguish the fictitious beings of Shaksj>eare. With
repect to the subject, it is undoubtedly ill chosen. Scour^-
ing, racking, and beheading, are circumstances of no veiy
agreeable kind; and wilh the poor aids of which the stage
was then possessed, must have been somewhat worse than
ridictilouf . Allowing, however, for the agency ot supernatural
beings, I icarcely see how the incident! they produce can,
as Mr. M. Mason represents them, be unnatural. 1'he ci.in-
parion drawn between them and the fictitioui being* of
Shaksp are is injudicious. Shakspeare has no angels nor
devils; his womteriul ju'lgment, perhaps, instructed him to
avoid sue It untractable m,,^. !;-.;:;. With fairies and spirits
he might wanton in the regions of fancy, i.. '.'.'" -ha>-.-irter
of a heavenly messenger wa of too sacred a nature for wiiit-
ness and singularity, and that of a fiend too horrible for the
-{.oitivi'iiess of imagination. It appears to me that Massin-
ger and his associate had conceived the idea of combining
the prominent parts of the old Mystery, with the Morality,
which was not yet obliterated from the memories, nor perhaps
from the affections of many of the spectators ; to this, I am
willing to hope, and no) to the ribaldry, which Mr. M. Ma
son so properly rcpiobates, the great success of this singular
medley might be in some measure owing. I have taken
notice of many beautiful passages; but it would be unjust to
the authors to conclude, without remarking on the good
sense and dexterity with which they have avoided the con-
currence of Angelo and Harpax, till the concluding scene;
an error into which Tasso, and others of greater name than
Massinger, have inadvertently fallen.

H'ith a neglect of precision which pervades all the argc-
ments of Mr. M. Mason, he declares it is easy to distinguish
the hand of Decker from that of Massinger, yet finds a dif-
ficulty in apppropriating their most characteristic language'
If I have spoken with more confidence, it U not dona
lightly, but from a long and careful study of Massiage:-

THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.

[Acr

manner, and from that species of internal evidence which,
though it ini^tit not perhaps sufficiently strike the common
reader, is with me decisive. With respect to the scenes be-
tween the two buttoons, it would be an injury to the name
of Massinger to waste a single argument iu proving them
hot to bf his. In saying this 1 am actuated irv no hostility to
Decker, wiio in this Play has many passages which evince
that he wanted not talents to rival, if he had pleated, his
friend and associate. GIFFOKU.

Notwithstanding the blemishes which have been justly
objected to this play, it possesses beauties of an extraordi-
nary kind. Indeed", nothing more base and filthy can be
conceived than the dialogues between Hirciiitaud Spungius!
but the genuine and dignified piety of Dorothea, her unsul-
lied innocence, her unshaken constancy, the lolly pity she
expresses for her persecutors, her calm contempt of tortures,
and her heroic death, exalt the mind in no common degree,
and make the reader almost insensible of the surrounding
imparity, through the holy contempt of it which they in-
spire.

How .sentiments and images thus opposite should be con-
tai.ied in the same piece, it is somewhat difficult to conceive,
ll Deoker had furnished none but the comic parts, the doubt
would be soon at an end. But there is good reason to sup-
pose that he wrote the \\ hole of the second act ; and the very
first scene of it has the same mixture of loathsome beastliness
and angelic purity, which are ob-erved iu those passages
that are more distant from each other. It is the strange and
forced conjunction of Mczentius:

Mortua jungebat corpora vivit,

7'ormenti genut

The subject in general is certainly extravagant ; and the
introduction of a good and evil spirit, disguised in human
shapes, was not to be expected iu what aspired to the credit
of a regular tragedy. Yet it should be remembered, that
poetic licence calls in "a thousand liveried angels" to " lac-
key saintly chastity;" that whatever be their departure from
propriety, such representations had a most solemn origin ;
and that, with this allowance, the business in which the
spirits are engaged has a substantial conformity with the
opinions of the early ages in which the plot is laid. The
permitted but vain opposition of the demons to the progress
of the <aith, and the reasoning and raillery which Dorothea
expresses, under the influence of Angelo, against the pagan
gods, are to be found in Justin, Tatian, Arnobius, and others.*

(Augustine and Gregory the Great, wholived so late as
he fi'iir'.b century, mention the visits of the angels to this
urlh even io their days. ED.)

The separate agency of the spirits, and the consequence
of their personal encounter, are also described in a charac-
teristic manner.

Apart from Angelo, Harpax seems to advance in his
maliyn.int work. When the daughters of Theophiliis express
their zeal for paganism, he " grows fat to see his labours
prosper." Vet he cannot look forward to the defeat of
those labours in their approaching conversion, though, on
some occasions, we find he could " see a thousand leagues"
in his master's service. And this agrees with the doctrine,
that when some signal triumph of the faith was at hand,
the evil spirits were abridged of their usual powers. Again,
when Harpax expects to meet Angelo, he thus expresses
the dread of his presence, and the effect which it afterwards
produced on him :

I do so hate his sight,

That, should I look on him, I should sink down."

Act II. sc. ii.

And this too, perfectly agrees with the power attributed to
the superior spirits of quelling the demons by those indica-
tions of heir quality which were not to be perceived by
mortals : per occuitissimte tigna prti'tentiie, qua; anyelicis,
tensibus etiam maliynorum tpirituum, potius quam infirmi-
tati hominum, pnvnmt etse perspicua. ftp. Dei. lib. ix.

The tith r paits of the Play do not require much observa-
tion. Indeed, the characters of Calista and Christeta are
well sustained. Hasty, self-conlident, readily promising for
their steadiness, soon forgetting their resolutions, and equally
secure in every change of opinion, they are well contrasted
with Dorothea, whose rixed principles always guard her
against rashness, and therefore preserve her I'rom contradic-
tion. As to Dioclesian and his captive kings, they come in
and go out with little of our admiration or our pity. Artemia's
love for Antoninus would be wholly without interest, if we
were not moved for a moment by her indignation at the
rejection of her otter ; and we see her at length consigned
to Maximinus with as little emotion as is shewn by them-
selves. This, however, is somewhat relieved by Antoninus's
passion, a genuine one, for Dorothea.

Certainly there is too much horror in this tragedy. The
daughters of Theophilus are killed on the stage. Theophilus
himself is racked, and Dorothea is dragged by the hair,
kicked, tortured, and beheaded. Its popularity mii>i there-
fore in a considerable degree be attributed to the interest
occasioned by the contrary agencies of the two spirits, to
the glorious vision of the beatified Dorothea at the conclu-
sion of the piece, and th reappeatance of Angelo, in his
proper character, with the sacred fruit and flowers, from (he
" heavenly garden," and the " crown of immortality,'' fcr
Tiiuoohiius, DR. IRELAND.

THE

UNNATURAL COMBAT,

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.] Of this Tragedy there is but one edition, which was printed for John Water-
son, in 1659. It does not occur in Sir Henry Herbert's Office-book ; so that it is probably of a very early
date : and indeed Massinger himself calls it " an old tragedy." Like the Virgin-Marttfr, it has neither
Prologue nor Epilogue, for which the author accounts in his Dedication, by observing that the play was
composed at a time " when such by-ornaments were not advanced above the fabric of the whole work."

The editors of the Biographia Dramatica speak in rapturous terms of the various excellencies of this piece,
and think, " that with very little alteration, it might be rendered a valuable acquisition to the present stage."
This I doubt : it is indeed a most noble performance ; grand in conception, and powerful in execution ; but
the passion on which the main part of the storv hinges, is of too revolting a nature for public representation
we may admire in the closet what we should turn from on the stage.

It is said, in the title-page, to have been " presented by the King's Majesty's Servants, at the Globe.

TO
MY MUCH HONOURED FRIEND,

ANTHONY SENTLEGEK,

OF OAKHAM, IN KENT, ESQ.

SIR,

That the patronage of trifles, in this kind, hath long since rendered dedications, and inscriptions obsolete
and out of fashion, I perfectly understand, and cannot but ingenuously confess, that I walking in the same
path, may be truly argued by you of weakness, or wilful error : but the reasons and defences, for the
tender of my service this way to you, are so just, that I cannot (in my thankfulness for so many favours
received) but be ambitious to publish them. Your noble father, Sir Warham Sentleger (whose remarkable
virtues must be ever remembered), being, while he lived, a master, for his pleasure, in poetry, feared not tc
hold converse with divers, whose necessitous fortunes made it their profession, among which, by the
clemency of his judgment, I was not in the last place admitted. You (the heir of his honour and
estate) inherited his good inclinations to men of my poor quality, of which I cannot give any ampler
testimony, than by my free and glad profession of it to the world. Besides (and it was not the least
encouragement tome) many of eminence, and the best of such, who disdained not to take notice of me,
have not thought themselves disparaged, I dare not say honoured, to be celebrated the patrons of my
humble studies : in the first file of which, I am confident, you shall have no cause to blush, to find
your name written. I present you with this old tragedy, without prologue or epilogue, it being composed
in a time (and that too, peradventure, as knowing as this) when such by-ornaments were not advanced
above the fabric of the whole work. Accept it, I beseech you, as it is, and continue your favour to the
author

Your servant,

PHILIP MASSINGER.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

A Steward.
An Usher.
A Pasie.

BEAUFORT senior, governor of Marseilles.

BEAUFORTjunior, his son

MALEFORT senior, admiral of Marseilles.

MALEFOKT junior, his son

CIIAMOXT, )

MONTAIGNE, > assist an ts to ihe governor.

LA.VOUR, J

MONTREVILI.E, a pretended friend to MALEFORT senior.

BELG.AHDE, a poor captain.

Three Sea Captains, of the navy of MALEFORT junior

SCENE. MARSEILLES.

TIIEOCRINE, daughter to MALEFORT senior
Two Waiting Women.
Two Courtezans.
A Bawd.

Servants and Soldiers.

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

ACT I.

SCENE I. A Hall in the Court of Justice.

Enter MONTREVII.LF., THEOCRINE, Usher, Page, and
Waiting Women.

Montr. Now to be modest, madam, when you are
A suitor for your father, would appear
Coarser than boldness ; you awhile must part with
Soft silence, and the blushings of a virgin :
Though I must grant, did not this cause command it,
They are rich jewels you have ever worn
To all men's admiration. In this age,
If, by our own forced importunity,
Or others purchased intercession, or
Corrupting bribes, we can make our approaches
To justice, guarded from us by stern power,
We bless the means and industry.

Ush. Here's music [opium,

In this bag shall wake her, though she had drunk
Or eaten mandrakes*. Let commanders talk
Of cannons to make breaches, give but fire
To this petard, it shall blow open, madam,
The iron doors of a judge, and make you entrance ;
When they (let them do what they can) with all
Their mines, their culverins, and basiliscos, [lock
Shall cool their feet without; this being the pick-
That never fails.

Montr. 'Tis true, gold can do much,
But beauty more. Were I the governor,
Though the admiral, your father, stood convicted
Of what he's only doubted, half a dozen
Of sweet close kisses from these cherry lips,
With some short active conference ia private,
Should sign his general pardon.
Theoc. These light words, sir,
Do ill become the weight of my sad fortune ;
And I much wonder, you, that do profess
Yourself to be my father's bosorn friend,
Can raise mirth from his misery.

Montr. You mistake me ;
I share in his calamity, and only
Deliver my thoughts freely, what I should do
For such a rare petitioner : and if
You'll follow the directions I prescribe,
With my best judgment I'll mark out the way
For his enlargement.

Theoc. With all real joy
I shall put what you counsel into act,
Provided it be honest.

Montr. Honesty

In a fair she client (trust to my experience)
Seldom or never p >spers ; the world's wicked :
We are men, nol saints, sweet lady ; you must

practice

The manners of the ime, if you intend
To have favour from it : do not deceive yourself
By building too much on the false foundations
Of chastity and virtue. Bid your waiters
Stand further off, and I'll come nearer tp you
1 Worn. Some wicked counsel, on my life.

ers
er

* Or eaten mandrakes.] Hill observes, that " the man-
drake IMS a soporific quality, and that it was used by die
ancients when they wanted a narcotic of a most powerful
kind." To this there are perpetual allusions in our old
writers.

2 Worn. Ne'er doubt it*,
If it proceed from him.

Page I wonder that
My lord so much aiFects him.

Ush. Thou'rt a child f,

And dost not understand on what strong basis
This friendship's raised between this Montreville
Andourlord, Monsieur Malefort; but I'll teach thee-
From thy years they have been joint purchas-
In fire and water works, and truck'd together

Page. In fire and water works !

Ush. Commodities, boy,
Which you may know hereafter.

Page. And deal in them,

When the trade has given you over, as appears bj
The increase of your high forehead^.

Ush. Here's a crack$ !
I think they suck this knowledge in their milk.

Page. I had an ignorant nurse else. I have tied,
My lady's garter, and can guess [sir,

Ush. Peace, infant ;

Tales out o'school ! take heed, you will be breech'd
else. \Theocrlne retires.

1 Worn. My lady's colour changes.

2 Worn. She falls oft' too.

Theoc. You .are a naughty man, indeed you are }
And I will sooner perish with my father,
Than at this price redeem him.

Montr. Take your own way,
Your modest, legal way : 'tis not your veil,
Nor mourning habit, nor these creatures taught
To howl, and cry, when you begin to whimper:
Nor following my loni's coach in the dirt,
i\or that which you rely upon, a bribe,
Will do it, when there's something he likes better.
These courses in an old crone of threescore!),
That had seven years together tired the court
With tedious petitions, and clamours,

2 Worn. Ne'ei doubt it

Jf it proceed from him.] The character of Montrcville is
opened with great beauty and propriety. The freedom of
his language, and the advice he gives Theocrinc, fully pre-
pare us for any a>:t of treachery or cruelty he may hereafter
perpetrate.

+ t'sh. Thou'rt a child,

And dost not understand, &c.] This speech, it is impossi-
ble to say why, h,is been h'nh.Tlo printed as prose, though
nothing is clearer than that the author meant it for verse,
into which, indued, it runs as readily as any other part of
the play. (Omitted unintentionally in Edit. 1813.)

| as appears by

The increase of your high forehead] Alluding, per-
haps, to the preiii.iiuie baldness occasioned by dealing iu
the commodities just mentioned ; or, it may be, to the fall-
ing off of his hair from age : go the women to Anacreon,
ipiXov ft aiv fjitrwov.

Ush. Here's a crack !] A crack is an arch, sprightly boy.
Thus, in the Devil's an Ass :

" If we could get a witty boy now, Engine,
That svere an excellent crack, 1 could instruct him
To the greai height."

The word occurs again in the Bashful Lover, and, indeed
in most of our old plays.

|| These courxes in an old, crone of threescore,} This ex
pression, which, as Johnson says, means an old toothless
ewe, ii contemptuously used for an old woman, by all the
writer* of Messenger's time. Thus Jonson :

" let him alone

With temper d poison to remove the crone." Poetattef
And Shakspeaic:

" take up the bastmrd ; f

Tak't it up. 1 say ; giv't to thy crone." Wtntertlalt.

SCEXE I.

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

For the recovery of a straggling* husband,

To pay, forsooth, the duties of one to her ;

But for a lady of your tempting; beauties,

Your youth, and ravishing features, to hope only

In such a suit as this is, to gain favour,

Without exchage of courtesy, you conceive me

Enter BEAUFORT junior, and BELGARDE.

Were madness at the height. Here's brave young

Beaufort,

The meteor of Marseillesf, one that holds
The governor his father's will and power
In more awe than his own ! Come, come, advance,
Present your bag, cramm'd with crowns of the sun} ;
Do you think he cares for money ? he loves pleasure.
Burn your petition, burn it ; he doats on you,
Upon my knowledge: to his cabinet, do,
And he will point you out a certain course,
He the cause right or wrong, to have your father
Released with much facility. [Exit. |

Theoc. Do you hear ?
Take a pandar with you.

Beauf.jun. I tell thee there is neither
Employment yet, nor money.

Belg. I have commanded,

And spent my own means in my country's service
In hope to raise a fortune.

Beahf.jun. Many have hoped so ;
But hopes prove seldom certainties with soldiers.

Belg. If no preferment, let me but receive
My pay that is behind, to set me up
A tavern, or a vaulting house ; while men love
Or drunkenness, or lechery, they'll ne'er fail me :
Shall I have that?

Beauf.jun. As our prizes are brought in ;
Till then you must be patient.

Belg. In the mean time,
How shall I do for clothes ?

Beauf.jun. As most captains do :
Philosopher-like, carry all you have about youj.

Belg. But how shall I do, to satisfy colon||, mon-
There lies the doubt. [sieur ?

Beauf.jun. That's easily decided :
My father's table's free for any man
That hath born arms.

Belg. And there's good store of meat?

Beauf.jun. Never fear that.

Belg. I'll seek no other ordinary then,
But be his daily guest without invitement ;
And if my stomach hold, I'll feed so heartily,
As he shall pay me suddenly, to be quit of me.

Beauf.jun. 'Tis she. .

Belg And further

* For the recovery of a straggling husband.} The old copy
re i<l* strangling.

f 'Hie meteor of Marseilles,! It may be proper to observe
nerp, once for all, that Marseilles, or as Massinger spells it,
M n -tllis, is constantly ue<l by him as a trisyllable, wliicli,
in fact, it is.

J crowns of the. sun ;] Esciu de soleil, the best

kind of crowns, says Cotgrave. tliat are now mde; they
have a kind of liltle star (sun) on one side. This coin is fre-
quently mentioned by our old writers.

j Phi'osopher-lilu>, car y all you bar* abo t you.] Allu-
ding to the well known sa.,i.ig of Simonides. " Umnia mea
niecum porto."

II to tat'ttfy colon, monsintr ?] \. e. the cravings of

hunger: the colon is tin: largest of the human intestines: jt
frri|iiontly occurs in the same sense as here, in our old poets.
So in the H'its.

" Abstain from flesh whilst cnlnn keeps more noise
Than mariners at plays, or apple-wives,
That wrangle for a sieve."

Beanf.jun. Away, you are troublesome ;
Designs of more weight

Belg. Ha ! fair Theocrine.
Nay, if a velvet petticoat, move in the front,
Buff jerkins must to the rear; 1 know my manner?
This is, indeed, great business, mine a gewgaw.
I may dance attendance, this must be dispatch'd,
And suddenly, or all will go to wreck ;
Charge her home in tlie flank, my lord: nay, I am
gone sir. [Exif.

Beauf. jun.Xay, pray you, madam, rise, or I'll kne*l
with you.

Page. I would bring you on your kneas, were I a
woman.

Beauf.jun. What is it can deserve so poor a name
As a suit to me? This more than mortal form
Was fashion'd to command, and not entreat :
Your will but known is served

Theoc. Great sir, my father,
My brave, deserving father ; 'but that sorrow
Forbids the use of speech

Beauf.jun. I understand you,
Without the aids of those interpreters
That fall from your fair eyes ; I know you labour
The liberty of your father ; at the least,
An equal* hearing to acquit himself:
And 'tis not to endear my service to you,
Though I must add, and pray you with patience

hear it,

'Tis hard to be effected, in respect
The state's incensed against him : all presuming,
The world of outrages his impious son,
Turn'd worse than pirate in his cruelties,
Express'd to this poor country, could not be
With such ease put in execution, if
Your father, of late our great admiral,
Held not or correspondence, or connived
At his proceedings.

Theoc. And must he then suffer,
His cause unheard ?

Beanf.jun. As yet it is resolved so,
In their determination. But suppose
(For I would nourish hope, not kill it, in you)
I should divert the torrent of their purpose,
And render them, that are implacable,
Impartial judges, and not swayM with spleen ;
Will you, I dare not say in recompense,
For that includes a debt you cannot owe me,
But in your liberal bounty, in my suit
To you, be gracious ?

Theoc. You entreat of me, sir.
What I should offer to you, with confession
That you much undervalue your owu worth,
Should you receive me, since there come with you
Not lustful fires, but fair and lawful flames.
But I must be excused, 'tis now no time
For me to think of Hymeneal joys.
Can he, (and pray you, sir, consider it)
That gave me life, and faculties to love,
Be, as he's now, readv to be devour'd
By ravenous woU*es, and at that instant, 1
But entertain a thought of those delights,
In which perhaps, my arJou; meets with yours !
Duty and piety forbid it, sir,

* An equal hearinf/1 A just impartial hearing; o rqual i
constantly nsed by Massinger and lii contemporaries: thiu
Fletcher :
" What could this thief have done, I d his cause been fqval

He made my heartstrings tremble." Knlyht of Malta.

THE UNNA'IURAL COMBAT.

ACT

Beauf. jun. Butthis effected, and your father free,
What is your answer ?

Theoc, Every minute to me
Will be a tedious age, till our embraces
Are warrantable to the world.

Beaiif. fun. I urge no more ;
Confirm it with a kiss.

Theoc. I doubly seal it.

Ush. This would do better abed, the business

ended :

They are the loving'st couple !

Knter BEAUFORT unior, MONTAIGNE, CHAMONT, and
LANOUR.

Beatif.jun. Here comes my father,
With the Council of War : deliver your petition,
And leave the rest to me. [Theoc. offers a paper.

Beauf. $en. I am sorry, lady,
Your father's guilt compels your innocence
To ask what I in justice must deny.

Beauf. jun. For my sake, sir, pray you receive
and read it. [nothing.

Beauf. sen. Thou foolish boy ! I can deny thee

Beauf. jun. Thus far we are happy, madam : quit
You shall hear how we succeed. [the place ;

Theoc. Goodness reward you !

[Exeunt Theocrine, Usher, Page, and Women,

Mont. It is apparent ; and we stay too long
To censure Malefort* as he deserves.

[They take their seats.

Cham. There is no colour of reason that makes foi

him :

Had he discharged the trust committed to him,
With that experience and fidelity
He practised heretofore, it could not be
Our navy should be block'd wid, in our sight,
O ur goods made prize, our sailors sold for slaves,
y his prodigious issue +

Lan. 1 much grieve,

After so many brave and hit*n achievements
He should in one ill forfeit all the good
He ever did his country.

Beauf. sen. Well, 'tis granted \.

Beaiif. jun. I humbly thank you, sir.

Beauf. sen. He shall have hearing,
His irons too struck off; bring him before us,
But seek no further favour.

Beauf. jun. Sir, I dare not. [Exit.

Beauf. sen. Monsieur Chamont, Montaigne, La-

nour, assistants,

By a commission from the most Christian king,
n punishing or freeing Malefort, [not

Our late great admiral : though I know you need
Instructions from me, how to dispose of
Yourselves in this man's trial, that exacts
Your clearest judgments, give me leave, with favour,

* To censure Malefort &c.] Malefort is here, and through-
out the piny, properly n.ed as a trisyllable.

\ By hit prodigious issue. \ i. e. unnatural horrible por-
tentous of evil; in this sense it is often applied to comets,
and other extraordinary appearances in the sky
" Behold yon comet shews his head again !
Twicf hath he thus at cross turns thrown on no
Prodigious looks." The Honest Whort.

Again :

" This woman's threats, her eyes e'en red with fury
Which like jtrodiyiovs meteors, foretold
Assured destruction are still before me."

The Captain.

t Beanf. sen. Well, 'tis granted.] It appears, from the
ubsequent speeches, that young Beaufort had lie- n soliciting
father to allow Malefort to plead without his chains

To offer my opinion. We are to hear him,

A little looking back on his fair actions,

Loyal, and true demeanour ; not as now

By the general voice already he's condemn'd.

But if we find, as most believe, he hath held

lutelligence with his accursed son,

Fallen off from all allegiance, and turn'd

(But for what cause we know not) the most bloody

And fatal enemy this country ever

Repented to have brought forth ; all compassion*

******

Of what he was, or may be, if now pardon'd j
We sit engaged to censure him with all
Extremity and rigour.

Cham. Your lordship shows us
A path which we will tread in.

Lan. He that leaves
To follow, as you lead, will lose himself.

Mont. I'll not be singular.

Re-enter BEAUFORT junior, with MONTREVILLE,
MALEFORT senior, BELGARDE, and Officers.

Beauf. sen. He comes, but with
A strange distracted look.

Malff. sen. I .ive I once moref

To see these hands and arms free ! these, that often,
In the most dreadful horror of a fight,
Have been as seamarks to teach such as were
Seconds in my attempts, to steer between
The rocks of too much daring, and pale fear,
To reach the port of victory ! when my sword,
Advanced thus, to my enemies nppear'd
A hairy comet, threatening death and ruin $
To such as durst behold it ! These the legs,
That, when our ships were grappled, carried me

all compassion

Of what &c.} The quarto reads,

all compassion

Of what he was, or may be, if now pardon'd ;
Opon which Mr. M. Mason observes, "This sentence as L*
stands is not fense ; if ihe words all compassion are right,
we must necessarily suppose that bring laid aside, or word:
of a similar import, have been omitted in the printing : but
the most natural manner of amending the passage, is by
reading no compassion , the word having being understood "
1 can neither reconcile myself to no compassion of what lie
may be, nor to all. He might, if acquitted, be a successful
commander as before, and to such a circumstance Beaufort
evidently alludes. I believe that a line is lo.-t, and with due
hesitation would propose to supply the chasm somewhat in
this way :

all companion

Of hit years pass'd over, all consideration
Of wh:\t he was, or may be, if now pardon'd
li'e tit, &c.

t Malef. sen. Live 7 once more &c. ' There is something
very striking in the indignant burst of savage ostentation
with which this old warrior introduces himself on the icezc.
J A hairy comet, &C.1 So in Fuimus Trees:

" comets shook their flaming hair;

Thus all our wars were acted first on high,
And we taught what to look for."

From this, and the passage in the text, Milton, who appears,
by various marks of imitation, to have been a careful reader
of Massingcr, probably formed the magnificent and awful
picture which foHows :

" On the other tide,

Incensed with indignation, Satan stood
Unterrified, and like a comet bnrn'd,
That fires the length of Ophiuciis huge
In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair
fihakes pe:-tilence and war." -j-

CA more explicit illustration may be qnoved from Philcaiel
Holland's transition of Pliny, b. ii. c. 25.

"These blazing starre* the Greckcs call cometat onr Ro-
manes crinilos : dreadful to be scene with bloudie fiairet,
and all over rough and shagged in the top, like the bush of
of haire upon the bead.) Ki>.

CENE I.]

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

With such swift motion Trom deck to deck,
As they that saw it, with amazement cried,
He does not run, but flies !

Mont. He still retains
The greatness of his spirit.

Malef. sen. Now crampt with irons,
Hunger, and cold, they hardly do support me
But I forget myself. O, my good lords,
That sit there as my judges, to determine*
The life and death of Malefort, where are now
Those shouts, those cheerful looks, those loud ap-

plauses,

With which, when I return'd loaden with spoil,
You entertain'd your admiral ? all's forgotten :
And I stand here to give account of that
Of which I am as free and innocent
As he that never saw the eyes of him t,
For whom I stand suspected.

Beauf. sen. .Monsieur Malefort,
Let not your passion so far transport you,
As to believe from any private malice,
Or envy to your person, you are question'd :
Nor do the suppositions want weight,
That do invite us to a strong assurance,
Your son -

Nalef. sen. My shame !

Beauf. sen. Pray you, hear with patience, never
Without assistance or sure aids from you,
Could, with the pirates of Argiers} and Tunis,
Even those that you had almost twice defeated, .
Acquire such credit, as with them to be
Made absolute commander (pray you observe me) ;
If there had not some contract pass'd between you,
That, when occasion served, you would join with
To the ruin of Marseilles. [them,

Mont. More, what urged
Your son to turn apostata $ 1

Cham. Had he from

The state, or governor, the least neglect
Which envy could interpret for a wrong ? [could
7>an. Or, if you slept not in your charge, how
So many ships as do infest our coast,
And have in our own harbour shut our navy,
Come in unfought with ?

Beauf. jun. They put him hardly to it.
Malef. sen. My lords, with as much brevity as I can,
I'll answer each particular objection [which

With which you charge me. The main ground, on
You raise the building of your accusation,
Hath reference to my son : should I now curse him,
Or wish, in the agony of my troubled soul,
Lightning had found him in his mother's womb,
You'll say 'tis from the purpose ; and I therefore
Betake him to the devil, and so leave him.
Did never loyal father but myself
Beget a treacherous issue ? was't in me
With as much ease to fashion up his mind,
As in his generation to form.
The organs to his body ? Must it follow,

* That tit there a* my judges, to determine,] My, which
completes the metre, is now first inserted from ihe old copy.

+ The eyes of htm.} So the old copy : the modern editors
read tye !

; Could with the pirates of Argiers] Argiers is the old
reading, and is that of every author of Massinger's time.
(So in the Tempest,

Black ravenous ruin, with her sail-stretch'd wings,
Ready to sink us down, and cover u-."

Every Man out ofhii Humour.
And Fletcher :

" Fix here and rest awhile your sail-stretch'd uringt,
That have outstript the winds." The Prophetess.

Milton, too, has the same bold expression : the original to

aw. on, in ji.gi.ri. LU., I which they are all indebted, is a sublime passage in the

The editors invariably modernize it into Algiers. Fairy Queen. B. I. c. xi.st. 10.

$ Your sontotum apostata]The modern editors, asbefore, T This glorious relation.] Our old writers frequently ue

read apostatf ! (See note to tirgin Martyr, act iv. this woid in the sense of gloriosus, vain, boastful, csten-
scnu iii. Eu.j g 1 tatiuus.

" froxpero. - Where was she born ? speak ; tell me.
Ariel. Sir, in Argier." ED.)

Because that he is impious, I am false ?

I would not boast my actions, vet 'tis lawful

To upbraid my benefits to unthankful men.

Who sunk the Turkish gallies in the streights,

But Malefort ? Who rescued the French merchants

When they were boarded, and stow'd under hatches

By the pirates of Argiers, when every minute

They did expect to be chain 'd to the oar,

But your now doubted admiral 1 then you fill'd

The air with shouts of joy, and did proclaim,

W hen hope had left them, and grim-look'd despair

Hover'd with sail-stretch'd wings over their heads*

To me, as to the Neptune of the sea,

They owed the restitution of their goods,

Their lives, their liberties. O, can it then

Be probable, my lords, that he that never

Became the master of a pirate's ship,

But at the mainyard hung the captain up,

And caused the rest to be thrown over-board ;

Should, after all these proofs of deadly hate,

So oft express'd against them, entertain

A thought of quarter with them ; but much less

(To the perpetual ruin of my glories)

To join with them to lift a wicked arm

Against my mother-country, this Marseilles

Which, with my prodigal expense of blood,

I have so oft protected !

Beauf. xn. What you have done
Is granted and applauded ; but yet know
This glorious relation f of your actions
Must not so blind our judgments, as to suffer
This most unnatural crime you stand accused of,
To pass unquestion'd

Cham. No ; you must produce
Reasons of more validity and weight,
To plead in your defence, or we shall hardly
Conclude you innocent.

Mont. The large volume of

Your former worthy deeds, with your experience,
Both what, and when to do, but makes against you.
Lan. For had your care and courage been the same
As heretofore, the dangers we are plunged in
Plad been with ease prevented.

Malef. ten. What have I
Omitted, in the power of flesh and blood
Even in the birth to strangle the designs of
This hell-bred wolf, my son ? alas ! my lords,
I am no god, nor like him could foresee
His cruel thoughts, and cursed purposes ;
Nor would the sun at my command forbear
To make his progress to the other tvorld,
Affording to us one continued light.
Nor could my breath disperse those foggy mists,
Cover'd with which, and darkness of the night,
Their navy undisceru'd, without resistance,
Beset our harbour : make not that my fault,
Which you injustice must ascribe to fortune.

Hover'd with sail stretch'd wings over their heads.] Si
Jonson :

o'er our heads

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

[Acr. I

But if that nor my former acts, nor what

I have deliver'd, can prevail with you,

To make pood my integrity and truth ;

Rip up this bosom and pluck out the heart

That hath been ever loyal. [A trumpet within.

Beauf. ten. How ! a trumpet !
Enquire the cause. [E.ri( Montreville.

Malef. sen. Thou searcher of men's hearts,
And sure defender of the innocent,
(My other crying sins awhile not look'd on)
If I in this am guilty, strike me dead,
Or bv some unexpected means confirm,
I am accused unjustly ! [Aside.

Re-enter MONTREVILLE with a Sea Captain.

Beanf. sen. Speak the motives
That bring thee hither ?

Capt. From our admiral thus :
He does salute you fairly, and desires
It may be understood no public hate
Hath brought him to Marseilles ; nor seeks he
The ruin of his country, but aims only
To wreak a private wrong : and if from you
He may have leave* and liberty to decide it
In single combat, he'll give up good pledges,
If he fall in the trial of his right,
We shall weigh anchor, and no more molest
This town with hostile arms.

Beauf. sen. Speak to the man,
If in this presence he appear to you
To whom you bring this challenge.

Capt. 'Tis to you.

Beauf. sen. His father !

Montr. Can it be ?

Beanf. jun. Strange and prodigious !

Malef. sen. Thou seest I stand unmoved : were

thy voice thunder,
It should not shake me ; say, what would the viper ?

Capt. The reverence a father's name may challenge,
And duty of a son no more remember'd,
He does defy thee to the death.

Malef. sea. Go on. [head,

Capt. And with his sword will prove it on thy
Thou art a murderer, an atheist ;
And that all attributes of men turn'd furies
Cannot express thee ; this he will make good,
If thou dar'st give him meeting.

Malef. sen. Dare I live !

Dare I, when mountains of my sins o'erwhelm me,
At my last gasp ask for mercy ! how I bless
Thy coming, captain ; never man to me
Arrived so opportunely ; and thy message,
However it may seem to threaten death,
Does yield to me a second life in curing
My wounded honour. Stand I yet suspected
As a confederate with this enemy,
Whom of all men, against all ties of nature,
He marks out for destruction ! you are just,
Immortal Powers, and in this, merciful ;
And it takes from my sorrow, and my shame
For being the father to so bad a son,

and if from you

He nay haee leave, &c.] This passage it very incorrectly
pointed in the former editions.

In that you are pleased to offer up the monster

To my correction. Blush and repent

As you are bound, my honourable lords,

Your ill opinions of me. Not great Brutus

The father of the Roman liberty

With more assured constancy beheld

His traitor sona, for labouring to call home

The banish'd Tarquins, scourged with rods to death

Than 1 will shew, when I take back the life

This prodigy of mankind received from me.

Beauf. sen. We are sorry, monsieur Malefort

for our error,

And are much taken with your resolution ;
But the disparity of years and strength,
Between you and your son, duly consider'd,
We would not so expose you.

Malef. sen. Then you kill me,
Under pretence to save me. O my lords,
As you love honour, and a wrong'd man's fame,
Deny me not this fair and noble means
To make me right again to all the world.
Should any other but myself be chosen
To punish this apostata with death*,
You rob a wretched father of a justice
That to all after times will be recorded.
I wish his strength were centuple, his skill equal
To my experience, that in his fall
He may not shame my victory ! I feel
The powers and spirits of twenty strong men in me
Were he with wild fire circled, I undaunted
Would make way to him. As you do affect, sir,
My daughter Theocrinef ; as you are
My true and ancient friend ; as thou art valiant^ ;
And as all love a soldier, second me

[They all sue to the governor
In this my just petition. In your looks
I see a grant, my lord.

Beauf. sen. You shall o'erbear me ;
And since you are so confident in your cause,
Prepare you for the combat.

Malef'. sen. With more joy
Than yet I ever tasted : by the next sun,
The disobedient rebel shall hear from me,
And so return in safety. [Tu the Captain.} Mjr

good lords,

To all my service, I will die, or purchase
Rest to Marseilles ; nor can I make doubt,
But his impiety is a potent charm,
To edge my sword, and add strength to my arm.

[Exeunt.

To punith thit apostata urith death.'] Both the editors
read, To punish thit apostate son with death .' Here is the
mischief of altering an author's language. When the metre
does not suit oar new fangled terms, we are obliged to insert
words of our own to complete it. Apostata stood in the
verse very well : but Coxeter and M. Mason having deter-
mined to write apostate, found themselves compelled to tack
ton to it, and thus enfeebled tl>e original expression.

f Uy daughter Theocrine ;] Theocrine is constantly used
as a quadrisyllable. It should be observed that as the story
and the names are French, Massinger adopts the French
mode of enouncing them. The reader must bear this in
mind.

I a* thou art valiant;] This is said to the

captain who brought the challenge : the other persons ad-
jured are ioung Beaufort and Montreville. Itappears, from
the pointing of the former editions, that the passage was not
understood.

I.]

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

ACT II

SCENE I. An open Space without the City.
Enter three Sea Captains.

2 Capt. He did accept the challenge, then]
1 Capt. Nay more,

Was overjov'd in't ; and, as it had been
A fair invitement to a solemn feast,
And not a comhat to conclude with death,
He cheerful! v embraced it.

3 Capt Are the articles
Sign'd to on both parts ?

1 Capt. At the father's suit,

With much unwillingness the governor
Consented to them.

2 Capt. You are inward with

Our admiral ; could you yet never learn
What the nature of the quarrel is, that renders
The son more than incensed, implacable,
Against the father ?

1 Capt. Never; yet I have,'

As far as manners would give warrant to it,

With my best curiousness of care observed him.

I have sat with him in his cabin a day together*,

Yet not a syllable exchanged between us

Sigh he did often, as if inward grief

And melancholy at that instant would

Choke up his vital spirits, and now and then

A tear or two, as in derision of

The toughness of his rugged temper, would

Fall on his hollow cheeks, which but once felt,

A sudden flash of fury did dry up ;

And lay in <* then his hand upon his sword,

He would murmur, but yet so as I oft heard him,

We shall meet, cruel father, yes, we shall ;

When I'll exact, for every womanish drop

Of sorrow from these eyf-s, a strict accompt

Of much more from thy heart.

2 Capt. 'Tis wondrous strange.

3 Capt. And past my apprehension.

1 Capt. Yet what makes

The miracle greater, when from the maintop

A sail's descried, all thoughts that do concern

Himself laid by, no lion, pinch'd with hunger,

Rouses himself more fiercely from his den,

Than he comes on the deck : and there how wisely

He gives directions, and how stout he is

In his executions, we, to admiration,

Have been eyewitnesses : yet he never mind's

The booty when 'tis made ours : but as if

The danger, in the purchase of the prey,

Delighted him much more than the reward,

His will made known, he does retire himself

To his private contemplation, no joy

Express'd by him for victory.

Enter MALEFORT junior.

2 Capt. Here he comes,

But with more cheerful looks than ever yet
I saw him wear.

Malrf.jun. It was long since resolved on,
Nor must I stagger now [in'ti]. May the cause,
That forces me to this unnatural act,

/ have sat with him in hi* cabin, &c.] This beautiful
passage, expressing concealed resentment, deserves to be
remarked by every reader of taste and judgment. COXETER.

t \or must I ttagyernovi 'in't]. In the old copy, a syl-
lable has dropt out, which readers the line quite unmet rical.

Be buried in everlasting silence,

And I find rest in death, or my revenge !

To either I stand equal. Pray you, gentlemen,

Be charitable in your censures of me,

And do not entertain a false belief

That I am mad, for undertaking that

Which must be, when effected, still repented.

It adds to my calamity, that I have

Discourse* and reason, and but too well know

I can nor live, nor end a wretched life,

But both ways I am impious. Do not, therefore,

Ascribe the perturbation (if my soul

To a servile fear of death : I oft have view'd

All kinds of his inevitable darts,

Nor are they terrible. Were I condemn 'd to leap

From the cloud-cover 'd brows of a steep rock,

Into the deep ; or Curtius like, to fill up,

For my country's safety, and an after name,

A bottomless abyss, or charge through fire,

It could not so much shake me, as th' encounter

Of this day's single enemy.

1 Capt. If you please, sir,
You may shun it, or defer it.

Malef.jun. Not for the world :
Yet two things I entreat you : the first is,
You'll not enquire the difference between
Myself and him, which as a father once
I honour'd, now my deadliest enemy ;
The last is, if I fall, to bear my body
Far from this place, and where you please inter it.
I should say more, but by his sudden coming
I am cut off.

Enter BEAUFORT junior and MONTREVILT.E, leading in
MALEFORT senior ; BELGAHDE following, with others.

Beauf.jun. Let me, sir, have the honour
To be your second.

I have no great confidence in the genuineness of what I have
inserted between brackets : it is harmless, however, and
serves, as Falstatf says, to fill a pit as well as a better.
It adds to my calamity, that I have

Discourse and reason] It is very difficult to determine
the precise meaning which otir ancestors gave to discourse;
or to distinpiish the line which separated it from reaton.
Perhaps it indicated a more rapid deduction of consequence!
from premises, than was supposed to be effected by rea-
son : bill I speak with hesitation. The acute Gl.m ville says,
" The act of the mind which connects propositions, and
deduceth conclusions from ihem, the schools called discourse,
anil we shall not miscall it, if we name it reason." What-
ever be the sense, it frequently appears in onr old writers,
by whom it is u-ii.ilU coupled with reason or judgment,
which last should seem to be the more proper word. Thus
in the City Madam :

'' Such as want

Discourse and judgement, and through weakness fall,
May merit men's i ompassion."
Again, in the Coxcomb'

" Why should a man that has discourse and reason,
And knows how near he loses all in these things,
Covet to have his wbhes satisfied?"
The reader remembers the exclamation of Hamlet
" Oh heaven ! a beast that wants discourse of reason, &c.

"This," says Warburton, who contrived to blunder with
more ingenuity than usually f.ills to the lot of a commenta-
tor, ' is finely expressed, and with a philosophical exactness!
Beasts want not reason," (this is a new discovery,) " but the
discourse of reason : i. e. the regular inferring one thing
from another by the assistance of universals" ! Discourse
(^'reason is so poor and perplexed a phrase, that without
regard for the " philosophical exactness" of Shakspeare, I
should dismiss it at once, lor what 1 believe to be his gcnuin*
language :
" O heaven ! a beast that wants discourse and reason." &

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

[Acr II

Montr. With your pardon, sir,
I must put in for that, since our tried friendship
Hath lasted from our infancy.

Belg. I have served

Under your command, and you hare seen me fight,
And handsomely, though I say it; and if now*,
At this downright game, I may but hold your cards
I'll not pull down the side.

Malef. sen. I rest much bound
To your so noble offers, and I hope
Shall find your pardon, though I now refuse them ;
For which I'll yield strong reasons, but as briefly
As the time will give me leave. For me to borrow
( That am supposed the weaker) any aid
From the assistance of my second's sword,
Might write me down in the black list of those
That have nor fire nor spirit of their own ;
But dare, and do, as they derive their courage
From his example, on whose help and valour
They wholly do depend. Let this suffice
In my excuse for that. Now, if you please,
On both parts, to retire to yonder mount,
Where you, as in a Roman theatre,
May see the bloody difference determined,
Your favours meet my wishes.
Malef. jun. 'Tis approved of
By me ; and I command you [To his Captains \ lead

the way,

And leave me to my fortune.
Beatif.jun, I would gladly
Be a spectator (since I am denied
To be an actor) of each blow and thrust,
And punctually observe them.
Malef. jun. You shall have
All you desire ; for in a word or two
I must make bold to entertain the time
If he give suffrage to it.

Malef. sen. Yes, I will ;
I'll hear thee, and then kill thee : nay, farewell.

Malef. jun. Embrace with love on both sides, and
Leave deadly hate and fury. [with us

Malef. sen. From this place
You ne'er shall see both living.

Belg. What's past help, is
Beyond prevention.

[They embrace on both sides, and take leave

severally of the father and son.
Malef. sen. Now we are alone, sir ;
And thou hast liberty to unload the burthen
Which thou groan'st under. Speak thy griefs.

Malef. jun. I shall, sir ;
But in a perplex'd form and method, which
You only can interpret : Would you had not
A guilty knowledge in your bosom, of

and if now.

At this downright game, 1 may but hold your cards,
I'll not pull down the side.] i. e. I'll not injure your
cause : the same expression occurs in the Grand Duke of
Florence :

" Cox. Pray you pause a little.

If I hold your cards, I shall pull down the side,
I am not good at the game."

The allusion is to * party at cards : to set up a side, was to
become partners in a game ; to pull or pluck down a side
(for both these terms are found in our old plays) wag to
occasion its loss by ignorance or treachery. Thus, in the
Parson's Wedding '.

"Pleas. A traitor! bind him, \\K\\MpuWddown a side."
And in the Maid'* Tragedy :

Evad. Aspatia, take her part.
Dela. I will refuse it,
" She will pluck down a tide, she docs not nse It"

The language which you force me to deliver,

So I were nothing ! As you are my father,

I bend my knee, and, uncompell'd, profess

My life, and all that's mine, to be your gift ;

And that in a son's duty I stand bound

To lay this head beneath your feet, and run

All desperate hazards for your ease and safety :

But this confest on my part, I rise up

And not as with a father, (all respert,

Love, fear, and reverence cast off,) but as

A wicked man, 1 thus expostulate with you.

Why have you done that which I dare not speak

And in the action changed the humble shape

Of my obedience, to rebellious rage, [me,

And insolent pride ? and with shut eyes constrain'd

To run my bark of honour on a shelf

I must not see, nor, if I saw it, shun it ?

In my wrongs nature suffers, and looks backward,

And mankind trembles to see me pursue

What beasts would fly from. For when I advance

This sword, as I must do, against your head,

Piety will weep, and filial duty mourn,

To see their altars which you built up in me,

In a moment razed and ruin'd. *That you could

(From my grieved soul I wish it) but produce,

To qualify, not excuse, your deed of horror,

One seeming reason, that I might fix here,

And move no further !

Malef. sen. Have I so far lost
A father's power, that I must give account
Of my actions to my son ? or must I plead
As a fearful prisoner at the bar, while he
That owes his being to me sits a judge
To censure that, which only by myself
Ought to he question'd ? mountains sooner fall
Beneath their valleys, and the lofty pine
Pay homage to the bramble, or what else is
Preposterous in nature, ere my tongue
In one short syllable yields satisfaction
To any doubt of thine ; nay, though it were
A certainty disdaining argument !
Since, though my deeds wore hell's black liverv,
To thee they should appear triumphal robes,
Set off with glorious honour, thou being bound
To see with my eyes, and to hold that reason,
That takes or birth or fashion from my will.

Malef. jun. This sword divides that slavish knot.
Malef. sen. It cannot :

It cannot, wretch ; and if thou but remember,
From whom thou hadst this spirit, thou dar'st not

hope it.
Who train'd thee up in arms but I ? Who taught

thee

Men were men only when they durst look down
With scorn on death and danger, and contemn'd
All opposition, till plumed Victoryt
Had made her constant stand upon their helmets?

* That you could &c.] O that, &c. This omission of the
ngn of the optative interjection is common to all our old
liamathls.

t till plumed Victory

Had made her constant stand upon their helmets?} This
noble image seems to have been copied by Milton, who
describing Satan, says,

" His stature reach'd the sky, and on his crest

Sat Horror plumed ;" .

And, in another place :

" at his right hand Victory

Sat eagle-u'ing'd."

The whole speech of Malefort here noticed is truly sublime,
nd above all commendation. COXBTJEB.

SCENE I.I

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

Under my shield thou hast fought as securely

As the young eaglet, cover'd with the wings

Of her fierce dam, learns how and where to prey.

All that is manly in thee, I call mine ;

But what is weak and womanish, thine own.

And what I gave, since thou art proud, ungrateful,

Presuming to contend with him, to whom

Submission is due, I will take from thee.

Look, therefore, for extremities, and expect not

I will correct thee as a son, hut kill thee

As a serpent swollen with poison ; who surviving

A little longer, with infectious breath,

Would render all things near him, like itself,

Contagious. Nay, now my anger's up,

Ten thousand virgins kneeling at my feet,

And with one general cry howling for mercy,

Shall not redeem thee.

Mttlef.jitn. Thou incensed Power,
Awhile forbear thy thunder ! let me have
No aid in my revenge, if from the grave
My mother

Malef. sen. Thou shalt never name her more.

[Theyfght.

BEAUFORT junior, MONTREVILLE, BELGARDE, and the
three Sea Captains, appear on the Mount.

Beanf.jitn. They are at it.

2 Copt. That thrust was put strongly home.

Montr. But with more strength avoided.

Belg. Well come in ;
He has drawn blood of him yet : well done, old

1 Capt. That was a strange miss. [cock.
Beauf.jun. That a certain hit.

[Young Malef art it slain.
3<tlg. He's fallen, the day is ours 1

2 Capt. The admiral's slain.
Montr. The father is victorious !
Belg. Let us haste

To gratulatp his conquest.

1 Capt. We to mourn
The fortune of the son.

Beauf.jun. With utmost speed .
Acquaint the governor with the good success,
That he may entertain, to his full merit,
The father of his country's peace and safety.

[They retire.

Malef. sen. Were a new life hid in each mangled

limb,

I would search, and find it : and howe'er to some
I may seem cruel thus to tyrannize
Upon this senseless flesh, I glory in it:
That I have power to be unnatural,
Is my security ; die all my fears,
And waking jealousies, which have so long
Been my tormentors! there's now no suspicion-
A fact which I alone am conscious of,
Can never be discover'd, or the cause
That call'd this duel on, I being above
All perturbations ; nor is it in
The power of fate, again make me wretched.
Re-enter BEAUFORT junior, MONTREVILLE, BELGARDE,
and the three Sea Captains.

Beatif. jun. All honour to the conqueror ! who

dares tax
My friend of treachery now ?

(Pope uses the same figure in the Odyssey 6, xix.
" Auxiliar to his son, Uljsses bears
The plumy creited helms and pointed spears
With shields indented deep in glorious wars." ED.)

Belg. I am very glad, sir, [much,

You have sped so well : but I must tell you thus
To put you in mind that a low ebb must follow
Your high swoll'n tide of happiness, you have pur-
This honour at a high price. [chased

Malef. Tis, Belgarde,
Above all estimation, and a little
To be exalted with it cannot savour
Of arrogance. That to this arm and sword
Marseilles owes the freedom of her fears,
Or that my loyalty, not long since eclipsed,
Shines now more bright than ever, are not things
To be lamented : though, indeed, they may
Appear too dearly bought, my falling glories
Being made up again, and cemented
With a son's blood. 'Tis true, he was my son,
While he was worthy ; but when he shook off
His duty to me, (which my fond indulgence,
Upon submission, might perhaps have pardon'd,)
And grew his country's enemy, I look'd on him
As a stranger to my family, and a traitor
Justly proscribed, and he to be rewarded
That could bring in his head. I know in this
That I am censured rugged, and austere,
That will vouchsafe not one sad sigh or tear
Upon his slaughter'd body : but I rest
Well satisfied in myself, being assured
That extraordinary virtues, when they soar
Too high a pitch for common sights to judge of,
Losing their proper splendour, are condenm'd
For most remarkable vices*.

Beauf.jun. 'Tis too true, sir,
In the opinion of the multitude ;
But for myself, that would be held your friend,
And hope to know you by a nearer name,
They are as they deserve, received.

Malef. My daughter
Shall thank you for the favour.

Beauf.jun. I can wish
No happiness beyond it.

1 Capt. Shall we have leave
To bear the corpse of our dead admiral,
As he enjoin'd us, from the coast ?

Malef. Provided

The articles agreed on be observed,
And you depart hence with it, making oath
Never hereafter, but as friends, to touch
Upon this shore.

1 Capt. We'll faithfully perform it.

Malef. Then as you please dispose of it : 'tis an

object

That I could wish removed. His sins die with him
So far he has my charity.

1 Capt. He shall have
A soldier's funeral.

[The Captains bear the body off" with sad music.

Malef. Farewell!

Beauf.jun. These rites

Paid to the dead, the conqueror that survives
Must reap the harvest of his bloody labour.
Sound all loud instruments of joy and triumph,
And with all circumstance and ceremony,
WaU on the patron of our liberty,
Which he at all parts merits.

* For moit remarkable vices."* Remarkable had in Mas-
singer's time a more dignified sound, and a more appro-
priate meaning, than it bears at present. With him it con-
stantly stands "for surprising, highly striking, or observable in
an uncommon degree ; of this it will be well to take notice.

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

f ACT- II.

Malef. I am honour'd
Beyond my hopes.

Beauf. jun. 'Tis short of your deserts.
Lead on : oh, sir, you must ; you are too modest.

[E.reunt with loud music.

SCENE II. A Room in MALEFORT'S House.
Enter THEOCRINE, Page, and Waiting 4V omen.

Theoc. Talk not of comfort ; I am both ways

wretched,

And so distracted with my doubts and fears,
I know not where to fix my hopes. My loss
Is certain in a father, or a brother,
Or both ; such is the cruelty of my fate,
And not to be avoided.

1 Worn. You must bear it,
With patience, madam.

2 Worn. And what's not in you

To be prevented, should not cause a sorrow
Which cannot help it.

Page. Fear not my brave lord,
Your noble father; fighting is to him
Familiar as eating. He can teach
Our modern duellists how to cleave a button,
And in a new way, never yet found out
By old Caranz.i*.

1 Worn. May he be victorious,
And punish disobedience in his son !

Whose death, in reason, should at no part move you,
He being but half your brother, and the nearness
Which that might challenge from you, forfeited
By his impious purpose to kill him, from whom
He received life. [A shout within.

2 Worn. A general shout
1 Worn. Of joy.

Page. Look up, dear lady ; sad news never came
Usher'd with loud applause.

Theoc. I stand prepared
To endure the shock of it.

Enter Usher.

Ush. I am out of breath,
With running to deliver first

Theoc. What?

Ush. We are all made.

My lord has won the day ; your brother's slain ;
The pirates gone : and by the governor,
And states, and all the men of war, he is
Brought home in triumph : nay, no musing, pay me
For my good news hereafter.

Theoc. Heaven is just ! [meet him.

Ush. Give thanks at leisure ; make all haste to
I could wish I were a horse, that I might bear you
To him upon my back.

Page. Thou art an ass,
And this is a sweet burthen.

Ush. Peace, you crack-rope ! [Exeunt,

SCENE IH. A Street.

Loud music. Enter MONTREVILLE, BELGARDE, BEAU-
FORT senior, BEAUFORT junior ; A!ALEFORT, followed
by MONTAIGNE, CHAMONT, and LANOUR.
Beauf. sen. All honours we can give you, and

rewards,

1 Lough all that's rich or precious in Marseilles
Weie laid down at your feet, can hold no weight

By old Caranxa.] See the Guardian, Vol. IV. p. 175.

With your deservings : let me glory in

Your action, as if it were mine own ;

And have the honour, with the arms of love,

To embrace the great performer of a deed

Transcending all this country e'er could boast of.

Mont. Imagine, noble sir, in what we may
Express our thankfulness, and rest assured
It shall be freely granted.

Cham. He's an enemy

To goodness and to virtue, that dares think
There's any thing within our power to give *,
Which you in justice may not boldly challenge.

Lan. And as your own ; for we will ever be
At your devotion.

Malef. Much honour'd sir,
And you, my noble lords, I can say only.
The greatness of your favours overwhelms me,
And like too large a sail, for the small bark
Of my poor merits, sinks me. That I stand
Upright in your opinions, is an honour
Exceeding my deserts, I having done
Nothing but what in dutyl stood bound to:
And to expect a recompense were base,
Good deeds being ever in themselves rewarded.
Yet since your liberal bounties tell me that
I may, with your allowance, be a suitor,
To you, my lord, I am an humble one,
And must ask that, which known, I fear you will
Censure me over bold.

Beauf. sen. It must be something
Of a strange nature, if it find from me
Denial or delay.

Malef. Thus then, my lord,
Since you encourage me : You are happy in
A worthy son, and all the comfort that
Fortune has left me, is one daughter ; now,
If it may not appear too much presumption,
To seek to match my lowness with your height
I should desire (and if I may obtain it,
I write nil ultra to my largest hopes)
She may in your opinion be thought worthy
To be received into your family,
And married to your son : their years are equal,
And their desires, I think, too; she is not
Ignoble, nor my state contemptible,
And if you think me worthy your alliance,
'Tis all I do aspire to.

Beauf. jun. You demand
That which with all the service of my life
I should have labour'd to obtain from you

sir, why are you slow to meet so fair

And noble an offer? can France shew a virgin
That may be parallel'd with her ? is she not
The pho;nix of the time, the fairest star
In the bright sphere of women?

Beauf. sen. Be not rapt so :
Though I dislike not what is motion'd, yet
In what so near concerns me, it is fit

1 should proceed with judgment.

Enter Usher, THEOCRINE, Page, and Waiting Women.

Beauf. jun. Here she comes :
Look on her with impartial eyes, and then
Let envy, if it can, name one graced feature
In which she is defective.

* Therf'i any thing within our power to give,] The old
copy incorrectly reails, There'* any other thing ^c, and in
the next speech, overwhelm for overwhelm* the last is so
common a mode of expression, that I should not have cor-
reeled it, if nnk had nut immedhtely followed.

SCENE I.]

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

Malef. Welcome girl !
My joy, my comfort, my delight, my all,
Wby dost thou come to greet my victory
In such a sable habit? this shew'd well
When thy father was a prisoner, and suspected ;
But now his faith and loyalty are admired,
Rather than doubted, in your outward garments
You are to express the joy you feel within :
Nor should you with more curiousness and care
Pace to the temple to be made a bride,
Than now, when all men's eyes are fixt upon you,
You should appear to entertain the honour
From rne descending to you, and in which
You have an equal share.

Theoc. Heaven has my thanks,
With all humility paid for your fair fortune,
And so far duty binds me ; yet a little
To mourn a brother's loss, however wicked,
The tenderness familiar to our sex
May, if you please, excuse.
Malef. Thou art deceived.
He, living, was a blemish to thy beauties,
But in his death gives ornament and lustre
To thy perfections, but that they are
So exquisitely rare, that they admit not
The least addition. Ha ! here's yet a print
Of a sad tear on thy cheek ; how it takes from,
Our present happiness ! with a father's lips
A loving father's lips, I'll kiss it off,
The cause no more remember 'd.

Theoc. You forget, sir,
The presence we are in.

Malef. 'Tis well consider'd ;
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 from 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 bloom.*,
Disdaining all adulterate aids of art,
Kept a perpetual spring upon her face,
As Death himself lamented, being forced
To blast it with his paleness : and if now [you,
Her brightness dimm'd with sorrow, take and please
Think, think, young lord, when she appears herself,
This veil removed, in her own natural pureness,
How far she will transport you.

Beauf. jun. Did she need it,

The praise which you ( and well deserved) give to her,
Must of necessity raise new desires
In one indebted more to years ; to me .
Your words are but as oil pour'd on a fire,
That flames already at the height.

Malef. No more ;

I do believe you, and let me from you
Find so much credit ; when I make her yours,
I do possess you of a gift which I
With much unwillingness part from. My good lords
Forbear your further trouble ; give me leave,
For on the sudden I am indisposed,
To retire to my own house, and rest : to-morrow,
As you command me, I will be your guest,
And having deck'd my daughter like herself,
You shall have further conference.

Beauf, sen. You are master
Of your own will : but fail not, I'll expect you.

Malef. Nay, I will be excused ; I must part with
you. [To young Beaufort and the rest.

My dearest Theocrius, give me thy hand,
I will support thee.

Theoc. You gripe it too hard, sir.

Malef. Indeed I do, but have no further end in it
But love and tenderness, such as I may challenge,
And you must grant. Thou art a sweet one ; yes,
And to be cherish'd.

Theoc. May I still deserve it !

[Exeunt several wayt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. A Banqueting Room in Beaufort's Honse.
Enter BEAUFOUT senior, and Steward.

Beauf, sen. Have you been careful ?

Stew. With my best endeavours.
Let them bring stomachs, there's no want of meat, sir,
Portly and curious viands are prepared,
To please all kinds of appetites.

Beauf. sen. 'Tis well,
I love a table furnish'd with full plenty,
And store of friends to eat it : but with this caution,
I would not have my house a common inn,
For some men that come rather to devour me,
Than to present their service. At this time, too,
It being a serious and solemn meeting,
I must not have my board pester'd with shadows*,

* / mutt not have my board pester 'd with shadows,] It
was considered, Plutarch says, as a mark of politeness, to
let an invited guest know that he was at liberty to bring a
frieixl or two with him ; a permission that was, however,
sometimes abused. These friends the Komans called
shadows, (umbra:, J a term which Massinger has very hap-
pily explained.

That, under other men's protection, break in
Without invitement.

Stew. With your favour then, [knowledge

You must double your guard , my lord, for on my
There are some so sharp set, not to be kept out
By a file of musketeers : and 'tis less danger,
I'll undertake, to stand at push of pike
With an enemy in a breach, that undermined too,
And the cannon playing on it, than to stop
One harpy, your perpetual guest, from entrance,
When the dresser, the cook's drum, thunders, Come
The service will be lost elsef ! [on,

* And, such a lovely bloom,] For this reading we are inr
debted to Mr. M. Mason. All the former editions rthd
brown; which the concluding lines of this beautiful speech
iiiconlestably prove to be a misprint.

t When the dresser, the cook's drum, Uiundert, Come on,.

The service will be lost else !] It was formerly customary
for the cook, when dinner was ready, to knock on the
dresser with his knife, by way of summoning the e-
vants to carry it into the hall; to this there are many. aUtv
ions. In the Merry eygars, Old Rents says Hatk

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

[Acr III.

Beauf.sen. What is he ?

Stem. As tall a trencherman*, that is most certain,
As e'er demolish'd pye-fortifi cation
As soon as batter'd ; and if the rim of his belly
Were not made up of a much tougher stuff
Than his buff jerkin, there were no defence
Against the charge of his guts : you needs must
He's eminent for his eating. [know him,

Beauf. sen. O, Belgarde ?

Stew. The same ; one of the admiral's cast captains,
Who swearf, there being no war, nor hope of any,
The only drilling is to eat devoutly,
And to be ever drinking that's allow'd of
But they know not where to get it, there's the spite
on't.

Beauf. sen. The more their misery ; yet, if you
For this day put him offj. [can,

Stew. It is beyond
The invention of man.

Beauf.sen. No: say this only, [Whispers to him.
And as from me ; you apprehend me 1

Stew. Yes, sir.

Beauf. sen. But it must be done gravely.

Stew. Never.doubt me, sir.

Beauf. sen. We'll dine in the great room, but let

the musick
And banquet^ be prepared here. [Exit.

Stew. This will make him

Lose his dinner at the least, and that will vex him.
As for the sweetmeats, when they are trod under

foot,

Let him take his share with the pages and the
Or scramble in the rushes. [luckies,

Enter BELGARDE.

Belg. 'Tis near twelve ;
I keep a watch within me never misses.
Save (hee, master steward !

Stew. You are most welcome, sir.

Belg. Has thy lord slept well to night 1 I come

to enquire.

I had a foolish dream, that, against my will,
Carried me from my lodging, to learn only
How he's disposed.

Stew. He's in most perfect health, sir.

Belg. Let me but see him feed heartily at dinner,
And I'll believe so too ; for from that ever
I make a certain judgment. t

hey knock to the dretter." Servants were not then al-
lowed, as at present, to frequent the kitchen, lest they should
interfere with the momentous concerns of the cook. Mr.
Reed says that this practice " was continued in the family
of Lord Fairfax" (and doubtless in that of many others)
" after the civil wars : in that nobleman's orders for the
servants of his household, is the following : Then must he
warn to the dresser, Gentlemen and yeomen, to the dresser."
OM Plays xii. 430.

Steward. .4* tall a trencherman, &c.] Tall, in the lan-
guage of our old writers, meant stout, or rnther bold and
fearless ; but tliey abused the word (of which they seem
fond) in a great variety of senses. A tall man of his hand*
was a great lighter ; a tall man of his tongue, a licentious
speaker ; and a tall man of his trencher, or, as above, a tall
trencherman, a hearty feeder. Instances of these phrases
occur so frequently, that it would be a waste of time to
dwell upon them.

i Who swear, &c.l So the old copy: the modern editors
read swears, than which nothing can be more injudicious.
J Beauf. sen. The more their misery ; yet, if you can,
For this day put him off.] This has been hitherto given
as an imperfect speech ; why, it is difficult to imagine.

but let the music

And banquet be prepared here.} That is, the dessert. See
the C'% Madam.

Stew. It holds surely
In y ur own constitution.

Belg. And in all men's,
'Tis the best symptom ; let us lose no time ;
Delay is dangerous.

Stew. Troth, sir, if I might,
Without offence, deliver what my lord has
Committed to my trust, I shall receive it
As a special favour.

Belg. We'll see it, and discourse,
As the proverb says, for health sake, after dinner.
Or rather after supper ; willingly then
I'll walk a mile to hear thee*.

Stem. Nay, good sir,
I will be brief and pithy.

Belg. Prithee be so.

Stew. He bid me say, of all his guests, that he
Stands most affected to you, for the freedom
And plainness of your manners. He ne'er observed
To twirl a dish about, you did not like of, [you

All being pleasing to you ; or to take
A sayf, of venison, or stale fowl, by your nose,
Which, is a solecism at another's table ;
But by strong eating of them, did confirm
They never were delicious, to your palate,
But when they were mortified, as the Hugonot says
And so your part grows greater; nor do you
Find fault with the sauce, keen hunger being the

best,

Which ever, to your much praise, you bring with
Nor will you with impertinent relations, [yu '.

Which is a masterpiece when meat's before you,
Forget your teeth, to use your nimble tongue,
But do the feat you come for.

Belg. Be advised,

And end your jeering : for if you proceed,
You'll feel, as I can eat I can be angry,
And beating may ensue.

Stew. I'll take your counsel,

And roundly come to the point : my lord much
That you, that are a couitier as a soldier, [wonders,
In all things else, and every day can vary
Your actions and discourse, continue constant
To this one suit.

Belg. To one ! 'tis well I have one,
Unpawn'd, in these days ; every cast commander
Is not blest with the fortune, I assure you.
But why this question 1 does this offend him ?

Stew. Not much ; but he believes it is the reason
You ne'er presume to sit above the saltj ;

* Or rather after supper ; willingly then

I'll walk a mile to hear thce.\ Alluding to the good old pro
verb, which inculcates Umperance at this meal, by recom-
mending a walk after it.

t (In edit, of 1813, Gifford has a long note to this word to
prove its distinction from assay, a trial, a proof. The same
meaning attaches to say as in Spenser's Faerie Qucene, b.
vi. c. ii.

" Which whon he spyde upon the earth t'encroach.
Through the dead carcases he made his way ;
Mongst which he found a sword of better say,
With which he forth went into th" open light."
In King Lear the word also occurs, meaning proof, and al-
though somewhat different in the application, this is evi-
dently the sense here intended. Our ancestors doubtless
considered the word synonimuus with taste. ED.)

| You ne'er presume to tit above the salt; This refers to
the manner in which our ancestors were usually seated at
their meals. The tables being long, the salt was commonly
placed about the middle, and served as a kind of boundary
to thfi different quality of the guests invited. Those of dis-
tinction were ranked above: the space below was assigned
to the dependents, inferior relations of the master of the
house, &c. It argues litt'e 'or he delicacy of our ancestor!

SCENE II]

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

And therefore, this day, our great admiral,
With other states, being invited guests,
He does entreat you to appear among them,
In some fresh habit.

Belg. This staff shall not serve
To beat the dog off ; these are soldier's garments,
And so by consequence grow contemptible.

Stew. It has stung him.

Belg. I would I were acquainted with the players,
In charity they might furnish me : but there is
No faith in brokers ; and for believing tailors,
They are only to be read of, but not seen ;
And sure they are confined to their own hells,
And there they live invisible. Well, I must not
Be fubb'd off thus : pray you report my service
To the lord governor ; I will obey him ;
And though my wardrobe's poor, rather than lose
His company at this feast, I will put on
The richest suit I have, and fill the chair _
That makes me worthy of* [Exit.

Stew. We are shut of him,
He will be seen no more here : how my fellows
Will bless me for his absence ! he had starved them,
Had he staid a little longer. Would he could,
For his own sake, shift a shirt ! and that's the utmost
Of his ambition : adieu, good captain. [Exit.

SOCNE II. The same.
Enter BEAUFORT senior, and BEAUFORT junior.

Beauf. sen. 'Tis a strange fondness.

Beauf. jun. 'Tis beyond example.
His resolution to part with his estate,
To make her dower the weightier, is nothing ;
But to observe how curious lie is
In his own person, to add ornament
To his daughter's ravishing features, is the wonder.
I sent a page of mine in the way of courtship
This morning to her, to present my service,
From whom I understand all : there he found him
Solicitous in what shape she should appear ;
This gown was rich, but the fashion stale ; the other
Was quaint, and neat, but the stuff' not rich enough :
Then does he curse the tailor, and in rage
Falls on her shoemaker, for wanting art
To express in every circumstance the form
Of her most delicate foot ; then sits in council

that they should admit of such distinctions at their board ;
but, in truth, they seem to have placed their guests below the
talt, for no better purpose than iliat of mortifying them.
Nixon, in his Strange Footpost, (F. 3.) gives a very admir-
able account, of the miseries " of a poor scholar," (Hall's
veil known satire, "A gentle squyre," &c., is a versification
of it,) from which I have taken the following characteristic
traits: " Now as for his fare, it is lightly at the cheapest
table, but he must sit under the salt, lh.it is an axiome in
such places; then, having drawne his knife leisurably, un-
folded his napkin mannerly, after twice or thrice wyping his
beard, if he have it, he may reach the bread on his knife's
point, and fall to his porrige, and between every sponefull
take as much dcliberaton, as a capon craming, lest he be out
of his porriye before they have buried part of their first
cowrie in their bellies."

(The saltcellar was a massy piece of plate with a cover of
equal dimensions. In Nicholls's Progresses of Queen Kliza-
beth, occurs a figure of one, and in Dibdin's Literary Remi-
niscences, is an engraving of one belonging to the celebrated
Archbishop Parker, it is figured half the original size, and
from it some itlea may be formed of tue dimensions of these
ancient pieces of furniture. ED.)

* and Jill the chair

That maket me worthy of. This too has been hitherto
printed as an imperfect sentence; but surely, without ne-
cessity. The meaning is, " I will fill the chair of which that
(i. e. the richest suit 1 have) makes me worthy."

With much deliberation, to find out

What tire would best adorn her; nnd one chosen,

Varying in his opinion, he tears off,

And stamps it under foot ; then tries a second,

A third, and fourth, and satisfied at length,

With much ado, in that, he grows asrain

Perplex'd and troubled where to place her jewels,

To be most mark'd, and whether she should wear

This diamond on her forehead, or between

Her milkwhite pups, disputing on it both ways ;

Then taking in his hand a rope of pearl,

(The best of France,) he seriously considers,

Whether he should dispose it on her arm,

Or on her neck ; with twenty other trifles,

Too tedious to deliver.

Beauf. sen. I have known him
From his first youth, but never yet observed,
In all the passages of his life and fortunes.
Virtues so mix'd with vices : valiant the world

speaks him,

But with that, bloody ; liberal in his gifts too,
But to maintain his prodigal expense,
A fierce extortioner ; an impotent lover
Of women for a flash*, but, his fires quench'd,
Hating as deadly : the truth is, I am not
Ambitious of this match ; nor will I cross you
In your affections.

Beauf.jun. I have. ever found you
(And 'tis my happiness) a loving father,

[Loud music.

And careful of my good : by the loud music,

As you gave order for his entertainment,

He's come into the house. Two long hours since,

The colonels, commissioners, and captains,

To pay him all the rites his worth can challenge,

Went to wait on him hither.

Enter MALEFORT, MONTAIGXE, CHAMONT, LANOUR,
MONTREVILLE, TnEOCRiNE, Usher, Page, and
Waiting Women.

Beauf. sen. You are most welcome,
And what I speak to you, does from my heart
Disperse itself to all.

Malef. You meet, my lord,
Your trouble.

Beauf. sen. Rather, sir, increase of honour,
When you are pleased to grace my house.

Beauf.jun. The favour
Is doubled on my part, most worthy sir,
Since, your fair daughter, my incomparable mistress,
Deigns us her presence.

Maltf. View her well, brave Beaufort,
But yet at distance ; you hereafter may
Make your approaches nearer, when the priest
Hath made it lawful : and were not she mine
I durst aloud proclaim it, Hymen never
Put on his saffron-colour'd robe, to change
A barren virgin name, with more good omens
Than at her nuptials. Look on her again,
Then tell me if she now appear the same
That she was yesterday.

Beauf. sen. Being herself,
She cannot but be excellent ; these rich
And curious dressings, which in others might
Cover deformities, from her take lustre,
Nor can add to her.

an impotent iover

Of women for a. flash, &c. Wild, fierce, uncontrollable in
his passions; this is a Latinism, impotens amoris, and is a
>ery strong expression.

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

[Acr III

Malef. You conceive her right,
And in your admiration of her sweetness,
You only can deserve her. Blush not, girl,
Thou art abo'-e his praise, or mine ; nor can
Obsequious Flattery, though she should use
Her thousand oil'd tongues to advance thy worth,
Give aught, (for that's impossible,) but take from
Thy more than human graces; and even then,
When she liath spent herself with her best strength,
The wrong she has done thee shall be so apparent,
That, losing her own servile shape and name,
She will be thought Detraction : but I
Forget myself ; and something whispers to me,
I have said too much.

Mont. I know not what to think on't,
But there's some mystery in it, which I fear
Will be too soon discover'd.

Malef. I much wrong

Your patience, noble sir, by too much hugging
My proper issue, and, like the foolish crow,
Believe my black brood swans.

Beauf, sen. There needs noi, sir,
The least excuse for this ; nay, I must have
Your arm, you being the master of the feast,
And this the mistress.

Theoc. I am any thing
That you shall please to make me.

Beauf. jun. Nay, 'tis yours,
Without more compliment.

.Mont*. Your will's a law, sir.

[Loud music. Exeunt Beaufort senior, Malefort,
Theocrine, Beaufort junior, Montaigne, Chamont,
Lanour, Montrevilie.

Ush. Would I had been born a lord !

1 Worn. Or I a lady !

Page. It may be you were both begot in court,
Though bred up in the city ; for your mothers,
As I have heard, loved the lobby ; and there, nightly,
Are seen strange apparitions : and who knows
But that some noble faun, heated with wine,
And cloy'd with partridge, had a kind of longing
To trade in sprats ? this needs no exposition :
But can you yield a reason for your wishes ?

Uth. Why, had I been born a lord, I had been
no servant. [waiters,

1 Worn. And whereas now necessity makes us
We had been attended on.

2 Worn. And might have slept then

As longas we pleased, and fed when we had stomachs,
And worn new clothes, nor lived, as now, in hope
Of a cast gown, or petticoat.

Page. You are fools,

And ignorant of your happiness. Ere I was sworn
To the pantoflef, I have beard my tutor
Prove it by logic, that a servant's life
Was better than his master's and by that
I learn'd from him, if that my memory fail not,
I'll make it good.

Uth. Proceed, my little wit
In decimo sexto.

Page. Thus then : from the king
To the beggar, by gradation, all are servants ,

Afont.] So the old copy: it must, however, be a mistake
f or Theoc. or rather, perhaps, for Multf.

t Ere I vat

Sworn to the pantofle,] i. e. takeu from attt>nding in the
porter's lodge, (which seem? to have been the first degree o r
tervitude,; to wait on Theocrine.

And you must grant the slavery is less
To study to please one, than many.

Ush. True. [plain

Page. Well then ; and first to you, sir, you com-
You serve one lord, but your lord serves a thousand,
Besides his passions, that are his worst masters ;
You must humour him, and he is bound to sooth
Every grim sir above him' : if he frown,
For the least neglect you fear to lose your place ;
But if, and with all slavish observation, [stool,

From the minion's self, to the groom of his close-
He hourly seeks not favour, he is sure it.]
To be eased of liis office, though perhaps he bought
Nay, more : that high disposer of all such
That are subordinate to him, serves and fears
The fury of the many -headed monster,
The giddy multitude : and, as a horse
Is still a horse, for all his golden trappings,
So your men of purchased titles, at their best, are
But serving men in rich liveries.

Ush. Most rare infant!
Where learnd'st thou this morality ?

Page. Why, thou dull pate,
As I told thee, of my tutor.

2 Worn. Now for us, boy.

Page. I am cut oft': the governor.
Enter BEAUFOHT senior, and BEAUFORT junior ; Servant*
setting forth a banquet.

Beauf. sen. Quick, quick, sirs.
See all things perfect.

Serv. Let the blame be ours else.

Beauf. sen. And, as I said, when we are at the

banquet,

And high in our cups, for 'tis no feast without it,
Especially among soldiers ; Theocrine
Being retired, as that's no place for her,
Take you occasion to rise from the table,
And lose no opportunity.

Beauf. jun. 'Tis my purpose ;
And if I can win her to give her heart,
I have a holy man in readiness
To join our hands ; for the admiral, her father,
Repents him of his grant to me, and seems
So far transported with a strange opinion
Of her fair features, that, should we defer it,
I think, ere long, he will believe, and strongly,
The dauphin is not worthy of her: I
Am much amazed with't.

Beauf. sen. Nay, dispatch there, fellows.

[Exeunt Beaufort senior and Beaufort junior.

Serv. We are ready, when you please. Sweet

formsf, your pardon !

It has been such a busy time, I could not.
Tender that ceremonious respect
Which you deserve ; but now, the great work
I will attend the less, and with all care [ended,

Observe and serve you.

he is bound to tooth

Every grim sir above htm :] Grim sir, Mr. Uodsley inju
diciouMy altered to trim sir! tor this he ishonouied withihe
approbation of Coxeter ; though nothing can be more certain
than that the old reading is rii;hi. Skelton calls Wolsey a
grim sire, and Fletcher has a similar expression in the Elder
Brother :

" Cowry. It is a faith

That we will die in ; since from the blackguard
To the/;rji sir in office, there are few
Hold other tenet i."

+ fiwett forms, &c.] This is a paltry play on words. The
form* meant by the servant, arr the Ions; benches on which
the guests were to sit. The trite pedantry of the speech ii
well exposed by the Page.

SCENE III.]

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

Page. This is a penn'd speech,
And serves as a perpetual preface to
A dinner made of fragments.

Ush. We wait on you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The same. A Banquet set forth.

Loud Music. Enter BEAUFORT senior, MALEFORT,
MONTAIGNE, CHAMONT, LANOUR, BEAUFORT junior,
MONTREVILLE, and Servants.

Beauf. sen. You are not merry, sir.

Malef. Yes, my good lord,

You have given us ample means to drown all cares :
And yet I nourish strange thoughts, which I would
Most willingly destroy. [Aside.

Beauf. sen. Pray you, take your place.

Beauf . jun. And drink a health ; and let it be,

if you please,
To the worthiest of women. Now observe him.

Malef. Give me the bowl ; since you do me the
I will begin it. [honour,

Cham. May we know her name, sir ? [queen's,

Malef. You shall ; I will not choose a foreign
Nor yet our own, for that would relish of
Tame flattery ; nor do their height of title, [ness,
Or absolute power, confirm their worth and good-
These being heaven's gifts, and frequently couferr'd
On such as are beneath them; nor will I
Name the king's mistress, howsoever she
In his esteem may carry it ; but if J,
As wine gives liberty, may use my freedom,
Not sway'd this way or that, with confidence,
(And I will make it good on any equal,)
If it must be to her whose outward form
Is better 'd by the beauty of her mind,
She lives not that with justice can pretend
An interest to this so sacred health,
But my fair daughter. He that only doubts it,
I do pronounce a villain : this to her, then.

[Drinks.

Mont. What may we think of this ?

Beauf. sen. It matters not.

Lan. For my part, I will sooth him, rather than
Draw on a quarrel *.

Cham. It is the safest course ;
And one I mean to follow.

Beauf. jun. It has gone round, sir. [Exit.

Malef. Now you hare done her right ; if there
Worthy to second this, propose it boldly, [be any
I am your pledge.

Beauf. sen. Let's pause here, if you please,
And entertain the time with something else.
\Iusic there ! in some lofty strain ; the song too
That I gave order for ; the new one, call'd
The Soldier's Delight. [Music and a song.

Enter BELGARDE in armour, a case of carbines by
his side.

Belg. Who stops me now ?
Or who dares only say that I appear not
In the most rich and glorious habit that
Renders a man complete ? What court so set off

Draw on a quarrel.] This has hitherto been printed,
Draw on a quarrel, Chamont ; and the next speech given
to Montreville. It is not very probable that the latter
should reply to an observation addressed to Charaont, with
whom he does not appear to be familiar: and besides, the
excess of metre seems to prove that the name has sliptfrom
the margin of the succeeding line into the text of this.

With state and ceremonious pomp, but, thus
Accoutred, I may enter ? Or what feast,
Though all the elements at once were ransack'd
To store it with variety transcending
The curiousness and cost on Trajan's birthday ;
(Where princes only, and confederate kings,
Did sit as guests, served and attended on
By the senators of Rome), at which a soldier,
In this his natural and proper shape,
Might not, and boldly, fill a seat, and by
His presence make the great solemnity
More honour'd and remarkable ?

Beauf. sen. Tis acknowledged ;
And this a grace done to me unexpected.

Mont. But why in armour ?

Malef. What's the mystery ?
Pray you, reveal that.

iBelg. Soldiers out of action,
That very rare * * * *
* * * * but, like unbidden guests.
Bring their stools with them, for their own defence J,
At court should feed in gauntlets, they may have
Their fingers cut else : there your carpet knights.
That never charged beyond a mistress' lips,
Are still most keen, and valiant. But to you,
Whom it does most concern, my lord, I will
Address my speech, and with a soldier's freedom
In my reproof, return the bitter scoff
You threw upon my poverty : you contemn'd
My coarser outside, and from that concluded

* at which a soldier &c.] The old copy

reads, tat with a soldier. The emendation, which is a very
happy one, was made by Mr. M. Mason. The corruption is
easily accounted for: the primer mistook the second paren-
thesis foi an s, and having uiven sat for at, was obliged to
alter the next word, to make sense of the line. This will
be understood at once by a reference to the quarto, where
the first parenthesis only appears, which was therefore
omitted by the succeeding editors. I know not where Mas-
singer found this anecdote of Trajan ; he wa<, indeed, a
magnificent, and, in some cases, an ostentatious prince ;
but neither his pride, nor his prudence, I believe, would
have allowed the " senators of Rome" to degrade them-
selves by wailing on the allies of the republic.

t Belg. Soldier* out of action,

That very rare, **

* * but, like unbidden guests

Bring their stools with them, &c.l So I have ventured to
print this passage, being persuaded that a line is lost. The
breaks c innot be filled up, but the sense might be, Soldiers
out of action, that very rarely find seats reserved for them,
i. e. arc invited, but, like, &c. How the mudern editors
understood this passage I know not but, they all give it thus.

Belg. Soldier f out of action.
That very rare, but like unbidden guests
JBrinu &c.

This custom of guests, who are uninvited bringing their
scats with them, is frequently referred to by our old writers:
so Rowley :

Widuw. What cope.'mate's this trow ? Who let him in 1

Jarvis. By this light, a fellow of an excellent breeding;
he came unbidden, and brought his stool with him.
J for their own defence,

At court should feed in gauntlets, they may have
Their fingers cut else: Here is the bon-mot for which
Quin was so much celebrated that "at city leasts it was
neither safe nor prudent to help one's self without a basket-
hilted knife." Massinger got it, I suppose, from Barclay's
second Eclogue, which has great merit for the lime in which
it was written:

" If the dishe be pleasaunt eyther fleshe or fislie,

Ten handes at once swarme in the dishe

To put there tliy handes is peril without fayle.
Without a yauntltt, or els a ylove ofmayle ;
Among all those knives, thou one of both must have,
Or eli it is harde thy fingers to save."

Where Barclay found it, I cannot tell ; but there is something
of the kind in Diogenes Laertius. " There a nothing new
under the sun ! "

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

[Acr III

(As by your groom you made me understand)
I was unworthy to sit at your table,
Among these tissues and embroideries,
Unless I changed my habit : I have done it,
And show myself in that which I have worn
In the heat and fervour of a bloody fight ;
Arid then it was in fashion, not as now,
Ridiculous and despised. This hath past through
A wood of pikes, and every one aim'd at it,
Yet scorn'd to take impression from their fury :
With this, as still you see it, fresh and new,
I've charged through fire that would have singed
your sables, [colour

Black fox, and ermines, and changed the proud
Of scarlet, though of the r'ght Tyrian die.
But now, as if the trappings made the man,
Such only are admired that come adorn'd
With what's no part of them. This is mine own,
My richest suit, a suit I must not part from,
But not regarded now : and yet remember,
'Tis we that bring you in the means of feasts,
Banquets, and revels, which, when you possess,
With barbarous ingratitude you deny us
To be made sharers in the harvest, which
Our sweat and industry reap'd, and sow'd for you.
The silks you wear, we with our blood spin for you ;
This massy plate, that with the ponderous weight
Does make your cupboards crack, we (unaffrighted
With tempests, or the long and tedious way,
Or dreadful monsters of the deep, that wait
With open jaws still ready to devour us,)
Fetch from the other world. Let it not then,
In after ages, to your shame be spoken,
That you, with no relenting eyes, look on
Our wants that feed your plenty : or consume,
In prodigal and wanton gifts on drones,
The kingdom's treasure, yet detain from us
The debt that with the hazard of our lives,
We have made you stand engaged for ; or force us,
Against all civil government, in armour
To require that, which with all willingness
Should be tender'd ere demanded.

Beauf. sen. I commend

This wholesome sharpness in you, and prefer it
Before obsequious lameness ; it shews lovely :
Nor shall the rain of your good counsel fall
Upon the barren sands, but spring up fruit*,
Such as you long have wish'd for. And the rest
Of your profession, like you, discontented
For want of means, shall in their present payment
Be bound to praise your boldness : and hereafter
I will take order you shall have no cause,
For want of change, to put your armour on,
But in the face of an enemy ; not as now,
Among your friends. To that which is due to you,
To furnish you like yourself, of mine own bounty
I'll add two hundred crowns.

Cham. I, to my power,
"Will follow the example.

Mont. Take this, captain,
Tis all my present store ; but when you please,
Command"^ me further.

Lan. I could wish it more.

Belg. This is the luckiest jest ever came from me.
Let a soldier use no other scribe to draw
The form of his position. This will speed

but spring tip fruit,] i. e. cauie it to

spring up- This sense of the word isr familiar to Massing
and liu contemporaries,

When your thrice-humble supplications,
With prayers for increase of health and honours
To their grave lordships, shall, as soon as read,
Be pocketed up, the cause no more remember'd j
When this dumb rhetoric Well, I have a life,
Which I, in thankfulness for your great favours,
My noble lords, when you please to command it,
Must never think mine own. Broker, be happy,
These golden birds fly to thee. [Exit.

Beauf'. sen. You are dull, sir,
And seem not to be taken with the passage
You saw presented.

Malef. Passage ! I observed none,
My thoughts were elsewhere busied. Ha ! she is
In danger to be lost, to be lost for ever,
If speedily I come not to her rescue,
For so my genius tells me.

Montr. What chimeras
Work on your fantasy ?

Malef. Fantasies! they are truths.
Where is my Theocrine ? you have plotted
To rob me of my daughter ; bring me to her,
Or I'll call down the saints to witness for me,
You are inhospitable.

Beauf. sen. You amaze me.

Your daughter's safe, and now exchanging courtship
With my son, her servant*. Why do you hear this
With such distracted looks, since to that end
You brought her hither ?

Malef. Tis confess'd I did ;

But now, pray you, pardon me ; and, if you please,
Ere she delivers up her virgin fort,
I would observe what is the art he uses
In planting his artillery against it :
She is my only care, nor must she yield,
But upon noble terms.

Beauf. sen. 'Tis so determined.

Malef. Yet I am jealous.

Mont. Overmuch, I fear.
What passions are these ?

Beauf. sen. Come, I will bring you
Where you, with these, if they so please, may see
The love-scene acted.

Montr. There is something more
Than fatherly love in this.

Mont. We wait upon you. [Exeunt

SCENE IV. Another Room in BEAUFORT'S Houu.
Enter BEAUFORT junior, and THEOCRINE.

Beauf. jun. Since then you meet my flames with

equal ardour,

As you profess, it is your bounty, mistress,
Nor must I call it debt ; yet 'tis your glory,
That your excess supplies my want, and makes me
Strong in my weakness, which could never be,
But in your good opinion.

Theoc. You teach me, sir,
What I should say ; since from your sun of favour,

* Your daughter's safe, and now exchanging courtship
With my son, her servant.] Servant was at ihis time the
invariable term for a suitor, who, in return, called the object
of his addresses, mistreat. Thus Shirley, Cone example
for all,)

" Bon. What's the gentleman she has married?
Serv. A man of pretty fortune, that has been
Her servant many years.

Htm. How do you mean,
Wantonly, or docs he serve for wages?
Serv. Neither; I mean her tuitur."

6CENE II.]

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

I, like dim Phoebe, in herself obscure,
Borrow that light I have.

Beauf. jun. Which you return
With large increase, since that you will o'ercome,
And I dare not contend, were you but pleased
To make what's yet divided one.

Theoc. I have

Already in my wishes ; modesty
Forbids me to speak more.

Beanf.jun. But what assurance,
But still without offence, may I demand,
That may secure me that your heart and tongue
Join to make harmony.

Theoc. Choose any,

Suiting your love, distinguished from lust,
To ask, and mine to grant.

Enter, behind, BEAUFORT senior, MALEFORT,
MONTREVILLE, and the rest.

Beauf. sen. Yonder they are.

Malef. At distance too ! 'tis yet well.

Beanf.jun. I may take then
This hand, and with a thousand burning kisses,
Swear 'tis the anchor to my hopes 1

Theoc. You may, sir.

Malef. Somewhat too much.

Beaiif.jun. And this done, view myself
In these true mirrors ?

Theoc. Ever true 1o you, sir :
And may they lose the ability of sight,
When they seek other object !

Malef. This is more
Thiin 1 can give consent to.

Beauf. jun. And a kiss
Thus printed on your lips, will not distaste you * 1

Malef. Her lips ! [tracted?

Montr. Why, where should he kiss ? are you dis-

Beauf.jun. Then, when this holy man hath made
it lawful [Brings in a Priest.

Malef, A priest so ready too ! I must break in.

Beanf.jun. And what's spoke here is register'd
I must engross those favours to myself [above ;
Which are not to be named.

Theoc. All I can give,
But what they are I know not.

Beaiif.jun. I'll instruct you.

Malef. O how my blood boils !

Montr. Pray you, contain yourself;
Methinks his courtship's modest f.

Beanf.jun. Then being mine,
And wholly mine, the river of your love
To kinsmen and allies, nay, to your father,
( Howe'er out of his tenderness he admires you,)
Must in the ocean of your affection
To me, be swallow'd up, and want a name,
Compared with what you owe me.

Theoc. 'Tis most fit, sir.

The stronger bond that binds me to you, must
Dissolve the weaker.

Malef. I am ruin'd, if
I come not fairly off.

* Beauf. jun. And a kist

Tims printed on your lips, will not distaste yoji ?] i. e.
displease you : the word perpetually lecnrs in this sense.

t Met/links his courtship's modest.] For his the modern
editors have this. The change is unnecessary. The next
speecn, as Mr. G ilchrist observes, bears a distant resemblance
to the nrst sonnet of Daniel to Delia:
" Unto the boundlesse ocean of thy beantic

Runnes this poor river, charg'rt with streames of zeale,

Returning thee the tribute of my diitie.

Which here my love, my truth, my plaints reveale."

Jieauf. sen. There's nothing wanting
But your consent.

Malef. Some strange invention aid me !
This ! yes, it must be so. [Aside

Montr. Why do you stagger,

When what you seem'd so much to wish, is offer'd,
Both parties being agreed too * ?

Beauf. sen. I'll not court

A grant from you, nor do I wrong your daughter,
Though I say my son deserves her.

Malef. 'Tis far from

My humble thoughts to undervalue him
I cannot prize too high : for howsoever
From my own fond indulgence I have sung
Her praises with too prodigal a tongue.
That tenderness laid by, I stand confirm'd
All that I fancied excellent in her,
Balanced with what is really his own,
Holds weight in <jo proportion.

Montr. New turnings !

Beauf. sen. Whither tends this ?

Malef. Had you observed, my lord,
With what a sweet gradation he woo'd,
As I did punctually, you cannot blame her,
Though she did listen with a greedy ear
To his fair modest offers : but so great
A good as then flow'd to her, should have been
With more deliberation entertain'd,
And not with such haste swallow'd : she shall first
Consider seriously what the blessing is,
And in what ample manner to give thanks for't,
And then receive it. And though I shall think
Short minutes years, till it be perfected f>
I will defer that which I most desire ;
And so must she, till longing expectation,
That heightens pleasure, makes her truly know
Her happiness, and with what outstretch'd anna
She must embrace it.

Beaiif.jun. This is curiousness
Beyond example $.

Malef. Let it then begin

From me : in what's mine own I'll use my will,
And yield no further reason. I lay claim to
The liberty of a subject. Fall not off,
But be obedient, or by the hair
I'll drag thee home. Censure me as you please,
I'll take my own way. O the inward fires
That, wanting vent, consume me !

[Eiit with Theocrine.

Montr. 'Tis most certain
He's mad, or worse.

Beauf. sen. How worse ?

Both parties being agreed too ?] The old copy gives this
hemistich to Beaufort junior, and is probably rilit, as Male-
fort had by this time interposed between the lovers. The
alteration is by Coxeter. For to, which stands in all the
editions, I read too. It should be observed that our old writers
usually spell those two words alike, leaving the sense to be
discovered by the context (omitted in edit. 1813).

t till it be perfected,] The old orthography v a

perfitted, a mode of spelling much better adapted to poetry,
anil which I am sorry we have suti'ered to grow obsolete.

t Beauf. jun. This is curiousness

Beyond example.} i. e. a refined and over scrupulous con-
sideration of the subject. So ihe word is frequently applied
by our old writeis. (It occurs again in the " Parliament of
Love," Act. i, sc.4; and in the Works of Tyndall, folio
p 67, I find the following apposite illustration of this ex
pression, " Be diligent, therefore, that those be not deceaved
with curiousnes. For me of no small reputation have been
deceaved with their owne sophistry." Eu.)

$ Beauf. sen. How worse.'} This shoit speech is not
appropriated in the old copy. Dodsley gives it to the present

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

ACT IV.

Montr. Nay, there I leave you ;
My thoughts are free.

'Beauf.jun. This I foresaw.
Beauf. sen. Take comfort,

He shall walk in clouds, but I'll discover him :
And he shall find and feel, if he excuse not,
And with strong reasons, this gross injury,
I can make use of my authority. [Exeunt

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A Room in MALEFORT'S House.
Enter MALEFORT.

What flames are these my wild desires fan in me ?
The torch that feeds then was not lighted at
Thy altars, Cupid : vindicate thyself,
And do not own it ; and confirm it rather,
That this infernal brand, that turns me cinders,
Was by the snake-hair'd sisters thrown into
My guilty bosom. O that I was ever
Accurs'd in having issue ! my son's blood,
(That like the poison'd shirt of Hercules
Grows to each part about me,) which my hate
Forced from him with much willingness, may admit
Some weak defence ; but my most impious love
To my fair daughter Theocrine, none ;
Since my affection (rather wicked lust)
That does pursue her, is a greater crime
Than any detestation, with which
I should afflict her innocence. With what cunning
I have betrav'd myself*, and did not feel
The scorching heat that now with fury rages !
Why was I tender of her ? cover 'd with
That fond disguise, this mischief stole upon me.
I thought it no offence to kiss her often.
Or twine mine arms about her softer neck t,
And by false shadows of a father's kindness
I long deceived myself : but now the effect
Is too apparent. How I strove to be
In her opinion held the worthiest man
In courtship, form, and feature ! envying him
That was preferr'd before me ; and yet then
My wishes to myself were not discover'd.
But still my fires increased, and with delight
I would call her mistress J, willingly forgetting
The name of daughter, choosing rather she
Should style me servant, than, with reverence,
father :

speaker, and is evidently right. M. Mason follows Coxeter,
who gives it to no one I

* With what cunning

I have betrayed myself, 4-c.l Gifford, in the edition of
1813, icm.irks on this speech that it is a close translation of
the description of the fatal passion of Byblis, by Ovid, to
whom I must refer the reader for the parallel passage.
Mttamorph, Lib. ix, 456. Ki> )

t Or twine mine arms about her softer neck,] i. e. her soft
neck: our oil poets frequently adopt, and indeed with sin-
gular good taste, the comparative for the positive. Thus, in
a very pretty passage in the Combat of Love and, friend-
ship, by R. Mead :

" When I shall sit circled within yonr armes,
How shall I cast a blemish on your honour,
And appear onely like tome falter stone,
Placed in a ring of gold, which growi a jewel
But from the seat which holds it!"

And indeed Massinger himself furnishes numerous instances
of this practice ; one occurs just below:

" which jour gentler temper,

On my submission, 1 hope, will pardon."
Another we have already hart, in the Viryin-Martyr :

" Jud-ge not my readier will by the event."
t / would call her mistress, &c.] See note to Act iii, tc. 4.
ante

Yet, waking, I ne'er cherish'd obscene hopes *,
But in my troubled slumbers often thought
She was too near to me, and then sleeping blush'd
At my imagination ; which pass'd,
(My eyes being open not condemning it,)
I was ravish'd with the pleasure of the dream.
Yet spite of these temptations I have reason
That pleads against them, and commands me to
Extinguish these abominable fires ;
And I will do it ; I will send her back
To him that loves her lawfully. Within there !
Enter THEOCRINE.

Theoc. Sir, did you call ?

Malef. I look no sooner on her,
But all my boasted power of reason leaves me.
And passion again usurps her empire.
Does none else wait me ?

Theoc. I am wretched, sir,
Should any owe more duty ?

Malef. This is worse
Than disobedience ; leave me.

Theoc. On my knees, sir,
As I have ever squared my will by yours,
And liked and loath'd with your eyes, I beseech yoa
To teach me what the nature of my fault is,
That hath incensed you ; sure 'tis one of weakness
And not of malice) which your gentler temper,
On my submission, I hope, will pardon :
Which granted by your piety, if that I,
Out of the least neglect of mine hereafter,
Make you remember it, may I sink ever
Under your dread command, sir.

Malef. O my stars !
Who can but doat on this humility, [ters

That sweetens Lovely in her tears ! The fet-

That seem'd to lessen in their weight but now t>
But this grow heavier on me.

Yet waking, / nt'er cherish'd obscene hopes,] The old
copy read<, Yet mocking, if this be the genuine word, it
must mean " notwithstanding my wanton abuse of the terms
mentioned above, I never cherished," &c. this is certainly
not defective in sense ; but the rest of the sentence calls no
loudly for waking, that I have not scrupled to insert it in
the text; the corruption, at the press, was sufficiently easy.

t Malef. O my stars !

Who can but doat on this humility,

That sweetens Lovely in her tears! The fetter*,

That seem'd to lessen in their weight but nmo,

By this grow heavier on me.] So I venture to point the
passage : it is abrupt, and denotes the distracted state of the
speaker's mind. It stands thus in Mr. Af. Mason :

Malef. O my stars .' who can but doat on this humility

That sweetens 'lovely in her tears) the fetters

That seem'd to lessen in their weight ; but now

By this grow heavier on me.

Coxete* follows the old copies, which only differ from this,
in placing a note of interrogation after teart. Both are
evidently wrong, because unintelligible.

The reader must not be surprised at the portentous verse
which begins the quotation from Mr. M. Mason. Neither
he, nor Coxeter, nor Dodsley, reems to have had the smallest
solicitude (1 will not say knowledge) respecting th>- metre
of their author : and Massinger, the most harmonious of
poets, appears, in their desultory pages, as imiuncablc a
Marstou or Donne*

SCENE I.]

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

Theoc. Dear sir.

Malef. Peace !
T must not hear thee.

Theoc. Nor look on me ?

Malef. No,
Thv looks and words are charms.

Theoc. May they have power then
To calm the tempest of your wrath ! Alas, sir,
Did I but know in what I give offence,
In my repentance I would show my sorrow
For what is past, and, in my care hereafter,
Kill the occasion, or cease to be ;
Since life, without your favour, is to me
A load I would cast off.

Malef. O that my heart
Were rent in sunder, that I mght expire,
The cause in my death buried* ! yet I know not
With such prevailing oratory 'tis begg'd from me,
That to deny thee would convince me to
Have suck'd the milk of tigers : rise, and I,
t But in a perplex'd and mysterious method,
Will make relation : That which all the world
A dmires and cries up in thee for perfections,
Are to unhappy me foul blemishes,
And mulcts in nature. If thou hadst been born J
Deform 'd and crooked in the fe itures of
Thy body, as the manners of th y mind ;
Moor-lipp'd, flat-nosed, dim-eyed, and beetle-brow'd
With a dwarf's stature to a giant's waist ;
Sour-breath'd, with claws for fingers on thy hands,
Splay-footed, gouty-legg'd, and over all
A loathsome leprosy had spread itself,
And made thee shunn'd of hum.in fellowships ;
I had been blest.

Theoc. Why, would you wish a monster
(For such a one, or worse, you have described)
To call you father ?

Malef. Rather than as now,
(Though I had drown'd thee for it in the sea,)
Appearing, as thou dost, a new Pandora,
With Juno's fair cow-eyes {, Minerva's brow,
Aurora's blushing cheeks. Hebe's fresh youth,
Venus' soft paps, with Thetis' silver feet.

Theoc. Sir, you have liked and loved them, and
oft forced,

* The cam* in my death buried !] yet I know not.

Meaning, 1 appiehend, that his incestuous passion was per-
haps suspected. As tliis passage hath been hitherto pointed,
it was not lo be understood.

t But in a perplex'd and mysterious method,] We have
already had this expression from the son :

'' But in a perplex'd form and method," &c., Actii, sc. 1.
And mulling c.m more stronly express the character of this
most vicious father, whose crimes were too horrible for his
eon to express, and whose wishes are too flagitious for his
(laughter lo hear.

* If thou hadst been born, &c.] Thus in K ing John :
" If thon, that bid'nt me be content, wert grim,

I'gly, and Mand'rons to thy mother's womb,
Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,
Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-otiending marks,
I would not care, I then would be content ;
For ihen I should not love thee ;" COXETER.
With Juno'* fair cow-eyes, &c.] These lines of Mas-
singer are an immediate translation from a pretty Greek
epigram :

Ofifiar' x 'C Hpjjc, MtXirr;, rac XP a C AOqvjjc.,
Tc wac. Ila^iJjc., ra fffvpa rijc. QtTiSof, &c.

Do DO.

These cote-eyes, however, make but a sorry kind of an ap-
pearance in English poetry ; but so it ever will be when the
figurative terms of one languagg are literally applied to
nether. See the Emperor of the East.

With your hyperboles of praise pour'd on them,
My modesty to a defensive red, [pleased

Strew'd o'er that paleness, which you then were
To style the purest white.

Malef. And in that cup
I drank the poison I now feel dispersed
Through every vein and artery. Wherefore art thou
So cruel to me ? This thy outward shape
Brought a fierce war against me, not to be
By flesh and blood resisted : but to leave me
No hope of freedom, from the magazine
Of thy mind's forces, treacherously thou drew'st up
Auxiliary helps to strengthen that
Which was already in itself too potent.
Thy beauty gave the first charge, but thy duty,
Seconded with thy care and watchful studies
To please, and serve my will, in all that might
Raise up content in me, like thunder brake through
All opposition ; and, my ranks of reason
Disbanded, my victorious passions fell
To bloody execution, and compell'd me
With willing hands to tie on my own chains,
And, with a kind of flattering joy, to glory
In my captivity.

Theoc. I, in this you speak, sir,
Am ignorance itself.

Malef. And so continue ;

For knowledge of the arms thou bear'st against me,
Would make thee curse thyself, but yield no aids
For thee to help me ; and twere cruelty
In me to wound that spotless innocence,
Howe'er it make me guilty. In a wprd,
Thy plurisy * of goodness is thy ill ;
Thy virtues vices, and thy humble lowness
Far worse than stubborn sullenness and pride ;
Thy looks, that ravish all beholders else,
As killing as the basilisk's, thy tears,
Express'd in sorrow for the much I suffer,
A glorious insultation t, and no sign
Of pity in thee : and to hear thee speak
In thy defence, though but in silent action,
Would make the hurt, already deeply fester'd,
Incurable : and therefore, as thou wouldst not
By thy presence raise fresh furies to torment me,
I do conjure thee by a father's power,
(And 'tis my curse I dare not think it lawful
To sue unto thee in a nearer name,)
Without reply to leave me.

Theoc. My obedience

Never learn 'd yet to question your commands,
But willingly to serve them ; yet I must,
Since that your will forbids the knowledge of
My fault, lament my fortune. [Exit.

'Malef. O that 1

Have reason to discern the better way,
And yet pursue the worse J ! When I look on her,
I burn with heat, and in her absence freeze
With the cold blasts of jealousy, that another

* Thy plurUy of yoodness is thy ill ;} i. e. thy superabtfn
dance of goodness : the thought is from Shakspeare :
" For goodness, growing to a plurisy,

Dies in his own too much."

For thy, the old copy reads the; it is, however, an evident
error of the pres.

t A glorious instillation,] used in the senst of gloriosus.
See note to Act. i, sc. I.
} Mal.-f. O that /

Have reason to diseern the better tray,
And yet pursue the worse!} This had been said before b>
Medea :

video meliora, proboque,

Deteriora sequor.

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

[Acr IV.

Should e'er taste those delights that are denied me ;
And which of these afflictions brings less torture,
I hardly can distinguish : Is there then
No mean ? No ; so my understanding tells me,
And that by my cross fates it is determined
That I am both ways wretched.

Enter Usher and MONTREVILLE.
Usher. Yonder he walks, sir,
In much vexation : he hath sent my lady,
His daughter, weeping in ; but what the cause is,
Rests yet in supposition.

Montr. I guess at it,

But must be further satisfied ; I will sift him
In private, therefore quit the room.

Usher. I am gone, sir. L^ 1 '*-

Malef. Ha ! who disturbs me ? Montreville ! your

pardon.

Montr. Would you could grant one to yourself !
With the assurance of a friend, and yet, [I speak it
Before it be too late, make reparation
Of the gross wrong your indiscretion offer'd
To the governor and his son ; nay, to yourself ;
For there begins my sorrow.

Malef. Would I had
No greater cause to mourn, than their displeasure !

For I dare justify

Montr. We must not do *

All that we dare. We're private, friend. I observed
Your alterations with a stricter eye,
Perhaps, than others ; and. to lose no time
In repetition, your strange demeanour
To your sweet daughter.

Malef. Would you could find out
Some other theme to treat of.

Montr. None but this ;
And this I'll dwell on ; how ridiculous,

And subject to construction

Malef. No more !

Montr. You made yourself, amazes me, and if
The frequent trials interchanged between us
Of love and friendship, be to their desert
Esteem'd by you, as they hold weight with me,
No inward trouble should be of a shape
So horrid to yourself, but that to me
You stand bound to discover it, and unlock
Your secret'st thoughts ; though the most innocent
Loud crying sins. [were

Malef. And so, perhaps, they are :
And therefore be not curious to learn that
Which, known, must make you hate me.

Montr. Think not so.

I am yours in right and -wrong ; nor shall you find
A verbal friendship in me, but an active ;
And here I vow, 1 shall no sooner know
What the disease is, but, if you give leave,
I will apply a remedy. Is it madness ?
t I am familiarly acquainted with

* We mutt not do, &c.] This and the two next speeches
are jumbled entirely out of metre by the modern editors.
It geems odd that they should not know whether they were
printing prose or verse

+ / am familiarly acquainted with a deep-read man,
That can with charms and herbs] So the lines stand in
all the editions: upon which Mr. M. Mason remarks, for
the first time, that the metre requires a different division.
This is well thought of I In his edition, the Unnatural
Combat stands towards the end of the third volume, and, to
speak moderately, I have already corrected his versification
in a hundred places within the compass of at many pages:
Bay, of the little which has passed since the entrance of
Montreville, nearly a moiety has undergone a new arrange-
ment.

A deep-read man, that can with charms and herbs
Restore you to your reason ; or suppose
You are bewitch' d ? he with more potent spells
And magical rites shall cure you. Is't heaven's
anger ?

With penitence and sacrifice appease it :

Beyond this, there is nothing that lean
Imagine dreadful ; in your fame and fortunes
You are secure ; your impious son removed too,
That render'd you suspected to the state ;

And your fair daughter

Malef. Oh ! press me no further. [hath she

Montr. Are you wrung there ! Why, what of her?
Made shipwreck of her honour, or conspired
Against your life? or seal'd a contract with
The devil of hell, for the recovery of
Her young Inamorato ?

Malef. None of these;

And yet, what must increase the wonder in you,
Being innocent in herself, she hath wounded me
But where, enquire not. Yet, I know not how
I am persuaded, from my confidence
Of your vow'd love to me, to trust you with
My dearest secret ; pray you chide me for it,
But with a kind of pity, not insulting
On my calamity.
Montr. Forward.

Malef. This same daughter

Montr. What is her fault ?
Malef. She is too fair to me.
Montr. Ha ! how is this?
Malef. And I have look'd upon her
More than a father should, and languish to
Enjoy her as a husband.
Montr. Heaven forbid it !

Malef. And this is all the comfort you can give me !
Where are your promised aids, your charms, your

herbs,

Your deep-read scholar's spells and magic rites?
Can all these disenchant me ? No, I must be
My own physician, and upon myself
Practise a desperate cure.

Montr. Do not contemn me :
Enjoin me what you please, with any bazar 1
I'll undertake it. What means have you practised
To quench this hellish fire ?

Malef. All I could think on,
But to no purpose ; and yet sometimes absence
Does yield a kind of intermission to
The fury of the fit.

Montr. See her no more, then.
Malef. 'Tis my last refuge, and 'twas my intent,
And still 'tis, to desire your help.

Montr. Command it. [are

Malef. Thus then : you have a fort, of which you
The absolute lord, whither, I pray you, bear her :
And that the sight of her may not again
Nourish those flames, which I feel something lessen'd
By all the ties of friendship I conjure you,
And by a solemn oath you must confirm it,
That though my now calm'd passions should rage

higher

Than ever heretofore, and so compel me
Once more to wish to see her ; though I use
Persuasions mix'd with threatnings, (nay, add to it.
That I, this failing, should with hands held up thus
Kneel at your feet, and bathe them with tears
Prayers or curses, vows, or imprecations,
Only to look upon her, though at distance
j You still must be obdurate.

SCENE II.]

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT

Montr. If it be

Your pleasure, sir, that I shall be unmoved,
I will endeavour.

Malef. You must swear to be
Inexorable, as you would prevent
The greatest mischief to your friend, that fate
Could throw upon him.

Montr. Well, I will obey you.
But how the governor will be answer'd yet,
And 'tis material, is not consider'd.

Malef. Leave that to me. I'll presently give order
How you shall surprise her ; be not frighted with
Her exclamations.

Montr. Be you constant to
Your resolution, I will not fail
In what concerns my part.

Malef. Be ever bless'd for't ! [Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Street.
Enter BEAUFORT junior, CHAMONT, and LANOUR.

Cham. Not to be spoke with, say you 1

Beanf.jun. No.

Lan. Nor you
Admitted to have conference with her?

Beauf.jun. Neither.

His doors are fast lock'd up, and solitude
Dwells round about them, no access allow'd
To friend or enemy ; but

Cham. Nay, be not moved, sir;
Let his passion work, and, like a hot-rein'd horse*,
'Twill quickly tire itself.

Beauf.jun. Or in his death,
Which, for her sake, 'till now I have forborn,
I will revenge the injury he hath done to
My true and lawful love.

Lan. How does your father,
The governor, relish it ?

Beauf.jun. Troth, he never had
Affection to the match ; yet in his pity
To me, he's gone in person to his house,
Nor will he be denied ; and if he find not
Strong and fair reasons, Malefort will hear from him
In a kind he does not look for.

Cham. In the mean time.
Pray you put on cheerful looks.

Enter MONTAIGNE.

Beauf.jun. Mine suit my fortune.

Lan, O here's Montaigne.

Mont. I never could have met you
More opportunely. I'll not stale the jest
By my relation f ; but if you will look on
The malecontent Belgarde, newly rigg'd up,

-and, like a hot-rein'd horse,

ana, iitte a noi-rei7i a nurse,

'Twill quickly tire itself.} This is from Shakspeare,

" Anger is like

A full hot horse, who being allow'd his way,
Sclf-metlle tires him." COXETER.

t I'll not stale the jest

By my relation ,-] i. e. render it flat, deprive it of zest by
previous intimation. This is one of a thousand instances
which might be brought to prove that the true reading in
Coriotanttt, Act. I. sc. i. is,
" I shall tell you

A pretty tale ; it may be, yon have heard it ;
But since it serves my purpose, I will venture
To stale't a little more."

With the train that follows him, 'twill be *n object
Worthy of your noting.

Beauf.jun. Look you the comedy
Make good the prologue, or the scorn will dwell
Upon yourself.

Mont. I'll hazard that ; observe now.

BELGARDE comes out in a gallant habit ; ttays at the
door with his sword drawn.

Several voices within. Nay, captain ! glorious

captain !

Belg. Fall back, rascals !
Do you make an owl of me ? this day I will

Receive no more petitions. -

Here are bills of all occasions, and all sizes !
If this be the pleasure of a rich suit, would I were
Again in my buff jerkin, or my armour !
Then I walk'd securely by my creditors' noses,
Not a dog marked me ; every officer shunn'd me,
And not one lousy prison would receive me :
But now, as the ballad says, I am turn d gallant,
There does not live that thing I owe a sous to,
But does torment me. A faithful cobler told me,
With his awl in his hand, I was behind hand with

him

For setting me upright, and bade me look to myself.
A sempstress too, that traded but in socks,
Swore she would set a Serjeant on my back
For a borrow'd shirt : my pay, and the benevolence
The governor and the states bestow 'd upon me,
The city cormorants, ray money-mongers,
Have swallow'd down already ; they were sums,
I grant, but that I should be such a fool,
Against my oath, being a cashier'd captain,
To pay debts, though grown up to one and twenty,,
Deserves more reprehension, in my judgment,
Than a shopkeeper, or a lawyer that lends money,
In a long, dead vacation.

Mont. How do you like
His meditation ?

Cham. Peace ! let him proceed.
Belg. I cannot now go on the score for shame,
And where I shall begin to pawn ay, marry,
That is considered timely ! I paid for
This train of yours, dame Estridge *, fourteen crowns,
And yet it is so light, 'twill hardly pass
For a tavern reckoning, unless it be
To save the charge of painting, nail'd on a post
For the sign of the feathers. Pox upon the fashion,
'J hat a captain cannot think himself a captain,
If he wear not this, like a fore-horse ! yet it is not
Staple commodity : these are perfumed too
O' the Roman wash, and yet a stale red herring

so, indeed, it does, and many other things ; none of which,

however, bear any relation lo the text. Steevens, too, pre-
fers scale, which he provts, from a variety of learned autho-
rities, to mean " scatter, disperse, spread :" to make any of

them, however, suit his purpose, he is obliged to give ail
unfaithful version of the text : " Though some of you, have

tieard the story, I will spread, it yet widrr, and Jirtuse it
among the re*t."l There is nothing of this in Shnkspeare;
and indeed 1 cannot avoid looking upon the whole of oil

ong note, as a feeble attempt to justify a palpable error of
the press, at the cost of taste and sense.

The mistakes of Stecvtns are dangerous, and should b
noticed. They have seduced the editors of Beaumont and
Fletcher, who have brought back to the text of their authors
a conuption long since removed, on the authority (as they
ay) of the quotations produced in the note to Coriolanui
Se'e Vol. vii. p. 258.

7 paid for

This train of your. t, dame Estridge,] i. e. this tail ; ther

9 some humour in thii lively apostrophe to the ostrich.

THE UNNATUKAL COMBAT.

Would fill the belly better, and hurt the head less:
And this is Venice gold ; would I had it again
In French crowns in my pocket! O you com-
manders,

That, like me, have no dead pays, nor can cozen
The commissary at a muster *, let me stand
For an example to you ! as you would
Enjoy your privileges, videlicet,
To pay your debts, and take your letchery gratis ;
To have your issue warm'd by others fires ;
To be often drunk, and swear, yet pay no forfeit
To the poor, but when you share with one another ;
With all your other choice immunities :
Only of this I seriously advise you,
Let courtiers f trip like courtiers, and your lords
Of dirt and dunghills mete their woods and acres,
In velvets, satins, tissues ; but keep you
Constant to cloth and shamois.

Mont. Have you heard
Of such a penitent homily?

Betg. 1 am studying now
Where I shall hide myself till the rumour of
My wealth and bravery vanish $ : let me see,
There is a kind of vaulting house not far off,
Where I used to spend my afternoons, among
Suburb she gamesters ; and yet, now I think on't,
I have crack'd a ring or two there, which they made
Others to solder : No

Enter a Bawd, and two Courtezans with two Children.

1 Court. O ! have we spied you ! [time,
Bawd. Upon him without ceremony ! now's the

While he's in the paying vein.

2 Court. Save you, brave captain !

Beauf.jun. 'Slight, how he stares ! they are worse

than she-wolves to him.
Belg. Shame me not in the streets ; I was coming

to you.

1 Court. O sir, you may in, public pay for the
You had in private. [fiddling

2 Court. We bear you are full of crowns, sir,

1 Court. And therefore, knowing you are open-
handed,

Before all be destroy'd, T 'll put you in mind, sir,
Of your young heir here.

2 Court. Here's a second, sir,
That looks for a child's portinn.

- O you commanders,

That, like me, have no dead pays, nor can cozen
The commissary at a muster,] The collusory practices
here alluded to (as Mr. Gilclirist observes) appear not to
have been um'rcquent, and indeed, Sir W. D'Avenant, with
this, mentions many similar corruptions in the "war depart-
ment" of his time :

" Can you not gull the state finely,

Muster up your ammunition cassocks slutted with straw,
Number a hundred forty nine dead pays,
And thank heaven for your arilhmetick ?
Cannot you clothe your ragged infantry
With cabbage leaves ? devour the reckonings,
And grow tat in the ribs, but you must hinder
Poor ancients from eating warm beef?" The Siege, Act iii.
t Let courtiers, &c.] The reader will smile at the aocu-
tate notions of metre possessed by the former editors : this
and the four following lines stand thus in Coxetcr, and Mr
M. Mason ;

J^et courtiers trip like courtiers,
And your lords of dirt and dunghills mete
Thr.ir woods and actes, in velvets, satins, tissues ;
But keep you constant to cloth and shamois.

Moat. Have you heard of such a penitent homily f
J My wealth and bravery vanish:} Itravery is used by
U the -vriters of Mas-inker's time, for ostentatious finery of
cpparel.

Bawd. There are reckonings
For muskadine and eggs too, must be thought on.

1 Court. We have not been hasty, sir.
Bawd. But staid your leisure :

But now you are ripe, and loaden with fruit

2 Court. 'Tis fit you should be pull'd ; here's a boy,
Pray you, kiss him, 'tis your own, sir. [sir,

1 Court. Nay, buss this first,

It hath just your eyes ; and such a promising nose,
That if the sign deceive me not, in time
'Twill prove a notable striker*, like his father.

Belg. And yet you laid it to another.

1 Court. True,

While you were poor ; and it was policy ;

But she that has variety of fathers,

And makes not choice of him that can maintain it,

Ne'er studied Aristotle f.

Lan. A smart quean '

Belg. Why, braches, will you worry me f ?

2 Court. No, but ease you

Of your golden burthen ; the heavy carriage may
Bring you to a sweating sickness.

Belg. Very likely ;
I foam all o'er already.

1 Court. Will you come off, sir ?

Belg. Would I had ne'er come on ! Hear me with

patience,

Or I will anger you. Go to, you know me,
And do not vex me further : by my sins,
And your diseases, which are certain truths,
Whate'er you think, 1 am not master, at
This instant, of a livre.

2 Court. What, and in
Such a glorious suit !

Belg. The liker, wretched things,
To have no money.

Bawd. You mav pawn your clothes, sir.

1 Court. Will you see your issue starve?

2 Court. Or the mothers beg ?

Belg. Why, you unconscionable strumpets,

would you have me

Transform my hat to double clouts and biggins ?
My corselet to a cradle ? or my belt
To swaddlebands ? or turn my cloak to blankets ?
Or to sell my sword and spurs, for soap and candles ?

* 'Twill prove a notable striker,] A striker is a wencher:
the word occurs again in the Parliament of Love.

t Ne'er studied Aristotle ,} Thi? has been hitherto printed,
Ne'er studied Aristotle's problems: a prosaic redundancy,
of which every reader of Alassinger will readily acquit him.

} Belg. Why, braches, will ytiu worry me ?} A brarhe is
a female hound. It is strange to see what quantities of paper
have been wasted in confounding the sense of this plain
word! The pages of Shakspeare, and Jonson, and Fletcher,
are incumbcred with endless quotations, which Ktnerally
leave the reader as ignorant as they found him. One, how-
ever, which has escaped the commentators, at least the
material part of it, is worth all that they have advanced on
the word. The Gentleman's Rfcreation, p. '28. " There are
in England and Scotland two kimls of hunting dogs, and no
where else in the world ; the first kind is called Arache, and
this is a foot-scenting creature both of wilde-bcasts, birds, and
fishes also which lie hid among the rocks. The female hereof
in England is called a brache : a brache is A MANNERLY
NAME for all huunA-bitches:" and when we add for all others,
it will be allowed that enough has been said on the subject.

$ I Court. Will you come off , sir ?} i.e. Will you pay, sir?
to the word is used by all our old dramatic writers:

" if he

In the old justice's suit, whom he robb'd lately,
Will come off" roundly, we'll set him free to '

The (Fidoui.
Again, in the Wedding, by Shirley :

" What was the price yo-i took for Gratiana 7

Did Marwood come off roundly with hia wages 7"

SCENE I.]

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

Have you no m _>rcy ? what a chargeable devil
We carry in 01 r breeches !

Beauf. jun. Now 'tis time
To fetch him off.

Enter BEAUFORT senior,

Mont. ^ our father does it for us.

Bawd. The governor !

Beau/, sen. What are these?

1 Co irt. An it like your lordship,
Very poor spinsters.

Bi .icd. I am his nurse and laundress,

J elg. You have nurs'd and launder'd me, hell
V> nish ! [take you for it !

Cliam. Do, do, and talk with him hereafter.

1 Court. Tis our best course.

2 Court. We'll find a time to fit him.

[Exeunt Bawd and Courtezans.
Beauf. sen. Why in this heat, Belgarde?
Belg. You are the cause oft.
Beauf. sen. Who, I?

Belg. Yes, your pied livery and your gold
Draw these vexations on me ; pray you strip me,

And let me be as I was : I will not lose
The pleasures and the freedom which I had
In my certain poverty, for all the wealth
Fair France is proud of.

Beauf. sen. We at better leisure
Will learn the cause of this.

Beauf. jun. What answer, sir,
From the admiral ?

Beauf. sen. None ; his daughter is removed
To the fort of Montreville, and he himself
In person fled, but where, is not discover'd ;
I could tell you wonders, but the time denies me
Fit liberty. In a word, let it suffice
The power of our great master is contemn'd
The sacred laws of God and man profaned ;
And if I sit down with this injury,
I am unworthy of my place, and thou
Of my acknowledgment: draw up all the troops ;
As I go, I will instruct you to what purpose.
Such as have power to punish, and yet spare,
From fear or from connivance, others ill,
Though not in act, assist them in their will.

[Exeunt

ACT V.

SCENE I. A Street near MALEFORT'S House.

Enter MONTREVILLE with Servants, TIIEOCRINE, Page,
and Waiting Women.

Montr. Bind them, and gag their mouths sure ;

I alone
Will be your convoy.

1 Worn. Madam !

2 Worn. Dearest lady !

Page. Let me fight for my mistress.

Serv. Tis in vain,
Little cockerel of the kind.

Montr. Away with them,
And do as I command you.

[Exeunt Servants with Page and Waiting Women.

Theoc. Montreville,

You are my father's friend ; nay more, a soldier,
And if a right one, as I hope to find you,
Though in a lawful war you had surprised
A city, that bow'd humbly to your pleasure,
In honour you stand bound to guard a virgin
From violence ; but in a free estate,
Of which you are a limb, to do a wrong
Which noble enemies never consent to,
Is such an insolence

Montr. How her heart beats* !
Much like a partridge in a sparhawk's foot,
That with a panting silence does lament
The fate she cannot fly from ! Sweet, take comfort,
You are safe, and nothing is intended to you,
But love and service.

Theoc. They came never clothed
In force and outrage. Upon what assurance
(Remembering only that my father lives,
Who will not tamely suffer the disgrace)
Have you presumed to hurry me from his house,

* Montr. Flow her heart heal*! &c. I This is a vt-iy pretty
ritnile, and, though not altogether new, is made striking by
the elegance with which it is expressed.

.And, as I were not worth the waiting on,
To snatch me from the duty and attendance
Of my poor servants ?

Montr. Let not that afflict you,
You shall not want observance ; I will be
Your page, your woman, parasite, or fool,
Or any other property, provided
You answer my affection.

Theoc. In what kind 1

Montr. As you had done young Beaufort's.

Theoc. How !

Montr. So, lady ;

Or, if the name of wife appear a yoke
Too heavy for your tender neck, so I
Enjoy you as a private friend or mistress,
Twill be sufficient.

Theoc. Blessed angels guard me !
Whit frontless impudence is this ? what devil
Hath, to thy certain ruin, tempted thee
To offer me this motion ? bv my hopes
Of after joys, submission nor repentance
Shall expiate this foul intent.

Montr. Intent !
'Tis more, I'll make it act.

Theoc. Ribald, thou darest not :
And if (and with a fever to thy soul)
Thou but consider that I have a father,
And such a father, as, when this arrives at
His knowledge, as it shall, the terror of
His vengeance, which as sure as fate must follow,
Will make thee curse the hour in which lust taught

thee

To nourish these bad hopes ; and 'tis my wonder
Thou darest forget how tender he is of me,
And that each shadow of wrong done to me,

AVill raise in him a tempest not to be [him

But with thy heart-blood calm'd : this, when I see,

Montr. As thou shall never

Theoc. Wilt thou murder me ?

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

[Acr V.

Montr. No, no, 'tis otherwise determined, fool.
The master which in passion kills his slave
That may be useful to him, does himself
The injury: know, thou most wretched creature,
That father thou presumes! upon, that father,
That, when 1 sought thee in a noble way,
Denied thee to me, fancying in his hope
A higher match from his excess of dotage,
Hath in his bowels kindled such a flame
Of impious and most unnatural lust,
That now he fears his most furious desires
May force him to do that, he shakes to think on.

Theoc, O me, most wretched !

Montr. Never hope again

To blast him with those eves : their golden beams
Are to him arrows of death and hell,
But unto me divine artillery
And therefore, since what I so long in vain
Pursued, is offer'd to me, and by him
Given up to my possession ; do not flatter
Thyself with an imaginary hope,
But that I'll take occasion by the forelock,
And make use of my fortune. As we walk,
I'll tell thee more.

Theoc. 1 will not stir.

Montr. I'll force thee.

Theoc. Help, help I

Montr. In vain.

Theoc. In me my brother's blood
Is punish 'd at the height.

Montr. The coach there !

Theoc. Dear sir

Montr. Tears, curses, prayers, are alike to me ;
I can, and must enjoy my present pleasure,
And shall take time to mourn for it at leisure.

\_He bears her off".

SCENE II. .4 Space before the Fort.
Enter MALKFORT.

I have play'd the fool, the gross fool, to believe

The bosom of a friend will hold a secret,

Mine own could not contain ; and my industry

In taking liberty from my innocent daughter,

Out of false hopes of freedom to myself,

Is, in the little help it yields me, punish'cl.

She's absent, but I have her figure here ;

And every grace and rarity about her,

Are by the pencil of my memory,

In living colours painted on my heart.

My fires too, a short interim closed up,

Break out with greater fury. Why was I,

Since 'twas my fate, and not to be declined,

In this so tender-conscienced ? Say I had

Enjoy'd what 1 desired, what had it been

But incest ? and there's something here that tells me

I stand accomptable for greater sins

I never check'd at*. Neither had the crime

Wanted a precedent : I have read in storyl,

-and there's something here that tell* me

I stand accomptable for greater sins

I never check d at.] These (lark allusions to a dreadful
fact, aie introduced with admirable judgment, as they awaken,
without gratifying, the curiosity of the reader, and continue
the interest of the story.

t / have read in story, &c.] He had been study-
ing Ovid, and [mticnlarly the dreadful story of Myrrha.
This wretched attempt* of Malt-fort (a Christian, at lea?t in
name, we may suppose) to palliate, or defend his meditated
crime, by the examples of fabulous dt ities, men in a state

Those first great heroes, that for their brave deeds

Were in the world's first infancy styled gods,

Freely enjoy'd what I denied myself.

Old Saturn, in the golden age, embraced

His sister Ops, and, in the same degree,

The Thunderer Juno, Neptune Thetis, and,

By their example, afuer the first deluge,

Deucalion Pyrrha. Universal nature,

As every day 'tis evident, allows it

To creatures of all kinds : the gallant horse

Covers the mare to which he was the sire ;

1 he bird with fertile seed gives new increase

To her that hatch'd him : why should envipus man

Brand that close act, which adds proximity [then

To what's most near him, with the abhorred title

Of incest 1 or our later laws forbid

What by the first was granted ? Let old men,

That are not capable of these delights,

And solemn superstitious fools, prescribe

Rules to themselves ; 1 will not curb my freedom,

But constantly go on, with this assurance,

I but walk in a path which greater men

Have trod before me. Ha ! this is the fort :

Open the gate ! Within, there !

Enter two Soldiers.

1 Sold. With your pardon
We must forbid your entrance.
Malef. Do you know me?
% Sold. Perfectly, my lord.
Malef. I am [your] captain's friend*.

1 Sold. It may be so ; but till we know his plea-
You must excuse us. [sure,

2 Sold. We'll acquaint him with
Your waiting here.

Malef. Waiting, slave ! he was ever
Byrne commanded.

1 Sold. As we are by him.

Malef. So punctual ! pray you then, in my name
His presence. [entreat

2 Sold. That we shall do. [Eieunt
Malef. I must use

Some strange persuasions to work him to
Deliver her, and to forget the vows,
And horrid oaths I, in my madness, made him
Take to the contrary : and may I get her
Once more in my possession, I will bear her
Into some close cave or desert, where we'll end
Our lusts and lives together.

Enter MONTREVILLE, and Soldiers.

Montr. Fail not, on
The forfeit of your lives, to execute
What I command. [Exeunt Soldiers

Mulef. Montreville ! how is't friend ?

Montr. I am glad to see you wear such cheerful
The world's well alter'd. [looks ;

Malef. Yes, I thank my stars :
But methinks thou art troubled.

Montr. Some light cross,
But of no moment.

SCENE II.]

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

Malef. So I hope ; beware

Of sad and impious thoughts ; you know how far
They wrought on me.

Montr. No such come near me, sir.
I have, like you, no daughter, and much wish
You never had been curs'd with one.

Malef. Who, 1 1

Thou art deceived, I am most !tappy in her.
Montr. I am glad to hear it.
Malef. My incestuous fires
To'ards her are quite burnt out ; I love her now
Asa father, and no further

Montr. Fix there then

Your constant peace, and do not try a second
Temptation from her.

Malef. Yes, friend, though she were
By millions of degrees more excellent
In her perfections ; nay, though she could borrow
A form angelical to take my frailty,
It would not do : and therefore, Montreville,
My chief delight next her, I come to tell thee
The governor and I are reconciled,
And I confirm 'd, and with all possible speed,
To make large satisfaction to young Beaufort,
And her, whom I have so much wrong'd : and for
Thy trouble in her custody, of which
III now discharge thee, there is nothing in
My nerves or fortunes, but shall ever be
At thy devotion.

Montr. You promise fairly,
Nor doubt I the performance ; yet I would not
Hereafter be reported to have been
The principal occasion of your falling
Into a relapse : or but suppose, out of
The easiness of my nature, and assurance
You are firm and can hold out, I could consent ;
You needs must know there are so many lets*
That make against it, that it is my wonder
You offer me the motion ; having bound me
With oaths and imprecations on no terms,
Reasons, or arguments, you could propose,
I ever should admit you to her sight,
Much less restore her to you.

Malef. Are we soldiers,
And stand on oaths !

Montr. It is beyond my knowledge
In w hat we are more worthy, than in keeping
Our words, much more our vows.

MaUf. Heaven pardon all !
How many thousands, in our heat of wine,
Quarrels, and play, and in our younger days,
In private I may say, between ourselves,
In points of love, have we to answer for,
Should we be scrupulous that way ?

Montr. You say well :
And very aptly call to memory
Two oaths against all ties and rites of friendship
Broken by you to me.
Malef. No more of that
Montr. Yes, 'tis material, and to the purpose :
The first (and think upon't) was, when I brought

you

As a visitant to my mistress then, ( the mother
Of this same daughter,) whom, with dreadful words,
Too hideous to remember, you swore deeply
For my sake never to attempt ; yet then,
Then, when you had a sweet wife of yosr own,

* You need* mutt know there are to many lets] i. e. impe-
diment*, obstacles, &c. See the Viryin-Martyr.

I know not with what *rts. philtres, and charms
(Unless in wealth* and fame you were above me)
You won her from me ; and, her grant obtain'd,
A marriage with the second waited on
The burial of the first, that to the world
Brought your dead son : this I sat tamely down bv
Wanting, indeed, occasion and power
To be at the height revenged.

Malef. Yet this you seem'd
Freely to pardon.

Montr. As perhaps I did.
Your daughter Tbeocrine growing ripe,
(Her mother too deceased,) and fit for marriage,
I was a suitor for her, had your word,
Upon your honour, and our friendship made
Authentical, and ratified with an oath,
She should be mine : but vows with you being like
To your religion, a nose of wax
To be turn'd every wav, that very day
The governor's son but making his approaches
Of courtship to her, the wind of your ambition
For her advancement, scatter'd the thin sand
In which you wrote your full consent to me,
And drew you to his party. What hath pass'd sine*
You bear a register in your own bosom,
That can at large inform you.

Malef. Montreville,

I do confess all that you charge me with
To be strong truth, and that 1 bring a cause
Most miserably guilty, and acknowledge
That though your goodness made me mine own judg
I should not shew the least compassion
Or mercy to myself. O, let not yet
My foulness taint your pureness, or my falsehood
Divert the torrent of your loyal faith !
My ills, if not return'd by you, will add
Lustre to your much good ; and to o'ercome
With noble sufferance, will express your strength
And triumph o'er my weakness. If you please toi
My black deeds being only known to you.
And, in surrendering up my daughter, buried,
You not alone make me your slave, (for I
At no part do deserve the name of friend,)
But in your own breast raise a monument
Of pity to a wretch, on whom with justice
You may express all cruelty.

Montr. You much move me.

Malef. O that I could but hope it! To rerenge
An injury is proper to the wishes
Of feeble women, that want strength to act itf "
But to have power to punish, and yet pardon,
Peculiar to princes. See ! these knees,
That have been ever stiff to bend to heaven.
To you are supple. Is there aught beyond this
1 hat may speak my submission ? or can pride
(Though I well know it is a stranger to you)
l)esire a feast of more humility,
To kill her growing appetite ?

Montr. I required not
To be sought to this poor way$ ; yet 'tis so far

* (Unlett in wealth, &.c.] i.e. L'nless it were that in wealth,
lie.

t To revenge

An injury it proper to the wisfies

Of feeble women, that want ttrenfth to act it:]

Quiipe mintiti

Semper et infirmi est animi exiyuique tolvptat
liltio. Continue tic collide, qund vindicta

Ainao mat/it yaudet, quamfcemina."

JUT. Sat. xlii. 199.
J Montr. / required not
To be sought to thit poor way ;] So the olU copy : the

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

[AcrV

A kind of satisfaction, that I will

Dispense a little with those serious oaths

You made me take : your daughter shall come to you,

I will not say, as you deliver 'd her,

But as she is, you may dispose of her

As you shall think most requisite. [Exit.

Malef. His last words
Are riddles to me. Here the lion's force
Would have proved useless, and, egainst my nature,
Compell'd me from the crocodile tn borrow
Her counterfeit tears : there's now no turning back-
ward.

May 1 but quench these fires that rage within me,
And fall what can fall, I am arm'd to bear it !

Enter Soldiers, thrusting forth TIIEOCIUNE ; her
garments loose, her hair dishevelled.

2 Sold. You must be packing.

Theoc. Hath he robb'd me of
Mine honour, and denies me now a room
To hide my shame !

2 Sold. My lord the admiral
Attends your ladyship.

1 Sold. Close ihe port, and leave them.

[Exeunt Soldiers.

Malef. Ha ! who is this ? how alter'd ! how de-

form'd !

It cannot be : and yet this creature has
A kind of a resemblance to my daughter,
My Theocrine ! but as different
From that she was, as bodies dead are, in
Their best perfections, from what they were
When they had life and motion.

Theoc. 'Tis most true, sir;
I am dead, indeed, to all but misery.

come not near me, sir, I am infectious ;
To look on me at distance, is as dangerous
As from a pinnacle's cloud-kissing spire
With giddy eyes to view the steep descent ;
But to acknowledge me, a certain ruin.

0, sir !

Malef. Speak, Theocrine, force me not
To further question ; my fears already
Have choked my vital spirits.

Theoc. Pray you turn away
Your face and hear me, and with my last breath
Give me leave to accuse you : what offence,
From my first infancy, did I commit,
That for a punishment you should give up
My virgin chastity to the treacherous guard
Of goatish Montreville ?

Maltf. What hath he done ?

Theoc. Abused me, sir, by violence ; and this told,

1 cannot live to speak more : may the cause
In you find pardon, but the speeding curse
Of a ravish'd maid fall heavy, heavy on him !
Beaufort, my lawful love, farewell for ever. [Dies.

modern editors, ignorant of the language of the time, arbi-
trarily exchange to for in, and thus pervert the sense. To
teek to, is to supplicate, entreat, liave earnest recourse to,
&c., which is the meaning of the text.

There was a book, much read by our ancestors, from
which, as being the pure well-head of English prose, they
derived a number of phrases that have sorely puzzled their
descendants. This book, which is fortunately still in existence,
is the Bible : and I venture to affirm, without fear of con-
tradiction, that those old fashioned people who have studied
it well, areas competent judges of the meaning of our ancient
writers, as most of the devourers of black literature, from
Theobald to Steevens. The expression in the text frequently
occurs in it: " And Asa was diseased in his feet yet in his
di-tase he sought not to the Lord, but to the physicians."
Chron. xvi. 12.

Malef. Take not thy flight so soon, immaculate
'Tis fled already. How the innocent, [spiri*

As in a gentle slumber, pass away !
But to cut off the knotty thread of life
In guilty men, must force stern Atropos
To use her sharp knife often. I would help
The edge of her's with the sharp point of mine,
But that I dare not die, till I have rent
This dog's heart piecemeal. O, that I had wings
To scale these wails, or that my hands were cannons
To bore their flinty sides ! that I might bring
The villain in the reach of my good sword ?
The Turkish empire oft'er'd for his ransome,
Should not redeem his life. O that my voice
Were loud as thunder, and with horrid sounds
Might force a dreadful passage to his ears,
And through them reach his soul! libidinous monster!
Foul ravisher ! as thou durst do a deed
Which forced the sun to hide his glorious face
Behind a sable mask of clouds, appear,
And as a man defend it ; or like me,
Shew some compunction for it.

Enter MONTREVILLE on the Walls above.

Montr. Ha, ha, ha !

MaleJ. Is this an object to raise mirth ?

Montr. Yes, yes.

Malef. My daughter's dead.

Montr. Thou hadst best follow her ;
Or if thou art the thing thou art reported,
Thou shouldst have led the way. Do tear thy hair,
Like a village nurse, and mourn, while I laugh at thee.
Be but a just examiner of thyself,
And in an equal balance poize the nothing,
Or little mischief I have done, compared [thou
With the pond'rous weight of thine ; and how canst
Accuse or argue with me ? mine was a rape,
And she being in a kind contracted to me,
The fact may challenge some qualification ;
But thy intent made nature's self run backward,
And done, had caused an earthquake.

Enter Soldiers above.

1 Sold. Captain !

Montr. Ha! [slain.

2 Sold. Our outworks are surprised, the sentinel
The corps de guard defeated too.

Montr. By whom ?

1 Sold. The sudden storm and darkness of the night
Forbids the knowledge ; make up speedily,
Or all is lost. [Exeunt.

Montr. In the devil's name, whence comes

this ? [Exit.

[A Storm ; with thunder and lightning.

Malef. Do, do rage on ! rend open, ./Eolus,
Thy brazen prison, and let loose at once
Thy stormy issue ! Blustering Boreas,
Aided with all the gales the pilot numbers
Upon his compass, cannot raise a tempest
Through the vast region of the air, like that
I feel within me : for I am possess'd
With whirlwinds, and each guilty thought to me is
A dreadful hurricano*. Though this centre

* A dreadful hurricano.] So the old copy, and rightly :
the modern editors prefer hurricane, a simple improvement,
which merely destroys the metre ! How they contrive to
read the line, thus printed, I cannot conceive. With respect
to hurricane, I doubt whether it was much in use in Mas-
singer's time ; he and his contemporaries j-lrnost invariably
write hurricano, just as they receive it from the 1'ortugueie
narrators of voyages, &c.

SCENE II.]

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

Labour to bring forth earthquakes, and hell open
Her wide-stretch'd jaws, and let out all her furies.
They cannot add an atom to the mountain
Of fears and terrours that each minute threaten
To fall on my accursed head.

Enter the Ghost of young MALEFOJIT, naked from the
waist, f nit of wounds, leading in the Shadow of a
Lady, her fact leprous.

Ha ! is't fancy ?

Or hath lull hea-d me, and makes proof if I
Dare sta id the trh;! ? Yes, I do ; and now
I view th'se appaiitions, I feel
I on e di i know he substances. For what come you?
Are your aerial fjrms deprived of language,
And so denied to tell me, that by signs

[The Ghosts use gestures.
You bid me ask here of myself*? 'Tis so :
And there is something here makes answer for you.
\ ou come to lance my sear'd up conscience ; ves,
And to instruct me, that those thunderbolts,
That burl'd me headlong from the height of glory,
Wealth, honours, worldly happiness, were forged
Upon the anvil of my impious wrongs
And cruelty to you ! I do confess it ;
And that my lust compelling me to make way
For a second wife, I poison'd thee ; and that
The cause ("which to the world is undiscover'd)
That forced thee to shake off thy filial duty
To me, thy father, had its spring and source
From thy impatience, to know thy mother,
That with all duty and obedience served me,
(For now with horror I acknowledge it,)
Removed unjustly : yet, thou being my son,
Wert not a competent judge mark'd out by heaven
For her revenger, which thy falling by
My weaker hand confirm 'd. [Answered stillby signs.

Tis granted by thee.

Can any penance expiate my guilt,

Or can repentance save me ? [The ghosts disappear.

They are vanish'd !

What's left to do then? I'll accuse my fate,
That did not fashion me for nobler uses :
For if those stars cross to me in my birth,
Had not denied their prosperous influence to it,
With peace of conscience, like to innocent men,
I might have ceased to be, and not as now,

To curse my cause of being

[He is killed with a flash of lightning.

Enter BELGARDE with Soldiers.

Belg. Here's a night

To season my silks ! Buff-jerkin, now I miss thee :
Thou hast endured many foul nights, but never
One like to this. How fine my feather looks now !
Just like a capon's tail stol'n out of the pen,
And hid in the sink ; and yet 't had been dishonour
To have charged without it. Wilt thou never cease f?
Is the petard, as I gave directions, fasten'd
On the portcullis ?

1 Sold. It haih been attempted
By divers, but in vain.

Belg. These are your gallants,
That at a feast take the first place, poor I
Hardly allow'd to follow ; marry, in

* You bid me atk here of myself '?] AfiKrticwc., pointing
to his In-east.

+ Wilt thou never ceate ?} This short apostrophe is ad-
Tressed to the storui.

These foolish businesses they are content
That I shall have precedence : I ranch thank
Their manners or their fear. Second me, soldiers ;
They have had no time to undermine, or if
They have, it is but blowing up, and fetching
A caper or two in the air ; and I will do it,
Rather than blow my nails here.

2 Sold. O brave captain ? [Exeunt.

An alarum ; noise and cries within. After a flourish,
enter BEAUFORT senior, BEAUFORT junior, MON-
TAIGNE, CHAMONT, LANOUR, BELGARDE, and Sol-
diers, With MONTHEVILLE.

Montr. Racks cannot force more from me than I have
Already told you : I expect no favour ;
I have cast up my accompt.

Eeauf. sen. Take you the charge
Of the fort, Belgarde ; your dangers have deserved it.

Belg. I thank your excellence ; this will keep me

safe yet

From beinj; pull'd by the sleeve, and bid remember
The thing I wot of.

Beauf.jun. All that have eyes to weep,
Spare one tear with me. Theocrine's dead.

Montr. Her father too lies breathless here, I think
Struck dead with thunder.

Cham. 'Tis apparent : how
His carcass smells !

Lan. His face is alter'd to
Another colour.

Beauf.jun But here's one retains
Her native innocence, that never yet
Call'd down heaven's anger.

Beanf. sen. 'Tis in vain to mourn
For what's past help. We will refer, bad man,
Your sentence to the king. May we make use of
This great example, and learn from it, that
There cannot be a want of power above,
To punish murder and unlawful love ! [Exeunt*.

* This Play opens with considerable interest and vigour :
but the principal action is quickly exhausted by its own
briskness. The Unnatural Combat end* early in the second
act, and leaves the reader at a loss what further to expect.
The remaining part, at least from the beginning of the fourth
act, might be called the Unnatural Attachment. Yet the two
subjects are not without connexion ; ;md this is afforded
chiefly by the projected marriage of young Beaufort and
Theocrine, which Malet'ort urges as the consequence of hit
victory.

The piece is therefore to be considered not so much in ita
plot, as in its characters ; and these are drawn with great
force, and admirable discrimination. The pity felt at first
for old Malefort, is soon changed into horror and detesta-
tion ; while the dread inspired by the son is somewhat relieved
by the suspicion that he avenges the cause of a murdered
mother. Their parley is as terrible as their combat ; and
they encounter with a fury of passion and a deadlines* of
hatred approaching to savage nature. Claudiau will almost
describe them :

Torvus aper, fulvusque leo'cpirre superbit

yiribus ; hie seta savior, tile juba.

On the other hand, Montrcville artfully conceals his enmity
till he can be " at the height revenged." Deprived of The-
ocrine by Malefort's treachery, he yet appears his " bosom
friend," otters to be his second in the combat, on account of
their tried affection ' from his infancy," and seems even to
recommend the marriage of Theocrine with his rival. To
Theocrine herself, who can less comprehend his designs, he
shews some glimpses of spleen from the beginning. He takes
a malignant pleasure in wounding her delicacy with light and
vicious talking ; and when at length he has |;ossession of her
person, and is preparing the dishonour which ends in her
death, he talks to her of his villainous purpose withacoolnesi
which shews him determined on his revenge, and secure of
its accomplishment.

Theocrine herself it admirable throughout the piece. She

THE UNNATURAL COMBAT.

[Acr V.

hai a true virgin modesty, and, perhaps, one of the best marks
of modesty, a true virgin frankness. We admire her fearless
parity of thought, hei filial reverence, and her unconscious-
ness of the iniquity that approaches her; and we are filled
with the most tender concern for the indignities to which
she is exposed, and the fate which she suffers.

Among the lighter characters, Montaigne, CUamont, and
Lauonr are well drawn. They are some of those insignificant
people who endeavour to support themselves in society by a
ready siibjeclion to the will of others. When Malefort is
to his trial, they are glad to be his accusers ; and it is allowed I

that they " push him hard." Alter his victory, they are most
engerto profess themselves his friends and admiicrs. When
he is in his moody humour, they sooth him, that being the
"safest course* ," and when Beaufort at length takes up the
neglected Belgarde, they are the first to lavish their money
upon him. Dr. IRELAND.

This consistency in their insipid characters would of
itself determine to whom 'hose words belong, if the editor
had not given them to Chamont on other actv.uutt.

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

THE DUKE OF MILAN.] Of this Tragedy there are two editions in quarto ; the first, which is very correct
and now very rare, bears date 1623 ; the other, of little value, 1638. It does not appear in the Office-book
of the licenser; from which we may be certain that it was among the author's earliest performances.

The plot, as the editor of the Companion to the Play House observes, is founded on Guicciardini, Lib. viii.
This, however, is a mistaken idea, as if Massinger was at all indebted to Guicciardini, it must be to his
xvth and xixth books. It should be added, however, that by this expression nothing more must be under-
stood than that a leading circumstance or two is taken from the historian. There was certainly a struggle,
in Italy between the emperor and the king of France, in which the duke of Milan sided with the latter, who
was defeated and taken prisoner at the fatal battle of Pavia. The rest, the poet has supplied, as suited his
design. Charles was not in Italy when this victory was gained by his generals ; and the final restoration
of the Milanese to Sforza took place at a period long subsequent to that event. The duke is named Ludo-
vico in the list of dramatis persona? ; and it is observable that Massinger has entered with great accuracy
into the vigorous and active character of that prince : he, however, had long been dead, and Francis Sforza,
the real agent in this play, was little capable of the spirited part here allotted to him. The Italian writers
term him a weak and irresolute prince, the sport of fortune, and the victim of indecision.

The remaining part of the plot is from Josephus's History of the Jews, lib. xv. ch. 4 ; an interesting story,
which has been told in many languages, and more than once in our own. The last piece on the subject
was, I believe, the Marianne of Fenton, which, though infinitely inferior to the Duke of Milan, was, as I
have heard, very well received.

That Fenton had read Massinger before he wrote his tragedy, is certain from internal evidence ; there are
not, however, many marks of similarity : on the whole the former is as cold, uninteresting, and improbable,
as the latter is ardent, natural, and affecting. Massinger has but two deaths ; while, in Fenton, six out of
eleven personages perish, with nearly as much rapidity, and as little necessity as the heroes of Tom Thumb
or Chrononhotonthologos.

It is said, in the title-page, to have " been often acted by his Majesty's Servants at the Black Friars."
Either through ignorance or disingenuity, Coxeter and M. Mason represent it as frequently performed in
1623, giving, as in every other instance, the time of publication for that of its appearance on the stage.

TO THt RIGHT HONOURABLE,
AND MUCH ESTEEMED FOR HER HIGH BIRTH, BUT MORE ADMIRED FOR HER TIKTUK, 1

THE LADY CATHERINE STANHOPE,

WIFE TO PHILIP LORD STANHOPE,

BARON OF SHELFORD.
MADAM,

If I were not most assured that works of this nature have found both patronage and protection amongst the
greatest princesses* of Italy, and are at this day cherished by persons most eminent in our kingdom, I
should not presume to offer these my weak and imperfect labours at the altar of your favour. Let the
example of others, more knowing, and more experienced in this kindness (if my boldness offend) plead my
pardon, and the rather, since there is no other means left me (my misfortunes having cast me on this course)
to publish to the world (if it hold the least good opinion of me) that I am ever your ladyship's creature
Vouchsafe, therefore, with the never-failing clemency of your noble disposition, not to contemn the tender
of his duty, who, while he is, will ever be

An humble Servant to j^our

Ladyship, and yours

PHILIP MASSINGER.

Prineettes} So the quarto 1023. That of 1638 exhibits princes, which Coxeter, and consequently M. Mason, follows.

THE DUKE OF MILAN

[Act 1.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

LUDOVICO SFORZA, supposed duke of Milan.
FRANCISCO, his especial Javourite.
TIBERIO, i. i i f i,' /

STEPHANO, )
GRACCIIO, a creature of Mariana.

GIOVANNI, )

CHARLKS the emperor,

PESCARA, an imperialist, but a friend to Sforza.

HER.NANDO, \

MEDINA, > captains to the emperor.

ALPHONSO, J

SCENE, for the first and second acts, in MILAN ; during part of the third, in the IMPERIAL CAMP near

Three Gentlemen.

An Officer.

Two Doctors. Two Couriers.

MARCEI.IA, the dutches*, wife to SFORZA.

ISABELLA, mother to SFOIIZA.

MARIANA, wife to FRANCISCO, and sistet io SFORZA.

EUGENIA, sister to FRANCISCO.

A Gentlewoman.

A Guard, Servants, Fiddlers, Attendants.

PA VIA ; the rest of the play, in MILAN, and its neighbourhood.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Milan, An outer Room in t/ie Castle*.

Enter GUACCHO, JULIO, and GIOVANNI t, with
Flaggons.

Grac. Take every man his flaggon : give the oath
To all you meet ; I am this day the state-drunkard,
I'm sure against my will ; and if you find
A man at ten that's sober, he's a traitor,
And, in my name, arrest him.

Jul. Very good, sir :
But, say he be a sexton ?

Grac. If the bells

Ring out of tune}, as if the street were burning,
And he cry, 'Tit rare music ; bid him sleep :
'J'is a sign he has ta'en his liquor; and if you meet
An officer preaching of sobriety,
Unless he read it in Geneva print ,
Lay him by the heels.

Milan, dn outer Room in the Castle.} The old copies
have no distinction of scenery ; inileed, they could have none
wilb their miserable platform and raised gallery, but what
was furnished by a board with Milan or Rhodes painted upon
It. 1 have vcnturrd to supply it, in conformity to the modern
mode of printing Shakspeare, and to consult the ease of the
general reader. I know uot what pricked forward Coxeter,
but he thought proper (for the first time) to be precise in this
Play, and specify the place of action. I can neither com-
pliment him upon his judgment, nor Mr. M. Mason upon his
good sf ne in following him: the description here is, "ficene,
a public Palace in Pisa," Pisa ! a place which is not once
mentioned, nor even hinted at, in the whole play.

t JULIO, and GIOVANNI,] These are not found among the
old dramatis personae, nor are they of much importance. In
a subsequent scene, where they make their appearance asl*<
and 2nd Uentlemen, I have taken the liberty to name them
again. Jonio, which stood in this scene, appears to be a
misprint for Julio.
1 Grac. Jfthe bells

King out of tune, &c.] i. c. backward : the usual signal of
alarm, on the breaking out of fires. So in the Captain:

" certainly, my body

Is all a wildfire, for my head rings backward."
Again : in the City Match :

" Then, sir, in time

You may be remember'd at the quenching of
Fired houses, when the bells ring backward, by
Your nnme upon the buckets."

$ Unless he read it in Geneva print,] Alluding to the
ipirituous liquor so called. M. MASON.

Jul. But think you 'tis a fault
To be found sober ?

Grac. It is capital treason ;
Or, if you mitigate it, let such pay
Forty crowns to the poor : but give a pension
To all the magistrates you find singing catches,
Or their wives dancing ; for the courtiers reeling,-
And the duke himself, I dare not say distemper'd *,
But kind, and in his tottering chair carousing,
They do the country service. If you meet
One that eats bread, a child of ignorance,
And bred up in darkness of no drinking,
Against his will you may initiate him
In the true posture ; though he die in the taking
His drench.it skills notf: what's a private man,
For the public honour 1 We've nought else to think
And so, dear friends, copartners in my travails, [on.
Drink hard ; and let the health run through the city,
Until it reel again, and with me cry,
Long live the dutchess !

Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.

Jul. Here are two lords ; what think you ?
Shall we give the oath to them 1

Grac. Fie ! no : 1 know them,

You need not swear them ; your lord, by his patent,

Stands bound to take his rouse}. Long live the

dutchess ! [Exeunt Grac. Jul. and Gio.

/ dare not say distemper'd,] i. e intoxicated : so

the word if frequently used by our old writers. Thus Shirley :
" Clear. My lord, he's gone,
" Lod. How I
" Clear. Distemper'd.

" Lod. Not witlr wine t" The Grateful Servant.
It occurs also in Hamlet.

t though he die in the taking

His drench, it skills not : &c.] It matters or signifies not.
So in the Gamester :

" JVeph. I desire no man's privilege: it skills not whether
I be kin to any mm living."

} - your lord, by his patent,

Stands bound fo take his rouse.] This word his never been
properly explained. It occur* in Hamlet, wheie it is sail 1 by
Steevcn*, as well as Johnson, to mean a quantity of liquor
rather too larce : the latter drrivcs it from rusch, li ill drunk,
Germ, while he brings carouse from yar ausz, all out! Roust

SCENE I.]

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

Steph. The cause of this ? but yesterday the court
Wore rhe sad livery of distrust and fear ;
No smile, not in a buffoon to be seen,
Or common jester : the Great Duke himself
Had sorrow in his face; which, waited on
By his mother, sister, nnil his fairest dutchess,
Dispersed a silent mourning through all Milan ;
As if some great blow had been given the state,
Or were at least expected.

Tib. Stephano,

know as you are noble, you are honest,
And capable of secrets of more weight
Than now I shall deliver. Ift':at Sforza.
The present duke, (though his whole life hath been
But one continued pilgrimage through dangers.
Affrights, and horrors, which his fortune guided
By his strong judgment, still hath overcome,)
Appears now shaken, it deserves no wonder :
All that his youth hath labour'd for, the harvest
Sown by his industry readv to be reap'd too,
Being now at stake ; and all his hopes confirm'd,
Or lost for ever.

Steph. I know no such hazard :
His guards are strong and sure, his coffers full;
The people well affected; and so wisely
His provident care hath wrought, that though war

rages

In most parts of our western world, there is
No enemy near us.

Tib. Dangers, that we see
To threaten ruin, are with ease prevented ;
But those strike deadly, that coTie unexpected :
The lightning is far off, yet, soon as seen,
We may behold the teriible effects
That it produceth. But I'll help your knowledge,

and carouse, however, like vye and revye, are but the reci-
procation of tile same action, and iiui.M therefore be derived
from the same sou ice. A rouse was a large gla^s (' not past
a pint," as lago says) in which a health was given, the drink-
ing of which by the rest of the company formed a carouse.
fiarnaby Rich is exceedingly angry with the inventor of this
cusiom, which, however, with a laudable zeal for the honour
of his country, he attributes to an Englishman, who, it seems
" had his brains beat out with a pottlepot" for his ingenuity.
" ID former ages," says he, "they had no conceit whereby
to draw on drnnkene^se," (Barnaby wa n treat historian.)
" their best was, I drinke to you, and I pledge yon, till at
length some shallow-wilted drunkard found out the carouse,
an invention ot that worth and \v<t!iine<M- as it is pitie the
first founder was not hanged, that we might have found out
bis name in the antient lecurd of the hangman's register."
English Hue and Cry, 1617, p. 24. It is iiecrssary "to add,
that there could be no rouse or carouse, unless the classes
were emptied : " The leader," continues honest Barnaby,
" soupes up his bromh, lurries the bottom of the cnppe up-
ward, and in ostentation of his dexteritie, gives it a phjlip,
to make it cry tynge" ! id.

In process of time, both these words were used in a laxer
sense ; but I believe that what is here advanced, will serve
to explain many passsages of our old dramatists, in which
they occur in their primal and appropriate signification :
" A'or. I've ta'en, since supper,
A route or two too much, and by the gods
It warms my blood." Kniyht of Malta.

This proves that Johnson and Steevens are wroiig : a route
has here a fixed and determinate sense. In the language of
the present day it would be, a bumper or two too much"
Again :

" Dulte. Come, bring some wine. Here's to my sister,
gentlemen,

A health, and mirth to all !

" Archas. Vr;\\ fill it full, sir;

Tis a high health to virtue. Here, lord Bnrris,

A mai'len health !

" Dukf, Go to, no more of this.

" Archat. Take the rouse freely, sir,

'Twill warm your blood, and make yon fit for jollity."

The Loyal Subject \

And make his cause of fear familiar to you.

The wars so long continued between

The emperor Charles, and Francis the French king,

Have interess'd, in cither's cause, the most

Of the Italian princes * ; aiuong which, Sforza,

As one of greatest power, was sought by both ;

But with assurance, having one his friend,

The other lived his enemy.

Steph. 'Tis true :
And 'twas a doubtful choice.

Tib. But he, well knowing,
And hating too, it seems, the Spanish pride,
Lent his assistance to the King of France :
Which hath so far incensed the emperor,
That all his hopes and honours are embark'd
With his great patron's fortune.

Steph. Which stands fair,
For aught I yet can hear.

Tib. But should it change,

The duke's undone. They have drawn to the field
Two royal armies, full of fiery youth ;
Of equal spirit to dare, and power to do :
So near intrench'd t, that 'tis beyond all hope
Of hum;m counsel they can e'er be severed,
Until it be determined by the sword,
Who hath the better cause : for the success
Concludes the victor innocent, and the vanquish'd
Most miserably guilty. How uncertain
The fortune of the war is, children know ;
And, it being in suspense, on whose fair tent
Wing'd Victory will make her glorious stand,
You cannot blame the duke, though he appear
Perplex 'd and troubled.

Steph. But why, then,

In such a time, when every knee should bend
For the success and safety of his person,
Are these loud triumphs? in my weak opinion,
They are unseasonable.

Tib. I judge so too ;
But only in the cause to be excused.
It is the dutchess' birthday, once a year
Solemnized with all pomp and ceremony ;
In which the duke is not his own, but hers :
Nay, every day, indeed, he is her creature,
For never man so doated ; but to tell
The tenth part of his fondness to a stranger,
Would argue me of fiction.

Steph. She's, indeed,
A lady of most exquisite form.

Tib. She knows it,
And how to prize it.

Have interess'd in eitlier's cause the mntt
Of the Italian princes ; &c.] So the old copies. The
modern editors, much to the advantage of the rhythm, read.

' Have interested in either's cause, the most, &c."
Probably they were ignorant of the existence of such a word
a- inltress, which occurs, however, pretty frequently in our
old writers. Johnson considers it as synonymous with inter-
est, but in some of the examples which he gives, and in
many others which I could produce, it seems to convey an idea
of a more intimate connexion than is usually understood by
that term ; somewhat, for instance, like implicate, involve,
inweave, &c. in which case, it must be derived from intreccio,
through the medium of the French. (A*, one example for all,
I may refer the reader to Ben Jonson'sSejanus, Act III.sc.1.
" Tib. By the Capitoll

And all' our Gods, but that the deare Republick
Our sacred lawes, and just authorise
Are interessed therein, I should be silent." ED.)
+ So near intrench'd, &c.] The French army was at this
lime engaged in the siee of Pavia.undei the walls of which
the decisive battle was fuught, on the 24th of February, 15M

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

[Act I.

Steph. I ne'er heard her tainted
"n any point of honour.

7'ifr. On my life,

She's constant to his bed, and well deserves
His largest favours. But, when beauty is
Stamp'il on great women, great in birth and fortune,
And blown by flatterers greater than it is,
'Tis seldom unaccompanied with pride ;
dor is she that way free : presuming on
The duke's affection, and her own desert,
She bears herself with such a m:ijesty.
Looking with scorn on all as things beneath her,
That Sforza's mother, that would lose no part
Of what was once her own, nor his fair sister
A lady too acquainted wilh her worth,
Will brook it well ; and howsoe'er their hate
Is smother 'd for a time, 'tis more than fear'd
It will at length break out.

Steph. He in whose power it is,
Turn all to the best !

Tib. Come, let us to the court ;
We there shall see all bravery and cost,
That art can boast of.

Steph. I'll bear you company. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. Another Room in the same.
Enter FRANCISCO, ISABELLA, and MARIANA.

Mart. I will not go ; I scorn to be a spot
In her proud train.

Isab. Shall I, that am his mother,
Be so indulgent, as to wait on her
That owes me duty ?

Fran. Tis done to the duke,
And vjt to her : and, my sweet wife, remember,
And, madam, if you please, receive my counsel,
As Sforza is your son, you may comrmind him ;
And, as a sister, you may challenge from him
A brother's love and favour: but, this granted,
Consider he's the prince, and you his subjects,
And not to question or contend with her
Whom he is pleased to honour. Private men
Prefer their wives ; and shall he, being a prince,
And blest with one that is the paradise
Of sweetness, and of beauty, to whose charge
The stock of women's goodness is given up,
Not use her like herself?

Isab. You are ever forward
To sing her praises.

Mart. Others are as fair ;
I am sure, as noble.

Fran. I detract from none,
In giving her what's due. Were she deform'd,
Yet being the dutchess, I stand bound to serve her ;
But, as she is, to admire her. Never wife
Met with a purer heat her husband's fervour ;
A happy pair, one in the other blest !
She confident in herself he's wholly hers,
And cannot seek for change ; and he secure
That 'tis not in the power of man to tempt her.
And therefore to contest with her, that is
The stronger and the better part of him,
Is more than folly : you know him of a nature
Not to be play'd with ; and, should you forget
To obey him as your prince, he'll not remember
The duty that he owes you.

Isab. Tis but truth :

Come, clear our brows, and let us to the banquet ;
But not to serve his idol.

Ma*-i. I shall do

What may become the sister of a prince ;
But will not stoop beneath it.

Fran. Yet, be wise ;
Soar not too high to fall ; but stoop to rise.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A State Room in the same.
Enter three Gentlemen, setting forth a banquet.

1 Gent. Quick, quick, for love's sake ! let the
court put on

Her choicest outside : cost and bravery
Be only thought of.

2 Cent. All that may he had

To please the eye, the ear, taste, touch, or smell,
Are carefully provided.

3 Gent. There's a mask :

Have you heard what's the invention ?

1 Gent. No matter :

It is intended for the dutchess' honour ;
And if it give her glorious attributes,
As the most fair, most virtuous, and the rest,
Twill please the duke. They come.

3 Gent. All is in order.

Enter TIBEIUO, STEPHANO, FRANCISCO, SFORZA,
MARCELIA, ISABELLA, MARIANA, and Attendants.
Sfor. You are the mistress of the feast sit here,
O my soul's comfort ! and when Sforza bows
Thus low to do you honour, let none think
The meanest service they can pay my love,
But as a fair addition to those titles
They stand possest of. Let me glory in
My happiness, and mighty kings look pale
With envy, while 1 triumph in mine own.
O mother, look on her ! sister, admire her !
And, since this present age yields not a woman
Worthy to be her second, borrow of
Times past, and let imagination help,
Of those canonized ladies Sparta boasts of,
And, in her greatness, Rome was proud to owe,
To fashion one ; yet still you must confess,
The phornix of perfection ne'er was seen,
But in my fair Murcelia.

Fran. She's, indeed,
The wonder of all times.
Tib. Your excellence,

Though I confess, you give her but her own.
Forces * her modesty to the defence
Of a sweet blush.

Sfor. It need not, my Marcelia ;
When most I strive to praise thee, I appear
A poor detractor : for thou art, indeed,
So absolute t 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 !

Isab. You still court her,
As if she were a mistress, not your wife.

Sfor. A mistress, mother ! She is more to me,
And every day deserves more to be sued to.

Forces her modesty] So the edition 1623, which Coxete
docs not appear to have often consulted. He reads, alter that
of 163S, enforcet, though it destroys Ihe metre. Mr. M.
Alason, of course, fellows him.

t A'o absolute in body and in mind,] For this fpiritcd
reading, which is that of the first edition, the second has, St
periec.t both in body and in mind, and thus it stands in
Coxeter and M. Mason 1

SCENE III.]

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

Such as are cloy'd with those they have embraced.

May think their wooing done : no night to me

But is a bridal one, where Hymen lights

His torches fresh and new ; and those delights,

Which are not to he clothed in airy sounds,

Enjoy'd, beget desires as full of heat

And jovial fervour, as when first I tasted

Her virgin fruit. Blest night ! and be it number'd

Amongst those happy ones, in which a blessing

Was, by the full consent of all the stars,

Conferr'd upon mankind.

Marc. My worthiest lord !
The only object I behold with pleasure,
My pride, my glory, in a word, my all !
Bear witness, heaven, that I esteem myself
In nothing worthy of the meanest praise
You can bestow, unless it be in this,
That in my heart I love and honour you.
And, but that it would smell of arrogance,
To speak my strong desire and zeal to serve you,
I then could say, these eyes yet never saw
The rising sun, but that my vows and prayers
Were sent to heaven for the prosperity
And safety of my lord : nor have I ever
Had other studv, but how to appear
Worthy your favour ; and that my embraces
Might yield a fruitful harvest of content
For all your noble travail, in the purchase
Of her that's still your servant ; by these lips,
Which, pardon me, that I presume to kiss

Sfor. O swear, for ever swear * !

Marc. I ne'er will seek
Delight but in your pleasure ; and desire,
When you are sated with all earthly glories,
And age and honours make you fit for heaven,
That one grave may receive us.

Sfor. 'Tis believed,
Believed, my blest one.

Mori. How she winds herself
Into his soul !

Sfor. Sit all. Let others feed
On shore gross cates, while Sforza banquets with
Immortal viands ia'en in at his eyes.
I could live ever thus. Command the eunuch
To sing the ditty that 1 last composed,

Enter a Courier.

In praise of my Marcelia. From whence ?

Cour. From Pavia, my dread lord.

Sfor. Speak, is all lost ?

Cour. [Delivers a letter.] The letter will inform
you. [Exit.

Fran. How his hand shakes,
As he receives it !

Mari. This is some allay
To his hot passion.

Sfor. Though it bring death, I'll read it

May it please your excellence to understand, that the
very hour I wrote this, I heard a bold defiance delivered
by a herald from the emperor, which was cheerfully
received by the King of France. The battailes being
ready to join, and the vanguard committed to my charge,
eiijorces me to end abruptly.

Your highne$t's humble servant,

GASPERO.

Sfor. O swear, for ever twear .'] This is the lection of
the first quarto ; the second poorly reads, O sweet, for ever
ttetarl and ij followed by Coxeter and M. Mason.

Ready to join ! By this, then, I am nothing,
Or my estate secure.

Marc. My lord.

Sfor. To doubt,

Is worse than to have lost ; and to despair,
Is but to antedate those miseries
That must fall on us ; all my hopes depending
Upon this battle's fortune. In my soul,
Methinks, there should be that imperious power,
By supernatural, not usual means,
T' inform me what I am. The cause consider'd,
Why should I fear ? The French are bold and strong.
Their numbers full, and in their councils wise ;
But then, the haughty Spaniard is all fire,
Hot in his executions ; fortunate
In his attempts ; married to victory :
Ay, there it is that shakes me.

Fran. Excellent lady
This day was dedicated to your honour ;
One gale of your sweet breath will easily [none
Disperse these clouds ; and, but yourself, there's
That dare speak to him.

Marc. I will run the hazard.
My lord !

Sfor. Ha ! pardon me, Marcelia, I am troubled ;
And stand uncertain, whether I am master
Of aught that's worth the owning.

Marc. I am yours, sir ;
And I have heard you swear, I being safe,
There was no loss could move you. This day, sir,
Is by your gift made mine. Can you revoke
A grant made to Marcelia ? your Marcelia ?
For whose love, nay, whose honour, gentle sir,
All deep designs, and state-affairs deferr'd,
Be, as you purposed, merry.

Sfor. Out of my sight! [Throws away the letter
And all thoughts that may strangle mirth forsake me.
Fall what can fall, I dare the worst of fate :
Though the foundation of the earth should shrink
The glorious eye of heaven lose his splendour,
Supported thus, I'll stand upon the ruins,
And seek for new life here. Why are you sad ?
No other sports ! by heaven, he's not my friend,
That wears one furrow in his face. I was told
There was a mask.

Fran. They wait your highness' pleasure,
And when you please to have it.

Sfor. Bid them enter :

Come, make me happy once again. I am rapt
'Tis not to day, to morrow, or the next,
But all my days, and years shall be employ'd
To do thee honor.

Marc. And my life to serve you.

[A horn sounded.

Sfor. Another post ! Go hang him, hang him, I

say :

I will not interrupt my present pleasures,
Although his message should import my head :
Hang him, I say.

Marc. Nay, good sir, I am pleased
To grant a little intermission to you ;
Who knows but he brings news we wish to hear,
To heighten our delights.

Sfor, As wise as fair !

Enter another Courier.
From Gaspero ?

Cour. That was, my lord.

Sfor. How ! dead ?

Cour. [Delivers a Utter.'] With the delivery of
this, and prayers,

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

[Acrl

To guard your excellency from certain dangers,
lie ceased to be a man. [Exit.

Sfor. All that my fears
Could fashion to me, or my enemies wish,
Is fallen upon me. Silence that harsh music;
'Tis now unseasonable : a tolling bell,
Asa sad harbinger to tell me, that
This pamper'd lump of fiesh must feast the worms,
Is fitter for me : 1 am sick.

Mure. My lord !

Sfor. Sick to the death *, Marcelia. Remove
These signs of mirth; they were ominous, and

but usher'd
Sorrow and ruin.

Marc. Bless us, heaven !

hub. My son.

Marc. YVhat sudden change is this?

Sfor. All leave the room ;
I'll bear alone the burden of my grief,
And must admit no partner. I am yet
Your prince, where's your obedience? Stay,

Marcelia ;

1 cannot be so greedy of a sorrow,
In which you must not share.

Exeunt Tiberio, Stephana, Francisco, Isabella, Mariana,
and Attendants.

Marc. And cheerfully

I will sustain my part. Why look you pale ?
Where is that wonted constancy, and courage,
That dared the worst of fortune ? where is Sforza,
.To whom all dangers, that fright common men,
Appear'd but panic terrors? why do you eye me
With such fix'd looks? love, counsel, duty, service,
May flow from me, not danger.

Sfor. O, Marcelia!

It is for tliee 1 fear ; for thee, thy Sforza
Shakes like a coward ; for myself, unmoved
I could have heard my troops were cut in pieces,
My general slain, and he, on whom my hopes
Of rule, of state, of life, had their dependence, '
The King of France, my greatest friend, made pri-
soner
To so proud enemies f. *

Marc. Then you have just cause
To shew you are a man.

Sfor. All this were nothing,
Though I add to it, that I am assured,
For giving aid to this unfortunate king,
The emperor, incens'd, lays his command
On his victorious army, flesh'd with spoil,
And bold of conquest, to march up against me,
And seize on my estates : suppose that done too,
The city ta'en, the kennels running blood,
The ransack'd temples falling on their saints ;
My mother, in my sight, toss'd on their pikes,
And sister ravish'd ; and myself bound fast
la chains, to grace their triumph ; or what else

* Sick fa the death,} The modern editors omit the nrticlo,
no less to the injury of the metre than of the language of the
poet, which wa*, indeed, thit of the lime.

t There is a striking simil.irity (as Mr. Gilclirist observes
to me) between this passage, and the parting speech of
Hector and Andromache :

AXX' 8 (toi Tptitttiv roffffov [if\ti aXyoc OTTIOVTW,

OUT' awrije 'Eicai} ( art ITpta/jot

Ovrt Kairiyvt)Tuiv, 01 Ktv iro\ti TI

Ev Kovtytri irtffouv vir' avcpatri Svtrptvtamv,

Oatrov an, K. T. a. II. vi, 450.

An enemy's insolence could load me with,
I would be Sforza still. But, when 1 think
That my Marcelia, to whom all thrse
Are but as atoms to the greatest hill,
Must suffer in my cause, and for me suffer !
All earthly torments, nay, even those the damn'd
Howl for in hell, are gentle strokes, compared
To what I feel. Marcelia.

Marc. Good sir, have patience :
I can as well partake your adverse fortune,
As I thus long have had -an ample share
In your prosperity. 'Tis not in the power
Of fate to alter me : for while I arn,
In spite of it, I'm yours.

Sfor. But should that will
To be so, be forced*, Marcelia ; and I live
To see those eyes I prize above my own,
Dart favours, though compell'd, upon another;
Or those sweet lips, yielding immortal nectar,
Be gently touch'd by any but myself;
Think, think, Marcelia, what a cursed thing
I were, beyond expression !

Marc. Do not feed

Those jealous thoughts ; the only blessing that
Heaven hath bestow'd on us, more than on beasts,
Is, that 'tis in our pleasure when to die.
Besides, where I now in another's power,
There are so many ways to let out life,
I would not live, for one short minute, his;
J was born only yours, and I will die so.

Sfor. Angels reward the goodness of this woman'
Enter FRANCISCO.

All I can pay is nothing. Why, uncall'd for?

Fran. It is of weight, sir, that makes me thus

press

Upon your privacies. Your constant friend,
The marquis of Pescara, tired with haste,
Hath business that concerns your life and fortunes,
And with speed, to impart.

Sfnr. Wait on him hither : [Exit Francisco

And, dearest, to thy closet. Let thy prayers
Assist my councils.

Marc. To spare imprecations
Against myself, without you I am nothing. [Exit.

Sfor. The marquis of Pescara ! a reat soldierf ;
And, though he serv'd upon the adverse party,
Ever my constant friend.

Enter FRANCISCO and PESCARA,

Fran. Yonder he walks,
Full of sad thoughts,

Pesc. Blame him not, good Francisco,
He hath much cause to grieve ; would I ir.ight

end so,
And not add this, to fear.

Sfor. My dear Pescara ;

A miracle in these times ! a friend, and happy,
Cleaves to a falling fortune !

ii >it should that mill

To be so, be forced ] I have venti red to insert be, which
was prob.ibly dropl at the press, betbie forced, (la the Edit,
of ISKi, Mr Gilford being diffident of (he correctness of his
emendation, has supplied the place of the inserted be, by
spaces, thus - - -. I have however retained his original
correction, \\lfich I think superior to the subsequent one,
although unnecessary to the rhythm and perhaps rendering tbf
verse rattier harsh. Eu.)

t Stbr. The marguit of Petcara ! a great soldier;] Thn
duke does not exaggerate the merits of 1'escara : he was, iu-
deed, a great siildier, a fortunate coniii.ainkr, an able 4ie t o-
ciator, in a word, one of the greatest ornaments of a peril $
which abounded in extraordinary characters.

SCENE III.]

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

Peso. If it were

As well in my weak power, in act, to raise it,
As 'tis to hear a part of sorrow with you,
You then should have just cause to say, Pescara
Look'd not upon your state, hut on your virtues,
When he made suit to be writ in the list

Of those you favour'd. But my haste forbids

All compliment ; thus, then sir, to the purpose :
flie cause that, unattended, brought me hither,
Was not to tell you of your loss, or danger;
For fame hath many wings to bring ill tidings,
And I presume you've heard it ; but to give yon
Such friendly counsel, as, perhaps, may make
Your sad disaster less.

Sfor. Your are all goodness :
And I give up myself to be disposed of,
As in your wisdom you think fit.

Pesc. Thus, then, sir :

To hope you can hold out against the emperor,
Were flattery in yourself*, to your undoing :
Therefore, the safest course that you can take,
Is, to give up yourself to his discretion,
Before you be compell'd ; for, rest assured,
A voluntary yielding may find grace,
And will admit defence, at least excuse :
But, should you linger doubtful, till his powers
Have seized your person and estates perforce,
You must expect extremes.

Sfor. I understand you ;
And I will put your counsel into act,
And speedily. I only will take order
For some domestical affairs, that do
Concern me nearly, and with the next sun
Ride with you : in the mean time, my best friend,
Pr;iy take your rest.

Prec. Indeed, I have travell'd hard ;
And will embrace your counsel. [Erif.

Sfor. U'ith all care,

Attend my noble friend. Stay you, Francisco.
\ ou see how things stand with me ?

Fran. To mv grief:

And if the loss of my poor life could be
A sacrifice to restore them as they were,
1 willingly would lay it down.

Sfor. 1 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 1 have given \ou, 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.

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 1 am tortured to command it :

fl'ere flattery in yourself,] So, both the quartos; the
modern editors read, Were flattering yourtelf.

For 'tis a deed so horrid, that, but to hear it,
Would strike into a ruffian flesh 'd in murders,
Or an obdurate hangman, 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,
M ight appear useful ; but to me they are
Needless impertinencies : for I dare do
Whate'er you dare command.

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 mv will shall speak, Strike now !
To fall upon't like thunder.

Fran. Minister

The oath in any way or form you please,
I stand resolved to take it.

Sfor. Thou must do, then,
What no malevolent star will dare to look on,
It is so wicked : for which men will curse thee
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
Art thou not shaken yet ? [come near us.

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 no/ 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 : 0, I am lost
In the ocean of her virtues and her graces,
When I think of them !

Fran. Now I find the end
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 her's would make a savage tame ;
One accent of that tongue would calm the seas,
Though all the winds at once strove there fo

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 !

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

[AciII

And I, who sometimes you were pleased to favour,
Pick'd out the intrument!

Sfffr. Do not fly off:
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 fortunes :
And strong assurance of thy zealous faith,
That gives up to thy trust a secret, that
Racks should not have forced from me. O, Francisco !
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
Her purer soul from her unspotted body*.
The slavish Indian princes, when they die,
Are cheerfully attended to the fire,
By the wife and slave that, living, they loved best,
To do them service in another world :
Nor will I be less honour'd, that love more.
And therefore trifle not, but in thy looks

Express a ready purpose to perform
What I command; or, by Alarcelia'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.

Sj'ar. I may live to reward it *. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. The same. An open Space before the
Castle.

Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.

Steph. How, left the court !

Tib. Without guard or retinue
Fitting a prince.

Steph. No enemy near, to force him
To leave his own strengths, yet deliver up
Himself, as 'twere, in bonds, to the discretion
Of him that hates him ! 'tis beyond example.
You never heard the motives that induced him
To this strange course ?

Tib. No, those are cabinet councils,
And not to be communicated, but
To such as are his own, and sure. Alas !
We fill up empty places, and in public
Are taught to give our suffrages to that
Which was before determined ; and are safe so.
Signior Francisco (upon whom alone
His absolute power is with all strength conferr'd,
During his absence) can with ease resolve you :
To me they are riddles.

Steph, Well, he shall not be
My QEdipus ; I'll rather dwell in darkness.
But, my good lord Tiberio, this Francisco
Is, on the sudden, strangely raised.

Tib. O sir

He took the tnriving course : he had a sisterf,
A fair one too, with whom, as it is rumour'd,
The duke was too familiar ; but she, cast off
(What promises soever past between them)

Her purer soul from her unnpotted body.] .Purer is used
in perfect concurrence with the practice of Massinger's con-
temporaries, for pure, the comparative for the positive. See
the Unnatural Combat.

+ He had a sister, &c.] There is great art in this

introduction of the sister. In the management of these pre-
paratory liints, Massinger surpasses all his contemporaries.
In Beaumont and Fletcher, " ilie end sometimes forgets the
beginning ;" and even Shakspeare is not entirely free from
inattentions of a similar nature. I will not here praise the
general felicity of our author's plots ; but whatever they
were, he seems to have minutely arranged all the component
parts before a line of the dialogue was written.

Upon the sight of thisf, forsook the court,
And since was never seen. To smother this,
As honours never fail to purchase silence,
Francisco first was graced, and, step by step,
Is raised up to this height.

Steph. But how is
His absence born ?

Tib. Sadly, it seems, by the dutchess ;
For since he left the court,

For the most part she hath kept her private chamber,
No visitants admitted. In the church,
She hath been seen to pay her pure devotions
Season'd with tears ; and sure her sorrow's true,
Or deeply counterfeited ; pomp, and state,
And bravery cast of : and she, that lately
Rivall'd Poppaea in her varied shapes,
Or the Egyptian queen, now, widow-like,
In sable colours, as her husband's dangers
Strangled in her the use of any pleasure,
Mourns for his absence.

Steph. It becomes her virtue,
And does confirm what was reported of her.

Tib. You take it right : but, on the other side,
The darling of his mother, Mariana,
As there were an antipathy between
Her and the dutchess' passions ; and as
She'd no dependence on her brother's fortune,
She ne'er appear'd so full of mirth.

Steph. 'Tis strange.

Enter GRACCHO with Fiddlers.

But see ! her favourite, and accompanied.
To your report.

Grac. You shall scrape, and I will sing
A scurvy ditty to a scurvy tune,
Repine who dares.

The observations in the Essay prefixed to this Volume,
preclude the necessity of any remarks from me, on this ad-
mirable scene : as it seems, however, to have engrossed the
critic's attention, (to the manifest neglect of the rest,) let me
suggi-st, in justice to the author, that it is equalled, if not
surpassed, by some of the succeeding ones, and. among the
rest, by that which concludes the second act.

t Upon tht sight of this, &c.J i. e. of the present dutcbci*.
M. MASON.

SCENE I.]

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

1 Fid. But, if we should offend,
The dutchess having silenced us; and these lords
Stand by to hear us.

Grac. They in name are lords,
But I am one in power : and, for the dutchess,
But yesterday we were merry for her pleasure,
We now'll be for my lady's.
Tib. Signior Graccho.

Grac. A poor man, sir, a servant to the princess ;
But you, great lords* and counsellors of state,
Whom I stand bound to reverence.

Tib. Come ; we know
You are a man in grace.

Grac. Fie ! no : I grant,

I bear my fortunes patiently ; serve the princess,
And have access at all times to her closet,
Such is my impudence ! when your grave lordships
Are masters of the modesty to attend
Three hours, nay sometimes four ; and then bid
Upon her the next morning. [wait

Steph. lie derides us.

Tib. Pray you, what news is stirring ? you know
Grac. Who, I ? alas ! I've no intelligence [all.
At home nor abroad ; I only sometimes guess
The change of the times : 1 should ask of your lord-
ships

Who are to keep their honours, who to lose them :
Who the dutchess smiled on last, or on whom frown'd,
You only can resolve me ; we poor waiters
Deal, as you see, in mirth, and foolish fiddles :
It is our element ? and could you tell me
What point of state 'tis that I am commanded
To muster up this music, on mine honesty,
You should much befriend me.
Steph. Sirrah, you grow saucy.
Tib. And would be laid by the heels.
Grac. Not by your lordships,

Without a special warrant ; look to your own stakes ;
Were I committed, here come those would bail me :
Perhaps, we might change places too.

Enter ISABELLA, and MARIANA.

Tib. The princess !
We must be patient.

Steph. There is no contending.

Tib. See, the informing rogue !

Steph. That we should stoop
To such a mushroom !

Mart. Thou dost mistake ; they durst not
Use the least word of scorn, although provoked,
To any thing of mine. Go, get you home,
And to your servants, friends, and flatterers number
How many descents you're noble : look to your

wives too :
The smooth-chinn'd courtiers are abroad.

Tib. No way to be a freeman !

Exeunt Tiberio and Stephana.

Grac. Your excellence hath the best gift to dispatch
These arras pictures of nobility,
I ever read of.

Mari. I can speak sometimes.

Grac. And cover so your bitter pills, with sweet-
Of princely language to forbid reply, [ness,

They are greedily swallowed.

Isab. But to the purpose, daughter,
That brings us hither. Is it to bestow

* But you, great lords, &c.] So the old copies. Mr. M.
Mason chooses to deviate from them, and read But you are
grant lords, &c. Never was alti.'Wioi> more unnecessary.

I A visit on this woman, that, because
She only would be thought truly to grieve
The absence and the dangers of mv son,
j Proclaims a general sadness?

Alan. If to vex her
May be interpreted to do her honour,
She shall have many of them. I'll make use
Of my short reign : my lord now governs all ;
And she shall know that her idolater,
My brother, being not by now to protect her,
I am her equal.

Grac. Ofa little thing,
It is so full of gall* ! A devil of this size,
Should they run for a wager to be spiteful.
Gets not a horse-head of her. [Asith

Mari. On her birthday,

We were forced to be merry, and now she's musty.
We must be sad, on pain of her displeasure :
We will, we will ! this is her private chamber,
U here, like an hypocrite, not a true, turtle,
She seems to mourn her absent mate ; her servants
Attending her like mutes : but I'll speak to her.
And in a high key too. Play any thing
That's light and loud enough but to torment her,
And we will have rare sport. [Music and a songf.

MAHCELIA appears at a Window above, in black.

Isab. She frowns as if
Her looks cou'd fright us.

Mari. May it please your grea'ness,
We heard that your late physic hath not work'd;
And that breeds melancholy, as your doctor tells us.
To purge which, we, that are born your highness

vassals,

And are to play the fool to do you service,
Present you with a fit of mirth. What think you
Ofa new antic?

Isab. ''I would show rare in ladies.

Mari. Being intended for so sweet a creature,
Were she but pleased to grace it.

Isab. Fie ! she will,
Be it ne'er so mean ; she's made of courtesy.

Mari. The mistress of all hearts. One smile, I

pray you,

On your poor servants, or a fiddler's fee ;
Coming from those fair hands, though but a ducat,
We will inshrine it as a holy relic.

Isab. Tis wormwood, and it works.

Marc. If I lay by

My feurs and griefs, in which you should be sharera.
If doting age could let you but remember,
You have a son ; or frontless impudence,
You are a sister ; and in making answer,

Grac. Ofa lilllc thing,

It is so full of yall !] Nothing more strongh murks the
poi erty of the Mage ill those times, than the frequent allusions
we rind to the size of the actors, which may he considered
as a kind of apology to the audience. It i> noi possible to
ascertain who played the part of Mari.tii.t, hut it was, not
improbably, Theophilus Bonnie, who acted I anlina in (fit
Rewgado, where an expression nf the saiiie natnie (/c*cnrg.
Domitill.i, in the Roman victor, is also little ; flic- w.is played
by John Hunnieman. 1 do not condemn these indirect apo-
logies ; indeed, litre appears to he s> meihi g of auixt sens*
in them, and of proper deference to 'he undi rsiandiniis of thk
audience. At present, we run in.trepi.IIy into exery specie*
of absurdity, men and women unwieldly <tt once from agt
and fatness, take upon themthe parts of active bujs ai.d girljs
and it is not only in a pantomime thai we are accutomcrj
to see children of six feet high in leading strings !

+ A song] This, like many otheis, does not appear ; it wai
probably supplied at pleasure, by the acturi

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

To what was most unfit for you to speak,
Or me to hear, borrow of my just anger

Isab. A set speech, on my life.

Marl. Penn'd by her chaplain. [speak,

Marc. Yes, it* can speak, without instruction
And tell your want of manners, that you are rude,
And saucily rude, too.

Grac. Now the game begins.

Marc. You durst not, else, on any hire or hope,
Remembering what I am, and whose I am,
Put on the desperate boldness, to disturb
The least of my retirements.

Muri. Note her, now. [presume

Marc. For both shall understand, though the one
Upon the privilege due to a mother,
The duke stands now on his own legs, and needs
No nurse to lead him.

Isab. How, a nurse !

Mare. A dry one,

And useless too : but I am merciful,
And dotage signs your pardon.

Isab. I defy thee ;
Thee, and thy pardons, proud one.

Marc. For you, puppet

Mari. What of me, pine-treef !

Marc. Little you are, I grant,
And have as little worth, but much less wit ;
You durst not else, the duke being wholly mine,
His power and honour mine, and the allegiance,
You owe him, as a subject, due to me

Mari. To you ?

Marc. To me : and therefore, as a vassal,
From this hour lear<j to serve me, or you'll fee.
I must make use of my authority,
And, as a princess, punish it.

Isab. A princess !

Mart. I had rather be a slave unto a Moor,
Than know thee for my equal.

Isab. Scornful thing!
Proud of a white face.

Mori. Let her but rememberj
The issue in her leg.

Isab. The charge she puts
The state to, for perfumes.

Muri. And howsoe'er

She seems when she's made up, as she's herself,
She stinks above the ground. O that I could reach
The little one you scorn so, with her nails [you !

* Marc. Yea, it can speak,] So the old copies : the modern
rlit ions, Yet, I can speak !

t Marc. For you, puppet

Man. What of me, pine tree?]
" Now I perceive that she hath made compare

Between our statures"

Puppet and may-pole, and many other terms of equal elegance
are bandied about between Herniia arid Helena, in Mid-
iwnmer- Night's Dream, which is ht-re too closely imitated.
I forbear to quote the passages, which are familiar to every
reader of Shakspeare.

t Mari. Let her but remember, &c.] For this, Massinger
a indebted to less respectable authority, to the treacherous
loquacity of the dutchess's waiting woman, in her midnight
conference with Don Quixote. These traits, however dis-
gusting, are not without their value ; they strongly mark the
prevailing features of the times, which are universally coarse
and indelicate : they exhibit also a circumstance worthy of
partic-ilar notice, namely, that tho<e vigorous powers of genius
which carry men far beyond (he literary state of their age,
do not enable them to outgo that ot its manners. This must
tervc as an apology for our author ; indeed, it is the only
one that can be ottered tor many who stand higher in the
r ank of fame than Massinger, and who have still more need
jt it.

Would tear your painted face, and scratch those
Do but come down. [eyes out

Marc. Were there no other way,
But leaping on thy neck, to break mine own,
Rather than be outbraved thus. [She retires.

Grac. Forty ducats

Upon the little h>/n : she's of the kind,
And will not leave the pit. [Aside.

Mari. That it were lawful
To meet her with a poniard and a pistol !
But these weak hands shall shew my spleen,

Re-enter MARCELIA below.

Marc. Where are you ?
You modicum, you dwarf !

Mari. Here, giantess, here.

Enter FRANCISCO, TIBERIO, and STEPHANO.

Fran. A tumult in the court !

Mari. Let her come on.

.Fran. What wind hath raised this tempest ?
Sever them, I command you. What's the cause ?
Speak, Mariana.

Mari. I am out of breath ;

But we shall meet, we shall. And do you hear sir !
Or right me on this monster, (she's three feet
Too high for a woman,) or ne'er look to have
A quiet hour with me.

Isab. If my son were here,
And would endure this, may a mother's curse
Pursue and overtake him !

F ran. O forbear :

In me he's present, both in power and will ;
And, madam. I much grieve that, in his absence,
There should arise the least distaste to move you :
It being his principal, nay, only charge,
To have you, in his absence, served and honour'd,
As when himself perform 'd the willing office.

Mari. This is fine, i'faith.

Grae. I would I were well off! [not,

fra. And therefore, I beseech you, madam, frown.
Till most unwittingly he hath deserved it,
On your poor servant ; to your excellence
I ever was and will be such ; and lay
The duke's authority, trusted to me,
With willingness at your feet.

Marl. O base !

Isab. We are like
To have an equal judge!

Fran. But, should I find
That you are touch'd in anv point of honour
Or that the least neglect is fall'n upon you,
I then stand up a prince.

1 Fid. Without reward,
Prav you dismiss us

Grac. Would I were five leagues hence !

Fran. 1 will be partial
To none, not to myself;
Be you but pleased to shew me my offence,
Or if you hold me in your good opinion,
Name those that have offended you.

Isab. I am one,
And I will justify it.

Mart. Thou art a base fellow,
To take her part.

Fran. Remember, she's the dutchess.

Marc. But used with more contempt, than if I were
A peasant's daughter; baited, and hooted at,
Like to a common strumpet ; with loud noises
Forced from my pravers ; and my private chamber,
Which, with all willingness, I would make my prison

CENE I.]

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

During the absence of my lord, denied me :
But it he e'er return

Fran. Were you an actor
In this lewd comedy ?

Mart. Ay, marrv was I j
And will be one again.

[tab. I'll join with her,
Though you repine at it.

Fran. Think not, then, I speak,
For I stand bound to honour, and to serve you,
But that the duke, that lives in this great lady,
For the contempt of him in her, commands you
To be close prisoners.

I sab. Mart. Prisoners !

Frati. Bear them hence ;
This is your charge, my lord Tiberio,
And. Stephano, this is yours.

Marc. I am not cruel,
But pleased thev may have liberty.

Isab. Pleased, with a mischief !

Mari. I'll rather live in any loathsome dungeon,
Than in a paradise at her entreaty :
And, for you, upstart

Steph. There is no contending.

Tib. What shall become of these ?

Fran. See them well whipp'd,
As you will answer it.

fib. Now, signior Graccho,
What think you* of your greatness ?

Grac. I preach patience,
And must endure my fortune.

1 Fid. 1 was never yet
At such a hunt's-upt, nor was so rewarded.

[Eieunt all but Francisco and Marcelia.

Fran. Let them first know themselves, and how

you are

To be served and honour'd ; which, when they con-
fess,

You may again receive them to your favour :
And then it will shew nobly.

Marc. With my thanks
The duke shall pay you his, if he return
To bless us with his presence.

Fran. There is nothing
That can be added to your fair acceptance ;
That is the prize, indeed ; all else are blanks.
And of no value. As, in virtuous actions,
The undertaker finds a full reward,
Although conferr'd upon unthankful men ;

Tib. \ow Siynior Graccho,

H'hat think you of your yreatnest J] So the first qnarto.
Coxeter anil Mr. W. Mason IV,lluw the second, which reads,
What's hfcome of your yreattiets ?

t 1 Fill / lias nt rer yet

At *uch a hunt's -up,] The hunt't-ttp was a lesson on the
horn, played under the windows of sportsmen, to call them
np in the morning. It was, probably, sufficiently obstrepe-
rous, tor it is irequentl) applied by our rid writers, as in this
place, to any noise or clamour of an awakening or alarming
natme. The tune, or rather, perhaps, the words to it, was
compos d by oi.e Gray, in the time of Henry VIII. who, as
Puttenham tills us, to lib Art of Enylish Poesy, WMS much
pleased with it. Of its popularity there can be no doubt, for
it w.is 01. e of the songs travestied by the Scotch Reformers
into " ane glide and gully ballale," for the edification of the
elect. The first stanza of (he original is come down to us:
" The hnnte is np, the hnn'e is up,

And umvt it is almost dayc ;
And he that's in bed with another man's wife,

It is time to get awaye."

The tune, I suppose, is lost; but we have a hant's-iipof our
own, which is still played under the window* of the -lug^ish
sportsman, and consists of a chorus of men, dogi, and burns,
not a little alarming.

So. any service done to so much sweetness.
However dangerous, and subject to
An ill construction, in your favour finds
A wish'd, and glorious end.

Marc. From you, I take this
As loyal duty ; but, in any other,
It would appear gross flattery.

Fran. Flattery, madam !
You are so rare and excellent in all things,
And raised so high upon a rock of goodness,
As that vice cannot reach you* ; who but looks on
This temple, built by nature to perfection,
But must bow to it ; and out of that zeal,
Not only learn to adore it, but to love it ?

Marc. Whither will this fellow? [Asidt

Fran. Pardon, therefore, madam,
If an excess in me of humble duty,
Teach me to hope, and though it be not in
The power of man to merit such a blessing,
My piety, for it is more than love,
May find reward.

Marc. You have it in my thanks ;
And, on my hand, I am pleased that you shall take
A full possession of it ; but, take heed
That you fix here, and feed no hope beyond it ;
If you do, it will prove fatal.

Fran. Be it death,

And death with torments tyrants ne'er found out,
Yet I must say, I love you.

Marc. As a subject ;
And 'twill become you.

Fran. Farewell circumstance !
And since you are not pleased to understand me,
But by a plain and usual form of speech ;
All superstitious reverence laid by,
I love you as a man, and, as a man,
I would enjoy you. Why do you start, and fly met
I am no monster, and you but a woman,
A woman made to yield, and by example
Told it is lawful : favours of this nature,
Are, in our age, no miracles in the greatest ;
And, therefore, lady

Marc. Keep off. O you Powers !

Libidinous beast ! and, add to that, unthankful !

A crime, which creatures wanting reason, 1 fly from ;

Are all the princely bounties, favours, honours,

Which, with some prejudice to his own wisdom,

Thy lord and raiser hath conferr'd upon thee,

In three days absence buried ! Hath he made thee,

A thing obscure, almost without a name,

The envy of great fortunes ? Have I graced thee,

Beyond thy rank, and entertain 'd thee, as

A friend, and not a servant ? and is this,

This impudent attempt to taint mine honour,

The fair return of both our ventured favours !

Fran. Hear my excuse.

Marc. The devil may plead mercy,
And with as much assurance, as thou yield one,
Burns lust so hot in thee 1 or is thy pride
Grown up to such a height, that, but a princess,
No woman can content thee ; and, add to it,
His wife and princess, to whom thou art tied
In all the bonds of duty ? Read my life,
And find one act of mine so loosely carried
That could invite a most self-loving fool,

At that vice cannot reach you;] i. e. flattery : Coxi-ter
deserts the old copies here, and reads, I know not for what
reason,

Th'it vice can never reach you!
His Achates follows him a< usual.

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

Set off with all that fortune could throw on him,
To the least hope to find way to my favour ;
And, what's the worst mine enemies could wish me,
I'll be thy strumpet.

Fran. 'Tis acknowledged, madam,
That your whole course of life hath been a pattern
For chaste and virtuous women. In your beauty,
Which I first saw, and loved, as a fair crystal,
I read your heavenly mind, clear and untainted ;
And while the duke did prize you to your value,
Could it have been in man to pay that duty,
I well might envy him, but durst not hope
To stop you in your full career of goodness :
But now" I find that he's fall'n from his fortune,
And, howsoever he would appear doting,
Grown cold in his affection ; I presume,
Frbm his most barbarous neglect of you,
To offer my true service. Nor stand I bound,
To look back ou the courtesies of him,
That, of all living men, is most unthankful.

Marc, Unheard-of impudence !

Fran. You'll say I am modest,
When I have told the story. Can he tax me.
That have received some worldly trifles from him,
For being ungrateful ; when he, that first tasted,
And bath so long enjoy 'd, your sweet embraces.
In which all blessings that our frail condition
Is capable of, are wholly comprehended,
As cloy'dwith happiness, contemns the giver
Of his felicity ! and, as he reach'd not
The masterpiece of mischief which he aims at,
Unless he pay those favours he stands bound to,
With fell and deadly hate ! 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 wish'd
You were among the dead ; and I, you scorn so,
Perhaps, am your preserver.

Marc. 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 accurs'd ! Thy soul, if thou hast any.
Can witness, never lady stood so bound
To the unfeign'd affection of her lord.
As I do to my Sforza. If thou wouldst work
Upon my weak credulity, tell me, rather,
That the earth moves ; the sun and stars stand still ;
The ocean keeps nor floods nor ebbs ; or that
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 any thing that is averse to nature :
And 1 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.

F ran. O innocence abused ! simplicity cozen'd !
It were a sin, for which we have no name,
To keep you longer in this wilful error.
Read his affection here ; [Gives her a paper.] and

then observe

How dear he holds you ! 'Tis his character,
Which cunning yet could never counterfeit.

Or that the ravenous eayle and the dove

Krpt in one aerie,) i. e. in one nest. Mr. M. Mason
degrades \fas?inger and himself, by reading, Keep in one
aviary ! Such rashness, and such incompetence, it is to be
hoped, do not often meet in one person.

Marc. Tis his hand, I'm resolved* of it. I'll try
What the inscription is.
Fran. Pray you, do so.

Marc, [reads.] You know my pleasure, and the how
of Marcetia's death, which Jail not to eiecute, as i/
wilt answer the contrary, not with your head alone, but
with the ruin of your whole family. And this, written
with mine own hand, and signed with my privy signet,
shall be your sufficient warrant.

LODOVICO SFORZA.

I do obey it ; every word's a poniard,

And reaches to my heart. [S/ie swoons.

Fran. What have I done !

Madam ! for heaven's sake, madam ! my fate!
I'll bend her body* : this is, yet, some pleasure :
I'll kiss her into a new life. Dear lady !
She stirs. For the duke's sake, for Sforza's sake

Marc. Sforza's ! stand off' ; though dead, 1 will

be his,

And even my ashes shall abhor the touch,
Of any other. unkind, and cruel !
Learn, women, learn to trust in one another ;
There is no faith in man : Sforza is false,
False to Marcelia !

Fran. But I am true,

And live to make you happy. All the pomp,
State, and observance you had, being his,
Compared to what you shall enjoy, when mine,
Shall be no more remember'd. Lose his memory,
And look with cheerful beams on your new creature ,
And know, what he hath plotted for your good,
Fate cannot alter. ]f the emperor
Take not his life, at his return he dies,
And by my hand ; my wife, that is his heir,
Shall quickly follow : then we reign alone!
For with this arm I'll swim through seas of blood,
Or make a bridge, arch'd with the bones of men,
But 1 will grasp my aims in you, my dearest,
Dearest, and best of women $!

Marc. Thou art a villain !
All attributes of arch villains made into one,
Cannot express thee. I prefer the hate
Of Sforza though it mark me for the grave,
Before thy base affection. 1 am yet
Pure and unspotted in my true love to him ;
Nor shall it be corrupted, though he's tainted :
Nor will 1 part with innocence, because
He is found guilty. For thyself, thou art
A thing, that, equal with the devil himself,
I do detest and scorn.

Fran. Thou, then, art nothing :

'Til his hand, I'm resolved of it.] I am convinced of
it : so the word is frequently used by Massinger's cuntem
poraries. Thus Fletcher, in the Faithful Shepherdess :
" But be they t'.tr from me with ihfir fond lertoi I

1 am resolved my Chloe yet is true."
And Webster, in the / kite Devil:
" I am resolved,

Were there a second paradise to lose,
This devil would betray it."

t fit bend her bo<ly :] to try if there be any life in i
Thus, in the Maid Tragedy :

" I've heard, if there be any life, but bow

The body thus, and it will show it*t-li."

J But J wilt erap my aims in yon, my dearest,

Dearest, and best of women .'] It would scarcely be ere
dited, if we had not the proof before us, that for this bold and
animated expression, which is lhat of both ill-- qiurios, Mr.
M. Mason should presume to print, Rut I will grasp you in
my arms, in the tame rant of modern comedy. Cxeter'a
reading u simple nonsense, which i.-. better than specious
sophistication, as it excites suspicion.

SCENE 1-1

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

Thy life is in my power, disdainful woman !
Think on't, and tremble.

Marc. No, though thou wert now
To play thy hangman's part. Thou well may'st be
My executioner, and art only fit
For such employment ; but ne'er hope to have
The least grace from me. I will never see thee,
Hut as the shame of men : so, with my curses
Of horror to thv conscience in this life,
And pains in hell hereafter, I spit at thee ;
And, making haste to make my peace with heaven,
Expect thee as my hangman. [Exit.

Fran. I am lost

In the discovery of this fatal secret.

Curs'd hope, that flatter 'd me, that wrongs could
make her

A stranger to her goodness ! all my plots

Turn back upon myself; but I am in,

And must go on : and, since I have put off

From the shore of innocence, guilt be now my pilot !

Revenge first wrought me * ; murder's his twin-
brother :

One deadly sin, then, help to cure another ; [Eiii

ACT III.

SCENE I. The Imperial Camp, Before Pavia.
Enter MEDINA, HERNAVDO, and ALPHONSO,

Med. The spoil, the spoil ? 'tis that the soldier

fights for.

Our victory, as yet, affords us nothing
But wounds and empty honour. Wf have pass'd
The hazard of a dreadful day, and forced
A passage with our swords through all the dangers
That, page-like, wait on the success of war ;
And now expect reward.

Hern. Hell put it in

The enemy's mind to be desperate, and hold out !
Yielding:* and compositions will undo us;
And what is that way given, for the most part,
Comes to the emperor's coffers, to defray
Thf- charge of the great action, as 'tis rumour'd ;
When, usually, some thing in grace, that ne'er

heard

The cannon's roaring tongue, but at a triumph,
Puts in, and for his intercession shares
All that we fought for : the poor soldier left
To stirve, or fill up hospitals.

Alph. But, when

We enter towns \>y force, and carve ourselves,
Pleasure with pillage, and the richest wines,
Open our shrunk-up veins, and pour into them
New blood and fervour

Med, 1 long to be at it ;

To see these chuffs*, that every day may spend
A soldier's entertainment for a year,
Yet make a third meal of a bunch of raisinsf :

To see these chuffs,] So it stood in every edition before
Mr. M. Mason's, when it was altered to chotiyhs, and ex-
plained in a note, to mean maypieg ! What magpie* could
have to do here, it would, perhaps, have puttied Uic editor,
had he thought at all on tlie subject, to discover The truth
is, that chuff is the genuine word : it is always used in a had
ten e, an I means a coarse uninannered clown, at once sordid
and wealthy.

t Yet make a third meal of a lunch ofraix'ns:] So all the
old copies: and so, indeed, Coxeter ; but Mr. M. Mason,
whose si<;acitj nothing escapes, detected the poet's blunder,
and for third suggested, nay, actually printed, thin. " This
passage," quoth i,e, " appears to be erroneous : the making
a third meal of raisin-, if they made two good meals be ore,
would be no proof of penurionsness. I therefoie lead th n."

Serioujly, was ever alteration so capricious, was ever rea-
soning so absurd ? Where is it said that these chuffs ' had
made two good meals before?" Is not the whole tend my
of the spe.-ch to shew that they siaivrd themselves m tie
midst of abundance > and are not the reproaches such, as have
been cast, in all ayes, by men of Medina's stamp, on the

These sponges, that suck up a kingdom's fat,
Battening like scarabs t in the dunir of peace,
To be squeezed out by the rough hand of war ;
And all that their whole lives have heap'd together ;
By cozenage, perjury, or sordid thrift,
With one gripe to be ravish'd.

Hern. I would be tousing
Their fair madonas, that in little dogs,
Monkeys, and paraquittos, consume thousands:
Yet, for the advancement of a noble action,
Repine to part with a poor piece of eight :
War's plagues upon them ! I have seen them stop
Their scornful noses first, then seem to swoon,
At sight of a buff jerkin, if it were not
Perfumed, and hid with gold : yet these nice wantons,
Spurr'd on by lust, cover'd in some disguise,
To meet some rough court-stallion, and be leap'd
Durst enter into any common brothel,
Though all varieties of stink contend there;
Yet praise the entertainment.

Med. I may live

To see the tatter'd'st rascals of my troop
Drag them out of their closets with a vengeance ;
When neither threatening, flattering, kneeling, how-
ling.

Can ransome one poor jewel, or redeem
Themselves, from their blunt wooing.

Hern. My main hope is,
To begin the sport at Milan : there's enough,
And of all kinds of pleasure we can wish for,
To satisfy the most covetous.

Alpli. Every day,
We look for a remove.

Med. For Lodowick Sforza,
The duke of Milan, I, on mine own knowledge,

sober and frugal citi/en, who lived within his income t
" Surely." says I'lotwtll, in tlte City Match,
" Surfly, myself,

Cipher his factor, and an ancient cat,
Did keep strict diet, h.id our Spanish fare,
Four olives among three! My uncle would
Lock fat with fasting; I have known him surfeit
C'pon a bunch of raisins, swoon at sight
Ol a whole joint, and rise an epicure
From half an orange."

* Becenye first wrought me, &c.] The reader should not
suffer these hints, of whicn he will find several in the suc-
ceeding pages, to esc-ipe him : they are not thrown out at
landom by Malinger, but intended to prepare the mind for
the dreadful retaliation which follows.

t fattening like scarabs I Scarabs mears beetles. M.
MASON. Very true; and beetles means scarabs 1

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

Can say thus much : he is too much a soldier,
Too confident of his own worth, too rich too,
And understands too well the emperor hates him,
To hope for composition.

Alph. On my life,
We need not fear his coming in *.

Hern. On mine,

I do not wish it : I had rather that,
To shew his valour, he'd put us to the trouble
To fetch him in by the ears.

Med. The emperor.

Flimrish. Enter CHARLES, PESCARA. and Attendants

Churl. You make me wonder: nay, it is no

counsel t,

You may partake it, gentlemen : who'd have thought,
That he, that scorn 'd our proft'er'd amity
When he was sued to, should, ere he be summon'd
(Whether persuaded to it by base fear.
Or flatter'd by false hope, which, 'tis uncertain,)
First kneel for mercy ?

Med. When your majesty
Shall please to instruct us who it is, we may
Admire it with you

Chart. Who. but the duke of Milan,
The right hand of the French ! of all that stand
]n our displeasure, whom necessity
Compels to seek our favour, I would have sworn
Sforza had been the last.

Hern. And should be writ so,
In the list of those you pardon. Would his city
Had rather held us out a siege, like Troy,
Than, by a feign'd submission, he should cheat you
Of a just revenge ; or us, of those fair glories
We have sweat blood to purchase !

Med. With your honour
You cannot hear him.

Alph. The sack alone of Milan
Will pay the army.

Churl. 1 am not so weak,
To be wrought on, as you fear; nor ignorant
That motiey is the sinew of the war :
And on what terms soever he seek peace,
'Tis in our power to grant it, or deny it :
Yet, for our glory, and to shew him that
We've brought him on his knees, it is resolved
To hear him as a suppliant. Bring him in ;
But let him see the eflvcts of our just anger,
In the guard that you make for him.

[Exit Pescara.

Hem. I am now

Familiar with the issue ; all plagues on it !
He will appear in some dejected habit,
His countenance suitable, and, for his order,
A rope about his neck : then kneel, and tell
Old stories, what a worthy thing it is
To have power, and not to use it ; then add to that,
A tale of king Tigrane?, and great Pompey,
Who said, forsooth, and wisely ! 'Twasmore honour
To make a king, than kill one ; which, applied
To the emperor, and himself, a pardon's granted
To him, an enemy ; and we, his servants,
Condemn'd to beggary.

Alph. On my life

We need, not. fear hir coining in.l His surrender of himself.
Hernamlu, in the nt- it sr-erch, plnys upon the word.

nay, it is no counsel, | i. e. no secret: o

in Cupid' t lievenye :

1 would worry her,

As never cur was worried, I would, neighbonr,

Till my teeth met I know where ; but that is counsel."

Med. Yonder he comes ;
But not as you expected.

Re-enter PESCARA with SFORZA.

Alph. He looks as if
He would out face his dangers.

Hern. I am cozen'd :
A suitor, in the devil's name !

Med. Hear him speak.

Sfor. I come not, emperor, to invade thy mercy,
By fawning on thy fortune ; nor bring with me
Excuses, or denials. I profess,
And with a good man's confidence, even this instant
That I am in thy power, I was thine enemy ;
Thy deadly and vow'dj enemy : one that wish'd
Confusion to thy person and estates ;
And with my utmost powers, and deepest counsels,
Hud they been truly follow'd, further'd it.
Nor will I now, although my neck were under
The hangman's axe, with one poor syllable
Confess, but that I honour'd the French king,
More than thyself, and all men,

Med. By saint Jaques,
This is no flattery

Hern. There is fire and spirit in't ;
But not long-lived, I hope.

Sj'or. Now give me leave,
My hate against thyself, and love to him
Freely acknowledged, to give up the reasons
That made me so affected : In my wants
I ever found him faithful ; had supplies
Of men and monies from him ; and my hopes,
Quite sunk, were, by his grace, buoy'd up again :
He was, indeed, to me, as my good angel,
To guard me from all dangers. I dare speak,
Nay, must and will, his praise now, in as high
And loud a key, as when he was thy equal.
The benefits he sow'd in me, met not
Unthankful ground, but yielded him his own
With fair increase, and I still glory in it.
And, though my fortunes, poor, compared to his,
And Milan, weigh 'd with France, appear as nothing,
Are in thy fury burnt, let it be mention'd,
They served but as small tapers to attend
The solemn flame at this great funeral * :
And with them I will gladly waste myself,
Rather than undergo the imputation
Of being base, or unthankful.

Alph. Nobly spoken !

Hern. I do begin, I know not why, to hate him
Less than I did.

Sfcr. If that, then, to be grateful
For courtesies received, or not to leave
A friend in his necessities, be a crime
Amongst you Spaniards, which other nations
That, like you, aim'd at empire, loved, and cherish'd
Where'er they found it, Sforza brings his head
To pay the forfeit. Nor come I as a slave,
Piniori'd and fetter'd, in a squalid weed,
Falling before thy feet, kneeling and howling,
For a forestall'd remission : that were poor,
And would but shame thy victory ; for conquest
Over base foes, is a captivity,
And not a triumph. I ne'er fear'd to die,
More than 1 wish'd to live. When I had reach'd
My ends in being a duke, 1 wore these robes,

* at this great funeral .] Mr. M. Mason.

whether by design or not, I will not say, read?, his great
funeral : meaning, perhaps, the French kind's; but 'he oW
reading is better in every respect-

SCENE I.]

THE DUKE OF MILAN.'

This crown upon my head, and to my side

This sword was girt ; and witness truth, that, now

'Tis in another's power when 1 shall part

With them and life together, I'm the same :

My veins then did not swell with pride ; nor now

Shrink they for tear. Know, sir, that Sforza stands

Prepared for either fortune.

Hern. As I live,

I do begin strangely to love this fellow ;
And could part with three quarters of my share in
The promised spoil, to save him.

Sjor. But, if example

Of mv fidelity to the French, whose honours,
Titles, and glories, are now mix'd with yours,
As brooks, devour'd by rivers, lose their names,
Has power to invite you to make him a friend,
That hath given evident proof, he knows to love,
And to be thankful ; this my crown, now yours,
You may restore me, and in me instruct [change,
These brave commanders, should your fortune
Which now I wish nut, what they may expect
From noble enemies, for being faithful.
The charges of the war I will defray.
And, what you may, not without hazard, force,
Bring freely to you : I'll prevent the cries
Ofmurderd infants, and of ravish'd maids,
Which, in a city sack'd, call on heaven's justice,
And stop the course of glorious victories:
And, when I know the captains and the soldiers,
That have in the late battle done be=t service,
And are to be rewarded, I myself,
According to their quality and merits,
\\ill see them largely recompensed. I have said,
And now expect my sentence.

Aiph. By this light,
Tis a brave gentleman.

Merl. How like a. block
The emperor sits !

Hern. He hath deliver'd reasons*,
Especially in his purpose to enrich
Such as fought bravely, I myself am one,
I care not who knows it, as I wonder that
He can be so stupid. Now he begins to stir :
Mercy, an't be thy will !

Churl. Thou hast so far
Outgone my expectation, noble Sforza,
For such I hold thee ; and true constancy,
Raised on a brave foundation, bears such palm
And privilege' with it, that where we behold it,
Though in an enemy, it does command us
To love and honour it. By my future hopes,
I am glad, for thy sake, that, in seeking favour,
Thou didst not borrow of vice her indirect,
Crooked, and abject means ; and for mine own,
That since my purposes must now be changed,
Touching thy life a^d fortunes, the world cannot
Tax me of levity in my settled compels ;
I being neither wrought bv tempting bribes,
Nor servile flattery ; but forced into it
By a fair war of virtue.

* He hath deliver'd reasons,' Hernando evidently means
to say that Stor/..i IMS >poki>n ratinall\, especially in ex-
pressing liis purpose of enriching those who (ought bravely :
the word reasons in the plural will not express that sense.
M. MASON.

He therefore alters it to reason ! To attempt lo prove that
the old copies are right, wonM be superflnoii- : but I c.miiot
reflect, without some indignation, on the scandalous manner
in which Mr. 41. Mason has given this speech. He first
deprives it "f metre and sense, ami then bin'-ls up new read-
ings OD his own blunders.

Hern. This sounds well.

Chart. All former passages of hate be buried :
For thus with open arms I meet thy love,
And as a friend embrace it ; and so far
I am from robbing thee of the least honour,
That with my hands, to make it sit the faster,
I set thy crown once more upon thy head ;
And do not only style thee, Duke of Milan,
But vow to keep thee so. Yet, not to take
From others to uive only to myself*,
I will not hinder your magnificence
To my commanders, neither will 1 urge it ;
But in that, as in all things else, I leave you
To be your own disposer.

[Flourish. Exit ti-ith Attendants.

Sfor. May I live

To seal my loyalty, though with loss of life,
In some brave service worthy Cwsar's favour,
And I shall die most happy ! Gentlemen,
Receive me to your loves ; and if henceforth
There can arise a difference between us,
It shall be in a noble emulation
Who hath the fairest sword, or dare go farthest,
To fight for Charles the emperor.

Hern. We embrace you,
As one well read in all the points of honour*
And there we are your scholars.

Sjor. True ; but such
As far outstrip the master. We'll contend
In love hereafter ; in the mean time, pray you,
Let me discharge my debt, and, as an earnest %

Of what's to come, divide this cabinet :
In the small body of it there are jewels
Will yield a hundred thousand pistolets,
Which honour me to receive.

J\Ied. You bind us to you. [his presence,

Sjor. And when great Charles commands me to
If you will please to excuse my abrupt departure,
Designs that most concern me, next this mercy,
Calling me home, I shall hereafter meet you,
And gratify the favour.

Hern. In this, and all things,
W 7 e are your servants.

Sfor. A name I ever owe you.

[Exeunt Medina, Hernando, and Alphonso.

Pesc. So, sir ; this tempest is well overblown,
And all tilings fall out to our wishes : but,
In my opinion, this quick return,
Before you've made a party in the court
Among the great ones, (for these needy captains
Have little power in peace,) may beget danger,
At least suspicion.

Sfor. Where true honour lives,
Doubt hath no being : I desire no pawn
Beyond an emperor's word, for my assurance.
Besides, Pescara, to thyself, of all men,
I will confess my weakness : though my state
And crown's restored me, though 1 am in grace,
And that a little stay might be a step
To greater honours, 1 must hence. Alas !
I live not here ; my wife, my wife Pesiaraf,

Yet, not to take

From others, tn give only to myself.l This is the reading
of all the old copies, and nothing can be clearer than that it
is perfectly proper. The modern editors, however, choose
to weaken both the sense and the sentiment, by a conceit of
their own : they print, toyiveimly lo thyself!

t my wife, my wife, Pescara,] Mr. M. Mason

feebly and immetrically reads, mywife.Pescara. Thre

is great beauty in the repetition ; it is, besides, perfectly IB
character.

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

[Acr III

Being absent, I am dead. Prithee, excuse.
And do not chide, for friendship's sake, my fondness,
Hut ride along with me ; I'll give you reasons,
And strong ones, to plead for me.

Pesc. Use your own pleasure ;
I'll bear you company.

Sjbr. Farewell, grief! I am stored with
Two blessings most desired in human life,
A constant friend, an unsuspected wife. [Eieunl,

SCENE II. Milan. A Room in the Castle*.
Enter an Officer with GUACCHO.

Offic. What I did, I had warrant for ; you have

tasted

My office gently, and for those soft strokes,
Flea-bitings to the jerks I could have lent you,
There Goes belong a feeling.

Graf. Must I pay
For being tormented, and dishonour'd ?

Offic. Fie ! no, [out

Your honour's not impair'd in't, What's the letting
Of a little corrupt bloodt, and the next way too?
There is no surgeon like me, to take off
A courtier's itch that's rampant at great ladies,
Or turns knave for preferment, or grows proud
Of his rich cloaks and suits, though got by brokage,
And so forgets his betters.

Graff. Very good, sir :
But am I the first man of quality
That e'er came under your fingers ?

Offic. Not by a thousand ;
And they have said 1 have a lucky hand too :
Both men and women of all sorts have bow'd
Under this sceptre. I have had a fellow
That could endite, forsooth, and make fine metres
To tinkle in the ears of ignorant madams,
That, for defaming of great men, was sent me
Threadbare and lousy, and in three days after,
Discharged by another that set him on, I have seen
Cap a pie gallant, and his stripes wash'd off [him
With oil of angels.J

Grac. 'Twas a sovereign cure.

Offic. There was a sectary too, that would not be
Conformable to the orders of the church,
Nor yield to any argument of reason,
But still rail at authority, brought to me,
When I had worm'd his tongue, and truss'd his

haunches,

Grew a fine pulpitman, and was beneficed :
Had he not cause to thank me ?

Grac. There was physic
Was to the purpose.

Offic. Now, for women, sir,
For your more consolation, I could tell you
Twenty fine stories, but I'll end in one,
And 'tis the last that's memorable.

Grac. Prithee, do ;
For I grow weary of thee.

Milan. A Room in the Castle.'] Here too Coxeter prints,
* Scene chani/et t o Pita f" and here too lie is followed by
die " most accurate of editors," Mr. M. Mason.

t Of a little corrupt blood,] So the old copies ; the modern
editors read, Of a little corrupted blood.' This reduces the
line to very ^ood prose, which is indeed its only merit.

J With oil <2/"angeU ] It may be just necessary to observe,
Uut this it a pleasant allusion to the gold coin of that name.

Offic. There was lately*
A fine she-waiter in the court, that doted
Extremely of a gentleman, that had
His main dependence on a signior's favour
I will not name, but could not compass him
On any terms. This wanton at dead midnight,
Was found at the exercise behind the arras,
With the 'foresaid signior : he got clear off,
But she was seined on, and, to save his honoui,
Endured the lash ; and, though I made her often
Curvet and caper, she would never tell
Wlio play'd at pushpin with her.

Grac. But what follow'd ?
Prithee be brief.

Offic. Why this, sir : She, deliver'd,
Had store of crowns assign' her by her patron,
Who forced the gentleman, to save her credit,
To marry her, and say he was the party
Found in lob's pound : so she, that, before, gladly
Would have been his whore, reigns o'er him as his

wife ;

Nor dares he grumble at it. Speak but truth, then,
Is not my office lucky?

Grac. Go, there's for thee;
But what will be my fortune ?

Ojfic If you thrive not
After that soft correction, come again.

Grac. I thank you, knave.

Offic. And then, knave, I will fit you. [Ea'K.

Grac. Whipt like a rogue! DO lighter punishment

serve

To balance with a little mirth : 't is well.
My credit sunk forever, I am now
Fit company only for pages and for footboys,
That have perused the porter's lodgef.

F.nter JULIO and GIOVANNI}:.

Giov. See, Julio,

Yonder the proud slave is ; how he looks now,
After his castigation !

Jul. As he came

From a close fight at sea under the hatches,
With a she-Dunkirk, that was shot before

Offic. There wat lately, &C. 1 I have little doubt but that
this lively story was founded in fact, and well mnlrrstood by
the pott's contemporaries. The courtiers were not slow in
indemnifying themselves for the morose and gloomy hours
which they had passed (luring ihe last iwo or three >ears of
Elizabeth; and the course ami inelegant manners of James,
which bordered closely on licentiousness, affoided them
ample opportunities.

It is scarcely necessary to inform the reader, that wher-
ever our old dramatists laid the scene of tlu-ir plays, the
habits and manners of them are, generally speaking, as truly
English as the language.

t fit company for page* and for footboys,

That have perused the portei's lodge.] i. e. that have
been whip there. The porter's lodge, in our author's days,
when the great claimed, and, indeed, frequently exercised,
the right of chastising their servants, was the usual place of

punishment. Thus Shirley, in the Grateful Servant :

" My friend, what make you here'? Bi-gone, begone, I say :
there is a porter's lodge else, where you may have due
chastisement.*'

J Enter JULIO and GIOVANNI.] This has been hitherto
printed, Enter two Gentlemen, though one of them is imme-
diately named. Not to multiply characters unnecessarily, I
have supposed them to be the same that appear with Graccho,
in the first scene of the first act.

Jul. As fie came

from a close fiyht, &c.1 Our old poets made very free
with one another's property : it must be confe>sed, however,
that their literary lapine dH not originate in poverty, for
they gave as liberally as they took. This speech has been
" ronveyrd" by Fletcher into his excellent comedy of tht
Elder Urother:

SCENE III.]

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

Between wind and water ; and he hath sprung a leak
Or I am cozen 'd. [too,

Giov. Let's be merry with him.

Grac. How they stare at me ! am I turn'd to an
The wonder, gentlemen ? [owl ?

Jul. I read this morning 1 ,
Strange stones of the passive fortitude
Of men in former ages, which I thought
Impossible, and not to be believed :
But, now 1 look on you my wonder ceases.

Grac. The reason, sir ?

Jul. VVIiy, sir you have been whipt,
Wliipt, signior Graccho ; and the whip, I take it,
Is, to a gentleman, the greatest trial
That may be of his patience.

Grac. Sir, I'll call you
To a strict account for this.

Giov. I'll nut deal with you,
Unless I have a beadle for my second ;
And then I'll answer you.

Jul. Farewell, poor Graccho.

[E.ieunt Julio and Giovanni.

Grac. Better and better still. If ever wrongs
Could teach a wretch to find the way to vengeance,

Enter FKANCISCO and a Servant.

Hell now inspire me ! How, the lord protector !
My judge ; 1 thank him ! Whither thus in private?
I will not see him. [Stands aside.

Fran, If I am sought for,
Say 1 am indisposed, and will not hear
Or suits, or suitors.

Serv. But, sir, if the princess
Enquire, what shall 1 answer?

Fran. Say, I am rid*
Abroad to take the air ; but by no means
Let her know I'm in court.

Serv. So I shall tell her. [Exit.

Fian- Within there, ladies !

Enter a Gentlewoman.

Gentlew. My good lord, your pleasure?

Fran. Prithee, let me beg thy favour for access
To the dutchess.

Gentlew. In good sooth, my lord, I dare not ;
She's very private.

Fran. Come, there's gold to buy thee
A new gown, and a ricli one.

Gentlew. I once sworef
If e'er 1 lost my maidenhead, it should be
With a great lord, as you are ; and 1 know not how,
I feel a yielding inclinHtion in me,
If you have appetite.

-They lnok ruefully,

As they had newly come from a vaulting house,
Ami had been quite shoi through between wind and water
By a she-Dunkirk, ami had ;>prm>s; a leak, fir."
I charge the pi tty depredation on Fletcher, because the pub-
lication of the Uuke of Milan preceded that of the Eider
Brother, bv many years
* Fran, fiay / am rid

Abroad, &c.] So the rid copies: the modern editors, wilh
equal accuracy ar.d elegance,

.Nay I'm rode
Abroad, \v.

f / once ,worel Both the quartos have a marginal hcmis
tichhere ; they read, Thvt will tetnpt tr.e ; an addition of the
prompier, or :<n unnecessary intei -polation ol the copyist,
which spoils the metre. Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason IMVC
advanced it into the text

Fran. Pox on thy maidenhead !
Where is thy lady ?

Gentlevf- If \ou venture on her.
She's walking in the gallery ; perhaps,
You will rind her less tractable.

Fran. Bring me to her.

Gentlew. I fear you'll have cold entertainment,
when [tion

You are at your journey's end ; and 'twere discre-
To take a snatch by the way.

Fran. Pi ithee, leave fooling :

My page waits in the lobby ; give him sweetmeats ;
He is train'd up* for his master's ease,
And he will cool thee. [Exeunt Fran, and Gentleu

Grac. A brave discovery beyond my hope,
A plot even ofl'er'd to my hand to \vork on !
If I am dull now, may 1 live and die
'1 he scorn of worms and slaves ! Let me consider ;
My lady and her mother first committed,
In the favour of the dulchess, and I whipt !
That, with an iron pen. is writ in brass
On my tough heart, now grown a harder metal.
And all !>is bribed approaches to the du'.chcss
To be conceal'd ! good, good. This to my lady
Deliver'd, as I'll order it, runs her mad.
But this may prove but courtship f ; let it be,
I care not, so it feed her jealousy. [Exii.

SCENE III. Another Room in the same.
Enter MAHCELIA and FRANCISCO.

Marc. Believe thy tears or oaths ! can it be hoped,
After a practice so abhorr'd and horrid,
Repentance e'er can find thee ]

Fran. Dearest lady,

Great in your fortune, greater in your goodness,
Make a superlative of excellence,
In being greatest in your saving mercy.
1 do confess, humbly confess rny fault,
To be beyond all pity ; my attempt
So barbarously nidi-, that it would turn
A saint-like patience into savage fury.
But you. that are all innocence and virtue,
No spleen or anger in yon of a woman.
But when a holy zeal to piety fires you,
May, if you please, impute the fault to love,
Or call it beastly lust, for 'tis no better ;
A sin, a monstrous sin ! jet with it many
That did prove good men after, have been tempted;
And, though I'm crooked now, tis in your power
To make me straight again.

Marc. Is t possible
This can be cunning !

Fran. But, if no submission,
Nor prayers can appease you, that you may know
'Tis not the fear of death that makes me sue thus,
But a loath'd detestation of my madness,
Which makes me wish to live to have your pardon;
I will not wait the sentence of the duke.
Since his return is doubtful, but I myself
Will do a fearful justice on myself,
No witness by but you, th< re being no more,

* lie in train'd up, &c.] A hemistich, or more, is lost here,
or, not improbably, purposely omiiled. 1 only mention it
to account lor the defect of mttre ; for the circumstance itself
is not worth regretting.

+ Hut tliis may prove but courtship : &C.J That is, merely
puyiug ins court to her a duuhcss. M MASON.

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

[Acr III

When I offended. Yet, before I do it,
For 1 perceive in you no signs of mercy,
I will disclose a secret, which, dying with me,
May prove your ruin.

Marc. Speak it ; it will take from
The burthen of thy conscience.

Fran. Thus, then, madam :
The warrant by my lord sign'd for your death,
Was but conditional ; but you must swear
By your unspotted truth, not to reveal it,
Or I end here abruptly.

Marc. By my hopes
Of joys hereafter. On.

Fran. Nor was it hate

That forced him to it, but excess of love :
And, if I ne'er return, (so said great Sforza,)
No living man deserving to enjoy
Mi/ best Marcelia, with the first news
That I am dead, (for no man after me
Must e'er enjoy her) fail not to kill her,
But till certain proof

Assure thee I am lost (these were his words,)
Observe and honour her, as if the snul
Of woman's goodness only dwelt in her's.
This trust 1 have abused, and basely wrong'd ;
And, if the excelling pity of your mind
Cannot forgive it, as 1 dare not hope it,
Rather than look on my offended lord,
I stand resolved to punish it.

Marc. Hold ! 'tis forgiven,
And by me freely pardon'd. In thy fair life
Hereafter, study to deserve this bounty,
Which thy true penitence, such 1 believe it,
Against my resolution hath forced from me.
But that my lord, my Sforza, should esteem
My life tit only as a page, to wait on
The various course of his uncertain fortunes ;
Or cherish in himself that sensual hope,
In death to know me as a wife, afflicts me ;
Nor does his envy less deserve mine anger,
Which, though, such is my love, I would not nourish,
Will slack the ardour that 1 had to see him
Return in safety.

Fran. But if your entertainment
Should give the least ground to his jealousy,
To raise up an opinion I am false,
You then destroy your mercy. Therefore, madam,
(Though I shall ever look on you as on
My life's preserver, and the miracle
Of human pity,) would you but vouchsafe,
In company, to do me those fair graces,
And favours, which your innocence and honour
May safely warrant, it would to the duke,
I being to your best self alone known guilty,
Make me appear most innocent.

Marc. Have your wishes,
And something 1 may do to try his temper,
At least, to make him know a constant wife
Is not so slaved to her husband's doting humours,
But ;hat she may deserve to live a widow,
Her fate appointing it.

Fran. It is enough ;
Nay, all I could desire, and will make way
To my reven'ge, which shall disperse itself
On him, on her, and all. [57tout and flourish.

Marc. What shout is that ?

Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.

, Tib. All happiness to the dutchess. that may flow
From the duke's new and wish'd return !

Marc. He's welcome.

Steph. How coldly she receives it !

Tib. Observe the encounter.

Flourish. Enter SFORZA, PESPARA, ISABELLA.
MARIAN*, GRACCIIO, and Attendants.

Mari. What you have told me, Graccho, is be-
And I'll find time to stir in't. [Ueved,

(irac. As you see cause ;
I will not do ill offices.

Sfor. I have stood

Silent thus long, Marcelia, expecting
When, with more than a greedy haste, thou wouldst
Have flown into my arms, and on my lips
Have printed a deep welcome. My desires
To glass myself in these fair eyes, have borne me
With more than human speed : nor durst I stay
In any temple, or to any saint
To pay my vows and thanks for my return,
Till I had seen thee.

Marc. Sir, I am most happy
To look upon you safe, and would express
My love and duty in a modest fashion,
Such as might suit with the behaviour
Of one that knows herst-lf a wife, and how
To temper her desires, not like a wanton
Fired with hot appetite; nor can it wrong me
To love discreetlv.

Si or. How ! why, can there be
A mean in your affections to Sforza ?
Or any act, though ne'er so loose, that may
Invite or heighten appetite, appear
Immodest or uncomely ? Do not move me ,
My passions to you are in extremes,
And know no bounds : come ; kiss me.

Mure. 1 obey you.

Sfar. By all the joys of love, she does salute me
As if I were her grandfather ! What witch,
With cursed spells, hath quench'd the amorous heat
That lived upon these lips ? Tell me, Marcelia,
And truly tell me, is't a fault of mine
That hath begot this coldness? or neglect
Of others, iv my absence?

Marc. Neither, sir :
1 stand indebted to your substitute,
Noble and good Francisco, for his care
And fair observance of me : there was nothing
With which you, being present, could supply me,
That I dare say 1 wanted.

Sfor. How!

Marc. The pleasures

That sacred Hymen warrants us, excepted,
Of which, in troth, you are too great a doter ;
And there is more of beast in it than man.
Let us love temperately ; things violent last not,
A nd too much dotage rather argues folly
Than true affection.

Grac. Observe but this,

And how she praised my lord's care and observance j
And then judge, madam, if my intelligence '
Have anv ground of truth.

Mari. No more ; I mark it.

Steph. How the duke stands !

Til>. As he were rooted there,
And had no motion.

Pesc. My lord, from whence
Grows this amazement.'

Sjor. It is more, dear my fnend ;
For I am doubtful whether I've a being.

I.]

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

But certain that my life's a burrben to me.
Take me back, good Pescara, shew me to Ca?sar
Jn all his rage and fury ; 1 disclaim
His mercy : to live now, which is his gift,
Is worse than death and with all studied torments.
Marcelia is unkind, nay, worse, grown cold
In her affection ; my excess of fervour,
Which yet was never equall'd, grown distasteful.
But have thy wishes, woman ; thou shall know
That 1 can be myself, and thus shake oft'
The fetters of fond dotage, rrom my sight,
Without reply ; for I am apt to do
Something 1 may repent. [Exit Marc ] Oh ! who
would place

His happiness in most accursed woman,
In whom obsequiousness engenders pride ;
And harshness deadly hatred ! From this hour
I'll labour to forget there are such creatures ;
True friends be now my mistresses. Clear your

brows,

And, though mv heart-strings crack for't, I will be
To all a free example of delight :
We will have sports of all kinds, and propound
Rewards to such as can produce us new :
Unsatisfied, though we surfeit in their store,
And never think of curs'd Aiarcelia more, [/ ceunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The same. A Koom in the Castle. \

Enter FRANCISCO and GRACCHO.

Fran. And is it possible thou shouldst forget
A wrong of such a nature, and then study
My safety and content?

Grac. Sir, but allow me

Only to have read the elements of courtship*,
Not the abstruse and hidden arts to thrive there ;
And von ir.ay please to grant me so much knowledge,
That injuries from one in grace, like you,
Are noble favours Is it not grown comnionf
lu every sect, for those that want, to suffer
From such as have to give ? Your captain cast,
If poor, though not thought daring, but approved so,
To raise a coward into name, that's rich,
Suffers disgraces publicly ; but receives
Rewards for them in private.

Fran. Well observed.
Put orij ; we'll be familiar, and discourse
A little of this argument. That day,
In which it was first rumour'd, then confirm'd,
Great Sl'orza thought me worthy of his favour,
I found myself to be another thing ;
Not what 1 was before. I passed then
For a pretty fellow, and of pretty parts too,
And was perhaps received so ; but, once raised,
The liberal courtier made me master of
Those virtues which I ne'er knew in myself:
. If I pretended to a jest, 'twas made one
By their iiiterpretaiion ; if 1 offer'd
To reason of philosophy, though absurdly,
They had helps to save me, and without a blush
Would swear that 1, by nature, had more know-

ledge,

Than others could require by any labour:
Nay, all I did, indeed, which in another
Was not remarkable, in me shew'd larely.

* -- the element* of courtship,] i. e. of

court-policy. M. MASON.

t - J it not grown common, &c.] Gracrlio is an apt
scholar : iho.*e notable observations are derived I'ruiu the Its-
sons of tlio Ollicer, in the Ust act.

1 Put on ;] Be covered ; a frequent expression in these
play*.

Grac. But then they tasted of your bounty.
Fran. True :

They cave me those good pj rts I was not born to.
And, oy my intercession, they got that
Which, had I cross'd them, they durst not have hoped

for.

Grac. All this is oracle : and shall I, then,
For a foolish whipping, leave to honour him,
j That holds the wheel of fortune f no ; that savours
Too much of the ancient freedom. Since great mea
Receive disgraces and give thanks, poor knaves
Must have nor spleen, nor anger. '1 hough 1 love
My limbs as well as any man, if you had now
A humour to kick me lame into an office,
Where 1 might sit in state and undo others,
Stood I not bound to kiss the foot that did it ?
Though it seem strange, there have been such

things seen
In the memory of man.

Fran. But to the purpose,

And then, that service done, make thine own for-
tunes.

My wife, thou say'st, is jealous 1 am to
Familiar with the dutchess.

Grac And incensed

For her commitment in her brother's absence ,
And by her mother's anger is spurr'd on
To make discovery of it. This her purpose
Was trusted to my charge, which I declined
As much as in me lay ; but, finding her
Deterniinately bent to undertake it,
Though breaking my faith to her may destroy
My credit with your lordship, 1 yet thought,
Though at my peril, I stood bound to reveal it.
Fran. 1 thank thy care, and will deserve this

secret,

In making thee acquainted with a greater,
And of more moment. Come into my bosom,
And take it from me: Canst tho'u think, dul]

Graccho,

I My power and honours were conferr'd upon me,
And, add to them, this form, to have my pleasures
Confined and limited ? 1 delight in change,
And sweet variety ; that's my heaven on earth.
For which 1 love life only. 1 confess.

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

[Acr IV

My wife pleased me a day, the dutcliess, two,
(And yet I must not say 1 have enjoy 'd her,)
But now I care for neither: therefore, Graccho,
So far I am from stopping Mariana
In making her complaint, that I desire tliee
To urge her to it.

Grac. That may prove your ruin :
The duke already being, as 'tis reported,
Doubtful she hath play'd false.

Fian. There thou art cozen'd ;
His dotage, like an ague, keeps his course,
And now 'tis strongly on him. But I lose time,
And therefore know, whether thou wilt or no,
Thou art to be my instrument ; and, in spite
Of the old saw, that says. It is not safe
On any terms to trust a man that's wrong'd,
I dare thee to be false.

Grac. This is a language,
My lord, I understand not.

Fran. You thought, sirrah,
To put a trick on me for the relation
Of what 1 knew before, and, having won
Some weighty secret from me, in revenge
To play the traitor. Know, thou wretched thing,
By my command tbou wert whipt ; and every day
I'll have thee freshly tortured, if thou miss
In the least charge that I impose upon thee.
Though what I speak, for the most part, is true;
Nay, grant thou hadst a thousand witnesses
To be deposed they heard it, 'tis in me,
With one word, such is Sforza's confidence
Of my fidelity not to be shaken,
To make all void, and ruin my accusers.
Therefore look to't ; bring my wife hotly on
To accuse me to the duke 1 have an end in't,
Or think what 'tis makes man most miserable,
And that shall fall upon thee. Thou wert a fool
To hope, by being acquainted with mv courses,
To curb and awe me ; or that I should live
Thy slave, as thou didst saucily divine :
For prying in my counsels, still live mine. [Exit.
Grac. I am caught on both sides. This 'tis for a

puisne

In policy's Protean school, to try conclusions
With one that hath commenced, and gone out doctor*.
If I discover what but now he bragg'd of,
I shall not be believed : if I fall off
From him, his threats and actions go together,
And there's no hope of safety. Till I get
A plummet that may sound his deepest counsels,
I must obey and serve him : Want of skill
Now makes me play the rogue against my will.

[Exit.

SCENE II. Another Room in the same.

Enter MARCELIA, TIBERIO, STEPHANO, and

Gentlewoman.

Marc. Command me from his sight, and with such

scorn
As he would rate his slave !

-to try concisions

ffith one that hath commenced, and gone out doctor.]
To try conclutions, a very common u \-pirs-ioii, is, to try
experiments: " God help them," sax s Gabriel Harvey, in his
thin! letter, ''that h.ive neither luMUty t<i helpe, nor wit to
pilie themselves, but will needs t ry conclusions brteen their
Leads and the next wall." Commenced, nnd gone out, which
occur in the next line, are University terms, aud to be met
with in most of our old dramas :

Tib. 'Twas in his fury.
Steph. And he repents it, madam.
Marc. Was I born

To observe his humours ? or, because he dotes,
Must 1 run mad ?

Tib. If that your excellence

Would please but to receive a feeling knowledge
Of what he suffers, and how deep the least
Unkindness wounds from you, you would excuse
His hasty language.

Steph. He hath paid the forfeit
Of his offence, I'm sure, with such a sorrow,
As, if it had been greater, would deserve
A full remission.

Marc. Why, perhaps, he hath it ;
And I stand more afflicted for his absence,
Then he can be for mine : so, pray \ou, tell him.
But, till I have digested some sad thoughts,
And reconciled passions that are at war
Within myself, 1 purpose to be private.
And have you care, unless it be Francisco,
That no man be admitted. [Eiit Gentlewoman.

Tib. How, Francisco !

Steph. He, that at every stage keeps livery mis-
The stallion of the state ! [tresses;

Tib. They are things above us,
And so no way concern us.

Steph. If I were
The duke, (I freely must confess my weakness,)

Enter FRANCISCO.
I should wear yellow breeches*. Here he comes.

Tib. Nay, spare your labour, lady, we know ou
And quit the room. [dutyt,

Steph. Is this her privacy !
Though with the hazard of a check, perhaps,
This may go to the duke.

[Exeunt Tiberioand Stephano

Marc. Your face is full
Of fears and doubts : the reason 1

Fran. O best madam,

They are not counterfeit. I, your poor convert,
That only wish to live in snd repentance,
To mourn my desperate attempt of you,
That have no ends nor aims, but that your goodness
Might be a witness of my penitence,
Which seen, would teach you how to love yourmercy,
Am robb'd of that last hope. The duke, the duke,
I more than fear, hath found that I am guilty.

Marc. By my unspotted honour, not from me;
Nor have I with him changed one syllable,
Since his return, but what you heard.

Fran. Yet malice

Is eagle-eyed, and would see that which is not ;
And jealousy's too apt to build upon
Unsure foundations.

Marc. Jealousy !

Fran. [Aside.] It takes.

" How many that have done ill, anil proceed,
Women that take degrees in wantonness,
Commence, and rise in rudiments of lnM," &c.

The Queen of ( 'orinih.

/ thotitd wear yellow breeches.] i.e. Be jealins ; yellow,
with our old poets, being the livery of jealousy : this needi
DO example.
t Nay, spare your labour, lady, we know our duy,

And quit the room.} Duty was inserted by Co\eter
:hat, or a word of similar import, having been dropt at the
pres*. Both the quartos have, we know our exit, with this
difference, that the l.-st (1633) exhibits exit, as here, in italic
characters .

SCENE III.]

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

Marc. Who dares but only think I can be tainted ?
But for him, though almost on certain proof,
To give it hearing, not belief, deserves
My hate for ever.

Fran. Whether grounded on
Your noble, yer chaste favours shewn unto me ;
Or her imprisonment, for her contempt
To you, by my command, my frantic wife
Hath put it in his head.

Mai-c. Have I then lived

So long, now to be doubted ? Are my favours
The themes of her discourse ? or what I do,
That never trod in a suspected path,
Subject to base construction ? Be undaunted ;
For now, as of a creature that is mine,
I rise up your protectress : all the grace
I hitherto have done you, was bestow'd
With a shut hand ; it shall be now more free,
Open, and liberal. But let it not.
Though counterfeited to the life, teach you
To nourish saucv hopes.

F ran. May I be blasted,
When I prove such a monster !

Marc. I will stand then

Between you and all danger. He shall know,
Suspicion overturns what confidence builds ;
And he that dares but doubt when there's no ground,
Is neither to himself nor others sound. [Exit.

Fran. So, let it work ! If er goodness, that denied
My service, branded with the name of lust,
Shall now destroy itself ; and she shall find,
When he's a suitor, that brings cunning arm'd
With power, to be his advocates, the denial
Is a disease as killing as the plague,
And chastity a clue that leads to death.
Hold but thy nature, duke, and be but rash
And violent enough, and then at leisure,
Repent ; I care not.

And let my plots produce this long'd-for birth,
In my revenge I have my heaven on earth. [Exit.

SCENE III. Another Room in the tame.
Enter SFOHZA, PESCARA, and three Gentlemen,

Pesc. You promised to be merry.

1 Gent. There are pleasures,

And of all kinds, to entertain the time.

2 Cent. Your excellence vouchsafing to make
Of that which best affects you. [choice

Sfor. Hold your prating.
Learn manners too ; your are rude.

3 Gent. I have my answer,

Before I ask the question. [Aside.

Pesc. I must borrow

The privilege of a friend, and will ; or else
I am like these, a servant, or, what's worse,
A parasite to the sorrow Sforza worships
In spite of reason.

fyor. Pray you, use your freedom ;
And so far, if you please, allow me mine,
To hear you only ; not to be compell'd
To take your moral potions. I am a man,
And, though philosophy, your mistress, rage for't,
Now 1 have cause to grieve, I must be sad ;
And I dare shew it.

Pesc. Would it were bestow'd
Upon a worthier subject.

Sfor. Take heed, friend!

You rub a sore, vv hose pain -will make me mad ;
And I shall then forget myself and you.
Lance it no further.

Pesc. Have you s'ood the shock
Of thousand enemies, and outfaced the anger
Of a great emperor, that vow'd your ruin.
Though by a desperate, a glorious way,
That had no precedent I are you return'd with honour,
Loved by your subjects ? does your fortune court

you,

Or rather say, your courage does command it ?
Have you given proof, to this hour of your life,
Prosperity, that searches the best temper,
Could never puff you up, nor adverse t'ate
Deject your valour ? Shall, I say, these virtues,
So many and so various trials of
Your constant mind, be buried in the frown
(To please you, I will say so) of a fair woman;
Yet I have seen her equals.

Sfor. Good Pescara,
This language in another were profane ;
In you it is unmannerly. Her equal !
I tell you as a friend, and tell you plainly,
(To all men else my sword should make reply,)
Her goodness does disdain comparison,
And, but herself, admits no parallel*.
But you will say she's cross ; 'tis fit she should be,
When I am foolish ; for she's wise, Pescara,
And knows how far she may dispose her bounties,
Her honour safe ; or, if she were adverse,
'Twas a prevention of a greater sin
Beady to fall upon me ; for she's not ignorant,
But truly understands how much I love her,
And that her rare parts do deserve all honour.
Her excellence increasing with her years too,
I might have fallen into idolatry,
And, from the admiration of her worth,
Been taught to think there is no Power above her ;
And yet I do believe, had angels sexes,
The most would be such women, and assume
No other shape, when they were to appear
In their full glory.

Pesc. Well, sir, I'll not cross you,
Nor labour to diminish your esteem.
Hereafter, of her. Since your happiness,

Her goodness does, disdain comparison,

And, but herself, admits no parallel.] The reader who
has any acquaintance \viili the literary squabbles of the last
century, cannot bul recollect how Theobald was annoyed bf
the jests levelled at him lor this Hue in the Double Faltt-
hood :

" None but himself can be his parallel."

He justified it. indeed, at some length ; but "it is not for
gravity," as Sir Toby well observes, " lo play at cherry-pit
with Satan ;" his waggish antagonists drove linn out of hi
patience, and he, who had every thing but wit on his side,
is at this moment labouring under the consequences of hU
imagined defeat. With re.-pect to the phrase in question, it
is sufficiently common; and I could produce, if it were ne-
cessary, twenty instances of it from Massinger's contempo-
raries alone : nor is it peculiar to this country, but exists in
every language with which 1 am acquainted. Even while I
am writing this note, the following pretty example lies
before me, in the address of a grateful Hindoo to SirW'illiam
Jones :

" To yon there are many like me : yet to me there it nont
like you, but yourself; there are numerous groves of night
flowers; yet the niht flower sees nothing like the moon, but
the moon. A hundred chiefs rule the world, but thou art an
ocean, and they are mere welU; many luminaries areawake
in the sky, but" which of them can be compared to the ana t"
See Metnoirs of his life, by Lord Teignmoulh.

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

[Acr IV

As you will have it, has alone dependence
Upon her favour, from my soul 1 wish you
A fair atonement*.
Sfor. Time, and my submission,

Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.

May work her to it. O ! you are well return 'd ;
Say. am I blest ? hath she vouchsafed to hear you 1
Is there hope left that she may be appeased ?
Let her propound, and gladly I'll subscribe
To her conditions.

Tib. She, sir, yet is froward,
And desires respite, and some privacy.

Steph She was harsh at first j but ere we parted,
Implacable. [seem'd not

Sfor. There's comfort yet : I'll ply her
Each hour with new ambassadors of more honours,
Titles, and eminence : my second self,
Francisco, shall solicit her.

Steph. That a wise man,

And what is more, a prince that may command,
Should sue thus poorly, and treat with his wife,
As she were a victorious enemy,
At whose proud feet, himself, his state, and country,
Basely begg'd mercy !

Sfor. What is that you mutter?
I'll have thy thoughts.

Steph. You shall. You are too fond,
And feed a pride that's swollen too big already,
And surfeits with observance.

Sfor. O my patience !
My vassal speak thus?

Steph. Let my head answer it,
If I offend. She, that you think a saint,
1 fear, may play the devil.

Peso. Well said, old feilow.

Steph. And he that hath so long engross'd your

favours,

Though to be named with reverence lord Francisco,
Who, as you purpose, shall solicit for you,
I think's too near her.

Pesc. Hold, sir ! this is madness.

Steph. It may be they confer of joining lordships ;
I'm sure he's private with her.

Sfor. Let me go,

I scorn to touch him ; he deserves my pity,
And not my anger. Dotard ! and to be one
Is thy protection, else thou durst not think
That love to my Marcelia hath left room
In my full heart for any jealous thought :
That idle passion dwell with thick-skmn'd trades-
men f.

The undeserving lord, or the unable !
Lock up thy own wife, fool, that must take physic
From her young doctor, physic upon her back },
Because thou hast the palsv in that part
That makes her active. 1 could smile to think
What wretched things they are that dare be jealous:
Were I match'd to another Messahne,
While I found merit in myself to please her,

* A fair atonement.] i. e. as Mr. M. Mason observes, a
reconciliation. To atone has orten this sense in our old
writers : so SlukspiMre :

" He and Ami <ius can no more atone,

Than violentest contrarieties." Cariolanus.

f That idle passion dwell with. thick-Mnn'd tradesmen.]
7'AicA-skiiin d is the reading of both ihcqiiHi to?; the modern
edit, rs w.mioiiK , and, I may add, ignorantly, displaced it
for //m'/i-skiuT'l. It is not to a want of understanding, but
to a bluiitncss of feeling, that the speaker alludes.

In this your studied purpose to deprave her ;
And all the shot made by v<>ur foul detraction,
Falling upon her .sure-arm'd innocence,
I should believe her chaste, arid would not seek
To fiud out my own torment ; but, alas !
Enjoying one that, but to me, 's a Dian *,
1 am too secure.

Tib. This is a confidence
Beyond example.

Enter GHACCIIO, ISABELLA, and MARIANA.

Grac. There he is nuw speak,
Or be for ever silent.

Sjor. If you come

To bring me comfort, say that you have made
Mv peace with my Marcelia.

hub. I had rather
Wail on you to your funeral.

Sjor. You are my mother :
Or, by her life, you were dead else.

Mari. Would you were,

To your dishonour ! and, since dotage makes you
Wilfully blind, burrow of me my eyes,
Or some part of my spirit. Are you all flesh ?
A lump of patience only ? no fire in you !
But do your pleasure : here your mother was
Committed by vour servant, (for 1 scorn
To call him husband,) ;md myself, your sister,
If that you dare remember such a name.
Mew'd up, to make the way open and free
For the adultress, I am unwilling
To say, a part of Sf.r/a.

Sjor. 'lake her head off!
She hath blasphemed ! and by our law must die

I&ib. BbspM&Md! for calling of a whore, a whore?

Sjor. O he!!, what do 1 suffer !

Mari. Or is it treason
For me, that am a subject, to endeavour
To save the honour of the duke, and that
He should not be a wiltol on record ?
For by posterity 'twill be believed,
As certainly as now it can be proved,
Francisco, the great minion that sways all,
To meet the chaste embraces of the dutchess,
Hath leap'd into her bed.

Sjor. Some proof, vile creature !
Or thou hast spoke thy last.

Mari. The public fame.

Their hourly private meetings; rnd e'en now,
When, under a pretence of grief or anger,
Y(,u are denied the joys due to a husband,
And made a stranger to her, at all times
The door stands open to him. To a Dutchman,
This were enough, but to a right Italian,
A hundred thousand witnesses.

Isab. Would y<-u have us

To be her bawds?

Sjor. O the malice

And envy of base women, that, with horror,
Knowing their own defects and inward guilt,
Dare lie. and swear, and damn, for what's most false,
To cast aspersions upon one untainted !
Ye are in your nature's devils, aud your ends.
Knowing your reputations sunk for ever,
And not to be recover'd, to have all
Wear your black livery. Wretches ; you have raised
A monumental trophy to her pureness,

that, but to me,'ta Dian,] A contrac-
tion of Diana. M. MASON. And K it ii I

SONS III.]

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

Returns upon yourselves ; and, if my love

Could suffer an addition, I'm so far

From giving credit to you, this would teach me

More to admire and serve her. You are not worthy

To fall as sacrifices to appease her ;

And therefore live till your own envy burst you.

/safe. All is in vain ; he is not to be moved.

Man. She has bewitch'd him.

Pesc. 'Tis so past belief,
To me it shews a fable.

Enter FRANCISCO, speaking to a Servant within.

Fran. On thy life,

Provide my horses, and without the port
With care attend me.

Serv. [within.'] I shall, my lord.

Grac. He's cume.
What gimcrack have we next*?

Fran. Great sir.

Sjor. Francisco,

Though all the joys in women are fled from me,
In thee 1 do embrace the full delight
That I can hope from man.

Fran. I wou'd impart,

Please you to lend your ear, a weighty secret,
I am in labour to deliver to you.

Sfor. All leave the room. Excuse me, good Pescara,
Ere Ion? I will wait on vou.

Pesc. You speak, sir.
The language I should use.

Sfor. Be within call.
Perhaps we may have use of yoo.

Tib. We shall sir.

[Exeunt all but Sfana and Francuco.

Sfor. Say on, my comfort.

Fran. Comfort ! no, your torment,
For so my fate appoints me. I could curse
The hour that pave me being.

Sfor. What new monsters
Of misery stand ready to devour me 1
Let them at once dispatch me.

Fran. Draw your sword then,

And, as you wish your own peace, quickly kill me ;
Consu.er not, but do it.

f'f'r. Ar t.hou mad ?

Fran. Or. if to take my life be too much mercy,
As death, indeed, concludes all human sorrows,
Cut off my nose and ears ; pull out an eye.
The other only left to lend me light
To see my own deformities. Why was I born
Without some mulct imposed on me by nature ?
Would from my youth a loathsome leprosy
Had run upon this face, or that my breath
Had been infectious, and so made me shunn'd
Of all societies ! curs'd be he that taught me
Discourse or manners, or lent any grace
That makes the owner pleasing in the eye
Of wanton women ! since those parts, which others
Value as blessings, are to me afflictions,
Such mv condition is.

IfTiat gimcrack have we nextf\ It may be that Coxeter
has hit upon the right word ; but tl>e first syllable is omitted
in the old copies; (irobably it was of an i ttensive tendency.
Besides the terror ol the law tb.it him; over the poet's head
about this time, the Mast-r of the Rcvrls kept a scrutinizing
ye upon every passage of an indecent (indecent for the
limes) or protanr tendency It i* Massinger's peculiar praise,
that he is altogether free from the latter.

Sfor. I am on the rack :
Dissolve this doubtful riddle*.

Fran. That 1 alone,

Of all mankind, that stand most bound to love you,
And study your content, should be appointed,
Not by my will, but forced by cruel fate,
To be your greatest enemy ! not to hold you
In this amazement longer, in a word,
Your dutchess loves me.

Sfor. Loves thee ?

Fran. Is mad for me,
Pursues me hourly.

Sfor. Oh !

I- ran. And from hence grew
Her late neglect of you.

Sfor. women ! women !

y-ran. I labour'd to divert her by persuasion,
Then urged your much love to her, and the danger ;
Denied her, and with scorn.

Sfor. "Twas like thyself.

Fran. But when 1 saw her smile, then heard her

say,

Your love and extreme dotage as a cloak,
Should cover our embraces, and your power
Fright others from suspicion ; and all favours
That should preserve her in her innocence,
By lust inverted to be used as bawds ;
I could not but in duty (though I know
That the relation kills in you all hope
Of peace hereafter, and in me 'twill shew
Both base and poor to rise up her accuser)
Freely discover it.

Sfor. Eternal plagues
Pursue and overtake her ! for her sake,
To all posterity may he prove a cuckold,
And, like to me, a thing so miserable
As words may not express him, that gives trust
To all deceiving women ! Or, since it is
The will of heaven, to preserve mankind,
That we must know and couple with these serpents,
No wise man ever, taught by my example,
Hereafter use his wife with more respect
Than he would do his horse that does him service ;
Base woman being in her creation made
A slave to man. But, like a village nurse,
Stand I now cursing and considering, when
The tamest fool would do ! VV ithin there ! Stephano,

Tiberio, and the rest. 1 will be sudden,

And she shall know and feel, love in extremes
Abused, knows no degree in hatef.

Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.

Tib. My lord.

Sfor. Go to the chamber of that wicked woman

Steph, What wicked woman, sir?

Sjor. The devil, my wife.
Force a rude entry, and, if she refuse
To follow you, drag her hither by the hair,
And know no pity; any gentle usage
To her will call on cruelty from me,
To such as show it. Stand you staring ! Go,
And put my will in act.

Dittohe this doubtful riddle.] Our old writer* nsed
dissolve and tolvf inilisciiminately ; or, if they made any
ditlerence, it was in favour of the former :

" he is pointed at

For the fine courtier, the woman's man,
Tlwt tells my lady stories, dissolve* riddle*."

'I he Qtiern of Corinth.
no detjrre in hate.} For no dryret in hate, the

modern editor* very incorrectlv lead, no degree ol hale.

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

[Acr V

S'eph. There's no disputing.

Tib. But 'tis a tempest on the sudden raised,
Who durst have dream'd of ?

\Exenut Tiberio and Stephana.

Sfor. Nay, since she dares damnation,
I'll be a fury to her.

Fran. Yet, great sir,

Kxceed not in your fury ; she's yet guilty
Only in her intent,

Sfor. Intent, Francisco !
It does include all fact ; and I might sooner
Be won to pardon treason to my crown,
Or one that kill'd my father.

Fran. You are wise,

And know what's best to do: yet, if you please,
To prove her temper to the height, say only
That I am dead, and then observe how far
She'll be transported. I'll remove a little,
But be within your call. Now to the upshot?
Howe'er I'll shift for one. [Exit.

Re-enter TIBEKIO, STEPHANO, and Guard with MAR-
CELI.A.

Marc. Where is this monster,
This walking tree of jealousy, this dreamer,
This horned beast that would be? Oh! are you here,
Is it by your commandment, or allowance, [sir,

I am thus basely used ? Which of my virtues,
My labours, services, and cares to please you,
For, to a man suspicious and unthankful,
Without a blush I may be mine own trumpet,
Invites this barbarous course? dare you look on me
Without a seal of shame?

Sfor. Impudence,

How ugly thou appear'st now ! thy intent
To be a whore, leaves thee not blood enough
To make an honest blush : what had the act done?

Marc. Return'd t hee the dishonour thou deservest,
Though willingly I had ^iven up myself
To every common letcher.

Sfor, Your chief minion,
Your chosen favourite, your woo'd Francisco,
Has dearly paid for't ; for, wretch ! know, he's dead,
And by my hand.

Marc. The bloodier villain thou !
But 'tis not to be wondered at, thy love
Does know no other object : thou hast kill'd then,
A man I do profess I loved ; a man

For whom a thousand queens might well be rivals.
But he, I speak it to thy teeth, that dares be
A jealous fool, dares be a murderer,
And knows no end in mischief.

Sfor. I begin now
In this my justice. [Stabs her.

Marc. Oh ! I have fool'd myself
Into my grave, and only grieve for that
Which, when you know you've slain an innocent,
You needs must suffer.

Sfor. An innocent ! Let one
Call in Francisco, for he lives, vile creature,

[Eiit Stephana.

To justify thy falsehood, and how often,
With whorish flatteries thou hast tempted him ;
I being only fit to live a st<tle,
A bawd and property to your wantonness.

He-enter STEPHANO.

Steph. Signior Francisco, sir, but even now,
Took horse without the ports.

Marc. We are botli abused.
And both by him undone. Stay, death, a little,
Till I have clear'd me to my lord, and then*
I willingly obey thee. O my Sforza!
Francisco was not tempted, but the tempter;
And, as lie thought to win me, shew'd the warrant
That you sign'd for my death.

Sfor. Then I believe thee ;
Believe thee innocent too.

Marc. But, being contemn'd,
Upon his knees with tears he did beseech me,
Not to reveal it ; I, soft-hearted fool,
Judging his penitence true, was won unto it :
Indeed, the unkindness to be sentenced by you,
Before that I was guilty in a thought,
Made me put on a seeming anger towards you,
And now behold the issue. As I do,
May heaven forgive you ! [Diet

Tib. Her sweet soul has left
Her beauteous prison.

Steph. Look to the duke; he stands
As if he wanted motion.

Tib. Grief hath stopp'd
The orgiin of his speech.

Stefih. Take up this body,
And call for his physicians.

is/or, my heart-strings ' [Exeunt

ACT V.

SCENE I. The Milanese. A Room in EUCZNIA'S
House.

Enter FRANCISCO and EUGENIA in male attire.

Fran. Why, couldst thou think, Eugenia that

rewards,

Graces, or favours, though strew'd thick upon me, ,
Could ever bribe me to forget mine honour?
Or that I tamely would sit down, before
I had dried these eyes still wet with showers of tears,
By the fire of my revenge 7 look up, my dearest !
For that proud lair, that, thief-like, stepp'd between
Thy promised hopes, and robb'd thee of a fortune

Almost in thy possession, hath found,

With horrid proof, his love, she thought her glory,

And an assurance of all happiness,

But hastened her sad ruin.

Etig. Do not natter

A grief that is beneath it ; for, however
'I he credulous duke to me proved false and cruel,
It is impossible he could be wrought

* Till J have clear'd me to my lurd,and then] Tliisisthe
reading of the first quarto : Ilie second, whii-li is that followed
br the modern edi.ors, gives the line iu this munetricaJ
manner:

Till I have clear'd myself unto my lord, and then t

SCENE I."|

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

To look on her, but with the eyes of dotage,
And so to serve her.

Fran. Such, indeed, I grant,
The stream of his affection was, and ran
A constant course, till I, with cunning malice,
And yet I wrong my act, for it was justice,
Made it turn backward ; and hate, in extremes,
(Love banish'd from his heart,) to fill the room :
In a word, know the fair Marceiia's dead*.

Fug. Dead ! [you ?

F>n. And by Sforza's hand. Does it not move
How coldly you receive it ! I expected
The mere relation of so great a blessing,
Born proudly on the wings of sweet revenge,
Would have call'd on a sacrifice of thanks,
And joy not to he bounded or conceal'd.
You entertain it with a look, as if
You wish'd it were undone.

F.ug. Indeed I do :

For, if my sorrows could receive addition,
Her sad fate would increase, not lessen them.
She never injured me, but entertain'd
A fortune humbly offer'd to her hand,
Which a wise lady gladly would have kneel'd for.
Unless you would impute it as a crime,
She was more fair than I, and had discretion
Not to deliver up her virgin fort, [tears,

Though strait besieged with flatteries, vows, and
Until the church had made it safe and lawful.
And had I been the mistress of her judgment
And constant temper, skilful in the knowledge
Of man's malicious falsehood, 1 had never,
Upon his hell-deep oaths to marry me,
Given up my fair name, and my maiden honour,
To his foul lust ; nor lived now, being branded
In the forehead for his whore, the scorn and shame
Of all good women.

Fran. Have you then no gall,
Anger, or spleen, familiar to your sex 1
Or is it possible that you could see
Another to possess what was your due,
And not grow pale with envy !

Eug. Yes, of him

That did deceive me. There's no passion, that
A maid so injured ever cculd partake of,
But 1 have dearly suffer'd. These three years,
In my desire and labour of revenge,
Trusted to you, I have endured the throes
Of teeming women ; and will hazard all
Fate can inflict on me, but I will reach
Thy heart, false Sforza ! You have trifled with me,
And not proceeded with that fiery zeal
I look'd for from a brother of your spirit.
Sorrow forsake me, and all signs of grief
Farewell for ever. Vengeance, arm'd with fury,
Possess me wholly now !

Fran. The reason, sister,
Of this strange metamorphosis ?

Eug. Ask thy fears :

Thy base, unmanly fears, thy poor delays,
Thy dull forgttfulness equal with death ;
My wrong, else, and the scandal which can never
Be wash'd oft' from our house, but in his blood,
Would have stirr'd up a coward to a deed
In which, though he had fallen, the brave intent
Had crown'd itself with a fair monument

* In a word, know l\\e fair HI arc flia'i dead.} Coxeterand
Mr. M. Ma.on omit the article, which uttedy destroys ilic
rlij tliin ui' the line.

Of noble resolution. In this shape
1 hope to get access ; and, then, with shame,
Hearing my sudden execution, judge
What honour thou hast lost, in being transcended
I By a weak woman.

Fran. Still mine own, and dearer !
And yet in this you but pour oil on fire,
And offer your assistance where it needs not.
And, that you may perceive I lay not fallow,
But had your wrongs stamp'd deeply on my heart
By the iron pen of vengeance, 1 attempted,
By whoring her, to cuckold him : that failing,
I did begin his tragedy in her death.
To which it served as prologue, and will make
A memorable story of your fortunes
In my assured revenge : Only best sister,
Let us not lose ourselves in the performance,
By your rash undertaking ; we will be
As sudden as you could wish.

" Upon those terms
I yield myself and cause, to be disposed of
As you think fit.

Enter a Servant.

Fran. Thy purpose ?

Serv. There's one Graccho, .
That follow'd you, it seems, upon the track,
Since you left .Milan, that's importunate
To have access, and will not be denied ;
His haste, he says, concerns you.

Fran. Bring him to me. [E.n't Servant,

Though he hath laid an ambush for my life.
Or apprehension, yet 1 will prevent him,
And work mine own ends out.

Enter GHACCHO.

Grac. Now for my whipping !
And if I now outstrip him not, and catch him,
And by a new and strange way too, hereafter
I'll swear there are worms in my brains. [Asidt.

Fran. Now, my good Graccho ;
We meet as 'twere by miracle.

Grac. Love, and duty,
And vigilance in me tor my lord's safety,
First taught me to imagine you were here,
And then to follow you. All's come forth, my lord,
That you could wish conceal'd. The dutchess'

wound ,

In the duke's rage put home, yet gave her leave
To acquaint him with your practices, which vour
Did easily confirm. [flight

Fran. This I expected :

But sure you come provided of good counsel.
To help in my extremes.

Grac. I would not hurt you. [death ;

Fran. How! hurt me? such another word's thy
Why, dar'st thou think it can fall in thy will,
To outlive what I determine ?

Grac. How he awes me ! [Aside.

Fran. Be brief; what brought thee hither ?

Grac. Care to inform you

You are a condemn 'd man, pursued and sought for.
And your head rated at ten thousand ducats
To him that brings it.

Fran. Very good.

Grac. All passages

Are intercepted, and choice troops of horse
Scour o'er the neighbour plains ; your picture sent
To every stale confederate with IViilan :
That, though I grieve to speak it, in my judgment.

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

[Acr V

So thick your dangers meet, and run upon you,
It is impossible you should escape
Their curious search.

Eug. Why, let us then turn Romans,
And, falling hy our own hands, mock their threats,
And dreadful preparations.

Fran. 'Twould show nobly ;
But that the honour of our full revenge
Were lost in the rash action. No, Eugenia,
Graccho is wise, my friend too, not my servant,
And I dare trust him with my latest secret.
We would, and thou must help us to perform it,
First kill the duke then, full what can upon us !
For injuries are writ in brass, kind Graccho,
And not to be forgotten.

Grac. He instructs me [Aside.

What I should do.

Fran. What's that?

Grac. I labour with

A strong desire to assist you with my service ;
And now I am deliver'd oft.

Fran. I told you.
Speak, my oraculous Graccho.

Grac. I have heard, sir,

Of men in debt that, lay'd for by their creditors,
In all such places where it could be thought
They would take shelter, chose, for sanctuary,
Their lodgings underneath their creditors' noses,
Or near that prison to which they were design'd,
If apprehended ; confident that there
They never should be sought for.

Ettg. 'Ti.s a strange one !

Fran. But what infer you from it?

Grac. This, my lord ;

That, since all ways of your escape are stopp'd,
In Milan only, or, what's more, in the court,
Whither it is presumed you dare not come
Conceal'd in some disguise, you may live safe.

Fran. And not to be discover'd ?

Grac. But by myself. [Graccho,

F ran. By thee ! Alas ! I know tliee honest
And 1 will put thy counsel into act,
And suddenly. Yet, not to be ungrateful
For all thy loving travail to preserve me,
What bloody end soe'er my stars appoint, [there ?
Thou shall be safe, good Graccho. Who's within

Grac. In the devil's name, what means he * !
Enter Servants.

Fran. Take my friend
Into your custody, and bind him fast ;
I would not part with him.

Grac. My good lord.

Fran. Dispatch :

'Tis for your good, to keep you honest, Graccho :
I would not have ten thousand ducats tempt you,
Being of a soft and wax -like disposition,
To play the traitor ; nor a foolish itch
To be revenged for your late excellent whipping
Give you the opportunity to offer
My head for satisfaction. Why, thou fool !
I can look through and through thee ; thy intents
Appear to me as written in thy forehead
In plain and easy characters : and but that

Grac. In the devil'* namf, what meant he .'] The second
quarto omits the adjuration anil tamely reads, what means
net Hie licenser, in in.iny cases, si-ems to have a<ti-d ca-
priciously : here, as well as in sever.il other places, he IMS
itramed at a gnat and swallowed a camel. The .- ;pression
tas already occurred i tht Unnatural Combat.

I scorn a slave's base blood should rust that sword
That from a prince expects a scarlet die,
Thou no\v wert dead ; but live, only to pray
For good success to crown my undertakings;
And then, at my return, perhaps I'll tree thee,
To make me further sport. Away with him !
I will not hear a syllable.

[\Ejtwti Servants with Graccho.

We must trust

Ourselves, Eugenia ; and though we make use of
The counsel of our servants, that oil spent,
Like snuffs that do offend, we tread them o t.
But now to our last scene, which we'll so carry,
That few shall understand how 'twas begun,
Till all, with half an eve, may see 'tis done.

Exeunt,

SCENE IL Milan. A Room in the Castle.
Enter PESCARA, TIBERIO, and STEPHANO.

Pesc. The like was never read of.

Steph. In my judgement,
To all that shall but hear it, 'twill appear
A most impossible fable.

Tib. For Francisco,

My wonder is the less, because there are
Too many precedents of unthankful men
Raised up to greatness, which have al'ter studied
The ruin of their makers.

Steph, But that melancholy,
Though ending in distraction, should work
So far upon a man, as to compel him
To court a thing that has nor sense nor being,
Is unto me a miracle.

Pesc. Troth, I'll tell you,
And briefly as I can, by what degrees
He fell into this madness. When, by the care
Of his physicians, he was brought to life,
As he had only pass'd a fearful dream,
And had not acted what I grieve to think on,
He call'd for fair Marcelia, and being told
That she was dead, he broke forth in extremes,
(I would not say blasphemed.,) and cried that

heaven,

For all the offences that mankind could do,
Would never be so cruel as to rob it
Of so much sweetness, and of so much goodness :
That not alone was sacred in herself,
But did preserve all others innocent,
That had hut converse with her. Then it came
Into his fancy that she was accused
By his mother and his sister ; thrice he curs'd them
And thrice his desperate hand was on his sword
T'have kill'd them both ; but he restraiu'd, and they
Shunning his fury, spite of ail prevention
He would have turii'd his rage upon himself;
When wisely his physicians looking on
The du'chess' wound, to stay his ready hand,
Cried out, it was not mortal.

Tib. 'Twas well thought on.

Pesc. He easily believing what he wish'd,
More than a perpetuity of pleasuro
In any object else ; flatter'd by hope,
Forgetting his own greatness, he fell prostrate
At the doctor's feet, implored their aid, nod swore,
Provided they recover'd her, he would live
A private man, and thev should share his dukedom.
They seem'd to promise fair, and every hour
Vary their judgments, as they find his fit

SCENE 111.]

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

To suffer intermission or extremes :
For his behaviour since

Sfor. [within.'] As you have pity,
Support her gently.

Pesc. Now, be your own witnesses ;
T am prevented.

Enter SFORZA, ISABELLA, MARIANA, Doctors and
Servants uith the Body of MARCELIA.

Sfor. Carefully, I beseech you,
The gentlest touch torments her ; and then think
What I shall suffer. O you earthly gods,
You second natures, that from your great master,
Who joiii'd the limbs of torn Hippolitus,
And drew upon himself the Thunderer's envy,
Are taught those hidden secrets that restore
To life death-wounded men ! you have a patient,
On whom to express the excellence of art,
Will bind even heaven your debtor, though it pleases
To make your hands the organs ef a work
The saints will smile to look on, and good angels
Clap their celestial wings to give it plaudits.
How pale and wan she looks ! O pardon me,
That I presume (died o'er with bloody guilt,
Which makes me, I confess, far, far unworthv)
To touch this snow-white hand. How cold it is !
This once was Cupid's fire-brand, and still
'Tis so to me. How slow her pulses beat too !
Yet, in this temper, she is all perfection,
And mistress cf a heat so full of sweetness,
The, blood of virgins, in their pride of youth,
Are balls of snow or ice compared unto her.

Mart. Is not this strange?

hah. Oh ! cross him not, dear daughter ;
Our conscience tells us we have been abused,
W rought to accuse the innocent, and with him
Are guilty of a fact

Enter a Servant, and whispers PESCARA.

3fnri. 'Tis now past help.

Pesc. With me ? What is he ?

Serv. He lias a strange aspect ;
A Jew by birth, and a physician
By his profession, as he says, who, hearing
Of the duke's frenzy, on the forfeit of
His life will undertake to render him
Perfect in every part : provided that
Your lordship's favour gain him free access,
And your power with the duke a safe protection,
Till the great work be ended.

Pesc. Bring me to him ;
As I find cause, I'll do. [Exeunt Pesc. and Serv,

Sfor. flow sound she sleeps !

Heaven keep her from a lethargy ! How long

(But answer me with comfort, I beseech you)
Does your sure judgment tell you, that these lids,
That cover richer jewels than themselves,
Like envious night, will bar these glorious suns
From shining on me ?

1 Doct. We have given her, sir,
A sleepy potion, that will hold her long,
That she may be less sensible of the torment
The searching of her wound will put her to.

'2 Duct. She now feels little ; but, if we should

wake her,

To hear her speak would fright both us and you,
And therefore dare not hasten it.

Sfor. I am patient.

You see I do not rage, but wait your pleasure.
What do you think she dreams of now 1 for sure,

Although her body's organs are bound fast,
Her fancy cannot slumber.

1 Doct. That, sir, looks on
Your sorrow for your late rash act, with pity
Of what you suffer for it, and prepares
To meet the free confession of your guilt
With a glad pardon.

Sfor. She was ever kind ;

And her displeasure, though call'd on, short-lived
Upon the least submission. O you Powers,
That can convey our thoughts to one another
Without the aid of eyes or ears, assist, me!
Let her behold me in a pleasing dream
Tims, on my knees before her ; (yet that duty
In me is not sufficient ;) let her see me
Compel my mother, from whom I took life,
And this my sister, partner of my being,
To bow thus low unto her ; let her hear us
In my acknowledgment freely confess
That we in a degree as high are guilty
As she is innocent. Bite your tongues, vile creatures,
And let your inward horrour fright your souls,
For having belied that pureness, to come near which
All women that posteriry can bring forth
Must be, though striving to be good, poor rivals.
And for that dog Francisco, that seduced me,
In wounding her, to rase a temple built
To chastity and sweetness, let her know
I'll follow him to hell, but I will find him,
And there live a fourth fury to torment him.
Then, for this cursed hand and arm, that guided
The wicked steel, I'll have them, joint by joint,
With burning irons sear'd off, which I will eat,
I being a vulture fit to taste such carrion ;
Lastly

1 Doct. You are too loud, sir ; you disturb
Her sweet repose.

Sfor. I am hush'd. Yet give us leave.
Thus prostrate at her feet, our eyes bent downwards,
Unworthy and ashamed, to look upon her,
To expect her gracious sentence.

2 Duct. He's past hope.

1 Doct. The body too will putrify, and then
We can no longer cover the imposture.

Tib. Which in his* death will quickly be dis-
I can but weep his fortune. [cover'd.

Steph. Yet be careful

You lose no minute to preserve him ; time
May lessen his distraction.

Re-enter PESCARA, u-ith FRANCISCO as a Jew and
EUGENIA disguised.

Fran. I am no god, sir,
To give a new life to her ; yet I'll hazard
My head, I'll work the senseless trunk t' appear
To him as it had got a second being,
Or that the soul that's fled from't, were call'd back
To govern it again. I will preserve it
In the first sweetness, and by a strange vapour,
Which I'll infuse into her mouth, create
A seeming breath ; I'll make her veins run high too
As if they had true motion.

Pesc. Do but this,

Till we use means to win upon his passions
T'endure to hear she's dead with some small patience,
And make thy own reward.

Tib. Which in his death tcill quicltly be diJscocfr'd.' I
know not lx>w the modern editor> MdMaHwl tin." line, but
for hit, they read, her death: a strange sophistication '

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

[AcrV

Fran. The art I use
Admits no looker on : I only ask
The fourth part of an hour to perfect that
I boldly undertake.

Peso. 1 will procure it.

2 Doct. What stranger's this?

Pesc. Sooth me in all I say ;
There is a main end in't.

Fran. Beware !

J-'ug. I nm warn'd.

Pesc. Look up, sir, cheerfully : comfort in me
Flows strongly to you.

Sfor. From whence came that sound ?
Was it from my Marcelia? If it were,
I rise, and joy will give me wings to meet it.

Pesc. Nor shall your expectation be deferr'd
But a few minutes. Your physicians are
Mere voice, and no performance ; I have found
A man that can do wonders. Do not hinder
The dutchess' wish'd recovery, to enquire
Or what he is, or to give thanks, but leave him
To work this miracle.

Sfor. Sure, 'tis my good angel.
I do obey in all things ; be it death
For any to disturb him, or come near,
Till he be pleased to call us. O, be prosperous,
And make a duke thy bondman !

[Exeunt all but Francisco and Eugenia.

Fran. 'Tis my purpose ;
If that to fall a long-wish'd sncrifice
To my revenge can be a benefit.
Ill first make fast the doors ; soi

Evg. You amaze me :
What follows now ?

Fran. A full conclusion
Of all thy wishes. Look on this, Eugenia,
Even such a thing, the proudest fair on earth
(For whose delight the elements are ransack'd,
And art with nature studied to preserve her,)
Must be, when she is summon'd to appear
In the court of death. But I lose time.

Eug. What mean you ?

Fran. Disturb me not Your ladyship looks pale ;
But I, your doctor, have a ceruse for you.
See, my Eugenia, how many faces,
That are adorned in court, borrow these helps,

[Paints the cheeks.

And pass for excellence, when the better part
Of them are like to this. Your mouth smells sour
But here is that shall take away the scent ; [too,
A precious antidote old ladies use, [rotten.

When they would kiss, knowing their gums are
These hands too, that disdain'd to take a touch
From any lip, whose owner writ not lord,
Are now but as the coarsest earth ; but I
Am at the charge, my bill not to be paid too,
To give them seeming beauty. So ! 'tis done.
How do you like my workmanship ?

Eiig. I tremble :

And thus to tyrannize upon the dead
Is most inhuman.

Fran. Come we for revenge,
And can we think on pity ? Now to the upshot,
And, as it proves, applaud it. My lord the duke,
Enter with joy, and see the sudden change
Your servant's hand hath wrought.

Re-enter SFORZA and the rest.
Sfor. I live again

In my full confidence that Marcelia may
Pronounce my pardon. Can she speak yet?

Fran. No :

You must not look for all your joys at once ;
That will ask longer time.'

Pesc. 'Tis wondrous strange !

Sfor. By all the dues of love I have had from her,
This hand seems as it was when first I kiss'd it.
These lips invite too : I could ever feed
Upon these roses, they still keep their colour
And native sweetness : only the nectar's wanting,
That, like the morning dew in flowery May,
Preserved them in their beauty.

Enter GnAccno hastily.

Grac. Treason, treason!

Tib. Call up the guard.

Fran. Graccho! then we are lost.

Grac. I am got off, sir Jew ; a bribe hath done it,
For all your serious charge ; thwe's no disguise
Can keep you from my knowledge.

Sfor. Speak.

Grac. I am out of breath,
But this is

Fran. Spare thy labour, fool, Francisco *.

All. Monster of men !

Fran. Give me all attributes
Of all you can imagine, yet I glory
To be the thing 1 was born. I am Francisco ;
Francisco, that was raised by you, and made
The minion of the time ; the same Frnncisco,
That would have whored this trunk, when it had life,
And, after, breathed a jealousy upon thee,
As killing as those damps that belch out plagues
When the foundation of the earth is shaken:
I made thee do a deed heaven will not pardon,
Which was to kill an innocent.

Sfor. Call forth the tortures
For all that flesh can feel.

Fran. I dure the worst :
Only, to yield some leason to the world
Why I pursued this course, look on this face,
Made old by thy base falsehood ; 'tis Eugenia.

Sfor. Eugenia !

Fran. Does it slart you, sir? my sister,
Seduced and fool'd by thee : but thou must pay
The forfeit of thy falsehood. Does it not work yet
Whate'er becomes of me, which I esteem not,
Thou art mark'd for the grave : I've given thee

poison

In this cup*, (now observe me,) which thy last
Carousing deeply of, made thee forget
Thy TOW d faith to Eugenia.

Pesc. O clamn'd villain !

Isab. How do you, sir ?

Sfor. Like one

That learns to know in death what punishment
Waits on the breach of fnith. Oh ! now I feel

Fran. Spare thy labour, fool, Francitco.] Francisco'

gave rise i< one or me inosi anunaieu scenes in nrainauc
poetry. The reader will ea.-:ly see, that I refer to the last
act of Dr. Young's Revenge, where Zanna, like Francisco,
defends every cruel and trriclierous act lie has committed
from a principle of deep resentment. l).ivn:s.

t I've given thee poison

In thii nip. &c.] i. e. in the lips of Marcelia. This is a
terrible sct'iie, and has the air of being taken from gome
Itali in story.

II.]

THE DUKE OF MILAN.

An ^Etna in my entrails. I have lived
A prince, and my last breath shall be command.
1 burn, I burn ! yet ere life be consumed,
Let me pronounce upon this wretch all torture
That witty cruelty can invent.

Pesc. Away with him !

Tib. In all things we will serve you.

Fran. Farewell, sister !

Now I have kept my word, torments I scorn:
I leave the world with glory. They are men,
And leave behind them name and memory,
That wrong'd, do right themselves before they die.
[Exeunt Guard with Franc'aco.

Steph. A desperate wretch !

Sfor. I come . Death ! I obey thee.

Yet I will not die raging ; for, alas '
My whole life was a frenzy. Good Eugenia,
In death forgive me. As you love me, bear her
To some religious house, there let her spend
The remnant of her life : when I am ashes,
Perhaps she'll be appeased, and spare a prayer
For my poor soul. Bury me with Marcelia,
And let our epitaph be [Diet

Tib. His speech is stopt.

Steph. Already dead 1

Pesc. It is in vain to labour
To call him back. We'll give him funeral,
And then determine of the state affairs :
And learn, from this example, There's no trust
In a foundation that is built on lust. [Eieitnt*.

Mr. M. Mason, contrary to his custom, has given an
account of tliis play ; but it is too loose and unsatisfactory to
be presented to the reader. He h;is observed, indeed, what
could not easily be missed, the beauty of the language, the
elevation of the sentiments, the interesting nature of Ilic
situations, &c. But the interior motive of the piece, the
spring of action from which the tragic events are made to
flow, seem* to have utterly escaped him. He has taken
the accessory lor the primary passion of it, and, upon his
own error, founded a comparison between the Duke of
Alitan and Othello. But let us hear Massingcr himself.
Fearing thai, in a reverse of fortune, his wife may fall into
the possession of another, Sforza gives a secret order for her
minder, and attributes his resolution to the excess of his
a'tuchnu-nt :

" 'TU more than love to her, that marks her out
A wish'd companion to me in both fortunes."

Act I. c. iii.

This is carefully remembered in the conference between
Marcelia and Francisro, and connected with the feelings
which it occasions in her :

" that my lord, my Sforza, should esteem

My life fit only a* a page, to wail on

Tin: various course ''f his uncertain fortunes;

Or cherish in himself ti.at sensual hope,

In death to know me as a wife, afflicts me."

Act III. sc. ii.

Upon tliis disapprobation of his selfish motive, is founded
IUT reserve towards him, a reserve, however, more allied
to tenderness than lo anger, and meant as a prudent correc-
tive of his unreasonable desires Anl from this reserve, ill
interpreted by Sforza, proceeds that jealousy of hi* in (he
fourth act, which Mr. M. Mason will have lo be the ground
work of ihe whole subject 1

But if Massinger must be compared with somebody, let it
be wiih him.-eli : for, as the reader will by and by perceive,
tJie f)u!t? nf Milan has more substantial connexion with the
Pii:tnrp than with Othello. In his uxorioHsnei-s, his doting
entreaties of hU wife's favours, his abject icuut-ls of the

mediation of others for him, &c. &c. Sforza strongly resem-
bles Ladislaus ; while the friendly and bold reproofs of his
fondness by Pescara and Stephano prepare us for the rebukes
afterwards employed against the same failing by the intrepid
kindness of Eubulus. And not only do we find this similarity
in some of Ihe leading sentiments of the two play?, but
occasionally the very language of the one is carried into the
other.

As to the action itself of this piece, it is highly animating
and interesting; and its connexion, at the very opening, with
an important passage of history, procures for it at once a
decided attention. This is, for the most part, well maintained
by strong and rapid alternations of fortune, till the catastrophe
is matured by the ever-working vengeance of Francisco.
Even here, the author has contrived a novelty of interest
little expected by the reader: and the late appearance of the
injured Eugenia throws a fresh emotion into the conclusion
of the play, while it explains a considerable part of the plot,
with which, indeed, it is essentially connected.

The character of Sforza himself is strongly conceived.
His passionate fondness for Marcelia, his sudden rage at her
apparent coolness, his resolute renunciation of her, his
speedy repentance and fretful impatience ot her absence,
his vehement defence of her innocence, his quick and
destructive vengeance against her, upon a false assertion ol
her dishonour, and his prostrations and mad embraces of her
dead body, shew the force of dotage and hate in their ex-
tremes. His actions are wild and ungovcrncd, and his whole
life is (as he says) made up of frenzy.

One important lesson is to be drawn from the principal
feature of this character. From Sforza's ill-regulated fond-
ness for Marcelia flows his own order for her murder. The
discovery of it occasions Ihe distant behaviour of the wife,
ihe revenge of the husband, and the de.ith of both. Let us
use the blessings of life with modesty and thankfulness. He
who aims at intemperate gratifications, disturbs the order of
Providence ; and, in the premature loss of the object which
he too fondly covets, is made to feel the just punishment of
| unreasonable wishes, and ungoverued indulgence. Da.

THE

BONDMAN.

THE BONDMAN.) Hitherto we have had no clue to guide us in ascertaining the true date of these dramas.
Fhe fortunate discovery of Sir Henry Herbert's Office-book enables us, from this period, to proceed with
avery degree of certainty.

The Bondman was allowed by the Master of the "Revels, and performed at the Cockpit in Drury Lane, on
the third of December, 1623. It was printed in the following year, and again in 1638. This edition is full
of errors, which I have been enabled to remove, by the assistance of the first copy, for which I am indebted
to the kindness of Mr. M alone

This ancient story (for so it is called by Massinger) is founded on the life of Timoleon the Corinthian, as
recorded by Plutarch. The revolt and subsequent reduction of the slaves to their duty, is taken from Hero-
dotus, or, more probably, from Justin*, who repeats the tale. The tale, however, more especially the catas-
trophe, is trifling enough, and does little honour to those who invented, or those who adopted it ; but the
beautiful episode here founded upon it, and which is entirely Massinger's own, is an inimitable piece of art.

This is one of the few plays of Massinger that have been revived since the Restoration. In 1660 it was
brouo-ht on the stage by Betterton, then a young man, who played, as JJownes the prompter informs us, the
part of Pisander, for which nature had eminently qualified him. It was again performed at Drury Lane in
1719, and given to the press with a second title of Love and Liberty, and a few insignificant alterations; and
in 1779 a modification of it was produced by Mr. Cumberland, and played for a few nights at Covent
Garden, but, as it appears, with no extraordinary encouragement. It was not printed.

RIGHT HONOURABLE, MY SINGULAR GOOD LORD,

PHILIP EARL OF MONTGOMERY,

KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, &c.

RIGHT HONOURABLE,

However I could never arrive at the happiness to be made known to your lordship, yet a desire, born with
me, to make a tender of all duties and service to the noble family of the Herberts, descended to me as an
inheritance from my dead father, Arthur Massingerf. Many years he happily spent in the service of your
honourable house, and dic j d a servant to it; leaving his{ to be ever most glad and ready, to be at the com-
mand of all such as derive themselves from his most honoured master, your lordship's most noble father.
The consideration of this encouraged me (having no other means to present my humblest service to your
honour) to shroud this trifle under the wings of your noble protection ; and I hope, out of the clemency of
your heroic disposition, it will find, though perhaps not a welcome entertainment, yet, at the worst, a gracious
pardon. When it was first acted, your lordship's liberal suffrage taught others to allow it forcurrent.it
having received the undoubted stamp of your lordships allowance : and if in the perusal of any vacant hour,
when your honour's more serious occasions shall give you leave to read it, it answer, in your lordship's

1'udgment, the report and opinion it had uoon the stage, I shall esteem my labours not ill employed, and, while
live, continue

the humblest of those that

truly honour vour lordship.

PHILIP MASSINGER.

It may, indeed, be taken from an account of Russia in Purrhas's Pilgrims, a book that formed the delight of our
ancestors. There il is -nid, ili:ii the lini.mls of Noviorogod reduced their slaves, who had seized the town, by the whip, just
as tin' Scythians arc said 10 h.ive dune theirs.

+ My deal father, Arthur Massinyer.] So reads the first edition. The modern editors follow the second, winch has
Philip Massiiiger. See the In iodnclii;n.

t I.enomy his to be ever most ylad, &c.] So it stands in both the old qnartos, and in Coxettr. Mr M. Mason, without
authority, and indeed without reason, inserts ton after hit: but the dedication, as given by him, and his predecessor, after
the .second quarto, is full ot errors.

t>CENE I.]

THE BONDMAN.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

TIMOLEON, the general, of Corinth

ARCHIDAMUS, preetor of Syracus-a.

DIPHILUS, a senator oj Syracusa.

CI.EON, a I at impotent lord.

PisANDEn, a gentleman of Thebes ; ditguised as a

slave, named Marullo. (The Bondman.)
POLIPIIRON, friend to Pisander ; also disguised as a

state.
LEOSTIIENKS, a gentleman of Syracusa, enamoured of

Cleora.

ASOTUS, a 1'onlish later, and the son of Cleon.
TIMAGOHAS, the son of Archidarnus.

GHACCULO, > ,
,, J tlavei.

CIMBRIO, 3

A Gaoler.

CLEORA, daughter of Archidamus.

CORISCA, a proud wanton lady, wife to Cleon.

OLY.MPIA, a rich widoiv.

STATII.IA, sister to Pisander, slave to Cleora, named

Timandra.
ZASTHIA, slave to Corisca.

Other slaves, Officers, Senators.
SCENE, Syracuse, and the adjacent country.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Tlie Camp ofTimoleon,Tiear Syracuse.
Enter TIMAGORAS and LEOSTHENES.

Timag. Why should you droop, Leosthenes, or

despair

My sister's favour 1 What before you purchased
Hv courtship and fair language, in these wars
(For from her soul you know she loves a soldier)
You may r'eserve by action.

Leost. Good Timagoras,

When I have said my friend, think all is spoken
That may assure me yours ; and pray you believe,
The dreadful voice of war that shakes the city,
The thundering threats of Carthage, nor their army,
Raised to m-.ike good those threats, affright not me.
If fair Cleora were confirm'd his prize,
That has the strongest arm and sharpest sword,
I'd court Bellona in her horrid trim,
As if she were a mistress ; and bless fortune,
That offers my young valour to the proof,
How much I dare do for your sister's love.
}5ut, when that I consider how averse
Your noble father, great Archidamus,
Is, and hath ever been, to my desires,
Reason may warrant me to doubt and fear.
What seeds soever I sow in these wars
Of noble courage, his determinate will
May blast and give my harvest to another,
That never toil'd for it.

Timag. Prithee, do not nourish [me,

These jealous thoughts ; I am thine, (and pardon
Though I repeat it,) thy Timagoras*,
That, for thv sake, when the bold Theban sued,
Far-famed Pisander, for my sister's love.
Sent him disgraced and discontented home.
1 wrought my father then ; and I, that stopp'd not
In the career of my affection to thee,
When that renowned worthy, that, brought with himt

-'and pardon me.

Thouyh 1 repeat it,) thy Timagoras.] So tlie old copies.
What induced the mo U-rn editors to make nonsense of the
pa.-s.ii", and print my Lrosthenrs , 1 cannot even guess.

t t-t'hm that rrnoicn-td worthy, that, brought with him''.
In this line Mr. M. Mason omits the second that, which, he
lays " destroys both sense and metre." The reduplication is

High birth, wealth, courage, as fee'd advocates
To mediate for him : never will consent
A fool, that only has the shape of man,
Asotus, though he be rich Cleon *s heir,
Shall bear her from thee.

Leost. In that trust I love*.

Timag. Which never shall deceive you.

Enter PISAXDF.H.

Pisan. Sir, the general,

Timoleon, by his trumpets hath given warning
For a remove.

Timag. 'Tis well ; provide my horse.

Pisan. I shall, sir. [Exit.

Leost. This slave has a strange aspect. [knave :

Timag. Fit for his fortune ; 'tis a strong-limb'd
My father bought him for my sister's litter.
O pride of women ! Coaches are too common
They surfeit in the happiness of peace,
And ladies think they keep not state enough,
If, for their pomp and ease, they are not born
In triumph on men's shoulders f.

Leost. Who commands
Tlie Carthaginian fleet 1

Timag. Cisco's their admiral,
And 'tis our happiness ; a raw young fellow,
One never train'd in arms, but rather fasliion'd
To tilt with ladies' lips, than crack a lance ;
Ravish a feather from a mistress' fan,
And wear it as a favour. A steel helmet,
Made horrid with a glorious plume, will crack
His woman's neck.

Leost. No more of him. The motives,
That Corinth gives us aid ?

entirely in Massinger'smanner.and assuredly destroys neither.
Wilh respect to the sense, that is enforced by it; and no
very exquisite ear is required, to perceive that the metre it
improved. How often will it be necessary to obwrve, that
our old dramatists never counted their syllables on their
fingers ?

* Leost. In that trust I love.] Lore is the reading of both
the quartos. la the modern editions it is unnecessarily
altered to live.

T in triumph on men's shoulders.'] Referring to the then
recently introduced sedan-chairs, which excited much indig
natiou in Massinger's time.

THE BONDMAN.

[SCF.NE III

Timag. The common danger ;
For Sicily being afire, she is not safe :
It being apparent that ambitious Carthage,
That, to enlarge ber empire, strives to fasten,
An unjust gripe on us that live free lords
Of Syracusa, will not end, till Greece
Acknowledge her their sovereign.

Leost. I am satisfied,
What think you of our general '!

Titnag. He's a man [Trumpets sound.

Of strange and reserved parts, but a great soldier *.
His trumpets call us, I'll forbear his character j
To-morrow, in the senate-house, at large
lie will express himself.

Leost. I'll follow you.,' [Exeunt.

SCENE II. SYRACUSE. A Room in Clean's House.
Enter CLEON, CORISCA, and GRACCULO.

Corn. Nay, good chuck.

Clean. I've said it ; stay at home,
I cannot brook your gadding ; you're a fair one,
Beauty invites temptations, and short heels
Are soon tripp'd up.

Cm-is. Deny me ! by my honour,
You take no pity on me. I shall swoon
As soon as you are absent ; ask my man else,
You know he dares not tell a lie.

Grac. Indeed.

You are no sooner out of sight, but she [doctor,
Does feel strange qualms ; then sends for her young
Who ministers physic to her on her back,
Her ladyship lying as she were entranced :
(I've peep'd in at the keyhole, and observed them :)
And sure his potions never fail to work,
For she's so pleasant in the taking them,
She tickles again.

Cons. And all's to make you merry,
When you come home.

Clean. You flatter me : I'm old,
And wisdom cries, Beware.

Coris. Old, duck ! To me
You are a young Adonis.

Grac. Well said, Venus ;
I am sure she Vuleans him.

Coris. I will not change thee

For twenty boisterous young things without beards.
These bristles give the gentlest titillations,
And such a sweet dew flows on them, it cures
My lips without pomatum. Here's a round belly !
'Tis a down pillow to my back ; I sleep
So quietly by it : and this tunable nose,
Faith. whn you hear it not, affords such music,
That I curse all night-fiddlers.

Grac. This is gross.
Not finds she flouts him !

Com. As I live, I am jealous.

Clean. Jealous of me, wife ?

Coris. Yes ; and I have reason ;
Knowing how lusty and active a man you are.

Clean. Hum. hum ! [will make him

Grac. This is no cunning quean f ! slight, she

Timag. ffe't a man

Q/'strangc and reserve d parts, but a great soldier.] Strange
tignific* here distant. M. MASON.

I <lo not pretend to know ihe meaning of distant parts.
Massinger, however. \ clear enough : s'.range and reserved,
in his language, is strangely (i. e. singularly) reserved.

t Grac. Thil is no cunning quean.'] In our author's time,
4 U justly observed by Wai-burton, " tlie negative, in com-

To think that, like a stag, he has cast his horns,
And is grown young again.

Coris. You have forgot

What you did in your sleep, and, when you waked,
Cull'd for a caudle.

Grac. It was in his sleep ;
For, waking, I durst trust my mother with him.

Coris. I long to see the man of war : Cleora,
Archidamus' daughter, goes, and rich Olympia;
I will not miss the show.

Clean. There's no contending:
For this time 1 am pleased, but I'll no more on't.

[Eieunt

SCENE III. Thesame. The Senate-house.

Enter ARCHIDAMUS, CI.EON, DIPIIILUS, OLYMPIA,
ConrscA, CLEORA, and ZANTIIIA.

ArchiJ. So careless we have been, my noble lords
In the disposing of our own affairs,
And ignorant in the art of government,
That now we need a stranger to instruct us.
Yet we are happy that our neighbour Corinth,
Pitying the unjust gripe Carthage would lay
On Syracusa, hath vouchsafed to lend us
Her man of men, Timoleon, to defend
Our country and our liberties.

Diph. 'I is a favour

We are unworthy of, and we may blush
Necessity compels us to receive it. [nation

ArchiJ. O shame ! that we, that are a populous
Engaged to liberal nature, for all blessings
An island can bring forth ; we, that have limbs,
And able bodies ; shipping, arms, and treasure,
The sinews of the war, now we are call'd
To stand upon our guard, cannot produce
One fit to be our general.

Clean. I am old and fat ;
I could say something else.

Archid. We must obey

The time and our occasions ; ruinous buildings,
Whose bases and foundations are infirm,
Must use supporters : we are circled round [wings,
With danger ; o'er our heads with sail-stretch'd
Destruction hovers, and a cloud of mischief
Ready to break upon us ; no hope left us
That may divert it, but our sleeping virtue,
Roused up by brave Timoleon.

Clean. When arrives he ?

Diph. He is expected every hour.

Archid. The braveries*
Of Syracusa, among whom my son
Timagoras, I.eosthenes, and Asotus,
Your hopeful heir, lord Cleon, two days since
Rode forth to meet him, and attend him to
The city ; every minute we expect
To be bless'd with his presence.

[Shouts within ; then a flourish of trumpets*

Clean. What shout's this ?

rnon speech, was used ironically to express the excess o(
thing." Thus, in the Roman Actor :

" This is no flattery !"
And again, in the City Madam:

" Here's no gross flattery ! Will she swallow tins .'"
and in a thousand other places.

Archid. The braveries

Of Syracuse, &c.] i. e. the young nobility, the gay and
fashionable gallants of the city. Thus Clt liuiont, in his de-
scription of Sir Amorous la Foole, observes that " he is one
of the braveries, though he be none of tlie wit*." 'I'lie Silent
Woman.

SCENE III.J

THE BONDMAN.

Dlph. "Tis seconded with loud music.
Archid. Which confirms

His vrish'd-for entrance. Let us entertain him
With all respect, solemnity, and pomp,
A man may merit, that comes to redeem us
From slavery and oppression.

Clean. I'll lock up [Corinth.

My doors, and guard my gold ; these lads of
Have nimble fingers, and I feu them more,
Being within our walls, than those of Carthage ;
They are far off:

Archid. And, ladies, be it your care
To welcome him and his followers with all duty :
For rest resolved, their hands and swords must

keep you

In that full height of happiness you live :
A dreadful change else follows.

[Extunt Arcliidamus, Clean, and Diphilus*

Olymp. We are instructed.

Coris. I'll kiss him for the honour of my country,
With any she in Corintli *.

Olymp. Were he a courtier,
I've sweetmeat in my closet shall content him,
Be his palate ne'er so curious.

Com. And, if need be, [orchard,

I have a couch and a banqueting-house in my
Where many a man of honour f has not scorn'd
To spend an afternoon.

Olymp. These men of war,
As I have heard, know not to court a lady.
They cannot praise our dressings, kiss our hands,
Usher us to our litters, tell love-stories,
Commend our feet and legs, and so search upwards ;
A sweet becoming boldness ! they are rough,
Boisterous, and saucv, and at the first sight
Ruffle and touzeus, and, as they find their stomachs,
Fall roundly to it.

Con's. 'Troth, I like them the better :
I can't endure to have a perfumed sir
Ptand cringing in the hams, licking his lips
Like a spaniel over a furmenty-pot, and yet
Has not the boldness to come on, or offer
What they know we expect.

Olymp. We may commend

A gentleman's modesty, manners, and fine language,
His singing, dancing, riding of great horses,
The wearing of his clothes, his fair complexion ;
Take presents from him, and extol his bounty :
Yet, though he observe, and waste his state upon
us f,

Coris. I'll hiss him for the honour of my country,
With any she in Corinth.) The reputation of the Corin-
thian l,idies stood high among the ancients for gallantry ; and
to this C'orisca allude*.

t Coris And (f need be

J have a couch and a banqueting-house in my orchard,
Where many a man of honour, &c.j Our old plays ar- full
of allusions to these garden-houses, which appear to have
been abusul to the purposes of debauchery. A very homely
passage from Stubbes's Anatomie of Abuse*, 159!, will make
all this plain : " In the suburbes of the citie, they (the wo-
men) have gardens either paled or walled round about very-
high, with their harbers and bowers tit for the purpose : and
lest they might be espied in these open places, they have their
banquetiny-houses with galleries, turrets, and what not,
therein sumptuously erecied ; wherein they may, and doubt-
less do, many of them, play the filthy persons." See too,
the City Madam.

$ and waste his state upon us,} Everywhere

the modern editors print this word with the mark of elision,
as if it were contracted from estate; but it is not so: state
is the genuine word, and is used by all our old poeis, and by
Massinger liimseli, in many hundred places, where we should
now write and print estate. 1 may incidentally observe here.

If he be staunch *, and bid not for the stock
That we were born to traffic with ; the truth is,
We care not for his company.

Coris. Musing, Cieor 1 [strangers;

Qlymp. She's studying how to entertain these
And to engross them to herself.

Cleo. No, surelv ;

I will not cheapen any of their wares,
Till you have made your market ; you will buy,
I know, at any rate.

Con's. She has given it you.

0/i/mp. No more ; they come : the first kiss for
this jewel.

Flourish of trumpets. Enter TIM AGORASi LEOSTHEXES,
ASOTUS, TiMor.EON i black, led in fti/ ARCIIIDAMUS,
DIPHILUS, and CLEOV, JolLowed by PISANDER,
GitAcct'i-o, CIMBUIO, and others.

Arcliid. It is your seat : which, with a general
suffrage, [O^eriwg ''*"*

that many terms which are now used with a mark of elision,
and .supposed to have guttered an aphwrcsis, .ire really :nd
substantially perfect. In some cases, the Saxon prefix has
been corrupted into a component part of the word, and in
others, prepositions have been added in the progress of
refinement, for the sake of euphony, or metre ; but, generally
speaking, the simple term is the complete one.

* Jf he, be staunch, &c.] I don't think that staunch can
be sense in this passage; we should probably read starch' d,
that is precise, formal. M. MASON.

This is a singular conjecture Let the reader peruse again
Olympia's description, which is that of a complete gentleman ;
and then say what there is of starched, formal, or pre.-i-e,
in it ! fi launch is as good a 'vorrt as >he could have chosen,
and is here used in its proper sense for steady, firm, lull of
integrity : and her meaning is, " if with al the accomplish-
ments of a tine gentleman, he possesses the fixed principles
of a man of honour, and does not attempt to debauch us, ho
is not for our purpose."

When I wrote this, 1 had not seen the appendix which is
subjoined to some copies of the last edit ion. Mr. M. Mason
has there revised hi* note, and given his more mature thoughts
on the subject: " On the first consideration of this passage,
I did not apprehend that the word staunch could import any
meaning th.it would render it intelligible, anil I therefore
amended the passage by read ins starch'd instead of staunch;
but 1 have -ince found a similar acceptation of that word in
Jonson's Silrntft'oman. where Truewit says : " If your mis-
tress love valour, talk of your sword, and he frequent in the
mention of quarrels though you be staunch in righting."
This is one of the many instances that may be proiliicrd to
prove how necessary it is for the editor of any ancient dra-
matic writer, to re.nl with attention the other dramatic
productions of the time."

I participate in Mr. M. Mason's self-congratulations on this
im pni i ant discovery; and will venture to suggest another,
still more important, which appears to have eluded his re-
searches : it is simply " tlie necessity for the editor of any
ancient dramatic writer, tu read with attention" that dra-
matic writer himself.

But what, after all, docs Mr. M. Mason imagine he has
found out >. and what is (lie sense he would finally affix to
itaunch ? these are trifles he has omitted to mention. I can
discover nothing fio-n his long note, but that he misunder
Mauds Jonson now, as he misunderstood Maisingrr before.
Each of these great poets uses the word in its proper and
ordinary sense: "Though you be staunch in fighting," says
Trnewit, (i. c. really brave, and consequently not prone to
boasting,) "yet, to please your mistress, jou must talk of
your sword," &c.

+ Offering him the state.] The state was a raised platform,
on which was placed a chair with a canopy over it. The
word occurs perpetually in our old writers. It is used by
Dryden, but seem* to ifave been growing obsolete while he
was writing : in the first edition 'of Mac Fleckno, the mo-
narch is placed on a state; in the snbs.-quent ones, he is
seated, like his fell..w kings, on a throne: it occurs also, and
I believe for the last time, in Swift : " As she effected not
the grandeur of a state with a canopy, she thought there was
no ortcnce. in an elbow chair." Hist, of John Bull, e. L

THE BONDMAN.

[Acrl,

As to the supreme magistrate, Sicily tenders*,
And prays Timoleon to accept.

Timol. Such honours
To one ambitious of rule t or titles,
Whose heaven on earth is placed in his command,
And ahsolute power o'er others, would with joy,
And veins swollen high with pride, be entertain'd.
They take not me ; for I have ever loved
An equal freedom, and proclaim 'd all such
As would usurp on other's liberties J,
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. For myself, I know
Honours and great employments are great burthens,
And must require an Atlas to support them.
He that would govern others, first should be
The master of himself, richly endued
With depth of understanding, height of courage,
And those remarkable graces which I dare not
Ascribe unto myself.

Archid. Sir, empty men

Are trumpets of their own deserts ; but you,
That are not in opinion, but in proof,
Really good, and full of glorious parts,
Leave the report of what you are to fame ,
Which, from the ready tongues of all good men,
Aloud proclaims you.

Diph. Besides, you stand bound,
Having so large a field to exercise
Your active virtues offer 'd you, to impart
Your strength to such as need it.

Timol. 'Tis confess'd :
And, since you'll have it so, such as I am,
For you, and for the liberty of Greece,
I am most ready to lay down my life :
But yet consider, men of Syracusa,
Before that you deliver up the power,
Which yet is yours, to me, to whom 'tis given
To an impartial man, with whom nor threats,
Nor prayers, shall prevail ; for I must steer
An even course.

Archid. Which is desired of all.

Timol. Timophanes, my brother, for whose death
I am tainted in the world ||, and foully tainted ;

As to the supreme magistrate, Sicily tenders,] For Sicily,
the old copies have surely. The emendation, which is a very
happy one, was made by Coxeter.
suck honours

To one amkitimtn of rule, &c.] Massinger has here finely
drawn the char icier of Timoleon, and been very true to his-
tory. He was descended from one of the noblest families in
Corinth, loved liis country passionately, and discovered upon
all occasions a sinful. ir humanity of temper, except against
tyrants and had men. He was an excellent captain ; and as
in his youth he had all the maturity of age, in age lie hail all
the lire and courage of the most ardent youth. CUXETKR.

| As would usurp on other's liberties J So the hrst quarto;
the second, which the modern editors follow, has, another's
liberties. In the preceding line, for proclaim'd, Mr. M.
Mason arbitrarily reads, proclaim : an injudicious alteration.

Nor prayers shall prevail:] Ever, which the modern
editors arbitrarily insert alter shall, is neither required by
the sense nor the metre. (Omitted in ed. 1813.)

|| 'J'imol. Timoplianes, my brother, for whose death

I'm tainted in the ivorld, &C..I Timoleon had an elder bro-
ther, called Timoplianes, whom he tenderly loved, as he had
demonstrated in a I) nil.', in which he covered him with his
body, and saved his life at the great danger of his own ; but
his country was still dearer to him. That brothel having
made himself tyrant of it, so black a crime gave him the
sharpest affliction. He made use of all possible means to
bring him buck to his duty : kindness, friendship, aft'ection,

In whose remembrance I have ever worn,
In peace and war, this livery of sorrow,
Can witness for me, how much I detest
Tyrannous usurpation ; with grief
I must remember it : for, when no persuasion
Could win him to desist from his bad practice,
To change the aristocracy of Corinth
Into an absolute monarchy, I chose rather
To prove a pious and obedient son
To my country, my best mother*, than to lenc'
Assistance to Timoplmnes, though my brother,
That, like a tyrant, strove to set his foot
Upon the city's freedom.

Timag. 'Twas a deed
Deserving rather trophies than reproof.

Least. And will be still remembered to your honour,
If you forsake not us.

Diph. 1 f you free Sicily

From barbarous Carthage' yoke,f 'twill be said,
In him you slew a tyrant.

Archid. But, giving way
To her invasion, not vouchsafing us.
That fly to your protection, aid and comfort,
'Twill he believed, that, for your private ends,
You kill'd a brother,

Tinwl. As I then proceed,
To all posterity may that act be crown'd
With a deserved applause, or branded with
The mark of infamy ! Stay yet; ere I take
This seat of justice, or engage myself
To fight for you abroad, or to reform
Your state at home, swear all upon my sword
And call the gods of Sicily to witness
The oath you take, that whatsoe'er I shall
Propound for safety of your commonwealth,

remonstrances, and even menaces. But, finding all Ins en-
deavours inetteclual, and that nothing could prevail upon a
heart abandoned to ambition, he caused his brother to be
assassinated in his presence [no ; not iit his presence] by two
of his friends and intimates, and thought, that upon sucli an
occasion, the laws of nature ought to give place to those of
his country. CoXETiiB.

Coxeter has copied with sufficient accuracy, the leading
traits of Timoleon's character, from the old translation of
Plutarch's Lives. \Viih Plutarch, indeed, Timoleon appears
to be a favourite, and not undeservedly ; in an age of great
men, he was eminently conspicuous : his greatest praise, how-
ever, is, that lie profiled by experience, and suffered the wild
and savage enthusiasm of his voulh to me low into a steady
and rational love ot liberty, '['he assassination of his brother,
which \>at heavy OH hi* soul, taught him " that an action
should not only" (it is Plulaich who speaks) " be just and
laudable in itself, but the principle from uhich it proceeds,
firm and immoveable ; in order lhat our conduct may have
the sanction of our own approbation."

It is impossible to read a page of his latter history, without
seeing lhat prudence was the virtue on which he chiefly relied
for fame : prodigies and portents forerun all his achieve-
ments ; part of which he undoubtedly fabricaied, and all of
which he had the dexterity to turn to his account ; but he was
not only indebted to prudence for fame, but for happiness
also; since, when he had given victory and peace to the
Syracusans, he wisely declined returning to Greece, where
proscription or death probably awaited him : and chose to
spend the remainder of his days at Syracuse. Those days
were long and happy , and when he died he was honoured
with a public funeral, and the tears of a people whom he had
saved.

* To my country, my hest mother,] In this expression,
Timoleon alludes to the conduct of his natural mother, who
would never see him after the assassination of his brother,
and always called \\\m fratricidam, impiumque.
t Diph. Jf you free Mcily,

From barbarous Carihaye' yoke, &c.1 This and the next
speech are literally from 1'lutarch ; Massinger IMS in this
instance adhered more closely to liis story than usual ; for, to
confess the truth, it cannot be said or him, lhat his historical
plays are " more authentic than the chronicles !"

SCENE Til.]

THE BONDMAN.

Not ci-cumscribed or bound in, shall by you
lie willingly obev'd.

Archid. Diph. Clean. So may ve prosper,
As we obey in all tinners.

Timag. i.eost. Asot. And observe
All vour commands as oracles !

Timol. Do not repent it. [Takes the state.

Olymf. He asu'd not our consent.

Con's. He's a clown I warrant liim.

0/i/m/>. I offer 'd myself twice, and yet the churl
Would not salute me.

Con's. Let him kiss his drum !
I'll save my lips, I rest on it*.

Oti/mp. He thinks women
No part of the republic.

Car is. He shall find
We are a commonwealth.

Cleo. The less your honour.

Timol. First then a word or two, but without bit-
terness.

(And yet mistake me not, I am no flatterer.)
Comeming your ill government of the state ;
In which the greatest, noblest, and most rich,
Stand, in the first file guilty.

Clean. Ha ! how's this ?

Timol. You have not, as good patriots should do,

studied

The public good, but your particular ends ;
Factious among yourselves, preferring such
To offices and honours, as ne'er read
The elements of saving polk-y ;
But deeply skill'd in all the principles
That usher to destruction.

1 east. Shnrp.

Timag. The better.

Timol. Your senate-house, which used not to ad-
A man, however popular, to stand [mil

At the helm of government, whose youth was not
Made glorious by action ; whose experience, [sels,
Crown'd with gray hairs, gave warrant to his coun-
Heard and received with reverence, is now fill'd
With green heads, that determine of the state
Over their cups, or when their sated lusts
Afford them leisure ; or supplied by those
Who, rising from base arts and sordid thrift.
Are eminent for theirt wealth not for their wisdom :
Which is the reason that to hold a place
In council, which was once esteem'd an honour,
And a reward for virtue, hath quite lost
Lustre and reputation, and is made
A mercenary purchase.

Timag. He speaks home.

Lenst. And to the purpose.

Timol. From whence proceeds
That the treasure of the city is engross'd
By a few private men, the public coffers
Hollow with want ; and they, that will not spare
One talent for the common good, to feed
The pride and bravery of their wives, consume,

/'// sare my lipt, I rest on it.] I am fixed, determined,
on it ; a metaphor taken t'uiui play, wlu-ie tin: hi^!ie;t Make
the parties were disposed to vennire, was called the re 1 .'.
To appropriate this U-rm to any particular game, as is some
times done, is extremely incorrect ; since il was anciently
applied to cards, to dice, to bowl-, in >ln>rt to any amuse-
ment of ch. nice, where money was wagered, or, to use a
phrase of the limes, set up.

t Are eminent for tlieir wealth, not for their wisdom :] I
have inserted their from the invaluable first quarto : it
strengthens and completes tlie verse.

In plate, and jewels, and superfluous slaves,
What would maintain an army.

Cirris. Have at us!

Oliimp. We thought we were forgot.

Cleo. Hut it appears
You will be treated of.

Timut. Yet, in this plenty,

And fat of peace, your young men ne'er were train'd
In martial discipline; and your ships unrigg'd,
Rot in the harbour : no defence prepared,
But thought unuseful ; as if Unit the gods,
Indulgent to vour sloth, had granted you
A perpetuity of pride and plea.si.re.
No change fear'd or expected. x Now you find
That Carthage, looking on your stupid" sleeps,
And dull security, was invited to
Invade your territories.

Archid. You have made us see, sir,
To our shame, the country's sickness : now, from you,
As from a careful and a wise physician,
We do expect the cure. 1

Timol. Old fester'd sores
Must be lanced to the quick, and cauterized :
Which born with patience, after I'll apply
Soil unguents. For the maintenance of the war,
It is drcrf-ed all monies in the hand
Of private men, shall instantly be brought
To the public treasury.

Timag. This bites sore.

Clean, The cure

Is worse than the disease ; I'll never yield to't:
What could the enemy, though victorious.
Infl ct more on us? All that, my youth hath toil'd for,
Purchased wish industry, and preserved with care,
Forced from me in a moment !

Diph. This lough course
Will never be allow'd of.

Timol O blind men !

If you refuse the first means that is ofier'd
To give you health, no hope's left to n cover
Your desperate sickness. Do you prize your muck
Above your liberties ; and rather hoose
To be made bondxien, than to part with that
To which already you are slaves ? Or <-ui it
Be probable in your flattering apprehensions,
You can capitulate with the conqueror,
And keep that yours wliich they come to possess,
And, while you kneel in vain, will ravish from you ?
But t.ike your own ways ; brood upon your gold,
Sacrifice to your idol, and preserve
The prey entire, and merit the report
Of careful stewards ; yield a just account
To your proud masters, who, with whips of iron,
Will force vou to give up what you conceal,
Or tear it from your throats : adorn your walls
With Persian hangings wrought of gold and pearl;
Cover the floors on which they are to tread,
With costly Median silks ; perfume the rooms
With cassia and amber, where they are
To feast and revel ; while, like servile grooms,
You wait upon their trenchers ; feed their eyes
\\ itli massy plate, until your cupboards crack
With the weight that they sustain ; set forth your
And daughters in as many varied shapes [wive
As there are nations to provoke their lusts,
And let them be embraced before your eyes,
The object may content you ! and to perfect
Their entertainment, offer up your sons,
And able i> en. for slaves ; while you. that are
Unfit for labour, are spurn 'd out to starve,

THE BONDMAN.

[Ac I.

Unpitied, in some desert, no friend by,

Whose sorrow may spare one compassionate tear.

In the remembrance of what once you were.

Least. The blood turns.

Timag. Observe how old Cleon shakes,
As if in picture he had shown him what
He was to suffer.

Coris. I am sick ; the man
Speaks poniards and diseases.

Olitmp. O my doctor !
I never shall recover.

Cleo. [coming forward.'] If a virgin,
Whose speech was ever yet usher'd with fear ;
One knowing modesty and humble silence
To be the choicest ornaments of our sex,
In the presence of so many reverend men
Struck dumb with terror and astonishment,
Presume to clothe her thought in vocal sounds,
Let her find pardon. First to you, great sir,
A bashful maid's thanks, and her zealous pravers
Wing'd with pure innocence, bearing *'.<sin to heaven,
For all prosperity that the gods can give
To one whose piety must exact their care,
Thus low I offer.

Timol. 'Tis a happy omen.

Rise, blest one, and speak boldly. On my virtue,
I am thy warrant, from so clear a spring
Sweet rivers ever flow.

Cleo. Then, thus to you,
My noble father, and these lords, to whom
I next owe duty : no respect forgotten
To you, my brother, and these bold young men,
(Such I would have them,) that are, or should be,
The city's sword and target of defence.
To all of you I speak ; and, if a blush
Steal on my cheeks, it is shown to reprove
Your paleness, willingly 1 would not say,
Your cowardice or fear : Think you all treasure
Hid in the bowels of the earth, or shipwreck'd
In Neptune's wat'ry kingdom, can hold weight,
When liberty and honour fill one scale,
Triumphant Justice sitting on the beam ?
Or dare you but imagine that your gold is
Too dear a salary for such as hazard
Their blood and lives in your defence ? For me,
An ignorant girl, bear witness, heaven ! so far
I prize a soldier, that, to give him pay,
With such devotion as our flamens offer
Their sacrifices at the holy altar,
I do lay down these jewels, will make sale
Of my superfluous wardrobe, to supply
The meanest of their wants. [Lays dawn her jewels.

Timol. Brave masculine spirit !

DipA. We are shown, to our shame, what we in
Should have taught others. [honour

Archid. Such a fnir example
Must needs be folio w'd.

Timag. Ever my dear sister,
But now our family's glory !

Least. Were she deform'd,
The virtues of her mind would force a Stoic
To sue to be her servant.

Cleon. I must yield ;

And. though my heart-blood part with it, I will
Deliver in my wealth.

Asot. I would say something ;
But, the truth is, I know not what,

Timol. We have money ;
And men must now be thought on.

Archid. We can press

Of labourers in the country, men inured
To cold and heat, ten thousand.

Diph. Or, if need be,
Enrol our slaves, lusty and able varlets,
And fit for service.

Cleon. They shall go for me j
I will not pay and fight too.

Cleo. How ! your slaves ?

stain of honour! Once more, sir, your pardon;
And, to their shnmes, let me deliver what

1 know in justice you may speak.

Timol. Most gladly :

I could not wish my thoughts a better organ
Than your tongue, to express them.

Cleo. Are you men !

(For age may qualify, though not excuse.
The backwardness of these,) able young men !
Yet, now your country's liberty's at the stake.
Honour and glorious triumph made the garland*
For such as dare deserve them ; a rich feast
Prepared by Victory, of immortal viands,
Not for base men. but such as with their swords
Dare force admittance, and will be her guests :
And can you coldly suffer such rewards
To be proposed to labourers and slaves ?
While you, that are born noble, to whom these,
Valued at their best rate, are next to horses,
Or other beasts of carriage, cry aim f !

Yet, now your country'! liberty'* at the itake,

Honour and yloriovs triumph made the yarland.] Mr.
M. Mason has improved these lines, in his opinion, by omit-
ting the article in the first, and changing the iu the second,
into a. These are very strange liberties to take with an
author, upon caprice, or blind conjecture.

+ While you cry aim !

Like idle lookers on, Coxeter, who seems not to have
understood the expression, gave the incorrect reading of the
second quarto, cry, Ay me', which, alter all, was nothing
more than an accidental disjunction of the last word (ayme)
at the press. Mr. M. Mason follows him in the text, but
observes, in a note, that we should read cry aim. There is
no doubt of it ; and so it is distinctly given in the first and
btst copy. The expression is fo common in the writers ot
Massinger's time, and, indeed, in Massinger liims.lt, that it
is difficult to say how it could ever be misunderstood. The
phrase, as Warburton observes, Merry Hives of Windsor,
Act II. sc. iii. was taken from archery : " \V hen any one had
challenged another to shoot at the butts, the stiinders-hy used
to say one to the other, Cry aim, i.e. accept the challenge."
Stecvens rejects this explanation, which, in fact, ha? neither
truth nor probability to recommend it ; and adds : " It seems
to have been the otlice of the aim-cryer, to give notice to the
archer when he was within a proper distance of his mark,"
&c. Here this acute critic has fallen, with the rest of the
commentators, into an error. Aim! for so it shont'l be printed,
ami not cry aim, was always addressed to the person about
to shoot: it was an hortatory exclamation of the by-stan<lers,
or, as Massingcr has it, of the idle loohert on, intended for
his encouragement. But the mistake of Stcevens arises from
his confounding cry aim ! with give aim. To cry aim ! as I
have already observed, was to ENCOURAGE ; to five aim, was
to DIRKCT, and in these distinct and appropriate senses the
words perpetually occur. There was no such office as aim-
crycr, as asserted above; the business of encouragement being
abandoned to such of the spectators as chose to interfere : to
that of direction, indeed, there was a special person appointed.
Those who cried aim / stood by the archers ; he who gave it,
was stationed near the butts, and pointed out after every
discharge, how wide, or how short, the arrow fell of the
mark. A few examples will make all this clear :
" It ill becomes this presence to cry aim!

To these ill-tuned repositions." King John.

\. e. to encourage.

" Before his face plotting his own abuse,

To which himself gives aim :

While the broad >w with the forked head,

Misses his brows uui narrowly."

A Mad World my Matter*,
I c. directs.

SONS III.]

THE BONDMAN.

Like idle lookers on, till their proud worth
Make them become your masters !

Timol. By my hopes,

There's fire and spirit enough in this to make
Thersites valiant.

Cleo. No ; far, far be it from you :
Let these of meaner quality contend
Who can endure most labour ; plough the earth,
And think they are rewaeded when their sweat
Brings home a fruitful harvest to their lords ;
Let them prove good artificers, and serve you
For use and ornament, but not presume
To touch at what is noble. If you think them
Unworthy to taste of those cates you feed on,
Or wear such costly garments, will you grant them
The privilege and prerogative of great minds,
Which you were born to? Honour won in war,
And to be styled preservers of their country,
Are titles fit for free and generous spirits,
And not for bondmen : had I been born a man,
And such ne'er-dying glories made the prize
To bold heroic courage, by Diana,
I would not to my brother, nay, my father,
Be bribed to part with the least piece of honour
I should gain in this action !

Timol. She's inspired,

Or in her speaks the genius of your country,
To fire your blood in her defence ; I am rapt
With the imagination. Noble maid,
Timoleon is your soldier, and will sweat
Drops of his best blood, but he will bring home
Triumphant conquest to you. Let me wear
Your colours, lady ; and though youthful heats *,
That look no further than your outward form.
Are long since buried in me, while I live,
I am a constant lover of your mind,
That does transcend all precedents.

Cleo. Tis an honour, [Gives Jw temf.

And so I do receive it.

Con's. Plague upon it !

She has got the start of us : I could even burst
With envv at her fortune.

To the viceroy's base embraces, and cry aim!
While he by force," &c. The Renegade.

i. e. encourage them.

" This way I toil in vain, ami give but aim
To infamy and ruin ; he will fall,
My blessing cannot stay him." The Roaring Girl.
i. e. direct them.

" Standyng rather in his window to crye aime! than
helpyng any waye to part the fraye."

Fenton's Tragical Ditcourtes.
i. e. to encourage.

" 1 myself r/ave aim thus, Wide, fonr bows ! short, three
and a half." Middleton's Spanish Gyptie.
i. e. directed.

I should apologize for the length of this note, were it not
that I flatter myself the distinct and appropriate meaning of
these two phrases is ascertained in it, and finally established.

Let me wear

Your colour*, lady ; and though youthful heats,
That look no further than your outward form,
Are long ilnce buried in me, while 1 line,
I am, &.C.] This is evidently copied from that much con-
tested speech of Othello, Act 1. sc. iii. : " I therefore beg it
not," &c., as in the following passage, in The Fair Maid of
the Inn :

" Shall we take our fortune ? and while our cold fathers,"
In whom Ions; since their youthful heats were dead,
Talk much of Mars, serve under Venus' ensigns,
And seek a mistress ?"

And as this shows how Shakspeare's contemporaries nnder-
itood the lines, it should, I think, with us, be decisive of
their meaning. The old reading, with the alteration of one
letter by Johnson, stands thus :

Oltjmp. A raw young thing ! [bands say,

We have too much tongue sometimes, our hus-
And she outstrip us !

l^eost. I am for the journey.

Timag. May all diseases sloth and letchery brin(
Fall upon him that stays at home !

Archid. Though old,
I will be there in person.

Diph. So will I :

Methinks I am not what I was ; her words
Have made me younger, by a score of years,
Than I was when I came hither.

Cleon. I am still

Old Cleon, fat and unwieldy; I shall never
Make a good soldier, and therefore desire
To be excused at home.

Asot. Tis my suit too :
lama gristle, and these spider fingers
Will never hold a sword. Let us alone
To rule the slaves at home ; I can so yerk them
But in mv conscience I shall never prove
Good justice in the war.

Timol. Have your desires ;
You would be burthens to us, no way aids.
Lead, fairest, to the temple ; first we'll pay
A sacrifice to the gods for good success :
For all great actions the wish'd course do run,
That are, with their allowance, well begun.

[Exeunt all but Pisan. Grac. and Cimb.

Pisan. Stay, Cimbrio and Gracculo.

Cimb. The business ? [grove,

Pisan. Meet me to-morrow night near to the
Neighbouring the east part of the city.

Grac. Well. [you :

Pisan. And bring the rest of our condition with
I've something to impart may break our fetters,
If you dare second me.

Cimb. We'll not fail.

Grac. A cart-rope
Shall not bind me at home.

Pisan. Think on't, and prosper. [Exeunt.

" 1 therefore beg it not

To please the palate of my appetite ;

Nor to comply with heat, the young affects

In me defunct, and proper satisfaction," &c.

The admirers of Shakspeare cannot but recollect with
dismay, the prodigious mass of conjectural criticism which
Sleevens has accumulated on this passage, as svell as ihe
melancholy presage with which it terminates; that, after all,
" it will probably prove a lasting source of doubt and con-
troversy." 1 confess I SCP little occasion for either : nor can
I well conceive why, after the rational and unforced expla-
nation of Johnson, the worthless reveries of Theobald, Toilet,
&c., were admitted. Affect* occur incessantly in the ^en?e
of passions, affections : young affects is therefore perfectly
synonimous with youthful tieatt. Othello, like Timoleon,
was not an old man, though he had lost the fire of youth ; the
critics might therefore have dismissed that concern for the
lady, which they have so delicately communicated for the
edification of the rising generation.

I have said thus much on the subject, because I observe,
that the numerous editions of Shakspeare now preparing, lay
claim to patronage on the score of religiously following the
text of Steevens. I am not prepared to deny that this is the
best which has hitherto appeared ; though I have nodifh'cnlty
in affirming that those will deserve well of the public, who
shall bring back some readings which he has discarded, and
reject others which he has adopted. In the present instance,
for example, his text, besides being unwarranted, and totally
foreign from the meaning of his author, can scarcely be
reconciled either to grammar or sense.

I would wish the future editors of Shakspeare to consider,
whether he might not have given affect in the singular (this
also is used for passion), to correspond with heat ; and theu
the lines may be thus regalatc-d :

f Nor to comply with heat, (the young affect'i
In me defunct,) and proper satisfaction,"

THE BONDMAN.

[Act

ACT II.

SCENE I. The tame. A Room in ARCHIDAMUS'S
House.

Enter ARCHIDAMUS, TIMAGORAS, LEOSTHENES, with
gorgets ; and PISANDER.

Archid. So, so, 'tis well : bow do I look ?

Pisan. Most sprightfully. [I'm old

Archid. I shrink not in the shoulders ; though
I'm tough, steel to the back ; I have not wasted
My stock of strength in featherbeds : here's an arm

too ;

There's stuff in't, and I hope will use a sword
As well as any beardless boy of you all.

Timag. I'm glad to see you, sir, so well prepared
To endure the travail of the war.

Archid. Go to, sirrah !

I shall endure, when some of you keep your cabins,
For all your flaunting feathers ; nay, Leosthenes,
You are welcome too*, all friends and fellows now.

Least. Your servant, sir.

Archid. Pish ! leave these compliments,
They stink in a soldier's mouth ; I could be merry,
For, now my gown's off, farewell gravityt !
And must be bold to put a question to you,
"Without offence, I hope.

Least. Sir, what you please.

Archid. And you will answer truly?

Timag. On our words, sir.

Archid. Go to, then ; I presume you will confess
That you are two notorious whoremasters ;
Nay, spare your blushing, I've been wild myself,
A smack or so for jihysic does no harm ;
Nay, it is physic, if used moderately :
But to lie at rack ond manger

Least. Say we grant this,
For if we should deny 't, you'll not believe us,
What will you infer upon it ?

Archid. What you'll groan for, [us,

I fear, when you come to the test. Old stories teli
There's a month call'd October}, which brings in
Cold weather ; there are trenches too, 'tis rumour'd,
In which to stand all night to the knees in water,
In gallants breeds the toothach ; there's a sport too,
Named lying pe due, do you mark me 'f 'tis a game
Which you must learn to play at ; now in these
Aid choice variety of exercises, [seasons,

nay, l^eosthenes,

You are welcome too, &c.] It should be remembered that
ArrliiiUimis is, with great judgment, represented in the
first scene, as averse to the marriage of Leosthene with his
daughter.

i For, now my flown'g off, farewell gravity.'] This is said
to have been a frequent expression with the gieal but pl.i\-
fiil Sir Thomas Mote, who was never so happy as when he
thook off the pomp of office. Fuller tells a similar story of
Lord Burleigh.

I Hid storiett tell ut,

There s a month called October, &c.] This pleasant old
man forgets he is talking of Sicily, where October is the
most li-iijjnt'iil month of the year. All our old poets loved
and tliv-nghl t.nly of their country. Whatever ivpiou was
the subject, Gnu and was the real theme: their habits, cus-
toms, peculi.iri ies, wcie all derived from thence. This,
though it must ci>mlcmn them as historians, may >ave Ihrm
as patriots! and, indeed, it is not much to be regretted that
thty should overlook manners, with which they were very
imperfectly acquainted, in favour of those with which they
were hourly coiivcrsnil at least, it would be ungrateful in
us, who profit so much by their minute descriptions, to he
offended at their disregard of what are quaintly called the
fottumi.

(Nay, I come to you,) and fasts, not for devotion,

Your rambling hunt-smock feels strange alterations ;

And in a frosty morning looks as if

He could with ease creep in a pottle-pot,

Instead of his mistress' placket. Then he curses

The time he spent in midnight visitations ;

And finds what he superfluously parted with,

To be reported good at length, and well breath'd*,

If but retrieved into his back again f,

Would keep him warmer than a scarlet waistcoat,

Enter DIPHILUS and CLEOIIA.

Or an armour lined with fur welcome ! wel-
come !

You have cut off my discourse; but I will perfect
My lecture in the camp.

Diph. Come, we are stay'd for ;
The general's afire for a remove,
And longs to be in action.

Archid. 'Tis my wish too.
We must part nay, no tears, my best Cleora ;
1 shall melt too, and that were ominous.
Millions of blessings on thee ! All that's mine
I give up to thy charge ; and, sirrah, look

[To Piwnder,

You with that cave and reverence observe her,
Which you would pav to me. A kiss; farewell,
girl!

Diph. Peace wait upon you, fair one!

[Exeunt Archidamus, Diphilus, and Pisander.

Timag. 'Twere impertinence
To wish you to be careful of your honour,
That ever keep in pay a guard about you
Of faithful virtues. Farewell : friend, 1 leave you
To wipe our kisses oft'; 1 know that lovers
Part with more circumstance and ceremony ;
Which I give way to. [Exit,

Least. ' 1 is a noble favour,
For which I ever owe you. We are alone ;
But how I should begin, or in what language
Speak the unwilling word of parting from you,
1 am yet to learn.

Cieo. And still continue ignorant. ;
For I must be most cruel to myself,
If I should teach you.

Least. Vet it must be spoken,

Or you will chide my slackness. You have fired me
With the heat of noble action to deserve you ;
And the least spark of honour that took life
From your sweet breath, still fann'd by it and
Must mount up in a glorious flame, or I [cherish 'd,
Am much unworthy.

leo. May it not burn here,
And, as a seamark, serve to guide true lovers,
Toss'd on the ocean of luxurious wishes,
Safe from the rocks of lust, into the harbour
Of pure affection ! rising up an example

* To be reported yood, at length, and well breath'd] at
li'iii/th. \\hirh completes the verse, is carelessly droj.t by
In, ili the editors.

t If bu' retrieved into his bark again ] This 'with the
ev.-t-plion .f Hut if, for If but, whirl) I am accountable
fur) is the reading of the second quarto; the first quaintly
i '-ails :

" Hut if retained into his lack auain.'

SCENE i.J

THE BONDMAN.

Which aftertimes shall witness to our glory,
First took from us beginning.

Least. 'Tis a happiness
My duty to my country, and mine honour
Cannot consent to ; besides, add to these,
It was your pleasure, fortified by persuasion,
And strength of reason, for the general good,
That I should go.

Cleo. Alas ! I then was witty
To plead against myself ; and mine eye, fix'd
Upon the hill of honour, ne'er descended
To look into the vale of certain dangers,
Through which you were to cut your passage to it.

Leost. I'll stay at home, then.

Cleo. No, that must not be ;
For so, to serve uiy own ends, and to gain
A petty wreath myself, I rob you of
A certain triumph, which must fall upon you,
Or Virtue's turn'd a handmaid to blind Fortune.
How is my soul divided ! to confirm you
In the opinion of the world, most worthy
To be beloved (with me you're at the height,
And can advance no further,) I must send you
To court the goddess of stern war, who, if
She see you with my eyes, will ne'er return you,
But grow enamour'd of you.

Leost. Sweet, take comfort !
And what I offer you, you must vouchsafe me,
Or I am wretclu-d : all the dangers that
I can encounter in the war, are trifles;
My enemies abroad, to be contemn'd ;
The dreadful foes, that have the power to hurt me,
I leave at home with you.

Cleo. With me ?

Leost. Nay. in you,

In every part about you, they ae arm'd
To fight against me.

Cleo. Where?

Leost. There's no perfection
That you are mistress of, but musters up
A legion against me, and all sworn
To my destruction.

Cleo. This is strange !

Leost. But true, sweet ;
Excess of love can work such miracles !
Upon this ivory forehead are intrench'd
Ten thousand rivals, and these suns command
Supplies from all the world, on pain to forfeit
Their comfortable beams ; these ruby lips,
A rich exchequer to assure their pay ;
This hand, Sibylla's golden bough to guard them,
Through hell and horror, to the Elysian springs ;
^ hich who'll not venture for? and, should I name
Such as the virtues of your mind invite,
Their numbers would be infinite.

Cleo. Can you think
I may be tempted ?

Leoit. You were never proved*.
For me I have conversed with you no further
Than would become a brother. I ne'er tuned
Loose notes to your chaste ears ; or brought rich
For my artillery, to batter down [presents

The fortress of your honour ; nor endeavour'd
To make your blood run high at solemn feasts
With viands that provoke ; the speeding philtres :

* Leost. You were never proved ] The whole of this
Irene is eminenilv beautiful ; )ul I cannot avoid recom-
mending to the reader's particular notice, the spec-ill which
follow*. Its rliMlmi is so perfect, that it (Irons on the ear
like the sweetest melody.

I work'd no bawds to tempt you ; never practised

The cunning and corrupting arts they study,

That wander in the wild maze of desire ;

Honest simplicity and truth were all

The agents I employ 'd ; and when I came

To see you, it was with that reverence

As T beheld the altars of the gods :

And love, that came along with me, was taught

To leave his arrows and his torch behind,

Quench'd in mv fear to give offence.

CUo. And 'twas

That modesty that took me and preserves me,
Like a fresh rose, in mine own natural sweetness ,
Which, sullied with the touch of impure hands,
Loses both scent and beauty.

Leost. Hut, Cleora,

When I am absent, as I must go from you
(Such is the cruelty of my fate), and leave you,
Unguarded, to the violent assaults
Of loose temptations ; when the memory
Of my so many years of love and service
Is lost in other objects ; when you are courted
By such as keep a catalogue of their conquests,
Won upon credulous virgins ; when nor father
Is here to owe you, brother to advise you *,
Nor your poor servant by, to keep such off,
By lust instructed how to undermine,
And blow your chastity up; when your weak senses,
At once assaulted, shall conspire against you,
And play the traitors to your soul, your virtue ;
How can you stand? 'Faith, though you fall, and I
The judge before whom you then stood accused,
I should acquit you.

Cleo. Will you then confirm

That love and jealousy, though of different natures,
Must of necessity be twins ; the younger
Created only to defeat the elder,
And spoil him of his birthright f 1 'tis not well.
But being to part, I will not chide, I will not ;
Nor with one syllable or tear, express
How deeply I am wounded with the arrows
Of your di.-,trust : but when that you shall hear,
At your return, how I have borne myself,
And what an austere penance 1 take on me,
To satisfy your doubts ; when, like a vestal,
I shew you, to your shame, the tire still burning,
Committed to my charge by true affection,
The people joining with you in the wonder;
When, by the glorious splendour of my sufferings,
The prying eyes of jealousy are struck blind,
The monster too that feeds on fears, e'en starved
For want of seeming matter to accuse me ;
Expect, Leosthenes, a sharp reproof
From my just anger.

Least. What will you do 1
Cleo. Obey me,

Or from this minute you are a stranger to me;
And do't without reply. All- seeing sun,
'J hou witness of my innocence, thus I close
Mine eyes against thy comfortable light,

when nor father

It here to owe you, brother to advise you.] Owe is the reading
of both thr quarto*; ami is evidently riyht. The property i.t
Cleora was, in ihe father; tl'is is di^ins-iiMitd Horn the
only lisht the brother had : to advise. The mMk-rn t-.i-
ton.nut comprehending this, sophisticate the text, ami print-
hvrr to aiff you !

t And tpoil him of hi* birthright T] Th. is a h.ippy
allusion to the hi>tor> of Jacob and Ksan. It I* the more
M>, lor being \oid of all prolaneness; to which, indeed

Massinger had no tendency.

100

THE BONDMAN.

[Arrll.

Till the return of this distrustful man!

Now bind them sure; nay, do't : [He binds her

eyes.] If, uncompell'd,

I loose this knot, until the hands that made it
13e pleased to untie it, may consuming plagues
Fall heavy on me ! pray you guide me to your lips.
This kiss, when you come back, shall be a virgin
To bid you welcome ; nay, 1 have not done yet :
I will continue dumb, and, you once gone,
No accent shall come from me. Now to my chamber,
My tomb, if you miscarry: there I'll spend
My hours in silent mourning, and thus much
Shall be reported of me to my glory,
And you confess it, whether I live or die,
My chastity triumphs o'er your jealousy. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. The same. A Room in Cleon's House.
Enter A.SOTUS, driving in GRACCULO.

Atot. You slave ! you dog ! down, cur.

Gi-ac. Hold, good young muster,
For pity's sake !

Asot. Now am I in my kingdom :
Who savs I am not valiant 1 I begin
To frown again : quake, villain.

Grac. So I do, sir ;
Your looks are agues to me.

Asot. Are they so, sir!

'Slight, if I had them at this bay that flout me,
And say I look like a sheep and an ass, I'd make them
Feel that I am a lion.

Grac. Do not roar, sir,

As you are a valiant beast : but do you know
VVhv you use me thus?

Asot. I'll beat tb.ee a little more,
Then study for a reason. O ! I have it :
One brake a jest on me, and then I swore,
Because I durst not strike him, when I came home
That I would break thy head.

Grac. Plague on his mirth* !
I'm sure I mourn for't.

Asot. Remember too, I charge you,
To teach my horse good manners ye r . ; this morning,
As I rode to take the air, the untutor'd jade
Threw me, and kick'd me.

Grac. I thank him for't. [Aside.

Asot. What's that?

Grac. I say, sir, I will teach him to hold his heels,
If you will rule your fingers.

Asot. I'll think upon't.

Garc. 1 am bruised to jelly : better be a dog,
Than slave to a fool or coward. [./tsicfc.

Asot. Here's my mother.

Enter COHISCA and ZANTHIA.
She is chastising too : how brave we live,
That have our slaves to beat, to keep us in breath
When we want exercise !

Com. Careless harlotry, [Striking her.

Look to't ; if a curl fall, or wind or sun
Take my complexion off, I will not leave
One hair upon thine head.

Grac. Here's a second show

Grac. Plague on hi* mirth.] This is marked as a side
f peech by the modern editors ; it is spoken, however, to
Asotus: and alludes to what he calls a jest in the preceding
line. It is worth observing, that the editor of the second
quarto frequently varies the exclamations of the first, and
alvvajs for the worse : thus Playue I is uniformly turned
>nto P xt Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason follow him.

Of the family of pride. [Aside.

Con's. Fie on these wars !

I'm starved for want of action ; not a gamester left
To keep a woman play. If this world last
A little longer with us, ladies must study
Some new-found mystery to cool one another;
We shall burn to cinders else. I have heard there

have been

Such arts in a long vacation ; would they were
Reveal'd to me ! they have made my doctor too
Physician to the army ; he was used
To serve the turn at a pinch ; but I am now
Quite unprovided.

Asot. My mother-in-law is, sure,
At her devotion.

Con's. There are none but our slaves left,
Nor are they to be trusted. Some great women,
Which I could name, in a dearth of visitants,
Rather than be idle, have been glad to play
At small game ; but I am so queasy-stomach 'd,
And from my youth have been so used to dainties,
I cannot taste such ^ross meat. Some that are
Draw on their shoemakers, and take a fall [hungry
From such as mend mats in their galleries ;
Or when a tailor settles a petticoat on,
Take measure of his bodkin ; fie upon't!
'T is base ; for my part, I could rather lie with
A gallant's breeches, and conceive upon them,
Than stoop so low.

Asot. Fair madam, and my mother. [country,

Cm-is. Leave the last out, it smells rank of the
And shews coarse breeding j your true courtier

knows not

His niece, or sister, from another woman,
If she be apt and cunning. I could tempt now
This fool, but he will be so long a working !
Then he's my husband's son : the fitter to
Supply his wants ; I have the way already,
I'll try if it will take. When were you with
Your mistress, fair Cleora?

Asot. Two days sithence ;

But she's so coy, forsooth, that ere I can [for her,
Speak a penn'd speech I have bought and studied
Her woman calls her away.

Coris. Here's a dull thing !
But better taught, I hope. Send off your man.

Asot. Sirrah, be gone.

Grac. This is the first good turn
She ever did me. [Exit

Coris. We'll have a scene of mirth ;
I must not have you shamed for want of practice.
I stand here for Cleora, and, do you hear, minion,
That you may tell her what her woman should do,
Repeat the lesson over that I taught you,
When my young lord came to visit me ; if you miss
In a syllable or posture

Zant. I am perfect.

Asot. Would I were so ! I fear I shall be out.

Coris. If you are, I'll help you in. Thus I walk
You are to enter, and, as you pass by, [musing :
Salute my woman ; be but bold enough,
You'll speed, I warrant you. Begin.

Asot. Have at it

Save thee, sweet heart ! a kiss.

Zant. Venus forbid, sir,
I should presume to taste your honour's lip
Before my lady.

Con's. This is well on both parts.

Asot. How does thy lady ?

Zant. Happy in your lordship,

SCFNE III.]

THE BONDMAN.

As oft as she tliinks on you.

Cor is. Very good ;
This wench will learn in time.

Asot. Does she think of me?

Zfint. O, sir! and speaks the best of you ; admires
Your wit, your clothes, discourse ; and swears, but

that

You are not forward enough for a lord, you were
The most complete and absolute man, I'll shew
Your lordship a secret.

Asot. Not of thine ovn ?

Zant. O ! no, sir,

'Tis of my lady : but, upon your honour,
You must conceal it.

Asot. By all means.

Zant. Sometimes

I lie with my lady ; as the last night I did ;
She could not say her prayers for thinking of you:
Nav, she talk'd of you in her sleep, and sigh'd out,

sweet Asotns, sure thoit art so backward,
That I mint ravish tliee! mid in that fervour
She took me in her arms, threw me upon her,
Kiss'd me, and hugg'd me, and then waked, and wept,
Because 'twas but a dream.

Com. This will bring him on,
Or lie's a block. A good girl !

Azoi. I am rnad,
Till 1 am ai it.

Zant Be not put off, sir,

With. Away, I dare not;~Jie, you are immodest;
Mi/ brother's u]>; mujuther uitl hear. Shoot home,
You cannot miss the mark. [sir,

Asot. '[ here's for thy counsel.
This is the fairest interlude, if it prove earnest,

1 shall wish I were a player.

Con's. Now my turn comes.
I am exceeding sick, pray you send my page
For young Asotus, I cannot live without him ;
Prey him to visit me ; yet, when he's present,
I must be strange to him.

Asot. Not so, you are caught :
Lo. whom you wish ; behold Asotus here !

Com. You wait well, minion ; shortly I shall not

speak

My thoughts in my private chamber, but they must
Lie open to discovery.

Asot. 'Slid, she's angrv.

Zant. No, no, sir, she but seems so. To her again.

Asot. I.ady, I would descend to kiss your hand,
But that 'tis gloved, and tivet makes me sick ;
And to presume to taste your lip's not safe,
Your woman by.

Cm-is. I hope she's no observer
Of whom I grace. [Zanthia looks on a book.

Asot. She's at her book, O rare ! [Kisses her.

Con's. A kiss for entertainment is sufficient;
Too much of one dish cloys me.

Asot. I would serve in
The second course ; but still I fear your woman.

Coris. You are very cautelous*.

[Zanihia, seems to sleep.

Coris. You are very eautclous.] This word or.cnrs con-
tiniuiiy in the smse of wary, suspicious, over-circum-
ip ct, &c.

" This cannot be Brisac, that worthy gentleman.

" He is too prudent, and too cautelous : The Elder
B-other; yet Mr. M. MHMIII rhoos.-s to displ.icu it for
cautious, which, besides bf ing a febler expression, has the
lurtiier ivomtiiirn l.m.-ii, ot -O'-iliii^ inr ineirr. 1 cannot
avoid subjoining, that this, and the preceding scene, Are most

Asot. 'Slight, she's asleep !
'Tis pity these instructions are not printed ;
They would sell well to chambermaids. 'Tis :.o

time now

To play with my good fortune, and your favour;
Yet to be taken, as they say : a scout,
To give the signal when the enemy comes,

[/'.u't Zanthia,

Were now worth gold. She's gone to watch.
A waiter so train'd up were worth a million
To a wanton city madam.

Com. You are grown conceited*.

Asot. You teach me. Lady, now your cabinet

Com. You speak as it were yours.

Asot. When we are there,
I'll shew you my best evidence.

Com. Hold ! you forget,
I only play Cleora's part.

Asot. No matter,
Now we've begun, let's end the act.

Coris. Forbear, sir;
Your father's wife !

Asot. Why, being his heir, I am bound.
Since he can make no satisfaction to you.
To see his debts paid

Enter ZANTHIA running.

Zant. Madam, my lord !

Coris. Fall off;
I must triHe with the time too; hell confound it

Asot. Plague on his toothless chaps ! he cannot

do't
Himself, yet hinders such as have good stomachs.

Enter CLEON.

Clean. Where are you, wife? I fain would go

abroad,

But cannot find my slaves that bear my litter ;
I am tired. Your shoulder, son ; nay, sweet, thy

hand too ;

A turn or two in the garden, and then to supper,
And so to bed.

Asot. Never to rise, I hope, more. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Grow near the Walls ofSyracus*.
Enter PISANDER and POLIPH RON, A Table.

Pisan. 'Twill take, I warrant tliee.

Poliph. You may do your pleasure ;
But, in my judgment, better to make use of
The present opportunity.

Pisan. No more.

Poliph. I am silenced.

Pisan. More wine ; prithee drink hard, friend,
And when we're hot, whatever I propound,

Enter CIMBRIO, GRACCULO, and other Slaves.

Second with vehemence. Men of your words, all

welcome !
Slaves use no ceremony ; sit down, here's a health.

Poliph. Let it run round, fill every man his glass.

Grac. We look for no waiters ; this is wine !

tcandalonsly given by both the editor! ; scarcely a linglt
speech being without ;t misprint or an omission.

* Coris. You are grown conceited,] i. e. facetion*, witty
so in Ham Alley or Merry Tricki t 1611.

Throat*. What brought yon hither?

Boat. Why, these small legs.

Throate. You are conceited, sir

102

THE BONDMAN.

[Acr II

PZ*JH. The better, [us

Strong, lusty wine : drink deep, this juice will make
As free as our lords. [Drinks.

Grac. But if they find we taste it,
We are all damn'd to the (|uarry during life,
Without hope of redemption.

Pisan. Pish ! for that
We'll talk anon : another rouse* ! we lose time ;

[Drinks.

When our low blood's wound up a little higher,
I'll offer my design ; nay, we are cold yet ;
These "-lasses contain nothing : do me right,

[Takes the bottle.

As e'er you hope for liberty. Tis done bravely ;
How do you feel yourselves now ?

Cimb. 1 begin
To have strange conundrums in my head.

Graf. And I [ now >

To loath base water : I would be hang'd in peace
For one month of such holidays.

Pisan. An age, boys,
And yet defy the whip ; if you are men,
Or dare believe you have souls.

Cimb. We ure no brokers.

Grac. Nor whores, whose marks are out of their

mouths, they have nonet ;
They hardly can get salt enough to keep them
From stinking; above ground.

Pis.ni. Our lords are no gods

Grac. They are devils to us, I am sure.

Piiuii. IJUL subject to
Cold, hunger, and diseases.

Giur. In abundance.

Your lord that (eels no ach in his chine at twenty,
Forfeits his privilege: how should their surgeons
Or ride on their footcloths ? [build else,

Pi/sun. K>|u:il Nature fashion VI us
All in one mould. The bear serves not the bear,
Nor ilie wolf the wolf; 'twas odds of strength in

t\ r nts,

That pluck'*) the first link from the golden chain
With which that THING OF THINGS} bound in the

world.

Why tlieu, since we are taught, by their examples.
To love our liberty, if not command, [ones ?

Should the strong serve the weak, the fair, deform 'd
Or such us know the cause of things, pay tribute
To ignorant fools! All's but the outwaid gloss,
And politick form, that does distinguish us.
Cimlino thou art a strong man ; if, in place
Of carrving burthens, thou had.->t been irain'd up
In nrini-.ii discipline, thou might'st have proved
A general, tit to lead and fight for Sicily,
As fortunate its 'I imoleon.

Cimb. A little lighting
Wiil serve a general's turn.

Pisan. 1 huu, Gracculo,
Hast fluency ot language, quick conceit ;
And, 1 think, cover'd with a senator's robe,
Formally set on the bench, thou wouldst appear
As brave u senator.

Grac. Would 1 had lands,

another rouse!] Anullier full glass, another bum-
per. See the Duke of Milan.

t (Jr:ic. A'lir wliorei, uihote markt are out of their mnutht,
they have none ;] Thzy have none ; is omitted both by Coxe-
trr and M. M<isou.

* That THING OF THINGS.] A literal translation, as Mr.
M. Mat -ii .b-< rses, of ENS KNTU;M. 1 know not where
PiiMiidt./ acquired liis revolutionary philosophy : his gulden
chain, perhaps lie louuit in Homer.

Or money to buy a place ; and if I did not
Sleep on the bench with the drowsiest of them, play
with my chain, [and wear

Look on my watch, when my guts chimed twelve,
A state beard, with my barber's help, rank with

them

In their most choice peculiar gifts ; degrade me,
And put me to drink water again, which, now
I have tasted wine, were poison !

Pisan. Tis spoke nobly,

And like a gownman : none of these, I think too,
But would prove good burghers.

Grac. Hum ! the fools are modest ;
I know their insides : here's an ill-faced fellow,
( But that will not be seen in a dark shop,)
If he did not in a month learn to outswear, [man
In the selling of his wares, the cunning'st trades-
In Syracusa, I have no skill. Here's another,
Observe but what a cozening look he has !
Hold up thy head, man ; if, for drawing gallants
Into mortgages for commodities^, or cheating heira
With your new counterfeit gold thread, and gumm'd

velvets,

He does not transcend all that went before him,
Call in his patent : pass the rest ; they'll all make
Sufficient beccos, and with their brow-antlers
Bear up the cap of maintenance.

Pisan. Is't not pity, then,
Men of such eminent virtues should be slaves 1

Cimb. Our fortune.

Pisan. 'Tis your folly : daring men
Command and make their fates. Say, at this instant,
I raark'd you out a way to liberty;
Possess'd you of those blessings, our proud lords
So long have surfeited in ; and, what is sweetest,
Arm you with power, by strong hand to revenge
Your stripes, your unregarded toil, the pride,
The insolence of such as tread upon
Your patient sufferings ; fill your famish'd mouths
With the fat and plenty of the land ; redeem you
From the dark vale of servitude, and seat you
Upon a hill of happiness ; what would you do
To purchase this, and more?

Grac. Do ! any thing :

To burn a church or two, and dance by the light on't,
Were but a May-game.

Poliph. I have a father living ;
But, if the cutting of his throat could work this,
He should excuse me.

Cimb. 'Slight ! I would cut mine own
Rather than miss it, so I might but have
A taste on't, ere I die.

if, for drawing aallanti

Into mortyutjea for commodities, &c.] i. e. for wares, of
which ihe needy borrower made what he could : " Firit,
here'sy-jung master Rash ; he's iu lor a commodity of brown
paper and old ginger, ninescore and seventeen pounds; of
which lie made live marks ready money:" Measure for
Aleisvre. This is ridiculous enough; and, indeed, our old
wrilfis aie rxiremely pleasant on the heterogt neons articles,
which the usurers of their days forced on Ihe necessity of
the thoiigluless spendthrift, in lieu of the money for which
he h.id rashly signed. Fielding has imitated them in Ins
Mixer, without adding much to their humour: and Foot*-,
in The Minor, IMS servilely followed his example The
spectators of those scenes probably thought that the writers
baM gone beyond real life, and drawn on imagination for
their amusement: but transactions (not altogether proper,
perhaps, to be specilied here) have actually taken place in
our own limes, which leave their boldest conceptions at
an humble distance; and prove, beyond a doubt, that in the
arts of raising money, the invention of the most fertile poet
must yield to that of the mcanett scrivener.

SCENE II.]

THE BONDMAN.

103

Pisan. Be resolute men,

v ou shall run no such hazard, nor groan under
The burthen of such crying sins.

L'imh. The means ?

Cniic. 1 feel a woman's longing.

Ptili/ih. Do not torment us
With expectation.

Pis;nt, Thus, then: Our proud masters,
And all the able freemen of the city,
Are gone unto the wars

/Wi'/i/i. Observe but that.

/'i<ii. Old men, and such as can make no resist-
ance,
Are only left at home

Civic. And the proud young fool,
My master : If this take, I'll hamper him.

Pisan. Their arsenal, their treasure, 's in our

power,

If we have hearts to seize them. If our lords fall
In the present action, the whole country's ours :
Say they return victorious, we have means
To keep the town against them : at the worst,
To make our own conditions. Now, if you dare
Fall on their daughters and their wives, break up
Their iron chests, banquet on their rich beds,
And carve yourselves of all delights and pleasure
You have been barr'd from, with one voice cry with
Liberty, liberty ! [me,

AIL Liberty, liberty ! [dom:

Pisan. Go then, and take possession : use all free-
But shed no blood. So, this is well begun ;
But not to be commended, till't be done. [Erennt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. The same. A Room in AKCIIIDAMUS'S
Home.

Entrr PISANDER and TI.MANDUA.

Pisan. Why, think you that I plot againstmyself *?
Fear nothing, you are safe; these thick-skinn'd slaves
1 use as instruments to serve my ends,
Pierce not my deep designs ; nor shall they dare
To lift an arm against you.

Timand. With your will.

But turbulent spirits, raised beyond themselves
With ease, are not so soon laid ; they oft prove
Diinge:aus to him that call'd them up.

I'isan. ' i is true,

In wlut is rashly undertook. Long since
I have con^ider'd seriously their natures,
Proceeded with mature advice, and know
1 hold their wills and faculties in more awe
Tlun 1 can do my own. Now, for their license
And riot in the city, 1 can make
A just defence and use : it inav appear too
A politick prevention of such ills
A.s might, with -. reater violence and danger,
Hereafter be attempted ; though some smart for't,
li i.'uKters not: however, I'm resolved;
Atui sleep you with security. Holds Cleora
Constant to her rush vow?

Timand. Beyond belief;
To me, that see her hourly, it seems a fahle.
By signs I guess at her commands, and serve them
\Virh silence; such her pleasure i-, made known
By holding her hiir hand thus. She eats little,
Sleeps Ijss, sis I imagine; once a day,
1 lea.l her to this gallery, where she walks
Some half a dozen turns, and, having oft'er'd
To her absent saint a sacrifice of .sighs,
She points back to her pri -on.

Pisan. Guide her hither.
And make IH-T understand the slaves' revolt;
And, with your utmost eloquence, enlarge

Pisan Why, think you that I plot againtt mytefff]
The plot oprii.- here wi'li woml.rlu! Hd<lre.->, anil (lie sue-
Cf'ltus cu-itVre:>;<-, or ratlur scene, beiwetu I'isjiidcr aud
CIvora, is niiuii'.ibly beautiful.

Their insolence, and rapes done in the city:
Forget not too, I am their chief, and tell her
You strongly think my extreme dotage on her,
As I'm Marullo, caused this sudden uproar
To make way to enjoy her.

Timand. Punctually

I will discharge my part. [Exit.

Enter POLIPHROX.

Pitliph. O, sir, I sought you: [loose;

You've miss'd the best* sport ! Hell, I think 's broke
There's such variety of all disorders,
As leaping, shouting, drinking, dancing, whoring,
Among the slaves ; answer'd with crying, howling,
By the citizens and their wives ; such a confusion,
In a word, not to tire you, as, 1 think,
The like was never read of.

Pisan. I share in

The pleasure, though I'm absent. This is some
Revenge for my disgrace.

Poliph. But, sir, I fear,
If your authority restrain them not,
They'll fire *he city, or kill one another,
They are so apt to outrage ; neither know I
Whether you wish it, and came therefore to
Acquaint you with so much.

Pisan. I will among them ;
But must not long be absent.

Potiph. At your pleasure. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. The same. Another Room in the fame.
Shouts within. Enter CLEOKA and TIMANDRA.
Timand. They are at our gates : my heart ! affright*

and horrors

Increase each minute. No way left to save us,
No flattering hope to comfort us, or means
But miracle to redeem us from base lust
And lawless rapine ! Are there gods, yet suffer
Such innocent sweetness to be made the spoil

You've miss'd the best sport.'] Rest, which U not It
Coxrter, or M M.I.-OII, is only found in the first edition il
seemn necessary to (he metre.

THE BONDMAN.

[Acr II)

Of brutish appetite? or, since they decree
To ruin nature's masterpiece, of which
They have not left one pattern, must they choose,
To set their tyranny off, slaves to pollute
The spring of chastity, and poison it
With their most loath'd embraces? and, of those,
He, that should offer up his life to guard it,
Marullo, curs'd Marullo, your own bondman,
Purchased to *erve you, and ted by your favours?
Nay, start not : it is he; he, the grand captain
Of these libidinous beasts, that have not left
One cruel act undone, that barbarous conquest
Yet ever practised in a captive city.
He, doting on your beauty, and to have fellows
In his foiil sin, hath raised these mutinous slaves
Who have begun the game by violent rapes
Upon the wives and daughters of their lords:
And he, to quench the fire of his base lust,
By force comes to enjoy you : do not wring
Your innocent hands, 'tis bootless; use the means
That may preserve you. 'Tis no crime to break
A vow when you are forced to it ; shew your face,
And with the majesty of commanding beauty,
Strike dead his loose affections: if that fail,
Give liberty to your tongue, and use entreaties;
There cannot be a breast of flesh and blood,
Or heart so made of flint, but must receive
Impression from your words ; or eyes so stern.
But, from the clear reflection of your tears,
Must melt, and bear them company. Will you not
Do these good offices to yourself? poor I, then,
Can only weep your fortune : here he comes.

Enter PISANDER, speaking at the door.

Pisan. He that advances
A fool beyond this, comes upon my oword:
You have had your ways, disturb not mine.

Timand. Speak gently,
Her fears may kill her else.

Pisan. Now Love inspire me!
Still shall this canopy of envious night
Obscure my suns of comfort? and those dainties
Of purest white and red, which I take in at
My greedy eyes, denied my famish'd senses?
The organs of your hearing yet are open ;
And you infringe no vow, though you vouchsafe
To give them warrant to convey unto
Your understanding parts, the story of
A tortured and despairing lover, whom
Not fortune but affection marks your slave :
Shake not, best lady ! for believe''!, you are
As far from danger as I am from force:
All violence I shall offer, tends no further
Than to relate my sufferings, which I dare not
Presume to do, till, by some gracious sio-n,
You shew you are pleased to hear me.

Timund, If you are,
Hold forth your right hand.

[Cleora holds forth her right hand.
Pisan. So, tis done ; and I
With my glad lips seal humbly on your foot,
My soul's thanks for the favour : 1 forbear
To tell you who I am, what wealth, what honours
1 made exchange of, to become your servant :
And, though 1 knew worthy Leosthenes
(For sure he must be worthy, for whose love
You have endured so much) to be my rival ;
When rage and jealousy counsell'd me to kill him,
Which then I could have done with much more ease,
Than now, in lear to grieve you, I dare speak it.

Love, seconded with duty, boldly told me

The man I hated, fair Cleora favour'd:

And that was his protection. [Cleora bowt

Timand. See, she bows
Her head in sign of thankfulness.

Pisan. He removed by

The occasiou of the war, (my fires increasing
By being closed and stopp'd up,) frantic affection
Prompted me to do something in his absence,
That might deliver you into my power,
Which you see is effected ; and, even now,
When my rebellious passions chide my dulness,
And tell me how much I abuse my fortunes,
Now it is in my power to bear you hence,

[Cleora start*

Or take my wishes here, (nay, fear not, madam,
True love's a servant, brutish lust a tyrant,)
I dare not touch those viands that ne'er taste well,
But when they're freely offer'd : only thus much,
Be pleased I may speak in my own dear cause,
And think it worthy your consideration,
(I have loved truly, cannot say deserved.
Since duty must not take the name of merit,)
That I so far prize your content, before
All blessings that my hope can fashion to me,
That willingly 1 entertain despair,
And, for your sake, embrace it : for I know,
This opportunity lost, by no endeavour
The like can be recover'd. To conclude > , t ..-.
Forget not thut I lose myself to save you :
For what can I expect but death and torture,
The war being ended ? and, what is a task
Would trouble Hercules to undertake,
I do deny you to myself, to give you,
A pure unspotted present, to my rival.
I have said : If it distaste not, best of virgins,
Reward my temperance with some lawful favour,
Though you contemn my person.

[Cletira kneels, then pulls off' her glove, and
offers her hand to Pisatider.

Timand. See, she kneels ;
And seems to call upon the gods to pay
The debt she owes your virtue : to perform which,
As a sure pledge of friendship, she vouchsafes you
Her fair* right hand.

Pisan. I am paid for all my sufferings.
Now, whenyou please, pass toyour private chamber,
My love and duty, faithful guards, shall keep you
From all disturbance ; and when you are sated
With thinking of Leosthenes, as a fee
Due to my service, spare one sigh for me.

f V.ieunt. Cleora makes a low courtesy as tin
goes off.

SCENE III. The same. A Roomin Cleon's House.

Enter GRACCULO, leading ASOTUS in an ape's habit,
with a chain about his neck ; ZANTHIA in CORISCA'^
clothes, she bearing up her train.

Grac. Come on, sir.

Atot. Oil !

Grac. Do you grumble? you were ever
A brainless ass ; but, if this hold, I'll teach you
To come aloft, and do tricks like an ape.
Your morning's lessen : if you miss

Asot. O no, sir.

* Her fair right hand ] I have inserted fair from 0*
I first quarto : the subsequent editions dropt it.

SCENE II I.]

THE BONDMAN.

101

Grac. What for the Carthaginians? [Asotus makes

moppes.~\ a good beast*.

What tor ourself, your lord ? \_Danrtt.~\ Exceeding

wellf. [so.

There's your reward. Not kiss your paw ! So, so,

Zant. Was ever lady, the first day of her honour,
So waited on by a wrinkled crone ? She looks now,
Without her painting, curling, and perfumes,
Like the last day of January ; and stinks worse
Than a'hot brache in the dogdays. Further oft"!
So stand there like an image ; if you stir,
Till, with a quarter of a look, I call you,
You know what follows.

Coris. O, what am I fallen to !
But 'tis a punishment for my lust and pride,
Justly return 'd upon me.

Grac. How dost thou like
Thy ladyship, Zanthia?

Zant. Very well ; and bear it
With as much state as your lordship.

Grac. Give me thy hand :

Let us, like conquering Romans, walk in triumph*,
Our captives following ; then mount our tribunals,
And make the slaves our footstools.

Zant. Fine, by Jove !
Are your hands clean, minion t

Com. Yes, forsooth.

Zant. Fall off then. [duties

So, now come on ; and, having made your three
Down, I say are you stiff in the bams ? now kneel,
And tie our shoe : now kiss it, and be happy.

Grac. This is state, indeed.

Zanl. It is such as she taught me ;
A tickling itch of greatness, your proud ladies
Expect from their poor waiters : we have changed

parts ;

She does what she forced me to do in her reign,
And I must practise it in mine.

Grac. 'Tis justice :
! here come more.

Grac. If^hat for the Carthaginian* ? [Asotus makes
moppet.] For this word, which signifies that quick and
grinning motion of the teeth and lips which apes make when
they are irritated, and which is found in both the copies,
the modern editors, in kindness to their reader.-, I suppose,
have mouth*: indeed, they do not seem to have understood
the humour of this scene, which, in both, especially in Mr.
M. Mason, is most negligently printed.

t What for ourself, your lord? Here Asostus must be
supposed I ) come aloft, i. e. to leap, or rather tumble, in
token of aiif.iction. Our ancestors certainly excelled us
in the education which they gave to their animals. Banks's
hors* far surpassed all that have been brought up in the
academy of Mr. Astley; and the apes of these days are
mere clowns to their progenitors. The apes of M.issiiier's
lime were giftrd with a pretty smattering of politics ami
philosophy. The widow Wild had one of them : " He would
come over for all my friends, but was the dogged'st ihing
to my enemies; he would sit upon his tail before them, and
frown like John-a-napes when the pope is named." The
Partnn't Weddi**}. Another may be found in Ram Alley:
" Men say you've tricks ; remember, noble captain,

You skip when [ shall shake my whip. Now, sir,

What can you do for the preat Turk?

What can you do for the Pope of Rome T

Lo!

He stirreth not, he moveth not, he waggeth not.

What cau you do for the town of Geneva, sirrah t

[" Captain hold* up hi* hand," &c.
J Grac. fJive me thy hand :

/.rt us, like conquering Romans, walk in triumph.] Grac-
cnlo speaks in the spirit of prophecy ; for the conquirring
Roman* were at this time struggling with their neighliuurs
for a few miserable huts to hide their heads in ; and if any
captives folloii'td, or rather preceded, their triumph*, it was
v Utrd of .'tuk'ti beeves.

Enter CIMBRIO, CLEON, POLIPHROX, and OLYMPIA.

Cimb. Discover to a drachma,
Or I will famish thee.

Clean. O ! I asn pined already.

Cimb. Hunger shall force thee to cut off the brawni
From thy arms and thighs, then broil them on the
For carbonadoes. [coal*

Poliph. Spare the old jade, he's founder'd.

Grac. Cut his throat then,
And hang him out for a scarecrow.

Poliph. You have all your wishes
In your revenge, and 1 have mine. You see
I use no tyranny : when I was her slave,
She kept me as a sinner, to lie at her back
In frosty nights, and fed me high with dainties,
Which still she had in her belly again ere morning
And in requital of those courtesies,
Having made one another free, we are married
And, if you wish us joy, join with us in
A dance at our wedding.

Grac. Agreed ; for I have thought of
A most triumpliant one, which shall express
We are lords, and these our slaves.

Poliph. But we shall want
A woman.

Grac. No, here's Jane-of-apes shall serve * ;
Carry your body swimming Where's the music ?

Poliph. I have placed it in yon window.

Grac. Begin then sprightly.

[Music, and then a dance

Enter PISANDER behind.

Poliph. Well done on all aides ! I have prepared >
Let's drink and cool us. [banquet ;

Grac. A good motion.

Cimb. Wait here ,
You have been tired with feasting, learn to fast now

Grac. I'll have an apple for Jack, and may ba

May fall to your share. |~some scrap*

[Ereunt Grac. Zant. Cimb. Poliph. and Oiymp

Con's. Whom can we accuse

But ourselves, for what we suffer? Thou art just,
Thou all-creating Power! and misery
Instructs me now, that yesterday acknowledged
No deity beyond my lust and pride,
There is a heaven above us, that looks down
With the eyes of justice, upon such as number
Those blessings freely given, in the accompt
Of their poor merits ; else it could not be,
Now miserable I, to please whose palate
The elements were ransack'd, yet complain'd
Of nature, as not liberal enough
In her provision of rarities
To sooth my taste, and pamper my proud flesh,
Should wish in vain for bread.

Clean. Yes, I do wish too,
For what I fed my dogs with.

Corw. I, that forgot

I was made of flesh and blood, and thought the silk
Spun by the diligent worm, out of their entrails,
Too coarse to clothe me, and the softest down
Too hard to sleep on ; that disdain'd to look
On virtue being in rags, that stopp'd my nose
At those that did not use adulterate arts
To better nature ; that from those that served me
Expected adoration, am made justly

Grac. A'o, here's Jane-of-apes shall teree ;] Meaning
Corisca : he plays upon Jack-an-apes, the name uc had
givn tti Asolu*

106

THE BONDMAN.

[ACT Hi.

The scorn of my own bondwoman.

Aunt. I am punish'd,

For seeking to cuckold mine own natural father :
Unit I been gelded then, or used myself
Like a man, I had not been transform'd, and forced
To play an overgrown ape.

Clem. 1 know I cannot [both ;

Last long, that's all my comfort. Come, I forgive
Tis in vain to be angry ; let us, therefore,
Lament together like friends.

Pisan. What a true mirror
Were this sad spectacle for secure greatness!
Here they, that never see themselves, but in
The glass of servile flattery, might behold
The weak foundation upon which they build
Their trust in human frailty. Happy are those,
That knowing, in their births, they are subject to
Uncertain change, are still prepared, and arin'd
For either fortune : a rare principle,
And with much labour, learn'd in wisdom's school !
For, as these bondmen, by their actions, shew
That their prosperity, like too large a sail
For their small bark of judgment, sinks them with
A fore-right gale of liberty, ere they reach
The port they long to touch at : so these wretches,
Swollen with the false opinion of their worth,
And proud of blessings left them, not acquired ;
That did believe they could with giant arms
Fathom the earth, and were above their fates,
Those borrow'd helps, that did support them, van-

ish'd,

Fall of themselves, and by unmanly suffering.
Betray their proper weakness, and make known
Their boasted greatness was lent, not their own.

Clean. O for some meat ! they sit long,

Com. We forgot,

When we drew out intemperate feasts till midnight;
Their hunger was not thought on, nor their watch-
ings ;

Nor did we hold ourselves served to the height,
But when we did exact and furce their duties
Beyond their strength and power.

Asot. We pay for't now :
I now could be content to have my head
Broke with a rib of beef, or for a coffin,
Be buried in the dripping pan.

Re-enter POLIPHON, CIMBTUO, GRACCUI.O, ZANTIIM,
and OLYMPIA, drunk and quarrelling.

Cimb. Do not hold me :
Not kiss the bride !
Poliph. No, sir.

Cimb. She's common good,
And so we'll use her.

Orac. We'll have nothing private.

Pisan. [coming forward] Hold !

Zant. Here's Marullo.

Olymp. He's your chief.

Cimb. We are equals ;
I will know no obedience.

Grac. Nor superior

Nay, if you are lion-drunk. I will make one ;
For lightly ever he that parts the fray,
Goes away with the blows.*

For lightly ever he that part* the fray,

Goes away with the blows.. Liyhtly is commonly, usu-
all> ; so in The New Inn :

Jleau. What insolent, half-wilted thing*, these are;

I. at. So are all smatterers, insolent and impudent;
They nyhtly KI> together

Pisan. Art thou mad too ?
No more, as you respect me.

Poliph. I obey, sir.

Pisan. Quarrel among yourselves

Cimb. Yes, in our wine, sir,
And for our wenches.

Grac. How could we be lords else?

Piian. Take heed ; I've news will cool this heat
Remember what you were. ("and make you

Cimb. How !

Pisan. Send off these,
And then I'll tell you. [Zanthia beats Consca.

Olymp. This is tyranny,
Now she offends not.

Zunt. 'Tis for exercise,

And to help digestion. What is she good for else ?
To me it wts her language.

Pisan. Lead her off,

And take heed, madam minx, the wheel may turn.
Go to your meat and rest ; and from this hour
Remember he that is a lord to day,
May be a slave tomorrow.

Clean. Good morality !

[Exeunt Clean, Asot. Zint. Oli/mp. and Con's.

Cimb. But wh.it would you impart J

Pisan. What must invite you

To stand upon your guard, and leave j-our feasting
Or but imagine what it is to be
Most miserable, and rest assured you are so.
Our masters are victorious.

All. How !

Pisan. Within

A clay's march of the city, flesh 'd with spoil,
And proud of conquest ; the armado sunk ,
The Carthaginian admiral, hand to hand,
Slain by Leosthenes.

Ct'mfc. I feel the whip
Upon my back already.

Grac. Every man
Seek a convenient tree, and hang himself.

Poliph. Better die once, than live an age, to suffer
New tortures every hour.

Cimb. Say, we submit,
And yield us to their mercy?

Pisan. Can you natter

Yourselves with such false hopes? O- dare you think
That your imperious lords, that never fail'd
To punish with severity petty slips
In your neglect of labour, may be won
To pardon those licentious outrages
Which noble enemies forbear to practise
Upon the conquer'd ? What have you omitted,
That may call on their just revenge with horror
And studied cruelty ? we have gone too fur
To think now of retiring; in our courage,
And daring*, lies our safety ; if you are not
Slaves in your abject minds, as in your fortunes.
Since to die is the worst, better expose
Our naked breasts to their keen swords, and sell
Our lives with the most advantage, than to trust
In a forestall'd remission, or yield up
Our bodies to the furnace of their fury;
Thrice heated with revenge.

Again, in The Fox :

" I knew 'twould take ;

For liuhtly, they that use themselves most license

Are still mo3t jealous."
* ' in our courage t

And daring, lies our safety :] The old copies read during
but it is an evident misprint.

SCENE IV.]

THE BONDMAN

Grac. You led us on.

Cimb. And 'tis but justice you should bring us off.

Grac. And we expect it.

Pisttn. Hear then and obey me ;
And I will either save you, or fall with you :
Man the walls strongly, and make good the ports ;
Boldly deny their entrance, and rip up
Your grievances, and what compelld you to
This desperate course : if they disdain to hear
Of composition, we have in our powers
Their aged fathers, children, and their wives,
Who, to preserve themselves, must willingly
Make intercession for us. 'Tis not time now
To talk, but do : a glorious end, or freedom,
Is now proposed us ; stand resolved for either,
And, like good fellows, live or die together.

\_F.xeunt.

SCENE IV. The Country near Syracuse. The
Camp of Timoleon.

Enter LEOSTHENES and Tm^noRAS.

Timag. I am so far from envy, I am proud
You have outstripp'd me in the nice of honour.
O 'twas a glorious day, and bravely won !
Your bold performance gave such lustre to
Timoleon's wise directions, as the iirmy
Rests doubtful, to whom they stand most engaged
For their so great success.

Least. The gods first honour'd,
The glory be the general's ; 'tis far from me
To be his rival,

Timag. You abuse your fortune,
To entertain her choice and gracious favours
With a contracted brow ; plumed Victory
Is truly painted with a cheerful look,
Equally di<taut from proud insolence,
And base dejection.

Leo$t. O Tirnagoras,
You only are acquainted with the cause
That loads my sad heart with a hill of lead ; [nour
Whose ponderous weight, neither my new-got ho-
Assisted by the general ;ipplnuse
The soldier crowns it with*, nor all war's glories
Can lessen or remove : and would you please,
With fit consideration, to remember
How much I wrong'd Cleora's innocence
With my rash doubts ; and what a grievous penance
She did impose upon her tender sweetness,
To pluck away the vulture jealousy,
That fed upon my liver; you cannot blame me,
But call it a fit just ce on'myself,
Though I resolve to be a stranger to
The thought of mirth or pleasure.

Timag. You have redeem'd
The forfeit of your fault with such a ransom
Of honourable action, as my sister
Must of necessity confess her sufferings

The soldier crowns it mth.] This is a m;ich better '
reading than the sophistication of the modern editors, the '
toldiert croa-n, ic.

Weigh'd down by your fair merits ; and, when she

views you,

Like a triumphant conqueror, carried through
The streets of Syracusa, the glad people
Pressing to meet you, and the senators
Contending who shall heap most honou'S on you ;
The oxen, crown'd with garlands, led before vou,
Appointed for the sacrifice ; and the altars
Smoking with thankful incense to the gods :
The soldiers chanting loud hymns to your praise,
The windows fill'd with matrons and with virgins,
Throwing upon your head as you puss by,
The choicest flowers, and silently invoking
The queen of love, with their particular vows,
To be thought worthy of you ; can Cleora
(Though, in the glass of self-love, she behold
Her best deserts) but with all joy acknowledge,
\\ hat she endured was but a noble trial
You made of her affection ? and her anger,
Rising from your too amorous cares*, soon drench 'd
In Lethe, and forgotten.

Least. If those glories

You so set forth were mine, they might plead for me ;
But I cmi lay no claim to the least honour
Which you, with foul injustice, lavish from her
Her beauty in me wrought a miracle.
Taught me to aim at things beyond my power,
Which her perfections purchased, and gave to me
From her free bounties ; she inspired me with
That valour which 1 dare not call mine own ;
And, from the fair reflexion of her mind.
My soul received the sparkling beams of courage.
She, from the magazine of her proper goodness,
Stock'd me with virtuous purposes; sent me furth
To trade for honour ; and, she being the owner
Of tlie bark of my adventures, I must yield her
A just account of all, as fits a factor.
And, howsoever others think me happy,
And cry aloud, I have made a prosperous voyage.
One frown of her dislike at my return.
Which, as a punishment for my fault, 1 look for
Strikes dead all comfort.

Timag. Tush ! these fears are needless ;
She cani.ot, must not, shall not, be so truel.
A free confession of a fault wins pardon,
But, being seconded by desert, commands it.
The general is your own, and, sure, my father
Repents his harshness ; for myself, 1 am
Ever your creature. One day shall be happy
In your triumph, and your marriage.

Least. May it prove so,
With her consent and pardon.

Timag. Ever touching

On that harsh string! She is your own, and you
Without disturbance seize on what's your due.

[Exeunt.

Ristng from your too amorous cares.] The old copiei
read earet, which seems merely an error of Ilie press, for
cares. Coxfti-r, however, printed it ears, which, being
without any mc.ining, was corrected at random by Mr. M.
M.tson into ftars. The correction was nut ami??; but the
enuiiie word is undoubtedly that which I hare ijiven.

108

THE BONDMAN.

[Acr IV.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Syracuse. A Room in \rcbidamus's

House.
Enter PISAXDER and TIHANDRA.

Pisan. She has her health, then ?

Timand. Yes, sir ; and as often
As 1 speak of you, lends attentive ear
To all that 1 deliver ; nor seems tired,
Though I dwell long on the relation of
Your sufferings for her, heaping praise on praise
On your unequall'd temperance, and command
You hold o'er your affections.

Pisan. To my wish :

Have you acquainted her with the defeature*
Of the Carthaginians, and with what honours
Leosthenes comes crown'd home with ?

Timand. With all care.

Pisan. And how does she receive it?

Timand. As I guess,

With a seeming kind of joy ; but yet appears not
Transported, or proud of his happy fortune.
But when I tell her of the certain ruin
You must encounter with at their arrival
In Syracusa, and that death, with torments,
Must fall upon you, which you yet repent not,
Ksteeming it a glorious martyrdom,
And a reward of pure unspotted love,
Preserved in the white robe of innocence,
Though she were in your power ; and, still spurr'd on
By insolent lust, you rather chose to suffer
TLe fruit untasted, for whose glad possession
You have call'd on the fury of your lord,
Than that she should be grieved, or tainted in
Her reputation

Pisan. Doth it work compunction?
Pities she my misfortune?

Timand. She express'd

All signs of sorrow which, her vow observed,
Could witness a grieved heart. At the first hearing,
She fell upon her face, rent her fair hair,
Her bands held up to heaven, and vented sighs,
In which she silently seem'd to complain
Of heaven's injustice.

Pisan. 'Tis enough : wait carefully,
And, on all watch'd occasions, continue
Speech and discourse of me : 'tis time must work her.

Timand. I'll not be wanting, but still strive to
serve you. [Exit.

Enter POM PH RON.

Pisan. Now, Poliphron, the news !

Poliph. The conquering army
Is within ken.

Pisan. How brook the slaves the object?

Poliph. Cheerfully yet ; they do refuse no labour,

Have you acquainted her with the defeature] The mo-
dern editors removed this word in favour of defeat, and,
doubtless, applauded their labour; it happens, however, as
in most cases where they have interposed, that they might
have spared it altogether : for the words are the fame, and
died indiscriminately by our old writers : " Dcsfaicte,"
says Cotgrave, " a defeat, or defeature ;" and, in the strond
part of his dictionary, he verbally repeats (he explanation.
There is much strange conjecture on tl.is won), in the last
act of The Comedy of Error* : I wonder that none of the
commentators should light upon its meaning; but it was
too limplc for their apprehension.

And seem to scoff at danger ; 'tis your presence

That must confirm them : with a full consent

You are chosen to relate ihe tyranny

Of our proud masters; and what you subscribe to,

They gladly will allow of, or hold out

To the last man.

Pisan. I'll instantly among them.
If we prove constant to ourselves, good fortune
Will not, I hope, forsake us.

Poliph. 'Tis our best refuge. [Ereiml

SCENE II. Before the walls of Syracuse.

Enter TIMOLEOM, AncniDAMus, DIPIIII.US, LEOSTIIENES,
TIMAGGRAS and soldiers.

Timol. Thus far we are returr'd victorious; crown'd
With wreaths triumphant, (famine, blood, and death,
Banish'd your peaceful confines,) and bring home
Security and peace. 'Tis therefore fit
That such as boldly stood the shock of war,
And with the dear expense of sweat and blood
Have purchased honour, should with pleasure reap
The harvest of their toil : and we stand bou:>d
Out of the first file of the best deservers,
(Though all must be consider'd to their merits,)
To think of you, Leosthenes, that stand,
And worthily, most dear in our esteem,
For your heroic valour.

Archid. When I look on
The labour of so many men and ages.
This well-built city, not long since design'd
To spoil and rapine, by the favour of
The gods, and you, their ministers, preserved,
I cannot, in my height of joy, but offer
These tears for a glad sacrifice.

Diph. Sleep the citizens ?
Or are they overwhelm 'd with the excess
Of comfort that flows to them ?

l.t-ost. We receive
A silent entertainment.

Timag. 1 long since

Expected that the virgins and the matrons,
The old men striving with their age, the priests,
Carrying the images of their gods before them,
Should have met us with procession. Ha! the gates
Are shut against us!

Archid. And upon the walls
Arm'd men seem to defy us !

Enter above, on the Walls, PISANDER, POLIPHKON,
CIMBHIO, GRACCULO, and the rest.

Diph. I should know
These faces : they are our slaves.

Timag. The mystery, rascals !
Open ti;e ports, and play not with an anger
That will consume you.

Timol. 1 his is above wonder.

Archid. Our bondmen stand against us !

Grac. Some such things [turn'd

We were in man's remembrance. The slaves are
Lords of the town, or so nay, be not angry :
Perhaps, upon good terms, giving security
You will be quiet men, we may allow you
Some lodgings in our garrets or outhouse*:
Your great looks cannot carry it.

SCENE II.]

THE BONDMAN.

Cimb. The truth 13,

We've been bold with your wives, toy'd with your
daughters

Least. O my prophetic soul !

Grac. Rifled your chests,
Been busy whh your wardrobes.

Timng. Can we endure tins?

l.ea>t. O my Cleora!

Gruc. A caudle for the gentleman ;
He'll die o' the pip else.

Timig. Scorn 'd too! are you turn'd stone?
Hold parley with our bondmen ! force our entrance,
Then, villains, expect

Timol. Hold! you wear men's shapes,
And if, like men, you have reason, shew a cause
That leads you to this desperate course, which must
In your destruction. [end

Gruc. That, as please the fates ;
But we vouchsafe Speak, captain.

Timig. I Ml imd furies!

Archid. Bay'd bv our own curs!

Cimb. Take heed you be not worried.

Poli/ih. We are sharp set.

Cimh. And sudden.

Pis'in. Briefly thus, then,
Since I must speak for all ; your tyranny
Drew us from our obedience. Happv those times
When lords were styled fathers of families,
And nat impeiious masters! when they number'd
Their servants alwiost equal with their sons,
Or one degree beneath them ! when their labours
Were cherish'd and rewarded, and a period
Set to their sufferings; when they did not press
Their duties or their wills beyond the power
And strength of their performance! all things or-
With such decorum as* wise lawmakers, [der'd
From each well-govern'd private house derived
The perfect model of a commonwealth.
Humanity then lodged in the hearts of men,
And thankful masters carefully provided
For creatures wanting reason. The noble horse,
That, in his fiery youth, froir. his wide nostrils
Neigh 'd courage to his rider, and brake 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 tost ; nay, faithful dogs have found
Their sepulchres ; but man, to man more cruel,
Appoints no end to the sufferings of his slave ;
Since pride stepp'd in and riot, and o'erturn'd
This goodly frame of concord, teaching masters
To glory in the abuse of such as are
Brought under their command ; who, grown un-

useful,
Are less esteem'd than beasts. This you have

practised,

Practised on us with rigour ; this hath forced us
To shake our heavy yokes off; and, if redress
Of these just grievances be not granted us,
We'll right ourselves, and by strong hand defend
What we are now possess'd of.

Grac. And not leave
One house unfired.

II ith such decorum as wite lair-maker* ] At, in this
pass.ige, IMS the force of thai. M. .MASON.
Or rather there is au ellii>:is of tliat, as usu.il.

Cimb. Or throat uncut of those
We have in our power.

Potiph. Nor will we fall alone ;
You shall buy us dearly.

Timag. O the gods !
Unheard-of insolence !

Timol. What are your demands?

Pisan. A general pardon* first, for all offences
Committed in your absence. Liberty
To all such as desire to make return
Into their countries ; and, to those that stay,
A competence of land freely allotted
To each man's proper use, no lord acknowledged :
Lastlv, with your consent, to choose them wives
Out of your families.

Timag. Let the city sink first.

Least. And ruin seize on all, ere we subscribe
To such conditions.

Archid. Carthage, though victorious,
Could not have forced more from us.

Least. Scale the walls ;
Capitulate after.

Timol. He that wins the top first,
Shall wear a mural wreath. [Exeunt.

Pltan. Each to his place. [ Flourish and alarms.}

Or death or victory ' Charge them home, and fear

not. [Eaeunf Pisunder andSlacet.

Re-enter TIMOLEOV, ARCHIDAMUS. and Senators.

Timol. We wrong ourselves, and we are justly

punish'd,

To deal with bondmen, as if we encounter'd
An equal enemy.

Orchid. They fight like devils ;
And run upon our swords, as if their breasts
Were proof beyond their armour.

Re-enter LEOSTHEXES and TIMAGORAS.

Timag. Make a firm stand.
The slaves, not satisfied they have beat us off,
Prepare to sally forth.

Timol. They are wild beasts,
And to be tamed by policy. Each man take
A tough whip in his hand, such as you used
To punish them with, as masters : in your looks
Carry severity and awe ; 'twill fright them
More than your weapons. Savage lions fly from {
The sight of fire ; and these, that have forgot
That duty you ne'er taught them with your swords
When, unexpected, they behold those terrors
Advanced aloft, that they were made to shake *!,
' Twill force them to remember what they are.
And stoop to due obedience.

Archid. Here they come.

Enter, from the City, CIMBRIO, GRACCULO, and other
Slaves.

Cimb. Leave net a man alive ; a wound's but a
To what we suffer'd, being slaves. [flea-biting

Pisan. A general pardon^&c.] It is evident, trom the
unreasonable nature of these demands, that Pisander does
not wish them to be accepted. The la.-t article, indeed, has
a lefercnr.e lo himself, bul he s ems desirous of previously
trying the fortune of ami-. See, however, the next scene,
ami his defence, in the last act.

> {flourish and aliini-.j Flourish an<l arm*, jays Mr. M.
Majon, alter Coveter. 5io degree of nonsense could tempt
him to consult the ol:l copies.

; Savage lion* fty from, &c.! A transient passion

for ihe anti.|iif has here seized (he modem editors : they
print salcaye lions, &c. It is unluckily a little mal-a-pro-
pus, for the old copy reads as I have giveu it. (Omitted in
Ed. 1813).

lie

THE BONDMAN.

fAcr IV

Crac. O. my heart !
Cimbrio, what do we see? the whip ! our masters* !

Timug. Dare you rebel, slaves!

- [The Senators shake their irhips, the Slates
throw await their weapons, and run off.

Cimb. Mercy ! mercy ! where
Shall we liide us from their fury ?

Grac. Fly, they follow;
0, we shall be tormented !

Timol. Enter with them.
But yet forbear to kill them: still remember
They are part of your wealth ; and being disarm'd,
There is no danger.

Archid. Let us first deliver
Such as thev have in fetters, and at leisure
Determine of their punishment.

Leost. Friend, to you
I leave the disposition of what's mine :
I cannot think I am safe without your sister,
She is only worth my thought ; and, till I see
What she has suffer'd, 1 am on the rack,
And furies my tormentors. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Syracuse. A Room in AKCHIDAMUS'S
House.

Enter PISA^NDKR and TIMANDRA.

Pisan. I know I am pursued ; nor would I fly,
Although the port* were open, and a convoy
Ready to bring me off: the baseness of
These villains, from the pride of all my hopes,
Hath thrown me to the bottomless abyss
Of horror and despair : had they stood firm,
i could have bought Cleora's free consent
With the safety of her father's life, and brother's;
And forced Leosthenes to quit his claim,
And kneel a suitor for met-

Timand. You must not think [tised,

What might have been, but what must now be prac-
And suddenly resolve.

Pisan. All my poor fortunes
Are at the stake, and I must run the hazard.
Unseen, convey me to Cleora's chamber;
For in her sight, if it were possible,
I would be apprehended : do not enquire
The reason why, but help me.

Timand. Make haste, one knocks. [Exit Pisander.
Jove turn all to the best !

Enter LEOSTHENES.

You are welcome, sir.
Leost. Thou giv'st it in a heavy tone.

Cimbrio, what do we tee f the whip ! our matter* .'] " O
most lame and impotent conclusion !" Surely Malinger
was not so strictly bound to the literal relation of this
foolish adventure, but that he might have given it a little
probability, if it were only to maintain the decorum of his
action, and the interest of his under-plot. He someiinies
il.-vi.iifi from his authorities with fewer prospects of advan-
tage than were here opentd to him.

t And kneel a tuitor lor me.] This is the reading of all
the olil copies, and is undoubtedly genuine ; yet the modern
editors, by an obliquity of reasoning into which I cannot
enter, choose to vary (he expression, and print,
kneel a suitor to me !

Is it not evident " to any formal capacity," that Pisander

means, It m> designs hail succeeded, I would not only

have compelled Leosthenes to renounce his pietensions to
Cleora, but even to rnnr.it her father and brother to give
her to me : what is there in this that requires alteration,
especially into nonsense t lor Leoslhenes could have nothing
to ask of Pisander.

Timand. Alas ! sir,

We have so long fed on the bread of sorrow,
Drinking the bitter water of afflictions,
Maife loathsome too by our continued fears,
Comfort's a stranger to us.

Leost. Fears! your sufferings*:
For which I am so overgone with grief,
I dare not ask, without compassionate tears,
The villain's name that robb'd thee of thy honour*
For being train'd up in chastity's cold school,
And taught by such a mistress as Cleora,
'Twere impious in me to think Timandra
Fell with her own consent.

Timand. How mean you, fell, sir?
I understand you not.

Leost. 1 would thou did'st not,
Or that I could not read upon thy face,
In blushing characters, the story of
Libidinous rape: confess it, for you stand not
Accountable for a sin, against whose strength
Your o'ermatch'd innocence could make no resist.
Under which odds, I know, Cleora fell too, [ance.
Heaven's help in vain invoked ; the amazed sun
Hiding his face behind a mask of clouds,
Not daring to look on it ! In her sufferings
All sorrows comprehended : what Timandra,
Or the city, lias endured, her loss consider'd,
Deserves not to be named.

Timand. Pray you do not bring, sir,
In the chimeras of your jealous fears,
New monsters to affright us.

Leott. O, Timandra,

That J had faith enough but to believe thee !
1 should receive it with a joy beyond
Assurance of Elysian shades hereafter,
Or all ihe blessings, in this life, a mother
Could wish her children crown'd with, but 1 must
Credit impossibilities ; yet I strive [not

To find out that whose knowledge is a curse,
And ignorance a blessing. Come, discover
What kind of look he had that forced thy lady,
(Thy ravisher I will enquire at leisure,)
That when, hereafter, 1 behold a stranger
But near him in aspect, 1 may conclude,
Though men and angels t>hould proclaim him honest,
He is a hell-bred villain.

Timand. You are unworthy
To know she is preserved, preserved untainted
Sorrow, but ill bestow'd, hath only made
A rape upon her comforts in your absence.
Come forth, dear madam. [Leads in Cleora.

.Least. Ha ! [Kneels

Timand. Nay, she deserves

The bending of your heart ; that, to content you,
Has kept a vow, the breach of which a Vestal,
Though the infringing it had call'd upon her
A living funeral, t must of force have shrunk at
No danger could compel her to dispense with

Leost. fears ! your tuferingt : ] The character of
Leosthenes is everywhere preserved with great nicety. His
jealous disposition breaks out in this scene with peculiar
beauty.

t '1 hovyh the infringing it had call d upon her
A living funeral, &c.] The poet alludes to the manner in
which the Vestals, who had broken their vow of chastity,
were punished. They had literally a living funeral, being
plunged alive into a subterraneous cavern, ot which the
opening wan immediately closed upnii them, and walled up.
The confusion of countries and of customs may possibly
strike the critical rentier : but of this, as 1 h.ive already ob
served, our old dramatists wire not aware or solicitous.

SCENE 111.]

THE BONDMAN.

Ill

Her cruel penance, though hot lust came arm'd
To seize upon her; \vhen one look or nccent
IMisriit have redeem'd her.

lent, Might ! O do not shew mp
A beam of comfort, and straight take it from me.
The means bv which she was freed ? speak, O speak

quicklv;
Each minute of delay's an age of torment ;

speak, I imandra.

Tuiiattd. Free her from her oath ;
Herself can best deliver it.

Leint. O blest office ! [Unhhtdsher eyes.

Never did galley-slave slv.ike off his chair.s,
Or look'd on his redemption from the oar,
With such true feeling of delight as now

1 find my sell' possessed of. Now I behold
True light indeed ; for, since these fairest stars,
Co'.-er'd with clouds of your determinate will,
Denied their influence to mv optic sense,

The splendour of the sun appenr'd to me

But as some little glimpse of his bright beams

Convey'd into a dungeon, to remember

The dark inhabitants there, how much they wanted*.

Open these long-shut lips, and strike mine ears

With music more harmonious thai' the spheres

Yield in their heavenly motions : and if ever

A true submission for a crime acknowledged,

May find a gracious hearing, teach your tongue,

In the first sweet articulate sounds it utters,

To sign my wish'd-for pardon.

Cleo. I forgive you.

Least. H.JW greedily I receive this ! Stay, best lady,
And let me by degrees ascend the height
Of human happiness! all at once deliver'd,
The torrent of mv joys will overwhelm me :
So now a little more ; and prav excuse me,
If, like a wanton epicure, I desire
The pleasant taste these cates of comfort yield me,
Should not too soon be swallow'd. Have you not,
By your unspotted truth I do conjure you
To answer truly, suiter "d in your honour,
By force. I mean, for in your will I free you,
Since I left Syracusa?

Cleo. I restore

This kiss, so help me goodness ! which I borrow 'd,
Whn 1 last saw you f.

Lfoit. Miracle of virtue !
One pause more, I beseech you ; I am like
A man whose vital spirits consumed and wasted
With a long and tedious fever, unto whom
Too much of a strong cordial, at once taken,
Brings death, and not restores him. Yet I cannot
Fix here ; but must enquire the man to whom
I stand indebted for a benefit,
Which to requite at full, though in this hand
I grasp all sceptres the world's empire bows to,

to remember

The dark inhabitant* there, hmo much they wanted.}
In this most beautiful passage, remember is u.-ed lor cause
to remember, in which sense it ireqneiitly occurs in our old
writers. So Bi-aumonl and Fletcher:
" f'roc. Do you remember
Her to come after yon, that she may behold
Her daughter's charity." The Sea f oyaye.
t Cleo. / restore

Thi-i /.*., so help me goodness! which I borroiv'd,
ll'!tf>7i / last taw you-} This is a modest and a pretty
imitation 01 SiMk^'i.ii e :

" Now, liy tlie jealom queen of lieavt-n, that kiss
I carried iroin thce, dear; and my true lip
Hath MI tin'ii it e'er since." C'oriolaniu.

Would leave me a poor bankrupt. Name him lady ;

If of a mean estate, I'll gladly part with

My utmost fortunes to him ; but if noble,

In thankful duty study how to serve him ;

Or if of higher rank, erect him altars,

And as a god adore him.

Cleo. If that goodness,

And noble temperance, the queen of virtues,
Bridling rebellious passions, to whose sway-
Such as have conquer 'd nations have lived slaves,
Did ever wing great minds to fiv to heaven,
He that preserved mine honour, may hope boldly
To fill a seat among the gods, and shake off
Our frail corruption.

Least. Forward.

Cleo. Or if ever

The powers above did mask in humsn shapes
To teach mortality, not by cold precepts
Forgot as soon as told, but bv examples,
To imitate their pureness, and draw near
To their celestial natures, I believe
He's more than man.

Leoit. You do describe a wonder.

Cleo. Which will increase, when you shall under-
lie was a lover. [stand

Lecst. Not vours, lady ?

Cleo. Yes;'

Loved me, Leosthenes ; nay more, so doted,
(If e'er affections scorning gross desires
May without wrong be styled so,) that he durst not
With an immodest syllable or look,
In fear it might take from me, whom he made
The object of his better part, discover
I was the saint he sued to.

Least. A rare temper* !

Cleo. I cannot speak it to the worth : all praise
I can bestow upon it will appear
Envious detraction. Not to rack you further,
Yet make the miracle full, though, of all men,
He hated you, Leosthenes, as his rival ;
So high yet he prized my content, that, knowing
You were a man I favour'd, he disdain 'd not,
Against himself, to serve you.

Leost. You conceal still
The owner of these excellencies.

Cleo. 'Tis Marullo,
My father's bondman.

Leost. Ha, ha, ha !

Cleo. Why do you laugh? [praise

Leost. To hear the labouring mountain of your
Deliver'd of a mouse.

Cleo. The man deserves not
This scorn I can assure you.

Leost. Do you call
What was his duty, merit?

Cleo. Yes, and place it
As high in my esteem, as ail the honours
Descended from your ancestors, or the glory.
Which you may call your own, got in this action,
In which, I must confess, you have done nobly;
And I could add, as I desired, but that
I fear 'twould make you proud.

Leost. Why, lady, can you
Be won to give allowance, that your slave
Should dare to love you ?

Cleo. The immortal gods

A ran? temper I] The old copies read tempter: corrected
by Mr. M. Mason.

112

THE BONDMAN.

FAcrrlV

[Aside.

Accept the mennest altars*, that are raised
Bv pure devotions ; and sometimes prefer
An ounce of frankincense, honey or milk,
'Wore whole hecatombs, or Sabrean gums,
Otl'-jr'd in ostentation. Are you sick
Of your old disease? I'll fit you.

Leost. You seem moved.

Cleo. Zealous, I grant, in the defence of virtue.
Why, good Leosthenes, though I endured
A penance for your sake, above example ;
I have not so far sold myself, 1 take it,
To be at your devotion, but I may
Cherish desert in others, where I find it.
How would you tyrannize, if you stood possess'd of
That which is only yours in expectation,
That now prescribe such hard conditions to me?

Leost. One kiss, and I am silenced.

Cleo. I vouchsafe it ;
Yet, I must tell you 'tis a favour that
Marullo. when 1 was his, not mine own,
Durst not presume to ask : no : when the city
Bow'd humbly to licentious rapes and lust,
And when 1 was, of men and gods forsaken,
Deliver'd to his power, he did not press me
To grace him with one look or syllable,
Or urged the dispensation of an oath
Made for your satisfaction : the poor wretch,
Having related only his own sufferings,
And kiss'd my hand, which 1 could not deny him,
Defending me from others, never since
Solicited my favours.

Leost. Pray you, end ;
The story does not please me.

Cleo. Well, take heed

Of doubts and fears ; for know, Leosthenes,
A greater injury cannot be offer'd
To innocent chastity, than unjust suspicion.
I love Marullo's fair mind, not his person;
Let that secure you. And 1 here command you,
If I have any power in you, to stand
Between him and all punisht^-*, and oppose
His temperance to his folly; if you fail-
No more; I will not threaten.

Least. What a bridge
'Of glass I walk upon, over a river
Of certain ruin, mine own weighty fears
Cracking what should support me ! and those helps,
Which confidence lends to others, are from me
Ravish 'd by doubts, and wilful jealousy. [Exit.

SCENE IV. Another Poom in the Same.
Enter TIMAGOUAS, CLEON, ASOTVS, CORISCA, and

OLMIPIA.
Clean. But are you sure we are safe?

Cleo. The immortal god*

Accept the meanent altars, &c.] Milton's invocation on
the opening of Paradise Lost, is not unlike this.

" And chiefly lluni, O fpirit," &c COXETF.R
I cannot discover nm.-h lUrurst in t|, e two quotations
the author had Horace in hit Ibciaglia :
Jmmunit aram it tvtiyit mamtt,
Non nimptuoxa tilandior hottia
Jllo/lirit avrrsos penatri
Farre pio, salirnte mica.

A beautiful pHcsaiie, which ihe critics, with Dacier and Sana-
don at their head, strangely maintain to be ironical. I
believe that Horace was perfectly ginn-ie. The lessons of
piety are so consonant to hiini.ui feelings that vrry fre-
quently those who do not experience their lull influence
themselves, earnestly and honestly labour to impress them
npo'j others

[Exit.

Timag. You need not fear ;
They are all under guard, their fangs pared off:
The wounds their insolence gave you, to be cured
With the balm of your revenge.

Asot. And shall 1 be
Th thing I was born, my lord ?

Timiig. 'I he same wise thing. [neve?

'Slight, what a beast they have made thee ! A trie
Produced the like.

Asot. I think so : nor the land [walnuts,

Where apes and monkeys grow, like crabs and
On the same tree. Not all the catalocue
Of conjurers or wise women bound together
Could have so soon tranform'd me, as my rascal
Did with his whip ; for not in outside only.
But in my own belief, I thought myself
As perfect a baboon

Timug. An ass thou we-rt ever. [heart

Asot. And would have given one leg, with all my
For good security to have b> a en a man
After three lives, or one and twenty years,
Though 1 had died on crutches.

Clean. Never varlets
So triumph 'd o'er an old fat man : I was famish 'd.

Timag. Indeed you are fallen away.

Asot. Three years of feeding
On cullises nnd jelly, though his cooks
Lard all he eats with marrow, or his doctors
Pour in his mouth restoratives as he sleeps,
Will not recover him.

Timag. But your ladyship looks
Sad on the matter, as if you had miss'd
Your ten-crown amber possets, good to smooth
The cutis, as you call it, and prepare you,
Active and high, for an afternoon's encounter
With a rough gamester, on your couch. Fie on't !
You are grown thrifty, smell like other women;
The college of physicians have not sat,
As they were used, in council, how to fill
The crannies in your cheeks, or raise a rampire
With mummy, ceruses, or infants' fat,
To keep off age and time.

Com. Pray you, forbear ;
I am an alter'd woman.

Timag. So it sei ms ;
A part of your honour's ruff stands out of rank too

Cot-it. So matter, 1 have other thoughts.

Timag. O strange !

Not leu dnys since it would have vex'd you more
Than the loss of your good name : pity, this cure
For your prcud itch came no sooner! Marry
Seems to bear up still. [Olympif

Oliim]>. 1 complain not, sir ;
I have borne my fortune patiently.

Timug. Thou wert ever
An excellent hearer ; so is all your tribe,
If you may choose your carriage.

Enter LEOSTIIKNES and Dn'iui.us with a Guard,

How now, friend.
Looks our Cleora lovely ?

I east. In my thoughts, sir.

Timag. But why this gunrd ?

Diph. It is Timoleon's pleasure ;
The slaves have been examin'd, and confess
Their riot took beginning from your house ;
And the first mover of them t rebellion
Your slave INh.rullo. [Eieunt Diph. and fiuarcL

Least. Ha ! I more than tear.

Timag. They may search boldly.

SCEXE I.]

THE BONDMAN.

Enter TIMANDP.A, speaking to the Guard within.

Timand. You are uninanner'd grooms
To pry into my lady's private lodgings;
There's no Marullos there.

Re-enter DiruiLvs, and Guard with PISANDER.

Timag. Now I suspect too :
Where found you him ?

Diph. Close hid in your sister's chamber.

Timag. Is that the villain's sanctuary '}

Least. This confirms
All she deliver'd, false.

Timag. But that 1 scorn

To rust my good sword* in thy slavish Wood,
Thou now wert dead.

Pisan. He's more a slave than fortune
Or misery can make me, that insults
Upon unweapon'd innocence.

Timag. Prate you, dog- !

Pisan. Curs snap at lions in the toil, whose looks
Friuhted them, being free.

Timag. As a wild beast,

Drive him before you.

Pisan. O itivine Cleora !

Least. I 'ar'st thou presume to name her?

Pisan. Yes, and love her ;
And may say, have deserved her.

Timag. Stop his mouth,
Load him with irons too.

[Eail Guard with Pitan<ler.

Clean. I am deadly sick
To look on him.

Asot. If he get loose, I know it,
I cnjier like an ape again : 1 feel
The whip already.

Timmid. This goes to my lady. [En'j.

Timag. Come, cheer you, sir ; we'll urge his pun-
ishment
To the full satisfaction of your anger.

Leiist. He is not worth my thoughts. No corner

left

In all the spacious rooms of my vex'd heart,
lint is fill'd with Cleora, and the lape
She has done upon her honour, with my wrong,
The heavy burthen of my sorrow's song. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. Tht tame. A Room in AHCHIDAMVS'S

House.
Enter AHCHIDAMUS and CLEORA.

Archid. Thou art thine own disposer. Were his

honours

And glories centupled, as I must confess,
Leosthenes is most worthy, yet 1 will not,
However 1 may counsel, force affection.

Cteo. It needs not, sir ; I prize him to his worth,
Nay, love him truly ; yet would not live slaved
To his jealous humours : since, by the hopes of

heaven,

As I am free from violence, in a thought
I am not guilty.

Arch id. Ti.s believ'd, Cleora ; for't !

And much the rather, our great gods be praised
In that I find, beyond my hopes, no sign
Of riot in my house, but all things ordered,
As if 1 hnd been present.

Cleo. May that move you
To pity poor Marullo?

Archid. ' I is my purpose
To do dim all the good 1 can, Cleora ;
But this offence being against the state,
Must have a public trial. In the mean time,
Be careful of yourself, and stand engaged
No further to Leosthenes, than you may
Come off with honour; for, being once his wife,
You are no more your own, nor mine, but must
llesolve to serve, and suffer his commands,
And not dispute them : ere it be too late,
Consider it duly. 1 must to the senate. [Eiif.

Cleo. I am much distracted : in Leosthenes
I can find nothing justly to accuse,

To nut wy good ttcord, &c.l Good, which completes
th* metre, is <mly found in the fust quarto: llie modern
editors fo low the second, ulik-h abounds ill sin.il.tr onus-
tiuiu, almost beyond credibility.

But his excess of love, which I have studied

To cure with more than common means ; yet still

It grows U|.on him. And, if 1 may call

My sufferings merit*, 1 stand bound to think on

Marullo's dangers; though I save his life,

His love is unrewarded : I confess,

Both have deserved me. yet of force must be

Unjust to one ; such is my destiny.

Enter TIMANDRA.
How now ! whence flow these tears ?

Timand. I have met, madam,
An object of sucli cruelty, as would force
A savage to compassion.

Cleo. Speak, what is it 1

Timand. .Men pity beasts of rapine, if o'ermatch'd.
Though baited for their pleasure ; but these mons-
I'pon a man that can make no resistance, [ters,
Are senseless in their tyranny- Let it be granted,
Marullo is a slave, he's still a man ;
A capital offender, yet in justice
Not to be tortured, till the judge pronounce
His punishment.

Cleo. \Vhereishe?

Timand. Dragg'd to prison [spit on

With more than barbarous violence ; spurn YL and
By the insulting officers, his hands
Pinion 'd behind his back ; leaden with fetters :
Yet, with a saint-like patience, he still offers ,
His face to their rude buffets.

Clea. O my grieved soul !
By whose command ?

Mv sufferings merit.] So it stood in every edition pie-
vions To lh,,t of Mr. M. Mason, ho reads, his tufferiny*
tni-rit. It is evident that lie mi.-look llic sense oi the pas-
sage. Three line* bel..\v, lie leads, after CoWtW, indeed,
ytt of farce \ mvxt I.e.- the proiioup, uhicri Hestrnyi both
Ihe-iiie.iMire and the rh.wue, is n,t in the old copies: but
these are nul the oi.lj" errors in this shoit speecn, which
disgrace tile modern editions.

It*

THE BONDMAN.

[ACT V

Timand. It seems, my lord your brother's,
For he's a looker-on : and it takes from
Honour'd Leosthenes, to suffer it,
For his respect to you, whose name in vain
The grieved wretch loudly calls on.

Cleo. By Diana,

'Tis base in both ; and to their teeth I'll tell them
That I am wrong'd in't. \_Goingfmlh.

Timand, What will you do ?

Cleo. In person
Visit and comfort him.

Timand. That will bring fuel
To the jealous fires which burn too hot already
In lord Leosthenes.

Cleo. Let them consume him !
I am mistress of myself. Where cruelty reigns,
There dwells nor love, nor honour. [Exit.

Timand. So ! it works.

Though hitherto I have run a desperate course
To serve my brother's purposes : now 'tis fit

Enter LEOSTHENES and TIMAGORAS.

I study mine own ends. They come : assist me
In these my undertakings, Love's great patron,
As my intents are honest !

Least. 'Tis my fault* :
Distrust of others springs, Timagoras,
From diffidence in ourselves : but I will strive,
With the assurance of my worth and merits,
To kill this monster, jealousy.

Tinvig. 'Tis a guest,
In wisdom, never to be entertain'd
On trivial probabilities ; but, when
He does appear in pregnant proofs, not fashion'd
By idle doubts and fears, to be received :
Tiiey make their own horns that are too secure,
As well as such as give them growth and being
From mere imagination. Though 1 prize
Cleora's honour equal with mine own,
And know what li.rge additions of power
This match brings to our family, I prefer
Our friendship, and your peace of mind, so far
Above my own respects, or hers, that if
She hold not her true value in the test,
'Tis far from my ambition, for her cure
That you should wound yourself.

Timand. This argues for me.

Leost. 'Tit my fault:

Diitrutt of others ipringt, Timagoras,

From diffidence in ournelvet :} My fault, i. e. my mis-
fortune, lliat the word anciently ha.l this iiieanin, 1 could
prove by many examples; one, however, will be thou ht
sufficiently deci-ive :

"Bawd. Yon are lit into my hands, where yon are like
to live.

Marina. The more my fault,
To 'scape liis hands, where I was like to die."

Pericles, Act. IV. ic. iii.

This too will ascertain, beyond a donbi, the meanine of
Shallow, which Steevens evidently mistook and Mr 'Ma-
lone delivered wilh some degiee of hesitation:

" titen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir ? I heard
fay, he was out-run on Cotsale.

Page. It could not be judg'd, sir.

Xtrn. You'll not confrfg, you'll not confess.

S'fial. That he will not ; 'tis yor fault, 'tis yvur fault
Tis a good d.)g."

Poor Slender is one of Job's comforters, as they i>ay he
'rsists in reminding Pas;e, who evidently dislike's t|| H ' Sl ,|,_
ject, of his defeat: hence tlic good-natured consul,) t ion of
Shallow: " He needs not confess it, cousin; you were un-
fortun ite, sir; your loss must be attributed to accident lor
your dog it a good dog."

Timag. Why she should he so passionate for a

bondman,

Falls not in compass of my understanding,
But for some nearer interest : or he ruise
This mutiny, if he loved her, as, you sav,
She does confess he did, but to enjoy,
By fair or foul play, what he ventured for,
To me's a riddle.

Leost. Pray you, no more ; already
I have answer'd that objection, in my strong
Assurance of her virtue.

Timag. 'Tis unfit then,
That I should press it further.

Timand. Now I must
Make in, or all is lost. [Rushes forward distractedly

Timag. What would Timandra?

Leost. How wild she looks ! How is it with thy

Timag. Collect thyself, and speak. [lady!

Timand. As you are noble,
Have pity, or love piety *. Oh !

7 east. Take breath.

Timng. Out with it boldv.

Timand. O, the best of ladies,
I fear, is gone for ever.

/ eoit. Who, Cleora?

Timag. Deliver, how ? 'Sdeath, be a man, sir !
Speak.

Timand. Take it then in as many sighs as words,
My lady

'Timag. What of her?

Timand. No sooner heard
Marullo was imprison'd, but she fell
Into a deadly swoon.

Ttmufr. But she recover'd
Say so, or he will sink too ; hold, sir ; fie !
This is unmanly.

Timand. Brought again to life.
But wiih much labour, she awhile stood silent,
Yet in that interim vented sighs, as if
They labour'd, from the prison of her flesh,
To {jive her grieved soul freedom. On ihe sudden
Transported on the wings of rage and sorrow,
She flew out of the house, and, unattended,
Enter'd the common prison.

Leost. This confirms
What but before I fear'd.

Timand. There you may find her;
And, if you love her as a sister

Timag. Damn her !

Tinun.d. Or you respect her safety as a lover,
Procure Marullo's liberty.

Timng. Impudence
Beyond expression !

Least. Shall 1 be a bawd
To her lust, and my dishonour?
Timand. She'll run mad, else,
Or do some violent act upon herself:
My lord, her father, sensible of her sufferings,
Labours to gain his freedom.

Leost. O, the devil !
Has she bewitch'd him too?
Timag. I'll hear no more.

Come, sir, we'll follow her ; and if no persuasion
Can make her take again her natural form.
Which by lust's powerful spell she has cast off,
This sword shall disenchant her.

* Have pity, or love piety.] So the old copies : the
modern editors, here, as almost everywhere else, corrupt
this last word, and Icebly read, haw pity, or loie pity.

SCENE II.]

THE BONDMAN.

Least. O my heart-strings !

[Eieunt Leosthenes and Timngoras.
Timand. I knew 'uvould take. Pardon me, lair

Cleora,

Though 1 appear a traitress ; which tliou wilt do,
In pity of my woes, when 1 make known
My lawful claim, and only seek mine own. [Exit.

SCENE II. A Prison. PISANDER discovered in
chains.

Enter CLEORA ami Gaoler.

Cleo. There's for your privacy. Stay, unbind his

Gaol. I dare not, madam. [hands.

Cleo. I will buy thy danger :

Take more gold : do not trouble me with thanks,
I do suppose it. done. [E.u't Gaaler.

Ptian. My better angel

Assumes this shape to comfort me, and wisely ;
Since, from the choice of all celestial figures,
He could not take a visible form so full
Of glorious sweetness. [Kneels.

Cleo. Rise. I am flesh and blood,
And do partake thy tortures.

Pisait. Can it be,

That charity should persuade you to descend
So far from your own height, as to vouchsafe
To look upon my sufferings ? How 1 bless
My fetters now, and stand engaged to fortune
For my captivity no. my freedom, rather!
For who dare think that place a prison, which
You sanctify with your presence? or believe,
Sorrow lias power to u>e her st.ng on him,
That is in your compassion arm'd, and made
Impregnable, though tyranny raise at once
All engines to assault him?

Cteo. Indeed virtue,

With which you have made evident proofs that you
Are strongly fortified, cannot fall, though shaken
With the shock of tierce temptations : but still
In spite of opposition. For myself, [triumphs

I may endeavour to confirm your goodness,
(A sure retreat, which never will deceive you,)
And with unsigned tears express my sorrow
For what I cannot help.

Pimn. Do you weep for me!
O, save that precious balm for nobler* uses:
1 am unworthy of the smallest drop,
Which, in your prodigality of pity,
You throw away on me. Ten of these pearls
Were a large ransom to redeem a kingdom [geance,
From a consuming plague, or stop heaven's ven-
Call'd down by crying sins, though, at that instant,
In dreadful Hashes fulling; on the roots
Of bold blasphemers. 1 am justly punish 'd
r'ur my intent of violence to such pureuess;
And all the torments flesh is sensible of,
A soft and gc-ntle penance.

Cleo. \\ hi h is ended
In this your free confession.

Enter LEOSTHLNES and TIMAGORAS behind.

Least. What an object
Have I encountered !

O lave that precious halm fur nobli.r vxr* :] \obltris
ll.e i-u.uli.ij/ 01 iln; fn-t qu.it., and is evi.luiil!) riglil.
< < ''it/i and Mr. M. M.ISO.I, I'./ilow ilie secuuil, which IMS
MHft

Titnag. I am blasred too :
Yet hear a little further.

Pisnn. Could I expire now, [thus,

The.-e white and innocent hands closing my eyes
T were not to die, but in a heavenly < ream
To be transported, without the help of Charon,
To the Elysian shades. You make me bold ;
And, but to wish such happiness, I tear,
May give offence.

Cleo, No; for believe it, Marul'o,
You've won so much upon me, that I know not
That happiness in my gilt, but vou may challenge.

Least. Are you yet satisfie*. ]

Cteo. Nor can you wish

But what my vows will second, though it were
Your freedom first, and then in me full power
To make a second tender of myself,
And you receive the present. By this kiss,
From me a virgin bounty*, I wi 1 practise
All arts for your deliverance ; and that purchased,
In what concerns your further aims, I speak it,

Do not despair, but hope

[Timtgerui and Leosthenes come forward.

Timag. To have the hangman,
When lie is married to the cross, in scorn
To say, Gods give you joy !

/ eost. But look on me,
And be not too indulgent to your folly ;
And then, hut that grief stops my speech, imagine
What language I should use.

Cleo. Against thyself.
Thv malice cannot reach me.

Tiirnig. How?

Cleo. IV o, brother,

Though you join in the dialogue to accuse me:
What I have done, Til justify; and these favour*
\\ hich, you presume, will taint me in my honour,
'I hough jealousy use all her eyes to spy out
One stain in my behaviour, or envy,
As many tongues to wound it, shall appear
My best perfections, tor, to the word,
I can in my defence allege such reasons.
As my accusers shall stand dumb to hear them:
When in his fetters this man's worth and virtues,
But truly told, sh.i'l shame your boasted glories,
Which fortune claims a share in.

Timag. The base villain
Shall never live to hear it. [Draws his sword.

Cleo. Murder! help !
Through me you shall pass to him.

Enter AiiCHiDAMi-s, DIPHILUS, and Officers.

Archid. What's th*- matter?

On whom is your sword drawn? Are you a judge?
<>r else ambitious of the hangman s omce,
Before it be design 'd vou ? Vou are bold, too ;
Unhand my daughter.

Leost. She's my valour's prize. l ur ?

Archid. \\ith her consent, not otherwise. You may
Your title in the court ; it' it proe good,
Possess her freely. Guard him safely off too.

Timxg. You'll hear me, sir?

Archid. If you have aught to say,
Deliver it in public ; all shall find
A just judge of Timoleon.

Ky this km,

From me a vu^in bounty,] Meaning, 1 presume, M
Piandei ; tor ,-hv li.id giveti oi.t to Lcustln-iits bUWK.

116

THE BONDMAN.

[Acr V.

Diph. You must
Of force now use your patience.

[Exeunt all but Timagorus and Leoslhene\

Timag. Vengeance rather!

Whirlwinds of rage possess me : you are wrong a
Beyond a stoic sufferance ; yet you stand
As you were rooted.

Least. I feel something here,
That boldly tells me, all the love and service
I pay Cleora is another's due,
And therefore cannot prosper.

Timag. Melancholy;
Which now you must not yield to.

Least. Tis apparent:
In fact your sister's innocent, however
Changed by her violent will.

Timag. If you believe so,
Follow the chase still ; and in open court
Plead your own interest: we shall find the judge
Our friend, I fear not.

Least. Something I shall say,
But what

Timag, Collect yourself as we walk thither.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The Court of Justice.
Enter TIMOLEON, ARCHIDAMUS, CLEORA, and Officers.

Timol. 'Tis wonderous strange ! nor can it fall
The reach of ray belief, a slave should be [within
The owner of a temperance which this age
Can hardly parallel in freeborn lords,
Or kings proud of their purple.

Archid. 'Tis most true ;
And, though at first it did appear a fable,
All circumstances meet to give it credit ;
Which works so on me, that I am compell'd
To be a suitor, not to be denied,
He may have equal hearing.

Cleo. Sir. you graced me

With the title of your mistress* ; but my fortune
Is so far distant from command, that I
Lay by the power you gave me, and plead humbly
For the preserver of my fame and honour.
And pray you, sir, in charity believe,
That since I had ability of speech,
My tongue has been so much inured to truth,
I know not how to lie.

Timol. I'll rather doubt
The oracles of the gods, than question what
Your innocence delivers ; and, as far
As justice and mine honour can give way,
He shall have favour. Bring him in unbound :

[Exeunt Officers.

And though Leosthenes may challenge from me,
For his late worthy service, credit to
All things he can allege in his own cause,
Marullo, so, I think, you call his name,
Shall find I do reserve one ear for him,

C'eo. Sir you graced me

With the title of your mistreM;] This alludes to the re-
quest in the first act, that he might be permitted to wear
her colour*. In those days <<f gallantry, I mean those of
Massinger, not certainly, those of Tiniolron,to wear a lady's
colours, that is, a scarf, or a riband, taken from her person,
was to become br authorised champion and servant.

Enter CLEON, Asorus, DIPHILVS, OLYMPIA, and
Con isc A.

To let in mercy. Sit, and take your places ;
The right of this fair virgin first determined,
Your bondmen shall be censured*.

Clean. With all rigour,
We do expect.

Com. Temper'd, I say, with mercy.

Enter at one dour, LEOSTIIENFS and TIMAGOHAS; at

the other, Officers with PiSASDunaxd TIMANDI-A.

Timol. Your hand, Leosthenes : I cannot doubt
You, that have been victorious in the war,
Should, in a combat fought with words, come off
But with assured triumph.

Least. My deserts, sir,

If, without arrogance, I may style them such,
Arm me from doubt and fear.

Timol. 'Tis nobly spoken.
Nor be thou daunted (howsoe'er thy fortune
Has mark'd thee out a slave) to speak thy merits:
For virtue, though in rags, may challenge more
Than vice, set off with all the trim of greatness.

Pism. I ha-l rather Aill under so just a judge,
Than be acquitted by a man corrupt
And partial in his censure.

Arch-d. Note his language ;
It relishes of better breeding than
His present, state dares promise.

Timol. 1 observe it.

Place the fair lady in the midst, that both,
Looking with covetous eyes upon the pri/.e
They are to plead for, may, from the fair object,
Teach Hermes eloquence.

Least. Am I fallen so low ?

My birth, my honour, and what's dearest to me,
My love, and witness of my love, my service,
So undervalued, that 1 must contend
With one, where my excess of glory must
Make his o'ertbrow a conquest! Shall my fulness
Supply defects in such a thing, that never
Knew any thing but want and emptiness.
Give him a name, and keep it such, from this
Unequal competition 1 If my pride,
Or any bold assurance of my worth,
Has pluck'd this mountain of disgrace upon me,
1 am justly punish'd, and submit; but if
I have been modest, and esteem 'd myself
More injured in the tribute of the praise,
Which no desert of mine, prized by self-love,
Ever exacted, may this cause and minute
For ever be fogotten. 1 dwell long
Upon mine anger, and now turn to you,
Ungrateful fair one ; and, since you are such,
'Tis lawful for me to proclaim myself,
And what I have deserved.

Cleo. Neglect and scorn
From me, for this proud vaunt.

Least. You nourish, lady,
Your own dishonour in this harsh reply,
And almost prove what some hold of your sex ,
You are all made up of passion : for, if reason
Or judgment could find entertainment with you,

Your bondmen thall be censured] i.e. judged. To
prevent the necessity of recurring to this word, ah.nil ulm
inure than sufficient has been wriltrn, it may be proper i
observe, tli.it our ancestors used censure precisely as we now
do judgment : sometime* for a quality of the mind, and
sometimes for a judicial determination.

SCENE III.]

THE BONDMAN.

Or that you would distinguish of the objects

You loo'k on, in a true glass, not seduced

By the false light of your !oo violent will,

I should not need to plead for that which you

With joy should offer. Is my high birth a blemish ?

Or does my wealth, which all the vain expense

Of women cannot waste, breed Lathing in you?

The honours 1 can call mine own, thought scandals?

Am I deform 'd, or, for my father's sins,

Mulcted by nature? If you interpret these

As crimes, 'tis fit I should yield up myself

Most mist-rably guilty. But, perhaps,

(Which yet I would not credit,) you have seen

This gallant pitch the bar, or bear a burthen

Would crack the shoulders of a weaker bondman ;

Or any other boisterous exercise.

Assuring a strong back to satisfy

Your loose desires, insatiate as the grave

Cleo. You are foul-mouth'd.

Archid. 111-manner'd too.

Least. I speak

In the way of supposition, and entreat you,
With all the fervour of a constant lover,
That you would free yourself from these aspersions,
Or any imputation black-tongued slander
Could throw on your unspotted virgin whiteness:
To which there is no easier way, than by
Vouchsafing him your favour, him, to whom,
Next to the general, and the gods and fautors*,
The country owes her safety.

T-mag. Are you stupid ?

'Slight, leap into his arms, and there ask pardon
Oh ! you expect your slave's reply ; no doubt
We shall have a fine oration : I will teach
My spaniel to howl in sweeter language,
And keep a better method.

Arclii-i. You forget
The dignity of the place.

Diph. Silence !

Timot. [To Pisander.'] Speak boldly.

Pisan. 'Tis your authority gives me a tongue,
I should be dumb else ; and I am secure,
I cannot clothe my thoughts, and just defence,
In such an abject phrase, but 'twill appear
Equal, if not above my low condition.
I need no bombast language, stolen from such
As make nobility from prodigious terms
The hearers understand not ; I bring wilh me
No wealth to boast of; neither can I number
Uncertain fortune's favours with my merits;
I dare not force affection, or presume
To censure her discretion, that looks on me
Asa weak man, and not her fancy's idol.
How I have loved, and how much I have suffer'd,
And with what pleasure undergone the burthen
O f my ambitious hopes, (in aiming at
The glad possession of a happiness,
The abstract of all goodness in mankind
Can at no part deserve,) with my confession
Of mine own wants, is all that can plead for me.
But if that pure desires, not blended with

* Next to the general, and the gods and Cantors,] So road
both the quartos: tlie modern ixlitors not know ins; what to
make of the gods and fautors, (which, in the language of
(he author, means the favouring gods), accommodate the
line to their own conceptions with wondrous facility, and
lead:

AVjrf to the general, and to the god*,
Alas i for Massinger.

Foul thoughts, that, like a river, keeps bis course^
Retaining still the clearness of the spring
Fiom whence it took beginning, may be thought
Worthy acceptance ; then 1 dare rise up,
And tell this gay man to his teeth, I never
Durst doubt her constancy, that, like a rock,
Beats off temptations, as that mocks the fury
Of the proud waves ; nor, from my jealous fears,
Question that goodness to which, as au altar
Of all perfection, he that truly loved
Should rather bring a sacrifice of service,
Than raze it with the engines of suspicion :
Of which, when he can wash nn --L'thiop white,
Leosthenes may hope to free himself;
But, till then, never.

Timag. Bold, presumptuous villain !

Pisan. I will yo further, and make good upon him
I' the pride of all his honours, birth, and fortunes,
He's more unworthy than myself.

I.eo.>t. Thou liest. [decided,

Timag. Confute him with a whip, and, the doubt
Punish him with a halter.

Pim. O the gods !

My ribs, though made of brass, cannot contain
My heart, swollen big with rage. The lie! a whip!
Let fury then disperse these clouds, in which
I long have march'd disguised* ; [Throws off his
disguise.'] that, when they know ("horror

AVhom they have injured, they may faint with
Of my revenge, which, wretched men, expect,
As sure as fate, to suffer.

I.ecst. Ha! Pisander!

Timag. 'Tis the bold Theban !

AMI. There's no hope for me then :
I thought 1 should have put in for a share,
And borne Cleora from them both ; but now
This stanger looks so terrible, that I dare not
So much as look on her.

Pisan. Now as myself,
Thy equal at thy best, Leosthenes.
For you, Timagoras, praise heaven you were born
Cleora's brother, 'tis your safest armour.
But I lose time, 'I he base lie c**t upon me,
I thus return : Thou art a perjured man,
False, and perfidious, ami hast made a tender
Of love and service to this lady, when
Thy soul, if thou hast any, can bear witness,
That thou wert not thine own : for proof of this,
Look better on this virgin, and consider,
This Persian shape laid byf, and she ppearing
In a Greekish dress, such as when first you saw her
If she resemble not Pisander's sister.
One call'd Statilia ?

Leost. 'Tis the same my guilt
So chokes my spirits, I cannot deny
My falsehood, nor excuse it.

Pisan. This is she,

To whom thou wert contracted : this the lady,
That, when thou wert my prisoner, fairly taken

* Let fury then disperse these clouds in which
I long have maich'd disguised;] The old copies re:
mash'd ; but this seems to unworthy of the author, that
have not scrupled to place the other wi.rrt (march'd) in lh,
text. I believe Mastinger bad the fust ^Eueid hi hit
thoughts.

t '1'his Persian shape laid by,] I. e. this Persian drtis ;
a term borrowed from th<- tiring-room of the theatres. IB
the list of dramatis persoi a; prefixed to the Virgin Afartyr,
Harpax is said to be, " ati evil spirit ft Ujivjng Thsfrfcliia
in the shape (habit) of a &c -clary ''

118

THE BONDMAN.

(Aer V

In the Spartan war, that begg'd thy liberty,
And with it gave herself to thee, ungrateful! ^

Statil. No more, sir, I entreat you : I perceive
True sorrow in his looks, and a consent
To make me reparation in mine honour ;
And then I am most happy.

Pisan. The wrong done he*

Drew me from Thebes, with a full intent to kill thee:
But this fair object met me in my fury,
And quite disarm f d me. Being denied to have her,
By you, my lord Archidamus, and not able
To live far from her ; love, the mistress of
All quaint devices, prompted me to treat
With a friend of mine, who, as a pirate, sold me
For a slave to you, my lord, and gave my sister
As a present to Cleora.

Timol. Strange meanders !

Pwa. There how I bare myself, needs no relation ;
But, if so far descending from the height
Of my then flourishing fortunes, to the lowest
Condition of a man, to have means only
To feed my eye with the sight of what I honour'd j
The dangers too I underwent, the sufferings ;
The clearness of my interest ; may deserve
A noble recompense in your lawful favour ;
Now 'tis apparent that Leosthenes
Can claim no interest in you, you may please
To think upon my service.

Cleo. Sir, my want
Of power to satisfy so great a debt,
Makes me accuse my fortune : but if that
Out of the bounty of your mind, you think
A free surrender of myself full payment,
I gladly tender it.

Archid. With my consent too,
All injuries forgotten.

Timug. I will study,

In my future service, to deserve your favour,
And good opinion.

Leost. 1 bus I gladly fee
This advocate to plead for me. [Kissing StatUia.

Pisan. You will find me
An easy judge. When 1 have yielded reasons
Of your bondmen's tailing off from their obedience,
Then after, as you please, determine of me.
I found their natures apt to mutiny
From your too cruel usage, and made trial
How far they might be wrought on ; to instruct you
To look with more prevention and care
To what they may hereafter undertake
Upon the like occasions. The hurt's little
They have committed, nor was ever cure
But with some pain effected. I confess,
In hope to force a grant of fair Cleora,
I urged them to defend the town against you :
Nor had the terror of your whips, but that
I was preparing for defence elsewhere,
So soon got entrance* : in this I am guilty ;
Now, as you please, your censure.

Timol. Bring them in ;

And, though you've given me power, I do entreat
Such as have undergone their insolence,
It may not be offensive though I study

Nor had the terror of your whip*, but that

I teat prrpariny for defence elttwhere,

Sofoonyot entrance:] I am pleased with this becanse it
look* as if the Author was sensible of the improbability of
(he rirriiin.it.nite. It i-, indeed, the only defective part of
tbif beautiful Moiy.

Pitv, more than revenge.

Con's. 'Twill best become you.

Clean. I must consent.

Asot. For me, I'll find a time
To be revenged hereafter.

Enter GHACCULO, CIMBRIO, PoLtPRROlf, XANTHM.
and the rest, with halters about their necki.

Gruc. Give me leave ;
I'll speak for all.

Timol. What canst thou say, to hinder
The course of justice?

Grac. Nothing. You may see
We are prepared for hanging, and confess
We have deserved it : our most humble suit is,
We may not twice be executed.

Timol. Twice !
How mean'st thou 1

Grac. At the gallows first, and after in a ballad
Sung to some villanous tune. There are ten-groat

rhymers

About the town, grown fat on these occasions.
Let but a chapel fall, or a street be fired*,
A foolish lover hang himself for pure love,
Or any such like accident, and, before [made,

They are cold in their graves, some damn'd dittv's
Which makes their ghosts walk. Let the state take
For the redress of this abuse, recording [order

'Twas done by my advice, and, for my part,
I'll cut as clean a caper from the ladder,
As ever merry Greek did.

Timol. Yet 1 think

You would shew more activity to delight
Your master for a pardon.

Grac. O ! 1 would dance
As I were all air and fire. [Capert.

Timol. And ever be
Obedient and humble ;

Gruc. As his spaniel,

Though he kick'd me for exercise j and the like
I promise for all the rest.

* Let but a chapel fall, or a stieet he fired, &c.\ There
is inrn-.h good humour, us wtll as irnth, in these mituiks.
They are, it must be confessed, strangely out of time, anil
Mill more strangely out of place ; bin the readers of oar old
dramatists ::mst be prepared (o oveilook thoe anomalies.

Much of (he wit, ami more, perhaps, oi the inteie^t, of
our old dramas, is irretrievably lost through our ignorance
of collateral circu instances. A thousand temp* rary allu-
sions are received with indifference, or perhaps escape us
altogether, which excited the strongest sciisalim.s of pleasure
and pain in th.' bosoms of our ancestor*. This pl.iy was
performed for the first lime, Deceii.ber 3, Ifii.'t; iid on the
24th of October, in the s.mie year, a chapel, or, as Hie cou-
thm.iuir of Slow calls it, a chamber Jell down " in Mnnt-
<1en House, in the Black Fryi>. where was assembled above
three hundred men, women, and jonths, to heat a Humane
Catholicque priest preach, in which fall w,i* M..ine the
preacher, and almost one hundred of his auditory, arid well
nigh as many more hurt." Immediately alter this, follows
an aiticle of firing a ttreet. "Wednesday, the l'2lh of No-
vember, 1023, one of the warehouses of Sir W. C->ckayne,"
'a name familiar to Massingcr,) " kni.hl, alderman of Lon-
don, in Broad Street, took fire in the evening, and Ceased
not till two o' the rlock the next morning, in which >p.ice
it burnt his whole house, and three of In- neighbour's hon.-cs,
to the great danger and damage of many neere inhabitants,"
&c. Annales, p. 10:J, ed. I6:il.

These appo-ite references, for which I am indebted to
Mr. Gilchrist, prove, I think, that the tragical events in
Oracculo's speed' were not the miggrrtiniift of fancy. The
foolixh later, who hung himself for pure love, was, perhaps,
beneath the notice of the Chronicler; but I suspect that,

if we could have recourse to the d d dittiri of ihe day,

we should (in I his melancholy story to be no less real th
the other iiii:orttinate occurrences

SCENE III.]

THE BONDMAN.

bids hi

treat he

ith p

mice." tlie very cirrumslaiice which gains her Htlecliong.
In The Unite of Milan loo, Siurza and Marcelia wish thai,
after a life of unvaried happ'iiess, " one grave may receive
them ;" and they are buried together, alter she has r'.ill. n
by hU hand. He it fund of reserving some injured person,

Timol. Rise then, you have it.
Ait the Slaves. Timoleon ! Timoleon !
Timol. Cease these clamours.
And now, the war being ended to our wishes,

* Massingcr never vrftei with more effect, than when he
-ombines his own fancy with somewhat of real history. In
tins c.ise, the reader will 1101 ex[ ect that the history should j
proceed in a regular order, or without the admission of to- )
reign incidents, or that it should maintain to the end, the
commanding interest with which it begins. It is enough
for Massiuger, if he can secure attention at the outset,
tlirrugh the remembrance of some important event, and
it, under cover of ihis, he can prepare the part which ima-
gination is to supply. It is on these principles he has
proceeded in The Hondman, and produced a piece which,
with a few exceptions, is at once stately and playful, im-
pressive and tender, lie mature* the love, under cover of
the history ; till at length the interest changes, and the his-
tory becomes subordinate 10 the love.

The character-* are drawn with much variety and interest ;
the modest gravity and self command of 'I'imoleon well
agree with the ancient desciiplious 61 the man, from whose
mouth nihil unqiiain insolent, neque yloriosum e.iiit; and
our admiration of the heroic Pisdmler, who ramiot appear
in his proper character till towaidg the conclusion, is skil-
fully excited by early notices, apparently incidental, of his
great powers of body, his language, sentiments &c., far
above hi* supposed condiiion. Hi- >ignal temperance, the
charm which wins the pure Cleora, is well contrasted with
the unreasonable distrust and jealou>y of Leostheiies, who,
however, observes, with much self complacency, while he
mars his own happiness by his impatience, that woimn have
b ii litlie judgment, and are mo-tly made up i-f passion! It
may be remarked here, that Ma-sin;;er seems fond of punish-
ing his men lor undue suspicions and alarms in maittrs of
love; and that this is one of the methods he takes to exalt
the character of his females, and to exhibit, as in Cleora,
the complete ascendency of c;-aslily over jealouyy. Other
m iks of his accustomed man igeiuenl ap^e.ir in this plav .
H- is fond of fulnllint; expressions in a M n ? e iu>t intended
by the speakers. Tima^oras unconsciously siys that Pi-
ffimler was " bought for his si?tcr's service;" and Archi*

And such as went the pilgrimage of love,
Happy in full fruition of their hope,
'Tis lawful, thanks paid to the powers divine,
To drown our cares in honest minh and wine.

[Exeunt 9

whose late appearance may justify what has been done, and
hasten the conclusion of the plot. He reserves Matilia
for me sake of vindicating I'isander, and rcn.inds us of Ku-
genia, whose wrong explain the vengeance of Franci-co.
He is also fond of ihi owing his lovers into difficulties, by
confessing their attachment, while those who are iuiererlcd
in opposing it, listen from behind. Cleora precipitates her
expressions of kindness for 1'isandcr, that her family may
be enraged at the discovery. And a simd.ir contrivance will
by and by strike the reader, in the plot of The Kenryado,
where Douusa and Vitelli are overheard by Asambeg and
Mustapha.

The ludicrous characters arc not without their merit,
always excepting the licentiousness which stains them ; licen-
tiousness, however, which, lortunately, is neither spniied
nor attractive. The slave* turned masters, " frtt their hour"
in their new dignity with becoming insolence. It is a line
stroke of nature which Plaiitus has given to one of his
slaves: suddenly growing rich, and laying the plan of his
future enjoyments, he determines to have slates of his
owu :

- domum itittruam, ayrum, eedet, mancipU.

Jtiulrru, Act IV. sc. ii.

If Ma<singer is to be suspected of pul tical a lusions, this
play betrays him. The characirr of Cisco ilie ad.i-iral does
not suit him, but agrees very well with the l)uke of Buck-
ingham :

" -- a raw young fellow,
One never tr..in'd in anus, but rather fashion'd
To tilt with ladies' lips, than crack a lance," \c.
The " green heads that determine of the slate ovr Ihrir
cups," ;c., were oow in posse.sion of all pow< r, ami playing
their wildest schemes. And towards the -u ' ol il-e reign
of James, <lhe date of tl is play,) it might well be said, Ly
the friends to Ihe safety of their country :

" - in this plenty

And fat of peace, your voting men ne'er were >:ainM

In martial discipline ; and your ships unrigg'd

Rot in the harbour." -

One of show fr-rnds of his country was Ma>Mng
is hardly possible to point out, in an> wriier,
modern, a finer strain of patriotism amidst the i
er, than that which animates the last scene af r

ger,

1)K.

: and it
cieiit or
-'ic dan
first *c

THE EEFEGADO.

THK RENEOADO.] This tragi-comedy, for so Massinger terms it, appears from the office-book of the
master of the revels, to have been first produced on the stage, April 17th, 1624 : it was not given *c di?
public till several years after, the entry in the stationers' register bearing date March 6th, 1629-30.

The story, though wild and extravagant, is not all, perhaps, invention ; the pirates of Tunis and Algiers
ravaged the northern coasts of the Mediterranean at pleasure ; and the Spanish and Italian writers of
those days are full of adventures similar to this before us ; some of which were undoubtedly founded in
fact.

The language and ideas of this play are strictly catholic ; notwithstanding which, it seems to have been
a favourite with the public ; and even the modest author speaks of its merits with some degree of compla-
cency. It was not, however, reprinted.

It is said, in the title-page, to have been "often acted by the queen's majesties servants, at the private
play-house in Drury Lane." After the death of Queen Anne, in 1618, (as Mr. Malone informs me,) the
players et this house were called, the Lady Elizabeth's servants, (i. e. James's daughter, then married to the
Palsgrave,) although she was not in England : but after the marriage of Charles, they took the nam,e of the
queen's servants; i. e. of Henrietta Maria. The denomination, therefore, in the litle-page of the old play,
alludes to the lime of its publication, and not to that of its " allowance ;" when, as appears from the first
edition of The Bondman, 1624, the players were still in possession of the former appellation.

TO THE RIGHT HONOUIIABI.K

GEORGE HARDING,

BARON BERKELEY, OF BERKELEY CASTLE, AND KNIGHT OF THE
HONOURABLE ORDER OF THE BATH*.

MY GOOD LORD,

To be honoured for old nobility, or hereditary titles, is not alone proper to yourself, but to some few of your
rank, who may challenge the like privilege with you : but in our age to vouchsafe (as you have often done)
a ready hand to raise the dejected spirits of the contemned sons of the muses ; such as would not suffer the
glorious fire of poesy to be wholly extinguished, is so remarkable and peculiar to your lordship, that with a
full vote and suffrage, it is acknowledged that the patronage and protection of the dramatic poem is vours,
and almost without a rival. I despair not therefore, but that my ambition to present my service in this' kind,
may in your clemency meet with a gentle interpretation. Confirm it, my good lord, in your gracious accept-
ance of this trifle ; in which, if I were not confident there are some pieces worthy the perusal, it should
have been taught an humbler flight ; and the writer, your countryman, never yet made happy in your notice
anrl favour, had not made this an advocate to plead for his admission among such as are wholly and sincerely
devoted to your service. 1 may live to tender my humble thankfulness in some higher strain ; and till then,
comfort myself with hope, that you descend from your height to receive

Your honour's commanded servant,

PHILIP MASSINGER.

SCENE I.]

THE RENEGADO.

121

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

ASAMBEG*, viceroy of Tunis,
MUSTAPHA, hasha of Aleppo,
VITELLI, a Venetian gentleman,

disguised as a merchant,
FRANCISCO, a Jesuit,
ANTONIO GRIMALDI, tht Rene-

gado,

CARAZIE, an tiniuch,
GAZET, servant to Vitelli,
Aga.

Act art' Name*.
John Blanye.
John Sumner.

Mich. Bowyer.
Wm. Reignalds.

Wm. Allen.
Wm. Robins.
Ed. Shakerley.

Actor*' Nt

Capiaga.

Janizaries.

Master.

Boatswain.

Sailors.

A Gaoler. Turks.

DONUSA, niece to Amurath,
PAULINA, sister to Vitelli,
MAN-TO, servant to Donusa.

SCENE, Tunis.

Ed. Rogers.
Theo. Bourne

ACT I.

SCENE I. A Street near thf Bazar.
Enter VITELLI, and GAZET.

Vitel. You have hired a shop, then ?

Gaz. Yes, sir ; and our wares,
Though brittle as a maidenhead at sixteen,
Are safe unladen ; not a crystal crack'd,
Or china dish needs soldering ; our choice pictures,
As they came from the workman, without blemish :
And 1 have studied speeches for each piece,
And, in a thrifty tone, to sell them off,
Will swear by Mahomet and Termagantf,
That this is mistress to the great Duke of Florence,
That, niece to old King Pepin, and a third,
An Austrian princess by her Roman nose,
llowe'er my conscience tells me they are figures
Of bawds and common courtezans in Venice.

Vitel. You make no scruple of an oath, then t

Gaz. Fie, sir !

'Tis out of mv indentures ; I am bound there
To swear for my master's profit, as securely
As your intelligencer J must for his prince,

Or, as we should now say, Hassan Bey.

t Will swear by Mahomet and Termagant,] Dr. Percy,
in his remarks on the ancient ballad of King Extmere,
rays, that Termagant is the name given by the authors of
the old romances to the god of the Saracens : and as he was
generally represented as a very furious being, the word
termagant was applied to any person of a turbulent out-
rageous disposition, though at present it is appropriated to
the female sex. M. MASON.

I have retained a part of this note, though there is little
in it. Our zealous ancestors, who were somewhat of Sir
Andrew's way of thinking, and cordially dispo-ed to beat
the Turks like dogs, for being Mahomedans, innocently
charged them with deities whom they never acknowledged.
Termagant, whether derived from the Saxon, or (which, in
thin case, is nearly the same), from the Latin, cannot pos-
(ibly be a Saracenic divinity ; the word was originally used,
I suppose, as an attribute of the Supreme Being of the
Saxons, a people little less odious to our romance writers,
than the Saracens, and sometimes confounded with them.

J / am bound there

To swear for my master's profit, as securely

As your intetliyencer. &c ] Here is, pn.bably, an allusion
to the celebrated definition of an ambassador, by Sir Henry :
Wutton : " An honest man appointed to lye abroad for the j
good of his country," a definition, by the bye, which cost |
him dear ; for Sir Henry, not satisfied with entertaining his

That sends him forth an honourable spy,

To serve his purposes. And if it be lawful

In a Christian shopkeeper to cheat his father,

I cannot find but to abuse a Turk

In the sale of our commodities, must be thought

A meritorious work.

Vitel. 1 wonder, sirrah,
What's your religion ?

Gaz. Troth, to answer truly,
I would not be of one that should command me
To feed upon poor John*, whenl see pheasants
And partridges on the table : nor do I like
The other, that allows us to eat flesh
In Lent, though it be rotten, rather thaii Le
Thought superstitious ; as your zealous cobler,
And learned botcher preach at Amsterdam,
Over a hotchpotchf. I would not be confined
In my belief: when all your sects and sectaries
Are grown of one opinion, if I like it
I will profess myself, in the mean time,
Live I in England, Spain, France, Rome, Geneva,
I'm of that country's faith.

Vitel. And what in Tunis?
Will you turn Turk here?

countrymen, would needs translate his wit into Latin, for
the amusement of foreigners. 1-ye, which was then the
term for lodge or dwell, made a tolerable pun ; but menticn-
dum, into which it was turned, had neither humour nor
ambiguity in it, and sorely scandalized the corps diplo
matic.

* To feed upon poor John,]- Poor John, Mr. Malone says,
is hake, dried, and raited.

t as your sealous cobler

And framed botcher preach at Amsterdam,

Over a hotchpotch.] The religious troubles of Holland, in
the 16th century, arose principally from the Anabaptists.
There was an insurrection at Amsterdam, headed by a tailor,
a disciple of John of l.eyden (the Minister king), himself
a tailor: but, indeed, the toleration allowed to religious
sects of all denominations, had, about this time, filled Am
sterdam with fanatics Irom every country in Europe. To
this aggregation of zealots, there are perpetual allusions in
our old writers. Thus Shirley : " Well, if I live, I will to
Amsterdam, and ad<l another re' ism to the two hundred
four score, and odd." Gentleman of I'enice. And Beau
mont and Fletcher: " 1 am a schoolmaster, sir, and would
fain confer with you about erecting four new peels of reli
gion at Amsterdam." The fair Maid <jr' the Inn.

1*2

THE RENEGADO.

[Acr

Gut. No : so I should lose
A rollop of that part my Doll enjoin 'd me
To bring home as she left it: 'tis her venture,
Nor dare I barter that commodity,
Without her special warntnr.
Vitt-l. You sire a knave, sir :
Leaving vour roguery, think upon my business,
It is no time to fool now. [time

Remember where you are too : though this uiart-
We aiv allow'd tree trading, nnd with safety.
Temper your tongue, and meddle not with tlie Turks,
Th^ir manners, nor religion.

Guz. Hike you heed, sir, | there landed

What colours you wear. Not two hours since,
An English pirate's whore, with a green apron*.
And, as she walk'd the streets, one of their muftis,
We (all them priests at Venice, wish a razor
Cuts it off, petticoat, smock and all, aad leaves her
As naked as my nail ; the young fry wondering
What strange beast it should be. 1 scaped a

scouring

My mistress's busk point, of that forbidden colour,
Then tied my codpiece ; had it been discover'd
1 had been capon'd.

Vitel. And had been well served.
Haste to the shop, and set my wares in order,
1 will no' long be absent.

GHZ. Though I strive, sir.
To put off melancholy, to which you are ever
Too much inclined, it shall not hinder me,
With my best care, to serve you. [Exit.

Enter FRANCISCO.
Vitel. 1 believe thee.

O welcome sir! stay of my steps in this life,
And guide to all my blessed hopes hereafter. [per'J?
What comforts, sir? Have your endeavours pros-
Have we tired fortune's malice with our sufferi ngs?
Is she at length, after so many frowns.
Pleased to vouchsafe one cheerful look upon us ?
Fran. You give too much to fortune and your

passions,

O'er which a wise man, if religious, triumphs.
That name fools worship ; and those tyrants, which
\Ve arm against our better part, our reason,
May add, but never take from our afflictions.

Vimt. Sir, as I ana a sinful man, I cannot
But like one suffer.

Fian. I exact not from you

A fortitude insensible of calamity, [shownf

To which the saints themselves have bow'd, and
They are made of flesh and blood ; all that I chal-
lenge

Is manly pa'iem-e. Will you, that were train'd up
In a religious school, where divine maxims,
Scorning comparison with moral precepts,
V\ ere daily taught you, hear your cons:ancy's trial.
Not like Vitelli, but a village nurse,
With curses in your mouth, tears in your eyes ?
How poorly it shows in you.

Viicl. I am scbool'd, sir,
And will hereafter, to my utmost strength,
Study to be myself.

* ; with a green apron.} It should be observed,

that this colour is appropriated solely to tlie descendants
of Mahomet. To " land at Tunis," or any other town
professing ilic Mahometan religion, in a green dress, at
Urn day, would perhaps cost the unwary stranger his life.
and shown,] So the old copy : the modern edi-

lon lead, and show.

Frrm. So shall you find me
Most ready to assist you ; neither have I
Slept in your great occasions : since I left you,
I have been at the viceroy's court, and press'd
As far as they allow a Christian entrance:
And something I have learn 'd, that may concern
The purpose of this journey.
Vnet. Dear sir, what is it?

Fran. By the command of Asambeg, the viceroy
The city swells with barbarous pomp and pride,
For the entertainment of stout Mustapha,
The basha of Aleppo, who in person
Comes to receive the niece of Amurath,
The fair Donusa, for his bride.

Vitel. 1 find not
How this may profit us.

Fran. Pray you give me leave.
Among the rest that wait upon the viceroy,
Stub as have, under him, command in Tunis,
Who, a* you've often heard, are all false pirates,
I saw the shame of Venice, and the scorn
Of all good men, the perjured HENEGADO,
Antonio Grimaldi.

Vitel. Ha ! his name
Is poison to me.
Fran. Yet again ?
Vitel. I have done, sir.
Fran. This dehauch'd villain, whom we erer

thought

(After his impious scorn done in St. Mark's,
To me, as I stood at the holy altar)
The thief that ravish 'd your fair sister from you,
The virtuous Paulina, not long since,
As I am truly given to understand,
Sold to the viceroy a fair Christian virgin ;
On whom, maugre his fierce and cruel nature,
Asambeg dotes extremely.

Vitel. 'Tis my sister:
It must be she, my better angel tells me
Tis poor Paulina. Farewell all disguises!
I'll show, in my revenge, that I am noble.
Fran. You are not mad?
Vitel. No, sir ; mv virtuous anger
Makes every vein an artery ; I feel in me
The strength of twenty men ; and, being arm'd
With my good cause, to wreak* wrong'd innocence,
I dare alone run to the viceroy's court,
And with this poniard, before his face.
Dig out Grimaldi's heart.
.Fran. Is this religious?
Vitel. Would you have me tame now? Can I

know my sister

Mew'd up in his seraglio, and in danger
Not alone to Jose her honour, but her soul ;
The hell-bred villain by too, that has sold both
To black destruction, and not haste to send him
To the devil, his tutor? To be patient now,
Were, in another name, to play the pander
To the viceroy's loose embraces, and cry aim f!
While he, by force or flattery, compels her
'1 o yield her fair name up to his foul lust,
And, after, turn apostata to the faith
That she wus bred in.

Fran. Do but give me bearing,

* to wreak urrono'd innocmce,} \. e. lo rrveuge :

so in The Fatal Dowry.

"J.ut there's a heaven above, from whose jusi wreak
No mists of policy can hide offenders."
* </ cry aim !] See tht Bondman.

ll.J

THE RENEGADO.

123

And you sliall soon grant how ridiculous

This childish fury is. A wise man never

A teuiptts impossibilities; 'ti. as easy

For anv single arm to quell an army,

As to effect your wishes. \Ve come hither

Ti. leant Paulina's fate*, and to redeem her:

Leave your revenge to heaven : I oft have told you,

Of a relict that I gave her, which has power,

If we may credit holy men's tiaditions,

'lv> keep the owner tree f'om violence :

This mi her breast she wears, and does preserve

The virtue of it, by her daily prayers.

So, if she fall not by her own consent,

\\ Inch it were sin to think, 1 fear no force.

Ik 1 , therefore, patient; keep this borrow'd shape,

Till tiint- and opportunity present us

With .some tit means to see her; which perform *d

I'll join with you ia any desperate course

FT her delivery.

Vital. You have charm'd me, sir,
And I obey in all things : pray you, pardon
'I IIH weakness of my passion.

I'niH. And excuse it.

Be cheerful man; for know that good intents
Are, in the end, crown'd with as fair events.

[Exeunt.

SCENT. II. A 1'oomin DONUSA'S Palace.
F.nti'r DOXUSA, MAXTO, nrf CAIIAZIE.

DHH. Have you seen the Christian captive,
The great basha is so enamour'd of?

Mant. Yes, an it please your excellency,
I took a full view of her, when she was
Presented to him.

Don. .And is she such a wonder,
As 'tis reported ?

Mant. She was drown'd in tears then,
Which took much from her beauty ; yet, in spite
Of sorrow, she appear'd the mistress of
Most rare perfections . and. though low of stature,
HtT well-proportion'd limbs invite affection :
And, when she speaks, each syllable is music
That does enchant the hearers : but your highness^,
That are not to be parallell'd, I yet never
Beheld her equal.

Di<n. Come, you flatter me ;
But 1 forgive it. We, that are born great,
Seldom distaste our servants though they give us
More than we can pretend to. I have heard
That Christian ladies live with much more freedom

To learn Paulitia'* fate.] The old copy reads faith ;
the ;tlUT..iiuii, which items judicious, WAS made by Mr. M.
If wan.

t / oft have told you

Of a relic that I gave her, &c. | I have already observed,
thai the language of this pl.n is catholic ; the idea, how-
ever, of tht power of relics, in the preservation of chattily,
may be found in HMDS old romances and books of knight-
errantry, which were undoubtedly familiar to .Mas-inj;<-r.

j but your hiy/mess,] i. e. rjra'pt your Irghness,
tic. In the next line, the modern editors had so trans-
posed the words, as to make it downright prose: it is now
reformed.

$ ft 'e, that are born great,

.Seldom distaste our servant! thovyh they yive u*

A/ore than we can pretend to } i. e. dislike; in which
elite Ihe word fm|iin,tly occurs. Thus Shirley, in the
epilogue to Love in a Mti~e :

" he desires that yon

Should not distaste his muse, because of late
Traiisjilautcd," &c.

Than such as are born here. Our jealous Turks
Never permit their fair wives to be seen,
But at the public bagnios, or the mosques,
And, even then, veil'd and guarded. Thou, Carazie,
Wert born in England ; what's the custom there,
Among your women 1 Come, be free and merry:
I am no severe mistress : nor Last thou met with
A heavy bondage.

Car. Heavy ! I was made lighter
By two stone weight, at least, to be fit to serve you.
Hut to your question, madam ; women in England,
For the most part, live like queens. Your country
Have liberty to hawk, to hunt, to feast, [ladies,
To give free entertainment to all comers,
To talk, to kiss ; there's no such tiling known there
As an Italian girdle. Your city dame.
Without leave, wears the breeches, has her husband
At as much command as her 'prentice ; and, if need
Can make him cuckold by her father's copy. [be,

Don. But your court lady ?

Cr. She, I assure you, madam,
Knows nothing but her will ; must be allow'd
Her footmen, hercaroch", her ushers, pages,
Her doctor, chaplains ; and, as I have heard,
They're grown of late so learn'd, that they maintain
A strange position, which their lords, with all
Their wit, cannot confute.

Don. What's that, 1 prithee ?

Car. Marry, that it is not only fit, but lawful,
Y'our madam there, her much rest and high feeding
Duly consider'd, should, to ease her husband,
Be allow'd a private friend : they have drawn a bill
To this good purpose, and, the next assembly,
Doubt not to pass it.

Don. We enjoy no more,

That are o' the Othoman race, though our religion
Allows all pleasure. 1 am dull : some music.
Take my chapinesf off. So, a lusty strain.

\_A galliard. Knocking within.
Who knocks there?

[Manto goes to the door, and return*.

Mant. 'Tis the basha of Aleppo,
W ho humbly makes request he may present
His service to you.

Don. Reach a chair. We must
I Receive him like ourself, and not depart $ with
j One piece of ceremony, state, and greatness,
| That may beget respect and reverence
In one that's born our vassal. J T ow admit Lim.

Enter MUSTAPIIA ; he puts of his yellow pantoflet.

Nusla. The place is sacred ; and I am to enter
The room where she abides, with such devotion
As pilgrims pay at Mecca, when they visit
The tomb of our great prophet. [Kneck.

* Her footmen, her caroch, her tiihers, page*,} If the
reader would have a pn.ini>iiig specimen of what can be
done by a nice ear, in editing an ancient pott, let him cast
an eye on this line, as it stands in Coxetei, and Mr. M.
Mason :

Her footmen, her coach, her ushers, her page*,
tum-ti-ti, tum-ti-ti, &c.

Take my chapines off.] Chapinf* (Spanish, and not
Italian, an the commentators on .Sh.ikspt-are assert) are a
kind of cloys with thick cork soles, which the ladies wear
on their shoes when the) go abroad.

and not dep.,rt with, &c.] To depart and part

were anciently s-\ nonymoits. Thus Jonson :
" He that deparii with I is own honesty
For vuljjar praise, doth it loo dearly buy."

Epig. li.

THE RENEGADO.

[Acrl.

Don. Rise ; the sign

[Carazie takes tip the pantofies.
That we vouchsafe your presence.

Musta. May those powers

That raised the Othoman empire, and still guard it,
Reward your highness for this gracious favour
You throw ujion your servant ! It hath pleased
The most invincible, mightiest Amurath,
(To speak his other titles would take from him
That in himself does comprehend all greatness,)
To make me the unworthy instrument
Of his command. Receive, divinest lady,

[Delivers a letter.

This letter, sign'd bv his victorious hand,
And made authentic by the imperial seal. [y u

There, when you find me mention'd, far be it from
To think it my ambition to presume
At such a happiness, which his powerful will,
From his great mind's magnificence, not my merit,
Hath shower 'd upon me. But, if your consent
Join with his good opinion and allowance,
To perfect what his favours have begun,
I shall, in my obsequiousness and duty,
Endeavour* to prevent all just complaints,
Which want of will to serve you may call on me.
Don. His sacred majesty writes here, that your

valour

Against the Persian hath so won upon him,
That there's no grace or honour in his gift,
Of which he can imagine you unworthy ;
And, what's the greatest you can hope, or aim at,
It is his pleasure you should be received
Into his royal family provided,
For so far I am trnconfined, that I
Affect and like your person. I expect not
The ceremony which he uses in
Bestowing of his daughters and his nieces :
As that he should present you for my slave,
To love you, if you pleased me ; or deliver
A poniard, on my least dislike, to kill you.
Such tyranny and pride agree not with
My softer disposition. Let it suffice,
For my first answer, that thus far 1 grace you :

[Gives him her hand to kiss.
Hereafter, some time spent to make enquiry
Of the good parts and faculties of your inind,
You shall hear further from me.

Musta. Though all torments
Really suffer'd, or in hell imagined
By curious fiction, in one hour's delay
Are wholly comprehended ; 1 confess
That I stand bound in duty, not to check at
Whatever you command, or please to impose,
For trial of my patience.

Don. Let us find [me ;

Sonw other subject ; too much of one theme cloys
Is't a full mart ?

Mat, in. A confluence of all nations
Are met together : there's variety, too,
Of all that merchants traffic for.
Don. I know not

/ fhall in my obsfquioutneu and duty.

J-'ndeavour, &c.] This, and what follows, are pretty cor-
rect fpcciiiK'iis ot the manner in which the great office r of
the state arc still said to pay their addresses to the prin-
cesses of the imperial family. The age of Ma.'singer pro-
duced many good hittories of the Turks : he follows them,
however, by starts only, for in none of liis plays aie the
manner> of ditfereut countries to mingled and confounded
*tiu this.

I feel a virgin's longing to descend
So far from my own greatness, as to be,
Though not a buyer, yet a looker on
Their strange commodities.

Musta. If without a train,
You dare be seen abroad, I'll dismiss mine,
And wait upon you as a common man,
And satisfy your wishes.

Dim. 1 embrace it.

Provide my veil ; and, at the postern gate,
Convey us out unseen. I trouble you.

Musia. It is my happiness you deign to command
m e- [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Tie Bazar.

GAZET in his Shop; FRANCISCO and VITELLI walking
by.

Caz. What do you lack ? Your choice China
dishes, your pure Venetian crystal of all sorts, of
all neat and new fashions, from the mirror of the
madam, to the private utensil of her chiinihermaid ;
and curious pictures of the rarest beauties of Europe :
Wliat do you lack, gentlemen ?

Fran. Take heed, 1 say ; howe'er it may appear
Impertinent, 1 must express my love,
My advice, and counsel. You are young, Vitelli*,
And may be tempted ; and these Turkish dames,
(Like English mastiffs, that increase their fierceness
By being chain'd up,) from the restraint of freedom,
If lust once fire their blood from a fair object,
Will run a course the fiends themselves would shake
To enjoy their wanton ends. [at,

Viifl. Sir, you mistake me :
I am too full of woe, to entertain
One thought of pleasure, though all Europe's queens
Kneel'd at my feet, and courted me ; much less
To mix with such, whose difference of faith
Must, of necessity, (or I must grant
Myself neglectful of all you have taught, me,)
Strangle such base desires.

Fran. Be constant in
That resolution ; I'll abroad again,
And learn, as far as it is possible,
What may concern Paulina. Some two hours
Shall bring me buck. [Eiit.

Vitfl. Ail blessings wait upon you !

Caz. Cold doings, sir: a mart do you call this 1 *

'slight !

A puddingwife, or a witch with a thrum cap,
That sells ale underground to such as come
'I o know their fortunes in a dead vacation,
Have ten to one more stirring.

Viiel. We must be patient.

Gaz. Your seller by retail ought to be angry,
But when he's fingering money.

Enter GRIMALOI, Master, Boatswain, Sailors, and
Turks.

Vilel. Here are company

Defend me, my good angel, I behold
A basilisk !

Gaz. What do you lack ? what do you lack ? pure
China dishes, clear crystal glasses, a dumb mistress
to make love to .' What do you lack, gentlemen ?

* You art young, Vitelli,' I have added the name,

which teems to have dropt out at the press, to complete the
verse.

SCENE III.]

THE RENEGADO.

155

Grim. Thy mother for a bawd ; or, if thou hast
A handsome one, thy sister for a whore ;
Without these, <io not tell me of your trash,
Or 1 shall spoil your marker.

Vitel. Old Grimaldi*! [stand

Grim 'Zounds, wherefore do we put to sea, or

The racing winds, aloft, or p upon

The tbiiiuy waves, when they rage most ; deride

The thunder of the enemy's shot, board boldly

A merchant's ship for prize, though we behold

The desperate gunner ready to give fire,

And blew the deck up ? wherefore shake we off

Those scrupulous rags of charity arid conscience,

Invented only to keep churchmen warm,

Or feed the hungry mouths of famish 'd beggars ;

But, when we toucli the shore, to wallow in

All sensu-il pleasures?

Mast. Ay, but, noble cnptnin,
To spare a little for un after-clap,
Wt-re not improvidence.

Grim. Hang consideration !
When this is spent, is not our ship tbe same,
Our courage ioa the same, to fetch in more?
The enrh, where it is fertilest, returns not
Wore than three harvests, while the glorious sun
Posts through the zodiac, and makes up the year :
But the sen, which is our mother, (that embraces
Both the rich Indies in her out-stretch'd arms,)
Yields every day a crop, i! we dare reap it.
No, no, my mates, let tradesmen think of thrift,
And usurers hoard up ; let our expense
Be as our comings in are, without bounds,
We are the Neptune* ot the ocean,
And such as traffic shall pay sacrifice
Of their b-st lading ; 1 will have this canvass
Your boy wears, lined with tissue, and the cates
You taste serv'd up in gold : Though we carouse
The tears of orphans in our Gi'eekish wines,
The sighs of undone widows paying for
The music bought to cheer us, ravisli'd virgins
To slavery sold, for coin to feed our riots,
We will have no compunction.

Gaz. Du you hear, sir ?
We have paid for our ground.

Grim. Mum!

Gaz. And I mm too !

For all jour big words, get you further off,
And hinder not the prospect of our shop,
Or

Grim. What will you do ?

Gaz. Nothing, sir, but pray
Your worship to give me handsel.

Grim. By tiie ears,
Thus, sir, by the ears.

Masl. Hold, hold !

Vii-l. You'll s'iil be prating [whore.

Gum. Come, let's he drunk ; then each man to his
'Slight, how do you look ! you had best go find a

corner

To pray in, and repent : do, do, and cry ;
It will shew h'ne in pirates. [Exit.

Matt. We must follow,
Or he will spend our shares.

Boiitsw. I fought for mine.

Musi. Nor am I so precise but I can drab too;
We will not sit out for our parts.

Oltl Critnaldi.'] So the qii,irlc>. i suppose Jlie li-
censer here laid In? h.md upon some harmless interjection:
the uext luckily escaped him.

Boatsw. Agreed. [F.ieunt Muster, Ewihw., Sailor t

Guz. The devil gnaw off his fingers ! If he were
In London, among the clubs, up went his heels
For striking of a 'prentice*. What do you lackl
What do you lack, gentlemen?

1 Turk. I wonder how the viceroy can endure
The insolence of this fellow.

V Turk. Jle receives profit
From the prizes he brings in ; and that excuses
Whatever he commits. Ha! what are these ?

Fnter MUSTAPIIA, and DONUSA veiled.

1 Turk. They seem of rank and cjuality ; observe
them.

Gaz. \\ hat do you lack ? see what you please to

buy ;
Wares of all sorts, most honourable madona.

Vitel. Peace, sirrah, make no noise ; these are not
To be jested with. [people

Don. Is this the Christians' custom,
In the venting their commodities ?

Musta. Yes, best madam.

But you may please to keep your way, here's nothing
But toys and tiifles, not worth your observing.

Dun. Yes, for variety's sake : pray you, shew us,
The chiefest of your wares. [friend,

Vitel. Your ladyship's servant ;
And if, in worth or title, you are more,
My ignorance plead my pardon !

Dun. He speaks well. [mirror

Vitel. Take down the looking-glass. Here is a
Steel'tl so exactly, neither taking from
Nor flattering the object it returns
To the beholder, that Narcissus might
(And never grow enamour'd of himself)
View his fair feature in't.

Dim. Poetical too !

Vitel. Here China dishes to serve in a banquet,
Though the voluptuous Persian sat a guest.
Here crystal glasses, such as Ganymede
Did fill with nectar to the Thunderer,
When he drunk to Alcides, and received him
In the fellowship of the gods ; true to the owners f.

If he were

Jn London, amoiiy the clubs, up went his heeh,
For stiiiiiny of a 'prent.ce.] Tlie police 01 the city seems
to li.iv>> ti.-rii wretchedly conducted at this time, when pri-
vate injuries were left to private redress, and public brawls
composed by the inlcit'ercnce of a giddy rubble. V.very
house, at least every shop, was furnished with bludgeons,
with which, on the slightest appearance of a tray, til; in-
habitants armed themselves, and nislitd in swarms to tbe
scene of action. From the petulance of the young citizen",
who then mixed littlr \\ith the gci.lry, and the real or af-
fected contempt ill which the latter professed to In I.I them,
subjects of contention were perpetually arising : the city
final for reinforcements, was a cry of "clubs, clubs!"
and the streets were instantly tilled with armed apprentices.
To this curious system of preserving the peace, our old
drain.iti-ts have frequent allusions. Thus, in Decker's
Honi'st H bore, where a merrer is struck, his servant ex-
claims: " 'Sfojt, clulis! clubs.' prentices, down with them !
ah you rogues, strike a citizen in his shop!" Again, in
Green s 'lutyunque, Staines s.iys :

" Sirrah ! bv jour outside you seem a citizen,
Wh.ise coxcomb 1 were pt enough to break,
I'm lor the Uw. <><>, you're a prating Jack
Nor is'l your hopes of crying out for ciubt,
Can save yon irmn my ch islisemcni."
t Here crystal glasses true to the owners, &c.] This,
and wli.it follows, i.- a correct account of ihe nolion once
enli'i-Uii,]. -<|, respecting the erti-ct or poison on Venice glasses ;
a circumstance "Inch woii'leriully increased their value. Il
may be aided, that the chief mamnaclory for glass was at
llii.i time in the vi>:,iiy oi tmi ei;>. All. Cilclirist imcrms
me, from Stow, that " the first making of Venice i,Ussea 1C

126

THE RENEGADO.

Corintbian plate, studded with diamonds,
Conceal'd oft deadly poison ; this pure metal
So innocent is, and faithful to the mistress
Or master that possesses it, that, rather
Than hold one drop that's venomous, of itself
It flies in pieces, and deludes the traitor.

Don. I low movingly could this fellow treat upon
A worthy subject, that finds such discourse
To grace a trifle !

Vitel. Here's a picture, madam ;
The masterpiece of Michael Angelo,
Our great Italian workman ; here's another,
So perfect at all parts, that had Pygmalion
Seen this, his prayers had been made to Venus
To have given it life, and his carved ivory image
By poets ne'er remember'd. They are, indeed,
The rarest beauties of the Christian world,
And no where to be equall'd.

Don. You are partial

In the cause of those you favour ; I believe
I instantly could shew you one, to theirs
Not much inferior.

Vuei. With your pardon, madam,
I am incredulous.

Don. Can you match me this? [.Lifts lier veil.

Vitel. What wonder look I on ! I'll search above,
And suddenly attend you. [Exit.

Don. Are you amazed ?
I'll bring you to yourself. [Throws down the glasses.

Musta. Ha ! what's the matter ?

Gas. My master's ware ! We are undone! O

strange !

A lady to turn roarer, and break glasses* !
Tis time to shut up shop then.

Miittu. You seem moved.
If any language of these Christian dogs
Have call'd your anger on, in a frown shew it,
And they are dead already.

Don. The offence

Looks not so far. The foolish paltry fellow
Shew'd me some trifles, and demanded of me,
For what I valued at so many aspers,
A thousand ducats. I confess he moved me;
Yet I should wrong myself, should such a beggar
Receive least loss from me.

Musta. Is it no more ?

Don. No, I assure you. Bid him bring his bill
To-morrow to the palace, and enquire
For one Donusa ; that word gives him passage
Through all the guard : say, there he shall receive
Full satisfaction. Now, when you please.

Musta. I wait you. [Ereunt Musta. and Don*

1 Turk. We must not know them. Let's shift
off, and vanish. [Exeunt Turks.

Gaz. The swine 's-pox overtake you ! there's a curse
For a Turk, that eats no hog's flesh.

He-enter YMELLI.

Vitel. Is she gone ?

Gaz. Yes : you may see her handiwork.

Vitel. No matter.
Said she ought else ?

Gaz. That you should wait upon her,
And there receive court payment ; and, to pass
The guards, she bids you only say you come
To one Donusa.

Vitel. How ! Remove the wares :
Do it without reply. The sultan's niece !
I have heard, among the Turks, for any lady
To show her face bare, argues love, or spesika
Her de>uily hatred. What should 1 fear? my fortune
Is sunk so low, there cannot fall upon me
Aught worth my shunning. I will run the hazard :
She may be a means to free distress'd Paulina
Or, if offended, at the worst, to die

Is a full period to calamity.

[IMt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Room in DONUSA'S Palace.
Enter CARAZIE and MANTO.

Car. In the name of wonder, Manto, what hath my
Done with herself, since yesterday 1 [lady

Mant. I know not.

Malicious men report we are all guided
In our affections by a wandering planet ;
But such a sudden change in such a person,
May stand for an example, to confirm
Their false assertion.

England, began at the Crotched Fryars, in London, about
the beginning of (he r^igne of Queen Elizabeth, by one
Jacob Venaline, an Italian." These, I suspect, were not,
like the genuine one*, true to the owner*. There is an allu-
sion in t.ni-t .--peerh to a beautiful passage in Juvcii.il-
" -- nv/la aconita bibunt'tr
Fii:til:bvi ; tune iila time, cum pocula iumrs
Gemmata, et lato Setinum urdetiit in aura." Sat. x.
A lady to turn roarer, and break glasses!} A roarer
was the c.int term for what we now c.iil .1 blustircr, or
bully. Thus Gazet, in the third act, says to GriinalUi, in
liii slate of reformation,

Now, you do not roar, tir.

Car. She's now pettish, froward ;
Music, discourse, observance, tedious to her.

Mant. She slept not the last night ; and yet pre-
vented

The rising sunt, in being up before him :
Call'd for a costly bath, then will'd the rooms
Should be perfumed ; ransack'd her cab'nets
For her choice and richest jewels^, and anpea-s
now

[Exeunt Mutta. and Don.] Nothing can exceed ihe
negligence with which the exits and entrances are marked
by Mr. M. Mason : in this pUre he gives a speech to the
lurks, after sen:liii them off the st:i$;c !

t Mant. She slept not the last nitjl.t ; and yet prevented

inc rising m,| MaiMneer explains hin.telf: but the
expression is from the Psalms: "Mine eye* prevent the
night watches."

J for her choice and richest jewels.] This is mod. -mixed
by Coxeter and Mr. M. Miton.Iulo chowitt, richeit jewels:
although the frequent rcni rente of the i-xpiv s .-i..ii might
nave t-tiight them caution on the subject ; it is found rfgdii.
10 tliis very play;

" Adoi neii in her choice and richest jewel*."

Act. V. ic. iii.

SCTVB III.]

THE REN KG A DO.

Like Cynthia in full glorv, waited on
By the fairest of tlie stars.

Car. Can you guess the reason,
\\\ty the aga of the janizaries, and he
That guards the entrance of the inmost port,
Were call'd before her?

AlaMf. They are both her cre-.ituros,
And by her grace preferr'd : but I am ignorant
To what purpose they were sent for.

Enter DONUSA.

Car. Here she comes,

Full of sad thoughts : we must stand further off.
What a frown was that !

Mant. Forbear.

Cor. I pity her. [self?

Don. What ma^ric hath trnnsform'd me from my-
Where is mv virgin pride? how have 1 lost
My boasted freedom ? what new fire burns up
My scorched entrails? what unknown desires
Invade, and take possession of my soul,
All virtuous objects vanish 'd ? I, that have stood*
The shock of lierce temptations, stopp'd mine ears
Against all syren notes lust ever sung,
To draw my "bark of chastity (that with wonder
Hath kept a constant and an honour'd course)
Into the gulph of a deserved ill-lame,
Now fall unpitied ; and, in a moment,
With mine own hands, dig up a grave to bury
The monumental heap of all my years,
Lmplov'd in noble actions. O, mv lire !
but there is no resis'ing. 1 obey thee,
Imperious god of love, and willingly
Put mine own fetters on, to grace tliy triumph :
'Twere, therefore, more than cruelty in thee,
To use me like a tyrant. What poor means
Must I make use of now ; and flatter such,
To whom, till 1 betray 'd my liberty,
One gracious look of mine would have erected
An altar to my service ! How now. Mauto !
My ever careful woman ; and, C'arazie,
Thou hast been faithful too.

Car. 1 dare not call

My life mine own, since it is yours, but gladly
Will part with it, whene'er you shall command me;
And think 1 fall a martyr, so my deaik.
Mav give life to your pleasures.

Mant. I5ut vouchsafe
To let ire understand what you desire
Should l>e etfectKl; I will undertake it.
And curse n.yself for cowardice, if 1 paused
To ask a reason why.

Dan. I am comforted

In the tender of your service, but shall be
Confirm 'd in my full joys, in the p_-r!orinance.
Vet, trust me, I will not impose upon you
But what you stand engaged for to a mistress,
Such as 1 have been to you. All 1 ask,
Is faith and secrecy.

Cur. Say but you doubt me,
And. to secure you, I'll cut out my tongue ;
I am libb'd in the breech already.

Munt. Do not hinder
Yourself, by these delays.

' I that have stand. &c.] This fine siK-ech. a it hath been
hitherto given in all the riliiiun-, is absolute IHHIM-IIM-. I
have \viitnrtd to reform the pointing altogether, anil to
insert that t>< tore have, which is the greutett liberty 1 have
vet taken with the old cop>.

Dun. Tl'US then I whisper

Mine own shame to \ou. O that I should blush
To speak what I so much desire to do!
And, fur'liiT [II hispers mid uses vehement action

Mant. Is this all!

Dun. I hiiik it not base :
Although 1 know the office undergoes
A coarse construction.

Car. Coarse! 'tis but procuring;
A smock employment, which liiis made more knights.
In a country 1 could name, than twenty years
Of service in the h'eUI.

Dan. Ymi have my ends. [wanting

Munt. Which say you have arrived at: be not
To yourself, and fear not us.

Cr. 1 know mv burthen ;
I'll bt-ar it with delight.

M'litt. Talk not, hut do. [Eiennt Cur. and Mant.

Dow. O love, what poor shifts thou dost force us
to ! [Exit.

SCENE II. A Court in the same.
Enter Aga, Capiaga, and Janizaries.

Aga. She was ever our good mistress, and our

maker,

And should we check at a little hazard for her,
| \Ve, were unthankful.

Cup. I dare pawn my he;id,
'Tis some disguised minion of the court,
Sent from great Amurath, to learn from her
'1 La viceroy's actions.

A<ra. That concerns not us ;

His fall may he our rise : whate'cr he be,
He passes through my guards.

Cno. And mine provided
He give the word.

Enter VITELIJ.

Vitel. To faint now, being thus far,
Would arcue me of cowardice.

Aga. Stand : the word :
Or, being a Christian, to press thus far,
Forfeits thy life.

Vitel. Oonusa.

Aga. I'iiss in peace. \Eieunt Aga and Janisaries

Vitel. What a privilege her name bears !
'Tis wondrous strange ! If the great officer,
The guardian of the inner port, deny not

Cup. Thy warrant : Speak, or thou art dead.

Vitel. Donusa.

Cap. 1 hat protects thee ;
Without fear enter. So : discharge the watch.

[Ei emit Vitelli and Capiagta.

SCENE III. An outer Room in the same.
Enter CARAZIE and MANTO.

Car. Though he hath past the aga and chief porter,
This cannot be the man.

Mant. By her description,
1 am sun- it is.

Car. O women, women,
What are you ? A great lady dote upon
A harbenlasher of small wares !

Mant. Pish ! thou hast none.

Car. No ; if I had, I might have served tLe turn:
This 'tis to want munition, when a man
Should make a breach, and enter.

THE RENEGADO.

[AcrU.

Enter VITELU.

Ma7it. Sir, you are welcome :
Think what 'tis to be h.ippy, and possess it.

Cif. Perfume the rooms there, and make way.

Let music

With choice notes entertain the man the princess
Now purposes to honour*.

Vitel. I am ravish'd. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Room pf State in the same. A table
setjorth, with jewels and bags upon it.

Loud music. Enter DONVSA, (fallowed by CARAZIF,)

unit takts her seat.

Don. Sing o'er the ditty that I last composed
Upon my lovesick passion: suit your voice
To the music that's placed yonder, we shall hear you
With more delight and pleasure.

Car. I obey you. [&>ng.

During the song, enter MANTO and VITELLI.

Vitel. Is not this Tempe, or the blessed shades,
Where innocent spirits reside? or do 1 dream,
And this a heavenly vision? Howsoever,
It is a sight too g'orious to behold,
For such a wretch as I am.

Car. HP is daunted.

Mant. Speak to him. madam ; cheer him up, or you
Destroy whai you have built.

Car. Would I were furnish 'd
With his artillery, and if I stood
Gaping as he does, hang me. [Aside.

[Extunt Carazie and Mania.

Vitel. That I might
Ever dream thus ! [Kneeli

Don. Banish amazement ;

You wake : your debtor tells you so, your debtor :
And, to assure you that I am a substance f,
And no aerial figure, thus I raise you.
Why do you shake? my soft touch brings no ague:
No biting frost is in this palm ; nor are
My looks like to the Gorgon's head, that turn $
Men into statues; rather they have power,
Or 1 have been abused, where they bestow
Their influence, (let me prove it truth in you,)
To give \o dead men motion.

Vitel. Can this be ?

May 1 believe my senses? Dare I think
I have a memory, or that you are

Car. Perfume the rooms there, and make way. Let
music

njed

With choice note* entertain the man, the princett

Aotc purposes to honour.} These lines are thus arra
by Coiner ad Mr M Mason:

c-ar. Perfume Hie room* there, and make way,
Let music choice note* entertain the man,
The yrim:ess note purposes to honour.

The reader ma) consider x* bethel it was worth while to
lophisticate the o.d ropy, for llie sake of producing three
lino of barbarous prose.

t And, to assure you that I am a substance,} The omi-
ion ot llie article by Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason, utterly I
destroy* the metre.

t that turn] Mr. M. Mason reads, that /unit.- but !

he mbUkolhc government of the xtrb, \\liicli i.< not Gor-
con's head, bin looks, as is Mirricieiiily clear tiom what Ibl- !
lows. 1 in n -i observe lure, thai Massiii'_r is too apt, in
the wnr| of hone* Doybt-rrx . to l.-i h't writing and rradiny \
appear, when then i* no need of tuck vanity. N ot oidy |
Viti-lli, bin L)..nu ? a and all In r omit appear .1-. familiar with '
the heathen mythology, as Ovid hiniM.Il.

That excellent creature that of late di.-dained not
To look on my poor trifles?

Don. I am she.

Vitel. The owner of that blessed name, Donusa,
Whicl), like a potent charm, although pronounced
By my profane, but much unworthier, tongue,
Hath brought me safe to this forbidden place,
Where Christian yet ne'er trod?

Don. I am the same.

Vitel. And to what end, great lady pardon me,
That 1 presume to ask, did your command
Command me hither? Or what am I, to whom
You should vouchsafe your favours ; nay, your an-
If any wild or uncollected speech, [gers?

Offensively deliver'd, or my doubt
Of your unknown perfections, have displeased you,
You wrong your indignation to pronounce,
Yourself, my sentence : to have seen you only,
And to have touch'd that fortune-making hand,
Will with delight weigh down all tortures, that
A flinty hangman's rage could execute,
Or rigid tyranny command with pleasure.

Don. How the abundance of >:oed flowing tothee,
Is wrong'd in this simplicity ! and these bounties,
Which all our eastern kings have kneel 'd in vain for,
Do, by thy ignorance, or wiliul fear,
Meet with a false construction ! Christian, know
(For till thou art mine by a nearer name,
That title, though abhorr'd here, lakes not from
Thy entertainment) that 'tis not the fashion
Among the greatest and the fairest dames
This Turkish empire gladly owes* and bows to,
To punish where there's no offence, or nourish
Displeasures against those, without whose mercy
They part with all felicity. Prithee, be wise,
And gently understand me ; do not force her,
That ne'er knew aught but to command, nor e'er read
The elements of affection, but from such
As gladly sued to her, in the infancy
Of her new-born desires, to be at once
Importunate and immodest.

Vitel. Did I know,
Great lady, your commands ; or, to what purpose
'1 his personated passion tends, (since 'twere
A crime in me deserving death, to think
It is your own,) 1 should, to make you sport,
Take any shape you please t' impose upon me ;
And with joy strive to serve you.

Don. Sport ! Thou art cruel,
If that thou canst interpret my descent
From my high birth and greatness, but to be
A partf, in which I truly act myself:
And I must hold thee for a dull spectator,
If it stir not affection, and invite
Compassion for my sufferings. Be thou taught
By my example, to make satisfaction
For wrongs unjustly offer'd. Willingly
I do confess my fault ; 1 injured thee
In some poor petty trifles : thus I pay for
The trespass I did to thee. Here receive

* Thi* Turkish empire gladly oxves and bows to,] i hough
nothing is more common m our i.ld writer-, than llie use of
this word (xve) in the M'lise of posses*, yrt Coxeler and
Mr. M. Mason invariably corrupt it imo own. 1 have
alrea-iy noticed this; and Kir Hie future, .-hall content my-
stlf with silently restoiiiig the genuine muling,
t but to be

A part, &r.] i. e. to I* nolh'my more than a ficiition* cha-
racter; alludiM- to his termini; her paMn personated, OI
played.

CTMR V.J

THE KENEGADO.

If*

These bags, stuff'tt full of our imperial coin ;
Or, if this payment be too light, take here
These gems, for which the slavish Indian dives
To the bottom of the m;iin : or, it'thou scorn
These as base dross, which take but common minds,
But fancy any honour in my gift.
Which is unbounded as the sultan's power,
And be possest oft.

Vitf.l. 1 am overwhelm'd

With the weight of happiness you throw upon me :
Nor can it fall in my imagination,
What wrong you e'er have done me*; and much

less

How, like a royalf merchant, to return
Your great magnifuence.

Don. They are degrees,
Not ends, of my intended favours to thee.
These seeds of bounty 1 yet scatter on
A glebe I have not tried : but, be thou thankful,
The harvest is to come.

Vitel. What 1-1111 be added
To that whii h 1 already have received,
I cannot comprehend.

Don. The tender of

Myself. Why d st thou start? and in that gift,
Full restitution of that virgin freedom
Which thou hast robb'd me of. Yet, I profess,
I so far prize the lovely thief that stole it,
That, were it possible thou couldst restore
W hat thou unwittingly hast ravish'd from me.
I should refuse the present.

Vitel. How I shake

In my constant resolution! and my flesh,
Rebellious to my better part, now tells me,
As if it were a strong defence of fniilty,
A hermit in a desert, trench'd with prayers,
Could not resist this battery.

Don. Thou an Italian,
Nay more, 1 know't, a natural Venetian,
Such as are courtiers b-'.rn to please fair ladies,
Yet come thus slowly on.

Vitel. Excuse me. madam :
What imputation soe'er the world
Is pleased to lay upon us, in myself
I am so innocent, that 1 know not what 'tis
That I should offer.

Don. By instinct I'll teach thee,
And with such ease as love makes me to ask it.
When a young lady wrings you by the hand, thus,
Or with an amorous touch presses your foot,
Looks babies in \ our eyes, plays with your locks,
Do not you find, without a tutor's help,
What 'tis she looks for ?

Vitel. I am grown already
Skilful in the mystery.

Don. Or, if thus sue kiss you,
Then tastes your lips again

What wronij you e'er have done me ;] The old copy
rends, t 1 hat wrong I e er have done jon. This transpoM-
ti.-n i-f pronouns, tor vhii-h I am answerable, seems abso-
lutely mcess,iry to make scii-e of the passage.

f How, lii.e a ioya! inercli.iiit, to return
Your yreut mai/nijicence.] \\eareuot to imagine the word,
rot/it to be only a iMnliii" cpilhct. In the thirteenth cen-
tury, the Veiieli.ms were m.isti rs of the se.i ; the Sanmi<.s,
(he Jn-limaiii, tiie (iiimalili, &c., all merchant*, erected
principalities in >e>er.d pi ices of tin- Aichipel.i^o, (which
tr:r uVscrndants <-nj)ed lor in my mni-r.it ions,) and
thereby became truly ..nd properly royal merchants : which,
indeed, was the title generally given them all over Europe.
\VABBURTON.

Vilfl. That latter blow
Has beat all chaste thoughts from me.

Don. Say, she points to

Some private room the sunbeams never enter,
Provoking dishes passing by, to heighten
Declined appetite, active music ushering
Your fainting steps, the waiters too, as born dumb,
Not daring to look on you.

[Exit, inuiting him to follow.

Vitel. Though the devil
Stood by, and roar'd, I follow : Now I find
That virtue's but a word, and no sure guard,
If set upon by beauty and reward. [Ei-t't.

SCENE V. A Hall in ASAMHEC'S House.

Enter Aga, Capiaga, GRIMAI.DI, Master, Boatswain,
and others.

Aga. The devil's in him, I think.

Grim. Let him be damn'd too.
I'll look on him, though he stared as wild as bell ;
Nay, I'll go near* to tell him to his teeth,
If he mends not suddenly, and proves more thankful,
We d.) him too much service. Were't not for shame
I could turn honest, and forswear my trade : [now
Which, next to being truss'd up at the maiiiyard
By some low country butterbox, 1 hate
As deadly as I do fasting, or long grace
When meat < ools on the table.

Cup. But take heed ;
You know his violent nature.

Grim. Let his whores

And catamites know't: I understand myself,
And how unmanly 'tis to sit at home,
And rail at us, that run abroad all hazards,
If every week we bring not home new pillage,
For the fatting his seraglio.

Enter ASAMBEG and

Aga. Here he comes.

Cap. How terrible he looks !

Grim. To such as fear him.

The viceroy, Asambeg! were he the sultan's self,
He'll let us know a reason for his fury,
Or we must take leave, without his allowance,
To be merry with our ignorance.

J.vim. Mahomet's hell
Light on you all ! You crouch and cringe now :

\\ here
Was the terror of my just frowns, when ycu

sufter'd

Those thieves of Malta, almost in our harbour,
To board a ship, and bear her safely oft',
While you stood idle lookers on?

Aga. The odds

In the men and shipping:, and the suddenness
Of their departure, yielding us no leisure
To send forth others to relieve our own,
Deterr'd us, mighty sir.

* JVay, I'll go near to tell Mm to hit terth.} This is a
colloqni.il |.liraiv, and means J am not unlikely, J will not
tervple mvrh, to ti-11 him to his teeth ;-lhc modern ediiors,
comprehending neither the sell:* nor the measure of the
line, read,

A'ay, J'll go noarrr to tell him to hit teeth !

t Enter ASAMBU: and MrsTrH*.j Mr. M. Ala.on reads,
Enter Asaixbeu, Mu>1<tpha, and Aga! Did not the cor
recte>t of all ediiors ob>ei ve tli.H he had marked the en
trance 01 the a^.i a few lines above? It is inte, Cosetei
has the same direction, but ihif is no excuse lor one wboie
sole pretence to credit is the reformation oi hu errors.

15V

THE RENEGADO.

[Acr IT.

Asam. Deterr'd you, cowards !
How durst, you only entertain the knowledge
Of what fear was. but in the not performance
Of our command ? In me great Amurath spake;
My voice did echo to your ears his thunder,
And will'd you, like so many sea-born tritons,
Arm'd only" with the trumpets of your courage,
To swim up to her, and, like remoras*
Hanging upon her keel, to stay her flight.
Till rescue, sent from us, had fetch'.l you off.
You think you're safe now. Who durst but dis-
pute it,

Or make it questionable, if, this moment,
I < harged you, from yon hanging cliff, that glasses
His rugged forehead in the neighbouring lake,
To throw yourselves down headlong > or, like faggots,
To fill the ditches of defended torts,
While on your backs we march'd up to the breach ?

Grim. That would not I.

A sum. Ha !

Grim. Yet I dare as mud)
As any of the sultan's boldest sons,
Whose heaven and hell haug on his frown or smile,
His warlike janizaries.

Asam. Add one syllable more,
Thou dost pronounce upon thyself a sentence
That, earth(|iiake-like, will swallow thee.

Gr>m. Let it cp.'ii,

I'll stand the hazard ; those contemnfd thieves,
Your fellow-pirates, sir, the bold .Maltese,
Whom with your looks you think to quell, at Rhodes
Lau-h'd at great. Solynmn's anger : and, it" treason.
Had not delivered them into his power,
He had grown old in glory as in \ < ;irs.
At that so fitnl siege ; or risen with shame,
His bones and threats deluded.

A&im. Our great prophet !
How have 1 lost my anger and mv power !

Grim. Find it. and use it on thy flutterers.
And not upon thy friends, that. d:ire speak truth.
Thesu knights of ,M;ilt;>, but. a handful to
Your armies, that drink f rivers up, have stood
Your fury at the height, ami with their crosses
Struck pale your homed moon.-f ; these men of Malta,
Since I took pay from you, I've met. and fought with,
Upon advantage too ; yet, to spe;ik truih.
By the soul of honour, I have ever found them
As piovident to direct and hold to do,
As any train'd up in your discipline,
Ravish'd from oilier nations.

Mmta I perceive

The lightning in his fiery looks ; the cloud
Is broke already.

Grim. Think not, therefore, sir,

tike remor s

JIanyinj u on her heel] Keillor* i< * fi-li, nr kind f
worm llial Mick:, In shi,.s ami retards their |n?,. tu r ilnui^li
the water. An exut.-ll.ut illu>ti aii,.n uccur* in Stienser'i
"World's Va.iilie: '

All aodainly tin re clove unto lier hrrle

A litile li li ih.il IIILMI call remora.
Which (topi her coinse, and IK I tier hy the hi-cle
That w mde nor tide could move lu-r hence away.

t Your armlet that drink river* up,] Injudiciously nltere I
by Mr. .M. Ma-un, lo drank iun up.

J and with their cros.e

Struck pale your homed moon, :] This elegant allusion to
the inijir. MI or' me Maltese an i Tm ki-li Maiiil.inU, is beau-
tifully varied in Thr Kniyht of Malta, by 1 li-clnr:
"Ami all ilu-ir nUei crncrnt* I t-u I *aw,
Like tailing meteors i-pent, aii.l net tor ever
t'uilvr the crott of ilali.i."

That you alone are giants, and such pigmies
You war upon.

A-am, \'i.lain ! I'll make thee know
Thou hast blasphemed the. Othoman power, and safef
At noonday, might'st have given lire to St. Mark's,
Your proud Venetian temple. Seize upon him ;
I am not so near reconciled 'o him,
To bid him die ; that were a benefit
The dog's unworthy of. To our use confiscate
All that he stands possi-ss'd of; let him taste
The misery of want, and his vain riots.
Like lo so many walking ghosts, ail'right him
Where'er lie sets hi.s desperate foot. Who is't
'lliat does command you !

Grim. Is this the reward
For all my service, and the rape I made
On fair Paulina 1

As'im. Drag him hence : he dies,
'I hat dallies hut a minute.

[Griinnld' is dnigg'd off, his ht:id covered.
Po'tsw. \\ hat's become of
Our shares now, master ?

Must. Would he had been born dumb!
The beggar's cure, pati- nee, is till that's left us.

[r'.iciiut Muster and Buatsicain.
Mittta. Twas but intemperance of speech, excuse
Let me prevail so far. Fame gives him out [him ;
For a deserving fellow.

Astim. At Aleppo,

1 durst not press you so far : give me leave
To use my own will, and command in Tunis;
And, if yon please, my privacy.

Mustu. I will see you,
When th.s high wind's blown o'er. [Eait.

Asam. So shall you find me
Ready tc do you service. Rage, now leave me;
Stern looks, and ail the ceremonious forms
Attending on dread majesty, lly from
Transformed Asambeg. \Yliy should I hug 1

[P//s out a let/.

So near my heart, what leads me to my prison;
Where she that is inthrall'd. commands her keeper,
And robs me of the fierceness 1 was bora with ?
Stout men qiiiike at my frowns, and in return
1 tremble at her softness. Jiase Grimaldi
Hut only iiMiiu-d Paulina, and the charm
Had almost choak'd my fury, ere 1 could [her,

Pronounce his sentence. Would, when first 1 saw
ftline eyes had met with lightning, and in place
Of hearing her enchanting tongue, the shrieks
Of mandrakes had made, music to mv slumbers!
For now I only walk a loving dream,
And, but to my dishonour, never wake :
And yet am blind, but when I see the object,
And madly dote on it. Appear, bright spark

[Opens u di>or ; Paulina cainetfvrlh.
Of all perfection ! any simile
liorrow'd from diamonds, or the fairest stars,
To help me to express how dear I prize
'1 hy uiimatch'd graces, will rise up and chide me
For poor detraction.

P<"'{. I despise thy flatteries :
Thus spit at them and scorn them ; and being arm'd
In the assurance of my innocent virtue,
I stamp upon all doub's, all fears, all tortures,
1 by barbarous cruelty, or, what's worse, thy dotage,
The worthy parent of thy jealousy,
Can shower upon me.

Aium. It' these biitur taunU

SCFXE VI.]

THE REXEGADO.

131

Ravish me from myself, and make me think
Mv greedy ears receive angelical sounds ;
How would this tongue, tuned to a loving note
Invade, and take possession of my soul,
Which then I durst not call my own !

Punt. Thou art false,

Falser than tny religion. Do but think me
Something above a beast, nay more, a monster
Would fright the sun to look" on. and then tell me,
If this base usage can invite affection ?
If to be mewed up, and excluded from
Human society; the use of pleasures ;
The necessary, not superfluous, duties
Of servants to discharge those offices
I blush to name

Astim. Of servants ! Can you think
That I, that dare not trust the eve of heaven
To look upon your beauties : that deny
Mvself the happiness to touch your pureness,
Will e'er consent an eunuch, or bought handmaid,
Shall once approach you ? There is something in
That can work miracles, or 1 am cozen 'd, [you

Dispose and alter sexes, to my wrong,
]n spite of nature. I will be your nurse,
Your woman, your physician, and your fool ;
Till, with your free consent, which I have vow'd
Never to f..rce. yon grace me with u name
Tha* shall supply all these.

Paid. What is it?

Afim. Your husband.

Pant. Mv hangman when thou pleasest.

As>im. Thus 1 guard me
Against your further angers [Leads her to the doer.

Pal. \\ Lich shall reach thee,
Though I were in the centre.

\ Asainbig closes the door upon her, and lock* it.

Asum. Such a spirit,

In such a small proportion, I ne'er read of,
\Vliu li time must alter : Ravish her I dare not ;
1 he magic that she wears about her neck,
I think, defends her: this devotion paid
To this sweet saint, mistress of my sour pain,
'Tis tit 1 take mine own mugh .-hape again. [Exit.

SCENE VI. A Strett near Donusa's Palace.

Enter FHANCISCO and GAZET.
Fran. I think he's lost.
Gus. Tis ten to one of that ;
I ne'er knew citizen turn courtier yet,
Hut he lost his credit, though he saved himself.
Why, look you, sir, there are so many lobbies,
Ou'-offices, and dispartations here*,
Behind these Turkish hangings, that a Christian
Hardly gets off but circumcised.
Enter VITELI.I richly habited, CARAZIE, and MANTO.

Fran I am troubled,
Troubled exceedingls'. Ha! what are these?

Out-officrs, and divinations here,] I have already
observed ilui thi-ie is but one edition of this pl.iy. which
read* in this pi ire, dit/jute actions: tin- error WHS detected
at the press, and exchanged iint'ortiiiiHlely fr another, ditpu-
tatioru! which is ihe reeling of Co\ettr aiM Mr. M. Mason.
1 h.ive examined wveral copies, but can find no further cor-
rection: d'tptirtationt, which is her.- adopted, is the con-
jrctur.il amendment of Mr. l),vii-s,who SHJS, that it sig-
nifies "s<-p irate ap<ut!iu nU ;" if it be so. it is will; at any
rate it is bener lli.m the old reading, which signifies nothing.
An ingcniiHIs Iriend, to wiioui l-ln\>,d the p.issige, i in-
clined t Ihink th<t the geimiiit- word WHS dit, arntimtt, from
the Latin ditparata. l leave tht -whole to the reader.

Gaz. One, by his rich suit, should be some French

ambassador ;
For his train, I think they are Turks.

Fnm. Peace ! be not seen. [cover'd,

Car. You are now past all the guards, and undis-
You may return.

Vitel There's for your pains : forget not
My humblest service to the best of ladies.

Hunt. Deserve her favour, sir, in making haste
For a second entertainment.

[Exeunt Carazie and Manto.

Vitel. Do not doubt me ;
I shall not live till then.

Gaz. The train is vanish 'd :

They have done him some good office, he's so free
And liberal of his gold. Ha ! do I dream,
Or is this mine own natural master J

Fran. Tis he :

But strangely metamorphosed. You have made, sir,
A prosperous voyage ; heaven grant it be honest,
I shall rejoice then too.

Gas. You make him blush,
To talk of honesty : you were but now
In the giving vein, and may think of Gazet,
Your worship's 'prentice.

Vitfl. There's gold : be thou free too,
And master of my shop, and all the wares
We brought from Venice.

GHZ. Rivo, then* !

Vitel. Dear sir,

This place affords not privacy for discourse ;
But I can tell you wonders ; my rich habit
Deserves least admiration ; there is nothing
1 hat can fall in the compass of your wishes.
Though it were to redeem a thousand slaves
From the Turkish galleys, or, at home, to erect
Some pious work, to shame all hospitals,
But I am master of the means.

Fran. 'Tis strange.

Vitel. As I walk, I'll tell you more.

Gas. Pray you, a word, sir ;
And then I will put. on. I have one boon more.

Vitel. Whatis't? speak freely.

Gaz. Thus thenf : As I am master
Of your shop and wares, pray you, help me to some

trucking
With your last she-customer ; though she crack my

best piece,
I will endure it with patience.

Vitel. Leave your prating.

Gas. I may : you have been doing, we will do too.

Fran. I am amazed, yet will not blame nor chide

you,

Till you inform me further : yet must say,
They steer not the right course, nor traffic well,
That seek a passage to reach heaven through hell.

[Ettunt

Cos. Rivo, then.'] This interjection (corrupted, I sup-
pose, horn the Spani.-h riot which is figuratively used fora
large quantity of liquor) is frequently introduced by our
< Id poets, ami generally at an incitement to boisterous mi rib
Mid jevelry.

tGax. 'I 'hut then: At I am matter, ttc.] This poor ri-
baldry is introduced to "net on some quantity of barren
s ecUti.rs to laugh," and 'tis to be reercltfd, lor 'he re.-t of
Ihe act ha> a vein of genuine poetr) running thioiigh it,
which would noi debase the nohlml compositions of the
times. I suppose Mas>iru:er' excuse inuat be that of
much greater man, tic viritur.

IS*

THE RENEGADO.

[Acr HI.

ACT III.

SCENE I. A Roomin Donusa's Palace.
Enter DONUSA and MANTO.

Don. When said he he would come again?

Mant. He swore,

Short minutes should be tedious ages to him,
Until the tender of his second service :
So much he seem'd transported with the first.

Don. I am sure I was. I charge thee, Manto, tell
By all my favours and my bounties, truly, [me,
Whether thou art a virgin, or, like me,
Hast forfeited that name ?

Mant. A virgin, madam*,

At my years ! being a waiting-woman, and in court
That were miraculous. I so long since lost [too !
That barren burthen, I almost forget
That ever I was one.

Don. And could thy friends
Read in thy face, thy maidenhead gone, that thou
Hadst parted with it?

Mant. No, indeed : I past
For current many years after, till, by fortune,
Long and continued practice in the sport
Blew up my deck ; a husband then was found out
By my indulgent father, and to the world
All was made whole again. What need you fear, then,
That, at your pleasure, may repair your honour,
Durst any envious or malicious tongue
Presume to taint it ?

Enter CARAZIE.

Don. How now ?

Car. Madiim, the basha
Humbly desires access.

Don. If it had been

My neat Italian, thou hadst met my wishes.
Tell him we would be private.

Cor. So I did,
But he is much importunate.

Mant. Best dispatch him ;
His lingering here else will deter the other
From making his approach.

Don. His entertainment
Shall not invite a second visit. Go ;
Say we are pleased.

Enter MUSTAPIJA.

Must. All happiness

Don. Be sudden.

'Twas saucy rudeness in you, sir, to press
On my retirements ; but ridiculous folly
To waste the time, that might be better spent,
In complimental wishes.

Car. There's a cooling
For his hot encounter.

Don. Come you here to i-tare ?
If you have lost your tongue, and use of speech,
Resign your government ; there's a mute's place void
In my uncle's court, 1 hear ; and you may work me
To write for your preferment.

*A virgin, madam, &c.] Manto had been studying mo-
desty in Tlte Maid s Tiayedy, from which too much of this
scene is borrowed. In (he conclusion, as'Davivs remarks,
there is an allusion to Quartill.i : Junonem maun iratam
habcam, ti unquatn me meminerim viryinnn fiuue.

Musta. This is strange !
I know not, madam, what neglect of mine
Has call'd this scorn upon me.

D.m. To the purpose-
My will's a reason, and we stand not bound
To yield account to yon.

Mmta. Not of your angers :
But with erected ears I should hear from you
The story of your good opinion of me,
Cnnfinn'd by love and favours.

D'on. How deserved ?
I have considered you from head to foot,
And can find nothing in that wainscot face,
That can teach me to dote ; nor am I taken
With your grim aspect, or tadpole-like complexion,
Those scars you glory in, I fear to look on ;
And had much rather hear a merry tale,
Than all your battles won with blood and sweat,
Though you belch forth the stink too in the service,
And swear by your mustachios all is true. [sic,

You are jvt too rough for me : purge and take phy-
Purcbase perfumers, get me some French tailor
To new-ereate you ; the first shape you were made
with [too.

Is quite worn-out : let your barber wash your face
You look yet like a bugbear TO fright children ;
Till when I take my leave. Wait me, Caruzie.

[Exeunt Dnintsa and L'arazie.
Mnsta. Stay you, my lady's cabinet-key.
JVf'inf. How's this, sir >. [else.

Musta. Stay, and stand quietly, or you shall fall
Not to iirk your belly up, flounder-like, but never
To rise again. Offer but to unlock [me,)

These doors that stop your fugitive tongue, (observe
And, by my fury, I'll fix there this bolt

[Draws h s scimitar.

To bar thy speech for ever. So ! be sale now ;
And but resolve me, not of what I doubt,
But bring assurance to a thing believed,
Thou makest thyself a fortune ; not depending
On the uncertain favours of a mistress.
But art thyself one. I'll not so far question
My judgment and observance, as to ask
Why 1 am slighted and contemn d ; but in
Whose favour it is done. I that have read
The copious volumes of all women's falsehood,
Commented on by the heart-breaking groans
Of abused lovers ; all the doubts wash'd off
With fruitless tears, the spider's cobweb veil
Of arguments alleged in their defence,
Blown off with sighs of desperate men ; and they
Appearing in their full deformity :
Know, that some other hath displanted me,
With her dishonour. Has she given it up?
Confirm it in two syllables.
Mant. She has.
Musta. 1 cherish thy confession thus, and thus ;

[Gives her jewels.

Be mine. Again I court thee thus, and thus ;
Now prove but constant to my ends.

Mant. By all [crocodiles,

Mu it a. Enough ; I dare not doubt thee. O land
Made of Egyptian slime, accursed women ;
But 'tis no time to rail come, my best Manto.

[Exeunt.

SCEKE II.]

THE RENEGADO.

153

SCENE 11. A Street.
Enter Vn ELM and FRANCISCO.

Vitel. Sir. as you are my confessor, you stand bound
Not to reveal whatever J discover
In that religious way : nor dare 1 doubt you.
Let it suffice you have made me see my tollies,
And wrought, perhaps, compunction ; lor 1 would not
Appear an hypocrite. But, when you impose
A penance on me beyond flesh and blood
To undergo, you must instruct me how
To put off the condition of a man ;
Or, if not pardon, at the least, excuse
My disobedience. Yet, despair not. sir :
For, though 1 lake mine own way, I shall do
Something that may hereafter, to my glory,
Speak me your scholar.

Fran. 1 enjoin you not
To go, but send.

Vitel. That were a petty trial ;
Not worth one, so long taught and exercised
Under so grave a master. Reverend Francisco,
My friend, my father, in that word, my all ;
Rest confident you shall I. ear something of me,
That will redeem me in your good opinion,
Or judge me lost for ever. Send Gazet
(She shall give order that he may have entrance)
To acquaint you with my fortunes. [Exit.

Fran. Go, and prosper.

Holv saints guide and strengthen thee ! however,
As thy endeavours are, so may they find
Gracious acceptance.

Enter GAZET, and GRIMALDI in rags*.

Gaz. Now, you do not roar, sir ;
You speak not tempests, nor take ear-rent from
A poor shopkeeper. Do you remember that, sir ?
I wear your marks here still.

Fran. Can this be possible ?
All wonders are not ctased then.

Grim. Do, abuse me,

Spit on me, spurn me, pull me by the nose,
Thrust out these fiery eyes, that yesterday
Would have look'd thee dead.

Gaz. O save me, sir !

Grim. Fear nothing.

I am tame and quiet ; there's no wrong can force me
To remember what 1 was. 1 have forgot
1 e'er had ireful fierceness, a steel'd heart,
Insensible of compassion to others ;
Nor is it fit that 1 should think myself
Worth mine own pity. Oh !

Fran. Grows this dejection
From his disgrace, do you say 1

Gaz. Why, he's cashier'd, sir;
His ships, his goods, his livery-punks, confiscate :
And there is such a punishment laid upon him !
The miserable rogue must steal no more,
Nor diink, nor drab.

Fran. Does that torment him ?

Gaz. O, sir,

Should the state take order to bar men of acres
From these two laudable recreations,
Drinking and whoring, how should panders purchase,

Eater GAZET, and GRiMii.ni in rays] Mr. M. Maton
reads, Enter Gazet and Grimaldi, in rays. But Ga*et had
just been enriched by his matter, and, a lie s.ijs himself,
was in prosperous circumstances. It must be a* I have
Siven it from ihe old copy.

Or thrifty whores build hospitals ? 'Slid ! if I,
That, since 1 am made free, may write myself
A city gallant, should forfeit two such charters,
I should he stoned to death arid ne'er be pitied
By the liveries of those companies.

Fran. You'll be \vhipt, sir,

If you bridle not your tongue. Haste to the palace,
Your master looks for you.

Gaz. My quondam master.
Rich sons forget they ever had poor fathers;
In servants 'tis more pardonable : as a companion,
Or so, 1 may consent : but is there* hope, sir,
He has got me a good chapwoman ? pray you write
A word or two in my behalf.

Fran. Out, rascal !

Gaz. I feel some insurrections.

Fratf. Hence !

Gaz. 1 vanish. [Exit.

Grim. \\ hy should I study a defence or comfort,
In whom black guilt and misery, if balanced,
I know not wl.ich would turii the scale ? look upward
1 dare not ; for, should it but be believed
'1 hat I , died 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! 1 must downward, downward ; though repent-
ance

Could borrow all the glorious wings of grate,
My m<iiintainous weight of siiis would cr.ick theif
And sink them to hell witli me. [pinions,

Fran. Dreadful ! Hear me,
Thou miserable man.

Grim. Good sir, deny not
But that there is no punishment beyond
Damnation.

Enter Master and Boatswain.

Muster. Yonder he is ; I pity him. [serve you.
Ri-atsw. Take comfort, captain; we live still to
Grim. Serve me ! 1 am a devil already : leave me-
Stand further off, you are blasted else ! 1 have heard
Schoolmen affirm* man's body is composed
Of the four elements; and, as in league together
They nourish life, so each of them affords
Liberty to the soul, when it grows weaiy
Of this fieshy prison. Which shall I make choice of?
The fire? not ; I shall feel that lureatter.
The earth will not receive me. Should some whirl-
Snatch me into the air, and 1 hang there, [wind
Perpetual plagues would dwell upon the earth ;
And those superior bodies, that pour down
Their cheerful influence, denv to | ass it,
Through those vast regions 1 have in.ected.
The sea? ay, that is justice: there 1 plough 'd up
Mischief as deep as hell : there, there, I'll hidej
1 his curstd lump of clay. May it turn rocks,

/ have heard

Schoolmen affirm man's body is competed
Of the four elements;] Grim.i di ,,i:rl Sir Toby had
evidently studied under the s,ime makers : the latter intro-
duces his philosophy more naturally, but tlie grave applies
tion of it by the t'ormer, is an inipiovenient. Seriously, the
conclusion of this speech is very noble.

t The fire I no;] fire must be read a* a dissj liable; I
suspect, however, that there was oiis;injlly an inttrjectioo
bitoie no, which was dropt at the press.

t there, there 111 hide] Mr. M Mnson omits tl.e

second thire, which is absolutely necess.iry to the com pie
tion of the verse.

134

THE RENEGADO.

[Acr III,

Where plummet's weight could never reach the sands,
And grind the ribs of all such barks as press
The ocean's breast in my unlawful course !
I haste then to thee ; let thy ravenous womb,
Whom all things else deny, be now my tomb.

I JUZtt*

Master. Follow him, and restrain him.

[Exit Boatswain.

Fran. Let this stand
For tin example to you. I'll provide
A lodging for him, and apply such cures
To his wounded conscience, as heaven hath lent me.
He's now my second care ; and my profession
Binds me to teach the desperate to repent,
As far as to confirm the innocent. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Boom in Asambeg's Palace.
Enter ASAMBEG, MUSTAPHA, Aga, and Cap:aga.

Asam. Your pleasure?
Musta. 'Twill exact your private ear ;
And, when you have received it, you will think
Too many know it.

Asam. Leave the room ; but be

Within our call. [Exeunt Ago. and Capiaga.

Now, sir, what burning secret

(With which, it seems, you are turn'd cinders) bring

To quench in my advice or power ? [you

Musta. The fire
Will rather reach you.
Asam. Me !

Must'i. And consume both ;
For 'tis impossible to be put out,
But with the blood of those that kindle it:
And yet ono vial of it is so precious,
In being borrow'd from the Othoman spring,
That better 'tis, I think, both we should perish,
Than prove the desperate means that must restrain it
From spreading further.

Asam. To the point, and quickly :
These winding circumstances in relations,
Seldom environ truth.
Mitslu. Truth, Asambeg !

Asa in. Truth, Mustapha ! I said it, and add more,
You touch upon a string that to my ear
Doec sound Donusa.

Mutta. You then understand
Who 'tis I aim at.

Antim. Take heed ; Mustapha,
Remember what she is, and whose we are ;
TU her neglect, perhaps, that you complain of;
And, should you practise to revenge her scorn,
With any plot to taint her in her honour,
Musta. Hear me.

Asian. I will be heard first, there's no tongue
A subject owes, that shall out-thunder mine.
Musta Well, take your way.
Asam. I then again repeat it;
If Mustapha dares, with malicious breath,
On jealous suppositions, presume
To blast the blossom of Donusa's fame,
Because he is denied a happiness
Which men of equal, nay, of more desert,

Have sued in vain for

Musta. More !

Astim. More. 'Twas I spake it.
The basha of Natolia and myself
Were rivals for her ; either of us brought

More victories, more trophies, to plead for us

To our great master, than you dare lay claim to ;

Yet still, by his allowance, she was left

To her election : each of us owed nature

As much for outward form and inward worth,

To make way for us to her grace and favour,

As you brought with you. We were heard, repulsed-

Yet thought it no dishonour to sit down

With the disgrace, if not to force affection

May merit such a name.

Musta. Have you done yet?

Asam Be, therefore, more than sure the ground on

which

You raise your accusation, may admit
No undermining of defence in her :
For if, with pregnant and apparent proofs,
Such as may force a judge, more than inclined,
Or partial in her cause, to swear her guilty,
You win not me to set off your belief;
Neither our ancient friendship, nor the rites
Of sacred hospitality, to which
I would not offer violence, shall protect you.
Now, when \ou please.

Musta. I will not dwell upon
Much circumstance ; yet cannot but profess,
With the assurance of a loyalty
Equal to yours, the reverent e I owe
The sultan, and all such his blood makes sacred ;
That there is not a vein of mine, which yet is
Unemptied in his service, but this moment
Should freely open, so it might wash off
The stains of her dishonour. Could you think,
Or, though you saw it, credit your own eyes,
That she, the wonder and amazement of
Her sex, the pride and glory of the empire
That hath di>dain'd you, slighted me, and boasted
A frozen coldness, which no appetite
Or height of blood could thaw ; should now so far
Be hurried with the violence of her lust,
As, in it burying her high birth, and fame,
Basely descend to fill a Christian's arms.;
And to him yield her virgin honour up,
Nay, sue to him to take it?
Asam. A Christian !
Musta. Temper

Your admiration: and what Christian, think you?
No prince disguised, no man of mark, nor honour :
No daring undertaker in our service;
But one, whose lips her foot should scorn to touch ;
A poor mechanic pedlar.
Asam. He !
Mutta. Nay, more ;

Whom do you think she made her scout, nay bawd,
To find him out, but me ? What place make choice of
To wallow in her foul and loathsome pleasures,
But in the palace? Who the instruments
Of close conveyance, but the captain of
Your guard, the aga, and that man of trust,
The warden of the inmost port? I'll prove this ;
And, though I fail to shew her in the act,
Glued like a neighing gennet to her stallion,
Y our incredulity shall be convinced
With proofs I blush to think on.

Asam. Never yet

This flesh felt such a fever. By the life
And fortune of great Amurath, should our prophet
(Whose name I bow to) in a vision speak this,
'Twould make me doubtful of my faith ! Lead on;
And, when my eyes and ears are, like yours, guilty

SCENE V.]

THE RENEGADO.

IS*

My rage shall then appear; for I will <lo
Something ; but what, 1 am not yet determin'd.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. An outer Room in DONVSA'S Palace.
Enter CARAZIE, MANTO, and GAZET.

Car. They are private to their wishes !

Mant. Doubt it not.

Gaz. A pretty structure this ! a court doyou call it ?
Vaulted and arch'd ! O, here has been old jumbling
Behind this arras.

Cor. Prithee let's have some sport
\\ ith this fresh codshead.

Mant. 1 am out of tune. [hope

But do as you please. My conscience ! tush, the
Of liberty throws* that burthen off; 1 must
Go watch, and make discovery. [Exit.

Car. He is musing,

And will talk to himself; he cannot hold ;
The poor fool's ravish 'd.

Gas. I am in my master's clothes,
They fit me to a hair too ; let but any
Indifferent gamester measure us inch by inch,
Or weigh us by the standard, 1 may pass :
I have been proved and proved again true metal.

Car. How he surveys himself!

Gaz. 1 have heard, that some

Have fool'd themselves at court into good fortunes,
That never hoped to thrive by wit in the city,
Or honesty in the countrv. if 1 do not
Make the best laugh at me, I'll weep for myself,
If they give me hearing- 'tis> resolved I'll try
\Vhat mav be done, Bv your favour, sir, 1 pray you,
\Vere you born a courtier?

C.n; No, sir; why do you ask?

Gas. Because t thought that none could be pre-
But such as were beuot there. [ferr'd,

Cue. O, sir ! many ;
And, howsoe'er you are a citizen born,
\ et if vour mother were a handsome woman,
And ever long'd to see a m;isk at courtf,
li is an even lay, but that vou had
A courtier to your father ; and I think so,
Vou bear yourself so sprightly.

Gas. It may be ;

But pray you, sir, had I such an itch upon me
To change my copy, is there hope a place
May be had here for money ?

Car. i\ot without it,
That I dare warrant you.

Gaz. I have a pretty stock,

And would not have my good parts undiscover'd ;
\\ ha^ places of credit are there ?

Car. There's your beglerbegj.

Gaz. By no means that ; it comes too near the
And most prove so, that come there. [beggar,

Of liberty throws, &c.] So the old copy. The modern
editors read, dors throw, which <U:.-tm\ j Ihe metre, nut only
f this bn* nl the two subsequent lines.

t Jf yi>ur mother were a handtome woman.

And ever long'd to tee a mask at court,] It should be re-
membered that Carazie was burn in England, and that lie
addresses Venetian; the consequences of maks, &c., were
therefore as intelligible lo the one, ai familiar to the oiher.
It is not al ays that so good p!ea can be offered for the
anther's allusions ; tor, to confess the truth, the habits and
m.mners of different countries are, in some of these scenes,
u I have said before, nm-t cruelly confounded.

J Car. There'* your beglerbeg.] i. e. chief governor of a
province.

Car. Or your sanzacke*.

Ga:. Sauce-jack ! fie, none of thatf.

Cur. Vour chiausj.

Gaz. Nor that.

Car. Chief gardener.

Gaz. Out upon't ! [woman.

Twill put me in mind my mother was an herb-
\\ hat is your pla.e, I prav you?

Car. Sir, an eunuch.

Gas. An eunuch ! very fine, i'faith ; an eunuch !
And what are your employments?

Car. Neat and eusy$:

In the day, 1 wait on my lady when she eats,
Carry her pantofles, bear up her train ;
Sing her asleep at night, and, when she pleases,
I am her bedfellow.

Gaz. How ! her bedfellow ?
And lie with her?

Car. Ves, and lie with her.

Gaz. O rare!

I'll be an eunuch, though I sell my shop for't,
And all my wares.

Car. It is but parting with
A precious stone or two: 1 know the price on't.

Gaz. I'll part with all my stones; and when lam

An eunuch, I'll so toss and touse the ladies

Pray you help me to a chapman.

Car. The court surgeon
Shall do you that favour.

Gaz. 1 am made! an eunuch!
Enter MANTO.

Mant. Carazie, quit the room.
Car. Come, sir; we'll treat of
Your business further.

Gaz. Excellent! an eunuch! [Exeunt.

SCENE V. An inner Room in the same.
Enter DONUSA and YITELLI.

Vitel. Leave me, or I am lost again : no prayers,
No penitence, can redeem me.

Don. Am I grown
Old or deform 'd since yesterday ?

Vitel. You are still,

(Although the sating of your lust hath sullied
The immaculate whiteness of your virgin beauties,)
Too fair for me to look on : and, though pureuess,
The sword with which you ever fought and conquer'd,
Is ravish'd from you by unchaste desires,
You are too strong for flesh and blood to treat with,
'I hough iron grates were interposed between us,
To warrant me from treason.

Don. \\ horn do you fear ?

Vitel. That human frailty I took from my mother,
That, as my youth increased, grew stronger on me;
That still pursues me, and, though once recover'd,
In scorn of reason, and, what's more, religion,
Again seeks to betray me.

Car. Or your sanzacke.] Governor of a city.

t Cos. Sauce jack ! fie, none of that. | The pleasantry ot
Gazet is not very conspicuous for its humour; the modern
editors however have contrived to cloud it: Ihey read,
Saucy Jack I

J Car. Your chians.] An officer in the Turkish court, who
performs the duty of an usher ; also an ambassador to foreign
princes and states. Cox ETER.

5 Car. Neat and eaty.\ 1 have taken this from Gazet, to
whom it has hitherto been allotted, and given it to Carazie.
The old copy h.is no mark of ir.leiroijalion aKr easy, fc hxh
seems to prove that the words originally belonged to him.

136

THE RENEGADO.

[Acr III,

Don. If you mean, sir,
To ray embraces, you turn rebel to
The laws of nature, the great queen and mother
Of all productions, and deny allegiance,
Where you stand bound to pay it.

Kite/. I will stop

Mine ears against these charms, which, if Ulysses
Could live again, and hear this second syren,
Though bound with cables to his mast, his ship too
Fasten'd with all her anchors, this enchantment
Would force him, in despite of all resistance,
To leap into the sea, and follow her ;
Although destruction, with outstretch'd arms,
Stood ready to receive him.

Don. Gentle sir.

Though you deny to hear me, yet vouchsafe
To look upon me : though I use no language,
The grief for this unkind repulse will print
Such a dumb eloquence upon my face,
As will not only plead but prevail for me.

Vitel. I am a coward. I will see and hear you,
The trial, else, is nothing ; nor the conquest,
My temperance shall crown me with hereafter,
Worthy to be remember'd. Up, my virtue !
And holy thoughts anil resolutions arm me
Against this fierce temptation ! give me voice
Tuned to a zealous anger, to express
At what an over-value I have purchased
The wanton treasure of your virgin bounties ;
That, in their false fruition, heap upon me
Despair and horror. That I could with that ease
Redeem my forfeit innocence, or cast up
The poison I received into my entrails,
From the alluring cup of your enticements,
As now I do deliver back the price

[Returns the jewels.

And salary of your lust ! or thus unclothe me
Of .n's gay trappings, the proud livery

(TArvirs of his cloak and doublet.
Of wicked pleasure, which but worn and heated
With the fire of entertainment and consent,
Like to Alcides' fatal shirt, tears off
Our flesh and reputation both together,
Leaving our ulcerous follies bare and open
To all malicious censure !

Don. You must grant,
If you hold that a loss to you, mine equals,
If not transcends it. If you then first tasted
'\ hat poison, as you call it, I brought with me
A palate unacquainted with the relish
Of those delights, which most, as I have heard,
Greedily swallow ; and then the offence,
If my opinion may be believed,
Is not so great : howe'er, the wrong no more
Than if Hippolitus and the virgin huntress
Should meet and kiss together.

Vitel. What defences
Can lust raise to maintain a precipice

Enter ASAMBEG and MUSTAPIIA, above.

To the abyss of looseness ! but affords not
The least stair, or the fastening of one foot,
To reascend that glorious height we fell from.

Musta. By Mahomet, she courts him !

[Donuta kneels.

Asam. Nay, kneels to him !
Observe, the scornful villain turns away too,
As glorying in his conquest.

ban. Are you marble ?

If Christians have mothers, sure they share in

The tigress' fierceness ; for, if you were owner

Of human pitv, you could not endure

A princess to kneel to you, or look on

These falling tears which hardest rocks would soften

And yet remain unmoved. Did you but give me

A taste of happiness in your embraces,

That the remembrance of the sweetness of it

Might leave perpetual bitterness behind it?

Or shew'd me what it was to be a wife,

To live a widow ever?

Asam. She has confest it!

Seize on him, villains.

Enter Capiaga and Aga, with Janizaries.

O the Furies !
[Exeunt Asambeg and Mustapha abois,

Don. How !
Are we betray 'd ?

Vitel. The better; I expected
A Turkish faith.

Don. Who am I, that you dare this ?
'Tis I that do command you to forbear
A touch of violence.

Aga. We, already, madam,
Have satisfied your pleasure further than
We know to answer it.

Cap. Would we were well off!
We stand too far engaged, I fear.

Don. For us ?

We'll bring you safe off : who dares contradict
What is our pleasure 1

Re-enter ASAMBEO and MUSTAPHA, below.

Asam. Spurn the dog to prison.
I'll answer you anon.

Vitel. What punishment
Soe'er I undergo, I am still a Christian.

[Ei it Guard with Vitelli.

Don. What bold presumption's this? Under what
Am I to fall, that set my foot upon [law

Your statutes and decrees ?

Musta. The crime committed
Our Alcoran calls death.

Don. Tush ! who is here,
That is not Araurath's slave, and so, unfit
To sit a judge upon his blood?

Asam. You have lost,

And shamed the privilege of it; robb'd me too
Of my soul, my understanding, to behold
Your base unworthy fall from your high virtue.

Don. I do appeal to Amurath.

Asam. We will offer

No violence to your person, till we know
His sacred pleasure ; till when, under guard
You shall continue here.

Don. Shall !

Asam. I have said it.

Don. We shall remember this.

Asam. It ill becomes
Such as are guilty, to deliver threats
Against the innocent. [The Guard leads off Donvsa.
I could tear this flesh now,
But 'tis in vain ; nor must I talk, but do.
Provide a well-mann'd galley for Constantinople :
Such sad news never came to our great master.
As he directs, we must proceed, and know
No will but his, to whom what's ours we owe.

[Exeunt.

Scan I.]

THE REN EG ADO.

157

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A Room in Grimaldi's Houte.
Enter Master and Boatswain.

Mast. He does begin to eat 1

Boiitsw. A little, master ;
But our best hope for his recovery is, that
His raving leaves him ; and those dreadful words
Damnation and despair, with which he ever
Ended all his discourses, are forgotten.

Mast. This stranger is a most religious man sure ;
And I am doubtful, whether his charity
In the relieving of our wants, or care
To cure the wounded conscience of Grimaldi,
Deserves more admiration.

Baitsw. Can you guess

What the reason should be, that we never mention
The church, or the high altar, but his melancholy
Grows and increases on him 1

Mast. I have heard him,

When he gloried to profess himself an atheist,
Talk often, and with much delight and boasting,
Of a rude prank he did ere he turu'd pirate;
The memory of which, as it appears,
Lies heavy on him.

B'-atsic. Pray you, let me understand it.

Mast. I'pon a solemn day, when the whole city
Join'd in devotion, and with barefoot steps
Pass'd to St. Mark's, the duke, and the whole sig-
llelping to perfect the religious pomp [nory,

With which they were received ; when all men else
Were full of tears, and groan'd beneath the weight
Of past offences, of whose heavy burthen
They came to be absolved and freed ; our captain,
Whether in scorn of those so pious rites
He had no feeling of, or else drawn to it
Out of a wanton, irreligious madness,
(I know not which,) ran to the holy man,
As he was doing of thn work of grace*,
And, snatching from his hands the sanctified means,
Dash'd it upon the pavement.

Bivitsw. How escaped he,
It being a deed deserving death with torture ?

Mast. The general amazement of the people
Gave him leave to quit the temple, and a gondola,
Prepared, it seems, before, brought him aboard ;
Since which he ne'er saw Venice. The remembrance
Of this. itseips, torments him ; aggravated
W'th a strong belief he cannot receive pardon
For this foul fact, but from his hands, against whom
It was committed.

Biintsw. And what course intends
His heavenly physician, reverend Francisco,
To beat down this opinion ?

Mant. He promised
To use some holy and religious finenessf,

At he was doing of the work of grace, &c.] This is a
reverenti-dl de?c, iption of the elevation of the host ; and
could only be written by a man on whom that awful act of
pious daring had made a deep and lasting impression.

t To use some, holy and religious fineness,] i. e. subtile and
ingenious device. Coxeter, whose ideas of harmony were
never paralleled, unless by those of Mr. M. Mason, cor-
rupted tins into jfricfu', though the line was reduced to abso-
lute prose by it! Massiuger knew no such word; the in-
troduction of which is justly reprobated by Johnson, as
Wholly unnecessary. But, indeed, in all times, our language
has been over-run and debased by i'.uuasuc terms,

To this good end ; and in the mean time, charged me
To keep him dark, and to admit no visitants :
But on no terms to cross him. Here he comes.
Enter GRIMALDI with a booh*.

Grim. For theft, he that restores treble the value,
.Makes satisfaction ;, and for want of means
To do so, as a slave must serve it out, [here

Till he hath made full payment. There's hope left
Oh ! with what willingness would I give up
My liberty to those that I have pillaged ;
And wish the numbers of my years, though wasted
In the most sordid slavery, might equal
The rapines I have made ; till with one voice,
My patient sufferings might exact from my
Most cruel creditors, a full remission,
An eye's loss with an eye, limb's with a limb ;
A sad account ! vet, to find peace within here,
Though all such as I have maim'd and dismember'd
In drunken quarrels, or, o'ercome with rage,
When they were given up to my power, stood here
And cried for restitution ; to appease them, [now,
I would do a bloody justice on myself:
Pull out these eyes, that guided me to ravish
Their sight from others ; lop these legs, that bore me
To barbarous violence ; with this hand cut off
This instrument of wrong, till nought were left me
But this poor bleeding limbless trunk, which gladly
I would divide among them. Ha ! what think I

Enter FR.AN'CI&CO in a cope, like a Bishop.
Of petty forfeitures ! in this reverend habit,
All that I am turu'd into eyes, I look on
A deed of mine so fiend-like, that repentance,
Though with my tears I taught the sea new tides.
Can never wash off: all my thefts, my rapes,
Are venial trespasses, compared to what
I offer'd to that shape, and in a place too,
Where I stood bound to kneel to't. [Kneea.

Fran. 'Tis forgiven :

I with his tongue, whom in these sacred vestments,
With impure hands thou didst offend, pronounce it.
I bring peace to thee ; see that thou deserve it
In thy fair life hereafter.

Grim. Can it be !

Dare I believe this vision, or hope
A pardon e'er may find me 1

Fran. Purchase it

Ky zealous undertakings, and no more
'Twill be remembered.

Grim. What celestial balm [Rises.

I feel now pour'd into my wounded conscience !
What penance, is there I'll not undergo, [sure

Though ne'er so sharp and rugged, with more plea-
Than flesh and blood e'er tasted ! shew me true

Sorrow,

Arm'd with an iron whip, and I will meet
The stripes she brings along with her, as if

"Which sweet Philisicles fetch'd of late from France."
The word occurs, in iis natural sense, in The Devil' s an Au :

" you'll mar all with your fineness."

Here, too, Mr. Syu.pson proposes to read finesse /while
Whalley, who properly rejects his amendment, eXpM*th
original word, by "shyness, or coyness ;" to which it beari
not the slightest affinity.

with a book.] The book was a vei-y proper

one for Grimaldi from his references, it appears to be the
Bible.

138

THE RENEGADO.

[Acr IV.

They were the gentle touches of a hand

That comes to cure me. Can good deeds redeem me?

I will rise up a wonder to the world.

When I have given strong proofs how I am alter'd.

I, that have sold such as professed the faith

That I was born in, to captivity,

Will make their number equal, that I shall

Deliver from the oar ; and win as many

By the clearness of my actions, to look on

Their misbelief and loath it. I will be

A convoy for all merchants : and thought worthy

To be reported to the world, hereafter,

The child of your devotion ; nurs'd up,

And made strong by your charity, to break through

All dangers hell can bring forth to oppose me :

Nor am I, though my fortunes were thought desper-

Now you have reconciled me to myself, [ate,

So void of worldly means, but, in despite

Of the proud viceroy's wrongs, I can do something

To witness of my change : when you please, try me*,

And I will perfect what you shall enjoin me,

Or fall a joyful martyr.

F-an. You will reap

The comfort of it : live yet undiscover'd
And with your holy meditations strengthen
Your Christian resolution : ere long,
You shall hear further from me. [Exit.

Grim. I'll attend

All your commands with patience ; come, my mates,
I hitherto have lived an ill example,
And, as your captain, led you on to mischief ;
But now will truly labour, that good men
May say hereafter of me to my glory,
(Let but my power and means hand with my willf,)
His good endeavours did weigh down his ill.

[Exeunt.

Re-enter FRANCISCO, in his usual habit.

Fran. This penitence is not counterfeit : howso-
Good actions are in themselves rewarded. [ever,
My travail's to meet with a double crown :
If that Vitelli come oft' safe, and prove
Himself the master of his wild affections

Enter GAZET.

O, I shall have intelligence ; how now, Gazet,
Why these sad looks and tears 1

Gaz. Tears, sir ! I have lost [for

My worthy master. Your rich heir seems to mourn
A miserable father, your young widow,
Following a bedrid husband to his grave,
Would have her neighbours think she cries and roars,
That she must part with such a goodman do-nothing ;
When 'tis because be stays so long above ground,
And hinders a rich suitor. All's come out, sir.

* / can do something

To witness of my change : when you please, try me, &c.]
The reader must be convinced, long ere this, that the modern
editions of Massinger offer a very inadequate representation
of his works. Numerous as the errors pointed out arc, a
still greater number have been corrected in silence : of these
the source is generally obvious; here, however, is one for
which no motive can be assigned ; it is a gratuitous and
wanton deviation from the original, that no degree of folly
can justify, no excess of negligence account for : In Coxelcr
and Mr. M. Mason the pasmge stands thus:
/ can do something

To prove that I have power, when you please try me !

1(Let but my power and means hand with my will,)] Or,
as we should now nay, go hand in hand, co-operate with my
will.

We are smoak'd for being coney-catchers ; my mas-
Is put in prison ; his she customer [ter

Is under guard too ; these are things to weep for:
But mine own loss consider'd, and what a fortune
I have had, as they say, snatch'd out of my chops,
Would make a man run mad.

Fran. 1 scarce have leisure,
I am so wholly taken up with sorrow
For my loved pupil, to enquire thy fate ;
Yet 1 will hear it.

Gaz. Why, sir, I had bought a place,
A place of credit too, an 1 had gone through with it ;
I should have been made an eunuch : there was ho-
nour

For a late poor 'prentice ! when, upon the sudden.
There was such a hurlyburly in the court,
That I was glad to run away, and carry
The price of my office with me.

1'ran. Is that all !

You have made a saving voyage : we must think now,
Though not to free, to comfort sd Vitelli;
My grieved soul suffers for him.

Gaz. I am sad too ;
But had I been an eunuch

Fran. Think not on it. [Kiennt.

SCENE II. -4 Hall in Asambeg's Palace.

Enter ASAMBEG ; he unlocks a door, and PAULINA
conies forth.

Asam. Be your own guard: obsequiousness and

service

Shall win you to be mine. Of all restraint
For ever take your leave, no threats shall awe you,
No jealous doubts of mine disturb your freedom,
No fee'd spies wait upon your steps : your virtue,
And due consideration in yourself
Of what is noble, are the faithful helps
I leave you, as supporters, to defend you
From falling basely.

Paul. This is wondrous strange :
Whence flows this alteration ?

Asam. From true judgment;
And strong assurance neither grates of iron,
Hemm'd in with walls of brass, strict guards, hig-h
The forfeiture of honour, nor the fear [birth,

Of infamy or punishment, can stay
A woman slaved to appetite, from being
False and unworthy.

Paul. You are grown satirical
Against our sex. Why, sir, 1 durst produce
Myself in our defence, and from you challenge
A testimony that's not to be denied,
All fall not under this unequal censure.
1, that have stood your flatteries, your threats,
Borne up against your fierce temptations ; scorn 'd
The cruel means you practised to supplant me,
Having no arms to help me to hold out,
But love of piety, and constant goodness ;
If you are unconfirmed, dare again boldly,
Enter into the lists, and combat with
All opposites man's malice can bring forth
To shake me in mv chastity, built upon
The rock of my religion.

Asam. I do wish

I could believe you ; but, when I shall show you
A most incredible example of
\ our frailty, in a princess, sued and sought to
By men of worth, of rank, of eminence ; courted

SCENE II.]

THE RENEGADO.

139

By happiness itself, and her cold temper
Approved by many years ; yet she to fall,
Fall from herself, her glories, nay, her safety,
Into a gulph of shame and black despair :
1 think you'll doubt yourself, or, in beholding
Her punishment, for ever be deterr'd
From yielding basely.

Paul. 1 would see this wonder;
'Tis, sir, my first petition.

Aiam. And thus granted ;
Above, you shall observe all. [Eiit Paulina.

Enter MUSTAPHA.

Musta. Sir, I sought you,
And must relate a wonder. Since 1 studied,
And knew what man was, I was never witness
Of such invincible fortitude as this Christian
Shows in his sufferings : all the torments that
We could present him with, to fright his constancy,
Confirm'd, not shook it ; and those heavy chains,
That eat into his flesh, appear'd to him
Like bracelets made of some loved mistress' hairs
We kiss in the remembrance of her favours.
I am strangely taken with it, and have lost
Much of my fury.

Ascim. Had he suffer'd poorly,
It had call'd on my contempt ; but manly patience,
And all-commanding virtue, wins upon
An enemy. I shall think upon him. Ha !

Enter Aga*, with a black box.

So soon return 'd ! This speed pleads in excuse
Of your late fault, which I no more remember.
What's the grand signior's pleasure?

Aga. 'Tis enclosed here.
The box too that contains it may inform you
How he stands affected : I am trusted with
Nothing but this, on forfeit of your head,
She must have a speedy trial.

Asam. Bring her in

In black, as to her funeral : [Exit Ago."] 'tis the colour
Her fault wills her to wear, and which in justice,
I dare not pity. Sit, and take your place :
However in her life she has degenerated,
May she die ncbly, and in that confirm
Her greatness, and high blood !

Solemn mmic. Re-enter the Aga, with the Capiaga
ltadii>g in DONUSA in black, her train borne up by
CARAZIE and MANTO. A Guard attending. PAU-
LINA enters above.

Mutta. I now could melt ;
But, soft compassion leave me.

Mant. I am affrighted

With this dismal preparation. Should the enjoying
Of loose desires find ever such conclusions,
All women would be vestals.

Don. That you clothe me

* Enter Aga,] I suppose the reader will be inclined to
exclaim with Asambeg, " So soon return'd !" for from Tunis
to Constantinople is an interval humane commodum. I have
neither entered, nor proposed to enter, into any disquisitions
on the preservation of the unities of time and place, which
must be a work of absolute supererogation in criticizing an
author who totally forgot or disregarded them. Massinger ii
uot more irregular than his contemporaries : indeed he is
less so than many of them ; but, in all cases, I am persuaded
that he followed his story, without entertaining mnch anxiety
as to the time it might occupy, or the various changes of
Mtuation it might require.

In this sad livery of death, assures me
Your sentence is gone out before, and I
Too late am call'd for, in my guilty cause

To use qualification or excuse

Yet must I not part so with mine own strengths*.
But borrow, from my modesty, boldness, to
Enquire by whose authority you sit
My judges, and whose warrant digs my grave
In the frowns you dart against my life ?

Asam. See here,

This fatal sign and warrant ! This, brought to
A general, fighting in the headf of his
Victorious troops, ravishes from his hand
His even then conquering sword ; this, shown unto
The sultan's brothers, or his sons, delivers
His deadly anger; and, all hopes laid by,
Commands them to prepare themselves for heaven ;
Which would stand with the quiet of your soul,
To think upon, and imitate.

Dow. Give me leave
A little to complain ; first, of the hard
Condition of my fortune, which may move you,
Though not to rise up intercessors for me,
Yet, in remembrance of my former life,
(This being the first spot tainting mine honour,)
To be the means to bring me to his presence :
And then I doubt not, but I could allege
Such reasons in mine own defence, or plead
So humbly, (my tears helping,) that it should
Awake his sleeping pity.

Asam. 'Tis in vain.

If you have aught to say, you shall have hearing;
And, in me, think him present.

Don. I would thus then

First kneel, and kiss his feet ; and after, tell him
How long I had been his darling ; what delight
My infant years afforded him ; how dear
He prized his sister in both bloods, my mother:
That she, like him, had frailty, that to me
Descends as an inheritance ; then conjure him,
By her blest ashes, and his father's soul,
The sword that rides upon his thigh, his right hand
Holding the sceptre and the Othoman fortune,
To have compassion on me.

Asum. But suppose

(As I am sure) he would be deaf, what then
Could you infer ?

Don. I, then, would thus rise up,
And to his teeth tell him he was a tyrant,
A most voluptuous and insatiable epicure
In his own pleasures ; which he hugs so dearly,
As proper and peculiar to himself,
That he denies a moderate lawful use
Of all delight to others. And to thee.
Unequal judge, I speak as much, and charge thee,
But with impartial eyes to look into
Thyself, and then consider with what justice
Thou canst pronounce my sentence. Unkind nature,
To make weak women servants, proud men masters !
Indulgent Mahomet, do thy bloody laws
Call my embraces with a Christian death,
Having my heat and May of youth to plead
In my excuse ? and yet want power to punish

* Yet mutt J not part to with mine man strengths.] The
' modern editors read strength, which does not convey Mas-
singer's meaning, and, indeed, is scarcely sense in this place:
but they did not understand the word. .Strengths are cas-
tles, strong places, and metaphorically defences, as here.

t A general fighting in the head, &c.] Mr. M. Mason
chooses to modernize this expression, and lead, at the head.

140

THE RENEGADO.

[Acr IV.

These that with scorn break through thy cobweb

edicts,

And laugh at thy decrees? To tame their lusts
There's no religious bit ; let her be fair,
And pleasing to the eye, though Persian, Moor,
Idolatress, Turk, or Christian, you are privileged.
And freely may enjoy her. At this instant,
I know, unjust man, thou hast in thy powei
A lovely Christian virgin ; thy offence
Equal, if not transcending mine ; why, then,
(We being both guilty,) dost thou not descend
From that usurp'd tribunal, and with me
Walk hand in bund to death ?

Asam. She raves; and we
Lose time to hear her : read the law.

Don. Do, do ;
I stand resolved to suffer.

Aga. [reads.] If any virgin of what degree or
quality soever, born a natural Turk, shall be convicted
of corporal looseness, and incontinence, with aim Chris-
tian, she is, by the decree trf our great vrophet, Mahomet,
to lose her le id.

Asam. Mark that, then tax our justice!
Aga. E i er provided, That if she, the said offender,
by any reasons, argnmrnts, or persiutsum, can win
anil prernil n~>th the said Christian intending with her,
to alter his religion, and marry her, that then the win-
ning of a tout to the Mahometan sect, thall acquit
tier from all shame, disgrace, and punishment what-
tuerer.

Don. I lay hold on that clause, and challenge from

you

The privilege of the law.
Musta. What will you do ?

Do/i. Grant me access and means, I'll undertake
To turn this ( hristian Turk, and marry him :
This trial you cannot deny.

Musta. O base !

Can fear to die make you descend so low
From your high birth, and brand the Othoman line
With such a mark of infamy?

Asam. This is worse

Than the parting with your honour. Better suffer
Ten thousand deaths, and without hope to have
A place in our great prophet's paradise,
Than have an act to aftertimes remember 'd.
So foul as this is.

Musta. Cheer your spirits, madam ;
To die is nothing, 'tis but parting with
A mountain of vexations.

Asam. Think of your honour:
In dying nobly, you make satisfaction
For your offence, and you shall live a story
Of bold heroic courage.

Don. You shall not fool me
Out of my life : I claim the law, and sue for
A speedy trial ; if I fail, you may
Determine of me as you please.

Asam. Base woman !

But use thy ways, and see thou prosper in them ;
For, if thou fall again into my power,
Thou shall in vain, after a thousand tortures,
Cry out for death, that death which now thou fliest

from.

Unloose the prisoner** chains. Go, lead her on
To try the magic of her tongue. I follow :

[Erennt all but Asambeg.
I'm on the rack descend, my best Paulina.

[Etit with Paulina.

SCENE IH. A Room in the Prison.
Enter FRANCISCO and Gaoler.

Fran. I come not empty-handed ; I will purchase
Your favour at what rate you please. There's gold.

Gnol. 'Tis the best oratory. 1 will hazard
A check for your content. Below, there !

Vitel. [below ] Welcome !
Art thou the happy messenger, that brings me
News of my death ?

Gaol. Your hand. [Plucks up Vitelli

Fran. Now if you please,
A little privacy.

Gaol. You have bought it, sir ;
Enjoy it freely. [Exit.

Fran. O, my dearest pupil !
Witness these tears of joy, I never saw you,
'Til! now, look lovely ; nor durst I ever glory
In the mind of any man 1 had built up
With the hands of virtuous and religious precepts,
Till this glad minute. Now you have made good
My expectation of you. By my order,
Ail Roman Caesars, that It-d kings in chains,
Fast bound to their triumphant chariots, if
Compared with that true glory arid full lustre
You now appear in ; all their boasted honours.
Purchased with blood and wrong, would lose their
And be no more remember'd ! [names,

Viiel. This applause,

Confirm M in your allowance, joys me more
Than if a thousand full-cranun'd theatres
Should clap their eager hands, to witness that
The scene I act did please, and they admire it.
But these are, father, but beginnings, not
The ends, of mv high aims. I grant, to have master'd.
The rebel appetite of flesh and blood,
Was far above my strength ; and still owe for it
To that great power that lent it : but, when I
Sh;ill make't apparent the grim looks of death
Affright me not ; and that I can put off
The fond desire of life (that, like a garment,
Covers and cloth<-s our frailty) hastening to
My martyrdom, as to a heavenly banquet,
To which I was a choice invited guest :
Then you may boldly say, you did not plough
Or trust die barren and ungrateful sands
W T ith the fruitful grain of your religious counsels.

Fran. You do instruct your teacher. Let the sun
Of your clear life, that lends to good men light,
But set as gloriously as it did rise,
(Though sometimes clouded,) nil ultra you may
To human wishes. [write

Vitel. I have almost gain'd

The end o' the race, and will not faint or tire now
Enter Aga and Gaoler.

Aga. Sir, by your leave, (nay, stay not*,) (to the

Gaoler who goes out, ) I bring comfort.
The viceroy, taken with the constant bearing
| Of your afflictions ; and presuming too
you will not change your temper, does command
Your irons should be ta'en off. [They take of hit

iron*.] Now arm yourself
With your old resolution ; suddenly
You shall be visited. You must leave the room too,
And do it without reply.

nay, stay not,] So the old copy reads.

Coxeter and M. Mason, read ttare not.

SCENE III.]

THE RENEGADO.

141

Fran. There's no contending :

Be still thyself, my son. [Exeunt Aga and Francisco.
Vitel. 'Tis not in man,

"Enter DONUSA, ASAMBEG, MUSTAPHA, and PAULINA.

To change or alter me.

Pv..' Whom do I look on ?
My brother ? 'tis he ! but no more, my tongue ;
Thou wilt betray all. [Aside.

Asam. Let us hear this temptress :
The fellow looks as he would stop his ears
Against her powerful spells.

Paul. [Aside. \ He is undone else.

Vitel. I'll stand the encounter charge me home.

Don. I come, sir, [Bows herself.

A beggar to you, and doubt not to find
A good man's charity, which if you deny,
You are cruel to yourself; a crime a wise man
(And such I hold you) would not willingly
Be guilty of; nor let it find less welcome,
Though I, a creature you contemn, now show you
The way to certain happiness ; nor think it
Imaginary or fantastical,
And so not worth the acquiring, in respect
The passage to it is nor rough nor thorny ;
No steep hills in the way which you must climb up,
No monsters to be conquer'd, no enchantments
To be dissol ved by counter charms, before
You take possession of it.

Vitel. What strong poison
Is wrapp'd up in these sugar'd pills?

Don. My suit is,

That you would quit your shoulders of a bur*iien,
Under whose ponderous weight you wilfully
Have too long groan'd, to cast those fetters off,
With which, with your own hands, you chain your

freedom.

Forsake a severe, nay, imperious mistress,
Whose service does exact perpetual cares,
Watchings, and troubles ; and give entertainment
To one that courts you, whose least favours are
Variety, and choice of all delights
Mankind is capable of.

Vitel. You speak in riddles.
What burthen, or what mistress, or what fetters,
Are those you point at ?

Don. Those which your religion.
The mistress you too long have served, compels you*
To bear with slave-like patience.

Vitel. Ha!

Paul. How bravely
That virtuous anger shows !

Don. Be wise, and weight
The prosperous success of things; if blessings
Are donatives from heaven, (which, you must grant,
Were blasphemy to question,) and that
They are call'd down and pour'd on such as are
Most gracious with the great Disposer of them,
Look on our flourishing empire, if the splendor,

* compels you.] Coxeter dropt the last word

at the press. Mr. M. Mason omits it of course, though the
passage is not sense without it. In the ne\t speech, fur
that virtuous anger, he redds the, &c. There are other
errors ami omission?, which are here rectified and supplied.

t Don. Be wise, and weigh, &c.] Part of this speech is
taken, hut with great ?kill, from Minucius Felix ; indeed, it
was the leading argument, and constantly directed, for the
two first ages of the church, against the Christians : after the
Reformation, the church of Rome took it up, and pointed it
wi h equal propriety, aud, indeed, with equal success, against
tUe Prutesuuiu 1

The majesty, and glory of it dim not

Your feeble sight : and then turn back, and see

The narrow bounds of yours, yet that poor remnant

Rent in as many factions and opinions

As you have petty kingdoms; and then, if

You are not obstinate against truth and reason,

You must confess the Deity you worship

Wants care or power to help you.

Paul. Hold out now,

And then thou -art victorious. [Aside

Asam. How he eyes her !
Mitsta. As if he would look through her.
Asitm. His eyes flame too,
As threatening violence.
Vitel. But that I know

The devil, thy tutor, fills each part about thee,
And that I cannot play the exorcist
To dispossess thee, unless I should tear
Thy body limb by limb, and throw it to
The furies, that expect it; I would now
Pluck out tiiat wicked tongue, that hath blasphemed
The great Omnipotency, at whose nod
The fabric of the world shakes. Dare you bring
Your juggling prophet in comparison with
That most inscrutable and infinite Essence,
That made this all, and comprehends his work ;
The place is too profane to mention him
Whose only name* is sacred. O Donusa !
How much, in my compassion, I suffer,
That thou, on whom this most excelling form,
And faculties of discourse-^ beyond a woman,
Were by his liberal gift conferr'd, shouldst still
Remain in ignorance of him that uave it !
i I will not foul my mouth to speak the sorceries
i Of your seducer, his base birth, his whoredoms,
j His strange impostures ; nor deliver how
I He taught a pigeon to feed in his ear;
i Then made his credulous followers believe
It was an angel, that instructed him
In the framing of his Alcoran pray you, mark me.
Asam. These words are death, were he in nought
Vitel. Your intent to win iref [else guilty.

To be of your belief, proceeded from
Your fear to die. Can there be strength in that
Religion, that suffers us to tremble
At that which every day, nay hour, we haste to ?

Don. This is unanswerable, and there's something
I err in my opinion. [tells me

Vitel. Cherish it,

It is a heavenly prompter ; entertain
This holy motion, and wear on your forehead
The sacred badge he arms his servants with$ ;

* The place it too profane to mention him

Whose only name is sacred.] i. e. whose name is the
sole or only name that is sacred : a mode of expression fre-
quently adopted by our old w liters.

i And facultien of discourse,] i. e. of reason. It is to
be regretted, that so just and noble a speech as this as-
suredly is, should be debased by the inseition of the con-
temptible fable with which it concludes: that table, how-
ever, was gravely delivered by contemporary historians
and divines: Massinger, therefore, though he may perhaps
be arraigned for want of taste, cannot faiily be charged
with over-credulity.

I Viti 1. Your intent to win me,] A hemistich preceding
this, is lost ; it was probably an cjaculatory remark from
Paulina.

$ and wear on your forehead

The tacred badge he arm* his servants with :] This is a
periphra.-is of baptism, familiar to the Catholic writers. It
may neither be unainusin^, nur iininstriictive, for the reader
to compare this scene with the third act of The Virgin
Martyr: he will find many passages strkingly similar.

142

THE RENEGADO.

[Acr V.

Ycu shall, like me, with scorn look down upon
All engines tyranny can advance to batter
Your constant resolution. Then you shall
Look truly fair, when your mind's pureness answers
Your outward beauties.

Don. I came here to take you,
But I perceive a yielding in myself
To he your prisoner.

Vitei. Tis an overthrow ^
That will outshine all victories. O Donusa,
Die in my faith, like me; and 'tis a marriage
At which' celestial angels shall be waiters,
And such as have been sainted welcome us.
Are you confirm 'd?

Don. I would he : but the means

That may assure me?

Vitel. Heaven is merciful,
And will not suffer you to want a man
To do that sacred office, build upon it.

Don. Then thus I spit at Mahomet.

Asam. Stop her mouth :
In death to turn apostata ! I'll not hear
One syllable from any ; wretched creature !
With the next rising sun prepare to die.
Yet, Christian, in reward of thy brave courage,
Be thy faith right or wrong, receive this favour ;
In person I'll attend thee to thy death :
And boldly challenge all that I can give,
But what's not in my grant, which is to live.

[Eieunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. A Room in the Prison.
Enter YITELLI and FRANCISCO.

Fran. You are wondrous* brave and jocund.

Vitel. Welcome, father.

Should I spare cost, or not wear cheerful looks,
Upon my wedding day, it were ominous,
And show'd I did repent it; which I dare not,
It being a marriage, howsoever sad
In the first ceremonies that confirm it,
That will for ever arm me against fears,
Repentance, doubts, or jealousies, and bring
Perpetual comforts, peace of mind, and quiet
To the glad couple.

Fran. I well understand you ;
And my full joy to see you so resolved
Weak words cannot express. What is the hour
Design'd for this solemnity ?

Vitel. The sixth :

Something before the setting of the sun,
We take our last leave of his fading light,
And with our soul's eyes seek for beams eternal.
Yet there's one scruple with which I am much
Perplex'd and troubled, which 1 know you can
Resolve me of.

Fran. Whatis't?

Vitel. This, sir ; my bride,
Whom I first courted, and then won, not with
Loose lays, poor flatteries, apish compliments,
But sacred and religious zeal, yet wants
The holy badge that should proclaim her fit
For these celestial nuptials : willing she is,
I know, to wear it as the choicest jewel
On her fair forehead; but to you, that well
Could do that work of grace, I know the viceroy
Will never grant access. Now, in a case
Of this necessity, I would gladly learn,
Whether, in me, a layman, without orders,
It may not be religious and lawful,
As we go to our deaths, to do that office?

Fran. A question in itself with much ease an-
Midwives, upon necessity, perform it; [swered:

* Fran. You are wondrous brave and jocund.] i. e. as has
been already observed, richly, splendidly apparelled.

And knights that, in the Holy Land, fought for
The freedom of Jerusalem, when full [mets

Of sweat and enemies' blood, have made their hel-
The fount, out of which with their holy hands
They drew that heavenly liquor: 'twas approv'd then
By the holy church, nor must I think it now,
In you, a work less pious.

Vitel. You confirm me ;

I will find a way to do it. In the mean time,
Your holy vows assist me !

Fran. They shall ever
Be present with you.

Vitel. You shall see me act
This last scene to the life.

Fran. And though now fall,
Rise a bless'd martyr.

Vitel. That's my end, my all. [Exeunt

SCENE II. A Street.
Enter GIUJIALDI, Master, Boatswain, and Sailors.

Boatsw. Sir, if you slip this opportunity,
Never expect the like.

Mast. With as much ease now
We may steal the ship out of the harbour, captain,
As ever gallants in a wanton bravery
Have set upon a drunken constable,
And bore him from a sleepy rug-gown'd watch :
Be therefore wise.

Grim. I must be honest too.

And you shall wear that shape, you shall observe me,
If that you purpose to continue mine.
Think you ingratitude can be the parent
To our unfeign'd repentance? Do I owe
A peace within here, kingdoms could not purchase,
To my religious creditor, to leave him
Open to danger, the great benefit
Never remember 'd! no; though in her bottom
We could stow up the tribute of the Turk ;
Nay, grant the passage safe too ; I will never
Consent to weigh an anchor up, till he,
That only must, commands it.

Boatiw. This religion
Will keep us slaves and beggars.

Mast. The fiend prompts me

SCENE III.]

THE REN EG A DO.

To change my copy : plague upori't ! we are seamen ;
What have we to do with't, but for a snatch or so,
At ihe end of a long Lent* ?

Kilter FRANCESCO.

Boatsu:. Mum ; see who is here.

Grim. My father!

Fran. My good convert. I am full
Of serious business which denies me leave
To hold long conference with you : only thus much
Briefly receive ; a day or two, ut the most,
Shall make me fit to take my leave of Tunis,
Or give me lost for ever.

Grim. Days nor years,
Provided that my stay may do you service,
But to me shall be minutes.

Fran. I much thank you :
In this small scroll you may in private read
What my intents are ; and, as they grow ripe,
I will instruct you further : in the mean time
Borrow your late distracted looks and gesture ;
The more dejected you appear, the less
The viceroy must suspect j ou.

Grim, i am nothing.
But what you please to have me be.

Fran. Farewell, sir.

Be cheerful, master, something we will do,
That shall reward itself in the performance ;
And that's true prize indeed.

Mast. I am obedient.

Boatsw. And 1 : there's no contending.

[Eieunt Grim. Must. Boatsw. and Sailors.

Fran. Peace to you all !

Prosper, thou great Existence, my endeavours,
As they religiously are undertaken,
And distant equally from servile gain,

Enter PAULINA, CARAZIE, and MAXTO.
Or glorious ostentation ! 1 am heard
In this blest opportunity, which in vain
I long have waited for. I must show myself.
O, she has found me ! now if she prove right,
All hope will not forsake us.

Pant. Further off;

And in that distance know your duties too.
You were bestow'd on me as slaves to serve me,
And nut as spies to pry into my actions,
And after, to betray me. You shall find
If any look of mine be unobserved,
I am not ignorant of a mistress' power,
And from whom I receive it.

Cur. Note this, Manto,

The pride and scorn with which she entertains us,
Now we are made her's by the viceroy's gift!
Our sweet condition'd princess, fair Donusa,
Rest in her death wait on her ! never used us
With such contempt. I would he had sent me
To the gallies or the gallows, when he gave me
To this proud little devil.

Mant. I expect

All tyrannous usage, but I must be patient ;
And though, ten times a day, she tears these locks,
Or makes this face her footstool, 'tis but justice.

Paul. 'Tis a true story of my fortunes, father.
My chastity preserved by miracle,

At the end of a long Lent?] Massinger alliides to the
custom which all good Catholics had (and, indeed, still
have) of confessing themselves at Easter. Good Fri'lay or
Easter Sunday is almost the only day on which the French
ixl Italian sailors ever think of repairing to a confessional.

Or )our devotions for me ; and, believe it,

\Vhat outward pride soe'er I countert'eit,

Or state, to these appointed to attend ine,

I am not in my disposition alter'd,

But still your humble daughter, and share with you,

In my poor brother's sufferings ; all hell's torments

Revenge it on accurs'd Grimaldi's ^-oul,

That, in his rape of me, gave a beginning

To all the miseries that since have follow'd !

Fran. Be charitable, " and forgive bim, gentle

daughter.

He's a changed man, and may redeem his fault
In his fair life hereafter. You must bear too
Your forced captivity, for 'tis no better,
Though you wear golden fetters, and of him,
\Vhom death affrights not, learn to hold out nobly.

Paul. You are still the same good counsellor,

l-'ran. And who knows,

("Since what above is purposed, is inscrutable,)
But that the viceroy's extreme dotage on you
May be the parent of a happier birth
Than yet our hopes dare fashion. Longer conference
May prove unsafe for you and me, however
(Perhaps for trial) he allows you freedom.

[Delivers a paper.

From this learn therefore what you must attempt,
Though with the hazard of yourself : heaven guard

you,

And give Yitelli patience ! then I doubt not
But he will have a glorious day, since some
Hold truly, such as suffer, overcome. [Eieunt.

SCENE III. A Hall in Asambeg's Palace.

Enter ASAMBEG, MVSTAPHA, Aga, and Capiaga.

Asam. What we commanded, see perform 'd ; and
In all things to be punctual. [fail not

Aga. \\e shall, sir. [Exeunt Aga and Capiaga.

Musta. 'Tis strange, that you should use such cir-
cumstance
To a delinquent of so mean condition.

Asam. Had he appear'd in a more sordid shape
Than disguised greatness ever deign'd to mask in,
The gallant bearing of his present fortune
Aloud proclaims him noble.

Musta. if you doubt him
To be a man built up for great employments,
And as a cunning spy, sent to explore
The city's strength, or weakness, you by tortt
May force him to discover it.

Asam. That were base ;
Nor dure I do such injury to virtue
And bold assured courage : neither can I
Be won to think, but if I should attempt it,
I shoot against the moon. He that hath stood
The roughest battery, that captivity
Could ever bring to shake a constant temper ;
Despised the fawnings of a future greatness,
By beauty, in her full perfection, tender'd ;
That hears of death as of a quiet slumber,
And from the surplusage of his own firmness,
Can spare enough of fortitude, to assure
A feeble woman ; will not', Mustapha,

A feeble woman; will not, Muttaplia,] For not, the
old copy reads now. Instead of correcting this palpable
error of the press, the modern editors add to it a word of
no authority, and thus produce a verse of surprising har-
mony :

A feeble woman; will now, Muttapha, never.

144

THE RENEGADO.

[Acr V

Be alter'a in his soul for any torments
IV e can afflict his body with.

Musta. Do your pleasure :
Jonlv oftVr'd you a friend's advice,
But without pall or envy to the man
That is to suffer. But what do you determine
f*f poor Grimaldi? the disgrace call'd on him
1 near, has run him mad.

Asam. There weis>h the difference
In the true temper of their minds. The one,
A pirate, sold to mischiefs, rapes, and all
That make a slave relentless and obdurate,
Yet, of himself wanting the inward strengths
That should defend him, sinks beneath compassion
Or pity of a man : whereas this merchant,
Acquainted only with a civil* life ;
Arm'd in himself, intrench'd and fortified
With his own virtue, valuing life and death
At ihe same price, poorly does not invite
A favour, but commands us do him right ;
Which unto him, and her we both once honour'd,
As a just debt I gladly pay ; they enter.
Now sit we equal hearers.

A dreadful music. Enter at one door, the Aga,
Janizaries, YIIEI.U, FIUNCISCO, and GAZET ; at the
other, DONUSA, PAULINA, CARAZIE, and MANTO.

Musta. I shall hear
And see, sir, without passion ; my wrongs arm me.

Viiel. A joyful preparation ! To whose bounty
Owe we our thanks for gracing thus our hymen ?
The notes, though dreadful to the ear, sound here
As our epithalamium were sung
By a celestial choir, and a full chorus
Assured us future happiness. These that lead me
Gaze not with wanton eyes upon my bride,
Nor for their service are repaid by me
With jealousies or fears ; nor do they envy
My passage to those pleasures from which death
Cannot deter me. Great sir, pardon me :
Imagination of the joys I haste to
Made me forget my duty ; but the form
And ceremony past, 1 will attend you,
And with our constant resolution feast you ;
Not with coarse cates. forgot as soon as tasted,
But such as shall, while you have memory,
Be pleasing to the palate.

Acquainted only with a civil life;} Civil, in Massinger-
as well as in his Mrtcn|Mnricf l alludes to the political re
gtilations, customs, and habits, of the city, as distinguished
from the court ; sometimes, indeed, it takes a wider rane,
and compiisrs a deeree of civilization or moral improve-
ment, as opposed to a state of birbarUm, or pure nature.

Wherever civil occurs in Shakspeare, S'eevens inter-
prets, or rather misinterprets, it by " grave, solemn, decent,"
&c. That it somelinu-s bears those meanings cannot be de-
nied, but then it is always in it-f. rence to citizenship, or to
that Mate 01 orderly society which is swayed by wise and
well-balanced institutions: in its abstract sense it would fre-
quently have no meaning, or, at least none that was worthy
of Shaks-peare ; e. |.

" Yon, lord archbi-hop,
Whose see is by a cicil peace maintain'd.V

Second I' art of Henry IV.

That is, (says Slecvcns,) a " grave and decent" peace.
What is that .'
Again :

" Why should this desert silent be f

For it ii unpeopled ! No:
Tongues I'll IIHIIJC on every tree,

Tlui shall CJDKMJ'lagl fhow." At you Like It.
"That is, grave airl solemn a\in-. i!" No, iuixl) : sajiujjs
eo!|ectU I'ruiu an intercourse with civil hie.

Fran. Be not lost
In what you purpose. [En/.

GHZ. Call you this a marriage!
It differs little from banging ; I cry at it.

Vitel. See, where my bride appears ! in what full
As if the virgins that bear up her train [lustre '

Had long contended to receive an honour
Above their births, in doing her this service.
Nor comes she fearful to meet those delights.
Which, once past o'er, immortal pleasures follow.
I need not, therefore, comfort or encourage
Her forward steps ; and I should offer wrong
To her mind's fortitude, should I but ask
HQW she cnn brook the rough high-going sea,
Over whose foamy back our ship, well rigg'd
With hope and strong assurance, must transport u
Nor will I tell her, when we reach the haven,
Which tempests shall not hinder, what loud welcome
Shall entertain us ; nor commend the place,
To tell whose least perfection would strike dumb
The eloquence of all boasted in story,
Though join 'd together.

Don. Tis enough, my dearest,
I dare not doubt you ; as your humble shadow,
Lead where you please, I follow.

Vitel. One suit, sir,
And willingly I cease to be a beggar ;
And tlwt you may with more security hear it,
1 Know, 'tis not life I'll ask, nor to defer
I Our deaths, but a few minutes.
Asam. Speak ; 'tis granted.
Vitel. We being now to take our latest leave,
And grown of one belief, 1 do desire
I may have your allowance to perform it,
But in the fashion which we Christians use
Upon the like occasions.
Asam. 'Tis allow'd of.

Vitel. My service : haste, Gazet, to the next spring
And bring me of it.

Guz. Would I could as well
Fetch you a pardon ; I would not run but fly,
And be here in a moment. [Eri

Musta. What's the mystery
Of this ? discover it.

Vitel. Great sir, I'll tell you.
Each country hath its own peculiar rites :
Some, when they are to die, drink store of wine,
Which, pour'd in liberally, does oft beget
A bastard valour, with which arm'd, they bear
The not-to-be declined charge of death
With less fear and astonishment: others take
Drugs to procure a heavy sleep, that so
They may insensibly receive the means
That casts them in an everlasting slumber ;
Others

He-enter GAZET, with water

O welcome !

Asam. Now the use of yours?

Vitel. The clearness of this is a perfect sign
Of innocence : and as this washes off
Stains and pollutions from the things we wear ;
Thrown thus upon the forehead, it hath power
To purge those spots that cleave upon* the mind,
If thankfully received. [Throws it on her face.

that clfave upon the mind.} So the old copy :
the m.Hlern idilors with as little judgment as necessity,
read, cli-av* unto ihe mind.

THE RENEGADO.

Asnm. ' Tis a strange custom.

Vitel. How do you entertain it, my Donusa?
Feel you no alteration, no new motives,
No unexpected aids, that may confirm you
In that to which you were inclin'd before?

Don. I am another woman ; till this minute
I never lived, nor durst think how to die.
How long have 1 been blind ! yet on the sudden,
By this blest means, I feel the films of error
Ta'en from my soul's eyes. divine physician !
That hast bestow'd a sight on me, which death,
Though ready to embrace me in his arms,
Cannot take from me : let me kiss the hand
That did this miracle, and seal my thanks
Upon those lips from whence these sweet words

vanish'd,

That freed me from the cruellest of prisons,
Blind ignorance and misbelief. False prophet !
Impostor Mahomet !

Atom. I'll hear no more,
You do abuse my favours ; serer them :
\Vretch, if thou hadst another life to lose*
This blasphemy deserved it ; instantly
Carry them to their deaths.

Vitel. We part now, blest one,
To meet hereafter in a kingdom, where
Hell's malice shall not reach us.

Paul, Ha! ha! ha!

Asam. What means my mistress?

Puul. Who can hold her spleen.
When such ridiculous follies are presented,
The scene, too, made religion ? O, my lord,
How from one cause two contrary effects
Spring up upon the sudden !

Asam. This is strange.

Paul. That which hath fool'd her in her death,

wins me,

That hitherto have barr'd myself from pleasure,
To live in all delight.

Asam. There's music in this,

Paul. I now will run as fiercely to your arms
As ever longing woman did, born high
On the swift wings of appetite.

Vitel. O devil !

Paul. Nay, more; for there shall be no odds be-
twixt us,
I will turn Turk*.

Gaz. Most of your tribe do so,
When they begin in whore. [Aside.

Asam. You are serious, lady ?

Pant. Serious ! but satisfy me in a suit
That to the world may witness that I have
Some power upon you, and to-morrow challenge
Whatever's in my gilt ; for 1 will be
At your di-posef.

Gaz. That's ever the subscription
To a damn'd whore's false epistle. [Aside.

Asam. Ask this hand,

* / will turn Turk.

Gv/.. .Hfost of your tribe do to,

I Then they bryin in whore.} To turn Turk, was a figu-
rative fxpres-ion lor a change of condition, or opinion. It
slioul I be otastrvtil, that Gazet wantonly perverts the
phrase, \\liicli i* nseii in its literal acceptation by Paulina.

t 1 toill be

At j/otir dispose. | Mr. M. Mason, for no other reason,
* appears, th.uj tint of spoiling the metre, alters this to

1 wM be

At your disposal 1

Or, if thou wilt, the heads of these. I am rapt
Beyond myself with joy. Speak, speak, what is it?

Paul. But twelve short hours reprieve for this
base couple.

Asam. The reason, since you hate them ?

Paul. That I may

Have time to triumph o'er this wretched woman.
I'll be myself her guardian ; I will feast,
Adorned in her choice and richest jewels :
Commit him to what guards you please. Grant this,
I am no more mine own, but yours.

Asam. Enjoy it;

Repine at it who dares : bear him safe off
To the black tower, but give him all things useful :
The contrary was not in your request?

Paul. I do contemn him.

Don. Peace in death denied me !

Paul. Thou shall not go in liberty to thy grave;
For one night a sultana is my slave.

Mnstii. A terrible little tyranness.

Asam. No more;
Her will shall be a law. Till now ne'er happy !

[Exeum

SCENE IV. A Street.

Enter FRANCISCO, GHIMAI.DI, Master, Boatswain,
and Sailors.

Grim. Sir, all things are in readiness; the Turks,
That seized upon my ship, stowM under hatches ;
My men resolved and cheerful. Use but means
To get out of the ports, we will be ready
To bring you aboard, and then ^heaven be but
This for the viceroy's fleet! [pleased, )

Fran. Discharge your parts,
In mine I'll not be wanting : Fear not, master,
Something will come along to fraught your bark,
That you will have just cause to say you never
Made such a voyage.

Mast. We will stand the hazard.

Fran. What's the best hour?

Boitsw. After the second watch.

Fran. Enough : each to his charge.

Grim. We will be careful. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. .4 Room in Asambeg's Palace.
Enter PAULINA, DONUSA, CARAZIE, and MANTO.

Paul. Sit, madam, it is fit that I attend you;
And pardon, I beseech you, my rude language,
To which the sooner you will be invited,
When you shall understand, no way was left me
To free you from a present execution,
But by my personating that which never
My nature was acquainted with.
Don. 1 believe you.

Paul. You will, when yon shall understand I may
j Receive the honour to be known unto you
I By a nearer name : and, not to rack you further,
| The man you please to favour is my brother ;
i No merchant, madam, but a gentleman
Of the best rank in Venice.

Don. 1 rejoice in't ;

But what's this to his freedom ? for myself,
Were he well off, I were secure.
Paul. I have

146

THE RENEGADO.

[Acr V

A present means, not plotted by myself,
But a religious man, my confessor,
That may preserve all, if we had a servant
Whose faith we might rely on.

Don. She, that's now

\ our slave, was once mine ; had I twenty lives,
I durst commit them to her trust.

Alant. O madam !

I have been false, forgive me : I'll redeem it
By any thing, however desperate,
You please to impose upon me.

Paul. Troth these tears,
I think, cannot be counterfeit ; I believe her,
And, if you please, will try her.

Dun. At your peril ;
There is no further danger can look towards me.

Paul. This only then canst thou use means to

carry
This bake-meat to Vitelli.

Mant. With much ease ;
I am familiar with the guard ; beside,
It being known it was I that betray'd him*,
My entrance hardly will of th*-m be question'd.

Paul. About it then. Say that 'twas sent to him
From his Donusa; bid him search the midst of it,
He there shall find a cordial.

Mant. What I do
Shall speak my care and faith. [Exit.

Don. Good fortune with thee !

Paul. You cannot eat 1

Don. The time we thus abuse
We might employ much better

Paul. I am glad

To hear this from you. As for you, Carazfe,
If our intents do prosper, make choice, whether
You'll steal iiway with your two mistresses,
Or take vour fortune.

Car. I'll be gelded twice first ;
Hang him that stays behind.

Paul. I wait you, madam.
Were but my brother off, by the command
Of the doting yiceroy there's no guard dare stay me ;
And I will safely bring you to the place,
Where we must expect him.

Don. Heaven be gracious to us ! [Exeunt.

SCENE VI. A Room in the Black Tower.
Enter VITELLI, Aga, and Guard.

Vilel. Paulina to fall off thus ! 'tis to me
More terrible than death, and, like an earthquake,
Totters this walking building, such I am ;
And in my sudden ruin would prevent,
By choaking up at once my vital spirits,
This pompous preparation for my death.
But 1 am lostf ; that good man, good Francisco,
Deliver'd me a paper, which till now
I wanted leisure to peruse. [Reads the paver.

Aga. This Christian

Fears not, it seems, the near approaching sun,
Whose second rise he never must salute.

// be ing known it wai 1 that bf tray' A him,] Betides ma-
king several petty alterations in this line, Coxier subjoined
htm to ii, which is not found in the old copy. This is re-
tained, ai either that or you seems necessary 10 complete the
tense : his imaginary improvements I have removed.

t But I am lost ;j i. r. I forget inysrlt.

Enter MANTO with the baked meat.

1 Guard. Who's that?

2 Guard. Stand.
Aga. Manto !

Mant. Here's the viceroy's ring
Gives warrant to my entrance; yet you may
Parrake of any thing 1 shall deliver.
'Tis but a present to a dying man,
Sent from the princess that must suffei with him.

Aga. Use your own freedom.

Mant. I would not disturb
This his last contemplation.

Vltel. O, 'tis well !

He has restored all, and I at peace again
With my Paulina.

Mant. Sir, the sad Donusa,

Grieved for your sufferings more than for her own,
Knowing the long and tedious pilgrimage
"You are to take, presents you with this cordial,
Which privately she wishes you should taste of;
And search the middle part, where you shall find
Something that hath the operation to
Make death look lovely.

Vitel. 1 will not dispute
What she commands, but serve it. [Exit,

Aga. Prithee, Manto,

How hath the unfortunate princess spent this night,
Under her proud new mistress ?

.Mant. With such patience
As it o'ercomes the o'her's insolence,
Nay, triumphs o'er her prid>. My much haste now
Commands me hence ; but, the sad tragedy past,
I'll give you satisfaction to the full
Of all hath pass'd, and a true character
Of the proud Christian's nature. [Exit.

Aga. Break the watch up ;
What should we fear i'the midst of our* own

strengths?
'Tis but the ba&ha's jealousy. Farewell, soldiers.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII. An upper Room in the same.
Enter VITELLI with the baked meat.

Vitel. There's something more in this than means
to cloy

A hungry appetite, which I must discover.

She will'd me search the midst : thus, thus I pierce it.

Ha! what is this? a scroll bound up in pack-
thread !

What may the mystery be 7 [ Reads.

Son, let down this packthread at the v:est window of
the castle, hi/ it von shull draw up a ladder of ropes,
6y which you mail descend ;>ioiir dearest Donusu tcith the
rent <>f your Jriends below attend you. Heaven prosper
you! FRANC sco.

O best of men ! he that gives up himself

To a true religious friend, leans not ujxm

A false deceiving reed, but boldly builds

I'pon a rock : which now with joy I find

In reverend Francisco, whose good vows,

Labours, and watchings, in my hoped-for freedom,

Appear u pious miracle. 1 come,

n hat xlwuld we fear in the midst of our own strength* t

i'c.j i. e. our own lorlreuci.

CENE VII I.]

THE RENEGADO.

147

1 come with confidence ; though the descent
Were steep as hell, L know I cannot slide,
Being call'd down by such a faithful guide.

[Exit.

SCENE VIII. A Room m ASAMBEG'S Palace.
Enter ASAMBEG, MUSTAPHA, and Janizaries.

Asam. Excuse me, Mustapha, though this night

to me

Appear as tedious as that treble one
Was to the world when Jove on fair Alcmena
Begot Alcides. Were you to encounter
Those ravishing pleasures, which the slow-paced

hours

(To me they are such) bar me from, you would,
With your'continued wishes, strive to imp*
New feathers to the broken wings of time,
And chide the amorous sun, for too long dalliance
In Thetis' watery bosom.

Miista. You are too violent
In your desires, of which you are yet uncertain ;
Having no more assurance to enjoy them,
Than a weak woman's promise, on which wise men
Faintly rely.

Asam. Tush ! she is made of truth ;
And what she says she will do, holds as firm
As laws in brass, that know no change : [The cham-
ber shot off\.] What's this*
Some new prize brought in, sure

Enter AGA.

Why are thy looks
So ghastly ? Villain, speak !

Aga. Great sir, hear me,
Then after kill me ; we are all betray'd.
The false Grimaldi, sunk in your disgrace,
With his confederates, has seized his ship,
And those that guarded it stow'd under hatches.
With him the condemn'd princess, and the merchant,
That, with a ladder made of ropes, descended
From the black tower, in which he was enclosed ;
And your fair mistress

A num. Ha!

- to imp

New feathers tothe broltenwinys of time.} To imp, says
the compiler of the Fautconer'ft Dictionary, " is to insert a
feather iiit.i the win;; of a hawk, i.r oilier bird, in the place
ol' one (hat is bro en." To this practice our old writers,
who seem to have been, in ihe language of the present day,
keen sportsmen, perpetually allude. There is a passage in
Toinkit's Albtimasa, which would be admired even in the
noblest scenes ol' Shakspeare:

" How slow the day slides on! when we desire

Time's haste, he seems to lose a match with lobsters ;

And when we wish him stay, he imp* bis wings

With leathers plumed with thought I"

* The chamber shot off.} Such is the marginal direction
in ilie old copy. The modern editors, in kindness lo their
readers' ignorance, have considerately expunged the word
chamber, anil inserted piece (it should have been great yun)
in it> pl.ice. Yet a litlle while, and we shall happily purge
our language of every mifa^iioiiable expression. Chambers
occur continual!) in our old writers; they are. as Mr. M alone
bays, small pieces of ordnance, such as are still fired in the
Park on rej-iicing days. From the marginal direction, it
seems as if the theatres, in our author's time, were provided
with one or mure of these pieces : and indeed, it appears
from Jonson's h'xrcratitm upon Pit/can, that the Globe play-
In. use wa sel on fire by the discharge of this holiday artil-
lery:

" the Globe, the glory of the Bank,

I saw with J'.vo poor chambers taken in.

And razed, ere thought could urge, this might have been."

Aga. With all their train,
And choicest jewels, are gone safe aboard :
Their sails spread forth, and with a fore-right gale*
Leaving our coast, in scorn of all pursuit,
As a farewell they shew'd a broadside to usf.

Asam. No more.

Musta. Now note your confidence!

Asam. No more.
O mv credulity ! I am too full
Of grief and rage to speak. Dull, heavy fool !
Worthy of all the tortures that the frown
Of thy incensed master can throw on thee,
Without one man's compassion ! I will hide
This head among the deserts, or some cave
Fill'd with my shame and me ; where I alone
May die without a partner in my moan. [Exeunt].

* and with a fore-right gale.] The old copy

has afore gale. Mr. M. Mason saw the measure was de-
fective, and proposed to read a riyht fore-gale. I prefer
the lection which I have inserted in the text, as it is a
common expression, and has indeed been already used by
the poet himself. Thus, in the Bondman, :

" sink him with

A fore-right gale of liberty."

t At a farewell they shew'd a broadside to us.} I take
this opportunity of observing, thai our old dramatic writers
were extremely well acquainted with nautical terms; this
was owing to the avidity with which voyages were read by
all descriptions of people. Great eti'ects were then produced
by small means, and created a wonderful interest in Ihe
public mind: the writers, too, of these popular works entered
into them with \\.f\r whole soul, and gave a fullness and pre-
cision to their narratives which are not always to be found
in those of the present day. I know not how I have been
drawn on so far ; but I meant to say that from some cause
or other (perhaps from what I last hinted at) m.iritime
language is not so generally understood now .is it was two
centuries ato. There is scarcely a nautical expression in
Shakspeare which is not illustraded into obscurity, or mis-
interpreted. Witu respect to the expression which gave rise
to these remarks, 1 shall only observe, (not to puzzle the
reader with terms which he would perhaps ill understand,)
that to shew a broadside to an enemy, argues the highest
degree of confi ience and security ; and is here adduced wilh
great propriety to prove that the fugitives thought them-
selves out of the danger of pursuit.

+ The quantity of action in this play is the very cause of
the forced contrivances which are to be found in it: yet,
however extravagant in its plan, or improbable in its con-
duct, it contains many beautiful sentiments and interesting
situations. There was no such call I'T some of the licen-
tiousness which stains it. However, its conclusion is favour-
able to the cause of virtue. The final influence of truth is
seen in the conversion of Donusa ; and the force of con-
science in the reclaiming of Vitelli and the Renegado.
Massinger seems to have pleased himself with the discrimi-
nation of their repentance, Act V. sc. iii. ; and it may be
remarked in general, that when his plots are unhappy, or
his action confused, he makes amends by the superior care
bestowed on certain of his characters.

The Renegado is described as impious, atheistical, sacri-
legious, vindictive, licentious, and cruel, ..ccordingly, his
remorse is of a violent nature. He is abject and forlorn,
despairs of the power of heaven itself to save him, and
appears frantic with imaginations of horror. He is super-
stitions too, (a true mark of nature thus agitated,) and will
only be comforted if he can atone to the holy man in per-
son whose administration of the sacred rites he had profaned.
And when this is dexterously contrived by Francisco, his
protestations of penance are as tumultuonsly uttered as they
are gloomily conceived. Inflictions the most severe shall be
his pleasures ; the s ripes of iron whips shall be but gentle
touches of a saving hand; and his whole life shall be one
continued atonement to his native faith, which he had re-
nounced

The recovery of the tender but misguided Vitelli is of a
different kind. At first he is pleased with the success of his
pursuit, talks lightly of virtue, and is resolved to proceed
with his indulgence But he is soon checked by the appear-
ance of his coniessor, acknowledges his error, earnestly ask*
forgiveness, avows the struggle between his passions and bis

148

THE RKNEGADO.

[Acr V

duty, but piomises submission, and keeps his promise. In
bis conference with Donusa (.in impressive scene) he shews
himself superior to the enticements which yet he deeply
feels; and tlie sati-faction of conscience, now secure from
a relapse, gives him constancy in prison, and amid the
prospect ol death. He rises to a sacred vehemence in
favour of his religion, and converts Donusa herself. This
incident, though but fclightly managed, reminds us of The
Virgin- Martyr, and in bo'h plays we may observe a similar
use of religious terms and ecclesiastical questions, which,
with the language and events of the Roman Marty rologies,
Mem to be familiar to Mas.-inger.

The Jesuit is represented in a manner highly flattering to
ku order. Pious, sagacious, charitable, disinterested, and

without ostentation, he watches over (he welfare of hit
charge, and directs all the proceedings of the Ctsired con-
clusion.

The Turkish characters are not ill-drawn. The women
are wanton, capricious, and stick at nothing to accomplish
their ends. The men are shrewd and interested, haughty
and violent, and of course become alternately fawning and
ferocious.

The chief lesson to be drawn from this play is, to be on
our guard against the effects of vicious habits. Gross sini
make repentance a terror. The return to duty is most easy
and consolinc, when the departure from it has been neitiier
long nor wilful :

breve tit quod turyiter audei.

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE,

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.] A comedy of this name was entered on the books of the Stationers' Com-
pany, June 29, 1660 ; and a manuscript play so called, and said to be written by W. Rowley, was in the
number of those destroyed by Mr. Warburton's servant. I suspect this to be the drama before us. It is,
beyond all possibility of doubt, the genuine work of .Massinger, and was licensed for the stage by Sir H.
Herbert on the 3rd of June, 1624. I have already mentioned mv obligations to Mr. Malone for the use of
the manuscript, with permission to insert it in the present edition, of which it forms no inconsiderable
ornament : it is here given with the most scrupulous fidelity, not a word, not a syllable, being altered or
omitted, except in one or two instances, where the inadvertence of the old copyist had occasioned a palpable
blunder, of which the remedy was as certain as the discovery was easy.

It would not have required much pains, or the exertion of much ingenuity, to supply most of the chasms
occasioned by the defect of the manuscript, which are here pointed out by short lines : but it seemed the safer
method to present them as they stood. The reader may now be confident that all is genuine, and exercise
his skill in filling up the vacant spaces, in a manner most consonant to his own opinion of the drift of the
author. He must not flatter himself with the hope of further aids, for unless another manuscript of this
play should be discovered, (of which there is little probability,) no subsequent researches will add to what
is now before him. Such, unfortunately, is the decayed state of the present, that with every precaution
which the most anxious concern could suggest, it crumbled under the inspection : a repetition, therefore, of
my labours, which I scarcely think will be lightly undertaken, will produce nothing but disappointment;
since many lines, and fragments of lines, which are faithfully copied in che succeeding pages, will be found
in it no more.

I cannot entertain a doubt but that this curious relick will be perused with uncommon interest; at least
with all that perfect novelty can give : since it is highly probable, that not a single page of it has been
read by any person now in existence.

The plot is founded upon those celebrated Courts or Parliaments of Love, said to be holden in France
during the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries, for the discussion of amorous questions, and the
distribution of rewards and punishments among faithful and perfidious lovers.

The origin of these institutions is due to the lively imagination of the Troubadours . petty discussions on
points of gallantry, which probably took place between them and their mistresses, are magnified, in their
romantic writings, into grave and solemn debates, managed with all the form and ceremony of provincial
councils, by the most distinguished personages of both sexes.

In their tales this does not look amiss : when the whole business of the world is love, every thing con-
nected with it assumes an air of importance ; but, unfortunately, these reveries of a warm fancy have found
admittance into general history, where the improbability and folly of them become instantly apparent. .No-
thing, in short, can be more mean and absurd than tlio causes proposed for judgment, except, perhaps, it be
the sentences of this motley tribunal.

In France the existence of these Parliaments has been discussed with much warmth. Monsieur de Chas-
teuil a Provencal, and therefore interested in the honour of his country, collected from the Troubadours
and their followers a number of anecdotes on the subject, which he moulded into a consistent and entertain-
ing narrative : it wanted, however, the foundation of truth, and was controverted in all its parts by Monsieur
de Haitze. The question is of little interest to us : those, however, who feel any degree of curiosity on the
subject, may consult the Abbe de Sade*, who has stated the arguments on both sides with that candour
and perspicuity which are visible in every page of his entertaining work.

De Sade himself, though he laughs at the pretensions of the Troubadours, is yet inclined to think thai
Courts or Parliaments of Love were sometimes held ; though not with the state and formality ascribed to
them by the historians of Provence. He mentions a celebrated one at Troyes, where the Countess of
Champagnef presided; and he gives a few of the arrets, or decrees, which emanated from it: these a.-'
still more frivolous than those of the Troubadours, and in no age of the world could have been received
without derision and contempt.

After all, the reality of these tribunals was not doubted in Massinger's time, nor in the ages preceding
it he had therefore sufficient authority for his (able. Add, too, that he has given the establishment a dig-
nity which renders its decisions of importance. A dame de chuleau issuing her ridiculous arrets (for so they
were styled) excites little notice ; but a great and victorious monarch sitting in judgment, attended by his
peers, and surrounded with all the pomp of empire, is an imposing object. Nor are the causes selected,

Memoircs pour la Vie de Francoit Petrarque, torn. II. notes, p. 44.

t Mr. Godwin says "the queen of France;" bui he seems to have posted through de Sade, as Yorick and Ui |T^1
did through Europe " at a prodigious rate."

150

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

[Acrl.

altogether unworthy of the tribunal : it is not a miserable question, " whether lovers must needs be jealous/
" whether love can consist with matrimony*," &c. which is to be heard ; but injuries of a serious nature,
and which can only be redressed by a court of this peculiar kind. In a word, a Parliament of Love, if
ever respectable, is only so, as convoked in this delightful drama.

As the list of the dramatis persons is destroyed, we are reduced to guess at the period in which the sup-
posed events of this drama took place: luckily, there is not much room for deliberation, since the king's
speech, on his first appearance, confines it to Charles VIII. That moi.arch led his army into Italy on the
6th of "October, 1494, and entered Naples in triumph on the 20th of February in the following yeiir: thus
says Mezerai, " in four months this young king marched through all Italy, was received everywhere as
their sovereign lord, without using any force, only sending his harbingers to mark out his lodgings, and
conquered the hole kingdom of Naples, excepting only Brindes, in fifteen days."

Charles was the gayest monarch that ever sat upon the throne of France ; he was fond of masks, revels,
dances, and the society of the ladies, to a culpable degree; Massinger, therefore, could not have found a
fitter prince for the establishment of a Parliament of Love. During ;\ treaty with Lodowick Sforza, (father
of Francis Duke of Milan,) on which the security of his conquests in a great measure depended, he was so
impatient to return to his favourite amusements, that he broke through all restraint, and br fore any of its
stipulations were put in execution, " went away," continues the honest historian, " to dance, masquerade, and
make love." By this precipitation, he lost all the fruit of his victories ; for Sforza did not perform one
article of the treaty.

This play was acted at the Cockpit, in Drury Lane. I have been sparing of my observations, being
desirous (as far as was consistent with my plan) that it might enjoy the reader's undivided attention.

DRAMATIS PERSONS,

AS FAR AS THEY APPEAR IN THE REMAINING SCENES OP THIS FLAT

CHARLES VIII. king of France. , DINANT, physician to the court.

Duke of Orleans

Duke of Nemours.

CHAMONT, o nobleman ; once guardian to Eellisant.

PHILAMOUR, ) ..

; counsellors.
LA KMT, )

MONTHOSE, a nble gentleman, in love with Bellisant.

Ci.EnEMOND, in love with Leonora.

CLAHINDOUE,}

PERIGOT, ItciU courtier*.

NOVALL, 3

SCENE, Paris, and the adjacent country

BELLISANT, a noble lady._

LAMIHA, wife to Chamont.

BEAUTRE, (supposed Calista,) wife to Clarindore.

LEONORA.

CLARINDA, wife to Diuant.

Other Courtiers, Priest, Officers, Servants, $0.

ACT I.

SCENE IV. A Room in Bellisant's House.

Enttr CHAMONT and BELLISANT.
Cham, .......

I didf discharge the trust imposed upon me,
Being your guardian.

Mtmoiret pour la Vie dt Petrarque, torn. 1 1. note*,
p. 60.

* 1 did &r.] Here the fragment bpgins. It is not powible
to M\ hi>w much of this act is 1...-I, as the HUIIUM-I i|>t it not
paged ; but, perhaps, two or three c*-nes. One must Lave
taken place between Chainotil anit JBeauprc, in which the
latter di-<'l<>M-d her history ; another, perhaps between Clere-
mi. ml and Leonora ; the assemblage of the " uiirsu" at
llriliitant'.- house probably formed a third, ami the prcrrnt
conirrciu-e, in whirh he quit? her guests to attend on Cha-
iiipiii.iiMy be the toiitth. The reader will please to observe,
Hut all this if conjecture, and given for nothing more: to
faciliutc references, it is nr.-essary to fix on some determi-
iMie number: the ultimate choice, however, ii of no great
moment, iln.in.li I flatter myself it cannot be far from the
tinih. Very little uf this scene appears to be lost ; Ch.tmont
U liciv, pti hap*, in hit nril ipeech

Bell. 'Tis with truth acknowledged.

Cham. The love I then bore to you, and desira
To do you all good offices of a friend,
Continues with me, nay, increases, lady :
And, out of this assurance, 1 presume,
What, from a true heart, 1 shall now deliver,
Will meet a gentle censure.

Bell. When you speak,
VVhate'er the subjrct be, I gladly hear.

Cham. To tell you of the prea'ness of your state,
And from what noble stock you are derived,
Were but impertinence, anil a common theme,
Since you well know both. What 1 am to speak of
Touches you nearer ; therefore ^iv* me l?ave
To say, that, howsoever your gre.it bounties,
Continual feasting, princely entertainments,
May gain you the opinion ol some few
Of a brave generous spirit, (the best, harvest
That you can hope for from such costly seed,)
You cannot yet, amongst the multitude,
(Since, next unto the princes of the blood,
The eyes of all are lix'd on you,) but give

SCENE V'.]

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

151

Some wounds, which will not close without a scar

To your fnir reputation, and good name,

In suffering such a crew of riotous gallants,

Not of the best repute, to be so frequent

Both in vour house and presence : this, 'tis rumour'd,

Little agrees with the curiousness* of honour,

Or modesty or a maid.

BetL Not to dwell long

Upon my answer, I must thank your goodness,
And provident care, that have instructed me
What mv revenues are, by which I measure
How far I may expend ; and yet I find not
That I begin to waste, nor would I add
To what I now possess. I am myself;
And for my fame, since I am innocent here.
This for the world's opinion !

Chum. Take heed, madam.

That [world'sf] opinion, which you slight, confirms
This lady for immodest, and proclaims
Another for a modest ; whereas the first [second
Ne'er knew what loose thoughts were, and the piaised
Had never a cold dream.

I'flL I dare not argue :
But what means to prevent this ?

Cham. Noble marriage.

Bell. Purdon me, sir; and do not think I scorn
Your grave advice, which I have ever folio ived,

Though not pleased in it. [not:

AVould you have me match with wealth? I need it
Or hunt for honour, and increase of titles ?
In truth, I rest ambitious of no greater
Than what my father left. Or do you judge
Mv blood to run so high, that 'tis not in
Physic to cool me? I yet feel no such heat:
But when, against mv will, it grows upon me,
I'll think upon your counsel.

Chum. If you resolve, then,
To live a virgin, you have ...
To which you may retire, and ha

And live cont .....

Bell. What proof

Should I give of my continence, if I lived
Not seen, nor seeing any? Spartan Helen,
Corinthian Lais, or Rome's Messaline,
So mew'd up, might have died as they were born,
13y lust untempted ; no, it is the glory
Of chastity to be tempted, tempted home too,
The honour else is nothing ! I would be
The first example to convince, for liars.
Those poets, that, with sharp and bitter rhymes
Proclaim aloud, that chastity has no being,'
But in a cottage : and so confident
I am in this to conquer, that I will
Expose myself to all assaults ; see masks,
Ana hear bewitching sonnets ; change discourse
\\ ith one that, for experience, could teach Ovid
To write, a better way, his Art of L-ve :
Feed high, and take and give free entertainment,
Lend Cupid eyes, and new artillery,
Deny his mother for a deity ;
Ye* every burning shot he made at me,

Little agree* tcith the cnrionnes of honour,'] i. t. the
punctilious nicety or' honour: in tliis sense (be word often
occur*.

t That [world's] opinion which you tl'tyht, &c.] I have
ventured to complete the metre bv inwriir.e the word be-
turen brackets, which was probably ovvrluoked by the

Meeting with my chaste thoughts, should lose their

ardour ;

Which when I have o'ercome, malicious men
Must, to thnir shame, confess 'ti* possible
For a young ladv (some say fairj at court,
To keep her virgin honour.

Cham. May you prosper
In this great undertaking! I'll not use
A syllable to divert you : but must be
A suifor in another kind.

Belt. Whate'er it be, .
'Tis grunted.

Chum. Jt is only to accept
A present from me.

Bell. Call you this a suit!

Cham. Come in, Calista.

Enter BEAUPRE, disguised as a Moorish Slave.

This is one I would
Bestow upon you.

Bell. Tis the handsomest
I e'er saw of her countrv ; she hath neither
Thick lips, nor rough curl'd hair.

Cham. Her manners, lady,
I'pon my honour, better her good shape :
She speaks our language too; for being surprised
In Barbary, she was bestowed upon
A pirate of Marseilles*, with whose wife f her,

She lived five years, and learn'd it: there I bought
As pitying her hard usage ; if you please
To make her yours, you may.

Bell. With many thanks.

Come hiiher, pretty one; fear not, you shall find me
A gentle mistress.

Bean. With my care and service
I'll studv to preserve you such.

Bell. Well answered.

Come, follow me ; we'll instantly to court,
And take my guests along.

Cham. They wait you, madam. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. A State Eoom in the Palace.

Flonrith. Enter CHARLES, On LEANS, NEMOURS,
PHILAMOUK, and LAFOHT.

Char. What solitude does dwell about our court !
Why this dull entertainment? Have I march'd
Victorious through Italy, enter'd Rome,
Like a triumphant conqueror, set my foot
Upon the neck of Florence, tamed the pride
Of the Venetians, scourged those petty tyrants,
That .... den of the world, to b
--- home, nay, my house neglected !

(A>ic Speaker.) - the courtiers would appear
---- therefore they presumed

(A"ic Speaker.)

the ladies, sir,
that glad time
- the choice.

Enter BEI.LISANT, LEONORA, LAMIRA, CI.ARINDA,
CHAMONT, MONTROSE, ( 'LEREMOSD. CI.AIIINOOHE,
PERIGOT, NOVALL, and other Courtiers.

Phil. Here they come.

Ladies. All happiness to your mnjes f y !

Courtiers. And victor) sit evei on your sword!

A pirate of ,\I irM-iile.*, 1 Marteillt* btre. a i l-t
natural Combnt. i a trisvlUh'r

152

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

[Acr I

Char. Our thanks to all.
But wherefore come you in divided troops,
As if the mistress would not accept
Their servants' guardship*. or the servants, slighted,
Refuse to oft'er it? You all wear sad looks :
On Perigot appears not that blunt mirth
Which his face used to promise ; on Montrose
There hangs a heavy dulness ; Cleremond
Droops even to death, and Clarindore hath lost
Much of his sharpness ; nay, these ladies too,
Whose sparkling eyes did use to fire the court
With various inventions of delight, [whence

Part with their splendour. What's the cause ? from
Proceeds this alteration ?

Peri. I am troubled

With the toothach, or with love, I know not whether :
There is a worm in both. [Aside.

Clarin. It is their pride.

Bell. Or your unworthiness.

Clar. The honour that
The French dames held for courtesy, above
All ladies of the earth, dwells not in these,
That glory in their cruelty.

Leon. The desert

The chevaliers of France were truly lords of,
And which your grandsires really did possess,
At no part you inherit.

Bell. Ere they durst
Presume to offer service to a lady
In person they performed some gallant acts,
The fame of which prepared them gracious hearing,
Ere they made their approaches : what, coy she, then,
Though great in birth, not to be parallel 'd
For nature's liberal bounties, both set off
With fortune's trappings, wealth ; but, with delight,
Gladly acknowledged such a man her servant
To whose heroic courage, and deep wisdom,
The flourishing commonwealth, and thankful king,
Confess'd themselves for debtors? Whereas now,
If you have travelled Italy, and brought home
Some remnants of the language, and can set
Your faces in some strange and ne'er seen posture,
Dance a lavoltaf, and be rude and saucy ;
Protest, and swear, and damn, (for these are acts
That most think grace them,) and then view your-
In the deceiving mirror of self-love, [selves

You do conclude there hardly is a woman
That can be worthy of you.

Mont. We would grant
We are not equal to our ancestors
In noble undertakings, if we thought,
In us a free confession would persuade you
Not to deny your own most wilful errors :
And where you tax usj for unservi-><, lady,

nut wherefore come you in divided troop*,

me now call the reader's attention to the exquisite melody
of this speech : nothing is forced, nothing is inverted plain-
ness and simplicity are all the aids of which the po< t has
availed himself, yet a more perfect specimen of flowiii"
rlcgant, and rythmical modulation is not to be found in the
English language. The priglnliue>, energy, and spirit
which pervade the remainder of this scene are worthy of all
praise

Dance a lavolta,] For this dance (for which the courtiers
of England as well as of France were indebted to Italy) see
the Great Duke of Florence.

t And where ymt tax ut, &c.] Where is used for whereas :
practice to common with Massinger, and indeed with all

I nerer knew a soldier yet, that could

Arrive into your favour; we may suffer

The winter's frost, and scorching summer's heat.

When the hot lion's breath singeth the fields,

To seek out victory; yet, at our return,

Though honour'd in our manly wounds, well taken,

You say they do deform us, and the loss

Of much blood that way, renders us unfit

To please you in your chambers.

Clarin. I must speak

A little in, the general cause : your beauties
Are charms that do enchant so

Knowing that we are fastened in your toils ;
In which to struggle, or strive to break out,
Increases the captivity. Never Circe,
Sated with such she purposed to transform,
Or cunning Siren, for whose fatal music
Nought but the hearer's death could satisfy,
Knew less of pity. Nay, I dare go further,
And justify your majesty hath lost
More resolute and brave courageous spirits
In this same dull and languishing fight of love,
Than e'er your wars took from you.

Char. No reply :

This is a cause we will determine of,

And speedily redress : tamed Italy,

V\ ith fear, confesses me a warlike king,

And France shall boast I am a prince of love.

Shall we, that keep perpetual parliaments

For petty suits, or the least, injury

Offer'd the goods or bodies of our subjects,

Not study a cure or the sickness of the mind,

Whose venomous contagion hath infected

Our bravest servants, and the choicest beauties

Our court is proud of? These are wounds require

A kingly surgeon, and the honour worthy

By us to be accepted.

Phil. It would add
To the rest of your great actions.

Laf. But the means
Most difficult, I fear

Cham. You ^iall do more, sir,
If you perform this, than I e'er could read
The sons of Saturn, that by lot divided
The government of the air, the sea. and hell
Had spirit to undertake.

Char. Why, this more fires me ;
And now partake of my design. With speed
Erect a place of justice near the court,
Which we'll have styled, the PARLIAMENT or LOVE.
Here such whose humble service is not consider 'd
By their proud mistresses, freely may complain ;
And shall have hearing and redress.

Nov. O rare !

Peri. 1 like this well.

Char. And ladies that are wrong'd
By such as do profess themselves their servants.
May cite them hither, and their cause deliver'd
Or by their own tongues, or fee'd advocates,
Find sudden satisfaction.

Nov. What a rascal

Was I to It-ave the law ! I might have had
Clients and clients. Ne'er was such a time
For any smooth-chinn'd advocate.

Peri. They will get the etart

our old writers, that it is unnecessary to proaac*
example of U.

SCENE I.]

THE PARLAMENT OF LOVE.

1.53

Of the ladies' spruce physicians, starve their chap-
Though never so well timber'd. [lains,

Char. 'Tis our will,

Nor shall it be disputed. Of this court,
Or rather, sanctuary of pure lovers,
My lord of Orleans, and Nemours, assisted
By the messieurs Philamour and Lafort, are judges.
You have worn Venus' colours from your youth,

And cannot, therefore, but be sensible
Of all her mysteries: what you shall determine,
In the way of penance, punishment, or reward,
Shall . - - the trial ; a month we grant you
------ amours, which expired,

. make your complaints, and be assured

- - - impartial hearing ; this determined,
------ rest of our affairs. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Room in Clarindore's Houte.
Enter CLARINDORE, MONT ROSE, PERIGOT, and

NOVALL.

Peri. I do not relish

The last part of the king's speech, though I was
Much taken with the first.

Nov. Your reason, tutor?

Peri. Why, look you, pupil ; the decree, that

women

Should not neglect the service of their lovers,
But pay them from the exchequer they were born with,
Was good and laudable ; they being created
To be both tractable and tactable,
When they are useful : but to have it order'd,
All women that have stumbled in the dark,
Or given, by owl-light, favours, should complain,
Is most intolerable : I myself shall have, [ets,

Of such as trade in the streets, and 'scaped my pock-
Of progress laundresses, and marketwomen,
When the king's pleasure's known, a thousand bills
Preferr'd against me.

Clarin. This is out of season :
Nothing to madam Bellisant, that, in public,
Hath so inveighed against us.

Nov She's a fury,
I dare no more attempt her.

Peri. I'll not venture

To change six wort's with her for half her state,
Or stay, till she be. /rimm'd*, from, wine and women,
For any new monopoly.

Mont. I will study

How to forget her, shun the tempting poison
Her looks, and magic of discourse, still offer,
And be myself again : since there's no hope,
'Twere madness to pursue her.

Pert. There are madams [not

Better brought up, 'tis thought, and wives that dare
Complain in parliament ; there's safe trading, pupil :
And, when slie finds she is of all forsaken.
Let my lady pride repent in vain, and mump,
And envy others' markets.

Clarin. May 1 ne'er prosper
But you are three of the most fainting spirits
That ever I conversed with ! You do well
To talk of progress laundresses, punks, and beggars :
The wife of some rich tradesman with three teeth,
And twice so many hairs : truck with old ladies,

Or stay, till she be trimm'd from wine and women,]
This word is very indistinct in the manuscript; I copied it
with my best care, but still doubt whether it be the one
given by the author.

That nature hath given o'er, that owe their doctors

For an artificial life, that are so frozen,

That a sound plague cannot thaw them ; but despair

I give you over : never hope to take

A velvet petticoat up, or to commit

With an Italian cutwork smock, wnen torn too.

Mont. And what hopes nourish you ?

Clarin, Troth, mine are modest.
I am only confident to win the lady
You dare not look on, and now, in the height
Of her contempt and scorn, to humble her.
And teach her at what game her mother play'd,
When she was got ; and, cloy'd with those poor

toys,

As I find her obedient and pleasing,
I may, perhaps, descend t.> marry her :
Then, with a kind of state, I take my chair*,
Command a sudden muster of my servants.
And, after two or thrse majestic hums,
It being known all is mine, peruse my writings,
Let out this manor, at an easy rate,
To such a friend, lend this ten thousand crowns
For the redemption of his mortgaged land,
Give to each by-blow I know mine, a farm,
Erect - this in conse-

That pleased me in my youth, but now grown stale.
These things first ordered by me, and confirm'd
By Bellisant, my wife, I care not much
If, out of her own lands, I do assign her
Some pretty jointure,

Peri. Talkest thou in thy sleep?

Nov. Or art thou mad ?

Ctar. A little elevated
With the assurance of my future fortune :
Why do you stare and grin? I know this must be,
And I will lay three thousand crowns, within
A month I will effect this.

Mont. How !

Clarin. Give proof

I have enjoy 'd fair Bellisant, evident proof
I have pluck'd her virgin rose, so long preserved,
Not, like a play-trick, with a chain or ringf
Stolen by corruption, but, against her will,
Make her confess so much

Mont. Impossible.

* Then with a kind of *tate, / take my chair, &c.] This
is imitated from the soliloquy of Malvolio, in Twelfth IViyht;
whicli is ti<elf -in iiiiit-ttioii of the reverie 01 Alii.t--cii.ir, in
the Arabian Xiyhts EatrrtaiameM

t Not, like a play -trick, with a chain or ring

Stolen bi/ corruption, ii^c.] Here is .<n .illusion, perhaps,
to the bracelet of l.iiogeu: the Hick, howtvt/r, of which
Clarindore tpeaks, is found in many of our old dramas.

154

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

[Act II.

Clarin. Then the disi- race be mine, the profit yours,
If that you think her chastity a rock
Aot to be moved or shaken, or hold me
A flam rer of myself, or overweener.
Let me pay for my foolery.

Peri. I'll engage
Myself for a thousand.

A'.n>. I'll not out for a second.

Mont. I would gladly lose a third partfor assurance
No virgin c;m stand constant long.

Clariu. Leave that
To the :nal : 1ft us to a notary,
Draw the condi'ions, see the crowns deposited,
And thfii 1 will not en-, St. Dennis for me* !
But Love, biind archer, aid me!

Peri. Look you thrive ;
I would not be so jeer'd and hooted at,
As vou will be else.

I will run the hazard. [I'.ieunt.

SCENE II. A Room in Li-oxom's House.
Enter LKONORA and a Servant.

Sen. lie will not be denied

Leon. Slave, beat, him back !
I feed such whelps.

Serv. Madam, 1 rattled him,
Rattled him home.

I. fan. Rattle him hence, you rascal,
Or never see me more.

Entrr Ci.EnF.MOND.

Serv. lie comes : a swonl!

What would you have me do? Shall I cry murder
Or raise the constable ?

Leon. Hfnce, you shaking coward! [sum

Sere. 1 am glad 1 arn so got off: here's a round
For a few bitter words ! be not shook off, sir;
I'll see none shall disturb you. [Eait.

Cler. Vou might spare

These frowns, good lady, on me ; they are useless,
I am shot through and through with your disdain.
And on my heart the darts of scorn so thick.
That there's no vacant place left to receive
Another wound ; their multitude is grown
My best defence, and do confirm me that
Vou cannot hurt me further.

LAW. \\ert thou not

Made up of impudence, and slaved to folly,
Did any drop of noble blood remain
In thy lustful veins, Ladst thou or touch or relish,
Of modesty, civility, or nv.mners,
Or but in thy deformed outside only
Thou didst retain the essence of a man,
- - ------ so many - - -

And loathing to thy person, thou wouldst not
Force from a blushing woman that rude language,
Thy baseness first made me acquainted with.

i'ler. Now saint-like patience guard me!

Leon. I have heard

Of mountebanks that, to vent their drugs and oils,
Have so inur'd themselves to poison, that
They could digest a venom 'd toad, or spider,
better than wholesome viands : in the list

St. Denni* far me.'] This was the

watchword of the French soldiers when they chatged their
tuemic*.

Of such I hold thee ; for that bitterness
Of sjK?ech, reproof, and scorn, by her delivered
Whom thou professest to adore, and shake at,
Which would deter all mankind but thyself,
Do nourish in thee saucy hopes, with pleasure.
Cler. Hear but my just defence.
Leon. Vet, since thou art
So spaniel-like affected, and thy dotage
Increases from abuse and injury.
That way I'll once more feast thee. Of all men
I ever saw yet, in my settled judgment,
'Spite of thy barber, tailor, and perfumer,
And thine adulterate and borrow'd helps,
Thou art the ugliest creature ; and when trimm'd up
To the height, as thou imagin'st, in mine eyes,
A leper with a clap-dish, (to give notice
He is infectious*,) in respect of thee.
Appears a young Adonis.
Cler. Vou look on me
In a false glass, madam.

Leon. Then thy dunghill mind,
Suitable to the outside, never yet
Produced one gentle thought, knowing her want
Of faculties to put it into act.
Thy courtship, as absurd as any zany's,
After a practised manner ; thy discourse,
Though full of bombast phrase, never brought matter
Worthy the laughing at, much less the hearing.
But I grow weary ; for, indeed, to speak thee,
Thy ills I mean, and speak them to the full,

', Would tire a thousand women's voluble tongues,

! And twice so many lawyers' for a farewell,
I'll sooner clasp an incubus, or hug

A fork'd-tongued adder, than meet thy embraces,
Which, as the devil, I fly from.

Cler. Now you have spent
The utmost of your spleen, I would not say
Vour malice, set off to the height with fiction,
Allow me leave, (a poor request, which judges
Seldom deny unto a man condemn'd.)

| A little to complain : for, being censured,
Or to extenuate, or excuse my guilt,
Were but to wash an Ethiop. How oft, with tears,
W hen the inhuman porter has forbid
My entrance by your most severe commands,

' A leper with a clap-diih, (to give notice

tie it infectious, )i Tliis explains the origin of the
custom, to which oar old writers have such frequent all*
iun.

The leprosy was once very common here; this the
writers on the subject properly attribute to ihe want of
linen, of fre.-h meat in winter, and above all, to the tlolh ia
which the poor vegetated in their mot filthy hovels. Out
old poets seldom mention a leper, without noticing, at the
same time, hi* constant accompaniments, the cup ana
clipper. 'Muis Henry.-on:

" Thus sh.ilt ihon go beting fro hous to hous,
With cuppe and clajtper, like a I.azarout."

Testament of Cretteute.

The clapper wai not, as some imagine, an instrument
solely calculated tor making a noise; it was simply the
cover of the cup or disk, which the poor wretch opened and
shut with a loud clap, at the Uoors of the well-disposed.
Cleanliness and a wholesome diet have eradicated this
loathsome disease amongst us; bi:t it still exists in many
parts t the continent, where I have seen little communities
of the infected, begging by the road side with a clap dish,
which they continue to strike, as formerly, on the appear-
ance of a traveller. In England the clap dish \\m in,
pudently assumed by vagrants, sturdy-beggars, &c., who
found it (as Farquhar says of the title of captain) "conve-
nient for travelling," as the terror or pity the sound of it
excited was vell calculated to draw contributions from (lit
public.

SCENE III.]

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

155

Have these eyes wash'd your threshold ! Did there
Come novelty to Paris, rich or rare, [ever

Which hut as soon as known was riot presented,
Howe'er with frowns refused? Have 1 not brought
The braveries of France* before your window,
To fight at. barriers, or to break a lance,
Or, in their full career, to take the ring,
To do your honour? and then, being refused
To speak my grief, my arms, my impresses,
The colours that I wore, in a dumb sorrow
Express'd how much I suffer'd in the rigour
Of your displeasure.

Leon. 1'wo months hence I'll have

The

Cter. Stay, best madam,
I am growing to a period.

Lean. Prav you do;
[ heiv shall take a nap else, 'tis so pleasing.

Cler. Then only this : the voice you now contemn,
You once did swear was musical ; you have met too
These lips in a soft encounter, and have brought
An eijiial ardour with you: never lived
A happier pair of lovers. I confess,
After you promised marriage, nothing wanting
But a few days expired, to make me happy,
My violent impatience of delay
Made me presume, and with some amorous force,
T'> ask a full fruition of those pleasures
Which sacred Hymen to the world makes lawful,
Before his torch was lighted ; in this only,
You justly can rccuse me.
Leon. Dar'st thou think
That this offence can ever find a pardon,
Unworthy as thou art!

Cler. But you most cruel,
That, in your studied purpose of revenge,
Cast both divine and human laws behind you,
And only see their rigour, not their mercy.
Offences of foul shape, by holy writ
Are warranted remission, provided
That the delinquent undergo the penance
Imposed upon him by his confessor:
But you that should be mine, and only can
Or punish or absolve me, are so far
From doing me right, that you disdain to hear me.
Leon. Now 1 may catch him in my long- wish 'd
toils ; pose,

My hate help me to work it ! (aside.") To what pur-
Poor and pale spirited man, should I expect
From thee the satisfaction of a wrong,
Compared to which, the murder of a brother
Were but a gentle injury ?
Cler. Witness, heaven,

All blessings hoped by good men, and all tortures
The wicked shake at, no saint left unsworn by,
That, uncompell'd, 1 here give up myself
Wholly to your devotion ; if I fail
To do whatever you please to command,
To expiate my trespass to your honour,
So that, the task perform 'd, you likewise swear,
First to forgive, and after, marry me,
May I endure more sharp and lingering torments
Than ever tyrants found out! may my friends
With scorn, not pity, look upon my sufferings,
And at my last gasp, in the place of hope,
Sorrow, despair, possess me !

* The braveries of France,] We have had this expression
before. See The Bondman.

Leon, You are caught,
Most miserable fool, but fit to be so ;
And 'tis but justice that thou art delivered
Into her power that's sensible of a wrong,
And glories to revenge it. Let me study
What dreadful punishment, worthy my fury,
I shall inflict upon thee ; all the malice
Of injured women help me! death? that's nothing,
'Tis, to a conscious wretch, a benefit,
And not a penance ; else, on the next tree,
For sport's sake, I would make thee hang thyself.
Cler. What have J done ?
Leon. What cannot be recall'd.
To row for seven years in the Turkish gallies ?
A flea- biting ! To be sold to a brothel,
Or a common bagnio? that's a trifle too!
- Furies ------

The lashes of their whips pierce through the mind.
I'll imitate them : I have it too.

Cler. Remember
You are a woman.

Leon. I have heard thee boast,
That of all blessings in the earth next me,
The number of thy trusty, faithful friends,
Made up thy happiness : out of these, I charge

thee,

And by thine own repeated oaths conjure thee,
To kill the best deserver. Do not start ;
I'll have no other penance : then to practise,
To find some means he that deserves the best,
By undertaking something others fly from :
This done, 1 am thine.
Cler. BuUhear me.
Leon. Not a syllable :
And till then never see me. [Exit.

Clrr. 1 am lost,

Foolishly lost and sunk by mine own baseness :
I'll say only,

With a heart-breaking patience, yet not rave.
Better the devil's than a woman's slave. [Exit.

SCENE III. A Room in Bellisant's House.
Enter CLARINDORE and BEAVPRE.

Clarin. Nay, prithee, good Calista

Bean. As I live, sir,

She is determined to be private, and charged me,
Till of herself she broke up her retirement,
Not to admit a visitant.

Cliirin. Thou art a fool,

And I must have thee learn to know thy strength j
There never was a sure path to the mistress,
But by her minister's help, which I will pay for :

[Gives her hit purte.

But yet this is but trash ; hark in thine ear
By Love ! I like thy person, and will make
Full payment that way ; be thou wise.

Beau, Like me, sir!
One of my dark complexion !

Clarin. I am serious :

The curtains drawn, and envious light shut out,
The soft touch heightens appetite, and takes more
Than colour, Venus' dressing, in the day time.
But never thought on in her midnight revels.
Come, I must have thee mine.

Beau. But how to serve you ? '

Clarin. Be speaking still my praises to thy lodr,
IIow much 1 love and languish for her bounties :

156

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE

[Acr 1 1.

You may remember* too, how many madams

Are rivals for me, and in way of caution,

Say you have heard, when I was wild, how dreadful

My name was to a profess'd courtezan,

Still asking more than she could give.

Enter BELLISAXT.
Beau. My lady !
Bell. lie within call :

[Aside, to the Servants within.

How now, Clarindore,

Courting my servant ! Nay, 'tis not my envy
You now express yourself a complete lover,
That, for variety's sake, if she be woman,
Can change discourse with any.

Clarin. All nre foils

I practise on, but when you make me happy
In doing me that honour: I desired
To hear her speak in the Morisco tongue;
Troth, 'tis a pretty language.

Bell.. Yes, to dance to :
Look to those sweetmeats. [Exit Bemipre.

Clarin. How ! by heaven, she aims
To speak with me in private !

Bell . Come, sit down ;
Let's have some merry conference.

Clarin. In which -----

That my whole life employ'd to do you service,
At no part can deserve.

Bell. If you esteeem it
At such a rate, do not abuse my bounty,
Or comment on the granted privacy, further
Than what the text may warrant ; so you shall
Destroy what I have built.

Clarin. I like not this. [Aside.

Bell. This new-erected Parliament of Love,
It seems, has frighted hence my visitants :
How spend Montrose and Perigot their hours?
Novall and Cleremond vanish 'd in a moment j
I like your constancy yet.

Clarin. That's good again ;
She hath restored all : Pity them, good madam ,
The splendour of your house and entertainment,
Knrich'd with all perfections by yourself,
Is too, too glorious for their dim eyes :
You are above their element ; modest fools !
That only dare admire : and bar them from
Comparing of these eyes to the fairest flowers,
Giving you Juno's majesty, Pallas' wit,
Diana's hand, and Thetis' pretty foot ;
Or, when you dance, to swear that Venus leads
The Loves and Graces from the Idalian green,
And such hyperboles stolen out of playbooks,
They would stand all day mute, and as you were
Some curious picture only to be look'd on,
Presume no further.

Bell. Pray you keep your distance,
And grow not rude.

Clarin. Rude, lady ! manly boldness
Cannot deserve that name ; I have studied you,
And love hath made an easy gloss upon
The most abstruse and hidden mysteries
Which you may keep conceal'd. You well may praise
A bashful suitor, that is ravish'd with
A feather of your fan, or if he gain
A riband from your shoe, cries out Nil ultra !

You man remember too,] i. e. put her mind.

Bell. And what would satisfy you ?

Clarin. Not such poor trifles,
I can assure you, lady. Do not I see
You are gamesome, young, and active ? that you love
A man that, of himself, comes boldly on,
j That will not put your modesty to trouble,
| To teach him how to feed, when meat's before him?
That knows that you are llesh and blood, a creature,
And born with such affections, that like me,
Now 1 hnve opportunity, and your favour,
Will not abuse my fortune ? Should 1 stand now
Licking my fingers, cry. ah me ! then kneel,
And swear you were a goddess, kiss the skirts
Of your proud garments, when 1 were gone, I am

sure

I should be kindly laugh 'd at for a coxcomb;
The story made the subject of your mirth,
At your next meeting, when you sit in council,
Among the beauties.

Bell. Is this possible ?
All due respect forgotten !

Clarin. Hang respect !

Are we not alone ] See, I dare touch this hand,
And without adoration unglove it.
A spring of youth is in this palm: here Cupid,
The moisture turn'tl to diamonds, heads his airows
The far-famed English Bath, or German Spa,
One drop of this will purchase. Shall this nectar
Run useless, then to waste > or - - - these lips,
That open like the morn, breathing perfumes
On such as dare approach them, be uutoudi'd ?
They must nay, 'tis in vain to make resistance,
Be often kiss'd and tasted : You seem angry
At - - - I have displeased you.

Bell, [to the servants within.] ---.-.
And come prepared, as if some Africk monster,
By force, had broke into my house.

Enter Servants, with drawn swordt.

Clarin. How's this ?

Bell. Circle him round with death, and if he stir.
Or but presume to speak, till I allow it,
His body be the navel to the wheel,
Jn which your rapiers, like so many spokes,
Shall meet and fix themselves.

Clarin. Were I off with life
This for my wager !

Bell. Villain, shake and tremble
At my just anger ! Which, of all my actions,
Confined in virtuous limits, hath given life
And birth to this presumption ? Hast thou ever
Observed in me a wanton look or gesture
Not suiting with a virgin? Have I been
Prodigal in my favours, or given hopes,
To nourish such attempts ? Swear, and swear truly,
What in thy soul thou think'st of me.

Clarin. As of one

Made up of chastity ; and only tried,
Which 1 repent, what this might work upon you.

Bell. The intent deserves not death ; but, sirrah,

know
'Tis in my power to look thee dead.

Clarin. 'Tis granted.

Bell. I am not so cruel ; yet for this insolence
Forbear my house for ever : if you are hot,
You, ruffian-like, may force a parting kiss,
As from a common gamester.

Clarin. I am cool:
She's a virago.

SCE\K I.]

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

Bell. Or you may go boast,
How bravely you came on, to your companions ;
I will not bribe your silence : no reply.
Now thrust, him headlong out of doors, and see
He never more pass my threshold. [&"*

Clarin. This comes of

My daring : all hell's plagues light on the proverb
That says, faint heart but it is stale.

Serv, Pray you walk, sir,
We must shew you the way else.

Clarin. lie not too officious.
I am no bar* for you to try your strength on.
Sit quietly by ibis disgrace 1 cannot :
Some other course I must be forced to take,
Not for my wager now, but honour's sake.

[Exeunt

ACT III.

SCENE I. A Room in CHAMONT'S House.

Enter CHAMONT, PERIGOT, NOVALL, DINANT, LA-
MIUA, und CLARINDA.

Peri. "Twas prince-like entertainment.

Cham. You o'erprize it.

Din. Your cheerful looks made every dish a feast,
.And 'tis that crowns a welcome.

Lam. For my part,
I liold society and honest mirth
The greatest blessing of a civil life.

Cla. Without good company, indeed, all dainties
Lte their true relish, and, like painted grapes,
Are only seen, not tasted.

Nov. By this light,

She speaks well too ! I'll have a fling at her ;
She is no fit electuary for a doctor :
A coarser julap may well cool his worship ;
This cordial is for gallants.

Cham. Let me see,

The night grows old ; pray you often be my guests.
Such as dare come unto a - - - table,
Although not crack'd with curious delicates,
Have liberty to command it as their own :
I may do the like with you, when you are married.

Peri. Yes, 'tis likely,
When there's no forage to be bad abroad,
Nor credulous husbands left to father children
Of bachelors' begetting ; when court wives
Are won to grant variety is not pleasing,
And that a friend at a pinch is useless to them,
I but till then

Cham. You have a merry time of 't ;

But we forget ourselves : Gallants, good night.
Good master doctor, when your leisure serves,
Visit my house ; when we least need their art,
Physicians look most lovely.

Din, All that's in me,

Is at your lordship's service. Monsieur Perigot,
Monsieur Novall, in what I may be useful,
Pray you command me.

Nov. We'll wait on you home.

Din. By no means, sir ; good nigbt.

[Exeunt ill but Novall and Perigot.

Nov. The knave is jealous.

Peri. 'Tis a disease few doctors cure themselves of.

Nov. I would he were my patient !

Peri. Do but practise
To get his wife's consent, the way is easy.

Nov. You may conclude so ; for myself, I grant
I never was so taken with a woman,

Nor ever had less hope.

Peri. Be not dejected ;
Follow but my directions, she's your own :
1 '11 set thee in a course that shall not fail.
I like thy choice ; but more of that hereafter :
Adultery is a safe and secret sin ;
The purchase of a maidenhead seldom quits
The danger and the labour : build on this,
He that puts home shall find all women coming,
The frozen Bellisant ever excepted.
Could you believe the fair wife of Cbamont,
A lady never tainted in her honour,
Should at the first assault, for till this night
I never courted her, yield up the fort
That she hath kept so long ?

Nov. ' Tis wondrous strange.
What winning language used you]

Peri. Thou art a child ;

'Tis action, not fine speeches, take a woman.
Pleasure's their heaven ; and he that gives assurance
That he hath strength to tame their hot desires,
Is the prevailing orator : she but saw me
Jump over six join'd stools, and after cut
Some forty capers ; tricks t*iat never missf,
In a magnificent mask, to draw the eyes
Of all the beauties in the court upon me,
But straight she wrung my hand, trod on my toe,
And said my mistress could not but be happy
In such an able servant. I replied
Bluntly, I was ambitious to be hers ;
And she, nor coy nor shy, straight entertain'd ma
I begg'd a private meeting, it was granted,
The time and place appointed.

Nov. But remember,
Chaniont is your friend.

Peri. Now out upon thee, puisne !
As if a man so far e'er loved that title,
But 'twas much more delight and tickling to him,
To hug himself, and say, This is my cuckold !

Ncv. But did he not observe thee ?

Peri. Though he did,
As I am doubtful, I will not desist ;
The danger will endear the sport.

* / am no bar for you to try your strength on.} Alluding
to the threats of the servants " to quoit him down stairs."
Pitching the liar is still a game at which the rustics of Ihil
country try their strength.

t tricks that never miss, &c.]

" He, indeed, danced well:
A turn o' the toe, with a lofty trick or two,
To argue nimbleness and a stron.; back,
Will go far with a madam."

The Custom of t

158

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

[Acr III.

Enter CLARINDORE.

Nov. Forbear ;
Here's Clarindore.

Peri. We will be merry with him ;
I have heard his entertainment. Join but with me,
And we will jeer this self-opinion'd fool
Almost to madness.

Nov. He's aln ady grown
Exceeding melancholy, and some say
That's the first step to frenzy.

Peri. I'll upon him.

Save you, good monsieur! no reply? grown proud
Of your success? it is not well - ...

Ctar. 'Tis come out ; these goslings
Have heard of my ------

Nov. We gratulate.

Though we pay for't, your happy entrance to
The certain favours, nay, the sure possession,
Of madam Hellisant.

Clarin. The young whelp too !
'Tis well, exceeding well.

Pert. 'Tis so with you, sir;
But bear it modestly, 'faith it will become you.:
And being arrived at such a lordly revenue,
As this your happy match instates you with,
Two thousand crowns from me, and from Novall,
Though we almost confess the wager lost,
Will be a small addition.

Nov. You mistake him ;
Nor do I fear, out of his noble nature,
But that he may be won to license us
To draw our venture.

Clarin. Spend your frothy wits,
Do, do ; you snarl, but hurt not.

Nov. O, give leave
To losers for to speak.

Peri. Tis a strange fate
Some men are born to, and a happy star
That reign 'd at your nativity ! it could not be else,
A lady of a constancy like a rock,
Not to be moved, and held impregnable,
Should yield at the first assault !

A'oe. 'Tis the reward
Of a brave daring spirit.

Pen'. Tush ! we are dull ;
Abuse our opportunities.

Clarin. Have you done yet?

Peri. When he had privacy of discourse, he knew
How to use that advantage ; did he stand
Fawning, and crouching ? no ; he ran up boldly,
Told her what she was born to, ruffled her,
Kiss'd her, and toused her: all the passages
Are at court already ; and, 'tis said, a patent
Is granted him, if any maid be chaste,
For him to humhle her, and a new name given him,
The scornful virgin tamer.

Clarin. I may tame
Your buffoon tongues, if you proceed.

Nov. No anger.

I have heard that Bellisant was so taken with
Your manly courage, that she straight prepared you
A sumptuous banquet.

Peri. Yet his enemies
Report it was a blanket.

Nov. Malice, malice !
She was shewing him her chamber too, and call'd

for
Perfumes, and cambric sheets.

Peri. When, see the luck on't!
Against her will, her most unmannerly grooms.

For so 'tis rumour'd, took him by the shoulders,
And thrust him out of doors.

Nov. Faith, sir, resolve us ;
How was it? we would gladly know the truth.
To stop the mouth of calumny.

Clarin. Troth, sir, I'll tell you :
One took me by the nose thus, and a second
Made bold with me thus but one word more, you

shall

Feel new expressions and so my gentle boobies,
Farewell, and be hang'd ! [Ejif.

Nov. We have nettled him.

Peri. Had we stung him to death, it were but

justice,
An overweening braggard!

Nov. This is nothing
To the doctor's wife.

Peri. Come, we'll consult of it,
And suddenly.

Nov. I feel a woman's longing till I am at it,

Peri. Never fear; she's thine own, boy.

[Exeunt.

SCENE U.-A Street,
Enter CI.ERKMOXD.
Cler. What have my sins been, heaven ? yet thy

great pleasure

Must not be argued. Was wretch ever bound
On such a black adventure, in which only
To wish to prosper is a greater curse
Than to--------- me

Of reason, understanding, and true judgment.

'Twere a degree of comfort to myself

I were stark mad ; or, like a beast of prey,

Prick'd on by griping hunger, all my thoughts

And faculties were wholly taken up

To cloy my appetite, and could look no further :

But 1 rise up a new example of

Calamity, transcending all before me ;

And I should gild my misery with false comforts,

If 1 compared it with an Indian slave's,

That with incessant labour to search out

Some unknown mine, dives almost to the centre ;

And, if then found, not thank'd of his proud master.

But this, if put into an equal scale

With my unparallel'd fortune, will weigh nothing ;

For from a cabinet of the choicest jewels

That mankind ere was rich in, whose least gem

All treasure of the earth, or what is hid

In Neptune's watery bosom, cannot purchase,

I must seek out the richest, fairest, purest,

And when by proof 'tis known it holds the value,

As soon as found destroy it. O most cruel ;

And yet, when I consider of the many

That have profess'd themselves my friends, and

vow'd [ments

Their lives were not their own when my engage-
Should summon them to be at my devotion,
Not one endures the test ; I almost grow
Of the world's received opinion, that holds
Friendship but a mere name, that binds no further
Than to the altar* to retire with safety.
Here comes Montrose.

that bind* no further

t Than to the altar, An allusion to the saying Pcricle,
that he would support the interests ot his friend f*Xp' 6w/iB,
as far a* the altar ; i. e. as tar as Uis respect lor I he godi
would give him leave.

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

159

Enter MONTROSE and BEAUPRE.

What sudden joy transports him 1
1 never saw man rapt so.

Mont. Purse and all,

And 'tis too little, though it were cramm'd full
With crowns of the sun. O blessed .blessed paper!
But made so by the touch of her lair hand.
What shall I answer? Say, I am her creature,
Or, if tliou canst find out a word that may
Express subjection in an humbler style,
Use it, I prithee ; add too, her commands
Shall be with as much willingness perform'd,
As I in this fold, this, receive her favours*

Beau. I shall return so much.

Mont. And that two hours
Shall bring me to attend her.

Beau. With all care

And circumstance of service from yourself,
I will deliver it.

Mont. I am still your debtor. [Exit Beaupre.

Cler. I read the cause now clearly ; I'll slip by :
For though, even at this instant, he should prove
Himself, which others' falsehood makes me doubt,
That constant and best friend I go in quest of,
It were inhuman in their birth to strangle
His promising hopes of comfort.

Mont. Cleremond

Pass by me as a stranger ! at a time too
When I am fill'd with such excess of joy,
So swollen and surfeited with true delight,
That had I not found out a friend, to whom
I might impart them, and so give them vent,
In their abundance they would force a passage,
And let out life together ! Prithee, bear.
For friendship's sake, a part of that sweet burthen
Which I shrink under ; and when thou hast read
Fair Bellisant subscribed, so near my name too,
Observe but that, thou must, with me, confess,
There cannot be room in one lover's heart
Capacious enough to entertain
Such multitudes of pleasures.

Cler. I joy with you,

Let that suffice, and envy not your blessings ;
May they increase ! Farewell, friend.

Mont. How ! no more ?

By the snow-white hand that writ these characters,
It is a breach to courtesy and manners,
So coldly to take notice of his good,
Whom you call friend ! See further : here she writes
That she is truly sensible of my sufferings,
And not alone vouchsafes to call me servant,
But to employ me in a cause that much
Concerns her in her honour ; there's a favour !
Are you yet stupid ? and that, two hours hence,
She does expect me in the private walks
Neighbouring the Louvre : connot all this move

you 1

I could be angry. A tenth of these bounties
But promised to you from Leonora,
To witness my affection to my friend,
In his behalf, had taught me to forget
All mine own miseries.

Cler. Do not misinterpret
This coldness in me ; for alas! Montroj"
I am a thing so nii.de up of affliction,

' A* J in this fold, this, receive her favour*.} Massinger
I'oini of these repetitions, which indeed, sparingly used,
have a very good effect.

So every wav contemn'd. that I conclude

My sorrows are iu'ect'ous ; and my company,

Like such us have foul ulcers running on them,

To be with care u voided. May your happiness,

In the favour of the matchless 15elli>;uU,

Hourly increase ! and my best wishes guard you !

"Tis all that 1 can (rive.

Mo/it. You mu-.;t not leave me.

Cler. Indeed 1 must and will ; mine own engage-
ments
Call me away.

Mont. What are they ? I presume
There cannot be a secret of that weight,
You dare not trust me with ; and should you doubt

me,

I justly might complain that my affection
Is placed unfortunately.

Cler. 1 know you are honest;
And this is such a business, and requires
Such sudden execution, that it. cannot
Fall in the compass of your will, or power.
To do me a friend's office. In word,
On terms that ne<:r concern nip in mine honour,
I am to tight the quarrel, mortal too,
The time some two hours hence, the place ten miles
Distant from Paris ; and when you shall know
I yet am unprovided of a second,
You will excuse my sudden parting from you.
Farewell, Montrose.

Mont. Not so ; I am the man

Will run the danger with you ; and must tell you,
That, while I live, it was a wrong to seek
Another's arm to second you. Lead the way;
JMv horse stands ready.

Cler. I confess 'tis lioble
For you to offer this, but it were base
In me to accept it.

Mont. Do not scorn me, friend.

Cler. No ; but admire and honour you ; and from

that

Serious consideration, must refuse
The tender of your aid. France knows you valiant
And that jou might, in single opposition,
Fight for a crown ; but millions of reasons
Forbid me your assistance. You forget
Your own designs ; heing the very minute
I am to encounter with mine ene.niv.
To meet your mistress, such a mistress too,
Whose favour you so many years have sought :
And will you then, when she vouchsafes access,
Nay more, invites you, check at her fair offer?
Or shall it be repeated, to my shame,
For my own ends I rohb'd you of a fortune
Princes might envy ? Can you even hope
She ever will receive you to her presence,
If you neglect her now? Be wise, dear friend,
And, in jour prodigality of sj'oodness,
Do not undo yourself. Live long and happy.
And leave me to my dangers.

Mont. Cleremond,

1 have with patience heard you, and consider'd
The strength of your best arguments ; weigh'd the

dangers

I run in mine own fortunes ; but again.
When I oppose the sacred name of friend
Against those joys I have so long pursued,
Neither the beauty of fair Bellisant,
Her wealth, her viriues, can prevail so far,
In such a desperate case as this, to leave you.
To have it to posterity recorded,

160

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

[Acr IIX.

At such a time as this I proved true gold,
And current in my friendship, shall be to me
A thousand mistresses, and such embraces
As leave no sting behind them : therefore, on ;
J am resolved, unless you beat me off,
1 will not leave you.

Cler. O.i! here is a jewel
Fit for the cabinet of the greatest monarch !
But 1 of all men miserable

Mimt. Come, be cheerful ;
Good fortune will attend us.

Cler. That, to me,

To have the greatest blessing, a true friend,
Should be the greatest curse ! Be yet advised.

Mout. It is in vain.

Cler. That e'er I should have cause
To wish you had loved less !

Mont. The hour draws on :
We'll talk more as we ride.

Cler. Of men must wretched ! [Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Room in Bellisant's House.
Enler BELLISANT and BEAUPRE.

Bell. Nay, pray you, dry your eyes, or your sad

story ,

Whose every accent still, methinks, I hear,
Twas with such passion, and such grief deliver'd,
Will make mine bear your's company. All my

fear is,

The rigorous repulse this worst of men,
False, perjured Clarindore I am sick to name him
Received at his last visit, will deter him
From coining again.

Bean. No ; he's resolved to venture ;
And has bribed me, with hazard of your anger,
To get him access, but in another shape* :
The time prefix'd draws near too.

Bell. ''I is the better. [Knocking within.

One knocks.

Beau. 1 am sure 'tis he.

Bell. Convey him in ;
But do it with a face of fear. [Exit Beaupre.

I cannot

Resolve yet with what looks to entertain him.
\ ou powers that favour innocence, and revenge
W'rongs done by such as scornfully de-uie
Your awful names, inspire me! [Walks aside.

Pe-enter BEAUPUE with CIAIUXDOUE disguised.

Beau. Sir, I hazard
My service in this action.

Clurin. Thou shalt live
To he the mistress of thyself and others,
If that my projects hit : all's at the stake now :
And as the die falls, I am made most happy,
Or past expression wretched.

Bell. Ha! who's that?

What bold intruder usher you? This rudeness !

From whence? what would he?

Beau, lie brings letters, madam,
As he says, from Lord Chamont.

Clurin. How her frowns fright me!

Bell. From Lord Chamont? A re they of such import,
That you, before my pleasure be enquired,

btfr.ie obierved, in mother dreu.

but in another shape :] i. e. u I have

Dare bring the bearer to my private chambet '
No more of this : your packet, sir?

CLirm. The letters

Deliver'd to my trust arid faith are writ
In such mysterious and dark characters,
As will require the judgment of your soul,
More than your eye, to read and understand them.

Bell. What riddle's this? [Discovering Clurin,

Ha ! am I then contemn'd ?
Dare you do this, presuming on my soft
And gentle nature! Fear not, 1 must show
A seeming anger. [Aside to Beaupre.] What new

boist'rous courtship,

After your late loose language, and forced kiss,
Come you to practise ? 1 know none beyond it.
If you imagine that you may commit
A rape in mine own house, and that my servants
Will stand tame lookers on

Clarin If I bring with me
One thought, but of submission and sorrow,
Or nourish any hope, but that your goodness
May please to sign my pardon, may I perish
In your displeasure ! which to me is more
Than fear of hell hereafter. I confess,
The violence 1 offered to your sweetness,
In my presumption, with lips impure,
To force a touch from yours, a greater crime
Than if I should have mix'd lascivious flames
With those chaste fires that burn at Dian's altar.
Ihat 'twas a plot of trea on to your virtues,
To think you could be tempted, or believe
You were not fashion 'd in a better mould,
And made of purer clay than other women.
Since you are, then, the phoenix of your time,
And e'en now, while you bless the earth, partake
Of their angelical essence, imitate
Heaven's aptness to forgive, when mercy's sued for,
And once more take me to your grace and favour.

Bell. What charms are these ! what an enchanting

tongue !

What pity 'tis, one that can speak so well,
Should in his actions be so ill !

Beau. Take heed,
Lose not yourself.

iietl. So well, sir, you have pleaded,
And, like an advocate, in your own cause,
That, though your guilt were greater, I acquit you,
The fault no more remember 'd ; and for proof
My heart partakes in my tongue, thus seal your
pardon ; [Kisses him

And with this willing favour (which forced from me
Call'd on my anger) make atonement with you.

Clarin. If I dream now, O, may I never wake,
But slumber thus ten ages !

Bell. Till this minute,
You ne'er to me look'd lovely.

Clarin. How !

Bell. Nor have I

E'er seen a man, in my opinion, worthy
The bounty I vouchsafe you ; therefore fix h?re,
And make me understand that you can bear
Your fortune modestly.

Clarin. I find her coming :
This kiss was but the prologue to the play,
And not to seek the rest were cowardice.
Help me, dissimulation! (aside.) Pardon, madam,
1 hough now, when I should put on cheerful look*
In being blest with what I durst not hope for,
I change the comic scene, and do present you
I With a most tragic spectacle.

I.]

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

Bell. Heaven avert
This prodigy I what mean you?

Clarin. To confirm,

In death, how truly I have loved. I grant
Your favours done me, yield this benefit,
As to make way for me to pass in peace
To my long rest : what I have tasted from you
Informs me only of the much I want :
For in your pardon, and the kiss vouchsafed me,
You did but point me out a fore-right way
To lead to certain happiness, and then will'd me
To move no further. Pray you, excuse me, therefore,
Though I desire to end a lingering torment:
And, if you please, with your fair hand, to make me
A sacrifice to your chastity, I will meet [vour

The instrument you make choice of, with more fer-
Than ever Caesar did, to hug the mistress
He doted on, plumed victory ; but if that
You do abhor the office, as too full
Of cruelty and horror, yet give leave,
That, in your presence, I myself may be
Both priest and offering. [DrwM his tword.

Bell. Hold, hold, frantic man !
The shrine of love shall not be bathed in blood.
Women, though fair, were made to bring forth men,
And not destroy them ; therefore hold. I say !
I had a mother, and she look'd upon me
As on a true epitome of her youth :
Nor can I think I am forbid the comfort
To bring fortli little models of myself,
If heaven be pleased (my nuptial joys perform *d)
To make uie fruitful.

C/.ri/i. Such cele -tial music

Ne'er blest these ears. O ! you have argued better
For me, than 1 could for myself.

BelL For you !
What, did 1 give you hope to be my husband?

Cl/irin, Fallen off again ! [Atide.

Bell. Yet since you have given sure proof
Of love and constancy, I'll unmask those thoughts.
That long have been conceal'd ; I am yours, but how?
In an honourable way.

Clarin. I were more than base,
Should I desire you otherwise.

BelL True affection

Needs not a contract : and it were to doubt me,
To engage me further ; yet, my vow expired,
Which is, to live a virgin fora year,
Challenge my promise.

Clarin. For a year ! O, madam !
Play not the tyranness : do not give me hopes,
And in a moment change them to despair.
A year ! alas, this body, that's all tire,
If you refuse to quench it with your favour,
Will, in three days, be cinders ; and vour mercy
Will come too late then. Dearest ladv, marriage
Is but a ceremony ; and a hurtful vow
Is in the breach of it better commended,
Than in the keeping. O ! I burn, I burn ;
And, if you take not pity, I must fly
To my last refuge. [Offers to slab himself

Bell. Hold ! Say I could yield
This night, to satisfy you to the full,
And you should swear, until the wedding day,
To keep the favours I now grant conceal'd ;
You would be talking.

Clarin. May my tongue rot out, then !

Bell. Or boast to your companions of your con-
quest,
And of my easiness.

Clarin, I'll endure the rack first.

BelL And, having what you long for, cast me off.
As you did madam Beaupre.

Clarin. May the earth
First gape, and swallow me !

Bell. I'll press you no further.
Go in, your chamber's ready : if you have
A bedfellow, so: but silence I enjoin you,
And liberty to leave you when I please:
1 blush, if you reply.

Clarin. Till now ne'er happy ! [Eiit.

Beau. What means your ladyship?

BelL Do not ask, but do
As 1 direct you : though as yet we tread
A rough and thorny way, faint not; the ends
1 hope to reach shall make a large amends.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A Room in Dinant's House.

Enter NOVALL and DIXANT.

Din. You are welcome first, sir : and that spoke,

receive

A faithful promise, all that art, or long
Experience, hath taught me, shall enlarge
Themselves for your recovery.

Nov. Sir, I thank you,
As far as a weak, sick, and unable man
Has power to express ; but what wants in my tongue,
My hand (for yet my fingers feel no gout,)
Shall speak in this dumb language.

Gives him his purse.

Din. You are too magnificent.

Now. Fie ! no, sir ; health is, sure, a precious
We cannot buy it too dear. (jewel,

Din Take comfort, sir;

I find not, by your urine, nor your pulse,
Or any outward symptom, that you are
In any certain danger.

Nov. Oh ! the more my fear:
Infirmities that are known are - - - cured,
But when the causes of them are conceal'd,
As these of mine are, doctor, they prove mortal:
Howe'er, I'll not forget you while I live,
Do but your parts.

Din. Sir, they are at your service.
I'll give you some preparatives, to instruct me
Of your inward temper ; then, as I find cause.
Some gentle purge.

Nov. Yes, I must purge ; I die else:
But where, dear doctor, you shall not find out.
This is a happy entrance, may it end vmll !
I'll mount your nightcap, Doddipol. [Amu

Din- In what part,

IAS

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

[Acr IV.

We are sworn to secrecy, and you must be free,)
Do you find your greatest agony?

AW. Oh ! I have

Strange motions on the sudden ; villanous tumours,
That rise, then fall, then rise again ; oh, doctor !
Not to be shown or named.

Din. Then, in my judgment,

You had best leave Paris; choose some fresher air ;
That does help much in physic.

AW. By no means.

Here, in your house, or no where, you must, cure me :
The eye of the muster fats the horse : anil when
His doctor's by, the patient may drink wine
In a fit of a burning fever: for your presence
Works more than what you minister. Take physic,
Attended on by ignorant grooms, mere strangers
To your directions, I must hazard life,
And you your reputation ! whereas, sir,
I hold your house a college of your art,
And every boy you keep, by you instrui ted,
A pretty piece of a Galenist: then the females,
From your most fair wife to your kitchen drudge,
Are so familiar with your learned courses,
That, to an herb, they know to make thin broth :
Or, when occasion serves, to cheer the heart,
And such ingredient 1 shall have most need of,
How manv cocks <>' the game make a strong cullis,
Or phea.xant's eggs a caudle.

Din. 1 am glad
To hear you argue with such strength.

Enter CI.AUINDA ; the u'/iis/jers DINANT.
AW. A Hash, sir:

But now I feel my (it again. She is
Made up of u!l perfection ; any danger
That leads to the enjoying so much sweetness
Is pleasure at the height : 1 din ravish 'd with

The mere imagination. Oh hap[ iness ! [Aside.

Din. How's ttiis ! One from the duke N'emours?
Cla. Yes, sir.
Din. 'I is rank:

The sight of my wife hath forced him to forget
To counterfeit: I now guess at your sickness.

And if I fit you not !

Cla. The gentleman stays you. [wife,

Din. 1 come to him presently; in the mean time,
Be careful of this monsieur: nay, no coyness,
You may saline him boldly j his pule lips
Enchant not in the touch.
AW. Iler's do, I'm sure.
Din. Ki.ss him again.
(V.i. Sir, this is more than modest.
Din. Modest ! why, Cool, desire is dead in him:
(.'all it a charitable, pious work,
If it refresh his spirits.

AW. Yes, indeed, sir.
I find great ease in it.

Din. Mark that ! and would you
Deny a sick man comfort? meat's against
----- physic, must be granted too,
- - - wife - ... you shall,
In person, wait on him ; nay, hang not off,
I say you shall: this night, with your own hands,
I'll have you air his bed, and when he eats
Of what you have prepared, you shall sit by him,
And, with some merry chat, help to repair
Decayed appetite; watch by him when he slumbers;
Nay, play his page's part: more, I durst trust you,
Were this our wedding day, you yet u virgin,
To be his bedfellow ; for well 1 know
Old Priatr's impotence, or Nestor's hernia, is

Herculean activeness, if but compared
To his debility put him to his oath,
He'll swear he can do nothing.

Nov. Do ! O no, sir ;
I am past the thought of it.

Din. But how do you like
The method I prescribe ?

AW. Beyond expression ;
Upon the mere report 1 do conceive
Hope of recovery.

Cla. A re you mad?

Din. Peace, fool.

This night you shall take a cordial to strengthen
Your feeble limbs; 'twill cost ten crowns a draught.

AW. No matter, sir.

Din. To morrow you shall walk
To see my garden ; then my wife shall shew you
The choice rooms of my house ; when you are weary,
Cast yourself on her couch.

AW. Oh, divine doctor!

What man in health would not be sick, on purpose
To be your patient ?

Din. Come, sir, to your chamber ;
And now I understand where your disease lies,
(Nay, lead him by the hand), doubt not I'll cure
ou.

SCENE II. An open part of the Country near Pant.
Enter Ci.niEMONDand MONTROSE.

Cler. This is the place.

Mont. An even piece of ground,
Without advantage ; but be jocund, friend :
The honour to have entered first the field,
However we come off, is ours*.

Cler. I need not,

So well I am acquainted with your valour,
To dare, in a good cause, as much as man,
Lend you encouragement; and should 1 add,
Your power lo do, which fortune, howe'er blind,
Hath ever seconded, I cannot doubt
But victory still sits upon your sword,
And must not now forsake you.

Mont. You shall see me

Come boldly up ; nor will I shame your cause,
By parting with an inch of ground not bought
With blood on my part.

Cler. *Tis not to be question'd :

That which 1 would entreat, (and pray you grant it ~)
Is, that you would forget your usual softness,
Your foe being at your mercy ; it hath been
A custom in you, which 1 dare not praise,
Having disarm 'd your enemy of his sword,
To tempt your fate, by yielding it again ;
Then run a second hazard.

Mont. When we encounter
A noble foe, we cannot be too noble. [you,

Cler. That I confess ; but he that's now to oppose
I know for an arch villain ; one that hath lost
All feeling of humanity, one that hates
Goodness in others, 'cause he's ill himself;

The honour to have enter' dfirtt the field,

However we come off, it our*.. Thus Fletcher : [side ;
" Cler. I'm tir.-i in the Acid, that honour's gaiu'd of our
" Pray heaven, 1 may get oil as lionotir.ibly !"

The Little French Lawyer

'; 1; observable, that several of llie names which occur .o
The Parliament of Love are found also in Fletcher's play {
though their ylots have nothing in common.

SCF.S-K III.]

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

163

A most ungrateful wretch, (the name's too gentle,
All attributes of wickedness cannot reach him,)
Of whom to have deserved, beyond example
Or precedent of friendship, is a wrong
Which only death can satisfy.

Mont. You describe
A monster to me.

Cler. True, Montrose, he is so.
Afric, though fertile of strange prodigies,
Never produced his equal ; be wise, therefore,
And if he fall into your hands, dispatch him :
Pity to him is cruelty. The sad lather,
That sees his son stung by a snake to death,
May, with more justice, stay his vengeful hand,
And let the worm* escape, than you vouchsafe him
A minute to repent : for 'tis a slave
So sold to hell and mischief, that a traitor
To his most lawful prince, a church-robber,
A parricide, who, when his garners are
Cramm'd with the purest grain, suffers his parents,
Being old and weak, to starve for want of bread ;
Compared to him, are innocent.

Mont. I ne'er heard

Of such a cursed nature ; if long-lived,
He would infect mankind : rest you assured,
He finds from me small courtesy.

Cler. And expect

As little from him ; blood is that he thirsts for,
Not honourable wounds.

Mont. 1 would I had him
Within my sword's length!

Cler. Have thy wish: Thou hast!

[Cleremond draws his sword.
Nay, draw thy sword, and suddenly ; 1 am
That monster, temple-robber, parricide,
Ingrateful wretch ; friend-hater, or what else
Makes up the perfect figure of the devil,
Should he appear like man. Banish amazement,
And tall thy ablest spirits up to guard thee
From him that's turn'd a fury. 1 am made
Her minister, whose cruelty but named,
Would withmrre horror strike the pale-cheek'd stars,
Than all (hose dreadful words which conjurors use,
To fright their damn'd familiars. Look not on me
As I am Cleremond; I have parted with
The essence that was his, and eutertain'd
The soul of some fierce tigress, or a wolf's,
New-hang'd for human slaughter, and 'tis fit :
1 could not else be an apt instrument
To blooxh Leonora.

Mont. To mv knowledge
I never wrong'd her.

Cler. Yes, in being a friend
To me : she hated my best friend, her malice
Would look no lower: and for being such,
By her comnv.mds, Montrose, I am to kill thee.
Oh, that thou hadst, like others, been all words,
And no performance ! or that thou hadst made
Some little stop in thy career of kindness !
Why wouldst thou, to confirm the name of friend,
Despise the favours of fair Bellisant,
And all those certain joys that waited for thee ?
Snatch at (his fatal otter of a second,
\\ hich others fled from ? '1 is in vain to mourn now,

And let the worm etci.pe,] i. e. Ilie make mentine I in
the preceding tine H arm, which is pure Savon, was once
the general term for all iv tiles of the i pent kind ; indent,
it is M ill 10, in many parts of KngUnd Tlie word occurs
to frequently in this seiiM-, among the w filers ut' Ma.-siiigf's
time that it appears unnecessary tu produce instances of it.

When there's no help; and therefore, good Montrose,
Rouse thy most manly parts, and think thou stand's!
A champion for more than king or country: [now
Since, in thy fall, goodness itself must suffer.
Remember too, the baseness of the wrong
- - - friendship ; let it edge thy sword,
And kill compassion in thee; and torget.no>.
I will take all advantages : and so,
Without reply, have at thee!

[They fight. Cleremond fails

Mont. See, how weak
An ill cause is ! you are already fallen :
What can you look for now?

Cler. Fool, use thy fortune :
And so he counsels thee, that, if we had
Changed places, instantly would have cut thv throat
Or digg'd thy heart out.

Mont. In requital of
That savage purpose, I must pity you ;
Witness these tears, not tears of joy for conquest,
But of true sorrow for your misery.
Live, O live, Cleremond, and, like a man,
Make use of reason, as an exorcist
To cast this devil out, that does abuse you ;
This fiend of false affection.

CU, . Will you not kill me ?
You are then more tyrannous than Leonora.
An easy thrust will do it : you had ever
A charitable hand ; do not deny me,
For our old friendship's sake: no! will't not be?
There are a thousand doors tu let out life ;
You keep not guard of all : and I shall find,
By falling headlong from some rocky cliff,
Poison, or fire, that long rest which your sword
Discourteously denies me. [Exit.

Mont. 1 will follow ;

And something I must fancy, to dissuade him
From doing sudden violence on himself:
That's now my only aim ; and that to me,
Succeeding well, is a true victory.

SCENE III. Paris. An outer Room in CHAMOVT'

Houte.
Enter CIIAMONT disguised, and DINANT.

Din. Your lady tempted too !

Cham. And tempted home;
Summon'd to parley, the tort almost yielded,
Had not I stepp'd in to remove the siege :
But I have countermined his works, and if
You second me, will blow the letcher up,
And laugh to see him caper.

Din. Any thing :

Command me as your servant, to join with you ;
All ways are honest we take, to revenge us
On these lascivious monkeys of the court,
That make it their profession to dishonour
Grave citizens' wives ; nay, those of higher rank,
As 'tis, in your's, apparent. My young rambler
'\ hat thought to cheat me with a leign'ii disease,
I have in the toil already ; 1 have given him,
Under pretence to make him high and active,
A cooler : 1 dare warrant it will yield
Rare sport to see it work : 1 would your lordship
Could be a spectator.

Cham. It is that I aim at:
And might 1 but persuade you to dispense
A little with your candour*, and consent

Viz. honour. See the Guardian, Act iii. Sc. 1.

164

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

[Acr IV

To make your house the stasje, on which we'll act
A comic scene ; in the pride of all their hopes,
We'll show these shallow fools sunk-eyed despair,
And triumph in their punishment.

Din. My house,

Or whatsoever else is mine, shall serve
As properties to grace it.

Cham. In this shape*, then,
Leave me to work the rest.

Din. Douht not, my lord,
You shall find all things ready. [Eiif.

Enter PERIGOT.

Cham. This sorts well

With my other purposes. Perigot ! to my wish.
Aid me, invention !

Peri. Is the quean fallen off?
I hear not from her : 'tis the hour and place,
That she appointed.

What have we here? This fellow has a pimp's
face,

And looks as if he were her call, her fetch

With me?

Cham. Sir, from the party,
The lady you should track with, the lord's wife
Your worship is to dub, or to make free
Of the company of the homers.

Pert. Fair Lamira ?

Cham. The same, sir.

Peri. And how, my honest squire o'damesf ? I see
Thou art of her privy council.

Chum. Her grant holds, sir.

Peri. O rare! But when?

Cham. Marry, instantly.

Peri. But where ?

Ch:im. Slie hath outgone the cunning of a woman,
In ordering it both privately and securely :
You know Jjinant the doctor?

Peri. Good.

Cham. His house

And him she has mnde at her devotion, sir.
Nay, wonder not ; most of these empirics
Thrive better by connivance in such cases,
Than their lame practice : framing some distemper,
The fool, her lord

Peri. Lords may be what they please ;
I question not their patent.

Cham. Hath consented,

That this night, privately, she shall take a clyster ;
Which he believes the doctor ministers,
And never thinks of you.

Peri. A good wench still.

Cham. And there, without suspicion

Pen'. Excellent !
I make this lord my cuckold.

Cham. True, and write

The reverend drudging doctor, my copartner
And fellow bawd : next year we will have him war-
Of our society. [den

Peri. There ! there ! I shall burst,
I am so swollen with pleasure ; no more talking,
Dear keeper of the vaulting doorj ; lead on.

Cham. In this shape, then,] i. c. tlie disguise which he
had assumed.

+ And how, my honeit squire o' dames?} See The Emperor
of the East.

1 Dear keeper of the vaulting door ;] To keep the door,
was one of the thousand synonymcs of a bawd or pander.
To this ihe distracted Othello alludes in his passionate speech
to Emilia:

Cham. Charge you as boldly,

Peri. Do not fear ; I have
A staff to taint, and bravely*.

Cham. Save the splinters,
If it break in the encounter.

Peri. Witty rascal !

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Room in BEI.LISANT'S House.
Enter CLARINDORE, BELLISANT, and BEAUPRE.

Clarin. Boast of your favours, madam !

Bell. Pardon, sir,

My fears, since it is grown a general custom,
In our hot youth to keep a catalogue
Of conquests this way got ; nor do they think
Their victory complete, unless they publish,
To their disgrace, that are made captives to them,
How far they have prevail'd.

Clarin. \ would have such rascals
First gelded, and then hang'd.

Bell. Remember too, sir,

To what extremities your love had brought you ;
And since I saved your life, I may, with justice,
By silence charge you to preserve mine honour;
Which, howsoever to my conscious self
I am tainted, foully tainted, to the world
1 am free from all suspicion.

Clarin. Can you think
I'll do myself that wrong? although I had
A lawyer's mercenary tongue, still moving,

- - - -le this precious carcanet, these jewels,

- - of your magnificence, would keep me
A Pythagorean, and ever silent.

No, rest secure, sweet lady ; and excuse
Mv sudden and abrupt departure from you :
And if the fault makes forfeit of your grace,
A quick return shall ransom and redeem it.

Bell. Be mindful of your oaths.

[WaOft aside with Bea-up^f.

Clarin. I am got off,

And leave the memory of them behind me.
Now, if I can find out my scoffing gulls,
Novall and Perigot, besides my wager,
Which is already sure, I shall return
Their bitter jests, and wound them with my tongue,
Much deeper than my sword. Oh ! but the oaths
I have made to the contrary, and her credit,
Of which 1 should be tender : tush ! both hold
With me an equal value. The wise say,

you, mistress,

That have the ofiice opposite to Saint Peter,
And keep the yaie >( hell !"

Peri. Do not fear ; 1 have

A staff to taint, and bravely.] This is a very uncommon
word in its present application; nor can I be certain that 1
comprehend its precise meaning. To break a start' or spear,
in the tilts nd tournaments of our ancestors, was an honour-
able achievement ; but then (as appears from " the Ordinances
made by the Earl of Worcester, constable of Enyl.md in 14oG,
and renewed in 1 562") it was to b<: done in a particular msBBtl 1 ,
and "as it ought to bee broken." How a spear ought to tie
broken, is not said ; nor was the information perhaps neces-
sary at the time. It seems, however, that it should be as
near the middle as possible ; for, if it wire within a foot of
the coronel or extremity, it was then " to be adjudged as no
speare broken, but a fay re attaynt." Nuya; Antiqute, Vol.
I. p. 4. I meet with the word in Every Man Out of hit
Hitmtnir, the only place, with the exception of the work I
have just quoted, where I ever recollect to have seen it:
and there, too, it is used in a derogatory sense, " He has a
good riding face, and he can sit a horse well; he will taint
a statf well at tilt."

SCENE V.]

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

165

Tbat the whole fabric of a woman's lighter
Than wind or feathers : what is then her fame?
A kind of nothing ; not to be preserved [trine,
With the loss of so much money: 'tis sound doc-
And I will follow it. [Eiit.

Bell. Prithee, be not doubtful ;
Let the wild colt run his course.

Menu. 1 must confess

T cannot sound the depth of what you purpose,
But I much fear

Beit. That he will blab ; I know it,
And that a secret scalds him : that he suffers
Till he hath vented what 1 seem to wish
He should conceal ; but let him, 1 am arm'd for't.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V. A Room in DINANT'S House.

Enter CHAMONT, DINAXT, LAMIBA, CLARINDA, and
Servants.

Cliam. For Perigot, he's in the toil, ne'er doubt it.
O, bad you seen how his veins swell'd with lust,
When I brought him to the chamber! how he

gloried,

And stretch'd his limbs, preparing them for action ;
Ana taking me to be a pander, told me
'Twas more delight to have a lord his cuckold,
Than to enjoy mv lady ! there I left him
In contemplation, greedily expecting
Lamira's presence; but, instead of her,

I have prepared him other visitants.

You know what you have to do'!

1 Serv. Fear not, my lord,

He shall curvet, 1 warrant him, in a blanket.

2 Ser. We'll discipline him with dog whips, and
take off

His rampant edge.

Cham. His life ; save that remember
You cannot be too cruel.

Din. For his pupil,
My wife's inamorato, if cold weeds,
Removed but one degree from deadly poison,
Have not forgot their cert-.iin operation,
You shall see his courage cool'd ; and in that temper,
Till he have howl'd himself into my pardon,
I vow to keep him.

Nov. [u'it)nn.~\ Ho, doctor ! master doctor!

Din. The game's afoot, we will let slip : conceal
Yourselves a little. [They retire.

Enter NOVALL.

Nov. Oh ! a thousand agu'es

Play at barley-break in my bones ; my blood's a pool
On the sudden frozen, and the icicles
Cut every vein : 'tis here, there, every where ;
Oh dear, dear, master doctor !

Din. I must seem

Not to understand him ; 'twill increase his torture.
How do you, sir? has the potion wrought? do you
An alteration ? have your swellings left you ? [feel
Is your blood still rebellious ?

Nov. Oh, good doctor,
I am a ghost, I have nor flesh, nor blood,
Nor heat, nor warmth, about me.

Din. Do not dissemble ;
I know you are high and jovial.

Nov. Jovial, doctor !
No, I am all amort, as if I had lain
Three days in my grave already.

Din. I will raise you :
For, look you, sir, you are a liberal patient,
Nor must I, while you can be such, part with you ;
T is against the laws of our college. Pray you,

mark me ;

I have with curiosity consider'd
Your constitution to be hot and moist,
And that at your nativity Jupiter
And Venus were in conjunction, whence it follows,
By neces-ary consequence, you musi be
A most insatiate lecher.

Nov. Oh ! I have been,
I have been, I confess : but now I cannot
Think of a woman.

Dm. For your health you must, sir,
Both think, and see, and touch ; you're but a dead
man else.

Nov. That way I am already.

Di~i. You must take,
And suddenly, ('tis a conceal'd receipt,)
A buxom juicy wench.

Nov. Oh ! 'twill n<.t down, sir ;
1 have no swallow for't.

Din. Now, since I would
Have the disease as private as the cure,'
( For 'lis a secret,) I have wrought my wife
To be both physic and physician,
To give you ease : will you walk to her?

Nov. Oh ! doctor,

I cannot stand ; in every sense about me
I have the palsy, but my tongue.

Din. Nay then,

You are obstinate, and refuse my gentle offer :
Or else 'tis foolish modesty : Come hither,
Come, my Clarinda,

Re-enter CLARINDA.

'tis not common courtesy ;
Comfort the gentleman.

Nov. This is ten times worse.

Cham. [within.'] He does torment him rarelj.

Din. She is not coy, sir.
What think you, is not this a pretty foot,
And a clean instep ? I will leave the calf
For you to find and judge of : here's a hand too ;
Try it ; the palm is moist ; the youthful blood
Runs strong in every azure vein : the face too
Ne'er knew the help of art ; and, all together,
May serve the turn, after a long sea-voyage,
For the captain's self.

Nov. I am a swabber, doctor,
A bloodless swabber; have not strength enough
To cleanse her poop.

Din. Fie, you shame yourself,
And the profession of your rutting gallants,
That hold their doctors' wives as free for them,
As some of us do our apothecaries' !

Nov. Good sir, no more.

Din. Take her aside ; cornute me ;
I give you leave : what should a quacksalver,
A fellow that does deal with drugs, as I do,
That has not means to give her choice of gowns,
Jewels, and rich embroidered petticoats,
Do with so fair a bedfellow? she being fashion'd
To purge a rich heir's reins, to be the mistress
Of a court gallant? Did you not tell her so ?

Nov. 1 have betray 'd myself! 1 did, I did.

Din. And that rich merchants, advocates, aW

doctors,
Howe'er deserving from the commonwealth.

166

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

[Acr IV

On forfeit of the city's charter, were
Predestined cuckolds ?

A'oi*. Oh, some pity, doctor !
[ was an heretic, hut now converted,
Some little, little respite !

Din. No, you town-bull ;
- - - -venge all good men's wrongs,
And now will pl;iy the tyrant. To dissect thee,
Eat thy fle.-h off' with burning corrosives,
Or write with aquafortis in thy forehead,
Thy last intent to wrong my bed, were justice ;
And to do less were foolish pity in me ;
I speak it, ribald !

Nov. Perigot ! Perigot !
Woe to thy cursed counsel.

Re-enter CHAMONT and LAMIHA.
Cham. Perigot !

/"id he advise you to this course?
.Vow. He did.

Cham. And he has his reward for't.
Pen. [ujit/iin.] Will you murder me ?
Serv. [within.'] Once more, aloft with him.
Peri, [within.] Murder! murder! murder!

Enter Servants with PERIGOT in a blanket.

Cham. What conceal'd bake-meats hare you there?
* it goat's flesh ? It smells rank. [a present ?

1 Ser. We have had
Sweet work of it, my lord.

!i Ser. I warrant you 'tis tender,
II wants no cooking; yet, if you think fit,
We'll bruise it again.

Peri. As you are Christians, spare me !
1^ am jelly within already, and without
Embroidered all o'er with statute lace.
What would you more ?

Nov. My tutor in the gin too !
This is some comfort : he is as good as drench'd ;
And now we'll both be chaste.
^ Cham, What, is't a cat [so ?

You have encounter'd, monsieur, you are scratched
My lady, sure, forgot to pare her nails,
Before your soft embraces.

Din. He has ta'en great pains :
What a sweat he's in!

Cham. O ! he's a master-dancer,
Knows how to caper into a lady's favour :
One lofty trick more, dear monsieur.

Aou. That I had r a ^ Q0 .

But strength enough to laugh at him ! blanketted like
And hke a cut-purse whipt! I am sure that now
He cannot jeer me.

Peri. May not a man have leave
To hang himself?

Chan. No ; that were too much mercy.
Live to be wretched ; live to be the talk
Of the conduit, and the bakehouse*. I will have thee
I ictured as thou art now, and thy whole story
Sung to some villanous tune in a lewd ballad ;
And make thee so notorious to the world,
That boys in the streets shall hoot at thee : come,

Lamira,

And triumph o'er him. Dost thou see this lady,
My wife, whose honour foolishly thou thought's*!

Of the conduit, and the bakehouse.] These, in (he age of
Massiugcr, were the general rendezvous of gossips of both
cue*: they ire still so, m most country towns.

To undermine and make a servant to
Thy brutish lusts, laughing at thy affliction?
And, as a sign she scorns thee, set her foot
Upon thy head? Do so : 'Sdeath ! but resist,
Once more you caper.

Peri. I am at the stake,
And must endure it.

Cham. Spurn him, too.

Lam. Troth, sir,
I do him too much grace.

Cham. Now, as a schoolboy
Does kiss the rod that gave him chastisement,
To prove thou art a slave, meet with thy lips
This instrument that corrects thee.

Peri. Have you done yet? [look now !

Dm. How like a pair of crest-fallen jades t'le"

Cla. They are not worth our scorn.

Peri. O pupil, pupil ! ("ther

Nov. Tutor, I am drench'd : let us condole toge

Cham. And where's the tickling itch now, my dear

monsieur.

To say, This lord's my cuckold ! I am tired :
That we had fresh dogs to hunt them !

Enter CI.ARINDORE.

Clarin.

- - - - I am acquainted with the story ;
The doctor's man has told me all.

Din. Upon them. [this

Peri. Clarindore ! worst of all : for him to know
Is a second blanketting to me.

Nov. I again
Am drench'd to look upon him.

Clarin. How is't ? nay, bear up ;
You that commend adultery. I am glad
To see it thrive so well. Fie, Perigot !
Dejected ? Haply thou wouldst have us think,
This is the first time that thou di'lst. curvet.
And come aloft in a blanket. By St. Dennis!
Here are shrewd scratches too ; but nothing to
A man of resolution, whose shoulders
Are of themselves armour of proof, against
A bastinado, and will tire ten beadles.

Peri. Mock on ; know no mercy.

Clarin. Thrifty young men !

What a charge is saved in wenching ! and 'tis timely
A certain wager of three thousand crowns
Is lost, and must be paid, my pair of puppies ;
The coy dame Bellisant hath stoop'd ! bear witness
This chain and jewels you have seen her wear.
The fellow, that her grooms kick'd down the stairs,
Hath crept into her bed ; and, to assure you
1 here's no deceit, she shall confess so much :
I have enjoy'd her.

Cham. Are you sericus ?

Clarin. Yes, and glory in it.

Cham. Nay then, give over fooling.

Thou liest, and art a villain, a base villain,
To slander her.

Clarin. You are a lord, and that
Bids me forbear you ; but I will make good
Whatever I have said.

Cham. I'll not lose time

To change words with thee. The king hath ordain'd
A Parliament of Love to right her wrongs,
To which I summon thee. [Eiit,

Clarin. Your worst: I care not. Farewell,
babions! [JTxic.

SCENE I.]

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

ter

Din. Here was a sudden change !
Nay, you must quit my house : shog on, kind patient,
And, as you like my physic, when you are
Rampant again, you know 1 have that can cool you.
Nay, monsieur Perigot, help your pupil off too,
Your counsel brought him on. Ha ! no reply ?

Are you struck dumb ? If you are wrong'd, complain.

Peri. We shall find friends to right us.

Dm. And I justice,

The cause being heard ; I ask no more. Hence !
vanish ! [*eu;it.

ACT V.

SCENE I. A Court of Justice.
Enter CHAMONT, PHILAMOUR, and LAFORT.

Phil. Montrose slain ! and by Cleremond !

Cham. 'Tis too true.

Laf. But wondrous strange that any difference,
Especially of such a deadly nature.
Should e'er divide so eminent a friendship.

Phil. The miracle is greater, that a lady,
His most devoted mistress, Leonora,
Against the usual softness of her sex,
Should with such violence and heat pursue
Her amorous servant; since I am inform 'd
That he was apprehended by her practice*,
And, when he comes to trial for his life,
She'll rise up his accuser.

Cham. So 'tis rumour'd :

And that's the motive that young Cleremond
Makes it his humble suit, to have his cause
Decided in the Parliament of Love ;
For he pretends the bloody quarrel grew
From grounds that claim a reference to that place :
Nor fears he, if you grant him equal hearing,
But, with unanswerable proof, to render
The cruel Leonora tainted with
A guilt beyond his.

Lnf. The king is acquainted
Already with the accident ; besides,
lie hath vouchsafed to read divers petitions
Preferr'd on several causes ; one against
Monsieur Dinant, his doctor, by Novall ;
A second, in which madam Bellisant
Complains 'gainst Clarindore; there is a bill too
Brought in by Perigot, r.gainst your lordship ;
All which, in person, he resolves to hear,
Then, as a judge, to censure. [A Flourish within.

Phil. See the form !
Choice music ushers him.

Cham. Let us meet the troop,
And mix with them.

f hil. 'Twill poise your expectation. [Exwnt.

Loud music. Enter CHAUI ES, followed fey ORLEANS,
NEMOURS, CHAMONT, LAFOHT, and PHILAMOUII :
A Priest with the image of CUPID: then enter
CI.EUEMOND, CLARISDOIIE, PEIUCOT, NOVAI.I.,
BEI.LISANT, LEONORA, BEAUPHE, LAMIRA, CLA-
itiNDA, and Officers. MONTROSE is brought Jorwurd
on a bier, and placed bejoi e the bar.

Char. Let it not seem a wonder, nor beget

That he teat apprehended by her practice,] i. e. by hei
ariitiec. This word i ireqtieiuly round in Massinger and
lii* contemporaries, in the smse ul an inridiuus irirk, or
Mrataj;t'iH. 'Hit incident of Leonora instigating her lover t<>
murder his f:knil, an I then MII rendering him to jnMice, is
derived with some variations lr.un Alantou'j Dutch Ltaar-

An ill opinion in this fair assembly

That here I place this statue ; 'tis not done,

Upon the forfeit of our grace, that you

Should, with a superstitious reverence,

Fall down and worship it : nor can it be

Presumed, we hope, young Charles, that justly holds

The honour'd title of most Christina king,

Would ever nourish such idolatrous thoughts.

'Tis rather to instruct deceived mankind,

How much pure love, that has his birth in heaven,

And scorns to be received a guest, but in

A noble heart prepared to entertain him,

Is, by the gross misprision of weak men,

Abused and injured. That celestial fire,

Which hieroglyphically is described

In this his bow, his quiver, and his torch,

Kirst warm'd their bloods, and after gave a name

To the old heroic spirits : such as Orpheus,

That drew men, differing little then from beasts,

To civil government. ; or famed Alcides,

The tyrant-queller, that refu.-ed the plain

And easy path, leading to vicious pleasures,

And ending in a precipice deep as hell,

To scale the ragged cliff, on whose linn top

Virtue and honour, crown'd with wre.ths of stars.

Did sit triumphant. But it will be answer'd,

(The world decaying in her strength,) that now

We are not equal to those ancient times,

And therefore 'twere impertinent and tedious

To cite more precedents of that reverend age,

But rather to endeavour, as we purpose,

To give encouragement, by reward, to such

As with their best nerves imitnte that old goodness ;

And with severe correction, to reform

The modern vices. Begin ; read the bills.

Peri. Let mine be first, my lord, 'twas first pre-.
ferr'd.

Bell, but till my cause be heard, our whole sex
suffers.

Off. Back ! keep back, there !

A'ou. Prithee, gentle officer,
Handle me gingerly, or 1 fall to pieces,
Before I can plead mine.

Peri. 1 am bruised ...

Omnes. Justice! justice!

Char. Forbear these clamours, you shall all be
And, to coiifirm 1 am no partial judge, heard:

By lottery decide it*; here's no favour.

Whose bill is first, Lafort? [The namet are drawn.

Laf. 'Tis Cleremond's.

Char. The sednd ?

/ af. Perigot's ; the third, Novall's.

A OD. Our cases are both lamentable, tutor.

By loiter) decidfit;' By drawing lots. SoSliakspeart:
" Let hiuh-sited tyranny range on.
Till each nun druu by tottery." Juliut Canat.

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

[AcrV

Peri. And I am glad they shall be hear J together ;
We cannot stand asunder.

Chiir. What's the last ?

Lnf. The injur'd lady Bellisant's.

Char. To the first, then ; and so proceed in order.

Phil. Stand to the bar. [Cler. comet forward.

Leon. Speak, Cleremond, thy grief, as I will mine.

Peri. A confident little pleader ! were I in case,
I would give her a double fee.

Nor. So would I, tutor.

Off. Silence! silence!

Cler. Should I rise up to plead my innocence,
Though, with the favour of the court, I stood
Acquitted to the world, yea, though the wounds
Of my dead friend, ("which, like so many mouths
With bloody tongues, cry out aloud against me,)
By your authority, were closed ; yet here,
A not to be corrupted judge, my conscience,
Would not alone condemn me, but inflict
Such lingering tortures on me, as the hangman,
Though witty in his malice, could not equal.
I therefore do confess a guilty cause,
Touching the fact, and, uncompell'd, acknowledge
Myself the instrument of a crime the sun,
Hiding his face in a thick mask of clouds,
As frighted with the horror, durst not look on.
But if your laws with greater rigour punish
Such as invent a mischief, than the organs
By whom 'tis put in act, (they truly being
The first great wheels by which the lesser move,)
Then stand forth Leonora ; and I'll prove
The white robe of my innocence tainted with
But one black spot of guilt, and even that one
By thy hand cast on me ; but thine, died o'er,
Ten times in-grain in hell's most ugly colours.

Leon. The fellow is distracted : see how he raves !
Now as 1 live, if detestation of
His baseness woule but give me leave, I should
Begin to pity him.

Cler. Profitless impudence,
And not to be replied to ! Sfr, to you,
And these subordinate ministers of yourself,
I turn my speech : to her I do repent
I e'er vouchsafed a syllable. My birth*
Was noble as 'tis ancient, nor let it relish
Of arrogance, to say my father's care,
With curiousness and cost, did train me up
In all those liberal qualities that commend
A gentleman : and when the tender dowli
Upon my chin told me I was a man,
I came to court ; there youth, ease, and example,

* . My birth

i" 9 "'* ancienl > &c -] Sir H. Herbert (for
Mr. Maloiie supposes H,is to be the presentation copy, and
to have remained in his hands), has taken several liberties
Wttfc this play. In some places, win-re the expressions
appeared too free, he has drawn his pen tl> rough them
in oihtri, he ban struck out line., under .he Wei, perhaps!
01 compress,,,!; .he ,,;>, kindly sMpulyi.,,, ronnec.ing
word or two from his own stores; and in others h
been content with including ,he objectionable passages
between bracked. In the l.,tier there is not much harm,
but the former is a sor, evil: for as I do not deem very
highly of Sir Henry's taste, nor indeed of his judgment the
endeavours to recover the genuine trxt from the blot spread
over it, has been attended wilh a very con.-ideiable decree
Of trouble; it has however, been gent-rally successful.

If I thought that innovations, hazarded without knowledge
to direct them, could be objects of curiosity, I would tive
the reader this speech as it stands in ihe new Vfrsion : but
it if not wonb his care. 1803. Subsequent i-ivcstigation
enabled Mr. Gilford, by comparing the MS. wi'h the reco-
vered corrected copy of the Duke of Milan, to ascertain that
tbe band-writing of this ulay was Masinger*s.

First made me feel the pleasing pains of love:
And there I saw this woman ; saw, and loved her
With more than common ardour; for that deity,
(Such our affection makes him,) whose dread power

- the choicest arrow, headed with
Not loose but loyal flames, which aim'd at me
Who came with greedy haste to meet the shaft,

- - - -ng, that my captive heart was made
-------- Love's divine artillery,

- - - - preserved - - - no relation.
But the shot made at her was not, like mine,
Of gold, norof pale lead that breeds disdain;
Cupid himself disclaims it: I think rather,
As by the sequel 'twill appear, some fury

From burning Atheron snatch'd a sulphur brand,
'1 hat smoak'd with hate, the parent of red murder,
And threw it in her bosom. Pardon me,
Though I dwell long upon the cause that did
Produce such dire effects ; and, to omit,
For your much patience* sake, the cunning trap
In which she caught me, and, with horrid oaths,
Embark 'd me in a sea of human blood,
I come to the last scene

Leon. Tis time ; for this
Grows stale and tedious.

Cler. When, I say, she had,
To satisfy her fell rage, as a penance,
Forced me to this black deed, her vow, too, given.
That I should marry her, and she conceal me ;
When to her view I brought the slaughter'd body
Of my dear friend, and labour'd with my tears
To stir compunction in her. aided too
By the sad object, which might witness for me,
At what an over-rate I had made purchase
Of her long-wish'd embraces ; then, great sir,
But that I had a mother, and there may be
Some two or three of her - - - sex less faulty,
I should affirm she was the perfect ima-ge
Of the devil, her tutor, that had left hell empty
To dwell in wicked woman.

Lf.on. Do ; rail on.

Cler. For not alone she gloried in my sufferings,
Forswore what she had vow'd, refused to touch me.
Much less to comfort me, or give me harbour ;
But, instantly, ere I could recollect
My scatter'd sense, betray 'd me to your justice,
Which I submit to ; hoping, in your wisdom,
That as, in me, you lop a limb of murder,
You will, in her, grub up the root. I have said, sir.

Leon. Much, I confess, but much to little purpose.
And though, with your rhetorical flourishes,
You strive to gild a rotten cause, the touch
Of reason, fortified by truth, deliver'd
From my unletter'd tongue, shall shew it dust ;
And so to be contemn'd ; you have trimm'd up
All your deservings, should 1 grant them such,
With more care than a maiden of threescore
Does hide her wrinkles, which, if she encounter
The rain, the wind, or sun, the paint wash'd oft',
Are to dim eyes discovered. 1 forbear
The application, and in a plain style
Come roundly to the matter. 'Tis confess'd.
I his pretty, handsome, gentleman, (for thieves
Led to the gallows are held proper men,
And so I now will call him,) would needs make me
The mistress of his thoughts ; nor did 1 scorn,
lor truth is truth, to grace him as a servant.
Nay, he took pretty ways to win me too,
For a court novice ; every year I was

SCENE L]

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

169

His Valentine, and in an anagram,
My name worn in his hat ; he made me banquets,
As if lie thought that ladies, like to flies,
Were to be caught with sweetmeats; quarrell'd with
My tailor, if my gown were not the first
Of that edition ; beat my shoemaker,
If the least wrinkle on my fool appear'd,
As wronging the proportion; and, in time,
Grew bolder, usher'd me to masks, and - - -
Or else paid him that wrote them ; - - -
With such a deal of p-

And of good rank, are taken with such gambols;
In a word, I was so ; and a solemn contract
Did pass betwixt us ; and the day appointed,
That should make our embraces warrantable.
And lawful to the world : all things so carried,
As he meant nought but honourable love.
Char. A pretty method.

Phil. Quaintly, too, deliver'd. [g ave proof

Leon. But, when he thought me sure, he then
That foul lust lurk'd in the fair shape of love;
For valuing neither laws divine nor human,
His credit, nor my fame, with violence born
On black-sail'd wings of loose and base desires,
As if his natural parts had quite forsook him,
And that the pleasures of the marriage bod
Were to be reap'd with no more ceremony
Than brute beasts couple, I yet blush to speak it,
He tempted me to yield my honour up
To his libidinous twines ; and, like an atheist,
Scoft''d at the form and orders of the church ;
Nor ended so, but, being by me reproved,
He offer'd violence, but was prevented.
Char. Note, a sudden change.
Laf 'Twas foul in Cleremond.
Lean. I, burning then with a most virtuous anger,
Razed from my heart the memory of his name,
Reviled, and spit at him ; and knew, 'twas justice
That I should take those deities he scorn 'd,
Hymen and Cupid, into my protection,
And be the instrument of their revenge :
And so I cast him off, scorn'd his submission,
His poor and childish winnings, will'd my servants
To shut my gates against him : but, when neither
Disdain, hate, nor contempt, could free me from
His loathsome importunities, (and fired too
To wreak mine injured honour,) 1 took gladly
Advantage of his execrable oaths
To undergo what penance I enjoin'd him ;
Then, to the terror of all future ribalds,
That make no difference between love and lust,
Imposed this task upon him. 1 have said, too :
Now, when vou please, a censure.

Char. She has put

The judges to their whisper. [tutor?

A*'i'. What do you think of these proceedings,
Peri. The truth is,
I like not the severity of the court ;
Would I were quit, and in an hospital,
I could let fall my suit !

NOD. 'Tis still your counsel.
Char. We are resolved, and with an equal hand
Will hold the scale of justice ; pity shall not
Rob us of strength and will to draw her sword,
Nor passion transport us : let a priest
And headsman be in readiness ; do you start
To hear them named ? Some little pause we grant

you,

1 e tako examination of yourselves,
What either of you have deserved, and why

These instruments of our power are now thought
useful :

You shall hear more, anon.

Or. I like not this.
Leon. A dreadful preparation ! I confess
It shakes mv confidence.

Clarin. I presumed this court
Had been in sport erected ; but now find,
With sorrow to the strongest hopes I built on,
That 'tis not safe to be the subject of
The - - - of kings,

(AW 1 Speaker) To the second cause.
laf. - - - Perigot's.
AW. Nay, take me along too ;
And, since that our complaints differ not much,
Dispatch us both together. I accuse
1 his devilish doctor.

Peri. 1 this wicked lord.
A T oi>. 'Tis known I was an able, lusty man,
Fit to get soldiers to serve my king
And country in the wars ; and howsoever
'Tis said I am not valiant of myself,
I was a striker, one thai could strike home too;
And never did beget a girl, though drunk.
To make this good, I could produce brave boys,
That others father, twigs of mine own grafting,
That loved a drum at four, and ere full ten,
Fought battles for the parish they were born in :
And such by-blows, old stories say, still proved
Fortunate captains : now whereas in justice,
I should have hud a pension from the state
For my good service, this ungrateful doctor,
Having no child, and never like to have one,
Because in pity to his barrenness,
I plotted how to help him to an heir,
Has, with a drench, so far disabled me,
That the great Turk may trust me with his virgiiis,
And never use a surgeon. Now consider,
If this be not hard measure, and a wrong to
Little Dan Cupid, if he be the god
Of coupling, as 'tis said ; and will undo,
If you give way to this, all younger brothers
That carry their revenue in their breeches.
Have I not nick'd it, tutor?

Peri. To a hair, boy :

Our bills shall pass, ne'er fear it. For my case,
It is the same, sir ; my intent as noble
As was my pupil's.

Cham. Plead it not again, then :
It takes much from the dignity of the court
But to give audience to such things as these,
That do in their defence, condemn themselves.
And need not an accuser. To be short, sir,
And in a language as far from obsceneness,
As the foul cause will give me leave, be pleased
To know thus much : This hungry pair of flesh-flies
And most inseparable pair of coxcombs.
Though born of divers mothers, twins in baseness,
Were frequent at my table, had free welcome,
And entertainment fit for better men ;
In the return of which, this thankful monsieur
Tempted my wife, seduced her, at; the least
To him it did appear so ; which discover'd,
And with what treacheries he did abuse
My bounties, treading underneath his feet
All due respect of hospitable rights,
Or the honour of my family ; though the intent
Deserved a stab, and at the holy altar,
I borrow'd so much of your power to right me,
As to make him caper.

170

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

[Acr. V

Din For this gallant, sir,

I do confess I cool'd him, spoil'd his rambling;
Would all such as delight in it, were served M> !
And .-ince you are acquainted with the motives
That did induce me to it, I forbear
A needless repetition.

Chum. 'Tis not worth it.
The criminal judge is fitter to take - - -
Of pleas of this base nature. Be - - - -
An injured lady, for whose wrong - - - -
I see the statue of the god of love
Drop down tears of compassion, his sad mother,
And fair-cheek'd Graces, that attend on her,
Weeping for company, as if that all
The ornaments upon the Paphian shrine
Were, with one gripe, hy sicrilegious hands,
Torn from the holy altar : 'tis a cause, sir,
That justly mav exact your best attention ;
Which if you truly understand and censure,
You not alone shall right the present times,
But bind posterity to be your debtor.
Stand forth, dear madam :

[BelHsant comes forward.
Look upon this face,
Examine every feature and proportion,
And you with rne must grant, this rare piece finish'd,
Nature, despairing e'er to make the like,
Brake suddenly the mould in which 'twas fashion il.
Yet, to increase your pity, and call on
Your justice with severity, this fair outside
Was but the cover of a fairer mind.
Think, then, what punishment he must deserve,
And justly suffer, that could arm his heart
With such impenetrable flinty hardness,
To injure so much sweetness.

Ctarin. I must stand
The fury of this tempest, which already
Sings in my ears.

Bell. Great sir, the too much praise
This lord, my guardian once, has shower'd upon me,
Could not but spring up blushes in my cheeks,
If grief had left me blood enough to speak
My humble modesty : and so far 1 am
From being litigious, that though I were robb'd
Of my whole estate, provided my fair name
Had been unwounded, I had now been silent.
But since the wrongs I undergo, if smother'd,
Would injure our whole sex, 1 must lay by
My native bashfulness, and put on boldness,
Fit to encounter with the impudence
Of this bad man, that from his birth hath been
So far from nourishing an honest thought,
That the abuse of virgins was his study,
And daily practice. His forsaking of
His wife, distressed Beaupre ; his lewd wager
With these, companions like himself, to abuse me ;
His desperate resolution, in my presence,
To be his own assassin ; to prevent which,
Foolish compassion forced me to surrender
The life of life, my honour, I pass over :
I'll only touch his' foul ingratitude,
To scourge which monster, if your laws provide not
A punishment with rigour, they are useless :
Or if the sword, the gallows, or the wheel,
Be due to such as spoil us of our goods ;
Perillus' brazen bull, the English rack,
The German pincers, or the Scotch oilM boots,
Though join'd together, yet come short of tortu r e,
To their full merit, those accursed wretches.
That steal our reputations and good names,

As this base villain has done mine: Forgive me,
If rage provoke, me to uncivil language ;
The cause requires it. Was it not enough
That, to preserve thy life, I lost my honour,
.... in recompense of such a gift

- - - - - publish it to my disgrace ?

------ whose means, unfortunate I,

Whom, but of late, the city, nay all France,
Durst bring in opposition for chaste life,
With any woman in the Christian world,
Am now become a by-word and a scorn,
In mine own country.

Char. As I live, she moves me.
Is this true, Clarindore ?

Nov. Oh ! 'tis very true, sir ;
He bragg'd of it to me.

Peri. And me:

Nay, since we must be censured, we'll give evidence
'Tis comfort to have fellows in affliction :
You shall not 'scape, fine monsieur.

Clarin. Peace, you dog-bolts !
Sir, I address myself to you, and hope
You have preserved one ear for my defence,
The other freely given to my accuser :
This ladv, that complains of injury,
If she have any, was herself the cause
That brought it to her ; for being young, and rich,
And fair too, as you see, and from that proud,
She boasted of her strength, as if it were not
In the power of love to undermine the fort
On which her chastity was strongly raised :
I, that was bred a courtier, and served
Almost my whole life under Cupid's ensigns.
Could not, in justice, but interpret this
As an affront to the great god of love,
And all his followers, if she were not brought
To due obedience : these strong reasons, sir,
Made me to undertake her. How 1 woo'd
Or what I swore, it skills* not ; (since 'tis said,
And truly, Jupiter and Venus smile
At lovers' perjuries ;) to be brief, she yielded.
And I enjoy 'd her: if this be a crime,
And all such as offend this pleasant way
Are to be punish 'd, I am sure you would have
Few followers in the court : you are young yourself

sir.
And what would you in such a cause ?

/./. Forbear.

Phil. You are rude and insolent.

Clarin. Good words, gentle judges.
I have no oil'd tongue ; and I hope my bluntness
Will not offend.

Char. But did you boast your conquest
Got on this lady ?

Clari'i. After victory ;
A little glory in a soldier's mouth
Is not uncomely ; love being a kind of war too :
And what I did achieve, was full of labour
As his that wins strong towns, and merits triumphs
I thought it could not but take from my honour,
(Besides the wager of three thousand crowns
Made sure by her confession of my service,)
If it had been conceul'd.

Char. Who would have thought
That such Hn impudence could e'er have harbour
In the heart of any gentleman? In this,
Thou dost degrade thyself of all the honours
Thy ancestors left thee, and, in thy base nature,

It skills not;] It tiynijies not.

SCENE I.]

THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE.

171

'Tis too apparent that thou art a peasant.

Boast of a lady's favours ! this confirms

Thou art the captain of that ....

That glory in their sins, ai.d - - - -

With name of courtship ; such as dare bely

Great women's bounties, and. repulsed and scorn'd,

Commit adultery with their good names,

And never touch their persons. I ara sorry,

For your sake, madam, that I cannot make

Such reparation for you in your honour

As I desire ; for, if I should compel him

To marry you, it were to him a blessing,

To you a punishment ; he being so unworthy :

I therefore do resign my place to you ;

Be your own judge ; whate'er you shall determine,

By my crown, I'll see perform'd.

C In rin. I am in a fine case,
To stand at a woman's mercy.

Bell. Then thus, sir :
I am not bloody, nor bent to revenge ;
And study his amendment, not his ruin :
Yet, since you have given up your power to me,
For punishment, I do enjoin him to
Marry this Moor.

Clarin. A devil ! hang me rather.

Char. It is not to be alter'd.

Clarin. This is cruelty
Beyond expression - - - - I have a wife.

Cham. Ay, too good for thee. View her well,
And then, this varnish from her face wash'd off,
Thou shall find Beaupre.

Clarin. Beaupre !

Bell. Yes, his wife, sir,
But long by him with violence cast off:
And in this shape she served me ; all my studies
Aiming to make a fair atonement for her.
To which your majesty may now constrain him.

Clarin. It needs not j 1 receive her, and ask pardon
Of her and you.

Bell. On both our parts 'tis granted.
This was your bedfellow, and till'd your arms.
\V lieu you thought you embraced me ; I am yet
A virgin ; nor had ever given consent,
1 n my chaste house, to such a wanton passage,
But that I knew that her desires were lawful.
But now no more of personated passion :
This is the man I loved, [pointing to the bier.'] that

I loved truly,

However I dissembled ; and with him
Dies all affection in me. So, great sir,
Resume your seat.

Char. An unexpected issue,
\Vhich I rejoice in ; would 'twere in our power

To give a period to the rest, like this,
And spare our heavy censure ! but the death
Of good Montrose forbids it. Cleremond,
Thou instantly shall marry Leonora;
Which done, as suddenly thy head cut off,
And corpse interr'd, upon thy grave I'll build
A room of eight feet square, in which this lady,
For punishment of her cruelty, shall die
An anchoress.

Leon. I do repent, and rather
Will marry him, and forgive him.

Clarin. Bind her to

Her word, great sir ; Montrose lives ; this a plot
To catch this obstinate lady.

Leon. I am glad
To be so cheated.

Mont, [rises from the bier.'] - - - lady,
------- deceived ; do not repent

Your good opinion of me when thought dead.
Nor let not my neglect to wait upon you,
Considering what a business of import
Diverted me, be thought unpardonable.

Bell. For my part 'tis forgiven ; and thus I seal

Char. Nor are we averse
To your desires ; may you live long and happy |

Nan. Mercy to us, great sir.

Peri. We will become
Chnste and reformed men.

Cham, and Din. We both are suitors,
On this submission, for your pardon, sir.

Char. Which we in part will grant; but, to deter
Others, by their example, from pursuing
Unlawful lusts, that think adultery
A sport to be oft practised ; fix on them
Two satyrs' heads ; and so, in capital letters
Their foul intents writ on their breasts, we'll have

them

Led thrice through Paris ; then, at the court gate
To stand three hours, where Clarindore shall make
His recantation for the injury
Done to the Lady Bellisant ; and read
A sharp invective, ending with a curse
Against all such as boast of ladies' favours :
Which done, both truly penitent, my doctor
Shall use his best art to restore your strength,
And render Perigot a perfect man.
So break we up Love's Parliament, which, we hope,
Being for mirth intended, shall not meet with
An ill construction ; and if then, fair ladies*,
You please to approve it, we hope you'll invite
Your friends to see it often with delight.

[JEflMMtf*

fair ladies.} After this the

manuscript a<lls, " and gracious spectators," which, as a
fool^h interpolation, I have dropped.

t This is a beautiful fragment, and is every where strongly
marked with Miissiuger's manner; the same natural flow of
poi-iry, the same unforced structure of his lines, and easy
f.il: or pcriixl ; the same fond use of mythology ; and, what
is more convincing than all the rest, the same intimate and
li.tlniii.il reference to his own thoughts and expressions else-
wlicie. I wish it could be added that there are m> marks of
licentiousness : the only consolation for the uneasiness occa-
sioned bv it is, that proper punishments are at last inflicted
on the offenders ; and we hail the moral, which aims at the
suppression of " unlawful lusts."

As to the history connected with it, it is very slender :
Charles talks of his conquests in Italy ; but his chief business
it to decree " the Parliament of Love." After this he disap

pears, and various gallantries take place, which are only
ir.tant to create employment for the court, and arc adjudged
by him in the last act.

The principal point of cnriosjty is the chivalrous institution
of courts, where "disdained lovers" and " wronged ladies"
might seek redress of amorous grievances. And this U
already enquired into by the Editor.

The characters are lively and amusing: but in Montrone
it seems to have been Massinger's intention to describe the
united force of love and friendship. He is both lofty and
tender, and possesses a sort of unconscious greatness, which
shews itself in disinterested and magnanimous actions rather
than in words. We tremble for him in the conversation
preceding the combat with Cleremond, and are at length
made happy with the success of the device which induce*
the reluctant Bellisant to confeu her love. DR.

THE ROMAN ACTOR.] This Tragedy was licensed by Sir H. Herbert, October lltL, 1626, and given tc
the press in Io29.

The plot is founded on the life of Domitian, as recorded by Suetonius, Dio, and others. Coxeter and
Mr. M. Mason say that the poet has been verv true to history ; but they say it, as usual, without know-
ledge : he has, as in The Duke of Milan, adopted a few leading circumstances, and had recourse to his in.
veation for the rest.

This Play was successful in the representation ; and appears to have been well received by the critics of
those times, since it is preceded by commendatory copies of verses from Ford, Harvey, May, Taylor, and
others. Taylor, an admirable actor, who played the part of Paris, calls it " the best of many good-," and
Massinger himself declares that " he ever held it as the most perfect birtli of his Minerva*." The judgment
of an author is not always to be taken upon his own works. He lias his partialities and his prejudices, and,
like other parents, sees beauties which are not immediately apparent to an indifferent spectator. The Koman
Actty, though a very excellent piece, will scarcely be ranked at this day above The Unnatural Combat, The
Duke of Milan, or The Bondman.

This Tragedy was revived by Betterton, who took for himself the part of Paris, in which he was highly
celebrated. It was again brought on the stage, with a few trifling alterations, in 17M, but I know not
with, what success. The old title page says, that it had been " divers times acted, with good allowance, at
the private Play-house in the Black Friars, by the King's Majesty's servants."

TO MY MUCH HOXOrHED AND MOST TRUE FRIENDS,

SIR PHILIP KNYVET, KNT, & BART,

AND TO

SIR THOMAS JEAY, KNT,

AND

THOMAS BELLINGHAM, ESQ.

OF NEWJTMBER, IN SUSSEX.

How much I acknowledge myself bound for your so many, and extraordinary favours conferred upon me,
as far as it is in my power, posterity shall take notice ; I were most unworthy of such noble friend-, if I
should not, with all thankfulness, profess and own them. In the composition of this Tragedy you were my
only supporters, and it being now by your principal encouragement to be turned into the world, it cannot
walk safer than under your protection. It hath been happy in the suffrage of some learned and judicious
gentlemen when it was presented, nor shall they find cause, I hope, in the perusal, to repent them of their
g-ood opinion of it. If the gravity and height of ihe subject distaste such as are only affected with jigs and
ribaldry, (as I presume it will,) their condemnation of me and my poem can no way offend me : my reason
teaching me, such malicious and ignorant detractors deserve rather contempt than satisfaction. -1 ever held
it the most perfect birth of my Minerva ; and theicfore in justice offer it to those that have best deserved of
me ; who, 1 hope, in their courteous acceptance will render it worth their receiving, and ever, in their
gentle construction of my imperfections, believe they may at their pleasure dispose of him, that is wholly
and sincerely

Devoted to their service,

PHILIP MASSINGER.

Too mncb tres has been laid on this expression t it ii proper, in adverting to it, to consider how few dramatic piecw
Masjiiijjer bad produced, when it was used

SCENE I.]

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

173

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

DOMITIANUS CSAR,

PARIS, the ROMAN ACTOB,
JEuus LAMIA, ~\

JUNIUS RUSTICUS, (.,
n c, . senators,

PALPHURIUS SURA, I

FUI.CINIUS,

PARTHENIUS, C.CSAR'S freed 'man,
ARETINUS, CESAR'S spy,
SrEPHANOSf, DoMiTiLLA'

' I player,
INUS, } r '

ASCLETARIO, an astrologer.

Actors' \amei.
J. Lowin*.
J. Taylor.
T. Pollard.
Rob. Benfield.
W. Patricke.

R. Sharpe.
E. Swanstone.

R. Robinson.
C. Greville.

Actor*' JVome*.
Piiii.Anr.irs, a rich miser; father to

PARTHEXIUS, A. SMITH.

SEJEIUS, G. Vernoni.

ENTELLUS, 1 P'"". J. H orne j.

DOMITIA, wife of JEni's LAMIA, J. Tompson.
DoMnii.i:ti,cousin-gertnnn to CTSAR. J. Hunnieman.
JULIA, daughter of TITUS, W. Trigge.

C.cxis, VESPASIAN'S concubine, A. Gough.

A Lati>i.

Tribunes, Lictors, Centurions, Soldiers, Hangmen,
Servants, Captives.

SCENE, Rome.

ACT I.

SCENE I. The TJieatre. Enter PARIS, LATINUS,
and ./Esopus.

jsop. What do we act to-day ?

Lot. Agave's Frenzy.
With Pentht-us' Bloody End.

Par. It skills not what$ ;
The times are dull, and all that we receive
Will hardly satisfy the day's expense.
Fhe Greeks, to whom we owe the first invention
Both of the buskin'd scene, and humble sock,
That reign in every noble family.
Declaim against us : and our theatre]).
Great Pompey's work, that hath given full delight
Both to the eye and ear of fifty thousand
Spectators in one day, as if it were
Some unknown desert, or great Rome unpeopled,
Is quite forsaken.

John Lowin, &c.] All that is known of this excellent
actor (as well as most of those who follow) is collected with
great care by Mr. Malonr, and inserted in lib Historical
View of the Enyliah .\taye: to which I refer the reader.

t fitephanot.] So Massinger spells his name ; it should,
however, be Stephanas.

t George Vcrnon and James Home have no characters
assigned them in the list of persons presented ; probably
they played Sejehis and Enli-llns, whose names have not
hitherto been given amnn^ the dramatis persona: ; though
they appear in the second scene of the last act.

j Par. // skills not.] i. e. matter* not. So in The Custom
of the Country :

" Some purMie

The murderer; yet if he 'scape, it skills not ;
Were I a prince, I would reward him t'or't."

and our theatre,

Great Pompfy't work, &c. The old copy reads amphi-
theatre, for which I have taken the liberty to substitute
theatre. Matsinger could not be ignorant that the former
was not " the work of I'ompey ;" nor th.it a building ap-
propriated solely to combats of gladiators, wild beasts, &c.,
was not properly adapted to the scenic*! exhibitions of
Paris and his associates. Not to insist that the work for
which Pornpey was fo celebrated, was a theatre, (as we
learn from Tacitus and others,) I wonlil just observe, that
the redundancy of Ihe old reading fmnishes no slight proof
that the confusion of terms did not arise from the poet, but
bis transcriber.

What Massinger says of the theatre, is applied by
AddiaotJ, in his Letter from Rome, to the Coliseo :

" which unpeopled Rome,

And held uncrowded nations in its womb."

Lot. Pleasures of worse natures
Are gladly entertain'd; and they that shun us,
Practise, in private, sports the stews would blush at,
A litter borne by eight Liburnian slaves,
To buy diseases from a glorious strumpet,
The most censorious of our Roman gentry,
Nay, of the guarded robe*, the senators
Esteem an easy purchase.

Par. Vet grudge usf,

That with delight join profit, and endeavour
To build their minds up fair, and on the stage
Decipher to the liie what honours wait
On good and glorious actions, and the shame
That treads upon the heels of vice, the salary
Of six sestertii.

jf.sop. For the profit, Paris.

And mercenary gain, they are thing* beneath us ;
Since, while you hold your grace and power with

Csesar,

We, from your bounty, find a large supply,
Nor can one thought of want ever approach us.

Par. Our aim is glory, and to leave our names
To afierttme.

Lat. And, would they give us leave,
There ends all our ambition.

sEsoit. We have enemies,

And great ones too, I fear. 'Tis given out lately,
The consul Aretinus, Caesar's spy,
Said at his table, ere a month expired,
For being gall'd in our last comedy,
He'd silence us for ever.

Par. I expect
No favour from him ; my strong Aventine isf,

* \'ay, of the guarded robe,] i. e. the laced or bordered
robe. The Latirlavus. M. MASON.
t Paris ) ft gnidyf us.

'I'hat with deliyhl join profit, <fcc.] Paris here applies,
pleasantly enough, to himself, what was said of a very
dittcrent character:

Hot intpr sumptus, fsffrtia Quintiliano
Vt mu/tum, duo sufficient.

On the whole, it is amusing to hear him talk in the high
nioril Miain of Seneca anil Juvenal.

J my strong Aventine.] I scarcely

know what is meant by this uncouth expression. On thii
hill the auguries were usually taken, it may therefore

174

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

[Arr I.

That great Domitian, whom we oft have cheer'd
In his most sullen moods, will once return,
Who can repair, with ease, the consul's ruins.

Lat. 'Tis frequent in the city*, he hath subdued
The Catti and the Daci, and, ere long,
The second time will enter Rome in triumph.

Enter two Lictors.

Par. Jove hasten it! With us? I now believe
The consul's threats, /L'sopus.

1 Lict. You are summoii'd
To appear to-day in senate.

% Lict. And there to answer
Whnt shall be urged against you.

Pur. We obey you.

Nay, droop not, fellows ; innocence should be bold.
We, that have personated in the scene
The ancient heroes, and the falls of princes,
With loud applause; being to act ourselves,
Must do it with undaunled confidence.
\\ hate'er our sentence be, think 'tis in sport :
And, though condemn'd, let's hear it without sorrow,
As if we were to live again to-u;orrowf.

1 Lief. Tis spoken like yourself.

Enter JEi.ivs LAMIA, JUNIUS Rusncus, and
PALMiumrs SURA.

Lam. Whither goes Paris?

1 Lict. He's cited to the senate.

Lot. I am glad the state is

So free from matters of more weight and trouble,
That it has vacant time to look on us. [kings

Pr. That reverend place, in which the affairs of
And provinces were determined, to descend
To the censure of a bitter word, or jest,
Dropp'd from a poet's pen ! Peace to your lordships !
We are glad that you are safe.

[Emmf Lictors, Paris, Latinus, and JEsopus.

Lam. What times are these !
To what is Rome fallen ! may we, being alone
Speak our thoughts freely of the prince and state,
And not fear the informer ?

ltut. Noble Lamia,

So dangerous the age is, and such bad acts
Are practised every where, we hardly sleep,
Nay, cannot dream, with safety. All our actions
Are call'd in question : to be nobly born
Is now a crime ; and to deserve too well,
Held capital treason. Sons accuse their fathers,
Fathers their sons ; and, but to win a smile
From one in grace at court, our chastest matrons
Make shipwreck of their honours. To be virtuous
Is to be guilty. They are only safe
That know to soothe the prince's appetite,
And serve his lusts.

Sura. Tis true ; and 'tis my wonder,
That two sons of so different a nature [Titus,

Should spring from good Vespasian. We had a
Styled, justly, the delight of all mankind,

Signify, my strong forebodings, or expectations. Or it may
mean (as the Aveiitiue was a post of strength) my security,
my defence.

Lat. "7 'i* frrquent in the city,] A Latinism; 'tis com-
mon, currently reported, &c.

t At if wf were to live again to morrow.] This line is
wholly omitted by Mr. M. Mason! To a culpable negli-
gence, this " most accurate of editors" joins a pross igno-
ance of history. He reads jit*! below, t'.ntt-r ^Eliux, l.a-
iiiia, Juniux Kusticus, Paiphuriut, and Aura.' He has not
even the excuse of being milled by Coxeter here, fpr the
copulative between Palphurius and Sura is his own in-
feniuus addition I

Who did esteem that day lost in his life,

In which seme one or other tasted not

Of his magnificent bounties ; one that had

A ready tear, when he was forced to sign

The death of an offender : and so far

From pride, that he disdam'd not the converse

Even of the poorest Roman.

Lam. Yet his brother,

Domitian, that now sways the power of thing's*,
Is so inclined to blood, that no day passes
In which some are not fastened to the hook,
Orthrowndown from the (jemoniesf. His freedmen
Scorn the nobility, and he himself,
As if he were not made of flesh and blood,
Forgets he is a man.

Uust. In his young years, [ness :

He show'd what he would be when grown to ripe-
His greatest pleasure was, being a child,
With a sharp-pointed bodkin to kill flies,
Whose rooms now men supply. For his escape
In the Yitellinn war, he raised a temple
To Jupiter, and proudlv placed his figure
In the bosom of the god : and in his edicts
He does not blush, or start, to style himself
(As if the name of emperor were base)
Great Lord and God IJomitian.

Sura. I have letters

He's on his way to Rome, and purposes
To enter with all glory. The nattering senate
Decrees him divine honours ; and to cross it,
Were death with studied torments: for my part*,
I will obey the time ; it is in vain
To strive against the torrent.

liust. Let's to the curia,
And, though unwillingly, give our suffrages,
Before we are compell'd.

Lam. And since we cannot
With safety use the active, let's make use of
The passive fortitude, with this assurance,
That the state, sick in him, the gods to friend^,
Though at the worst will now begin to mend. [Exeunt.

* Domitian, that now sway* the power of things,] A
Latinism for that now sways the world, reruin poteatat.

i Or thrown down from the Geinonies.]

For this pure and classical expression, the modern editors
have foolishly substituted,

Or thrown from the 7'arpeian rock !

I say foolishly, because, from their impertinent alteration,
they appear to take the fastening to the hook, and the tin ow-
ing from the Geinonies to be modes of excecntion : whereas
they were expressions of indignity to ihe surtercro/Ver death.
The Gemonies (Xcalie Gfmonitr) was an abrupt and rugued
precipice on the Aveiitiue where the bodies of sta!e cri-
minals were flung, and from whence, after they had been
exposed to the insults of the rabble, they were dr.iggcd to
the Tiber, which flowed at the foot of the hill.

1 have already observed, that Massinger is only known to
those who n-ad him in the old editions, and every pasjc and
every line I examine of Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason,
strengthens and contirms the observation.

j for my part

1 will obey the iime ; it is in vain

To strive ayainst the torrent.] Massinger lias con-
founded tl.e character of Sura vtitii that of Crispus. It is
needless, however, to dwell on such inaccuracies, since
none will consult the dramatic poet for the true characters
of thoe eventful times. In ihe preceding speech, he repie
! ients Domiiian as delighting " to kills flies in his cl.-il^hood.'"
j This is diiecily in tiie face of history. Suetonius sayr
that he beyanhis reiyn with killing Hies. His childhoof
was suflicienily innocent.

j thf gods to friend,] i.e. aw 5toi, with

the protection of heaven a very common expression in our
old poets. Thus Spenser:

" So forward on his way, with God to friend,
He passed forth"

, II.]

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

SCENE II. A Uoorn in Lamia's House.
Enter DOMITIA and PARTHEXIUS.

Dora. To me this reverence !

Parth. I pay it, lady,

As a debt due to her that's ('Cesar's mistress:
For understand with joy, lie that commands
All that the sun gives warmth to, is your servant;
lie not amazed, but fit you to your fortunes.
Think upon state and greatness*, and the honours
That wait upon Augusta, for that name,
Ere long, comes to you : still von doubt your vassal ;
But, when you've read this letter, writ and si.,u'd
With his imperial hand, you will be freed
From fear and jealiusy ; and, 1 beseech you,
When all the beauties of the earth bow to you,
And senators shall take it for an honour,
As I do now, to kiss these happy feet ;
When every smile you give is a preferment.
And you dispose of provinces to your creatures,
Think on Parthenius.

Dam. Hise. 1 am transported,
And hardly dare believe what is assured here.
The means, my good Parthenius, that wrought Cassar,
Our god on earth, to cast an eye of favour
Upon his humble handmaid ?

Parth. What, but your beauty ?
When nature framed you for her masterpiece.
As the pure abstract of all rare in woman,
She had no other ends but to design you
To the most eminent place. I will not say
(For it would smell of arrogance to insinuate
The service I have done you) with what zeal
I oft have made relation of your virtues,
Or how I've sung your goodness, or how Cassar
Was fired with the relation of your story :
I am rewarded in the act, and happy
In that my project prosper'd.

Dom. You are modest :

And were it in my power, I would be thankful.
If that, when I was mistress of myself,
And, in my way of youth, pure md untaintedf,
The emperor had vouchsafed to seek mv favours,
I had with joy given up my virgin fort,
At the first summons, to his soft embraces :
But I am now another's, not mine own.
You know 1 have a husband : for my honour,
I would not be his strumpet, and how law
Can be dispensed with to become his wife,
To me's a riddle.

Parth. I can soon resolve it :

When power puts in his plea the laws are silenced.
The world confesses one Rome, and one Ca:sar,
And as his rule is infinite, his pleasures
Are unconfined ; this syllable, his will,
Stands for a thousand reasons.

Dom. But with safety,

Suppose I should consent, how can I do it?
My husband is a senator, of a temper
Not to be jested with.

Enter LAMM.

Parth. As if he durst

Be Caesar's rival ! here he comes : with ease
I will remove this scruple.

Think upon state and greatneu .'] Mr. M. Mason foi.-ts
in the article before ttate, which weakens the ex f rrs.-ion,
nd destroys the int-tre.

+ And, in my way of youth, pure and untainted,] See a
Very Woman.

Lum. How! so private \

Mvown house made a brothel* Sir, how durst vu,
Though guarded with your power m court a;ui

greatness,

Hold conference with my wife? As for you, minion,
I shall hereafter treat

Pin-tit. You urn rude and saucy,
Nor know to whom you speak.

J.tim. This i.s tine, i'faith!
Is she not my wife ?

Parlh. Your wife ! But touch her, that respect

forgDtten

That's due to her whom mightiest Ciesar favours,
Ami think what 'tis to die. Not to lose time,
Sim's Csesar's choice : it is sufficient honour
You were his taster in this heavenly nectar;
But now must <|iiit ihe office.

Lum. This is rare !
Cannot a man be master of his wife
Because she's young and fair, without a patent?
I in my own house am an emperor, [knaves?
And will defend what's mine. Where are my
1C such an in-olence escape unpunishM

P r h. In yourself. Lamia, Csesar hath forgot
To use his power, and 1, his instrument.
In whom, though absent, his authority speaks,
Have lost ray faculties! [Stampt.

Enter a Centurion with Soldiers.

Lam. The tiuard! why, am I
Design *d for death !

Dom. As \ou desire my favour,
Take not so rough a course.

Punh. All your desires

Are absolute commands. Yet give me leave
To put the will of Cwsar into act.
Here's a bill of divorce between your lordship
And this great lady : if you refuse to sign it.
And s>o as if you did it uncumpell'd.
Won to't by reasons that concern yourself,
Her honour too untainted, here are clerks,
Shall in your best blood write it new, till torture
Compel you to perform it.

Lam. Is this legal* ?

Parth. Monarch* that dare not do unlawful things,
Yet bear them out, are constables, not kings.
Will you dispute?

Lam. I know not what to urge
Against myself, but too much dotage on her,
Love, and observance.

Parth. Set it under your hand,
That you are impotent, and cannot pay
The duties of a husband ; or, that you are mad ;
Rather than want just cause, we'll make you so.
Dispatch, you know the danger else ; deliver it,

Lam. ft this leyal ?

Parih. Monarch*, that dare not do unlawful thing*,} In
Coxeter and Mr. M. Alarm's editions these Hues are thus
primed :

Lam. I* thit legal?
New works that dare not, J>c.

On which the l.iltrr s.iys : " 1 considered this passage for

some lime as irretrievable, for there is a mistake mil only

in Ihe words, but in the person also to whom they are

! a Irihuicd ;" and he proceeds with great earnestness and

gravity to rectify the mistake. All this " consideration"

| initiht have been saved by a glance at the old copies, which,

! read preci-vly as I have given ir. True it i, that Coxeter

found the nonsense they have printed, in the quarto; but

the error seems to have been quickly discovered and

removed, since it occurs but in one of the numerous copies

which I have had occasion to consult.

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

Nay, on your knee. Madam, you now are free,
And mistress of yourself.

I. am. Can you, Domitia,
Consent to tnis >

Dom. ' Twould ar^iie a base mind
To live a servant, when I may command.
I now am Cxsar's : and vet, in respect

1 once was yours, when you come to the palace,
Provided you deserve it in your service,

Vou shall find me your good mistress*. Wait me,
And now farewell, poor Lamia. [Parthenius.

[ Exeunt all but Lamia.
Lam. To the gods

2 bena my knees, (for tyrannv hath banish 'd
Justice from men.) and as they would deserve
Their altars, and our vows, humbly invoke them,
That this my ravish 'd wife may prove as fatal
To proud Domitian, and her embraces

Afford him, in the end, as little joy

As wanton Helen brought to him of Troy ! [Ea Jr.

SCENE III. The Senate-house.

Enter Liotors, ARETINUS, FUI.CINIUS, RUSTICU*
SURA, PARIS, LAJisvs,and ^Dsopus.

Aret. Fathers conscriptf, may this our meeting be
Happy to Cajsar and the commonwealth !

Lief. Silence!

Aret. The purpose of this frequent senate
Is first, to give thanks to the gods of Rome,
That, for the propagation of the empire,
Vouchsafe us one to govern it, like themselves.
In height of courage, depth of understanding,
And all ihose virtues, and remarkable graces,
Which make a prince most eminent, our Domitian
Transcends the ancient Romans : 1 can never
Bring his praise to a period. What good man,
That is a friend to truth, dares make it doubtful,
That he hath Fabius' staidness, and the courage
Of bold Marcellus, to whom Hannibal gave
The style of Target, and the Sword of Rome?
But he has more, and every touch more Roman ;
As Pompey's dignity, Augustus" state,
Antony's bounty, and great Julius' fortune,
With Cato's resolution. 1 am lost
In the ocean of his virtues : in a word,
All excellencies of good men meet in him
But no part of their vices.

Rust. This is no flattery !

Sura. Take heed, you'll be observed.

Aret. Tis then most fit
That we, (as to the father of our country},
Like thankful sons, stand bound to pay true service
For all those blessings that he showers upon us.)
Should not connive, and see his government
Depraved and scandalized by meaner men,
That to his favour and indulgence owe
Themselves and being.

You shall find me your good mistress.] That is, yoor
pationeu. This wa.- the language 01 ihe times, and is
frequently found in our old writers: it occurs again in the
(inlii Htitm to 'I he Km^-eror of the East.

t A i ft. Father* conscript, &C.J Tliis was the customary
form of 0,'t-niiig the dtbale : it occurs in Juii-on's Catiline.
/'rc./utnf senate, which is found in the next speech, is a
LrttiniMii lor a lull hoii.-e.

j That we, (as to the father, &c.] We should certainly

If.irl tdlO InMe.ld nf . M. MASON.

TLt ic i an tllipMs of who: l>ut the U-xt it ri-jht.

Par. Now he points at us.

Aret. Cite Paris, the tragedian.

Par. Here.

Aret. Stand forth.

In thee, as being the chief of thy profession,
I do accuse the quality of treason",
As libellers against the state and Caesar.

Pur. Mere accusations are not proofs, my lord;
In what are we delinquents]

Aret. You are they

That search into the secrets of the time,
And, under feign'd names, on the stage, present
Actions not to be touch'd at ; and traduce
Persons of nink and quality of both sexes,
And with satirical and bitter jests
Make even the senators ridiculous
To the plebeians.

Pur. If I free not myself,
And, in myself, the rest of my profession,
From these false imputations, and prove
That they make that a libel which the poet
Writ for a comedy, so acted loo ;
It is but justice that we undergo
The heaviest censure.

Aret. Are you on the stage,
You talk so boldly ?

Par. The whole world being one.
This place is not exempted ; and 1 am
So confident in the justice of our cause,
That I could wish Caesar, in whose great name
All kings are comprehended, sat as judge,
To hear our plea, and then determine of us.
If, to express a man sold to his lusts,
Wasting the treasure of his time and fortunes
In wanton dalliance, and to what sad end
A wretch that's so given over does arrive at ;
Deterring careless youth, by his example,
From such licentious courses; laying open
The snares of bawds, and the consuming arts
Of prodigal strumpets, can deserve reproof;
Why are not all your golden principles,
Writ down by grave philosophers to instruct us
To choose fair virtue for our guide, not plea&ure,
Condemn'd unto the fire?

Sura. There's spirit in this.

Par. Or if desire of honour was the base ,
On which the building of the Roman empire
Was raised up to this height ; if, to inflame
The noble youth with an ambitious heat
T' endure the frosts of danger, nav, of death,
To be thought worthy the triumphal wreath
By glorious undertakings, may deserve
Reward or favour from the commonwealth ;
Actors may put in for as large a share
As all the sects of the philosophers .
They with cold preceptsf (perhaps seldom read)
Deliver, what an honourable thing
The active virtue is ; but does that fire
The blood, or swell the veins with emulation,,
To be both good and great, equal to that
Which is presented on our theatres ?

In thee, at frying the chief of thy profession,
I do accuse the qiulity of treason.] Quality, though nsed
in a general senst for any occupation, calling, or comlitioi
of life, jet seems more peculiarly Mpprnprialfd, by our old
writers, to that of a player. See the Picture.

t They with cold precepts, &c.j This is judiciously ex
panded from Horace:

Xegnius irritant animos demissa per aurem,
Quam qua; sunt oculix subjecta Itdelibus, et qua
Ifse sibi trudit spectator.

Sctxt I V.I

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

177

Let a good actor, in a lofty scene,
Shew great Alcides honour'd in the sweat
Of his twelve labours ; or a bold Camillus,
Forbidding Rome to be redeem'd with gold
From the insulting Gauls ; or Scipio,
After his victories, imposing tribute
On conquer'd Carthage : if done to the life,
As if they saw their dangers, and their glories,
And did partake with them in their rewards,
All that have any spark of Roman in them,
The slothful arts laid by, contend to be
Like those they see presented.

K list. He has put
The consuls to their whisper*.

Par. But, 'tis urged

That we corrupt youth, and traduce superiors.
When do we bring a vice upon the stage,
That does go off unpunish'd? Do we teach,
By the success of wicked undertakings,
Others to tread in their forbidden steps ?
We show no arts of Lydian panderism,
Corinthian poisons, Persian flatteries,
But mulcted so in the conclusion, that
Even those spectators that were so inclined,
Go home changed men. And, for traducing such
That are above us, publishing to the world
Their secret crimes, we are as innocent
As such as are born dumb. \Vhen we present
An heir that does conspire against the life
Of his dear parent, numbering every hour
He lives, as tedious to him ; if there be
Among the auditors, one whose conscience tells him
lie is of the same mould, WE CANNOT HELP IT.
Or, bringing on the s?a?e a loose adulteress,
That does maintain the riotous expense
Of him that feeds her greedy lust, yet suffers
The lawful pledges of a former bed
To starve the while for hunger: if a matron,
However great in fortune, birth, or titles,
Guilty of such a foul unnatural sin,
Cry out, 'Tis writ for me, WE CANNOT HEI.P IT.
Or, when a covetous man's express'd, whose weal: i
Arithmetic cannot number, and whose lordships
A falcon in one day cannot fly over ;
Yet he so sordid in his mind, so griping,
As not to afford himself the necessaries
To maintain life ; if a patrician,
(Though honour'd with a consulship,) find himself
Teuch'd to the quick in this, WE CANNOT HELP IT :
Or, when we show a judge that is corrupt,
And will give up his sentence, as he favours
The person, not the cause ; saving the guilty,
If of his faction, and as oft condemning
fhe innocent, out of particular spleen ;
If any in this reverend assembly,
Nay, even yourself, my lord, that are the image
Of absent L'sesar, feel something in your bosom
That puts you in remembrance of things past,
Or things intended, 'TIS NOT IN us TO HELP IT.

* Rust. He hat put &c.1 Massinger never scruples to
repeat himself. We have just had this expression in The
Parliament of Love :

" she has put

The judges to their whisper."

The learned reader will discover several classical allusions
in the ensuing speech, and, indeed, in every part of this
drama: these I rave not always pointed out: though I
would observe, in justice to Massingcr, that they are com-
monly made with skill and effect, and without that affecta-
tion of literature elsewhere so noticeable.

I have said, my lord ; and now, as you find cause,
Or censure us, or free us with applause.

Lot. Well pleaded on my life! I never saw him
Act an orator's part before.

JEsop. We might have given
Ten double fees to Regulus, and yet
Our cause deliver'd worse. [A shout withit-

Enter PARTHEXIUS.

Aret. What shout is that?

Parth. Caesar, our lord, married to conquest, is
Return'd in triumph.

Ful. Let's all haste to meet him.

Aret. Break up the court ; we will reserve to him
The censure of this cause.

All. Long life to Ca?sar ! [Exeunt

SCE]S 7 E IV. The Approach to the Capitol.

Enter JULIA, CXNIS, DO.MITILLA, and DOMITIA.

Cffnis. Stand back the place is mine.

Jnl. Yours ! Ami not

Great Titus' daughter, and Domitian's niece ?
Dares any claim precedence ?

Cow's. I was more :

The mistress of your father, and, in his right.
Claim duty from you.

Jul. 1 confess, you were useful
To please his appetite.

Dom. To end the controversy,
For I'll have no contending, I'll be bold
To lead the way myself.

Donritil. You, minion !

Din. Yes ;
And all, ere lonir, shall kneel to catch my favours.

Jul. Whence springs this flood of greatness ?

Dom. You shall know
Too soon for your vexation, and perhaps
Repent too late, and pine with envy, when
You see whom Ca;sar favours.

Jul. Observe the sequel.
f,^.er Captains icith laurels, DOMITIAN in liis t"iitm-

phant chariot, PABTHENIUS, PARIS, L*TINUS, und

JiLsoPVS, met fti/ ARFTINUS, SURA. LAMIA, Rom*

cvs, FUI.CINIUS, Soldiers, and Captives.

Cies. As we now touch the height of human glory,
Riding in triumph to the capitol,
Let these, whom this victorious arm hath made
The scorn of fortune, and the slaves of Rome,
Taste the extremes of misery. Bear them off
To the common prisons, and there let them prove
How sharp our axes are.

[Exeunt Soldiers with Captives.

Rust. A bloody entrance ! f Aside.

C<f. To tell you you are happy in your prince,
Were to distrust your love, or my desert ;
And either were distasteful : or to boast
How much, not by my deputies, but myself,
I have enlarged the empire ; or what horrors
The soldier, in our conduct, hath broke through,
Would better suit the mouth of Plautus' braggart,
Than the adored monarch of the world.

Sura. This is no boast ! [Aside.

Cas. When I but name the Daci,
And grey-eyed Germans, whom I have subdued.
The ghost of Julius will look pale with envy,
And great Vespasian's and Titus' triumph,
(Truth must take place of father and of brother.)
Will be no more remember'd. I am abor

178

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

[Acr II.

All honours you can give me : a.'id the style

Of Lord and God, which thankful subjects give me,

Not my anihition. is deserved.

Aret. At nil prts
Celestial sacrifice is fit for Ctesar,
In our acknowledgment.

Ctft. Thanks, Aretinus ;

Still hold our favour. Now, the god of war,
And famine, blood, and death, Hellona's pages,
Banisli'd from Rome to Thrace, in ourgoou fortune,
With justice he may taste the fruits of peace,
Whose sword hath plough 'd the ground, and reap'd

the harvest

Of your prosperity. Nor can I think-
That there is one among you so ungrateful,
Or such an enemy to thriving virtue,
That can esteem the jewel he holds dearest
Too good for Ciesar's use.

Sura. All we possess

Lam. Our liberties

Ful. Our children

Par. Wealth

Aret. And throats.
Fall willingly beneath his feet.

Tlust. Base flattery !
What Roman can endure this ! [Aside.

Cat- This calls* on

My love to all, which spreads itself among you.
The beauties of the time ! receive the honour
To kiss the hand which, rear'd upthus, holds thunder ;
To you, 'tis an assurance of a calm.
Julia, my niece, and Ca-nis, the delight
Of old Vespasian : Domitillu, loo,
A princess of our blood.

Rust. 'Tis strange his pride
Affords no greater courtesy to ladies
Of such high birth and rank.

&UI-H. Your wife's forgotten.

Lam. No, she will be remembered, fear it not,
She will be graced, and greased.

Ctet Hut. when I look on
Divine Domitia, methinks we should meet
(The lesser gods applauding the encounter)
As Jupiter, the Ciiiints lying dead
On the Plilegrwan plain, embraced his Juno.
Lamia, it is your honour that she's mine.

Lam. You are too great to be gainsaid.

CVri. Let nil

That fear our frown, or do affect our favour,
Without examining the reason why,
Salute her (by this kiss I make it good)
With the title of Augusta.

Dom. Still your servant.

All. Long live Augusta, great Domitian's empres!

Ctft. Paris, my hand.

Pur. The gods still honour Csesar !

CVt. The wars are ended, and, our arms laid by.
We are for soft delights. Command the poets
To use their choicest and most rare invention,
To entertain the time, and be you careful
To give it action : we'll provide the people
Pleasures of all kinds. My Domitia, think not
I flatter, though thus fond. On to the capitol:
'Tis death to him that wears a sullen brow.
This 'tis to be a monarch, when alone
He can command all, but is awed by none.

[Emtnt

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Hall in the Palace.
Enter PIIILARGI'S in rags, and PAHTHENIUS.

Phil. My son to tutor me ! Know your obedience,
And (|uestiuii not my will.

Pact/i. Sir, were 1 one,

Whom want compell'd to wish a full possession
Of what is yours ; or had I ever number'df
Your years, or thought you lived too long, with
\ ou then might nourish ill opinions of me : [reason
Or did the suit that I prefer to you
Concern myself, and aim'd not at your good,
You might deny, and 1 sit down with patience,
And after never press you.

Phil. In the name of Pluto,
What would'st thou have me dot

Thit fall*, &c. Tlii. passage is so strangrly pointed in
tfie modern editions, that ii clearly appe.oa lu have bten
misunderstood. They read,
'J'hii call* en

Afy low to all, vh'ch spreads ittf If among you,
The beautir* of the lime. Keceive AC.

or had I ever num/cr'd

Your year*.\ Thin w:i> accounted a high <iegrre of nnna-
turalmfs and impiety aiionu all nations: patriot inqvirre
! anna* it reckoned by Ovid mm.ng the pro-, ii.tnl t-.uit.ea
which jnoviAed Jupiter to destroy the old world ty a delude.

Parth. Right to yourself;
Or suffer me to do it. Can you imagine
This nasty hat, this tatter'd cloak, rent shoe,
This sordid linen, can become che master
Of your fair fortunes? whose superfluous means,
Though 1 were burthensome, could clothe you in
The costliest Persian silks, studded with jewels,
The spoils of provinces, and every day
Fresh change of Tyrian purple.

Phil. Out upon thee !

My monies in my coffers melt to hear thee.
Purple ! hence, prodigal ! Shall 1 make my mercer
Or tailor heir, or see my jeweller purchase 1
No, 1 hate pride.

Ptirth. \ et decency would do well.
Though, for your outside, you will not be alter'd,
Let me prevail so far yet, as to win you
Not to deny your bflly nourishment ;
Neither to think you've feasted when 'tis cramm'd
With mouldy barley-bread, onions, and leeks,
And the drink of bondmen, water.

I'hil. Wouldst thou have me
Be an Apicius, or a Lucullus,
And riot out my state in curious sauces?
Wise nature with a little is contented ;
And, following her, my guide, 1 cannot err.

IV.]

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

179

Parth. But you destroy her in your want of care
(I blush to see, and speak it) to maintain her
In perfect health and vigour, when you suffer,
Frighted with the charge of physic, rheums, catarrhs,
The scurf, ache in your bones, to grow upon you,
And hasten on your fate with too much sparing ;
When a cheap purge, a vomit, and good diet,
May lengthen it. Give me but leave to send
The emperor's doctor to you.

Phil. I'll be borne first,

Half rotten, to the fire that must consume me !
His pills, his cordials, his electuaries,
His syrups, julaps, bezoar stone, nor his
Imagined unicorn's horn, comes in my belly ;
i\ly mouth shall be a draught first, 'tis resolved.
No ; I'll not lessen my dear golden heap,
Which, every hour increasing, does renew
My youth and vigour ; but, if lessen'd, then,
Then my poor heart-strings crack. Let me enjoy it,
And brood o'er't, while I live, it being my life,
My soul, my al! : but when I turn to dust,
And part from what is more esteem'd, by me,
Than all the gods Rome's thousand altars smoke to,
Inherit thou my adoration of it,
And, like me, serve my idol. [Exit.

Parth. \Vhatastrangetorture
Is avarice to itself! what man, that looks on
Such a penurious spectacle, but must
Know what the fable meant of Tantalus,
Or the ass whose back is crack'd with curious viands,
Yet feeds on thistles. Some course I must take,
To make my father know what cruelty
He uses on himself.

Enter PARIS.

Par. Sir, with your pardon,
I make bold to enquire the emperor's pleasure;
For, being br him commanded to attend,
Your favour may instruct us what's his will
Shall be this night presented.

Parth. My loved Paris,
Without my intercession, you well know,
You may make your own approaches, since his ear
To you is ever open.

P.ir. I acknowledge

His clemency to my weakness, and, if ever
I do abuse it, lightning strike me dead!
The grace !.c pleases to confer upon me
( \\ ithout boust 1 may say so much) was never
J-'.mploy'd to wrong the innocent, or to incense
His fury.

Purth. 'Tis confess'd : many men owe you
For provinces they ne'er hoped for ; and their lives,
Forfeited to his anger: you being absent,
I could sav more.

Pur. You still are my good patron;
And, lav it in my fortune to deserve it,
You should perceive the poorest of your clients
To his Ivst. abilities thankful.

Parth. I believe so.
Met you my father?

Pur. Y j s, sir, with much prief,
To s?e him as he is. Can nothing work him
To be himself?

Piirth. O, Paris, 'tis a weight
gits heavy here ; and could this right hand's loss
Remove it, it should off; but he is deaf
To all persuasion.

Par. sir, with your pardon,

I'll offer my advice : I once observed,

In a tragedy of ours*, in which a murder

Was acted to the life, a guilty hearer,

Forced by the terror of a wounded conscience,

To make discovery of that which torture

Could not wring from him. Nor can it appear

Like an impossibility, but that

Your father, looking on a covetous man

Presented on the stage, as in a mirror.

May see his own deformity, and loath it.

Now, could you but persuade the emperor

To see a comedy we have, that's styled

The Curf of Avarice, and to command

Your father to be a spectator of it,

He shall be so anatomized in the scene,

And see himself so personated, the baseness

Of a self-torturing miserable wretch

Truly described, that I much hope the object

Will work compunction in him.

Parth. There's your fee ;

I ne'er bought better counsel. Be you in readiness,
I will effect the rest.

Pr. Sir, when you please ;
We'll he prepared to enter. Sir, the emperor.

[Eiil.
f Enter CSAR, ARETINUS, and Guard.

Cas. Repine at us !

Aret. 'Tis more, or my informers,
That keep strict watch upon him, are deceived
In their intelligence : there is a list
Of malcontents, as Junius Rusticus,
Palphurius Sura, and this .^lius Lamia,
That murmur at your triumphs, as mere pageants ;
And, at their midnight meetings, tax your justice,
(For so I style what they call tyranny,)
For Pa;tus Thrasea's death, as if in him
Virtue herself \vere murder'd : nor forget they
Agricola, who, for his service done
In the reducing Britain to obedience,
They dare affirm to be removed with poison;
And he compell'd to write you a coheir
With his daughter, that his testantent might stand,
Which, else, you had made void. 'J hen your much
To Julia your niece, censured as incest, [love

And done in scorn of Titus, your dead brother :
But the divorce Lamia was forced to sign
To her you honour with Augusta's title,
Being only named, they do conclude there was
A Lucrece once, a Collatioe, and a Brutus ;
But nothing Roman left now but, in you,
The lust of Tarquin.

Ces. Yes, his fire, and scorn
Of such as think that cur unlimited power
Can be confined. Dares Lamia pretend

In a tragedy of our*, &c.

/ once observed

I have In ard,

That guilty creatures, sitting al a play,
Have by the very running of the scene.
Been struck so to the soul, thnt pre-elitly
They have proclaim'd their malefaclioiis ;
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous or^an." ffamltt.

t Enter C.*SAR, &<:. Coxeter seldom attempts to sot-cify
the pl.ice ol action without tailing into error; anil Mr. W.
Ma-on, who, in despite of his accuracy, labour*, like Pal-
statt. under "the m.ilady of not marking." constantly and
closely follows him. They call Ihis " S<-ene the second,"
and change the ground ' from a chamber to a palace ;"
withstanding the emperor enters while Pri uyvtsueukiug,
and I'artheiiiui continues on the stage.
Xt

180

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

[Acrll,

An interest to that which I call mine ;

Or but remember she was ever his,

That's now in our possession? Fetch him hither.

[Exit Guard.

I'll give him cause to wish he rather had
Forgot his own name, than e'er mention'd her's.
Shall we be circumscribed ? Let such as cannot
By force make good their actions, though wicked,
Conceal, excuse, or qualify their crimes !
What our desires grant leave and privilege to,
Though contradicting all divine decrees,
Or laws confirm 'd by Romulus and Numa,
Shall be held sacred.

Aret. You should, else, take from
The dignity of Caesar.

Get. Am I master
Of two and thirty legions, that awe
All nations of the triumphed world,
Yet tremble at our frown, to yield account
Of what's our pleasure, to a private man !
Rome perish first, and Atlas' shoulders shrink,
Heaven's fabric fall, (the sun, the moon, the stars,
Losing their light and comfortable heat,)
Ere I confess that any fault of mine
May be disputed !

Aret. So vou preserve your power,
As you should, equal and omnipotent here
With Jupiter's above.

[Partheniiis kneeling, whispers Ciesar.

Ctrs. Thy suit is granted,
Whate'er it be, Parthenius, for thy service

Done to Augusta Only so ? a t'ifle :

Command him hither. If the comedy fail
To'cure him, 1 will minister something to him
That shall instruct him to forget his gold,
And think upon himself

Parth. May it succeed well,
Since my intents are pious ! [Exit.

Ctt$. We are resolved

What course to take ; and, therefore, Aretinus,
Enquire no further. Go you to my empress,
And say I do entreat (for she rules him
Whom all men else obey) she would vouchsafe
The music of her voice at yonder window,
When I advance my hand, thus. I will blend

[Exit Aretinut.

My cruelty with some scorn, or else 'tis lost.
Revenge, when it is unexpected, falling
With greater violence ; and hate clothed in smiles.
Strikes, and with horror, dead, the wretch that
Prepared to meet it. [comes not

Re-fnler Guard with LAMIA.

Our good Lamia, welcome.
So much we owe you for a benefit,
With willingness on your part conferr'd upon us,
That 'tis our study, we that would not live
Engaged to any for a courtesy,
How to return it.

Lam. 'Tis beneath your fate
To be obliged, that in your own hand grasp
The means to be magnificent.

Cat. Well put off;

But yet it must not do : the empire, Lamia,
Divided equally, can hold no weight,

If balanced with your gift in fair Domitia

You, that could part with all delights at once,
The magazine of rich pleasures being contain'd
In her perfections, uncompell'd, deliver'd
As a present fit for Ca;sar. In your eyes,

With tears of joy, not sorrow, 'tis confirm 'd
You glory in your act.

Lam. Derided too !
Sir, this is more

Ca-s. More than I can requite ;
It is acknowledged, Lamia. There's no drop
Of melting nectar I taste from her lip,
But yields a touch of immortality
To the blest receiver ; every grace and feature,
Prized to the worth, bought at an easy rate,
If purchased for a consulship. Her discourse
So ravishing, and her action so attractive,
That I would part with all my other senses,
Provided I might ever see and hear her.
The pleasures of her bed I dare not trust
The winds or air with ; for that would draw down,
In envy of my happiness, a war
From all the gods, upon me.

Lam. Your compassion
To me, in your forbearing to insult
On my calamity, which you make your sport,
Would more appease those gods you have provoked,
Than all the blasphemous comparisons
You sing unto her praise.

Cits. I sing her praise ! [Domitia appears at the
' \ is far from my ambition to hope it ; [window.

It being a debt she only can lay down,
And no tongue else discharge.

[lie raises hishand. Musicabove.
Hark ! I think, prompted

With my consent that you once more should hear
She does begin. An universal silence [her,

Dwell on this place ! 'Tis death, with lingering

torments,
To all that dare disturb her.

[A Song, hit Domitia
Who can hear this

And fall not down and worship? Jn my fancy,
Apollo being judge, on Latinos' hill
Fair-hair'd Calliope, on her ivory lute,
(Hut something short of this,) sung Ceres' pmses,
And grisly Pluto's rape on Proserpine.
The motions of the spheres are out of time*,
Her musical notes but heard. Say, Lamia, :ay,
Is not her voice angelical?

Lam. To your ear :
But I, alas ! am silent.

Ctfs. Be so ever.

That without admiration canst hear 'ier !
Malice to my felicity strikes thee / unib,
And, in thy hope, or wish, to repossess
What I love more than empire, J pronounce thee
Guilty of treason. Off with his 1 ead ! do you stare?
By her that is my patroness, Minerva,
Whose statue I adore of all the gods,
If he but live to make reply, thy life
Shall answer it !

[The Guard leads off Lania, stopping his mouth.
My fears of him are freed now f
And he that lived to upbraid me with my wrong,

The motions of the spheres are out of time,] For time
Mr. M. Mason chooses to read, tune In this rapricioui
alteration lie is countenanced by some of the commentator*
on Sh.ik?peaie, who, as well as himself, might have spared
their pains; >incc it appears irmn numberless examph-s thai
the two words were once jynon\ nimi>. Time, however, \\ai
the more ancient and common term : nor was it till Ion*
after the age of Malinger, that the use of it in the scue o?
harmony, was entirely ijperseded by that of tuna.

SCEKK IV.]

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

181

For an offence he never could imagine,

In wantonness removed. Descend, my dearest;

Plurality of husbands shall no more

Breed doubts or jealousies in you : 'tis dispatch'd,

And with as little trouble here, as if

I had kill'il a fly.

Enter DOMITIA, ushered in by ARETINUS, her train
home up by JULIA, C-cxis, and DOMITILLA.

Now you appear, and in

That glory you deserve ! and these, that stoop
To do you service, in the act much honour 'd !
Julia, forget that Titus was thy father ;
Caenis, and Domitilla, ne'er remember
Sabinus or Vespasian. To be slaves
To her is more true liberty, than to live
Parthian or Asian queens. As lesser stars
That wait on Phrcbe in her full of brightness,
Compared to her, you are. Thus, thus I seat you
By Cctsar's side, commanding these, that once
Were the adored glories of the time,
To witness to the world they are your vassals,
At your feet to attend you.
Dom. ''1 is your pleasure.

And not my pride. And yet, when I consider
That I am yours, all duties they can pay
I do receive as circumstances due
To her you please to honour.

Re-enter PABTHXMIUI with PHILARGUS.

Forth. Caesar's will
Commands you hither, nor must you gainsay it.

Phil. Lose time to see an interlude ? must I pay
For my vexation ? [too

Parth. Not in the court;
It is the emperor's charge.

Phil. I shall endure
My torment then the better.

Ctfs. Can it. be

This sordid thing, Parthenius, is thy father?
No actor can express him I had held
The fiction for impossible in the scene,
Had I not seen the substance. Sirrah, sit still,
And give attention ; if you but nod,
You sleep for ever. Let them spare the prologue,
And all the ceremonies proper to ourself,
And come to the last act there, where the cure
By the doctor is made perfect. The swift minutes
Seem years to me, Domitia, thst divorce thee
From my embraces: my desires increasing
As they are satisfied, all pleasures else
Are tedious as dull sorrows. Kiss me again :
If I now wanted heat of youth, these fires,
In Priam's veins would thaw his frozen blood,
Enabling him to get a second Hector
For the defence of Troy.

Dom. You are wanton !
Pray you, forbear. Let me see the play.

Cits. Begin there.

Enter PARIS like a doctor of physic, and ^Esopus :
LATINUS is brought forth asleep in a chair, a key in
his jnouth.

JEsop. O master doctor, he is past recovery;
A lethargy hath seized him : and, however
His sleep resemble death, his watchful care
To guard that treasure he dares make no use of,
Works strongly in his soul.

'Par. \V hat's that he holds
So fast between his teeth \
15

JEsop. The key that opens
His iron chests, cramm'd with accursed gold,
Rusty with long imprisonment. There's no duty
In me, his son, nor confidence in friends,
That can persuade him to deliver up
That to the trust of any.

Phil. He is the wiser:

We were fashion 'd in one mould.

jEsop. He eats with it ;
And when devotion calls him to the temple
Of Mammon*, whom, of all the gods, he kneels to,
THAT held thus still, his orisons are paid :
Nor will he, though the wealth of Rome were
For the restoring oft, for one short hour [pawn'd
Be won to part with it.

Phil. Still, still myself!
And if like me he love his gold, no pawn
Is good security.

Par. I'll try if I can force it

It will not be. His avaricious mind,

Like men in rivers drown'd, makes him gripe fast,

To his last gasp, what he in life held dearest ;

And, if that it were possible in nature,

Would carry it with him to the other world.

Phil. As I would do to hell, rather than leave it.
jEsnp. Is he not dead?
Par. Long since to all good actions,
Or to himself, or others, for which wise men
Desire to live. You may with safety pinch him,
Or under his nails stick needles, yet he stirs notj
Anxious fear to lose what his soul doats on,
Renders his flesh insensible. We mu.it use
Some means to rouse the sleeping faculties
Of his mind ; there lies the lethargy. Takea trumpetf.
And blow it into his ears ; 'tis to no purpose;
The roaring noise of thunder cannot wake him :
And yet despair not ; I have one trick left yet.
JEsop. What is it ?
Par. I will cause a fearful dream
To steal into his fancy, and disturb it
With the horror it brings with it, and so free
His body's organs.

.Dom. Tis a cunning fellow ;
If he were indeed a doctor, as the play saysj,
He should be sworn my servant ; govern my slum-
And minister to me waking. [bers,

Par. If this fail, [A Chest is brought in.

I'll give him o'er. So; with all violence
Rend ope this iron chest, for here his life lies
Bound up in fetters, and in the defence
Of what he values higher, 'twill return,
And fill each vein and artery. Louder yet !
'1'is open, and already he begins

* Of Mammon, &c.] There seems a want of judgment in
:he introduction of Mammon, (a deity unknown to the
Romans,) when Plutus would have served the lurn as well-,

+ Take a trumpet

And blow rt in his ears ; 'tis to no purpose ;] So Juvenal :
Qui vix curnicines rxaudiet atque tubarum
Conccntus. SAT. x.

And Jonson :

" Sir, speak out ;

You may be louder yet ; a culverin

Discharged into his ear, would hardly bore it." The Fox.

} If he tccre indeed a, doctor, as the play says,] Indeed,
whicli completes the verse, is omitted by both tbe modern
editors; as ar many otlicr words in this little interlude,
which I have silently brought back. Domitia adds, " He
should be sworn my servant." This was less a Roman than
an En<Jih custom. In Massinger's time the attendants of
the great, who were maintained in considerable numbers, took
an path of fidelity on their entrance into office.

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

[Act II

To stir, mark with what trouble.

[Latinus ttretches himself.

Phil. A<< you are Ciesar,

Defend this honest, thrifty man ! they are thieves,
And come to rob him.

Part/i. Peace ! the emperor frowns.

Par. So ; now pour out the bags upon the table,
Remove his jewels, and his bonds. Again,
Ring a second golden peal. His eyes are open ;
He stares as he had seen Medusa's head,
And were turn'd marble. Once more.

Lot. Murder ! Murder !

They come to murder me. My son in the plot?
Thou worse than parricide ! if it be death
To strike thy father's body, can all tortures
The furies in hell practise, be sufficient
For thee that dost assassinate my soul?
My gold ! my bonds ! my jewels ! dost thou envy
My glad possession of them for a day ;
Extinguishing the taper of my life
Consumed unto the snuff?
Par. Seem not to mind him.

Lf. Have I, to leave thee rich, denied myself
The jovs of human being ; scraped and hoarded
A mass of treasure, which had Solon seen,
The Lydian Croesus had appear'd to him
Poor as the beggar Irus ? And yet I,
Solicitous to increase it, when my entrails
Were clemm'd*, with keeping a perpetual fast
Was deaf to their loud windy cries, as fearing,
Should 1 disburse one penny to their use,
My heir might curse me. And to save expense
In outward ornaments, I did expose
My naked body to the winter's cold,
And summer's scorching heat : nay, when diseases
Grew thick upon me, and a little cost
Had purchased my recovery, I chose raiu^r
To have my ashes closed up in my urn,
By hasting on my fate, than to diminish
The gold my prodigal son, while I am living,
Carelessly scatters.

JEtop. Would you'd dispatch and die oncet '
Your ghost should feel in hell, THAT is my slave
Which was your master.

Phil. Out upon thee, varlet !

Par. And what then follows all your carke and

caring,

And self-affliction ? When your starved trunk is
Turn'd to forgotten dust, this hopeful youth
Urines upon \our monument, ne'er remembering
How much for him you suffer'd ; and then tells
To the companions of his lusts and riots,
The hell you did endure on earth, to leave him
Large means to be an epicure, and to feast
His senses all at once, a happiness

Were clenim'd with keeping a perpetual fast,] To be
elfmm'd not clamm'd, (as Steevens quotes it from the miser-
nbletext of Coxeterand M. Mason,) is to be shrunk up with
hunger, so as to cling together: thus Marston ;

" Now lions half-clemm'd entrailt roar for food."

Antonio and Mellida.

Metaphorically, to be starved. Thus Jonson : " Hard is
(heir fate, when the valiant must either beg or clem." Again,
" I cannot rat stones and turf: What! will he clem me
nd my followers'? ask him, an he will dent me." Poetas-
ter.

t /Eiop. Would you'd dispatch and die once /] This line
fa Incorrectly given in both the modern editions. Coxeter
dropt a word, an<l M. Mason inserted one at random, which
luoiled at once the measure and the tense ! He reads,
tf uutil vou <iiv<ifcA and die at tnct

You never grunted to yourself. Your gold, then,
Got with vexation, and preserved with trouble,
Maintains tiie public stews, panders, and riilians
'I hat quaff damnations to your memory*,
For living so long here.

L.itt. It will be so ; 1 see it.
O, that J could redeem the time that's past !
I would live and die like myself; and make true us*
Of what my industry purchased.

Pur. Covetous men,

Having one foot in ttie grave, lament so ever;
Hut grant that 1 by arc could yet recover
Your desperate sickness, lengthen out your life
A dozen of years; as 1 restore your body
To perfect health, will you with care endeavour
To rectify your mind ?

Lut. 1 should so live then,

As neither my heir should have just cause to think
I lived too long, for being close-handed to him,
Or cruel to myself.

Pur. Have your desires.
Phtubu assisting me, I will repair
The ruin' r l building of your health ; and think not
You have a son that hates you ; the truth is,
This means, with his consent, 1 practised on you
To this good end : it being a device,
in you to -hew the Cure of Avarice.

[Exeunt Puns, Latinus, and /T'snpus.

Phil. An old fool, to be gull d thus ! had he died
As 1 resolve to do, not to be alter'd.
It had gone off twanging.

Goes. How approve you, sweetest,
Of the matter and the actors ?

Dom. For the subjectf,
[ like it not! it was filch'd out of Horace.
Nov, I have read the poets : but the fellow
That play'd the doctor, did it well, by Venus ;
He had a tuneable tongue, and neat delivery :
Ami vet, in my opinion, he would perform
A iv. er's part much better. Prithee. Cajsar,
For I grow weary, let us see to-morrow
Iphis ami Anararete.

CtfS. Any thing

For thy delight, Domitia ; to your rest,
Till 1 come to disquiet you : wait upon her.
There is a business that I iiist dispatch,
And 1 will straight be with you.

[Exeunt Aret. Dom., Julia, deuis, and Domitil*

Parth. Now, my dread sir,
Endeavour to prevail.

C<rs. One way or other

We'll cure him, never uoubt it. Now, Philargus,
Thou wretched thing, hast thou seen thy sordid

baseness,

And but observed what a contemptible creature
A covetous miser is? Dost thou in thyself
Feel true compunction, with a resolution
To be a new man ?

That quaff damnation* to your memory, &c.] Thai
Pope :

" At best, it fills to some ungracious son,

Who cries, my father's d d, aiftl all's my own !"

t Dom. I''or the ntbjfct,

I like it not ; it uiaifilch'd out of fforarf.] I differ from
Domitia. There is uncommon spirit and beauty in Ihis little
interlude. The outline indeed, as the lady observes, it from
HorasH; but is filled up with a masterly pencil.

SCENE I.]

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

189

Phil. This crazed body's Ca-.sar's ;
But for my mind

Ctrl. Trifle not with my anger.
Canst thou make good use of what was now pre-
sented ;

And imitate, in thy sudden change of life,
The miserable rich man, that express'd
What thou art to the lite 7

Phil. Pray you give me leave
To die as I have lived. I must not part with
My gold ; it is my life ; 1 am past cure.

Cits. No ; by Minerva, thou shall never more
Feel the least touch of avarice. Take him hence,

And hang him instantly. If there be gold in hell,
Enjoy it : thine here, and thy life together,
Is forfeited.

Phil. Was I sent for to this purpose ?

Parth. Mercy for all my service ; Caesar, mercy!

Cat Should Jove plead for him, 'tis resolved he

dies,

And he that speaks one syllable to dissuade me;
And therefore tempt me not. It is but justice:
Since such as wilfully would hourly die,
Must tax themselves, and not my cruelty.

f Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. A Room in the Palace.
Enter JULIA, DOMITILLA, and STEPHANOS.

Jui No, Domitilla ; if you but compare
What I have suffer'd with your injuries,
(Though great ones, I confess,) they will appear
Like molehills to Olympus.

Domitil. You are tender
Of your own wounds, which makes you lose the

feeling

And sense of mine. The incest he committed
With you, and publicly profe.*s'd, in scorn
Of what the world durst censure, may admit
Some weak defence, as being born headlong to it,
But in a manly way, to enjoy your beauties :
Besides, won by his perjuries, that he would
Salute you with the title of Augusta,
Your faint denial show'd a full consent,
And grant to his temptations. But poor I,
That would not yield, but was with violence forced
To serve his lusts, and in a kind Tiberius
At Caprese never practised, have not here
One conscious touch to rise up my accuser;
I, in my will being innocent.

Steph. Card on me,

Great princesses, though I presume to tell you,
Wasting your time in childish lamentations,
You do degenerate from the blood you spring from :
For there is something more in Home expected
From Titus' daughter, and his uncle's heir,
Than womanish complaints, after such wrongs
Which mercy cannot pardon. But, you'll say,
Your hands are weak, and should you but attempt
A just revenge on this inhuman monster,
This prodigy of mankind, bloody Domitian
Hath ready swords at his command, as well
As islands to confine you. to remove
His doubts, and fears, did he but entertain
1 he least suspicion you contrived or plotted
Against his person.

Jv.U 'Tis true, Stephanos ;
The legions that sack'd Jerusalem,
Under my father Titus, are sworn his,
And I no more rfinember'd.

Domitil. And to lose

Ourselves by building on impossible hopes,
Were desperate madness.

Steph. You conclude too fast,

One single arm, whose master does contemn

His own life, holds a full command o'er his,

Spite of his guards*. 1 was your bondman, lady

And you my gracious patroness ; my wealth

And liberty your gift : and, though no soldier,

To whom or custom or example makes

Grim death appear less terrible, 1 dare die

To do you service in a fair revenge :

And it will better suit your births and honours

To fall at once, than to live ever slaves

To his proud empress, that insults upon

Your patient sufferings. Say but you, Go on,

And I will reach his heart, or perish in

The noble undertaking.

Domitil. Your free offer

Confirms your thankfulness, which I acknowledge
A satisfaction fora grea'er debt
Than what you stand engaged for; but I must not.
Upon uncertain grounds, hazard so grateful
And good a servant. The immortal Powers
Protect a prince, though sold to impious acts,
And seem to slumber till his roaring crimes
Awake their justice ; but then, looking down,
And with impartial eyes, on his contempt
Of all religion, and moral goodness,
They, in their secret judgments, do determine
To leave him to liis w ickeduess, which sinks him,
When he is most securef.

Jut. II is cruelty
Increasing daily, of necessity
Must render him as odious to his soldiers,
Familiar friends, and freedmen, as it hath done
Already to the senate : then forsaken
Of his supporters, and grown terrible
Even to himself, and her he now so doats on,
We may put into act what now with safety
V\ e cannot whisper.

Ste/ih. 1 am still prepared

One tinyle arm, whole matter flaei contemn
Hit own life hold* a full command otr kin,
Xpite of hi* yuards]. The sain, thought is expressed
with inure ciiei") in I he fatal Dowry;

" I am des|'fi'Hie of my lilt:, and command >onr's.'
t A noble -i-iitiim nl, hcHUUI'iiIly expressed. How much su-
peric r arc tlu.-f manly ,ni<l r.itioiMl obM-i vatii.ns, to the
flavi^h maxims inin.il in Hamlet, The Maid'* lievrnye, &c.
It is true, they ure <le. iveil irom pnrir emit than any
with which Uomitilla >va.i acquainted ; bin which. however,
was nut more open to Mastin^ur than to hit contemporaries

184

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

[Acr IH.

To execute, when you please to command me :
Since I am confident he deserves much more
That vindicates his country from a tyrant*,
Than he that saves a citizen.

Enxr C.CMS.

Jul. O, here's Caenis.

DomitiL Whence come you?

Ctrnis. From the empress, who seems moved
In that you wait no better. Her pride's grown
To such a height, that she disdains the service
Of her own women ; and esteems herself
Neglected, when tie princesses of the blood,
On every coarse employment, are not ready
To stoop to her commands.

DomitiL Where is her greatness ? [descend

Cienis. Where you would little think she could
To grace the room or persons.

Jul. Speak, where is she? [by,

Ctenis. Among the players ; where, all state laid
She does enquire who acts this part, who that,
And in what habits? blames the tirewomen
For want of curious dressings ; and, so taken
She is with Paris the tragedian's shapef,
That is to act a lover, 1 thought once
She would have courted him.

Domitil. In the mean time
How spends the emperor his hours ?

Citnis. As ever

He hath done heretofore ; in heing cruel
To innocent men, whose virtues he calls crimes.
And, but this morning, if 't be possible,
He hath outgone himself, having condemned
At Aretinus his informer's suit,
Palphurius Sura, and good Junius Rusticus,
Men of the best repute in Rome for their
Integrity of life : no fault objected,
But that they did lament his cruel sentence
On Patus Thrasea, the philosopher,
Their patron and instructor.

Steph. Can Jove see this,
And hold his thunder !

DomitiL Nero and Caligula
Only commanded mischiefs j but our Caesar
Delights to see them.

Jut, WLnt we cannot help,
Wj. may deplore with silence.

Ctenia. We are cull'd for
By our proud mistress.

DomitiL We awhile must suffer.

Steph. It is true fortitude to stand firm against
All shocks of fate, when cowards faint and die
In fear to suffer more calamity. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. Another Room in the lame.
Enter C.V.SAR and PARTIIENIUS,

Ctes. They are then in fetters?

I'arth. Yes, sir, but

Ctrl. But what?

I'll have thy thoughts ; deliver them.
Parth. 1 shall, sir :

from a tyrant.] It is tirannie in the

old copies; but as this word is frequently misprinted for
the other, I have not removed Coxelcr's emendation from
the text; though not absolutely necessary.

t and to taken

She it with Parit the tragedian'* shape,] i. e. dress.

But still submitting to your god-like pleasure.
Which cannot be instructed.

Ctft. To the point.

Parth. Nor let your sacred majesty believe
Your vassal, that with dry eyes look'd upon
His father dragg'd to death by your command,
Can pity these, that durst presume to censure
What you decreed.

C<cj. Well ; forward.

Parth. 'Tis my zual

Still to preserve your clemency admired,
Temper'd with justice, that emboldens me
To offer my advice. Alas! I know, sir,
These bookmen, Rusticus, and Palphurius Su p a,
Deserve all tortures : yet, in my opinion,
They being popular senators, and cried up
With loud applauses of the multitude,
For foolish honesty, and beggarly virtue,
'T would relish more of policy, to have them
Made away in private, with what exquisite torments
You please, it skills not, than to have themdrawa
To the Degrees* in public ; for 'tis doubted
That the sad object may beget compassion
In the giddy rout, and cause some sudden i^roar
That may disturb you.

Ca:$. Hence, pale-spirited coward !
Can we descend so far beneath ourslf,
As or to court the people's love, or fear
Their worst of hate 7 Can they, that are as dust
Before the whirlwind of our will and power,
Add any moment to us ? Or thou think,
If there are gods above, or goddesses,
But wise Minerva, that's mine own, and sure.
That they have vacant hours to take into
Their serious protection, or care,
This many-headed monster? Mankind lives
In few, as potent monarchs, and their peers ;
Aa>i all those glorious constellations
Thai uo adorn the firmament, appointed,
Like grooms, with their bright influence to attend
The actions of kings and emperors,
They being the greater wheels that move the less,
Bring forth those condemn'd wretches; [iii

Parthenius.] let me see
One man so lost, as but to pity them,
And though there lay a million of souls
Imprison 'd in his flesh, my hangmen's hooks
Should rend it off, and gire them liberty.
Caesar hath said it.

Re-enter PARTHEMUS, with ARETINUS, and Guard;
Hangmen dragging in JUNIUS RUSTICUS and
PALMIUIUUS SUHA, bound back to back.

Aret. 'Tis great Caesar's pleasure,
That with fix'd eyes you carefully observe
The people's looks. Charge upon any man
That with a sigh or murmur does express
A seeming sorrow for these traitors' deaths.
You know his will, perform it.

Ctei. A good bloodhound,
And fit for my employments.

Sura, (jive us leave
To die, fell tyrant.

To the Degrees, &c.] To the Scalce Gemonice, .urn
tinned be Tore ; (p. 174;) Coxeter printed Decrees; l>tit tl.
old copy rend* as above. The word is u.-ed by Joiison
" Their bodies thrown into the Geinonifs,
The expulsed Apicata rinds ilu-m there ;
W'boin when the aw lie spread on the Deyreei," &.

SCENE II.]

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

185

Rust. For, beyond our bodies,
Thou hast no power.

Ces. Yes ; I'll iifflict your souls,
Aivl force them groaning to the Sfygi-.n lake,
Prepared for such to howl in, that blaspheme
The power of princes, that are gods on earth.
Tremble to think how terrible the dream is
After this sleep of death.

It mt. To guilty men

It may brin^ terror ; not to us, that know
What 'tis to die. well taught by his example
For whom we suffer. In my thought I see
The substance of that pure untainted soul
Of Thrasea, our master, made a star,
That with melodious harmony invites us
(leaving this dunghill Rome, made hell by thee)
To trace his heavenly steps, and fill a sphere
Above yon crystal canopy.

Ctes. Do invoke him
With all the aids his sanctity of life
Have won on the rewarders of his virtue ;
They shall not save you. Dogs, do you grin ? tor-
ment them.

[The Hangmen torment them, they still trailing.
So, take a leaf of Seneca now, and prove
If it can render you insensible
Of that which but hegins here. Now an oil,
Drawn from the stoic's frozen principles,
Predominant over fire, were useful for you.

Again, again. You trifle. Not a groan ?

Is my rage lost? What cursed charms defend them!
Search deeper, villains. Who looks pale, or thinks
That I am cruel ?

Aret. Over-merciful:
'Tis all your weakness, sir.

Parth. I dare not show
A sign of sorrow ; yet my sinews shrink,
The spectacle is so horrid. [Aside.

Cft. I was never

O'ercome till now. For my sake roar a little,
And show you are corporeal, and not turn'd
Aerial spirits. Will it not do? By Pallas,
It is unkindly done to mock his fury
Whom the world styles Omnipotent ! I am tortured
In their want of feeling torments. Marius* story,
That does report him to have sat unmoved,
When cunning surgeons ripp'd his arteries
And veins, to cure his gout, compared to this,
Deserves not to be named. Are they not dead ?
If so, we wash an .-Ethiop.

Sura. No ; we live.

Rus!. Live to deride tbee, our calm patience

treading

Upon the neck of tyranny. That securely,
As 'twere a gentle slumber, we endure
Thy hangmen's studied tortures, is a debt
\Ve owe to grave philosophy, that instructs us
The flesh is but the clothing of the soul,
Which growing out of fashion, though it be
Cast off, or rent, or torn, like ours, 'tis then,
Being itself divine, in her best lustre.
But unto such as thou, that have* no hopes
Beyond the present, every little scar,
The want of rest, excess of heat or cold,
That does inform them only they are mortal,
Pierce through and through them.

Cies. \Ve will hear no more.

that have no hopet-] Coxeter and

II. Mason very incorrectly read, that hast no hofct.

Rust. This only, and I give thee warning of it
Though it is in thy will to grind this earth
As small as atoms, they thrown in the sea too,
They shall seem re-collected to thy sense :
And, when the sandy building of thy greatness
Shall with its own weight totter, look to see me
As I was yesterday, in my perfect shape ;
For I'll appear in horror.

Cits. By my shaking
I am the guilty man, and not the judge.
Drag from my sight these cursed ominous wizards,
That, as they are now, like to double-fiiced Janus,
Which way soe'er I look, are furies to me.
Away with them ! first show them death, then leave
No memory of their ashes. I'll mock fate.

[Exeunt Hangmen with Rusiicusand Sura*
Shall words fright him victorious armies circle ?
No, no ; the fever does begin to leave me ;

Enter DOM ITI A, JULIA, and C/EXIS; STEPHANOS fol-
lowing.

Or, were it deadly, from this living fountain
I could renew the vigour of my youth,
And be a second Virbiusf. O my glory !
My life ! command}: ! my all !

Dom. As you to me are.

[Embracing and kissing mutually.
I heard you were sad ; I have prepared you sport
Will banish melancholy. Sirrah, Csesar,
(I hug myself for't) I have been instructing
The players how to act ; and to cut off
All tedious impertinence, have contracted
The tragedy into one continued scene.
I have the art oft, und am taken more
With my ability that way, than all knowledge
I have but of thy love.

Ctrs. Thou art still thyself,
The sweetest, wittiest,

Dom. When we are abed
I'll thank your good opinion. Thou shall see
Such an Iphis of thy Paris ! and to humble
The pride of Domitilla, that neglects me,
(Howe'er she is your cousin,) I have forced her
To play the part of Anaxarete
You are not offended with it?

C<es. Any thing

That does content thee yields delight to me :
My faculties and powers are thine.

Dom. I thank you :

[Ereunt Hangmen with Rutticut and Sura.] After
Sura, Coxeter and M. Mason add, Stephana* following.
This fending a man out before he conies in, is another
instance of the surprising attention which Massenger ex-
perienced from the former editors. The quarto reads as it
stands here : hangmen, too, is brought back in lieu of the
more modish term executioners.

t And be a tecond Virbius.J The name given to Hippoly
tus after he was restored to life by .Ksrtil:ipiu.<. He was to
called, say the critics, quod inter viros bis fuerit. See Tlie
jEneid, lib. vii. v. 165.

I My life! command! my all! , i. e. my power! my all!
This is tlie reading of the old copies, and undoubtedly
genuine: the modern editors (I know not why) choose
to read, My life .' command my all .' which the reply of
Domitia proves to be rank nonsense.

$ Thou lhalt rt

Such an fphis of thy Paris! &c.] The story of Iphii
and Anaxarete is beautifully told by Ovid, in the fourteenth
book of his Afetamorphosit,(y. 698, etteq.,) to which I refer
the reader, as it is too long to be extracted. Massinger has
followed his leader part pastu ; and indeed the elegance
and fpirit which he has infused into these little interludes,
canno; be too highly commended.

186

THE HUMAN ACTOR.

[An in.

Prithee let's take our places. Bid them enter
Without more circumstance.

After a short flourish, enter PAULS as Inns.
How do you like

That shape' ? methinks it is most suitable
To the aspect of a despairing lover.
The seeming late-fallen, counterfeited tears
That hang upon his cheeks, was my device.

Cat. And all was excellent.

Dom. Now hear him speak.

Iphit. That she is fair, (and that an epithet
Too foul to express her,) or descended nobly,
Or rich, or fortunate, are certain truths
In which poor Ipbis glories. But ihat these
Perfections in no other virgin found
Abused, should nourish cruelty and pride
In the divinest Anaxarete.
Is, to my love-sick languishing soul, a riddle;
And with more difficulty to be dissolved-)-,
Than that the monster Sphinx from the steep rock
Ofier'd to CEdipus. Imperious Love,
As at thy ever-flaming altars Iphis,
Tliv never-tired votary, hath presented.
With scalding tears, whole hecatombs of sighs,
Preferrini- thy power, and thy Paphiun mother's,
Before the Thunderer's, Neptune's, or Pluto's,
(That, after Saturn, did divide ihe world,
And had the sway of things, yet were compell'd
By thy inevitable shafts to yield,
And light under thy ensigns,) be auspicious
To this last trial of my sacrifice
Of love and service !

Dom. Does he not act it rarely ?
Observe with what a feeling lie delivers
His orisons o Cupid ; I am rapt with't.

Iphis. And from thy never-emptied quiver take
A golden arrow*, to transfix her heart,
And force her love like me ; or cure my wound
With a leaden one, that may beget in me

Hate and forgetfulness of what's now my idol

But I tall bacK my prayer ; 1 have blasphemed
In my rash wish : 'tis 1 that am unworthy ;
But she all merit, and may in justice challenge,
From the assurance of her excellencies,
Not love but adoration. Yet, bear witness,
All-knowing Powers! I bring along with me,
As faithful advocates to make intercession,
A loyal heart with pure and holy flumes,
With the foul fires of lust never polluted.
And, as I touch her threshold, which with tears,
My limbs benumb'd with cold, I oft have wash'd,
With my glad lips I kiss this earth grown proud
With frequent favours from her delicate feet.

Dnm. By Ca;sar's life he weeps ! and I forbear
Hardly to keep him company.

Iphis. Blest ground, thy pardon,
If 1 profane it with forbidden steps.

How ifo yon like

That shape f] The (Ionian acton. |il.,\,-.l in ma-ks,
which Doiinii.i cal!r a >hape. \I. MASON.

That a mask was called a shape 1 never hcatd
T iie lact is, ih.it shape b a theatrical wind, ami,
lan^iMur of the property-man, means, as has been .
observed, (he who], of the dress.

i And with more riijfimlty to be di.olved. \ So the o!d co-
pies. Coxeter and M. .Ma i>i, read tolvrd.

J Iphis. And from thy never-emptinl quiver take

A {/olden arrow, &e.] For this i-xprc.-.<ion, which,
few other*, occurs somewhat too frequently. Seethe
Martyr.

before,
in the
ilready

like a
Virgin

I must presume to knock and yet attempt it
\\ith such a trembling reverence, as if
My hands [were now]* he'd up for expiation
To the incensed gods to spare a kingdom,
Within there, ho ! something divine come forth
To a distressed mortal.

Enter LATINUS as a Porter.

Port. Ha ! who knocks there ?

Dt>m. What a churlish look this knave has !

Port. Is't you, sirrah?

Are you come to pule and whine ?. Avaunt, and quickly j
Dog-whips shall drive you hence, else.

Dom. Churlish devil !

But that 1 should disturb the scene, as I live
I would tear his eyes out.

C(fs. 'Tis in jest, Domitia.

Dom. I do not like such jesting ; if he were not
A flinty hearted slave, he could not use
One of his form so harshly. How the toad swells
At the other's sweet humility !

Ciet. 'Tis his part :
Let them proceed,

Dom. A rogue's part will ne'er leave him.

Iphis. As you have, gentle sir, the happiness
(When you please) to behold the figure of
The master-piece of nature, limn'd to the life,
In more than human Ana-xarete,
Scorn not your servant, that with suppliant hands
Takes hold upon your knees, conjuring you,
As you are a man, and did not suck the milk
Of wolves and tigers, or a mother of
A tougher temper, use some means these eyes,
Before they are wept out, may see your lady.
Will you be gracious sir?

Port. Though 1 lose my place for't,
I can hold out no longer.

Dom. Now he melts,
Thete is some little hope he may die honest.

Port. Madam!

Enter DOMUILLA as ANAXAHETE.

Anax. Who calls? What object have we here ?

Dom. Your cousin keeps her proud state still ; I
I have fitted her for a part. [think

Altai. Did 1 not charge thee
I ne'er might see this thing more?

Iphit. 1 am, indeed, [on :

What thing you please ; a worm that you may tread
Lower I cannot fall to show my duty,
Till your disdain hath digg' d a grave to cover
This body with forgotten dust; and, when
I know your sentence, cruellest of women !
I'll, by a willing death, remove the object
That is an eyesore to you.

Anax. Wretch, thou dar'st not :

* HTy hand* [were now] held up for expiation] I am very
doubtful of the genuieness of this line. Of the old copies of
this tragedy (of which there is but one edition) some read.

My hand* held up, or expiation
and others,

My hand* help vp, for expiation.

It is evident, from the comma, that there is an error some-
where, which was discovered at the press, and attempted to
be removed: but, as it has happened more than once in
these pla)8, only exchanged for another. My addition is
harmless: but if 1 could have ventured so far, 1 should have
read,

My hands held vp in prayer, or expiation,
To, &LC.

As the line stands in Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason it b im
possible to read it as verse, or any thing like verse.

SCENE I.J

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

That were the last and greatest service to me
Thy doting love could boast of. What dull fool
But tliou could nourish any flattering hope,
One of my height in youth, in birth and fortune,
Could e'er descend to look upon thy lowness,
Much less consent to make my lord of one
I'd not accept, though offer'd for my slave?
My thoughts stoop not so low.

Dow. There's her true nature:
No personated scorn.

Anax. I wrong my worth,
Or to exchange a syllable or look
With one so far beneath me.

Iphis. Yet take heed,

Take heed of pride, and curiously consider,
How brittle the foundation is, on which
You labour to advance it. Niobe,
Proud of her numerous issue, durs r . contemn
Latona's double burthen ; but what follow'd?
She was left a childless mother, and mourn'd to

marble.

The beauty you o'erprize so, time or sickness
Can change'to loath'd deformity ; your wealth
The prey of thieves ; queen Hecuba, Troy fired,
Ulysses' bondwoman* : but, the love I bring you
Nor time, nor sickness, violent thieves, nor fate,
Can ravish from you.

Dom. Could the oracle
Give better counsel !

Iphis. Say, will you relent yet,
Revoking your decree that I should die?
Or, shall 1 do what you command? resolve;
lam impatient of delay.

Anax. Dispaich then :
I shall look on your tragedy unmoved,
Peradventure laugh at it; for it will prove
A comedy to me.

Dom. O devil! devil!

Iphis. Then thus 1 take my last leave,
Of lovers fall upon you ; and, hereafter,
When any man, like me contemn'd, shall study
In the anguish of his soul to give a name

[curses
All the

To a scornful, cruel mistress, let him only
Say, This most bloody woman is to me,

As Anaxarete was to wretched Iphis !

Now feast your tyrannous mind, and glory in
The ruins you have made : for Hymen's bands.
That should have made us one, this fatal halter
For ever shall divorce us : at your gate,
As a trophy of your pride and my affliction,
I'll presently hang myself.

Dom. Not for the world

[Starts from her seal.
Restrain him as you love your lives !

Cds. Why are you

Transported thus, Domitia? 'tis a play;
Or, grant it serious, it at no part merits
This passion in you.

Par. I ne'er purposed, madam,
To do the deed in earnest ; though I bow
To your care and tenderness of me.

Dom. Let me, sir,

Entreat your pardon ; what I saw presented,
Carried me beyond myself.

Cffs. To your place again,
And see what follows.

Dom. No, I am familiar

With the conclusion; besides, upon the sudden
I feel myself much indisposed.

C 'IE s. To bed then ;
I'll be thy doctor.

Aret. There is something more
In this than passion, which I must find out,
Or my intelligence freezes.

Dom. Come to me, Paris,
To-morrow for your reward.

[EaeuJit all but Domitilla and Stephana*

StepJi. Patroness, hear me ;

Will you not call for your share? sit down with tlii
And, the next action, like a Gaditane strumpet,
I shall look to see you tumble !

Domitil. Prithee be patient.
I, that have suffer'd greater wrongs, bear this ;
And that, till my revenge, my comfort is. [Exiicu

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A Room in the Palace.
Enter PARTHENIUS, JULIA, DOMITILLA, and C/tNis.

Parth. Why, 'tis impossible. Paris!

Jut. You observed not,
As it appears, the violence of her passion,
When personating Iphis, he pretended,

Queen Hecuba, Troy fir' d t

Ulytses' bondwoman] These two halt-lines are entirely
misplaced, and should not be inserted here ; they afterwards
occur in the second volume, to which passage they belon.
M. AUsox.

This it the most unaccountable notion that ever was
taken up. 'J'he Roman Actor was not only written but
printed many years before The Emperor of the East; how,
then, could any lines or " halt' lines" be inserted into it from
a piece which was not yet in exigence ! It required Mr. M.
Mason's own words to convince me that he could range
through Massinger, even in his desultory way, without dii-

For your contempt, fair Anaxarete,
To hang himself.

Parth. Yes, yes, I noted that ;
But never could imagine it could work her
To such a strange intemperance of affection,
As to doat on him.

Domitil. By my hopes, I think not

covering his propensity to repeat himself; which is to
obtrusive as to form one of the most characteristic traits of
his manner. Wiih respect to the two half lines, they are
where they should be, and are referred to in the vere
which follows. It may amuse the reader to see this passage
as " it occurs again." !

" You are are read in story, call to your remembrance
What the great Hector's mother, Hecuba,
Was to Uljsses, Illium sack'd."

The identity may admit of ome question. bat

of this deplorable folly.

188

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

[Aci IV

That she respects, though all here saw, and mark'd it;
Presuming she can mould the emperor's will
Into what form she likes, though we, and all
The informers of the world, conspired to cross it.

Ciena. Then with what eagerness, this morning,

urging

The want of health and rest, she did entreat
Caesar to leave her !

Domitil. Who no sooner absent,
But she calls, Dwarf! (so in her scorn she styles me,)
Put on 7/n, pantojies ; fetch pen and paper,
I am to write: and with distracted looks,
In her smock, impatient of so short delay
As but to have a mantle thrown upon her,
She seal'd I know not what, but 'twas endorsed,
To my loved Paris.

Jul. Add to this, I heard her
Say, when a page received it, Let him wait me,
And carefully, in the vwlk call'd our Retreat,
Where C&sar, in his fear to give offence,
Unseat for never enters.

Parth. This being certain,

(For these are more than jealous suppositions,)
Why do not you,. that are so near in blood,
Discover it?

Domitil. Alas ! you know we dare not.
'Twill be received for a malicious practice,
To free us from that shivery which her pride
Imposes on us. But, if you would please
To break the ice, on pain to be sunk ever,
We would aver it.

Parth. I would second you,
But that I am commanded with all speed
To fetch in* Ascletario the Chaldean ;
Who, in his absence, is condemn'd of treason,
For calculating the nativity
Of Caesar, with all confidence foretelling,
In every circumstance, when he shall die
A violent death. Yet, if you could approve
Of my directions, I would have you speak
As much to Aretinus, as you have
To me deliver'd : he in his own nature
Being a spy, on weaker grounds, no doubt,
Will undertake it ; not for goodness' sake,
(With which he never yet held correspondence,)
But to endear his vigilant observings
Of what concerns the emperor, and a little
To triumph in the ruins of this Paris,
That cross'd him in the senate-house.

Enter ARETINDS.

Here he comes,

His nose held up ; he hath something in the wind,
Or I much err, already. My designs
Command me hence, great ladies ; but I leave
My wishes with you. [Exit,

Aret. Have I caught your greatness
In the trap, my proud Augusta !

Domitil. What is't raps him ?

Aret. And my fine Roman Actor ? Is't even so ?
No coarser dish to take your wanton palate,
Save that which, but the emperor, none durst taste of!
'Tis very well. I needs must glory in
This rare discovery : but the rewards
Of my intelligence bid me think, even now,
By an edict from Csesar, I have power
To tread upon the neck of Slavish Rome,

To fetch in] i. e. to seize , a frequent expression.

Disposing offices and provinces
To my kinsmen, friends, and clients.

Domitil. This is more
Than usual with him.

JuL Aretinus !

A ret. How !

No more respect and reverence tender'd to me,
But Aretinus ! 'Tis confess'd that title,
When you were princesses, and commanded all,
Had been a favour ; but being, as you are,
Vassals to a proud woman, the worst bondage,
You stand obliged with as much adoration
To entertain him, that comes arm'd with strength.
To break your fetters, as tann'd galley-slaves
Pay such as do redeem them fro.-.i the oar.
I come not to entrap you ; but aloud
Pronounce that you are manumized : and to make
Your liberty sweeter, you shall see her fall,
This empress, this Domitia, what you will,
That triumph'd in your miseries.

Domitil. Were you serious,
To prove your accusation I could lend
Some help.

Can. And I.

Jul. And I.

A ret. No atom to me.

My eyes and ears are every where ; I know all
To the line and action in the play that took her :
Her quick dissimulation to excuse
Her being transported, with her morning passion.
I bribed the boy that did convey the letter,
And, having perused it, made it up again :
Your griefs and angers are to me familiar.
That Paris is brought to her*, and how far
He shall be tempted.

Domitil. This is above wonder.

Aret. My gold can work much stranger miracles
Than to corrupt poor waiters. Here, join with me
[Takes out a petitiim.

"f is a complaint to Caesar. This is that [hands
Shall ruin her, and raise you. Have you set your
To the accusation ?

Jul. And will justify
What we've subscribed to.

Cien. And with vehemence.

Domitil. I will deliver it.

Aret. Leave the rest to me then.

Enter CXSAK, with his Guard.

Cits. Let our lieutenants bring us victory,
While we enjoy the fruits of peace at home ;
And being secured from our intestine foes,
(Far worse than foreign enemies,) doubts and fears,
Though all the sky were hung with blazing meteors,
Which fond astrologers give out to be
Assured presages of the change of empires,
And deaths of monarths, we, undaunted yet,
Guarded with our own thunder, bid defiance
To them and fate ; we being too strongly arm'd
For them to wound us.

Aret. Caesar !

Jul. As thou art
More than a man

Cten. Let not thy passions be
Rebellious to thy reason

. Tliat Parii it brought to her,&c.] A line pre-
ceding thU, seems to have been lost at '.lie press: the drift
of it is not difficult to gutss- but I have not meddled \viiu
the old copies.

SCENE II.]

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

189

DomitiL But receive [Drivers the petition,

This trial of your constancy, as unmoved
As you go to or from the capitol,
'flanks given to Jove for triumphs.
C^s. Ha"!
Domilil. Vouchsafe

A while to stay the lightning of your eyes,
Poor mortals dare not look on.

Aret. There's no vein
Of yours that rises with high rage, but is
An earthquake to us.

Domit'd. And, if not kept closed
With more than human patience, in a moment
Will swallow us to the centre.

Cten. Not that we

Repine to serve her, are we her accusers.
Jul. But that she's fallen so low.
Aret, Which on sure proofs
We can make good.

DomitiL And show she is unworthy
Of the least spark of that diviner fire
You have conferr'd upon her.

C<es. I stand doubtful,
And unresolved what to determine of you.
In this malicious violence you have ofler'd
To the altar of her truth and pureness to me,
You have but fruitlessly labour'd to sully
A white robe of perfection, black-mouth'd envy
Could belch no spot on. But 1 will put off
The deity you labour to take from me,
And argue out of probabilities with you,
As if I were a man. Can I believe
That she, that borrows all her light from me,
And knows to use it, would betray her darkness
To your intelligence : and make that apparent,
Which, by her perturbations, in a play
Was yesterday but doubted, and find none
But you, that are her slaves, and therefore hate her,
Whose aiAs she might employ to make way for her?
Or Aretinus, whom long since she knew
To be the cabinet counsellor, nay, the key
Of Caesar's secrets '! Could her beauty raise her
To this unequall'd height, to make her fall
The more remarkable ? or must my desires
To her, and wrongs to Lamia, be revenged
By her, and on herself, that drew on both ?
Or she leave our imperial bed, to court
A public actor ?

Aret. Who dares contradict

These more than human reasons, that have power
To clothe base guilt in the most glorious shape
Of innocence?

DomitiL Too well she knew the strength
And eloquence of her patron to defend her,
And thereupon presuming-, fell securely ;
Not fearing an accuser, nor the tiuth
Produced against her, which your love and favour
Will ne'er discern from falsehood.

Ca-s. I'll not hear

A syllable more that may invite a change
In my opinion of her. You have raised
A fiercer war within me by this fable,
Though with your lives you vow to make it story,
Than if, and at one instant, all my legions
Revolted from me, and came arm'd against me.
Here in this paper are the swords predestined

Caes. Ha !} Omitted by Mr. M. Mason, to the destruc-
tion of the metre.

For my destruction ; here the fatal stars,

That threaten more than ruin ; this the death's head

That does assure me, if she cn prove false,

That I am mortal, which a sudden fever

Would prompt :ne to believe, arid faintly yield to.

But now in my full confidence what she sutiers,

In that, from any witness but myself,

I nourish a suspicion she's untrue,

My toughness returns to me. Lead on, monsters,

And, by the forfeit of your lives, confirm

She is all excellence, as you all baseness ;

Or let mankind, for her fall, boldly swear

There are no chaste wives now, nor ever were*.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II A private Walk in the Gardens of the
Palace.

Enter DOMITIA. PARIS, and Servants.

Dom. Say we command that none presume to dare,
On forfeit of our favour, that is life,
Out of a saucy curiousnes, to stand
Within the distance of their eyes or ears,
Till we please to be waited on. [Exeunt Servants.

And, sirrah,

Howe'er you are excepted, let it not
Beget in you an arrogant opinion
'Tis done to grace you.

Par. With my humblest service
I but obey your summons, and should blush else,
To be so near you.

Dom. 'T would become you rather
To fear the greatness of the grace vouchsafed you
May overwhelm you ; and 'twill do no less,
If, when you are rewarded, in your cups
You boast this privacy.

Par. That were, mightiest empress,
To play with lightning.

Dom. You conceive it right.
The means to kill or save is not alone
In Caesar circumscribed ; for, if incensed,
\Ve have our thunder too, that strikes as deadly.

Par. 'Twould ill become the lowness of my for-
To question what you can do, but with all [tune,
Humility to attend what is your will,
And then to serve it.

Dom. And would not a secret,
Suppose we should commit it to your trust,
Scald you to keep it?

Par. Though it raged within me
Till I turn'd cinders, it should ne'er have vent.
To be an age a dying, and with torture,
Only to be thought worthy of your c-ounself.
Or actuate what you command to mej, [ledge,

A wretched obscure thing, not worth your know-
Were a perpetual happiness.

Dom. We could wish

* Or let mankind, for her fall, boldly wear

There are no chate wives now, nor ever were.] The
godlike Ca'sar" forgets that tlie chattily of Domiiia had
long ceased lo be a mailer of doubt.

Only to be thought worthy of your counsel,] The modern
editors, who appear not to have understood the word, read
council for counsel: but the latter is ris;ht. It mexunecrecy,
and so it is frequently nsed, not only by Masi-iiiger, but by
all the writers of his time :

" But what they did there is counsel to me,

Because they lay late the next day." Old Ballad.
Or actuate what you command to me,} Here ai-.tuatc is
used for act,;\* act is used by some of our best poeis and
Pope among the rest, but with less propriety, for actuate.

190

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

[An IV

That we could credit thee, and cannot find

In reason, but that thou, whom oft 1 have seen

'I o personate a gentleman, noble, wise,

Faithful and gainsome, and what virtues else

Tl.e poet plenses to adorn you with ;

But that (as vessels still partake the odour*

Of the sweet precious liquors they contain'd)

Thou must be really, in some degrre,

The thing thou dost present. Nay, do not tremble;

We seriously believe it. and presume

Our Paris is the volume in which all [with,

Those excellent gifts the stage hath seen him graced

Are curiously bound up.

Par. The argument

Is the same, great Augusta, that I, acting
A fool, a coward, a traitor, or cold cynic,
Or any other weak and vicious person,
Of force I must be such. O gracious madam,
How glorious soever, or deform'd,
I do appear in the scene, my part being ended,
And all my borrow'd ornaments put off,
I am no more, nor less, than what I was
Before I enter'd.

Dom. Come, you would put on
A wilful ignorance, and not understand
What 'tis we point at. Must we in plain language,
Against the decent modesty of our sex,
Sav that we love thee, love thee to enjoy thee ;
Or that in our desires thou art preferr'd
And C:usar but thy second? Thou injustice,
It' from the height of majesty we can
Look down upon thy lowness, and embrace it,
Art bound with fervour to look up to me.

Par. O, madam ! hear me with a patient ear,
And be but pleased to understand the reasons
That do deter me from a happiness
Kings would be rivals for. Can I, that owe
My life, and all that's mine, to Cassar's bounties,
Beyond my hopes or merits, shower'd upon me,
Make payment for them with ingratitude,
Falsehood, and treason ! Though you have a shape
Might tempt Hippolytus, and larger power
To help or hurt than wanton Phaedra had,
Let loyalty and duty plead my pardon,
Though 1 refuse to satisfy.

Dom. You are coy,

Expecting I should court you. Let mean ladies
Use prayers and entreaties to their creatures
To rise up instruments to serve their pleasures ;
But for Augusta so to lose herself,
That holds command o'er Caesar and the world,
Were poverty of spirit. Thou must, thou shall :
The violence of my passion knows no mean,
And in my punishments, and my rewards,
I'll use no moderation. Take this only,
As a caution from me ; threadbare chastity
Is poor in the advancement of her servants,
But wantonness magnificent : and 'tis frequent
To have the salary of vice weigh down
The pay of virtue. So, without more trifling
Thy sudden answer.

Par. In what a strait am I brought inf !

-(as vessels still partuke the odour

Of the tweet i recious liquors they contain'd)]
Quce temel ett imbuta recent servabit odorem
'J'eita din. Hon.

t Par. In \rhat a strait am I brought in !J Coxtter and
M. Mason read,

Oil ! what a ttrait am I brought in !
This ii, perhaps, a better mode of expression ; bat we should

Alas ! I know that the denial's death ;

Nor can my grant, discover'd, threaten more.

Yet, to die innocent, and have the glory

For all posterity to report, that I

Refused an empress, to preserve my faith

To my great master ; in true judgment, must

Show fairer than to buy a guilty life

With wealth and honour. 'Tis the base I build on;

I dare not, must not, will not.

Dom. How! contemn'd ?

Since hopes, nor fears, in the extremes prevail not,
I must use a mean. Think who 'tis sues to thee :
Deny not that yet, which a brother mav
j Grant to his sister : as a testimony

I Enter C^SAR, ARETIXUS. JULIA, DOMITILLA, CJENIS,
and a Guard behind.

I am not scorn'd, kiss me ; kiss me again :
Kiss closer. Thou art now my Trojan Paris,
And I thy Helen.

Par. Since it is your will.

Cits. And I am .Menelaus; but I shall be
Something I know not yet.

Dam. Why lose we time
And opportunity ? These are but salads
To sharpen appetite : let us to the feast,

[Courting Paris u-antonly.
Where T shall wish that thou wert Jupiter,
And I Alcmena ; and that 1 had power
To lengthen out one short night into three,
And so beget a Hercules.

Ca-s. [Comes forward.] While Amphitrio
Stands by, and draws the curtains

Par. Oh ! [Fulls on h'ufuce.

Dom. Betray 'd!

C<e. No ; taken in a net of Vulcan's filing,
Where, in myself, the theatre of the gods
Are sad spectators, not one of them daring
To witness, with a smile, he does desire
To be so shamed for all the pleasure that
You've sold your being for! What shall I name

thee?

Ingrateful, treacherous, insatiate, all
Invectives which, in bitterness of spirit, [men,

Wrong'd men have breathed out against wicked wo-
Cannot express thee ! Have I raised thee from
Thy low condition to the height of greatness,
Command, and majesty, in one base act
To render me, that was, before I hugg'd thee*.
An adder, in my bosom, more than man,
A thing beneath a beast ! J")id I force these
Of mine own blood, as handmaids to kneel to
Thy pomp and pride, having myself no thought
But how with benefits to bind thee mine ;
And am I thus rewarded ! Not a knee,
Nor tear, nor sign of sorrow for thy fault ?
Break stubborn silence : what canst thou allege
To stay my vengeance ?

confound all times, if we thus modernized every phrase which
appears uncouth to our eyes and ears : add too, that similar
redundancies are to be found in almost every p:ige of our old
writers, and above all, in Massinger ! An instance occurs
just below:

of which, if again

I could be ignorant of, &c.

To render me that was, before I hugg'd thee,] This and
the two following lines have been hitherto p.intcd and
pointed in a very unintelligible manner. Mr. M. Ma.'on
tried to reform them, but tailed: the simple removal of a
bracket in the old copies restores them to sense.

SCENSIII.]

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

191

Pom. This. Thy lust compell'd me
To be a strumpet, and mine hath return'd it
In my intent and will, though not in act,
To cuckold thee.

C<E<. O, impudence! take her hence,
And let her make her entrance into hell,
By leaving life with all the tortures that
Flesh can be sensible of. Yet stay. What power
Her beauty still holds o'er my soul, that wrongs
Of this unpardonable nature cannot teach me
To right myself, and hate her! Kill her. Hold!

that my dotage should increase from that
Which should breed detestation ! By Minerva,
If I look on her longer I shall melt

^nd sue to her, my injuries forgot,

Again to be received into her favour ;

Could honour yield to it! Carry her to her

chamber* ;
Be that her prison, till in cooler blood

1 shall determine of her. [Exit Guard with Domitia.

Aret. Now step I in,

While he's in this calm mood, for my reward.
Sir, if my service hath deserved

C<et. Yes, yes :

And I'll reward thee. Thou hast robb'd me of
All rest and peace, and been the principal means
To make me know that, of which if again
I could be ignorant of, I would purchase it

Re-enter Guard.

With the loss of empire : Strangle him ; take these

hence too,

And lodge them in the dungeon. Could your reason,
Dull wretches, flatter you with hope to think
That this discovery, that hath shower 'd upon me
Perpetual vexation, should not fall
Heavy on you 1 Away with them ! stop their mouths,
I will hear no reply.

[Exit Guard with Aretinus. Julia, Caw's,
and Domitilla.

O, Paris, Paris !

How shall I argue with thee 1 how begin
To make thee understand, before I kill thee. [me ?
With what grief and unwillingness 'tis forced from
Yet, in respect I have favour'd thee, I'll hear
What thou canst speak to qualify or excuse
Thy readiness to serve this woman's lust ;
And which thou couldst give me such satisfaction,
As I might bury the remembrance of it.
Look up : we stand attentive.

Par. O, dread Caesar !
To hope for life, or plead in the defence
Of my ingratitude, were again to wrong you.
I know I have deserved death ; and my suit is,
That you would hasten it : yet, that your highness,
When I am dead, (as sure 1 will not live,)
May pardon me, I'll only urge my frailty,
Her will, and the temptation of that beauty
Which you could not resist. How could poor I,

then,

Fly that which follow'd me, and Cajsar sued for?
This is all. And now your sentence.

Ciet. Which I know not

How to pronounce. O that thy fault had been
But such as I might pardon ! if thou hadst
In wantonness, like Nero, fired proud Rome,

* Carry her to her chamber ; &c.] Mr. M. Mason reads
my chamber, strangely enough ; bat, indeed, this \\ hole
iceoe is very carelessly given by him.

Betray'd an armv, buti-her'd the whole senate ;

Committed sacrilege, or any crme

The justice of our Roman laws calls death,

I had prevented any intercession,

And freely >ign'd thy pardon.

Par. But for this,

Alas ! you cannot, nav, you must not, sir j
Nor let it to posterity be recorded,
That Ca-sar, unreven'.ed, suft'er'd a wrong,
Which, if a private man should sit down with it,
Cowards would baffie him.

CV*. With such true feeling
Thou arguest against thyself, that it
Works more upon me, than if my Minerva,
The grand protrectress of my life and empire,
On forfeit of her favour, cried aloud,
Cffisar, show mercy ! and, 1 know not how,
I am inclined to it. Rise. I'll ]>romise nothing;
Yet clear thy cloudy fears, aud cherish hopt-s.
What we must do, we shall do : we remember
A tragedy we oft have seen with pleasure,
Call'd The False Servant.

Par. Such a one we have, sir.

Ctrs. In which a great lord* takes to his protection
A man forlorn, giving him ample power
To order and dispose of his estate
In 's absence, he pretending then a journey :
But yet with this restraint that, on no terms,
(This lord suspecting his wife's cnnstam y.
She having play'd false to a former l.u.->band,)
The servant, though solicited, should consent,
Though she commanded him, to quench her names.

Pur. That was, indeed, the. argument.

Ctcs. And what
Didst thou play in it?

Par. Tfce/MM senutit, sir. [without ?

Cas. Thou didst, indied. Do the players wait

Par. They do. sir, and prepared to act the story (
Your majesty mention 'd.

C<ft. Call them in. Who presents
The injured lord ?

Enter ^iisopvs, LATIKUS, and a Lady.

JEsop. Tis my part, sir.

C<tt. Thou didst not

Do it to the life ; we can perform it better. [not
Off with my robe and wreath: since Nero scorned
The public theatre, we in private may
Disport ourselves. This cloak and hat, without
Wearing a beard, or other property,
Will fit the person.

JEsop. Only, sir, a foil.
The point and edge rebated, when you act.
To do the murder. If you please to use this.
And lay aside your own sword.

Cirt. By no means.

In jest nor earnest this parts never from me. [lady
We'll have but one short scene That, where the
In an imperious way commands the servant
To be unthankful to Lis patron : when
My cue's to enter, prompt me : Nay, begin,
And do it sprightly : though but a new actor,
When I come to execution, you shall find
No cause to laugh at me.

Lot. In the name of wonder,
What's Casar's purpose !

Css. In which a great lord, &c.l The modem edition!
give this ?p*tch and t! e nrxt to Pan.. The blmidt-r, which
is pnlpable enough, originated with Cnxeter, and the most
accurate of all editors unfortunately followed him.

192

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

JEtop. There's is no contending.
Cats. Why, when* ?
Par. i am arm'd :

And, stood grim Death now in my view, and his
Inevitable dart aim'd at my breast,
His cold embraces should not bring an ague
To any of my faculties, till his pleasures [years
Were served and satisfied ; which done, Nestor's
To me would be unwelcome. [Aside.

Lady. Must we entreat,

That were born to command ? or court a servant,
That owes his food and clothing to our bounty,
For that, which thou ambitiously shouldst kneel for?
Urge not, in thy excuse, the favours of
Thy absent lord, or that thou stand'st engaged
For thy life to his charity ; nor thy fears
Of what may follow, it being in my power
To mould him any way.
Par. As you may me,
Jn what his reputation is not wounded,
Nor I, his creature, in my thankfulness suffer.
I know you're young and fair; be virtuous too,
And loyal to his bed, that hath advanced you
To the height of happiness.

I.udu. Can my lovesick heart
Be cured with counsel ! or durst reason ever
Offer to put in an exploded plea
In the court of Venus ? My desires admit not
The least delay ; and therefore instantly
Give me to understand what I must trust to :
For, if I am refused, and not enjoy
Those ravishing pleasures from thee, I run mad for,
I'll swear unto my lord, at his return,
(Making what I deliver good with tears,)
That brutishly thou wcddst have forced from me
What I make suit for. And then but imagine
What 'tis to die, with these words, tlave and traitor,
With burning corsiresfwrit upon thy forehead,
And live prepared for't.
Par. This he will believe

Up'>n her information, 'tis apparent ;

And then I'm nothing: and of two extremes,

Wisdom says, choose the less. Rather than fall

Under your indignation, I will yield :

This kiss, and this, confirms it,

&sop. Now, sir, now.

Ctes. I must take them at it?

JEosop. Yes, sir ; be but perfect. [now ;

CIES. O villain ! thankless villain ! I should talk
But I've forgot my part. But I can do :
Thus, thus, and thus ! [Sfais Paris.

Par. Oh! I am slain in earnest. [Paris;

C<es. 'Tis true ; and 'twas my purpose, my good
And yet, before life leave thee, let the honour
I've done thee in thy death bring comfort to thee.
If it had been within the power ofCasar,
His dignity preserved, he had pardon'd thee :
But cruelty of honour did deny it.
Yet, to confirm I loved thee, 'twas my study
To make thy end more glorious, to distinguish
My Paris from all others ; and in that
Have shown my pity. Nor would I let thee fall
By a centurion's sword, or have thy limbs
Rent piecemeal by the hangman's hook, however
Thy crime deserved it : but, as thou didst live
Home's bravest actor, 'twas my plot that thou
Shouldst die in action, and, to crown it, die,
With an applause enduring to all times,
By our imperial hand. His soul is freed
From the prison of his flesh ; let it mount upward'
And for this trunk, when that the funeral pUe
Hath made it ashes, we'll see it enclosed
In a golden urn ; poets adorn his hearse
With their most ravishing sorrows, and the stage
For ever mourn him, and all such as were
His glad spectators weep his sudden death,
The cause forgotten in his epitaph.

[A tad music; tA Players bear off Par it
body, Ctesar and the restjollowing

ACT V.

SCENE I. A "Room in the Palace, with an Image of
Minerva.

Enter PAUTWENIUS, STEPHANOS, and Guard.

Parth. Keep a strong guard upon him, and admit
Access to any, to exchange a word [not

Or syllable with him, till the emperor pleases
To call him to his presence. [Eiit Guard.] The

relation

That you have made me, Stephanos, of these late
Strange passions in Caesar, much amaze me.
The informer Aretinus put to death
For yielding him a true discovery
Of the empress' wantonness ; poor Paris kill'd first,

Why,whent\ This is marked by the editors as an im-
perfect speech ; it is, however, complete ; and occurs con-
tinually in our !'! I'.rama.', as a mark of impatience.

I H ith burning cursives writ upon thy forehead,] See
The Emperor of the *Mt.

And now lamented ; and the princesses
Confined to several islands ; yet Augusta,
The machine on which all this mischief moved,
Received again to grace !

Steph. Nay, courted to it :
Such is the impotence* of his affection !
Yet, to conceal his weakness, he gives out
The people made suit for her, whom they hate more
Than civil war, or famine. But take heed,
My lord, that, nor in your consent nor wishes,
You lent or furtherance or favour to
The plot contrived against her : should she prove it,
Nay, doubt it only, you are a lost man,
Her power o'er doting Csesar being now
Greater than ever.

Parth. 'Tis a truth I shake at ;
And, when there's opportunity

Such it the impotence of hi* affection !} i. e. tbf en
governablcness, the uncontrollable violence.

SCENE I.]

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

193

Steph. Say but, Do,
I am yours, and sure.

Parth. I'll stand one trial more,
And then you shall bear from me.

Steph. Now observe
The fondness of this tyrant, and her pride.

[They sland aside.

Enter C.SSAR and DOMITIA.

Cat. Nay, all's forgotten.

Dom. It may be, on your part.

Cirs. Forgiven too, Domitia : 'tis a favour
That you should welcome with more cheerful looks.
Can Czesar pardon what you durst not hope for,
That did the injury, and yet must sue
To her, whose guilt is wash'd off by his mercy.
Only to entertain it?

Dom. I ask'd none ;

And I should be more wretched to receive
Remission for what I hold no crime,
But by a bare acknowledgment, than if,
By slighting and contemning it, as now,
I dared thy utmost fury. Though thy flatterers
Persuade thee, that thy murders, lusts, and rapes,
Are virtues in thee ; and what pleases Caesar,
Though never so unjust, is right and lawful;
Or work in thee a false belief that thou
Art more than mortal ; yet I to thy teeth,
When circled with thy guards, thy rods, thy axes,
And all the ensigns of thy boasted power,
Will say, Dornitian, nay, add to it Caesar,
Is a weak, feeble man, a bondman to
His violent passions, and in that my slave;
Nay, more my slave than my affections made me
To my loved Paris.

Cdi. Can I live and hear this 7
Or hear, and not revenge it? Come, you know
The strength that you hold on me, do not use it
With too much cruelty ; for though 'tis granted
That Lydian Omphale had less command
O'er Hercules, than you usurp o'er me,
Reason may teach me to shake off tbe yoke
Of my fond dotage.

Dom. Never ; do not hope it ;
It cannot be. Thou being my beauty's captive,
And not to be redeem'd, my empire's larger
Than thine, Domitian, which I'll exercise
With rigour on thee, for my Paris' death.
And, when I've forced those eyes, now red with fun-,
To drop down tears, in vain spent to appease me,
I know thy fervour such to my embraces, [thee,
Which shall be, though still kneel'd for, still denied
That thou with languishment shall wish my actor
Did live again, so thou mightst be bis second
To feed upon those delicates, when he's sated*.

Ca'3, O my Minerva ! [her :

Dom. There she is (points to the statue). Invoke
She cannot arm thee with ability
To draw thy sword on me, my power being greater :
Or only say to thy centurions,
Dare none of you do what I shake to think on,
And in this woman's death remove the furies
That every hour afflict me ? Lamia's wrongs,
When thy lust forced me from him, are in me
At the height revenged ; nor would I outlive Paris,

Tofeedvpon those dflicates, when lie's sated.] So the j
old copies : but the modern editors, laudably solicitous lor
the sense, as well as the metre, of their author, concur in
reading,

It feed upon those delicate*, when lie were sated I

But that thy love, increasing with my hate,
Mav add unto thy torments ; so, with all
Contempt I can, 1 leave thee. [Exit.

C<fs. 1 am lost,

Nor am I Ca?sar. \Vhen I first betray'd
The freedom of my faculties and will
To this imperious siren, I laid down
The empire of the world, and of myself,
At her proud feet. Sleep all my ireful powers!
Or is the magic of my dotage such,
That I must still make suit to hear those charms
That do increase my thraldom ! Wake, my anger;
For shame, break through this lethargy, and appear
With usual terror, and enable me,
Since I wear not a sword to pierce her heait,
Nor have a tongue to say this, Let her die,
Though 'tis done with a fever-shaken hand,

[Putli out a table book.

To sign her death. Assist me, great Minerva,
And vindicate thy votarv ! (tvrites) So ; sHe's now
Among the list of those I have proscribed,
And are, to free me of my doubts and fears,
To die to-morrow.

Steph. That same fatal book
Was never drawn yet. but some men of rank
W r ere mark'd out for destruction. [Exit

Parth. 1 begin
To doubt myself.

Cft. Who waits there ?

Parth. Csesar.

C.TI. So!
These, that command arm'd troops, quake at my

frowns,

And yet a woman slights them. Where's the wizard
We charged you to fetch in ?

Parth. Ready to suffer
What death you please to appoint him.

Cffs. Bring him in.
We'll question him ourself.

Enter Tribunes, and Guard with ASCLETAHIO.

Now, you, that hold

Intelligence with the stars, and dare prefix
The day and hour in which we are to part
With life and empire, punctually foretelling
The means and manner of our violent end ;
As you would purchase credit to your art,
Resolve me, since you are assured of us,
What fate attends yourself?

Aide. I have had long since
A ceitain knowledge, and as sure as thou
Shalt die to-morrow, being the fourteenth of
The kalends of October, the hour live ;
Spite of prevention, this carcass shall be
Torn and devour'd by dogs ; and let that stand
For a firm prediction.

Ctes. May our body, wretch,
Find never nobler sepulchre, if this
Fall ever on thee ! Are we the great disposer
Of life and death, yet cannot mock the stars
In such a trifle ? Hence with the impostor ;
And having cut his throat, erect a pile
Guarded with soldiers, till his cursed trunk
Be turn'd to ashes upon forfeit of
Your life, and theirs, perform it.

Ascle. 'Tis in vain ;

When what I have foretold is made apparent,
Tremble to think what follows.

Citt. Drag him hence,

[The Tribunetand Guardt bear of Atcletario.

191

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

[Acr V

And do as I command you. I was never

Fuller of confidence ; for, having got

The victory of inv passions, in my freedom

From proud Domitia (who shall cease to live,

Since she disdains lo love), I rest unmoved :

And, in defiance of prodigious meteors,

Chaldeans' ain predictions, jealous fears

Of mv near friends and freedmen. certain hate

Of kindred and alliance, or all terrors

'I he soldiers' doubted faith or people's rage ^

Can bring to shake my constancy, 1 am arm'd.

That scrupulous thing styled conscience is sear'd

up.

And I, insensible of all my actions,
For which, bv moral and religious fools,
I stand condemn'd, as they had never been.
And, since I have subdued triumphant love,
I will not deify pale captive fear,
Nor in a thought receive it. For, till thou,
Wisest Minerva, that from my first youth
Ha.st been my sole protectress, dost forsake me,
Not Junius Uusticus' threatened apparition*,
Nor what this soothsayer but even now foretold,
Being things impossible to human reason,
Shall in a d:eam disturb me. Bring my couch

there :

A sudden but a secure drowsiness
Invites me to repose myself. Let music,
With some choice ditty, second it; [Eiit Parthe-

iiius.] the mean time,

Rev there, dear book, which open'd, when I wake,
[L'H/s the book under /iwpi/ou>,t
Shall make some sleep for ever.

[ Music and a song. Ciesar sleeps.

Re-enter PAIITIIENIUS and DOMITIA.

Dam. Write my name

In his bloody scroll, Parthenius ! the fear's idle:
He durst not, could not.

Purth. I can assure nothing ;
But. 1 observed, when you departed from him,
After >ome little passion, but much fury,
He drew it out : whose death he sign'd, I know not;
But in his looks appear'd a resolution
Of what before he stagger'd at. What he hath
Determined of is uncertain, but too soon
Will fall on you, or me, or both, or anv,
His pleasure known to the tribunes and centurions,
Who never use to enquire his will, but serve it.
Now, if, out of the confidence of your power,
Ihe bloody catalogue beinj; still about him,
As he sleeps you dare peruse it or remove it,
You may instruct yourself, or what to suffer,
Or how to cross it.

Dam. i would not be caught

With too much confidence. By your leave, sir. Ha!
No motion ! vou lie uneasy, sir,
Let me mend your pillow. [Takes the book.

Purth. Have you it]

Dow. 'Tis here.

Ctff. Oh ! [madam,

Parth. You have waked him: softly, gracious

* A'or Junii:t Uusticus' tlirealen'd apparition.] Act III.
r. ii

t [f*ays the booh under hit pillow. \ Nolliinp (as I have
more th.m mice liad ucc.i.-inii to ' bservo) can be more care-
l.-s than (lie l.i<{ -diiections ill tin: modern editions Here
they bolh nuki: Cois.ir Ull asleep in ihe mi. 1st of his speech,
which, iic%eittivles, they both suffer him to continue 1

While* we are unknown ; and then consult at leisure

[Exeunt.

Dreadful music. The Apparitions of JUNIUS Rvs-
TICUS and PAI.PHUHIUS SURA rise, tcith bloody swords
in their hands ; they wave them over the head if
CJESAR, who seems troubled in his sleep, mid as if
prauing t> the image of Miner HI, which they sctirn-
fully seize, and then disappear with it.

Ctes. Defend me, goddess, or this horrid dream
Will force me to distraction ! whither have
These furies borne thee ? Let me rise and follow.
1 am bathed o'er with the cold sweat of death,
And am deprived of organs to pursue
These sacrilegious spirits. Am I at once
Hobb'd of my hopes and being? No, I live

[Rises distractedly.

Yes, live, and have discoursef, to know myself

Of gods and men forsaken. What accuser

Within me cries aloud, I have deserved it,

In being just to neither? Who dares speak this?

Am I not Caesar ? How! again repeat it ?

Presumptuous traitor, thou shall die! What traitor 7

He that hath been a traitor to himself,

And stands convicted here. Yet who can sit

A competent judge o'er Caesar? Ca?sar. Yes,

Caesar by Cffisar's sentenced, and must suffer;

Minerva cannot save him. Ha ! where is shef ?

Where is my goddess? vanish'd ! I am lost then.

No ; 'twas no dream, but a most real truth,

That Junius Rusticus and Palpliurius Sura,

Although their ashes were cast in the sea,

Were by their innocence made up again,

And in corporeal forms but now appear'd,

Waving their bloody swords above my head,

As at their deaths they threaten'd. And, methought,

Minerva, ravish'd hence, whisper'd that she

Was, for my blasphemies, disarm'd by Jove,

And could no more protect me. Yes, 'twas so,

[Thunder and lightning,
His thunder does confirm it, against which,
Howe'er it spare the laurel, this proud wreath

Enter three Tribunes.

Is no assurance. Ha ! come you resolved
To be my executioners?

1 Trib. Allegiance

And faith forbid that we should lift an arm.
Against your sacred head.

2 Trib. We rather sue
For mercy.

3 Trib. And acknowledge that injustice
Our lives are forfeited for not performing
What Cwsar charged us.

1 Trib. Nor did we transgress it

softly, gracious madam,
While we are unknown,] i. e. until: a very common ac-
ceptation of the uonl in our old writers. So Beaumont and
Fletcher:

" 1 may be convey'd into your chamber, I'll lie
Under your bed while midnight." Wit at several Weapons,
And Waller :

" Blessings may be repeated while they cloy :
But shall we starve because fruition's joy ?"
1 Yes, live, and have discourse,] i. e. reason or judgment.

J Ha ! where is she !

Where i my goddess?} This attachment of Domilian to
Minerva is an i istoiical fart. He chose her at an early
period of his life for his protectress, multiplied her statues to
a great extent, and had always a strong reliance on her
favour. If the reader wishes for more on the subject, he
may turn to the editor's translation of Jiucnal, Sat. V1J

SCENE II.]

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

In our want of will or care ; for, being but men,
It could not be in us to make resistance,
The gods fighting against us.

Ctef. Speak, in what

Did they express their anger ? we will hear it,
'But dare not say, undaunted.

1 Trib. In brief thus, sir :
The sentence given by your imperial tongue,
For the astrologer Ascletario's death,
Wiih speed was put in execution.

Cies. Well. [his arms

1 Trih. For, his throat cut, his legs bound, and
Pinion'd behind his back, the breathless trunk
Was with all scorn dragg'd to the field of Mars,
And there, a pile being raised of old dry wood,
Smear'd o'er with oil and brimstone, or what else
Could help to feed or to increase the fire,
The carcass was thrown on it ; but no sooner
The stuff, that was most apt, began to flame,
But suddenly, to the amazement of
The fearless soldier, a sudden flash
Of lightning, breaking through the scatter'd clouds,
With such a horrid violence forced its passage,
And, as disdaining all heat but itself,
In a moment quench'd the artificial fire :
And before we could kindle it again,
A clap of thunder follow'd wiih such noise,
As if then Jove, incensed against mankind,
Had in his secret purposes determined
An universal ruin to the world.
This horror past, not at Deucalion's flood
Such a stormy shower of rain (and yet that word is
Too mirrow to express it) was e'er seen :
Imagine rather, sir, that with less fury
The waves rush down the cataracts of Nile;
Or that the sea, spouted into the air
By the angry Ore, endangering tall ships

But sailing near it, so falls down again.

Yet here the wonder ends not, but begins :
For, as in vain we labour'd to consume
The wizard's body, all the dogs of Rome,
Howling and yelling like to famish 'd wolves,
Brake in upon us ; and though thousands were
Kill'd iu th' attempt, some did ascend the pile,
And with their eager fangs seized on the carcass.

CV s But have they torn it ?

1 Trih. Torn it and devour'd it.

Cict. I then am a dead man, since all predictions
Assure me I am lost. O, n<y loved soldiers,
Your emperor must leave you ! yet, however
I cannot grant myself a short reprieve,
I freely pardon you. The fatal hour
Steals fast upon me : I must die this morning,
By five*, my soldiers ; that's the latest hour
You e'er must see me living.

1 Trib. Jove avert it !
In our swords lies your fate, and we will guard it.

Ccej. O no, it cannot be ; it is decreed
Above, and by no strength here to be alter'd.
Let prouu mortality but look on Ca?sar,
Compass'd of late with armies, in his eyes
Carrying both life and death, and in his arms
Fathoming the earth ; that would be styled a god,
And is, for that presumption, cast beneath

/ must die this morning,

By five, &c. i II may be just necessary, for ihc sake of
tin; mere Knglish reader, to observe that Masinger makes use
here <>( llie Roman manner of computation : five in the
morning, therefore, answers to our eleven o'clock.

The low condition of a common man,
Sinking with mine own weight.

1 Trib. Do not forsake
Yourself, we'll never leave you.

2 Trib. We'll draw up

More cohorts of your guard, if you doubt treason.

Ceet. They cannot save me. The offended gods,
That now sit judges on me, from their envy
Of my power and greatness here, conspire against
me.

1 Trib. Endeavour to appease them.

Cift. 'Twill be fruitless :
I'm past hope of remission. Yet could I
Decline this dreadful hour of five, these terrors,
That drive me to despair, would soon fly from ine :
And could you but till then assure me*

1 Trib. Yes, sir ;

Or we'll fall with you, and make Rome the urn
In which we'll mix our ashes.

Cits. Tis said nobly :
I'm something comforted : howe'er, to die
Is the full period of calamity. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. Another flooro in the Palace.

Enter PARTHENIUS, DOMITIA, JUI.IA, C.cxis, DOMI-
TiLt-A, STEPHANOS, SEJEIUS, and ENTELLUS.

Part'i. You see we are all condemned ; there's no

evasion ;
We must do, or suffer.

Steph. But it must be sudden ;
The least delay is mortal.

Dam. Would I were
A man, to give it action !

Vomit it. Could I make my approaches, though

my stature

Does promise little, I have a spirit as daring
As hers that can reach higher.

Steph. I will take

That burthen from you, madam. All the art is,
To draw him from the tribunes that attend him ;
For, could you bring him but within my sword's

reach,

The world should owe her freedom from a tyrant
To Stephanos.

Sej. You shall not share alone
The glory of a deed that will endure
To all posterity.

I'i'.t. I will put in
For a part myself.

Parth. Be resolved, and stand close.
I have conceived a way, and witli the hazard
Of my life I'll practise it, to fetch him hither.
But then no trifling.

Steph. We'll dispatch him, fear not:
A dead dog never bites.

Par(/i. Thus then at all.

[Exit ; the rest conceal themselves

Enter C^SAU and the Tribunes.

Cies. How slow-paced are these minutes ! in ex-
tremes,

How miserable is the least delay !
Could I inapt feathers to the wings of time,
Or with as little ease command the sun

* And could you but till then auure me 1 i. e. till five.

Till then, which is absolutely necessur) to the sense, * well
as the metre, is omitted by Mr. M. .Mason.

t Could J impfeatheri, &c.J See Renegade, Act V sc. vili

196

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

[AcrV

To scourge his coursers up heaven's eastern hill,
Making the hour to tremble at past recalling,
As I can move this dial's tongue to six ;*
My veins and arteries, emptied with fear,
Would fill and swell again. How do I look ?
Do you yet see Death about me ?

1 Trib. Think not of him ;
There is no danger : all these prodigies
That do affright you, rise from natural causes ;
And though you do ascribe them to yourself.
Had you ne'er been, had happened.

Cies. 'Tis well said,

Exceeding well, brave soldier. Can it be,
That I, that feel myself in health and strength,
Should still believe I am so near my end,
And have my guards about me 1 perish all
Predictions ! 1 grow constant they are false,
And built upon uncertainties.

1 Trib. This is right ;
Now Caesar's heard like Caesar.

Ctf*. We will to

The camp, and having there confirm 'd the soldier
With a large donative and increase of pay,
Some shall 1 say no more.

He-enter PAHTHENIOS.

Parth. All happiness,
Security, long life, attend upon
The monarch of the world !

Cies. Thy looks are cheerful.

Parth. And my relation full of joy and wonder.
Why is the care of your imperial body,
My lord, neglected, the fear'd hour being past,
In which your life was threaten'dl

Ctfs. Is't past five?

Parth. Past six, upon my knowledge; and, in

justice,

Your clock-master should die, that hath deferr'd
Your peace so long. There is a post new lighted,
That brings assured intelligence, that your legions
In Syria have won a glorious day,
And much enlarged your empire. I have kept him
Conceal'd, that you might first partake the pleasure
In private, and the senate from yourself
Be taught to understand how much they owe
To you and to your fortune.

C<FS. Hence, pale fear, then !
Lead me, Parthenius.

1 Trib. Shall we wait you ?
Gift. No.

After losses guards are useful. Know your distance.
[Exeunt CtEiar and Partlieniiis.

2 Trib. How strangely hopes delude men ! as I
live,

The hour is not yet come.

1 Trib. Howe'er, we are
To pay our duties and observe the sequel.

[Exeunt Tribunes. Domiiia and tht rest

come forward.
Dam. I hear him coming. I3e constant.

lie-enter CJESATI and PAIITHEXIUS.

Cits. Where, Parthenius,
Is this glad messenger?

Steph. Make the door fast. Here;
A messenger of horror.

Cits. How ! betray 'd ?

At / can move 'Jii* dial's tongue to tin ;] I. e. to the
hour of oooa.

Dom. No ; taken, tyrant.

Cats. My Domitia
In the conspiracy !

Parth. Behold this book.

CIES. Nay, then I am lost. Yet, though I am

unarm 'd
I'll not fall poorly. [Overthrows Stephanos.

Steph. Help me.

Ent. Thus, and thus !

Sej. Are you so long a falling ? [They stab him.

Ctes. 'Tis done basely. [Diet*

Parth. This for my father's death.

Dom. This for my Paris.

Jul. This for thy incest.

Damiiil. This for thy abuse
Of Domitilla. [They severally stab him.

Tribunes, [within."] Force the doors !

Enter Tribunes.

Mars !
What have you done ?

Parth. \\ hat Rome shall give us thanks for.

Steph. Dispatch'd a monster.

1 Trib. Yet he was our prince,
However wicked ; and, in you, this murder
Which whosoe'er succeeds him will revenge:
Nor will we, that served under his command,
Consent that such a monster as thyself,
(For in thy wickedness Augusta's title
Hath quite forsook tliee,) thou, that wert the ground
Of all these mischiefs, shall go hence unpunish'd:
Lay hands on her, and drag her to her sentence.
\Ve will refer the hearing to the senate,
Who may at their best leisure censure you.
Take up his body : be in death hath paid
For all his cruelties. Here's the difference ;
Good kings are mourn 'd for alter life ; but ill,
And such as govern 'd only by their will,
And not their reason, unhimented fall ;
No good man's tear shed at their funeral.

[Exeunt ; the Tribunes bearing the body of Csar f

* In this tragedy Massinger seems to have aimed at some-
thing particular!) dignified and lolly. 1 do not know that lie
has quite succeeded. The failure, hoTevcr, arises not so
much from the subject as the characters. The portrait of
Domitian, which is too disgusiiug to excite murh interest,
might have been relieved by some of those touches of acci-
dental virtue which sometimes strangled across his vices;
or the vices themselves might have been made to enliven
each other by contrast. History would have supplied both
these resources. But Ma>siuger has been content to re-
present him in the least varied part of his life, when lust
and cruelty had swallowed up all his faculties, extinguished
every remembrance of virtue, and reduced him to a loath-
some mass of filth and fury. Now and then, indeed, we
meet with more movement and interest. During the
tortures of Ruslicnx and Sura (the horror of which reminds
us of the Vinjin Martyr) the force of consignee U made to
appear fora moment; and while I. is assassination is prepar-
ing, he is fatally secure, then falls into terror; is confident
once more, and is presently dispatched. The charactfrs of
the women are scarcely better than that of Domitian.
Their love is licentiousness; nor is Domitilla, whose case
would have allowed it, sulticiently distinguished from the
reft. But the vengeance implored by 1/nnia against hit
wife is well conducted. It is aptly fulfilled by herself in
the progres* of her own debaucheries.

Indeed Massinger's chii-f attention is bestowed on Paris.
In his favour the voice of history is raised far above the tniili ;
and in a scene of extraordinary animation he is made to dc
fend himself and the stage wiihall the dignity of patriotism
and the intrepidity of conscious reciitnde. Here we n..ij
reasonably suppose the writer to have ha'l some nearer
meaning; and the charge of Aretiuus. and the refutation of
it, Act I., Sc. iii., may strengthen the suspicion expressed in
ihc account given of The Jiondinan. Another of the

THE ROMAN ACTOR.

19T

-.erson;il circumstances strikes as at the very opening of
Jus j)Uy. Paris had the wealth and the honours of Koine at
nis command, but Alassinger had too good reason to com-
plain that the " times were dull," and that the profits of his
profession hardly satisfied " the day's expense."

A word must be jaid of the " episodes," as they have
been termed. Mr. M. Mason has pronounced them tedious,
and Davies allows them to be incumbnnces. It was their
duty to enquire whether the plot is assisted by them. Jf
liiry had done this with care, they mun have found that the
interlude ordered for Philargus is the occasion of his death,
and therefore contributes to the assassination of Domilian
through the vengeance of Parthenius, who stabs him in the
name of his murdered father. It also begins the passion of
Domitia lor Paris, and hastens the catastrophe, through her
alienation fiom the emperor. The other interludes promote
the last effect only ; but all of them are more or less con-
uecte'l with the main subject, which they tend to enliven
aiul relieve. The only forgetl'ulness [ observe, is in the last
act. The princesses are " confined to several islands;" yet
they appear without further notice, and partake in the assas-
sination of Dt.iiiiiii.in. However, this is very unusual with
Massiuger, who is generally exact in arranging his subject,
and accounting for the minutest incidents ot'fc>

A word more of the two conspirators, whos%. Barnes have
not hitherto appeared among the dramatis perjIMKe. Cox-
ettr had refened the reader to Suetonius for the materials
of this play, and asserted that Massinger had strictly copied
him. This seems to have satisfied Mr. M. Mason, whrf either

did not look into Suetonius, or, if he did, was prudently
silent about characters which he could nut find. But Stjeius
(.Sigerius) and Entellus are as much historical persons as
Panhenius or any other. They are expressly mentioned in
this very affair by Dio Cassius, who furnishes other particu-
lars adopted by Massinger, and not to be found in Suetonius.

The first of them indeed he calls Sigerus ; but the true
name has been recovered from Martial, who couples it -with
that of Parthenius, lib. iv. f 79. It the commentator be right
(or rather Grotius, to whom he refers,) Sigerius is also
quoted by Tertullian as a name of boldness: but the edition
which I use reads, Stei-hanit atqw Par theniit audaciores.
At all events, the passage informs us that the actors in this
conspiracy were long remembered in Rome ; where, how-
ever, was no want of nam*s eminent in this bloody way.
Indeed, insurrection was now taking a wider range ; and
the Cassii, the Nigri, and the Albini had begun to eclipse
the murderous fame of their humbler predecessors.

If, as I sincerely hope, the reader loves to see the pure
and peaceful manners of Christianity amidst those scenes of
treachery and blood, he will be gratified with the argument
which led to the above allusion, Unde qui inter duas lauros
obtident Ceesarem? (It is pleasing to discover the laurels of
Augustus at the door of Pertinax,) L'ndi- giti fatunbus ejut
exprimendis paltestriram * exercent ! L nde qui armati
palatium irrunpunt, omnibus titephanin utqw Purlhrniii
audaciores? De liomanis, ni Jailor, id ett, de non Christia
nis. Apol. ad Gentes.

DR. IRELAND.

This allusion is explained by Victor's account of the murder of Commodus : ab immitto validissimo pala-itrila com-
sis faucibiis ejcpiratit. .. .,

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE,

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.] " The Great Duke " was licensed by Sir H. Herbert " for the Queen *
servants " July 5th, 1627. This, Mr. Malone conjectures, with every appearance of probability, to be tin
" COMICAL HISTORY " before us. The plot is raised on the slight materials afforded by our old chroniclers
in the life of Edgar, materials which we have since seen worked up by Mason into the beautiful d

ThbtilCT was not committed to the press till 1636, when it was preceded by two commendatory copies of
verses by G. Donne and J. Ford. Though highly, and, indeed, deservedly, popular, it was not reprinted :
thismay be attributed, in some measure, to the growing discontent of the times, which perversely turned
side from scenes like these, to dwell with fearful anxiety on those of turbulence and blood.

It was acted " by her Majesty's servants at the Phoenix in Drury Lane ;" where, the title adds, it ws
"often presented."

TO THE TRULY HONOURED, AND MY NOBLE FAVOURER,

SIR ROBERT WISEMAN, KNT*.

OF THORRELLS-HALL, IN ESSEX.

SIR,

As I dare not be ungrateful for the many benefits you have heretofore conferred upon me, so I have just
reason to fear that my attempting this way to make satisfaction (in some measure) for so due a debt, will
further engage me. However, examples encourage me. The most able in my poor quality have made use
of Dedications in this nature, to make the world take notice (as far as in them lay) who and what they
were that gave supportment and protection to their studies, being more willing to publish the doer, than
receive a benefit in a corner. Fortayself, 1 will freely, and with a zealous thankfulness, acknowledge, that
for many years I had but faintly subsisted, if I had not often tasted of your bounty. But it is above my
strength and faculties to celebrate to the desert your noble inclination, and that made actual, to raise up. or,
to speak more properly, to rebuild the ruins of demolished poesie. But that is a work reserved, and will be,
no doubt, undertaken, and finished, by one that can to the life express it. Accept, I beseech you, the
tender of my service, and in the list of those you have obliged to you, contemn not the name of
Your true and faithful honourer,

PHILIP MASSINGER.

Sir Robert Wiseman was the eldeit ion of Richard Witeman, * merchant of London, who, having amaswd a forlnne,
returned into E?wx, in which county he had a<-i|ired conii-lerable estates, and there ilitd in 1618, aiid was succeeded by
Sir Robert Masninger'i Patron wai the oldest of fourteen children, and a man of amiable character. He died unmarried
the llth May, 1641, in hisbSU, >ear. Gilchritt.

SCENE I.]

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

199

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

COZIMO, duke of Florence.
GIOVANNI, nephew to the duke,
SANAZARIIO, the duke's favourite.
CAHOI.O CHAROMONTE, Giovanni's tutor.
CoNT.tniNO, secretary to the duke,
ALPHJNSO, J

HIPPOLITO, /counsellors of state.

HlEROMMO, J

CALANDRINO, a merry fellow, tervant to Giovanni.

[servantt to Charomonte

BERNARDO,
CAPONI,
PKTRUCIMO, )
A Gentleman.

FIORINDA, duchess of Urbin.
LIDIA, daughter to Charomonte.
CALAMINTA, servant to Fiorinda.
PETHONELLA, a foolish servant to Lidia.
Attendants, Servants, Sfc,

SCENE, partly in Florence, and partly at the residence of Charomonte in the country.

ACT I.

SCENE I. The Country. A Uoom in Charoinonte's
House.

Enter CHAROMONTE and CONTARING.

Char, You bring your welcome with you.

Cant. Sir, I find it
In every circumstance.

Char. Again most welcome. [me,

Yet, give me leave to wish ('and pray you, excuse
For 1 must use the freedom 1 was born with)
The great duke's pleasure had commanded you
To my poor house upon some other service ;
Not this you are desijrn'd to : but his will
Must be obey'd, howe'er it ravish from me
The happy conversation of one
As dear to me as the old Romans held [power

Their household Lars, whom* they believed had
To bless and guard their families.

Cant, ''J is received so
On my part, signior ; nor can the duke
But promise to himself as much as may
Be hoped for from a nephew. And 'twere weakness
In any man to doubt, that Giovannif,
Train'd up by your experience and care
In all those arts peculiar and proper
To future greatness, of necessity
Must iu his actions, being grown a man,
Make good the princely education
Which he derived from you.

Char. I have discharged

To the utmost of my power, the trust the duke
Committed to me, and with joy perceive
The seed of my endeavours was not sown
Upon the barren sands, but fruitful glebe,
Which yields a large increase : my noble charge,

Their houtf hold Lari, whom they believed, &c.] Mr. M.
Mason choose* to read, of his own authority,

'J heir household Lurt, who, they believed, &c.

t In any man to doubt that Giovanni,] Giovanni is here
iiu'd as a quadrisyllable. This is incorrect, and ihowi that
M.i.viiigi-r li.nl dudied the language in books only: no
Italian would or could pronounce it in this manner. He
makes the name mistake in the name of the dnchets ;
Fiorinda is a trisyllable, yet he adopts the division of
poor Calandrino, and constantly prononncrs Pi-o-rin-da.
Shi dry adopts a similar pronunciation in the Gentleman of
Venice, where Giovanni U almost always a quadrisyllable.

By his sharp wit, and pregnant apprehension,
Instructing those that teach him ; making use,
Not in a vulgar and pedantic form,
Of what's read to him, but 'tis straight digested,
And truly made his own. His grave discourse,
In one no more indebted unto years,
Amazes such as hear him : horsemanship,
And skill to use his weapon, are by practice
Familiar to him : as for knowledge in
Music, he needs it not, it being born with him ;
All that he speaks being with such grace deliver'd
That it makes perfect harmony.

C<>(. You describe
A wonder to me.

Char. Sir, he is no less ;
And, that there may be nothing wanting that
May render him complete, the sweetness of
His disposition so wins on all
Appointed to attend him, that they are
Rivals, even in the coarsest office, who
Shall get precedency to do him service ;
Which they esteem a greater happiness,
Than if they had been fashion'd and built up
To hold command o'er others.

Cant. And what place
Does he now bless with his presence ?

Char, He is now

Running at the ring, at which he's excellent.
He does allot for every *>xercise
A several hour ; for sloth, the nurse of vices,
And rust of action, is a stranger to him.
But I fear I am tedious ; let us pass,
If you please, to some other object, though I cannc
Deliver him as he deserves.

Cunt. You have given him
A noble character.

Char. And how, I pray you
(For we, that never look beyond our villas,
Must he inquisitive), are state affairs
Cirried in court ?

Cont. There s little alteration :
Some rise, and others fall, as it stands with
The pleasure of the duke, their great disposer

Char. Does Lodovico Sanazarro hold
Weight, and grace with him?

200

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

[Acr.L

Cont. Every day new honours
Are shower'd upon him, and without the envy
Of such as are good men ; since all confess
The service done our master in his wars
'Gainst Pisa and Sienna ini^' with justice
Claim what's conferr'd upon him.

Char. ' f is said nohly ;

For princes never more make known their wisdom,
Than when they cherish goodness where they find it :
They being men, and not gods, Contarino,
They can j;ive wealth and titles, but no virtues ;
That is without their power. When they advance,
Not out of judgment, but deceiving fancy,
An undeserving man, howe'er set off
With all the trim of greatness, state, and power.
And of a creature even grown terrible
To him from whom he took his giant form,
This thing is still a comet, no true star ;
And when the bounties feeding his false fire
Begin to fail, will of itself go out,
And what was dreadful, prove ridiculous.
But in our Sanazarro 'tis not so,
He being pure and tried gold ; and any stamp
Of grace, to make him current to the world.
The duke is pleased to give him, will add honour
To the great bestower ; for he, though allow'd
Companion to his master, still preserves
His majesty in full lustre.

Cont. He, indeed,

At no part does take from it, but becomes
A partner of his cares, and eases him,
With willing shoulders, of a burthen which
He should alone sustain.

Char. Is he yet married ?

Cont. No, signior, still a bachelor ; howe'er
It is apparent that the choicest virgin
For beauty, bravery, and wealth, in Florence,
VV'ould, with her parents' glad consent, be won,
Were his affection and intent but known,
To be at his devotion.

Char. So I think too.
But break we off here comes my princely charge.

Enter GIOVANNI and CALANDIUNO.
Make your approaches boldly ; you will find
A courteous entertainment [Cont. kneels.

Giov. Pray you, forbear
My hand, good signior; 'tis a ceremony
Not due to me. Tis fit we should embrace
With mutual arms,

Cont. It is a favour, sir,
I grieve to be denied.

Giov. You shall o'ercome :

But 'tis your pleasure, not my pride, that grants it.
Nay, pray you, guardian, and good sir, put on.
How ill it shows to have that reverend head
Uncover'd to a boy !

C7mr. Your excellence

Must give me liberty to observe the distance
Anil duty that I owe you.

Giov. Owe me duty !
I do profess" {and when I do deny it,
Good fortune leave me !) you have been to me
A second father, and may justly challenge,
For training up my youth in arts and, arms,
As much respect and service, as was due
'Jo him that gave me life. And did you know, sir,
Or will believe from me, how many sleeps
Good Charomonte hath broken, in his care
To build me up a man, you must confess

Chiron, the tutor to the great Achilles,
Compared with him, deserves not to be named.
And if my gracious uncle, the great duke,
Still holds me worthy his consideration,
Or finds in me aught worthy to be loved,
That little rivulet flnw'd from this spring ;
And so from me report him.

Cont. Fame already

Hath fill'd his highness' ears with the true story
Of what you are, and how much better d by him,
And 'tis his purpose to reward the travail
Of this grave sir, with a magnificent hand.
For, though his tenderness hardly could consent.
To have you one hour absent from his sight,
For full three years he did denv himself
The pleasure he took in you, that you, here,
From this great master, might arrive unto
The theory of those high mysteries
Which you, by action, must make plain in court.
'Tis, therefore, his request (and that, from him,
Your excellence must grant a strict command),
That instantly (it being not five hours riding)
You should take horse, and visit him. These his

letters
Will yield you further reasons. [Delivers a packet.

Gal. To the court !

Farewell the flower*, then, of the country's garland.
This is our sun, and when he's set, we must not
Expect or spring or summer, but resolve
For a perpetual winter.

Char. Pray you, observe

[Gi/nw.ni Beading the letters.
The frequent changes in his face.

Cont. As if

His much unwillingness to leave your house
Contended with his duty.

Char. Now he appears
Collected and resolved.

Gini. It is the duke !

The duke upon whose favour all my hopes
And fortunes do depend. Nor must I check
At his commands for any private motives
That do invite my stay here, though ihev are
Almost not to be master'd. My obedience,
In my departing suddenly, shall confirm
I am his highness' creature : yet, 1 hope
A little stay to take a solemn farewell
Of all those ravishing pleasures I have tasted
In this my sweet retirement, from my guardian,
And his incomparable daugther, cannot meet
An ill construction.

Cont. I will answer that ;
Use your own will.

Gioy. 1 would speak to you, sir,
In such a phrase as might express the thanks
My heart would gladly pay ; but

Char. I conceive you :

And something 1 would say ; but I must do it
In that dumb rhetoric which you make use of;
For I do wish you all 1 know not how,
My toughness melts, and, spite of my discretion,
I must turn woman. [Embraces Giovanni.

Cont. What a sympathy
There is between them !

Cal. Were 1 on ths rack,

* Farewell the flower, then, of the country's gnrlaivl.]
I suppose this to be the title of one of those innumerable
livrn bleu* that fluttered about the town in our autlioi'l

SCENE II.]

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

201

I could not shed a tear. But I am mad,
And, (en to one, shall hang; myself for sorrow,
Before I shift my shirt. But hear you, sir
(I'll separate you), when you are gone, what will
Become of me ?

Giov. \\ hy thou shall to court wich me.

Cut. To see you worried ?

Cont. Worried, Calandrino !

Cat. Yes, sir : for bring this sweet face to the

court,

There will be such a longing 'mong the madams,
Who shall engross it first, nay, fight and scratch for't,
That, if they be not stopp'd, for entertainment
They'll kiss his lips off. Nay, if you'll scape so,
And not be tempted to a further danger,
These succubae are so sharp set, that you must
Give out you are an eunuch.

Cont. Have a better
Opinion of court ladies, and take care
Of your own stake.

Cal. For my stake, 'tis past caring.
I would not have a bird of unclean feathers
Handsel his lime twig, and so much for him :
There's something else that troubles me.

Cont. What's that?

Cal. Why, hov/ to behave myself in court, and

tightly.

I have been told the very place transforms men,
And that not one ofa thousand, that before
Lived honestly in the country on plain salads,
But bring him thither, mark me that, and feed him
I'ut a month or two with custards and court cake-bread,
And he turns knave immediately. I'd be honest;
but I must follow the fashion, or die a beggar.

dot: And, if I ever reach my hopes, believe it
We will share fortunes.

Char. This acknowledgment
Enter LIDIA.

Binds me your debtor ever. Here comes one
In \vh"se sad looks you easily may read
What her heart suffers, in that she is forced
To take her last leave of you.

Cant. As I live,
A beauty without parallel!

Lid. Must you go, then,
So suddenly ?

Giov. There's no evasion, Lidia,
To g:iin the least delay, though I would buy it
At any rate. Greatness, with private men
K.steem'd a blessing, is to me a curse ;
And we, whom, for our high births, they conclude
The only freemen, are the only slaves.
Happy the golden mean! had I been born
In a poor sordid cottage, not nurs'd up
With expectation to command a court,
1 might, like such of your condition, sweetest,
Have ta'en a safe and middle course, and not.
As 1 am now, against my choice, compell'd
Or to lie grovelling on the earth, or raised
So high upon the pinnacles of state,
That I must either keep my height with danger,
Or fall with certain ruin.

Lid. Your own goodness
Will be your faithful guard.

Giow. O. Lidia.

Cont. So passionate* ! [Aside.

* So passrionate.] I. e. so full of sorrow so deeply af-
fected a sense in which the word is frequently used bv our
oM writers.

Giov. For, had I been your equal,
I might have seen and liked with mine own eyes,
And not, as now, with others ; 1 might still,
And without observation, or envy,
As I have done, continued my delights
Wiih you, that are alone, in my esteem,
The abstract of society : we might walk
In solitary groves, or in choice gardens;
From the variety of curious flowers
Contemplate nature's workmanship and wonders
And then, for change, near to the murmur of
Some bubbling fountain, I might hear you sing,
And, from the well-tuned accents of your tongue.
In my imagination conceive
With what melodious harmony a quire
Of angels sing above their Maker's praises.
And then with chaste discourse, as we return'd,
Imp * feathers to the broken wings of time :
And all this I must part from.

Cont. You forget
The haste imposed upon us.

Girv. One word more

And then I come. And after this, when, with
Continued innocence of love and service,
I had grown ripe for Hymeneal joys,
Embracing you, but with a lawful flame,
I might have been your husband.

Lid. Sir, I was,

And ever am, your servant ; but it was,
And 'tis, far from me in a thought to cherish
Such saucy hopes. If I had been the heir
Of all the globes and sceptres mankind bows to,
At my best you had deserved me; as I am,
Howe'er unworthy, in my virgin zeal
I wish you, as a partner of your bed,
A princess equal to you ; such a one
That may make it the study of her life,
With all the obedience of a wife, to please you.
May you have happy issue, and I live
To be their humblest handmaid !

Giov. I am dumb,
And can make no reply.
Cont. Your excellence
Will be benighted.

Giov. This kiss, bathed in tears,
May learn you what I should say.

Lid. Give me leave
To wait on you to your horse.
Char. And me to bring you
To the one half of your journey.

Giov. Your love puts
Your age to too much trouble.

Char. I grow young,
When most I serve you.

Cont. Sir, the duke shall thank you. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Florence. A Room in the Palace.
Enter ALPHONSO, HIPPOLITO, and HIEROKIMO.
Alph. His highness cannot take it ill.
Hip. However,

We with our duties shall express our care
For the safety of his dukedom.
Hier. And our loves

Imp feather* to the broken icing* of time.] See Tht
Renegado, Act V., Sc. viii.

204

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

[AcrIL

ACT II.

SCENE I. The same. A Room in Fiorinda's

House.
Enter FIOBINDA and CALAMINTA.

Fior. How does this dressing show ?

Calam. 'Tis of itself

Curious and lare ; but, borrowing ornament
As it does from your grace, that deigns to wear it,
Incomparable.

Fior. Thou flatter'st me.

Calam. I cannot,
Your excellence is above it.

.Fior. Were we less perfect,
Yet, being as we are, an absolute princess,
We of necessity must be chaste, wise, fair,
By our prerogative ! yet all these fail
To move where I would have tkem. How received
Count Sanazarro the rich scarf I sent him
For bis last visit?

Calam. With much reverence,
I dare not say affection. He express'd
More ceremony in his humble thanks,
Than feeling of the favour ; and appear'd
Wilfully ignorant, in my opinion,
Of wbat it did invite him to.

Fior. No matter ; [heard

He's blind with too much light*. Have you not
Of any private mistress he's engaged to ?

Calam, Not any ; and this does amaze me, madam,
That he, a soldier, one that drinks rich wines,
Feeds high, and promises as much as Venus
Could wish to find from Mars, should in his manners
Be so averse to women.

Fior. Troth, I know not ;
He's man enough, and if he has a haunt,
He preys far off, like a subtile fox.

Calam. And that way
I do suspect him : for I learnt last night,
When the great duke went to rest, attended by
One private follower, he took horse ; but whither
He's rid, or to what end, 1 cannot guess at,
But I will find it out.

Fior. Do, faithful tervant,

Enter CALANDRINO.
We would not be abused. Who have we here ?

Calam. How the fool stares !

Fior. And looks as if he were
Conning his neck-verse.

Cal. If I now prove perfect
Jn my A B C of couriship, Calandrino
Is made for ever. I am sent let me see,
On a How d'j/e, as they call't.

Calam. What wouldst thou say? [ings ; well.

Cal. Let me see my notes. These are her lodg-

Calam. Art thou an ass ?

Cal. Peace ! thou art a court wagtail,

[Looking on his instruction*.
To interrupt me.

Fior. He has given it you.

Cal. And then say to the illustrious Fi-o-rin-da
I have it. Which is she ?

ffe't blind with too much light.] Improved by Milton,
' dark with excess of light."

Calam. Why this ; fop-doodle. [me out,

Cal. Leave chattering, bullfinch ; you would put
But 'twill not do. Then, after you have made
Your three obeisances to her, kneel, and kiss
The skirt of her gown I'm glad it is no worse.

Calam. And why so, sir?

Cal. Because I was afraid
That, after the Italian garb, I should
Have kiss'd her backward.

Calam. This is sport unlook'd for.

Cal. Are you the princess ?

Fior. Yes, sir.

Cal. Then stand fair,
For I am choleric, and do not nip
A hopeful blossom. Out again : Three Ion
Obeisances

Fior. I am ready.

Cal, I come on, then.

Calam. With much formality.

Cal. Umph ! one, two, three.

[Makes antic curtsies.

Thus far I am right. Now for the last. O rare !
She is perfumed all over ! Sure great women.
Instead of little dogs, are privileged
To carry musk-cats.

Fior. Now the ceremony
Is pass'd, what is the substance ?

Cal. I'll peruse

My instructions, and then tell you. Her skirt kiss'd,
Inform her highness that your lord

Calam. Who's that?

Cal. Prince Giovanni, who intreats your grace.
That he with your good favour may have leave [it
To present his service to you. I think L have nick'd
For a courtier of the first form.

Fior. To my wonder.

Enter GIOVANNI and a Gentleman.
Return unto the prince but he prevents
My answer. Calaminta, take him off ;
And, for the neat delivery of his message,
Give him ten ducats : such rare parts as yours
Are to be cherish'd.

Cal. We will share : I know
It is the custom of the court, when ten
Are promised, fire is fair. Fie ! fie ! the princess.
Shall never know it, so you dispatch me quickly,
And bid me not come to-inorrow.

Calam. Very good, sir.

[t'jcunt Calandrino and Calaminta.

Giov. Pray you, friend,
Inform the duke I am putting into act
What he commanded.

Gent. I am proud to be employ'd, sir. [Ex<t.

Giov. Madam, that, without warrant, I presume
To trench upon your privacies, may argue
Rudeness of manners ; but the free access
Your princely courtesy vouchsafes to all
1 hat come to pay their services, gives me hope
To find a gracious pardon.

Fior. If you please, not
To make that an offence in your construction,
VV Inch I receive as a large favour from you,
There needs not this apology.

Giov. You continue,

SCEVE II.]

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

SO*

As you were ever, the greatest mistress of
Fair entertainment.

/tor. You are, sir, the master;
And in the country have learnt to outdo
All that in court is practised. But why should we
Talk at such distance ? You are welcome, sir.
\Ve have been more familiar, and since
You will impose the province (you should govern)
Of boldness on me, give me leave to say
You are too punctual. Sit, sir, and discourse
As we were used.

Giov. Your excellence knows so well
How to command, that I can never err
When 1 obey you.

Fior. Nay, no more of this.
You shall o'erconie ; no more, I prav you, sir.
And what delights, prav you be liberal
In your relation, hath the country life
Afforded you ?

Gioc. All pleasures, gracious madam, [tues.

But the happiness to converse with your sweet vir-
I had a grave instructor, and my hours
Design 'd to serious studies yielded me
Pleasure with profit, in the knowledge of
What before I was ignorant in ; the signior
Carolo de Charomonte being skilful
To guide me through the labyrinth of wild passions,
That labour'd to imprison my free soul
A slave to vicious sloth.

Fior. You speak him well.

Giav. But short of his deserts. Then for the time
Of recreation, I was allow'd
(Against the form follow'd by jealous parents
In Italy) full libertv to partake
His daughter's sweet society. She's a virgin
Happy in all endowments which a poet
Could fancy in his mistress ; being herself
A school of goodness, where chaste mauls may learn,
Without the aids of foreign principles,
By the example of her life and pureness,
To be, as she is, excellent. I but give you
A brief epitome of her virtues, which,
Dilated on at large, and to their merit,
Would make an ample story.

Fior. Your whole age.

So spent with such a father, and a daughter,
Could not be teiiious to you.

Giov. True, great princess :

And now, since yon have pleased to grant the hearing
Of my time's expence in the country, give me leave
To entreat the favour to be made acquainted
What service, or what objects in the court,
Have, in your excellency's acceptance, proved
Most gracious to you.

Fiitr. I'll meet your demand,
And make a plain discovery. The duke's care
For my estate and person holds the nrst
And choicest place: then, the respect the courtiers
Pay gladly to me, not to be contemn 'd.
But that which raised in me the most delight
( For I am a friend to valour), was to hear
Tlie noble actions truly reported
Of the brave count Sanazarro. I profess.
When it hath been iind fervently, deliver'd.
How boldly, in the horror of a hght,
Cover'd with fire and smoke, and, as if nature
Had lent him wings, like lightning he hath fallen
Upon the Turkish gallies, I have heard it
\\ ith a kind of pleasure which hath whisper'd tome,
This worthy must be cherish'd.

Giov. 'Twas a bounty
You never can repent.

Fior. I glory in it ;

And when he did return (but still with conquest J
His armour off, not young Antinous
Appear'd more courtly : all the graces that
Render a man's society dear to ladies,
Like pages waiting on him , and it does
Work strangelv on me.

Giov. To divert your thoughts.
Though they are fix'd upon a noble subject,
1 am a suitor to you.

Fior. You will ask.

I do presume, what I may grant, and then
It must not be denied.

Giov. It is a favour
For which I hope your excellence will .thank me

Fior. Nay, without circumstance.

Giiir. That you would please
To take occasion to move the duke,
That you, with his allowance may command
This matchless virgin, Lidia (of whom
I cannot speak too much), to wait upon you."
She's such a one, upon the forfeit of
Your good opinion of me, that will not
Be a blemish to your train.

Fior. 'Tis rank ! he loves her :
But I will fit him with a suit [Aside."]. I pause not
As if it bred or doubt or scruple in nre
To do what you desiie, for I'll effect it,
And make use of a fair and fit occasion ;
Yet, in return, I ask a boon of you,
And hope to find you in your grant to me,
As I have been to you.

Giov. Command me, madam.

Fior. 'Tis near allied to yours. That you would be
A suitor to the duke, not to expose
After so many trials of his faith,
The noble Sanazarro to all dangers,
As if he were a wall to stand the fury
Of a perpetual battery : but now
To grant him, after his long labours, rest
And libeny to live in court ; his arms
And his victorious sword and shield hung up
For monuments.

Giov. Umph ! I'll embrace, fair princess,

Enter COZIMO.

The soonest opportunity. The duke !

Co:. Nay, blush not ; we smile on your privacy,
And come not to disturb you. You are equals,
And, without prejudice to cither's honours,
May make a mutual change of love and courtship,
Till you are made one, and with holy rites,
And we give suffrage to it.

Giov. You are gracious.

Co:. To ourself in this : but now break off: too

much

Taken at once of the most curious viands,
Dulls the Uiarp edge of appetite. We are now-
Fur other sports, in which our pleasure is
That you shall keep us company.

Ft.*. We attend you. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. The Country. A Hall in CHAROMONTE'I

House.

Enter BERNARDO, CAPON:, and PETRUCHIO.
Bern. Is my lord stirring 1

206

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

[Acr II.

Cop. No ; he's fast.

Pet. Let us take, then,

Our morning draught. Such as eat store of beef,
Mutton, and capons, may preserve their healths
With that thin composition call'd small beer,
As, 'tis said, they do in England. But Italians,
Tlr.it think when they have supp'd upon an olive,
A root, or bunch of raisins, 'tis a feast,
Must kill those crudities rising from cold herbs,
With hot and lusty wines.

Cup. A happiness
Those tramontanes* ne'er tasted.

Bern. I lave they not
Store of wine there ?

Cap. Yes, and drink more in two hours
Than the Dutchmen or the Dane in four and twenty.

Pet. But what is't ? Fren'ch trash, made of rotten

grapes,

And dregs and lees of Spain, with Welsh metheglin,
A drench to kill a horse ! But this pure nectar,
Being proper to our climate, is too fine
To brook the roughness of the sea : the spirit
Of this begets in us quick apprehensions,
And active executions ; whereas their
Gross feeding makes their understanding like it :
They can fight, and that's their all. [They drink.
Enter SANAZARRO and Servant.

Sanaz. Security [open,

Dwells about this house, I think ; the gate's wide
And not a servant stirring. See the horses
Set up. and clothed.

Seru. I shall, sir. [Exit.

Sanaz. 1 11 make bold
To press a little further.

Bern. Who is this ?
Count Sanazarro 1

Pet. Yes, I know him. Quickly
Remove the flagon.
^ Sanaz. A good day to you, friends.
Nay, do not conceal your physic ; 1 approve it,
And, if you please, will be a patient with you.

Pet. My noble lord. [Drinks.

Sanai. A health to yours. [Drink ] Well done !
I see you love yourselves, and I commend you ;
'Tis the best wisdom.

Pet. May it please your honour
To walk a turn in the gallery, I'll acquaint
My lord with your being here. [Exit.

'Sannz. Tell him I come
For a visit only. Tis a handsome pile this. [Exit.

Cap. Why here is a brave fellow, and a right one ;
Nor wealth nor greatness makes him proud.

Bern. There are

Thou tramontanes ne'er tasted.] i.e. those ttrarwert
those barbarians: so the Italians called, ami 'tilt caTall
who ,ve beyond the Alps, ultra mont*.. ! a bsequen
speech, the author does not forget to satirize the acknow
ledKerf property of his countrymen to drinkin, f Your

swag - be " ied

If Capom, as well as lago, be not, however, too severe
upon us, it most be confessed that our ancestor, were apt,
cholars, and soon bettered the instruction* which thev rJ
ceived. Sir Richard Baker (a, Mr. Gifchri observe,)"
treating of the wars in the Low-Countries about the end of
he smeenth century, say, .-Here it must not be omhted!
that the En K lh who, of all the dwellers in the northern
part, of the xvorld, were hitherto the least drinkers, and
deservedly praised for their sobriety) in these Dutch wars
.earned to be drunkards, and brought the vice .o far to over-
pread the kingdom, that law. were fain to be enacted for
-eprejsuig it." Chron. fol. p. 382.

Too few of them ; for most of our new courtiers
(Whose fathers were familiar with the prices
Of oil and corn, with when and where to vent them,
And left their heirs rich, from their knowledge that

way),

Like gourds shot up in a night, disdain to speak
But to cloth of tissue.

Enter CIIAROMONTE in a nightgown, PETRUCIIIO
following.

Char. Stand you prating, knaves,
When such a guest is under my roof! See all
The rooms perfumed. This is the man that carries
The sway and swing of the court ; and I had rather

Preserve him mine with honest offices, than

But I'll make no comparisons. Bid my daughter
Trim herself up to the height ; I know this courtier
Must have a smack at her ; and, perhaps, by his

place,

Expects to wriggle further : if he does,
I shall deceive his hopes; for I'll not taint
My honour for the dukedom. Which way went he?

Cap. To the round gallery.

Char. I will entertain him
As fits his worth and quality, but no further.

[Exeunt,

SCENE III. A Gallery in the same.

Enter SANAZARRO.

Sanaz. I cannot apprehend, yet I have argued
All ways I can imagine, for what reasons
The great duke does employ me hither ; and,
What does increase the miracle, I must render
A strict and true account, at my return,
Of Lidia, this lord's daughter, and describe
In what she's excellent, and where defective.
'Tis a hard task : he that will undergo
To make a judgment of a woman's beauty,
And see through all her plasterings and painting!,
Had need of Lynceus' eyes, and with more ease
May look, like him, through nine mud walls, than

make

A true discovery of her. But the intents
And secrets of my prince's heart must be
Served, and not search 'd into.

Enter CHAROMONTE.

Char. Most noble sir,
Excuse my age, subject to ease and sloth,
That with lio greater speed I have presented
My service with your welcome.

Sanaz. 'Tis more fit

That I should ask your pardon, for disturbing
Your rest at this unseasonable hour.
But my occasions carrying me so near
Your hospitable house, my stay being short too,
Your goodness, and the name of friend, which you
Are pleased to grace me with, gave me assurance
A visit would not offend.

Char. Offend, my lord !
I feel myself much younger for the favour.
How is it with our gracious master ?

Sanaz. He, sir,

Holds still his wonted greatness, and confesses
Himself your debtor, for your love and care
To the prince Giovanni ; and had sent
Particular thanks by me, had his grace known,
The quick dispatch of what I was design 'd to
Would have licensed me to see you.

SCENE III.]

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

207

Char. I am rich
In his acknowledgment.

Snnaz. Sir, I have heard ,

Your happiness in a daughter.

Char. Sits the wind there ? [Aside.

Su/iaz. Fame gives her out for a rare masterpiece.

Char. 'Tis a plain village girl, sir, but obedient ;
That's her best beauty, sir.

Sanaz. Let my desire

To see her, find a fair construction from you j
I bring no loose thought with me.

Char. You are that way,

My lord, free from suspicion. Her own manners,
Without an imposition from me,
I hope, will prompt her to it.

Enter LIDIA and PETRONELLA.

As she is,

She comes to make a tender of that service
Which she stands bound to pay.

Sanas. With your fair leave,
I make bold to salute you.

Lid. Sir, you have it.

Petron. I am her gentlewoman, will he not kiss

me too ?
This is coarse, i'faith. [Aside.

Char. How he falls off !

Lid. My lord, though silence best becomes a maid,
And to be curious to know but what
Concerns myself, and with becoming distance,
May argue me of boldness, I must borrow
So much of modesty, as to enquire
Prince Giovanni's health .

Sanaz. He cannot want
What you are pleased to wish him.

Lid. Would 'twere so !
And then there is no blessing that can make
A hopeful and a noble prince complete,
But should fall on him. O ! he was our north star,
The light and pleasure of our eyes.

Sanaz. Where am I ?

I feel myself another thing ! Can charms
Be writ on such pure rubies* ? her lips melt
As soon as touch'd ! Not those smooth gales that

glide

O'er happy Araby, or rich Sabaeaf,
Creating in their passage gums and spices,
Can serve for a weak simile to express
The sweetness of her breath. Such a brave stature
Homer bestowed on Pallas, every limb
Proportion 'd to it!

Char. This is strange ; my lord !

Sanaz. I crave your pardon, and yours, matchless

maid,
For such I must report you.

Petron. There's no notice
Taken all this while of me. [Aside.

Sanaz. And I must add,
If your discourse and reason parallel

Can charmt

Be writ on ittch pure rubies 1] This, I believe, alludes to
a very old opinion, that some sorts of gems (from an inhe-
rent sanctity), could not be profaned, or applied to the pur-
poses of magic. The notion took its rise probably from .s..i:n-
superstitious ideas respecting the precious stones employed
in the breastplate of the high-priest of the Jews.

t O'er happy Araby,] So the quarto. Coxeter and Mr. M.
Mason have blundered it into prose; they read, O'er happy
Arabia ! In The New nay to Pay Old Debts, tliis beautiful
jmilt occurs again.

The rarenesa of your more than human form,
You are a wonder.

Char. Pray you my lord make trial :
She can speak, I can assure you ; and that my pre-
sence

May not take from her freedom, I will leave you :
For know, my lord, my confidence dares trust her

Where, and with whom, she pleases. If he be

Taken the right way with her, I cannot fancy
A better match ; and for false play, I know
The tricks, and can discern them. Petronella.

Petron. Yes, my good lord.

Char. I have employment for you.

[Exeunt Charomonle and Petronella.

Lid. What's your will, sir? [of

Sanaz. Madam, you are so large a theme to treat
And every grace about you offers to me
Such copiousness of language that I stand
Doubtful which first to touch at. If I err,
As in my choice I may, let me entreat you,
Before I do offend, to sign my pardon :"
Let this, the emblem of your innocence,
Give me assurance.

Lid. My hand join'd to yours,
Without this superstition, confirms it,
Nor need 1 fear you will dwell long upon me.
The barrenness of the subject yielding nothing
That rhetoric with all her Iropes and figures
Can amplify. Yet, since you are resolved
To prove yourself a courtier in my praise,
As I'm a woman (and you men affirm
Our sex loves to be flatter'd^ I'll endure it. i

Enter CIIAROMONTE above.
Now, when you please, begin.

Sanaz. [turning fromher \ Such Lseda'spaps were
(Down pillows styled by Jove), and their puie

whiteness

Shames the swan's down, or snow. No heat of lust
Swells up her azure veins ; and yet I feel
That this chaste ice but touch'd fans fire in me.

Lid. You need not, noble sir, be thus transported,
Or trouble your invention to express
Your thought of me : the plainest phrase and language
That you can use will be too high a strain
For such an humble theme.

Sanas. If the great duke
Made this his end to try my constant temper,
Though I am vanquish 'd, 'tis his fault, not mine
For I am flesh and blood, and have affections
Like other men. Who can behold the temples
Or holy altars, but the objects work
Devotion in him ? And I may as well
Walk over burning iron with bare feet,
And he unscorch'd, as look upon this beauty
Without desire, and that desire pursued too,
Till it be tjuench'd with the enjoying those
Delights, which to achieve, danger is nothing,
And loyalty but a word.

Lid. I ne'er was proud ;
Nor can find 1 am guilty of a thought
Deserving this neglect and strangeness from you :
Nor am I amorous. *

* Nor am 7 amorous.] This would be a strange decU/a.
tion for Lidia to make, when Sanazarro had said nothing u
her on the subject of love ; these words, therefore, mutt be
considered as the beginning of a sentence that ii Itft un-
finished^ and should be printed thus :

Nor am J amorous M. MASOH.

" However ttrange the declaration" may be, it ii actually

J08

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

[Acrii

Sanuz. Suppose his greatness
Loves her himself, why makes he choice of me
To be his agent? It is tyranny
To call one pinch'd with hunger to a feast,
And at that instant cruelly deny him
To taste of what he sees. Allegiance
Tempted too far is like the trial of
A good sword on an anvil ; as that often
Flies in pieces without service to the owner,
So trust enforced too far proves treachery,
And is too late repented.

Lid. Pray you, sir,
Or license me to leave you, or deliver
The reasons which invite you to command
My tedious waiting on you.

Char. As I live,

I know not what to think on't. Is't his pride,
Or his simplicity ?

Sanaz. Whither have my thoughts
Carried me from myself? In this my dulness,

I've lost an opportunity

[Turn* to her; she falls off".

Lid. Tis true,

I was not bred in court, nor live a Star there ;
Nor shine in rich embroideries and pearl,
As they, that are the mistresses of great fortunes,
Are every day adorn 'd with

Sanaz. Will you vouchsafe
Your ear, sweet lady ?

Lid. Yet I may be bold,
For my integrity and fame, to rank
With such as are more glorious. Though I never
Did injury, yet I am sensible
When I'm contemn'd, and scorn'd.

Sanaz. Will you please to hear me?

Lid. O the difference of natures ! Giovanni,
A prince in expectation, when he lived here
Stole courtesy from heaven*, and would not to

made : nor is there the smallest necessity for supposing the
sentence to be incomplete. Lidia simply means, I am not
apt to be inflamed at first sight ; and the remark is perfectly
natural, in her uncertainty respecting the motives of Sana-
zarro's conduct.

* Giovanni,

A prince in expectation when he lived here,
Stole courtesy from heaven, &c ] This is from Sbaks-
peare, and the plain meaning of ihe phrase is. that the
affability and sweetness of Giovanni were of a heavenly kind,
i. e. more perfect than was usually found among men ; re-
sembling that divine condescension which excludes none from
its /t'gard, and therefore immediately derived or stolen from
heaven, from whence all good proceeds. In this there is no
impropriety : common usage warrants the application of the
term to a variety of actions which imply nothing of turpi-
tude, but rather the contrary: affections are stolen in a
word, to steal, here, and in many other places, means little
else than to win by importunity, by imperceptible progret-
sion, by gentle violence, &c.

I mention this, because it appears to me that the com-
mentators on our great poet have altogether mistaken him :
" And then I stole alt courtesy from heaven,

And dress'd myself in such humility,
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts."

Htn.1V., Part I., Act III., sc. ii.

"This," says Warburton, who is always to refined for his
subject, " is an allusion to the story of Prometheus, who
stole fire from thence; and as with this he made a man, so
with that Bolingbroke made a king." If there be any allu-
sion to the story (which I will not deny), it is of the most
remote and obscure kind ; the application of it, however, is
surely too absuid for serious notice. Steevens supposes the
meaning to be, " I was so affable 1 , that I engrossed the
devotion and reverence of all men to myself, and thus de-
frauded heaven of its worshippers." Is heaven worshipped
wi'h " affability '!" or have politeness and elegance of
manners such irresistible charms, that, when found below,
they must of necessity " engross all devotion" and exclude

The meanest servant in my father's house
Have kept such distance.

Sanaz. Pray you do not think me
Unworthy of your ear ; it was your beauty
That turn'd me statue. 1 can sjwak, fair lady.

Lid. And I can hear. The harshness of your

courtship
Cannot corrupt my courtesy.

Sanuz. \Vill you hear me,
If I speak of love ?

Lid. Provided you be modest ;
I were uncivil, else.

Char. They are come to parley
I must observe this nearer. [lie retire*

Sanaz. You are a rare one,

And such (but that my haste commands me hence)
I could converse with ever. Will you grace me
With leave to visit you again?

Lid. So you,

At your return to court, do me the favour
To make a tender of my humble service
To the prince Giovanni.

Sanaz. Ever touching

Upon that string ! And will you give me hope
Of future happiness?

Lid. That, as I shall find you :
The fort that's yielded nt the first assault
Is hardly worth the taking.

He-enter CHAKOMONTE beiow.

Char. O, they are at it.

Sanaz. She is a magazine of all perfection,
And 'tis death to part from her, yet I must
A parting kiss, fair maid.

Lid. That custom grants you. [ship,

Char. A homely breakfast does attend your lord-
Such as the place affords.

Sanaz. No ; I have feasted
Already here ; my thanks, and so I leave you :
I will see you again. Till this unhappy hour
I was never lost, and what to do, or say,
I have not yet determined. [Exit.

Char. Gone so abruptly !
'Tis very strange.

Lid. Under your favour, sir,
His coming hither was to little purpose,
For any thing I heard from him.

Char Take heed, Lidia!
I do advise you with a father's love,
And tenderness of your honour; as I would not
Have you coarse and harsh in giving entertainment,
So by no means to be credulous : for great men,
Till they have gain'd their ends, are giants in
Their promises, but, those obtain'd, weak pigmies
In their performance. And it is a maxim
Allow'd among them, so they may deceive,
They m y swear any thing ; for the queen of love,
As they hold constantly, does never punish,
But smile, at lovers' perjuries*. Yet be wise too,

the Deity from our thoughts T This is not the language, nor
are these the ideas of Shakspeare : and it would well be-
come the critics to pause before they seriously disgrace him
with such impious absurdities.

for the queen nf love,

As they hold constantly, does never punish,

But smile, at lovers' perjuries. j

liidct hoc, inquam, Venus ipsa.

It would be as well if the queen of love had be-n a little
more fastidious on this subject. Her faciliiy, I lear. has dune
much mischief, as lovers of all ages have availed UMUMIWI

SCENE I.]

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

109

And when you are sued to in a noble way,
Be neither nice nor scrupulous.

Lid. All you speak, sir,
I hear as oracles ; nor will digress

From your directions.

Char. So shall you keep
Your fame untainted.

Lid. As 1 would my life, sir.

[Exeunt.

ACT IIL

SCKNE I. Florence. An ante Room in the Palace.
Enter SANAZARUO and Servant.

Sanas. Leave the horses with my grooms; but

be you careful,

With your best diligence and speed, to find out
The prince, and humbly, in my name, entreat
I may exchange some private conference with him,
Before the great duke know of my arrival.

Serv. t haste, my lord.

Sonar. Here I'll attend his coming :
And see you keep yourself, as much as may be,
Conceal'd from all men else.

Strv. To serve your lordship,
I wish I were invisible. [Exit.

Sanas. I am driven

Into a desperate strait, and cannot steer
A middle course ; and of the two extremes
Which I must make election of, I know not
Which is more full of horror. Never servant
Stood more engaged to a magnificent master,
Than I to Cozimo : and all those honours
And glories by his grace conferr'd upon me,
Or by my prosperous services deserved,
If now 1 should deceive his trust, and make
A shipwreck of my loyalty, are ruin'd.
And, on the other side, if I discover
Lidia's divine perfections, all my hopes
In her are sunk, never to be buoy'd up :
For 'tis impossible, but, as soon as seen,
She must with adoration be sued to.
A hermit at his heads but looking on her,
Or the cold cynic, whom Corinthian Lais [stone,
(Not moved with her lust's blandishments) call'd a
At this object would take fire. Nor is the duke
Such an Hippolytus, but that this Phaedra
But seen, must force him to forsake the groves
And Dian'a huntmanship, proud to serve under
Venus' soft ensigns. No, there is no way
For me to hope fruition of my ends,
But to conceal her beauties ; and how that
May be effected, is as bard a task
As with a veil to cover the sun's beams,
Or comfortable light. Three years the prince
J.ived in her company, and Contarino,
The secretary, hath possess'd* the duke

of it : but she had it from her father, whose laxity of prin-
ciple is well kiuiNwi :

Jupiter.

juria ridet amantum
hath posjess'd the duke

What a rare piece the is :] i. r. acquainted, or informed.
In this sense the word perpetually occur* in our oldwiiters.
Thus in The City \iyhtcap : " You, sirr.ih, we are poueu'd,
were their pander." Ag^iu, in The City Match:
" She is possea'd

What si reams of gold you flow in."

What a rare piece she is : but he's my creature,
And may with ease be frighted to deny
What he hath said : and, if my long experience,
With some strong reasons I have thought upon,
Cannot o'er-reach a youth, my practice yields me
But little profit.

Enter GIOVANNI with the Servant.
Giov. You are well return'd, sir.

Sanaz. Leave us. [Exit Servant.'] When tlat

your grace shall know the motives
That forced me to invite you to this trouble,
You will excuse my manners.

Giov. Sir, there needs not
This circumstance between us. You are erer
My noble friend.

Sanas. You shall have further cause
To assure you of my faiih and zeal to serve you
And, when I have committed to your trust
(Presuming still on your retentive silence)
A secret of no less importance than
My honour, nay, my head, it will confirm
What value you hold with me.

Giov. Pray you, believe, sir,
What you deliver to me shall be lock'd up
In a strong cabinet, of which you yourself
Shall keep the key : for here I pawn my honour,
Which is the best security I can give, yet,
It shall not be discover'd.

Sanaz. This assurance
Is more than I with modesty could demand
From such a paymaster; but I must be sudden :
And therefore, to the purpose. Can your excellence,
In your imagination, conceive
On what design, or whither, the duke's will
Commanded me hence last night]

Giov. No, I assure you ;
And it had been a rudeness to enquire
Of that I was not call'd to.

Sanaz. Grant me hearing,
And I will make you truly understand
It only did concern you.

Giov. Me, my lord ! [tunes ;

Sana:. You, in your present state, and future foi-
For both lie at the stake.

Giav. You much amaze me.
Pray you, resolve this riddle,

Sar.az. You know the duke,
If he die issueless, as yet he is,
Determines you his heir.

Giov. It hath pleased his highness
Oft to profess so much.

Sanas. But say, he should
Be won to prove a second wife, on whom
He may beget a son, how, in a moment,
V/ill all those ''..ious expectations, which

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

[Act III

Render you reverenced and remarkable,
Be in a moment blasted, howe'er you are
His much-loved si.-ter's son !

Giov. I must bear it
With patience, and in me it is a duty
That I was born with : and 'twere much unfit
For the receiver of a benefit
To offer, for his own ends, to prescribe
Laws to the giver's pleasure.
Sanas. Sweetly answer'd,

And like your noble self. This your rare temper
So wins upon me, that I would not live
(If that by honest arts I can prevent it)
To see your hopes made frustrate. And but think
How you shall be transform 'd from what you are,
Should this (as heaven avert it!) ever happen.
It must disturb your peace : for whereas now,
Being, as you are, received for the heir apparent,
You are no sooner seen, but wonder'd at ;
The signiors making it a business to
Enquire how you have slept ; and, as you walk
The streets of Florence, the glad multitude
In throngs press but to see you; and, with joy,
The father, pointing with his finger, tells
His son, This is the prince, the hopeful prince,
That must, hereafter rule, and you obey him.
Great ladies beg your picture, and make love
To that, despairing to enjoy the substance.
And. but the last night, when 'twas only rumour'd
That you were come to court, as if you had
Bv sea past hither from another world,
What general shouts and acclamations follow'd!
The bells rang loud, the bonfiies blazed, and such
As loved not wine, carousing to your health,
Were drunk, and blush 'd not at it. And is this
A happiness to part with ?

Giav. I allow these

As flourishes of fortune, with which princes
Are often >ooth'd ; but never yet esteem'd them
For real blessings.

Sunaz. Yet all these were paid
To what you may be, not to what you are ;
For if the great duke but shew to his servants
A son of his own, you shall, like one obscure,
Pass unregarded.

Gior. I confess, command
Is not to be contemn'd, and if my fate
Appoint me to it, as I may, I'll bear it
U ith willing shoulders. But, my lord, as yet,
You've told me of a danger coining towards me,
But have not named it.

Sunn-. That is soon deliver'd.
Great Cozimo, your uncle, as I more
Than guess, for 'tis no frivolous circumstance
That does persuade, my judgment to believe it,
Purposes to be married.

Giou. Married, sir! [me.

With whom, and on what terms? pray you, instruct
Sanas. With the fair Lidia.
Giov. Lidia!
Sanaz. The daughter
Of signior Charomonte.

Giav. Pardon me

Though I appear incredulous : for, on
My knowledge, he ne'er saw her.

Sunaz. That is granted :
But Contarino hath so sung her praises,
And given her out for such a masterpiece,
That he's transported with it, sir : and love
Steals sometime* through the ear into the heart,

As well as by the eye. The duke no sooner
Heard her described, but I was sent in post
To see her, and return my judgment of her

Giov. And what's your censure]

Sanaz. ' 1 is a pretty creature.

Gi't>. She's very fair.

Simuz. Yes, yes, I have seen worse faces.

Giov. Her limbs are neatly form'd.

Sanaz. She hath a waist
Indeed sized to love's wish.

Giov. A delicate hand too.

Sinai. Then for a leg and foot

Giov. And there I leave you,
For I presumed no further.

Saniiz. As she is, sir,

I know she wants no gracious part that may
Allure the duke ; and, if he only see her,
She is his own ; he will not be denied,
And then you are lost : yet, if you'll second me,
(As you have reason, for it most concerns you),
I can prevent all yet.

Giiu;. I would you could,
A noble way.

Sanaz. I will cry down her beauties ;
Especially the beauties of her mind,
As much as Contarino hath advanced them ;
And this, I hope, will breed forgetfulness,
And kill affection in him : but you must join
With me in my report, if you be question 'd.

Giov. I never told a lie yet ; and I hold it
In some degree blasphemous* to dispraise
What's worthy admiration : yet, for once,
I will dispraise a little, and not vary
From your relation.

Sanaz. Be constant in it.

Enter ALPHONSO.

Alpli. My lord, the duke hath seen your man, and
wonders

Enter COZIMO, HIPPOLITO, CONTAHINO, and
Attendants.

You come not to him. See, if his desire [hither
To have conference with you hath not brought him
In his own person.

Coz. They are comely coursers,
And promise swiftness.

Cant. They are, of my knowledge,
Of the best race in Naples.

Coz. You are, nephew,

As I hear, an excellent horseman, and we like it :
'Tis a fair grace in a prince, Pray you, make trial
Of their strength and speed ; and, if you think them

fit

For your employment, with a liberal hand
Reward the gentleman that did present them
1 From the viceroy of Naples.

Giov. I will u*
My best endeavour, sir.

Coz. Wait on my nephew,

Exeunt Giovanni, Alphonso, Hippolito. and Attendants.

Nay, stay you, Contarino ; be within call ;

It may be we shall use you. [Exit Contarino.

-and / hold it

In tome degree blasphemous.] So the word was usually
accented in Massinger's time, and with strict regard to itl
Greek derivation. Thus Sidney :

" liltuphemou* word* the speaker vain do prove."
And Spenser:

" And therein shut up his blaiphtmous tongue."

SCENE I.]

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

You have rode hard, sir,

And we thank you for it : every minute seems
Irksome, and tedious to us, till you have
Made your discovery. Say, friend, have you seen
This phoenix of our age !

S^nnz. I have seen a maid, sir ;
But, if that I have judgment, no such wonder*
As she was deliver'd to you.

Cm. This is strange. [look'd on

Sana:. But certain truth. It may be, she was
With admiration in the country, sir ;
But, if compared with many in your court,
She would appear but ordinary.

Coz. Contarino
Reports her otherwise.

Sanas. Such as ne'er saw swans,
May think crows beautiful.

Coz. How is her behaviour ?

Sanas. Tis like the place she lives in.

Coz. How her wit,
Discourse, and entertainment?

Sanaz. Very coarse ;

I would not willingly say poor, and rude :
But, had she all the beauties of fair women,
The dulness of her soul would fright me from her.

Cm. You are curious, sir. I know not what to

think on't.
Contarino !

Re-enter CONTARIXO.

Cont. Sir.

Cm. Where was thy judgment, man,
To extol a virgin Sanazarro tells me
Is nearer to deformity ?

Sanas. I saw her,

And curiously perused her ; and I wonder
That she, that did appear to me, that know
What beauty is, not worthy the observing,
Should so transport you.

Cont. Troth, my lnd, I thought then

Cos. Thought ! Didst thou not affirm it ?

Cont. I confess, sir,
I did believe so then ; but, now I hear
My lord's opinion to the contrary,
I am of another faith ; for 'tis not fit
That 1 should contradict him. I am dim, sir,
But he's sharp-sighted.

Sanas. This is to my wish.

Cos. We know not what to think of this ; yet
would not

Re-enter GIOVANNI, HIPPOI.ITO, and ALPIIONSO.
Determine rashly of it. How do you like
My nephew's horsemanship?

Hip. In my judgment, sir.
It is exact and rare.

Alph. And, to my fancy,
lie did present great Alexander mounted
On his Bucephalus.

Coz. You are right courtiers,
And know it is your duty to cry up
All actions of a prince.

Sanaz. / have teen a mid, tir;

But if that I have judgment, no tuch wonder, &c.] It i>
too much to ay that this simple thought if borrowed ; and
y rt an expression of Shakspeare's might not impiobably have
hung on Massinger's mind:

" Mir. No wonder, sir ;

" But, certainly a maid " Tcmpett.

The commentators have amassed a prodigious number of ex-
tracts to illustrate the expression this from Massinger,
however, which appears to me more to the purpose tlin any
of them, they luve, as usual, overlooked.

Sane/:. Do not betray
Yourself, you're safe ; I have done my part.

[Aside to Giovanni

Giov. I thank you ;
Nor will I fail.

Coz. What's your opinion, nephew,
Of the horses?

Giou. Two of them are, in my judgment,
The best I ever back'd ; I mean the roan, sir,
And the brown bay : but for the chesnut-colour'd,
Though he be full of metal, hot, and fiery.
He treads weak in his pasterns.

Coz. So : come nearer ;
This exercise hath put you into a sweat ;
Take this and dry it* : and now I command you
To tell me truly what's your censure of
Charomonte's daughter, Lidia.

Giov. I am, sir,

A novice in my judgment of a lady ;
But such as 'tis your grace shall have it freely.
I would not speak ill of her, and am sorry,
If I keep myself a friend to truth, I cannot
Report her as I would, so much I owe
Her reverend father : but I'll give you, sir,
As near as I can, her character in little.
She's of a goodly stature, and her limbs
Not disproportion 'd ; for her face, it is
Far from deformity ; yet they flatter her,
That style it excellent: her manners are
Simple and innocent ; but her discourse
And wit deserve my pity, more than praise :
At the best, my lord, she is a handsome picture,
And, that said, all is spoken.

Cm. I believe you ;
I ne'er yet found you false.

Giou. Nor ever shall, sir.
Forgive me, matchless Lidia ! too much love,
And jealous fear to lose thee, do compel me,
Against my will, my reason, and my knowledge,
To be a poor detractor of that beauty
Which fluent Ovid, if he lived again,
Would want words to express. [Aside,

Cos. Pray you make choice of
The richest of our furniture for these horses,

[To Sanazarro.

And take my nephew with you ; we ia this
Will follow his directions.

Giov. Could I find now
The princess Fiorinda, and persuade her
To be silent in the suit that I moved to her,
All were secure.

Sanas. In that, my lord, I'll aid you.

Coz. We will be private ; leave us.

[Exeunt all but Cosimo

All my studies

And serious meditations aim no further
Than this young man's good. He was my sister's son
And she was such a sister, when she lived,
I could not prize too much ; nor can 1 better
Make known how dear I hold her memory,
Than in my cherishing the only issue
Which she hath left behind her. Who's that!

Fior. Sir.

Enter FIORINDA.

Thii ejcercite hath put you into a sweat ;

Take this and dry it :] This is from Shakspcare ; if he
had been suffered to remain in quiet possession of it, the
reader would have little to regret on the score of delicacy :

" He'i fat, and scant of breath :

Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brow."
Pi

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

[Act HL

Coz. My fair charge ! you are welcome to us.

Fior. I have found it, sir.

Coz. All things go well in Urbin. [me

Finr. Your gracious care to me, an orphan, frees
From all suspicion that my jealous fears
Can drive into my ftincy.

Coz. The next summer,

In our own person, we will bring you thither,
And seat you in your own.

Fior. When you think fit, sir.
But, in the mean-time, with your highness' pardon,
I am a suitor to you.

Cos. Name it, madam,
With confidence to obtain it.

Fior. That you would please
To lay a strict command on Charomonte,
To bring his daughter Lidia to the court :
And pray you, think, sir, that 'tis not ray purpose
To employ her as a servant, but to use her
As a most wish'd companion.

Coz. Ha ! your reason ? [given her

Fior. The hopeful prince, your nephew, sir, hath
To me for such an abstract of perfection
In all that can be wish'd for in a virgin,
As beauty, music, ravishing discourse,
Quickness of apprehension, with choice manners
And learning too, not usual with women,
That I am much ambitious (though I shall
Appear but as a foil to set her oft')
To be by her instructed, and supplied
In what I am defective.

Cm. Did my nephew
Seriously deliver this ?

Fior. I assure your grace,
With zeal and vehemency ; and, even when,
With his best words, he strived to set her forth,
(Though the rare subject made him eloquent,)
lie would complain, all he could say came short
Of her deservings.

Coz. Pray you have patience. [TFa/fcs aside.

This was strangely carried. Ha ! are we trifled with?
Dare they do this ? Is Cozimo's fury, that
Of late was terrible, grown contemptible?
Well; we will clear our brows, and undermine
Their secret works, though they have digg'd Jike

moles,

And crush them with the tempest of my wrath
When I appear most calm. He is unfit
To command others, that knows not to use itf,
And with all rigour: yet my stern looks shall not
Discover my intents ; for I will strike

When I begin to frown You are the mistress

Of that you did demand.

Fior. I thank your highness ;
But speed in the performance of the grant
Doubles the favour, sir.

Cot. You shall possess it

Sooner than you expect :

Only be pleased to be ready when my secretary
Waits on you to take the fresh air. My nephew,
And my bosom friend so to cheat me ! tis not fair.
Re-enter GIOVANNI and SANAEARRO.

Sunaz. Where should this princess be? nor in her

lodgings,

Nor in the private walks, her own retreat,
Which she so much frequented !

that know* not to me it,] i. e. his

command, authority: the expre*si.>n is harsh, but is not un-
common in the writers of Massinger's time.

Giov. By my life,

She's with the duke ! and I much more than feat
Her forwardness to prefer my suit hath ruin'd
What witli such care we built up.

Cos. Have you furnish 'd
Those coursers, as we will'd you?

Sanas. 'J here's no sign
Of anger in his looks.

Giuv. They are complete, sir.

Cos. Tis ell : to your rest. Soft sleeps wait on

you, madam.

To-morrow, with the rising of the sun,
Be ready to ride with us. They with more safety
Had trod on fork-tongued adders, than provoked me.

[Exit.

Fior. I come not to be thank'd, sir, for the speedy
Performance of my promise touching Lidia ;
It is effected.

Sanaz. \Ve are undone.

Finr. The duke

No sooner heard me with my best of language
Describe her excellencies, as you taught me,
But he confirm 'd it. You look sad, as if
You wish'd it were undone.

Giov. No, gracious madam,
I am your servant for't.

Fior. Be you as careful

For what I moved to you. Count Sanazarro,
Now I perceive you honour me, in vouchsafing
To wear so slight a favour.

Sanaz. 'Tis a grace
I am unworthy of.

Fior. You merit more,
In prizing so a trifle. Take this diamond ;
I'll second what I have begun ; for know,
Your valour hath so won upon me, that
Tis not to be resisted : I have said, sir,
And leave you to interpret it. [Eiit.

Sanaz. This to me

Is wormwood. Tis apparent we are taken
In our own noose. What's to be done ?

Giov. I know not.

And 'tis a punishment justly fallen upon me,
For leaving truth, a constant mistress, that
Ever protects her servants, to become
A slave to lies and falsehood. What excuse
Can we make to the duke, what mercy hope for,
Our packing* being laid open ?

Sanaz. Tis not to

Be question 'd but his purposed journey is
To see fair Lidia.

Giov. And to divert him
Impossible.

Sanaz. There's now DO looKing backward.

Giov. And which way to go on with safety, not
To be imagined.

Saiias. Give me leave : I have
An embryon in my brain, which, I despair not.
May be brought to form and fashion, provided
You will be open-breasted.

Giov. Tis no time now,
Our dangers being equal, to conceal
A thought from you.

Sanaz. What power hold you o'er Lidia ?
Do you think that, with some hazard of her life,
She would prevent your ruin?

* Our packing being laid oj>en .'] i. e. onr insidioni con
trivance, our iniquitous collusion to deceive the duke : to
the word is used by Suakspeare, and others.

SCENE I.]

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

913

Giow. I presume so :
If, in the undertaking it, she stray not
From what becomes her innocence ; and to that
'Tis far from me to piess her: 1 myself
Will rather suffer.

Sunas. 'Tis enough ; this night
Write to her by your servant Calandrino,
As I shall give directions ; my man

Eii.ier CALANDRINO, fantastically dressed.

Shall bear him company. See, sir, to my wish
He does appear: but much transformed from what
He was when lie came hither.

CaL I confess

1 am not very wise, and yet I find
A fool, so he be parcel knave, in court
May flourish, and grow rich.

Giov. Calandrino.

CaL Peace!
I am in contemplation.

Giov. Do not you know me ?

Cul. I tell thee, no : on forfeit of my place,
I must not know myself, much less my father,
But by petition ; that petition lined too
With golden birds, that sing to the tune of profit,
Or I am deaf.

Gioo. But you've your sense of feeling.

[Offering to strike him.

Sanas. Nay, pray you, forbear.

Cul. I have all that's requisite
To the making up of a signior : my spruce ruff,
My hooded cloak, long stocking, and paued hose,
My case of toothpicks, and my silver fork*,

To convey an olive neatly to my mouth ;

And, what is all in all, my pockets ring

A golden peal. O that the peasants in the country,

My quondam fellows, but saw me as I am,

How they would admire and worship me!

Giov. As they shall ;
For instantly you must thither.

Cut. My grand signior,
Vouchsaj'e a beso las manos*, and a cringe
Of the last edition.

Giov. You must ride post with letters
This night to Lidia.

Cul. An it please your grace,
Shall 1 use my coach, or footcloth mule ?

Sanaz. You widgeon,
You are to make all speed ; think not of pomp.

Giov. Follow for your instructions, sirrah.

Cat, I have
One suit to you my good lord.

Sanaz. What is't ?

Cal. That you would give me
A subtile court-charm, to defend me from
The infectious air of the country.

Giov. What's the reason ?

Cal. Why, as this court-air taught me knavish

wit,

By which I am grown rich, if that again
Should turn me fool and honest, vain hopes farewell '
For 1 must die a beggar.

Sanaz. Go to, sirrah,
You'll be whipt for this.

Giov. Leave fooling, and attend us. [Exeunt f.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The Country. A Hall in CHAUO-
MONTE'S Home.

Enter CHAROMONTE and LIDIA.

Char. Daughter, I have observed, since the prince
left us,

* Cal. / have all that's requisite
To the ma/tiny up of a giijnior ; my spruce ruff",
My hooded ctoat, lony stocking, and paned lme,
My case of toothpicks, and my silver fork,] Calhiidi ino is
very correct in his enumeration of the articles which in his
time made up a complete liutior; and whi.-h are frequently
Introduced with evident marks of disapprobation and ridicule
t>, our <>Id poets. The rutt', clo.ik, and long stocking, are
sufficiently familiar: hose are breeches:
" Lorenzo, ihou dost boast of ba^e renown ;

Why, I could whip all these, were their hose down."

The Spanish Trayedy.

Paned hose, therefore, are breeches composed of final! squares
or pinncU. While 1 am on this most grave subject, it may
mot be amiss to observe that, about this time, the large
sla-hed breeches of a former reign began to give way to
others of a closer make; an innovation which the old people
Hind very inconvenient, and of which they complained with
ton.e degree of justice, as being ill adapted to the hard oak
chairs and benches on which they usually sat ! Toothpicks,
the next accompaniment of state, were recently imported
Irom Italy, as were/brA; the want of which our ancestors
supplied as well as they could with their fingers. Thomas
Coryat (an itinerant btitt'oon, with just understanding enough
to make hi.n-elf worth the laughing at) claims tlie honour of
introducing the u?e of forks into this country, which, he
lays, he leirned in Italy" where the natives, and al?o most
Mi-angers tliat are commor;mt there, doe alwaies at their
Dieiles us; a littV forke, when they cut their mealc, for
While with their knife, which they hold in one hand, they

(Whose absence I mourn with you), and the visit
Count Sanazarro gave us, you have nourished

cut the meat out of the dish, they fasten their forke, whicli
they hold in their other hand, upon the same dish." C'o-
ryat's Crudities. Jj-c., 1611.

Jonson, who, more than any of his contemporaries.
" caught the manners living as they rose," la>hes the pros-
titution of monopolies in his time, by making Mtercraft
promise Tailbush and Cilihead to procure them grants fot
the manufacturing of toothpicks and furlis. What he sayi
of the former is loo long tor my purpose ; the latter are lhu
introduced :

" Meer. Do you hear, sirs?

Have I dtservf.cl this from you two, for all

My pains at court to get you each a patent ?

" Gilt. For what?

" Meer. Upon my project of the forks,

" Gilt. Forks! what be they? '

" Jlfeer. The laudable UJB of forks

Brought into custom here, as they are in Italy,

To the sparing of napkins." The Devil' s an A st.

* Cal. My yrand siynior,

Vouchsafe a beso las manos, &c.] This is the phrase in
which Calandrino supposes his " quondam fellows" will ad-
dress him. 1 know not whether it be through ignorance or
design but the modern editors always make their foreign
scraps even more barbarous than the ancient ones. There
is no occasion for this. In Massinger's time, these tags of
politeness were in every body 's mouth, and better uudemtood
than they are at this day.

t 1 have restricted myself to as few remarks af possible on
the beauties of the author, but I cannot forbear observing,
on the present occasion, that the act we have just finished,
for language, sentiment, surprising yet natural turns, and
general felicity of conduct, is not to be paralleled in any
drama with which I am acquainted.

S14

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

[Aoi. IV

S;ii and retired thoughts, and parted with
That freedom arid alacrity of spirit
With which vou used to cheer me.

Lid. For the count, sir,

All thought of him does with his person die;
But I confess ingenuously, I cannot
So soon forget the choice and chaste delights,
The courteous conversation of the prince,
And without stain, I hope, afforded me,
When he inside this house a court.

Cluir. It is in us,

To keep it so without him. Want we know not,
And all we i-an complain of, heaven be prais'd for't,
Is too much plenty ; and we will make use of

Enter CAPONI, BERNARDO, PETRUCHIO, and other
Servants.

All lawful pleasures. How now, fellows ; when
Shall we have this lusty dunce 1

Cap. In the afternoon, sir.
Tis a device, I wis, of my own making 1 ,
And such a one, as shall make your signiorship know
1 have not been your butler for nothing, but
Have crotchets in my head. We'll trip it lightly,
And make my sad young mistress merry again,
Or I'll forswear the cellar.

Berti. If we had

Our fellow Calandrino here, to dance
His part, we were perfect.

Pet. O ! he was a rate fellow ;
But 1 fear the court hath spoil'd him.

Cap. When I was young,
I could have cut a caper upon a pinnacle ;
But now I am old and wise. keep your figure fair
And follow but the sample I shall set you,
The duke himself will send for us, and laugh at us ;
A nd that were credit.

Enter CALANDRINO.

Lid. Who have we here ?

Cat. I find

What was brawn in the country, in the court grows
' tender.

The bots on these jolting jades ! I am bruised to jelly.
A coach for my money! and that the courte/.ans

kj^ow well ;

Their riding so, makes them last three years longer
Than such as are hacknied.

Chur. Calandrino ! 'tis he.

Cat. Now to my postures. Let my hand have

the honour

To convey a kiss from my lips to the cover of
Your foot, dear signior.

Char. Fie ! you stoop too low, sir.

Cal. The hem of your vestment, lady : your glove

is for princes ;
Nay. 1 have conn'd my distances.

Lid. 'Tis mo ,t courtly.

Cnp. Fellow ( 'alandrino !

Cut. Signior de Caponi,
Grand bot flier of the mansion.

Bern. How is't, man ? [Claps him on the shoulder.

Cal Be not so rustic in your salutations,
Signior Bernardo, master of the accounts.
Signior Petruchio, may you long continue
Your function in the chamber !

Cap. When shall we learn
Such gambols in our villa ?

Lid. Sure he's mad.

Char. 'Tis not unlike, for most of such mush-
rooms are so.
What news at court ?

Cut. I'ustol they are mysteries,
And not to be reveal'd. With your favour, signior;
1 am, in private, to confer awhile
With this signiora : but I'll pawn my honour,
That neither my terse language, nor my habit,
Howe'er it may convince, nor my new shrugs,
Shall render her enamour'd.

Char. Take your pleasure ;
A little of these apish tricks may pass,
Too much is tedious. [Exit.

Cal. The prince, in this paper,
Presents Ins service. Nay, it is not courtly
To see the seal broke open ; so I leave you.
Signiors of the villa, I'll descend to be
Familiar with you.

Cap. Have you forgot to dance?
Cal. No, I am better'd.
Pet. Will you join with us?
Cal. As I like the project.

Let me warm my brains first with the richest grape.
And then I'm for you.

Cap. We will want no wine. [Exeunt all but Lidia.
Lid. That this comes only from the best of princes
With a kind of adoration does commnnd me
To entertain it ; and the s^eet contents

[Kissing the letter.

That are inscribed here by his hand must be
Much more than musical to me. All the service
Of my life at no part can deserre this favour.
O what a virgin longing 1 feel on me
To unrip the seal, and read it ! yet, to break
What he hath fastened, rashly, may appear
A saucy rudeness in me. I must do it
(Nor can 1 else learn his commands, or serve them).
But with such reverence as I would open
Some holy writ, whose grave instructions beat down
Rebellious sins, and teach my better part
How to mount upward. So [Opens the letter."], 'tis

done, and I

With eagle's eyes will curiously peruse it. [Reads.
Chus'e Lidia, the favours are /so great
()ii me fti/ you, conftrr'd, that to entreat
The Isast addition /> them, in true sense
Mai/ argue me of blushb'ss impudence.
But, such are my eitreinfs, if you. deny
A further grace, I must unpitied die.
Haste cms ojj' circumstance. As you're admired
For beauty, the rrpii-t of i' hath fired
The duke mu uncte, and, I fear, you'll prove,
A'ot with a sacred, but unlawful love.
If he see you us von are, my hoped-for light
Js chiuged into an ei'trlastiiig night ;
Him to prevent it, if uour goodness Jind,
Ynu saie tico lires, and me (ion ecer bind,

The honourer of your virtues, GIOVANNI.
Were I more deaf than adders, these sweet charms
Would through my ears tind passage to my soul.
And soon enchant it. To save such a prince,
W r bo would not perish ? virtue in him must suffer,
And piety he forgotten. The duke's lust,
Though it raged more than 'J arquiu's, shall not

reach me

All quaint inventions of chaste virgins aid me!
My prayers are heard ; J liave't. 'i he duke ne'er saw

me
Or, if that fail, I am again provided-

SCENE II.]

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

215

But for the servants ! They will take what form

I please to put upon them. Giovanni,

Be safe ; thy servant Lidia assures it.

Let mountains of afflictions fall on me,

Their weight is easy, so 1 set thee free. [Eiit.

SCENE II. Another Pimm in the same.

Enter COZIMO, GIOVANNI, SANAZAHRO, CIIAROMOXTE
and Attendants.

Sanaz. Are you not tired with travel, sir?

Coz. No, no :
I am fresh and lusty.

Char. This day shall be ever
A holiday to me, that br.ngs my prince
Under my humble roof. [ Weept.

Giov. See, sir, my good tutor
Sheds tears for joy.

Cos. Dry them up, Charomonte ;
And all forbear the room, while we exchange
Some private words together.

Gior. O, my lord,
How grossly have we overshot ourselves!

Sanaz. In what, sir ?

Giuv. In forgetting to acquaint
My guardian wi;h our purpose : all that Lidia
Can do avails us nothing, if the duke
Find out the truth from him.

Sannz. 'Tis now past help.
And we must stand the hazard : hope the best, sir.

[Exeunt Giovanni, Sanazarro, and Attendants.

Char. My loyalty doubted, sir!

Cos. 'Tis more. Thou hast
Abused our trust, and in a high degree
Committed treason.

Char. Treason ! 'tis a word

My innocence understands not. Were my breast
Transparent, and my thoughts to be discern'd.
Not one spot shall be found to taint the candour
Of my allegiance : and I must be bold
To tell you, sir, (for he that knows no guilt
Can know no fear), 'tis tyranny to o'ercharge
An honest man ; and such, till now, I've lived,
And such, my lord, I'll die.

Cot. Sir, do not flatter

Yourself with hope ; these great and glorious words,
Whio.h every guilty wretch, as well as you,
Teat's arm'd with impudence, can with ease del i/er,
And with as full a mouth, can work on us :
Nor shall gay flourishes of.language clear
\Yli;it is in fact apparent.

Char. Fact! what fact?
You, that know only what it is, instruct me,
For 1 am ignorant.

Coz. This, then, sir: We gave up,
On our assurauce of your faith and care,
Our nephew Giovanni, nay, our heir
In expection, to be train'd up hy you
As did become a prince.

Char. And I discharged it :
Is this the treason ?

Coz. Take us with you, sir*.
And, in respect we knew his youth was prone

Take vt with you,t!r.} i. e. hear us out, understand our
meaning fully, before you form your conclu.-ion : this ex-
1 rt'-MMii is common to all our old writers; and. indeed, will
be frequently found in the succeeding page* of this work.

To women, and that, living in our court,
He might make some unworthy choice, before
His weaker judgment was continn'd, we did
Remove him from it; constantly presuming,
You, with your best endeavours, rather would
Have quench 'd those heats in him, than light a

torch,
As you have done, to his looseness.

CVta. I ! My travail
Is ill-requited, sir ; for, by my soul,
I was so curious that way. that 1 granted
Access to none could tempt him ; nor did ever
One syllable, or abscene accent, touch
His ear, that might corrupt him.

Coz. No! Why, then,

With your allowance, did y u g' ve ^ ree way
To all familiar privacy between
My nephew and your daughter? Or why did vou
(Had you no other ends in't but our service)
Read to them, and together, as they had been
Scholars of one form, grammar, rhetoric,
Philosophy,* story, and interpret to them
The close temptations of lascivious poets ?
Or wherefore, for we still had spies upon vou,
Was she still present, when, by your advice,
He was taught the use of his weapon, horsemanship.
Wrestling, nay, swimming, but to fan in her
A hot desire of him? and then, forsooth,
His exercises ended, cover 'd with
A fair pretence of rt creation for him
(When Lidia was instructed in those graces
That add to beauty), he, brought to admire her,
Must hear her sing, while to her voice her hand
Made ravishing music ; and, this applauded, dance
A light lavolta with her? f

I'/inr. Have you ended
All you can charge me with ?

Coz. Nor stopt you there,
But they must unattended walk into
The silent groves, and hear the amorous birds
Warbling their wanton notes ; here, a sure shade
Of barren sicamores, which the all-seeing sun
Could not pierce through ; near that, an harbour

hung

With spreading eglantine: there, a bubbling spring
Watering a bank of byucintbs and lilies;
With all allurements that could move to lust ;
And could this, Charomonte (should I grunt

Philosophy, story,] For ttory, the modern editors un-
necessarily read hu'tory. The l>vo word* were anciently
synonymous.

t A liyht lavolt.i with her.] What the dance here alluded
to is 1 cannot tell, nor can I find an explanation of the
word in any dictionary. CoxtTEK and M. MASON.

'I'll. it's a pily! Dictionaries, generally speaking, are not
the places to look for teinis <>f this kind, whicli should be
sought in the kindred writings of contemporary au.hors.
I.aaolta (literally, thrturn) was. a dance originally imported,
with many others, from Italy. It is frequently mentioned
by our old writers, with \\ horn it was a favourite ; and is so
graphically described by Sir John Davit*, in his Orchestra,
that all further attempts to explain it must he superfluous:

" Yet is there one, the most delightful kind,
A lofty jumping, or a leaping round,

Where, arm in arm, two dancer.* are entwin'd,
And whirl themselves in strict einbraccmeiils bound"

Our countrymen, who seem to be lineally descended from
Sisyphus, and who, at the end of every century, UMially
have their work to do over again, ft;r proudly impor-
ting from Germany the long-exploded tra?h of their on
nurseries, have just brought bai-U from the same country,
anil with an iqu.il degree of exultation, the well known
laeol/a of their grand-lathers, under the mellifluous name ol
the tcatt*/

S16

THE GREAT DUKF. OF FLORENCE.

[Acr IV.

They had been equals both in birth and fortune).

Become your gravity ? nay, 'tis clear as air,

That your ambitious hopes to match your daughter

Into our family , gave connivance to it:

And this, though not in act, in the intent

I call high treason.

Char. Hear my just defence, sir ;
And, though you are my prince, it will not take

from

Your greatness, to acknowledge with a blush,
In this mv accusation you have been
More sway'd by spleen, and jealous suppositions,
Than certain groumls of reason. You had a father,
(Blest be his memory), that made frequent proofs
Of my loyalty and faith, and, would 1 boast
The dangers I have broke through in his service,
I could say more. Nay, you yourself, dread sir,
Whenever I was put unto the test,
Found me true gold, and not adulterate metal ;
And am I doubted now ?

Cm. This is from the purpose.

Char. I will come to it, sir: Your grace well

knew,

Before the prince's happy presence made
My poor house rich, the chiefest blessing which.
I gloried in, though now it prove a curse,
Was an only daughter. Nor did you command me,
As a security to your future fears,
To cast her off : which had you done, hovve'er
She was the light of my eyes, and comfort of
My feeble age, so far I prized my duty
Above affection, she now had been
A stranger to my care. But she is fair !
Is that her fault or mine ? Did ever father
Hold beauty in his issue for a blemish ?
Her education and her manners tempt too!
If these offend, they are easily removed :
You may, if you think fit, before my face,
In recompense of all my watchings for you,
With burning corrosives transform her to
An ugly leper ; and, this done, to taint
Hffi sweetness, prostitute her to a brothel*.
This I will rather suffer, sir, and more,
Than live suspected by you.

Cos. Let not passion
Carry you beyond your reason.

Char. I am calm, sir ;

Yet you must give me leave to grieve I find
My actions misinterpreted. Alas ! sir,
Was Lidia's desire to serve the prince
Call'd an offence 1 or did she practise to
Seduce his youth, because with her best zeal
And fervour she endeavoured to attend him ?
'Tis a hard construction. Though she be my

daughter,

I may thus far speak her : from her infancy
She was ever civil, her behaviour nearer
Simplicity than craft ; and malice dares not
Affirm, in one loose gesture, or light language,
She gave a sign she was in thought unchaste.
I'll fetch her to you, sir , and but look on her
With equal eyes, you must in justice grant
That your suspicion wrongs her.

Cos. It may be ;
But 1 must have stronger assurance of it

* prostitute her to a brothel.] The

.uarlo reads, to * loathiome brothel. The epithtt is alto-
gether idle, and utterly destroys the metre; I have there-
lore omitieii it without scruple, a* an interpolation.

Than passionate words : and, not to trifle time,

As we came unexpected to your house,

Ue will prevent all means that may prepare her

How to answer that, with which we come to charge

And howsoever it may be received [her.

As a foul breach to hospitable rites.

On thy allegiance and boasted faith,

Nay, forfeit of thy head, we do confine thee

Close prisoner to thy chamber, till all doubts

Are clear'd, that do concern us.

Char. I obey, sir,

And wish your grace had followed my herse
To my sepulchre, my loyalty unsuspected,
Rather th:m now but I am silent, sir,
And let that speak my duty*. [Erif.

Cm. If this man

Be false, disguised treachery ne'er put on
A shape so near to truth. Within, there !

Re-enter GIOVANNI and SANAZARRO, ushering in

PETRONELI.A. CALANDRINO and others Kiting

forth a Banquet.

Sanas. Sir.

Coz. Bring Lidia forth.

Giow. She comes, sir, of herself,
To present her service to you.

Coz. Ha ! This personage
Cannot invite affection.

Sanaz. See you keep state.

Petron. I warrant you.

Coz. The manners of her mind
Must be transcendent, if they can defend
Her rougher outside. May we with your liking
Salute you, lady?

Petron. Let me wipe my mouth, sir,
With my cambric handkerchief, arid then have at you.

Cos. Can this be possible ?

Sana:. Yes, sir ; you will find her
Such as I gave her to you.

Petron. Will your dukeship

Sit down and eat some sugar-plums ? Here's a castle
Of march-pane too ; and this quince-marmalade
Was of my own making : all summ'd up together,
Did cost the setting on ; and here is wine too
As good as e'er was tapp'd. I'll be your taster,
For I know the fashion [Drinks all off'.] ; now yov

must do me right, sir ;
You shall nor will nor choose.

Giov. She's very simple. [lady \

Coz. Simple ! 'tis worse. Do you drink thus often,

Petron. Still when I am thirsty, and eat when I
am hungry : [y u

Such junkets come not every day. Once more to
With a heart and a half, i'faith.

Coz. Pray you, pause a little ;
If I hold your cardsj, I shall pull down the side :
I am not good at the game.

Petron. Then I'll drink for you. [pledgft

Coz. Nay, pray you stay: i'il find you out a
That shall supply my place ; what think you of
This complete signior ? You are a Juno,
And in such state must feast this Jupiter:
What think you of him?

This scene is exquisitely written. It must, however, be
confessed, that Charomonle's justification ol himself is less
complete than might be expected from one who had so
good a cause to dcti-nd.

+ Coz. Pray you paute a little ;

If 1 hold your card*, &c.J See The Unnatural Cimitat,
Act 11. Sc. 2.

SCENE I.]

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

517

Petron. I desire no better.

Co:. And you will undertake this service for me ?
You are good at the sport.

Cal. Who, I ? a pidler, sir. [drink

Cos. Nay, you shall sit enthroned, and eat and
As you were a duke.

Cat. If your grace will have me,
I'll eat and drink like an emperor.

Cos. Take your place then :
We are amazed.

Giov. This is gross : nor can the imposture
But be discover'd.

Sanaz. The duke is too sharp-sighted
To be deluded thus.

Cal. Nay, pray you eat fair,
Or divide, and I will choose. Cannot you use
Your fork, as I do 1 Gape, and I will feed you,

[Feeds her.
Gape wider yet ; this is court-like.

Petron. To choke daws with:
I like it not.

Cal. But you like this ?

Petron. Let it come, boy. [They drink.

Coz. What a sight is this ! We could be angry

with you.

How much you did belie her when you told us
She was only simple ! this is barbarous rudeness,
Beyond belief.

Giov. I would not speak her, sir,
Worse than she was.

Sanaz. And I, my lord, chose rather
To deliver her better parted* than she is,
Than to take from her.

Enter CAPONI, with his fellow Servants for the dance.

Cap. Ere I'll lose my dance,

I'll speak to the purpose. 1 am, sir, no prologue ;
But in plain terms must tell you, we are provided
Of a lusty hornpipe.

Coz. Prithee, let us have it,
For we grow dull.

Cap. But to make up the medley,
For it is of several colours, we must borrow
Your grace's ghost here.

Cal. Pray you, sir, depose me ;
It will not do else. I am, sir, the engine

[Rises, and resigns his chair.
By which it moves.

Petron. I will dance with my duke too ;
1 will not out. [in this i

Coz. Begin then. [They dance.] There's more j
Than yet 1 have discover'd. Some (Edipus
Resolve this riddle.

Petron. Did 1 not foot it roundly ? [Falls.

Sana?,. And /, my lord, chose rather

To delivtr her better parted than the is] i. e. girted or I

endowed wilh better parts, &c. See J irytn Martyr, Act i
II., Sc. 3.

It seems to have been the opinion of Massinger and his |

fellow dramatists, that no play could succeed without the I

admission of some kind of farcical interlude among the j

graver scenes. If the dramas of our author be intimately \

considered, few will be found without some extraneous i

mummery of thi description; and, indeed, nothing but a I
persuasion of the nature which I have just mentioned

could give birth to the poor mockery before us. As a trick, '

it is so gross and palpable, that the duke could not have I

been deceived by it for a moment (to do him justice, he j

frequently hints his suspicions); and as a piece of humour, |
it is so low, and even disagreeable, that I cannot avoid
regretting a proper regard for his characters had not pre-

Coz. As I live, stark drunk ! away with her.
We'll reward you,

[Exeunt Servants with Petronelta

When you have cool'd yourselves in the cellar.

Cap. Heaven preserve you !

Cor. We pity Charomonte's wretched fortune
Fn a daughter, nay, a monster. Good old man !
The place grows tedious ; our remove shall be
With speed : we'll only in a word or two
Take leave, and comfort him.

Sanai. 'Twill rather, sir,

Increase his sorrow, that you know his shame ;
Your grace may do it by letter.

Coz. Who sign'd you
A patent to direct us? Wait our coming,
In the garden.

Giov. All will out.

Sanas. I more than fear it.

[Eieunt Giovanni and Sanasarro.

Cos. These are strung* chimeras to us : what to

judge oft

Is past our apprehension. One command
Charomonte to attend us. [Exit an Attendant."]

Can it be

That Contarino could be so besotted
As to admire this prodigy ! or her father
To dote upon it ! Or does she personate*,
For some ends unknown to us, in this rude beha

viour,

Which in the scene presented, would appear
Ridiculous and impossible. O, you are welcome.

Enter CHAUOMONTE.

We now acknowledge the much wrong we did you
In our unjust suspicion. We have seen.
The wonder, sir, your daughter.

Char. And have found her
Such as 1 did report her. What she wanted
Incourtshipt, was, I hope, supplied in civil
And modest entertainment.

Cos. Pray you, tell us,
And truly, we command you, did you never
Observe she was given to drink 7

Char. To drink, sir !

Co*. Yes : nay more, to be drunk ?

Char. I had rather see her buried.

Cot. Dare you trust your own eyes, if you find

her now
More than distemper'd ?

Char. I will pull them out, sir, [please

If your grace can make this good. And if you
To grant me liberty, as she is I'll fetch her,
And in a moment.

Cm. Look you do, and fail not,
On the peril of your head.

Char. Drunk ! She disdains it. [Exit.

-or dor* the personate,

veuted the author from adopting it an the present occasion.

For tome ends unknown to us? This rude behaviour

f I ithin the scene presented, would appear

Ridiculous and impossible.] So the old copy. Mr. M.
Mason rtad,

Or does .the personate.

For some ends unknown to us, this rude bchavimu;

Which, in the scene presented, would, &c.J
And I have continued it, although the old reading makei
very good sense. To peisonate is used here with great pro-
priety, for to play a fictitious character.

t What she u-antcd

In courtship,] Courtship is used here for that grace and
elegance of behaviour which a retired gentleman miglil
suppose to be taught and practUed at court.

S18

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

[Acr IV.

Coz. Such contrarieties were never read of.
Chamoronte is no fool ; nor can I think
His confidence built on sund. We are abused,
'Tis too apparent.

lie-enter CIIAROMONTE with LIDIA.
Lid. I am indisposed sir ;

And that lite you once tender'd much endanger'd
In forcing me from my chamber.

Char. Here she is, sir ;

Suddenly sick, ] grunt ; but, sure, not drunk ;
Sj.eak to my lord the duke.

Lid. All is discover'd. [Kneels.

Cz. Is this your only daughter?

Char. And mv heir, sir ;
Nor keep I any woman in my * house
( Unless for sordid offices) but one
1 do maintain, trimm'd up in her cast habits,
To make her sport : and she, indeed, loves wine,
And will take too much of it : and, perhaps, for

mirth,
She was presented to you.

Cm. It shall yield '

No sport to the contrivers. 'Tis too plain now.
Her presence does confirm what Contarino
Deliver'd of her ; nor can sickness dim
The splendour of her beauties ; being herself, then,
She must exceed his praise.

Lid. Will your grace hear me?
I'm taint, and can say little.

Coz Here are accents
Whose every syllable is musical !
Pray you, let me raise you, and awhile rest here.
False Sanazarro, treacherous Giovanni !
But sraad we talking!

Char. Here's a storm soon raised. [swear

Coz. As thou art our subject, Charoinonte,
To act what we command.

Chin: That is an oath
I long since took.

Cnz. 'I hen, by that oath we charge thee,
Without excuse, denial, or delay,
To apprehend, and suddenly, Sanazarro,
And our ungrateful nephew'. We have said it.
Do it without reply, or we pronounce thee,
Like them, a traitor to us. See them guarded
In several lodgings, and forbid access
To all, but when we warrant. Is our will
Heard sooner than obey'd ?

Chur. These are strange turns ;
But 1 must not dispute them. [Exit,

Coz. 13e severe in't.

O my abused lenity ! from what height
Is my power fall'n !

Lid. O me most miserable !
That, being innocent, make others guilty.
Most gracious prince

Coz. Pray you rise, and then speak to me.

A'or keep I any woman in my house. Coxeter had
dropt a word at the press, and Mr. M. Mason was reduced
t jjuess what it might be. He failed as usual: luckily the
mistake was of no further consequence th.in to show with
what pertinacity he persutud in not consulting the old
copies.

Lid. My knees shall first be rooted in this earth
And, Myrrha-like, I'll grow up to a tree,
Dropping perpetual tears of sorrow, which
Harden'd by the rough wind, and turn'd to amher,
Unfortunate virgins like myself shall wear ;
Before I'll make petition to your greatness,
Rut with such reverence, my hands held up thus.
As I would do to heaven. . You princes are
As gods on earth to us, and to be sued to
With such humility, as his deputies
May challenge from their vassals.

Coz. Here's that form
Of language I expected ; pray you, speak
What is your suit ]

Lid. That you would look upon me
As an humble thing, that millions of degrees
Is placed beneath you : for what am 1, dread sir,
Or what can fall in the whole course of mv life.
That may be worth your care, mucti less your

trouble ?

As the lowly shrub is to the lofty cedar,
Or a molehill to Olympus, if compared,
I am to you, sir. Or, suppose the prince,
(Which cannot find belief in me), forgetting
The greatness of his birth and hopes, hath thrown
An eye of favour on me, in me punish,
That am the cause, the rashness of his youth.
Shall the queen of the inhabitants of the air,
The eagle, that bears thunder on her wings,
In her angry mood destroy her hopeful young,
For suffering a wren to perch too near them ?
Such is our disproportion.
Coz. With what fervour
She pleads against herself!
Lid. For me, poor maid,
1 know the prince to he so far ahove me,
That my wishes cannot reach him. Yet I am
So much his creature, <that, to fix him in
Your wonted grace and favour, I'll abjure
His sight for ever, and betake myself
To a religious life (where in my prayers
I may remember him), and ne'er see man more,
But my. ghostly father. Will you trust me, sir?
In truth I'll ke'ep my word ; or, if this fail,
A little more of fear what may befal him
Will stop my breath for ever.

Coz. Had you thus argued [Raise* her.

As you were yourself, and brought as advocates
Your health and beauty, to make way for you,
No crime of his could put on such a shape
But 1 should look with the eyes of mercy on it.
What would I give to see this diamond
In her perfect lustre, as she was before [fort ;

The clouds of sickness dimm'd it ! Yet take com-
And, as you would obtain remission for
His treachery to me, cheer your drooping spirits,
And call the blood again into your cheeks.
And then plead for him ; and in such a habit
As in your highest hopes you would put on,
If we were to receive you for our bride.
Lid. I'll do my best, sir.
Coz. And that best will be
A crowu of all felicity to me. [Exeunt

I.]

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

919

ACT V

SCENE I. The same. An upper Chamber in Charo-
monte's House.

Enter SANAZARRO.
Sanaz. 'Tis proved in me ; the curse of Luman

frailty.

Adding to our afflictions, makes us know
\V!iat's food ; and vet our violent passions force us
To follow what is ill. Reason assured me
It was not safe to shave a lion's skin ;
And that to trifle with a sovereign was
To play with lightning: yet imperious beauty,
Treading upon the neck of understanding,
Compell'd me to put oft" my natural shape
Of loyal duty, to disguise myself
In the adulterate and cobweb mask
Of disobedient treachery. Where is now
lUv borrow'd greatness, or the promised lives
Of following courtiers echoing my will ?
In a moment vanish'd ! Power that stands not on
Its proper base, which is peculiar only
To absolute princes, falls or rises with
Their frown or favcur. The great duke, my master
( \\ ho almost changed me to his other self,)
No sooner takes his beams of comfort from me,
But I, as one unknown, or unregarded,
Un pitied suffer. \Vlio makes intercession
To his mercv for roe, now ? who does remember
'J he service I have done him ? not a man :
And such as spake no language but, Mv lord
The favourite of Tuscany 's grand duke,
Deride my madness. Ha! what noise of horses?

[He looks back.

A goodly troop! This back part of my prison
Allows me liberty to see and know them.
Contarino ? yes, 'tis he, and Lodovico* ;
And the duchess Fiorinda, Urbin's heir,
A princess 1 have slighted : yet I wear
Her favours : and, to teach me what I am,
She whom I scorn'd can only mediate for me.
This way she makes, yet speak to her I dare not ;
And how to make suit to her is a task
Of as much difficulty. Yes, thou blessed pledge

[Takes ojf the ling.

Of her affection, aid me! This supplies
The want of pen and ink ; and this, of paper.

[Takes u pane of glass.
It must be so ; and I in mv petition
Concise and pithy.

SCENE II. Tue Court before Charomonte's House.

Enter CONTARINO leading in FIORINDA, ALFHCNSO,
Hiri'OLiTo, IliEiiOMSio, and CALAMINTA.

Fior. Tis a goodly pile, this.
Hier. But betterf by the owner.

Lodovico;] i.e. Lodovico Hippolito.

t Rut better by the owner.) Mr. M. Mason reads bettered,
which spoils the climax intended by the author : to complete
hi eincmUtion, he should have redd, in the next line, Ltit
mott enriched, &c. States, in the follow ing line, are states-
men, men of power, &.C., a sense in which it was commonly
wed.

Alph. But most rich
In the great states it covers.

Fior. The duke's pleasure
Commands us hither.

Coitt. Which was laid on us
To attend you to it.

Hip. Signior Charomonte,
To see your excellence his guest, will think
Himself most happy.

Fior. Tie my shoe. [The pane falls down.']

What's that ?
A pane thrown from the window, no wind stirring !

Calam. And at your feet too fall'n : there's
something writ ou't.

Cont. Some courtier, belike, would have it known
He wore a diamond.

Calam. Ha ! it is directed
To the princess Fiorinda.

Fior. We will read it. [Readt.

He u-hom you pleased to facour, is cast down
Past hope of rising, by the great duke's Jr own
If, by your gracious means, he cannot hint
A pardon ; and that gut, he Hi es i/our slave.
Of men the most distressed.

SANAZARRO.

Of me the most beloved ; and I will save thee,
Or perish with thee. Sure, thy fault must be
Of some prodigious shape, if that my prayers
And humble intercession to the duke,

Enter COZIMO and CHAROMONTE.
Prevail not with him. Here he comes ; delay
Shall not make less my benefit.

Cm. What we purpose

Shall know no change, and therefore move me not.
We were made as properties, and what we shall
Determine of them cannot be call'd rigour,
But noble justice. When they proved disloyal,
They were cruel to themselves. The prince that

pardons

The first affront offer'd to majesty,
Invites a second, rendering that power
Subjects should tremble at, contemptible
Ingratitude is a monster, Carolo,
To be strangled in the birth, not to be cherish 'd.
Madam, you're happily met with.

Fior. Sir, I am

An humble suitor to you ; and the rather
Am confident of a grant, in that your grace,
When I made choice to be at your devotion,
Vow'd to deny me nothing.

Cos. To this minute
We have confirm'd it. What's your boon ?

.Fior. It is, sir,

That you, in being gracious to your servant.
The ne'er sufficiently praised Sanazarro,
That now under your heavy displeasure suffers.
Would be good unto yourself. His services,
So many, and so great (your storm of fury
Calm'd by your better judgment), must inform you
Some little slip, for sure it is no more,
From his loyal duty, with your justice cannot
Make foal his fair deservings. Great sir, therefore,
Look backward on his former worth, and turning

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

[Act V (

Your eye from his offence, what 'tis 1 know not,
And, I am confident, you will receive him
Once more into your favour.

Cot. You say well,

You are ignorant in the nature of his fault ;
Which when you understand, as we'll instruct you,
Your pity will appear a charity,
It being conferr'd on an unthankful man,
To be repented. He's a traitor, madam,
To you, to us, to gratitude ; and iu that
All crimes are comprehended.

Fior. If his offence
Aim'd at me only, whatsoe'er it is,
'Tis freely pardon'd.

Ci>*. This compassion in you
Must make the colour of his guilt more ugly.
The honours we have hourly heap'd upon him,
The titles, the rewards, to the envy of
The old nobility, as the common people,
We now forbear to touch at, and will only
Insist on his gross wrongs to you. You were

pleased,

Forgetting both yourself and proper greatness,
To favour him, nay, to court him to embrace
A happiness, which, on his knees, with joy
He should have sued for. Who repined not at
The grace you did him ? yet, in recompense
Of your large bounties, the disloyal wretch
Makes you a stale; and, what he might be by you
Scorn'd and derided, gives himself up wholly
To the service of another. If you can
Bear this with patience, we must say you have not
The bitterness of spleen, or ireful passions
Familiar to women. Pause upon it,
And when you have seriously weigh'd his carriage,
Move us again, if your reason will allow it,
His treachery known : and then, if you continue
An advocate for him, we, perhaps, because
We would deny you nothing, may awake
Our sleeping mercy. Carolo !

Char. My lord. [They talk aside.

Fior. To endure a rival that were equal to me
Cannot but speak my poverty of spirit ;
But an inferior, more ; yet true love must not
Know or degrees, or distances : Lidia may be
As far above me in her form, as she
Is in her birth beneath me ; and what I
In Sanazarro liked, he loves in her.
But, if I free him now, the benefit
Being done so timely, and confirming too
My strength and power, my soul's best faculties

being

Bent wholly to preserve him, must supply me
With all I am defective in, and bind him
My creature ever. It must needs be so,
Nor will I give it o'er thus.

Coz. Does our nephew
Bear his restraint so constantly*, as you
Deliver it to us 1

Char. In my judgment, sir,
He suffers more for his offence to you,
Than in his fear of what can follow it.
For he is so collected, and prepared
I'o welcome that you shall determine of him,
As if his doubts and fears were equal to him.

Coz. Doe* our nephew

Bear hit restraint *o constantly,] i. e. with such unshaken
(.alienee, such immoveable resolution, &c.

And sure lie's not acquainted with much guilt,
That more laments the telling one untruth.
Under your pardon still, for 'twas a fault, sir,
Than others, that pretend to conscience, do
Thi-ir crying secret sins.

Coz. No more ; this gloss
Defends not the corruption of the text ;
Urge it no more.

[Charomonte and tie others tan: anae.

Fior. I once more must make bold, sir.
To trench upon your patience. I have
Consider'd my wrongs duly : yet that cannot
Divert my intercession for a man
Your grace, like me, once favour'd. I am still
A suppliant to you, that you would vouchsafe
The hearing his defence, and that 1 may,
With your allowance see and comfort him.
Then, having heard all that he can allege
In his excuse, fir being false to you,
Censure him as you please.

Coz. You will o'ercome ;

There's no contending with you. Pray you, enjoy
What you desire, and tell him, he shall have
A speedy trial ; in which we'll forbear
To sit a judge, because our purpose is
To rise up his accuser.

Fior. All increase
Of happiness wait on Cozimo !

[Eieuiit Fiorinda and Calaminta
Alph. Was it no more 7

Char. My honour's pawn'd for it.

Cont. I'll second you.

Hip. Since it is for the service and the safety
Of the hopeful prince, fall what can fall, I'll run
'1 he desperate hazard.

Hier. He's no friend to virtue
That does decline it.

[They all come forward and kneel.

C-'Z. Ha ! what sue you for?
Shall we be ever troubled 1 Do not tempt
That anger may consume you.

Char. Let it, sir :

The loss is less, though innocents we perish,
Than that your sister's son shoti d tali, unheard.
Under your fury. Shall we fear to entreat
That grace for him, that are your faithful servants
Which you vouchsafe the count, like us a subject ?

Coz. Did not we vow, till sickness hud forsook
Thy daughter Lidia, and she appear'd
In her perfect health and beauty to plead for him,
We were deaf to all persuasion ?

Char. And that hope, sir,
Hath wrought a miracle. She is recover'd,
And, if you please to warrant her, will bring
The penitent prince before you.

Coz. To enjoy
Such happiness, what would we not dispense with

Alph. Hip. Hier. We all kneel for the prince.

Cunt. Nor can it stand

With your mercy, that are gracious to strangers.
To be cruel to your own.

Coz. But art thou certain
I shall behold her at the best?

Char. If ever

She was handsome, as it fits not me to say so.
She is now much better'd.

Coz. Rise ; thou art but dead
If this prove otherwise. Lidia, appear,
And feast an appetite almost pined to death

SCENE III.]

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

With longing expectation to behold

Thy excellencies : thou as beauty's queen,

Shalt censure the detractors*. Let my nephew

Be led in triumph under her command ;

We'll have it so ; and JSanazarro tremble

To think whom he hath slander'd. We'll retire

Ourselves a little, and prepare to meet

A blessing, which imagination tells us

We are not worthy of: and then come forth,

But with such reverence, as if I were

Myself the priest, the sacrifice mv heart.

To offer at the altar of that goodness

That must or kill or save me.

Char. Are not these
Strange gambols in the duke?

Alph. Great princes have,
Like meaner men, their weakness.

Hip. And may use it
Without control or check.

Coat. 'Tis fit they should ;
Their privilege were less else, than their subjects'.

Hier. Let them have their humours ; there's no
crossing them. [Eieunt.

SCENE III. A state-room in the same.
Enter FIORINDA, SANAZARRO, and CALAMINTA.

Sanas. And can it be, your bounties should fall

down

In showers on my ingratitude, or the wrongs
Your greatness should revenge, teach you to pity ?
What retribution can I make, what service
Pay to your goodness, that, in some proportion,
May to the world express I would be thankful?
Since my engagements are so great, that all
My best endeavours to appear your creature
Can but proclaim my wants, and what 1 owe
To your magnificence.

Fior. All debts are discharged
In this acknowledgment : yet since you please
I shall impose some terms of satisfaction
For that which you profess yourself obliged for,
They shall be gentle ones, and such as will not,
I hope, afflict you.

Sanaz. Make me understand,
Great princess, what they are, and my obedience
Shall, with all cheerful willingness, subscribe
To what you shall command,

Fior. 1 will bind you to

Make good your promise. First, I then enjoin you
To love a lady, that, a noble way,
Truly affects you, and that you would take
To your protection and care the dukedom
Of Urbin, which no more is mine, but your's.
And that, when you have full possession of
My person as my fortune, you would use me
Not as a princess, but instruct me in
The duties of an humble wife, for such,
The privilege of my birth no more remember'd,
I will be to you. This consented to,
All injuries forgotten, on your lips
I thus sign your quietus.

-thnu, at beauty's queen,

Shalt censure the detrai-lort.] Censure, as I have already
observed, is used by our old writers where we should now
use judge, and with the same latitude of meaning through
iti various acceptations.

Sanas. I am wretched.
In having but one life to be employ'd
As you please to dispose it. And, believe it,
If it be not already forfeited
To the fury of my prince, as 'tis your gift,
With all the faculties of my soul I'll study,
In what I may, to serve you.

Fior. I am happy

Entei GIOVANNI and LIDIA.
In this assurance. What
Sweet lady's this?

Sanaz. 'Tis Lidia, madam, she

Fior. I understand you.

Nay, blush not ; by my life, she is a rare one ;
And, if I were your judge, I would not blame you
To like and love her. But, sir, you are mine now ;
And I presume so on your constancy,
That I dare not be jealous.

Sanas. All thoughts of her
Are in your goodness buried.

Lid. Pray you, sir,

Be comforted ; your innocence should not know
What 'tis to fear ; and if that you but look on
The guards that you have in yourself, you cannot.
The duke's your uncle, sir, and though a little
Incensed against you, when he sees your sorrow,
He must be reconciled. What rugged Tartar,
Or cannibal, though bathed in human gore,
Hut, looking on your sweetness, would forget
His cruel nature, and let fall his weapon,
Though then aim'd at your throat;

Gioo. O Lidia,

Of maids the honour, and your sex's glory !
It is not fear to die, but to lose you,
That brings this fever on me. 1 will now
Discover to you, thitt which, till this minute,
I dur-ft not trust the air with. Ere you knew
What power the magic of your beauty had,
I was enchanted by it, liked, and loved it,
My fondness still increas-ing with my years ;
And, flatter'd by false hopes, I did attend
Some blessed opportunity to move
The duke with his consent to make you mine:
But now, such is my star-cross'd destiny,
When he beholds you as you are, he cannot
Deny himself the happiness to enjoy you.
And I as well in reason may entreat him
To give away his crown, as to part from,
A jewel of more value, such you are.
Yet, howsoever, when you are his duchess,
And I am turn'd into forgotten dust,
Pray you, love my memory : I should say more,
But I'm cut off.

Enter COZIMO, Cii AROMONTE, CONTARINO, HIERONIUO
HIPPOLITO, and ALPHONSO.

Sanaz. The duke ! That countenance, once,
When it was clothed in smiles, show'd like an angel's
But, now 'tis folded up in clouds of fury,
'Ti.s terrible to took on.

Lid. Sir.

Cos- A while

Silence your musical tongue, and let me feast
My eyes with the most ravishing object that
They ever gazed on. There's no miniature
In her fair face, but is a copious theme
Which would, discoursed at large of, make a volume
What clear arch'd brows ! what sparkling eyes ! the
lilies

222

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

[Acr. V

Contending with the roses in her cheeks,

Who shalfmost set them off. What ruby lips !

Or unto what can I compare her neck,

But to a rock of crystal? every limb

Proportion d to love's wish, and in their neatness

Add lustre, to the riches of her habit,

Not borrow from it.

Lid. You are pleased to show, sir,
The fluency of your language, i n advancing
A subject much unworthy.

Coz. How ! unworthy !
By all the vows which lovers offer at
The Cyprian goddess' altars, eloquence
Itself presuming, as you are. to speak you,
Would be struck dumb ! And what have you de-
served then [Giovanni and Sanazarro kneel.
(Wretches, you kneel too late), that have endea-

vour'd

To spout the poison of your black detraction
On this immaculate whiteness 1 was it malice
To her perfeclions ? or

Fior. Your highness promised
A gracious hearing to the count.

Lid. And prince too ;
Do not make void so just a grant.

Coz. We will not:

Yet, since their accusation must be urged,
And strongly, ere their weak defence have hearing,
We seat you here, as judges, to determine
Of your gross wrongs, and ours. [Seats the Ladies

in the chairs of state.] And now, remembering
Whose deputies you are, be neither sway'd
Or with particular spleen, or foolish pity,
For neither can become you.

Char. There's some hope yet,
Since they have such gentle judges.

Cor. Rise, and stand fonh, then,
And hear, with horror to your guilty souls, [cess,
What we will prove against you. Could this prin-
Thou enemy to thyself ! [To Sanazarro.] stoop her

high flight

Of towering greatness to invite thy lowness
To look up to it, and with nimble wings
Of gratitude couldst thou forbear to meet it 1
Were her favours boundless in a noble way,
And warranted by our allowance, yet,
In thy acceptation, there appear'd no sign
Of a modest thankfulness?

Fior. Pray you forbear
To press that further ; 'tis a fault we have
Already heard, and pardon 'd.

Coz. We will then

Pass over it, nnd briefly touch at that
Which does concern ourself ; in which both being
Equal offenders, what we shall speak points
Indifferently at either. How we raised thee,
Forgetful Sanazarro ! of our grace,
To a full possession of power and honours,
It being too well known, we'll not remember.
And what thou wtrt, rash youth, in expectation,

[To Giovanni.

And from which headlong thou hast thrown thyself,
Not Florence, but all Tuscany can witness
With admiration. To assure thy hopes,
We did keep constant to a widowed bed,
And did deny ourself those lawful pleasures
Our absolute power and height of blood allow'd us ;
Made both, the keys that open'd our heart's secrets,
And what you spake, believed as oracles :
But you, in recompense of this, to lain

That gave you all, to whom you owed your being,
With treacherous lies endeavour'd to conceal
This jewel from our knowledge, which ourself
Could only lay just claim to.

Giov. 'Tis most true, sir.

Sanaz. We both confess a guilty cause.

Coz. J ook on her.
Is this a beauty fit to be embraced
By any subject's arms ? can any tire
Become that forehead, but a diadem ?
Or, should we grant your being false to us
Could be excused, your treachery to her,
In seeking to deprive her of that greatness
(Her matchless form consider'd) she was born to,
Must ne'er find piirdon. We have spoken, ladies,
Like a rough orator, that brings more truth
Than rhetoric to make good his accusation ;
And now expect your sentence.

[The Ladies descend from ihe statt*

Lid. In your birth, sir,

You were mark'd out the judge of life and death,
And we, that are your subjects, to attend,
With trembling fear, your doom.

Fior. We do resign
This chair, as only proper to yourself.

Gioc. And since injustice we are lost, we fly
Unto your saving mercy. [All kneeling,

Sanaz. Which sets off
A prince, much more than rigour.

Char. And becomes him,

When 'tis express'd to such as fell by weakness,
That being a twin-born brother to affection,
Better than wreaths of conquest.

Ilier. Hip. Con t. Alph. We all speak
Their language, mighty sir.

Coz. You know our temper,

And therefore with more boldness venture on it :
And, would not our consent to your demands
Deprive us of a happiness hereafter
Ever to be despaired of, we, perhaps,
Might hearken nearer to you ; and could wish
With some qualification or excuse
You might make less the mountains of your crimes.
And so invite our clemency to feast with you.
But you, that knew with what impatiency
Of grief we parted from the fair Clarinda,
Our duchess (let her memory still be sacred !),
And with what imprecations on ourself
We vow'd, not hoping e'er to see her equal,
Ne'er to make trial of a second choice,
If nature framed not one that did excel her,
As this maid's beauty prompts us that she does:
And yet, with oaths then mix'd with tears, upon
Her monument we swore our eye should never
Again be tempted ; 'tis true, and those vows
Are registered above, something here tells me.
Carolo, thou heardst us swear.

Char. And swear so deeply,
That if all women's beauties were in this,
(As she's not to be named with the dead duchess,)
Nay all their virtues bound up in one story
(Of which mine is scarce an epitome),
If you should take her as a wife, the weight
Of your perjuries would sink you. If I durst,
I had told you this before.

Cor. 'Tis strong truth. Carolo :

The ladies druccnd from the state.] i. e. from the riel
platform on which the chairs were placed. See The Hand-
man, Act I., ic. lit.

SCENE III.]

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

S23

And yet, what was necessity in us
Cannot free them from treason.

Char. There's your error ;

The prince, in cure to have you keep your vows
Made unto heaven, vouchsafed to love my daughter*.

Lid. He told me so, indeed, sir.

Fior. And the count
Averr'd as much to me.

Cos. You all conspire
To force our mercy from us.

Char. Which given up,
To aftertimes preserves you un forsworn :
An honour, which will live upon your tomb,
When Nour greatness is forgotten.

Coj. Though we knovvf
All this is practice, and that both are false ;
Such reverence we will pay to dead Clarinda,
And to our serious oaths, that we ar pleased
With our own hand to blind our eyes, and not
Know what we understand. Here, Giovanni,
We pardon thee ; and take from us, in this,
More than our dukedom : love her. As 1 part
With her, all thoughts of women fly fast from us !
Sanazarro, we forgive you : in your service
To this princess merit it. Yet, let not others
That are in trust and grace, as you have been,
By the example of our lenity
Presume upon their sovereign's clemency.

Enter CALANDIUNO and PEIRONELLA.

All. Long live great Cozimo !

Cat. Surb the duke is
In the giving vein, they are so loud. Come on,

spouse.
We have heard all. and we will have our boon too.

Coz. What is it?

Cal. That your grace, in remembrance of
My share in a dance, and that 1 play'd yo'ir part,
When you should have drunk hard, would get this

signior's grant

To give this damsel to me in the church,
For we are contracted. In it you shall do
Your dukedom pleasure.

Cos. How?

Cal. Why, the whole race
Of such as can act naturally fools' parts,
Are quite worn out; and they that do survive,
Do only zany us : and we will bring you,

* The prince, in care to have you keep your vowi

Made unto heaven, vouchsafed to lone my tlauyhffr.]
This attempt to impose upon the great duke is mure deplor-
able than the former. It has falsehood and improbability
written on its face: the duke indeed is not deceived by it ;
but surely the author showed a strange want of judgment
in this gratuitous degradation of three of his most estimable
characters.

t Coz. Though we know

All this it practice,] i. e. artifice, or insidious design. So
in Shakspeare :

' This act persuades me

That this remotion of the duke and her

1* practice only." King Lear.

If we die not without issue, of botl sexes.
Such chopping mirth-makers, as shnll preserve
Perpetual cause of sport, both to v our grace
Am! your posterity, that sad fi.ela iclioly
Shall ne'er approach you.

Coz. We are pleased in it,
And will pay her portion. [ Comes forward.

May the passage prove,
Of what's presented, worthy of your /ore
And favour, a^ was aim'd ; and u:e have all
That can iu compass if our wishes Jail. [Exeunt*

* It is impossible- not to be charmed with the manner in
which this play is written. The st>!e is worthy of the most
polished stage. It neither descend* to meanness, nora!t'ect.
H blustering magnificence, but preserves an easy elevation
ami a mild dignity ; and affords an excellt.nl model for the
transaction of drain itie Imsiuesf between person* of liinh
rank and refined education. As to the subject, it is, in itself,
of no great importance : but tlii- is somewhat compensated
by the interest which the principil characters take in it,
ami the connection ot luvc with the views of state. The
scenes bet ween Giovanni and Lidi i pit-sent a most beautiful
picture of artless attachment, anil of that unreserved inno-
cence and tender simplicity which Massinger describe; in a
manner so eminently happy.

li is to be. wished that this were all; for the impression
on the mind of the reader makes H.u more than usually
fearful of any disturbance of his feelings. But in the drama,
as in life itself, something will ever be amiss. The very
attractive m.tuner in which the characters and their con-
cerns ate announced is made to change as the plot advances
to its conclusion ; and in the fourth act we are grieved to
see them

In pejus rupjv, ac retro tubtapsa referri.

The charm of Lidia is dissolved by the substitution of Petro
nella, a contrivance which is at once mean and clumsy,
and is conceived in utter defiance of the general character of
Cozimo. The only way of removing this objection was to
altt-r Co/iii.o himself, together with the delicacy of the sub-
jco:. This is done for the sake of maintaining an unlnppy
consistency. The duke is compelled to forego his usual
dignity anil sagacity. He loses the very remembrance of his
own motives of action, and is played upon by those who are
themselves sunk in our esteem.

The connection of the plot with an event in the life of
Edgar has been mentioned by the Editor. As to Cozimo,
some circumstances seem to point him out as the first grand
duke. Pisa and Sienna are alluded to as recrrit acquisitions;
though C'ontarino is too complaisant in attributing the con
quest to the arms of his masttr. There are some personal
points which may assist this conjecture. Co/.irno is addressed
in a submissive manner, and seems to be conscious that his
resentment is feared by those around him : and this reminds
us of the man who coveted the tiile of King, and executed
summary justice on a son with his own hand. However,
oiher circumstances rather allude to a peiiod not mn-h
earlier than the date of ihis very play; viz. some attempt at
independence by the Pisans, which Sanazarro might have
checked ; and some benefit derived to Florence (though not
of the kind here mentioned; from the duchy of U'rbino.
But why a nephew was called in, when a son was not
wanring to either of the Cosmos, or why the state of a child-
less widower was invented for the great duke, is not so easy
to guess : nor is it woilh our while. The dramatist rejects
or invents as he pleases ; and what he chooses to adopt may
be divided between distant ages or countries. The incidents
of his arbitrary story are widely dispersed, like the limbi
wantonly scattered by Medea ; and, if ever to be found,
must be searched for in places remote and unexpected :
Dixtipat in multit invenienda loci*.

DR. IRELAND.

THE MAID OF HONOUJR,

THE MAID or HONOUR.] This " Tragi-comedy" does not appear, under the present title, in the Office-
book of Sir H. Herbert: but a play called The Honour of Women was entered there May 6th, 1628, which
Mr. Malone conjectures to be the piece before us. He speaks, however, with some hesitation on the subject,
as a play of Massinger's, called The Spanish Viceroy, or The Honour of Women, was entered at Stationers' Hall,
for Humphrey Mosely, in 1653. If this double title be correct, of which we may reasonably entertain a
Uoubt, the plays cannot he the same ; for among the dramatis persona? of the present, no such character as
a Spanish viceroy is to be found. Sicily, intleed, was long governed by viceroys from Spain ; but Roberto
is here styled King, and constantly acts from himself.

Mr. Malone says, that The Moid of' Honour was printed in 1631. All the copies which I have seen (foj
there is but one edition) are dated 163;:', which was probably the earliest period of its appearance : as we
learn from the commendatory verses prefixed to it by Sir Aston Cockayne, that it was printed after Tht
Emperor of the East, which was not given to the press till this year.

This play was always a favourite, and, indeed, with strict justice ; for it has a thousand claims to admira-
tion and applause. It was frequently acted, the old title-page tells us, " at the Phoenix in Drurie-lane,
with good allowance, by the Queen's Majesties servants." An attempt was made some years since to revive
it, by Mr. Kemble, but, as I have been informed, without success.

TO MY MOST HONOURED FRIENDS,

SIR FRANCIS FOUAMBE, KOT, k BART,,

AND

SIR THOMAS BLAND, KNT,

THAT you have been, and continued so for many years, since you vouchsafed to own me, patrons to me
and my despised studies. I cannot but with all humble thankfulness acknowledge ; and living as you have
done, inseparable in your friendship (notwithstanding all differences, and suits in law arising between you*),
1 held it as impertinent as absurd, in the presentment of my service in this kind, to divide you. A free
confession of a debt in a meaner man. is the amplest satisfaction to his superiors ; and I htartily wish that
the world may take notice, and from myself, that J had not to this time subsisted, but that I was supported
by your frequent courtesies arid favour-. When your more serious occasions will give you leave, you may
please to peruse this trifle, and peradventure find something in it that may appear worthy' of your protection
Receive it, 1 beseech you, as a testimony of his duty who, while he liv cs resolves to be
Truly and sincerely devoted to your service.

PHILIP MASSINGER.

* \otwitl.i?andiny all differrn.rs. and mits in law arising btitceen you.' The suits in law between these true frWndl
cf Mwitafpri uiigiiiu ed iu question as to the right ot working some coal mines. Cilchritt.

SCENE I.]

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

ROBERTO, king of Sicily.

FERDINAND, duke of Urbin.

BERTOLDO, the king's natural brother, a knight of Malta.

GONZAGA, a knight of Malta, general to the duchess of

Sienna.

ASTUTIO, a counsellor of state.
FULOENTIO, the minion of Roberto.
ADORNI, a follower of Camiola's father.
SIGNIOR SVLLI, a foolish self -lover.
ANTONIO, > ,

GASPARO, \ tu ' rlch hetr >' <***
PIERIO, a colonel to Gonzaga.

RODERIGO, -, ,-

JACOMO, japtoi

DRUSO, . . . , .. .

LIVIO * captains to duke Ferdinand.

Father PAVLO, a priest, Camiola's confeuar.

Ambassador from the duke of Urbin.

A bishop.

A page.

AURELIA, duchess of Sienna.

CAMIOLA, the MAID OF HONOUR,

CLARINDA, her woman.

Scout, Soldiers, Gaoler, Attendants, Servants,

SCENE, partly in Sicily, and partly in the Siennese.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Palermo. A State-room in the palace.
Enter ASTUTIO and ADORXI.

Ador. Good day to your lordship.

Ast Thanks, Adorni.

Ador. May I presume to ask if the ambassador
Employ % d by Ferdinand, the duke of Urbin,
Hath audience this morning ?

Enter FULGENTIO.

Ast. 'Tis uncertain ;

For, though a counsellor of state, I am not
Of the cabinet council : but here's one, if he please,
That may resolve you.

Ador. I will move him. Sir !

Ful. If you've a suit, shew water*, I am blind
else.

Ador. A suit; yet of a nnture not to prove
The quarry that ysu hawk for : if your words
Are not like Indian wares, and every scruple
To be weigh'd and rated, one poor syllable,
Vouchsafed in answer of a fair demand,
Cannot deserve a fee.

Ful. It seems you are ignorant,
I neither speak nor hold my peace for nothing 1 ;
And yet, for once, I care not if I answer
One single question, gratis.

Adur. I much thank you.
Hath the ambassador audience, sir, to-day ?

Ful. Yes.

Ador. At what hour?

Ful. I promised not so much.
A syllable you begg'd, my charity gave it ;
Move me no further. [Exit.

Ast. This you wonder at:
With me, 'tis usual.

Adar. Pray you, sir, what is he?

Shew water.'} i. e. to clear his tight. This was a pro-
verbial periphrasis for bribe, which in MasMiiger'% days
(though happily not since f) was t'uuml to be the only tolly-
riaui for tlie eyes of a courtier.

Ast. A gentleman, yet no lord*. He hath some

drops

Of the king's blood running in his veins, derived
Some ten degrees off. His revenue lies
In a narrow compass, ihe king's ear ; and yields him
Every hour a fruitful harvest. Men may talk
Of three crops in a year in the Fortunate Islands,
Or profit made by wool ; but, while there are

suitors,

His sheepshearing, nay, shaving to the quick,
Is in every quarter of the moon, and constant.
In the time of trussing a point, he can undo
Or make a man : his play or recreation
Is to raise this up, or pull down that ; and, though
He never yet took orders, makes more bishops
In Sicily, than the pope himself.

Enter BERTOLDO, GASPARO, ANTONIO, and a Servant.

Ador. Most strange !

Ast. The presence fills. He in the Malta habit
Is the natural brother of the king a by-blow.

Ador. I understand you.

Gasp. Morrow to my uncle.

Ant. And my late guardian: but at length I

have
The reins in my own hands.

Ast. Pray you, use them well,
Or you'll too late repent it.

Bert. With this jewel

Presented to Camiola, prepare, [have

This night, a visit for me. [Exit Servant.'] 1 shall
Your company, gallants, I perceive, if that
The king will hear of war.

Ant. Sir, I have horses
Of the best breed in Naples, fitter far
To break a rank than crack a lance ; and are,
In their career, of such incredible swiftness,
They outstrip swallows.

* Ast. A gentleman, yet no lord.) Would not the Mtire
be more apparent, if the sentence were reversed ? As it
stands now, it is scarcely intelligible.

THE MAID OF HONOUR

ACT I,}

Bert. And such may be useful
To run away with, should we be defeated
You are well provided, signior.

Ant. Sir, excuse me ;

Ml of their r:ic<', by instinct, know a coward,
And scorn the burthen : they come on like light-
ning; ;
Founder'd in a retreat.

Bert. By no mentis back them ;
Unless you know your courage sympathize
With the daring of your horse.
A nt. My lord, this is bitter.
Gasp. I will nii.se me a company of foot;
And, when at push of pike I am to enter
A breach, to show my valour 1 have bought* me
An armour cannon-proof.

Bert. You will not leap, then,
O'er an outwork, in your shirt 1

Gasit. I do not like
Activity that way.

Bert'. You had rather stand
A m,\rk to try their muskets on ?

Gasp. If I <io
No good, I'll do no hurt.

Bert 'Tis in you, signior,
A Christian rt solution, and becomes you '
But I will not discourage you.

Ant. You iiro, sir,

A knight of Malta, and, as I have heard,
Have served against the Turk.
Bert. 'Tis true.
Ant. Pray you, show us
The difference between the city valour,
And service in the field.

Bert. 'Tis somewhat more
Than roaring in a tavern or a brothel,
Or to steal a constablef from a sleeping watch,
Then burn their halbetds ; or, sale guarded by
Your tenants' sons, to carry away a may-pole
From a neighbour village. You will not find there,
Your masters of dependencies} to take up

* to than- my valour, I have bought me]

Coxcter and M. Mason read, 1 have brought inu : ihe old
copy U surely right.

Or to steal a constable from a sleeping trafi.'A,] For this
expression, so e.v,iui.-iu.-ly hn>norous, the modern editors
give us,

Or to steal a lan'horn from a sleeping watch !
It is scarcely possible u> mark these wanton deviations from
the original, u i limn some decree of warmth, liy no pro-
cess in blundering could lanthorn be written for constable:
the editor*, thru-tore, must have graluitoiirly taken upon
themselves the reformation of ti>e language. Pity for the
author nui-t be mixed with our indignation at their per-
verse temerity, when we ilui- find them banishing his most
witly cxpresMons from the text, under the bold idea of
improving it !

It i* the more sineuhr that they should do this in Ihe
present case, as the same thought, in nearly the s.une words,
is to be found in The Renryado.

* you will not find there

Your masters of dependencies, &c.] Masters of de-
pendencies were a set of needy bravoes, who umtertook to
ascertain the authentic grounds of a quarrel, and, in some
eases, t settle it for the timorous or unskilful. Thus Beau-
mont and Fletcher:

" Your high offer,

" Taught by the masters of dependencies,
That, by compounding differences 'tween others,
Supply their own necessities, with me
Will never carry it." The Elder Brother.

In this punctilious age, all matters relative to duelling were
arranged, in set treatises, with a gravity that, in a business
less serioiiB, would be infinitely ridiculous. Troop* of dis-
banded toldieri, or rather of such as pretended to be so,

A drunken brawl, or, to get you the names

Of valiant cheviiliers, fellows that will be.

For a cl.>ak with tlirice-died velvet, and a cast suit,

Kick'd down the stairs. A knave with half a breech

there,

And no shirt (being a thing superfluous,
And worn out of his memory), if you bear not
Yourselves both in, and upright, with a provan

sword*

\Vill slash your scarlets and your plush a new way ;
Or with the hilts thunder about your ears
Such music as will make your worships dance
To the doleful tune of Lc/irt/m<et.

Gimp. I must tell you
In private, as you are my princely friend,
I do not like such fiddlers.

Bert. No ! they are useful
For your imitation} ; 1 remember you,
When you came first to the court, and talk'd of

nothing

But your rents and your entradas, ever chiming
The golden bells in your pockets ; you believed
The taking of the wall as a tribute due to
Your gaudy clothes ; and could not walk at mid-
night

Without a causeless quarrel, as if men
Of coarser outsides were in duty bound
To suffer your affronts : but when you had been
Cudgell'd well twice or thrice, and from thedoctrine
Made profitable uses, you concluded
The sovereign means to teach irregular heirs
Civility, with conformity of manners,
Were two or three sound beatings.

Ant. 1 confess
They did much good upon me.

Gas/'. And on me :
The principles that they read were sound.

Bert. You'll find

The like instructions in the camp.
Ast. The king !

took up the " noble science of arms," and, with the ne of
the small sword (then a novelty), taught a jargon respecting
the various mod. s of "honourable quarrelling," which,
though seemingly calculated to battle alike the patience and
the understanding, WHS a fashionable object of study. The
dramatic poets, faithful to the moial end of their high art,
combated this contagious folly with tht united powers of
wit and humour; and, after a long ami well conducted
struggle, succeeded in rendering it as contemptible as it was
odious, and finally supressed it.

* with a provant sword, &c.] A

provant sivord is a plain, nnornainented sword, such as
soldiers are supplied with by Ihe state. Thus, in /.Very
Man in his Humour, when Master Stephen produces hit
" pure Toledo," Bobadil exrl.iitns,

" This a Toledo I pish!

" fiteph. Why do you pish T

" Hob. A Fleming, by heaven ! I'll buy them for a guilder

a-piecc. an I would have a thousand of them : a pool

provant rapier ; no better."

Properly speaking, provant mean* provisions: thai
Petillius, in the tragedy of litmiiuca ;

" All my company

Are now in love; ne'er think of meat, nor talk
Of whal provant is."

But our old riu-rs extend it to all the articles which make
up the maga/ines of an army.

It appears, from the pointing of the fomer editors, that
they had not the slightest notion of what their author was
saying.

+ To the doleful tune of l.acHrymae.] Sec the Picture.

J For your imitation;] Thus the quarto: Mr. M. Mason
reads, For your initiation; an alteration as void of mean-
ing as ol harmony.

4 and from the doctrine

Made profitable uses, &c.] See The Emperor of the East*

SCTNE I.]

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

str

A Jlonrish. Enter ROBERTO, FULGENTIO, Ambassador,
and Attendants.

Rob. (Ascends the throne.) We sit prepared to hear.

Amb. Your majesty

Hath been lung since familiar, I doubt not,
With the desperate fortunes of my lord ; and pity
Of the much that your confederate hath suft'er'd,
You being; his last refuge, may persuade you
Not alone to compassionate, but to lend
Your royal aids to stay him in his fall
To certain ruin. He, too late, is conscious
That his ambition to encroach upon
His neighbour's territories, with the danger of
His liberty, nay, his life, hath brought in question
His own inheritance : but youth, and heat
Of blood, in your interpretation, may
Both plead and mediate for him. I must grant it
An error in him, being denied the favours
Of the fair princess of Sienna (though
He sought her in a noble way), to endeavour
To force affection by surprisal of
Her principal seat, Sienna.

Rob. Which now proves
The seat of his captivity, not triumph :
Heaven is still just.

Amb. And yet that justice is

To be with mercy temper'd, which heaven's deputies
Stand bound to minister. The injured duchess,
By reason taught, as nature, could not, with
The reparation of her wrongs, but aim at
A brave revenge ; and my lord feels, too late.
That innocence will find friends. The great Gonzaga,
The honour of his order (I must praise
Virtue, though in an enemy), he whose fights
And conquests hold one number, rallying up
Her scatter'd troops, before we could get time
To victual or to man the conquer'd ciry,
Sat d.;wn before it; and. presuming that
Tis not to be relieved, admits no parley,
Our flags of truce hung out in vain : nor will he
Lend an ear to composition, but exacts,
With the rendering up the town, the goods and lives
Of all within the walls, and of all sexes,
To be at his discretion.

Rob Since injustice

In your duke meets this correction, can you press us,
W : ith anv seeming argument of reason,
In foolish pity to decline* his dangers,
To dr*iw them on ourself ? Shall we not be
Warn'd bv his harms ? The league proclaimed be-
tween us

Bound neither of us further than to aid
Kacli other, if by foreign force invaded;
And so far in my honour I was tied.
But since, without our counsel, or allowance,
He hath ta'en arms; with his good leave, he must
Excuse us if we steer not on a rock
We see, and may avoid. Let other monarchs
Contend to be made glorious by proud war,

In fooluh pity to decline hit danger*,

To dratc them on ourtelf!} To declitif, here means to
divert from linn couise; in liicli sense it is frequently
met with in our old poets. Thus Jonson :

' who declining

Their way, not able, fur the throng, to follow,
Shut down (lie Geinonies." Sfjanui.

Again, in his f-'orett :

" Thi< make*, that wiely you dfdine your life
Far from the maze of ciutoin, errour, tlril'e."

And. with the blood of their poor subjects, purchase

Increase of empire, and augment their cares

In keeping that which was by" wrongs extorted,

Gilding unjust invasions with the trim

Of glorious conquests ; we, that would be known

The lather of our people, in our study

And vigilance for their safety, must not change

Their ploughshares into swords, and force them

from

The secure shade of their own vines, to be
Scorched with the flames of war; or, for our sport,
L'xpose their lives to ruin.

Amb. Will you.-then,
In his extremity, forsake your friend ?

Rob. No ; but preserve ourself.

Bert. Cannot the beams
Of honour thaw your icy fears?

hob. U'ho's that?

Bert. A kind of brother, sir, howe'er your subject ;
Your father's son, and one who blushes that
You are not heir to his brave spirit and vigour,
As to his kingdom.

Rob. How's this !

Bert. Sir, to be

His living chronicle, and to speak his praise,
Cannot deserve your anger.

Rtik. Where's your warrant
For this presumption?

Bert. Here, sir, in my heart :
Let sycophants, that feed upon your favours,
Style coldness in you caution, and prefer
Your ease before your honour; and conclude,
To eat and sleep supinely is the end
Of human blessings: 1 must tell you, sir,
Virtue, if not in action, is a vice ;
And, when we move not forward, we go backward* :
Nor is this peace, the nurse of drones and cowards,
Our health, but a disease.

Gasp. Well urged, my lord.

Ant. Perfect what is so well begun.

Amb. And bind
My lord your servant.

Rob. Hair-brain'd fool ! what reason
Canst thou infer, to make this good ?

Bert. A thousand,

Not to be contradicted. But consider
Where your command liesf : 'tis not, in France,

- J must tell you, sir,

Virtue, if not in action, in a vice ;
And vhen uv more not forward, u-e go backward :] Tliu
is a beautiful improvement on Horace :

Paulum tepultte dittat inertia:
. Celata virtu*.

It is, however, surpassed by the spirited apostrophe of Jon-
son to hidiself:

" Where do.t thou careless lie
K ii i ied in ease and sloth '.
Know ledge, that sleeps, doth die ;
And ihis security,

It is the common moth
That eats on wit and arts, and to destroy? them both.

L 'ndertrond*.

The Inst line of the text alludes to the Latin adage : -Von
proyredi ett reyredi.

But contider

Where your command lift: &c.| l)avie, I tliink, tay%
th.u here is an allusion to (he affairs of this country under
James.

However that may be, it i, at leat, certain that (lie
author, in this anim.ited description, wa* thinking of Ent.-
land only. He could scarcely be so ignorant <'( the natural
liisi.ir\ at Sicily as not to know how little of his description
applied to ih it island ; while every word of it was perfectly
applicable (o this.

8*8

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

[Act I.

Spain, Germany, Portugal, but in Sicily ;

An island, sir. Here are no mines of gold

Or silver to enrich you ; no worm spins

Silk in her womb, to make distinction

Between you and a peasant in your habits ;

No fish lives near our shores, whose blood can die

Scarlet or purple ; all that we possess,

With beasts we have in common : nature did

Design us to be warriors, and to break through

Our ring, the sea, by which we are environed ;

And we by force must fetch in what is wanting

Or precious to us. Add to this, we are

A populous nation, and increase so fast,

That, if we by our providence are not sent

Abroad in colonies, or fall by the sword,

Not Sicily, though now it were more fruitful

That when 'twas styled the granary of great Rome,

Can yield our numerous fry biead : we must starve,

Or eat up one another.

Ador. The king hears
With much attention.

Ast. And seems moved with what
Bertoldo hath deliver'd.

Bert. May you live long, sir.
The king of peace, so you deny not us
The glory of the war ; let not our nerves
Shrink up with sloth, nor, for want of employment,
Make younger brothers thieves : it is their swords,

sir,

Must *ow and reap their harvest. If examples
May move you more than arguments, look on Eng-
land,

The empress of the European isles,
And unto whom alone ours yields precedence :
When did she flourish so, as when she was
The mistress of the ocean, her navies
Putting a girdle round about the world ;
When the Iberian quaked, her worthies named ;
And the fair flower-de-luce grew pale, set by
The red rose and the white? Let not our armour
Hung up, or our unrigg'd armada, make us
Ridiculous to the late poor snakes our neighbours,
Warm'd in our bosoms, and to whom again
We may be terrible ; while we spend our hours
Without variety, confined to drink,
Dice, cards, or whores. Rouse us, sir, from the sleep
Of idleness, and redeem our mortgaged honours.
Your birth, and justly, claims my father's kingdom ;
But his heroic mind descends to me :
I will confirm so much.

Ador. In his looks he seems
To break ope Janus' temple.

Ast; I low these younglings
Take fire from him !

Ador. It works an alteration
Upon the kin^.

Ant. I can forbear no longer :
War, war, my sovereign !

Ful. The king appears
Resolved, arid does prepare to speak.

Rob. Think not

Our counsel's built upon so weak a base,
As to be overturn'd, or shaken, with
Tempestuous winds of words. As I, my lord,
Before resolved you, I will not engage
My person in this quarrel ; neither press
JNly subjects to maintain it : yet, to show
My rule is gentle, and that I have feeling [weary
O' your master's sufferings, since these gallants,

Of the happiness of peace, desire to taste
The bitter sweets of war, we do consent
That, as adventurers and volunteers,
No way compell'd by us, they may make trial
Of their boasted valours.

Bert. We desire no more.

Rob. 'Tis well ; an-1, but my grant in this, expect

not

Assistance from me. Govern as you please
The province you make choice of ; for I vow
By all things sacred, if that thou miscarry
In this rash undertaking, I will hear it
No otherwise than as a sad disaster,
Fallen on a stranger ; nor will I esteem
That man my subject, who, in thy extremes,
In purse or person aids thee. Take your fortune ;
You know me ; I have said it. So, my lord,
You have my absolute* answer.

Amb. My prince pays
In me his duty.

Rob. Follow me, Fulgentio.
And you, Astutio.

[Flourish. Exeunt Roberto, Fulgentio, Astutio,
and Attendants.

Gasp. What a frown he threw,
At his departure, on you !

Bert. Let him keep
His smiles for his state catamite, I care not.

Ant. Shall we aboard to-niyht ?

Amb. Your speed, my lord,
Doubles the benefit.

Bert. I have a business

Requires dispatch ; some two hours hence I'll meet
you. [Eieant.

SCENE II. The same. A Room in Camiola's House.

Enter Signior SYLLI, walking fantasticnlly, followed by
CAMIOLA and CLAUINDA.

Cam. Nay, signior, this is too much ceremony
In my own house.

Syl. What's gracious abroad,
Must be in private practised.

Clar. For your mirth's sake
Let him alone ; he has been all this morning
In practice with a peruked gentleman-usher,
To teach him his true amble and his postures,

[6'i///i walking by, and practising his postunt
When he walks before a lady.

Syl. You may, madam,
Perhaps, believe that I in this use art,
To make you dote upon me, by exposing
My more than most rare features to your view ;
But I, as I have ever done, deal simply ;
A mark of sweet simplicity, ever noted
In the family of the Syllis. 'J herefure, lady,
Look not with too much contemplation on me ;
If you do, you are in the suds.

Cam. You are no barber? [drawn

Syl. Fie, no ! not 1 ; but my good parts have
More loving hearts out of fair ladies' bellies,
Than the whole trade have done teeth.

Cam. Is't possible ?

-.Vo, my lord.

You have my absolute answer.} Thus tlie quarto : Coxetei
and Mr. M. Mason, veiy correctly as well as metrically,
read, You have my wliuk answer! How little li.u hitherto
been seen of Massinger!

II.]

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

829

SyL Yes, and they live too ; marry, much con-
doling

The scorn of their Narcissus, as they call me
Because 1 love myself

Cam. Without a rival.
\\ hat philters or love powders do you use,
To force affection ? I see nothing in
Your person but 1 dare look on, yet keep
My own poor heart still.

'Syl. You are warn'd be arin'd ;
And do not lose the hope of such a husband,
In being too soon enamour'd.

Clur. Hold in your head,
Or \ ou must have a martingal.

Si,/. I have sworn
Never to take a wife, but such a one,

may your ladyship prove so strong ? as can
Hold out a month against me.

Cam. Never fear it ;

Though your best taking part, your wealth, were
trebled,

1 would not woo you. But since in your pity
You please to give me caution, tell me what
Temptations I must fly from.

Syl. The first is,

That you never hear me sing, for I'm a syren :
If you observe, when 1 warble, the dogs howl,
As ravish'd with my ditties ; and you will
Run mad to hear me.

Cum I will stop my ears,
And keep my little wits.

Syl. Next, when I dance,
And come aloft thus, cast not a sheep's eye
Upon the quivering of my calf.

Cam. Proceed, sir. ' [not

Syl Hut on no terms, for 'tis a main point, dream
O' th' strength of my back, though it will bear a

burthen
With any porter.

Cam. I mean not to ride you.

Syl. Nor I your little ladyship, till you have
Perform 'd the covenants, lie not taken with
My pretty spider-fingers, nor my eyes,
That twinkle on both sides.

Com. Was there ever such

A piece of motley heard of! [A knocking within.
Who's that ? [Eiit Clarinda.\ You may spare
The catalogue of my dangers.

Syl. No, good madam ;
I have not told you half.

Cam. Enough, good signior;
If I eat more of such sweetmeats, I shall surfeit.

Re-enter CI.ARIXDA.
Whois't?

Clar. The brother of the king.

Si//. Nay start not.

The brother of the king ! is be no more ?
Were it the king himself, I'd give him leave
To speak his mind to you, for I am not jealous ;
And, to assure your ladyship of so much,
I'll usher him in, and that done hide mvself.

[Exit.

Cam. Camiola, if ever, now be constant :
This is, indeed, a suitor, whose sweet presence
Courtship, and loving language, would have stag-

ger'd

The chaste Penelope ; and to increase
The wonder, did not modesty forbid it,

I should ask that from him he sues to me for :
And yet my reason, like a tyrant, tells me
I must nor give nor take it*.

Re-enter SYLLI uith BERTOLDO.

Syl. I must tell you,

You lose your labour. 'Tis enough to prove it,
Signior Sylli came before you; and you know,
First come first served : yet you shall have my

countenance,

To parley with her, and I'll take special care
That none shall interrupt you.
Bert. Your are courteous.
SuL Come, wench, wilt thou hear wisdom ?
Cliir. Yes, from you, sir. [They comerse aside.
Bert. If forcing this sweet favour from your
lips, [Kiisesher.

Fair madam, argue me of too much boldness,
When you are pleased to understand 1 take
A parting kiss, if not excuse, at least
'Twill qualify the offence.

Cam. A parting kiss, sir !
What nation, envious of the happiness
Which Sicily enjoys in your sweet presence,
Can buy you from her 1 or wiiat climate yield
Pleasures transcending those which you enjoy here,
Being both beloved and honour'd ; the north-star
And guider of all hearts ; and, to sum up
Your full account of happiness in a word,
The brother of the king }

Bert. Do you, alone,
And with an unexampled cruelty,
Enforce my absence, and deprive me of
Those blessings which you, with a polish'd phrase,
Seem to insinuate that 1 do possess,
And yet tax me as being guilty of
My wilful exile ? What are titles to me,
Or popular suffrage, or my nearness to
The king in blood, or fruitful Sicily,
Though it confess'd no sovereign but myself,
\\ hen you, that are the essence of my being,
The anchor of my hopes, the real substance
Of my felicity, in your disdain
Turn all to fading and deceiving shadows ?
Com. You tax me without cause.
Bert. You must confess it.

But answer love with love, and seal the contract
In the uniting of our souls, how gladly
(Though now I were in action, and assured,
Following my fortune, that plumed Victory
Would make her glorious stand upon my tent)
Would 1 put off my armour, in my heat
Of conquest, and, like Antony, pursue
My Cleopatra' Will you yet look on me
With an eye of favour?

Cam. Truth bear witness for me,
That, in the judgment of my soul, you are
A man so absolute, and circular
In all those wish'd-for rarities that may take
A virgin captive, that, though at this instant
All sceptr'd monarchs of our western world
W r ere rivals with you, and Camiola worthy
Of such a competition, you alone
Should wear the garland.

/ mutt nor give nor take t'M This mode of expression
which is very frequent ill Massinger, is almost as frequently
changed by Mr. M. Mason into 1 mvtt nut yi*t, 6cc.

230

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

f ACT T.

Bwt. If so, what diverts
Your favour from me?

Cum. No mulct in yourself,
Or in your person, mind, or fortune.

Bert. What then? [sir,

Cam. '1 lie consciousness of mine own wants : alas!
We are not parallels ; but. like lines divided *,
Can ne'er meet in one centre. Your birth, sir,
Without addition, were an ample dowry
For one of fairer fortunes ; and this shape,
Were you ignoble, far above all value :
To this so clear a mind, so furnish *d with
Harmonious faculties moulded from heaven,
Th.it though you were Thersites in your features,
Of no descent, and Irusin your fortunes,
Ulysses-like you'd force all eyes and ears
To love, but seen ; and, when heard, wonder at
Your matchless stOTv : but all these bound up
Together in one volume! give me leave,
With admiration to look upon them ;
But not presume, in my own flattering hopes,
I may or can enjoy them.

Bert. How you ruin

What you would seem to build up ! I know no
Disparity between us : you're an heir
Sprung from a noble family ; fair, rich, young,
And every way my equal.

Cam. Sir, excuse me ;
One aerie with proportion ne'er discloses
1 he eagle and the wrenf : tissue and frieze

alas, sirt

Wr are not parallels; but. like lines divided,
Can ne'er meet in one centre.] This stems badly ex-
pressed. I'.ir.illi N are tin- only lines that cannot meet in a
centre; for all lines divided with any angle toward* each
other, must meet somewhere, if continued both ways.

CoXKTKR.

B\ li.,es divided, Massinger does not mean, as the editor
inp^o-fg, lines inclined to each other in any angle; but the
divided parts of the same right line, which never can meet
in tint- c. nire. M. MASON.

If Mr M. Mason understands liis own meaning, it is well ;
that of his author, I apprehend, he has not altogether made
out. Our old writers were not, generally speaking, very
expert mathematicians, anil therefore frequently confounded
the properties of lines and figures* Not only Massinger,
but iii.iny other* who had good means of information, use
parallel* (as it seems to me) for radii. I)r. Sacheverell was
ccued by the win, or rattier whigs, of his day, for speak-
ing, in his famous University Sermon, of parallel linrs that
met in a centre. The charge appears to be just, tor, t hough
he changed the expression hen the sermon was commit tod
to the press, he retained his conviction of its prop] iety :
" They" (temptations), he says " are the centre in which.
all our passions termiinte and join, though never to much
repvynant to each other."

In the Proeitic to Herbert'* Travel*, which were printed
not Ions' after The Maid of Honour, a similar expression is
found : " Great Briuine contains the snmine and abridged
of all ,-orls of excellencies, met here like parallel* in their
prttper centrt."

In the life of Dr. H. More (1710' there is a letter to a
correspondent who had sent him a pious treatise, in which
the same expression occurs, aud is thus noticed by the
doctor: " Ther- is but one passage that I remember, which
will attord tht-m (the profane and atheistical rout of the age)
di-ingeniion; vitiM action ; which is in p. 4*0, where you
ay that ttratyht line* drawn from the centre run parallel
together. To a candid reader your intended sense can be no
other th.m that thry run Trap aXXqXaf that is, by one
Hnother; which they may do, though they do not run all
long equidistautly one by another, which is the mathe.
matical ene of the word parallel." See Gent. Mag. May,
17*2. The good doctor in. 1 think, the hest critic on the
subject that has jet appeared, and sufficiently explains
Masinger.

t Cam. .Sir, excuse mt ;

On* aerie with proportion ne'tr discloses

In the same garment, monstrous ! But suppose
That what's in you excessive were diminish'd.
And my desert supplied, the stronger bar,
Religion, stops our entrance : you are, sir,
A knight of Malts, by your order bound
To a single life ; you cannot marry me ;
And, I assure myself, you are too noble
To seek me, though my frailty should consent.
In a base path.

Bert. A dispensation, lady,
Will easily absolve me.

Cam. O take heed, sir!

When what is vow'd to heaven is dispensed with,
To serve our ends on earth, a curse must follow,
And not a blessing.

Bert. Is there no hope left me ?

Cam. Nor to myself, but is a neighbour to
Impossibility. True love should walk
On equal feet; in us it does riot, sir ;
But rest assured, excepting this, 1 shall be
Devoted to your service.

Bert. And this is your
Determinate sentence?

Cam. Not to be revoked.

Bert. Farewell then, fairest cruel ! all thoughts

in me

Of women perish. Let the glorious light
Of noble war extinguish Love's dim taper*,
That only lends me light to see my folly :
Honour, be thou my ever-living mistress.
And fond affection, as thy bond-slave, serve thee !

[Exit.

Cam. How soon my sun is set, he being absent,
Never to rise a-ain ! What a fierce battle
Is fought between my passions ! met Links
We should have kiss'd at parting.

Syl. I perceive

He has his answer : now must I step in
To comfort her.. You have found, I hope, sweet

lady,

Some difference between a youth of my pitch,
And this bugbe>tr Bertoldo ; men are men,

The eagle and the wren :] The modern editors read One
airy with proportion, &c. Upon which Coxeier observes,
that "the passage is somewhat diflictilt." It means, how-
ever, he adds, "that ont; who is putted up with an high opi-
nion of his birth (i.e. airy with proportion), will never stoop
so low as Bertoldo must, to marry Camiola!" To this Mr.
M. Mason subjoins, that for discloses we should read encloses,
and that the meaning is, " n.e air) that is tit for an eagle
cannot be equally fit for a wren !" Poor Coxeter's blunder
is sufficiently ridiculous : but did not Mr. M. Mason, who
tells us, in a note, of the absolute neces-ity of consulting and
comparing contemporary authors, recollect those beautiful
lines of Shakspeare >.

" Anon, us patient as the female dove,
Ere that her golden couplets are disclosed,
Hi* silence will sit drooping." Hamlet.

Disclose, in short, is const. intly used bv our old writers for
hatch, as aerie is, for the nest of any bird of prey : and the
meaning of this ' somewhat dirticnlt passage" nothing more,
than that eagles and wrens are too disproportionate in bulk
to be hatched in the same nat.

* Let the glorious Hyht

Of nob/e war extinguish Love's dim taj-er,] So the quarto :
for which fine line the modern cdiiois give us,

Let the ylorimn liyht

Of noble war extinguish Love* divine taper!
It seems strange thai no want of harmony in the metre, no
defect of sense in t e expression, could ever rouse them into
a suspicion of their inaccuracy. I have not, however,
pointed out every error to the reader: in what has already
past of this act, the old reading has been silently lestored 'ii
numerous instances.

StesE II.]

THE MAID OF HOVOl'R.

231

The kind's brotlier is no more ; -rood parts will do it,
When titles fail. Despair not ; 1 may be
In time entreated.

Cam. He so now, to leave me.
Lights for mv chamber. O my heart!

[Exeunt CaminUi and Clarinda.

Syl. She now,

I know, is going to bed to ruminate
Which way to glut herself upon my person ;
Hut, for my oath's sake, I will keep her hungry .
And, to grow full myself, I'll straight to supper.

[Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I. The same. A Room in the Palace.
Enter ROBERTO, FULGENTIO, and ASTUTIO,

Rub. Embark'd to night, do you say ?

Ful. 1 saw him aboard, sir.

Hob. And without taking of his leave?

Ait. 'T was strange!

Huh. Are we grown so contemptible ?

Ful. 'Tis far

From me. sir, to add fuel to your anger,
That in yiur ill opinion of him, burns
Too hot already ; else I should affirm
It was a gross neglect.

Rob. A wilful scorn
Of du'y and allegiance; you give it
Too fair a name. But we shall think on't: can you
Uuess what the numbers were that follow'd him,
In his desperate action ?

Ful. More than you think, sir.
All ill-affected spirits in Palermo,
Or to your government, or person, with
The turbulent swordsmen, such whose poverty

forced them

To wi-h 11 change, are gone along with him ;
Creatures devoted to his undertakings.
In right or wrong : and to express their zeal
And readiness t>> serve him, ere they went,
Profanely took the sacrament ou their knees,
To live and die VN i'h him.

R<A. O most impious !
Their loyalty to us forgot?

Ful. I fear so.

Ast. Unthankful as they are '

Ful. Vet this deserves not

One troubled thought in you, sir ; with your pardon,
I hold that their remove from hence makes more
For your security tluu danger.

Roh. True ;

And, as I'll fashion it, they shall feel it too.
Astntio, you shall presently be dispatch 'd
With letters writ and sign'd with our own hand,
To the duchess of Sienna, in excuse
Of these forces sent against her. If you spare
An oath, to give it credit*, that we never
Consented to it ; swearing lor the king,
Though false, it is no perjury.

-If you tpare

An oath, to give it credit, &c.] This detestable doctrine
is iintvuiihy of tlic kitig,uho IMS hitherto conducted himself
with propriety, and preserved some degree of interest with
the reader. MasMiiger, however, has taken sufficient care
10 di-.-luM' his o\vn ideas of such pe rnick'iis tenets, which, I
hope, were never fashionable, hy the ridicule which be
dexterously flings over them in the subsequent speeches.

Ast. I know it.

They are not fit to be state agents, sir,
'1 hat, without scruple of their conscience, cannot
Be prodigal in such trifles.

Ful. Right, Astutio.

Rub. You must, beside, from us take some in-
structions,

To be imparted, as you judge them useful,
To the general Gonzaga. Instantly
Prepare you for vour journey.

Ast. With the wings
Of loyalty and duty. [Exit.

Fitl. 1 am bold
To put your majesty in mind

Rob. Of my promise,

And aids, to further you in your amorous project
To the fair and rich Camiola : there's my ring ;
Whatever you shall say that I entreat,
Or can command by power, I will make good.

Ful. Ever your majesty's creature.

Rob. Venus prove
Propitious to you ! [Exit.

Ful. All sorts to my wishes ;
Bertnldo was my hindrance : he removed,
I now will court her in the conqueror's style ;
Come, see, and overcome. Boy !

Enter Page.

Page. Sir ; yonr pleasure ?

Ful. Haste to Camiola ; bid her prepare
An entertainment suitable to a fortune
She could not hope for. Tell her, I vouchsafe
To honour her with a visit.

I 3 "ge. 'Tis a favour
Will make her proud.

Ful. I know it.

P'ige. I am gone, sir, [Eitt.

Ful. Entreaties fit not me ; a man in grace
May challenge awe and privilege, by his place.

[EiU

SCENE II. The same. A Room in Camiola's Hmte

Enter ADORNI, SYLLT, and CLARINDA.

Ador. So melancholy, say you '

Cl"r. Never given
To such retirement.

Ador. Can you guess the cause ?

Clar. If it liHtli not its birth and being from
The brave Bertoldo's absence, 1 confess
'Tis past my apprehension.

Syl. You are wide,

232

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

[ACT II.

The whole field wide*. I, in my understanding,
Pity your ignorance ; yet, if you will
Swear to conceal it, I will let you know
Where her shoe wrings her.

Clur. I vow, signior,
By my virginity.

Sijt. A perilous oath,

In a waitingwornan of fifteen ! and is, indeed,
A kind of nothing.

Ador. I'll take one of something,
If you please to minister it.

Syl. Nay, you shull not swear :
I had rather take your word ; for, should you vow,
D n me, I'll do this ! you are sure to break.

Ador. I thank you, signior ; but resolve us.

SyL Know, then,

Here walks the cause. She dares not look upon me ;
My beauties are so terrible and enchanting,
She cannot endure my sight.

Ador. There 1 believe you.

SyL But the time will come, be comforted, when

I will

Put off this vizor of unkindness to her,
And show an amorous and yielding face :
And, until then, though Hercules himself
Desire to see her, he had better eat
His club, than pass her threshold ; for I will be
Her Cerberus to guard her.

Ador. A good dog !

Clar. Worth twenty porters.

Enter Page.

Page. Keep you open house here ?
No groom to attend a gentleman ! O, I spy one.

Si/l. He means not me, I am sure.

Page. You, sirrah sheep's-head,
With a face cut on a cat-stick, do you hear?
You yeoman fewtererf. conduct me to
The lady of the mansion, or my poniard
Shall disembogue thy soul.

Syl. O terrible !

Disembogue ! I talk'd of Hercules, and here is one
Bound up in decimo se.r/nj.

Page. Answer, wretch.

SyL Pray you, little gentleman, be not so furious ;
The ldy keeps her chamber.

Page. And we present !
Sent in an embassy to her ! but here is
Her gentlewoman : sirrah ! hold my cloak,
While 1 take a leap at her lips ; do it, and neatly ;
Or, having first tripp'd up thy heels, I'll make
Thy back my footstool. [Kisi>et Clarinda.

Syl. Tamberlane in little !
Am 1 turn'd Turk$ ! What an office am I put to !

Clar. My lady, gentle youth, is indisposed.

* The whole field wide.] This hemistich is dropt by Mr.
M< Mason : it signifies little tint the measure of two lines is
spotliMi by his negligence, for, as he modestly says of his
edition, " correctness is the only merit it pretend* to." The
expression, however Signior Sjlli picked it up, is a Latin-
ism : Errus, tola via aberrai.

+ t'ou yeoman fewterer,] See The Picture.

} 1 talk'd of Hercules, and here is one

Bound up in decimo sexto.] We have already had this
expression applied to a page in The Unnatural Combat, Act
111., M 1 . ii. Indeed, no author, with whom I am acquainted,
repeats himself so frequently, and with so little ceremony)
as Massinger.

j Am 1 turn'd Tmk!] Alluding to the story of Tamber-
lane, who is said to have mounted his horse from the back
of Ltaj.izct, the Turkish Emperor. To turn Turk is an ex-

Page. Though she were dead and buried, only tell

her,

The great man in the court, the brave Fulgentio,
Descends to visit her, and it will raise her
Out of the grave for joy.

Enter FULGENTIO.

Syl. Here comes another !
The devil, 1 fear, in his holiday clothes.

Page. So soon !

My part is at an end then. Cover my shoulders ;
When 1 grow great, thou shall serve me.

Ful. Are you, sirrah, [To Sylli.

An implement of the house ?

Syl. Sure he will make
A joint stool of me !

Ful. Or, if you belong [To Adortti.

To the lady of the place, command her hither.

Ador. 1 do not wear her livery, yet acknowledge
A duty to her ; and as little bound
To serve your peremptory will, as she is
To obey your summons. 'Twill become you, sir,
To wait her leisure ; then, her pleasure known,
You may present your duty.

Fid. Duty ! Slave,
I'll teach you manners.

Ador. I'm past learning ; make not
A tumult in the house.

Ful. Shall I be brav'd thus ? [They draw.

SyL O, I am dead ! and now I swoon.

[Falls on hisjace.

Clar. Help ! murder !

Page. Recover, sirrah ; the lady's here.

Enter CAMIOLA.

Syl. Nay, then
I am alive again, and I'll be valiant. [Kiset.

Cam. What insolence is this? Adorni, hold,
Hold, I command you.

Ful. Saucy groom !

Cam. Not so, sir ;

However, in his life, he had dependence
Upon my father, he's a gentleman
As well born as yourself*. Put on your hat.

Ful. In my presence without leave !

SyL He has mine, madam. [guage,

Cam. And I must tell you, sir, and in plain lan-
Howe'er your glittering outside promise gentry,
The rudeness of your carriage and behaviour
Speaks you a courser thing.

Syl. She means a clown, sir ;
I am her interpreter, for want of a better. [you

Cam. I am a queen in mine own house ; nor must
Expect an empire here.

Syl. Sure I must love her
Before the day, the pretty soul's so valiant. [me ?

Cam. What are you? and what would you with

Ful. Proud one,

When you know what I am, and what I came for,
And may on your submission, proceed to,
You in your reason must repent the coarseness
Of my entertainment.

pressinn frequently ucd to imply a change of situation, oc-
cupation, mode of thought or action. See The fieneaado
Act V., sc. iii.

He's gentleman

At well born as yourself. \ This is the second passage, in
the compass of little more than a page, which i wholly
omitted by Mr. M. Masonl

SCENE II.]

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

233

Cam. Why, fine man ? what are you ?
Fill, A kinsman of the king's.
Cam. I cry you mercy,

For his sake, not your own. But, grant you are so,
'Tis not impossible but a king may have
A fool to his kinsman, no way meaning you, sir.
Ful. You have heard of Fulgentio 1
Cam. Long since, sir ;
A suit-broker in court. He has the worst
Report among good men, I ever heard of,
For bribery and extortion : in their prayers,
Widows and orphans curse him for a canker
And caterpillar in the state. I hope, sir.
You are not the man ; much less employ 'd by him,
As a smock agent to me.

Ful. I reply not

As you deserve, being assured you know me ;
Pretending ignorance of my person, only [courtly ;
To give me a taste of your wit : 'tis well, and
I like a sharp wit well.

Syt. I cannot endure it ;
Nor any of the Syllis.

Ful. More ; I know too,
This harsh induction must serve as a foil
To the well-tuned observance and respect
You will hereafter pay me, being made
Familiar with my credit with the king,
And that (contain your joy) I deign to love you
Cam. Love me ! 1 am not rapt with it.
Ful. Hear't again :
I love you honestly : now you admire me.

Cam. I do, indeed : it being a word so seldom
Heard from a courtier's mouth. But, pray you,

deal plainly,

Since you find me simple ;what might be the motives
Inducing you to leave the freedom of
A bachelor's life, on your soft neck to wear
The stubborn yoke of marriage ; and, of all
The beauties in Palermo, to choose me,
Poor me ? that is the main point you must treat of.

Ful. Why, I will tell you. Of a little thing,
You are a pretty peat*, indifferent fair, too ;
And, like a new-rigg'd ship, both tight and yare,
Well truss'd to bear : virgins of giant size
Are sluggards at the sport ; but for my pleasure,
Give me a neat well-timber'd gamester like you ;
Such need no spurs, the quickness of your eye
Assures an active spirit.

Cam. You are pleasant, sir ;
Yet I presume that there was one thing in me
Unmention'd yet, that took you more than all
Those parts vou have remember'd.
Ful. What?
Cam. My wealth, sir,

Ful. You are in the right ; without that beauty is
A flower worn in the morning, at night trod on :
But beauty, youth, and fortune, meeting in you,
I will vouchsafe to marry you.

Cam. You speak well ;
And, in return, excuse me, sir, if I
Deliver reasons why, upon no terms,
I'll marry you ; I fable not.

Syl. I am glad

To hear this ; I began to have an ague
Ful. Come, your wise reasons.

You are a pretty peat,] For peat the modern editors
are pleased to give us piece; a colloquial barbarism of our
own timei.

Cam. Such as they are, pray you take them :
First, I am doubtful whether you are a man,
Since, for your shape, trimm'd up in a lady's dressing,
You might pass for a woman ; now I love
To deal on certainties : and, for the fairness
Of your complexion, which you think will take me,
The colour, I must te;l you, in a man
Is weak and faint, and never will hold out,
If put to labour : give me the lovely brown,
A thick curl'd hair of the same die, broad shoulders,
A brawny arm full of veins, a leg without
An artificial calf; I suspect yours ;
But let that pass.

Si//. She means me all this while,
For I have every one of those good parts ,

Sylli ! fortunate Sylli !
Cam. You are moved, sir.
Ful. Fie ! no ; go on.

Cam. Then, as you are a courtier,
A graced one too, I fear you have been too forward ;
And so much for your person. Rich you are,
Devilish rich, as tis reported, and sure have
The aids of .Satan's little fientls to get it ;
And what is got upon his back, must be
Spent you know where ; the proverb's stale.

One word more,
And I have done.

Ful. I'll ease vou of the trouble,
Coy and disdainful !

Cam. Save me, or else he'll beat me. [put me

Ful. No, your own folly shall ; and, since you
To my last charm, look upon this, and tremble.

[Shows the king's ring

Cam. At the sight of a fair ring ! The king's, I
take it ?

1 have seen him wear the like : if he hath sent it
As a favour to me

Ful. Yes, 'tis very likely ;
His dying mother's gift, prized at his crown:
By this he does command you to be mine;
By his gift you are so : you may yet redeem all.

Cam. You are in a wrong account still. Though

the king may

Dispose of my life and goods, my mind's mine own,
And never shall be your's. The king heaven bless
Is good and gracious, and. being in himself [him
Abstemious from base and goatish looseness,
Will not compel, against their wills, chaste maidens
To dance in his minion's circles^ 1 believe,
Forgetting it when he wash'd his hands, you stole it
With an intent to awe me. But you are cozen'd ;
1 am still myself, and will be.

Ful. A proud haggard,

And not to be reclann'd ! which of your grooms,
Your coachman, fool, or footman, ministers
N ight-physic to you ?

Cam. You are foul-mouth'd.

Ful. Much fairer
Than thy black soul ; and so I will proclaim thee.

Cam. Were I a man, thou durst not speak this.

Ful. Heaven

So prosper me, as I resolve to do it
To all men, and in every place ; scorn'd by
A tit of ten-pence ! [Exeunt Fulgent io and Page,

Syt. Now 1 begin to be valiant:
Nay, I will draw my sword. O fora brother*!

O for a butcher!

Do a friend'* part, &c. , This ii a true picture of a fop.

234

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

[Acr II

Do a friend's part; pray you, carry Lim the length,

oft.

I give him three years and a day to match my Toledo
And tncn we'll fight like dragons.

A dor. Pray, have patience.

Cam. I may live to have vengeance: my Bertoldo
Would not have heard this.

Ador. Madam,

Cam. Pray you, spare
Your language. Prithee fool, and make me merry*.

5(//. That is my office ever.

Ador. I must do.

Not talk ; this glorious gallant shall hear' from me.

[Eacurrt.

SCENE III. -The Sienneset. A Camp before the

Walls of' Sienna.
Chambers shot off': a Flourish as to an Assault: after

which, enter GONZAGA, PIERIO, RODEUIGO, JACOMO,

and Soldiers.

Cons. Ts the breach made assaultable ?

Pier. Yes, and the moat

Fill'd up ; the cannoneer hath done his parts ;
We may enter six abreast.

Pod. There's not a man
Dares show himself upon the wall.

Jac. Defeat not
The soldiers' hoped-for spoil.

Pier. If you, sir,
Delay the assault, and the city be given up

Nothing could be more abjectly fearful than this our
bravado, when in danger: but, now his enemy is gone, he
swaggers about mo>t courageously. Now I beyln to be
valiant : nay, I wilt draw my sword. (> for a butcher!
The bloody cruel temper of one COXKTKI:.

for a butcher!] It is impossible that the words should
convey the sense that the editor attributes to them. It is a
difficult passage, and my conjecture may possibly be errone-
ous, but 1 should read it thus :

A'ay, / will draw my sword : O for a. bout ! Here,
Do a friend'* part, &c. M. MASON.

Sylli is no fop. but a fool : one of those characters which
the audiences of Massinger's time looked for in every piece
that came before them. By fool, I do not moan such a* are
found in Shakspeare, compounds of archness, knavery,
petulance, and licentiousness, infinitely diversitied (for to
lie production of suoh our poet was not equal), but a harm-
less simpleton, whose vanity it too puerile and cowardice
too abject, to excite in our times either interest or mirth :
for the rest, nothing can be more contemptible than the
jargon of Coxeter on his own erroneous reading. I have
consulted all the copies to which 1 had wrcess, and they
concur in reading, O for a brother ! (with the single excep-
tion, indeed, of Mr. Malone's, which reads liutcher), i. e. a
brother in arm* (I suppose to do what he immediately after
requests Adorni to do tor him), a common expression at the
time, and well understood by Massinger's audience. The
erave remark of Mr. M. Mason on the spurious readinv of
Coxeter is truly ridiculous. Why did he not examine'the
old copies?

* (lam. Pray you, tpare

Your language. Prithee, fool, and malte me merry ] I. c.
play the fool. An explanation that would have been wholly
unnecessary, if the modern editors had not mistaken the
sense, and therefore altered the passage. They read, in
despite of the metre,

Pray you spare

Your lanyuayf. Prithtefool, and make me merry.

1 Tlie Sienne.e, &c.] Here, as in The Duke of Milan,
Coxeter attempted to particularize the place of action, but
with as little success as before. He reads, The Cattle at
Sienna : this, uowever, was in the hands of the duke of
Urbin ; while On/ t<j,:t and his army are described as Ijing
encamped before the walls of the town : which they are
now preparing to assa'dt. The cattle of Sienna, if castle it
mnst be, should be placed at the head of the next scene.
Mr. M. Mason copies all there absurdities, as usual.

To your discretion, you in honour cannot
Use the extremity of war, but, in
Compassion to them, you to us prove cruel.

Jac. And an enemy to yourself.

Hod. A hindrance to
The brave revenge you have vow'd.

Gonz. Temper your heat,
And lose not, by too sudden rashness, that
Which, be but patient, will be offer'd to you.
Security ushers ruin; proud contempt
Of an enemy three parts vanquish 'cl, with desire
And greediness of spoil, have often wrested
A certain victory from the conqueror's gripe.
Discretion is the tutor of the war,
Valour the pupil ; and, when \ve command
With lenity, and our direction's follow 'd
With cheerfulness, a prosperous end must crowc
Our works well undertaken.

Pod. Ours are finish'd

Pier. If we make use of fortune.

Gonz. Her false smiles

Deprive you of your judgments. The condition
Of our affairs exacts a double care,
And, like bii'ronted Janus, we must look
Backward, as forward : though a flattering calm
Bids us urge on, a sudden tempest raised,
Not feared, much less expected, in our rear
May foully fall upon us, and distract us
To our confusion.

Enter a Scout.

Our scout! what brings
Thy ghastly looks, and sudden speed ?

Scout. The assurance
Of a new enemy.

Gonz. This I foresaw and fear'd.
What are they, know'st thou?

Scout. They are, by their colours,
Sicilians, bravely mounted, and the brightness
Of their rich armours doubly gilded with
Reflection of the sun.

Gonz. From Sicily?

The king in league ! no war proclaimed ! 'tis foul
But this must be prevented, not disputed
Ha! how is this? your estridge* plumes, that but
Even now, like quills of porcupines, seem'd to

threaten

The stars, drop at the rumour of a shower,
And, like to captive colours, sweep the earth !
Bear up ; but in great dangers, greater minds
Are never proud. Shall a few loose troops, un-
But in a customary ostentation, [trained

Presented as a sacrifice to your valours,
Cause a dejection in you ?

Pier. No dejection. [low.

Hod. However startled, where you lead we'll fol-

Gonz. 'Tis bravely said. We will not stay their

. charge,

But meet them man to man, and horse to horse.
Pierio, in our absence hold our place,
And with our foot men, and those sickly troops,
Prerent a sally. T in mine own person,
With part of the cavalleryf. will bid

your esi ridge plumes, &c. 1 For

estridyc the modern editions reail ostrich: bin this is not
the only capricious alteration which they have introduced
into this beautiful speech. -

t tl ith part of the cavallcry,] So it must be spelt, an'l MI
the quarto spells it : the modern editions have cavalry,

SCENE V.]

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

These hunters welcome to a bloody breakfast :
But I lose time.

Pier. I'll to my charge. [Exit.

Gonz. And we
To ours : I'll bring you on.

Jac. If we come off,
It's not amiss ; if not, my state is settled.

[Eieunt. Alarum within.

SCENE IV. The same. The Citadel of Sienna.
Enter FERDINAND, Dnuso, and LIVIO, on the H'n//s.

Per. No aids from Sicily ! Hath hope forsook us ;
And tlmt vain comfort to affliction, pity,
Hy our vow'd friend denied us 1 we can nor live
Nor die with honour : like beasts in a toil,
We wait the leisure of the bloody hunter,
Who is not so far reconcil'd unto us,
As in one death to give a period
To our calamities ; but in delaying
The fate we cannot fly from, starved with wants,
We die this night, to 'live again to-morrow,
And suffer greater torments.

Dm. There is not

Three days' provision for every soldier,
At an ounce of bread a day, left in the city.

Lh\ To die the beggar's death, with hunger made
Anatomies while we live, cannot but crack
Our heart-strings with vexation.

Per. Would they would break,
Bre:ik altogether! How willingly, like Cato,
Could I tear out my bowels, rather than
Look on the conqueror's ini-ulting face ;
But that religion ', and the horrid dream
To be suffcr'd in the other world, denies it !

Enter a Soldier.

What news with thee 1

Sol. From the turret of the fort,
By the rising clouds of dust, through which, like

lightning,
The splendour of bright arms sometimes brake t

through,

I did descry some forces making towards us ;
And, from the camp, as emulous of their t;lory,
The general (for I know him by his borse),
And bravely seconded, encounter'd them.
Their greetings were too rough for friends ; their

swords,

And not their tongues, exchanging courtesies.
By this the main battalias are join'd ;
And, if you please to be spectators of
The horrid issue, I will bring you where,
As in a theatre, you may see their i'ates
In purple gore presented.

Per. Heaven, if yet

Thou art appeased for my wronsj done to Aurelia,
"~ake pity of my miseries ! Lead the way, friend.

[Exeunt.

\vhich is not metre, nor any thins; like metre. The old
expression is neither incorrect, nor uncommon, as I could
easily show, it' it were at all necessary.

* J?uf that re ! i(jiim] Here Malinger had Hamlet in
view but has improved his sentiments.

+ The splendour of briyftt arms soicetimei brake through,}
Both Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason corrupt brake into break,
though it be arrant nonsense 1

SCENE V. The tame. A Plain near the Camp.

A Ion? Charge: after which, a Flourish for victory ;
then enter GOSZAGA, JACOMO, and Konr.nioo,
wounded ; BERTOLDO, GASPAUO, and ANTONIO,

Prisoners.

Gonz. We hare them yet, though they cost u

dear. This was [selves

Charged home, and bravely follow'd. Be to your-

[To Jacomo and Rodertgo.

True mirrors to each other's worth ; and looking
Witli noble emulation on his wounds,
The glorious livery of triumphant war,
Imagine these with equal grace appear
Uyon yourselves. The bloody sweat you have suf-

fer'd

In this laborious, nay, toilsome harvest,
Yields a rich crop of conquest : and the spoil,
Most precious balsam to a soldier's hurts,
Will ease and cure them. Let me look upon

[Gasparo and Antonio brought forward.
The prisoners' fnces. Oh, how much tninsform'd
From what they were '. O Mars ! were these toy

fashion'd

To undergo the burthen of thy service ?
The weight of their defensive armour bruised
Their weak effeminate limbs, and would have forced

them,
In a hot day, without a blow to yield.

A nt. This instillation shows not manly in you.

GOHZ. To men 1 had forborne it; you are women,
Or, at the best, loose carpet-knights*. What fury
Sfduced you to exchange your ease in court
Fcr labour in the field ? perhaps, you thought
To charge, through dust and blood, an armed foe,
U as but like graceful running at tlie ring
For a wanton mistress' glove ; and the encounter,
A soft impression on her lips : but you
Are gaudy butterflies, and I wrong myself
In parting with you.

Gai-p. Vte victis! now we prove it.

RixL But here's one fashion'd in another mould,
And made of tougher metal.

yon are women,

Or, at the best, loone carpel-Knights.] Carpet -kn'yhtt, a
term of contempt very frequently ueil by our old writer*
were such as were made on orcasion of public festivities,
marriages, births, &c.in contrartUlinclion to those that were
created on the field of battle after a victory. Tliey weic
naturally little regarded by the l.oter; and,' indeed, their
title had long been given, in scoin, to ett'eminate courliera,
fnvoniiles, &c. To confine, as some do, (he expression to
| the knights made by James I. is evidently i-rnmeons ;
since it was in use, aivl in the opprubiious sen-c of the text,
before he was born. I hope it will not be thought that I
have loaded the page with superfluous quotations, which it
has been my chief study to avoid : there N, however, ro
beautiful a passage in Fletcher's fair Afaid of the. Inn,
thai, as it is not altogether irrelevant to the subject, 1 cau-
not resist the pleasure of transcribing it :
" Oh the brave dames
Of warlike Genoa ! they had eyes to see
The inward man; and only from his worth,
f'ourage and cmiquetts, the blind archer knew
To he-:d his shifts, or light his quenched torch ;
They were proof against him else ! o carpet-hn'.yht,
That spent Ins youth in groves or ple-tsunt bowers,
Or stretching on a couch his la/.y limbs,
Snug to his inte such solt and pleading i.otes
As Ovi I nor Anacreon ever knew,
C"iild work on them, nor once btuitch'ri their scnte,
Though he came so perfumed, as he had rob!/d
Sanea or Arabia of their wealth,
And stored it in one suit"

236

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

[Aci III.

Gonz. True ; I owe him
For this wound bravely given.

Bert. O that mountains
Were heap'd upon me, that I might expire
A wretch no more remember'd !

Gonz. Look up, sir ;

To be o'ercome deserves no shame. If you
Had fallen ingloriously, or could accuse
Your want of courage in resistance, 'twere
To be lamented : but, since you perform'd
As much as could be hoped for from a man
(Fortune his enemy), you wrong yourself
In this dejection. I am honour'd in
My victory over you ; but to have these
My prisoners, is, in my true judgment, rather
Captivity than a triumph : you shall find
Fair quarter from me, and your many wounds,
Which I hope are not mortal, with such care
Look'cl to and cured, as if your nearest friend
Attended on you.

Bert. When you know me better,
You will make void this promise : can you call me
Into your memory ?

Gonz. The brave Bertoldo !
A brother of our order ! By St. John,
Our holy patron, 1 am more amazed,
Nay, thunderstruck with thy apostacy,
And precipice from the most solemn vows
Made unto heaven, when this, the glorious badge
Of our Redeemer, was conferr'd upon thee
By the great master, than if I had seen
A reprobate Jew, an atheist, Turk, or Tartar,
Baptized in our religion !

Bert. This I look'd for ;
And am resolved to suffer.

Gonz. Fellow-soldiers,

Behold this man, and, taught by bis example,
Know that 'tis safer far to play with lightining,

Than trifle in things sacred. In my rage [Weepi
1 shed these at the funeral of his virtue,
Faith, and religion : Why, I will lell you ;
He was a gentleman so train'd up and fashion 'd
For noble uses, and his youth did promise
Such certainties, inure than hopes, of great achieve-
ments,

As if the Christian world had stood opposed
Against the Othoman race, to try the fortune
Of one encounter, this Bertoldo had been,
For his knowledge to direct, and matchless couraye
To execute, without a rival, by
The votes of good men, chosen general,
As the prime soldier, and most deserving
Of all that wear the cross ; which now, injustice,
I thus tear from him.

Bert. Lf-t me die with it
Upon my breast.

Gonz. No ; by this thou wert sworn,
On all occasions, as a knight, to guard
Weak ladies from oppression, and never
To draw thy sword against them ; whereas thou,
In hope of gain or glory, when a princess,
And such a princess as Aureha is,
Was dispossess'd by violence, of what was
Her true inheritance ; against thine oath
Hast, to thy uppermost, labour'd to uphold
Her falling enemy. But thou shall pay
A heavy forfeiture, and learn too late,
Valour employ'd in an ill quarrel, turns
To cowardice, and Virtue then puts on
Foul Vice's visor. This is that which cancels
All friendship's bands between us. Bear them off;
I will hear no reply: and let theransome
Of these, for they are yours, be highly rated.
In this 1 do but right, and let it be
Styled justice, and not wilful cruelty. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE!. The tame. A Camp before the Walk of
Sienna.

Enter GONZAGA, ASTVTIO, RODERIGO, and JACOMO.

Gtmi. What I have done, sir, by the law of arms
I can and will make good.

Att. I have no commission
To expostulate the act. These letters speak
The king my master's love to you, and his
Vow'd service to the duchess, on whose person
I aui to give attendance.

Gang. At this instant,

She's at Fienza* : you may spare the trouble
Of riding thither ; I Lave advertised her
Of our success, and on what humble terms
Sienna stands : though presently I can
Possess it, I defer it, that she may

A'A'*af Fienia:] So the old copies. The modern edi
tor* read Pitnza.

Enter her own, and, as she please, dispose of
The prisoners and the spoil.

Ast. I thank you, sir.

In the mean time, if I may have your license,
1 have a nephew, and one once my ward,
For whose liberties and ransoms 1 would gladly
Make composition.

Goni. They are, as I take it,
Call'd Gasparo and Antonio.

Ast. The same, sir.

Gonz. For them, you must treat with these : but,

for Bertoldo,

He is mine own : if the king will ransome him,
He pays down fifty thousand crowns ; if not
He lives and dies my slave.

Ast. Pray you, a word :

The king will rather thank you to detain him,
Than give one crown to free him.

Gnnz. At his pleasure.

I'll send the prisoners under guard : my business
Calls me auother wav. [Exit

ST.ENE I.]

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

Ast. My service waits you.
Now, gentlemen, do not deal like merchants with

me,

But noble captains ; you know, in great minds
Posse et nolle, nobile.

Rod. Pray you, speak
Our language.

Jac. I 6nd not, in my commission,
An officer's bound to speak or understand
Wore than his mother-tongue.

Hod. If he speak that
After midnight, 'tis remarkable.

Ast. IP plain terms, then,
Antonio is your prisoner ; Gasparo, yours.

Jac. You are in the right.

Asi. At what sum do you rate
Their several ransomes?

Rod. I must make my market
As the commodity cost me.

Ast. As it cost you !

You did not buy your captainship? your desert,
I hope, advanced you.

Rod. How! It well appears
You are no soldier. Desert in these days '
Desert mav make a Serjeant to a colonel,
And it may hinder him from rising higher;
But, if it evtr get a company,
A company, pray you mark me, without money,
Or private service done for the general's mistress,
With a commendatory epistle from her,
I will turn lanceprezado* ?

Jac. Pray you observe, sir :
I served 'two prenticeships, just fourteen years,
Trailing the puissant pike, and half so long
Had the right-hand file; and I fought well, 'twas
said, too: [till doomsday,

But 1 might have served, and fought, and served
And ne'er have carried a flag, but for the legacy
A buck-some widow of threescore bequeath 'd me ;
And that too, my back knows, I labour'd hard for,
But was better paid.

Ast. You are merry with yourselves ;
But this is from the purpose.

Rod. To the point then,

Prisoners are not ta'en every day; and, when
We have them, we must make the best use of them.
Our pay is little to the part we should bear,
And that so long a coming, that 'tis spent
Before we have it, and hardly wipes oft' scores
At the tavern and the ordinary.

Jac. You may add, too,
Our sport ta'en up on trust.

Rod. Peace, thou smock-vermin !
Discover commanders' secrets ! In a word, sir,
We have enquired, and find our prisoners rich :
Two thousand crowns a-piece our companies cost us ;
And so much each of us will have, and that
In present pay.

Jac. It is too little : yet,
Since you have said the word, I am content,
But will not go a gazet lessf.

* / will turn lanceprezado.] " The lowest range and
meanest otticur in an army is called the lance^csado or pre-
zado, who is the leader or governor of half a file ; and
therefore is commonly called a middle man, or captain over
lour."

The Soldier's Accidence, p. 1.

+ But will not go a gszet less.] A yazet (gasetta) is a
Venetian com, worth about three-farthings of our money.

Att. Since you are not
To be brought lower, there is no evading ;
I'll be your paymaster.

Rod. We desire no better.

Ast. But not a word of what's agreed between us,
Till I have school'd my gallants.

Jac. 1 ain dumb, sir.

Enter a Guard with BEtiroLoo, ANTONIO, and GAS-
PERO, in irons.

Pert. And where removed now ? hath the tyiatit
Worse usage for us ? [found out

Ant. Worse it cannot be. [kennel ;

My greyhound has fresh straw, and scraps, in his
But we have neither.

Gits. Did I ever think

To wear such garters on silk stockings : or
That my too curious appetite, that turn'd
At the sight of godwits, pheasant, partridge, quails,
Larks, woodcocks, calver'd salmon*, as coarse diet,
Would leap at a mouldy crust ?

Ant. And go without it,
So oft as I do ? Oh ! how have I jeer'd
The city entertainment ! A huge shoulder
Of glorious fat ram-muttou, seconded
With a pair of tame cats or conies, a crab-tart,
With a worthy loin of veal, and valiant capon
Mortified to grow tender! these 1 sc.irn'd
From their plentiful horn of abundance, though

invited :

But now 1 could carry my own stool to a tripe,
And call their chitterlings charity, and bless the
founder.

Bert. O i hat I were no further sensible
Of my miseries than you are ! you, like beasts,
Feel only stings of hunger, and complain not
But when you're empty : but your nairow souls
(If you have any) cannot comprehend
How insupportable the torments are,
Which a free and noble soul, made captive, suffers.
Most miserable men ! and what am I, then,
That envy you ? Fetters, though made of gold,
Express base thraldom ; and all delicates
Prepared by Median cooks for epicures,
When not our own, are bitter; quilts fill'd high
\Viih gossamere and roses cannot yield
The body soft repose, the mind kept waking
With anguish and affliction.

Ast. My good lord

Bert. This is no time nor place for flattery, sir
Pray you, style me I am, a wretch forsaken
Of the world as myself.

The petty Italian courant (fosjio d'avvi&i) was originally
sold for tiiis sum; hence it derived the name, \\liidi is now
common to all the newspapers of Europe.

calver'd salmon.] For calver'd

sahnon, Mr. M. Mason, who hart not yet discovered the
necessity " of reading with attention the dramatic produc
tions or the lime; gives us collar' d salmon ! The old ex-
pression, however, is not uncommon: iudeed it occuri
again in the follow int; pages :

" great lords sometimes,

For change, leave calver'd salmon, and eat sprats."
The Guardian.

" My footboy shall eat pheasants, calver'd salmon,
Knot, godwits, &c." The Alchemist.

This dish was not out of request in Shadwell's time : Tope
(in the ficowrers) says, " I came here to venture for a
good stomach to my calver'd salmon and turbot." It ap-
pears to have differed but little from wh^t is novr called
pickled salmon ; as the directions for preparing it are " to
boil it in vinegar with oil and tpictt."

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

[Acr. IIL

Ait. I would it were
1^ me to help yon.

Jiert. If that you want power, sir,
Lip-comfort cannot cure me. Pray you, leave me
To mine own private thoughts. [If'u//>s bit.

/st. My valiant nephew ! [you,

AnJ my more than warlike ward ! I am wind to see
After your glorious conquests. Are these chains
Rewards fur your good service? if they are.
You should wear them on your necks, since they are
Like aldermen of the war. [massy,

Ant Y<'U jeer us too!

Gasp. Good uncle, name not, as you are a man

of honour.

That fatal word of war , the very sound of it
Is more dreadful than <i cannon.

Ant. Hut redeem us

From this captivity, and I'll vow hereafter
Never to wear a sword, or cut. my meat [first.

With a knife that has an edge or point ; I'll starve

Gasp. I will cry brooms, or cat's-meat, in

Palermo ;

Turn porter, carry burthens, any thing,
Rather than live a soldier.

Att. This should have r. vou >

Been thought upon before. At what price, think
Your two wise heads are rated?

Ant. A calf's head is [in't

More worth than mine ; I'm sure it has more brains
Or I had ne'er come here.

Ktid. And I will eat it
With bacon, if I have not speedy ransome. [sir :

Ant. And a little garlic too, for your own sake,
'Twill boil in your stomach else.

Gasp, llewiire of mine,
Or the horns may clioak you ; I am married, sir.

Ant, \ ou sliail have my row of houses near the
pakce.

Gasp. And my villa ; all

Ant. All that we have.

Ast. Well, have more wit hereafter : for this time,
You are ransomed.

Jae Off' with their irons.

Rod. Do, do :
If you are ours again, you know your price.

Anl. Pray you dispatch us: 1 shall ne'er believe
I am a free man, till I set my foot
In Sicily again, and drink Palermo,
And in Palermo too.

Att. The wind sits fair,

You shall aboard to night ; with the rising sun,
You may touch upon the coast. But take your
Of the late general first. [leaves

Cusp. 1 will be brief.

Ant. And I. My lord, heaven keep you !

Gasp. Yours, to use
In the way of peace ; but as your soldiers, never.

Ant. A pox of war ! no more of war.

[L'reunt Rod. Jac. Ant. and Gasp.

Bert. Have you

Authority to loose their bonds, yet leave
The brother of your king, whose worth disdains
Comparison with such as these, in irons?
If ransome may redeem them, I have lands,
A patrimony of m>n own assign'd me
By my deceased sire, to satisfy
Whate'er can be demanded for my freedom.

Ait. I wi.sh you had, sir ; but the king, who yields
No reason for his will, in his displeasure

Hath seized on all you had ; nor will Gcnzaga,
Whose pri>oner now you are, accept of less
Tl'.nn fiftv thousand crowns.

ttrrt. I find it now.

That misery never comes alone. But, grant
The king i?- yet inexorable, time
Mav work him to a fe-.-ling of my sufferings.
I have friends that swore their lives and fortunes

were

At my devotion, find, among the rest,
Yourself, mv lord, when forfeited to the law
For a foul murder and in cold blood done,
I made your life my gift, and reconciled you
To this incensed king, and got your pardon.
Beware ingratitude. 1 know you are rich,
And may pay down the sum.

A*t. I might, my lord.
But paviion me.

Bert. And will Astufio prove, then,
To please a passionate man (the king's no more),
False to his maker, and his reason, which
Command* more than 1 ask? O summer- friendship,
Whose flattering leaves, that shadow'd us in our
Prosperity, with tin- least gust drop off
In the auiinun of adversity ! How like
A prison is to a grave ! when dead, we are
With solemn pom)) brought, thither, and our heirs,
Masking their joy in false, dissembled tears,
Weep o'er the hearse ; hut earth no sooner covers
The earth brought thither, but they turn away
With inward smiles, the tiead no more remember'd ;
So, enter'd in a prison

Ast. My occasions
Command me hence, my lord.

Ben. Pray you, leave me, do ;
And tell the cruel king, that I will wear
These fetters tillnu flesh and they are one
Incorporated substance. [Eiit Aaliiti".} In myself,
As in a gluss, I'll look on human frailty,
And curse the height of royal blood : since I,
In being- born near to Jove, am near his thunder*.
Cedars once shaken with a storm, their own
Weight grubs their roots out Lead me where you

please ;

I am his, not fortune's martyr, and will die
The great example of his cruelty. [Exit guarded.

SCENE II. Palermo. A Grove near the Palace.
Enter ADORNI.

Ador. He undergoes my challenge, and contemns

ir,

And threatens me with the late edict made
'CJainst duellists, the altar rewards fly to.
But I, that am engaged, and nourish in me
A higher aim than fair Camiola dreams of,
Must not sit down thus. In the court I dare not
Attempt him ; and in public he's so guarded
With a herd of parasites, clients, fools, and suitors,
That a musket cannon reach him : mv designs
Admit of no delay. This is her birthday,
Which, with a tit and due solemnity,
Camiola celebrates ; and on it, all such
As love or serve her usually present

* In buhi'j, burn near to Jove, am war his thunder.]
Tlopptii AlOf, KO.I 7- 7T00OUI KlptlVVS. We hav<!
alivdily h a . I an .illusiou lu' iliis proverb, i" Tin- Vir^iu
M.iri)r, Act. I. So. 1.

SI:EXB III.]

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

239

A tributary duty. I'll have something

To give, if my intelligence prove true,

Shull find acceptance. I am tolrl, near this grove

Fulgentio. every morning, makes nis markets

With his petitioners ; 1 may present him

With a sharp petition ! Ha ! 'tis he : my fate

Be ever bless'd for't !

Enter FULGF.NTIO and Page.

Ful. Command such as wait me
Not to presume, at the least for half an hour,
To press on my retirements.

I'ngf. I will sav, sir,
You are at your prayers.

Ful That will not find belief;
Courtiers have something else to do : begone, sir.

[Exit P.,ge.

Challenged ! 'tis well ; and by a groom ! still better.
Was this shape made to fight? 1 have a tongue yet,
Howe'er no sword, to kill him ; and what way,
This morning I'll resolve of. [Eaif.

Ador 1 shall cross
Your resolution, or suffer for you.

[EcU, following him.

SCENE ri.The same. A Rom in Camiola's
House.

Enter CAMIOLA, fnUmced hi/ Servants with Presents;
SYI.LI and CLARINDA.

S'jl. What are all these ?

Cltir. Servants witli several presents,
And rich ones too.

1 Serv. With her best wishes, madam,
Of many such days to you, the lady i'etula
Presents you with this fan.

t Serv. This diamond
From your aunt. Honoria.

3 $erv. 1 his pi<rce of plate
From sour uncle, old Vicentio, with your arms
Graven upon it.

Cam. Good friends, they are too
Munificent in their love and favour to me.
Out of my cabinet return such jewels
As this directs you: [To Clarinda."] for your

pains ; and your's ;
Nor must you be forgotten. [dies them money.]

Honour me

Wi'h the drinking of a health.
1 Serv. Gold, on my life !

# Serv. She scorns to give base silver.

3 Serv. Would she had been
Born every month in the year !

1 Serv. Month ! every day.

2 Sens. Show such another maid.

3 .S"ry All happiness wait you !
Clur. I'll see your will done.

[Ejeimt Stflli, Clarinda, and Servants.

Enter ADORNI wounded.
Cam. How, Adorni wounded !
Ador. A scratch got in your service, else not

worth

Your observation : I bring not, madam,
In honour of vour birthday, antique plate,
Or pearl, for which the savage Indian dives
Into the bottom of the sea ; nor diamonds
Ilewu from steep rocks with danger. Such as give

To those that have, what they themselves want,

aim at

A glad return with profit : yet, despise not
.My offering at the altar of your favour;
Nor let the lowness of the giver lessen
The height of what's presented : since it is
A precious jewel, almost forfeited,
And dimm'd with clouds of infamy, redeem'd.
And, in its natural splendour, with addition
Restored to tho true owner.
Cam, How is this 1
Ador. Not to hold you in suspense, I bring you,

madam,

Your wounded reputation cured, the sting
Of virulent malice, festering your fair name,
Pluck 'd out and trod on. That proud man, that was
Denied the honour of your bed, yet durst.
With his untrue reports, strumpet your fame,
Compell'd by me, hath given himselfthe lie.
And in his own blood wrote it : you may read
Fulgentio subscribed. [Offering a paper.

Cum. 1 am amazed !
Ada*-. It does deserve it, madam. Common

service

Is fit for hinds and the reward proportion'd
To their conditions : therefore, look not on me
As a follower of your father's fortunes, or
One that subsists on yours ; you frown ! my service
Merits not this aspect

Cam. Which ol my favours,
I might say bounties, hath begot and nourished
This more than rude presumption ? Since you had
An itch to try your desperate valour, wherefore
Went you not to the war ? couldst thou suppose
My innocence could ever fall so low-
As to have need of thy rash sword to guard it
Against malicious slander? O how much
Those ladies are deceived and cheated, when
The clearness and integrity of their actions
Do not defend themselves, and stand secure
On their own bases ! Such as in a colour
Of seeming service give protection to them, [out
Betray their own strengths. Malice scorn'd, puts
Itself; but argued, gives a kind of credit
To a false accusation. In this, this your
Most memorable service, you believed
You did me right ; but you have wrong'd me more
In your defence of my undoubted honour.
Than false Fulgentio could.

Ador. I am sorry what was
So well intended is so ill received ;

Re-enter CI.AIUNDA.

Yet, under your correction, you wish'd
Bertoldo had been present.

Cam. True, I did :

But he and you, sir, are not parallels,
Nor must you think yourself so.

Ador. I am what
You'll please to have me.

Cam. If Bertoldo had

Punish'd Fulgentio's insolence, it had shown
His love to her whom, in his judgment, he
Vouchsafed to make his wife ; a height, 1 hope.
Which you dare not aspire to. The same actions
Suit not all men alike ; but I perceive
Repentance in your looks. For this time, leave me.
I may forgive, perhaps forget, your folly :
Conceal yourself till this storm be blown over.

S49

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

[Acr III.

You will be sought for ; yet, if my estate

[Gives him her hand to kiss.
Can hinder it, shall not sufi'er in my service.

Ador. This is something yet, though 1 miss'd the
mark I shot at. [Eiit.

Cam. This gentleman is of a noble temper;
And I too harsh, perhaps, in my reproof:
Was I not, Clarinda?

CLir. I am not 10 censure

Your iictions, madam ; hut there are a thousand
Ladies, and of good fame, in such a cause
Would he proud of such a servant.

Caw. It may be ;

Enter a Servant.

Let me offend in this kind. Whv, uncall'd for?

Sero. I he signiors, madam, Gasparo and Antonio,
Selected friends of the renowu'd Bertoldo,
Put ashore this morning.

C./m. Wit hour him?

i>erv. I think so.

Cam. Never tl>ink more then.

Serv. T hey have heen nt court,
Ki.ss'd the kino's hand ; and, their first duties done
To him, appear ambitious to tender
To you their second service.

Com. Wait them hither. [Exit Servant.

Fear, do not rack me! Reason, now, if ever,
Haste with thy aids, and tell me, such a wonder
As my Bertoldo is, with such care fashi ,n'd,
Must not, nay, cannot, in heaven's providence,

Enter ANTONIO and GASPERO.

So soon miscarry! pray you, forbear; ere you tale
The privilege, as strangers, to salute me
(Kxcusemy manners), make me first understand
How it is wi'h Bertoldo.

Gasp. The relation
Will not, I tear, deserve your thanks.

Ant. I wish
Some other should inform you.

Com. Ish.-d.ad?
You see, though with some fear, I dare enquire it.

Gasp. Dead ! Would that were the worse, a debt

were paid then,
Kin^s in their birth owe nature.

Cam. Is there au.uht
More terrible than death?

Ant. Yes, to a spirit
Like his ; cruel imprisonment, and that
Without the hope of freedom.

Cm. You abuse me*:
The royal king cannot, in love to virtue
(Though all springs of affection were dried up)
But pay his ransome.

Gay. \\ hen you know what 'tis,
You will think otherwise : no less will do it
Than fifty thousand crowns.

Cum. A petty sumf, [sand ,

1 lie price weigh d with the purchase ; fifty thou-
To the king 'tis nothing. He that can spare more
To his minion for a mask, cannot bui ransome
Such a hrother at a million. You wrong
The king's magnificence

Cam. You abuse me:] i.e. practise on my credulity
with a forg<-<) tHf : the word olten occurs in this sense. '

t A petty turn,] The old copies read a pretty sum and
ie probably ritjlil ; pretty is often used in ihe si-use of
trifling, incu'isidtrablt^istc., bj our annum writers.

Ant. In your opinion;
But 'tis most certain : he does not alone
In himself refuse to pay it, but forbids
All other men.

Cam. Are you sure of this?

Gasp. You may read

The edict to that purpose, published by him j
That will resolve you.

Cam. Possible ! pray you, stand off;
If I do not mutter treason to myself,
My heart will break ; and yet 1 will not curse him ;
He is my king. The news you have deliver'd
Makes me weary of your company ; we'll salute
When we meet next. I'll bring you to the door.
Nay, pray you, no more compliments.

Gasp. One thing more,
And that's substantial : let your Adorni
Look to himself.

Ant. The king is much incensed
Against him for Fulgentio.

Com. As I am,
For your slowness to depart.

Both. Farewell, sweet lady.

[Exeunt Gaspero and Antonio.

Cam. O more than impious times ! when not

alone

Subordinate ministers of justice are
Corrupted and seduced, but kings themselves,
The greater wheels by which the lesser move,
Are broken, or disjointed ! could it be, else,
A king, to soothe his politic ends, should so far
Forsake his honour, as at once to break
The adamant chains of nature and religion,
To bind upatheismf, as a defence
To his dark counsel ? Will it ever be,
That to deserve too much is dangerous,
And virtue, when too eminent, a crime?
Must she serve fortune still, or, when stripp'd of
Her gay and glorious favours, lose the beauties
Of her own natural shape? O, my Bertoldo,
Thou only sun in honour's sphere, how soon
Art thou eclipsed and darken 'd ! not the nearness
Of blood prevailing on the king ; nor all
The benefits to the general good dispensed,
Gaining a retribution ! But that
I To owe a courtesy to a simple virgin
Would take from the$ deserving, I find in me
Some sparks of' fire, which, fann'd with honour's

breath,

Might rise into a flame, and in men darken
Their usurp 'd splendour. Ha ! my aim is high,
And, for the honour of my sex, to fall so,
Can never prove inglorious. 'Tis resolved :
Call in Adorni.

Clar. I am happy in
Such an employment, madam. [Exit.

Cam. He's a man,

Are broken, or disjointed !] So all the editors till Mr.
M. Mason, who chooses to read Are broken and dis-
jointed. If the wheels were once broken, tile state of
their joints was a matter of no great conquenre.

* 'I'o bind up atheism,] Our old writers seem to have
used such Hoids as profantness, blasphemy, atheism, &c.
with a laxity which modern practice does not acknow-
ledge. They applied them to any extraordinary violation
of moral or natural decorum.

J H'ould take from the deserving.] The modern edi-
tors read, thy deserving. I have followed the quarto. The
observation is general, not limited ti> her lovi-r. I need
not obseiveon ihe uncommon beauty of this spirited tpeech

SCENE I.]

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

I know, that at a reverent distance loves me ;

And such are ever faithful. What a sea

Of melting ice I walk on ! what strange censures [

Am I to undergo ! but good intents

Deride all future rumours.

lie-enter CLARINDA uith ADORNI.

Ador. I obey
Your summons, madam.

Cam. Leave the place, Clarirxla ;
One woman, in a secret of such weight,
Wise men may think loo much : [.rif Clarinda.']

nearer, Adorni,
I warrant it with a smile.

Ador. I cannot ask
Safer protection ; what's your will ?

Cam. To doubt

Your ready desire to serve me, or prepare you
With the repetition of former merits,
Would, in my diffidence, wrong you : but I will,
And without circumstance, in the trust that 1
Impose upon you, free you from suspicion.

Ador. I foster none of you.

Cam. I know you do not.
You are, Adorni, by the love you owe me

Ador. The surest conjuration.

Cam. Take me with you*,
Love born of duty ; but advance no further.
You are, sir, as 1 said, to do me service,
To undertake a task, in which your faith,
Judgment, discretion in a word, your all
That's good, must be engaged ; nor must you study,
In the execution, but what may make
For the ends I aim at.

Ador. They admit no rivals. [toldo's

Cam. You answer well. You have heard of Ber-
Captivity, and the king's neglect ; the greatness

O. f " his ransome , fifty thousand crowns, Adorni ;
Two paits of rny estate !

/Ir/or. To what tends this?

Cum. Yet 1 so love (he gentleman, for to you
I will confess my weakness, that 1 purpose
Now, when he is forsaken by the king,
And his own hopes, to ransome him. and receive him
Into my bosom, as my lawful husband
Why change you colour?

Ador. 'Tis in wonder of
Your virtue, madam.

Cum. Y'ou must, therefore, to
Sienna for me, and pay to Gonzaga
This ransome for his liberty ; you shall
Have bills of exchange along with you. Let him

swear
A solemn contract to me, for you must be

My principal witness if lie should but why

Do I entertain these jealousies ? You will do this?

Ador. Faithfully, madam but not live long
after. [Aside.

Cam. One thing I had forgot : besides his

freedom,

He may want accommodations ; furnish him
According to his birth : and from Camiola
Deliver this kiss, printed on your lips, [A'i'sses him.
Seal'd on his hand. You shall not see my blushes :
I'll instantly dispatch you. [jiu

Ador. I am half

Hang'd out o' the way already. Was there ever
Poor lover so employ 'd against himself
To make way for his rival ? I must do it,
Nay, more, 1 will. ]f loyalty can find
Recompense beyond hope or imagination,
Let it fall on me in the other world,
As a reward, for in this I dare not hope it. [Exit.

ACT I :.

SCENE I. The Siennese. A Camp before the

Walls of Sienna.
Enter GONZAGA, PIERIO, RODERIGO, and JACOMO.

Gem:. Y'ou have seized upon the citadel, and dis-

arm'd
All that could make resistance?

Pier. Hunger had

Done that, before we came ; nor was the soldier
Compel I'd to seek for prey : the faniish'd wretches,
In hope of mercy, as a sacrifice offer 'd
All that was worth the taking.

Con:. Y'ou proclaim'd,

On pain of death, no violence should be offer'd
To any woman ?

Hod. But it needed not ;

For famine had so humbled them, and ta'en off
The care of their sex's honour, that there was not
So coy a beauty in the town, but would,

Take me with you.] See The Great Duke of Florence.
Act. II. Sc. 2.

For half a mouldy biscuit, sell herself

To a poor bisognion*, and without shrieking 1 .

Gonz. Where is the duke of Urbin?

Jac. Under guard,
As you directed.

Gonz. See the soldiers set
In rank and file, and, as the duchess passes.
Bid them vail their ensignsf : and charge them, on
Not to cry Whores. [their lives,

* To a poor bisognion,] Bitogni, in Italian, signifies a
recruit. M. MASON.

Mr. M. Mason's Italian is nearly as correct as his Eng-
lish. Bisoyno is sometimes, ii.dved, used for a soMier in
his first campaign (a tyro,) but for a recruit, in our sense
ol the word, I believe never. A bisoynion (from bitoy-
iMso,) is a necessitous person, a beggar, &c. lu our old
writ- rs it frequently occurs as a term of contempt.

* Bid them vail their m'siyna ; ] i.e. lower them, in
token of superior authority :

" Ni>w the time is cuine

That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest,
And let her head fall into England's lap."

" firtt Part of Kiny Henry VI

24*

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

[AcrlV

Jac. The devil cannot fright them
From their military license. Though they know
They are her subjects, and will part with being
To do her service ; yet, since she's a woman,
They will touch at her breevh with their tongues;

and that is all
That they can hope for.

[A shout, and a general cry within, Whores !

whorts !

Gonz. O the devil ! they are at it.
Hell stop their brawling throats. Again ! make up,
And cudgel them into jelly.

Pod. To no purpose,

Though their mothers were there, they wonld have
the same name for them. [ J.'.uwif.

SCENE II. The same. Another Part (f the Camp.

Loud Music. Enter RODERIGO, JACOMO, PIF.RIO,
GONZAGA, and AURELIA under a Canopy. ASTUTIO
presents her with letters.

Gonz. I do beseech your highness not to ascribe
To the want of discipline the barbarous rudeness
Of the soldier, in his profanation of
Your sacred name and virtues.

Auret. No, lord general ;
I've heard my father say oft, 'twas a custom
Usual in the camp ; nor are they to be punish 'd
For words, that have, in fact, deserved so well :
Let the one excuse the other.

All. Excellent princess ! [us,

Aurel But for these aids from Sicily sent against
To blast our spring of conquest in the bud ;
I cannot find, my lord ambassador,
How we should entertain't but as a wrong,
A\ ith purpose to detain us from our own,
However the king endeavours, in his letters,
To mitigate the affront.

Att. Your grace hereafter
May hear from me such strong assurances
Ot his unlimited desires to swerve you,
As will, I hope, drown in forgetfulness
The memory of what's past.

Auret. We shall take time
To search the depth oft further, and proceed
As our council slmll direct us.

Gnnz. We present you

With the keys of the city, all lets are removed ;
Your way is smooth and easy ; at your feet
Your proudest enemy falls.

Aurel, We thank your valours :
A victory without blood is twice achieved,
And the disposure of it, to us tender'd,
The greatest honour. Worthy captains, thanks!
My love extends itself to all.

Gonz. Make way there.

[A Guard drown up; Aurelia passes through
them. Loud music. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Sienna. A Boom in the Prison.
BEBTOI.DO if discovered in fetters, reading.

Btrt. Tis here determined (great examples arm'd
With arguments, produced to make it good),
That neither tvrants, nor the wrested laws,
TLe people's frantic rage, sad exile, want,

Nor that which I endure, captivity,

Can do a wise man any injury.

Thus Seneca, when he wrore it, thought. But then

Felicity courted him ; his wealth exceeding

A private mini's ; happy in the embraces

Of his chaste wife Paulina ; his house full

Of children, clients, servants, Hartering friends,

Soothing his lip-positions ; and created

Prince of the senate, by the general voice,

At his new pupil's suffrage: then, no doubt,

He held, and did believe, this, liut no sooner

The prince's frowns und jealousies had thrown him

Out of security's lap, and a centurion

Had offer'd him what choice of death he pleased,

But told him, die lie must ; when .-.-trai^ht the

armour
Of his so boasted fortitude fell off,

[Throws away the book.
Complaining of hi* frailty. Can it then
Be censured womanish weakness in me, if,
Thus clogg'd with irons, and ihe period
To close up all calamities denied me,
Which was presented Seneca. 1 wish
I ne'er had being ; at least, never knew [tice

What happiness was: or argue with heaven's jua-
Tearing my locks, and, in defiance, throwing
Dust in the air : or, falling on the ground, thus
With my nails and teeth to dig a g.ave or rend
The bowels of the earth, my step-mother.
And not a natural parent? or thus practise
To die, and, as 1 we're insensible,
Believe 1 had no motion ? [Fa Us an hisfaei

Enter GONZAGA, ADORNI, and Gaoler.

Gonz. There he is :

I'll not enquire by whom his ransome's paid,
I'm satisfied that I have it ; nor allege
One leason to excuse his truel usage,
As you may interpret it ; let it suffice
It was my will to have it so. lie is yours now.
Dispose of him us you please. [t'n'J.

Ador. Jlowe'er 1 hate him,
As one preferr'd before me, being a man,
He does deserve my pity. Sir ! he sleeps :
Or is he dead ? would he were :i saint in lit aven !
'Tis all the hurt I wish him. Bui, 1 was not
Born to such happiness [Kneels by him.] no, he

breathes come near,
And, if t be possible, without his feeling,
Take off his irons. [His irons taken ojf.] So; now

leave us private. [Da it Gaolsr.

He does begin to stir ; and, as transported
With a joyful dream, how he stares ! and feels his

legs,

As jet uncertain whether it can be
True or fantastical.

Bert, [rising.] Ministers of mercy,
Mock not calamity. Ha ! 'tis no vision !
Or, if it be, the happiest that ever
Appear'd to sinful flesh! Who's here? his face
Speaks him Auorui ; but some glorious angel.
Concealing its divinity in his shape,
Hath done this miracle, it being not an act
For wolfish man. Resolve me, it thou look'st fof
Bent knees in adoration ?

Ador. O forbear, sir !
I am Adorni, and the instrument
Of your deliverance; but the benefit
You owe auoiher.

SCENE IV.]

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

943

Bert. If he has a name,
As soon as spoken, 'tis writ on my heart
1 am his bondman.

Ador. To tne shame of men,
This great act is a woman's.

Bert. The whole sex

For her sake must be deified. How I wander
In my imagination, yet cannot
Guess who this phoenix should be !

Ador. 'Us Camiola.

Bert. Pray you, speak't again : there s music in

her name.
Once more, I pray you, sir.

Ador. Camiola,
The MAID or HONOUR.

Bert. Curs'd atheist that I was.
Only to doubt it could be any other ;
Since she alone, in the abstract of herself,
That small, but ravishing substance, comprehends
Whatever is, or can be wi>h'd, in the
Idea of a woman! Owhat service,
Or sacrifice of duty can 1 pay her,
If not to live and die her charity's slave,
Which is resolved already !

Ador. She expects not
Such :i dominion o'er you : yet, ere I
Deliver her demands, give me your hand :
On this, as she enjoin'd me, with my lips
I print her love and service, -by me sent you.

Bert. 1 am overwhelmed with wonder !

Ador, You must now,
Which is the sum of all that she desires,
By a solemn contract bind yourself, wh- n she
Requires it, as a debt due for your freedom,
To marry her.

Bert. This does engage me further;
A payment! an increase of obligation.
'1 o marry her i 'twas my ml ultra ever :
The end of my ambition. O that now
The holy man, she present, were prepared
To join our hands, but with that speed my heart
Wishes mine e\ PS might see her !

Ador. You must swenr this. [tions,

Btrt. Swear it! Collect all oaths and impreca-
Whose least breach is damnation, and those
Minister'd to me in a form more dreadful ;
Set heaven an;l hell before me, I will take them:
False to Camiola ! never. Shall I now
Begin my vows to you !

Ador. I am no churchman ;
Such a one must Ire it on record : you are free ;
And, that you may appear like to yourself [may
C For so she wi.-,h'd), here's gold, with which you
Redeem your trunks and servants, and whatever
Of late you lost. 1 have found out the captain
\\ hose spoil they were j his name is Roderigo.

Bert. 1 know him.

Adur. 1 have done my parts*.

Bert. So much, sir.
As 1 am ever yours for't. Now, methinks,

I walk in air ! Divine Camiola

But words cannot express thee : I'll build to thee

An altar in my soul, on which I'll ofter

A still-increasing sacrifice of duty. [E.v?f.

Ador, What will become of me now is apparent,
W hether a poniard or a halter be

* Ador. / have done my parts.] There is no expression
more l.nmlMr to our old riu-r. th-in ibis: yet MaMBfer'l
editors, in liit-ir bliml r.eje ir reformation, pt.Tptlu.aly cor-
*uul it iulu / hate done my part.

The nearest way to hell (for I must thither,

After I've kill'd myself), is somewhat doubtful.

I his Roman resolution of self-murder

Will not hold water at the high tribunal,

\\ lien it comes to be argued ; my good genius

Pro. imts me to this consideration. He

That kills himself to avoid misery, fears if,

And, at the best, shews but a baMard valour.

I'iiis life's a fort committed to mv trust.

Which 1 must not yield up till it he forced :

N< r wi'l 1. He's not valiant that dares die,

But he that boldly bears calamity . [Ea(f.

SCENE IV. The snrne. A Stute-ro<>m in tht
I'aL,ce.

A Flourish. Enter PIEHIO, ROCKRIGO, JACM<>,

G</AGA, AuilKLIA, rEHDINAND, AsiVHO, and

Attendants.

Anrel. A seat here for the duke. Tt is our glory
To overcome with courtesies, n^it riyour ;
The lordly Roman, who held it the height
Of human happiness to have Lin^s nd queens
'Jo wait by his triumphant chariot-wheels,
In his insulting pride deprived himself
Of drawing near the nature of the goiis,
Best known for such, in being merciful.
Yet, give me leave, but still wiih gentle language,
And with the freedom of a friend, to lell you,
To seek by force, what courtship could not win,
Was harsh, and never taught in Love's miid school.
Wise poets feign thai Venus' coach is drawn
By doves and .sparrows, not by bears and timers.
I spare the application*.

f'er. In my fortune

Heaven's justice hath confirm 'd it: yet, -.Teat lady,
Since my oft'ence grew from excess ot love,
And not to he resisted, bavins paid, too,
U ith loss of liberty, the forfeiture
Of my presumption, in your clemency
It may find pardon.

Aurel. You shall have just cause
To say it hath. The charge of the Ion? siege
Defray 'd, and the loss my subjects have susiain'd
Made good, since so far 1 must deal with caution,
Yt;u have your libeity.

Per. I could not hope for
Gentler conditions.

Aurel. My lord Gonznga,

Since my coming to Sienna, I've heard much of
Your prisoner, brave Bertoldo.

on-. Such an one,
Ma'tam, I had.

Att. And have still, sir, I hope.

Gonz. Your hopes deceive you. He is ransomed,
madam.

Ast. By \vhom, I pray you, sir?

Gons. You had best enquire
Of your intelligencer: 1 am no informer.

A.-t. I like not this.

Aurel. He is, as 'tis reported,
A goodly gentleman, and ot noble parts ;
A brother of your order.

1 spare the application ] COXI-IT and Mr. M. Mason
give thi- hemistich In FVidin -nd, and i united does my
qnirto: all ihe others which I havt eauiniued make *
conclude Aurelia's speech, to which it evident!} bttougt.

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

f ACT IV

Gonz. He was, madam,

Till lie, against his oath, wrong'd you, a princess,
Which his religion bound'him from.

Aurel. Grf-at minds,
For trial of their valours, oft maintain
Quarrels that are unjust, yet without malice;
And such a fair construction I make of him :
I would see that brave enemy.

Gonz. My duty
Commands me to seek for him.

Aurel. Pray you do ;
And bring him to oar presence. [Exit Gonzaga.

Ast. I must blast

His entertainment. May it please your excellency,
He is a man debauch'd, and for his riots,
Cast off by the king my master ; and that, I hope, is
A crime sufficient.

Per. To you, his subjects,
That like as your king likes.

Aurel. But not to us;
We must weigh with our own scale.

Re-enter GONZAGA, with BERTOLDO richly habited, and
ADOKM.

This is he, sure.

How soon mine eye had found him ! what a port
He hears ! how well his bravery becomes him !
A prisoner ! nay, a princely suitor, rather!
But I'm too sudden. [Aside.

Gonz. Madam, 'twas his suit,
Unsent for to present his service to you,
Ere his departure.

Aurel. With what majesty-
He bears himself !

Ast. The devil, I think, supplies him.
Ransomed, and thus rich too !

Aurel. You ill deserve

[Bertnldo kneeling, kisses her hand.

The favour of our hand we are not well,

Give us more air. [Rises suddenly.

Gonz. What sudden qualm is this '}

Aurel. That lifted yours against me.

Bert. Thus, once more,
I sue for pardon.

Aurel. Sure his iips are poison'd,
And through these veins force passage to my heart,
Which is already seized on. [Aside.

Btrt. I wait, madam,

To know what your commands are ; my designs
Exact me in another place.

Aurel. Before

You have our license to depart ! If manners,
Civility of manners, cannot teach you
To attend our leisure, I must tell you, sir,
That you are still our prisoner ; nor had you
Commission to free him.

Gonz. How's this, madam?

Aurel. You were my substitute, and wanted power
Without my warrant, to dispose of him :
I will pay back his ransome ten times over,
Rather than quit my interest.

Bert. This is
Against the law of arms.

Aurel. But not of love. [Aside.

Why, hath your entertainment, sir, been such,
In your restraint, that, with the wings of fear,
You would fly from it ?

Bert I know no man, madam,
Cnamour'd of his fetters, or delighting
In cold or hunger, or that would in reason

I Prefer straw in a dungeon, before
A down-bed in a palace.

Aurel. How ! Come nearer :
Was his usage such ?

Gont. Yes ; and it had been worse,
Had I foreseen this.

Aurel. () thou mis-shaped monster !
In thee it is confirm'd, that such as have
No share in nature's bounties, know no pity
To such as have them. Look on him with my eyes,
And answer, then, whether ihis were a man
Whose cheeks of lovely fulness should be made
A prey to meagre famine? or these eyes,
Whose every glance store Cupid's emptied quiver,
To be dimm'd with tedious watching ? or these lips,
These ruddy iips, of whose fresh colour cherries
And roses were but copies, should grow pale
For want of nectar ? or these legs, that bear
A burthen of more worth than is supported
By Atlas' wearied shoulders, should be cramp'd
With the weight of iron 1 O, I could dwell ever
On this description !

Bert. Is this in derision,
Or pity of me ?

Aurel. In your charity

Believe me innocent. Now you are my prisoner.
You shall have fairer quarter ; you w-ill shame
The place where you have been, should you now

leave it,

Before you are recover'd. I'll conduct you
To more convenient lodgings, and it shall be
My care to cherish you. Repine who dare ;
It is our will. You'll follow me?

Bert. To the centre,
Such a Sybilla guiding me.

[Exeunt Aurelia, Bertoldo, and Attendants

Gonz. Who speaks first ?

Per. We stai.d as we had seen Medusa's head.

Pier. I know not what to think, I am so amazed.

Rod. Amazed ! I am thunderstruck.

Jac. We are enchanted
And this is some illusion.

Ador. Heaven forbid !
In dark despair it shows a beam of hope :
Contain thy joy, Adorni.

Ast. Such a princess,
And of so long-experienced reserv'dness,
Break forth, and on the sudden, into flashes
Of more than doubted looseness !

Gonz. They con.d again,

Smiling, as I live ' his arm circling her waist.
I shall run mad : Some Jury hath possess'd her.
If I speak, 1 may be blasted. Ha! I'll mumble
A prayer or two, and cross myself, and then,
Though the devil f fire, have at him.

lie-enter BERTOLDO and AUHELIA.

Aurel. Let not, sir,

The violence of my passion nourish in you
An ill-opinion ; or, grant my carriage
Out of the road and garb ot private women,
'Tis still done with decorum. As 1 am
A princess, what 1 do is above censure,
And to be imitated.

Bert. Gracious madam,
Vouchsafe a little pause ; for I am so rapt
Beyond myself, that, till 1 have collected
My scatter'd faculties, 1 cannot tender
My resolution.

SCENE V-]

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

AureL Consider of it,
I will not be long from you.

[Bertoldo walks by, musing.

Gonz. Pray I cannot,

This cursed object struggles my devotion :
1 must speak, or I burst. Pray you, lair lady,
If you can, in courtesy direct me to
The chaste Aurelia.

Aurel. Are you blind ? who are we?

Gonz. Another kind of thing. Her blood was

govern'd

By her discretion, and not ruled her reason :
The reverence and majesty of Juno
Shined in her looks, and, coining to the camp,
Appear'd a second Pallas. 1 can see
.No such divinities in you : if I,
Without offence, may speak my thoughts, you are,
As 'twere, a wanton Helen.

Autel. Good ; ere long
You shall know me better.

Giws. Why, if you are Aurelia,
How shall I dispose of the soldier ?

Ast. Way it please you
To hasten my dispatch .'

AureL Prefer your suits
Unto Bertoldo ; we will give him hearing,
And you'll find him your best advocate. [Exit.

Ait. This is rare !

Gonz. What are we come to ?

Rod. Grown up in a moment
A favourite !

Ferd. He does take state already.

Bert. No, no ; it cannot be : yet, but Camiola,
There is no stop between me and a crown.
Then my ingratitude ! a sin in which
All sins are comprehended ! Aid me, virtue,
Or I am lost.

Com. May it please your excellence
Second me, sir.

Bert. Then my so horrid oaths,
And hell-deep imprecations made against it !

Ast. The king, your brother, will thank you for

the advancement
Of his affairs.

Bert. And yet who can hold out
Against such batteries as her power and greatness
Raise up against my weak defences !

Gonz. Sir,

Re-enter AUKELIA.

Do you dream waking ? 'Slight, she's here again !
Walks she on woollen feet*!

Aurel. You dwell too long
In your deliberation, and come
With a cripple's pace to that which you should fly to.

Bert. It is confess'd : yet why should I, to win
From you, that hazard all to my poor nothing,
By false play send you off a loser from me ?
I am already too, too much engaged
To the king my brother's anger ; and who knows
But that his doubts and politic fears, should you
Make me his equal, may draw war upon
Your territories : Were that breach made up,
I should wiih joy embrace what now I fear
To touch but with due reverence.

H r allu *he on woollen feet!} These words are cer-
tainly part of Gonzagl'l sprech, who is surprised at the
sudden return of AnrvlU ; they would come strangely from
Berioldo, in tlie midst of his meditations. M. MASON.

I h.ivc adopted Mr. M. Mason's amendment. The old
*P* *.vcs t!ii= hemistich to Bertoldo.

Aurel. That hindcrance
Is easily removed. I owe the king
For a royal visit, which I straight will pay him ;
And having first reconciled you to his favour,
A dispensation shall meet with us.

Bert. I am wholly yours.

Aurel. On this book seal it. [gain's sure.

Gonz. What, hand and lip too ! then the bar-
You have no employment for me 1

AureL Yes, Gonzaga,
Provide a royal ship.

Gonz. A ship ! St. John ;
Whither are we bound now?

Aurel. You shall know hereafter.
My lord, your pardon, for my too much trenching
Upon your patience.

Ador. Camiola. \_A*ide to Bertoldo.

AureL How do you do?

Bert. Indisposed ; but I attend you.

[Exeunt all but Adorni

Ador. The heavy curse that waits on perjury,
And foul ingratitude, pursue thee ever!
Yet why from me this ? in his breach of faith
My loyalty finds reward : what poisons him,
Proves raithridate to me. I have perform 'd
All she commanded, punctually : and now,
In the clear mirror of my truth, she may
Behold his falsehood. O that I had wings
To bear me to Palermo ! This once known,
Must change her love into a just disdain,
And work her to compassion of my pain. [Exit

SCENE V. PALERMO. A Room in CAMIOLA'S House.

Enter SVLLI, CAMIOLA, and CLAHINDA, at several

door$.

Syl. Undone! undone! poor I, that whilome was
The top and ridge of my house, am, in the sudden,
Turn'd to the pitifullest animal
O' the lineage of the Syllis !

Cam. What's the matter?

Si//. The king break girdle, break !

Cam. Why, what of him?

Syl. Hearing how far you doated on my person,
Growing envious of my happiness, and knowing
His brother, nor his favourite, Fulgetitio,
Could get a sheep's eye from you, 1 being present,
Is come himself a suitor, with the awl
Of his authority to bore my nose,
And take you from me Oh, oh, oh !

Cain. Do not roar so :
The king !

Syl. The king. Yet loving Sylli is not
So sorry for his own, as your misfortune;
If the king should carry you, or you bear him,
What a loser should you be ! lie can but make you
A queen, and what a simple thing is that,
To the being my lawful spouse ! the world can never
Afford you such a husband.

Cam. I believe you.

But how are you sure the king is so inclined ?
Did not you dream this ?

Syl. With these eyes I saw him
Dismiss his train, and lighting from his coach,
Whispering Fulgentio in the ear.

Cain. If so,
I guess the business.

Syl. It can be no other,
But to give me the bob, that being a matter
i Of main importance. Yonder they are, I dare not

246

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

[AcrV

Enter ROBERTO and FULGENT 10.

Be seen, I am so desperate : if you forsake TOP,
Send me word, that 1 may provide a willow garland,
To wear when 1 drown myself. O Sylli, Sylli !

[Ejif trying.

Ful. It will be worth your pains, sir, to observe
The constancy and bravery of her spirit.
Though great men tremble at your frowns, I dare
Hazard my head, your majesty, set off
With terror cannot fright her.

Roh. May she answer
My expectauon !

Ful. There she is !

Cam. My knees thus

Bent to the earth, while my vows are sent upward
For the safety of my sovereign, pay the duty
Due for so great an honour, in this favour
Done to your humblest handmaid.

Hob. You mistake me ;
I come not, lady, that you may report
The king, to do you honour, made your bouse
(He being there) his court ; but to correct
Your stubborn disobedience. A pardon
For that, could you obtain it, were well purchased
With this humility.

Cam. A pardon, sir !
Till 1 am conscious of an offence,
1 will not wrong my innocence to beg one.
What is my crime, sir?

Rob. Look on him I favour,
By you scorn'd and neglected*.

Cum. Is that all, sir ?

JRnft. No, minion ; though that were too much.

How can you

Answer the setting on your desperate bravo
To murder him?

Cam. With your leave, I must not kneel, sir,
While I reply to this : hut thus rise up
In my defence, and tell you, as a man
(Since, when you are unjust, the deity
Which you may challenge as a king parts from you),
Twas never rend in holy writ, or moral,
That subjects on their loyalty were obliged
To love their sovereign's vices ; your grace, sir,

To such an undeserver is no virtue.

Ful. What think you now, sir?

Cam. Say, you should love wine,
\ ou being the king, and, 'cause I am your subject,
Must 1 be ever drunk ? Tyrants, not kings,
By violence, from humhle vassals force
The liberty of their souls. I could not love him ;
And to compel affection, as I take it,
Is not found in vour prerogative.

Rob. Excellent virgin !

How I admire her confidence ! [Aridi.

Cam. He complains

Of wrong done him : but.be no more a king,
Unless you do me right. Burn your decrees,
And of your laws and statutes make a fire
To thaw the frozen numbness of delinquents,
If he escape unpunish'd. Do your edicts
Call it death in any man that breaks into
Another's house, to rob him, though of trifles;
And shall Fulgentio, your Fulgentio, live,
Who hath committed more than sacrilege,
In the pollution of my clear fame,
By his malicious slanders?

Rob. Have you done this ?
Answer truly, on your life.

Ful. In the heat of blood,
Some such thing I reported.

Rob. Out of my sight!

For I vow, if by true penitence thou win not
This injured virgin* to sue out thy pardon,
Thy grave is digg'd already.

Ful. By my own folly
I have made a fair hand oft. [Eaif.

Rob. You shall know, lady,

While I wear a crown, justice shall useber sword
1 o cut offenders off, though nearest to us

Cam. Ay, now you show whose deputy you are :
If now I bathe your feet with tears it cannot
Be censured superstition.

Rob. You must rise ;
Rise in our favour and protection ever. [Kisses her.

Cam. Happy are subjects when the prince is still
Guided by justice, not his passionate will.

[Exeunt,

ACT V.

SCENE I The tone. A Room in CAMIOLA'S House.
Enter CAMIOLA and SYLU.

Cam. You see how tender I am of the quiet
And peace of your affection, and what great ones
1 put off in your favour.

Sifl. You do wisely,

Exceeding wisely ; and when I have said,
I thank you for't, he happy.

Cam. And good reason.
In having such a blessing.

Bob. Look on Mm I favour,

By }<>u scorn'd and neglrcled.'] Coseter and Mr. M.
Mason, iu defiance of metre mid sense :

Hub. J.im/t on him I favour,

You tcorn'd, ^c.

Syl. When you have it ;
But the bait is not yet ready. Stay the time,
While I triumpb by myself. King, by your leave,
I have wiped your royal nose without a napkin ;
You may cry, willow, willow ! for your brother,
I'll only say, go byf ! for my fine favourite,

that which appears the least objectionable.

t for your brolhrr,

I'll only gay, Go by!] This is an allusion (o The. .Spanish
Trnyedy ; the Constant butt of all writers of those times',
who set-ni to be a liitle uneasy, notwithstanding their scotis,
at iu popularity. Old Jcioiiin.o, however, kept his ground

iCTNB L]

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

247

He may graze where he please ; his lips may water
Like a puppy's o'er a furmenty pot, while Sylli,
Out of his two-leavtd cherry-stone dish, drinks

nectar !

I cannot hold out any longer ; Ixaven forgive me !
'Tis not the first oath I have broke ; I mu:>t take
A little for a preparative.

[Offers to kiss and embrace her.

Cam. Bv no means.

If you forswear yourself, we shall not prosper :
I'll r.nher lose mv longing.

Syl. Pretty soul!

How careful it is of me ! let me buss yet
Thy little dainty foot for't : that, I'm sure is
Dut of my oath.

Cam. Why, if thoa canst dispense with't
So far, I'll not be suupulous ; such a favour
My ;imorous shoemaker steals.

Svl. O most rare leather ! [Kisses her shoe often.
I do begin at the lowest, but in time
I may grow higher.

dim. Kie ! you dwell too long there ;
Rise, prithee rise.

Syl. O, 1 am up already.

Enter CLARINDA hastily.

Cam. How I abuse my hours ! What news with
thee, now ? [promise :

Clar. Off with that gown, 'tis mine ; mine by your
Signer Adorni is return'd ! now upon entrance !
Off with it, off with it, madam !

Cant. Be not so hasty :
When I p.0 to bed, 'tis thine.

SyL You have my grant too ;
But, do you hear, lady, though I give way to this,
You must hereafter ask my leave, before
You part with things of moment.

Cum. Very good ;
When I'm yours, I'll be govern'd.

Syl. Sweet obedience !

Enter ADORNI.

Cam. You are well returnM.

Ador. 1 wish that the success
Of mv service had deserved it.

Cam. Lives Bertoldo?

Ador. Yes : and return'd with safety.

Cum. 'Tis not then

In the power of fate to add to, or take from
My perfect happiness ; and yet he should
Have made me his first visit.

Ador. So 1 think too.
But he

\y/. Durst not appear, I being present ;
That's his excuse, I warrant you.

Cam. Speak, where is he?

With whom? who hath deserved more from him? or
Can be of equal merit? 1 in this
Do not except the king. ,

Ador. He's at the palace,

till the general convulsion, when be sunk, with a thousand
belter thini>c, to rise no more.

\Vlial M. Ill he once had or the public mind may be col-
lected from -in anecdote in that itr.mve medley by Pry line,
which, by the way, contains more libjldry in a tew l<agis,
tii.iii is to be found in hair the pljys he reprobate*. He
tl.cre ttlls us ol a l.idv who, on hrr drulh-bi-d, iu-tead of
attending to the prirct, " cried out nothing bnt Jtronimo!
Jciuiiimo!" and died in tliis reprobate slate, " lliinki. g of
limiting but plays."

Hitirionuutig.

\Vith the duchess of Sienna. One coach brought

them hither,

Without a third : he's very gracious with her ;
You mav corceive the rest.

Cam. .Mv jealous fears
Make me to apprehend.

Ador. Pray you, dismiss
Signior wisdom, and I'll make relation to you
Of the particulars.

Cam. Servant, 1 would have you
To haste unto the court.

Syi. I will outrun
A footman, for your pleasure.

Cam. There observe
The duchess' train and entertainment.

S yl. Fear not ;

I will discover all that is of weight,
To the liveries of her pages and her footmen.
This is fit employment for me. [Exit.

Cam. Gracious with
The duchess! sure, you said so?

Ador. I will use

All possible brevity to inform you, madam.
Of what was trusted to me, ami discharged
With faith and loyal duty.

Cu<n. I believe it ;

You ransomed him, and supplied his wants inia-
That is already spoken ; and what vows [gia

Of service he made, to me, is apparent;
His joy of me, and wonder too, perspicuous;
Does not your story end so?

Ador. Would the end

Had answered the beginning ! -In a word,
Ingratitude and perjury at the height
Cannot express him.

Cam. Take heed.

Adir. Truth is arm'd,

And can defend itself. Jt must out, madam .
I saw (the presence full) the amorous duchess
Kiss and embrace him ; on his part accepted
With equal ardour, and their willing hands
No sooner join'd, but a remove was publish'd
And put in execution.

Cam. The proofs are
Too pregnant. O Bertoldo !

Ador. He's not worth
Your sorrow, madam.

Cum. Tell me, when you saw this,
Did not you grieve, as 1 do now to hear it?

Ador. His precipice from goodness raising mine,
And serving as a foil to set my faith off,
I had little leason.

dun. In this you confess
The devilish malice of your disposition.
As you were a man, you stood bound to lament it;
And not, in flattery of your false hopes,
To glory in it. When good men pursue
The paih mark'd out by virtue, the blest saints
With joy look on it, and seraphic angels
Clap their celestial wings in heavenly plaudits,
To see a scene of grace so well presented,
The fiends, and men made up of envy, mourning.
Whereas now, on the contrary, as far
As their divinity can partake of passion.
With me they weep, beholding a fair temple,
Built in Bertoldo's loyalty, turn'd to ashes
By the flames of his inconstancy, tlie damn'd
Rejoicing in the object. Tis not well
In you, Adorni.

Ador. \Vliut a temper dwells

248

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

[AcrV

In this rare virgin ! Can you pity him,
That hath shown none to you ?

Cam. I must not be
Cruel by his example. You, perhaps,
Expect now I should seek recovery
Of what I have lost, by tears, and with bent knees
Beg his compassion. No ; my towering virtue,
From the assurance of my merit, scorns
To stoop so low. I'll tnke a nobler course,
And, confident in the justice of my cause,
The king his brother, and new mistress, judges,
Ravish him from her arms. You have the contract,
In which he swore to marry me ?

Adar. 'Tis here, madam. [band ;

Cam. He shall be, then, against his will, my hus-
And when I have him, I'll so use him ! doubt not,
But that, your honesty being unquestion'd,
This writing, with your testimony, clears all.

Ador. And buries me in the dark mists of error.

Cam. I'll presently to court ; pray you, give order
For my caroch*.

Ador. A cart for me were fitter,
To hurry me to the gallows. [E.rj'f.

Cam. O false men !

Inconstant! perjured! My good angel help me
In these my extremities !

Re-enter SYLLI.

Syl. If you e'er will see a brave sight,
Lose it not now. Bertoldo and the duchess
Are presently to be married : there's such pomp,
And preparation !

Cam. If I marry, 'tis
This day, or never.

Syl. Why, with all my heart ;

Though 1 break this, 1 11 keep the next oath I make,
And then it is quit.

Cam. Follow 1110 to my cabinet ;
You know my confessor, father Paulo ?

Syl. Yes : shall he
Do the feat for us ?

Cam. I will give in w/iting
Directions to him, and attire myself
Like a virgin bride ; and something I will do,
That shall deserve men's praise, and wonder too.

Syl. And I, to make all know I am not shallow,
Will have my points of cochineal and yellow.

[Eieuiit.

SCENE II. The same. A State-room in the Palace.

Loud Mttsic. Enter ROBKHTO, BEFTOLDO, AUIIEUA,
FERDINAND, ASTUTIO, GONZAGA, RODERICO, JA-
COMO, PIERIO, a Bishop, und Attendants.
Hob. Had our division been greater, madam,
Your clemency, the wrong being done to you,
In pardon or it, like the rod of concord,
Must make a perfect union. Once more,
With a brotherly affection, we receive you
Into our favour : let it be your study
Hereafter to deserve this blessing, far
Beyond your merit.

Bert. As the princess' grace
To me is without limit, my endeavours,

For my caroch.] It teems at if Massinger's editors were
ignorant of the existence or meaning of such a word aa
caroch; cincc they exchange it for coach, though it invaria-
bly def<>ys the metre.

With all obsequiousness to serve her pleasures,
Shall know no bounds : nor will I, being made
Her husband, e'er forget the duty that
I owe her as a servant.

Aurel. I expect not
But fair equality, since I well know,
If that superiority be due,

'Ts not to me. When you are made my consort,
All the prerogatives of my high birth cancell'd,
I'll practise the obedience of a wife,
And freely pay it. Queens themselves, if they
Make choice of their inferiors, only aiming
To feed their sensual appetites, and to reign
Over their husbands, in some kind commit
Authorized whoredom ; nor will I be guilty,
In my intent, of such a crime.

Gonz, This done,

As it is promised, madam, may well stand for
A precedent to great women : but, when once
The griping hunger of desire is cloy'd,
And the poor fool advanced, brought on his knees,
Most of your eagle breed, I'll not say all,
Ever excepting you, challenge again
What, in hot blood, they parted from.

Aurel. You are ever

An enemy of our sex ; hut you, I hope, sir,
Have better thoughts.

Bert. I dare not entertain
An ill one of your goodness.

Rob. To my power

I will enable him, to prevent all danger
Envy can raise against your choice. One word mor*
Touching the articles.

Enter FUI.GENTIO, CAMIOLA, SYLLI, and ADORNI.

Ful. In you alone

Lie all my hopes ; you can or kill or save me ;
But pity in you will become you better
(Though I confess in justice 'tis denied me)
Than too much rigour.

Cum. I will make your peace
As far as it lies in me ; but must first
Labour to right myself.

Aurel. Or add or alter
What you think fit; in him I have my all .
Heaven make me thankful for him !

Rob. On to the temple.

Cam. Stay, royal sir ; und as you are a king,
Erect one* here, in doing justice to
An injured maid

Aurel. How's tins?

Bert. O, I am blasted !

Rob. 1 have given some proof, sweet lady, oi

my promptness .,

To do you right, you need not, therefore, doubt me;
And rest assured, that, this great work dispatch 'd t
You shall have audience, and satisfaction'
To all you can demand.

Cam. To do me justice
Exacts your present care, and can admit
Of no delay. If, ere my cause be heard,
In favour of your brother you go on, sir,
Your eceptre cannot right me. He's the man,
The guilty man, whom I accuse ; and you
Stand bound in duty, as you are supreme,
To be impartial. Since you are a judge,
As a delinquent look on him, and not
As on a brother : Justice, painted blind,

Erect one here,} i. e. a temple. M. MASON.

SCT.NE II.]

THE MAID* OF HONOUR

*49

Infers her ministers are obliged to hear

The cause, and truth, the judge, determine of it ;

And not sway'd or by favour or affection,

By a false gloss, or wrested comment, alter

The true intent and letter of the law.

Rob. Nor will I, madam.

Aurel. You seem troubled, sir,

Gonz. 1 1 is colour changes too.

Cam. The alteration

Grows from his guilt. The goodness of my cause
Begets such confidence in me, that I bring
No hired tongue to plead for me, that with gay
Rhetorical flourishes may palliate
That which, stripp'd naked, will appear deform 'd.
I stand here mine own advocate ; and my truth,
Deliver'd in the plainest language, will
Make good itself ; nor will I, if the king
Give suffrage to it, but admit of you,
My greatest enemy, and this stranger prince,
To sit assistants with him.

Aurel. I ne'er wrong'd you. [if.

Cam. In your knowledge of the injury, I believe
Nor will you, in your justice, when you ares
Acquainted with my interest in this man,
Which I lay claim to.

Rob. Let us take our seats.
What is your title to him ?

Cam. By this contract,
Seal'd solemnly before a reverend man,

[Presents a paper to the king.
I challenge him for my husband.

Svl. Ha ! was I

Sent for the friar for this ? O Sylli ! Sylli !
Some cordial, or I faint*.

Rob. This writing is
Authentical.

Aurel. But done in heat of blood,
Charm 'd by her flatteries, as, no doubt, he was,
To be dispensed with.

Per. Add this, if you please,
The distance and disparity between
Their births and fortunes.

Cbm. What can Innocence hope for,
When such as sit her judges are corrupted!
Disparity of birth or fortune, urge you ?
Or syren charms? or, at his best, in me
Wants to deserve him ? Call some few days back,
And, as he was, consider him, and you
Must grant him my inferior. Imagine
You saw him now in fetters, with his honour,
His liberty lost; with her black wings Despair
Circling his miseries, and this Goiizaga
Trampling on his afflictions ; the great sum
Proposed for his redemption ; the king
Forbidding payment of it ; his near kinsmen,
With his protesting followers and friends,
Falling of}' from him ; by the whole world forsaken ;
Dead to all hope, and buried in the grave
Of his calamities ; and then weigh duly
What she deserved, whose merits now are doubted,
That, as his better angel, in her bounties
Appear'd unto him, his great ransome paid,
His wants, and with a prodigal hand, supplied ;
Whether, then, being my manumised slave,
He owed not himself to me ?

Aurel. Is this true ?

Rob. In his silence 'tis acknowledged.

* Some cordial, or I faint.} Wholly omitted in Mr. M.
Mason's edition.

Gonz. If you want
: A witness to this purpose, I'll depose it.

Cam. If I have dwelt too long on my deserving
i To this unthankful man, pray you pardon me,
i The cause required it. And though now I add
A little, in my painting to the life
His barbarous ingratitude, to deter
Others from imitation, let it meet with
A fair interpretation. This serpent,
Frozen to numbness, was no sooner warm'd
In the bosom of my pity and compassion,
But, in return, he ruin'd his preserver,
The prints the irons had made in his flesh
Still ulcerous; but all that I had done,
My benefits, in sand or water written,
As they had never been, no more remember'd !
And on what ground but his ambitious hopes
To gain this duebes's' favour !

Aurel. Yes; the object,
Look on it better, lady, may excuse
The change of his affection.

Cam. The object !

In what ? forgive me, modesty, if I say
You look upon your form in the false glass
Of flattery and self-love, and that deceives you.
That you were a duchess, as I take it, was not
Character'd on your face ; and, that not seen,
For other feature, make all these, that are
Experienced in women, judges of them,
And, if they are not parasites, they must grant,
For beauty without art, though you storm at it,
I may take the right-hand file.

Cows. Well said, i'faith !
I see fuir women on no terms will yield
Priority in h>:.uty.

Cam. Down, proud heart !
Why do I rise up in defence of that,
Which, in my cherishing of it, hath undone me !
No, ma;!am, I recant, you are all beauty,
Goodness, and virtue ; and poor I not worthy
As a foil to set you off : enjoy your conquest ;
But do not tyrannize. Yet, as I am [me,

In my lowness, from your height you may look on
And. in your suffrage to me, make him know
That, though to all men else I did appear
The shame and scorn of women, he stands bound
To hold me as the masterpiece.

Rob. By my life,

You have shewn yourself of such an abject temper,
So poor and low-condition'd, as I grieve for
Your nearness to me.

Per. I am changed in my
Opinion of you, lady ; and profess
The virtues of your mind an ample fortune
For an absolute monarch.

Gonz. Since you are resolved
To damn yourself, in your forsaking of
Your noble order for a woman, do it
For this. You may search through the world and
With such another phenix. [meet not

Aurel. On the sudden

I feel all fires of love quenched in the water
Of my compassion. Make your peace ; you have
My free consent ; for here I do disclaim
All interest in you : and, to further your
Desires, fair maid, composed of worth and honour,
The dispensation procured by me,
Freeing Bertoldo from his vow, makes way
To your embraces.

Bert. Oh, how have I stray'd,

250

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

[Acr V.

And, wilfully, out of the noble track

Mark'd me by virtue ! till now I was never

Truly a prisoner. To excuse my late

Captivity, I might allege the malice

Of Fortune ; you, that conquer'd me, confessing

Courage in my defence was no way wanting.

But now I have surrender'd up my strengths

Into the power of Vice, and on my forehead

Branded, with mine own hand, in capital letters,

Disloyal and ingrateful. Though barr'd from

Human society, and hiss'd into

Some desert ne'er yet haunted with the curses

Of men and women, sitting as a judge

Upon my guilty self, I must confess
It justly falls upon me ; and one tear,

Shed in compassion of my sufferings, more
Than I can hope for.

Cam. This compunction [should

For the wrong that you have done me, though you
Fix here, and your true sorrow move no further,
Will, in respect I loved once, make these eyes
Two springs of sorrow for you.

Bert. In your pity

My cruelty shows more monstrous ; yet I am not,
Though most ingrateful, grown to such a height
Of impudence, as, in. my wishes only,
To ask your pardon. If, as now, I fall
Prostrate before your feet, you will vouchsafe
To act your own icvenge, treading upon me
As a viper eating through the bowels of
Your benefits, to whom, with liberty,
I owe my being, 'twill take from the burthen
That now is insupportable.

Cam. Pray you, rise ;
As I wish peace and quiet to my soul,
I do forgive you heartily ; yet excuse me,
Though I deny myself a" blessing that,
By the favour of the duchess, seconded
With your submission, is offered to me ;
Let not the reason I allege for't grieve you,
You have been false once. I have done : and if,
When I am married, as this day 1 will be,
As a perfect sign of your atonement with me.
You wish me joy, I will receive it for
Full satisfaction of all obligations
In which you stand bound to me.

Bert. I will do it.

And, what's more, in despite of sorrow, live
To see myself undone, beyond all hope
lo be made up again.

tiyl. My blood begins
To come to my heart again.

Cam. Pray 'you, signior Sylli,
Call in the holy friar ; he's prepared
For finishing the work.

Syi. 1 knew I was
The man : heaven make me thankful !

Rob. Who is this?

Ant. His father was the banker* of Palermo,
And this the heir of his great wealth : his wisdom
\\ as not hereditary.

Syl. 'I hough you know me not,
Your majesty owes me a round sum : I have
A seal or two to witness ; yet, if you please

To wear my colours and dance at my wedding
I'll never sue you.

Rob. And I'll grant your suit.
Syl. Gracious madonna, noble general,
Brave captains, and my quondam rivals, wear thtm,
Since I am confident you dare not harbour
A thought but that way current. [Exit.

Aurel. For mv part,
I cannot guess the issue.

Re-enter SYLLI with Father PAULO.
Syl. Do your duty ;
And with all speed you can you may dispatch us

Paul. Thus, as a principal ornament to the clum h,
I seize her.
All. How!

Rob. So young, and so religious !
Paul. She has forsook the world.
Siit. And Sylli too !
I shall run mad.

Rob. Hence with the fool ! [Sylli thrust off.]

Proceed, Sir.

Paul. Look on this MAID OF HONOUR, now
Truly honour'd in her vow
She pays to heaven : vain delight
By day, or pleasure of the night
She no more thinks of: This fair hair
( Favours for great kings to wear)
Must now be shorn ; her rich array
Changed into a homely grav.
The dainties with which she was fed,
And her proud flesh pampered,
Must not be tasted ; from the spring,
For wine, cold water we will bring,
And with fasting mortify
The feasts of sensuality.
Hei jewels, beads ; and she must look
Not in :i glass, but holy book ;
To teach her the ne'er-erring way
To immortality. O may
She, as she purposes to be
A child new-born to piety,
Persever* in it, and good men,
With saints and angels, say, Amen !

Tarn. This is the marriage ! this the port to which
My vows must steer me ! Fill my spreading sails
With tb pure wind of yeur devotions for me,
That I may touch the secure haven, where
Eternal happiness keeps her residence,
Temptations to frailty never entering!
I am dead to the world, and thus dispose
Of what I leave behind me ; and, dividing
My state into three parts, 1 thus bequeath it:
The first to the fair nunnery, to which
I dedicate the last and better part
Of my frail life ; a second portion
To pious uses ; and the third to thee,
Adorni, for thy true and faithful service.
And. ere 1 take my last farewell, with hope
I'o find a grant, my suit to you is, that
\ou would, for my sake, pa'rdou this young man,
And to his merits love him, and no further.
Hob. 1 thus confirm it.

f G ives his hand to Fitlgentio.

Cam. And, as e 'or you hope, [To Bertoldo.

Like me, to be made happy, [ conjure you
To reassume your order ; and in fighting

Tersevcr in tV.I This is the second time he editors have
modcrnfecd peru-vcr ii.io peria-vere, lo the destruction ol' the
ver-e. See Virjjiu Matter, Act 1. Scene j.

SCENE II.]

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

951

Bravely against the enemies of our faith,
Redeem your mortgaged honour.

Cons. I restore this : f Gives him the white cross.
Once more, brothers in arms.

Bert. I'll live and die so.

Cam. To you my pious wishes ! And, to end
All differences, great sir, I beseech you
To be an arbitrator, and ccmpound
The quarrel long continuing between
The duke and duchess.

Rob. I will take it into
My special tare.

Cam. I am then at rest. Now, father,
Conduct me where you please.

[L'aeunt Paulo and Camiola

Rob. She well deserves

Her name, THE MAID OF HONOUR ! May she stand,
To all posterity, a fair example
For noble maids to imitate ! Since to live
In wealth and pleasure's common, but to part with
Such poison'd baits is rare ; there being nothing
Upon this stage of lite to be commended,
Though well begun, till it be fully ended.

['Flourish. Exeunt*.

* This is of the higher order of Massinger's plays: nor
will it be veiy easy lo find in any writer a subject more
animated, or characters more vaiiously and pointedly drawn.
There is no delay in intn.ducing the business of the drama;
and nothing is allowed to interfere with its progress. In-
deed this is by far too rapid ; and event is precipitated upon
event without regard to tune or place. Hut Massinger acts
wiih a liberty which it would be absurd to criticise. Thebes
and Athens, Palermo and Sienna, aie alike lo him; and lie
must be allowed to transport his agents and their concerns
from one to another, as often as the exigencies of his am-
bulatory plan may require.

It is observable, th.it in this play Massingerhas attempted
the more difficult part of dramatic writing. He is not con-
tent with describing different qualities in his characters;
but lays before the reader several differences of the same
qualities. The courage of Gonzaga, though by no means
inferior to it, is not that of Bertolilo. In the former, it is
a fixed and habitual principle, the honourable business of
his life. In the latter, it is an irresistible impulse, the in-
etant.iiieoui result of a fiery temper. Both characters are
again distinguished from Roderigo and Jacomo. These too
have courage : but we cannot separate it from a mere vulgar
motive, the love of plunder; and in this respect Gonz*ga's
captains resemble tho^e of Charles in The Duke of Milan.
There is slill another remove; and all these branches of
real courage dilfei from the poor and forced approaches to
valour in Gasparo and Antonio. These distinctions were
stiougly fixed in Massinger's mind: lest they should pass
without due observation, he has mad'; Gonzaga point out
some of them, Act II. se. .''. : and Bertoldo dwells upon
others, Act III. sc. 1. And in this respect, again, he has
copied his own caution, already noticed in the Observations
on The Kentyado. A broader distinction is used with his
two courtiers; and the cold interest of Astutio is fully con-
trasted with the dazzling and imprudent assumption of
Fulgentio. But Camiola herself is the great object that
reigns throughout the piece, ii'very where she animates us
with her spirit, and instructs us with her sense. Yet this
superiority takes nothing from her softer feelings. Her
tears f)w with a mingled fondness and regret ; and she is
swayed by a passion which is only quelled by her greater
resolution. The influence of her character is also height-
ened through the different manner of her lovers ; through
the ina<l impatience of the uncontrolled Bertoldo, the glit-
tering pretensions of Fulgentio, and the humble and sincere

attachment of Adorni, who nourishes secret desires of an
happiness too exalted for him, laiililully performs commands
prejudicial to ids own views, through the force of an affection
which ensures his obedience, and, amiilst so much service,
scarcely presumes to hint the passion which consumes him.
I know not if even signior Sjlli is wholU useless l.eie; he
serves at least to show her good-hmnouic:! toleration of a
being hardly important enough lor her contempt.

In the midst of this just praise of Camiola, there arc a
few things to be regretted. Reason and religion had for-
bidden her union with Bertoldo; and she had declared her-
self unalterable in her purpose. His captivity reverses her
judgment, anil she determine! not only to liberate, but to
marry him. Unfortunately, loo, she demands a sealed con-
tract as the condition of his freedom; though Bcitoldo's
ardour was already known to her, and the geueiosity of her
nature ought to have abstained from so degrading a bargain.
But Massinger wanted to hinder the marriage of Aurtrli*; and,
with an infelicity which attends many of his contrivances,
he provided a prior contract at the expense of the delicacy,
as well as the principle.-, of his heroine. It is well, that
the nobleness of the couclifeion throws the veil over these
blemi-hes. Her determination is at once natural and unex-
pected. It answers to the original independence of her
character, and she retires with our highest admiration and
esteem.

It may be observed here, that Massinger was not tin
known to Milton. The date of some of Milton's early-
poems, indeed, is not cxaetU ascertained : but if the reader
will compare the speech of Paulo, with the Penseroso, he
cannot fail to remark a similarity in the cadences, as well
as in the measure and tlie solemn! y of the thoughts. On
many other occasions he certainly remembers Massinger,
and frequently in his representations of female purity, and
the commanding dignity of virtue.

A noble lesson arises from the conduct of the principal
character. A fixed sense of truth and rectitude gives
genuine superiority ; it corrects the proud, and abashes ihe
vain, and marks the proper limits between humility and
presumption. It also governs itself with the same as-
cendancy which it establishes over others. When the law
ful objects of life cannot be possessed with clearness of
honour, it provides a nobler pleasure in rising above tliir
attraction, and creates a new happiness by controlling even
innocent desires. DB. IRELAND.

THE PICTURE.

THE PICTURE.] This Tragi-comedy , or, as Massinger calls it, this " true Hungarian History," was licensed
by Sir H. Herbert, June 8th, 1629. The ]>lot, as The Companion to the Playhouse observes, is from the 28th
novel of the second volume of Painter's Palace of Pleasure, 1567. The magical circumstance, however,
from which the play takes its name, is found in a variety of iiuthors : it has all the appearance of an Arabian
fiction, and was introduced into our romances at a very early period. The following stanza is from a poem.
of the fourteenth century, called Horn Childe and Maiden Kimniltl, first given to the press by Mr. Kitson-
" To Rimneld he com withouten lesing
And sche bitaught him a ring
The vertu wele sche knew :
' Loke thou forsake it for no thing
It schal ben our tokening,
The ston it is wel trewe.
When the ston wexeth wan,
Than chaungeth the thought of thi leman,

Take then a newe ;
When the ston wexeth rede
Than have y lorn mi inaidenhed,
Oyaines the untrewe.' "

The immediate source of the story was the Novelle of Bandello, since exceedingly popular. Massinger,
however, has made some slight variation there is no temptation of Ulric (the Mathias of the play) and
Tery little of his lady. The knights are secured as fast as they arrive at her castle ; and the Picture conse-
quently maintains its position. From the same source, G. Whitston derived the^tale of Ulrico and Lady
Barbara, in his Rock /' Regard, which Massinger appears to have read. The story is also to be found
among the Noveltet Gatlantes; but they had the same origin, and it is altogether unnecessary to enter into
their respective variations. The French have modernized it into a pretty tale, under the name of Comment
filer parfait Amour.

This Play was much approved at its first appearance, when it was acted, as the phrase is, by the whole
strength of the house. Massinger himself speaks of it with complacency ; and, indeed, its claims to admi-
ration are of no common kind. It was printed in 1650; but did not reach a second edition. It is said, in
the title-page, to have been " often presented at the Globe and Black Friar's playhouses, by the King's
Majesty's servants."

An unsuccessful attempt was made to revive this Play, by the Rev. Henry Bate ; Magnii excidit autit!
We tolerate no magic now but Shakspeare's ; and without it The Picture can have no interest.

TO MY HONOURED AND SELECTED FRIENDS OF THE

NOBLE SOCIETY OF THE INNER TEMPLE,

IT maybe objected, my not inscribing their names, or titles, to whom I dedicate this poem, proceedeth
either from my diffidence of their affection to me, or their unwillingness to be published the patrons of a
trifle. To such as shall make so strict an inquisition of me, I truly answer, The play, in the persentment,
found such a general approbation, that it gave me assurance of their favour to whose protection it is now
sacred ; and they have professed they so sincerely allow of it, and the maker, that they would have
freely granted that in the publication, which, for some reasons, I denied myself. One, and that is a main
one; 1 had rather enjoy (as I have done) the real proofs of their friendship, than, mountebank-like, boast
their numbers in a catalogue. Accept it, noble Gentlemen, as a confirmation of his service, who hath
nothing else to assure you, and witness to the world, how much he stands engaged for your so frequent
bounties, and in your charitable opinion of me believe, that you now may, and shall ever, command

Your servant

PHILIP MASSINGER,

THE PICTURE.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

LADISLAUS, king of Hungary,
FERDINAND, general of the army,
EUBULUS, OH old counsellor,
MAHIIAS, a knight of Bohemia,

UBALDO, ) ., , ..
T, ! wild courtiers,

RICA R DO, )

JULIO B^PTISTA, a great scholar,

HILARIO, servant to Sophia.

Two Boys, representing Apollo and

Pallas.
Two Cmriert.

Actors' Name*.

R. Benfield.

A Guide.

R, Sharpe.

Servants to the queen.

J. Lowin.

Servants to Matliias.

J. Taylor.

T. Po'llard.

HOXORIA, the queen,

E. Swanstone.

SOPHIA, wife to Mathias,

W. Pen.
J. Shancke.

ACANTIIE, ) -, ,. ,
( maids of honour,
SYLVIA, J

CORISCA, Sophia's woman.

Ufa fleers. Attendant*. Oi

Actor*' Xamet.

J. Thomson.
J. Hunniemaa
A. Gofle.

W. Trigge.

SCENE, partly in Hungary, and partly in Bohemia.

ACT I.

SCENE I. The Frontiers of Bohemia.

Enter MATHIAS, SOPHIA, CORISCA, HILARIO, icith
other Servants.

Math. Since we must part, Sophia, to pass further
Is not alone impertinent, but dangerous.
\Ve are not distant from the Turkish camp
Above five leagues, and who knows but some party
Of his Timariots*, that scour the country,
May fall upon us? be now, as thy name,
Truly interpreted, hath ever spoke thee,
Wise and discreet ; and to thy understanding
Marry thy constant patience.

Soph. You put me, sir,
To the utmost trial of it.

Math. Nay, no melting ;
Since the necessity that now separates us,
We have long since disputed, and the reasons,
Forcing me to it, too oft wash'd in tears.
I grant that you, in birth, were far above me,
And great men, my superiors, rivals for you ;
But mutual consent of heart, as hands,
Jom'd by true love, hath made us one, and equal :
Nor is it in me mere desire of fame,
Or to be cried up by the public voice,
For a brave soldier, that puts on my armour :
Such airy tumours take not me. You know
How narrow our demeans aref, and, what's more,
Having as yet no charge of children on us,
We hardly can subsist.

Soph. In you alone, sir,
I have all abundance.

Math. For my mind's content,
In your own language I could answer you.
You have been an obedient wife, a right one ;
And to my power, though short of your .desert,
I have been ever an indulgent husband.
\\ e have long enjoy 'd the sweets of love, and though

Timariots are the Turkish Cavalry, a sort of feudal
veomanry, who luild their l.uuls on condition of service.

H ow narrow our demeai.s are,} Demeata is here used
for means, as demerits for merits, &c.

Not to satiety, or loathing, yet

We must not live such dotards on our pleasures,

As still to hug them to the certain loss

Of profit and preferment. Competent means

Maintains a quiet bed; want breeds dissension,

Even in good women.

Soph. Have you found in me, sir,
Any distaste, or sign of discontent,
For want of what's superfluous !

Math. No, Sophia ;

Nor shall thou ever have cause to repent
Thy constant course in goodness, if heaven bless
My honest undertakings. 'Tis for thee
That I turn soldier, and put forth, dearest,
Upon this sea of action, as a factor,
To trade for rich materials to adorn
Thv noble parts, and show them in full lustre.
I blush that other ladies, less in beauty
And outward form, but in the harmony
Of the soul's ravishing music, the same age
Not to be named with thee, should so outshine thee
In jewels, and variety of wardrobes ;
While you, to whose sweet innocence both Indies
Compared, are of no vulue, wanting these,
Pass unregarded.

Soph. If I am so rich, or
In your opinion, why should you borrow
Additions for me?

Math. Why! I should be censured
Of ignorance, possessing such a jewel
Above all price, if I forbear to give it
The best of ornaments : therefore, Sophia,
In few words know my pleasure, and obey me,
As yon have ever done. To your discretion
I leave the government of my family,
And our poor fortunes ; and from these command
Obedience to jou, as to myself:
To the utmost of what's mine, live plentifully ;
And, ere the remnant of our store be spent,
With my good sword I hope I shall reap for you
A harvest in such full abundance, as
Shall make a merry winter.

Soph. Since you are not

THE PICTURE.

[Aer.l.

To be diverted, sir, from what you purpose,

All arguments to stay you here are useless : [not

Go when you please, sir. Eyes, I charge you waste

One drop of sorrow ; look you hoard all up

Till in my widovr'd bed I call upon you,

But then'be sure you fail not. You blest angels,

Guardians of human life, 1 at this instant

Forbear t'invoke you ; at our parting, 'twere

To personate devotion*. i\ly soul

Shall go along with you, and, when you are

Circled with death and horror, seek and find you:

And then 1 will not leave a saint unsued to

For your protection. To tell you what

I will do in your absence, would show poorly ;"

My actions shall speak for me; 'twere to doubt ou

To beg I may hear fiom you ; where you are

You cannot live obscure, nor shall one post,

By night or day, pass unexamiaed by me.

If I dwell long upon your lips, consider.

After this feast, the griping fast that follows,

And it will be excusable; pray turn from me.

All that I can, is spoken. [Exit.

Math. Follow your mistress.
Forbear your wishes for me ; let me find them
At my return, in your prompt will to serve her.

Hil. For my part, sir, 1 will grow lean with study-
To make her merry.

Coris. Though you are my lord,
Yet being her gentli-woman, by my place
I may tuke my leave; your hand, or, if you please
To have me fight so high, I'll not be coy,
But stand a-tip-toe for't.

Math. O, farewell, girl! [Kisses lier.

Nil. A kiss well begg'd, Corisca.

Cam. "Twas my fee;

Love, how he meltsf ! I cannot blame my lady's
Unwillingness to part with such marmalade lijis.
There will be scrambling for them in the camp ;
And were it not for my honesty, i could wish now
I were his leaguer laundress} ; 1 would find

7b personate devotion.] \. e. to play it as an assumed
part. See Great Duke of Florence, Act IV. So. -2.

+ Love, how he melt.\ .'] So the qiiailo: die modern edi-
tions have, Jove, how he melts. Why Coxcter niHile lliu
alteration I cannot even ijncs.- ; Mttly, deily tor deity, the
former is the most natural lor Cornea to swear by.

i 1 could wish now

f were his leaguer laundress:] Mr. M. Mason reads his
leiger landress ; what lie muKmood by it, I know not, but
Corisca means his camp laundress.

Wl ile I lay

In the leaguer at Ardennes, lie corrupts
Two mercenary .-laves," &c. Love'* Victory.

Lfaguer is the Dutch, or rather Flemish, word for a camp;
and was one of the newfangled terms introduced from ilie
Low Countries. This innovation on the English language
is excellently noticed by Sir John Smyihe, in Certain Vit-
courses concerning the Formes and KjffCtt of diver* SiorU
of Heapon*, Ar., -tio. UO'J. " These," ,ihe' otiiccrs men-
tioned before,) " nttcrlie Ignorant of all our amu-ient disci
pline and proceeding in actions of urines, have so affected
the Wallons, Flemings, and base Almanc* discipline, th.it
they have procured 10 innovate, or rather to Mibvert all our
ancient proceedings in matters military : as, fur example
they will not vouchsafe in their spcachcs or writings to use
our termes belonging to matters of \varre, but (loo calfa
campe by the Dutch name of leyar ; nor will not afford to
Bay iij.it such a towne or such a fort is besieged, but that it
is beleyard:M though our English nation, which hath
been so famous in all actions militarie manic hundred
yearts, were HOW but newly ciept into Hie world; or as
though our language were so barren, that it were not able ol
itself, or by deiivaiion, to atti.oid convenient words lo ulter
our minds in matters of dial qualitir."

I cannot avoid adding my wishes that our oflin-rs would
reflect a little oil these sensible obnervalions: there is now

Soap of mine own, enough to wash his linen.
Or I would strain hard for't.

////. How the mammet twitters!
Come, come ; my lady stays for us.

Cm is. Would 1 had been
Her ladyship the last night!

Hit. No more of that, wench.

| Exeunt Hilurio, Corisra, and the rest.

Math. I am strangely troubled : yet why I should

nourish

A fury here, and with imagined food,
Having no real grounds on which to raise
A building of suspicion she was ever
Or can be false hereafter? I in this
But foolishly enquire the knowledge of
A future sorrow, which, if I find out,
My present ignorance were a cheap purchase,
Though with mv loss of being. 1 have already
De.ilt with a friend of mine, a general scholar,
One deeply read* in nature's hidden secrets,
And, though with much unwillingness, have won him
To do as much as art can. to resolve me
My late that follows. To my wish, he's come.

Enter BAPTISTA.

Julio Baptista, now I may affirm
Ynur promise and performance walk together;
And therefore, without circumstance, to the point ;
Instruct me wh-.it 1 am.

Bupt. 1 could wish you had
Made trial of mv love some other way.

Math. Nay, this is from the purpose.

Ba/it. If you can

Proportion your desire to any mean,
1 do pronounce you happy; I have found,
My certain rules of art. your matchless wife
Is to this present hour from all pollution
Free and untainted.

Math. Good.

Bupt. 1 i reason, therefore,

You should fix here, and make no further search
Of what may fall hereafter.

Math. O, Baptista,

'Tis not in me to master so my passions ;
1 must know further, or y:u have made good
But half your promise. While my love stood by,
Holding her upright, and my presence was
A watch upon her, her desires being met too
With equal ardour from me, what one proof
Could she give of her constancy, being untempted?
But when I am absent, and my coming back
Uncertain, and those wanton heats in women
Not to be quench 'd by lawful means, and she
The absolute disposer of herself,

a greater affectation than ever, of introducing French
military phra>es into our army; the consequences of which
may be more important than they stem to imagine.

* a general scholar,

One deeply read, &c.l In die list of dramatis persona;, too,
he is call.d a sfirat scholar. The character of 13aplista is
founded npn a notion very generally leceived in Hie dark
agi-s, tli.it men of learning wete comer.-ant in the opera-
tions of niiivjc : and, inilccd, a scholar and a m.igici.m are
frequently confounded by our oltl writers, or la her con-
sidered us one and the same. The notion is not j el obsolete
among the vulgar.

Baptixta 1'oita has given an elaborate account, in hit
treatise lie Miiyiu .\aturali, of ilie powers once supposed tc
be possessed and exercised by magician*. Both the woik
and tlii: author h.id long been f.iiniliar " in the mouths of
men," and were piobabh not unknown to Malinger. It
is an ingenious conjecture of Mr. Gilrhri-i, that he look the
iiaiue of his " deep-read scholar," from JJaptisla Porta.

II. J

THE PICTURE.

255

Without control or curb ; nay, more, invited
Us' opportunity, and all strong temptations,
It' then she hold out

Ba/it. As, no doubt, she will.

Alaili, Those doubts must be made certainties,

Baptista,

By your assurance ; or your boasted art
Deserves no admiration. How you trifle,
And play with my affliction ! I am on
The rack, til! you confirm me.

Bupt Sure, Mathias,
I am no god, nor can 1 dive into
Her hidden thoughts, or know what her intents are;
That is denied to art, and kept conceal'd
J-.'eri from the devils themselves : they can but guess,
Out of !oi:g observa'on, what is likely ;
But positively to foretel thai* shall be,
You may conclude impossible. All 1 can,
I will do for you ; when you are distant from her
A thousand leagues, as if you then were with her,
You shall know truly when she is solicited,
And how far wrought on.
Math. 1 desire no more.
Bujit. Take, then, this little model of Sophia,
With more than human skill iiinn'd to the life;

[Gf him a picture.

Each line and lineament of it in the drawing
So punctually observed, that, had it motion,
]n so much 'twere herself.

Math. It is indeed

An admirable piece ; but if it Irive not
Some hidden virtue that I cannot guess at,
In what can it sidvantage me?

Ba/.t. I'll instruct you :
Carry it still about you, and as oft
As you desire to know how she's affected,
With curious eyes peruse it: while it keeps
The figure it now has, entire and perfect,
She is not only innocent in fact,
But unattempted ; but if once it vary
From the true form, and what s now white and red,
Incline to yellow*, rest most confident
She's with all violence courttd, but unconquer'd ;
But if it turn all black, 'tis an assurance
The fort, by composition or surprise,
Is forced or with her free consent surrender'd.
Muth. How much you have engaged me for this

favour
The service of my whole life shall make good.

liupt. We will not part so, I'll along with you,
And it is needful ; with the rising suii
The armies meet ; yet, ere the fight begin,
lu spite of opposition, I will place you
In the head of the Hungarian general's troop,
Anii near h;s person.

Mutli. As my better angel,
You shall direct and guide me.

Bupt As we ride
I'll tell you more.

Math'. In all things I'll obey you. [Exeunt.

* Hut pas! lively to foretel lliat shall }>e,] All the copie
read, that this shall be, which ,~poils the verse, and is i;oi,
indeed, Hie ia;.y\i.ii;e ol the age.

f hit if oner it vary

From the Irueform, and u-hat's now vvhitean// reel
Jnciiiif. to jeliow.) It is nol impiubable but that these
and Miuil.ii- fictions wi-ie ori^in.illy di'iived from tin? rab-
bicinal iioii. n, lh.it distant iveiiis were signified to the
high-priest by changes in the colour of the precious stones
\viiith torn.ed the t)r;m auJ Thuimniu:.

SC RNE II. Hungary. A State-room in the Palace
Enter UBAI.DO and RICARDO.

Ric. When came the post !
Ubald. The last night.

Hie. From the camp 1 [sign'd

Ubald. Yes, as 'tis said, and the letter writ and
By the general, Ferdinand.

'Bio. Nay, then, sans question,
It is of moment.

Uliald. It concerns the lives
Of two great armies.

Ric. Was it cheerfully
Received by the king ]

Ubald. Yes ; for being assured
The armies were in view of one another,
Having proclaim'd a public fast and prayer
For the good success, he despatch'd a geutlemnn
Of his privy chamber to the general,
With absolute authority from him
To try the fortune ol a day.

Ric. No doubt then

The general will come on, and fight it bravely.
Heaven prosper him ! This military art
I grant to be the noblest of professions ;
And yet, I thank my stars fort, 1 was never
Inclined to learn it ; since this bubble honour
(Which is, indeed, tin- nothing soldiers fight for),
With the loss of limbs or liie, is, in my judgment,
Too dear a purchase*.

Ubald. Give me our court warfare :
The danger is not great in the encounter
Of a fair mistress.

liic. Fair and sound together
Do very well, Ubaldo ; but such are
With difficulty to be found out ; and when ihey know
Their value, prized too high. By thy own report,
Thou wast at twelve a gamester, and since that,
Studied all kinds of females, from the night-trader
1' the street, with certain danger to thy pocket,
To the great lady in her cabinet ;
That spent upon thee more in cullises,
To strengthen thy weak back, than would maintain
Twelve Flanders mares, and as many running horses.
Besides apothecaries and surgeons' bills,
Paid upon all occasions, and those frequent.

Ubald. You talk, Ricardo, as if yet you were
A novice in those mysteries.

Ric. By no means ;
My doctor can assure the contrary :
I lose no time. I have felt the pain and pleasure,
As he that is a gamester, and plays often,
Must sometimes be a loser.
Ubald. Wherefore, then,
Do you enry me?

Ric. It grows not from my want,
Nor thy abundance ; but being, as I am,
The likelier man, and of much more experience,
My good parts are my curses : there's no beauty
But yields ere it be summon'd ; and, as nature
Had sign'd me the monopoly of maidenheads,
There's none tan buy it till 1 have made my market
Satiety cloys me ; as I live, I would part with

since this bubble honour

(Which is, indeed, the nothing soldiers fiyht fur},
H ith the loss of limbs or life,is, in my judgment,
Too dear a purchase.] In this passage, which has been
hitheito most absurdly pointed, Massinger, as Coxetet
observes, had Slukspeare in his thoughts, and principally
Falstaff's humorous catechism.

THE PICTURE.

[Acrl.

Half my estate, nay, travel o'er the world,
To find that only phenix in my search.
That could hold out against me.

Ubald. lie not rapt so ;

You may spare that labour. As she is a woman,
What think you of the queen?

Ric. I dare not aim at
The petticoat royal, that is still excepted :
Yet, were she not my king's, being the abstract
Of all that's rare or to be wish'd in woman,
To write her in my catalogue, having enjoy'd her,
I would venture my neck to a halter but we talk of
Impossibilities : as she hath a beauty
Would make old Nestor young ; such majesty
Draws f'ortli a sword of terror to defend it,
As would fright Paris, though the queen of love
Vow'd her best furtherance to him.

Ubald. Have you observed
The gravity of her language mix'd with sweetness ?

Ric. Then at what distance she reserves herself
When the king himself makes his approaches to
her.

Ubald. As she were still a virgin, and his life
But one continued wooing.

Ric. She well knows
Her wonh, and values it.

Ubald. And so far the king is
Indulgent to her humours, that he forbears
The duty of a husband, but when she calls for't.

Ric. All his imaginations and thoughts
Are buried in her ; the loud noise of war
Cannot awake him.

Ubald. At this very instant,
When both his life and crown are at the stake,
He only studies her content, and when
She's pleased to shew herself, music and masks
Are with all c:ire and cost provided for her.

Ric. This night she promised to appear.

Uliald. You may

Believe it by the diligence of the king,
As if he were her harbinger.

Enter LADISLAUS, EUBULUS, and Attendants, with
perfumes.

Ladii. These rooms
Are not perfumed, as we directed.

Eubu. Not, sir !

[smoke

I know not what you would have ; I am sure the
Cost treble the price of the whole week's provision
Spent in your majesty's kitchens.

Liutis. How I scorn

Thy gross comparison ! When my* Honoria,
The amazement of the present time, and envy
Ot all succeeding ages, does descend
To sanctity a place, and in her presence
Makes it a temple to me, can I be
Too curious, much less prodigal, to receive her ?
lii t that the splendour of her beams of beauty
Ha h struck thee blind

Eiibn. As dotage hath done you.

Litdis, Dotage ! O blasphemy ! is it in me
To serve her to her merit? Is she not
The daughter of a king J

Eubu. And you the son
Of ours I take it ; by what privilege else

When my Honoria,} Mr. M. Mason omits my; I know
not whether by inadvertence or design; but it injures the
metre.

Do you reign over us ; for my part I know not
Where the disparity lies.

Ladis. Her birth, old man

j (Old in the kingdom's service, which protects thee),
Is the least grace in her : and though her beauties
Might make the Thunderer a rival for her,
They are but superficial ornaments,
And faintly speak her : from her heavenly mind,
Were all antiquity and fiction lost,
Our modern poets could not in their fancy,
Hut fashion a Minerva far transcending
The imagined one whom Homer only dreamt of.
But then add this, she's mine, mine, Eubulus* !
And though she knows one glance from her fair eyes
Must make all gazers her idolaters,
She is so sparing of their influence,
That, to shun superstition in others,
She shoots her powerful beams only at me.
And can I, then, whom she desires to hold
Her kingly captive above all the world,
Whose nations and empires, if she pleased,
She might command as slaves, but gladly pay
The humble tribute of my love and servioe,
Nay, if I said of adoration, to her,
1 did not err ?

Eiibu. Well, since you hug your fetters,
In love's name wear them ! You are a king, and that
Concludes you wisef, your will, a powerful reason :
Which we, that are foolish subjcts, must not argue.
And what in a mean man I should call folly,
Is in your majesty remarkable wisdom :
But for me, I subscribe.

Ladis. Do, and look up,
Upon this wonder.

Loud music. Enter HONORIA tn state, tinder a Canopy ,
her train borne tip by SYLVIA and ACANTHE.

Ric. Wonder ! ] t is more, sir,

Ubald. A rapture, an astonishment.

Ric. What think you, sir ?

Eubu. As the king thinks, that is the surest guard
We courtiers ever lie at f . Was prince ever
So drown'd in dotage ? Without spectacles
1 can see a handsome woman, and she is so :
But yet to admiration look not on her.
Heaven, how he fawns ! and, as it were his duty,
With what assured gravity she receives it!
Her hand again ! O she at length vouchsafes
Her lip, and as he had suck'd nectar from it,
How he's exalted ! \Vomen in their natures
Affect command ; but this humility
In a husband and a king marks her the way
To absolute tyranny. [The king seats her on hit

throne.] So ! Juno's placed
In Jove's tribunal ; and, like Mercury
(Forgetting his own greatness), he attends

* But then add this, she's mine, mine, Eubulus !] Our old
writers were very lax in their use i,f furcign names, Mas-
singer was a scholar, yet he pronounces Eubulus much as
Shakspeare would have done it.

You are a king, and that

Concludes you wise: &c.] Massinger appears to me to
have feveral sly tin lists, in various parts of his works, at the
slavish doctrines maintained by most of the celebrated
writeri of his time :

" be it one poet's praise,

That if he pleased, he pleased by manly ways,
That flattery even to kings he held a shame,
And thought a lie in verse or prose the same."
t Eubu. As the king thinks, that is the surest guard
If e courtiers ever lie at.] i. e. ilie snrei-t posiure of de-
fence. " 'Jhou Unowest," says FaUlaff, " my old ward
thut 1 lay." Guard and u-a'rd are the same word.

SCENE II.]

THE PICTURE.

25T

For her employments. She prepares to speak ;
What oracles shall we hear now?

Hon. That you please, sir,
With such assurances of love and favour,
To grace your handmaid, but in being yours, sir,
A matchless queen, and one that knows herself so,
Binds me in retribution to deserve
The grace conferr'd upon me.

Ludis. You transcend
In all things excellent ; and it is my glory,
Your worth weigh 'd tiuly, to depose myself
From absolute command, surrendering up
My will and faculties to your disposure :
And here I vow. not for a day or year,
But my whole life, which I wish long to serve you,
That whatsover I injustice may
Exact from these my subjects, you from me
May boldly challenge : and when you require it,
In sign of my subjection, as your vassal,
Thus I will pay my homage.

Him. O forbear, sir !
Let not my lips envy my robe ; on them
Print your allegiance often : I desire
No other fealty.

Ladis. Gracious sovereign !
Boundless in bounty !

u6it. Is not here fine fooling !
He's, questionless, bewitch'd. Would I were gelt,
So that would disenchant him ! though I forfeit
My life for't, 1 must speak. By your good leave,

sir

I have no suit to you, nor can you grant one,
Having no power : you are like me, a subject,
Her more than serene majesty being present.
And I must tell you, 'tis ill manners in you,
Having deposed yourself, to keep your hat on,
And not stand bare, as we do, being no king,
But a fellow-subject with us. Gentlemen ushers,
It does belong to your place, see it reform'd ;
He has given away his crown, and cannot challenge
The privilege of his bonnet.

Ladis. Do not tempt me. [example?

Eubit, Tempt you ! in what? in following your
If you are angry, question me hereafter,
As Ladislaus should do Eubulus,
On equal terms. You were of late my sovereign
But weary of it, I now bend my knee
To her divinity, and desire a boou
From her more than magnificence.

Hon. Take it freely. [him.

Nay, be not moved ; for our mirth's sake let us hear

Eubu. Tis but to ask a question : Have you

ne'er read
The story of Semiramis and Ninus?

Hon. Not as I remember.

Enhu. I will then instruct you,
And 'tis to the purpose : This Ninus was a king,
And such an impotent loving king as this was,
Hut now he's none ; this Ninus (pray you observe

me)

Doted on this Semiramis, a smith's wife
(I must confess, there the comparison holds not,
You are a king's daughter, yet, under your correc-
tion,

Like her a woman) ; this Assyrian monarch,
Of whom this is a pattern, to express
His love and service, seated her, as you are,
In his regal throne, and bound by oath his nobles,
Fc^getting alt allegiance to himself,
One day to be her subjects, and to put

In execution whatever she [him

Pleased to impose upon them : pray you command
To minister the like to us, and then
You shall hear what follow 'd.

Ludis. Well, sir, to your story, [know

Eubu. You have no warrant, stand by ; let ine
Your pleasure, goddess.

Hon. Let this nod assure you. [idol !

Eubu. Goddess-like, indeed ! as I live, a pretty
She knowing; her power, wisely made use of it ;
And fearing his inconstancy, and repentance
Of what he had granted (as, in reason, madam,
You may do his), that he might never have
Power to recal his grant, or question her
For her short government, instantly gave order
To have his head struck off.

Latlis. Js't possible? [dom

Eubu. The storv says so, and commends her wis-
For making use of her authority.
And it is worth your imitation, madam :
He loves subjection, and you are no queen,
Unless you make him feel the weight of it,
You are more than all the world to him, and that
He may be so* to you, and not seek change
When his delights are sated, mew him up
In some close prison (if you let him live,
Which is no policy), and there diet him
As you think fit, to feed your appetite ;
Since there ends his ambition.

Ubald. Devilish counsel !

Eh. The king's amazed.

Ubald. The queen appears, too, full
Of deep imaginations; Eubulus
Hath put both to it.

Ric. Now she seems resolved:
I long to know the issue.

\_llonoria descendtfrom the throng.

Hon. Give me leave,
Dear sir, to reprehend you for appearing
Perplex'd with what this old man, out of envy
Of your unequall'd graces, shower 'd upon me,
Hath, in his fabulous story, saucily
Applied to me. Sir, that vou only nourish
One doubt Honoria dares abuse the power
With which she is invested by your favour ;
Or that she ever can make use of it
To the injury of you, the great bestower,
Takes from your judgment. It was your delight
To seek to me with more obsequiousness
Than I desired : and stood it with my duty
Not to receive what you were pleased to offer ?
I do but act the part you put upon me,
And though you make me personate a queen,
And you my subject, when the play, your pleasure,
Is at a period. I am what I was
Before I enter'd, still your humble wife,
An.l you my royal sovereign.

You are more than all the world to him, and that

He May be loe to you,] This is the reading of all the old
copies, but most certainly false. It ouuht to be

and that

He may be so to you. COXETER.

When it is considered that the old way of spelling so was
foe, and that the / is frequently mistaken for an /, we
hall not be inclined to think extraordinarily highly 01 Ihe
editor's sagacity, notwithstanding it is set off by a capit >1
letter, which is not to be found in the original. But now
steps in Mr. M. Mason, and, having the scent of an amend-
ment, pronounces so to be nonsense. ! and proposes to read
(nay, actually prints), true, which, saith he, " is evidently
the right word." All this thrashing for chaff!

158

THE PICTURE.

[AcT It.

Jiff. Admirable! [dangers

Hon. 1 have heard of captains taken more with
Than the rewards ; and if, in your approaches
To those delights which are your own, and freely,
To heighten your desire, you make the passage
Narrow and difficult, shall I prescribe you,
Or blame your fondness ? or can that swell me
Beyond my just proportion 1

Uhald. Ahove wonder ! [ness.

Ladis. Heaven make me thankful for such good-
How. Now, sir,

The state I took to satisfy your pleasure,
I change to this humility ; and the oath
You made to me of homage, I thus cancel,
And seat you in your own.

[Leads the king to the throne.

Ladis. I am transported
Beyond myself.

Hon. And now, to your wise lordship :
Am 1 proved a Semiramis? or hath
My Ninus, as maliciously you made him,
Cause to repent the excess of favour to me,
Which you call dotage?

Ladis. Answer, wretch.

Eubu. I dare, sir,

And say, however the event may plead
In your defence, you had a guilty cause ;
Nor was it wisdom in you, I repeat it,
To teach a lady, humble in herself,
With the ridiculous dotage of a lover,
To be ambitious.

Hon. Eubulus, I am so ;
'Tis rooted in me ; you mistake my temper.
I do profess myself to be the most
Ambitious of my sex, but not to hold
Command over my lord ; such a proud torrent
Would sink me in my wishes : not that I
Am ignorant how much I can deserve,
And may with justice challenge.

I'.nhn. This 1 look'd for ;
After this seeming humble ebb, I knew
A gushing tide would follow.

Hon. By my birth,

And liberal gifts of nature, as of fortune,
From you, as things beneath me, 1 expect
What's due to majesty, in which I am
A sharer with your sovereign.

Eubu. Good again !

Hon. And as I am most eminent in place,
In all my actions I would appear so.

Ladis. You need not fear a rival.

Hon. 1 hope not ;

And till 1 find one, I disdain to know
What envy is.

Ladis. You are above it, madam.

Hon. For beauty without art, discourse, and free*

For beauty without art, discourse, and, free, &c j Tl cse
last word* are improperly arranged, we thu'ulil rend,

For beauty without art, and discourse free from affec
tation. M. MA*ON.

1 know uot how much Mr. M. Mason had icad cf hij

From affectation, with what graces else
Can in the wife and daughter of a king
Be wish'd, 1 dare prefer myself, as

Eubu. I

Blush for you, lady. Trumpet your own praises* !
This spoken by the people had been herd
With honour to you. Does the court afford
No oil-tongued parnsite, that you are forced
To be your own gross flatterer ?

Ladis. Be dumb.
Thou spirit of contradiction !

Hon. The wolf

But barks against the moon, and I contemn it.
The mask you promised? [A horn sounded within.

LacKs. Let them enter.

Enter a COUIUER.

How!

Eubu. Here's one, I fear, unlook'd for.

Ladis. From the camp ?

Cour. The general, victorious in your fortune,
Kisses your hand in this, sir. [Delivers a lettei

Ladis. That great Power,
Who at his pleasure does dispose of battles.
Be ever praised for't ! Read, sweet, and partake it:
The Turk is vanquish 'd, and with littlo loss
Upon our part, in which our joy is doubled.

Eubu. But let it not exalt you ; beur it, sir,
With moderation, and pay what you owe for't.

Ladis. I understand thee, Eubulus. I'll not now
Enquire particulars. [Exit Courier.] Our delights

deferred,

With reverence to the temples ; there we'll tender
Our souls' devotions to His dread might,
Who edged our swords, and taught us how to fight.

[Eieunt.

author when he wrote this note ; but must take leave to
think, that his acquaintance with him was exceedingly
siipritiri.il. The mode of expression, which he \voulu
change into tame prose by his arrangement, is so t'rc<|iu-n
in Massinger, as to form one of the characteristics ot' mi
style. It is not, indeed, unknown to, or unused by, any ol
his contemporaries : but in none of them are the recurrence.!
of it so frequent.
Etibn. /

Blush for you, lady. Trumpet your own praties t] Dods-
ley read?,
At I

liluthfor you, lady, trumpet not your own praise,
Coxter and Mr. M. Mason :
A* I

Slush for you, lady, trumpet your own praises
And explain it to mean that" she lit in If iiavin lost all
sense of Miame, he undertakes to blush for hvi ; and there-
fore ironically bids her proceed."

I like neither of these readings. Dodsley'* is vry tame ;
and Coxeter's at variance with what follows. The old
copy ps tlu-rp-s aoatni h t us :

Eub. As I

Blush ftr you lady, trumpet your own praysir* !
Which leads me to siuprci that the queen was interrupted
by the impatience of Eubulus; ujx.n ih.it idea I have regu-
lated the text. Tnis is by far the greatest liberty 1 havt
yet takeu with my autuot.

STSKE T.]

THE PICTURE.

859

ACT II.

SCENE I. Bohemia. A Room in Malhias' House.
Enter HILARIO and COIUSCA.

Hit. You like my speech?

Cm-is. Yes, it' you give it action
In the delivery.

Hil. If! I jiityyou. [time,

1 have p'.ay'd tlie fool before; this is not the first
Nor shall be. 1 hope, the last.

Coris. Nay, I think so too. [laughter,

Hil. And if I put her not out of her dumps with
I'll m:ike her howl for anger.

Coris. Not too much

Of that, good fellow llilario : ur sad lady
Hath drank too often of that bitter cup;
A pleasant one must restore her. With what patience
"Would she endure to hear of the death of my lord ;
That, merely out of doubt he may miscarry,
Afflicts herself thus?

Hil. L'mph ! 'tis a question
A widow only can resolve. There be some
That in their husbands' sicknes>es* have wept
Their pottle of tears a day ; but being once certain
At midnight he was dead, have in the morning
Dried up their handkerchief's, and thought uo more
on't. [TOW

Corit. Tush, she is none of that race ; if her sor-
Be not true and perfect, 1 against my sex
Will take my oath woman ne'er wept in earnest.
She has made herself a prisoner to her chamber,
Dark as a dungeon, in which no beam
Of comfort enters. She admits no visits ;
Eats little, and her nightly music is
Of sighs and groans, toned to such harmony
Of feeling grief, ihat I, against my nature,
Am made one of the consortf. This hour only
She takes the air, a custom every day
She solemnly observes, with greedy hopes,
From some that pass by, to receive assurance
Of the success and safety of her lord.
Now, if that your device will take

Hit. Ne'er fear it :
I am provided cap-a-pie 1 , and have
Mv properties in readiness.

Sffk. [it-it/iiit.] Bring my veil, there.
Coris. Be gone, 1 hear her coming.

Hit. If 1 do not

Appear, and, what's more, appear perfect, hiss me.

[Exit.

Enter SOPHIA.

Sph. I was flatter'd once, I was a star, but now
TurnM a prodigious meteor, and, like one,
Hang in the air between my hopes and fears ;
And every hour, the little stuff burnt out
That yields a waning light to dying comfort,

That in their hatband*' sicknesses have tcrpt] So the
Quarto: Hie modern editors nsr.l,

That in their l^b-tml's sickness have wept
which utterly destroys the nutrt. In the next speech,
furwoman ne'er we t, Mr. M. Mason K ive us women
ne'er wept .' and thus he Humbles and blunders on through
the whole work.

t Am made one of the consort,) Here, as every where
else, Mr. M. Max.ni discharges the genuine woid for concert.
See The Fatal Dowry.

I do expect my fall, and certain ruin.
In wretched things more wretched is delay;
And Hope, a parasite to me, being unmask'd,
Appears more horrid than Despair, <md my
Uis ruction worse than madness. Even my prayers,
U hen with most zeal sent upward, are pull'd down
With strong imaginary doubts and fears,
And in their sudden precipice o'erwhelm me.
Dreams and fanta>tic visions walk the round*
About my widow'd bed, and every slumber's
Broken with loud alarms : can these be then
But sad presages, girl?

Cm is. You make them so,
And antedate a loss shall ne'er fall on you.
Suchpuie -affection, such mutual love,
A bed, and undeliled on either part,
A house without contention, in two bodies
One will and soul, like to the rod of concord,
Kissing each other, cannot be short-lived,
Or end in barrenness. If all these, dear madam
(Sweet in your sadness), slnuld produce no fruit,
Or leave the age no models of yourselves,
To witness to posterity what you were ;
Succeeding times, frighted with the example,
But hearing of your story, would instruct
Their fairest issue to meet sensually,
Like other creatures, and forbear to raise
True Love, or Hymen, altars.

Soph. Corisca,

1 know thy reasons are like to thy wishes ;
And they are built upon a weak foundation,
To raise me comfort. Ten long: days are past,
Ten long days, my Corisca. since my lord
Embark d himself upon a sea of danger,
In his dear care of me. And if his life
Had not been shipwreck'd on the rock of war,
His tenderness of me (knowing how mucn
I languish for his absence) bad provided
Some trusty friend, from whom 1 might receive
Assurance of his safety.

Coris. Ill news, madam, [crutches:

Are saallow-wing'd, but what's good walks on
With patience expect it, and, ere long,
No doubt you shall hear from him.

[Horn blown.

Soph. Ha ! What's that ?

Curis. The fool has got a sowgelder's horn. A post,
As [take it, madam.

Soph. It makes this way still ;
Nearer and nearer.

Coris. From the camp, I hope.
Enter one disguised as a C.wrier, with a horn ; fot-

laued by HILAHIO, in antic armour, with long whitt

hair and beard.

[armour,

Soph. The messenger appears, and in strange
Heaven ! if it be thy will

Hil. It is no booi
To strive ; our horses tired, let's walk 0.1 foot :

Urecms and fantastic vision walk the round] For
the round, CoKder w..l<i ri-.nl.rAnV round; t.il he itU
not understand the hra-t. To " walk the round wai
tethni al, anil meant t.. u-atch, in whi.-h n use it often
occurs in Massingtr, and other writers of his age.

THE PICTURE.

[ACT II.

And that the castle, which is very near us,
To give us entertainment, may soon hear us,
Blow lustily, my lad, and drawing nigh-a*,
Ask lor a lady which is cleped Sophia.
Cr<is. He names you, madam.
Hil. For to her I bring,
Thus clad in arms, news of a pretty thing,
By name Mathias. [Eorif Courier.

Soph. From my lord ? O sir
I am Sophia, that Mathias' wife.
So may Mars favour you in all your battles,
As you with speed unload me of the burthen
I labour under, till 1 am confirm *d
Both where and how you left him !

Hil. If thou art,

As I believe, the pigsney of fcis heart,
Know he's in health, and what's more, full of glee ;
And so much I was will'd to say to thee.
Soph. Have you no letters from him ?
Hit. No more wordsf.

In the camp we use no pens, hut write with swords ;
Yet as I am enjoin'd, by word of mouth
I will proclaim his deeds from north to south ;
Hut tremble not, while I relate the wonder
Though my eyes like lightning shine, and my voice

thunder.

Soph. This is some counterfeit braggart.
Com. Hear him, madam.
Hit. The rear inarch'd first, which follow'd by

the van,

And wing'd with the battaliaj, no man
Durst stay to shift a shirt, or louse himself ;
Yet, ere the armies join'd, that hopeful elf,
Thy dear, thy dainty duckling, bold Mathias,
Advanced, and stared like Hercules or Golias.
A hundred thousand Turks, it is no vaunt,
Assail'd him; every one a Tenmagaunt :
But what did he then, with his keen-edge spear
He cut and carbonated them : here and there
Lay legs and arms; and, as 'tis said trulee
Of Bevis, some he quarter'd all in three.
Soph. This is ridiculous.
Hil. I must take breath ;
Th n like a nightingale, I'll sing his death.
Soph. His death!
Hil. I am out.

Coris. Recover, dunder-head, [died ;

Hil. How he escaped, I should have sung, not
FoT, though a knight, when I said so, I lied.
Weary he was, and scarce could stand upright,
And looking round for some courageous knight
To rescue him, as one perplex'd in woe,
He call'd to me, help, help, HiJario !
My valiant servant, help !

Blow lustily my lad, and drawing nigh-a,

Ask for a lady which it cleped Sophia.) Coxetcr took
the a ironi nigh-a, anil Mr. M. Mason, not to behind hand
in the business ot" improvement, reduced .' nphia to Sophy.
He then observes with great telf-complacency, " this emen-
dation" (emendation !) " is evidently right ; as all the rest
of this ridiculous speech is in rhyme, we shonlil without
doubt read Sophy instead of Sophia!" After all this confi-
dence, the old copy reads precisely as I have given it.

t Hil. No more words. | Here is another " emendation!"
The editors read ; A'o, mere words. Bnt Hilario alludes to
what he had just said " so much / was will'd to ay to
thee and therefore question me no further." The contra-
diction which follows, makes the humour, if it may be so
it j led, of this absurd interlude.

J And winy'd with the battalia,] Mr. M. Mason reads
battalion; a needless surcrease of nonsense: by battalia
our old writers meant what we now call the main body of
the army.

Can*. He has spoil'd all. [bold

Soph. Are you the man of arms, then? I'll make
To take off your martial beard, you had fool's hair
Enough without it. Slave ! how durst thou make
Thy sport of what concerns me more than life,
In such an antic fashion ? Am I grown
Contemptible to those I feed ? you, minion,
Had a hand in it too, as it appears,
Your petticoat serves for bases to this warrior*.

Com. We did it for your mirth.

Hill. For myself, I hope,
I have spoke like a soldier.

Soph. Hence, you rascal !
I never but with reverence name my lord.
And can I hear it by thy tongue profaned,
And not correct thy follv? but you are [course,
Transform'd and turn'd knight-errant ; take your
And wander where you please ; for here I vow
By my lord's life (an oath I will not break),
Till his return, or certainty of his safety,
My doors are shut against thee. [TExit

Coris. You have made
A fine piece of work on't ! How do you like the

qualityf ?

You had a foolish itch to be an actor,
And may stroll where you please.

Hil. Will you buy my share ?

Con's. No, certainly ; I fear I have already
Too much of mine own : I'll only, as a damsel
(As the books sayj), thus far help to disarm you j
And so, dear Don Quixote, taking my leave,
1 leave you to your fortune. [Eor/f.

Hil. Have 1 sweat

My brains out for this quaint and rare invention,
And am I thus rewarded? 1 could turn
Tragedian and roar now, but that 1 fear
'Twould get me too great a stomach, having no meat
To pacify colon$ : Whal. will become of me'!
I cannot beg in armour, and steal 1 dare not :
My end must be to stand in a corn field,
And fright away the crows, for bread and cheese;
Or find some hollow tree in the highway,
And there, until my lord return, sell switches :
No more Hilario, hut Dolorio now,
I '11 weep my eyes out, and be blind of purpose
To move compassion ; and so I vanish. [Exit.

SCENE II. Hungary. An Ante-ream in the Palace.
Enter EUBIT.US, UBALDO, RICARDO, and others.

Eubn. Are the gentlemen sent before, as it was
By the king's direction, to entertain [order'd.

The general f

Hie. Long since ; they by this have met him,
And given him the bienvenu.

* Your petticoat serves for bases to this warrior.] JJasrt
seem to be some kind ot quilted and ornamental covering
for the thighs. It appears to have iiiade a part of the mili-
tary dress of the time :

" Per. Now by your furtherance I am clad steel
Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided
Of a pair of bases.

Fish. We'll sure provide: thou shall have my best

gown to make thee a pair." Pericles, Act 11. sc. 1.

t How do you tilte the quality ?J i. c. the profession of

playing. See The Roman Actor. In the last line of this

speech, the editors have unnecessarily inserted now before

stroll.

t As the books say.] i. e. the books of knight-errantry,
which were then much read. Coxeter and Mr. M. Ma on
have As the book sa\s !

j To pacify colon :j i. e. the cravings ot hanger. See7*A
L nnatural Combat, Act 1., Sc. 1.

SCENE 1 1.]

THE PICTURE.

261

Eubu. 1 hope I need not
Instruct you in your parrs.

Ubald. How ! us, my lord !
Fear not ; we know our distances and degrees
To the vers' inch where we are to s;i!ute him.

Hie. The state were miserable if the court Lad
Of her own breed, familiar with all garbs [none

Gracious in England, Italy, Spain, or France ;
With form and punctuality to receive
S'ranger ambassadors : for the general
He's a mere native, and it matters not
Wlr'eh wav we do accost him.

^Ubuld. '['is great pity

That such as sit at the helm provide no better
For the training up of the gentry. In my judgment
An academy erected, with large pensions
To such as in a table could set down
The congees, cringes, postures, methods, phrase,
Proper to every nation

Ric. O, it were
An admirable piece of work !

Ubald. And yet rich fools
Throw away their charity on hospitals
For beggars and lame soldiers and ne'er study
The due regard to compliment and courtship,
Matters of more import, and are indeed
The glories of a monarchy.

Eubii. These, no doubt,

Are state points, gallants, I confess ; but siire,
Our court needs no aids this way, since it is*
A school of nothing else. Ihere are some of you
Whom I forbear to name, whose coining b> ru!s
Are the mints of all new fashions, that have done
More hurt to the kingdom by superfluous braveryf,
\\ Inch the foolish gentry imitate, than a war,
Or a long famine ; all the treasure, by
This foul excess, is got into the merchant,
L'mbroideier, silkman, jeweller, tailor's hand,
And the third part of the land too, the nobility
Engrossing titles only.

AM. My lord, you are bitter. \_A trumpet.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. The general is alighted, and now enter'd.

Ric, Were he ten generals, 1 am prepared,
And know what 1 will do.

Eub. Pray you what, Ricardo?

Ric. I'll fight at compliment with him.

Ubald. I'll charge hume too. [oft well.

Eitb. And that's a desperate service ; if you come
Enter FERDINAND, MATHIAS, BAPTisTA.awd Captains.

Ferd. C;iptain, command the officers to keep
The soldier, as he march'd in rank and file,
Till they hear further from me. [Exeunt Captains.

Eubu. Here's one speaks
In another key; this is no canting language
Taught in your academy.

Ferd. JXay, 1 will present you
To ihe king myself.

Math. A grace beyond my merit.

Ferd. You undervalue what I cannot set
Too high a price on.

Eubu. With a friend's true heart,
I gratulate your return.

Our court ne<;ds no aid* thit u-ay, since it is &c.] Mr.
W. ftjasoii, in defiance of authority anil of grammar, reads :
Our conns need no aids this way since it &c. indeed, he
hath printed (lie vliole of tliis speech very carelessly, and
pointed it stdl more so.

fey superfluous bravery] i. e. as 1 have

already observed, finery, costliness of apparel, &c

Ferd. Next to the favour
Of the great king, I am happy in your friendship.

Ubald. By courtship, coarse on both sides !

Ferd. Pray you, receive

This stranger to your knowledge ; on my credit,
At all parts he serres it.

Eubu. Your report
Is a strong assurance to me. Sir, most welcome.

Math. This said by you the reverence of your age
Commands me to believe it.

-Ric. This was pretty ;

But second me now. 1 cannot storptoo low

To do your excellence that due observance
Your fortune claims.

Enhu. He ne'er thinks on his virtue !

Ric. For being, as you are, the soul of soldiers,
And bulwark of Bellona

Ubald. The protection
Both of the court and king

Ric. And the sole minion
Of mighty Mars

Ubu/d. One that with justice may
Increase the number of the worthies

Eubu. Heyday !

Ric. It being impossible in, my arms to circle
Such giant worth

Ubald. At distance we presume
To kiss your honour'd gauntlet.

Eubu. What reply now
Can he make to this foppery 1

Ferd. You have said, *

Gallants, so much, and hitherto done so little,
That, till I learn to speak, and you to do,
I must take time to thank you.

Eubu. As 1 live,
Answer 'd as I could wish. How the fops gape now!

Ric. This was harsh and scurvy.

Ubald. We will be revenged
When he comes to court the ladies, and laugh at him.

Eubu. Nay, do your offices, gentlemen, and con-
The general to the presence. [duct

J?i'c. Keep your order.

Ubald. Make way for the general.

[Eieunl an but Eubulut

Eubu. What wise man,

That, with judicious eyes, looks on a soldier,
But must confess that fortune's swing is more
O'er that profession, than all kinds else
Of life pursued by man ? '1 hey, in a state,
Are but as surgeons to wounded men,
E'en desperate in their hopes; while pain and anguish
Make them blaspheme, and call in vain for death :
Their wives and children kiss the surgeon's knees,
Promise him mountains, if his saving hand
Restore the tortured wretch to fo:mer strength.
But when grim death, by vEsculapius" art,
Is frighted from the house, and health appears
In sanguine colours on the sick man's face.
All is forgot ; and, asking his reward,
He's paid with curses, often receives wounds
From him whose wounds he cured. 1 have observed,
W'hen horrid Mars*, the touch of whose lough hand

* From him whose wounds he curd.. I tare observed,
If hen horrid. Man, &c.] Theie is both an iinperfee.

tion and a redundancy in this speech, as it stands in Utt

old edition, \vliuh read?,

From him whose wounds he cured, so soldiers,
'Ihovyh of more worth and use, tntrt the tameJaU
As it is toe apparent. J hare observed

THE PICTURE.

[Acr II

fitli p;ilsies shake? c. kiugdom. hath put on
is dreadful helmet, anil with terror fills

Will
Hi

The place where hf , like an unwelcome guest,

Resolves to revel, how the lords of her, like

The tradesman, merchant, and litigious pleader,

And such like scanihs. bred in the dung of peace,

In hope of their protection, humbly offer

Their daughters to their beds, heirs to their service.

And wash wi.h tears their sweat, their dust, their

scars :

But when those clouds of war, that menaced
A blooclv delude to the affrighted state,
Are, by their breath, dispersed, and overblown,
And famine, blood, and death, Bellona's pages,
Whipt from the quiet continent to Thrace*;
Soldiers, that, like the foolish hed^e-sparrow,
To their own ruin hutch this cuckoo peace,
Are straight thought burthensoine ; since want of

means,

Growing fromf want of action, breeds contempt :
And that, the worst of ills, falls to their lot,
Their service, with the danger, soon forgot.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. The queen, my lord, hath made choice of

this room,
To 8e>- the mask.

Enhit. I'll be a looker on ;
My dancing days are past.

Land mus'c. Enter UBAI.DO, R.ICARDO, LADISLAUS,
FERDINAND HONORIA, MATIIIAS, SYLVIA, ACANTHE,
BAPTISTA, Captains, and otlien. As they pass, a
Sang in praise cfiear.

Liidii. This courtesy

To a stranger, my Honoria, keeps fair rank
With all your rarities. After your travail,

Jn one hue.

11 'hen horrid Mart, &c.

From the repetitions, I am inclined to think that this
soliloquy (\vlncli is Mitlicieiiily long) WHS abridged in the
prompter's book, and lli.H tin; abridgment and the original
wrre confounded, and nnskilfiilly copied at the press, j'his
is not a i-irciiinsi.im-e so improbable as it may appear to
tome reader*, for 1 rould give many instances ot it. It
ilionlil be remembered that there is but one edition of this
play, MI that the evil is without remedy. Coxeter altered
the p,. inline, ilhout improvim; the sense : and Mr. M.
Mason wave the passive iinf.iiihlully.

H'hipt from the quiet continent to Thrace;] Massinger
is here mistaken, for Thrace is upon the continent.

COXETEK.

Masinger probably km-w as well ax the editor, that part
of Thrace was on the coiitine-t; but the Thracian archipe-
lago, which wa.- dedicated to Mars, is composed of islands.

M. MASON.

It is difficult, in the words of Escalni, fe* ">y, " which is
the wiser here, Justice or Iniquity." Th contrast is n6t
between a <<> tiin-nt arid an island, biu oetween a state of
tranquility and one of warfare. The ancients comprehended
under the name ! Thrace much of the north-eastern part of
Europe, the tierce inhabitants of which were supposed to
worship Mars and Hellona ; who, in return, made the
couitlr) the pvctliitr place of their residence. From thence
they are frequently described \viih great magnificence by
the poets, as setting forth to kindle war, " with their pages,
famine, blood, and death ;" and thither, when peace wa
restored, they were supposed to retire agr.in. The tame
idea, an I neariy in the same words, has already occurred
in The Roman Actor:
Note, the god of war

A nd fumiiif, blond, and denfh, Bfltnna's pages,
Jiaiiithd from Home 1i> 'I hrace , in our yonrl fortune,
Hith justice he may taste the fruits of jmicf.

Grntfiag from want of action,] This is Mifflricntly clfar ;
yet Mr. M. Mason alters it to Growing fot want of
action

Look on our court delights ; but first, from your
Relation, with erected ears I'll hear
The music of your war, which must bo svreet,
Ending in victory.

Ferd. Not to trouble

Your majesties with description of a battle
Too full of horror for the place, and to
Avoid particulars, which should I deliver,
I must trench longer on your patience than
My manners will give way to ; in a word, sir,
It was well fought on both sides, and almost
With equal fortune, it continuing doubtful
Upon whose tents plumed Victory would take ,
Her glorious stand. Impatient of delay,
With the flower of our prime gentlemen,! charged
Their main battalia, and with their assistance
Brake in ; but, when I was almost assured
That they were routed ; by a stratagem
Of the subtile Turk, who opening his gross body
And rallying up his troops on either side,
I found myself so far engaged, for I
Must not conceal my errors, that 1 knew not
Which way with honour to come off.

Euhu. 1 like

A general that tells his faults, and is not
Ambitious to engross unto himself
All honour, as some have, in which, with justice,
They could not claim a share.

Ferd. Being thus hemm'd in,
Their scimitars raged among us ; and, my horse
Kill'd under me, I every minute look'd for
An honourable end, and that was all
My hope could fashion to me : circled thus
With death and horror, as one sent from heaven,
This man of men, with some choice horse, that follow'd
His brave example, did pursue the track
His sword cut for them, and, but that I see him
Already blush to hear what he, being present,
I know would wish unspoken, I should say, sir,
Bv what he did, we boldly may believe
All that is writ of Hector.

Muth. General,
Pray spare these strange hyperboles.

Eubu. Do not blush

To hear a truth ; here are a pair of monsieurs,
Had they been in your place, would have run a\vay,
And ne'er changed countenance.

Uhald. We have your good word still.

Eubu. And shall, while you deserve it.

I.adis. Silence ; on.

Ftnl. He, as I said, like dreadful lightning thrown
From Jupiter's shield, dispersed the armed gire
With which I was environed ; horse and man
ShrunVunder his strong arm : more, with his looksf
Frighted, the valiant fled, with which encouraged,
My soldiers (like young eaglets preying under
The wings of their fiece dam), as if from him
They took both spirit and fire, bravely came on.
By him I was remounted, and inspired
With treble courage ; and such as fled before
Boldly made head again; and, to confirm them,
It suddenly was apparent, that the fortune
Of the day was ours ; each soldier and commander
Perform 'd his part ; but this was the great wheelf

more, with his looks, &c.] i. e. J'el

more, further, &c.

t but this was the great wheel, &c.]

This is the third or fourth time we have had this expression.
It is certainly no felony tor a man to steal from himself,
but it is IIL-VIJI tin less a very awkward wa> of relieving hi:

SCENE II.]

THE PICTURE.

By which the lesser moved ; and all rewards
And signs of honour, as the civic garland,
1 lie mur.il wreath, the enemy's prime horse,
With the general's sword, and armour (the old ho-
nours
Wish which the Romans crown'd their several

leaders),
To him alone are proper.

Ludis. And they shall
Deservedly fall on him. Sit ; 'tis our pleasure.

Ferd. Which 1 must serve, not argue.

Hon. You are a stranger,
But, in your service for the king, a native,
And, though a free queen, 1 am bound in duty
To cherish virtue wheresoe'er 1 find it :
This place is yours.

Mnih. It were presumption in me
To sit so near you.

Hon. Not having our warrant.

Litdi.-i. Let the maskers enter: by the preparation,
'Tis a J-rench bniwl, an apish imitation
Of what you really perform in battle :
And Pallas, bound up in a litile volume,
Apollo, with hi-, lute, attending on her,
Serve for the induction.

Enter Minkm, AFOLU) u-ith his lute, and PALLAS:

A Dince ; after uhich a Song* in praise of ike v:c-

toi inus icldier.

Our thanks to all.
To the banquet that's prepared to entertain them :

[Exeunt Maskers, Apollo, and Pallas.
What would my best Honoria ?

Him. May it please

My king. Mint I, who, by his suffrage, ever
Have Ir.id power to command, may now entreat
An honour from him.

J.ailis. U hy should you desire
What is your own? whate'er it be, you are
1 he mistress of it.

Hon. i am happy in

\ our grant : my suit, sir, is, that your commanders,
Especially this stranger, may, as I
In my discretion shall think good, receive
\Vliafs dui- to their deserts.

Ladii. \\ hat you determine
Shall know no alteration.

Enb-i. The soldier

Is like to have good usage, when he depends
Upon her pleasure ! Are all the men so bad,
1 hat, to give satisfaction, we must L;ive
A woman treasurer? Heaven help all !

Hon. Wiih you, sir, [To Mathias.

necessities. It is MirpiUin; how seldom these repetition!
occur in Sbalupewe. When we consider how much he
wiote, tlie exuberance of his resources will appear Iruly
wondeiliil.

Malinger seems to be indebted to Daniel for the original
idea :

For this great motion of a ftate, we pee,

Dothiunit on many wlifi U ; H nd some, thongh imall,
Do >rt the yrrater mnte, who in degree

Stirrc ih.i-e who liki \vi.-e turae the great'st of all."

Philctat.

I don't think MasMngcr excels in writing son^s; there
are none to be found in t ese play* that have'any decree of
mriit, and few that me oven intelligible. M. MASON.

This .ong, which is i-viili nlly incomplete, I have it-moved
In the i nil of il.r play. From the stage dinrtion, it would
seem its it ill,- care of tiles* things had been left to the
prompter. JIIM before we have " a smg iu praise of war;' 1
ind, in the following act, another, " ou pleasure."

I will begin, and, as in my esteem
You are most eminent, expect to hare
Vv h.it's tit for me to give, and you to take,
The favour in the quick dispatch being double,
Go fetch my casket, and with speed.

[Exit .Icar.the.
Eubu. The. kingdom
Is very bare of money, when rewards
Issue from the queen's jewel-house .Give him gold
And store*, no question the gentleman wants it.
Good madam, what shall he do with a hoop ring,
And a spark of diamond in it, though you take it,

Re-enter ACANTHE with a Casket.

For the greater honour, from your majesty's finger?
'Twill not increase the value. He must purchase
Rich suits, the gay caparison of courtshipf,
Kevel and feast, which, the war ended, is
A soldier's glory ; and 'tis fit that way
Your bounty should provide for him.

Htm. You are rude.

And by your narrow thoughts proportion mine.
\\ hat 1 will do now shall be worth the envy
Of Cleopatra. Open it ; see here

Honoria descends from the state,

The lapidary's idol ! Gold is trash,
And a poor salary, fit for grooms ; wear these
As studded stars in your armour, and make the sun
Look dim with jealousy of a greater light
Than his beams gild the day with : when it is
Exposed to view, call it Honoria's gift,
The queen Honoria's gift, that loves a soldier ;
And, to give ornament and lustre to him,
Parts freely with her own ! Yet, not to take
From the magnificence ot the king, I will
Dispense his bounty too, but as a page
To wait on mine ; for other tosses J, take
A hundred thousand crowns: your hand, dear
sir, [Takes off' the king's signet.

And this shall be thy warrant.

Eubu. I perceive

I was cheated in this woman : now she is
In the giving vein to soldiers, let her be proud,
And the king dote, so she go on, I care not.

Give him gold,

e itr HUH yum,

And store] This expression, which is taken from an old
ballad, frequently occurs in thoe plays.

t He must purchaie

Rich suits, the gay comparison of courtsJiip,] So it 11
printed in the old copy: ilie modern editor? have reformed
Ihe spelling, and it may be they have done well ; yet the
word occurs so frequently in our old dramatists, that I have
many doubts on the subject.

In The Double Falsehood, a play which Theobald attributed
to Shakspeare, but which I'ope, and liis little knot of Critics,
'\viihuiit seeing the honour they did him}, atlected to believe
iis own, are these pretty lines:

" I must stoop to gain her,,
Throw all my gay comparison* a.-ide,
And turn my proud additions out of service."
Comparisons ihcy changed, with great exultation over poor
I'heobilil, into caparison* ; but had they ki.own, or could
le have informed them, that the word was so spelt by
every author of that age, it might, perhaps have moderated
the excess of (heir triumph Courtship, which is found
ii the same line, *initics tlie cost and magnificence of a
ourt.

for other tosses, tale, &c.]

-, waning, perhaps in the slight manner in which she notic.,
his part of her bounty, for trash to flint; away. Coxcter
laving negligently printed loutes, ob.-erve.- ou disown tinn-
ier, " this Tain a'pt to think .-lioiild be, for other nses take,"
jnd nothing more was wanted to induce Mr. W. Mason !
hrust i'iutu Ihe text!

*64

THE PICTURE.

[Acr II.

Hon. This done, our pleasure is, that all arrear

ages*

Bo paid unto the captains, and their troops ;
With a large donative, to increase their zeal
For the service of the kingdom.

Eubtt. Better still :

Let men of arms be used thus, if they do not
Charge desperately upon the cannon's mouths,
Though the devil" roar'd, and fight like dragons,

hang me !
Now they may drink sack ; but small beer with a

passport

To beg with as they travel, and no money,
Turns their red blood to buttermilk.

Hon. Are you pleased, sir,
With what 1 have done

Ladis. Yes, and thus confirm it
With this addition of mine own : You have, sir,
From our loved queen received some recompense
For your life hazarded in the late action ;
And, that we may follow her great example
In cherishing valour, without limit ask
What you from us can wish.

Math. If it be true,

Dread sir, as 'tis affirm'd, that every soil,
Where he is well, is to a valiant man
H is natural country, reason may assure me
I should fix here, where blessings beyond hope,
From you, the spring, like rivers, flow unto me.
If wealth were my ambition, by the queen
I am made rich already, to the amazement
Of all that see, or shall hereafter read
The story of her bounty; if to spend
The remnant of my life in deeds of arms,
No region is more fertile of good knights,
From whom my knowledge that way may be bet-

tt-r'd,

Than this your warlike Hungary ; if favour,
Or grace in court could take me, by your grant,
Far, far beyond my merit, I may make
In yours a free election ; but, alas ! sir,
I am not mine own, but by my destiny
(Which I cannot resist) forced to prefer
My country's smoke, before the glorious fire
With which your bounties warm me. All I ask, sir,
Though I cannot be ignorant it must relish
Of foul ingratitude, is your gracious license
For my departure.

Ladis. Whither?

Math. To my own home, sir,
My own poor home ; which will, at my return,
Grow rich by your magnificence. I am here
But a body without a soul ; and, till I find it
In the embraces of my constant wife,
And, to set off that constancy, in her beauty
And matchless excellencies without a rival,
I am but half myself.

//. And is she then
So chaste and fair as you infer?

Math. O, madam,

Though it must argue weakness in a rich man,
To show his gold before an arnrifd ihief,
And I, in praising of my wife, but feed
The fire of lust in others to attempt her;
Such is my full-sail'd confidence in her virtue,
Though in my absence she were now besieged

that all arrearages] This

word, I know not why, the modern editors discard for
art ems*

3y a strong army of lascivious wooers,
And every one more expert in his art,
Than those that tempted chaste Penelope ;
Though they raised batteries by prodigal gifts,
By amorous letters, vows made for her service.
With all the engines wanton appetite
Could mount to shake the fortress of her honour,
Here, here is my assurance she holds out,

[Aisles the picturt
And is impregnable.

Hon. What's that?

Math. Her fair figure.

Ladis. As I live, an excellent face !

Hon. You have seen a better.

Ladis. I ever except yours*: nay, frown not,

sweetest,

The Cyprian queen, compared to you, in my
Opinion, is a negro. As you order'd,
I'll see the soldiers paid ; and, in my absence,
Pray you use your powerful arguments, to stay
This gentleman in our service.

Hon. I will do
My parts.

Ladis. On to the camp.

[Exeunt Ladislaus, Ferdinand, Eubulut,
Baptista, Captains, and others.

Hon. I am full of thoughts,

And something there is here I must give form to,
Though yet an embryon : you, signiors,
Have no business with the soldier, as 1 take it,
You are for other warfare ; quit the place,
But be within call.

llic. Employment, on my life, boy !

UbaiJ. If it lie in our road, we are made for ever
[Exeunt Ubaldo and Ricardo.

Hon. You may perceive the king is no way tainted
With the disease of jealousy, since he leaves me
Thus private with you.

Math. It were in him, madam,
A sin unpardonable to distrust such pureness,
Though I were an Adonis.

Hon. I presume

He neither does nor dares : and yet the story
Delivered of you by the general,
With your heroic courage, which sinks deeply
Into a knowing woman's heart, besides
Your promising presence, might beget some scruple
In a meaner man ; but more of this hereafter.
I'll take another theme now, and conjure you
By the honours YOU have won, and by the love
Sacred to your dear wile, to answer truly
To what I shall demand.

Math. You need not use
Charms to this purpose, madam.

Hon. Tell me, then,
Being yourself assured 'tis not in man
To sully with one spot th" immaculate whiteness
Of your wife's honour, if you have not, since
The Gordian of your love was tied by marriage,
1'lay'd false with her ?

Math. By the hopes of mercy, never.

Hon. It may be, not frequenting the converse
Of handsome ladies, you were never tempted,
And so your faith's untried yet.

* J,adig. I ever except yours: nay, frown not, naeetett,']
This line stands thus in the modern edition*:

Lutlis. J ! ne'er, except yours ; nay, frown not, twretut ;
which ii the perfection of taste and harmony : the old copy
reads as I have given it.

SCENK T.]

THE PICTURE.

Math. Surely, madam,
I am no woman-hater ; I have been
Received to the society of the best
And fairest of our climate, and have met with
No common entertainment, vet ne'er felt
The least heat that way.

Hon. Strange ! and do you think still.
The earth can show no beauty that can drench
Jn Lethe all remembrance of the favour
You now bear to your own ?

Muih. Nature must find out
Some other mould to fashion a new creature
Fairer than her Pandora, ere I prove
Guilty, or in my wishes or my thoughts,
To my Sophia.

Hon. Sir, consider better ;
Not one in our whole sex ?

Math. I am constant to
My resolution.

Hon. But dare you stand
The opposition, and bind yourself
By oath for the performance 7

Math. My faith else
Had but a weak foundation.

Hon. I take hold

Upon your promise, and enjoin your stay
For one month here.
Math. I am caught.
Hon. And if I do not
Produce a lady, in that time, that shall
Make you confess your error, I submit
Myself to any penalty you shall please
To impose upon me : in the mean space, write
To your chaste wife, acquaint her with your fortune :
The jewels that were mine you may send to her,

For better confirmation : I'll provide you

Of trusty messengers ; but how far distant is shel

Math. A day's hard riding.

Hon. There is no retiring ;
I'll bind you to your word.

Math. Well, since there is
No way to shun it, I will stand the hazard,
And instantly make ready my dispatch :
Till then, I'll leave your majesty. [Exit

Hon. How I burst

With envy, that there lives, besides myself.
One fair and loyal woman ! 'twas the end
Of my ambition to be recorded
The only wonder of the age, and shall I
Give way to a competitor? Nay, more,
To add to my affliction, the assurances
That I placed in my beauty have deceived me :
I thought one amorous glance of mine could bring
All hearts to my subjection ; but this stranger
Unmoved as rocks, contemns me. But 1 cannot
Sit down so with mine honour: I will gain
A double victory, by working him
To my desire, and taint her in her honour,
Or lose myself: I have read, that sometime poison
Is useful. To supplant her, I'll employ
With any cost, Ubaldo and Ricardo,
Two noted courtiers, of approved cunning
In all the windings of lust's labyrinth ;
And in corrupting him, I will outgo
Nero's Poppaea ; if he shut his ears
Against my syren notes, I'll boldly swear
Ulysses lives again : or that 1 have found
A frozen cynic*, cold in spite of all
Allurements ; one whom beauty cannot move,
Nor softest blandishments entice to love. [Eitf.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Bohemia. A Space near the Entrance
of Mathias' House.

Enter HILAEIO, with a pitcher of water and a wallet.

Hil. Thin, thin provision ! I am dieted
Like one set to watch hawks ; and, to keep me

waking.

My croaking guts make a perpetual larum.
Here I stand centinel ; and, though I fright
Beggars from my lady's gate, in hope to have
A greater share, I find my commons mend not.
I look'd this morning in my glass, the river,
And there appear'd a fish call'd a poor John*,
Cut with a lenten face, in my own likeness ;
And it seem'd to speak, and say, Good-morrow,

cousin !

No man comes this way but has a fling at me:
A surgeon passing by, ask'd at what rate
I would sell myself; I ag.swer'd, For what usel
To make, said he, a living anatomy,
And set thee up in our hall, for thou art transparent
Without dissection ; and, indeed, he had reason

a fish call'd a poor John,]

i. e. dried hake. It occurs in The Guardian:

" Or live, like a Carthusian, on poor John."

For I am scour'd with this poor purgef to nothing.
They say that hunger dwells in the camp ; but tifl
My lord returns, or certain tidings of him,
He will not part with me : but sorrow's dry,
And I must drink howsoever.

Enter UBALDO, RICARDO, and a Guide.
Guide. That's her castle,
Upon my certain knowledge.

Ubald Our horses held out
To my desire. I am afire to be at it.

Ric. Take the jades for thy reward : before I
part hence,

-or that I have found

A frozen cynic, &c.] I doubt whether the queen was well
read in the characteristics of the different sect*. The cynics
wanted little allurement; the modestest of them would have
met ocr advances more than half way : but perhaps her ma-
jesty meant to say stoic. This lady i* of a most nnamiabla
character. Her vanity, which she mistakes for ambition, is
excessive; and her eagerness to gratify it, dttrstahle in the
extreme. She is chaste from temperament, but licentious
from indulgence.

t For 1 am scour'd with this poor purge to nothing.] S
the old copies; the modern editors read, with this poor por-
ridge: but whether out of delicacy, or to improve the metre,
I cannot fay.

f66

THE PICTURE.

[ ACT IIT.

I hope to l>e better carried. Give me the cabinet :
So; lenve us now

Gii'nle. Good fortune to you, gallants ! [Exit.
Uhuld. Being joint agents, in a design of trust too,
For tlie .service of the queen, and our own pleasure,
Let us proceed with judgment.

Ric. If I take not

This fort at the fiist assault, make me an eunuch,
So 1 may have preredence.

Ubald. Oil no terms.

We ate both to play one prize ; he that works best
In the searching of this mine, shall carry it
Without contention.

Ric. Make you your approaches
As I directed.

Ubald. I need no instruction ;
I work not on your anvil. I'll give fire
With mine own linstock ; if the powder be dank,
The devil rend the touch-hole ! Who have we here ?
What skeleton's this ?

Pic. A ghost ! or the image of famine !
Where dost t.hou dwell ?

Hil. Dwell, sir ! my dwelling is
In the highway : that goodly house was once
My habitation, but 1 am banish'd,
And cannot be call'd home till news arrive
Of thesrood knight Mathias.

Ric. 'if that will
Restore thee, thou art safe.

Ubald. We come from him,
With presents to his lady.

7/i.'. But, are you sure
He is in health ?

Ric. Never so well : conduct us
To the lady.

Hil. Though a poor snake, I will leap
Out of my skin for joy. Break, pitcher, break !
And wallet, late my cupboard, I bequeath thee
To the next beggar ; thou, red herring, swim
To the Red Sea again : methinks I am already
Knuckle deep in the fleshpots ; and, though waking,

dream
Of wine and plenty !

Tfic. What's the mystery
Of this strange passion?

Hil My belly, gentlemen,
Will not give me leave to tell you ; when I have

brought you

To my lady's presence, I am disenchanted :
There you shall know all. Follow; if 1 outstrip you,
Know I run for my belly.

Ubald. A mad fellow. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Room in Mathias' House.
Enter SOPHIA and CORISCA.

Soph. Do not again delude me.

Com. If I do,

Send me a grazing with my fellow Hilario*.
I stood, as you commanded, in the turret,
Observing all that pass'd by ; and even now
I did discern a pair of cavaliers,

Send me a graziny with my fellow Jlilario,] i. e. my fel-
low-servant. Even this simple expression cannot escape
the ever-meddline delicacy of Mr. M. Mason: he alters it
to my frier (1 Hilario 1

For such their outside spoke them, with their guide,
Dismounting from their horses ; they said something
To our hungry centinel, that made him caper
And frisk in the air for joy : and, to confirm this,
See, madam, they're in view.

Enter HILARIO, UBALDO, and RICABDO.

7/i/. News from my lord !
Tidings of joy ! these are no counterfeits,
But knights indeed. Dear madam, sign my pardon,
That I may feed again, and pick up my crumbs ;
I have had a long fast of it.

Sop/i. Eat, I forgive thee.

Hil. O comfortable words! Eut, I forgive thee!
And if in this I do not soon obey you,
And ram in to the purpose, billet me a?ain
In the highway. IJutler and cook, be ready,
For I enter like a tyrant. [Exit.

Ubald. Since mine eyes
Were never happy in so sweet an object,
Without inquiry, I presume you are
The lady of the house, and so salute you*.

Ric. This letter, with these jewels, from your lord,
Warrant my boldness, madam.

[Deliver! a letter and a casket.

Ubald. In being a servant
To such rare beauty, you must needs deserve
This courtesy from a stranger. [Salutes Cornea.

Ric. You are still

Beforehand with me. Pretty one. I descend
To take the height of your lip; and, if I miss
In the altitude, hereafter, if yon please,
I will make use of my Jacob's staff. [Salutes Corisca.

Ciiris. These gentlemen

Have certainly had good breeding, as it appears
By their neat kissing, they hit me so pat on the lips
At the first sight.

[In the interim, Sophia reails the letter, and
opens the casket.

Sirph. Heaven, in thy mercy, make me
Thy thankful handmaid for this boundless blessin *,
In thy goodness shower'd upon me !

Ubnid. I do not like

This simple devotion in her; it is seldom
Practised among my mistresses.

Kit'. Or mine.

Would they kneel to I know not who, for the posses-
sion

Of such inestimable wealth, before
They thank'd the bringers of it? the poor ladv
Does want instruction, but I'll be her tutor,
And read her another lesson.

Soph. If I have

Shown want of manners, gentlemen, in my slowness
To pay the thanks I owe you for your travail,
To do my lord and me, howeVr unworthy
Of such a benefit, this noble favour,
Impute it, in your clemency, to the excess
Of joy that overwhelmed me.

Ric. She speaks well.

Ubald. Polite and courtly.

"The lady of the house, and so salute you.] i. >. as such:
Mr. M. Mason, not satisfied with this, reforms the text, and
prints and do salute you. The reader cannot he more
weary of these eternal correction?, ihan my.-elf. I lament
that it is necessary, for both our sakcs, to notice a certain
portion of them in this way (all, is impossible), lest I should
be suspected of capriciously deviating from the text of mjr
predecessors.

SCENE IV.]

THE PICTURE.

267

Soph. And howe'er it may
Increase the offence, to trouble you with more
Demands touching my lord, before I have
Invited you to taste such as the coarseness
Of my poor house can oftVr ; pray you connive
On my weak tenderness, though I entreat
To learn from you something he hath, it may be,
In his letter left unmention'd.

Kic. I can only

Give you assurance that he is in health,
Graced by ihe king and queen.

Ubald. And in the court
With admiration look'd on.

Ric. You must therefore
Put off these widow's garments, and appear
Like to yourself.

Ubald. And entertain all pleasures
Your fortune marks out for you.

R ic. There are other
Particular privacies, which on occasion
I will deliver to you.

Soph. You oblige me
To your service ever.

Ric. Good! your service ; mark that.

Soph. In the mean time, by your good acceptance

make

My rustic entertainment relish of
Thecuriousness of the court.

Ubald. Y'our looks, sweet madam,
Cannot but make each dish a feast.

Soph. It shall be a

Such, in the freedom of my will to please you.
I'll shew you the way ; this is too great an honour,
From such brave guests, to me so mean an hostess.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Hungary. An Outer Room in the
Palace.

Enter ACANTHE, and four or fve Servants in visors*.

Acan. Y'ou know your charge ; give it action, and

expect
Rewards beyond your hopes.

1 Serv. If we but eye them,
They are ours 1 warrant you.

2 Serv. May we not ask why
We are put upon this ?

Acan. Let that stop your mouth ;

[dies them money.

And learn more manners, groom. 'Tis upon the hour
In which they use to walk here : when you have them
In your power, with violence carry them to the place
Where 1 appointed ; there I will expect you :
15e bold and careful. [Exit.

Enter MATHIAS and BAPTISTA.

1 Serv. These are they.

2 Serv. Are you sure 1

1 Serv. Am 1 sure 1 am myself?

"2 Serv. Seizeon him strongly ; if he havehut means
To draw his sword, 'tis ten to one we smart for't :
Take all advantages.

'Enter ACANTHE, and four or Jive Servants in visors.}
Tlie old state direction is, Enter Acanthe, t\\o,four or Jive
tei'h vizards; i. e. sucli a number ;u the >tage could conve-
niently supply. Tlie editors not seeii's; lliis, Iwve printed,
Enter Aciti.llie to four orjiie, &c. but this is wrong, for they
all appear together.

Math. I cannot guess

What her intents are ; but her carriage was
As I but now related.

Bapt. Y'our assurance

In the constancy of your lady is the armour
That must defend you. Where's the picture ?

Math. Here,
And no way alter'd.

Bapt. If she be not perfect,
There is no truth in art.

Moth. By this, I hope,
She hath received my letters.

Bapt. Without question :

These courtiers are rank riders, when they are
To visit a handsome lady.

Math. Lend me your ear.
One piece of her entertainment will require
Your dearest privacy.

1 Serv. Now they stand fair ;
Upon them. [They rush forward.

Math. Villains!

I Serv. Stop their mouths. We come not
To try your valours; kill him if he offer
To ope his mouth. We have you : 'tis in vain
To make resistance. Mount them and away.

[Exeunt ivith Matltias and Baptist.

SCENE IV. A Gallery in the same.
Enter Servants with lights, LADISI.AUS, FEitDisAND.ami

El'BULUS.

T.adis. 'Tis late. Go to your rest; but do not envy
The happiness I draw near to.

Eubit. If you enjoy it

The moderate way, the sport yields, I confess,
A pretty titillation ; but too much oft
Will bring you on your knees. In my younger days
I was myself a gamester ; and I found
By sad experience, there is no such soaker
As a young spongy wife : she keeps a thousand
Horse-leeches in her box , arid the thieves will suck out
Both blood and marrow ! I feel a kind of cramp
In my joints when I think on't : but it may be

queens,
And such a queen as yours is, has the art

Ferd, You take leave
To talk, my lord.

Ladis. lie may, since he can do nothing.

Eubu. If you spend this way too much of your

royal stock,
Ere long we may be puefellows.

Ladis. The door shut !

Knock gently ; harder. So here comes her woman.
Take off my gown.

Enter ACANTHE.

Acan. My lord, the queen by me
This night desires your pardon.

Ladis. How, Acanthe !

I come by her appointment ; 'twas her grsua* r
The motion was her own.

Acan. It may be, sir;
But by her doctors she is since advised.
For her health's sake, to forbear.

Eubu. 1 do not like

This physical letchery, the old downrigLt vav
Is worth a thousand on't.

Ladis. Prithee, Acantke,
Mediate for me.

268

THE PICTURE.

[Acr ill.

Eubu. O the fiends of hell!
Would any man bribe his servant, to make way
To his own wife? if this be the court state,
Shnine fall on such as use it!

Acan. By this jewel,

This night I dare not move her, but to-morrow
I will watch all occasions.

Ladis. Take this,
To be mindful of me. [Exit Acanthe,

Eubu. 'Slight, I thought a king
Might have ta'en up any woman at the king's price.
And must he buy his own, at a dearer rate
Than a stranger in a brothel ?

Ladis. What is that
You mutter, sir?

Eubu. No treason to your honour:
I'll speak it out, though it anger you; if you pay for
Your lawful pleasure in some kind, great sir,
What do you make the queen? cannot you clicket
Without a fee, or when she has a suit
For you to grant ?

Ferd. O hold, sir!

Ladis. On with his bead

Eubu. Do, when you please ; you but blow out
a taper [oft

That would light your understanding, and, in care
Is burnt down to the socket. Be as you are. sir,
An absolute monarch : it did show more king-like
In those libidinous Caesars, that compell'd
Matrons and virgins of all ranks to bow
Unto their ravenous lusts ; and did admit
Of more excuse than I can urge for you,
That slave yourself to the imperious humour
Of a proud beautv.

iMdis. Out of my sight!

Eubu. I will, sir,

Give way to your furious passion ; but when reason
Hath got the better of it, I much hope
The counsel that offends now will deserve
Your royal thanks. Tranquillity of mind

Stay with you, sir ! 1 do begin to doubt [than

There's something more in the queen's strangeness

Is yet disclosed ; and I will find it out,

Or lose myself in the search. [Exit.

Ferd. Sure he is honest,

And from your infancy hath truly served you :
Let that plead for him ; and impute this harshness
To the frowardnes.3 of his age.

Ladis. I am much troubled,

And do begin to stagger. Ferdinand, good night!
To-morrow visit us. Back to our own lodgings.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V. Another Room in the same.

Enter ACANTHE and thevisored Servants, with MATHIAS
and BAPTISTA blindfolded.

Acan. You have done bravely. Lock this in that

room,
There let him ruminate ; I'll anon unhood him :

[They carry off Baptista.
The other must stay here. As soon as 1
Have quit the place, give him the liberty
And use of his eyes; that done, disperse vourselves
As prjateiy as you can : but, on your lives,
No word of what hath pass'd. [Exit

1 Sen. If I do. sell

My tsngue to a tripe-wife. Come, unbind his arms .-
You are now at your own disposure ; and however

We used you roughly, I hope you will find here
Such entertainment as will give you cause
To thank us for the service : and so 1 leave you*.

[ Exeunt

Math. If I am in prison, 'tis a neat one.
What (Edipus can resolve this riddle ? Ha !
I never gave just cause to any man
Basely to plot against my life : but what is
Become of my true friend ? for him I suffer
More than myself.

Acan. [wi hin.} Remove that idle fear ;
He's safe as vou are.

Math. Whosoe'er thou art,
For him I thank thee. I cannot imagine
Where I should be : though I have read the tales
Of errant-knighthood, stuiTd with the relations
Of magical enchantments ; yet I am not
So sottishly credulous to believe the devil
Hath that way power. [Music above.] lla! music!

The blushing rose, and purple flower,
Let grow too long, are soonest blasted j

Dainty fruits, though sweet, will sour,
And rot in ripeness, left untasted.

Yet here is one more sweet than these :

The more you taste the more she'll please

Beauty that's enclosed with ice,

Is a shadow chaste as rare ;
Then how much those sweets entice,

That have issue full as fair !
Earth cannot yield from all her powers
One equal for dame Venus' bowersf.

A song too ! certainly, be it he or she
That owes this voice, it hath not been acquainted
With much affliction. Whosoe'er you are
That do inhabit here, if you have bodies,
And are not mere aerial forms, appear,

Enter HONORIA, masked.

And make me know your end with me. Most strange '
What have I conjured up? sure, if this be
A spirit, it is no damn'd one. What a shape's here !
Then, with what majesty it moves ! If Juno
Were now to keep her state among the gods,
And Hercules to be made again her guest,
She could not put on a more glorious habit,
Though her handmaid, Iris, lent her various colours,
Or old Oceanus ravish 'd from the deep
All jewels shipwreck'd in it. As you have
Thus far made known yourself, if that your face
Have not too much divinity about it
P'or mortal eyes to gaze on, perfect what
You have begun, with wonder and amazement

* and so I leave you.} Thus the quarto:

the modern editor*, but lss properly, and so we leave you

t This song puts me in mind of Swift's love-song,
" Cupid, spread tliy purple pinions,
Sweetly waving o'er my head," &c.
and seems to have as litlle meaning in it. M. MASON.

Truly there is " no great matter in the song," as th
Clown says : yet it is not altogether so devoid of meaning
as that which Mr. M. Mason has quoted with sm-h Uii'l.ible
correctness ; nor absolutely foreign to the design in agitation.
In the fir-t line of the second stanza, the editors read
thovyhfor that's; the word is mispiimed in the quarto, ami
1 have been reduced to guess at it The siagedin ction here
is. Music above, a tony of pleasure : from which it seems
that no song was origina ly provided by the author. ludted
it is a doubt with me, whether most of these things WIT*
not supplied by the poet in waiting.

SCENE V.]

THE PICTURE.

To my astonish'd senses, [Honoriu unmasks.] How !
the queen ! [Kneels.

Hon. Rise, sir, and hear my reasons, in defence
Of the rape (for so you may conceive) which I,
By my instruments, made upon you. You, perhaps,
May think what you have suffer'd for my lust
Is a common practice with me ; but I call
Those ever-sinning; lamps, and their great Maker,
As witnesses of my innocence : I ne'er look'd on
A man hut your hest self, on whom I ever
(Except the king) vouchsafed an eye of favour.

Math. The king 1 , indeed, and only such a king 1 ,
Deserves your rarities, madam ; and, but he,
'Twere giant-like ambition in any
In his wishes only, to presume to taste
The nectar of your kisses ; or to feed
His appetite with that ambrosia, due
And proper to a prince ; and, what binds more,
A lawful husband. For myself, great queen,
I am a thins; obscure, disfurnish'd of
All merit, that can raise me higher than,
In my most humble thankfulness for your bounty,
To hazard my life for you ; and that way
1 am most ambitious.

Hon. 1 desire no more

Than what you promise. If you dare expose
Your life, as you profess, to do me service,
How can it better be employ 'd than in
Preserving mine? which only you can do,
And must do, with the danger of your own ;
A desperHte danger too ! If private men
Can brook no rivals in what thev affect,
But to the death pursue such as invade
What law makes thi-ir inheritance ; the king,
To whom you know I am dearer than his crown,
His health, his eyes, his after hopes, with all
His present blessings, must fall on that man,
Like dreadful lightning, that is won by prayers,
Threats, or rewards, to stain his bed, or make
His hoped-for issue doubtful.

Muth. If you aim

At what I more than fear you do, the reasons
Which you deliver should, in judgment, rather
De'.er me, than invite a grant, with my
Assured ruin.

Hon. True ; if that you were
Of a cold temper, one whom doubt, or fear,
In the most horrid forms they could put on,
Might teach to be ingrateful. Your denial
To me, that have deserved so much, is more,
If it can have addition.

Maih. J know not
What your commands are.

Hon. Have you fought so well
Among arm'd men, yet cannot guess what lists
You are to enter, when you aie in private
With a willing lady: one, that, to enjoy
Your company this night, denied the king
Access to what's his own ? If you will press me
To speak in plainer language

Mtitlt. Pray you, forbear ;
I would I did not understand too much !
Already, by your worls, I am instructed
To < redit that, which, not confirm 'd by you,
Had bred suspicion in me of untruth,
Though nn angel had aflirm'd it. But suppose
That, cloy"d with happiness, which is ever built
On virtuous chastity, in the wantonness
Of appetite, you desire to make trial
Of the false delights proposed by vicious lust ;

Among ten thousand, every way more able
And apter to be wrought on, such as owe you
Obedience, being your subjects, why should you
Make choice of me a stranger?

Hon. Though yet reason
Was ne'er admitted in the court of love,
I'll yield you one unanswerable. As I urged,
In our last private* conference, you have
A pretty promising presence ; but there are
Many, in limbs and feature, who may take,
That way, the right-hand file of you : besides,
Your May of youth is past, and the blood spentf
By wounds, though bravely taken, renders you
Disabled for love's service : and that valour
Set off with better fortune, which, it may be,
Swells you above your bounds, is not the hook
That hath caught me, good sir. I need no champion
With his sword, to guard my honour or my beauty ;
In both I can defend myself, and live
My own protection.

Math. If these advocates,

The best that can plead for me, have no power,
What can you find in me else, that may tempt you,
With irrecoverable loss unto yourself,
To be a gainer from me !

Hon. You have, sir, .
A jewel of such matchless worth and lustre,
As does disdain comparison, and darkens
All that is rare in other men ; and that
I must or win or lessen.

Math. You heap more

Amazement on me : What am I possess'd of
That you can covet? make me understand it,
If it have a name.

Hon. Yes, an imagined one ;
But is, in substance, nothing ; being a garment
Worn out of fashion, and long since given o'er
By the court and country : 'tis your loyalty
And constancy to your wife ; 'tis that I dote on,
And does deserve my envy : and that jewel,
Or by fair play or foul, I must win from you.

Muth. These are mere contraries. If you love

me, madam,

For my constancy, why seek you to destroy it?
In my keeping it preserve me worth your favour f.
Or, if it be a jewel of that value,
As you with labour'd rhetoric would persuade me,
What can you stake against it?

Hon. A. queen's fame,
And equal honour.

Math. So, whoever wins,
Both shall be losers.

* In our lait private conference, you have.] Mr M.
Mason omits private, though absolutely necessary to the
measure.

and the blood spent

By wounds, &c.] We have already had this conceit in
The Parliament of Love :

" Tliunuh honoiir'd in our manly woundt, well taken,
You say they do deform us, and the loss

in iiiiuwiug me 10 Keep it, sutler me to remain a proper,
object of your kindness >." This seems lobe the drift of Ihe
argument. Coxetcr not adverting to this, reads,

In my ftt'tpiny it preserves me worth your favour !
And Mr. M. Mason, improving upon him, alters Jn to If,
remove? the point, and runs iheline into ihe next sentence:

If my knyiiig, it j)reserves me worth your favour

Or, if (the, &.c.
But where is Massinger all this while 1

870

THE PICTURE.

[An III.

Hon. That is that* I aim at.
Vet on the die 1 lav my youth, my beauty,
This moist palm, this soft lip, and those delights
D'-wkness should only judge of. Do you find them
Infectious in the trial, th:it you start,
As frighted with their touch ?

Main. Is it in man
To resist such strong temptations ?

Ho/i. He begins
To waver.

Math. Madam, as you are gracious,
Grant this sliort night's deliberation to me ;
And, with the rising sun, from me you shall
Receive full satisfaction.

Hon. Though extremes
Hate nil delay, 1 will deny you nothing ;
This key will briii:.; you to your friend; you are

safe both ;

And all things useful that could be prepared
For one I love and honour, wait upon you.
Take counsel of your pillow, such a fortune
As with affection's swiftest wings flies to you,
Will not be often tender'd. [E.rit.

Mnth. How my blood

Rel>els ! I now could call her back and yet
There's something stays' me : if the king had ten-
der'd

Such favours to my wife, tis to be doubted
They had no f . been refused : but, being a man,
I should not yield first, or prove an example
For her defence of frailty. By this, sans question,
She's tempted too ; and here I may examine

[Looks on the picture.

Flow she holds out. She's still the same, ihe same
Pure crystal rock of (hastily. Perisli all
Allurements that may niter me ! The snow
Of her sweet coldness hath extinguish'd quite
The fire that but even now began to flame :
And I by her coiifirm'd, rewards nor titles,
Nor certain death from the refused queen,
Shall shake my faith ; since I resolve to be
Loyal to her, as she is true to me. [Eitf.

SCENE Vlf. Bohemia. A Room in Mathias'
House.

Enter UBALDO and RICARDO.

Ubald. What we speak on the voley f begins to

work ,
We have laid a good foundation.

Hie. liuild it up,

Or else 'tis nothing : you have by lot the honour
Of the first a.-sault, but, as it is cor.diiion'd,
Observe the time proportion'd : I'll not part with
My share in the achievement : when 1 whistle,
Or hem, fall off.

Hon. That in that / aim at.} Every where the modern
editors labour to desiroy all traces of the phraseology of
Massingcr's ago. They read, That is what 1 aim at.

1 SCKNE VI.) Mr. M. Mason, deseriiii'i his old guide, does
not make this a new scene ; though the change of place is
from the palace of Ladislaus to the distant residence of
Sophia !

I Ubal I. What we tpeali on the voley.] A literal translation
of the French phrase 11 lu-volee, which signifies at randum,
or mconsMrrati'ly. M. MASON.
Thus in The ;Ww Inn.

" ymi must not give credit

To all tint ladie* pnl.licly pivw*s,

Or talk o' the voley uulo their servants.

E..ter SOPHIA.

Ubald. She comes. Stand by, I'll watch
My opportunity. [They tcalk aside.

Soph. 1 find myself

Str mgelv distracted with the various stories,
Now well, now ill, then doubtfully, by iny guests
Deliver'd of my lord ; and, like poor beggars
That in their dreams find trea-ure, by reflection
Of a wounded fancy, make it questionable
Whether they sleep or not ; yet, tickled with
Such a fantastic hope of happiness,
Wish they may never wake. In some such measure
Incredulous of what 1 see and touch,
As 'twere a fading apparition, I
Am still perplex'd, and troubled; and when most
Con firm a tis true, a curious jealousy
To be assured, by what means, and from whom
Sucli a mass of wealth was first deserved, then

gotten.

Cunningly steals into me. I have practised,
For my certain resolution, with these courtiers,
Promising private i oiiference to either,
And, at this hour : if HI search of the truth,
I hear, or say, moiv than b. comes my virtue,
Forgive me, mv Mathias.

Vbuld. Now 1 make in. [ Comes joiicard.

Madam, as you command, I attend
Your pleasure.

Soph. 1 must thank you for the favour.

Ubnld. 1 am no ghost ly father ; yet if you have
Some scruples touching your lord, you would be

resolved of,
I am prepared.

iSo/i/i. I5ut will you take your oath,
To answer truly !

Ubnld. On the hem of your smock, if you please,
A vow 1 dare not break, it being a book
1 would gladly swear on.

Si>ph. To spare, sir, that trouble,
I'll take your word, which, in a gentleman,
Should be of equal value. Is my lord, then,
In such grace with tl<e queen?

Ubiilil. You should best know
By what you have found from him, whether he can
Deserve* a grace or no.

Soph What grace do you mean?

Vbald. That, special -.race, if you will have it, he
Labour'd so hard for between a pair of sheets,
Upon your wedding night, when your ladyship
Lost you know what.

Siif>h. Fie ! be more modest,
Or 1 must leave you.

Ubnld. 1 would tell a truth
As cleanly as 1 could, and yet the subject
Makes me run out a little.

60/1/1. You would put, now,
A foolish jealousy in mv head, my lord
Hath gotten a new mistress.

Ubald. One! a hundred ;
But under seal 1 speak it : I presume
Upon your silence, it being for )our profit.
They talk of Hercules' fifty in a uightf,
Twas well ; hut yet to yours he was a piddler;
Such a soldier and a courtier never came

* Deserve a yrace or no ] The article is omitied by both
the editors, ihon-li the metre is mi perfect \viiln.ui it.

They tatt, &c.| 1 have omitted two words, which af-
pcir evidentl) imerpola'.cd, as they destroy al once the
construction and ihe measure.

VI.]

THE PICTURE.

T:> Alhsi* rpgalis ; the ladies run mad for him,
AM! there is such contention among them,
\Vlio shall engross him wholh, tliat the like
Was nevpr heard of

Supli. A f they handsome women ?

U hi- lit. Fie ! no ; coarse mamroets, and what's

worse, they are old too.

Some fiuy, some threescore, and they pay dear for't,
Believing- that he carries a powder in his breeches
\Viil make them young again ; and these suck
shwredly,

Pic. [i/7j jsl/es.] Sir, I must fetch you off.

Vhtild. I could tell you wonders
Of th- cures he has done, but a business of import
Calls me away ; but, thaldispatdi'd, 1 will
Be with you presently. [Walla aside.

6V>/.7i. 1 he:e is something more
In rhis than bare suspit-ion.

Jiic. [ vmes Jnrwu'd] save you, lady ;
Now you louk like yourself! I have not look'd on
A lady more complete, yet have seen a madam
"Wear a garment of this fashion, of the same stuff too,
One just of your dimensious : sat the wind there,
boy !

So/A. What lady, ^r ?

Hie. Nay, no'hing ; and metbinks
I should know this ruby : very good ! 'tis the same.
This chain of orient pearl, and this diamond too,
Have lieen worn before ; but much good may they

do you !
Strensr'h to the gentleman's back ! he toil'd hard for

them
Before he got them.

Snph. Why, how were they gotten?

Hie. Not in the field with his sword, upon my life,
He may thunk his close stilettof. [Ubaldo hems.~\

Plague upon it !
Run the minutes so fasti Pray you excuse my

manners ;

I left a It- tier in my chamber window,
Which 1 would not have set-nonany terms ; fie on it,
Forgetful as 1 am ! but J'll straight attend you.

[TFu/A$ aside.

Soph. This is strange. His letters said these

jewels were

Presented him by the queen, as a reward
For his ffood service, and the trunks of clothes
That followed them this last night, wiih haste

made up
By his direction.

Ubald. [cttnesfimcnrd"] I was telling you
Of wonders, madam.

Sfiph. If you are so skilful,
Without premeditation answer me ;
Know you this gown, and these rich jewels?

Ubtitd. Heaven,
How things will come out! But that I should

offVnd vou,

And wroiittmv more than noble friend your husband,
(For we are sworn brothers), in the discovery
Of his nearest secrets, 1 could

Soph. By the hope of favour
That )ou have from me, out with it.

* To Alba ngali>;l Mr. M. Maon read* Avla leyal:*.
Wli> tl'i." i-hiiligi- should be thought ueceffarj , I cannot ti II ;
Alba regali* WH.- no iim-on in> n e.\pn5>ii>n HI the lime ; anil,
jiuliKl. it is n.-til, by more ih in one writer, fur the English
court.

1 Hf miiy thunk hit chue fliletto.] So ihe old copy.
Coxeler aiiU Air. M. Mas>ou read, hit close stiilel too!

Ubald. 'Tis a potent spell
I cannot resist ; why I will tell you, madam,
And to how many several women you rre
Beholding for your bravery. This was
The wedding gown of Paulino, a rich strumpet,
Worn but a day, when she married old Gonzaga,
And left off trading.

Snph. O my heart !

Ubiiil. This chain

Of pearl was a great widow's, that invited
Your lord to a mask, and the weather proving foul,
He lodged in her house all night, and merry they

were ;
But how he came by it, I know not.

Soph. Perjured man !

Ubalii. This ring was Julietta's, a fine piece.
But very good at the sport : this diamond
W;is madam Acanthe's, given him fL-r a song
Prick'd in a private arbour, ns she said,
When the queen ask'd for't ; and she heard him

sing too,

And danced to his hornpipe, or there are liars abroad.
There are other toys about you the same way pur-
chased ;

But, parallel'd with these, not worth the relation.
You are happy in a husband, never man
Made better use of his strength : would you have

him waste

His bociy away for nothing? if he holds out,
There's not an embroidered petticoat in the court
But shall be at your service.

Soph. I commend him,

It is a thriving trade ; but pray you leave me
A little to myself.

Ubald, You may command

Your servant, madam. [ Walks aside] She's stung
unto the quick, lad.

Ric. 1 did my part ; if this potion* work not,

hang me !

Let her sleep as well as she can to-night, to-morrow
\\ e'll mount new batteries.

Ubald. And till theu leave her.

[Exeunt Ubaldo and Ricardo.

Soph. You Powers, that take into your care the

guard

Of innocence, aid me ! for I am a creature
So forfeited to despair, hope cannot fancy
A ransome to redeem me. I begin
To waver in my faith, and make it doubtful,
Whether the saints, that were canonized for
Their holiness of li'.e, sinn'd not in secret;
Since my Ma bias is fallen from his virtue
In such an open fashion. Could it be, else,
That such a husband, so devoted to me,
So vow'd to temperance, for lascivious hire
Should prostitute himself to common harlots !
Old and deform'd too ! Was't for this he left me,
And on a feign 'd pretence for want of means
To give me ornament ? or to bring home
Diseases to me? Suppose these are false
And lustful goats, if he were true and right,
Why stays he so long from me, being made rich,
And that the only reason why he left me?
No, he is lost ; and shall I wear the spoils

ifthi* pction tcorJt not,] Both the

editors omit potion : but, indeed, nothing c-in be more shame-
fully primed than the \\hole of this scene, it 1 said the
whole of this pljy, I should not wrong the truth.

THE PICTURE.

And salaries of lust ! tliev cleave unto me
Like Nessus' poison'd shirt . no, in my rage
I'll tear them oft', and froinmv body wash
The venom with my tears. Hiive I no spleen,
Nor anger of a woman ? shall he build
Upon my ruins, and 1, unrevenged,
Deplore'his falsehood ? no; with the same trash
For which he had dishonour'd me, I'll purchase

A just revenge : I am not yet s-o much

In debt to years, nor so mis-shaped, that all

Should flv from my embraces : Chastity,

Thou only art a name, and I renounce thee !

I am now a servant to voluptuousness.

Wantons of all degrees and fashions, welcome?

You shall be entertain'd ; and, if 1 stray,

Let him condemn himself, that led the way. [Exit

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Hungary. A Room in the Palace.
Enter MATHIAS and BAPTISTA.

Bapt. We are in a desperate strait ; there's no

evasion,

Nor hope left to come off, but by your yielding
To the necessity, you must feign a grant
To her violent passion, or

Math. What, my Bnptista?

Bnpt. We are but dead else.

Math. Were the sword now heaved up,
And my neck upon the block, I would not buy
An hour's reprieve with the loss of faith and virtue,
To be made immortal lifre. Art thou a scholar,
Nay, almost without parallel, and yet fear
To die, which is inevitable ! You may urge
The many years that, by the course of nature,
We may travel in this tedious pilgrimage,
And hold it as a blessing; as it is,
When innocence is our guide : yet know, Baptista,
Our virtues are preferr'd before our years,
By the great Judge : to die untainted in
Our fame and refutation is the greatest ;
And to lose that, can we desire to live* 1
Or shall I, for a momentary pleasure,
Which soon comes to a period, to all times
Have breach of faith and perjury remembered
In a still-living epitaph ? no, Baptista,
Since my Sophia will go to her grave
Unspotted in her faith, I'll follow her
With equal lovalty : But look on this,
Your own great work, your masterpiece, and then,

She being still the same, teach me to alter!

Ha ! sure I do not sleep ! or, if I dream,
This is a terrible vision ! 1 will clear
My eyesight ; perhaps melancholy makes me
See that which is not.

Bnpt. It is too apparent.
I grieve to look upon't : besides the yellow 1 ,
That does assure site's tempted, there are lines
Of a dark colour, that disperse themselves
O'er every miniature of her face, and those
Confirm

Math. She is turn'd wbore !

Bapt. I must not say so.
Yet, as a friend to truth, if you gill have me
Interpret it, in her consent and wishes
Sho's false, but not in fact yet.

* And to lam that, can we desire to live! This is from
Juvenal :
Et itropter vltam, vivendi perdere catttat. Sat. VIII.

Math. Fact, Baptista !

Make not yourself a pander to her looseness,
In labouring to palliate what a visor
Of impudence cannot cover. Uid e'er woman
In her will decline from chastity, but found means
To give her hot lust fuel ?* It is more
Impossible in nature for gross bodies,
Descending of themselves, to hang in the air ;
Or with my single arm to underprop
A falling tower ; nay, in its violent course
To stop the lightning, than to stay a woman,
Hurried by two furies, lust and falsehood,
In her full career to wickedness !

Bapt. Pray you, temper
The violence of your passion.

Math. In extremes
Of this condition, can it be in man
To use a moderation ? I am thrown
From a steep rock headlong into a gulph
Of misery, and find myself past hope,
In the same moment tir.it 1 apprehend
That I am falling : and this, the figure of
My idol, few hours since, while she continued
In her perfection, that was late a mirror,
In which I saw miraculous shapes of duty,
Staid manners with ali excellency a husband
Could wish in a chaste wife, is on the sudden
Turn'd to amngical glass, and does present
Nothing but horns and horror.

Bapt. You may yet,

And 'tis the best foundation, build up comfort
On your own goodness.

Math. No, that hath undone me ;
For now I hold my temperance a sin
Worse than excess, and what was vice, a virtue
Have I refused a queen, and such a queen,
Whose, ravishing beauties at the first sight liad
tempted

A hermit from his beads, and changed his prayers
To amorous sonmts, to preserve my faith
Inviolate to thee, with the hazard of
My death with torture, since she could inflict
No less for my contempt; and have I met
Such a return from thee ! I will not curse thee,
Nor, for thv falsehood, rail against the sex ;
'Tis poor, and common : I'll only, with wise men,
Whiaper unto myself, howe'er they seem,
Nor present, nor past times, nor the age to come,
Hath heretofore, can now, or ever shall,
Produce one constant woman.

* To aim her hot hint fuel?! Wantonly corrupted by the
mewl, ru editor* \nlu-yiveher hot lust full scope ! Metre and
j sciuc dvsl>-uyvd at a stroke!

CCENE II.]

THE PICTURE.

Baft. This is more
Than the satirists wrote against them.

Math. There's n;> lauguage
That can express the poison of these aspics,
These weeping crocodiles, and all too lutle
That hath been said against them. But I'll mould
My thoughts into another form ; and, if
She can outlive the report of what 1 have clone,
This hand, when next she comes within my reach,
Shall be her executioner.

Enter HONORIA and ACANTIIE.

Bapt, The queen, sir.

Hon. \Vait our command at distance : [Eai/.

Acamhe.~\ Sir, you too have
Free liberty to depart.

Bapt. I know niv manners,
And thank you tor the favour. [Exit.

Hon. Have vt u t;iken

Good rest in your new lodgings? I expect now
Your resolute answer ; but advise maturely,
Before I hear it.

Math. Let my actions, madam,
For no words can dilate my joy, in all
You can command, with cheerfulness to serve

you,

Assure your highness ; and, in sign of my
Submission and contrition for my error,
My lips, that but the last night shunn'd the touch
Of yours as poison, taught humility now,
Thus on your foot, and that to great an honour
For such an undeserver, seal my duty.
A cloudy mist of ignorance, equal to
Cimmerian darkness, would not let me see, then,
What now, with adoration and wonder,
With reverence I look up to : but those fogs
Dispersed and scatter'd by the powerful beams
With which jourself. the sun of all perfection,
Vouchsafe to cure my blindness ; like a suppliant,
As low as 1 can kneel, I humbly beg
What, yon once pleased to tender.

Hon. This is more

Than I could hope! What find you so attractive
Upon my face, iu so short time to make
This sudden metamorphosis? pray you, rise ;
1, for your late neglect, thus sign your pardon.
Ay, now you kiss like a lover, and not as brothers
Coldly salute their sister.

Math. 1 am turn'd
All spirit and fire.

Hon. Yet, to give some allay
To this hot fervour, 'twere good to remember
The king, whose eyes and ears are every where ;
With the danger too that follows, this discover'd.

Math. Danger! a bugbear, madam; let me ride

once

Like Phaeton in the chariot of your favour,
And 1 contemn Jove's thunder: though the king,
In our embraces stood a looker on,
His hangman, and with studied cruelty, ready*
To drag me from your arms, it should not fright me
From the enjoying that a single life is
Too poor a price for. O, that now all vigour
Of mv youth weie re-collected for an hour,
That my desire might meet with yours, and draw
The envy of all men, in the encounter,

* 7/u hanyman, and with studied cruelty, ready.] Here
again llicst vu-rnul enemies of the author's idiomatic style
read, his hanyman too, with studied cruelty, ate.

Upon my head ! I should but we lose time ;
Be sracious, mighty queen.

Hon. Pause yet a liitle :

The bounties ot the king, and, what weighs more,
Your boasted constancy to your matchless wife,
Should not so soon be shaken.

Math. The whole fabric,
When I but look on you, is in a moment
O'erturned and ruin'd ; and, as rivers lose
'1 heir names when they are swallow'd by the ocean,
In you alone all faculties of my soul
Are wholly taken up ; my wife and king,
At the best, as things forgotten.

Hoh. Can this be ?
I have gain'd my end now. \_Atide.

Math. Wherefore stay you, madam?

Hun. In my consideration what a nothing
Man's constancy is.

Math. Your beauties make it so
In me, sweet lady.

Hon. And it is my glory :
1 could be coy now, as you were, but I
Am of a gentler temper ; howsoever,
And in a just return of what 1 have suffer'd
In your disdain, with the same meusi_e grant ine
Equal deliberation : 1 ere long
Will visit you again ; and when I next
Appear, as conquer'd by it, slave-like wait
On my triumphant beauty. [Exit.

Math. What a change

Is here beyond my fear ! but by thy falsehood,
Sophia, not her beautv, is't denied me
To sin but in my wishes? what a frown,
In scorn, at her departure, she threw on me !
1 am both ways lost ; storms of contempt and scorn
Are ready to break on me, and all hope
Of shelter doubtful : 1 can neither be
Disloyal, nor yet honest ; 1 stand guilty
On either part ; at the worst, death will end all ;
And he must be my judge to right my wrong,
Since I have loved too much, and lived too long.

[Exit.

SCENE II. Bohemia. A Room in Mathias'
House.

Enter SOPHIA, with a book and a paper.

Soph. Nor custom, nor example, nor vast numbers
Of such as do offend, make less the sin.
For each particular crime a strict account
Will he exacted ; and that comfort which
The damn'd pretend, fellows in misery,
Takes nothing from their torments : every one
Must suffer in himself the measure of
His wickedness. If so, as I must grant,
It being unrefutable in reason,
Howe'er my lord offend, it is no warrant
For me to walk in his forbidden paths :
What penance then can expiate my guilt,
For my consent (transported then with passion)
To wantonness? the wounds 1 give my fame
Cannot recover his ; and, though I have fed
These courtiers with promises and hopes,
I am yet in fact untainted, and I trust
My sorrow for it, with my purity,
And love to goodness for itself, made powerful,
Though all they have alleged prove true or false.
Will be such exoicisms, as shall command
This fury, jealousy, from me. What 1 hare

ZT4

THE PICTURE.

[Acr IV

Determined touching them, I am resolved
To put in execution. Within, there !

Enter HILAIUO, CORISCA, with other Servants.

Where are my noble guests ?

Hit. The elder, madam,

Is drinking by himself to your ladyship's health,
In musk-.uiine and eggs ; and, for a rasher
To draw his liquor down, he hath got a pie
Of marrowbones, potatoes, and eringos,
With many such ingredients ; and 'tis said
He hath sent his man in post to the next town,
For a pound of ambergris, and half a peck
Of fishes call'd canthandes.

Com. The younger

Prunes up himself, ns if this night he were
To act a bridegroom's part ! but to what purpose,
I am ignorance itself.

Soph. Continue so. [Gives the paper.

Let those lodgings be prepared as this directs you.
And fail not in a circumstance, as you
Respect my favour.

1 Serv. "\Ve have our instructions.

'2 Scrv. And punctually will follow them.

[Exeunt Servants.

Enter UBALDO.

Hil. Here comes, madam,
The lord Ubaldo.

U/ialil. Pretty one, there's gold
To buy thee a new gown, and there's for tb.ee :
Grow fat, and fit for service. I am now,
As I should be. at the height, and able to
Beget a giant. O my better angel !
In this you show your wisdom, when you pay
The letcher in his own coin ; shall you sit puling,
Like a patient. Grizzle, and be laugh 'd at ? no :
This is a fair revenge. Shall we to't?

Soph. To what, sir?

Uhald. The sport you promised.

Soph. Could it be done with safety?

Ubuld. I warrant you ; I am sound as a bell, a

tough

Old blade, and steel to the back, as you shall find me
In the trial on your anvil.

Soph. So ; but how, sir,

Shall I satisfy your friend, to whom, by promise,
I am equally engaged ?

Ubuld. I must confess,

The more the merrier ; but, of all men living,
Take heed of him ; you may safer run upon
The mouth of a cannon when it is unlading,
And come off colder.

Snph. How ! is he not wholesome ?

Ubuld. Wholesome! I'll tell you, for your good :

lie is

A spittle of diseases*, and, indeed,
More loathsome and infectious ; the tub is
His weekly bath : he hath no Vlrank this seven years,
Before he came to your house^u compositions
Of sassafras and guiacum ; and 'try mutton
His daily portion ; name what scratch soever
Can be got by women, and the surgeons will resolve

you,
At this time or at that Ricardo had it.

he it

A fp'ltle of disfnsf.1,] So tin? old copy : Coxeter and
Mr. M. Mason read, \ jpiul of disease!, v-hich is scarcely
ense. See Tfui L'ity Madam.

Soph. Bless me from him !

Uhald. "Tis a good prayer, lady.
It being a decree unto the pox
Only to mention him ; if my tongue burn not, hang

rue,
When I but name Ricardo.

So/ill. Sir, this caution
Must be rewarded.

Ubuld. I hopa I have mar'd his market.

But when ?

Soph. Why, presently ; follow my woman,
She knows where to conduct you, and will serve
To-night for a page. Let the waistcoat 1 appointed,
With the cambric shirt perfumed, and the rich cap,
Be brought into his chamber.

Ubuld. Excellent lady !
And a caudle too in the morning.

Com. I will fit you. \_Kxeunt Ubaldo and Corisca.

Enter RICMTIDO.

Soph. So hot on the scent i Here comes the other
beagle.

7?c. Take purse and all.

Hil. If this company would come often,
I should make a pretty term on't.

Soph. For your sake

I have put him off; he only begg'd a kiss,
I gave it. and so parted.

Ric. I hope better ;
He did not touch your lips ?

Soph. Yes, I assure ;
There was no dnnger in it ?

I?ic. No ! at presently
These lozenges of forty crowns an ounce,
Or you are undone.

Soph. What is the virtue of them ?

Pic. They are preservatives against stinking breath,
Rising from rotten lungs.

Soph. If so, your carriage
Of such dear i.nlidotes, in my opinion,
May render yours suspected.

Hie. Fie ! no ; I use them

When I talk with him, I should be poison'd else.
But I'll be free with you : he was once a creature,
It may be, of God's making, but long since
He is turn'd to a druggist's shop ; the spring and

fall

Hold all the year with him ; that he lives, he owes
To art, not nature ; she has given him o'er.
He moves like the fairy king, on screws and wheels
Made by his doctor's recipes, and yet still
They are out of joint, and every day repairing.
He has a regiment of whores he keeps
At his own charge in n Isxar-hoUW, but the best is,
There's not a no.-e iimorig them. He's acquainted
With the green water, and the spitting pill's
Familiar to him. In a frosty morning
You mav thrust him in a pottle-pot; his bones
Rattle in his skin, like beans toss'd in a bladder.
If he but hear n coach, the fomentation,
The friction with fumigation, cannot save him
From the chine-evil.* lii a word, he is

From the chine-evil. 1 So the old copy : Coxeter and Mr.
M. Ma>on re;,d,/rom the rliin evil. YVhelh'-r they under-
stood ii or not, 1 r.mnot sa>, nor is it indeed of inii<-li con-
lequence. It would not be a irulti r of regret if every
reader of this strong but indelicate humour could say with
Sophia.

" The best it,

SCENE II.]

THE PICTURE.

Not one dispnsp, but all ; yet, being my friend,
T will forbear his character, for i would not
Wrong him in your opinion.

Soph. The best is,

The virtues you bestow on him, to me
Are mysteries 1 know not; huf, however,
1 am at your service. .Sirrah, let it. he your cure
To unclothe the gentleman, and with speed ; delay
Takes from delight.

Ric. Good ! there's ray hat, sword, cloak :
A vengeance on these buttons! off with mv doublet,
I dare show my skin ; in the touch you will like it

better.

Prithee cut my codpiece-points, and. for this service,
When 1 leave them off ihey are thine.
Ull. I'll take your word, sir.
Ric. Dear lady, stay not long.
Soph. 1 may come too t-oon, sir.
Pic. No, no, ] am ready now.
Hil. This is the way, sir.

| Ex- unt Hilnrlo a>:d Picardo.

Soph. I was much to blame 10 credit tb^ir reports
Touching my lord, that so traduce eac-h other,
And with such virulent malice, though I presume
They are bad enough: but 1 have studied for

them
A way for their recovery.

[A iii'ise fif clapping a door ; Ubaldo appears

abitce, in his shirt.

Ubald. What dost thou mean, wench?
Why dost thou shut the door upon me? Ha!
My clothes are ta'en away too ! shall I starve here ?
Is this n>y lodging? 1 am sure the ladv talk'd of
A rich cap, a perfumed shirt, and a waistcoat;
But here is nothing hut a little fresh stiaw,
A petticoat for a coverlet, and that torn too,
And an old woman's biggin for a nightcap.

Pe-enter CORISCA below.
'Slight, 'tis a prison, or a pigsty. Ha !
The windows grated with iron ! f cannot force them,
And if I leap down here. 1 break my neck:
I am hefray'd. Rogues! villains! let me out ;
I am a lord, and that s no common title,
And shall I be used thus?

Soph. Let him rave, he's fast ;
I'll parley with him at leisure.
RICAKDO entering with a gient noise above, as fallen*.

7?ir. Zounds! have you trapdoors?

Soph. The other bird'? i' the cage too, let him
flutter.

lUc. Whither am I fallen? into hell !

Ul.alii Who makes that no:se, there?
Help me , if thou art a friend.

Hie. A friend! I am where
I cannot help m\self; let me see thy face.

V bit Id. How, Ricardo! I'rithee. throw me
Thy cloak, if thou canst, to cover me ; 1 am almost
Frozen to death.

Kic. Aly cloak ! I have no breeches ;

Tlie virtues }on bestow on him, to me
Are mysteries I know riol ;"

The reciprocal criminations oi tin- two courtiers is imitated
with sonic liunioiii by I -irtwi it,hl in I. ore x dunvn t. Act IV.
so. I., and t)> Cowiey, but lei-s Micce>sltillv, in 'Iht'Ouardiim.
' Rir.irdo entering mith a yreat noiv above, at Jallfit.]
Si> the old cop), liie UM*ielll eililois n-.ul, teiih a yrrat
noitx below. It is ex iilcnt, however, ih.it ilie prisoner.-! weir.
Dear each other, an I .-" ihe> are ic|<re.-enl <! in U>e olii
tloty, which |>ldce> them in two coiitij;uuui cliambeis of the
tuwei or keep i the castle.

I am in my shirt as thou art ; and here's nothing
For myself but a clown's cast* suit.

Uhuld. We an- both undone.
Prithee, roar a little Madam !

lie-enter Hi LA RIO below, in RICAKDO'S clothet.
Pic. Lady of the house !
Ubuld. Grooms of the chamber!
lUc. Gentlewomen! Milkmaids!
Ubald. Shall we be murder 'd ?
Soph. No, but soundly puuish'd,
To your deserts.

Die. You are not in earnest, madam ?

So/h. Judge as you find, and feel it; and BOW

hear

What I irrevocably purpose to you.
Being received as guests into my house,
And with all it afforded entertain 'd,
You have forgot all hospitable duties ;
And, with the defamation of my lord,
Wrought on my woman weakness, in revenge
Of his injuries, as you fashioned them to me,
To yield my honour to your lawless lust.
//('/. Murk that, poor fellows.
Soph. And so far you have
Tnmsgvess'd against the dignity of men,
Who should, bound to it by virtue, still defend
Chaste ladies' honours, that it was your trade
To make them infamous : but you are caught
In your own toils, like lustful beasts, and therefore
Hope not to find the usage of men from me :
Such mere}' you have forfeited, and shall suffer
Like the most slavish women.
Ubald. How will you use us?
Soph. Ease, and excess in feeding, made you

'wanton,

A pleurisy of ill blood you must let out,
By labour, and spare diet that way got too,
Or perish for hunger. Reach him up that distaff
With the flax upon it; though no Omphale,
Nor you a second Hercules, as I take it,
As you spin well at my command, and please me,
Your wages, in the coarsest bread and water,
Shall be proportionable.
Ubald. I w ill starve first.
Soph. That's as you please.
Ric. What will become of me now?
Soph. You shall have gentler work ; T have oft

observed
You were proud to show* the fineness of your

hands,

And softness of your fingers; you should reel well
What he spins, if you give your mind to it, as I'll

force you.

Deliver him his materials. Now you know
Your penance, fall to work ; hunger will teach you:
And so, as slaves to your lust, not me, 1 leave you.
[Exeunt Sophia and Coriffa.

Ubald. I shall spin a fine thread out now.

Kic. I cannot look

On these devices, but they put me in mind
Of rope-makeis.

Hil. Fellow, think of thy task.
Forget such vanities, my livery there
Will serve thee to wotk in.

and fierf'l not

ana nerr s nvininy

For m^elf. but a clovn't cast suit.} Ti.e e.tutinn cf I
modern eu.iur* is adn.i.able: lest rast tuit should not be
intelligible, they alter i. iuloif ott *ui/, al little ".ore Un
the expense ot' the iiieliel

JT6

THE PICTURE.

[Acr IV.

Ric. Let me Lare my clothes yet ;
I was bountiful to thee.

Hit. They are past your wearing,
And mine by promise, as all these can witness.
You bave no holidays coming, nor will I work
While these and this lasts ; and so when you plpase
You may shut up your shop windows. [Eiii.

Ubald. I am faint,
And must lie down.

Ric. I am hungry too, and cold.
O cursed women !

Ubtild. This comes of our whoring 1 .
But let us rest as well as we can to-night,
But not o'ersleep ourselves lest we fast to-morrow.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Hungary. A Room in the Palace.

Enter LADISLAUS, HONO^A, EUBULUS, FEHDINA.ND,
ACANTHE, and attendants.

Hon. Now, you know all, sir, with the motives

why
I forced him to my lodging.

Ladii. 1 desire
No more such trials, lady.

Han. I presume, sir,
You do not doubt my chastity.

Ladis. I would not;
But these are strange inducements.

Eitbu. By no means, Mr,

Why, though he were with violence seized upon
And still detain'd ; the man, sir, being no soldier,
Nor used to charge his pike when the breach is

open,

There was no danger in't ! You must conceive, sir,
Being religious, she chose him for a chaplain,
To read old homilies to her in the dark j
She's bound to it by her canons.

Ladis. Still tormented
With thy impertinence !

Hon. By yourself, dear sir,
I was ambitious only to o'erthrow
His boasted constancy in his consent ;
But for fact 1 contemn him : I was never
Unchaste in thought, I laboured to give proof
What power dwells in this beauty you admire so ;
And when you see how soon it h at h trans form 'd him,
And with what superstition he adores it,
Determine as you please.

Ladis. I will look on
This pageant, but

Hon. When you have seen and heard, sir,
The passages which 1 myself discover'd,
And could have kept conceal'd, had I meant basely,
Judge as you please.

1 udis. Well, I'll observe the issue.

Eubu. How had you ta'en this, general, in your
wife ?

Ferd. As a strange curiosity ; but queens
Are privileged above subjects, and 'tis fit, sir.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Another Room in the same.
Enter MATHIAS and BAPTISTA.

Bapt. You are much alter'd, sir, since the last
night,

When the queen left, you, and look cheerfully,
Your duluess quite blown over.

Math. I have seen a vision
This morning makes it good*, and never was
In such security as at this instant,
Fall what can full : and when the queen appears,
Whose shortest absence now is tedious to me,
Observe the encounter.

Enter HONORIA : LADIST.AUS, EUBVLUS, FEUDiNAKa
and ACANTHE, with others, appear uboie.

Bapt. She already is
Enter'd the lists.

Malh. And I prepared to meet her.

Bapt. I know my duty.

Hon. Not so, you may stay now,
As a witness of our contract.

Bapt. I obey
In all things, madam.

Hon. Where's that reverence,
Or rather superstitious adoration,
Which, captive-like to my triumphant beauty
You paid last night? No humble knee nor sign
Of vassal duty ! Sure this is the foot
To whose proud cover, and then happy in it,
Your lips were glued j and that the neck then of-

fer'd,

To witness your subjection, to be trod on :
Your certain loss of life in the king's anger
Was then too mean a price to buy my favour;
And that false glow-worm fire of constancy
To your wife, extinguished by a greater light
Shot from our eyes and that, it may be (being
Too glorious to be look'd on), hath deprived you
Of speech and motion : but 1 will take oft'
A litile from the splendour, and descend
From my own height, aud in your lowness hear you
Plead as a suppliant.

Math. I do remember
I once saw such a woman.

Hon. How !

Muih. And then

She did appear a most magnificent queen,
And what's more, virtuous, though somewhat dark-
en 'd
With pride, and self-opinion.

Eiilin. Call you this courtship?

Math. And she was happy in a royal husband,
Whom envy could not tax unless it were
For his too much indulgence to her humours.

Eitbu. Pray you, sir, observe that touch, 'tis to

the purpose ;
I like the play the better for't.

Math. And she lived

Worthy her birth and fortune : you retain yet
Some part of her angelical form ; but when
Envy to the beauty of another woman,
Inferior to hers, one that she never
Had seen, but in her picture, had dispersed
Infection through her veins, and loyalty,
Which a great queen, as she was, should have

nourish'd,
Grew odious to her

Hon. I am thunderstruck.

* Math. / have teen a rision

Thit morning make* it good.] Meaning that the picture
had rccovf red its natural colour. This short scene u inimit-
ably beautiful.

SCENE I.]

THE PICTURE.

Math. And lust in all the bravery it could borrow
From majesty, bowe'er disguised, bad ta'ea
Sure footing in the kingdom of her heart,
The throne of chastity once, how, in a moment,
All that was gracious, great, and glorious in her,
And won upon all hearts, like seemiug shadows
Wanting true substance, vanish'd !

Hon. How his reasons
Work on my soul !

Math. Retire into yourself;
Your own strengths, madam, strongly rnann'd with.

virtue,

And be but as you were, and there's no office
So base, beneath the slavery that men
Impose on beasts, but 1 will gladly bow to.
But as you play and juggle with a stranger,
Varying your shapes like Thetis, though the beau-
ties

Of all that are by poets' raptures sainted *
Were now in you united, you should pass
Pitied by me, perhaps, but not regarded.

Eubu. If this take not, I am cheated.

Math. To slip once,

Is incident, and excused by human frailty ;
But to fall ever, damnable. We were both
Guilty, I grant, in tendering our affection ;
But, as I hope you will do, I repented.
When we are grown up to ripeness, our life is
Like to this - - - - piciuref. While we run
A constant race in goodness, it retains
The just proportion ; but the journey being
Tedious, and sweet temptation in the way,
That may in some degree divert us from
The road that we put forth in, ere we end
Our pilgrimage, it may, like this, turn yellow,
Or be with blackness clouded : but when we
Find we have gone astray, and labour to
Return unto our never-failing guide,
Virtue, contrition, with unfeigned tears,
The spots of vice wash'd oft', will soon restore it
To the first pureness.

lion. I am disenchanted :
Mercy, O mercy, heavens ! [Kneels.

Ladis, I am ravish'd
With what I have seen and heard.

Ferd. Let us descend,
And hear the rest below.

Enbu. This hath fallen out
Beyond my expectation. [They retire.

Hon. How have I wander'd
Out of the track of piety ! and misled
By overweening pride, and flattery
Of fawning sycophants (the bane of greatness),

Could never meet till now a passenger,

That in his charity would set me right,

Or stay me in my precipice to ruin.

How ill have I return 'd your goodness to me !

The horror, in my thought oft, turns me marble:

But if it may be yet prevented

Re-enter LADISLAUS, EUBULUS, FERDINAND, ACANTHE
and others, below.

O sir,

What can I do to show my sorrow, or
W r ith what brow ask your pardon 1

Ladis. Pray you, rise.

Hon. Never, till you forgive me, and receive
Unto your love and favour a changed woman :
; My state and pride turn'd to humility, henceforth
Shall wait on your commands, and my obedience
I Steer'd only by your will.

Ladis. And that will prove
A second and a better marriage to me.
All is forgotten.

Hon. Sir, I must not rise yet,
Till, with a free confession of a crime
Unknown to you yet, and a following suit,
Which thus I beg, be granted.

Ladis. I melt with you :
i 'Tis pardon'd, and confirm'd thus. [Raises her.

Hon. Know then, sir,

In malice to this good knight's wife, I practised
Ubaldo and Ricardo to corrupt her.

Bapt. Thence grew the change of the picture.

Hon. And how far

They have prevail'd, I am ignorant : now, if you, sir
For the honour of this good man, may be entreated
To travel thither, it being but a day's journey.
To fetch them off

Ladis. We will put on to-night.

Bapt. I, if you please, your harbinger.

Ladis. I thank you.

Let me embrace you in my arms ; your service
Done on the Turk, compared with this, weighs no-
thing.

Math. I am still your humble creature.

Ladis. My true friend.

Ferd. And so you are bound to hold him.

Eubu. Such a plant

Imported to your kingdom, and here grafted,
Would yield more fruit than all the idle weeds
That suck up your rain of favour.

Ladis. In my will

I'll not be wanting. Prepare for our journey.
In act be my Honoria now, not name,
And to all aftertimes preserve thy fame. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. Bohemia. A Hall in MATHIAS' House.

Enter SOPHIA, CORISCA, and HILARIO.
Soph. Are they then so humble ?
Hil. Hunger and hard labour

Of all that are by poet*' rapture* sainted.] The modern
editors, trembling fur the daring flights of Massiuger, have
kind!) brought him down to the ordinary level : they read,

Of all that are by poet'* rapture* paiuted !
The change is the more to be admired, as the old copy, to
show the expression was a strong one, gave it with a capital

Have tamed them, madam ; at the first they bel-

low'd
Like stags ta'en in a toil, and would not work

our life ig

Like to thi* - - - - picture.] A word has dropt out at (h
press, or been omitted by the transcriber. I could wi:-li t<
insert magic, but leave it to the reader's consideration

at the first thry bellow'd.] I harp r

stored the article, which completes the verse, from the ol^
cvpy.

THE PICTURE.

[AcrV

Fo r sullenness ; but when they found, without it
There was no eating, and that to starve to death
Was much against their stomachs ; by degrees,
Against their wills, they fell to it.

Con's. And now feed on
The little pittance you allow, with gladness.

Hit. I do remember that they stopp'd their noses
At the sight of beef and mutton, as coarse feeding
For their tine palates ; but now, their work being

ended,

They leap at a barley crust, and bold cheese-parings,
\Vith a spoonful of pal I'd wine pour'd in their water,
For festival-exceedings*.

Cm-is. When I examine

My spinster s work, he trembles like a prentice,
And takes a box on the ear, when I spy faults
And botches in hi.s labour, as a favour
From a curst mistress.

Hil. The other, too, reels well
For his time ; and if your ladyship would please
To see them for your sport, since they want airing,
It would do well, in my judgment ; you shall hear
Such a hungry dialogue from them !

Soph. But suppose,

When they are out of prison, they should grow
Rebellious?

Hit. Never fear't ; I'll undertake
To lead them out by the nose with a coarse thread
Of the one's spinning, and make the other reel after,
And without grumbling ; and when you are weary of
Their company, as easily return them.

Cm-is. Dear madam, it will help to drive away
Your melancholy.

Soph. Well, on this assurance,
1 am content ; bring them hither.

Hil. 1 will do it
In stately equipage. [Exit.

Soph. They have confess'd, then,
Thev were set on by the queen, to taint me in
My loyalty to my lord 1

Cm-is. 'Twas the main cause
That brought them hither.

Snph. 1 am glad I know it ;
And as J. have begun, before I end
I'll at the height revenge it ; let us step aside,
'I hey come: the object's so ridiculous,
In spile of my sad thoughts I cannot but
Lend a forced smile to grace it.

Re-enter HH.AHIO, with UBALDO spinning, and

rticAiiDo reeling.
Hil. Come away :

Work as you go. and lose no time; 'tis precious ;
You'll find it in your commons.
K ic. Commons, call you it ?
The word is proper ; I have grazed so long
Upon your commons, I am almost starved here.
Hil. Work harder, and they shall be better'd.
Ubald. Better'd!

Worser they cannot be : would I might lie
Like a dog under her table, and serve for a foot-
stool,

For festival-exceedings. | "At the Middle Temple an
additional dish to the regular dinner is still called ' exceed-
ing*;' to which appellation Massinger alludes in The Pic-
ture, by the expression of festival-txceedinys : but his editor,
Coxeter. not knowing the origin of the phrase, thinks ' ex-
eetding festivals' had been belter." Hocclive's Poems, by
Maaon, 4to. 1795, p. 67. For this extract I am indebted to
Mr. Waldron.

So I might have my belly full of that
Her Iceland cur refuses !

Hil. How do you like
Your airing 1 is it not a favour?

Ric. Yes ; [hounds

Just such a one as you use to a brace of grey-
When they are led out of their kennels to scumber ;
But our case is ten times harder, we have nothing
In our bellies to be vented : if you will be
An honest yeoman-fewterer*, feed us first,
And walk us after.

Hil. Yeoman-fewterer !

Such another word to your governor, and you go
Supperless to bed fort.

Ubald. Nay, even as you please ;
The comfortable names of breakfasts, dinners,
Collations, supper, beverage, are words
Worn out of our remembrance.

Ric. O for the steam
Of meat in a cook's shop !

Ubald. I am so dry,

I have not spittle enough to wet my fingers
When I draw my flax from my distaff.

Ric. Nor I strength

To raise my hand to the top of my reeler. Oh !
I have the cramp all over me.

Hil. What do you think [it,

Were best to apply to it? A cramp-stone, as I take
Were very useful.

Ri'r. Oh ! no more of stonesf,
We have been used too long like hawks already.

Ubald. We are not so high in our flesh now to need

casting,
We will come to an empty fist.

Hit. Nay, that you shall not.
So ho, birds}! [holds up apiece nf bread.'} How the

eyasses scratch and scramble !
Take heed of a surfeit, do not cast your gorges ;
This is more than I have commission for; be
thankful.

* An honest yeoman-fewterer,] In this and the preceding
tpeech the ttrms are borrowed from the kennel ; fewterer,
a name which frequently occurs in our old treatises on
hunting, was the person who took charge of the dogs imme-
diately under the huntsman. We now call him, 1 believe,
the hipper-in.

Blount derives this word from the French vaultre, which,
as Cotgrave s.us, means a mongrel hound; whence celtu-
riui, ami vavltarius, a huntsman.

t Ric. Oh! no more o/'siones,

We have beenused too long like hawks already.
Ub.tld. He are not so high in our flesh now to need
casting,

We will come to an empty fist.] To understand this, it will
be necessary to have recourse to the treatises on the " noble
science of hawking." " When the hawk will come to the
lure, then give hrr every night stones, till you find her
stomach good : after that, prottr her casting, to make her
cleanse and purge her gorge." The Gentleman's Recreation
p. tn:,.

Humanity h* seldom obtained a greater triumph than in
the abolition of this most execrable pursuit, compared to
which, cock fighting and bull-baiting are innocent amuse-
ments : and this not so much on account of the game killed
in the open field, as of the immense number of domestic
animals sacrificed to the' induction of the hawk. Thr
blood runs cold while we peruse the calm directions of te^
brutal falconer, to impale, tie down, fasten by the beak
break the legs and wings of living pigeons, hens, and some-
times herons, for the hourly exercise of the hawk, who was
thus enabled to pull them to pieces without resistance.

I So ho, birds ! How the eyasses scratch and scramble '.]
So ho, birds', was the falconer's < all to feed. An eyas*,
as I leain from the respectable authority quoted above, is a
young hawk newly taken out of the nest, and not able to
prey for himself.

SCENE II.]

THE PICTURE.

879

Soph. Were all that study the abuse of women
Used thus, the city would not swarm with cuckolds,
Nor so many tradesmen break.

Com. Pray you, appear now,
And mark the alteration.

Hil. To your work,

My lady is in presence ; show your duties
Exceeding well.

Soph. How do your scholars profit?

Hil. Mold up your heads demurely. Prettily,
For young beginners.

Cons. And will do well in time,
If they he kept in awe.

R ic. In awe ! I am sure
I quake like an aspen leaf.

Uhald. No mercy, lady 1

Ric. Nor intermission ?

Soph. Let me see your work :

Fie upon't, what a thread's here ! a poor cobler's wife
Would make a finer to sew a clown's rent startup*;
And here you reel as you were drunk.

Ric. I am sure
It is not with wine.

Soph. O, take heed of wine;
Cold water is far better for vour healths,
Of which I am very tender : you had foul bodies,
And must continue in this physical die!,
Till the cause of your disease be ta'en away.
For fear of a relapse ; and that is dangerous :
Yet I hope already that you are in some
Degree recovered, and that way to resolve me,
Answer me truly; nay, what 1 propound
Concerns both; nearer: what would you now give,
If your means were in your hands, to lie all night
With a fresh and handsome lady 1

Uhald. How ! a lady?
O, I am past it ; hunger with her razor
Hath made me an eunuch.

Ric. Kor a mess of porridge,
Well sopp'd with a bunch of radish and a carrot,
I would sell my barony ; but for women, oh !
No more of women : not a doit for a doxy,
After this hungry voyage.

Soph. These are truly
Good symptoms ; let them not venture too much in

the air,
Till they are weakerf.

Ric. This is tyranny.

Uhald. Scorn upon scorn.

Soph. You were so
In your malicious intents to me.

Enter a Servant.

And therefore 'tis but justice What's the busi-
ness?

Serv. My lord's great friend, signior Baptista,
madam,

Is newly lighted from his horse, with certain

Assurance of my lord's arrival.

* a clown'* rent startup;] A startup,

Mr. M. Mason say. 5 , is part of a man's dress so, indeed, is
a bag-wig and sword. It appears, from many passages in
our ill') writers, that a startup was a coarse kind of half-
boot with thick soles ; the pero of the ancirirs;
" Draw close into the covert, lest the wet,
Which fulls like lazy mists upon the ground,
Sokc through your startup*."

The Faithful Shepherdess.

+ Till they are weaker.] Sophia slill artects to considci
(hem as too strong to be trusted abroad, consistently wild
her safety : there ii much good humour and pleasantry in
Jus icene.

Soph. How !

And stand I trifling here? Hence with the mongrels
To their several kennels; there let them howl in

private ;
I'll be no further troubled.

[Exeunt Sophia and Servant*

Ubald. O that ever
I saw this fury !

Ric. Or look'd on a woman
But as a prodigy in nature.

Hil. Silence ;
No more of this.

Cor is. Methinks you have no cause
To repent your being here.

Hil. Have you not learnt,
When your states are spent, your several trades to

live by,
And never charge the hospital?

Com. Work but tightly,

And we will not use a dish-clout in the house,
But of your spinning.

Uhald. O, 1 would this hemp
Were turned to a halter !

Hil. Will you march ?

Ric. A soft one,
Good general, I beseech you.

Uhald. I can hardly
Draw my legs after me.

Hit. For a crutch you may use
Your distaff; a good wit makes use of all things.

[ Exeunt.

SCENE II. Another Room in the tame.

Enter SOPHIA and BAPTISTA.

Soph. Was he jealous of me?

Bapt. There's no perfect love
Without some touch oft, madam.

Soph. And my picture,
Made by your devilish art, a spy upon
My actions? I ne'er sat to be drawn,
Nor had you, sir, commission for't.

Bapt. Excuse me ;
At his earnest suit I did it.

Soph. Very good :
Was I grown so cheap in bis opinion of me?

Bapt. The prosperous events that crown his for-
tunes
May qualify the offence.

Soph. Good, the events :
The sanctuary fools and madmen fly to,
When their rash and desperate undertakings thrive

well :

But good and wise men are directed by
Grave counsels, and with such deliberation
Proceed in their affairs, that chance has nothing
To do with them: howsoe'er take the pains, sir,
To meet the honour (in the king and queen's
Approaches to my house) that breaks upon me ;
I will expect them with my best of care.

JBapt. To entertain such royal guests

So/ih. I know it ;
Leave that to me, sir. [Exit Baptista.'] What should

move the queen,

So given to ease and pleasure, as fame speaks her.
To such a journey ? or work on my lord
To doubt my loyalty, nay, more, to take.
For the resolution of his feiirs, a course
That is by holy writ denied a Christian t

280

THE PICTURE.

[Acr.V

Twas impious in him, and perhaps the welcome
He hopes in my embraces may deceive

[Trumpets sounded.

His expectation. The trumpets speak

The king's arrival : help a woman's wit now,

To make him know his fault, and my just anger !

SCENE III. The same. A Flourish. Enter LADU-
LAUS, FERDINAND, EUBULUS, MATHIAS, BAPTISTA,
HONORIA, and ACANTHE, with Attendant}.

Eubu. Your majesty must be weary.

Hon. No, my lord,
A willing mind makes a hard journey easy.

JVJat/t/Not Jove, attended on by Hermes, was
More welcome to the cottage of Philemon
And his poor Baucis, than your gracious self,
Your matchless queen, and all your royal train,
Are to your servant and his wife.

Ladis. Where is she ?

Hon. I long to see her as my now-loved rival.

Eubu. And I to have a smack at her: 'tis a

cordial

To an old man, better than sack and a toast
Before he goes to supper.

Math. Ha ! is my house turn'd
To a wilderness? nor wife nor servants ready,
With all rites due to majesty, to receive
Such unexpected blessings ! You assured me
Of better preparation ; hath not
The excess of joy transported her beyond
Her understanding?

Bapt. I now parted from her,
And gave her your directions.

Math. How shall I beg

Your majesties' patience ? sure my family's drunk,
Or by some witch, in envy of my glory,
A dead sleep thrown upon them.

Enter HILARIO and Servants.

Serv. Sir.

Math. But that

The sacred presence of the king forbids it,
My sword should make a massacre among you.
Where is your mistress?

Hit. First, you are welcome home, sir :
Then know, she says she's sick, sir. There's no

notice
Taken of my bravery !

Math. Sick at such a time !

It cannot le : though she were on her death-bed,
And her spirit e'en now departed, here stand they
Could call it back again, and in this honour
Give her a second being. Bring me to her;
I know not what to urge, or how to redeem
This mortgage of her manners.

[Exeunt Mathiai, Hilario, and Servants.

Eubu. There's no climate

On the world, I think, where one jade's trick or other
Reigns not in women.

Ferd. You were ever hitter
Against the sex.

Ladis. This is very strange.

Hon. Mean women
Have their faults, as well as queens.

Lad is. O, she appears now.

Re-enter MATHIAS with SOPHIA ; HILAHIO following.

Math. The injury that you conceive I have done

you

Dispute hereafter, and in your perverseness
Wrong not yourself and me.

So]>h. 1 am past my childhood*,
And need no tutor.

Math. This is the great king,
To whom I am engaged till death for all
I stand possess'd of.

Soph. My humble roof is proud, sir,
To be the canopy of so much greatness
Set off with goodness.

Ladis. My own praises flying
In such pure air as your sweet breath, fair lady,
Cannot but please me.

Math. This is the queen-of queens,
In her magnificence to me.

Soph. In my duty
I kiss her highness' robe.

Hon. You stoop too low
To her whose lips would meet with yours.

Soph. Howe'er [Kisses her.

It may appear preposterous in women
So to encounter, 'tis your pleasure, madam,
And not my proud ambition. Do you hear, sir?
Without a magicul picture, in the touch
I find your print of close and wanton kisses
On the queen's lips. [Aside to Matthias.

Math. Upon your life be silent :
And now salute these lords.

Soph. Since you will have me,
You shall see 1 am experienced at the game,
And can play it tightly. You are a brave man, sir,

[To Ferdinand.

And do deserve a free and hearty welcome :
Be this the prologue to it. [Aisses him.

Eubu. An old man's turn
Is ever last in kissing. I have lips too,
However cold ones, madam.

Soph. I will warm them
With the fire of mine. [Kisses him.

Eubu. And so she has ! I thank you,
I shall sleep the better all night for't.

Math. You express
The boldness of a wanton courtezan,
And not a matron's modesty ; take upf,
Or you are disgraced for ever.

Soph. How ? with kissing

Feelingly, as you taught me? would you have me
Turn my cheek to them, as proud ladies use
To their inferiors, as if they intended
Some business should he whisper 'd in their ear,
And not a salutation ? what I do,
I will do freely ; now 1 am in the humour,
I'll fly at all : are there any more ?

Math. Forbear,

Or you will raise my anger to a height
That will descend in fury.

Soph. Why 1 you know
How to resolve yourself what my intents are,
By the help of IVJephostophilust, and your picture :

Soph. 1 am past my childhood,

And need no tutor.] The pretty perverseness of Sophia is
excellenlly managed in this short conference, and her break-
ing out at length, highly n:itnrai and amusing.

t - take tip,] i. e. check

yourself.

j liy the kelp of Mephostophilns,] i. e. Baptista. Me-
phottophitut is th nam" of a fiend or familiar spirit in the

SCEKS HI.]

THE PICTURE.

281

Pray you, look upon't again. 1 liumblv thank

The queen's great care of me while you were absent.

She knew how tedious 'twas for a young wife,

And being for that time a kind of widow,

To pass away her melancholy hours

Without good company, and in charity, therefore,

Provided for me : Out of her own store

She cull'd the lords Ubaldo and Ricardo,

Two principal courtiers for ladies' service,

To do me sill good offices ; and as such

Employ 'd bv her, I hope I have received

And entertain'd them ; nor shall they depart

\Vithout the effect arising from the cause

That brought them hither.

Math. Thou dost belie thyself:
I know that in my absence fhou wert honest,
However now turn'd monster.

Sofli. The truth is.

We diil not deal, like you, in speculations
On cheating pictures ; we knew shadows were
No substances, and actual performance
The best assurance. I will bring them hither,
To make good in this presence so much for me.
Some minutes space 1 beg your majesties' pardon.
You are moved now : champ upon this bit a

little,
Anon you shall have another. Wait me, Hilario.

[ Eieunt Sophia and Hilario.

Lntlis. How now? turn'd statue, sir!

Math. Fly, and fly quickly,
From (his cursed habitation, or this Gorgon
Will make you all as I am. In her tongue
Millions of adders hiss, and every hair
Upon her wicked head a snake more dreadful
Than that Tisiphone threw on Athamas,
Which in his madness forced him to dismember
His proper issue. O that ever 1
Reposed my trust in magic, or believed
Impossibilities ! or that charms had power
To sink and search into the bottomless hell
Of a false woman's heart !

Eubu. These are the fruits
Of marriage! an old bachelor as[ am,
And, what's more, will continue so, is not troubled
With these fine vagaries.

Ferd. Till you are resolved, sir,
Forsake not hope*.

Bap. Upon ny life, this is
Dissimulation.

Ladis. And it suits not with
Your fortitudH and wisdom to be thus
Transported with your passion.

Hon. You were once
Deceived in me, sir, as I was in you ;
Yet the deceit pleased both.

Math. She hath confess'd all ;
What further proof should I ask ?

Hon. Yet remember
The distance that is interposed between
A woman's tongue and her heart ; and you must

grant
You build upon no certainties.

History of Dr. Faustut, as well as in the play of that name
by Christopher Marlow. He is also mentioned by Shaks-
peare, Jooion, Fletcher, and, indeed, by moot of our old
dramatist*.

* Till you are resolved, sir,

Forsake not hope. Kesolved is convinced. Thus Shales-
pea re :

" By heavens ! I am resolved
That Cli3ord's manhood lies upon his tongue."

Re-enter SOPHIA, CORISCA, and HILAIUO, with UBALDO
and RICARDO, spinning and reeling, us before.

Eubu. What have we here?

Soph. You must come on, and show yourselves.

Ubald. The king !

Kic. And queen too ! would I were as far under

the earth
As I am above it !

Ubald. Some poet will*,
I From this relation, or in verse or prose,
I Or both together blended, render us
Ridiculous to all ages.

Ladis. I remember

This face, when it was in a better plight :
Are not you Ricardo?

Hon. And this thing, I take it,
Was once Ubaldo.

Ubald. I am now I know not what.

Eic. We thank your majesty for employing us
To this subtile Circe.

Enbu. How, my lord ! turn'd spinster!
Do you work by the day, or by the great?

Ferd. Is your theorbo
Turn'd to a distaff, signior, and your voice,
With which you chanted, Boom for a lusty gallant !
Tuned to the note of Lachrynuej ?

Eubu. Prithee tell me,

For I know thou'rt free, how oft, and to the pur-
pose,
You've been merry with this lady.

Ric. Never, never.

Ladis. Howsoever, you should say so for your

credit,
Being the only court bull.

Ubald. O that ever
I saw this kicking heifer !

Soph. You see, madam,

How I have cured your servants, and what favours
They with their rampant valour have won from me.
You may, as they are physic'd, I presume,
Trust a fair virgin with them ; they have learn'd
Their several trades to live by, and paid nothing
But cold and hunger for them : and may now
Set up for themselves, for here I give them over.
And now to you, sir ; why do you not again
Peruse your picture, and take the advice
Of your learned consort ? these are the men, or
none,

* Some poet will, &c.) There is something delightful in
these anlici'paiions of future fame by great minds. They are
the flowery spots in the poet's thorny way, which beguile
the \\tarisoineness of his pilgrimage, and in despite of cold-
ness and neglect, reconcile him to his fate.

T Tuned to the note of Lachry ma: ? Lachrymtefas Sir

John Hawkins informs us, in his History of Music) was

the title of a musical work composed by John Uouland, a

celebrated lutanist in the time ot king James I. "The title

of it at length is : Lachrymal, or seven Tearet fiyured in

seaven passionate Pavans, with divers other ! J avans, Gali-

ards, and Almans, set forth to the Lute, Viol, or Hoiin,in

five Parts." To this performance, which was once exceedingly

popular, allusions are found in most of our old dramatists.

I do not know what the "seaven passionate" (i.e. atii cling)

compositions were, which made up the bulk of this collection,

i but it seems, from the following extract, that one of them

! was the beautiful and pathetic Lamentation of Lady Ann

I Bothivell :

" Balow, my babe, lie still and sleepe,

It grieves me sair to see lliee wetpe ;" &c.
" ('it. You musicians, play Baloo.

W\fe. No, good George ; let's have Lachrynus.
Cit. Why this is it."

The Kniyht of the Burning Pestle.

THE PICTURE.

[Aer. V

That made you, as the Italian says*, a becco,

Muth. I know not which way to entreat your

pardon.

Nor am 1 worthy of it. My Spohia,
My best Sophia ; here before the king.
The queen, these lords, and i.ll the lookers on,
I do renounce my error, and embrace you,
As the great example to all aftertimes,
For such as would die chaste and noble wives,
With reverence to imitate.

Soph. Not so, sir,

1 yet hold off. However I have purged
My doubted innocence, the foul aspersions,
In your unmanly doubts, cast on my honour,
Cannot so soon be wash'd off.

Eubit. Shall we have
More jiggobobs yet ?

Soph. When you went to the wars,
I set no spy upon you to observe
Which way you wander'd, though our sex by nature
Is subject to suspicions and fVar.s ;
My confidence in your loyalty freed me from them.
But, to deal as you did, against your religion,
With this enchanter, to survey my actions,
Was more than woman's weakness ; therefore, know,
And 'tis my boon unto the kin?. I dj
Desire a separation from youi bed ;
For I will spend the remnant of my life
In prayer and meditation.

Matk. O, take pity
Upon my weak condition, or I am
More wretched in your innocence, than if
I had found you guilty. Have you shown a jewel
Out of the cabinet of your rich mind.
To lock it up again? She turns away.
Will none *peak for me? shame and sin have robb'd

me
Of the use of my tongue.

Ladit. Since you have conquer'd, madam,
You wrong the glory of your victory
If you use it not with mercv.

Ford. Any penance

You please to impose upon him, I dare warrant
He will gladly suffer.

Eulni. Have I lived to see
But on* good woman, and shall we for a trifle
Have her turn nun? I will first pull down the

cloister.

To the old sport again, with a good luck to you !
'Tis not alone enough that you are good,
We must have some of the breed of you : will you

destroy

The kind and race of goodness? I am converted,
And ask your pardon, madam, for my ill opinion
Against the sex ; and show me but two such more,
I'll marry yet, and love them.

Hon. She that yet

Ne'er knew what 'twas to bend but to the king,
Thus begs remission for him.

Soph. O, dear madam,
Wrong not your greatness so.

Omiies. We all are suitors.

* That made you, at the Italian says, a becco.] So the old
copy, which ii far more humorous than the sophistication
of Mr. M. Mason as tlie Italian* lay, &c.

Becco is rendered, by the commentators on our old plays,
a cuckol.1 ; the Italian*, however, give a more defamatory
PI-NIT : with them it generally me;m< what \ve call a wit-
tol, i. c. one accessary to his own disgrace. This too is the
meaning it bears in Massinger and bis contemporaries, who
were, generally speaking, no indifferent Italian scholars.

Ubald. I do deserve to be heard among the rest.

Ric. A nd we have suffer'd for it.

Soph. I perceive

There's no resistance : but suppose I pardon
What s past, who can secure me he'll be free
From jealousv hereafter ?

Math. I will be

My own security : go, ride, where you please :
Feast, revel, banquet, and make choice will) wham,
I'll set no watch upon you ; and, for proof of it.
This cursed picture I surrender up
To a consuming fire.

Bnpt. As I abjure
The practice of my art.

So/'h. Upon these terms

I am reconciled ; and for these that have paid
The price of their folly, I desire your mercy.

Ladis. At your request they have it.

Ubald. Hang all trades now. [honest,

7?ic. I will find a new one, and that is, to live

Hit. These are rny fees*.

Ubald. Pray you, take them, with a mischief !

Ladis. So, all ends in peace now.
Ami, to all niarrit d men, be this a caution,
Which they should duly tender as their life,
Neither to dote too much, nor doubt a wife.

[Eieunff*

SONG, by PALLAS, in praise of the victeriout Soldier.
See Act II., Sc. 2.

Though we contemplate to express

The glory of our happiness,
That, by your pnwerful arm, have been

So true a victor, that no sin
Could ever taint you with a blame

To lessen your deserved fame.

Or, thcugh we contend to set

Your worth in the full height, or get

Celestial singers, crown'd with bays,
With flourishes to dress your praise :

You know your conquest ; but your story
Lives in your triumphant glory.

* Hil. Thrse art my ftts.] Meaning the clothes of ill
two courtiers : they, it should be recollected, are at this tun
dressed in the cast rags of Hilario.

t The fondness which Massinger seems to h.ive felt fn
this play was not misplaced. The circumstance on whici
it is founded is, indeed, sufficiently fantastical, und was dii
allowed by the philosophy of his "own age : but this is IK

usual, relieves the impression of the serious events.

The comic part is tuo attractive in itself to need any
recommendation, and its effect is too powerful to be missed
by any reader. But it may not be useless to point out the
substantial, though less obtrusive, merit of the serious scenes.

If it i? more tiian usually difficult to ascertain the influ-
ence of sudden passions in bosoms generally virtuous, and
well regulated, to balance the struggle between habitual

I/)>IIWBB *ti iromu, exposes nun more 10 me influence 01
dangeroui impressions. Accordingly, after a temporary

STF.NI III.l

THE PICTURE.

283

illusion, she rescues herself from mischief by the force of
her own mind. He is preserved by oilier causes, the unex-
pected refusal of Honoria, and the renewed certainty of the
constancy of his wife.

As to tne queen herself, the cause of their unhappmcss,
he is described with much novelty, and truth of nature.
Mr. Colman* has talked of her passion ; if this is the proper
term, it is a passion, nut for a person, but a principle. She
offers herself to Mathias from no genuine attachment: it is
mere envy of the constancy between him and Sophia, and a
malicious determination to show her own superiority, at
whatever risk. Her constitutional vanity, dangerously nursed
by the doting admiration of her husband, impels her to
seduce a virtuous man whom she does not love. Her wan-
tonness is whim ; and she prepares to be faithless herself,
because she cannot bear a rival in fidelity.

It is here to be remarked, that Massinger seems to have
prepared this Play with all the resources which he could
command.

In the Observation? on The Dulir.of Milan, the reader has.
been already tauuht to expect a timiurity between the con-
jugal dotage of Sfor/a and Ladislaus, &c. &c. Several
other pl.iys have been made to contribute sentiments and
incidents to The Picture. It is impossible to read Honoria's
temptation of Mathias, Act. Ill, sc. v. an^lnot to remember
the progress of Donusa's solicitations, and the amazement
of Viteili. Peney.ado, Act II. sc. iv. The lioman Actor
furnishes other circumstances of the same kind, from the
conversation of Paris both with Domitia and the emperor,
Act IV. c. ii: and it is remarkable, that he pleads with

Pee his Critical Refectiont on the old Englith Dram*
tic Wr'iMt.

the latter, not only in the thought, but in the very manner o
Honoria : their argument appears to contradict thtir owh
wi.-hes, and t*iis is equally noticed by Domitian and Ma-
thias. The whimsical weakness to which I'btldo nd Ri-
cardo are reduced, and tlie jokes to which it expose! them,
have already amused us in ti e characteristic punishment
of Perigoi Parliament of Love. And, to quote only one
more instance, though several might be added, the noble
freedom with which Malhias corrects the levity of the
queen, Act IV, sc. iv, though greatly superior to it, is cer-
tainly suggested by Gonzaga's austere but spirited rebuke of
Aurelia Maid of Honour. Act IV. sc. iv.

In short, Mass'inger nas not scrupled to adorn this Play
with whatever was afforded by the story itself, or could be
added from his own writings; and, like the artist of old, he
has composed an exquisite Picture from a collection of many
scattered beauties.

There are two morals combined in this play ; one arising
from the doting love of Ladislaus; the other, from the sus-
picions of Mathias. Vanity is always unfeeling: and,
through indiscreet admiration, may be tarried far beyond
the supposed frivolousness ot its nature, and become a
raging passion, destructive of our own virtue and ot the
happiness of others. Again, unreasonable doubt destroys
the very happiness which it labours to secure. Irritation ii
the natural consequence of unjust suspicion ; and the desire
of revenge hurries us into actions from which our better
principles would otherwise have preserved us. What ii
worse, we excuse ourselves in mischief on account of the
very motive on which we act ; and are content to be outra-
pou on the flattering principle of justice itself.

DR. IRELAND.

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.] This Tragi-comedy was licensed for the stage March llth, 1631, and
printed in the following year. The plot is taken from the history of Theodosius the younger, as delivered
by the Byzantine writers. See the concluding Observations by Dr. Ireland.

Massinger has followed his various authorities somewhat more closely than usual ; indeed, be disclaims,
in the Prologue, all merit on the score of invention, the work being, as he says, " a story of reverend an-
tiquity."

Notwithstanding the excellence of this Play, it met with some opposition at its appearance : its distin-
guished merits, however, procured it a representation at court, and it finally seems to have grown into very
general favour. It is preceded, in the old edition, by several commendatory poems, one of which, by W.
Singleton, is not undeserving of praise.

It was frequently acted . as the title-pasre tells us. " at the Blackfriars and Globe Play-houses, by tne
King's Majesty's servants."

TO THE BIGHT HONOURABLE, AND MT ESPECIAL GOOD LOHO,

JOHN LOED MOHUN,

BARON OF OKEHAMPTON, &c.

My GOOD LORD,

LET my presumption in styling you so (having never deserved kin my service), from the clemency of your
noble disposition, find pardon *. The reverence due to the name of Mohun, long since honoured in three
earls of Somerset, and eight barons of Munster, may challenge from all pens a deserved celebration. And
the rather in respect those titles were not purchased, but conferred, and continued in your ancestors, for
many virtuous, noble, and still living actions ; nor ever forfeited or tainted, but when the iniquity of those
times laboured the depression of approved goodness, and in wicked policy held it fit that loyalty and faith,
in taking part with the true prince, should be degraded and mulcted. But this admitting no further dilation
in this place, may your lordship please, and with all possible brevity, to understand the reasons why I am, in
humble thankfulness, ambitious to shelter this poem under the wings of your honourable protection. My worthy
friend, Mr. Aston Cockayne, your nephew, to my extraordinary content, delivered to me that your lordship,
at your vacanthours, sometimes vouchsafed to peruse such trifles of mine as have passed the press,and not alone
warranted them in your gentle suffrage, but disdained not to bestow aremembrance of your love, and intended
favour to me. 1 profess to the world, I was exalted with the bounty, and with good assurance, it being so
rare in this age to meet with one noble name, that, in fear to be censured of levity and weakness, dares ex-
press itself a friend or patron to contemned poetry f. Having, therefore, no means else left me to witness
the obligation in which I stand most willingly bound to your lordship, I offer this Tragi-comedy to your
gracious acceptance, no way despairing, but that with a clear aspect you will deign to receive it (it being
an induction to my future endeavours), and that in the list of those, that to your merit truly admire you,
you may descend to number

Your lordship's faithful honourer,

PHILIP MASSINGER.

* MY GOOD LORD,

Let my presumption instyling you o,&c]. To understand this sentence, it will be necessary to recollect that " my good
lord" meant, in the language of Massinger and his contemporaries, my patron. Of this mode of expression many instances
are to be found in these volumes. It occurs also in 1 he Spanish Trayedy, which I mention for the sake of correcting a
slight mistake :

" Lor. What would he with us ; lie writes ns here, To stand good Lorenzo, and help him in his distress." Act III.

In the Ute editions, there is a comma after stand, which perverts the sense.

1 That this noble lord not only favoured poetry, but wrote himself, appears from Sir Aston Cockayne's letters to his lord
hip, in verse. See Cockayne's Poemt, p. 80. COXETKB.

I.]

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

PROLOGUE*

AT THE BLACKFRIARS.

BUT that imperious custom warrants it,
Our author with much willingness would omit
This preface to his new work. He hath found
(And suffer'd for't), many are apt to wound
His credit in this kind : and, whether he
Express himself fearful, or peremptory,
He cannot 'scape their censures who delight
To misapply whatever he shall write,
'Tis his bard fate. And though he will not sue,
Or hasely beg such suffrages, yet, to you,
Free and ingenious spirits, he doth now,
In me, present his service, with his vow
He hath done his best ; and, though he cannot glory
In his invention (this work being a story
Of reverend antiquity), he doth hope,
In the proportion of it, and the scope,
You may observe some pieces drawn like one
Of a stedfast hand ; and, with the whiter stone,
To be mark'd in your fair censures. More than this
I am forbid to promise, and it is
With the most till you confirm it : since we know
Whate'er the shaft be, archer, or the bow
From which 'tis sent, it cannot hit the white,
Unless your approbation guide it right.

* This prologue has been hitherto very incorrectly given.
It is here reformed from the old copies.

PROLOGUE

AT COURT.

As ever, sir, you lent a gracious ear
To oppress'il innocence, now vouchsafe to hear
A short petition. At your feet, in me,
The poet kneels, and to your majesty
Appeals for justice. What we now present,
When first conceived, in his vote and intent,
Was sacred to your pleasure ; in each part
With his best of fancy, judgment, language, art,
Fashion'd and form'd so, as might well, and may
Deserve a welcome, and no vulgar way.
He durst not, sir, at such a solemn feast,
Lard his grave matter with one scurrilous jest ;
But labour'd that no passage might appear,
But what the queen without a blush might hear :
And yet this poor work suffer'd by the rage
And envy of some Catos of the stage :
Yet still he hopes this Plav, which then was seen
With sore eyes, and condemn'd out of their spleen,
May be by you, the supreme judge, set free,
And raised above the reach of calumny.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

THEODOSIUS tne younger, the emperor,
PAULINUS, a kinsman to the emperor,
PHI UN AX, captain of the guard,

TlMANTUS, -J

CHRYSAPIUS, ^eunttchs of the emperor's chamber,

GRATIANUS, J

CLEON, a traveller, friend to Paulinas,

Patriarch,

Informer,

Projector,

Master of the Habits and Manners,

Minion of the Suburbs,

Countryman,

Surgeon,

Empiric.

Pur.cHERM, the protectress, sister to the emperor,
ATHENAIS, a strange virgin, afterwards empress, ana
named Eudocia,

P ' j the younger sisters of the emperor.

Officers, Suitors, Attendants, Guards, Huntsman,
Executioners, Servants, 6;c.

SCENE, Constantinople.

ACT I.

SCENE I. A Room in the Palace.

Enter PAULINUS and CLEON.
Paul. In your six years travel, friend, no doubt

you have met with

Many and rare adventures, and observed
The wonders of each climate, varying in
The manners and the men ; and so return
For the future service of your prince and country,
In your understanding better'd.

Cle. Sir, I have made of it

The best use in my power, ami hcpp iny gleanings
After the full crop others reaped before me,
Shall not, when I am call'd on, altogether
Appear unprofitable ; yet I left
The miracle of miracles in our age
At home behind me ; tvery where abroad,
Fame, with a true though prodigal voice, deliver'd
Such wonders of Pulcheria, the princess.
To the amazement, nay, astonishment rather,

286

THE EMPEROR OF THK EAST.

[Act I

Of such as heard it, that I found not one

In all the states and kingdoms that Ipass'd through,

Worthy to be her second.

Pa >il. She, indeed, is
A perfect phenix, and disdains a rival.
Her infant years, as you know, promised much,
15 lit thrown to ripeness, she transcends and makes
CreJulity her debtor. I will tell you,
In mv blunt way, to entertain the time,
Until you have the happiness to see her,
How iii your ab.-ence she hath borne herself,
And with all possible brevity ; though the subject
Is such a spacious field, as would require
An abstract of the purest eloquence
(Derived from the most famous orators
The nurse of learning, Athens, show'd the world)
In that man that should undertake to be
Her true historian.

Cle. In this you shall do me
A special favour.

Paul. Since Arcadius' death,
Our late great master, the protection of
The prince, his son, the second Theodosius,
By a general vote and suffrage of the people,
Was to her charge assign'd, with the disposure
Of his so nvmy kingdoms. For his person,
She hath so train'd him up in all those arts
That are both great and good, and to be wish'd
In an imperial monarch, that the mother
Of the Gracchi, grave Cornelia, Rome still boasts of,
The wise Pulcheria but named, must be
No more remember'd. She, by her example,
Hath made the court a kind of academy,
In which true honour is both learn'd and prac-
tised :

Her private lodgings a chaste nunnery,
In which her sisters, as probationers, hear
From her, their sovereign abbess, all the precepts
Read in the school of virtue.

Cle. You amaze me.

Paul. I shall, ere I conclude ; for here the wonder
Begins, not ends. Hw soul is so immense,
And her strong faculties so apprehensive,
To search into the depth of deep designs,
And of all natures, that the burthen, which
To many men were insupportable,
To her is but a gentle exercise,
Made, by the frequent use, familiar to her.

Cle. With your good favour let me interrupt

you.

Being, as she is, in every part so perfect,
Methinks that all kings of our eastern world
Should become rivals for her.

Paul So they have ;

But to no purpose. She that knows her strength.
To rule ar.d govern monarchs, scorns to wear
On her free neck the servile yoke of mairiage ;
And for one loose desire, envy itself
Oares not presume to taint her ; Venus' son
Is blind indeed when he but gazes on her ;
Her chastity being a rock of diamonds,
With which encounter'd, his shafts fly in splinters ;
His flaming torches in the living spring
Of her perfections quench'd ; and, to crown all,
She's so impartial when she sits upon
The high tribunal, neither sway'd with pity
Nor awed by fear, beyond her equal scale,
That 'tis not superstition to believe
Astrea once more lives upon the earth,
Pulcheria's breast her temple.

Cle. You have given her
An admirable character.

Paul. She deserves it :

And such is the commanding power of virtue,
That from her vicious enemies it compels
Paeans of praise, as a due tribute to her.

[Loud music.

Cle. What means this solemn music ?

Paid. Sir*, it ushers
The emperor's morning meditation,
In which Pulcheria is more than assistant.
'Tis worth your observation, and you may
Collect from her expense of time this day,
How her hours, for many years, have been dis-
posed of.

Cle. I am all eyes and ears.

Enter, after a strain of solemn music, PHILANAX,
TIMANTUS, Patriarch, THEODOSIUS, PULCHERIA,
FLACCILLA, and ARCADIA ; Jotlowed by CHRYSAPIUS
and GRATIANUS ; Servants and Officers.

Pul. Your patience, Sir.
Let those corrupted ministers of the court,
Which you complain of, our devotions ended,
Be cited to appear : for the ambassadors
Who are importunate to have audience,
From me you may assure them that to-morrow
They shall in public kiss the emperor's robe,
And we in private with our soonest leisure,
Will give them hearing. Have you especial care

too,

That free access be granted unto all
Petitioners. The moining wears. Pray you on,

sir ;
Time lost is ne'er recover'd.

[Exeunt all but Paulinus and Clean.

Paul. Did you note
The majesty she appears in t

Cle. Yes, my good lord ;
I was ravish'd with it.

Paul. And then, with whac speed
She orders her dispatches, not one daring
To interpose ; the emperor himself,
Without reply, putting in act whatever
She pleased to imposef upon him.

Cle. Yet there were some,
That in their sullen looks, rather confess'd
A forced constraint to serve her, than a will
To be at her devotion : what are they 1

Paul. Eunuchs of the emperor's chamber, that

repine

The globe and awful sceptre should give place
Unto the distaff, for as such they whisper
A woman's government, but dare not yet
Express themselves.

Cle. From whence are the ambassadors
To whom she promised audience 1

Paul. They are

Employ'd by divers princes, who desire
Alliance with our emperor, whose years now,
As you see, write him man. One would advance
A daughter to the honour of his bed ;

Paul. Sir, it ttahers, &c.] A monosyllable has dropt out
here. I have inserted A't'r the most innocent one that
occurred to me.

t She pleased to impoe] It, which the modern editor*
insert before pleased, was admitted without authority, and
indeed without necessity.

SCENE JI.l

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

1*7

A second, his fair sister: to instruct you

In the particulars would ask longer time

Than my own designs give way to. 1 have letters

From special friends of mine, that to my care

Commend a stranger virgin, whom this morning

I purpose to present before the princess :

If you please, you may accompany me.

Cle. I'll wait on you. [Exeunt.

SCENE 11. Another Room in the same.
Enter the Informer, with Officers bringing in the Pro-
jector, the Minion of the Suburbs, and the Master
of the Habit and Manners.

Infor. Why should you droop, or bang your

working heads ?

No danger is meant to you ; pray bear up :
For aught I know, you are cited to receive
Preferment due to your merits.

Pro/. Very likely :

In all the projects I have read and practised,
I never found one man compell'd to come
Before the seat of justice under guard,
To receive honour.

Infor. No ! it may be, you are
The first example. Men of qualities,
''As I have deliver'd you to the protectress,
Who knows how to advance them, cannot conceive
A fitter place to have their virtues publish'd,
Than in open court. Could you hope that the

princess,

Knowing your precious merits, will reward them
In a private corner? No ; you know not yet
How you may be exalted.

AJ in. To the gallows.

Infor. Fie !

Nor yet depress'd to the gallies : in your names
You carry no such crimes: your specious titles
Cannot but take her -.President of the Projectors !
What a noise it makes ! The Master of the Habit*
How proud would some one country be that I know,
To be your first pupil* ! Minion of the Suburbs,
And now and then admitted to the court,
And honour'd with the style of Squire of Damesf !
What hurt is in it ? One thing I must tell you,
As I am the state-scout, you may think me an in-
former.

Mast. They are synonymaf.

The Matter of the Habit '

How proud would some one country be that I know,
To be your first pupilt]" Still harping upon England,
which, at the time these scenes are supposed to have taken
place, was struggling with a few " naked Picts" for wolves

t And honoured with the style of Squire of Dames !] This
seems to have been a cant term, with our old dramatists,
for a pander, in allusion probably to his designation. The
.Squire o' Dames is a personage of great respectability in the
Faerie Queene, from whence, as Mr. Cilchrist observes to
me, Massingcr derived the appellation. In Book III.
Canto vii. Stanza 53, " he is dispatched by liis mistress, to
relieve distressed damsels during the space of a twelvemonth.
This injunction he happily performs, and returns with three
hundred proofs of his prowess and success; his capricious
fair one then forbids him her prescence until he can find as
many other ladies,

The which, for all the suit he could propound,

Would him refuse their pledges to afford,
But did abide for ever chaste and sound."

" After straying three years, and endeavouring with all
his might to effect the purpose of his mission, he acknow-
ledges to Satyrane (miserabile dictu'.J that he had found
but th.ve !" The story, as Warton has observed, is copied
from Ariosto's host's Tale, c. 28.

J Min. They are synonyma.l The modern editori have

Infor. Conceal nothing from her
Of your good parts, 'twill be the better for you ;
Or if you should, it matters not ; she can conjure.
And I am her nbi(|uitary spirit,
Hound to obey her: you have my instructions ;
Stand by, here's better company.

Enter PAULINUS, CLEON, and ATHENAIS with a petition

Athen. Can [ hope, sir,
Oppressed innocence shall find protection
And justice among strangers, when my brothers.
Brothers of one womb, by one sire begotten,
Trample on my afflictions ?

Paul. Forget them,
Remembering those may help you.

Athen. They have robb'd me
Of all means to prefer my just complaint,
With any promising hope to gain a hearing,
Much less redress : petitions not sweetened
With gold, are but unsavory, oft refused;
Or, if received, are pocketed, not read.
A suitor's swelling tears by the glowing beams
Of choleric authority are dried up
Before they fall, or, if seen, never pitied.
What will become of a forsaken maid I
My flattering hopes are too weak to encounter
With my strong enemy, despair, and 'tis
In vain to oppose her.

Cle. Cheer her up ; she faints, sir.

Paul. This argues weakness; though your bro-
thers were

Cruel beyond expression, and the judges
That sentenced you, corrupt; you shall find here
One of you own fair sex to doyou right,
Whose beams of justice, like the sun, extend
Their light and heat to strangers, and are not
Municipal or confined.

Athen. Pray you, do not feed me
With airy hopes ; unless you can assure ma
The great Pulcheria will descend to hear^
My miserable story, it were better
I died without the trouble.

Paul. She is bound to it
By the surest chain, her natural inclination
To help the afflicted ; nor shall long delays
More terrible to miserable suitors
Than quick denials, grieve you. Dry your fair eyes ;
This room will instantly be sanctified
With her hless'd presence ; to her ready hand
Present your grievances, and rest assured
You shall depart contented.

Athen. You breathe in me
A second life.

Infor. Will your lordship please to hear
Your servant a few words ?

Paul. Away, you rascal !
Did I ever keep such servants ?

Infor. If your honesty
Would give you leave, it would be for your profit.

Paul. To make use of an informer ! tell me, in

what
Can you advantage me ?

ignorantly corrupted this into synonymous ; but synonyma
was the word in use in Massinger's time.
Thus Jonson :

" Where lately harbom'd many a famous whore,
A purging bill, now fix'd upon (he door,
Tells you it is a hoi-house : so it may,
And still be a whore-house ; they're synar.yma."

pig. vii.

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

[Act I.

Infer. In the first tender
Of a fresh suit never begg'd yet.

Pant. What's your suit, sir?

l.T/rtr Tis feasible : here are three arrant knaves
Discovered by my art.

Paul. And thou the archknave :
I'he great devour the less.

In/or. And with good reason ;
I must eat one a month, I cannot live else.

Paul. A notable cannibal ! but should I bear thee,
In what do your knaves concern me 1

Infor. In the begging
Of their estates.

Paul. Before they are condemn'd ?

Inftrr. Yes, or arraing'd ; your lordship may

speak too late else*.

They are your own, and I will be content
With the fifth part of a share.

Paul. Hence, rogue !

Infor. Such rogues

In this kind will be heard and cherish'd too.
Fool that 1 was, to offer such a bargain
To a spiced-conscience chapman ! but I care not ;
What he disdains to taste, others will swallow.

Loud music. Enter THEODOSIUS, PULCHERIA, ARCA-
DIA, FLACCILLA, Patriarch, PHILANAX, TIMANTUS,
CHBYSAPIUS, GRATIANUS, and Attendants.

Cle. They are returned from the temple.

Paul. See she appears ;
What think you now ?

Athen. A cunning painter thus,
Her veil ta'en off, and awful sword and balance
Laid by, would picture Justice.

Pul. When you please,
You may intend those royal exercises
Suiting your birth and greatness : I will bear
The burthen of your cares, and, having purged
The body of your empire of ill humours,
Upon my knees surrender it.

Chry. Will you ever
Be awed thus like a boy?

Grat. And kiss the rod
Of a proud mistress ?

Tim. Be what you were born, sir.

Phil. Obedience and majesty never lodged
In the same inn.

Theod. No more ; he never learn'd
\t Tight way to command, that stopp'd his ears
1' j Aise directions.

Pul. Read o'er the papers
I left upon my cabinet, two hours hence
I will examine you.

Flac. We spend our time well !
Nothing but praying and poring on a book.
It ill agrees with my constitution, sister,

Arcad. \Vould I had been born some masking-

lady's woman,
Only to see strange sights, rather than live thus !

Yet , or arraitjn'd ; your lordship may tpealt too late
else.] This is a severe sarcasm on the avidity of the courti-
ers in Massinger's time ; unfortunately too, it is just. The
estates of many condemned persons were begged with scan-
dalous precipitation by the favourites of the day, and, what
to worse, were justly suspected, in more than one instance,
it have constituted the principal part of the crime for which
the possessors guttered :

" Sir, yon are rich ; besides, you kuow what you
Have got by your ward's death : I fear yon will
Be beys' d at court." The Witt.

Flac. We are gone, forsooth ; there is no remedy,
sister. [Exeunt Arcadia and Fiaccilla.

Grat. What hath his eye found out?
Tim. 'Tis fix'd upon
That, stranger lady.

Chry. 1 am glad yet, that
He dares look on a woman.

[All this time the Inftrrmer is kneeling to Pul-

cheria, and delivering papert.
Theo. Philanax,
What is that comely stranger ?
Phil. A petitioner.
CAn/. Will you hear her case, and dispatch her in

your chamber ?
I'll undertake to bring her.

Theo. Bring me to

Some place where I may look on her demeanour :
'Tis a lovely creature !

Chry. There's some hope in this yet.

[Flourish. Exeunt Theodosius, Patriarch,
Philanax, Timantus, Chrysapius, and Gro-
tiauus.

Pul. No : you have done your parts.

Paul. Now opportunity courts you.
Prefer your suit.

Athen. As low as misery
Can fall, for proof of my humility,
A poor distressed virgin bows her head,
And lays hold on your goodness, the last altar
Calamity can fly to for protection,
Great minds erect their never-falling trophies*
On the firm base of mercy ; but to triumph
Over a suppliant, by proud fortune captived,
Argues a bastard conquest : 'tis to you
1 speak, to you, the fair and just Pulcheria,
The wonder of the age, your sex's honour ;
And as such, deign to hear me. 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.

Pul. If you were

A subject of the empire, which your habit
In every part denies

Athen. O, fly not to
Such an evasion ! whate'er I am,
Being a woman, in humanity

You are bound to right me. Though the difference
Of my religion may seem to exclude me [fined ;
From your defence, which you would have con-
The moral virtue, which is general.
Must know no limits. By these blessed feet,
That pace the paths of equity, and tread boldly
On the stiff neck of tyrannous oppression,
By these tears by which I bathe them, I conjure you
With pity to took on me !

Pul. Pray you, rise :

And, as you rise, receive this comfort from me.
Beauty, set off with such sweet language, never
Can want an advocate, and you must bring
More than a guilty cause if you prevail not.
Some business long since thought upon dispatch 'd,

* Great minds erect their never-falling trophifs] Ne-
ver-falling is the reading of the old copies, and should
not be changed. Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason exhibit never-
Jailing.

SCENE II.]

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

289

You shall have hearing, and, as far as justice
Will warrant me, my best aids.

Aihen, I do desire
No stronger guard ; my equity needs no favour.

. [Walks aside.

Pnl. Are these the men ?

Proj. We were, an't like your highness,
The men, the men of eminence, the mark,
And may continue so, if it please your grace.

Mast. This speech was well projected.

Put. Does your conscience,
I will begin with you, whisper unto you
What here you stand accused of? Are you named
The President of Projectors ?

Infer. Justify it, man,
And tell her in what thou'rt useful.

Proj. That is apparent ;
And if you please, ask some about the court,
And they will tell you, to my rare inventions
They owe their bravery, perhaps means to purchase,
And cannot live without me. I, alas !
Lend out my labouring brains to use, and sometimes
For a drachma in the pound, the more the pity.
I am all patience, and endure the curses
Of many, for the profit of one patron.

Put. I do conceive the rest. What is the second?

Jnfor. The Minion of the Suburbs.

Put. What hath he
To do in Constantinople ?

Men. I steal in now and then,
As I am thought useful ; marry, there I am call'd
The Squire of Dames, or Servant of the Sex,
And by the allowance of some sportful ladies,
Honour'd with that title.

Pul. Spare your character, [peer.

You are here decipher'd : stand by with your com-
What is the third? a creature I ne'er heard of:
The Master of the Manners and the Habit !
You have a double office.

Mast. In my actions
I make both good; for by my theorems,
Which your polite and terser gallants practise,
I re-refine the court*, and civilize
Their barbarous natures. I have in a table,
With curious punctuality, set down,
To a hair's breadth, how low a new-stamp'd courtier
May vailf to a country gentleman, and by
Gradation, to his merchant, mercer, draper,
His linen-man, and tailor.

Pi</. Pray you, discover
This hidden mystery.

Mast. If the foresaid courtier
(As it may chance sometimes) find not his name
Writ in the citizens' books, with a state hum
He may salute them after three days' waiting ;
But, if he owe them money, that he may
Preserve his credit, let him in policy never
Appoint a day of payment, so they may hope still:
But, if he be to take up more, his piige
May attend them at the gate, and usher them
Into his cellar, and when they are warm 'd with wine,
Conduct them to his bedchamber ; and though then
He be under his barber's hands, as soon as seen,
He must start up to embrace them, vail thus low ;

*J re-refine the court,} So the old copy: the modern edi-
tors read, / refine the court, which destroys at once the hu-

luour and the metre.

how tow a new-stamp'd courtier

May vail to a country gentleman,} i. e. bow ; the word
occurs again, in the same sense, a few lines below.

Nay, though he call them cousins, 'tis the better,
His dignity no way wroug'd in't.

Paul. Here's a fine knave !

Pul. Does this rule hold without exception, sirrah,
For courtiers in general ?

Mast. No, dear madam,
For one of the last edition ; and for him
I have composed a dictionary, in which
He is instructed, how, when, and to whom,
To be proud or humble; at what times of the year
He may do a good deed for itself, and that is
Writ in dominical letters ; all days else
Are his own, and of those days the several hours
Mark'd out, and to what use.

Pul. Show us your method ;
I am strangely taken with it.

Mast. 'Twill deserve
A pension, I hope. First, a strong cullis
In his bed, to heighten appetite ; shuttle-cock,
To keep him in breath when he rises : tennis courts
Are chargeable, and the riding of great horses [ones
Too boisterous for my young courtier ; let the old
I think not of, use it : next, his meditation
How to court his mistress, and that he may seem

witty,

Let him be furnish'd with confederate jests
Between him and h friend, that, on occasion, [garb
They may vent them mutually : what his pace and
Must be in the presence ; then the length of his sword
The fashion of the hilt what the blade is
It matters not ; 'twere barbarism to use it,
Unless to show his strength upon an andiron ;
Sc, the sooner broke the better.

Pul. How I abuse

This precious time ! Projector, I treat first
Of you and your disciples ; you roar out,
All is the king's, his will above his laws ;
And that fit tributes are too gentle yokes
For his poor subjects : whispering in his ear,
If he would have their fear, no man should dare
To bring a salad from his country garden,
Without the paying gabel* ; kill a hen,
Without excise : and that if he desire
To have his children or his servants wear
Their heads upon their shoulders, you affirm
In policy 'tis fit the owner should
Pay for them by the poll ; or, if the prince want
A present sum, he may command a city
Impossibilities, and for non-performance,
Compel it to submit to any fine
His officers shall impose. Is this the way
To make our emperor happy ? can the groans
Of his subjects yield him music ? must his thresholds
Be wash'd with widows' and wrong'd orphans' tears,
Or his power grow contemptible?

Pny. I begin
To feel myself a rogue again.

Pul. But you are

The squire of dames, devoted to the service
Of gamesome ladies, the hidden mystery
Discover'd, their close bawd, thy slavish breath
Fanning the fire of lust ; the go-between
This female and that wanton sir ; your art

no man should dare

To bring a taladfrom his country garden,
Without the paying gabel ; &c.J This spirit of imposition
is well touched on by fionne :

" shortly, boys shall not play

At span-counter, or blow-point, but hall pay

Toll to some cou-tier." oat. IV.

S90

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

[Acrl.

Can blind a jealous husband, and. disguised

Like a milliner or shoemaker, convey

A letter in a pantofle or glove,

Without suspicion, nay, at his table,

In a case of picktooths ; you instruct them how

To parley with their eyes, and make the temple

A mart ot'looseness : to discover all

Y<mr subtile brokages, were to teach in public

Those private practices which are, in justice,

Severely to be punished.

Mm. 1 am cast :
A jury of my patronesses cannot quit me.

Put. \ ou are master of the mariners and the habit ;
Rather the scorn of such as would live men,
And not, like npe.s, with servile imitation
Studv prodigious fashions. You keep
Intelligence abroad, that may instruct
Our giddy youth at home what new-found fashion
Is now in use, swearing he's most complete
That first turns monster. Know, villains, I can

thrust

This arm into your hparts, strip off the flesh
That covers your deformities, and show you
In your own nakedness. Now, though the law
Call not your follies death, you are for ever
Banisli'd mv brother's court. Away with them;
1 will hear no reply.

[Exeunt Informer, and Officers ivith the Projected,
Minimi "/' the Suburbs, and Master of the Hatfit
mi i Manners.

Enter abnvf THEODOSIUS, PIITLANAX, TIMANTCS,
CHHYSAPIUS, and GRATIANUS.

Paul. What think you now ?

Cle. That 1 am in a dream ; or that I see
A second I'allas.

Put. These removed, to you

I clear my brow. Speak without fear, sweet maid,
Since, with n mild aspect, and ready ear,
I sit prepared to hear you.

Athen. Know, great princess,
My father, though a pagan, was admired
For his deep search into those hidden studies,
Whose knowledge is denied to common men-
The motion, witu the clivers operations
Of the superior bodies, by his long
And careful observation were made
Familiar to him; all the secret virtues
Of plants and simples, and in what degree
They were useful to mankind, he could discourse

of:

In a word, conceive him as a prophet honour'd
In his own country. Hut being born a man,
It lay not in him to defer the hour
Of his approaching death, though long foretold :
In this so fatal hour he call'd before him
His txvo sons and myself, the dearest pledges
Lent him by nature, and with his right hand
Blessing our r-eveial heads, he thus began

Chr\i. Mark his attention.

Phil. Give me leave to mark too.

Athen. If I could leave my understanding to you,
It were superfluous to make division
Of whatsoever rise 1 can bequeath you;
liut. to avoid contention, I allt
An equal portion oj my possessions
To you, my sois ; but unto thee, my daughttr.

Mi/ joy, my darling ("pardon me, though I
Repeat his words), if mi] prophetic soul,
Ready to take her flight, can truly guess at
Thif future fate, I leave the* strange assurance
Of the greatness tliou art born, to, rinto which
Thy brothers shall be proud to paij their service :

Paul. And all men else, that honour beautv.

Theo. Umph!

Athen. Yet, to prepare thee for that certain fortune,
And that I muiij'rom present wants defend thee,
I leaie ten thousand crowns: which said, being call'd
To the fellowship of our deities, he expired,
And with him ail remembrance of the charge
Concerning me, left by him to my brothers.

Put. Did they detain your legacy?

Athen. And still do.
His ashes were scarce quiet in his urn,
When, in derision of my future greatness,
They thrust me out of doors, denying me
One short, night's harbour.

Pnl. Weep not.

Athen. I desire,

By your persuasion, or commanding power,
The restitution of mine own; or that,
To keep my frailty from temptation,
In your compassion of me, you would please,
I, as a handmaid, may be entertain'd
To do the meanest offices to all such
As are honour'd in your service.

Pul. Thou art welcome.
What is thy name ?

Athen. The forlorn Athenais.

Pul. The sweetness of thy innocence strangely
takes me. [Takes her up, and kisses her*

Forget thy brothers' wrongs ; for I will be
In my care a mother, in my love a sister to thee ;
And, wero it possible thou couldst be won
To be of our belief

Paul. May it please your excellence,
That is an easy task; I, though no scholar,
Dare undertake it ; clear truth cannot want
Rhetorical persuasions.

Pul. ' J'is a work,
My lord, will well become you. Break up the

court :
May your endeavours prosper !

Paul. Come, my fair one ;
I hope, my convert.

Athen. Never : I will die
As I was born.

Paul. Better you ne'er had been. [Exeunt.

Phil. What does your majesty think of 1

The maid's gone.

Theo. She's wondrous fair, and in her speech

appear'd
Pieces of scholarship.

Chry. Make use of her learning
And beauty together ; on my life she will be

proud
To be so converted.

Theo. From foul lust heaven guard me !

[Exeunt.

/ have the strange aimrance,] So

the old copy. The modern editors read J leave thee itrange
aixurancf : but the whole of this beautiful scene is vilely dis-
graced by numerous errors and omissions in both the last
editions.

SCENE I.]

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

191

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Room in the Palace.

Enter PHILANAX, TIMANTUS, CHHYSAPIUS, and
GRATIANUS.

Phil. We only talk, when we should do

Tim. I'll second you ;
Begin, and when you please.

Grat. Be constant in it.

Chry. That resolution which grows cold to-day,
Will freeze to-morrow.

Grat. 'Slight, I think she'll keep him
Her ward for ever, to herself engrossing
The disposition of all the favours
And bounties of the empire.

Chry. We, that, by

The nearness of our service to his person,
Should raise this man, or pull down that, without
Her license hardly dare prefer a suit,
Or if we do, 'tis cross'd,

Phil. You are troubled for

Your proper ends ; my aims are high and honest.
The wrong that's done to majesty I repine at :
I love the emperor, and 'tis my ambition
To have him know himself, and to that purpose
I'Jl run the hazard of a check.

Grot. And I
The loss of my place.

Tim. I will not come behind,
Fall what can fall.

Chry. Let us put on sad aspects,
To draw him on ; charge home, we'll fetch you off,
Or lie dead by you.

Enter THEODOSIUS.

Tlteo. How's this ? clouds in the chamber,
And the air clear abroad !

Ptdl. When you, our sun,

Obscure your glorious beams, poor we, that borrow
Our little light from you, cannot but suffer
A general eclipse.

Tim. Great sir, 'tis true ;
For, till you please to know and be yourself,
And freely dare dispose of what's your own,
Without a warrant, we are falling meteors,
And not fix'd stars.

Chry. The pale-faced moon, that should
Govern the night, usurps the rule of day,
And still is at the full in spite of nature,
And will not know a change.

Theo. Speak you in riddles?
I am no CEdipus.but your emperor,
And as such would be instructed.

Phil. Your command

Shall be obey'd : till now, I never heard you
Speak like yourself; and may that Power by which
You are so, strike me dead, if what ( shall
Deliver as a faithful subject to you,
Hath root or growth from malice, or base envy
Of your sister's greatness ! I could honour in her
A power subordinate to yours ; but not.
As 'tis, predominant.

Tim. Is it fit that she,

In her birth your vassal, should command the knees
Of such as should not bow but to yourself?

Grat. She with security walks upon the heads
Of the nobility ; the multitude,
As to a deity, offering sacrifice
For her grace and favour.

Chry. Her proud feet even wearied
With the kisses of petitioners.

Grat. While you,

To whom alone such reverence is proper,
Pass unregarded by her.

Tim. You have not yet
Been master of one hour of your whole life.

Chry. Your will and faculties kept in more awe
Than she can do hev own.

Phil. And as a bondman

(O let my zeal find grace, and pardon from you,
That I descend so low), you are design'd
To this or that employment, suiting well
A private man, I grant, but not a prince.
To be a perfect horseman, or to know
The words of the chase, or a fair man of arms,
Or to be able to pierce to the depth,
Or write a comment on the obscurest poets,
I grant are ornaments ; but your main scope
Should be to govern men, to guard your own,
If not enlarge your empire.

Chry. You are built up
By the curious hand of nature, to revive
The memory of Alexander, or by
A prosperous success in your brave actions,
To rival Caesar.

Tim. Rouse yourself, and let not
Your pleasures be a copy of her will.

Phil. Your pupilage is past, and manly actions
Are now expected from you.

Grat. Do not lose
Your subjects' hearts.

Tim. What is't to have the means
To be magnificent, and not exercise
The boundless virtue?

Graf. You confine yourself
To that which strict philosophy allows of,
As if you were a private man.

Tim. No pomp

Or glorious shows of royalty rendering it
Both loved and terrible.

Grut. 'Sli.lu ! you live, as it
Begets <-ome doubt, whether you have, or not,
The abilities of a man.

Chry. The firmament

Hath not more stars than there are several beauties
Ambitious at the height to impart their dear
And sweetest favours to you.

Grat. Yet you have not

Made choice of one, of all the sex, to serve you,
In a ph)>ical way of courtship.

Theo. But that 1 would not
Begin the expression of my being a man,
In blood, or stain the first white robe I wear
Of absolute power, with a servile imitation
Of any Uraniums habit, my just anger
Prompts me to make you. in your sufferings, feel,
And not in words to instruct you, that the license
Of tin- loose and saucy language you now practised
Hath forfeited your heads.

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

[Acr. II.

Graf. How's this !
Phil. 1 know not

What the play may prove, but I assure you that
I do not like the prologue.

Theo. O the miserable

Condition of a prince ; who, though he vary
More shapes than Proteus, in his mind and manners,
He cannot win an universal suffrage
From the many-headed monster, multitude!
Like .<Esop's foolish frogs, they trample on him
As a senseless block, if his government be easy ;
And, if he prove a stork, they croak and rail
Against him as a tyrant. I will put off
That majesty, of which you think I have
Nor use nor feeling ; and in arguing with you,
Convince you with strong proofs of common reason,
And not with absolute power, against which,

wretches,

You are not to dispute. Dar YOU, that are
My creatures, by my prodigal favours fashion'd,
Presuming on the nearness of your service,
Set off with my familiar acceptance,
Condemn my obsequiousness to the wise directions
Of an incomparable sister, whom all parts
Of our world, that are made happy in the knowledge
Of her perfections, with wonder gaze on ?
And yet you, that were only born to eat
The blessings of our mother earth, that are
Distant but one degree from beasts (since slaves
Can claim no larger privilege), that know-
No further than your sensual appetites,
Or wanton lusts, have taught you, undertake
To give your sovereign laws to follow that
Your ignorance marks out to him ! [Walk* by.

Grat. How were we
Abused in our opinion of his temper !

Phil. We had forgot 'tis found in holy writ,
That kings' hearts are inscrutable.

Tim. I ne'er read it ;
Mv study lies not that way.

'Phil. By his looks,
The tempest still increases.

Theo. Am I grown

So stupid in your judgments, that you dare,
With su< h security offer violence
To sacred majesty ? will you not know
The lion is a lion though he show not
His rending paws, or fill the affrighted air

With the thunder of his roarings ? You bless'd

saints,

How am I trenched on ! Is that temperance
So famous in your cited Alexander,
Or Roman Scipio, a crime in me ?
Cannot I be an emperor, unless
Your wives and daughters bow to my proud lusts 1
And, cause I ravish not their fairest buildings
And fruitful vineyards, or what is dearest, =
From such as are my vassals, must you conclude
I do not know the awful power and strength
Of my prerogative ? Am I close-handed,"
Because I scatter not among you that
I must not call mine own ? know, you court-leeches,
A prince is never so magnificent*

As when he's sparing to enrich a few

With the injuries of many. Could your hopes

So grossly flatter you, as to believe

I was born and train'd up as an emperor, only

In my indulgence to give sanctuary,

In their unjust proceedings, to the rapine

And avarice of my grooms?

Phil. In the true mirror
Of your perfections, at length we see
Our own deformities.

Tim. And not once daring
To look upon that majesty we now slighted

Chry. With our faces thus glued to the earth, we
beg

Your gracious pardon.

Grat. Offering our necks
To be trod on, as a punishment for our late
Presumption, and a willing testimony
Of our subjection.

Theo. Deserve our mercy
In your better life hereafter ; you shall find,
Though, in my father's life*, I held it madness
To usurp his power, and in my youth disdain'd not
To learn from the instructions of my sister,
I'll make it good to all the world I am
An emperor ; and even this instant grasp
The sceptre, my rich stock of majesty
Entire, no scruple wasted.

Phil. If these tears

I drop proceed not from my joy to hear this,
May my eyeballs follow them !

Tim. I will show myself,
By your sudden metamorphosis, transformed
From what I was.

Grat. And ne'er presume to ask
What fits not you to give.

Tfieo. Move in that sphere,

And my light with full beams shall shine upon you.
Forbear this slavish courtship, 'tis to me
In a kind idolatrous.

Phil. Your gracious sister.

Enter PULCHEBIA, and Servantf.

Pul. Has he converted her?
Serv. And, as such, will
Present her, when you please.
Pul. 1 am glad of it.

- know, you court-leechet,

A prince it never to magnificent

At whm he's tpariny to enrich, &c.] There is a peculiarity
in the use of this word, which cannot have escaped the
reader's notice. In Massinger it constantly stands for
tnunifici-nt, of which several instances have already oc
nirred : thus, in The Duke of Milan :

" Yet, not to take
From others to give only to myself,
I will not hinder your magnificence
To my commanders." Act III. Sc. I.
Again, in The Renegado :

" How !ike a royal merchant, to return
_ Yon great magnificence." Act. II. Sc. 4.
Again, in The Parliament of Love, Dinaut upon Novall'i
giving him his purse, exclaims,

" You are too magnifictnt." Act IV. Sc. 1.
And in several other places.

* Though in my father's life, I held it madnett
To usurp Ma power,] We must not look for any very
rigid adherence to dates in these historical dramas ; a few
prominent facts were generally seized on ; and if these were
distributed among the real actors, it was all the poet aimed
at, and all his audience expected. At the death of Arcadius,
Theodosius was a child of seven years old, and was more
likely to have passed his time in youthful games with the
women, lhau to have thought of dethroning "his father. At
the period of (his scene, he was in his twentieth year.
Pulcheria was two or three years older.

t Enter PULCHERIA, and Servant.] To the speeches of
the latter, Mar. is prefixed instead of Sen.; and the going
out is Exit Mart. There is no name of this kind among
the dramatis personse : perhaps it was that of the per
former.

SCENE I.]

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

293

Command my dresser to adorn her with
The robes that I gave order for.
Serv. I shall.

Put. And let those precious jewels I took last
Out of my cabinet, ift be possible,
Give lustre to her beauties ; and, that done,
Command her to be near us.

Serv. 'Tis a province
I willingly embrace. [Eaif.

Pul. (J my dear sir,

You have forgot your morning task, and therefore,
With a mother's love, I come to reprehend you ;
But it shall be gently.

Theo. 'Twill become you, though
You said, with reverend duty. Know hereafter,
If my mother lived in you, howe'er her son,
Like you she were my subject.
Put. How!
Theo. Put off

Amazement ; you will find it. Yet I'll hear you
At distance, as a sister, but no longer
As a governess, I assure you.
Grat. This is put home.
Tim. Beyond our hopes.
Phil. She stands as if his words
Had powerful magic in them.

Thro. Will you have me
Your pupil ever ! the down on my chin
Confirms I am a man, a man of men,
The emperor, that knows his strength.

Pul. Heaven grant
You know it not too soon !

Theo. Let it suffice

My wardship's out. If your design concerns us
As a man, and not a boy, with our allowance
You may deliver it.

Put. A strange alteration !
But I will not contend. Be as you wish, sir,
Your own disposer ; uncompell'd I cancel
yill bonds of my authority. [Kneels.

Theo. You in this

Pay your due homage, which perform'd, I thus
Embrace you as a sister; [Raises /!/.] no way

doubting

Your vigilance for my safety as my honour;
And what you now come to impart, I rest
Most confident, points at one of them.

Pul. At both ;

And not alone the present, but the future
Tranquillity of your mind ; since in the choice
Of her you are to heat with holy fires.
And make the consort of your royal bed,
The certain means of glorious succession,
With the true happiness of our human being,
Are wholly comprehended.

Theo. How ! a wife ?
Shall I become a votary to Hymen,
Before my youth hath sacrificed to Venus?
'Tis something with the soonest: yet, to show,
In things indifferent, I am not averse
To your wise counsels, let me first survey
Those beauties, that, in being a prince, I know
Are rivals for me. You will not confine me
To your election ; I must see, dear sister,
With mine own eyes.

Pul. 'Tis fit, sir. Yet in this,
You may please to consider, absolute princes
Have, or should have, in policy, less free will
Than such as are their vassals : for, you must,
As you are an emperor in this high business
22

Weigh with due providence* with whom alliantva
May be most useful for the preservation
Or increase of your empire.

Then. I approve not
Such compositions for our moral ends,
In n hat is in itself divine, nay, more,
Decreed in heaven. Yet, if our neighbour princes,
Ambitious of such nearness, shall present
Their dearest pledges to me (ever reserving
The caution of mine own content^, I will ncf
Contemn their courteous offers.

Pul. Bring in the pictures.

[Two pictures brought in.

Tlieo. Must I then judge the substances by the

shadows ?

The painters are most envious, if they want
Good colours for preferment : virtuous ladies
Love this way to be flattered, and accuse
The workman of detraction, if he had not
Some grace they cannot truly call their own.
Is't not so, Gratianus ? you may challeng*
Some interest in the science.

Grat. A pretender

To the art, 1 truly honour and subscribe
To your majesty's opinion,

Theo. Let me see [Reads.

Cleanthe, daughter to the king of Epire,
sEtatii sute, the fourteenth : ripe enough,
And forward too, I assure you. Let me examine
The symmetries. If statuaries could
By the foot of Hercules set down punctually
His whole dimensions, and the countenance be
The index of the mind'J this may instruct me,
With the aids of that I've read touching this sub-
ject,

What she is inward. The colour of her hair,
If it be, as this does promise, pale and faint,
And not a glistering white : her hrow, so so ;
The circles of her sight, too much contracted ;
Juno's fair cow-eyes by old Homer are
Commended to their merit' : here's a sharp frost,
In the tip of her nose, which, by the length, assures me
Of storms at midnight, if I fail to pay her
The tribute she expects, i like her not :
What is the other ?

Chry. How hath he commenced
Doctor in this so sweet and secret art,
Without our knowledge-)-?

Tim. Some of his forward pages
Have robbed us of the honour.

* Juno's fair cow-eyes by old Homer are

Commended to their merit:] Massinger seems pleased
with this version of GowiriQ, lor lie has it in other places.
It is however so uncouth a translation, that, to use the lan-
guage of the author's time, the ladies, 1 suspect, " conned
him little thanks for it." Homer's peace is easily made :
we may venlureto affirm that in applying the epithet to liis
goddess, he thought as little of likening her ejes to a cow'?,
as to those of any other animal : lie merely meant large or
rather full eyes: 'Ojjjjpoc. fvSt^aQ^ai gaXo/ifJ'OC oif
titicav o^a\[j.oi ry Hpp icaXot re /uyaXot Tt,
BOQIIIN CIVTTJV fKaXeat. LIBAX. So the word
should be translated, and so, indeed, it is translated by
Beaumont and Fletcher in The Two Noble Kinsmen.

t Chry. How hath he commenced
Doctor in this so sweet and lecret art ;
Without our knowledge?} Thus Fletcher:

" Come, doctor Andrew, without disputation
Thou shall commence in the cellar." The Elder Brother.
This fondness lor the introduction of college language Ii,
been already noticed.

894

THE EMPEROR OF THE ESAT.

[Acr II.

Phil. No such matter
He has the theory only, not the practick*.

Theo. [reads.] Arnasia, sister to the Duke of Athens ;
Her age eighteen, descended lineally
From Theseus, as fti/ her pedigree
Will be made apparent. Of his lusty kindred,
And lose so much time! 'tis strange! as I live,
A philosophical aspect ; there is [she hath

More wit than beauty in her face ; and when
I court her, it must be in tropes, and figures,
Or she will cry, Absurdf ! she will have her

elenchsf

To cut oft' any fallacy I can hope
To put upon her, and expect I should
Ever conclude in syllogisms, and those true ones
In parte et toto ; or she'll tire me with
Her tedious elocutions in the praise of
The increase of generation, for which
Alone, the sport, in her morality,
Is good and lawful, and to be often practised
For fear of missing. Fie on't ! let the race
Of Theseus be match'd with Aristotle's :
I'll none of her.

Pul. You are curious in your choice, sir,
And hard to please ; yet, if that your consent
May give authority to it, I'll present you
With one that, if her birth and fortunes answer
The rarities^ of her body and her mind,
Detraction durst not tax her.

Theo. Let me see her.

Though wanting those additions, which we can
Supply from our own store : it is in us
To make men rich and noble ; but to give
Legitimate shapes and virtues does belong
To the great Creator of them, to whose bounties
Alone 'tis proper, and in this disdains
An emperor for his rival.

Pul. I applaud

This fit acknowledgment ; since princes then
Grow less than common men, when they contend
With him, by whom they are so.

Enter PAULINUS, CLEON, and ATHENAIS richly habited.
Theo. I confess it

* He htu the theory only, not the practick.] Mr. M.
Mason reads practice. All the copies that I have consulted,
and 1 have consulted several, concur in giving practick:
and this was the language of Massinger's age.

Or the will cry, Absurd .'] Theodosius is here got into
Ins logical phraseology. A bsurde facii, orabgurdecollims, is
a term nsud in disputation, when false conclusions are drawn
S-r m i.!j "PP " 6 " 1 ' 8 premises. The expression occurs in
J he hfder Brother : "Do they (i. e. " academics")
Do they know any thing but a tired hackney 7

A";!,"",' 1 &*!*? Absurd! as Ihe horse nnderstood them."
1 lit* 1 heobald calls nonsense : it is, however.the absurde facia
of the schools; and is meant to ridicule that perverse and
awkward pedantry which applies the language of art to the
trifling occurrences of common Hie.

She will have her clenchs] So the old copy : , poor
Coxeter, who seems to have forgotten his logick, as well as
his Greek, not knowing what to make of this word, altered
it to clenches! the most unfortunate term that he could have
chosen. Mr. M. Mason, very much to the credit of his
" accuracy," continued the blunder, of course; though how
a clench, of which the property is to fix or con/imf an ar-
gument, is to destroy it, he did not think proper to enquire.
Blench (from t\y^o>) is a sophistical refutation of a po-
ilioti maintained by an opponent.

< With one that, if her birth and fortune answer

The raritict, &c. | So read the old copies, and so reads

Coxeter : for answer Mr M. Mason, to spoil a pretty pas-

sage, chooses t'J print answer'd f but indeed he has cor-

rupted all this scene ; in the next speech, for our own itorg,

has our itore, which utterly subverts the melie.

Pul. Not to hold you in suspence, behold the

virgin,

Rich in her natural beauties, no way borrowing
The adulterate aids of art. Peruse her better j
She's worth your serious view.

Phil. 1 am amazed too :
I never saw her equal.

Grat. Plow bis eye
Is fix'd upon her !

Tim. And, as she were a fort
He'd suddenly surprise, he measures her
From the bases to the battlements.

Chry. Ha! now I view her better,
I know her ; 'tis the maid that not long sine*
Was a petitioner ; her bravery
So alters her, 1 had forgot her face

Phil. So has the emperor.

Paul. She holds out yet,
And yields not to the assault.

Cle. She's strongly guarded
In her virgin blushes.

Paul. When you know, fair creature,
It is the emperor that honours you
With such a strict survey of your sweet parts,
In thankfulness you cannot but return
Due reverence for the favour.

Athen. I was lost

In my astonishment at the glorious object,
And yet rest doubtful whether he expects,
Being more than man, my adoration,
Since sure there is divinity about him :
Or will rest satisfied, if my humble knees
In duty thus bow to him.

Theo. Ha ! it speaks.

Pul. She is no statue, sir.

Theo. Suppose her one,

And that she had nor organs, voice, nor heat,
Most willingly 1 would resign my empire,
So it might be to aftertimes recorded
That I was her Pygmalion ; though like him,
I doted on my workmanship, without hope too
Of having Cytherea so propitious
To my vows or sacrifice, in her compassion
To give it life or motion.

Put. Pray you, be not rapt so,
Nor borrow from imaginary fiction
Impossible aids: she's flesh and blood, I assure you :
And if you please to honour her in the trial,
And be your own security, as you'll find
I fable not, she comes in a noble way
To be at your devotion.

Chry. 'Tis the maid

I offer'd to your highness; her changed shape
ConceaFd her from you.

Theo. At the first I knew her,
And a second firebrand Cupid brings, to kindle
My flames almost put out: I am too cold,
And play with opportunity. May I taste then
The nectar of her lip? [/usses her.~\ I do not

give it

The praise it merits : antiquity is too poor
To help me with a simile to express her :
Let me drink often from this living spring,
To nourish new invention.

PuL Do not surfeit
fn over-greedily devouring that
Which may without satiety fenst you often.
From the moderation in receiving them.
The choicest viands do continue pleasing
To the most curious palates. If you think her

SctNE I.I

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

295

Worth your embraces, and the sovereign title

Of the Grecian Empress

Theo. If ! how much you sin,
Only to doubt it; the possession of her
Makes all that was before most precious to me,
Common and cheap: in this you've shown yourself
A provident protectress. I already
Grow weary of the absolute command
Of my so numerous subjects, and desire
No sovereignty but here, and write down gladly
A period to my wishes.

Pul. Yet, before

It be oo late, consider her condition ;
Her father was a pagan, she herself
A new-converted Christian.

Theo. Let me know

The man to whose religious means I owe
So great a debt

Paul. You are advanced too high, sir,
To acknowledge a beholdingness ; 'tis discharged,
And I bevond my hopes rewarded, if
My service please your majesty.

Theo. Take this pledge
Of our assured love. Are there none here
Have suits to prefer ? on such a day as this

Mv bounty's without limit. O my dearest!

I will not hear thee speak ; whatever in
Thy thoughts is apprehended, I grant freely :
Thou wouldst plead thy unworthiness. By thyself,
The magazine of felicity, in thy lowness
Our eastern queens, at their full height, bow to thee,
And are, in their best trim, thy foils ana siiadows !
Excuse the violence of my love, which canno:
Admit the least delay. Command the patriarch
\Viih speed to do his holy office for us,

That, w hi n we are made one

/*((/. You must forbear, sir ;
She is not yet baptized.
Theo. In the same hour

In which she is confirmed in our faith.
We mutually will give away each other,
And both be gainers ; we'll hear no reply
That may divert us. On.

Pul. You may hereafter
Please to remember to whose furtherance
You owe this height of happiness.

Athen. As I was

Your creature when I first pe'.ition'd you,
I will continue so, and you shall find me,
Though an empress, still your servant.

[All go off* but 'Philanax Gratianut, and
Timantus.

Grat. Here's a marriage
Made up o* the sudden !

Phil. I repine not at

The fair maid's fortune, though I fear the princess
Had some peculiar end in't.

Tim. Who's so simple
Only to doubt it?

Grat. It is too apparent ;
She hath preferr'd a creature of her own,
By whose means she may still keep to herself
The government of the empire.

Tim. Whereas, if

The emperor had espoused some neighbour queen,
Pulcheria, with all her wisdom, could not
Keep her pre-eminence.

Phil. Be it as it will,

'Tis not now to be alter'd. Heaven, I say,
Turn all to the best !

Grat. Are we come to praying again '.'

Phil. Leave thy profaneness.

Grut. Would it would leave mef!
I am sure I thrive not by it.

Tim. Come to the temple.

Grat. Even where you will I know not what to
think on't. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE T. A Room in the Palace.
Enter PAUMNUS and PHILANAX.

Pmd. Nor this, nor the age before us, ever

look'd on
The like solemnity.

Phil. A sudden fever

Kept me at home. Pray you, my lord, acquaint me
With the particulars.

Paul You may presume
No pomp nor ceremony could be wanting,
Where there was privilege to command, and means
To cherish ran- inventions.

Phil. I believe it;
Bur the sum of all in brief.

Paul. Pray you, so take it :
Fair Athenais, not long since a suitor,
And utmost in her hopes forsaken, first
Was christen'd, and the emperor's mother's name,
Eudocia. as he will'd, imposed upon her;
Pulcheria, thf ever-matchless princess,
Assisted by her reverend aunt Maria,
Her gidmothers.

Phil. And who the masculine witness}?

Paul. At the new empress' suit, I had the honour ;
For which I must ever serve her.

Phil. 'Twas a grace
With justice you may boast of.

All go off but Philanax, &c.] So the old copies. Coxeter,
to let " his reading and writing appear," translates it into
Latin an. I piints. X//exit but Philanax, &c., and the most
correct of editors follows him !

t Would it would leave me !] So the old copy : the
modern <-ditors, without regard to sense or metre, read,
If'ould it leave me

% I'hil. And who the masculine witness T And who the
male, tponinr .' So the word is frequently twd by our
author iind I is contemporaries, in ridicule, as it should seem,
of the puritans. Tim- Jonson :

" And that, as puritans at baptism do, 4

Thou art the father and the ttilnea too." Epig. 4.
Again :

Quar. His Christian-name is Zeal-of-the-land T

l,it. Yes, sir, Zeal-of-the-land Busy.

II in-ii . How ! what a name's there !

Lit. O, they have all such names, sir: he was ttitnru tot
Win, here, l"hey will not be called godfather*.

Bartholomew fair.

296

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

[Acr III.

Paul. The marriage follow'd ;
And, as 'tis said, the emperor made bold
To turn the day to night ; for to bed they went
As soon as they had (lined, and there are wagers
Laid by some merry lords, he hath already
Begot a boy upon her.

Phil. That is yet

To be determined of; but I am certain
A prince, so soon in his disposition alter'd.
Was never heard nor read of.

Paul. But of late,

Frugal and sparing, now nor bounds nor limits
To his magnificent bounties. He affirm'd,
Having received more blessings by his empress
Than he could hope, in thankfulness to heaven
He cannot be too prodigal to others.
Whatever's ofier'd to his roy.il hand,
He signs without perusing it.

Phil. I am here

Enjoin'd to free all such as lie for debt,
The creditors to be paid out of his coffers.

Paul. And I all malefactors that are not
Convicted or for treason or foul murder;
Such only are excepted.

Phil. Tis a rare clemency !

Paul. Which we must not dispute, but put in
practice. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. Another Room in the tame.

Loud Music. Shouts within: Heaven preserve the
Emperor! Heaven bless the Empress! Then
enter in state , the Patriarch, CIIRYSAI-IUS, PAUII-
NUS, THEODOSIUS, EUDOCIA, PULCHERIA ; ARCADIA
and FLACCILLA, bearing up EUDOCIA'S train ; followed
by PHILANAX, GHATIANUS, nut TiMANlWh Several
Suitors present petitions to the Emperor, which he
seals.

Paul. Sir, by your own rules of philosophy ,
You know things violent last not. Royal bounties
Are great and gracious, while they are dispensed,
With moderation ; but, when their excess
*- giving giant-bulks to others, takes from
The prince's just proportion, they lose
The name of virtues, and, their natures changed,
Grow the most dangerous vices.

Theo. In this, sister,

Your wisdom is not circular*; they that sow
In narrow bounds, cannot expect in reason
A crop beyond their ventures : what I do
Disperse, I lend, and will with usury
Return unto my heap. I only then
Am rich and happy (though my coffers sound
With emptiness) when my giad subjects feel
Their plenty and felicity is my gift ;
And they will find, when they with cheerfulness
Supply not my defects, I being the stomach
To the politic body of the state, the limbs
Grow suddenly faint and feeble : I could urge
Proofs of more fineness in their shape and language,
But none of greater strength. Dissuade me not ;
What we will, we will do ; yet, to assure you
Your care does not offend us, for an hour
Be happy in the converse of my best
And dearest comfort. May you please to license
My privacy some few minutes ?

Theo. In f Ait, titter,

Your ititdom it not circular;] A pedantic expression
worthy of Johnson : Your wisdom is nut fit 1 1 and perfect.

Eud. License, sir !

I have no will but is derived from yours,
And that still waits upon you ; nor can I
Be left with such security with any
As with the gracious princess, who receives
Addition, though she he all excellence,
In being styled your sister.

Theo. O sweet creature !
Let me be censured fond, and too indulgent,
Nay, though they say uxorious, I care not
Her love and sweet humility exact
A tribute far above my power to pay
Her matchless goodness. Forward.

[Flourish. Exeunt all but Pulcheria, Eudocia,
Arcadia, and Flaccilla.']

Pul. Now you find

Your dying father's prophecy, that foretold
Your present greatness, to the full accomplished,
For the poor aids and furtherance I lent you
I willingly forget.

Eud. Even that binds me
To a more strict remembrance of the favour ;
Nor shall you, from my foul ingratitude,
In any circumstance, ever find cause
To upbraid me with your benefit.

Pul. I believe so.
Pray you give us leave : [Arcadia and Flaccilla walk

uiide.] What now I must deliver
Under the deepest seal of secrecy,
Though it be for your good, will give assurance
Of what is look'd for, if you not alone
Hear, but obey my counsels.

Eud. They must be

Of a strange nature, if with zealous speed
I put them not in practice.

Pul. "T were impertinence
To dwell on circumstances, since the wound
Requires a sudden cure ; especially
Since you, that are the happy instrument
Elected to it, though young, in your judgment
Write far above your years, and may instruct
Such as are more experienced.

End. Good madam,
In this 1 must oppose you : I am well
Acquainted with my weakness, and it will not
Become your wisdom, by which I am raised
To this titulary height, that should correct
The pride and overweening of my fortune,
To play the parasite to it, in ascribing
That merit to me, unto which 1 can
Pretend no interest : pray you, excuse
My bold simplicity, and to my weight
Design me where you please, and you shall find,
In my obedience, 1 am still your creature.

Pul. 'Tis nobly answer'd, and I glory in
The building I have raised : go on, sweet lady,
In this your virtuous progress : but to the point.
You know, nor do I envy it, you have
Acquired that power which, not long since was mine,
In governing the emperor, and must use
The strength you hold in the heart of his affections,
For his private, as the public preservation,
To which there is no greater enemy
Than his exorbitant prodigality,
Howe'er his sycophants and flatterers call it
Royal magnificence ; and though you* may

and though you may} So the old copies,

and rightly : the modern editors read and thouylt he may ;
which absolutely destroys the author's meaning.

SOME II.]

THE EiMPEROR OF THE EAST.

297

Urge what's done for your honour must not be
Curb'd or controll'd bv you, you cannot in
Your wisdom but conceive, if that the torrent
Of his violent bounties be not stopp'd or lessen'd,
It will (.rove most pernicious. Therefore, madam,
Since 'tis your duty, as you are liis wife,
To five him saving- counsels, and in being
Almost his idol, may command him to
Take any shape you please, with a powerful hand
To stop him in his precipice to ruin

Eu>l. Avert it, heaven !

Put. Heaven is most gracious to you,
In choosing you to be the instrument
Of such a pious work. You see he signs
What suit soever is preferr'd, not once
Enquiring what it is, yielding himself
A prey to all ; I would, therefore, have you, lady,
As I know you will, to advise him, or command him,
As he would reap the plenty of your favours,
To use more moderation in his bounties;
And that, before he gives, he would consider
The what, to whom, and wherefore.

End. Do you think
Such arrogance, or usurpation rather,
Of what is proper and peculiar
To every private husband, and much more
To him, an emperor, can rank with the obedience
And duty of a wife? Are we appointed
In our creation (let me reason with you)
To rule, or to obey 1 or, 'cause he loves me
With a kind impotence, must I tyrannize
Over his weakness, or abuse the strength
With which he arms me, to his wrong? or, like
A prostituted creature, merchandize
Our mutual delight lor hire, or to
Serve mine own sordid ends? In vulgar nuptials
Priority is exploded, though there be
A difference in the parties ; and shall I,
His vassal, from obscurity raised by him
To this so eminent light, presume t' appoint him
To do, or not to do, this, or that? When wives
Are well accommodated by their husbands
With all things both for use and ornament,
Let them fix there, and never dare to question
Their wills or actions : for myself, I vow,
Though now my lord would rashly give away
His s.-eptre and imperial diadem,
Or if there could be any thing more precious,
I would not cross it: but 1 know this is
But a trial of my temper, and as such
I do receive it ; or, il't be otherwise,
You are so subtle in your arguments,
I dare not stay to hear them. [Offers to retire.

Pul. Is it even so ?

I have power o'er these yet, and command their stay,
To hearken nearer to me.

Arcad. \Ve are charged
By the emperor, our brother, to attend
The empress' service.

Flic. You are too mortified, sister
(With reverence I speak it), for young ladies
To keep your company. I am so tired
With your tedious exhortations, doctrines, uses,
Of your religious morality*,

* / am so tired

H'ith your tedious rrhiirtaliont, doctrines, uses,
Of your religious morality,] These lines stand thus in
Coxeti-r and M. Mason :

I am so tired

That, for my health's sake, I must take the freedom
To enjoy a little of those pretty* pleasures
That 1 was born to.

Arcad. When I come to your years,
I'll do as you do ; but, till then, with your pardon,
I'll lose no more time. I have not learn'd to dance

yet,
Nor sing, but holy hymns, and those to vile tunes

too ;

Nor to discourse but of schoolmen's opinions.
How shall i answer to my suitors, since, I hope,
Ere long I shall have many, without practice
To write and speak, something that's not derived
From the fathers of philosophy ?

Flue. We shall shame
Our breeding, sister, if we should go on thus.

Arcad. "Tis for your credit that we study
How to converse with men ; women with women
Yields but a barren argument.

Flac. She frowns

But you'll protect us, madam ?

End. Yes, and love
Your sweet simplicity.

Arcad. All young girls are so,
Till they know the way of itf.

Flac, But, when we are enter'd,
We shall on a good round pace.

End, I'll leave you, madam.

Arcad. And we our duties with you.

[Eietint Eudocia, Arcadia, and Flaccilla.

Pul. On all hands

Thus slighted ! no way left? Am I grown stupid
In my invention? can I make no use
Of the Emperor's bounties? Now 'tis thought:
within there !

Enter an Attendant.

Alt, Madam.

Pul. It shall be so : nearer ? your ear.
Draw a petition to this end.

Atl. Besides

The danger to prefer it, I believe
'Twill ne'er be granted.

Pul. How's this ! are you grown,
From a servant my director ? let me hear
No more of this. Dispatch ; [Exit Attendant."] I'll

master him
At his own weapon.

With your tedious exhortations, doctrine*,
Uses of your reliyious morality

To say nothing of the total disregard of metre.it is manifest
that the sense wa altogether overlooked.. Uses, which they
connect with the following words, is a distinct expression,
adopted, by our old dramatists, from the puritans, who usu-
sally divided their discourses into doctrines and uses; by
the former of which they meant the explanation of their
luhject, and by the latter, the practical inferences drawn
from it. Thus, in The Ordinary, by Carlwright: Andrew
tays :

" Here's no proofs,
No doctrines, nor no vses ; tutor, I
Would fain learn some religion."
And in The Magnetic Lady, by Jonson :
" The parson has an edifying stomach,
And a persuading palate, like his name ;
He hath begun three draughts of sack in doctrines,
And four in utes."

* To enjoy a little of those pretty pleasures] Pretty,
which completes the verse, is not to be found in Mr. M.
Mason.

t Arcad. All youru/ yirls are so.

'Till they know the icay of it.] i. e. simple. These two
lines, without which the next speech cannot be understood, are
wholly omitted in the " correctest of all editions," at'd se
veral other passages miserably mangled and corrupted, both
in the printing and pointing.

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

[Acr III.

Enter THEODOSIUS, PAULINUS*, PHILANAX, TIMAN-
TUS, and GUATIANUS.

Theo. Let me understand it,
If yet there be aught wanting that may perfect
A general happiness.

Paul. The people's joys
In seas of acclamations flow in,
To wait on yours.

Phil. Their love with bounty levied, '
Is a sure guard : obedience forced from fear,
Paper fortification, which, in danger,
Will yield to the impression of a red,
Or of itself fall off.

Theo. True, Philanax ;
And by that certain compass we resolve
To steer our bark of government.

Re-enter Attendant with the petition,

Pul. 'Tis well.

Theo. My dearest and my all-deserving sister
As a petitioner kneel ! It must not be.
Pray you, rise ; although your suit were half my

empire,
'Tis freely granted.

Pul. Your alacrity

To give hath made a beggar ; yet, before
My suit is by your sacred hand and seal
Confirm'd, 'tis necessary you peruse
The sum of my request.

Theo. We will not wrong
Your judgment in conceiving what 'tis fit
For you to ask, and us to grant, so much,
As to proceed with caution ; give me my signet :
With confidence I sign it, and here vow
By my father's soul, butf with your free consent,
It is irrevocable.

Tim. What if she now,
Calling to memory how often we
Have cross'd her government, in revenge hath made
Petition for our heads 1

Grat. They must even off then ;
No ransome can redeem us.

Theo. Let those jewels
So highly rated by the Persian merchants,
Be bought, and, as a sacrifice from us,
Presented to Eudocia, she being only
Worthy to wear them. I am angry with
The unresistible necessity
Of my occasions and important cares,
That so long keep me from her.

[Exeunt Theodosius, Paulinus, Philanax,

Timantus, and Grattanus.
Pul. Go to the empress,
And tell her, on the sudden I am sick,
And do desire the comfort of a visit,
If she please to vouchsafe it. From me use
Your humblest language [Exit Attendant.] but,

when once I have her
In my possession, I will rise and speak
In a higher strain : say it raise storms, no matter;
Fools judge by the event, my ends are honest.

Exit.

Enter THSODOSIUS. PACLINUS, &c.) All the copies read,
Enter Theodosius, Favorinus, &c.; but as this Favorinus
appears not in the list of dramatis persona:, nor in any
Mher part of the play, I have little doubt but that it is a
misprint for Paulinus, and have regulated the entrance ac
cordingly.

t but with your free content,

It it irrevocable.] i. e. except, unless with your free con
tent, &c.

SCENE 111. Another Rnom in the same.
Enter THEODOSIUS, TIMAMTUS, and PHILANAX.

Theo. What is become of her? Can she, that

carries

Such glorious excellence of light about her,
Be any where conceal'd ?

Phil. We have sought her lodgings,
And all we can learn from the servants, is,
She, by your majesty's sisters waited on,
The attendance of her other officers,
By her express command, denied

Theo. Forbear

Impertinent circumstances, whither went she?
speak.

Phil. As they guess, to the laurel grove.

Theo. So slightly guarded !
What an earthquake I feel in me ! and, but that
Religion assures the contrary,
The poets' dreams of lustful fauns and satyrs
Would make me fear I know not what.

Enter PAULINUS*.

Paul. I have found her,
An it please your majesty.

Theo. Yes, it cloth please me .
But why return'd without her'?

Paul. As she made

Her speediest approaches to your presence,
A servant of the princess's, Pulcheria,
Encounter'd her : what 'twas he whisper'd to her
I am ignorant : but hearing it, she started,
And will'd me to excuse her absence from you
The third part of an hour.

Theo. In this she takes
So much of my life from me ; yet, I'll bear it
With what patience I may, since 'tis her pleasure.
Go back, my good Paulinusf.and entreat her
Not to exceed a minute.

Tim. Here's strange fondness ! [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Another Room in the same.
Enter PULCHEIUA and SERVANTS.

Pul. You are certain she will come ?

1 Serv. She is already
Enter'd your outward lodgings.

Pul. No train with her'.'

1 Serv. Your excellence' sisters only.

Pul. Tis the better.

See the doors strongly guarded, and deny
Access to all, but with our special license ;
Why dost tliou stay ? show your obedience,
Your wisdom now is useless. [Exeunt Servants.

Enter EUDOCIA, AUCAOIA, and FLACCILLA.

Flac. She is sick, sure,
Or, in fit reverence to your majesty,
She had waited you at the door.

* Enter PAULINUS.] So the old copies. The modern editors
(it is impossible to say why) read, enter Favorinus, though
the servant, a little below, says,

" The prince Paulinus, madam,
Sent from the emperor," &c.

4 Go back, my good Paiiliniis,) Coxeterand M. Mason, in
consequence of their absurd depaiture from the old copies
and substitution of one name for another, are obliged to
omit good, and read, Go back, my Favorinus 1 Pudet,
jmiet.

SCENE IV.

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

S99

Arcad. "Twould hardly be [PulcJieria walking by.
Excused, in civil manners, to her equal :
But with more difficulty to you, that are
So far above her.

End. Not in her opinion ;

She hath been too long; accustom 'd to command,
To acknowledge a superior.

Arcad. There she walks.

Flac. If she be not sick of the sullens, I see not
The least infirmity in her.

Eud. This is strange !

A read. Open your eyes ; the empress.

Put. Reach that chair :
Now, sitting thus at distance, I'll vouchsafe
To look upon her.

Arcad. How, sister ! pray you, awake;
Are you in your wits 1

Flac. Grant, heaven, your too much learning
Does not conclude in madness !

End. You entreated
A visit from me.

Put. True, my servant used
Such language ; but now, as a mistress, I
Command your service.

Eud. Service !

Arcad. She's stark mad, sure.

Put. You'll find I can dispose of what's mine own,
Without a guardian.

Eud. Follow me. I will see you
When your frantic fit is o'er. 1 do begin
To be of your belief.

Put. It will deceive you.

Thou shalt not stir from hence : thus, as mine own,
I seize upon thee.

Flac. Help, help ! violence
Offer'd to the empress' person !

Pnl. Tis in vain :

She was an empress once, but, by my gift ;
Which being abused, I recall my grant.
You are read in story ; call to your remembrance
What the great Hector's mother, Hecuba,
Was to Ulysses, Ilium sack'd.

Eud. A slave.

Put. To me thou art so.

End. Wonder and amazement
Quite overwhelm me : how am I transformed ?
How have I lost my liberty? [Knocking within.

Put. Thou shalt know
Too soon no doubt.

Enter a Servant.

Who's that, that with such rudeness
Beats at the door ?

Serv. The prince Paulinus, madam ;
Sent from the emperor, to attend upon
The gracious empress.

Arcad. And who is your slave now ?

F'ac. Sister, repent in time, and beg a pardon
or your presumption.

Pul. It is resolved :

From me return this answer to Paulinus,
She shall not come ; she's mine ; the emperor hath
Ko interest in her. [Exit Servant.

Eud. Whatsoe'er I am,

Yen (ake not from your powei o'er me, to yield
A reason for this usage.

Pul. Though my will is
Sufficient, to add to thy affliction,
Know, wretched thing, 'tis not thy fate, but folly,
Hath made thee what thou art ; 'tis some delight

To urge my merits to one so ungrateful ;

Therefore with horror hear it. When thou wert

Thrust, as a stranger, from thy father's house,

Exposed to all calamities that want

Could throw upon thee, thine own brothers' scorn,

And in thy hopes, as by the world, forsaken,

My pity the last altar that was left, thee,

I heard thy syren chnrms, with feeling heard them,

And my compassion made mine eyes vie tears

With thine, dissembling crocodile ! and when queens

Were emulous for thy imperial bed,

The garments of thy sorrows cast aside,

I put thee in a shape* as would have forced

Envy from Cleopatra, had she seen thee.

Then, when I knew my brother's blood was warm 'd

With youthful fires, I brought thee to his presence ;

And how my deep designs, for thy good plotted,

Succeeded to my wishes, is apparent,

And needs no repetition.

Etui. I am conscious
Of your so manv and unequall'd favours;
But find not how I may accuse myself
For any facts committed, that, with justice,
Can raise your anger to this height against me.

Pul. Pride and forgetfulness would not let thee

see that,

Against which now thou canst not close thy eyes.
What injury, could be equal to thy late
Contempt of my good counsel? When I urged
The emperor's prodigal bounties, and entreated
That you would use your power to give them limits,
Or, at the least, a due consideration
Of such as sued, and for what, ere he sign'd it ;
In opposition, you brought against me
The obedience of a wife, that ladies were not,
Being well accommodated by tlieir lords,
To question, but much less to cross, their pleasures ;
Nor would you, though the emperor were resolved
To give away his sceptre, hinder it,
Since 'twas done for your honour ; covering, with
False colours of humility, your ambition.

Eud. And is this my offence ?

Pul. As wicked counsel
Is still most hurtful unto those that give it;
Such as deny to follow what is good,
In reason, are the first that must repent it.
When I please, you shall hear more ; in the mean

time,

Thank your own wilful folly, that hath changed you
From an empress to a bondwoman.

Tlieo. [within] Force the doors;
Kill those that dare resist.

Enter THEODOSIUS, PAULINUS, PHILANAX, CHHYSA-
PIUS and GRATIANUS.

Eud. Dear sir, redeem me.

Flac. O suffer not, for your own honour's sale,
The empress, you so late loved, to be made
A prisoner in the court.

Arcad. Leap to his lips,
You'll find them the best sanctuary.

Flac. And try then,
What interest my reverend sister hath
To force you from them.

Theo. What strange May-game's this?
Though done in sport, how ill this levity
Becomes your wisdom !

4 / put thee in a shape, &c.' i. e. a magnificent 'Jreti
habit. Alluding to her directions to the nervaut.

300

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

[Acr IV

Pul. I am serious, sir,

And have done nothing but what you in honour,
And as you are yourself an emperor,
Stand bound to justify.

Theo. Take heed ; put not these
Strange trials on my paiience.

Put. Do not you, sir,
Deny your own act: As you are a man,
And stand on your own bottom, 'twill appear
A childish weakness to nr-ike void a grunt
Sign'd by your sacred hand and seal, and strengthen'd

v ith a religious oath, but with mv license
Never to be tecull'd. For some few minutes
Let reaaon rule your passion, and in this

[Delivers the deed.

Be pleased to read my interest: you will find there,
What you in me call violence, is justice,
And that I may make use of what's mine own,
According to my will. 'Tis your own gift, sir ;
And what an emperor gives, should stand as firm
As the celestial poles upon the shoulders
Of Atlas, or his successor in that office,
The great Alcides.

T heo. Miseries of more weight
Thau 'tis fei^n'd they supported, fall upon me.
What hath my rashness done ! In this transaction,
Drawn in express and formal terms, I have
Given and consign'd into your hands, Jto use
And, observe, as you please my dear Eudocia !
It is my deed, I do confess it is,
And, as I am myself, not to be cancell'd :
But yet you may show mercy and you will,
When you consider that there is no beauty
So perfect in a creature, but is soil'd
With some unbeseeming blemish. You have la-

bour'd

To build me up a complete prince, 'tis granted ;
Yet, as I am a man, like other monarchs
I have defects and frailties ; my facility
To send petitioners with pleased looks from me,
Is all I can be charged with ; and it will
Become your wisdom (since 'tis in your power),
In charity to provide 1 fall* no further
Or in my oath, or honour.

Pul. Royal eir,

This was the mark I aim'd at, and I glory
At the length, you so conceive it : 'twas a weakness
To measure by your own integrity
The purposes of others. 1 have shown you,
In a true mirror, what fruit grows upon

The tree of hoodwink'd bounty, and what dangers
Precipitation, in the managing
Your great atfsirs, produceth.

Then. 1 embrace it

As a grave advertisement, and vow hereafter
Never to sign petitions at ibis rate.

Pul. For mine, see, sir, 'tis cancell'd , on my

knees
I re-deliver what I now begg'd from you.

[Tears the dee i.
She is my second gift*.

Theo. Which if I part from
Till death divorce us [fusses Eudocia

End. So, sir !

Theo. Nay, sweet, chide not,
I am punish'd in thy looks ; defer the rest,
Till we art- more private.

Pul. 1 a?k pardon too,
If, in my personated passion, I
Appear'd too harsh and rough.

End. 'Twas gentle language,
What I was then consider'd.

Pul. O, dear madam,
It was dei:orum in the scene.

End. This trial,

When I was Athenais, might have pass'd,
But as I am the empress

The:). Nay, no anger.
Since all good was intended.

[EfMnt Theodosius, Eudocia, Arcadia, and
Flaccilla.

Pnl. Building on
That certain base, I fear riot what can follow.

[Exit.

Paul These are strange dftv?~*s, Philanax.

Phil. True my lord.
May all turn to the best !

Grat. The emperor's looks
Promised a calm.

Chry. But the vex'd empress' frowns
Presaged a second storm.

Paul. I am sure 1 feel one
In my leg already.

Phil. Your old friend, the gout 1

Paul. My forced companion, Philanax.

Chry. To your rest. [diet,

Paul. Rest, and forbearing wine, with a temperate
Though many mountebanks pretend the cure oft,
I have found my best physicians.

Phil. Ease to your lordship. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A Room in the Palace.

Enter EUDOCIA and CunvsApius.
Eud. Make me her property !
Chry. Your Majesty

Hath just cause of distaste ; and your resentment
Of tho affront in the point of honour, cannot
But meet a fair construction.

J fall no further.] Here, as in several other place*, Mr.
M. Mason subslitutea fail (or fall, though the latter be mani-
festly the better word, and what is of more importance, the
lather's.

Eud. I have only

The title of an empress, but the power
Is by her ravish'd from me : she surveys
My actions as a governess, and calls
My not observing all that she directs,
Folly and disobedience.

Chry. Under correction,
With grief IVe long observed it ; and, if you
Stand pleased to sign my warrant, I'll deliver,

* Sheii my second gift] i. e. (though the mode of e.xprc.-
sion is rather iucorrecl,) she is now given to you by me
fecund time.

SCENE II.]

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

301

In my unfeign'd zeal and desire to serve you
(Howe'er I run the hazard of my head for't,
Should it arrive at the knowledge of the princess),
Wot alone the reasons why things are thus carried,
But give into your hands the power to clip
The wings of her command.

End. Your service this way
Cannot offend me.

Cry. Be you pleased to know then,
But still with pardon, if I am too bold.
Your too much sufferance imps the broken feathers
Which carry her to this proud height, in which
She with security soars, and still towers o'er you :
But if you would employ the strengths you hold*
In the emperor's affections, and remember
The orb you move in should admit no star else,
You never would confess, the managing
Of state affairs to her alone are proper,
And you sit by, a looker on.

F.ud. I would not,
If it were possible I could attempt
Her diminution, without a taint
Of foul ingratitude in myself.

Chry. In this

The sweetness of your temper does abuse you ;
And you call that a benefit to yourself.
Which she, for her own ends, conferr'd upon you.
'Tis yielded she gave way to your advancement :
But for what cause? that she might still continue
Her absolute swav and swing oYr the whole state j
And that she might to her admirers vaunt,
The empress was her creature, and the giver
To be preferr'd before the gift.

Eud. It may be.

Chry. Nay, 'tis most certain ; whereas, would you

please

In a true glass to look upon yourself,
And view, without detraction, your own merits,
Which all men wonder at, you would find that fate,
Without a second cause, appointed you
To the supretnest honour. For the princess,
She hath reign'd long enough, and her remove
Will make your entrance free to the possession
Of what vou were born to ; and, but once resolve
To build upon her ruins, leave the engines
That must be used to undermine her greatness,
To my provision.

Eud. I thank your care ;
But a design of such weight must not be
Rashly determined of; it will exact
A long and serious consultation from me.
In the mean time, Chrysapius, rest assured
I live your thankful mistress. [Exit.

Chry. Is this all ?

Will the physic that I minister'd work no further ?
I have play'd the fool; and, leaving a calm port,
Embark'd myself on a rough sea of danger.
In her silence lies my safety, which how can I
Hope from a woman ? but the die is thrown,
And I must stand the hazard. [Eaif.

SCENE II. /I Space before the Palace.

Enter THEODOSIUS, PHILANAX, TIMANTUS, GRATIA-
NI s, and Huntsmen.

Theo. Is Paulinus
So tortured with his gout ?

* But if you would employ the strengths j/ou hold, &c.]
For strenytht Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason aa I have already

Phil. Most miserably.
And it adds much to his affliction, that
The pain denies him power to wait upon
Your Majesty.

Theo. I pity him : he is
A wondrous honest man, and what he suffers,
I know, will grieve my empress.

rim. He, indeed, is
Much bound to her gracious favour.

Theo. He deserves it ;
She cannot find a subject upon whom
She better may confer it. Is the stag
Safe lodged ?

Graf. Yes, sir, and the hounds and huntsmen
ready.

Phil. He will make you royal sport. He is a deer
Of ten* at the least.

Enter a Countryman with an apple.

Grat. Whither will this clown?

Tim. Stand back.

Couiitr. I would zee the emperor; why should

you courtiers

Scorn a poor countryman ? we zweat at the plough
To vill your mouihs, you and your curs might starve

else :

We prune the orchards, and you cranch the fruit ,
Yet still y' are snarling at us.

Theo. What's the matter ?

Countr. I would look on ihy sweet face.

Tim. Unmannerly swain !

Countr. Zwain i though I am a z\vain, I have a

heart yet,

As ready to do service for my leegef,
As any princox peacock of you all.
Z .-.okers ! had 1 one of you zingle, with this twig
I would so veeze vou.

Tim. Will your mnjesty
Hear this rude language?

Theo. Yes. and hold it as
An ornament, not a blemish. O, Timantus,
Since that dread Power by whom we are, disdains

not

With an open ear to bear petitions from us ;
Easy access in us, his deputies,
To the meanest of our subjects, is a debt
Which we stand bound to pay.

Countr. liy my granam's ghost
'Tis a holesome zaying ! our vicar could not mend it
In the pulpit on a Zumlay.

Theo. What's thy suit, friend ?

Countr. Zute ! I would laugh at that. Let the

court beg from thee,

What the poor country gives : I bring a present
To thy good grace, which I can call mine own,

observed, constantly read ttrength ; which bears a very
different meaning. Strengths are strong holds, fortresses,
commanding positions, &c.

He is a deer

Often,} That is, a deer that has ten branches to his horn;,
which they have at three years old. M. MASON.

* At ready to do tereice for my leege.j This last word
Coxeter blundered into ley ; Mr. M. Mason copies him, but
shrewdly observes "liege is the word intended by the
speaker, but I suppose it is misspt It on purpose.'" I sup-
pose, in my turn, that this gentleman is a >ingul.ir instance
of criticizing a writer without looking at him ! of editing an
author without consulting the original in a single instance !
All the copies read as I have given it. In the next line,
both he and Coxeter absurdly separate princox (or, as they
choose to write it, priucock) from peacock, to which it it
the adjective.

302

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

[Acr IV.

And look not, like these gay volk, for a return
Of what they venture. Have 1 giv'n't you? ha!

Chry. A perilous knave.

Countr. Zee here a dainty apple.

[Presents the apple.

Of mine own grafting ; zweet and zound, I assure
thee.

Then. It is the fairest fruit I ever saw.
Those golden apples in the Hesperian orchards,
So strangely guarded* by th watchful dragon,
As they required great Hercules to get them ;
Or those with which Hippomenes deceived
Swift-footed Atalanla, when I look
On this, deserve no wonder. You behold
The poor man and his present with contempt ;
I to tlieir value priz.^ both : he that could
So aid weak nature by his care and labour, '
As to compel a crab-tree stock to bear
A precious fruit of this large size and beauty,
Would by his industry change a petty village
Into a populous city, and from that
Erect a flourishing kingdom. Give the fellow,
For an encouragement to his future labours,
Ten Attic talents.

Countr. I will weary heaven
\V ith my prayers for your majesty. [ Exit.

Theo. Philanax,

From me present this rarity to (he rarest
And best of women : when I think upon
The boundless happiness that from her flows to me,
In my imagination I am rapt
Beyond myself: but I forget our hunting.
To the forest, for the exercise of my body ;
But for my mind, 'tis wholly taken up
In the contemplation of her matchless virtues.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Room in the Palace.

Enter EUDOCIA, PULCIIERIA, ARCADIA, and
FLACCILLA.

Eud. You shall know there's a difference between
us.

Pvl. There was, I am certain, not long since,

when you

Kneel'd a petitioner to me : then you were happy
To be near my feet; and do you hold it, now,
As a disparagement, that I side you, lady ?

Eud. Since you respect me only as I was,
What I am shall be remember'd.

Pul. Does the means

I practised, to give good and saving counsels
To the emperor, and your new-stamped majesty,
Still stick in your stomach ?

Eud. 'Tis not. yet digested,
In troth it is not. Why, good governess,
Though you are held for a grand madam, and your-
self

The first that overprize it, I ne'er took
Your words for Delphian oracles, nor your actions
For such wonders as you make them : there is one,
When she shall see her time, as fit and able
To be made partner of the emperor's cares,
As your wise self, and may with justice challenge

So strangely guarded, &c.] Though strangely be some-
times used by our old w iters in the same sense here required,
yet I think we might venture to read, So strongly guarded.
I have, however, made no change.

A nearer interest. You have done your visit,
So, when you ]>lea>e, you may leave me.

Pul. I'll not bandy

Words with your mightiness, proud one ; only this,
Yon carry too much sail for your small bark,
And that, when you least think upon't, may sink
you. [Eiit.

Flac. 1 am glad she's gone.

Arcad. I lear'd she would have read
A tedious lecture to us.

Enter PHILANAX tvith the apple.

Phil. From the emperor,
T/iis rare fruit to the rarest.

Eud. How, my lord !

Phil. I use his language, madam ; and that trust,
Which he imposed on me, discharged, his pleasure
Commands my present service. [Exit.

End. Have you seen
So fair an apple ?

Flac. Never.

Arc id. If the taste
Answer the beauty.

Eud. Prettily begg'd : you should have it,
But that you eat too much rold fruit, and that
Changes the fresh red in your cheeks to paleness.

Enter a Servant.

I have other dainties for you : You come from
Paulinus ; how is't with that truly noble
And honest lord, my witness at the fount,
In a word, the man to whose bless'd charity
I owe mv greatness! How is't with him?

fierv. Sprightly

In his mind ; but, by the r;igirig of his gout,
In his body much distemper'd ; that you pleased
To inquire his health, took oft' much from his pain,
His glad looks did confirm it.

Eud. Do his doctors
Give him no hope?

Serv. Little ; they rather fear,
My his con inual burning, that he stands
In danger of a fever.

Eud. To him again,
And tell him, that I heartily wish it lay
In me to ease him ; and from me deliver
This choice fruit to him ; you may say to that,
1 hope it will prove physical.

Serv. The good lord
Will be o'erjoy'd with the favour.

Eud. He deserves more. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Room in Paulinus' House.

PAULINUS discovered in a Chair, attended by a
Surgeon.

Surg. I have done as much as art can do, to stop
The violent course of your fit, and I hope you feel it:
How does your honour?

Paul. At some ease, I thank you ;
I would you could assure continuance of it,
For the moiety of my fortune.

Surg. If I could cure

The gout, my lord, without the philosopher's stone
I should soon purchase, it being a disease
In poor men very rare, and in the rich
The cure impossible. Your many bounties
Bid me prepare you for a certain truth,
And to flutter you were dishonest.

Si EXE IV.J

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

503

Paul. Your plain dealing

Deserves a fee*. Would there were manv more such
Of your profession ! Happy are poor men !
If .sick with the excess of heat or cold,
CaH.ed by necessitous labour, not loose surfeits,
'J hey, when spare diet, or kind nature fail
To perfect their recovers 1 , soon arrive at
Their rest in death : but, on the contrary,
The great and noble are exposed as preys
To the rapine of phvsicians ; and they,
In lingering out what is remediless,
Aim at their profit, not the patient's health.
A thousand trials and experiments
Have been put upon me, and I forced to pay dear
For my vexation ; but I am resolved
(I thank \our honest freedom) to be made
A property no more for knaves to work on.

Enter CLKON with a parchment roll.
What have you there?

Cle. The triumphs of an artsman
O'er all infirmities, made authentical
With the n:imes of princes, kings, and emperors,
That were his patients.
Paid. Some empiric.
Cle. It may be so ; but he swears, within three

davs
He'll <jrub up your gout bv the roots, and make you

To march ten leagues a day in complete armour.
Paul. Impossible.

Cle. Or, if you like not him

Surg. Hear .him, my lord, for your mirth ; I will

take order

They shall not wrong you.
Paul. Usher in your monster.
Cle. He is at hand. March up : now speak for
yourself.

Enter EMPIRIC.

Fmp. I come not, right honourable, to your pre-
sence, with liny base and sordid end of reward ; the
immortality of my fame is the white I shoot at :
the charge of my most curious and costly ingredients
frayed, amounting to some seventeen thousand
crowns a trifle in respect of health writing your
noble name in my catalogue, I shall acknowledge
myself amply satisfied.

SiiTjjf'I believe so.

Emp. For your own sakef, I most heartily wish

II ould there icere many more such

Of your pi njession ! These two licini-iiclis are wholly
dropt by Mr. M. Mason, who n-ads,

P.iiil. Your plain dealing
Deserve* a fee. Happy are poor men :
though the lameness of the metre miylit have excited a sus-
picion ot Mime detect. This is the fifth passage omitted by
him in the compass of a tew p;iges !

t Emp. For your mm sake, &c.] This empiric may
be considered as the fruitful parent of the quack, \\hich for
the two last centuries, has poisoned us in the cluset, and en-
tertained us on the tiage: a proud distinction to \\liuli his
ignorance and impndriice fully entitle him !

I doubt whether Mas'inger ever fell into Moliere's hands ;
there is, however, us Mr. Gilchrist has will observed, so
striking a rt.'cinbl.ince between a passage in the Malade
Jmayinaire ml ihi* before us, that it is difficult to believe
the c< incidence accidental:

T:>iiiftte Jf roitdrois qye rous pussies tout 1 1 let maladies
que jr Hens de dire ; que nous fussiez abandons de tousles
mi'decins, dtse&pert, A t'agonif pour nous montrer I'ercel-
lfiu-e de. me-, remedes, et I enr.ie que j aurois de vous rcndre
tercicc.

Argan. Je tons suisobliye, monsieur, des bontes que tout
are- pcur mot, &c. Acte 111. Sc. 13.

that you had now all the diseases, maladies, and
infirmities upon you, that were ever remembered by
old Galen, Hippocrates, or the later and more
admired Paracelsus.

Paul. For your good wish, I thank you !

Emp. Take me with you, I beseech your good
lordship. I urged it, that your joy, in being cer-
tainly and suddenly freed from them, may be the
greater, and my not-to-be-paralleled skill the more
remarkable. The cure of the gout a toy, without
boast be it said, my cradle-practice : the cancer, the
fistula, the dropsy, consumption of lungs and kid-
neys, hurts in the brain, heart, or liver, are things
worthy my opposition ; but i:i the recovery of my
patients I ever overcome them. But to your
gout

Paul. Ay, marry, sir, that cured, I shall be apter
To give credit to the rest.

Emp. Suppose it done, sir.

Surg. And the means you use, I beseech you ?

Emp. I will do it in the plainest language, and
discover my ingredients. First, my buleni terebin-
thitifi of Cypris*, my manna, ros cxlo, coagulated
with vetitlos ovorum, vulgarly the yolks of eggs, with
a little cyath or quantity of my potable elixir, with
some few scruples of sassafras and guiacum, so taken
every morning and evening, in the space of three
days, purgeth, < leanseth, and dissipateth the inward
causes of the virulent tumour.

Paul. Why do you smile?

'S,;-. When he hath done I will resolve you.

Emp. For my exterior applications, I have these
balsum-unguentulurps, extracted from Hferbs, plants,
roots, seeds, gums, and a million of other vegetables,
the principal of which are, Ulissipona, or serpentaria,
sephia, or herbu cmsfllidnrum, parthenium, or com-
maniUa Romano, mumia transmarine, mixed with my
plumbum philosophornm, and mater metallorum, cum
ossa pa'aleli, est universal.: medicamentum in podagra.

Cle. A conjuring balsamum !

Emp. This applied warm upon the pained place,
with a feather of struthio-cameli, or a bird of para-
dise, which is every where to be had, shall expulse
this tartarous, viscous, anatheos, and malignant dolor

Surg. An excellent receipt ! but does your lord-
ship
Know what 'tis good for?

Paul. I would be instructed.

Surg. For the gonorrhoea, or, if you will hear it
In a plainer phrase, the pox.

Emp. If it cure his lordship
Of that by the way, 1 hope, sir, 'tis the better.
My medicine serves for all things, and the pox, sir,
Though falsely named the sciatica, or gout,
Is the more catholic sickness.

Paul. Hence with the rascal !
Yet hurt him not, he makes me smile, and that
Frees him from punishment. [They thrust him off.

Surg. Such slaves as this
Render our art contemptible.

Enter Servant with the apple.
Serv. My good lord.
Paul. So soon return'd !
Serv. And with this present from

* First, my botcni terebinthina of Cypris, &c.] At I

know not what degree of learning the author meant to givt

this impostor, I have left his jargon as 1 found it, content

ing myself with correcting the verbal oversights of the for

iner editor.

304

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

[Acr IV.

Your great and gracious mistress, with her wishes
It may prove physical to you.

I'aul. In my heart

I kneel, and thank her bounty. Dear friend Cleon,
Give him ihe cuphoaid of plate in the next room.
For a reward. [Exeunt Clean and Seruant.] Most

glorious fruit ! but made

Move precious by her grace and love that sent it :
To touch it only, coming from her hand,
Makes me forget all pain. A diamond
Of this large size (though it would buy a kingdom),
Hewed from the rock, and laid down at my feet,
Nay, though a monarch's gift, will hold no value,
Compared with this and yet, ere I presume
To taste it, though, sans question, it is
Some heavenly restorative, I in duty
Stand bound to weigh my own unworthiness.
Ambrosia is food only for the gods,
And not by human lips to be profaned.
I may adore it as some holy relic
Derived from thence, but impious to keep it
In my possession : the emperor only
Is worthy to enjoy it.

Re-enter CLEON.

Go, good Cleon,

And (cease this admiration at this object),
From me present this to my royal master,
I know it will amaze him : and excuse me
That I am not myself the bearer of it.
That I should be lame now, when with wings of

duty

I should fly to the service of this empress !
Nay, no delays, good Cleon.

Cle. I am gone, sir. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. A Room in the Palace.

Enter THEODOSIUS, CHRYSAPIUS, TIMANTUS, and
GR ATI ANUS.

Chry. Are you not tired, sir?

Theo. Tired ! I must not say so,
However, though I rode hard. To a huntsman,
His toil is his delight, and to complain
Of weariness, would show as poorly in him
As if a general should grieve for a wound
Received upon his forehead, or his breast,
After a glorious victory. Lay by
These accoutrements for the chase.

Enter PULCHERIA.

Pul. You are well return 'd, sir,
From your princely exercise.

Theo. Sister, to you x
I owe the freedom, and the use of all
The pleasures 1 enjoy : your care provides
For my security, and the burthen, which
I should alone sustain, you undergo,
And, by your painful watching*, yield my sleeps
Both sound and sure. How happy am 1 in
Your knowledge of the art of government !
And, credit me, I glory to behold you
Dispose of great designs, as if you were*
A part, and no subject of my empire.

Dispose of great desigm, as if you were} This line, too,
which makes sense of (lie passage, is wholly omitted by Mr.
M. Mason. I have im pleasure in pointing out these per-
petual blunders ; but it is impossible to pass them entirely
over in an editor who lays cl.tim to our gr.tlituile solely on the
score of superior accuracy and attention !

Pul. My vigilance, since it hath well succeeded,
I am confident you allow of yet it is not
Approved by all.

Theo. Who dares repine at that
Which hath our suffrage ?

Pul. One that too well knows
The strength of her abilities can better
Mv weak endeavours.

Theo. In this you reflect
Upon my empress?

Pnl. True ; for, as she is
The consort of your bed, 'tis fit she share in
Your cares and absolute power.

Theo. You touch a string
That sounds but harshly io me : and I must,
In a brother's love, advise you, that hereafter
You would forbear to move it : since she is
In her pure self a harmony of such sweetness,
Composed of duty, chaste desires, her beauty
(Though it might tempt a hermit from his beads)
The least of her endowments. I am sorry
Her holding the first place, since that the second
Is proper to yourself, calls on your envy.
She err ! it is impossible in a thought ;
And much more speak or do what may offend me.
In other things I would belietre you, sister ;
But, though the tongues of saints and angels tax'd

her

Of any imperfection, I should be
Incredulous.

Pul. She is yet a woman, sir.

Theo. The abstract of what's excellent in the sex,
But to their mulcts and frailties a mere stranger ;
I'll die in this belief.

Enter CLEON with the apple.

Cleo. Your humblest servant,
The lord Paulinus, as a witness of
His zeal and duty to your majesty,
Presents you with this jewel.

Theo. Ha!

Cle. It is
Preferr'd by him

Theo. Above his honour?

Cleo. No, sir ;
I would have said his patrimony.

Theo. 'Tis the same.

Cleo. And he entreats, since lameness may excuse
His not presenting it himself, from me
(Though far unworthy to supply his place)
You would vouchsafe to accept it.

Theo. Further off,

You've told your tale. Staye you for a reward ?
Take that. [Srikes him.

Pul. How's this ?

Chry. I never saw him moved thus.

Theo. We must not part so, sir ; a guard upon
him.

Enter Guard.

May I not vent my sorrows in the air,
Without discovery ? Forbear the room !

[Exeunt Pul. Chry. Tim, Grat. and Guard

with Cle.
Yet be within call. What an earthquake I feel in

me !

And on a sudden my whole fabric totters.
My blood within me turns, and through my veins,
Parting with natural redness, I discern it
Changed to a fatal yellow. What an army

SCENE V.]

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST,

SOT

Of hellish furies, in the horrid shapes [rescue,

Of doubts and fears, charge on me ! rise to my

Thou stout maintainer of a chaste wife's honour,

The confidence of her virtues ; be not shaken

With the wind of vain surmises, much less suffer

The devil jealousy to whisper to me

My curious observation of that

I must no more remember. Will't not be?

Thou uninvited guest, ill-manner'd monster,

1 charge thee, leave me ! wilt thou force me to

Give fuel to that fire I would put out ?

The goodness of my memory proves my mischief,

And I would sell my empire, could it purchase

The dull art of forgetfulness*. Who waits there ?

Re-enter TIMANTUS.

Tim. Most sacred sir

Theo. Sacredt, as 'tis accurs'd,
Is proper to me. Sirrah, upon your life,
Without a word concerning this, command
Eudocia to come to me. [Exit Tim.~\ Would I had
Ne'er known her by that name, my mother's name,
Or that for her own sake, she had continued
Poor Athenais still ! No intermission !
Wilt thou so soon torment me ? must I read,
Writ in the table of my memory,
To warrant my suspicion, how Paulinus
(Though ever thought a man averse to women)
First gave her entertainment, made her way
For audience to my sister ? then I did
Myself observe how he was ravish'd with
The gracious delivery of her story,
Which was, I grant, the bait that first took me too :
She was his convert ; what the rhetoric was
He used, I know not ; and, since she was mine,
In private as in public what a mass
Of grace and favour hath she heap'd upon him !
And but to day this fatal fruit She's come.

Re-enter TIMAXTUS with EUDOCIA, FLACCILLA, and
ARCADIA.

Can she be guilty !

End. You seem troubled, sir ;

* To account for this paroxysm of jealous fury in Theodo-
tius, we must call to mind that the ancients attached a cer-
tain degree of mystical consequence to the presentation of
au apple; which they universally agreed to consider as a
tacit confession of pa;sion accepted and returned. Catullus
has sonic beautiful lines on the subject :

lit missum sponsi furtlvo muriere mal tin

frocurrit casto viryinis e yremio,
(Jund misercc ohlita; molli suh veste locatum,

Dum udvcntn matris prosilit, excutitur,
* Atque illud prono prceceps ayitur decursu :

fluinmanat trisfi cojiscius ore rvbor. Car. 63.
Upon which Vossius observes, with a reference to the im-
mediate subject of this scene : J\Fala amantium semper
uisse mtinera, et obscwnam continere siynijicationem, satis
vet. FX primo patet ('ntulli epigrammate, et multa satis tie
fits Kolliynritnt riri docti. Nee ftorentibus tantum Gracite
et Koniana; rebus, sed et collapsa utrorumque fortuna , tan-
dem permanissf, si</n{ficationfm, satis docet exemplum Pau-
liiti interempti propter potman missum ab Eudocia impera-
trice, de quo vide Chronicon Alexandrimun, et complurei
historia; sariptoret. Obser. ad C. Val. Catulluni.

Maasinger, therefore, had snflicient authority for this pnrt
of hi- story. The f.tct, however, is properly discredited by
later and more judicious writers, who have observed that it
has all the appearance of an eastern fiction ; and, indeed, an
adventure, with no very distant resemblance to it, is found in
The Arabian Tales.

T Sacratua, in Latin, means accursed ; to this Theodosius
alludes, when he says that Sacred as it is accursed, is pro-
per to him. M. MASON.

I recollect no instance of this sense of sacratua : it was to
nicer that Thcodosius alluded; and 30 perhaps did Mr. M.
Mason if he had known it.

My innocence makes me bold to ask the causr,
That I may ease you of it. No salute,
After four long hours' absence !

Then. Prithee, forgive me. [/TissCT .

Methinks I find Paulinus on her lips,
And the fresh nectar that I drew from thence
Is on the sudden pall'd. How have you spent
Your hours since I last saw you ?

End. In the converse
Of your sweet sisters.

Theo. Did not Philanax,
From me deliver you an apple ?

End. Yes, sir;
Heaven, how you frown ! pray you, talk of some

thing else,
Think not of such a trifle.

Theo. How, a trifle !

Does any toy from me presented to you,
Deserve to be so slighted ? do you value
What's sent, and not the sender ? from a peasant
It had deserved your thanks.

Eud. And meets from you, sir,
All possible respect,

Theo. I prized it, lady,

At a higher rate than you believe ; and would not
Have parted with it, but to one I did
Prefer before myself.

Eud. It was, indeed,
The fairest that I ever saw.

The-j. It was ;

And it had virtues in it, my Eudocia,
Not visible to the eye.

Eud. It may be so, sir.

Theo. What did you with it? tell me punctually ;
I look for a strict accompt.

Eud. What shall I answer?

Theo. Do you stagger ? Ha !

Eud. No, sir ; I have eaten it.
It had the pleasant'st* taste ! I wonder that
You found it not in my breath.

Theo. I'faith, I did not,
And it was wondrous strange.

End. Pray you, try again.

Theo. I find no scent of t here : you play with me ;
You have it still?

Eud. By your sacred life and fortune,
An oath I dare not break, 1 have eaten it.

Theo. Do you know how this oath binds?

Eud. Too well to break it.

Theo. That ever man, to please his brutish sense,
Should slave his understanding to his passions,
And, taken with soon-fading white and red,
Deliver up his credulous ears to hear
The magic of a syren ; and from these
Believet there ever was, is, or can be
More than a seeming honesty in bad woman !

Eud. This is strange language, sir.

Theo. Who waits ? Come all.

Re-enter PULCIIERIA, PHILANAX, CHUVSAPIUS,
GHATIANUS, and Guard.

Nay, sister, not so near, being of the sex,
I fear you are infected too.
PK/. What mean you?

* It had the pleasant'st taste !] Coxetcr and Mr. M. Ma-
son read, It had \hep/easant taste, which, if not nonsense,
is not very far rt moved from it.

t Believe there ever wan,] So the old copy: the modern
editors, to the destruction both of sense and metre, read
Believing iher eve' was, &c.

30t

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

[Acr IV

Theo. 'ic snow you a miracle, a prodigy

Which Afric never pquall'd : Can you think

This masterpiece of heaven*, this precious vellum,
Of siieb u purity and virgin whiteness,
Could be design'd to have perjury and whoredom,
In capital letters, writ upon't?

Pnl. Dear sir.

Theo. Nay, add to this, an impudence heyond
All prostituted boldness. Art not dead yet?
Will not the tempests in thy conscience rend thee
As small as atoms, that there mny no sign
Be left thou ever wert so? wilt thou live
Till thou art blasted with the dreadful lightning
Of pregnant and unanswerable proofs
Of thy adulterous twines ? die yet, that I
With my honour may conceal it.

End. Would long since

The Gorgon of your rage had turn'd me marble !
Or, if I have offended

Theo. If! good angels !

But 1 am tame ; look on this dumb accuser.

[Shouting the apple.

End. Oh, I am lost !

Theo. Did ever cormorant
Swallow his prey, and then digest it whole,
As she bath done this apple? Philanax,
As 'tis, from me presented it ; the good lady
Swore she had eaten it ; yet, I know not how,
It came entire unto Paulinus" hands,
And I from him received it, sent in scorn,
Upon my life, to give me a close touch
That he was weary of thee. Was there nothing
Left thee to fee him to give satisfaction
To thy insatiate lust, but what was sent
As a dear favour from me ? How have I sinn'd
In my dotage on this creature ! but t to her,
I have lived as I was horn, a perfect virgin :
Nay. more, I thought it not ei.ough to be
True to her bed, but that I must feed high,
To strengthen my abilities to cloy
Her ravenous appetite, little suspecting
She would desire a change.

End. I never did, sir.

Theo. Be dumb ; 1 will not waste my breath in

taxing
Thy base ingratitude. How I have raised thee

Can you think

Thlt matterpifce of heaven, &c.j

" Wrt this fair paper, this most goodly book.
Made to write whore upon?" Othello.

There are several oilier short pa.-sages in this scene copie (
or Imitated from the same play ; which, as sufficiently ob-
vious, 1 have forborne to notice.

+ l>nt to hrr,

I have lived as 1 wax born, &c.J i. e. except.- 'he word
occur; in tins scuse in many other places.

Will by the world be, to thy shame, spoke often :

Hut for that ribald, who held in mv empire

The next place to nuselt, so bound unto me

Bv all the ties of duty and al!e<;Lmre.

He shall pay dear fb :'t. and feel wliut if is.

In a wrong of such high consequence, to pull down

His lord's slow anger on him ! Philanax.

He's troubled with the gout, let him be cured

With a violent death, and in the other world

Thank his phvsicinn.

Phil. His cause unheard, sir?

Pnl. Take heed of rashness.

Theo. Is what I command
To he disputed ?

P/II'/. Your will slisill be done, sir:
But that 1 am the instrument

Theo. Do you murmur? [Ljit Phil, nhh Gi'O>d,
What couldst thou s;iy, if ilru my license should
Give liberty to thv tongue? f F.mloci'i kifeling i>oiut$
to Thiodnsius' sword] thou nouUUr. die ?
1 am not

So to be reconciled. See me no more :
The sting of conscience ever gnawing on thee,
A long life he thy punishment ! [Exit.

Flue. O sweet lady,
How I could weep Cor her !

Ai-cad. Speak, dear inad'im, speak.
Your tongue, as you are a woman, while you live
Should be ever moving, at the least, the last part
That stirs about you.

Put. Though 1 should, sad lady,
In policy rejoice, you, as a rival
Of my greatness, are removed, compassion,
Sinct- I believe you innocent, commands me
To mourn your fortune; credit me, I will urge
All arguments I can allege that may
Appease the emperor's fury.

Arcud. 1 will grern- too,
Upon my knees, unless he bid me rise,
And swear he will forgive you.

Flue. And repent too :
All this pother for an apple!

[Eieunt PuL-heria, Arcadia, and FlacciHa.

Chru. Hope, dear madam,

And yield not o despair ; 1 am still your servant,

And never will forsake you, though awhile

You leave the i ourt and' city, and give way

To the violent passions of the emperor.

Repentance, in his want of you, will soon find him.

In the mean time, I'll dispose of vou, and omit

No opportunity that may invite him

To sue his error.

End. Oh! [ IV ringing her haiidt,

Chiy. Forbear, for heaven's sake. [ju.

SCENE I

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

SOT

ACT V.

SCENE I. A Room in Paulinus' House.

Enter PHILANAX, PAULINUS, Guard, and
Executioners.

Paul. This is most barbarous ! bow have you lost
All feeling of humanity, as honour,
In your consent alone to have me used thus ?
Hut to be, as ycu are, a looker on,
N;iy, more, a principal actor in't (the softness
Of your former life consider'dj, almost turns me
Into a senseless statue.

Phil. Would, long since,

Death, by some other means, h;td made you one,
That you might be less sensible of what
You have, or are to sutler !

Paul. Am to suffer !

Let such, whose happiness and heaven depend
Upon their pri-sent being, fear to part with
A fort they cannot long hold ; mine to me is
A charoe that I am weary of, all defences
15v pain and sickness batter'd : yet take heed,
Take heed, lord Philanax, that, for private spleen,
Or any false-conceived grudge against me,
(Since in one thought of wrong to you I am
Sincerely innocent), you do not that
My ro\al master must in justice punish,
If you pass* to your own heart thorough mine ;
The murder, as it will come out, discover'd. [me,

Phil. 1 murder you, my lord ! heaven witness for
With the restoring of your health, I wish you
Long lire, and happiness : for myself, I am
Compell'd to put in execution that
\\ liicli 1 would fly from ; 'tis the emperor,
The high incensed emperor's will, commands
What 1 must see p^rtbrm'd.

Paul. The emperor !
Goodness and innocence guard me! wheels nor

racks

Can force into my memory the remembrance
Of the least shadow of offence, with which
1 ever did provoke him. 1 hough beloved
(And yet the people's love is short and fatal),
1 never courted popular applause,
Feasted the men of action, or labour'd
By prodigal gifts to draw the needy soldier,
The tribunes or centurions, to a faction,
Of which 1 would rise up the head against him ;
1 hold no place of strength, fortress, or castle,
Jn my command, that can give sanctuary
To inalecontents. or countenance rebellion.
1 have built no palaces to face the court,
Nor do my followers' braveries shame his train;
And though 1 cannot blame my fate for want,
My competent means of life deserve no envy ;
In what, then, am 1 dangerous?

Phil. His di.>pleasure
Reflects on none of those particulars
Which you have mentioned, though some jealous

princes
In a subject cannot brook them.

If you pass to your own hfart thorough mint ;] Mr. M.
Mason iiiM-i t> ,M) beiore you; which injures both the <tnse and
the nit t re. W.is he nut aware that tharouyh, or tkorow, as
the quarto IMS it. it a dissyllable ?

Paul. None of these !
In what, then, am I worthy his suspicion?
But it may, nay it must be, some informer,
To whom my innocence appear'd a crime.
Hath poison'd his late good opinion of me.
'Tis not to die, but. in the censure of
So good a master, guilty, that afflicts me.

Phil. There is no remedy.

Paul. No ! I have a friend vet,
To whom the state I stand in now deliver'd
(Could the strictness of your warrant give way to

it),

That, bv fair intercession for me, would
So far prevail, that, my defence unheard,
I should not, innocent or guilty, suffer
Without a fit distinction.

Phil. These false hopes.

My lord, abuse you. What man, when condemn'd,
Did ever find a friend? or who dares lend
An eye of pity to that star-cross'd subject
On whom his sovereign frowns ?

Paul. She that dares plead
For innocence without a fee, the empress,
My great and gracious mistress.

Phil. There's your error.
Her many favours, which you hoped should make

you,

Prove your undoing 1 . She, poor lady, is
Banish 'd for ever, from the emperor's presence,
And his confirmed suspicion, to his wrong,
That you have been over-familiar with her.
Dooms you to death. 1 know you understand me.

Pnnl. O ver- familiar !

Phil. In sharing with him
Those sweet and secret pleasures of his bed
Which can admit no partner.

Paul. And is that

The crime for which I am to die ? of all
My numerous sins, was there not one of weight
Enough to sink me, if he borrow'd not
The colour of a guilt I never saw,
To paint my innocence in a defbrm'd
And monstrous shape ? but that it were profane
To argue heaven of ignorance or injustice,
I now should tax it. Had the stars that reign'd
At my nativity such cursed influence,
As not alone to make me miserable,
But, in the neighbourhood of her goodness to me,
To force contagion upon a lady,
Whose purer flames were not inferior
To theirs when they shine brightest! to die for her,
Compared with what she suffers, is a trine.
By her example warn'd, let all great women
Hereafter throw pride and contempt on such
As truly serve them, since a retribution
In lawful courtesies is now styled lust ;
And to be thankful to a servant's merits
Is grown a vice, no virtue.
Phil. These complaints
Are to no purpose : think on the long flight
Your better part must make.

Pun/. She is prepared :
Nor can the freeing of an innocent
From the emperor's furious jealousy hinder her.

308

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

[AcrV

It shall out, 'tis resolv'd ; hut to be whisper'd
TII you alonf. What a solemn preparation
Is made hurt* to put forth an inch of taper*
In itself almost extinguish'd ! mortal poison!
The hangman's sword ! the halter !

Phil. Tis left to you
To make choice of which you please.

Paul. Any will serve
To take awav my gout and life together.
I would not have the emperor imitate
Rome's monster, Nero, in that cruel mercy
He show'd to Seneca. When you have discharged
Wh:it you are trusted with, and I have given you
Reasons beyond all doubt or disputation,
?f the empress' and my innocence ; when I am dead
Since 'tis my master's pleasure, and high treason
T n you not to obey it), I conjure you,
By the hopes you have of happiness hereafter,
Since mine in this world are now parting from me,
That you would win the young man to repentance
Of the wrong done to his chaste wife, Eudocia,
And if perchance he shed a tear for what
In his rashness he imposed on his true servant,
So it cure him of future jealousy,
'Twill prove a precious balsamum, and find me
When I am in my grave. Now, when you please,
For I am ready.

Phil. His words work strangely on me,
And I would do, but I know not what to think on't.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Room in the Palace.

Enter PULCHERIA, FLACCILLA, ARCADIA, TIMAVTUS,
GRATIANOS, and CHRYSAPIUS.

Pitl. Still in his sullen mood 1 no intermission
Of his melancholy fit 1

Tim. It rather, madam,
Increases, than grows less.

Grat. In the next room

To his bedchamber we watch'd ; for he by signs
Gare us to understand he would admit
Nor company nor conference.

Pul. Did he take
No rest, as you could guess 1

Chry. Not any, madam.
Like a Numidian lion, by the cunning
Of the desperate huntsman taken in a toil,
And forced into a spacious cage, he walks
About his chamber ; we might hear him gnash
His teeth in rage, which open'd, hollow groans
And murmurs issued from his lips, like winds
Imprison'd in the caverns of the earth
Striving for liberty : and sometimes throwing
His body on his bed, then on the ground,
And with such violence, that we more than fear'd,
And still do, if the tempest of his passions
liy your wisdom be not laid, he will commit
Some outrage on himself.

Pul. His better angel,

I hope, will stay him from so foul a mischief;
Nor shall my care be wanting.

Tim. Twice 1 heard Lim
Say. False Eudocia, how much art thou
Unworthy of these tears ! then sigh'd, and straight

______ to put forth on inch of taper] i. e.

to put our. Forth, for out, occurs continually in our old
writers.

Roar'd out, Paitlintts! was his gouty age
To be prej'err'il be/ore my strength and youth?
Then groan'd again, so many ways expressing
The afflictions of a tortured soul, that we,
Who wept in vain for what we could not help,
Were sharers in his sufferings.

Pul. Though your sorrow
Is not to he condemn'd, it takes not from
The burthen of his miseries : we must practise,
With some fresh object, to divert his thoughts
From that they are wholly fix'd on.

Chry. Could I gain

The freedom of access, I would present him
With this petition, Will your highness please
To look upon it : you will soon fiud there
What my intents and hopes are.

Enter THEODOSIUS.

Grat. Ha! 'tis he.

Pul. Stand close,

And give wav to his passions; 'tis not safe
To stop them in their violent course, before
They have spent themselves.

Theo. I play the fool, and am
Unequal* to myself : delinquents are
To suffer, not tiie innocent. I have done
Nothing, which will not hold weight in the scale
Of my impartial justice ; neither feel I
The worm of conscience upbraiding me
For one black deed of tyranny ; wherefore then,
Should I torment myself? Great Julius would not
Rest satisfied that his wife was free from fact,
But, only for suspicion of a crime.
Sued a divorce ; nor was this Roman rigour
Censured as cruel : and still the wise Italian,
That knows the honour of his family
Depends upon the purity of his bed,
For a kiss, nay, wanton look, will plough up mis-
chief,

And sow the seeds of his revenge in blood.
And shall I, to whose power the law's a servant,
That stand accountable to none, for what
My will calls an offence being compell'd,
And on such grounds, to raise an aitar to
My anger ; though, 1 grant, it is cemented
With a loose strumpet and adulterer's gore,
Repent the justice of my fury 1 No.
I should not : yet still mv excess of love,
Fed high in the remembrance of her choice
And sweet embraces, would persuade me that
Connivance or remission of her fault,
Made warrantable by her true submission
For her offence, might be excuseable,
Did not the cruelty of my wounded honour,
With an open mouth, deny it.

Put. 1 approve of

Your good intention, and I hope 'twill prosper.

[To Chrysapius

He now seems calm: let us, upon our knees,
Encompass him. Most royal sir

Flac. Sweet brother

Arcad. As you are our sovereign, by the ties of

nature

You are bound to be a father in your care
To us poor orphans.

Tim. Show compassion, sir,
Unto yourself.

Theo. J play the fool, and am
Unequal to myself; i. e. unjust.

:ESF. III.]

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST

SO*

Grat. The majesty of your fortune
Should fly above the reach of grief.

Chry. And 'tis
Impair'd, if you yield to it.

Theo. Wherefore pay you
This adoration to a sinful creature*?
I am 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,
13y oil-tongued flattery imposed upon us,
As sacred, glorious, high, invincible,
The deputy of heaven, and in that
Omnipotent, with 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 uudeservers, 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 :
In me, to whom you kneel, 'tis most apparent.
Can L call back yesterday, with all their aids
That bow unto my sceptre? or restore
My mind to that tranquillity and peace
It then enjoy'd? Can If make Eudocia chaste,
Or vile Paulintu honest?

Put. If I might,
Without offence, deliver my opinion

Theo. What would you say?

Pul. That, on my soul, the empress
Is innocent.

Chry The good Paulinus guiltless.

Grat. And this should yield you comfort.

Theo. In being guilty
Of n offence far, far transcending that
They stand condemn'd for! Call you this a comfort?
Suppose it could be true, a corsivef rather,
Not to eat oul dead flesh, but putrifv
What yet is sound. W'as murder ever held
A cure for jealousy? or the crying blood
Of innocence, a balm to take away
Her festering anguish ? As you do desire
I should not do a justice on myself,
Add to the proofs by which Paulinus fell,
And not take from them ; in your charity
Sooner believe that they were false, than I
Unrighteous in my judgment? subjects' lives
Are not their prince's tennis-balls, to be bandied
In sport away : all that I can endure
For them, if they were guilty, is an atom

* Theo. H'kerefnre pay you

Tliis adoration to a sinful creature ?] In this fine speech
Massinger has ventured to measure weapons with Shak-
tpeare, and, it' I may trust my judgment, not unsuccess-
fully. The feelings, indeed, are more interested by the
latter, but that aiises from the situation of his chief cha

Can I make Eudocia cJiaite,] The quarto

Can it make. For the present reading 1 i.m answerable.

+ ('all you this a comfort ?

Suppose it could be true, a corsivr. rather,

Aot to eat out dead flesh, &c.] Our old write s used

racttr
t

has

corsive or corrosive, indifferently, as it united the vei
I should make no difficulty of regulating the men
cordingly, in defitince of the vicious spelling of li
copies. In the nexl line, for to eat out, whi' h
phraseology of the times, and perfectly correct, the
tdit'.'rs abouii .ly read- -to eat our deadjlah I

e ; and
ire ac-
early
vas Hie
nodcru

To the mountain of affliction I pull'd on me,
Should they prove innocent.

Chry. For your majesty's peace,
I mote than hope they were not : the false oath
Ta'en by the empress, and for which she can
Plead no excuse, convicted her, and yields
A sure defence for your suspicion of her,
And yet to be resolved, since strong doubts are
More grievous, for the most part, than to know
A certain loss

Theo. Tis true, Chrysapius,
Were there a possible means.

Chry. 'Tis ofi'er'd to you,

If you please to embrace it. Some few minutes
Make truce with passion, and but read, and follow
What's there projected [Delivers him a pa/;-.],-

you shall find a key

Will make your entrance easy, to discover
Her secret thoughts ; and then, as in your wisdom
You shall think tit, you may determine of her;
And rest confirm 'd, whether Paulinus died
A villain or a martyr.

Theo. It may do,

Nay, sure it must; yet, howsoe'er it fall ;
I am most wretched. Which way in my wishes
I should* fashion the event, I'm so distracted
I cannot yet resolve of. Follow me ,
Though in my name ull names are comprehended,
1 must have witnesses in what degree
I have done wrong, or suffer'd.

Pul. Hope the best, sir. [Exeunt

SCENE III. .Another Room in the same.
Ei.ter Et'DociA in sackcloth, her hair loose.

[Sings.] IF/ii/ art thou slow, than rest of trouble, Death,

To stop a wretch's breath.
That calls on thee, and ojf'rrs her sad heart

A prey unto thy dart?
I am nor young nor fair; be, therefore, bold :

Sorrow hath made me old,
Deform d, and wrinkled ; all that I can crave,

Js, quiet in my grave.
Such as live hnpi>y t hold long life a jewel ;

But to me tliou art cruel,
If thou end not my tedious misery ;

And I soon cease to be.
Strike, and slrike home, then, ; pity unto me,

In one short hour's delay, is tyranny.

Thus, like a dying swan, to a sad tune

I sing my own dirge ; would a requiem follow,

Which in my penitence 1 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 Lands, the heathens dare

not

Enter their profane temples : and for me
To hope my passage to eternity
Can be made easy, till 1 have shook off

Which way in my wishe*

I shoulil/asAton the event,} Mr.M.Mason omits^owW, which
reduces the passage to nonsense ; but, in his great care lor
the purity of his author's language, alters, in the next line,
resolve of, to resolve on 1 it is much to be regretted that
his anxiety should appear so often in Uie wrong place.

310

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

[Acr \,

The burthen of my sins in free confession,
Aided with sorrow and repentance for them,
Is against reason. ' 1'is 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.
Chrysapius did assure me he would bring me
A holy man, from whom (having discover'd
ly secret crying sins) I might receive
Ail! absolution and he keeps his word.

Enter THEODOSIUS disguised as a Friar, with
CHRYSAPIUS.

Welcome, most reverend sir, upon my knees
I entertain you.

Tlieo. Noble sir, forbear
The place ; the sacred office that I come for

[Exit Chrysapius*

Commands all privacy. My penitent daughter,
Be careful, as you wish remission from me,
That, in confession of your sins, you hide not
One crime, whose ponderous weight, when you

would make

Your flights above the firmament, may sink you.
A foolish modesty in concealing aught,
Is now far worse than impudence to profess
And justify your guilt; be therefore free !
So may the gates of mercy open to you !

Etui. First then, I ask a pardon, for my being
Ingrateful to heaven's bounty.

Then. A good entrance.

End. Greatness comes from above, and I, raised

to it

From a low condition, sinfully forgot
From whence it came ; and, looking on myself
In the false glass of flattery, I received it
As a debt due to my beauty, not a gift
Or favour from the emperor.

Theo. Twas not well.

l-'.nd. Pride waited on unthankfulness ; and no

Remembering the compassion of the princess,
And the means she used to make me what I was,
Contested with her, and with sore eyes seeing
Her greater light as it dimm'd mine, I practised
To have it quite put out.

Theo. \ great offence ;
But. on repentance, not unpardonable.
Forward.

End. O, father! what I now must utter,
I fear, in the delivery will destroy me,
Before you have absolved me.

The". Heaven is gracious ;
Out with it.

Eud. Heaven commands us to tell truth,
Yet I, most sinful wretch, forswore myself.

The>>. On what occasion ?

End. Quite forgetting that
An innocent truth can never stand in need
Of a guilty lie, being on the sudden ask'd
By the emperor, my husband, for an apple
Presente.l by him, I swore I had eaten it;
When my grieved conscience too well knows I

uent it

To comfort sick Paulinus, being a man
I truly loved and favour'd.

Then. A cold sweat,
Like the juice of hemlock, bathes ine. [Aside,

Eud. And from this
A furious jealousy getting possession
Of the good emperor's heart, in his rage be doom'd
The innocent lord to die ; my perjury
The fatul cause of murder.

Theo. Take heed, daughter,

You niggle* not with your conscience, and religion,
In styling him an innocent, from your fear
And shame to accuse yourself. The emperor
Had many spies upon you, saw such graces,
Which virtue could not warrant, shower'd upon him ;
Glances in public, and more liberal favours
In your private chamber-meetings, making way
For foul adultery ; nor could he be
But sensible of the compact pass'd between you,
To the ruin of his honour.

Etui. Hear me, fathei ;
I look'd for comfort, but, in this, you come
To add to my afflictions.

Theo. Cause not you
Your own damnation, in concealing that
Which may, in your discovery, find forgiveness.
Open your eyes ; set heaven or hell before you ;
In the revealing of the truth, you shall
Prepare a palace for your soul to dwell in
Stored with celestial blessings; whereas, if
You palliate your crime, and dare beyond
Playing with lightning, in concealing it,
Expect a dreadful dungeon filled with horror,
And never-ending torments.

Eud. May they fall
Eternally upon me, and increase,
When that which we call Time hath lost its name !
May lightning cleave the centre of the earth,
Au'd I sink quick, before you have absolved me,
Into the bottomless abyss, if ever,
In one unchaste desire, nay, in a thought,
1 wrong'd the honour of the emperor's bed !
I do deserve, I grant, more than I suffer,
In that my fervour and desire to please him,
In my holy meditations press'd upon me,
And would not be kept out; now to dissemble, <
When 1 shall suddenly be insensible
Of what the world speaks of me, were mere mad-
ness ;

And, though you are incredulous, I presume,
If, as I kneel now, my eyes swoll'n with tears,
My hands heaved up thus, my stretch 'd heart-strings

ready

To break asunder, my incensed lord
(His storm of jealousy blown o'er) should hear me,
He would believe 1 lied not.

Theo. Rise, and see him [Discovers himself.

On liis knees, with joy affirm it.

End. Can this be?

Tlieo. My sisters, and the rest there ! All bear
witness,

Eater PULCHERIA, ARCADIA, FLACCILLA, CHRYSA-
PIUS, TIMANTUS, and PHILANAX.

In freeing this incomparable lady

The. Take heed, daughter,

You niggle not with your conscience,] i. e. trifle, play,
with it ; tins is the cant t-cu-r of the word : ils proper mean-
ing is, lo deceive, to draw out Mirreplilioiisly, &c. Thus,
in The Honest H'hore, I'art II.: "1 had hut one poor
penny, unit thai I was glad to >iii/<//r out, and buy a holly
wand to grate him through the streets."

SCENE III.]

THE EMPKROR OF THE EAST.

311

From the suspicion of guilt, 1 do
Accuse myself, and willingly submit
To any penance she in justice shall
Please to impose upon me.

F.ud. Royal sir,
Your ill opinion of me's soon forgiven.

Put. But how you can make satisfaction to
Tlie poor Paulinus, he being dead, in reason
Yon must conclude impossible.

Theo. And in that
I am most miserable ; the ocean
Of joy, which, in your innocence, flow'tl high to me,
Ebbs in the thought of mv unjust command,
By which he died. O, Philanax (as thy name
Interpreted speaks tliee), thou hast ever been
A lover of the king, and thy whole life
Can witness thy obedience to my will,
In putting that in execution which
Was trusted to thee ; say but yet this once,
Thou hast not done what rashly 1 commanded,
And that Paulinus lives, and thy reward
For not performing that which 1 ocjodu'd thee,
Shall centuple whatever yet thy duty
Or merit challenged from me.

Phil. Tis too la'e, sir:

He's dead ; and, when you know he was unable
To wrong you in the wav that you suspected,
You'll wish it had been otherwise.

Theo. Unable !

Phil. I am sure he was an eunuch, and might

safely

Lie by a virgin's side; at four years made one,
'1 hough, to hold grace with ladies, he conceal'd it.
The circumstances, and the manner how,
You may hear at better leisure.

Tlieo. How. an eunuch !
The more the proofs are that are brought to clear

thee,
My best Eudocia, the more my sorrows.

F.i'd. That I am innocent'

Theo. That I am guilty
Of murder, my Eudocia. I will build
A glorious monument to his memory ;
And, for my punishment, live and die upon it,
And never more converse with men.

Enter PAUUSUS.

Paul. Live long, sir!
May I do so to serve you ! and, if that
I live does not displease you, you owe for it
To this aood lord.

Theo. Myself, and all that's mine.

Phil. Your pardon is a payment.

Theo. 1 am rapt

With jov beyond myself. Now, my Eudocia,
My jealousy puff'd away thus, in this breath
1 scent the natural sweetness. [Kisses her.

Arcad. Sacred sir,

I am happy to beliold this, and presume,
Now you are pleased, to move a suit in which
My sister is join'd with me.

Then. Prithee speak it;
For 1 have vow'd to hear before I grant;
I thank your good instructions. [To PulcJieria.

Arcad. 'Tis but this, sir :
We have observed the falling out and in
Between the husband and the wife shows rarely ;
Theii jars and reconcilements strangely take us.

FLic. Anger and jealousy that conclude in kisses
Is a sweet war, iu sooth.

Arcad. We therefore, brother,

Most humbly beg you would provide us husbands.
That we may taste the pleasure oft.

Flac. And with speed, sir;
For so your favour's doubled.

Theo. Take my word,

I will with all convenience ; and not blush
Hereafter to be guided by your counsels:
I will deserve your pardon. Philanax
Shall be remember'd, and magnificent bounties
Fall on Chrysapius ; my grace on all.
Let Cleon be cleliver'd, and rewarded.
My grace on all, which as I lend to you,
Return your vows to heaven, that it mav please,
As it is gracious, to quench in me
All future sparks of burning jealousy. [Exeunt.

EPILOGUE.

WE have reason to be doubtful, whether he,
On whom (forced to it from necessity)
The mak^r did confer hisernjreror's part,
Hath given you satisfaction, in his art
Of action and delivery , 'tis sure truth,
The burthen was too heavy for his youth
To undergo : but, in his will, we know,
He was not wanting, and shall ever owe,
With his, our service, if your favours deign
To give him strength, hereafter to sustain
A greater weight. It is your grace that can
In your allowance of this, write him man
Before his time; which if you please to do.
You make the player and the poet too*.

'There is so much sterling merit in several of the incident!
and characters of this pity, tli.tt the reader is inclined to
overlook the want of unity in the story itself. It is Irne,
Mrfssinger seems to have been conscious of this defect, and
h t> endeavoured to remedy it liy contriving an early intro-
duction of Athcnais, and by giving her some slight connec-
tion with Paulinus ; for this is carefully remembered in the
last act, as one of the circumstances which justify the jea-
lousy 01 Theodofiiis. But the chief and characteristic event
can InrilU be said to begin till the fourth act. Most of the
preceding scenes are a series of conversations and incidents,
rather illustrative of some of the characters, than necessary
to the subject : previous in the order of history, but not
strictly preparatory to the plot ; more occupied with the
public influence of I'nlcheria, tlnn with the private affection
of Kudocia.

This reservation being made, we cannot but admire (he ge-
nuine dignity with which the government ami personal vir-
tues of the Protectress are announced, and the interesting
contrast of the beautiful but lighter Athrnais. Theodosi^ \t
connected with both ; and is described with much fidelity of
nature in every situation. K>s characteristic qual.ty ii
weakness. His implicit obedience to his sister during
a long pupilage ; liis escape from it through the interested
persuasions of others ; his facility, profusion, and uxorioni.
subjection to Eudocia, are true marks of the same cha-
racter. Nor are they contradicted by the vehemence into
which he falls in the last act. Indeed, during this pa-
roxysm he acts with a power apparently beyond himself.
He acciimnlites^Mrciimstaiices of jealousy with much force
and quickness. With a melancholy ingenuity, he perverts
the consolations of his friends into new proofs of his guilt ;
and he compels the most innocent thoughts of other!) to wear
Hie stamp of his own inadnes<. Still ibis is the vehemence
of Theodosius. His fury is the mere eltect of uxorionsi.ess
disappointed. He is enraged, not that hi* honour is tar-
nished (for this he would fondly overlook), but that he has
lot the possession of Eudocia. It is the very impotence of
his mind which lends him a momentary vigour ; and all his
apparent power is founded on his constitutional failing. IB
the confession scene he quickly loses his assumed character
in the anxious husb.md ; and at the assertion of her inno.
cence, he rushes to his reconcilement with an eagernes*
which shows his true disposition, and renews all the ascen-
dancy of her ch.irin!.

It it to be wished that this grut merit were not ccom-

SIS

THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST.

panied with serious blemishes ; but sometimes the manners
of Massinger's age are thrust, with more than their usual
ill effect, into the history of Theodosius ; and sometimes his
best characters ate needlessly debased. Pulcheria falls into
an improper discussion of modern levities with the Infor-
mer, &c. Her sisters, contr-iry to the history of their time,
are described as wanton, and rebellions against her autho-
rity : nor is there an object for this change of character ;
they are merely degraded. The Countryman equals the
judgment of Theodosius with the Sunday maxims of the
vicar of his parish; and Theodo^iiis himself, pure and re-
ligion; as Massinger really meant to represent him, loses
his delicacy ; and when he has to choose a wife from the
portraits of the candidates, enlarges upon their properties
with the licentiousness of an experienced debauche. It is
observable, that in one part of this scene an attention to
the court bursts out. Theodosius is impatient that he must
judge the "substance" of the ladies " by the shadow," and
demands to see them " with his own eyes." Perhaps the
king was not displeased at the compliment bestowed by a
Greek emperor on the notable project of courting the
Spanish princess.

A word must be added concerning the sources from which
Massinger has drawn his story. Coxeter briefly informs us
that the plot is taken from the 7th book of Socrates, and
the 5th of Theodoret : and Mr. M. Mason neither confirms
nor disproves this intelligence. But what is the plot?
Arcadia truly calls it,

" the falling out and in

Between the husband and the wife "

and of the quarrel and reconcilement of Theodosius ami
Eadocia, the two writers referred to say not a word I It is

not enough that they mention olhcr circumstances of
Alhenais, and celebrate the virtues of Theodosius and ni*
sisters. The plot is still to be sought for : and So/omen,
the other principal historian of that age, is as silent as the
authorities of Coxeter. It will only be found in the later
chroniclers. It does not appear that there is any full ac-
count of Athenais earlier than the time ot Malelas. Her
love for Paulinus, equally handsome and eloquent, is men-
tioned by Cedrenus ; and the memorable apple, the cause
of his death, by Theophanes. Fabr. Eib. Grtec. lib. v.
c. 1.

There seems to be some confusion in the dramatis per-
sona; of this, as well as of a former historical Play Roman
Actor. Flaccilla is mentioned as one of the younger sisters
of Theodosius. At all events tl.is is wrong. Whatever tes-
timony there is for her existence makes her older than
Pulcheria. But Sozomen, who names the rest of the family,
says nothing of her. And if Philostorgius is to be believed,
there was no sister of that name: for, in his account of thb
disgrace of Eutropius,, he marks the time, by observing,
that, in order to assiat her complaint with Arcadius, she
carried with her the twu children already born (Pulcheria
and Arcadia), and that Marina and Theodosius were pro-
duced after that event. It is possible that the name of
Marina, omitted by Massinger from the list of the sisters,
may have been bestowed on the waiting-woman of Pul-
cheria. If so, it will rectify the confusion noticed by the
editor, Act II. Sc. 1. The "reverend aunt, Maria," who
assists at the baptism of Athenais, was perhaps the wife of
Honorius, celebrated by Claudian.

In ttnui labor- D. IRELAND.

THE FATAL DOWRY.

THE FATAL DOWRY.] This most excellent Tragedy does not appear to Lave been licensed by Sir H
Herbert ; nor is it accompanied by any prologue or epilogue ; circumstances from which Mr. Malone con-
cludes that it was produced previous to 1620. However this be, it was not printed till 1632, before which
time, the title-page says, it " had been often acted at the private house in Blackfriars, by his Majesty's
servants."

Massinger was assisted in the writing of it by Nathaniel Field (of whom some mention is made in the
Introduction.) This would incline me to adopt the opinion of Mr. Malone; for the author seems to have
trusted to his own resources after the period here mentioned ; all the pieces licensed by the master of the
revels being his own composition.

From this Play Rowe borrowed, or, according to Cicero's distinction, stole, the plan of The Fair Penitent,
a performance by which he is now chiefly known. The relative merits of the two pieces are discussed by
Mr. Cumberland, in the ingenious analysis which follows the present Tragedy ; and which I regret that he
did not pursue to the conclusion, as the superiority of Massinger would have been still more apparent

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

ROCHFOHT, ex premier president of the parliament of I

Dijon.
CHAR ALOIS, a noble gentleman, ton to the deceased

marshal.

ROMOT, a brave nfficur, friend to Charalois.
NOVALL senior, premier president of the parliament of

Dijon.

NOVALL junior, hit son, in love with Beaumelle.
Du CROY, president of the parliament o/ Dijon.
CHAIUII, an advocate.
BEAVMONT, Secretary to Rochfort.

}/"""* rf Novall junior.
LILADAU, a parasite, dependent on Novalljunuw.

SCENE,

AYMER, a finger, and keeper of a music-house, also

dependent on Novalljunwr.
Advocates.
Three Creditort.
A Priest.
Tailor.
Barber.
Perfumer.
Page.

BEAUMELLE, daughter to Rochfort
FLORIMEL, j tenants to Beaumelle; the latter tin st-
BELLAPERT, J cret agent of Novall junior.
Presidents, Captains, Soldiers, Mourners, Gaoler, Bat*

lijf'$, Servants.
Dijon.

ACT I.

SCENE I. A Street before the Court of Justice.
Enter CHARALOIS with a paper, ROMONT, and CIIARMI.

Char. Sir, I may move the court to serve your

will ;
But therein shall both wrong you and myself.

Horn. Why think you so, sir?

Char. 'Cause I am familiar
With what will be their answer: they will say,
Tis against law, and argue me of ignorance,
For offering them the motion.

Rnm. You know not, sir,

How, in this cause, they may dispense with law ;
And therefore frame not you their answer from them,
But do your parts.

Char. I love the cause so well,
As* I could run the hazard of a check for't.

Rom. From whom ?

Char. Some of the bench, that watch to give it.
More than to do the office that they sit for :
But give me, sir, my fee.

Rom. Now you are noble.

Char. I shall deserve this better yet, in giving
My lord some counsel, if he please to hear it,
Than I shall do with pleading.

As / could run, &c.] Former editors That / could run.
1 do not love this modernising ; by degrees no one will be al-
lowed to speak the language of bis age.

514

THE FATAL DOWRY.

[Acr I

Rom. VVhat may it be, sir?

Char. That it would please bis lordsbip, as tbe

presidents

And counsellors of court come by, to stand
Here, and but show himself*, and to some one
Or two, make bis request : there is a minute,
When a man's presence speaks in his own cause,
More than the tongues of twenty advocates.
Horn. 1 have urged that.

Eittrr ROCHFORT and Dir Cnov.
Char. Their lordships here are coming,
I must go get me a place. You'll find me in court,
And at your service. [Exit.

Rom. Now, put onf vour spirits.
Du Croy. The ease that you prepare yourself, my
In giving up the place you hold in court, [lord,

Will prove, I fear, a trouble in the slate,
And that no slight one.

Roch. Pray you, sir, no more.
Ron. Now, sir, lose not tins ofFer'd means : their
Fix'd on you with a pitying earnestness, [looks,
Invite you to demand their furtherance
To your good purpose : this such a dulness,

So foolish and untimely, as

DM Croif. You know him 1
Roch. 1 do ; and much lament the sudden fall
Of this brave house. It is young Charalois,
Son to the marshal, from whom he inherits
His fame and virtues only.
Rom. Ha ! they name you.

Du Cray. His father died in prison two days since,
Roch. Yes, to the shame of this ungrateful state ;
That such a master in the art of war,
So noble and so highly meriting
From this forgetful country, should, for want
Of means to satisfy his creditors
The sums he took up for the general good,
Meet with an end so infamous.

Rom. Dare you ever
Hope for like opportunity ?
Du Cray. My good lord !
Roch. My wish bring comfort to you !
Du Croy. The time calls us.
Roch. Good morrow, colonel !

[Exeunt Rochfort and Du Croy.
Rom. This obstinate spleen,
You think, becomes your sorrow, and sorts well
With your black suits : but, grant me wit or judg-
And, by the freedom of an honest man, [ment,

And a true friend to boot, I swear 'tis shameful.
And therefore flatter not yourself with hope,
Your sable habit, with the hat and cloak, [them
No, though the ribands help, have power to work
To what you would : for those that had no eyes
To see the great acts of your father, will not,
From any fashion sorrow can put on,
Be taught to know their duties.

Charal. If they will not,
They are too old to learn, and I too young
To give them counsel ; since, if they partake
The understanding: and the hearts of men,
They will prevent my words and tears : if not,
What can persuasion, though made eloquent
With grief, work upon such as have changed natures
Wiih the most savage beast? Blest, blest be ever

* Here, and but nhow himself,] Thi lias been hitherto
printed show yourse'f. The necessity of the alteration will, I
trust, be readily acknowledged.

tRora. Now, yut on your spirits.] Route, animate
Uiem.

The memory of that nappy age, when justice
Had no guards to keep off wrong'd innocence
From flying to her succours, and, in that,
Assurance of redress ! where* 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 access : why should I, then,
Attempt impossibilities; you, friend, being
Too well acquainted with my dearth of means
To make my entrance that way ?

Rum. Would 1 were not !
But, sir, you have a cause, a cause so just,
Of such necessity, not to be deferr'd,
As would compel a maid, whose foot was never
Set o'er her father's threshold, nor within
The house where she was born, ever spake word
Which was not usher'd with pure virgin blushes,
To drown the tempest of a pleader's tongue,
And force corruption to give back the line
It took against her. Let examples move you.
You see men great in birth, esteem, and fortune,
Rather than lose a scruple of their right,
Fawn basely upon such, whose gowns put off,
They would disdain for servants.

Charal And to these
Can I become a suitor?

Rom. Without loss :

\Vould you consider, that 10 gain their favours,
Our chastest dames put off their modesties,
Soldiers forget their honours, usurers
Make sacrifice of gold, poets of wit,
And men religious part with fame and goodness.
Be therefore won to use the means that may
Advance your pious ends.

Charal. You shall o'ercome.

Rom. And you receive the glory. Pray you, now
practise.

Charal. 'Tis wellf.

Enter NOVALL senior, Advocates, LILADAM, and
three Creditors.

[Tenders his petition.] Not look on me!

fiiwn. You must have patience

Offer it again.

Charal. And be again contemn'd !

Nov. sen. I know what's to be done.

1 Cred. And, that your lordship
Will please to do your knowledge, we offer first
Our thankful hearts here, as a bounteous earnest
To what we will add.

Nov. sen. One word more of this,
I am your enemy. Am 1 a man
Your bribes can work on? ha?

Litud. Friends, you mistake
The way to win my lord ; he must not hear this
But I, as one in favour in his sight,
May hearken to you for my profit. Sir !
Pray hear them.

* Atsuraitce of redress ! where now, Romont,] So the
qnarlo : the modern editors, in their rage for reformation,
read,

Assurance of redress: whereas now Romont,
which reduces the line to very homely prose. H kerf for
whereas occurs continually ia these plays, and, indeed, in all
our old writers.

+ Chard. 'Tis well.] Tliefe two words I have given to
Chiiraluis, to whom they of right belong: they have hulitito
been allotted to Horaoiit.

SCENE II.]

THE FATAL DOWRY.

31. 1 )

N>. ten. It is well.
l.ilad. Observe him now.

A'or. sen. Your cause being good, and your pro-
ceedings so,

Without corruption I am your friend ;
Speak your desires.

f. Cred. Oh, they are charitable;
The marshiil stood engaged unto us three
Two hundred thousand crowns, which, by his

death,

We are defeated of: for which great loss
We aim at nothing but his rotten flesh :
Nor is that cruelty.

1 Cred. I have a son

That talks of nothing but of guns and armour,
And swears he'll be a soldier ; 'tis an humour
I would divert him from ; and I am told,
That if I minister to him, in his drink,
Powder made of this bankrupt marshal's bones,
Provided that the carcass rot above ground,
Twill cure his foolish frenzy.

Nov. ten. You show in it
A father's care. I have a son myself,
A fashionable gentleman, and a peaceful ;
And, but I am assured he's riot so given,
He should take of it too.

Choral. Sir!

AW sen. What are you?

Choral. A gentleman*.

A'w. sen. So are many that rake dunghills.
If you have any suit, move it in court :
I take no papers in corners. [Exit.

Rom. Yes,

As the matter may be carried, and whereby
To manage the conveyance. Follow him.

Lilad. You are rude : I say he shall not pass.

! Exeunt Charalois and Advocates.
.... ^ _, .
On what assurance 1

For the well cutting of his lordship's corns,
Picking his toes or any office else
Nearer to baseness !

Lilad. Look upon me better ;
Are these the ensigns of so coarse a fellow?
Be well advised.

Rom, Out, rogue ! do not I know
These glorious weeds spring from the sordid dung-
hill

Of thy officious baseness? wert thou worthy
Of any thing from me, but my contempt,
I would do more than this [Beats h imJ] more,

you court-spider !

Lilad. But that this man is lawless, he should find
That 1 am valiant.

1 Cred. If your ears are fast,

Tis nothing. What's a blow or two? as much.

2 Cred. These chastisements as useful are as
frequent,

To such as would grow rich.

Horn. Are they so, rascals?
I will befriend you, then. [Kicks them.

I Cred. Bear witness, sirs!

Charal. Mir !
Nov. sen. H hat are you?

Charal. A gentleman. So I have regulated these speeches ;
they formerly siond thus :

He should take of it too. Mir ! what are you f

Charal. A gentleman.

I believed that the modest Charalois, encouraged by Romont,
ventures to address himself tu Novall.

Lilad. Truth, I have borne my part already, friends.
In the court you shall have more. [Evif.

Rom. I know you for

The worst of spirits, that strive to rob the tombs
Of what is their inheritance, the dead:
For usurers, bred by a riotous peace,
That hold the charter of your wealth and freedom
By being knaves and cuckolds ; that ne'er pray,
But when you fear the rich heirs will grow wise,
To keep their lands out of your parchment toils ;
And then, the devil your father's call'd upon.
To invent some ways of luxury ne'er thought on.
Begone, and quickly, or I'll leave no room
Upon your foreheads for your horns to sprout on
Without a murmur, or I will undo you,
For I will beat you honest.

1 Cred. Thrift forbid !
We will bear this, rather than hazard that.

[Exeunt Credittirr
Re-enter CHARALOIS.

Rom: I am somewhat eased in this yet.

Char. Only, friend,

To what vain purpose do I make my sorrow
Wait on the triumph of their cruelty?
Or teach their pride, from my humility,
To think it has o'ercome? They aie determined
What they will do ; and it may well become me,
To rob them of the glory they expect
From my submiss entreaties.

Horn. Think not so, sir:
The difficulties that you encounter with
\\ ill crown the undertaking : heaven ! you weep :
And I could do so too, but that 1 know
There's more expected from the son and friend
Of him whose fatal loss now shakes our natures,
Than sighs or tears, in which a village nui>e,
Or cunning strumpet, when her knave is Lang'd,
May overcome us. We are men, young lord,
Let us not do like women. To the court,
And there speak like your birth : wake sleeping

justice.

Or dare the axe. This is a way will sort
With what you are : I call you not to that
I will shrink from myself; I will deserve
Your thanks, or suffer with you. how bravely*
That sudden fire of anger shows in you !
Give fuel to it. Since you are on a shelf
Of extreme danger, suffer like yourself. [Exeunt

SCENE II. The Court of Justice.

Enter ROCHFORT, NOVALL senior, Presidents, CHARMI
Du CROY, BEAUMONT, Advocates, three Creditors
and Officers.

Du Cray. Your lordships seated, may this meet

ing prove

Prosperous to us, and to the general good
Of Burgundy !

A T r. sen . Speak to the point.

Du Cray. Which is

With honour to dispose the place and power
Of premier president, which this reverend man,
Grave Rochfort, whom for honour's sake I name,

* O how bravely, &c.] This Romont is a noble fellow.
Warm, generous, high-spirited, di.-intfiesied, faithiul, a&d
affectionate, his copy, or rather his shadow, Horatio, dwin
dies into perfect iiiM^iutic.uicc on the comparison.

516

THE FATAL DOWRY.

fs purposed to resign ; a place, mv lords,
[u which he Ir.itli with such integrity
Perform 'd the first and best parts oi a judge,
That, as his life transcends all fair examples
Of such as were before him in Dijon,
So it remains to those that shall succeed him,
A precedent they may imitate, but not equal*.

Roch. I may not sit to hear this.

Du Croii. Let the love

And thankfulness we are bound to pay to goodness,
In this o'ercome your modesty.

Roch. My thanks

For this great favour shall prevent your trouble
The honourable trust that was imposed
Upon my weakness, since you witness for me
It was not ill discharged, 1 will not mention ;
Nor now, if age had not deprived me of
The litt'e strengtli I had to govern well
The province that I undertook, forsake it.

Nov. sen. That we could lend you of our years !

Du Cray. Or strength !

Nov. sen. Or, as you are, persuade you to con-
tinue
The noble exercise of your knowing judgment !

Roch. That may not be ; nor can your lordships'

goodness,

Since your employments have conferr'd upon me
Sufficient wealth, deny the use of it :
And, though old age, when one foot's in the grave,
In many, when all humours else are spent,
Feeds no affection in them, but desire
To add height to the mountain of their riches,
In me it is not so. I rest content
With the honours and estate I now possess :
And, that I may have liberty to use
What heaven, still blessing my poor industry,
Hath made me master of, I pray the court
To ease me of my burthen, that 1 may
Employ the small remainder of my life
In living well, and learning how to die so.
Enter ROMONT and CHARALOIS.

Rom. See, sir, our advocate.

Du Cray. The court entreats
Your lordship will be pleased to name the man,
Which you would have your successor, and in me,
All promise to confirm it.

Roch. I embrace it

As an assurance of their favour to me,
And name my lord No vail.

Du Cray. The court allows it.

Ro.h. but there are suitors wait here, and their

causes

May be of more necessity to be heard ;
I therefore wish that mine may be deferr'd,
And theirs have hearing.

Du Cray. If your lordship please [To Nov. sen.
To take the place, we will proceed.

Char. The cause

We come to oft'er to your lordships' censure,
Is in itself so noble, that it needs not
Or rhetoric in me that plead , or favour
From your grave lordships, to determine of it;
Since to the praise of your impartial justice
(Which guilty, nay, condemn'd men, dare not
scandal),

A precedent they may imitate, but not equal.] So the old
.opy. Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason, with equal advantage to
Je sense and harmony of the line, read,

A. precedent thai" they may imitate, but not equal'.

It will erect a trophy of your mercy,
Which married to that justice

Nov. sen. Speak to the cause.

Char. I will, my lord. To say, the lat dead

marshal,

'I he father of this young lord here, my client.
Hath done his country great and faithful service,
Might task me of impertinence, to repeat
What your grave lordships cannot but remember.
He, in his life, became indebted to
These thrifty men (I will not wrong their credits,
By giving them the attributes they now merit),
And failing, by the fortune of the wars,
Of means to free himself from his engagements,
He was arrested, and, for want of bail,
Imprison'd at their suit ; and, not long after,
With loss of liberty, ended his life.
And, though it be a maxiin in our laws,
All suits die with the person, these men's malice
In death rinds matter for their hate to work on,
Denying him the decent rites of burial*,
Which the sworn enemies of the Christian faith
Grant freely to their slaves. May it therefore pleas*
Your lordships so to fashion your decree,
That, what their cruelty doth forbid, your pity
May give allowance to.

Nov. sen. How long have you, sir,
Practised in court?

Char. Some twenty years, my lord.

Nov. sen. By your gross ignorance, it should ap-
pear
Not twenty days.

Char. I hope I have given no cause
In this, my lord.

Nov. sen. How dare you move the court
To the dispensing with an act confirm "d
By parliament, to the terror ot all bankrupts ?
Go home ; and with more care peruse the statutes
Or the next motion, savouring of this boldness,
May force you, sir, to leap, against your will,
Over the place you plead at.

CAar. I foresaw this.

Rom. Why, does your lordship think the moving of
A cause more honest than this court had ever
The honour to determine, can deserve
A check like this?

Nov. sen. Strange boldness !

Horn. 'Tis fit freedom :

Or, do you conclude an advocate cannot hold
His credit with the judge, unless he study
His face more than the cause for which he pleads ?

Char. Forbear.

Rom. Or cannot you, that have the power

* Denying him the decent rites of burial,] Herodotas
tells us that Asychis, the grandson of Cheops, to facilitate
the borrowing of money, allowed the Egyptians to pledge
the dead bodies of their parents, which, until redeemed by
payment of the sums advanced, could not be deposited in
the sepulchres of their fathers. In imitation of this mo-
narch, modern states have sanctioned the anotof a per-
son's dead body till his debts be paid : but what was in Asy-'
chis a wise institution, is in his followers a gratuitous act of
absurd and savage barbarity, \\itu the ancients the fate
of a human being was not decided by death ; his entrance
into a state of rest depended upon a due performance ot lii
obsequies; and his relations and friends were, therefore, im-
pelled by the most powerful motives, to discharge his obli-
gations, and seal his doom. We, on the contrary, know
from divine authority, that " as the tree lalleth, so it must
lie," and ihat no action, subsequent to a man's decease, can
aftect his destiny

4 .Or the next motion, savouring qf this boldness,] So lha
old copy; the moderns read, favouring.

SCKVE II.]

THE FATAL DOWRY.

317

To qualifv the rigour of the laws
When you are p'eased, take a little from
The strictness of your sour decrees, enacted
In favour of the greedy creditors,
Against the o'erthrown debtor]

Nov. sen. Sirrah ! you that prate
Thus saucily, what are you?

Rom. Why, I'll tell thee,

Thou purple-colour'd man ! I am one to whom
Thou ow'st the means thou hast of sitting there,
A corrupt elder.

CAar. Forbear.

Rom. The nose thou wear'st is my gift ; and

those eyes,

That meet no object so base as their master,
Had been long since torn from that guiltv head,
And thnu thyself slave to some needy Swiss*,
Had I not worn a sword, and used it better
Than, in thy prayers, thou erer didst thy tongue.

Nov. sen. Shall such an insolence pass unpunish'd !

Char. Hear me.

Rom. Yet I, that, in my service done my country,
Disdain to be put in the sc-.ile with thee,
Confess myself unworthy to be valued
Wirh the least part, nay, hair of the dead marshal ;
Of whose so many glorious undertakings,
Make choice of any one, and that the meanest,
Perform'd against the subtle fox of France,
The politic Louis, or the more desperate Swiss,
And 'twill outweigh all the good purposes,
Though put in act, that ever gownman practised.

Noo. sen. Away with him to prison !

Rom. If that cursest.

Urged justly, nnd breath 'd forth so, ever fell
On those that did deserve them, let not mine
Be spent in vain now, that thou from this instant
Mayst, in thy fear that they will fall upon thee,
Be sensible of the plagues they shall bring with them.
And for denying of A little earth
To cover what remains of our great soldier,
May all your wives prove whores, your factors

thieves,

And, while you live, your riotous heirs uudo you !
And thou, the patron of their cruelty,
Of all thy lordships live not to be owner
Of so much dung as will conceal a dog,
Or, what is worse, thyself in ! And thy vears,
To th' end thou mavst be wretched, I wish many;
And, as thou hast denied the dead a grave,
May misery in thy life make thee desire one,
Which men and nil the elements keep from ihee !
I have begun well ;. imitate, exceed.

[To Ctiaralois.

Each. Good counsel, were it a praiseworthy deed.
[Exeiuit (>fficers vhh Runwnt.
Du C'Y>iy. Remember what we are.

Chaial. Thus low my duty
Answers your lordship's counsel. I will use,
In the few words with which I am to trouble

And thou thi/sflf stave to some needy Swiss,] It may not
be ami** to observe here, ilia; Burgundy (in llie capital of
which the scene is laid) was a powerful and independent
state. It illicit, perhaps, have coiilinm-d so, but fur the am-
bitions and destructive waif ire which the last of its so-
vereigns madly carried on against the confederated cantons.

+ Rom. If that curias, &c.] To this most animated .-pei ch
Otway seems indebted tor the imprecations which he makes
the indignant Piene pour apua the government of Venice.
The reader, whom curiosity may le.id to compare the two
cene, will rind how much the iopy falls bcueaiu tiir. origi-
nal, not only in delicacy, but in spirit.

Your lordships' ears, the temper that you wish me ;

Not that I fear to speak my thoughts, as loud,

And with a liberty beyond Romont ;

But that I know, for me, that am made up

Of all that's wretched, so to haste my end,

Would seem to most rather a willingness

To quit the burthen of a hopeless life,

Than scorn of death, or duty to the dead.

I, therefore, bring the tribute of my praise

To your severity, and commend the justice

That will not, for the many services

That any man hath done the commonwealth,

Wink at his least cf ills. What though my father

Writ man before he was so, and confirm'd it,

By numbering that day no part of his life,

In which he did not service to his country ;

Was he to be free, therefore, from the laws

And ceremonious form in your decrees ;

Or else, because he did as much as man

In those three memorable overthrows

At Granson, Morat, Nancy, where his master*,

The warlike Charalois (with whose misfortunes

I bear his name), lost treasure, men, and life,

To be excused from payment of those sums

Which (his own patrimony spent) his zeal

To serve his country forced him to take up !

Nov. sen. The precedent were ill.

Charal. And yet, my lord, this much,
I know, you'll grant; after those great defeatures,
Which in their dreadful ruins buired quick

Re-enter Officers.

Courage and hope in all men but himself,

He forced the proud foe, in his height of conquest,

To yield unto an honourable peace ;

And in it saved an hundred thousand lives,

To end his own, that, was sure proof a .-ainst

The scalding summer's heat, and winter's frost,

111 airs, the cannon, and the enemy's sword,

In a most loathsome prison.

Du Cray. 'Twas his fault
To be so prodigal.

A'oi;. sen. He had from the state
Sufficient entertainment for the army.

Charal. Sufficient, my lords! You sit at home,
And, though your fees are boundless at the bar,

Are thrifty in the charges of the war

But your wills be obev'd. To these I turn,
To these soft-hearted men, that wisely know
They're only good men that pay what they owe.

2 Cm/. And so they are.

1 CreiL It is the city doctrine*;
We stand bound to maintain it.

In those three memorable overthows

At Granson, Moral, Nancy, &c.] These were indeed me-
morable, since they were given by ill-armed and undiscip-
lined rustics (invigorated, indeed, by the calm and fearless
spirit of genuine liberty) to armies superior to themselves in
numbers, and composed of regular troops from some of the
most warlike nations in Europe. The overthrow of Granson
took place March ad, 1470; that of Morat, June 2*1,
in the same year; and that of jVane//, January 5ih, H77.
lu this Charles (or, as he is here called, Charalois) duke of
Burgundy fell; and the subtle fox of France, Louis XI.
shortly at'ler seized upon the defenceless duchy, and united
it to liis own kingdom.

- It is the city doctrine ;j Thus in The Merchant of Ve-
nice :

" fitly. Antonio is a good man.

" Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the con-
trary I

"'Shy. No, no, no; my meaning in saying he is a
good mau, is to have you understand me that he \<. sufficient."

318

THE FATAL DOWRY.

[Acrl

Choral. Be constant in it ;
And since you are as merciless in your natures,
As base and mercenary in your means
By which you get your wealth, 1 will not urge
The court to take away one scruple from
The right of their laws, or [wish*] one good thought
In you to mend your disposition with.
I know there is no music to your ears
So pleasing as the groans of men in prison,
And that the tears of widows, and the cries
Of famish M orphans, are the feasts that take you.
That to be in your dangerf, with more care
Should be avoided than infectious air,
The loathed embraces of diseased women,
A flatterer's poison, or the loss of honour.
Yet rather than my father's reverend dust
Shall want a pla< e in that fair monument
In which our noble ancestors lie entoinb'd,
Before the court I offer up myself
A prisoner for it. Load me with those irons
That have worn out his life ; in my best strength
I'll run to the encounter of cold, hunger,
And choose my dwelling where no sun dares enter
So he may be released.

1 Cred. What mean you, sir?

Adco. Only your fee again : there's so much said
Already in this cause, and said so well,
That, should I only offer to speak in it,
I should be or not heard, or laugli'd at for it. [back,

1 Cred. 'Tis the first money advocate e'er gave
Though he said nothing.

Koch. Be advised, young lord,
And well considerate; you throw away
Your liberty and joys of life together :
Your bounty is employed upon a subject
That is not sensible of it, with which wise man
Never abused his goodness. The great virtues
Of your dead father vindicate themselves
From these men's malice, and break ope the prison,
Though it contain his body.

Nov. sen. Let him alone :

If he love coids, in God's name let him wear them ;
Provided these consent.

Charal. I hope they are not
So ignorant in any way of profit,
As to neglect a possibility
To get their own, by seeking it from that
Which can retuin them nothing but ill fame,
And curses, for their barbarous cruelties.

3 Cred. What think ye of the offer 1

2 Cred. Very well.

1 Cred. Accept it by all means. Let's shut him

up;

He is well shaped, and has a villanous tongue,
And, should he study that way of revenge,
As I dare almost swear he loves a wench,
We have no wives, nor never shall get daughters,
That will hold out against him.
Dn Cioy. What's your answer?

2 Cred. Speak you for all.

1 Cred. Why, let our executions

* The riyht nf their laws, or [wish] r.ne gnod thouyht
In you, <Scc.] A monosyllable has rtropt out at llie press.
I have endeavoured to complete the metre, and, perh.ips,
(he sense, by the addition in brackets : it is a liberty tli.it
1 seldom take, and never without giving the reader no-
Cice of it.

f to be in your danger.] i. e. to be in your

debt: a common expression in our old writers; ihus Portia:
"You stand within his danyer,i\<> >on not !

Merchant of Venice.

That lie upon the father, be return'd
Upon the son, and we release the body.

A'OD. sen. The court must grant you that.

Charul. I thank your lordships.
They have in it confirm 'd on me such glory
As no time can take from me: I am ready.
Come, lead me where you please. Captivity,
That comes with honour, is true liberty.

Fieiuit Charaloh, Charmi, Officers, and Creditor*.

Nov. sen. Strange rashness !

lioch A brave resolution rather,
Worthy a better fortune : but, however,
It is not now to be disputed ; therefore
To my own cause. Already I have found
Your lordships bountiful in your favours to me,
And that should teach my modesty to end here,
And press your loves no further.

Du Cray. There is nothing
The court can grant, but with assurance you
May ask it, and obtain it.

Iloch. You encourage
A bold petitioner, and 'tis not fit
Your favours should be lost: besides, 't 'as been
A custom many years, at the surrendering
The place I now give up, to grant the president
One boon, that parted with it : and, to confirm
Your grace towards me, against all such as may
Detract my actions and life hereafter,
I now prefer it to you.

Du Ctvy. Speak it freely.

Ritch. I then desire the liberty of Romont,
And that my lord Novall, whose private wrong
Was equal to the injury thai was done
To the dignity of the court, will pardon it,
And now sign his enlargement.

Nov. sen. Pray you demand
The moiety of my estate, or any thing,
Wi bin my power but this.

Roch. Am 1 denied then
i\Iy first and last request ?

Du C roi/. It must not be.

2 Pre. I have a voice to give in it.

3 Pre. And I.

And if persuasion will not work him to it,
We will make known our power.

Nov. Sen. You are too violent;
You shall have my consent : but would you had
Wade trial of my love in any thing
But this, you should have found then but it skills

not ;
You have what you desire.

Roch. I thank your lordships.

Du Croy. The court is up. Make way.

[Exeunt all hut Roclifort and Beaumont

Roch. I follow you. Beaumont!

Bean. My lord.

Roch. Y'ou are a scholar, Beaumont ;
And can search deeper into the intents of men,
Than those that are less knowing. How appear'd
The pietv and brave behaviour of
Young Charalois to you 1

Beau. It is my wonder,
Since I want language to express it fully :
And sure the colonel

Koch. Fie ! he was faulty.
What presi-nt money have 1?

Beau. There's no want
Of any sum a private man liaa use for.

liuch. 'Tis we]J-

THE FATAL DOWRY

I im strnnjrelv t.iken with this Cl ralois.
JMethinks, from his example the whole age
Should learu to be good, and continue so.

319

Virtue works strangely with us ; and his goodness
Rising ubove his fortune, seems to rne,
Prince-like, to will, not ask, a courtesy. [Eiul.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Street before the Prison.
Enter PONTAUEH, MALOTIN, and BEAUMONT.

Mai. 'Tis strange.
Beait. Methinks so.
Pont, la a man but young,
Vet old in judgment ; iheoric and practic
In all humanity*, and, to increase the wonder,
Keligious, yet a soldier ; that he should
Yield his free-living youth a captive for
The freedom of his aged father's corpse,
And rather c'noose to want life's necessaries,
Libetty, hope of fortune, than it should
lii ceath he kept from Christian ceremony.

Mai. Come, 'tis a golden precedent in a son,
To let strong nature have the better hand,
Jn such a case, of all affecied reason.
'\Yli-.tt vt-ars sit on this Cbaraiois ?

Brau. Twenty-eight :
For since the clock did strike him seventeen

old.

Under his father's wing this son hath fought,
Served and commanded, and so aptly both,
That sometimes he appear'd his father's father,
And never less than's son ; the old man's virtues
So recent in him, as the world may swear,
Nought but a fair tree could such fair fruit bear.
Punt. But wherefore lets he such a barbarous

law,

And men more barbarous to execute it,
Prevail on his soft disposition,
'J hat he hud rather die alive, for debt
Of the old man, in prison, than they should
Rob him of sepulture ; considering
These monies borrow'd bought the lenders peace,
And all the means they enjoy, nor were diffused
In any impious or licentious path?

Beau. True ! fur my part, were it my father's

trunk,
The tyrannous ram-heads with their horns should

gore it.

Or cast it to their curs, than they less currish,
Kre prey on me so with their lion-law,
Being in my free will, as in his, to shun it.

Pont. Alas! he knows himself in poverty lost :
For in this partial avaricious age
What price bears honour ? virtue? long ago
Jt was but praised, and freeze,! ; but now-a-days
'Tis colder fur, and has nor love nor praise :
The very praise now freezeth too ; for nature
Did make the heathen far moie Christian then,
Than knowledge us. less heathenish, Christian.
Mat This morning is the funeral ?
Pont. Certainly,
And from this prison 'twas the son's request.

In all humanity,] i. e. in all polite literature.

That his dear father might interment hare,

See, the young son enter'd a lively grave* !

Beau. They come observe their order.

Solemn Music. Enter the Funeral Procession. The
Coffin borne by four, preceded by a Priest. Captains,
Lieutenants, Ensigns, and Sotdic'-s ; Mourners, Scut-
cheons, $c., and very good order. R.OMOXT and
CHARALOIS, followed by the Gaolers and Officers,
with Creditors, meet it.

Choral. How like a silent stream shaded with.

night,

And gliding softly with our windy sighs,
Moves the whole frame of this solemnity !
Tears, sigts, and blacksf filling the simile ;
Whilst 1, the only murmur in this grove
Of death, thus hollowly break forth. Vouchsafe

[To the Beare-t.

'I- S uy awhile Rest, rest in peace, dear earih'.
Thou that brought'st rest to their unthankful lives,
Whose cruelty denied thee rest in death !
Here stands thy poor executor, thy son,
That makes his life prisoner to bail thy death ;
Who gladlier puts on this captivity,
Than virgins, long in love, their wedding weeds.
Of all that ever thou hast done good to,
These only have good memories; for they
Remember best forget not gratitude.
I thank you for this last and friendly love:

[To the Soldier $

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 a usurer hath ;
Thy worth, in every honest breast, builds one,
Making their friendly hearts thy funeral stone*.

See the young son enter'd a lively grace'.] i. e. a living
grave, so he calls the prison. The quarto has:

See the younif son inter'd a lively yrave.

The small change here made restores the passage to sense.
Mr. M. .Mason would read enters alive the grave, which I
should like better, if ihe preceding line had dead, instead o
dear father. The old reading, however, is defended by Mr.
Giichris-t, who observes that there is a similar combination
of words ju*t above,

" He had rather die alive for debt."
And also in Samson Ayonistes :

" Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave." v. 102.
These passages are, indeed, .strikingly similar: but they are
not for that the more intelligible.

t Tear*, sighs, and blacks, &c.l Blacks are constantly
used by our old writers for mourning weeds.

I Thy worth, in every honest breast, builds one,

Ma/ting their friendly hearts thy funeral stone.] Had
Pope Massingcrin his thoughts when he wrote his epitaph
on Gay !

" These are thy honours! not that here thy bust
I. mix'd with heroes, or with kinge thy dust;

3*0

THE FATAL DOWRY.

[Acr II,

Pont. Sir.

Charal. Peace ! O, peace ! this scene is wholly

mine. ,

What! weep ye, soldiers? blauch not. Romont

weeps.

Ha ! let me see ! my miracle is eased,

The gaolers and the creditors do weep ;

Even they that make us weep, do weep themselves.

Be these thy body's balm ! these and thy virtue

Keep thy fame ever odoriferous,

Whilst the great, proud, rich, undeserving man,

Alive slinks in his vices, and, being vanish'd,

The golden calf, that was an idol deck'd

With marble pillars, jet, and porphyry,

Shall quickly, both in bone and name, consume,

Though wruptin lead, spice, searcloth.and perfume !

1 Cred. Sir.

Choral. What? away, for shame! you profane

rogues.

Must not be mingled with these holy relics :
This is a sacrifice* ; our shower shall crown,
His sepulchre with olive, myrrh, and bays,
The plants of peace, of sorrow, victory ;
Your tears would spring but weeds.

1 Cred. Would they so !

We'll keep them to stop bottles then.

Rom. No, keep them

For your own sins, you rogues, till you repent j
You'll die else, and be dumn'd.

2 Cred. Damn'd ! ha! ha! ha!
.Rom. Laugh ye ?

3 Cred. Yes, faith, sir ; we would bo very g'ad
To please you either way.

1 Cred. You are ne'er content,
Crying nor laughing.

Rom. Both with a birth, ye rogues ?

2 Cred. Our wives, sir, taught us.

Ram. Look, look, you slaves! your thankless

cruelty,

And savage manners of unkind Dijon,
Exhaust these floods, and not his father's death.

1 Cred. "Slid, sir! what would you? you're so
choleric !

2 Cred. Most soldiers are so, i'faith ; let him
alone.

They have little else to live on. We've not had
A penny of him, have we ?

3 Cred. 'Slight ! would you have our hearts ?

\ Cred. We have nothing but his body here in

durance
For all our money.

Priest. On.

Charal. One moment more,
But to bestow a few poor legacies,
All I have left in my dead father's rights,
And I have done. Captain, wear thou these spurs,
That yet ne'er made his horse run from a foe.
Lieutenant, (hou this scarf; and may it tie
Thy valour and thy honesty together!
For so it did in him. Ensign, this cuirass,
Your general's necklace once. You, gentle bearers,
Divide this purse of gold ; this other, strew

But that the virtuous and the good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosoms Here lies Gay !"
1 cannot avoid adding, that Johnson must have written his
comments on this little production, in a fit of the spleen,
and a very dull one too. They cannot injure Pope, but they
may do some harm to himself.

Thit in a sacrifice;) From which the profane were ex-
cluded. He alludes to the ancient form of adjuration,
Ejcac, iKac;, tart, /3t/;\ci.

Among the pooi 'tis all 1 have. Homont

Wear thou this medal of himself that, like
A hearty oak, grevr'st close to this tall pine,
Even in the wildost wilderness of war,
Whereon foes broke their swords, and tired them-
selves;
Wounded and hack'd ye were, but never fell'd.

For me, my portion provide in heaven !

My root is eurth'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.

This would I wear* as my inheritance

And what hope can arise to me from it,
When I and it are both here prisoners!
Only may this, if ever we br free,
Keep or redeem me from all infamy.

A DIHGE, to solemn Afusicf.

1 Cred. No further ; look to them at your own

peril.

2 Cred. No, as they please: their master's a good

man.

I would they were at the Bermudas !

Gaol. You must no further.
The prison limits you, and the creditors
Exact the strictness.

Rom. Out, you wolviiih mongrels !
Whose brains should be knock d out, like dogs in

July,
Lest your infection poison a whole town.

Charal. They grudge our sorrow. Your ill wills,

perforce,

Turn now to charity: they would not have us
Walk too far mourning ; usurers' relief
Grieves, if the debtors have too much of grief.

[Eieunt,

SCENE II*. A Room in Rochfort's House.
Enter BEAUMELLF., FLORIMEL, and BELLAPEKT.

Beaumel. I prithee tell me, Florimel, why do
women marry 'J

Flor. Why truly, madam, I think, to lie with their
husbands.

Bell. You are a fool. She lies, madam ; women
marry husbands, to lie with other men.

Flor. "Faith, even such a woman wilt thou make.
By this light, madam, this wagtail will spoil you, if
you take delight in her license.

Beaumel. 'Tis true, Florimel ; and thou wilt make
rne too good for a young lady. What an electuary
found my father out for his daughter, when he com-
pounded you two my women ! for thou, Florimel,
art even a grain too heavy, simply, for a waiting
gentlewo'iran

Flor. And thou, Bellapert, a grain too light.

This would J wear, &c.] i. e. his father's sword. M.

MASON.

t I have followed the quarto, in throwing these rhymet
together at the end oft e play. I 'ish I could have thrown
them quite away, lor, to confess the truth, they are good for
nothing.

\ I will not venture to pronounce the fine scene we have
just finished to be written by Kield, though I emertun few
doubts of it; but I am confident th.it not a line of this to
which \ve are now arrived w.is composed by MnwlugiT. It
is not in hit manner. Unluckily the port's a>si-i.u s were
somewhat like Dr. Johnson's patrons they encumbered him
with their assistance.

SCEIfE II.]

THE IATAL DOVVRV.

Hell, Well, go thy ways, goody wisdom*, whom
nobody regard?. I wonder whether be elder, thou
or thy hood? You think, because you served my
lady's mother, are thirty-two years old, which is a
pipf out, you know

Flor. Well said, whirligig.

Bell. You are deceived : I want a peg in the
middle. Out of tbeae prerogatives, you think to be
mother of the maids here, and mortify them with
proverbs : go, go, govern the sweetmeats, and weigh
the sugar, that tho wenches steal none ; say your
prayers twice a-day, and, as I take it, you have per-
formed your function.

Flor. I may be oven with you.

Bell. Hark ! tho court's broke up. Go, help my
d lord out of his caroch, and scratch his head till
dinner-time.

Flor. Well. [Exit.

Bell. Fie, madam, how you walk ! By my maiden-
head, you look seven years older than you did this
morning. Why there can be nothing under the sun
valuable to make you thus a minute.

Beaitmel. Ah, my sweet Bellapert, thou cabinet
To all my counsels, thou dost know the cause
That makes thy lady wither thus in youth.

Bell. Uds-light ! enjoy your wishes : whilst I lire,
One way or other you shall crown your will.
Would you have him your husband that you love,
And can it not be ? he is your servant, though,
And may perform the office of a husband.

Beaumel. But there is honour, wench.

Bdl. Such a disease
There is indeed, for which ere I would die

Beaumel. Prithee, distinguish me a maid and wife.

Bell. 'Faith, madam, one may bear any man's
children, t'other must bear no man's.

Beaumtl. What is a husband?

Bell. Physic, that, tumbling in your belly, will
make you sick in the stomach. The only distinction
betwixt a husband and servant is, the first will lie
with you when he pleases; the last shall lie with
you when you please. Pray tell me, lady, do you
love, to marry after, or would you marry, to love
after?

Beaumel. I would meet love and marriage both at
once.

Bell. Why then you are out of the fashion, and
will be contemn'd : for I will assure you, there are
few women in the world, but either they have married
first, and love after ; or love first, and married after.
You must do as you may, not as you would ; j'our
father's will is the goal you must fly to. If a hus-
band approach you, you would have further off, is
he you love, the less near you ? A husband in these
days is but a cloak, to be oftenerlaid upon your bed,
than in your bed.

Beaumel. Hum !

Bell. Sometimes you may wear him on your
shoulder ; now and then under your arm ; but

* Bell. Well, go thy ways, goody wisdom, whom nobody
regard!.] This flippant allusion to Scripture, were there no
other proofs, would be sufficient to convince every attentive
reader, that it could not proceed from Massinger. He has,
indeed, a thousand references to holy writ ; but they are
constantly made with a becoming seriousness and so-
lemnity.

f Which is a pip out.] A pip is a spot upon a card. The
allusion is to the very ancient game of Om-and-thirty : it
was once a favorite diversion, and is mentioned, among
otheru, in Green's Art of Coney Catching.

seldom or never let him cover you, for 'tis not the
fashion.

Enter NOVALL junior, PONTALIER, MALOTIN,
LILADAM, and AYMER.

Not.jun. Best dny to nature's curiosity,
Star of Dijon, the lustre of all France !
Perpetual spring dwell on thy rosy cheeks,
Whose breath is perfume to our continent !
See ! Flora trimm'd* in her varieties

Bell. O, divine lord I

Nov.jun. No autumn nor no age ever approach
This heavenly piece, which nature having wrought,
She lost her needle, and did then despair
Ever to work so lively and so fair !

Lilail. Uds-light! my lordf, one of the purls of
your band is, without all discipline, fallen out of his
rank.

Nov. jun. How ! I would not for a thousand
crowns she had seen't. Dear Liladam, reform it.

Bel/. Oil lord per M, lord ! quintessence of honour !
she walks not under a weed that could deny thee
any thing.

Beaumel. Prithee peace, wench ; thou dost but

blow the fire
That flames too much already.

[Liladam and Aymer trim Novall, while Bella-
pert dresses her lady.

Aym. By gad, my lord, you have the divinest
tailor in Christendom; he hath made you look
like an angel in your cloth-of-tissue doublet.

Pont. This is a three-legg'd lord ; there's a fresh
assault. Oh ! that men should spend time thus !
See, see, bow her blood drives to her heart, and
straight vaults to her cheeks again!

Malot. What are these?

Pont. One of them there, the lower, is a good,
foolish, knavish, sociable gallimaufry of a man, and
has much caught my lord with singing ; he is master
of a music-house. The other is his dressing block,
upon whom my lord lays all his clothes and fashions
ere he vouchsafes them his own person :' you shall
see him in the morning in the Galley-foist, at noon
in the Bullion, in the evening in Quirpof, and all
night in

* See! Flora trimm'd in her varieties.] The old copy read<
turn'd, and was followed by Coxeter : the alteration is by
Mr. M. Masiin.

T Lilad. Udt-light! my lord, &c.J If this ridiculous in-
terruption furnished Sterne with the hint for that humor-
ous une by the Count de Faineant, when he was in the
midst of a dissertation on the necessity of a First Cause,
it must be allowed that he has greatly improved on his
original.

J : you shall see him in the morning in the

Galley-foist, at noon in the Bullion, in the evening in Quirpo,
&c.J 1 know not what to make of this passage. Mr. M.
Mason thinks the placts here mentioned \\ere taverns; it is
full as likely that they were houses of public resort for some
kind of amusement. Our old writers give the name of yal-
ley-foiit to the Lord Mayor's barge ; but I see not how this,
or any other of the city barges, can be meant here. On re-
considering the whole of this passage, 1 am inclined to tliink
that (he allusion is to particular modes of dress. The galley-
foist, when employed, was always aduined with Hags,
streamers, &c. This is sufficiently manifest from many old
views of the river; and it may be, that some gaudy dress set
off with scarfs and ribands, took its name from the holiday
appearance of this vessel. The Bullion seems to be a piece
of finery, which derived its denomination from the large
globular gilt buttons, still in use on the continent (particularly
in Holland), and of which a diminutive specimen mav yet be
seen on the clothes of ourchildren. This explains ap;-
sage in Jouson ;

THE FATAL DOWRY.

[Acr II.

Malot. A bawdyhouse.

Pout. If my lord deny, they deny; if he affirm,
they affi-m; they skip into my lord's cast skins
some twice a year ; and thus they flatter to eat, eat
to live, and live to praise my lord.

Muli>t. Good sir, tell me one thing.

P,.,it. What's that?

Malot. Dare these men ever fight on any cause ?

Pont. Oh, no! 'twould spoil their clothes, and
put their hands out of order.

Nov. jun. Mistress*, you hear the news? your
father lias resign'd his presidentship to my lord my
father.

Mai. And lord Charalois
Undone for ever.

Pont. Troth, 'tis pity, sir,
A braver hope of so assured a father
Did never comfort France.

Lilad. A good dumb mourner.

Aum. A silent black.

Nov. jun. Oh, fie upon him, how he wears his

clothes !

As if he had come this Christmas from St. Omers,
To see his friends, and return 'd after Twelfth-tide.

Lilad. His colonel looks finely like a drover

Noo.jun. That had a winter lain perdue in the
rain.

Aum. What, he that wears a clout about his neck,
His cuffs in's pocket, and his heart iu's mouth?

Nov. jun. Now, out upon him !

Beaumel. Servant, tie my hand.

[Kov.jun. Idssei her hand.

How your lips blush, in scorn that they should pay
Tribute to hands when lips are in the way !

Nov. jun. I thus recaut; yet now your hand

looks white,

Because your lips robb'd it of such a right.
Monsieur Aymer, I prithee sing the song
Devoted to my mistress.

Music and a SONG by Aymtr.
Enter ROCHFORT and BEAUMONT

Bean. Romont will come, jir, straight.

Roc/i. 'Tis well.

Beaumel. My father!

Nov. jun. My honourable lord.

Roch. My lord Novall, this is a virtue in you ;
So early up, and ready before noon,
That are the map of dressing through all France !

"While yon do eat. and lie about the town here,
And cozen in your JJullions."

The Devil's an Ass.

Here bullion is evidently used for tome dress of parade,
put on by gamblers, &r., for the sake of imposing on the un-
wary. It is applied in a kindred sense by Beaumont and
Fletcher:

" That ape had paid it O what dainty tricks,
In his French doublet, with his blistered (blown up, hol-
low) bullions,
In a long stock tied up."

Brgijar's Busk.

Qniipo (cuerpo) isannndress; the Spaniards, from whom we
borrowed the word, apply it to a person in a light jacket
justiare-corps), without his calot or cloak; but our old dra-
matists, who use the expression upon all occasions, mean
by it any state from nakedness to imperfect clotliing. \V hat
the night rfref* of Aymer ("my lord's third leg") was,
the adroit ibtrrrnption of Malotin prevents us from ascer-
taining, nor, indeed, would I have the reader to accept the
explanation of the others as aiiythinu more than conjecture.
* Nov. jun. Mistress, you hrar the newt .'] r'or this sim-
ile express-oil tl>'. modern editors most strangely and cor-
puy -;ia, .>/ ^t >"'i he*r the newst

Nov.jnn. I rise to say my prayers, sir ; here's

my saint.
Rock. 'I is well and courtly: you must give me

leave,

I have some private conference with my daughter;
Pray use my garden : you shall dine with me.
lAlad. We'll wait on you,
Nov.jun. Good morn unto your lordship;
Remember, what you have vow'd. [To Bcanmelle.
Beaumel. Perform I must.

[Exeunt nil but Rockfort and Peaumelle.
Roch. Why, how now, Beaumelle* .' thou look'st

not well.
Thou art sad of late ; come, cheer thee, I hare

found

A wholesome remedy for these maiden fits :
A goodly oak whereon to twist my vine,
Till her fair branches grow up to the stars.
Be near at hand. Success crown my intent!
My business fills my little time so full,
I cannot stand to talk ! I know thy duty
Is handmaid to my will, especially
When it presents nothing but good and fit.

Beaumel. Sir, 1 am yours. Oh ! if my fears prova

true,
Fate hath wrong'd love, and will destroy me too.

[L'jit
Enter RowOmmid G-aoler.

Rom. Sent you for me, sir

7ii)c/i. Yes.

J?om. Your lordship's pleasure?

Roch. Keeper, this prisoner I will see forth-
coming,
Upon my word : sit down, good colonel.

[Exit Gaoler.

Why I did wish you hither, noble sir,
Is to advise yon from this iron carriage,
Which, so affected, Romont, you will wear;
To pity, and to counsel you submit
With expedition to the great Nuvall :
Recant your stern contempt, and siiglit neglect
Of the whole court and him, and opportunely,
Or you will undergo a heavy censure
In public, very shonly.

Rom. Reverend sir,

I have observed you. and do know you well ;
And am now more afraid you know not me,
By wishing my submission to Novall,
Thau I can be of all the bellowing mou'hs
That wait upon him to pronounce the censure
Could it determine me torments and shame.

Submit, and crave forgiveness of a beast!

'Tis true, this boil of state wears purple tissue,
Is high fed, proud ; so is his lordship's horse,
And bears as rich caparisons. 1 know
This elephant carries on his back not only
Towers, castles, but the ponderous republic,
And never stoops for't; with his strong-breath 'd

trunk

Snuffs others' titles, lordships, offices,
Wealth, bribes, and lives, under his ravenous jaws
What's this unto my freedom 1 I dare die ;
And theiefore ask this camelf, if these blessings

Roch. Why, hou< norr, Bcaun.elle t thott tuok'st not
well.] It may be necessary here to remind UK- rea.ler that
Massinger generally uses lieaumelle as a trisyllable, vhici.,
indeed, is its proper measure.

T And therefore ask this camel, &C.1 In Ids indignation
(and it is the indignation of viituf) the oudrfiiutw! Komout

SCENE II.]

THE FATAL DOWRY.

S23

(For so they would be understood by a man )

But mollify one rudeness in his nature,

Sweeten the eager relish <.f the law,

At whose great helm he sits. Helps he the poor

In a just business? nay, does he not cross

Every deserved soldier and scholar,

As it, when nature made him, she had made

The general antipathy of all virtue'!

How savagely and blasphemously he spake

Touching the general, the brave general dead !

I must weep when I think on't.

Rnch. Sir.

Rom. My lord,

I am not stubborn : I can melt, you see,
And prize a virtue better than mv life :
For though I be not learn 'd, 1 ever loved
That holy mother of all issues u,ood,
\\hose white hand, fora sceptre, holds a file
To polish roughest customs ; and in you
She has her right : see ! I am calm as sleep.
But when 1 think of the gross injuries,
The godless wrong done to my general dead,
1 rave indeed, and could eat this Novall ;
"A soulless dromedary !

Roch. Oh ! be temperate.

Sir, though I would persuade, I'll not constrain :
Eiich man's opinion freely is his own
Concerning any tiling, or any body ;
Be it right or wrong, 'tis at the judge's peril.

Re-enter BEAUMONT.

Beau. These men, sir, wait without; my lord is

come too.

Roch. Pay them those sums upon the table ; take
Their full releases : stay, I want a witness :
Let me entreat you, colonel, to walk in,
And stand but by to see this money paid ;
Jt does concern you and \our friend ; it was
The better cause you were sent for, though said

otherwise.

The deed shall make this my request more plain.
Horn. I shall obey your pleasure, sir, though

ignorant
To wiiat it tends. [Exeunt Romont and Bejumont.

Enter CHAR. \LOIS.

Rocfi. Worthiest sir,

You ate most welcome. Fie, no more of this !
You have outwept a woman, noble Cbaralois.
No man but has or must bury a father.

Churul. Grave sir, 1 buried sorrow for his death,
In the grave with him. 1 did never think
He was immortal though I vow I grieve,
And see no reason why the vicious,
Virtuous, valiant, and unworthy man,
Should die alike.

Ro h. '1 hey do not.

Churul. In the manner
Of dying, sir, they do not ; but all die,
And thi-rein differ not : but 1 have done.
I spied* the lively picture of my father,
Passing your gallery, and that cast this water
Into mine eyes. See, foolish that 1 am,
To let it do so !

passes rapidly from one strong metaphor to another. This is
perplexing; but is not therefore the lessnalnr.il.

* 1 itp-til, &c.] This is a pretty circumstance, and isc.ilru-
lateil nul mil}' to show the li.i.il piety of Cliaralois, but to
inteicst his teelin^s in favour of llochfort, by ihc respect
(ho ;> n to his father.

Roch. Sweet and gentle nature !
How silken is this well*, comparatively
To other men ! I have a suit to you, sir.

Choral. Take it, 'tis granted.

Roch. What?

Churul. Nothing, my lord.

Roch. Nothing is quickly granted.

Churtd. Fai'h, my lord,
That nothing granted is even all I have,
For, all know, I have nothing left to grant.

Roch. Sir, have you any suit to me ? I'll grant
You something, any thing.

Charal. Nay, surely, I that can
Give nothing, will but sue for that again.
No man will grant me any thing I sue for,
But beguinsj nothing, every man will give it.

TJ I ^o * I

Keek, Sir !

The love I bore your father, and the worth

I see in you, so much resembling his,

Made me thus send for you : and tender here

[Drairs a curtain, and discovers a table with

man c 11 ami jeiceli upon it.
Whatever you will take, gold, jewels, both,
All, to supi>'y your wants, and free yourself.
Where heavenly virtue in high-blooded veins
Is lodged, and can agree, men should kneel down,
Adore, and sacrifice all that they have ;
And well they may, it is so seldom seen.
Put off vour wonder, and here fieely take,
Or send your servants : nor, sir, shall you use
In aught of this a poor man's fee. or bribe
Unjustly taken of the rich, but what's
Directly gotten, and yet by the law.

Chariil. How ill, sir, it becomes those hairs to
mock !

Roch. Mock ! thunder strike me then !

Charal. You do amaze me :
But you shall wonder too. I will not take
One single piece of this great heap. U'bv should I
Borrow, ti at have no means to pay ? nay, am
A very bankrupt, even in flattering hope
Of ever raising any. All my begging
Is Romont's liberty.

Re-enter ROMONT and BEAUMONT, icith Creditors.

Roch. Here is your friend,

Enfranchised ere you spake. I give him to you ;
And, Charalois, I give you to your friend,
As free a man as he. Your father's debts
Are taken off.

Chiiral. How!

Rom. Sir, it is most true;
I am the witness.

1 Cred. Yes, faith, we are paid.

2 Cred. Heaven bless his lordship ! I did think
him wiser.

3 Cred. He a statesman ! he's an ass. Pay other
men's debts !

* How silken is this Wfll, &o.] I suspect that there is some
conception in this pa.-sage ; but if well be the i ight reading, it
is a quaint allusion to the tears ot Charalois, and must be con-
sidered as a nuun substantive. M. MASON.

1 know not what Mr. M. Mason means by conception;
though I am inclined to think he has given the sense of the
passage, such as it is. If we understand welt to signify (as,
liy a violeni but not nnprecedented catachreMS, it may)
either yondness or virtue, the matter will not be much
im ndid : in a word, it is a forced and unnatural expression,
and so different from the easy and flowing style f Malin-
ger, that e max sit it down without scruple, to the account
of his associate, F'eld.

324

THE FATAL DOWRY.

[Acr. II

1 Crerf. That he was never bound for.
Rom, One more such
Would save the rest of pleaders.

Charal. Honour'd Rochfort

Lie still, my tongue, and, blushes, scald my cheeks*,
That offer thanks in words for such great deeds.
Roch. Call in my daughter. Still 1 have a suit
to you, [Exit Beaumont.

Would you requite me.

Rm. With his life, I assure you.

Roch. Nay, would you make me now yourdebtor,

sir'

Re-enter BEAUMONT with BEAUMELLE.

This is my only child: what she appears,
Your lordship well may see: her education
Follows not anyt ; for her mind, I know it
To be far fairer than her shape, and hope
It will continue so. If now her birth
Be not too mean for Charalois, take her, take
This virgin by the hand, and call her Wife,
Endow'd with all my fortunes. Bless me so,
Requite me thus, and make me happier,
In joining my poor empty name to yours,
Than if my state were multiplied tenfold.

Charal. Is this the payment, sir, that you expect!
Why, you precipitate me more in debt,
That nothing but my life can ever pay.
This beauty being your daughter, in which YOURS
I must conceive necessity of her virtue,
Without all dowry is a prince's aim :
Then, as sbe is, for poor and worthless me
How much too worthy ! Waken me, Romont,
That I may know I dream'd, and find this vanish'd.

Ram. Sure, I sleep not.

Roch. Your sentence life or death.

Charal. Fair Beaumelle, can you love me ?

Beaumel. Yes, my lord.

Enter NOVALL junior, PONTALIER, MALOTIN,
LILADAM, and AYMER. They all salute.

Charal. You need not question me if I can you :
You are the fairest virgin in Dijon,
And Rochfort is your father.

Nov.jttn. What's this change?

Roch. You meet my wishes, gentlemen.

Rom. What make
These dogs in doublets here?

Beau. A visitation, sir.

Charal. Then thus, fair Beaumelle, I write my
faith,

Lie ttill, my tongue, and, blushes, scald my cheela.] This
line, in the old copy, may rival some of Shakspeare's in ty-
pographical neatness:

Lye still my tounij and bushes cal'd mycheekes.

* what she appears,

Your lordship trell. may see : her education

Follows not any ;j i. c. is not inferior to any : the modern
editors have,

Your lordship may well see : for education, Bcaumelle

follows not any.

This strange line it not in the old copy, which reads as I have
given it. Coxeler adopted Beaumelle from the margin, and
Mr. M. Mason altered the text that he mighjt continue
it! Could nothing persuade this gentleman to turn to the
original !

Thus seal it in the sight of heaven and men!
Your fingers tie my he;irt-strings with this touch,
In true-love knots, which nought but death shall

loose.

And let these tears*, an emblem of our lores,
Like chrystal rivers individually
Flow into one another, make one source,
Which never man distinguish, less divide!
Breath marry breath, and kisses mingle souls,
Two hearts and bodies here incorporate !
And, though with little wooing I have won,
My future life shall be a wooing time,
And every clay new as the bridal one.
Oh, sir ! I groan under your courtesies,
More than my father's bones under his wrongs :
You, Gurtius like, have thrown into the gulf
Of this his country's foul ingratitude
Your life and fortunes, to redeem their shames.

Roch. No more, my glory ! come, let's in, and

hasten
This celebration.

Rom. Mai. Pont. Beau. All fair bliss upon it !

[Exeunt Ruchtort, Charalois, Itomont, Beaumont,
and Malotin.

Nov. jtin. Mistress !

Beaumel. Oh, servant! Virtue strengthen me!
Thy presence blows round my affection's vane :
You will undo me, if you speak a^ain. [Exit.

Lilail. Aym. Here will be sport for you ! this
works. [Exeunt.

Nov.jun. Peace ! peace !

Pont. One word, my lord Novall.

Nov.jun. What, thou wouldst money? there!

Pont. No, I will none, I'll not be bought a slave,
A pander, or a parasite, for all
Your father's worth. Though you have saved mj

life,

Rescued me often from my wants, I must not
Wink at your follies : that will ruin you.
You know my blunt way, and my love to truth
Forsake the pursuit of this lady's honour,
Now you do see her made another man's,
And such a man's, so good, so popular;
Or you will pluck a thousand mischiefs on you.
The benefits you have done me are not lost,
Nor cast away, they are purs'd here in my heart ;
But let me pay you, sir, a fairer way
Than to defend your vices, or to soothe them.

Nof. jun. Ha, ha ! what are my courses unto

thee ?

Good cousin Pontalier, meddle with that

That shall concern thyself. [Exit.

Pont. No more but scorn !

Move on, then, stars, work your pernicious will :
Only the wise rule, and prevent your ill. [Eiit.

[Here a passage over the stage, while the act it
playing for the marriage of Charaloit with
Beaumelle, &'c.

* And let these tears, &c.] So Rowe:

"Are you not mix'd like streams of meeting riven
Whose blended waters are no moredbtingiiinh'd,
But roll into the sea one common flood t"

fair Penitent

SCENE I.J

THE FATAL DOWRY.

S9*

ACT III.

SCEN 7 E I. A Room in Charalois' Haute.

Enter

BELLAPERT.

Nov.jun. Fly not to these excuses ; thou hast

been

False in thy promise and, when I have said
Ungrateful, all is spoken.

Belt. Good, my lord ;
But hear me only.

Kov.jun. To what purpose, trifler ?
Can any thing that thou canst say make void
The marriage, or those pleasures but a dream,
Which Charalois, oh Venus! hath enjoy'd ?

Bell. I yet could say that you receive advantage
In what you think a loss, would you vouchsafe me,
That you were never in the way, till now,
With safety to arrive at your desires ;
That pleasure makes love to you, unattended
Bv danger or repentance.

Nov.jun. That I could

But apprehend one reason how this might be !
Hope would not then forsake me.

Bell. The enjoying

Of what you most desire, I say the enjoying,
Shall, in the full possession of your wishes,
Confirm that 1 am faithful.

Nov.jun. Give some relish
How this may appear possible.

Bell. I will.

Relish and taste, and make ihe banquet easy.
You say my lady's married : I confess it :
That Charalois hath enjoyed her ; 'tis most true :
That, wiih her, he's already master of
Tlie best part of my old lord's state still better,
But that the first or last should be your binderauce
I utterly deny ; for but observe me ;
While she went for, and was, 1 swear, a virgin,
What courtesy could she, with her honour, give,
Or you receive with safety ? take me with you ;
When I say courtesy, do not think I mean
A kiss, the tying of her shoe or garter,
An hour of private conference; those are trifles.
In this word courtesy we, that are gamesters, point

The sport direct, where not alone the lover
Brings his artillery, but uses it ;
Which word expounded to you, such a courtesy
Do you expect, and sudden.

Nov.jun. But he tasted
The first sweets, Bellapert.

Bell. He wrong'd you shrewdly !
He toil'd to climb up to the Phoenix* nest,
And in his prints leaves your ascent more easy.
I do not know, you that are perfect critics,
In women's books, may talk of maidenheads

Kov.jun. But for her marriage !

Bell. 'Tis a fair protection
"Gainst all arrests of fear or shame for evr.
Such as are fair, and yet not foolish, study
To have one at thirteen ; but they are mad
That stay till twenty. Then, sir, for the pleasure,
To say adultery's sweeter, that is stale :
24

Tli is only is not the contentment more,
To say, This is my cuckold, than my rival ?
More 1 could say but brieflv, she doats on you ;
If it prove otherwise, spare not, poison me
With the next gold you give me.

Enter BEAUMELLE.

Beaitmel. How's this, servant!
Courting my woman ?

Bell. As an entrance to

The favour of the mistress. You are together;
And 1 am perfect in my cue. [Going.

Beaumel. Stay, Bellapert.

Bell. In this I must not, with your leave, obey

you.

Your tailor and your tirewoman wait without,
And stay my counsel and direction for
Your next day's dressing. I have much to do,
Nor will your ladyship, now time is precious,
Continue idle ; this choice lord will find
So fit employment for you ! [Exit*

Beaumel. I shall grow angry.

Nov.jun. Not so ; you have a jewel in her,
madam.

Re-enter BKLLAPERT.

Bell. I had forgot to tell your ladyship
The closet is private, and your couch [there] ready :
And, if you please that I shall lose the key,
But say so, and 'tis done. ["''

Beaumel. You come to chide me, servant, and

bring with you

Sufficient warrant. You will say, and truly,
My father found too much obedience in me,
By being won too soon ; yet, if you please,
But to remember all my hopes and fortunes
Had reference to his liking, you will grant,
That though I did not well towards you, 1 yet
Did wisely for myself.

Nov.jun. With too much fervour
I have so long loved, and still love you, mistress,
To esteem that an injury to me
Which was to you convenient: that is past
My help, is past my cure. You yet may, lady,
In recompense of all my duteous service
(Provided that you will answer your power),
Become my creditress.

Beaumel. I understand you ;
And for assurance the request you make
Shall not be long unanswered, pray you sit,
And by what you shall hear, you'll easily find
My passions are much fitter to desire,
Than to be sued to.

Enter ROMONT and FLOIUMEL behind.

JFVor. Sir, it is not envy
At the start my fellow has got of me in
My lady's good opinion, that's the motive
Of this discovery ; but the due payment
Of what I owe her honour.

Rom. So I conceive it.

Fliti: I have observed too much, nor shall my
silence

320

THE FATAL DOWRY.

[Acr III.

Prevent the remedy : Yonder they are ;

1 dare not be seen with you. You may do
What you think fit. which will he, I presume,
The office of a faithful and tried friend
To my young lord. [Exit.

Rom. This is no vision : ba !
Nov.jun. With the next opportunity?
Beaitmtt. By this kiss,
And this, and this.

Ni'V.jun. That you would ever swear thus !
Rom. [comes forward] If I seem rude, your pardon,

lady ; yours

I do not ask : come ; do not dare to show me
A face of anger, or the least dislike ;
Put on, and suddenly, a milder look,
I shall grow rough else.

Nov.jun. What have I done, sir,
To draw this harsh unsavoury language from you?
Rom. Done, popinjay! why, dost thou think,

that, if

I e'er hud dreamt that thou badst done me wrong,
Thou sliouldst outlive it?

Beaumel. This is something more
Than my lord's friendship gives commission for.
Nov.jun. Your presence and the place make him

presume
Upon my patience.

Rom. As if thou e'er wert angry
But with thy tailor ! and yet that poor shred
Can bring more to the making up of a man,
Than can be hoped from thee : thou art his creature ;
And did he not, each morning, n*w create thee,
Tbou'dst stink, and be forgotten. I'll not change
One syllable more with thee, until thou bring
Some testimony, under good men's bands,
Thou art a Christian : 1 suspect thee strongly,
And will be satisfied ; till which time, keep from

me,

The entertainment of your visitation
Has made what 1 intended one, a business.
Nov.jun. So! we shall meet. Madam.
Rom. Use that leg again,
And I'll cut off the other.

Nov.jun. Very good [E.rit.

Rom. What a perfume the musk cat leaves behind

him !

Do you admit him for a property,
To save your charges, lady ?
Beaumel. 'Tis not useless,
Now you are to succeed him.

Horn. So 1 respect you*,
Not for yourself, but in remembrance of
Who is your father, and whose wife you now are,
That I choose rather not to understand

Your nasty scoff, than

Beaumet. What, you will not beat me
If I expound it to you ! Here's a tyrant
Spares neither man nor woman !

Rom. My intents,

Madam, deserve not this ; nor do I stay
To be the wbetstone of your wit : preserve it

Rom. What a perfume the mutk cat leave* behind him!
Do you admit him fur a property,
To sant your fharyes, lady f

Beau. ' Tin not useless,
Now you are to succeed him.

Rom. A'u / n-tfect you, &c.] Tliese two speeches were
inadvertently omitted by Mr. M. Mason: it was the more
unfortunate, as several of the succeeding lines depended on
t lieni

To spend on such as know how to admire

Such colour'd stuff, la me, there now speaks to

you

As true a friend and servant to your honour,
And one that will with as much hazard guard it,

As ever man did goodness : but then, lady j

You must endeavour not alone to BE,

But to APPEAR, worthy such love and service.

Beaumel. To what tends this?

Rom. Why, to this purpose, lady
I do desire you should prove such a wife
To Charalois (and such aone he merits),
As Caesar, did he live, could not except at ;
Not only innocent from crime, but free
From all taint and suspicion.

Beaumel. They are base
That judge me otherwise.

Rom. But yet be careful :
Detraction's a bold monster, and fears not
To wound the fame of princes, if it find
But any blemish in their lives to work on.
But I'll be plainer with you : had the people
Been lenrn'd to speak hut what even now I saw,
Their malice out of that would raise an engine
To overthrow your honour, hi my sight,
With yonder painted fool I frighted from you.
You used familiarity beyond
A modest entertainment : you embraced him
With too much ardour for a stranger, and
Met him with kisses neither chaste nor comely.
But learn you to forget him, as I will
Your bounties to him ; you will find it safer.
Rather to be uncounly than immodest.

Beaumel. This pretty rag* about your neck sbows

well.

And, being coarse and little worth, it speaks you
As terrible as thrifty.

Rum. Madam !

Beaumel. Yes:

And this strong belt, in which you hang your honour,
Will outlast twenty scarfs.

Rom. What mean you, lady?

Beaumel. And [then] all else about you cap-a-pi6,
So uniform in spite of handsomeness,
Shows such a bold contempt of comeliness,
That 'tis not strange your laundress in the leaguerf
G rew mad with love of you.

Rom. Is my free counsel
Answer'd with this ridiculous scorn?

Beaumel. Tliese objects
Stole very much of my attention from me ;
Yet something I remember, to speak truth,
Deliver'd gravely, but to little purpose,
That almost would have made me swear some curate
Had stolen into the person of Romotit,
And, in the praise of goodwife honesty,
Had read an homily.

Rom. By this hand

Beaumel. And sword,

I will make up your oath, it will want weight else.
You are angry with me, and poor 1 laugh at it.
Do you come from the camp, which affords only

Beaumel. Thit pretty rag about your neck shows well,]
There is already an allusion 1o this ray :

" What, he that wears a clout about his neck !"

t That 'tis not strange your laundress in the leagner] i. e.
in the camp. So Lithgow, apologizing for the rodent" of
his st>le, desires his readers " to impute the faults thereof to
a disordered leaguer." His narrative was written at the
iiege of Breda. See The Picture.

SCENE I.]

THE FATAL DOWRY.

3*7

The conversation of cast suburb whores,
To set down to a lady of my rank
Limits of entertainment?

Rom. Sure a legion
lias possest this woman !

Beintmel, One stamp more would do well : yet I

desire not

You should grow horn-mad till yoa have a wife.
You are come to warm meat, and perhaps clean

linen ;

Feed, wear it, and be thankful. For me, know,
That though a thousand watches were set on me,
And you the master-spy, I yet would use
The liberty that best likes me. 1 will revel,
Feast, kiss, embrace, perhaps grant larger favours ;
Yet such as live upon my means shall know
They must not murmur at it. If my lord
Be now grown yellow, and has chose out you
To serve his jealousy this way, tell him this :
You have something to inform him. [Exit.

Rom. And I will ;

Believe it, wicked'one, I will. Hear, heaven,
But, hearing, pardon me ; if these fruits grow
Upon the tree of marriage, let me shun it
As a forbidden sweet. An heir, and rich,
Young, beautiful, yet add to this a wife,
And 1 will rather choose a spittle* sinner
Carted an age before, though three parts rotten,
And take it for a blessing, raiher than
Be fetter'd to the hellish slavery
Of such an impudence.

Enter BEAUMONT with tcriti/igs.

Beau. Colonel, good fortune

To meet you thus ! You look sad, but I'll tell you
Something that shall remove it. 0, how happy
ts my lord Cbaralois in his fair bride !

Rom. A happy man, indeed ! pray you, in what ?

Beau. I dare swear, you would ihirik so good a

lady
A dower sufficient.

Ram. No dnubt. But on.

Eeati. So fair, so chaste, so virtuous, so indeed,
All that is excellent!

Rom. Women have no cunning
To gull the world !

Beau. Yet, to all these, my lord,
Her father, gives the full addition of
All he does now possess in Burgundy:
These writings, to confirm it, are new seal'd,
And 1 most fortunate to present him with them ;
I must go seek him out. Can you direct me ?

Rum. \ou'll find him breaking a young horse.

Beau. 1 thank you. Exit.

Rom. 1 must do something worthy Charalois'

friendship.

If she were well inclined, to keep her so
Deserved not thanks ; and yet, 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.

Enter Rociironr, speaking to a Servant within,

Roch. Some one seek for me
As soon as he returns.

Rom. Her father? ha!

How if I break this to him? sure it cannot

* And I will rather choose a spittle sinner} For spittle!
,. M. Mason reads, ipital, as usual, and is, as usual, wrune.

See The ' Ji

Meet with an ill construction : his wisdom,
Made powerful by ihe authority of a father,
Will warrant and give privilege to his counsels.
It shall be so. Mv lord !

Rock. Your friend, Romont.
Would you aught with me?

Rom. 1 stand so engaged
To your so many favours, that I hold it
A breach in thankfulness, should I not discover,
Though with some imputation to myself,
All doubts that may concern you.

Ruch. The performance
Will make this protestation worth my thanks.

Rom. Then, with your patience, lend me your

attention :

For what I must deliver, whisper'd only,
You will with too much grief receive.

Enter BEAUMELLE aw/ BELtAi'EitT, behind.

Beaumel. See, wench !
Upon my life, as 1 forespake, he's now
Preferring his complaint; but be thou perfect,
And we will fit him.

Bell. Fear not me ; pox on him !
A cai'tain turned informer against kissing !
Would he were hang'd up in his rusty armour!
But, if our fresh wits cannot turn the plots
Of such a mouldy murrion on itself;
Rich clothes, choice fare, and a true friend at a call,
With all the pleasures the night yields, forsake us!

Rnch. This in my daughter ! do not wrong her.

Bell. Now
Bejiin : the game's afoot, and we in distance.

Beaumel. [comes forward.] 'Tis thy fault, foolish

girl ! pin on my veil,
I will not wear those jewels. Am I not
Already match'd beyond my hopes? yet still
You prune and set me forth, as if I were
Again to please a suitor.

Btlt. 'Tis a course
That our great ladies take.

Beaumel. A weak excuse* !
Those that are better seen in what concerns
A lady's honour and fair fdine, condemn it.
You wait well ; in your absence, my lord's friend,
The understanding, grave, and wise Romont

Rom. Must I be still her sport ?

Beaumel. Reproved me for it ;
And he has travelled to bring home a judgment
Not to be contradicted. You will say
My father, that owes more to years than he,
Has brought me up to music, language, courtship,
And I must use them : true ; but not to offend,
Or render me suspected.

Rock. Does your fine story
Begin from this ?

Beaumel. I thought a parting kiss
From young Novall would have displeased no more
Than heretofore it hath done ; but ] find
1 must restrain such favours now; look, therefore;
As you are careful to continue mine,
That I no more be visited. I'll endure
The strictest course of life that jealousy
Can think secure enough, ere rny behaviour
Shall call my fame in question.

* Beaiimcl. A weak fi-cugn '.] This hemistich lias been hi-
therto given to Uiunont. It i.s evident, 10 me at leant, ilut
it belongs to !!r,miiiel|.-. Romont could not call what Bel-
la pert had urgec, a weak cxcute, for he was ignorant of iu
drill.

3*8

THE FATAL DOWRY.

[Acr III,

.Rom. Ten dissemblers
Are in this subtle devil ! You believe this?

lloch. So far, that if you trouble me again
With a report like this, I shall not only
Judge you malicious in your disposition,
But study to repent what I have done
To such a nature.

Rom. Why, 'tis exceeding well.

Rock. And for you, daughter, off with this, off

with it !

I have that confidence in your goodness, I,
That I will net consent to have you live
Like to a recluse in a cloister : Go,
Call in the gallants, let them make you merry ;
Use all fit liberty.

Bell. Blessing upon you !

If this new preacher with the sword and feather
Could prove his doctrine for canonical,
We should have a fine world. [F.xit.

Roch. Sir, if you please
To bear yourself as fits a gentleman,
The house is at your service ; but, if not,
Though you seek company elsewhere, your absence
Will not be much lamented. [Exit.

Rom. If this be

The recompense of striving to preserve
A wanton gigglet honest, very shortly
'Twill make all mankind panders. Do you smile,
Good lady looseness ! your whole sex is like you,
And that man's mad that seeks to better any :
What new change have you next?

Beawnet. Oh, fear not you, sir,
I'll shift into a thousand, but I will
Convert your heresy.

Rom. What heresy ? speak.

Beanmel. Of keeping a lady that is married
From entertaining servants

Enter NOVALL junior, MALOTIN, LILADAM, AYMER,
and PONTALIER.

O, you are welcome !

Use any means to vex him,

And then with welcome follow me. [Earif.

Nov.jun. You are tired
With your grave exhortations, colonel !

Lilad. How is it? faith, your lordship may do

well

To help him to some church preferment : 'tis
The fashion now for men of all conditions,
However they have lived, to end that way.

Aym. That face'would do well in a surplice.

Horn. Rogues,
Be silent or

Pont. 'Sdeath ! will you suffer this*?

Rom. And you, the master-rogue, the coward

rascal,
I shall be with you suddenly.

Nov.jun. Pontalier,

If I should strike him, I know I should kill him;
And therefore I would have thee beat him, for
He's good for nothing else.

'Pont, 'tdeath '. will you suffer this ?} Massingerhaspre-
terved the character of 1'ontalier from contamination, with
jreat dexteiity, through every scene. He is here the only
one (with the exception of Malotinj who does not insult
Roinont, thi-ugh he appears to feel some indignation at the
contempt with which Novall and his followers are treated by
him. He is grateful, but not obsequious; and rather t'tv ,n-
fectionate tutor than the agent of his young lord, for whose
honour be is more solicitous than for his own advantage.

Lilad. His back

Appears to me, as it would tire a beadle ;
And then he has a knotted brow would bruise
A courtlike hand to touch it.

Avm. He looks like
A currier when his hides grow dear.

Pont. Take heed
He curry not some of you.

Nov.jun. Gad's me ! he's angry.

Rom. I bre;ik no jests, but I can break my sworf
About your pates.

Enter CHARALOIS and BEAUMONT.

Lilad. Here's more.

Aym. Come, let's be gone:
We are beleaguer'd.

Nov.jun. Look, they bring up their troops.

Ptmt. Will you sit down
With this disgrace ? you are abused most grossly.

Lilad. I grant you, sir, we are; and you would

have us
Stay, and be more abused.

Nov.jun. My lord, I'm forry
Your house is so inhospitable, we must quit it.

[E.rei(rit all but Charalois and Romont.

Choral. Prithee, Romont, what caused this uproar?

Rom. Nothing ;
They laugh'd, and used their scurvy wits upon me.

Charai. Come, 'tis thy jealous nature: but 1 wonder
That you, which are an honest man and worthy,
Should foster this suspicion : no man laughs,
No one can whisper, but thou apprehend'st
His conference and his scorn reflect on thee :
For my part, they should scoff their thin wits out,
So I not heard them ; beat me, not being there.
Leave, leave these fits to conscious men, to such
As are obnoxious to those foolish things
As they can g-ibe at.

Rom. Well, sir.

Charai. Thou art known
Valiant without defect, rightly denned,
Which is as fearing to do injury,
As tender to endure it ; not a brabbler,
A swearer

Rom. Pish, pish ! what needs this, my lord?
If I be known none such, how vainly you
Do cast away good counsel ! I have loved yoa,
And yet must freely speak ; so young a tutor
Fits not so old a soldier as I am :
And I must tell you, 'twas in your behalf
I grew enraged thus, yet had rather die
Than open the great cause a syllable further.

Cliaral. In my behalf! Wherein hath Charalois
Unfitly so demean'd himself, to give
The least occasion to the loosest tongue
To throw aspersions on him ? or so weakly
Protected his own honour, as it should
Need a defence from any but himself?
They are fools that judge me by my outward

seeming.

Why should my gentleness beget abuse ?
The lion is not angry that does sleep,
Nor every man a coward that can weep,
For God's sake, speak the cause.

Rom, Not for the world.
Oh ! it will strike disease into your bones,
Beyond the cure of physic ; drink your blood,
Rob you of all your rest, contract your sight,
Leave you no eyes but to see misery,
And of your own ; nor speech, but to wish thus,

SCENE I.]

THE FATAL DOWRY.

329

Would I hud perish 'd in the prison's jaws,

From whence I was redeem'd! 'twill wear vou

old,

Before you hnve experience in that art
That causes your affliction.

Charnl. Thou dost strike
A deatlif'ul coldness to my heart's high heat,
And shrink'st my liver like the calenture.
.Declare this foe of mine, and life's, that like
A man 1 may encounter and subdue it.
It shall not Lave one such effect in me
As thou denounces! : with a soldier's arm,
If it be strength, I'll meet it ; if a fault
.Belonging to my mind, I'll cut it oft'
With mine own reason, as a scholar should.
Speak, though it make me monstrous.

Rum. 1 will die first.

Farewell ; continue merry, and high heaven
Keep your wife chaste !

Charal. Hum ! Stay and take this wolf
Out of my breast, that thou hast lodged there, or
For ever lose me.

Ram. Lose not, sir, yourself,
And 1 will venture : so, the door is fast.

[Locks the door.

Now, noble Charalois, collect yourseff,
Summon your spirits, muster all your strength
That can belong to man ; sift passion
From every vein, and whatsoe'er ensues,
Upbraid not me hereafter, as the cause of
Jealousy, discontent, slaughter, and rain :
Make me not parent to sin. You will know
This secret that I burn with ?

Chnnil. Devil on't.

What should it be ! Romont, I heard you wish
My wife's continuance of chastity.

Rum. There was no hurt in that.

Chanil. Why, do you know
A likelihood or possibility
Unto the contrary?

Rom. I know it not, but doubt it ; these the

giounds :

The servant of your wife now, young Novall,
The son unto your father's enemy
( Which aggravates presumption the more),
I ba<'e been warn'd of, touching her: nay, seen

them

Tied 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 gazing on the other's.
I saw their mouths engender, and their ]>,<lius
Glew'd as if love had lock'd them ; their words

flow

And melt each other's, like two circling flames,
Where chastity, like a phienix, methought burn'd,
But left the world nor ashes, nor an heir.
Why stand you silent thus? what cold dull phlegm,
As if you had no drop of choler mix'd
In your whole constitution, thus prevails,
To fix you now thus stupid, hearing this?

Charal. You did not see him on my couch within,
Like George a-horseback, on her, nor a-bed?

Ram. No.

Chanil. Ha! ha!

Bom. Laugh you ! even so did your wife,
And her indulgent father.

C! and. They were wise:
Wouldst have me be a fool 1

Jlom. No, but a man.

Charnl. There is no dram of manhood to suspect
On such thin airy circumstance as this ;
Mere compliment and courtship. Was this tale
The hideous monster which you so conceal'd >
Away, thou curious impertinent*,
And idle searcher of such lean, nice toys !
Go, thou seditious sower of debate,
Fly to such matches, where the bridegroom doubts
He holds not worth enough to countervail
The virtue and the beauty of his wife !
Thou buzzing drone, that 'bout my ears dost hum,
To strike thy rankling sting into my heart,
Whose venom time nor medicine could assuage,
Thus do I put thee off! and, confident
In mine own innocencv and desert,
Date not conceive her so unreasonable,
To put Novall in balance against me ;
An upstart, craned up to the height he has.
Hence, busybody ! thou'rt no friend to me,
That must be kept to a wife's injury.

Rom. Is't possible? farewell, fine honest man!
Sweet-temper'd lord, adieu! What apoplexy
Hath knit sense up? is this Romont's reward ?
Bear witness, the great spirit of thy father,
With what a healthful hope I did administer
This potion, that hath wrought so virulently!
1 not accuse thy wife of act, but would
Prevent her precipice to thy dishonour,
Which now thy tardy sluggishness will admit.
Would 1 had seen thee graved with thy great sire,
Ere lived to have men's marginal fingers point
At Charalois, as a lamented storyf !
An emperor put away his wife for touching
Another man; but thou wouldst have thine tasted,
And keep her, I think. Phoh ! I am a fire
To warm a dead man, that waste out myself.
Bleedf What a plague, a vengeance, is't to me,
If you will be a cuckold ? here, I show
A sword's point to thee, this side you may shun,
Or that, the peril ; if you will run on,
I cannot help it.

Charal. Didst thou never see me
Angry, Romont?

Horn. Yes, and pursue a foe
Like lightning.

Charal. Prithee, see me so no more :
I can be so again. Put up thy sword,
And take thyself away, lest I draw mine.

Rom. Come, fright your foes with this, sir !

I'm your friend,
And dare stand by you thus.

Charai. Thou art not my friend,
Or being so, thou art mad ; I must not buy
Thy friendship at this rate. Had I just cause,

* Away thou curious impertinent,] This is an allusion to
the title of one of Cer antes' novels, which were much read
ami admirer in Massingei's time.
t H ould 1 had teen thee graved with thy great tire,
Ere lived to have men't marginal lingers point
At Charalois, as a 'ainentetl ttory!) This is a most beau-
tiful allusion to the ancient custom of placing an index
( {#* ) in the margin of books, to direct the reader's atten-
tion to the striking passages. Massinger follows Shak-
spearc in drawing his illustrations from the most familiar
objects.

I Uleed] So the quarto; Coxeter has Blood ; which Mr.
M. Mason points as if it were an oath. This, however, is
not the author's meaning: he was about to say, perhaps,
Bleed (tor one th.it IceN not for himself!) or something
equivalent to it : but his impatiert indignation will not let
him proceed, and he bursts out into exclamatory interro-
gatiout.

350

THE FATAL DOWRY.

[Acr IV

Thou know'st I durst pursue such injury

Through firs, air, water, earth, nay, were they all

Shuffled iigiiin to chaos ; but there's none.

Thy skill, Hoiront. consists in camps not courts.

Farewell, uncivil' man ! lei's meet no more :

Here our long web of friendship I untwist.

Shall 1 wtiine, walk pale, and lock my wife,

For no hing, from her birth's free liberty,

That npt-n'd mine to me ? yes ; if I do,

The name o* cuckold then dog me with scorn!

1 ain a Frenchman, 110 Italian born. [Exit.

Horn. A dull Dutch rather: fall and cool, my

blood !

Boil not in zeal of tliy friend's hurt so high,
That is so low and cold himself in't 1 Woman,
How strong art thou ! how easily beguiled !
How thou dost rack us by the very horns !
Now wealth, I see, change manners and the

man.

Something I must do mine own wrath to assuage,
And note my friendship to an after age.

[Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A Room in Novell's House.

NOVAI .1, junior, di>coiered seated before a looking-glass,
icit'i <i Barber anil Perfumer dreeing his hair, while
a Tailor adjusts a new suit u-h/ch he wears. LILA-
DAM, A YMttt, ufi a Page attending.

Nov.jun. Mend this a little : pox ! thou hast
burnt me. Oh, fin upon't ! O lard! he has made
me smell for all the world like a flax, or a red-headed
woman's chamber : Powder, powder, powder!

Per/. Oh, sweet lord !

Page. That's his perfumer.

Tuil Oh, dear lord!

P'tgf. That's his tailor.

Km-, j tin. AJousieur Liladam, Aymer, how allow
you tli model of these clothes?

/tism. Admirably, admirably; oh, sweet lord!
assuredly it's pity the worms should eat thee.

Page. Here's a fine cell ! a lord, a tailor, a per-
fumer, a barber, and a pair of monsieurs: three to
three ; as little wit in the one as honesty in the
other. 'Sfoot! I'll into the country again, learn to
speak truth, drink ale, and converse with my fa-
ther's tenants : here I hear nothing all day, but
Upon my soul, as I am a gentleman, and an honest
man !

Aym. I vow and affirm, your tailor must needs be
an expert geometrician ; he has the longitude, lati-
tude, altitude, profundity, every dimension of your
body, so exquisitely here's a lace laid as directly us
if truth were a tailor.

Puge. That were a miracle.

Lilad. \\ ith a hair's- breadth's error, there's a
shoulder-piece cut, and the base of a pickadille in
puncto.

Aym. You are right, monsieur; his vestments
sit as if they grew upon him, or art had wrought
them on the s-ame loom as nature framed his lord-
ship ; as if your tailor were deeply read in astrology,
and had taken measure of your honourable body with
a Jacob's staff, an ej.himerides.

Tail. 1 am bound t" ye, gentlemen.

Page. You art- deceived ; t hey '11 be bound to you :
you must remember to trust them none.

Noc.jun. Nay, : faith, thou art a reasonable neat j
artificer, give the devil his due.

Page. Ay, if he would but cut the coat according
to the cloth still.

Nov.jitn. 1 now want only my mistress' approba-
tion, who is, indeed, the most polite punctual queen

of dressing in all Burgundy pah ! and makes all
other young ladies appear as if they came from
board last week out of the country : is't not true,
Liladam ?

Lilad. True, my lord ! as if any thing your lord-
ship could say could be otherwise than true.

Nov.jun. Nay, o' my soul, 'tis so; what fouler
object in the world, than to see a young, fair,
handsome beauty unhandsomely dighted, and in-
congruently accoutr'd ; or a hopeful chevalier un-
methodically appointed in the external ornaments of
nature? For, even as the index tells us the con-
tents of stories, and directs to the particular chap-
ters, even so does the outward habit and superficial
order of garments (in man or woman) give us a
taste of the spirit, and demonstratively point (as it
were a manual note from the margin ) all the in-
ternal quality and habiliment of the soul ; and there
cannot be a more evident, palpable, gross manifest-
ation of poor, degenerate, dunghilly blood and
breeding, than a rude, unpolished, disordered, and
slovenly outsidef.

P"ge. An admirable lecture ! oh, all you gallants,
that hope to be saved by your clothes, edify, edify !

Aym. By the Lard, sweet lard, thou deserves! a
pension o' the state.

Page. O' the tailors : two such lords were able to
spread tailors o'er the face of the whole kingdom.

Nov.jun. Pox o' this glass! it flatters. I could
find in my heart to break it.

Pt'ge. O, save the glass, my lord, and break their

heads;
They are the greater flatterers, I assure you.

Aym. Flatters ! detracts, impairs yet, put it by,
Lest thou, dear lord, Narcissus like, should'st doat
Upon thyself, and die ; and rob the world
Of nature's copy, that she works form by.

Lilad. Oh that I were the infanta queen of Europe !
Who but thyself, sweet lord, should marry me?

Nov.jun. I marry ! were there a queen o' the
world, not 1.

Farewell, uncivil man!] i. e. unacquainted with the
usages and customs of civil or municipal life.

* This empty coxcomb was afterwards improved into the
sedate and entertaining fop of Cibber and Vanbrongh'n age.
Whether they copied from nature 1 c.innotsay; but the bean
of our dramas, whose wil Iks altogether in the restless acti-
vity of his legs and arms, resembles no animal rational or
irrational, with which I am acquainted, unless it be a mou
key that has just snajit its chain.

Scr.N I.]

THE FATAL DOWRY.

331

Wedlock ! no ; padlock, horselock ; I wear spurs

[He Capers.

To keep it off my hee's. Yet, my Aymer,
Like a free, wanton jennet in the meadows,
I look about, and neigh, take hedge and ditch,
Feed in my neighbours' pastures, pick my choice
Of a!l their t'air-maned mares: but married once,
A man is sMked or poun'd, and cannot graze
Beyond his own heuge.

Enter PoNTALinn and MALOTIN.

Pont. I have waited, sir,

Thr hours to speak wi' ye, and not take it well
Such magpies are admitted, whilst 1 dance
Attendance.

Liltnl. .Magpies ! what d'ye take me for?
Pont. A long thing with umost unpromising face.
.Hm. I'll never ask him what he takes me for?
Miilnt. Do not, sir,
For he'll go near to tell you.

Pout. Art not thou
A barhtr-surgeoii !

Bur 6. Yes, sirrah ; why ?

Pont. My lord is sorely troubled with two scabs.

Liiad. Aijm. Hum

P.Kit. 1 prithee cure him of them.
AW. JUH. Pisn ! no more.

Thv gall sure's overflown ; these are my council,
And wt- were no* in serious discourse.

font. Of perfume and apparel ! Can you rise,
And spend tive hours in dressing-talk with these?
AW. jim. I'hou 'Idst have me be a dog : up, stretch,

and shake,
And ready for all day.

Pont. Sir, would you be

More curious in preserving of your honour trim,
It were more manly. I am come to wake
Your reputation from this lethargy
You let it sleep in : to persuade, importune,
Nay, to provoke you, sir, to call to account
This colonel Romont, for the foul wrong
Which, like a burthen, he hath laid upon you,
And, like a drunken porter, you sleep under,
Tis all ihe town talks'; and, believe it, sir,
If your tough sense persist thus, you are undone,
Utterly lost ; you will be scorn'd and baffled
Hy every lacquey : season now your youth
With one brave thing, and it shall keep the odour
Kven to your death, beyond, and on your tomb
Scent like sweet oils and frankincense. Sir, this life,
Which once you saved, 1 ne'er since counted mine ;
I borrowed it of you, and now will pay it :
I tender you the service of my sword
To bear your challenge, if you'll write, your fate
I'll make mine own ; whate'er l>etide you, I,
That have lived by you, by your side will die.

AW. jun Ha ' 'Ha ! wouldst have me challenge

poor Romont ?

Fight with close breeches, thou may'st think I dare
notf :

'Tit all the town talks,] So the quarto ; which is surely
better 111 in town-talk, which ihe modern editors havesubsti-
tutul in its place.

t fiyht with close breeches, thtu mayst think I dare nnt :
Covti-r i-.nd Mr. M. Mason point tins as if they supposed
cio^e breeches referred to Roniuut ; but it is not so. In an
swtr to the charge of cowardice, Novall tells PonUlier, thai
though he may conclude, fn m his finical appearance, am
his witments "sitting a* if they grew upon him, that he
was atrai-l of Koinont, he was mistaken. It is the poverty
not the dote breeches of his enemy which prevents his chal
leiiging him.

Do not mistake me coz, 1 am very valiant ;
But valour shall not make me such an ass.
What use is there of valour now a-davs 1
Tis sure or to be kill'd, or to be hang'd.

iiht thou as thy mind moves thee, 'tis thy trade ;
I'hou hast nothing else to do. Fight with Romont
No, I'll not fight under a lord.

Pont. Farewell, sir !
I pity you

Such living lords walk, their dead honour's graves ;
For no companions fit but fools and knaves.
Come, Malotin. [Exeunt Pontalier and Malotin

Enter ROMONT.

Lilad. 'Sfoot, Colbrand, the low giant !

A\iin. He has brought a battle in his face, let's go.

Page. Colbrand, d'ye call him? he'll make some

of you*
Smoke, I believe.

Rom. By your leave, sirs !
Aym. Are you a consortf ?

* Page. Colbrand, d'ye call him? he'll ma'ie some of you
Smoke, I believe.] It U as rare lo find a conceit in Mas-
sinjjer as to miss one in his conteinporaius : here, however,
there appears something like an attempt to find resemblance
between Colbrand and cold brand! In justice to the author
it should be added, that it is put into the mouth of a page.
Colbrand was a Dani-li giant, as may be seen in The Ke-
noivned history of Guy Earl of Warwick, every child's de-
light.

+ Aym. Are you a consort ?] i. e. come you here to b
played on. COXKTER.

This cannot be the meaning, for a concert is not played on.
M. MASON.

A concert is understood to mean instruments played upon.
D*vis.

And thus the text is illustrated ! Not one of these gentle-
men had the slighest idea of what Mas>iiier was saying, nor,
which though not uncommon is jet somewhat more extra-
ordinary, of what he was saving himself.

In the author'* age, the taverns were infested with itiner-
ant bands of musicians, each of which (jointly and individu-
ally) was called a noise or consort .- these were sometimes in-
invited to play to the company, but seem im-re frequently to
have thrust themselves, unasked, into it, with an otter of their
services: thi-ir intrusion was usually prefaced with, " By
your have, gentlemen, will you hear any music !" One ex-
ample, in a case where hundreds niiuht easily be produced,
will make all clear :

" Enter Fiddler to the company.

"Fid. Will't please you, gentlemen, to hear any mo
sic ?

" Bov. Shall we have any ?
" Seb. By no means; it takes from our mirth.
" Bov. Begone, then !
" fid A very good song, an't please you?
" Xeb. This i< the trick of taverns when men desire to
be private." Shirley's Lore's Cruelty.

Homont, who had broken into Novall's dressing-room,
with the customary phrase, By your leave, gentlemen, na-
turally draws from Aymer (a musician) the question h
puts ; and Romont, who understands him, as naturally re-
plies, I will show you that I am not : musicians are paid,
whereas I will pay (beat) jou. This is the sense of the
passage. I have before remarked on the strange conduct of
Mr. M. Mason, in changing contort to concert, as often as U
occurs.

Not many j-ears since, a volume of Comments on th
P.'uys of Beaumont and Fletcher, was published by the
Ili;:lit Honourable J. Monck Mason, in which, among
oilier passages, I was somewhat struck with the follow-
ing :

" Or be of some good concert." The Captain.
"The old reading is consort, which the editors have injtuU-
ciously changed to concert, a mistake which the editors of
Ahakspeare have also run into."

Though this may be true, it required a certain degree of
intrepidity to enable a man who never saw the word in Mas-
singer without corrupting it, to hazard a sneer of this nature
at the editors of Shakspeare. It must be remembered that I
speak on the supposition that the author of the Cammenii
was also the editor of Massinger.

332

THE FATAL DOWRY.

[Acr IV

Rom. Do you take me for

A fiddler 1 you're deceived : look ! I'll pay you.

[Kicks them.

Page. It seems he knows you one, be bumfiddles
you so.

Lilad. Was there ever so base a fellow ?

Aym. A rascal.

Lilad. A most uncivil groom.

Aym. Offer to kick a gentleman in a nobleman's
chamber ! pox o' your manners !

Lilad. Let him iilone, let him alone : thou shall
lose thy aim, fellow ; if we stir against thee, hang us.

Page. 'Sfoot ! I think they have the better on him
though they be kick'd, they talk so.

Lilad. Let's leave the mad ape. [Going.

Nov. jun. Gentlemen !

I.ilad. Nay, my lord, we will not offer to dis-
honour you so much as to stay by you, since he's
alone.

NOD. jun. Hark you !

Aym. We doubt the cause, and will not disparage
you so much as to take your lordship's quarrel in
hand. Plague on him. how he lias crumpled our
bands !

Page. I'll e'en away with them, for this soldier
beats man, woman, and child.

[Exeunt all but NoKall jun. anJ Pomnnt.

Nov. jun. What mean you, sir? My people !

Rom. Your boy's gone. [Locks lite door.

And your door's lock'd ; yet for no hurt to you,

But privacy. Call up your blood again :

Be not afraid, I do beseech you, sir*;
And, therefore, come, without more circumstance.
Tell me how far the passages have gone
Twill you and your fair mistress, Beaumelle.
Tell me the truth, and, by my hope of heaven,
It never shall go further.

Nov. jun. Tell you ! why, sir,
Are you my confessor ?

Rom. I will be your confouuder, if you do not.

[Draws a pocket dag^.
Stir not, nor spend your voice.

Nov. jun. \\ hat will you do 7

Rom. Nothing, but line your brain-pan, sir, with
If you not satisfy me suddenly : [lead,

I am desperate of my life, and command yours.

Nov. jun. Hold ! hold ! I'll speak. I vow to

heaven and you,

She's yet untouch'd, more than her face and hands.
I cannot call her innocent ; for, I yield,
On my solicitous wooingj, she consented,

Be not afraid 1 do betrech you, sir,] This line is whoily
omitted in tlie most correct of all editions.

t Draws a pocket dag.] So the old copy. Coxeter, not
nnderstanding the word, absurdly corrupted it into dagger!
which fcave an occasion to Mr. M. Ma > on to evince his sa-
gacity : " Yet," says he with a triumph over poor Massing, r,
' Roraont'* very next speech show* that this dagger was a
pittol." To sophisticate an author's text for the s.ike uf charg-
ing him with an absordiiy. is hard dealing. It is singular
thut neither of these editors of an anciriit pout, especially the
last, who tells us of the necessity of consulting contemporary
authors, should be apprised of the meanni" of this term
day was used by our old writers for a pocket in contradis-
tiuction to what we now call a hon-e-pi-tc.l ; and is thus found
in many drain is of the Kith and 17th centuries. Thug, j n
The Spanish Tragi-dy, which Coxctcr, if not Mr. M. Ma-
son, must have reat! :

" Serb. Wherefore should he send for me so late 7
"fend. For this, Serberins, and thou shall have it.

[Xtiooti the da.

' Watch. Hark ! gentlemen ; this is a jnslnl-Aw\."
J On my solicitor* wooing,] The quarto erroneously reads
wfongt : amended by Mr. M. Mason.

Where time and place met opportunity.
To grant me all requests.

I'om. But may 1 build
On tliis assurance?

Nov. jun. As upon your faith.

Rom. Writs this, sir ; nay, you must.

Nov.jnit. Pox of this gun !

Rom. Withal, sir, you must swear, and put youi

oath

Under your hand (shake not), ne'er to frequent
This lady's company, nor ever send
Token, or message, or letter, to incline
This, too much prone already, yielding lady.

Nov. jun. Tis done, sir.

Rom. Let me see this first is right :
And here you wish a sudden death may light
Upon your bodv, and hell take your soul,
If ever more you see her, but by chance ;
Much less allure her. Now, my lord, your hand

Nov. jun. My hand to this !

Rom. Your heart else, I assure you.

Nov.jnn. Nav, there 'tis.

Rom. So ! keep this last article
Of your faith given, and, stead of threatenings, sir,
The service of my sword and life is yours.
But not a word of it : 'tis fairies' treasure,
Which but reveal'd, brings on the blabber's ruin.
Use your youth better, and this excellent form
Heaven hath bestow'd upon you. So good morrow
To your lordship ! [ Hxit.

Nov. jun. Good devil to your rogueship I No

man's safe

I'll hare a cannon planted in my chamber,
Against such roaring rogues.

Enter BELI.APERT hastily

Bell. My lord, away !

The caroch stays: now have your wish, and judge
If I have been forgetful.

Niw.jun. Hah !

Bell. Do you stand
Humming and liahing now? [Exit,

Nov. jun. Sweet wench, I come.
Hence, fear!

I swore that's all one ; my next oath I'll keep
That I did mean to break, and then 'tis quit.
No pain is due to lovers' perjury:
If Jove himself laugh at it, so will I. [Exit

SCENE II. ,4 Hall in Aymer's House.
Enter CuARALOisonrf BEAUMONT.

Beau. I grieve for the distaste, though I have

manners

Not to enquire the cause, fallen out between
Your lordship and Romont.

Choral. 1 love a friend,
So long as he continues 'n the bounds
Prescribed by friendship ; but, when he usurps
Too far on* what is proper to myself,
And puts the habit of a governor on,
I must and will preserve my liberty.
But speak of something else, this is a theme
1 take no pleasure in. What's this Aymer,
\\ hose voice for song, and excellent knowledge in

Ton far on u'liat , &c.] The modern editors omit on, to the
manit'c.-t injury both of the metre and of the sense; but in-
deed their omissions in this play are innumerable.

SCENE II.]

THE FATAL DOWRY.

333

The chiefest parts of music, you bestow
Such praises on ?

Beau. He is a gentleman

(For so his quality* speaks him) well received
Among our greatest gallants ; but yet holds
His main dependence from the young lord Novall.
Some tricks and crotchets he has in his head,
As all musicians have, and more of him
I dare not author : but, when you have heard him,
I may presume your lordship so will like him,
That you'll hereafter be a friend to music.

Charal. 1 never was an enemy to't, Beaumontt,
Nor yet do I subscribe to the opinion
Of those old captains, that thought nothing musical
But cries of yielding enemies, neighing of horses,
Clashing of armour, loud shouts, drums and

trumpets :

Nor, on the other side, in favour of it.
Affirm the world was made by musical discord ;
Or that the happiness of our life consists
In a well-varied note upon the lute :
I love it to the worth oft, and no further.
But let us see this wonder.

Beau. He prevents
My calling of him.

Enter AYMER, speaking to nne within*

Aym. Let the coach be brought

To the buck gate, and serve the banquet up.

My good lord Charalois ! I think my house
Much honour'd in your presence.

Choral. To have means

To know you better, sir, has brought me hither
A willing visitant ; and you'll crown my welcome
In making me a witness to your skill,
Which, crediting from others, I admire.

Aym. Had I been one hour sooner made ac-
quainted
With your intent, my lord, you should have found

Better provided : now, such as it is,
Pray your gnico with your acceptance.

Beau. You are modest.

Aym. Begin the last new air.

[To the Musicians within.

Charal. Shall we not see them ?

Ai/m. This little distance from the instruments
Will to your ears convey the harmony
With more delight.

Charal. I'll not contend^.

Aym. You are tedious. [To the Musicians.

* ( For to his quality speaks him.)} His quality, i. e. bis
pro/ration of a music-master. In the following lines there is
an allifeion to another profession (of a le honorable nature),
which, at that time, was commonly united to tlie former, that
of keeping a bawdyhwise.

t Charal. / netvr was an enemy to't, Beaumont, &.C.] I
taspect that Mr. Sttevens, the coryphaeus of commentator?,
was but little acquainted with Massinger ; he would not other-
wise have failed to contrast this speech with that celebrated
one of Shakspeaie, The man that has no music, &c., with
vhich he was known to be highly offended. What Steevens
neglected the reader has now an opportunity of executing ;
and, though I will not anicipate his judgment, I must yet be
permitted lo say that the beauties of this speech are of no
ordinary kind.

j Charal. I'll not contend.] The old reading is I'll not con-
tent. It appears tome that a wrong name has been prefixed
to this short speech, and that it belongs to Beanmelle who
speaks wilhin. Aymer is evidently solicitous to keep Chara-
lois out of hearing; ami the artifice is not to be praised by
which his lady is made so clamorous and so incautious. The
alteration is by Coxeter.

By this means snail 1 with one banquet please
Two companies, those within and these gulls here.
Mufic and a SONO.

Beaumel. [within] If a ! ha ! ha !

Charal. How's this ! It is my lady's laugh, most

certain.

When I first pleased her, in this merry language
She gave me thanks. [Aiide.

Beau. How like you this *

Charal. 'Tis rare

Yet I may be deceived, and should be sorry,

Upon uncertain suppositions, rashly

To write myself in the black list of those

I have declaim'd against, and to Komont. [Aside.

Aym. I would he were well off! Perhaps

your lordship

Likes not these sad tunes? I have a new song,
Set to a lighter note niiiy please you better ;
'Tis call'd the Happy Husband.

Charal. Pray you sing it.

SONG by Aymer.

Beaumel. [within] Ha! ha! 'tis such a groom \

Chural. Do I hear this,
And yet stand doubtful? [Rus/ics ov,.

Aym. Stay him I am undone,
And thev discover'd.

Beau. What's the matter?

Aym. Ah !
That women, when they're well pleased, cannot

hold,
But must laugh out.

Re-enter CHAFALOIS, with his sword drawn, pursuing
NovALLjKHior, BEAI'MELT.E, and BtLi.ApKRr.

Nov.jun. Help! save me ! murder! murder!

Beaumel. Undone, undone, for ever!

Charal. Oh, my heart !
Hold yet a little do not hope to 'scape
By fligh', it is impossible. Though I might
On all advantage take thy life, and justly ;
This sword, my fat her's sword, that ne'er was drawn
But to a noble purpose, shall not now
Do the office of a hangman. I reserve it
To right mine honour, not for a revenge
So poor, that though with thee it should cut off
Thy family, with all that are allied
To thee in lust or baseness, 'twere still short of
All terms of satisfaction. Draw !

Nov.jun. I dare not :
I have already done you too much wrong,
To fight in such a cause.

Charal. Why, darest thou neither
Be honest, coward, nor yet valiant, knave !
In such a cause come, do not shame thyself:
Such whoe bloods wrongs, or wrong done to them

selvesf

Could never heat, are yet in the defence
Of their whores, daring. Look on her again :

Beaumel. Undone, undow,for etfrf] This shoit speech
is taken by the modern editors from Beaiimelle, and given
to Bellapert! Nothing was eve more injudicious. It is all
she says, and all she properly could say.

i.Svch who\e Lluodr wrongs, or wrong done to themselves
Sec.] I bJieve this means, those whose bloods yrnrral or in-
dividual injuries could never heat, &c. If this be not al-
lowed, we must read, and wrong done to themselves, iiistca'l
of or, the sense will then be sufficiently clear. Coxeter and
Mr. M. Mason evidently misunderstood the passage, which
is misprinted in both.

334

THE FATAL DOWRY.

[Acr [V.

You thought her worth the hazard of your soul,
And yet stand doubtful, in her quarrel to
Venture your body. "

Bean. i\o, he fears his clothes,
More than his flesh.

Choral. Keep from me ! guard thy life,
Or, as thon hast lived like a goat, thou shalt
Die like a sheep.

Nov.jun, Since there's no remedy,
Despair of safetv now in me prove courage !

[They fight, Nooall falls.

Choral. How soon weak wrong's o'erthrown?

J.end me your hand ;

Bear this to the caroch come, you have taught me
To say, you must and shall :

f Exeunt Beaumnnt and Be/lapert, \\ilh the Body
of Novall ; followed by Beanmelle.

I wrong you not,
You are but to keep him company you love.

Re-enter BEAUMONT.

Is'tdone? 'tis well. Raise officers, and take care
AH you can apprehend within the house
May be forthcoming. Do I appear much moved ?
Bean. No, sir.

Charal. My griefs are now thus to be borne ;
Hereafter I'll find time and place to mourn.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Street.

Enter ROMONT and PONTAUER.

P0?jf. I was bound to seek you, sir.

Rom. And, had you found me
In any place but in the street, I should
Have done, not talk'd to you. Are you the

captain.

The hopeful Pontalier, whom I have seen
Do in the field such service as then made you
Their envy that commanded, here at home
To play the parasite to a gilded knave,
And, it may be, the pander !

Pont. Without this,
I come to call you to account for what
Is past already. I, by your example
Of thankfulness to the dead general,
By whom you were raised, have practised to be so
To my good lord Novall, by whom I live ;
Whose least disgrace that is or may be offer'd,
With all the hazard of my life and fortunes
I will make good on you, or any man
That has a hand in't : and, since you allow me
A gentleman and a soldier, there's no doubt
You will except against me. You shall meet
With- a fair enemy : you understand
The right I look for, and must have ?

Rom. I do,

And with the next day's sun you shall hear from
me. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Room in CHAHALOIS' House.

Enter CIIARALOIS with a casket, BEAU.MELLE, and

BEAUMONT.
Charal. Pray bear this to my father, at his

leisure
He may peruse it : lut with your best language

Entreat his instant presence. You have sworn
Not to reveal what I have done.

Beau. Nor will I but

Charul. Doubt me not ; by heaven, I will do

nothing

But what may stand with honour. Pray you, leave
me [Ei it Beaumont.

To my own thoughts. If this be to me, rise ;

[Beanmelle kneeU.

I am not worth the looking on, but only
To feed contempt and scorn ; and that frcm you,
Who, with the loss of your fair name, have caused it,
Were too much cruelty.

Beaumel. I dare not move you
To hear me speak. I know my fault is far
Beyond qualification or excuse ;
That 'tis not fit for me to hope, or you
To think of mercy ; only I presume
To entreat you would be pleased to look upon
My sorrow for it. and believe these tears
Are the true children of my grief, and not
A woman's cunning.

Charat. Can you, Beaumelle,
Having deceived so great a trust as mine,
Though I were all credulity, hope again
To get belief? No, no : if you look on me
With pity, or dare practise any means
To make my sufferings less, or give just cause
To all the world to think what I must do
Was call'd upon by you, use other ways :
Deny what 1 have seen, or justiiy
What you have done ; and, as you desperately
Made shipwreck of your faith, to be a whore,
Use the amis of such a one, and such defence,
And multiply the sin with impudence.
Stand boldly up, and tell me to my teeth,
That you have done but what is warranted
By great examples, in all places where
Women inhabit ; urg your own deserts,
Or want of me in merit ; tell me how
Your dower from the low gulf of poverty
Weighed up my fortunes to what they now are:
That I was purchased by your choice and practice,
To shelter you from shame, that you might sin
As boldly as securely : that poor men
Are married to those wives that bring them wealth,
One day their husbands, but observers* ever.
That when, by this proud usage, you have blown
The fire of my just vengeance to the height,
I then may kill you, and yet sav 'twas done
In heat of blood, and after die myself,
To witness my repentance.

Beaumel. O my fate !

That never would consent that I should see
How worthy you were 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 wandar'd
In the forbidden labyrinth of lust,

What was inseparable is l>v ir.e divided.

With justice, therefore, yon may cut me off,
And from your memory wash the remembrance
That e'er I was ; like to some vicious purpose,
Which, in your better judgment, you repent of
And study to forget.

But observers ever.] Observers are servants: the wept 4
fVr.ueutly occurs in this sense.

SCEVF IV.]

THE FATAL DOWRY.

335

Cho-al. O Beaumelle.
That you can speak so well, and do so ill !
But you had been loo great a blessing, if
You had continued clmsie : see. how you force me
To this, because mine honour will not yield
That 1 again should love you.

Heaumet. In this life

It is not fit you should : yet you shall find,
Though 1 was bold enough to be a strumpet,
I dare not yet live one. Let those famed matrons,
That are canonized worthy of our sex,
Transcend me in their sanctity of life;
J yet will equal them in dying nobly,
Ambitious of no honour after life,
But that, when I am dead, you will forgive me.
Charal. How pity steals upon me! should I hear

her [Knocking viihin.

But ten words more, I were lost. One knocks, go

in. [Ejif Beaumelle.

That to be merciful should be a sin !
Enter ROCHFOUT.

O, sir, most welcome ! Let me take your cloak,

I must not be denied. Here are your rohp.s,

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 sent ;

I will be for* you presently. [Ejit.

Roch. Angels guard me !
To what strange tragedy does this inductionf
Serve for a prologue?

Re-enter CHARALOIS, BEAUMFI.LE, and BFAUMOXT,
U'ith Servants bearing ihe Body of A OVA LI.
junior.

Charal. So, set it down before
The judgment-seat, [Exeunt Servants.] and stand

you at the bar :
For me, I am the accuser.

Roch. Novall slain !

And Beaumelle, my daughter, in the place
Of one to be arraign'd !

Cltarul. O, are you touch'd !
I find that 1 must take another course.
Fear nothing, I will only blind your eyes ;

[He blinds his 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.

Roch. It is granted, speak
You shall have justice.

Charal. 1 then heie accuse,

Most equal judge, the prisoner, your fair daughter,
For whom 1 owed so much to you ; your daughter,
So worthy in her own parts, and that worth
Set forth by yours, to whose so rare perfections,

/ will be for you presently.] So the quart.. : the mo-
dern eilitors read, / will before you presently . l>ut \\l:e;i,er
by mistake, or from an idea of improun" tlie tevt, I 'a;,m,i
tell.

t To what ttranoe tragedy dort thh induction
Serve for a prologue f] The old copy reads dort this de-
itruction, &.c. Ihe ..mrndinent, whirh'is a liapi.y one, \vas
inggested by Mr. M. M., ?l ,n. Tims in The Guardian:
"This is Lint an induction; \ 11, haw
The curtains of tht trayedy hereafter."

Tru'h witness with me, in the place of service
I almost paid idolatrous sacrifice,
To he a false iidi.lieress.
Roch. Vi'ith whom >
Chural. \\ tih this Xovall here dead.
Roch. Be well advised ;
And ere you sav adulteress again.
Her fame depending on it, be most sure
That she is one.

Charal. I took them in the act:
I know no proof beyond it.
Rorh. O my heart !

Charat. A judge should feel no passions.
Roch. Yet. remember
He is a man, and cannot put off nature.
What answer makes th prisoner?

Beaiimel. J confess

The fact 1 am charged with, and yield myself
Most miserably guilty.

Roch. Heaven take mercv

Upon your soul then ! it must leave your body.
Now free mine eyes; 1 dnre unmov.d look on her,
[C/i'DM/u/.v unbind* hii euet.
And fortify my sentence with strong reasons.
Since that the politic law provides that servants,
To whose care we commit our goods. >hall die
If tht-y abuse our (rust, what can you look for,
To whose charge this most hopeful lord gave up
All lie received from his brave ancestor.-,
Or he could leave to his posterity,
His uuucu:, wicked woman ! in whose safety
All bis life's joys and comforts were lock'd up,

Which thy * lust, a thief, hath now stolen

trom him ;

And therefore

Charal Stay, just judge ; may not what's lost
By her one fault (for 1 am charitable.
And charge her not with many) be forgotten
In her lair life hereafter ?
1 Roe'/. Never, sir.

The wrong that's done to the chaste married bed
Repentant tears can never expiate ;
And be assured, to pardon such a sin
Is an offence as great as to commit it.
Clitinil. 1 may not then forgive her?
Roc//. Nor she h;>pe it.

Nor can she wish to live : no sun shall rise,
But, ere it set, shall show her ualy lust
In a new shape, and every one more horrid.
Nay, eve:i those prayers which, with such humbl

fervour,

She seems to send up yonder, are beat back.
And all su.ts which her penitence can proffer,
As soon as made, are with contempt thrown out
Of all the courts of .mercy.

Charal. Let her die. then! [He stubs her

Better prepared, I'm sure, I could not take her,
Nor she accurp her father as a judge
Partial against her.

Beaiimel. I approve his sentence,
And kiss the executioner. My lust
Is now run from me in that blood in which
It was begot and nourished. [Dies.

Roch. Is she dead, then 1

Cliarul. Yes, sir , this is her heart-blood, ic it not ?
| I think it be.

Which thy lust, a thief. &c.l Some epithet t.

lust, has been lost at the press; the reader may supply th
break with hot. foul, or any other monosyllable of 4 kinrtrei
lueauiujj.

536

THE FATAL DOWRY.

[AcrV.

PocJi. And you have kill'd her?

Choral. True,
And did it by your doom.

Ruch. But I pronounced it
As a judge only, and a friend to justice ;
And, zealous in defence of your wrong'd honour,
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-died cruelty : but, in return,
You have advanced for me no flag of mercy.
T look'd on you as a wrong'a husband ; but

ou closed your eyes against me as a father.

Beaumelle ! my daughter !

Cfiaral. This is madness.

Ruch. 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,
Flint-hearted Charalois !

Charal. Nature does prevail
Above your virtue.

Eoch. No; it gives me eyes
To pierce the heart of your design against me :
I find it now, it was my state was aimed at.
A nobler match was sought for, and the hours
I lived grew tedious to you : my compassion
Tow'rds you hath render'd me most miserable,
And foolish charity undone myself.
But there's a heaven above, from whose just wrealc
No mists of policy can hide offenders.

Nov. sen. [within] Force ope the doors !

Enter NOVALL senior, with Officers.

O monster ! cannibal !

Lay hold on him. My son, my son ! Ilochfort
'Twas you gave liberty to this bloody wolf,

To worry all our comforts : but this is

No time to quarrel ; now give your assistance
For the revenge

Roch. Call it a fitter name,
Justice for innocent blood.

Charal. Though all conspire
Against that life which I am weary of,
A little longer yet I'll strive to keep it,
To show, in spite of malice and their laws,
His plea must speed, that hath an honest cause.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. A Street.
Enter Tailor and two Bailiffs with LILADAM.

Liiul. Whv, 'tis both most unconscionable and

untimely,

To arrest a gallant for his clothes, before
He has worn them out: besides, you said you

ask'd

My name in my lord's bond but for form only,
.And now you'll lay me up for't! Do not think
The taking measure of a customer
By a brace of varlets*, though I rather wait
Never so patiently, will prove a fashion
Which any courtier or inns-of-court-man
Would follow willingly.

Tail. There I believe you.
But, sir, 1 must have present monies, or
Assurance to secure me when I shall ;
Or I will see to your coming forth.

Lilad. Plague on't !

You have provided for my entrance in.
That coming forth you talk of concerns me.
What shall 1 do? you have done me a disgrace
In the arrest, but more in giving cause
To all the street to think I cannot stand
Without these two supporters for my arms.
Pray you, let them loose me : for their satisfaction,
1 will not run away.

Tai 1 . For theirs you will not ;
But for your own you would ! Look to him, fellows.

Lilnd. \\liy do you call them fellows ? do not

wrong
Your reputation so. As you are merely

* By a brace of varlets,] So our old writers call the she-
riff* utiicers.

A tailor, faithful, apt to believe in gallants,
You are a companion at a ten-crown supper
For cloth of bodkin, and may with one lark
Eat up three manchets, and no man observe you,
Or call your'trade in question for't. But, when
You study your debt-book, and hold correspondence
With officers of the hanger, and leave swordsmen
The learn 'd conclude, the tailor and the serjeant
In the expression of a knave and thief,
To be synonyma*. Look, therefore, to it,
And let us part in peace, I would be loth
You should undo yourself.

Enter NOVALL senior, and PONTALIER.

Tail. To let you go

Were the next way. But see ! here's your old Icrd ,
Let him but give his word I shall be paid,
And you are free.

Lilad. 'Slid ! I will put him to't,
I can be but denied : or what say you ?
His lordship owing me three times your debt,
If you arrest him at my suit, and let me
Go run before, to seethe action enler'd,
'Twould be a witty jest !

Tail. I must have earnest :
I cannot pay my debts so.

Pont. Can your lordship
Imagine, while I live, and wear a sword,
Your son's death shall be unrevenged ?

To be synonyma.] Here again Mr. M. Mason follow*
Coxeter in reading .ynon\nious: but the old word was Uiat
which I have given. So Jonson :

" Where every tinker for his chink may cry,
Rogue, bawd, and cheater, c.ill ) on by the surnames
And knonnsynonyma of j our profession." The Pietv /an.
See 7'Ae Emperor of the Ea*t.

SCFNE II.]

THE FATAL DOWRY.

337

Nov. sen. I know not

One reason why you should not do like others :
I am sure, of all the herd that fed upon him,
I cannot see in any, now he's gone,
In pity or in thankfulness, one true sign
Of sorrow for him.

Pont. All his bounties yet
Fell not in such unthankful ground : 'tis true,
He had weaknesses, but such as few are free from ;
And, though none soothed them lest than I (for now,
To say that I foresaw the dangers that
Would rise from cherishing them, were but un-
timely),

I yet could wish the justice that you seek for
In the revenge, had been trusted to ine,
And not the uncertain issue of the laws.
It has robb'd me of a noble testimony
Of what I durst do for him : but, however,
My forfeit life redeem'd by him, though dead,
Shall do him service.

AW. sen. As far as my grief
Will give me leave, 1 thank you.

Litad. O, my lord !
Oh my good lord ! deliver me from these furies.

Pont. Arrested ' this is one of them, whose base
And abject flattery help'd to dig his grave :
He is not worth your pity, nor my anger.
Go to the basket, and repent*.

Nov. sen. Away !

I only know thee now to hate thee deadly :
I will do nothing for thee.

Litad. i\ or you, captain !

Pont. No ; to your trade again ; put off this case :
It may be, the discovering what you were,
When your unfortunate master took you up,
May move compassion in your creditor.
Confess the truth.

[Exeunt Novall sen. and Pontalier.

Lilad. And now I think on't better,
I willf. Brother, your hand; your hand, sweet

brother :

I'm of your sect, and my gallantry but a dream,
Out of which these two fearful apparitions,
Against my will, have waked me. This rich sword
Grew suddenly out of a tailor's bodkin ;
These hangers from my vails and fees in hell ;
And where as now this beaver sits, full often
A thrifty cap, composed of broad-cloth lists,
Near-kin unto the cushion where 1 sat
Cross-legg'd, and yet ungurter'd, hath been seen :
Our breakfasts, famous for the butter'd loaves,
I have with joy been oft acquainted with ;
And therefore use a conscience, though it be
Forbidden in our hall towards other men,
To me, that, as I have been, will again
Be of the brotherhood.

1 Bail. I know him now ;
He was a prentice to Le Robe at Orleans.

Litad. And from thence brought by my young

lord, now dead,
Unto Dijon, and wiih him, till this hour,

* Go to the basket, and repent.] The allusion is to the sheriffs
batket, in which broken meat was collected for the use of
prisoners for debt. See The ('ity Madam,

t Lilatl. And now 1 think on't better.

1 will, &c-l This is most exquisite mock heroic ; it i,
perhaps, a little out of place; Imt it serves opportunely
eiMiiiili to prove how ditierently the comic part of this drama
would have appe.uvd, if the whole had fortunately fallen into
the hands of Alassinger.

Have been received here for a complete monsieur.
.Nor wonder at it : for but tithe our gallants,
Even those of the first rank, and you will find
In every ten, one, peradventure two,
That smell rank of the dancing-school or fiddle,
The pantofle or pressing-iron : but hereafter
We'll talk of this. I will surrender up
My suits again : there cannot be much loss ;
'Tis but the turning of the lace, with one
Addition more you know of, and what wants
I will work out.

Tail, Then here our quarrel ends :
The gallant is turn'd tailor, and all friends.

Exeunt,

SCENE II. The Court of Justice.
Enter ROMONT and BEAUMONT.

Rom. You have them ready ?

Beau. Yes, and they will speak
Their knowledge in this cause, when you think fit
To have them call'd upon.

Rom. 'Tis well ; and something
I can add to thair evidence, to prove
This brave revenge, which they would have call'd

murder,
A noble justice.

Beau, In this you express

(The breach by my lord's want of you new made up*)
A faithful friend.

Rom. 1 hat friendship's raised on sand,
Which every sudden gust of discontent,
Or flowing of our passions, can change,
As if it ne'er had been : but do you know
Who are to sit on him ?

Beau. Monsieur Du Croy,
Assisted by Charmi.

Rom. The advocate
That pleaded for the marshal's funeral,
And was check'd for it by Novall ?

Beau. The same.

Rom. How fortunes that 1

Beau. Why, sir, my lord Novall
Being the accuser, cannot be the judge ;
Nor would grieved Rochfort but lord Charalois,
However he might wrong him by his power,
Should have an equal hearing.

Ron. By my hopes
Of Charalois' acquittal, I lament
That reverend old man's fortune.

Beau. Had you seen him,
As, to my grief, I have, now promise patience,
And, ere it was believed, though spake by him
That never brake his wordf, enraged agsiin
So far as to make war upon those hairs,
Which not a barbarous Scythian durst presume
To touch, but with a superstitious fear,
As something sacred ; and then curse his daughter,
But with more frequent violence, himself,

* (The breach by my lord's want of you new made vp)]
For new made up, Air. AI. Mason cbOMCt to read, note
made up, although it be not easy to discover what is gained
by the alteration. For the rest, this Komont still continue!
a most noble fellow. How Rowe could read his next speech
anil degrade his copy ( Horatio j into a geiitimrntil rhapso-
dist, querulous, captious, and unfeeling, 1 cannot conjecture
unless it were th.it he determined to create no violent in-
terest for any of his characters but the hero ami the heroine
i)i the piece.

t That never brake hit word,} So the old copy. Mr. M.
Mason reads breaks bis wordl

338

THE FATAL DOWRY.

[AcrV.

As if he had been guilty of her fault,

By being incredulous of your rep irt,

You would not only judge him worthy pity.

But suffer with him : but lu-re comes the prisoner ;

Fnler Officers with CHARALOIS.
I dare not stav to do mv duly to him ;
Yet rest assured, all possible means in me
T> do him service keeps you company. [Exit.

Rom. It is not doubted.

Churul. Why, yet as I catm hither,
The people, apt to mode calamity,
And tread on the oppress'd, made no horns at me,
Though they are too familiar 1 deserve them.
And, knowing too what blood n>y sword hath drunk,
In wreak of thai disgrace, they yet forbear
To s-huke their heads, or to revile me for
A murderer; tlh-y rather all put on,
As for great losses the old llomans used,
A general face of sorrow, waited on
By a sad murmur breaking through their silence .
And no eye but was readier with a tear
To witness 'twas shed for me, than I could
Discern a face made up with scorn against me.
Why should I, then, though for unusual wrongs
I chose unusual means to right those wrongs,
Condemn myself, as over-partial
in my own cause 1 Itomout !

Rom. Best friend, well met !
By my heart's love to you, and join to that.
My thankfulness that still lives to the dead*,
I look upon von now with more true joy
Than when 1 saw you married.

Chttral. You have reason
To give you warrant for't: my falling off
From such a friendship, with the scorn that answered
Your too prophetic counsel, may well move you
To think your meeting me, going to my death,
A fit encounter for that hate which justly
I have deserved from you.

Rom. Shall I still, then,
Speak truth, and be ill understood 1

Chanil, You are not.

I am conscious i have wrong 'd you ; and allow me
Only a moral manf, to look on you,
Whom foolishly I have abused ind injured,
Must of necessity be more terrible to me,
Than any death the judges can pronounce
From the tribunal which I am to plead at.

Ram. Passion transports you.

Chural. For what 1 have done
To my false lady, or Novall, I can
Give some apparent cause ; but touching you,
In my defence, child-like, I can say nothing
But I am sorry for't ; a poor satisfaction !
And yet, mistake me not; for it is more
Than I will speak, to have my pardon sign'd
For all 1 stand accused of.

Pom. You much weaken
The strength of your good cause, should you but

think,

A man for doing well could entertain
A pardon, were it ott'er'd : you have given

My thankfulneis that still lioet totlie dead,] i. e. to tlie
old marshal, whom Ruinonl never forgets, m>r sutlers his
hearers to forget.

4 and allow me

Only a moral man, 1 i. e. allow me U> he endowed only
with tiie common principles of morality (Milling aside those
of religion;, and lo look on sou, &c.

To blind and slow-paced justice wings and eyes
To St-e and overtake impieties,
Which, from a cold proceeding, had received
Indulgence or protection.

Charat. Think you so J

Rom. Upon my soul ! nor should tho blood you

challenged,

And took to cure your honour, breed more scruple
In your soft conscience, than if your swo^J
Mad been sheath'd in u tiger or she-heai*,
That in their bowels would have made your tomb.
To injure innocence is more than murdt-r :
Mut when inhuman lusts transform us, then
As beasts we are to suffer, not like men
To be lamented. >.'or did Charulois ever
Perform an act so worthy ihe applause
Of a full theatre of perfect men,
As he hath done in this The glory got
By overthrowing outward enemies,
Since strength and fortune are main sharers in it,
We cannot, liut by pieces, call our own :
Hut, when we conquer our intestine foes,
Our passions bred within us, and of those
The most rebellious tvrant, powerful Love,
Our reason suffering us to like no longer
Than the fair object, being good, deserves it,
That's a true victory ! which, were great men
Ambitious to achieve, by vour example
Setting no price upon the breach of faith,
But loss of life, 'twou.d fright adultery
Out of their families, and make lu-u appear
As loathsome to us in the first consent,
As when 'tis waited on by punishment.

Charai. You have coufirm'd me. Who would

love a woman,

That might enjoy in such a man a friend !
You have made me know the justice of my cause,
And niark'd me out the way how to defend it.

Rom. Continue to that resolution constant,
And you shall, in contempt ot their worst malice,
Come off with honour here they come.

Chural. 1 am ready.

Enter Dv Cnov, CIIARMI, ROCHFORT, NOVALL
senior, PUNTALIEH, and BEAUMONT.

Nov. sen. See, equal judges, with what confidence
The cruel murderer stands, as if he would
Outface the court and justice !

Roch. But look on him,
And you shall find, for still methinks I do,
Though guilt haih died him black, something good

in him,

That mav perhaps work with a wiser man
Than I have been, again to set him free,
And give him all he has.

Char. This is not well.
I would you had lived so, my lord, that I
Might rather have continued your poor servant,
Than sit here as your judge.

Da Cmi/. I am sorry for vou.

Roch. In no act of my life I have deserved
This Ljury from the court, that any here
Should thus uncivilly usurp on what
Is proper to me only.

* Had been sheath' d in a tiger or ihr-bear.i The allusion
is to N.ivall and He.iiiinelle ; Out Mr. iVf. Mason, who had
already forgotten that I he former had fallen by the hand of
Cli.traFni.s, alters tiiji-r to tiyrets. Such a passion for iimova
lion, with MI Im.e discretion to direct it, i* surety seldom
found in the same person.

SCENE II.]

THE FATAL DOWRY.

339

Du Croy. What distaste
Receives my lord !

Roch. You say you are sorry for him :
A grief in which I must not have a partner.
Tis I alone am sorry, that when 1 raised
The building of my life, for seventy years
Upon so sure a ground, that all the vices
Practised to ruin man, though hrought against me,
Could never undermine, and no way left
To send these gray hairs to the grave with sorrow,
Virtue, that was rny patroness, betray 'd me.
For, entering, nay, possessing this young man,
It lent him such a powerful majesty
To grace whate'er he undertook, that freely
I g'-ive myself up, with my liberty,
To be at his disposing. Had his person,
Lovely I must confess, or far-famed valour,
Or any other seeming good, that yet
Holds a near neighbourhood with ill, wrought on

I might have borne it better: but, when goodness
And piety itself in her best figure
Were bribed to my destruction, can you blame me,
Though 1 forgi-t to suffer like a man,
Or rather act a woman ?

fieau. Good, my lord !

A'oti. sen. You hinder our proceeding.

Char. And forget
The parts of an accuser.

lifuu. Pray \ou, remember
To use the temper which to me you promised.

Each. Angels themselves must bieak, Beaumont,

that promise

Beyrnd tie strength and patience of angels.
But 1 have done : My good lord, pardon me,
A weak old man, and, pray you, add to that,
A mist-nible fa her ; yet be careful
That your compassion of my age, nor his,
Move you to anv thing that may misbecome*
The place on which you sit,

Char. Head the indictment.

Clmrat. It shall he needless ; I myself, my lords,
Will be my own accuser, and confess
All they can charge me with, nor will I spare
To aggravate that guilt with circumstance
They seek to )o;id me with ; only I pray,
That, as for them you will vouchsafe me hearing,
] may m.t be denied it for myself, when I
Shall u'ge by what unanswerable reasons
I was compell'd to what I did, which yet,
Till you have taught me better, 1 repent not.

Roch. The motion's honest.

Char. And 'tis freely granted.

Chural. Then I confess, my lords, that I stood

bound,

Wh^n, wit limy friends, even hope itself had left me,
To this man's charity, for my liberty ;
N'or did his bounty end there, but began :
For, after my enlargement, cherishing
The good he did, he made me master of
His only daughter, and his whole estate.
Great ties of thankfulness, I must acknowledge :
Could any one fee'd by you, press this further ?
But yet consider, my most honour'd lords,
If to receive a favour make u servant,

that may misbecome.] The old

copy reads da-become, .in unusual word, but regularly formed.
1 tuou^lii it worth noticing, (liuiigli 1 iuve uot disturbed
Coxvter's fancied improvement.

And benefits are bonds to tie the taker

To the imperious will of him that gives,

There's none but slaves will receive courtesies,

Since they must fetter us to our dishonours.

Can it be call'd magnificence in a prince,

To pour down riches with a liberal hand

Upon a poor man's wants, if that must bind him

To play the soothing parasite to his vices ?

Or any man, because he saved my hand,

Presume my head and heart are at his service 1

Or, did I stand engaged to buy my freedom

(When my captivity was honourable)

By making myself here, and fame hereafter,

Bondslaves to men's scorn, and calumnious

tongues?

Had his fair daughter's mind been like her feature,
Or, for some little blemish, I had sought
For my content elsewhere, wasting on others
My body and her dower ; my forehead then
Deserved the brand of base ingratitude :
But if obsequious usage, and fair warning
To keep her worth my love, could not preserve her
From being a whore, and yet no cunning one,
So to offend, and yet the fault kept from me,
What should I do ? Let any free-born spirit
Determine truly, if that thankfulness,
Choice form, with the whole world given for a

dowry,

Could strengthen so an honest man with patience,
As with a willing neck to undergo
The insupportable joke of slave, or wittnl.

Char. What proof have you she did play false,

besides
Your oath ?

Charal. Her own confession to her father
I ask him for a witness.

Riich. 'Tis most true.
I would not willingly blend my last words
With an untruth.

Charal. And then to clear myself,
That his great wealth was not the mark I shot at,
But that 1 held it, when fair Beaumelle
Fell from her virtue, like the fatal gold
Which Brennus took from Delphos*, whose pos-

session

Brought with it ruin to himself and army:
Here's one in court, beaumont, by whom I sent
All grants and writings back which made it mine,
Before his daughter died by his own sentence,
As freely as, unask'd, he gave it to me.

Beau. They are here to be seen.

C/iar. Open the cai-ket.
- Peruse that deed of gift.

Rom. Half of the danger
Already is discharged ; the other part
As bravely ; and you are not only free,
But crown'd with praise for ever!

Du Crny. 'Tis apparent.

Char. Your state, my lord, again is yours.

Ruch. Not mine ;

I am not of the world. If it can prosper
(And yet, being justly got, I'll not examine
Why it should be so fatal), do you bestow it
On pious uses : I'll go seek a grave.
And yet, for proof I die in peace, your pardon

--- like the fa

Which Brennu* look from Delyho* : ] This was to de-

structive to all who shared it, luat it grew into a proveib.

See ra*. A day.

S40

THE FATAL DOWRY.

[Acr V

I ask ; and, as you grant it me, may heaven,
Your conscience, and these judges, free you from
What you are charged with ! So, farewell for
ever! [Eiit.

Nov. sen. I'll be mine own guide. Passion nor

example

Shall be my leaders. I have lost a son,
A son, grave judges ; I require his blood
From his accursed homicide.

Char. What reply you,
In your defence, for this?

Choral. I but attended

Your lordships' pleasure. For the fact, as of
The formfr, I confess it; but with what
Base wrongs I was unwillingly drawn to it,
To my few words there are some other proofs
To witness this for truth. When I was married,
For there I must begin, the slain Novall
Was to my wife, in way of our French courtship,
A most devoted servant, but yet aimed at
Nothing but means to quench his wanton heat,
His heart being never warm'd by lawful fires,
As mine was, lords : and though, on these pre-
sumptions,

Join'd to the hate between his house and mine,
I might, with opportunity and ease,
Have found a way for my revenge, I did not ;
But still he had the freedom as before,
When all was mine: and, told that he abused it
With some unseemly license, by my friend,
My approved friend, Romont, I gave no credit
To the reporter, but reproved him for it,
As one uncourtly and malicious to him.
What could I more, my lords? Yet, after this,
He did continue in his first pursuit,
Hotter than ever, and at length obtain'd it ;
But, how it came to my most certain knowledge,
For the dignity of the court, and my own honour,
I dare not say.

NOD. ten. If all may be believed
A passionate prisoner speaks, who is so foolish
That durst be wicked, that will appear guilty?
No, my grave lords ; in his impunity
But give example unto jealous men
To cut the throats they hate, and they will never
Want matter or pretence for their bad ends.

Char. You must find other proofs to strengthen

these
But mere presumptions.

Du Cray. Or we shall hardly
Allow your innocence.

Charal. All your attempts
Shall fall on me like brittle shafts on armour,
That break themselves ; or waves against a rock,
That leave no sign of their ridiculous fury
But foam and splinters: my innocence, like these,
Shall stand triumphant, and your malice serve
But for a trumpet to proclaim my conquest.
Nor shall you, though you do the worst fate can,
Howe'er condemn, affright an honest man.

Rom. May it please the court, 1 may be heard?

A T oi>. sen. You come not
To rail again ? but do you shall not find
Another Rochfort.

Rom. In Novall I cannot.
But I come furnished with what will stop
The mouth of his conspiracy 'gainst the life
Of innocent Charalois. Do you know this character ?

Kov. sen. Yes, 'tis my son's.

Rom. May it please your lordships, read it :

And you shall find there with what vehemcncy
He did solicit Beaumelle ; how he got
A promise from her to enjoy his wishes ;
How after, he abjure J her company,
And yet but that 'tis tit 1 spare the dead
Like a damn'd villain, as soon as recorded,
He brake that oath : to make this manifest,
Produce his bawds and her's.

Enter Officers with AYMER, FLOIUMEL, and
BELLAPERT.

Char. Have they ta'en their oaths ?

Rom. They haye, and, rather than endure the rack,
Confess the time, the meeting, nay, the act ;
What would you more? only this Matron made
A free discovery to a good end ;
And therefore 1 sue to the court she may not
Be placed in the black list of the delinquents.

Pont. I see by this, Novall's revenge needs me,
And I shall do [Aside.

Char. 'Tis evident.

Nov. sen. That I

Till now was never wretched : here's no place
To curse him or my stars. Exit

Char. Lord Charalois,
The injuries you have sustain'd appear
So worthy of the mercy of the court,
That, notwithstanding you have gone beyond
The letter of the law, they yet acquit you.

Pont. But, in Novall, I do condemn him thus.

[Sfufcs him.

Charal. I am slain.

Rom. Can I look on ? Oh, murderous wretch !
Thy challenge now I answer. So ! die with him.

Stabs Pontalier.

Char, A guard ! disarm him.

Rom. I yield up my sword
Unforced. Oh, Charalois !

Charal. For shame, Romont,
Mourn not for him that dies as he hath lived ;
Still constant and unmoved ; what's fall'n upon me
Is by heaven's will, because I made myself
A judge in my own cause, without their warrant :
But he that lets me know thus much in death,
With all good men forgive me ! [Dies,

Pont. 1 receive

The vengeance which my love, not built on virtue,
Has made me worthy, worthy of*. [Die*.

Char. We are taught
By this sad precedent, how just soever
Our reasons are to remedy our wrongs,
We are yet to leave them to their will and power
That, to that purpose, have authority.
For you, Romont, although, in your excuse,
You may plead what you did was in revenge
Of the dishonour done unto the court,
Yet, since from us you had not warrant for it,
We banish you the state : for these, they shall,
As they are found guilty or innocent,
Or be set free, or suSer punishment. [EiMn(f.

Ha* made me worthy, worthy of.] TheoH copy repeats
worthy, which has a good effect ; when \ve add to this, that
it also completes the verse, we shall wonder at its omission
by the former editors.

+ Dr. Samuel Johnson, in his life of Rowe, pronounces
of The Fair Penitent, "that it is one of the most plca-in.;
Tragedies on the tage, where it still keep: its turns of up-
peafing, and probably will long keep them, for th.it there is
scarcely any uor v of any poet at once 50 interesting by the
fable, and so delightful by the language. Tli story," he
observes, " it domestic, and therefore easily received by ihe

THE FATAL DOWRY".

541

A. DIRGE. See Act II., Sc. 1.

Fie ! cease to wonder,
Though you hear Orhpeus with his ivory lute,

Move trees and rocks,
Charm, bulls, bears, and men mure savage, to be mute ;

Weak, foolish singer, here is one

Would have transform'd thyself to stone.

A SONG BY AYMER. Act II., Sc. 2.

A Dialogue between a Man and a Woman.

Man. Set, Phoebus, set ; a fairer sun doth rise

From the bright radiance of mil mistress' eyes
Than ever than begat'st : 1 dare not look ;
Each hair a golden line, each word a hook,
The more I strive, the more t-titl I am took.

Worn. Fair servant, come ; the day these eves do lend
To warm thy blood, thou dost so vainly spend,
Come strangle breath.

Man. What note so sweet as this,

Thatcalls the spirits to a further bliss?

Worn. Yet this out-savours wine, and this perfume.

Man. Let's die ; I languish, I consume.

Citizen's SONG of the Courtier. See Act IV., Sc.. II.

Courtier, if thou needs icilt u>u,

From this lesson learn to thrive ;

If thou, match a lady, that passes thee m birth and

state,

Let her curious garments be
Twice above thine own degree ;
This icilt draw great eyes upon her,
Get her servants, and thee lionour.

Courtier's SONG of the Citizens.

Poor citizen, if thou wilt be

A happi] husband, learn of me

To set thy wijejirst in thy shop ;

A fair wife, a kind wtje, a sweet wife, sets a poor

man up.

What though thy shelves be ne'er so bare,
A woman still is current ware ;
Each man will cheapen, foe and friend ;
But, whilit ihou art at t'other end,
Whale er thou seest, or what dost hear,
Fool, have no eye to, nor an ear ;
And after supper, for her sake,
When thou liastjed, snort, though than wake :
What though the gallants call thee Maine !
Yet with thy lantern light her A<>me;
Then look into the town, and tell
If no such tradesmen there do welt.

imagination, and assimilated to common life ; the diction is
exquisitely harmonious, and soft or sprightly as occasion re-
quires." Few people, I believe, will think this character of
The fair Penitent too lavish on the score of commendation ;
the high degree of public favour in which this Tragedy has
long stood, has ever attracted the best audiences to it, and
engaged the talents of the best performers in its display. As
there is no drama more frequently exhibited, or more gene-
rally read, I propose to give it a fair and impartial examina-
tion, jointly with the more unknown aud less popular
Tragedy from which it is derived.

The fair Penitrnt is in fable and character ?o closely
copied from The fatal Dowry, that it is impossible not to
Jake that Tragedy 'along with it; and it is matter of some
surprise to me that Rowe should have made no acknow-
ledgment of his imitation, either in his dedication or pro-
logue, or any where else that I am apprised of.

This Tr.itedy of The fatal Dowry was the joint pro-
duction of Massinger and Nathaniel Field; it takes a wider
compass of fable than The fair Penitent, by which means
it presents a very affecting scene at the opening, which

discovers young Charalois, attended by his friend Romont,
waiting with a petition in his hand to be presented to the
judges, when they shall meet, praying the release of his
deaU father's body, which had been seized by his creditors,
ami detained ill their hands for debts he had incurred in the

Sublic service, a* neld-marshal of the armies of Burgundy,
lassinger, to whose share this part of the Tragedy devolved,
has managed this pathetic introduction with consummate
skill and great expression of nature; a noble youth in the
last state of worldly distress, reduced to the humiliating yet
pious ollice of soliciting an unfeeling and umiiendly judge
to allow him to pay the solemn rites of bunal to the remains
of an illustrious father, who had fought his country's battles
with glory, and had sacrificed life aud fortune in the defence
of an ungrateful state, impresses the spectator's mind with
pity and respect, which arc felt through every passage at
the Play : one thing in particular strikes me at the opening
of the scene, which is the long silence that the poet has
artfully imposed upon his principal character ( Charalois}
who stands in mute sorrow with his petition in his hand,
whilst his friend Romont, and his advocate Chaimi, urge
him to present himself to the judges, and solicit them in
person : the judges now make their entrance, they stop upon
the stage ; they otter him the fairest opportunity for tender-
ing his petition and soliciting his suit : Charalois remains
fixed aud speechless ; Romont, who is all eagerness iu hi*
cause, presses him again and again :
" Now, put on your spirits.

Now, sir, lose not this offer'd means: their looks

F'ix'd on you with a pitying earnestness,

Invite you to demand their fuitberance

To your gooil purpose."

The judges point him out to each o'her ; they lament the
misfortunes of his noble house ; they observe,
" It is young Charalois

Son to the marshal, fiom whom he inherits

His fame aud virtues only.
" Jlom. Ha ; they name you.

" Du Cray. His father died in prison two days since.
" Roch. Yes, to the shame of this ungrateful state ;

That such a master in the art of war,

So noble and so highly meriting

From this forgetful country, should, for waut

Of means to satisfy his creditors

Tl:e sums he took up for the general good,

Meet with an end so infamous.
Ram. Dare you ever

Hope for like opportunity?"

It is vain; the opportunity passes off, and Charalois opens
not his mouth, nor even silently tenders his petition.

1 have, upon a former occasion, both generally and
particularly observed upon the effects of dramatic silence :
the stage cannot afford a more beautiful and touching in-
stance than this before us: to say it is not inferior to the
silence of Hamlet upon his fust appearance, would be saying
too little in its favour. I have no doubt but Massinger had
this very case in his thoughts, aud 1 lionour him no less for
the imitating, than 1 should have done for striking out a
silence so naturally and so delicately preserved. What
could Charalois have nt'ercd to give him th.it interest in
the hearts of his spectators, which their own conclusions
during his affecting silence have already impressed I No
sooner are the judges gone, than the ardent Romoiit again
breaks forth :

" This obstinate spleen,

Yon think, becomes your sorrow, and sorts well

With your black suits."

This is Hamiet himself, his inky cloak, and customary suits
of solemn black. The character of Charalois is thus fixed
before he speaks ; the poet's art has given the prejudice that
is to bear him in our affections through all the succeeding
events of the fable ; and a striking contrast is established
between the undiscerning fiery zeal of Romont, and Cha-
ralois' line sensibility and high-born dignity of soul.

A more methodical and regular dramatist would have
stopped here, satisfied that the impression already made was
fully sufficient for all the purposes of his plot; but Massinger,
according to the busy spirit of the stage for which he wrote,
is not alarmed by a throng of incidents, and proceeds to
open the court and discuss the pleadings on the stage : the
advocate Charmi, in a set harangue, moves the judges for
dispensing w ith the rigour of the law in favour of creditors,
and fur re.scuin^ the marshal's corpse out of their clutches ;
he is browbeaten and silenced by the presiding judge old
Novall : the plea is then taken up by the impetuous Romont,
and urged with o much personal insolence, that he is ar-
rested on the spot, put in charge of the officers of the court,
and taken to prison. This is a vf ry striking mode of intro-
ducing the set oration of Charalois ; a son recounting the
military achievements of a newly deceased father, and ro

342

THE FATAL DOWRY.

plorlng mercy from his creditor.' and the law towards his
unburied remains, now claims the attention ot the court,
who had been hitherto unmoved by I he feeble formality of a

course:

" Cred. It is the city doctrine ;

We stand bound to maintain it.
" C/iaral. Be constant in it;

And since you are as merciless in your natures,
As bae and mercenary in your means
By which you get your wealth, I will not urge
The court to take away one scruple from
The right of their laws, or wish] one good thought
In you lo mend your disposition with.
I know there is no music to your ears
So pleasing as the groans of men in prison,
And that the tears of widows, and the crie?
Of famish'd orphans, are the feasts that take you.
That to be in your danger, with more care
Should be avoided than infectious air,
The loathed embraces of diseased women,
A flatterer's poison, or the loss of honour.
Yet rather than my father's reverend dust
Shall want a place in that fair monument,
In which our noble ancestors lie entomb'd,
Befoie the court I offer up myself
A prisoner for it. Load me with those irons
That have worn out his life ; in my best strength
I'll run to the encounter of cold, hunger,
And choose my dwelling where no sun dares enter,
So he may be released."

There was yet another incident, which the poet's passion
for business and spectacle induced him to avail himself of,
viz the funeral of the marshal ; this he displays on the
stage, with a train of captains and soldiers following the
body of their general : Charalois and Romont, under cus-
tody of their gaolers, appear as chief mourners, and a party
of creditors are concerned in the groupe.

After this solemnity is dispatched, the poet proceeds to
develope the amiable generosity of old Rochfort, who,
being touched with the gallant spirit of Romont, and still
more penetrated with the filial piety of young Charalois, de-
livers them both from imprisonment and distress, by dis-
charging the debts of the marshal, and dismissing the credi-
tors: this also passes before the eyes of (he spectators. Be-
fore Charalois has given full expression to his gratitude for
this extraordinary benefaction, Rochfort follows it with a
further act of bounty, which he introduces in the style of a
request
" Call in my daughter. Still I have a suit to you,

Would you requite me.

This is my only child."

Beaumcllc, Rochfoit's daughter, is presented to Charalois;
the scene is hurried on with a precipitation almost without
example : Charalois asks the lady,
" Fair Beaumelle, can you love me?
" Beaumel. Yes, my lord.

" C'haral. You need not question me if I can you:
Yon are the fairest virgin in Dijon,
And Rochfort is your father."

The match is agreed upon as soon as proposed, and Roch-
fort hastens away to prepare the celebration.

In this cluster of incidents I must not fail to remark, that
the poet introduces young Novall upon the scene, in the
very moment when the short dialogue above quoted was
passing: this Novall had before been exhibited as a suitor
lo Beaumelle, and his vain frivolous character had been
displayed in a very ridiculous and contemptible liht ; he is
now again introduced to be a witness of his own disappoint-
ment, and his only observation upon it is " What's this
change?" Upon the exit of the lather, however, he ad-
dresses himself to the lady, and her reply gives the alarm-
ing hint, that makes discovery of the fatal turn which the
plot is now about to take ; for when Novall, turning aside
to Beaumelle, by one word " Mistress!" conveys the re-
proach of inconstancy, she replies,

" Oh, servant ! Virtue strengthen me !
Thy presence blows round my affection's vane :
Yon will undo me, if you speak again." [Exit.

Young Novall is left on the scene with certain followers
and dependants, which hang upon his fortune, one of which
(Pontalier by name), a man under deep obligations to him,
yet of an honest nature, advUes him to an honourable re
nnnciation of all further hopes or attempts to avail himself
of the affections of Beanmclle
" Though yen have iave<l wy life,

Rescued me often from my wants, I must not
Wink at your follies, that will tuin you.
Yon Know my blunt way, and my love to truth-
Forsake the pursuit of this lady's honour,
Now you do see her made another man's."
This honourable advice is rejected with contempt : Novall,
in whose mean bosom there does not seem a trace of virtue,
avows a determined perseverance; and the poet having in
this hasty manner completed these inauspicious nuptials,
closes the second act of his Tragedy.

We have now expended two entire acts of The Fatal
Dowry, in advancing to that period in the fable, at which
the Tracedy of The Fair Penitent opens. If the author of
thi* Tragedy thought it necessary to contract Massinger's
plot, and found one upon it of a more regular construction,
I know not how he could do this any otherwise, than by
taking up the story at the point where we have now left it,
and throwing the antecedent matter into narration ; and
though these two prefatory acts are full of very affecting in-
cidents, yet the pathos which properly appertains to the
plot, and conduces to the catastrophe of the Tragedy, does
nol in itrictness take place before the event of the marriage.
No critic will say that the pleadings before the judge.', the
interference of the creditors, the distresses of Ciiaralois, or
the funeral of the marshal, are necessary parts of the drama ;
at the same time no reader will deny (and neither could
Rowe himself overlook) the effect of these inciJents: lie
could not fail to foresee tliat he was to sacrifice very mucL
of the interest of his fable, when he was ti> throw that upon
narration, vthich his original had given in spectacle: and
the loss was more enhanced by falling upon the hero of the
drama; for who that compares Charalois, at the end of the
second act of Massinger, with Rowe's Altamont at the open-
ing scene of The Fair Penitent, can doubt which character
has most interest with the spectators? We have seen the
former in all the most amiable offices which filial piety could
perform ; enduring insults from his inveterate oppressors,
and voluntarily surrendering himself to a pri.-on to ransome
the dead body of his father from unrelenting creditors. Al-
tamont presents himself liefore us in his wedding suit, in the
splendour of fortune, and at the summit of happiness ; 1m
greets us with a burst of exultation
" Let this auspicious day be ever sacred,
No mourning, no misfortunes happen on it;
Let it be mark'd for triumphs and rejoicings!
Let happy lovers ever make it holy,
Choose it to bless their hopes and crown their wishes;
This happy ila>, that gives me my Calista!"
The rest of the scene is employed by him and Horatio alter-
nately in recounting the benefits conferred upon them by the
generous Sciollo ; and the very same incident of the sei/.ure
of his father's corpse by me creditors, and his redemption of
it, is recited by Horatio :

" When IMS hard creditors,

Urged and assisted by Lothario's father
(Foe to thy house and rival of thy greatness),
By sentence of the cruel law forbade
His venerable corpse to rest in earth,
Thou gavest thyself a ransome for his bones;
With piety uncommon didst give up
_ Thy hopeful youth to slaves, who ne'er knew mercy,"
Is is not however within the reach of this, or any other de-
scription, to place Altamont in tint interesting and amiable
light, as circumstances have already placed Charalois; the
happy and exulting bridegroom may be an object of our
congratulation, but the virtuous and suffering Ciiaralois en-
gages our pity, love, and admiration. If Rowe wouM have
his audience credit Altamont for that filial piety, vtkich
marks the character he copied from, it was a small over-
sight to put the following expression into his mouth
" Oh, great Sciolto ! Oh, my more than father!"
A closer attention to character would have reminded him
that it was possible for Altamont to express his gratitude to
Sciolto without setting him above a father, to whose me-
mory he had paid such devotion.

From this contraction of hi* plot, by the defalcation of so
many pathetic incidents, it became impossible for the author
of The Fair Penitent to make his Altamont the hcr< of his
Tragedy, and the leading part is taken from him by Horatio,
and even by Lothario, throughout the drama. There are
feveral reasons, uhi.-li concur to sink Altamont upon the
comparison with Charalois, the chief of which arises from the
captivating colours in which Rowe has painted his libertine :
on the contrary, Massinger gives a contemptible picture of
his young Novall ; he makes him not only vicious, but ridi-
culous; ia foppery and impertinence he is the counterpart
of Shakspeare'sOsrick; vain-glorious, purse-proud, and over-
bearing amongst his dependants; a spiritless poltroon In his
interview with Romont. " Lothario," as Johnson observes,
" with gaiety which cannot be hated, and bravery which

THE FATAL DOWRY

345

cannot be despised, retains too much of the spectator's kind-
ness." His U:;h spirit, brilliant qualities, ai.d lino person
are so described, as to put us in danger of false impressions
in his favour, and to set the passions ill opposition to the
moral of the piece: I suspect that llie gallantry ot' Lothario
makes more advocates fur Calisia than she ought to luvc.
There is another consideration, which operate- ag.iinst Alta-
luont, and it is an indelicacy in his character, which the
poet should have provided agai..st: he marries Calista with
the lull pei>uasion of her being averse to the match; in bis

first meeting with Sciolto he s.ijs

" Oil! could 1 hope there was one thought of Altamont,
One kind remembrance in Calista's breast

1 found her cold

As a dead lover's statue on his tomb;
A rising storm of passion shook her breast,
Her eves a piteous ?hower of tears let fall.
And tlien the sighed as if her heart were breaking.
\\ ith all the tendcrest eloquence of love
I begg'd to be a sharer in her grief;
But she, with looks averse, and e)es that froze me,
Sadly replied, her sorrows weie her own,
N>.r in a father's power to dispose of."

I am aware thit Sciolio attempts lo parry these facts, by an
intiepretatii.n too gross and unbecoming for a father's cha-
racter, and only fit for the lips oi a Lothario; but jet it is
ul in nature to suppose that Altam.mt could mist ike such
symptoms, and it fixes a meanness upon him, which prevails
against his character throughout the I lay. Nothing of iliis
fort could be discovered by M assurer's bridegroom, for the
ceremony was agreed upon and performed at the very tir?t
interview of the parties; Beaumelle gave a full and unre-
served a-st-nt, and though hti character slitters ou the score
<<f hypocrisy on that account, yet Charalois is saved by it:
Je.-.- iik oocnsy appears in Calista, but hers is the deeper
guilt, because ;he was already dishonoured by Lothario, and
Beauinelle's coquetry wiih Novall had noi yet reached the
length of criminality. Add to this, that Altamont appears
in the contemptible light of a suitor, whom C.ilista had ap-
prised of her aversion, and to whom she had done a deli e-
rate act of dishonour, though his person and character must
have been Ions: known to her. The case is far otherwise
between Charalois and Beaumelle, who never met before,
and every care is taken by the poet to save his hero from
such a d. liberate injurv, as might convey contempt ; with
this view the marriage is precipitated ; nothing is allowed
to pas?, that might open the character o/ Charalois to Beau-
melle : she is hurried into an assignation with Novall imme-
diately upon her marriage; every artifice of seduction is
employed by her confidante Bellapert, and Avnier, the pa-
raMie of Novall, to make the meeting criminal ; she tails
the victim of passion, and when detection brings her to a
sense ot her guilt, she makes this penitent ami pathetic

appeal to CbaUrois

Oh my fate!

That never would consent that I should see
How worthy you were both ot love and duty,
Before 1 l.. s t you; and my misery made
The glass in which I now behold your virtue !
With justice therefore you may cut me off,
And from your memory wash the remembrance
That e'er 1 was ; like to some vicious purpose,
\\ Inch, in your better judgment, you repent ot,

And study lo forget

Vet jou shall find,

Though I was bold enough to be a strumpet,
I dare not yet live one. Let those famed matrons,
That are canonized worthy of our sex,
Transcend me in their sanctity of life ;
I set will equal them in djing nobly,
Ambitious of no honour after life,
But that, when I am dead, jou will forgive me."
Compare this with the conduct of Calista, and then decide
which trail fair one has the better title to the appellation of a
penitent, and which drama conveys the better moral by its
catastrophe.

Theie is indeed a grossness in the older poet, which his
more modern imitator has refined ; but he has only sweet-
ened the poison, not removed its venom : nay, by how much
more palateable he has made it, so much more pernicious it
is Income in his tempting, sparkling cup, than in the coarse
deterring dose of Mas-inger.

Rowe has no doubt greatly outstepped his origi al in the
striking character of Lothario, who leaves Novall as far be-
himl him as Charalois does Altamont : it is admitted then
that Calista has as good a plea as any wanton could wish, to
nige for her criminality with Lothario, and the poet has not
spared the ear of modesty in his exaggerated description of
the guilty scene ; every luxurious image, that his inflamed
imagination could crowd into the glowing rhapsody, is there

to be found, and the whole is recited in numbers so flowing
and harmonious, that they not only arrest the passions but
the memory alto, and perhaps have been, and still can be,
as generally repealed as any passage in English poetry.
Malinger, with less elegance, but not with less regard to
deccucv , suiters the guilty act to pass within the course of
his drama; the greater reiinement of manners in Rowe's
day did not alio>v of this, and he anticipated the incident;
but when he revived the recollection of it by such a studied
description, he plainly showed that it was not from n.oral
principle that he omitted it ; and if he has presented hit
heroine to the sj.e< tatoi> with more immediate delicacy dur-
ing llie compass of the play, he has at the same time given
lit r greater depravity of mind ; her manners may be more
refined, but her principle is fouler than Beauinelle's. Ca-
Ibta, wlio viclded to llie gallant, gay Lothatio, "hot with
the Tuscan grape," might peihaps have disdained a lover
who addre.^ed her in the holiJay language which Novall
ii.-es to Beaun.elle :

" Best dav to nature's curiosity,

Star of "Dijon, the lustre of all France!
Perpetual i-pring dwell on ihy rosy < heeks,

\\lio.e breath is perfume to our continent!

See! FL.ra trimm'd in her varieties.

No autumn nor no agt- ever approach
This heavenly piece, which naiure having wrought,
She lost her needle, and did ihcn despair
Ever to work so lively ami -o lair !"

The letter of Calista (which bring* about the discovery by
the poor expedient of Loth iri s tlr-ppiii" it and Horatio's
finding it; has not even the merit of being characteristically
wicked, and is both in its matter and mode below Tragedy.
It is, Lothario's cruelty has (intermitted her to yield a per-
fect obedience to fur father, and give her hand to Alta-
tmint, in spite of her weakness for the false Lothario. If
the ladv had given her perfect obedience its true denomina-
tion, she had called it a most dishonourable compliance ;
and, if we may take Lothario's word (who seems lull cor-
rect enough iu describing facts and particulars), she had not
much cau^e to complain of his being false ; for he tells Ros-
sano :

" \ liked her, would have m.irried her,

But that it pleased her father lo refuse me,
To make this honourable lot.l her husband."
It appears by this, that Lothario had not been false to her
in the article of marriage, though he might have been cruel
lo her ou the score of passion, which indeed is confessed on
his part with as much cold indifference, as the most bare-
faced avowal could express. But to return to the letter:
Mie pioceeds to tell him that she could almost with the
had that heart, and that honour to bestow with it, which
lie has robbed her of. But le-t this hall wish should startle
him, she adds Hut oh! I fear, could I retrieve them, 1
should ayain be undone by the too faithlett, yet too lovely
Lothario. liiis must be owned as lull a reason as she could
give, why she should only almost with for her lost honour,
when she would make such an use of it, if she had it again
at her disposal. And yet the very next paragraph throws
every thing into contradiction, tor she tells him -this it the
last u ealitu'fs of her pen, and to-morrow shall be the lout in
which site will iiuiulye her eyes. If she could keep lo that
resolution, I must think the recovery if her innocence
would have been worth a whole wish, and many a wish;
unless we are to suppose she was so devoted to guilt, that
she could take delight in reflecting upon it: this "is a state
of depravity, whicn human nature hardly ever attains, and
seems peculiar to Culi.-ta. She now grows very humble, and
concludes in a style well suited to her humility Lucilla
thall conduct you, if you are kind enough to let me tet
you ; it thall L-e the last trouble you shall meet tilth from

The lost CALISTA.

It was very ill done of Horalio's curiosity to read this
letter, and 1 must ever regret that he has tu unhandsomely
exposed a lady's private correspondence to the world.

li.ouji the part which Horatio takes in the business of
the drama is exactly that which tails to ihe share of Komont
in The fatal Dowry, yet tin ir characters are of a very
different cast; for, as Howe had bestowed the fire and
impetuosity of Komont upon his Lothario, it wai a very
judicious opposition to contrast it with the cool deliberate
courage of the sententious Horatio, the fiiend and brother-
in-law of Altamont.

\\ lien Horatio has read Calista's letter, which Lothario
had dropped (an accident which more frequently happen*
to gentlemen in comedies, than in tragedies;, he fails into *
very long meditation, and i loses it with putting this question
to himself:

" What if I give this paper to her father?
It follows that his justice dooms her dead.
And break* his heart with sorrow ; hard return

344

THE FATAL DOWRY.

of his uncasmos, lie does not imp

me revenge, wnicn is rercrvcu lur juiwwiui ; in

therefore closes with a challenge from Luthario ;
" West of the town a mile, amongst the rucks,

Two hours ere noon to-morrow 1 expect thee ;

Thy single hand to mine."

The place of meeting is not well ascertained, and the time is
too long deferred for strict probability ; there are, however,
certain things in all dramas, which must not be too rigidly
insisted upon, and provided uo extraordinary violence is
done to reason and common MMI -r, the candid critic ought to
let them pass : this I take to be a case in point ; and though
Horatio's cool courage and ready presence of mind, are not
just the qualities to reconcile us to such an ovei sight, yet I
see no reason to be severe upon the incident, which is fol-
lowed by his immediate recollection :

" Two hours ere noon to-morrow ! Hah ! Ere that

He sees Calista. Oh! unthinking fool!

N\ hat if I urged her wiili ihe crime and danger?

If any spark from heaven remain unqaench'cl

Within her breast, my breatli perhaps may wake it.

Could 1 but prosper there, I uonld not doubt

My combat with that loud vain glorious boaster."
Whether this be a measure altogether in character with a
man of lloiatio's good sense and discretion, I must own is
matter of doubt with me. 1 think he appears fully satulied
of her actual criminality ; and in that case it would be more
natural for him to lay his measures for intercepting Lothario,
and preventing the assignation, than to try his ihetoric in
the. present crisis upon the agitated mind of Calista. As it
has jus\ly occurred to him, that he has been over-reached by
Lothario in the postponement of the duel, the measure I
suggest would naturally tend to hasten thai rencounter. Now,
though the business of the drama may require an explanation
between Horatio and Calista, whereupon to ground an
occasion for his inteicsting quarrel with Allamont: yet I
do not see any necessity to make that a premeditated ex-
planation, nor to sacrifice character, by a measure that is
inconsistent with the betler judgment of Horatio. The
poet, however, has decreed it otherwise, and a deliberate
interview with Calista and Horatio accordingly takes place.
This, altl.ongh introduced with a solemn invocation on his
part, is very clumsily conducted :
" Teach me, some Power! that happy art of speech

To dress my purpose up in gracious words,

Such as may softly steal upon her soul,

And never waken the tempestuous passions."
Who can expect, after this preparation, to hear Horatio thus
break his secret to Calista 'I
" Lothario and Calista! Thus they join

Two names, which heaven decreed should never meet

Hence have the talkers of this populous city

A shameful tale to tell for public sport,

Ut an unhappy beauty, a false fair one,

Who plighted to a r.oble youth her faith,

When she had given her honour to a wretch."
Tbii I bold to be totally out of nature ; first, because it it a

palpable departure from his resolution to use " gracious
words;" nevt, because it has a certain tendency to produce
rage and not repentance ; and thirdly, because it is founded
in exaggeration and falsehood ; for how is he warranted to
say that the story is the public talk and sport of the city ! If
it were so, what can his interference avail? why seek this
interview I

" Why come to tell her how she might be happy 1
To sootlie the secret anguish of her soul I
To comfort that fair mourner, that forlorn one,
And teach her steps to know the paths of peace?"
No judge of nature will think he takes the means to lead her
into " the paths of peace," by hurraing her to the very brink
of desperation. 1 need not enlarge upon this observation,
and .-hall therefore only remark, that the scene breaks up,
as might be expected, with the following proof of her peni-
tence, and his success in persuasion :
" Henceforth, thou officious fool,

Meddle no more, nor dare, even on thy life,
To breathe an accent that may touch my virtue :
1 am myself the guardian of my honour,
And will not bear so insolent a monitor."
Let us now enquire how llomont (the Horatio of Massinger)
conducts this incident, a character from whom less di>cre-
tion is to be expected than from his philosophical successor.
Rotnont himself discovers Beaumelle and Novall engaged
in ihe most wanton familiarities, and with a warmth suit-
able to his xeal, breaks up the amorous conference by
driving Novall off the scene with ineffable contempt : he
then applies himself to the lady, and with a very natural
and manly spirit says,

" 1 respect yon,

Not for yourself, but in remembrance of
Who is your father, and whose wife you now are."
She replies to him with contempt and ridicule; he resumes
the same characteristic strain he sets out with, and proceeds:

" My intents,

Madam, deserve not this; nor do I stay

To be the whetstone of your wit : preserve it

To spend on such as know how to admire

Such colour'd stuff. In me, there now speak 8 to yon

As true a friend and servant to your honour,

And one that will with as much hazard guard it,

As ever man did goodness : -but then, lady,

You must endeavour, not alone to BE,
But to APPEAR, worthy such love and service."
We ha-ve just now heard Horatio reproach Calista with
the reports that were circulated against her reputation ; let us
compare it with whatRomont saysupon the same subject:

But yet te careful:

Detraction's a bold monster, and fears not
To wound the fame of princes, if it find
But any blemish in their lives to work on.
But I'll be plainer with you : had the people
Been learned to speak but what even now I saw,
Their malice out of that would raise an engine
To overthrow your honour. In my sight,
With yonder painted fool I frighted from you
You used familiarity beyond
A modest entertainment : you embraced him
With too much ardour for a stranger, and
Met him wilh kisses neither chaste nor comely.
But learn you to forget him, as I will
Your bounties to him ; you will find it safer
Rather to be uncourtly than immodest."
What avails it to attempt diawing a comparison between th,ij
conduct and that of Horatio, where no comparison is to fcj
made? I leave it to the reader, and dtcline a t.i.-k at onc
so unnecessary and ungrateful.

When Romont finds no impression u to be made upo
Beaumelle, he meets her father, and immediately falls ijjco
the same reflection that Horatio had struck upou :

" Her father ? ha!

How if I, break this to him? sure it cannot
Meet with an ill construction : his wisdom,
Made powerful by the authority of a father.
Will warrant and give privilege to his counsel*.
It shall be so.

If this step needs excuse, the reader will consider that it in
a step of prevention. The experiment, however, fails, and
he is rebuffed with some asperity by Kochfort ; this draws
on a scene between him and Charalois, which, as it is too
long to transcribe, so it is throughout too excellent to extract
any part from it. 1 can only express my surprise, that the
author of The Fair Penitent, with this scene before him,
could conduct his interview between Altamont and Horatio
upon a plan so widely different, and so much inferior : I
must suppose he thought it a strong incident to make Alta-
mont give a blow to his friend, else he might have seen an
interview carried on with infinitely mere spirit, both of Un-

THE FATAL DOWRY.

345

juage and character, between Charalois and Roniont, in
circumstances exactly .-iinil.ir, where no such violence >\as
comraitied, or even mediated. Was it because Pierre li.id
given a blow to Jaftier, that Altamoni was to repent the like
indignity to Horatio, for a woman of wliose aversion lie had
proofs not to be mistaken f Charalois is a character atli-a-t
as high and irritable as Alt,imont, and Homonl is out of .ill
comparison more rough and plain-spoken tlmi Horatio:
Charalois might be deceived into an opinion of Beanniellc'i
affection for him; Altamont could not deceive him-th into
such a notion, and the lady had te-tili'-d her dilikc of him
in ihe strongest terms, accompanied with symptoms which
he himself had described as in lic.iling some rooted and con-
cealed affliction: coul;l any solution be more natural than
what Horatio gives ? Novall was a rival so contemptible,
that Charalois could not, with any degree of probability,
consider him as an object ol'hisjealousy ; it would have been
a degradation of his character, had he yielded to such a sus-
picion : Lothario, on the contrary, was of all men living the
most to be apprehended by a husband, let his confidence or
vanity be ever so great. Row*, in his attempt to surprise,
has sacrificed nature and the truth of character for stage-
elt'ect ; Massinger, by preserving both nature and character,
has conducted his friends through an angry altercation with
infinitely more spirit, more pathos, and more dramatic effect,
and yet dismissed them with the following animated and
affecting speech trom Charalois to his friend :

" Thou art not my friend,

Or being so, thou art mad : I must not buy
Thy friendship at this rate. Had I just cause,
'Ihou know'st I durst pursue sucli injury
Through lire, air, water, earth, nay, were they all
Shuffled again to chaos ; but there's none.
Thy skill, Roinont, consists in camps, not court).
Farewell, uncivil man ! let's meet no more:
Hire our long web of friendship I untwist.
Shall I go whine, walk pale, and lock my wife,
For nothing, from her birth's free liberty,
That open'd mine to me ? yes ; if 1 do,
The name of cuckold then dog me with scorn !
I am a. Frenchman, no Italian born." [Exit.

It is plain that Altamont at least was an exception to this
remaik upon Italian husbands. 1 shall pursue this compa-
rison no further, nor otter any other remark upon the inci-
dent of the blow given by Altamont, except with regard to
Hor.itio's conduct upon receiving it; he draws his sword,
and Immediately suspends resentment upon the following
motive :

" Yet hold ! By heav'n, his father's in his face !

Spite i'f my wrongs, my heart runs o'er with tenderness,
And I could rather die myself than hurl him."
We must suppose it was the martial attitude th.it Altamont
had put himself into, which brought the resemblance of his
father so strongly to tne observation of Horatio, othe. wise it
Was a very unnatural moment to recollect it in, when he
had just received the deepest insult one man can give to
another: it is however worth a remark that this father of
Altamont should act on both sides, and yet miscarry in his
medi ition ; for it is but a few passages before that Altamont
lays to Horatio:

" Thou wert my father's friend ; he lov'd thee well ;
A vi neiable mark of him

Hangs round tUee, and protects thee from my vengeance.
I cannot, dare not, lift my sword against thee."
What this mark was is left to conjecture; but it is plain it
was as seasonable for Horatio's rescue at this moment, as it
was for Altamont a few moments after, who had certainly
overlooked it when he struck the very friend against whom
he could not, dared not, lift his sword.

When Lavinia's entrance has parted Altamont and Ho-
ratio, her husband complains to her of the ingratitude with
which he has been treated, and says :

1 He, u ho was all to me, child, brother, friend,

With barbarous bloody malice sought my life."
These are very extraordinary terms for a man like Ho-
ratio to use, and seem to convey a charge very mint for him
to make, and of a very different nature from the hasty in-
sult he had received ; in fact it appears as if the blow had
totally reversed his character, for the resolution he takes in
consequence of this personal affront, is just such an one as
would be only taken by the man who dared not to re-
lent it :

" From Genoa, from falsehood and inconstancy,
To some more honest distant clime we'll go;
Ncr will I be beholden to my country
For aught but thee, the partner of my flight."
That Horatio's heroism did not consist in the ready forgive-
ness of injuries, is evident from the obstinate sullenness with
which he rejects the penitent apologies of Allamont in the
*wther progress of the play ; I am at a loss therefore to

known whnt colour the poet meant to give his character,-
by dispo-ing him to quit his country wiih iU.- insult 1111-
atoncd tor, anil the additional stigma upon him of run-
ning awa> from his appointment with Lothario for the next
morning " amongst the rocks." Had lie meant to bring him
off upon the lepugnance he felt of resenting any injury
against the son of a father, whose image was so visible "in
his face," that his "heart ran o'er with fondness in spite of
his wrongs, and he could rather <iie than hurt him ;" surely
that image would have interceded no less powerfully for
him, when, penetrated with remorse, he intercedes for pity
and forgiveness, and even faints at his feet with agony at his
unrelenting obduracy : it would be unfair to suppose he was
more like his father when he had dealt him an insulting
blow, than when he was atoning for an injury by the most
ample satisfaction and submission.

'J his is Ihe li'Jit in which the conduct of Horatio strikes
me; if I am wrong, I owe an atonement to the manes of
an elegant poet, which upon conviction of my error, 1 will
study to pay in the fullest manner I am able.

It now remains only to say a few words upon the catas-
tiophe, in which the author varies from his original, by
making Calist.t destroy herself with a dagger, put into her
hand lor that purpose by her father : If I am to moralize
upon this proceeding of Sciolto, I know lull well the inci-
dent cannot bear up against it; a Rom. in father would
stand the discussion better than a Chri.-tian one ; and I also
know that the most natural expedient is unluckily a most
undramatic one; yet the poet did not totally overlook it,
for he makes Sciolto's first thought turn upon a convent, if
I rightly undei stand the following passage :
" Hence from my sight! thy father cannot bear thee :
Fly with thy infamy to some dark cell,
Where, on the confines of eternal night,
Mourning, misfortunes, 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,
I And wish thy name may be no more remember'd."

! Whilst I am transcribing these lines a doubt strikes me that
| I have misinterpreted them, and jet Calista's answer seems
to point to the meaning 1 had suggested ; perhaps however
they are mere ravings in line numbers without any determi-
nate idea: whatever they may be, it is clear they do not go
to the length of death: he tells Altamont, as soon as she it
departed :

" 1 wo' nt kill her;

Yet by the ruin she has brought upon us,
The common infamy that brands us both,
She sha" not 'scape."

He seems in this moment to have formed the resolution,
which he afterwards puts upon execution; he prompts her
to self-mnrder, and arms her for the act : this may snve the
spectators a sight too shocking to behold, but does it convey
less horror to the heart, than if he had put her to death with
his own hand? a father killing his child for incontinence
with the man whom he had not permitted to marry her,
when he solicited his consent, is an act too monstrous
to reflect upon : is that father less a monster, who, delibe-
rately and after full reflection, puts a dagger into her hand
and bids her commit self-mnrder ! 1 should humbly con-
ceive the latter act a degree in guilt beyond the former ;
especially when I hear that father coolly demanding of his
victim, if she has reflected upon what may happen after
death:

" Hast thon consider'd what may happen after it t

How thy account may stand, and what to answer?"
A parent surely would turn that question upon his own heart,
before he precipitated his unprepared child to so awful and
uncertain an account: rage and instant revenge may find
some plea ; sudden passion may transport even a father to
lift his hand against his own offspring ; but this act ot
Sciolto has no shelter but in heathen authority:
" Tis justly thought, and worthy of that spirit,
That dwelt in ancient Latian breasts, when Rome
Was mistress of the world."

Did ever poetry beguile z man into such an allusion ? and
to what does that piece of informal ion tend " that Rome wa
mistress of the world P If this is human nature, it would
almost tempt one to reply in Sciolto's own words:

" I could curse nature."

But it is no more like nature, than the following scntimenti
of Calista are like the sentiments of a penitent, or a
Christian :

" That I must die it is my only comfort.
Death is the privilege of human nature,
And life without it were not worth our taking "
And again,

" Yet heav'n, who knows our weak imperfect natures,
How blind with passions, and how prone to evil.

546

THE FATAL DOWRY.

Makes not too strict enquiry for offences,

Bui Uaton'd by penitence and prayer.

I'hiap recompense! here 'twould not be receiv'd ;

Nothing bill blood can make the expiation."
Snrh is thu catastrophe ot' Rune's Fair Penitent, such is
the representation lie gives us of human nature, and such
the nn.r.d of his tragedy.

I shall conclude with an extract or two from the catastro-
phe of The fatal Dowry: and first for the penitence of
heai.imclle, 1 shall select only the following speech ad-
dressed to her husband :

I dare not move yon

To hear me speak. 1 kii'.w my fault is far
Bcvond qualification or excuse;
That 'tis not lit for me to hope, or you
To think of mercy ; only 1 presume
To entreat jon would be pleased to look upon
My rorrow for it, and believe those tears
Are the true children of my grief, and not
A woman's cunning."

I need not point out the contrast between this and the
quotations from Cali-la. It will require a longer extract to
br 111: ilie conduct of Rochfort into comparison with that of
Sciolto: the reader will observe that Novall's dead body is
now on ihe scene : Charalois, Beaumclle, and Kochfort her
father, are present. The charge of adultery is urged by
Charalois, and appeal is made to the justice of Rochfort in
the ca.-e:

" Koch. What answer makes the prisoner?

" Bravmel. } confess

The fact I am charged with, and yield myself
Most miserably guilty.

" Koch. Heaven take mercy

Upon yonr soul, then ! it must leave your body.
Since that the politic law provides that servants,
To whose rare we commit our goods, : hall die
If they abuse our trust, what can you look for,
To wh<e charge this most hopeful lord gave up
All he received from his brave ancestor.-,
Or he could leave to his posterity,
His honour, wicked wonu: ! in whose safety
All his life's joys and cmforts were lock'd up,

Which thy lust, a thief, hath now stolen from him;

And therefore

" Charal. Stay, just judge ; may not what's lost
By her one fault (for I am charitable,
And charge her not with many) be, forgotten
In her fair life hereafter f
_ " Koch. Never, sir.

The wrong that's done to the chaste married bed
Hepentant tears can never evpiaie ;
And be assured, to pardon such a sin
Is an offence as great as to commit it."

In consequence of this the husband strikes her dead before
her father's eyes : the act indeed is horrid; even Tragedy
liiinks from it; and nature with a father's voice instantly
cries out" Is she dead then ? and you have kill'd her*"
-Uiaralois avows it, and pleads his sentence for the deed;
the revolting agonized parent breaks forth into one of the
most p.ithetic, natural, and expressive lamentations, that the
tnglish drama can produce :

But I prononnced it

As a judge only, and a friend to justice;
And, zealous in defence of your wrong'd liououi,
Broke all the tit* of nature, and cast off
The love and soft affection of a f.itber.
1, in yonr caose, put on a scarlet robe
Of re l-died cruellj , but, in return,
I ou have advanced for me no flag of mercy.
1 look'd on yon as a wrong'd husband ; but
You closed your e>n against me as a father.
O Keanmelle I my daughter I
" Charal. This is madness.
" Itoch. Keep from me ! Could not one good thought

rise up,

To tell you that she \rm my age's comfort,
Begot by a weak man, and born a woman,
And could not, therefore, but partake of frailly T
Or wherefore did not thankfulness step forth
To urge my ir.?.r,y menu, which I may
Object unto yon, since yen prove ungrateful,
Flint-hearted Chaialois!

" Chora'.. Nature does pevail
Above your virtue."

\Vhat conclusions can I draw frcm these comparative ex-
n.iples, which every reader wou!<> not anticipate ( Is there
i man, who has any feeling for real nature, dramatic charac-*

ter, moral sentiment, tragic pathos, or nervous diction, who
can hesitate, even for a moment, where to bestow the palm 7
CUMBKRLANO. Observer, No*. LXXVII. LXXVIII.
LXX1X.

This tine Tragedy has obtained more attention than nsnal
from the critics ; yet less has been said of its direct, than its
relative merits; and The Fatal Dowry has been chiefly
studied for the sake of a comparison with The Fair J-eni-
tent. I do not know if some injury has not been done to it
by this mode of treatment. Under the influence of a doubl"
enquiry, some circumstances have been passed by with little
or no notice ; and others, perhaps, have been unduly m.i-ni
fied. The question has been, m.t what was written by Mas-
singtr, bin what was imitated by Rov/e. While both the
dramas have been thus considered together, the scope of one
of them has not been exactly denned : and what was gained
by a complication of design", was lost to simplicity of judg-
ment. Indeed, no great benefit of either kind can be de-
rived from the brief and desultory views of Mr. M. Ma.-on
and Mr. Davies : but the reader will receive both pleasure
and instruction from the comparison of Mr. Cumberland.

Not to have a strong and intimate feeling of The Fatal
Dowry, is to be hardened against the most affecting repre-
sentation ot virtue goaded by injuries to an unlawful re-
venge. The sHory is strongly and ciicumstantially unfolded,
and fixes our attention to its progress by the impression,
which it generally wears, of common life. The language too,
is, with some exceptions, which will be presently noticed,
the language of nature and of business. The characters are
drawn with a profusion of force and variety. Charalois U
placed twice before the seat of justice : and Massinger has
had the address to preserve an extraordinary interest tor him,
whether he appears as a suppliant or a criminal. He unites
many rare and apparently opposite qualities. His severity
and reserve are happily reconciled with the tenderness of
his filial piety, his intrepidity with his gentleness of temper,
his inflexible firmness with his melting compassion. He is
marked with the gracefulness as well as the force of virtue :
nor can the rash act of which he is guilty compel the readei
to abandon him, though it .-hocks our feelings. His provo-
cations secure our pity ; his djing acknowledgments tend to
restore our esteem; and, in bis own words, there is

" no eye, but isieady with a tear

To witness 'tis shed for him "

Romont is well contrasted with him; he is marked with all
the vehemence of honesty ; irritation is the characteristic
attendant of his fidelity ; he loses his own temper in the noble
leal of preserving the innocence of others : and he draws
his sword upon his best friend, that be may compel him to
give more attention to his security. Pontalier again is a
variety of Romont, though of an inferior cast. He carries
his friendship to crime, and murders Charalois to show hi*
gratitude to Novall. There is a secret link which binds
these characters together. They wish to be virtuous ; but,
by too much indulgence of passion concerning it, they fall
into imprudence or guilt. On the other hand, the fixed qua-
lity of Kochfort is the admiration of virtue. On this is
founded the condemnation of Beaumelle, as well as his gene-
rojily to Charalois. Indeed at her fall he melts into sudden
tenderness towards her : and nothing can be more finely
natural than his grief and his reproaches of Ihe man whom he
IOTCS. But after this burst of feeling, he returns to his
settled principle; and the rash but much injured Charaloi
is still the object of his regard.

Old Novall might be designed only as an enemy to the
cause of Charalois, and as a contrast to Rochfort. But the re-
probalion of him is so frequently indulged, and with such
vehemence and accumulation of circumstances, as to raise a
suspicion that a portrait was intended. His hard and in-
sulting disposition, his savage abuse, and his readiness to
" cross every deserving soldier and scholar," seem to allude
to Sir Edward Coke, and to the base and unfeeling treat-
ment of Sir Walter Raleigh. But it is impossible to notice
all the observable parts of this admirable Tragedy. I will
proceed to the moral, after the discussion of a point or two
with Mr. M. Mason. In a very summary manner he has
pronounced that ihe second, third, and part of the fourth act,
were not written by Massinger.

There is an apparent change of writing in the second act ;
and Charalois himself, though some of his thoughts and ex-
pressions are excellent, spoils his grief with too much fond-
ness for antithesis, and metaphors coldly and formally drawn
out. He becomes a quibbler too as he proceeds, and doei
not express, with his usual frankness, either his gratitude 01
his love. The business is also unduly hurried on (though
Massinger himself is strongly marked with this precipitation;;
and the music which lately played at the funeral of the mar-
shal, i< too qnickly called upon to celebrate the marriage of
Cbaralo's. But in the third -ct Masinger seems to me to return.

THE FATAL DOWRY.

3*7

The proof of this shall not rest upon the general style of it,
for that would not so effectually determine the question, but
upon the similarity of tlmiu) I:- and expressions scattered
throughout his other plays. In the very first scene, Bella-
pert uses a significant image which Antoninus has employed
in The Ttrj/m Martyr. Romont afterwards observes, that
it is as easy to " prop a falling tower," as to " stay a wo-
man" who has once given herself to viciousness : and this
thought, with the very expression of it, has been used by
Alathias in the Pieture. Charalois infers that the lion is not
to be insulted because he does not happen to be angry: and
Thcodosius has lately dwelt with some enlargement on this
very instance. Romont hopes that his discovery of Bean-
melle's infidelity u ill not "meet with an ill construction,"
and uses perhaps the most common phrase of Massinger. He
remarks too that women have " no cunning to gull the
world ;" a method of affirmation frequent with Massinger.
Shall I add more proof? Rochfort says to Beanmelle, " 1
have that confidence in your goodness, t" a reduplication
which cannot be missed by any reader of these plays. Yet
the language of Rochfort himself is adduced by Mr. M. Ma-
ton, to prove that this act was not written by Massinger.
Rochfort utters scarcely more than twenty lines in the whole
act ; and from thai small portion the above is one instance
to Ibe contrary of the assertion. It would De superfluous to
lay more, though similar incidents might also be produced.

I shall only draw the proper conclusion : if this Play was
written at the early tince sujf-csert by Mr. Malone, Mas-
singer must either have male it. a storehouse from which to
draw incidents and images for his future plays, a supposi-
tion not very probable, or he must have consented to adopt
for ever the thoughts of Field in preference to his own: a
supposition still less probable. Again, if it was written in
the order in which it is now printed, Field would hardly
have been allowed to plunder him of his most famili.ir
thoughts by way of assisting him. In either case the third
act must be given to Malinger. Field is welcome to the
first scene of the fourth act, if that is the part claimed for
him by Mr. M. Mason.

I pass, with pleasure, from this uninteresting enquiry to a
great moral, which, after all the discussion bestowed upon
this Play, is as yet fresh and untouched.

Charalois slew an offending wife, and the partner of her
crime, with his own hand, and washimself slain. Vengeance
belongs to heaven ; and by the divine will, the administra-
tion of it for moral purposes is vested in the laws. To
avenge our own cause is to despise the scat of justice, and
the order of providence ; and to involve ourselves in guilt
and the punishment of it. Virtue must employ only vir-
tuous means in the coercion of vice itself. Her injuries wirl
therefore wait upon the laws ; for in the very forms of jus-
tice there is virtue. DR. IRKLANO>

NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.] This " COMEDY" does not appear in Sir Henry Herbert's boot ;
it must however, have been produced on the stage before 1633*, in which year it was printed for Henry
Seyle. The author of the Companion to the Playhouse terms it " one of the best of the old comedies," and,
in his opinion, " the very best of Massinger's writing." It is, indeed, a most admirable piece ; but while
The City Madam, and two or three others of this writer's comedies remain, it will not, I think, be universally
placed at the bead of the list.

This play is preceded by two short commendatory poems, by Sir Thomas Jay, and Sir Henry Moody ;
the former of which must have been peculiarly gratifying to Massinger, as Sir Thomas was no flatterer

The New Way to Pay Old Debts was extremely well received on its first appearance, and, as the quarto
informs us, " often acted at the Phoenix in Drurie Lane." It has been revived at different periods with
considerable success, and still holds a distinguished place on the stage.

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

ROBERT EARL OF CARNARVON,

MASTER FALCONER OF ENGLAND.

MY GOOD LORD,

Pardon, I beseech you, my boldness, in presuming to shelter this Comedy under the wings of your lord-
ship's favour and protection. I am not ignorant (having never yet deserved you in my service) that it
cannot but meet with a severe construction, if, in the clemency of your noble disposition, you fashion not a
better defence for me, than I can fancy for myself. All I can allege is, that divers Italian princes, and
lords of eminent rank in England, have not disdained to receive and read poems of this nature ; nor am I
wholly lost in my hopes, but that your honour (who have ever expressed yourself a favourer and friend to
the Muses) may vouchsafe, in your gracious acceptance of this trifle, to give me encouragement to pie.-?fiit
you with some laboured work, and of a higher strain, hereafter. I was born a devoted servant to the
thrice noble family of your incomparable ladyf, and am most ambitious, but with a becoming distance, to
be known to your lordship, which, if you please to admit, I shall embrace it as a bounty, that while I live
shall oblige me to acknowledge you for my noble patron, and profess myself to be,

Your honour's true servant,

PHILIP MASSINGER.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.
Lord LOVELL. ORDER, steward

Sir GILES OVERREACH, a cruel extortioner.
FRANK WELLBORV, a prodigal.
TOM AI.LWORTH, a young gentleman, page to Lard

Lovell.

GREEDY, a hungry justice of peace.
MARRALL, a term-driver; a creature of Sir Giles

Overreach.
WILLDO, a parson.

tUJMB| AlCU/UfU -.

IBLE, usher I .

RNACE, COok f

HTCIIALL, porter J

FUR>

WATCHALL.pO

Creditors, Servants, $c.

Lady ALLWORTH,<J rich widow.
MARGARET, Overreach's daughter.
FROTH, Tap well's wife.

TAP WELL, an ale-house keeper. Chambermaid.

rvaitingwoman.

SCENE, the Country near Nottingham.

There are several allusions to a state of war in it ; and peace had been made with France and Spain in 1029.
t Anna Sophia, daughter of Plul.p Larl of Pembroke and Montgomery, and wife of Robert Dormer Earl of Caru.i vcm
who was slain at Newbury, fighting for his king, 20th September, 1643. MALONS.

SCENE I.]

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

340

ACT I

SCENE. I. Before Tapwell's House.

Enter WELLBORN in tattered apparel, TAPWELL and
FROTH.

Well. No bouse ? nor no tobacco ?

Tap. Not a suck, sir ;
Nor the remainder of a single can
Left by a drunken porter, all night pall'd too.

Froth. Not the dropping of the tap for your morn-
ing's draught, sir :
"Tis verity, I assure you.

Well. Verity, you brache* !
The devil turn'd precisian ! Rogue, what am I ?

Tap. Troth, durst I trust you with a looking-
glass,

To let you see your trim shape, you would quit me
And take the name yourself.

Well. How, dog !

Trip. Even so, sir.

And I must tell you, if you but advance
Your Plymouth cloakf, you shall be soon instructed
There dwells, and within call, if it please your wor-
ship,

A potent monarch call'd a constable.
That does command a citadel call'd the stocks ;
Whose guards are certain files of rustyj billmen,
Such as with great dexterity will haul
Your tattered, lousy

Well. Rascal! Slave!

Froth. .No rage, sir.

Tap. At his own peril : do not put yourself
In too much heat, there being no water near
To quench your thirst ; and, sure, for other liquor,
As mighty ale, or beer, they are things, I take it,
You must no more remember ; not in a dream, sir.

Welt. Why thou unthankful villain, dar'st thou

talk thus!
Is not thy house, and all thou hast, my gift?

Tap. I find it not in chalk; and Timothy Tapwell
Does keep no other register. .

Well. Am not I he

Whose riots fed and clothed thee ! wert thou not
Born on my father's land, and proud to be
A drudge in his house ?

Tap. What I was, sir, it skills not;

Well. Verity, you bracbe !

The devil turn'd precisian !] Bracks is a hunting term for
a female hound. A precisian is a puritan ; a very general
object of dislike in those times.

t And 1 must tell you, (f you but advance

Your Plymouth cloak,] Coxeter, ignorant of the meaning
of this expression, boldly changed it to pile-worn cloak ! and
so it stands in liis and Mr. M. Mason's precious editions;
though why Tapwell should be so irritated by the advancing
of a pile-worn cloak, neither of the gentlemen has thought
fit to explain, \\lien A\ ellborn exclaims, "How, dog!"
he raises his cudyel to heat Tapwell, who threatens him, in
his turn, with a constable, &c., if he presumes to strike him ;
this is the purport of the passage. That a staff was an-
ciently called a Plymouth cloak may be proved by many
instances; but the two following will be sufficient:
" Whose cloak, at Plymouth spun, was crab-tree wood."
DAVENANT, Fol. p. 229.

" Do you hear, frailty ? shall I walk in a Plymouth cloak,
that is to say, like a rogue, in my hose and doublet, and a
crab-tree cudyel in my hand?" The Honest If'hore.

J Whose guards are certain filet of rusty billmen,] Cox-
eter and Mr. M. Mason have lusty billmeu : the old read-
tug is mrely more humorous.

What you are, is apparent: now, for a farewell,
Since you talk of father, in my hope it will torment

you,

I'll briefly tell your story. Your dead father,
My quondam mas'er, was a man of worship,
Old Sir John Wellborn, justice of pe;ice and quorum,
And stood fair to be custos rotulorum ;
Bore the whole sway of the shire, kept a great house,
Relieved the poor, and so forth ; but he dying,
And the twelve hundred a year coming to you,
Late master Francis, but now forlorn Wellborn

Well. Slave, stop! or I shall lose myself.

Forth. Very hardly ;
You cannot out* of your way.

Tap. But to mv story:

You were then a lord of acres, the prime gallant,
And I your under butler ; note the change now :
You had a merry time oft; hawks and hounds,
With choice of running horses : mistresses
Of all sorts and all sizes, yet so hot,
As their embraces made your lordships melt;
Which your uncle, Sir Giles Overreach, observing
(Resolving not to lose a drop of them),
On foolish mortgages, statutes, and bonds,
For a while supplied your looseness, and then left
you.

Well. Some curate hath penn'd this invective,

mongrel,
And you have studied it.

Tap. I have not done yet :

Your land gone, and your credit not worth a tokenf,
You grew the common borrower ; no man scaped
Your piiper-pellets, from ihe gentleman
To the beggars on highways, that sold you Switches
In your gallantry.

Weil. I shall switch your brains out.

Tap. WhereJ poor Tim Tapwell, with a little

stock,

Some forty pounds or so, bought a small cottage ;
Humbled myself to marriage with my Froth here,
Gave entertainment

II ell. Yes, to whores and cautersj,
Clubbers by night.

Tap. True, but they brought in profit,
And had a gift to pay for what they called for;
And stuck not like your mastership. The poor

income
I glean 'd from them hath made me in my parish

* You cannot out ef your way.] The modern editors mis
understanding this simple phrase, have been pleased to
adapt it to ttieir own conceptions ; they read,
You cannot be out of your way I

+ Your land gone, and your credit not worth a token,]
" During the reign of Queen Eliz.ibcth, ;md from thence
forward to that of Charles the Second, very little brass or
copper money was coined by authority. For the convenience
of the public, therefore, tradesmen were permitted to coin
small money, or tokens, as they were called, which were
used tor change." Old Plays, Vol. III. p. 2C7. These
little pieces are mentioned by most of our old writers ; their
value is not ascertained, but seems to have been about a
faithint;.

I \V here poor Tim Tapwell, &c.] Coxeter and Mr. M.
Mason read, When poor Tim Tapwell, &c. but the quarto
is right. U here stands for whereas, as it frequently does in
our ancient writers.

canters,] i. e. Rogues, sturdy beg-
gars, &c.

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

[ ACT I.

Thought worthy to be scavenger, and in time
May rise to be overseer of the poor ;
Which if I do, on your petition, Wellborn,
I may allow you thirteen-pence a quarter,
And you shall thank my worship.

Well. Thus, you dog-bolt,
And thus [Beats and kicks him.

Tap. Cry out for help !

Well. Stir, and thou diest :

Your potent prince, the constable, shall not save you.
Hear me, ungrateful hell-hound ! did not I
JVlake purses for you ? then you lick'd my boots,
And thought your holiday cloak too coarse to clean

them.

Twas I that, when I heard thee swear if ever
Thou coulrist arrive at forty pounds, thou wouldst
Live like an emperor ; 'twas I that gave it
Jn ready gold. Deny this, wretch !

Tap. 1 must, sir ;

For, from the tavern to the taphouse, all,
On forfeiture of their licenses, stand bound
Ne'er to remember who their best guests were,
If they grow poor like you.

Well. They are well rewarded
That beggar themselves to make such cuckolds

rich.

Thou viper, thankless viper ! impudent bawd !
But since you are forgetful, I will help
Your memory, and tread thee into mortar ;
Not leave one bone unbroken. [Beats him again.

Tap. Oh!

Froth. Ask mercy.

Enter ALLWOHTH.

Well. Twill not be granted.

All. Hold, for my sake hold.
Deny me, Frank ! they are not worth your anger.

Well. For once thou hast redeem'd them from

this sceptre* ;

But let them vanish, creeping on their knees,
And, if they grumble, I revoke my pardon.

Froth. This comes of your prating, husband ; you

presumed
On your ambling wit, and must use your glib

tongue,
Though you are beaten lame for't.

Tap. Patience, Froth ;
There's law to cure our bruises.

[They go off on their hands and knees.

Well. Sent to your motherf ?

All. My lady, Frank, my patroness, my all !
She's such a mourner for my father's death,
And, in her love to him, so favours me,
That I cannot pay too much observance to her:
There are few such stepdames.

Well. 'Tis a noble widow,
And keeps her reputation pure, and clear
From the least taint of infamy ; her life,
With the splendour of her actions, leaves no tongue
To envy or detraction. Prithee tell me,
Has she no suitors?

Well. For once thou hast redeem'd them from this
iceptre;] The old copy has a marginal explanation here; it
ays, " his cudyel," i. e. the Plymouth cloak mentioned in a
former page.

t Well. Sent to your mother ?} If Coxeter and Mr. M. Ma-
ion had but patience to have read a little further, they would
have seen that Allworth wai dispatched on his present er-
rand by Lord Lovell ; and might then have suffered the
text tos land as Maasingcr left it. They inaccurately read:
Well. Sent for to your mother I

All. Even the best of the t.liire, Frank,
My lord excepted ; such as sue and send,
And send and sue again, but to no purpose ;
Their frequent visits have not gain'd her presence.
Yet she's so far from sullenness and pride,
That I dare undertake you shall meet from her
A liberal entertainment : I can give you
A catalogue of her suitors' names.

Well. Forbear it,

While I give you good counsel : I am bound to it.
Thy father was my friend ; and that affection
I bore to him, in right descends to thee ;
Thou art a handsome and a hopeful youth,
Nor will I have thj least affront stick on thee,
If I with any danger can prevent it.

All. I thank your noble care ; but, pray you,

in what
Do I run the hazard 1

Well. Art thou not in love?
Put it not off with wonder.
All. In love, at my years !
Well. You think you walk in clouds, but are

transparent*.

I have heard all, and the choice that you have made :
And, with my finger, cun point out the north star
By which the loadstone of your folly's guided ;
And, to confirm this true, what think you of
Fair Margaret, the only child and heir
Of Cormorant Overreach ? Does itf blush and

start,

To hear her only named ? blush at your wnnt
Of wit and reason.

All. You are too bitter. SIT.

Well. Wounds of this nature are not to be cured
With balms, but corrosives. I must be plain :
Art thou scarce manumised from the porter's lodge|,
And yet sworn servant to the pantofle.
And dar'st thou dream of marriage ? I fear
'Twill be concluded for impossible,
That there is now, or e'e r shall he hereafter,
A handsome page, or player's boy of fourteen,
But either loves a wench, or drabs love him ;
Court-waiters not exempted.

All. This is madness.
Howe'er you have discover'd my intents,
You know my aims are lawful ; and if ever
The queen of flowers, the glory of the spring,
The sweetest comfort to our smell, the rose,
Sprang from an envious briar, I may infer
There's such disparity in their conditions,
Between the goddess of my soul, the daughter,
And the base churl her father.

Well. Grant this true,
As I believe it, canst thou ever hope
To enjoy a quiet bed with her, whose father
Kuin'd thy state ?
All. And your's too.

* You think you walk in clouds, but are transparent.] The
old reading was,

You think you walk in clouds, but are transient,
Which certainly was an error of the press. Cox KTEB and
M. MASON.

So say the former editors ; the truth, however, is, that
the old reading is trans-rent, and the ominion of pa was
solely occasioned by a break in the line. It is pleasant to see
Mr. M. Mason vouch for the reading of a c. py into which
he never condescended to look, and of the exigence of which
it is for his credit to suppose him altogether ignorant-

+ Does it blush and start,} So the quarto ; the modern
editors poorly read Host blush, &e.

J Art thou scarce manumised from the porter's lodge,}
The first decree of servitude, as 1 have already observed.

SCENE II.]

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

S5J

Well. I confess it*.

True ; I must tell you as a friend, and freely,
That, where impossibilities are apparent,
'Tis indiscretion to nourish hopes.
Canst thou imagine (let not self-love blind thee)
That Sir Giles Overreach, that, to make her great
In swelling titles, without touch of conscience,
Will cut his neighbour's throat, and I hope his own

too,

Will e'er consent to make her thine? Give o'er,
And think of some course suitable to thy rank,
And prosper in it.

All. You have well advised me.
But, in the mean time, you, that are so studious
Of my affairs, wholly neglect your own :
Remember yourself, and in what plight you are.

Well. No matter, no matter.

All. Yes, 'tis much material :

You know my fortune, and my means ; yet some-
thing
I can spare from myself to help your wants.

Well. How's this?

All. Nay, be not angry; there's eight pieces,
To put you in better fashion.

Well. Money from thee !
From a boy ! a stipendiary ! one that lives
At the devotion of a stepmother,
And the uncertain favour of a lord !
I'll eat my arms first. Howsoe'er blind Fortune
Hath spent the utmost of her malice on me :
Though I am vomited out of an alehouse,
And thus accoutred ; know not where to eat,
Or drink, or sleep, but underneath this canopy;
Although I thank thee, I despise thy offer ;
And as I, in my madness, broke my state,
Without the assistance of another's brain,
In my right wits I'll piece it ; at the worst,
Die thus, and be forgotten.

All. A strange, humour ! [Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Room in Lady Allworth's House.
Enter ORDER, AMBLE, FURNACE, and WATCHALL.

Ord. Set all things right, or, as my name is Order,
And by this staff of office, that commands you,
This chain and double ruff, symbols of power,
Whoever misses in his function,
For one whole week makes forfeiture of his break-
fast
And privilege in the wine-cellar.

Amb. You are merry,
Good master steward.

Furn. Let him ; I'll be angry.

Amb. Why, fellow Furnace, 'tis not twelve o'clock

yet,

Nor dinner taking up ; then 'tis allow'd
Cooks, by their places, may be choleric.

Furn. You think you have spoke wisely, good-
man Amble,
My lady's go-before !

Ord. Nay, nay, no wrangling.

Furn. Twit me with tlie authority of the kitchen !
At all hours, and all places, I'll be angry ;

Well, /confess it.

True, I mutt, &c.| So the old copy. Coxeter and Mr.
Ji.. Mason, that they may spoil tlie metre of two lines, read,

Well, /confetti it true,
/ must, &c.

And thus provoked, when I am at my prayers
1 will be angry.

Amb. There was no hurt meant.

Fur a. 1 am friends with thee, and yet I will be
angry.

Ord. With whom?

Furn. No matter whom : yet, now I think on it,
t am angry with my lady.

W*tck. Heaven forbid, man !

Ord. What cause has she given thee?

Furn. Cause enough, master steward.
I was entertained by her to please her palate,
And, till she forswore eating, I perform 'd it.
Now, since our master, noble Allworth, died,
Though I crack my brains to find out tempting

sauces,

And raise fortifications* in the pastry,
Such as might serve for models in the Low

Countries ;

Which, if they had been practised at Breda,
Spinola might have thrown his cap at it, and ne'er
took it

Amb. But you had wanted matter there to work on.

Furn. M alter ! with six eggs, and a strike of rye

meal,
I had kept the town till doomsday, perhaps longer.

Ord. But what's this to your pet against my lady?

Furn. What's this ? marry, this; when I am three

paits roasted,

And tlie fourth part parboil'd, to prepare her viands,
She keeps her chamber, dines with a panada,
Or water gruel, my sweat never thought on.

Ord. But your art is seen in the dining-room.

Furn. By whom ?

By such as pretend to love her ; but come
To feed upon her. Yet, of all the harpies
That do devour her, 1 am out of charity
With none so much as the thin-gutted squire
That's stolen into commission.

Ord. Justice Greedy ?

Furn. The same, the same ; meat's cast away upon

him,

It never thrives ; he holds this paradox,
Who eats not well, can ne'er do justice well :
His stomach's as insatiate as th grave,
Or strumpets' ravenous appetites.

[Knocking within.

Watch. One knocks. [Exit.

Ord. Our lute young master !

Re-tnter WATCHAI.L with ALLWOHTH.
Amb. Welcome, sir.

And raise fortifications in the pastry,
II hick, if they had been practised at Breda,
Vpinola, &c.] This was one of the must celebrated sieges
of llie lime, and is frequently mentioned by onr old dra-
matics. Spiuola sat down before Breda on the with of
August, 102-1, and the town diil not surrender until the 1st
of July in the following year. The besieged guttered incre-
dible hardships : " butter," says the historian, Herman Hugo,
" was sold for six florins a pound ; a calf of 17 days old, for
forty-eight; a hog, for one hundred and fifteen; and tobacco,
for one hundred florins the Ib. ;" this was after they had
c. nsiiined most of the horses. A few days alter, the narra-
tor adds, that " as much tobacco as in olher plates might
have been had for ten florins, was sold in Breda for twelve
hundred .'" It appears that this tobacco was used as "phy-
sic, it being the only remedy they had against the scurvy."

The raising of fortifications in pastry seems to have
been a fashionable practice, since I scarcely recollect the
details of any great entertainment in the reigns of Elizabeth
and James, whtre the fortifications of ths cook or the eon-
fectioner are not duly commemorated.

352

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

[Acrl

Furn. Your hand;
If you have a stomach, a cold bake-meat's ready.

Ord. His father's picture in little.

Furn. We are all your servants.

Amb. In you he lives.

All. At once, my thanks to all ;
This is yet some comfort. Is my lady stirring ?

Enter Lady ALLWORTH, Waiting Woman, and
Chambermaid.

Ord. Her presence answers for us.

L. Alt. Sort those silks well.
I'll take the air alone.

[Exeunt Waiting Woman and Chambermaid.

Furn. You air and air ;

But will you never taste but spoon-meat more ?
To what use serve 1 ?

L. Alt. Prithee, be not angry ;
/ shall ere long; ; i'the mean time, there is gold
To buy thee aprons, and a summer suit.

Furn. I am appeased, and Furnace now grows
cool*.

L. Alt. And as I gave directions, if this morning
1 am visited by any, entertain them
As heretofore ; but say, in my excuse,
I am indisposed.

Ord. I shall, madam.

L. All. Do, and leave me.
Nay, siay you, Allworth.

[Exeunt Order, Amble, Furnace, and Watchatl.

All. I shall gladly grow here,
To wait on your commands.

L. All. So soon turn'd courtier!

All. Style not that courtship, madam, which is

duty
Purchased on your part.

L. All. Well, you shall o'ercome;
I'll not contend in words. How is it with
Your noble master ?

All. Ever like himself:

No scruple lessen'd in the full weight of honour :
He did command me, pardon my presumption,
As his unworthy deputy, to kiss
Your ladyship's fair hands.

L.AIL I am honour'd in
His favour to me. Does he hold his purpose
For the Low Countries?

All. Constantly, good madam ;
But he will in person first present his service.

L. All. And how approve you of his course? you

are yet

Like virgin parchment, capable of any
Inscription, vicious or honourable.
I will not force your will, but leave you free
To your own election.

AIL Any form, you please,
J will put on ; but, might I make my choice,
With humble emulation I would follow
The path my lord marks to me.

L. All. 'Tis well answer'd,
And I commend your spirit : you had a father,
Bless'd be his memory ! that some tew hours
Before the will of heaven took him from me,
vVho did commend you, by the dearest ties
Of perfect love between us, to my charge ;
And, therefore, what I speak you are bound to hear
With such repect as if he lived in me.

* / am appeased, and Furnace now grows cool.] Old Copy.
Coo/te ; auii-mltd by Coxeter.

He was my husband, and howe'er you are not
Son of mv womb, you mav be of my love,
Provided you deserve it.

All. I have found you,

Most honour'd madam, the best mother to me;
And, with my utmost strengths of care and service,
Will labour that you never mav repent
Ycur bounties shower'd upon me.

L.All. 1 much hope it.

These were jour father's words : ]f e'er my son
Follow the war, tell him it is a school
Where all the principles tending to honour
Are taught, if truly fotlo&'d : but for such
As repair thither, as a place in which
They do presume they may with licence practise
Their lusts and ijots. ihey shnll necer merit
The noble name of soldiers. To dare boldly
In a fair cause, and, for their country's safety,
To run upon the cannon's moulh undaunted ;
To obey their leaders, and shun mutinies ;
To bear with patience the winter's cold,
And summer's scorching heat, and no: to faint,
When plcntij of provision fails with hunger;
Are the essential parts make np a soldier,
Nut swearing, dice, or drinking.

All. There's no syllable
You speak, but is to mean oracle,
Which but to doubt were impious.

L. Alt. To conclude :
Beware ill company, for often men
Are like to those with whom they do converse;
And, from one man I warn you, and that's Well*

born :

Not 'cause he's poor, that rather claims your pity ;
But that he's in his manners so debauch'd,
And hath to vicious courses sold himself.
'Tis true your father loved him, while he was
Worthy the loving ; but if he had lived
To have seen him as he is, he had cast him off,
As you must do.

Alt. I shall obey in all things.

L. Alt. Follow me to my chamber you shall have

gold

To furnish you like my son, and still supplied,
As I hear from you.

All. I am still your creature. [Eirunt.

SCENE III. A Hall in the same.

Enter OVERREACH, GREEDY, ORDER, AMBLE,
FURNACE, WATCHALL, and MARRALL.

Greedy. Not to be seen !

Over. Still cloister'd up ! Her reason,
I hope, assures her, though she make herself
Close prisoner ever for her husband's loss,
'Twill not recover him.

Ord. Sir, it is her will,

Which we, that are her servants, ought to serve,
And not dispute ; howe'er, you are nobly welcome,
And if you please to stay, that you may think so,
There came, not six days since, from Hull, a pipe
Of rich Canary, which shall spend itself
For my lady's honour.

Greedy. Is it of the right race?

Ord. Yes, master Greedy.

Amb. How his mouth runs o'er !

Furn. I'll make it run, and run. Save your good
worship !

8-CEXE

A NEW WAY TO FAY OLD DEBTS.

Greedy. Honest master cook, thy band ; again :

how I love thee !
Are the good dishes still in being? speak, boy.

Fwn.lt you have a mind to feed, there is a

chine
Of beef, well seasoned.

Greedy. Good !

Furn. A pheasant, larded.

Greedy. That I might now give thanks for't !

Furn. Other kickshaws.
Besides, there came last night, from the forest of

Sherwood,
The fattest stag I ever cook'd.

Greedy A stag, man !

Fnrn. A stag, sir ; part of it prepared for dinner,
And baked in putt-paste.

Greedy. Puff-paste too ! Sir Giles,
A ponderous chine of beef! a pheasant larded !
And red deer too, Sir Giles, and baked in puff-
paste !
All business set aside, let us give thanks here.

Furn. How the lean skeleton's rapt!

Over. You know we cannot.

Mar. Your worships are to sit on a commission,
And if you fail to come, you lose the cause.

Greedy. Cause me no causes. I'll prove't, for

such a dinner,

We may put off a commission : you shall find it
Hen; id decimo quart<>.

Oter. Fie, master Greedy !

Will you lose me a thousand pounds for a dinner?
No more, for shame ! we must forget the belly
\\ hen we think of profit.

Greedy. Well, you shall o'er-rule me ;
I could e'en cry now. \)o you hear, master cook,
Send but a corner of that immortal pasty,
And I, in thankfulness, will, by your boy
Send you a brace of three-pences.

Furn. Will you be so prodigal ?

Enter WELLBORN.

Over. Remember me to your lady. Who Lave
we here?

Well. You knovr me*,

Over. 1 did once, but now I will not ;
Tbou art no blood of mine. Avaunt, thou beggar !
If ever thou presume to own me more,
I'll have thee caged, and whipt.

Greedy. I'll grant the warrant.
Think of pie-corner. Furnace!

[Exeunt Orerreuch, Greedy, aid Msirall.

Walch. Will you out, sir?
( wonder how you durst creep in.

Ord. This is rudeness,
And saucy impudence.

Amb. Cannot you stay

To be served, among your fellows, from the basketf,
But you must press into the hall !

Furn. Prithee, vanish

* Well. You know me] For ihis dignified answer the
modern editors, with equal elegance and harmony, read
Don't you know me f

t To be sfrred, among your fellows, from the basket,! i. e.
from tlie broken bread and meat which, in great houses,
was distributed to the poor at the porter's lodge, or reserved
to be carried every night lo the prisons for debtors and
r-t\er neoe.*itou3 persons. Hence, perhaps, ihe allusion of
nble. Thus Shirley: "I'll have you clapt up again, where
/(in shall howl all d.iy at the grate, for a meal at uij;ht/rom
Ihe baiket." Bird in a Cage.

Into some outhouse, though it be the pigstie ;
My scullion shall come to thee.

Enter ALIAVORTH.

Well. This is rare :
Oh, here's Tom Allworth. Tom !

All. We must be strangers ;
Nor would I have you seen here for a million. [Exit.

We'd. Better and better. H e contemns me too !

Enter Waiting Woman and Chambermaid.
Woman. Foh, what a smell's here ! what thing's

this?

Cham. A creature
Made out of the privy ; let us hence, for love's

sake,
Or I shall swoon.

Woman. I begin to faint already.

[Eieunt Waiting Woman and Chambermaid.
Watch. Will you know your way ?
Amb. Or shall we teach it you
By the head and shoulders?

'Well. No; I will not stir;
Do you mark, I will not : let me see the wretch
That dares attempt to force me. Why, you slaves,
Created only to make legs, and cringe ;
To carry in a dish, and shift a trencher;
That have not souls only to hope a blessing
Beyond blackjacks or flagons; you, that were born
Only to consume meat and drink, and batten
Upon reversions? who advances? who
Shows me the way ?

Ord. My lady I

Enter Lady ALLWORTH, Waiting Woman, and
Chambermaid.

Cham. Here's the monster.

Woman. Sweet madam, keep your glove to your
nose.

Cham. Or let me

Fetch some perfumes may be predominant ;
You wrong yourself elj-e.

Well. Madam, my designs
Bear me to you.

L. All. Tome!

Well. And though I have met with
But ragged entertainment from your grooms here,
I hope from you to receive that noble usage
As may become the true friend of your husband,
And then 1 shall forget these.

L. All. I am amazed

To see, and hear this rudeness. Darest thou think,
Though sworn, that it can ever find belief.
That I, who to the best men of this country
Denied my presence, since my husband's death,
Can fall so low, as to change words with thee?
Thou son of infamy, forbear my house,
And know, and keep the distance that's between us
Or. though it be against my gentler temper,
1 shall take jrder you no more shall be
An eyesore to me.

\\'eU. Scorn me not, good lady;
But, as in form you are angelical,
Imitate the heavenly natures, and vouchsafe
At the least awhile to hear me. You will grant
The blood that runs in this arm is as noble
As that which fills your veins; those costly jewel?.
And those rich clothes you wear, your men's ob-
servance,

And women's flattery, are in you no virtues ;
Xor these rags, with my poverty, in me vices.

A NEW WAY 10 PAY OLD DEBTS.

You have a fair fame, and, I know, deserve it ;
Yet, lady, I must say, in nothing more
Than in the pious sorrow you have shown
For your late noble husbuud.
Ord. How she starts !

Furn. And hanily can keep finger from the eye,
To hear him named.

L. AIL Have you aught else to say ?

Well That husband, madam, was once in his

fortune

Almost as low as I ; want, debts, and quarrels
Lay heavy on him : let it not be thought
A boast in me, though I sny, I relieved him.
Twas I that gave him fashion ; mine the sword
That did on all occasions second his ;
I brought him on and off, with honour, lady ;
And when in all men's judgments he was sunk,
And in his own hopes not to be buoy'd up*,
I stepp'd unto him, took him by the hand,
And set him upright.

Funt. Are not we base rogues
That could forget this?

Well. 1 confess, you made him
Master of your estate ; nor could your friends,
Though lie brought no wealth with him, blame you

for it ;

For he had a shape, and to that shape a mind
Made up of all parts, either great or noble ;

So winning a behaviour, not to be
Resisted, madam.

L. All. 'Tis most true, he had.

Well. For his sake, then, in that 1 was bis friend,
Do not contemn me.

L. All. For what's past excuse me,
I will redeem it. Order, give the gentleman
A hundred pounds.

Well. No, madam, on no terms :
I will nor beg nor borrow sixpence of you,
But be supplied elsewhere, or want thus ever.
Only one suit I make, which you deny not
To strangers ; and 'tis this. [Whispers taker

L. AIL. Kie! nothing else?

Well. Nothing, unless you please to charge your

servants,
To throw away a little respect upon me.

L. Ail. What you demand is yours. [Exit.

Well. I thank you, lady.

Now what can be wrought out of such a suit
Is yet in supposition : 1 have said all;
When you please, you may retire : nay, all's for-
gotten ;

And, for a lucky omen to my project,
Shake hands, and end all quarrels in the cellar.

Ord. Agreed, agreed.

Furn. Still merry master Wellborn. [Exeunt,

ACT II.

C CENE T. A Itoom >n Overreach's Haute.
Eitier OVERREACH and MARRALL.

Over. He's gone, I warrant thee ; this commis-
sion crush 'd him.

Mar. Your worships! have the way on't, and

ne'er miss

To squeeze these unthrifts into air : and yet
The chapfall'n justice did his part, returning,
For your advantage, the certificate,
Against his conscience, and his knowledge too,
With your good favour, to the utter ruin
Of the poor farmer.

Oner. 'Twas for these good ends
I made him a justice : he that bribes his belly
Is certain to command his soul.

Mar. I wonder,

Still with your license, why, your worship having
The power to put this thin-gut in commission,
You are not in'l yourself?

Over. Thou art a fool ;
In being out of office I am out of danger;
Where, if I were a justice, besides the trouble,
I might or out of wilfulness, or error,
Hun myself finely into a premunire.
And s.o become a prey to the informer.

* not to be buoy'd np,l So

Dodsley, ami perhaps rightly : the qiMito reads, buny'd up.

t Mar. Your worships have the way on't, and ne'er miss]
This I take to be the genuine reading, for the quarto is boih
incorrect aii'l nnjjrammatical here. The former editors
real, Your worship hat, &., as ii a compliment were in-
ended to Overreach; but Overreach was not in the com-
a'-st inn, which is here said to have the way on't.

No, I'll have none oft ; 'tis enough I keeo
Greedy at my devotion : so he serve
My purposes, let him hang, or damn, I care not ;
Friendship is but a word.

Mar. You are all wisdom.

Over. I would be worldly wise; for the other

wisdom,

That does prescribe us a well-govern'd life,
And to do right to others, as ourselves,
I value not an atom.

Mar. What course take you,
With your good patience, to hedge in the manor
Of your neighbour, master Frugal? as 'tis said
He will nor sell, nor borrow, nor exchange ;
And his land lying in the midst of your many

lordships
Is a foul blemish.

Over. I have thought on't, Marrall,
And it shall take. 1 must have all men sellers,
And I the only purchaser.

Mar. 'Tis most fit, sir.

Over. I'll therefore buy some cottage near his
manor*,

Over. I'll therefore buy some, cottage near his manor
&c.] Sir Giles is a bold and daring oppressor, sufficiently
original in his general plans, and not scrupulous of the
means employed in their execution. Here, however, he ii
but an imitator; the methods of wresting a defenceless
neighbom-'scnvied property from him have been understood,
and practised, by the Overreaches of iill agep, from ihat of
Ahab to the present. Licet ayros ayris adjiciat, says Seneca,
vicinum vel pretio ptllat eeris, vel injuria. And Jnvend,
more at large :

majiirqitr vidrtur,

Et melior vicina Sfgrs ; mmarii e.l ham , et
Arbusta, et di'nta inonfem qui c.umt diva.
Quorum si pretio dominia iitm vinci/ur ullo.

SCENE I.]

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

355

Which done, I'll make my men break ope his fences,
Ride o'er his standing corn, and in the night
Set fire on his barns, or break his cattle's legs :
These trespasses draw on suits, and suits expenses,
Which I can spare, but will soon beggar him.
When I have harried him thus two or three year,
Though he sue in forma pauper is, in spite
Of all his thrift and care, he'll grow behind hand.

Mar. The best I ever heard : I could adore you.

Over, Then, with the favour of my man of law,
I will petend some title : want will force him
To put it to arbitrement ; then, if he sell
For half the value, he shall have ready money,
And I possess his land.

Mar. 'Tis above wonder !
Wellborn was apt to sell, and needed not
These fine arts, sir, to hook him in.

Ocer. Well thought on.

Node bove-i macri, lassoque famtlica colla
Jumenta ad virides hujus mittentur aristas.
Dicere v'uc possis, quam mulii talia plerent,
Et quot venales injuria fecerit ayros.

Sat. xiv. ver. 142.

Sir Giles has been usually accounted the creature of the
poet. Fortunately for mankind, indeed, such monstrous
anomalies in the moral world do not often appear ; there
can, however, be no doubt of their reality, and the age of
Massinger was not without a proof of it.

Sir Giles Moinpesson was undoubtedly the prototype of
Sir Giles Overreach. Me and one Michel had obtained of
the facile James a patent for the sole manufacturing of gold
and silver thread, which they abused to the most detestable
purposes. " They found out," says Wilson, "a new alche-
mistical way to make gold and silver lace with ropper and
other sophistical materials, to cozen and deceive the people.
And so poysonous were the drugs that made up this deceit-
ful composition, that they rotttd the hands and arms, and
brought lameness upon those that wrought it ; some losing
their ejcs, and many their lives, by the venom of the vapours
that came from it."

The clamours were so great on this occasion, that the king
was obliged to call in the patent, and prosecute the offend-
ers. There is an allusion to these circumstances in The
Bondman, which was published while the affair was yet
recent :

Here's another,

Observe but what a cozeniny look he has !

Hold up thy head, man; if, for drawing gallants

Into mortgages for commodities, cheating heirs

With your new counterfeit gold thread, and gumm'd

velvets,

He does not transcend all that went before hint,
Call in hit patent :" Act II. sc. iii.

But to proceed: "Sir Giles Moinpesson had fortune
enough in the country to make him happy, if that sphere
could have contained him, but the vulgar and universal
error of satiety with present enjoyments, made him too big
for a rustic-all condition, and when he came at court he was
too little for that, so that some novelty must be taken up to
set him in rcquilibrio to the place he was in, no matter
what it was, let it be never so pestilent and mischievous to
others, lie cared not, so he found benefit by it. To him
Michel is m.ide compartner; a poor sneaking justice, that
lived among the brothels near Clarton-wel, whose clerk and
lie picked a livelyhood out of those corners, giving warrants
for what chey did, besides anniversary stipends (the frequent
revenue of some justices of those times) for conniving.
This thing was a poysonous plant in its own nuture, and the
fitter to be an ingredient to such a composition whereby
he took liberty to be more ravenous upon poor people, to
the grating of the bone?, and sucking out the very marrow
of their substance." Wilson's Life and Rciyn of Jamet 1.
sub anno 1621. Fol. 155.

From this apposite extract, which I owe to the kindness
of my ingenious friend Mr. Gilchrist, it will be sufficiently
apparent not only from whence Massinger derived his
principal character, but also where he found Marrall and
Greedy. The sneaking justice. Michel, undoubtedly sat
for the latter, and his clerk for the " term-driving" Marrall;
whose hopeful education will now enable the reader to
"cconnt for his l-nowledge of the " minerals which he in-
wirviiaied wilh he ink and wax" of Wellborn's bond.

This rarlet, Marrall*, lives too long to upbraid me
With my close cheat put upon him. Will nor cold,
Nor hunger kill him?

Mar. I know not what to think on't.
I have used all means ; and the last night I caused
His host the tapster to turn him out of doors ;
And have been since with all your friends and

tenants,

And, on the forfeit of your favour, charged them,
Though a crust of mouldy bread would keep him

from starving,
Yet they should not relieve him. This is done, sir.

Over. That was something, Marrall ; but thou

must go further,
And suddenly, Marrall.

Mar. Where, and when you please, sir.

Over. I would have thee seek him out, and if

thou canst,

Persuade him that 'tis better steal than beg ;
'1 hen, if I prove he has but robb'd a henroost,
Not all the world shall save him from the gallows.
Do any thing to work him to despair,
And 'tis thy masterpiece.

Mar. I will do my best, sir.

Over. I am now on my main work with the lord

Lovell,

The gallant-minded, popular lord Lovell,
The minion of the people's love. I hear
He's come into the country, and my aims are
To insinuate myself into his knowledge,
And then invite him to my house.

Mar. I have you :
This points at my young mistress.

Over. She must part wrcii
That humble title, and write honourable,
Right honourable, Marrall, my right honourable

daughter ;

If all 1 have, or e'er shall get, will do it !
I'll have her well attended ; there are ladies
Of errant knights decav'd, and brought so low,
That for cast clothes and meat will gladly serve her.
And 'tis my glory, though I come from the city,
To have their issue whom I have undone
To kneel to mine as bondslaves.

Mar. 'Tis fit state, sir.

Over. And therefore, I'll not have a chamber-
maid

That ties her shoes, or any meaner office,
But such whose fathers were right worshipful.
'Tis a rich man's pride ! there having ever been
More than a feud, a strange antipathy,
Between us and true gentry.

Enter WELLBORN.

Mar. See, who's here, sir.

Over. Hence, monster ! prodigy !

Well. Sir, your wife's nephew*;
She and my father tumbled in one belly.

Over. Avoid my sight ! thy breath's infectious,

rogue !
I shun thee as a leprosy, or the plague.

Thin varlft, Marrall, liee* too long,} So the old copy.
The modern editors, for no apparent cau-e, at least none
that I can discover, choose to read, This varlet, Wellborn,
lives too long !

t Well. Sir, your wife's nephew ;] Coxeter thinks some-
thing is lost, because, when Overreach exclaims monster!
prodiyy! Wellborn replies, .Sir, your wife'* nephew. But
all is as it should be; his answer evidently implies, Sir, I
ain neither one nor the other, but, &c. This is a common
form of speech.

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

[Acrll

Come hither, Marrall this is the time to work
him. {. Exit -

Mar. I warrant you, sir.

Well. By this light, I think he's mad.

Mar. Mad ! had you ta'en compassion on your-
self,
You long since had been mad.

Well- You have ta'en a course
Between you and my venerable uncle,
To make me so.

Mar. The more pale-spirited* you,
That would not be instructed. I swear deeply

Well. By what?

Mar. By my religion.

Well. Thy religion !
The devil's creed ! but what would yoa have done?

Mar. Had there been but one tree in all the shire,
Nor any hope to compass a penny halter,
Before, like you, 1 had outlived my fortunes,
A withe had served my turn to hang myself.
I am zealous in your cause ; pray you hang yourselff,
And presently ,'as you love your credit.

Well. I thank you.

Mar. Will you stay till you die in a ditch, or

lice devour you ?

Or, if you dare not do the feat yourself,
But that you'll put the state to charge and trouble,
Is there no purse to be cut, house to be broken,
Or market-woman with eggs, that you may murder,
And so dispatch the business ?

Well. Here's variety,
I must confess ; but I'll accept of none
Of all your gentle offers, I assure you.

Mar. Why, have you hope ever to eat again,
Or drink ? or be the master of three farthings ?
If you like not hanging, drown yourself; take some

course
For your reputation.

Well. 'Twill not do, dear tempter,
With all the rhetoric the fiend hath taught you.
I am as far as thou art from despair ;
Nay, I have confidence, which is more than hope,
To live, and suddenly, better than ever.

Mar. Ha ! ha ! these castles you build in the air
Will not persuade me or to give or lend
A token to you.

Well. I'll be more kind to thee :
Come, thou shalt dine with me.

Mar. With you !

Welt. Nay more, dine gratis.

Mar. Under what hedge, I pray you? or at whose

cost ?

Are they padders, or abram-men$, that are your
consorts ?

Mar. The more pale-spirited you.] Surely this is very
good sense; and yet the modern editors choose to read,
Thf more dull-spirited you. I tm weary of these everlasting
lophiMicalions, without judgment, and without necessity.

Since this was written, I have found the same expression
in The Parliament of Lone.

" To what purpose,

Poor and pale-tpirited man, should I expect
Prom thee the satisfaction ,"&c. Act II. Sc. 2.

So that the old reading is established beyond the possibility
of a doubt.

t 1 am zealous in your cause ; pray you, hang yourtelf,
And presently,} This line is wholly omitted both by Cox-
eter and Mr. M. Mason, though the sense of the next de-
pends upon it. Less cure to amend their author, and more
to exhibit him faithfully, might be wished in both of them.

I Are they padders, or abram-men, that are your con-
torts?} An abram-man was an impudent impostor, who,
under the garb and appearance of a lunatic, rambled about

Well. Thou art incredulous ; but thou shall dine
Not alone at her house, but with a gallant lady;
With me, and with a lady.

Mar. Lady! what lady?

With the lady of the lake*, or queen of fairies ?
For I know it must be an enchanted dinner.

Well. With the lady Allworth, knave.

Mar. Nay, now there's hope
Thy brain is crack'd.

Weil. Mark there with what respect
I am entertain'd.

Mar. With choice, no doubt, of dog-whips.
Why, dost thou ever hope to pass her porter ?

Well. Tis not far off, go with me ; trust thine
own eyes.

Mar. Troth, in my hope, or my assurance rather,
To see thee curvet, and mount like a dog in a

blanket,

If ever thou presume to pass her threshold,
I will endure thy company.

Well. Come along then. I Exeunt

SCEXE II. A Room in Lady Allworth's House.

Enter AlXWOBTB, Waiting Woman, Chambermaid
ORDER, AMBLE, FURNACE, and WATCHALL.

Woman. Could you not command your leisure one
hour longer?

Cham. Or half an hour?

All. I have told you what my haste is :
Besides, being now another's, not mine own,
Howe'er I much desire to enjoy you longer,
My duty suffers, if, to please myself,
I should neglect my lord.

Woman. Pray you do me the favour
To put these few quince-cakes into your pocket
They are of mine own preserving.

Cham. And this marmalade ;
'Tis comfortable for your stomach.

Woman. And, at parting,
Excuse me if I beg a farewell from you.

Cham. You are still before me. I move the same
suit, sir. [Allicortk kisses them severally.

Fur. How greedy these chamberers are of a

beardless chin !
I think the tits will ravish him.

All. My service
To both.

Woman. Ours waits* on you.

Cham. And shall do ever.

Ord. You are my lady's charge, be therefore

careful
That you sustain your parts.

Woman. We can bear, 1 warrant you.

[Eieunt Waiting Woman and Chambermaid.

Fur. Here, drink it off; the ingredients are cor-
dial,
And this the true elixir ; it hath boil'd

the country, and compelled, as Decker says, the servants of
small families " to give him, through fear, whatever he de-
manded." A padder (a term still in use) is a lurkcr in the
highways, a footpad.

With the lady of the lake,] This is a very prominent
character in Morte Arthur, and in m my of our old ro-
mances. She seems to be the Circe of the dark ages ; an1
is frequently mentioned by our old dramatists.

t Woman. Ours waiis on you.} i. e. Our service : cor-
rupted by the forirer editors into Ours wait on you.

SCENE II.]

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

Since midnight for you. 'Tis the quintessence
Of five cocks of the game, ten dozen of sparrows,
Knuckles of veal, potatoe-roots, and marrow.
Coral, and ambergris: were you two years older,
And I had a wife, or gamesome mistress,
I durst trust you with neither : you net- d not bait
After this, I warrant you, though your journey's
long ; [morning.

You may ride on the strength of this till to-morrow

AIL Your courtesies overwhelm me : I much

grieve

To part from such true friends ; and yet find comfort,
My attendance on my honourable lord,
Whose resolution holds to visit my lady,
Will speedily bring me back.

[Knocking within. Exit Watchall.

Mar. [ti-ithin.'] Dar'st thou venture further?

Well, [within.'] Yes, yes, and knock again.

Ord. 'Tis lie ; disperse !

Amb. Perform it bravely.

Furn. I know my cue, ne'er doubt me.

[Exeunt all but Allworth.

Re-enter WATCHALL, introducing WELLBORN and
MARUALL.

Watch. Beast that I was, to make you stay ! most

welcome ;
You were long since expected.

Well. Say so much
To my friend, I pray you.

Watch. For your sake, I will, sir,

Mar. For his sake !

Well. Mum ; this is nothing.

Mir. More than ever

I would have believed, though I had found it in my
primer.

Alt. When I have given you reasons for my late

harshness,

You'll pardon and excuse me ; for, believe me,
Though now I part abruptly, in my service
I will deserve it.

Mar. Service ! with a vengeance !

Wei!. I am satisfied : farewell, Tom.

All. All joy stay with you ! [Exit.

Re-enter AMBLE.

Amb. You are happily encounter'd ; I yet never
Presented one so welcome as, I know,
You will be to my lady.

Mar. This is some vision ;

Or, sure, these men are mad, to worship a dunghill ;
It cannot be a truth.

Well. Be still a pagan,
An unbelieving infidel ; be so, miscreant,
And meditate on blankets, and on dog-whips !

Re-enter FURNACE.
Furn. I am glad you are come ; until I know

your pleasure,

I knew not how to serve up my lady's dinner.
Mar. His pleasure ! is it possible 1
Well. What's thy will?

Furn. Marry, sir, I have some grouse, and tur-
key chicken,

Some rails and quails, and my lady will'd me ask you,
What kind of sauces best affect your palate,
That I may use my utmost skill to please it.

Mar. The devil's enter'd this cook : sauce for his
palate, [month,

That, on my knowledge, for almost this twelve-
26

Durst wish but cheeseparings and brown bread on
Sundays !

Wttl. I hat way I like them best.

Furn. It shall be done, sir. [Exit.

Well. What think you of the hedge u-e shall dine

under ?
Shall we feed gratia?

Mar. I know not what to think ;
Pray you make me not mad.

Re-enter ORDER.

Ord. This place becomes you not ;
Pray you w;ilk, sir, to the dining-room.

Well. I am well here
Till her Isulvship quits her chamber.

Mar. Well here, say you?
'Tis a rare change ! but yesterday you thought
Yourself well in a barn, wrapp'd up in pease-straw
Re-enter Waiting Woman and Chambermaid.

Woman. O ! sir, you are wish'd for.

Cham. My lady dreamt, sir, of you.

Woman. And the first command she gave, after

she rose,

Was (her devotions done), to give her notice
When you approach'd here.

Cham. Which is done, on my virtue.

Mar. I shall he converted ; I begin to grow
Into a new belief, which saints nor angels
Could have won me to have faith in.

Worn. Sir, mv lady !

Enter LADY ALLWORTH.

L. All. I come to meet you, and languish'd till I

saw you.

This first kiss is for form*; I allow a second
To such a friend. [Kisses Wellborn.

Mar. To such a friend ! heaven bless me !

Well. I am wholly yours ; yet, madam , if you

please
To grace this gentleman with a salute

Mai-. Salute me at his bidding !

Well. I shall receive it
As a most liii>h favour.

L. All. Sir, you may command me.

[Advances to salute Marrall.

Well. Run backward from a lady ! and such a lady !

Mar. To kiss her foot is, to poor me, a favour
I am unworthy of. [Offers to feiw her foot.

L. All. Nay, pray you rise ;
And since you are so humble, I'll exalt you:
You shall dine with me to-day, at mine own table.

Mar. Your ladyship's table ! I am not good

enough
To sit at your steward's board.

L. All. You are too modest :
I will not be denied.

Re-enter FURNACE.

Furn. Will you still be babbling
Till your meat freeze on the table? the old trick still ,
My art ne'er thought on !

L. All. Your arm, master Wellborn :

Nay, keep us company. [To Marrall.

Mar. I was ne'er so graced.

[Exeunt Wellborn, Lady Allwnrth. Amble, Marrall,
Waiting Woman, and Chambermaid.

Ord. So! we have play 'd our parts, and are come
off well :

This first trits it for form ;] So the qnarto : Coxeter b
surdly rends for me.

358

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

[Acr II

But if I know the mystery why my lady
Consented to it, or why master Wellborn
Desired it, may I perish!

Fnrn. Would I had

The roasting of his heart that cheated him,
And foices the poor gentleman to these shifts !
By fire ! for cooks aie Persians, and swear by it,
Of all the griping and extorting tyrants
I ever heard or read of, I ne'er met
A match to Sir Giles Overreach.

Watch. What will you take
To tell him so, fellow Furnace ?

Fnrn. Just as much

As my throat is worth, for that would be theprice on't
To have a usurer that starves himself,
And wears a cloak of one-and-twenty years
On* a suit of fourteen groats bought of the hang-
man,

To grow rich, and then purchase, is too common :
But this sir Giles feeds high, keeps many servants,
Who must at his command do any outrage ;
Rich in his habit, vast in his expenses ;
Yet he to admiration still increases
In wealth and lordships.

Ord. He frights men out of their estates,
And breaks through all law-nets, made to curb ill

men,

As they were cobwebs. No man dares reprove him.
Such a spirit to dare, and power to do, were never
Lodged so unluckilyf.

lie-enter AMBLE.

Amb. Ah! ha! I shall burst.

Ord. Contain thyself, man.

Furn. Or make us partakers
Of your sudden mirth.

Amb. Ha ! ha ! my lady has got
Such a guest at her table ! this term-driver, Marrall,
This snip of an attorney

Furn. What of him, man ?

Amb. The knave thinks still he's at the cook's

shop in Ham AlleyJ,

Where the clerks divide, and the elder is to choose ;
And feeds so slovenly !

Fnrn. Is this all]

Amh. My lady
Drank to him for fashion sake, or to please master

Wellborn ;

As I live, he rises, and takes up a dish
In which there was some remnants of a boil'd

capon,
And pledges her in white broth !

Funi. Nay, 'tis like
The rest of his tribe.

Amb And when I brought him wine,
He leaves his stool, and, after a leg or two,
Most humbly thanks my worship.

Ord. Risen already !

Amb. 1 shall be chid.

* On a tuit, &r.] Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason read, Or a
tuU, which totally destroys the author's meaning. But in
their editions every page, and almost ever> speech, of this
fine ( minds, is replete with similar blunders.

t The character of Sir Giles is unfolded by these men with
great sphit and pred.-ion.

t the rook's shop in Ram Alley,]

Kath Alley is one of the avenue? into the Temple from Fleet
Sin-el : ilie number of its cook*' shops is alluded to in Barry's
cuim-dy :

" And ihongh Ram Alley stinks with coo <U and ale,
Yetsi>, there's many a worthy lawjtr's chamber
That buts upon it." ' Ram Alley, Act I.

He-enter LADY ALLWORTH, WELLBORN, and
MARRALL.

Furn. My lady frowns.

L. All. You wait well. [To Amble.

Let me have no more of this; I observed your

jeering :

Sirrah, I'll have you know, whom I think worthy
To sit at my table, be he ne'er so mean,
W hen I am present, is not your companion.

Ord. Nay, she'll preserve what's due to her.

Furn. This refreshing
Follows your flux of laughter.

L. All. [To Wellborn,."] You are master
Of your own will. I know so much of manners,
As not to enquire your purposes ; in a word
To me you are ever welcome, as to a house
That is your own.

Well. Mark that.

Mar. With reverence, sir,
An it like your worship*.

Well. Trouble yourself no further ;
Dear madam, my heart's full of zeal and service,
However in my language I am sparing.
Come, master Marrall.

Mar. I attend your worship.

[ Exeuat Wellborn and Marrall.

L. All. I see in your looks you are sorry, and you

know me

An easy mistress: be merry ; I have forgot all.
Order and Furnace, come with me; I must give you
Further directions.

Ord. What you please.

Fnrn. We are ready. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. The Country near Lady All worth's
Route.

Enter WELLBORN and MARRALL.

Well. I think I am in a good way.

Mar. Good ! sir ; the best way,
The certain best way.

Well. There are casualties
That men are subject to.

Mar. You are above them ;
And as you are already worshipful,
I hope ere long you will increase in worship.
And be, right worshipful.

Well. Prithee do not flout me :
What I shall be, 1 shall be. Is't for your ease
You keep your hat off?

Mar. Ease, an it like your worship !
I hope Jack Marrall shall not live so long,
To prove himself such an unmannerly beast,
Though it hail hazel nuts, as to be cover'd
When your worship's present.

Well. Is not this a true rogue,
That, out of mere hope of a future cozenage,
Can turn thus suddenly 1 'tis rank already. [Aside.

Mar. I know your worship's wise, and needs no

counsel:

Yet if, in my desire to do you service,
I humbly offer my advice (but still

Mar. With reverence, tir,

Anit like your worship.] This change of language in Mar
rail is worth notice : it it truly characteristic.

SCENE. III.]

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

Under correction), I hope I shall not
Incur your high displeasure.
Well, No ; speak freely.
Mar. Then, in my judgment, sir, my simple

judgment

(Still with your worship's favour), I could wish you
A better habit, for this cannot be
But much distasteful to the noble lady
(I say no more) that loves you : for, this morning,
To me, and I am but a swine to her,
Before the assurance of her wealth perfumed you,
You savour'd not of amber.
Well. I do now then !

Mar. This your batoon hath got a touch of it.

[A'mes the end of his cudgel.
Yet if you please, for change, I have twenty pounds

here,

Which, out of my true love, I'll presently
Lay down at your worship's feet ; 'twill serve to

buy you
A riding suit.

Well. But where's the horse ?
Mar. My gelding

Is at your service : nay, you shall ride me,
Before your worship shall be put to the trouble
To walk afoot. Alas ! when you are lord
Of this lady's manor, as 1 know you will be,
You may with the lease of glebe land, call'd Knave 's-

acre,
A pl-.ice I would manure, requite your vassal.

Well. I thank thy love, but must make no use

of it ;
Wli-.it's twenty pounds?

Mar. ' Tis all that 1 can make, sir.

Well. Dost thou think, though I want clothes I

could not have them,
For one word to my lady?
Mar. As 1 know not that*!
Well. Come, I'll tell thee a secret, and so leave

thee.

I'll not give her the advantage, though she he
A gallant-minded lady, after we are married
( There being no woman, but is sometimes froward),
To hit. me in the teeth, and say, she was forced
To buy my wedding-clothes and took me on
With a plain riding-suit, and an ambling nag.
No, I'll be furnish 'd something like myself,
And so farewell : for thy suit touching Knave's-

acre,
When it is mine, 'tis thine. [Exit.

Mar. I thank your worship.
How was I cozen'd in the calculation
Of this man's fortune ! my master cozen'd too,
Whose pupil 1 am in the art of undoing men ;
For that is our profession ! Well, well, master

Wellborn,
You are of a sweet nature, and fit again to be

cheated :

Which, if the Fates please, when you are possess'd
Of the land and lady, you, sans question, shall be.
I'll presently think'of the means.

[ Walks by, muting.

Enter OVERREACH, speaking to a Servant within.
Over. Sirrah, take my horse.

At I know not that !] This, like too many others, is
priri'ed by the modern editors as an imperfect sentence: tiie
expression if. however, rnm|>Ie(e, and means, in -colloquial
language, As {/"I do, or did, not know that jou might!

I'll walk to get me an appetite ; 'tis but a mile,
And exercise will keep me from being pursey.
Ha! .Marrall! is he conjuring? perhaps
The knave has wrought the prodigal to do
Some outrage on himself, and now he feels
Compunction in his conscience for't : no matter,
So it be done. Marrall !

Mar. Sir.

Over. How succeed we
In our plot on Wellborn ?

Mar. Never better, sir.

Over. Has he hang'd or drown'd himself?

Mar. No, sir, he lives ;
Lives once more to be made a prey to you,
A greater prey than ever.

Over. Art thou in thy wits ?
If thou art, reveal this miracle, and briefly.

Mar. A lady, sir, has fall'n in love with him.

Ocer. With him ! what lady ?

Mar. The rich lady A 11 worth.

Over. Thou dolt ! how dar'st thou speak this ?

Mar. I speak truth,
And I do so but once a year, unless
It be to you, sir; we dined with her ladyship,
I thank his worship.

Over. His worship !

Mar. As I live, sir,

I dined with him, at the great lady's table,
Simple as I stand here ; and saw when she kiss'd

him,

And would, at his request, have kiss'd me too;
But I was not so audacious, as some youths are*,
That dare do any thing, be it ne'er so absurd,
And sad after performance.

Over. Why, thou rascal !
To tell me these impossibilities.

Dine at her table ! and kiss him ! or thee !

Impudent vailet, have not I myself,

To whom great countesses' doors have oft flew

open,

Ten times attempted, since her husband's death,
In vain, to see her, though I came a suitor?
And yet your good solicitorship, and rogue Well-

born,
Were brought into her presence, feasted with

her !

But that I know thee a dog that cannot blush,
This most incredible lie would call up one
On thy buttermilk cheeks.

Mo?-. Shall I not trust my eyes, sir,
Or taste ? I feel her good cheer in my belly.

Over. You shall feel me, if you give not over,

sirrah :

Recover your brains again, and be no more gull'd
With a beggar's plot, assisted by the aids
Of serving-men and chambermaids, for beyond

these

Thou never saw'st a woman, or I'll quit you
From my employments.

* But I was not so audacious, and tome youths are,] Mr
Dodeley has,

" hut 1 was not so audacious as tome youth's are,

And dare do any thing, tltc.
I think the old reading right COXETER.
Mr. M. Mason follows Uodsley. If and be the genuine
word, it is used for the old siibjuncti c particle an (if); b

whatever be its nature, it was correc
of the rcpit-s as it now stands In tl
which was probably taken, by a co
word immediately under it. 1 have
That.

cd .it the press in some
c n xt verse, for And,
union error, from the
entured to substitult

360

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

[Acrlll

Mar. Will you credit tbis yet?
On my confidence of their marriage, I offer'd Well-
born

I would give a crown now I durst say his wor-
ship [Aside.
My nag, and twenty pounds.

'Over. Did you so, idiot ! [Strike* him down.

Was this the way to work him to despair,
Or rather to cross me 1

Mar. Will your worship kill me?

Over. No, no ; but drive the lying spirit out of

you.
Afar. He's gone.

Over. I have done then : now, forgetting
Your late imaginary feast and lady,
Know, my lord Lovell dines with me to-morrow.
Be careful nought be wanting to receive him ;
And bid my daughter's women trim her up,
Though they paint her, so she catch the lord, 111

thank them :
There's a piece for my late blows.

Mar. I must yet suffer :
But there may be a time [Aside

Over. Do you grumble?

Mar. No, sir. [Exeunt

ACT III.

SCENE I. The Country near Overreach's House.

Enter Lord LOVELL, ALLWORTH, and Servants.

Lov. Walk the horses down the hill : something

in private
I must impart to Allworth. [Exeunt Servants*.

AIL O, my lord,

What sacrifice of reverence, duty, watching,
Although I could put off the use of sleep,
And ever wait on your commands to serve them ;
What dangers, though in ne'er so horrid shapes,
Nay death itself, though I should run to meet it,
Can I, and with a thankful willingness suffer;
But still the retribution will fall short
Of your bounties shower'd upon me !

Lov. Loving youth ;
Till what I purpose be put into act,
Do not o'erprize it ; since you have trusted me
With your soul's nearest, nay, her dearest secret,
Rest confident 'tis in a cabinet lock'd
Treachery shall never open. I have found you
(For so much to your face I must profess,
Howe'er you guard your modesty with a blush

for't)

More zealous in your love and service to me,
Than I have been in my rewards.

All. Still great ones,
Above my merit.

Lou. Such your gratitude calls them : *

fir* am I of that harsh and rugged temper
As some great men are tax'd with, who imagine
They part from the respect due to their honours,
If they use not all such as follow them,
Without distinction of their births, like slaves.
I am not so condition'd : I can make
A fitting difference between my footboy,
And a gentleman by want compell'd to serve me.

All. Tis thankfully acknowledged; you Lave

been

More like a father to me than a master :
Pray you pardon the comparison.

Lov. I allow it ;
And to give you assurance I am pleased in't,

Exeunt Servants.] Exeunt Servi, says tlie quarto this
ixeter translates Exeunt Servant, and is faithfully foj.

lowed by Mr. M. Mason in bis correcleat of all editions 1

My carriage and demeanour to your mistress,
Fair Margaret, shall truly witness for me
I can command my passions.

All. 'T is a conquest
Few lords can boast of when they are tempted. Oh!

Lov. Why do you sigh ? can you be doubtful of

me ?

By that fair name I in the wars have purchased,
And all my actions, hitherto untainted,
I will not be more true to mine own honour,
'J han to my Allworth !

All. As you are the brave lord Lovell,
Your bare word only given is an assurance
Of more validity and weight to me,
Thin all the oaths, bound up with imprecations,
Which, when they would deceive, most courtiers

practise :

Yet being a man (for, sure, to style you more
Would relish of gross flattery), I am forced
Against my confidence of your worth and virtues,
To doubt, nay more, to fear.

Lov. So young, and jealous !

All. Were you to encounter with a single foe,
The victory were certain ; but to stand
The charge of two such potent enemies,
At once assaulting you, as wealth and beauty,
And those too seconded with power, is odds
Too great for Hercules.

Lov. Speak your doubts and fears,
Since you will nourish them, in plainer language,
That I may understand them.

All. What's your will,

Though I lend arms against myself (provided
They may advantage you), must be obey'd.
My much-loved lord, were Margaret only fair,
The cannon of her more than earthly form,
Though mounted high, commanding all beneath it,
And ramm'd with bullets of her sparkling eyes,
Of all the bulwarks that defend your senses
Could batter none, but that which guards your

sight.

But when the well-tuned accents of her tongue
Make music to you, and with numerous sounds
Assault your hearing (such as Ulysses, if [he]
Now lived again*, hovve'er he stood the syrens,

* ntch a* Ulysset, /[he]

Now lived again, &c ] An this passage stands ia &

SCENE II.]

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

J6i

Could not resist,), the combat must grow doubtful
Between your reason and rebellious passions.
Add this too ; when you feel her touch, and

breath

Like a soft western wind, when it glides o'er
Arabia, creating gums and spices ;
And in the van, the nectar of her lips,
Which you must taste, bring the battalia on,
Well arm'd, and strongly lined with her discourse
And knowing manners, to give entertainment j
Hippolytus himself would leave Diana,
To follow such a Venus.

Loo. Love hath made you
Poetical, All worth.

All. Grant all these beat off,
Which if it be in man to do, you'll do it,
Mammon, in Sir Giles Overreach, steps in
With heaps of ill-got gold, and so much land,
To make her more remarkable, as wouW tire
A falcon's wings in one day to fly over.
O my good lord ! these powerful aids, which would
Make a mis-shapen negro beautiful
(Yet are but ornaments to give her lustre,
That in herself is all perfection), must
Prevail for her : 1 here release your trust ;
'Tis happiness, enough, for me to serve y ou,
And sometimes, with chaste eyes, to look upon her.

Lov. Why, shall I swear?

All. O, by no means, my lord ;
And wrong not so your judgment to the world,
As from your fond indulgence to a boy,
Your page, your servant, to refuse a blessing
Divers great men are rivals for.

Lov. Suspend

Your judgment till the trial. How far is it
To Overreach* house?

All. At the most some half hour's riding ;
You'll soon be there.

Lov, And you the sooner freed
From your jealous fears.

All. O that I durst but hope it ! [Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Room in Overreach's House.
Enter OVERREACH, GREEDY, and MARRALL.

Over. Spare for no cost; let my dressers crack

with the weight
Of curious viands.

Greedy. Store indeed's no sore, sir.

Over. That proverb fits your stomach, master

Greedy.

And let no plate be seen but what's pure gold,
Or such whose workmanship exceeds the matter
That it is made of ; let my choicest linen
Perfume the room, and, when we wash, the water,
With precious powders mix!d, so please my lord,
That be may* with envy wish to bathe so ever.

former editions it is scarcely reconcileable either to gram
mar or sense. I have hazarded the transposition of one
word (if) and the addition of another (he). For th* former,
I make no apology, as the incorrect slate <>t the old copies
frequently renders it. necessary ; for the latter, I solicit the
reader's indulgence.

let my choicest linen.

Perfume the room, and ivhen we wash, the water,
II ith precious powders mix'd. so please my ford,
That he mail, &c.] Such is. the reading of the quarto.
Coxetcr, who probably misunderstood it, adapted it to his

Afar. 'Twill be very chargeable.

Over. Avaunt, you drudge !
Now all my labour'd ends are at the stake,
Is't a time to think of thrift? Call in my daughter.
And, master justice, since you love choice dishes.
And plenty of them

Greedy. As I do, indeed, sir,
Almost as much as to give thanks for them.

Over. I do confer that providence*, with my

power

Of absolute command to have abundance,
To your best care.

Greedy. I'll punctually discharge it,
And give the best directions. Now am I
In mine own conceit a monarch, at the least
Arch-president of the boil'd.the roast, the baked .
For which I will eat often ; and give thanks
When my belly's braced up like a drum, and that's
pure justice. [Exit.

Over. It must be so : should the foolish girl

prove modest,

She may spoil all ; she had it not from me,
But from her mother ; I was ever forward,
As she must be, and therefore I'll prepare her.

Enter MARGARET.

Alone, and let your women wait without.

Marg. Your pleasure, sir ?

Oner. Ha ! this is a neat dressing !
These orient pearls and diamonds well placed too !
The gown affects me not, it should have been
Embroider'd o'er and o'er with flowers of gold ;
But these rich jewels, and quaint fashion help it.
And how below ? since oft the wanton eye,
The face observed, descends unto the foot,
Which being well proportion'd, as yours is,
Invites as much as perfect white and red,
Though without art. How like you your new

woman,
The lady Downfallen ?

Marg. Well, for a companion ;
Not as a servant.

Oter. Is she humble, Meg,
And careful too, her ladyship forgotten ?

Marg. I pity her fortune.

Over. Pity her ! trample on her.
I took her up in an old tamin gownf,

own ideas in this perverse and vapid manner, and was, of
courst, followed by Mr. M. Mason :

Lay my choicest linen,

Perfume the room, and when we wash, the water
With precious powders mix, to please my lord,
That he may, &c.

/ do confer that providence,! All the modern editors
read, that province: and thus they keep up an eternal war
against thtir author's fancied peculiarities ! but indeed the
word is used by other writers, and precisely in the sense
here required. Thus Shirley, in a very pretty passage :
" Lady, yon are welcome to the spring ; the park
Looks fresher to salute you : how the birds
On every tree sing with more cheei fulness
At your access, as if they prophesied
Nature would die, and resign her providence
To you, fit to succeed her!" Hyde Park.

t / took her up in an old tamin gown.] Uwbley and
Coxeter (Mr. M. Mason only " follows as a hound lhat fills
np the cry") not knowing what to make of this word,
changed it without ceremony into tattered, nay, without
condescending to notice the variation! But tamin is nii-
doubtedly right; it is a coarse Hnseywoolscy stun, Mill
worn by the poor of this country under the name of tamuiy
or rather tammy; a corruption, I suppose, of etamine, ri.,
which has the i-ame meaning. The annals of literature r
i.ot afford an instance of another writer so unworthily
treated as Masdnger.

36*

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBITS.

[ACT III.

(Even starved for wan: of twopenny chops), to

serve thee,

And if 1 understand she but repines
To do thee any duty, though neVr so servile,
I'll pack her to her knight, where 1 have lodged

him,
Into the Counter, and there let them howl together.

Marg. You know your own ways, but for me, I

blush

When I command her, that was once attended
With persons tiot inferior to myself
In birth.

Over. In birth ! why, art thou not my daughter,
The blest child of my industry and wealth ?
Why, foolish girl, was't not to make thee great,
That I have run, and still pursue, those ways
That hale down curses on me, which 1 mind not!
Part with these humble thoughts, and apt thyself
To the noble state 1 labour to advance thee j
Or, by my hopes to see thee honourable,
I will adopt a stranger lo my heir,
And throw thee from my care : do not provoke me.

Marg. I will not, sir ; mould me which \vay you
please.

Re-enter GREEDY.

Over. How ! interrupted !

Greedy. 'Tis matter of importance.
The cook, sir, is self-will'd, and will not learn
From my experience ; there's a fawn brought in, sir ;
And, for my life, I cannot make him roast it
With a Norfolk dumpling in the belly of it;
And, sir, we wise men know, without the dumpling
Til not worth three-pence.

Over. Would it were whole in thy belly,
To stuff it out ! cook it any way ; prithee leave me.

Greedy Without order for the dumpling?

Over. Let it be dumpled

Which way thou wilt ! or tell him, I will scald him
In his own caldron.

Greedy. I had lost my stomach
Had 1 lost my mistress dumpling ; I'll give thanks
for't. [Exit.

Over. But to our business, Meg ; you have heard
who dines here 1

Marg. 1 have, sir.

Over. 'Tis an honourable man ;
A lord, Meg, and commands a regiment
Of soldiers, and, what's rare, is one himself,
A bold and understanding one : and to be
A lord, and a good leader, in one volume,
Is granted unto few but such as rise up
The kingdom's glory.

He-enter GREEDY.

Greedy. I'll resign my office,
If I be not better obey'd.

Over. 'Slight, art thou frantic ?

Greedy. Frantic ! 'twould make me frantic, and

stark mad,

Were I not a justice of peace and quorum too,
Which this rebellious cook cares not a straw for.
There are a dozen of woodcocks

Over. Make thyself
Thirteen, the baker's dozen.

Greedy. I am contented,
So they may be dress'd to my mind ; he has found

out

A new device for sauce, and will not dish them
With toasts and butter ; my father was a tailor.

And my name, though a justice, Greedy Woodcock ;
And, ere I'll see my lineage so abused,
I'll g-ive up my commission.

Over. Cook ! ttogue, obey him !
I have given the word ; pray you now remove your-
self

To a collar of brawn, and trouble me no further.
Greedy. I will, and meditate what to eat at dinner.

[ rxit.
Over. And, as I said, Meg, when this gull dis-

turb'd us,

This honourable lord, this colonel,
I would have thy husband.

Marg. There's too much disparity
Between his quality and mine, to hope it.

Over. I more than hope, and doubt not to effect it,
Be thou no enemy to thyself; my wealth
Shall weigh his titles down, and make you equals.
Now for the means to assure him thine, observe me;
Remember he's a courtier, and a soldier,
And not to be trifled with ; and, therefore, when
He comes to woo you, see you rlo not coy it :
This mincing modesty has spoil'd many a mutch
By a first refusal, in vain after hoped lor.

Marg. You'll have me, sir, preserve the distance

that
Confines a virgin ?

Over. Virgin me no virgins !
I must have you lose that name, or yon lose me.
I will have you private start not I say private :
If thou art my true daughter, not a bas.anl,
Thou wilt venture alone with one man, though he

GUM

Like Jupiter to Semele, and come off too ;
And therefore, when he kisses you, kiss close.
Marg. I have heard this is the strumpets' fashion,

sir,

Which I must never learn.
Over. Learn any thing,

And from any creature, that may mate thee great ;
From the devil himself.

Marg. This is but devilish doctrine!
Oier. Or, if his blood grow hot, suppose Le offer
Beyond this, do not you stay till it. cool,
But meet his ardour ; if a couch be near,
Sit down on't, and invite him.

Marg. In your house,
Your own house, sir ! for heaven's sake, what are you

then ?
Or what shall I be, sir?

Over. Stand not on form ;
Words are no substances.

Marg. Though you could dispense
With your own honour, cast aside religion,
The hopes of heaven, or fear of hell ; excuse me,
In worldly policy this is not the .way
To make me his wife ; his whore, I grant it may do.
My maiden honour so sgon yielded up,
Nay, prostituted, cannot but assure him
I, that am light to him, will not hold weight,
Whene'er* tempted by others : so, in judgment
When to his lust I have given up my honour,
He must and will forsake me.
Over. How ! forsake thee !

Whene'er tempted by others .-] The quarto reads, When
lie U tempted, &c. This is evidently wrong, but I am not
sure that I have struck nut tlic genuine reading. Dodsley,
whom the others follow, orai't he is, which leaves a very
inharmonious line.

SCEXB II.]

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

363

Do I wear a sword for fashion 1 or is this arm
Sbrunk up, or wither'd ? does there live a man
Of that large list I have encounter'd with,
Can truly say 1 e'er gave inch of ground
Not purchased with bis hlood that did oppose me?
Forsake thee when the thing is done ! he dares not.
Give me but proof he has enjoy'd thy person,
Though all his captains, echoes to his will,
Stood arm'd hy his side to justify the wrong,
And he himself in the head of his bold troop,
Spite of his lordship, and his colonelship,
Or the judge's favour, I will make him render
A bloody and a strict accompt, and force him,
By marrying thee, to cure thy wounded honour !
1 have said it.

Enter MARRALL.

Mar. Sir, the man of honour's come,
Newly alighted.

Over. In, without reply ;
And do as I command, or thou art lost.

[Exit Margaret.

Is the loud music I gave order for
Ready to receive him?

Mar. 'Tis, sir.

Over. Let them sound

A princely welcome. Roughness awhile leave me ;
For fawning now, a stranger to my nature,
Must make way for me.

Loud music. Enter Lord LOVELL, GREEDY, ALL-
WORIU, and MARRALL.

Lov. Sir, you meet your trouble.

Over. What you are pleased to style so, is an

honour

Above my worth and fortunes.
Ail. Strange ! so humble.
Oier. A justice of peace, my lord.

[Presents Greedy to him.
Lot. Your hand, good sir.
Greedy. This is a lord, and some think this a

favour ;

But I had rather have my hand in my dumpling.
Over. Room for my lord.
Lov. I miss, sir, your fair daughter
To crown my welcome.

Over. May it please my lord
To taste a glass of Greek wine first, and suddenly
She shall attend my lord.
Lov. You'll be obey'd, sir.

[Exeunt all but Overreach.
Over. 'Tis to my wish : as soon as come, ask for

her!
Why, Meg! Meg Overreach !

Re-enttr MARGARET.

How ! tears in your eyes !
Hah ! dry them quickly, or I'll dig them out.
Is this a time to whimper? meet that greatness
That flies into thy bosom ; think what 'tis
For me to say, My honourable daughter ;
And thou, when I stand bare, to say, Put on* ;
Or, Father, you forget yourself. No more,
But be instructed, or expect he comes !

Re-enter Lord LOVELL, GREEDY, ALLWORTII, and
MARRALL.

A black-brow'd girl, my lord.

[Lord Lowell salutes Margaret.

Put on ; i. e. be covered.

Lov. As I live, a rare one.

All. He's ta 'en already : I am lost.

Oier. That kiss
Came twanging off, I like it ; quit the room.

[Exeunt all but Over. Lov. and Marg
A little bashful, my good lord, but you,
I hope, will teach her boldness.

Lov. I am happy in such a scholar : but

Over. I am past learning,

And therefore leave you to yourselves : remember.

[Exit.

Lov. You see, fair lady, your father is solicitous
To have you change the barren name of virgin
Into a hopeful wife.

Marg. His haste, my lord,
Holds no power o'er my will.

Lav. But o'er your duty.

Marg. Which, forced too much, may break.

Lon. Bend rather, sweetest :
Think of your years.

Marg. Too few to match with yours ;
And choicest fruits too soon plucked, rot and
wither.

Lov. Do you think I am old ?

Marg. I am sure I am too young.

Lov. I tan advance you.

Marg. To a hill of sorrow ;
Where every hour I may expect to fall,
But never hope firm footing. You are noble,
I of a low descent, however rich ;
And tissues match'd with scarlet suit but ill.
O, my good lord, I could say more, but that
I dare not trust these walls.

Lov. Pray you, trust my ear then.

He-enter OVERREACH behind, listening.

Over. Close at it! whispering ! this is excellent
And by their postures, a consent on both parts.

Rt-tnter GREEDY behind.

Greedy. Sir Giles, sir Giles !

Over. The great fiend stop that clapper !

Greedy. It must ring out, sir, when my belly rings

noon.
The baked meats are run out, the roast turn'd

powder.

Over. 1 shall powder you.
Greedy. Beat me to dust, I care not ;
In such a cause as this I'll die a inartvr.

0>er. Marry, and shall, you barathrum of the

shambles*! [Strifo* him,

Greedy. How ! strike a justice of peace ! 'tis petty

treason

Edwordi quinto : but that you are my friend,
I could commit you without bail or mainprize.
Over. Leave your bawling, sir, or 1 shall commit

you

Where you shall not dine to-day ; disturb my lord
When he is in discourse !

Over. Marry, and shall, you barathrum of the sham-
bles !] Literally fiom Horace :

Pernicit-t et tempestas, barathrnmqtie macelli !
Barathrum is frequently used by oar old poets in the cla>
sical sense of an abyss, or devouring uulf : Thus Shirley,
" Yon come to sconr your maw with the good cheer
Which will be damnM in your lean barathrum,
You kitchen-stuff devourer!" The H'eddinf.

Massinsitr has taken a few traits of the character of hi*
justice from Pasilipbo, in the old comedy of The Suppose*

S64

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

[Acr III

Greedy, Is't a time to talk,
When we should be munching?
Lov. Hah ! I heard some noise.
Over. Murn, villain ; vanish ! shall we break a

bargain
Almost made up? [Thrutti Greedy off.

Lov. Lady, 1 understand you,
And rest most happy in your choice, believe it ;
I'll be a careful pilot to direct
Your yet uncertain bark to a port of safety.

Marg. So shall your honour save two lives, and

bind us
Your slaves for ever.

Lou. I am in the act rewarded,
Since it is good ; howe'er, you must put on
An amorous carriage towards me, to delude
Your subtle father.

Marg. 1 am prone to that.

Lov. Now break we off our conference. Sir

Giles !
Where is Sir Giles? [Overreach corner forward.

Re-enter ALI.WOUTH, MARRALL, and GREEDY.

Over. My noble lord ; and how
Does your lordship find her?

Lov. Apt, sir Giles, and coming;
And 1 like her the better.

Over. So do I too.

Lov. Yet should we take forts at the first assault.
'Twere poor in the defendant; I must confirm her
With a love letter or two, which I must have
Delivered by my page, and you give way to't.

Over. With all my soul : a towardly gentleman !
Your hand, good master Allworth ; know my house
Is ever open to you.

All. 'Twas shut till now. [Aside.

Over. Well done, well done, my Honourable

daughter !

Thou'rt so already : know this gentle youth,
And cherish him, my honourable daughter.

Marg. I shall, with my best care.

[Noise within, as of a coach.

Over. A coach !

Greedy. More stops
Before we go to dinner ! O my guts !

Enter Lady ALLWORTII and WELLBORN.

L. All. If I find welcome,
You share in it ; if not, I'll back again,
Now I know your ends j for I come arm'd for all
Can be objected.

Lov. How ! the lady Allworth !

Over. And thus attended !

[Lot-ell salutes Lady Allworth, Lady Allworth
salutes Margaret.

Mar. No, I am a dolt,
The spirit of lies hath enter'd me.

Over. Peace, Patch* ;
'Tis more than wonder ! an astonishment
That does possess me wholly !

Lov. Noble lady,

This is a favour, to preventf my visit,
The service of my life can never equal.

* Over. Peace, Patch ;] Patch was the name of a fool
kept by Cardinal Wolsey, and who has deservedly had the
honour of transmitting bis appellation to a very numerous
body of descendants ; he being, as Wilson observes, in his
Art of Rhetorique, 1553, " a notable fool in his time."

t 'o prevent my vitit,] i. e. to anticipate it.

L. All. My lord, I laid wait for you, and nrich

hoped

You would have made my poor house your first ina .
And therefore doubting: that you might forget me,
Or too long dwell here, having such ample cause,
In this unequall'd beauty, for vour stay ;
And fearing to trust any but myself
Wiih th relation of my service to you,
I borrow'd so much from my long restraint,
And took the air in person to invite you.

Lou. Your bounties are so great, they rob m

madam,
Of words to give you thanks.

L. All. Good sir Giles Overreach. [Salutet him,
How dost thou Marrall ? liked you my meat

so ill,
You'll dine no more with me ?

Greedy. I will, when you please,
An it like your ladyship.

L. All. When you please, master Greedy;
If meat can do it you shall be satisfied.
And now, my lord, pray take into your knowledge
This gentleman ; howe'er his outside's coarse,

[Presents Wellborf

His inward linings areas fine and fair
As any man's ; wonder not I speak at large :
And howsoe'er his humour carries him
To be thus accoutred, or what taint soever
For his wild life hath stuck upon his fame,
He may, ere long, with boldness, rank himself
With some that have contemn'd him. Sir Giles

Overreach,
If T am welcome, bid him so.

Over. My nephew !

He has been too long a stranger : faith you have,
Pray let it be mended.

[Lovell conferring aside with Wellborn.
Mar. Why, sir, what do you mean ?
This is rogue Wellborn, monster, prodigy,
That should hang or drown himself j no man o>

worship,
Much less your nephew.

Over. Well, sirrah, we shall reckon
For this hereafter.

Mar. I'll not lose my jeer,
Though I be beaten dead for't.
Well. Let my silence plead
In my excuse, my lord, till better leisure
Offer itself to hear a full relation
Of my poor fortunes.

Lov. I would hear, and help them.
Over. Your dinner waits you.
Lov. Pray you lead, we follow.
L.All. Nay, you are my guest; come, dear mas
ter Wellborn. [Exeunt all but Greedy

Greedy. Dear master Wellborn! So she said;

heaven ! heaven !

If my belly would give me leave, I could ruminate
All day on this : I have granted twenty warrants
To have him committed, from all prisons in the

shire,
To Nottingham gaol ; and now, Dear master

Wellborn !

And, My good nephew ! but I play the fool
To stand here prating, and forget my dinner.

Re-enter MARRALL.
Are they set, Marrall ?

Mar. Long since ; pray you a word, sir.
Greedy. No wording now.

SCENE III.]

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

$65

Mar. In troth, I must ; my master
Knowing you are his good friend, makes bold with

you,

And does entreat you, more guests being come in
Than he expected, especially his nephew,
The table be'/ig full too, you would excuse him,
And sup with him on the cold meat.

Greedy. How ! no dinner,
After all my care?

Mar. 'Tis but a penance for
A meal ; besides, you broke your fast.

Greedy. That was

But a bit to stay my stomach : a man in commission
Give place to a tatterdemalion !

y.ar. No bug* words, sir ;
SI juld his worship hear you

Greedy. Lost my dumpling too,
And butter'd toasts, and woodcocks !

Mcr. Come, have patience.
If you will dispense a little with your worship,
And sit with the waiting women, you'll have

dumpling,
Woodcock, and butter'd toasts too.

Greedy. This revives me:
I will gorge there sufficiently.

Mar. This is the way, sir. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Another Room in Overreach's House.
Enter OVERREACH, as from dinner.

Over. She's caught ! women ! she neglects my

lord,

And all her compliments applied to Wellborn !
The garments of her widowhood laid by,
She now appears as glorious as the spring.
Her eyes fix'd on him, in the wine she drinks,
He being her pledge, she sends him burning

kisses,

And sits on thorns, till she be private with him.
She leaves my meat to feed upon his looks ;
And if in our discourse he be but named,
From her a deep sigh follows. But why grieve I
At this ? it makes for me ; if she prove his,
111 that is her's is mine, as I will work him.

Enter MARRALL.

Mar. Sir, the whole board is troubled at your
rising.

Oier. No matter, I'll excuse it : prithee Marrall,
Watch an occasion to invite my nephew
To speak with me in private.

Mar. \Vho ! the rogue
The lady scoin'd to look on 1

Oier. You are a wag.

Enter Lady ALLWORTH and WELLBORN.

Mar. See, sir, she's come, and cannot be with-
out him.
L. All. With your favour, sir, after a plenteous

dinner,

I shall make bold to walk a turn or two
In your rare garden.

Over. There's an arbour too,
If your ladyship please to use it.
L. AH. Come, master Wellborn.

[Exeunt Lady Alltcorlh and Wellborn.

Mar. Ao bug words, sir;] i. e. no frightful, terrific
words : the word occurs in this sense in all our old poets.

Over. Grosser and grosser! now I believe the poet
Feign'd not, but was historical, when he wrote
Pasiphae was enamour'd of a bull :
This lady's lust's more monstrous. My good lord,

Enter Lord LOVELL, MARGARET, and the rest.
Excuse my manners.

Lov. There needs none, sir Giles,
I may ere long say Father, when it pleases
My dearest mistress to give warrant to it.

Over. She shall seal to it, my lord, and make
me happy.
Re-enter WELLBORN and Lady ALLWORTH.

Marg. My lady is return'd.

L. All. Provide my coach,
I'll instantly away ; my thanks, sir Giles,
For my entertainment.

Over. 'Tis your nobleness
To think it such.

L. All. I must do you a further wrong,
In taking away your honourable guest.

Lov. I wait on vou, madam ; farewell, good sir
Giles.

L. All. Good mistress Margaret; nay come,

master Wellborn,

I must not leave you behind ; in sooth, I must
not.

Over. Rob me not, madam, of all joys at once ;
Let my nephew stay behind : he shall have my

coach,

And, after some small conference between us,
Soon overtake your ladyship.

L. All. Stay not long, sir.

Lov. This parting kiss : [A'isses Margaret.] you

shall every dny hear from me
By my faithful page.

All. 'Tis a service I am proud of.

[Exeunt Lord Lovell, Lady Allworth, Allworth,
and Marralt.

Ocer. Daughter, to your chamber. [Eiit Mar-
garet.] Vou may wonder, nephew,
After so long an enmity between us,
I should desire your friendship.

Well. So I do, sir ;
'Tis strange to me.

Over. But I'll make it no wonder ;
And what is more, unfold my nature to you.
We worldly men, when we see friends, and kinsmen,
Past hope sunk in their fortunes, lend no hand
To lift them up, but rather set our feet
Upon their heads, to press them to the bottom;
As, I must yield, with you I practised it:
But, now I see vou in a way to rise,
I can and will assist you ; this rich lady
(And I am glad oft) is enamour'd of you ;
'Tis too apparent, nephew.

Well. No such thing :
Compassion rather, sir.

Ocer. Well, in a word,

Because your stay is short, I'll have you seen
No more in this bas-e shape ; nor shall she say,
She married you like a beggar, or in debt.

Well. He'll run into the noose, and save my
labour. [Aside.

Over. You have a trunk of rich clothes, not far

hence,

In pawn ; I will redeem them ; and that no clamour
May taint your credit for your petty debts,
You shall have a thousand pounds to cut them off.
And go a free man to the wealthy lady.

366

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

[AcriV

Well. This done, sir, out of love, and no ends

else

Orer. As it is, nephew.
Well. Binds me still your servant.
Orer. No compliments, you are staid for: ere
you have supp'd [my nephew !

You shall hear trom m>?. My coach, knaves, for
To morrow I will visit you.

Well. Here s an uncle
In a man's extremes ! how much they do belie

you,
That say you are hard hearted !

Oter, My deeds, nuphew,

Shall speak my love ; what men report I weigi
not.

[Exeunt

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A Room in Lady Allworth's House.
Enter Lord LOVELL and AULWORTH.

LOT. 'Tis well ; give me my cloak ; I now dis-
charge you

From further service : mind your own affairs,
I hope they will prove successful.

All. What is blest

"With your good wish, my lord, cannot but prosper.
Let aftertimes report, and to your honour,
How much I stand engaged, for I want language
To speak my debt ; yet if a tear or two
Of joy, for your much goodness, can supply
My tongue's defects, I could

Loo. Nay, do not melt :
This ceremonial thanks to me's superfluous.

Over, [within.] Is my lord stirring 1

Lov. 'Tis he ! oh, here's your letter: let him in.

Enter OVFRRKACH, GKEEDY, and MAUPALL.

Over. A good day to my lord !

Lou. You are an early riser,
Sir Giles.

Oier. And reason, to attend your lordship.

Lov. And you, too, master Greedy, up so soon !

Greedy. In troth, my lord, after the suii is up
I cannot sleep, for I have a foolish stomach
That croaks for breakfast. With your lordship's

favour,

I have a serious question to demand
Of my worthy friend sir Giles.

Lov. Pray you use your pleasure.

Greedy. How far, sir Giles, -.md pray you answer me
Upon your credit, hold you it to be
From your manor-house, to this of my lady All-
worth's'!

Over. Why, some four mile.

Greedy. How ! four mile, good sir Giles

Upon your reputation, think better:
For if you do abate but one half quarter
Of five, you do yourself the greatest wrong
That can be in the world ; for four miles riding
Could not have raised so huge an appetite
As I feel gnawing on me.

Mar. Whether you ride,
Or go afoot, you are that way still provided,
An it please your worship.

Over. How now, sirrah ! prating \
Before my lord ! no difference ! Go to my nephew ;
See all his debts d^charged, and help his worship
To nt on his rich suit.

Mar. I m;iy fit you too.
Toss'a IIKC a dog still. [Exit.

Lov. I have writ this morning
A few lines to my mistress, your fair daughter.

Over. 'Twill fire her, for she's wholly yours

already :

Sweet master All worth, take my ring ; 'twill carry

you
To her presence, I dare warrant you ; and there

plead

For my good lord, if you shall find occasion.
That done, pray ride to Nottingham, get a licea
Still by this token. I'll have it dispatch'd,
And suddenly, my lord, that I may say,
My honourable, nay, right honourable daughter.

Greedy. Take my advice, young gentleman, get

your breakfast ;

Tis unwholesome to ride fasting : I'll eat with you,
And eat to purpose.

Orer. Some fury's in that gut :
Hungry again ! did you not devour this morning
A shield of brawn, and a barrel of Colchester
oysters ?

Grtedy. Why, that was, sir, only to scour my

stomach,

A kind of a preparative. Come, gentleman,
I will not have you feed like the hangman of

Flushing,
Alone, while I am here.

Lov. Haste your return.

AH. I will not fail, my lord.

Greedy. Nor I to line
My Christmas coffer.

[Exeunt Greedy and Allianth.

Ovtr. To my wish ; we are private.
I come not to make offer with my daughter
A certain portion; that were poor and trivial ,
In one word, I pronounce all that is mine,
In lands or leases, ready coin or goods,
With her my lord comes to you ; nor shall you have
One motive to induce you to believe
I live too long, since every year I'll add
Something unto the heap, which shall be yours too.

Li>v. You are a right kind father.

Orer. You shall have reason
To think me such. How do you like this seat?
It is well wooded, and well water'd, the acres
Fertile and rich ; would it not serve for change
To entertain your friends in a summer progress ?
What thinks my noble loid?

Lov. 'Tis a wholesome air,

And well built pile; and she that's mistress of it
Worthy the large revenue.

Oter. She the mistress !
It may be so for a time : but let my lord

SCENE I.]

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

Say only that he likes it, and would have it,
I say, ere long 'tis his.
Lov. Impossible.

Over. You do conclude too fast, not knowing me,
Nor the engines that I work bv. 'Tis not alone
The lady Allworth's lands, for those once Well-

born's

(As by her dotage on him I know they will be),
Shall soon be mine ; but point out any man's
In all the shire, and say they lie convenient
And useful for your lordship, and once more
I say aloud, they are your's.

Lov. t dare not own

What's bv unjust and cruel means extorted ;
My fame and credit are more dear to me,
Than so to expose them to be censured by
The public voice.

Over. You run, my lord, no hazard.
Your reputation shall stand as fair
Jn all good men's opinions as now ;
Nor can my actions, though condemn'd for ill,
Cast any foul aspersion upon yours.
For, though 1 do contemn report myself,
As a mere sound, I still will be so tender
Of what concerns you, in all points of honour,
That the immaculate whiteness of your fame,
Nor your unquestioned integrity,
Shall e'er be sullied with o:ie taint or spot
That may take from your innocence and candour.
All my ambition is to have my daughter
Right honourable, which my lord can make her:
And might I live to dance upon my knee
A young lord Lovell, born by her unto you,

write nil ultra to my proudest hopes.
As for possessions, and annual rents,
Equivalent to maintain you in the port
Your noble birth and present state requires,
I do remove that burthen from your shoulders,
And take it on mine own : for though I ruin
The country to supply your riotous waste,
The scourge of prod'igals, want, shall never find

you.

Lov. Are you not frighted with the imprecations
And curses of whole families, made wretched
By your sinister practices 1
Over. Yes, as rocks are,
AY hen foamy billows split themselves against
Their flinty ribs; or as the moon is moved,
When wolves, with hunger pined, howl at her

brightness.

I am of a solid temper, and, like these,
Steer on a constant course : with mine own sword.
If call'd into the field, I can make that right
Which fearful enemies murmur'd at as wrong.
Now for these other piddling complaints
Breath 'd out in bitterness ; as when they call me
Extortioner, tyrant, cormorant, or intruder
On my poor neighbours' right, or grand incloser
Of what was common, to my private use :
Nay, when my ears are pierc'd with widow's cries,
And undone orphans wash with tears my threshold,
I only think what 'tis to have my daughter
Right honourable ; and 'tis a powerful charm.
Makes me insensible of remorse, or pity,
Or the least sting of conscience.

Lot. I admire
The toughness of your nature.

Over. 'Tis for you,

My lord, and for my daughter, I am marble ;
Nay more, if you will have my character

In little, I enjoy more true delight

In my arrival to my wealth these dnrk

And crooked ways, than you shall e'er taka

pleasure

In spending what my industry hath compass'd.
My haste commands me hence : in one word,

therefore,
Is it a match?

Lov. 1 hope, that is past doubt now.

Oter. Then rest secure ; not the hate of all

mankind here*,

Nor fear of what can fall on me hereafter,
Shall make me study aught but your advancement .
One story higher: an earl ! if gold can do it.
Dispute not my religion, nor my faith ;
Though I am borne thus headlong by my will,
You may make choice of what belief you please,
To me they are equal j so, my lord, good morrow.

[ Hxit.
Lov. He's gone I wonder how the earth can

bear

Such a portent ! I, that have lived a soldier,
And stood the enemy's violent charge undaunted,
To hear this blasphemous beast am bath'd all over
In a cold sweat: yet, like a mountain, he
(Confirm'd in atheistical assertions)
Is no more shaken than Olympus is
When angry Boreas loads his double headf
With suddttn drifts of snow.

Enter Lady ALLWOR.TH, Waiting Woman, and
AMBLE.

L. All. Save you, my lord !
Disturb I not your privacy ?

Lov. No, good madam ;

For your own sake I am glad you came no sooner.
Since this bold bad man, sir Giles Overreach,
Made such a plain discovery of himself,
And read this morning such a devilish matins,
That I should think it a sin next to his
But to repeat it.

L. Alt. 1 ne'er press'd, my lord,
On others' privacies ; yet, against my will,
Walking, for health sake, in the gallery
Adjoining to your lodgings, I was made
(So vehement and loud he was) partaker
Of his tempting offers.

Lov. Please you to command
Your servants hence, and I shall gladly hear
Your wiser counsel.

L. All. Tis, my lord, a woman's,
But true and hearty ; wait in the next room,
But be within call ; yet not so near to force me
To whisper my intents.

Amb. We are taught better
By you, good madam.

Woman. And well know our distance.

L. All. Do so, and talk not ; 'twill become your
breeding. [Exeunt Amble and Wrnan,
Now, my good lord : if 1 may use my freedom,
As to an bonour'd friend

not the hate of all mankind here,.,

I know not why the modern editors omit here; not only
he rhythm but the sense is improved by its restoration.

f ' than Olympus if

When angry Boreas loads his double head
With sudden drifts of snow.] Either Massinger, or im
transcriber, has mistaken Olympus for Parnassus: it may
be the former, for, in trusting to their memory, MK9 slipt
are not unusual in our old writers, who were indeed !H!il)
solicitous of accuracy in these trivial matters.

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

[AcrlV

Lov. You lessen else
Your favour to me.

L. All. I dare then say thus '.
As you are noble (howe'er common men
Make sordid wealth the ohject and sole end
Of their industrious aims) 'twill not agree
With those of eminent blood, who are engaged
More to prefer their honours, than to increase
The state left to them by their ancestors,
To study large additions to their fortunes,
And quite neglect their births : though I must

grant,

Riches, well got, to be a useful servant,
But a bad master.

Lov Madam, 'tis confess'd ;
But what infer you from it?

L. AIL This, my lord ;

That as all wrongs, though thrust into one scale,
Slide of themselves off, when right fills the other,
And cannot bide the trial ; so all wealth,
I mean if ill acquired, cemented to honour
By virtuous ways achieved, and bravely purchased,
Is but ;is rubbisli pour'd into a river
(Howe'er intended to make good the bank),
Rendering the water, that was pure before,
Polluted and unwholesome. I allow
The heir of sir Giles Overreach, Margaret,
A maid well qualified, and the richest match
Our north purt can make boast of; yet she cannot,
With all that she brings with her, fill their mouths,
That never will forget who was her father ;
Or that my husband Allworth's lands, and Wellborn 's
(How wrung from both needs now no repetition),
Were real mo;ives that more work'd your lordship
To join your families, than her form and virtues :
You may conceive the rest.

Lov. I do, sweet madam,
And long since have considered it. I know
The sum of all that makes a just man happy
Consists in the well choosing of his wife :
And there, well to discharge it, does require
Equality of years, of birth, of fortune ;
For beauty being poor, and not cried up
By birth or wealth, can truly mix with neither.
And wealth, where there's such difference in years,
And fair descent, must make the yoke uneasy_:
But I come nearer.

L. All. Pray \ou do, my lord.

Lov. Were Overreach' states thrice centupled,

his daughter

Millions of degrees much fairer than she is,
Howe'er I might urge precedents to excuse me,
I would not so adulterate my blood
By marrying Margaret, and so leave my issue
Made up of several pieces, one part scarlet
And the other London blue. In my own tomb
I will infer my name first.

L. All. I am glad to hear this. [Aside.

Why then, my lord, pretend your marriage to her 1
Dissimulation but ties false knots
On that straight line bv which you hitherto
Have measured all your actions.

Lo. I make answer,

And aptly, with a question. Wherefore have you,
That, since your husband's death, have lived a

strict

And chaste nun's life, on the sudden given your-
self

To visits and entertainments? think you, madam,
Tis not grown publ.c conference? or the favours

Which you too prodigally have thrown on Wellborn,
Being too* reserved before, incur not censure?

L. All. I am innocent here, and, on my life I

swear
My ends are good.

Lov. On my soul, so are mine
To Margaret ; but leave both to the event:
And since this friendly privacy does serve
But as an offer'd means unto ourselves
To search each other further, you having shown
Your care of me, I, my respect to you ;
Deny me not, but still in chaste words, madam
An afternoon's discourse.

L. All. So I shall hear you. [Exeunt,

SCENE II. Before Tapwell's House

Enter TAPWELL and FROTH.

Tap. Undone, undone! this was your counsel,
Froth.

Froth. Mine ! I defy thee : did not master

Man-all

(He has marr'd all, I am sure) strictly command us,
On pain of sir Giles Overreach' displeasure,
To turn the gentleman out of doors?

Tap. 'Tis true ;

But now he's his uncle's darling, and has got
Master justice Greedy, since he fill'd his belly,
At his commandment, to do any thing ;
Woe, woe to us !

Froth. He may prove merciful.

Tap. Troth, we do not deserve it at his hands.
Though he knew all the passages of our house,
As the receiving of stolen goods, and bawdry,
When he was rogue Wellborn 110 man would be-
lieve him,

And then bis information could not hurt us;
But now he is right worshipful again,
Who dares but doubt his testimony ? metbinks
I see thee, Froth, already in a cart
For a close bawd, thine eyes even pelted out
With dirt and rotten eggs ; and my hand hissing,
If I scape the halter, with the letter R
Printed upon it.

Froth. Would that were the worst !
That were but nine days' wonder : as for credit
We have none to lose, but we shall lose the money
He owes us, and his custom: there's the hell on't.

Tap. He has summon'd all his creditors by the

drum,

And they swarm about him like so many soldiers
On the pay day ; and has found out such a NEW

WAY

To PAY HIS OLD DEBTS, as 'tis very likely
He shall be chronicled for it !

Froth. He deserves it
More than ten pageantsf But are you sure his

worship
Comes this way to my lady's ?

[A cry within : Brave master Wellborn !

Being too reserved before,] This is the reading of the
quarto, and evidently genuine: it does not however satisfy
Mr. M. Mason ; who gives us, on his own authority, Being
so reserved before!

t 'tit very likely

He shall be chronicled for it t

Froth. He deserves it

More than ten pageants.] This is a pleasant allusion to
the minute industry with which Holingshed, Stowe, Baker,
and the other chroniclers of tUose times, collected every un

SCKVE IT.]

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

369

Tap. Yes : I hear him.

Froth. Be ready with your petition, and present it
To his good grace.

Enter WELLBORN in a rir.h ha hit, followed by MARK-
ALL, GREEDY, ORDER, FITKNACE, and Creditors ;
TAPWELL kneeling, delivers his petition.

Well. How's this ! petition'd too ?

But note what miracles the payment of
A little trash, and a rich suit of clothes,
Can work upon these rascals ! 1 shall be,
I think, prince Wellborn.

Mar. When your worship's married
You may be : I know what I hope to see you.

Well. Then look thou for advancement.

Mar. To be known

Your worship's bailiff is the mark I shoot at.
Well. And thou shalt hit it.

Mar. Pray you, sir, dispatch
These needy followers, and for my admittance,
Provided you'll defend me from sir Giles,
Whose service I am weary of, I'll say something
You shall give thanks for.

Well. Fear me not sir Giles*.

Greedy. Who, Tapwell ? I remember thy wife

brought me,
Last new-year's tide, a couple of fat turkies.

Tap. And shall do every Christmas, let your

worship
But stand my friend now.

Greedy. How! with master Wellborn?

I can do any thing with him on such terms.

See you this honest couple, they are good souls
As ever drew out fosset ; have they not
A pair of honest faces?

Well. I o'erheard you.
And the bribe he promised. You are cozen 'd in

them;

For, of all the scum that grew rich by my riots,
This, for a most unthankful knave, and this,
For a base bawd and whore, have worst deserv'd

mef,

And therefore speak not for them : by your place
You are rather to do me justice ; lend me your ear :
Forget his turkies, and call in his license,
And, at the next fair, I'll give you a yoke of oxen
Worth all his poultry.

Greedy. 1 am changed on the sudden
In my opinion! come near; nearer, rascal.
And, now I view him better, did you e'er see

important event and individual history, to swell their useful
but desultory pages :

" I more voluminous should grow

Chiefly if I, like them, should tell
All kind of weather that befel,
Than Holingshed or Stowe." Cowley.

The reply of Froth is sarcastically aimed at the perverse
pains bestowed by the former of these writers on the ridi-
culous mummery, under the name of pageants, which the
city was in the habit of exhibiting on every public occasion.
* ifou shall give thanks for

Well, fear me not sir Giles.] So the quarto. The
modern editors read :

You shall gite me thanks for.
Well, fear not, sir Giles.

Which is not metre : but they probably did not understand
the phraseology of the last hemistich, which is a Gallicism to
be found in every writer of Massinger's time. For their
insertion of me in the former I cannot pretend to account.

hare worst deserved me,i Here again,

from ignorance of the language, the last word is thrown out.
Such editors 1

One look so like an archknave ? his very counte-
nance,

Should an understanding judge but look upon him,
Would hang him though he were innocent.

Tap. Froth. Worshipful sir.

Greedy. No, though the great Turk came, instead

of turkies,

To beg my favour, I am inexorable.
Thou hast an ill name : besides thy musty ale,
That hath destroy'd many of the king's liege people,
Thou never hadst in thy house, to stay men's

stomachs,

A piece of Suffolk cheese, or gammon of bacon,
Or any esculent, as the learned call it,
For their emolument, but sheer drink only.
For which gross fault I here do damn thy licence,
Forbidding thee ever to tap or draw :
For, instantly, I will in mine own person
Command the constables to pull down thy sign,
And do it before I eat.

Froth. No mercy !

Greedy. Vanish.
If I show any, may my promised oxen gore me !

Tap. Unthankful knaves are ever so rewarded.
[Exeunt Greedy, Tapwell, and Froth

Well. Speak ; what are you ?

1 Cred. A decay 'd vintner, sir,
That might have thrived, but that your worshij.

broke me

With trusting you with muskadine and eggs.
And five-pound suppers, with your after drinkings.
When you lodged upon the Bankside.

IVell. I remember.

1 Cred. 1 have not been hasty, nor e'er laid to
arrest you ;

And therefore, sir

Well. Thou art an honest fellow,
I'll set tbee up again ; see his bill paid.
What are you ?

2 Cred. A tailor once, but now mere botcher.
I gave you credit for a suit of clothes,

\\ hich was all my stock, but you failing in payment,
1 was removed from the shop-board, and confined
Under a stall.

Well. See him paid ; and botch no more.

2 Cred. I ask no interest, sir.
Well. Such tailors need not ;

If their bills are paid in one and twenty year
They are seldom losers. O, I know thy face,
Thou wert my surgeon : you must tell no tales ;
Those days are done. I will pay you in private.

Ord. A royal gentleman !

Fum. Royal as an emperor !
He'll prove a brave master ; my good lady knew
To choose a man.

Well. See all men else discharg'd ;
And since old debts are clear 'd by a new way,
A little bounty will not misbecome me :
There's something, honest cook, for thy good break-
fasts,

And this for your respect ; take't, 'tis good gold,
And I able to spare it.

Ord. You are too munificent.

Furn. He was ever so.

Well. Pray you, on before.

3 Cred. Heaven bless you !

Mar. At four o'clock the rest know where to
meet me.

[Exeunt Order, Furnace, and

370

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

[Acr

Well. Now, master Marrall what's the weighty

secret
You promised to impart ?

JVIar. Sir, time nor place
Allow me to relate each circumstance,
This only in a word ; I know Sir Giles
Will come upon you for security
For his thousand pounds, which you must not con-
sent to.

As he grows in heat, as I am sure be will,
Be you but rough, and say he's in your debt
Ten times the sum, upon sale of your land ;
I had a hand in't (I speak it to my shame),
When you were defeated of it.

Well. That's forgiven.

Mar. 1 shall deserve it : then urge him to pro-
duce

The deed in which you pass'd it over to him,
Which I know he'll have about him to deliver
To the lord Lovell, with many other writings,
And present monies : I'll instruct you further,
As 1 wait on your worship : if I play not my prize*
To your full content, and your uncle's much vexa-
tion,
Hang up Jack Marrall.

Well. I rely upon thee. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Room in Overreach's House.
Enter ALLWOUTH and MARGARET.

All. Whether to yield the first praise to my lord's
Unequall'd temperance, or your constant sweetness,
That 1 yet live, my weak hands fasten'd on
Hope's anchor, spite of all storms of despair,
I yet rest doubtful.

Marg. Give it to lord Lovell ;
For what in him was bounty, in me's duty.
1 make but payment of a debt to which
My vows, in that high office register'd,
Are faithful witnesses.

Alt. 'Tis true, my dearest ;
Yet, when 1 call to mind how many fair ones
Make wilful shipwreck of their faiths, and oaths
To God and man, to fill the arms of greatness ;
And you rise up no less than a glorious starf
To the amazement of the world, that hold out
Against the stern authority of a father,
And spurn at honour, when it comes to court you ;
I am so tender of your good, that faintly,
With your wrong, I can wish myself that right
You yet are pleased to do me.

Marg. Yet, and ever.

To me what's title, when content is wanting ?
Or wealth, raked up together with much care,
And to be kept with more, when the heart pines,
In being dispossess'd of what it longs for
Beyond the Indian mines ? or the smooth brow
Of a pleased sire, that slaves me to his will,
And so his ravenous humour may be feasted
By my obedience, and he see me great,
Leaves to my soul nor faculties nor power
To make her own election ?

* if J flay not my p-ize) This expression

i frequently found in our old writers, yet the modern
editors wantonly corrupt it here and elsewhere into \f /
ylay not my part.

. ~ hd you rue tip no lest than a yloriou* tar.] A'o,
\vliich is not found in the quarto, was judiciously inserted by
Dodste .

All. But the dangers
That follow the repulse

Marg. To me they are nothing:
Let Al (worth love, I cannot be unhappy.
Suppose the worst, that, in his rage, he kill me;
A tear or two, by you dropt on my hearse
In sorrow for my fate, will call back life
So far as but to say, that I die yours ;
I then shall rest in peace : or should he prove
So cruel, as one death would not suffice
His thirst of vengeance, but with lingering torments,
In mind and body, I must waste to air,
In poverty join'd with banishment ; so you share
In my afflictions, which I dare not wish you,
So high i prize you, I could undergo them
With such a patience as should look down
With scorn on his worst malice.

All. Heaven avert

Such trials of your true affection to me !
Nor will it unto you that are all mercy,
Show so much rigour: but since we must run
Such desperate hazards, let us do our best
To steer between them.

Marg. Your lord's ours, and sure ;
And though but a young actor, second me
In doing to the life what he has plotted,

Enter OVERREACH behind.

The end may yet prove happy : now, my Allworth.

All. To your letter, and put on a seeming anger

Marg. I'll pny my lord all debts due to his title ;
And when with terms, not taking from his honour.
He does solicit me, I shall gladly hear him.
But in this peremptory, nay, commanding way,
T' appoint a meeting, and, without my knowledge,
A priest to tie the knot can ne'er be undone
Till death unloose it, is a confidence
In his lordship will deceive him.

All. 1 hope better,
Good lady.

Marg. Hope, sir, what you please : for me
I must take a safe and secure course ; 1 have
A father, and without his full consent,
Though all lords of the land kntel'd for my favour,
I can grant nothing.

Over. I like this obedience : [Comes forward*

But whatsoe'er my lord writes, must and shall be
Accepted and embraced. Sweet master Allworth,
You show yourself a true and faithful servant
To your good lord ; he has a jewel of you.
How ! frowning, Meg ? are these looks to receive
A messenger from my lord ? what's this'? gi re me it.

Marg. A piece of arrogant paper, like the in-
scriptions.

Over. [Reads.~\ Fair mistress, frum your servant

learn, all joys

That we can hope jar, ij'deftrr'd, prove toys ;
Therefore this instant, and in private, meet
A husband, that will gladly at yourjeet
Lay down his honours, tendering them to you
With all content, the church being paid her due.
Is this the arrogant piece of paper ? fool !
Will you still be one ! in the name of madness

what

Could his good honour write more to content you?
Is there aught else to be wish'd after these two,
That are already offer'd ; marriage first,
And lawful pleasure after : what would you morel

Marg. \\ liy, sir, I would be married like your
daughter ;

SCENE I.]

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

37)

Not hurried away i' the night I know not whither,
Without, all ceremony ; no friends invited
To honour the solemnity.

AIL A n't please your honour,
For so before to-morrow I must style you,
My lord desires this privacy in respect
His honounible kinsmen -are far off,
And his desires to have it done brook not
So long delay as to expect their coming ;
And yet hr stands resolved, with all due pomp,
As running at the ring, plays, masks, and tilting,
To have his marriage at court celebrated
When he has brought your honour up to London.

Over. He tells you true ; 'tis the fashion, on my

knowledge :

Yet the good lord, to please your peevishness*,
Must put it off, forsooth ! and lose a night,
In which perhaps he might get two boys on thee.
Tempt me no further, if you do, this goad
Shall prick you to him.

Murg. I could be contented,
Were you but by, to do a father's part,
And give me in the church.

Over. So my lord have you,
What do I care who gives you ? since my lord
Does purpose to be private, I'll not cross him.
I know ix>t, master Allworth. how my lord
May be provided, and therefore there's a purse
Of gold, 'twill serve this night's expense ; to-mor-
row

I'll furnish him with any sums : in the mean time,
Use my ring to my chaplain : he is beneficed
At my manor of Got'em, and call'd parson Willdo :
'Tis no matter for a license, I'll bear him out in't.

Marg. With your favour, sir, what warrant is
your ring I

He may suppose I got that twenty ways,
Without your knowledge ; ar.d then to be refused,
Were such a stain upon me ! if you pleased, sir,
Your presence would do better.

Over. Still perverse!
I say again, 1 w ill not cross my lord ;
Yet I'll prevent you too*. Paper and ink, there !

All. I can furnish you.

Over. I thank you, I can write then. [ Writes.

AH. You may, if you please, put out the name of

my lord,

In respect he comes disguised, and only write,
Marry her to this gentleman.

Over. Well advised.
'Tis done; away ! [Margaret kneels]. My blessing,

girl ? thou hast it.

Nay, no reply, begone : good master Allworth,
This shall be the best night's work you ever made.

All. I hope so, sirf.

[Exeunt Allworth and Margaret.

Over. Farewell! Now all's cocksure:
Methinks I hear already knights and ladies
Say, Sir Giles Overreach, how is it with
Your honourable daughter ? has her honour
Slept well to-night? or, Will her honour please
To accept this monkey, dog, or paroqueto
(This is state in ladies), or my eldest son
To be her page, and wait upon her trencher?
My ends, my ends are compassed ! then for Well-
born

And the lands; were be once married to the wi-
dow

I have him here I can scarce contain myself,
I am so full of joy, nay joy all over.

[Exit.

ACT V.

SCENE I. A Roomin Lady Allworth's House.

Enter Lord LOVELL, Lady ALLWORTH, and AMBLE.

L. All. By this you know how strong the motives

were

That did, my lord, induce me to dispense
A little with my gravity, to advance,
In personating some few favours to him,
The plots and projects of the down-trod Wellborn.
Nor shall I e'er repent, although I suffer
Jn some few men's opinions for't, the action;
For lie that ventured all for my dear husband,
Mk'ht justly cliiim an obligation from me,
Topny him such a courtesy, which had I
Coyly, or over-curiously denied.
It might have argued me of little love
To the deceased.

Lov. Wli it you intended, madam,
For the poor gentleman, hath found good success ;

* Yet the good lord, to pleate your peevishness,] i. e. you,
his daughter, tu whom he gives the title. 1 have sometimes
thought that (his mode of expression, which is more com-
mon than cursory readers, perhaps, imagine, is not suffi-
ciently attended to by the commentators. Many difficulties
Mould vanish it' these appellations were duly noticed and
applied.

For, as I understand, his debts are paid,

And he once more furnish'd for fair employment :

But all the arts that I have used to raise

The fortunes of your joy and mine, young Allworth,

Stand yet in supposition, though I hope well.

For the young lovers are in wit more pregnant

Than their years can promise: and for their desires,

On my knowledge, they are equal.

L. All. AsJ my wishes

Are with yours, my lord ; yet give me leave to fear
The building, though well grounded : to deceive
Sir Giles, that's both a lion and a fox
In his proceedings, were a work beyond
The strongest undertakers ; not the trial
Of two weak innocents.

Lov. Despair not, madam :

Yet I'll pt event you too.) From the Latin, as 1 have
already observed. 1 II anticipate all yuur objections.

t All. 1 hope to, air. I 1 cannot much approve of the
conduct of this young couple ; it is 'too full ot' artifice and
deceit. Undoubtedly, tin- insupportable pride and tyranny
of Overreach, make him a proper subject to be practised
on ; but not by hi* daughter, whose character has bven hi-
therto so conducted as to gain the estei m of every reader.

J As my wishft, $c ] A > is changed in both the modern
editi ins into Though, for no better reason, I believe, than
that the editors did not discover the sense of a plain pas-
wge.

372

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

[Aci V.

Hard things are compass'd oft by easy means ;
And judgment, being a gift derived from heaven,
Though sometimes lodged in the hearts of worldly

men,

That ne'er consider from whom thev receive it,
Forsakes such as abuse the giver of it,
Which is the reason, that the politic
And cunning statesman, that believes he fathoms
The counsels of all kingdoms on the earth,
Is by simplicity oft over-reach'd*.

L. Alt. May he be so ! yet, in his name to ex-
press it
Is a good omen.

Lov. May it to myself
Prove so, good lady, in my suit to you !
What think you of the motion ?

L. All. Troth, my lord,
My own unworthiness may answer for me ;
For had you, when that I was in my prime,
My virgin flower uncropp'd, presented me
With this great favour ; looking on my lowness
Not in a glass of self-love, but of truth,
I could not but have thought it, as a blessing
Far, far beyond my merit.

Lov. You are too modest,
And undervalue that which is above
My title, or whatever I call mine.
I grant, were I a Spaniard, to marry
A widow might disparage me ; but being
A true-born Englishman, I cannot find
How it can taint my honour : nay, what's more,
That which you think a blemish, is to me
The fairest lustre. You already, madam,
Have given sure proofs how dearly you can cherish
A husband that deserves you ; which confirms me,
That, if I am not wanting in my care
To do you service, you'll be still the same
That you were to your Allworth : in a word,
Our years, our states, our births are not unequal,
You being descended nobly, and allied so ;
If then you may be won to make me happy,
But join your lips to mine, and that shall be
A solemn contract.

L. All. I were blind to my own good,
Should I refuse it ; yet, my lord, receive me
As such a one, the study of whose whole life
Shall know no other object but to please you.

Lov. If I return not, with all tenderness,
Equal respect to you, may I die wretched !

L. All. There needs no protestation, my lord,
To her that cannot doubt.

Enter WELLBORN.

You are welcome, sir.
Now you look like yourself.
Well. And will continue
Such in my free acknowledgment, that I am
Your creature, madam, and will never hold
My life mine own, when you please to command it.
Lov. It is a thankfulness that well becomes

you ;

You could not make choice of a better shape
To dress your mind in.

L. All. For me, I am happy

That my endeavours prosper'd. Saw you of late
ir Giles, your uncle 1

It by timplicty oft over-reached. I The quarto reads,
and perhaps by design, overreach. For the rest, the obser-
vation is a most admirable one, and worthy of all praise.
It may serve to explain many fancied incunsisti'iicics in the
conduct of the Overreaches in all ages.

Well. I heard of him, madam,
By his minister, Marrall ; he's grown into strange

passions

About his daughter : this last night he look'd for
Your lordship at his house, but missing you,
And she not yet appeariug, his wise bead
Is much perplex'd and troubled.

Lov. It may be,
Sweetheart, my project took.

L. All. I strongly hope.

Over, [within.] Ha ! find her, booby, thou huge

lump of nothing,
I'll bore thine eyes out else.

Well. May it please your lordship,
For some ends of mine own, but to withdraw
A little out of sight, though not of hearing,
You may, perhaps, have sport.

Lov. You shall direct me. [Steps aside.

Enter OVERREACH, with distracted looks, driving in
MARRALL before him, with a box,

Over. I shall sol fa you, rogue !

Mar. Sir, for what cause
Do you use me thus?

Over. Cause, slave ! why, I am angry,
And thou a subject only fit for beating,
And so to cool my choler. Look to the writing ;
Let but the seal be broke upon the box,
That has slept in my cabinet these three years,
I'll rack thy soul for't.

Mar. I may yet cry quittance,
Though now I suffer, and dare not resist. [Aside.

Over. Lady, by your leave, did you see my

daughter, lady?

And the lord her husband? are they in your house?
If they are, discover, that I may bid them joy ;
And, as an entrance to her plnce of honour,
See your ladyship on her left hand, and make

courtsies*

When she nods on you ; which you must receive
As a special favour.

L. All. When I know, sir Giles,
Her state requires such ceremony, I shall pay it!
But, in the mean time, as I am myself,
I give you to understand, 1 neither know
Nor care where her honour is.

Over. When you once see her
Supported, and led by the lord her husband.
You'll be taught better. Nephew.

Well. Sir.

Over. No more !

Well. 'Tis all I owe you.

Over. Have your redeem'd rags
Made you thus insolent?

Welt. Insolent to you !

Why, what are you, sir, unless in your years,
At the best, more than myself?

Over. His fortune swells him :
'Tis rank, he's married.

L. All. This is excellent !

Over. Sir, in calm language, though I seldom

use it,

I am familiar with the cause that makes you
Bear up thus bravely; there's a certain buz
Of a stolen marriage, do you hear ? of a stolen mar-
riage,

and make courtsies

"When the nodt on you ;} So the old copy. Coxeter and
Mr. M. Mason strangely read- -and make court !

SCENE l.J

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

373

In which 'tis said there's somebody hath heen

cozen'd ;
I name no parties.

Well. Well, sir, and wbat follows?

Over. Marry, this ; since you are peremptory :

remember,

Upon mere hope of your great match, I lent you
A thousand pounds : put me in good security,
And suddenly, by mortgage or by statute,
Of some of your new possessions, or I'll have you
Dragg'd in your lavender robes* to the gaol : you

know me,
And therefore do not trifle.

Well. Can you be

So cruel to your nephew, now he's in
The way to rise ? was this the courtesy
You did me in pure hive, and no ends else ?

Over. End me no ends ! engage the whole estate,
And force your spouse to sign it, you shall have
Three or tour thousand more, to roar and swagger
And revel in bawdy taverns.

Well. And beg after ;
?Jean you not so ?

Oier. My thoughts are mine, and free.
Shall I have security ?

Well. Xo, indeed you shall not,
Nor bond, nor bill, nor bare acknowledgment;
Your great looks fright not me.

Over. But my deeds shall.
Outbraved! [Bo/ft draw.

L.Alt. Help, murder ! murder!

Enter Servants.

Well. Let him come on,
A'ith all his wrongs and injuries about Lira,
Arm'd with his cut-throat practices to guard him ;
The right that I bring with me will defend me,
And punish his extortion.

Over. That I had thee
But single in the field !

L. All. You may ; but make not
My house your quarrelling scene.

Over. Were't in a church,
By heaven and hell, I'll do't.

Mar. Now put him to
The showing of the deed.

WelL This rage is vain, sir ;

For fighting, fear not, you shall have your hands full
Upon the least incitement ; and whereas
You charge me with a debt of a thousand pounds,
If there be law (howe'er you have no conscience),
Either restore my land, or I'll recover
A debt, that's truly due to me from you,
In value ten times more than what you challenge.

Oier. 1 in thy debt ! O impudence ! did I not

purchase

The land left by thy father, that rich land,
That had continued in Wellborn's name
Twenty descents ; which, like a riotous fool,
Thou didst make sale of? Is not here inclosed
The deed that does confirm it mine ?

M<ir. Now, now !

]\'ell. I do acknowledge none ; I ne'er pass'd over
Any such land ; I grant, for a year or two
You Lad it in trust ; which if you do discharge,
Surrendering the possession, you shall ease
Yourself and me of chargeable suits in law,
Which, if you prove not honest, as I doubt it,
Must of necessity follow.

L. All. In my judgment
He does advise you well.

Over. Good ! good ! conspire
With your new husband, lady ; second him
In his dishonest practices ; but when
This manor is extended to my use*,
Y'ou'll speak in an humbler kev, and sue for favour.

L. All. Never: do not hope it.

Well. Let despair first seize me.

Over. Yet, to shut up thy mouth, and make thee

give

Thyself the lie, and loud lie, I draw out
The precious evidence ; if ihou canst forswear
Thy hand and seal, and make a forfeit of

[Opens the box, and displays the bond.
Thy ears to the pillory, see ! here's that will make
My interest clear- ha !

L. Alt. A fair skin of parchment.

Well. Indented, I confess, and labels too ;
But neither wax nor words. How ! thunderstruck 1
Not a syllable to insult with? My wise uncle.
Is this your precious evidence, this that makes
Y'our interest clear?

Over. 1 am o'erwhelm'd with wonder !
What prodigy is this? what subtile devil
Hath mzed out the inscription? the wax
Turn'd into dust! the rest of my deeds whole,
As when they were deliver'd. and this only
Made nothing-! do you deal with witches, rascal?
There is a statute for you, which will bringf
Y'our neck in an hempen circle ; yes, there is ;
And now 'tis better thought forj, cheater, know
This juggling shall not save you.

Well. To save tbee
Would beggar the stock of mercy.

Oier. Marrall !

Mar. Sir.

Over. Though the witnesses are dead, your te

timony

Help with an oath or two : and for thy master,
Thy liberal master, my good honest servant,
I know thou wilt swear any thing to dash
This cunning sleight: besides, 1 know thou art
A public notary, and such stand in law
For a dozen witnesses : the deed being drawn too
By thee, my careful Mairall and deliver'd
\\ hen thou wert present, will make good my title.
Wilt thou not swear this ?

Mar. I ! no, 1 assure you :

but when

This manor t* extended to my use.] i. e. leized. It is ;
legal phrase , and occurs continually .

t There is a statute for yon, <\.c. This statute, which nn
fortunately brought man) a neck into a hrmpen circle, wai
made in the first year of James It decreed the punishment
of death for a variety of impo-sible crimes; which jet were
fully proved upon a number f poor ignorant superannuated
wretches, who were c.ijoled or terrified into a full confes-
sion of them. This diabolical law was repealed about the
middle of the last centurj.

; And now 'tis better thought for.1 This is right, and
perfect!) agieeable to the practice of MassiiiRer's times, in-
deed, of all times: >et Mr. M. Mason is not content, but ar
bitrarily reads, And now 'tis better thought of I

574

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

[ ACT V.

I have a conscience not sear'd up like yours ;
I know no deeds.

Over. Wilt ihou betray me?

Mar. Keep bim

From using of bis bands, I'll use my tongue
To his no lutle torment.

Oiw. Mine own varlet
Rebel against me !

Mar Yes, and uncase you too.
The idiot, the Patch, the slave, the booby*,
The property fit only to be beaten
For your morning exercise, your football, or
The unprofitable lump of flesh, your drudge;
Can now anatomize you, and lay open
All your black plots, and level with the earth
Your hill of pride : and, with these gabions

guarded,

Unload my great artillery, and shake,
Nay, pulverize, the walls you think defend you.

L. Ail. How he foams at the mouth with rage !

Well. To him again.

Over. O that I had thee in my gripe, I would

tear thee
Joint, after joint !

Mar. I know you are a tearer.
But I'll have first your fangs pared off, and then
Come nearer to you ; when I have discover'd,
And made it good before the judge, what ways,
And devilish practices, you used to cozen with
An army of whole families, who yet alive,
And but enroll'd for soldiers, were able
To take in Dunkirkf.

Well. All will come out.

L. All. The better.

Over. But that I will live, rogue, to torture

thee,

And make thee wish, and kneel, in vain, to die,
These swords that keep thee from me, should fir

here,

Although they made my body but one wound,
But I would reach thee.

Lov. Heaven's hand is in this ;
One bandog worry the other ! [Aside.

Over. I play the fool,
And make my anger but ridiculous :
There will be a time and place, there will be,

cowards,
When you shall feel what I dare do.

Well. I think so :

You dare do any ill, yet want true valour
To be honest, and repent.

The idiot, the Patch, the slave, $ e .] The vengeance
of a lutle mind, confident of its cunning, is happily por-
trayed in the recapitulation of those abusive terms which
had been, at various times, lavished upon Marrall.and which,
thontjh lie submitted to them in silence, he had carefully
treasured up till the occasion should offer of retorting them
with sarcastic triumph and exultation.

t An arm;/ of whole families who yet live
And but fnroll'dfor soldiers, were able
To take in Dunkirk.] This speech is very erroneously
given by Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason. For live I have ven-
tured to substitute alive; as I believe that the author had in
view a passage in the Virgin Martyr :
" Were the Christians.

Wiiose names stand here, alive and arm'd, not Rome
Could move upon her hinges."

To take in, means to tubdne, to sei/e. The modern edi-
tors, ignorant of this (and, I may venture to add, after the
numerous instances which we have already had of this fa-
miliar expression, inexcusably ignorant), strike out in, and
reduce the line to mere prose!

Over. They are words I know not,
Nor e'er will learn. Patience, the beggar's virtue,

Enter GREEDY and Parson WILLDO*.
Shall find no harbour here : after these storms
At length a calm appears. Welcome, most wel-
come !

There's comfort in thy looks ; is the deed done?
Is my daughter married ? say but so, my chaplain,
And I am tame.

Willdo. Married ! yes, I assure you.

Over. Then vanish all sad thoughts ! there's more

gold for thee.

My doubts and fears are in the titles drown'd
Of my honourable, my right honourable daughter.
Greedy. Here will be feasting ; at least for a

month

I am provided : empty guts, croak no more,
You shall be stuffed like bagpipes, not with wind,
But bearing dishesf.
Over. Instantly be here ?

[Whispering to Willdo.
To my wish ! to my wish ! Now you that plot

against met,

And hoped to trip my heels up, that contemn'd me,
Think on't and tremble: [Loud music], they come !

I hear the music.
A lane there for my lord !
Well. This sudden heat
May yet be cool'd, sir.

Over. Make way there for my lord !

Enter ALLWORTH and MARGARET.

Marg. Sir, first your pardon, then your blessing,

with

Your full allowance of the choice I have made.
As ever you could make use of your reason,

[Kneeling

Grow not in passion ; since you may as well
Call back the day that's past, as untie the knot
Which is too strongly fasten'd : not to dwell
Too long on words, this is my husband.

Over. How !

All. So I assure you ; all the rites of marriage
With every circumstance, are past. Alas ! sir,
Although I am no lord, but a lord's page,
Your daughter and my loved wife mourns not for it ,
And for right honourable son-in-law, you may say
Your dutiful daughter.

Over. Devil ! are they married ?

Willdo. Do a father's part, and say, Heaven give
them joy !

* Enter GREEDY and Parson WILLDO.] So the parson
is called in the list of dramatic persona;, and in every part
of the play : Yet I know not for what ifa.-.on the nioderr
editors continually call him H'ell-do'. They must lia\e a
little notion of humour, asof the true character of Overreach
ifthey imagine ihis to be the better name.

+ But bearing dishes.] i. e. solid, substantial dishes; 01
what the steward in The Unnatural Combat, calls portly
viands. I mention this because the word is frequently mis-
taken :

" Cloudesle with a bcaryng arrowc

Clave the wande in two." Old Ballad

" A bearing arrow," says Slrutt, " is an arrow shot com-
pass, i. e. so as the arrow in its flight formed a segment of
a circle." And so we get the praise of accuracy ! A bearing
arrow is, in three words, a strong and weighty arrow.

J To my wish Ho my wi?h ! Now you that plot ayainst
me, &c. How much better does this express the easier tri-
umph of Overreach, than the tame and unmeirical reading ol
Coxeter and Mr. M. .Mason! they omit, to my wish! which,
as they prob .bly counted the syllables upun their finger*
appeared to them a grievous redundancy.

ScENF I.]

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

Over. Confusion and ruin ! speak, and speak

quickly,

Or tliou art dead.
Willdo. They are married.
Over. Thou hadst better

Have made a contract with the king of fiends,
Than these: my brain turns!

Willdo. Why this rage tome?
Is not this your letter, sir, and these the words?
Marry her to this gentleman?
Orer. It cannot :

N>T will 1 e'er believe it, 'sdeath ! I will not;
That I, that, in all passages I touch'd
At worldly profit, have not left a print
Where 1 have trod for the most curious search
To trace my footsteps, should be gull'd by children,
Baffled and fool'd, and all my hopes and labours
Defeated and made void.

Well. As it appears,
You are so, my ^rave uncle.

Orer. Village nurses

Revenge their wrongs with curses ; I'll not waste
A syllable, but thus 1 take the life
Which, wretched, I gave to thee.

[ Attempts to kill Margaret.

Lov [coming forward.] Hold, for your own sake !
Though charity to your daughter hath quite left

you,

Will you do an act, though in your hopes lost here,
Can leave no hope for peace or rest hereafter ?
Consider ; at the best you are but a man,
And cannot so create your aims, but that
They may be cross'd.

Oier. Lord ! thus I spit at. thee,
And at thy counsel; and again desire thee*,
And as thou art a soldier, if thy valour
Dares show itself, where multitude and example
Lead not the way, let's quit the house, and change
Six words in private.
Lov. 1 am ready.
L. All. Stay, sir,
Contest with one distracted !

Well. You'll grow like him,
Should you answer his vain challenge.

Over. Are you pale ?

Borrow his help though Hercules call it odds,
I'll stand against both as I am, heram'd in thus.
Since, like a Lybian lion in the toil,
My fury cannot reach the coward hunters,
And only spends itself, I'll quit the place :
Alone I can do nothing, but I have servants
And friends to second me ; and if 1 make not
This house a heap of ashes (by my wrongs,
What I have spoke I will make good !) or leave
One throat uncut, if it be possible,
Hell, add to my afflictions ! [Exit.

Mar. Is't not brave sport ?
Greedy. Brave sport! I am sure it has ta'en away

my stomach ;
I do not like the sauce.

All. Nay, weep not, dearest,
Though it express your pity ; what's decreed
Above we cannot alter.

-and again desire thee,

And, as thou art a soldier, let's quit the house, &c.]

I fhoM not have thought this culled tor an explanation,
liarl not Mr. M. Mason chosen to misunderstand it, and
alter the text : he rants

and ayain defy thee.

L. All. His threats move me
No scruple, madam.

Mar. Was it not a rare trick,

An it please your worship, to make the deed no-
thing ?

I can do twenty neater, if you please
To purchase and grow rich ; for I will be
Such a solicitor and steward for you,
As never worshipful had.

Welt. I do believe thee ;

But first discover the quaint means you used
'I o raze out the conveyance?

Mar. They are mysteries
Not to be spoke in public: certain minerals
Incorporated in the, ink and wax.
Besides, he gave me nothing, but still fed me
With hopes and blows ; and that was the inducement
To tins conundrum. If it please your worship
To call to memory, this mad beast once caused me
To urge you or to drown or hang yourself;
I'll do the like to him, if you command me.

Well. You are a ra-cal ! he that dares be false
To a master though unjust, will ne'er be true
To any other. Look not for reward
Or favour from me ; I will shun thy sight
As I would do a basilisk's : thank my pity,
If thou keep thy ears ; howe'er, 1 will take order
Your practice shall be silenced.

Greedu. I'll commit him,
If you will have me, sir.

Well. That were to little purpose;
His conscience be his prison. Not a word,
But instantly be gone.

Ord. Take this kick with you.
Amb. And this.

Fnrn. If that I had my cleaver here,
I would divide your knave's head.

Mur. This is the haven
False servants stiil arrive at. [Exit.

Re-enter OVERREACH.

L. All. Come again !

Lov. Fear not, I am your guard.

Well. His looks are ghastly.

Willdo. Some little time 1 have spent, under your

favours,

In physical studies, and if my judgment err not,
He's mad beyond recovery : but observe him,
And look to yourselves.

Orer. Why, is not the whole world
Included in myself! to what use then
Are friends and servants ? Say there were a squadron
Of pikes, lined through with shot, when I am

mounted

Upon my injuries, shall I fear to charge them?
No : III through the battalia, arid that routed,

[Flourishing his sword sheathed.
I'll fall to execution. Ha ! 1 am feeble:
Some undone widow sits upon my arm,
And takes away the use oft; and my sword,
Glued to my scabbard with wrong'd orphans' tears,
Will not be drawn. Ha! what are these? sure.

hangmen,

That come to bind my hands, and then to drag me
Before the judgment-seat : now they are new shapes
And do appear like furies, with steel whips
To scourge my ulcerous soul. Shall I then fail
Ingloriously, and yieid? no; spite of fa'.e
I will be forced to hell like to myself.

376

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

(Arr V.

Though you were legions of accursed spirits,
Thus would I fly among you. [Rushes forward.

Welt, '('here's no help ;
Disarm him first, then hind him.

Greedy. Take a mittimus,
And carry him to Bedlam.

Lou. How he foams !

Well. And bites the earth !

Willdo. Carry him to some dark room,
There try what art can do for his recovery.

Marg. O my dear father !

[They force Overreach <]fl*.

All. You must be patient, mistress.

Lov. Here is a precedent to teach wicked men,
That when they leave religion, and turn atheists.
Their own abilities leave them. Pray you take

comfort,

I will endeavour you shall be his guardians
In his distractions : and for your land, master

Wellborn.

Be it good or ill in law, I'll be an umpire
Between you, and this, the undoubted heir
Of sir Giles Overreach ; for me, here's the anchor
That I must fix on.

All. What you shall determine,
Mv lord, I will allow of.

Well. 'Tis the language

That I speak too ; but there is something else
Beside the repossession of my land,
And payment of my debts, that I must practise.
1 had a reputation, but 'twas lost
In my loose course ; and until I redeem it
Some noble way, I am but half made up.
It is a time of action ; if your lordship
Will please to confer a company upon me
In your command, I doubt not, in my service
To my king, and country, but I shall do something'
That may make me right again.

Lov. Your suit is granted,
And you loved for die motion.

Well. Nothing wants then
But your allowance [To the Spectator!.

EPILOGUE.

BUT your allowance and in that our all
Is comprehended ; it being known, nor we,
Nor he that wrote the comedy, can be free
Without your manumission ; which if you
Grant willingly, as a fair favour due

* A this is ihe last appearance of Sir Giles, it may not be
amiss to advert to Ihe catastrophe of his real history. " Sir
Giles Mompesson was summoned to appear before the House
of Commons to the charges made against him ; by the House
he was committed to the custody of the serjeant at arms,
from whose charge, by stratagem, or connivance, he escaped.
On the 3d of March, 1020, a proclamation was issutd forhis
apprehension (Rymer's Faedera, Tom. xvii., Vbt). He ef-
fected his flight over sea, and this proclamation was followed
by another on the 30th of the same month, expelling and
banishing him the king's dominions, he being degraded of
the order of knighthood (f'wdera, Tom. xvii., 289 1."

GILCHRIST.

With respept lo his associate and abettor, Sir Francis
Michel (Justice Greedy), he also was degraded, then fined a
thousand pound, carried on horseback through the principal
itreets, with his face to the tail, and imprisoned for life.

To the poet's, and our labours, (as you may),
For we despair not, gentlemen, of the play:
We jointly shall proi'rss your grace hath might
To teach us action, and him how to.write*.

We find that the players in Massinger's age did " not
despair" of the ? uci ess of this Comedy: and the continu-
ance of the public favour has justified their confidence in
its meiit. Indeed it possesses many qualifications for the
stage. The principal event, though subject to an objection
which will be presently noticed, is conceived with much
novelty and humour. During its progress many entertaining
incidents arise, and a strong and lively picture is presented
of domes'ic manners. Its useful tendency is also as promi-
nent as the amusement which it confessedly brings. No
Play of Massinger is marked with more varieiy of seriofls-
ness of moral; from VVejIborn we learn, that he who
squanders his substance on the unworthy, shall be rewarded
with ingratitude and insult; and that the return of wealth
brings lint lilile satisfaction unless it be accompanied with
a returning s-eii?e if honour: from the associates of Over-
reach, that vicious friend-hips are but treacheries, false in
their principle, even while they last, and spurned alike by
virtue, both while they last, and when they fail: and from
Overreach himself, that there is a secret hand which coun-
teracts injustice, infatuates subtlety, and turns the arts of
selfishness into folly and ruin. His madness is judicial: and
Ma>singer holds him out to the world,

" a precedent to teach wicked men

That when they leave religion, and turn atheists,

Their own abilities leave them. "

This character is drawn with gi eat force ; and as the story
proceeds, Overreach takes place of Wellborn in the attention
of the reader. He is divided between avarice and vanity ;
avarice which grows from his nature as its proper fruit;
and vanity which is grafted upon the success of his avarice.
In this part we meet with strong marks of a disposition
basely aspiring. He betrays his vulgar joy on account of
the expected alliance, to those from whom prudence and
delicacy would equally conceal it: and he glories in the
prospect even of his own humiliation in the presence of his
daughter, and looks with satisfaction to the moment when
his very prerogatives as a father shall be kept in awe by
her superior rank.

The other characters extend their influence beyond them-
selves. The mild dignity of lord Lovell and lady All-
worth agreeably relieves the harshness of Overreach ; and a
similar ertect is produced by the attractive innocence and
simplicity of Margaret and her lover. But here an observa
tion must be m:ide, of a less favourable nature ; by a prac-
tice too common with Massinger, the better characters
forget their delicacy, and are degraded. Lovell might
secretly promote the views of Allworth : but while he does
this, he ought not to treat with Overreach on his own account.
Lady Allworth is equally faulty, and her unexpected and
whimsical adoption of Wellborn ill agrees either with her
retirement, her principles, or her express reprobation of his
character. The two lovers also lose their simplicity; and
when the father is to be deceived, they suddenly become
crafty beyond their years, their nature, and knowledge of he
world. But all this was well known to Massinger; and he
has provided certain acknowledgments for it. Lovell and
the lady call each other to account for the apparent strange-
ness of their proceedings, and are mutually excused by the
motives on which they act; and the spleen of Massinger
seems to have been so strong against Overreach, that he
thought a departure from character not unpardonable, pro-
vided he could have the satisfaction of showing him out-
witted by " two weak innocents," and " gulled by children."
The editor has produced sufficient proof that a real person
was aimed at in Overreach. The circumstance jnrt men-
tioned is one of the many internal marks of such a design.
The reprehension is vehement and incessant ; and consis-
tency is disregarded, while ignominy or ridicule is heaped
upon the obnoxious person. This secret purpose seems to
have been the real occasion of the severity which marks some
of the scene* : they are more passionate than playful ; and
have rather toe properties of direct and urgent satire, than the
spoi tivrnc.-s an'! versatility of comic wit. DR. IRELAND.

THE CITY MADAM.

THE CITT MADAM.] This " Comedy," of which it is not easy to speak in appropriate terms of praise
was licensed by Sir Hi j nry Herbert, May 25th, 1632, and acted by the king's company.

" The plot, the business, the conduct, and the language of the piece," as the Companion to the PLyhouss
justly observes, "are all admirable;" yet I do not know that it was ever revived till the year 1771, when
the late Mr. Love made some changes in it, and procured it to be acted at Richmond.

Mr. Waldron, of the Theatre Rojal Drury Lane, is in possession of a very old alteiation of this Play,
in which, as usual, not only the titles, but the names of the dramatis persona are changed. 1 have looked
through it, but can find nothing to commend : it is called The Cure of Pride. This gentleman informs me
that Mr. Love, who was the manager of the Richmond Theatre, played the part of Luke with great success,
and that he afterwards prevailed on Mr. Garrick to bring the play forward at Drury Lane.

i short time since it was reproduced with considerable alterations by Sir J. li. Burges, under the name of
The Wife and Brother, and acted for a few nights at the Lyceum. But the drift of the original was totally
mis aken, and the failure was, of course, complete.

Tlie City Madam was received, as the quarto says, with great applause ; it was, however, kept in the
players' hands till 1659*, when it was given to the press by Andrew Pennycuicke, one of the actors.

TO THE TRULY NOBLE AND VIRTUOUS

LADY ANN COUNTESS OF OXFORDt,

HONOURED LADY,

IN that age when wit and learning were not conquered by injury and violence, this poem was the object
of love and commendations, it being composed by an infallible pen, and censured by an unerring auditory.
In this epistle 1 shall not need to make un apology for plays in general, by exhibiting their antiquity and
utility: in a word, they are mirrors or glasses which none but defoimed faces and fouler consciences fear
to look into. The encouragement 1 had to prefer this dedication to your powerful protection proceeds from
the universal fame of the deceased author, who (although he composed many) wrote none amiss, and this
may justly be ranked amon^ his best. 1 have redeemed it from the teeth of Time, by committing of it to
the press, but more in imploring v our patronage. I will not slander it with my praises ; it is commendation
enough to call it _M ASSIMJEU'S ; if it may gain your allowance and pardon, 1 am highly gratified, and desire
only to wear the happy title of,

Madam,

Your most humble servant,

ANDREW PENNYCUICKE.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

LORD LACY.

SIR JOHN FRUGAL^ a merchant.

SIR MAURICE LACY$, son to lord Lacy.

MR. PLENTY, a country gentleman.

LUKE FRUGAL, brother to sir John.

GOLDWIRE senior, ) .

! two gentlemen.
1 RADEWELI, senior, )

GOLDWIRE junior, j their sons, apprentices to sir
TRADFAVELL junior, $ John Frugal.
STARGAZE, an astrologer.
HOYST, a decayed gentleman.

FORTUNE, \ ,

( decayed merchants.

PENURY, j 9

HOLDFAST, steward to sir John Frugal.

SCENE,

RAMBLE, >

c ( tiro hectors.

SCUFFLE, $

DING'IM, a pimp.

GETTALL}. a lio.i-keeper.

Page, SheriJ}', Marshal, Serjeaitti.

her daughters.

LADY FRUGAL.

ANNE,

MARV,

MILLISCENT, her woman.

SHAVE'EM, a courtezan*

SECRET, a bawd.

Orpheus, Charon, Cerberut, Chorus, Musicians, Par

tern, Servants.
London.

This is the date of all the copies which I have seen, with the exception of one, that lately fell into my hands: this has the
year 158 on the title-p.ige. It was probably thrown ott in 1058- ...

t Daughter of 1'aul Viscount Dinning, and wife of Aubrey de Vere Earl of Oxford.

| In tin- old li?t of dramatis per.-ome these two characters are named Sir John Rich and Sir John Lacy, notwithstanding
the former is called Sir Juan fr'rutjal in every part of the pla> , and the latter Sir Maurice Lacy, in the only two place.- in
which his Christian name is mentioned.

5 Gettall, a box keeper.} Or, a> \ve fay now, ymoni-porier to a gambling house. This important character I am told never
plats, but is seated in a box or elevated chair. " whence he declares the state of the game, the odds, and the success of the
parties."

S78

THE CITY MADAM.

[Acr I

ACT I.

SCENE I. A Room in Sir John Frugal's House.

Enter GOLDWIRE junior, and TRADEWELLjunior.

Gold. The ship is safe in the Pool then ?

Trade. And ninkes good,

In her rich fraught, the name she bears, The Speed-
well :

My master will find it ; for, on my certain know-
ledge,

For every hundred that he ventured in her
She hath returned him five.

Gold. And it comes timely ;
For, besides a payment on 'lie nail for a manor
Late purchased by my master, his young daughters
Are ripe for marriage.

Trade. Who? Nan and Mall?

Gold. Mistress Anne and Mary, and with some

addition,

Or 'tis more punishable in our house
Than scandalum magnatum.

Trade, 'Tis great pity

Such a gentleman as my master (for that title
His being a citizen cannot take from him)
Hath no male heir to inherit his estate,
And keep his name alive.

Gold. The want of one,

Swells my young mistresses, and their madam-
mother,
With hopes above their birth, and scale: their

dreams are

Of being made countesses, and they take state
As they were such already. When you went
To the Indies, there was some shape and proportion
Of a merchant's house in our family : but since
My master, to gain precedency for my mistress
Above seme elder merchants' wives, was knighted,
'Tis grown a little court in bravery,
Variety of fashions, and thoso rich ones :
There are few great ladies going to a mask
Thai do outshine ours in their every-day habits.

Trade. 'Tis strange, my master in his wisdom can
Give the reins to such exorbitance.

G.-ld. He must,

Or there's no peace nor rest for him at home :
I fjmnt his stale will be;ir it ; yet lie's censured
For his indulgence, and, for Sir John Frugal
By some styled Sir John Prodigal.

Trade. Is his brother,
Master Luke Frugal, living?

Gold. Yes; the more
His misery, poor man !

Trade. Still in the Counter?

Gold. In a worse place. He was redeem'd from

the hole,
To live, in our house, in hell*; since his base usage

* He tea* redeem'd from the hole,

To live, in our house, in hell ;] This passage alludes to a
pastime called Barji-y-brake. M. MASON.

Never did so strange a conceit enter mortal head. What
5s there in the miserable situation of Luke that could pos-
iibly put Goldwire, or ralher Mr. M. Mason, in mind of a
pastime ? The hole was one of the wretched departments
of a gaol, in which prisoners, who coult not afford to pay
for better accommodations, were obliged to take up their
residence. It is frequently mentioned by our old writers.
Thus Wilkins: Can it " accord with the state of gentry to
submit myself from the feather-bed in the master's side, or

Consider'd, 'tis no better. My proud lady
Admits him to her table, marry, ever
Beneath the salt*, and there he sits the subject
Of her contempt and scorn ; and, dinner ended,
His courteous nieces find employment for him
Fitting an under-prentice, or a footman,
And not an uncle.

Trade. I wonder, being a scholar
Well read and travell'd, the world yielding means
For men of such desert, he should endure it.

Gold. He does, with a strange patience j andtous.
The servants, so familiar nay humble !

Enter STARGAZE, Larfi/ FRUGAL, ANNE, MARY, and

MII.LISCENT, in several postures with looking glasses

at their girdles.

I'll tell you but I am cut off. Look these
Like a citizen's wife and daughters?

Trade. In their habits

They appear other things : but what are the motives
Of this strange preparation ?

Gold. The young wagtails

Expect their suitors : the first, the son and heir
Of the Lord Lacy, who needs my master's money,
As his daughter does his honour ; the second, Mr

Plenty,

A rough-hewn gentleman, and newly come
To a great estate ; and so all aids of art
In them's excusable.

L. Frug. You have done your parts here .
To your study, and be curious in the search
Of the nativities. [Exit Stargaze.

Trade. Methiuks the mother,

the flock-bed in the knight's ward, to the straw-bed in the
hole ?" Miseries of Inforced Alarriaye.

Hell was a spot jet moie \vi etched than the hole :
" For in the lowest deep, a lower deep
Still Ihreaten'd to devour."

It was a cant name for the darkest part of the hole, or for
an obscure dungeon in some of our prisons, for which the
former appellation appeared too favourable a term. Thus in
'J'he Covntrr-rat, Ki08:

" In Wood-street's hole, or Poultry's hell."
And to this si-use of the word Goldwire alludes. The
Counter, from ihe hole ol which LuV e was redeemed, stood in
Wood-street.

marry, ever

Ueneath the s..ll,] Thus Cariwright :

" Where you are bt-.-t estcem'd,

You only pasi under the favourable name
Of humble cousins that sit beneath the salt."

Love's Concert.

Mmliiger generally opens his plots with great ingenuity;
but here he is particularly happy. We are at once admitted
into tlip interior of the merchant's family , and prepared for
the conduct of the different branches of it, before they
appear, by a dialogue as na'ural as it is easy and unforced.

i u-ith looking-glasses at their girdles.] It ap-
pears from innumerable passages in our old writeis, lli t it
was customary, not onl> for ladies, but for gentlemen, to
carry mirrors about them. The former, we see, wore them
at their girdles. Thus Ji.nson :

" I confess all, 1 replied.
And the glass hanys by her side,
And the girdle 'bout her waist,
All is Venus, save unchaste." Underwoods.
The latter, I hope, like the tine gentlemen of the present
day, kept them in their pockets : and yet there arc in-
stances of their displaying them as ostentatiously as the
vainest of the fair sex. Tl.us Jon?on again :

"Where is your page? call for your casting botile and
place your mirror in yuur hat, as 1 told you." Cynthia.'
Jievels.

SCENE I.I

THE CITY MADAM.

179

As if she could renew her youth, in care,
Nay curiosity*, to appear lovely,
Comes not behind her daughters.

Gold. Keeps the first place ;

And though the church-book speak her fifty, they
That say she can write thirty, more offend her
Than if they tax'd her honesty : t'other day
A tenant of hers, instructed in her humour,
But one she never saw, being brought before her,
For savin? only, Good young mistress, help me
To the speech of your lady-mother, so far pleased her,
That he got his lease renew'd for't.

Trade. 1 1 ow she bristles !
Prithee, observe her.

Mill. As I hope to see

A country knight's son and beir walk bare before you
When you are a countess, as you may be one
When my master dies, or leaves trading; and I,

continuing

Your principal woman, take the upper hand
Of ;> squire's wife, though a justice, as I must
By the place you give me ; you look now as young
As when you were married.

L. Fmg. I think I bear my years well.

Mill. Why should you talk of years ? Time hath

not plough'd

One furrow in your face ; and were you not known
The mother of my youngf ladies, you might pass
Fora virgin of fifteen.

Trade. Here's no gross flattery !
Will she swallow this?

Gi>ld. You see she does, and glibly.

Mill. You never can be old ; wear but a mask
Forty years hence, and you will still seem young
In your other parts. What a waist is here ?

Venus !

That 1 had been born a king ! and here a hand
To be kiss'd ever ; pardon my boldness, madam.
Then, for a leg and foot you will be courted
When a great grandmother.

L. Frug. These, indeed, wench, are not
So subject to decayings as the face ;
Their comeliness lasts longer.

M ill. Ever, ever !

Such a rare-featured and proportion'd madam
London could never boast of.

L. Fmg. Where are my shoes ?

Mill. Those that your ladyship gave order
Should be made of the Spanish perfumed skins ?

L. Frug. The same.

Milt. I sent the prison-bird this morning for them,
But he neglects his duty.

Anne. He is grown
Exceeding careless.

Mary. And begins to murmur
At our commands, and sometimes grumbles to us,
He is, forsooth, our uncle !

* Aay curiosity, to appear lovely.} Curiosity here, as in
many other passages of these plays, signifies scrupulous
mention, anxiety, <Stc.

t The mother of my young ladies.] So tlie old copy; the
modern editors, in compassion to the anthor's irreyularities,
have reformed his text, and printed, The mother of these
ladles: in the preceding line too, they have interposed their
aid, and removed the copulative ! Seriously, these imperti-
nent deviations cannot be too strongly reprobated. Mas-
singer's ear was so exquisitely touched, that I could almost
venture to affirm he never made use of his ten fingers in the
construction of a single verse ; and his bungling editor?,
therefore, uho try his poetry by such coarse mechanism,
will more frequently injure bis sense, than improve hi*
metre.

L. Frug. He is your slave,
And as such use him.

Anne. Willingly ; but he is grown
Rebellious, madam.

Gold. Nay, like hen, like chicken.

L. Frug. I'll humble him.

Enter LUKE, with does, garters, fans, and roses.

Gold. Here he comes, sweating all over :
He shows like a walking frippery*.

L. Frug. Very good, sir :
\Vere you drunk last night, that you could rise no

sooner

With humble diligence, to do what my daughter?
And woman did command you ?

Lnk*. Drunk ! an't plsase you ?

L, Frug. Drunk, I said.sirrah ! dar'stthou inalook
Repine or grumble ? thou unthankful wretch,
Did our charity redeem thee out of prison
(Thy patrimony spent), ragged and lousy,
When the sheriff's basket, and his broken rr.eatf
Were your festival-exceedings ! and is this
So soon forgotten ?

Luke. I confess I am
Your creature, madam.

L. Frug. And good reason why
You should continue so.

Anne. Who did new clothe you ?

Mary. Admitted you to the dining-room 1

Mill. Allow'd you
A fresh bed in the garret ?

L. Frug. Or from whom
Received you spending money ?

Luke. 1 owe all this

To your goodness, ma !am ; for it you have my prayers,
The beggar's satisfaction : nil my studies
(Forgetting what I was, hut with all duty
Remembering what } am) are how to please you.
And if in my long stay 1 have offended,
I ask your pardon ; though you may consider,
Being forced to fetch these from the Old Exchange,
These from the Tower, and these from Westminster,
I could not come much sooner.

Gold. Here was a walk
To breathe a footman !

Anne. Tis a curious fan.

Mary. These roses will show rare : would 'twere

in fashion
That the garters might be seen too !

Mill. Many ladies [>' ou >

That know they have good legs, wish the same with
Men that way have the advantage.

He shows, like a walking frippery.] A frippery is an old
clothes shop ; Hie word is pure French, but occurs in most
of our ancient dramatists:

" If 1 carry any lady of the laundry,

Chambering: or wantonness behind my gelding,
\Viih all her streamers, knapsacks, glasses, gewgaws,
As if I were a running frippery,

I'll give them leave," &c. Wit u-i'huut Money.

The roses mentioned among the articles brought by Luke,
were not the flowers of that name, t'ut knots of rib.mds to
be fixed on the shoes : it appears from <>ld paintings, and,
indeed, from the description of them in various authors,
that they were of a preposterous size. ThusJonsoiw
" Service ! 'fore hell, my heart was at my moulh,
Till I had view'd his shoes well, for these roses
Were bitf enough to hide a cloven foot." Devil's an Ass.
f ll'hen the sheriff's basket, &o.] " The poorer sort of
prisoners," says Stowe, " as well in this Counter, as in that
in Wood-street, receive daily relief from the sheriff's tablt
of all the /irnl.'fn bread and meat." B. III. p. 51.

Vurfestiral-excecdinys.sce The Picture. Act. V. Sc. 1.

380

THE CITY MADAM.

fAcr. t

I. nke. I was with

The lady, and delivered her the satin
For her gown, and velvet for her petticoat;
This night she vows she'll pay you.

[Aside to Goldwire.

Gold. How I am bound
To your favour, master Luke !

Mill. As I live, you will
Perfume all rooms you walk in.

/,. Frng. Get your fur*,
You shall pull them on within. [Exit Luke.

Gold. That servile office
Her pride imposes on him.

Sir John [within]. Goldwire! Tradewell !

Trade. My master calls. We come, sir.

[Exeunt Goldwire and Tradewell.

Enter HOLDFAST, with Porters.

L. Frng. What have you brought there 7

Hold. The cream o' the market ;
Provision enough to serve a garrison.
I weep to think on't : when my master got
His wealth, his family fed on roots and livers,

And necks of beef on Sundays.

But now I fear it will be spent in poultry ;
Butcher's-meat will not go down.

L. Frng. Why, you rascal, is it
At your expense? what cooks have you provided?

Hold. The best of the city: they've wrought at
my lord mayor's.

Anne. Fie on them! they smell of Fleet-lane, and
Pie-corner,

Mary. And think the happiness of man's life

consists
In a mighty shoulder of mutton.

L. Frug. I'll have none

Shall touch what I shall eat, you grumbling cur,
But Frenchmen and Italians ; they wear satin,
And dish no meat but in silver.

Hold. You may want, though,
A dish or two when the service ends.

L. Frug. Leave prating;
I'll have my will : do you as I command you.

[Exeunt

SCENE II. The Street before Frugal's H<,use.
Enter Sir MAURICE LACY and Page.

Sir Maur. You were with Plenty ?

Page. Yes, sir.

Sir Maiir. And what answer
Return'd the clown ?

Page. Clown, sir! he is transformed,
And grown a gallant of the last editionf ;
More rich than gaudy in his habit ; yet
The freedom and the bluntness of his language
Continues with him. When I told him that
You gave him caution, as he loved the peace
And safety of his life, he should forbear
To psss the merchant's threshold, until you
Of his two daughters had made choice of her
Whom you design'd to honour as your wife,
He smiled in scorn.

Sir Maur. In scorn !

* L. Fmg. Get your fur.] To put under her feet while he
tried on her shoes. M. MASON.

t And yrown a gallant of the last edition ;] i. e. of the
newest fashion. It was the application of this common
phrase to Kdwards (who miMnderstood it) which provoked
that gentleman so highly against \V'arb:irton.

Pagi>. His words confirm'd it ;
They were few, but to this purpose : Tell your mas

ter.

Though his lordship in reversion werrnowhu,
It cannot ave me. 1 w< born <i freemur.,
And u'llL not yield, in the uvit/ of affection,
Precedence to him : I trill risit them,
Tliough lie sute porter to deny my entrance:
When I meet him ne.it, I'll say more to his face.
Deliver thou this : then gave me a piece,
To help my memory, and so we parted.

Sir Maur. Where got he this spirit ?

Page. At the academy of valour,
Newly erected for the institution
Of elder brothers: where they are taught the w.ws,
Though they refuse to seal for a duellist,
How to decline a challenge. He himself
Can best resolve you.

Enter PLENTY and three Servants.

Sir Maur. You, sir !

Plenty. What with me, sir?
How big you look ! I will not loose a hat
To a hair's breadth : move your beaver, I'll movo

mine ;

Or if you desire to prove your sword, mine hangs
As near my right hand, and will as soon out, though

1 keep not

A fencer to breathe me. Walk into Moorfields
I dare look on your Toledo. Do not show
A foolish valour in the streets, to make
Work for shopkeepers and their clubs,* 'tis scurry,
And the women will laugh at us.

Sir Maw. You presume
On the protection of your hinds.

Plenty. I scorn it :

Though I keep men, I fight not with their fingers,
Nor make it mv religion to follow
The gallant's fashion, to have my family
Consisting in a footman and a page.
And those two sometimes hungry. I can feed these,
And clothe them too, my gay sir.

SirMuur. What a fine man
Hath your tailor made you !

Plenty. 'Tis quite contrary,

I have made ray tailor, for my clothes are paid for
As soon as put on ; a sin your man of title
Is seldom guilty of; but Heaven forgive it!
I have other faults, too, very incident
To a plain gentleman : I eat my venison
With my neighbours in the country, and present not
Mv pheasants, partridges, and grouse to the usurer;
Nor ever yet paid brokage to his scrivener.
I flatter not my mercer's wife nor feast her
With the first cherries, or peascods, to prepare me
Credit with her husband, when I come to London.
The wool of my sheep, or a score or two of fat oxen
In Smithfield, give me money for my expenses.
I can make my wife a jointure of such 1.1,1.1-, too
As are not encumber 'd ; no annuity
Or statute lying on them. This I can do,
An it please your future honour, and why, there-
fore,

You should forbid my being suitor with you,
Mv dullness apprehends not.

Pae. This is bitter.

* Work for shopkeepers and their elubs.] See T\%
Reneyado, Act 1. Sc. 111.

BCFSK U.J

THE CITY MADAM.

Sir Maitr. I have beard you, sir, and in my pa-
tience shown

Too much of the stoic. But to parley further,
Or answer your gross jeers, would write me coward.
This only. thy great grandfather was a butcher*,
And his 'son a grazier; thy sire, constable
Of the hundred, and thou the first of your dunghill
Created gentleman. Now you may come on, sir,
You and your thrashers.

Plenty. Stir not, on your lives.
This for the grazier, this for the butcher. \Theyfight.

Sir Maiir. So, sir!

Page. I'll not stand idle. Draw! My little rapier
Agpiinst your bumb blades ! I'll one by one dis-
patch you,
Then house this instrument of death and horror.

Enter Sir JOHN FRUGAL, LUKF, GOLDWIRE junior,
and TR A DEWELL junior.

Sir J'lhn. Beat down their weapons. My gate
ruffians' hall !

What insolence is this ?

Luke. Noble Sir Maurice,
\Yorshiptul master Plenty

Sir Ji)/m. I blush for you.
Men of your quality expose your fame
To every vulgar censure ; this at midnight,
After a drunken supper in a tavern
(No civil man abroad to censure it)",
Had shown poor in you ; but in the day, and view
Of all that pass by, monstrous !

Plenty. Very well, sir ;
You look'd for this defence.

Sir Maur. Tis thy protection ;
But it will deceive thee.

Sir John. Hold, if you proceed thus,
I must make use of the next justice' power,
And leave persuasion : and in plain terms tell you,

Enter Lady FRUGAL, ANNE, MARY, and MIL-

LISCEST.

Neither your birth, Sir Maurice, nor your wealth,
Shall privilege this riot. See whom you have drawn
To be spectators of it ! can you imagine
It ran stand with the credit of my daughters.
To be the argument of your swords? i' the street

too?

Nay, ere you do salute, or I give way
To any private conference, shake hands
In sign of peace : he that draws back, parts with
Mv good opinion. [TVifi/ shake hands.] This is as it

should be.

Make your approaches, and if their affection
Can sympathize with vours, they shall not come,
On my credit, beggars to you. I will hear
\Vhat you reply within.

Sir Mnur. May I have the honour
To support you, lady ? [To Anne.

Plenty. I know not what's supporting,
But by this fair hand, glove and all, I love vou.

[7V> Mary.
[Exeunt all but Luke.

* This only, thy great grandfather was a butcher, &c.j
Massing r did ii"t intend Lacy for a fool, and yet his reply
to the i^h-spiiited and characteristic speech of hi> com-
petitor savour.- *tionly of family. It must be confessed
that the young gentleman is warm, jet he should not, tor
that, have adopted the language and sentiments of a fish-
\voinan.

t Vo c ivil man abroad.} No citizen, or perhaps, no man
invested with civil authority.

Enter HOYST, PENURY, and FORTUNE.

Luke. You are come with all advantage. 1 will

help you
To the speech of my brother.

For. Have you moved him for us 1

Luke. With the best of my endeavours, ana

hope
You'll find him tractable.

Pen. Heaven grant he prove so !
Hoyst. Howe'er, I'll speak my mind

Enter Lord LACY.

Luke. Do so, master Hoyst.
Go in : I'll pay my dutv to this lord,
And then 1 am wholly yours.

[Exeunt Hoyst, Penury, and Fortune.

Heaven bless your honour !

L. Lacy. Your hand, master Luke : the world's

much changed with you
Within these few months ; then you were the

gallant :

No meeting at the horse-race, cocking, hunting,
Shooting, or bowling, at which master Luke
Was not a principal gamester, and companion
For the nobility.

Luke. I have paid dear

For those follies, my good lord : and 'tis but justice
That such as soar above their pitch, and will not
Be warn'd by my example, should, like me,
Share in the miseries that wait upon it.
Your honour, in your charity, may do well
Not to upbraid me with those weaknesses
Too late repented.

L. Lacy. I nor do, nor will ;
And you shall find I'll lend a helping hand
To raise your fortunes ; how deals your brother

with you ?
Luf.e Beyond my merit, I thank his goodness

for't.

I am a freeman, all my debts discharged,
Nor does one creditor, undone by me,
Curse my loose riots. I have meav and clothes,
Time to ask Heaven remission for what's past ;
Can-s of the world by me are laid aside,
My present poverty's a blessing to me ;
And though I have been long, I dare not say
I ever lived till now.

L. Lucy. You bear it well ;
Yet as you wish 1 should receive for truth
What you deliver, with that truth acquaint me
With your brother's inclination. I have heard,
In the acquisition of his wealth, he weighs not
Whose ruins he huilds upon.

Luke. In that, report
Wrongs him, my lord. He is a citizen,
And would increase his heap, and will not lose
What the law gives him : such as are worldly wise
Pursue that track, or they will ne'er wear scarlet*.
But if your honour please to know his temper,
You are come opportunely. I can bring you
Where you, unseen, shall see and hear his carriage
Towards some poor men, whose making, or un-
doing,
Depends upon his pleasuref.

* or thry will ne'er wear scarlet. 1 i. e.

never rise to city honours. Our old writers have innumer-
able allusions to the scarlet gowns oi the mayors and alder-
men of London,

t The old ci.py has a marginal direction here, to set out a
tabli', count book, xlnndisli, chair and stool. Nothing can
more fully demonstrate the poverty of our ancient theatres.

38*

THE CITY MADAM.

[Acr I

L. Lacy. To my wish :
I know no object that could more content me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Counting-room in Frugal's House.

Enter Sir JOHN FRUGAL. HOYST, FORTUNE, PENURY,
and (joLuv/iRE junior.

Sir John. What would you have me do ? reach me

a chair.

When 1 lent my monies I appear'd an angel ;
But now I would call in mine own, a devil.

Hny. Were you the devil's dam, you must stay

till 1 have it,
For as I am a gentleman -

Re-enter LUKE, behind, with Lord LACY.

Luke. There you may hear all.

Hoy. I pawn'd you my land for the tenth part of

the value :

Now, 'cause I am a gamester, and keep ordinaries,
And a livery punk or so, and trade not with
The money-mongers' wives, not one will be bound

for me :

'Tis a hard case ; you must give me longer day,
Or I shall grow very angry.

Sir John. Fret, and spare not.
I know no obligation lies upon me
With my honey to feed drones. But to the purpose,
How much owes Penury?

Gold. Two hundred pounds :
His bond three times since forfeited.

Sir John. Is it sued?

Gold. Yes, sir, and execution out against him.

Sir John. For body and goods ?

Gold. For both, sir.

Sir John. See it served.

Pen. 1 am undone ; my wife and family
Must starve for want of bread.

Sir John. More infidel thou,
In not providing better to support them.
What's Fortune's debt ?

Gold. A thousand, sir.

Sir John. An estate

For a good man ! You were the glorious trader,
Embraced all bargains ; the main venturer
In every ship that launch'd forth ; kept your wife
As a lady ; she had her caroch, her choice
Of summer-houses, built with other men's monies
Ta'en up at interest ; the certain road
To Ludgate in a citizen*. Pray you acquaint me,
How were my thousand pounds employ'd ?

For. Insult not

On my calamity ; though, being a debtor,
And a slave to him that lends, I must endure it.
Yet hear me speak thus much in my defence ;
Losses at sea, and those, sir, great and many,
By storms and tempests, not domestical riots'

than these hints to (lie property-man. Of what we now
call scenery, there is not the slightest indication in any of
these dramas; what was the street before the merchant's
house, u converted, by simply thrusting forward a table
into a comiting-room : Luke and lord Lacy go out the
others take their places, and then the former two re-enter
behind them.

-- tlte certain road

To Lndnte in a citizen.} This prison was ancicntlv
appropriated to the freemen of the city, and to clergymen-
it is, says 1 he Companion for Debtor* (a book of Massin-
ger's age), the bet piison about London, both in regard to
its endowment and government.

In soothing ray wife's humour, or mine own,
Have brought me to this low ebb.

Sir John- Suppose this true,

VVhat is't to me ? I must and will have my money,
Or I'll protest you first, and, that done, have
The statute made for bankrupts served upon you.

For. Tis in your power, but not in mine to
shun it.

Luke, [conies forward.] Not as a brother, sir, but

with such duty,

As I should use unto my father, since
Your charity is my parent, give me leave
To speak my thoughts.

Sir John What would you say?

Luke. No word, sir,

I hope, shall give offence ; nor let it relish
Of flattery, though I proclaim aloud,
I glory in the bravery of your mind,
To which your wealth's a servant. Not that riches
Is or should be contemn'd, it being a blessing
Derived from heaven, and by your industry
Pull'd down upon you ; but in this, dear sir,
You have many equals : such a man's possessions
Extend as far as yours : a second hath
His bags as full ; a third in credit flies
As high in the popular voice : but the distinction
And noble difference by which you are
Divided from them, is, that vou are styk'd
Gentle in your abundance, good in plenty ;
And that you feel compassion in your bowels
Of others' miseries, (I have found it, sir,
Heaven keep me thankful for't !) while they arc

curs'd
As rigid and inexorable.

Sir John. I delight not
To hear this spoke to my face.

Luke. That shall not grieve you.
Your affability, and mildness, clothed
In the garments of your [thankful] debtors'

breath*,

Shall everywhere, though you strive to conceal it,
Be seen and wonder'd at, and in the act
With a prodigal hand rewarded. Whereas, such
As are born only for themselves, and live so,
Though prosperous in worldly understandings,
Are but like beasts of rapine, that, by odds
Of strength, usurp, and tyrannize o'er others
Brought under their subjection.

L. Lacy. A rare fellow !
I am strangely taken with him.

Luke. Can you think, sir,
In your unquestion'd wisdom, I beseech you,
The goods of this poor man sold at an outcryf,
His wife turn'd out of doors, his children forced
To beg their bread, this gentleman's estate,
By wrong extorted, can advantage you ?

* In the garments of your [thankful,] debtor'* breath] A
foot is wauling in the former editions. I do not Hatter my-
self that the genuine word was that whicli is here enclosed
between brackets, though it was not improbably some" hat
similar to it.

t The goods of thix poor man sold at an outcry.] i. e. at a
public auction. So Jonson :

" Their houses and tine gardens given away,
And all their goods, under the spear, at outcry."

Cataline
Again,

" Ay, that was when the nursery's self was noble.

And only virtue made it, not the market,

That titles were not vented at the drum,

Or common outcry." The Kam Iw\

SCENE I.]

THE CITY MADAM.

383

Hoy. If it thrive with him, hang me, as it will

damn him,
If he he not converted.

Luke. You are too violent.
Or that the ruin of this once brave merchant,
For such he was esteem'd, though now decay'd,
Will raise your reputation with good men ?
But you may urge (pray you pardon me, my zeal
Wakes me thus bold and vehement), in this
You satisfy your anger, and revenge
For being defeated. Suppose this, it will not
Repair your loss, and there was never yet
But shame and scandal in a victory
When the rebels unto reason, passions, fought it.
Then for revenge, by great souls it was ever
Contemn'd, though offered ; entertain'd by none
But cowards, base and abject spirits, strangers
To moral honesty, and never yet
Acquainted wiih religion.

L. Laci/. Our divines
Cannot speak more effectually.

Sir John. Shall I be
Talk'd out of my money?

Luke. No, sir, but entreated
To do yourself a benefit, and preserve
What YOU possess entire.

Sir John. How, my good brother?

Luke. By making these }our beadsmen*.

When they eat,
Their thanks, next heaven, will be paid to your

mercy ;

When your ships are at sea, their prayers will swell
The sails with prosperous winds, and guard them

from

Tempests and pirates ; keep your warehouses
Fom fire, or quench them with their tears

Sir John. No more.

Luke. Write you a good man in the people's hearts;
Follow you everywhere.

Sir John if this could he

Luke. It must, or our devotions are but words.
I see a gentle promise in your eye,
Make it a blessed act, and pooi me rich,
In being the instrument.

Sir Juhii. You shall prevail ;

Give them longer day : but do you hear, no talk oft,
Should this arrive at twelve on the Exchange,
I shall be laugh 'd at for my foolish pity,
Which money -men hate deadly. Take your own time
But see you break not. Carry them to the cellar ;
Drink a health, and thank your orator.

Pen. On our knees, sir.

For. Honest master Luke!

Hay. I bless the Counter, where
You learn'd this rhetoric.

Luke. No more of that, friends.

[Exeunt Luke, Hoyst, Fortune, and Penury,
Lord Lacy comes forward.

Sir John My honourable lord.

L. Lacy. I have seen and heard all.
Excuse my manners, and wish heartily
You were all of a piece. Your charity to youi

debtors

I do commend ; but where you should express
Your piety to the height, I must boldly tell you
You show yourself an atheist.

Sir Ji>hn. Make me know
My error, and for what I am thus censured,
And I will purge myself, or else confess
A guilty cause.

L. Lacy. It is your harsh demeanour
To your poor brother.

Sir John. Is that all?

L. Lucy. 'Tis more

Than can admit defence. You keep him as
A parasite to your table, subject to
The scorn of your proud wife ; an underling
To his own nieces : and can 1 with mine honour
Mix my blnod with his, (hat is not sensible
Of his brother's miseries?

Sir John. Pray you, take me with you ;
And let me yield my reasons why I am
No opener-haniled to him. J was born
His elder brother, yet my father's fondness
To him, the younger, robb'd me ofrny birthright :
He had a fair estate, which his loose riots
Soon brought to nothing ; wants grew heavy on

him,

And when laid up for debt, of all forsaken,
And in his own hopes lost, I did redeem him.

L. Lurij. You could not do less.

Sir John. Was 1 bound to it, my lord?
What I possess I may with justice call
The harvest of my industry. Would you have me,
Neglecting mine own family, to give up
My estate to his disposure ?

L. Lacy. I would have you,
What's pass'd forgot, to use him as a brother ;
A brother of fair parts, of a clear soul,
Religious, good, and honest.

Air John. Outward gloss
Often deceives, may it not prove so in him !
And yet my long acquaintance with his nature
Renders me doubtful ; but that shall not make
A breach between us : let us in to dinner,
And what trust, or employment you think fit,
Shall be conferr'd upon him : if he prove
True gold in the touch, I'll be no mourner for it.

L. Lacy. If counterfeit, I'll never trust my
judgment. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Room in Frugal's House.

Enter LUKE, HOLDFAST, GOLDWIRE junior, and

TR A DKWEIJ. junior.

Hold. The like was never seen.
Luke. Why in this rage, man

* Luke. By making these your beadsmen. ] Beadsmen is
pure Saxun, and meiiis prayersmen ; i. e. such as are
engaged, iu consequence of J'ast or present favours,

Hold. Men may talk of country-christmasses
and court-gluttony,

Their thirty-pound butter'd eggs, their pies of
carps'-tongues,

Their pheasants drench'd with ambergris, the car-
cases

to pray for their benefactors. The name was formerly
given with great propriety to the inhabitants ol almt-housei,
in general, to the objects of our public charities.

THE CITY MADAM.

[Acr II.

Of tliree fat wethers bruised for gravy, to

5Sl:ike sauce for a single peacock ; yet their feasts

Were fusts, compared with the city's.

Trade. What dear dainty
Was it thou murmur'st at?

Hold. Did you not observe it?

There were throe sucking pigs served up in a dish,
Ta'en from the sow as soon as farrowed,
A fortnight fed with dates, and muskadine,
That stood my master in twenty marks apiece,
Besides the puddings in their bellies, made
Of I know not what. I dare swear the cook that

dress 'd it
Was the devil, disguised like a Dutchman.

Gold. Yet all this
Will not make you fat, fellow Holdfast.

Hold. I am rather
Starved to look on't. But here's the mischief

tliough

The dishes were raised one upon another,
As woodmongers do billets, for the first,
The second, and third course, aad most of the shops
Of the best confectioners in London ransack'd
To furnish out a banquet* ; yet my lady
Call'd me penurious rascal, and cried out,
There was nothing worth the eating.

Gold. You must have patience,
This is not done often.

Hold Tis not fit it should ;

Three such dinners more would break an alderman,
And make him give up his cloak : I am resolved
To have no hand in't. I'll make up my accompts,
And since my master longs to be undone,
The great fiend be his steward ; I will pray,
And bless myself from him ! [Erit.

Gold. The wretch shows in this
An honest care.

Luke. Out on him ! with the fortune
Of a slave he has the mind of one. However
She bears me hard, I like my lady's humour,
And my brother's suffrage to it. They are now
Busy on all hands ; one side eager for
Larj;e portions, the other arguing strictly
For jointures and security ; but this
Beinj above our scale, no way concerns us.
How dull you look ! in the mean time, how intend

you
To spend the hours 1

Gold. We well know hw we would,
But dare not serve our wills.

Trade. Being prentices,
We are bound to attendance.

most of the shop*

Of the, best confectioner* in London ransack'd
'Jo furnish out a banqiu-t;) A banquet was what we now
call a dessert ; it was composed of fruit, sweetmeats, &c. :

your citizen

Is a most fierce devourer, sir, of plums ;
JSix will destroy as many as might make
A banquet for an army." The Witt.

The banquet was usually placed in a separate room, to
which ihe guests removed a* soon as they had dined: thus,
in 'I he Unnatural Combat, Beaufort ny ;

" U K II dine in the ({real room, but let ihc music
And banquet be prepared here."

The common pUce ol banqueting, or of eating the dessert,
ami.ii" .nr ance.-tors, WHS llie gaiden hii-e, or arbour, with
wliirli almost every dwt lliu v\as one. furnished : to this
Shallow alludes in a simple pa>sage, which has had a great
deal of impertinent matter written to coniound it:

ShiM. ' Nay, yon shall see mi::e orchard, where, in an
arbour, we wriU e.u a I.IM \ear' pippin of my own grafting,
with a dish ol carraways," (a small kind of i omfit) " and to
forth." Henry IV. Part II.

Luke. Have you almost served out
The term of your indentures, yet make conscience
By starts to use your liberty ? Hast thou traded

[ To Tradewell.

In the other world*, exposed unto all dangers,
To make thy master rich, yet dar'st not take
Some portion of the profit for thy pleasure ?
Or wilt thou \ToGnldw ], being keeper of the cash,
Like an ass that carries dainties feed on thistles?
Are you gentlemen born, yet have no gallant

tincture

Of gentry in you ? you are no mechanics,
Nor serve some needy shopkeeper who surveys
His every-day takings : you have in vour keeping
A mass of wealth, f'-om winch vou may take boldly,
And no way be discover'd He's no rich man
That knows all he possesses, and leaves nothing
For his servants to make prey of. I blush for yeu,
Hlush at your poverty of spirit ; you,
The brave sparks of the city !

Gold. Master Luke,

I wonder you should urge this, having felt
What misery follows riot.

Trade. And the penance
You endur'd for't in the Counter.

Luke. You are fools,

The case is not the same ; I spent mine own money,
And my stock being small, no marvel 'twas soon

wasted ;

But you, without the least doubt or suspicion,
If cautelous, may make bold with your master's.
As, for example, whan his ships come home.
And you take your receipts, as 'tis the fashion,
For fifty bales of silk you may write forty ;
Or for so many pieces of cloth of bodkin,
Tissue, gold, silver, velvets, satins, taffetas,
A piece of each deducted from the gross,
Will ne'er be miss'd, a dash of a pen will do it.
Trade. Ay, but our father's bonds, that lie in

pawn
For our honesties, must pay for't.

Luke.. A mere bugbear,
Invented to fright children ! As I live,
Were 1 the master of my brother's fortunes,
I should glory in such servants. Didst thou know
What ravishing lechery it is to enter
An ordinary, cap-a-pie, trimm'd like a gallant,
For which in trunks conceal'd be ever furnish'd ;
The reverence, respect, the crouches, cringes,
The musical chime of gold in your cramm d pockets,
Commands from the attendants, and poor porters
Trade. O rare !

Luke. Then sitting at the table with
The braveries of tlie kingdom, you shall hear
Occurrents from all corners of the world,
The plots, the counsels, the designs of princes,
And freely censure them ; the city wits
Cried up, or decried, as their passions lead them ;
Judgment having nought to do there.
Trade. Admirable !
Luke. My lord no sooner shall rise out of hi

chair,

The gaining lord I mean, but you may boldly,
By the privilege of a gamester, fill his room,
For in play you are all fellows ; have your knife
As soon in the pheasant ; drink your health as freely,

* In the other world.] i. e. the East Indies, from whence
as the first scene informs us, Tradewell was just rctu-red.

II. |

THE CITY MADAM.

385

And striking in a lucky hand o*r two,
Buy out your time.

Trade. This may be ; but suppose
WP st.ould be known?

Luke. Hare money and good clothes,
And you may puss invisible. Or, if
You love a madam-punk, and your wide nostril
Be taken with the scent of cambric smocks,
Wrought and perfumed

Gold, There, there, master Luke,
There lies my road of bappiuess !

Luke. Enjov it.

And pleasures stolen bein<; sweetest, apprehend
The raptures of being hurried in a coach
To Brentford, Staines, or Barnet.

Gold. 'Tis enchanting ;
I have proved it.

Luke. Hast thou ?

Gold. Yes. in all these places
I have had my several pagans billeted
For my own tooth, and after ten-pound suppers,
The curtains drawn, my fiddlers playing all night
The slaking of the sheets, which I have danced
Again and again with my cockatrice: master

Luke.
You shall be of my counsel, and we two sworn

brothers ;

And therefore I'll be open. I am out now
Six hundred in the cash yet, if on a sudden
I should be call'd,to account, I have a trick
How to evade it, and make up the sum.

Trade. Is't possible ?

Luke. You can instruct your tutor.
How, how, good Tom 1

Gold, Why, look you. We cash-keepers
Hold correspondence, supply one another
On all occasions : I can borrow for a week
Two hundred pounds of one, as much ot a second,
A third lays down the rest; and, when they want,
As my master's monies come in I do repay it :
Ku me, ka thee* !

Luke. An excellent knot ! 'tis pity
It e'er should be unloosed ; for me it shall not.
You are shown the way, friend Tradewell, you may

make use on't,

Or freeze in the warehouse and keep company
With the cater t, Holdfast.

Trade. No, I am converted.
A Barbican broker will furnish me with outside,
And then, a crash at the ordinary !

* Ka me, ha thee.'] This I believe, is a Scottish proverb,
and means, indulge, or serve me, and I'll serve thee in my
turn. It is not uncommon in our old dramas. Thus in Ram
Alley :

" Ka me, ka thee, one thing must rub another."
Again, in Eastward Hoe:

"Thou art pander to me, for my wench : and I to thee for
thy couzenage. Ka me, ha thee, ruus through court aud
country."

t With the cater, Holdfast.} i. e. the purveyor. This
word was in very general use in Mafsingcr's time : though
the editors of some of our old dramatists do not seem to be
aware of it. Thus Jonson :

" He is my wardrobe man, my cater cook,

Butler, and steward." Devil's an Ass.

Here Mr. Whalley reads, .vith sufficient harshness,

" He is my wardrobe-man, m'acaler cook," &c.
And Fletcher:

" See, sweet, I'm cook myself, and mine own cater."

H omen pleased.

Here the editors propose to read caterer, which they say is
the more probable word 1 I suppose because it spoils the
metre.

Gold. I am for

The lady vou saw this morning, who, indeed, is
My proper recreation.

Luke. Go to, Tom ;
What did you make me ?

Gold. I'll do as much for you,
Employ me when you please.

Luke. If you are enquired for,
I will excuse you both.

Trade. Kind master Luke !

Gold. We'll break my master, to make you. You
know

Luke. I cannot love money. Go, boys ! when

time serves,
It shall appear I have another end in't. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Another Eoom in the tame.

Enter Sir JOHN FRUGAL, Lord LACY, Sir MAURICE
LACY, PLENTY, Lady FRUGAL, ANXE, MARY, and
MILLISCENT.

Sir John. Ten thousand pounds a piece I'll make

their portions,

And after my decease it shall be double,
Provided you assure them for their jointures
Eight hundred pounds per annum, and entail
A thousand more upon the heirs* male
Begotten on their bodies.

It, Lacy. Sir, you bind us
To very strict conditions.

Plenty. You, my lord,

May do as you please : but to me it seems strange
We should conclude of portions, and of jointures,
Before our hearts are settled.

L. Frug. You say right :

There are counsels of more moment and importance
On the making up of marriages, to be
Consider'd duly, than the portion or the jointures,
In which a mother's care must be exacted ;
And I by special privilege may challenge
A casting voice.

L. Lucy. How's this?

L. Frug. Even so, my lord ;
In these affairs I govern.

L. Lacv. Give you way to't ?

Sir John. 1 must, my lord.

L. Frug. Tis fit he should, and shall :
You may consult of something else, this province
Is wholly mine.

Sir Maur. By the city custom, madam ?

L. Frug. Yes, my young sir ; and both must

look my daughters
Will hold it by my copy.

Plenty. Brave, i'faith !

.Sir John. Give her leave to talk, we have the

powt- r to do ;

And now touching the business we last tnlk'd of,
In private, if you please.

L. Lacy. 'I is well remember'd:
You shall take your own way, madam.

[Exeunt Lord Lacy and Sir John Frugal.

Sir Maur. What strange lecture
Will she read unto us ?

A thousand more vpon the heirs male.] Heir* mast be
pronounced (as they say) as a dissyllable, though I do not
profess to know bow it can be done.

3B6

THE CITY MADAM.

fAcx II.

L. Frug. Such as wisdom warrants
From the superior bodies. Is Stargaze ready
With his several schemes ?

Mill. Yes, madam, and attends
Your pleasure.

Sir Maur. Stargaze ! lady : what is he ?

L. Frng. Call him in. [Ei-it Milliscent.] You

shall first know him, then admire him
For a man of many parts, and those parts rare ones.
He's every thing, indeed ; parcel physician,
And as such prescribes my diet, and foretels
My dreams when I eat potatoes ; parcel poet,
And sings encomiums to my virtues sweetly j
My antecedent, or my gentleman-usher,
And as the stars move, with thai due proportion
He walks before me : but an absolute master
In tb,e calculation of nativities ;
Guided by that ne'er erring science, call'd
Judicial astrology.

Plenty. Stargaze ! sure
I have a penny almanack about me
Inscribed to you, as to his patroness,
In his name publish 'd.

L. Fmg. Keep it as a jewel.
Some statesmen that I will not name are wholly
Govern'd by his predictions ; for they serve
For any latitude in Christendom,
As well as our own climate.

Re-enter MILLISCENT, followed by STARGAZE, with two
schemes.

Sir Maur. I believe so.

Plenty. Must we couple by the almanack ?

L. Frug. Be silent ;
And ere we do articulate, much more
Grow to a full conclusion, instruct us
Whether this day and hour, by the planets, promise
Happy success in marriage.

Star. In omni
Parte, et toto.

Plenty. Good learn'd sir, in English ;
And since it is resolved we must be coxcombs,
Make us so in our own language.

Star. You are pleasant :
Thus in our vulgar tongue then :

L. Fritg. Pray you observe him.

Star. Venus, in the west angle, the bouse of mar-
riage the seventh house, in trine of Mars, in con-
junction of Luna ; and Mars almuthen, or lord of
the horoscope.

Plenty. Hey-day !

L. Frug The angels' language! I am ravish 'd :
forward.

Star. Mars, as I said, lord of the horoscope, or
geniture, in mutual reception of each other ; she in
her exaltation, and he in his triplicate trine, and
face, assure a fortunate combination to Hymen, ex-
cellent, prosperous, and happy.

L. Frug. Kneel, and give thanks

[The Women kneel.

Sir Maur. For what we understand not 1

Plenty. And have as little faith in ?

L. Frug. Be incredulous* ;
To me 'tis oracle.

Star. Now for the sovereignty of my future la-
dies, your daughters, after they are married.

* L. Frng. Be incredulous;] This is the reading of Mr.
M. Mason. The old copy has Be credulous, meaning, per-
haps, follow my example, and believe ; and so may be right ;
tuongh incredulous is better adapted to the measure.

Plenty. Wearing the breeches, you mean?

L. Frug. Touch that point home :
It is a principal one, and, with London ladies,
Of main consideration.

Star. This is infallible : Saturn out of all dignities
in his detriment and fall, combust : and Venus in
the south angle elevated above him, lady of both
their nativities, in her essential and accidental digni-
ties ; occidental from the sun, oriental from the angle
of the east, in czini of the sun, in her joy, and free
from the malevolent beams of infortunes ; in a sign
commanding, and Mars in a constellation obeying ;
she fortunate, and he dejected : the disposers of
marriage in the radix of the native in feminine
figures, argue, foretel, and declare rule, pre-emi-
nence, and absolute sovereignty in women*.

L. Frng. Is't possible !

Star. 'Tis drawn, I assure you, from the apho-
risms of the old Chaldeans, Zoroastes the first and
greatest magician, Mercurius, Trismegistus, the
later Ptolemy, and the everlasting prognosticator,
old Erra Pater.

L. Frug. Are you yet satisfied ?

Plenty. In what?

L. Frug. That you

Are bound to obey your wives : it being so
Determined by the stars, against whose influence
There is no opposition.

Plenty. Since I must
Be. married by the almanack, as I may be,
'Twere requisite the services and duties
Which, as you say, I must pay to my wife,
Were set down in the calendar.

Sir Maur. With the date
Of my 'apprenticeship.

L. Fmg. Make your demands ;
I'll sit as moderatrix, if they press you
With over-hard conditions.

Sir Maur. Mine hath the van:
I stand your charge, sweet.

Star. Silence.

Anne I require, first,

And that since 'tis in fashion with kind husbands,
In civil manners you must grant, my will
In all things whatsoever, and that will
To be obey'd, not argued.

L. Frug. And good reason.

Plenty A gentle imprimis!

Sir Maur. This in gross contains all :
But your special items, lady.

Anne, \\hen 1 am one,

And you are honour'd to be styled my husband,
To urge my having my page, my gentleman-usher,
My woman sworn to my secrets, my caroch
Drawn by six Flanders mares, my coachman

grooms,
Postillion, and footmen.

Sir Maur. Is there aught else
To be demanded?

Anne. Yes, sir. mine own doctor,
French an i Italian cooks, musicians, songsters,
And a chaplain that must preach to please my fancy :
A friend at court to place me at a mnsk ;
The private box ta'en up at a new play,

I have contented myself with correcting the errors of
the former editors in piinting the obsolete jargon of this
i^in'Miit impostor, without attempting to e>i|>l.iiii any part of
it. If tin- if.ule, will follow my eva.uple, an<{ not waste
thought on it, he will lose nothing by his negligence.

SCENE II.]

THE CITY MADAM.

38?

For me and my retinue ; a fresh habit,

Of a fashion never seen before, to draw

The gallants' eyes, that sit on the stage, upon me ;

Some decayed lady for my parasite.

To flatter me, and rail at other madams ;

And there ends my ambition.

Sir Mattr. Your desires
Are modest, I confess !

Anne. These toys subscrib'd to,
And you continuing an obedient husband,
Upon all fit occasions you shall find me
A most indulgent wife.

L. Frng. You have said ; give place,
And hear your younger sister.

Plenty. If she speak
Her language, may the great fiend*, booted and

spurr'd,

With a scythe at his girdle, as the Scotchman says,
Ride headlong down her throat!

Sir Maur. Curse not the judge
Before you hear the sentence.

Mary. In some part

My sister hath spoke well for the city pleasures,
But I am for the country's ; and must say,
Under correction, in her demands
She was too modest.

Sir Maur. How like you this exordium ?

Plenty. Too modest, with a mischief!

Mary. Yes, too modest :
I know my value, and prize it to the wonh,
My youth, my beauty

Plenty. How your glass deceives you !

Mary, The greatness of the portion I bring with

me,
And the sea of happiness that from me flows to you.

Sir Maur. She bears up close.

Mari/. And can you, in your wisdom,
Or rustical simplicity, imagine
You have met some innocent country girl, that

never
Look'd further than her father's farm, nor knew

more
Than the price of corn in the market ; or at what

rate

Beef went a stone 1 that would survey your dairy,
And bring in mutton out of cheese and butter?
That could give directions at what time of the moon
To cut her cocks for capons against Christmas,
Or when to raise up goslings 1

Plenty. These are arts
Would not misbecome you, though you should put

in
Obedience and duty.

Mary. Yes, and patience,

To sit like a fool at home, and eye your thrashers ;
Then make provision for your slavering hounds,
\\ hen you come drunk from an alehouse, after

hunting
With your clowns and comrades, as if all were

yours,

You the lord paramount, and I the drudge !
The case, sir, must be otherwise.

Plenty. How, I beseech you?

Mary. Marry, thus : I will not, like my sister,
challenge

* may the great fiend, &c.] Tlii. is one of

Ray's Proverbs. It is found in The Tamer Tamed : " A
Sedgley lurse lisht on him! which is, Pedro, The liend ride
tfirotigh him booted and spurr'd, with a sithe at his back."
And also in The Goblin*, by Sir John Suckling.

What's useful or superfluous from my husband,
That's base all o'er ; mine shall receive from me
What 1 think fit; I'll have the state convey'd
Into my hands, and he put to his pension.
Which the wise viragos of our climate practise ;
I will receive your rents ;

Plenty. You shall be hang'd first.

Mary. Make sale or purchase : nay I'll have m

neighbours

Instructed, when a passenger shall ask,
Whose house is this ? (though you stand by) to

answer,

The lady Plenty's. Or who owns this manor?
The lady Plenty. Whose sheep are these, whose

oxen ?
The lady Plenty's.

Plenty. A plentiful pox upon you !

Afaru. And, when I have children, if it be en-
quired
By a stranger, whose they are ? they shall still

echo,
My lady Plenty's, the husband never thought on

Plenty. In their begetting : I think so.

Murv. Since you'll marry
In the city for our wealth, in justice, we
Musi have the country's sovereignty.

Plenty. And we nothing.

3/ary. A nag of forty shillings, a couple of spaniels,
With a sparhawk, is sufficient, and these, too,
As you shall behave yourself, during my pleasure,
I will not greatly stanil on. I have said, sir,
Mow if you like me, so*.

* / have said, sir,

Now if you like me, so.] Before we accuse tlie poet of
abusing the license of comedy in these preposterous stipula-
tions, it may not be improper to look back tor a moment on
the period in which he wrote, and enquire it' no examples
of a similar nature were then to be found in real life. It
was an age of piofusion and vanity ; and the means of en-
joying them both, as they persuaded to condescension on
the one side, so they engendered rapacity on the other: it
is not, therefore, a very improbable conjecture, that Mas-
singer has but slightly taxed our credulity, and but little over-
ch.irgcd his glaring description of female extravagance and
folly ! The reader who is still inclined to hesitate may per-
use the extract here snbjoiiled. A short time before this
play was wiitten, Elizabeth Spencer, daughter and heir
of Sir John Spencer, Lord Mayor of London (whom I once
considered as the prototype ot Sir Giles Overreach), was
marri'-d to William Lord Compton. With less integrity
and candour than the daughters of Sir John Frugal, she
made tew previous stipulations, but not long after the con-
clusion ot the nuptial ceremony, sent her husband a modest
and consolatory letter, which is yet extant; and from which
the follow ing items, among many others, are verbally taken:

"Alsoe, I will have 3 horses form) ownc saddle, that
none shall dare to lend or borrowe ; none lend but I, none
borrowe but yon. Alsoe, 1 would have two gentlewomen,
le.ijte one should be sicke, or have some other left. Alsoe
beleeve \t, it is an itndecent thinge fora gentlewoman to
stand inumpinge alone, when God hath blessed ilieir lord and
lad) with a greate estate. Alsoe, when I ride a hnn'inge
or a kawkeinge, or travayle from one howse to anoilier, I
will hive them attending*;; soe for either of those said wo-
men, I iiiii-t ar.d will have for cither of them a horse.
Alsoe, I will have 6 or 8 gentlemen: and I will have my
twoe coaches, one Ijned with velvett to ni>self, wth 4 very
fayre horses, and a coache for my woemen, lyned wth
sweete cloth, oue laced wth gold, the other wtl) Scarlett, and
laced will watch, d lace and silver, with 4 good horses.
Alsxe, 1 will have twoe coachmen, one for my own coache,
the other for my women. Alsoe. alt any tyme when I
travnyle, I will be allowed not onl) canoches, and spare-
horses for me and my women, but 1 will have such car-
ryadgs, as shal be tininge for all orderly: not peslringe my
things with my woeinens, nor theirs wth either chambei-
ma><ls, or theirs with wase maids. Alsoe, foi laundresses,
when I travayle I will have them sent away before wth the
carry adgs to see all safe, and the chambermaydj 1 will hav*

J&S

THE CITY MADAM.

f ACT II.

L. Frug. At my entreaty,
The articles sh;ill be easier.
Plenty. Shall they, i'faith?
jLJke bitch, like whelps.

Sir Muur. Use fair words.

Plenty. I cannot ;
I have read of a house of pride, and now I have

found one :
A whirlwind overturn it !

Sir Mnur. On these terms,
Will your minxship be a lady ?

Plenty. A lady in a morris :
I'll wed a pedlar's punk first,

Sir Maur. Tinker's trull,
A beggar without a smock.

Plenty. Le. monsieur almanack,
Since he is so cunning with his Jacob's stafi,
Find you out a husband in a bowling-alley.

Sir Maur. The general pimp to a brothel.

Plenty. Though that now

All the loose desires of man were raked up in me,
And no means but thy maidenhead left to quench

them,

I would turn cinders, or the next sow-gelder,
On my life, should lib me, rather than embrace thee.

Anne. Wooing do you call tins!

Mary. A bear-baiting r.ither.

Plenty. Were you worried, you deserve it, and I

hope
I shall live to see it.

Sir Muur. I'll not rail, nor curse you :
Only this, you are pretty peats, and your great

portions

Add much unto your handsomeness ; but as
You wouid command your husbands, you are

beggars,
L/eform'd and ugly.

L. Frag. Hear me.

Plenty. Not a word more.

[E.ieunt Sir Maurice Lacy and Plenty.

Anne. I ever thought it would come to this.

Mary. We may

Lead apes in hell for husbands, if you bind us
T' articulate thus with our suitors.

[Both speak weeping.

Star. Now the cloud breaks,
And the storm will fall on n>e.

L. Frug. You rasc>il, juggler !

[She breaks Stargaze'i head and beats him.

Star. Dear madam.

L. Frug. Hold you intelligence with the stars,
And tli us deceive me !

Sfor. My art cannot err ;
T .f it does, I'll burn my astrolabe. In mine own

star

I did foresee this broken head, and beating ;
And now your ladyship sees, as I do feel it,
It could not be avoided.

goe before wth the groomes, that a chamber may be ready,
sweete and clc ane. Alsoe, for that yt is undecent to croud
tipp niyM:lf wth rny geiitl. nslier in my coache, I will have
him to have a convenyent horse to attend me either in citty
or C'-imtry. And 1 must have 2 foutemen. And my desire
if, that you defray all the chardgcs for me." Ex. Antoa in
Bihl. /tart.

It may not be impeitinent to add, that Lord Compton, as
might reasonably be conjectured, after such a letter as this,
reaped lit'le comfort from his wife, and less from her im-
mense fortune. Thi set-lie (as much of it at least as relates
to the two yonn ladies and llieir lovers) is imitated with
infinite pleasantry by Glapthorne, in that admirable comedy,
Jf it in a Constable.

L. Frug. Did you?

Star. Madam,

Have patience but a week, and if you find not
All my predictions true, touching your daughters,
And a change of fortune to yourself, a rare one,
Turn me out of doors. These are not the men the

planets

Appointed for their husbands ; there will come
Gallants of another metal.

Mill. Once more trust him.

Anne. Mury. Do, lady-mother.

L. Frug. 1 am vex'd, look to it ;
Turn o'er your books ; if once again you fool me.
You shall graze elsewhere ; come, girls.

Star. I ain glad I 'scaped thus. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Another Room in the same.
Enter Lord LACY and Sir JOHN FRUGAL.

L. Laey. The plot shows very likely".

Sir John. I repose

My principal trust in your lordship ; 'twill prepare
The physic I intend to minister
To my wife and daughters.

L. Lacy. 1 will do my parts
To set it off to the life.

Enter Sir MAURICE LACY, and PLENTY.

Sir John, It may produce

A scene of no vulgar mirth. Here come the suitors ;
When we understand how they relish my wife's

humours,
The rest is feasible.

L. I act/. Their looks are cloudy.

Sir John. How sits the wind! are you ready to

launch forth
Into this sea of marriage?

Plenty. Call it rather
A whirlpool of afflictions.

Sir Muur. If you please
To enjoin me to it, I will undertake
To find the north passage to the indies sooner*
Thsin plough with your proud heifer.

Plenty. I will make
A voyage to hell first,

Sir John. How sir !

Plenty. And court Proserpine
In the sight of Pluto, his three-headed porter,
Cerberus, standing by, and all the furies
With their whips to scourge me for't, than say, I,

Jeffrey,
Take you, Mary, for my wife.

L. Lacy. Why what's the matter?

Sir Maur. The matter is, the mother (with your

pardon,

I cannot but speak so much) is a most insufferable
Proud, insolent lady.

Plenty. And the daughters worse.
The dam in years had the advantage to be wicked,
But they were so in her belly.

* L. Lacy. The plot shows very likely.) It appears from
this that Sir John had instilled his suspicions of his brother
into Lord Lacy. It is finely contrived, to confirm tin-in >n
the execution of their design by a new instance of uutVelinij
pride in his family.

t To find the north passage to the Indies sooner,} This
was the grand object of our maritime expeditions in those
dvs, and was prosecuted with a boldness, dexterity, and
p -severance which, though since equalled, pel haps, in the
same fruitless pursuit, have not yet been surpassed.

SCENE I.]

THE CITY MADAM.

389

Sir Maur. I must tell you,
With reverence to your wealth, I do begin
To think you of the same leaven.

Plenty. Take my counsel ;
Tis saier for your credit to profess
Yourself a cuckold, and upon record,
Than say thev ure your daughters.

Sir John. You go too far, sir.

Sir Maur. They have so articled with us !

Plenty. And will not take us

For their husbands, but their slaves j and so afore-
hand
They do profess they'll use us.

Sir John. Leave this heat :
Though they are mine, 1 must tell you, the per-

verseness

Of their manners (which, they did not take from me,
But from their mother) qualified, they deserve
Your equals.

Sir Maur. True ; but what's bred in the bone
Admits no hope of cure,

Plenty. Though saints and angels
Were their physicans.
Sir John. You conclude too fast.

Plenty. God be wi' you* ! I'll travel three years,

but I'll bury
This sh.ime that lives upon me.

Sir Maur. With your license,
I'll keep him company.

L. Luci/. Who shall furnish you
For your expenses '!

Plenty. He shall not need your help,
My purse is his ; we were rivals, but now friends,
And we live and die so.

Sir Muur. Ere we go, I'll pay
My duty as a son.

Plenty. And till then leave you.

[fcieuat Sir Maurice Lacy and Plenty

L. Lacy. They are strangely moved.

Sir John. What's wealth, accompanied
With disobedience in a wife and children?
My heart will break.

L. Lacy. Be comforted, and hope better :
We'll ride abroad ; the fresh air and discourse
May yield us new inventions.

Sir John. You are noble,

And shall in all things, as you please, command me.

[Exeunt

ACT. III.

SCENE I. A Room in Secret's House.
Enter SHAVE'EM and SECRET.

Secret. Dead doings, daughter.

Share. Doings ! sufferings, mother :
[For poor] men have forgot* what doing is ;
And such as have to pay for what they do,
Are impotent, or eunuchs.

Secret. You have a friend yet,
And a striker too, I take it.

Shave. Goldwire is so, and comes
To me by stealth, and, as he can steal, maintains me
In clothes, I grant ; but alas ! dame, what's one

friend ?

I would have a hundred ; for every hour and use,
And change of humour 1 am in, a fresh one.
'Tis a flock of sheep that irakes a lean wolf fat,
And not a single himbkin. I am starved,
Starved in my pleasures ; I know not what a coach

is,

To hurry me to the Bursef, or Old Exchange :
The neat-house for musk-melons, and the gardens
Where we traffic for asparagus, are, to me,
In the other world.

Secret. There are other places, lady,
Where you might find customers.

Shay. You would have me foot it

[For poor] men have foryot, &c.] A foot is lost in the
original : I have substituted the wi rds between brackets in
the hope of restoring the sense of the passage.

t To hurry me to the. Burse,] To the New Exchange,
which was then full of shops, where all kinds of finery for
the ladies, trinkets, ornaments, &c., were sold. It was as
much frequented by the fashionable world in James's days,
\i Exeter Change in those of Charles II.

To the dancing of the ropes, sit a whole afternoon

there

In expectation of nuts and pippins;
Gape round about me, and yet not find a chapman
That in courtesy will bid a chop of mutton,
Or a pint of drum-wine for met.

Seer ft. You are so impatient !
But I can tell you news will comfort you,
And the whole sisterhood.

Shave. What's that?

Secret. I am told

Two ambassadors are come over: a French mon-
sieur,

And a Venetian, one of the clarissimi,
A hot-rein'd marmoset}:. Their followers,
For their countries' honour, after a long vacation,
Will make a full term with us.

Shate. They indeed are

Our certain and best customers : [knocking within.']
Who knocks there?

Ramh. [M.-I//I/II.] Open the door.

Secret. What are you?

* Plenty. God be wi' youl] For this valedictory phrase,
so common in our old writers the modern editors with
equal elegance and judgment have substituted, Good-by to
youl

t Or a pint of dram-wine for mi 1 .] So the old copy;
meaning perhaps sutler's wine, or such sophisticated stuff ai
is disposed of at the drum head. Thus Shirley:

" What we have more than to supply our wants,
Consumes on the drum head."

Or it may signify such wine as is to be found at common
auctions, or outcries, to which the people were, at this time,
usually summoned by beat of drum. Coxeterand M. Ma-
son read strum-wine ; Dodsley, */um-wine.

I A hot rein'd marmo*et.\ i. e. a monkey, a libidiuoui
animal.

590

THE CITY MADAM.

[Acr III

Ramb. [within.] Ramble.

Scuff, [withm.] Scuffle.

Ramb. [within.] Your constant visitants.

Shave. Let them not in ;
I know them, swaggering, suburbian roarers,
Sixpenny truckers.

Ramb. [within.] Down go all your windows,
And your neighbours' too shall sufter.

Scuff, [wuhin.] Force the doors !

Secret. They are outlaws, mistress Shave em, and

No rlmedv^against them. What should you fear ?
They are but men ; lying at your close ward,
You" have foil'd their betters.

Shave. Out, you bawd ! you care not
Upon what desperate service you employ me,
Nor with whom, so you have your tee.

Secret. Sweet lady-bird,
Sing in a milder key.

Exit, and Re-enters with RAMBLE and SCUFFLE.

Scuff. Are you grown proud 1

Ramb. I knew you a waistcoateer m the garden

alleys*,
And would come to a sailor's whistle.

Secret. Good sir Ramble,
Use her not roughly ; she is very tender.
Ramb. Rank and rotten, is she not?

[Shave'em draws her knife.
Shave. Your spittle rogueships f

[Ramble draws his sword.

Shall not make me so.

Secret. As you are a man, squire Scuffle,
Step in between them : a weapon of that length
Was never drawn in my house.

Shane. Let him come on :
I'll scour it in your guts, you dog !

Ramb. You brachej !

Ramb. / knew you a waistcoateer, &c.] It appears
from innumerable passages in our old plays, that waist-
coati-er was a cant term for a strumpet of the lowest kind;
probably given to them from their usually appearing, either
through choice or necessity , in a succinct habit. Thus Beau-
munt and Fletcher;

" Do you think you are here, sir,

Amongst your waistcoateer*, your base wenches,
That scratch on such occasions I" Wit without Money.

" This is the time of night, and this the haunt,
In which I use lo catch my waistr.oateers :
I hope they have not left their walk."

The Noble Gentleman.

t Your spittle rogueshipi, &c.] Mr. M. Mason, following
his usual practice of altering what he dislikes or misunder-
stands, changed spittle into spilal, which he, probably, con-
ceived to be an abridgment of hospital. But our old wri-
ters carefully distinguished between these two words ; with
them an hospital or spital nlvvays signified a charitable insti-
tution for the advantage of poor, infirm, and aged persons,
n alms house, in short ; while ipittles were mere laz.ir-
liouseft, receptacles for wretches in the leprosy, and oiher
loathsome diseases, the consequence of debauchery and
vice. " Dishonest women," says Barnaby Rich, in his
Knyiiih Hue and Crie, " thrive so ill, that if they do not
lurne bawd, when they be some foure or five and thirty
yeerei of a^e, they must cither be turned into some hos-
pitall, or end the rest of their days in a spittle."

t Kainb. You brache !

Are y>u turnd mankind?! i. e. are you become mas-
culine 1 i* your nature changed into that of a man ? This is
the common acceptation of the word, though, as Upton ob-
uervcs it sometimes bears a stronger sense, and signifies
violent, fetocious, wicked. It is singular, however, that
not one of Upton's examples justifies his position, or means
more than masculine, or mannish ; he is, notwithstanding,
.orrect in his assertion. Thus Chapman :

Are you turn'd mankind ? you forgot 1 gave you,
When we last . join'd issue, twenty pound

Shave. O'er night,

And kick'd it out of ran in the morning. I was then
A novice, but 1 know to make my game now.
Fetch the constable.

Enter GOLDWIHE junior, disguised like a Justice of
Peace, DiNO'EM tike a Constable, and Musicians like
Watchmen.

Secret. Ah me ! here's one unsent for,
And a justice of peace too,

Shave. I'll hang you both, you rascals !
1 can but ride :* you for the purse you cut
In Paul's at a sermon ; I have smok'd you, ha !
And you for the bacon you took on the highway,
From the poor marketwoman, as she rode
From Rumford.

Ramb. Mistress Shave'em.

Scuff. Mistress Secret,
On our knees we beg your pardon.

Ramb. Set a ransome on us.

Secret. We cannot stand trifling : if you mean to

save them,
Shut them out at the back door.

Shave. First, for punishment,
They shall leave their cloaks behind them ; and in

sign

I am their sovereign, and they mv vassals,
For homage kiss my shoe-sole, rogues, and vanish !
[Eieunt Ramble and Scuffle.

Gold. My brave virago ! The coast's clear ;
strike up.

[Goldwireand the rest discover themselves.

Shave. My Gold wire made a justice !

Secret. And your scout
Turn'd constable, and the musicians watchmen !

Gold. We come not to fright you, but to make

you merry :
A light lavolta.f [They dance.

Shave. I am tired ; no more.
This was your device ?

Ding. Wholly his own? he is
No pig-sconce, mistress.

Secret. He has an excellent headpiece.

Gold. Fie ! no, not I ; your jeering gallants say
We citizens have no wit.

Ding. He dies that says so :
This was a masterpiece.

Gold. A trifling stratagem,
Not worth the talking of

Shave, I must kiss thee for it
Again, and again.

Ding. Make much of her. Did you know
What suitors she had since she saw you

Gold. 1'the way of marriage?

Ding. Yes, sir ; for marriage, and the other thing
too,

('or. I will hear thee no more, 1 will take no compassion
on thee. 9

" Page. Good signior Cornelio, be not too mankind
against your wife All Fools.
And H,H :

" I -isk't phisitians what their conn?ell was
For a mad dogge, or for a mankind asse."

Brache has been already explained.

* 1 can but ride.] i e. I know ihe worst of my punish-
ment; 1 c-iii but be carted for a strumpet.

t -4 light lavolta.J See Great Duke of Florence,
Act IV. sc.2.

SCENE II.]

THE CITY MADAM.

591

The commodity is the same. An Irish lord oft'er'd

her
Five pound a week.

Secret. And a cashier'd captain, half
Of his entertainment.

Ding And a new-made courtier,
The next suit he could beg*.

Gold. And did my sweet one
Refuse all this for me?

Shave. Weep riot for jov ;

'Tis true. Let others talk of lords and co-nmanders,
And country heirs for their servants ; but give me
My gallant prentice : he parts with his money
So civilly, and demurely, keeps no account
Of his expenses, and comes ever furuish'd.
I know thou hast brought money to make up
IVIy gown and petticoat, with the appurtenances.

Gold. I have it here, duck ; thou shall want for
nothing.

Shave. Let the chamber be perfumed ; and get

you. sirrah,
His cap and pantofles ready.

Gold. There's for thee,
And thee : that for a banquet.

Secret. And a caudle
Again you rise.

Gold. There.

Shave Usher us up in state.

Gold. You will be constant ?

Shave. Thou art the whole world to me.

[Lxeunt Gold, and Shave, embracing, music
playing before them.

SCENE II. A Romn in Sir John Frugal's House.
Enter LUKE.

Anne, [icithin.] Where is this uncle ?

L. Frug. [fcrtlftin.] Call this beadsman-brother*;
He hath forgot attendance.

Mary, [within.'] Seek him out ;
Idleness spoils him.

Lithe. 1 deserve much more
Than their scorn can lead me wiili, and 'tis but

justice

That I should live the family's drudge, design'd
To all the sordid offices their pride
Imposes on me; since, if now ! sat
A judge in mine own cause, 1 should conclude
I am not worth their pity. Such as want
Discourse, and judgment, and through weakness

fall,

May merit man's compassion ; but I,
That knew profuseness of expense the parent
Of wretched poverty, her fatal daughter,
To riot out mine own, to live upon
The alms of others, steering on a rock
I might have s-hunu'd ! Oh Heaven ! it is not fit
I should look upward, much less hope for mercy.f

* The next suit he could bey.} Omnia cum pretio ' Jus-
tice was extremely venal in this aye : but the ullii.-ioii,
perhaps, is to the crying grievance of the times, monopo-
lies. A favourite, who could obtain a grant of these frmn
the easy monarch, considered liis fortune as established by
the vast sums at which he disposed of ihem to rapacious
adventurers, who oppressed the people without shame, and
without pity.

t L. Frug. [within.] Call this beadsman-iro/Aer :] i. e.
this poor dependent on our charity.

J This penitential speech of Luke is introduced with ad-
mirable artifice, at the period of tiis breaking forth in his

Enter Lady FRUGAL, ANNE, MARY, SUAROAZE, and

MlLUSCENT.

L. Fnig. What are you devising, sir .'

Anne. My uncle is much given
To his devotion.

Mary. And takes time to mumble
A paternoster to himself.

L. Frug. Know you where
Your brother is? ii better would become you
(Your means of life depending wholly on Lim)
To give your attendance.

Luke. In my will I do :

But since he rode forth yesterday with lord Lacy,
I have not seen him.

L. F'ug. And why went not you
By his stirrup ? How ! do ycTu look ! Were his eyes

closed,
You'd be glad of such employment.

Luke. 'Twas his pleasure

I should wait your commands, and those I am ever
Most ready to receive.

L. Frug. I know you cau speak well ;
But say and i!o.

Enter Lord Lacy.

Luke. Here comes iny Lord.

L. Frug. Further off:

\ ou are no companion for him, and his business
Aims not at you, as I take it.

Luke. Can I live
In this base condition ?

L. Frug. I hoped, my lord,
You had brought master Frugal with you ; for J

must ask
An account of him from you.

L. Lacy. 1 can give it, lady ;
But with the best discretion of a woman,
And a strong fortified patience, I deisre you
To give it hearing.

Luke. My heart beats.

L. I' rug. i\ly lord, you much amaze me. ("chant,

L. Lactj. I shall astonish you. The noble mer-
W'ho, living, was, for his integrity
And upright dealing (a rare miracle
In a rich citizen), London's best honour j
Is 1 am loth to speak it.

Luke. Wonderous strange!

L. Frug. I do suppose the worst; not dead, I
hope !

L. Lacy. Your supposition's true, your hopes

are false ;
He's dead.

L. Frug. Ah me !

Ani.e. My father !

SLiru. My kind lather!

Luke. Mow they insult not.

L. Lacu. Pray hear me out.
He's dead ; dead to the world and you, and now
Lives only to himself.

Luke. What riddle's this?

L. Fmg. Act not the torturer in* my afflictions;
But make me understand the sum of all
That 1 must undergo.

L. Lacy. In few words take it :

true .-haracter; nor if the insolence of lady Frugal and her
daughters less judiciously tinie'l.

* L. Fruit. Art not I lie torturer in my affliction* ;\ Mr
M. Mason reads, it is impossible to say wh>,

Act not the torturer of my ajjticlivns.

."92

THE CITY MADAM.

f ACT IIL

He is retired into a monastery,
Where he resolves to end his days.

Luke. More strnnge.

L. Lacy. I sa\v him take post for Dover, and the

wind

Sitting- so fair, by this he's ssife at Calais,
And ere long will be at Lovain.

L. Frug. Could I guess

What were the motives that induced him to it,
'Twere some allay to mv sorrows.

L. Lacy. I'll instruct you,
And chide you into that knowledge ; 'twas your

pride

Above vour rank, and stubborn disobedience
Of these your daughters, in their milk sucked from

you :

At home the harshness of his entertainment,
You wilfully forgetting that your all
Was borrow'd from him ; and to hear abroad
The imputations dispersed upon you,
And justly too, I fear, that drew him to
This strict retirement : and thus much said for him,
I am myself to accuse you.

L. Frng. I confess

A guilty cause to him, but in a thought,
My lord, I ne'er wrong'd you.

L. Lacy. In fact you have.
The insolent disgrace you put upon
My only son, and Plenty, men that loved
Your daughters in a noble w;iy, to wash off
The scandal, put a resolution in them
For three years' travel.

L. Frug. I am much grieved for it.

L. Lacif. One thing I had forgot ; your rigour to
His decay'd brother, in which your flatteries,
Or sorceries, made him a co-agent with you,
Wrought not the least impression.

Luke. Hum ! this sounds well.

L. Frug. ''['is now past help : after these storms,

my lord,
A little calm, if you please.

L. Lacy. If what 1 have told you
Shovv'd like a storm, what now I must deliver
Will prove a raging tempest. His whole estate,
In lands and leases, debts and present monies,
With all the moveables he stood possess'd of,
With the best advice which he could get for gold
From his learned counsel, by this formal will
Is pass'd o'er to his brother. [Giving the will to

Luke]. With it take
The key of his counting-house. Not a groat left

you,
Which you can call your own.

L. Frug. Undone for ever !

Anne. Mary. What will become of us ?

Luke. Hum !

L. Lacy. The scene is changed,
And he that was your slave, by fate appointed

[Lad;/ Frugal, Mary, and Anne kneel.
Your governor : you km cl to me in vain,
I cannot help you ; I discharge the trust
IiiipoM'd upon me. This humility
From him may gain remission, and perhaps
Forgetfuless of your barbarous usage to him.

L. Frug. Am I come to this !

L. Lucy. Enjoy your own, good sir,
But use it with due reverence. I once heard you
Speak most divinely in the opposition
Of a revengeful humour ; to these show it,
And such who then depended on the mercy

Of your brother, wholly now at your devotion,
And make good the opinion I held of you,
Of which t am most confident.

Luke. Pray you rise. [Raises them,

And rise with this assurance, I am still
As I was of late, your creature; and if raised
In any thing, 'tis in my power to serve you ;
My will is still the same. O my good lord !
This heap of wealth which you possess me of,
Which to a worldly man had been a blessing,
And to the messenger might with justice challenge
A kind of adoration, is to me
A curse I cannot thank you for; and much less
Rejoice in that tranquillity of mind
My brother's vows must purchase. I have made
A dear exchange with him : he now enjoys
My peace and poverty, the trouble of
His wealth conferr'd on me, and that a burthen
Too heavy for my weak shoulders.

L. Lacy. Honest soul,
With what feeling he receives it !

L. Frttg. You shall have
My best assistance, if you please to use it,
To help you to support it.

Luke. By no means :

The weight shall rather sink me, than you part
With one short minute from those lawful pleasures
Which you were born to, in your care to aid mo:
You shall have all abundance. In my nature
1 was ever liberal ; my lord, you know it ;
Kind, affable. And now methinks I see
Before my face the jubilee of joy,
When 'tis assured my brother lives in me,
His debtors, in full cups crown'd to my health,
With paeans to my praise, will celebrate !
For they well know 'tis far from me to take
The forfeiture of a bond : nay, I shall blush,
The interest never paid after three years,
When I demand my principal : and his servants,
Who from a slavish fear paid their obedience,
By him exacted, now, when they aie mine,
Will grow familiar friends, and as such use me ;
Being certain of the mildness of my temper,
Which my change of fortune, frequent in most men,
Hath not the power to alter.

L. Lacy. Yet take heed, sir,
You ruin not, with too much lenity,
What his fit severity raised.

L. Frug. And we fall from
That height we have maintain'd.

Luke. I'll build it higher.
To admiration higher. With disdain
I look upon these habits, no way suiting
The wife and daughters of a knighted citizen
Bless'd with abundance.

L. Lacy. There, sir, I join with you ;
A fit decorum must be kept, the court
Di>tinguish'd from the city.

Lvke. With your favour,

I know what you would say ; but give me leave
In this to be your advocate. You are wide,
Wide the whole region*, in what I purpose, .

You are wide,

Wide the whole rtgion, in what 1 purpose.} This is a most
admirable stroke, and slums with what exquisite judgment
Masainger discriminates his character. Lord Lacy had
touched a discordant string, and the vanity of Luke, already
raised loan inordinate pitch b> his rec.-nt gli.npseot' wealth,
is irritated and alarmed. The expre^ii.-n, You are wide,
wide the whole reyion, is a Latinism, tola ctclo, tola reyiont
oberrat.

THE CITY MADAM.

393

Since all the titles, honours, long descents,
Borrow their gloss from wealth, the rich with reason
May challenge their prerogatives : and it shall be
My glory, nay a triumph, to revive,
In the pomp that these shall shine, the memory
Of the Roman matrons, who kept captive queens
To be their handmaids. And when you appear
Like Juno in full majesty, and my nieces
Like Iris, Hebe, or what deities else
Old poets fancy (your cramm'd wsirdrobes richer
Than various nature's), and draw down the envy
Of our western world upon you ; only hold me
Your vigilant Hermes with aerial wings
(My caduceus, my strong zeal to serve you),
Prest* to fetch in all rarities may delight you,
And I am made immortal.

L. Lacy. A strange frenzy !

Luke. Off with these rags, and then to bed ; there

dream

Of future greatness, which, when you awake,
I'll make a certnin truth : but I must be
A doer, not a promiser. The performance
Requiring haste, I kiss your hands, and leave you.

[Exit.

L. Lacy. Are we all turn'd statues ? have his

strange words charm'd us?
What muse you on, lady ?

L. Frug. Do not trouble me.

L. Lacy. Sleep you too, young ones?

Anne. Swift-wing'd time, till now,
Was never tedious to me. Would 'twere night !

Mary. Nay, morning rather.

L. La !/. Can you ground your faith
On such impossibilities \ have you so soon
Forgot your good husband ?

L. Frug. He was a vanity
I must no more remember.

L. Lacy. Excellent !
You, your kind father ?

Anne. Such an uncle never
Was read of in story !

L. Lacy. Not one word in answer
Of my demands 1

Mary. You are but a lord ; and know,
Mv thoughts soar higher.

L. Lac u. Admirable ! I'll leave you
To your castles in the air. - \Vhen I relate this
It will exceed belief, but he must know it. [Erif.

Star. Now I may boldly speak. May it please

you, madam,

To look upon your vassal ; I foresaw this,
The stars assured it.

L. Frug. I begin to feel
Myself another woman.

'Star. Now you shall find
All my predictions true, and nobler matches
Prepared for my young ladies.

Mill. Princely husbands.

Anne. I'll go no lessf.

Mary. Not a word more ;
Provide my night-railj.

Mill. What shall we be to-morrow ! [Exeunt.

* Prest to fetch in,&c.] i.e. ready, prepared, to fetch in.
The word occurs so frequently in this sense, that it is unue-
cessiry to produce any example of it.

t Anne. I'll go no lets.] This is a gaming phrase, and
means, I will not play for a smaller stake.

J Provide my night-rail, 1 " Enter Crowstitch with a night-
rail. Crow. Pray madam does tlii? belong to you or miss f
O la! Mr. Semibrief here ! (folds up the night-shift hat-
tili/J." Lmx for Money.

SCENE III. Another Room in the same.
Enter LUKE.

Luke. 'Twas no fantastic object, but a truth,
A real truth ; nor c'ream : I did not slumber,
And could wake ever with a brooding eye
To gaze upon't ! it did endure the touch,
I saw and felt it ! Yet what I beheld
And handled oft, did so transcend belief
( Mv wonder and astonishment pass'd o'er),
[ faintly could give credit to my senses.
Thou dumb magician, [Taking out a key], that

without a charm

Didst make my entrance easy, to possess
What wise men wish, and toil fur ! Hermes' moly,
Sibylla's golden bough, the great elixir,

j Imagined only* by the alchymist,

j Compared with thee are shadows thou the sub-
stance,

i And guardian of felicity ! No marvel,
My brother made thy place of rest his bosom,
Thou being the keeper of his heart, a mistress
To be hugg'd ever! In by-corners of
This sacred room, siher in bass, heap'd up
Like billets saw'd and ready for the fire,
Unworthy to hold fellowship with bright gold
That flow'd about the room, conceal'd itself.
There needs no artificial light; the splendour
Makes a perpetual day there, night and darkness
By that still-burning lamp for ever banish'd !
But when, guided by that, my eyes had made
Discovery of the caskets, and they open'd,
Each sparkling diamond from itself shot forth
A pyramid of flames, and in the roof
Fix'd it a glorious star, and mmle the place
Heaven's abstract, or epitome! rubies, sapphires,
And ropes of orient pearl, these seen, I could not
But look on with conteinptf. And yet I found
What weak credulity could have no faith in,
A treasure far exceeding these : here lay
A manor bound fast in a skin of parchment,
The wax continuing hard, the iicres melting j
Here a sure deed of gift for a market-town,
If not redeem'd this day, which is not in
The unthrift's power : there being scarce one shire
In Wales or England, where my monies are not
Lent out at usury, the certain hook

* Imagined only by the alchymist,] \. e. which only ex-
ists in the imagination of the akin mist

t and made the place

Heaven's abstract. or epitome: rubies, sapphires,
And ropes of orient pearl, these seen, I could not
But look on with contempt.] For these most beautiful
lines, which 1 have faithfully taken from the old copies, the
modern editors give us,

and made the peace

Heaven's abstract, or epitome. Rubies, sapphires,
And ropes of oriental pearl ; these seen, 1 could not
But look on gold with contempt ! !

These vile and senseless interpolations utterly subvert not
only the metre, but the meaning of the passage: indeed it is
evident that neither Coxeler nor Mr. M. Mason (I am loth
to speak of Dodsley), understood a syllable of what they
were mangling under the idea of reforming. The sense now
is clear enough : the diamonds, which are described by one
of the most magnificent figures to be found in all poetry, so
ravished his si.iln, that he looked upon the other precious
stones, rubies, sapphires, and pearls (not the gold, which he
had already dismissed troin his thoughts), with contempt.
Errors of this nature are the more to be regretted, HS they
have induced many critics (mid among them Dr. Ferriar*)
to complain of a want of liarinony in a speech rhythmical
anil melodious almost beyond example.

* See The Essay on Massinqer.

334

THE CITY MADAM.

[Arr TIL

To draw in more. I am sublimed ! gross earth
Supports me not ; 1 walk on air ! Who's there 1
Enter Lord LACY, with Sir JOHN FRVCAL, Sir
MAI'KICF. LACY, and PLENTY, disguised as Indians.

Thieves ! raise the street ! thieves !

L. Lani. What strange passion's this !
Have you vour eyes ? do you know me?

Luke. You, my lord !

I do : but this retinue, in these shapes too,
May well excuse my fears. When 'tis your plea-
sure

That I should wait upon you, give me leave
To do it at your own house, for I must tell vou,
Things as they now are with me well consider'd,
I do not like such visitants.

L. Lacy. Yesterday,

\Vhen you had nothing, praise your poverty for't,
You could have sung secure before x thief;
But now you are grown rich, doubts and suspi-
cions,
And needless fears, possess you. Thank a good

brother;
But let not this exalt you.

Luke. A good brother* !
Good in his c nscience, I confess, and wise.
In giving o'er the world. But his estate,
Whteh your lordship may conceive great, no way

answers

The general opinion : alas !
With a great charge, I am left a poor man by him.

L. Loci/. A poor man, say you ?

Luke. Poor, compared with that
'Tis thought I do possess. Some little land,
Fair household furniture, a few good debts,
But empty bags, J find : yet I will be
A faithful steward to his wife and daughters ;
And. to the utmost of inj power, obey
His will in all things.

L. Lacy. I'll not argue with you
Of his estate, but bind you to performance
Of his last request, which is, for testimony
Of his religious charity, that you would
Receive these Indians, lately sent him from
Virginia, into your house ; and labour
At any rate, with the best of your endeavours,
Assisted by the aids of our divines,
To make them Christians.

Luke. Call you this, my lord,
Religious charity ; to send infidels,
Like hungry locusts, to devour the bread
Should feed his family 1 1 neither cau
Nor will consent to't.

L. Lacy. Do not slight it ; 'tis
With him a business of such consequence,
That should he only hear 'tis not embraced,

Luke. A good brother !

Good in his conscience, / confess, &c.l Luke alludes here
to the mercantile sense of the word good, i. e. rich. In
Lord Lacy's speech, there is an allusion to the well known
vei se :

Canlulit vacuut corum latrone viator.

And cheerfully, in this his conscience aiming
At the saving of three souls, 'twill draw him o'er
To seo it himself accomplish'd.

Luke. Heaven forbid

1 should divert him from his holy purpose
To worldly cares again ! 1 rather will
Sustain the burthen, and with the converted
Feast the converters, who, I know, will prove
The greater feeders.

Sir John. Oh, ha,enewah Chrish bulltf leika.

Plenty. Enaiito.

Sir Maur. Ha\-ric<> hntikia banner y.

Luke. Ha ! in this heathen language,
How is it possible our doctors should
Hold conference with them, or I use the means
For their conversion ]

L. Lacu. That shall be no hindrance
To your good purposes* : they have lived long
In the Knglish colony, and speak our language
As their own dialect ; the business does concern

you :

Mine own designs command me hence. Continue,
As in your poverty you were, a pious
Ai:d honest man. [Exit.

Luke. That is, interpreted,
A slave and beggar.

Sir John. You conceive it right ;
There being no religion, nor virtue,
But in abundance, and no vice but want.
All deities serve Plutus.

Ltike Oracle !

Sir John. Temples raised to ourselves in tb*

increase

Of wealth and reputation, speak a wise man;
But sacrifice to an imagined Power,
Of which we have no sense but in belief,
A superstitious fool.

Luke. True worldly wisdom !

Sir JitJm. All knowledge else is folly.

Sir Maur. Now we are yours,
Be confident your better angel is
Enter'd your house.

Plenty. There being nothing in
The compass of your wishes, but shall end
In their fruition to the full.

Sir John. As yet,

You do not know us ; but when yon understand
The wonders we can do, and what the ends were
That brought us hither, you will entertain us
With more respect.

Luke. There's something whispers to me
These are no common men ; my house is yours,
Enjoy it freely : only grant me this,
Not to be seen abroad till I have heard
More of your sacred principles. Pray enter.
You are learned Europeans, and we worse
Than. ignorant Americans.

Sir John. You shall find it. f Exeunt.

* To your good purposes .] Mr. M. Mason omits good;
and, what is of more importance, the exit at the conclusion
ol the speech.

SCBNK I.]

THE CITY MADAM.

395

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A Room in Frugal's House.

Enter DING'EM, GETTALL, and HOLDFAST.
Ding. Not speak with liiui! with fear survey me

better,
Thou figure of famine !

Gelt. Coming, as we do,

From his quondam patrons, his dear ingles now*,
The brave spark Tradewell,
Ding. And the man (if men
In the service of a woman, gallant Goldwire !

Enter LUKE.

Hold. I know them for his prentices, without
These flourishes. Here are rude fellows, sir.
Ding. Not yours, you rascal !
Hnid. No, don pimp ; you may seek them
In Bridewell, or the hole; here are none of your

comroguesf.
Luke. One of them looks as he would cut my

throat :
Your business, friends?

Hold. I'll fetch a constable;
Let him answer him in the stocks.

Ding. Stir an thou dar'st :
Fright me with Biidewell and the stocks! they are

fleabitings
I am fnmiliar with. [Draws.

Luke. Pray you put up ;
And, sirrah, hold your peace.

Ding. Thy word's a law,

And 1 obey. Live, scrape-shoe, and be thankful.
Thou man of muck and money, for as such
I now salute thee, the suburbian gamesters
Have liea-d thy fortunes, and I am in person
Sent to congratulate.

Gelt. The news hath reach'd
The ordinaries, and all the gamesters are
Ambitious to shake the golden gollsf
Of worshipful master Luke. 1 come from Trade-
well,

Your fine facetious factor.
Ding. I from Goldwire;
Me and his Helen have prepared a banquet,
With tiie appurtenances, to entertain thee;
For I must whisper in thine ear, thou art
To be her Paris : but bring money with thee
To quit old scores.

Gelt. Blind chance hath frown 'd upon
Brave Tradewell: lie's blown up, but not without
Hope of recovery, so you supply him

* his dear ingles note,] i. e. Ms bo-
som friends, his associates , enyhle, which the cimiinetiiators
sometimes confuund ith this wunl, dirtVrs from it altoge-
ther, bolh in its derivation and it* iiie.miiig.

t Here are none of your comrogues:] This is absurdly
changed in the modern editions into comrades, a very su-
perfluous word after fellows.

j the goldvn golls, &c. I Golls is a cant word

for hands, or rather lists: it occurs continually in our old
poets. Thus Decker: "Hold up thy hands; I have seen
the day when tliou diiUt not scorn to hold up thy i/olls."

Xatiromastix.

" Bid her tie up her head, and wish her
To wash her hands in bran or flower,
And do you in like manner scour
Your dirty golU." Cotton's Virgil, B. IV.

With a good round sum. In my house, I can assure

you,
There's half a million stirring.

Luke. What hath he lost 1

Gett. Three hundred.

Luke. A trifle.

Gett. Make it up a thousand,
And 1 will fit him with such tools as shall
Bring in a myriad

Luke. They know me well,

N or need you use such circumstances for them :
What's mine is theirs. They are iny friends, not

servants,

But in their care to enrich me ; and these courses
The speeding means. Your name, I pray you ?

Gett. Gettall.

I have been many years an ordinary-keeper,
My box my poor revenue.

Luke. Your name suits well

With your profession. Bid him bear up, he shall not
Sit long on Penniless- Bench.

Gett. There spake an angel.

Luke. You know mistress Shave'em?

Gett. The pontifical punk ?

Luke. The same. Let him meet me there some

two hours hence :

And Tell Tom Goldwire I will then be with him
Furnish'd beyond his hopes ; and let your mistress
Appear in her best trim.

Ding. She will make thee young,
Old .-Esoti : she is ever furnish'd with
Medsa's drugs, restoratives. I fly-
To keep them sober till thy worship come ;
They will be drunk with joy else.

Gett. I'll run with you.

[Exeunt Dhig'em and Gettall.

Hold. You will not do as you say, I hope ?

Luke, inquire not ;

I shall do what becomes me. [Knocking within."]
To the door. [Exit Holdfast.

New visitants !

Re-enter HOLDFAST.

What are they?

//<>/(/. A whole batch, sir,

Almost of the same leaven : your needy debtors,
Penury, Fortune, Hoyst.

Luke. They come to congratulate
TLe fortune fallen upon me.

Hold. Rather, sir,
Like the others, to prey on you.

Luke. I am simple ; they
Know my good nature : but let them in, however.

Hold. All will come to ruin ! I see beggary
Already knocking at the door. You may enter

[Speaking to those

But use a conscience, and do not work upon
A tender-hearted gentleman too much ;
'Twill show like charity in you.

Enter FORTUNE, PENURY, and HOYBT.

Luke. Welcome, friends :
I know your hearts, and wishes ; you are glad
You have changed your creditor

396

THE CITY MADAM.

[Acr IV

Pen. 1 weep for joy
To look upon his worship's face.

For. His worship's !

I see lord mayor written on his forehead ;
The cap of maintenance, and city sword,
Borne iq> in state before him.

Hoyst. Hospitals,
And a third Burse, erected by his honour.

Pen. The city poet on the pageant day
Preferring him before Gresham. \

Hoyst. All the conduits
Spouting canary sack.

For. Not a prisoner left,
Under ten pounds.

Pen. We, his poor beadsmen, feasting
Our neighbours on his bounty.

Tsttke. AJay I make good

Your prophecies, gentle friends, as I'll endeavour
To the utmost of my power !

Hold. Yes, for one year,
And break the next.

Luke. You are ever prating, sirrah.
Your presfnt business, friends?

For. Were your brother present,
Mine had been of seme consequence ; but now
The power lies in your worship's hand, 'tis little,
And will, I know, as soon as ask'd, be granted.

1 uke. 'Tis very probable.

For. The kind forbearance
Of my great debt, by your means, Heaven be

prais'd for't !

Hath raised my sunk estate. I have two ships,
Which I long since gave for lost, above my hopes
Return'd from Barbary, and richly freighted.

Lukt. Where are they ?

.For. Near Gravesend.

Luke. I am truly glad of it.

For. I find your worship's charity, and dare

swear so.

Now may I have your license, as I know
With willingness I shall, to make the best
Of the commodities, though you have execution,
And afterjudgment, against all that's mine,
As my poor body, I shall be enabled
To make payment of my debts to all the world,
And leave myself a competence.

Luke. You much wrong me,
If you only doubt it. Yours, Mr. Hoyst?

Hoyst. 'Tis the surrendering back the mortgage

of
My lands, and on good terms, but three days

patience ;

By an uncle's death I have means left to redeem it,
And cancel all the forfeited bonds I seal'd to,
In my riots, to the merchant ; for I am
Resolved to leave off' play, and turn good husband.

Luke. A good intent, and to be cherish'd in you.
Yours, Penury ?

Pen. My state stands as it did, sir :
What I owed I owe, but can pay nothing to you.
Vfit, if you please to trust me with ten pounds

more,

I cau buy a commodity of a sailor
Will make me a freeman. There, sir, is his name ;
And the parcels I am to deal for.

[Gives him a paper.

Luke. You are all so reasonable
In your demands, that I must freely grant them.
Some three hours hence meet me on the Exchange,
You Bhail be amply satisfied.

Pen. Heaven preserve you !

For. Happy were London, if within her walls
She had many such rich men !

Luke. No more; now leave me ;
I am full of various thoughts. [Exeunt Fortune,

Hoyst, and Penury.] Be careful, Holdfast :
I have much to do.

Hold. And I something to say
Would you give me hearing.

Luke. At my better leisure.
Till my return look well unto the Indians ;
In the mean time do you as this directs you.

[Gives him a paper. Exeuit.

SCENE II. A Room in Shave'em's House.

EnterGowwiRf. junior, TnM>EV,-Ei--L junior, SHAVE' EM,
SECRET, GETTALL, and DJNG'EM.

Gold. All that is mine is theirs. Those were his
words ?

Ding. 1 am authentical.

Trade. And that I should not
Sit long on Penniless-Bench ?

Gett. But suddenly start up
A gamester at the height, and cry, At all!

Shave. And did he seem to have an inclination
To toy with me ?

Ding. He wish'd you would put on
Your best habiliments, for he resolved
To make a jovial day on't.

Gold. Hug him close, wench,
And thou may'st eat gold and amber. I well know

him

For a most insatiate drabber ; he hath given.
Before he spent his own estate, which was
Nothing to the huge mass he's now possess'd of,
A hundred pound a leap.

Shaie. Hell take my doctor !

He should have brought me some fresh oil of talc ;
These ceruses are common*.

Secret. ' Troth, sweet lady,
The colours are well laid on.

Gold. And thick enough,
I find that on my lips.

Shave. Do you so, Jack Sauce !
I'll keep them further off.

Gold. But be assured first

Of a new maintainer ere you cashier the old one.
But bind him fast by thy sorceries, and thou shall
Be my revenue ; the whole college study
The reparation of thy ruin'd face ;
Thou shalt have thy proper and bald-headed coach-
man ;

Thy tailor and embroiderer shall kneel
To thee, their idol : Cheapside arid the Exchange
Shall court thy custom, and thou shalt forget

* He should have brouyht me spine fresh oil of talc ;

These ceruses are common. \ Talc is a fossil ea:-ily divi-
sible into thin laminae. From its smoothness, nnclitosilv,
and brightness, it has been "really c< Icbratcd as a conmetic,
and the chymists have submitted it to a variety of ope-
rations for procuring from it oils, salts, tinctures, ma-
gisteries, &c., for that purpose: but all their labours have
been in vain, and all the preparations sold innltr the name
of oil of talc, &c., have either contained nothing of that
mineral, or only a fine powder of it. To this information,
which I owe to the Kncyclojisedia Britannica, 1 have only
to add, that a deleterious composition, under this name, was
sold by the quacks of Massinger's time, as a wa.-h for the
complexion, and is mentioned by all his contemporaries
Ceruse, I fear, is yet in use.

SriNE II.]

THE CITY MADAM.

397

There e'er was a St. Martin's* : thy procurer
Shall be sheath'd in velvet and a reverend veil
Pass her for a grave matron. Have an eye to the

door,

And let loud music, when this monarch enters,
Proclaim his entertainment.

Ding. 1 hat's my office.

[Flourish of cornets within.
The consort's ready.

Enter LUKE.

Trade. And the pod of pleasure,
Master Luke, our Comus, enters.

Gold. Set your face in order,
I will prepare him. Live 1 to see this day,
And to acknowledge you my royal master ?

Trade. Let the iron chests fly open, and the gold,
Rusty for want of use, appear ag-.iin !

Gett. Make my ordinary flourish !

Shave. Welcome, sir,
To your own palace ! [The music plays.

Gold. Kiss your Cleopatra,

And show yourself, in your magnificent bounties,
A second Antony !

Ding. All the nine worthies .'

Secret. Variety of pleasures wait upon you,
And a strong back !

Luke. Give me leave to breathe, I pray you.
I am astonished ! all this preparation
For me 1 and this choice modest beauty wrought
To feed my appetite?

Alt. We are all your creatures.

Luke. A house well furnish'd !

Gnl.il. At your own cost, sir.
Glad I the instrument. I prophesied
You should possess what now you do, and therefore
Prepared it for your pleasure. There's no rag
This Venus wears, but, on my knowledge, was
Derived from your brother's cash ; the lease of the

house,
And furniture, cost near a thousand, sir.

Shave. But now you are master both of it and

me,
I hope you'll build elsewhere.

Luke. And see you placed,

Fair one, toyourdesert. As I live, friend Trade-
well,
I hardly knew you, your clothes so well become

you.
What is your loss ? speak truth.

Trade. Three hundred, sir.

Gett. But on a new supply he shall recover
The sum told twenty times o'er.

Shave, There's a banquet,
And alter that a soft couch, that attends you.

Luke. I couple not in the daylight. Expectation
Heightens the pleasure of the night, my sweet one !
Your music's harsh, discharge it ; I have provided
A better consort, and you shall frolic it
In another place. [The music ceases.

Gold. But have you brought gold, and store, sirf ?

Trade. I long to wear the casterf.

- Thou thalt forget

Th'-re e'er was a St. Martin's;] The parish of St. Martin
appears fnun the old histories of London, to have been dis-
tinguished, succes.ivtly, for a sanctuary, a bridewell, a spit-
tle, and an alms-house. Which of them was to be driven
from the mind of mistress Shavc'em, by the full tide of
prosperity which is here anticipated, must be left to the
kagacity of the reader.

t Gold. But have you brought gold, and store, sir?}
This, as I have al.eady observed, is a line of an old ballad.

J Tra-le. 1 lony to wear the caster.] Tradewell is anxious

Gold. I to appear
In a fresh habit.

Shave. My mercer and my silkman
Waited me two hours since.

Luke. I ti m no porter
To carry so much gold as will supply
Your vast, desires, but I have ta'en order for you :

Enter Sheriff, Marshal, and Officers.
You shall have what is fitting, and they come here
Will see it perform 'd. Do your offices : you have
My lord chief-justice's warrant for't.

Sher. Seize them all.

Shave. The city marshal !

Gold. And the sheriff! I know him.

Secret. We are betrayed.

Ding. Undone.

Gett. Dear master Luke.

G:>ld. You cannot be so cruel ; your persuasion
Chid us into these courses, oft repeating,
Shou'i/our*elies city-sparkt, and hang up money !

Luke. True ; when it was my brother's, I con-
temn 'd it ;
But now it is mine own, the case is altered.

Trade. \\i\] you prove yourself a devil? tempt

us to mischief,
And then discover it !

Luke. Argue that hereafter;

In the meantime, Master Goldwire, you that made
Your ten-pound suppers ; kept your punks at livery
In Brentford, Staines, and liarnet, and this, m Lon-
don ;

Held correspondence with your fellow-cashiers,
Ka me ka thee ! and knew in your accompts
To cheat mv brother, if you c;m, evade me.
If there be law in London, your father's bonds
Shall answer for what you are out.

for a supply of money, to retnrn to the ordinary or gam-
bling house. For caster Mr. M. Mason chooses to read
caitor : lie then observes on his own sophistication, "allu-
ding to the throwers of dice at hazard, and to the cloth
made of the beaver's hair " The last supposition is unlikely,
the former is probably right. The difficulty, however, is not
in the word caster, but wear. Wliether wear the caster,
siiiiiitifd in the language of gaming, to tire the caster, or had
any other meaning more appropriate to the profession, I
know not; but am willing to suppose so, in preference to
tampering with the text. 1805.

I have suffered this note, which I trust is sufficiently
modest, to remain as a memento to those who, like myself,
may have to treat of technical terms, in an art to which
they are strangers. While I was gravely labouring to rea-
son on a printer's blunder, and to explain a te\t which, if
correct, I should not have understood, a reference to the
Monthly Mirror set all right in an instant.

" Ware the caster!" (for so it should be and not wear).
"When the setter supposes himself to possess more money
than the caster, it is usual for Mm, on putting his stake into
the rin, to cry (fare caster! the caster then declares at all
under such a sum, ten, twenty, or fifty pounds, for instance;
or else to place against the stakes of certain setters, the cor-
responding sums, and cry, Ware cover'd only !" This ex-
planation undoubtedly adds greatly to the force and humour
of this character. " The ambitious Tradewell expects by
the assistance of Lnke, to be lord-paramount of the gaming-
table : as caster to be at all! and as setter, to ware the cas-
ter I"

Mr. M. Mason's observation on caster, led me to observe
that this was also a cant term for a Plymouth cloak, i. e.
a staff, which I mention, beca.ise it gives me an opportunity
of adding the following lively and pleasing passage, from
Shirley, which the reader may, if he pleases, add to what
has been already advanced on this term,

" a reed

But waved discreetly, has so many pores,
Jt sncks up all the rain that falls a bout one.
With this defence, when other men I ave been
Wet to the skin through all their cloaks, I have
Defied a tempest, and walked by the taverns
Dry as a bone." Lady of Pleasure. Act. IV.

398

THE CITY MADAM.

Gold. You often told us
It was a bugbear.

Luke. Such a one as shall fright them
Out of their estates, to make me satisfaction
To the utmost scruple. And for you, madam,
My Cleopatra, by your own confession,
Your house, and all your moveables, are mine ;
Nor shall you nor your matron need to trouble
Y'our mercer, or your silkman ; a blue gown,
And a whip to boot, as I will handle it,
Will serve the turn in bridewell ; and these soft

hands,

When they are inured to beating hemp, be scour'd
In your penitent tears, and quite forget their

powders
And bitter almonds.

Shave. Secret. Ding. Will you show no mercy?

Luke. 1 am inexorable.

Celt. I'll make bold
To taKc n.y leave ; the gamesters stay my coming.

Luke. We must not part so, gentle master Gett-

all.

Your box, your certain income, must pay back
Three hundred, as I take i', or you lie by it.
There's half a million stirring in your house,
This a poor trifle. Master Shrieve and master

M arshal ,
On your perils do your offices.

Gold. Dost thou cry now [To Tradewell.

Like a maudlin gamester after loss? I'll suffer
Like a boimmf, and now in my misery,
In scorn of all thy wealth, to thy teeth tell thee
Thou wert my pander.

Luke. Shall I hear this from
My prentice ?

A/or. Stop his mouth.

Sher. Away with them.

[Exeunt Sheriff. Marshal, and Officers, with
Gold. Trade. Shave. Secret. Gett. and Ding.

Luke. A prosperous omen in my entrance to
My alter'd nature ; these house-thieves remov'd,
And what was lost, beyond my hopes recover'd,
Will add unto my heap : increase of wealth
Is the rich man's ambition, and mine
Shall know no bounds. The valiant Macedon
Having in his conceit subdued one world,
Lamented that there were no more to conquer :
In my way, he shall be my great example.
And when my private house, in cramm'd abund-
ance,

Shall prove the chamber of the city poor,
And Genoa's bankers shall look pule with envy
When 1 am mentioned, I shall grieve there is
No more to be exhausted in one kingdom.
Religion, conscience, charity, farewell !
To me you are words only, and no more ;
All human happiness consists in store. [Exit.

/'// suffer

Like a boman,] " A batnan, in the language of Alsatn"
(While Friars, of fraudulent debtors, gamblers, thieves),
" means a gallant fellow." M. MASON. It does so; but I
doubt whether this was the author's word. Goldwire is not a
Cimblcr, nor dors he attVct the cant of one. llomiin, in ihe
quarto, iiiven with the capital letter, and is not improbably a
misprint for Roman. To die or to .suffer like a Roman, occurs
peroetnally in our old plays, an<l, generally, in a kiml of
mock-heroic. Thus La/.arillo, in The H'oman-Uater " I
will die bravely, and like a Roman .'"

SCENE III. A Street.

Enter Serjeants uith FORTUNE, HOYST, and PEXUKY.
For. At master Luke's suit* ! the action twenty

thousand !
1 Serj. With two or three executions, which shall

grind you
To powder when we have you in the counter.

For. Thou dost belie him, varlet ! be, good gentle-
man,
Will weep when he hears how we are used.

1 Serj. Yes, millstones.

Pen. He promised to lend me ten pound for a

bargain,
He will not do it this way.

2 Serj. I have warrant

For what I have done. You arc a poor fellow,

And there being Intle to be got by you,

In charity, as I urn an officer,

1 would not have seen you, but upon compulsion,

And for mine own security.

3 Serj. You are a gallant,

And I'll do you a courtesy, provided

That you Lave money : for a piece an hour,

I'll keep you in the house till you send for bail.

2 Serj. In the mean time, yeoman, run to the other
counterf,

And search if there be aught else out against him.

3 Serj. That done, haste to his creditors : he's a
prize,

And as we are city pirates by our oaths,
We must make the best on't.

Hoiist. Do your worst, I care not.
I'll be removed to tbe Fleet, and drink and drab

there

In spite of your teeth. I now repent I ever
Intended to be honest.

Enter LUKE.

3. Seij. Here he comes
You had best tell so.

For. Worshipful sir,

You come in time to free us from these bandogs.
I know you gave no way to'U

Pen. Or if you did,
'Twas but to try our patience.

Hoy. 1 must tell you
I do not like such trials.

Luke. Are you Serjeants
Acquainted with the danger of a rescue,
Y'et stand here prating in the street? the counter
Is a safer place to parley in.

For. Are you in earnest?

* At master J^uke's suit ! The action twenty thousand (1
The old copy reads, At M. Luke's suit! die., which I only
notice for the sake of observing that our old writers assumed
to themselves the privilege of abridging the word matter,
and pronouncing only ihe initial letter of it (em), as in the
line before us. Of this there are too many instances in this
single play to admit a doubt; since without some license of
this sort, many lines could not be spoken as verse.

t 2 Serj. Jn the mean time, yeoman, run to the other
counter, &c.] Fielding has closely followed Massinger in
his Amelia; indeed, he has done little more than copied
him, or rather perhaps nature, which each of them had in
view. The dialogue before us might have been written yes
terday.

J 3 Serj. Here he comes

You had best tell so } Mr. M. Mason reads,
Here he comes ;
You had best him tell so.

His false pointing made his barbarous interpolation neeet-
sary; the old copy is evidently rigrt.

>CESE IV.]

THE CITY MADAM.

399

Luke. Yes, faith ; I will be satisfied to a token*,
Or, build upon't, you rot there.

For. Can a gentleman

Of your soft and silken temper speak such lan-
guage ?

Pen. So bonest, so religious ?
HOIJ. That preached
So much of charity for us to -your brother?

I, uke. Yes, when I was in poverty it showed

well ;

jt I inherit with his state, his mind,
And rougher nature. I ijrant then I talked,
For some ends to myself concealed, of pity,
The poor man's orisons, and such like nothings :
But what I thought you shall all feel, and with

rigour ;
Kind master Luke says it. Who pays for your

attendance ?
Do you wait gratis ?
For. Hear us speak.
Luke. While I,

Like the adder, stop mine ears : or did I listen,
Though you spake with the tongues of angels to

me,
lam not to be altered.

For. Let me make the best
Of my ships, and their freight.

Pen. Lend me the ten pounds you promised.
Hoy. A day or two's patience to redeem mv

mortgage,

And you shall be satisfied.
Fur. To the utmost farthing.
Luke. I'll show some mercy ; which is, that I

will not

Torture you with false hopes, but make you know
What you shall trust to. Your ships to my use
Are seized on. I have got into my hands
Your bargain from the sailor, 'twas a good one
For such a petty sum. I will likewise take
The extremity of your mortgage, and the forfeit
Of your several bonds ; the use and principal
Shall not serve. Think of the basket, wretches,
And a coal-sack for a winding-sheet.
For. Broker !
Hoy. Jew !
For. Impostor!
Hoy. Cut-throat!
For. Hypocrite !
Luke. Do, rail on ;
Mov ' mountains with your breath, it shakes not

me.
Pen. On my knees I beg compassion. My wife

and children
Shall hourly pray for your worship.

For. Mine betake thee
To the devil, thy tutor*.
Pen. Look upon my tears.
Hiiy. My rage.
For. My wrongs.
Luke. They are all alike to me ;

* Luke. Yes, faith, 1 will be satisfied to a token,] i. e.
to a farthing.

t For. M'me betake thee

To the devil, f.hy tutor.] That is, says Mr. Davies,
"may the earth open to swallow thee up, or majst ilum be
undermine'!" ! Why, this "is the beat fooling of all." To
betake is to recommend, to consign, lo give over: My wife
and children, say- Penury, shall pray for you. Aline (i.e.
my wife and children)* add.s Fortune, shall consign you to
tiiu devil, voui tutor.

Entreaties, curses, prayers, or imprecations.
Do your duties, serjeants, I am elsewhere look'd
for. [Em.

3 Serj. This your kind creditor !
2 Serj. A vast villain, rather.
Pen. See, see, the Serjeants pity us ! yet he's

marble.

Hoy. Buried alive !
For. There's no means to avoid.it. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Rotmin. Sir John Frugal's House.
Ei-.ter HOLDFAST, STARGAZE, and MILLISCENT.

Star. Not wait upon my lady?
Hold. Nor come at her ;
You find it not in your almanack.

Mill. Nor I have license
To bring her breakfast ?

H"td. My new master hath
Decreed this for a fasting-d;iy. She hath feasted

long,
And after a carnival Lent ever follows.

Milt. Give me the key of her wardrobe. You'll

repent this ;
1 must know what gown she'll wear.

Hold. You are mistaken,
Dame president of the sweetmeats ; she and her

daughters

Are lurird philosophers, nnd must carrv all
Their wealth ab'.mt them: they have clothes laid in

their chamber,

If they please to put them on, and without help too,
Or they may walk naked. You look, master Star-
gaze,
As you had seen a strange comet, and had now

foretold

The end of the world, and on what day : and you,
As the wasps had broke into the gallipots,
And eaten up your apricots.

L. Fnig. [within.] Stargaze! Milliscent !
Milt. My ladv's voice.
Hold. Stir not, you are confined here.
Your ladyship may approach them if you please,
But they are bound in this circle.

L. Frug. [idthin] Mine own bees
Rebel against me* ! When my kind brother knows

tliis,
I will be so revenged !

Hold. The world's well alter'd.
He's your kind brother now ; but yesterday
Your slave and jesting-stock.

Enter Lady FRUGAL, ANNE, and MARY, in coarse
ha hits, weeping.

Mill. What witch hath transformed you ?

Star. Is this the glorious shape your cheating
brother

Promised you should appear in?

Mill. My young ladies

In buffin gowns, and green aprons ! tear them off;
Rather show all than be seen thus.

Hold. Tis more comely,
I wis, than their other whim-whams.

* L. Frut;. lUiw own bees

lifbt'l ayainst me,} This is a strange expression ; but it
is probably nglii : the lady seems still to consider herself a*

400

THE CITY MADAM.

[Acr [V

Mill. A French hood too,
Now 'tis out of fashion ! a fool's cap would show

better.

L. Frug. We are fool'd indeed : by whose com-
mand are we used this 1

Enter LUKE.

Hold. Here he comes that can best resolve you.
L. Fntg. O, good brother!
Do you thus preserve your protestation to me 1
Can queens envy this habit ? or did Juno
E'er feast in such a shape ?

Anne. You talk'd of Hebe.
Of Iris, and I know not what; but were they
Dress'd as we are ? they were sure some chandlers'

daughters
Bleaching linen in Moorfields.

Mary. Or exchange wenches,
Coming from eating pudding-pies on a Sunday
At Pimlico, or Islington.
Luke. Save you, sister !
I now dare style you so : you were before
Too glorious to be look'd on, now you appear
Like a city matron, and my pretty nieces
Such things as were born and bred there. Why

should you ape

The fashions of court-ladies, whose high titles,
And pedigrees of long descent, give warrant
For their superfluous bravery ? 'twas monstrous :
Till now you ne'er look'd lovely.

L. Frug. Is this spoken
In scorn ?

Luke. Fie! no; with judgment. I make good
My promise, and now show you like yourselves,
In your own natural shapes, and stand resolved
You shall continue so.

L. Frug. It is confess'd, sir.*

Luke Sir ! sirrah : use your old phrase, I can

bear it.

L. Frug. That, if you please, forgotten, we ac-
knowledge

We have deserved ill from you, yet despair not,
Though we are at your disposure, you'll maintain

Like your brother's wife and daughters.
Luke. Tis my purpose.
L. Frug. And not make us ridiculous.
Luke. Admired rather,
As fair examples for our proud city dames,
And their proud brood to imitvite. Do not frown ;
If you do, I laugh, and glory that I have
The power, in you, to scourge a general vice,
And rise up a new satirist : but hear gently,
And in a gentle phrase I'll reprehend
Your late disguised deformity, and cry up
This decency and neatness, with the advantage
You shall receive by't.

L. Frug. We are bound to hear you.

Luke. With a soul inclined to learn. Your

father was

An honest country farmer, goodman Humble,
By his neighbours ne'er call'd Master. Did your

pride

Descend from him 1 but let that pass : your fortune,
Or rather your husband's industry, advanced you

L. Frng. It i* confesi'd, sir.] A speech of Luke's ap-
pears to be lost litre, for in th.it to which this forms the reply,
no iicriyy.aii.il of Lady Prusj.il is bioii^lH forward ; nor does
it at all appear, what she so meekly admits.

To the rank of a merchant's wife. He made a

knight,

And your sweet mistress-ship ladyfied, you wore
Satin on solemn days, a chain of gold,
A velvet hood, rich borders, and sometimes
A dainty miniver cap*, a silver pin
Headed with a pearl worth three-pence, and thus

far

You were privileged, and no man envied it ;
It being for the city's honour that
There should be a distinction between
The wife of a patrician, and plebeian.

Mill. Pray you, leave preaching, or choose some

other text ;

Your rhetoric is too moving, for it makes
Your auditory weep.

Luke. Peace, chattering magpie !
I'll treat of you anon ; but when the height
And dignity of London's blessings grew
Contemptible, and the name lady mayoress
Became a bv-word, and you scorn'd the means
By which you were raised, my brother's fond indul-
gence

Giving the reins to it; and no object pleased you
But the glittering pomp and bravery of the court ;
What a strange, nay monstrous, metamorphosis fol-
lowed !

No English workman then could please your fancy,
The French and Tuscan dress your whole dis-
course ;

This bawd to prodigality, entertain'd
To buzz into your ears what shape this countess
Appear'd in the last mask, and how it drew
The young lords' eyes upon her ; and this usher
Succeeded in the eldest prentice' place
To walk before you

L. Frug. Pray you end.

Hold. Proceed, sir ;

I could fast almost a prenticeship to hear you,
You touch them so to the quick.

Luke. Then, as I said,

The reverend hood cast off, your borrow'd hair,
Powder'd and curl'd, was by your dresser's art
Form'd like a coronet, hang'd with diamonds,
And the richest orient pearl ; your carcanets
That did adorn your neck, of equal value* :
Your Hungerford bands, and Spanish quellio ruffs ;
Great lords and ladies feasted to survey
Embroider'd petticoats; and sickness feign'd
That your night-rails of forty pounds a piece
Might be seen with envy of the visitants ;
Rich pantofles in ostentation shown,

* A dainty miniver cap,] Miniver, as I learn from Cot-
grave, ii the fur of the ermine mixed with that of the sma1[
weasel (menu vair), called gris or gray. In the days of
our author, and indeed, lung before, the use of furs was
almost universal. The nobility had them of ermine and
sable, the wealthy merchants, of vair and gray (the dainty
miniver of Luke), and the lower onler of people of such
home material* as were easiest supphed, squirrel, lamb, and
above all, rabbit's skins. For this last article the demand
was ancienily so great, that innumerable rabbit warrens
were established In the vicinity of the metropolis.

t your carcancfi,

That did adorn your necks, of equal value :] with

what he had mentioned before. I should not have noticed
this, had not Mr. M. Mason, to spoil the sense of a plain
passage, read, with equal value. Quetlio (a corruption of
citi-ltti) ruffs, are rulis for the neck. Luke furnishes the
most complete picture of the dress, manners, &c., of the
different classes of citizens' wives, at that time, that is to be
found on the ancient stage.

SCENE I ]

THE CITf MADAM.

401

And roses worth v family* ; you were served in

plate,

Sirr'd not a foot without your coach, and going
To church, not I'or devotion, but to show
Your pomp, you were tickled when the beggars

cried,

Heaven save your honour ! this idolatry
Paid to a painted room.

Hold. iS';iy, you have reason
To blubber, all of you.

Luke, And when you lay
In childbed, at the christening of this minx,
I well remember it, as you had been
An absolute princess, since they have no more,
Three several chambers hung, the first with arras,
And tbat for waiters ; the second ciimson satin,
For the meaner sort of guests ; the third of scarlet
Of the r-ch Tvrian dye ; a canopy
To cover the brat's cradle ; you in state
Like Pompey's Julia.

L. Frug. No more, I pray you.

Luke. Of this, be sure, you shall not. I'll cut off
Whatever is exorbitant in you.
Or in [your] daughters, and reduce you to
Your natural forms and habits ; not in revenge
Of your base usage of me, but to fright
Others bv your example : 'tis decreed
You shall serve one another, for I will
Allow no waiter 10 you. Out of doors
With these useless drones!

Hold. Will you pack ?

Mill. Not till I have
My trunks along with me.

Luke. Not a rag ; you came
Hither without a box.

Star. You'll show to me
1 hope, sir, more compassion.

llatd. Troth I'll be

Thus far a suitor for him : he hath printed
An almanack for this year at his own charge ;
Let him have the impression with him, to set up
wiih.

Luke. For once I'll be entreated ; let it be
Thrown to him out of the window.

Star. O cursed stars

That reigned at my nativity ! how have you cheated
Your poor observer !

Anne. Must we part in tears?

Alary. Farewell, good Milliscent!

L. Frug. lam sick, and meet with
A rough physician. O my pride and scorn !
IIou- justly am I punish'd !

Mary. Now we suffer
For our stubbornness and disobedience
To our good father.

Anne, And the base conditions
We imposed upon our suitors.

Luke. Get you in,
And catterwaul in a corner.

L. Frug. There's no contending.

[L. Frugal, Anne, and Mary, go off at one door,
Stargaze and Milliscent at the other.

Luke. How
Lik'st thou my carriage, Holdfast 1

Hold. Well in some part,
But it relishes, 1 know not how, a little
Of too much tyranny.

Luke. Thou art a fool :
He's cruel to himself, that dares not be
Severe to those that used him cruelly. [ Exeunt

ACT V.

SCENE I. A Room in Sir John Frugal's House.
Enter LUKE, Sir JOHN FRUGAL, Sir MAURICE LACY,

and PLENTY.

Luke. You care not then, as it seems, to be con-
verted
To our religion ?

Sir John. We know no such word,
Nor power but the devil, and him we serve for

fear,
Not love.

Luke. I am glad that charge is saved.
Sir John. W r e put
That trick upon your brother, to have means

And roses worth a family :] 1 have already said that
these ruses (knots of ribands) were enormously large ; and
it appears from Stow (who, as Mr. GiU-lirist justly observes,
is frequently the best commentator on Massinger) that they
were extremely dear. " Concerning shoe-roses either ->f
silke or what sturte soever, they were not then (in the reign
of queen Elisabeth) used nor known; nor was there any
garters above the price of five shillings a payre, altho at
this day (James I.) men of meane rank weare garters and
thoe rote* of more than five pounds price." P. 103!t tol.

To come to the city. Now to you we'll discover
The close design that brought us, with assurance,
If you lend your aids to furnish us with that
Which in the colony was not to be purchased,
No merchant ever made such a return
For his most precious venture, as you shall
Receive from us ; far, far above your hopes,
Or fancy, to imagine.

Luke. It must he

Some strange commodity, and of a dear value,
(Such an opinion is planted in me
You will deal fairly ). that I would not hazard .
Give me the name of it.

Sir Mater. 1 fear you will make
Some scruple in your conscience to grant it.

Lukf. Conscience! no, no; so it may be done

with safety,
And without danger of the law.

Plenty. For that

You shall sleep securely : nor shall it diminish,
But add unto your heap such an increase,
As what you now possess shall appear an atom,
To the mountain it brings with it.

40*

THE CITY MADAM.

[Acr. V,

Ljifce. Do not rack me
With expectation.

Sir John. Thus then in a word :
The devil why start you at his name? if you
Desire to wallow in w'ealth and worldly honours,
You must make haste to be familiar with him,
This devil, whose priest 1 am, and by him made
A deep magician (for I can do wonders),
Appear'd to me in Virginia, and commanded,
With many stripes, for that's his cruel custom,
1 should provide, on pain of his fierce wrath,
Against the next great sacrifice, at which
We, grovelling on our faces, fall before him,
Two Christian virgins, that with their pure blood
Might dye his horrid altars ; and a third,
In his hate to such embraces as are lawful,
Married, and with your ceremonious rites,
As an oblation unto Hecate,
And wanton Lust, her favourite.

Luke. A devilish custom!
And yet why should it startle me'. There are
Enough of the sex fit for this* use ; but virgins,
And such a matron ns you speak of, hardly
To be wrought to it.

Plenty. A mine of gold, fora fee,
Waits him that undertakes it and performs it.

Sir Mnur. Know you no distressed widow, or

poor maids,
Whose want of dower, though well born, makes

them weary
Of their own country t ?

Sir John. Such as "had rather 1)6
Miserable in another world, than where
They have surfeited in felicity?

Li&f.. Give me leave

I would not lose this purchase. A grave matron !

[/hi,/.

And two pure virgins ! Umph ! I think my sister,
Though proud, was ever honest ; and my nieces
Untainted yet. Why should not they be shipp'd
For this employment ? they are burthensome to me,
And eat too much ; and if ihey stny in London,
They will find friends that to my loss will force me
To composition : 'twere a masterpiece,
If this could be effected. I hey were ever
Ambitious of title : should I urge,
Mulching with these they shall live Indian queens,
It niav do much : hut what shall I fee! here,
Knowing to what they are design'd ? They absent,
The thought of t.em will leave me. It shall be

so.

I'll furnish you, and, to endear the service,
In mine own familj, and my blood loo.

Sir John. Make this good, and your house shall

not contain
The gold we'll send you.

Lukit. You have seen my sister,
\nd my two nieces ?

Enough of the sex fit for this *>;' So the old copy,
and rightly. The modern editi-rs read,/r/r his use.

t Sii M .inr. Know you >u> dinfrtuxed widow, or pnur maids,
tt'hflsf want nf dower, thouyh wrll burn, makes thun wi'ary
Of their uwn country ?} I have ail- ntl> icimtm-.l the me-
tre of tnis (and indeed of every other) Play, in innumer-
able pi ices: "he reader, however, may not be un.timi.-ed
with a S|>C'.-iineii, now anil tlR-n, of the manner in which this
most harmonious poet Ins been hitherto printed. The lines
above n.-p tlins divided b> Coxetrr anil Mi. M. Maon:
Know you iu> dixtrewd widow, or poor
A.'.ii.t*. whose u-aitt of dower, thnui/li wM born,
jtlitHtf an weary of (heir own country t

Sir John. Yes, sir.

Luke. These persuaded

How happily they shall live, and in what pomp,
When they are in your kingdoms, for you must
Work them a belief that you are kings

Plenty. We are so.

Luke. I'll put it in practice instantly*. Study yo
For moving language. Sister ! Nieces !

Enter Lady FRUGAL, ANNE, and MARY.

How!
Still mourning ! dry your eyes, and clear these

clouds

That do obscure your beauties. Did you balieve
My personated reprehension, though
It show'd like a rough ang-er, could be serious?
Forget the fright I put you in : my end,
In humbling you, was to set oft' the height
Of honour, principal honour, which my studies,
When you least expect it, shall confer upon you !
Sdll you seem doubtful : be not wanting to
Yourselves, nor let the strangeness of the means,
With the shadow of &ome danger, render you
Incredulous.

L. Fnig. Our usage hath been such,
As we can faintly hope that your intents
And language are the same.

Luke. I'll change those hopes
To certainties.

Sir John. With what art he winds about them .

Luke. What will you say, or w'aa* thanks shall I
look for,

probable in the highest degree. " Bloody, indeed, it is,
but is it out lit' c.li.nai tcr ? Luke is the er ature of no or-
<!ni ,r\ n,iiid, and lie %vho conducted him thus l.,r \\ilh such
unexampled skill, \vas litre likrly to dent-it him at tlie
end. It appears that Massinger was ile>irons cf showing,
in ihe person of Luke, It e hidi ons portraiture of avarice
personified. The li>ve of money is the riilim; pa.-siou of
Ills Mm 1 . ; it gather* sirengt i with indulgence; and the ptos-
j ct of Mich unbounded vve.tlih a* is here held out to him,
is properly calculated to overcome the fear of law, and the
remonstrances of Ihe few scruples of conscience which jet
torment him.

History furnishes examp'e* of men who have sacrificed
friends, kindred, all, to the distant view of wealth ; and
we niinht have known, without t e instance of Lu.-cc, th.it
avarice, while it depraves the feelings, enfeebles the judg-
ment, and i ende. s its votaries at once ci editions ami un-
naiural.

Wilh respect to another objection which has been raised,
that " Luke is too much of a man of the wot i . to be so
grossly i.nposed upon," it is more easil> obviated. Instead
of going back to the age of the poet, we inconsiderately
bring him forward to our own, anil invest him with all our
knowledge. This is an evil as common as it is giiev -us.
That the Indians do not worship the devil, we know; but
did Massinger know it f Our old writers partook of the
geneial crednlitj, and believed the wonders the) told ; Ihey
would not else have lold them so well. All the fust disco
Verers of Ameriea were themselves fully persuaded, and
earnestly laboured to persuade other!:, that the natives wor-
shipped the devil. Kvery shapeless block, every rude stone
p.iint'tilly battered by the poor savages into a distant resem-
blance f animated nature, and therefore prized by them,
was, by their more savage visitois. iai.cn lor a represen-
tation of M-me misshapen fiend to tihom they ottered lui-

<fll utruui . ^|M .>*./ and, Illfiet'O, i 5C.llieijr nnu^

ri.er of Massinger's limf who was not of the same belief

feCENE II.]

THE CITY MADAM.

403

If now I raise you to such eminence, as
The wife and daughters of a citizen
Never arrived at ! many, for their wealth, I grant,
Have written ladies of honour, and some few
Have higher titles, and that's the furthest rise
You can in England hope for. What think you
If I should mark you out a way to live
Queens in another climate ?

Anne. We desire
A competence.

Mary. And prefer our country's smoke
Before outlandish fire.

L. Fmg. But should we listen
To sucli impossibilities, 'tis not in
The power of man to make it good.

Luke. I'll do it :

Nor is this seat of majesty far removed ;
It is but to Virginia.

L. Frug. How ! Virginia !

High heaven forbid ! Remember, sir, I beseech you,
What creatures are sbipp'd thither.

Anne. Condemned wretches,
Forfeited to the law.

Mary. Strumpets and bawds,
For the abomination of their life,
Spew'd out of their own country.

Luke. Your false fears
Abuse my noble purposes. Such indeed
Are sent as slaves to labour there, but you
To absolute sovereignty. Observe these men,
With reverence observe them ; they are kings of
Such spacious territories ami dominions,
As our Great Britain measured will appear
A garden to it.

At* .Maur. You shall be adored there
As goddesses.

Sir John. Your litters made of gold,
Supported by your vassals, proud to bear
The burthen on their shoulders.

Plenty. Pomp and ease,
With delicates that Europe never knew,
Like pages .-hall wait on you.

Luke. If you have minds
To entertain the greatness offer'd to you,
With outstretched arms, and willing hands embrace

it.

But this refused, imagine what, can make you
Most miserable here, and rest assured,
In storms it falls upon you : take them in,
And use your best persuasion. If that fail,
I'll send them aboard in a dry fat.

[Ereunt all but Sir John Frugal and Luke.

Sir Jnhn. Be not moved, sir ;
We'll work them to your will. Yet, ere we part,
Your worldly cares dV ferr'd, a little mirth
Would not misbecome us.

Luke You say well : and now
It comes into my memory, 'tis my birthday,
Which with solemnity I would observe,
But that it would ask cost.

Sir John. That shall not grieve you.
By my art I will prepare you such a feast,
As Persia, in her height of pomp and riot,
Did never equal ; and such ravishing music
As the Italian princes seldom heard
At their greatest entertainments. .N ame your guests.

Ljj/ce. I must have none.

Sir John. Not the city senate?

Luke. No ;

Nor yet poor neighbours : the first would argue me

Of foolish ostentation, and the latter

Of too much hospitality ; a virtue

Grown obsolete, and useless. I will sit

Alone, and surfeit in my store, while others

With envy pine at it ; my genius pamperM

With the thought of what I am, and what they

suffer
I have mark'd out to misery.

Sir John. You shall :

And something I will add you yet conceive not,
Nor will I be slow-paced.

Luke. I have one business,
And that dispatch'd I am free.

Sir John. About it, sir,
Leave the rest to me.

Luke. Till now I ne'er loved magic. [Exeunt

SCENE II. Another Room in the same.

Enter Lord LACY, GOLDWIRE senior, and TKADEWELL
senior.

L Lacy. Believe me, gentlemen, I never was
So cozen'd in a fellow. He disguised
Hypocrisy in such a cunning shape
Of real goodness, that. I would have sworn
This devil a saint. *M. Goldwire, and M. Trade-
well,
What do you mean to do? Put onf.

Gold. With your lordship's favour.

L. Lacy. I'll have it so.

Trade. Your will, my lord, excuses
The rudeness of our manners.

L. Loci/. You have received
Penitent letters from your sons, I doubt nut'

Trade. They are our only sons.

Gold. And as we are fathers,
Remembering the errors of our youth,
We would pardon slips in them.

Trade. And pay for them
In a moderate way.

Gold. In which we hope your lordship
Will be our mediator.

L. Lacy. All my power

Enter LUKE.

You freely shall command ; 'tis he ! You are well

met,
And to my wish, and wonderous brave ! your

habit
Speaks you a merchant royal.

Luke. What I wear,
I take not upon trus.t

L. Lacy. Your betters may,
And blush not for't.

Luke. If you have nought else with me
But to argue that, I will make bold to leave you.
L. Lacy. You are very peremptory ; pray you

stay :
I once held you an upright honest man.

Luke. I am honester now
By a hundred thousand pound, I thank my stars

for't,
Upon the Exchange ; and if your late opinion

M. Goldwire, and M. Tradewell,} See

Act IV., sc. iii.

t Put on.J i. e. be covered: an

sion that frequently occurs.

404

THE CITY MADAM.

[Acr V

Be aller'd, who can help it ? Good my lord,
To the point ; I have oilier business than to talk
Of honesty, and opinions.
L. Lncy. Yet you rnav

Do well, if you please, to show the one, and merit
The other from good men, in a case that now
Is oflfer'd to you.

Luke. What is it? I am troubled.
L. Laci/. Here are two gentlemen, the fathers of
Your brother's prentices.

Luke. Mine, my lord, I take it.
L. Lacy. Goldwire, and Tradewell.
Luke. They are welcome, if
They come prepared to satisfy the damage
I have sustain'd by their sons.
Gold. We are, so you please
To use a conscience.

Trade. Which we hope you will do,
For your own worship's sake.

Luke. Conscience, my friends,
And wealth, are riot always neighbours. Should I

part

With what the law gives me, I should suffer mainly
In my reputation ; for it would convince me
Of indiscretion : nor will you, I Lope, move me
To do myself such prejudice.
L. Lacy. No moderation?

Luke. I hry cannot look for't, and preserve in me
A thriving citizen's credit. Your bonds lie
For your sons' truth, and they shall answer all
They have run out : the masters never prosper'd
Since gentlemen's sons grew prentices : when we

louk

To have our business done at home, tliey are
Abroad in the tennis-court, or in Partridge-alley,
In Lambeth Marsh, or a cheating ordinary,
Where I found your sons. I have your bonds :

look to't.

A thousand pounds apiece, and that will hardly
Repair my losses.

L. Lacy. Thou dar'st not show thyself
Such a devil !

Luke. Good words.

L. Lacy. Such a cut-throat ! I have heard of
The usage of your brother's wife and daughters ;
You shall find you are not lawless, and that your

monies
Cannot justify your villanies.

Luke. I endure this.

And, good my lord, now you talk in time of monies,
Pay in what you owe me. And give me leave to

wonder

Your wisdom should have leisure to consider
The business of these gentlemen, or my carriage
To my sister, or my nieces, being yourself
So much in my danger*.
L. Lacy. In thy danger?
Luke. Mine.

I find in my counting-house a manor pawn'd,
Pawn'd, my good lord ; Lacy manor, and that

manor

From which you have the title of a lord,
An it please your good lordship ! You are a noble-
man ;

Pray you pay in my monies : the interest
Will eat faster in't, than aquafortis in iron.
Now though you bear me hard, I love your lordship.

* So much in my danger.] i. e. in my debt. See Fatal
Dowry, Act. I. sc. ii.

I grant your person to be privileged

From all arrests ; yet there lives a foolish creature

Call'd an tinder-sheriff, who, being well-paid, will

serve

An extent* on lords or lowns' land. Pay it in ,
1 would be loth your name should sink, or that
Your hopeful son, when he returns from travel,
Should find you my lord-without-land. You are

angry
For my good cousel : look you to your bonds ; had

1 known
Of your coming, believe't, I would have had ser-

jeants ready.

Lord, how you fret ! but that a tavern's near
You should taste a cup of muscadine in my house,
To wash down sorrow ; but there it will do better :
I know you'll drink a health to me. [Ent,

L. Lacy. To thy damnation.

Was there ever such a villain ! heaven forgive me
For speaking so unchristianly, though he deserves it.
Gold. We are undone.
Trade. Our families quite ruin'd.
L. Lacy. Take courage, gentlemen ; com fort may

appear,

And punishment overtake him, when he least ex-
pects it. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Another Room in the same.
Enter Sir JOHN FRUGAL and HOLDFAST.

Sir John. Be silent on your life.

Hold. I am o'er joyed.

Sir John. Are the pictures placed as I directed ?

Hold. Yes, sir.

Sir John. And the musicians ready ?

Hold. All is done
As you commanded.

Sir John, [at the door.'] Make haste ; and be

careful ;
You know your cue, and postures ?

Plenty, [within.] We are perfect.

Sir John. 'Tis well : the rest are come too ?

Hold. And disposed of
To your ow n wish.

Sir John. Set forth the table : So !

Enter Servants with a rich banquet.
A perfect banquet. At the upper end,
His chair in state ; he shall feast like a prince.

Hold. And rise like a Dutch hangman.

Enter LUKE.

Sir John. Not a word more.

How like you the preparation ? Fill your room,
And taste the cates ; then in your thought consider
A rich man, that lives wisely to himself,
In his full height of glory.

Luke. I can brook-
No rival in this happiness. How sweetly
These dainties, when unpaid for, please my palate !
Some wine. Jove's nectar ! brightness to. the star
That governed at my birth ! shoot down thy in-
fluence,

And with a perpetuity of being
Continue this felicity, not gained
By vows to saints above, and much less purchased

* An extent on lords or Inwns' land.] To extend, as lias
been already observed, is a leijal term for "laying an ex
edition on." Thus Shaduell, in The Virtuoio :

Niece, my land in the country is extended, and \\\ ray
goods seized on."

III.]

THE CITY MADAM.

By thriving industry ; nor fallen upon me

As a reward to piety, and religion,

Or service to my country : I owe all

This to dissimulation, and the shape

I wore of goodness. Let my brother number

His beads devoutly, and believe his alms

To beggars, his compassion to his debtors,

Will wing his better part, disrobed of flesh,

To soar above the firmament. 1 am well ;

Arid so I surfeit here in all abundance,

Though styled a cormorant, a cut-throat, Jew,

And prosecuted with the fatal curses

Of widows, undone orphans, and what else

Such as malign my state can load me with,

I will n t envv it. You promised music.

Sir John. And you shall hear the strength and

power of it,

The spirit of Orpheus raised t/^make it good,
And in those ravishing strains with which he moved
Charon and Cerberus to give him way
To fetch from hell his lost Eundice.
Appear ! swifter than thought !

Music. Enter at one door, Cerbtrus, at the other,
Charon, Orpheus, anil Chorus.

Luke. 'Tis wonderous strange !

Sir John. Does not the object and the accent take

you ?
Luke. A pretty fable*.

[Exeunt Orpheus and the rest

But that music should
Alter in fiends their nature, is to me
Impossible: since in myself I find,
\\ hat I have once decreed shall know no change.

Sir JO/PI. You are constant to your purposes ; yet

I think-
That 1 could stagger you.

Lnke. How!

Hir John. Should I present
Your servants, debtors, and the rest that suffer
By your fit severity, 1 presume the sight
Would move you to compassion.

Lnke. Not a mote.

The music that your Orpheus made was harsh,
To the delight 1 should receive in hearing
Their cries and groans : if it be in your power,
I would now see them.

Sir John. Spirits, in their shapes,
Shall show them as they are : but if it should move
you ?

Lnke. If it do, may I ne'er find pity !

Sir John. Be your own judge.
Appear! as I commanded.

Sad Music. Enter GOLDWIIIE junior, and TRADEWFLL
junior, as from jirison ; FORTUNE, HOVST, and
PENURY ; Serjeants u'iih TRADEWELL senior, and
GOI.DWIRE senior; these J'Mwed by SIIAVE'EM, in
a blue goirir , SECRET and DIXG'EM ; (hry all kneel
to LUKE, lifting up their hand*. STAIIGAZE is seen
with a pack of almanacks, and MILLISCENT.

From this it appears that the fable of Orpheus and
Eurydice was acted in dumb show. Few of M^singer's
plays are without an interlude of some kind or other.

t SHAVE'KM in a blue gown,] i. e. in the livery of Bride-
well. It appears from many passages in our old plays,
particularly from the second pdrt of Decker's Honett Whore,
that this was the dress in which prostitutes were compelled
to do penance there. OQ

Luke. Ha, ha, ha !
This move me to compassion, or raise
One sign of seeming pity in my face !
You are deceived : it rather renders me
More flinty and obdurate. A south wind
Shall sooner s>often marble, and the rain,
That slid s down gently from his flaggy wings
O'erflow the Alps, than knees, or tears, or groans
Shall wrest compunction from me. Tis my glory
That they are wretched, and by me made so :
It sets my happiness oft': 1 could not triumph
If these were not my captives. Ha ! mv tarriers.
As it appears, have seized on these old foxes,
As 1 gave order; new addition to
.My scene of mirth: ha, ha! they now grow

tedious,
Let them be removed.

[Exeunt CM. and the rest.

Sorce other object, if
Your art can show it.

Sir John. You shall perceive 'tis boundless.
Yet o:>e thing real, if you please?
Luke. - What is it?
Sir John. Your nieces, ere they put to sea, crave

humbly,

Though absent in their bodies, they mav take leave
Of their late suitors' statues.

Enter Lady FRUGAL, ANNE, and MART.

Luke. There they hang ;
In things indifferent 1 am tractable.

Sir John. There pay your vows, you have liberty.

Anne. O sweet figure
Df my abused Lacy* ! when removed
Into another world, I'll daily pay
A sacrifice of sighs io thy ramembnnov;
And with a shower of tears strive to wa.-,h off
1 he stain of that contempt my foolish pride
And insolence threw upon thee.

3/uri/. I had been

Too happy, if 1 had enjoyed the substance;
3ut far unworthy of it. imw 1 fall
Thus prostrate to thy statue.

L. Frug. AJy kind hushand
Bless'd m my misery), from the monastery
To which my disobedience confined thee,
A'ith thy soul's eye, which di.-tance cannot hinder,
,ook on nay penitence. O, that 1 could
jail back time past ! thy holy vow dispensed,
rVith what humility would i observe
My lonsr-neglecied duty !

Sir John. Does not this move you?

Luke. Yes, as they do the statues, and her sor-
row

My absent brother. If, by your magic art.
You can give life to these, or bring lain hither

* Anne. O ttceet fiyttre

Of my beloved Lacy!] There is some difficulty in under
standing the iiu'ch.iubiu of this si-ene. M.t-Mii,rr, like hif
contemporaries-, confounds statue with picture, and this
creates contusion : it seems as if Lacy and Tinny, by
Miine contrivance behind, stood within the frames, and
in the exact dress and altitudes of thtir respective portraits,
\\hich Sir John appear? to have procured, and hung up ill
tlie back part "f the room ; from whence, at a |.rccon-
cerud signal, they descend, and come forward. The dine-
linn, in the quarto, is, Plenty and Lacy ready behind. The
atiempt to mark the stase airaimeinent- of this interesting
scene will, 1 hope.be received with that indulgence to which,
from the wr.tch. d assistant e afforded by tin- old copies, i
i-, in some measure, entitled.

THE CITY MADAM.

[ACT. V

To witness her repentance, I may have,
Perchance, some feeling of it.

Sir Jnhn. For your sport

You shnll see a master- piece. Here's nothing but
A superficies ; colours, and no substance.
Sit still, and to your wonder and am.izement,
I'll give these organs. This the sacrifice
To nmke the great work perfect.

[Makes mystical gesticulations. Sir Maurice
Lacy mid Plenty give signs of animation.

Luke. Prodigious !

Sir Joint. Nay, they have life, and motion. De-
scend !
[Sir Maurice Lacy and Plenty descend and com*

jot-ward.

And for your absent brother, this wash'd off,
Against v our will you shall know him.

Enfer l.or>i LACY, with GOLDWIRE senior and junior,
TRADI.WELL senior andjunior, the Debtors, fyc. fyc.

Luke. I am lost.
Guilt strikes me dumb.

Sir John. You have seen, my lord, the pageant ?

L. Lucy. I have, and am ravish'd with it.

Sir Jo/in. What think you now
Of this clear soul? this honest pious man?
Have I stripp'd him bare, or will your lordship have
A further trial of him ? ' I'is not in
A wolf to change his nature.

L. Lac ii. I long since
ContVss'd my error.

Sir John. Look up ; I forgive you,
And seal your pardons thus.

[Embraces Lady Frugal, Anne, and Mary.

L. Fnig. I am too full
Of joy to speak it.

Anne. I am another creature ;
Not what I was.

Mori/. I vow to show myself,
When 1 am married, an humble wife,
Not a commanding mistress.

Plenty. On those terms,
I gladly thus embrace you. [7"<> Mary.

Sir Maiir. Welcome to
My bosom : as the one half of myself,
I'll love and cherish you. [To Anne.

Gold.jim. Mercy !

Trade, jtin. and the rest. Good sir, mercy!

Sir John. This day is sacred to it. All shall find

me,

As far as lawful pity can give way to't,
Indulgent to your wishes, though with loss
Unto myself. My kind and honest brother,
Looking into yourself, have you seen the Gorgon?
What a golden dream you have had in the possession
Of my estate ! but here's a revocation
I hat wakes you out of it. Monster in nature !
Revengeful, avaricious atheist.
Transcending all example ! but I shall be
A sharer in iby crimed, should I repeat them
\\ hat wilt ihou do? turn hypocrite again,
With hope dissimulation can aid thee?
Or that one eye will shed a tear in sign
Of sorrow for thee? I have warrant to
Make hold with mine own, pray you uncase : this

key too

I must make bold with. Hide thyself in some de-
sert,

Where good men ne'er may find thee ; or in justice

Pack to Virginia, and repent ; not for

Those horrid ends to which thou didst design

these.
Luke. I care not where I go: what's done, with

\vords
Cannot be undone.

[Exit.

L. Frug. Yet, sir, show some mercy
Because his cruelty to me aud mine
Did good upon us.

Sir John. Of that at better leisure,
As his penitency shall work me. Make you

j;ood

Your promised reformation, and instruct
Our city dames, whom wealth makes proud, tt>

move

In their own spheres ; and willingly to confess,
In their habits, manners, and their highest port,
A distance 'twixt the city and the court.

[Exeunt*.

* Every friend to the reputation of Msjsinger ni'ist
cherish the remembrance of this Play. It exhibits t-qnal
power of thought and copiousness of matter. The circum-
stantial detail of the manners of the age (though some part
of it is to be regretted), the impression with which the
moral lessons are convened, and the strong incidents with
which the scenes abound, fill the mind with variety of
excellence. It is a powerful and a pregnant composition,
and has the effect of history, satire, and comedy united.

The object of the Play is t'ormilly sta ed at the conclusion:
but it is observable, lh<*t the person who incidentally par-
takes in the promotion of it, becomes the most inaiked
character, and obscures those who are originally concerned.
The effect is stronger Through its own surpri e; and the
address of Massinger is p oved in proportion as he pro-
duces so important an agency from so indirect a promise.
There is another mark of his address. The real character
of Luke i- unusually suspended ; and even when suspicion
begins, it is balanced by a new contrivance of regard. Tlie
final disclosure of the villain becomes, in this instance too,
more striking, through the previous concealment, anil we
hate him the more on account of the good opinion we have
wasted upon him. The character ot Luke is so predominant
that it well deserves the particular attention of the rea ;er.

He is originally <t It" indulgent, idle, riotous, prodigal,
and vicious; Mipp, rted by his brother, he appears penitent,
pious, unusually humble, compassionate, charitable, and
draws much of our pity and esteem. When he hears <>( Ini
supposed fortune, he assumes the most imposing hypocrisy,
otters protection that he may betray, talks ot kindness, that
he may be finally severe, and masks a decided cruelty with
the most deceitful promises of liberality. Every restraint
being at length removed, the appearance of his oft feeling
is hanged into a savage and ferocious avarice; his glossy
deceit becomes avowed and daring villany : he is insoleut,
oppressive, insatiabl , obdurate, inexorable, and impious.
The character ii true, though some of its parts are oppo-ite.
The sufferings from his former profuseuess, and perhaps the
exhaustion of its plea-tires, might well piepare him for
future avarice: nor are such changes (infrequent in ccmmon
life. Hii intermediate show of goodness is easily reconciled
with the unextinguished viciousness of his mind. His
penitence i* deceit, his piety is hypocrisy, his strange
hiiniilny an inbred baseness, und his talk of liberality a
genuine disregard of money that is not his own. In short,
the character is at once bol<l aud natural, and is described
with uncommon art and effect

The i, ther characters lose part of their importance through
the ascendency of Luke. Vet ihe women are well repre-
sented ; and their ignorance and vulgarity, their admira-
tion of tl:e unintelligible jargon of Stargaze, and their con-
tented forgetful nes* of Frugal amidst the new promises of
Luke, are very amusing. Nor is the outrageous treatment
ot the suitors unnatural, though the desire of getting tliein
a* husbands might have been expected to leach some caution.
It appears that ihe predictions of Stargaze had convinced
them of the certain submission of Lacy, Kc., and then-fore
caution was unnecessary. The unevtmpl>d impudence of
the demands is only explained by the blind credulity of the
mother. Stargaze himself is humorously tieated. In Th
Pictwt, Sophia speaks with all the seriousness of religioa

THE CITY MADAM.

407

against the practice of magic. Ridicule alone is bestowed
on judicial astrology. After various failures and renewals
of credit, the wretched professor is driven otf the stage, dis-
graced, poor, beaten, and, worse than all, compelled to
acknowledge the futility of his art. In the midst of this
excellence, there is an inadvertence not wholly unimportant.
Tin: moral purpose of the play is accomplished, even upon
moral principles by its most flagitious character. Luke is
a declared villain, and a reformer too! He allows revenge
to be the motive of his cruelty, yet he rises up a " new
satirist" against the vices of the city ! It is obvious that
Massinger has forgot himself. He has confounded in the
la.i.e person his own general and patiiotie views with the

private malice of Luke: and in thU mixture of design
Luke trtlks alternatively for himself and for the poet !

All instriK live moral yet remains to be drawn irom the
apparent hv.mility of Luke. It is the excess of this quality
which gives the reader the first suspicion of hypocrisy.

We mast not administer to the follies or vices ot others
by a base subserviency ; nor must we console the di.sgrare of
preterit submission with the prospect of future revenge.
Humility, well understood, has true purity and true eleva-
tion. It raises u above all moral meanness; and, while it
prescribes an unaffected lowliness of service, it dignffies the
obscurest actions through the principle from which they
flow. Da. IRKLANU.

THE GUABDIAN.

THE GuAitDiAM.] This " Comical History" was licensed by the Master of the Revels, October 31st,
1633 ; but not printed till 1655, when it was put to the press, together with The Bashful Lover, and The
Very Woman, by Humphrey Moseley, the general publisher of that age.

Its plot is singularly wild and romantic ; the most interesting and probable part of it is, perhaps, the
poet's own; the incident of lolanteand Calipso is borrowed. The original tale is in The Heetopadrs ;
whence it was transferred to the Fables of Pilpay ; it was translated into Greek about the end of the
eleventh century, by S;meonSeth, a learned Orientalist ; and thus found its way into Latin, and made a
part of those quaint collections of ribald morality, which, in Massinger's time, were in every one's hands.
A sneer at miracles was not likely to escape the wits of Italy ; it was therefore inserted by Boccac-cioinhis
Decameron, where it is but poorly told. Beaumont and Fletcher have introduced it with some degree ot
dexterity into the plot of Women Pleased ; and it has been versified (from a translation of the Sanscrit) with
exquisite humour, by my ingenious friend Mr. Hoppner.

It would be a miserable waste of time to examine from what specific work Massinger derived an adven-
ture which probably existed in a hundred different publications, and which was scarcely worth the picking
up any where: those, however, who wish for more on the subject, may consult the late Air. Hole's Remarks
tn the Arabian Nights Entertainments.

This popular Drama was produced at the "Private-house in Black-fryers." From a memorandum in
the Office-book of Sir Henry Herbert, we learn, that, shortly after its appearance, it was acted before the
king. " The Guardian, a play of Mr. Massinger's, was performed at court on Sunday the 12 January,
1633, by the king's players, and welllikte." MaLtne's Hiitirrical Account of the English Stage.

PROLOGUE.

AFTER twice putting forth to sea*, his fame
Shipwrecked in eitherf, and his once-known name
In two years' silence buried, perhaps lost
In the general opinion ; at our cost
(A zealous sacrifice to Neptune made
For good success in his uncertain trade)

* After /,', v putting forth, &c.] I scarcely know whe-
ther 1 MtofltUM this righily or nut, but it seems to me that
the plajers allude to two pieces of Msssinger, which were
condemned on the first representation. This ill fortune ap-
pears to have induced ihe modest poet to give up all fur-
ther ihuughts of writing for llie static; the players, however,
who knew his worth, prevailed on him to try his fate once
more; and to obviate his objections to the uncertainty of
popular favour, purchased (he piece outright : this, indeed,
was no uncommon circumstance. The event proved that
they had made no wrong estimate of his talent.', for The
Guardian is said to " have been oflen acted with great ap-
plause."

A difficulty yet remains. The prologue speaks of two
years' silmce, yet The City Madam was licensed on the
25th of May, 1632, and the present Comical Hbtory, on the
last day of October in the following year, an interval of on-
iv seventeen months: but, perhaps, accuracy of compntation
is not to be looked for in these occasional productions.

t . hit fame

Xhipwreck'd In cither,] Mr. M. Mason chooses to read, in
neither', but, according to his usual custom, as.-iijns no read
on for the variation, though it be important enough to re-
julre one. as it makes the passage arraut nonsense.

Our author weighs up anchors, and once more

Forsaking the security of the shore,

Resolves to prove his fortune : what 'twill be,

Is not in him, or us, to prophesie ;

You only can assure us : yet he prayed

This little in his absence might be said,

Designing me his orator. He submits

To fiie grave censure of those abler wits

His weakness ; nor dares he profess that when

The critics laugh, he'll laugh at them agen.

(Strange self-love in a writer !) He would know

His errors as you fiud them, and bestow

His future studies to reform from this,

What in another might be judged amiss.

And yet despair not, gentlemen ; though he feai

His strengths to please, we hope that you shall hear

Some things so writ, as you may truly say

He hath not quite forgot to make a play,

As 'tis with malice rumoured : his intents

Are fair; and though he want the compliments

Of wide-month'd promisers, who still engage,

before their works are brought upon the stage,

Their parasites to proclaim them : this last birth,

Deliver'd without noise, may yield such mirth,

As, balanced equally, will crv down the boast

Of arrogance, and regain his credit lost.

THE GUARDIAN.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

ALPHONSO, king of Naples.

Duke MONTPENSIEU, general of Milan.

SEVERING, a banished nobleman.

MONTECLARO, his brother-in-law (supposed dead), dis-

gitiitd under the name of' Laval.
DURAZZH, The Guardian.

CALDORO, his nrpheioand ward, in love with Calista.
ADORIO, a young libertine.
CAMILLO, 1

LENTULO, > Neapolitan gentlemen.
DONATO, )
CARJO, cook to Adorio.

CLACDIO, a confidential servant to Severino.

Captain.

Banditti.

Servants.

IOLANTE, wi/'e to Severino.

CAIJSTA, her daughter, in love with Adorio.

MIRTILLA, Cahsta's maid.

CALIPSO, the conjidant of lolante.

Singers, Countrymen.

SCENE Partly at Naples, and partly in the adjacent country.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Naples. A Grove.

Enter DUUAZZO, CAMILLO, LENTULO, DONATO, and
tiro Servant!.

Dur. Tell me of his expenses ! Which of you
Stands bound for a gazet? be spends his own ;
And you impertinent fools or knaves (make

choice

Of either litle, which your signiorships please),
To meddle in't.

Camil. Your age gives privilege
To this harsh language.

Dur. My age! do not use

That word again ; if you do, I shall grow young,
And swinge you soundly : I would have you know
Though 1 "write fifty odd, 1 do not carry
An almanack in my bones to pre-declare
What weather we shall have ; nor do I kneel
In adomtion, at the spring and fall,
Before my doctor, fora dose or two
Of his restoratives, which are things, I take it,
You are familiar with.

Camii. '1 his is from the purpose.

Pur. I cannot cut a caper, or groan like you
When I have done, nor run away so nimbly
Out of the field : but bring me to a fence-school,
And crack a blade or two for exercise,
Ride a baib'd horse, or take a leap alter me,
Following ray hounds or hawks (and, by your leave,
At a gamesome mistress), and you shall confess
I am in the May of my abilities,
And you in your December.

Lent. We are glad you bear
Your years so well.

Dur. My years! no more of years ;
If you do, at your peril.

Cutnil. We desire not
To prove your valour.

Dur. 'Tis your safest course.

Camil. But as friends to your fame and repu-
tation,

Come to instruct you . your too much indulgence
To the exorbitant waste of young Caldoro.

Your nephew and your ward, hath rendered you
But a bad report among wise men in Naples.

Dur. Wise men ! in your opinion ; but to me
That understand myself and them, they are
Hide-bounded money-mongers : they would have

Train up my ward a hopeful youth, to keep
A merchant's book ; or at the plough, and clothe

him

In canvass or coarse c tton; while 1 fell
His woods*, grant leases, which he must make good
When he comes to age, or be compell'd to marry
With a cast whore and three bastards; let him

know

No more than how to cipher well, or do
His tricks by the square root ; grant him no plea-
sure

But quoits and nine-pins ; suffer him to converse
With none but clowns and cobblers : as the Turk

says.

Poverty, old age, and aches of all seasons,
Light on such heathenish guardians !

Don. You do worse

To the ruin of his state, under your favour,
In feeding his loose riots.

Dur. Riots ! what riots ?

He wears rich clothes, i do so ; keeps horses,
games, and wenches ;

while / fell

His woods, grant leases, Jc ] This is by no means an ex-
wggeiated description of the tyranny which was sometime]
exercised by a guardian over the ward whom Jaw hail pnt
into his power. Thus Falconbiidge threatens young Scar
borow, who had fallen in love without his consent :
" My steward too; Post yon to Yorkshire,
Where lies my \ounj;tcr's land : and, sirrah,
Fell me his wood, make havock, spoil and waste :
Sir, you shall know that \on arc icuni to me,
I'll make you poor enough : thru meiM yourself."

Mlfitrift of liiforctd Marriage.

Jf'atdship, which was a part of ihe royal prerogative
under the feudal sjs-t in, and another mine for the most
oppressive slavery, was happily abolished under Charlts II.
Before that time wardship* were sold, ith all their advan-
tage* (which are detailed in Blacks-tone, Vol. 1 1.), and some-
times begged by the favourite com tier of the day. Our old
poets are lull of allusions to these iniquitous transaction*.

410

THE GUARDIAN.

[Acr I

'T is not amiss, so it be done with decorum :
In an lieir 'tis ten times more excusable
Than to be over-thrifty. Is there aught else
That you can charge him with ?

Camil. With what we grieve for,
And you will not approve.

Dur. Out with it, man.

Camil. His rash endeavour, without your consent,
To match himself into a family
Not gracious with the times.

Uur. Tis still the better ;
By this means he shall scape court-visitants,
Ami not be eaten out of house and home
In a summer progress *: but does he mean to marry?

Camil. Yes, sir, to marry.

Dm: In a beardless chin

'Tis ten times worse then wenching. Family !
whose family ?

CiimiL Signior Severino's.

Diir. How! not he that kill'd
The brother of his wife, as it is rumour'd,
Then fled upon it; since proscribed, and chosen
Captain of the banditti ; the king's pardon
On no suit to be granted ?

L-nt. The same, sir.

Dur. This touches near: how is his love return 'd
P- the saint he worships?

Dim. She affects him not,
But dotes upon another.

Dur. Worse and worse.

Camil. You know him, young Adorio.

Dur. A brave gentleman !
What proof of this ?

Lent. I dogg'd him to the church ;
Where he, not for devotion, as I guess,
Bui 'o make his approaches to his mistress,
Is offer seen.

Camil. And would you stand conceal'd
Among these trees, for he must pass this green,
The matins ended, as she returns home,
You may observe the passages.

Dr. I thank you :
This torrent must be stopt.

Dun. 'I hey come.

Camil. Stand close. [They retire.

Enter ADORIO, CALISTA, MIBTILLA, and CALDORO,
tnujjled.

Calit. I know I wrong my modesty.

Ador. And wrong me,
In being so importunate for that
I neither can nor must grant.

Cults. A hard sentence !

By this means he shall trape court -visitants,
And not be eaten out of house and home
In a tummer progress.] This stroke of patire must have
been p<-culi,irly well received; as many of the gentry had
foniiil those summer pro^retset of the court almost too ex-
pensive for them to bear.

Pulleiiham, who was well acquainted with these matters,
tells us, that Henry VII. was ottcndcd with his host if he
undertook to defray " the charge of his dyct if he passed
moe nieaK-s th;m one." P. 247. And of Kli/.abeth he gays,
th,it "her mxjestie hath been know ne often times to mis-
like the snpertluoni expense of her subjects bestowed upon
her in times of her progresses."

J, nuts was not 10 delicate: it appears from many scat-
tered passives in the publications of llmse limes, that he
abused this part of the rojal prerogative to a great degree,
and lay heavy upon his subjects. Charles, who was now
on ihe throne, WHS Ie<s bnrthensome ; and in the r .ccecding
reign, these predatory excursions, together with other op-
pressive claims of barbarous times, were cut rely done
way.

And to increase my misery, by you,
Whom fond affection hath made my judge,
Pronounced without compassion. Alas, sir,
Did I approach you with unchaste desires,
A sullied reputation ; were deform 'd,
As it may be I am, though many affirm
I am something more than handsome

Dur. 1 dare swear it.

Calls. Or if I were no gentlewoman, but bred

coarsely,

You might, with some pretence of reason, slight
What you should sue for.

Dur. Were he not an eunuch,
He would, and sue again ; 1 am sure I should.
Pray look in my collar, a flea troubles me :
Hey day ! there are a legion of young Cupids
At barley-break in my breeches.

Calis. Hear me, sir;

Though you continue, nay increase your scorn,
Only vouchsafe to let me understand
What my defects are ; of which once convinced,
I will hereafter silence my harsh plea,
And spare your further trouble.

Ado>: 1 will tell you,
And bluntly, as my usual manner is.
Though I were a woman-hater, which I am not,
But love the sex ; for my ends, take me with you ;
If in my thought I found one taint or blemish
In the whole fabric of your outward features,
I would give myself the lie. You are a virgin
Possess'd of all your mother could wish in you ,
Your father Severino's dire disaster
In killing of your uncle, which I grieve for,
In no part taking from you. I repeat it,
A noble virgin, for whose grace and favours
The Italian princes might contend as rivals :
Yet unto me, a thing far, far beneath you
(A noted libertine I profess myself),
In your mind there does appear one fault so gross,
Nay, I might say unpardonable at your years,
If justly you consider it, that I cannot
As you desire, affect you.

Calis. Make me know it,
I'll soon reform it.

Ador. Would you'd keep your word !

Calis. Put me to the test.

A dor. I will. You are too honest,
And, like your mother, too strict and religious,
And talk too soon of marriage ; I shall break,
If at that rate I purchase you. Can 1 part with
My uncurb'd liberty, and on my neck
Wear such a heavy yoke? hazard my fortunes,
With all the expected joys my i/e can yield me,
For one commodity, before .? prove it?
Venus forbid on botl sides ! let crook'd hams,
Bald heads, declining shoulders, furrow'd cheeks,
Be awed by ceremonies : if vou love me
In the way young people should, I'll fly to meet it:
And we'll meet merrily.

Catis. 'Tis strange such a man
Can use such language.

Atlm: In my tongue my heart

Speaks freely, fair one. Think on't, a close friend,
Or private mistress, is court rhetoric ;
A wife, mere rustic solecism : so good morrow .'

[Adorio offers to go, Caldoro comes forward ana
stops liim.

Camil. HOT/ like you this?
Dur A well-bred gentleman!

SCENE I.]

THE GUARDIAN.

411

I am thinking now if ever in the dark,
Or <!runk. I met his mother : he must have
Some drops of my blood in him, for at his years
I wns much of his religion.

Ciiinit. Out upon you !

DON. The colt's tooth still in your mouth !

Dnr. \Vhnt means ibis whispering?

Athr. You may perceive I seek not to displant you,
Where you desire to grow ; for further thanks,
'Tis needless compliment.

Cald. 1 here are some natures
Which blush to owe a benefit, if not
Received in corners ; holding it an impairing
To their own worth, should they acknowledge it.
I inn made of other clay, and therefore must
Trench so f.ir on your leisure, as to win you
'J o li'iid a patient ear, while I profess
Before inv glorv, ihongh your scorn, Calista,
How much 1 am vour servant.

Atior. My designs

Are tior sr> in gent, but they can dispense
With so much time.

Cninil. Pray you now observe your nephew.

Dnr. How he looks ! like a school-boy that had

play'd the truant,
Ami went to be breech'd.

Cald. M adam !

Cutis. A new affliction :
Your suit offends as much as his repulse,
It heing not to be granted.

Mti t. t Ie;ir him, madam ;
His sorrow is not personated ; he deserves
Your pitv, not contempt.

Dur. He has made the maid his ;
And, as the master of The Art of Love
Wisely affirms*, it is a kind of passage
I'o (lie mistress' favour.

Cald. I come not to urge
My merit, to deserve you, since you are,
Weigh'd truly to your worth, above all value :
Much l'ss to argue you of want of judgment
For following one that with wing'd feet flies from you.
While I, at all parts, without boast, his equal.
In vain pursue vou : bringing those flames with me,
Those lawful flames (for, madam, know with other
[ never shall approach you), which Adorio,
In scorn of Hvnien and religious rites,
With atheistical impudence contemns ;
And in his loose attempt to undermine
The fortress of your honour, seeks to ruin
All holy aliars by clear minds erected
To virgin honour.

Dnr. JMy nephew is an ass ;
Y\ hat a ('evil hath he to do with virgin honour,
Aluirs, or lawful flames, when he should tell her
They are superstitious nothings; and speak to the

purpose,

Of the delight to meet in the old dance,
Between a pair of sheets ; my grandain call'd it
The Peopling of the World.

Calis. How, gentle sir !
To vindicate my honour ? that is needless ;
1 dare not fear the worst aspersion malice
Can throw upon it.

* And at the maitfr of the Art of Love
H'itely aJfirm,Stc.
$ed print ancillam captandee nosir puellte

l 'ura tit : arc?ssnx moiliat i'la tuos.
Uanc tu poUicitit, hanc tu coTumpe rogando:
(Juod pet is, ej'acili.si volet ilia, feres. Lib. i. 35 i

Cald. Your sweet patience, lady,
And more than dove-like innocence, render you
Insensible of an injury, for which
I deeply suffer. Can you undergo
The scorn of being refused ! I must confess
It makes for my ends ; for had he embraced
Your gracious offers tender'd him, I had been
In my own hopes forsaken ; and if yet
There can breathe any air of comfort in me,
To his contempt 1 owe it: but his ill
No more shall make way for my good intents,
Than virtue, powerful in herself can need
The aids of vice.

Adar. You take that license, sir,
Which vet I never granted.

Cald. I'll force more ;
Nor will I for my own ends undertake it,
As 1 will make apparent, but to do
A justice to your sex, with mine own wrong
And irrecoverable loss*. To thee 1 turn,
Thou goatish ribald, in whom lust is grown
Defensiblef, the last descent to hell,
\\ Inch gapes wide for thee : look upon this lady,
And on her fame (if it wera possible,
Fairer than she is;, and if base desires
And beastly appetite will give thee leave,
Consider how she sought thee : how this lady,
In a noble way, desired thee. Was she fashion'd
In an inimitable mould (which Nature broke,
The great work perfected^), to be made a s-lave
To thy libidinous twines, and when commanded,
To be used as physic after drunken surfeits !
Mankind should rise against thee : what even now
I heard with horror, showed like blasphemy,
And as sue!) I will punish it.

[Strikes Adorio ; the rest rush forward; they
all draw.

Calis. Murder!

Mirt. Help!

Ditr. After a whining prologue, who would hard

look'd for
Such a rough catastrophe ? Nay, come on, fear

nothing :

Never till now my nephew ! and do you hear, sir
(And yet I love thee too)? if you take the wench

now,

I'll have it posted first, then chronicled,
Thou wert hesiten to it.

Ador. You think you have shown
A memorable masterpiece of valour
In doing this in public, and it may
Perhaps deserve her shoe-string for a favour :
Wear it without my envy ; but expect
For this affront, when time serves, I shall call you
To a strict accompt. [En'f.

Dur. Hook on, follow him, harpies !

* And irrecoverable loss.} So the old copy. Afr. M.
Mason discards it from the texl, for an improvement of
liis own ; he reads, irrevocable

in whom lust is yrown

Defensible,] i. e. as Mr. M. Mason <~bserves, an objccl
of his justification, rather than of his >li...i.e.

which \ature bro'.i',

7 he great work perfected,] We have had il.is thought in
several of the preceding plays: indeed, I ki i w no idea so
common; scarce a sonnetleer or playwright from Surrey lo
Sliadwell being without it. It imi.-t have had considerable
charms in the eyes of our forefathers, since neii her its triteness
nor its folly could prevent its eternal repetiiion. 7'winet,
which occurs j-- the next line, is constantly used by the
writcri of Mas.-inger'f time for embraces, in a bad sense.

THE GUARDIAN.

fAcrl

You may feed upon this business for a month,
If you manage it handsomely :

[Exeunt Camilla, Lentulo, and Donate.

When two heirs quarrel*,
The swordmen of the city shortly after
Appear in plush, for their grave consultations
In taking up the difference: some, I know,
Make a et living on't. Nay let him go,
Thou art master of the field : enjoy thy fortune
With moderation : for a flying foe,
Discreet and provident conquerors build up
A bridge of gold. To thy mistress, boy ! if I were
In thy shirt, how I could nick it !

Cu'l'l You stand, madam.
As you were rooted, and I more than fear
My passion hath offended : I perceive
The roses frighted from your cheeks, and paleness
To usurp their room ; yet you may please to ascribe it
To my excess of love, and boundless ardour
To do you right ; for myself I have done nothing.
I will not curse my stars, howeVr assured
To me you are lost for ever : for suppose
Adorio slain, and by my hand, my life
Is forfeited to the law, which 1 contemn,
So with a tear or two you would remember
I was your martyr, and died in your service.

Calis. Alas, you weep! and in my just compassion
Of what you suffer, I were more than marble
Should 1 not keep \ou company: you have sought
My favours nobly, and I am justly punish'd
In wild Adorio's contempt and scorn,
For my ingratitude, it is no better,
To your deservings : yet such is my fate,
Though I would, 1 cannot help it. O Caldoro!
In our misplaced affection 1 prove
Too soon, and with dear-bought experience, Cupid
Is blind indeed, and hath mistook his arrowsf.
If it be possible, learn to forget
(And yet that punishment is too light), to hate,
A. thankless virgin : practise it : and may
Your due consideration that I am so,
In your imagination disperse
Loathsome deformity upon this face
That hath bewitch'd you ! more I cannot say.
But that I truly pity you, and wish you
A better choice, which, in my prayers, Caldoro,
I ever will remember.

[Exeunt Calista, and Mirtilla.

Dur. 'Tis a sweet rogue.
Why, how now ! thunderstruck ?

Cald. 1 am not so happy .
t)h that I were but muster of myself,
You soon should see me nothing.

Dr. What would you do?

Cald. With one stab give a fatal period
To my woes and life together.

Dur- For a woman !

Better the kind were lost, and generation
Maintain, M a, new way.

Cold. Pray you, sir, forbear
This profane language.

Dur. Pray you, be you a man,
And whimper not like a girl : all shall be well.
An I live it shall; this is no hectic fever,

When two fair* quarrel, &c.] See Maid of Honour.
Act I. sc. i.

f Cupid

ft blind indeed, and hath mistook his arrows.] See Virgin
Martyr, Act I. sc.j.

But a lovesick ague, easy to be cured.

And I'll be your pbvsician, so you subscribe

To my directions. First, you must change

This city whorish air, for 'tis infected,

And my potions will not work here j I must have

you

To mv country villa : rise before the sun,
Then make a breakfast of the morning dew,
Serv'd up by nature on some grassy hill ;
You'll find it nectar, and far more cordial
Than cullises, cock-broth, or your distillations
Of a huinlred crowns a quart.

Cald. You talk of nothing.

Dur. This ta'en as > preparative to strengthen
Your queasy stomach, vault into your saddle ;
With ail this flesh 1 can do it without a stirrup :
My hounds uncoupled, and my huntsmen ready,
You shall hear such music from their tuneable

mouths,

That you shall sny the viol, harp, theorbo,
Ne'er made such ravishing harmony ; from the

groves

And neighbouring woods, with frequent iterations,
Enamnur'd of the cry, a thousand echoes
Repeating it.

Cald. What's this to me ?

Dur. It shall be,

And vou give thanks for't. In the afternoon,
For we will have variety of delights,
We'll to the field again ; no game shall rise,
Hut we'll be ready for't ; if a hare, iny greyhound*
Shall make a course ; for the pie or jay, a spar-hawk
Flies from the fist ; the cro'.v so near pursued,
Shall be compell'd to seek protection under
Our horses' bellies ; a hern put from her siege,
And a pistol shot off in her breech, shall mount
So high, that, lo your view, she'll seem to soar
Above the middle region of the air :
A cast of haggard falcons, by me mann'd,
Eying the prey at first, appear as if
They did turn tail ; but with their labouring wings
Getting above her, with a thought their pinions
Cleaving the purer element, make in,
And by turns bind with her*; the frighted fowl,
Lying at her defence upon her back,
With her dreadful beak awhile defers her death,
Rut, by degrees forced down, we part the fray,
And ft-ast upon her.

CaW.This cannot be, I grant,
But pretty pastime.

Dur. Pretty pastime, nephew !
'Tis royal sport. Then, for an evening flight,
A tiercel gentle, which I call, my masters,
As he were sent a messenger to the moon,

* And ijr turns bind toith her ;< This exquisite desciip
tion of rural amusements H from the hand of a great master.
I lament that it is so technical; but, in Mass-iiiger's tim
this langu.ige was perfectly familiar to the audience nho
heard it, in a greater or less degree, in every play that came
before them. To bind witk, as 1 learn from that authen-
tic treaiise, the Gentlemen's Recreating, "is ihe ame as to
tire or seise. A hawk is said to bind when she seizeth her
prey."

There is a striking similarity between tins description
and a passage in Spenser:

" As when a cast of Faiilcons make their flight

At an henshaw, that lies aloft on \MII-
The whiles thi-y strike at him with heedless might.
The warie tbiilr his bill doth backward wrinir ;
On which the first, whose force her Iir.t d.ilh bring,
Herselfe quite through the body doth engore
And falleth downe to ground like sensclese thing :"
Faerie Queeue, B. \ I., c. 7.

SCENE II.]

THE GUARDIAN.

In such a place flies*, as he seems to say,

See me, or see me not ! the partridge sprung,

He makes his stoop ; but wanting breath, is forced

To cancelierf; then, with such speed as if

He carried lightning in his wings, he strikes

The trembling bird, who even, in death appears

Proud to be made his quarry.

Cald. Vet all this
Is nothing to Calista.

Dur, Thou shall find
Twenty Calistas there, for every night
A fre*h and lusty one ; I'll give thee a ticket,
In which my nam", Durizzo's n;ime. subscribed,
My tenants' nut-brown daughters, wholesome girls,
At midnight fchall contend to do ihee service.
I have bred them up to't; should their fathers mur-
mur,

Their leases are void, for that is a main point
In my indentures ; and when we make our progress,
There is no entertainment perfect, if
This last dish be not offer'd.

Cutd. You make me smile.

Dur. I'll make thee laugh outright. My horses,

knaves !

'Tis but six short hours' riding : yet ere night
Thou shall be an altered man.

Cald. 1 wish I may, sir. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Room in Severino's House.
Enter IOLANTE, CALISTA, CALIP^O, and MIRTILLA.

lol. I liad spies upon you, minion ; the relation
Of your behiiviour was at home before you :
My daughter to bold parley, from the church too,
With noted libertines ! her fame and favours
The quarrel of their swords !

Calis. ' I was not in me
To help if, madam.

lul. No ! ho>v have I lived ?

My neighdour knows my manners have been such,
That 1 presume 1 may affirm, and boldly,
In no particular action of my life
I can be justly censured

Caiip. Censured, madam!

In tuch a place flies,'] So the old copy, and so, indeed,
Coxeter. Mr. M. Mason, who, without ceremony, alters
everything that he does not comprehend (which, by the
bye, is no small matter,) corrupts it into pace: a mo-t injudi-
cious attempt at improvement ; for who ever heard of ihe
pace of a bird, except, perhaps, of an ostrich ! But place
is the genuine word ; and means, in falconry, the greatest
elevation which a bird of prey attains in its flight. " Ea-
gles," says Col. Thornton (who, probahly, had no intention
of becou. ing a comment .tor on Massinger), " can have no
ipeed except when *t their place ; then, to be sure, their
weight increases their velocity, and they aim with an in-
creilible swiftness, seldom mining their qnairy." Sporting
Tour. And Lord Cecil, in a letter to the Earl of Shrews-
bury, " and so I end, witt) a release to yon for field hawke,
if you can help me to a river hawke" (this is the hawk of
which Durazzo speaks), " that will fly in a hiyh place,
stick not lo give gold so she fly high, but not else."

Lodije's Illustrations, V.,1. III. 187.

This too is the meaninz of the exprcs>ioii in Macbeth,
which has escaped the commentators. " A fanlcon, tow'r-
inu in hi. pride of place." " Finely expressed," say War-
burton, " for confidence in its quality." " In a place of
which she" (i. e. he;, M seemed proud" adds Mr. Malone.
It is, as the reader now sees, a technical phrase for the
" highest pitch."

t To caucelie. ] ' Canceller is when the high-flown hawk,
in her itooping, larnetfa two or three times on the wing, to
recover herself before she seizeth her prey." Gent. Retire
Olio*.

What lord or lady lives, 'vorthy to sit
A competent judge on you ?

Calis. Yet black detraction
Will find faults wliere they are not.

Calip. Her foul mouth

Is stopp'd, you being the object: give me leave
To speak my thoughts, yet still under correction;
And if my young lady and her woman hear
With reverence, they may be edified.
You are my gracious patroness and supportress,
And I your poor observer, nay, your creature,
Fed by your bounties ; and but that I know
Your honour detests flattery, I might say,
And with an emphasis, you are tho lady
Admired and envied at, far, far above
All imitation of the best of women
That are or ever shall be. This is truth :
I dare not be obsequious ; and 'twould ill
Become my gravity, and wisdom glean'd
From your oraculous ladyship, to act
The part of a she-parasite.

lot. If you do,
I never shall acknowledge you.

Ciilis. Admirable !
This is n.) flattery !

Mirt. Do not interrupt her ;
'Tis such a pleasing itch to your lady-mother,
That she may peradventure forget us,
To feed on her own praises.

lit. I am not

So far in debt to age, but if 1 would
Listen to men's bewitching sorceries,
I could be courted.

Calip. Rest secure of that.
All the braveries of the city run mad for you,
And yet your virtue's such, not one attempts you.

lol. I keep no mankind servant in my house,
In fear my chastity may be suspected :
How is that voiced in Naples ?

Calip. With loud applause,
I assure your honour.

Tul It confirms I can
Command my sensual appetites.

Calip. As vassals to
Your more than masculine reason, that commands

them :

Your palace styled a nunnery of pureness,
In which not one lascivious thought dares enter,
Your clear soul standing centinel.

Mirt. Well said, Echo!

lot Yet I have tasted those delights which

women

So greedily long for, know their titillations ;
And when, with danger of his head, thy father
Comes to give comfort to my widow'd sheets,
As soon as his desires are satisfied,
I can with ease forget them.

Calip. Observe that

It being indeed remarkable : 'tis nothing
For a simple maid, that never had her hand
In the honey-pot of pleasure, to forbear it ;
But such as have lick'd there, and lick'd lber

often.
And felt the sweetness oft

Mirt. How her mouth runs o'er
With rank imagination !

Calip. If such can,

As urged befoie, the kickshaw being offer'd,
Refuse to take it, like my matchless madam
They may be sainted.

414

THE Gl'AROIAN.

[Act

Tol. I'll lose no more breath
In fruitless reprehension ; look to it r
I'll have thee wear this habit of my miml,
As of my body.

Caap Seek no other precedent :
In all the books of Amodis de Gaul,
The Palmerins, and that true Spanish story,
The Mitrar </ Knighthood, which I have read often,
Read feelingly, nav mnre, I do believe in't,
Mv hulv has no parallel*.

lol. Do not provoke me :
If from this minute, thou e'er stir abroad,
\Vritp letter, or receive one ; or presume
To look upon a man, though from a window,
I'll chain thee like a slave in some dark coiner ;
Prescribe thy daily labour, which omiited,
Expect the usage of a fury from me.
Not an indulgent mother. Come, Calipso.

Culip. Your ladvship's injunctions are so easy,
That I dare pawn my credit my young lady
And her woman shall obey them.

[Exeunt lolante and Calipso.

Mirt. You shall fry first

For a rotten piece of touchwood, and give fire
To the great fiend's nostrils, when he smokes to-
bacco !

Note the injustice, madam ; they would have us,
Being young and hungry, keep perpetual Lent,
And the whole year to them a carnival.
Easy injunctions, with a mischief to you !
Suffer this and suffer all.

Calis. Not stir abroad !
The use and pleasure of our eyes denied us !

Mirt. Insufferable.

Calit. Nor write, nor yet receive
An amorous letter !

Mirt. Not to be endured.

Calit. Nor look upon a man out of a window !

Mirt. Flat tyranny, insupportable tyranny
To a lady of your blood.

Calis. She is my mothert,
And how should 1 decline it?

Mirt. Run away from't?
Take any course.

Calis. But without means, Mirtilla,
How shall we live ?

Calipso miiht pass for a pattern of perseverance even in
these novel-reading days. Must of those old romances would
outweigh a score of the flimsy productions of modern times :
and that trut! .Spanish story, The Mirror of Kniyhthood,
which she bait real olten, consists of three ponderous tomes
in quarto !

t She is my mother, &c.] The language of this play is sur-
prisingly beautiful, even for Massingtr: it iseveiy where
modulated with the nicest attention to rhythm, and laboured
into an exactness m which I know not where to find ano-
ther example : yet it is in this very play that the modern
editors have chosen to evince their sovereign contempt of
their author's characteristic excellencies, and to turn his
sweetest metre into weak and hobbling prose. The reader,
who compares this with the former editions, will see that I
have reformed what has already past of this act in 4 umber-
less instances. A short quotation will give those who wish
to decline that ungrateful trouble, a sufficient specimen of
the disgraceful negligence to which I allude.

Calis. She is my mothfr, and liotii should I decline it f

Mirt Run away from't. take any course.

Calis. Ji'ut without means, Mirtilla, how shall we live t

Mirt. What n question's that ! as if
A buxom lady could want maintenance
In any place in the world, where there are men,
Wine, meat, cr money stirring.
Calis. Be you more modest,
Or seek some other mistress : rather than
In a thought or drawn 1 will consent to auglit
That may take from my honour, I'll endure
More than my mother can impose upon me.

Mirt. I grant your honour is a specious dressing
But without conversion of men,
A kind of nothing. I will not persunde you
To disobediencf : yet my confessor told me
(And he, you know, is held a learned clerk),
When parents do enjoin unnatural thing-;,
Wise children may evade them. She may as well
Command when you are hungry, not eat,
Or drink, or sleep : and yet all these are easy,
Compared with the not seeing of a man,
As 1 persuade no further: but to you
There is no such necessity , you have means
To shun your mother's ngour.
Ciiiis. Lawful means ?
Mirt. Lawful, and pleasing too ; I will not

urge

Caldoro's loyal love, you being averse to't ;
Make trial of Adorio.
Calis And give up
My honour to his lust !

Mirt. There's no such thing
Intended, madam ; in few words, write to him
What slavish hours you spend under your mother;
That you desire not present marriage from him,
But as a noble gentleman to redeem you
From the tyranny you suffer, \\ith your letter
Present him some rich jewel ; you have one.
In which the rape of Proserpine, in little
Is to the life express'd : I'll be the messenger
With any hazard, and at my return,
Yield you a good account oft.

Calis. 'Tis a business
To be consiiter'd of.

Mirt. Consideration,

W-hen the converse of your lover is in question,
Is of no moment : if she would allow you
A dancer in the morning to well bieathe you,
A songster in the afternoon, a servant
To air you in the evening*; give you leave
To see the theatre twice a week, to murk
How the old actors decay, the young sprout up
(A fitting observation), you might bear it ;
But not to see, or talk, or touch a man,
Abominable !

Calis. Do not my blushes speak
How willingly I would assnt?

Mirt. Sweet lady,
Do something to deserve them, and blush after.

[ Exeunt.

To air you in the evening ; etc.] It has been already ob
served that servant v as the authorised term for a lover.
From a subsequent passage it appears that this forward
young lady w.i- barely sixteen. Juliet, however, still more
lorward, is still jounce

SCENE I.]

THE GUARDIAN.

ACT 11

SCENE I. The same. A Street wear Severino's
House.

Enter IOLANTE and CALIPSO.

lot. And are these Frenchmen, as you say, such
gallants?

Calip. (iallant and active ; their free breeding

knows not

The Spanish and Italian preciseness
Practised among us ; \vh;it we call immodest,
Wiih them is styleil bold courtship : they dare fight
Under a velvet ensign at fourteen.

I'i't. A petticoat, you mean ?

Calip. You are in the right ;
Let a mistress wear it under an armour of proof,
They are not to be beaten off.

Jol. You are n>erry, neighbour*

Calip. I fool to make you so ; pray you observe

them.

They are the forward's! monsieurs : born physicians
For the malady of young wenches, and ne'er miss :
I own my life to one of them, when 1 was
A raw young thing, not worth the ground I trod

on,

And long'd to dip my bread in tar, my lips
As blue as salt-water, he came up roundly to me,
And cured me in an instant, Venus be praised for't !

Enter ALPHONSO, MONTTESSIFR, LAVAL, Captain,

Attendants.

lot. They come, leave prating.

Calip. I am dumb, an't like your honour.

Alph. We will not break the league confirm'd

between us

And your great master : the passage of his army
Through all our territories lies open to him ;
Only we grieve that your design for Rome
Commands such haste, as it denies us means
To entertain you as your worth deserves,
And we would gladly tender.

Mont. Royal Alphonso,
The king my master, your confederate,
Will pay the debt he owes, in fact which I
Want words t'express. 1 must remove to night ;
And yet, that your intended fax ours may not
Be lost, I leave- this gentleman behind me,
To whom you may vouchsafe them, I dare say,
Without repentance. I forbear to give
Your majesty his character ; in France
He was a precedent for arts and arms,
Without a rival, and may prove in Naples
Worthy the imitation.

[Introduce* Laval to the king.

Calip. Is he not, madam,
A monsieur in print ? what a garb was there ! O

rare !
Then, how he wears his clothes ! and the fashion of

them !

A main assurance that he is within
All excellent : by this, wise ladies ever
M;ike their conjectures.

lot. Peace, 1 have observed him
From head to foot.

Calip. Eye him again, all over.

Lot. It cannot, royal sir, but argue me
Of much presumption, if not impudence, |

To be a suitor to your majesty,

Before I have deserved a gracious grnnf,

Hy some employm nt prosperously achieved.

Hut pardon, gracious sir: when 1 left France

I made a vow to a bosom fnenil of mine

(U'liich my lord genera!, if lie |>!e-ise, c;m witness)

With such humility as well bei onies

A poor pei itioner. to desire a boon

From your magnificence. \Hedelieers a petition.

Calif). With w hiit punctual form
He does deliver it !

lol. I have eves : no more.

Alph. For Sieveriuo's pardon ! you must excuse

me,
I dare not pardon murder.

Lav. His fact, sir,

Ever submitting to your abler judgment,
Merits a fairer mime: he was provoked.
As by unanswerable proofs it is confirin'd,
Hy iMouieclaro's rashness; who repining
That "-evei-ino. without his consent,
Had married Jb'lante. his sole sister
(It being com eald almost for thirteen years),
Though ihe gentleman, at all parrs, w;is his equal,
First ihalleug'd him, and, that declined, he gave

him
A blow in public.

Mont. Not to be endured,
But by a slave.

Lav. This, great sir, justly weigh 'd.
You may a littl.-, if you please, take from
The rigour of your justice, and express
An act of mercy.

lot. I can hear no more,

This opf-ns an old wound, and makes a new one.
Would it were cicatrized ! wait me.
Calip. As your shadow.

[Exeunt I'ulunie and Culipsn.

Alph. We grant you these are glorious pretences,
Revenge appearing in the shape of valour,
Which wise kings must distinguish : the defence
Of reputation, now made a bawd
To murder ; every triflle falsely styled
An injury, and not to be determined
Hut by a bloody duel : though this vice
Hath taken root and growth beyond the mountains
(As France, and, in strange fashions, her ape,
England, can dearly witness with the loss
Of more brave spirits thun would have stood the

shock

Of the Turk's army), while Alphonso lives
It shall not here be planted. Move me no further
In this ; in what else suiting you to ask,
And me to giv , expect a gracious answer :
However, welcome to our court. Lord General,
I'll bring you out of the ports, and then betake you
To your good fortune.

Mont. Your grace overwhelms me. [Exeunt

SCENE II. A Room in Severino's House.

Enter CAI.IPSO and IOLANTE.
Calip. You are bound to favour him : mark yon

how he pleaded
For my lord's pardoii.

416

THE GUARDIAN.

[Acr II.

Tol. That's indeed a tie ;
But I have a stronger on me.

Calip. Say you love

His person, be not asham'd oft ; he's a man,
For whose embraces, though Kndymion
Lay sleeping by, Cynthia would leave her orb,
And exchange kisses with him.

Ivl. Do not fan

A fire that burns already too hot in me ;
I am in my honour sick, sick to the death,
Never to be recovered.

Calip. What a coil's here
For loving a man ! It is no Afric wonder ! .
If, like Pasiphne, you doted on a bull,
Indeed 'twere monstrous ; but in this you have
A thousand thousand precedents to excuse you.
A seaman's wife may ask relief of her neighbour,
When her husband's bound to the Indies, and not

blam'd for't ;

And mnny more besides of higher calling,
Though 1 forbear to name them. You have a hus-
band ;

But, as the case stands wrh my lord, he is
A kind of no husband ; and your ladyship
As free as a widow can be. I confess,
If ladies should seek change, that have their hus-
bands

At board and bed, to pay their marriage duties,
(The surest bond of concord), 'twere a fault,
Indeed it were : but for your honour, that
Do lie alone so often body of me !
I am zealous in your cause let me take breath.
Tol. I apprehend what thou wouldst say, I want

all
As means to quench the spurious fire that burns

here.
Calip. Want means, while I, your creature, live !

1 dare not
Be so unthankful.

KL Wilt thou undertake it,
And, as an earnest of much more to come,
Receive this jewel, and purse crunnn'd full of

crowns?

How dearly 1 am forced to buy dishonour !

Calip. I would do it gratis, but 'twould ill become
My breeding to refuse your honour's bounty ;
Nay, say no more, all rhetoric in this
Is comprehended ; let me alone to work him.
He shall be yours*; that's poor, he is already
At your devotion. I will not boast
My faculties this way, but suppose he were
Coy as Adonis, or llippolytus.
And your desires more hot than Cytherea's,
Or wanton Phaedra's, I will bring him chain 'd
To your embraces, glorying in his fetters :
I have said it.

KL Go, and prosper ; and imagine
A salary beyond thy hopes.
Calip. Sleep you

* lie shall be yours ; that's poor, he is already
A*, ynur deaoirnn.] This is parodied with ioine humour from
a spirited p:issaye in Hercules {''nrens :

\i novi llerculem,

I.ycus ('reontl deb/las painax dalnt :

Lentum ett, dablt ; dat : hoc quoque lentum at ; dedit

Ver. (5M.
which Jonson has thus closely imitated in his Catiline:

' He shall die ;

Shall, was too slowly said : he's dying ; that
Is yet too slow : he it dead

Secure on either ear*; the burthen's ymirs
To entertain him, mine to bring him hither. [t'iunt

SCENE III. A Room in Aoumo's House.
Enter ADORIO, CAMII.LO, LKXTULO, and DONATO.

Don. Your wrong's beyond a challenge, and you

deal

Too fairly with him, if you take that way
To right yourself.

Lent. The least that you can do,
[n the terms of honour, is, when next you meet him,
To sjive him the bastinado.

Ciiin. And that clone,
Draw out his sword to cut your own throat ! No,
Be ruled by me, show yourself an Italian,
And having received one injury, do not put off
Your hat for a second ; there are fellows that
For a few crowns will make him sure, and so,
With your revenge, you prevent future mischief.

Ador. I thank you, gentlemen, for your studied

care

In what concerns my honour ; but in that
I'll steer my own course. Yet, that you may know
You are still my cabinet counsellors, my bosom
Lies open to you ; I begin to feel
A weariness, nay, satiety of looseness,
And something tells me here, I should repen
My harshness to Calista.

Enter CARIO in haite.

Camil. When you please,
You may remove that scruple.

Ador. 1 shall think on't.

Cur. Sir, sir, are you ready?

Ador. To do what ?
I am sure 'tis not yet dinner-time.

Car. True ; but [ usher
Such an unexpected dainty bit for breakfast,
As yet I never cook'd : 'tis not botargo,
Fried frogs, potatoes marrow'd, cavear,
Carps' tongu >s, the pith of an English chine of beef,
Nor our Italian delicate oil'd mushrooms,

Calip. Sleep you

Secure on eiihei ear ;] Calipso seems to have joined the
classics to A madis de Gaul, Palmerin, and The Mirrour
of Knighthood. To sleep nn either ear, is from The Hiau-
tont, of Terence, in aurem utramvis dormire. and means,
lo sleep soundly, free from care, &c. It is used by Jonson,
in his beautiful Manque of Oberon :

" Sirs, jo*; keep

Proper watch, that thus do lie
Dniu iiM in -loih !

Sat. I. They have no eye
To wake wi<hal.

Sat. 2. Nor sense, I fear,
For they sleep on either ear."

In Acerbi's Travels to the Korth of Europe, tl ere is an
extract from the bishop of Dronllifiiii's Account of the
J.aplanders, " in utramvit dormiunt aurem, ni'c p/umil
indorrnire mollibus mayni aistimant." This Aceibi, or
rather the knglish manufacturer f his work, translates,
" they sleep equally on both Miles!" He then remarks, with
an appearance of great sagacity, " Some physicians recom-
mend sleeping on the right si<le, or right ear, the good
bishop seems, however, to think that to ^leep casually on
either ear is the most conducive to health." The " good
bishop" knew what he was saying veiy well, though hii
flippant translator did not : but thus it is that \ve are rtis-
graiedinlhe ejesor' Euroi.e by m-edy adventurers, \\ho
set up for eritics in literature with no other qualification!
than ignorance and impudence 1

SCENE III.]

THE GUARDIAN.

-H7

And yet a drawer-on, too; and if you show not
An appetite, and a strong one, I'll not say
To eat it, but devour it, without grace too,
For it will not stay a preface, 1 am shamed,
And all my past provocatives will be jeer'd at.

Ador. Art tbou in thy wits? what new-fourd

rarity
Hast them discover'd?

Car. No such matter, sir ;
It grows in our own country.

Don. Serve it up,
I feel a kind of stomach.

Camil. 1 could feed too.

Car. Not a bit upon a march; there's other

lettuce

For your coarse lips ; this is peculiar, only
For my master's palate ; I would give my whole

year's wages,

With all my vails, and fees due to the kitchen,
But to be his carver.

Ador. Leave your fooling, sirrah,
And bring in your dainty.

Car. 'Twill brin;; in itself,
It has life and spirit in it ; and for proof.
Behold ! Now (all to boldly, my life on't
It comes to be tasted.

Enter MIRTILLA.

Camil. Ha ! Calista's woman.

Lent. A handsome one, by Venus.

Ador. Pray you forbear :
You are welcome, fair one.

Don. How that blush becomes her!

Ador. Aim your designs at me?

Mirt. I am trusted, sir,

With a business of near consequence, which I would
To your private ear deliver.

Car. I told you so.

Give her audience on your couch ; it is fit state
To a she-ambassador.

Ador. Pray you, gentlemen,

For awhile dispose of yourselves, I'll straight attend
you.

[Exeunt Camilla, Lentulo, anil Dojiato.

Car. Dispatch her first for your honour, the

quickly doing

You know what follows.

Ador. Will you please to vanish ? [F.xit Cario.
Now, pretty one, your pleasure ; you shall find me
Headv to serve you ; if you'll put me to
My oath, I'll take it on this book.

Mirt. O, sir,

The favour is too great, and far above
My poor ambition, I must kiss your hand
In sisjn of humble thankfulness.

Ador. So modest!

Mirt. It well becomes a maid, sir. Spare those

blessings

For mv noble mistress, upon whom with justice,
And, with your good allowance, I might add
With a due gratitude, you may confer them ;
But this will better speak her chaste desires,

[Delivers a letter.

Than I can fancy what they are, much less
With moving language, to their fair deserts.
Aptly express them. Pray you read, but with
Compassion, I beseech you : if you find

4nd yet a drawer- on too ;] i. e. an incitement ID appe-
tite . the phrase is yet in use.

The paper blurr'd with tears fallen from her eyes,
While she endeavour'd to set down that truth
Her soul did dictate to her, ic must challenge
A gracious answer.

Ador. O the powerful charms
By that fair hand writ down here ! not like those
Which dreadfully pronounced by Circe, changed
Ulysses' followers into beasts ; these have
An opposite working : I already feel,
But reading them, their saving operations,
And all those sensual, loose, and base desires,
Which have too long usurp'd, and tyrannized
Over my reason, of themselves fall off.
Most happy metamorphosis ! in which
The film of error that did blind my judgment
And seduced understanding, is removed.
What sacrifice of thanks can 1 return
Her pious charity, that nut alone
Redeems me from the worst of slavery,
The tyranny of my beastly appetites,
To which I long obsequiously have bow'd ;
But adds a matchless favour to receive
A benefit from me, nay, puts her goodness
In my protection ?

Mirt. Transform'd ! it is [Aside

A blessed metamorphosis, and works
I knotv not how on me.

Ador. My joys are boundless,
Curb'd with no limits ; for her sake, Mirtilla,
Instruct me how 1 presently may seal
'iv t) f^e strong bonds of loyal love, and service
Which never ball be cancell'd.

Mir* She'll become

Your debtor, sir. if you vouchsafe to answer
Her pure affection.

Ador. Answer it, Mirtilla!
With more than adoration I kneel to it
Tell her, I'll rather die a thoousand deaths
Than fail, with punctuality, to perform
All her commands.

Mirt. I am lost on this assurance. [Aside.

Which, if 'twere made to me, 1 should have faith in 't,
As in an oracle : ah me ! She. presents you
This jewel, her dead grandsire's gift, in which,
As by a true Egyptian hieroglyphic
(For so I think she call'd it), you may be
Instructed what her suit is you should do,
And she with joy will suffer.

Ador. Heaven be pleased
To qualify this excess of happiness
With some disaster, or I shall expire
With 'a surfeit of felicity. With what art
The cunning* lapidary hath here express'd
Ihe rape 6f Proserpine ! 1 apprehend
Her purpose, rfnd obey it ; yet not as
A helping friend, but a husband : 1 will meet
Her chaste desires with lawful heat, and warm
Our Hymeneal sheets with such delights
As leave no sting behind them.

Miit. 1 despair then. [Aside,

Ador. At the time appointed say, wench, I'll at-
tend her,

And guard her from the fury of her mother,
And all that dare disturb her.

Mirt. You speak well,
And I believe you.

-ll'ith what art

The conning lapidary, &c.] Cunning is the Scriptural
fur ingenuity in (lie arts.

418

THE GUARDIAN.

f ACT II

A(\ar. Would you au^ht else?

Mitt. I would carry

Some love-sign to her ; and now I think on it,
The kind salute you offer'd at my entrance,
Hold it not impudence that 1 desire it,
I'll faithfully deliver it.

Ad*r. O. a kiss !

You must excuse me ; I was tben mine own,
Now whollv hers : the toui-h of other lips
I d<> ahjure for ever : but there's gold
To bind thee still my advocate.

- [Exit,

Mirt. Not a kiss!

I was cov when it was offered, and now justly
When I beg one am denied. What scorching fires
My loose hopes kindle in me! shiill 1 be
False to my lady's trust, and from a servant
Rise up her rival? His words have hewitch'd me,
And something 1 must do. but what? 'tis yet
An einbryon. and how to give it form,
Alas, I know n >t. Pardon me, Calista,
I am nearest to mvself, and time will teach me

To perfect that which yet is undetermined.

[Exit.

SCENE IV. The Country. A Forest.

Enter CLAODIO and SEVERING.

Claud. You re master of yourself; yet, if I mar
As a tried frii rid in my love and affeetioit.
And a servant in mv duty, speak my thought.-*,
Without offence, i'the way of counsel to yoj ,
I could allege, and truly, that your purpose
For Naples, cover'd with a thin disguise,
Is full of danger.

Stv. Danger, Claudio !

'Tis here, and every where, our forced companion;
The rising ami the setting sun beholds us
Environ a with i; ; our whole life a journey
Ending in certain ruin.

Claud. Yet we should not,
Howe'er besi ged, deliver up our fort
Of life, till it be forced.

Sev. 'Tis so indeed

By wisest men concluded, which we should
Obey as Christians; but when I consider
How different the progress of our actions
Is from religion, nny, morality,
I cannot find in reason, why we should
Be scrupulous that way only; or like meteors
Blaze forth prodigious terrors, till our stuff
Be utterly consumed, which once put out,
Would bring security unto ourselves,
And safety unto those we prey upon.
O Clauilio ! since bv this fatal hand
The brother of my wife, bold Momeclaro,
Was left dead in the field, and I p oscribed
After my flight, by the justice of ihe king,
My being hath been but a living death,
With a continued torture.

Claud. Yet in that
You do delude their bloody violence
That do pursue your life.

Sev. While 1 by rapines
Live terrible to others as myself.
What one hour can we challenge as our own,
Unhappy as we are, yielding a beam
1-1 comfoj t to us T Q met night, that brings

Rest to the labourer, is the outlaw's Jay,

In which he rises early to do wrong,

And when his work is ended, dares not sle*p;

Our time is spent in walches to entrap

Such as would shun us, and to hide ourselves

Kiom the ministers of justice, that would bring us

To the correction of the law. O. Claudio,

Is this a life to be preserved*, and at

So dear a rate? But why hold 1 discourse

On this sad subject, since it is a burthen

We are inark'd to be;ir, and not to be shook off

But with our human frailty ? Jn the change

Of dangers there is some delight, and therefore

I am res)lved for Naples.

Claud. May vu meet there
All comforts that so fair and chaste a wife
(As fame proclaims her without parallel)
Can yitld to ease your sorrows !

Sev. 1 much thank you ;

Yet you may spare those wishes, which with joy
1 have proved certainties, and from their want
Her excellencies take lustre.

Claud. Ere you go yet,

Some charge unto your squires not to fly out
Beyond their bounds were not impertinent :
For though that with a look you CM) command them,
In your absence they'll be headstrong.

Sev. 'Tis well thought on,

I'll touch my horn, [Blvws his horn.] they know
my call.

Claud. And will,

As soon as heard, make in to't from all quarters,
As the flock to the shepherd's whis'le.

Enter Banditti.

1 Ban. What's your will?

2 Ran. Hail, sovereign of these woods !

3 Ban. We lay our lives
At your highness' feet.

4 Bun. And will confess no king,

Nor laws but what come from }our mouth; and

those
We gladly will subscribe to.

Sev. Make this good,

In my absence, to my substitute, to whom
Pay all obedience as to mvself;
The breach of this in one particular
I will severely punish : on your lives.
Remember upon whom with our allowance
You may securely prey, with such as are
Exempted from your fury.

Claud. 'Twere not amiss,
If you please, to help their memory; besides,
Here are some newly initiated.

Sev. To these

Read you the articles ; I must be gone :
Claudio, farewell !

O, Claudia,

1* thit a. life to be preserved, &c.] A state of inse -'ty
and per pel ii il alarm was never described with more energy
and beauty than in lhi scene I know ni \\hrthi-r Ma*-
linger ever re.ichrd Germany ; but ccrtaiulv many parts of
Charles The II obiter be T a MiiUnit rwrMMMMe tu the cha-
racter of Srvrrino. There is a fine passage in Mar.itun,
which is nut altogether unlike the openinc m' this -pi-eon :

() thoii pale, sober night,

Thou that in xlnggish fumes till sense do!-t steep;
Thou th.it giv'st ail the world full MV- to \<\f
Ui.biMid'ft the feeble veins of sweaty l.ioonr,'' tfti.

The Ma/ecoittrnt. .V 111. oc. U.

fotoan h.ii laid 'his scene under heavy cmr.nbJ-i >a\ U
his Battle of llexham.

IV. j

THE GUARDIAN.

419

Claud. Afay your return be speedy !

1 Kan. Silence; out with your table-books.

2 Han. And observe.

Claud, [reads.] The cormorant that Hies in expec-
tation

Of a long viuh'd-far dearth, and smiling grinds
The f:ices of the poor. /<"' woi/ make spoil oj ;
Even theft tn such isjnstice.

3 Ban. lie's in n>y tables.

Claud. The grand encloser of the commons, for
His primte pro/it or drliglit. uilh nil
His herrli that graze upon't, are lawful prize.

4 Bun. And we will bring them in, although the
devil

Stood roaring by to guard them.

Claud. If it usurer.

Greedy, tit his own price to make a purchase,
Taking advantage upon hond or mortgage
FI-IWI a prodigal, pass through i>ur territories,
In the waif of custom, or of tribute to us,
You mn y ease, him of his burthen.

2 Ban. Wholesome doctrine.

Clnud. Builders of iron mills, that grub up forests*
With timher trees J or shipping.

1 Bun. May we not
Have a touch at lawyers ?

Claud. By no means; they may
Too soon have a gripe at us ; they are angry hor-
nets,
Not to be jested with.

3 Ban. This is not so well.

Claud. The owners of dark shops, that rent their

wares

With perjuries ; cheating vintners, not contented
With half in half in their recklings, uet c> u out,
When then find their guests want coin, 'Tis late, and

bed-lime.
These ransack at your pleasures.

3 Ban. How shall we know them ?

Claud. If they walk ou foot, by their rat-colour'd

.stockings.

And shining shoesf ; if horsemen, by short boots,
And riding furniture of .several counties.

2 Ban. Not one of the list escapes us.
Claud. Butforscholais.

Whose wealth lift in their heads, and not their pockets,

Soldiers that hare died in their country's sen-ice ;

The reut-rach'd farmer ; nee<ni market folks ;

The mttatti labourer ; carriers thai transport

Thegondi of other men. are privileged ;

But, ahote all, let none presume to offer
Violence lawmen, Jonntr king hath sworn,
U'ho that wnu's a delinquent, u'ilhout mercy

Hangs fnr't by martial law.

* Claud. Builders of irnn mill*, that ymb up forntt
M ilk t'linbrr trees fur shiijiiny ] Did this evil really exist
in Mar-singer's d,iys ! .r ditl tin- poet, in proplu-tic vision,
vi-iiliK 1 " well woodt-.d" iiii>iiiit,iin> that ovi rliang ihe Lakes
of Cumberland and U'estiiioicl.ind f 'J hese artiv/ei are ev-
treinelv cuiius. as they >liow us wlmt wrre accounted tlie
chief grievances oi' thr nation at that fortunate period.

t And shining shun;] Our old dr.imaliMs make them-
selves vt-ry meiry uiih these shin'ny shoes, whicli Appear, in
thfir live, to liavr been one ol (lie cliaracti-ri tic in uks of a
pr.;:e citi/.en. Thus Necnt, r .ill} ing 1'lotwtll for be-
coming a merchant, exclaims :

' Slid ! his ilitifg th-ne too !" Tlir. City JUatck.

And Kitrly tibM-rvi-s ili.il \V el bred'sarqiiaiiKance

" mock him all over,

Fruni his flat cap unto lii sh.nimj ihoes."

Every Man in hit Humour.

All. Long live Severino,
And perish all such cullions as repine*
At his new monarchy !

Claud. About your business,
That he may find, at his return, good cause
To praise your care and discipline.

All. We'll not fail, sir. [Eieunt.

SCENE IV. Naples. A Street.
Enter LAVAL and CALIPSO.

Lav. Thou art sure mistaken ; 'tis not possible
That I can be the man thou art employ 'd to.

Calip. Not you the man! you are the man of

men,

And such another, in my lady's eye,
Never to be disco ver'd.

Lav. A mere stranger
Newly arrived !

Calip. Still the more probable ;
Since ladies, as you know, affect strange dainties,
And brought far to themf. This is not an age
In which saints live; but women, knowing women,
That understand their summum bonum is
Variety of pleasures in the touch,
Derived from several nations ; and if men would
Be wise by their example

Lav. As most are,
'Tis a coupling age !

Calip. Why, sir, do gallants travel?
Answer that question but, at their return,
With wonder to the hearers, to discourse of
The garb and difference in foreign females,
As the lusty girl of France, the sober German,
The plump Dutch frow, the stately dame of Spain,
The Roman libertine, and sprightful Tuscan,
The merry Greek, Venetian courtezan,
'I 'he English fair companion, that learns some-
thing

From every nation, and will fly at all :
t say again, the difference betwixt these
And their own country gamesters.

Lav. Aptly urged.

Some make that their main end : but may I ask,
Without offence to your gravity, by what title
Your lady, that inviies me to her favours,
Is known in the city ?

Calip. If you were a true-born monsieur,
You would do the business first, and ask that after.
If you only truck with her title, 1 shall hardly
Deserve thanks for my travail ; she is, sir.
No single ducat-trader, nor a beldam
So frozen up, that a fever cannot thaw her;
No lioness by her breath.

Lav. Leave these impertinencies,
And come to the matter.

Calip. Would you'd be us forward
When you draw for the upshot ! she is, sir, a lady,
A rich, fair, well-con. plexioned, and what is
Not frequent among Venus' votaries,
Upon my credit, which good men have trusted,

And p erith all ruch riilliunsi A term taken from the
Italians ami strongly expletive ol co tt-mpt: n\l rncti at>ifi:t
leretchn It fre<]iiriiil> occin>iii ihe old p<-i>
+ fiiru-e I'tiliei. as y..u know, affmt itranee dainriri.
And b'ouyht far tothem. I'hi'* is proverbial : but it may,
peihaps, allude to the title of a play, by Thomas Hacket,
" J-'arrr l-'etched and Dear Bought yt Goodfor Laditt." It
was entered at Slalione'V Hall, lit*.

120

THE GUARDIAN.

FACT I

A sound and wholesome lady, and her name is
Madonna Ib'lante.

Lav. Ib'lante !

I have heard of her ; for chastity, and beauty,
The wonder of the age.

Calip Pray you, not too much
Of chastity ; fair and free I do subscribe to,
And so you'll find her.

Lav. Come, you are a base creature ;
And covering your foul ends with her fair name,
Give me just reason to suspect you have
A plot upon my life.

Calip. A plot ! very fine !

Nay, 'tis a dangerous one, pray you beware oft;
Tis cunninglv contrived : I plot to bring you
Afoot, with the travel of some forty piices.
To those delights which a man not made of snow-
Would ride a thousand miles for. You shall be
Received at a postern door, if you be not cautious,
By one whose touch would make old Nestor

young,

And cure his hernia ; a terrible plot!
A kiss then ravished from you by such lips
As flow with nectar, a juicy palm more precious
Than the famed Sibylla's bough, to guide you safe
Through mists of perfumes to a glorious room,
Where Jove might (east his Juno ; a dire plot
A banquet I'll not mention, that is common :
But I must not forget, to make the plot
More horrid to you, the retiring bower,
So furnished as might force the Persian's envy,
The silver bathing-tub the cambric rubbers,
The embroidered quilt, the bed of gossamer
And damask roses; a mere powder-plot
To blow you up ! and last, a bed-fellow,

To whose rare entertainment all these are
But foils and s-ettings off.

Lav. No more; her breath
Would warm an euruch.

Calip. I knew 1 should heat you;
Now he begins to glow.

Lav. I am flesh and blood,

And I were not man if I should not run the hazard,
Had I no other ends in't. I have considered
Your motion, matron.

Calip. My plot, sir, on your life,
For which I am deservedly suspected
For a base and dangerous woman ! Fare you well,

sir,
I'll be bold to take my leave.

Luv. I will along too.
Come, pardon my suspicion, I confess
My error; and eying you better, I perceive
There's nothing that is ill that can flow from you ;
I am serious, and for proof of it I'll purchase
Your good opinion. [Gives her his purst.

Calip. 1 am gentle natured,
And can forget a greaier wrong upon
Such terms of satisfaction.

Luv. What's the hour?

Culip. Twelve.

Lai). I'll not miss a minute.

Culip. I shall find you
At your lodging?

Lav. Certainly ; return my service,
And for me kiss your lady's hands.

Calip. At twelve
I'll be your convoy.

Lav. 1 desire no belter.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. The Country.
Enter DURAZZO, CALDORO, and Servant.

Dur. the horses down the bill ; I have a

H t Walk

To speak in private. [Exit Servant.

Cald. Good sir, no more anger.

Dui . Love do you call it ! madness, wilful mad-
ness ;

And since I cannot cure it, I would hare you
Exactly mad. You are a lover already,
Be a drunkaid too, and after turn small poet,
Ar>d then you are mad, katexoken the madman*.

Culd. Such as are safe on shore may smile at

tempests ;

But I, that am embark'd.and every minute
Expect a shipwreck, relish not your mirth ;
To me it is unseasonable.

Dur. Pieasing viands
Are made sharp by sick palates. I affect
A hand.-ome mistress in my gray beard, as well
As any boy of you all ; and on good terms
Will venture as far i'the fire, so she be willing

* And then you are mad, katexokti) the madman.]
' e- super eminently the madman.

To entertain me ; but ere I would dote,

As you do, where there is no nattering hope

Ever t'enjoy her, I would forswear wine.

And kill this letcherous itch with drinking water,

Or live, like a Carthusian, on poor John,

Then bathe myself nigiit by night in marble dew,

And use no soap but camphire-balls.

Cald. You may

(And I must suffer it), like a rough surgeon,
Apply these burning caustics to my wounds
Already gangren'd, when soft unguents would
Better express an uncle with some feeling
Of his nephew's torments.

Dur. I shall melt, and cannot

Hold out if he whimper. O (bat this young fellow,
Who, on my knowledge, is able to beat a man,
Should be baffled by this blind imagined boy,
Or fear his bird-bolts* !

jald. You have put yourself already
To too much trouble in bringing me thus far :
Now, if you please, with your good wishes, leave

me
To my mv hard fortunes.

Or fear his bird-bolts !] i. e. his blunt, pointiest, arrows.}
for \\itli such birds were brought down.

III/)

THE GUARDIAN.

Dur. I'll for.-ake myself first.
Leave thee ! I cannot, will not ; tliou shall have
No cause tc be weary of my company,
For I'll be useful; arid, ere 1 see thee perish,
Dispensing with my dignity and candour*,
I will do something for thee, though it savour
Of the old squire of Troyt. As we ride, we will
Consult of the means : bear up.

Cald. 1 cannot sink.
Having your noble aids to buoy me up ;
There was never such a guardian.

Dur. How is this ?

Stale compliments to me ! When my work's done,
Commend the artificer, and then be thankful.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. Naples. A Room in Severino's
House.

Enter CALISTA richly habited, and MIRTILLA in the
gown which Calista_/iVst wore,

Calit. How dost thou like my gown?

Mirt. Tis rich and court ike.

Calls. The dressings too are suitable

Mirt. I must say so,
Or you might blame my want of care.

Co Hi. My mother

Little dreams of my intended flight, or that
These are my nuptial ornaments.

Mirt. I hope so.

Calls. How dully thou repliest ! thou dost not

envy

Adorio's noble change, or the good fortune
That it brings to me ?

Mirt. My endeavours that way
Can answer for me.

Calls. True ; you have discharged
A faithful servant's duty, and it is
By me rewarded like a liberal mistress :
I speak it not to upbraid you with mv bounties,
Though they deserve more thanks and ceremony
Than you have yet express'd.

Mirt. The miseries

Which, from your happiness, I am sure to suffer,
Restrain my forward tongue ; and, gentle madam,
Excuse my weakness, though I do appear
A little daunted with the heavy burthen
I am to undergo : when you are safe,
My dangers, like to roaring torrents, will
Gush in upon me ; yet 1 would endure
Your mother's cruelty, but how to bear
Your absence, in the very thought confounds me.
Since we were children I have loved and served

you ;

I willingly learn'd to obey, as you
Grew up to knowledge, that you might command
me ;

Dispensing with my dignity ami candour,] This expres-
sion reconciles me to a passage in The Parliament of Lone,
of which, though copied with my best care, I was extremely
doubtful ;

" And might I but persuade you to dispense
" A little with your candour, &c." Act IV. sc. iii.
It now appears that UMtiAger uses candour in both places
as synonymous with honour, or fairness of reputation.

f Of the old squire of Troy.] The PamUius of Shaks-
peare. 'Ihis uncle is a most pleasant character; it is im-
possible not to be delighted with him, notwithstanding the
freedom of his language. As C..ldoro justly observes,
Time wot nener such a Titardian.

And now to be divorced from all my comforts!
Can this b^ borne with patience?

Catii. The necessity

Of my strange fate commands it; bull vow
By my Adorio's love, I pity thee.

Mirt. Pitv me, madam ! a cold chatity j
You must do more, and help me.

Calls. Ha ! what said you?
I must ! Is this fit language for a servant?

Mirt. For one that would continue your poor

servant,

And cannot live that dav in which she is
Denied to be so. Can Mirlilla sit
Mourning alone, imagining those pleasures
Which you this blessed Hymeneal night
Enjoy in the emhraces of your lord,
And my lord too, in being your's ? (already
As such I love and honour him). Shall a stranger
Sew you in a sheet, to guard that maidenhead
You must pretend to keep; and 'twill become you?
Shall another do those bridal offices
Which time will not permit me to remember*,
And j pine here with envy ? panion me,
1 must and will be pardon'd, for my passions
Are in extremes ; and use some speedy means
That 1 may go along wish you, and share
Jn those delights, hut with becoming distance;
Or by his life, which as a saint you swear by,
I will discover all.

Calls. Thou canst not be
So treacherous and cruel, in destroying
The building thou hast raised.

Mirt. Pray you do not tempt me,
For 'tis resolved.

Calls. 1 know not what to think oft.
In the di.-covery of my secrets to her. [her,

1 have made my slave my mistress : I must sooth
There's no evasion else. Prithee, Mirtilla,
Be not so violent, 1 am strangely taken
With thy affection for me; 'twas my purpose
To have thee sent for.

Mirt, When?

Calls. This very night ;
And 1 vow deeply 1 shall he no sooner
In the desired possession of my lord
But by some of his servants 1 will have thee
Convey'd unto us.

Mirt. Should you break ?

Calls. I dare not.

Come, clear thy looks, for instantly we'll prepare
For our departure.

Mirt. Pray you, forgive my boldness,
Growiug from my excess of zeal to serve you.

Calls. 1 thank thee for't.

Mirt. You'll keep your word?

Calis. Still doubtful ?

Mirt. ' Twas tbis I aim'd at, and leave the rest to
fortune. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Room in Adorio's House.
Enter ADORIO, CAMII.LO, LENTULO, DONATO,

CARIO, and Servants-
Ador. Haste you unto my villa, and takfi all

* Which time will not permit me to n-incmbei ,] i.e 10
bring to your remembrance, to remind you of: Mi the word
is frequently used.

This scene, and indeed the whole of this play, is scanda-
lously edited by COXCUT as well ->s Mr. M. Mason ; in the
line before us, tri^ former omits me, and the latter, time, to
that the met-e halts miserably in both.

THE GUARDIAN.

Provision along with you, and for use
And ornament, tlie shortness of the time
Can furnish you ; let my best plate be set out,
And costliest hangings ; and, if 't be possible,
With a merry dance to entertain the bride,
Provide nn epithalamium.

Car. Trust me

For belly timber : and for a song I have
A paper-blurrer, who on all occasions,
For nil times, and all seasons, hath such trinkets
Ready in the deck*: it'i.s but altering 1
The names, and they will serve for any bride
Or bridegroom in the kingdom.
Mi/fur. Hut for the dance?

Cor. I u-ill make one mvself, and foot it finely;
And summoning your tenants at my'dYesser,
Which is, indeed, my drumf. make a rare choice.
Of the able youth, such as shall sweat sufficiently,.
And smell too, but not of amber, which you know is
The grace of the country hall.

Allot: About it, Cario, /
And look you V.e careful.

Car. For mine own credit, sir.

[Exeunt Cario and Servants.
Ador. Now, noble friends, confirm your loves,

and think not

Of the penalty of the Ian-, that does forbid
The stealing away an heir : I will secure you,
And pay the breach oft.

Camil. Tell us what we shall do,
We'll talk of that hereafter.

Ador. Pray you be careful
To keep the west gate of the city open,
That our passage may be free, and bribe the watoh
With any sum ; this is all.
Don. A dangerous business !
Ciiiiiii. I'll make the constable, watch, and porter

drunk.
Under a crown.

Lent. And then you may pass while they snore,
Though you had done a murder.
Camil. Get but your mistress,
And leave the rest to us,

Ador. You much engage me :
But 1 forget myself.

CamiL Pray you in what, sir?
Ador. Yielding too much to my affection,
Though lawful now, my wounded reputation
And honour suffer : the disgrace in taking
A blow in public from Caldoro, branded
V\ith the infamous mark of coward, in delayin"
To right myself, upon my cheek grows fresher"-
That's first to be consider'd.
Cuiiiit. If you dare

Hrady in the deck.] Mr. M. Mason reads, in the dttk
and douht e, applauded himself for the em, ndation but
frck K rifelit ; H means the heap, or, technically spcakin?
th.-tfroM In our ..Id poets, a pack of cards lulled a deck-
llms, in Xflimui Emprror of the Turht, 1694;

" ^ l ''J' ',' I u clM " ce , b " 1 '"* to get the decA,

lo deal about and fhuffle as I would."
And tummnniny your tenant* at my rire*er
v!2^ t X t m '* nm ' } Th "'"""vant ( io The
" When the drenrr, the cook'sdrum, thunders, come on !"
And thus Suckling: Act HI. , c . i.

" Just in the nick the cook knoch'd thrice,
And all the waiters in a trice

His summon* did obc> ;
Each serving man, with dish in hand,
March 'd boldly up, like our train'd hand,
Presented, and awy." The Wedding

Trust my opinion (yet I have h;id
Some practice and experience in duels),
You are too tender that way : can you answer
The debt you owe your honour till you meet
Your enemy from whom you may exact it!
Hath he not left the city, and in fe-ar
Conceal'd himself, for aught 1 can imagine?
What would you more?

Ador. I should do.

Camil. Never think on't,
Till fi tcr time and place invite you to it:
I have read Caranza*, and find not in his grammar
Of quarrels, that the injured m:in is bound
To seek for reparation at an hour
But may, and without loss, till he hath settlec
More serious occasions that import him,
For a day or two defer it.

Ador. You'll subscribe
\ r our hand to this?

tfamil. And justify 't with my life,
Presume upon't.
. Ador. On, then ; you shall o'er-rule me.

SCENE IV. A Room in Severino's House.
Enter IOLANTE and CALIPSO.

lol. I'll give thee a golden tongue, and have it

hung up

Over thy tomb for a monument.
Culip. 1 am not prepared yet

To leave the world ; there are mnnv srnod pranks
I must dispatch in this kind bft'ore 1 die:
And I had rather, if }our honour please,
Have the crowns in mv purse.
lol. Take that.
Calip. Magnificent lady!

May you live long, and every moon love change,
That I may have fresh employment. You know

what
Remains to be done.

lot. Yes. yes ; I will command
My daughter and Mirtilla to their chamber.

Calip. And lock them up: such liquorish kit-
lings are not
To be trusted with our cream. Ere I go, I'll help

you
To set forth the banquet, and place the candied

eringoes
Where he may be sure to taste them ; then undress

you,
For these things are cumbersome, when you shoiJu

be active :

A thin night mantle to hide part of your smock,
With your pearl-embroidered pantofles on your

feet.
And then you are armed for service ! nay, no

trifling,

/ have read Caranza. 1 This great man" treat let me
call him," for he has obtained the prai.se of Bobndil, wrote a
MFtematk treatise on duelling, which .-eems to have been
the * ade Mecum of the punctilious gallant* ab,>iil ihe court
of James I. He is frequently mentioned by Branm.'iit ami
Hetcher, Jonson, and our author, and ce'nerallv wilh the
ridicule which he deserves. From a paJ-fMge in Thr AVn- /nn,
it should seem that his repnt.ition did not lun outlive
their *arca<in.i :

" {'"*-' Tlle - v liad tll( ' ir 'mes, and we can say, then irrrt .
oo had Caranza his."

THE GUARDIAN

\Ve are alone, and you know 'tis a ppint of folly
To he coy to eat when meat is set before you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V. A Street before Severino's Haute.
Enter ADORIO and Servant.

Ador. 'Tis eleven by my watch, the hour ap-
pointed.
Listen at the door hear'st thou any stirring ?

Serv. No, sir ;
All's silent here.

Ador. Some cursed business keeps
Her mother up. I'll walk a little circle,
And show where you shall wait us with the horses,
And then return. This short delay afflicts me,
And 1 presume to her it is not pleasing. [Exeunt,

Enter DURAZZO ami CALDORO.

Dur. What's now to be done ? prithee let's to

bed, t am sleepy ;

And here's my hand on't, without more ado,
13 v (air or foul play we'll have her to-morrow
In thy possession.

Cald. Good sir, give me leave
To taste a little comfort in beholding
The place by her sweet presence sanctified.
She may perhaps, to take air, ope the casement,
And looking: out, a new star to be gazed on
By me with adoration, bless these eyes,
Ne'er happy but when she is made the object.

Dur. Is not here fine fooling !

Calil. Thou great queen of love,
Or real or imagined, be propitious
To me, thy faithful votary ! and I vow
To erect a statue to thee, equal to
Thy picture by Apelles' skilful hand,
Left as the great example of his art:
And on iliy thigh I'll hang a golden Cupid,
flis torches flaming, and his quiver full,
For further honour!

Dur. End this waking dream,
And let's away.

Enter C A LIST* and MIRTILLA.

C.,lit. M initial

Cald. 'Tis her voice !

Cults. You heard the horses' footing 1

Miit. Certainly.

Catiit. Speak low. My lord Adorio.

Catd. 1 am dumb.

Dur. The darkness friend us too ! Most honour'd

madam,
Adorio, your servant.

Culis. As you are so,
1 do command your silence till we are
Further removed ; and let this kiss assure you
(1 thank the sable night that hides my blushes)
1 am wholly yours.

Dur. Forwftrd, you micher !

Mirt. Madam,
Think on Mirtilla. [Etit.

Dur. I'll not now enquire
The mystery of this, but bless kind fortune
Favouring us beyond our hopes: yet, now I think

on't,

I had ever a lucky band in such smock night-work.

[Exeunt.

F.titer ADOIUO and Servant.

Ador. Tliis slowness does amaze me ; sLe s not

alter'd
In her late regulation !

Jo/. [u-ithin.] (Jet you to bed,
And stir not on your life, till 1 command you.

Ador. Her mother's voice ! listen.

Serv. Here comes the daughter.

Enter MIRTII.LA hastily.

Mirt. Whither shall I fly for succour 7

Ador. To these arms,
Yqpr castle of defence, impregnable,
AiW not to be blown up : how your heart beats !
Take comfort, dear Calisla, you aie now
In his protection that will ne'er forsake yci
Adorio, your changed Adorio, swears
Hv your best self, an oath he dares not break,
He loves you, loves you in a noble way,
His constancy firm as the poles of heaven.
I will urge no reply, silence becomes you ;
And I'll defer the music of your voice
Till we are in a place of safety.

Mirt. O blest error ! [ Exeunt.

Enter SF.VERINO.

Sev. Tis midnight: how my fears of certain death,
Being surprised, combat with my strong hopes
Raised on my chaste wife's goodness ! 1 am grown
A stranger iii the city, and no wonder
I have too long been so unto myself:
Grant me a little truce, my troubled soul
I hear some footing, ha!

Enter LAVAL ami CALIPSO.

Ciilip. That is the house.

And there's the key : you'll find my lady ready
To entertain yon ; 'tis not fit I should
Stand gaping' by while you bill : 1 have brought

you on,
Charge home, and come off with honour. [Exit.

Sev. It makes this way.

Lav. I am much troubled, and know not what

to think
Of this design.

Sev. It still comes on.

Lav. The watch !
I am betray 'd.

Sev. Should I now appear fearful,
It would discover me: there's no retiring.
My confidence must protect me ; I'll appear
As if I walk'd the round*. Stand !

Lav. I am lost.

Sev. The \vord !

Lav. Pray you forbear ; I am a stranger,
And missing, this dark stormy night, my way
To my lodging, you shall do a courteous office
To guide me to it.

Sev. Do you think I stand here
For a page or a porter ?

Lav. Good sir, grow not so high :
I can justify my being abroad ; I am
No pilfering vagabond, and what you are
Stands yet in supposition ; and I ( harge yow
If you are an officer, bring me before your captain ;
For if you do assault me, though not ia few

III appear .1,1

A* if I walk'd the r.mivl.] I. ' As If I
watch. Ste The Picture, \<\ II. .

444

THE GUARDIAN

[Acr III.

Of what you can do alone, I will cry murder,
And raise the streets.

Sec. Before my captain, ha!
And bring my head to the block. Would we were

parted,

I have greater cause to fear the watch than he.
Law. Will you do your duty?
Sev. 1 must close with him :
Troih, sir, whate'er you are (yet by your language
I guess you a gentleman), I'll not use the rigour
Of my place upon you : only quit this street,
For your stay here will be dangerous ; and good

night!

Lav. The like to you, sir; I'll grope out my way
As well as I can. O daran'd bawd ! Fare you
well, sir. [Exit.

Sev. I am glad he's gone ; there is a secret pas-
sage,
Unknown to my wife, through which this key will

guide me

To her desired embraces, which must be,
My presence being beyond her hopes, most wel-
come. [Exit.

SCENE VI. A Room in Severino's House.

IOLANTE is heard speaking behind a curtain,
lol. lam full of perplex 'd thoughts. Imperious

blood,

Thou only art a tyrant ; judgment, reason,
To whatsoever thy edicts proclaim
With vassal fear subscribe against themselves.
I am yet safe in the port, and see before me,
If I put off, a rough tempestuous sea,
The raging winds of infamy from all quarters
Assuring my destruction ; yer my lust
Swelling the wanton sails (my understanding
Stow'd under hatches), like a desperate pilot,
Commands me to urge on. My pride, my pride,
Self-love, and over-value of myself,
Are justly punish 'd: I, that did deny
My daughter's youth allow'd und lawful pleasures,
And would not suffer in her those desires
She suck'd in with my milk, now in my waning
Am scorch'd and burnt up with libidinous fire,
That must consume my fame ; yet still 1 throw
More tuel on it.

Enter SEVERING before the curtain.
' Sev. 'Tis her voice, poor turtle :
She's now at her devotions, praying for
Her banish'd mate ; alas, that tor my guilt
Her innocence should suffer! But I do
Commit a second sin in mv deferring
The ecstacy of joy that will transport her
Beyond herself, when she flies to my lips,
An.l seals my welcome. [Draws the curtain.]
Ib'Iante !

lot. Ha!
Good angels guard me !

Sev. What do I behold !

Some sudden flash of lightning strike me blind,
Or cleave the centie of the earth, thut I
May living find a sepulchre to swallow
Me and my shame together!

lot. Guilt and horror

Tnatound me in one instant ; thus surprised,
The subtlety ot all wantons, though abstracted,
Can show no seeming colour of excuse,
To plead iu my defence.

Sev. Is this her mourning 1

killing object ! The imprison'd vapours

Of rage and sorrow make an eaithqunke in roe :

This little world, like to a tottering tower,

Not to be underpropp'd ; yet in my fall

I'll crush thee with my ruins. [brutes a poiiiard.

lol. [kneeling.'] Good sir, hold:
For, my defence unheard, you wrong your justice,
If you proceed to execution,
And will too late repent it.

Sev. Thy defence !

To move it, adds (could it receive addition)
Ugliness to the loathsome leprosy
That, in thy being a strumpet, hath already
Infected every vein, and spreads itself
Over this carrion, which would poison vultures
And dogs, sho;ild they devour it. Yet, to stamp
The seal of reprobation on thy soul,
I'll hear thy impudent lies, borrow'd from hell,
And prompted by the devil, thy tutor, whore !
Then send thee to him. Speak.

lol. Your Gorgon looks
Turn me to stone, and a dead palsy seizes
My silenced tongue.

Sea. O Fate, that the disease
Were general in women, what a calm
Should wretched men enjoy ! Speak, and be brief.
Or thou shall suddenly feel me.

lol. He appeased, sir,
Until I have delivered reasons for
This solemn preparation.

See. On, 1 hear thee.

lol. With patience ask your memory; 'twill in-
struct you,
This very day of the month, seventeen yeara

since.
You married me.

Sev. Grant it, what canst thou urge
From ibis?

lol. That day, since your proscription, sir,
In the remembrance of it annually,
The garments of my sorrow laid aside,

1 have with pomp observed.

v et'. Alone !

lol. The thoughts

Of my felicity then, my misery now,
Were the invited guests ; imugination
Teaching me to believe that you were present,
And ti partner in it.

Sev. Rare ! this real banquet

To feast your fancy : fiend ! could fancy drink off
These flagons to my health, or the idle thought
Like Baal devour these delicates? the room
Perfumed to take his nostrils ! this loose habit,
Which Messalina would not wear, put on
To fire his lustful eyes! Wretch, am 1 grown
So weak in thy opinion, that it can
Flatter credulity that tin se gross tricks
May be foi>ted on me? Where's my daughter?

where

The bawd your woman? answer me. Calista!
Mirtilla ! they are disposed of, if not murdered,
To make all sure ; and yet methiuks your neigh-
bour,

Your whistle, agent, parasite, Calipso,
Should be within call, when you hem, to usher in
The close adulterer. [Lays hands on her

lol. What will you do?

Seo. Not kill thee, do not hope it ; I am not
So near to reconcilement. Ha ! this scarf

SCENE VI.]

THE GUARDIAN.

445

The intended favour to your st:illion. now

Is useful: do not strive; [// biiidi fter.] thus

bound, expect

All studied tortures my assurance, not
Mv jealousy, thou ait false, can pour upon thee.
In darkness howl thy mischiefs; and if rankness
Of thy imagination can conjure
The ribald [hither*], glut thyself with him;
I will cry Aim, and in another room
Determine of my vengeance. Ob, my heartstrings !
[Kiit u-ith the tapers.

lol. Most miserable woman ! and yet sitting
A judge in mine own cause ujion myself,
I could not mitigate the heavy doom
My incensed husband must pronounce upon me.
In my intents 1 am guilty, and for them
Must suffer the same punishment, as if
I had in fact offended.

Calip. [within.] Bore my eyes out
If you prove me faulty : I'll but tell my lady
What caused your slay, and instantly present you.

Enter CALIPSO.
How's this? no lights ! What new device? will she

play
At blindraan's-buff? Madam!

lot. Upon thy life,
Speak in a lower key.

Catip. The mystery
Of this, sweet lady ? where are you!

lol. Here, fast bound.

Cat'ip. By whom?

lol. I'll whisper thai into thine ear,
And then farewell for ever.

Cattf). How ! my lord I

I am in a fever: horns upon horns grow on Lira !
Could he pick no hour but this to break a bargain
Almost made up?

Jo!. What shall we do?

Culip. Betray him ;
I'll iiistantly raise the watch.

lul. And so make me
For ever infamous.

Culip. The gentleman,
The rarest gentleman, is at the door,
Shall he lose his labour] Since that you must

perish,

Twill show a woman's spleen in you to fall
Deservedly ; give him his answer, madam.
1 have on tho sudden in my head a strange whim ;
But 1 will first unbind you.

lol. .Now what follows?

Calip. 1 will supply your place : and, bound, give

Your mantle, take my night-gown ; send away
The gentleman satislied. 1 know my lord
Wants power to hurt you, 1 perhaps may get
A kiss by the bargain, and all this may prove
But some neat love-trick ; if he should grow furious,
And question me, 1 am resolved to put on
An obstinate silence. Pray you dispatch the gen-
tleman,
His courage may cool.

lot. I'll speak with him, but if
To any base or lustful end, may mercy
At my last gasp forsake me ! ' [Exit.

Thf. ribald [hither,] glut thys< If with him ;] The
word iuclostd in brackets, <>r ouc ol a similar meaning, seems
necessary to complete the sense as well as the metre.

Calip. I was too rash,
And have done what 1 wish undone : say ho should

kill me?

1 have run my head in a fine noose, and I smell
The pickle I am in ! 'las, how 1 shudder
Still more and more ! would I were :i she Priapus,
Stuck up in a garden to fright awny the crows,
So I were out of the house ! she's at her pleasure,"
Whate'er she said ; and I must endure the torture
He comes ; I cannot pruv, my fears will kill me.

Re-enter SEVERING with a knife in his hand, throwing
open the doors violent lit.

Set: It is a deed of darkness, and I need
No light to guide me ; there is something tells me
1 am too slow-paced in my wreak, and trifle
In my revenge. All hush'd ! no sigh nor groan
To witness her compunction ! can guilt sleep,
And innocence be open-eyed ? even now,
Perhaps, she dreams of the adulterer,
And in her fancy hugs Lim. Wake, thou strumpet,
Anil instantly give up unto my vengeance
The villain that defiles my bed ; discover
Both what and where he is, and suddenly,
That I may bind you face 10 face, then sew you
Into one sack, and from some steep rock hurl you
Into the sea together : do not play with
The lightning of my rage ; break stubborn silence,
And answer my demands ; will it not be?
I'll talk no longer; thus I mark t.be for
A common strumpet [Strikes at her u-ith the knife,

Calip. Oh!

Sev. Thus stab these arms

That have stretch'd out themselves to grasp a
stranger.

Calip. Oh!

Sev. This is but an induction ; I will draw
The curtains of the tragedy hereafter:
Howl on, 'tis music tome. [Erie.

Calip. He is gone.

A kiss, and love-tricks ! he bath villanous teeth,
May sublimed mercury draw them ! if all dealers
In my profession were paid thus, there would be
A dearth of cuckolds. Oh my nose ! I had one :
My arms, my arms! I dare not cry for fear ;
Cursed desire of gold, how art thou punish 'd !

Re-enter IOLANTE.

Tvl. Till now I never truly knew myself,
Nor by all principles and lectures read
In chastity's cold school, was so instructed
As by her contrary, how base and deform'd
Loose appetite is ; as in a few short minutes
This stranger hath, and feelingly, deliver'd.
Oh ! that 1 could recal my bad intentions,
And be as 1 was yesterday, untainted
In my desires, as I am still in fact,
1 thank bis temperance ! I could look undaunted
Upon my husband's rage, and smile at it,
So strong the guards and sure defences are
Of armed innocence; but I will endure
The penance of my sin, the only means
Is left to purge it. The day-breaks. Calipso!

Cnlip. Here, madam, here.

I'oL Hath my lord visited thee ?

Calip. Hell take such visits ! these stabb'd.arms,

and loss

Of my nose you left fast on, may gire you a relish
What a night I have had oft, and what you had

suffered,
Had I not supplied your place.

4?6

THE GUARDIAN.

r ACT 111.

IS'. I truly grieve for't;
Did not inv h'ishand sp_ak to thee?

Ctilip. Yes, I heard him,
And telt \tim,eree signum, with a mischief!
Hut he knew not me ; like a true-bred Spirtan boy*
With silence I endured it, he could not get
One syllithle from me.

lot. Something may be fashion'd
From this; invention help me ! I must be sudden.

[ Unbiinli her.
Thou art free, exchange, quick, quick ! now bind me

sure,
Anl leave me to mv fortune.

C.i///). I'ray you consider
The loss of my nose ; had I been but carted for

you,

Though wasli'd. with mire and chamber-lie, I had
Examples 'o excuse me ; but my nose,
My nose, dear ladv !

lot. (Jet off, I'll send to thee. [Exit Calipsa.

If sJi, it may take ; if it fail, I must
Sutler whatever follows.

Pe-enter SEVERING with a taper.

Sev. I have searched

In every corner of the house, yet find not
My daughter, nor her maid ; nor any print
Of a man's footing, which, this wet night, would
Be easily discern 'd. (he ground being soft,
At his coming in or going out.

Jot. ' Tis bef.

And within hearing; heav'n forgive this feigning!,
I being forced to't to preserve my life,
To he better spent hereafter !

fiev. 1 begin

To stagger, and my love, if it knew how
(Her piety heretofore, and fame remembered),
Would plead in her excuse.

lot. You blessed guardians
Of matrimonial faith, and just revengers
Of such as do iu fact offend against
Your sacred rites and ceremonies ; by all titles
And holy attributes you do vouchsafe
To be invoked, look down with saving pitj
Upon my matchless sufferings !

Sev. At her devotions :
Affliction makes her repent.

lol. Look down

Upon a wretched woman, and as 1
Have kept the knot of wedlock, in the temple
By the priest fasten'd, firm (though in loose wishes
I yield 1 have offended) ; to stnke blind

like a true-bred Spartan boy.) The old copy

frVh .

read'/ox. The amendment by Mr. M. Mason
+ 161. 'Tit he,

- All

'Tit he'

A ntt I'm within hearing ; heaven, &c

The numetrical turn of the line shows that omelhin<r i,
wrnnR ; ami, indeed, what liilanle wanted was, that her hus-
band bould be within heating, that she might begin her ad
junmunt. " To rcina.k, 11 as Joliim-n says (on another occa-
won), the improbability of the fiction, or the absurdity of
the conduct { this strange interlude, were to v"S*teciitici!ra
npoii unresisting imbecility."

The eyes of jealousy, that see a crime
I never yet committed, arid to free me
From the unjust suspicion of my lord,
Restore my manyr'd face and wounded arms
To their late strength and beauty.

Sev. Does she hope
To be cured by miracle ?

lot. This minute I

Perceive with joy my orisons heard and granted
You mini-ters of mercy, who unseen,
And by a supernatural means, have done
This work of heavenly charity, be ever
Canonized for't !

Sn. I did not dream, 1 heard her,
And I have eyes, too ; they cannot deceive me :
If I have no belief in their assurance*,
I must turn sceptic. Ma ! this is the hand,
And this the fatal instrument : these drops
Of blood, that gush'd forth from her face and arms,
Still fresh upon the floor. This is something more
Than wonder or amazement; I profess
I am astonish'd.

lot. Be incredulous still,
And go on in your barbarous rage, led to it
By your false guide, suspicion; have no faith
In my so long tried loyalty, nor believe
That which you see ; and for your satisfaction,
My doubted innocence clear'd l;y miracle.
Proceed, these veins have now new blood, if you
Resolve to let it out.

Sev. I would not be fool'd

With easiness of belief, and faintly give [Aside,

Credit to this strange wonder : 'tis now thought on :
In a fitter place and time I'll sound this further.

[Unties her.

How can I expiate my sin ? or hope,
Though now I write myself thy sluve, the service
Of my whole life can win thee to pronounce
Despair'd-of pardon ? Shall I kneel? that's poor.
Thy mercy must urge more in my defence,
Than I can fancy ; wilt thou have revenge ?
My heart lies open to t)-ee.

lot. This is needless
To me, who in the duty of a wife,
Know I must suffer.

Sev. Thou art made up of goodness,
And from my confidence that I am alone
The object of thy pleasures, until death
Divorce us, we will know no separation.
Without inquiring why, us sure thou wilt not,
Such is thy meek obedience, thy jewels
And choicest ornaments pack'd up, thou shalt
Along with me, and as a queen be honour'd
By such as style me sovereign. Already
My banishment is repeal'd, thou being present :
The Neapolitan court a place of exile
When thou art absent : my stay here is mortal,
Of which thou art too sensible, I perceive it ;
Come, dearest Iblatite, with this breath
All jealousy is blown away. [Embraces her.

let. Be constant. [Exeunt.

have no belief in their assurance,] So the qnarto,
Coxcter misprinted it in their ariitance ; and Mr. M. Ma;on
ridiculously followed him.

Sovc I/]

THE GUARDIAN.

ACT IV

SCENE I. The Country,

A Noise within ; then enter DURAZZO, CALDORO,
and Servant, with CALISTA in their arms.

Dur. Hell take the stumbling jade!
Cald Heaven help the lady !
iS>iT. The horse hath broke his neck.
Dnr. Would thine were crack'd too,
So the la<ly had no harm ! Give her fresh air,
'Tis hut a swoon.

C't'd. 'Tis more, she's dead.
Dur. Examine
Her limbs if they be whole : not too high, not too

hiffb,

You ferret : this is no coney-borough for you.
How do you find her?

Cald. No breath of comfort, sir: too cruel fate !
H:ul I still pined away, and lingered under
The modesty of just and honest hopes,
After a long consumption, sleep and death
To me had been the same ; but now, as 'twere,
Possess'd of all my wishes, in a moment
To have them ravish'd from me! suffer shipwreck
lii view of the port ! and, like a half-starved

beggar,

No sooner in compassion clothed, but coffiu'd !
Malevolent destinies, too cunning in
Wretched Caldoro's tortures ! O Calista,
If thy immortal part hath not already
Left this ftir palace, let a beam of light
Dawn from thine eye, in this Cimmerian darkness,
To gui e my shaking hand to touch the anchor
Of hope in thy recovery.
C,//. (Hi !
l)ur. She lives ;

Disturb her not ; she is no right-bred woman
If she die with one fall ; some of any acquaintance
Have ta'en a thousand merrily, and are still
Excellent wrestlers at the close hug.
CulrL Good sir
Dnr. Priihee be not angry, I should speak

thus if
My mother were in her place.

C'dil. But had you heard
The music of the language which she used
To me, believed Adorio, as she rode
Behind me ; little thinking that she did
Embrace Caldoro
Calls. Ah, Adorio !
Dur. Leave talking, I conceive it.
Cults. Are you safe?
Culd. And raised, like you, from death to life, to

hear you.
Ca<is. Hear my defence then, ere I take my

veil off,

A simple maid's defence, which, looking on you,
I faintly could deliver ; willingly
1 am become your prize, and therefore use
Your victory nobly ; heaven's bright eye, the sun,
Draws tip the grossest vapours, and I hope
] ne'er shall prove an envious cloud to darken
The splendour of your merits. I could urge
With what disdain, liny scorn, I have declined
The shadows of insinuating pleasures
Tendered by all men else, you only being

The object of my hopes: that cruel prince

To whom the olive-branch of peace is offered,

Is not a conqueror, but a bloody tyrant,

If be refuse it ; nor should you wish a triumph,

Because Calista's humble : I have said,

And now expect your sentence.

Diir. W r hat a throng

Of clients would be in the court of Love,
Were there many such she-advocates ! art Uioo

dumb ?
Canst thou say nothing for thyself?

Cald. Dear lady,

Open your eyes, and look upon the man,
The man you have elected for your judge,
Kneeling to you for mercy.

Calis. 1 should know

This voice, and something more than fear I am
Deceived ; but now I look upon his face,
I am assured I am wrc tched.

Dnr. Why, good lady ?

Hold her up, she'll fall again before her time else (
The youth's a well- timbered youth, look on hit

making ;

His hair curled naturally ; he's whole-chested too,
And will do his work as well, and go through-stitch

with't,

As any Adorio in the world, my state on't !
A chicken of the right kind ; and if he prove

not

A cock of the game, cuckold him first, and after
Make a capon of him.

Calis. I'll cry out a rape,
If thou unhand me not : would I had died
In my late trance, and never lived to know
I am betray'd !

Dur. To a young and active husband !
Call you that treachery ? there are a shoal of
Young \\enches i'the city, would vow a pilgrimage
Beyond Jerusalem, to be so cheated.
To her again, you milk-sop ! violent storms
Are soon blown over.

Calls. How could 'st thou, Caldoro,
With such a frontless impudence arm thy hopes
So far, as to believe I might consent
To this lewd practice? have I not often told thee
Howe'er I pitied thy misplaced affection,
I could not answer it ; and that there was
A strong antipathy between our passions,
Not to be reconciled?

Cald. Vouchsafe to hear me
With an impartial ear, and it will take from
The rigour of your censure. Man was mark'd
A friend in his creation to himself,
And may with fit ambition conceive
The greatest blessings, and the highest honours
Appointed for him, if he can achieve them
The right and noble way : I grant you were
The end of my design, but still pursued
With a becoming modesty, heaven at length
Being pleased, and not my arts, to further it.

Dur. Now he comes to her: on, hoy.

Cald. I have served you
With a religious zeal, and borne the bu:then
Of your neglect, if 1 may call it so,
Beyond the patience of a man : to prove this..

488

THE GUARDIAN.

[Acr IV.

I have seen those eye's with pleasant glances play*

Upon Adorio's, like Phoebe's shine,

tiilding r. crystal river ; and your lip

Rise uj> in civil courtship to meet his.

While I hit mine with envy : yet these favours,

Howe'er my passions raged, could not provoke me

To one net of rebellion against

My loyalty to you the sovereign

To whom I owe obedience.

Calis. My blushes
Confess this for a truth.

Dnr. A flug of truce is
Hung out in this acknowledgment.

CM. I could add,

Hut that vou may interpret what I speak
The malice of a iival, rather than
Mv due respect to your deserts, how faintly
Adorio hath return 'd thanks to the bounty
Of your HtTVction, ascribing it
As a tribute to his worth, and not in you
An act of mercy : coulJ he else, invited
(As by your words I understood) to take you
To his protection, grossly neglect
So gracious an offer, or give power
To fate itself to cross him ? O, dt-ar madam,
We are all the balls of time, toss'd to and fro,
From the plough unto the throne, arid back

again :

Under the swing of destiny mankind suffers,
And it appears, by an unchanged decree.
You were appointed mine ; wise nature always
Aiming at due proportion : and if so,
I may believe wMi confidence, heaven, in pity
Of my sincere affection, and long patience,
Directed you, by a most blessed error,
To your vow'd servant's bosom.

Dnr. By mv holidam,
Tickling philosophy !

C<ili'. 1 am. sir, too weak
To argue with you ; but my stars have better,
I hope, provided for me.

Catd. If there be

Disparity between us, 'tis in your
Compassion to level it.

Dur. Give fire
To the mine, and blow her up.

Calii. I ;im sensible

Of what you have endured ; but on the sudden,
With my unusual travel, and late bruise,
I am exceeding weary ; in yon grove,
While I repose myself, be you my guard ;
My spirits with some little rest revived,
We will consider further : for my part
You shall receive modest and gentle answers
To your demands, though short, perhaps, to make

you
Full satisfaction.

/ have if en thote ryes with pleasant glances play
Upon Adnri<>'t, &c.] This it a most beautiful rimile ;
In 'the II inter'* Tale we have one very much like
ft r-

" He say! 1 , he loves my daughter;

I think so too: fur never gaz'd llie moon
Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read,
As 'twere, my daughter's eyes " COXETER.
I would not deprive the reader of these pretty lines ; though
1 cannot avoid i.b.-ervins;, that llu-y present an image totally
di.'tinct I'rom that which they are cited to exemplify. One
Is the picture of complacent affection, the othor of rapturous
delight: the language of both is singularly happy.

Calil. I am exalted

In the employment ; sleep secure, I'll be
Your vigilant centinel.

Calls. ISut I command you,
And as you hope for future t;race, obey me,
Presume not with one stolen kiss to disturb
The quiet of my slumbers ; let your temperance,
And not your lust, watch o'er me,

C'il'1. My desires
Are frozen, till your pity shall dissolve them.

Dur. Frozen ! think not of frost, fool, in the dog

days.

Remember the old adage, and make use oft,
Occasion's bald behind.

Calis. Is this your uncle?

Cald. And guardian, madam; at your better

leisure,

When I have deserved it, you may give him thanks
For his many favours to me.

Cnlin. He appears
A pleasant gentleman.

[E.ietmt Caldtrro and Calista.

Dur. You should find me so.
But that I do hate incest. I grow heavy ;
Sirrah, provide fresh horses; I'll seek out
Some hollow tree, and dream till you return,
Which I charge you to hasten.

Serv. With all care, sir. [Eifunt.

SCENE II. The Country. A Rwm in Adorio's
House.

Enter CAIUO tcith several Villu<>ers.

Car. Let your eyes be rivetted to my heels, and

miss not

A hair's breadth of my footing ; our dance has
A most melodious note, and I command you
To have ears like hares this night, for my lord's

honour,

And something for my worship : your reward is
To be drunk-blind like moles, in the wine-cellar;
And though you ne'er see alter, 'tis the better ;
You were bom for this night's service. And do you

hear,
Wire-string and cat-gut men, and strong-breath'd

hoboys,

For the credit of your calling, have not your instru-
ments
To tune when you should strike np ; but twang it

perfectly,
As you would read your neck-verse : and you,

warbler,
Keep your wind-pipe moist, that you may not spit

and hem,

When you should make division. How I sweat!
Authority is troublesome : [A horn u-ithin.] they

are come,

I know it by the cornet that I placed
On the hill to give me notice : marshal yourselves
I'the rear, the van is yours.

Enter ADORIO, MIRTILLA, CAMILLO, LEXTULO, and
DONATO.

Now chant it sprightly.

* See this SONG, with that in Act V. sc. i., at the conclusion
of the play.

I I.I

THE GUARDIAN.

Ador. A well-penn'd ditty.
Camil. Not ill sung.
Ador. What follows?

Cur. Use your eyes ; if ever, now your master-
piece.

A DANCE.

Ador. Tis well perform'd : take that, but not

from me,

'Tis your new lady's bounty, thank her for it j
All that I have is her's.

Car. I must have three shares
For my pains and properties, the rest shall be
Divided equally. [E.reitn( Curio and Villagers.

Miit. My real fears

Begin, and soon my painted comforts vanish
In my discovery.

Ador. Welcome to your own !
You have (a wonder i'n a woman) kept
Three long hours' silence ; and the greater, holding
Your own choice in your arms, a blessing for which
I will be thankful to you: nay, unmask,
And let mine e)C and ears together feast,
Too long by you kept empty. <h. you want
Your woman's help, I'll do her office for you.

[Takes off her mask.

Mirtilla!

C-imil. It is she, and wears the habit
In which Calista three days since appeared
As she came from the temple.

Lent. All this trouble
For a poor waiting maid !
Don. \\'e are grossly gull'd.
Ador. Thou child of impudence, answer me, and

truly,

Or, though the tongues of angels pleaded mercy,
Tortures shall force it from tliee.

Mirt. Innocence

Is free and open-breasted ; of what crime
Stand I accused, my lord ?

Ador. What crime ! no language
Can speak it to the height ; 1 shall become
Discourse for fools and <irunkanls. How was this
Contrived? who l.elp'd thee in the plot ? discover:
Were not Calista's aids in't?

Mirt. No, on my life j
Nor am 1 faulty.

Ad"r. No! what May-game's this?
Didst thou treat with me for thy tuistresss' favours,
To make sale of thine own ?

Mirt. With her and you
I have dealt faithfully*: you had her letter
"With the jewel 1 presented : she received
Your courteous answer, and prepared herself
To be removed by you : and howsoever
You take delight to hear what you have done,
From mv simplicity, and make my weakness
The subject of your minh, as it suits well
With my condition, 1 know you have her
In your possession.

Adr. How ! has she left
Her mother's house?

Mirt. You drive this nail too far.
Indeed she deeply vow'd at her departure
To send some of your lordship's servants for me
(Though you were pleased to take the pains your-
self),

/ /line dealt faithfully :] So the old copy. Coxcter and
Mr. M. Mason read j'alihful, which utteily destroys the
metre : but there i> no end of these blunders.

That I might sr.ill be near her. as a shadow
To follow her, the suhstance.

'Ador. She is gone then ?

Mirt. This is too much ; but, good my lord, for-
give me,

I come a virgin hither to attend
My noble mi.-tress, though 1 must confess
I look with sore eyes upon lit-r good fortune,
And wisli it were mine own.

Adur. Then, as it seems,
You do yourself affect me ?

Mirt. Should she hear me,
And in her sudden fury kill me for't,
I durst not, sir, deny it ; since you r.re
A man so form'd, that not poor 1 alone,
But all our sex, like me, 1 think, sta..d bound
To be enamour'd of you.

A dor. O my fate !

How justly am I punish 'd, in thee punish'J.
For my defended wantonness*! I, that scorn'd
The mistress when she sought me, now 1 would
Upon my knees receive her, am become
A prey unto her bondwoman, my honour too
Neglected for this purchase. Art thou one of thos4
Ambitious serving women, who contemning
The embraces of their equals, aim to be
The wrong way ladyfied by a lord? was there
No forward page or footman in the city
To do the feat, that in thy lust I am chosen
To be the executioner? Dar'st thou hope
1 car. descend so low ?

Mirt. (.treat lords sometimes

For change leave calver'd salmon, and eat spratsf :
In modesty I dare speak no more.

Camil. If 'twere

A fish-day, though you like it not, I could say
I have a stomach, and would content myself
With this pretty whiting-mopj.

Ador. Discover yet
How thou cam'st to my hands.

Miit. My lady gone,

Fear of her mother's rage, she being found absent,
Moved me to fly ; and quitting of the house,
You were pleas'd, unask'd, to comfort me (I used
No sorceries to bewitch you) , then vouchsafed
(Thanks ever to the darkness of the night !)
To hug me in your arms ; and 1 had wiong'd
My breeding near the court, had 1 retused it.

Ador. This is still more bitter ; canst thou guess

to whom
Thy lady did commit herself?

Mirt. They were
Horsemen, as you are.

Ador. In the name of wonder,

For my defended wantonness .' [ i. fc. foi bidden, intei-
dicted.

t Mirt. Great lords sometimes

For change leave calver'd salmon, and eat sprat*:] See
Maid of Honour, Act lll.sc. i.

j and would content mytelf

Ifith this pretty whiting-wop.] This word occurs in Beau-
mont and Fletcher, in the sublime stiains of Bnstopha :
" The wandering seas, who-e watery fire

VV ashes the whiting-mop*." Maid in the M 'II-
"A whiting mop," says their editor, "is mart ojfih fo
called!" but \vhelheritisaseal or asoland-g.oe, he does not
determine. Ami ?o notes are written ! A whittnjf-miip is a

U-W| IIMW " " ' ~ lf ~

moppet; as, whiting moppet, gurnard-;no^pe, c. p.

430

THE GUARDIAN.

[Acr V.

How could they pass the port, where you expected
My coming !

Camil. Now I think upon't, there came
Three mounted bv, and behind one a woman
Kmhrat-ing fast tin- m.in that rode before her.

Lent. 1 knew the men, but she was veil'd.

Ador. What were they ?

I^ent. The first tlie lord Durazzo, and the second
Your rival, young Caldoro ; it was he
That carried the wench behind him.

Don The last a servant,
Tliiit spurr'd last after them.

Ador. Worse and worse ! 'twas she!
Too much assurance of her love undid me.
Why did you not stay them?

Don. We had no such commission.

Camil. Or say we had, who durst lay fingers on
The angry old ruffian ?

Lent. For my part, I had rather
Take a baited bull by the horns.

Ador. You are sure friends
For a man to build on !

Camil. They are not far off.
Their horses appear'd spent too ; let's take fresh

ones
And coast the country, ten to one we find them.

Ador. I will not et nor sleep, until I have them :
Moppet, you shall along too.

Alii t. So you please

I may keep my place behind you, I'll sit fast,
And ride with you aJl the world o'er.

Camil. A good yirl. ['Exeunt.

SCENE III. Naples. A Street.
Enter LAVAL and CALIPSO.

Lav. Her husbnnd ? J-everiuo ?

Calip. You may see

His handiwork by my flat face ; no bridge
Left to support my organ, if 1 had one :
The comfort is. 1 am now secure from tliecrincomes,
I can lose nothing that way *.

Lav. Dost thou not know
What became of the lady?

Calip. A nose was enough to part with,
I think, in the service ; I durst stay no longer,
But 1 am full assured the house is empty,
Neither poor lady, daughter, servant, left there.
I only guess he hath forced them to go with him
To the dangerous forest, where he lives like a kino-
Among the banditti, and how there he hath used them",
Is more than to be fear'd.

Lav. I have played the fool,

And kept myself too long concealed, sans ques-
tion,

With the danger of her life. Leave me. Th

king !

Enter AU'HONSO and Captain.

Calip. The surgeon must be paid.

Lav. Take that.

Calip. I thank you ;

I have got eaougu by my trade, and I will build
An hospital only for noseless bawds
(Twill speak my charity), and be myself
The governess of the sisterhood. [Eiit.

A I ph. I may

Forget this in your vigilance hereafter ;
But as I. am a king, if you provoke me
The second time with negligence of this kind,
You shall deeply smart for't.

Lav. The kind's moved.

Alph. To suffer

A murderer, by us proscribed, at his pleasure
To pass and repass through our guards !

Capt. Your pardon

For this, my gr cious lord, binds me to be
More circumspect hereafter.

Atph. Look vou be so.
Monsieur I aval, you were a suitor to me
For Severino's pardon.

Lav. I was so, my good lord.

Alph. You might have met him here, to have

thanked you for't,
As now 1 understand.

Lav. So it is rumoured ;
And hearing in the city of his boldness,
I would not say contempt of your decrees,
As then I pleaded mercy, under pardon,
I now as much admire the slowness of
Your justice (though it force you to some trouble)
In fetching him in.

Alph. I have considered it.

Lav. He hath of late, as 'tis suspected, done
An outrage on his wife, forgetting nature
To his own daughter, in whom, sir, I have
Some nearer interest than 1 stand bound to
In my humanity, which I gladly would
Make known unto your highness.

Alph. Go along,

You shall have opportunity as we walk :
See you what I committed to your charge
In readiness, and without noise.

Capt. 1 shall, sir. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. The Country. A Forest.
Enter CLAUDIO and all the Banditti, making a guard
SEVEP.INO and IOLANTE with oaken-leaved garlands'-
Singers.

A SONG.

Sev. Here, as a queen, share in my sovereignty.
The iron toils pitch'd by the law to take
The forfeiture of my life, 1 have broke through

* 1 am now secure from the crincomes,

J can lose nothing that way ] This passage scarcely

And secure in the guards of these few subjects,
Smile at Alphonso's fury ; though I grieve for
The fatal cause, in your good brother's loss,
That does compel me to this course.

Jot. Revive not

A sorrow long since dead, and so diminish
The full fruition of those joys, which now

deserves a note : but Calipso's meaning; is, that, by (he pr
vious loss of her nose, she is secured from one of the evili
attendant on the disease, yet known among the vulgar Uv
the nau.e which sue assigns to it.

SCENE II.]

THE GUARDIAN.

431

I stand possess'd of: womanish fear of danger
'I bat may pursue tins, 1 shake off, aud with
A masculine spirit.

Sev. "1 is well said.

Tul. In you, sir,

I live ; and when, or by the course of nature,
Or violence, you must fall, the end of my
Devotions is, that one and the same Lour
May make us fit for heaven.

btu. 1 join with you

In my votes that way* : but how, lolante,
You that have spent vour pat days, slumbering ia
The down of quiet, can endure the hardness
And rough condition of our present being,
Does much disturb me.

lot. These woods, Severino,
Shall more than seem to me a populous city,
You being present ; here are no allurements
To tempt mv frailly, nor the conversation
Of such whose choice behaviour or discourse
May nourish jealous thoughts.

See. T'tie, Jolante,

Nor shall suspected chastity stand in need here
To be clear'd by miracle.

lot. Still on that string.
It yields har-h discord.

Sev. 1 had forgot myself.
And wish I might no mor<- remember it.
The day wears, sirs, without one prize brought in
As tribute to your queen : Claudio, divide
Our squadron in small parlies, let them watch
All passages, that none escape without
The payment of our customs.

Claud, Shiill we bring in
The persons with the pillage 1

Sev. By all means .

Without reply, about it: we'll retire

[Exeunt Claudia and the rest.
Into my cave, and there at large uiscourse
Our fortunes past, and study some apt means
To find our daughter ; since, she well disposed of,
Our happiness were perfect.

I'til. We must wait
With patience heaven's pleasure.

Sev Tis my purpose. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. Another part of the Forest.
Enter LENTULO and CASJILLO.

Lent. Tet the horses graze, they are spent.

Camil. I am sure I'm sleepv,
And nodded as 1 rode; here was a jaunt
I' the dark through thick and thin, aud all to no

purpose !
What a d illness grows upon me !

Lent. 1 can hardly

Hold ope mine eyes to say so. How did we lose
Aciorio .' [They tit d,,wn.

Camil. He, Donato, and the wonch,
That cleaves to him like birdlime, took the right

hand ;
But this place is our rendezvous.

Lent. i\o matter,
We'll talk of that anon heigh ho ! [Falti iislee}!.

In my vol<s/Aa/ way* i. . in my prayers; I know not
who led Uic w.,y u. this u.<l,iniic <!,. tiinu.f the Uliu \vuid,
tutum, fmt 1 rind it in Juiison, and uilu-i-*.

Camil. He's fa*t already.
Lentulo ! I'll tal^e a nap too. [Fails a^le^p.

Enter ADOIIIO, MIRTILLA, and DONATO.

Adirr. Was ever man so crost ?

Mirt. So blest ; this is
The finest wild goose chase!

Ador What's that you nritter ?

Mirt. A short piayer, that you may fin 1 your

wish'd-for love.
Though I am lost for ever.

Don. Pretty fool !
Who have we here?

Ailor. This is Camilla.

Mi'-t. This signior Lentulo.

Adur. Wake ilifin.

Von. They'll not siir.
Their eyelids are glued, and mine too ; by your

favour,
I'll follow tin ir example. [Lies damn.

Ador. Are you not weary?

Mirt. 1 know not what the word means, while

travel
To do you service.

Ador. You expect to reap
The harvest of your fliitierv ; but vour hopes
Will be blasted, 1 assure you.

Mirl. So you irive leave
To sow it, as in me a sign of duty.
Though you deny your beams "f gracious favour
To ripen it, with patience 1 shall >utt-r.

A'ter. \o more; mv resolution to find
Calista, by what accident hsi I know not,
Binds me not to deny myself wh it nature
Exiicteih from me : to walk alone afoot
( For in v horse is tired) were madness, I must sleep.
You could iia down too ?

Min. Willingly ; so you please
To use me

Ador. Use thee !

Mirt. As your pillow, sir;
I dare presume no further. Noble sir,
Do not too much contemn me ; generous ieel
Spurn not a fawning spaniel.

Ador. Well ; sit down.

JUi'rt. I am ready, sir.

Ador. So nimble !

Mirt. Love is active,

Nor would I be a slow thirg : rest secure, sir;
On my maidenhead, I'll not ravish you.

Ad<>r. For once,
So far I'll trust you. [Lays his head on her lap.

Mirt. All the joys of rest
Dwell on your eyelids ; let no dream disturb
Your soft and gentle slumbers ! I cannot sing.
But I'll talk you asleep; and 1 beseech you
Be not offended, tlmu . !i I glory in
My being thus employ 'd; a happiness
That stands for more than ample satisfaction
For all 1 have, or can endure. He snores,
And does int hear me ; would his sense of feeling

Woie bound up too ! 1 should I am all fire.

Such heaps of treasure offer'd as a prev
Would tempt a modest t ief ; I can no longer
Forbear I'll pently touch his lips, and leave
I^'o print of mine : [/\ij>es /ui.] ah ! 1 have heard

of nectar,

But till now never tnsted it : these rubies
Are not clouded by my breath : if once agaia
1 steal Irom such a full exchequer, trifles

452

THE GUARDIAN.

[Acr. V.

Will not be miss'd; [Kisses him again.'] I am J

entranced : our fancy,
Some say, in sleep works stronger; I will prove

How far' my [*"* "sleep.

Enter DUKAZZO.

Dur. My bones ac-he,
I am exceeding cold too, I must seek out
A more convenient truckle-bed. Ha! do I dream ?
No, no, 1 wake. Camillo, Lentulo,
Donato this, and, as 1 live, Adorio
In a handsome wench's lap! a whoreson; you are
The best accommodated. 1 will call
My nephew and his mistress to this pageant ;
The object may perhaps do more upon her,
Than all (Jaldoro's rhetoric. With what
Securiiy they sleep ! sure Mercury
Hath traveled this way with his charming-rod.
Nephew! Cuiista! Madam!

Enter CALDORO and CALISTA.

Cald. Here, sir ; is
Your man return'd with horses?

Dur. No, boy, no;
But here are some you thought not of.

Calls. Adorio !

Dur. The idol that you worshipped.

Calls. This Mirtilla!
I am made a stale.

Dur. 1 knew 'twould take.

Calis. False man !

But much more treacherous woman ! ' Tis apparent
They jointly did conspire against my weakness,
And credulous simplicity, and have
Prevail'd against it.

Cald. 1'ii not kill them sleeping ;
But it' you ple-.ise, I'll wsike them first, and after
Offer them as a fatal sacrihce
To-your just anger.

Dur. You are a fool ; reserve
Your bio d for better uses.

Cuds. My fond love
Is changed to an extremity of Late ;
His very sight is odious.

Dur. 1 have thought of

A pretty punishment for him and his comrades,
Then leave him to his harlotry ; if she prove not
Torture enough, hold me an ass. Their horses
Are not fnr off, I'll cut the girts and bridles,
Then turn thrm into the wood ; it' they can run,
Let them follow us as footmen. Wilt them fight
For what's thine own already !

Calis. in his bat

He wears a jewel*, which this faithless strumpet,
As a salary of her lust, deceived me of;
He shall not keep't to my disgrace, nor will I
Stir till 1 have it.

Dur. 1 am not good at nimmingf ;
And yet that shall not hinder us: by your leave,

In hit hat

Hetcfarta jewel.) This is in Conformity to the cnstom
fchich then prevaili-d < I t..riiu bn.oclius (gems st in old
or silver) in the hal. <>r ancestors gave the name (jgun-l,
HIM so much to a single loue, as to a clutter oi ilieni M.-I in
order b> tin- lapidary, and, in general, lo any little trinket
or ornaiueui of gold ami prrcimi* .-tones.

t Dnrai. / am tint ynnd at Dimming;] i. e. stealing. The
word is pure Sivou.anil nic.tiis to lake, to seize. It is found
in all our olil wiiters; ami, indeed, is still in use, as a cant
term fur Mealing.

'Tis restitution : pray you all bear witness
I do not steal it ; here 'tis.

[Takes fljf his hnt, and removes thejeuxL

Calit. Take it, not

Asa mistress' favour, but a strong assurance
I am your wife.

Cald. O heaven !

Dur. Pray in the church.

Let us away, \ephew. a word ; have you not
Been billing in the brakes, ha ! and so deserved
This unexpected favour?

Cald. You are pleasant

[Eieunl Durazzo, Caldoro, and Cal'nta.

Ail fir. As thou art a gentleman, kill me not
basely ; [.Start* up ; ihe rest ateakt.

Give me leave to draw my sword.

Camil. Ha! whai's the matter?

Lent. He talk'd ofs sword.

Don. I see no enemy near us,
That threatens danger.

Mirt. Sure 'twas but a dream.

A-iy. A fearful one. Methought Caldoro's

sword

Was at my throat, Calista frowning by,
Commanding him, as he desired her favour,
To strike my head off.

Camil. Mere imagination
Of a disturbed fancy.

Mirt. Here's your hat, sir.

Ador. But where 's my jewel ?

Camil. By all likelihood lost
This troublesome night.

Don. I saw it when wo came
Unto this phice.

Mirt. I looked upon't myself,
When you reposed.

Adar. What is become of it?
Restore it, for thou hast it; do not put me
To the trouble to search you,

JUirt. Search me !

Adar. You have been,
Before your lady gave you entertainment,
A night-walker in the streets.

Mi<t. How, my good lord !

Adnr. Traded in picking pockets, wfaen tame

gulls,

Charmed witb your prostituted flatteries.
Deigned to embrace you.

Mirf. Love, give place to anger.
Charge me with thett, and prostituted baseness !
Were you a judge, nay more, the king, thus urged.
To your teeth 1 would say, 'tis faUe.

Ador. This will not do.

Camil. Deliver it in private.

Mirt. You shall be

In public hanged first, and the whole gang of you.
I steal what I presented !

Lent. Do not ftrive.

Aiior. Though thou hast swallowed it, I'll rip

thy entrails,
But I'll recover it.

Mirt. Help, help!

Ador. A new plot.

CLAUDIO and two Banditti rush upon them wiA
pistols.

Claud. Forbear, libidinous monsters ! if you offer
Tl'e least resistance, you sire dead. Ii'one
But lay his hand upon his sword, shoot all.

tfCSNE IV.]

THE GUARDIAN.

433

Ador. Let us fight for what we hare, and if you

can
Win it, enjoy it.

Claud. We come not to try
Your valour, but for your money ; throw down your

sword,

Or I'll begin with you : so ! if you will
Walk quietly without bonds, you may, if not
We'll force'you. [Fear not,] thou'shalt have no

wrong*,
But justice against these. [To Mirtilla.

1 Ban. We'll teach you, sir,

To med'lle with wenches in our walks.

2 Ban, It being
Against our canons.

Catnil. Whither will you lead us?
Claud. You shall know that hereafter. Guard
them sure. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Another part of the Forest.

Enter ALPIIONSO disguised as an old Man, LAVAL,
and Captain.

Alph. Are all the passages stopp'd ?

Copt. And strongly mann'd ;
They must use wings, and fly, if they escape us.

Lav. But why, great sir, you should expose your

person

To such apparent danger, when you may
Have them brought buuud before you, is beyond
Bly apprehension.

Alph. 1 am better arm'd
Than you suppose : besides, it is confirm'd
By all that have been robb'd, since Severino
Commanded these banditti (though it be
Unusuiil in Italy), imitating
The courteous English thieves, for so they call

them,

They have not done one murder: I must add too.
That, from a strange relation I have heard
Of Severino's justice, in disposing
The preys brought in, I would be an eye-witness
Of what 1 take up now but on report :
And therefore 'tis my pleasure that we should,
As soon as they encounter us, without
A show of opposition yield.

Lav. Your will
Is not to be disputed.

Al}>h. You have placed
Your ambush so, that, if there be occasion,
They suddenly may break in?

Capt. My life upon't.

Alph. We cannot travel far, but we shall meet
With some of these good fellows ; and be sure
You do as I command you.

Lav. Without fear, sir. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Another part of the Forest.

Enter SEVERING and IOLANTK.
Sev. Tis true ; 1 did command Calista should not

We'll force you. (Fear not] than slialt have no

ffrony,\ I have added lite words in brackets to supply afoot

kith was probably lost at the press.

Vithout my knowledge and consent, MaUted
By your ad vice, be married; but your
Restraint, as you deliver it, denying
A rown-up maid the modest conversation
Of men, and warrantable pleasures, relish'd
Of too much rigour, which, no doubt, hath drivem

her
To take some desperate course.

lot. What, then I did
W r as in my care thought best.

Sea. So 1 conceive it ;
But where was your discretion to forbid
Access, and fit approaches, when you knew
Her suitors noble, either of which I would
Have wish'd my son-in-law ? Adorio,
However wild, a young man of yood parts,
But better fortunes : his competitor,
C'aldoro, for his sweetness ot behaviour,
Staidness. and temperance, holding the first place
Among the gallants most observed in Naples;
His own revenues of a large extent,
But in the expectation of his uncle
And guardian's entradas', by the course
Of nature to descend on him, a match
For the best subject's blood, I except none
Of eminence in Italy.
lol. Your wishes,

Howe'er awhile delay 'd, are not, I hope,
Impossibilities.

Sev. Though it prove so,
Yet 'tis not good to give a check to fortune
When she comes smiling to us. Hark ! this cornet

[Cornet within.

Assures us of a prize ; there sit in state,
'Tis thy first tribute.

lol. Would we might enjoy
Our own as subjects !

Sev. What's got bv the sword,
Is better than inheritance : all those kingdoms
Of Alexander were by force extortedf,
Though gilded o'er with glorious styles of con-
quest :

His victories but royal robberies,
And his true definition a thief,
When circled with huge navies, to the terror
Of such as plough'd the ocean, as the pirate,
Who, from a narrow cveek. puts oft' for prey
lu a small pinnace: [Cornet witliin] fium a se-
cond place
New spoil brought in! [Garnet within.] from a

third party ! brave !

This shall be register'd a day of triumph
Design'd by fate to honour tbee.-

Good booty, ha?

Enter CL AUDIO.

Welcome, Claudio !

* And guardian's entradas,] So the old copy. Coxcter
(not understanding the word, perhaps.) discarded it lor
estates, which utterly destroys Hie metre. Mr. M. Mason
implicitly relies on his giiid.mce, sequiturque patrtm, as
usual. Entradas .ire rents, revenues.

t <>f Alexander were by force extorted,} As this line
stands in the ol<l copy, it i- evidently conupt:

Subdued by A le xander, were by force extorted.
This dues not read to me like Massingi-r's: the small change
which I have hazarded restores it. at least to metre. The remark
which follow* is taken from history, and is said to have
been actually made to thU prince, by a pirate whom In
was about to execute.

434

THE GUARDIAN.

i V

Enter, a' t'ijf'ermt sides, various pnriifs nflhe Banditti ;
cue with AoORIO, Li-.vii't.o, DONA'IO, CA.MII.I.O,
Mimii.L* ; uimther . ir/'i/i DTHA/ZO, CAI.DORO, CA-
M-IT A ; anil the rest icilli ALPIIONSO, LAVAL, and
Captain.

Claud. Their oufsides promise so;
But vet they hnve not made discovery
Of what they stand possest of.

Sec. Welcome "11 ;

Good hoys; you Imve done bravely, if no blood
Be shed in tlie service.

1 Bun. On our lives, no drop, sir,

See. Tin to my wish.

let. My lord !

Stv. No more ; I know them.

1'iil. My daughter, and her woman too !

Sev. Conceal
Your joys.

Dnr, Fallen in the devil's mouth !

Calis. Mv (ill her,
And mother! to what fate am 1 reserved? N

Culd. Continue mask'd ; or grant that you be

known,

From whom can you expect a gentle sentence,
If you despair a lather's?

Adirr. 1 perceive now
\Vh ch wv I lost my jewel.

Mirt. I rejoice
I'm clear'd I rim theft; you have done me wrong

hu 1,
Unask'd, forgive you.

Dur. 'Tis some conifort yet,
The rivals, men and women, friends and foes, are
Together in one t< il.

on. You all look pale.

And by vi-ur | ritsite w hisperings and soft murmurs
Express a -;eiienil fer : pray you shake it off;
For uiiclerVHiic! yr.u are not fallen into
The hiiiids of a lUisiris or Cacus,
Delighted more in blood thun s|i il, but given up
To the power .- an unfortunate gentleman
Noi born to these low cour.--es, howsoever
My fate, and just displeasure of the king,
Design VI me to ir : you need not. 'o doubt
A sad captivity here, and much less fear
For profii to he sold lor slaves, then shipp'd
Into another countiy : in a word,
You know the proscribed Severino, be,
Not DBBiqirainted, but familiar with
The most of you. Want in mvself I know not,
But for the pay of these, mv Mjuin-s, who eat
Their bread with danger purch.is'd, arid must be
With others' fleeces clothed, or live exposed
To the summer's scorching heat and winter's cold ;
To these, before you be compt-11'd (a word
I speak with much unwillingness), deliver
Such coin as you re fiirnish'd with.

Dur. A tine method !

This is neither begging, borrowing, nor robbery,
Yet it bath a twang of all of them : but one word,

sir.
Sev. Your pleasure.

Dur. When we have thrown down our muck
What follows?

Sev. Liberty, with a safe convoy.
To any place, you choose.

Dur. By this hand you are
A fair fraternity ; for once I'll be
The first example to relieve your convent.

There's a thousand crowns, my vintage, harvest

profits.

Arising from my herds, bound in one bag ;
SLare it air.ong you.

Sen. You are still the jovial
Ami good Duraz/.o.

Din: 1 o the offering ; nay,
No bunging an a , this is their wedding-day :
What you must do spite of your hearts, do Ireely
For your own sakes.

Camil. There's mine.

Lent. Mine.

Don. All that I have.

Culd. I his to |ire.-erve my jewel.

Adi>r. Which 1 challenge:
Let me have justice, for mv coin 1 care not.

Lav. I will not wee]) for mine.

Cupt. Would it were more.

[Tlifii all tltraw down their piirtei.

Set'. Nay, you are privileged ; but v\ by, old father,
Art thou so slow? thou hast one foot in the grave,
And, if desire of gold do not increase
With thy expiring lease of life, thou should'st
Be forwardest.

Aljth. In what concerns myself,
I do acknowledge it ; and 1 should lie,
A vice 1 have detested from mv youth,
If I denied my present store, since what
I hate about me now weighs down in value,
Almost a hundred iol.l, whatever these
Have laid before you : see ! I <io groan under

[77i-ci j down three bags,
The burthen of my treasure ; nay, 'tis gold ;
And if your hunger of it be not sated
With what already 1 have shown unto you,
Here's that sb.ill glut it. In this casket ure
Inestimable jewels, diamonds
Of such a piercing lustre as struck blind
The amazed lapidary, while he lubour'd

j Opens the eatkttt

To honour his own art in setting them :
SOIIIH orient pearls too, v> Inch the Queen of Spain
Might wear as ear-rings, in remembrance of
The day that she was crown'd.

Sev. 'I !-*e t-poils, I think,
Of both the Indies!

Dur. The great sultan's poor,
Ifparallel'd with this Cricsus.

Sev. Why dost thou weep?

Alph. Fiom a most fit consideration of
My poverty ; this, though restored, will not
Serve my occasions.

Sev. Impossible !

Dur. Maybe he would buy his passport up to

heaven,

And then this is too little,, though in the journey
It were a good viaticum.

A l/ili. 1 would make it

A means to help me thither : not to wrong you
With tedious expectation, I'll discover
What mv wants are, and yield my reasons for

them:

I have two sons, twins, the true images
Of w hat I was at their years ; never lather
Had fairer or more promising hopes in his
Posterity : but, alas ! these sons, ambitious
Of glittering honour, and an a:ier-name,
Achieved by glorious, and \et pious actions
(For such were their intentions), put to sea.
They had a well-rigg'd bottom, fully manned,

SCENE IV.]

THE GUARDIAN.

435

An old experienced master, lusty sailors,

Stout landsmen, and what's something more than

rare,

They did agree, had one design, and that was
In charity to redeem the Christian slaves
Chained in the Turkish servitude.
s>i'. A hrave aim !

Dur. A most heroic enterprise ; I languish
To hear how they succeeded.

Alp 1 !. Prosperously,

At first, and to their wishes: divers Dallies
They boarded, and some strong forts near the

shore

They suddenly surprised ; a thousand captives,
Redeemed from the oar, paid their glad vows and

prayers

For their deliverance : their ends acquired,
And making homeward in triumphant manner,
For sure the cause deserved it

Dur. Pray you end here ;

The best. I fear, is told, and that which follows
Must conclude ill.

Alph. Your fears are true, and yet
I must with grief relate it. Prodigal fame.
In every place, with her loud trump, proclaiming
The greatness of the action, the pi-ates
Of Tunis and Algiers laid wait for them
At their return : to tell you what resistance
They made, and how my poor sons fought, would

"but

Increase my sorrow, and, perhaps, grieve you
To hear it passionately described unto you.
In brief, they were taken, and for the great loss
The enemy did siixiain, their victory
Being with much blood bought, they do endure
The heaviest captivity wretched men
Did ever suffer. O my sons ! my sons!
To me forever lost ! lost, lost for ever !

See. Will not these heaps of gold, added to

thine,
Suffice fonansom ?

Alph. For my sons it would :
But they refuse iheir liberty if all
That were engaged with them, have not their

irons
With theirs struck off, and set at liberty with

them ;
Which these heaps cnnnot purchase.

Sev. Ha ! the toughness

Of my heart melts, lie comforted, old father;
1 have tome hidden treasure, and if all
1 and my squires these three years have laid up,
Can make the sum up, freely take't.

Dur. I'll sell

Myself to my shirt, lands, moveables, and thou
Shalt part with thine too. nephew, rather than
Such brave men shall live slaves.

2 Han. We will not yield to't.

3 Bun. Nor lose our parts.
Sev. I low's this!

2 Ban. You are fitter far
Tube a churchman, than to have command
Over good fellows*.

Sei\ Thus I ever use [Strikes them daun.

Such saucy rascals ; second me, Claudio.
Hebellious! do you grumble ? I'll not leave
One rogue of them alive.

fherfm<d fellows.] \ rant name by which highwaymen
and iluuvui have been long pleased to denominate them-

Alph. Hold; give the sign. [Dittoters himulf

All. The king!
Sev Then I am lost.
Claud. The woods are full
Of armed men.

Alph. No hope of your escape
Can flatter you.

Sen. Mercy, dread sir ! [Kneels.

Alph. Thy carriage

In this unlawful course appears so noble,
Especially in this last trial, which
I put upon you, that 1 wish the mercy
You kneel in vain for might fall gently on you :
But when the holy oil was poured upon
My head, and I anointed king, I swore
Never to pardon murder. I could wink at
Your robberies, though our laws call them death,
But to dispense with Monteclaro's blood
Would ill become a king ; in him I lost
A worthy subject, and must take from you
A strict account oft. 'Tis in vain to move ;
My doom's irrevocable.

Lav. Not, dread sir,
If Monteclaro live.

Alph. If! good Laval.

Lav. He lives in him, sir, that you thought
Laval. [Discovers himself

Three years have not so altered me but you may
Remember Monteclaro.

Dur. Flow !

1'dl. .My brother !

Calls. Uncle!

Mont. Give me leave ; I was
Left dead in the field, but. by the duke Moi

pensier.

Now General at Milan, taken up,
And with much care recovered.

Alph. Why lived you
So long concealed?

Mont. Confounded with the wrong
I did my brother, in provoking him
To fight, I spent the time in France that I
Was absent from the court, making my exile
The punishment imposed upon myself
For my offence.

I'dl. Now, sir, I dare confess all;
This was the uest invited to the banquet
That drew on your suspicion.

Sev. Your intent,

Though it was ill in you, I do forgive ;
The rest I'll hear at leisure. Sir, your sentence.

Alph. It is a general pardon uuto all,
Upon my hopes, in your fair lives hereafter,
You will deserve it.

Sev. Claud, and the rest. Long live great Al-
phonso !

Dur. Your mercy shown in this, now, if you

please.
Decide these lovers' difference.

Alph. That is easy ;

I'll put it to the women's choice, the men
Consenting to it.

selves ; and whif h has been given them, in conrtey, by
others. Thin Heywond

King 1 1 thou be a yoott fellow, let m<- borrow a word.
JJnhbt. I m no good fellow, and I pray heaven Ihou be'st

nut one.

King. Why > di.st thou not |,.ve good fellows t
Uubbs. No 'lis a b)-*ord : yoodfelloirt be thine*

Edward I K. Part 7.

THE GUARDIAN.

[AcrV

Calis. Here 1 fix, then, never
To be reni'ived.

CaU. 'I'ls my nil ultra, sir.

Mirt. O I hat I liad the happiness to say
So much to you ! I dare maintain my love
Is equal to my Indy's.
Iditr. Hut mv mind

A pitch above yours : marry with a servant
Ot no descent or fortune!

Sev. You are deceived .

Howe'er she IMS been train'd up as a servant,
She is the daughter of a noble captain,
Who, in his voyage to the Persian gulf,

erish'd by shipwreck ; one I dearly loved.
He to mv care entrusted her, having taken
My word, if he return'd not like himself,
I never should discover what she was ;
But it being for her good, I will dispense with't.
So much, sir, for her blood ; now for her portion :
So dear 1 hold the memory of my friend,
It shall rank with my daughter's.

Ad'ir. I his made good,
will not be perverse.

Dur. With a kiss comfirm it.

Ador. I sign all concord here; but must (o you,

sir,

For reparation of my wounded honour,
Th justice of the king consenting to it,
Denounce a lawful war.

Aljth. This in our presence !

Adi>r. The cause, dread sir, commands it ; though

your edicts

Call private combats, murders ; rather than
Sit down with a disgrace, arising from
A blow, the bonds of my obedience shook off,
I'll right myself.

Culti. i do confess the wrong,
Forgetting the occasion, and desire
Remission from you, und upon such terms
As by his sacred majesty shall be judged
Equal on both parts.

Ador. 1 desire no more.

Alph. All then are pleased ; it is the glory of
A king to make and keep his subjects happy :
For us, we do approve the Roman maxim,
To save one citizen is a greater prize
Tnan to have kill'd iu war ten enemies. [Exeunt.

SONG, between JUNO and HYMEN.

JUNO to the BIUDE.
Enter a maid ; but made a bride,

Be bold, a nd freely taste
The marriage Ixinquet, ne'er denied

To such as sit down chaste.
Though he tinliws: thy virgin zone,

Presumed against thu will,
Those joys rese- ved to him alone,

Thou art a vi-gin still.

HYMEN to the BniDEcnooM.

Hail, bridegroom, hail', thy choice thus made,

As thnu icoutdst hace her true,
Thou must gite o'er thy wanton trade,

And bid Imne fires adieu.
That hii.-htii.d who would have his wife

T him continue chaste,
In her embraces sjiends his life,

And makes abroad no waste.

HYMEN and JUNO.

Sp*rt then tike turtlrs. and bring forth

Such plrdges m may be
Assurance of the father's worth,

And mother's purity*.
Juno dotlt ItUiS the nuptial bed ;

Thus Hitmen's torches burn.
Live long, and may, when bo'.h are dead,

Your ashes Jill one urn'.

SONG, Entertainment of the FOREST'S QUEEN.

Welcome, thrice u-flcome t this shadi/ green,
Our long-U'ish'd Cynthia, ihr forest'* queen,
The tres begin to bud, the glad birds sing
In winter, changed by her into the spring.

We know no night,

Perpetual light

Dawns from your eye.

You being n&ir,

We cannot fear,

Tlii'iigh Deth stood bit.

From vow our suords take edge, our heurts grow bold;
From yon in fee their lives your liegemen hold.
These g-oi~es your kingdom, and our law your uill .
Smile, and we spare ; but ifyoufrvwn, vx kill.

Bless then the hour

That giies the power
In which uou may,

At bed and board,

Embrace your lord

Both night and day.

Welcome, thrice welcome to this shady green,
Our long-wish'd Cyuthia, the forest's queen!

EPILOGUE.

I AM left to enquire, then to relate

To the still-doubtful author, at what rate

His merchandise are valued. If they prove

Staple commodities, in your grace and love,

To this last birth of his Minerva, he

Vows (and we do believe him) seriously.

Sloth cast off, and all pleasures else declined,

He'll search with his best care, until he find

New ways, and make good in some labour'd song-.

Though he grow old, Apollo still is young.

Cherish his good intentions, and declare

By any signs of favour, that you are

Well pleased, and with a general consent;

And he desires no more encouragement!-

Assurance of. he father's worth,

And mother's purity.] M calling, like their parents: the
thought is I'roin Catullus:

Sit ruo similig patri

Manila, ft facile insr.iis

Noscitetur ab omnibus,

F.t pudicitiam HUE

Jtfairit indicet ore.

There is little to be said for this long, fnliich is to be re
ferred to Act IV. sc. ii.) or loi that immediately fnlli. ini; it:
they are, however, among the best sc.,lterrd through the
plays of Masi-inger, who, as Mr. M. M.i-on justly observed,
isa wretched ballad-maker.

t It is not improbable that, after a temporary suspension
of his unsuccessful labours for the s-t<ie. Malinger might
hope to secure himself ag.<int future di.-appointim.-n! by
writing for the taste of Ihc public rather than his on.
Whatever be the cause, this comedy is <1i?tini;iiilie:l by a few
new features, which show themselves *oineliiiic> in an execs,
of his usual manner, anil sometimes in a d<-p;itnre from it.
An InaUnee or two of each will be surticienl. In general,
when he determine* to introduce an> change n..t y-t ma
tureil by circumstance s, be endeavours to reconcile us through

SCENE IV.]

THE GUARDIAN.

437

with that remembrance of the claims of virtue for which ht
elsewhere assumes a proper credit.

These improprieties may, perhaps, be attributed to the
ciicumstances under which the Play was written. Yet it
contains scattered beauties of no ordinary value. The style
of it, indeed, is almost every where flowing ami harmonious,
and there *re occasional scenes which will charm the imagi-
nation and touch the heart. Durazzo's description of his
rural sports is highly beautiful and enlivening, and has been
commended by others. I do not know tlut proper praise
has been bestowed ">n another scene, at which the reader of
sensibility wilt certainly stop with delight. There is a moral
melancholy in Severino's appearance, Act II. sc. iv., which
U extremely touching. In The Picturr, Massinger has made
Mathiaa express some just sentiments agairst too great a
fondness for perishable life. Hcrr we see a weariness of ex-
istence, and a contempt of danger, heightened by the pecu-
liar situation of Severino, yet mixed with tenderness and
compunction. In other pans of the Play, we find maxims
justly conceived and beautifully expressed. They may be
easily separated from the incidents which give rise to them,
and be advantageously remembered for our prudential or
moral guiihnce. Da IRS*. NO.

A VERY WOMAN,

A VERY WOMAN.] This Tragi- Comedy, as it is called, was licensed for the stage June 6th, 1634.
From the prologue it appears to be a revision of a former play, which had been well received, and which
/he author modestly insinuates that he was induced to review by the command of his patron. If this patron
ivas, as it has been supposed, the Earl of Pembroke, we are indebted to him for one of the most delightful
compositions in the English language.

We learn from the office-book of Sir Henry Herbert, that a play of Massinger's called The Spanish Viceroy,
was acted in 1624: this was not improbably the piece alluded to in the prologue. But this is not all. In
the MS. Register of Lord Stanhope of Harrington, the ^lay of Cardenes, or Cardenio, is said to have been
performed at court, in 1613. Mr. Malone, who furnishes me with this notice, conjectures that this might
have been the first sketch of what Massinger improved and brought out in 1624, anil finally completed as
we now have it. Change of name is no argument against this conclusion; for, besides that nothing was
more common upon the revival of plays, it should be recollected, that thosn who spoke of them, seldom
concerned themselves with the author's titles; but gave them SMC!J names as pleased themselves, and which
were generally assumed from one or other of the more prominent characters.

However this may be, the present play was most favourably received, and often acted, the old title-page
says, " at tLe private house in I31ackfriars, by his late Majesty's servants, with great applause." Its popu-
larity seems to have tempted the author's good friend, Sir Aston Cockaine, to venture on an imitation of it,
which he has executed, not very happily, in his comedy of The Obstinate Lady.

PROLOGUE.

To such, and some there are, no question, here,
\Yho, bappv in their memories, do bear
This subject, long since acted, and can say,
Truly, we have seen something like this play,
Our author, with becoming modesty
(For in this kind he ne'er was bold), by me,
In his defence thus answers, By command
lie undertook this task, nor could it stand
With his low fortune to refuse to do

What by his patron he was call'd unto :

For whose delight and yours, we hope, with care

He hath review'd it ; and with him we dare

Maintain to any man, that did allow

'Tvvas good before, it is much bettered now :

Nor is it, sure, against the proclamation

To raise new piles upon an old foundation*.

So much to them deliver'd ; to the rest,

To whom each scene is fresh, he doth protest,

Should his muse fail now a fair flight to make,

He cannot fancy what will please or take.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

Viceroy of SICILY.

Don PEDRO his son.

Duke i)/' MESSINA.

Don MARTINO CARDENES, his son.

Dim JOHN ANTONIO, prince of TARENT.

Cnjitiiin of the castle of PALERMO.

I'AULO, a physician.

CUCULO, the Viceroy's steward.

Two Surgeons,

Apothecary.

Citizens.

S Live-merchant.

Servant.

Page.

An English Slave.

blaret.

Moors.

Pirates.

Sailort.

AI.MIRA, the Viceroy's daughter.

LEONORA, dukeof MESSINA'S niece.

BORACHIA, wife to Cuculo, governess of Leonora

and Almira.
Two Waiting Women.
A good and evil Genius, Servants, Guard, Attend*

ants, r.
SCENE, Palermo.

This seems to allude to King James's Proclamation, to forbid (he increase of buiUlinp of London. DAVJK-

SCENE I.]

A VERY WOMAN.

ACT I.

SCENE I. A Room in the Viceroy's Palace.

Enter PEDRO and LEONORA.

Pedrn. My worthiest mistress ! this day cannot end
But prospeious to Pedro, that begins
With this so wish'd encounter.

Leon. (July, servant,

To give you ihanks in your own courtly language
Would argue me more ceremonious
Than heartily affected ; and you are
Two well assured, or I am miserable,
Our equal loves have kept one rank too long
To stand at distance now.

Pedro. You make me happy
In this so wise reproof, which I receive
As a chaste favour from you, and will ever
Jlold such a strong command o'er my desires,
That though my blood turn rebel to my reason,
I never shall presume to seek aught from you,
13ut what (your honour sate) you well may grant me,
And virtue sign the warrant.

Leon. Your love to me
So limited, will still preserve your mistress
Worthy her servant, and in your restraint
Of loose affections, bind me faster to you ;
But there will be a time when we may welcome
Those wish'd for pleasures, as heaven's greatest

blessings,

AVhen that the viceroy, your most noble father.
And the duke my uncle, and to that, my guardian,
Shall by their free consent, confirm them lawful.
Pedro. You ever shall direct, and 1 obey you :
Is my sister stirring yet ?
Leon. Long since.
Pedro. Some business

With her, join'd to my service to yourself,
Hath brought me hither ; pray you vouchsafe the

favour

To acquaint her with so much.
Leon. I am prevented.

Enter ALMIRA and two Waiting Women.

Aim. Do the rest here, my cabinet is too hot ;
This room is cooler. Brother !

Pedro. 'Morrow sister ;
Do I not come unseasonably ?

Aim. Why, good brother?

Pedro. Because you are not yet fully made up,
Nor fit for visitation. There are ladies,
And great ones, that will hardly grant access,
On any terms, to their own lathers, as
They are themselves, nor willingly be seen
Before they have ask'd counsel of their doctor
How the ceruse will appear, newly laid on,
When they ask blessing.

Aim. Such, indeed, there are
That would be still young, in despite of time;
That in the wrinkled winter of their age
Would force a seeming April of fresh beauty,
As if it were within the power of art
To fiame a second nature : but for me,
And for your mistress 1 dare say as much,
The faces, and the teeth you see, we slept with.

Pedro. Which is not frequent, sister, with soit

ladies.

Atm. You spy no sign of any night-mask here
(Tie on my carcanet*), nor does your nostril
Take in the scent of strong perfumes, to stifle
The sourness of our breaths as we are fasting :
You're in a lady's chamber, gentle brother,
And not in your apothecary s shop.
We use the women, you perceive, that serve us,
Like servants, not like such as do create us :
Faith search our pockets, and, if you find there
Comfits of ambergris to help our kisses,
Conclude us faulty.

Pedro. You are pleasant, sister,
And 1 am glad to find you so disposed;
You will the better hear me.

Aim. What you please, sir.

Pedro. I am entreated by the prince of Tareut
Don John Antonio

Aim. Would you would choose
Some other subject.

Pedro. Pray you, give me leave,
For his desires are fit for jou to hear,
As for me to prefer. This prince of Tarcnf.
(Let it not wrong him that I call him frieiiJ)
Finding your choice of don Currents liked o(
By both your fathers un'l li/i hopes cut off,
Resolvt-s to: eave Palermo.

Aim. He does we'i ;
That I hear gla.Hy.

Pedro. How this prince came hither,
How bravely furnished, how attended on,
How he hath borne himself here, with what cha-g
He hath continued ; his magnificence
In costly banquets, curious masks, rare presents,
And of all sorts, you cannot but remember.

Aim. Give me my gloves.

Pedro. Now, for reward of all
His cost, his travel, and Lis duteous service,
lie does entreat that you will please he may
Take his leave of you, and receive the favour
Of kissing of your hands.

A I. 'ii. You are his friend,

And shall discharge the part of one to tell him
That he may spare the trouble ; I desire not
To see or hear moie of him.

Pedro. Yet grant this,

Which a mere stranger, in the way of courtshipf,
Might challenge from you.

Aim. And obtain it sooner.

Pedro. One reason for this would do well.

Aim. My will
Shall now stand for a thousand. Shall I lose

Tie on my cairanct,] Carcanet (diniin. of carcan, a
chain} is a necklace, in which sense it occurs in most of our
old writers:

" I'll clti-p \\ixlneclt, where should beset
A rich and orient carcanet :
Hut swains aie po.T, .clmit of then, n
More natural chains, the arm* of m.-n.

Randolph' > Potm*.

I In tlttwuy of conitship,] i < as has beea

more than once obseived, lu the way ol govd breeding, of
civiliU , &.C

440

A VERY WOMAN.

[Acrl.

The privilege of my sex, which is my will,
To yield a reason like a man? or you,
Deny your sister that which all true women
Claim as their first prerogative, which nature
Gave to them for a law, and should I break it,
1 were no more a woman 1

Pedro. Sure, a good one
You cannot be, if you put off that virtue
Which best adorns a good one, courtesy
And affable behaviour. Do not flatter
Yourself with the opinion that your birth,
Your beauty, or whatever false ground else
You raise your pride upon, will stand against
The censure of just men.

Aim. Why, let it fall then ;
I still shall be unmoved.

Leon. And, pray you, be you so.

Aim. What jewel' 1 s that ?

1 Worn. '1 hat which the prince of Tarent

Aim. Left here, and you received without my

knowledge :

1 have use oft now. Does the page wait without,
My lord Cardenes sent to inquire my health?

1 Worn. Yes, madam.

Aim. Give it him, and with it (ray him
To return my service to his lord, and mine.

Pedro. Will you so undervalue one thut has
So truly loved you, to bestow the pledge
Of his affection, being a prince, upon
The servant of his rival ?

Leon. "J'is not well.

Faith, wear it, lady : send gold to the boy,
'Twill please him better.

Aim. Do as I command you.
I will keep nothing that may put me in mind
Don John Antonio ever loved, or was ;
Being wholly now Cardenes'.

Pedro. In another

This were mere barbarism, sister ; and in you
(For I'll not sooth you), at the best 'tis rudeness.

Aim. Rudeness !

Pedro. Yes, rudeness; and what's worse, the want
Of civil manners; nav, ingratitude
Unto the many and so fair deservings
Ot don Antonio. Does tbis express
Your breeding in the court, or that you call
The viceroy father? A poor peasant's daughter,
That ne'er had conversation but with beasts,
Or men bred like them, would not so far shame
Her education.

Aim. Pray you, leave my chamber ;
I know you lor a brother, not a tutor.

Leon. You are too violent, madam.

Aim. Were my father

Here to command m* (as you take upon you
Almost to play his pan), I would refuse it.
Where I love, I proless it ; where I hate,
In every circumstance I dare pioclaim it':
Of all that wear the shapes of men, 1 loath
That prince you plead for , no antipathy
Between things most aveise in nature, holds
A stronger enmity than his with, mine;
With which rest satisfied : if not, your ano-er
May wrong yourself, not me.

Leon. My lord Cardenes !

Pedro. Go; in soft terms if you persist thus, you
Will be one

Enter CARDENES.
Aim. W : hat one ? pray you, out with it.

j Pedro. Why, one that I shall wish a stranger to

me,
Tb<it 1 might curse you ; hut

Car. Whence grows this heat?

Pedro. Be yet advised, and entertain him fairly,
For I will send him to you, or no more
Know me a brother.

Aim. As you please.

Pedro. Good morrow. [L'xit.

Car. Good morrow, and part thus ! you seem,

moved too :

What desperate fool durst raise a tempest here,
To sink himself?

Aim. Good sir, have patience ;
7'he cause, though I confess I am not pleased,
No way deserves your auger.

Car. Not mine, madam !
As if the least offence could point at you,
And I not feel it : as you have vouchsafed me
The promise of your heart, conceal it not,
Whomsoever it concerns.

Aim. Jt is not worth
So serious an enquiry : my kind brother
Hud a desire to learn me some new courtship,
Which 1 distasted ; that was all.

Car. Your brother !
In being yours, with more security
He might provoke you; yet, if he hath past
A brother's bounds

Leon. What then, my lord?

Cur. Believe it,
I'll call him to account for't.

Leon. Tell him so.

Aim. No more.

Leon. Yes, thus much ; though my modesty
Be cnll'd in question fur it, in his absence
I will defend him : he hath said nor done
But what Don Pedro well might say or do;
Mark me, Don Pedro ! in which understand
As worthy, and as well as can be hoped for
Of those that love him best from Don Cardenes.

Car. This to me, cousin !

Aim. You forget yourself.

Leon. No, nor the cause in which you did so, lady
Which is so just that it needs no concealing
On Pedro's part.

Aim. What mean you?

Leo 7i. 1 dare speak it,
If you dare hear it, sir : he did persuade
Almira, your Almira, to vouchsafe
Some little conference with the Prince of Tarent,
Before be left the court ; and, that the world
Might take some notice, though he prosper'd not
In his so loved design, he was not scorn'd,
He did desire the kissing of her hand,
And then to leave her : this was much !

Cur. 'Twas more

Than should have been urged by him ; well denied
On your part, m;idam, and 1 thank you for't.
Antonio had his answer, I your grant ;
And why )our brother should prepare for him
An after-interview, or private favour,
I can find little reason.

Leon. None at all
Why you should be displeased with't.

Car. His respect
To me, as things now are, should have weigh'd

down

His former friendship : 'twas done indiscreetly,
I would be loath to say, maliciously,

SCKNE I.]

A VERY WOMAN.

441

To build up the demolish'd hopes of him
That was my rival. What bad he to do,
If he view not my happiness in your favour
With wounded eyes, to take upon himself
An office so distasteful ?

Leon. You may ask

As well, what any gentleman has to do
With civil courtesy.

Aim. Or you, with that

Which at no part concerns you. Good my lord,
Rest satisfied, that I saw him not, nor will ;
And that nor father, brother, nor the world
Can work me unto any thing but what
You give allowance to in which assurance,
With this, I leave you,

Leon. Nay, take me along ;
YOU are not angry too ?

Aim. Presume on that.

[Exit, followed by Leonora.

Car. Am I assured of her, and shall again
Be tortured with suspicion to lose her,
Before 1 have enjoyed her ! the next sun
Shall see her mine; why should I doubt, then? yet,
To doubt is safer than to be secure*.
But one short day ! Great empires in less time
Have suffer'd change: she's constant but a

woman ;

And what a lover's vows, persuasions, tears,
Way, in a minute, work upon such frailty,
There are too many and too sad examples.
The prince of Tarent gone, all were in safety ;
Or not admitted to solicit her,
My fears would quit me : 'tis my fault, if I
(Jive way to that ; and let him, ne'er desire
To own what's hard [to win},] that dares not guard

Who waits there?

Enter Servants and Page.

Serv. Would your lordship aught 1

Car. 'Tis well
You are so near.

Enter ANTONIO and a Servant.

Ant. Take care all things be ready
For my remove.

Serv. They are. [Exit.

Car. We meet like friends,
No more like rivals now: my emulation
Puts on tl'e shape of love and service to you.

Ant. It is return 'd.

Cur. T was rumour'd in the court
You were to leave the city, and that wan me
To find you out. Your excellence may wonder
That I, that never saw you till this hour
But that I wish'd you dead, so willingly
Should come to wait upon you to the ports,
And there, with hope you never will look back,
Take my last farewell of you.

Ant. Never look back!

Car. I said so ; neither is it fit you should ;
And may I prevail with you as a friend,

' To doubt ig infer than to be secure, &c.] This speech
is so arranged, and so pointed by Mr. M. Mason, wh has
improved upon the errors of Coxeter, as to be little belter
than nousense.

t To own what's hard [to win,] that dares nut guard it.]
A foot i lost here, which 1 h.ive endeavoured to supply, by
In* addition of the words in brackets. The delect was noticed
by Mr. ,M. Mason, who proposed to complete the line by
reading, to keep.

You never shall, nor, while you live, hereafter
Think of the viceroy's court, or of Palermo,
But as a grave, in which the prince of Tarent
Buried his honour.

Ant. You speak in a language
I do not understand. I

Cur. No ! I'll be plainer.

What madman, that came hither with that pomp
Don John Antonio did, that exact courtier
Don John Antonio, with whose brave fame only,
Great princesses have fall'n in love, and died ;
That came with such assurance as young Paris
Did to fetch Helen, being sent back, contemn'd,
Digraced, and scorn 'd, his large expense laugh'd at,
His bravery scofTd, the lady that he courted
Left quietly in possession of another
(Not to be named that day a courtier
Where he was mentioned), the scarce-known Car-
denes,

And he to bear her from him ! that would ever
Be seen again (having got fairly off)
By such as will live ready witnesses
Of his repulse, and scandal?

Ant. The grief of it,

Believe me, will not kill me ; all man's honour
Depends not on the most uncertain favour
Of a fair mistress.

Car. Troth, you bear it well.
You should have seen some that were sensible
Of a disgrace, that would have raged, and sought
To cure their honour with some strange revenge :
But you are better temper'd ; and they wrong
The Neapolitans in their report.
That say they are fiery S|iints, uncapable
Of the least injury, dangerous to be talk'd with
After a loss ; where nothing can move you*,
But, like a stoic, with a constancy
Words nor affronts can shake, you still go on,
And smile when men abuse you.

Ant. If they wrong

Themselves, 1 can ; yet, I would have you know,
I dare be angry.

Car. 'Tis not possible.

A taste oft would do well ; and I'd make trial
What may be done. Come hither, boy. You have

seen
This jewel, as I take it?

Ant. Yes ; 'tis that
I gave Almirn.

Car. And in what esteem
She held it, coining from your worthy self,
You may perceive, that freely hath bestow'd it
Upon my page.

Ant. When I presented it,
I did not indent with her, to what use
She should employ it.

Car. See the kindness of
A loving soul ! who after this neglect,
Nay, gross contempt, will look again upon her,
And not be frighted from it.

Ant. No, indeed, sir ;

Nor give way longer give way, do you mark,
To your loose wit to run the wild-goose chase

* After a lott ; -where nothing can move you,] H'tiere,(or
whereas, occurs so freqiu-utl^ in these Plajs, that it stemi
scarcely possible to escape the notice of the mott incurious
reader ; yet the last editor lias overlooked it, and, in his at-
tempt to make the author speak English, inoductd a line of
unparalleled harmony :

After a lott ; for whereas noth'ny can move you t

447

A VERY WOMAN.

[ACT I.

Six syllables further. I will see the Indy,
1 bat "lady that dotes on you, from whose hate
My love increases, though you stand elected
Her porter to deny me.

Cur. Sure you will not.

Ant. Yes, instantly : your prosperous success
Hath made you insolent ; and tor her sake
I have thus long forborne you, and can yet
Forget it and forgive it, ever provided,
That you end here; and, for what's past recalling,
That she make intercession for your pardon.
Which, at her suit, I'll giant.

Car. I am much unwilling

To move her for a trifle bear that too, [Sin/ces him.
And then she shall speak to you.

Ant. Men and angel.s,
Take witness for me, that I have endured
More than a man ! [Theyjight ; Curtlenes fulls.

O do not fall so soon,

Stand up take my hand so! when 1 have printed,
For every contumelious word, a wound here,
Then sink for ever.

Car. Oh, I suffer justly !

1 Serv. Murder! murder! murder! [Exit.

2 Serv. Apprehend him.

3 Sere. We'll all join with you.
Ant. I do wish you more ;

My fury will be lost else, if it meet not
Matter to work on; one liie is too litlie
For so much injury.

Re-enter ALMIRA, LEONORA, and Servant.

Aim. O my Cardenes !

Though dead, still my Cardenes! Villains. cowards.
What do ye check at ? can one arm, and that
A murderer's, so long guard the curs'd master,
Against so many swords made sharp with justice?

1 Serv. Sure he will kill us all ; he is a devil.

2 Serv. He is invulnerable.
Aim. Your base fears

Beget such fancies in you. Give me a sword,

[Snatches a ward from the Servant.
This my weak arm, made strong in my revenge,
Shall force a way to't. [Wounds Antonio.

Ant. Would it were deeper, madam !
The thrust, which I would not put by. being yours,
Of greater force, to have pierced through that heart
Which still retains your figure ! weep still, lady;
For every tear that flows from those grieved eyes,
Some part of that which maintains life, goes from

me ;

And so to die were in a gentle slumber
To pass to paradise : but you envy me
So quiet a departure from my world,
My world of miseries ; therefore, take my sword,
And, having kill'd me with it, cure the wounds
It gave Cardenes.

He-enter PEDRO.

Pedro. ' Tis too true : was ever
Valour so ill employed !

Ant. Why stay you, lady ?
Let not soft pity work on your hard nature ;
You cannot do a better office to
The dead Cardenes, and I willingly '
Shall fall a ready sacrifice to appease him,
Your fair hand offering it.

Aim. Thou couldst ask nothing
But this, which I would grant.

Lemi. Flint-hearted lady !

Pedro. Aieyoua woman, sister !

[Takes the sword from her

Aim. Thou art not

A brother, 1 renounce that title to thee ;
Thy hand is in this bloody act, 'twas this
Kor winch that savage homicide was sent hither
Thou equal Judge of all things* ! if that blood,
And innocent blood

Pedio. [Best sister.]

Aim. Oil, Cardenes !

How is my soul rent between rage and sorrow,
That it can be that such an upright cedar
Should violently be torn up by the roots,
Without iin earthquake in that very moment
To swallow them that did it!

Ant. The hurt's nothingf ;

But the de?p wound is in my conscience, friend,
Which sorrow in death only can lecover.

Pedro. Have better hopes.

Enter VICEROY, Duke of MESSINA, Captain, Guards,
and Servants.

Duke. My son, is this the marriage
I came to celebrate '( false hopes of man '
1 come to tind a grave here.

Aim. 1 have wasted

My stock of tear>, and now just anger help me
To pay, in mv revenge, the other part
Of duty which 1 owe thee. O great sir,
Not us a daughter now, but a poor widow",
Made so before she was a bride, I fly
To your impartial justice : the offince
Is death, and death in his most horrid form ;
Let not, then, title, or a prince's name
(Since a ^reat crime is, in a great man, greater^).
Secure the offender.

Duke. Give me life for life,
As thou wilt answer it to the great king,
Whose deputy thou art here.

Aim. And speeuv justice.

Duke. Put the damn'd wretch to torture.

Aim. Force him to

Reveal his curs'd confederates, which spare not.
Although you find a son among them.

Vice. How'

Duke. Why bring you not the rack forth ?

Aim. Wherefore stands
The murdeier unbound?

Thou equal jndye of all thiny*! (f that blood
And innocent blood

Pedro. [ ilent titter.]
Aim. Oh, Cardimet!
How

, g

like nature apparently once stood there : at any rat-,
confident of having done well in lollowing !he old
copy and re-toring the pce<h to Alniira.

t Ant. The hurl's nothing ; &c,] From this it appears
that, (luring Aiming impa.vioned speech, don Pedro had
been condoling with his iiieml on his wound ; another proof
of the in.itteuiion of tin- modern edilors.

I (Since a grt-at crime, in a great man, is greater,)]
Omiie animi vitium tunto conspectint in te
Crimtn habe:, quanta major qui yeccat, habetwr.

,
Juv. Sat. viii. V. 140.

SCENE I.]

A VERY WOMAN.

449

Vice. Sball I have hearing?
Duke. Excellent lady, in this you express
Your true love to the dead.
Aim. All love to mankind
From me, ends with him.

Vice. Will you hear me yet?
And first to you : you do confess the fact
With which you stand charged?

Ant. I will not make worse
What is already ill, with vain denial.

Vice. Then understand, though you are prince of

Tarent,

Yet, being a subject to the king of Spain,
Xc> privilege of Sicily can tree you
( Being convict bv a just f rm of law)
From the municipal statutes of that kingdom,
But us a common man, being found guilty,
Must suffer for it.

Ant. 1 prize not my life
So much, as (o appeal from anything
You shall determine of me.

Vice. Yet despair not
To have an equal hearing ; the exclaims
Of this grieved father, nor my daughter's tears,
Shall sway me from myself ; and, where they urge
To have you tortured, or led bound to prison,
I must not grant it.
Duke. No !
Vice. I cannot, sir ;
For men of his rank are to be distinguish 'd

From other men, before they are condemn'd,
From wLich (his cause not heard) he yet stands free:
So take him to your charge, and, as your life,
See he be safe.

Capt. Let me die for him else.

[Exeunt Pedro and Capt. and guard with Ant,
Dt,ke. The guard of him should have been given

to me.

Aim. Or unto me.

Duke. Bribes may corrupt the captain.
Aim. And our just wreak, by force, or cunning

practice,

With scorn prevented.
Car. Oh !

Aim. What groan is that?

Vice. There are apparent signs of life yet in him,
Aim. Oh that there were ! that I could pour my

blood

Into his veins !
Car. Oh, oh !
Vice. Take him up gently.
Duke. Run for physicians.
Aim. Surgeons.
Dnke. All helps else.

Vice. This care of his recovery, timely practised,
Would have, express'd more of a father in you,
Than your impetuous clamours for revenge.
But I shall find fit time to urge that further,
Hereafter, to you ; 'tis not fit for me
To add weight to oppress'd calamity. [Exeunt

ACT IL

SCENE I. A Room in the cattle.
Enter PEDRO, ANTONIO, and Captain.

Ant. Why should your love to me, having already
So oft endured the test, be put unto
A needless trial ? have you not, long since,
In every circumstance and rite to friendship,
Outgone all precedents the ancients boast of,
And will you yet move further?

Pedro. Hitherto

I have done nothing (howsoe'er you value
My weak endeavours) that may justly claim
A title to your friendship, and much less
Laid down the debt, which, as a tribute due
To your deservings, not I, but all mankind
Stands bound to tender.

Ant. Do not make an idol
Of him that should, and without superstition,
To you build up an altar. O my Pedro !
When I am to expire, to call you mine.
Assures a future happiness : give me leave
To argue with you, and, the fondness of
Affection struck blind, with justice hear me:
Why should you, being innocent, fling your life
Into the furnace of your father's anger
For my offence ? or, take it granted (yet
'Tis more than supposition) you prefer
My safety 'fore your own, so prodigally

You waste your favours, wherefore should this cap.

tain,

His blood and sweat rewarded in the favour
Of his great master, falsify the trust
Which, from true judgment, he reposes in him,
For me, a stranger?

Pedro. Let him answer that,

He needs no prompter : speak your thoughts, and
freely.

Capt. 1 ever loved to do so, and it shames not
The bluntness of my breeding : from my youth
I was train'd up a soldier, one of those
That in their natures love the dangers more
Than the rewards of danger. I could add,
My life, when forfeited, the viceroy pardon'd
But by his intercession ; and therefore.
It being lent by him, I were ungrateful,
Which I will never be, if I refused
To pay that debt at any time demanded.

Pedro. I hope, friend, this will satisfy you.

Ant, No, it raises

More d'-ubts within me. Shall I, from the schoc*
Of gratitude, in which this captain reads
The text so plainly, learn to be unthankful ?
Or, viewing in \ouractions the idea
Of perfect friendship, when it does point to me
How brave a thins it is to be a friend,
Turn from the object? Had I never loved
The fair Almira for her outward features,

444

A VERY WOMAN.

[Acr II,

Nay, were the beauties of her mind suspected,
And her contempt and scorn painted before me,
The being your sister would anew inflame me
With much more impotence* to dote upon her:
No, dear friend, let me in my death confirm
(Though you in all things else have the precedence)
I'll die ten times, ere one of Pedro's hairs
Shall suffer in my cause.

Pedro. If you so love me,
In love to that part of my soul dwells in you
(For though two bodies, friends have but one soul),
Lose not both life and me.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. The prince is dead. [Exit.

Ant. If so, shall I leave Pedro here to answer
For my escape ? as thus I clasp tbee, let
The viceroy's sentence find me.

Pedro. Fly, for heaven's sake !
Consider the necessity ; though now
We part, Antonio, we may meet again,
liut death's division is for ever, friend.

Enter another Servant.

Serv. The rumour spread, sir, of Martino's death,
Is check 'd ; there's hope of his recovery. [Exit.

Ant. Why should I fly, then, when I may enjoy,
With mine own life, my friend ?

Pedro. That's still uncertain,
He may have a relapse ; for once be ruled, friend :
He's a good debtor that pays when 'tis due ;
A prodigal, that, before it is required.
Makes tender of it.

Enter Sailors.

1 Sail. The bark, sir, is ready.

2 Sail. The wind sits fair.

3 Sail. Heaven favours your escape.

[Whistle ti-ithin,

Capt. Hark, how the boatswain whistles you

aboard !
Will nothing move you?

Ant. Can 1 leave my friend ?

Pedro. 1 must delay no longer : force him hence.

Capt. I'll run the hazard of my fortunes with you.

Ant. What violence is this? hear but my rea-
sons.

Pedro. Poor friendship that is cool'd with argu-
ments !
Away, away !

Capt. For Malta.

Pedro. You shall hear
All our events.

Ant. 1 may sail round the world,
But never meet thy like. Pedro !

Pedro. Antonio !

Ant. 1 breathe my soul back to thee.

Pedro. In exchange
Bear mine along with thee.

Capt. Cheerly my hearts ! [Exeunt.

Pedro. He's gone : may pitying heaven bis pilot

be,
And then I weigh not what becomes of me. [Exit.

With much more impotence in dote upon her;] So the
old copy. Coxeicr dislikes impotence, for which he would
read impatience ; and Mr. M. Mason, I know not for what
reason, omits much, which destroys the metre. It requires
DO words to prov the text to be genuine.

SCENE II. A Room in the Viceroy's Palace.
Enter VICEROY, Duke of MESSINA, and Attendant*

Vice. I tell you right, sir.

Duke. Yes, like a rough surgeon,
Without a feeling in yourself you search
My wounds unto the quick, then pre-declare
The tecliousness and danger of the cure,
Never remembering what the patient suffers.
But you preach this philosophy to a man
That does partake of passion, and not
To a dull stoic.

Vice. I confess you have

Just cause to mourn your son ; and yet, if reason
Cannot yield comfort, let example cure.
I am a father too, my only daughter
As dear in my esteem, perhaps as worthy,
As your Martino, in her love to him
As desperately ill, either's loss equal ;
And yet I bear it with a better temper :

Enter PEDRO.

Which if you please to imitate, 'twill not wrong
Your piety, nor your judgment.

Duke. We were fashioned
In different moulds. I weep with mine own eyes,

sir,

Pursue my ends too ; pity to you's a cordial,
Revenge to me ; and that I must and will have,
If my Martino die.

Pedro. Your must and will,
Shall in your full-sailed confidence deceive you.

[AtU*.
Here's doctor Paulo, sir.

Enter PAULO and two Surgeons.

Duke. My hand ! you rather
Deservo my knee, and it shall bend as to
A second father, if your saving aids
Restore my son.

Vice. Rise, thou bright star of knowledge,
Thou honour of thy art, thou help of nature,
Thou glory of our academies !

Paul. If I blush, sir,
To hear these attributes ill-placed on me
It is excusable. I am no god, sir,
Nor holy saint that can do miracles,
But a weak, sinful man : yet, that I may
In some proportion deserve these favours
Your excellencies please to grace me with,
I promise all the skill I have acquired
In simples, or the careful observation
Of the superior bodies, with my judgment
Derived from long experience, stand ready
To do you service.

Duke. Modestly replied.

Vice. How is it with your princely patient ?

Duke. Speak,
But speak some comfort, sir.

Paul. I must speak truth :
His wounds though many, heaven so guided yet
Antonio's sword, it pierced no part was mortal.
These gentlemen, who worthily deserve
The names of surgeons, have done their duties :
The means they practised, not ridiculous charma
To stop the blood ; no oils, nor balsams bought
Of cheating quack-salvers, or mountebanks,
By them applied : the rules by Chiron taught,
And .rEsculapius, which drew upon him

nr.]

A VERY WOMAN.

443

The tbunderer's envy, they with care pursued,
Heaven prospering: their endeavours.

Duke. I here is hope, then,
Of his recovery?

Paul. But no assurance ;
I must not flatter you. That little air
Of comfort that breathes towards us (for I dare not
Rob these t'enrich myself) you owe their care ;
For, yet, I have done nothing.

Duke. Still more modest ;
I will begin with them : to either give
Three thousand crowns.

Viet. I'll double jour reward; ^

See them paid presently.

1 Surg. This magnificence

With equity cannot be conferred on us;
'Tis u'ue unto the doctor.

2 Surg. True ; we were

But his subordinate ministers, and did only
Follow his grave directions.

Paul. Tisyour own ;
I challenge no part in it.

Vice. Hrave on both sides.

PauL Deserve this, with the honour that will

follow,
In your attendance.

5> Surg. If both sleep at once,
Tis justice both should die. [Exeunt Surgeons.

Duke. For you, grave doctor,
We will not in such petty sums consider
Your high destyts ; our treasury lies open,
Command it as your own.

Vice. Choose any castle,
Nay, city, in our government, and be lord oft.

Paul. Of neither, sir, 1 am not so ambitious ;
Nor would 1 have your highnesses secure.
We have but faintly yet begun our journey ;
A thousand difficulties and dangers must be
Kncounter'd, ere we end it : though his hurts,
I mean his outward ones, do promise lair,
There is a deeper one, and in his mind,
Must be with care provided for : melancholy,
And at the height, too near akin to madness,
Possesses him ; his senses are distracted,
Mot one, hut all ; and, if I can collect them
With all the various ways invention
Or industrv e'er practised, 1 shall write it
My masterpiece.

"Duke. You more and more engage me.

Vice. May we not visit him ?

Paul, by no means, sir ;
As he is now, such courtesies come untimely:
1'U yield you reasun for't. Should he look on you,
It will renew the memory of that
Which 1 would have forgotten ; your good prayers,
And those 1 do presume shall not be wanting,
To my endeavours are the utmost aids
1 yet desire your excellencies should grant me.
So, with my humblest service

Duke. Go, and prosper. [Exit Paulo.

Vice. Observe his piety ! I have heard, how true
J 1 . know not, most physicians, as they grow
Greater in skill, grow less in their religion ;
Attributing so much to natur.il causes.
That they have little faith in that they cannot
Deliver reason for* : this doctor steers

1 have heard, how true

I know not, most physicians, at they yiow

Another course but let this puss ; if you please,
Your company to my daughter.

Duke. 1 wait on you. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Another Room in the same.

Enter LEONORA and Waiting Women.

Leon. Took she no rest to niglit?

1 (Tom. Nut any, madam ;

I am sure she slept not. If she slumber'd, straight,
As if souse dreadful vision had appear'd,
She started up, her hair unbound, and, with
Distracted looks staring about the chamber,
She asks aloud Where is Martina"! n-here
Haie you conceal'd him? Sometimes names Antonio,
Trembling in every joint, her brows contracted.
Her fair face as 'twere changed into a curse,
Her hands held up thus; and, as if her words
Were too big to find passage through her mouth,
She groans, then throws herself upon her bed.
Beating her breast.

Le<m. ' 1'is wonderous strange.

2 Warn. Nay, more ;

She that of late vouchsafed not to be seen.
But so adorn'd as if she were to rival
Nero's Poppara, or the Egyptian queen,
Now, careless of her beauties, when we offer
Our service, she contemns it.

Lean. Does she not
Sometimes forsake her chamber?

'2 Worn. Much about

This hour ; then with a strange unsettled gait
She measures twice or thrice the gallery,
Silent, and frowning (we dare not speak to her),
And then returns. She's come : pray you, now ob-
serve her.

Enter ALMIRA in black, carelessly habited.

Aim. Why are my eyes fix'd on the ground, and

not
Bent upwards? ha ! that which was mortal of

Greater in skill, grow lest in their relit/ion ;
Attributing so much to natural causes,
That they hare little faith in that they cannot
Deliver rt-ason for :] The history of mankind unfortunately
furnishes too many instances of this melancholy fact, to
permit a doubt on the subject. Let it be added, however,
that they chiefly occur among the half-informed of the pro-
fession: several of whom, as they have grotin yet yreater
in thill, have, to (heir praUe, renounced their tceplicisra
with their confidence, and increased no 1< ss in piety than
in knowledge. Ben Jonson observes, \vith his usual force
and perspicuity :

" RUT is a young physician to the family,
That, letting God alone, ascribes to nature
More than her share ; licentious in discourse,
And in his life a protect voluptuary ;
The slave of money, a linrt'-oii in manners,
Obscene in language, which he vent> for wit,
And saucy in his logics and disputing "

Magnetic Lady.

I have no propensity to personal satire, nor do 1 tliink it
just to convert an ancient author into a libellist, by an
appropriation of his descriptions to modern characters : yet
I must, for once, be induced with saying, that almost every
woid here delivered applies so 'orcibly to a late physician,
that it requires some evidence to believe the lines were
written nearly two centuries ao. To lessen the wonder,
however, it may be observed that, Irom the days of Dr.

Rut to those of Ur. D n, that description of men who,

letting God alone, ascribe to nature morr than her share,
have been commonly licentious, petulant, and obsceat
buffoons.

446

A VERY WOMAN.

[Acrll

My dear Martino, as a debt to nature,
1 know this mother earth had sepulchred ;
But his diviner part, his soul, o'er which
The tyrant Death, nor yet the fatal sword
Of curs 'd Antonio, his instrument.
Had the least power, borne apon angels' wings
Appointed to that office, mounted far
Above the firmament.

Leon. Strange imagination !
Dear cousin, your Martino lives.

Aim. I know you,

And that in this you flatter me; he's dead,
As much as could die of him : but look yonder !
Amongst a million of glorious lights
That deck the heavenly canopy, I have
Discern'd his soul, transform'd into a star.
Do you not see it ?

Leon. Lady!

Aim. Look with my eyes.

What splendour circles it ! the heavenly archer.
Not far off distant, appears dim with envy,
Viewing himself outshin'd. Bright constellation,
Dart down thy beams of pity on Almira,
And, since thou find'st such grace where now thou

art,

As I did truly love thee on the earth,
Like a kind harbinger, prepare my lodging,
And place me near thee !

Leon. 1 much more than fear
She'll grow into a frenzy.

Aim. How! what's this?
A dismal sound ! come nearer, cousin ; lay
Your ear close to the ground, closer, I pray you.
Do you howl? are you there, Antonio?

Leon. Where, sweet lady ?

Aim. In the vault, in hell, on the infernal rack,
Where murderers are tormented; yerk him

soundly,
'Twas Rhadamanth's sentence; do your office,

furies.
How he roars ! What ! plead to me to mediate for

you !
I'm deaf, I cannot hear you.

Leon. 'Tis but fancy ;
Collect yourself.

Aim. Leave babbling ; 'tis rare music !
Rhainnusia plays on a pair of tongs
Red hot, and Proserpine dances to the consort;
I'luto sits laughing by too*. So! enough:
I do begin to pity him.

Leon. I wish, madam,
You would show it to yourself.

2 Worn. Her fit begins
To leave her.

Aim Oh my brains ! are you there, cousin ?

Leon. Now she speaks temperately. I am ever

ready
To do you service : how do you?

Aim. Wry much troubled.
I have had the strangest waking dream of hell
And heaven I know not what.

Leon. My lord your father

Is come to visit you ; as you would not grieve him
That is so tender of you, entertain him
With a becoming duty.

Thi* is not madness but light-headedness : but such, in-
deed, is the malady of Almira. Later writers have mistaken
its characteristics, and copied then: (a wonderfully easy mat-
ter) for madness.

Enter VICEROY, Duke of MESSINA, PEDRO, and

Attendants.
Vice. Still forlorn !
No comfort, my Almira?

Duke. In your sorrow,

For my Martino, madam, you have express'd
All possible love and tenderness ; too much of it
Will wrong yourself, and him. He may live, lady
CFor we are not past hope), with his future service,
In some part to deserve it.

Aim. If heaven please
To be so gracious to me, I will serve him
With such obedience, love, and humbleness,
That I will rise up an example for
Good wives to follow : but until I have
Assurance what fate will determine of me,
Thus like a desolate widow, give me leave,
To weep for him ; for should he die, I have vow'd
Not to outlive him ; and my humble suit is,
One monument may cover us, and Antonio
(Injustice you must grant me that) be offer'd
A sacrifice to our ashes.

Vice. Prithee put off

These sad thoughts ; both shall live, I doubt it not,
A happy pair.

Enter CUCULO, and BORACHIA.

Cue. O sir, the foulest treason
That ever was disco ver'd !

Vice. Speak it, that
We may prevent it.

Cue. Nay, 'tis past prevention ; .
Though you allow me wise (in modesty,
I will not say oraculous), I cannot help it.
I am a statesman, and some say a wise one,
But I could never conjure, nor divine
Of things to come.

Vice. Leave fooling : to the point,
What treason ?

Cue. The false prince, Don John Antonio,
Is fled.

Vice. It is not possible.

Pedro. Peace, screech-owl.

Cue. I must speak, and it shall out, sir ; the captain,
You trusted with the fort is run away too.

Aim. O miserable woman ! I defy
All comfort : cheated too of my revenge !
As you are my father, sir, and you my brother,
I will not curse you ; but I dare, and will say,
You are unjust and treacherous. If there be
A way to death, I'll find it. [Eiu.

Vice. Follow her;

She'll do some violent act upon herself;
'Till she be better temper'd, bind her hands,
And fetch the doctor to her.

[Exeunt Leonora, and Waiting Women.

Had not you
A hand in this ?

Pedro. I, sir ! I never knew
Such disobedience.

Vice. My honour's touch'd in't :
Let gallies be mann'd forth in his pursuit ;
Search every port and harbour ; if I live,
He shall not 'scape thus.

Duke, Fine hypocrisy!
Away, dissemblers ! 'tis confederacy
Betwixt thy Bon, and self, and the false captain,
He could not thus have vanish'd else. You hare

murder'd

My son amongst you, and now murder iustice :
You know it most impossible be should live,

SCENE II.]

A VERY WOMAN.

447

Howe'er the doctor, for your ends, dissembled,
And you have shifted hence Antonio.

Vice. Messina, thou'rt a crazed and grieved old

man,

And being in my court, protected by
The law of hospitality, or I should
( Give you a sharper answer: may I perish
If I knew of his flight!

Duke. Fire, then, the castle.
Hang up then the captain's wife and children.

Vice. Fie, sir !

Pedro. My lord, you are uncharitable ; capital

treasons
Exact not so much.

Duke. Thanks, most noble signior,
We ever had your good word and your love.

Cue. Sir, I dare pass my word, my lords are clear
Of any imputation in this case
You seem to load them with.

Duke. Impertinent fool !

No, no, the loving faces you put on

Have been but grinning visors : you have juggled

Out of my son, and out of justice too ;
But Spain shall do me right, believe me, Viceroy:
There I will force it from thee by the king,
He shall not eat nor sleep in peace for me,
Till I am righted for this treachery.

Vice. Thy worst, Messina ; since no reason can
Qualify thy intemperance : the corruption
Of my subordinate ministers cannot wrong
My true integrity. Let privy searchers
Examine all the land.

Pedro. Fair fall A ntonio !

[Exeunt Viceroy, Pedro, and Attendants.

Cue. This is my wife, my lord ; troth speak your

conscience,
Is't not a goodly dame ?

Duke. She is no less, sir ;
I will make use of these ; may I entreat you*
To call my niece 1

Bota. With speed, sir. [Exit Borachia.

Cue. You may, my lord, suspect me
As an adept in these state conveyances :
Let signior Cuculo, then, be never more,
For all bis place, wit, and authority,
Held a most worthy honest gentleman.

Re-f nter BORACHIA with LEONORA.

Duke. I do acquit you, signior. Niece, you see
To what extremes I am driven : the cunning viceroy,
And his son Pedro, having express'd too plainly
Their cold affections to my son Martino :
And therefore I conjure thee, Leonora,
By all thy hopes from me, which is my dukedom
If my son fail ; however, all thy fortunes ;
Though heretofore some love hath past betwixt
Don Pedro, and thyself, abjure him now :
And as thou keep'st Almira company,
In this her desolation, so in hate
To this young Pedro for thy cousin's lore,
Be her associate ; or assure thyself,
I cast thee like a stranger from my blood.

1 will make use of these : may 1 entreat you.] So the
old copy : Mr. M. Mason chooses to read,
I will ma'.e toe of Cuculu aiul Borachia. May I entreat

you.

If such portentous lines as these may be introduced without
r?asci> y and without authority, there is an end of all editor-
thip.

If I do ever hear thou see'st, or send'st
Token, orreceiv'st message by yon heaven,
I never more will own thee !

Leon. O, dear uncle !

You have put a tyrannous yoke upon my heart.
And it will break' it. [Exit.

Duke. Gravest lady, you
May be a great assister in my ends.
I buy your diligence thus : divide this couple ;
Hinder their interviews ; feign 'tis her will
To give him no admittance, if he crave it ;
And thy rewards shall be thine c.wn desires ;
Whereto, good sir, but add your friendly aids,
And use me to my uttermost.

Cue. My lard,

If my wife please, I dare not contradict.
Borachia, what do you say?

Bora. I say, my lord,
I know my place ; and be assured I will
Keep fire and tow asunder.

Duke. You in this
Shall much deserve me. [Exit,

Cue. We have ta'en upon us
A heavy charge : I hope you'll now forbear
The excess of wine.

Bora. I will do what I please.
This day the market's kept for slaves ; go you,
And buy me a fine-timber'd one to assist me ;
I must be better waited on.

Cue. Anything,
So you'll leave wine.

Bora. Still prating !

Cue. 1 am gone, duck.

Bora. Pedro ! so hot upon the scent ! I'll fit him.

Enter PEDUO.

Pedro. Donna Boracbia, you most happily
Are met to pleasure me.

Bora. It may be so,

I use to pleasure many. Here lies my way,
I do beseech you, sir, keep on your voyage.

Pedro. Be not so short, sweet lady, I must with
you.

Bora. With me, sir! I beseech you, sir; why,

what, sir,
See you in me ?

Pedro. Do not mistake me, lady,
Nothing but honesty.

Bora. Hang honesty !

Trump me not up with honesty : do you mark, sir,
I have a charge, sir, and a special charge, sir,
And 'tis not honesty can win on me, sir.

Pedro. Prithee conceive me rightly.

Bora. I conceive you !

Pedro. But understand.

Bora. I will not understand, sir,
I cannot, nor I do not understand, sir.

Pedro. Prithee, Borachia, let me see my mistress,
But look upon her ; stand you by.

Bora. How's this !

Shall I stand by ? what do you think of me?
Now, by the virtue of the place I hold,
You are a paltry lord to tempt my trust thus :
I am no Helen, nor no Hecuba,
To be deflower'd of my loyalty
With your fair language.

Pedro. Thou mistak'st me still.

Bora. It may be so, my place will bear me Out
in't,

4*3

A VERY WOMAN.

[Acr III.

And will mistake you still, make you your best

on't.

Pedro. A pox upon thee ! let me but behold her.
Bora. A plague upon you ! you shall never see

her.
Pedro. This is a crone in grain ! thou art so

testy
Prithee, take breath, and know thy friends.

Bora. 1 will not,

I have no fiiends, nor I will have none this way :
And, now I think on't better, why will you see her?
Pedro. Because she loves me dearly, I her

equally.

Bora. She hates you damnably, most wickedly,
Build that upon my word, most wickedly ;
And swears her eyes are sick when they behold

you.

How fearfully have 1 heard her rail upon you,
And cast and rail again ; and cast again ;
Cull for hot waters, and then rail again !
Pedro. How ! 'tis not possible.
Bora. I have heard her swear
(How justly, you best know, and where the cause

lies)

That you are I shame to tell it but it must out.
Fie ! fie! why, bow have you deserved it?
Pedro. I am what ?
Bora. The beastliest man why, what a grief

must this be ?

(Sir reverence of the company) a rank whore-
master :

Ten livery whores, she assured me on her credit.
With weeping eyes she spake it, and seven citizens,
Besides all voluntaries that serve under you,
And of all countries.

Pedro. '1 his must needa be a lie.
Bra. Besides, you are so careless of your body,
Which is a foul fault in you.
Pedro. Leave your fooling,
For this shall be a fable : happily
My sister's anger may grow strong against me,
Which thou mistak'st.

Bora. She hates you very well too,
But your mistress hates you heartily: look upon

you !

Upon my conscience, she would see the devil first,
With eyes us big as saucers; when 1 but warned

you,
She has leap'd back thirty feet : if once she smell

you,
For certainly you are rank, she says extreme rank,

And the wind stand with you too, she's gone for
tver.

Pedro. For all this, I would see her.

Bora. That's all one.
Have you new eyes when those are scratch'd out, or

a nose

To clap on warm? have you proof against a piss-
pot,
Which, if they bid me, I must fling upon you 1

Pedro. I shall not see her, then, you say ?

Bora. It seems so.

Pedro. Prithee, be thus far friend then, good

Borachia,

To give her but this letter, and this ring,
And leave thy pleasant lying, which I pardon ;
But leave it in her pocket ; there's no barm in't.
I'll take thee up a petticoat, will that please thee?

Bora. Take up my petticoat ! 1 scorn the motion,
I scorn it with my heels ; take up my petticoat!

Pedro. And why thus hot 1

Bora. Sir, you shall find me hotter,
If you take up my petticoat.

Pedro. I'll give thee a new petticoat.

Bora. I scorn the gift take up my petticoat !
Alas ! my lord, you are too young, my lord,
Too young, my lord, to circumcise me that way*
Take up my petticoat ! I am a woman,
A woman of another way, my lord,
A gentlewoman : he that takes up my petticoat.
Shall have enough to do, 1 warrant him,
I would fain see the proudest of you all so lusty.

Pedro. Thou art disposed still to mistake me.

Bora. Petticoat !

You show now what you are ; but do your worst,
sir.

Pedro. A wild-fire take thee !

Bora. 1 ask no favour of you,
And so I leave you ; and withal I charge you
In my own name, for, sir, I'd have you know it,
In this place 1 present your father's person:
Upon your life, not dare to follow me,
For if you do [Eiii.

Pedro. Go and the p go with thee,
If thou hast so much moisture to receive them,
For thou wilt have them, though a horse bestow

them,

I must devise a way for I must see her,
And very suddenly ; and, madam petticoat.
If all the wit I have, and this can do,
I'll make you break your charge, and your hope
too. [Exit

ACT III.

SCENE I. A Market-place.

Enter Slave-merchant and Servant, with ANTONIO
and Captain disguised, English Slave, and divert
Slaves.

Merch. Come, rank yourselves, and stand out

handsomely.

Now ring the bell, that they may know my market.
Stand you two here ; [To Antonio and the Captain.']

you are personable men.

And apt to yield good sums if women cheapen.

Put me that pig-complexion'd fellow behind,

He will spoil my sale else ; the slave looks like

famine.
Sure he was got in a cheese-press, the whey rum

out on's nose yet.

He will not yield above a peck of oysters
If I can get a quart of wine in too, you are gone, sir
Why sure, thou hadst no father 1
Ulaie. Sure I know not.

SCENE I.]

A VERY WOMAN.

Merck. No, certainly ; a March frog [leap'd]* thy

mother ;

Thou'rt but a monster paddock. Look who comes,
sirrah [Exit Servant.

And next prepare the song, and do it lively.
Your tricks too, sirrah, they are ways to catch the
buyer, [To the English slave.

And if you do them well, they'll prove good dowries.
How now ?

Re-enter Servant.

Sen. They come, sir, with their bags full loaden.
Merch. Reach me my stool. O ! here they come.

Enter PAULO, Apothecary, CUCULO, and Citizens.

Cue. That's he.

He never fails monthly to sell his slaves here ;
He buys them presently upon their taking,
And so disperses them to every market.

Merch. Begin the song, and chant it merrily.

A Soxc fci/ one of the Slavet.
Well done.

Paul. Good morrow.

Merch. Morrow to you, signiors.

Paul. We come to look upon your slaves, and

buy too,
If we can like the persons and the prices.

Cue. They slow fine active fellows.

Mfrch. They are no less, sir,
And people of strong labours.

Paul. That's in the proof, sir.

Apoth. Pray what's the price of this red-bearded

fellow ?
If his gall be good, I have certain uses for him.

Merch. My sorrel slaves are of a lower price,
Because the colour's faint : fifty chequins, sir.

Apoth. What be his virtues 1

Merch. He will poison rats ;
Make him but angry, and his eyes kill spiders ;
Let him but fasting spit upon a toad,
And presently it bursts, and dies ; his dreams kill :
He'll run you in a wheel, and draw up water,
But if his nose drop in't, 'twill kill an army.
When you have worn him to the bones with uses,
Thrust him into an oven luted well.
Dry him, and beat him, flesh and bonp, to powder,
And that kills scabs, and aches of all climates.

Apoth. Pray at what distance may I talk to him ?

Merch. Give him but sage and butter in a morning,
And there's no fear : but keep him from all women;
For there his poison swells most.

Apoth. I will have him.
Cannot he breed a plague too 1

Merch. Yes, yes, yes,

Feed him with fogs ; probatum. Now to you, sir.
Do you like this slave ? [Pointing to Antonio.

Cite. Yes, if I like his price well.

Merch. The price is full an hundred, nothing bated.
Sirrah, sell the Moors there : feel, he's high and

lusty.

And of a gamesome nature; bold, and secret.
Apt to win favour of the man that owns him,
By diligence and duty : look upon him.

Paul. Do you hear, sir!

Merch. I'll be with you presently.
Mark but his limbs, that slave will cost you four-
score ; [Pointing to the Captain.

OW eof X, " Kept thy mother."

An easy price turn him about, and view him.
For these two, sir? why, they are the finest chil

dren

Twins, on mv credk, sir. Do you see this boy, sir !
He will run as far from you in an hour

1 Cit Will he so, sir ?

Merch. Conceive me rightly, if upon an errand
As any horse you have.

2 Cit. W : hat will this girl do?
Merch. Sure no harm at all, sir,

For she sleeps most an end*.

Cit. An excellent housewife.
Of what religion are they?

Merch. What you will, sir,

So there be meat and drink in't : they'll do little
That shall offend you, for their chief desire
Is to do nothing at all, sir.

Cue. A hundred is too much.

Merch. Not a doit bated :
He's a brave slave, bis eye shows acliveness;
Fire and the mettle of a man dwell in him.
Here is one you shall have

Cue. For what ?

Merch. For nothing,
And thank you too.

Paid. What can he do?

Merch. Why, anything that's ill,
And never blush at it he's so true a thief,
That he'll .-teal from himself, and think he has got

by it.

He stole out of his mother's belly, being an infant;
And from a lousy nurse he stole his nature,
From a dog his look, and from an ape his nimble-
ness ;

He will look in your face and pick your pockets,
Rob ye the most wise rat of a cheese-paring,
There where a cat will go in, he will follow,
His body has no back-bone. Into my company
He stole, for 1 never bought him, and will steal into

yours,

An you stay a little longer. Now, if any of you
Bn given to the excellent art of lying.
Behold, before you here, the masterpiece ;
He'll outliehitn that taught him, monsieur devil,
Offer to swear he has eaten nothing in a twelve-
month,
When hi* mouth's full of meat.

Cue. Pray keep him, he's a jewel ;
And here's your money for this fellow.

Merch. He's yours, sir.

Cue. Come, follow me. [Exit with Antoi.it>.

Cit. Twenty chequins for these two.

Merch. For tive and twenty take them.

Merch. .Sure no harm at all, tir,

For she slfi'{>mini an end.' i. e. Perpetually, without In-
termUsion. In The Two Gentlemen of Verona, 1'iolcus
says of Lannce :

" A slave that still an mil turns me to shame."
That is, says Steevens, " at the conclusion of every business
lie undertakes." He was set right hy Mr. M. Mason ; but
he persi-ted in his erroneous explanation : nliter ntm fit,
Avite, liher. With respect to the meaning which is lure
assigned to most, or, as it is sometimes written, still an end,
there cannot exist a reasonable doubt of its propriety. Tim*
Cart-wright :

" Now help, good heaven! 'tis such an nnconth thing
To be a widow out of term time ! I
Do feel siieh aguish qu -lins, and (lump!, and fits.
And shakings tfill an end. The Ordinary.

Indeed, the phr.ise has not been long out of use. 1 meet with
it, for the l;tst time, in the Dedication to The Divine Lega-
tion of Mofei: " he runs on in a stniuge jumbled cliHracter ;
tint ha- most an end, a strong disposition 10 make a farce of
it." P.xi.

450

A VERY WOMAN.

[Acr III.

Cit There's your money ;
I'll have them, it' it be to sing in cages.

Merck. Give them hard eggs, you never had such

blackbirds.

Cit. Is she a maid, dost think?
Merck. I dare not swear, sii .

She is nine year old, at ten you shall find few here.
Cit. \ merry fellow ! thou say'st true. Come,
children.

[Eiit with the tu-o Moors.
Paul. Here, tell your money ; if his life but

answer
His outward promises, I have bought him cheap

sir.
Merck Too cheap, o' conscience, he's a pregnant

knave ;

Full of fiihe thought, I warrant him.
Paul. He's but weak-timber 'd*.
Merck. "1'is the better sir ;
He wiil turn gentleman a great deal sooner.
Paul. Very weak legs.
Meirh. Strong as the time allows, sir.
P.I ill. What's that fellow?
Merch. Who, this? the finest thing in all the

world, sir,
The punctuallest, and the perfectest ; an English

metal.

Hut roin'd in France; your servant's servant, sir ;
Do you understand that? or your shadow's servant.
Will you buy him to carry in a box ? Kiss your

hand, sirrah ;
Let fill your cloak on one shoulder ; face to your

left hand ;
Feather your hat ; slope your hat ; now charge,

Your honour,
What think you of this fellow ?

Paul. Indted, 1 know not;
I never saw such an ape before : but, hark you,
Are these things serious in his nature ?

Mi rch. Yes, yes ;

Part of his creed : come, do some more devices f.
Quarrel a little, and take him for your enemy,
iJo it in dumb show. Now observe him nearly.
Paul. This fellow's mad, stark mad.
Merck. Beiieve they are all so :
I have sold a hundred of them.

Paul. A strange nation !

What may the women be?

Merch. As mad as they,

And, as 1 have lieaid for truth, a great deal madder ;
Yet, you miiy tind some civil things amongst them,
But they are not respected. Nay, never wonder ;
They have a city, sir, I have been in it,
Aud therefore dare affirm it, where, if you saw

Paul. Uf't but wraktimlier'd.

Kerch, "/'is thebcltfr, tit ;

lie will turn jjmtleman ayreat deal sooner.] Small lees
seem, al this lime, to li .ve been onsidered as one of the
cli..r,cir I-IMIC m.irk* of a tine gentleman. Thus Jonson :

Chin. Arejou a tentlcman born f

Cru. That 1 .mi, lady; you shall sec my arms, if it please

Chlo. No ; your legs do sufficiently show you are a E en-
tleman bom, sir ; lor a man borne upon little Itet is always
a gci.tkinaii burn. Poetatter.

come, do tmne more devic f, &c.l This

iini>t have been a most diverting sceue : the ridicule on the
Fic-ncli, ,.r rather on the travelled English, who caiicatured
while tlu-y ;ip. d, thf foppi.-h manners of the continent was
. Lever more exquisitely pointed : indeed, I recollect no'thin
i.. tfce sui'jei-t, in any of our old dramatists, that can be said
to cuine near it. What follows is in a higher tone.

With what a load of vanity 'tis fraughted,
How like an everlasting morris-dance it looks,
Nothing but hobby-horse, and maid Marian,
You would start indeed.

Paul. They are handsome men.
Merch. Yes, if they would thank their maker,
And seek no further ; but they have new creators,
God tailor, and god mercer : a kind of Jews, sir,
But fall'n into idolatry, for they worship
Nothing with so much service, as the c-ow-calves.
Paul. What do you mean by cow-calves?
Merch. Why, their women.
Will you see him do any more tricks ?

Paul. 'Tis enough, I thank you ;
But yet I'll buy him, for the rareness of him,
He may make my princely patient mirth, and that

done,

I'll chain* him in my study, that at void hours
I may run o'er the story of his country.
Merch. His price is forty.
Paul. Hold I'll once be foolish,
And buy a lump of levity to laugh at.
Apnlli. Will your worship walk ?
Paul. How now, apothecary,
Have you been buying too ?

Apoth. A little, sir,
A dose or two of mischief.
Paul. Fare ye well, sir ;
As these prove, we shall look the next wind for

you.

Merch. I shall be with you, sir,
Paul. Who bought this fellow?
* Cit. Not I.
Apoth. Nor 1.

Paul. Why does he follow us, then?
Merch. Did not I tell you he would steal to

you ?

2 Cit. Sirrah,
You mouldy-chaps ! know your crib, I would wish

you,

And get from whence you came.
Slate. I came from no place.
Paul. Wilt tbou be my fool? for fools, they say,

will tell truth.
Slaie. Yes, if you will give me leave, sir, to abuse

you,

For 1 can do that naturally.
Paul. And I can beat you.
Stave. I should be sorry else, sir.
Merch. He looks for that, as duly as his victuals,
And will be extreme sick when he is not beaten.
He will be as wanton, when he lias a bone broken,
As a cat in a bowl on the water.
Paul. You will part with him ?
Merch. To such a friend as you, sir.
Paul. And without money?
Merch. Not a penny, signior ;
And would he were better for you.

Paul. Follow me, then ;
The knave may teach me something.

Stare. Something that

You dearly may repent ; howe'er you scorn me,
The slave may prove your master.
Paul. Farewell once more !

Merch. Farewell ! and when the wind serves
next, expect me.

[Exeunt

/'// chain him in my study ^ The old copy reads eiatm
the amendment by Mr. M. Mason.

SCENE II.]

A VERY WOMAN.

4.51

SCENE II. A Room in the Viceroy's Palace.
Enter Cucui.o and ANTONIO.

Cue. Come, sir, you are mine, sir, now, you

serve a man, sir ;
That, when you know more, you will find.

Ant. I hope so.

Cue. What dost thou hope ?

Ant. To find you a kind master.

Cue. Find you yourself a diligent true servant,
And take the precept of the wise before you,
And then you may hope, sirrah. Understand,
You serve me* what is ME? a man of credit.

Ant. Yes, sir.

CHC. Of special credit, special office; hear first
And understand again, of special office:
A man th.it nods upon the thing he meets,
And that thing bows.

Ant. 'Tis fit it should he so, sir,

Cue. It shall be so : a man near all importance.
Dost thou digest this truly 1

Ant. I hope I shall, sir.

Cue. Besides, thou art to serve a noble mistress,
Of equal place and trust. Serve usefully,
Serve all with diligence, but her delights ;
There make your stop. She is a woman, sirrah,
And though a cull'd out virtue, yet a woman.
Thou art not troubled with the strength of blood,
And stirring faculties, for she'll show a fair one ?

Ant. As I am a man, I may; but as I am your

man,

Your trusty, useful man, those thoughts shall
perish.

Cue. 'Tis apt, and well distinguish 'd. The next

precept,

And then, observe me, you have all your duty ;
Keep, as thou'dst keep thine eye-sight, all wine

from her,
All talk of wine.

Ant. Wine is a comfort, sir.

Cue. A devil, sir ; let her not dream of wine.
Make her believe there neither is, nor was wine ;
Swear it.

Ant. Will you have me lie ?

Cue. To my end, sir ;
For if one drop of wine but creep into her,
She is the wisest woman in the world straight,
And all the women in the world together
Are but a whisper to her ; a thousand iron mills
Can be heard no further than a pair of nut-crackers :
Keep her from wine ; wine makes her dangerous.
Fall back : my lord don Pedro !
Enter PEDRO.

Pedro. Now, master officer,
'U hat is the reason that your vigilant greatness,
And your wife's wonderful wiseness, have lock'd up

from me

The way to see my mistress? Whose dog's dead now,
That you observe these vigils ?

Cue. Very well, my lord.
Belike, we observe no law then, nor no order,
Nor feel no power, nor will, of him that made them,
When state-commands thus slightly are disputed.

Pedro, \\hatstate-command? dost thou think any

state

Would give thee any thing but eggs to keep,
Or trust thee with a secret above lousing ?

You terve me ] So the old copy ; the modern editors
omit the prunoun, which reduces the passage to nonsense.

Cue. No, no, my lord, I am not passionate,
You cannot work me that way to betray me.
A point there is in't, that you must not see, sir,
A secret and a serious point of state too;
And do not urge it further, do not, lord,
It will not take : you deal with them that wink not.
You tried my wife ; alas ! you thought she was

foolish.
Won with an empty word ; you have not found it.

Pedro. I have found a pair of coxcombs, that I am
sure on.

CMC. Your lordship may say three : I am cot
passionate.

Pedro. How's that ?

Cue. Your lordship found a faithful gentle-woman,
Strong, and inscrutable as the viceroy's heart,
A woman of another making, lord :
And, lest she might partake with woman's weakness
I've purchased her a rib to make her perfect,
A rib that will not shrink nor break in the bending ;
This trouble we are put to, to prevent things
Which your good lordship holds but necessary.

Pedro. A fellow of a handsome and free promise,
And much, methiuks, I am taken with his counte-
nance.
Do you serve this yeoman-porter ? [To Antonio.

Cue. Not a word.

Basta ! your lordship may discourse your freedom ;
He is a slave of state, sir, so of silence.

Pedro. You are very punctual, state-cut, fare ye

well ;
I shall find time to fit you too, I fear not. [Exit.

Cue. And 1 shall fit you, lord : you would be

billing ;

You are too hot, sweet lord, too hot. Go you home,
And there observe these lessons I first taught you.
Look to your charge abundantly ; be wary,
Trusty and wary ; much weight hangs upon me.
Watchful and wary too ! this lord is dangerous
Take courage and resist : for other uses,
Your mistress will inform you. Go, be faithful,
And, do you hear ? no wine.

Ant. I shall observe, sir. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Another Room in the tame.
Enter PAULO and Surgeons.

Paul. He must take air.

1 Surg. Sir, under your correction,
The violence of motion may make
His wounds bleed fresh.

2 Surg. And he hath lost already
Too much blood, in my judgment.

Paul. I allow that ;

But to choke up his spirits in a dark room
Is far more dangerous. He comes ; no questions.

Enter CARDENES.

Car. Certain we hare no reason, nor that soul
Created of that pureness nooks persuade us :
We understand not, sure, nor feel that sweetness
That men call virtue's chain to link our actions.
Our imperfections form, and flatter us ;
A will to rash and rude things is our reason,
And that we glory in, that makes us guilty.
Why did I wrong this man, unmanly wrong him,
Unmannerly ? he gave me no occasion.
In all my heat how noble was his temper !
And, when I had forgot both man and manhood.

452

A VERY WOMAN.

[Acr III.

With what a gentle bravery did he chide me !
And, say he had kill'd me, whither had I travell'd?
Kill'd me in all my rage oh, how it shakes me!
Why didst thou do this, fool? a woman taught me,
The devil and his angel, woman, bad me.
I am a beast, the wildest of all beasts,
And like a beast I make my blood my master.
Farewell, farewell, forever, name of mistress !
Out of my heart I cross thee ; love and women
Out of my thoughts.

Paul. Ay, now you show your manhood.

Car. Doctor, believe me, I have bought my

knowledge,

And dearly, doctor: they are dangerous crea-
tures,

They sting at both ends, doctor ; worthless creatures,
And" all their loves and favours end in ruins.

Paul. To man indeed.

Car. Why, now thou tak'st me rightly.
What can they show, or by what act deserve us,
While we have Virtue, and pursue her beauties?

Paul. And yet I've heard of many virtuous
women.

Car. Not many, doctor, there your reading fails

you ;

Would there were more, and in their loves less
dangers !

Paul. Love is a noble thing without all doubt, sir,

Car. Yes, and an excellent to cure the itch.

[Exit.

1 Surg. Strange melancholy !
Paul. By degrees 'twilllessen :

Provide your things.

2 Surg. Our caro shall not be wanting.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Room in Cuculo's Houte.

Enter LEONORA and ALMIRA.

Leon. Good madam, for your health's sake clear

those clouds up,

That feed upon your beauties like diseases.
Time's hand will turn again, and what he ruins
Gently restore, and wipe off all yuur sorrows.
Believe you are to blame, much to blame, lady ;
You tempt his loving care whose eye has number'd
AH our afflictions, and the time to cure them :
You rather with this torrent choak his mercies.
Than gently slide into bis providence.
Sorrows are well allow'd, and sweeten nature,
Where they express no more than drops on lilies ;
But, when they fall in storms, they bruise our hopes,
Make us unable, though our comforts meet us,
To hold our heads up -. Come, you shall take com-
fort;

This is a sullen grief becomes condemned men,
That feel a weight of sorrow through their souls :
Do but look up. Why, so ! is not this better
Than hanging down your head still like a violet,
And dropping out those sweet eyes for a wager ?
Fray you, speak a little.

Aim. Pray you, desire no more ;
And, if you love me, say no more.

Leon. How fain,

If I would be as wilful, and partake in't,
Would you destroy yourself! how often, lady,
Even of the same disease have you cured me,

And shook me out on't ; chid me, tumbled me,
And forced my hands, thus?

Aim. By these tears, no more.

Lean. You are too prodigal of them. Well, I will

110 1,

For though my love bids me transgress your will,
I have a service to your sorrows still. [Exeunt

SCENE V. A Halt in the same.
Enter PEDRO and ANTONIO.

Ant. Indeed, my lord, my place is not so near :
I wait below stairs, and there sit, and wait
Who comes to seek accesses ; nor is it fit, sir*,
My rudeness should intrude so near their lodgings.

Pedro. Thou mayst invent a way, 'tis but a trial,
But carrying up this letter, and this token,
And giving them discreetly to my mistress,
The Lady Leonora : there's my purse,
Or anything thou'lt ask me ; if ihou knew'st me,
And what may 1 be to thoe tor this courtesy

Ant. Your lordship speaks so honestly, and freely,
That by my troth I'll venture.

Pedro. 1 dearly thank thee.

Ant. And i: shall cost me hard ; nay, keep your

purse, sir,
For, though my body's bought, my mind was

never.
Though I am bound; my courtesies are no slaves.

Pedro. Thou shouldst be truly gentle.

Ant. If 1 were so,

The state 1 am in bids you not believe it.
But to the putpose, sir; give me your letter
And next your counsel, for 1 serve it crafty mistress.

Pedro. And she must be removed, thou wilt else
ne'er do it.

Ant. Ay, there's the plague : think, and I'll think
awhile too.

Pedro. Her husband's suddenly fallen sick.

Aitt. She cares not ;
If he were dead, indeed, it would do better.

Pedro. Would he were hanged !

Ant. Then she would run for joy, sirf.

Pedro. Some lady crying out !

Ant. She has two already.

Pedro. Her house afire.

Ant. Let tliejool my husband, quench it.
This will be her answer. This may take: it will,

sure.

Your lordship must go presently, and send me
Two or three bottles of your best Greek wine,
Th-e strongest and the sweetest.

Nor is it fit, sir,] Fit, which r f .

stores the pa.-sa^e to sense, 1 have inserted from the old
copy.

t Ant. Then she would run fur joy, sir.] (fcxeter, and
ot course, Mr. M. Mason, read,

Then she would run mad for joy, sir.

This interpolation which destroys the metre, seems to have
originated m a misapprehension of the passage. The object
is to get Bi.rarlii.i out of the way, and the expedients which
suggest themselves arc mentioned in order:

Pedro. Would he irtre hana'd !

Ant. Then she would run for joy, sir.

i.e. this might do, foi then she would leave her charge, and
joyfully run 10 witness his execution. Such, 1 conceive to
be the put port of Antonio's observation : lor the rest, 1 must
observe, that the whole of this scene is most shamefully given
in the modern editions, scarcely a single speech being without
an error or an omission.

SCENE V.]

A VERY WOMAN.

453

Pedro. Instantly :
But will that do ?

Ant. Let me alone to work it. [.En* Pedro.

Wine I was charged to keep by all means from her;
All secret locks it opens, and all counsels,
That I am sure, and gives men all accesses.
Pray heaven she be not loving 1 when she's drunk

now,

For drunk she shall be, though my pate pay for it !
She'll turn my stomach then abominably.
She has a most wicked face, and that lewd face
Being a drunken face, what face will there be !
She cannot ravish me. Now, if my master
Should take her so, and know 1 ministered.
What will his wisdom do 1 I hope be drunk too,
And then all's right. Well, lord, to do thee service

Above these puppet-plays, I keep a life yet

Here come the executioners.

Enter Servant wiih bodies.

You are welcome,

Give mevour load, and tell ray lord 1 am at it.
Serv. I will, sir ; speed you, sir. [Exit.

Ant. Good speed on all sides !

'Tis strong, strong wine ; O.the yaws that she will
make !*

Look to your stern, dear mistress, and steer right,

Here's that will work as high as the Bay of Por-
tugal.

Stay, let me see I'll try her by the nose first ;

For, if she be a right sow, sure she'll find it.

She is yonder by herself, the ladies from her.

Now to beg-in my sacrifice! : [pours out some of the
nine.] she stirs, and vents it.

O, how she holds her nose up like a jennet

In the wind of a grass-mare ! slie has it full now,

And now she comes.

Enter BOUACUIA.

I'll stand aside awhile.
Bora. 'Tis wine! ay, sure 'tis wine! excellent

strong' wine !

lu the must, I take it : very wine : this way too.
Ant. How true she hunts ! I'll make the train a
little longer. [Pours out more wine.

Bora. Stronger and stronger still ! still ! blessed

wine !

Ant. Now she hunts hot.
Bum. All that I can for this wine.
This way it went, sure.

Ant. Now she is at a cold scent.
Make out your doubles, mistress. O, well hunted !
That's she ! that's she !

Bora. O, if I could but see it !
(Oh what a precious scent it has !) but handle it !
Ant. Now I'll untappice. [ Comes jorward.

* 'Tis strong, strong wine: O, the yaws that she will
nuke !\ The old copy reads,

O the yaiins that she will make,

tnd was followed by Coxeter. Mr. M. Mason, attentive to
the spelling of his author, but careless of his sense, corrected
it to yawns ; though to make yawns appears an expression
sufficiently singular to excite a doubt of its authenticity :
and thus it has hitherto stood ! The genuine word, as is
clear from the context, is undoubtedly that which I have
given. A yaw is that unsteady motion which a ship makes
in a great swell, when, in steering, she inclines to the right
or left of her course. The sea runs proverbially high in the
Bay of Portugal.

t Now to begin my sacrifice: ] This is imitated, but
with exquisite humour, from a very amusing scene in The
Curculivvf Plautus.

Bora. What's that ? still 'tis stronger.
Why, how now, sirrah ! what's that ? answer

quickly,
And to the point.

Ant. 'Tis wine, forsooth, good wine,
Excellent Candy wine.

Bora. 'Tis well, forsooth!
Is this a drink for slaves ? why, saucy sirrah
(F.xcellent Candy wine !), draw nearer to me,
Reach me the bottle : why, thou most debauch'd
slave

Ant. Pray be not angry, mistress, for with all my

service
And pains, I purchased this for you (I dare not

drink it),

For you a present ; only for your pleasure j
To show in little what a thanks I owe
The hourly courtesies your goodness gives me.

Bora. And I will give thee more ; there, kiss my
hand on't.

Ant. I thank you dearly for your dirty favour
How rank it smells !

Bora. By thy leave, sweet bottle,
And sugar-candy wine, I now come to thee,
Plold your hand under.

Ant. How does your worship like it?

Bora. Under again again and now come kiss

me ;
I'll be a mother to thee : come, drink to me.

Ant. I do beseerh your pardon.

Bora. Here's to thee, then,
I am easily entreated for thy good ;
'Tis naught for thee, indeed ; 'twill make thee break

out;

Thou hast a pure complexion ; now, for me
'Tis excellent, 'tis excellent for me.
Son slave, I've a cold stomach, and the wind

Ant. Blows out a cry at both ends.

Bora. Kiss again ;

Cherish thy lips, for thou shall kiss fair ladies :
Son slave. 1 have them for thee ; I'll show thee all.

Ant. Heaven bless mine eyes !

Bora. F.ven all the secrets, son slave,
In my dominion.

Ant. Oh ! here come the ladies ;
Now to my business.

Enter LEONORA and ALMIRA behind.

Leon. This air will much refresh you.
Aim. 1 must sit down.
Leon. Do, and take freer thoughts,
The place invites you ; I'll walk by like your sen-
tinel.
Bora. And thou shalt be my heir, I'll leave thee

all.

Heaven knows to what 'twill mount to* ; but abun-
dance:

* Heaven knows to what 'twill mount to ;] Of this mode
of speech innumerable instances have already occurred ; yet
it is corrupted by Mr. M. Mason, with his usual oscitancy,
into

Heaven hnowi what 'twill amount to !

But this gentleman does not appear to have profited greatly
by his " reading of our old poets:" twenty years after he
had edited Mas.-inger, he stumbled upon Beaumont and
Fletcher, where he found this line:

" And through what seas of hazard I sail'd through."

Humorous Lieutenant.

Through, the editors, perfectly ignorant of the phraseology
of the author's times, absurdly changed to too, because, tor.
sooth, " such disagreeable tautology was more likely to pro-

454

A VERY WOMAN.

f ACT III

111 leave tbee two young Indies, what think you of

that, boy !

Where is the bottle ? two delicate young ladies ;
But first you shall commit with me : do you mark,

son,
And show yourself a gentleman, that's the truth, son,

Ant. Excellent lady, kissing your fair band,
And humbly craving pardon for intruding,
This letter, and this ring

Leon. Krom whom, I pray you, sir?

Ant. From the most noble, loving lord, don

Pedro,
The servant of your virtues.

Bora. And prithee, good son slave, be wise and

circumspect ;
And take heed of being o'ertaken with too much

drink ;

For it is a lamentable sin, and spoils all :
Why, 'tis the damnablest thing to be drunk, son !
Heaven can't endure it. And hark you, one thing

I'd have done :
Knock my husband on the head, as soon as may be,

For he is an arrant puppy, and cannot perform

Why, where 'he devil is this foolish bottle ?

Leon. I much thank you ;
And this, sir, for your pains.

Ant. No, gentle lady ;
That I can do him service is my merit,
My faith, my full reward.

Leon. Once more, I thank you.
Since I have met so true a friend to goodness,
I dare deliver to your charge my answer:
Pray you, tell him, sir, this night I do invite him
To meet me in the garden ; means he may find,
For love, they say, wants no abilities.

Ant. Nor shall he, madam, if my help may pro-
sper ;

So everlasting love and sweetness bless you !
She's at it still, 1 dare not now appear to her.

Aim. What fellow's that ?

Lean. Indeed, I know not, madam ;
It seems of some strange country by his habit ;
Nor can I show you by what mystery
He wrought himself into this place, prohibited.

Aim. A handsome man.

Leon. But of a mind more handsome.

Aim. Was his business to you?

Leon. Yes, from a friend you wot of.

Aim. A very handsome fellow

And well demean 'd 1

Leon. Exceeding well, and speaks well.

Aim. And speaks well, too !

Leon. Aye, passing well, and freely.
And, as he promises, of a most clear nature.
Brought up, sure, far above his show.

Aim. It seems so :
I would I'd heard him, friend. Comes he again 1

ceed from the press than the author." Upon which Mr. M.
Mason says, " I agree with them in thinking the old reading
erroneous, but not in their amendment. The line should run
tini. >

thus:

And through what seas of hazard I sail'd thorough]
Which avoids the repetition of the word through." Corn-
mention Hcaumont and Fletcher, p. 104. When it is con-
sidered Iliat the repetition eo sedulously removed, was as
anxiously iought after by our old writers, and was, indeed,
characteristic of their style and manner, we may, perhaps,
be indulged in forming a wish that those who undertake to
revive and explain them, were somewhat more competent to
the otlice. A good edition of these excellent dramatists is

touch wanted.

Leon. Indeed 1 know not if he do.
Aim. 'Tis no mutter.
Come, let's walk in.

Leon. I am glad you have found your tonsrue yet.
[Exeunt Leonora and Almira.
fkHUCBM sings.

Cue. [iri'Jim.] Bly wife is very merry ; sure 'twas

her voice :

Pray heaven there be no drink iii't, then I allow it.
Ant. 'Tis sure my master:

Enter CUCULO

Now the game begins ;

Here will be spitting of fire o'both sides presently ;
Send me but safe deliver 'd !
Cite. O, my heart aches !

My head aches too : mercv o'me, she's perish 'd !
She has gotten wine ! she is gone for ever.
Bora. Come hither, ladies, carry your bodies

sw'mming ;

Do your three duties, then then fall behind me.
Cue. O, thou pernicious rascal ! what hast thou

done ?

Ant. 1 done ! alas, sir, I have done nothing.
Cue. Sirrah,

How came she by this wine ?
Ant. Alas, I know not.
Bora. Who's that, that talks of wine there?
Ant. Forsooth, my master.
Bora. Bring him before me, son slave.
Cue. I will know it,
This bottle, how this bottle?

Bora. Do not stir it ;

For, if you do, by this good urine, I'll knock you,
I'll beat you damnably, yea and nay, I'll heat you ;
And, when I have broke it 'bout your head, do you

mark me?

Then will I tie it to your worship's tail,
And all the dogs in the town shall follow you.
No question, 1 would advise you, how I came by it,
I will have none of these points handled now.
Cue. She'll ne'er be well again while the world

stands.

Ant. I hope so.
Cue. How dost thou, lamb?
Bora. Well, God-a-mercy, belwether ; how dost

thou ?
Stand out : son slave, sit you here, and before this

worshipful audience
Propound a doubtful question ; see who's drunk

now.
Cue. Now, now it works ; the devil now dwells

in her.
Bora. Whether the heaven or the earth be nearer

the moon?

Or what's the natural reason, why a woman longs
To make her husband cuckold ? bring me your

cousin

The curate now, that great philosopher,
He that found out a pudding had two ends,
That learned clerk, that notable gymnosophist:
And let him with bis Jacob's-staff discover
What is the third part of three farthings,
Three halfpence being the half, and 1 am satisfied.
Cue. You see she hath learning enough, it she

could dispose it.
Bora. Too much for thee, thou loggerhead, thou

hull-head !
Cue. N ay, good Borachia.

SCENE II.]

A VERY WOMAN.

455

Bora. Thou a sufficient statesman !
A gentleman of learning ! hang thee, dogwhelp ;
Thou shadow of a man of action,
Ihou scab o'th' court! go sleep, you drunken

rascal,
Vou debauched puppy ; get you home, and sleep,

sirrah ;

Vnd so will I : son slave, thou shall sleep with me.
Cue. Prithee, look to her tenderly.

Bora. No words, sirrah,
Of any wine, or anything like wine,
Or any tiling concerriin-r wine, or by wine,
Or from, or with wine*. Come, lead me like a

countess.
Cue. This must we bear, poor men ! there is a

trick in't,
But, when she is well again, I'll trick her for it.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A Room in the Viceroy's Palace.

Enter PEDRO.

Pedro. Now, if this honest fellow do but pros-
per,

\ hope I shall make fair return. I wonder
I hear not from the prince of Tarent yet,
I hope he's landed well, and to his safety :
The winds have stood most gently to his purpose.

Enter ANTONIO.
My honest friend !

Ant. Your lordship's poorest servant.

Pedro. How hast thou sped ?

Ant. My lord, as well as wiahesf
My way hath reach'd your mistress, and deliver'*!
Your love letter, and token ; who, with all joy,
And virtuous constancy, desires to see you :
Commands you this niirht, by her loving power,
To meet her in the garden.

Pedro. Thou hast made me,
Redeem 'd me, man, again from all my sorrows ;
Done above wonder for me. Is it sol

Ant. 1 should be now too old to learn to lie, sir,
And, as I live, I never was good flatterer}.

Pedro. I do see something in this fellow's face

still,

That ties my heart fast to him. Let me love thee,
Nay, let me honour thee for this fair service.
And if I e'er forget it

Ant. Good my lord,

The only knowledge of me is too much bounty :
My service, and my life, sir.

or by wine,

Or from, or with wine, &c.] More trails of Borachia's
" learning !" she is running through the signs of the ablative
ease.

t Ant. My lord, a* well as wishes :] i. e. as well as yon
Could wish; or, as well as if your wishes had been effectual :
it is a colloquial phrase, and is found in many of our old
dramatists. Thus Beaumont and Fletcher:

" Dor. Shall we run for a wager to the next temple, and
give thanks >.

" Nis. Aifatt as withe*. Cupid's Revenge.

And again ; more appositely in the same play :

" Timan. There's a messenger, madam, come from the
prince, with a letter to Ismenes."

" Jiacha. This comes as pat a* withes."

1 And, as 1 live, Inner icat good flatterer.'] This is the
language of the time : the modern editors carefully interpo-
late the article before good, though it spoils the metre : and
in the next line omit ttill, though it be necessary to the
wnsel

Pedro. I shall think on't ;
But how for me to get access?

Ant. "Tis easy ;

I'll be your guide, sir, all my care shall lead you ;
My credit's belter than you think.

Pedro. I thank you,
And soon I'll wait your promise.

Ant. With all my duty. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Bedroom in the tame.
Enter VICEROY, DUKE, PAULO, and CUCULO..

Paulo. All's as 1 tell you, princes ; you shall her*
Be witness to his fancies, melancholy,
And strong imagination of his wrongs
His inhumanity to Don Antonio,
Hath rent his mind into so many pieces
Of various imaginations, that,
Like the celestial bow, this colour now's
The object, then another, till all vanish.
He says a man might watch to death, or fast,
Or think his spirit out ; to all which humours
1 do apply myself, checking the bad,
And cherishing the good. For these, I have
Prepared my instruments, fitting his chamber
\\ith trapdoors, and descents ; sometimes presenting
Good spirits of the air, bad of the earth,
To pull down or advance his fair intentions.
He's of a noble nature, yet sometimes
Thinks that which by confederacy I do,
Is by some skill in magic.

Enter CAHDENES.O book in his hand*.

Here he comes

Unsent. I do beseech you, what do you read, airl
Cur. A strange position, which doth much per-
plex me :
That every soul's alike a musical instrument,

+ Enter CARDENES. a book in hit hand] The book ap
pear- to be I'l.-tti. The margiiul d rf ction in tlu- old C"py,
whirh i* wisvly followed h\ Cnxcter and Mr. M. Mason,
i* oiiiwh;it curious: .1 bfd drawn forth. Mailinoupon if,
a bonk in hi* hand ; this nvis' h..v. cont.aMid in >ini;nlar
m inner wilh the doctor' . excl.niiti' " : Here he come* t/-
tent ! The noon-M stK.lli'iif o.innanv in III.- pr.''rr*t IvfB
would nol now be rednred to snrh shifts, as " those of bit
Majrstj'i servants" who performed this mort excellent
Comedy a* fce private-house in Blackfriarv

A VERY WOMAN.

[Act IV

The faculties in all men equal strings,

Well or ill handled ; and those sweet or harsh.

[Exit Paulo.

How like a fiddler I have play'd on mine then !
Declined the high pitch of my birtli and breeding,
Like the most barbarous peasant ; read my pride
Upon Antonio's meek humility.
Wherein he was far valianter than I.
Meekness, thou wait'st upon courageous spirits,
Enabling sufferance past inflictions.
In patience Tarent overcame me more
Than in my wounds : live then, no more to men,
Shut dav-ligbt from thine eyes, here cast thee down,
And with a sullen sigh breathe forth thy soul

Re-enter PAULO, disguised at a Friar.

What art 1 an apparition, or a man ?

Paul. A man, and sent to counsel thee.

Car. Despair
Has stopped mine ears ; thou seem'st a holy friar.

Paul. I am ; by doctor Paulo sent, to tell thee
Thou art too cruel to thyself, in seeking
To lend compassion and aid to others.
My order bids me comfort thee ; I hare heard all
Thy various troubled passions. Hear but my story;
In way of youth I did enjoy one friend*,
As good and perfect as heaven e'er made man ,
This friend was plighted to a beauteous woman
(Nature proud of her workmanship), mutual love
Possessed them both, her heart in his breast lodged,
And his in hers.

* Jn way of youth I d id enjoy one friend."] There is no
passage in Shakspeare on which more ha? been written than
the following one in Macbeth:

" I have lived long enough, my way of life
" Is faflen inlo the si-re, the yellow leaf," &c.
For tcay of life Johnson would read May of life; in which
he is followed by Colman, L tn^tusi, Steevens, and others :
and Mr. Henley, a very ronfiiient gentleman, declares that he
" has no>v no doubt that Shakspi-are wrote May of lift,"
which it also the " settled opinion" of Mr. Davies ! At a
subsequent period Steevens appears to have changed his opi-
nion, and acquiesced in the old reading, way of life, whirh
he interprets, with Mr. M. Mason, course or progress, pre-
cisely as Warburton, whom every mousing owl hawks at, had
done long before them. Mr. Malone follows the same track,
and ii'ti.e words had signified what he supposed them to do,
nothing more would be necessary on the subject. The fact,
however, is, that these ingenious writers have mistaKtn the
phrase, which is neither more nor less than a simple peri-
phrasis for life: ai way of youth, in the text, is for youth.
A few examples will make this clear:

" If that, when I was mistress of myse'-f,

And in my tray of youth, pure and untainted,
The emperor had vouchsafe i," 8tc. Jioman Actor.
. e. in my youth.
" So mnchnoller

Shall be your way of justice." Thierry and Theodoret.
i. e. your justice.

" Thus ready for the u-ay of death or life,

I wait the sharpest blow." Periele*.

e. f.ir death or lite.

" If all the art 1 have, or power can do it,
He shall be found, and such a way of justice
In'lirtcd ou him !" Queen of Corinth,

i. e >iirh justice. " Probab!}," say the editors, "weshouid
read weight of justice ; way is very flat !"
" If we can wipe out

The way of your offences, we are yours, sir."

Falentinian.

i. e. yom offence^. " To wipe out the way," the same edi-
tors again lemark, " seems a strange phrase; stain, we ap-
prehend, will be allowed a better word : yet we eh >uld not
Imve substituted it" (they actually foist it into the ext),
" had we not been persuaded that the oM reading was cor-
rupt !" And thns our best po:ts are edited !

It is unnecessary to proceed any further : indeed I should
hav beco satisfied with fewer examples, had not my respect

Car. No more of love, good father,
It was my sur.eir, and I loath it now,
As men in fevers meat they fell sick on.

Paul. Howe'er, 'tis worth your hearing. This

betroth'd lady

(The ties and duties of a friend forgotten),
Spurr'd on by lust, I treacherously pursued ;
Contemn'd by her, and by my friend reproved,
Despised by honest men, my conscience seared up,
Love I converted into frantic rage ;
And by that false guide led, I summoned him
In this bad cause, his sword 'gainst mine, to prove
If he or I miiiht claim most right in love,
But fortune, that does seld or never give
Success torijjht and virtue, nu'deliiru fall
Under my sword. Blood, blood, a friend's dear

blood,

A virtuous friend's, shed by a villain, me,
In such a monstrous and unequal cause,
| Lies on my conscience.

Car. And durst thou live,
. After this, to bo so old ? 'tis an illusion
Raised up by charms : a man would not have lived.
Art quiet in thy bosom ?

Paul. As the sleep
Of infants^

Car. My fault did not equal this;
Yet I have emptied mv heart of joy,
Only to store si?hs up. What were the arts
That made thee live so long in rest?

Paul. Repentance
Hearty, that cleansed me ; reason then confirmed

me
I was forgiven, and took me to my beads. [Ertf.

Cor. I am in the wrong path ; tender con-
science

Makes me forget mine honour ; I have done
No evil like this, yet 1 pine ; whilst he,
A few tears of his true contrition tendered,
Securely sleeps. Ha ! where keeps peace of con-
science,

That I may buy her ? no where ; not in life.
"Tis feignpd that Jupiter two vessels placed,
The one with honey tilled, the other gall,
At the entry of Olympus; destiny,
There brewing these together, suffers not
One man to pass, before he drinks this mixture.
Hence is it we have not an hour of life
In which our pleasures relish not some pain,
Our sours some sweetne.-s. Love doth taste of both ;
Revenge, that thirsty dropsy 'of our souls,
Which makes us covet that which hurts us most,
Is not alone sweet, but partakes of tartness.

Duke. Is't not a strange effect?

Vice. Past precedent.

Cue. His brain-pan's perished with his wounds

go to,
I knew 'twould come to this.

Vice. Peace, man of wisdom.

Cue. Pleasure's the hook of evil ; ease of care,

for Shakspcare made me desirous of disencumbering hispag,
by ascertaining, beyond the possibility of cavil, the im-anim;
of an expies*ion so Imigand so laboriously agitated. To re-
turn to Macbeth: the sere and yellow leaf is the commence-
ment of the winter of life, or of old age; to this he hai
attained, and he laments, in a strain of inimitable patht.sand
beamy, that it is aMccompaflied by those blessings which
render it supportable. As his manhood was without virtue,
o he has now before him the certain prospect of an old a
without honour.

Bern II.]

A VERY WOMAV.

457

And so the general object of the court ;
Yet some delights are lawful. Honoui is
Virtue's allow'd ascent ; honour, ihat clasps
All-perfect justice in her arms, that craves
No more respect than what she gives, that does
Nothing hut what she'll suffer This distracts me,
But I have found the right : had Don Antonio
Done that to me, I did to him, I should have kill'd

him ;

The injury so foul, and done in public,
My footman would not bear it ; then in honour
Wronged him so, I'll right him on myself:
There's honour, justice, and full satisfaction
Equally tender'd ; 'tis resolved, I'll do it.

[They disarm him.
They take all weapons from me.
Duke. Bless my son !

Re-enter PAULO, dressed like a Soldier, and the English
Slave tike a Courtier.

Vice. The careful doctor's come again.

Duke. Rare man !
How shall I pay this debt ?

Cite. He that is with him,
Is one o' the slaves be lately bought, he said,
To accommodate his cure : he's English born,
But French in his bebavour ; a delicate slave.

Vice The slave is very fine.

Cue. Your English slaves
Are ever so ; I have seen an English slave
Far finer than his master : there's a state-point
Worthy your observation.

Paul. On thy life,
Be perfect in thy lesson : fewer legs, slave.

Car. My thoughts are search'd and answer'd :

for I did

Desire a soldier and a courtier,
To yield me satisfaction in some doubts
Not yet concluded of.

Punl. Your doctor did
Admit us, sir.

Slave. And we are at your service ;
Whate'er it be, command it.

Car. You appear

A courtier in the race of LOVE ; how far
In honour are you bound to run 7

Slave. I'll tell you,

You must not spare expense, but wear gay clothes,
And you maybe, too, prodigal of oaths,
To win a mistress' favour ; not afraid
To pass unto her through her chambermaid.
You may present her gifts, and of all sorts,
Feast, dance, and revel ; they are lawful sports :
The choice of suitors you must not deny her,
Nor quarrel, though you find a rival by her:
Build ou your own deserts, and ever be
A stranger to love's enemy, jealousy,
For that draws on

Cor. No more ; this points at me ;

[Exit English Slave.
I ne'er observed these rules. Now speak, old

soldier,
The height of HONOUH ?

Paul. No man to offend,
Ne'er to reveal the secrets of -a. friend ;
Rather to suffer than to do wrong ;
To make the heart no stranger to the tongue ;
Provoked, not to betray an enemy,
Nor eat 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 have 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.

Vice. Mark, how he winds him.

Duke. Kxcellent man !

Paul. Who fights

With passions, and o'ercomes them, is endued
With the best virtue, passive fortitude. [Exit

Car. Thou hast touch'd rue, solilier; oh! this

honour bears

The right stamp ; would all soldiers did profess
Thy good religion ! The discords of my soul
Are tuned, and make a heavenly harmony :
What sweet peace feel I now ! I am ravish *d with it.

Vice. How still he sits ! [Music.

Cue. Hark ! music.

Duke. How divinely

This artist gathers scatter'd sense ; with cunning
Composing the fair jewel* of Ins mind,
Broken in pieces, and nigh lost before !

Re-enter PAUI.O, dressed like a Philosopher, accom-
panied bu a gi>od and evil Genius, who sing a song in
alternate stanzas : during the performance of tt/itcA
PAULO goes off, and returns in hi* own shape.

Vice. See Protean Paulo in another shape.

Paul. Away, I'll bring him shortly perfect, doubt
not.

Duke. Master of thy great art!

Vice. As such we'll hold thee.

Dukt. And study honours for him.

Cue. I'll be sick
On purpose to take physic of this doctor.

[Eietint all Imt Cardenes and Paulo.

Car. Doctor, thou hast perfected a body's cure.
To amaze the world, and almost cured a mind
Near frenzy. With delight I now perceive.
You, for my recreation, have invented
The several objects, which my melancholy
Sometimes did think you conjured, otherwhiles
Imagined them chimxras. You have been
My friar, soldier, philosopher,
My poet, architect, physician ;
Labour'd for me more than your slaves for you
In their assistance : in your moral songf
Of my good genius, and my had, you have won me
A cheerful heart, and banish 'd discontent ;
There being nothing wanting to my wishes,
But once more, were it possible, to behold
Don John Antonio.

Paul. Theie shall be letters sent
Into all parts of Christendom, to inform him
Of your recovery, which now, sir, 1 doubt not.

Car. What honours, what rewards can 1 heap on
you !

Paul. That my endeavours have so well suc-
ceeded,

Is a sufficient recompense. Pray you retire, sir,
Not too much air so soon.

Cor. I am obedient. [Exeunt.

* Comparing the fair jewel of hit mind, &c. By jewel
oar old writers meant, as 1 have already observed, not so
much a single precious stone, as H trinket formed of several,
or what we call a piece of jewel-work

t in your moral song

Of my good yeniiu, and my bad, <Scc. ' This song U not
given ; I do not know tin it is much to be regretted, and
yet it promises better than many >.f those with nliicfe wt
nave been favoured.

458

A VERY WOMAN.

[Acr IV

SCENE III. A Room in Cuculo's House.
Eiitei- ALMIKA and LFONOIIA.

Leon. How strangely
This ft-llow runs in her mind !

Aim. Do you hear, cousin?

Leon. Her sadness clean forsaken !

Aim. A poor slave
Bought for my governess, say you?

Lena. I hear so.

Aim. And, do you think, a Turk?

Lean. His habit shows it,
At least bought for a Turk.

Aim. Ay, that may he so.

Leon. What if he were one naturally ?

Aim. Nay, 'tis nothing.
Nothing to the purpose ; and yet, methinks, 'tis

strange

Such handsomeness of mind, and civil outside,
Should spring from those rude countries.

Leon. If it be no more,
I'll call our governess, and she can show you.

Aim. Why, do you think it is ?

Leon. 1 do not think so.

Aim. Fie ! no, no, by no means; and to tell thee

truth, wench.

I am truly glad he is hre, be what he will ;
Let him be still the same he makes a show of,
For now we shall see something to delight us.

Leon. And heaven knows, we have need on't.

Aim. Heigh ho! my heart aches.
Prithee, call in our governess. [Exit Leonora.]

Plague o'this fellow !

Why do I think so much of him? how the devil
Creep'd he into my head? and yet, beshrew me,
Bdetbinka I have not seen 1 lie, 1 have seen
A thousand handsomer, a thousand sweeter.
But say this fellow were adorned as they are,
Set off to show and glory !-r- What's that to me ?
Fie ! what a fool am I, what idle fancies
Buz in my brains !

Re-enter LEONORA with BOKACHIA.

Bora. And how doth my sweet lady ?

Leon. She wantsyour company to make her merry.

Bora. And how does master Pug, I pray you,
madam ?

Leon. Do you mean her little dog ?

Bora. I mean his worship.

Lean. Troubled with fleas a little.

Kara. Alas! poor ckicken !

Leon. She's here, and drunk, very fine drunk,

1 lake it ;

I found her with a bottle for her bolster,
Lying along and making love.

Aim. Borachia,
Why, where hast thou been, wench ? she looks not

well, friend.
Art not with child ?

Bora. I promise ye, I know not,
I am sure my belly's full, and that's a shrewd sign :
Besides I am shrewdly troubled with a tiego
Here in my head , madam ; often with this tiego,
It takes me very often.

Leon. I believe thee.

Aim. You must drink wine.

Bora. A little would do no harm, sure.

Leon. 'Tis a raw humour blows into your head ;
Which good strong wine will temper.

Bora. I thank your highness.
I will be ruled, though much against my nature ;

For wine I ever hated from my cradle :

Yet for my good

Leon. Ay, tor your good, by all means.

Aim. Borachia, what new fellow's that thou hast

gotten
(Now she will sure be free) ? that handsome

stranger?
Bora. How much wine must I drink, an't please

your ladyship ?
Aim. She's finely greased. Why two or three

round draughts, wench.
Bora. Fasting ?
Aim. At any time.
Bora. I shall hardly do it :
But yet I'll try, good madam.
Leon. Do . 'twill work we'll.

Aim. Hut, prithee answer me, what is this fellow?
Bora. I'll tell you two : but let it go no further.
Leon. No, no, by no means.
Bora. May I not drink before bed too ?
Leon. At any hour.

Born. And say in the night it take me?
Aim. Drink then: but what's this man?
Bora. I'll tell ye, madam,
But pray you be secret ; he's the great Turk's son

for certain,
And a fine Christian ; my husband bought him for

me ;
He's circumsinged.

Leon. He's circumcised, thou wouldst say.
Aim. How dost thou know?
Bora. 1 had an eye upon him ;

I But even as sweet a Turk, an't like your lady-
ship,

| And speaks ye as pure pagan ; I'll assure ye,
j My husband had a notable pennyworth of him ;
And found me but the Turk's own son, his own

son

By father and mother, madam !
Leon. She's mad-drunk.

Aim. Prithee Borachia, call him ; I would see him,
And tell thee how I like him.
Bora. As fine a Turk, madam,

For that which appertains to a true Turk

Aim. Prithee, call him.

Bora. He waits here at the stairs: Son slave
come hither.

Enter ANTONIO.

Pray you give me leave a little to instruct him,
He's raw yet in the way of entertainment.
Son slave, where 's the other bottle ?

Ant. In the bed-straw,
I hid it there.

Bora. Go up, and make your honours.
Madam, the tiego takes me now, now, madam ;
I must needs be unmannerly.

Aim. Pray you be so.

Leon. You know your cure.

Bom. In the bed-straw ?

Ant. There you'll find it. [Exit Borachia.

Aim. Come hither, sir : how long have you
served here ?

Ant. A poor time, madam, yet, to show my
service.

Aim. I see thou art diligent.

Ant. I would be, madam ;
'Tis all the portion left me, that and truth.

Aim. Thou art but young.

SCENE III.]

A VERY WOMAN

459

Ant. Had fortune meant me so*,
Excellent lady, time had not much wrong'd me.

Aim. Wilt tliou serve me?

Aid. In all mv prayers, madam,
Else such a misery as mine but blasts you.

Aim. Beshrew my heart, he speaks well ; won-
drous honestly. [Aside.

Ant. Madam, your loving lord stays for you.

Leon. I thank you.
Your pardun for an hour, dear friend.

Aim. Your pleasure.

Leon. I dearly thank you, sir. [Ei'it.

Ant. My humblest service.

She views me narrowly, yet sure she knows me not :
I dare not trust the lime \et, nor 1 must not.

Aim. You are not as your habit shows ?

Ant. No, maiiam,

His hand, that, for my sins, lies heavy on me,
I hope will keep me from being a slave to the
devilf.

Aim. A brave clear mind be has, and nobly

season'd.
What country are you of?

Ant. A Biscan, lady;.

Aim. No doubt, a gentleman?

Ant. My father thought so.

Aim, Ay, and 1 warrant thee a right fair woman
Thy mother was , he blushes, that confirms it.
Upon my soul, I have not seen such sweetness!
I prithee, blush again.

Ant. Tis a weakness, madam,
I am ea.sily this way woo'd to.

Aim. I thank you.
Of all that e'er I saw, thou art the perfectest.

[Aside.
Now you must tell me, sir, for now I long for't

Ant. What would she have?

Aim. The story of your fortune,
The bard ami cruel fortune brought you hither.

Ant. That makes me stagger j yet 1 hope I'm hid
still. [Atide.

That I came hither, madam, was the fairest.

Aim. But how this misery you bear, fell on you 7

Ant. Injandum reginajubes renovare dolirrem.

Aim. Come, I will have it ; 1 command you tell

it,
For such a speaker I would hear for ever.

Ant. Sure, madam, 'twill but make you sad and

heavy,

Because I know your goodness full of pity;
And 'tis so poor a subject too, and to your ears,
That are acquainted with things sweet and easy,
So harsh a harmony.

Aim. 1 prithee speak it.

Ant. I ever knew obedience the best sacrifice.
Honour of ladies, then, first passing over
Some few years of my youth, that are impertinent,

* Ant Had fortune meant me no,

Excellent iady, time had nut much wrong'd mf.] F>r so,
Mr. .M. .MiiMin would n-mlyood, because, as lit- says, " a man's
youth dues not depend on fortune, :" hut this i:- n..t MasMii-
ger's meaning. hicli is, that if fortune had dine him no
wrong (refer ling to the concluding part of the sentence;, he
should have had but liitle to complain of time. In other
words, that he was "but young,'' as Aliniia lia 1 observed.

* . ; from being a slave tn the devil.]

That is, from being a Mahometan: liis dus.-, it appeals, was
that of a Turk.

I Ant. A Bisean, lady.] Here 'Mr. M. Mason, for no bet-
ter reason, that I can tind, than spoiling the metre, reads,
A Biscayan, lady.

Let me begin the sadness of my story,
Where 1 began to lose myself, to love first.

Aim. 'Tis well, go forward ; some rare piece I
look for.

Ant. Not far from where my father lives, a lady,
A neighbour by, bless'd with as great a beauty
As nature durst bestow without undoing*,
Dwelt, and most happily, as I thought then,
And bless'd the house a thousand times she dwelt in.
This beauty, in the blossom of my youth,
VV hen my first fire knew no adulterate incense,
Nor I no way to flatter, but my fondness ;
In all the bravery my friends could show me,
In all the faith my innocence could give me,
In the best language my true tongue could tell me,
And all the broken sighs my sick heart lend me,
I sued, and served : long did 1 love this lady,
Long was my travail, long my trade to win her ;
Who all the duty of my soul, I served her.

Aim. How feelingly he speaks ! and she loved

you too?
It must be so.

Ant. I would it had, dear lady ;
This story had been needless, and this place,
I think, unknown to me.

Aim. Were your bloods equal?

Ant. Yes, and I thought our hearts too.

Aim. Then she must love.

Ant. She did but never me ; she could not love

me,

She would not love, she hated, more, she scorn "d me,
And in so poor and base a way abused me,
For all my services, for all my bounties,
So bold neglects flung on me.

Aim. An ill woman !
Belike you found some rival in your love, then !

Ant. How perfectly she points me to my story!

[Aside.

Madam, I did ; and one whose pride and anger,
111 manners, and worse mien, she doted on,
Doted to my undoing, and my ruin.
And, but for honour to your sacred beauty,
And reverence to the noble sex, though she fall,
As she must fall that durst be so unnoble,
I should say something unbeseeming me.
What out of love, and worthy love, 1 gave her,
Shame to her most unworthy mind ! to fools,
To girls, and fiddlers, to her boys she flung,
And in disdain of me.

Aim. Pray you take me with youf.
Of what complexion was she?

Ant. But that 1 dare not
Commit so great a sacrilege 'gainst virtue,

She look'd not much unlike though far, fa;

short.

Something I see appears your pardon, madam
Her eyes would smile so, but her eyes would
cozen ;

* At nature durst bestow without undoing,] herself, ai I
suppose; tor that is a frequent sentiment in these i'lays
The remainder of this ipeech, and, indeed, of the whole
scene, is beautiful beyond expression. The English language
does not furnish so complete a specimen of sweetness, ele>
gauce, and simplicity, of all that is harmonious in poesie
tender in sentiment, and ardent in aft'ection, as the passage
begin uiaxi

This beauty, in the blottom of my youth, &c.

t Aim. /-raw you take me with you.] i. e. let me nndei-
stand jou. The last circumstance mentioned in Don John's
speech seen.s to have recalled 10 her rnind the flinging of
the jewel with which he had presented her, to, Car.deue.**
page.

460

A VERY WOMAN.

(ACT IV

And so she would look sad : but yours is pity,
A noble chorus to my wretched story ;
Hera was disdain and cruelty.

Aim. Pray heaveu
Mine be no worse ! he has told me a strange story,

[Aside.

And said 'twould make me sad ! he is no liar.
But where begins this poor state 7 I will have all,
For it concerns me truly.

Ant. Last, to blot me

From all remembrance what I had been to her,
And how, how honestly, how nobly served her,
Twas thought she set her gallant to dispatch me.
'Tis true, he quarrell'd without place or reason :
We fought, I kill'd him ; heaven's strong hand was

with me;

For which I lost my country, friends, acquaintance,
And put myself to sea, where a pirate took me,
Foicing the habit of a Turk upon me*,
And sold me here.

Aim. Stop there awhile; but stay still.

[ Walks aside.

In this man's story, how I look, bow monstrous !
How poor and naked now 1 shew ! what don John,
In all the virtue of his life, but aimed at.
Tbis tiling bath conquer'd with a tale, and carried.
Forgive me, thou that guid'stme! never conscience
Touch'd me till now, nor true love: let me keep it.
Re-enter LEONORA with PEDRO.

Leon. She is there. Speak to her, you will find
her alter'd.

Pedro. Sister, I am glad to see you, but far

gladder,
To see you entertain your heulth so well.

Aim. I am glad to see you too, sir, and shall be

gladder
Shortly to see you all.

Pedro. Now she speaks heartily.
What do you want ?

Aim. Only an hour of privateness ;
I have a few thoughts

Pedro. Take your full contentment,
We'll walk aside again ; but first to you, friend,
Or I shall much forget myself : my best friend,
Command me ever, ever you have won itf.

Ant. Your lordship overflows me.

Leon. 'Tis but due, sir.

[Eiennt Leonora and Pedro.

Aim. He's there still. Come, sir, to your last

part now,

Which only is your name, and I dismiss you.
Why, whither go you 1

Ant. Give me leave, good madam,
Or I must be so seeming rude to take it.

Aim. You shall not go, I swear you shall not go :
I ask you nothing but your name ; you have one.
And whv should that thus fright you?

Ant. Gentle madam,

I cannot speak ; pray pardon me, a sickness,
That takes me often, ties my tongue : go from me,
Bly fit's infectious, lady.

Aim. Were it death
In all his horrors, I must ask and know it ;

Forcing this habit of a Turk upon me,] This line, which
i of the more importance, as it furnishes the only reason
why Don John appeared in such a dress, is wholly omitted
by both the modern editors!

f you have won it.] So the old

copy, which I prefer as the simpler reading: the modern
editors have youhaxte taon me. ^me act of kindness must
he supposed to pass ofl the tide of Don Pedro.

Your sickness is unwillingness. Hard heart,
To let a lady of my youth and place
Beg thus long for a trifle !

Ant. Worthiest lady,

Be wise, and let me go ; you'll bless me for't j
Bes; not that poison i'rom me that will kill you.

Aim. I only bpg your name, sir.

Ant. That will choak you ;
I do beseech you, pardon me.

Aim. I will not*.

Ant. You'll curse me when you hear it.

Aim. Rather kiss thee ;
Why shotildst thou think so?

Ant. Why. 1 bear that name,
And most unluckily as now it happens
(Though 1 be innocent of all occasion),
That, since my coming hither, people tell me
You hate bryond forgiveness : now, heaven knows
So much respect, although I am a stranger,
Duty, and humble zeal, I bear your sweetness,
That for the world I would not grieve your good-
ness :
I'll change my name, dear madam.

Aim. People lie,

And wrong thy name ; thy name may save all others,
And make that holy to me, that 1 hated :
Prithee, what is't ?

Ant. Don John Antonio.

What will this woman do, what thousand changes
Run through her heart and hands f ? no fix'd thought

in her !

She loves for certain now, but now I dare not.
Heaven guide me right !

Aim. I am not angry, sir,

With you, nor with your name ; I love it rather,
And shall respect you you deserve for this time
I license you to go ; be not far from me,
I shall call for you often.

Ant. I shall wait, madam. [Exit.

Enter CUCULO.

Aim. Now, what's the news with you ?
Cue. My lord your father
Sent me to tell your honour, prince Martino
Is well recovered, and in strength.

Aim. Why, let him.
The stories and the names so well agreeing,
And both so noble gentlemen. [Aside

Cue. And more, an't please you
Aim. It doth not please me, neither more nor

less on't.

Cue. They'll come to visit you.
Aim. They shall break through the doors then.

[ Exit.
Cue. Here's a new trick of state ; this shows

foul weather ;

But let her make it when she please, I'll gain by it.

[Exit.

* Ant. That will choak you ;
I do beseech you, pardon me.

Aim. I will not.] These two speeches are also omitted,
not only by Coxetcr, but by the " correctest" of editors, Mr.
M. Mason !

t Run through her heart and hands?] For hands, Mr.
M. M-ison reads head. Hands is not likely to have been
corrupted, and is, besides, as proper as the word which he
arbitrarily introduces. It is very strange that this i>entlcman
should give his reader no notice of his variations from Cox-
eter, although he professes to do it in his Preface, and, stran-
ger still, that he should presume them to be genuine, and
agreeable to the old copy, which he never deigns to consult.

II.]

A VERY WOMAN.

461

ACT V.

SCENE I. A Street.
Enter Pirates, and the Slave that followed PAULO.

1 Pir. Sold for a slave, say'st thou?

Slave. 'Twas not so well ;
Though I am bad enough, I personated
Such base behaviour, barbarism of manners,
With other pranks, that might deter the buyer,
That the market \ielded not one man that would
Vouchsafe to own me.

1 Pir. What was thy end in it?

Slave. To be given away for nothing, as I was
To the viceroy's doctor; with him I've continued
In such contempt, a slave unto his slaves ;
His horse and dog of more esteem: and from
That villauous carriage of myself, as if
I'd been a lump of flesh without a soul,
I drew such scorn upon me, that I pass'd.
And pried in every place without observance.
For which, if you desire to be made men,
And by one undertaking, and that easy,
You are bound to sacrifice unto my sufferings,
The seed 1 sow'd, and from which you shall reap
A plentiful harvest.

1 Pir. To the point ; I like not
These castles built in the air.

Slave. I'll make them real,
And you the Neptunes of the sea; you shall
No more be sea-rats*.

1 Pir. Art not mad ?

Slave. You have seen
The star of Sicily, the fair Almira,
The viceroy's daughter, and the beauteous ward
Of the duke of Messina?

1 Pir. Madam Leonora.

Slavs. What will you say , if hoth these princesses,
This very night, for I will not delay you,
Be put in your possession ?

1 Pir. Now I dare swear
Thou hast maggots in thy brains ; thou wouldst not

else,
Talk of impossibilities.

Slave. Be still
Incredulous.

1 Pir. Why, canst thou think we are able
To force the court ?

Slave. Are we able to force two women,
And a poor Turkish slave? Where lies your pin-
nace?

1 Pir. On a creek not half a league hence.
Slave. Can you fetch ladders

To mount a garden wall ?

2 Pir. They shall be ready.

Slave. No more words then, but follow me ; and if
I do not make this good, let my throat pay for't.

1 Pir. What heaps of gold these beauties would

bring to us

From the great Turk, if it were possible
That this could be effected !

you shall

A'o more be sea-rats.] " There be lanH-rati and water-rats
(say, Shylock), I mean pirates." Hence, I suppose, the
allusion.

Slave. If it he not,
I know the price on't.

1 Pir. And be sure to pay it. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Room in CUCULO'S House.
Enter ANTONIO with a letter in his hand.

Ant. Her fair hand threw this from the window

to me,

And as I took it up, she said, Peruse it,
And entertain a Jortune ojfer'd to thee.
What may the inside speak ?

[Breaks it open, and reads.
For satisfaction

Of the contempt I shoiv'd don John Antonio,
Whose name thou bear';,!, and in that dearer to me,
I do profess I love thee How ! 'tis so
I In-e thee ; this night wait me in the garden,
There thou shult know more subscribed,

Thy Almira

Can it be possible such levity
Should wait on her perfections ! when I was
Myself, set off with all the grace of greatness.
Pomp, bravery, circumstance, she hated me,
And did profess it openly ; yet now,
Being a slave, a thing she should in reason
Disdain to look upon ; in this base shape,
And, since 1 wore it, never did her service,
To dote thus fondly ! And yet 1 .should glory
In her revolt from constancy, not accuse it,
Since it makes for me. But, ere 1 go further,
Or make discovery of myself, I'll put Ler
To the utmost trial. In the garden ! well,
There I shall learn more. Women, giddy women !
In her the blemish of your sex you prove,
There is no reason for your hate or love. [Exit.

SCENE III. A Garden belonging to the same.
Enter ALMIRA, LEONORA, and two Waiting Women,

Leon. At this

Unseasonable time to be thus brave*,
No visitants expected ! you amaze me.

Aim. Are these jewels set forth to the best ad-
vantage
To take the eye ?

1 Worn. With our best care.

2 Worn. We never
Better discharged our duties.

Aim. In my sorrows,

A princess' name (I could perceive it) struck
A kind of reverence in him, and my beauty,
As then neglected, forced him to look on me
With some sparks of affection ; but now,
When I would fan them to a glorious flame,
I cannot be too curious. I wonder
He stays so long.

Leon. These are strange fancies.

to be that brave,] i. e. thns

superbly drest. I shall be blamed for recurring so fre-
quently to the ancient meaning of this expression ; but as it
is used in a different sense at present, there may be some
small plea offered, perhaps, for recalling the reader's atteii
tion, at intervals, to its criminal signification.

462

A VERY WOMAN.

f ACT V

Aim. Go,

Entreat I do forget myself command
My governess' gentleman her slave, I should say,
To wait me instantly; [Exit 1 Woman.'] and yet

already

He's here : his figure graven on my heart,
Never to he razed out.

Enter Pirates, and the Slave.

Slave. There is the prize,
Is it so rich that you dare not seize upon it ?
Here I begin. [Seizes Almira.

Aim. Help ! villain !

1 Pir. You are mine. [Seizes Leonora.

2 Pir. Though somewhat coarse, you'll serve
after a storm,

To hid fair weather welcome. [Seizes 2 Woman.

Leon. Ravisher !
Defend me, heaven!

Aim. No aid near !

2 Worn. Help !

Slave. Dispatch.

No glove nor handkerchief to stop their mouths?
Their cries will reach the guard, and then we are
lost.

lie-enter 1 Woman, wllh ANTONIO.
Ant. What shrieks are these ? from whence 1

blessed saints.

What sacrilege to beauty ! do I talk,
When 'tis almost too late to do! [Forces a sword

from the Stare. ] Take that.
Slave. All set upon him.
1 Pir. Kill him.
Ant. You shall buy
Mj life at a dear rate, you rogues.

Enter PF.DUO, CUCULO, BORACHIA, and Guard.

Cue. Down with them !

Pedro. Unheard-of treason !

B<>rn. Make in, loggerhead ;

My son slave fights like a dragon : take my bottle,
Drink courage out on't.

Ant. Madam, you are free.

Pedro. Take comfort, dearest mistress.

Cue. O you micher,
Have you a hand in this ?

Slave. My aims were high ;
Fortune's my enemy ; to die's the worst,
And that I look for.

1 Pir. Vengeance on your plots !

Pedro. The rack at better leisure shall force from

them
A full discovery: away with them.

Cue. Load them with irons.

Bora. Let them have no wine

[Eiif Guard with Pirates and Slate.
To comfort their cold hearts.

Pedro. Thou man of men !

Leon. A second Hercules.

Aim. An nngel thus disguised.

Pedro. What thanks !

Leon. What service?

Bora. He shall serve me, by your leave, no ser-
vice else.

Ant. I have done nothing but my duty, madam;
And if the little you have seen exceed it,
The thanks due for it pay my watchful master,
And this my sober mistress.

Bora. He speaks truth, madam.
I am very sober.

Pedro. Far beyond thy hopes
Expect reward.

Aim. We'll straight to court, and there
It is resolved what 1 will say and do.
I am faint, support me.

Pedro. This strange accident
Will be heard with astonishment. Come, friend.
You have made yourself a fortune, and deserve it.

[Exeunt

SCENE IV.

A Room in the Viceroy's Palace.

Enter VICEROY, Duke of MESSINA, and PAULO

Duke. Perfectly cured !

Paul. As such I will present him :
' The thanks be given to heaven.

Duke. Thrice-reverend man,
! What thanks but will come short of thy desert ?
I Or bounty, though all we possess were given thee,
Can pay thy merit? I will have thy statue
Set up in brass.

Vice. Thy name made the sweet subject
Of our best poems; thy unequall'd cures
Recorded to posterity.

Paul. Such false glories

(Though the desire of fame be the last weakness
Wise men put oft'*) are not the marks I shoot at :
But, if I have done any thing that may challenge
Your favours, mighty princes, my request is,
That for the good of such as shall succeed me,
A college for physicians may be
With care and cost erected, in which no man
May be admitted to a fellowship,
But such as by their vigilant studies shall
Deserve a place ihere; this magnificence,
Posterity shall thank you for.

Vice. Rest assured,

In this, or any boon you please to ask,
You shall have no repulse.

Paul. My humblest service
Shall ne'er be wanting. Now, if you so please,
I'll fetch my princely patient, and present him.

Duke. Do ; and imagine iti what I may serve you,
And, by my honour, with a willing hand
I will subscribe to't. [Exit Paulo.

Enter PEnno, ALMIRA, LEONORA, ANTONIO, CUCULO,
BORACHIA, and Guard.

Cue. Make way there.

Vice. My daughter !

How's this ! a slave crowh'd with a civic garland*.
The mystery of this ?

Pedro. It will deserve
Your hearing and attention : such a truth
Needs not rhetorical flourishes, and therefore
With all the brevity and plainness that
I can, I will deliver it. If the old Romans,
When of most power and wisdom did decree
A wreath like this to any common soldier
That saved a citizen's life, the bravery

Though the desire of fame be the last weakness
Wise men put nff). ] So Milton beautifully calls fame,
" That last infirmity of noble minds:" a thought for which
he, as well as Massinger, was probably indebted to Tacitus:
Quando etiam sapientibus cupido glories nnvissima exui-
tur. Hist. 11. 6. Or rather to Simpliciiis: Ato (cm
fa%aros Xtyerai TOJV TraSuiv %irwv i'i (f>t\odo*ia,
Stori rwv aXXuiv iroXXctKic, Si avrr\v a-!rolvo^if.Vtiiv
avrrj 7rpoi(T;rai ri\ \l/vicn. Comm, ad Epict. xlviii

SCENE IV.]

A VERY WOMAN.

463

And valour of this man may justly challenge
Triumphant laurel. This last night a crew
Of pirates brake in signior Cuculo's house,
With violent rudeness seizing on my sister,
And my fair mistress ; both were in their power,
And ready to be forced hence, when this man
Unarm'd came to their rescue, but his courage
Soon furnish 'd him with weapons ; in a word,
The lives and liberties of these sweet ladies
You owe him for : the rovers are in hold,
And ready, when you please, for punishment.

Vice. As an induction of more to come,
Receive this favour.

Duke. With myself, my son

Shall pay his real thanks. He comes ; observe now
Their amorous meeting.

Re-enter PAULO uith CARDENES.

Car. I am glad you are well, lady.

Aim. I grieve not your recovery.

Vice. So coldly !

Duke. Why fall you off?

Car. To shun captivity, sir,
I was too long a slave, I'll now be free.

Aim. 'Tis my desire you should. Sir, my affec-
tion

To him was but a trifle, which I play'd with
In the childhood of my love j which now, grown

older,
I cannot like of.

Vice. Strange inconstancy !

Car. 'Tis judgment, sir, in me, or a true debt
Tender'd to justice, rather. My first life,
Louden with all the follies of a man,
Or what could take addition from a woman,
Was by my headstrong passions, which o'er-ruled
My understanding, forfeited to death :
But this new being, this my second life,
Begun in serious contemplation of
What best becomes a perfect man, shall never
Sink under such weak frailties.

Duke. Most unlook'd for !

Paul. It does transcend all wonders.

Car. 'Tis a blessing

I owe your wisdom, which I'll not abuse :
But if you envy your own gift, and will
Make me that wretched creature which I was,
You then again shall see me passionate,
A lover of poor trifles, confident
In man's deceiving strength, or falser fortune ;
Jealous, revengeful, in unjust things daring,
Injurious, quarrelsome, stored with all diseases
The beastly part of man infects his soul with,
And to remember what's the worst, once more
To love a woman : bnt till that time never. [Exit.
Vice. Stand you affected so to men, Almira?

Aim. No, sir ; if so, I could not well discharge
"What I stand bound to pay you, and to nature.
Though prince Martino does profess a hate
To womankind, 'twere a poor world for women,
Were there no other choice, or all should follow
The example of this new Hippolitus :
There are men, sir, that can love, and have loved

truly ;

Nor am I desperate but I may deserve
One that both can and will so.

Vice. My allowance

Shall rank with your good liking, stili provided
Your choice be worthy.

Aim. In it I have used

The judgment of my mind, and that made clearer
Wiih calling oit to henven it mighl be so.
I have not sought a living comfort from
The reverend ashes of old ancestors ;
Nor given myself to the mere mime and titles
Of such a man, that, being himself nothing,
Derives his substance from his grandsire's tomb :
For wealth, it is beneath my birth to think on't.
Since that must wait upon me, being your daughter
No, sir, the man 1 love, though he wants all
The setting forth of fortune, gloss and git-utness,
Has in himself such true and real goodness,
His parts so far above his low condition,
That he will prove an ornament, not a blemish,
Both to your name and family.

Pedro What strange creature
Hath she found out 1

Leon. I dare not guess.

A 'm. To hold you

No longer in suspense, this matchless man,
That saved mv life and honour, is my husband,
Whom I will serve with duty.

Bora. My son slave !

Vice. Have you \our wits ?

Bora. I'll not part with him so.

Cite. This I foresaw too.

Vice. Do not jest thyself
Into the danger of a father's anger.

Aim. Jst. sir ! by all my hope of comfort in him,
I am most serious. Good sir, look upon him ;
i But let it be with my eyes, and the care
You should owe to your daughter's life and safety
Of which, without him, she's incapable,
And you'll approve him worthy.

Vice. O thou shame

Of women ! thy sad father's curse and scandal !
With what an impious violence thou tak'st from

him
His few short hours of breathing !

Paul. Do not add, sir,
Weight to your sorrow in the ill-bearing of it.

Vice. From whom, degenerate monster, flow these

low

And base affections in thee ? what strange philtres
Hast thou received 1 what witch with damned spella
Deprived thee of thy reason'! Look on me,
Since thou art lost unto thyself, and learn,
From what I suffer for thee, what strange tortures
Thou dost prepare thyself.

Duke. Good sir, take comfort ;
The counsel you bestow'd on me, make use of.

Paul. This villain (for such practices in that

nation

Are very frequent), it may be, hath forced,
By cunning potions, and by sorcerous charms,
This frenzy in her.

Vice. Sever them.

Aim. I grow to him.

Vice. Carry the slave to torture, and wrest from

him,

By the most cruel means, a free confession
Of his impostures.

Aim. I will follow him,
And with him take the rack.

Bora. No : hear me speak,
I can speak wisely : hurt not my son slave,
But rack or hang my husband, and I care nat j
For I'll be bound body to body with him,
| He's very honest, that's his fault.

464

A VERY WOMAN.

[AcrV.

Vice. Take hence
This drunken beast.

Bora. Drunk ! am I drunk ? bear witness.

Cue. She is indeed disteraper'd.

Vice. Hang them both,
If e'er more they come near the court.

Cue. Good sir,

You can recover dead men; can you cure
A living drunkenness ?

Paul. 'Tis the harder task :
Go home with her, I'll send you something that
Shall once again bring her to better temper,
Or make her sleep for ever.

Cue. Which you please, sir.

[Exeunt Ciiculo and Borachia.

Vice. Why linger you ? rack him first, and after

break him
Upon the wheel.

Pedro. Sir, this is more than justice.

Ant. Is't death in Sicily to be beloved
Of u fair lady ?

Leon. Though he be a slave,
Remember yet he is a man.

Vice. I am deaf
To all persuasions : drag him hence.

[The Guard carry off Antonio.

Aim. Do, tyrant,

No more a father, feast thy cruelty
Upon thy daughter ; but hell's plagues fall on me,
If I inflict not on myself whatever
He can endure for me.

Vice. Will none restrain her?

Aim. Death hath a thousand doors to let out life,
I shall find one. If Portia's burning coals,
The knife of Lucrece, Cleopatra's aspics,
Famine, deep waters, have the power to free me
From a loath'd life, I'll not an hour outlive him.

Pedro. Sister !

Leon. Dear cousin !

[_E.iit A Imira, followed by Pedro and Leon.

Vice. Let her perish.

Paul. Hear me :

The effects of violent love are desperate,
And therefore in the execution of
The slave be not too sudden. I was present
When he was bought, and at that time myself
Made purchase of another ; he that sold them
Said that they were companions of one country ;
Something may rise from this to ease your sorrows.
By circumstance I'll learn what's his condition ;
In the mean time use all fair and gentle means
To pacify the lady.

Vice. I'll endeavour,

As far as grief and anger will give leave,
To do as you direct me.

Duke. Ill assist

you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.A Room in the Prison.
Enter PEDHO and Keeper.

Pedro. Hath he been visited already 1

Keep. Yes, ir,

iJke one of better fortune ; and to increase
My wonder of it, such as repair to him,
In their behaviour, rather appear
Servants, than friends to comfort him.

Pedro. Go fetch him. [Exit Keeper.

I am boun J in jrmtitude to do more than wish
The life and satiety of a man that hath
So well deserved me.

Re-enter Keeper with ANTONIO in his former dress, and
Servant.

Keep. Here he is, my lord.

Pedro. Who's here? thou art no conjuror to raise
A spirit in the best shape man e'er appear'd in,
My friend, the prince of 'Parent! doubts forsake me,
I must and will embrace him.

Ant Pedro holds

One that loves life for nothing, but to live
To do him service.

Pedro. You are he, most certain.
Heaven ever make me thankful for this bounty !
Run to the viceroy, let him know this rarity.

[Lxit Keeper.

But how came you here thus? Yet, since I have you,
Is't not enough I bless the prosperous means
That brought you hither?

Ant. Dear friend, you shall know all ;
And though in thankfulness I should begin
Where you deliver'd me

Pedro. Pray you pass that over.
That's not worth the relation.

Ant. You confirm

True friends love to do courtesies, not to hear them.
But I'll obey you. In our tedious passage
Towards Malta I may call it so, for hardly
We had lost the ken of Sicily, but we were
Becalm'd and hull'd so up and down twelve hours ;
When to our more misfortunes, we descried
Eight well-mann'd gallies making amain for us,
Of which the arch Turkish pirate, cruel Dragut,
Was admiral : I'll not speak what I did
In our defence, but never man did more
Than the brave captain that you sent forth with me :
All would not do ; courage oppress'd with number,
We were boarded, pillaged to the skin, and after
Twice sold for slaves ; by the pirate first, and after
By a Maltese, to signior Cuculo,
Which I repent not, since there 'twas my fortune
To be to you, my best friend, some ways useful
I thought to cheer you up with this short story,
But you grow sad on't.

Pedro. Have I not just cause,
When I consider I could be so stupid
As not to see a friend through all disguises ;
Or he so far to question my true love,
To keep himself conceal'd ?

Ant. 'Twas fit to do so.

And not to grieve you with the knowledge of
What then 1 was ; where now I appear to you*,
Your sister loving me, and Martino safe,
Like to myself and birth.

Pedro. May you live long so !
How dost thou, honest friend (your trustiest ser-
vant)?

Give me thy hand : I now can guess by whom
You are thus furnish'd.

Ant. Troth he met with me
As I was sent to prison, and there brought me
Such things as I had use of.

What then I was ; where now I appear to you,] Ten
times, in the course of this very play, to say nothing of all
the rest, where occurs in the sense of whereas ; yet Mr
M. Mason profits nothing by it. He alters, and intet potato*
at will, and fabricates a line, which can only be matched by
thai which I have alieady noticed.

What then I wai ; for whereas now J appfnr to you f
To use his just and modest reproof to the i-diturs of Bean-
inont and Fletcher: " The mode of exprrs-si' n is so common,
lh.it lam turprised that the gentlem ti) should have arrived
41 the last volume without being better acauainted with it!"

SCWK VI.]

A VERY WOMAN.

469

Pedro. Let's to court ;
My father never saw a man so welcome
As you'll be to him.

Ant, May it prove so, friend ! [Exeunt.

SCENE VI. A Room in the Viceroy's Palace.
Enter VICEROY, DuksoftHtmvA, C.ARDKNES, PAUI.O,
Captain, ALMIKA, LEONORA, Waiting Women,
and Attendants.

Vice. The slave changed to the prince of Tarent,
says he 1

Capt. Yes, sir, and I the captain of the fort,
Worthy of your displeasure, and the effect oft,
For my deceiving of that trust your excellency
Reposed in me.

Paul. Yet since all hath fallen out
Beyond your hopes, let me become a suitor,
And a prevailing one, to get his pardon.

Aim. O, dearest Ltonora, with what forehead
Dare I look on him now ? too powerful Love,
The best strength of thy uisconfined empire
Lies in weak women's hearts: thouart feign'd blind,
And yet we borrow our best sight from thee.
Could it be else, the person still the same,
Affection over me such power should have,
To make me scorn a prince, and lore a slave 1

Car. But art thou sure 'tis he?

Capt. .Most certain, sir.

Cur. Is he in health, strong, vigorous, and as able
As hen he left me dead?

C/>(. ^ our own eyes, sir,
Shall make good my report.

Cur. I am glad of it,

And take you comfort in it, sir, there's hope,
Fair hope left for me, to repair mine honour.

Duke. What's that?

Car. L will do something that shall speak me
Messina's son.

Duke. I like not this : one word, sir

Viet. We'll prevent it.
Nay, look up my Almira; now I approve
Thy happy choice ; I have forgot my anger ;
I freelv do forgive thee.

Aim. May 1 find

Such easiness in the wrong'd prince of Tarent!
I then were happy.

Leon. Rest assured you shall.

Enter ANTONIO, PEDRO, and Servant.

Vice. We all with open arms haste to embrace
you.

Dnke. Welcome, most welcome !

Car. Stay.

Duke 'Twas this I fear'd.

Car. Sir, 'tis best known to you, on what strict

terms

The reputation of men's fame and honours
Depends in this so punctual age, in which
A word that may receive a harsh construction
Is answer'd and defended by the sword :
And you, that know so much, will, I presume,
Be sensibly tender of another's credit,
As you would guard your own.

Ant. I were unjust else.

Cor. I have received from your hands wounds

and deep ones,

Mv honour in the general report
Tainted and soil'd, for which I will demand
This satisfaction that you would forgive

My contumelious words and blow, my rash
And unadvised wildness first threw on you.
Thus 1 would teacli the world a better way,
For the recovery of a wounded honour,
Than with a savage fury, not true courage,
Still to run headlong on.

Ant. Can this be serious?

Car. I'll add this, he that does wrong, not alone
Draws, but makes sharp, his enemy's sword against
His own life and his honour. I have paid for't ;
And wish that they who dare most, would learn

from me.
Not to maintain a wrong, but to repent it.

Paul Why, this is like yourself.

Car. For further proof,
Here, sir, with all my interest, I give up
This lady to you.

Vice. Which I make more strong
With my free grant.

Aim. I bring mine own consent,
Which will not weaken it.

All. All joy confirm it !

Ant. Your unexpected courtesies amaze me,
Which I will study with all love and service
To appear worthy of.

Paul. Pray you, understand, sir,
There are a pair of suitors more, that gladly
Would hear from you as much as the pleased

viceroy
Hath said unto the prince of Tarent.

Duke. Take her,

Her dowry shall be answerable to
Her birth and your desert.

Pedro. You make both happy.

Ant. One only suit remains ; that you would

please

To take again into your highness' favour
This honest captain : let him have your grace ;
What's due to his much merit, shall from me
Meet liberal rewards.

Vice. Have your desire.

Ant. Now may all here that love, as they are

friends
To our good fortunes, find like prosperous ends.

[Exeunt.

EPILOGUE.

CUSTOM, and that a law we must obey,

In the way of epilogue bids me something say,

Howe'er to little purpose, since we know,

If you are pleased, unbegg'd you will bestow

A gentle censure : on the other side,

If that this play deserve to be decried

In your opinions, all that I can say

Will never turn the stream the other way.

Your gracious smiles will render us secure ;

Your frowns without despair we must endure*.

* This is one of the most agreeable productions of Massin-
gtr. However extravagant the principal event may appear,
the manner in which it is conducted is sullicieiitly regular.
With such occasional interruptions as must b expected and
pardoned in all these dramas (for the interludes will have
their admittance), it maintains its predominance, and pro-
ceeds to the conclusion which is provided for it at the com-
mencement. The intermediate parts are a mixture of
attecling seriousness, strong, though frequently coai>e humour,
and elegant tenderness. The reader must have particularly
remarked these qualities in the opening of the sttond act.
in the sale of the slaves, and the charming, but too short,
scene in which Leonora endeavours to soothe the agitation!
of Almira. Act HI. sc. iv. The last of these is a happy

456

A VERY WOMAN.

[AcrV-

fpecimrn of genuine freling. supporting itself on the jiitest
principle; .11, d it .. i I he tlKtirnli to produce from any of our
poets a piss.me uii'ten with iii-m- be.>uty of expression,
or more d.li-Mcy diid elevation of thought. The scene first
intniiuied his a se n i connexion with tlii-; and it is ho-
nourable ! the ili-ci-rnment of Ma-singer that lie lias repre-
senlfil (he ferliii'.-s of fneiidship with equ il n nth and variety
in the lender * .!i,-im<le .it Leonora, and the in ignaniinous
|>ropo<al of I'edr.i.

Eveiy re ,dei must feel the peculiar charms of the scene
in wiiirli I) 'n .h.li.i n I itr- 10 Al iiira his re-d history, under
Hie a|ipe,i:an e i f HI. oilier person. Her strong curiosity,
prompted In hr love; the growing conviction of her own
misconduct ; ;iud the ertect of his discovery, are represented
in me liveliest in. inner; and tin- is the more remarkable, ai
]Mas-in-.>er is n..t ;;eiier .l!\ htpp> in the management of ar-
liliri.il ineaiiiugj -md double situations

The characters an- .studi< u-ly eontrasted, and throw vivid
lithts on each other by iheir oppii-ing qualities. The Dignity
and moderation o the virerny (till he loses his own con-
itancv in lii.< ii|ipo-ed misfortunes), show, with increased
effect ; the im.idvi-ed iinpain nee of the- uke : the courageous
caLniies.-. of Dun John heightens the oti'ence of the insnltins;
temper ot Cardene-, at.d lln- vehemence of Almira becomes
more alarming thronh the very checks ottered to it by the
prudence of Leonora. There is a further, contrivance in the
violence < f spirit \\lii li mark.* Cardenes and Almira: that of
the former, \\hilt: it indisposes us towards him, makei him

more liable to the strong impression which ends in the aban
don in ei, t of his passion; and thus a double facility is created
for the success of Don John. Almiia, too, prepares for her
own change of mind, through the very intemperance with,
which she declares her fixed resolution. This is one of the
familiar expedient* of Massinger. Constancy does not long
dwell with the outrageous assertion of it, and the. practised
reader knows, from the very first act, that Cardenes, thui
violently favoured ami indiscreetly proclaimed, is certainly
to be abandoned.

I will not dwell on the maxim upon which this Play is
fo-nded, that women have no reason for their " love or
hate." If its severity is complained of, let it be remembered
that Massinger exposes, with much more frequency, the
wrong conduct of the men, and that he seems to take a plea-
sure in punishing them for their unreasonable suspicions and
jealousies. This has been already observed in The Bond-
man. Notwithstanding this iliit'ervncc in II eir object, the
two Plays have several points of resemblance. The reader
will remember Cleora's resolution to marry a supposed slave
the consternation of her friends the reservation of the
true character of Pisander, and the eticct of its final disclo-
sure. The peculiarity of the present Play, is tl.e double ap-
pearance of Don John, and Almira's whimsical rejection
and unconscious acceptance of the same person ; and this is
contrived with equal skill and novelty of ertect.

DB. IREI.ANU

THE BASHFUL LOYER.

THE BASHFUL LOVER.] Tbis Tragi-comedy was licensed by the Blaster of the Revels, May 9th, 1636
It is the last of Massinger's pieces which are come down to us, though he continued to write for the stage
to the period of his death, which happened about four years after the date of the present Play.

The plot is wild but pleasing. It probably originated from some forgotten collection of Italian tales ;
where the events bore nearly the same proportion to the true history of that country, as the circumstances
recorded by the supposititious Dares Phrygius and Dictys Cretensis bear to what actually took place in the
wars of Troy.

The Bash/ul Liner was extremely well received at its first nppearance : it continued to be a favourite,
and was " often acted," the old copy says, " by his late Majesty's servants, with great applause." It was
performed at Blackfriars.

There is but one edition of this Play, which, with The Guardian and Bashful Loier, was printed in
octavo, by H. Moselv, 1655. In the notes to The Guardian, it is spoken of as a quarto: this is an oversight
occasioned by the habitual use of the word in the preceding pages.

PROLOGUE.

THIS from our author, far from all offence
To abler writers, or the audience
Met here to judge his poem. He, by me,
Presents his service, with such modesty
As well becomes bis weakness. 'Tis no crime,
He hopes, as we do, in this curious time,
To be a little diffident, when we are
To please so many with one bill of fare.
Let others, building on their merit, say
You're in the wrong, if you move not that
way

Which they prescribe you ; as you were bound to

learn

Their maxims, but incapable to discern
'Twixt truth and falsehood. Our's had rather be
Censured by some for too much obsequy,
Than tax'd of self-opinion. If he hear
That his endeavours thrived, and did appear
Worthy your view (though made so by your grace,
With some desert), he in another place
Will thankfully report, one leaf of bays
Truly conferr'd upon this work, will "raise
More pleasure in him, you the givers free, '
Than garlands ravish 'd from the virgin tree.

DRAMATIS PERSONJS.

GOXZAGA, duke of Mantua.

I.OKENZO, duke of Tuscany.

I BERTI. prince of Parma.

FAUNEZE, cmisin to Gonzaga.

ALONZO, the ambassador, nephew to Lorenzo.

MANFIIOY, a lord of Mantua.

OCTAVIO, fonnei ly general to Gonzaga, but now in exile.

GOTHRIO, his servant,

GALEAZZO, a Milanese prince, disguised under the name

of Honensio.
Ji c uo, his attendant.

Florentine Officer*.

Pis AND,
MARTINO,

Captains.

Milanese Ambauador.

Doctor.

MATILDA, daughter to Gonzaga.

BEATRICE, her waiting u-oman.

MARIA, daughter to Octavio, disguised as a page, and

called Ascanio.
Waiting Women.

Captains, Soldiers, Guard, Attendants, Page, fa.

SCENE, part/y In Mantua, and partly in the duchy.

468

THE BASHFUL LOVE II.

LAcr I

ACT I.

SCENE I. Mantua. A Space before the Palace.
Enter HORTENSIO and JULIO.

Jul. I dare not cross you, sir, but I would gladly
(Provided you allow it) render you
My personal attendance.

Hort. You shall better
Discharge the duty of an hones.t servant,
In following my instructions, which you have
Received already, than in questioning
What my intents are, or upon what motives
My stay's resolved in Mantua : believe me,
That servant overdoes, that's too officious ;
And, in presuming; to direct your master,
You argue him of weakness, and yourself
Of arrogance and impertinence.

Jul. I have done, sir ;
But what my ends are

Hort. Honest ones, I know it.
I have my bills of exchange, and all provisions
Entrusted to you ; you have shown yourself
Just and discreet, what would you more ? and yet,
To satisfy in some part your curious care,
Hear this, and leave me : I desire to be
Obscured ; and, as I have demean'd myself
These six months past in Mantua, I'll continue
Unnoted and unknown, and, at the best,
Appear no more than a gentleman, and a stranger
That travels for his pleasure.

Jul. With your pardon.
This hardly will hold weight, though I should swear i

it,
With your noble friends and brother.

Hort. You may tell them.
Since you will be my tutor, there's a rumour,
Almost cried up into a certainty,
Of wars with Florence, and that I'm determined
To see the service : whatever I went forth,
Heaven prospering my intents, I would come home
A soldier, and a good one.

Jul. Should you get

A captain's place, nay, colonel's, 'twould add little
To what you are ; few of your rank will follow
That dangerous profession.

Hort. 'Tis the noblest,
And monarchs honour'd in it : but no more,
On my displeasure.

[Exit.

Jul. Saints and angels guard you !
Hort. A war, indeed, is threatened, nay, expected,
From Florence ; but it is 'gainst me already
Proclaim'd in Mantua ; I find it here,
No foreign, but intestine war : I have
Defied myself*, in giving up my reason.

1 have

Defkd myself, &r.] So the old copy : for defied, the last
editor reads destroyed myself. It is evident that he did not
enter into the seirse of his author, who is describing a man
in a state of warfare with himself. Leading a man into
captivity after he it destroyed, is not precisely the way in
which Massinger usually proceeds, whatever may be thought
of it by Mr. M. Mason.

A slave to passion, and am led captive
Before the battle's fought : I fainted, when
I only saw mine enemy, and yielded,
Before that I was charged ; and, though defeated,
I dare not sue for mercy. Like Is ion,
I look on Juno, and feel my heart turn cinders
With an invisible fire ; and yet, should she
Deign to appear clothed in a various cloud,
The majesty of the substance is so sacred,
I durst not clasp the shadow. I behold her
With adoration, feast my eye, while all
My other senses starve , and, oft frequenting
The place which she makes happy with her pre-
sence,

I never yet had power with tongue or pen
To move her to compassion, or make known
What 'lis I languish for; yet I must gaze still,
Though it increase my flame : however, I
Much more than fear I am observed, and censured
For bold intrusion. [Walks by.

Enter BEATRICE and ASCANIO.

Beat. Know you, boy, that gentleman?

Asc. Who ? monsieur melancholy ? hath not your

honour
Mark'd him before?

Bent. I have seen him often wait
About the princess' lodgings, but ne'er guess'd
What his designs were.

Asc. No ! what a sigh hebreath'd now !
Many such will blow up the roof: on my small

credit
There's gunpowder in them.

Beat. How, crack ! gunpowder?
He's flesh and blood, and devils only carry
Such roaring stuff' about them : you cannot prove
He is or spirit or conjuror.

Asc. That I grant,

But he's a lover, and that's as bad ; their sighs
Are like petnrds, and blow all up.

Beat. A lover !

I have been in love myself, but never found yet
That it could work such strange effects.

Asc. True, madam,

In women it cannot ; for when they miss the en-
joying

Of their full wishes, all their sighs and heigh-hos,
At the worst, breed tympanies, and these are cured

too

With a kiss or two of their saint, when he appears
Between a pair of sheets : but with us men
The case is otherwise.

Beat. You will be breech 'd, boy,
For your physical maxims. But how are you

assured ^

He is a lover?

Asc. Who, 'I ? I know with whom too,
But that is to be whisper'd. [Whispen.

Beat. How the princess !
The unparallel'd Matilda! some proof of it ;
1 i. ] i \ for my intelligence.

SCENE I.]

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

469

Ate. Let me kiss

Your honour's liand ; 'twas ever fair, but now
Beyond comparison.

Beat. 1 guess the reason.
A giving hand is still fair to the receiver.

Asc. Your ladyship's in the right ; but to the pur-
pose.

He is my client, and pays his fees as duly
As ever usurer did in a bad cause
To his man of law ; and yet I get, and lake them
Both easily and honestly : all the service
I do him, is, to give him notice when
And where the princess will appear , and that
I hope's no treason. If you miss him, when
She goes to the vesper or the matins, hang me ;
Or when she takes the air, be sure to find him
Iviear her coach, at her going forth, or coming back :
But if she walk, he's ravish'd. I have seen him
Smell out her footing like a lime-hound, and nose it*
From all the rest of her train.

Beat. Yet 1 ne'er saw him
Present her a petition.

Asc. Nor e'er shall :
He only sees her, sighs, and sacrifices
A tear or two then vanishes.

Beat. 'Tis most strange :

What a sail aspect he wears ! but I'll make use oft.
The princess is much troubled with the threats
That come from Florence ; 1 will bring her to him,
The novelty may afford her sport, and help
To purge deep melancholy. Boy, can you stay
Your client here for the third part of an hour 'i
I have some ends in't.

Asc. Stay him, madam ! fear not:
The present receipt of a round sum of crowns,
And that will draw most gallants from their prayers,
Cannot drag him from me.

Beat. See you do. [Eii*.

Aic. Ne'er doubt me.
I'll put him out of hisdream. Good morrow, signior.

hart. My liitle friend, good morrow. Hath the

princess
Slept well to-night 1

Asc. I hear not from her women
One murmur to the contrary.

Hart. Heaven be praised for't!
Does she go to church this morning?

Asc. Troth, 1 know not ;
I keep no key of her devotion, signior.

Hort. Goes she abroad ? pray tell me.

Asc. Tis thought rather
She is resolved to keep her chamber.

Wort. Ah me !

Asc. Why do you sigh? if that you have a busi-
ness

To be dispatch'd in court, show ready money,
You shall find those that will prefer it for you.

Hort. Business ! can any man have business but
To see her, then admire her, and pray for her,
She being composed of goodness? for myself,
I find it a degree of happiness
But to be near her, and I think I pay
A strict religious vow, when I behold her ;
And that's all my ambition.

Asc. I believe you :

and nose if.] The old copy reads

knou-t it. I have little doubt but that the former was Mas-
linger's word ; the mistake piobably originated at the press
from a similarity of sound. ., o

Yet, she being absent, you may spend some Lourf
With profit and delight too. A'fter dinner,
The duke gives audience to a rough ambass
Whom yet 1 never saw, nor heard Ins title,
Kmploy'd from Florence ; I'll help you to a place
Where vu shall see and hear all.

Hort. 'Tis not worth
My observation.

"j44C. What think you of
An excellent comedy to he presented
For his entertainment ? he that penn'd it is
The poet of the time, and all the ladies
(I mean the amorous ami learned ones),
Except the princess, will be there to grace it.

Hort. What's ihat to me? without her all is

nothing ;

The light that shines in court Cimmerian darkness;
1 will to bed again, and there contemplate
On her perfections.

Re-enter BEATRICE with MATILDA, and tire Waiting
W omen.

Asc. Stay, sir, see? the princess,
Beyond our hopes.

Hort, 'I ake tlr.it : as Moors salute
The rising sun with joyful superstition,

I 1 could fall down and worship. O my heart !

I Like Phu be breaking through an envious cloud,
: Or something which no simile can express,
She shows to me : a reverent fear, but blended
With wonder and amazement, does possess me ;
Now glut thyself, my famish'd eve!

Peat. That's he,
An't please your excellence.

1 Worn. Observe his posture,
I But with a quarter-look.

'2 Warn. Your eye fix'd on him
: Will breed astonishment.

Matit. A comely gentleman !
| I would not question your relation, lady,
Y'et faintly can believe it. How he eyes me.
Will he not speak ?

Beat. Y'our excellence hath deprived him
Of speech and motion.
Matil. Tis most strange.
Asc. These fits
Are usual with him.

Matil. Is it not, Ascanio,
A personated folly ? or he a statue * ?
If it be, it is a masterpiece ; for man
I cannot think him.

Matil. Is it nnt, Ascanio,

A personated folly ? ur he. a statue ?] So the old copy t
the modern editors read Or is he a statue? An interpo-
lation neither warranted by the sense, norilie style of Mas-
singer and his cout- mporaries. But this iunorance of anciei.I
phraseology still afflicts Mr. M. Mason, "in The Custom oj
the Country, Arnoldo says :

" And I forgot to like her,

And ylad I was deceived."

Upon which he observes that " the word ylad is here used
as a verb, and means rejoice!" Commenti, p. 52.

Not so : the expression is elliptical; And 1 am glad, &r.,
a mode of writing which occurs in almost every page of our
ancient dramatists. Thus:

" I lived

Too happy in my holiday trim of glory,
And courted with felicity."

This is wrong, say the commentators; it f lion Id be And
sported with felicity. Alas! no: it is perfectly right; and
at full, and, in the language of the present day, is And wot
courted by felicity. 1 note this, to repress, if it be possible
the temerity of inexperience.

THE BASHFUL F..OVF.R.

[Acrl.

Beat. For your sport, vouchsafe him
A liule conference.

Mut'l. In compassion rather :

For should lie love me as you say (though hope-
less),

It should not be return'd with scorn ; that were
An inhumanity, which mv hirth nor honour
Could piivile-;e. were they greater. Now I perceive
He has life ini'l mot on in him ; to wliom, lady,
Pays he that duty ?

[Harteiifi' 1 , b,<iting, ojj'eri, to go off.

Kent. Sans doiibi, to yourself.

Mutil. And whither goes he now ?

A*c. I o Ins private lodging,
But to what ei.d i know not; this is all
I ever not< d i'i him.

Mutil. (Ml him hack :
In p-iv 1 stand buiimi to counsel him,
Ilowe'er 1 am denud, though 1 were willing,
To ease his sufferings.

Asc. Sinn>r. the princess
Coinniiinds vou to attend her.

Hurt. How ! the princess !
Am 1 hetiay d ?

Asc. What a lump of fle.sh is this !
You lire h-travM, sir, lo a hetier fortune
'\ han \ou durst ever hnpe for. What a Tantalus
Do you make yourself ! the flying fruit stays for

you,

And t' e water that you long'd for, rising up
A hove your lip, <!o you refuse to ia.ste i 1 ?
JMove faster, sluggi-h camel, or I'll thrust
This goad in your breach ; had 1 such a promising

bra d,
I should iieed the reins, not spurs.

Mulil. Yu may come nearer.
Why do \ou shake, sir? If I flatter not
Myself, there's no deformity about me,
Nor any part so monstrous to beget
An ague in you.

//HI/. It proceeds not. madam,
From guil', but reverence.

Mutil. I believe you, sir :
Have y u a suit to me?

Hint. Your . xcellence
Is wondrous fair.

Mutil. I tlr.iuk your good opinion.

Hurt. Ajid I beseech you that I may have license
To kneel to you.

Matil. A suit 1 cannot cross.

Ho t. I humbly thank your excellence. [Kneels.

Mnt'1. Hut what,

As \ou nre prostrate on your knee before me,
Is your petition !

llorl. I have none, great princess.

Mutil. Do you kneel for i.oihing ?

Hurt Yes, 1 have a suit,
But such a one, as. if denied, will kill me.

Mutil. Take comfort ; it must be of some strange

na'ure.

Unfit mg you to ask, or me to grant,
If I refuse it.

Hart. It is. madam

Mutil. Out ith't.

Hurt. That I may not offend you, this in all,
Wl en I presume to look on you.

Asc. A (la: eunuch !
To look on her ? I should desire myself
To move a little further.

Maiil. Only that)

llort. And I beseech you, madam, to believe
1 never did vet with a wanton eye ;
Or cherish one lascivious wish beyond it.

Heat. You'll never make good courtier, or bo
In grace with ladies.

1 H'm. Or us waiting women,
Jf that be your nil ultra.

1 2 Worn. He.'s no gentleman,
On my virginity, it is apparent:
My tailor has more boldness; nay, my shoemaker
Will fumble a little further, he could not have
The length of my foot else.

Matil. Only to look on me !
Ends your ambition there ?

Hort. It does, great lady,
And that confined too, and at fitting distance :
The fly that plays too near the flame burns in it*.
As I behold the sun, the stars, the temples,
I look on you, and wish it were no sin
Should I adore you.

Miitil. Come, there's something more in't;
And since that you will make a goddess of me,
As such a one, I'll tell you, I desire not
The meanest altar raised up to mine honour
To be pulled down : I can accept from you,
Be your condition ne'er so far beneath me,
One grain of incense with devotion offer'd,
Beyond all perfumes, or Sabsean spices,
By one that proudly thinks he merits in it :
I know you love me.

Hort. Next to heaven, madam,
And with as pure a zeal. That, we behold
With the eyes of contemplation, but can
Arrive no nearer to it in this life:
But when that is divorced, my soul shall serve yours,
And witness my affection.

Matil Pray you, rise ;
But wait my further pleasure.

Enter FAHNEZE and UBERTI.

Farn. I'll present you,

And give you proof 1 am your friend, a true one ;
And in my pleading for you, teach the age,
That calls, erroneously, friendship but a name,
It is a substanee. Madam, I am bold
To trench so far upon your privacy,
As to desire my friend (let not that wrong him,
For he's a worthy one) may have the honour
To kiss your hand.

Matil. His own worth challenges
A greater favour.

Farn. Your ackowledgment
Confirms it, madam. If you look on him
As he's built up a man, without addition
Of fortune's liberal favours, wealth or titles,
He doth deserve no usual entertainment :
But, as he is a prince, and for your service
Hath left fair Parma, that acknowledges
.No other lord, and, uncompell'd, exposes
His person to the dangers of thef war,

The fly that plays too near the flame burnt in it.]
Cresset lias made a bc.mtiftil use of (his idea:

Tel, par sa pente naturelle,

far une crreur toujnurg nouvelle,

Qtioiqii'il gamble chanaer ion court,

Autour de la flaming mortelle

be papillon revient totiwurs.

t His person to the dangers of the war,} I have inserted
the article, which restores the metre. Farneze evidently
iilliidfs in the t>;ar with which they were BOW threatened b)
the Florentines.

SCENE IT.]

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

471

Ready to break in storms upon our heads ;
In noble thankfulness von may vouchsafe him
Nearer respect, and such grace as may nourish,
Not kill, his amorous hopes.

Mulil. Cousin, you know
I am not the disposer f myself.
The duke my father chiillen.es that power :
Yet thus much I dare promise ; prince Uberti
Shall find the seed of service that he sows
Falls not on barren ground.

fiber. Fur this high favour
I am your creature, and profess 1 owe you
Whatever I cull mine. [They walk aside.

Hurt. This great lord is
A suitor to the princess.

Asc. True, he is so.

Hurt. Fame gives him out too for a brave com-
mander.

Asc. And in it does him but deserved right ;
The duke hath made htm general of his horse
On i hat. assurance.

Hort. And the lord Farneze
Pleads for him, as it seems.

Asc. ' 1'is too apparent :
And, this consider'd, give me leave to ask
What hope have you, sir.'

Hort. I may still look on her,
Uowe'er he wear the garland.

Ate. A th i ii diet,
And will not feed you fat, sir.

Uber. I rejoice,

Rare princess, that you are not to be won
l!y carpet-courtship, but the sword ; with this
Steel pen I'll write on Florence' helm how much
I can, and dare do for vu.

A/Vitii. ' I'is not question d.

Some priv.ite business of mine own disposed of,
I'll meet you in ill* presence.

Uber. hver your servant.

[ Exeunt Uberti and Farneze.

Matit. Now, sir, to you. You have observed, I

doubt not,

For lovers are sharp-lighted, to what purpose
This prince solicits me ; and vet I am not
So taken with his worth, but that 1 can
Vouchsafe you further parle*. The first command
That I'll impose upon vou, is to hear
And follow rny good counsel : I am not
Offended that you love me ; persist in it,
But love me virtuously; such love may spur you
To noble undertakings, which achieved,
Will raife you into name, preferment, honour :
1'or all which, though you ne'er enjoy my person
'For that's impossible), you are indebted
"o your high aims : visit, me when you please,
. do allow it, nor will hiush to own you,
So you cnntine yourself to what you promise,
As my virtu, ins servant.

Beat. Farewell, sir! you have
An unexpected cordial.

Asc. Rl.iv it work well ! [Exeunt all but Hort.

H-rt. Your lute yes, so she said, may spur y*ru

P^ave iindtrtuhngt: adding this, You may
Visit me uht'ii you plen.\e. Is this allow'd me,
And any act within the power of man

Vouchsafe you further parle.] So the old copy, and
rilitly. The modern editors have parley, which spoils the
veree.

Impossible to be effected ? No :
1 will break through all oppositions that
May stop me in mv full career to honour :
And, borrowing strength to do from her high fa-
vour,
Add something to Alcides' greatest labour. [Exit.

SCENE II. The same. A Slate Room in the Palace.

Enter GONZAGA, UBERII, FARNEZE, MANFROY, and

Attendants.

Gon. This is your place ; and, were it in our

power,

You should have greater honour, prince of Parma ;
The rest, know theirs. Let some attend with care
On the ambassador, and let my daughter
Be present at his audience, llcach a chair,
We'll do all fit respects; and, pray you, put on
Your milder looks; you are in a place where

frowns
Are no prevailing agents.

Enter at one door ALONZO and Attendants : MA-
TILDA, BEATRICE, ASCANIO, HOIUKNISIO, and
Waiting Women at the other.

ABC. I have seen
More than a wolf, a Gorgon* ! [Swoons.

Gem. What's the matter?

Mutil. A page of mine is fallen into a swoon ;
Look to him carefully. [Aicanio is carried out.

Gon. Now, when you please,
The cause that brought you hither?

Alon. The protraction
Of my dispatch forgotten, from Lorenzo,
The Tuscan dnke, thus much to you, Gonzaga,
The duke of Mantua. By me, his nephew,
He does salute you fairly, and entreats
(A word not suitable to his power and greatness)
You would consent to tender that which he
Unwillingly must force, if contradicted.
Ambition, in a private man a vice,
Is in a prince a virtuef.

Gon. To the purpose ;
These ambages are impertinent.

Alon. He demands
The fair Matilda, for I dare not take
From her perfections, in a noble way ;
And in creating her the comfort{ of
His royal bed, to raise her to a height
Her nattering hopes could not aspire, where sue

* Asc. / have seen

More than a wolf, a Gory on .'] It may be just necessary
to observe, that (he tiiht of a wolf was, anciently, supposed
to deprive a person of speech; that of a Gorgon, of motion
and liie.

t J.t in a prince a virtue.] So the modern editions. In
the old copy, it is the virtue meaning, perhaps, as M.issin
ger expresses it on another occasion, the virtue KO.T

And in creating her the comfort of

Hi* royal bed.} For comfort, C"xeler and Mr. M. Mason
rea>i consort, as u*ual. One ^oulil think, from Hie warfare
main! ihii-ii .i^.iiiiM this gixKl old word, which is thu. perpe-
tually corrupted, that ihr inarri.iije bed is Its? comfortable at
pro-fin ihau it anciently was: however lhi. be, 1 have con-
si antly resiored it.

In the next line.fliey have invrtrd to al'li-r aspire, though
the word is cmiMantly n>ed i>y our old ports without the pre-
poiilion, and though it injures, or r;.thcr destroys the metre!

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

[Acr I

With wonder shall be gazed upon, and live
The envy of her sex.

Con. Suppose this granted.

Ubei. Or, if denied, what follows?

Alon. Present war,

With all extremities the conqueror can
Inflict upon the variquish'd.

Ubei: Grant me license
To answer this defiance. What intelligence
Holds your proud master with the will of heaveu*,
That, ere the uncertain die of war be thrown,
He dares assure himself the victory?
Are his unjust invading- arms of fire?
Or those we put on in defence of right,
Like chaff, to be consumed in the encounter 7
I look on your dimensions, and find not
Mine own of lesser size ; the blood that fill*
My veins, as hot as yours ; my sword as sharp ;
My nerves of equal strength ; my heart as good ;
And confident we have the better cause,
Why should we fear the trial ?

Farn. You presume
You are superior in numbers ; we
Lay hold upon the surest anchor, virtue :
Which, when the tempest of the war roars loudest,
Must prove a strong protection.

Gon. Two main reasons
(Seconding those you have already heard)
Give us encouragement; the duty that
I owe my mother-country, and (lie love
Descending to my daughter. For the first,
Should I betray her liberty. I deserved
To have mv name with infamy razed from
The catalogue of good princes , and I should
Unnaturally forget I am a father,
If, like a Tartar, or for fe;ir or profit,
I should consign her as a bondwoman,
To be disposed of at another's pleasure ;
Her own consent or favour nt-ver sued for,
And mine by force exacted. No, Alonzo,
She is my only child, my heir ; and, if
A father's eves deceive me not, the hand
Of prodigal nature hath given so much to her,
As, in the former ages, kings would rise up
In her defence, and make her cause their quarrel :
IS' or can she, if (hat any spark remain

What intelligence

Holds your proud master tcith the will of heaven, &c.]
This tine speech, which is equally judicious and spirited, in-
voluntarily recals to my mind The liattle of Xabla, so
beautifully translated by iht late professor of Arabic, whose
death the public, no less than his particular friends, will long
have cause to regret.

' * *

" Make now your choice the terms we jjive.

Desponding victims, hear ;
These fetters on your handt receive,

Or in your hearts the spear."
" And is the conflict o'er," we cried,

" And lie we at your feel T

And dare yon vaumiiigly decide

The fortune we must meet i"

The foe advanced : in firm array

We rushed o'er S.iMa's sands,
And the red sabre inark'd our way

Amid't their yielding bands.

Then, a* they writh'd in death 1 ! cold grasp,

We cried, " Our choice is made,
Thrsr hands the sahie's hilt .-hall clasp,

Your hr<ir!**\\M have the blade."

Carlyle's eciiucntof Arabian Poetry, p. S5.

[ To kindle a desire to be possess'd
j Of such a beauty, in our time, want swords
To guard it safe from violence.

Uort. I must speak,

Or I shall burst ; now to be silent were
A kind of blasphemy : if such purity,
Such innocence an abstract of perfection,
The soul of beauty, virtue, in a word,
A temple of things sacred, should groan under
The burthen of oppression, we might
Accuse the saints, and tax the Powers above us

Of negligence or injustice. Pardon, sir,

A stranger's boldness, and in your mercy call it
True zeal, not rudeness. In a cause like this,
The husbandman would change his plou^hing-irons
To weapons of defence, and leave the earth
Untill'd, although a general dearth should follow :
The student would forswear his book ; the lawyer
Put off his thriving gown, and without pay
Conclude this cause is to be fought, not pleaded.
The women will turn Amazons, as their sex
In her were wrong'd; and boys write clown their

names
In the muster-book for soldiers.

Gon. Take my hand :
Whate'er you are, I thank you. How are you call'd ?

Hurt. IJortensio, a Milanese.

Gen. I wish

Mantun had m;iny such. My lord ambassador,
Some privacy, if you please; Manfrov, you may
Partake it, and advise us. [They walk asiJt.

Uker. L)o you know, friend,
What this man is, or of what country ?

Farn. Neither.

Uher. I'll question him myself. What are you, sir?

Hort. A gentleman.

Uber. But if there be gradation
In gentry, as the heralds say, you have
Been over-bold in the presence of your betters.

Hort. My betters, sir I

Uher. Your betters. As I take it,
You are no prince.

Hort. Tis fortune's gift you were born one ;
I have not heard that glorious title crowns you
As a reward of virtue- it may be
The first of your house deserved it, yet his merits
You can but faintly call your own.

Matil. Well answer'd.

Uber. You come up to me.

Hort. I would not turn my back
If you were the duke of Florence, though you

charged me
I" the head of your troops.

Uber. Tell me in gentler language,
Your passionate speech induces me to think so.
Do you love the princess 1

Hort. Were you mine enemy,
Your foot upon my breast, sword at my throat,
Even then 1 would profess it. The ascent
To the height of honour is by arts or arms ;
And if such an unequall'd pfiz might fall
On him that did deserve best in defence
Of this rare princess, in the day of battle,
i should lead you a way would make your greatness
Sweat diops of blood to follow.

Uber. Can your excellence
Hear this without rebuke from one unknown?
Is he a rival for a prince ?

Matil. My lord,
You take that liberty I never gave you.

SCENE II.]

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

473

In justice you should give encouragement

To him, or siny man, that freely offers

His life to do me service, not deter him ;

I give no suffrage to it. Grant he loves me,

As he professes, how are you wroug'd in it?

Would you have all men hate me but yourself?

No more of this, I pray you : if this gentleman

Fight for my freedom, in a fit proportion

To his desert and quality, I can

And will reward him ; yet give you no cause

Of jealousy or envy.

Hort. Heavenly lady !

Gon. No peace but on such poor and base condi-
tions !

We will not buy it at that rate : return
This answer to your master : Though we wish'd
To hold fair quarter with him, on such terms
As honour would give way to, we are not
So thunderstruck with the loud voice of war,
As to acknowledge him our lord before
His sword hath made us vassals : we long since
Have had intelligence of the unjust gripe
He purposed to lay on us ; neither are we
So unprovided as you think, my lord ;
He shall not need to seek us ; we will meet him,

And prove the fortune of a day, perhaps
Sooner than he expects.

Alon. And find repentance,
When 'tis too late. Farewell. [Exit with Famtte.

Gon. No, mv Matilda,

We must not part so. Beasts and birds of prey
To their last gasp defend their brood ; and Florence
Over thy father's breast shall march up to thee,
Before he force affection. The arms
That thou must put on for us and thyself
Are prayers and pure devotion, which will
Be heard, Matilda. Manfroy, to your trust
We do give up the city, and my daughter; [nous.
On both keep a strong guard : no tears, they are omi-
O my Oc'avio, my tried Octavio
In all my dangers ! now I want thy service,
In passion recompensed with banishment.
Error of princes, who hate virtue when
She's present* with us, and in vain admire her
When she is absent ! 'tis too late to think on't.
The wish'd for time is come, princely Ubmi,
To show your valour : friends being to do, not talk,
All rhetoric is fruitless, only this,
Fate cannot rob you of deserved applause,
Whether you win or lose in such a cause. [Exeunt.

ACT II

SCENE I. Mantua. A Room in the Palace.
Enter MATILDA, BEATRICE, and Waiting Women.
Matil. No matter for the ring I ask'd you for
The boy not to be found ?
Beat. Nor heard of, madam.

1 Worn. He hath been sought and searched for,

house by house,
Nay, every nook of the city, but to no purpose.

2 Worn. And how he should escape hence, the

lord Manfroy

Being so vigilant o r er the guards, appears
A thing impossible.

Matil. I never saw him

Since he swoon'd in the presence, when my father
Gave audience to the ambassador : but I feel
A sad miss of him ; on any slight occasion
He would find out such pretty arguments
To make me sport, and with such pretty sweetness
Deliver bis opinion, that I must
Ingenuously confess his harmless mirth,
When 1 was most oppress'd with care, wrought

more
In the removing oft than music on me.

Beat. An t please your excellence, 1 have observed

him

Waggishly witty ; yet, sometimes, on the sudden,
He would be very pensive, and then talk
So feelingly of love, as if he had
Tasted the bitter sweets oft.

1 Worn. He would tell, too,
A pretty tale of a sister, that had been
Deceived by her sweetheart ; and then weeping,

swear
He wonder'd how men could be false*

This pretty passage contains one of those judicious an
tici nations in which Maasinger is peculiarly excellent.

2 Worn. And that

When he was a knight, he'd he the ladies' champion
And travel o'er the world to kill such lovers
As durst play false with their mistresses.

Matil. I am sure
I want his company.

Enter MANFROY.

Man. There are letters, madam.
In post come from the duke ; but I am charged
By the careful bringer not to open them
But in your presence.

Matit. Heaven preserve my father !
Good news, an't be thy will !

Man. Patience must arm you
Against what's ill.

Matil. I'll hear them in my cabinet. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. The Duchy of Mantua. Gonzaga's
Camp.

Enter HORTENSIO and ASCANIO.

Hort. Why have you left the safety of the city
And service of the princess, to partake
The dangers of the camp ? and at a time too
When the armies are in view, and every minute
The dreadful charge expected.

Asc. You appear

So far beyond yourself, as you are now,
Arm'd like a soldier (though I grant your presence
Was ever gracious), that I grow enamour'd

Error of princes, who hate virtue, when
She'* pretent, &c.]

firtutem mcolumen odimus,
Sid>la!am ex oKulis qtuerimus inviJi.

But this pl.iy abunnds with classical allusions, apt'y and ele-
gantly introduced.

474

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

[ACT II

Of the profession : in the horror of it
There is a kind of majesty.

Hnrt. Hut too heavy

To sit on thy soft shoulders, youth ; retire
Totlie duke's tent, that's guarded.

Asc. Sir, I come

To serve you ; knight-adventurers are allow'd
Their pages, and I bring a will that shall
Supply my want of power.

Hurt. To serve me, boy !
I wish, believe it, that 'twere in my nerves
To do thee any service ; and them shall,
If 1 survive the fortune of this day,
Be satisfied I am serious.

A>c. 1 am not

To be put off so, sir. Since you do neglect
My offer'd duty, I must use the power
I bring along with me, that may command you :
You have seen this ring

Hort. Made rich by being worn
Upon the princess' finger.

Asc. 'Tis a favour

To you, by me sent from her : view it better ;
But why coy to receive it 1 .

Hort. I am unworthy

Of such a blessing ; I have done nothing yet
That may deserve it ; no commander's blood
Of the adverse party have yet died my sword
Drawn out in her defence. I must not take it.
This were a triumph for me when I had
Made Florence' duke my prisoner, and compell'd

him
To kneel for mercy at her feet.

Asc, 'Twas sent, sir,

To put you in mind whose cause it is you fight for ;
And, as 1 am her creature, to revenge
A wrong tome done.

Hort. By what man ?

Asc. Alonzo.

Hort. The ambassador ?

Asc. The same.

Hart, Let it suffice.
1 knew him by his armour and his horse ,

And if we meet \Trwmpeli sound.] I am cut off:

the alarum
Commands me hence : sweet youth, fall off.

A&c. I must not ;

You are too noble to receive a wound
Upon your back, and, following close behind you,
I am secure, though 1 could wish my bosom
Were your defence.

Hort. Thy kindness will undo thee. [.Exeunt.

SCENE III. The same. Lorenzo's Camp.
Enter LORENZO, ALONZO, PISANO, and MAR-UNO.

Lor. We'll charge the main battalia, fall you
Upon the van ; preserve your troops entire
To force the rear : he dies that breaks his ranks
Till all be ours, and sure.

Pi*. Tis so proclaim'd. [Eieunt.

Fighting and Alarum. Enter HORIENSIO, ASCANIO,
and ALONZO.

Hort. 'Tis he, Ascanio : Stand

Alon. I never shunn'd
A single opposition ; but tell me
Why in the battle, of all men, thou hast
Made choice of me?

Hort. Look on this youth ; his cause
Sits on my sword.

Alon. 1 know him not.

Hort. I'll help
Your memory. [They fight.

Asc. What have I done? I am doubtful
To whom to wish the victory ; for, still
My resolution waveiing, I so love
The enemy that wronjj'd me, that I cannot
Without repentance wish success to him
That seeks to do me right. [Alonzo fulls.'] Alas!

he's fall'n !

As you are gentle, hold, sir ! or, if I want
Power to persuade so far, 1 conjure you
By her loved name I am sent from.

Hort. Tis a charm

Too strong to be resisted : he is yours.
Yet, why you should make suit to save that life
Which you so late desired should be cut off
For injuries received, begets my wonder.

Asc. Alas! we foolish, spleenful boys would have
We know not what ; I have some private reasons.
But now not to be told.

Hort. Shall ] take him prisoner?

Asc. By no means, sir ; I will not save his life
To rob him of his honour: when you give,
Give not by halves. One short word, and I follow.

[F.iit Hortensio.

My lord Alonzo, if yon have received
A benefit, arid would know to whom you owe it,
Remember what your entertainment was
At Old Octavio's house, one you call'd friend,
And how you did return it. [Exit.

Alon. I remember

I did not well ; but it is now no time
To think upon't ; my wounded honour calls
For reparation ; 1 must quench my fury
For this disgrace, in blood, and some shall smart
for't. [El.

SCENE lV.The$ame. A JWst.

Aluriim continued. Enter UBF.RTI, and FARNEXB

wounded.

Farn. O prince Uberti, valour cannot save us j
The body of our army's pierced and broken,
The wings are routed, and our scatter'd troops
Not to be rallied up.

Uber. Tis yet some comfort
The enemy must say we were not wanting
In courage or direction ; and we may
Accuse the Powers above as partial, when
A good cause, well defended too, must suffer
For want of fortune.

Farn. All is lost ; the duke
Too far engaged. I fear, to be brought off:
Three times I did attempt his rescue, but
With odds was beaten back ; only the stranger,
I speak it to my ^hame, still follow'd him,
Cutting his way , but 'tis beyond my hopes
That, either should return.

Ulier. That noble stranger,
Whom I in my proud vanity of greatness
As one unknown contemn'd, when I was thrown
Out of my saddle by the great duke's lance,
Horsed me again, in spi:e of all that made
Resistance ; and then whisper'd in mine ear,
Fight bravely, prince Uberti, there's noway elst
To the fair Matilda's favour.

Farn. 'Twas done nobly.

SctWE V.]

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

473

Uber, In you, my bosom-friend, I had call'd it

noble :

But such a courtesy from a rival merits
The highest attribute.

Enter HORTENSIO and GONZAOA.

Furn. Stand on your guard,
We are pursued.

Uber. Preserved ! wonder on wonder.
Far/i. The duke in safety !
Gon. Pay your thanks, Farneze,
To this brave man, if I mav call him so
Whose acts were ir.ore than human. If thou art
My better angel, from my infancy
Design 'd to guard me, like thyself appear,
For sure thou'rt more than mortal.

Kort. No, great sir,

A weak and sinful man ; though I have done you
Some prosperous service that hath found your

favour,

I am lost to myself: but lose not you
The offer'd opportunity to delude
The hot-pursuing enemy ; these woods,
Nor the dark veil of night, cannot conceal you,
If you dwell long here. You may rise again,
But I am fallen forever.

Farn. Rather borne up
To the supreme sphere of honour.

Ulier. \ confess
My life your gift.
G<>. My liberty.
C 'her. You have snatch'd

The wreath of conquest from the victor's head,
And do alone, in scorn of Lorenzo's fortune,
Though we are slaved, by true heroic valour
Deserve a triumph.

Gon. From whence then proceeds
This poor dejection I

Hort. In one suit I'll tell you.

Which 1 beseech you grant : I loved your daughter,
But how ? as beggars in their wounded fancy
Hope to be monarchs: I long languish'd for her,
But did receive no cordial, but what
Despair, my rough physician, prescribed me.
At length her goodness and compassion found it;
And, whereas 1 expected, and with reason,
The distance and disparity consider'd
Between her birth and mine, she would contemn me,
The princess gave me comfort.
Gon. In what measure?

Hort. She did admit me for her knight and servant,
And spurr'd me to do something in this batile,
Fought for her liberty, that might not blemish
So fair a favour.

Con. This you have perform 'd
To the height of admiration.

I' her. I subscribe to't,
That am your rival.

Hort. You are charitable ;
But how short of my hopes, nay, the assurance
Of those achievements which my love and youth
Alreadv held accomplish 'd, this day's fortune
Must sadly answer. What I did, she gave me
The strength to do ; her piety preserved
Her father, and Ler gratitude for the dangers
You threw yourself into for her defence,
Protected you by me her instrument :
But when I came to strike in mine own cause,
And to do something so remarkable,
That should at my return command her thanks

And gracious entertainment, then, alas !
I fainted like a coward ; I made a vow, too,
(And it is register 'd), ne'er to presume
To come into her presence if 1 brought not
Her fears and dangers bound in fetters to her,

Which now's impossible. Hark ! the <-nemv

Makes his approaches : save yourselves : ibis only

Deliver to her sweetness ; I have done

My poor endeavours, and pray her not repent

Her goodness to me. May you live to serve her,

This loss recover'd, with a happier fate !

And make use of this sword : arms I abjure,

And conversation of men ; I'll seek out

Some unfrequented cave, and die love's martyr.

[Exit.

Gon. Follow him.

Uber. 'Tis in vain ; his nimble feet
Have borne him from my sight.

Gon. I suffer for him.

Farn. We share in it, but must not, sir, forget
Your means of safeiv.

Uber. Iii the war I have served you,
And to the death will follow you.

Gon. 'Tis not fit,

We must divide ourselves. My daughter '

If I retain yet*

A sovereign's power o'er thee, or friend's with you,
Do, and dispute not ; by my example change
Your habits: as I thus put off m\ purple,
Ambition dies ; this garment of a shepherd.
Left here by chance, will serve ; in lieu of it,
I leave this to the owner. Raise new forces,
And meet me at St. Leo's fort ; my daughter,
As 1 commanded Manfroy, there will meet us. '
The city cannot hold out, we must part :
Farewell thy hand.

Farn. You still shall have my heart. [Exeunt

SCENE V. The same. Another part of tht
Forest. ,

Enter LORENZO, ALONZO, PISANO, MARTINO, Captain*
and Soldiers.

Lor. The day is ours, though it cost dear; yet'tia

not

Enough to get a victory, if we lose
The true use of it. We have hitherto
Held back your forward swords, and in our fear
Of ambushes, deferr'd the wish'd reward
Due to your bloody toil : but now give freedom,
Nay, license to your fury and revenge ;

* We mutt divide ourselves. My daughter

If 1 retain yet

A sovereign's power o'er ther,&c.} The rid copy, which
is faithfully followed by Coxeter, with the exception of mis-
printing mot for yet, reads,

We must divide ourselvet.
My daughter,if I reta n yet
A tovcreiyn's poicer o'er thee, &c.

Mr. M. Mason omits My daughter, hich he presnmpto-
ously says the last editor inserted by mistake : the mi-take,
however, if it be one, is, as the reader now sre, of an older
date. In ihe sixth line, he ventures on another improve-
ment, and fur Ambition dies, prints Ambition'* dytl
" which," he continues, " is the name Gonz;i!>a poetically
gives his purple." He is wrong in both inst.mci-s. The ex-
clamation, My daughter, shows lliat she was uppermost in
Gonzaga's thoughts: he interrnpis himsilf to provide for the
safety of his friends, and then rcMimeswhat lie was tirt
about to say : it should not, therefore, be omitted. Nor
should Ambition 'ties he changed to Atnbilian't dye; be-
canse such a rlu-ttniral flourish is unnecessary, and btranse
it deprives a passage of sense ami grammar, which the author
invested wilh boih. It requires no explanation.

4T6

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

[Arrr II.

Now glut yourselves with prey ; let not the night,

Nor these thick woods, give sanctuary to

The fear-struck hares, our enemies : fire these trees,

And force the wretches to forsake their holes,

And offer their scorch'd bodies to your swords,

Or burn them as a sacrifice to your angers.

Who brings Gonzaga's head, or takes him prisoner

(Which I inclii.e to rather, that he may

be sensible of those tortures which I vow

To inflict upon him for denial of

His daughter to our hed), shall have a Wank,

With our hand and signet made authentical,

In which he may %vrite down himself what wealth

Or honours he desires.

Aton. The great duke's will
Shall be obey'd.

Pisan. Put it in execution.

Mart. Begirt the wood, and fire it.

Said. Follow, follow ! [Exeunt.

SCENE VI The same. A noiher part of the same.
Enter FARNEZE, disguised a a Florentine Soldier.

Farn. Uberti, prince Uberti ! O my friend,
Dearer than life ! I have lost thee. Cruel fortune,
Unsatisfied with our sufferings ! we no sooner
Were parted from the duke, and e'en then ready
To take a mutual farewell, when a troop
Of the enemy's horse fell on us ; we were forced
To take the woods again, but in our flight
Their hot pursuit divided us : we had been happy
If we had died together. To survive him
To me is worse than death, and therefore should not
Embrace the means of my escape, though offer'd.
.When nature gave us life she gave a burthen,
'But at our pleasure not to he cast off,
Though weary of it ; and my reason prompts me,
This habit of a Florentine, which I took
From a dying soldier, may keep me unknown,
Till opportunity mark me out a way
For flight, and with security.

Enter UBERTI.

Uber. Was there ever
Such a night of horror '}

Farn. My friend's voice ! I now
In part forgive thee, fortune.

Uber. The wood flames,
The bloody sword devours all that it meets,
And death in several shapes rides here iu triumph.
1 am Lke a stag closed in a toil, my life,
As soon as found, the cruel huntsman's prey :
Why fliest thou, then, what is inevitable ?
Better to fall with manly wounds before
Thy ciuel enemy, than survive tlnne honour:
And yet to charge him, and die unrevenged.
Mere desperation.

Furn. Heroic spirit !

Uber. Mine own life I contemn, and would not

save it

But for the future service of the duke,
And safety of his daughter; having means,
If 1 escape, to raise a second army,
And, what is nearest to me, to enjoy
JMy friend Farneze.

1'Hfii. I am still his care.

Uber. What shall I do ? if I call loud, the foe
That hath begirt the wood, will hear the sound,
fchall 1 retuin by the same path? I cannot,
The darkness of the night conceals it from me ;
Something I must resolve.

Farn. Let friendship rouse
Thy sleeping soul, Farneze : wilt thou suffer
Thy friend, a prince, nay, one that may set free
Thy captived country, perish, when 'tis in
Thy power, with this disguise, to save his life?
Thou hast lived too long, therefore resolve to die:
Thou hast seen thy country ruin'd, and thy master
Compell'd to shameful flight ; the fields and woods
Strew'd o'er with carcases of thy fellow-soldiers ;
The miseries thou art fallen in, and before
Thy eyes the horror of this place, and thousand
Calamities to come r and after all these,
Can any hope remain ? shake off delays .
Dost thou doubt yet? To save a citizen,
The conquering Roman in a general
Esteem 'd the highest honour: can it be then
Inglorious to preserve a prince ? thy friend ?
Uberti, prince Uberti ! use this means
Of thy escape ;

[Pulls off' his Florentine uniform, and catts it
before Uberti.

conceal'd in this, thou mayst

Pass through the enemy's guards : the time denies
Longer discourse ; thou hast a noble end*,
Live, therefore, mindful of thy dying friend.

I Exit.

Uber. Farnezp, stay thy hasty steps ! Faroeze !
Thy friend Uberti calls thee : 'tis in vain ;
He's gone to death an innocent, and makes life,
The benefit he confers on me, my guilt.
Thou art too covetous of another's safety,
Too prodigal and careless of thine own.
'Tis a deceit in friendship to enjoin me
To put this garment on, and live, that he
May have alone the honour to die nobly.

cruel pietyt, in our equal danger

To rob thyself of that thou giv'st thy friend !

It must not be ; I will restore his gift,

And die before him. How ? where shall I find

him?

Thou art o'ercome in friendship ; yield, Uberti,
To the extremity of the time, and live:
A heavy ransome ! but it must be paid.

1 will put on this habit: pitying heaven,
As it loves goodness, may protect my friend,
And give me means to satisfy the debt

I stand engaged for ; if not, pale despair,

I dare thy worst ; thou canst but bid me die,

And so much I'll force from mine enemyj. [Eril.

SCENE VII. The same. Lorenzo's Camp.

Enter ALONZO and PISANO, with FAUNEZE bound;

Soldiers with torches, FARNEZE'S sword in one of the

Soldiers' hands.

Alon. I know him, he's a man of ransome.

P'san. True ;
But if he live, 'tis to be paid to me.

* Thou hast a noble end,] Alluding to what Uberti had
jiiit said, of raising a second army, &c.

t O cruel piety,] So ihe old copy: the modern editions
have O cruel pity, a tame and unpoetical sophistication.

} This short scene is very well written ; but, at the same
time, must strike the reader as extremely inartificial. The
two friends speaking on opposite sides of a tree is somewhat
too similar to what occurs so often on the Roman stage,
where people in mutual quest always jostle before they catch
each other's eye or ear. As Farneze had taken the generous
resolution to save his friend, at thee.xpenst; of his own life,
it was improper to discover himself; but all that is done
miht he effected with fewer words, and a greater portion of
dexterity.

SCENE VII.]

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

477

Alon. I forced liim to the woods.

Pisan. But my art found him,
Nor will I brook a partner in the prey
My fortune gave me.

Al/fn. Render him, or expect
The point of this.

Pisan. Were it lightning, I would meet it,
Rather than be outbraved.

Alon. I thus decide
The difference.

Pisan. My sword shall plead my title.

[They fight.

Enter LORENZO, MARTINO, Captains, and Attendants.

Lor. Ha ! where learn'd you this discipline ? my

commanders

Opposed against one another ! what blind fury
Brings forth this brawl ? Alonzo and Pisano
At bloody difference ! hold, or I tilt
At both as em-mies. Now speak; how grew
This strange division?

Pisan. Against all right,
By force Alonzo strives to reap the harvest
Sown bv mv labour.

Alon. Sir, this is mv prisoner,
The purchase of my sword, which proud Pisano,
That hath no interest in him, would take from me.

Pisan. Did not the presence of the duke forbid

me,
I would say

Alon. What?

Puan. "I is false.

Lor. Before mv face !

Keep them asunder. And was this the cause
Of such a mortal quarrel, this the base
To raise your fury on ? the ties of blood,
Of fellowship in arms, respect, obedience
To me, your prince and general, no more
Prevailing on \ou? this a price for which
You would betray our victory, or wound
Your reputation with mutinies.
Forgetful of yourselves, allegiance, honour?
This is a cmirse to threw us headlong down
From that proud height of empire upon which
We were securely seated. Shall division
O'erturn what concord built? If you desire
T bathe yiir swords in blood, the enemy
Still flies before you : would you have spoil ? the

country

Lies open to you. O unheard-of madness !
What greater mischief could (jonzaga wish us,
Than you pluck on our heads? no, my brave

leaders,

Let unity dwell in our tents, and discord
Be banish'd to our enemies.

Alan. Take the prisoner,
1 do give up my title.

Putin. 1 desire
Your friendship, and will buy it ; he is yours.

[They embrace.

Aim. No man's a faithful judge in his own cause,
Let the dut-e determine of him ; we are friends, sir.

Lor. Show it in emulation to o'eitake
The flying foe ; this cursed wretch disposed of,
With our whole strength we'll follow.

[ Kieiint Alonzo and Pisano. embracing.

Farn. Dea'h at length
Will set a period to calamity :
I see it in this tyrant's frowns haste to me.

Enter UBEHTI, habite.i like a Florentine Soldier*, and

mixes with >he rest.

Lor. Thou machine of this mischief, look to feel
Whate'er the wrath of an incensed prince
Cnn pour upon thee : with thy blood I'll quench
( But drawn tbrth slowly) the invisible flames
Of discord bv thy charms first fetch'd from hell,
Then forced into the breasts of my commanders.
Bring forth the tortures.

Uher. Hear, victorious duke,
The story of my miserable fortune.
Of which this villain (by your sacred tongue
Condemned to die) was the immediate cause :
And, if my humble suit have justice iu it,
Vouchsafe to grant it.

Lor. Soldier, be brief, our anger
Can brook no long delayf.

Uber. I am the last

Of three sons, by one father got, and train'd up
With his best care, for service in vour wars :
My father died under his fatal hand.
And two of my poor brothers. Now I hear,
Or fancy, wounded bv mv grief, deludes me,
Their pale and mangled ghosts crying for vengeance
On perjury and murder. Thus the case stood :
My father (on whose face he durst not look
In equal martf) by his fraud circumvented,
Became his captive ; we, his sons, lamenting
Our old sire's hard condition, freely offer'd
Our utmost for his rarsome : that refused,
The subtle tyrant, for his cruel ends,
Conceiving that our piety might ensnare us,
Proposed my father's head to be redeem'd.
If two of us would yield ourselves his slaves.
We, upon any terms, resolved to save him,
Though with the loss of life which he gave to us,
With an undaunted constancy drew lots
("For each of us contended to be one)
Who should preserve cur father; I was exempted^
But to my more affliction. My brothers
Deliver'd up, the perjured homicide
Laughing in scorn, and by his hoary locks
Pulling my wretched father on his knees,
Said, Thus receice the father vu have ransomed!
And instantly struck ofT his head.

Lor. Most barbarous !

Farn. 1 never saw this man.

Lor. One murmur more,
I'll have thy tongue pulled out. Proceed.

Ul>er. Conceive, sir,

How thunderstruck we stood, being made spectators
Of ^ch an unexpected tragedy :
Yet this was a beginning, not an end
To his intended cruelty ; for, pursuing
Such a levenye as no Hyrcanian tigress
Hobb'd of her whelps, durst aim at, in a moment,
Treading upon my father's trunk, he cut oft'
My pious brothers' heads, and threw them at me.

* habited like a Florentine sol-
dier,] \. e. in the dress which Farne/.e had thrown lo him.
t Lor. tioldier. be brirf; our anyer

Can brook n<> long delay] So the old copy. Coxcter and
Mr. M. Mason iea:, with equal litlelity and iiarmouy,
iSoldifr, be brirf' ;
Our anyrr cannot broo a lony delay.

I In equal man,)] A vile transition of atquo marte, in
equal jiyht.

j 7 was exempted

But to my more affliction, &c.\ Tlie strange pointing of
tl:i> tpwdl b) t'o\tt<-r and Mi. M. Mason, shows that the
uitt.tmng 01' it was totally misunderstood by them.

473

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

FAcT II.

Ob, what a spectacle was this \ what mountain
Of sorrow overwhelni'd me! my poor heart-strings,
As teuter'd l-y liis tyranny, crack'd : my knees
Bea'ing Vainst om- another, groans and tears
(Mended together fn'Jow'd , not one passion

Calntnity ever yer oxr>r' j ss'd, forgotten.

Now, miuhty sir (bathing vour feet with tears),
N our suppliant's suit is, that he may have leave,
With any cruelty revenue can fancy,
To sat rifice this monster, 10 appease
Mv father's "'host and brothers'.

Lir. Thou hast obtain'd it:
Choose anv 'ortiire, let (he memory
Of what thy father and thy brothers suffer'd,
Make thee ingenious in it ; such a one
As Phalli-is would wish to he call'd his.
Miirtino. guarded with your soldiers, see
The execution done'; l>ut bring his head,
On forfeiture of your own, to us : our presence
Long since was elsewhere look'd for.

[Erif, with Captains and Attendants.

Mart. Soldier, to work ;
Take any way thou wilt for thy revenge,
Provided that he die : his body's thine,
Huf I must have his head.

Uber. I have already

Concluded of the manner. O just heaven,
The instrument 1 wish'd foroffer'd me !

Mart. Why art thou rapt thus?

Uber. In this soldier's hand
I see the murderer's own sword, I know it ;
Yes, this is it by which my father and
My brothers were beheaded : noble caplain,
Command it to my hand. [Takes Farneze's Sword
from the Soldier.] Stand forth and tremble :
This weapon, of late drunk with innocent hood,
Shall now carouse thine own pray, if thou can>t,
For, though the world shall not redeem thy body,
I would not kill thy soul.

Farn. Canst thou believe

There is a heaven or hell, or soul ? thou hast none,
In death to rob me of my fame, my honour,
With such a forged lie. Tell me, thou han-man,
Where did I ever see thy face ? or when
Murder'd thy sire or brothers ? look on me,
And make it good : thou dar'st not.

Uber. Yes, I will, [He unbind* his arms.

In one short whisper ; and that told, thou art dead.
I am Uberti: take thy sword, fight bravely ;
We'll live or die together.

Mart. We are betray 'd.

[Martina is struck diiwn, the Soldiers run of.

Farn. And have I leave once more, brave prince,

to ease
My head on thy true bosom?

Uber. I glory more

To be thy friend, than in the name of prince,
Or any higher title.

Farn. My preserver !

Uber. The life you gave to me I but return ;
And pardon, dearest friend, (he bitter language
Necessity made me use.

F*~. O, sir, 1 am

Outdone in all ; but comforted, that none
But you can wear the laurel.

Uber. Here's no place
Or time to argue this ; let us fly hence.

Farn. I follow. [Exeunt.

Mart. [rises.'] A thousand furies keep you com-
pany !

I was at the gate of [hell*,] but now 1 feel
My wound's not mortal ; 1 was but astonish'd ;
And, coming to m\ self, I find I am
.Reserved for the gallows : there's no looking on
The enmged duke, excuses will not serve ;
I must do something that may get my pardon ;
If not, I know the worst, a halter ends all. [Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I. The Duchy of Mantua. A part of the
Country near Octavio's Cottage.

Enter OCTAVIO, a book in his hand.

Oct. 'Tis true, by proof I find it*, human reason
Views with such dim eyes what is good or ill.
That if the great Disposer of our being
Should offer to our choice all worldly blessings,
We know not what to take. When I was young,
Ambition of court-preferment fired me:
And, as there were no happiness beyond it,
I labour'd for't, and got it ; no man stood
In greater favour with his prince ; 1 had
Honours and offices, wealth flowed in to me,
And, for my service both in peace and war,

Oct. "/'a true ; by proof 1 find it, &c.] It appears
from tli;s, that the book which Ortavio had been reading
was Juvenal, an ami. or with \vl i Massinuer was pecu-
liarly well acquainted, as thru- ii, scaiceK one of his drama-
tic pieces in which several hap, ) .illn.-i..M> to him do iiot
occur: these, as well as these to Cicero, Horace, Ovid, Se-
neca, Cl.iiidi.in, ai!d others, a* M.isMii^er <k,es not ambi-
tioii'ly obtrude them on the eye, I have commonly kit to
the exercise of the leader's own gagadty.

The general voice gave out I did deserve them.

But, O vain confidence, insubordinate greatness !

When I was most secure it was not in

The power of fortune to remove me from

The flat I firmly stood on, in a moment

My virtues were made crimes, and popular favour

(To new-raised men still fatal) bred suspicion

That I was dangerous : which no sooner enter'd

(jonzaga's breast, but sttaight my ruin follow'd;

My offices were ta'en from me, my state seized on ;

And, had I not prevented it by flight,

The jealousy of the duke bad been removed

With the forfeiture of my head.

Hort. [within.'] Or show compassion,
Or I will force it.

Oct. Ha ! is not poverty safe ?

I thought proud war, that aim'd at kingdoms' ruins,
The sack of palaces and cities, scorn 'd
To look on a poor cottage.

* / was at the gate of [hell,] The dicad of a puritanic.nl
tribunal induced the printer In make a break hcie. II*H
was the word omitted, without doubt; it u characteristic
and becoming the rest of the speech.

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

479

Li.ttr HORTENSIO with ASCANIO in his arms, GOTHRIO
jolliniing.

Gotli. What would vou have*?
The devil sleeps in my pocket ; I have no cross
To drive him from it. Be you or thief or soldier,
Or such a beggar as will not be denied,
My scrip, my tar-box, hook, and coat, will prove
But a tliin purchase ; if you turn my inside out-
wards,

ou'll h'nd it true.

Hort. Not any food ? [Starches his scrip.

Goth. Alas ! sir,

I nm no glutton, but an under-sliepherd ;
The very picture of famine; judge by my cheeks

else :

I hare my pittance by ounces, and starve myself,
When I pay a pensioner, an ancient mouse,
A crumb a meal.

Hort. No drop left? [Takes his bottle.

Drunkard ! hast thou swill'd up all ?

Goth. How ! drunkard, sir ?
I am a poor mun, you mistake me, sir,
Drunkard's a title for the rich, my betters ;
A calling in repute : some sell their lands for't,
And roar, Wine's better than money. Our poor be-
verages

Of buttermilk or whey allay 'd with water,
Ne'er raise our thoughts so high. Drunk ! I had

never
The credit to be so yet.

Hort. Ascanio,

Look up, dfar youth ; Ascnnio, did thy sweetness
Command the greedy enemy to forbear
To prey upon it, and I thank my fortune
For suffering me to live, that in some part
I misht return thy courtesies, and now,
To heighten my afflictions, must I be
Enforced, no pitying angel near to help us,
Heaven deaf to my complaints, too, to behold tbee
Die in my arms for hunger? no means left
To lengthen life a little ! I will open
A vein, and pour my blood, not yet corrupted
With any sinful act, but pure as he is,
Into his famish'd mouth.

Oct. [Comes forward.] Young man, forbear
Thy savage pity ; I have better means
To call back flying life.

[Pours a cordial into the mouth of Ascanio.

Goth. You may believe him ;
It is his sucking-bottle, and confirms,
An old man's twice a child ; his nurse's milk
Was ne'er so chargeable, should you put in too
For soap and candles : though he sell his flock for't.
The baby must have this dug : be swears 'tis ill
For my complexion, but wonderous comfortable
For an old man that would never die.

Oct. Hope well, sir ;

A temperate heat begins to thaw his numbness ;
The blood too by degrees takes fresh possession

Goth. FfTtaf teoti'd you have? &c.l The modern edi-
tors hHve set their wit against poor Gothrio, and deprived
him or all pretensions to verse. Certainly Massinger mca
him to speak in measure, and though it be not such as t
superior characters use, ytt it suits ihe person, and rn
glibly off the tongue. What is more, the old copy prims- I
speeches as they stand here, so that there is no accoumi
for Ihis vagary of Coxeter and M. Mason.

* Goth. You may believe him ;} This speech, which, like
most of the rest, is strangely put into prose, is so carelessly
printed, and so ridiculously* pointed, ia the former editions,
thai it is impossible to understand it.

On his pale cheeks ; his pulse beats high : stand off.
Give him more air, he stirs.

[Gothno steals the bottle.

Goth. And have 1 got tbee,
Thou bottle of immortality !

Asc. Where am I ?

What cruel band hath forced back wretched life?
Is rest in death denied me ?

Goth. O sweet liquor !

Were here enough to make me drunk, I might
Write myself gentleman, and never buy
A coat of the heralds.

Oct. How now, slave?

Goth. I was fiiinting,

A clownlike qualm seized on me, but I am
Recover'd, thanks to your bottle, and begin
To feel new stirrings, gallant thoughts : one draught

more
Will make me a perfect signior.

Oct. A tough cudgel

Will take this gentle itch off; home to my cottage,
See all things handsome.

Goth. Good sir, let me have
The bottle along to smell to : O rare perfume !

[Exit.

Hort. Speak once more, dear Ascanio. How he

eyes you.

Then turns away his face ! look up, sweet youth ;
The object cannot hurt you ; this good man,
Next heaven, is your preserver.

Asc. Would I had perish'd
Without relief, rather than live to break
His good old heart with sorrow. O my shame !
My shame, my never-dying shame !

Oct. I have been
Acquainted with this voice, and know the face

too :

Tis she, 'tis too apparent ; O my daughter !

I mourn 'd long for thy loss, but thus to find thee,

Is more to be lamented.

Hort. How ! your daughter ?

Oft. My only child ; 1 nnirmur'd against heaven
Because I had no more, but now I find
This one too many. Is Alonzo glutted

[Maria weep$
With thy embraces ?

Hort. At his name a shower
Of tears falls from her eyes ; she faints again.
Grave sir, o'er-rule your passion, and defer
The story of her fortune*. On my life
She is a worthy one ; her innocence
Might be abused, but mischief's self wants power
To make her guilty. Show yourself a father
In her recovery; then as a judge,
When she hath strength to speak in her own cause,
You may determine of her.

Oct. I much thank you
For your wise counsel : you direct me, sirf.
As one indebted more to years, and I
As a pupil will obey you : not far hence
1 have a homely dwelling ; if you please there
To make some short repose, your entertainment,
Though coarse, shall relish of a gratitude,

* The story of her fortune.] AH the editions real your
instead 01 her. I have no doubt but that the latter was the
author's word, while the former was, probabh, in.-erttd by
a very common mistake, from the expre*Mun immediately
over it.

t You direct me, fir,] Me. which

completes both the metre and the sense, is inserted irom the
old copy.

480

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

[AtT

And that's all I can pay you. Look up, girl,
Tl'ou art in thy father's arms.

Hort. She's weak and faint still

spare your age ! I am young and strong, and

this way
To serve her is a pleasure, not a burthen :

[Takes her in his arms.
Pray you, lead the way.

Oct. The saints reward your goodness !

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. Tlie same. Another part of the Country.
Enter MANFHOY and MATILDA disguised.

Matil No hope of safety left ?
Man. We are descried.

Matil. I thought that, covered in this poor dis-
guise,

1 might have pass'd unknown.

Man. A diamond,

Though set in horn, is still a diamond.
And sparkles as in purest gold. We are follow'd :
Out of the troops that scour'd the plains, I saw
Two gallant horsemen break forth (who, by their
Brave furniture and habiliments for the war,
Seem'd to command the rest), spurring hard to-
wards us.

See with what winged speed they climb the hill,
Like falcons on the stretch to seize the prey !
Now they dismount, and on their hands and knees
O'ercomethe deep ascent* that guards us from them.
Your beauty hath betrayed you ; for it can
No more be night when bright Apollo shines
In our meridian, than that be conceal'd.

Matil. It is my curse, not blessing ; fatal to
My country, father, and myself. Why did you
Forsake the city "t

Man. "Twas the duke's command :
No time to argue that ; we must descend.
If undiscovered your soft feet, unused
To such rough travel, can but carry you
Haifa league hence, I know a cave which will
Yield us protection.

Matit. I wish I could lend you
Part of my speed ; for me, I can outstrip
Daphne or Atalanta.

Man. Some good angel
Defend us, and strike blind our hot pursuers !

[Exeunt.
Enter ALONZO and PISANO.

Alon. She cannot be far off; how gloriously
She show'd to us in the valley !

Pisan. In my thought,
Like to a blazing comet.

Alon. Brighter far :

Her beams of beauty made the hills all fire ;
From whence removed 'tis cover'd with thick clouds.
But we lose time ; I'll take that way.

Pinan. I, this. [Exeunt severally.

SCENE III. The same. A Wood.
Enter HORTENSIO.

Hort. 'Tis a degree of comfort in my sorrow,
I have done one good work in reconciling

* O'wr.omt the deep ascent.} So the old copy : the mo-
dern editions read steep ascent, which is not so good, and
Which, indeed, if it were better, has no business in the text.

Maria, long hid in Ascanio's habit,
To grieved Octavio. What a sympathy
I found in their affections ! she with tears
Making a free confession of her weakness,
In yielding up her honour to Alonzo,
Upon his vows to marry her ; (Jctavio,
Prepared to credit her excuses, nay,
To extenuate her guilt ; she the delinquent,
And judge, as 'twere, agreeing. But to me,
The most forlorn of men, no beam of comfort
Deigns to appear; nor can 1, in my fancy,
Fashion a means to get it: to my country
I am lost for ever, and 'twere impudence
To think of a return , yet this I could
Endure with patience ; but to be divorced
From all my joy on earth, the happiness
To look upon the excellence of nature,
That is perfection in herself, and needs not
Addition or epithet, rare Matilda*.
Would make a saint blaspheme. Here, Galeazzo,
In this obscure abode, 'tis fit thou shouklst
Consume thy youth, and grow old in lamenting
Thy star-cross'd fortune, in this shepherd's habit;
This hook thy best defence, since thou couldst use,
When thou didst fight in such a princess' cause,
Thy sword no better. ( Lies down

Enter ALONZO and PISANO with MATILDA.

Matil. Are you men or monsters ?
Whither will you drag me? can the open ear
Of heaven be deaf, when an unspotted maid
Cries out for succour !

Pisan. 'Tis in vain ; cast lots
Who shall enjoy her first.

Alon. Flames rage within me,

And, such a spring of nectar near to quench them;
My appetite shall be cloy'd first : here I stand,
Thy friend, or enemy ; let me have precedence,
I write a friend's name in my heart ; deny it,
As an enemy I defy thee.

Pisan. Friend or foe
In this alike I value, I disdain
To yield priority ; draw thy sword.

Alon. To sheath it
In thy ambitious heart.

Matil. O curb this fury,
And hear a wretched maid first speak.

Hort. I am marble.

Matil. Where shall I seek out words or how re-
strain

My enemies' rage or lovers' ? Oh, the latter
Is far more odious : did not your lust
Provoke you, for that is its proper name,
My chastity were safe ; and yet I tremble more
To think what dire effects lust may bring forth,
Than what, as enemies, you can inflict,
And less I fear it. Be friends to yourselves.
And enemies to me ; better I fall
A sacrifice to your atonement, than
Or one or both should perish. I am the cause
Of your division ; remove it, lords,
And concord will spring up : poison this face

Addition or epithet, rare Matilda,} To say that Ma-
tilda required no epithet, and immediately to give her one,
serms an oversight which I am unwilling to attribute to the
author. Perhaps the comma should be placed alte

rare, or
ay be an
>mprtcal

mi:;lit be
or rare
ool, who
were accustomed to pioni/unce addition as a quadrisyllable.

the word itself (though tlsis 1 do not build on), n
addition of tlie players, not always the most c
judges of propriety, or even of poetry. The line
improved to a modern ear by reading Addition
epithet, but not to that of Maninger and his

SCENE II I.]

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

4P1

That hath bewitch'd you, this grove cannot want

Aspics or toads ; creatures, though justly call'd

For their deformity, the scorn of nature,

More happy than myself with this false beauty

(The seed and fruit of mischief) you admire so.

I thus embrace \our knees, and yours, a suppliant

If tigers did not nurse you, or you t-uck

The milk of a fierce lioness, show compassion

Unto yourselves in being reconciled.

And pity to poor me, my honour safe,

In taking loath'd life from me.

Piian. What shall we do?
Or end our difference in killing her,
Or fight it out?

Aton. To the last gasp. I feel
The moist tears on my cheeks, and blus'u to find
A virgin's plaints can move so.

Pisan. To prevent

Her flight while we contend, let's bind her fast
To this cypress-tree.

Alon. Agreed.

Mutil. It does presage
My funeral rites*. [.They bind Matilda.

Hort. I shall turn atheist
If Heaven see and suffer this : why did I
Abandon my good sword ? with unarm 'd hands
I cannot rescue her. Some angel pluck me
From the apostacy I am falling to,
And by a miracle lend me a weapon
To underprop falling honour.

Pisan. t-he is fast :
Resume your arms.

Alon. Honour, revenge, the maid too,
Lie at the stake.

Pisun. Which thus I draw.

[Theyfght, Pisano fails.

Alon. All's mine,

But bought with some blood of my own. Pisano,
Thou wert a noble enemy, wear that laurel
In death to comfort thee : for the reward,
'Tis mine now without rival.

[Hortensiu snatches up Piano's sword,

Ho'-t. Thou art deceived ;
Men will grow up like to the dragon's teeth
From Cadmus' helm, sown in the field of Mars,
To guard pure chastity from lust <ind rape.
Libidinous monster, satyr, faun, or what
Does better speak thee, slave to appetite,
And sensual baseness ; if thy profane hand
But touch this virgin temple, thou art dead.

Matil. 1 see the aid of heaven, though slow, is
sure.

ALon. A rustic swain dare to retard my pleasure !

Hart. No swain, Alonzo, but her knight and

servant

To whom the world should owe and pay obedience ;
One that thou hast encounter'd, and shrunk under
His arm ; that spared thy life in the late battle,
At the intercession of the princess' page.
Look on me belter.

* Malil. Jt doft presage

My funeral rites.] To understand this, it may be neces-
ry lo observe lh.it llie Komans, and some other nations,
always c.uried cypress boughs in tluir funeral precessions.
To this Horace alludes in a strain of beautiful pathos:

neque harum quat colis arborum

7'e, prtzterinvisatcupreisiit,

Vila brerem dominum si-qvettir.

It was an ill-timi-d recollection of this circumstance which
drew npon Dryden the clumsy sneer of the stupid Milboiirne.
See his Obtervationi on the Trantlation of the Georgia.

Matil. Tis my virtuous lover !
Under his guard 'twere sin to doubt my safety.

Alnn. I know thee, and with courage will redeem
What fortune then took from me.

Hort. Raiher keep [They fight, AlonzofalU

Thy compeer company in death. Lie by him,
A prey for crows and vultures ; these fuir anus,

[He nntiiitilf Matilda

Unfit for bonds, should have been chains to nuike
A bridegroom happy, though a prince, and proud
Of such captivity : whatsoe'er you are,
I glory in the service 1 have done you ;
But I entreat you* pay your vows and piayers,
For preservation of your life and honour,
To the most virtuous princess, chaste Matilda.
I am her creature, and what good 1 do,
You truly may call her's ; what's ill, mine own.

Matil. You never did do ill, my virtuous ser-
vant ;

Nor is it in the power of poor Matilda
To cancel such an obligation as.
With humble willingness, she must subscribe to.

Hort. The princess ? ha !

Matil. Give me a fitter name,
Your manumised bondwoman, but even now
In the possession of lust, from which
Your more than brave heroic valour bought me:
And can 1 then, for freedom unexpected,
But kneel to you, my patron?

Hort. Kneel to me !
For heaven's sake rise ; I kiss the ground you

tread on,

My eyes fixed on the earth ; for I confess
I am a thing not worthy to look on you,
Till you have sign'd my pardon.

Matil. Do you interpret
The much good you have done me, an offence ?

Hort. The not performing your injunctions to me.
Is more than capital : your allowance of
My love and service to you, with admission
To each place you made paradise with your pre-
sence.

Should have enabled me to bring home conquest:
Then, as a sacrifice, ta offer it
At the altar of your favour : had my love
Answer'd your bounty, or my hopes, >m army
Had been as dust before me ; whereas 1,
Like a coward, turn'd my back, and durst not stand
The fury of the enemy.

Mutil. Had you done

Nothing in the battle, this last act deserves more
Than 1, the duke my father joining with me,
Can ever recompense. But take your pleasure ;
Suppose you have offended in not grasping
Your bound less hopes, 1 thus seal on your lips
A full remission.

Hort. Let mine touch your foot.
Your hand's too high a favour.

Matil. Will you force me
To ravish a kiss from you ?

Hort. I am entranced.
Matit. So much desert and bashfulness should

not march

In the same file. Take comfort ; when you have
brought me

But I entreat you, &c ] This is in the true spirit of
kniglit-irrantry ; and, indeed, nothing but constantly bear-
ing in mind tire Linguae and m.iniieis ..f thi-g-dl.uit but TO-
m:iniic description of men. can lei-onci e us t.. llie profouad
reverence with which Gulcazzo regards hi, mistress.

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

[Aer IIT.

To some place of security, you shall find
You have a seat here, in a heart that hath
Already studied and vowed to be thankful.

Hurt. Heaven make me so ! oh, 1 am over-

whelm'd

With an excess of joy ! Be not too prodigal,
Divinest lady, of your grace and bounties
At once, if you are pleased I shall enjoy them,
Not taste them and expire.

Matil. I'll be more sparing. [Ereunt.

Enter OCTAVIO, GOTHHIO, and MARIA.

Oct. What noise of clashing swords, like armour

fashion'd

Upon an anvil, pierced mine ears ; the echo
Redoubling the loud sound through all the rallies ?
This way the wind assures me that it came.

Goth. Then with your pardon, I'll take this.

Oft. Why, sirrah?

Gut/i. Because, sir, I will trust my heels before
All winds that blow in the sky : we are wiser far
Than our grantisires were, and in this I'll prove it;
They said, Haste tn the beginning of a feast,
There I am with them, but to the end of a fray
That is apocryphal, 'tis more canonical
Not to come there at all ; after a storm
There are still some drops behind.

Mar. Pure fear hath made
The fool a philosopher.

Oct. See, Maria, see !

I did not err ; here lie two brave men weltering
In iheir own gore.

Mar. A pitiful object.

doth. I am in a swoon to look on't.

Oct. They are stiff already.

Goth. But are you sure they are dead ?

Oct. Too sure, I fear.

Goth. But are they stark dead ?

Oct. Leave prating. [them.

Goth. Then I am valiant, and dare come nearer to
This fellow without a sword shall be my patient.

[Goes to Pisano.

Oct. Whate'er they are, humanity commands us
To do our best endeavour. Run, Maria, [there
To the neighbour spring for water ; you will find
A wooden dish, the beggar's plate, to bring it .

[Exit Maria.

Why dost not, dull drone, bend his body", and feel
If any life remain ?

Goth. By your leave, he shall die first,
And then I'll be his surgeon.

Oct. Tear ope his doublet,
And prove if his wounds be mortal.

Goth. Fear not me, sir :
Here's a large wound. [Feels his pocket.'] How it

is swoln and imposthumed !

This must be cunningly drawn out, should it break,
[Pulls out his purse.

'Twould strangle him ; what a deal of foul matter's

here ! [too

This haih been long a-gathering. Here's a gash

On the rim of his belly, [Feels his side pocket.']

it may have matter in it.

He was a choleric man, sure ; what comes from him
[Takes out his money.

Is yr;llow as gold ! how, troubled with the stone
too ! [Seeing a diamond ring on hisjinger.

I'll cut vou for this.

See Note, p. 72.

Pisan. Oh, oh ! [Starts vp*

Gth. He roars before I touch him.

Pisan. Robb'd of my life ?

Goth. No, sir, nor of vour monny,
Nor jewel ; 1 keep them for you : if I had been
A perfect mountebank, he had not lived
To call for his fees ngain.

Oc(. Give me leave -there's hope
Of his recovery. [Q'< PiS'ino and goes to Alonzo.

Goth. I hud rather bui v him quick
Than part with my purchase ; let his ghost walk,
1 care not.

He-enter MAIIIA with a dish of water.

Oct. Well done, Maria ; lend thy helping hand :
He hath a deep wound in his head, wash off
The clotted blood : he comes to himself.

A ton. My lust !

The fruit that grows upon the tree of lust !
With horror now I taste it.

Oct. Do you not know him ?

Mar. Too soon. Alonzo ! oh me ! though dis-
loyal,
Still dear to thy Maria.

Goth. So they know not
My patient, all's cocksure ; I do not like
The Homanish restitution.

Oct. Rise, and leave him.
Applaud heaven's justice.

Afar. 'Twill become me better
To implore its saving mercy.

Oct. Hast thou no gall ?
No feeling of thy wrongs?

Mar. Turtles have none ;
Nor can there be such poison in her breast
That truly loves, and lawfully.

Ort. True, if that love

Be placed on a worthy subject. What he is,
In thy disgrace is published ; heaven bath mark'd

him %

For punishment, and 'twere rebellious madness
In thee to attempt to alter it : revenge,
A sovereign balm for injuries, is more proper
To thy robb'd honour. Join with me, and thou
Shalt be thyself the goddess of revenge,
This wretch the vassal of thy wrath : I'll make him,
While yet he lives, partake those torments which
For perjured lovers are prepared in hell,
Before his curs'd ghost enter it. This oil,
Extracted and sublimed from all the simples
The earth, when swoln with venom, e'er brought

forth,

Pour'd in his wounds, shall force such anguish as
The furies' whips but imitate; and when
Extremity of pain shall hasten death,
Here is another that shall keep in life,
And make him feel a perpetuity
Of lingering tortures.

GotK. Knock them both o' th' head, I say,
An it be but for their skins ; they are embroider'd,
And will sell well in the market.

Mar. Ill-look 'd devil,

Tie up thy bloody tongue. O sir ! I was slow
In beating down those propositions which
You urge for my revenge ; my reasons being
So many, and so forcible, that make
Against yours, that until I had collected
My scatter'd powers, I wavered in my choice
Which I should first deliver. Fate hath brought
My enemy (I can faintly call him sol

SCKNB I.]

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

483

Prostrate before -my feet ; shall I abuse

The bounty of my fate, by trampling on him ?

He alone ruin'd me, nor can any hand

But his rebuild my late demolish 'd honour.

If you deny me means of reparation,

To satisfy your spleen, you are more cruel

Thau ever yet Alonzo was; you stump

The name of strumpet on my forehead, which

Heaven's mercy would take off; you fan the fire

E'en ready to go out, forgetting that

'Tis truly noble, having power to punish,

Kay, kinglike, to forbear it. I would purchase

My husband by such benefits as should make him

Confess himself my equal, and disclaim

Superiority.

Oct. My blessing on thee !

\Vh;it I urged was a trial ; an<i my grant
To thy desires shiill now appear, if art
Or long experience can do l.iui service.
Nor shall my charity to this be wanting,
Howe'er unknown: help me, Maria : you, sir.
Do your best to raise him. So.

Goth He's wond'rous heavy ;
But tiie porter's paid, there's the comfort.

Ort. 'Tis but a trance,
And 'twill forsake boih.

Mar. If he live, J tear not
lie will redeem all, and in thankfulness
Confirm he owes you for a second life,
And pay the debt in making me his wife.

[Exeunt Octaviu and Maria with Alonzo, and
Gothrio u'lih Pisano.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Lorenzo's Camp under the Walls of
Mantua.

Enter LORENZO and Captains.
Lor. Mantua is ours ; place a strong garrison

in it

To keep it so ; and as a due reward
To your brave service, be our governor in it.

1 dipt. I humbly thank your excellence. [Eiif.
Lor. Gon/aga

Is yet out of our gripe ; but his strong fort,

St. Leo, which he holds impregnable

By the aids of art, as nature, shall not long

Retard our absolute conquest. The escape

Of fair Matilda, my supposed mistress

( For whose desired possession 'twas given out

1 made this war), I value not ; alas !

Cupid's too feeble-eyed to hit my heart,

Or could he see, his arrows are too blunt

To pierce it ; his imagined torch is quench'd

With a more glorious fire of my ambition

To enlarge my empire : soft and silken amours,

With carpet courtship, which weak princes style

The happy issue of a flourishing peace,

My toughness scorns. Were there an abstract

made

Of all the eminent and canonized beauties
By truth recorded, or by poets feia;n'd,
1 could unmoved behold it ; as a picture,
Commend the workmanship, and think no more

on't ;

I have more noble ends. Have you not heard yet
Of Alonzo, or Pisano ?

2 Capt. My lord, of neither.

Lor. Two turbulent spirits unfit for discipline,
Much less command in war ; if they were lost,
1 should not pine with mourning.

Enter MARTINO and Soldiers with MATILDA and

HontENsio.

Mart. Bring them forward ;
This will make my peace, though I had kill'd his

father,

Besides the reward that follows
Lor. Ha, Martino !

Where is Farneze's head ? dost thou stare ! and

where
The soldier that desired the torture of him 1

Mart. An't please your excellence

Lor. It doih not please us ;
Are our commands ohey'd ?

Mart. Farneze's head, sir,
Is a thing not worth your thought, the soldier's

less, sir :

I have brought your highness such a head ! a head
So well set on too ! a fine head

Lor. Take that [Strikes him.

For thy impertinence : what head, you rascal .'

Mart. My lord, if they that bring such presents

to you

Are thus rewarded, there are few will strive
To be near your grace's pleasures : but 1 know
You will repent your choler. Here's the head :
And now I draw the curtain, it hath a face too,
And such a face

Lot-. Ha !

Mart. View her all o'er, my lord,
My company on't, she's sound of wind and limb,
And will do her labour tightly, a bona roka ;
And for her face, as I said, there are five hundred
City-dubb'd madams in the dukedom, that would

part with

Their jointures to have such another: hold up
your head, maid,

Lor Of what age is the day 1

Mart. Sir, since sunrising
About two hours.

Lor. Thou liest ; the sun of beauty.
In modest blushes on her cheeks, but now
Appear'd to me, and in her tears breaks forth
As through a shower in April ; every drop
An orient pearl, which, as it fulls, congeal'd.
Were ear-rings for the catholic king, [to be*]
Worn on his birth-day.

H'rrr ear-rinijs for the catholic king, [to be]

Horn on his h'irth-day.] 1 lia%e \e.,im.-<l lo Iwwl the

words in brackets, soim-tlmi" !ik< ihi-n,, H> I conjtc me

from tin- deficiency of >ens: *n<l ii.flrt-, dating atrul. null)

dropt out at tlic press. The nclies of tlie Suaii^b 10004: cJi

484

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

[AcrlV

Mart. Here's a sudden change !

Lor. Incensed Cupid, whom even now I scorn'd,
Hath ta'en his stand, and by reflection shines
(As if he had two bodies, or indeed
A brother-twin whom sight cannot distinguish)
Jn her fair eyes : see how they head their arrows
With her bright beams ! now frown, as if my heart,
Rebellious to their edicts, were unworthy,
Should I rip up my bosom, to receive
A wound from such divine artillery !

Mart. I am made for ever.

Matil. We are lost, dear servant.

/fort. Virtue's but a word ;
Fortune rules all.

MaiiV. We are her tennis-balls.

Lor. Allow her fair, her symmetry and features
So well proportion'd, as the heavenly object
With admiration would strike Ovid dumb,
Nay, force him to forget his faculty
In verse, aud celebrate her praise in prose*.
What's this to me? 1 that have pass'd my youth
Unscorch'd with wanton fires, my sole delight
In glittering arms, my conquering sword my mis-
tress,

Neighing of barbed horse, the cries and groans
Of vanquish'd foes suing for life, my music :
And slmll I, in the autumn of my age
Now, when I wear the livery of time
Upon my head and beard, suffer myself
To be transform'd, and like a puling lover,
With arms thus folded up, echo Ah me's!
And write myself a bondman to my vassal?
It must not, nay, it shall not be : remove
The object, and the effect dies:. Nearer, Martino.

Mart, i sball have a regiment : colonel Martino,
I cannot go less*-

Lnr. What thing is this thou hast brought me?

Mart. What thing 1 heaven bless me ! are you a
Florentine,

Nay, the great duke of Florentines, and having

had her

So long in your power, do you now ask what she is?
'1 ake her aside and learn ; I have brought you that
I look to be dearly p.iid for.

Lor. 1 am a soldier,
And use of women will, Martino, rob
My nerves of strength.

Mart. All armour and no smock ?
Abominable ! a little of the one with the other
Is excellent : I ne'er knew general yet,
Nor prince that did deserve to be a worthy,
But he desired to have his sweat wash'd off
By ajuicy bedfellow.

Lor. But say she be unwilling
To do that office i

Mart. Wrestle with her, I will wager
Ten to one on your grace's side.

were now proverbial, and, indeed, with justice, for the
mines of Chili and of Peru were, at this time, incessantly
pouring into his treasury masses ol wealth, which formed at
eace the envy imil tl\c astonishment of Europe.
If ith admiration would strike Ovid dumb;
Nay farce him to forget his faculty
Jn terse, and celebrate her praise in prose] I doubt
whetl er the Duke was sufficiently conversant with Ovid to
decide on this matter. Whatever his admiration might be,
he wuld!ia\c expressed it with mure facility in verse than
in pro : e, tor, as he tells ui himself, " he lisped in num-
bers:"

Et quod trntabam dicer f, versus erat.
t / cannot go less.] I cannot accept of less.

Lor. Slave, hast thou brought me
Temptation in a beauty not to be
With prayers resisted ; and, in place of counsel
To master my affections, and to guard
My honour, now besieged by lust, with the arms
Of sober temperance, mark me out a way
To be a ravisher ? Would thou hadst shown me
Some monster, though in a mort- uglv form
Than Nile or Afric ever bred ! The basilisk,
Whose envious eye yet never brook'd a neighbour.
Kills but the body ; her more potent eve
Buries alive mine honour : Shall I yield thus ?
And all brave thoughts of victory and triumphs,
The spoils of nations, the loud applauses
Of happy subjects made so by my conquests ;
And what's the crown of all, a glorious name
Inseulp'd on pyramids to posterity,
Be drench'd in Lethe, and no object take me
But a weak woman, rich in colours only,
Too delicate a* touch, and some rare features
Which age or sudden sickness will take from her!
And where's then the reward of all my service,
Love-soothing passions, nay, idolatry,
I must pay to her? Hence, and with thee take
This second but more dangerous Pandora,
Whose fatal box, if open'd, will pour on mo
All mischiefs that mankind is subject to.
To the deserts with this Circe, this Calypso,
This fair enchantress! let her spells and charms
Work upon beasts and thee, than whom wise nature
Ne'er made a viler creature.

Matil. Happy exile !

/fort. Some spark of hope remains yet.

Mart. Come, you are mine now.
I will remove her where your highness shall not
Or see or hear more of her : what a sum
Will she yield for the Turk's seraglio!

Lor. Stay ; I feel
A sudden alteiation.

Mart. Here are fine whimsies.

Lor. Why should I part with her? can any

foulness

Inhabit such a clean and gorgeous palace?
The fish, the fowl, the beasts, may safer leave
The elements they were nourish 'd in, and live,
Than I endure her absence ; yet her presence
Is a torment to me : why do 1 call it so?
My sire enjoy'd a woman, I had not been else ;
He was a comple'e prince, and shall I blush
To follow his example ? Oh ! but my choice,
Though she gave suffrage to it, is beneaih me :
But even now in my proud thoughts I scorn'd
A princess, fair Matilda ; and is't decreed
For punishment, I straight must dote on one,
What, or from whence, 1 know not ? Grant she be
Obscure, without a coat or family,
Those I can give : and yet, if she were noble,
My fondness were more pardonable. Mar'.ino,
Dost thou know thy prisoner ?

Mart. Do I know myself ?
I kept that for the 1'envoyt ; tis the daughter
Of your enemy, duke Gonzaga.

Lor. Fair Matilda !

I now call to my memory her picture,
And find this is the substance ; but her painter
Did her much wrong, I see it.

Too delicate a touch,] I know not how the modern edi
tors understood this passage, but they read, Too delicate to
touch, which quite perverts the sense of their author.

t 1 kept that for the 1'envoy ;] i. e. for the last.

CENE II.]

THE BASHFUL LOVFR.

Mart. 1 am sure

I tugg'd hard for her, here are wounds can witness,
Before I could call her mine.

Lor. No matter how :
Make thine own ransome, I will pay it for her.

Mart. I knew 'twould come at last.

Matil. We are lost again.

Hort. Variety of afflictions !

Lor. 'J hut his knee,

That never yet bow'd to mortality, [Kneels.

Kisses the earth happy to hear your weight,
J know, begets your wonder ; hear the reason,
And cast it oft': your beauty does command it.
Till now, I never saw you ; fume hath been
Too sparing in report of your perfections,
Which now with admiration 1 gaze on.
Be not afraid, fair virgin ; h<td you been
Em ploy *d to mediate your father's cause,
My drum had been unbraced, my trumpet hungup ;
ft or had the terror of the war e'er frighted
His peaceful confines : your demands had been,
As soon as spoke, agreed to : but you'll answer,
And may with reason, words make no satisfaction
For what's in fact committed. Vet, take comfort,
Something my pious love commands me do,
Which may call down your pardon.

Matil. This expression
Of jeverence to your person better suits

[Raises Lorenzo, and kneels.

With my low fortune. That you deign to love me,
Mv weakness would persuade me to believe,
'J hough conscious of mine own unworlhiness :
You being as the liberal eye of heaven,
Which may shine where it pleases, let your beams
Ot favour warm and comfort, not consume me !
For, should your love grow to excess, 1 dare not
Deliver what 1 fear.

Lor. Dry your fair eyes;

I apprehend your doubts, and could be angry,

II humble love could \varrant it, you should
Nourish such base thoughts of me. Heaven bear

witness,

And, if I break my vow, dart thunder at me,
You are, and shall be, in my tent as free
From fear of violence, as a cloister'd nun
Kneeling before the altar. What I purpose
Is yet an embryon ; but, grown into form,
I'll give you power to be the sweet disposer
Of blessings unexpected ; that your father,
Your country, people, children yet uuboru too,
In holy hymns, on festivals, shall sing
The triumph of your beauty. On your hand
Once more i swear it : O imperious Love,
Look down, and, as I truly do repent,
Prosper the good ends of thy penitent!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Duchy. A Room in Octavio's Cottage.
Enter OCTAVIO, difguised as a Priest, and MARIA.

Oct. You must not be too sudden, my Maria,
In being known : I am, in this friar's habit,
As yet conceal'd. Though his recovery
Be almost certain, 1 must work him to
Repentance by degrees ; when I would hare you
Appear in your true shape of sorrow, to
34

Move his compassion, I will stamp thus, then

You know to act your part

Mar. I shall be careful. ['!.

Oct. If I can cure the ulcers of his mind,
As 1 despair not of his body's wounds,
Felicity crowns my labour. Gothrio!

Enter GOTHRIO.

Goth. Here, sir.

Oct. Desire my patients to leave their chamber.
And take fresh air here : how have they slept ?

Goth. Very well, sir,
I would we were so* rid of them.

Oct. Why?

Goth. \ fear one hath
The art of memory, and will remember
His gold and jewels : could you not minister
A potion of forgetfulness ? What would gallants
That are in debt give me for such a receipt
To pour in their creditors' drink ?

Oct. You shall restore all,
Believe't you shall : will you please to walk?

Goth. Will you please to put off
Your holy habit, and spiced conscience? one
1 think, infects the other. [Exit

Oct. I have observed

Compunction in Alonzo ; he speaks little,
But full of retired thoughts : the other is
Jocund and merrv, no doubt because he hath
The less accompt to make here f

Enter ALONZO.

Alon. Reverend sir,

I come to wait your pleasure ; but, my friend.
Your creature 1 should say, being so myself.
Willing to take further repose, entreats
your patience a few minutes.

Oct. At his pleasure ;
Pray i*u sit down ; you are faint still.

Alon. Growing to strength,

I thank your goodness : but my mind is troubled,
Very much troubled, sir, and 1 desire,
Your pious habit giving me assurance
Of your skill <ind power that way, that you would

please
To be my mind's physician.

Oct. Sir, to that

My order binds me ; if you please to unload
The burthen of your conscience, I will minister
Such heavenly cordials as I can, and set you
In a path that leads to comfort.

Aion. I will open

My bosom's secrets to you$. That I am
A man of blood, being brought up in the vrara,
And cruel executions, my profession
Admits not to be question'd ; but in that,
Being a subject, and bound to obey
Whate'er my prince commanded, 1 have left

* J would tee were so rtrf of them.} So the oM copy: the
modern editors read, 1 would we were soon rid of them j
which, in ti.e language of the author, is faintly English ; but
they did not understand the passage.

t The If a accompt to wmAehere.] AaKriKaiC., layiugbi*
band on his bteast.

J Alon. 1 will open.

My host.m's secrets to you.} This is the old reading,
aud far more elegant than that which the modern editor*
hav* introduced in iu stead, My bosom-secrets to you. .

486

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

[Acr IV

8ome shadow of excuse : with other crimes,
As pride, lust, gluttony, it must be told,
1 a- ii bt'smear'd nil over.

Oft. On repentance,

Mercy will wash it off.

Ainu. O sir, 1 j;rant

These sins are deadly ones ; yet their frequency
With wicked men makes them less dreadful to us.
l'>ut I urn conscious of one crime, with which
All ills 1 h;ive committed from my youth
Put in the scale, weigh nothing ; such a crime,
Ko odious to heaven and man, and to
Mv scar'd-up conscience so full of horror,
As penance cannot expiate.

Oct. Desp:ur not.

*Ti impious in nnin to prescribe limits
To the divine compassion : out with it.

Alan Ile.ar then, good man, and when that I have

given you

Tho character of it, and confessed myself
The wretch that acted it, you must repent
The charity you have extended towards me.
Not long before these wars began, I had
Acquaintance ('tis not fit I style it friendship*)
That, being a virtue, and not to be blended
With vicious breach of faith) with the lord Octavio,
The minion of his prince and court, set off
\\ it Ii all the pomp and circumr-tance of greatness :
To this then happy man I offer'd service,
And with insinuation wrought myself
Into his knowledge, grew familiar with him,
Kver a welcome guest. This noble gentleman
Was Wess'd with one fair daughter, so be thought,
And boldly might believe so, for she was
In iill tilings excellent without a rival,
Till I. her father's mass of wealth before
Mv greedy eye*, but hoodwink'd to mine honour,
V\ itli fur more subtle atts than perjured Paris
E'er piHctised on poor credulous Oenone,
Uesit-ged her virgin fort, in a word, took it,
No vows or imprecation forgotten
With speed to marry her.

Oct. Perhaps she gave you
Just cause to break those vows.

A Ion. She cause! alas,

Her innocence knew no guilt, but too much favour
To me, unworthy of it: 'twas my baseness,
My foul ingratitude what shall I say more ?
The good Octavio no sooner fell
In the displeasure of his prince, his state
Confiscated, and he forced to leave the court,
And >he exposed to want ; but all my oaths
And protestation of service to her,
Like seeming flames raised by enchantment, va-

nish'd !
This, this sits heavy here.

Oct.. He speaks as if
He were acquainted with my plot. You have

reason

To feel compunction, for 'twas most inhuman
Bo to betray a maid.
Alan. Most barbarous.

Oct. But does your sorrow for the fact beget
An aptness in you to make satisfaction
For the wrong you did her ?

'tit not Jit 1 ttyle it friendthip, &c J

Mr. M. Ma son read.- to style it friendthip, which is les*
in MajsiDger's manner, and, to my the least of it, a c.ipri-
luu thermion.

Alan. Gracious heaven ! an aptness?

It is my only study : since I tasted

Of your compassion, these eyes ne'er were closed,

Hut fearful dreams cut off my little sleep j

And, being awake, in my imagination

Her apparition haunted me.

Oct. 'I'was mere fancy. [He stampt

Alon. 'Twas more, grave sir nay, 'tis - now
it appears !

Enter MARIA.

Oct. Where?

Alon. Do you not see there the gliding shadow
Of a fnir virgin? that is she, and wears
The very garments that adorn 'd her when
She yielded to my crocodile tears: a cloud
Of fears and diffidence then so chaced away
Her purer white and red, as it foretold
That 1 should be disloyal. Blessed shadow !
For 'twere a sin, far, far exceeding all
1 have committed, to hope only that
Thou art a substance ; look on my true sorrow,
Nay, soul's contrition : hear again those vows
My perjury cancell'd stamp'd in brass, aud never
To be worn out.

Re-enter GOTHUIO, v.ith the purses nf ALONZO and
PISANO.

Mar. I can endure no more ;
Action, not oaths, must make me reparation:
I am Maria.

Alon. Can this be ?

Oct. It is,
And I Octavio.

Alon. Wonder on wonder!

How shall 1 look on you, or with what forehead
Desire your pardon ?

Mar. You truly shall deserve it
In being constant.

Oct. If you fall not off,
But look on her in poverty with those eyea
As, when she was my heir in expectation,
You thought her beautiful.

Alon. She is in herself
Both Indies to me.

Goth Stay, she shall not come
A beggar to you, my sweet young mistress ! no,
She shall not want a dower : here's white and red
Will ask a jointure ; but how you should make her

one,

Being a captain, would beget some doubt,
If you should deal with a lawyer.

Alon. 1 have seen this purse.

Goth. How the world's given I dare not say, to

tying.

Because you are a soldier; you may say as well,
This gold is mark'd too: you, being to receive it,
Should ne'er ask how I got it. I'll run for a

priest

To dispatch the matter; you shall not want a ring,
1 have one for the purpose. [G'icfs Pisano's ring
ta Alonzo.] Now, sir, 1 think I'm honest,

Alon. This ring was Pisano's.

Oct. I'll dissolve this riddle
At better leisure : the wound given to my daughter
V\ hich in your honour you are bound to cure,
Exacts our present care.

Alon. i. am all yours, sir.

f Exeunt.

SCENE III.J

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

46,

SCENE III. The same. The Castle of St. Leo.
Enter GONZAGA, L'BERTI, and MANFROY.

G->n. Tliou Last told too much to give assurance

that

Her honour was too far engaged, to be
By liuman help redeeinM : if thou hadst given
Tdv saJ narration this full period,
Slie's ilead, I had been happy.

Utter. Sir. these tears
Do well become a father, and my eyes
\Vi,uli keep you company as a forlorn lover,
But that the burning fire of my revenge
Dries up those drops ot' sorrow. We once more,
Our broken forces rallied up. and with
Full u umbers sirengthen'd, stand prepared t' en-

liure

A second trial ; nor let it dismay us
That we are once again to affront the fury
Ol a victorious army ; their abuse
Of conquest hath disarm'd them, and call'd down
'I he I'owers above to aid us. 1 'iave read*
Some piece of storv, yet ne'er found but that
'I !IH gf-i;eral, that trave way to cruelty,
The profanation of things sacred, rapes
Ot virgins, butchery of infants, and
The massacre in cold blood of reverend age,
Against llie discipline and law of arms,
l):d feel ihe hand ot" heaven lie heavy on him.
When most secure. We have had a late example,
Aid let us not despair but that, in Lorenzo,
It will be seconded.

Hon. You arsjue well,
And 'twere a MII in me 10 contradict you :
Yet we must not neglect the means that's lent us
To be the ministers of justice.

Ulier. .No, sir :

One nay given to refre'h our wearied troops
Tired i\ith a tedious march, we'll be no longer
Coop'd up, but charge the enemy in his trenches,
Ami force him to a battle. [S/iou(s within.

Gun. Ha ! how's this ?

In such a general time of mourning, shouts,
And acclamations of joy ?

[try u-ithin, Long live the princess! long
live .Manilla !

1 have reti'l, &c.] Tl>e dreadful description in the text
errrespoiids with (lie account given of tlie stormii.g of
Madgehurg, by Tilly (the imperial general) in 1032, in winch,
lay our old iii-torians "He cut t c throats of 2 ',000 per-
B"iis, . t jni.-erii- whirh is impos-ible 10 be described or
thought H pun without horror aud detestation." Tilly, how-
ever, was mortally wounded hy A cannon shot at the pa.--sai;e
of the Lech, i lew months af'erwards; and \\li.it follows n
the text t-leai'ly sho.vs that Ma-si nuer alludes to the Duke of
Friedlaiid, w ho succeeded to the command of theimpeii.il
torcfi, and was noted fort-very fpecies of cruelly, in *h rt,
for .ill the die,idt'nl enormities vhicli the p"ct enumerates.
Thi.- i-hii I, who was too powerful for contr. 1, was treacher-
O'i.-ly assassinated, iclim mo*/ urcutr, by -lA-.r of the Km-
peror Ferdinand. Tins event took place at Kgra, on the
*.'>lli of Ki biuary, 1034. an was d.-lail. .1 in se\er.<l petty
painpliKts, by Nathaniel Butler, the general publisher of
iu-w> at that period The example, then-tore, as Massinger
f.i\, teas a late one. Alexander Gill has some tolerable
vei-e* on the subject, prefixed to Clapthorii's 'I'rayedy of
Albertu* ll'allfnxtfin :

Ulii ilia, tan'trm yaza, qua Bohrmuim
S. Irtiamquf, ai/> itxyue Urandfittiuryicos,
h'rrtu*i>riambuta*ti .' tibi rt fjrtrcitil*
Mini tuorum quo >nin:s'rofac;iiorum
ft micidia, *tv[ira,j'itrta, t'nmrninia
fla:perin-rntai-*t,rt l/rc Jrnburyi situs ? \c.
* [fryt.ithin:] Long live the prince** ! Limy lire Ma-
tilda I

Uber. Matilda !

T!u- princes* name, Matilda, oft re-echo'd.] Solheqnrto.

Uber. Matilda !
The princess' name, Matilda, oft re-echoed ! t

Enter FAKNEZE.

Gem. What speaks thy haste?

Farn. M'Tejoy and hapjiiness
Than weak words can deliver, or strong faith
Almost give credit to : the princess lives;
I saw her, kiss'd her hand.

Gon. By whom deliver'd ?

Farn. That is not to be staled by my report* ;
This only must be told : As I rode forth
With some choice troops, to make discovery
Where the enemr lay, and how entrench'd, a leader
Of the adverse party, but unarm'd, and in
His hand an olive branch, encounter'd me:
He show'd the great duke's seal that gave him power
To parley with me ; his desires were, that
Assurance for his bafety might be granted
To his royal master, who came as a friend,
And not as an enemy, to offer to you
Conditions of peace. I \ielded to it.
This being retunvd, the duke's prretorium open'd,
When suddenly, in a triumphant chariot
Drawn by such soldiers of his own as were,
For insolence after victory, coudemn'd
Unto this slavish office, the fair princess
Appear'd, a wreath of laurel on her head,
Her robes majestical, their richness far
Above ull value, as the present agef
Contended that a woman's pomp should dim
The glittering triumphs of the Roman Ca?surs.
I am cut off; no cannon's throat now thunders
Nor fife nor drum beat up a charge ; choice music
Ushers the parent of security,
Long-absent peace.

3/aii. I know not what to think on't.
Uber. May it poise the expectation !

Loud music. Enter Soldiers warmed, bearing olive
branches. Captain*, LORENZO, MVTII.I>A crowned
trif/i a wreath of laurel, and seated in n chariot
drawn by Soldiers; Joltoued by HOUTENTIO and
MARTINO.

Gon. Thus to meet you,

Great duke of Tuscany, throws amazement on^me ;
But to behold my daughter, long since mourn'd for,
And lost even to my hopes, thus honour'd by you,
With an excess of comfort overwhelms me :
And yet I cannot truly call myself
Happy in this solemnity, till your highness
Vouchsafe to make me understand the motive.
That, in this peaceful way, hath brought you to us.

Lor. 1 must crave license first ; for know,

(jonzaga,

1 am subject to another's will, and can
Nor speak nor do without permission from her.
My curled forehead, of late terrible
To those that did acknowledge me their lord,

The editor* have contrived to blunder in every possible
wav ; th.-y tirM advance a margin..! note into I lie text, am
tUeu dej;ra.le the text into a marginal note !

Farn. That i,not to be .-taled by my report, S>o .
read ; the old ,'op) IMS Mall d, which is printed by th
.lei n e,li l or,ilh4 m.rk of ,pha.Teiiil It they supposed I
to be ai.ridnMl from Jorrttalld, they must have pretty n
tions of langnaee. M _ r -...i

t Ah uw In valve, as the pretent aye, &c.} Coxeter, ami
Mr M. Mason, ,,OL >et qain!ed with the language of
Heir author, inwrl if before the, " at t/," &c. Even
ll.it inn.) attempt af imp.ovemeut they were compelled lo
ticri&ve tm meue.

488

T.HE BASHFUL LOVKR.

[Ac-r IV

Is now as smooth as rivers when no wind stirs;
My frowns or smiles, that kiU'd or saved, have lost
Their potent awe, and sweetness : I am trans-

form'd

(But do not scorn the metamorphosis)
From that fierce tiling men held me ; I am captived,
And, by the unresistible force of beauty,
Led hither as a prisoner. Is't your pleasure that
1 shall deliver those injunctions which
Your absolute command imposed upon me,
Or deign yourself to speak them?

MatiL Sir, I am

Your property, you may use me as you please ;
But what is in your power and breast to do,
No orator can dilate so well.

Lor. I obey you.
That I came hither as an enemy,
With hostile arms to the utter ruin of
Your country, what I have done makes apparent;
That fortune seconded my will, the late
Defeature will make good ; that I resolved
To (brce the sceptre from your hand, and make
Your dukedom tributary, my surprisal
Of Mantua, your metropolis, can well witness ;
And that I cannot fear the change of fate,
My army flesh'd in blood, spoil, glory, conquest,
Stand ready to maintain : yet, I must tell you
By whom I am subdued, and what's the ransome
I am commanded to lay down.

Cow. My lord,

You bumble yourself too much ; it is fitter
You should propose, and we consent*.

Lor Forbear,

The articles are here subscribed and sign'd
By my obedient hand : all prisoners,
Without a ransome, set at liberty ;
Mantua to be deliver'd up, the rampires
Ruiu'd in the assault to be repair'd ;
The loss the husbandman received, his crop
Burnt up by wanton license of the soldier,
To be made good ; with whatsoever elae
You could impose on me if you had been
The conqueror, 1 your captive.

Con. Such a change

Wants an example : I must owe this favour
To the clemency of the old heroic valour,
That spared when it had power to kill ; a virtue
Buried long since ; but raised out of the grave
By you, to grace this latter age.

Lor. Mistake not

The cause that did produce this good effect,
If as such you receive it : 'twas her beauty
Wrought first on my rough nature ; but the virtues
Of her fair soul, dilated in her converse,
That did confirm it.

Matil. Mighty sir, no more :

it i* Jitter

You thoitld propotf, and we content.] So the eld copy :
it seems perfect as it stands, yet Coxetur and Mr. Al . Mason
kave iulerposed their assistance ; (hey read

it in fitter you

Should first propone, &c.

You honour her too much, that is not worthy
To be your servant.

Lor. I have done, and now
Would gladly understand that you allow of
The articles propounded.

Gun. Do not wrong

Your benefits with such a doubt ; they are
So great and high, and with such reverence
To be received, that, if [ should profess
I hold my dukedom from you as your vassal,
Or offer'd up my daughter as you please
To be disposed of, in the point of honour,
And a becoming gratitude, 'twould not cancel
The bond I stand engaged for : but accept
Of that which I can pay, my all is yours, sir;
Nor is there any here (though I must grant
Some have deserved much from me), for so far
I claie presume, but will surrender up
Their interest to that your highness shall
Deign to pretend a title.

Uher. I subscribe not
To this condition.

Farn. The services
This prince hath done your grace iti your moat

danger,
Are not to be so slighted.

Hort. 'Tis far from me
To urge my merits, yet, I must maintain,
Howe'er my power is less, my lore is more ;
Nor will the gracious princess scorn to acknow-
ledge
I have been her humble servant.

Lor. Smooth your brows,

I'll not encroach upon your right, for that were
Once more to force affection (a crime
With which should I the second time be tainted,
I did deserve no favour), neither will I
Make use of what is offer'd by the duke,
Howe'er I thank his goodnes. I'll lay by
My power, and though I should not brook a rival
(What we are, well consider'd), I'll descend
To be a third competitor ; he that can
With love and service best deserve the garland,
With your consent let him wear it ; I despair not
The trial of my fortune.

Con. Bravely offer'd,
And like yourself, great prince.

Uber. I must profess
I am so taken with it, that I know not
Which way to express my service.

Hort. Did I not build

Upon the princess' grace, I could sit down,
And hold it no dishonour.

Matil. How I feel

My soul divided ! all have deserved so well,
I know not where to fix my choice.

Con. You have

Time to consider : will you please to take
Possession of the fort ? then, having tasted
The fruits of peace, you may at leisure prove
Whose plt-a will prosper in the court of Love.

[Euunt

SCBNI I.]

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

48?

ACT V.

SCENE I. Mantua. A Room in the Palace.

Enter ALONZO, OCTAVIO, PISANO, MARIA, and
GOIHRIO.

AUm. You need not doubt, sir, were not peace

proclaim'd

And celebrated with a general joy,
The Lisjh displeasure of the Maniuan duke,
Raised on just grounds, not jealous suppositions,
The saving of our lives (which, next to heaven,
To you alone is proper) would force mercy
For an offence, though capital.

Pisan. W lien the conqueror
Uses entreaties, they are arm'd commands
The vanquish'd must not check at.

Mai: My pietv pay the forfeit,
If danger come hut near you ! 1 have heard
My gracious mistress often mention you,
Wbea I served her as a page, and feelingly
Relate how much the duke her sire repented
His hasty doom of banishment, in bis rage
Pronounc'd against you.

Oct. In a private difference,
I grant that innocence is a wall of brass,
And scorns the hottest battery ; but when
The cause depends between the prince and subject,
'Tis an unequal competition ; Justice
Must lay her balance by, and use her sword
For his ends that protects it. I was banish'd,
And, till revoked from exile, to tread on
My sovereign's territories with forbidden feet,
The severe letter of the law calls death ;
Which 1 am subject to in coming so near
His court and person. But my only child
Being provided for, her honour salved too,
I thank your noble change, I shall endure
Whate 'er can fall, with patience.

Almi, You have used
That medicine too long ; prepare yourself
Fur honour in your age, and rest secure oft.

Mar, Ot what is your wisdom musing?

(.'nith. I am gazing on

This gorgeous house ; our cote's a dishclout to it;
It has no sign, whatdoyou call't?

Mar. The court;
I have lived in't a page.

Goth. Page ! very pretty :
May 1 not be a page ? Iain old enough,
Well-timber'd too, and I've a beard to carry it ;
Pray you, let me be your page ; 1 can swear already
Upon your pantofte.

Mar. What?

(;, t!i. That I'll he true
Unto your smock.

3/ar. How, rascal!

Oct. Hence, and pimp

To your rams and ewes ; such foul pollution is
To be whipt from court ; I have now no more use

of you ;
Return to your trough.

Goth, Must I feed on husks
Before 1 have play'd the prodigal?

Oct. No, I'll reward
Your service ; live in your own element
Like an hanest man; all that is mine in die cottage
I freely give you.

Goth. Your bottles too, that I carry
For your own tooth T
Oct, Full as they are.

Mar. And gold, [Gives him her purse.

That will replenish them.

Gi>th. I am made for ever.
This was done i'tlie nick.
Oct, Why in the nick?
Goth, O sir !

Twas well for me that you did reward my service
Before you enter'd the court ; for 'tis reported
There is a drink of forget fulness, which once tasted,
Few masters think of their servants, who, grown

old,
Are turn'd off, like lame bounds and hunting

horses.

To starve on the commons. [Exit.

Alon. Bitter knave !

Enter MARTINO.

There's craft
In the clouted shoe. Captain !

Mart. I am glad to kiss
Your valiant hand, and yours ; but pray you, take

notice,
My title's changed, I am a colonel.

Pisan, A colonel! where 's your regiment?

Mart. Not raised yet;

All the old ones are cashier'd, and we are now
To have a new militia : all is peace here.
Yet I hold my title still, as many do
That never saw an enemy.

Alan. You are pleasant,
And it becomes you. Is the duke stirring ?

Mart. Long since.
Four hours at least, but yet not ready.

Pisan, How !

Mart. Even so; you make a wonder oft, but

leave it :

Alas, he is not now, sir, in the camp,
To be up and arm'd upon the least alarum ;
There's something else to be thought on here he

comes,
With his officers, new rigg'd.

Enter LORENZO, as from his chamber ; Doctor, Gentle*
man, and Page employed about his person.

Alon, A looking-glass !
Upon my head, he saw not his own face
These seven years past, but by reflection
From a bright armour.

Mart. Be silent, and observe.

Lor. So, have you done yet?
Is your building perfect ?

Duct, If your highness please,
Here is a water.

Lor. To what use * my barber
Hath wash'd my face already.

Doct, But this water

490

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

[Acr V

Hath a strange virtue in't, beyond his rt >
It is a sacred relic, part of that
Most powerful juice, with which Medea made
Old .Eson young.

Lor. A fable ! but suppose
I should give credit to it, will it work
The same effect on me ?

Doct. I'll undertake

This will restore the honour'd hair that grows
Upon your highness' head and chin, a little
Inclining unto gray.
Lor. Inclining! doctor.
Doct. Pardon me, mighty sir, I went too far,
Not gray at all ; I dare not flatter you.
Tis something changed ; but this applied will help

To the first amber-colour, every hair
As fresh as when, your manhood in the prime,
Your grace arrived ai thirty.
Lor. Very well.
Doct. Then here's a precious oil, to which the

maker

Hath not yet given a name, will soon fill up
These dimples in your face and front. I grant
They are terrible to your enemies, and set off
Your frowns with majesty ; but you may please
To know, as sure you do, a smooth aspect,
Softness and sweetness, in the court of Love,
Though dumb, are the prevailing orators.
Lor. Will he new-create me ?
Doct. If you deign to taste too
Of this confection.

Lor. I am in health, and need
No physic.

Doct. Physic, sir! An empress,
If that an empress' lungs, sir, may be tainted
With putrefaction, would taste of it
That night on which she were to print a kiss
Upon the lips of her long-absent lord
Returning home with conquest.

Lor. 'Tis predominant
Over a stinking breath, is it not, doctor ?

Doct. Clothe the infirmity with sweeter language,
'Tis a preservative that way.

Lor. You are then

Admitted to the cabinets of great ladies,
And have the government of the borrow'd besuties
Of such as write near forty.

Doct. True, my good lord,
And my attempts have prosper'd.

Lor. Did you never
Minister to the princess ?

Doct. Sir, not yet ;

She's in the April of her youth, and needs not
The aids of art, my gracious lord ; but in
The autumn of her age I may be useful,
And sworn her highness' doctor, and your grace
Partake of the delight.
Lor. Slave ! witch ! impostor !

[Stri/cM him rfotnt.

Mountebank ! cheater ! traitor to great nature,
In thy presumption to repair what she
In her immutable decrees design'd
For some few years to grow up, and then wither !
Or is't not crime enough thus to betray
The secrets of the weaker sex, thy patients,
But thou must make the honour of this age,
And envy of the time to come, Matilda,
Whose sacred name I bow to, guilty of
A future sin in thy ill-boding thoughts,

Which for a perpetuity of youth

And pleasure slie disdains to act, such is

Her purity and innocence !

[Sets hi3j'oot on the Doctor's breast
Alan. Long since
I look'd for this 1'envoy*.

Mart. Would I were well off!
He's dangerous in these humours.
Oct. Stand conceal 'd.

Doct. O sir, have mercy ! in my thought I never
Offended you.

Lor. Me ! most of all, thou monster!
What a mock-man property in thy intent
Wouldst tbou have made me? a mere |>athic to
Thy devilish art, had I given suffrage to it.
Are my gray hairs, the ornament of a^e,
And held a blessing by the wisest men,
And for such warranted by holy writ,
To be ronoeal'd, as if they were my shame?
Or plaister up these furrows in my face,
As if I were a painted bawd or whore ?
By such oase means if that I could ascend
To the height of nil my hopes, their full fruition
Would not wipe off the nan'tal : no, thou wretch!
Thy cozening water and adulterate oil
I thus pour in thine eyes, and tread to dust
Thy loath'd confection with thy trumperies :
Vanish for ever!

Mart. You have your fee, as I take it,
Dear Domine doctor ! I'll be no sharer with you.

[/'arit Doctor.

Lor. I'll court her like myself; these rich adorn-
ments

And jewels, worn by me, an absolute prince,
My order too, of which I am the sovereign,
Can meet no ill construction ; yet 'tis far
From my imagination to believe
She can be taken with sublime clay,
The silk-worm's spoils, or rich embroideries :
Nor must I borrow helps from power or greatness
Hut as a loyal lover plead my cause ;
If I can feelingly express my ardour.
And make her sensible of the much I suffer
In hopes and fears, and she vouchsafe to take
Compassion on me, ha ! compassion?
The word sticks in my throat : what's here, that

tells me

I do descend too low? rebellious spirit,
I conjure thee to leave me ! there is now
No contradiction or declining left,
I must and will go on.

Mart. The tempest's laid ;
You may present yourselves.

[Alonzo and Pitano eomt forward.
A Ion. My gracious lord.
Pisan. Your humble vassal.
Lor. Ha! both living?
Ai-n. Sir,

We owe our lives to this good lord, and make it
Our humble suit

Alon. Long rince
I look'd for thit l'envoy .] i.e. for this termination. The
'envoy is explained with great accuracy by Cotgravc: he
'ays, " it is the conclusion of a ballad or aonnet in a short
t.tnzaby iistlf, anil serving, oftentimes, as. a dedication of
he whole. In French poetry, I'enroy sometimes serve? to
convey the moral of the piece: but our old dramatists, in
adopting lie word, disregarded the sense, and seldom mean
more by it than conclusion, or end. It occurs in Snak
peare, Jonson, Fletcher, and, indeed, in molt of ourau:itB
rrilera.

SCENE III.]

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

491

Lor. Plead for yourselves : we stand
Yet unresolved whether your knees or prayers
Can save the forfeiture of your own heads :
Though we have put our armour off, your pardon
For leaving of the camp without our license
Is uotyet sign'd. At some more tit time wait us.
[Exeunt Lorenzo, Gentleman, and Page.

Alan. How's this?

Mart. Tis well it is no worse; I met with
A rougher entertainment, yet I Lad
Good cards to show. He's parcel mad ; you'll find

liim

Kverv hour in a several mood ; this foolish love
Is such a shuttlecock ! but all will bo well
When a better fit comes on him, never doubt it.

[Eieunt.

SCENE II. Another Room in the tame.

Enter GONZAGA, UBERTI, FARNEZE, and MANFRJY.

Gon. Ho-*- do you find her ?

Uber. Thankful for my service,
And yet she gives me little hope; my rival
Is too great for me.

Gon. The great duke, you mean ?

Uber. Who else? the Milanese, although he be
A complete gentleman, I am sure despairs
More than myself.

Farn. A high estate, with women,
Takes place of all desert.

Uber. I must stand my fortune.

Enter LORENZO and Attendants.

Man. The duke of Florence, sir.

Gon. Your highness' presence
Answers my wish. Your private ear: I have

used

My best persuasion with a father's power
To work my daughter to your ends ; yet she,
Like a small bark on a tempestuous sea,
Toss'd here and there by opposite winds, resolves

not

At which port to put in. This prince's merits,
Your grace and favour ; nor is she unmindful
Of the brave acts (under your pardon, sir,
1 needs must call them so) Hortensio
Hath done to gain her good opinion of him;
All these together tumbling in her fancy,
Do much distract her. 1 have spies upon her.
And am assured this instant hour she gives
Hortensio private audience , I will bring you
Where we will see and hear all.

Lor. You oblige me.

Uber. I do not like this whispering.

Gon. Fear no foul play. [Exeunt,

SCENE III. Another Room in the tame.

Enter HORTENSIO, BEATRICE, and two Waiting
Women.

1 Worn. The princess, sir, long since expected

you ;

And, would I beg a thanks, I could tell you that
I have often moved her for you.

Hurt. I am your servant.

Enter MATILDA.

Beat. Shs's come ; there are others I must place

to hear
The conference. [En'fc

1 Worn. Is't your excellency's pleasure
That we atiend you ?

Matil. No ; wait me in tht- gallery.

1 Worn. Would each of us, wench, had a sweet*
heart too,

To pass away ihe time !

2 Worn. There I join with you.

[E.wi)it Waiting Women,

N itil. I fear this is the last time we shall meet.
Hort. Heaven forbid !

Re-enter above BEATRICK with LORENZO, GONZAGA,
UBERII, and FARNKZE.

MatiL my Honensio!
In me behold the misery of greatness,
And that which you call beauty. Had 1 been
Of a more low condition, 1 might
Have call'd my will and faculties mine own,
Not seeing tliat which was to bf beloved
With others' eyes : but now, ah me, moa wretched
And miserable princess, in my fortune
lo be too much engaged for service done me !
It being impossible to make satisfaction
To my so many creditors ; all deserving,
I can keep touch with none.

Lor. A sad exordium.

MatiL You loved me long, and without hope

(alas,

I die to think on't !) Parma's prince, invited
With a too partial report of what
I was, and might be to him, left his country,
To fight in my defence. Your brave achievements
1' the war, and what you did forme, unspoken,
Because 1 would not force the sweetness of
Your modesty to a blush, are written here :
And, that there might be nothing' wanting to
Sum up my numerous engagements (never
In my hopes to be cancell'd), the great duke.
Our mortal enemy, when my father's country
Lay open to his fury, and the spoil
Of the victorious army, and I brought
Into his power, hath sh'owa himself so noble.
So full of honour, temperance, and all virtue**
That can set off a prince, that, though I cannot
Render him that respect I would, 1 am bound
In thankfulness to admire him.

Hort. *Tis acknowledged,
And on your part to be return 'd.

Matil. How can I,

Without the brand of foul ingratitude
To you and prince Uberti?

Hort. Hear me, madam,
And what your servant shall with zeal deliver.

So full of honour, temperance, and all virtue*.] lahall
give this and the six following lines, ;i> they .-i.nnl in Cox-
eter and Mr. M. Mason. A better specimen cannot be de-
sired of the fidelity, good taste, and iTitir.il knowledge \\ilh
which these gentlemen performed their editorial duties.
Their interpolations are in Roman characters :
So full of strictest honour, temperance,
And alt virtues that can ttt off a prince.
That, though I cannot render him that respect
J would, I'm bound in thanltfulness t' admire him.

Gal. 'Tis acknowledg'd, and on your part
To be return'd.
Matil. But oh! hota can I , ft*.

192

BASHFUL LOVER.

[Acr V.

As a Daedvilean clew may guide you out of
This labyrinth of distraction*. He that loves
His mistress truly, should prefer her honour
And peace of mind above the glutting of
His ravenous appetite he should aft'ect her
Hut with a fit restraint, imcl not take from her
To give himself: he should make it the height
Of his ambition, if it lie in
His stretch 'd-out nerves to effect it, though she

fly in

An eminent placet, to add strength to her wings,
And mount her higher, though he full himself
Into the bottomless abyss ; or else
The services he offers are not real,
lint counterfeit.

Matil. What can Hortensio
Infer from this ?

/fort. That I stand bound in duty
(Though in the act I take my last farewell
Of comfort in this life) to sit down willingly,
And move my suit no further. 1 confess,
While you were in danger, and heaven's mercy

made me

Its instrument to preserve you (which your good-
ness

Prized far above the merit), I was bold
To feed my starved affection with false hopes
I might be worthy of you; for know, madam,
How mean soever I appear'd in Mantua,
I had in expectation a fortune,
Though not possess'd of 't, that encouraged me
With confidence to prefer my suit, and not
To fear the prince (Jberti as my rival.

Con. I ever thought him. more than what be

seem'd.

Lor. Pray you, forbear.
Hort. But when the duke of Florence
Put in his plea, in my consideration
Weighing well what he is, as you must grant him
A Mars of men in arms, and, those put off,
The great example for a kingly courtier
To imitate ; annex to these his wealth,
Of such a large extent, as other monnrchs
Call him the king of coin ; and, what's above all,
His lawful love, with all the happiness
This life can fancy, from him flowing to you ;
The true affection which I have ever borne you,
Does not alone command me to desist,
But, as a faithful counsellor, to advise you
To meet and welcome that felicity
Which hastes to crown your virtues.
Lor. We must break off this parley.
Something 1 have to say. [Exeunt above.

Matil. In tears I thank

Your care of my advancement : but I dare not
Follow your counsel. Shall such piety
Pass unrewarded 1 such a pure affection,
For any ends of mine, be undervalued ?
Avert it, heaven ! I will be thy Matilda,
Or cease to be ; no other heat but what >

Glows from thy purest flames, shall warm this

bosom,

Nor Florence, nor all monarchs of the earth,
Shall keep thee from me.

This labyrinth of distraction.] So the old copy : the
modern editois capriciously rend Thii labyrinth o/'de.tnic-
tionl Ever. pa^e, and ;ilmo-t every speech, teems with
timiUr absurdities. Three lines below, they omit her,
which destroys the meaning of the whole sentence.

t An eminent place, i. e. height.

Re-enter below LORENZO, GONZAGA, UBERTI,
FARNEZE, and MANFHOY.

Hort. I fear, gracious lady.
Our conference hath been overheard.

Matil. The beiter;

Your part is acted ; give me leave at distance
To zany it. Sir, on my knees thus prostrate
Before your feet

Lor. This must not be, I shall
Both wrong myself and you in suffering it.

Matil. I will grow here, and weeping thus turn

marble.

Unless you hear and urant the first petition
A virgin, and a princess, ever tendered ;
Nor doth the suit concern poor me alone,
It hath a stronger reference to you,
And to your honour; and, if you deny it,
Both ways you suffer. Remember, sir, you were

not

Born only for yourself; heaven's liberal hand
Design'd you to command a potent nation,
Gave you heroic valour, which you have
Abused in making unjust war upon
A neighbour-prince, a Christian ; while the Turk,
Whose scourge and terror you should be, se-
curely

Wastes the Italian confines ; 'tis in you
To force him to pull in his horned crescents.
And 'tis expected from you.

Lor. I have been
In a dream, and now begin to wake.

Matil. And will you

Forbear to reap the harvest of such glories,
Now ripe, and at full growth, for the embraces
Of a slight woman? or exchange your triumphs
For chamber-pleasures, melt your able nerves
(That should with your victorious sword make waj
Through the armies of your enemies) in loose
And wanton dalliance? Be yourself, great sir,
The thunderbolt of war, and scorn to sever
Two hearts long since united ; your example
May teach the prince Uberti to subscribe
To that which you allow of.

Lor. The same tongue

That charm'd my sword out of my hand, and threw
A frozen numbness on my active spirit,
Hath disenchanted me. Rise, fairest princess !
And, that it may appear I do receive
Your counsel as inspired from heaven, I will
Obey and follow it : I am your debtor,
And must confess you have lent my weaken'd

reason

New strengths once more to hold a full command
Over my passions. Here to the world
I freely do profess that I disclaim
All interest in you, and give up my title,
Such as it is, to you, sir; and, as far
As I have power, thus join your hands.

Gon. To yours
I add my full consent.
Uber. I am lost, Farneze.

Farn. Much nearer to the port than you suppose .
In me our laws speak, and forbid this contract.

Matil. Ah me, new stops !

Hort. Shall we be ever cross'd thus ?

Farn. There is an act upon record, confirm'd
By your wise predecessors, that no heir
Of Mantua (as questionless the princess
Is the undoubted one) must be joined in marriage

SCENE III.]

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

But where the match may strengthen the estate

And safety of the dukedom. Now, this gentleman,

However I must style him honourable,

And of a high desert, having no power

To make this good in his alliance, stands

Excluded by our laws ; whereas this prince,

Of equal merit, brings to Mantua

The power and principality of Parma :

And, therefore, since the great duke hath let fall

His plea, there lives no prince that justlier can

Challenge the princess' favour.

Lor, Is this true, sir?

Gem. I cannot contradict it.

Enter MANFROY.

Mar.. There's an ambassador
From Milan, that desires a present audience;
His business is of highest consequence,
As he affirms : 1 know him fur a man
Of the best rank and quality.

Ham. From Milan'

Gem. Admit him.

Enter Ambassador and JULIO icith a letter, which he
pretentt on his knee to GALEAZZO.

How ! so low 1

Amb. I am sorry, sir,
To be the bringer of this heavy news ;
But since it must be known

Gal. Peace rest with him !
I shall find h'tter time to mourn his loss.
My faithful servant too !

Jut. 1 am o'trjoy'd,
To see your highness safe.

Gal. Pray }ou, peruse this,
And there you'll End th it the objection
The lord Fain^e made, is fully imswer'd.

Con. The great John Galeas dead !

Lor. And iliis his brother,
The absolute lord of Milan !

Matil. 1 am revived.

Uber. There's no contending against destiny ;
I wish both happiness.

Enter AI.ONZO, MARIA, OCTAVIO, PISANO, c.nd
MARTINO.

Lor. Married, Alonzo !
1 will salute your lady, she's a fair one,
And seal your pardon on her lips. [Aissss Maria.

Gon. Octavio !

Welcome, e'en to my heart*. Rise, I should kneel
To thee for mercy.

Oft. The poor remainder of
My age shall truly serve you.

Matil. You resemble
A page I had, Ascanio.

JVlor. I am
Your highness' servant still.

Gonz. Octario,

Welcome, e'en to my heart, &c.] Massingcr had involved

his plot in a considerable difficulty, and it must be candidly

cknowledgtd th.it he has shown but little contrivance in

xtiicatiu-4 it. Nothing can be more inartificial than the

uddeii death of " the "real John Galea:" and, certainly,

n Opportunity for a moving scene was here presented in ihe

econcilenient of Gonzaga and Oitavio: but the play had

cached its trll length, and was. therefore, of nn essity to be

bruptly concluded. Very little ingenuity might have made

the catastrophe more worthy of the commencement.

The story is interesting, and though suthciei.tly diversified,
neither improbable nor unnatural ; the language of the su-
perior characters is highly poetic, and very beautiful.

Lor. All stand amazed
At this unlooked-for meeting ; but defer
Your several stories. Fortune here hath shown
Her various power; but virtue in the end
Is crown'd with laurel ; Love hath done his parts

too;

And mutual friendship, after bloody jars,
Will cure the wounds received in our wars.

[Exeunt

EP ILOGUE.

PRAY you, gentlemen, keep your seats ; something

I would

Deliver to gain favour, if I could,
To us, and the still doubtful author. He.
When 1 desired an epilogue, answer' 3 .T.?,
" 'Twiis to no purpose he must bt;md his fate,
" Since all entreaties now wou.'d come too late ;
" You being long since resolved what you would

say

*' Of him, or us, as you rise, or of the play."
A strange old fellow ! yet this sullen mood
Would (juickly leave him, might it be understood
You par*, not hence displeased. 1 am design'd
To give him certain notice : if )ou find
Things worth your liking, show it. Hope and fear,
Though different passions, have the self-same ear*.

This Play bears many marks of the heroic or chivalrous
manni is, or of both together. Some of these we see in Ihe
impaitial admission of the services of all the suitors of Ma-
tilda; in her free acceptance of the personal devotion of
Galeazzo, though he makes his approach only as a gentle
stmnger, and paiticulail} in the extraordinary clemency if
Lorenzo, and his magnanimous surrender of the beauteous
object won by his valour. In some of the preceding Plays,
the ivader will have observed certain traces of these manners.
Among the g ievanc.-s to be redressed in The Parliament
of l.ooe are ihoc of " disdained lovers." When Ahnira
(a Vary Woman) abruptly oismUses Don John, she is re-
proved for it, as offering an oninigetoher hi^h "breeding,"
and as guilty of almost a " barbarism." And Camiola
( HI 'aid of Honour) tolerates the pretensions of Seignior
Syll: himstlf.and pn-se-ves the necessary decorum by sty ling
him her servant. Without some such supposition as thin, it
would be difficult to account for the incongruities which ap-
pear in this Play ; .Matil. la won! I act without discretion, anil
would lose her delicacy and her dignity and Lorenzo, who,
indeed, on any supposition, cannot wholly escape censure,
would hardly be allowed to retain his senses. It reenu,
therefore, to be the object of the story to blazon the effects
of Matilda's beauty, ant to exhibit the double heroism cf
action in Gal<azzo, and of forbearance in Lorenzo. Seveial
passages of the Play tend to suggest this view of it, and par-
ticularly one, in which Ihe clemency of Lorenzo is expressly
complimented by Gonzaga, as the true attendant of the
" old heroic valour,"

" a virtue

Buried long since, but raised out of the grave

By yon, to grace this latter age.''

The age itself, in which the events are supposed to take
place, is fixed in the last scene by ihe death of the great
John Galeas. But why a great Duke of Florence, or a
duke of Mantua, should be attributed to an age which knew
of none, or why a war should be invented between .Mantua
and Florence, instead of (he union of both against the ambi-
tion of Galeas himself, it would be useless to inquire.
Ma-singer, or the writer from whom he draws his tory,
cares nothing for this, and accomplishes his purpose ol
amusement by p.-rsonages called from any age or country:

D':ssofiata lofis concordi pace tiyavit.
One circumstance is remarkable. Just before the death
of Galeas is announced, Matilda incidentally entreats Lo-
renzo tn point his arms against the Turks, then securely
war-ting the " Italian confines." In another part of the
Play, he is extolled for his splendour, and proverbially
name.) the " king of coin." And we know that somewhat
within a century from the death of Gale is, Lorenzo (the

494

THE BASHFUL LOVE?

[AcrV

magnificent) was the chief instrument of the expulsion of
the Turks from Olranto, and became, hat Matilda wishes
him to be, their " scourge and terror." It ,ould be very
desirable to know (rum what book of strange adventures
tliis anil the plots of some of the other Plays are derived;
but this is a pi^ce of information which I am wholly unable
to give. Meanwhile, it must be said on behalf of Massinger
himself, that this Play is agreeably written The language
is chaste, and of a temperate dignity, and is well adapted
to Ihe higher conversation of the Mage. Some of the scenes,
too, have considerable ettect; the reception of the ambassi-
dor in the first act i< stately and impressive, and the patriot-
ism which itralU forih i only interior in animation to that
in The Bondman. The confession scene, too, in the fourth
Act, i- interesting, and reminds us, though at some distance,
of The Emperor of the Kat ; ami the discove.y of Maria
by her father is pretty and affecting. Some of the charac-
ters too arc well drawn. Matilda has a pleasing mixture of
ilignily and condescension, is generous, delicate, and noble-
minded, and (a circmnsUnce which Massinger delight* to
represent), is won by th- modesty of her lover. (jalea/zo
himself is .~.'ong!y described, both in his diffidence ,:ii<l his
heroism; IE J <u '.raimtior from the cue to the other at her

command, is highly animating. The principal fault! arise
from the management: Ihe contrivances are sometimes re-
dundant and sometimes defective; either they are accumu-
lated without an answerable effect, or they are withheld
when a small employment of them would materially relieve
the story. There is also a vfrbosentss in some of the
speeches, and more lameness than usual in the soliloquies.
He, whose thoughts hurst into solitary speech, should pass,
wild brevity and passion, from one circumstance to another,

and, for t
vey his in

to lab.
double

narrati

A plea
it teaches

e purposes of the st.ige, should substantially con-
elligence to the audience, while he appears only
nder the disorder of his own feelings. But this
gcnieiit is generally too delicate lor Mas.inger :

and the so loquies of this Play are direct and circumstantial

liich might be addressed to another person,
ig moral arises from the character of Galeazzo:
s (hat modesty is essentially connected with true

merit. The vulgar, who, like the attendants of Matilda,
are fond of boldmss, may look on it with contempt; but let
it not despair: the eye of taste and sense will mark it for
distinction and reward, and even those will join in allow-
ing its deserts, who feel themielvei eclipsed by its stipe-
rioiity Da. In LLANO.

THE OLD LAW,

Tn* OLD Liw.] Of this Comedy, which is said to have been written by Massinger, Middleton, aud
Rowley, in conjunction, there is but one edition, the quarto of 1656, which appears to be a hasty tran-
script from the prompter's book, made, as I have observed, when the necessities of the actors, now
grievously oppressed by the republicans, compelled them, for a temporary resource, to take advantage of a
popular name, and bring forward such pieces as they yet possessed in manuscript.

Of Middleton and Rowley some notice has been already taken: 1 have therefore only to repeat what
is hazarded in the Introduction, my persuasion that the share of Massinger, in this strange composition, is
uot i he most considerable of the three.

This Play was printed for Edward Archer : it does him no credit ; for a work so full of errors, and
It'iose too of the most gross and ridiculous kind, has seldom issued from the press. Hundreds ol the more
obvious are corrected in silence ; others, with the attempts to remove them, are submitted to the reader,
who (if he thinks the enquiry worth his labour), will here find The Old Law far less irregular, unmetrical,
and unintelligible, than in any of the preceding editions.

This drama was once very popular. The title of the quarto is, "The excellent Comedy called The Old
Law, or A New Way to Please Yon. Acted before the King and Queen at Salisbury House, and at several
other places with great applause."

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

EVANDER duke of Epire.
CiiATii.i's, the executioner.
CREON, father to Simonides.

Si \IOXIIIFS. i /-. .

r, \ young Lourtiers.

GI.EAMHE.S, I * 6

I.VSANUKR. husband to Eugenia, and uncle to Cleanthes,
LION-IDES, father to Cleanthes.
GNOJHO, the clown.

Courtiers.

Dancing-master.

Butter. j

Ba '(iff, I Servants to Creon.

Tailor, J

chman, -\
'.man, ]-
fe, J

Coachman,

Footman, J- Also Servant* to Creon.

Cook,

Clerk.

Drawer.

ANTIGONA, wife to Creon.

HIPPOLITA, wife to Cleanthes.

EUGENIA, wife to Lysander, and mother to Parthenis.

PARTHENIA.

AGATHA, wife to Gnotho.

Old women, wires to Creon 's urvanti.

Courtesan.

Fiddlers, Servants, Guard,

SCENE, Epire.

ACT I.

SCENE I. A Room in Creon's Hmitt.
Enter SIMOMOES and two Lawyers.

Sim Is the law firm, sir?

1 Law. The law ! what more firm, sir,
Moie powerful, forcible, or more permanent?

Sim. By my troth, sir,
I partly do believe it; conceive, sir,
Ym have indirectly answered my question.
I did not doubt the fundamental grounds
Of hi iv in general, for the most solid ;
lint this particular law that me concerns
Now at the piesent j if that be firm and strong,
AM! powerful, and forcible, and permanent.
i am a young man that has an old father.

2 Law. Nothing more strong, sir.
It is Secitndum statutum principis, confirmatum cum
voce senatiis, et race reipublica ; nay, consummatum
et tiemplificatnm.
Is it not in force

When divers have already tasted it,
And paid their lives for penalty ?

Sim. 'Tis true.

My father must be next ; this day completes
Full fourscore years upon him.

2 Law. He is here, then,
Sub paena stututi ; hence I can tell him,
Truer than all the physicians in the world,
He cannot live out to-morrow ; this
Is the most certain climacterical year

THE OLD LAW.

|Acr

Tis past all danger, for there's no escaping it.
What age is your mother, sir ?

Sim. Faith, near her days too ;
Wants some two of threescore.

1 Law. So ! she'll drop away
One of these days too : here's a good age now
For those that have old parents, and rich inherit-
ance !

Sim. And, sir, 'tis profitable for others too :
Are there not fellows that lie bedrid in their offices
That younger men would walk lustily in ?
Churchmen, that even the second infancy
Hath silenced, yet have spun out their lives so

long,

That many pregnant and ingenious spirits
Have languish 'd in their hoped reversions,
And died upon the thought ? and, by your leave,

sir,

Have you not places fill'd up in the law
By some grave senators, that you imagine
Have held them long enough, and such spirits as

you,
Were they removed, would leap into their dignities?

1 Law. Die quibu$ in ierris, et eris mihi magnus
Apollo*.

Sim. But tell me, faith, your fair opinion :
Is't not a sound and necessary law
This, by the duke enacted?

1 LUU-. Never did Greece,

Our ancient seat of brave philosophers,
'Mongst all her nomotheta and lawgivers,
Not when she flourish'd in her sevenfold sages,
Whose living memory can never die,
Produce a law more grave and necessary.
Sim. I am of that mind too.

2 Law. I will maintain, sir,
Draco's oligarchy, that the government
Of community reduced into few,
Framed a fair sate ; Solon's chreokopiat

That cut oft' poor men's debts to their rich creditors,

Was good and charitable, but not full, allow'd ;

His seiscatheia did reform that error},

His honourable senate of Areopagitae.

Lycurgus was more loose an J gave too free

And licentious reins unto his discipline ;

As that a young woman, in her husband's weak-

.iess,

Might choose her able friend to propagate ;
That so the commonwealth might be supplied
With hope of lusty spirits. Plato did err,
And so did Aristotle, in allowing
Lewd and luxurous limits to their laws :
But now our Kpire, our Epire's Evander,
Our noble and wise prince, has hit the law
That all our predecessive students
Have missed unto their shame.

Enter CLEANTHES.
Sim. Forbear the praise, sir,
'Tis in itself most pleasing : Cleanthes !
O, lad, here's a spring for young plants to flourish !
The old trees must down that keep the sun from us ;
We shall rise now, boy.

Law. Die qiiibus, &c.] This lawyer is a very clever
fellow, but 1 do nut see the drift of his quotation.

t Solon't chreokopia.) XptWKOTTia

signifies the cutting oft that part of the debt which arose
from the interest of the sum lent. M. MASON.

J //> seiscatheia did reform that error, Eflffa^ua ,
i. e. a shaking otf'a bnrthtn, metaphorically, an abolition of
debt. This lawyer's notions of honesty would have lilted him
for one of Solon's counsellor!.

Clean. Whither, sir, I pray?
To the bleak air of storms ; among those trees*
Which we had shelter from ?

Sim. Yes, from our growth
Our sap and livelihood, and from our fruit.
What ! tis not jubilee with thee yet, I think,
Thou look'st so sad on't. How old is thy father?

Clean. Jubilee ! no, indeed ; 'tis a bad year with me.

Sim. Prithee, how old's thy father ? then I can
tell thee.

Clean. I know not how to answer you, Si-

monides ;

lie is too old, being now exposed
Unto the rigour of a cruel edict ;
And yet not old enough by many years,
Cause I'd not see him go an hour before me.

Sim. These very passions I speak to my fatberf.
Come, come, here's none but friends here, we may

speak

Our insides freely ; these are lawyers, man,
And shall be counsellors shortly

Clean. They shall be now, s'vr,
And shall have large fees if they'll undertake
To help a good cause, for it wants assistance ;
Bad ones, 1 know, they can insist upon.

1 Law. Oh, sir, we mu st undertake of both parts ;
But the good we have most good in.

Clean. Pray you, say,
How do you allow of this strange edict ?

1 Law. Seciindumjustitiam ; by my faith, sir,
The happiest edict that ever was in Epire.

Clean. What, to kill innocents, sir ? it cannot be,
It is no rule in justice there to punish.

1 Law. Oh, sir,
You understand a conscience, but not lawj.

Clean. Why, sir, is there so main a difference?

1 Law. You'll never be good lawyer if you un-
derstand not that.

Clean. I think, then, 'tis the best to be a bad one.

J Law. Why, sir, the very letter and the sense
both do overthrow you in this statute, which speaks
that every man living to fourscore years, and wo-
men to threescore, shall then be cut off as fruitless
to the republic, and law shall finish what nature
linger'd at.

Clean. And this suit shall soon be dispatch'd in
law?

1 Law. It is so plain, it can have no demur,
The church-book overthrows it.

Clean. And so it does ;
The church-book overtrows it if you read it well.

* Clean. Whither, sir, I pray f
To the bleak air of utormx ; among those trret
Which we had shelter from?] This short speech is
pretty introduction to the filial piety and tenderness which
form the character of Cleanthes.

t Sim. These very passions / xpeak to my father,'] i. e.
these pathetic speeches: this word occurs l'r?<|iicinly in oor
old writers, for a short monody or song of the plaintive kind.
Thus Tomkins ; Not a one shakes his tail, but I sigh out a
patron. Albumazar.
I 1 Law. Oh, sir,

You understand a conscience, but nnt law.] These earned
gentlemen make very free with their piofesiion; but th*
distinriion is a good one.
Clean. And so it does ;

The church-book overthrows if, if you read it wrll
Cleanthes and the lawyer are at cross purposes. The laliei
observes that the church-book (by which lie means the regis
ter of births kept there overthrows all demur ; t-> which tin
former replies, that it really does so, taking the holy Scrip-
tures for the cliiin h bonk.

To observe upon the utter confusion of all time and plice
of all iiHioms and manners, in this drama, would be super
Iluous ; they must be obvious to the most cri-lf -

I.]

THE OLD LAW.

497

t Law. Still you run from the law into error :
You say it takes the lives of innocents,
I say no, and so says common reason ;
What man lives to fourscore, and woman to three,
That can die innocent ?

Clean. A fine law evasion !
Good sir, rehearse the whole statute to me.

Sim. Fie ! that's too tedious ; you have already
The full sum in the brief relation.

Clean. Sir,

'Mongst many words may be found contradictions ;
And these men dare sue and wranle with a statute,
If they can pick a quarrel with some error.

t Law. Listen, sir, I'll gather it as brief as I can

for you :

Anno primo Evandri, Be it for the care and good of ihe
cvmmonireallh (for divers necessary reasons that we
thall urge), thus peremptorily enacted

Clean. A fair pretence, it' the reasons foul it not !

2 Law. That all men living in our dominions of
Epire, in their decayed nature, to the age of four-
tcore, or women to the age of threescoi~e, shall on the
tame day be instantly put to death, by those means
and instruments that a former proclamation had to this
purpose, through our said territories dispersed.

Clean. There was no woman in this senate, cer-
tain.

1 Law. That these men, being past their bearing
arms, /:> aid and defend their country ; past their man-
hood and 'ikelihood, to propagate any further issue to
their posterity ; and as well past their councils (whose
overgrown ^iwity is now run into dotage) to assist their
country ; to whom, in common reason, nothing should be
M wearisome as their oien lives, as they may he supposed
tedious to llieir successive heirs, wlwse times are spent in
the good of their country : yet, wanting the means to
maintain it ; and are like to grow old before their in-
heritance (born to them ) come to their necessary use, be
condemned to die : for the women, for that they never
were a defence to their country ; never by counsel ad-
mitted to assist in the government of their country ;
only necessary to the propagation of pwttrity, and now
at the age of threescore, past that go.'d, and all their I
goodness: it it thought Jit (a quarter abated from the \
more worthy member) that they be put to death, at it
before recited : provided that for the just and impartial
eiecu/ion of this our statute, the example shall first
begin in and about our court, which out-self will see
carefully performed; and not, for a full month * fol-
lowing, eiteud any further into onr dominion*. Dated
the sixth of the second month, at our Palace Royal in
Epiref.

Clean. A fine edict, and very fairly gilded !
And is there no scruple in all these words,
To demur the law upon occasion!

Sim. Pox! 'tis an unneccessary inquisition ;
Prithee set him not about it.

and not, for a full month, &c.]

The reader will see the necessity and the motive of this pro-
vision in the act, toward* the conclusion of the Play.

Hrfil Acts of Parliament, in Massinger's days, been
gomexvh.it like what they are in ours, we might not unrea-
sonably h.tve supposed that this waa wickedly meant as a
ridicule on them, for a more prolix, tautological, confused
pince of formality, human wit, or rather human dullness,
could not easily have produced. As it stands in the old
copy, and in Coxeter, it is absolutely incomprehensible.
Mr. M. Mason restored it to as mncli meaning as it was pro-
bably intended to have, by a few interpolations, and I have
endeavoured to attain the same end, without deviating alto-
(ether so much from the original.

2 Law. Troth, none, sir :
It is so evident and plain a case.
There is no succour lor the defendant.

Clean. Possible ! can nothing help in a good
case?

1 Law. Faith, sir, I do think there may he a hole,
Which would protract ; delay, if not remedy.

Clean. Why, there's some comfort in that; good
sir, speak it.

1 Law. Nay, you must pardon me for that, sir

Sim. Prithee, do not ;

It may ope a wound to many sons and heirs,
That may die after it.

Clean. Come, sir, I know
How to make you speak : will this do it ?

j Gives him hispurte

1 Law. I will afford you my opinion, sir.
Clean. Pray you, repeat the literal words ex-
pressly,

The time of death.

Sim. 'Tis an unnecessary question ; prithee let
it alone.

2 Law. Hear his opinion, 'twill be fruitless, sir :
That man, at the age of Join score, unit woman at three
score, shall the same day be put to death,

1 Law. Thus I help the man to twenty-one years
more.

Clean. That were a fair addition.

1 Law. Mark it, sir; we say, man is not at age
Till he be one and twenty ; before, 'lis infancy
And adolescency : now, by that addition,
Fourscore he cannot be, till a hundred and one.

Sim. Oh, poor evasion !
He is fourscore years old, sir.

1 Law. That helps more, sir;
He begins to be old at fifty, so at fourscore
He's but thirty years old ; so, believe it, sir,
He may be twenty years in declination.
And so long nray a man linger and live by it.

Sim. The worst hope of safety that e'er t heard I
Give him his fee again, 'tis not worth two deniers.

1 Lam. There is no law for restitution of fees,
sir.

Cfean. No, no, sir ; I meant it lost when it was
given.

Enter CREON and ANIIGOWA.

Sim. No more, good sir.
Here are e;irs unnecessary for your doctrine.

1 Law. I have spoke out my fee, and 1 have done,
sir.

Sim. O my dear father !

Creon. Tush ! meet me not in exclaims ;
I understand the worst, and hope no better.
A fine law ! if this hold, white heads uill he cheap,
And many watchmen's places will be vacant*;
Forty of them I know my seniors,

That did due deeds of darkness too their country

Has watch'd them a good turn for't,

And ta'eri them napping now :

The fewer hospitals will serve too ; many

if this hold, white head* will be cheap,

And many watchmen'* places will he vacant ;] The au-
thor" could not forbear, even at this serious moment, to in-
dulge a snv'le at the venerable guardians of Ihe night, who,
in their time, as well as in ours, seem to have been very
" ancient and quiet" nerson;ies. The remainder of thii
gpeto!' st niiis thus in the quarto:

That did due dt-eda of darkness!" their country,
Has watch'd 'em a t/ond turn fur't, and tune 'em
Napping now, the. fewer ho*i:ital* will serve to.
Many may be uxed for stews, Sc.c.

498

THE OLD LAW.

[Acr I.

May be used for stews and brothels ; and those

people
Will never trouble them to fourscore.

Ant. Can you play and sport with sorrow, sir ?
Creim. Sorrow ! for what, Antigona ? for my life
My sorrow is I have kept it so long well
With bringing it up unto so ill an end.
I might have gently lost it in my cradle,
Before my nerves and ligaments grew strong
To bind it faster to me.

Sim. for mine own sake
I should have been sorry for that.

Creon. In my youth
I was a soldier, no coward in my age ;
I neverturn'd my back upon my foe ;
I have felt nature's winters, sicknesses,
Yet ever kept a lively sap ill me
To greet the cheerful spring of health again.
Dangers, on horse, on foot I by land], by water,
I have scaped to this day ; and yet this day,
Without all help of casual accidents,
Is only deadly to me, 'cause it numbers
Fourscore years to me. Where is the fault now ?
I cannot blame time, nature, nor my stars,
Nor aught but tyranny. Even kings themselves
Have sometimes tasted an even fate with me.
He that has been a soldier all his days,
And stood in personal opposition
'Gainst darts and arrows, the extremes of heat
And pinching cold, has* treacherously at home,
In s secure quiet, by a villain's hand

Been basely lost, in his stars' ignorance :

And so must I die by a tyrant's sword.

1 Law. Oh, say not so, sir, it is by the law.

Creon. And what's that, but the sword of tyranny,
When it is bnmdish'd against innocent lives?
I am now upon my deathbed, and 'tis fit
I should unbosom my free conscience,
And show the faith 1 die in : I do believe
'Tis tyranny that takes my life.

Sim. Would it were gone
By one means or other! what a long day
Will this be ere night?

Creon. Simonides.

Sim. Here, sir, weepingf.

Creon. Wherefore dost thou weep? [end.

Clean. 'Cause you make no more haste to your

Sim. How can you question nature so unjustly?
I had a grandfather, and then had not you
True filial tears for him ?

Clean. Hypocrite !

A disease of drought dry up all pity from him
That can dissemble pity with wet eyes !

And pinching culd, has treacherously at home,
Jn'it secure quiet, by a villain's hand
Been basely lost, in his stars' ignorance:-

And so must 1 die by a tyrant's sword.\ The old copy
jives the conclusion of this speech thus:

And pinching cold IIHS treacherously at home
In his secured quiet by a villain's hand
Atn basely lost in my star's ignorance
And so must I die by a tyrant's sword.
For hat, Coxeter reads dies, and lor Am, in the third line,
I'm ; but this cannot be rii>ut; for Creon had just before
acquitted his stars of any concern in his destiny. Mr. M.
Mason blindly follows Coxeter. I am not very confident of
theuciiuinrnessol my readings; but they produce something
like a meaning: and in a Play so incorrecily, o ignorantly,
primed as this, even that is sometimes to be regarded as an
acquisition.

t Sim. Here, sir, weeping.] This is given by the mo-
dern t (iiioi-.-. as a marginal note ; but the 'ld copy makes it,
ad rightly, a part of the text.

Creon. Be good unto your mother, Simonides.
She must he now vour care.

Ant. To what end, sir?
The bell of this sharp edict tolls for me,
As it riiig-s out for you. I'll be as ready,
With one hour's stay, to go along with you.

Creon. Thou must not, wuman, there are years

b. *

ehind,

Before thou canst set forward in this voyage j
And nature, sure, will now be kind to all :
She has a quarrel in't, a cruel law-
Seeks to prevent* her, she will therefore fight in't,
And draw out life even to her longest thread :
Thou art scarce fifty-five.

Ant. So many morrows!

Those five remaining years I'll turn to days,
To hours, or minutes, for your company.
' I'is fit that you and I, being man and wife,
Should walk together arm in arm.

Sim. I hope

They'll go together; I would they would, i'faith ;
Then would her thirds be saved too. The day goes
awav, sir.

Creon. Why wouldst thou have me gone, Simo-
nides ?

Sim. O my heart ! would you have me gone be-
fore you, sir,
You give me such a deadly wound ?

Clean. Fine rascal !

Sim. Blemish my duty so with such a question !
Sir, I would haste me to the duke for mercy ;
He that's above the law may mitigate
The rigour of the law. How a good meaning
May be corrupted by a misconstruction !

Creon. Thou corrupt'st mine ; 1 did not think
thou mean'st so.

Clean. You were in the more error.

Sim. The words wounded me.

Clean. 'Twas pity thou died'st not on't.

Sim. I have been ransacking the helps of law,
Conferring with these learned advocates;
If any scruple, cause, or wrested sense
Could have been found out to preserve your life,
It had been bought, though with your full estate,
Your life's so precious to me! but there's none.

1 Law. Sir, we have canvass'd her from top to

toe,

Turn'd her upside down, thrown her upon her side,
Nay, open'd and dissected all her entrails,
Yet can find none : there's nothing to be hoped
But the duke's mercy.

Sim. I know the hope of that ;
He did not make the law for that purpose.

Creon. Then to this hopeless mercy last I go ;
I have so many precedents before me,
I must call it hopeless: Antigona,
See me deliver'd up unto my deathsraan,
And then we'll part ; five years hence I'll look for
thee.

Sim. 1 hope she will not stay so long behind you.

Creon. Do not bate him an hour by grief and sor-
row,

Since there's a day prefix'd, hasten it not.
Suppose me sick, Autigona, dying now,

She has a quarrel in't, a cruel law

Mee sto prevent her,\ i.e. to acticipate the period she
ftad allotted to life. In this classic sense, the word is con-
stantly used by our old writers, and, indeed, several instance*
of it have been noticed in the preceding pages.

[!?CENK I.

THE OLD LAW.

Any disease thou wilt may be my end,
)r when death's slow to rome, sav tyrants send.

[Exeunt Creon and Autignna.

Sim. Cleanthes, if you want money, to-morrow,

use me ;
I'll trust you while* your father's dead.

[xif, with the Lawyers.

Clean. Why, here's a villain,
Able to corrupt a thousand by example !
Does the kind rootf bleed out his livelihood
In parent distribution to his branches,
Adorning them with all his glorious fruits,
Proud that Jus ptide is seen when he's unseen ;
And must not gratitude descend again
To comfort his old limbs in fruitless winter?
Improvident, or at least partial nature !
( Weak woman in this kind), who in thy last teeming
Forgettest still the former, ever making
The burihen of thy last throes the dearest darling !

yet in noble man reform [reform] it,
And make us better than those vegt-tives,
Whose souls die with them. Nature, as thouart old
If love and justice be not dead in thee,

Make some the pattern of thy piety,
Lest all do turn unnaturally against thee,
And tbou be blamed for our oblivions

Enter LEONIDES and HIPPOLITA.

And brutish relaxations! Ay, here's the ground
Whereon my filial faculties must build
An edifice of honour or of shame
To all mankind.

Hip. You must avoid it, sir,
If there be any love within yourself :
This is far more than fate of a lost gams
That another venture may restore again ;
It is your life, which you should not subject
To any cruelty, if you can preserve it.

Clean. O dearest woman, thou hast doubled now
A thousand times thy nuptial dowry to me !
Why, she whose love is but derived from me,
Is got before me in my debted duty.

Hip. Are you thinking such a resolution, sir?

Clean. Sweetest Hippolita, what Jove taught thee
To be so forward in so good a cause 1

Hip. Mine own pity, sir, did first instruct me,
And then your love and power did both command
me.

Clean. They were all blessed ang^s to direct thee ;
And take their counsel, How do you fare, sir?

Leon. Cleanthes, never better ; I have conceived
Such a new joy within this. old boiom,
As I did never think would there have enter'd.

Clean. Joy cail you it? alas ! 'tis sorrow, sir,
The worst of sorrows, sorrow unto death.

Leon. Death ; what is that, Cleanthes ? I thought
not on't,

1 was in contemplation of this woman :
'Tis all thy comfort, sonf ; tbou hast in her
A treasure unvaluable, keep her safe.
When 1 die, sure 'twill be a gentle death,
For I will die with wonder of her virtues ;
Nothing else shall dissolve me.

I'll trust you while your father' t dead. ' i.e. unfit your
father be dead: see Hainan Actor, Act V. tc. I.

t Doe* the kind root, Sic.} Thi< beautiful speerh is most
unmeirically printed in all ihe editions; ii is, I hope, some-
what imuroved by a dirti-rent arrangement, an. I a repetition
of the word in brae- ets.

J 'Tit all thy comfort , ton ;} For thy Mr. M. Mason reads
my : the alteration is specious, but 1 see no necessity for it.

Clean. 'Twere much better, sir,
Could you prevent i heir malice.

Leon. I'll prevent them,
And die the way I told thee, in the wonder
Of this good woman. I tell thee there's few men
Have .such a child : I must thank thee for her.
That the strong tie of wedlock should do more
Than nature in her nearest ligaments
Of blood and propagation ! I should never
Have begot such a daughter of mv own :
A daughter-in-law ! law were above nature,
Were there more such children.

Clean. This admiration
Helps nothing to your safety ; think of that, sir.

Leon. Had you heard her, Cleanthes, but labour
In the search of means to save my forfeit life,
And knew the wise and the sound preservations
That she found out, you would redouble all
My wonder in your love to her.

Clean. The thought,

The very thought, sir, claims all that from me,
And she is now possest oft: but, good sir,
It you have aught received from her advice,
Let's follow it ; or else let's better think,
And take the surest course.

Leon. I'll tell thee one ;
She counsels me to fly my severe country ;
To turn all into treasure, and there build up
My decaying fortunes in a safer soil,
Where Epire's law cannot claim me.

Clean. And, sir,

I apprehend it as u safest course,
And may be easily acC'iniplished ;
Let us be all most expeditious.
Kvery country where we breathe will be our own,
Or better soil ; heaven is the roof of all,
Arid now, as l-'pire's situate by t'lis law,
There is 'twixt us and heaven a d.irk eclipse.

Hip. Oh, then avoid it, sir; these sad events
Follow those black predictions.

Lean. I prithee peace ;
I do allow thy love, Hippolita,
But must not follow it as counsel, child ;
1 must not shame my country for the law.
This country here hath bred me, brought me up*,
And shall I now refuse a grave in her?
I am in my second infancy, and children
Ne'er sleep so sweetly in their nurse's cradle
As in their natural mother's.

Hip. Ay, but, sir,

She is unnaturiil ; then the stepmother's
To he preferred before her.

Leon, lush! she shall
Allow it ran in despite of her entrails.
Why, do you think how far from judgment 'tis
That I should travel forth to seek a grave
Thit is il ready digg d for me at home,
Nay, perhaps Hud it in my way to seek it?
How have I then sought a repentant sorrow?
For your dear loves how have 1 banish'd you
From your country ever? With my base attempt
How have 1 heggar'd you iu wasting that
Which only f.-r yi.ur sakes I bred together?
Buried tny name in Kjiire t which 1 built

* This country here linlli bred me, brought me up, ike.]
There is smnt-ining e\q.ni-ilfly tender in tbis short speech.

t lii'j-if i my naiiif in Epire, A.C. This i ob>ciue. Per
haj Le.mides u,e.tn- tli.it he had so conduced himsetl in
lii. native country (i. e -o raised his reputation there;, that
his memory would aUujslive in the recollection of the

500

THE OLD LAW.

[Ac-r II

Upon this frame, to live for ever in ?

What a base coward shiill I be to fly from

That enemy which every minute meets me,

And thousand odds he had not long vanquished me

Before this hour of battle ! Fly my death !

I will not be so false unto your states,

Nor fainting to the man that's yet in me ;

I'll meet him bravely; I cannot (this knowing)

fear

That, when I am gone hence, I shall be there.
Come, I have days of preparation left.

Clean. Good sir, hear me :
I have a genius that has prompted me,

And I have almost formed it into words ;

'Tis done, pray you observe them : I can conceal

you ;
And yet not leave your country.

Leon. Tush ! it cannot be
Without a certain peril on us all.

Clean. Danger must be hazarded, rather than

A sure destruction. You have a lodge, sir,
So far remote from way of passengers,
That seldom any mortal eye does greet with't ;
And yet so sweetly situate with thickets,
Built with such cunning labyrinths within,
As if the provident heavens, foreseeing cruelty,
Had bid you frame it to this purpose only.

Leon. Fie, fie ! 'tis dangerous, and treason too,
To abuse the law.

Hip. 'Tis holy care, sir,

Of your dear life*, which is your own to keep,
But not your own to lose, either in will
Or negligence.

Clean- Call you it treason, sir?
I had been then a traitor unto you,
Had I forgot this ; beseech you, accept of it;
It is secure, and a duty to yourself.

Leon. What a coward will you make me !

Clean. You mistake,

Tis noble couriige : now you fight with death,
And yield not to him till you stoop under him.

Leon. This must needs open to discovery,
And then what torture follows 1

Clean. By what means, sir?
Why, there is but one body in all this counsel,

Which cannot betray itself: we two are one,

One soul, one body, one heart, that think one

thought;
And yet we two are not completely one,

But as I have derived myself from you.

Who shall betray us where there is no second ?
Hip. You must not mistrust my faith, though my

sex plead
Weakness and frailty for me.

Leon. Oh, I dare not. me !

But where's the means that must make answer for
I cannot be lost without a full account,
And what must pay that reckoning?

Clean. Oh, sir, we will
Keep solemn obits for your funeral ;
We'll seem to weep, and seem to joy withal.
That death so gently has prevented you
The law's sharp rigour ; and this no mortal ear

shall
Participate the knowledge of.

Leon. Ha, ha, ha !
This will be a sportive fine demur,
If the error bi not found.

Clean. Pray doubt of none.
Your company and best provision
Must be no further furnish'd than by us ;
And in the interim your solitude may
Converse with heaven, and fairly prepare
[For that] which was too violent and raging
Thrown headlong on you*.

Leon. Still there are some doubts
Of the discovery ; yet I do allow it.
Hip. Will you not mention now the cost and

charge

Which will be in your keeping !
Leon. That will be somewhat,
Which you might save too.

Clean. With his will against him,
What foe is more to man than man himself;
Are you resolved, sir?

Leon. I am, Cleanthes ;
If by this means I do get a reprieve,
And cozen death awhile, when he shall come
Armed in his own power to give the blow,
I'll smile upon him then, and laughing go.

\Exeunt

ACT II.

SCENE I. Before the Palace.
Enter EVASDER, Courtiers, and CUATILUS.

Evan. Executioner !

Crat. My lord.

Kvan. How did old Diocles take his death ?

Crat. As weeping brides receive their joys at

night,
With trembling, yet with patience.

people, unless he now quitted them for a residence else'
where. The conclusion of this speech 1 do not understand !
perhaps something is lost.

* Hip. "J'is holy care, tir,

Of ynur dear tiff, &c.J This thought, at once pious and
philosophical, is frequently dwelt upou by Massiiiger

Evan. Why, 'twas well.

1 Court. Nay, I knew my father would do well

my lord,

Whene'er he came to die ; I'd that opinion of him
Which made me the more willing to part from

him ;

He was not fit to live in the world, indeed,
Any time these ten years, my lord,
But I would not say so much.

* Converge withhfaven, and fairly prepare
[For that] which was too violent and rajiny
Thrown headlong on you.] Here again .-ome vvouls are
lost by the negligence of ihe pi inter, which, in this Play
exceeds all credibility. It is impossible to recover them;
but to make something like sense of the passage, I hav
ventured to add what is enclosed between brackets.

SCKNE I.]

THE OLD LAW.

501

Fran. No ! you did not well iu't,
For he that's all spent, is ripe for death at all

hours,
And does but trifle time out.

1 Cimrt. Troth, my lord,

would I'd known your mind nine years ago.
Elan. Our law is fourscore years, because we

judge

Dotage complete then, as unfruitfulness
ID women at threescore ; marry, if the son
Can within compass bring good solid proofs
Of his cvrn father's weakness and unfitness
To live, or sway ihe living, though he want five
Or ten years of his number, that's not it ;
His defect makes him fourscore, and 'tis fit
He dies when he deserves ; for everv act
Is in effect then when the cause is ripe.

2 Court. An admirable prince ! how rarely he
taiks* !

Oh that we'd known this, lads ! What a time did

we endure
In two-penny commons, and in boots twice vamp'd !

1 Court. Now we have two pair a week, and yet
not thankful :

'Twill be a fine world for them, sirs, that come
after us.

2 Court. Ay. an they knew it.

1 Ci'iirt. Peace, let them never know it.

3 Court. A pox, there be young heirs will soon
smell't our.

2 Court. 'Twill come to them by instinct, man :
may your grace

Never be old, you stand so well for youth !

Evan. Why now, methinks, our court looks like a

spring,
Sweet, fresh, and fashionable, now the old weeds

are gone.

1 Court. It is as a court should be :
Gloss and good clothes, my lord, no matter for

merit ;

And herein your law proves a provident act,
When men pass not the palsy of their tongues,
Nor colour in their cheeks.

Evan. But women
By that law should live long, for they're ne'er past

it.
1 Court. It will have heats though, when they

see the painting

Co an inch deep i'the wrinkle, and take up
A box more than their gossips : but for men, my

lord,

Th^t should be the sole bravery of a palace,
lo walk with hollow eyes and long white beards,
As if a prince dwelt in a land of goats ;
AVith clothes as if they sat on their backs on pur-
pose

To arraign a fashion, and condemn't to exile ;
1 heir pockets in their sleeves, as if they laid
'J heir ear to avarice, and heard the devil whisper !
Now ours lie downward here close to the flank,
Right spending pockets, as a son's should be
1 hat lives i'the fashion ; where our diseased fa-
thers,
Worried with the sciatica and aches,

2 Court. An admirable prince ! &c-l This and several
of the subsequent speeches have been hitherto printed as
prose: they are not, indeed, very mellifluous, yet they run
readily enough into such kind of metre as this play is, for
the most pan, written in. oc

Brought up your paned hose first *, which ladies

Jailbird at,

(living no reverence to the place lies ruin'd :
They love a doublet that's three hours a buttoning 1 ,
And sirs so close makes a man groan again,
And his soul mutter half a day ; yet these are those
That carry sway and worth : prkk'd up in clothes,
Whv should we fear our rising?

Evan. You but wrong

Our kindness, nnd your own deserts, to doubt on't.
Has not our law made you rich he fore your time?
Our countenance then cun make you honourable.

1 Court. We'll spare for no cost, sir, to appear
wot thy.

Eian. Why, you're i'the noble way then, for the

most

Are but appearers ; worth itself is lost,
And bravely stands for'tf.

Enter CREON, ANTIGONA, and SIMONIDES.

1 Court. Look, look, who comes here ?
I smell death and another courtier,
Simonides.

2 Court. Sim!

Sim. Pish ! I'm not for you yet,
Your company's too costly ; after the old man's
Dispatch'd 1 shall have time to talk with you ;
I shall ccme into the fashion, you sliall see, too,
After a day or two ; in the mean time,
I am not for your company.

ri7/i. Old Creon, you have been expected long;
Sure you're above fourscore.

Sim. Upon my life,

Not four and twenty hours, my lord ; I search'd
The church-hook yesterday. Does your grace think
I'd let my father wrong the law, my lord ?
'Twere pity o'my life then ! no, your act
Shall not receive a minute's wroiiy by IKITI
While I live, sir ; and he's so just himself too,
I know he would not ofier't : here he stands.

Crton. 'Tis just I die, indeed, for 1 confess
I am troublesome to life now, and the state
Can hope for nothing worthv from me now,
Either in force or counsel ; I've o'late
Employ 'd myself quite from the world, and he
That once begins to serve his Maker faithfully,
Can never serve a worldly prince well after ; '
'Tis clean another way.

* here our diteated father*,

\\ orrif d with the sciatica and achrs,

rotisht up your paned hose first, &c.] For tchere Mr.
M. Mason reads ifhireas, as usual ! In the next line lli
old copy has U'ould tcilh tht tciatica, &c , for which, he
says, " we should read wood," i. e. mad, raging ; but as that
leaves the metreimpertect, I have adopted another word,
which bit's no less fairly to be the genuine one.

Paned hose (sec page 213) are ribbed breeches, the large
and loose slops of our ancestors. The fashion is here riili-
cule<t, as, about the end of Elt7.,ibeih's rtun, when this
Way was apparently written, it wasou the decline. In '/ he
Great Dvke of f'lorrnce, produced many years subsequent
t'> The Old Law, paned hose are mentioned as a fashionable
article of dre.-s, and this is agreeable 10 hUtory, for they
were again introduced at the accession of James II., and
continued through the whole of his rein the characteristic
marks of a tine gentleman and a courtier.

t And bravery stands for't.] i. e. ostentation? finery o
appartl: in which sense it is frequently ii.-cd in Ihe Scrip-
tures. " In that day the lord will take i\vay the tvavery
of their tinkling ornaments." Jsaiah, c. iii. v. 18, &c. &c.
This short speech of Ihe duke affords one of those fcarcely
perceptible openings through which Massinaer artfully con-
tiives tu ijive the reader a glimpse of surh character* a; are
hereafter to be developed. In ever} instance he f illoni
nature, which abhors all surtden convcrjion. the common
resource of modern dramatists.

502

THE OLD LAW.

[Acr II

Ant. Ob, '^ive not confidence
To all lie speaks, my lord, in bis own injury.
His preparation only for the next world
Makes him talk wildly to his wrong of this ;
He is :.ot lost in judgment.

Sim. Site spoils all again.

Ant. Deserving any way for state employment.

Sim. Mother

Ant. His very household laws prescribed at home

by him

A re able to conform seven Christian kingdoms,
They are so wise and virtuous.

Sim. Mother, 1 say

Ant. 1 know your laws extend not to desert, sir,
But to unnecessary years, arid, my lord,
His are not such ; though they show white they are

worthy,
Judicious, able, and religious.

Sim. Mother,
I'll help you to a courtier of nineteen.

Am. Away, unnatural!

Sim. '/'hen I am no fool, sure,
For to be natural at such a time
Were a fool's part, indeed.

Ant. Your grace's pity,
And 'tis but fit and just.

Creon. I he law, my lord,
Arid that's the justest way.

Sim. Well said, father, i'faith!
Thou wert ever juster than my mother still.

Evan. Come hither, sir.

Sim. My lord.

Evan. What are those orders?

Ant. Worth observation, sir,
So please you hear them read.

Sim. The woman speaks she knows not what, my

lord:
He make a law, poor man! he bought a TABLE,

indeed,

Only to learn to die by't, there's the business now ;
Wherein there are some precepts for a son too,
How he should learn to live, but I ne'er look'd on't :
For, when he's dead, 1 shall live well enough,
And keep a better TABLE* than that, I trow.

l-van. And is that all, sir?

Sim. All, 1 vow, my lord,
Save a few running admonitions

Upon (heese-trencherst, as

Take heed of whoring, shun it,

'Tis like a cheese wo strong of the runnet.

* And keep a belter TABLE than that, I trow.] This
wretched fellow is punning upon the word table, which, as
applied 10 his father, meant a book, or rather, perhaps, a
large slit et ol paper, where precepts tor the due regulation
of life were set down in distinct lines, and, as applied to
IIIIIIM If -that lie would keep a hotter house, i. e. live more
sumptuously than his father. Then, which the modern edi-
tors have alter table, and which destroys the metre, is not in
the old copy.

t Upon chefst-trenchers.} Before the general introduction
of bonks, our ancestors were caieful to dole out instruction
in many ways: hangings, pictures, trenchers, knives, wear-
ing apparel, tvery thing, in a word, that was capable of con-
taining a short si-ntence, was turned to account.

" There apophoreta," says Puttcnham, in his Art of
English Pnfuie, " we call posies, and do paint them now a
dayes upon the hack side of our fruite-irenchen," &.c. p.
47. And Saltonstall observes of one of his characters, that
" for talke h-e commonly uses some proverbial verses, ga-
thered perhaps from cherte-trenchcrx." Pictures, by VV. S.
And thus George, in The Honest Whore : " Aye, but mis-
tress, as one of our cheese-trenchers tays very learnedly,

" As out of wormwood bees suck honey,'" &c. ,

Hence they are termed by Caitwright, trencher analectt. '

And such calves 'maw of wit and admonition,
Good to catch mice with, but not sons and heirs;
They are not so easily caught.

Evan. Agent for death !

Crat. Your will, my lord 1

Evan. Take hence that pile of years,
Forfeit* before with unprofitable age,
And, with the rest, from the high promontory
Cast him into the sea.

Creon. Tis noble justice!

Ant. 'Tis cursed tyranny !

Sim. Peace ! take heed, mother ;
You've but short time to be cast down yourself;
And let a young courtier do't, an you be wise,
In the mean time.

Ant. Hence, slave !

Sim. Well, seven and fifty,

You have but three years to scold, then comes you
payment.

1 Court. Simonides.

Sim. Pish, I'm not brave enough to hold you talk

yet,
Give a man time, I have a suit a making.

2 Court. We love thy form first ; brave clothes
will come, man. [them,

Sim. I'll make them come else, with a mischief to
As other gallants do, that have less left them.

[fttardert within.
Evan. Hark ! whence those sounds ? what's that !

1 Court. Some funeral,

It seems, my lord ; and young Cleanthes follows.

Enter a Funeral Procession : the hearse followed by
CLEANTHES and HIPPOLITA.

Evan. Cleanthes !

2 Court. 'Tis, my lord, and in the place

Of a chief mourner too, but strangely habited.

Evan. Yet suitable to his behaviour ; mark it ;
He comes all the way smiling, do you observe it?
I never saw a corse so joyfully followed :
Light colours and light cheeks! who should this

be?
'Tis a thing worth resolving.

Sim. One, belike,
That dolh participate this our present joy.

Evan. Cleanthes.

Clean. Oh, my lord !

Evan. He laugh'd outright now;
Was ever such a contrariety seen

In natural courses yet, nay profess'd openly?

, I have knowr
lord,

1 Ci)i/rt. 1 have known a widow laugh closely, my

Under her handkerchief, when t'other part
Of her old face has wept like rain in sunshine ;
But all the face to laugh apparently
Was never seen yet.

Sim. Yes, mine did once.

Cleuiu 'Tis, of a heavy time, the joyfull'st day
That ever son was born to.

Evan. How can that be?

Clean. I joy to make it plain, my father's dead.

Euan. Dead !

2 Court. Old Leonides !

Clean. In his last month dead :
He beguiled cruel law the sweetliest

Forfeit before with unprofitable age,} Such I take to
be the genuine reading: ihe old copy has surfeit, which was
adopted b> Coxeter, and improved by Mr. M. Mason, by the
insertion of it!

Jiefore it turfelt with unprofitable age.

SCKNB I.]

THE OLD LAW.

50tJ

That ever age was blest to.

It grieves me tht a tear should fall upon't,

Bfing a thing so joyful, but his memory

Will work it our, J see ; when his poor heart broke

I did not do so much : hut leap'd tor joy

So mountingly, I to^ch'd the stars, methought ;

1 would not hear of blocks, I was so light,

But chose a colour, orient like my mind :

For blacks are often such dissembling mourners,

There is no credit given to't; it has lost

All reputation by false sons and widows.

Now 1 would have men know what 1 resemble,

A truth, indeed ; 'tis joy clad like a joy,

Which is more honest than a cunning grief

That's only faced with sables for a show,

Hut gawdv-hearted : When I saw death come

So reidy to deceive you, sir, forgive me,

I t-ould not choose but be entirely merry,

And yet to* see now ! of a sudden

Naming but death, I show myself a mortal,

That's never constant to one passion long.

I wonder whence that tear came, when 1 smiled

In the production on't ; sorrow's a thief,

That can, when jov looks on, steal forth a grief.

But, gracious leave, my lord ; when I've perform 'd

My last poor duty to my father's bones,

1 >hitil return your servant.

Kian. Well, perform it,
The law is satisfied ; they cm but die :
And by his death, Cleantbes, you gain well,
A rich and fair revenue.

[Flourish. Exeunt Duke, Courtiert, $c.

Sim. I would 1 had e'en
Another f;t her, condition he did the likef.

Clean. I have past it bravely now ; how blest

was 1

To have ihe duke in sight*! now 'tis confirm'd,
Past fear or doubts confirm'd ; on, on, I say,
Him that brought me to man, I bring to clay.

[Eaif Funeral Proceuwn, followed by
Cteunthes, and Hippolita.

Sim. I am rapt now in a contemplation,
Even at the very sight of yonder hearse :
I do but think what a fine thing 'tis now
To live and follow some seven uncles thus,
As many cousin-germans, and such people
That will leave legacies ; pox ! I'd see them

hatig'd else,
Ere I'd follow one of them, an they could find the

way.
Now I've enough to begin to be horrible covetous,

Enter Butler, Tailor, Bailiff, Cook, Coachman, and
Footman.

But. We come to know your worship's pleasure,
sir,

And yet to tee notr.] So the old copy : Cox-ter and
Mr. M. Mason rtad, I kuuw not why, And yet too, tee
now.

+ condition he did the like.] i. e. on

condition: a mode of speech adopted by all our old poets.

J how blmt ii-us /

To haoe rfcduke in sight !] Coxcttr printed (after the
old cou\j, To have tht dim sight: the variation in the text
isfit.ni H conjecture of Mr. ,\i. Maon. I suppose the uia-
nu.-i-iipt hail oiiK the ini.ial letter of duke, ami Ihe primer
ii' t knowing wli.it to in. ike of d in si^lit, corrected it into
dint oifiht. These abbreviation* are the source of innume-
rable errors.

^ \inc 1 re rnuuyh to begin to be horrible roeetou*.'] The
modem trillions iiavi-, \ow 1 ve enough 1 beym to be hor-
ribly coretou*. I think there is more huinuur in the old
readh.g.

Having long served your father, how your good

will
Stands towards our entertainment.

Sim. Not a jot, i'faith :

My father wore cheap garments, be might do't ;
I shall have all my clothes come home to morrow,
They will eat up all you, an there were more of

you, sirs.
To keep you six at livery, and still munching !

Tail. Why, I'm a tailor ; you have most need of
me, sir.

Sim. Thou mad'st my father's clothes, that I

confess ;

But what son and heir will have his father's tailor,
Unless he have a mind to be well laugh'd at?
Thou'st been so used to wide long-side things, that

when

I come to truss, I shall have the waist of my doublet
Lie on my buttocks, a sweet sight !

But. 1 a Butler.

Sim. There's least need of thee, fellow ; I shall
ne'er drink at home, I shall he so drunk abroad.

But. But a cup of small beer will do well next
morning, sir.

Sim. I grant you ; but what need I keep so big a
knave for a cup of small beer ?

Cook. Butler, you have your answer ; marry, sir,

a cook
I know your mastership cannot be without.

Sim. The more ass art thou to think so ; for what
should I do with & mountebank, no drink in my
house ? the banishing the butler might have
been a warning to thee, unless thou means't to
cboak me.

Cook. In the mean time you have choak'd me,
methinks.

Bail. These are superfluous vanities, indeed,
And so accounted of in these days, sir ;
But then, your bailiff to receive your rents

Sim. I prithee hold thy tongue, fellow, I shall
take a course to spend them faster than thou
canst reckon them ; 'tis not the rents must serve
my turn, unless I mean to be laughed at; if a man
should be seen out of slash-me, let him ne'er look
to be a right gallant. But, sirrah, with whom is
your business ?

Coach. Your good mastership.

Sim. You have stood silent all this while like

men
That know your strengths in these days, none of

you

Can want employment; you can win me wagers*,
Footman, in running races.

Foot. 1 dare boast it, sir.

Sim. And when my bets are all come in, and

store.
Then, coachman, you can hurry me to my whore.

Coach. I'll h'rk them into foam else.

film, Speaks brave matter ;
And I'll tirk some too, or't shall cost hot water.

[Eieunt Sinioiiides, Coachnan, and Footman,

Ciwk. Wliv, litre's an age to make a cook a

ruffian,

And scald the devil indeed ! do strange mad things,
Make mutton pasties (if dog's flesh,
Bake snakes for lamprey pies, and cats for conies.

But. Come, will you' be ruled by a butler's advice

jou can trin me wagers,] So the

old copy : the modern editions read, you can win me wagcil

504

THE OLD LAW.

[Acr II.

once? for we must make up our fortunes some-
where now as the case stands : let's e'en, therefore,
go seek out widows of nine and fifty, an we can;
that's within a year of their deaths, and so we shall he
sure to be quickly rid of them ; for a year's enough
of conscience to be troubled with a wife, for any
man living-.

Civk. Oracle butler! oracle butler! he puts
down all the doctors o' the name*. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. A 7?oom m Creon's House.
Enter EUGENIA and PAKTHENIA.

Eiig. Parthenia.

Purth. Mother.

Eiig. I shall be troubledf

This six months with an old clog; would the law
Had been cut one year shorter !

Purth. Did you call, forsooth ?

Eug. Yes, you must make some spoonmeat for
your father, [Eait Parthenia.

And warm three nightcaps for him. Out upon't !
The mere conceit turns a young woman's stomach.
His slippers must be warm'd, in August too,
And his gown girt to him in the very dog-days,
When every mastiff lolls out's tongue for heat.
Would not this vex a beauty of nineteen now ?
Alas ! I should be tumbling in cold baths now,
Under each armpit a fine bean-flower bag,

To screw out whiteness when I list

And some sev'n of the properest men iu the dukedom

Making a banquet readv i' the next room for me ;

Where he that gets the first kiss is envied,

And stands upon his guard a fortnight after.

This is a life for nineteen : 'tis but justice:

For old men, whose great acts stand in their minds,

And nothing in their bodies, do ne'er think

A woman young enough for their desire ;

And we young wenches, that have mother-wits,

And love to marry muck first, and man after,

Do never think old men are old enough, [tance.

That we may soon be rid o' them ; there's our quit-

1've waited for the happy hour this two years,

And, if death be so unkind to let him live still,

All that time I have lost.

Enter Courtiers.

1 Court. Young lady !

2 Court. O sweet precious bud of beauty!
Troth, she smells over all the house, methinks.

1 Court. The sweetbriar's but a counterfeit to

her

It does exceed you only in the prickle,
But that it shall not long, if you'll be ruled, lady.
Eug. What means this sudden visitation, gentle-
men ?

He alludes to Dr. W. Butler, a very celebrated ph>sician
of Klizabeih's days. The oddity of In, manlier;, the singu-
Jariiy of his practice, and I he extraordinary cures which he
l>ei i.irme I. r.ii-rd many sir.mge opinion* of him. " He
never," (says Dr. Willie) " kept any apprentice for his
bu-ini'>*, nor any maid but a foole, and yet his reputation,
thiity-Hve years afier his death, was still so great, (hat
in my empirics got credit among the vulgar, by claiming
relation to I im, as having served him, and learned .:.uch
from him." He died at an advanced ace, in nils.

t Eng. 1 thall lie troubled, &c.] Coxeter and Mr. M.
Mason have absurdly printed this and the lollowiug sp. tclies
of Eugtnia as prose. I cannot account for the molives
which induced llivin .i do MI, as they are not only very
good metre, but are arranged as such in the old copy.

So passing well perfumed too ! who's your mil-
liner 1

1 Court, Love, and thy beauty, widow.
Eng. Widow, sir ?

1 Court. 'Tis sure, and that's as good : in troth
we're suitors :

We come a wooing, wench ; plain dealing's best.
Eug. A wooing ! what, before my husband'sdead 1

2 Court. Let's lose no time ; six months will have
an end ;

I know'tby all the bonds that e'er I made yet.
Eug. That's a sure knowledge, but it holds not

here, sir.
1 Court. Do not we* know the craft of you

young tumblers ?

That when you wed an old man, you think upon
Another husband as you are marrying of him ;
We, knowing v^>ur thoughts, made bold to see you.

Enter SIMOMOES rkhly dresteJ, and Coachman.

Eug. How wondrous right he speaks ! 'twas my

thought, indeed.
Sim. By your leave, sweet widow, do you lack

any gallants 1
Eug. Widow, again ! 'tis acomfort to becall'd so.

1 Court. Who's this, Simonides?

2 Court. Brave Sim, i'l'aith.
Sim. Coachman.

Coach. Sir.

Sim. Have an especial care of my new mares ;
They say, sweet widow, he that loves a horse well
Must needs love a widow well. When dies thy

husband ]
Is't not July next ?

Eug. Oh, you are too hot, sir !
Pray cool yourself, and take September with you.
Sim. September ! oh, 1 was but two bows wide.
1 Court. Simonides.

Sim. I can intreat you, gallants, I'm in fashion
too.

Enter LYSANDEK.

Lys. Ha ! whence this herdf of folly ? what are
you ?

Sim. Well-willers to your wife ; pray 'tend your

book, sir ;

We've nothing to say to you, you may go die,
For here be those in place that can supply.

Lys. What's thy wild business here?

Sim. Old man, I'll tell thee ;
I come to beg the reversion of thy wife :
I think these gallants be of mv mind too.
But thou art but a dead man, therefore what should
a man do talking with thee? Come, widow, stand
to your tackling.

iys. Impious blood-hounds !

Sim. Let the ghost talk, ne'er mind him.

Lys. Shames of nature !

I Court. Do not we know the craft of you younf
tumblers?

That when you wed an old man, &c.) This speech ha?
h'therto stood thus: Don t you know the craft i>/yoiir
ynuny tumlilrrs ? That you wed an old man, &c. 1 havt
endeavoured to restore it to some degree of >ense, by altering
One word, and inserting another. To lliose who are ac-
quainted with the deplorable stale of the old copy, I shall
easily stand excused for these an:l similar liberties, wlur.li,
hoivever, I have sp.iring'y taken, and never but in the most
dt-sperate cases.

t L> s. Ha ! whence tki* herd of folly ? What are you ?]
This is the reading of ihe old copy ; tor which Coxc-ter and
Mr. M. Mason strangely give us,

Ma! whence t/tit uaheaiu'-of fully T what are you t

SCENE II. J

THE OLD LAW

505

Sim. Alas, poor ghost! consider what the man is.
Lt/s. Monsters unnatural ! you that have been

covetous
Of your own fathers' death, gape you for mine

now 1

Cannot a poor old man, that now can reckon
Even all the hours he has to live. live quiet
For such wild beasts as these, thai neither hold
A certainty of good within themselves.
But scatter others' comforts that are ripen'd
For ho!y uses? is hot youth so hasty
Tt will not give an old man leave to die,
And leave a widow first, hut will make one,
The husband looking on ? May your destructions
Come all in hasty figures to your souls!
Your wealth depart in haste, to overtake
Your honesties, that died when you were infants !
May your male seed be hasty spendthrifts too,
Your daughters hasty sinners, and diseased
Ere they he thought at years to welcome misery !
And may you never know what leisure is
Hut at repentance ! I am too uncharitable,
Too foul ; I must go cleanse myself with prayers.
'J liese are the plagues of fondness to old men,
We're punish'd home with what we dote upon.

[Exit.

Sim. So, so ! the ghost is vanish'd : now, your
answer, lady.

Eng. Excuse me, gentlemen ; 'twere as much

impudence

In me to give you a kind answer yet,
As madness to produce a churlish one.
I could say now, come a month hence, sweet gen-
tleman,

Or two, or three, or when you will, indeed ;
But I say no such thing : I set no time,
Nor is it mannerly to deny any.
I'll carry an even hand to all the world :
Let other women make what haste they will,
What'-* that to me ? but I profess unfeignedly,
I'll have my husband dead before I marry ;
Ne'er look for other answer at my hands.

Sim. Would he were hang'd, for my part, looks
for other!

Eitg. I'm at a word.

Sim. And I am at a blow, then;
I'll lay you o' the lips, and leave you. [Kisses her.

1 Court. Well struck, Sim.

Sim. He that dares say he'll mend it, I'll strike
him.

1 Court. He would betray himself to be a botcher,
That goes about to mend it.

Eug. Gentlemen.

You know my mind ; 1 bar you not my house,
But if you choose out hours more seasonably,
You may have entertainment.

Re-enter PAUTHENIA.

Sim. What will she do hereafter, when she is a

widow,
Keeps open house already ?

[Exeunt Simonides and Courtiers.
Eug. How now, girl !
Part/i. Those feather'd fools that hither took their

flight,
Have grieved my father much.

Eug. Speak well of youth, wench,
While thou'st a day to live ; 'tis youth must make

thee,
A ad when youth fails wise women will make it j

But always fake age first, to make thee rich :
That was mv counsel ever, and then youth
Will make thee sport enough all thy life after.
'Tis the time's policy, wench ; what is't to bide
A little hardness for a pair of years, or so ?
A man whose only strength lies in his breath,
Weakness in all parts else, thy bedfellow,
A cough o' the lungs, or sav a wheesing matter ;
Then shake off chains, and dance all thy life after !

Parth. Every one to their liking ; but I say
An honest man's worth all, be he young or gray.
Yonder's my cousin. [Exit.

Enter HIPPOLITA.

Eg. Art, I must use tbee now ;
Dissembling is the best help for a virtue
That ever woman had, it saves their credit oft.

Hip. How now, cousin !
What, weeping?

Eug. Can you blame me when the time
Of my dear love and husband now draws on ?
I study funeral tears against the day
I must be a sad widow.

Hip. In troth, Eugenia, I have cause to weep

too ;

But, when I visit, I come comfortably.
And look to be so quited* : yet more sobbing !
Etig. Oh ! the greatest part of your affliction'^

past,

The worst of mine's to come ; I have one to die ;
Your husband's father is dead, and fixed in his
Eternal peace, past the sharp tyrannous blow.
Hip. You must use patience, coz.
Eug. Tell me of patience !
Hip. You have example for't, in me and many.
Eug. Yours was a father-in-law, but mine a hus-
band :

O, for a woman that could love, and live
With an old man, mine is a jewel, cousin;
So quietly he lies by one, so still !

Hip. Alas ! I have a secret lodged within me,
Which now will out in pity : I cannot hold.

Eng. One that will not disturb me in my sleep
For a whole month together, less it be
With those diseases age is subject to,
As aches, coughs, and pains, and these, heaven

knowsf,

Against his will loo : he's the quietest man,
Especially in bed.
Hip. Be comforted.
Eug. How can I, lady ?
None know the terror of an husband's loss.
But they that fear to lose him.

Hip. Fain would I keep it in, but 'twill uot be ;
She is my kinswoman, and I'm pitiful.
I must impart a good, if I know it once,
To them that stand in need on't ; I'm like one
Loves not to banquet with a joy alone ;
My friends must partake too : prithee, cease,

cousin ;

If your love be so boundless, which is rare
In a young woman in these days, I tell you,

* And look to beta quited;] Mr. M. Mason reads And
look to be to far requited! What lie imagined he bad
gained by this harsh and unmetrical addition, is difficult to
conjecture ; the text is veiy K"d sense-

t At aches, coughs, and pains, and tJiese, heaven knoun,]
Here again Mr. M. Mason wantonly sophisticates (he text;
he reads acfu ; but the true word is that which stands above
(acJiet), which was always used in Massiiijjrr's lime a* a
dissyllable, and pronounced atch-es.

506

THE OLD LAW.

| ACT III,

To one so much past service as your husband,
There is a way to beguile law, and hel[) you j
My husband found it out first.
ug-. Oh, sweet cousin !

Hip. You may conceal him, and give out his

death

Within the time ; order his funeral too ;
We had it so for ours, I praise heaven ..r't,
And he's alive and safe.

Eug. O blessed coz,
How thou revivest me '

Hip. We daily see

The good old man, and feed him twice a day.
Methiriks, it is the sweetest joy to cherish him,
That ever life yet show'd me.

Etig. So should 1 think,
A dainty thing to nurse an old man well !

Hip. And then we have his prayers and daily
blessing ;

And we two live so lovingly upon it,
His son and I, and so contentedly,
You cannot think unless you tasted on't.

Eng. No, I warrant you. Oh, loving cousin,
What a great sorrow has thou eased me of!
A thousand thanks go with thee!

Hip. I have a suit to you,
I must not have you weep when I am gone

[Exit

Eng. No, if I do, ne'er trust me. Easy fool,
Thou hast put thyself into my power for ever ;
Take heed of angering of me : I conceal !
I feign a funeral ! I keep my husbund !
'Las ! I've been thinking any time these two years
I have kept him too long already.
I'll go count o'er my suitors, that's my business,
And prick the man down ; I've six months to do't.
But could dispatch it in one were I put to't.

[Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Before the Church.
Enter GNOTHO and Clerk.

Gnoth. You have search 'd over the parish-chroni-
cle, sir?

Clerk. Yes, sir ; I have found out the true age
and date of the party you wot on.

Gnoth. Pray you, be cover'd, sir.

Clerk. When you have showed me the way, sir.

Gnoth. Oh, sir, remember yourself, you are a
clerk.

Clerk. A small clerk, sir.

Gnoth. Likely to be the wiser man, sir ; for your
greatest clerks are not always so, as 'tis reported.

Clerk. You are a great man in the parish, sir.

Gnoth. I understand myself so much the better,
*ir ; for all the best in the parish pay duties to the
clerk, and I would owe you none, sir.

Cierk. Since you'll have it so, I'll be the first to
hide my head.

Gnoth. Mine is a capcase : now to our business
in hand. Good luck, I hope ; I long to be resolved.

Clerk. Look you, sir, this is that cannot deceive

you :*

This is the dial that goes ever true ;
You may say ipse diiit upon this witness,
And it is good in law too.

Gnoth. Pray you, let's hear what it speaks.

Clei-k. Mark, sir. Agatha, the daughter of Pollux
(this is your wife's name, and the name of her fa-
ther), born

Gnoth. Whose daughter, say you ?

Clerk. The daughter of Pollux.

Gnoth. I take it his name was Bollux.

Clerk. Pollux the orthography, I assure you, sir ;
the word is corrupted else.

Clerk. Look you, sir, this w that cannot deceive you :]
fPTtich, inserted by the modern editors after that, is per-
fectly unnecessary, as they niis;ht have discovered, long
before they reached this part of their work.

Gnoth. Well, on sir, of Pollux ; now come on.
Castor.

Clerk. Born in an. 1540 ; and now 'tis 99. By
this infallible record, sir (let me see), she's now
just, fifty-nine, and wants but one.

Gnoth. I am sorry she wants so much.

Clerk. Why, sir? alas. 'tis nothing; 'tis but so
many months, so many weeks, so many

Gnoth. Do not deduct it to days*, 'twill be the
more tedious ; and to measure it by hourglasses
were intolerable.

Clerk. Do not think on it, sir ; half the time goes
away in sleep, 'tis half the year in nights.

Gnoth. O, you mistake me, neighbour, I am loth
to leave the good old woman ; if she were gone
now it would not grieve me. for what is a year,
alas, but a lingering torment? and were it not bet-
ter she were out of her pain ? It must needs be a
grief to us both.

Clerk. I would I knew how to ease you, neigh-
bour !

Gnolh. You speak kindly, truly, and if you say
but Amen to it (which is a word thatT know you
are perfect in), it might be done. Clerks are the
most indifferent honest men, for to the marriage of
your enemy, or the burial of your friend, the curses
or the blessings to you are all one ; you say Amen
to all.

Clerk. With a better will to the one than the
other, neighbour : but I shall be glad to say Amen
to any thing might do you a pleasure.

Gnoth. There is, first, something above your
duty : now I would have you set forward the clock
a little, to help the old woman out of her pain.

* Gnoth. Do not deduct it todays,] A Latinism, dedvcere
bring it down, or, as \ve nay, reduce it to days. This ab-
surdity of consulting the church-book for the as;e, &c.,may
be kept in countenance by Beaumont and Fletcher, vol.
6lh, p. 248. Indeed, there are several passages in this Play,
that resemble some in The Quern of Corinth.

SCEJSE I.]

THE OLD LAW.

507

Clerk. I will speak to the sexton ; but the day
will HO ne'er the faster for that.

Gnoth. Oh, neighbour, you do not conceit me;
not the jack of the clock-house, the hand of the
dial, 1 mean, Come, I know you, being a great
clerk, cannot choose but have the art to cast a
figure.

Clerk. Never, indeed, neighbour; I never had
the judgment to cast a figure,

Gnoth. I'll show you on the back side of your
book; look you, what figure's this?

Clerk. Four with a cipher, that's forty.

Gnoth. So ! forty ; what's this, now ?

Clerk. The cipher is turn'dinto 9 by adding the
tail, which makes fotty-nine.

Gnoth. Very well understood ; what is't now ?

Clerk. The four is turn'd into three ; 'tis now
thirty-nine.

Gnolh. Very well understood ; and can you do
this again 1

Clerk Oh ! easily, sir.

Gnoth. A wager of that ! let me see the place of
my wife's age again.

Clerk. Look you, sir, 'tis here, 1540.

Gnoth. Forty drachmas, you do not turn that forty
into thirty-nine.

Clerk. A match with you.

Gnoth. Done ! and you shall keep stakes your-
self : there they are.

Clerk. A firm match but stay, sir, now I con-
sider it, I shall add a year to your wife's age ; let me
see Scirophorion the 17, and now 'tis Hecatomkaion
the llth*. If I alter this your wife will have but a
month to live by law.

Gnth. That's all one, sir ; either do it or pay me
my wager.

Clerk. Will you lose your wife before you lose
your wager 1

Gnoth. A man may get two wives before half so
much money by them ; will you do it?

Clerk. I hope you will conceal me, for 'tis flat cor-
ruption.

Gnutli. Nay, sir, I would have you keep coun-
sel ; for I lose my money by't, and should be
laugh'd at for my labour, if it should be known.

Clerk. Well, sir, there ! 'tis done ; as perfect a
39 as can be found in black and white: but mum,
sir, there's danger in this figure-casting.

Gnoth. Ay, sir, I know that : better men than
you have been thrown over the bar for as little ;
the best is, you can be but thrown out of the
belfry.

Enter the Cook, Tailor, Bailiff, and Butler.

Clerk. Lock close, here comes companyf ; asses
have ears as well as pitchers.

Cook. Oh, Gnotho, b..w is't'! here's a trick of dis-
carded cards of us ! we were rank'd with coats as
long as old master livedj.

Gnoth. And is this then the end of servingmen ?

* Scirophorion, Hccatombaion, and, soon after, Decem-
ber; what a medley ! This miserable oslent.ition of Greek
lileratuie is, 1 believe, from the pen of Middleton, who
was "a |>itree" of a scholar.

t Lock close, here comes company ;] So the old copy :
the modern eilitois read Look close, which has no mean-
ing.

I This alludes to gome game, in which the low cards
were thro MI out -.coats were what we call court cards.
1 'he end of serciny-mtn, which occurs in the next speech,
U the title of an old ballad.

Cook. Yes, 'faith, this is the end of serving m u n
a wise man were better serve one God than all the
men in the world.

Gnoth. Twas well spoke of a cook. And are all
fallen into fasting-days and Ember-weeks, that cooks
are out of use 1

Tail. And all tailors will be cut into lists arid
shreds ; if this world hold, we shall grow both out
of request.

But. And why not butlers as well as tailors?
if they can go naked, let them neither eat nor drink.

Clerk. That's strange, methinks, a lord should
turn away his tailor, of all men : and how dost
thou, tailor?

Tail. 1 do so so ; but, indeed, all our wants are
long of this publican, my lord's bailiff; for had he
been rent-gatherer still, our places had held toge-
ther still, that are now seam-rent, nay crack'd in
the whole piece*.

Bait. Sir, if my lord had not sold his lands that
cLiim his rents, 1 should still have been the rent-
gatherer.

Cook. The truth is, except the coachman and the
footman, all serving-men are out of request.

Gnoth. Nay, say not so, for you were never in
more request lhan now, for requesting is but a kind
of a begging ; for when you say, 1 beseech your
worship's charity, 'tis all one as if you say 1 req'uest
it ; and in that kind of requesting, 1 am sure servjng-
men were never in more request.

Cook. Troth he says true : well, let that pass ; we
are upon a better adventure. I see, Gnotho, you
have been before us ; we came to deal with this
merchant for some commodities.

Clerk. With me, sir? any thing that I can.

But. Nay, we have looked out our wives already :
marry, to you we come to know the price*, that i>,
to know their ages ; for so much reverence we bear
to age, that the more aged, they shall be the more
dear to us.

Tail. The truth is, every man has laid by his
widow : so they be lame enough, blind enough, and
old enough, 'tis good enough.

Clerk. I keep the town-stock ; if you can but
name them, I can tell their ages to a day.

AH. We can tell their fortunes to an hour, then.

Clerk. Only you must pay for turning of the
leaves.

Cook. Oh, bountifully, Come, mine first.

But. The butler before the cook, while you live;
there's few that eat before they drink in a morning.

Tail. Nay, then the tailor puts in his needle of
priority, for men do clothe themselves before they
either drink or eat.

Bail. I will strive for no place ; the longer ere I
marry my wife, the older she will be, and nearer
her end and my ends.

Clerk. I will serve you all, gentlemen, if you will
have patience.

Gnoth. 1 commend your modesty, sir ; you are a
bailiff, whose place is to come behind other men,
so it were in the bum of all the rest.

If the reader wanted any additional proof that no part
of this cene was written by Massinger, he might find it in
this punning on the terms used by tailors : in these, ann
similar conceits, he takes no pleasure. It is wietched stnif.
and would almost lead one to think that it was the produc-
tion of tt e stage, in its nonage, arid not fairly attributable to
any of the triumvirate.

THE OLD LAW.

[Af.T III

Bait. So, sir! and you were about this business
too, seeking out for a widow ?

Gnoth. Alack ! no, sir; I am a married man, and
have those cares upon me that you would fain run
into.

Bail. What, an old rich wife ! any man in this
age desires such a care.

Giwth. Troth, sir, I'll put a venture with you, if
you will ; 1 have a lusty old quean to my wife,
sound of wind and limb, yet I'll give out to take
three for one at the marriage of my second wife.

Bait. Ay, sir, but how near is siie to the law?

Gnoth. Take that at hazard, sir; there must be
time, you know, to get a new. Unsight, unseen, I
take three to one.

Bail. Two to one I'll give, if she have but two
teeth in her head.

Gnoih. A match ; there's five drachmas for ten at
my next wife.

Bail. A match.

Cook. I shall be fitted bravely : fifty-eight and
upwards; 'tis but a yeur and half, and 1 may
chance make friends, and heg a year of the duke.

But. Hey, boys ! 1 am made, sir butler ; my wife
that shall be wants but two months of her time ; it
ahall be one ere 1 marry her, and then the next will
be a honey moon.

Tail. I outstrip you all; I shall have but six
weeks of Lent, if I get mv widow, and then comes
eating-tide, plump and gorgeous.

Gnoth. This tailor will be a man, if ever there
were any.

Bail. Now comes my turn. I hope, goodman
Finis, you that are still at the end of all, with a to be
it. Well now, sirs, do you venture there as I have
done ; and I'll venture here after you : Good luck,
I beseech thee !

Clerk. Amen, sir.

Bail. That deserves a fee already there 'tis ;
please me, and have a better.

Clerk. Amen, sir.

Cook. How, two for one at your next wife ! is the
old one living?

Gim'.h. You have a fair match, I offer you no foul
one ; if death make not haste to call her, she'll make
none to go to him.

But. I know her, she's a lusty woman ; I'll take
the venture.

Gnolh. There's five drachmas for ten at my next
wife.

7if. A bargain.

Ciwk. Nay, then we'll be all merchants; give me.

Tail. And me.

But. What, has the bailiff sped?

Bail. I am content ; but none of you shall know
my happiness,

Clerk. As well as any of you all, believe it, sir.

Rail. Oh, clerk, you are to speak last always.

Clerk. I'll remember't hereafter, sir. You have
done with me gentlemen?

Enter AGATHA.

All. For this time honest register.
Clerk. Fare you well then ; if you do I'll cry
Amen to it*. [Exit.

Cottk. Look you, sir, is not this your wife ?
Gnoth. iMy first wife, sir.

Clerk, fare you well, then ; if yon do, J'll cry Amen
toil.} .!. . if you/are well: but ibis U a a(l abuse of cii-

But. Nay, then we have made a good match on*t
if she have no froward disease the woman may live
this down years bv her age.

Tail. I'm afraid she's broken-winded, sli3 holds
silence so long.

Cook. We'll now leave our venture to the event,
I must a wooing.

But. I'll but buy me a new dagger, and overtake
you.

Bail. So we must all ; for he that goes a wooinsr
to a widow without a weapon, will never j.el her.

[mm! all btit Gnotho mid Agatha.

Gnoth. Oh, wife, wife!

Aga. What ail you maa, you speak so pas-
sionately* ?

Gnoth. Tis for thy sake, sweet wife : who
would think so lusty an old woman, with reason-
able good teeih, and her tongue in as perfect
use as ever it was, should be so near her time ?
battlie Fates will have it so.

Aga. What's ihe matter, man? you do amaze me.

Gnoth. '\ hou art not sicic neither, I warrant thee.

Aga. Not that 1 know of, sure.

Gnoth. What pity 'lisa woman should be so near
ber end, and yet not sick !

Aga. Near her end, man! tush, I can guess at

that ;

I have years good yet of life in the remainder :
I want two yet at least of the full number;
Then the law. I know, craves impotent and useless,
And not the able women.

Gnoth. Ay, alas ! I see thou ba.st been repairing
time as well as thou couldst ; the old wrinkles are
well filled up, but the veimilion is seen too thick,
too thick and I read what's written in thy fore-
head ; it agrees with the church-book.

Aga. Have you sought my age, man? and, I
pritl.ee, how is it ?

Gnoih. I shall but discomfort thee.

Aga. Not at all man ; when there's no remedy, I
will go, though unwillingly.

Gnoth. 1539. Just ; it agrees with the book :
you have about a year to prepare yourself.

Aga. Out, alas ! I hope there's more than so.
But do you not think a reprieve might be gotten for
half a score an 'twere but five years I would not
care ; an able woman, methinks, were to be pitied.

Gnoth. Ay, to lie pitied, but not help'd ; no hope
of that : for, indeed, women have so blemish'd their
own reputations now-a-days, that it is thought the
law will meet them at fifty very shortly.

Aga. Marry, the heavens forbid !

Gnoth. There's so many of you, that, when you
are old, become witches; some profess physic,
and kill good subjects faster than a burning fever ;
and then school-mistresses of the sweet sin, which
commonly we call bawds, innumerable of that sort:
for these and such causes 'tis thought they shall not
live above fifty.

Aga. Ay, man, but this hurts not the good old
women.

Gnoth. Faith, you are so like one another, tha
a man cannot distinguish them : now, were I an
old woman, I would desire to go before my time,
and offer myself willingly, two or three years be-
fore. Oh, those are brave women, and worthy to
be commended of all men in the world, that, when

* Aga. What ail you, man, you speak so passionately?]
, e. so plaiutivtly, so sorrowfully. See ante, Act 1, so. 1

SCENE 1."

THE OLD LAW

509

their husbands (lie, they run to be burnt to death
with them: there's honour and credit! <;ive me
half a dozen such wives.

A?a. Av, if her husband were dead before,
twere a reasonable request ;. if you were dead, I
iould be content to he so.

Garth. Fie! thiit's not likely, for thou hadst two
husbands before me.

Aga. Thou wouldst not have me die, wouldst
thou. husband?

Gnnth. No, I do not speak to that purpose : but
I sav, what credit it were for me and thee, if thou
wouldst ; then thou shouldst never be suspected
for a witch, a physician, a bawd, or nnv of those
things: and then how daintily should I mourn for
thee, how bravely should I see thee buried ! when,
alas, if he sres before, it cannot choose but. be a
great grief to him to think hi- IIHS not seen his wife
well buried. There be such virtuous women in
the world, but too few, too few, who desire to die
seven years before their time with all their
hearts.

Age. I have not the heart to be of that mind ;
but, indeed, husband, I think you would hare me
gone.

Gnnth. No. alas ! I speak but for your good and
vour credit ; for when a woman may die quickly,
why should she <ro to law for her death ? Alack, I
need not wish thee pone, for thou hast but a short
time lo s'ay with me : you do not know how near
tis, it must out, you have but a month to Jive by
the law.

Aga. Out alas f
Gnoth. Nav, scarce so much.

Aga. Oh. oh, oK mv heart ! [Swoons.

Gniith. Ay, so! if thou wouldst go away quietly,
'twere sweetly done, :ind like a kind wife ; lie but
a little longer, and the bell shall toll for thee.
Asa. Oh my heart, but a month to live !
Gnoth. Ala*, why wouldst thou come back again
for a month? I'll throw her down again oh! wo-
man, 'tis not three weeks ; I think a fortnight is the
most.

Aga. Nay, then I am gone alreadv. [Swoons.

Gnoth. I would make haste to the sexton now,

but I am afraid the tolling of the bell will wake her

again. If she be so wise as to go now she stirs

again; there's two lives of the nine gone.

Aga. Oh ! wouldst thou not help to recover me,
husband ?

Gnoth. Alas, I could not find in my heart to hold
thee by thy nose, or box thy cheeks ; it j;oes against
. my conscience.

Aga. I will not be thus frighted to my death, I'll
search the church records: a, fortnight!
Tis too little of conscience, I c;mnot be so near ;

time, if thou be'st kind, lend me but a vear.

[Ei it.

Gnoth. What a spi'e's this, that a man cannot
persuade his wife to die in any time with her good
will? I have another bespoke alreadv; though a
piece of old beef will serve to breakfast, yet a man
would be glad of a chicken to supper. The clerk,

1 hope, understands no Hebrew, and cannot write
backward what lie hath writ forward already, and
then 1 am well enough.

'Tis but a month at most, if that were gone,
My venture comes in with her two for one :
"Jis use enough o' conscience for a broker if lie
had a conscience. [Exit.

SCENE II*. A Room in Creon's House.

Enter EUGENIA at one donr, SIMONIUF.S and Courtiers
at ihe other.

Ei/. Gentlemen courtiers.

1 Court. All your vow'd servants, lady.

Eitg. Oh, 1 shall kill myself with infinite

laughter !
Will nobody take my part?

Sim. An't be a laughing business,
Put it to me, I'm one of the best in Europe ;
Mv father died last too, I have the most cause.

Eug. You have pkk'd out such a time, sweet

gentlemen,
To make your spleen a banquet.

Sim. Oh, the jest!

Lady, I have a jaw stands ready for't,
I'll gape half way, and meet it.

Eng. My old husband.

That cannot say his prayers out for jealousy
And madness at your coming first to woo me

Sim. Well said.

1. Cmirt. Go on.

2 Court. On, on.

Eug. Takes counsel with
The secrets of all art to make himself
Youthful again.

Sim. How ! youthful ? ha, hn, ha !

Etig. A man of forty -five he would fain seem

to be,

Or scarce so much, if he might have bis will,
indeed.

Sim. Ay, but his white hairs, they'll betray Lis
hoariness.

Eiig. Why, there you are wide : he's not the

man you take him for,

Nor will you know him when you lee him again;
There will be five to one laid upon that.

1 Court. How }

Eug. Nay, you did well to laugh faintly there,
I promise you, I think he'll outlive me now,
And deceive law and all.

Sim. Marry, gout forbid !

Eug. You little think he was at fencing-school
At four o'clock this morning.

Sim. How, at fencing-school !

Eug. Else give no trust to woman.

Sim. Bv this light,

I do not like him, then ; he's like (o live
Longer than I, for he may kill me first, now.

Eug. His dancer now came in as 1 met you.

1 Court. His dancer, too !

Eiig. They observe turns and hours with him ,
The great French rider will be here at ten
With his curveting horse.

2 Cnnrt. These notwithstanding,

His hair and wrinkles will betray his age.

Eug. I'm sure his head and beard, as he has

order'd it,

Look not past fifty now : he'll bring't to forty
Within these four days, for nine times an hour
He takes a black lead comb, and kembs it over :
Three quarters of his beard is under fifty ;
There's but a little tuft of fourscore left,
All o'one side, which will be black by Monday.

This scene i? al?o printed as prose by the modern edi-
tors. Coxeter seems to li*ve been very capricions in bii
notions of metre, lor lit lias here (as we:l as in loi many
other plan-s) <li-nttc' the original. Mr. M. Maxm i onijr
accountable loi bis want of attention.

510

THE OLD LAW.

[Acr. Ill

Enter LYSANDER.

And, to approve mv truth, see where he comes !
Laugh softly, gentlemen, and look upon him.

[ They go aside.
Sim. Now, by this hand, he's almost black i'the

mouth, indeed.

1 Court. He should die shortly, then.
Sim. Marry, raethinks he dies too fast already,
For he was all white but H week ago.

1 Court. Oh ! this same couey-wbite takes an
excellent black ;

Too soon, a mischief on't !

2 Coitrt. He will beguile

Us all, if that little tuft northward turn black too.

Eng. Nay, sir, I wonder 'tis so long a turning.

Sim. May be some fairy's child, held forth at

midnight,
Has piss'd upon that side.

1 Court. Is this the beard ?

Lv Ah, sirrah! my young boys, I shall be for

"you :

This little mangy tuft takes up more time
Than all the beard beside. Come you a wooing,
And I alive and lusty? you shall find
An alteration, jack-boys ; I have a spirit yet
(An I could match my hair to't, there's the fault*),
And can do offices of youth yet lightly ;
At least I will do. though it pain me a little.
Shall not a man, for a little foolish age
Enjoy his wife to himself? must young court tits
Play tomboys' tricks with her, and he live, ha ?
I have blood that will not bear't ; yet 1 confess,
I should be at my prayers but where's the dancer,
there !

Enter Dancing-master.

Mister. Here, sir.

Lys. Come, come, come, one trick a day,
And 1 shall soon recover all again.

Eug. 'Slight, an you laugh too loud, we are all
discover'd.

Sim. And I have a scurvy grinning laugh o'niine

own,
Will spoil all, I am afraid.

Eug. Marry, take heed, sir.

Sim. Nay, an I should be hang'd I cannot leave it ;
Pup ! there 'tis. [Laughs aloud.

Eiig Peace ! oh peace !

Lys. Come, I am ready, sir.

I hear the church-book's lost where! was born too,
And that shall set me back one twenty years;
There is no little comfort left in that :
And then my three court-codlings, that look par-

boil'd,
As if they came from Cupid's scalding-house

Sim. He means me specially, 1 hold my life.

Mast. What trick will your old worship learn
this morning, sir?

Lys. iVlarry, a trick, if thoti couldst teach a man
To keep his wife to himself; I'd fain learn that.

Mast. That's a hard trick, for an old man spe-
cially ;
The horse-trick comes the nearest.

Lys. Thou sayest true, i't'aith,
They must be horsed indeed, else there's no keeping

them,
And horse-play at fourscore is not so ready

* (An J cnuld match my hair to't, there'* the fault,) i.e.
there's the misfortune :l\\\is is a further ooiihniialion of what
U laid upon the subject. Sic The Hondrnan, Act V. Sc. 1.

Mn.tf. Look you, here's your worship's horse-
trick*, sir. [Gives a spring.

Lys. Nay, say not so,

'Tis none of mine ; I fall down horse and man,
If 1 but offer t it.

Mast. My lif- or yours, sir.

LI/J. sav'st thou me so? [Springs aloft.

Mast. Well offer'd, by my viol, sir.

Lys. A pox of this horse-trick ! 't has played the

jade with me,
And iiiven me a wrench i'the back.

Mast. Now, here's your inturn, and your trick
above ground.

Lys. Prithee, no more, unless thou hast a mind
To lay me under-ground ; one of these tricks
Is enough in a morning.

Ma*t. For your galliard, sir.
You are complete enough, ay, and may challenge
The proudest coxcomb of them all, I'll stand to't.

Lys. Faith, and I've other weapons for the rest

too :

I have prepared for them, if e'er I take.
My Gregories here again.

Sim. Oh ! 1 shall burst,
I can hold out no longer.

J~-iig. He spoils all. [They cnmeforward.

Lys. The devil and his grinners ! are you come?
Bring forth the weapons, we shall find you play ;
All feats of youth too, jack-boys, feats of youth,
And these the weapons, drinking, fencing, dancingf :
Your own road- ways, you clyster-pipes ! I am old,

you say,

Yes, parlous old, kids, an you mark me well.
This beard cannot get children, you lank suck-
eggs,

Unless such weasels come from court to help us.
We will get our own brats, you letcherous dog-
bolts!

Enter a servant tiith foils and glasses.

Well said, down with them ; now we shall see your

spirits.

What ! dwindle you ah'endy ?
2C ourt. 1 have no quality^.
Sim. Nor I, unless drinking may be reckon'd for

one.

1 Court. Why, Sim, it shall.
Lys. Come, diire you choose your weapon, now ?

1 Court. 1 ? dancing, sir, an you will be so hasty.
Lys. We're for you, sir.

2 Court. Fencing, I.

Lvs. We'll answer you too.

Sim. I am for drinking ; your wet weapon there.

Lys. That wet one has cost many a princox

"life ;

And I will send it through you with a powder!
Sim. Let it come, with a pox ! I care not, so't be
drink.

Here's your varthip's horse-trick,] Some rough cur-
vetting is here meant, but I know nt the precise motion.
Tlie word occurs in A Human Killed with Kindness :
Though \v.- be but country IV Hows, it m*) be, in the
way of d.incing, we can do the Aor*e-lrick as well as the
serving men." Act I.

t And these the weapon*, drinMny, fencing, dancing :]
This line, winch describes what the fiats of youth are, and
without which the Mibsi'<)iiont sp.echcs cannot be under-
stood, is wholly omitted by Mr. M. Manni.

J -2 Court. / have no quality.] i.e. no profession; af
least, that is the sense in which Sunonides takes it.

IT,

THE OLD LAW.

I hope my guts will bold, and that's e'en all
A gentleman can look for of such trillibubs*.

Lys. Play the first jveupon ; come, strike, strike,

J say.

i"es,yes, you shall be first ; I'll observe court rules :
Always the worst goes foremost, so 'twill prove, I
hope. [1 Courtier dances a gutliard\.

o, sir, you've spit, your poison ; now come 1.
>Jo\v, forty years go backward and assist me,
Fall from me hilf my age, but for three minutes,
T hat 1 may feel no crick ! I will put fair for't,
Although 1 hazard twenty sciaticas. [Dances.

So, I have hit you.

3 Cmirt. You've done well, i'faith, sir.

Li/s. If you confess it well, 'tis excellent,
And 1 have hit you soundly ; I am warm now :
The second weapon instantly.

2 Court. What, so quick, sir?
Will you i ot allow yourself a breathing-time?

I. vs. I've breath enough at all times, Lucifer's

musk-cod,

To give jour perfumed worship three venues ;
A sound old man puts his thrust better home
Than a spiced young man : there 1. [They fence.

t Cnurt. I hen have atyou, fourscore.

L>,'$. You he, twenty, I hope, and you shall
find it. (eye

Sim. I'm glad I miss'd this weapon, I'd had an
Popt out ere this time, or mv two butter-teeth
Thrust down my throat instead of a flap-dragon.

1< us. 1 here's two, pentweezle. [Hits him.

J\iint. Excellently touch'd,sir.

% Court. Had ever man such luck! speak your
opinion, gentlemen.

Sim. Methinks your luck's good that your eyes

are in still,
Mine would havedropt out like a pig's half roasted.

Ltji. 'J here wants a third and there it is again !
[Hits him again.

2 Court. The devil has steel'd him.

Lux- \\ hat a strong iiend is jealousy !

LI.S. You are dispatch'd, bear-whelp.

Him. Now comes my weapon in.

Ly>. Here, toadstool, here.
'Tis you Hiid 1 must play these three wet venues.

Sim. Venues in Venice glasses ! let them come,
They'll bruise no fles-h, 1 m ture, nor break no
bones.

2 Court. Yet you may drink your eyes out, sir.

Sim. Ay, but that's nothing ;
Then they go voluntarily : 1 do not
Love to have them thiust out, whether they will or
no.

Lys. Here's your first weapon, duck's-meat.

Sim. How! a Dutch what-do-you-call-'em,
Stead of a German faulchion ! a shrewd weapon,

of such tiillibubs.] This

^eenls to be a cant word lor any thing of a trifling nature :
I meet wllk it again in Shirley:

" Hut 1 lot-give i hue, ami forget thy tricks

And tnllibubs.' Hyde Park.

+ 1 Courtier darters a gallUrd.l A galliard is described
by Sir John Davis, as a swift and wandering dance, with
lojty turns and capriulx in the air ; and so very proper li>
pi uvu the !>liength and aciiviiy of Lyyander. it is slill
more trauliu-ally deM-ribed, as Mr. C-iKlnist observt *, in
%nrion' Anut. nf Melancholy : " Let them take their |,lr.i-
sures, voung turn and maids, nViin.-hing in their age, lair
Hi,d lo\el> to behold, well attired, and of comely carnage,
d. minima Greeke yalliarde, and, as their dance required,
kept their lime, niw 'urn^iy, now tracing, now apart, now
altiyi ther, now a cuvrtrsi? , then a cayer, &<:. ; that it was
4 pleasant iiylit," toi. 1UJ2.

And, of all things, hard to betaken down :
Yet down it must, 1 have a nose goes into't ;
I s-hall drink double, I think.

1 Court. The sooner oft', Sim.

Lys. I'll pay you speedily, with a trick *
1 learnt once amongst drunkards, here's a half-pike

[Drinks.

Sim. Half-pike comes well after Dutch wbat-do-

you-call-'em.
They'd never be asunder by their good willf.

1 Court. Well pull'd of an old fellow !

Lys. Oh, but your fellows
Pull better at a rope.

1 Court. There's a hair, Sim,
In that glass.

Sim.An't be as long as a halter, down it goes ;
No hare shall cross me. [Drinkt.

Lys. I'll make you stink worse than your pole-
cats do :
Here's long sword, your last weapon.

[Offers him ihe glass.
Sim. No more weapons.
J Court. Why, how now, Sim ! bear up, thou

shamest us all, else.
Sim. 'Siigbt, 1 shall shame you worse, an I stay

longer.

I have got the scotomy in my head already}:,
The whimsev : you all turn round do not you
dance, gallants?

2 Cti'irt. Pish ! what's all this! why, Sim, look,
the last venue.

Sim. No more venues go down here ; for these

two
Are coming up again.

2 Co/nt. Out! the disgrace of drinkers !

Sim. Yes, 'twill out,
Do you smell nothing yet ?

1 Court. Smell !

Sim. Farewell quickly, then ;
You will do, if I siay. [Exit.

1 Court. A foil go with thee !

Lys. What, shall we put down youth at her own

virtues !

Beat folly in her own ground ? wondrous much !
Why may not we be held as full sufficient
To love our own wives then, get our own children,
And live in free peace till we be dissolv d,
For such spring butterflies that are gaudy wing'd,
But no more substance than those shamble Hies
Which butchers' boys snap between sleep and

waking ?

Come but to crush you once, you are hut maggots,
For all your beamy outsides !

Enter CLEANTHES.

Etig. Here's Cleanthes,
He comes to chide ; let him alone a little,

Lysan. I'll pay you speedily, with a trick,

&c.J Lysamlt-r gives them all har.-h names here he bestows
one on Simoni'les, which the delicac> or fear of the old
publisher Would not permit him to hazard in print : tani
ntieuy.

1 This stuff ia not worth explaining ; but the reader, il
he h.is any curiosity on the subject, may amply gratify it
b\ a v isit to Pantagruel and his companions on the Isle
Lnnasin. Below, there is a miserable pun upon hair, th
crusting of a hare was ominous.

j J have, yot Me scotomy in my head already,} The sco-
tomy (o'KOTwua) is a dizziness, or swimming in the head.
Thus Joiison :

" Cart. How does he with the swimming of his head T

Mas. O, -ir, 'tis past the scotomy ; he now
Hath lost his feeling," &c. The Fo*.

THE OLD LAW.

[ACT in.

Our cause will be revenged ; look, look, his face
Is set for stormy weather ; do but mark
How tie clouds gather in it, 'twill pour down
straight.

Clean. Methinks, I partly know you, that's my

grief.

Could you not all be lost ? that had been hand-
some,

But to be known at all, 'tis more than shameful ;
Why, was not your name wont to be Lysander ?

Lys. 'Tis so still, coz.

Clean. Judgment defer ihy coming ! else this
man's miserable.

Eug. 1 told you there would be a shower anon.

2 Court. We'll in, and hide our noddles.

[Exeunt Eugenia and Courtiers,

Clean. What devil brought this colour to your

mind,

Which, since your childhood, Ine'ersaw you wear 1
[Sure] you were ever of an innocent gloss
Since I was lipe for knowledge, and would you

lose it,

And change the livery of saints and angels
For this mixt moristrousness : to force a ground
That has been so long hallowed like a temple,
To bring forth fruits of earth now ; and turn back
To the wild cries of lust, and the complexion
Of sin in act, lost and long since repented?
Would you begin a work ne'er yet attempted,
To pull time backward ?
See what your wife will do ! are your wits perfect?

Lyt. My wits !

Clean. I like it ten times worse, for 't had been

safer

Now to be mad*, and more excusable :
I hear you dance again, ;md do strange follies.

Lys. 1 must confess I have been put to some, coz.

Clean. And yet you are not mad ! pray.saynot so ;
Give me that comfort of you, that you are mad,
That I may think you are at worst ; for if
You are not mad, I then must guess you have
The first of some disease was never heard of,
Which may be worse than madness, and more fearful.
You'd weep to see yourself else, and your care
To pray would quickly turn you white again.
I had a father, hud he lived his month out,
But to have seen this most prodigious folly,
There needed not the law to have him cut off;
The sight of this had proved his executioner,
And broke his heart : he, would have held it equal
Done to a sanctuary, for what is age
But the holy place of life, chapel of ease
For all men's wearied miseries ? and to rob
That of her ornament, it is accurstf
As from a priest to steal a holy vestment,
Ay, and convert it to a sinful covering.

[F.iit Lysatider.

I see 't has done him good ; blessing go with it,
Such as may make him pure again.

for 't had been tafer

A'otc to be mad, &c.] Minus eit intania turpa. There
are many traits of Massinger in this pail of the .-one.

+ H i* accurtt] The editors are

nearly arrived at the concision of Ilieir labour;, yet they
are as fur from any acquaintance with the manner ul iheir
author, as they were .it selling out ; they both insert at be-
fore accurst, though it spoils (he metre, and was not the lan-
guage of the time. It would be iinpHidonable lo pass over
this admirable >pct ch, without ra'ling ihe reader'e atttnlion
to (he concluding lines: the concretion ii happv, and lUe
exprul-iou beauliiul in ibe highest degree.

Re-enter EUGENIA.

Eug. 'Twas bravely touch'd, i' faith, sir.
Clean. Oh, YOU are welcome.
Lti>f. Exceedingly well handled.
Clean. 'Tis loyou I come ; he fell but in my way,
Eug. You mark'd his beard, cousin ?
Clean. Mark Hie.

Eug. Did you ever see a hair so changed 1
Clean. I must be forced to wake her loudly too,
The devil has rock'd her so fast asleep: strumpet!
Eug. Do you call, sir?
Ctean. Whore 1
Eiig. How do you, sir?
Clean. Be I ne'er so well,
I must be sick of thee ; thou art a disease
That stick'st to the heart, as all such women are.
Eiig. What ails our kindred?
Clean. Bless me, slie sleeps still !
What a de-.id modesty is in this woman,
Will never blush again ! Look on thy work
But wiih a Christian eye, 'twould turn thv heart
Into a shower of blood, to be the cause
Of that old man's destruction, think upon't,
Ruin eternally ; for, through thy loose follies,
Heaven has found him a faint servant lately :
His goodness has gone backward, and engender'd
With his old sins again ; he has lost, his prayers,
And all the tears that were companions wiih them :
And like a blind-fold man (giddy and blinded).
Thinking he goes right on still, swerve but one

foot,

And turns to the same place where lie set out ;
So he, that took his farewe'l of the world,
And cast the joys behind him, out of sight,
Summ'd up his hours, made even with time and

men,

Is now in heart arrived at youth again,
All by thy wildness : thy too hasty lust
Has driven him to this strong apostacy.
Immodesty like thine was never equali'd;
I've heard of women (shall I call them so?)
Have welcomed suitors ere the corpse were told ;
But ihou. thv husband living: thou'rt too bold.
"" Well, have you done now, sir ?
Clean. Look, look ! she smiles yet.
Eug. All this is nothing to a mind resolved ;
Ask any woman that, she'll tell you so much :
You have only shown a pretty saucy wit,
Which I shall not forget, nor to requite it.
You shall hear from me shortly.

Clean. Shameless woman !
I take my counsel from tiiee, 'tis too honest,
And leave thee wliolly to thy stronger master:
Bless the sex o'tliee from thee ! that's my prayer.
Were all like thfe, so impudently common,
No man would e'er be found to wed a woman.

Exit.

Eug. I'll fit you gloriously.
He that attempts to t-.ike away my pleasure,
I'll take away his joy*; and 1 can sure.
His conceal'd faiher pays for't : I'll e'en tell

I'lltakrawatj hit joy ; atid I can stirt-.] So the old
copy ; Coxeter Miphistic.itfd this passage very awkwardly
be reads,

and I can 'sure him

His conctaFd father pays fort !

The protty apluvrt.-is f ture tor unsure), ami the vnlar run
ning of the euleiue into ihe iitxi line, might h.ive i.u-M
Mi.-pirjoii- 111 an ordinary -.diior that the trxt WHS inrnin.rl ;
bul Mr. M. .M.IJ-OII WHS not an ordinary editor; if Coxeltt*
bf right, it U well; il* not. be l-wks iioturllier.

SCENE III.

THE OLD LAW.

51,

Him that I mean to make my husband next,

And lie shall tell the duke. .Mass, here he comes.

Re-enter SIMONIDES.

Sim. He has had a bout with me too.

F.ng. What! no? since, sir *?

Sim. A flirt, a little flirt ; he call'd me strange

names.
But I ne'er minded him.

Eng. You shall quit him, sir,
When he as little minds you.

Sim, I like that well.
I love to be revenged when no one thinks

of me ;
There's little danger that way.

Etig. This is it, then ;

He you shall strike your stroke shall be pro-
found,
And yet your foe not guess who gave the

wound.
Sim. O' my troth, I love to give such wounds.

[Exctmt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Before a T,,vern.

Enter GNOTIIO, Butler, Bailiff, Tailor, Cook, Drawer,
and Courtezan.

Draw. Welcome, gentlemen, will you not draw
near? will you drink at door, gentlemen ?

But. Oh ! the summer air is best.

Draw. What wine will't please you drink, gen-
tlemen ?

But. De Clare, sirrah. [E.tit Drawer.

Giti'th. What, you're all sped already, bullies?

Cook. My widow's o' the spit, and half ready,
lad ; a turn or two more, and I have done with her.

Gnoth. Then, cook, I hope you have basted her
before this time.

Co/c. And stuck her with rosemary too, to sweeten
her ; she was tainted ere she came to my hands.
What an old piece of flesh of fifty-nine, eleven
months, and upwards ! she must needs be fly-blown.
Gnoth. Put her off, put her off, though you lose
by her ; the weather's hot.

Cook. Why, drawer!

Re-enter Drawer.

Draw. By and by : here, gentlemen, here's the
quintessence of Greece ; the sages never drunk
better grape.

Coi>k. Sir, the mad Greeks of this age can taste
their Palermo as well as the sage Greeks did before
them. Fill, lick-spiggot.

Draw. Ad imnm, sir.

Gnoth. My friends, I must doubly invite you all,
the fifth of the next month, to the funeral of mv
first wife, and to the marriage of my second, mv
two to one ; ibis is she.

Cook. 1 hope some of us will be ready for the
funeral of our wives by that time, to go with thee :
but shall they be both of a day?

Gnoth. Oh ! best of all. sir ; where sorrow and
joy meet together, one will help away wiih another
the better. Besides, there will be charges saved
too; the same rosemarv that serves for the funeral,
will serve for the wedding.

But. How long do you make account to be a
widower, sir?

Bug. tt'hat! no? sinct, sir.'] So ihe quarto, (,'oxeter
reads, W hat ? no since, sir! and Mr. Mason, always cor-
"*:tiiig iu the wrong place, What? not tince, sir'

Gnoth. Some half an hour; long enough o' con-
science. Come, come, let's have some agility ; ia
there no music in the house ?

Draw. Yes, sir, here are sweet wire-drawers in
the house.

Cook. Oh ! that makes them and you seldom
part ; you are wine-drawers and they wire-drawers.

Tail. And both govern by the pegs too.

Gnoth. And you have pipes in your consort too.

Draw. And sack-buts too, sir.

But. But the heads of your instruments differ :
yours are hogs-heads, theirs cittern and gittern-
heads.

Bail. All wooden-heads ; there they meet again.

Cook. Bid them strike up, we'll have a dance,
Gnotho ; come, thou shall foot it too.

[Eiit Drawer,

Gnolh. No dancing with me, we have- Siren here.

Cook. Siren ! 'twas Hiren, the fair Greek, man.

Gnoth. Five drachmas of that ; I say Siren, the
fair Greek, and so are all fair Greeks.

Cook. A match ; five drachmas her name was
Hiren.

Gnoth. Siren's name was Siren, for five drachmas.

Cook. 'Tis done.

Tail. Take heed what you do, Gnotho.

Gnoth. Do not 1 know our own countrywomen,
Siren and Nell of Greece, two of the fairest Greeks
that ever were ?

Cook. That Nell was Helen of Greece too.

Gnoth. As lo.ig as she tarried with her husband,
she was Ellen ; hut after she came to Troy, she was
Nell of Troy, or Bonny Nell, whether you will orno.

Tail. Why, did she grow shorter when she came
to Troy?

Gnoth. She grew longer*, if you mark the story.
When she grew to be an ell, she was deeper than
any yard of Troy could reach by a quarter ; there
was Cressid was Troy weight, and Nell was avoir-
dupois ; she held more by four ounces, than Cres
sida.

* Gnotli. Shf grew longer, &c.] This miserable trash,
which is quite silly euou-jh to be original, has yet the merit
of being copied from Shakspeare. The reader who has a
taste for niceties of this kind will find, upon examination,
that Maasinger'sassisiants have improved upon the indecency
if not the liiih, of their original.

THE OLD LAW.

[ ACT IV

Bail. They say she caused many wounds, to be
given in Troy.

Gnoth. True, she was wounded there herself, and
cured again by plaister of Paris ; and ever t-ince that
has been used to stop holes with.

Re-enter Drawer.

Draw. Gentlemen, if you be disposed to be merry,
the music is ready to strike up ; and here's a consort
of mad Greeks, I know not whether they be men or
women, or between both ; they have, what do you
call them, wizards on their faces.

Ciiok. Vizards, good man lick-spiggot.

But. If they be wise worn; n, they may be wizards
too.

Draw. They desire to enter amongst any merry
company of gentlemen-good-fellows for a strain or
two.

Enter Old Women* and AGATHA in masks.
Cook. We'll strain ourselves with them, say ; let
them come, Gnotho ; now for the honour of Epire !
Gnoth. No dancing with me, we have Siren here.

[A dance by the Old Women and AGATHA ; they
offer to take the men ; all agree eicept GNOTHO,
who sits with the Courtezan.

Cook. Ay ? so kind ! then every one his wench to
his several room ; Gnotho, we are all provided now
as you are.

[Ereitut all but GNOTHO, Courtezan, and
AGATHA.

Gnoth. I shall have two, it seems : away ! I have
Siren here already.

Aga. Wha;, a mermaid f? [Takes off her mask.

Gnoth. No, but a mail!, horse-lace : oh, old
woman ! is it you ?

Aga. Yes, 'tis I ; all the rest have gulled them-
selves, and taken their own wives, and shall
know that they have done more than they can
well answer ; but I pray you, husband, what
are you doing ?

Gnoth. Faith, thus should I do, if thou wert dead,
old Ag, and thou hast not long; to live, I'm sure :
we have Siren here.

Aga. Art thou so shameless, whilst I am living, to
keep one under my nose ?

Gnoth. No, Ag, I do prize her far above thy
nose ; if thou wouldst Iny me both thine eyes in
my hand to boot, I'll not leave her : art not asham-
ed to be seen in a tavern, and has scarce a fortnight
to live ? oh, old woman, what art thou .' must
thou find no time to think of thy end?

Aga. O, unkind villain !

Gnoth. And then, sweetheart, thou shall have two
new gowns ; and the best of this old woman's shall
make thee raiment for the working days.

Aga. O rascal ! dost thou quarter my clothes
already, too ?

Gnoth. Her ruffs will servo thee for nothing but

Enter old Women.] The stage direction in Goxeter and
Mr. M. Mason is, Enter old H omen. Cnotho's dance.
The former editor had carelessly taken the name from the
speech of the Cook, and the latter ridiculously continued the
blunder, though lie must have seen that Gnotho is the only
person who does not dance.

t Aga. H 'hat, a mermaid ?\ The mermaids of the
writers time had succeeded to the Syrens of the ancients,
and possessed all their musical as well as seductive quali-
ties. Mermaid also was one of the thousand cant terms
which .-ci-ve'l to denote a strumpet, and to this, perhaps,
Agatha alludrr.

to wash di:-hes ; for thou slmlt have thine* of the
new fashion.

Ago.. Impudent villain ! shameless harlot !
Gnoth. \ ou may. hear she never wore any but
rails all her lifetime.

Aga. Let me tome, I'll tear the strumpet from
him.

Gnoth. Dar'st thou call my wife strumpet, thou
preterplupertect tense of a woman ! I'll make thee
do penance in the sheet thou shiilt be buried lu ;
abuse my choice ! my two-to-one !

Jga. No, unkind villian, I'll deceive thee yt,
1 have a reprieve for five years of life ;
I am with child.

Court. Cud so, Gnotho, I'll not tarry so long;
five years ! I may bury two husbands by that
time.

Gnoth. Alas ! give the poor woman leave to talk,
she with child ! ay, with a puppy : as long as I
have thee by me, she shall not be with child, 1 war-
rant thee.

Aga. The law, and thou, and all, shall find I am
with child.

Gnoth. I'll take my corporal oath I begat it not,
and then thou tiiest for adultery.

Aga. No matter, that will ask some time in the
proof.

Gnoth. Oh ! you'd be stoned to death, would you t
all old women would die o' that fashion with all
their hearts ; but the law shall overthrow you the
other way, first.

Court. Indeed, if it be so, I will not linger so long,
Gnotho.

Gnoth. Away, away ! some botcher has got it ;
'tis but a cushion, 1 warrant thee : the old womaQ
is loth to depart f; she never sung other tune in her
life.

Court. We will not have our noses bored with a
cushion, if it be so.

Gnoth. Go, go ihy ways, thou old almanack at the
twenty-eighth day of December, e'en almost out of
date ! Down on thy knees, ami make ihee ready ;
sell some of thy clothes to buy thee a death's head,
and put upon my middle finger: your least con.-ider-
ing bawd does so much ; be not thou worse, though
thou art not an old woman, as she is : I am cloy'd
with old stock-fish, here's a yuunir perch is sweeter
meat by half; prithee, die before ihy day if thou
canst, that thou mayst not be counted a witch.

1 for thou shall have thine nf the new

fashion.} The old copy reads, nine of the new fashion :
1 have little doubt but that the word which I have iusui ltd
is the genuine ohe.

i The old woman is loth to depart :] There was anciently
a tune ot this name, and to that iinotho allude.*. In H it at
Several H eaponx, the old copy has

" Pompey. Hum, hum, hum ! He hums loth to depart."
On which the editors observe, that " the impropriety ot put-
ting this passage into Pompey's mouth is evident upon the
bare mention, as it unquestionably belongs to the next
speaker." And to the next speaker they boldly give it !
but they did not understand their author. The last pait ol
the quotation is merely a mar^inai direction, and the pas-
sage in future should be thus regulated :
" Pomp. Hum, hum, hum!

[He hum* Loin to Depart."

The same expression occurs in The Man's the Matter of
d'Avenant, where the modern editors have also misunder-
stood it : " You'd fain stay to sing loth to depart."

ll is also mentioned in that old and popular balad, Arthur
ofHradley:

" Then Will, and his sweetheart,
Did call for loth to depart," &c.

SCENE II.]

THE OLD LAW.

519

Aga. No thou art a witch, and I'll prove it ; I
said 1 was with child, thou knew'st no other but by
sorcery : thou said'st it wa< a cushion, and so it is ;
thou art a witch for't. I'll be sworn to't.

Gnoth. Ha, ha, ha! I told thee 'twas a cushion.
Go, get thy sheet ready, we'll see thee buried as we
go to church to be married.

[L'leurit Gnotho and. Courtezan.

Aga. Nay, I'll follow thee, and show myself a
wife. I'll plague thee as long as I live with thee ;
nd I'll burv some money before I die*, that my
ghost may haunt thee afterward. [ hiit.

SCENE IL The Country. A Forest.
Enter CLEANTHES.

Clean. What's that ? ch, nothing but the whisper-
ing wind
Breathes through yon churlish hawthorn, that grew

rude,

As if it chid the gentle breath that kiss'd it.
I cannot be too circumspect, too careful ;
For in these woods lies hid all mv life's treasure,
Which is too much never to fear to IOSP,
Though it be never lost : and if our watchfulness
Ought to be wise and serious "gainst a thief
That comes to steal our goods, things all without us,
That prove vexation often more than comfort.
How mighty ought our providence to be
To prevent those, if any such there were.
That come to rob our bosom of our joys,
That only make poor man delight to live !
Pshaw ! I'm too fearful fie, fie ! who can hurt

me ?

But 'tis a general cowardice, that shnkes
The nerves of confidence ; he that hides treasure,
Imagines every one thinks of that place,
When 'tis a thing least minded ; nay, let him change
The place continually ; where'er it keeps, [bouse
There will the fear keep still : yonder's the store-
Of all my comfort now and see ! it sends forth

Enter HIPPOLITA.

A dear one to me : Precious chief of women,
How does the good old soul ? has he fed well?

Hip. Beshrew me, sir, he made the heartiest

meal to-day
Much good may't do his health.

Clean. A blessing on thee.
Both for thy news and wish!

Hip. His stomach, sir,
Is better'd wondrously, since his concealment.

Clean. Heaven has a blessed work in't. Come,

we are safe here ;
I prithee call him forth, the air's much wholesomer.

Hip. Father !

* And I'll bury tome money btfiire I die, &c.] This, as
everyone know-, was mi infallible, method of causing tlie
person who did it, to walk after death. It is not unpleasant
to remark, how often one f..lly i> con literal ted by another:
but for thU salutary persuasion", which was on, e very pieva-
lent, much m. tu-y would have been lo.-t to the community
in troublesome limes. 'J lib petty superstition if dignined by
the adoption of Shakspeare ; it is also frequently to be found
41 the writers of his age. TYus Shiil\ :

" I do but think h..\v .>nic like ghosts will walk

Fur money turely hidden."
Again :

' Call this a clrirch-yard, and imasine me
Some wakeful apparition 'monp the graves,
That, for tame treasure luriedin my life,
Walk up and down thus." The Hedding.

Er.Ur LEOMDES.

Leon. How sweetly sounds the yoice of a good

woman !

It is so seldom heard, that, when it speaks,
It ravishes all senses. Lists of honour !
I've a joy weeps to see you, 'tis so full,
So fairly fruitful.

Clean. I hope to see you often and return*
Loaded with blessings, still to pour on some ;
1 find them all in my contented peace,
And lose not one in thousands ; they are disperst
So gloriously, 1 know not which are brightest.
I find them, as angels are found, by legions :
First, in the love and honesty of a wife.
Which is the chiefest of all temporal blessings;
Next in yourself, which is the hope and joy
Of all mv actions, my affairs, my wishes ;
And lastly, which crowns all, I find my soul
Crown'd with the peace of them, the eternal riches,
Man's onlv portion for his heavenly marriage!

Leon. Rise, thou art all obedience, love, and

goodness.

I dare say that which thousand fathers cannot,
And that's my piecious comfort, never son
W:is in the way more of celestial rising :
Thou art so made of such ascending virtue,
1 hat all the powers of hell can't sink thee.

\_A horn sounded within.

Clean. Ha!

Leon. What was't disturb 'd my joy?

Clean. Did you not hear,
As afar off?

Leon. What, my excellent comfortf ?

Clean. Nor you ?

Hip. 1 heard a [A hnm.

Clean. Hark, again !

Leon, bless my joy.
What ails it on a sudden?

Clean. Now, since lately?

Leon. 'Tis nothing but a symptom of thy care,
man.

Clean. Alas ! you do not hear well.

Leon. \\ hat was't, daughter ?

Hip. I heard a sound, twice. [A horn.

Clean, (lark! louder and nearer :
In, for the precious good of virtue, quick, sir !
Louder and nearer yet ! at hand, at hand !

[Exit Leonidet

A hunting here? tis strange 1 I never knew
Game followed in these woods before.

Enter EVANDER, SIMOMDES, Courtiers, and
CRATILVS.

Hip. Now let them come, and spare not.

Clean. Ha! 'tis is't not the duke? lock

sparingly.

* Clean. / hnpe in tee you often and return
Loaded with blesxiny*,] Often and return, for often re-
turn, is a mode in pe*rfc so familiar to Malinger, that we
iniylit almost affirm this exquisite scene to be his, if we
cmild maintain ai.y thing w ith confidi nre in this mo't in-
correct publication. Be it whose it may lifwever, it makes
large amends lor the dull and tedious buttooneiy of the for-
mer | art of this art.

t Leon (I hat. my errellrnt comfort ?] The old copy ha*
consort, which induced Co\el< r to ^ive llie *"ech to Hip-
polita. I have little doubt but that ihe mistake is in thi
wo I, winch should be comfort, as it stands in the text:
by this te.in the f. nd p. rent lieqiientU addresses his chil
dreii. In 11 e oiith o I.eonides, too, it lorms a natural re-
ply to th.' question of Cleanthes, who theu turm 'o mke
the same demand of his wife.

516

THE OLD LAW

[Acr 1\

Hiii. 'Tis he, but what of that? alas, take heed,

sir,
Your care will overthrow us.

Elean. Come, it shall not :
Let's set a pleasant face upon our fears,
Though our hearts shake with horror. Ha, ha, ha !

Evan. Hark !

Elean. Prithee, proceed ;

am taken with these light things infinitely,
Since the old man's decease ; ha ! so they parted ?
ha, ha, ha !

Evan. Why, how should I believe this ? look,

he's merry

As if he had no such charge : one with that care
Could never be so ; still he holds his temper,
And 'tis the same still (with no difference)
He brought his father's corpse to the grave with ;
He laugh'd thus then, you know.

1 Court. Ay, he may laugh,
That shws but how he glories in his cunning;
And is, perhaps, done more to advance his wit,
That only he has over-reach'd the law,
Than to express affection to his father.

Sim. He tells you right, my lord, his own cousin-

german

Reveal'd it first to me ; a free-tongued woman,
And very excellent at telling secrets.

Evan. If a contempt can be so neatly carried,
It gives me cause of wonder.

Sim. Troth, my lord,

'Twill prove a delicate cozening, I believe :
I'd have no scrivener offer to come near it.

Evan. Cleanthes.

Elean. My loved lord.

Evan. Not moved a whit.
Constant to lightness still* ! 'Tis strange to meet

you

Upon a ground so unfrequented, sir :
This does not fit your passion, you're for mirth,
Or I mistake you much.

Clean. But'finding it
Grow to a noted imperfection in me,
For any thing too much is vicious,
I come to these disconsolate walks of purpose,
Only 10 dull and take away the edge on't.
I ever had a greater zeal to sadness,
A natural propension, I confess.
Before that cheerful accident fell out
If I may call a father's funeral cheerful J

Without wrong done to duty or my love.

Evan. It seems then, you take pleasure in these
walks, sir.

Clean. Contemplative content I do, my lord :
They bring into my mind oft meditations
So sweetly precious, that in the parting
I find a shower of grace upon my cheeks,
They take their leave so feelingly.

T~* O I

Lvaii. So, sir !

Clean. Which is a kind of grave delight, my lord.

Eian. And I've small cause, Cleanthes, to afford

you
The least delight that has a name.

Clean. My lord !

Sim. Now it begins to fadge.

1 Court. Peace ! thou art so greedy, Sim.

Evan. In your excess of joy you have express'd
Your rancour and contempt against my law :

Constant to tightness ttill.] The old copy roads, Con-
itant to lightening ttill. The emendation by Mr. M. Mason.

Your smiles deserve a fining ; you have profess'd

Derision openly, e'en to my face,

Which might be death, a little more incensed.

\ ou do not come for any freedom here,

But for a project of your own :

But all that's known to be contentful to thee,

Shall in the use prove deadly. Your life's mine,

If ever your presumption do but lead you

Into these walks a^ain, ay. or that woman ;

I'll have them watched o' purpose.

[Cleanthes retires from the icond, follower bu

Hippotita.

1 Court. Now, now, his colour ebbs and flows.
Sim. JMark her's too.
hip. Oh, who shall bring food to the poor old

man, now !

Speak somewhat, good sir, or we're lost for ever.
Clean. Oh, you did wonderous ill to call me

again.

There are not words to help us; if I enlreat,
'Tis found, that will betray us worse than silence* ;
Prithee let heaven alone, nd let's Miy nothing.
1 Court. You have struck ihein dumb, my lord
Sim. Look how guilt looks !
1 would not have that fear upon iny flesh,
To save ten fathers.

Clean. He is safe still, is he not ?
Hip. Oh, you do ill to doubt it.
Clean. Thou art all goodness.
Sim. Now does your grace believe!
Evan. 'Tis too apparent.

Search, make a speedy search ; for the imposture
Cannot be far oft', by the fear it sends.
Clean. Ha !

Sim. He has the lapwing's cunning, 1 am afraid,
That cries most when she's furthest from the nest*
Clean. Oh, we are betray 'd.
Hip. Betray'd, sir !
Sim. See, my lord,
It comes out more and more still.

[Simonides and Courtiers enter the wood.
Clean. Bloody tliief !

Come from that place ; 'tis sacred : homiciae .
'Tis not for thy adulterate hands to touch it.

Hip. Oh miserable virtue, what distress
Art thou in at this minute !
Clean. Help me, thunder,
For my power's lost ! angels, shoot plagues, and

help me!

Why are these men in health and I so heart-sick?
Or why should nature have that power in me
To levy up a thousand bleeding sorrows,
And not one comfort? only make me lie
Like the poor mockery of an earthquake here,

-' if I entreat,

'Ti found, that will betray us worm; than silence ;] The
sense of this, and, indeed, of the whole speech, is sufficiently
clear. Yon should not have called me back, says Clean'hes;
no words can help us, for if I beseech the duke to MI tit r me
to remain here, the secret will be discovered: entreaties will
be worse than silence, for by these his suspicions will be con-
firmed. This, however, does not satisfy Mr. M. Mason,
who chooses to modernize it in this way :
if / entreat,

'Tii sound that will betray ut worse than silence ;
t Sim. He has the lapwing's cunning, 1 am afraid,
That cries most when she's farthest from the nest.} Onr
old potts abound in allusions to this stratagem of the lap-
win ; thus Jonson :

" Ht- that knows, will like a lapwing fly
Far IV. m the nest, and so himself belie
To others," &c. Underwood*.

SCENE

THE OLD LAW.

517

Panting with horror,

And have not so much force in all my vengeance,

To shake a villain off me.

Re-enter SIMONIDES and Courtiers with LF.OMDES.

Hip. Use him gently,
And heaven will love you for it.

Clean. Father ! oh father ! now I see thee full
In thy affliction ; thou'rt a man of sorrow,
But reverendly becom'st it, that's my comfort:
Kstremity was never belter graced
Than with that look of thine, oh ! let me look still,
For 1 shall lose it ; all my joy and strength

[Kneels.

Is e'en eclipsed together: I transgress'd
Your law, rny lord, let me receive the sting on't ;
Be once just, sir, and let the offender die :
He's innocent in all, and I am guilty. [speaks,

Leon. Your grace knows when affection only
Truth is not always there ; his love would draw
An undeserved misery on his youth,
And wrong a peace resolved on both parts sinful.
'1 is I am guilty of my own concealment,
AH, like a worlcly coward, injured heaven
With fear to go to't : now I see my fault,
And am prepared with joy to suffer for it.

Eran. Go, give him quick dispatch ; let him see

death :

And your presumption, sir, shall come to judgment.
[Etennt Eean'ler, Courtiers, Simonides, and

Cratilus with Leonides.
Hip. He's going! oh, he's gone, sir!
Clemi. Let me rise.

Hip. Why do you not then, and follow?
Clean. I strive for it,

Is there no hand of pity that will ease me,
And take this villain from my heart awhile? [.Rises.
Hip. Alas ! he's gone.
Clean. A. worse supplies his place then,
A weight more ponderous ; I cannot follow.
Hip. Oh misery of affliction!
Clean. They will stay

Till 1 can cnme; they must be so good ever,
Though they be ne'er so cruel :
My last leave must be taken, think of that,
And his last blessing given ; I will not lose
That for a thousand consorts.
Hip. That hope's wretched.
Clean. The unutterable stings of fortune !
All griefs are to be borne save this alone,
This, like a headlong torrent, overturns
The frame of nature :
For he that gives us life first, as a father,
Locks all his natural sufferings in our blood, '
The sorrows that he feels are our heart's too,
They are incorporate to us.
Hip. Noble sir !
Clean. Let me behold thee well.
Hip. Sir!

Clean. Thou shouldst be good,
Or thou'rt a dangerous substance to be lodged
So near the heart of man.

Hip. What means this, dear sir?
Chan. To thy trust only was this blessed secret
Kindly commuted, 'tis destroy'd, thou seest;
What follows to be thought on't 1

Hip. Miserable !

Why, here's the unhappiness of woman still :
That, having forfeited in old times her trust,
Now makes their laith suspected that are just.
36 J

Clean. What shall I say to all my sorrows then,
That look for satisfaction ?

Enter EUGENIA.
Fug. Ha, ha, ha! cousin.
Clean. How ill dost thou become this time
Eug. Ha, ha, ha !

Why, that's but your opinion ; a young wench
Becomes the time at all times.
Now, coz, we are even : an you he remember':],
You left a strumpet and a whore with me,
And such fine field-bed words, which could not cost

you
Less than a father.

Clean. Is it come that way ?
Eng. Had you an uncle,
He should go the same way too.

Clenn. Oh eternity,
What monster is this fiend in labour with ?

Eug. An ass-colt with two heads, that's she and

you :

I will not lose so glorious a revenue,
Not to be understood in't ; 1 betray'd him ;
And now we are even, you'd best keep you so".
Clean. Is there not poison yet enough to kill me T
Hip. Oh, sir, forgive me ; it was I betray'd

him.

Clean. How
Hip. I.
Clean. The fellow of my heart ! 'twill speed me,

then.
Hip. Her tears that never wept, and mine own

pity

Even cozen'd me together, and stole from me
This secret, which fierce death should not hare

purchased.
Clean. Nay, then we are at an end ; all we are

false ones,

And ought to suffer. I was false to wisdom,
In trusting woman ; thou wert false to faith,
In uttering of the secret ; and thou false
To goodness, in deceiving such a pilv :
We are all tainted some way, but thou worst,
And for thy infectious spots oulit'st to die first.

[Offers ti> kill Eugenia.
E'tg. Pray turn your weapon, s l r, upon your

mistress,
I come not so ill friended : rescue, servants !

Re-enter SIMONIDES and Courtiers.

Clean. Are you so whorishly provided?
6i'm. Yes, sir,
She has more weapons at command than one.

Eug. Put forward, man, thou art most sure to

have me.

Sim. I shall be surer if I keep behind, though.
Eug. Now, servants, show your loves.
Sim. I'll show my love, too, afar off.
Eug. 1 love to be so courted, woo me there.
Sim. I love to keep good weapons, though naVr

fought with.

I'm sharper set within than I am without.
Hip. Oh gentlemen ! Cleanthes !
Eng. Fight ! upon him !
Clean. Thy thirst of blood proclaims thee now a

strumpet.

And now we are even, you'd best lieiy yon FO.] I know
not how Mr. M. Mason understood this line, but he altered
you to him 1

THE OLD LAW.

[Acr V

Eiig Tis dainty, nex* to procreation fitting ;
I'd either be destroying men or getting.

Enter Guard.

1 Officer. Forbear, on your allegiance, gentlemen.
He's the duke's prisoner', and we seize upon him
To answer this contempt against the law.

Clean. I obey fate in all things.

Hip. Happy rescue !

Sim. 1 would you'd seized upon him a minute
sooner, it had saved me a cut finger: I wonder h.w
1 came bv't, for I never put my hand forth, I'm

sure; I think my own sword did cut it, if truth
"ere. known ; may be the wire in ihe handle : I
have lived these five and twenty years and never
knew what colour my blood was before. I never
durst eat oysters, nor cut peck-lo;ives. [you

Eiig. You've shown your spirits, gentlemen ; but
Have cut your finger.

Sim. Av. the wedding-finger too, a pox on't !

1 Court. You'll prove a bawdy bachelor, Sirn, to
have a cut upon your finger, before vou are married.

Sim. I'll never draw sword again, to have such a
jest put upon me. \Eieuni.

ACT V.

SCENE I. A Court of Justice.

Enter SIMONIDES and Courtiers, sword and mace

carried bejore them.

Sim. Be ready with your prisoner ; we'll sit in-
stantly.

And ri*e before e'even, or when we please;
ShaM WP not, fellow-judges?

1 Court. 'Tis committed

All to our power censure, and pleasure, now;
The duke hath made us chief lords of this sessions,
And we may speak by fits, or sleep by turns.

Sim. Leave that to us, but, whatsoe'er we do,
The prisoner shall be sure to be condemned ;
Sleeping or waking, we are resolved on that,
Before we sit upon him !

t. Court. Make you question
If not ? Cleanthes ! and an* enemy '
Nav, a concealer of his father, too !
A vile example in these days of youth.

Sim. If they were given to follow such examples;
But sure I think thev a?e not : howsoever,
'Twas wickedly attempted, that's my judgment,
And it shall pas.s whilst 1 am in power to sit.
Mever by prince were such young judges made,
But now the cause requires it : if you mark it,
He mu~t make young or none ; for all the old ones
He hath sen' a fishing and my father's one,
I humbly thank his highness.

Enter EVGENIA.

1 Court. Widow !

Eiig You almost hit my name now, gentlemen ;
You come so wonderous near it, 1 admire you
For your judgment.

Sim. My wife that must be ! She.

Eiig. :My husband goes upon his last Lour now.

1 Court. On his last legs, 1 am sure.

"2 Conrt. Make you question
If not J ( 'leant he* f and an enemy !
f\aij, a concealer of hit father too.'] The old copy reads,

Make yon question
If not Cleanthrs and one enemy,
which Coxeter prii.ted, though he conjectured it should be,

Make you question
If not ('leanthea is our enemy?

while Mr. M. Mason gtf tlv prom.unte that, stand our
enemy it nearer to the original I

EM?. September the seventeenth
I will not bate an hour on't, and to-morrow
His latest hour's expired.

2 Court. Uring him to judgment,
The jury's panell'd, and the verdict given
Ere he appears ; we have ta'en a course for that.

Sim. And officers to attach the gray young man,
The vou'h of fourscore : be of comfort, lady,
You shall no longer bosom January ;
For that I will take order, and provide
For you a lusty April.

Eng. The month that ought, indeed,
To go before May.

1 Court. Do as we have said,
Take a strong guard, and bring him into court.
Lady Eugenia, see this charge performed,
That, having his life forfeited by the law,
He may relieve his soul.

En K . Willingly.

From shaven chins never came better justice
Than these ne'er touch'd by razor*. [Eai't.

Sim. What you do.

Do suddenly, we charge you, for we purpose
To make but a short sessions : a new bu.-iuess !

Enter HIPPOLITA.

1 Court. The fair Hippolita ! now what's your
suit?

Hip. Alas ! I know not how to style you yet ;
To call you judges doth not suit your .> pars,
Nor heads and beards* show more antiquity ;
Yet sway yourselves with equity and truth,
And I'll proclaim you reverend, ;md repeat
Once, in my lifetime I have seen grave heads
Placed upon young men's should* r's.

From shaven chins never came better jtittii-e
Than these ne'er touch (I by razor.] This i. the conjec-
tural en endation of Mr. M. ,\!.is<>n: the old copy rends,
Than these ew toncht by reason, which, thou, h not abso-
lutely void of meaning, is so poor, in comparison of th<
substitution in the text, that lew doubts can remain as to the
propriety of tlie exchange.

t To call youjudye* doth nut suit your year*,

Nor heads and beardi show more antiquity ;] Mr. M.
Mason read,

To call you judges doth not suit your year*,
A'or heads ; and brains show mart antiquity ;
It is evident that he did nut n nij rt-liend ih< .- HM-, which,
though ill conceived and harshly expressed, is, Yon have not
the years of judges, nor do your heads and beards (old
1 copy, brain*) ho\v moie of age.

SCENE I.]

THE OLD LAW

51?

? Court. Hark, she flouts us.
And thinks to make us monstrous.

Hip. Prove not so ;

*"or ye', methinks, you bear the shapes of men
(Though nothing- more than m< rely beauty serves
To make you appear angels), but if you crimson
Your riHtne and power with lilood and cruelty,
Suppress lair virtue, and enlarge bold vice*,
Both against heaven and nature draw your sword,
Make ei'her will or humourturn the soul t
Of vour created greatness, and in that
Oppose nil goodness, 1 must tell you there
YHU are more th:in monstrous ; in the vtry act
You rhange your elves to devils.

1 I'onrt. She's a witch ;
Hark i She be.ms o conjure.

Sim. Time, you see,

Is short, much business now on foot : shall I
OtvH tier her answer?

2 Coiiit. .None upon the bench
Moie learnedly can doit.

Sim. He, he, hem ! then list :
I wonder at thine impudence, young huswife,
That thou darest plead fur such a b>ise offender.
(Vnce-al H lather past his time to u'ie !
\V IM' SOP and heir would have done ihis but he ?

1 Court. I vow, not 1 .

//i/i. heC'iUse ye are parricides ;
And how can comu-r bf derived from such
That pi'y not their fathers'

2 Court. You are fiesh and fair; practise young
women's ends ;

\Yhen hushands are distress'd, provide \hem friends.

Sim III set him forward for thee without fee :
Some wives would pay tor such a courtesy.

Hip. I im>-s of amazement ! what duty, goodness

dwell J

I sou. lit tor i hurity, but knock at hell. [Exit.

Re-enter KTOEMA, and Guard with LYSANDER.

Sun. Eugenia, come ! command a second guard
To b'ing ( Iranthes in ; we'll not sit long;
Mv -tornach strives to dinner^.

Eng. Now, servants mav a lady be so bold
To vail \our power so low ?

Sim. A mistress may,

She can make all things low ; then in that language
1 \it-Tf can he no offence.

/'.. The time's now come
Of manumUsions, take him into bonds,
And I am then at freedom.

2 Co'.rt. This the man !
He ha h left off o'late to feed on snakes ;
His beard's turn'd white again.

and enlarge b 'Id vice,~\ The

quarto has, of old vice, of which ilie former editors have
made old ; but I know not in what sense vice could here be
tinned old. This speech h,.s suffered bolh by alterations
and mteip lations. I have thrown onl the one, and re-
formed the other.

t turn the soul I So the old

copy: Coxeter and Vlr. M Mas. n read, turn the scale,
which has neither the spirit nor the sense ot' the ordinal.
jHip Timrtnf amazement. U hat duty, goodness dwell

Nir. M. > a-i.n takes this lor a i-onipUie sentence,

and would re d, h hi-re du you yundness dwell T In an)
casi- the alteration Wi.nld be t o violent; butnne taneedid
here. Hippolita sees I he woman whu betrayed In-r approach-
ing, bre.iks otf h< r inleadi d tpevrh with an indignant ob-
sci v ti .n, and haiily retire? IK m ihe court.

5 My ttnmach strives to rtinntr.] Tliis is sense, and
theiefoie I have Uot tampered wiih it : but 1 suppose that
the author wrote, My ttnmach strikes to dinner

1 Court. Is't possible these gouty legs danced

lately,
And shatter'd in a galliard ?

Eiig. Jealousy

And fear of death can work strange prodigies.
"2 Court. The nimble fencer this, that made me

tear
And traverse 'bout the chamber? *

Sim. Ay, and gave me

Those elbow healths, the hangman take him for't !
They'd almost fetch'd my heart out : the Dutch

what-you-call

I swallow'd pretty well, but the half-pike
Had almost pepper'd me ; but had 1 ta'en long-
sword.
Being swollen, I had cast my lungs out.

A Flourish. Enter EVANDICR and CRATILVS.

1 Court. Peace, the duke !

Emu. Nay. back* t' your seats: who's that?

2 Court. Ma)'t please your highness it is old
Lysander.

Evan. And brought in by his wife ! a worthy

precedent

Of one that no way would offend the law,
And should not pass away without remark.
You have been look'd for long.

Lys. But never fit

To die till now, my lord. My sins and I
Have been but newly parted ; much ado
I had to get them leave me, or be taught
I hat difficult lesson how to learn to die
1 never thought there had been suih an act,
And 'tis the only discipline we are born for :
All studies else are but as circular lines,
And death the centre where they must all meet.
I now can look upon thee, erring woman,
And not be vex'd with j^alousv ; on young men,
And no way envy their delicious health,
Pleasure, and strength ; all which were once mine

own,
And mine must be theirs one day.

Evan. You have tamed him.

Sim. And know how to dispose him ; that, my

liege,

Hath been before determined. You confess
Yourself of full age J

Lus. Yes, and prepared to inherit

Eug. Your place above.

Sim. Of which the hangman's strength
Shall put him in possession.

Lyt. Tis still caredf
To take me willing and in mind to die :
And Mich are, when the earth grows weary of them
Mosl fit for heaven.

* Evan. Nay, back t' your teats :] The old copy reads,
jfny, bulie your teut*, out uf which Mr. M. Mason formed
lurt'ii ; U.i i% take ; and every one m,i\ make what he can.
1 believe the yoiini; men weie pressing forward to receive
the duke, and that his exclamation was, as above, A'ay.b.ick
t' your seatf.

Coxeter has changed almost all tie speakers in this scene;
Bunie if them, indeed, were ev.denily wrong, but 1 can see
no reason for giving the duke's second speech to Simonitlts,
as it is iu p rtect unison with hi: real character.

t Lys. "I it still cared

To take me willing and in mind to die;

And tuch are. u-hi-n the earth yrow* n etiry of them,

Mo-i fit for heaven.] Half 01 ihis *perch Coxei. r omits
and givt." ihr otl'.er half, whi. h in his edition has no s<-n.e,
lo Siuii.ntd.-s: it is needless to ob-eitf how ill it suits vt.tO
bis cbaraclei. Mr. M. Masou follows him, a usual I

520

THE OLD LAW.

[Acr V

Sim. The court shall make his mittimus,
And send him thither presently : i' the mean

time

Eit:n. Away to death with him.

[Ejit Cratiluswith Lysander.

Enter Guard with CLF.ANTHRS, HIPPOLITA following,
weeping.

Sim. So ! see another person brought to tha bar.

1 Court. The arch-malefuctor.

2 Court. The grand offender, the most refractory
To all good order ; 'tis Cleanthes, he

Sim. That would have sons grave fathers, ere

their fathers.
Be sent unto their graves.

Evan. There will be expectation
In your severe proceedings against him ;
His act being so capital.

Sim. Fearful and bloody ;

Therefore we charge these women leave the court,
Lest they should swoon o ihear it.

Eug I, in expectation
Of a most happy freedom. [Exit.

Hip. I, with the apprehension
Of a most sad and desolate widowhood. [Exit.

1 Court. We bring him to the bar

2 Court. Hold up your hand, sir.

Clean. More reverence to the place than to the

persons:

To the one I offer up a [spreading*] palm
Of duty and obedience, as to heaven,
Imploring justice, which was never wanting
Upon that bench whilst tbeir own fathers sat ;
But unto you, my hands contracted thus,
As threatening vengeance against murderers,
For they that kill in thought, shed innocent

blood.

With pardon of your highness, too much passion
Made me forget your presence, and the place
I now am call'd to.

Evan. All our majesty
And power we have to pardon or condemn,
Is now conferr'd on them.

Sim. And these we'll use
Little to thine advantage.

Clean. I expect it :

And, as to these, 1 look no mercy from them,
And much less meant to entreat it: I thus now
Submit me to the emblems of your power,
The sword and bench : but, my most reverend

judges,

Ere you proceed to sentence (fot I know [thing?
You have given me lost), will you resolve me one

1 Court. So it be briefly question'd.

2 Ciinrt. Show your honour ;
Day spends itself apace.

Clean. My lords, it$ shall.
Resolve me, then, where are your filial tears,

* To the one 1 offer up a [spreading] palm] I have in-
nertcd spreading, not men ly (in account of its completing
the verse, but because it contrasts well with contracted.
Whatever the author's word was, it was shuffled out of its
pl.u-r ai the press, and appears as a misprint (sliowdu) in
the succeeding line.

t And much less mean to entreat it :] For mean the old
copy h^s shown, wi.ich is pure nonsense : it stands, however,
in all the editions. 1 have, I believe, recovered the genuine
text by adopting mean, uhicn was superfluously inserted in
the line immediately below it.

J Clean. My lord*, it shall.] i. e. it shall be briefly qnet-
tinned. This would not have deserved a note liad not Mr.
M. Mason mistaken the meaning, and corrupted the text to
My lordi, I shall.

Your mourning habits, and sad hearts become,

That should attend your fathers' funerals?

Though the strict law (which 1 will not accuse.

Because a subject) snatch'd away their lives,

It doth not bar you to lament their deaths:

Or if you cannot spare one sad suspire,

It doth not bid you laugh them to their graves.

Lay subtle trains to antedate their years,

To be the sooner seized of their estates.

Oh, time of age ! w here's that /Eneas now,

Who letting all hisjewels to the flames ;

Forgetting country, kindred, treasure, friends,

Fortunes and all things, save the name of son,

Which you so much forget, godlike ^Eneas,

Who took his bedrid father on his back,

And with that sacrei 1 load (to him no burthen)

Hew'd out his way through blood, through fre,

through [arms*,]

Even all the arm'd streets of bright-burning Troy,
Only to save a father?

Sim. We've no leisure now
To hear lessons read from Virgil ; we are past

school,
And all this time thy judges.

2 Com. It is fit
That we proceed to sentence.

1 Court. You are the mouth,
And now 'tis fit to open.

Sim. Justice, indeed,

Should ever be close-ear'd, and open-mouth'd ;
That is to hear a little, and speak much.
Know then, Cleanthes, there is none can be
A good son and bad subject ; for, if princes
Be called the people's fathers, then the subjects
Are all his SJPS, and he that flouts the prince
Doth disobey his father : there you are gone.

1 Court. And not to be recover'd.
Sim. And again

2 Court. If he be gone once, call him not again.
Sim. I say again, this act of thine expresses

A double disobedience: as our princes
Are fathers, so they are our sovereigns too,
And he that doth rebel 'gainst sovereignty
Doth commit treason in the height of degree :
And now thou art quite gone.

1 Cowrt. Our brother in commission
Hath spoke his mind both learnedly and neatly,
And I can add but little ; howsoever,
It shall send him packing.
He that begins a fault that wants example,
Ou^ht to be made example for the fault.

Clean. A fault ! no longer can I hold myself
To hear vice upheld and virtue thrown down.
A fault ! judge, I desire then, where it lies,
In those that are my judges, or in me :
Heaven stands on my side, pity, love, and duty.

Sim. Where are they, sir?, who sees them but
yourself?

Clean. Not you ; and I am sure
You never had the gracious eyes to see them.

* Heta'd out hit way through blood, through fire, through

\arms.]

Eaen all the arm'd streets of briyht-burnini) Troy,
Only to sane a father ?\ So tin lines stand in tiie old
copy, with the exception of the word enclosed in brackets
for uhicli I am answerable. They wanted but little resula
tion.asihe leader sees; yet both the editors blundered them
into downright prose. Coxtter, a circumstance by no means
common uith him, gave an incorrect .-t.itement of the ori
ginal, and Mr M. Mason, who never looked bevoud liij
page, was reduced to random guesses I

SCENE IT.]

THE OLD LAW.

5*1

You think that you arraign me, but I hope
To sentence you at the bar.

2 Court. That would show brave.

Clean, This were the judgment-seat we [stand

at] now* !

Of the heaviest crimes that ever made up [sin],
Unnaturalness, and inhumanity,
i'ou are found foul and guilty, by a jury
Made of your fathers' curses, which have brought
Vengeance impending on you j and I now
Am forced to pronounce judgment on my judges.
The common laws of reason and of nature
Condemn you ipso facto ; you are parricides,
And if you marry, will beget the like,
Who, when they are grown to full maturity!,
Will hurry you their fathers, to their graves.
Like traitors, you take counsel from the living,
Of upright judgment you would rob the bench
(Experience and discretion snatch 'd away
From the earth's face), turn all into disorder,
Imprison virtue, and infranchise vice,
And put the sword of justice in the hands
Of boys and madmen.

Sim. Well, well, have you done, sir ?

Clean. 1 have spoke ray thoughts.

Sim. Then I'll begin and end.

Evan. 'Tis time 1 now begin
Here your commission ends.
Cleantbes, come you from the bar. Because
I know you are severally disposed, I here
Invite you to an object will, no doubt,
Work in you contrary effects. Music !

Loud Music. Enter LEONIDES, CREON, LYSANDER,
and other old men.

Clean. Pray heaven, I dream not ! sure he moves,

talks comfortably,

As joy can wish a man. If he be changed
(Fur above from me), he's not ill entreated ;
Hi* face doth promise fulness of content,
And glory hath a part in't.
Leon. Oh my son !
Evan. You that can claim acquaintance with these

lads.
Talk freely.

Sim. 1 can see none there that's worth
One hand to you from me.

Eran. These are thy judges, and by their graTe

law

I find thee clear, but these delinquents guilty.
You must change places, for 'tis so decreed :
Such just pre-eminence hath thy goodness gain'd,
Thou art the judge now, they the men arraign'd.

[To Cleanthes.

1 Court. Here's fine dancing, gentlemen.

2 Court. Is thy father amongst them 1

* Clean. Thi* iccre the judgment teat tee Inland at] now.
&c.] i.e. O, that this were, &c. But, indeed, this speech
is so strangely printed in the quarto, that it is almost impos-
sible to guV.'s what the writer really meant. The first three
lines stand thus :

Clean. Thi* were the judgment teat, vie now
The heaviest crimes that ever made up
I nnaturullness in humanity.

Whether the genuine, or, indeed, any sene be elicited by
the additions which I have been compelled to make, is not
mine to say; but certainly some allowance will be made
fur any temperate cnde.ivour to regulate a text, where the
words, in too many instances, appear as if they had been
shook i. lit of 'he printer's boxes by the hand of chance.

t Who, u-hen they are grown to full maturity ,} Former
editors have, H ho when you're: but this cannot be right.

Sim. Oh, pox ! I saw him the first thing I

look'd on.

Alive again ! 'slight, I believe now a father
Hath as ninny lives as a mother.

Clean. 'Tis full as blessed as 'tis wonderful.
Oh ! bring me back to the same law again,
I am fouler than all these ; seize on me, officers,
And bring me to new sentence.

Sim. What's all this J

Clfan. A fault not to be pardon'd,
Unnaturalness is but sin's shadow to it.

Sim. I am glad of that ! I hope the case may alter,
And turn judge again.

Eran. Name your offence.

Clean. That I should be so vile,
As once to think you cruel.

r.ftui. Is that all I

'Twas pardon'd ere confess'd : you that have sons,
If they be worthy, here may challenge them.

Creon. I should have one amongst them, had he

hail grnre
To have retained that name.

Sim. I pray you, father. [KneeU.

Creon. That name, 1 know,
Hath been long since forgot.

Sim. 1 find but small comfort in remembering it
now.

Eran. Cleanthes, take your place with these

grave fathers,
And read what in that table is inscribed.

[Giues him a paper.
Now set these at the bar,
And read, Cleanthes, to the drrad and terror
Of disobedience and unnatural hlood.

Clean, [reads.] It is decreed hij the grare and learned
council of Epire, that no son and heir shall he held
capable of his inheritance at the age of one and tirenty,
unless he be at that time as mature in obedience, manner*,
and gottdness.

Sim. Sure I shall never be at full age, then, .
though 1 live to an hundred years ; and that's nearer
by twenty than the last statute allow'd.

1 Court. A terrible act !

Clean. Moreover, it i enacted that all sons aforetaid.
whom either this law, or their oicn grace, thall reduce
into the true method of duty, virtue, and affection, [shall
appear before t/sj and relate their trial* and approbation
from Cleanthes, the son of Leonides from me, my
lord!

Eian. From none but you as fullest. Proceed,
sir.

Clean. Whom, for his manifest virtues, we make
$uch judge and censor of youih, and the absolute refer-
ence of t'fe and manners.

Sim. This is a brave world ! When a man should
be selling land he must be learning manners. Is't
not, my masters 1

Re enter EUGENIA.

Eug. What's here to do 1 My suitors at the bar !
The old band shines againf : oh, miserable!

[She swoons.

[Shall appear before vt] and relate their trial, &c.]
In the old copy, which the modern editions follow, and re-
late comes immediately alter virtue and atiection. That this
cannot be right is evident : whether the words which I have
inserted convey the author's meaning;, or not, may b*
doubled, but they make sonic sense of the passage, and this
is all to which lliey pretend.

f The old band thine* attain ;] Covetcr printed, The old
bard thines ayain ; Mr. M. Man>n, \> ho could make nothing
of this, proposes, as the genuine readicg, The old revived

622

THE OLD LAW.

[Act V.

Ei an. Read the law over to her, 'twill awake her:
Tis on^ deserves small pitv.

Clean. L<Mt<</. tt >s ordained, that all such wires
nmo <rhnlsne>er, that skull design their hushutxls' dtnth,
ta be toon rid or" thfin, and enieriain suitors in iheir
hvtkandt' lifetime

Sim You had best read that a little louder ; for,
if anv tiling, that will bring her lo herself again,
and find her tongue.

(Mean. Shall not presume, on the penally of our
heai'U di>pleitiure, la m/rry w thin ten i/rars njter.

J.'KO-. 1 lie 'aw is too long by nine years and a half,
I'll t;ike mv dea'h upon't ; so shall most, women.

Clean. And thove incontinent wornm so offending, to
be judged and censured lift ////>/in/ii<j, wife to Cteanthes

Eug. Ot a.l tlie rest, I'll not be judged by her.
Re-enter HIPPOLITA.

Cl"un. Ah! here she comes. Let me prevent thy
Prevent them but in part, and hide the rest ; [joys,
'Ihou hast not strength enough to bear them. else.

Hip. Leonides ! [Shejuititt,.

Clean. I fear'd it all this while ;
I knew 'twas pastthv power. Hippolita!
What contrariety is in women's blood !
One faints lor spleen and anger, she for grace.

Evun Of sons and wives we seethe worst and best.
May future a>res yield Hijipolitas
Many; but few like thee. Eugenia!
Let no Simomdes henceforth have a fame, [iriiA/n.
But all blest sons live in CleHiithes' name [Music
Ha ! what strange kind of melody was that ?
Yet give it entrance, whatsoe'er it be,
This day is all devote to liberty*.
Enter Fiddlera, GNOTHO, Courtezan, Cook, Butler>

&-c., with thr old Wtinien. AGATHA, and one bearing

a bridecake Jor the wedding.

Gnoth. Fiddlers, crowd on, crowd onf ; let no
man lay a block in your way. Crowd on, 1 say.

again; while Mr. Davies, with line solemnity, declares
that (he insertion !' a letter will make nil i i-Jit, and that it
should be, 'I he old beard shimsayain. Nothing can be
more pteposleroiisili.nl the conduct ut these i'tnl It-men, in
thus presuming to correct Massinger, upon the authority of
Coxcter. The ol copy neither ic-ids bard nor brard, but
baud, a misprint, peihaps, for band. In the last scene of
'J'hf fatal Dowry, by a similar oversight, band is printed
for liniid.

' It is to be lamented that The Old Law did not end
here : the higher characters art all disposed of, and the
clown and his fellows might have been silently sunk on the
reader without exciting the slighted regret. But the
around inys oi those nays, like the godlings of the present,
weie loo a|>t to cry out *iih Christopher Sly, 11 hen does
thefnol come. <r..ti n, .Vim.' and, iiiiioilniiat>'ly , they have had
but loo much influence, at all limes, over the manageis.

What follows is utterly unworthy of Massingci- (ind ed, it
was not written b> him) anil may be pat over without ! ss :
of all peituess, Ihat ol tolly is the most tiresome, and here is
linle el-e; but the audience were lo be dismissed in good
humour, and they undoubtedly walked home as merry a
noise and nonsense onld make die n.

It a| pears front ihe title-p,ige of the quarto, that TJte Old
Law was a favourite with alt ranks of people, and not, in-
deed, without some degree 'f justice; for I he plot, though
higlil) improbable, is an interesting one, and conducted
with singular artifice, to a pleasing and surprising end. It
must bi allowed, however, that the moral justice of the
piece is not alloa-iher what it should he ; for though Clean-
hes and Hippolita receive the full reward of their fili.d
piety, \et Simoni le- and Eugenia do not meet a pmii.-h-
mem adequate to iheir unnatural conduct. As n composi-
tion, thi pl.iy has seveial charmiii" scenes, and not a few
passages of exqui-iie beauty : it once, perhaps had more,
but the transcribi r and the printer have conspired to reduce
them.

* Clown. Fiddlers, croud on, rrntrd nn ;} Mr. M. Mason
observes, that a fiddle was formerly called a crowd. Why

"Euan. Stav the crowd awhile; let's know the
reason of this jollity.

Clean. Sirrah, do you know where you are ?

Gnoth. Yes, sir ; I am here, now here, and now
here again, sir.

Lt/s. Your hat is too high crown'd, the duke in
presence.

Gnoih. The duke ! as be is my sovereign, I do
give him two crowns for it*, and that's equal
change all th* world over : as I am lord of the day
(being my marriage-day the second) 1 do advance
my bonnet. Crowd on afore.

Leon Good ^ir, a few words, if you will vouch-
safe them ;
Or will you be forced ?

Gnoth. Forced! I would the duke himself would
say so.

Evan. I think he dares, sir, and does ; if you

stay not,
You shall be forced.

Gnoth, I think so, my lord, and good reason
too ; shall not I stay when your grace says I shall ?
I were unworthy to be a bridegroom in any part of
your highness 's dominions, then : will it please you
to taste of the wedlock-courtesy ?

Evan. Oh, by no means, sir j you shall not de-
face so fair an ornament for me.

Gnoth. If your grace please to be cakated, say
so.

Euan. And which might be your fair bride, sir ?

GnoA, Ibis is my two for one that must he the
mnr uiorls, the remedy doloris, and the very syreitm
amoris.

Evan. And hast thou any else?

Gnoth. 1 have an older, my lord, for other uses

Clean. Mv lord,

I do observe a strange decorum here :
These that do lead this day of jollity,
Do march with music and most mirthful cheeks:
Those that do follow, sad, ar.d woefully,
Nearer the haviour ot a funeral
Than of a wedding.

Evan. ' I is true ; pray expound that, sir.

Gnoth. As the destiny of the day falls out, my
lord, one goes to wedding, another goes to hang-
ing : and your grace in the due consideration shall
find them much alike ; the one haih the ling upon
her finger, the oiher the halter about her neck I
take ihee, Beatrice, says the bridegroom ; 1 take thee,
Agatha, says the hangman ; and both say together,
to hni'e and to hold, till iletilh do part us.

Evan. Ihis is not ytt plain enough to my under-
standing.

Gniith. If further your gnice examine it, you
shall find 1 sliO'.v myself a dutiful subject, and obe-
dient to the law, myself with these my good friends,
and your good subjects, our old wives, whose days
are ripe, and their lives forfeit to the law : only
my sell, more forward than the rest, am already pro-
vided of my second clioice.

formerly? Is it not Mill called so in almost every part of
the kingdom? But he was ambitious ot following the
learned commentators On o'her dramatic writers, who gravely
tell us 'hit words, wdirh aie in ever> one's mouth, once
signified such and such things in Coiiiwall, perhaps, or North-

Hlll'iell md .'

* Gnot.i. Theduhe! as he is my sovereign. 7 do yire him
two crovvn?_/or if, &c.] Here is soire poor pun A sove-
reign was a gold coin worlh ten shillings ; or, is die wit in
some fancied Minil.iriiy of soninl between duke and ducat (
piece of the same value as the oilier) ( pudet, pudet.

SCENE II.]

THE OLD LAW.

Evan. Oh ! take heed, sir, you'll run yourself

into danger ;

If the law finds you wi'h two wives at once,
There's a shrewd premunire.

Guoth. 1 have taken leave of the old, my lord. I
have not!. ing: to sav to her ; she's going to sea,
your grace knows whiter, better than I do: she
has a strong wind with her. it stands full in her
poop ; when you ] lease, let her disembogue.

Cook. Anil the rest of her neighbours with her, !
whom we present to the satisfactiou of your high-
ness' law.

Gnuth. And so we tal;e our leaves, and leave
them to \our highness. Crowd on.

Eian. Stay, stay, you are too forward. Will you

n.arrv.
And your wife yet living?

Gnoth. Alas ! shr-'ll be dead before we cnn p-et
to church. If vour grace would set her in the \vav,
I would dispatch her: 1 have a venture on'r,
which would return me, if your highness would
mak. a little more baste, two for one.

Evan. Come, my lords, we must sit again ; here's

a case
Craves a most serious censure.

Cook. Now they shall be dispatch 'd out of the

W.'V.

Gnuth I would they were gone once; the time

goes away.

EKIH. \\ Inch is the wife unto the forward bride-
groom ?

Aga. I am, an it please your grace.
Eian Trust me, a lusty woman, able-bodied,
And well-bloodeii cheeks.

Gnoth, Oh, she paints, my lord ; she was a cham-
bermaid once, and learn 'd it of her lady.
Emu. *ure 1 think she cannot be so old.
Aga. Trulv I think so too.an't please vour grace.
GnOth. Two to one with your grace of that!
she's ti reescore by the bok.

Leon. Peace, sirrah, you are too loud.
Coiik. I tike bred, Giintho : if you move the
duke's patience, 'tis an edge-tool; but a word and a
blow, he cuts oft' \ our head.

Gnoth. Cut off my head ! awav, ignonint ! he
knows it cost more in the hair; he does not use to
cut ofl' many such heads as mine; 1 will talk to him
too; if he cut off my head, I'll give him my ears.
1 say my wife is at full age for the law, the clerk
skill take bis oaih, and the church-book shall be
sworn too.

Evan. My lords, I leave this censure to you.
Leon. Then first, this fellow does deserve punish-
ment,

For offering up a lusty able woman,
\\ Inch may do service to the commonwealth,
W here the law craves one impotent and useless.

OeoH. '1 herefore to be severely punished
Fur thus attempting a second marriage,
His wile yet living.

I.ys. Nay, to have it trebled;
Thai even the day and instant when he should

mourn

Asa kind husband, at her funeral,
He leads a tr.umph to the scorn of it;
\\ Inch unseasonable joy ought to be punish'd
\\ itli all severity.

But. The fiddles will be in a foul case too by and

by.
Leon. Nay, further ; it seems he has a venture

Of two for one at his second marriage,
Which cannot be but a conspiracy
Against the former.

Gnoth. A mess of wise old men !
Lvs Sirrah, what can you answer to all these '>
Gnoth. Ye are good old men, and talk as age will
give you leave. 1 would speak with the youthful
duke himself; he and I may speak of things that
shall be thirty or forty years after you are dead and
ro ten. Alas ! you are here to day, and gone to sea
to-morrow.

Eian. In troth, sir, then I must be plain with you.
The law that should take away your old wile from

you,

The which I do perceive was your desire,
Is v ill and frustrate ; so for the rest :
There ' as been since another parliament
Has cut it off.

Gnoth. I see your grace is disposed to be pleasant.
Emn. Yes, you might perceive that ; 1 had not

else
Thus dallied with your follies.

Gtwth. I'll talk further with your grace when I
come back from church ; in the mean time you
know what to do with the old women

Evan. Stay, sir, unless in the mean time you

mean

I cau>e a gibbet to be set up in your way,
And hang you at your return.
Aga. O gracious prince !

Evan. Your old wives cannot die to-day by any
law of mine : for aui,ht I can say to them,
They may, by a new edict, bury you,
Anil then, perhaps, you'll pay a new fine too.
Gnoth. This is fine, indeed !
Aga. O gracious prince ! may he live a hundred

\ears more.

Cook. Your venture is not like to come in to-day,
Gnotho.

Gnoth. Give me the principal back.
Cook. Nay, by my troth we'll venture still and
I'm sure we have as ill a venture of ii as you ; for
we have taken old wives of purpose, that we had
thought to have put away at this market, and now
we cannot utter a pennyworth.

Eran. Well, sirrah, you were best to discharge
your new charge, and take vour old one to jou.
Gnoth. Oh music, no music, but prove n.ost dole-
ful trumpet ;

Oh bride ! no briue, butthou mayst prove a strumpet ;
Oh ven ure ! no venture, 1 have, for one, now

none ;
Oh wife! thy life is saved when I hoped it had

been gone.

Case up your fruitless strings ; no penny, no wed-
ding ;

Case up thy maidenhead ; no priest, no bedding-
A vaunt, my venture ! ne'er to be restored,
Till Ag, my old wite, be thrown overboard :
Then come again, old Ag. since it must he so ;
Let bride and venture with woful music go.
Conk. What for the bridecake, Gnoth..?
Giwih. Let it be mouldy now 'tis out of season.,
Let it grow out of date, currant, and reason ;
Let it be chipt and chopt, and given to chickens
No more is got by that, than \\illiam Dickina
Got by his wooden dishes.
Put up your plums, as fiddlers put up pipes,
'Ibe wedding uash'd, the bridegroom weeps and
Wipes.

THE OLD LAW.

Fiddlers, farewell! and now, without perhaps,
Put up your fiddles as you put up scraps.

LVS- This passion* has given some satisfaction
yet. !\ly lord, I think you'll pardon him now,
with all the rest, so they live honestly with the
wives they have.

Evan. Oh! most freely ; free pardon to all.

Cook. Ay, we have deserved our pardons, if we
can live honestly with such reverend wives, that
have no motion in them but their tongues.

Aga. Heaven bless your 'grace ! you are a just
prince.

Gnoth. All hopes dash'd ; the clerk's duties lost ;
My venture gone ; my second wife divorced ;
And which is worst, the old one come back again !
Such voyages are made now-a-days !
Besides these two fountains of fresh water, I will
weep two salt out of my nose. Your grace had been
more kind to your young subjects heaven bless and
mend your laws, that they do not gull your poor
countrymen : but I am not the first, by forty, that
has been undone by the law. Tis but a folly to
stand upon terms; I take my leave of your grace,
as well as mine eyes will give me leave: I would
they had been asleep in their beds when they opened
them to see this day. Come Ag, come Ag.

[Eieunt Gnotlto and Agatha.

Creon. Were not you all my servants'!

Cook. During your life, as we thought, sir ; but
our young master turn'd us away.

Creon. How headlong, villain, wert thou in thy
ruin !

Sim. I followed the fashion, sir, as other young
men did. If you were as we thought you had been,
we should ne'er have come for this, 1 warrant you.
We did not feed, after the old fashion, on beef and
mutton, and such like.

Creon. Well, what damage or charge you have run
yourselves into by marriage, I cannot help, nor de-
liver you from your wives ; them you must keep ;
yourselves shall again return to me.

Alt. We thank your lordship for your love, and
must thank ourselves for our bad bargains.

[Exeunt.

Evnn. Cleanthes, you delay the power of law,
To be inflicted on these misgovern'd men,
That filial duty have so far tiansgress'd.

Clean. My lord, I see a satisfaction
Meeting the sentence, even preventing it.
Beating my words back in their utterance.
See, sir, there's salt sorrow bringing forth fresh
And new duties, as the sea propagates.

The elephants have found their joints too

[They kneel.

Why, here's humility able to bind up
The punishing hands of the severest masters,
Much more the gentle fathers'.

Sim. I had ne'er thought to have been brought so
low as my knees again ; but since there's no remedy,
fathers, reverend fathers, as you ever hope to have
good sons and heirs, a handful of pity ! we confess
we have deserved more than we are willing to re-
ceive at your bunds, though sons can never deserve

Lj-s. Thii passion Jiat given some tails faction yet?]
i.e. this pallietic exclamation : it It parodied In part from
The Spanish Tragedy, and is, without all question, by far
the stupidest attempt at "it lo which that persecuted Play
ever gave ri>e. Th.il it atlbidid some gatisfaction to Lys m-
der ought, in courtesy, to be attributed to las having more
han taste.

too much of their fathers, as shall appear after'
wards.

Cieon. And what way can you decline your

feeding now ?
You cannot retire to beeves and muttons, sure.

Sim. Alas ! sir, yon SPC a good pattern for that,
now we have laid by our high and lusty meats, aud
are down to our marrowbone* already.

Creon. Well, sir, rise tj virtues : we'll bind you
now ; [They rise.

You that were too weak yourselves to govern,
By others shall be govern 'd.

Lys. Cieanthes,

I meet your justice with reconcilement;
If there be tears of faitli in woman's breast,
I have received a myriad, which confirms me
To find a happy renovation.

Clean. Here's virtue's throne,
Which I'll embellish with my dearest jewels
Of love and faith, peace and affection !
This is the altar of my sacrifice.
Where daily my devoted knees shall bend.
Age-honoured shrine ! time still so love you,
That I so long may have you in mine eye
Until my memory lose your beginning !
For you, great prince, long may your fame survive,
Your justice and your wisdom ne.ver die,
Crown of your crown, the biiSsiug of your land,
Which you reach to her from yv.ur regent hand !

Leon. O Cleanthes, iiad you with us tasted
The entertainment of our retirement,
Fear'd and exclaim'd on in your ignorance,
You might have sooner died upon the wonder,
Thau any rage or passion for <>ur loss.
A place at hand we were all stranger.-; in,
So sphered about with music, such delights,
Such viands and attendance, and once a day
So cheered with a royal visitant,
That oft times, waking, our unsteady fancies
Would question whether we yet lived or no,
Or had possession of that paradise
Where angels be the guard !

I'.vnn. Enough, Leonides,
You go beyond the praise ; we have our end,
And all is ended well : we have now seen
The flowers and weeds that grow about our court.

Sim. If these be weeds, I'm afraid 1 shall wear
none so good again as long as my father lives.

Evan. Only this gentleman we did abuse
With our own bosom : we seem'd a tyrant,
And he our instrument. Look, 'tis Craiilus,

[Discovers Cratilns.
The man that you supposed had now been tra-

vell'd ;

Which we gave leave to learn to speak,
And bring us foreign languages to Greece.
All's joy, I see ; let music be the crown
And set it high, " The good needs fear n:o law,
It is his safety, and the bad man's awe."

[Flourish. Eiennt.

* It must be unacceptable both to the reader and to myself
to enter into any examination of this unfortunate cumedy,
The purpose which it piofcsses is snllicieully good; but we
lose sight of it in the meanness and extravag inee which dUti-
gure the subject. Yet it is impossible not to be touched by
occasional passages, which, in tenderness and beauty, are
hardly excelled by any of Massin&:er. They are cither de-
scriptive or Eentiment.il, and are rather exi-rcr-rences from the
story than essential parts of it ; and, on this account they m.iy
be easily detached, and remembered, for their own cxcvj-
lence.when the place in which they were found is deservedly
forgotten. Perhaps they derive a gruce tVotn their ver silua

THE OLD LAW.

525

tion; tliey are " precious jewels" in the "bead" of ngli
ness. Any attempt to ascertain the portions contributed by
Middlcion or Rowley, would be but loss of labour. The rug-
gcdness of the versification, and the obscurity of so many of
llic thoughts, laboured in their expression, and trivial in their
meaning, prove that a great part of the play came from some
other Hi in Massinger. Nor could the lighter scenes, i 1 the
awkward movements of filth and dulncss may claim that
name, have been furnished by him. His manner is chielly
to be pi-rceived in llie second scene of the fourth act, and
whttre Clcanthes and Leonides fondly expatiate on the hap-
piness lit their contrivance, at the very moment when their
seem ily is about to be interrupted.

But the reader shall be no longer detained on so question-
able a composition as The Old Law. He may be bctler
pleased with a few observations arising from a general view
of the Flay.- of Massinger, and affording some illustration,
however imperfect, of Ml talents and character.

It is truly surprising that the genius which produced these
Plajs .should h.ivr obtained so little notice from the world. It
does /ii. I ap|,iar that in any age since his own Massinger has
been ranted among the principal writers fur the stage. Rarely
liave any of Jij* pieces oevn acted ; and dramatic criticism
has been untiilljng to mention his name. It has attributed
variety aiidgre.itness of character lo Shakspear. 1 and Fletcher,
as if .\laxinger had never existed, or were entitled to none of
tins praise. ~|t has objected to the clenches and bombast
which di-fi. nre the scvncs of mir great bard, as if it were no
crcn/t tu Malinger that he has little of the one and less of
Ihe other; and it has lamented the too clo.-e and laboured
language of Jonson, without observing that the language of
Alass-inger is s,,m- of the most cha-l- and flowing which the
Engird mage ca 1 boast One of his characteristic qualities i
his .VTVLE;" and, on this account, he is entitled to a portion of
the pr.iise hich has fallowed the naoies of Beaumont and
Flcliher. It i- obvious, that he seldom, if ever, approaches
the harsh compactness of Jonson ; and he is free from certain
peculiarities which too often cloud the poetry of Shakspeare.
The construction of his sentences i< direct and uninvolved,
even in the most solemn and passionate of his scenes; and
rarely does he seek for uncommon meanings by forcing his
words upwards to their original sources. He is content with
their usual acceptation, and does not attempt to heighten
poetic effect either by inversion or a strange use of current
ttrms. The faults into which he occasionally falls are his
own, and arise fr.'in the ease which generally distinguishes
hii-i. He frequently ends a line with an unimportant wold,
feiving only as a passage to the ne\l line; and sometimes
two following lines are hurried on in the same inconsiderate
manner: sometimes he raises a jingle by throwing into the
same line two words of somewhat similar sound, but of dif-
ferent meaning: now and then too he rhymes in the middle
of a speech. These are blemishes; but they grow from the
very freedom of his poetry, and show his habitual case through
the accidental carelessness which they betray: nor can it be
denied that in general he is entitled to our sincere admira-
tion for the purity and simplicity of his language, the free
structure of his lines, and the natural flow and unaffected har-
mony of his peiiods. It is observable that Mr. Hume regrets
the want of " purity and simplicity of diction," qualities
which he cannot discover in Shakspeare. He might have
praised them in Ma-singer ; but he must have been a stranger
to these I'lajs, and affords one instance more of the unde-
served neglect which has hitherto been their portion.

Another of the peculiarities of Massinger arises from the
management of his PLOT. The reader must have observed,
in too many instances, with what rapidity the story is carried
en, with what neglect of time and place, and, not (infrequently,
of character itself. This indeed was not unusual with other
writers of that age. What distinguishes Massinger, is his care-
fulness of memory amidst his neglect of probability. He does
not fall into hurry of scene through inadvertence. HP draws
.1 plan of his irregularities before he enters upon the execution
of them. This appears from the caution with which they are
introduced ; lor some of the strangest incidents which are to
befal his characters are pointed out by early strokes and stu-
died intimations. Thoughtlessness as to the conclusion of his
story does not therefore apply to him, as it does to others.
He looks forward to the frequent change of his bu-im.ss, and
is satisfied. He is rapid by " advice," and unites, in a greater
degree than almost any other writer, precipitation with pre-
caution :

insanit certa ralione ; modnque.

Among the writers of that age. Jonson alone, perhaps, knew
all the impropriety arising from a frequent and violent change
of scene. This sense of exactness was doubtless impressed
npon liim by his love of the ancients: and he has obtained
ta* 'J.'RcuIt praise both of copiousness and close connexion
Of kil incidents. Yet Jonsou himself, who blamed Shak-

speaiejs change of scene, was not wholly t e from the same
practice: and this has been remarked by )ryden with some
appearance of triumph. Whatever might nave been the sen-
timents of Massinger, his gem-ral practice was a disregard of
consistency of pi in ; and his striking propensity to hurry of
scene is, perhaps, to he considered as a principal cause of hit
comparative want of success, when he undertakes the higher
anl more regular subjects of history. Eitiier he seems con-
strained by the new restrictions to which he occasionally sub-
mits; or, tired of these, he suddenly falls ir.to liberties which
ill accord with Ihe gravity of his first design. Sometimes he
lessens the effect of history by a choice not sufficiently saga-
cious or comprehensive; and sometimes he interrupts its in-
fluence bv additions extraneous to the subject, or unimportant
in themselves. He is then most successful when he approaches
the scenes of invention under cover of some previous truth ;
when he glances at some known event, and presently resigns
himself to the ac'-iistomed license of romance. How extra-
vagant is the mixture of Table with fact in several of these
plays, tlie reader must have already observed. But if he feels
with me, he will derive a pleasure from the detection of some
circumstance of truth amid the mass of invention, and will
hail the "sacred influence" of historic light, which sometimes

" Shoots far into the bosom of dim night
A glimmt ring dawn."

The LEARNING of Massinger here suggests itself. It seems
to have bien not without respectability ; yet r.ttherornamental
lo his prelry than very solid or Very comprehensive. It was
such, perhaps, as Jonson might have sneered at, but with some
injustice. Apart from his treatment of hist -ry, which has been
just noticed, it chiefly consists in an acquaintance with the
moralists and poets, and shows itself in an occasional intro-
duction of some ancient maxim resulting from the observation
of common life ; or of some pretty image or tender sentiment
transplanted into his love scenes. Not (infrequently, indeed,
a classical thought is discoverable in him, not lormally applied,
but incorporated with his own sentiment, as if the recollection
of an ancient writer w ere familiar and habitual with him ; and,
in an instance or two, this is done with some ruggcdness, as if
lie had no objection to make a momentary experiment on
what was tlie general character of Jonson. His favourite
book is Ovid; and his chief display is of the common and
popular mythology. Of this, indeed, he is by far too fond.
Sometimes he indulges it agiinst probability, in scenes flora
which the ignorance and vulgarity of the speakers ought to
iiave excluded it; and sometimes agninst propriety, when the
solemnity of the business, and Ihe engagement of I he attention
of his per.-onages, ought to have been secured from such un-
eason ible interruption. He is also apt, on some of these
untoward occasions, to state his mythological tale too circum-
stantially, and to adapt it, point by point, tothe situation which
ic means to illustrate. He is minutely exact in applying
what should have been conveyed, if conveyed at all, by a
;eneral glance : and while he pleases himself with the sere-
julous fidelity of his particulars, ihe reader is more and more
'impatient at too long a detention from the proper business of
he stage. There is, indeed, another kind of reading which
s peculiar to himself, and claims a separate notice. It is
mpossible not to observe how zealous he is on religions sub-
ects, how conversant with the images and sentiments which
iccur in the hi-tnry of the early persecutions, and how ready
n the use of ecclesiastical terms and arguments. He seems
o dwell with fondness on conversions lo the faith ; indulges
with fervour the mode of reasoning which had been used
letween ihe early Christians and the Pagans, and is so im-
>re?sed with it that he employs the same train of thought for
lie persuasion of Mahometans and idolaters. Where he ob-
ained this knowledge, it is difficult to say. The reader must
determine whether he is likely to have drawn it from the
"sources pointed out in the observations on The Virgin Martyr,
or in those on The Kenegado: from the general appearance
'f his learning, I have no objection tothe opinion that he was
cquainted with the works of the Christian writers themselves.
)ne thing is very observable in him. When he describes the
eremonies of religion as they are practised in the church of
lome, it is with an earnestness and a reverence more than
nfficient for the support of the character that speaks. Of this
Tlie Reneyado alone furnishes several instances; and not only
s he anxious to procure from any hand the right of baptism
or the new convert (Donusa) about to suffer death ; but, a
loiibt being raised for the sake of an authoritative decision,
he question of lay baptism is familiarly settled upon Human
Catholic principles
" A question in itself with much ease answered :

Midwives, upon necersity, perform it;

And knihts that, in the Hi.ly Land, fought for

The freedom of Jerusalem, when full

Of sweat and enemies' blood, have made their helmet

526

THE OLD LAW.

The fount out of which, with their holy hands,
They drew that heavenly liquor," &c*.

One circumstance, however, seems to have escaped his
attention, which the history of Christian antiquity would have
afforded him. In cases 01 extremity, when the rage of per-
secution would not all.nv the consolation of religious rites, the
death itself of the suitercr was supposed by some to convey
the desired beuelit, and t! e blood of the martyr was the salu-
tary water of baptism. But 1 will a(t>l no more on this sub-
ject. The learning of Massinger appears, in this view of it,
tn have scmir connexion with his religion. Indeed, the
sources from which his plots were derived might have fur-
nished sme of the circumstances just noticed: but if they
are his own, they are sufficient to raise a suspicion that he
luil a secret attachment to tin- church of Rome: and this
stems tn be the more probable opinion.

The MORALS of .Massinger shall next be noticed. It may
teem surprising that the licentiousness which too frequently
appears in these Plays, should be accompanied with any ex-
pressions of regard for morality. However, we must remember
the limes in whic h he wrote, and make allowance for the
influence which the general state of society will always have
on compositions for ihe stage. The comparative gros-ness of
romm <n conversation, the rude manner in whi< h theatrical
business was conducted, Ihe wish of giving as strong an ettect
as possible to the character represented, and a taste as yet
imperfectly formed for the management of delicate situations,
and the expression of wrong desires; these and many oilier
causes must have been very unfriendly to the purily which
virtue demands. In these particulars Massinger was unhappy
with oilier writers. Indeed no situation in life was a Milticu ill
security for theatrical decorum ; and Beaumont and Fletcher,
one Ihe son of a judge, the other of a bishop, are still more
licentious than Massinger, without the consoling attention to
moral consequences which he discovers.

In the observations on several of these Plays, the reader will
have noticed the seriousness of the moral ari-ing from the
conclusion of the story : and in justice to Massinger it must
be added, that, hoever blameable he is for the admission of
any indecency of others into a work ovei which he had a
control, the most offensive parts are not his own. The licen-
tiousness for which he is personally answerable, is of two
sons one, the chief part, consists in the incidents of the story
itself: ihe other, in loose conversation not strictly subservient
to ihe plot, but rather gratuitously indulged, li is wi h much
satisfaction we observe, that the indelicacy in the f. rmer case
is in some measure atoned for by the meiited punishment to
which he commonly conducts the offenders; and lest his de-
sign should be iiii-uuderstood, he earnestly reminds ns, that,
liouxitli.-taudjng the grossness of the story, he still means to
HTve the cause of virtue, and that wickedness is sure to be
' mulcted" by him "in the conclusion." The Patl.amriit nf
l.orr, where this caution occurs, is a convincing instance of
(lie practice just noticed, as it combines licentiousness of in
cid. nt ith ch .racteristic punishment on the contrivers of
the mischief. For ihe other part no excuse can or ought to
be offered. There is only one consolation under it: happily,
his loose dialogue is ill managed. It is without spirit or at
traction, as if his mind had no natural inclination to it; and
the reader must be of a disposition decidedly prurient who
will turn to those scenes a second time. One praise remains
for Ma-singer, and I mention it with heartfelt satisfaction;
he is entirely without profaneness. How is it to be wis- ed
that Shakspeare had beni thus! and that th*. extiaordinary
power with which he impresses both good and evil sentiment
had never been em ployed in loosening ti'e reverence of sacred
principles in i he mind of the young and inexperienced reader,
01 in teaching other men of genius 10 recommend Ihe most
pernicious levity through the attractions of thtir wit!

The POLITICAL CHARACTER of Massinger is very creditable
to him. His allusions to the public events of the times are
not unfrequeiit ; and they are such as to show him a man of
honesty and spirit. He ridicules, with successful humour, the
weak and licentious tops who infested the court. He indig-
nantly exposes the system of favouritism, which was so in-
jurious to the countr) in the reign of James, and lashes ihe
easy or corrupt grant of monopolies with the honest \iewsof
a patriot In return, he lakes a pleasure in contrasting ihe
loyally of the true friends of the throne with the tatercMed
services of common courtiers. He nlso endeavours to correct
the profligate facility wi h which a peisonal devotion was
pledged to the sovereign, and glances at the I hough 'less or
fallacious oilers of " lives and fortunes." The dreadful -vents
which took place not long alter the expression of the-e sen-
::ments throw an unusual interest over them ; and we are

The reader may compare this with the pious oilke which
Tasso makes Tancn-d perform to Clorinda:

Poco quindi Ionian ml sen del montc, &c.

Canto 12 St. 67.

persuaded by his personal satire, as well as by the open
praises which he bestows on his country, how strong and
sincere was the patrioti-m of Massinger. It is observable
loo, that he does not bend to the slavish doctrine which was
inculcated by so many other writers of the age; but, while
he preserves a firm and substantial reverence to the throne,
he watches over the actions of the sovereign, and distinguishes
between his just authority and the arbitrary excesses of it.
One circumstance more. Massinger lived for the mo-t part
in poverty and neglect ; and it is highly honourable to him
that there are no traces of public spleen or (action in his
writings. He is always a good subject ; and if he reprehends
(he follies or ihe vices which slood too near the throne, lie doei
it as a friend, and with the view of restoring it to thai purity
and wisdom which became it, and to that lustre in which he
loved to see it shine.

It would not be necessary to mention Massing-r's IMITA-
TIONS of his contemporaries, if M ich a practice had not been
unduly attributed to him. Mr. M. Mason seems disposed to
talk of passages remembered from Shakspeare. But the
practice is not very frequent, and whenever it does occur,
the obligation is too unimportant to be dwelt upon. Indeed,
it may be affirmed in general, that, though he may adopt
occasional sentiments of Shakspeare, he can haidly'be said
to copy his incidents or situations. Perhaps Ihe nearest ap-
proach to such an obligation is in The Emperor nf the East,
where jealousy on account of the apple recalls to our mind
the handkerchief of Othello Yet even here the hi-tory itself
may well be supposed to furnish the filiation without assist-
ance from any other quarter; ami the imitation is, after all,
confined lo a lew scattered thoughts. It oii.Jit, indeed, to be
allowed (since ihe subject is thus entered upon-, that when
such an imitation docs take place 1 , it is sometimes not quite
so happy as the reader might wish. Either the thoughts are
not so forcibly expressed as by .Shakspeare, or they are
(iveB to persons whose characters do not so wll agree wilh
them. Thus, when Asambeg ( Keivijado ) repeals his ileler
initiation to do something terrible, but what, he does not yel
know, he reminds us ot a sentiment highly characteiisiic of
the wild an I ungoverned temper of Lear. But Asambeg is
of a different ca-t. In the mid-t f his passion his inteieat
is consulted; lie blusters indeed, but stops to calculate con-
sequences, and in reality is a tame character. A^ain, when
imprecations aie used against Richard, and guilty fear is to
deprive linn of the power of wielding his sword, we feel that
the llioiiLht is natural. Rut when Overreach f AVw II ,i v to
! t tnj Old JMits) fin, Is 111 ,1 the curses of those whom lu'has
j undone are upon him, anil take away his strength, we pcr-
ccivc nil incongruity A swmd w is "the natural <tn'l pr..ier
weapon ol ' Richard, Ihe instrument by which is siui.,iioii
wa> ii, be maintained Ovf-m-ach has a swonl never intended
to he drawn : he endeavours to use il in the moment of
fren/.y ; yet talks of iis failure in the terms of a baffled sol-
dier, as ii it would no longer avenge his cause, or preserve
his falling fortune'.

This noiice will he sufficient for the imitations attributed
lo Massinger, and the circumstances which attend them. In
fact, he has borrowed little from his contemporaries and has
given to Milton alone perhaps as much s. ntimcnt as he has
himself taken from Shakspeare. To some later writers he-
has been too convenient a quarry, \\ilhout acknowledg-
ment, they have dug from his scenes for the construe lion of
their own, and have done him at once an inji slice and an
honour Ry their unskiliid use of his plundered mailer, they

have proved how mud he is their superior The imila I

of The fatal Dowry in The fair Ptniteiit,\\;\* been already
noticed. Il the reader will pass fVoin one of these Plays to
the other, he will hardly tail to acknowledge the truth ofihis
asser ion. bold as it may appear: he will tin .notwithstanding
Ihe praises bestowed on Howe y Dr Johnson, that laboured
softness and artificial sentiment are bill an ill exchange for
the genuine feelings of naluie, and the genuine expression of
them Again, if he will compile The Cuanlian of Ma>sin<rer
with ihe imita'ion of ii in The Incuns'unt of Karquh.ir, he
cannot but observe how much ihe natuial hrisknes- ami (low-
ing humour of Du.a/zo aie degraded in the forced levity and
empty bustle of Ol.l Mirabi-l. I am not certain that* Lee
i en, <mo, red Massinger in his Theoilo*ha t or the force nf
Love ; but he boasts of tin- re. ep ion of that piece In the

public. Yet wbuevcr will c paie The Em\>rrr of the

East with it, will soon learn lo think favourably of Massinger
on this account also ; and will wonder thai his uaiure and
force fhoiild be neglected, while the public taste has been
content lo admire in Lee passion which never moves the
Soul, and vehemence which does but excite ridicule.

Piom these few particulars some conclusion may be drawn
respecting the genius and disposition of Massinger Perhaps
he cannot be called sublime. He dots not, like Shakspeare,
s'-i/.e the soul, anil in a moment pierce it wilh terror 01 atfiic-
tion ; nor does he sustain it at will in transport* btyoiiu tit*

THE OLD LAW.

527

nsual height of nature. He moves us rattier by the accumu-
lation of circumstances, than by single passages of Mnii.-iiHl
Mrei.glh ami imp- ,'e-i in. He melts too, rather than terrifies.
v et .vhile we si;: render all our compassionate leelii gs to
1'he fatal Dowry, we must remember tlie horror excited by
T < ['mititurat '('ombat ; honor inherent in the very situa-
tions i.f the principal agents, ami increased, with equal
artihce and power, by dark ami mysterion^ allusions to the
cause? of their strange enmity, and of the fearful impreca-
tions which they inter. He noes not venture into the ideal
world, and create new personages and imagine strange agen-
cie.i tor them His few gho-ts deserve no mention. The
good and bad spirit in The I'iryin Martyr are nut to be
computed with tlie fantastic being? of .Shakspcare : their
at peaiance is. for the most part, human : and wln-n their
true nature breaks forth, ihey act ill a manner which custom
had already prescribed for them. The most imposing use of
ar event beyond the experience of common life occurs in
The Picture; yet this is an extraordinary triek of art, which
appeals rather to the ear thui the eye, and which once
allowed, suffices throughout the piece; there is no magical
apparatus, no visible agent conducting the t ain of surprise.
His comic talent is not equal to his tragic power. His
merit chiefly consists in the invention of comic s : tua(ions;
and in the-e he i- often remaikably happy But the gieat
tnpport of comedy i- dialogue, a d in (his he is deficient.
In general it wants briskness and variety. Of rom>e, we
must not look into him lor tho.-e characters whose it pre-
domin.tlCo through the piece, or whose fatuity i the princi-
pal cause of laughter. He has neither a Fal-Utf nor a
Bessnt ; not even a master Stephen, or a Slender. Sylli,
however sm ill his preten-ions, is his chief mirth-maker.
Indeed, the Cornells ol Malinger has a near connexion
with history and the graver satire. He draws copious d-
scriplions of the trifling or vicious manners of the age, and
discovers strong purples of inor d correction, rather than
smartness of conversation, and the ait u-ks an i defences of
dramatic wit. Of this < or t i- Th- City Madam Thi- 1
regard as the chief effort of his Coined v, is The Fatal
Dowry is <.f Id- Tragedy . The-e two I'lays alne would be
sufficient to cieate a high leputation. Pity for suffering
virtue can hardly be excited in a -ironger manner ihan in
the latter In the former, it is difficult to say which qu dity
prevails; the p.iiverfnl ridicule of an unfeeling anectalion,
or the just reprobation 01 hy poc isy.

This determines ihe nature of Xlassinger's wiiiin;;*. He
does not soart the heights of fancy : he 1i Ib.unon^ men,
and describes their hu-iness and their as-ions with judg-
ment, reeling, and discrimination. He IMS a lU-tne-s of
principle which is admirably fitted to the ln-st interests of
himanlife: and I kno.\ no writer of his class fr.nn whom
more maxims of prndence, moraliiy, or leliemn m.y be
drawn He is eminently successful in repie-eiiting he ten-
der attachment of virtuous love, and in maintaining the true
delicacy and dignity of the female charade. ; and in gene-
ral he displays a warmth of zeal on ihe side of goodness,
which --.t once pleases and eleva'es the reader. To this ex-
cellence of sentiment he ad. is much strength and variety of
talent, nor will any on- doubt it h ha> pern-ul these
Plays with attenti li. The general cha-Un..<- of la-ign-tge
with which they art written, the peculiar elegance of style
In Thf Great tin kr o' /-'lorencf, and Thf Parliamrnt ' of
I*vve ; the united dignity and m .dm-ss of pa-<-in .,f Thf
JJu';e of Milan ihe animation n.l he.oi-m f The litmd-
man, and the laleiit of discrimination added to those in
The Mad of /lonmtr ; the striking eloquence of Thf Ro-
man Actiir the c.miic force of The I'ery It nmnn the
strong ridicule .,,,d moral reprob.tion in Ihe \eit< ll'av to
Pay <):d Debts, and the peculiar p ay fulness of I he Pic
tiirc ; these, and many others which mi hi bt mentioned
with equ d jusii t , are incontrovertible pioots of a genius
far beyond the common level. Cartwright IMS nni:i i-lv
remarked the " wretched genius an.' dependent liie- ' ,'f
those who, in hi- time, wrote I I ivs for hr. a i. This cinn-l
be said of Massingcr without ihe "greate-t ii justice. He has
written not for his bcneiarinrs alone ; hi- ,* unir> owes him
an obligation, at d it would be a r- proarh loom 'i-cerniiienl
^Tio u:9ch merit were still overlooked. Indeed it is very

difficult to account for the long inattention of which ,ie has
hitherto to complain. The troubles whieh so soon followed
the first appearance of these Plays, !>',<. the cm tain on
Massiuger, and every other genuine .vrr.er for lite su-e.
Perhaps for about twenty years the stage was altogether
silent. It might have been expected, however, that the
Restoration, which revived several of the I'lays of Shak-
speare, and more of Beaumont and Fletcher, would have

I done some justice to Massinger.

I am not sanguine about my conjecture, but the following

I may be considered as one of Ihe le.iding causes of the ne-
glect which he experienced. It appears that the prevailing
taste of those times; was such as his scenes were not much

calculated to gratify. An extraoidinary attachment burst
firth to the swill turns and graces <! the stage, as Dryden

! terms them, and to the eh ise of wii briskly pcrr-md in dra-
maiic conversation. These qualities, as i was ju>t now ob-
serve.', do not distinguish Massingei They were supposed,
at that lime, to be possessed by Fletcher alone, ai.d this
probably, was tue reason of the in irk. d preterem-e which
he obtained ; for we know from Dry dm, th.t two of Fletch-
er's I'lays were acted for one of Shakspeare. As to the w it
of JoiiS'.n, it was considered as too stiff tor that age. But
the chief injustice Seems to rest with Dryden himself In
his Essay on Dramatic Poetry, he praises others lor qua i
tie* of which Marsinger might have been adduced as an ex-
ample, and blames them for failings tr m which he was free ;
yet of Ma-singer no mention is ma'e: and. probably, this
was sufficient warrant for succeeding critics to pass by a
name which 50 urea t a man had appeared not to know, or
not to value. As to the attempts in the la't century to make
.Massinger known through succeeding editions of his works,
they call for some acknowledgment on account of their mo-
tive; but the performance can hardly be mentioned with-
out indignation. Lord Bacon somewhere talks . I the disser-
vice done to literature by the " rath ailitjntce" of some
" in the correction and editing of authors " One would
think he had looked forward to ihe treatment of p..or Mas-
singer hy Coxeier and Mr. M. Mason. But it i. time that
In- obscured merit .-hould at length appear in its proper
lijit , and Mas-inger has found, from the present editor,
what has been so humanely wished for him a vindication
ol his name in a pure and accurate text.

One thing yet remains, to explain why I have taken a part
in the pre.-tnt publication. The account is short and simple.
The editor, having already resolved on the publication, and
prepared the texl tor the press, requested of me a revision
of these Plays, and such observations as the a live discharge
of profe-sional duties would allow me 10 bestow on them.
To IMS he was, doubtless, impelled by his known partiality
to the judgment of his irieiM, and in some measure, per-
haps, by the recollection ihat, in oar earlv days, we had
lead together some of the works of our dramatic writers.
Tins statement, it is hoped, will excuse me with the pro-
f. ssed lovers of the drama, who may find these observations
of too seiions a east, 01 wanting that mimic a quaiutance
with the stage which might be require t. My chief atten-

j ti n hashing .-ince been turned to other pursuits, n..r have I
thrust myseli into this employ inent; ne:ther, indeed, has

I any " calling" been "left" for it. Alassinjjer has truly

I said, that to be able

" to pierce to the depth

Or write a comm- nt on the ob.>curest poets,
Is but an imainelil."

The great business of liie hasmore solemn claims; and it is
a consolation to a. id, that while this act of friendsirp has been
performtd. the higher and more important duties h ve not
snnered. It. with this necessary reservation, the talent of
Ma-finger has been at all unfolded, and e pecially, it hi*
wilting art now made more useful than they might othcr-
vvi-e have l<eeii, hy the careful observation of his subject
an. I the pointing of his moral, I shall be satisfied. As to the
rest.il is hut a trilling service which can he performed by
me in this, or perhaps any other, province of letters; but,
to apply theworls ot'a great man on a far higi.er occasion,

I " So have I been content to time the in-li iiim-ni* of the

i Mn-e*. ihat they ma) play who have better hands." D*.
IRK.I.ANU.

POEMS

SEVERAL OCCASIONS,

PHILIP MASSINGER.

TO MY HONORABLE FFREINDE S*

FFRANCIS FFOLIAMBE, KNIGHT

AND BARONET.

S r with my service I present this boote

A trifle, I confesse, but pray you looke
Upon the sender, not his guift, with your

Accustomde favor, and then't wil) endure
Your serch the better. Somethinge then may bee

You') finde in the perusall fit for mee
To give to one I honor, and may pleade,

In your defence though you descende to reade
A Pamplet of this nature. May it prove

In your free Judgement, though not worth your Hove
Yet fit to finde a pardon and I'll say

Upon your warrant that it is a play.

Ever at your commandment

PHILIP MASSINCER.

TO MY JUDICIOUS AND LEARNED FHIEND THE AUTHOR

(JAMES SHIRLEY), UPON HIS INGENIOI s POEM TIIF.

GRATEFUL SERVANT, A COMEDY, PUBLISHED IN
1630.

THOUGH I well know, that my obscurer name

Listed with theirs* who here advance thy fame,

Cannot add to it, give me leave to be,

Among the rest a modest votary

At the altar of thy Muse. I dare not raise

Giant hyperboles unto thy praise;

Or hope it can find credit in this age.

Though I should swear, in each triumphant page

Of this thy work there's no line but of weight,

And poesy itself shown at the height :

Such common places, friend, will not agree

With thy own vote, and my integrity.

I'll steer a mid wny, have clear truth my guide,

And urge a praise which cannot be denied.

Lifted with theirs,} John Fox, John Hall, Ch.irlet
Aleyn, Thomas R .ndoloh, Robert Stapj Hun, Thorn a Cra-
ford, William Habingdoe.

Here are no forced expressions; no rack'd phrase;

No Babel compositions to amaze

The tortured reader ; no believed defence

To strengthen the bold Atheist's insolence;

.No obscene syllable, that mav compel

A blush from a chaste maid, but all so well

Express'd and order'd, as wise men must say

It is a grateful poem, a good play :

And such as rend ingeniously, shall find

Few have outstripp'il thee, many halt behind.

PHILIP MASSINCEB.

TO HIS SON J. S. UPON HIS "MINERVA*."

THOU art my son ; in that my choice is spoke :
Thine with thy father's Muse strikes equal stroke.
It shovv'd more art in Virgil to relate,
And make it worth the hearing, his gnat's fate,

t To his *nn J. S. vpon hit Minerva.] Coxetcr and
Mr. M. Mason (or rather Cuxeler alone, fur {xiur Mr. M.
M 11*011 neiiht-r knew nor llmn;lii an) thing about the mat-
ter) say this litile Poem was addressed to James Shirley i

THE POEMS.

Tlian to conceive what those great minds must be

That sought, and found out, fruitful Itiily.

And such as read and do not apprehend.

And with applause, the. purpose ;md the end

Of this neat poem, in themselves confess

A dull stupidity and barrenness.

Methinks 1 do behold, in tiiis rare birth,

A temple builr up to facetious Mirth,

Pleased Phuehus smiling on it : doubt not, then,

But that the suffrage of judicious men

Will honour this Thalia; and, for those

That praise Sir Hevis, or What's worse in prose,

Let them dwell still in ignorance. To write

In a new strain, and from it raise delight,

As thou in this hast done, doth not by chance,

But merit, crown thee with the laurel branch.

PHILIP MASSINGER.

SERO SED SER1O.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE MY MOST SINGULAR GOOD
LORD AND PATHOS, PHILIP EARL OF PEMBROkE AND
MONTGOMERY, LORD-CHAMBERLAIN OF HIS MAJESTY'S
HOUSFIIOLU, ETC., UPON THE DEPLORABLE AND UN-
TIMELY DEATH OF HIS LATE TRULY NOBLE SON
CHARLES LORD HERBERT, ETC.

TWAS fate, not want of duty, did me wrong ;

Or, with the rest, my bymenseal song

Had been presented, when the knot was tied

That made the bridegroom and ihe virgin bride

A happy pair. I curs'd my absence then

That bitider'd it, and bit my star-cross'd pen,

Too busy in stage-blanks, and trifling rhyme,

When such a cause call'd, and so apt a time

To pay a general debt mine being more

Than tliev could owe, who since, or heretofore,

Have labour'd with exalted lines to raise

Brave piles, or rather pyramids, of praise

To Pembroke and his family : and dare I,

Being silent then, iiim at an elegy 1

Or hope my weak Muse can bring forth one verse

Deserving to wait on the sable hearse

Of your late hopeful Charles ? his obsequies

ml Daviej, in hit Life of Mcusinger, reasons npon it a; an
iMlisprtabfe fact. Tin- iriitli, however, is, ili..t tlie*e initial
letter: belong to James Smith, a man of considerable wit
anil le.irning, and a dignitary of the church. He wm the
author of several short piece.-, and, among the rest, of that
to uhich this, with oihci commendatory poems, is prt-tixtd,
The Innovation of Penelope and Hymes,-A burlesque satire
upon some incoherent translation of those da\s, and the
prototype, perhaps, of Colton's I'i'yil and The Rrhearial.
Wood says, that Smith " was niucli in esteem with the poli-
tical whs of lliat day, particularly \viih Philip Massinger,
who called him his son." Athen. Oion. Vol. II. p. 397.

* Chdrles Lord Herbert, whose early death is here la-
mented, wa the eldest surviving son of Philip Earl of
Pembroke and Montgomery. He was made a knight of the
Bath at the coronation of Charles I., ai.d married, in 1034,
to Mary, daughter of the peat duke O f Buckingham, soon
after which he went abroad (for she was too yomij- for coha-
bitation,) and died of the small-pox at Florence, in JUMrj
1633-6.

Exact the mourning of all hearts and eyes

That knew him, or loved virtue. HB that would

Write what he was, to all po>terity, should

Have ample credit ia himself, to borrow,

Nay, make his own, the saddest accents sorrow

E ver ex press 'd, and a more moving quill

Than Spenser used when he gave Astrophil

A living epicedium. For poor me,

By truth 1 vow it is no flattery,

I from my soul wish (if it might remove

Griefs burthen, which too feelingly you prove),

Though I have been ambitious of fame.

As poets are, and would preserve a name,

That, my toys burnt, I had lived unknown to men,

And ne'er had writ, nor ne'er to write again.

Vain wish, and to be scorn 'd ! can my foul dross

With such pure gold be valued ? or the loss

Of thousand lives like mine merit to be

The same age thought on, when his destiny

Is only mentioned ? No, my lord, his fate

Is to be prized at a higher rate ;

Nor are the groans of common men to be

Blended with those which the nobility

Vent hourly for him. That great ladies mourn

His sudden death, and lords vie at his urn

Drops of compassion ; that true sorrow, fed

With showers of tears, still bathe the widow'd

bed
Of his dear spouse ; that our great king and

queen

(To grace your grief) disdain'd not to be seen
Your royal comforters ; these well become
The loss of such a hope, and on his tomb
Deserve to live : but, since no more could be
Presented, to set off his tragedy,
And with a general sadness, why should you
(Pardon my boldness!) pay more than his due,
Be the debt ne'er so great ? No stoic can,
As you were a loving father, and a man,
Forbid a moderate sorrow ; but to take
Too much of it, for his or your own sake,
If we may trust divines, will rather be
Censured repining, than true piety.
I still presume too far, and more than fear
My duty may offend, pressing too near
Your pi ivate passions. I thus conclude,
If now you show your passive fortitude
In bearing this affliction, and prove
You take it as a trial of heaven's love
And favour to you, you ere long shall see
Your second care* return 'd from Italy,
To bless his native England, each rare part,
That in his brother liv'd and joy'd your beart,
Transferr'd to him, and to the world make known
He takes possession of what's now his own.
Your honour's

Most humble and faithful servant,

PHILIP MASSINOF.H.

Your second cart.] Philip Herbert, who survived hi*
and succeeded to his title and estates.

THE END.

LIDKflKT

00 606 479

HBM^m
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