LIBRARY 
 
 L^NIVERSITY OP 
 
 SAN DIEGO 
 
 J

 
 SELECTED DRAMAS 
 
 OP 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN 
 
 WITH 
 
 THE REHEARSAL 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE VILLIERS 
 
 DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM 
 
 EDITED WITH 
 
 INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE R. NOYES 
 
 ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OP SLAVIC LANGUAGES 
 IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 CHICAGO NEW YORK 
 
 SCOTT, FORESMAN & COMPANY
 
 Copyright, 1910 
 
 BY 
 
 SCOTT, FORESMAN & COMPANY
 
 PREFACE 
 
 The object of the present volume is to give adequate material 
 for a study of Drjden's dramatic work, particularly in its relation 
 to the general history of the English drama. The Rehearsal is added 
 to the examples of Dryden's plays, not because it had any de- 
 monstrable influence on his dramatic work, but because it illus- 
 trates, better than reams of modern commentary, his prominent 
 position, as an object of admiration and of ridicule, among the 
 dramatists of his time. 
 
 An attempt has been made to give a critical text of each of 
 Dryden's dramas here printed, with variant readings from all edi- 
 tions published in his lifetime, and from the first collected edition 
 of his dramatic works, the Folio of 1?01, published just after his 
 death. The text of the Scott-Saintsbury edition was first collated 
 with the first edition of each play, and next with the Folio, and a 
 record was made of all variants. Then these variants were com- 
 pared with the readings of the quartos (in which form Dryden's 
 separate plays were always printed) intermediate between the first 
 quarto and the Folio. In the case of All for Love, this process 
 showed progressive degeneration of the text ; the second quarto 
 had been printed from the first, the third from the second, and 
 the Folio from the third quarto. No sign of author's corrections 
 appeared at any point; the variants were mere printers' errors. 
 The first quarto was therefore made the basis of this edition, and 
 the variant readings justifying this choice were duly recorded. 
 To make a complete collation of each quarto would have been a 
 mere waste of time. 
 
 A similar procedure was adopted for The Conquest of Granada, 
 though here the question of text was by no means so simple. In 
 the second edition of this play Dryden seems to have made some 
 trifling changes, which disappeared in the later quartos. It did not 
 seem worth while, however, to collate each line of the second quarto, 
 in order to present a complete list of such changes. 
 
 With Marriage a la Mode and The Spanish Friar the case was 
 somewhat dili'erent. Here the Folio had evidently been printed 
 from the first quarto of each play. Therefore a complete collation 
 was made of the quarto immediately preceding the Folio, and the 
 variants thus obtained were compared with the readings of tlie 
 intermediate quartos. This process revealed degeneration in the 
 
 iii
 
 iv PREFACE 
 
 quarto texts of both pla3's, but showed that in the third quarto of 
 The Spanish Friar Dryden, or some other person, had made four 
 significant additions to the text, which were retained in the fourth 
 quarto, but of course disappeared in the Folio. (See footnotes, pp. 
 332, 339, 345, 358.) The first quarto of each play was again 
 chosen as the basis of the present text. The long labor of colla- 
 tion had merely shown the general correctness of Malone's state- 
 ment : "When Dryden issued his several works from the press, he 
 in general seems to have dismissed them from his thoughts, and to 
 have been little solicitous about rendering them more perfect."^ 
 
 The present text of The Rehearsal is taken from that of the 
 first edition (1672). Professor Arber's reprint was used as a 
 basis for collation. The second edition has been inaccessible. The 
 notes record additions to the text made in the third and subse- 
 quent editions, but leave unnoticed small variations of phrase 
 caused by the printers' carelessness. For convenience in printing, 
 the additions to the text have been combined with the explanatory 
 notes at the end of the volume, instead of being inserted as foot- 
 notes. 
 
 The prevailing fashion in reprinting English texts is to give 
 a literal reproduction of the spelling, italics, and capitals of the 
 early copies. Except in books intended for professional philologists, 
 this practice is of no particular value, and it certainly makes hard 
 reading. There is little gain in printing fix'd in one line and fixt 
 in another, merely because Herringman's compositor happened to 
 do so. In this edition I aim to retain the original form only when 
 it indicates a pronunciation different from our own; thus I pre- 
 serve muriher, but alter critick into critic. In cases of doubt, I pre- 
 fer to err on the side of archaism, so that I keep inconsistencies like 
 intreat and entreat. I have also kept the 'd of the past participle 
 (as lov'd), since this is the almost uniform usage of the old texts 
 and is not infrequent in editions of modern poets. The use of the 
 apostrophe in cases like th' army seems too characteristic of Dry- 
 den's verse to be abandoned when it occurs in the early editions; 
 the pronunciation of the times in reading aloud was doubtless 
 affected by the printed form. 
 
 Notes on the text of Dryden are added at the bottom of each 
 page. They aim to record all essential variations among the early 
 editions, and between them and the most accessible modern editions, 
 that of Scott, revised by Professor Saintsburj-, Edinburgh, 1882-93 
 (Ss), and that of Professor Saintsbury in the Mermaid series, 
 London, 1904 (M). In general, Ss and M present Dryden's text in 
 a somewhat modernized form: thus they substitute them for the 'em 
 
 1. Prose Works of John Dryden, 1. 1. 143.
 
 PEEFACE V 
 
 of the early editions; disregard such old spellings as sliczv, murther, 
 then (for tlian) ; and print farther where the early editions have 
 further. In prose passages they generally transform I'm, 'tis and 
 similar forms into / am, it is, and the like ; in verse they usually dis- 
 regard such elisions as th' army, th' unfortunate. In all such cases 
 the present edition, making the first quarto of each play the basis of 
 its text, restores the somewhat inconsistent usage of Dryden's 
 publishers. To save space, such variations between the present 
 edition and the text of Ss and M are omitted from the notes; all 
 others are recorded. Except in such cases, the omission of Ss and 
 M from a list of variants indicates that their text agrees with the 
 present edition. Cases in which both M and the present edition 
 correct the text of Ss are left unrecorded. In the prose essays, 
 the readings of Professor Ker (K) in his Essays of John Dryden 
 (Oxford, 1900) are also added. Some variations of text in the 
 songs in The Conquest of Granada and Marriage a la Mode, which 
 were inadvertently omitted from the footnotes, have been included 
 in the notes at the back of the volume. In the Notes I have repeated 
 a few sentences from my edition of Dryden's Poetical Works, 
 Boston, 1909. 
 
 The present edition was undertaken in 1901 ; its completion has 
 been delayed by various causes. A postponement of the time of 
 printing, after I had completed the manuscript of the Introduction, 
 gave me time to become acquainted with an excellent dissertation 
 by Dr. Torben Lundbeck, Dryden som Tragediedigter (Copen- 
 hagen, 1894), which covers in a more extended form a portion of 
 the ground of my own essay, and anticipates many of my own con- 
 clusions. Had i known Lundbeck's work earlier, I should prob- 
 ably have altered several of my own paragraphs, and should have 
 expanded my treatment of certain topics. But since Lundbeck has 
 not led me to modify any of the judgments that I bad already 
 formed witliout his aid, I have let tlie body of the Introduction 
 stand practically unaltered, adding to it only a single phrase 
 (page 1, lines 13, 14) ; I have, however, quoted several passages 
 from his work in my footnotes. 
 
 For help in the preparation of this book I am indebted to 
 many friends, both near and distant. Professor Saintsbury has 
 kindly permitted me to base my collations on his revision of Scott's 
 text/and to make any further use of his large edition that I 
 might desire. Professor Ker has given me similar permission to 
 make use of the notes in his edition of Essays of John Dryden. 
 The authorities of the Harvard and the Yale Liliraries have gen- 
 erouslv sent me across the continent the early editions needed for 
 establishing the text; in particular :\lr. T. J. Kiornan and Mr. F. 
 B. Dexter have shown me personal kindness extending far beyond
 
 vi PEEFACE. 
 
 the limits of official courtesy. Mr. E. H. Wells, Curator of Mod- 
 ern English Literature in the Harvard Library, by the zeal and 
 skill with which he has expanded the Harvard collection of Dry- 
 deniana, has made it possible for me to base my text and com- 
 mentary nearly always on first-hand information. Mr. W. H. 
 Hagen, of New York, has kindly allowed me to make a transcript 
 of his copy of that very rare pamphlet, Notes and Observations on 
 The Empirss of Morocco, 1674; and the officers of the Grolier Chib 
 courteously extended to me the privileges of their building while 
 I was engaged in my work. To my colleagues. Professors C. M. 
 Gayley and C. W. Wells, to Professor E. P. Morton of the 
 University of Indiana, and above all to Professor L. T. Damon of 
 Brown University, I am indebted for valuable suggestions in regard 
 to my Introduction. Professors G. L. Kittredge, F. N. Robinson, 
 and W. S. Ferguson of Harvard University have given me help on 
 some questions relating to the text, and Professor J. A. Walz has 
 aided me in some difficult portions of the commentary. Finally, 
 all my other debts for help in preparing this volume are as nothing 
 compared to that I owe my wife. She, as well as I, has collated 
 every line of the texts here printed, and has read with me every 
 line of the proof; she has given me valuable criticism upon the 
 Introduction and the Notes, and has aided me in other ways too 
 numerous for mention here. 
 
 G. R. K 
 
 Berkeley, California December, 10, l'J09.
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 Preface iii 
 
 Introduction : Dryden as Dramatist ix 
 
 Chronological List of Drydex's Dramatic Works Ivi 
 
 The Conquest or Granada by the Spaniards, Part I. . . 1 
 The Conquest of Granada by the Spaniards, Part II. , 71 
 
 Marriage a la Mode 147 
 
 All for Love; or, The World well Lost 221 
 
 TiiK Spanish Friar; or, The Double Discovery 305 
 
 The Rehearsal 385 
 
 Notes to The Conquest of Granada 420 
 
 Notes to Marriage a la Mode 446 
 
 Notes to All for Love 453 
 
 Notes to The Spanish Friar 463 
 
 Notes to The Rehearsal 472
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 DEYDEN AS DEAMATIST 
 
 I. 
 
 The English authors of the period from IGGO to ITOO, with the 
 exception of Milton and Bimyan, are probably less read than those 
 of any other epoch since the Eenaissance. The causes of our lack 
 of interest in them are not far to seek. The period was one of acute 
 party strife, yet, unlike the time of civil struggle that had just 
 passed, it produced few men whose names live fresh in the conscious- 
 ness of English-speaking people. Milton and Bunyan, though they 
 fall within this period, are not of it. They express, in differing 
 forms, the spirit of a time already past. The literature most closely 
 connected with the contemporary national life, a literature of contro- 
 versy and satire, requires for its comprehension a study of for- 
 gotten political issues which few, in America at least, are likely to 
 undertake; the purely imaginative literature of the Eestoration, on 
 the other hand, was composed under the influence of a court dom- 
 inated by French fashions, yet unable to assimilate the inner spirit 
 of the French literature of le grand siecle. Hence, not to speak of 
 the indecency which continually disfigures them, Eestoration poets 
 and dramatists have a taint of artificiality and falseness. 
 
 So Dryden, the poet, critic, and dramatist, whose personality 
 dominates almost the whole period from 1660 to 1700, is perhaps the 
 least known of all the great figures in the history of English litera- 
 ture. Outside of text-books and collections of "elegant extracts," in 
 which his historic fame secures for him respectful attention, he is 
 perhaps less read than his garrulous contemporary Pepys, who, 
 though a man of no pretensions to literary fame, appeals to us by his 
 frank humanity. Dryden's fame as a critic has recently been 
 revived, and numerous editions of selections from his prose essays 
 show that his importance as one of the founders of modern prose 
 style is more clearly appreciated than formerly. As a dramatist, 
 however, though be wrote for the theater during more than thirty 
 years, and though his collected plays comprise nearly half his entire 
 work, Dryden is almost unknown except to professed students of 
 literary history. l\estoration tragedy, of which Dryden may be 
 regarded as the leading writer, is peculiarly open to the imputations 
 
 ix
 
 X INTRODUCTION 
 
 of artificiality, cxaggGration, and false taste; and readers attracted 
 by the "corrupt drama/' as Ixestoration comedy has been politely 
 fhristcncd, prefer the wit and sparkle of Congreve to the clumsier 
 work of Dry den. 
 
 Tliough we may admit the justice of these imputations against 
 Restoration literature as a whole, and against Drydcn and his 
 dramas in particular, we must make some reservations. It is unsafe 
 to draw up an indictment against a whole generation, or against 
 a single man who had the genius to become its representative. 
 ;^^cn and women of Restoration times were, after all, somewhat like 
 our own friends and neighbors, and certainly were not content to live 
 on mere literary chaff and straw. Beneath the sounding phrases 
 of The Conquest of Granada that they alternately applauded and 
 ridiculed, we may find true poetry and true feeling, beauty obscured 
 bv gaudy tinsel, but beauty still; and in its greater successor. All 
 for Love, we see a worthy imitation of the classic French tragedy 
 of the best period. So Drydcn's comedies, notably Marriage a 
 la Mode and The Spanish Friar, despite their coarseness, are 
 still bright and amusing. And finally, Dryden, more truly than 
 Congreve or any other dramatist of his day, connects his own time 
 with the great Elizabethan dramatists, and makes ns feel that 
 English literature has a continuous history; that the influx of 
 foreign taste and ideas only superficially affected the stream of 
 the national life. 
 
 II. 
 
 To understand Dryden's work as a dramatist, we must first 
 examine the general conditions under which the Restoration drama 
 grew up. We shall find that it developed under two sets of 
 influences: the first, that of the English national drama of the 
 period before the Civil War; the second, that of French drama, 
 romance, and criticism. 
 
 In 1660, when Charles 11 returned from exile, the English 
 stage was freed from the restraints that had lain upon it since 
 the closing of the theaters by Act of Parliament in 1643. A revival 
 of dramatic activity followed immediately. But the lapse of 
 eighteen years, during which few plays had been written and almost 
 none performed in public, would in itself have prevented this drama 
 from being a direct continuation of that of "the former age," as 
 Dryden calls the times of Shakspere, Jonson, and Fletcher. Social 
 changes had been unusually rapid in these eighteen years. At the 
 Restoration, the drama, instead of being the immediate outgrowth 
 of the national life, as the Elizabetlmn drama had been, became the 
 plaything of the Court, by whose favor it had been revived. Not
 
 DEYDEN AS DRAMATIST xi 
 
 only the extreme Puritans, but all sober and respectable people 
 stayed away from the theaters, which became marked by all sorts 
 of corruption and indecency.^ Courtiers and their imitators, near 
 and distant, were the chief supporters of the two playhouses of the 
 period, that of the King's Company and that of the Duke of York's 
 Company.^ 
 
 The domination of the Court over the English drama brought 
 with it a strong French influence. France in the time of Louis 
 XIV was the most powerful nation in Europe, politically, socially, 
 and intellectually. Hence the Frencli influence would in any case 
 have been strong in England, as it was later in Germany, Italy, 
 and Spain, and even in Poland and Eussia ; like the Italian influence 
 in the sixteenth century, it would have prevailed through its purely 
 intellectual superiority. In England it was given immediate cur- 
 rency by the fact that Charles II and many of his courtiers had 
 passed their years of exile in France, and, on returning to England, 
 brought with them French fashions and French tastes. 
 
 In France there had developed a drama of a distinct and special 
 type, absolutely different from the Elizabethan drama of Sliakspere 
 and his successors. In general, it was marked by a critical, reflect- 
 ing spirit; was constructed according to certain well-dcflncd laws; 
 and was accompanied by an important critical literature. In 
 Elizabethan England dramatic criticism had been of comparatively 
 little weight; it was an exotic, opposed to the popular taste, and in 
 practice was heeded only by a few classical enthusiasts, chief among 
 whom was Ben Jonson. In France, on the contrary, dramatic 
 criticism imposed its laws on all poets who cared for success with 
 an educated audience. A long succession of critics, first Italian, 
 then French, had formulated a set of rules for the drama, chief 
 among them the famous three unities, of time, place, and action. 
 The first of the unities prescribed that all the events of a drama 
 should take place within one day ; the second, that the place repre- 
 sented on the stage should not be changed during the course of the 
 
 1. "This night was acted my Lord Broghill's tragedy, calh^d iliistapha, 
 before their Majesties at Court, at which I was present : very seldom soiuj; to 
 the public theaters for many reasons now, as they were abused to an atheistical 
 liberty: foul and undecent women now (and never till now) permitted to appear 
 and act, who inflaming several young noblemen and gallants, became their misses, 
 and to some, their wives. Witness the Karl of Oxford, Sir K. Howard. I'rince 
 Rupert, the Earl of Dorset, and another greater person than any of them [the 
 King], who fell into their snares, to the reproach of their noble families, and 
 ruin of both body and soul." — Evelyn's Diary, Oct. 18, 1666. 
 
 2. On these companies, see A. W. Ward, Eiuilinh Dramatic Literature, ed. 2, 
 iii. 283, 284. The interest of the Court in the drama is emphasized by the 
 number of noblemen and courtiers who wrote for the stage. The Karl of Orrery 
 (whose earlier title was Lord Hroghill ; see preceding note), the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham, and Sir Robert Howard are mentioned below. In addition to these there 
 may be named Lord Kalkland, the Karl of Bristol. Sir Samuel Tuke, Sir Charles 
 Sedley, Sir Robert Stapylton. and Sir William Killigrew. The last two of these 
 ^re ridiculed in The Rehearsal,
 
 xii INTEODUCTION 
 
 play;^ tlie third, that in each drama there shonkl be only one plot, 
 in order tliat the attention of the spectators might not be distracted 
 by subordinate intrigues. These rules, first formulated by Italian 
 commentators on Aristotle's Poetics, had, before the close of 
 the sixteenth century, become the common property of learned men 
 tliroughout Europe, and had exercised considerable influence on 
 practical dramatists.^ In France, after la querelle du Cid in 1636, 
 they became the guiding principles of a great dramatic literature. 
 Looking back on literary history, we can see that the triumph 
 of these dramatic unities was due far less to respect for the classical 
 authority on which their originators professed to base them, than to 
 a general regard for decorum, restraint, formal propriety, "good 
 sense," in all forms of art. Other rules, having no basis whatever 
 in classical authority, were added to them. Thus, by the rule of 
 la liaison des scenes, the stage must never be left vacant during 
 the course of an act; each character must enter before his prede- 
 cessor had left the scene. The three unities inevitably checked the 
 development of action and incident in the drama, and favored 
 psychological analysis and satiric reflection. Hence tragedy was 
 kept from being a mere series of awe-inspiring events, like Kyd's 
 Spanish Tragedy, and became a study of mental struggle during a 
 decisive moment of life. Since gallantry and patriotism were the 
 leading passions of Frenchmen at the time, the tragic conflict was 
 ordinarily between love and duty, or, more usually, love and honor. 
 In comedy the rules did not entirely banish multiplicity of incident, 
 but they at least modified the type of comic plot. Romantic com- 
 edies such as .4s You Like It or The Winter's Tale would have been 
 impossible under the French rules. The nearest approach to them 
 was a comedy of domestic intrigue, in which the ingenuity of the 
 dramatist was taxed to compress complicated incident within the 
 bounds set by the unities of time and place. This "comedy of 
 intrigue" was, however, largely due to Spanish influence,^ and 
 was by no means so typical of French classic literature as the 
 "comedy of manners," to Avhich Moliere's masterpieces belong. 
 Here, as in th-e tragedies of Eacine, the action is simple and of 
 
 1. The first two unities were interpreted in various ways. The Ideal was 
 to have the time of representation coincide with that of the action of the play. 
 Corneille Is willing to extend the time limit to twenty-four hours or a little over, 
 and to regard any action confined to the limits of a single city as conforming to 
 the unity of place. (See his Discours stir les Trois Unites.) 
 
 2. See Spingarn, Literary Criticism in the Renaissance, pp. 89-101, 206-210. 
 
 3. Hence plays of this type in Restoration England were called "Spanish 
 plots," whether taken directly' from Spanish sources, or indirectly, through the 
 French. The best example of them is The Adventures of Five Hours (1662), an 
 adaptation from Calderon by Sir Samuel Tuke. Comedies that, from their in- 
 volved plot and from the surprising turns of fortune that occur in them, might 
 well be called comedies of intrigue, have of course been common in all ages of the 
 drama : examples in Elizabethan literature are Jonson's Epiccrne and The Al- 
 chemist. But in these two the Intrigue, Instead of being made an end in itself, 
 is subordinated to "humorous" studies of character,
 
 DRYDEN AS DRAMATIST xiii 
 
 comparatively small importance. The interest centers on a picture 
 of the manners of society, as shown in a series of conversations. 
 The tone is satirical ; brilliancy of wit and keenness of observation 
 replace the vein of lyric poetry which characterizes Shakspere and 
 Calderon. This "comedy of manners" has much in common with 
 Ben Jonson's "comedy of humors;" but it pays more attention to 
 social types, and less to individual eccentricities, and it deals al- 
 most exclusively with cultivated court society. 
 
 Such were the types of tragedy and comedy which the three 
 unities helped to form. At the time, however, critics discussed the 
 dramatic rules in a purely mechanical way, without considering 
 their ultimate results, which indeed they failed to appreciate. They 
 regarded the rules as laws imposed, now by the authority of Aris- 
 totle, now by a vaguely understood "reason" or "nature" ; laws 
 which were to be obeyed without hesitation, like those of the 
 Church or of Louis XIV. Critics defended the unities of time and 
 place because of the probability or realism that they gave to the 
 dramatic action ; a spectator, they argued, can more easily be- 
 lieve that he sees presented before him the events of one day in 
 one room than that he is watching those of twenty years in several 
 countries. 
 
 These fixed, definite types of the French drama, these estab- 
 lished critical principles, of necessity affected the practice of 
 Kestoration dramatists in England. The courtiers, who set the 
 fashion in literary taste, were familiar with French dramatic litera- 
 ture and with French criticism, and had themselves learned to 
 discuss literary questions, not deeply, but with real interest. Many 
 noblemen were themselves authors;^ others prided themselves on 
 being patrons of literature. On the other hand, the English tradi- 
 tion was by no means dead. The taste of the English nation remained 
 the same, and the courtiers were, after all. Englishmen. ^lany men 
 still living remembered the fiourishing days of the old drama. 
 Hence revivals of Shakspere, Ben Jonson, and Beaumont and 
 Fletcher were frequent on the Restoration stage,^ and many Eliza- 
 bethan plays were made over to suit the taste of Kestoration 
 audiences.^ However strong French influence might be, the revived 
 English drama could be no mere copy of its French contemporary. 
 
 In comedy a reconciliation of the two schools was made easier 
 by the fact that even before the closing of the theaters the influence 
 of court life had become prominent in the English drama, and an 
 
 1. See p. xl, note 2. 
 
 2. See Ward. op. cit. ili. 325. Dryden, in his Essay of Dramatic Poesy 
 (Scott-Saintsbury edition, xv. 346). tells us that Beaumont and Fletcher were 
 far more frequently acted than Shakspere or Ben Jonson. 
 
 3. For details, see Ward, o/). vit. iii. 320. Dryden himself joined Davenant 
 in rewriting The, Tempest (1007), and unaided rewrote Troiliis and Crcssida 
 (1C70). Ilis .4?; for Love (1678) owes much more than Its subject to Antonv 
 and Cleopatra.
 
 XIV 
 
 INTRODIJCTION 
 
 independent "'■comedy of manners" had begun to develop. Some 
 of iSliirley's plays, for example, distinctly belong to that type.^ 
 And in shaping the comedy of intrigue- the direct influence of 
 Spanish literature was of some importance. 
 
 In the Eestoration period, then, we find at least four types of 
 comedy; romantic comedy and the comedy of humors, which are 
 directly descended from the Elizabethan drama; and the comedy 
 of intrigue and the comedy of manners, which are to a large ex- 
 tent derived from French literature. To trace the rivalry of these 
 forms, and the gradual triumph of the last of them, as best illus- 
 trated in the works of Congreve, would carry us beyond the limits 
 of our subject. We shall be able, however, to notice some phases 
 of the conflict in treating of Dryden's comedies. 
 
 French tragedy was not so readily assimilated by the English 
 taste. While comedy in England had to a certain degree been 
 approaching the French standards, tragedy had taken no such 
 course. Some English tragedies of the classical school, such as 
 Gorbuduc, which Sidney so admired, or even Jonson's Sejanus and 
 Catiline, had been of a type somewhat like fhe French. But even 
 in their own times these works had been appreciated only by persons 
 of a trained literary taste. The general tendency was away from 
 these stiff and dignified tragedies to plays more full of action, and 
 marked by the expression of tumultuous passion rather than by 
 careful analysis of restrained emotion. Hence the French tragedy, 
 with its long speeches, its avoidance of action on the stage, its strict 
 observance of decorum, and its analysis of high and courtly senti- 
 ment, was at first imitated by English writers only in external 
 details. English poets might use the heroic couplet and observe 
 the unities — and for this they found some warrant in their English 
 predecessors — but they were at first unable, or rather did not 
 attempt, to assimilate the spirit of French tragedy.^ They w^ere 
 more afl'ected by a totally different branch of French literature, to 
 which we must now turn our attention, the romances. 
 
 In France, early in the seventeenth century, after the close of 
 the long civil wars, there had arisen a passion for culture and refine- 
 ment, for elaborate ceremonial manners. At this time the 
 romances of chivalry were revived in a form modified by contem- 
 
 1. See Professor Saintsbury, in his Introduction to his edition of Dryden's 
 plays in the Mermaid Series, pp. 7, 8. But Professor Saintsbury seems to under- 
 estimate the importance of the French inllucnce on the Restoration drama. 
 
 2. The comedy of intrigue is somewhat difficult to distinguish as a separate 
 type, since it inevitably tends to combine either with the comedy of humors or 
 with the comedy of manners. No pure example of it, comparable to Tuke's 
 Advetiturcs of Fire Hours, can l)o found in Dryden. But one feels a difference 
 between his Marriage a la Mode, with its emphasis on what is done, and the 
 comedies of Congreve, with their almost exclusive interest in manners. 
 
 3. Orrery is an exception to this statement. He will be considered la 
 detail later.
 
 DRYDEN as dramatist x^^ 
 
 porary French ideals. Calprenede, Mile, de Scudery, and others 
 delighted the world with interminable narratives modeled partly 
 on the old stories of the knights, but more on the later pastoral 
 romances, such as the Astree (1610-27) of d'Urfe. The new 
 romances, such as Cassandre, Ihrahim, Le Grand Cyrus} might 
 have their setting in ancient Greece or Persia, or in barbarian 
 Turkey; no matter what the scene, they aimed to express, without 
 any pretense at realism, and with an extravagance of action 
 wholly mediaeval, the ideas of the most cultivated Parisian society. 
 Of human feelings in their heroes they practically recognized only 
 two, love and fidelity to chivalric honor, the typical emotions of a 
 courtly lover; and they derived much of their interest from the 
 finespun, "precious" analysis of those two passions. Each romance 
 ends with the union of two lovers, after a wooing lasting many_^ 
 years and some dozen volumes. The memory of Le Grand Cyrus ' 
 and its fellows is now kept green mainly by the ridicule heaped 
 upon them by Moliere and Boileau. But however much the gro- 
 tesque, exaggerated style of Calprenede may differ from the classic 
 dignity and restraint of Eacine, the fundamental ideas of the two 
 authors are essentially the same. 
 
 The flourishing time of the French romances coincided with 
 the Civil War and the Protectorate in England, and with the eclipse 
 of the English drama. Hence they were welcomed by the English 
 gentry, who found in these most unreal of fictions a relief from 
 their ov^n actual sufferings. Polexandre, the first of them, was 
 translated into English in 1647, and from that time on the i)rin- 
 cipal French romances all found an English dress. The Earl of 
 ^Orrery, John Crowne the dramatist, and others wrote fictions of 
 their own in imitation of the French manner.- The principal 
 influence of these romances on English literature, however, showed 
 itself not in the novel, but in the drama, where they were the chief 
 cause of the development of the bombastic '^heroic plays." The 
 absurdities of plot, sentiment, and expression that pervaded the 
 French romances, but were checked on the French stage by 
 critical good taste, soon found their way into English tragedy, where 
 they were at first not opposed by any similar critical spirit. 
 
 In fact, the natural development of the English drama aided 
 the introduction of these French extravagances. As early as 1610, 
 Beaumont and Fletcher had already begun, in plays such as 
 Philasier, The Maid's Tragedy, and A King and No King, to 
 reflect the . tone of artificial court life rather than the deeper 
 aspirations of the people;^ had replaced love by artificial gallantry, 
 
 1. The dalos of somo of the most important of thrsp romnncos nro as 
 follows: PoU'Tandre, by Gomhorvlllo, 1629: Ibrahim, by Mile, do SciHU'Ty. I'-y '• 
 Cansuiidic. bv Cnlpivnf'dc. 1(14 2-4 r. ; Le (hinitl Ciinix. by Mllo. do Scudery, ltJ4S-j.i. 
 
 2. Soo ■Uiiloi-h. 77(r Eiu/Ush .\orvl, pp. S7-10!t. 
 
 3. Compare what bas been said on comedy, pp. xlli, xlv.
 
 j^.j INTRODUCTION 
 
 and patriotism by a pompous loyalty to the reigning sovereign.' 
 Tliis departure from the vigorous sincerity of the Elizabethan 
 drama became more marked in the plays of Sir William Daven- 
 ant (1606-C8), one of the few dramatists who wrote both before 
 the closing of the theaters and after the Eestoration. His plays, 
 Love and Honor (1634) and The Unfortunate Lovers (1638), by 
 the bombastic stvle of certain passages in them, and by the strained, 
 artificial tone of the sentiment pervading them, distinctly fore- 
 sliadow the heroic manner.- But it is only in his Siege of Rhodes 
 that we find the real beginning of the English heroic play. 
 
 Dryden in his Essay of Heroic Plays has given us a good account 
 of The Siege of Rhodes and of his own indebtedness to it. One 
 paragraph of this essay is especially important: 
 
 "For heroic plays,^ (in which only I have us'd it [rimed verse] 
 without the mixture of prose,) the first light we had of them on 
 the English theater was from the late Sir William Davenant. It 
 being forbidden him in the rebellious times to act tragedies and 
 comedies, . . . he was forc'd to turn his thoughts another way, 
 and to introduce the examples of moral virtue, writ in verse, and 
 perform'd in recitative music* The original of this music, and 
 of the scenes which adorn'd his work,'^ he had from the Italian 
 operas; but he heigh ten'd his characters, (as I may probably 
 imagine,) from the example of Corneille and some French poets. 
 In this condition did this part of poetry remain at his Majesty's 
 return; when, growing bolder, as being now own'd by a public 
 authority, he review'd his Siege of Rhodes, and caus'd it to be 
 acted as'^ a just drama." But as few men have the happiness to 
 begin and finish any new project, so neither did he live to makehis 
 design perfect. There wanted the fulness of a plot and the variety 
 of characters to form it as it ought ; and, perhaps, something might 
 have been added to the beauty of the style. All which he would 
 have perform'd with more exactness, had he pleas'd to have given 
 us another work of the same nature.''^ 
 
 1 Professor J. W. Tapper, in an article on "Tlie Relation of the Heroic 
 riav to the Romances of Beaumont and Fletcher" (Publications of the Modern 
 Laii<iua(i€ AsKociation of America. inOo, vol. xx, pp. 584-621) shows that some 
 traits oif the hernlc manner were already found before the closing of the theaters. 
 He seems to exaggerate, however, the resemblance between the later and the 
 
 earlier drama. , ., »^ . „, . t, <, 
 
 2. See an excellent article on The Rise of the Heroic Plaii by Professor 
 
 C. G. Child, in Modern Laiujuage Notes for June, 1004, pp. 166-173. 
 I 3: The term Is first used by Davenant, in his dedication to The Siege of 
 
 I Rhodes in the edition of 166.3. 
 
 4. The Siege of Rhodes was allowed to be acted in 1656, on the pretense 
 that it was not a drama, but a musical entertainment. 
 
 5. More elaborate scenery was used at this time than had ever before been 
 known In England. , , ^, ^ ^ 
 
 6. Davenant added a second part and somewhat expanded the first part. 
 The revised plav was acted in 1662 and published in 1663. 
 
 7. See pp.' 7, 8.
 
 DRYDEN AS DRAMATIST xvU 
 
 The Siege of Rhodes is written partly in rimea verse of an 
 irregular "Pindaric" structure/ partly in the heroic couplet that J 
 had again come into fashion for narrative poetry. The ludicrous 
 plot brings into strong relief the recJ<less valor of Alphonso, a 
 Sicilian duke, the magnanimity of Solyman, Sultan of Turkey, and 
 the peerless, irresistible beauty and virtue of lanthe, wife of 
 Alphonso. The intrigue in the first part depends on the sudden, 
 brainless jealousy of Alphonso; in the second part, upon the jeal- 
 ousy of Iioxolana, wife of Solyman. There are no comic scenes, 
 such as occur in Love and Honor and The Unfortunate Lovers. 
 Furthermore, Davenant took "liis types of character, motives of 
 dramatic action, heroic sentiment," and suggestions for his plot, 
 from the Ibrahim of Mile, de Scudery. Solyman and Koxolana 
 come directly from the romance, and Alphonso is modeled on the 
 hero Ibrahim.- This fact shows the heroic plays to be in their very 
 origin closely connected with the French romances, on which they 
 continued to depend in somewhat the same way that Shakspere's 
 Eoman tragedies depended on Plutarch. The agreement of the 
 two types in sentiment and characterization is something more 
 than the result of similar social conditions in England and France, 
 
 The Siege of Rhodes was half-operatic in character,^ probably 
 owing its success to the music which accompanied it, and 
 to its spectacular effect. Paying no attention to French 
 theatrical decorum, which would allow no violent action on the 
 stage, not even the death of a single character, Davenant gives a 
 representation of a general assault on the city of Rhodes.* Thus 
 he prepares the way for the scenes of tumult which crowd one 
 after another in 21ie Conquest of Granada. Though dances are 
 not specifically mentioned in the stage-directions, they were 
 probably introduced to heighten the general spectacular effect.^ 
 
 Since this use of rimed verse in a serious drama proved suc- 
 cessful, both as a novelty and as suitable to the stilted character 
 
 1. See Drydcn, Essay of Dramatic Poesy, Ss. xv. 365. 
 
 2. The discovery of this fact is duo to I'rofessor Child (op. cit.), from 
 whom the phrase in quotation marics is talten. 
 
 3. It has been called the tirst ICnglish opera. See lor example L. N. 
 Chase. The Eni/lish Heroic Play, New York, 100:{, p. 204. The quostion depends 
 upon the definition of opera. I-'ollowing Drydon we have a right to regard The 
 Hicye of Rhodes, at least as revised in 1662, as "a just drama."' 
 
 4. See The tiiroc of Rhodes. Part I, the Fifth Entry ; and compare The 
 Rehearsal, pp. 422, 423, II. 142 — 227. 
 
 5. See Ward. op. cit. iii. 324, 325 ; and Dryden, prologue to The Riial 
 Ladies (Ss. il. 141) : 
 
 You now have habits, dances, scenes, and rimes ; 
 
 High language often ; aye, and sense, sometimes. 
 and also in The Rival Ladies, act III, sc. 1 (Ss. 11. 17S) : 
 
 Desire tbem 
 
 They would leave out the word, and fall to dancing. 
 
 Tlie poetry of the foot takes most of late. 
 These quotations illustrate the general enthusiasm at the time for the ballet, 
 and it is fair to conclude that The tHeyc of Rhodes helped to set the fashion.
 
 jcviil iNTEODUCTIO^f 
 
 of the emotions treated, it was soon adopted by other writers, and 
 for plays unaccompanied by music, liogcr Boyle, Earl of Orrer}'^, 
 seems to have been the first Englishman to write a regular tragedy 
 entirely in the heroic couplet. Though not quite certain, it is at 
 least highly probable that one or more of his dramas had been writ- 
 ten, and had become known to the literary public, before the compo- 
 sition of Dryden and Howard's Indian Queen, which, as we shall see 
 later, was acted in January, 1664.^ Of one of his plays Orrery 
 says in a private letter (date unknown) : 
 
 "I have now finished a play in the French manner, because I 
 heard the King does declare himself more in favor of their way of 
 writing than ours. My poor example cannot please his Majesty, 
 but my example may incite others who can. Sir ^yilliam Davenant 
 will have it acted about Easter ; and, as it is wrote in a new way. he 
 may possibly take confidence to invite the King to see it." 
 
 This quotation — which also illustrates the dependence of the 
 Restoration drama on the taste of King and Court — shows that, 
 however much Dryden might later defend the use of rime in the 
 drama by an appeal to early English and to Spanish and Italian 
 precedents, Orrery regarded his own adoption of the heroic couplet 
 as a distinct imitation of French fashions. Furthermore, Mus- 
 iapha, one of Orrery's plays, derives its plot and principal charac- 
 ters from Ihraliim. the same romance from which Davenant had 
 taken The Siege of Rhodes. 
 
 1. The chronology of Orrery's plays is not easy to determine. Pepys in 
 his Diary for August 13, 1604, speaks of Henry V as "the new play." Miistapha 
 was probably first produced in 1GU.3, but possibly in 1663 : see the discussion by 
 Professor Child in the article already referred to. Pepys in his Diary for 
 October 19, 1607, calls The Black Prince "my Lord Orrery's new play," and 
 tells how it was damned at the first representation. 
 
 Orrery's plays were published for the first time in a collected edition by 
 Dodsley in 1730. The anonymous preface is probably by Dodsley himself. In it 
 wo find the quotation from a letter by Orrery that I have cited in the text, 
 Introduced by the following passage : "The Black Prince was the first 
 play which my Lord of Orrery brought upon the stage ; and, in a letter to one 
 of his friends, he mentions it in these words." The preface proceeds to state 
 that "The Black Prince was acted accordin;jly, and [thatl it met with the 
 approbation of the King and consequently of the Court," and that, "encouraged 
 by the success of The Black Prince," Orrery later wrote Tryphon, Henry V, 
 Mustapha, and Herod the Great. Now Pepys can hardly have been mistaken in 
 saying that the failure of The Black Prince which he witnessed was at its first 
 representation. Hence three suppositions are possible. (1) Dodsley's preface 
 may have no authority at all, and the letter quoted in it may be a forgery. 
 {-) The Black Prince may really have been the first written of Orrery's plays, 
 and the production of it anticipated in the letter may have been delayed for 
 several years. (3) The letter iiuoted by Dodsley may refer to some other play 
 than The Black Prince, and Dodsley may have entirely confused the order of the 
 plays. The first of these guesses seems the least likely and the third the most 
 likely to be true. 
 
 Orrery's plays were apparently circulated in manuscript for some time before 
 publication. Henry V is said by Mr. T. F. Henderson (in the Dictionary of 
 National Biography) to have been printed in KitSS, but the British Museum 
 Catalogue records no edition before 1669, in which year Mustapha, The Black 
 Prince, and Tryphon were also published. 
 
 Orrery's work is discussed in some detail in a study by Eduard Siegert, 
 Roger Boyle, Earl of Orrery, mid seine Dramen, Vienna, 1906 (in Wiener 
 Beitrage zur Englischen Philblogie).
 
 DftYDEN Afe DRAMATIST xix 
 
 Lord Orrery's dramas resemble The Siege of Rhodes and 
 Dryden's heroic plays only in being written in rime. They are 
 quiet, tender, and subdued in tone; and evidently attempt, like 
 Dryden's All for Love, of wliicli we fehall speak later, to reproduce 
 the essential qualities of French tragedy. When Orrery wrote that 
 he had "finished a play in the French manner," he referred to other 
 things beside the jingle of his couplets. In his tragedies, which are 
 never bombastic, always dignified, and sometimes interesting, he 
 preserves almost perfectly the French tlieatrical decorum; like 
 Eacine, he describes battles and scenes of horror, instead of bring- 
 ing them on the stage.^ Orrery is without influence on the subse- 
 quent development of the heroic plays, to which type his own works 
 hardly belong. He merely helped to give currency to the use of 
 rime in the serious drama.- 
 
 III. 
 
 We are now in a position to take up Dryden's own dramatic 
 work, which may l)e conveniently divided into three periods. In 
 the first period, from 1003 to 1670, after some dramatic experi- 
 ments, Dryden found in the heroic plays a congenial type of 
 drama, and in 1670 won his greatest popular triumph with The 
 Conquest of Granada. In tlie second period, from ]()70 to 1678, 
 Dryden saw his favorite productions assailed with bitter ridicule 
 in The Echearsal, and his own supremacy in them shaken by the 
 success of Elkanah Settle, an adversary whom he could not but 
 despise. Moreover, his own taste was becoming more mature, and 
 he was undoubtedly intluenccd !)y the study of contemporary French 
 critics. Hence during this period he gradually purified his style 
 of its earlier extravagance and bombast, and modified his ideas 
 of what a tragedy sliould Ije. In 167S he produced his masterpiece, 
 All for Love, in which he imitated the style of Shakspere, but the 
 dramatic technique of the French tragedians. In the third period 
 Dryden was no longer primarily a dramatist; though he produced 
 some plays, such as Tlie Spanish Friar and Don Sebastian, equal in 
 literary merit to those of his earlier life, he made no progress either 
 in style or in dramatic theory. In 1693, on the failure of Love 
 Triumphant, he abandoned the stage in disgust. These three 
 periods we shall now consider in detail. 
 
 I. At the time of the Restoration, in 1660, John Dryden was 
 already twenty-nine years old, but had as yet written nothing of 
 
 1. Some floaths occur on the stage, but all, so to speak, very <iuict and 
 orderly. In Muntai)ha, for examiile. the hero kills two of the mutes sent to 
 execute him, a mere whisper in comparison to the clamorous uproar of Tho 
 Cotujuvst of Grunailu. 
 
 2. I .TKicc cniiri'lv with Professor Chilt], in opposition to Ilolzhausen In 
 Englischc HtudUit, xiU. 416, 423.
 
 « INTRODUCTION 
 
 permanent value. He had settled in London in 1657 and had begun 
 to eke out his scanty income by occasional poems and by hack work 
 for the bookseller Herringman. For the drama he probably felt no 
 great inclination and no peculiar fitness ;^ but he soon turned to it, 
 and first of all to comedy, as the branch of literature which offered a 
 young author the easiest means of livelihood. His first play. 
 The Wild Gallant, acted early in 1663, failed on the stage, and was 
 revised before it was printed in 1G69. Though Tlie Wild Gallant 
 has small literary merit, it gives us a clear idea of Dryden's 
 methods when he began his dramatic career. In this comedy, 
 Avhich is written in prose, he attempted to combine a complicated 
 *' Spanish plot," borrowed from some unknown author, possibly 
 French, with scenes imitated from Jonson's comedy of humors, and 
 wit combats suggested by Fletcher. The action occupies only two 
 days, and the scene does not depart from London, so that the unities 
 of time and place are fairly well observed. In the prologue Dryden 
 boasts : 
 
 This play is English, and the growth your own; 
 As such, it yields to English plays alone. 
 
 Thus in his first drama Dryden was a follower of the English tradi- 
 tion. Lacking originality, he tried to unite, in a plot of a fashion- 
 able type, the characteristic methods of Jonson and of Fletcher. 
 Even in observing the unities, he was probably guided by the ex- 
 ample of Jonson quite as much as by that of the French dramatists. 
 Dryden's second play. The Rival Ladies, acted late in 1663 or 
 early in 1664, and printed in the latter year, is likewise a comedy 
 of involved Spanish plot, but is written in verse, and, in contrast 
 to the vulgar realism of its predecessor, is filled with a romantic, 
 poetic spirit. Furthermore, some scenes of it arc written in the 
 "new way"- of the heroic couplet. About the same time Dryden 
 joined his brother-in-law, Sir Robert Howard, in the composition 
 of The Indian Queen, a tragedy written entirely in this same "new 
 way."^ That Dryden and Howard were affected by the example of 
 the Earl of Orrery is shown by the fact that on the publication of 
 
 1. Soe the passage quoted below from the dedication of Aureng-Zcbe, p, 
 xli, note 1, and also Defense of an Essay of Dramatic Poesy, Ss. ii. 297, 298. 
 (Drydon is cited by the Scott-Saintshury edition. l)iit the spellins; of quotations 
 conforms to the standards adopted in this volume, and where possible the text 
 even of short quotations has been corrected by the original editions.) 
 
 2. See dedication of The Rival Ladies, Ss. ii. l.'>4. 
 
 3. It is impossible to say which of these plays appeared first : Dryden may 
 have been ens;! ged on them both at the same time. Pepys in his Diary for 
 January 27. 1604, mentions "the new play. The Indian Queen, which for show, 
 they say, exceeds Ilrnry the Eiqhth." (Oompaie note on The Rehearsal, p. 
 418, 1. 4.) As to the date of the other play Malone says: "The Rival Ladies 
 
 probably was exhibited in the winter of 1063. being entered on the 
 Stationers' Bool<s, June 5, 1664 ; and it not being customary at that time to 
 commit plays to the press till they had run their course on the stage." (Prose 
 ^yorks of John Dryden, I. i. 57.)
 
 DRYDEN AS DRAMATIST xxi 
 
 The Rival Ladies in 1664 Dryden wrote a Dedication to that noble- 
 man, in wliich he defends rime in the drama by the same argu- 
 ments that he afterwards elaborated in his Essay of Dramatic 
 Poesy. ^ Then, encouraged by the success of 2'he Indian Queen, 
 Dryden, unaided by Howard, wrote a sequel to it, The Indian 
 Emperor, acted in 1665. 
 
 The Indian Queen and The Indian Emperor continue the 
 succession of heroic plays begun by The Siege of Rhodes. They 
 have essentially the same characteristics as the later Conquest of 
 Granada, of which an analysis follows below. Briefly, they retain 
 the brisk, bustling action, exaggerated sentiment, and disre- 
 gard of stage decorum of The Siege of Rhodes, but add '"fullness 
 of plot," ''variety of characters," "beauty of style," and super- 
 natural machinery, all imitated from fashionable epic poetry. As 
 Dryden himself tells us, he wrote under the inspiration of Ariosto 
 and Tasso, whom he admired more than he did Calprenede. Thus 
 the heroic plays, once started on their course, grew up under the 
 influence of purer models than the French romances. The form 
 of their verse, the necessity, in a drama, for compression of plot, 
 and the bent of Dryden's own genius, all tended to separate them 
 in style from their prose sources, and to bring them nearer the 
 Italian epic poems. Finally, The Indian Queen and The Indian 
 Emperor were show plays, made attractive by scenery, costumes, 
 dances, and songs.- The latter play definitely established Dryden's 
 reputation as a leader among the English dramatists of his time. 
 
 In 1665 the Great Plague invaded London, and the theaters 
 were closed until the last months of 1666.^ During his enforced 
 retirement to the country, Dryden wrote his first long prose work. 
 An Essay of Dramatic Poesy, '^ which remains his most important 
 
 1. other Restoration dramatists had already made some use of the heroic 
 couplet ; for example. Sir Samuel Tuke in some scenes of his Adventures of Five 
 Hours, acted in 1662. Saintsbury in his introduction to the Mermaid Dryden 
 points out that rime is also found occasionally iu some plays of dramatists who 
 wrote just before the closing of the theaters, for example in The Vinjin Widow 
 of Quarles. (Quarles died in 1644; his play was not printed till 1649.) He 
 cites also the plays of Gofife, to which I am unable to refer. But Dryden, in his 
 many arguments "on the question of rime in the drama, never cit(^s these obscure 
 predecessors ; nor, except for the possible parody of The Vir<jin Widow In Tho 
 Rehearsal, have 1 found references to them irj other Restoration dramatists. 1 
 see no reason to doubt that the French influence was the chief cause of the 
 adoption of rime in the heroic plays. Perhaps the frequent use of the couplet 
 for narrative heroic poetry, as in Cowley's Davidein, helped to establish It In 
 the heroic dr.ima. 
 
 2. See Pepys on The Indian Queen, quoted on p. xx, n. 3. 
 
 3. Downes says that the theater in Lincoln's Inn Fields was closed in 
 May, 166.5. (Roscius Anqliranux, ed. Knight, 1S.S6. p. '26.) The Theater Royal 
 must have been closed at about the same time. On November 20, 1666, Pepys 
 writes : 
 
 "Then to church, it Ijelng thanksgiving-day for the cessation of the plague : 
 but. Lord I hnw the town do say that it is hasttned before the plague fs quite 
 over, there dying some people still, but only to get ground for plays to be 
 puidicly acted, which the Bishops would not suffer till the plague was over." 
 
 4. First printed in 166S.
 
 „ji INTRODUCTION 
 
 contribution to dramatic criticism. In it he attempts a survey of 
 the tlioator of the ancients (Greeks and Eomans), tlie French, and 
 the Knglisli, with special reference to conteiii]>orary conditions. 
 From its clear, simple, yet elegant style, and its tine critical appre- 
 ciations, particularly of Shakspere and Jonson, this treatise is of 
 prime importance in the history of English prose and of English 
 criticism, and has received due attention from recent scholars. 
 Less heed has been paid to the fact that, like Dryden's other 
 critical works, the Essay of Dramatic Poesy is an occasional pro- 
 duction, designed to justify its author's dramatic methods, and, 
 above all, his heroic plays. It contains three main lines of 
 argument : — 
 
 (1) Dryden himself tells us in his note To the Reader: "The 
 drift of the ensuing discourse was chiefly to vindicate the honor 
 of our English writers from the censure of those who unjustly 
 prefer the French before them." This he accomplishes by masterly 
 criticisms of Shakspere, Ben Jonson, and Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 In general, he dismisses the ancient theater as deserving only a 
 sentimental respect, and pronounces the English drama of his own 
 day equal or superior to the French, and inferior only to the 
 English "of the former age."^ 
 
 (2) In a less emphatic manner, Dryden defends the principles 
 of the French drama, as expounded in the Trois Discours' of Cor- 
 ncille, though he has scant respect for French practice. Like 
 Corneille, from whom he borrows many of his arguments, he 
 emphasizes, not the general spirit of this drama, but the "integrity 
 of scenes" and the minor unities of time and place. These rules 
 poets should observe as closely as is possible without bringing on 
 themselves "that dearth of plot, and narrowness of imagination, 
 which may be observed in all their [French] plays."^ Jonson in 
 The Silent ^Yoman has made a perfect comedy by combining ful- 
 ness of plot and variety of characters with an exact observance of 
 the dramatic rules. 
 
 In one important respect, however, Dryden takes without reserve 
 the side of the Elizabethan dramatists. He will not admit that 
 "compassion and mirth in the same subject destroy each other," 
 and concludes, "to the honor of our nation, that we have invented, 
 increas'd, and perfected a more pleasant way of writing for the 
 stage than was ever known to the ancients or moderns of any 
 nation, which is tragi-comedy."* 
 
 1. ' Ss. XV. 354. 
 
 2. Sur le Po^me Dramatique, 8ur la TragMie, Sitr les Trois Unites (1660). 
 
 3. Ss. XV. 339. 
 
 4. Ss. XV. 332. By tragi-comedy, as the context makes plain. Dryden under- 
 stands plays in which comic scenes are inserted in a tragic action ; such, for 
 example, as Hamlet and other tragedies of Shakspere. He seems never to 
 use the word In the sense defined by Fletcher in his preface to The Faithful Shep-
 
 DRYDExX AS DRAMATIST xxiii 
 
 In regard to the decorum of the stage, Dryden occupies a 
 safe middle ground. He condemns scenes of death on the stage, 
 but says finally: "If we are to be blam'd for showing too much 
 of the action, the French are as faulty for discovering too little of 
 it; a mean betwixt both should be observ'd by every judicious writer, 
 so as the audience may neither be left unsatisfied by not seeing 
 what is beautiful, or shocked by beholding what is either incredible 
 or undecent."^ 
 
 (3) Dryden's plea for tragi-comedy and his protest against 
 French decorum are really a defense of his own dramatic methods. 
 A long argument in support of rime in the drama, more detailed 
 than its predecessor in the dedication of The Rival Ladies, applies 
 directly to the heroic plays. The following synopsis does great 
 injustice to Dryden's urbanity. 
 
 (a) The usage of the English stage is, to be sure, in favor of 
 blank verse. But the English fathers of the drama have won such 
 distinction in it that their successors, to rival them, must choose 
 some new Avay of writing. Eime has shown its practical value by 
 the success of The Siege of Rhodes, Mustapha, TJie Indian Queen, 
 and The Indian Emperor. 
 
 (b) Some critics argue that since dialogue in a play is repre- 
 sented as the result of sudden thought, rime is unnatural in it : 
 that this artificiality is especially marked in speaking of common 
 things, as in bidding a servant shut a door ; or in scenes of repartee, 
 where the couplet is divided between two persons. But all these 
 arguments apply only against unskilful rimers, not against rime 
 itself. A skilful poet can make rimed verse appear as natural as 
 blank verse; he can use grand language even for commonplace 
 ideas. Finally, the beauty that rime adds to scenes of repartee 
 compensates for any increase in artificiality.- Eime is admittedly 
 improper for comedy, which is the imitation of common persons 
 and ordinary speaking. A serious play, however, "is indeed the rep- 
 resentation of nature, but 'tis nature wrought up to a higher pitch. 
 The plot, the characters, the wit, the passions, the descriptions, are 
 all exalted above the level' of common converse, as high as ihe 
 
 herdess: "A tragi-comedy is not so called in respect of mirtli and liillinc:. but in 
 respect it wants deaths, 'which is enough to make it no tragedy, yet brings some 
 near it, wliich is enough to make it no comedy, which must be a representation of 
 familiar people, with such kind of trouble as no life be (juestioned." Corneille's 
 Ciinia. with which Dryden must have been familiar, would conform to Fletcher's 
 definition. 
 
 1. Ss. XV. •S.'JS. Dryden's practice in The Indian Emperor does not wholly 
 accord with these principles. Deaths on the ttage are frequent, and the tortur- 
 ing of Montezuma (act v, sc. 2) is certainly "undecent." One scene (act ii, 
 sc. 4) represents a series of combats in tho course of a battle. 
 
 2. In the dedication of The Rival Ladies Drj'den had written : "In the 
 quickness ot repartees .... it [limc] has so particular a graee. and 
 Is so aptly suited to them, that the sudden smartness of the answer, and the 
 sweetness of the rime, set off the beauty of each other" (Ss. il. 137).
 
 jjiv INTEODUCTION 
 
 imagination of the poet can carry them, with proportion to veri- 
 simility. Tragedy, we know, is wont to image to us the minds and 
 fortunes of noble persons, and to portray tliese exactly ; heroic rime 
 is nearest nature,^ as being the noblest kind of modern verse."- 
 
 (c) Finally, rime is valuable as a check on "a wild overflowing 
 fancy-'^ in a poet; it makes him pause over his work and exercise 
 his judgment to the best advantage. This argument shows how 
 the rationalistic spirit of the time exercised its sway even over the 
 fantastic heroic plays. It indicates that Dryden will one day lay 
 aside his bombastic style and strive for an ideal of chastened 
 elegance. 
 
 In conclusion, we may say that Dryden, unlike Corneille and 
 Jonson, to whom he owes so many of his arguments, advocates 
 freedom in dramatic development instead of submission to 
 authority; the Elizabethans Avithout the law are justified by their 
 works; general progress in the drama, beyond anything yet accom- 
 plished by French or English authors, is at least not impossible. 
 
 The plays of Dryden that come between The Indian Emperor 
 and The Conquest of Granada may be dismissed in a few words. 
 Secret Love; or, The Maiden Queen (acted in March, 1667), is a 
 tragi-comedy of the same type as Marriage a la Mode. The serious 
 or "heroic" part of the play is based on an episode in Le Grand 
 Cyrus of Mile, de Scudery.^ Dryden probably had this play in 
 preparation when he wrote his defense of English tragi-comedy in 
 An Essay of Dramatic Poesy. Sir Martin Mar-All (acted in 
 August, i667) is an adaptation, only partly by Dryden, of Moliere's 
 L'Etourdi. The Tempest (acted in November, 1667) is a wretched 
 adaptation from Shakspere by Dryden and Davenant. An 
 Evening's Love (acted in June, 1668) is a comedy based on 
 Le Feint Astrologue of Thomas Corneille. Tyrannic Love (acted 
 in the spring of 1669) is a heroic play; the ranting of Maximin, 
 tyrant of Eome, rivals that of his greater successor, Almanzor. 
 
 The Conquest of Granada, a long play in two parts and ten 
 acts, was put on the stage early in 1670, and by its brilliant success 
 established Dryden's reputation as the foremost English dramatist 
 of his day. Since it is the most perfect example of the heroic 
 drama, it demands our careful attention. 
 
 The plot of The Conquest of Granada is composed of three 
 
 1. On the peculiar meanJngs of "nature" in Dryden and his contempo- 
 raries, see W. P. Ker. Essays of John Dryden, vol. 1, pp. xsiv-xxrl. Here 
 "nature" seems to be "the principles of sound reason in poetry." 
 
 2. Ss. XV. 3<50. 
 
 3. Ss. XV. 375. 
 
 4. The story of Phllocles in part ix. book 3. See A. TUchert, John Dryden 
 als Dramatiker in seinen Besiehungen zti Madeleine de Bendery's Bomandtchtung, 
 Zweibriicken, 1885.
 
 DRYDEN AS DRAMATIST xxr 
 
 parts, skilfully interwoven : first, the story of Almanzor, Almahide, 
 Boabdelin, and Abdalla ; second, that of Abdalla, Abdelmelech, and 
 Lyndaraxa; third, that of Osmyn, Benzayda, Abenamar, and Selin. 
 The first of these stories is drawn mainly from the Almahide (1660) 
 of Mile, de Sevidery, but owes some of its incidents to a Spanish 
 historical romance by Gines Perez de Hita, the Guerras Civiles de 
 Granada (1595-1604), which Dryden probably read in a French 
 translation.^ The second story is from Le Grand Cyrus (part ix, 
 book 1) ; and the third is from Ibrahim (part i, book 1, and part 
 iv, book 4). Furthermore, Dryden himself states that he has mod- 
 eled Almanzor upon the Achilles of Homer, the Einaldo of Tasso, 
 and upon Artaban, the hero of the Cleopdtre (1647) of La Cal- 
 prenede. Names, incidents, characterization, and sentiment, how- 
 ever freely manipulated by Dryden, all bear marks of their French 
 origin.- But the swift development of the play, and its loud, 
 tumultuous dialogue, remind us rather of Marlowe's Tamhurlaine 
 than of a leisurely court romance. Dryden compressed a compli- 
 cated action into limits prescribed by the length of a ten-act play, 
 and adapted his work to the tastes of an audience that wanted to 
 see something done on the stage, rather than to listen to long 
 speeches filled with delicate psychological analysis. 
 
 The contrast between The Conquest of Granada and a French 
 classical tragedy is still more marked. Dryden shows, to be sure, 
 some respect for the French rules. The time of action of each 
 part of The Conquest of Granada is within one day, and the 
 two parts are separated from each other by only one night. But 
 these two days are more full of stirring incidents than a month 
 of ordinary warfare.^ The place of action, again, never departs 
 from the immediate vicinity of Granada. The minor intrigues 
 are subordinate to the main plot, and assist its progress, so 
 that in a broad sense unity of action is preserved. "Integrity 
 of scenes," thougli not strictly observed, is not lost from sight.* 
 But the spirit of Dryden's hurried, complicated action, with its 
 frequent reversals of fortune, its drums and trumpets, its battles 
 
 1. See Tiichert, op. cit. There is no evidence that Dryden could read 
 Spanish. To be sure, Spence says, in his Anecdotes, that Bolingbroke told him 
 that Dryden asserted that he "got more from the Spanish critics alone, than 
 from the Italian and French, and all other critics put together." In reality 
 Dryden never even implies that he could read Spanish, never quotes a line of the 
 language, never gives evidence of having read any Spanish book not accessible 
 in an English or French translation. His only reference to a Spanish critic 
 Is ^n allusion, taken from Rapin, to the Arte Xucra of Lope de Vega. Sea 
 Dryden, A ParalleJ of Poetry ami Painting fSs. xvil. 316>. and Rapln. Reflexions 
 8ur la PoHique (Oeuvres, Amsterdam, 1709-10, vol. ii, pp. 93, 94.) 
 
 2. Tiichert, op. cit. 
 
 3. Dryden, following CornelUe's principle, gives few indications of the 
 time of action, so that this absurdity is not forced on the reader's attention. 
 
 4. To be exact, acts 1, 2 and" 3 of Part I are "unbroken," that is, the 
 liaison dea scdnes is exactly observed in them ; act 4 of Part I and act 1 of 
 Part II are broken once; act 5 of Part 1 and acts 2. 3 and 4 of Tart II are 
 broken twice; and act 5 of Part IT is broken three times.
 
 XX vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 and shoutings, is that of an early Elizabethan play, a chronicle 
 history or a tragedy of blood; and is essentially opposite to that 
 of a French classical tragedy, in which events, as such, count for 
 little, and the interest centers on the orderly development of a 
 psychological crisis. 
 
 In style The Conquest of Granada marks the culmination of 
 Dryden's*^ second poetic period, which is characterized by fluency 
 and bombast, Just as his early works, notably his youthful elegy 
 on Lord Hastings, had been disfigured by "metaphysical" conceits 
 of the school of Cowley. The following vaunt of Almanzor to his 
 beloved Almahide is a fair specimen of the tone of the play: 
 
 Born, as I am, still to command, not sue, 
 
 Yet you shall see that I can beg for you; 
 
 And if your father will require a crown, 
 
 Let him but name the kingdom, 'tis his own. 
 
 I am, but while 1 please, a private man; 
 ^ I have that soul wliich empires first began. 
 
 '^ From the dull crowd w^hich every king does lead 
 
 I will pick out whom I will choose to head: 
 
 The best and bravest souls I can select, 
 
 And on their conqner'd necks my throne erect.^ 
 
 More specifically, the play shows the love of argument in verse, 
 
 and the genius for it, which reached their highest point in Edigio 
 
 Laid and The Hind and the Panther. Two years before, Dryden 
 
 had written, "I am of opinion that they cannot be good poets, 
 
 who are not accustom'd to argue well f^ and in this play he shows 
 
 himself a poet after his own heart. "Witness the discussion between 
 
 Osmyn and Benzayda in Part 2, act III, scene ii; or, still better, 
 
 that between Almanzor and Lyndaraxa in the following scene. 
 
 In particular, Almanzor's couplet: 
 
 By reason man a godhead may discern, 
 
 But how he would be worship 'd cannot learn,^ 
 
 might be spoken by the "milk-white hind" herself. Though The 
 Conquest of Granada gives small scope for the powers of satire of 
 which Mr. Bayes boasts,* certain lines show the same talent for 
 epigrammatic expression that later triumphed in Absalom and 
 Achitophel. Thus: 
 
 A blush remains in a forgiven face: 
 
 It wears the silent tokens of disgrace. 
 
 Forgiveness to the injur 'd docs belong; 
 
 But they ne'er pardon who have done the wrong.' 
 
 1. Part 1; IV. ii. 471-480 (p. 57). 
 
 2. Defense of an Essay of Dramatic Poesy (Ss. ii. 303) ; of. The Rehearsal, 
 p. 400, 11. 1-18; p. 416. 11. 15-17. 
 
 3. Part 2; IV. iil. 120. 130 (p. 115). 
 
 4. But sec Part 2; I. Ii. 35-40 (p. 77), and note; cf. p. 426, I. 345. 
 
 5. Part 2; I. ii. 3-6 (p. 76),
 
 DEYDEN AS DRAMATIST xxvii 
 
 Finally, this play contains, amid much that offends our modorn 
 taste, many passages of true poetry, such as the song inserted in 
 the third act of Part 1, the farewell address of Almanzor to 
 Lyndaraxa at the close of the third act of Part 2, and Almanzor's 
 soliloquy at the opening of the lifth act of the same part/ 
 
 Since Dryden owed his greatest popularity as a dramatist to the 
 heroic plays, and specially to The Conquest of Granada, it is 
 necessary to consider carefully the characteristics of this lit- 
 erary type as developed by him. In the first place, though the 
 heroic plays are the most important serious dramas of the years 
 immediately following the Restoration, they are not tragedies in 
 any true sense of the term. Indeed Dryden does not often style 
 them such in his critical essays, and tlic name is by no means 
 universal on the title-pages of early editions.^ Dryden's dictum, 
 "that an heroic play ought to be an imitation, in little, of an heroic 
 poem ; and, consequently, that love and valor ought to be the suljject 
 of it,"^ indicates the distinguishing feature of these plays; they 
 are really narrative poems, of the artificial epic sort, cast in the 
 form of dialogue. No true dramatic conflict is to be found in them. 
 The plot has no organic relation with the characters; its develop- 
 ment is only a series of accidental happenings. Granting that 
 Dryden in The Conquest of Granada enlists our sympathy, he 
 arouses only admiration and wonder, not the true tragic passions 
 of pity and' fear.* Though deaths are frequent in the heroic plays, 
 the outcome, at least as regards the principal characters, is always 
 a happy one: the murders committed are only a more vigorous 
 punishment of vice than that usual in comedy.'^ Virtue is rewarded 
 and lovers are united in triumphant marriage. In a word, the 
 heroic plays are melodramas with a happy ending. 
 
 Love and valor are, as Dryden says, the controlling motives in 
 the heroic plays. Love is a sudden passion, which flashes up in a 
 moment, as in Almanzor at the first sight of Almahidc, or in Ben- 
 zayda at the spectacle of Osmyn's peril, and burns with a fierce 
 flame, hardly or not at all to be controlled. In man it is inspired 
 only by the beauty of woman; in woman, only by the valor of man." 
 
 1. Sec Saintsburv's note (Ss. iv. G6), and his comments in his introduction 
 to the play (Ss. iv. 7, "8, 10). « ^.. ^ . . 
 
 2. It does not occur, for example, on the title-pages of The Conquest of 
 Granada or The Indian Emperor; or on those of Crowne's Destruction of 
 Jerusalem, or his History of Charles the Eiiihth of France. 
 
 3. Essay of Heroic Plays, p. 8, 11. 33-35. 
 
 4. When in A Defense of an Essaii of Dramatic Poesy (Ss. 11. 302) Dryden 
 tells us that admiration is the delight of tragedy, as satire is of comedy, he is 
 probably thinking of his own heroic plays. ^ ^ j tu 
 
 5. St. Catherine, the heroine of Tyrannic Lore, to be sure, is put to death 
 by the tyrant Maximin, but she has such obvious "influence," in a personal way, 
 with the heavenlv powers, that further stay ou earth would be tiresome for her. 
 
 6. For an insignificant exception see the account of Alibech In the first 
 lines of footnote on p. xxix.
 
 jxviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 No hero ever praises the character of his beloved, not even her 
 maidenly modesty; no heroine is moved by the wisdom or moral 
 di<'-nity of her lover. Abdelmelech remains devoted to Lyndaraxa 
 lono- after he is convinced of her faithlessness and selfishness, and 
 frees himself from her only when her villainy has become so 
 apparent as to be almost ludicrous. Every warrior, whether villain 
 or hero, is brave; cowardice would be a comic trait, alien to the 
 exalted spirit of the heroic plays. Aside from love, honor, which 
 may be defined as an exaggerated fidelity to duty, whether to 
 faniilv, country, or one's own word, is the only passion that has 
 power over Dryden's heroes and heroines. Yet there is no real con- 
 flict between love and honor, as in the French tragedies. Dryden's 
 heroes always manage to remain faithful to both. Almanzor, who, 
 as a hero without country or family, is bound only by faithful- 
 ness to liis own nature, will not stoop to meanness or deceit in 
 pursuit of his love ; he triumphs because of his valor — and because 
 of the revelation of the secret of his birth. Osmyn, who strictly 
 observes his duty to his country and to his cruel father, still 
 manages to reconcile the dictates of honor with those of love. 
 Abdelmelech, one of the few exceptions to this rule, dies through 
 devotion to his country, rather than to a faithless mistress. In 
 general, the plots of Dryden's plays are so contrived that honor 
 imposes no fatal check on the progress of a worthy passion.^ 
 
 Fantastic as are the notions of love and honor in the heroic plays, 
 these emotions are yet real working principles in the lives of the 
 characters. A hero, like Osmyn or Abdelmelech, is ruled by fidelity 
 to home and country, which cooperates with love for a good woman, 
 or overcomes that for a bad one, as the case may be. A villain, 
 like Abdalla, strives only for his personal ends, which he will ad- 
 vance by any sort of perfidy. Lyndaraxa, the type of a bad woman, 
 makes even love the tool of her ambition. The heroine Benzayda, 
 like her lover Osmyn, refuses to let love extinguish all other nat- 
 ural feelings. Almahide will not retract a vow made under con- 
 straint, before she has seen Almanzor.^ 
 
 1. This of course is necessitated by the fact that the heroic plays always 
 have a happy ending. 
 
 2. Professor L. N. Chase, in his volume on Tlie English Heroic Play (New 
 York. 1903) denies that "the element of honor" was "either of great extent or 
 of vital nature" in the heroic plays (p. 122). As a proof he cites a speech of 
 the villain Zulema in The Conquest of Granada. (See p. 30, 11. 208-211.) 
 One might as well say that Falstaff's famous soliloquy proves that Shakspere 
 had no conception of honor ! Similar lines, which Professor Chase quotes from 
 The Indian Queen, are spoken by the wicked queen Zempoalla. (See Ss. li. 250.) 
 An exclamation of Cortez in The Indian Emperor is of more account : 
 
 Honor, be gone! what art thou but a breath? 
 ru live, proud of my Infamy and shame, 
 Grac'd with no triumph but a lover's name. 
 
 (Ss. ii. 348.) 
 
 Yet this is uttered in a burst of passion, and is not borne out by the subsequent 
 
 conduct of Cortez.
 
 DRYDEN AS DRAMATIST xxix 
 
 Yet this parade of heroic virtue, these panegyrics of love and 
 honor, are not altogether convincing. The flippant prologue and 
 epilogue to Part 1 and the prologue to Part 2 of The Conquest of 
 Granada show the low moral tone that is characteristic of Pestora- 
 tion comedy. Hints of the same indecent ribaldry appear beneath 
 the polished rhetoric of the play itself. Almanzor is meant to have 
 the sympathy of the audience when, in reply to Boabdelin's lament 
 at Almahide's supposed infidelity, he exclaims : 
 
 Your love and honor! Mine are ruin'd worse: 
 Furies and hell! What right have you to curse? 
 Dull husband as you are, 
 What can your love, or what your honor be? 
 I am her lover, and she 's false to me.' 
 
 Wedded love, indeed, finds neither respect nor sympathy in the 
 heroic plays. Boabdelin's diatribes against marriage reflect the 
 prevailing view.- Boabdelin himself is made quite as ludicrous, 
 though not in exactly the same way, as Don Gomez in The Spanish 
 Friar or Sir Paul Plyant in Congreve's Double-Dealcr. 
 
 Evidently these heroic plays will furnish no such variety of 
 characters as are found in Shakspere or even in Beaumont and 
 Fletcher. The field of observation has been restricted and the 
 motives underlying dramatic action have been simplified and con- 
 ventionalized. Yet the chief figures in The Conquest of Granada are 
 all well distinguished; and, once we have became accustomed to the 
 atmosphere of the play, we can follow their fortunes with interest. 
 In Selin and Abenamar Dryden even attempts to show development 
 
 Professor Chase further notes that Alibech in The Indian Emperor (Ss. ii. 
 S77) rejects Guyomar because he prefers to obey honor rather than her com- 
 mands. I!ut she has been urging him to disregard the strict laws of honor for 
 the salie of what she thinlis is the good of their country. Furtliermore, she a 
 moment later repents her hastiness and loves Guyomar the better for his dis- 
 obedience : 
 
 My inward choice was Guyomar tiefore. 
 But now Iiis virtue has confirm'd me more. 
 
 (Ss. il. .STn.) 
 
 Professor Chase even overstates (p. 124) Dryden's opposition to honor as a 
 code of laws for the conduct of gentlemen. He quotes Dryden as saying : "You 
 see how little . . . great authors . . esteem the point of honor, 
 
 so much magnified by the French, and so ridiculously ap'd by us" (An Essay 
 of Heroic I'laijs, p. 12). But Dryden writes ••these great authors," referring 
 to Homer, Iloiace. and Tasso. He is defending the impetuous insolence of 
 Almanzor to his superiors in social rank by the examples of Achilles and Hinaldo. 
 He continues: "They [Homer and Tasso] made their heroes men of honor: but 
 so as not to divest them quite of human passions and frailties." Anotlier 
 speech which Professor Chase quotes in support of his position Is by the devil's 
 advocate Dianet. in Aiircny-Zehr. arguing against the virtuous hero. (Sei' Ss. 
 ii. 237.) Professor Cliase is quite correct In saying that "that fine essence of 
 gentlemanhood by which the popular conception of cliivalry is hallowed" Is not 
 found in the heroic plays : but a certain Idea of honor does appear in them, and 
 one not wholly to be despised. Compare, for example, p. IIG, II. 191-195. 
 
 1. Part 2: IV. 111. 36r,-369 (n 120). 
 
 2. See pp. 79, 9.3. I am here indebted to Holzhausen in Enplischc 
 f<tudien, xvi, pp. 210-213, Hol/liauseirs three articles on "Dryden's Heroisches 
 Drama" (Eiii/lischr Stiidien. .\iii. 411-445; xv. i:!-.-.2; xvi. 201-229) give an 
 exhaustive arid an Interesting trralment of the subject. lOxceptlnti may be taken, 
 however, to some of his statements. Compare p. xlx. n. 2 ; p. xxxiv, n. 3.
 
 Ijcx INTRODUCTION 
 
 of character, Xevcrthcless, as we shall see more clearly later, 
 Dryden's fundamental weakness as a dramatist lies in his inability 
 to create really living human beings. 
 
 The heroic plays, the chief works of Dryden's early life, require 
 for their appreciation to-day, in a greater degree than Malory on 
 the one hand or Congreve on the other, an abnegation of our ordi- 
 nary modes of thought. To enjoy the Morte d' Arthur, we cast off 
 the shackles of our grown-up common sense, and fancy ourselves 
 once more among knights and fairies, magic swords and enchanted 
 castles. To relish The Way of the \Yorld, we must give over look- 
 ing for the expression of simple emotion, and imagine ourselves 
 members of a perverted society, in which inventiveness supplants 
 imagination and gallantry takes the place of love. The heroic 
 plays require us to make both concessions at once. The case is 
 somewhat similar with Dryden's version of The Knight's Tale 
 or Pope's translation of the Iliad, both of which apply an artificial 
 style — the phrase is unfortunate, but has become consecrated by 
 usage — to a subject marked by fresh, natural vigor and grace. 
 The heroic plays, however, go many steps further than the freest 
 of stilted translations. They treat ideas descended from old chiv- 
 alry in a diction permeated with the spirit of elaborate ceremonial 
 manners. 
 
 AVhen The Conquest of Granada was printed, in 1672, Dryden 
 published with it two important critical essays. An Essay of Heroic 
 Plays and An Essay on the Dramatic Poetry of the Last Age 
 (Defense of the Epilogue). The first of these has already fur- 
 nished much material for this study. At present it needs only to 
 be said that, instead of "trimming," as in An Essay of Dramatic 
 Poesy. Dryden here boldly defends the introduction of scenes of 
 tumult on the stage. And instead of giving a long argument for 
 the use of rime in the drama, he dismisses the subject in a few 
 words, laying stress on the practical success of the heroic couplet 
 and the exaltation of tone gained by it. Later he abandoned the 
 position that he here lakes so triumphantly. 
 
 At the present time we can see better than Dryden himself the 
 true meaning of this long controversy. The esthetic sense of the 
 English people has established blank verse as the proper medium 
 for En^rlish tragedy; it elevates the style without making it seem 
 artificial. But the heroic plays are not normal English tragedies; 
 in plot, character-drawing, and sentiment they are more conven- 
 tional than ordinary tragedy, and so require for their expression a 
 more artificial form of verse. They are analogous to the tragic 
 scene acted by the players in Hamlet, which is put into couplet 
 form, that it may be distinguished by its artificial manner from the 
 main body of the play. Dryden was correct in regarding the heroic
 
 DEYDEN AS DRAMATIST xxxl 
 
 couplet as the appropriate verse for his heroic plays ; he was equally 
 well-advised in discarding it when he ceased to write them. 
 
 The success of The Conquest of Granada had turned Dryden's 
 head. In the epilogue to the second part of the play he had 
 vaunted the progress in draniatic art and poetic style made by 
 himself and his fellow-dramatists over Jonson and the other 
 Elizabethans. The Defense of the Epilogue is an attempt to justify 
 this proud self-assertion. Dryden's attitude has entirely changed 
 since he wrote An Essay of Dramatic Foesy. There he had laid 
 stress on the greatness of Shakspere, Fletcher, and Jonson; here, 
 while admitting their merits, he devotes himself to picking flaws 
 in their work. All his judgments are those of a poet who finds his 
 ideal in the artificial "refinement" of the English court of 1670. 
 Dryden's pride was now at its height. It was soon to have a fall. 
 
 II. Because of their frequent exaggerations and absurdities, 
 the heroic plays were peculiarly exposed to satire and parody. The 
 attack came in the stinging farce of The Rehearsal. The occasion 
 of this piece is known only from a bookseller's Key, published in 
 1704, some forty years after the event.^ According to this Key, 
 George Yilliers, Duke of Buckingham, the favorite of Charles II, 
 was keenly impressed by the ludicrous side of the heroic plays on 
 their very first appearance; and, apparently in 1663, headed a 
 body of mockers at the performance of The United Kingdoms, by 
 Colonel Henry Howard, brother of the Sir Eobert Howard with 
 whom Dryden wrote The Indian Queen. A tumult followed, and 
 Buckingham barely escaped chastisement. In revenge, he wrote 
 The Rehearsal, of which, in the first draft, he apparently made 
 Davenant the hero.^ According to a contemporary satirist, he was 
 
 1. By S. Briscoe. For my information in roparfl to The Rehearsal I am 
 lndel)ted almost ontirely to the 'illustrative material collected by Professor Arber 
 for his excellent edition in the Emjlish Reprints. 
 
 2. Malone in his Life of Dnjdcn writes as follows: 
 
 "In the Key to this piece . . . we are told that it was written, and 
 ready for representation, before the middle of the year 16G5, and that Sir 
 Robert Howard, under tlie name of liilboa, was then intended to have been the 
 hero of the farce. That some interlude of this kind misht have been thus early 
 intended, is not at all impiobaliie; but assuredly the original hero was not 
 Howard, but D'Avenant : not only on account of the name of liUhoa, which 
 alludes to his militarv character, (for he was Lieutenant-General of the Ord- 
 nance under the Duke" of Newcastle, in the Civil Wars.) but from the circum- 
 stance of the patch that in the course of the drama he is obliged to wear on his 
 nose : which can relate to none but D'Avenant. Besides, he was a much more 
 distinguished character, not only as Poet Laureate, but as superintendent of the 
 Duke of York's Company of Comedians, and the intrciducer of heroick plays on 
 the I':n;,'lish sta.^'i'. The allusions to Sir Hobert Howard's tragedies are so few 
 and inconsiderable, that he never could have been the author's principal object" 
 (rrose Worku of John Driiden, I. i. 07, !>S). These arguments have been gener- 
 ally, and with good reason, accepted as sufficient to prove that Davenant was the 
 principal ol)ji'(t .,f attack in the (iist draft of The Rihaiixal. though traits of 
 Sir Robert Iloward and other dramatists mav have been worked into the portrait 
 of Bilboa. But Emil D<"ihler. in a dissertation entitled Dcr Arinnff (leorne 
 ViUieiK'n, IIeizo<is roii Hiiel:iii(/liniii . niif ilie Ileniixcheii Drameii uud Dicliter 
 Ensjlands im AT//, .hthrhundert ( Ilalle, 1S87 ; printed also in Anf/Ua, x. 3.S-7.')). 
 advances the thcorv that the original hero of The lieheamal was Col. Hcury
 
 xxxii INTEODUCTION 
 
 assisted In writing his play by his chaplain, Thomas Sprat, after- 
 wards Bishop of Rochester, and by Martin Clifford, afterwards 
 Master of the Charter-House.^ The Rehearsal was ready for 
 acting in 1665, when its performance was prevented by the Great 
 Plague. It was then laid by for several years, and was finally 
 produced, in a much modified form, in 1671.- Dryden was at that 
 time the most prominent writer of heroic plays, and so, under the 
 name of Bayes, received the post of hero made vacant by the death 
 of Davcnant in 1668. Certain traits of Davcnant were retained, 
 liowevcr, in the remodeled form of The Rehearsal, which was pub- 
 lished in 1672.^ Buckingham himself took pains to train Lacy, 
 the actor who took the part of Bayes.* 
 
 To-day the wit of The Rehearsal seems so unanswerable that we 
 inevitably overestimate its effect in Dryden's time. Clever as the 
 farce was, it could not, and did not, overthrow an established repu- 
 tation. Just as we ourselves can enjoy Calverley's parodies of 
 Browning without one whit abating our admiration of their original, 
 so "gentlemen of wit and sense" in the seventeenth century could 
 laugh at Drawcansir and applaud Almanzor. 
 
 Dryden was wise enough not to attempt an immediate reply to 
 
 Howard, the author of The United Kinr/doms. (See note to The Rehearsal, 
 p. 411, 1. 5.) He thinks that Buckingham, out of personal spite, would be 
 sure to make this author the principal object of his satire. He further notes 
 that, according to the Key, the funeral scene in The Rehearsal, and the two 
 Kings of Brentford, are parodies of The United Kinr/doms. Finally, he con- 
 jectures that the Key may have identified Bilboa with Sir Robert Floward through 
 a confusion with his brother. Col. Henry Howard. These arguments against 
 Malone seem to me of no weight whatever. 
 
 Baker's Biographia Dramatica, Scott (Ss. i. 115), and A. H. Bullen (in 
 Dietionanj of National Bioyraphy) attribute The United Kingdoms not to Col. 
 Henry Howard, who is otherwise unknown as a dramatist, but to a third brother, 
 the Hon. Edward Howard, who is known as the author of a few inferior plays, 
 and who is also mentioned in the Kei/ as an object of Buckingham's satire. (See 
 notes to The Rehearsal, p. 390, 11. 61, G2 and p. 404, 1. 53. Bullen calls 
 the play The United Kingdom.) I can find no contemporary warrant for this 
 statement. Buckingham must have had a grudge against the whole Howard 
 family, for he attacks still a fourth brother, the Hon. James Howard (see note to 
 The Rehearsal, p. 408, 1. 146). 
 
 1. See a lampoon On the Duke of Bucks, wrongly ascribed to Dryden, in 
 Poems on AtJairs of State, 170:?, vol. ii, pp. 216-218 (quoted hv Malone, I. i. 
 95-07K The preface to the edition of Waller's poems published in 1711 adds 
 Waller and Cowley to the list of collaborators, and Wood (Athenw Oxonienses, 
 1721. vol. ii. col. 804) adds Samuel Butler, the author of Hudibras. Whether 
 Butler was a contributor to 77/e Rehearsal or not, he gives a clever parody of 
 the heroic manner of Dryden and other dramatists in his poem, Repartees 
 between Cat and Puss at a Catericaiiling. 
 
 2. The long time spent on The Rehearsal is ridiculed in the lampoon just 
 referred to. See also the last quotation in note 3, on p. xxxiii. 
 
 3. The second edition of The Rchrarsat has not been accessible to me. The 
 third edition (1075) contains, as the title-page states, "amendments and large 
 additions by the author." Tliesp have been duly recorded in the notes to the 
 present volume: they cast new ridicule on Dryden and his writings. A collation 
 of the sixth edition (1692) shows that it agrees with the third, from which it 
 varies only in spellin<r, punct\iation, and some insignificant details due to the 
 printer rather than to the author. This revised text is printed, with similar 
 unessential variations, in the collected edition of Buckingham's works, 1775. 
 
 4. We know from Downes that Lacy created the part of Bayes. The story 
 of Buckingham's training him is given on the authority of Dr. Lockier, Dean of 
 Peterborough, in Spcnce's Anecdotes.
 
 DEYDEN AS DEAMATIST xxxiii 
 
 Buckingham's attack on him. More than twenty years later he 
 says: "I answer'd not The Rehearsal, because I knew the author 
 sate to himself when he drew the picture, and was the very 
 Bayes of his own farce."^ In the critical essays published with 
 The Conquest of Granada in 1672 Dryden certainly makes no 
 allusion to the attack on him. He even seems determined, as we 
 shall see from the following passage, to show generosity by return- 
 ing good for evil. "Fletcher's Don John is our [modern dramatists'] 
 only bugbear; and yet I may affirm, without suspicion of flattery, 
 that he now speaks better, and that his character is maintain'd with 
 much more vigor in the fourth and fifth acts than it was by Fletcher 
 in the three former."- This is a direct compliment to Bucking- 
 ham's alteration of Fletcher's The Chances. Nine years later, in 
 1681, when Buckingham had long been out of favor with the Court, 
 Dryden laid aside his air of magnanimity, and, by the portrait of 
 Zimri in Absalom and Acliitophcl, repaid old scores with interest.^ 
 One definite effect on Dryden's work has been ascribed to the 
 influence of Buckingham's ridicule. The episode of Prince Pretty- 
 man in The Rehearsal certainly ridicules the tragic underplot of 
 Dryden's Marriage a la Mode.^ Now this play was not acted until 
 May, 1672, and was first printed in 1673, while Buckingham's farce 
 was first performed on December 7, 1671.^ Hence we must suppose 
 that Dryden's play was handed about for some time in manuscript 
 
 1. See Discourse Concerning Satire, 1692 (Ss. xiii. 9). In The Vindication 
 of the Duke of Ouise, 1(183, there is a somewhat similar passage : "Much less 
 am I concern'd at the noble name of Bayes; that is a hrat so like his own father, 
 that he cannot he mistaken for any other body" (Ss. vii. 17.5). 
 
 2. Defense of the Epilogue of The Conquest of Oranada, p. 145. 
 
 .S. For the sake of completeness, I here add a chronological list of 
 Dryden's other references to The Rehearsal : — 
 
 1G74. Aotcs and Observations on The Empress of Morocco. The phrase 
 "trans-prose his verse" (Ss. xv. 403) is due to The Rehearsal (p. 31). This 
 passage is not certainly by Dryden himself. See p. xxxvl. 
 
 1678. The epilogue to All for Lore contains a good-humored reference to 
 Mr. Bayes. 
 
 1679. The preface to (Edipus refers with equal good humor to "his other 
 King of Brentford" (Ss. vi. 132). 
 
 1683. In The Vindication of Thr Duke of Ouise Dryden refers to his title 
 of Bayes (Ss. vii. 179). Compare note 1 above. 
 
 1686. Dryden's Letter to Sir Qcorge Etherege closes with the lines : 
 
 If Gallic wit convince you scarce. 
 His Grace of Bucks has made a farce. 
 And you, whose comic wit is terse all. 
 Can hardly fall below Rehearsal. 
 Then linisb what you have began. 
 But scribble faster if you can ; 
 For yet no George, to our discerning, 
 Has writ without a ten years' warnini;. 
 
 (Ss. xl. 44, 45.) 
 
 For the portrait of Zimri see Ahsalom and Achitophcl. 543-508 (Ss. Ix. 2.%7- 
 202). In his Discourse concerning Satire (Ss. xiil. 99), Dryden commends 
 this bit of his own work. 
 
 4. See The Rehearsal, p. 401, 1. 30, and note ; pp. 406-408. 
 
 5. Athcnw Oxonicnscs, 1721 ; vol. ii, col. 804.
 
 xxxiv IKTRODUCTION 
 
 before it "vras put upon the stage.^ Like The Maiden Queen, 
 Marriage a la Mode is a tragi-comedy, but it is a better play, par- 
 ticularly in the comic scenes. Scott says of it : 
 
 "The state-intrigue bears evident marks of hurry and inatten- 
 tion ; and it is at least possible that Dryden originally intended it 
 for the subject of a proper heroic play, but, startled at the effect 
 of Buckingham's satire, hastily added to it some comic scenes, 
 either lying by him, or composed on purpose. The higher or tragic 
 plot is not only grossly inartificial and improbable, but its incidents 
 are so perplexed and obscure, that it would have required much 
 more action to detail them intelligibl3% Even the language has an 
 abridged appearance, and favors the idea that the tragic intrigue 
 was to have been extended into a proper heroic play, instead of 
 occupying a spare corner in a comedy. But to make amends, the 
 comic scenes are executed with spirit, and in a style resembling 
 those in The Maiden Queen j""^ 
 
 Of course this supposition cannot be proved, and in itself it is 
 far from convincing.^ If it were true, we should expect the comic 
 scenes, "hastily added" to the play by the author, to be "perplexed 
 and obscure," rather than the tragic plot, the effect of which he 
 had ample time to consider, even though he was obliged to develop 
 it in less space than he originally intended to devote to it ; and, on 
 revising his work, Dryden Avould hardly have left unchanged the 
 very incident that aroused Buckingham's ridicule. As he wrote 
 The Maiden Queen, a tragi-comedy, immediately after The Indian 
 Emperor, so he may have intended to follow The Conquest of 
 Granada by a second tragi-comedy. Marriage a la Mode, of which 
 the completion or production may have been hindered by causes 
 unknown to-day. It is thus needless to assume that The Rehearsal 
 had any influence whatever on Dryden's dramatic work. 
 
 "Whatever its genesis may have been. Marriage a la Mode is 
 important as the liveliest and most entertaining of Dryden's 
 comedies. It is his most successful attempt at the comedy of 
 manners, which was being developed at this very time by Wycherley, 
 and which later reached perfection in the works of Congreve.* 
 
 1. In his dedication, Dryden tells us that Rochester saw Marriaqe & la Mode 
 In cianuscrlpt, made suggestions for its revision, and showed it to King Charles, 
 thereby airtins: in its kind reception at the theater later on. So it is natural 
 enough that Hucklneham and his collaborators should learn of the general char- 
 acter of the play. 
 
 2. Ss. I. 122. The state-intrigue is taken from Le Grand Ci/run. part iv. 
 book 2. See Tiicheri:, pp. 34-42. We have here one more indication of the 
 Indebtedness of the heroic plays to the French romances. 
 
 3. Holzhausen (En<jli.sche Studien, xiil. 436) accepts Scott's conjectura 
 as intrinsically probable. 
 
 4. Wycherley's four plays come in the years 1672-76 (see article by 
 Churchill, in Modern PhVo^oay, iv. 381-388) ; Congreve's come from 1693 to 1700.
 
 DRYDEN AS DRAMATIST xxxv 
 
 Dryden's Melantha is, as Saintsbury says,^ a predecessor of Con- 
 greve's Millamant; and her character still shines with true comic 
 charm. Though much indecency disfigures the play, it is rather 
 superficial grossness than the deep-seated corruption of Wycherley. 
 Dryden's characters are at least not heartless. The loose tone of 
 the comic scenes in Marriage a la Mode is made more repellent, 
 however, by the inflated sentiment and exaggerated virtue of the 
 heroic portion of the play. These sharp contrasts injure the value 
 of Marriage a la Mode as a work of art, and are a clear indication 
 of the essential insincerity of the entire heroic drama. 
 
 Two wretched plays, a comedy, The Assignation, and a tragedy, 
 Amhoyna, followed Marriage a la Mode. They are hack work, of 
 which no discussion is necessary here. 
 
 More efl'ectual than The Rehearsal in abating Dryden's enthu- 
 siasm for the heroic plays were, in all probability, certain formal 
 critical works published in France and England soon after The 
 Conquest of Granada; and, above all, a quarrel in which he foolishly 
 engaged with the young dramatist, Elkanah Settle, who at that 
 time seemed likely to be a rival of his own fame. 
 
 Elkanah Settle, born in 1648, had already, in 1666, gained a 
 certain reputation by his tragedy of Camhyses. He now came 
 forward with a new play. The Empress of Morocco which, through 
 the patronage of the Earl of Norwich, to whom the poet dedicated 
 it on its publication in 1673,- was first performed at Court, by a 
 company of ladies and gentlemen. The prologue for the first repre- 
 sentation was written by Lord Mulgrave, and that for the second 
 by Lord Rochester, both of them patrons of Dryden.^ The play 
 
 1. Ss. iv. 2.-11. 
 
 2. Wood {Ath. Oxotu. 1721, vol. ii, col. 107G) states that The Empress of 
 Morocco was first printed in 1G71. But I can find no other independent state- 
 ment that the play was published l:)efore the appearance of the illustrated edition 
 in 107."!, which is the first mentioned in the Term Catalof/ties (ed. Arber). The 
 title of Dryden's attaclc on the play indicates that he regarded the 1673 edition, 
 with "sculjjtures," as the first. Wood's assertion is probably a simple blunder. 
 
 3. Malone (I. i. 124-12()), who apparently had not consulted the early 
 copies of The Empress of Morocco, seizes on a statement by Dennis that Rochester 
 wrote the prologue when Settle's play was acted at Whitehall, and asserts that 
 Rochester introd'iced Si ttle at Court "'as a rival, if not superior poet" to Dryden. 
 Scott (Ss. i. l.-)0) and Bel.iame (Le Public et les Homines iJc Lettres en Anylctcrre, 
 p. 07) somewhat uncritically accept Malone's theory. But Settle's own state- 
 ment that The Empress of Morocco owed its performance at Court to the Karl 
 of Norwich settles the question : "You gave it a noble education, when you bred 
 It up amonKst princes, presented it in a court theater, and l)y persons of such 
 birth and honor that they borrowed no greatness from the characters they 
 acted." Dryden's language in his ^'o^e8 and Observations (Ss. xv. 30i) makes 
 it plain that the court performances preceded the public representation. 
 Malone, Scott, and Beljame proceed to say that Rochester then became 
 jealous of Settle's prosperity, and, to spite both him and Dryden. in lt;7o 
 advanced Crowne's masque of (.'alisto to the honor of a court performance. This 
 statement rests on the doubtful authority of Dennis {Original Letters, 1(21, 
 p. 49) and St. Evreniond [ '.'J {Letter to the Duchess of Maznrin. prefaced to 
 Rochester's Works. 17ii!». referred to bv Beljame). Crowne had dedicated his 
 Charles the Eighth to Rochester in lt)72, so that a kindness shown him by that 
 nobleman three years later would simply imply a continuance of his favor, not 
 a desire to insult other poets. In Miscellany Poems, 1GS4, edited by Dryden,
 
 ZZZVl 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 was then transferred to the public theater; when piiblishod, it was 
 adorned with engravings, or "sculptures," as the title-page terms 
 them, then first used in a printed drama; and was sold for two 
 shillings, double the ordinary price. In his dedication Settle 
 inserted the following passage, which was clearly aimed at Dryden's 
 Conquest of Granada and his Essay of Dramatic Poesy : 
 
 "The poet . . . picks out a person of honor, tells him he 
 has a great deal of wit, gives us an account who writ sense in the 
 last age, supposing we cannot be ignorant who writes it in this; 
 disputes the nature of verse, answers a cavil or two, quibbles upon 
 the Court, huffs the critics, and the work's done. 'Tis not to be 
 imagined how far a sheet of this goes to make a bookseller rich, 
 and a poet famous. 
 
 "But, my Lord, whilst I trouble you with this kind of discourse, 
 I beg you would not think I design to give rules to the press, as 
 some of our tribe have done to the stage ; or that I find fault with 
 their dedications, in compliment to my own. No, that's a trick I 
 do not pretend to." 
 
 The poet laureate had good reason to feel aggrieved and in- 
 sulted. To revenge himself he wrote, in partnership with Crowne 
 and Shadwell, a pamphlet, published anonymously in 1674, entitled 
 Notes and Observations on The Empress of Morocco; or, Some few 
 Erratas to be printed instead of the Sculptures with the Second 
 Edition of that Play, and with the familiar motto, from Juvenal, 
 Nunquamne reponam, Vexatus toties rauci Theseide Codri?^ As 
 this work was a Joint production, we cannot be sure that Dryden 
 wrote any particular part of it; but, as he undoubtedly read and 
 approved the whole, the question is of little moment ; we may regard 
 the opinions and general temper of the pamphlet as Dryden's own. 
 
 occurs an anonymous Epilogue Intended to have been spoken iy the Ladi/ Ilenr. 
 Mar. Wcntuorth, uhen Calisto was acted at Court. In the third edition of this 
 book. In 1702. Dryden's name is attached to this piece. Malone (I. 1. 129) 
 treats the eplloguo as unquestionably authentic and conjectures that it was 
 rejected by Rochester's interference. In Scott and Beljame, Malone's guess be- 
 comes a positive statement. 
 
 A further assertion by Scott and Beljame, that Rochester deserted Crowne 
 in favor of Otway, is apparently supported only by the author of the Letter to 
 the Duchess of Mazarin (St. Evremond ?) prefaced to Curll's collection of 
 Rochester's Works, 1709. (See Beljame, op. cit.. p. 104.) Dennis, in the letter 
 referred to above, says nothing about the matter. The fact that Rochester 
 patronized Otway does not in itself indicate that he deserted other poets. 
 
 At a later time, probably in 1677 or 1678, Rochester attacked all four poets 
 In his Allusion to the Tenth Satire of the First Book of Horace, and Dryden 
 made a spirited reply in his preface to All for Love, published in 1678. (Sec 
 notes, pp. 446, 447.) Dennis, St. Evremond (?) and modern writers following 
 them, have apparently no warrant for transferring this quarrel to an earlier date. 
 Christie (Globe edition of Dryden, p. 429) partially corrects his predecessors. 
 ,__ 1- Crowne, in his "epistle" before Cnligula {Works, Edinburgh and London, 
 1874, iv. 35.3) claims above three-fourths of this pamphlet as his own. The 
 ascription of a share in it to Dryden and Shadwell rests on Settle's own state- 
 ment in his reply; .see Malone. II. 273. Settle probably had good reasons for 
 his statement, though at this date It is hard to see hov/ Shadwell was Involved. 
 Settle makes Dryden the principal author.
 
 DRYDEN AS DRAMATIST xxxvii 
 
 Stung to the quick, Dryden forgets his customary urbanity, and 
 assails Settle with coarse abuse: 
 
 "When I first saw The Empress of Morocco," he begins, "tho' 
 I found it then to be a rhapsody of nonsense, I was very well con- 
 tented to have let it pass, that the reputation of a new author might 
 not be wholly damn'd." 
 
 Soon he warms up to his subject : 
 
 "Never did I see such a confus'd heap of false grammar, im- 
 proper English, strain'd hyperboles, and downright bulls. His 
 plot is incoherent and full of absurdities, and the characters of his 
 persons so ill chosen, that they are all either knaves or fools; only 
 his knaves are fools into the bargain, and so must be of necessity, 
 while they are in his management. ... In short, he's an 
 animal of a most deplor'd understanding, without reading and con- 
 versation ; his being is in a twilight of sense, and some glimmering 
 of thought, which he can never fashion either into wit or English. 
 His style is boisterous and rough-hewcn; his rime incorrigibly lewd, 
 and his numbers perpetually harsh and ill-sounding." 
 
 After some pages of such polemic, the pamphlet gives minute 
 criticisms of single passages from Settle. Tlijis on the line: "As 
 men in incense send up vows to heaven," Dryden remarks: "As 
 if incense could carry up thoughts, or a thought go up in smoke; 
 he may as well say, he will roast or bake thoughts, as smoke them."^ 
 
 That Dryden felt such raillery to be beneath his dignity is clear 
 from the anonymity of the scurrilous pamphlet. But the attack 
 was worse than undignified ; it was unskilful, giving Settle an 
 opportunity for retort of which he availed himself immediately. 
 His rejoinder, published in 1674, was, to use Scott's phrase,- "con- 
 tumaciously entitled": Notes and Observations on The Empress 
 of Morocco, revised, with some few erratas; to he printed instead of 
 the Postscript with the next edition of The Conquest of Granada.^ 
 
 Settle begins with insults like those of his antagonists: "With 
 very little conjuration, by those three remarkable qualities of rail- 
 ing, boasting, and thieving, I found a Dryden in the frontispiece." 
 He then proceeds to analyze passages from The Conquest of 
 Granada, and has no trouble in finding there quite as great absurdi- 
 ties as Dryden could discover in The Empress of Morocco. Thus 
 he cites Almanzor's bombastic lines: 
 
 If I would kill thee now, thy fate 's so low, 
 That I must stoop ere I can give the blow: 
 
 1. Notes and Observations on The Empress of Moroccc, p. IG. 
 
 2. Ss. 1. 161. 
 
 3. In 1G87 Settle reprinted this pamphlet under the title, licfleclions on 
 several of Mr. Dryden's I'lays, particularly the fir>it and sccund part of The 
 Conquest of Granada [sic].
 
 jjj^iii FNTKODUCTION 
 
 But mine is fix'd so far above thy crown, 
 
 That all thy men, 
 
 Pil'd on thy back, can never pull it down.* 
 
 On this he comments: 
 
 "Xow where that is, Almanzor's fate is fixed, I caiinot guess: 
 but, wherever 'tis, I believe Almanzor, and think tJiat all Abdalla's 
 subjects, piled upon one another, might not pull down his fate so 
 well as without piling; besides, I think Abdalhi so wise a man, that 
 if Almanzor had told him piling his men upon his back might do 
 the feat, he Avould scarce bear such a weight, for the pleasure of the 
 exploit. But 'tis a huff, and let Abdalla do it if he dare."^ 
 
 Evidently such comparisons of foolish passages would do more 
 harm to the'^greater writer. Dryden's play differs from Settle's in 
 that it atones for its bombast by its genuine poetic beauty, so that 
 it may still be read with pleasure as a piece of pseudo-romantic 
 poetry, if one may use the expression. But this distinction must be 
 felt in the play as a whole ; it cannot be proved by captious analysis 
 of single lines."^ "Dryden gained no more by his dispute-with Settle," 
 to quote Scott once more, "than a well-dressed man who should 
 condescend to wrestle with a chimney-sweeper."^ 
 
 Dryden apparently accepted his defeat in silence; he certainly 
 made no open reply before 1682, when, in the second part of 
 Absalom and Achitophel, he conferred an unpleasant immortality 
 upon Settle under the name of Doeg.* But Settle must have been 
 chief among the captious critics to whom he alludes condescendingly 
 in his Apology for Heroic Poetry and Poetic License, a critical 
 essay which he prefixed to his opera The State of Innocence, a 
 dramatized version of certain incidents from Milton's Paradise Lost. 
 The date of publication of this book is not quite certain, but it was 
 probably early in 1677.' 
 
 1. The Conquest of Granada. Part 1, III. 510-514 (p. 44). 
 
 2. Settle, Reflections, etc., 1687, p. 78. Some other comments by Settle 
 are given in the notes to The Conquest of Granada (pp. 4:56. 4.S7). For an account 
 of other attacks on The Conquest of Granada than those of Buckingham and 
 Settle, see Scott's Life of Dryden (Ss. i. l.'iO-l.^S) . Dryden refers contemptuously 
 to two of them in his dedication of The Assir/nation (1673). Ss. iv. ,375. 876. 
 The notes to The Conquest of Granada (pp. 4:55. 4:>8. 440) give some references 
 to The Censure of the Rota on Mr. Driden's Conquest of Granada [by Richard 
 Leigh], Oxford. 167:5, a piece the little humor of which consists in showing that 
 Dryden himself committed the same faults that he censures in his Defense of the 
 Ep'ilof/ue. An extract from ^otes upon Mr. Dryden's Poems, in Four Letters, 
 by Martin Clifford. London, 1687. is given below (p. liii, note 1). In 1730 
 Fielding included The Conquest of Granada and other plays by Dryden among 
 the pieces which he ridiculed in his Tragedy of Tragedies; or. The Life and 
 Death of Tom Thumb the Great; see Notes, p, 440. 
 
 3. Ss. i. 161. 
 
 4. Absalom and Aehitophel, part 11, 11. 412-456: Ss. ix. 355-362. 
 
 5. Malone (I. ii. '.','.)'>) and Saintshury (Ss. v. 04) date the first publication 
 of The State of Innocence in 1674. In that case it must have appeared late In 
 the vear, as the .\pologq refers to the death of Milton, which occurred on Novem- 
 ber 8. On the other hand Professor Ker writes: "The State of Innocence Is 
 said bv some authors to have been published in 1674, but I cannot find this 
 edition. The book was entered at Stationers' Hall in 1674 (Masson's Life of 
 Milton, vi. 710) ; it is recorded as a new book in the Catalogue for Hilary Term,
 
 DKYDEN AS DRAMATIST xxxix 
 
 In 1674 two important critical works appeared in France: 
 Boileau's translation of the treatise On the Sublime attributed to 
 Longinus, and Eapin's Reflexions sur la Poetique. Both books 
 were immediately recognized as authorities in critical litera- 
 ture, and both contained critical dicta helpful to Dryden in his 
 time of need. Eapin declaims against the affected purism of his 
 French contemporaries. Longinus dwells continually on the dis- 
 tinction between true sublimity and what Dryden would call "a 
 bladdered greatness."^ Upon Longinus and Rapin, therefore, 
 Dryden bases much of his reasoning in his Apology for Heroic 
 Poetry and Poetic License. 
 
 In this Apology, after an eloquent tribute to the departed 
 Milton, Dryden defends the dignity of heroic poetry against the 
 assaults of quibbling critics. He thus magnanimously exalts the 
 reputation of a great poet of a different poetical and political faith. 
 He supports himself at every step by citations from authorities, and 
 refrains from any personal charges or recriminations. But, know- 
 ing the circumstances under which the Apology was published, we 
 can read in each page a covert attack on the miserable Settle and 
 his fellow-railers,^ whom Dryden scorns to mention by name. 
 Defeated in a contest of mud-slinging, Dryden assumes the tone of 
 a dignified, high-minded man of letters: 
 
 "We are fallen into an age of illiterate, censorious, and detract- 
 ing people, who, thus qualitied, set up for critics. 
 
 "In the first place, I must take leave to tell them, that they 
 wholly mistake the nature of criticism who think its business is 
 principally to find fault. ... If the design, the conduct, the 
 thoughts, and the expressions of a poem, be generally such as 
 proceed from a true genius of poetry, the critic ought to pass his 
 judgment in favor of the author. It is malicious and unmanly to 
 snarl at the little lapses of a pen, from which Virgil himself stands 
 not exempted. . . . Longinus, who was undoubtedly, after 
 Aristotle, the greatest critic amongst the Greeks, in his twenty- 
 seventh chapter IIEPI Y^OYS has judiciously preferr'd the sublime 
 genius that sometimes errs, to the middling or inditferent one, 
 
 1676 (i. e. 1676-7) ; the earliest copy in the British Museum Is dated 1677" 
 (Essayfi of .John Dryden, i. ol.'i). The omission of tlie book in the Term Cata- 
 logues for 1674 is an important piece of negative evidence, though not absolutely 
 conclusive : the lirst edition of All for Lore, for example, is not recorded In 
 them. Mr. \\. 11. llagcn. of New York, writes me that after a careful search 
 for the 1674 edition, he has become convinced that it does not exist. The whole 
 question is discussed in an article by I'rofessor G. B. Churchill, "The Relation 
 of Dryden's IState of Innocence to Milton's Paradise Lost and Wycherley's Plain 
 Dealer," in Modern I'hitoloijy, iv. 381-3S8. 
 
 1. See Dedication of the /Eneis (Ss. xiv. 216). 
 
 2. Dryden's words apply to Leiph and his other critics as well as to Settle, 
 but probabiv S(>ttle"s satire "had wounded him most. It Is of course possible 
 that he is thinking, not of Settle and other critics of The Conquest of Granada, 
 but only of coffee-house wits who had orally attacked The tStatc of Innocence. 
 But this Bcems unlikely.
 
 xl INTK0DT5CTI0N 
 
 Avliich makes few faults, but seldom or never rises to any excel- 
 lence."^ 
 
 ''I wish I could produce any one example of excellent imaging 
 in all this poem. Perliaps I cannot; but that which comes nearest 
 it, is iu these four lines, whicli have been sufficiently canvass'd by 
 my well-natur'd censors: 
 
 • Seraph and cherub, careless of their charge, 
 And wanton, in full ease now live at large: 
 Unguarded leave the passes of the sky, 
 And all dissolv'd in hallelujahs lie. 
 
 " 'I have heard,' says one of them, 'of anchovies dissolv'd in 
 sauce; but never of an angel in hallelujahs.'^ A mighty witticism! 
 (if you will pardon a new word,) but there is some difference 
 between a laugher and a critic. He might have burlesqued Virgil 
 too, from whom I took the image. Invadunt urhem, somno vinoque 
 sepultarn. A city's being buried, is just as proper on occasion, as 
 an angel's being dissolv'd in ease and songs of triumph."^ 
 
 To a rebuke expressed in this lofty, temperate, impersonal tone 
 Settle could make no rejoinder without becoming ridiculous.* Yet 
 Dryden, despite the dignified manner which he was able to assume, 
 must have been sorely shaken by the miserable quarrel in which he 
 had engaged. Settle's success with a drama in which the most 
 ludicrous features of the heroic plays were present in an exaggerated 
 form, would do far more than The Rehearsal to disgust him with 
 the whole type. And however much Dryden might try to find 
 comfort in Eapin and in Boileau's Longinus, the general tenor of 
 those critics' writings was opposed to the swelling style and extrava- 
 gant plots of the heroic plays. Dryden may also have been in- 
 fluenced by Boileau's Art Poetique, published in 1674, although he 
 does not refer to it until a later period.^ The whole drift of con- 
 temporary French criticism, for which Dryden, from the logical 
 temper of his mind, had a sincere admiration, was towards a 
 temperate, reserved, dignified, and chastened style, such as he later 
 
 1. Ss. V. 112, 113. 
 
 2. Dryden here evidently rebukes some coffee-house critic of The State of 
 Innocence. 
 
 3. Ss. V. 121, 122. 
 
 4. Settle made no furthor attack on Dryden until after the publication of 
 Ahsalom and Achitophel, to which he foolishly replied with his Absalom Senior; 
 or, Achitophel Trannpros'd. For this worthless satire Dryden gave him deserved 
 chastisement ; see p. xxxvili. 
 
 5. Tonson states that Dryden revised a translation of Boileau's Art 
 Poetique, made by Sir William Soame in 1680, and published in 1683; see Ss. xv. 
 223. Dryden's first direct allusion to the Art Poitique seems to be in the 
 Dincmirse concerninfi f^alire, 1602 (Ss. xiii. 22). A similar passage occurs in a 
 letter to Dennis, 1604 (Ss. xviii. 116). In the Apology fw Heroic Poetry 
 Dryden groups Boileau with Rapin as a great critic, but does not refer to any 
 particular work (Ss. v. 115). In the preface to Troilus and Cre8sid<i (1679) 
 he seems to have borrowed from the Art Po6tique without specific acknowl- 
 edgement ; see p. 1.
 
 DEYDEN AS DRAMATIST xli 
 
 attained in All for Love, in his translation of Virgil, and in his 
 Fables. 
 
 It is then no wonder that Dryden produced no new acting drama 
 during the year 16 T4, He was probably dissatisfied with the plays 
 that had brought him temporary fame/ and harassed by mournful 
 reflections on the fickleness of court and popular favor. Yet he 
 must have felt it pusillanimous entirely to abandon the stage, and, 
 more especially, his beloved heroic plays. By doing so he would 
 have confessed defeat. Hence, rousing himself once more to work, 
 in 1675 Dryden produced Aureng-Zehe, his last rimed tragedy.^ 
 
 Though at first sight similar to The Conquest of Granada, 
 Aurcng-Zehe is in many ways sharply distinguished from its 
 "heroic" predecessors. The plot is simpler, the ciiaracters more 
 plausible, the dialogue "often domestic, and therefore susceptible 
 of sentiments accommodated to familiar incidents."^ Drvden has 
 entirely altered the historic events that form the background of his 
 play, and has constructed a plot resembling that of the Mithridate 
 of Kacine.* The adoption of liacine for a model was certainly not 
 without its effect. As Scott remarks, "there is a grave and moral 
 turn in many of the speeches, which brings it nearer the style of a 
 French tragedy."^ The unities of time and place are closely 
 observed, and the subordinate actions are subservient and helpful 
 to the main interest. Though some deaths occur on the stage, 
 tumult is in the main avoided. On the whole, Aurcng-Zehe is, so 
 far as form is concerned, a compromise between the heroic plays 
 and the classic French model. But in drawing his characters 
 Dryden spurns the restraints of French etiquette and strives to imi- 
 tate his Elizabethan predecessors. Shakspere, not Calprenede, or 
 even Racine, is here the source of his inspiration. 
 
 The critical utterances published with Aureng-Zehe prove that 
 
 1. See the dedication of Aurcng-Zehe : "I desire to be no longer tlie Sisy- 
 plius of the stage ... I never thought myself very fit for an employment, 
 where many of my predecessors have exeell'd me In all kinds ; and some of my 
 contemi)oraries, even in my own partial judgment, have outdone me in comedy. 
 Some little hopes I have . . . that I may make the world some part of 
 amends for many ill plays by an heroic poem" (Ss. v. 195, 196). 
 
 2. Malone (I. i. 115) states that Aincitf/Zcbe "was exhibited in the spring 
 of 1G75, or l)efore, being entered in the Statio)ters' Reoistcr on the 20th of No- 
 vember in that year, and published probably in the next month, though according 
 to the usual practice of booksellers it bears the date of 1G76." But in tlie Term 
 Cataloyucs it is noted for I-:aster Term, 1676. 
 
 3. Johnson'.s Jjife of Dryden. 
 
 4. Langbaine (Account of the Enplish Dramatic Poets, 1691, p. 156) says 
 that the source of Dryden's plot is to be found in Tavernier's Voyages into the 
 Indies, vol. 1, pt. 2, ch. 2. Since Tavernier's book was not published until 
 107U-77 — and the second part of it, containin;: tlie Aureng-Zcbc material, in the 
 latter of these two years -this statement must be a mistake. I am indebted to 
 Holzhausen (EnijUschc Stiidirn. xiii. 44;{. 444; xv. 14. 15) for my characteriza- 
 tion of Aureni/Zcbt and the iniiication of a resemblance to Uaclne. Mithridate 
 was at this time a new play, havin:; been acted and published in 107;{. Holz- 
 hausen also states that one episode of the plot of AuniKj-Zebc is taken from 
 Le Orand Ci/nis. 
 
 5. Ss. 1. 175.
 
 xUl 
 
 INTRODUCTION" 
 
 these alteration? were conscious and deliberate. In his dedication 
 (to Lord JIulgrave), his prologue, and his epilogue, Dryden shows 
 an increased regard for the rules and the decorum, though not the 
 elaborate etiquette of the French stage. He is dissatisfied with his 
 own dramas and full of admiration for the great Elizabethan 
 dramatists, particularly Shakspere. Finally, he is eager to throw 
 off the restraints of rime, which he had so long defended as useful 
 to every poet : 
 
 -He has now another taste of wit; 
 
 And, to confess a truth, tho' out of time, 
 Grows weary of his long-lov'd mistress, Eime. 
 Passion 's too fierce to be in fetters bound, 
 And nature flies him like enchanted ground. 
 
 Within this storm and stress period of Dryden's life, from 1G71 
 to 1675, we may place his abandonment of bombast and his adop- 
 tion of "beautiful turns of words" as a characteristic of his style. 
 His rejection of those swelling phrases that he later called "Dalilahs 
 of the theater'^ will at once be seen if we compare The Conquest 
 of Granada with Aurcng-Zehe. What is meant by "beautiful turns 
 of words" will be made clear by the following citations from his 
 Discourse concerning Satire, published in 1692: 
 
 "Had I time, I could enlarge on the beautiful turns of words 
 and thoughts, which are as requisite in this, as in heroic poetry 
 itself, of which this satire is undoubtedly a species. With these 
 beautiful turns, I confess myself to have been unacquainted, till 
 about twenty years ago, in a conversation which I had with that 
 noble wit of Scotland, Sir George Mackenzie, he ask'd me why I 
 did not imitate in my verses the turns of Mr. Waller and Sir John 
 Denham, of which he repeated many to me. I had often read with 
 pleasure, and with some profit, those two fathers of our English 
 poetry, but had not seriously enough consider'd those beauties 
 which give the last perfection to their works. ... I had 
 recourse to . . . Spenser, the author of that immortal poem 
 call'd The Fairy Queen, and there I met with that which I had been 
 looking for so long in vain. . . . Virgil and Ovid are the two 
 principal fountains of them in Latin poetry. And the French at 
 this day are so fond of them, that they judge them to be the first 
 beauties; delicat et hien tourne are the highest commendations 
 which they bestow on somewhat which they think a masterpiece. 
 
 "An example of the turn on words, amongst a thousand others, 
 is that in the last book of Ovid's Metamorphoses: 
 
 1. Dedication of The Spanish Friar, 1681 (p. 308, 1. 26).
 
 DRYDEX AS DRAMATIST xliii 
 
 Heu ! quantum scelus est, in viscera, viscera condi ! 
 Congestoque avidum pinguescere corpora corpus; 
 Alteriusque animantem animantis viverc leto.'" 
 
 Perhaps the following lines from Aureng-Zebe may illustrate 
 Dryden's meaning from his own work : 
 
 Wert thou to empire by my baseness brought, 
 And wouldst thou ravish what so dear I bought? 
 Dear! for my conscience and its peace I gave; — 
 Why was my reason made my passion's slave? 
 I see Heaven 's justice ; thus the powers divine 
 Pay crimes with crimes, and punish mine by thine.' 
 
 We may now sum up the significant changes that have taken 
 place in Dryden's critical views between 1665 and 1676. In An 
 Essay of Dramatic Poesy Dryden had advocated a compromise 
 between French theatrical rules and English variety of action; of 
 the two, inclining rather to the latter. Then, in the heroic plays, 
 he was led to neglect entirely the real spirit of the French classic 
 drama; and, while preserving some outward respect for critical 
 rules, wrote plays that combined English noise and bustle with a 
 general atmosphere, and with types of character, based on the 
 French romances. Now-he seems to have formed a new and quite 
 different plan of compromise between the two schools. Accepting 
 more fully than before the rules of the French drama, he attempted 
 to combine with them a drawing of character modeled on that of 
 the Elizabethan dramatists. 
 
 We should not be surprised, therefore, to find Aureng-Zebe 
 followed immediately by .1// for Love, a tragedy in which Dryden 
 carried out more fully the same methods of work, and, taking for 
 his subject the familiar theme of Antony and Cleopatra, laid aside 
 the rimed verse of the heroic plays, and imitated Shakspere's style 
 as well as his drawing of character. As a matter of fact, the two 
 
 - 
 
 dramas are separated by about two years. During this interval of 
 silence, which is a sufficient proof of his disgust with the theater, 
 Dryden was undoubtedly maturing his theories of dramatic con- 
 struction. Shortly after he had written his great tragedy, and be- 
 fore he had printed it, an important critical work appeared in Eng- 
 land, which undoubtedly confirmed him in his changed point of 
 view. 
 
 In the latter part of 1677 Thomas Rymer published a little 
 book called The Tragedies of the Last Age considered and examined 
 by the Practice of the Ancients and the Common Sense of All 
 
 1. Ss. xiil. 115-117. The quotation from Ovid is Metamorphoses, xr. 
 88-90. 
 
 2. Act. iv (Ss. V. 270).
 
 xUv INTRODUCTION 
 
 Agcs.^ In it he condemned unsparingly all the tendencies of the 
 national English tragedy, first by arguments based on general 
 dramatic theory, second by a detailed analysis of three plays of 
 Beaumont and Fletcher: RoUo, The Maid's Tragedy, and A King 
 and No King, all of which Dryden had praised in An Essay of 
 Dramatic Poesy.- In fact, though Dryden had written more fully 
 of comedy, and Eymer discusses only tragedy, Eymer's treatise, 
 which was the first long piece of dramatic criticism published in 
 England since 1G68, was in a certain sense a reply to Dryden's 
 essay. The Greek tragic poets, of whom Dryden had the most 
 limited knowledge, and to whom he had paid only perfunctory 
 attention, Eymer recognized as establishing an absolute standard 
 of taste. The English tradition, for which Dryden had shown a 
 strong affection, Kymcr denounced as worthless because of its 
 divergence from ancient methods. Modern philosophers, he says, 
 agree well enough in the main with the ancients, and hence deserve 
 respect; modern dramatists have taken "a by-road that runs directly 
 cross to that of nature, manners, and philosophy, which gained the 
 ancients so great veneration."^ Eymer lacks entirely the instinct 
 of a practical dramatist. What pleased the ancient Greeks, he 
 argues, being based on universal reason, must be pleasing to all 
 time; the success of plays based on opposite principles can be 
 explained only by accidental causes, such as the excellence of the 
 actors. In style and general manner, as in opinions, Eymer is a 
 strong contrast to Dryden. He writes in clumsy, lumbering sen- 
 tences, destitute of grace or dignity. In controversy he adopts a 
 carping, sneering tone, quite the opposite of Dryden's kindly 
 urbanity. 
 
 On the other hand, though Eymer has no sense of style and 
 almost no literary taste, he shows throughout his work the scholas- 
 tic, logical temperament that formed one element in Dryden's 
 own character,* and for which in others Dryden had always the 
 highest respect. Eymer professes to make universal reason the 
 guide of all his opinions. His doctrines, like those of the pseudo- 
 classic school in general, are partly drawn from Aristotle's Poetics 
 
 1. This book is mentioned In the Term Cntalooue for Michaelmas Term, 
 1677. which was licensed for the press on November 26. The preceding catalogue, 
 for Trinity Term, was licensed on .July 5. Dryden's All for Lore was entered at 
 Stationers' Hall on January .31, 1678 (Malone, I. 1. 116). As the entry was 
 usually made about six months after the first acting of a play, we may assume 
 that All for Lore was written at least as early as the first half of 1677, before 
 the publication of Rymer's volume. — To-day Rymer is best known by Macaulay's 
 contemptuous epithet (in his Essay on Boswell's Life of Johnson), "the worst 
 critic that ever lived." A good summary of his opinions is given in Saintsbury's 
 History of Criticism, li. 391-397. See also Lounsbury, Shakespeare as a Dra- 
 matic Artist, pp. 227-241. 
 
 2. Ss. XV. .320, 326. SS.'). 
 
 3. The Tragedies of the Last Age, ed. 2, 1692, p. 3. 
 
 4. Compare p. xxvl.
 
 DKYDEN AS DEAMATIST xiv 
 
 and from the practice of the Greek tragedians, of whom he had a 
 real, though prejudiced knowledge; and partly result from the 
 political, social, and philosophical theories of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury. Thus Eymer accepts Aristotle's definition of tragedy and 
 insists on pity and fear as the only emotions proper to be excited 
 by it. But in contrast to Aristotle, he dwells continually on the 
 necessity for a moral aim in every literary work. Poetic justice 
 must never be neglected; it is more elevated and philosophical 
 than human justice. The tragedians Sophocles and Euripides 
 entered into a confederacy with the philosopher Socrates for 
 teaching virtue and good life. Fancy,^ Eymer puts in a subor- 
 dinate position; like faith in religion, it may supplement reason, 
 but not contradict it. Dryden might well be abashed by conclusions 
 reached through a method for which he had an innate respect, and 
 supported by a learning much greater than his own. 
 
 For us, Eymer is important only from an historical point of 
 view, but in his own time he was regarded as a great critic. A lucky 
 chance has preserved for us Dryden's first impressions of him. 
 Eymer sent to Dryden a copy of his book, on the blank leaves of 
 which the latter jotted down some notes for a future reply. The 
 projected essay was never written, but the scattered notes have been 
 printed under the title. Heads of an Answer to Bymer's Remarks 
 on the Tragedies of the Last Age.^ 
 
 In these Heads Dryden shows less inclination than before to 
 defend English tragedy on grounds of general reason ; but he makes 
 a strong historical argument for it, and defends English style and 
 character-drawing. He argues that the plot, which is the chief 
 subject of Eymer's treatise, is of no such exclusive importance in 
 tragedy as Eymer would have us believe.^ Dryden's general verdict 
 is as follows : 
 
 "My judgment on this piece is this: that it is extremely learned, 
 but that the author of it is better read in the Greek than in the 
 English poets; that all authors ought to study this critique, as the 
 best account I have ever seen of the ancients; that the model of 
 tragedy he has here given is excellent, and extreme correct ; but 
 that it is not the only model of all tragedy, because it is too much 
 circumscrib'd in plot, characters, etc.; and lastly, that we may be 
 taught here justly to admire and imitate the ancients, without 
 
 1. By "fancy" Rymer means approximately what we caU "imagination." 
 In his time the two words were used as synonyms. 
 
 2. It Is impossible to prove that Dryden wrote these notes Immediately 
 after reading Rymer's book, but internal evidence points strongly In that direc 
 tion. 
 
 3. It is more difficult to judge of Dryden's point of view in these hastily- 
 written, confused llcadx than in a developed essay. Justification of my summary 
 would Involve very extensive quotations.
 
 xlvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 giving them the preference, with this author, in prejudice to our 
 own country."^ 
 
 When confronted by the mathematical Eymer, Dryden shows 
 himself not a logician, but an empiricist and impressionist. Beaten 
 on one side of his nature, he retreats to the other. His discussion 
 is eminently suggestive and practical, but shows no understanding 
 of Aristotle's theory of tragedy; no appreciation even of Eymer's 
 tlicory tiiat tragic justice should transcend human justice. Final !}% 
 as if conscious of his own weakness, and anxious to set one author- 
 ity against another, Dryden makes repeated references to Rapin. 
 
 One can only conjecture why Dryden did not expand these 
 Heads into a regular essay. Perhaps he was simply lazy, or 
 reluctant to engage in a fresh literary controversy ; perhaps he felt 
 too keenly his own lack of scholarship. But another explanation 
 of Dryden's silence, based on the known facts of his literary de- 
 velopment, is^at least possible. 
 
 T]ie Tragedies of the Last Age was, as Ave have seen, a direct 
 attack on the opinions which Dryden had expressed in An Essay of 
 Dramatic Poesy, and which he had never formally abjured. Hence, 
 on receiving Eymer's book, Dryden felt moved to attempt a defense 
 of his beloved Elizabethan authors, and immediately set down the 
 notes which we now possess. But with advancing age, and for the 
 special reasons that have been already suggested, he now felt much 
 more inclined towards classicism, or pseudo-classicism, than he had 
 a dozen years before. Hence, even in these first notes, he expresses 
 admiration for Eymer's work, and partial sympathy with his views. 
 As the days passed, he found himself in closer sympathy with 
 Eymer than he at first suspected, and so laid aside his plan for a 
 reply. In the Heads he had made his last argument for English 
 tragi-comedy on grounds of absolute reason;- from his failure to 
 develop them we may date his definite adoption of the pseudo- 
 classic ideal of dramatic construction. 
 
 The production of All for Love in 1677, with its combination of 
 English style and French construction, marks the highest point of 
 Dryden's dramatic career. In this tragedy, while in style, and to 
 some extent in the drawing of character, he "professes to imitate 
 
 1. Ss. XV. 390. ?.oi. 
 
 2. "For the fable itself: it is in the English more adorn'd with episodes 
 and larger than in the Greei^ poets ; consequently more diverting. For if the 
 action be but one, and that plain, without any coiintorturn of design or episode 
 i. p., underplot, how can it be so pleasing as the English, which have both under- 
 plot and a turn'd design, which keeps the audience in expectation of the catas- 
 trophe? whereas In the Greek poets we see thro' the whole design at first" 
 (Ss. XV. 387, 388). Here Dryden does not expressly name tragi-comedv but lie 
 probably has that type in mind, rather than plays of complicated, thougli nurelv 
 tragic action. ^ '
 
 DRYDEN AS DRAMATIST xlvii 
 
 the divine Shakspere/'^ Dryden applies the pseudo-classic dramatic 
 rules to the familiar subject of Antony and Cleopatra. "I have 
 endeavor'd in this play," he states, "to follow the practice of the 
 ancients, who, as Mr. Uymer has judiciously observed, are and ought 
 to be our masters."^ "The fabric of the play is regular enough, as 
 to the inferior parts of it ; and the unities of time, place, and action 
 more exactly observ'd, than perhaps the English theater requires. 
 Particularly, the action is so much one that it is the only of the 
 kind without episode or underplot; every scene in the tragedy 
 conducing to the main design, and every act concluding with a turn 
 of it."^ Dryden might have added that, as in Eacine, each act of 
 All for Love is composed of a single scene, in the English sense of 
 the term ; that the time of action falls within a single day, and 
 that the place of action changes but once, being in the first act the 
 temple of Isis, in the remaining acts the palace of Cleopatra. 
 
 For this play Dryden had an enduring affection. Writing much 
 later, in 1695, he tells us: ^he faults of [The Spanish Friar] 
 are in the kind of it, which is tragi-comedy. But it was given to 
 the people; and I never writ anything for myself but Antony and 
 Cleopatra."* 
 
 All for Love is now by far the best known of Dry den's plays. 
 In excellence of style and character drawing only Don Sebastian 
 can compare with it. But Don Sebastian is disagreeable in sub- 
 ject, is so long as to be tedious, and is disfigured by inharmonious 
 comic scenes. Yet All for Love, great as are its merits, is not of 
 an essentially different nature from its author's earlier dramas. 
 In it many traits of the heroic plays still survive. Antony's sub- 
 mission to his beloved is rather that of Almanzor or Aureng-Zebe, 
 the conventional valiant lover of the French romances, than the 
 devotion of Shakspere's living and breathing hero.^ So Cleopatra 
 loses her intellectual brilliancy and her "infinite variety" and be- 
 comes a fond and faitliful mistress. According to the conventions 
 of the time, no tragic heroine must be guilty of inconstancy. 
 Hence Dryden, transforming Cleopatra's character, makes the 
 catastrophe of the play depend on her momentary yielding to an 
 unworthy suggestion from Alexas. For an instant she becomes, 
 not unfaithful, but coquettish ! In agony she exclaims, repentant 
 for her crime: 
 
 Thus one minute's feigning has destroy 'd 
 
 My whole life's truth." 
 
 1. Preface to AH for Love, p. 2:54, 11. 35-45 and pp. 229-231. It would be 
 more accurate to say that in the drawing of character ho is influenced by the 
 general English tradition. 
 
 2. Ibid. p. 'S.'A, 11. 25-27. 
 
 3. Ibid. p. 229, 11. i;»-24. 
 
 4. .1 I'aKtlltl of I'ottiy and Painting, Ss. xvll. 333. 
 
 5. Dryden seems to admit this in his rrologue, 11. 10-13. 
 
 6. On this whole topic see Scott (Ss. vi. 243), aud Lounsbury, ^hakcfipcare 
 as a Dramatic Artist, pp. 237, 238. Dryden's treatment of Cressida, in his
 
 xlviu INTRODUCTION 
 
 Still, the imitation of Slmkspere has borne fruit; the speeches 
 of Antony and of Cleopatra, though they may express conventional 
 emotion, are so masterly in expression that, as one reads, their 
 fundamental unreality is concealed. Dryden's progress is even more 
 plainly seen in the secondary figures of his drama. Yentidius and 
 Octavia are agitated by genuine passion, not by the finespun no- 
 tions, drawn from books of etiquette, that control Ozmyn and 
 Benzayda. 
 
 Like its predecessor The Conquest of Granada, All for Love is 
 not free from the taint of low morality that disfigures nearly the 
 whole Eestoration drama. The play, with all its dignity and 
 power, is but a panegyric on illicit love. Dryden himself recognized 
 this, and admitted that the introduction of Octavia was an unhappy 
 thought, dividing the interest of the play : 
 
 "i had not enough consider'd, that the compassion she mov'd to 
 herself and children was destructive to that which I reserved for 
 Antony and Cleopatra; whose mutual love, being founded upon 
 vice, must lessen the favor of the audience to them, when virtue 
 and innocence were oppress'd by it."^ 
 
 The comparison of All for Love with Shakspere's Antony and 
 Cleopatra is a fascinating problem. The best tribute to Dryden's 
 power is that one can read him with enjoyment immediately after 
 finishing Shakspere's play. Dryden treats the old story from a 
 new point of view; he does not merely remodel and debase a great 
 drama, as he had done in the version of The Tempest made by 
 Davenant and himself.- His object is to simplify the action, 
 and thus to concentrate the reader's entire attention on the crisis 
 in the story of the two lovers. This to a certain extent he succeeds 
 in doing. But at the same time, owing to his transformation of 
 the characters of Antony and Cleopatra, he fails in a more impor- 
 tant direction. In Shakspere, the tragedy depends on the real 
 struggle, in Antony himself, between his blind infatuation for 
 Cleopatra and his "Koman thoughts." This gives a central unity 
 to a superficially irregular drama. In Dryden, Antony is already 
 lost at the beginning of the play ; the struggle is over ; the Eoman 
 
 remodeling of Shakspere's Troilus and Crcisirla, Is still more striking:. He makes 
 her, this proverbial false one, into a tender and faithful maiden, who meets her 
 death, like Desdemona, because of a misunderstanding;. I'erhaps he was influenced 
 directly by Rymer, whose utterance on this subject is so characteristic as to 
 deserve quotation : 
 
 "Tragedy cannot represent a woman -without modesty as natural and essen- 
 tial to her. 
 
 "If a woman has got any accidental historical impudence; if, documented in 
 the school of Xanna or Ileloisa, she is furnished with some stock of acquired 
 Impudence, she Is no longer to stalk in tragedy on her high shoes ; but must 
 rub off and pack down with the carriers into the province of comedy, there to 
 be kicked about and exposed to laughter" (Op. cit. pp. 113, 114). 
 
 1. See preface to AH for Lore, p. 229, 11. 26-.30. 
 
 2. See p. xxiv. To be just to Dryden, this debased play was mainly the 
 work of Davenant.
 
 DEYDEN AS DRAMATIST xlix 
 
 warrior has become "a sighing swain of Arcadia."^ Yentidius tries 
 to save him, first by direct exliortations, then by means of Octavia 
 and her children, and finally by working on Antony's jealousy of 
 Dolabella; but he is already a doomed man. In a word. All for 
 Love, like the heroic plays, is narrative rather than dramatic in its 
 structure. The action, despite its confinement within a single day, 
 is, as Aristotle would call it, "episodic ;" like that of The Conquest 
 of Granada, it deals with successive adventures in the life of one 
 man, not with one central crisis. No mere observation of rules 
 could make Drydeu a truly dramatic poet.- 
 
 Despite its faults, All for Love is the happiest result of ine 
 French influence on English tragedy. However conventional the 
 emotion expressed in it may be, this tragedy remains alive to-day 
 by virtue of its vigorous, dignified, and truly poetic style, and of 
 the sustained interest of its action. It is the best proof that Dry- 
 den, who through certain qualities of his genius became the founder 
 of the eighteenth century "classic" literature, was by other and not 
 less essential qualities closely related to the great Elizabethan poets 
 and dramatists. 
 
 III. Dryden had now definitely adopted the point of view of 
 French dramatic criticism, though his devotion to it was tempered 
 by his admiration for the Elizabethan dramatists, and above all for 
 Shakspere. From this position he never formally receded, but in his 
 own writing for the stage he remained an opportunist, and was 
 frequently unfaithful to his critical principles. 
 
 In 16T8 Dryden joined Lee in writing CEdipus, a tragedy on a 
 classic subject, and constructed according to the French rules. 
 In his preface, probably remembering Kymer's book, he even 
 apologizes for expanding the simple plot of Sophocles by the addi- 
 tion of a secondary intrigue, though he has the precedent of Cor- 
 neille to justify his course. "Perhaps, after all," he admits, "if we 
 could think so, the ancient method, as it is the easiest, is also the 
 
 1. See Seotfs Life of Dryden: Ss. i. 183. 
 
 2. In this discussion of All for Love the editor is much indebted to Miss 
 Margaret Sherwood, Dryden's Dramatic Theory and Practice (Yale University 
 Dissertation, 1898), pp. 85-93; and to Ilannmann, Dryden's Trapodie "All for 
 Love" und ihr Verhdltniss zti Shakespeare's "Antony and Cleopdtra." Rostoclt, 
 1903. Dellus's short treatment of this topic in his article "Dryden und Shake- 
 speare" (Jahrbuch der Deiitsehen Hhakespeare-Oesellschaft, iv. 0-4U) is extremely 
 unfair to Dryden. Lundbeck's more extended comparison of the two dramas 
 (in his Dryden aom Tragedicdiffter, Copenhagen, 1894) is impartial and pene- 
 tratinR. Of .1// for Love ho writes: "The narrow, circumscribed compass of 
 the drama narrows its effect. We hear accounts of Cifsar's army outside the 
 town, and of a battle and a victory; but we see only the mutual relations of 
 two lovers and their sad conclusion. That an event of world-wide Importance 
 lies behind this conclusion, we do not really believe" (pp. lOG, 107). His general 
 verdict on the two dramas is as follows : "One really cannot judge Dryden In 
 comparison with Shakspere. . . . Each of these dramas Is an expression of 
 the peculiarities of its age : Shakspere's of the comprehensive view of the Renais- 
 sance, its grasj) of totality; Dryden's of the analytic criticism of the pseudo- 
 classic time, and of its narrowly circumseribcd vision ; the first of youth and 
 passion In art, the second of discretion and the rule of reason" (p. llli).
 
 1 INTRODUCTION 
 
 most natural and the best. For variety, as it is manag'd, is too 
 often subject to breed distraction; and while we would please too 
 many ways, for want of art in the conduct, we please in none."^ 
 
 In the next year, 1679, Dryden emphasized his belief in French 
 principles by remodeling on classic lines Shakspere's distinctly 
 "irregular" play, Troihis and Cressida.^ With this drama he pub- 
 lislicd an important critical preface, containing a short essay on 
 "tlie grounds of criticism in tragedy," and composed in large 
 measure of extracts from previous critics, especially Longinus (in 
 Boileau's translation), Eapin, and Bossu (a new French critic 
 whose Traite du Poeme E pique had been published in 1675). 
 Dryden also quotes from Aristotle's Poetics, probably through a 
 translation, and from Quintilian, and he was somewhat indebted 
 to Boileau's Art Poetique, published in 1674.^ By the following 
 denunciation of tragi-comedy, which he had so enthusiastically 
 praised in An Essay of Dramatic Poesy,*' he shows his conversion 
 to the classic point of view : 
 
 "Two different independent actions distract the attention and 
 concernment of the audience, and consequently destroy the intention 
 of the poet ; if his business be to move terror and pity, and one of 
 his actions be comical, the other tragical, the former will divert 
 the people, and utterly make void his greater purpose. Therefore, 
 as in perspective, so in tragedy, there must be a point of sight in 
 which all the lines terminate; otherwise the eye wanders, and the 
 work is false. This was the practice of the Grecian stage. But 
 Terence made an innovation in the Roman : all his plays have 
 double actions; for it was his custom to translate two Greek 
 comedies, and to weave them into one of his, yet so, that both their 
 actions were comical, and one was principal, the other but secondary 
 or subservient. And this has obtain'd on the English stage, to 
 give us the pleasure of variety."^ 
 
 Thus we see that Dryden has now definitely abandoned his 
 defense of tragi-comedy by arguments based on general critical 
 principles. 
 
 Yet, such is the poet's subservience to public taste, such his 
 apparent inconsistency, that his very next play. The Spanish Friar, 
 acted late in 1680 or early in 1681, and published in the latter year, 
 is a most patent tragi-comedy. He admits this in his dedication 
 
 1. Ss. vi. 133. 134. 
 
 2. Lundbeck comments well on Drydon's altered choice of subjects : "While 
 the sources of the heroic plays were found directly or indirectly in the French 
 romances, with their code of love and honor, the later tragedies have a different 
 origin. They point back to Shakspere, to Sophocles, or, as Cleomenes (1692), to 
 that old poldmine of the English drama, Plutarch's Lives" (Op. cit. p. 192). 
 
 3. Lundbeck, op. cit. p. 118 ; H. Morley, First Sketch of English Literature, 
 p. 700. 
 
 4. See above, p. xxil. 
 5- Ss. vl. 260, 261.
 
 DRYDEN AS DRAMATIST li 
 
 of the play, and prides himself on the skill with which 
 he has combined the two plots. Yet he rather apologizes 
 for tragi-comedy than supports it by serious arguments, 
 "This time I satisfied my own humor," Dryden tells us, '"which 
 was to tack two plays together ; and to break a rule for the pleasure 
 of variety. The truth is, the audience are grown weary of con- 
 tinued melancholy scenes : and I dare venture to prnpliesy that few 
 tragedies, except those in verse [i. e. heroic plays], shall succeed 
 in this age, if they are not lighten'd with a course of mirth; for the 
 feast is too dull and solemn without the fiddles."^ 
 
 Despite the fact that his last play, Love Triumphant (1693), 
 is again a tragi-comcdy, which he defends in a similar apologetic 
 fashion, as a concession to public taste,^ Dryden's mature critical 
 opinion is always averse to that type. Thus in the preface to 
 Cleomenes (1692), he writes: "After all, it was a bold attempt of 
 mine, to write upon a single plot, unmix'd with comedy; which, 
 tho' it be the natural and true way, yet is not to the genius of the 
 nation."^ And in his Parallel of Poetry and Painting (1695) he 
 inserts a yet more significant passage : 
 
 "The Gothic manner, and the barbarous ornaments, which are 
 to be avoided in a picture, are Just the same with those in an ill- 
 ordcr'd play. For example, our English tragi-comedy must be 
 confcss'd to' be wholly Gothic, notwithstanding the success which it 
 has found upon our theater. . . . Xeither can I defend my 
 Spanish Friar, as fond as otherwise I am of it, from this imputa- 
 tion : for tho' the comical parts are diverting, and the serious mov- 
 ing, yet they are of an unnatural mingle: for mirth and gravity 
 destroy each other, and are no more to be allow'd for decent, than a 
 gay widow laughing in a mourning habit."* 
 
 Dryden's final dislike of tragi-comedy is sound, so far as his 
 own practice in that type is concerned. In The Spanish Friar, 
 even more than in Marriage a la Mode,^ most readers will feel and 
 resent the absence of that harmonious tone that distinguishes The 
 Conquest of Granada or All for Love, or, in a different way, any 
 
 1. Dedication of The S:paiiif<h Friar, p. 310, 11. 1-7. The passage shows 
 that heroic plays still found favor with the English public. 
 
 2. "For my action. It is eviileutly douhlo; and in that I have the most of 
 the ancients for mv examples. Yet I dare not defend this way by reason, much 
 less bv their authority: for their actions, tho' double, were of the same species: 
 that Is to sav, in tlieir comedies, two amours: and their persons were better 
 linkd In interest than mine. Yet even this is a fault which I should olten 
 practice, if I were to write again, because it is agreeable to the English genius. 
 We love variety more than anv other nat'on : and so long as the audience will 
 not be pieas'd without it. the poet is obilg'd to humor them." (Dedication of 
 Love Triumphant. Ss. viii. 37.5, 376.) 
 
 3. Ss. viii. 220. 
 
 4. Ss. xvli. 327 ; compare p. xlvii, above. 
 
 5. See pp. xxxiii-xxxv.
 
 lii INTRODUCTION 
 
 one of Shakspere's tragedies or comedies. Why is it that the suc- 
 cession of scenes in one key causes no monotony in All for 
 Love? Why is it, that while we are offended by the 
 contrast between Lorenzo's ribaldry and the serious plot of 
 The Spanish Friar, we feel no dissonance in the grave-diggers' 
 mirth in Hamlet? The explanation is to be found in the strained, 
 unnatural character of Restoration tragedy. The tone of the tragic 
 scenes in Dryden is not merely pitched in a key higher than that 
 of life, as is the case with all tragedy; it is elevated into a falsetto, 
 which is instantly forced on our notice, and which cannot be made 
 to harmonize with the rude boisterousness of the comedy of humors 
 or with the flippant wit of the comedy of manners. In T/ie Mer- 
 chant of Venice, tragedy and comedy succeed each other without 
 jarring on our feelings; the two are blended in an atmosphere of 
 gracious poetry that hides from us any dramatic conventions 
 that might challenge belief. But in Dryden's tragi-comedies, 
 when, after some effort, we have come to sympathize with the 
 affectations of Melantha or the w^aggish wickedness of Lorenzo, 
 we refuse to be transported in the next scene to the heights of 
 equally artificial heroism. Dryden could attain excellence only by 
 a consistency of tone and by a clear distinction of dramatic types, 
 such as prevailed in France. This he secured in one form in The 
 Conquest of Granada, in another and higher form in All for Love. 
 By writing All for Love, Dryden showed that he had at last gained 
 clearness of sight in regard to his own dramatic work; yet, through 
 weakness of the flesh, and through desire for immediate popularity, 
 he was too often unfaithful to his new-found wisdom. He rejected 
 tragi-comedy, despite his encomium on it in An Essay of Dramatic 
 Poesy, owing to an advance in critical discernment ; he returned to 
 it owing to his shifty, genial temperament, and to his willingness 
 to gratify public taste even when he knew it to be false. 
 
 Among Dryden's tragi-comedies The Spanish Friar holds a 
 very high position. The character of Friar Dominic, from whom 
 the play derives its title, unoriginal and debased as it is, has real 
 humor; and many scenes, such as that in the court room, where 
 Lorenzo threatens Gomez, are lively and amusing. These merits, 
 and the skilful construction of the plot, go far to atone for the 
 repulsiveness of the siibject. 
 
 With this sucessful play Dryden bade a long farewell to regu- 
 lar work for the stage. In 1681, by the production of Absalom 
 and Achitophel, he suddenly became famous as the foremost Eng- 
 lish satirist. And in 1680, by two contributions to a small volume 
 of Ovid's Epistles, he had begun his work as a translator, on which 
 he was to rely during the closing years of his life. Only in 1690, 
 after the Eevolution, under the pressure of poverty and neglect,
 
 DRYDEN AS DRAMATIST liii 
 
 did he turn again to the theater for support.^ His later plays 
 brought him some profit, and some increase in reputation, but they 
 did not reestablish liis fame as ttie leading English dramatist. On 
 the failure of the tragi-eomedy Love Triumphant (1693) he again 
 abandoned the stage, this time forever. 
 
 No detailed criticism of Uryden's latest dramas is needed here. 
 In general, though they contain work by no means inferior to that 
 of his earlier periods, they show no advance in critical theory or 
 in dramatic technique. In them the poet merely used again 
 methods the value of which he had learned by his previous, ex- 
 perience. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The four plays included in this volume thus give a fairly 
 complete idea of Dryden's dramatic work. They show the versa- 
 tility of a great writer who is now known chiefly for his political 
 satires, his translations, his critical essays, and one or two famous 
 odes, but who was also, in his own time, a leader among English 
 dramatists. Our long discussion may lead to some general 
 conclusions. 
 
 In the first requisite of a great dramatist as distinguished from 
 a successful playwright, the ability to create living men and women, 
 Dryden was fatally deficient. He can describe character mar- 
 velously; no writer ever drew more brilliant satiric portraits 
 than those of Shaftesbury and Buckingham in Absalom and 
 Acliitophel. But he cannot do his work from the inside, entering 
 into another man's life as if it were his own; genial and kindly 
 as he was, he lacked sympathy. With his keenl} literary tempera- 
 ment, he was more interested in books than in life itself; when 
 he wrote plays, he depended for inspiration rather on his intimate 
 knowledge of the dramatists, poets, and romance-writers of Eng- 
 land and France than on his independent observation of the world 
 about him.- Hence his characters, even in his best work, are always 
 variations on certain well-known types; their creator manipulates 
 them skilfully, but does not succeed in inspiring them with the 
 breath of life. Melantha is an affected town lady; Friar Dominic, 
 a greedy, sensual ecclesiastic; Ventidius, a bluff soldier: no one of 
 
 1. In 1082 Dryden joined Lee In writing The Duke of Ouisc, a political 
 play. In 10.S4 and 1(!S5 lie produced two political operas. Albion and Allxmiua 
 and Kin;i Arthur, the former of wliicli was acted and publislied in 1683, tlie 
 latter, iii a revised form, in 1G91. In 1G90 lie returned to regular theatrical 
 work with Don Sebastian. 
 
 2. What Mr. Andrew Lang has recently written of a modern poet Is curi- 
 ously applicable to Dryden : 
 
 "Mr. Swinburne's passion was never natural and sincere; it was always 
 declamatory and literary. This is tlie defect of his poetry; tlie emotions have 
 a literary origin, and every character is eciiially copious, vigorous, and uncon- 
 vincing. In the dramas it is the verbal music and the rhetoric that please us; 
 Mary fStuart and Mary Heaton certainly did not express themselves in Mr. Swin- 
 burne's way." (The ^ation, Ixxxviii. 507; May 20, 1909).
 
 liv INTEODUCTION 
 
 them is a person with whom we feel the same intimate personal 
 acquaintance that we do with Beatrice or Falstaff or Hotspur.^ 
 We read about his characters, we do not feel with them. 
 
 For this reason, there is no true conflict between opposing 
 emotions in Dryden's dramas; as his puppets are in the beginning, 
 so tliey remain until the end.- A half-dozen pages of prosaic, 
 commonplace talk in Ibsen give us a picture of an individual man 
 or woman, torn by a dozen different feelings. Nora at the close of 
 A Doll's House is a different woman from what she was at the 
 opening of the play. Her talk is often silly and puerile ; yd in 
 her, as a living woman, we are intensely interested. On the other 
 hand, a hundred pages of Dryden furnish mere variations on a 
 few stock themes; sexual passion, jealousy, ambition, as the case 
 may be. Antony and Cleopatra express themselves differently in 
 different scenes, but their natures never vary; each speech tells the 
 same story in different words. What they say is eloquent and 
 beautiful, but we are interested in the phrases, not in the person 
 who utters them. 
 
 On the other hand, once we are content to forego this highest 
 quality of a great dramatist, the ability to create living men and 
 women, Dryclen's dramas have great merits. The interest rarely 
 flags ; Dryden knows how to tell a story. As Marriage a la Mode 
 and The Spanish Friar amply illustrate, he is far superior to Con- 
 greve in his handling of plot, inferior though he may be in finished 
 drawing of character and in brilliancy of dialogue. And Tlie 
 Conquest of Granada, if we can once accustom ourselves to its 
 gaudy diction, has the charm of rapid narrative that makes Mar- 
 mion dear to every one who has not lost his boyish love of ad- 
 venture. Sir Walter Scott's judgment on this play is of special 
 interest : 
 
 "If . . . the reader can abstract his mind from the qualities 
 now deemed essential to a play, and consider The Conquest of 
 Granada as a piece of romantic poetry, there are few compositions 
 in the English language which convey a more lively and favorable 
 display of the magnificence of fable, of language, and of action, 
 proper to that style of composition. Amid the splendid ornaments 
 
 1. The following sneer by Dryden'e enemy, Martin Clifford, has some founda- 
 tion in fact : 
 
 "But I am strangely mistaken if I have not seen this very Almanzor of 
 yours in some disguise alout this town, and passing under another name. 
 Prethee tell me true, was not this huff-cap once the Indian Emperor, and at 
 another time did not he call himself Maximin? Was not Lyndarasa once called 
 Almeria, I mean under Montezuma the Indian Emperor? I protest and vow 
 they are (hither the same, or so alike, that I can't for my heart distinguish one 
 from the other. You are therefore i stranare unconscionable thief, that art not 
 content to steal from others, but dost rob thy poor wretched self, too." CSotee 
 upon Mr. Dryden's Poems, in Four Letters. London, 1687, p. 7.) 
 
 2. For an insignificant exception, see pp. xxix, xxx.
 
 DRYDEN AS DRAMATIST Iv 
 
 of the structure we lose sight of occasional disproportion and in- 
 congruity; and, at an early age particularly, there are few poems 
 which make a more deep impression on the imagination than The 
 Conquest of Granada."^ 
 
 Both in comedy and in tragedy, Dryden is an imitator and an 
 adapter, but he is an imitator and an adapter of a most genial 
 and versatile sort. Though he yields in comic force to Wych- 
 erley and to Congreve, probably even to Etherege and to 
 Shadwell, he is wider in his range than any of these men. In 
 his first play. The M^ild Gallant, he experimented with Jonson's 
 comedy of humors, and, though he did little further work of the 
 same sort, his portrait of the brutal and hypocritical Dominic in 
 The Spanish Friar shows the influence of Jonson's cynicism. His 
 second drama, Tlie Rival Ladies, is somewhat akin to the romantic 
 comedies of Shakspere and Beaumont and Fletcher, and his re- 
 peated tragi-comedies continue the Elizabethan tradition. Yet in 
 the comic scenes of these same tragi-comedies he frequently blends 
 comedy of intrigue with comedy of manners, the most typical form 
 of the' drama of the later Restoration period. The best scenes of 
 Marriage a la Mode point forward to the work of Congreve ; :\Ielan- 
 tha is a predecessor of Millamant in The Way of the ]Yorld. 
 
 Of tragedy Dryden may be regarded as the greatest writer dur- 
 ing the Eestoration period. Though still an imitator, he was here 
 working in a field far more congenial to his own talents, and by 
 the genuine merits of his productions he exercised a strong influ- 
 ence on the future of tragedy in England. He first developed to 
 such perfection as it was capable of attaining, a new species of 
 drama, the melodramatic heroic plays. He later succeeded in unit- 
 ing French technique with the English dramatic tradition, and 
 thus gave powerful aid in starting English tragedy in the direc- 
 tion that it was destined to follow for almost a century afterhis 
 death, though it never again attained the height to which he raised 
 it in his All for Love. To his achievements in both these types of 
 tragedy he gave distinction by his supreme command of English 
 verse. Alwavs buoyant, varied, melodious, and vigorous, Dryden's 
 style progresses from bombast in his earlier work to sustained 
 dignity in his later. Those who do not know The Conquest of 
 Granada and All for Love cannot fully understand the spell that 
 Dryden's name cast over the century that followed hmi. 
 
 1. Ss. iv. 6.
 
 CHKONOLOGICAL LIST OF DEYDEN'S DRAMATIC WORKS 
 
 (The titles of some of the poet's more important non-dramatic works 
 are added, in brackets, for purposes of comparison.) 
 
 Date 
 of 
 acting. 
 
 The Wild Gallant 1663 
 
 The Rival Ladies 1663? 
 
 The Indian Queen (with Howard) 1664 
 
 The Indian Emperor 1664? 
 
 [Annus jNIirabiiis] 
 
 Secret Love; or, The Maiden Queen 1667 
 
 Sir Martin Mar-All (with the Duke of Newcastle; 
 
 adapted from Moliere) 1667 
 
 The Tempest (with Davenant; adapted from Shak- 
 
 spere) 1667 
 
 [An Essay of Dramatic Poesy] 
 
 An Evening 's Love 1668 
 
 Tyrannic Love 1669 
 
 The Conquest of Granada 1670? 
 
 Marriage a la Mode 1672 
 
 The Assignation 1672 ? 
 
 Amboyna 1672 
 
 The State of Innocence (written in 1674?) 
 
 Aureng-Zebe 1675 
 
 All for Love 1677 
 
 The Kind Keeper; or, Mr. Limberham 1678 
 
 (Edipus (with Lee) 1678 
 
 Troilus and Cressida (adapted from Shakspere) . . 1678 
 
 [Translations from Ovid 's Epistles] 
 
 The Spanish Friar 1680? 
 
 [Absalom and Achitophel] 
 
 [The Medal] 
 
 [Mac Flecknoe] 
 
 The Duke of Guise (with Lee) 1682 
 
 [Religio Laiei] 
 
 Albion and Albanius 1685 
 
 [The Hind and the Panther] 
 
 Don Sebastian 1689 
 
 Amphitryon 1690 
 
 King Arthur 1691 
 
 Cleomenes 1692 
 
 [Translations from Juvenal and Persius] 
 
 Love Triumphant 1693? 
 
 [Translation of Virgil] 
 
 [Fables] 
 
 Ivi 
 
 Date 
 of first 
 
 edition. 
 1669 
 1664 
 1665 
 1667 
 1667 
 1668 
 
 1668 
 
 1670 
 
 1668 
 
 1671 
 
 1670 
 
 1672 
 
 1673 
 
 1673 
 
 1673 
 
 1677? 
 
 1676 
 
 1678 
 
 1679 
 
 1679 
 
 1679 
 
 1680 
 
 1681 
 
 1681 
 
 1682 
 
 1682 
 
 1683 
 
 1682 
 
 1685 
 
 1687 
 
 1690 
 
 1690 
 
 1691 
 
 1692 
 
 1692 
 
 1694 
 
 1697 
 
 1700
 
 THE 
 
 CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 BY THE 
 
 SPANIARDS 
 PART I 
 
 Major rerum mihi nascitur ordo; 
 
 Majus opus moveo. 
 
 Virgil, Mneid, vii. 44, 45.
 
 The Conquest of Granada was first printed in 1672 ; other quarto 
 editions followed in 1673, 1678, 1687, and 1695. These are cited as 
 Ql, Q2, Q3, Q4, Q5. In general, Q2 was printed from Ql, Q3 from Q2 
 (see p. 60, 1. 67; p. 124, 1. 39), Q4 from Ql (see p. 70, 1. 22), Q5 from 
 Q4 (see p. 11, 1. 6; p. 45, 1, 44); and the Folio of 1701 (F) from Q5 
 (sec p. 44, 1. 508; p. 131, 1. 49). Some changes of text, however, would 
 seem to indicate a different arrangement : see p. 58, 1. 68 ; p. 67, 11. 269, 
 270; p. 76, 1. 145; p. 99, 1. 68. Of these changes, only those on p. 60. 
 1. 67, and p. 67, 11. 269, 270 are certainly due to Dryden. The present 
 edition follows Ql except when there are obvious reasons for departing 
 from its text. Some pages were lacking in the Harvard copy of Q2, 
 used by the editor, so that the citation of its readings is incomplete; 
 see pp. 10, 11, 137.
 
 TO 
 
 HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS 
 
 THE 
 
 DUKE 
 
 Sir, 
 Heroic poesy has always been sacred to princes, and to heroes. Thus 
 Virgil inserib'd his JEneids to Augustus Caesar; and, of latter ages, 
 Tasso and Ariosto dedicated their poems to the house of Este. 'Tis, 
 indeed, but justice that the most excellent and most profitable kind of 
 writing should be address'd by poets to such persons whose characters 
 have, for the most part, been the guides and patterns of their imitation. 
 And poets, while they imitate, instruct. The feign'd hero inflames the 
 true, and the dead virtue animates the living. Since, therefore, the 
 
 10 world is govern'd by precept and example, and both these can only have 
 influence from those persons who are above us; that kind of poesy which 
 excites to virtue the greatest men is of greatest use to humankind. 
 
 'Tis from this consideration that I have presum 'd to dedicate to your 
 Royal Highness these faint representations of your own worth and valor 
 in heroic poetry; or, to speak more properly, not to dedicate, but to 
 restore to you those ideas which, in the more perfect part of my charac- 
 ters, I have taken from you. Heroes may lawfully be delighted with 
 their own praises, both as they are farther incitements to their virtue, 
 and as they are the highest returns which mankind can make them 
 
 20 for it. 
 
 And certainly, if ever nation were oblig'd either by the conduct, the 
 personal valor, or the good fortune of a leader, the English are acknowl- 
 edging, in all of them, to your Royal Highness. Your whole life has 
 been a continued series of heroic actions; which you began so early, that 
 you were no sooner nam'd in the world, but it was with praise and ad- 
 miration. Even the first blossoms of your youth paid us all that could 
 be expected from a ripening manhood. "While you practic'd but the rudi- 
 ments of war, you outwent all other captains; and have since found 
 none to surpass, but yourself alone. The opening of your glory was 
 
 30 like that of light: you shone to us from afar; and disclos'd your first 
 beams on distant nations; yet so, that the luster of them was spread 
 
 4. Estr] Dryden's spelling is Est. 
 lil. of greatest] QqF. of the greatest SsM. 
 
 3
 
 4 THE CONQUEST OF GKANADA 
 
 abroad, and reflected brightly on your native country. You were then 
 an honor to it, when it was a reproach to itself; and, when the fortunate 
 usurper sent his arms to Flanders, many of the adverse party were 
 vanquish'd by your fame, ere they tried your valor. The report of it 
 drew over to your ensigns whole troops and companies of converted 
 rebels, and made them forsake successful wickedness, to follow an op- 
 press'd and exil'd virtue. Your reputation wag'd war with the enemies 
 of your royal family, even within their trenches; and the more obstinate, 
 or more guilty of them, were forc'd to be spies over those whom they 
 
 10 commanded, lest the name of York should disband that army, in whose 
 fate it was to defeat the Spaniards and force Dunkirk to surrender. 
 Yet those victorious forces of the rebels were not able to sustain your 
 arms. Where you charg'd in person, you were a conqueror. 'Tis true, 
 they afterwards recover 'd courage, and wrested that victory from others 
 which they had lost to you; and it was a greater action for them to 
 rally than it was to overcome. Thus, by the presence of your Eoyal 
 Highness, the English on both sides remain'd victorious; and that army 
 which was broken by your valor became a terror to those for whom they 
 conquer'd. Then it was that at the cost of other nations you inform'd 
 
 20 and cultivated that valor which was to defend your native country, and 
 to vindicate its honor from the insolence of our incroaching neighbors. 
 When the Hollanders, not contented to withdraw themselves from the 
 obedience which they ow'd their lawful sovereign, affronted those by 
 whose charity they were first protected; and (being swell'd up to a pre- 
 eminence of trade, by a supine negligence on our side, and a sordid 
 parsimony on their own) dar'd to dispute the sovereignty of the seas, 
 the eyes of three nations were then cast on you ; and, by the joint suffrage 
 of king and people, you were chosen to revenge their common injuries; 
 to which, tho' you had an undoubted title by your birth, you had yet a 
 
 30 greater by your courage. Neither did the success deceive our hopes and 
 expectations. The most glorious victory which was gain'd by our navy 
 in that war was in that first engagement; wherein, even by the confes- 
 eion of our enemies, who ever palliate their own losses, and diminish 
 our advantages, your absolute triumph was acknowledg'd. You con- 
 quer'd at the Hague as intirely as at London; and the return of a shat- 
 ter'd fleet, without an admiral, left not the most impudent among them 
 the least pretense for a false bonfire, or a dissembled day of public 
 thanksgiving. All our achievements against them afterwards, tho' we 
 sometimes conquer'd, and were never overcome, were but a copy of that 
 
 40 victory; and they still fell short of their original: somewhat of fortune 
 was ever wanting, to fill up the title of so absolute a defeat. Or, per- 
 haps the guardian angel of our nation was not enough concem'd when 
 you were absent, and would not employ his utmost vigor for a less im- 
 portant stake than the life and honor of a royal admiral. 
 
 And if, since that memorable day, you have had leisure to enjoy in 
 peace the fruits of so glorious a reputation, 'twas occasion only has 
 
 2. itself ; and, irhen] QqF, with colon, not semicolon, itself. When SsM 
 
 27. on] QqF. upnii SsM. 
 
 20. had yet a] Q1Q2Q.SQ4. had a Q5F SsM. 
 
 45. And if, since] Q1Q2Q3Q4. Q5F omit if.
 
 DEDICATION 6 
 
 been wanting to your courage, for that can never be wanting to occa- 
 sion. The same ardor still incites you to heroic actions, and the same 
 concernment for all the interests of your king and brother continue to 
 give you restless nights, and a generous emulation for your own glory. 
 You are still meditating on new labors for yourself, and new triumphs 
 for the nation; and when our former enemies again provoke us, you will 
 again solicit fate to provide you another navy to overcome, and another 
 admiral to be slain. You will then lead forth a nation eager to revenge 
 their past injuries; and, like the Komans, inexorable to peace, till they 
 
 10 have fully vanquish'd. Let our enemies make their boast of a surprise, 
 as the Samnites did of a successful stratagem; but the Furcce Caudince 
 will never be forgiv'n till they are reveng'd. I have always observ'd in 
 your Royal Highness an extreme concernment for the honor of your coun- 
 try; 'tis a passion common to you with a brother, the most excellent 
 of kings; and in your two persons are eminent the characters which 
 Homer has given us of heroic virtue; the commanding part in Agamem- 
 non, and the executive in Achilles. And I doubt not, from both your 
 actions, but to have abundant matter to fill the annals of a glorious 
 reign, and to perform the part of a just historian to my royal master, 
 
 20 without intermixing with it anything of the poet. 
 
 In the meantime, while your Royal Highness is preparing fresh em- 
 ployments for our pens, I have been examining my own forces, and 
 making trial of myself, how I shall be able to transmit you to pos- 
 terity. I have form'd a hero, I confess, not absolutely perfect, but of 
 an excessive and over-boiling courage; but Homer and Tasso are my 
 precedents. Both the Greek and the Italian poet had well consider'd 
 that a tame hero, who never transgresses the bounds of moral virtue, 
 would shine but dimly in an epic poem. The strictness of those rules 
 might well give precepts to the reader, but would administer little of 
 
 30 occasion to the writer. But a character of an eccentric virtue is the 
 more exact image of human life, because he is not wholly exempted from 
 its frailties. Such a person is Almanzor, whom I present, with all hu- 
 mility, to the patronage of your Royal Highness. I design'd in him a 
 roughness of character, impatient of injuries; and a confidence of him- 
 self, almost approaching to an arrogance. But these errors are incident 
 only to great spirits; they are moles and dimples, which hinder not a 
 face from being beautiful, tho' that beauty be not regular; they arc 
 of the number of those amiable imperfections which we see in mis- 
 tresses, and which we pass over without a strict examination, when they 
 
 40 are accompanied with greater graces. And such, in Almanzor, are a 
 frank and noble openness of nature, an easiness to forgive his con- 
 quer'd enemies, and to protect them in distress; and, above all, an in- 
 violable faith in his affection. 
 
 This, sir, I have briefly shadow'd to your Royal Highness, that you 
 may not be asham'd of that hero whose protection you undertake. 
 
 3. continue] QqF. continiicn SsM. The confusion in grauiuiar is prob- 
 ably due to Drvden himself. 
 
 31. he in not] Q.iQiQ'^F. he not Q1Q2. 
 
 41. an casines8] (Jl(j2Q.'iQ4. and easiness Q5F. 
 
 44. This, etc.] No H in Q2g3Q4.
 
 6 THE CONQUEST OP GRANADA 
 
 Neither would I dedicate him to so illustrious a name, if I were con- 
 scious to myself that he did or said anything which was wholly unworthy 
 of it. However, since it is not just that your Royal Highness should 
 defend or own what, possibly, may be my error, I bring before you this 
 accus'd Almanzor in the nature of a suspected criminal. By the suffrage 
 of the most and best he already is acquitted; and, by the sentence of 
 some, condemn'd. But, as I have no reason to stand to the award of my 
 enemies, so neither dare I trust the partiality of my friends. I make 
 my last appeal to your Royal Highness, as to a sovereign tribunal. 
 
 10 Heroes should only be judg'd by heroes, because they only are capable 
 of measuring great and heroic actions by the rule and standard of 
 their own. If Almanzor has fail'd in any point of honor, I must 
 therein acknowledge that he deviates from your Royal Highness, who 
 are the pattern of it. But if at any time he fulfils the parts of per- 
 sonal valor and of conduct, of a soldier, and of a general; or if I could 
 yet give him a character more advantageous than what he has, of the 
 most unshaken friend, the greatest of subjects, and the best of masters, 
 I should then draw to all the world a true resemblance of your worth 
 and \'irtues; at least, as far as they are capable of being copied by the 
 mean abilities of, 
 
 ^° Sib, 
 
 Your Royal Highness's 
 
 Most humble and most 
 
 Obedient servant, 
 
 J. Dryden. 
 
 6. already is] Qq. is already F. 
 18. draw to all] Ql. draw all Q2Q3Q4Q5F.
 
 OF 
 
 HEROIC PLAYS 
 
 AN ESSAY 
 
 Whether heroic verse ought to be admitted into serious plays, is 
 not now to be disputed : 'tis already in possession of the stage, and 1 dare 
 confidently affirm that very few tragedies, in this age, shall be receiv'd 
 without it. All the arguments which are form'd against it can amount 
 to no more than this, that it is not so near conversation as prose, and 
 therefore not so natural. But it is very clear to all who understand 
 poetry that serious plays ought not to imitate conversation too nearly. 
 If nothing were to be rais'd above that level, the foundation of poetry 
 would be destroy'd. And if you once admit of a latitude, that thoughts 
 
 10 may be exalted, and that images and actions may be rais'd above the 
 life, and describ'd in measure without rime, that leads you insensibly 
 from your own principles to mine: you are already so far onward of 
 your way, that you have forsaken the imitation of ordinary converse. 
 You are gone beyond it; and to continue where you are, is to lodge in 
 the open fields, betwixt two inns. You have lost that which you call 
 natural, and have not acquir'd the last perfection of art. But it was 
 only custom which cozen 'd us so long; we thought, because Shakspere 
 and Fletcher went no farther, that there the pillars of poetry were to 
 be erected; that, because they excellently describ'd passion without rime, 
 
 20 therefore rime was not capable of describing it. But time has now 
 convinc'd most men of that error. 'Tis, indeed, so difficult to write 
 verse, that the adversaries of it have a good plea against many who 
 undertake that task without being form'd by art or nature for it. Yet, 
 even they who have written worst in it, would have written worse with- 
 out it: they have cozen'd many with their sound, who never took the 
 pains to examine their sense. In fine, they have succeeded; tho' 'tis 
 true, they have more dishonor'd rime by their good success than they 
 could have done by their ill. But I am willing to let fall this argu- 
 ment: 'tis free for every man to write, or not to write in verse, as he 
 
 80 judges it to be, or not to be, his talent; or as he imagines the audience 
 will receive it. 
 
 For heroic plays (in which only I have us'd it without the mixture 
 of prose), the first light we had of them on the English theater was 
 from the late Sir William Davenant. It being forbidden him in the 
 
 2.*?. undntnlr] QqF. undrrfonk SsM. 
 
 27. they could haic] Qig2y.'iy4- ^ut^ SsMK omit could, thereby spoiling 
 the sense. 
 
 32. only I have] Q1Q2Q3Q4. / have only Q5F. 
 
 7
 
 8 THE CONQUEST OF GBANADA 
 
 rebellious times to act tragedies and comedies, because they contain'd 
 some matter of scandal to those good people, who could more easily 
 dispossess their lawful sovereign than endure a wanton jest, he was 
 forc'd to turn his thoughts another way, and to introduce the examples 
 of moral virtue, writ in verse, and performed in recitative music. The 
 original of this music, and of the scenes which adorn'd his work, he 
 had from the Italian operas; but he heightened his characters (as I may 
 probably imagine) from the example of Corneille and some French 
 poets. In this condition did this part of poetry remain at his Majesty's 
 
 10 return; when, growing bolder, as being now own'd by a public authority, 
 he review'd his Siege of Shades, and caus'd it to be acted as a just 
 drama. But, as few men have the happiness to begin and finish any 
 new project, so neither did he live to make his design perfect. There 
 vi-anted the fulness of a plot and the variety of characters to form it 
 as it ought; and, perhaps, something might have been added to the 
 beauty of the style. All which he would have perform'd with more 
 exactness, had he pleas'd to have given us another work of the same 
 nature. For myself and others, who come after him, we are bound, with 
 all veneration to his memory, to acknowledge what advantage we re- 
 
 20 ceiv'd from that excellent groundwork which he laid; and, since it is 
 an easy thing to add to what already is invented, we ought all of us, 
 without envy to him, or partiality to ourselves, to yield him the prece- 
 dence in it. 
 
 Having done him this justice, as my guide, I may do myself so 
 much as to give an account of what I have perform'd after him. I 
 observ'd then, as I said, what was wanting to the perfection of his 
 Siege of Rhodes; which was design, and variety of characters. And 
 in the midst of this consideration, by mere accident, I open'd the next 
 book that lay by me, which was an Ariosto in Italian; and the very first 
 
 30 two lines of that poem gave me light to all I could desire: 
 
 Le donne, i cavalier, I'arme, gli amori, 
 Le cortesie, I'audaci iviprese io canto, &c. 
 
 For the very next reflection which I made was this, that an heroic play 
 ought to be an imitation, in little, of an heroic poem ; and, consequently, 
 that love and valor ought to be the subject of it. Both these Sir William 
 Davenant had begun to shadow; but it was so, as first discoverers draw 
 their maps, with headlands, and promontories, and some few outlines 
 of somewhat taken at a distance, and which the designer saw not 
 clearly. The common drama oblig'd him to a plot well form'd and 
 40 pleasant, or, as the ancients call 'd it, one entire and great action; but 
 this he afforded not himself in a story which he neither fill'd with 
 persons, nor beautified with characters, nor varied with accidents. The 
 laws of an heroic poem did not dispense with those of the other, but 
 rais'd them to a greater height, and indulg'd him a farther liberty of 
 fancy, and of drawing all things as far above the ordinary proportion 
 
 6. Tiis work] Q1Q2Q3Q4. ihix work Q5F. " 
 
 11. If to be] QqF. it be SsMK. 
 
 32. Vaudaci] Q2Q.3Q4Q5F. I'audace Ql. 
 
 40. calVd] QqF. call SsMK.
 
 ESSAY OF HEEOIC PLAYS 9 
 
 of the stage, as that is beyond the common words and actions of human 
 life; and, therefore, in tlie scanting of his images and design, he com- 
 plied not enough. with the greatness and majesty of an heroic poem. 
 
 I am sorry I cannot discover my opinion of this kind of writing 
 without dissenting much from his, whose memory I love and honor. But 
 I will do it with the same respect to him as if he were now alive, and 
 overlooking my paper while I write. His judgment of an heroic poem 
 was this: that it ought to he dress' d in a more familiar and easy shape; 
 more fitted to the common actions and passions of human life; and, in 
 
 10 short, more like a glass of nature, showing us ourselves in our ordinary 
 habits, and figuring a more practicable lirtuc to us, then.-wds done by 
 the ancients or v^oderns. Thus he takes the image of an heroic poem 
 from the drama, or stage poetry; and accordingly intended to divide 
 it into five books, representing the same number of acts; and every 
 book into several cantos, imitating the scenes which compose our acts. 
 
 But this. I think, is rather a play in narration (as I may call it) 
 than an heroic poem, if at least you will not prefer tlie opinion of a 
 single man to the practice of the most excellent authors, both of ancient 
 and latter ages. 1 am no admirer of quotations; but you shall hear, if 
 
 20 you please, one of the ancients delivering his judgment on this question; 
 'tis Petronius Arbiter, the most elegant, and one of the most judicious 
 authors of the Latin tongue; who, after he had given many admirable 
 rules for the structure and beauties of an epic poem, concludes all in 
 these following words: 
 
 No7i enim res gestce versibus comprehendendce sunt, quod longe 
 melius historici faciunt: sed, per ambages, deorumque ministeria, 
 prcecipitandus est liber spiritus, ut potius furcntis animi vaticinatio 
 apparcat, quam rcligiosve orationis, sub testibus, fides. 
 
 In which sentence, and in his own essay of a poem, which imme- 
 30 diately he gives you, it is thought he taxes Lucan, who follow'd too much 
 the truth of history, crowded sentences together, was too full of points, 
 and too often offer'd at somewhat which had more of the sting of an 
 epigram than of the dignity and state of an heroic poem. Lucan us'd 
 not much the help of his heathen deities: there was neither the ministry 
 of the gods, nor the precipitation of the soul, nor the fury of a prophet 
 (of which my author speaks) in his Pharsalia; he treats you more like 
 a philosopher than a poet, and instructs you in verse with what he 
 had been taught by his uncle Seneca in prose. In one word, he walks 
 soberly, afoot, when he might fly. Yet Lucan is not always this religious 
 40 historian. The oracle of Appius, and the witchcraft of Erictho, will 
 somewhat atone for him, who was indeed bound up, by an ill-chosen 
 and known argument, to follow truth with great exactness. For my 
 part, I am of opinion that neither Homer, Virgil, Statins, Ariosto, Tasso, 
 nor our English Spenser, could have form'd their poems half so beau- 
 tiful, without those gods and spirits, and those enthusiastic parts of 
 
 ^^^. acrordinqUi inlrndcd to] QlQ2Q.'?(jl. uviordinijly to Q5F. 
 
 ]'.>. bitter] OlQliQ:5g4. lutrr C.).".F. 
 
 ii".». and in his] QigiiQ.'?. and his Q4Q5F SsMK.
 
 10 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 poetry which compose the most noble parts of all their writings. And 
 I will ask any man who loves heroic poetry (for I will not dispute their 
 tastes who do not), if the ghost of Polydorus in Virgil, the Enchanted 
 Wood in Tasso, and the Bower of Bliss in Spenser (which he borrows 
 from that admirable Italian) could have been omitted, without taking 
 from their works some of the greatest beauties in them. And if any 
 man object the improbabilities of a spirit appearing, or of a palace 
 raisM by magic, I boldly answer him that an heroic poet is not tied 
 to a bare representation of what is true, or exceeding probable; but that 
 
 10 he may let himself loose to visionary objects, and to the representation 
 of such things, as, depending not on sense, and therefore not to be 
 comprehended by knowledge, may give him a freer scope for imagina- 
 tion. 'Tis enough that, in all ages and religions, the greatest part of 
 mankind have believ'd the power of magic, and that there are spirits, 
 or specters, which have appear'd. This, I say, is foundation enough for 
 poetry; and I dare farther affirm that the whole doctrine of separated 
 beings, whether those spirits are incorporeal substances, (which Mr. 
 Hobbes, with some reason, thinks to imply a contradiction,) or that 
 they are a thinner or more aerial sort of bodies, (as some of the fathers 
 
 20 have conjectur'd,) may better be explicated by poets than by philos- 
 ophers or divines. For their speculations on this subject are wholly 
 poetical; they have only their fancy for their guide; and that, being 
 sharper in an excellent poet, than it is likely it should in a phlegmatic, 
 heavy gownman, will see farther in its own empire, and produce more 
 satisfactory notions on those dark and doubtful problems. 
 
 Some men think they have rais'd a great argument against the use 
 of specters and magic in heroic poetry, by saying they are unnatural; 
 but whether they or I believe there are such things, is not material : 'tis 
 enough that, for aught we know, they may be in nature; and whatever 
 
 30 is, or may be, is not properly unnatural. Neither am I much concern'd 
 at Mr. Cowley's verses before Gondibert (tho' his authority is almost 
 sacred to me). 'Tis true, he has resembled the old epic poetry to a 
 fantastic fairyland ; but he has contradicted himself by his own ex- 
 ample, for he has himself made use of angels and visions in his 
 Vavideis, as well as Tasso in his Godfrey. 
 
 What I have written on this subject will not be thought digression 
 by the reader, if he please to remember what I said in the beginning 
 of this essay, that I have model'd my heroic plays by the rules of an 
 heroic poem. And if that be the most noble, the most pleasant, and 
 
 40 the most instructive way of writing in verse, and withal the highest 
 pattern of human life, as all poets have agreed, I shall need no other 
 argument to justify my choice in this imitation. One advantage the 
 drama has above the other, namely, that it represents to view what the 
 poem only does relate; and, Segnius irritant animum demissa per aures, 
 Quam quce sunt oculis subjecta fdelibus, as Horace tells us. 
 
 10. way] Q1Q3Q4. might Q5F. 
 
 32. the old epic] QqP. SsMK omit oid. 
 
 36. thoupht digression] QqF. thought a digression SsMK. 
 
 40. writing in verse] Qq. F omits in.
 
 ESSAY OF HEEOIC PLAYS U 
 
 To those who object my frequent use of drums and trumpets, and my 
 representations of battles, I answer, I introduced them not on the Eng- 
 lish stage: Shakespere us'd them frequently; and the' Jonson shows no 
 battle in his Catiline, yet you hear from behind the scenes the sound- 
 ing of trumpets and the shouts of fighting armies. But I add farther, 
 that these warlike instruments, and even the representations of fighting 
 on the stage, are no more than necessary to produce the effects of an 
 heroic plaj'; that is, to raise the imagination of the audience, and to 
 persuade them, for the time, that what they behold on the theater is 
 10 really pcrform'd. The poet is, then, to endeavor an absolute dominion 
 over the minds of the spectators; for, tho' our fancy will contribute to 
 its own deceit, yet a writer ought to help its operation. And that the 
 Eed Bull has formerly done the same, is no more an argument against 
 our practice, than it would be for a physician to forbear an ap- 
 prov'd medicine because a mountebank has us'd it with success. 
 
 Thus I have given a short account of heroic plays. I might now, 
 
 with the usual eagerness of an author, make a particular defense of 
 
 this. But the common opinion (how unjust soever) has been so much to 
 
 my advantage that I have reason to be satisfied, and to suffer, with 
 
 20 patience, all that can be urg'd against it. 
 
 For, otherwise, what can be more easy for me than to defend the 
 character of Almanzor, which is one great exception that is made 
 against the play? Tis said that Almanzor is no perfect pattern of 
 heroic virtue, that he is a contemner of kings, and that he is made to 
 perform impossibilities. 
 
 I must therefore avow, in the first place, from whence I took the 
 character. The first image I had of him was from the Achilles of 
 Homer; the next from Tasso 's Einaldo, (who was a copy of the former,) 
 and the third from the Artaban of Monsieur Calprenede, (who has imi- 
 30 tated both). The original of these, Achilles, is taken by Homer for 
 his hero; and is describ'd by him as one w'ho in strength and courage 
 surpass'd the rest of the Grecian army; but, withal, of so fiery a temper, 
 so impatient of an injury, even from his king and general, that when 
 his mistress was to be fore 'd from him by the command of Agamemnon, 
 he not only disobey'd it, but return'd him an answer full of con- 
 tumely, and in the most opprobrious terms he could imagine. They 
 are Homer's words which follow, and I have cited but some few amongst 
 a multitude: 
 
 Oivo/3ap(<:^ Kvvb<; OfifjuiT ^X'^^t hpaZirjv 8' iXa<f)oio. 
 
 40 A-qfJiol36po<; ftaatXtik, &c. 
 
 Nay, he proceeded so far in his insolence, as to draw out his sword 
 with intention to kill him: 
 
 "^Xkcto 8' CK KoXeoio fJ^tya ^icfxy;. 
 
 and, if Minerva had not appear'd, and held his hand, he had executed 
 his design ; and 'twas all she could do to dissuade him from it. The 
 
 3. shows no] QlQ.'5y4. shews no Q'>. shews me no F. 
 6. the representations] Q1Q3. there presentations tj4. Ihcir presenta- 
 tions Q5F SsMK.
 
 12 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 event was, that he left the army, and would fight no more. Agamemnon 
 gives his character thus to Nestor: 
 
 'AAA' 08' dyr]p iOiXei irepl Travrwv i/x/xcvaL oAAwv, 
 HdvTiDV fjitv KpaTiuv c^cXeij TrdvTtcnri 8 dvdcracLV. 
 
 and Horace gives the same description of hira in his Art of Poetry: 
 
 Uonoratum si forte reponis Achillem, 
 Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer, 
 Jura neget sibi nata, 7iihil non arroget armis. 
 
 Tasso's chief character, Rinaldo, was a man of the same temper; 
 
 10 for, when he had slain Gernando in his heat of passion, he not only 
 
 refus'd to be judg'd by Godfrey, his general, but threaten'd that if he 
 
 came to seize him, he would right himself by arms upon him; witness 
 
 these following lines of Tasso : 
 
 Venga egli, mandi, io terrd fermo il piede: 
 Giudici finn tra noi la sorte, e Varme; 
 Fera tragedia vuol che s'appresenti, 
 Per lor diporto, alle nemiche genti. 
 
 You see how little these great authors did esteem the point of honor, 
 
 ^ Bo much magnified by the French, and so ridiculously ap'd by us. They 
 
 -A made their heroes men of honor; but so as not to divest them quite of 
 
 human passions and frailties; they contented themselves to show you 
 
 what men of great spirits would certainly do when they were provok'd, 
 
 not what they were oblig'd to do by the strict rules of moral virtue. 
 
 For my own part, I declare myself for Homer and Tasso, and am more 
 
 in love with Achilles and Rinaldo than with Cyrus and Oroondates. 
 
 I shall never subject my characters to the French standard, where lov^ 
 
 and honor are to be weigh'd by drachms and scruples. Yet, where I 
 
 have design'd the patterns of exact virtue, such as in this play are the 
 
 parts of Almahide, of Ozmyn, and Benzayda, I may safely challenge 
 
 3Q the best of theirs. 
 
 But Almanzor is tax'd with changing sides: and what tie has he on 
 him to the contrary? He is not born their subject whom he serves, and 
 he is injur'd by them to a very high degree. He threatens them, and 
 speaks insolently of sovereign power; but so do Achilles and Rinaldo, 
 who were subjects and soldiers to Agamemnon and Godfrey of Bul- 
 loign. He talks extravagantly in his passion; but, if I would take the 
 pains to quote an hundred passages of Ben Jonson's Cethegus, I could 
 easily shew you that the rodomontades of Almanzor are neither so irra- 
 tional as his, nor so impossible to be put in execution; for Cethegus 
 ^Q threatens to destroy nature, and to raise a new one out of it; to kill 
 •all the senate for his part of the action; to look Cato dead; and a 
 thousand other things as extravagant he says, but performs not one 
 action in the play. 
 
 21. contented] Ql. content Q2Q3Q4Q5F. 
 28. virtue] Q1Q2Q3. virtues Q4Q5F SsMK.
 
 ESSAY OF HEROIC PLAYS 13 
 
 But none of the former calumnies will stick; and, therefore, 'tia 
 at last charg'd upon me that Almanzor does all things; or, if you will 
 have an absurd accusation, in their nonsense who make it, that he per- 
 forms impossibilities. They say, that, being a stranger, he appeases 
 two fighting factions, when the authority of their lawful sovereign could 
 not. This is, indeed, the most improbable of all his actions, but 'tia 
 far from being impossible. Their king had made himself contemptible 
 to his people, as the history of Granada tells us; and Almanzor, tho' 
 a stranger, yet was already known to them by his gallantry in the 
 
 10 juego de tows, his engagement on the weaker side, and more espe- 
 cially by the character of his person and brave actions, given by Abdalla 
 just before; and, after all, the greatness of the enterprise consisted 
 only in the daring, for he had the king's guards to second him. But we 
 have read both of Cffisar, and many other generals, who have not only 
 calm'd a mutiny with a word, but have presented themselves single be- 
 fore an army of their enemies; which, upon sight of them, has revolted 
 from their own leaders, and come over to their trenches. In the rest of 
 Almanzor 's actions you see him for the most part victorious ; but the 
 same fortune has constantly attended many heroes \>-ho were not 
 
 20 imaginary. Yet, you see it no inheritance to him; for, in the first part, 
 he is made a prisoner; and, in the last, defeated, and not able to pre- 
 serve the city from being taken. If the history of the late Duke of 
 Guise be true, he hazarded more, and perform'd not less in Naples, than 
 Almanzor is feign'd to have done in Granada. 
 
 I have been too tedious in this apology; but to make some satisfac- 
 tion, I will leave the rest of my play expos'd to the critics, without 
 defense. 
 
 The concernment of it is wholly pass'd from me, and ought to be in 
 them who have been favorable to it, and are somewhat oblig'd to defend 
 
 30 their own opinions. That there are errors in it, I deny not : 
 
 Ast opere in tanto fas est obrepere somnuvi. 
 
 But I have already swept the stakes; and, with the common good 
 fortune of prosperous gamesters, can be content to sit quietly; to hear 
 my fortune curst by some, and my faults arraign'd by others; and to 
 suffer both without reply. 
 
 20. part} QqF. place SsMK, spoiling the sense. 
 
 32. their own opinions] Q1Q2Q3Q4. their opinions Q5. their opinion F.
 
 10 
 
 20 
 
 30 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 TO THE FIRST PART 
 SPOKEN BY 
 
 MRS. ELLEN GWYN 
 
 IN A BROAD-BRIMM'D HAT, AND WAIST-BELT 
 
 This jest was first of t' other house's making, 
 And five times tried, has never fail'd of taking; 
 For 'twere a shame a poet should be kill'd 
 Under the shelter of so broad a shield. 
 This is that hat, whose very sight did win ye 
 To laugh and clap as tho' the devil were in ye. 
 As then, for Nokes, so now I hope you'll be 
 So dull, to laugh, once more, for love of me. 
 "I'll write a play," says one, "for I have got 
 A broad-brimm'd hat, and waist-belt, tow'rds a plot." 
 Says t' other, "I have one more large than that." 
 Thus they outwrite each other with a hat! 
 The brims still grew with every play they writ; 
 And grew so large, they cover 'd all the wit. 
 Hat was the play; 'twas language, wit, and tale: 
 Like them that find meat, drink, and cloth in ale. 
 What dulness do these mungril wits confess, 
 When all their hope is acting of a dress! 
 Thus, two the best comedians of the age 
 Must be worn out, with being blocks o' th' stage; 
 Like a young girl who better things has known, 
 Beneath their poet's impotence they groan. 
 See now what charity it was to save! 
 They thought you lik'd, what only you forgave; 
 And brought you more dull sense, dull sense much worse 
 Than brisk gay nonsense, and the heavier curse. 
 They bring old ir'n and glass upon the stage, 
 To barter with the Indians of our age. 
 Still they write on, and like great authors show; 
 But 'tis as rollers in wet gardens grow 
 Heavy with dirt, and gath'ring as they go. 
 May none, who have so little understood. 
 To like such trash, presume to praise what's good! 
 
 14 
 
 }
 
 PROLOGUE 15 
 
 And may those drudges of the stage, whose fate 
 Is damn'd dull farce more dully to translate, 
 Fall under that excise the State thinks fit 
 To set on all French wares, whose worst is wit. 
 French farce, worn out at home, is sent abroad; 
 And, patch 'd up here, is made our English mode, 
 40 Henceforth, let poets, ere allow'd to write, 
 Be search 'd, like duelists, before they fight. 
 For wheel-broad hats, dull humor, all that chaff 
 Which makes you mourn, and makes the vulgar laugh: 
 For these, in plays, are as unlawful arms, 
 As, in a combat, coats of mail and charms.
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED 
 
 MEN 
 
 Mahomet Boabdelin, the last king of Granada. 
 
 Prince Abdalla, his brother. 
 
 Abdelmelech, chief of the Ahencerrages. 
 
 ZULExMA, chief of the Zegrys. 
 
 Abenamar, an old Abencerrago. 
 
 Selin, an old Zegry. 
 
 OzMYN, a brave young Abencerrago, son to Abenamar. 
 
 Hamet, brother to Zulema, a Zegry. 
 
 Gomel, a Zegry. 
 
 Almanzor. 
 
 Ferdinand, 1ci7ig of Spain. 
 
 Duke of Arcos, his General. 
 
 Don Alonzo d'Aguilar, a Spanish Captain. 
 
 WOMEN 
 
 Almahide, queen of Granada. 
 Lyndaraxa, sister of Zulema, a Zegry lady. 
 Benzayda, daughter to Selin. 
 Esperanza, slave to the queen. 
 Halyma, slave to Lyndaraxa. 
 
 Isabella, queen of Spain. 
 
 Messengers, Guards, Attendants, Men, and Women. 
 
 The SCENE in Granada, and the Christian Camp 
 besieging it.
 
 ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE ^ ,, 
 
 OB c 
 
 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 Part I 
 ACT I 
 
 BoABDELiN, Abenamar, Abdelmelech, Guards. 
 
 Boab. Thus, in the triumphs of soft peace, I reign; 
 
 And, from my walls, defy the pow'rs of Spain; 
 
 With pomp and sports my love I celebrate, 
 
 While they keep distance, and attend my state. — 
 
 Parent to her, whose eyes my soul inthral, [2'o Aben. 
 
 Whom I, in hope, already father call, 
 
 Abenamar, thy youth these sports has known. 
 
 Of which thy age is now spectator grown; 
 
 Judge-like thou sit'st, to praise, or to arraign 
 10 The flying skirmish of the darted cane: 
 
 But when fierce bulls run loose upon the place. 
 
 And our bold Moors their loves with danger grace, 
 
 Then heat new-bends thy slaeken'd nerves again, 
 
 And a short youth runs warm thro' every vein. 
 
 Aben. I must confess th' encounters of this day 
 
 Warm'd me indeed, but quite another way : 
 
 Not with the fire of youth; but gen'rous rage, 
 
 To see the glories of my youthful age 
 
 So far outdone. 
 20 Abdclm. Castile could never boast, in all its pride, 
 
 A pomp so splendid, when the lists, set wide, 
 
 Gave room to the fierce bulls, which wildly ran 
 
 In Sierra Ronda, ere the war began; 
 
 Who, with high nostrils snuffing up the wind. 
 
 Now stood the champions of the salvage kind. 
 
 Just opposite, within the circled place, 
 
 Ten of our bold Abencerrages' race 
 
 (Each brandishing his bull-spear in his hand) 
 
 24. snuffing] QlQ2Q:iQ4. sntifflincj Q5F. 
 
 17
 
 18 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 Did their proud ginnets gracefully command. 
 SO On their stcel'd heads their demi-lances wore 
 
 Small pennons, which their ladies' colors bore. 
 
 Before this troop did warlike Ozmyn go; 
 
 Each lady, as he rode, saluting low; 
 
 At the chief stands, with reverence more profound. 
 
 His well-taught courser, kneeling, touch'd the ground; 
 
 Thence rais'd, he sidelong bore his rider on, 
 
 Still facing, till he out of sight was gone. 
 
 Boab. You praise him like a friend; and I confess, 
 
 His brave deportment merited no less. 
 40 Abdelm. Nine bulls were launch'd by his victorious arm, 
 
 Whose wary ginnet, shunning still the harm, 
 
 Seem'd to attend the shock, and then leap'd wide: 
 
 Meanwhile, his dcxt'rous rider, when he spied 
 
 The beast just stooping, "twixt the neck and head 
 
 His lance, with never-erring fury, sped. 
 
 Aben. My son did well, and so did Hamet too; 
 
 Yet did no more then we were wont to do; 
 
 But what the stranger did was more then man. 
 
 Abdelm. He finished all those triumphs we began. 
 50 One bull, with curl'd black head, beyond the rest, 
 
 And dewlaps hanging from his brawny chest, 
 
 With nodding front awhile did daring stand. 
 
 And with his jetty hoof spurn 'd back the sand; 
 
 Then, leaping forth, he bellow'd out aloud: 
 
 Th' amaz'd assistants back each other crowd. 
 
 While monarch-like he rang'd the listed field; 
 
 Some toss'd, some gor'd, some trampling down he kill'd. 
 
 Th' ignobler Moors from far his rage provoke 
 
 With woods of darts, which from his sides he shook. 
 60 Meantime your valiant son, who had before 
 
 Gain'd fame, rode round to every mirador; 
 
 Beneath each lady's stand a stop he made, 
 
 And, bowing, took th' applauses which they paid. 
 
 Just in that point of time, the brave unknown ■ 
 
 Approach'd the lists. 
 
 Boab. I mark'd him, when alone 
 
 (Observ'd by all, himself observing none) 
 
 He enter'd first, and with a graceful pride 
 
 His fiery Arab dext'rously did guide, 
 
 Who, while his rider every stand survey'd, 
 70 Sprung loose, and flew into an escapade; 
 
 Not moving forward, yet, with every bound, , 
 
 Pressing, and seeming still to quit his ground. 
 WTiat after pass'd 
 
 Was far from the ventanna where I sate, 
 
 But you were near, and can the truth relate. [To Abdelm. 
 
 29. ginnets] ginnet is the regular spelling in Q1Q2Q3Q4 ; gcnnet in Q5F.
 
 PART I, ACT I 19 
 
 Ahdelm. Thus while he stood, the bull, who saw this foe, 
 
 His easier conquests proudly did forego; 
 
 And, making at him with a furious bound, 
 
 From his bent forehead aim'd a double wound. 
 80 A rising murmur ran thro' all the field. 
 
 And every lady's blood with fear was chill'd: 
 
 Some shriek'd, while others, with more helpful care, 
 
 Cried out aloud, "Beware, brave youth, beware!" 
 
 At this he turn'd, and, as the bull drew near, 
 
 Shunn'd and receiv'd him on his pointed spear: 
 
 The lance broke short; the beast then bellow'd loud. 
 
 And his strong neck to a new onset bow'd. 
 
 Th' undaunted youth 
 
 Then drew; and from his saddle bending low, ^ 
 
 80 Just where the neck did to the shoulders grow, > 
 
 With his full force discharg'd a deadly blow. J 
 
 Not heads of poppies (when they reap the grain) 
 
 Fall with more ease before the lab 'ring swain, 
 
 Then fell this head: 
 
 It fell so quick, it did even death prevent, 
 
 And made imperfect bellowings as it went. 
 
 Then all the trumpets victory did sound. 
 
 And yet their clangors in our shouts were drown'd. 
 
 [A eonfus'd noise within. 
 Boab. Th' alarm-bell rings from our Alhambra walls, 
 100 And from the streets sound drums and atabals. 
 
 [Within, a bell, drums, and trumpets. 
 
 To them a Messenger. 
 
 How now? From whence proceed these new alarms? 
 
 Mess. The two fierce factions are again in arms; 
 And, changing into blood the day 's delight. 
 The Zegrys with the Abencerrages fight; 
 On each side their allies and friends appear; 
 The Magas here, the Alabezes there: 
 The Gazuls with the Bencerrages join, 
 And with the Zegrys, all great Gomel's line. 
 
 Boab. Draw up behind the Vivarambla place; 
 110 Double my guards, — these factions I will face; 
 And try if all the fury they can bring, 
 Be proof against the presence of their king. [Exit Boab. 
 
 The Factions appear: at the head of the Abencerrages, Ozmyn, 
 at the head of the Zegrys, Zulema, Hamet, Gomel, and 
 Selin: Abenamar and Abdelmelech, join'd with the 
 Abencerrages. 
 
 Zul. The faint Abercerrages quit their ground: 
 Press 'em; put home your thrusts to every wound. 
 
 76. thin foe] QqF. his foe SsM.
 
 20 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 Abdelm. Zegry, on manly force our line relics; 
 Thine poorly takes th' advantage of surprise: 
 Unarm 'd and much outnumber 'd we retreat; 
 You gain no fame, when basely you defeat. 
 If thou art brave, seek nobler victory; 1 
 
 120 Save Moorish blood; and, while our bands stand by, >- 
 Let two to two an equal combat try. J 
 
 liam. 'Tis not for fear the combat we refuse, 
 But we our gain'd advantage will not lose. 
 
 Zul. In combating, but two of you will fall; 
 And we resolve we will dispatch you all. 
 
 Ozm. We'll double yet th' exchange before we die, 
 And each of ours two lives of yours shall buy. 
 
 Almanzor enters betwixt them, as they stand ready to engage. 
 
 Aim. I cannot stay to ask which cause is best; 
 But this is so to me, because oppress'd. [Goes to the Abencerrages. 
 
 To them Boabdelin and his guards, going betwixt them. 
 
 130 Boab. On your allegiance, I command you stay; 
 
 Who passes here, thro' me must make his way; 
 
 My life's the Isthmos; thro' this narrow line 
 
 You first must cut, before those seas can join. 
 
 What fury, Zegrys, has possess 'd your minds? 
 
 What rage the brave Abencerrages blinds? 
 
 If of your courage you new proofs would show, 
 
 Without much travel you may find a foe. 
 
 Those foes are neither so remote nor few, 
 
 That you should need each other to pursue. 
 140 Lean times and foreign wars should minds unite; 
 
 When poor, men mutter, but they seldom fight. 
 
 O holy Alha! that I live to see 
 
 Thy Granadins assist their enemy! 
 
 You fight the Christians' battles; every life 
 
 You lavish thus, in this intestine strife. 
 
 Does from our weak foundations take one prop, 
 
 Which help'd to hold our sinking country up. 
 
 Ozm. "Tis fit our private enmity should cease; 
 
 Tho' injur'd first, yet I will first seek peace. 
 150 Zul. No, murd'rer, no; I never will be won 
 
 To peace with him whose hand has slain my son. 
 Ozm. Our prophet's curse 
 
 On me, and all th' Abencerrages light. 
 
 If unprovok'd I with your son did fight. 
 
 Abdelm. A band of Zegrys ran within the place, 
 
 Match'd with a troop of thirty of our race. 
 
 Your son and Ozmyn the first squadrons led, 
 
 Which, ten by ten, like Parthians, charg'd and fled; 
 
 121. two to two] QqF. two and two SsM.
 
 PAET I, ACT I 21 
 
 The ground was strow'd with canes where we did meet, 
 160 Which crackled underneath our coursers' feet: 
 When Tarifa (I saw him ride apart) 
 Chang 'd his blunt cane for a steel-pointed dart; 
 And, meeting Ozmyn next, 
 Who wanted time for treason to provide, 
 He basely threw it at him, undefied. 
 
 Osm. [Showing his arm.] Witness this blood — which when by treason 
 sought. 
 That follow'd, sir, which to myself I ought. 
 
 Zul. His hate to thee was grounded on a grudge 
 Which all our generous Zegrys just did judge: 
 170 Thy villain-blood thou openly didst place 
 Above the purple of our kingly race. 
 
 Boab. From equal stems their blood both houses draw. 
 They from Morocco, you from Cordova. 
 
 Uam. Their mungril race is mix'd with Christian breed; 
 Hence 'tis that they those dogs in prisons feed. 
 Abdelm. Our holy prophet wills that charity 
 Should ev'n to birds and beasts extended be: 
 None knows what fate is for himself design'd; 
 The thought of human chance should make us kind. 
 liO Gom. We waste that time we to revenge should give: 
 Fall on; let no Abeneerrago live. 
 
 [Advanciiig before the rest of his imrty. Almanzor, advancing 
 on the other side, and describing a line with his sword, 
 Almam. Upon thy life, pass not this middle space; 
 Sure death stands guarding the forbidden place. 
 
 Gom. To dare that death, I will approach yet nigher; 
 Thus — wert thou compass'd in with circling fire. [They fight. 
 
 Boab. Disarm "em both; if they resist you, kill. 
 
 [Almanzor, in the midst of the guards, kills Gomel, 
 
 and then is disarm'd. 
 Almanz. Now you have but the leavings of my will. 
 Boab. Kill him! this insolent unknown shall fall, 
 And be the victim to atone you all. 
 190 Ozm. If he must die, not one of us will live: 
 That life he gave for us, for him we give. 
 
 Boab. It was a traitor's voice that spoke those words; 
 So are you all, who do not sheathe your swords. 
 
 Zul. Outrage unpunish'd, when a prince is by, 
 Forfeits to scorn the rights of majesty: 
 No subject his protection can expect, 
 Who what he owes himself does first neglect. 
 
 Aben. This stranger, sir, is he 
 Who lately in the Vivarambla place 
 200 Did, with so loud applause, your triumphs grace. 
 
 161. Ttirifa] In QtjF tho spollinfr varies liotwoon Tarifn and Tarifja. 
 166. arm] giQ4y.jF. Q2 and g:5 omit the stage-direction, arms SsM.
 
 22 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 Boab. The word which I have giv'n, I'll not revoke; 
 If he be brave, he's ready for the stroke. 
 
 Ahnanc. No man has more contempt than I of breath, 
 But whence hast thou the right to give me death? 
 Obey'd as sovereign by thy subjects be, 
 But know that I alone am king of me. 
 I am as free as nature first made man, "j 
 
 Ere the base laws of servitude began, > '■ f'^P 
 
 When wild in woods the noble savage ran. J Q 
 
 210 Boab. Since, then, no pow'r above your own you know, 
 Mankind should use you like a common foe; 
 You should be hunted like a beast of prey: 
 By your own law I take yoi.r life away. 
 
 Almanz. My laws aie raade but only for my sake; 
 No king against himself a law can make. 
 If thou pretend'st to be a prince like me. 
 Blame not an act which should thy pattern be. 
 I saw th' oppress'd, and thought it did belong 
 To a king's office to redress the wrong: 
 220 I brought that succor which thou ought'st to bring. 
 And so, in nature, am thy subjects' king. 
 
 Boab. I do not want your counsel to direct, 
 Or aid to help me punish or protect. 
 
 Almanz. Thou want'st 'em both, or better thou wouldst know, 
 Then to let factions in thy kingdom grow. 
 Divided int'rests, while thou think'st to sway, 
 Draw, like two brooks, thy middle stream away: 
 For tho' they band and jar, yet both combine 
 To make their greatness by the fall of thine. 
 230 Thus, like a buckler, thou art held in sight. 
 While they, behind thee, with each other fight. 
 
 Boab. Away, and execute him instantly! [To his Guards 
 
 Almanz. Stand off; I have not leisure yet to die. 
 
 To them, Abdalla hastily. 
 
 Abdal. Hold, sir! for heav'n sake hold! 
 Defer this noble stranger's punishment, 
 Or your rash orders you will soon repent. 
 
 Boab. Brother, you know not yet his insolence. 
 
 Abdal. Upon yourself you punish his offense: 
 If we treat gallant strangers in this sort, 
 240 Mankind will shun th' inhospitable court; 
 
 And who, henceforth, to our defense will eome, 
 If death must be the brave Almanzor's doom? 
 From Africa I drew him to your aid, 
 
 220. that aurcor'] Qq. the sticcor F. 
 
 [To them, Abdallal QqF. SsM insert enter. Similar variations, unrecorded 
 In these notes, occur later. 
 
 234. for heav'n sake] Q1Q2Q4Q5F. heav'ns Q3. heaven's SsM.
 
 PART I, ACT I 23 
 
 And for his succor have his life betray'd. 
 
 Boab. Is this th' Almanzor whom at Fez you knew, 
 When first their swords the Xeriff brothers drew? 
 
 Ahdal. This, sir, is he who for the elder fought, 
 And to the juster cause the conquest brought; 
 Till the proud Santo, seated in the throne, 
 250 Disdain'd the service he had done to own: 
 Theu to the vanquish'd part his fate he led; 
 The vanquish'd triuniph'd, and the victor fled. 
 Vast is his courage, boundless is his mind, 
 Rough as a storm, and humorous as wind : 
 Honor's the only idol of his eyes; 
 The charms of beauty like a pest he flies; 
 And, rais'd by valor from a birth unknown, 
 Acknowledges no pow'r above his own. 
 
 [BoABDELiN coming to Almanzor. 
 
 Boab. Impute your danger to our ignorance; 
 260 The bravest men are subject most to chance: 
 Granada much does to your kindness owe; "| 
 But towns, expecting sieges, cannot show > 
 More honor then t' invite you to a foe. J 
 
 Almanz. I do not doubt but I have been to blame: 
 But, to pursue the end for which I came, 
 Unite your subjects first; then let us go, 
 And pour their common rage upon the foe. 
 
 Boab. {to the Factions.] Lay down your arms, and let me beg you 
 cease 
 Your enmities. 
 
 Zul. We will not hear of peace, 
 270 Till we by force have first reveng'd our slain. 
 
 Abdelm. The action we have done we will maintain. 
 
 Sclin. Then let the king depart, and we will try 
 Our cause by arms. 
 
 Zul. For us and victory! 
 
 Boab. A king intreats you. 
 
 Almanz. W^hat subjects will precarious kings regard? 
 A beggar speaks too softly to be heard: 
 Lay down your arms! 'Tis I command you now. 
 Do it — or, by our prophet's soul I vow. 
 My hands shall right your king on him I seize. 
 280 Now let me see whose look but disobeys. 
 
 Omnes. Long live King Mahomet Boabdelin! 
 
 Almanz. No more; but hush'd as midnight silence go: 
 He will not have your acclamations now. 
 Hence, you unthinking crowd! — 
 
 [The common people go off on both parties. 
 Empire, thou poor and despicable thing, 
 
 •24n. in] Q(iF. on SsM. 
 
 273. victory 1] victory. QqF SsM.
 
 24 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 When such as these unmake or make a king! 
 
 Ahdal. How much of virtue lies in one great soul 
 
 [Emhracing him. 
 Whose single force can multitudes control! [A trumpet within. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The Duke of Arcos, sir, 
 290 Does with a trumpet from the foe appear. 
 
 Boab. Attend him; he shall have his audience here. 
 
 Enter the Dul~e of Aecos. 
 
 D. Arcos. The monarchs of Castile and Aragon ^ 
 Have sent me to you, to demand this town, > 
 
 To which their just and rightful claim is known. J 
 
 Boab. Tell Ferdinand, my right to it appears 
 By long possession of eight hundred years: 
 When first my ancestors from Afric sail'd, 
 In Kodrique's death your Gothic title fail'd. 
 
 D. Arcos. The successors of Rodrique still remain, 
 300 And ever since have held some part of Spain: 
 Ev"n in the midst of your victorious pow'rs, 
 Th' Asturias, and all Portugal, were ours. 
 You have no right, except you force allow; 
 And if yours then was just, so ours is now. 
 
 Boab. 'Tis true from force the noblest title springs; 
 I therefore hold from that, which first made kings. 
 
 D. Arcos. Since then by force you prove your title true, 
 Ours must be just, because we claim from you. 
 When with your father you did jointly reign, 
 310 Invading with your Moors the south of Spain, 
 I, who that day the Christians did command, 
 Then took, and brought you bound to Ferdinand. 
 
 Boab. I'll hear no more; defer what you would say: 
 In private we'll discourse some other day. 
 
 D. Arcos. Sir, you shall hear, however you are loth, 
 That, like a perjur'd prince, you broke your oath: 
 To gain your freedom you a contract sign'd, 
 By which your crown you to my king resign'd, 
 From thenceforth as his vassal holding it, 
 320 And paying tribute such as he thought fit; 
 Contracting, when your father came to die, 
 To lay aside all marks of royalty. 
 And at Purehena privately to live, 
 Which, in exchange. King Ferdinand did give. 
 
 Boab. The force us'd on me made that contract void. 
 
 D. Arcos. Why have you then its benefits enjoy'd? 
 By it you had not only freedom then. 
 But, since, had aid of money and of men; 
 
 286. unmake or make] QqF. make or unmake SsM.
 
 PAET I, ACT I 25 
 
 And, when Granada for your uncle held, 
 330 You were by us restor'd, and he expell'd. 
 
 Since that, in peace we let you reap your grain, 
 Eecall'd our troops, that us'd to beat your plain; 
 And more — 
 
 Almanz. Yes, yes, you did with wondrous care, 
 Against his rebels prosecute the war, 
 While he secure in your protection slept; 
 For him you took, but for yourselves you kept. 
 Thus, as some fawning usurer does feed 
 With present sums th' unwary unthrift's need, 
 You sold your kindness at a boundless rate, 
 340 And then o'erpaid the debt from his estate; 
 
 Which, mold 'ring piecemeal, in your hands did fall. 
 Till now at last you came to swoop it all. 
 
 D. Arcos. The wrong you do my king I cannot bear; 
 Whose kindness you would odiously compare. 
 Th' estate was his; which yet, since you deny. 
 He's now content, in his own wrong, to buy. 
 
 Almanz. And he shall buy it dear what his he calls — 
 We will not give one stone from out these walls. 
 
 Boab. Take this for answer, then, 
 
 350 Whate'er your arms have conquered of my land, 
 I will, for peace, resign to Ferdinand. 
 To harder terms my mind I cannot bring; 
 But, as I still have liv'd, will die a king. 
 
 D. Arcos. Since thus you have resolv'd, henceforth prepare 
 For all the last extremities of war: 
 My king his hope from heaven's assistance draws. 
 
 Almanz. The Moors have heav'n, and me, t' assist their cause. 
 
 [Exit Arcos. 
 
 Enter Esperanza. 
 
 Espcr. Fair Almahide, 
 (Who did with weeping eyes these discords see, 
 360 And fears the omen may unlucky be,) 
 
 Prepares a zambra to be danc"d this night. 
 In hope soft pleasures may your minds unite. 
 
 Boab. My mistress gently chides the fault I made;^ 
 But tedious business has my love delay'd : ?■ 
 
 Business, which dares the joys of kings invade. J 
 
 Almanz. First let us sally out, and meet the foe. 
 
 Abdal. Led on by you, we on to triumph go. 
 
 Boab. Then with the day let war and tumult cease; 
 The night be sacred to our love and peace: 
 370 'Tis just some joys on weary kings should wait; 
 'Tis all we gain by being slaves of state. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 371. of state] Q1Q2Q:{Q4. to state Q5F SsM.
 
 26 THE CONQUEST OF GKANADA 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Abdalla, Abdelmelecii, Ozmyn, Zulema, Hamet, as returning from 
 
 the sally. 
 
 Ahdal. This happy day docs to Granada bring 
 A lasting peace, and triumphs to the king: 
 The two fierce factions will no longer jar, 
 Since they have now been brothers in the war. 
 Those who, apart, in emulation fought, 
 The common danger to one body brought; 
 And, to his cost, the proud Castilian finds 
 Our Moorish courage in united minds. 
 
 Abdelm. Since to each other's aid our lives we owe, 
 jQ Lose we the name of faction, and of foe; 
 Which I to Zulema can bear no more, 
 Since Lyndaraxa's beauty I adore. 
 
 Z^il. 1 am oblig'd to Lyndaraxa's charms. 
 Which gain the conquest I should lose by arms; 
 And wish my sister may continue fair, 
 That I may keep a good, 
 Of whose possession I should else despair. 
 
 Ozm. While we indulge our common happiness, 
 He is forgot, by whom we all possess; 
 20 The brave Almanzor, to whose arms wc owe 
 All that we did, and all that we shall do; 
 Who, like a tempest that outrides the wind. 
 Made a just battle ere the bodies join'd. 
 
 Abdelm. His victories we scarce could keep in view, 
 Or polish 'em so fast as he rough-drew. 
 
 Abdal. Fate, after him, below with pain did move, 
 And victory could scarce keep pace above: 
 Death did at length so many slain forget, 
 And lost the tale, and took 'em by the great. 
 
 To them Almanzor with the Duke of Arcos, prisoner. 
 
 Hamet. See, here he comes, 
 And leads in triumph him who did command 
 The vanquish'd army of King Ferdinand. 
 
 Almanz. [To the Duke of Arcos.] Thus far your master's arms a 
 fortune find 
 Below the swell'd ambition of his mind; 
 And Alha shuts a misbeliever's reign 
 From out the best and goodliest part of Spain. 
 Let Ferdinand Calabrian conquests make, 
 And from the French contested Milan take; 
 ■ Let him new worlds discover to the old, 
 .» And break up shining mountains, big with gold; 
 Yet he shall find this small domestic foe.
 
 PAET I, ACT II 27 
 
 Still sharp and pointed, to his bosom grow. 
 
 D. Arcos. Of small advantages too much you boast; 
 You beat the out-guards of my master's host : 
 This little loss, in our vast body, shews 
 So small, that half have never heard the news. 
 Fame's out of breath, ere she can fly so far. 
 To tell 'em all that you have e'er made war. 
 
 Ahnanz. It pleases me your army is so great; 
 50 For now I know there's more to conquer yet. 
 By heav'n, I'll see what troops you have behind: 
 I'll face this storm that thickens in the wind; 
 And, with bent forehead, full against it go. 
 Till I have found the last and utmost foe. 
 
 X>. Arcos. Believe, you shall not long attend in vain: 
 To-morrow's dawn shall cover all your plain; 
 Bright arms shall flash upon you from afar, 
 A wood of lances, and a moving war. 
 But I, unhappy in my bands, must yet 
 60 Be only pleas'd to hear of your defeat. 
 And with a slave's inglorious ease remain, 
 Till conquering Ferdinand has broke my chain. 
 
 Almanz. Vain man, thy hopes of Ferdinand are weak! 
 I hold thy chain too fast for him to break. 
 But, since thou threaten'st us, I'll sot thee free. 
 That I again may fight, and conquer thee. 
 
 D. Arcos. Old as I am, I take thee at thy word, 
 And will to-morrow thank thee with my sword. 
 
 Almanz. I'll go, and instantly acquaint the king, 
 70 And sudden orders for thy freedom bring. 
 Thou canst not be so pleas'd at liberty 
 As I shall be to find thou dar'st be free. 
 
 [Exeunt Almanzor, Arcos, and the rest, 
 excepting only Abdalla and Zulema. 
 
 Abdal. Of all tliose Christians who infest this town. 
 This Duke of Arcos is of most renown. 
 
 Zul. Oft have I heard that in your father's reign 
 His bold advent'rers beat the neighb'ring plain; 
 Then under Ponce Leon's name he fought, 
 And from our triumphs many prizes brought; 
 Till, in disgrace, from Spain at length he went, 
 80 And since continued long in banishment. 
 
 Abdal. But see, your beauteous sister does appear. 
 
 To them Lyndaraxa. 
 
 Zul. By my desire she came to find me here. 
 
 [Zulema and Lyndaraxa whisper; then Zulema 
 goes out, and Lyndaraxa is going after. 
 
 56. your plain] CifiF. the plain SsM. 
 59. baridx] (iqF. bondu .S;;M. 
 80. lonu ill] i.inl'\ in lonij SsM.
 
 og THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 Ahdal. Why, fairest Lyndaraxa, do you fly [Staying her. 
 
 A prince, who at your feet is proud to die? 
 
 Lyndar. Sir, I should blush to own so rude a thing, [Staying. 
 
 As 'tis to shun the brother of my king. 
 
 Ahdal. In my hard fortune I some ease should find, 
 Did your disdain extend to all mankind. 
 But give me leave to grieve, and to complain, 
 80 That you give others what I beg in vain. 
 
 Lyndar. Take my esteem, if you on that can live; 
 For, frankly, sir, 'tis all I have to give: 
 If from my heart you ask or hope for more, 
 I grieve the place is taken up before. 
 
 Ahdal. My rival merits you. — 
 To Abdelmelech I will justice do; 
 For he wants worth, who dares not praise a foe. 
 
 Lyndar. That for his virtue, sir, you make defense, 
 Shows in your own a noble confidence. 
 100 But him defending, and excusing me, 
 I know not what can your advantage be. 
 
 Ahdal. I fain would ask, ere I proceed in this, 
 If, J.S by choice, you are by promise his? 
 
 Lyndar. Th' engagement only in my love does lie. 
 But that's a knot which you can ne'er untie. 
 
 Ahdal. When cities are besieg'd, and treat to yield, 
 If there appear relievers from the field. 
 The flag of parley may be taken down 
 Till the success of those without be known. 
 110 Lyndar. Tho' Abdelmelech has not yet possess'd, 
 Yet I have seal'd the treaty for my breast. 
 
 Ahdal. Your treaty has not tied you to a day; 
 Some chance might break it, would you but delay. 
 If I can judge the secrets of your heart, 
 Ambition in it has the greatest part; 
 
 And wisdom, then, will shew some difference ^ 
 
 Betwixt a private person and a prince. 
 
 Lyndar. Princes are subjects still. — 
 Subject and subject can small diff'rence bring: 
 120 The diff'rence is 'twixt subjects and a king. 
 
 And since, sir, you are none, your hopes remove; 
 For less then empire I'll not change my love. 
 
 Ahdal. Had I a crown, all I should prize in it, 
 Should be the pow'r to lay it at your feet. 
 
 Lyndar. Had you that crown which you but wish, not hope, 
 Then I, perhaps, might stoop and take it up. 
 But till your wishes and your hopes agree. 
 You shall be still a private man with me. 
 
 Ahdal. If I am king, and if my brother die 
 
 109. 6e known'\ QqF. is known SsM. 
 
 111. for my breast] QqF. in my breast SsM.
 
 } 
 
 PART I, ACT II 29 
 
 130 Lyndar. Two if's scarce make one possibility. 
 Abdal. The rule of happiness by reason scan; 
 You may be happy with a private man. 
 
 Lyndar. That happiness I may enjoy, 'tis true; 
 But then that private man must not be you. 
 Where'er I love, I'm happy in my choice; 
 If I make you so, you shall pay my price. 
 
 Abdal. Why would you be so great? 
 
 Lyndar. Because I've seen, 
 
 This (lay, what 'tis to hope to be a queen. 
 Heav'n, how y'all watch'd each motion of her eye! 
 140 None could be seen while Almahide was by, 
 Because she is to be Her Majesty! — 
 Why would I be a queen? Because my face 
 Would wear the title with a better grace. 
 If I became it not, yet it would be 
 Part of your duty, then, to flatter me. 
 These are not half the charms of being great; 
 I would be somewhat — that I know not yet: 
 Yes! I avow th' ambition of my soul. 
 To be that one, to live without control! 
 150 And that's another happiness to me, 
 To be so happy as but one can be. 
 
 Abdal. Madam, — because I would all doubts remove, — 
 Would you, were I a king, accept my love? 
 
 Lyndar. 1 would accept it; and, to show 'tis true, 
 From any other man as soon as you. 
 
 Abdal. Your sharp replies make me not love you less; 
 But make me seek new paths to happiness. 
 What I design, by time will best be seen: 
 You may be mine, and yet may be a queen. 
 160 When you are so, your word your love assures. 
 
 Lyndar. Perhaps not love you — but I will be yours. — 
 
 [He offers to take her hand, and kiss it. 
 Stay, sir, that grace I cannot yet allow: 
 Before you set the crown upon my brow. — 
 That favor which you seek. 
 Or Abdelmelech, or a king, must have; 
 When you are so, then you may be my slave. 
 
 [Exit; but looks smiling bach on him. 
 
 Abdal. Howe'er imperious in her words she were, 
 Her parting looks had nothing of severe; 
 A glancing smile allur'd me to command, 
 170 And her soft fingers gently press'd my hand: 
 I felt the pleasure glide thro' every part; 
 Her hand went thro' me to my very heart. 
 For such another pleasure, did he live, 
 I could my father of a crown deprive. 
 
 146. tiot half] QqF. but half SsM.
 
 30- THE CONQUEST OF GKANADA 
 
 What did I say! — 
 
 Father! — That impious thought has shockM my mind: 
 How bold our passions are, and yet how blind! — 
 She's gone; and now 
 
 Methinks there is less glory in a crown: 
 180 My boiling passions settle, and go down. 
 
 Like amber chaf d, when she is near, she acts; 
 When farther off, inclines, but not attracts. 
 
 To him ZuLEMA. 
 
 Assist me, Zulema, if thou wouldst be 
 That friend thou seem'st, assist me against me. 
 Betwixt my love and virtue I am toss'd; 
 This must be forfeited, or that be lost. 
 I could do much to merit thy applause; 
 Help me to fortify the better cause. 
 My honor is not wholly put to flight, 
 190 But would, if seconded, renew the fight. 
 
 Zul. I met my sister, but I do not see 
 What diflSculty in your choice can be. 
 She told me all; and 'tis so plain k case, 
 You need not ask what counsel to embrace. 
 
 Abdal. I stand reprov'd that I did doubt at all; 
 My waiting virtue stay'd but for thy call: 
 'Tis plain that she, who, for a kingdom, now 
 Would sacrifice her love, and break her vow, 
 Not out of love, but int'rest, acts alone, 
 200 And would, ev'n in my arms, lie thinking of a throne. 
 
 Zul. Add to the rest this one reflection more: 
 When she is married, and you still adore. 
 Think then — and think what comfort it will bring — 
 She had been mine. 
 Had I but only dar'd to be a king! 
 
 Abdal. I hope you only would my honor try; 
 I'm loth to think you virtue's enemy. 
 
 Zul. If, when a crown and mistress are in place, 
 Virtue intrudes with her lean holy face, 
 210 Virtue 's then mine, and not I virtue 's foe. 
 
 Why does she come where she has naught to do? 
 Let her with anchorites, not with lovers, lie; 
 Statesmen and they keep better company. 
 
 Abdal. Reason was giv'n to curb our headstrong will. 
 
 Zul. Eeason but shews a weak physician's skill; 
 Gives nothing, while the raging fit does last; 
 But stays to cure it, when the worst is past. 
 Reason's a staff for age, when nature's gone; 
 But youth is strong enough to walk alone. 
 220 Abdal. In curst ambition I no rest should find, 
 
 212. anchorites] Q5F. anchorit's Q1Q2Q3. anchorite's Q4.
 
 PART I, ACT II 31 
 
 But must for ever lose my peace of mind. 
 
 Zul. Methinks that peace of mind were bravely lost; 
 A crown, whate'er we give, is worth the cost. 
 
 Abdal. Justice distributes to each man his right; 
 But what she gives not, should I take by might? 
 
 Z^ll. If justice will take all, and nothing give, 
 Justice, methinks, is not distributive. 
 
 Abdal. Had fate so pleas'd, I had been eldest born, 
 And then, without a crime, the crown had worn. 
 230 Zul. Would you so please, fate yet a way would find; 
 Man makes his fate according to his mind. 
 The weak low spirit fortune makes her slave; 
 But she's a drudge when hector'd by the brave: 
 If fate weaves common thrid, he'll change the doom, 
 And with new purple spread a nobler loom. 
 
 Abdal. No more! — I will usurp the royal seat; 
 Thou, who hast made me wicked, make me great. 
 
 Zul. Your way is plain ; the death of Tarifa 
 Does on the king our Zegrys' hatred draw: 
 240 Tho' with our enemies in show we close, 
 'Tis but while we to purpose can be foes. 
 Selin, who heads us, would revenge his son; 
 But favor hinders justice to be done. 
 Proud Ozmyn with the king his pow'r maintains, 
 And in him each Abencerrago reigns. 
 
 Abdal. What face of any title can I bring? 
 
 Zul. The right an eldest son has to be king. 
 Your father was at first a private man, 
 And got your brother ere his reign began : 
 250 When, by his valor, he the crown had won. 
 Then you were born, a monarch's eldest son. 
 
 Abdal. To sharp-ey'd reason this would seem untrue; 
 But reason I thro' love's false optics view. 
 
 Zul. Love's mighty pow'r has led me captive too; 
 I am in it unfortunate as you. 
 
 Abdal. Our loves and fortunes shall together go; 
 Thou shalt be happy, when I first am so. 
 
 Zul. The Zegrys at old Selin's house are met. 
 Where, in close council, for revenge they sit: 
 260 There we our common int'rest will unite; 
 
 You their revenge shall own, and they your right. 
 
 One thing I had forgot which may import: 
 
 I met Almanzor coming back from court. 
 
 But with a diseoinpos'd and speedy pace, 
 
 A fiery color kindling all his face: 
 
 The king his pris'ner's freedom has denied, 
 
 And that refusal has provok'd his pride. 
 
 2.'?4. thrill'] QIQL'Q.S. thread QAQ-> SsM. thnrad V. 
 
 247. he kiiuj] Q(jK. be a kin<j SsM. F inserts of after ri'jht, In the same 
 lioe.
 
 32 THE CONQUEST OF GKANADA 
 
 AbdaJ. Would he were ours! — 
 I'll try to gild th' injustice of the cause, 
 270 And court his valor with a vast applause. 
 
 Zid. The bold are but the instruments o' th' wise; 
 Thoy undertake the dangers we advise: 
 And, while our fabric with their, pains Ave raise. 
 We take the profit, and pay them with praise. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Almanzor, Abdalla. 
 
 Almam. That he should dare to do me this disgrace! 
 Is fool or coward writ upon my face? 
 Eefuse my pris'ner! — I such means will use. 
 He shall not have a pris'ner to refuse. 
 
 Abdal. He said you were not by your promise tied; 
 That he absolv'd your word, when ho denied. 
 
 Almanz. He break my promise and absolve my vow! 
 'Tis more than Mahomet himself can do! 
 The word which I have giv'n shall stand like fate; 
 10 Not like the king's, that weathercock of state. 
 He stands so high, with so unfix'd a mind, 
 Two factions turn him with each blast of wind: 
 But now, he shall not veer! My word is pass'd; 
 I'll take his heart by th' roots, and hold it fast. 
 
 Abdal. You have your vengeance in your hand this hour; 
 Make me the humble creature of your pow'r: 
 TTie Granadins will gladly me obey, 
 Tir'd with so base and impotent a sway; 
 And, when I shew my title, you shall see 
 20 I have a better right to reign tlian he. 
 
 Almam. It is sufficient that you make the claim; 
 You wrong our friendship when your right you name. 
 When for myself I fight, I weigh the cause. 
 But friendship will admit of no such laws: 
 That weighs by th' lump; and, when the cause is light, 
 Puts kindness in to set the balance right. 
 True, I would wish my friend the juster side; 
 But, in th' unjust, my kindness more is tried: 
 And all the opposition I can bring, 
 30 Is that I fear to make you such a king. 
 
 Abdal. The majesty of kings we should not blame, 
 When royal minds adorn the ruyal name; 
 The vulgar, greatness too much idoUze, 
 But haughty subjects it too much despise. 
 
 Almans. I only speak of him, 
 Whom pomp and greatness sit so loose about, 
 
 26fl. Ihe cause'] QlQ2Qr;Q4. Jiis cause Q5F SsM. 
 13. pass'd^ past QqF SsM.
 
 PART I, ACT III 33 
 
 That he wants majesty to fill 'em out. 
 
 Abdal. Haste, then, and lose no time! — 
 The business must be enterprisM this night: 
 40 We must surprise the court in its delight. 
 
 Almanz. For you to will, for me 'tis to obey: 
 But I would give a crown in open day; 
 And, when the Spaniards their assault begin, 
 At once beat those without, and these within. 
 
 Enter Abdelmelech. 
 
 [Exit Almanz. 
 
 ■■} 
 
 Abdeim. Abdalla, hold! — There's somewhat I intend 
 To speak, not as your rival, but your friend. 
 
 Abdal. If as a friend, I am oblig'd to hear; 
 And what a rival says I cannot fear. 
 
 Abdeim. Think, brave Abdalla, what it is you do: 
 ^0 Your quiet, honor, and our friendship too, 
 All for a fickle beauty you forego. 
 Think, and turn back, before it be too late. 
 Behold in me th' example of your fate: 
 I am your sea-mark; and, tho' wrack'd and lost, 
 My ruins stand to warn you from the coast. 
 
 Abdal. Your counsels, noble Abdelmelech, move 
 My reason to accept 'em, not my love. 
 Ah, why did heav'n leave man so weak defense, 
 To trust frail reason with the rule of sense! 
 60 Tis overpois'd and kick'd up in the air, 
 
 While sense weighs down the scale, and keeps it there; 
 
 Or, like a captive king, 'tis borne away, 
 
 And forc'd to count'nance its own rebel's sway. 
 
 Abdeim. No, no; our reason was not vainly lent; 
 Nor is a slave, but by its own consent : 
 If reason on his subject's triumph wait. 
 An easy king deserves no better fate. 
 
 Abdal. You speak too late; my empire's lost too far: 
 I cannot fight. 
 
 Abdeim. Then make a flying war; 
 70 Dislodge betimes before you are beset. 
 
 Abdal. Her tears, her smiles, her every look's a net. 
 Her voice is like a Siren 's of the land ; 
 And bloody hearts lie panting in her hand. 
 
 Abdeim. This do you know, and tempt the danger still? 
 
 Abdal. Love, like a lethargy, has seiz'd my will. 
 I'm not njj'self, since from her sight I went; 
 I lean my trunk that way, and there stand bent. 
 As one who, in some frightful dream, would shun 
 His pressing foe, labors in vain to run; \ 
 
 80 And his own slowness in his sleep bemoans, 
 
 - ■" " 1.' 
 
 37. /?» 'cm] Q1Q2Q3Q4. flU them Q5F.
 
 34 THE CONQUEST OF GKANADA 
 
 With thick short sighs, weak cries, and tender groans, 
 
 So I 
 
 Abdelm. Some friend, in charity, should shake, 
 
 And rouse, and call you Joudly till you wake. 
 Too well I know her blandishments to gain, 
 Usurper-like, till settled in her reign; 
 Then proiully she insults, and gives you cares 
 And jealousies, short hopes and long despairs. 
 To this hard yoke you must hereafter bow, 
 Howe'er she shines all golden to you now. 
 90 Abdal. Like him, who on the ice 
 
 Slides swiftly on, and sees the water near. 
 
 Yet cannot stop himself in his career, 
 
 So am I carried. This enchanted place. 
 
 Like Circe's isle, is peopled with a race 
 
 Of dogs and swine; yet, tho' their fate I know, 
 
 I look with pleasure, and am turning too. 
 
 [Lyndaraxa passes over the stage. 
 
 Abdelm. Fly, fly, before th' allurements of her face, "I 
 Ere she return with some resistless grace, > 
 
 And with new magic covers all the place. J 
 
 100 Abdal. I cannot, will not, — nay, I would not fly: 
 I'll love, be blind, be cozen'd till I die; 
 And you, who bid me wiser counsel take, 
 I'll hate, and, if I can, I'll kill you for her sake. 
 
 Abdelm. Ev'n I, that counsel'd you, that choice approve: 
 I'll hate you blindly, and her blindly love. 
 Prudence, that stemm'd the stream, is out of breath; 
 And to go down it is the easier death. 
 
 [Lyndaraxa reenters, and smiles on Abdalla. 
 
 [Exit Abdalla. 
 
 Abdelm. That smile on Prince Abdalla seems to say, 
 Tou are not in your killing mood to-day: 
 110 Men brand, indeed, your sex with cruelty. 
 But you're too good to see poor lovers die. 
 This godlike pity in you I extol; 
 And more, because, like heav'n's, 'tis general. 
 
 Lyndar. My smile implies not that I grant his suit: 
 'Twas but a bare return of his salute. 
 
 Abdelm. It said, you were ingag'd, and I in place; 
 But, to please both, you would divide the grace. 
 
 Lyndar. You'ye cause to be contented with your part, 
 "When he has but the look, and you the heart. 
 120 Abdelm. In giving but that look, you give what's mine: 
 I'll not one corner of a glance resign. 
 All's mine; and I am cov 'tous of my store: 
 I have not love enough; I'll tax you more. 
 
 09. covers'] QqF. cover SsM.
 
 PART I, ACT III 35 
 
 Lyndar. I gave not love; 'twas but civility: 
 He is a prince; that's due to his degree. 
 
 Abdelm. That prince you smil'd on is my rival still, 
 And should, if me you lov'd, be treated ill. 
 
 Lyndar. I know not how to show so rude a spite. 
 
 AbdeUn. That is, you know not how to love aright; 
 130 Or, if you did, you would more difference see 
 Betwixt our souls, than 'twixt our quality. 
 
 Mark if his birth makes any difference. 
 If to his words it adds one grain of sense. 
 That duty which his birth can make his due 
 I'll pay, but it shall not be paid by you: 
 For, if a prince courts her whom I adore. 
 He is my rival, and a prince no more. 
 
 Lyndar. And when did I my pow'r so far resign. 
 That you should regulate each look of mine? 
 140 Abdchn. Then, when you gave your love, you gave that pow'r. 
 
 Lyndar. 'Twas during pleasure, 'tis revok'd this hour. 
 Now call me false, and rail on womankind, — 
 'Tis all the remedy you're like to find. 
 
 Abdelm. Yes, there's one more; 
 I'll hate you, and this visit is my last. 
 
 Lyndar. Do 't, if you can; you know I hold you fast: 
 Yet, for your quiet, would you could resign 
 Your love, as easily as I do mine! 
 
 Abdelm. Furies and hell, how unconcern'd she speaks! 
 150 With what indifference all her vows she breaks! 
 Curse on me, but she smiles! 
 
 Lyndar. That smile's a part of love, and all's your due: 
 I take it from the prince, and give it you. 
 
 Abdelm. Just heav'n, must my poor heart your May-game prove, 
 To bandy, and make children's play in love? [Half crying. 
 
 Ah! how have I this cruelty deserv'd? 
 I, who so truly and so long have serv'd! 
 And left so easily! O cruel maid! 
 So easily! 'Twas too unkindly said. 
 160 That heart which could so easily remove 
 Was never fix'd, nor rooted deep in love. 
 
 Lyndar. You lodg'd it so uneasy in your breast, 
 I thought you had been weary of the guest. 
 First, I was treated like a stranger there; "l 
 
 But, when a household friend I did appear, > 
 
 You thought, it seems, I could not live elsewhere. J 
 Then, by degrees, your feign'd respect witlidrew; 
 You mark'd my actions, and my guardian grew. 
 But I am not concern'd your acts to blame: 
 170 My heart to yours but upon liking caiuo; 
 And, like a bird whom prying boys molest, 
 
 150. 'Twas] QqF. it was SsM, dostroying tho motor.
 
 36 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 Stays not to breed where she had built her nest, 
 
 Abdclm. I have done ill, 
 And dare not ask you to be less displeas'd; 
 Be but more angry, and my pain is eas'd. 
 
 Lyndar. If I should be so kind a fool, to take 
 This little satisfaction which you make, 
 I know you would presume some other time 
 Upon my goodness, and repeat your crime. 
 180 Abdelm. O, never, never, upon no pretense! 
 My life's too short to expiate this offense. 
 
 Lyndar. No, now I think on 't, 'tis in vain to try; 
 'Tis in your nature, and past remedy. 
 You'll still disquiet my too loving heart: 
 Now we are friends, 'tis best for both to part. 
 
 Abdelm. [Taling her hand.] By this — will you not give me leave 
 to swear? 
 
 Lyndar. You would be perjur'd if you should, I fear: 
 And, when I talk with Prince Abdalla next, 
 I with your fond suspicions shall be vex'd. 
 190 Abdelm. I cannot say I'll conquer jealousy. 
 But, if you'll freely pardon me, I'll try. 
 
 Lyndar. And, till you that submissive servant prove, 
 I never can conclude you truly love. 
 
 To them, the King, Almahide, Abenamar, Esperanza, 
 Guards, Attendants. 
 
 Boob. Approach, my Almahide, my charming fair, 
 Blessing of peace, and recompense of war. 
 This night is yours; and may your life still be 
 The same in joy, tho' not solemnity. 
 
 SONG 
 
 I. 
 
 Beneath a myrtle shade, 
 Which love for none but happy lovers made, 
 200 7 slept; and straight my love before me brought 
 
 Phyllis, the object of my waking thought. 
 ZJndress'd she came my flames to meet. 
 While love strow'd fl^w'rs beneath her feet; 
 Flow'rs xvhich, so pressed by her, became more sweet. 
 
 n. 
 
 From the bright vision's head 
 A careless veil of lawn was loosely spread: 
 
 SONG] In Ql this song is printed after the epilogue, with the warning 
 "misplac'd. sung at the dance or zambra in the third act." It appears here 
 In Q2Q3Q4Q5F.
 
 PART I, ACT III 37 
 
 From her white temples fell her shaded hair. 
 Like cloudy sunshine, not too brown nor fair; 
 Her hands, her lips, did love inspire; 
 210 Her every grace my heart did fire: 
 
 But most her eyes, which languish'd with desire. 
 
 III. 
 
 "Ah, charming fair,'' said I, 
 "How long can you my bliss and yours deny? 
 By nature and by love this lonely shade 
 Was for revenge of suff'ring lovers made. 
 Silence and shades with love agree; 
 Both shelter you and favor me: 
 You cannot blush, because I cannot see." 
 
 IV. 
 
 "No, let me die," she said, 
 220 "Mather than lose the spotless name of maid!" 
 
 Faintly, methought, she spoke; for all the ivhile 
 She bid me not believe her, with a smile. 
 "Then die," said I: she still denied; 
 "And is it thus, thus, thus," she cried, 
 "You use a harmless maid?" — and so she died! 
 
 V. 
 
 I tvak'd, and straight I knew, 
 I lov'd so well, it made my dream prove true: 
 Fancy, the kinder mistress of the two. 
 Fancy had done what FliylUs would not do! 
 2gQ Ah, cruel nymph, cease your disdain; 
 
 While I can dream, you scorn in vain, — 
 Asleep or waking, you must ease my pain. 
 
 THE ZAMBRA DANCE 
 [After the dance, a tumultuous noise of drums and trumpets. 
 To them, Ozmyn; Tits sword drawn. 
 Ozm. Arm, quickly, arm; yet all, I fear, too late; 
 The enemy's already at the gate. 
 
 Boab. The Christians are dislodg'd; what foe is near? 
 Ozm, The Zegrys are in arms, and almost here: 
 The streets with torches shine, with shoutings ring. 
 And Prince Abdalla is proclaim'd the king. 
 What man could do, I have already done, 
 240 But bold Almanzor fiercely leads 'em on. 
 
 Aben. Th' Alhambra yet is safe in my command; [To the King. 
 Retreat you thither, while their shock we stand. 
 Boab. I cannot meanly for my life provide; 
 111 either perish in 't, or stem this tide. 
 
 The Zambia Dnnc(] Thin stage direction appears before the song in Q4Q5F 
 SsM. The text follows giiQ.J. 
 
 241. Th' Alhambra] gq. The Alhambra l\
 
 38 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 To guard the palace, Ozmyn, be your care: 
 If they o'creome, no sword will hurt the fair. 
 
 0cm. I'll cither die, or I'll make good the place. 
 
 Abdclm. And I with these will bold Almanzor face. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the Ladies. An alarm within. 
 
 Ahnah. "What dismal planet did my triumphs light! 
 250 Discord the day, and death does rule the night : 
 The noise my soul does thro' my senses wound. 
 
 Lyndar. Methinks it is a noble, sprightly sound, 
 The trumpet's clangor, and the clash of arms! 
 This noise may chill your blood, but mine it warms. 
 
 [Shouting a7id clashing of stvords ivithin. 
 We have already pass'd the Rubicon; 
 The dice are mine; now, fortune, for a throne! 
 
 [A shout within, and clashing of swords afar off. 
 The sound goes farther off, and faintly dies; 
 Curse of this going back, these ebbing cries! 
 Ye winds, Avuft hither sounds more strong and quick; 
 260 Beat faster, drums, and mingle deaths more thick. 
 I '11 to the turrets of the palace go. 
 And add new fire to those that fight below: 
 Thence, Hero-like, with torches by my side 
 (Far be the omen, tho'), my love I'll guide. 
 No; like his better fortune I'll appear, "| 
 
 "With open arms, loose veil, and flowing hair, j^ 
 Just flying forward from my rolling sphere: J 
 My smiles shall make Abdalla more then man; 
 
 Let him look up, and perish if he can. [Exit. 
 
 An alarm nearer: then enter Almanzor and Selin, 
 in the head of the Zegrys; Ozmyn Prisoner. 
 270 Almanz. We have not fought enough; they fly too soon; 
 And I am griev'd the noble sport is done. 
 
 This only man, of all whom chance did bring [Pointing to Ozmyn. 
 
 To meet my arms, was worth the conquering. 
 His brave resistance did my fortune grace; 
 So slow, so threat'ning forward, he gave place. 
 His chains be easy, and his usage fair. 
 
 Selin. I beg you would commit him to my care. 
 
 Almanz. Next, the brave Spaniard free without delay; 
 And with a convoy send him safe away. [Exit a Guard. 
 
 * 
 
 To them Hamet and others. 
 
 280 Eamet. The king by me salutes you; and, to show 
 That to your valor he his crown does owe. 
 Would from your mouth I should the word receive, 
 And that to these you would your orders give. 
 
 Almanz. He much o'errates the little I have done. 
 
 264. I'll guidc'\ QqF. tcill guide SsM.
 
 PART I, ACT III 39 
 
 [Almanzor goes to the door, and there seems to giv« 
 out orders, by sending people several ways. 
 
 Selin. [to Ozmyn.] Now, to revenge the murder of my son, 
 To-morrow for thy certain death prepare; 
 This night 1 only leave thee to despair. 
 
 Ozmyn. Thy idle menaces I do not fear: 
 My business was to die or conquer here. 
 290 Sister, for you I grieve I could no more: 
 My present state betrays my want of pow'r; 
 But, when true courage is of force bereft, 
 Patience, the noblest fortitude, is left. [Exit cum Selin. 
 
 Almah. Ah, Esperanza, what for me remains 
 But death, or, worse than death, inglorious chains! 
 
 Esper. Madam, you must not to despair give place; 
 Heav'n never meant misfortune to that face. 
 Suppose there were no justice in your cause, 
 Beauty's a bribe that gives her judges laws. 
 300 That you are brought to this <leplor'd estate, 
 Is but th' ingenious flatt'ry of your fate; 
 Fate fears her succor like an alms to give; 
 And would you, God-like, from yourself should live. 
 
 Almah. Mark but how terrible his eyes appear! 
 And yet there's something roughly noble there, 
 Which, in unfashion'd nature, looks divine, 
 And, like a gem, does in the quarry shine. 
 
 [Almanzor returns; she falls at his feet, being veiVd. 
 
 Abnah. Turn, mighty eonqu'ror, turn your face this way, 
 Do not refuse to hear the wretched pray! 
 310 Almanz. What business can this woman have with me? 
 
 Almah. That of th' afflicted to the Deity. 
 So may your arms success in battles find; 
 So may the mistress of your vows be kind. 
 If you have any; or, if you have none. 
 So may your liberty be still your own! 
 
 Almanz. Yes, I will turn my face, but not my mind: 
 You bane and soft destruction of mankind. 
 What would you have with me? 
 
 Almah. I beg the grace [Unveiling. 
 
 You would lay by those terrors of your face. 
 320 Till calmness to your eyes you first restore, 
 I am afraid, and I can beg no more. 
 
 Almanz. [Looking fixedly on her.] Well; my fierce visage shall not 
 murder you. 
 Speak quickly, woman; I have much to do. 
 
 Almah. Where should I find the heart to speak one wordt 
 Your voice, sir, is as killing as your sword. 
 
 203. the noblest] QlQliQ.?Q4. the only Q5F SsM. 
 304. ierribh] QtiF. terribly SsM. 
 311i. lattlcn] OqF. battle SsM.
 
 40 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 As you have left the lightning of your eye, 
 So would you please to lay your thunder by. 
 
 Almam. I'm pleas'd and pain'd, since first her eyes I saw^ 
 As I were stung with some tarantula. 
 330 Arms, and the dusty field, I less admire, 
 And soften strangely in some new desire; 
 Honor burns in me, not so fiercely bright. 
 But pale, as fires when master'd by the light: 
 Ev'n while I speak and look, I change yet more, 
 And now am nothing that I was before. 
 I'm numb'd, and fix'd, and scarce my eyeballs move: 
 I fear it is the lethargy of love ! 
 'Tis he; I feel him now in every part: 
 Like a new lord he vaunts about my heart; 
 340 Surveys, in state, each corner of my breast. 
 While poor fierce I, that was, am dispossess'd; 
 I'm bound; but I will rouse my rage again; ^ 
 And, tho' no hope of liberty remain, > 
 
 I'll fright my keeper when I shake my chain. J 
 You are [Angrily. 
 
 Almah. I know I am your captive, sir. 
 
 Almanz. You are — You shall — And I can scarce forbear 
 
 Almah. Alas! 
 
 Almans. 'Tis all in vain; it will not do: \^Aside. 
 
 I cannot now a seeming anger show: 
 My tongue against my heart no aid affords; 
 350 For love still rises up, and chokes my words. 
 
 Almah. In half this time a tempest would be still. 
 
 Almanz. "Tis you have rais'd that tempest in my will. 
 I wonnot love you; give me back my heart; 
 But give it, as you had it, fierce and brave. 
 It was not made to be a woman 's slave. 
 But, lion-like, has been in desarts bred. 
 And, us'd to range, will ne'er be tamely led. 
 Restore its freedom to my fetter'd will, 
 And then I shall have pow'r to use you ill. 
 360 Almah. My sad condition may your pity move; 
 
 But look not on me with the eyes of love. 
 
 I must be brief, tho' I have much to say. 
 
 Almanz. No, speak; for I can hear you now all day. 
 Ilcr suing soothes me with a secret pride: [Softly. 
 
 A suppliant beauty cannot be denied. [Aside. 
 
 Ev'n while I frown, her charms the furrows seize; 
 And I'm corrupted with the pow'r to please. 
 
 Almah. Tho' in your worth no cause of fear I see, 
 I fear the insolence of victory; 
 370 As you are noble, sir, protect me then 
 From the rude outrage of insulting men. 
 
 336. numb'dl nnmm'd QlQ2Qr,Q4. munrd Q.IF.
 
 PART I, ACT III 41 
 
 Ahnanz. Who dares touch her I love? I'm all o'er love: 
 Nay, I am Love; Love shot, and shot so fast, 
 He shot himself into my breast at last. 
 
 Almah. You see before you her who should be queen, 
 Since she is promis'd to Boabdelin. 
 
 Almanz. Are you belov'd by him? O wretched fate 
 First that I love at all; then, love too late! 
 Yet, I must love! 
 
 Almah. Alas, it is in vain; 
 380 Fate for each other did not us ordaiu. 
 The chances of this day too clearly show 
 That heav'n took care that it should not be so. 
 
 Almam. Would heav'n had quite forgot me this one day! 
 
 But fate 's yet hot 
 
 I 'II m.ake it take a bent another way. 
 
 [He walks swiftly and discomposedly, studying 
 I bring a claim which does his right remove; 
 You're his by promise, but you're mine by love. 
 'Tis all but ceremony which is past; 
 The knot 's to tie which is to make you fast. 
 390 Fate gave not to Boabdelin that pow'r; 
 He woo'd you but as my andiassador. 
 
 Almah. Our souls are tied by holy vows above. 
 Almanz. He signM but his; but I will seal my lovo. 
 I love you better, with more zeal then he. 
 
 Almah. This day 
 I gave my faith to him, he his to me. 
 
 Almanz. Good heav'n, thy book of fate before me lay, 
 But to tear out tlio jonrnai of this day: 
 Or, if the order of the world below "i 
 
 400 Will not the gap of one whole day alloAV, > 
 
 Give me that minute when she made her vow ! J 
 "Tliat minute, ev'n the happy from their bliss might give; 
 "And those, who live in grief, a shorter time would live. 
 So small a link, if broke, th' eternal chain 
 Would, like divided waters, join again. — 
 It wonnot be; the fugitive is gone, 
 Press'd by the crowd of following minutes on: 
 That precious moment's out of nature fled, ^ 
 
 And in tlie heap of common rubbish laid, > 
 
 410 Of things tiiat once have been, and are decay'd. J 
 
 Almah. Your passion, like a fright, suspends my pain; 
 It meets, o'erpow'rs, and bears mine back again: 
 But as, when tides against the current flow. 
 The native stream runs its own course below. 
 So, tho' your griefs possess the upper part. 
 My own have deeper channels in my heart. 
 
 ■ilH. love too late] QlQ2(j:{. lorcil fiw late Q4Q5F SsM. 
 401!. 40;{. SsM omit (jiiotos, found in QqF. 
 412. bcars2 QIQ-'Q.J. beats QUi'tl'' SsM.
 
 42 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 Almanz. Forgive that fury which my soul docs move; 
 'Tis the essay of an untaught first love. 
 Yet rude, unfasliion'd truth it does express; 
 420 -Tis love just peeping in a hasty dress. 
 Retire, fair creature, to your needful rest; 
 There's something noble lab'ring in my breast: 
 This raging fire which thro' the mass does move 
 Shall purge my dross, and shall refine my love. 
 
 [Exeunt Almahide and Espeeanza. 
 She goes, and I like my own ghost appear; 
 It is not living when she is not here. 
 
 To him Abdalla as King, attended. 
 
 Abdal. My first acknowledgments to heav'n are due; 
 My next, Almanzor, let me pay to you. 
 
 Almanz. A poor surprise, and on a naked foe, 
 430 Whatever you confess, is all you owe; 
 And I no merit own, or understand 
 That fortune did you justice by my hand: 
 Yet, if you will that little service pay 
 With a great favor, I can shew the way. 
 
 Abdal. I have a favor to demand of you; 
 That is, to take the thing for which you sue. 
 
 Almanz. Then, briefly, thus: when I th' Albayzin won, 
 I found the beauteous Almahide alone, 
 Whose sad condition did my pity move; 
 440 And that compassion did produce my love. 
 
 Abdal. This needs no suit; in justice, I declare, 
 She is your captive by the right of war. 
 
 Almanz. She is no captive then; I set her free; ^ 
 And, rather then I will her jailer be, V 
 
 I'll nobly lose her in her liberty. J 
 
 Abdal. Your generosity I much approve; 
 But your excess of that shows want of love. 
 
 Almanz. No, 'tis th' excess of love, which mounts so high 
 That, seen far off, it lessens to the eye. 
 450 Had I not lov'd her, and had set her free, 
 That, sir, had been my generosity; 
 But 'tis exalted passion, when I show 
 I dare be wretched, not to make her so. 
 And, while another passion fills her breast, 
 I'll be all wretched rather then half blest. 
 
 Abdal. May your heroic act so prosperous be, 
 That Almahide may sigh you set her free. 
 
 Enter Zulema. 
 Zul. Of five tall tow 'rs which fortify this town, 
 
 444 th€n^ Q1Q2. than Q3Q4Q5F. Similar variants occur elsewherp. but 
 are not recorded here ; the spelling then seems most frequent in Ql and Q2. 
 445. lose] Q2Q3Q4. loose Q1Q5F.
 
 PAKT I, ACT III 43 
 
 All but th' Alhambra your dominion own: 
 460 Now, therefore, boldly I confess a flame, 
 Which is excus'd in Almahida's name. 
 If you the merit of this night regard, 
 In her possession I have my reward. 
 
 Almanz. She your reward! Why, she's a gift so great, 
 That I myself have not deservM her yet; 
 And therefore, tho' I won her with my sword, 
 I have, with awe, my sacrilege restor'd. 
 
 Zul. What you deserve 
 I'll not dispute, because I do not know; 
 470 This only I will say, she shall not go. 
 
 Almam. Thou, single, art not worth my answering: 
 But take what friends, what armies thou canst bring; 
 What worlds; and, when you are united all, 
 Then I will thunder in your ears: ''She shall!" 
 
 Zul. I'll not one tittle of my right resign. 
 Sir, your implicit promise made her mine; 
 When I in general terms my love did show, 
 You swore our fortunes should together go. 
 
 Abdal. The merits of the cause I'll not decide, 
 480 But, like my love, I would my gift divide. 
 Your equal titles, then, no longer plead; 
 But one of you, for love of me, recede. 
 
 Almanz. I have receded to the utmost line, 
 When, by my free consent, she is not mine: 
 Then let him equally recede with me, 
 And both of us will join to set her free. 
 
 Zul. If you will free your part of her, you may; 
 But, sir, I love not your romantic way. 
 Dream on, enjoy her soul, and set that free; 
 490 I'm pleas"d her person should be left for me. 
 
 AUnanz. Thou shalt not wish her thine; thou shalt not dare 
 To be so impudent as to despair. 
 
 Zul. The Zegrys, sir, are all eoncern'd to see 
 How much their merit you neglect in me. 
 
 Hamet. Your slighting Zulema this very hour 
 Will take ten thousand subjects from your pow 'r. 
 
 Almanz. What are ten thousand subjects such as they? 
 If I am scorn'd — I'll take myself away. 
 
 Abdal. Since both cannot possess what both pursue, 
 500 I grieve, my friend, the chance should fall on you; 
 But when you hear what reasons I can urge 
 
 Almanz. None, none that your ingratitude can purge. 
 Reason's a trick, when it no grant affords; 
 It stamps the face of majesty on words. 
 
 Abdal. Your boldness to your services I give: 
 
 461. Almahida's] So printed in QqF wherever a word of four syllables la 
 required by the motor; Ss.M print uniformly Alnialiidf. 
 474. / lti//J QqF. will I Ss.M.
 
 44 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 Now take it, as your full reward— to live. 
 
 Almaiiz. To live! 
 If from thy hands alone my death can be, 
 I am immortal, and a god, to thee. 
 510 If I would kill thee now, thy fate's so low. 
 That 1 must stoop ere I can give the blow: 
 But mine is fix'd so far above thy crown. 
 That all thy men, 
 
 Pil'd on thy back, can never pull it down. 
 But at my ease thy destiny I send, 
 By ceasing from this hour to be thy friend. 
 Like heav'n, I need but only to stand still, 
 And, not concurring to thy life, I kill. 
 Thou canst no title to my duty bring; 
 520 I'm not thy subject, and my soul's thy king. 
 Farewell. When I am gone. 
 
 There's not a star of thine dare stay with thee: 
 I'll whistle thy tame fortune after me; 
 And whirl fate with me wheresoe'er I fly, 
 As winds drive storms before 'em in the sky. [Exit. 
 
 Zul. Let not this insolent impunish'd go; 
 Give your commands; your justice is too slow. 
 
 [ZuLEMA, Hamet, and others are going after Mm. 
 
 Abdal. Stay, and what part he pleases let him take: 
 I know my throne's too strong for him to shake. 
 530 But my fair mistress I too long forget; 
 The crown I promis'd is not offer'd yet. 
 Without her presence all my joys are vain. 
 Empire a curse, and life itself a pain. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 BoABDELiN, Abenamar, Guards. 
 
 Boob. Advise, or aid, but do not pity me: 
 No monarch born can fall to that degree. 
 Pity descends from kings to all below; 
 But can, no more then fountains, upward flow. 
 Witness just heav'n, my greatest grief has been, 
 I could not make your Almahide a queen. 
 
 Ahen. I have too long th' effects of fortune known, 
 Either to trust her smiles, or fear her frown. 
 Since in their first attempt you were not slain, 
 10 Your safety bodes you yet a second reign. 
 The people like a headlong torrent go. 
 And every dam they break, or overflow; 
 But, unoppos'd, they either lose their force, 
 Or wind in volumes to their former course. 
 
 508. thy hands] Q1Q2Q3Q4. my hands QoF. 
 518. concurring to] QqF. concurring in SsM.
 
 PART I, ACT IV, SCENE I 45 
 
 Boah. In Malls we meanly must our hopes inclose, 
 To wait our friends, and weary out our foes: 
 While Almahide 
 
 To lawless rebels is expos'd a prey, 
 And forc'd the lustful victor to obey. 
 20 Aben. One of my blood, in rules of virtue bred! 
 Think better of her, and believe she's dead. 
 
 To them Almanzor. 
 Boab. We are betray'd, the enemy is here; 
 
 We have no farther room to hope or fear. 
 
 Almans. It is indeed Almanzor whom you see, 
 
 But he no longer is your enemy. 
 
 You were ungrateful, but your foes were more; 
 
 What your injustice lost you, theirs restore. 
 
 Make profit of my vengeance while you may; 
 
 My two-edg'd sword can cut the other way. — 
 30 I am your fortune, but am swift like her. 
 
 And turn my hairy front if you defer: 
 
 That hour when you delib'rate, is too late; 
 
 I point you the Avhite moment of your fate. 
 
 Abcn. Believe him sent as Prince Abdalla's sjiy; 
 
 He would betray us to the enemy. 
 
 Almans. Were I, like thee, in cheats of state grown old "| 
 
 (Those public markets, where for foreign gold > 
 
 The poorer prince is to the richer sold), J 
 
 Then thou mightst think me fit for that low part; 
 40 But I am yet to learn the statesman's art. 
 
 My kindness and my hate unmask'd I wear; 
 
 For friends to trust, and enemies to fear. 
 
 My heart's so plain 
 
 That men on every passing thought may look. 
 
 Like fishes gliding in a crystal brook; 
 
 When troubled most, it does the bottom show; 
 
 'Tis weedless all above, and rockless all below. 
 
 Abcn. Ere he be trusted, let him first be tried; 
 
 He may be false, who once has chang'd his side. 
 50 Ahnanz. In that you more accuse yourselves than me; 
 
 None Mho are injur'd can unconstant be. 
 
 You Mere unconstant, you. Mho did the Mrong; 
 
 To do me justice does to me belong. 
 
 Great souls by kindness only can be tied; 
 
 Injur'd again, again I'll leave your side. 
 
 Honor is what myself, and friends, I owe; 
 
 And none can lose it Mho forsake a foe. 
 
 Since, then, your foes noM- happen to be mine. 
 
 21. and hrlierr-] Q4Q."F. and I hclievc Q1Q2. / believe Q3, 
 
 ;57. irhcrc] (y.\()4l\ irc/c (,>1U2( ».".. 
 
 44. thounht] Uigi'Q.'J. thuu<)h g4Q5. IliroiKjh F. 
 
 48. first] yH22g;i(j4. then g5r.
 
 46 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 Tho' not in friendship, y>(i'U in int'rest join: 
 60 So while my lov'd revenge is full and high, 
 
 I'll give you back your kingdom by the by. 
 
 Boab. [Embracing him.] That I so long delay'd what you desire, 
 
 Was not to doubt your worth, but to admire. 
 
 Almanz. This counselor an old man's caution shows, ^ 
 
 Who fears that little he has left to lose: V 
 
 Age sets to fortune; while youth boldly throws. J 
 
 But let us first your drooping soldiers cheer; 
 
 Then seek out danger, ere it dare appear: 
 
 This hour I fix your crown upon your brow; 
 70 Next hour fate gives it, but I give it now. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 Lyndaraxa alone. 
 
 Lyndar. O could I read the dark decrees of fate, 
 That I might once know whom to love, or hate! 
 For I myself scarce my own thoughts can guess, 
 So much I find 'em varied by success. 
 As in some weatherglass my love I hold ; 
 Which falls or rises with the heat or cold. 
 I will be constant yet, if fortune can; 
 I love the King; — let her but name the man. 
 
 To her Halyma. 
 
 Hal. Madam, a gentleman, to me unknown, • 
 10 Desires that he may speak with you alone. 
 
 Lyndar. Some message from the king. Let him appear. 
 
 To her Abdelmelech ; who ent 'ring throws off his disguise. 
 
 She starts. 
 
 Abdelm. I see you are amaz'd that I am here: 
 But let at once your fear and wonder end. 
 In the usurper's guard I found a friend. 
 Who led me to you safe in this disguise. 
 
 Lyndar. Your danger brings this trouble in my eyes. 
 But what affair this vent'rous visit drew? 
 
 Abdelm. The greatest in the world; the seeing you. 
 
 Lyndar. The courage of your love I so admire 
 20 That, to preserve you, you shall straight retire. 
 
 [She leads him, to the door. 
 Go, dearl each minute does new dangers bring; 
 You will be taken ; I expect the king. 
 
 Abdelm. The king! — the poor usurper of an hour: 
 His empire's but a dream of kingly pow'r. 
 
 66 sets to fortunel Q1Q2Q3. sets fortune Q4Q5F. sets a fortune. 
 
 4! find 'em] Q1Q2Q3Q4. find them Q.^.F. 
 14. guards QqF. guards SsM.
 
 PAET I, ACT IV, SCENE II 47 
 
 I warn you, as a lover and a friend, 
 To leave him ere his short dominion end: 
 The soldier I suborn'd will wait at night, 
 And shall alone be conscious of your flight. 
 
 Lyndar. 1 thank you that you so much care bestow; 
 80 But, if his reign be short, I need not go. 
 For why should 1 expose my life and yours 
 For what, you say, a little time assures? 
 
 Abdelm. My danger in th' attempt is very small; 
 And, if he loves you, yours is none at all. 
 But, tho' his ruin be as sure as fate. 
 Your proof of love to me would come too late. 
 This trial I in kindness would allow: 
 'Tis easy; if you love me, show it now. 
 
 Lyndar. It is because I love you, I refuse; 
 40 For all the world my conduct would accuse. 
 If I should go with him I love away: 
 And, therefore, in strict virtue, I will stay. 
 
 Abdelm. You would in vain dissemble love to me; 
 Thro' that thin veil your artifice I see. 
 You would expect th' event, and then declare; 
 But do not, do not drive me to despair: 
 For, if you now refuse with me to fly, 
 Eathcr then love you after this, I'll die; 
 And therefore weigh it well before you speak; 
 50 My king is safe, his force within not weak. 
 
 Lyndar. The counsel you have giv'n me may be wuse; 
 But, since th' affair is great, I will advise. 
 
 Abdelm. Then that delay I for denial take. [7s going. 
 
 Lyndar. Stay; you too swift an exposition make. 
 If I should go, since Zulema will stay, 
 I should my brother to the king betray. 
 
 Abdelm. There is no fear; but, if there were, I see 
 You value still your brother more than me. 
 Farewell! Some ease I in your falsehood find; 
 60 It lots a beam in that will clear my mind: 
 My former weakness I with shame confess, 
 And, when I see you next, shall love you less. \T.<< goinq again. 
 
 Lyndar. Your faithless dealing you may blush to tell; [TVeeping. 
 This is a maid's reward, who loves too well. — [He looks baeJc. 
 
 Kemember that I drew my latest breath 
 In charging your unkindness with my death. 
 
 Abdelm. [Coming bad:] Have I not answer 'd all you can invent, 
 Ev'n the least shadow of an argument? 
 
 Lyndar. You want not cunning what you please to prove, 
 70 But my poor heart knows only how to love; 
 And, finding this, you tyrannize the more: 
 'Tis plain, some other mistress you adore; 
 
 G3. dcalini/] Q1Q2Q3. dcaliiuja Q4Qr)F SsM.
 
 48 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 And now, with studied tricks of siibtilty, 
 
 You come prepar'd to lay the fault on me. [Wringing her hands. 
 
 But, O, that I should love so false a man! 
 
 Abdelm. Hear me, and then disprove it, if you can. 
 
 Lyndar. I'll hear no more; your breach of faith is plain: 
 You would with wit your want of love maintain. 
 But, by my own experience, I can tell, 
 80 They who love truly cannot argue well. 
 Go, faithless man! 
 
 Leave me alone to mourn my misery; 
 I cannot cease to love you, but I'll die. [Leans her head on his arm. 
 
 Abdelm. [Weeping.^ What man but I so long unmov'd could hear 
 Such tender passion, and refuse a tear! 
 But do not talk of dying any more, 
 Unless you mean that I should die before. 
 
 Lyndar. I fear your f eign 'd repentance comes too late; 
 I die, to see you still thus obstinate: 
 90 But yet, in death my truth of love to show, 
 Lead me; if I have strength enough, I'll go. 
 
 Abdelm. By heav'n, you shall not go! I will not be 
 O'crcome in love or generosity. 
 All I desire, to end th' unlucky strife, 
 Is but a vow that you will be my wife. 
 
 Lyndar. To tie me to you by a vow is hard; 
 It shows my love you as no tie regard. 
 Name anything but that, and I'll agree. 
 
 Abdelm. Swear then, you never will my rival's be. 
 100 Lyndar. Nay, pr'ythee, this is harder then before. 
 Name anything, good dear, but that thing more. 
 
 Abdelm. Now I too late perceive I am undone; 
 Living and seeing, to my death I run. 
 I know you false, yet in your snares I fall; 
 You grant me nothing, and I grant you all. 
 
 Lyndar. I would grant all; but I must curb my will, 
 Because I love to keep you jealous still. 
 In your suspicion I your passion find; 
 But 1 will take a time to cure your mind. 
 110 Ealyma. O, madam, the new king is drawing near! 
 
 Lyndar. Haste quickly hence, lest he should find you here! 
 
 Abdelm. How much more wretched then I came, I go! ^ 
 I more my weakness and your falsehood know; r 
 
 And now must leave you with my greatest foe! J 
 
 [Exit Abdelm. 
 
 Lyndar. Go! — How I love thee, heav'n can only tell: 
 And yet I love thee, for a subject, well. — 
 Yet, whatsoever charms a crown can bring, 
 A subject's greater then a little king. 
 I will attend till time this throne secure; 
 
 73. suWltp] QqF. suWety SsM,
 
 PAKT I, ACT IV, SCENE II 49 
 
 120 And, when I climb, my footing shall be sure. — [Music without. 
 
 Music ! and, I believe, address'd to me. 
 
 SONG 
 
 I. 
 Wherever I am, and ivhatever I do, 
 
 My Phyllis is still in my mind; 
 When angry, I mean not to Phyllis to go, 
 
 My feet, of themselves, the way find: 
 Unknown to myself I am just at her door. 
 And, when I tcould rail, I can bring out no Tnore, 
 
 Than: "Phyllis too fair and unkind!'' 
 
 II. 
 When Phyllis I sec, my heart bounds in my breast, 
 130 And the love I would stifle is shown; 
 
 But asleep, or awake, I am never at rest. 
 
 When from my eyes Phyllis is gone. 
 Sometimes a sad dream does delude my sad mind; 
 But, alas! when I wake, and no Phyllis I find. 
 How I sigh to myself all alone! 
 
 III. 
 Should a king be my rival iu her I adore, 
 He should offer his treasure in vain: 
 
 let me alone to be happy and poor. 
 And give me viy Phyllis again! 
 
 140 Let Phyllis be mine, and but ever be kind, 
 
 1 could to a dcsart with her be confined. 
 And envy no monarch his reign. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Alas! I discover too much of my love. 
 And she too well knows her own pow'r! 
 
 She makes mc each day a new martyrdom prove. 
 And makes me grow jealous each hour: 
 
 But let her each minute torment my poor mind, 
 
 I had rather love PliyUis, both false and unkind, 
 Then ever be freed from her pow'r. 
 
 Abdalla enters tvith guards. 
 
 150 Abdal. Now, madam, at your feet a king you sec; 
 Or rather, if you please, a scepter'd slave: 
 'Tis just you should possess the pow'r you gave. 
 Had love not made me yours, I yet had bin 
 But the first subject to Boabdelin. 
 Thus heav'n declares the crown I bring your due; 
 And bad forgot my title, hut for you,
 
 50 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 Lyndar. Heav'n to your merits will, I hope, be kindj 
 But, sir, it has not yet deelar'd its mind. 
 'Tis true, it holds the crown above your head; 
 160 But does not fix it till your brother's dead. 
 
 Abdal. All but th' Alhambra is within my pow'r; 
 And that my forces go to take this hour. 
 
 Lyndar. When, with its keys, your brother's head you bring, 
 I shall believe you are indeed a king. 
 
 Abdal. But since th' events of all things doubtful are, 
 And, of events, most doubtful those of war ; 
 I beg to know before, if fortune frown. 
 Must I then lose your favor with my crown? 
 
 Lyndar. You'll soon return a conqueror again; 
 170 And therefore, sir, your question is in vain. 
 
 Abdal. I think to certain victory I move; 
 But you may more assure it, by your love. 
 That grant will make my arms invincible. 
 
 Lyndar. My pray'rs and wishes your success foretell. — 
 Go then, and fight, and think you fight for me; 
 I wait but to reward your victory. 
 
 Abdal. But if 1 lose it, must I lose you too? 
 
 Lyndar. You are too curious, if you more would know. 
 I know not what my future thoughts will be: 
 180 Poor women's thoughts are all extempore. 
 Wise men, indeed. 
 
 Beforehand a long chain of thoughts produce; 
 But ours are only for our present use. 
 
 Abdal. Those thoughts, you will not know, too well declare 
 You mean to wait the final doom of war. 
 
 Lyndar. I find you come to quarrel with me now; 
 Would you know more of me then I allow? 
 W^hence are you grown that great divinity 
 That with such ease into my thoughts can pry? 
 190 Indulgence does not with some tempers suit; 
 I see I must become more absolute. 
 
 Abdal. I must submit, 
 On what hard terms soe'er my peace be bought. 
 
 Lyndar. Submit! — You speak as you were not in fault. 
 'Tis evident the injury is mine; 
 For why should you my secret thoughts divine? 
 
 Abdal. Yet if we might be judg'd by reason's laws! — 
 
 Lyndar. Then you would have your reason judge my cause !- 
 Either confess your fault, or hold your tongue; 
 200 For I am sure I'm never in the wrong. 
 
 Abdal. Then 1 acknowledge it. 
 
 Lyndar. Then I forgive. 
 
 Abdal. Under how hard a law poor lovers live! 
 Who, like the vanquish'd, must their right release. 
 
 194. fault.] Q3F. fault? Q1Q2Q4Q5.
 
 PAET I, ACT IV, SCENE II 51 
 
 And with the loss of reason buy their peace. — [Aside, 
 
 Madam, to show that you my pow"r command, 
 
 I put my life and safety in your hand. 
 
 Dispose of the Albayzin as you please : 
 
 To your fair hands I here resign the keys. 
 
 Lyndar. I take your gift, because your love it shews, 
 210 And faithful Selin for alcalde choose. 
 
 Abdul. Selin, from her alone your orders take. 
 This one request, yet, madam, let me make, 
 That from those turrets you th' assault will see; 
 And crown, once more, my arms with victory. {Leads her out. 
 
 [Selin remains with Gazul and Keduax, Ms servants.] 
 
 Selin. Gazul, go tell my daughter that I wait. 
 You, Reduan, bring the pris'ner to his fate. [Exeunt Gaz. and Red. 
 Ere of my charge I will possession take, 
 A bloody sacrifice I mean to make : 
 The manes of my son shall smile this day, 
 220 While I, in blood, my vows of vengeance pay. 
 
 Enter at one door Bexzayda, with Gazul; at the other, Ozmyn 
 hound, ivith Reduan. 
 
 Selin. I sent, Benzayda, to glad your eyes: 
 These rites we owe your brother's obsequies. — 
 You two [to Gaz. and Red.] th' accurst Abencerrago bind: 
 You need no more t' instruct you in my mind. 
 
 [They bind him to one corner of the stage. 
 
 Benz. In what sad object am I call'd to share? 
 Tell me, what is it, sir, you here prepare? 
 
 Selin. 'Tis what your dying brother did bequeath; 
 A scene of vengeance, and a pomp of death! 
 
 Btnz. The horrid spectacle my soul does fright; 
 230 [ want the heart to see the dismal sight. 
 
 Selin. You are my principal invited guest, • 
 
 Whose eyes 1 would not only feed, but feast: 
 You are to smile at his last groaning breath, 
 And laugh to see his eyeballs roll in death; 
 To judge the ling'ring soul's convulsive strife, 
 When thick short breath catches at parting life. 
 
 Benz. And of what marble do you think me made? 
 
 Selin. What! Can you be of just revenge afraid? 
 
 Be7iz. He kill'd my brother in his own defense; 
 240 Pity his youth, and spare his innocence. 
 
 Selin. Art thou so soon to pardon murder won? 
 Can he be innocent, who kill'd my son? 
 Abenamar shall mourn as well as I; 
 
 200. shrirx] F. xhows Qq SsM. ^_ , j , , ™ 
 
 210 alcat'lc chnoKc] QlQ'J(^■:g4• ohade choose Q.'*. alcadc I choose V. 
 
 22:5. th' itcriiinl] QKH- th' curnl <i2. thr curst Q3Qol' bsM. 
 
 240. i/iJiocc/icTl (J1Q2q:>Q4. iiisoUiicc (J.'jF.
 
 52 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 His Ozmyn for my Tarifa shall die. 
 But since thou plead'st so boldly, I Mill see 
 
 That justice thou wouldst hinder done by thee. [Gives her his sword. 
 Here, take the sword, and do a sister's part: 
 Pierce his, fond girl, or I will pierce thy heart. 
 Ozm. To his commands I join my own request; 
 250 All wounds from you are welcome to my breast: 
 Think only, when your hand this act has done, 
 It has but finish "d Avhat your eyes begun. 
 I thought with silence to have scorn 'd my doom, 
 But now your noble pity has oVrcome; 
 Which 1 acknowledge with my latest breath; 
 The first who e'er began a love in death. 
 
 Benz. [to Selin.] Alas, what aid can my weak hand afford? 
 You see I tremble when I touch a sword: 
 The brightness dazzles me, and turns my sight; 
 260 Or, if 1 look, 'tis but to aim less right. 
 
 Ozm. I'll guide the hand which must my death convey; 
 My leaping heart shall meet it half the way. 
 
 Selin. [to Benz.] Waste not the precious time in idle breath. 
 Benz. Let me resign this instrument of death. 
 
 [Giving the sword to her father, and then pulling it bach. 
 Ah, no ! I was too hasty to resign : 
 'Tis in your hand more mortal then in mine. 
 
 To them Hamet. 
 
 Eamet. The king is from th' Alhambra beaten back, 
 And now preparing for a new attack; 
 To favor which, he wills that instantly 
 270 You reinforce him with a new supply. 
 
 Selin. [to Benz.] Think not, altho' my duty calls me hence, 
 That with the breach of yours I will dispense. 
 Ere my return see my commands you do: 
 Let me find Ozmyn dead, and kill'd by you. — 
 Gazul and Reduan, attend her still; 
 And, if she dares to fail, perform my will. 
 
 [Exeunt Selin and Hamet. 
 
 [Benzayda looTcs languishing on him, ivith her sword down; 
 Gazul and Reduan standing with drawn swords by her. 
 Ozm. Defer not, fair Benzayda, my death: 
 Looking for you, 
 
 I should but live to sigh away my breath. 
 280 My eyes have done the work they had to do: ^ 
 I take your image with me, which they drew; > 
 And, when they close, I shall die full of you. J 
 
 Benz. When parents their commands unjustly lay. 
 Children are privileg'd to disobey; 
 Yet from that breach of duty I am clear, 
 Since I submit the penalty to bear,
 
 PART I, ACT IV, SCENE II 53 
 
 To die, or kill you, is th' alternative; 
 Rather then take your life, I will not live. 
 
 Ostn. This shows th' excess of generosity; 
 290 But, madam, you have no pretense to die. 
 I should defame th' Abencorrages' race, 
 To let a lady suffer in my place. 
 But neither could that life, you would bestow, "l 
 Save mine; nor do you so much pity owe > 
 
 To me, a stranger, antl your house's foe. J 
 
 Benz. From wheneesoe'er their hate our houses drew, 
 I blush to tell you, I have none for you. 
 'Tis a confession which I should not make. 
 Had I more time to give, or you to take : 
 300 But, since death's near, and runs with so much force, 
 We must meet first, and intercept his course. 
 
 Ozm. O, how unkind a con- fort do you give! 
 Now I fear death again, and wish to live. 
 Life were worth taking, could I have it now; "^ 
 But 'tis more good than heav'n can e'er allow > 
 To one man's portion, to liave life and you. J 
 
 Bei}~. Sure, at our births. 
 Death with our meeting planets danc'd above, 
 
 Or we were wounded by a mourning love! {Shouts uithin. 
 
 310 iied. The noise returns, and doubles from behind; 
 It seems as if two adverse armies join'd. — 
 Time presses us. 
 
 Gas. If longer you delay. 
 
 We must, tho ' loth, your father 's will obey, 
 
 Osm. Haste, madam, to fulfil his hard commands, 
 And rescue me from their ignoble hands. 
 Let me kiss yours, when you my \Yound begin, 
 Then easy death will slide with pleasure in. 
 
 Benz. Ah, gentle soldiers, some short time allow! 
 
 [To G.\z. and Red, 
 
 My father has repented him ere now; 
 320 Or will repent him, when he finds me dead. 
 My clue of life is twin'd with Ozmyn's thread. 
 
 Med. 'Tis fatal to refuse her, or obey. 
 But where is our excuse? what can we say? 
 
 Benz. Say; anything 
 
 Say that to kill the guiltless you were loth; 
 Or if you did, say I would kill you both. 
 
 Gaz. To disobey our orders is to die. — 
 I'll do 't: who dare oppose it? 
 
 Bed. That dare I. 
 
 [Reduan stand,s before Ozmyn, and fif/hts uith Gazul. Ben- 
 ZAYDA unbinds Ozmyn, and gives him her su-ord. 
 
 Benz. Stay not to see the issue of the fight; [Red. IciUs Gaz. 
 
 330 But haste to save yourself by speedy flight.
 
 54 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 Oj?)i. [Kneeling to Jciss her hand.] Did all mankind against my life 
 conspire, 
 Without this blessing I vrould not retire. 
 But, madam, can I go and leave you here? 
 Your father's anger now for you I fear: 
 Consider you have done too much to stay. 
 
 Bcnz. Think not of me, but fly yourself away. 
 
 HcJ. Haste quickly hence; the enemies are nigh! 
 From every part 1 see our soldiers fly. 
 The foes not only our assailants beat, 
 340 ]5ut fiercely sally out on their retreat, 
 
 And, like a sea broke loose, come on amain. 
 
 To them Abenamar, and a party with their swords drawn, 
 driving in some of the enemies. 
 
 Aben. Traitors, you hope to save yourselves in vain! 
 Your forfeit lives shall for your treason pay; 
 And Ozmyn"s blood shall be reveng'd this day. 
 
 Osm. [Kneeling to his father.] No, sir, your Ozmyn lives; and 
 lives to own 
 A father 's piety to free his son. 
 
 Aben. [Embracing him.] My Ozmyn !^ — O thou blessing of my age! 
 And art thou safe from their deluded rage! — 
 Whom must I praise for thy deliverance? 
 350 Was it thy valor, or the work of chance? 
 
 Ozm. Nor chance, nor valor, could deliver me; 
 But 'twas a noble pity set me free. 
 My liberty, and life. 
 
 And what your happiness you're pleas'd to call. 
 We to this charming beauty owe it all. 
 
 Aben. [to her.] Instruct me, visible divinity! 
 Instruct me by what name to worship thee! 
 For to thy virtue I would altars raise, 
 Since thou art much above all human praise. 
 360 But see 
 
 Enter Almanzor, his sxvord bloody, leading in Almahide, at- 
 tended by ESPERANZA. 
 
 My other blessing, Almahide, is here! 
 
 I'll to the king, and tell him she is near: 
 
 You, Ozmyn, on your fair deliverer wait. 
 
 And with your private joys the public celebrate. [Exeunt. 
 
 Almanzor, Almahide, Esperanza. 
 
 Almanz. The work is done; now, madam, you are free; 
 At least, if I can give you liberty: 
 
 338. o«;] QqF. the SsM.
 
 PART I, ACT IV, SCENE II 55 
 
 But you have chains which you yourself have chose; 
 And that I could free you too from those! 
 But you are free from force, and have full pow'r 
 370 To go, and kill my hopes and me, this hour. 
 I see, then, you will go; but yet my toil 
 May be rewarded with a looking-while. 
 
 Almah. Almanzor can from every subject raise 
 New matter for our wonder and his praise. 
 You bound and freed me; but the difference is, 
 That show'd your valor; but your virtue this. 
 
 Almanz. Madam, you praise a fun'ral victory, 
 At whose sad pomp the conqueror must die. 
 
 Almah. Conquest attends Almanzor everywhere; 
 380 I am too small a foe for him to fear: 
 But heroes still must be oppos'd by some, 
 Or they would want occasion to o'ereome. 
 
 Almam. Madam, I cannot on bare praises live; 
 Those who abound in praises seldom give. 
 
 Almah. While I to all the world your worth make known, 
 May heav'n reward the pity you have shown! 
 
 Almanz. My love is languishing, and sterv'd to death; 
 And would you give me charity — in breath? 
 Pray'rs are the alms of churchmen to the poor: 
 890 They send to heaven's, but drive us from their door. 
 
 Almah. Cease, cease a suit 
 So vain to you, and troublesome to me. 
 If you will have me think that I am free. 
 If I am yet a slave, my bonds I '11 bear ; 
 But what I cannot grant, I will not hear. 
 
 Almanz. You wonnot hear! You must both hear and grant; 
 For, madam, there's an impudence in want. 
 
 Almah. Your way is somewliat strange to ask relief; 
 You ask with threat'ning, like a begging thief. 
 400 Once more, Almanzor, tell me, am I free? 
 
 Almanz. Madam, you are, from all the world, — but mel 
 But as a pirate, when he frees the prize "^ 
 
 He took from friends, sees the rich merchandise, >■ 
 And, after he has freed it, justly buys; J 
 
 So, when I have restor'd your liberty — 
 But then, alas, I am too poor to buy! 
 
 Almah. Nay, now you use me just as pirates do: 
 You free me; but expect a ransom too. 
 
 Almanz. You've all the freedom that a prince can have; 
 410 But greatness cannot be without a slave. 
 A monarch never can in private move, 
 But still is haunted with ofTicious love. 
 So small an inconvenience you may bear; 
 
 390. send to heaien's] QqF. send's to heaven SsM. 
 396. wonnot] QqF. will not SsM.
 
 56 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 'Tis all tbe fine fate sets upon the fair. 
 
 Almah. Yet princes may retire \\hene"er they please, 
 And breathe free air from out their palaces: 
 They go sometimes unknown, to shun their state; 
 And then 'tis manners not to know or wait. 
 
 Jlmanz. If not a subject, then a ghost I'll be; 
 420 And from a ghost, you know, no place is free. 
 Asleep, awake, I'll haunt you everywhere; 
 From my white shroud groan love into your ear. 
 When in your lover's arms you sleep at night, 
 I'll glide in cold betwixt, and seize my right 
 And is 't not better, in your nuptial bed. 
 To have a living lover than a dead? 
 
 Almah. I can no longer bear to be accus'd, 
 As if, what I could grant you, I refus'd. 
 My father's choice I never will dispute; 
 430 And he has chosen ere you mov'd your suit. 
 You know my case; if equal you can be, 
 Plead for yourself, and answer it for me. 
 
 Almans. Then, madam, in that hope you bid me live; 
 I ask no more then you may justly give: 
 But in strict justice there may favor be, 
 And may I hope that you have that for me? 
 
 Almah. Why do you thus my secret thoughts pursue, 
 Which, known, hurt me, and cannot profit you? 
 Your knowledge but new troubles does prepare, 
 440 Like theirs who curious in their fortunes are. 
 To say, I could with more content be yours, 
 Tempts you to hope; but not that hope assures. 
 For since the king has right, 
 And favor'd by my father in his suit. 
 It is a blossom which can bear no fruit. 
 Yet, if you dare attempt so hard a task. 
 May you succeed; you have my leave to ask. 
 
 Almaiiz. I can with courage now my hopes pursue. 
 Since I no longer have to combat you. 
 450 That did the greatest difficulty bring; 
 The rest are small, a father and a king 
 
 Almah. Great souls discern not when the leap's too wide, 
 Because they only view the farther side. 
 Whatever you desire, you think is near; 
 But, with more reason, the event I fear. 
 
 Almans. No; there is a necessity in fate, 
 Wliy still the brave bold man is fortunate: 
 He keeps his object ever full in sight. 
 And that assurance holds him firm and right. 
 460 True, 'tis a narrow path that leads to bliss, * 'j 
 
 But right before there is no precipice: \- 
 
 Fear makes men look aside, and then their footing miss. J 
 
 Almah. I do your merit all the right I can,
 
 PART I, ACT V, SCENE I 57 
 
 Admiring virtue in a private man; 
 
 I only wish the king may grateful be 
 
 And that my father with my eyes may see. 
 
 Might I not make it as my last request, 
 
 (Since humble carriage suits a suppliant best,) 
 
 That you would somewhat of your fierceness hide — 
 ^70 That inborn fire — I do not call it pride? 
 
 Almans. Born, as I am, still to command, not sue, 
 
 Yet you shall see that I can beg for you; 
 
 And if your father will require a crown. 
 
 Let him but name the kingdom, 'tis his own. 
 
 I am, but while I please, a private man; 
 
 I have that soul which empires first began. 
 
 From the dull crowd which every king does lead 
 
 I will pick out whom I will choose to head : 
 
 The best and bravest souls I can select, 
 *80 And on their conquer'd necks my throne erect. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE I. 
 
 Abdallah alone, under the walls of the Alhayzin. 
 
 Abdal. While she is mine, I have not yet lost all. 
 But, in her arms, shall have a gentle fall: 
 Blest in my love, altho' in war o'ercome, 
 I fly, like Anthony from Actium, 
 To meet a better Cleopatra here. — 
 You of the watch ! you of the watch ! appear. 
 
 Hold, [above.] Who calls below? What's your demand? 
 
 Abdul. 'Tis I; 
 
 Open the gate with speed; the foe is nigh. 
 
 ISold. What orders for admittance do you bring? 
 10 Ahdnl. Slave, my own orders: look, and know the king. 
 
 Hold. I know you; but my charge is so severe 
 That none, without exception, enter here. 
 
 Abdul. Traitor, and rebel, thou shalt shortly see 
 Thy orders are not to extend to me. 
 
 Lyndar. [above.] What saucy slave so rudely does exclaim, 
 And brands my subject with a rebel's name? 
 
 Abdal. Dear Lyndaraxa, haste; the foes pursue. 
 
 Lyndar. My lord, the Prince Abdalla, is it you? 
 I scarcely can believe the words I hear; 
 20 Could you so coarsely treat my officer? 
 
 Abdal. He forc'd me; but the danger nearer draws: 
 When 1 am enter'd, you shall know the cause. 
 
 Lyndar. Enter'd! Why, have you any business here? 
 
 Abdal. I am pursued, the enemy is near. 
 
 Lyndar. Are you pursued, and do you thus delay 
 To save yourself? Make haste, my lord, away.
 
 58 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 Abdal. Give me not cause to think you mock my grief: 
 What place have 1, but this, for my relief? 
 
 Lyndar. This favor does your handmaid much oblige, 
 30 But we are not provided for a siege: 
 
 My subjects few; and their provision thin; 
 The foe is strong without, we weak within. 
 This to my noble lord may seem unkind. 
 But he will weigh it in his princely mind; 
 And pardon her, who does assurance want 
 So much, she blushes when she cannot grant. 
 
 Abdal. Yes, you may blush; and you have cause to weep 
 Is this the faith you promis'd me to keep? 
 Ah yet, if to a lover you will bring 
 40 No succor, give your succor to a king. 
 
 Lyndar. A king is he whom nothing can withstand; 
 Who men and money can with ease command. 
 A king is he whom fortune still does bless; 
 He is a king, who does a crown possess. 
 If you would have me think that you are he, 
 Produce to view your marks of sovereignty; 
 But if yourself alone for proof you bring, 
 You're but a single person, not a king. 
 
 Abdal. Ingrateful maid, did I for this rebel? 
 50 I say no more; but I have lov'd too well. 
 
 Lyndar. Who but yourself did that rebellion move? 
 Did I e'er promise to receive your love? 
 Is it my fault you are not fortunate? 
 I love a king, but a poor rebel hate. 
 
 Abdal. Who follow fortune, still are in the right; 
 But let me be protected here this night. 
 
 Lyndar. The place to-morrow will be circled round; 
 And then no way will for your flight be found. 
 
 Abdal. I hear my enemies just coming on; [Trampling within. 
 
 60 Protect me but one hour, till they are gone. 
 
 Lyndar. They'll know you have been here; it cannot be; 
 That very hour you stay, will ruin me: 
 For if the foe behold our enterview, 
 I shall be thought a rebel too, like you. 
 Haste hence; and that your flight may prosperous prove, 
 I'll recommend you to the pow'rs above. [Exit Lynd. from above. 
 
 Abdal. She's gone! Ah, faithless and ingrateful maid! 
 I hear some tread; and fear I am betray 'd. 
 I'll to the Spanish king; and try if he, ^ 
 
 70 To count'nance his own right, will succor me: V 
 
 There is more faith in Christian dogs, than tliee. J [Exit. 
 
 6.3. enterrielt■^ Qq. interview F SsM. 
 
 68. / hear] Q3F. I fear Q1Q2Q4Q5 ; a misprint evidently caused by the 
 fear, later in the line.
 
 PAET I, ACT V, SCENE II 59 
 
 [SCENE II] 
 
 OZMYN, Benzayda, Abenamar. 
 
 Bens. I wish 
 (To merit all these thanks) I could have said, "^ 
 My pity only did his virtue aid; >- 
 
 'Twas pity, but 'twas of a love-sick maid. J 
 
 His manly suffering my esteem did move; 
 That bred compassion, and compassion love, 
 
 Ozm. O blessing sold me at too cheap a rate! 
 My danger was the benefit of fate. [To his father. 
 
 But that you may my fair deliverer know, 
 10 She was not only born our house's foe. 
 But to my death by pow'rful reasons led; 
 At least, in justice, she might wish me dead. 
 
 Aben. But why thus long do you her name conceal? 
 
 Ozm. To gain belief for what I now reveal: 
 Ev'n thus prepar'd, you scarce can think it true, "^ 
 The saver of my life from Selin drew >■ 
 
 Her birth; and was his sister whom I slew. J 
 
 Aben. No more; it cannot, was not, must not be: 
 Upon my blessing, say not it was she. 
 20 The daughter of the only man I hate! 
 Two contradictions twisted in a fate! 
 
 Ozm. The mutual hate which you and Seliu bore 
 Does but exalt her generous pity more. 
 Could she a brother's death forgive to me, 
 And cannot you forget her family? 
 Can you so ill requite the life I owe, 
 To reckon her who gave it still your foe? 
 It lends too great a luster to her line 
 To lot her virtue ours so much outshine. 
 30 Aben. Thou giv'st her line th' advantage which they have. 
 By meanly taking of the life they gave. 
 Grant that it did in her a pity show; 
 But would my son be pitied by a foe? 
 She has the glory of thy act defac'd : 
 Thou kiirdst her brother; but she triumphs last: 
 Poorly for us our enmity would cease; 
 When we are beaten, we receive a peace. 
 
 Bcnz. If that be all in which you disagree, 
 I must confess 'twas Ozmyn conquer'd me. 
 40 Had I beheld him basely beg his life, 
 I should not now submit to be his wife; 
 But when I saw his courage death control, 
 I paid a secret homage to his soul; 
 And thought my cruel father much to blame, 
 
 SCE.NE II] not markod in QnF SsM. 
 30. uiv'st] yigiiQ:{. i/arcxt Q4Q.">. ( 
 35. kill'dat] Qig2Q;5Q4. kilViit Q.^F.
 
 60 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 Since Ozmyn's virtue lii^ revenge did shame. 
 
 Aben. What constancy canst thou e'er hope to find 
 In that unstable and soon conquer'd mind? 
 What piety canst thou expect from her, 
 Who could forgive a brother's murderer? 
 50 Or what obedience hop's: thou to be paid 
 From one who first her father disobey'd? 
 
 Ozm. Nature, that bids us parents to obey, 
 Bids parents their commands by reason weigh; 
 And you her virtue by your praise did own. 
 Before you knew by whom the act was done. 
 
 Aben. Your reasons speak too much of insolence; 
 Her birth 's a crime past pardon or defense. 
 Know, that as Selin was not won by thee. 
 Neither will 1 by Selin's daughter be. 
 60 Leave her, or cease henceforth to be my son: 
 
 This is my will; and this I will have done. [Exit Aben 
 
 Ozm. It is a murd'ring will 
 That whirls along with an impetuous sway. 
 And, like chain-shot, sweeps all things in its way. 
 He does my honor want of duty call; 
 To that, and love, he has no right at all. 
 
 Bens. No, Ozmyn, no ; it is a much less ill 
 To leave me, than dispute a father 's will. 
 If I had any title to your love, 
 70 Your father's greater right does mine remove: 
 Your vows and faith I give you back again, 
 Since neither can be kept without a sin. 
 
 Ozm. Nothing but death my vows can give me back: 
 They are not yours to give, nor mine to take. 
 
 Bern. Nay, think not, tho' I could your vows resign, 
 My love or virtue could dispense with mine. 
 I would extinguish your unlucky fire, 
 To make you happy in some new desire: 
 I can preserve enough for me and you, 
 80 And love, and be unfortunate, for two. 
 
 Ozm. In all that's good and great 
 You vanquish me so fast, that in the end 
 I shall have nothing left me to defend. 
 From every post you force me to remove; 
 But let me keep my last retrenchment, love. 
 
 Bens. Love then, my Ozmyn; I will be content [Giving her hand. 
 To make you wretched by your own consent: 
 Live poor, despis'd, and banish'd for my sake, 
 And all the burden of n)y sorrows take; 
 90 For, as for me, in whatsoe'er estate, 
 
 49. could] Qq. would F. 
 
 67. it is a much less ill] F. Q1Q4Q5 omit a. 'its not so great an ill 
 Q2Q3. 
 
 85. fetrenchment] QqF. entrenchment SsM, to tho detriment of the sense.
 
 PART I, ACT V, SCENE III 61 
 
 While I have you, I must be fortunate. 
 
 Ozm. Thus then, sccur'd of what we hokl most dear 
 (Each other's love), we'll go — I know not where. 
 For where, alas, should we our flight begin? 
 The foe's without; our parents are within. 
 
 Benz. I'll fly to you, and you shall fly to me; 
 Our flight but to each other's arms shall be. 
 To providence and chance permit the rest; 
 Let us but love enough, and we are blest. {Exeunt. 
 
 [SCENE III] 
 Enter Boabdelin, Abenamar, Abdelmelech, Guard: Zulema and 
 
 Hamet, Prisoners. 
 
 Abdclm. They're Lyndaraxa's brothers; for her sake, 
 Their lives and pardon my request I make. 
 
 Boab. Then, Zulema and Haniot, live; but know, 
 Your lives to Abdelmelech 's suit you owe. 
 
 Zul. The grace receiv'd so much my hope exceeds 
 That words come weak and short to answer deeds. 
 You've made a venture, sir, and time must show 
 If this great mercy you did well bestow. 
 
 Boab. You, Abdelmelech, haste before 'tis night, 
 10 And close pursue my brother in his flight. 
 
 [Exeunt Abdelmelech, Zulema, Hamet. 
 
 Enter Almanzor, Almahide, and Esperanza. 
 
 But see, with Almahide 
 
 The brave Almanzor comes, whose conquering sword 
 The crown, it once took from me, has restor'd. 
 How can I recompense so great desert ! 
 
 Almanz. I bring you, sir, perform'd in every part, 
 My promise made; your foes are fled or slain; 
 Without a rival, absolute you reign. 
 Yet tho ', in justice, this enough may be, 
 It is too little to be done by me: 
 20 I beg to go, 
 
 Where my own courage and your fortune calls, 
 To chase these misbelievers from our walls. 
 I cannot breathe within this narrow space; 
 My heart's too big, and swells beyond the place. 
 
 Boab. You can perform, brave warrior, what you please; 
 Fate listens to your voice, and then decrees. 
 Now I no longer fear the Spanish pow'rs; 
 Already we are free, and conquerors. 
 
 Almanz. Accept, great king, to-morrow, from my hand. 
 
 Scene III] not markod in QqF. Scene II SsM. 
 1. They're] QqF. They are SsM, to the detriment of the meter.
 
 62 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 30 The captive head of conquer'd Ferdinand. 
 
 You shall not only what you lost regain, "i 
 
 But o'er the Biscayn mountains to the main ^ 
 
 Extend your sway, where never Moor did reign. J 
 Aben. What, in another, vanity would seem, 
 
 Appears but noble confidence in him; 
 
 No haughty boasting, but a manly pride; 
 
 A soul too fiery and too great to guide: 
 
 He moves eccentric, like a wand'ring star 
 
 Whose motion 's just, tho' 'tis not regular. 
 40 Boab. It is for you, brave man, and only you. 
 
 Greatly to speak, and yet more greatly do. 
 
 But, if your benefits too far extend, 
 
 I must be left ungrateful in the end: 
 
 Yet somewhat I would pay, 
 
 Before my debts above all reck'ning grow, 
 
 To keep me from the shame of what I owe. 
 
 But you 
 
 Are conscious to yourself of such desert 
 
 That of your gift I fear to offer part. 
 50 Almanz. When I shall have declared my high request, 
 
 So much presumption there will be confess'd 
 
 That you will find your gifts I do not shun, 
 
 But rather much o'errate the service done. 
 
 Boab. Give wing to your desires, and let 'em fly. 
 
 Secure they cannot mount a pitch too high. 
 
 So bless me Alha both in peace and war. 
 
 As I accord whate'er your wishes are. 
 
 Almans. [Putting one knee on the ground.] Embolden'd by the 
 promise of a prince, 
 
 I ask this lady now with confidence. 
 60 Boab. You ask the only thing I cannot grant. 
 
 [The King and Abenamar look amazedly on each other. 
 
 But, as a stranger, you are ignorant 
 
 Of what by public fame my subjects know; 
 
 She is my mistress. 
 
 Abe7i. — And my daughter too. 
 
 Almanz. Believe, old man, that I her father knew: 
 
 What else should make Almanzor kneel to you? 
 
 Nor doubt, sir, but your right to her was known: "| 
 
 For had you had no claim but love alone, V 
 
 I could produce a better of my own. J 
 
 Almah. [softly to him.] Almanzor, you forget my last request: 
 70 Your words have too much haughtiness express'd. 
 
 Is this the humble way you were to move? 
 
 Almans. [to her.] I was too far transported by my love. 
 
 Forgive me; for I had not learn'd to sue 
 
 To anything before, but heav'n and you. 
 
 58. [knee on] Q1Q2Q3. [knee to] Q4Q5F SsM.
 
 PART I, ACT V, SCENE III 63 
 
 Sir, at your feet, I make it my request — [To the King. 
 
 [First line kneeling: second, rising, and boldly. 
 Tho', without boasting, I deserve her best; 
 For you her love with gaudy titles sought, 
 But I her heart with blood and dangers bought. 
 
 Boab. The blood which you have shed in her defense 
 80 Shall have in time a fitting recompense; 
 Or, if you think your services delay'd, 
 Name but your price, and you shall soon be paid. 
 
 Almanz. My price! Why, king, you do not think you deal 
 With one who sets his services to sale? 
 Reserve your gifts for those who gifts regard; 
 And know, I think myself above reward. 
 
 Boab. Then sure you are some godhead; and our care 
 Must be to come with incense and with pray'r. 
 
 Almam. As little as you think yourself oblig'd, 
 90 You would be glad to do 't, when next besieg'd. 
 But I am pleas'd there should be nothing due; 
 For what 1 did was for myself, not you. 
 
 Boab. You with contempt on meaner gifts look down; 
 And, aiming at my queen, disdain my crown. 
 That crown, restor'd, deserves no recompense, 
 Since you would rob the fairest jewel thence. 
 Dare not henceforth ungrateful mo to call; 
 Whate'er I ow'd you, this has cancol'd all. 
 
 Almam. I'll call thee thankless, king, and perjur'd both: 
 100 Thou swor'st by AIha, and hast broke thy oath. 
 But thou dost well; thou tak'st the cheapest way; 
 Not to own services thou canst not pay. 
 
 Boab. My patience more then pays thy service past; 
 But know this insolence shall be thy last. 
 Hence from my sight! and take it as a grace, 
 Thou liv'st, and art but banish'd from the place. 
 
 Almanz. Where'er 1 go, there can no exile be; 
 But from Almanzor's sight I banish thee: 
 I will not now, if thou wouldst beg me, stay; 
 110 But I will take my Almahide away. 
 
 Stay thou with all thy subjects here; but know, 
 
 We leave thy city empty when we go. [Takes Almahide's hand. 
 
 Boab. Fall on; take; kill the traitor. 
 
 [The Guards fall on him; he makes at the King thro' the midst 
 of them, and falls upon him; ihey disarm him and rescue 
 the King. 
 
 Almanz. Base and poor. 
 
 Blush that thou art Alnianzor's conqueror. 
 
 [Almahide wrings her hands, then turns and veils her fnee. 
 Farewell, my Almahide! 
 Life of itself will go, now thou art gone, 
 
 104. A/ioir] Q1Q2Q:{Q^. now Q5F SsM.
 
 64 THE CONQUEST OF GKANADA 
 
 Like flies in winter when they lose the sun. 
 
 [Abenamar whispers the King a little, then speaks aloud. 
 
 Aben. Revenge, and taken so secure a way, 
 Are blessings which heav'n sends not every day. 
 120 Boab. I will at leisure now revenge my wrong; 
 And, traitor, thou shalt feel my vengeance long: 
 Thou shalt not die just at thy own desire. 
 But see my nuptials, and with rage expire. 
 
 Almans. Thou dar'st not marry her while I'm in sight: 
 With a bent brow thy priest and thee I'll fright; 
 And in that scene 
 
 Which all thy hopes and wishes should content, 
 The thought of me shall make thee impotent. 
 
 [He is led of by Guards. 
 
 Boab. [to Almah.] As some fair tulip, by a storm oppress'd, 
 130 Shrinks up, and folds its silken arms to rest; 
 And, bending to the blast, all pale and dead, 
 Hears from within the wind sing round its head; 
 So, shrouded up, your beauty disappears: 
 Unveil, my love, and lay aside your fears. 
 The storm that caus'd your fright is pass'd and done. 
 
 [Almahide unveiling, and looking round for Almanzor. 
 
 Almah. So flow'rs peep out too soon, and miss the sun. 
 
 [Turning from him. 
 
 Boab. What myst'ry in this strange behavior lies? 
 
 Almah. Let me for ever hide these guilty eyes 
 Which lighted my Almanzor to his tomb; 
 140 Or, let 'em blaze, to shew me there a room, 
 
 Boab. Heav'n lent their luster for a nobler end; 
 A thousand torches must their light attend, 
 To lead you to a temple and a crown. 
 Why does my fairest Almahida frown? 
 Am I less pleasing than I was before, 
 Or, is the insolent Almanzor more? 
 
 Almah. I justly own that I some pity have, 
 Not for the insolent, but for the brave. 
 
 Aben. Tho' to your king your duty you neglect, 
 150 Know, Almahide, I look for more respect: 
 
 And. if a parent's charge your mind can move. 
 Receive the blessing of a monarch's love. 
 
 Almah. Did he my freedom to his life prefer, 
 And shall I wed Almanzor's murderer? 
 No, sir, 1 cannot to your will submit; 
 Your way's too rugged for my tender feet. 
 
 Aben. You mnst be driv'n where you refuse to go; 
 And taught, by force, your happiness to know. 
 
 Almah. [Smiling scornfully.] To force me, sir, is much unworthy 
 
 you, 
 
 160 And, when you would, impossible to do. 
 
 If force could bend me, you might think, with shame,
 
 PAKT I, ACT V, SCENE III 65 
 
 That I debas'd the blood from whence I came. 
 
 My soul is soft, which you may gently lay ^ 
 
 In your loose palm; but, when 'tis press'd to stay, >- 
 
 Like water, it deludes your grasp and slips away. J 
 Boob. I find I must revoke what I decreed : 
 
 Almanzor's death my nuptials must precede. 
 
 Love is a magic which the lover ties; 
 
 But charms still end when the magician dies. 
 170 Go; let me hear my hated rival 's dead; [To his Guards. 
 
 And, to convince my eyes, bring back his head. 
 
 Almah. Go on: I wish no other way to prove 
 
 That I am worthy of Almanzor's love. 
 
 We will in death, at least, united be: 
 
 I'll shew you I can die as well as he. 
 
 Boab. What should I do! when equally I dread 
 
 Almanzor living and Almanzor dead! 
 
 Yet, by your promise, you are mine alone. 
 
 Almah. How dare you claim my faith, and break your own? 
 180 Aben. This for your virtue is a weak defense: 
 
 No second vows can with your first dispense. 
 
 Yet, since the king did to Almauzor swear, 
 
 And in his death ingrateful may appear, 
 
 He ought, in justice, first to spare his life. 
 
 And then to claim your promise as his wife. 
 Almah. Whate'er my secret inclinations be, 
 
 To this, since honor ties me, I agree: 
 
 Yet I declare, and to the world will own, 
 
 That, far from seeking, I would shun the throne, 
 190 And with Almanzor lead an humble life: 
 
 There is a private greatness in his wife. 
 
 Boab. That little love I have, I hardly buy; 
 
 You give my rival all, while you deny: 
 
 Yet, Almahide, to let you see your pow'r. 
 
 Your lov'd Almanzor shall be free this hour. 
 
 You are obey'd; but 'tis so great a grace 
 
 That I could wish me in my rival's place. 
 
 [Exeunt King and Abenamar. 
 Almah. How blest was I before this fatal day, 
 
 When all I knew of love, was to obey! 
 200 'Twas life becalm'd, without a gentle breath; 
 
 Tho' not so cold, yet motionless as death; 
 
 A heavy, quiet state; but love, all strife. 
 
 All rapid, is the hurrican of life. 
 
 Had love not shown me, I had never seen 
 
 An excellence beyond Boabdelin. 
 
 I had not, aiming higher, lost my rest; 
 
 But with a vulgar good been dully blest: 
 
 But, in Almanzor, having seen what's rare, 
 
 162. dehas'd] Q1Q2Q3. debase Q4Q5F.
 
 66 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 Now I have learnt too sharply to compare; 
 210 And, like a f av 'rite, quickly in disgrace, 
 Just know the value ere I lose the place. 
 
 To her Almanzor, hound and guarded. 
 
 Almans. I see the end for which I'm hither sent, [LooTcing down. 
 To double, by your sight, my punishment. 
 There is a shame in bonds I cannot bear; 
 Far more than death, to meet your eyes I fear. 
 
 Almah. [Unbinding him.] That shame of long continuance shall 
 not be: 
 The king, at my intreaty, sets you free. 
 
 Ahnanz. The king! My wonder 's greater than before; 
 How did he dare my freedom to restore? 
 220 He like some captive lion uses me; 
 He runs away before he sets me free, 
 And takes a sanctuary in his court : 
 I'll rather lose my life than thank him for 't. 
 
 Almah. If any subject for your thanks there be, 
 The king expects 'em not, you owe 'em me. 
 Our freedoms thro' each other's hands have pass'd; 
 You give me my revenge in Avinning last. 
 
 Almanz. Then fate commodiously for me has done; 
 To lose mine there where I would have it won. 
 230 Almah. Almanzor, you too soon will understand, 
 That what I win is on another's hand. 
 The king (who doom'd you to a cruel fate) 
 Gave to my pray'rs both his revenge and hate; 
 But at no other price would rate your life, 
 Then my consent and oath to be his wife. 
 
 Almans. Would you, to save my life, my love betray?^ 
 Here; take me; bind me; carry me away; > [To the 
 
 Kill me! I'll kill you if you disobey. J Guards. 
 
 Almah. That absolute command your love does give, 
 240 I take, and charge you, by that pow'r, to live. 
 
 Alviayiz. When death, the last of comforts, you refuse, 
 Your pow'r, like heav'n upon the damn'd, you use; 
 You force me in my being to remain, 
 To make me last, and keep me fresh for pain. 
 ■\\Tien all my joys are gone. 
 What cause can I for living longer give, 
 But a dull, lazy habitude to live? 
 
 Almah. Eash men, like you, and impotent of will, 
 Give Chance no time to turn, but urge her still; 
 250 She would repent; you push the quarrel on, ■ ' 
 
 And once because she went, she must be gone. 
 
 Almanz. She shall not turn; what is it she can do, 
 To recompense me for the loss of you? 
 
 211. fcnotP . . . lose] Q1Q2Q3Q4. know . . . lost Q5P. knew 
 . . . lost SsM.
 
 PART I, ACT V, SCENE III 67 
 
 Ahnah. Heav'n will reward your worth some better way: 
 At least, for me, you have but lost one day. 
 Nor is 't a real loss which you deplore; 
 You sought a heart that was ingag'd before. 
 'Twas a swift love which took you in his way; 
 Flew only thro' your heart, but made no stay: 
 260 'Twas but a dream, where truth had not a place; 
 A scene of fancy, mov'd so swift a pace, 
 And shifted, that you can but think it was: 
 Let, then, the short vexatious vision pass. 
 
 Almanz. My joys, indeed, are dreams; but not my pain: 
 'Twas a swift ruin, but the marks remain. 
 When some fierce fire lays goodly buildings waste, 
 Would you conclude 
 There had been none, because the burning's past? 
 
 Ahnah. It was your fault that fire seiz'd all your breast; 
 270 You should have blown up some, to save the rest: 
 But 'tis, at worst, but so consum'd by fire, 
 As cities are, that by their falls rise high'r. 
 Build love a nobler temple in my place; 
 You'll find the fire has but inlarg'd your space. 
 
 Almam. Love has undone me; I am grown so poor, 
 I sadly view the ground I had before; 
 But want a stock, and ne'er can build it more. 
 
 Almah. Then say what charity I can allow; 
 I would contribute, if I knew but how. 
 280 Take friendship; or, if that too small appear, 
 Take love which sisters may to brothers bear. 
 
 Almanz. A sister's love! That is so pall'd a thing, 
 What pleasure can it to a lover bring? 
 'Tis like thin food to men in fevers spent; 
 Just keeps alive, but gives no nourishment. 
 What hopes, what fears, what transports can it move? 
 'Tis but the ghost of a departed love. 
 
 Almah. You, like some greedy cormorant, devour 
 All my whole life can give you, in an hour. 
 290 What more I can do for you is to die, 
 And that must follow, if you this deny. 
 Since I gave up my love, that you might live, 
 You, in refusing life, my sentence give. 
 
 Almanz. Far from my breast be such an impious thought I 
 Your death would lose the quiet mine had sought. 
 I'll live for you, in spite of misery; 
 But you shall grant that I had lather die. 
 I'll be so wretched, fill'd with such despair. 
 
 } 
 
 2.'i9. no iftay] Qq. to xiny F. 
 266. buil<li)u/s] yig2Q:^Q4. huililinp Q.">K. 
 
 269, L'70. Q^ omits llirs(> two lines, and reads in lino 2il: itnir Ucaiis, 
 at irnyst. but 80 consinn'il hi/ fire. 
 
 272. falls] QlQ2g:'.. fall Q»Q5F. , • , o v. 
 
 281. love which] yiQ3y4g5F, lure, uhich Q2. lore, — ic/Mt7» SsM.
 
 68 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 That you shall see to live was more to dare. 
 300 Almah. Adieu, then, O my soul's far better part! 
 
 Your image sticks so close 
 
 That the blood follows from my rending heart. 
 
 A last farewell! 
 
 For, since a last must come, the rest are vain. 
 
 Like gasps in death, which but prolong our pain. 
 
 But, since the king is now a part of me, 
 
 Cease from henceforth to be his enemy. 
 
 Go now, for pity go! for, if you stay, 
 
 I fear I shall have something still to say, 
 
 310 Thus 1 for ever shut you from my sight. [Veils. 
 
 Almans. Like one thrust out in a cold winter's night, 
 
 Yet shivering, underneath your gate I stay; 
 
 One look 1 cannot go before 'tis day. 
 
 [She beclcons him to be gone. 
 
 Not one Farewell : whate 'er my sufferings be ^ 
 
 Within, I'll speak farewell as loud as she: r 
 
 I will not be outdone in constancy. J [She turns her back. 
 
 Then like a dying conqueror I go; 
 
 At least I have look'd last upon my foe. 
 
 I go but if too heavily I move, 
 
 320 I Avalk encumber'd with a weight of love. 
 
 Fain I would leave the thought of you behind, "| 
 
 But still, the more I cast you from my mind, V 
 
 You dash, like water, back, when thrown against the wind. J [Exit. 
 
 As he goes of, the King meets him with Abenamar; they stare at each 
 
 other without saluting. 
 Boab. With him go all my fears. A guard there wait, 
 
 And see him safe without the city gate. 
 
 To them Abdelmelech. 
 
 Now, Abdelmelech, is my brother dead? 
 
 Abdelm. Th' usurper to the Christian camp is fled; 
 Whom as Granada's lawful king they own. 
 And vow by force to seat him in the throne. 
 330 Meantime the rebels in th' Albayzin rest; 
 Which is in Lyndaraxa's name possess'd. 
 
 Boab. Haste and reduce it instantly by force. 
 
 Abdehn. First give me leave to prove a milder course. 
 She will, perhaps, on summons yield the place. 
 
 Boab. We cannot to your suit refuse her grace. 
 
 [One enters hastily, and whispers Abenamab. 
 
 Aben. How fortune persecutes this hoary head! 
 My Ozmyn is with Selin's daughter fled. 
 But he's no more my son : 
 My hate shall like a Zegry him pursue, 
 340 Till I take back what blood from me he drew. 
 
 304 « last] Qqr. the last SsM. 
 329. in] QqF. on SsM.
 
 PART I, ACT V, SCENE III 69 
 
 Boab. Let war and vengeance be to-morrow's care; 
 But let us to the temple now repair. 
 A thousand torches make the mosque more bright : 
 This must be mine and Almahida's night. 
 Hence, ye importunate affairs of state, 
 You should not tyrannize on love, but wait. 
 Had life no love, none would for business live; 
 Yet still from love the largest part wc give; 
 And must be forc'd, in empire's weary toil, 
 350 To live long wretched, to be pleas'd a while. [Exeunt.
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 Success, which can no more than beauty last, 
 Makes our sad poet mourn your favors past : 
 For, since without desert he got a name, 
 He fears to lose it now with greater shame. 
 Fame, like a little mistress of the town, 
 Is gain'd with ease, but then she's lost as sooa: 
 For, as those tawdry misses, soon or late, 
 Jilt such as keep 'em at the highest rate 
 (And oft the lackey, or the brawny clown, 
 
 10 Gets what is hid in the loose-bodied gown), — 
 So, Fame is false to all that keep her long; 
 And turns up to the fop that's brisk and young. 
 Some wiser poet now would leave Fame first. 
 But elder wits are like old lovers curst; 
 Who, when the vigor of their youth is spent. 
 Still grow more fond, as they grow impotent. 
 This, some years hence, our poet's case may prove; 
 But yet, he hopes, he's young enough to love. 
 When forty comes, if e'er he live to see 
 
 20 That wretched, fumbling age of poetry, 
 'Twill be high time to bid his Muse adieu: 
 Well he may please himself, but never you. 
 Till then, he'll do as well as he began. 
 And hopes you will not find him less a man. 
 Think him not duller for this year's delay; 
 He was prepar'd, the women were away; 
 And men, without their parts, can hardly play 
 If they, thro' sickness, seldom did appear, "\ 
 Pity the virgins of each theater: > 
 
 30 For, at both houses, 'twas a sickly year! J 
 And pity us, your servants, to whose cost, 
 In one such sickness, nine whole months are lost, 
 Their stay, he fears, has ruin'd what he writ; 
 Long waiting both disables love and wit. 
 They thought they gave him leisure to do well; 
 But, when they forc'd him to attend, he fell! 
 Yet, tho' he much has fail'd, he begs, to-day. 
 You will excuse his unperforming play: 
 Weakness sometimes great passion does express; 
 
 40 He had pleas'd better, had he lov'd you less. 
 
 } 
 
 22. ^yell he may} Q1Q4Q5F. Well, he may Q2Q3. Well may he SsM 
 
 70
 
 THE 
 
 CONQUEST OF GHANADA 
 
 BY THE 
 
 SPANIARDS 
 PART II 
 
 -Stimulos dedit CBinula virtus. 
 
 LucAN, Pharsalia, i. 120.
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 TO THE SECOND PART 
 
 They who write ill, and they who ne'er durst write, 
 
 Turn critics, out of mere revenge and spite: 
 
 A playhouse gives 'em fame; and up there starts, 
 
 From a mean fifth-rate wit, a man of parts. 
 
 (So common faces on the stage appear; 
 
 We take 'em in, and they turn beauties here.) 
 
 Our author fears those critics as his fate; 
 
 And those he fears, by consequence, must hate, 
 
 For they the traffic of all wit invade, 
 
 10 As scriv'ners draw away the bankers' trade. 
 Howe'er, the poet's safe enough to-day; 
 They cannot censure an unfinish'd play. 
 But, as when vizard-mask appears in pit. 
 Straight every man who thinks himself a wit 
 Perks up, and, managing his comb with grace, 
 With his white wig sets off bis nut-brown face; 
 That done, bears up to th' prize, and views each limb. 
 To know her by her rigging and her trim; 
 Then, the whole noise of fops to wagers go: 
 
 20 "Pox on her, 't must be she;" and: "Damme, no!" — 
 Just so, I prophesy, these wits to-day 
 Will blindly guess at our imperfect play; 
 With what new plots our Second Part is fill'd, 
 Who must be kept alive, and who be kill'd. 
 And as those vizard-masks maintain that fashion. 
 To soothe and tickle sweet imagination; 
 So our dull poet keeps you on with masking, 
 To make you think there's something worth your asking. 
 But, when 'tis shown, that which does now delight you 
 
 30 Will prove a dowdy, with a face to fright you. 
 
 17. up to th' prize] QqF, up th' prize Ss. up to the prize M. 
 
 72
 
 ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE 
 
 OB 
 
 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 Part II 
 
 ACT I 
 
 SCENE 1.—A Camp. 
 
 King Ferdinand, Queen Isabel, Alonzo d'Aguilar; Attendants, Men 
 
 and Women. 
 
 K. Ferd. At length the time is come when Spain shall be 
 
 From the long yoke of Moorish tyrants free. 
 
 All causes seem to second our design, 
 
 And heav'n and earth in their destruction join. 
 
 When empire in its childhood first appears, 
 
 A watchful fate o'ersees its tender years; 
 
 Till, grown more strong, it thrusts and stretches out, 
 
 And elbows all the kingdoms round about : 
 
 The place thus made for its first breathing free, 
 10 It moves again for ease and luxury; 
 
 Till, swelling by degrees, it has possess'd 
 
 The greater space, and now crowds up the rest; 
 
 When, from behind, there starts some petty state. 
 
 And pushes on its now unwieldy fate; 
 
 Then down the precipice of time it goes, 
 
 And sinks in minutes, which in ages rose. 
 
 Q. Isabel. Should bold Columbus in his search succeed, 
 
 And find those beds in which bright metals breed; 
 
 Tracing the sun, who seems to steal away, 
 20 That, miser-like, he might alone survey 
 
 The wealth which he in western mines did lay: 
 
 Not all that shining ore could give my heart 
 
 The joy this eonquer'd kingdom will impart; 
 
 Which, rescued from these misbelievers' hands, 
 
 Shall now, at once, shake off its double bands: 
 
 At once to freedom and true faith rcstor'd, 
 
 24. these] QqF. the SsM. 
 
 73 
 
 J
 
 } 
 
 74 THE CONQUEST OF GKANADA 
 
 Its old religion and its ancient lord. 
 
 K. Ferd. By that assault which last we made, I find 
 Their courage is with their success declin'd : 
 30 Almanzor's absence now they dearly buy, 
 
 Whose conduct crown'd their arms with victory. 
 
 Alonzo. Their king himself did their last sally guide; 
 I saw him, glist'ring in bright armor, ride 
 To break a lance in honor of his bride: 
 But other thoughts now fill his anxious breast; 
 Care of his crown his love has dispossess'd. 
 
 To them Abdalla. 
 
 Q. Isabel. But see the brother of the Moorish king: 
 He seems some news of great import to bring. 
 
 K. Ferd. He brings a specious title to our side: 
 40 Those who would conquer must their foes divide. 
 
 Abdal. Since to my exile you have pity shown, 
 And giv'n me courage yet to hope a throne; 
 While you without our common foes subdue, 
 I am not wanting to myself or you; 
 But have, within, a faction still alive, 
 Strong to assist, and secret to contrive. 
 And watching each occasion to foment 
 The people's fears into a discontent; 
 Which, from Almanzor's loss, before were great, 
 50 And now are doubled by their late defeat : 
 These letters from their chiefs the news assures. 
 
 [Give letters to the King, 
 
 K. Ferd. Be mine the honor, but the profit yours. 
 
 To them the Duke of Arcos, with Ozmyn and Benzayda, Prisoners. 
 
 E. Ferd. That tertia of Italians did you guide, 
 To take their post upon the river side? 
 
 D. Arcos. All are according to your orders plac'd: 
 My cheerful soldiers their intrenchments haste; 
 
 The Murcian foot have ta'en the upper ground, 
 And now the city is beleaguer'd round. 
 
 K. Ferd. Why is not then their leader here again? 
 60 D. Arcos. The master of Alcantara is slain; 
 But he who slew him here before you stands: 
 It is that Moor whom you behold in bands. 
 
 E. Ferd. A braver man I had not in my host; 
 His murd'rer shall not long his conquest boast : 
 But, Duke of Arcos, say, how was he slain? 
 
 D. Arcos. Our soldiers march'd together on the plain; 
 We two rode on, and left them far behind. 
 Till, coming where we found the valley wind. 
 We saw these Moors; who, swiftly as they could, 
 
 57. have] QqF. hath SsM.
 
 PAET II, ACT I, SCENE I 75 
 
 70 Kan on to gain the covert of the wood. 
 
 This we observ'd; and, having cross'd their way, 
 The lady, out of breath, was forc'd to stay: 
 The man then stood, and straight his fauchion drew; 
 Then told us, we in vain did those pursue 
 Whom their ill fortune to despair did drive, 
 And yet, whom we should never take alive. 
 Neglecting this, the master straight spurr'd on; 
 But th' active Moor his horse's shock did shun, 
 And, ere his rider from his reach could go, 
 80 Finish'd the combat with one deadly blow. 
 I, to revenge my friend, prepar'd to fight; 
 But now our foremost men were come in sight. 
 Who soon would have dispatch'd him on the place, 
 Had I not sav'd him from a death so base. 
 And brought him to attend your royal doom. 
 
 K. Ferd. A manly face, and in his age's bloom; 
 But, to content the soldiers, he must die: 
 Go, see him executed instantly. 
 
 Q. Isabel. Stay; I would learn his name before he go: 
 90 You, Prince Abdalla, may the pris'ner know. 
 
 Abdal. Ozmyn's his name, and he deserves his fate; 
 His father heads that faction which I hate: 
 But much I wonder that I with him see 
 The daughter of his mortal enemy. 
 
 Bens. 'Tis true: by Ozmyn's sword my brother fell; 
 But 'twas a death he merited too well. 
 I know a sister should excuse his fault ; 
 But you know too that Ozmyn's death he sought. 
 
 Abdal. Our prophet has declar'd, by the event, 
 100 That Ozmyn is reserv'd for punishment; 
 
 For, when he thought his guilt from danger clear, 
 He, by new crimes, is brought to suffer here. 
 
 Bern. In love, or pity, if a crime you find. 
 We too have sinn'd above all humankind. 
 
 Oim. Heav'n in my punishment has done a grace; 
 I couid not suffer in a better place: 
 That I should die by Christians it thought good. 
 To save your father's guilt, who sought my blood. [To her. 
 
 Bern. Fate aims so many blows to make us fall, 
 110 That 'tis in vain to think to ward 'em all: 
 And, where misfortunes great and many are. 
 Life grows a burden, and not worth our care. 
 
 Ozm. I cast it from me, like a garment torn 
 Eagged, and too undecent to be worn : 
 Besides, there is contagion in my fate; 
 It makes your life too much unfortunate. 
 But, since her faults are not allied to mine, 
 
 106. be<fc/] Q2Q.3Q4Q5F. hettcra Ql.
 
 76 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 In her protection let your favor shine. 
 To you, great queen, I make this last request 
 120 (Since pity dwells in every royal breast), 
 Safe, in your care, her life and honor be: 
 It is a dying lover's legacy. 
 
 Benz. Cease, Ozmyn, cease so vain a suit to move; 
 I did not give you on those terms my love. 
 Leave me the care of me; for, when you go, 
 My love will soon instruct me what to do. 
 
 Q. Isabel. Permit me, sir, these lovers' doom to give: 
 My sentence is, they shall together live. 
 The courts of kings 
 130 To all distress'd should sanctuaries be, 
 But most to lovers in adversity. 
 Castile and Aragon, 
 
 Which long against each other war did move, 
 My plighted lord and I have join'd by love; 
 And, if to add this conquest heav'n thinks good, 
 I would not have it stain'd with lovers' blood. 
 
 K. Ferd. Whatever Isabella shall command 
 Shall always be a law to Ferdinand. 
 
 Bern. The frowns of fate we will no longer fear. 
 140 III fate, great queen, can never find us here. 
 
 Q. Isabel. Your thanks some other time I will receive; 
 Henceforward safe in my protection live. 
 Granada is for noble loves renown'd: 
 Her best defense is in her lovers found. 
 Love's a heroic passion which can find 
 No room in any base degenerate mind: 
 It kindles all the soul with honor's fire, 
 To make the lover worthy his desire. 
 Against such heroes I success should fear, 
 150 Had we not too an host of lovers here. 
 An army of bright beauties come with me; 
 Each lady shall her servant's actions see: 
 The fair and brave on each side shall contest; 
 And they shall overcome, who love the best. [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 SCENE II.— The Alhamhra. 
 
 ZULEMA solus. 
 
 Zul. True, they have pardon'd me; but do they know 
 What folly 'tis to trust a pardon'd foe? 
 A blush remains in a forgiven face: 
 It wears the silent tokens of disgrace. 
 Forgiveness to the injur'd does belong; 
 But they ne'er pardon who have done the wrong. 
 
 144. Her best] Qq. Here best F. 
 
 145. o] Ql. an Q2Q3y4Q5F SsM.
 
 PART II, ACT I, SCENE II 77 
 
 My hopeful fortune's lost! and, what's above 
 All I can name or think, my ruin'd love! 
 Feign'd honesty shall work me into trust, 
 10 And seaming penitence conceal my lust. 
 
 Let heav'n's great eye of Providence now take 
 One day of rest, and ever after wake. 
 
 Enter King Boabdelin, Abenamar, and Guards. 
 
 Boah. Losses on losses! as if heav'n decreed 
 Almanzor's valor should alone succeed. 
 
 Aben. Each sally we have made, since he is gone, 
 Serves but to pull our speedy ruin on. 
 
 Boab. Of all mankind, the heaviest fate he bears 
 Who the last crown of sinking empire wears. 
 No kindly planet of his birth took care: 
 20 Heav'n's outcast, and the dross of every star! 
 
 [A tumultuous noise within. 
 
 Enter Abdelmelech. 
 
 What new misfortune do these cries presage? 
 
 Abdelm. They are th' effects of the mad people's rage. 
 All in despair tumultuously they swarm: 
 The farthest streets already take th' alarm; 
 The needy creep from cellars under ground; 
 To them new cries from tops of garrets sound; 
 The aged from the chimneys seek the cold; 
 And wives from windows helpless infants hold. 
 
 Boab. See what the many-headed beast demands. [Exit Abdelm. 
 SO Curst is that king whose honor's in their hands. 
 In senates, either they too slowly grant, 
 Or saucily refuse to aid my want ; 
 And, when their thrift has ruin'd me in war. 
 They call their insolence my want of care. 
 
 Aben, Curst be their leaders, who that rage foment, 
 And veil, with public good, their discontent: 
 They keep the people's purses in their hands, 
 And hector kings to grant their wild demands; 
 But to each lure a court throws out, descend, 
 40 And prey on those they promis'd to defend. 
 
 Zul. Those kings who to their wild demands consent 
 Teach others the same way to discontent. 
 Freedom in subjects is not, nor can be; 
 But still, to please 'em, we must call 'em free. 
 Propriety, which they their idol make, 
 Or law, or law's interpreters, can shake. 
 
 Aben. The name of commonwealth is popular; 
 But there the people their own tyrants are. 
 
 Boab. But kings wlio rule with limited commnnd 
 
 7. fortune's] QqF. fortunes SsM.
 
 78 THE CONQUEST OF GKANADA 
 
 50 Have players' scepters put into their hand. 
 
 Pow 'r has no balance; one side still weighs down, 
 And either hoists the commonwealth or crown; 
 And those who think to set the scale more right, 
 By various turnings but disturb the weight. 
 
 Aben. While people tug for freedom, kings for pow'r, 
 Both sink beneath some foreign conqueror: 
 Then subjects find too late they were unjust, 
 And want that pow'r of kings they durst not trust. 
 
 To them Abdelmelech. 
 
 Ahdelm. The tumult now is high and dangerous grown: 
 60 The people talk of rend'ring up the town; 
 
 And swear that they will force the king's consent. 
 
 Boab. What counsel can this rising storm prevent? 
 
 Abdclm. Their fright to no persuasions will give ear: 
 There's a deaf madness in a people's fear. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Their fury now a middle course does take; 
 To yield the town, or call Almanzor back. 
 
 Boab. I'll rather call my death. — 
 Go, and bring up my guards to my defense: 
 I'll punish this outrageous insolence. 
 70 Abe7i. Since blind opinion does their reason sway, 
 You must submit to cure 'em their own way. 
 You to their fancies physic must apply; 
 Give them that chief on whom they most rely. 
 Under Almanzor prosperously they fought; 
 Almanzor, therefore, must with pray'rs be brought. 
 
 Enter a second Messenger. 
 
 Sec. Mess. Haste all you can their fury to assuage: 
 You are not safe from their rebellious rage. 
 
 Enter a third Messenger. 
 
 Third Mess. This minute, if you grant not their desire. 
 They'll seize your person, and your palace fire. 
 80 Abdelm. Your danger, sir, admits of no delay. 
 
 Boab. In tumults, people reign, and kings obey. — 
 Go and appease 'em with the vow I make, 
 
 That they shall have their lov'd Almanzor back. {Exit Abdelm. 
 
 Almanzor has th' ascendant o'er my fate; 
 I'm forc'd to stoop to one I fear and hate: 
 Disgrac'd, distress'd, in exile, and alone, 
 He's greater then a monarch on his throne. 
 Without a realm, a royalty he gains; 
 Kings are the subjects over whom he reigns. 
 
 {A shout of acclamations within, 
 90 Aben. These shouts proclaim the people satisfied.
 
 . PART II, ACT I, SCENE II 79 
 
 Boah. We for another tempest must provide. 
 To promise his return as I was loth, 
 So 1 want pow'r now to perform my oath. 
 Ere this, for Afric he is sail'd from Spain. 
 
 Ahen. The adverse winds his passage yet detain; 
 I heard, last night his equipage tlid stay 
 At a small village, short of Malaga. 
 
 Boah. Abenamar, this ev'ning thither haste; 
 Desire him to forget his usage past: 
 100 Use all your rhet'ric, promise, flatter, pray. 
 
 To them Queen Almahide, attended. 
 
 Ahen. Good fortune shows you yet a surer way: 
 
 Nor pray'rs nor promises his mind will move; 
 
 'Tis inaccessible to all but love. 
 
 Boa}). 0, thou hast rous'd a thought within my breast, 
 
 That will for ever rob me of my rest. 
 
 Ah jealousy, how cruel is thy sting! 
 
 1, in Almanzor, a lov'd rival bring! 
 
 And now, I think it is an equal strife. 
 
 If I my crown should hazard, or my wife. 
 110 Where, marriage, is thy cure, which husbands boast, 
 
 That in possession their desire is lost? 
 
 Or why have I alone that wretched taste 
 
 Which, gorg'd and glutted, does with hunger last? 
 
 Custom and duty cannot set me free, 
 
 Ev'n sin itself has not a charm for me. 
 
 Of married lovers I am sure the first, 
 
 And nothing but a king could so be curst. 
 
 Almah. What sadness sits upon your royal heart? 
 
 Have you a grief, and must not I have part? 
 120 Ail creatures else a time of love possess: 
 
 Man only clogs with cares his happiness; 
 
 And, while he should enjoy his part of bliss, 
 
 With thoughts of what may be, destroys what is. 
 
 Boah. You guess'd aright; I am oppress'd with grief, 
 
 And 'tis from you that I must seek relief. 
 
 Leave us; to sorrow there's a rev'rcnce due: [To the company. 
 
 Sad kings, like suns eclips'd, withdraw from view. 
 
 [Tlic Attendants go off, and chairs arc set for the King and Queen. 
 Almah. So two kind turtles, when a storm is nigh, 
 
 Look ui>, and see it gath'ring in the sky: 
 130 Each calls his mate to shelter in the groves, 
 
 Leaving, in murmurs, their unfinish'd loves: 
 
 Perch'd on some dropping branch, they sit alone, 
 
 117. so 6c] QqF. be so SsM. 
 
 124. gnesu'd] QqF. giicnn SsM. 
 
 127. withihair] ()i.\. irithilrairn F, by a misprint. 
 
 131. murinuin] Ql. iniirmiira< Q2Q:{. murmur Q4Q5F SsM. 
 
 132, dropping] QqF. drooping SsM,
 
 80 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 And coo, nnrl hearken to each other's moan. 
 
 Boab. [Taking her by the hmid.] Since, Almahide, you seem so kind 
 a wife, 
 What ■n-ould you do to save a husband's life? 
 
 Almah. When fate calls on that hard necessity, 
 I'll suffer death, rather than you shall die. 
 
 Boab. Suppose your country should in danger be; 
 What would you undertake to set it free? 
 140 Almah. It were too little to resign my breath: 
 My own free hand should give me nobler death. 
 
 Boab. That hand, which would so much for glory do, 
 Must yet do more; for it must kill me too. 
 You must kill me, for that dear country's sake; 
 Or, what's all one, must call Almanzor back. 
 
 Almah. I see to what your speech you now direct; 
 Either my love or virtue you suspect. 
 But know that, when my person 1 resign'd, 
 I was too noble not to give my mind. 
 150 No more the shadow of Almanzor fear; 
 I have no room, but for your image, here. 
 
 Boab. This, Almahide, would make me cease to mourn, 
 Were that Almanzor never to return : 
 But now my fearful people mutiny; 
 Their clamors call Almanzor back, not I. 
 Their safety, thro' my ruin, I pursue; 
 He must return, and must be brought by you. 
 
 Almah. That hour when I my faith to you did plight, 
 I banish'd him for ever from my sight, 
 160 His banishment was to my virtue due; 
 Not that I fear'd him for myself, but you. 
 My honor had preserv'd me innocent: 
 But I would your suspicion too prevent; 
 Which since 1 see augmented in your mind, 
 I yet more reason for his exile find. 
 
 Boab. To your intreaties he will yield alone, 
 And on your doom depend my life and throne. 
 No longer, therefore, my desires withstand; 
 Or, if desires prevail not, my command. 
 170 Almah. In his return too sadly I foresee 
 Th' effects of your returning jealousy. 
 But your command I prize above my life; 
 'Tis sacred to a subject and a wife: 
 If I have pow'r, Almanzor shall return. 
 
 Boab. Curst be that fatal hour when I was born! 
 
 [Letting go her hand, and starting up. 
 You love, you love him; and that love reveal 
 By your too quick consent to his repeal. 
 
 163 too prevent] QqF. to prevent SsM. introducing what Professor 
 Saintsbury rightly calls "a singular construction." ii"ie&»ui
 
 PART II, ACT I, SCENE II 81 
 
 My jealousy had but too just a ground; 
 
 And now you stab into my former wound. 
 180 Almah. This sudden change I do not understand. 
 
 Have you so soon forgot your own ooniniand? 
 
 Boab. Grant that I did th' unjust injunction lay, 
 
 You should have lov'd me more then to obey. 
 
 I know you did this mutiny design; 
 
 But your love-plot I'll quickly countermine. 
 
 Let my crown go; he never shall return; 
 
 I, like a phnenix, in my nest will burn. 
 
 Almah. You please me well, that in one common fate 
 
 You wrap yourself, and me, and all your state. 
 190 Let us no more of proud Almanzor hear; 
 
 'Tis better once to die, than still to fear; 
 
 And better many times to die than be 
 
 Oblig'd past payment to an enemy. 
 
 Boab. 'Tis better; but you wives still have one way: 
 
 Whene'er your husbands are oblig'd, you pay. 
 
 Almah. Thou, Heav'n, who know'st it, judge my innocence! 
 
 You, sir, deserve not I should make defense. 
 
 Yet, judge my virtue by that proof I gave 
 
 When I submitted to be made your slave. 
 200 Boab. If I have been suspicious or unkind, 
 
 Forgive me; many cares distract my mind: 
 
 Love, and a crown ! 
 
 Two such excuses no one man e'er had ; 
 
 And each of 'em enough to make me mad: 
 
 But now my reason reassumes its throne. 
 
 And finds no safety when Almanzor's gone. 
 
 Send for him then; I'll be oblig'd, and sue; 
 
 'Tis a less evil than to part with you. 
 
 I leave you to your thoughts; but love me still 1 
 210 Forgive my passion, and obey my will. [Exit Boabdelin. 
 
 Almahide sola. 
 
 My jealous lord will soon to rage return; 
 That fire his fear rakes up does inward burn. 
 But Heav'n, which made me great, has chose for me; 
 I must th' oblation for my people be. 
 I'll cherish honor, then, and life despise; 
 What is not pure, is not for sacrifice. 
 Yet for Almanzor I in secret mourn! 
 Can virtue, then, admit of his return? 
 Yes; for my love I will by virtue square; 
 220 My heart's not mine, but all my actions are. 
 I'll like Almanzor act; and dare to be 
 As haughty, and as wretched too, as he. 
 
 185. your love-ptot I'll] QqF. I'll ynur love-plot SsM. 
 194. still have] yqF. haw still SsM.
 
 82 THE CONQUEST OF GKANADA 
 
 What Avill he think is in my message meant? 
 
 I scarcely understand my own intent: 
 
 But, silkworm-like, so long within have wrought, 
 
 That I am lost in my own web of thought. [Exit Almahide. 
 
 ACT II 
 
 SCENE I.— A Wood. 
 OzMYN and Benzayda. 
 
 Osm. 'Tis true that our protection here has been 
 Th' effect of honor in the Spanish queen; 
 But while I as a friend continue here, 
 I to my country must a foe appear. 
 
 Bens. Think not, my Ozmyn, that we here remain 
 As friends, but pris'ners to the pow"r of Spain. 
 Fortune dispenses with your country's right; 
 But you desert your honor in your flight. 
 
 Osm. I cannot leave you here, and go away; 
 10 My honor's glad of a pretense to stay. 
 
 [A noise loithin — "Follow, follow, follow!" — 
 
 Enter Selin, his sicord drawn, as pursued. 
 
 Selin. I am pursued, and now am spent and done; 
 My limbs suffice me not with strength to run. 
 And, if I could, alas! what can I save? 
 A year, the dregs of life too, from the grave. 
 
 Here will I sit, and here attend my fate, "^ [Sits down on the ground. 
 With the same hoary majesty and state, V 
 
 As Eome's old senate for the Gauls did wait. J 
 
 Bens. It is my father; and he seems distress'd. 
 
 Osm. My honor bids me succor the oppress'd; 
 20 That life he sought for his I'll freely give; 
 We'll die together, or together live. 
 
 Bens. I'll call more succor, since the camp is near. 
 And fly on all the wings of love and fear. [Exit Benz. 
 
 Enter Abenamar, and four or five Moors. He loolcs and finds Selin. 
 
 Aben. Ye've liv'd, and now behold your latest hour. 
 
 Selin. I scorn your malice, and defy your pow'r. 
 A speedy death is all I ask you now; 
 And that's a favor you may well allow. 
 
 Osm. [Shewing himself.} Who gives you death, shall give it first 
 to me; 
 
 Fate cannot separate our destiny. 
 
 30 [Knoirs his father.} My father here! Then heav'n itself has laid 
 The snare in which my virtue is betray'd. 
 
 Aben. Fortune, I thank thee! Thou hast kindly done. 
 
 24. ye're] QqF. You've SsM,
 
 PART II, ACT II, SCENE I 83 
 
 To bring me back that fugitive, my son; 
 In arms too; fighting for my enemy! 
 I'll do a Roman justice — thou shalt die! 
 
 Osm. I beg not you my forfeit life would save; 
 Yet add one minute to that breath you gave. 
 I disobey 'd you, and deserve my fate; 
 But bury in my grave two houses' hate. 
 40 Let Selin live; and see your justice done 
 On me, while you revenge him for his son: 
 Your mutual malice in my death may cease, 
 And equal loss persuade you both to peace. 
 
 Aben. [to a Soldier.] Yes, justice shall be done on him and thee. 
 Haste, and dispatch 'em both immediately. 
 
 Ozm. If you have honor — since you nature want — 
 For your own sake my last petition grant; 
 And kill not a disarm'd, defenseless foe, 
 Whose death your cruelty, or fear, will show. 
 50 My father cannot do an act so base: 
 
 My father! — I mistake — I meant, who was. 
 
 Aben. Go, then, dispatch him first who was my son! 
 
 Osm. Swear but to save his life, I'll yield my own. 
 
 Aben. Nor tears, nor pray'rs, thy life, or his, shall buy. 
 
 Osm. [Putting himself before Selin.] Then, sir, Benzayda's father 
 shall not die! 
 And, since he'll want defense when I am gone, 
 I will, to save his life, defend my own. 
 
 Aben. This justice parricides like thee should have! 
 
 [Abex. and his party attack them both. Ozm. parries his father's 
 thrusts, and thrusts at the others. 
 
 Enter Benzayda, ivith Abdalla, the Duke of Arcos, and Spaniards. 
 
 Bern. help my father, and my Ozmyn save! 
 60 Abdal. Villains, that death you have deserv'd is near! 
 
 Ozm. [Stops his hand.] Stay, prince! and know, I have a father here! 
 I were that parricide of whom he spoke, 
 Did not my piety prevent your stroke. 
 
 D. Arcos. [to Aben.] Depart, then, and thank heav'n you had a son. 
 Aben. I am not with these shows of fluty won. 
 
 Ozm. [to his Father.] Heav'n knows I would that life you seek 
 resign; 
 But, while Benzayda li%-es, it is not mine. 
 Will you yet pardon my unwilling crime? 
 
 Aben. By no intreaties, by no length of time, 
 70 Will I be won ; but, with my latest breath, 
 I'll curse thee here, and haunt thee after death. 
 
 [Exit Aben. with his party. 
 Ozm. [Kneeling to Selin.] Can you be merciful to that degree. 
 As to forgive my father's faults in me? 
 
 38. deserve] QqF. deserved SsM.
 
 84 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 Can you forgive 
 
 The death of him I slew in my defense, 
 And from the malice separate th' oflfenscf 
 I can no longer be your enemy: 
 
 In short, now kill me, sir, or pardon me. [Offers him his sword. 
 
 In this your silence my hard fate appears. 
 80 Selin. I'll answer you when I can speak for tears. 
 But, till I can, 
 
 Imagine what must needs be brought to pass; [Embraces him. 
 
 My heart's not made of marble, nor of brass. 
 Did I for you a cruel death prepare. 
 And have you, — have you, made my life your carel 
 There is a shame contracted by my faults, 
 Which hinders me to speak my secret thoughts. 
 And I will tell you (when that shame's remov'd), 
 You are not better by my daughter lov'd. 
 90 Benzayda be yours. — I can no more. 
 
 Ozm. [Embracing his knees.] Blest be that breath which does my 
 life restore! 
 
 Bens. I hear my father now ; these words confess 
 That name, and that indulgent tenderness. 
 
 Selin. Benzayda, I have been too much to blame j 
 But let your goodness expiate for my shame: 
 You Ozmyn's virtue did in chains adore, 
 And part of me was just to him before. 
 My son! 
 
 Ozm. My father! 
 
 Selin. Since by you I live, 
 
 I, for your sake, your family forgive. 
 100 Let your hard father still my life pursue; 
 I hate not him, but for his hate to you. 
 Ev'n that hard father yet may one day be 
 By kindness vanquish'd, as you vanquish'd me; 
 Or, if my death can quench to you his rage, 
 Heav'n makes good use of my remaining age. 
 
 Abdal. 1 grieve your joys are mingled with my cares; 
 But all take interest in their own affairs; 
 And, therefore, I must ask how mine proceed. 
 
 Selin. They now are ripe, and but your presence need: 
 110 For Lyndaraxa, faithless as the wind. 
 Yet to your better fortunes will be kind; 
 For, hearing that the Christians own your cause, 
 From thence th' assurance of a throne she draws. 
 And since Almanzor, whom she most did fear, 
 Is gone, she to no treaty will give ear; 
 But sent me her unkindness to excuse. 
 
 Abdal. You much surprise me with your pleasing news. 
 
 Selin. But, sir, she hourly does th' assault expect; 
 
 88. when thaf] QqF. when the SsM.
 
 PAKT II, ACT II, SCENE I 85 
 
 And must be lost, if you her aid neglect: 
 120 For Abdelmeleeh loudly does declare, 
 
 He'll use the last extremities of war. 
 
 Since she refus'd the fortress to resign. 
 
 Abdal. The charge of hastening this relief be mine. 
 Selin. This while I undertook, whether beset, 
 
 Or else by chance, Abenamar I met; 
 
 Who seem'd in haste returning to the town. 
 
 Abdal. My love must in my diligence be shown. 
 
 And, [to Arcos] as my pledge of faith to Spain, this hour 
 
 I'll put the fortress in your master's pow'r. 
 130 Selin, An open way from hence to it there lies, 
 
 And we with ease may send in large supplies. 
 
 Free from the shot and sallies of the town. 
 
 D. Arcos. Permit me, sir, to share in your renown; 
 
 First to my king I will impart the news, 
 
 And then draw out what succors we shall use. [Exit Duke of Arcos. 
 
 Abdal. [Aside.] Grant that she loves me not, at least I see 
 
 She loves not others, if she loves not me. 
 
 'Tis pleasure, when we reap the fruit of pain: 
 
 'Tis only pride, to be belov'd again. 
 140 How many are not lov'd, who think they arel 
 
 Yet all are willing to believe the fair; 
 
 And, tho' 'tis beauty's known and obvious cheat, 
 
 Yet man's self-love still favors the deceit. [Exit Abdal. 
 
 Selin. Farewell, my children, equally so dear, 
 
 That 1 myself am to myself less near! 
 
 While I repeat the dangers of the war. 
 
 Your mutual safety be each other's care. 
 
 Your father, Ozmyn, till the war be done, 
 
 As much as honor will permit, I'll shun: 
 150 If by his sword I perish, let him know 
 
 It was because I would not be his foe. 
 
 Osm. Goodness and virtue all your actions guide; 
 
 You only err in choosing of your side. 
 
 That party I, with honor, cannot take; 
 
 But can much less the care of you forsake: 
 
 I must not draw my sword against my prince, 
 
 But yet may hold a shield in your defense. 
 
 Benzayda, free from danger, here shall stay. 
 
 And for a father and a lover pray. 
 160 Benz. No, no! I gave not on those terms my heart. 
 
 That from my Ozmyn I should ever part : 
 
 That love I vow'd, when you did death attend, 
 
 'Tis just that nothing but my death should end. 
 
 What merchant is it who would stay behind, 
 
 His whole stock ventur'd to the waves and wind? 
 
 122. Since she refus'd] Q1Q2Q3Q4. Since she refuse Q5. // she refuse 
 F BsM.
 
 86 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 I'll pray for both, but both shall be in sight; 
 And Heav'n shall hear me pray, and see you fight. 
 
 Selin. No longer, Ozmyn, combat a design 
 "Where so much love and so much virtue join. 
 170 Oz7n. [To her.] Then conquer, and your conquest happy be, 
 Both to yourself, your father, and to me. 
 With bended knees our freedom we'll demand 
 Of Isabel and mighty Ferdinand: 
 Then, while the paths of honor we pursue. 
 We'll int'rest Heav'n for us, in right of you. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— The Albaysin. 
 
 An alarm within; then Soldiers running over the stage. Enter 
 
 Abdelmelech, victorious, with Soldiers. 
 
 Abdelm. 'Tis won, 'tis won! and Lyndaraxa, now, 
 Who scorn'd to treat, shall to a conquest bow. 
 To every sword I free commission give; 
 Fall on, my friends, and let no rebel live. 
 Spare only Lyndaraxa ; let her be 
 In triumph led, to grace my victory. 
 Since by her falsehood she betray'd my love, 
 Great as that falsehood my revenge shall prove. 
 
 Enter Lyndaraxa, as affrighted, attended by women. 
 
 Go, take th' enchantress, bring her to me bound! 
 10 Lyndar. Force needs not, where resistance is not found; 
 
 I come, myself, to offer you my hands; 
 
 And, of my own accord, invite your bands. 
 
 I wish'd to be my Abdelmelech's slave; 
 
 I did but wish, and easy fortune gave. 
 
 Abdelm. O more then woman false! — but 'tis in vain. 
 
 Can you e'er hope to be believ'd again"? 
 
 I'll sooner trust th' hyena than your smile; 
 
 Or, than your tears, the weeping crocodile. 
 
 In war and love none should be twice deceiv'd; 
 20 The fault is mine if you are now believ'd. 
 
 Lyndar. Be overwise, then, and too late repent; 
 
 Your crime will carry its own punishment. 
 
 I am well pleas'd not to be justified; 
 
 I owe no satisfaction to your pride. 
 
 It will be more advantage to my fame, 
 
 To have it said I never own'd a flame. 
 
 Abdelm. 'Tis true, my pride has satisfied itself: 
 
 I have at length escap'd the deadly shelf. 
 
 Th' excuses you prepare will be in vain, 
 30 Till I am fool enough to love again. 
 Lyndar. Am I not lov'd? 
 
 Scene II.] The scenes are not numbered in OaP.
 
 PART II, ACT II, SCENE II 87 
 
 Abdelm. I must, with shame, avow 
 
 I lov'd you once; but do not love you now. 
 
 Lyndar. Have I for this betray'd Abdalla's trust? 
 You are to me, as I to him, unjust. [Angrily. 
 
 Abdeh7i. 'Tis like you have done much for love of me, 
 Who kept the fortress for my enemy. 
 
 Lyndar. 'Tis true, I took the fortress from his hand; 
 But, since, have kept it in my own command. 
 
 Abdelm. That act your foul ingratitude did show. 
 40 Lyndar. You are th' ungrateful, since 'twas kept for you. 
 
 Abdelm. 'Twas kept indeed; but not by your intent: 
 For all your kindness I may thank th' event. 
 Blush, Lyndaraxa, for so gross a cheat : 
 'Twas kept for me, when you refus'd to treat! [Ironically. 
 
 Lyndar. Blind man! I knew the weakness of the place: 
 It was my plot to do your arms this grace. 
 Had not my care of your renown been great, 
 I lov'd enough to offer you to treat. 
 She who is lov'd must little lets create ; 
 50 But you bold lovers are to force your fate. 
 This force you us'd my maiden blush will save; 
 You seem'd to take, what secretly I gave. 
 I knew we must be conquer'd ; but I knew 
 What confidence I might repose in you. 
 I knew you were too grateful to expose 
 My friends and soldiers to be us'd like foes. 
 
 Abdelm. Well, tho' I love you not, their lives shall be 
 Spar'd out of pity and humanity. — [To a Soldier. 
 
 Alferez, go, and let the slaughter cease. [Exit the Alferez. 
 
 60 Lyndar. Then must I to your pity owe my peace? 
 Is that the tender'st term you can afford? 
 Time was, you would have us'd another word. 
 
 Abdelm. Then, for your beauty I your soldiers spare; 
 For, tho' I do not love you, you are fair. 
 
 Lyndar. That little beauty why did heav'n impart. 
 To please your eyes, but not to move your heart ! 
 I'll shroud this gorgon from all human view, 
 And own no beauty, since it cliarms not you! 
 Reverse your orders, and our sentence give ; 
 70 My soldiers shall not from my beauty live. 
 
 Abdelm. Then, from your friendship they their lives shall gain; 
 Tho' love be dead, yet friendship does remain. 
 
 Lyndar. That friendship which from wither'd love does shoot, 
 Like the faint herbage of a rock, wants root. 
 Love is a tender amity, refin'd : 
 Grafted on friendship it exalts the kind. 
 
 36. 1or} QqF. nf SsM. 
 
 61. tender'st} QlQli(i."'.Q4. trndrcHt Qr.F. iendcrcxt SsM. 
 
 69. our sentence] QlQ-Q'^Q-ll^s- your sentence Q5FM. 
 
 74. of a rock] Q(iF. on a rock SsM. •
 
 88 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 But when the graff no longer does remain, 
 The dull stock lives, but never bears again. 
 
 Abdelm. Then, that my friendship may not doubtful prove, — 
 80 Fool that I am to tell you so! — I love. 
 
 You would extort this knowledge from my breast, 
 
 And tortur'd me so long that I confess'd. 
 
 Now I expect to suffer for my sin; 
 
 My monarchy must end, and yours begin. 
 
 Lyndar. Confess not love, but spare yourself that shame, 
 And call your passion by some other name. 
 Call this assault your malice or your hate; 
 Love owns no acts so disproportionate. 
 Love never taught this insolence you show, 
 90 To treat your mistress like a conquer'd foe. 
 
 Is this th' obedience which my heart should move? 
 This usage looks more like a rape than love. 
 
 Abdelm. What proof of duty would you I should give? 
 
 Lyndar. 'Tis grace enough to let my subjects live! 
 Let your rude soldiers keep possession still; 
 Spoil, rifle, pillage, anything but kill. 
 In short, sir, use your fortune as you please; 
 Secure my castle, and my person seize; 
 Let your true men my rebels hence remove: 
 100 I shall dream on, and think 'tis all your love! 
 
 Abdelm. You know too well my weakness and your pow'r: 
 "Why did heav'n make a fool a conqueror! 
 She was my slave, till she by me was shown 
 How weak my force was, and how strong her own. 
 Now she has beat my pow'r from every part, 
 
 Made her way open to my naked heart: [To a Soldier. 
 
 Go, strictly charge my soldiers to retreat; 
 Those countermand who are not enter'd yet. 
 
 On peril of your lives leave all things free. [Exit Soldier. 
 
 110 Now, madam, love Abdalla more than me. 
 I only ask, in duty you would bring 
 The keys of our Albayzin to the king: 
 I'll make your terms as gentle as you please. 
 
 [Trumpets so^ind a charge within, and soldiers shout. 
 What shouts, and what new sounds of war are these? 
 
 Lyndar. Fortune, I hope, has favor'd my intent, [Aside. 
 
 Of gaining time, and welcome succors sent. 
 
 Enter Alferez. 
 
 Alferez. All's lost, and you are fatally deceiv'd: 
 The foe is enter'd, and the place reliev'd. 
 Scarce from the walls had I drawn off my men, 
 
 89. Love never, etc.] After this line or the next QqF have a stage- 
 direction [Alferez]. This is apparently a mistake, since the Alferez who haa 
 departed, p. 87, 1. 60, enters again after line 116, below.
 
 PAET ir, ACT II, SCENE II 89 
 
 120 When, from their camp, the enemy rush'd in, 
 
 And Prince Abdalla onter'd first the gate. 
 
 Abdelm. I am betray'd, and find it now too late. 
 
 When your proud soul to flatt'ries did descend, [To her. 
 
 I might have known it did some ill portend. 
 
 The wary seaman stormy weat-her fears 
 
 When winds shift often, and no cause appears. 
 
 You by my bounty live 
 
 Your brothers, too, were pardon'd for my sake. 
 
 And this return your gratitude does make. 
 130 Lyndar. IMy brothers best their own obligements know, 
 
 Without your charging me with what they owe. 
 
 But, since you think th' obligement is so great, 
 
 I'll bring a friend to satisfy my debt. [Looking behind. 
 
 Abdelm. Thou shalt not triumph in thy base design; 
 
 Tho' not thy fort, thy person shall be mine. 
 
 [He goes to tale her: she runs and cries out help. 
 
 Enter Abdalla, Arcos, Spaniards. Abdelmelech retreats 
 fighting, and is pursued by the adverse party of the stage. 
 An alarm within. 
 
 Enter again Abdalla and the Duke of Arcos, with 
 Lyndaraxa. 
 
 D. Arcos. Bold Abdelmelech twice our Spaniards fae'd, 
 Tho' much outnumbcr'd ; and retreated last. 
 
 Abdal. [2'o Lyndaraxa.] Your beauty, as it moves no common fire, 
 So it no common courage can inspire. 
 140 As he fought well, so had he prosper'd too. 
 If, madam, he, like me, had fought for you. 
 
 Lyndar. Fortune, at last, has chosen with my eyes; 
 And, where I would have giv'n it, plac'd the prize. 
 You see, sir, with what hardship 1 have kept 
 This precious gage, which in my hands you left. 
 But "twas the love of you which made me fight. 
 And gave me courage to maintain your right. 
 Now, by experience, you my faith may find. 
 And are to thank me that I sccm'd unkind. 
 150 When your malicious fortune doom'd your fall, 
 My care restrain'd you then from losing all; 
 Against your destiny I shut the gate. 
 And gather'd up the shipwracks of your fate; 
 I, like a friend, did ev'n yourself withstand 
 From throwing all upon a losing hand. 
 
 Abdal. My love makes all your acts unquestion'd go, 
 
 12.''). icrt/j/l Q1Q2Q;{Q4. vrnr;/ Q.")F. 
 
 l."50. obli(jcmcnt8 ktiow] Qlu2Q;5y4. ohliocmcnt knous Q"). obligement 
 know FSsM. 
 
 135. Tho' . . . mine] omitted in F.
 
 90 THE C0NQTJ1EST OF GRANADA 
 
 And sets a sovereign stamp on all you do. 
 Your love I will believe with hoodwink'd eyes; 
 In faith, much merit in much blindness lies. 
 160 But now, to make you great as you are fair, "^ 
 
 The Spaniards an imperial crown prepare. >■ 
 
 Lyiular. That gift's more welcome, which with you I share. J 
 Let us no time in fruitless courtship lose, 
 But sally out upon our frighted foes. 
 No ornaments of pow'r so please my eyes. 
 As purple which the blood of princes dyes. [Exeunt; he leading her. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Alhambra. 
 
 BoABDELiN, Abenamar, Almahide, Guards, 4'c. The 
 Queen wearing a scarf. 
 
 Ahen. My little journey has successful been; 
 The fierce Almanzor will obey the queen. 
 I found him, like Achilles on the shore. 
 Pensive, complaining much, but threat'ning more; 
 And, like that injur'd Greek, he heard our woes, 
 Which while 1 told, a gloomy smile arose 
 From his bent brows: and still, the more he heard, 
 A more severe and sullen joy appear'd. 
 But, when he knew we to despair were driv'n, 
 10 Betwixt his teeth he mutter'd thanks to heav'n. 
 
 Boab. How I disdain this aid, which I must take, 
 Not for my own, but Almahida's sake! 
 
 Ahen. But when he heard it was the queen who sent, 
 That her command repeal'd his banishment, 
 He took the summons with a greedy joy, 
 And ask'd me how she would his sword employ: 
 Then bid me say, her humblest slave would come 
 From her fair mouth ^yith joy to take his doom. 
 
 Boab. O that I had not sent you! tho' it cost 
 20 My crown! tho' I, and it, and all were lost! 
 
 Ahen. While I, to bring this news, came on before, 
 I met with Selin 
 
 Boab. I can hear no more. 
 
 Enter Hamet. 
 
 Hamet. Almanzor is already at the gate. 
 And throngs of people on his entrance wait. 
 
 Boab. Thy news does all my faculties surprise; 
 He bears two basilisks in those fierce eyes; 
 
 12. yot for] Q2Q.3Q4QuF. Xo for Ql, by a misprint. 
 24. on] Qq. at F.
 
 .} 
 
 PABT II, ACT II, SCENE III 91 
 
 And that tame daemon which should guard my throne 
 Shrinks at a genius greater than his own. 
 
 [Exit BoAB. mth Aben. and Guards. 
 
 Enter Almanzor; seeing Almahide approach him, he speaks. 
 
 Almanz. So Venus moves, when to the Thunderer, 
 30 In saiiles or tears, she would some suit prefer; 
 
 When with her cestos girt, 
 
 And drawn by doves, she cuts the liquid skies. 
 
 And kindles gentle fires where'er she flies: 
 
 To every eye a goddess is confess'd, 
 
 By all the heav"nly nation she is blest. 
 
 And each with secret joy admits her to his breast. 
 
 Madam, your new commands I come to know, [To her, howing. 
 
 If yet you can have any where I go : 
 
 If to the regions of the dead they be, 
 40 You take the speediest course, to send by me. 
 
 Almah. Heav'n has not destin'd you so soon to rest: 
 
 Heroes must live to succor the distress'd. 
 
 Almanz. To serve such beauty all mankind should live; 
 
 And, in our service, our reward you give. 
 
 But stay me not in torture, to behold 
 
 And ne'er enjoy. As from another's gold 
 
 The miser hastens in his own defense. 
 
 And shuns the sight of tempting excellence; 
 
 So, having seen you once so killing fair, 
 50 A second sight were but to move despair. 
 
 I take my eyes from what too much would please. 
 
 As men in fevers famish their disease. 
 
 Almah. No; you may find your cure an easier way, 
 
 If you are pleas'd to seek it, — in your stay. 
 
 All objects lose by too familiar view, 
 
 When that great charm is gone, of being new; 
 
 By often seeing me, you soon will find 
 
 Defects so many, in my face and mind, 
 
 That to be freed from love you need not doubt; 
 60 And, as you look'd it in, you'll look it out. 
 
 Aintam. I rather, like weak armies, should retreat, 
 
 And so prevent my more entire defeat. 
 
 For your own sake in quiet let me go ; 
 
 Press not too far on a despairing foe: 
 
 I may turn back, and arm'd against you move, 
 
 With all the furious train of hopeless love. 
 
 Almah. Your honor cannot to ill thoughts give way. 
 
 And mine can run no hazard by your stay. 
 
 Almanz. Do you then think I can with patience see 
 70 That sov'reign good possess'd, and not by me? 
 
 No; I all day shall languish at the sight, 
 
 27. da-mon Q4Q5F. demon QlQlig:^. 
 30. would Qq. should F.
 
 92 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 And rave on Avhat I ilo not see, all night; 
 My quick imagination will present 
 The scenes and images of your content, 
 When to my envied rival you dispense 
 Joys too unruly and too fierce for sense. 
 
 Almah. These are the day-dreams which wild fancy yields, 
 Empty as shadows are that fly o'er fields. 
 O, whether would this boundless fancy move I 
 80 'Tis but the raging calenture of love. 
 Like the distracted passenger you stand, 
 And see, in seas, imaginary land, 
 Cool groves, and flow'ry meads; and while you think 
 To walk, plunge in, and wonder that you sink. 
 
 Almanz. Love's calenture too well I understand; 
 But sure your beauty is no fairyland ! 
 Of your own form a judge you cannot be; 
 For, glowworm-like, you shine, and do not see. 
 
 Almah. Can you think this, and would you go awayf 
 90 Almanz. What recompense attends me if I stay? 
 
 Almah. You know I am from recompense debarr'd. 
 But I will grant you merit a reward; 
 Your flame's too noble to deserve a cheat, 
 And I too plain to practice a deceit. 
 I no return of love can ever make, 
 But what I ask is for my husband's sake; 
 He, I confess, has been ungrateful too, 
 But he and I are ruin 'd if you go : 
 Your virtue to the hardest proof I bring; — 
 100 Unbrib'd, preserve a mistress and a king. 
 
 Almanz. I'll stop at nothing that appears so brave: 
 I'll do 't, and know I no reward will have. 
 You've given my honor such an ample field 
 That I may die, but that shall never yield. 
 Spite of myself I'll stay, fight, love, despair; 
 And I can do all this, because I dare. 
 Yet I may own one suit — 
 
 That scarf, which, since by you it has been borne. 
 Is blest, like relics which by saints were worn. 
 110 Almah. Presents like this my virtue durst not make. 
 
 But that 'tis giv'n you for my husband's sake. {Gives the sc(irf. 
 
 Almanz. This scarf to honorable rags I'll wear, 
 As conqu'ring soldiers tatter'd ensigns bear; 
 But O, how much my fortune I despise. 
 Which gives me conquest, while she love denies! [Exeunt. 
 
 75, 76. When . . . sense] Omittrd in Q.'F. 
 
 79. whether] Q1Q2Q3. whither Q4Q5F. The variation recurs later, p. 
 100, 1. 93. 
 
 81. the] Q1Q2Q.'?Q4. a Q.5F SsM. ^ 
 
 83. ftoic'ri/] Q3Q4Q.5F. ftou'rs Q1Q2 bv a misprint. 
 
 92. U'lU frrit] 0102:):'.Ss. your merit <)40r)FM. 
 
 102. know] now QqF SsM. Cf. p. 63, 1. 104; p. 193, 1. 112.
 
 PART II, ACT III, SCENE I 93 
 
 ACT III 
 SCENE I.— The Alhambra. 
 
 Almahide, Esperanza. 
 
 Esper. Affected modesty has much of pride; 
 That scarf he begg'd, you could not have denied; 
 Nor does it shock the virtue of a wife, 
 When giv'n that man to whom you owe your life. 
 
 Almah. Heav'n knows from all intent of ill 'twas free, 
 Yet it may feed my husband's jealousy; 
 And for that cause I wish it were not done. 
 
 To them Boabdelin, and walls apart. 
 
 See where he comes, all pensive and alone; 
 A gloomy fury has o'erspread his face: 
 10 'Tis so! and all my fears are come to pass. 
 
 Boab [Aside.] Marriage, thou curse of love, and snare of life, 
 That first debas'd a mistress to a wife! 
 Love, like a scene, at distance should appear. 
 But marriage views the gross-daub'd landscape near. 
 Love's nauseous cure! Thou cloy'st whom thou shouldst please; 
 And, when thou cur'st, then thou art the disease. 
 When hearts are loose, thy chain our bodies ties; 
 Love couples friends, but marriage enemies. 
 If love like mine continues after thee, 
 20 "Tis soon made sour, and turn'd by jealousy; 
 No sign of love in jealous men remains. 
 But that which sick men have of life — their pains. 
 
 Almah. [Walking to him.] Has my dear lord some new affliction 
 had? 
 Have I done anything that makes him sad? 
 
 Boab. You! nothing: you! But let me walk alone! 
 
 Almah. I will not leave you till the cause be known: 
 My knowledge of the ill may bring relief. 
 
 Boab. Thank ye; you never fail to cure my grief! 
 Trouble me not, my grief concerns not you. 
 30 Almah. While I have life, I will your stops pursue. 
 
 Boab. I'm out of humor now; you must not stay. 
 
 Almah. I fear it is that scarf I gave away. 
 
 Boab. No, 'tis not that — but speak of it no more: 
 Go hence! I am not what I was before. 
 
 Almah. Then I will make you so; give me your hand! 
 Can you tliis pressing and those tears withstand? 
 
 Boab. [Highing, and going off from her.] O heav'n, were she but 
 mine, or mine alone! 
 Ah, why are not the hearts of women known! 
 False women to now joys unseen can move; 
 40 There are no prints left in the paths of love. 
 All goods besides by public marks are known ;
 
 94 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 But what we most desire to keep, has none. 
 
 Almah. [Approaching hiin.] Why will you in your breast your pas- 
 sion crowd, 
 
 liike unborn thunder rolling in a cloud? 
 
 Torment not your poor heart, but set it free, 
 
 And rather let its fury break on me, 
 
 I am not married to a god; I know 
 
 Men must have passions, and can bear from you. 
 
 I fear th' unlucky present I have made! 
 50 Boob. O pow'r of guilt! how conscience can upbraid! 
 
 It forces her not only to reveal, 
 
 But to repeat what she would most conceal! 
 
 Almah. Can such a toy, and giv'n in public too 
 
 Boab. False woman, you contriv'd it should be so. 
 
 That public gift in private was design'd 
 
 The emblem of the love you meant to bind. 
 
 Hence from my sight, ungrateful as thou art! 
 
 And, when I can, I '11 banish thee my heart. [She weeps. 
 
 To them Almanzor icearing the Scarf. He sees her weep. 
 
 Almans. What precious drops are those, 
 60 Which silently each other's track pursue, 
 
 Bright as young diamonds in their infant dew? 
 Your luster you should free from tears maintain, 
 Like Egypt, rich without the help of rain. 
 Now curst be he who gave this cause of grief; 
 And double curst, who does not give relief! 
 
 Almah. Our common fears, and public miseries, 
 Have drawn these tears from my afflicted eyes. 
 
 Almanz. Madam, I cannot easily believe 
 It is for any public cause you grieve. 
 70 On your fair face the marks of sorrow lie; 
 But I read fury in your husband's eye : 
 And, in that passion, I too plainly find 
 That you're unhappy, and that he's unkind, 
 
 Almah. Not new-made mothers greater love express 
 Than he, when with first looks their babes they bless; 
 Not heav'n is more to dying martyrs kind, 
 Nor guardian angels to their charge assign'd. 
 
 Boab. O goodness counterfeited to the life! 
 O the well-acted virtue of a wife! 
 80 Would you with this my just suspicions blind? 
 You've given me great occasion to be kind! 
 The marks, too, of your spotless love appear; 
 Witness the badge of my dishonor there. 
 
 [Pointing to Almanzor's scarf. 
 
 Almanz. Unworthy owner of a gem so rare! 
 Heav 'ns, why must he possess, and T despair ! 
 Why is this miser doom'd to all this store; 
 He who has all, and yet believes he's poor?
 
 PART II, ACT III, SCENE 1 95 
 
 Almah. [To Almanz.] You're much too bold, to blame a jealousy 
 So kind in him, and so desir'd by me. 
 90 The faith of wives would unrewarded prove, 
 Without those just observers of our love. 
 The greater care the higher passion shows; 
 We hold that dearest we most fear to lose. 
 Distrust in lovers is too warm a sun, 
 But yet "tis night in love when that is gone; 
 And in those climes which most his scorching know. 
 He makes the noblest fruits and metals grow. 
 
 Almanz. Yes; there are mines of treasure in your breast, 
 Seen by that jealous sun, but not possess'd. 
 100 He, like a dev '1 among the blest above, 1 
 
 Can take no pleasure in your heaven of love. > 
 
 Go, take her, and thy causeless fears remove; j [To the King. 
 
 Love her so well, that I with rage may die : ^ 
 Dull husbands have no right to jealousy; > 
 
 If that's allow'd, it must in lovers be. J 
 
 Boab. The succor which thou bring'st me makes thee bold: 
 But know, Avithout thy aid, my crown I'll hold; 
 Or, if I cannot, I will fire the place; 
 Of a full city make a naked space. 
 110 Hence, then, and from a rival set me free! 
 I'll do, I'll suffer anything but thee. 
 
 Almanz. I wonnot go; I'll not be forc'd away: 
 I came not for thy sake, nor do I stay. 
 It was the queen who for my aid did send; 
 And 'tis I only can the queen defend : 
 I, for her sake, thy scepter will maintain; 
 And thou, by me, in spite of thee, shalt reign. 
 
 Boab. Had I but hope I could defend this place 
 Three days, thou shouldst not live to my disgrace. 
 120 So small a time 
 
 Might I possess my Almahide alone, 
 
 I would live ages out ere they were gone. 
 
 I should not be of love or life bereft ; 
 
 All should be spent before, and nothing left. 
 
 Almah. [To Boab.] As for your sake I for Almanzor sent, 
 So, when you please, he goes to banishment. 
 You shall, at last, my loyalty approve: 
 I will refuse no trial of my love. 
 
 Boab. How can I think you love me, while I see 
 130 That trophy of a rival's victory? 
 I'll tear it from his side. 
 
 Almanz;. I'll hold it fast 
 
 As life, and when life's gone. 111 hold this last; 
 And, if thou tak'st it after I am slain, 
 I'll send my ghost to fetch it back again. 
 
 88. much loo] QqF. too much SsM.
 
 96 THE CONQUEST OF GKANADA 
 
 Almdh. When I bestow'd that scarf, I had not thought, 
 Or not consider'd it might be a fault; 
 But, since my lord's displeas'd that I should make 
 So small a present, I command it back. 
 Without delay th' unlucky gift restore; 
 140 Or, from this minute, never see me more. 
 
 Almam. [Fulling it off hastily, and presenting it to her.] The shock 
 of such a curse I dare not stand: 
 Thus I obey your absolute command. [She gives it to the King. 
 
 Must he the spoils of scorn'd Almanzor wear? — 
 May Turnus' fate be thine, who dar'd to bear 
 The belt of murder'd Pallas; from afar 
 Mayst thou be known, and be the mark of war! 
 Live just to see it from thy shoulders torn 
 By common hands, and by some coward worn. [A71 alarm within. 
 
 Enter Abdelmelech, Zulema, Hamet, Abenamar; 
 their swords drawn. 
 
 Abdelm. Is this a time for discord or for grief? 
 150 We perish, sir, without your quick relief. 
 I have been fool'd, and am unfortunate; 
 The foes pursue their fortune, and our fate. 
 
 Zul. The rebels with the Spaniards are agreed. 
 Boab. Take breath; my guards shall to the fight succeed. 
 Aben. [To Almanzor.] Why stay you, sir? The conqu'ring foe is 
 near: 
 Give us their courage, and give them our fear. 
 
 Hamet. Take arms, or we must perish in your sight. 
 Almanz. I care not: perish; for I will not fight. 
 I wonnot lift an arm in his defense: 
 160 And yet I wonnot stir one foot from hence. 
 I to your king's defense his town resign; 
 This only spot, whereon I stand, is mine. — 
 
 Madam, be safe, and lay aside your fear; [To the Queen. 
 
 You are as in a magic circle here. 
 
 Boab. To our own valor our success we'll owe. 
 Haste, Hamet, with Abenamar to go; 
 You two draw up, with all the speed you may, 
 Our last reserves, and yet redeem the day. 
 
 [Exeunt Hamet and Abenamar one way, the King the other, 
 with Abdelmelech, etc. Alarm within. 
 
 Enter Abdelmelech, his sword drawn. 
 
 Abdelm. Granada is no more! Th' unhappy king, 
 170 Vent'ring too far, ere we could succor bring. 
 Was by the Duke of Arcos pris'ner made. 
 And, past relief, is to the fort convey'd. 
 
 Almans. Heav'n, thou art just! Go, now despise my aid. 
 
 136. fault] Q1Q2Q3 print fau't.
 
 PART II, ACT III, SCENE I 97 
 
 Almah. Unkind Almanzor, how am I betray'd! 
 Betray'd by him in whom I trusted most! 
 But I will ne'er outlive what I have lost. 
 Is this your succor, this your boasted love? 
 I will accuse you to the saints above! 
 Almanzor vow'd he would for honor fight, 
 180 And lets my husband perish in my sight. 
 
 [Exeunt Almahide and Esperanza. 
 
 Almanz. O, I have err'd; but fury made me blind; 
 And, in her just reproach, my fault I find! 
 I promis'd ev'n for him to fight, whom I — 
 But since he's lov'd by her, he must not die. 
 Thus happy fortune comes to me in vain 
 When 1 myself must ruin it again. 
 
 To him Abenamar, Hamet, Abdelmelech, Zulema, Soldiers. 
 
 Ahen. The foe has enter'd the Vermillion tow'rs; 
 
 And nothing but th' Alhambra now is ours. 
 
 Almanz. Ev'n that's too much, except we may have more; 
 190 You lost it all to that last stake before. 
 
 Fate, now come back; thou canst not farther get; 
 
 The bounds of thy libration here are set. 
 
 Thou know'st this place, 
 
 And, like a clock wound up, strik'st here for me; "j 
 
 Now, Chance, assert thy own inconstancy, > 
 
 And, Fortune, fight, that thou may'st Fortune be! J 
 
 They come: here, favor'd by the narrow place, [A noise within. 
 
 I can, with few, their gross battalion face. 
 
 By the dead wall, you, Abdelmelech, wind; 
 200 Then charge, and their retreat cut off behind. [Exeunt. 
 
 [An alarm within. 
 
 Enter Almanzor and his Party, with Abdalla prisoner. 
 
 Almanz. [To Abdal.J You were my friend, and to that name I 
 owe 
 The just regard which you refus'd to show. 
 Your liberty I frankly would restore. 
 But honor now forbids me to do more. 
 Yet, sir, your freedom in your choice shall be. 
 When you command to set your brother free. 
 
 Abdal. Th' exchange which you propose with joy I take; 
 An offer easier then my hopes could make. 
 Your benefits revenge my crimes to you, 
 210 For I my shame in that bright mirror view. 
 
 Almanz. No more; you give me thanks you do not owe: 
 I have been faulty and repent me now. 
 But, tho' our penitence a virtue be. 
 Mean souls alone repent in misery; 
 The brave own faults when good success is giv'n, 
 For then they come on equal terms to heav'n. [Exeunt.
 
 98 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 SCENE II.— The Albaysin. 
 
 OzMYN and Benzayda. 
 
 Bens. I see there's somewhat which you fear to tell; 
 
 Speak quickly, Ozmyn, is my father well? 
 
 Why cross you thus your arms, and shake your head? 
 
 Kill me at once, and tell me he is dead. 
 
 Ozm. I know not more than you; but fear not lese; 
 
 Twice sinking, twice I drew him from the press: 
 
 But the victorious foe pursued so fast, 
 
 That flying throngs divided us at last. 
 
 As seamen parting in a gen'ral wrack, 
 10 When first the loosening planks begin to crack, 
 
 Each catches one, and straight are far disjoin'd, 
 
 Some borne by tides, and others by the wind; 
 
 So, in this ruin, from each other rent. 
 
 With heav'd-up hands we mutual farewells sent: 
 
 Methought his eyes, when just I lost his view. 
 
 Were looking blessings to be sent to you. 
 
 Be7iz. Blind Queen of Chance, to lovers too severe, 
 
 Thou rul'st mankind, but art a tyrant there! 
 
 Thy widest empire's in a lover's breast: 
 20 Like open seas, we seldom are at rest. 
 
 Upon thy coasts our wealth is daily cast; 
 
 And thou, like pirates, mak'st no peace to last. 
 
 To them Lyndaraxa, Duke of Arcos, and Guards. 
 
 D. Arcos. We were surpris'd when least we did suspect, 
 And justly suffer'd by our own neglect. 
 
 Lyndar. No; none but I have reason to complain! 
 So near a kingdom, yet 'tis lost again! 
 O, how unequally in me were join'd 
 A creeping fortune with a soaring mind! 
 O lottery of fate, where still the wise 
 30 Draw blanks of fortune, and the fools the prize ! 
 These cross, ill shuffled lots from heav'n are sent, 
 Yet dull religion teaches us content; 
 But when we ask it v.here that blessing dwells. 
 It points to pedant colleges, and cells; 
 There shows it rude, and in a homely dress. 
 And that proud want mistakes for happiness. [A trumpet within. 
 
 Enter Zulema. 
 
 Brother! What strange adventure brought you here? 
 
 Zul. The news I bring will yet more strange appear. 
 The little care you of my life did show 
 40 Has of a brother justly made a foe; 
 
 9. gen'ral wrack] Q2Q3. gen'ral tcreck Q1Q4. general wreck Q5. general 
 wrack FSsM.
 
 PART II, ACT III, SCENE II 99 
 
 And Abdelmelech, who that life did save, 
 As justly has deserv'd that life he gave. 
 
 Lyndar. Your business cools, while tediously it stays 
 On the low theme of Abdelmelech's praise. 
 
 Zxd. This I present from Prince Abdalia's hands. 
 
 [Delivers a letter, which she reads. 
 
 Lyndar. He has propos'd (to free him from his bands) 
 That with his brother an exchange be made. 
 
 D. Arcos. It proves the same design which we had laid. 
 Before the castle let a bar be set; 
 50 And when the captives on each side are met, 
 With equal numbers chosen for their guard, 
 Just at the time the passage is unbarr'd. 
 Let both at once advance, at once be free. 
 
 Lyndar. Th' exchange I will myself in person see. 
 
 Benz. I fear to ask, yet would from doubt be freed, — 
 Is Selin captive, sir, or is he dead? 
 
 Zul. I grieve to tell you what you needs must know, — 
 He is a pris'ner to his greatest foe; 
 Kept with strong guards in the Alhambra tow'r; 
 60 Without the reach ev'n of Almanzor's pow'r. 
 
 Ozm. With grief and shame I am at once oppressed. 
 
 Zul. You will be more, when I relate the rest. 
 To you I from Abenamar am sent, {To Ozmyn. 
 
 And you alone can Selin's death prevent. 
 Give up yourself a pris'ner in his stead; 
 Or, ere to-morrow's dawn, believe him dead. 
 
 Benz. Ere that appear, I shall expire with grief. 
 
 Zul. Your action swift, your counsel must be brief. 
 
 Lyndar. While for Abdalia's freedom we prepare, 
 70 You in each other's breast unload your care. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Ozmyn and Benzayda. 
 
 Benz. My wishes contradictions must imply; 
 You must not go; and yet he must not die. 
 Your reason may, perhaps, th' extremes unite; 
 But there's a mist of fate before my sight. 
 
 Ozm. The two extremes too distant are, to close; 
 And human wit can no midway propose. 
 My duty therefore shows the nearest way, 
 To free your father, and my own obey. 
 
 Benz. Your father, whom, since yours, I grieve to blame, , 
 
 80 Has lost, or quite forgot, a parent's name; > 
 
 And, when at once possess'd of him and you. 
 Instead of freeing one, will murder two. 
 
 Ozm. Fear not rny life; but suffer me to go: 
 What cannot only sons with parents do! 
 'Tis not my death my father does pursue; 
 He only would withdraw my love from you. 
 
 68. counsel] Q3Q4Q5F. council Q1Q2.
 
 100 THE CONQUEST OF GKANADA 
 
 Bcnz. Now, Ozmyn, now your want of lore I see; 
 For would you go, and hazard losing me? 
 
 Ozm. I rather would ten thousand lives forsake; 
 90 Nor can you e'er believe the doubt you make. — 
 This night I with a chosen band will go. 
 And, by surprise, will free him from the foe. 
 
 Benz. What foe! Ah, whether would your virtue fall! 
 It is your father whom the foe you call. 
 Darkness and rage will no distinction make, 
 And yours may perish for my father's sake. 
 
 Ozm. Thus, when my weaker virtue goes astray, 
 Yours pulls it back, and guides me in the way: 
 I'll send him word, my being shall depend 
 100 On Selin's life, and with his death shall end. 
 
 Benz. 'Tis that, indeed, would glut your father's rage: 
 Kcvenge on Ozmyn's youth, and Selin's age. 
 
 Ozm. Whate'er I plot, like Sisyphus, in vain 
 I heave a stone that tumbles down again. 
 
 Be7iz. This glorious work is then reserv'd for me: 
 He is my father, and I'll set him free. 
 These chains my father for my sake does wear: 
 I made the fault; and I the pains will bear. 
 
 Ozm, Yes; you no doubt have merited those pains; 
 110 Those hands, those tender limbs, were made for chains! 
 Did I not love you, yet it were too base 
 To let a lady suffer in my place. 
 Those proofs of virtue you before did show, 
 I did admire; but I must envy now. 
 Your vast ambition leaves no fame for me, 
 But grasps at universal monarchy. 
 
 Bern. Yes, Ozmyn, I shall still this palm pursue; 
 I will not yield my glory, ev'n to you. 
 I'll break those bonds in which my father 's tied, 
 120 Or, if I cannot break 'em, I'll divide. 
 
 What tho' my limbs a woman's weakness show; 
 
 1 have a soul as masculine as you; 
 
 And when these limbs want strength my chains to wear. 
 
 My mind shall teach my body how to bear. [Exit Benz. 
 
 Ozm. What 1 resolve, I must not let her know; 
 But honor has decreed she must not go. 
 W^hat she resolves, I must prevent with care; 
 She shall not in my fame or danger share. 
 I'll give strict order to the guards which wait, 
 130 That, when she comes, she shall not pass the gate. 
 Fortune, at last, has run me out of breath; 
 I have no refuge but the arms of death: 
 To that dark sanctuary I will go; 
 She cannot reach me when I lie so low. [Exit. 
 
 109. those} OqF. thexe SsM. 
 134. [Exit] SsM. QqF omit.
 
 PAKT II, ACT III, SCENE III 101 
 
 SCENE III.— The Alhayzin. 
 
 Enter, on the one side, Almanzor, Abdalla, Abdelmelech, 
 ZuLEMA, Hamet. On the other side, the Duke of Arcos, 
 BOABDELIN, Lyndaraxa, and their Party. After which the 
 bars are open'd; and at the same time Boasdelin and Ab- 
 dalla pass by each other, each to his Party; when Abdalla 
 is pass'd on the other side, the Duke of Arcos approaches 
 the bars, and calls to Almanzor. 
 
 D. Arcos. The hatred of the brave with battles ends. 
 And foes who fought for honor then are friends. 
 I love thee, brave Almanzor, and am proud 
 To have one hour when love may be allow'd. 
 This hand, in sign of that esteem, I plight; 
 We shall have angry hours enough to fight. [Giving his hand. 
 
 Almanz. The man who dares, like you, in fields appear. 
 And meet my sword, shall be my mistress here. 
 If I am proud, 'tis only to my foes; 
 10 Rough but to such who virtue would oppose. 
 If I some fierceness from a father drew, 
 A mother's milk gives me some softness too. 
 
 D. Arcos. Since first you took, and after set me free, 
 (Whether a sense of gratitude it be. 
 Or some more secret motion of my mind. 
 For which 1 want a name that's more then kind,) 
 I shall be glad, by whate'er means I can, 
 To get the friendship of so brave a man; 
 And would your unavailing valor call 
 20 From aiding those whom heav'n has doom'd to fall. 
 We owe you that respect. 
 
 Which to the gods of foes besieg'd was shown, 
 To call you out before we take your town. 
 
 Almanz. Those whom we love, we should esteem 'em too, 
 And not debauch that virtue which we woo. 
 Yet, tho' you give my honor just offense, 
 I'll take your kindness in the better sense; 
 And, since you for my safety seem to fear, 
 I, to return your bribe, should wish you here. 
 30 But, .since I love you more then you do me, 
 In all events preserve your honor free; 
 For that's your own, tho' not your destiny. 
 
 D. Arcos. Were you oblig'd in honor by a trust, 
 I should not think my own proposals just; 
 But since you fight for an unthankful king, 
 What loss of fame can change of parties bring? 
 
 Almanz. It will, and may with justice too, be thought 
 That some advantage in that change I sought. 
 And tho' I twice have chang'd for wrongs receiv'd, 
 40 That it was done for profit none bcliev'd. 
 The king's ingratitude I knew before; 
 
 }
 
 102 THE CONQUEST OF GKANADA 
 
 So that can be no cause of changing more. 
 If now I stand, when no reward can be, 
 "Twill show the fault before was not in me. 
 
 P. Arcos. Yet there is one reward to valor due, 
 And such it is as may be sought by you ; 
 That beaut'ous queen, whom you can never gain, 
 While you secure her husband's life and reign. 
 Almanz. Then be it so; let me have no return 
 
 [Rere Lyndaraxa comes near and hears them, 
 50 From him but hatred, and from her but scorn. 
 There is this comfort in a noble fate. 
 That I deserve to be more fortunate. 
 You have my last resolve; and now, farewell: 
 My boding heart some mischief does foretell ; 
 But what it is, heav"n will not let me know. 
 I'm sad to death, that I must be your foe. 
 
 D. Arcos. Heav'n, Avhen we meet, if fatal it must be 
 To one, spare him, and cast the lot on me. [They retire. 
 
 Lyndar. Ah, what a noble conquest were this heart! 
 60 I am resolv'd I'll try my utmost art: 
 In gaining him, I gain that fortune too, 
 Which he has wedded, and which I but woo 
 I'll try each secret passage to his mind. 
 And love's soft bands about his heartstrings wind. 
 Not his vow'd constancy shall scape my snare; 1 
 While he, without, resistance does prepare, V 
 
 I'll melt into him ere his love 's aware. J 
 
 {She viaTces a gesture of invitation to Almanzor. who 
 returns again. 
 You see, sir, to how strange a remedy 
 A persecuted maid is forc'd to fly: 
 70 Who, much distress'd, yet scarce has confidence 
 To make your noble pity her defense. 
 
 Almanz. Beauty like yours can no protection need; 
 Or, if it sues, is certain to succeed. 
 To whate'er service you ordain my hand. 
 Name your request, and call it your command. 
 
 Lyndar. You cannot, sir, but know that my ill fate 
 Has made me lov'd with all th' effects of hate: 
 One lover would by force my person gain; 
 Which one, as guilty, would by force detain. 
 80 Eash Abdelmelech's love I cannot prize, 
 And fond Abdalla's passion I despise. 
 As you are brave, so you are prudent too; 
 Advise a wretched woman what to do. 
 
 Almanz. Have courage, fair one, put your trust in me; 
 You shall at least from those you hate be free. 
 Kesign your castle to the king's command, 
 
 45. ra/o)] QlQ2Q.'iQ4. raluc Q.-P.
 
 PART II, ACT III, SCENE III 103 
 
 And leave your love concernments in my hand. 
 
 Lyndar. The king, like them, is fierce, and faithless too; 
 
 How can I trust him, who has injur'd you? 
 90 Keep for yourself (and you can grant no less) 
 
 What you alone are worthy to possess. 
 
 Enter, brave sir; for, when you speak the word, 
 
 These gates will open of their own accord; 
 
 The genius of the place its lord will meet, 
 
 And bend its tow'ry forehead to your feet. 
 
 That little citadel which now you see 
 
 Shall then the head of conquer'd nations be; 
 
 And every turret, from your coming, rise 
 
 The mother of some great metropolis. 
 100 Almanz. 'Tis pity, words, which none but gods should hear, 
 
 Should lose their sweetness in a soldier's ear: 
 
 I am not that Almanzor whom you praise; 
 
 But your fair mouth can fair ideas raise: 
 
 I am a wretch to whom it is denied 
 
 T' accept, with honor, what I wish with pride; 
 
 And, since I fight not for myself, must bring 
 
 The fruits of all my conquests to the king. 
 
 Lyndar. Say rather to the queen, to whose fair name 
 
 I know you vow the trophies of your fame. 
 110 I hope she is as kind as she is fair; 
 Kinder then unexperienc'd virgins are 
 To their first loves; (tho' she has lovM before, 
 And that first innocence is now no more:) 
 But, in revenge, she gives you all her heart 
 
 (For you are much too brave to take a part.) 
 Tho', blinded by a crown, she did not see 
 Almanzor greater than a king could be, 
 I hope her love repairs lier ill-made choice: 
 Almanzor cannot be deluded twice. 
 120 Almanz. No, not deluded; for none count their gains, 
 Who, like Almanzor, frankly give their pains. 
 
 Lyndar. Almanzor, do not cheat yourself, nor me; 
 Your love is not refin'd to that degree: 
 For, since you have desires, and those not blest, 
 Your love's uneasy, and at little rest. 
 
 Almanz. 'Tis true, my own unhappiness I see; 
 But who, alas, can my physician be? 
 Love, like a lazy ague, I endure, 
 Which fears the water, and abhors the cure. 
 130 Lyndar. 'Tis a consumption, which your life does waste. 
 Still flatt'ring you with hope, till help be past; 
 But, since of cure from her you now despair. 
 You, like consumptive men, should change your air: 
 Love somewhere else; 'tis a hard remedy. 
 But yet you owe yourself so niucli, to try. 
 
 Almanz. My love's now grown so much a part of me,
 
 104 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 That life would, in the cure, emlanger'd be: 
 
 At least it like a limb cut off would show; 
 
 And better die than like a cripple go. 
 140 Lyndar. You must be brought like madmen to their cure, 
 
 And darkness first, and next new bonds endure: 
 
 Do you dark absence to yourself ordain. 
 
 And I, in charity, will find the chain. 
 
 Almanz. Love is that madness which all lovers have; 
 
 But yet 'tis sweet and pleasing so to rave: 
 
 'Tis an enchantment where the reason's bound; 
 
 But Paradise is in tli' enchanted ground ; 
 
 A palace, void of envy, cares and strife. 
 
 Where gentle hours delude so much of life. 
 150 To take those charms away, and set me free, 
 
 Is but to send me into misery; 
 
 And prudence, of whose cure so much you boast, 
 
 Restores those pains which that sweet folly lost. 
 Lyndar. I would not, like philosophers, remove, 
 
 But show you a more pleasing shape of love. 
 
 You a sad, sullen, froward love did see; 
 
 1 '11 show him kind, and full of gaiety. 
 
 In short, Almanzor, it shall be my care 
 
 To show you love; for you but saw despair. 
 160 Almans. 1 in the shape of love despair did see; 
 
 You in his shape would show inconstancy. 
 
 Lyndar. There's no such thing as constancy you call; 
 
 Faith ties not hearts; 'tis inclination all. 
 
 Some wit deform 'd, or beauty much decay 'd, 
 
 First constancy in love a virtue made. 
 
 From friendship they that landmark did remove, 
 
 And falsely plac'd it on the bounds of love. 
 
 Let the effects of change be only tried; 
 
 Court me, in jest, and call me Almahide: 
 170 But this is only counsel I impart. 
 
 For I, perhaps, should not receive your heart. 
 Almanz. Fair tho' you are 
 
 As summer mornings, and your eyes more bright 
 
 Than stars that twinkle in a winter's night; 
 
 Tho ' you have eloquence to warm and move 
 
 Cold age and praying hermits into love; 
 
 Tho' Almahide with scorn rewarils my care. 
 
 Yet, than to change, 'tis nobler to despair. 
 
 My love's my soul; and that from fate is free; 
 180 'Tis that unchang'd and deathless part of me. 
 
 Lyndar. The fate of constancy your love pursue! 
 
 Still to be faithful to what's false to you. 
 
 [Turns from him, and goes off angrily. 
 Almanz. Ye gods, why are not hearts first pair'd above, 
 
 168. the effects'^ F. W effects Qq.
 
 PART II, ACT IV, SCENE I 105 
 
 But some still interfere in others' love? 
 Ere each for each by certain marks are known, 
 You mold 'em off in haste, and drop 'em down; 
 And, while we seek what carelessly you sort, 
 You sit in state, and make our pains your sport. 
 
 [Exeunt on both sides. 
 
 ACT IV, SCENE I. 
 Abenamar, and Servants. 
 
 Aben. Haste and conduct the pris'ner to my sight. 
 
 [Exit Servant, and immediately enters with Selin bound. 
 
 Aben. Did you, according to my orders, write? [To Selin. 
 
 And have you summon'd Ozmyn to appear? 
 
 Selin. I am not yet so much a slave to fear, 
 Nor has your son deserv'd so ill of me 
 That by his death or bonds I would be free. 
 
 Aben. Against thy life thou dost the sentence give; 
 Behold how short a time thou hast to live. 
 
 Selin. Make haste, and draw the curtain while you may; 
 10 You but shut out the twilight of my day. 
 Beneath the burden of my age I bend: 
 You kiudly ease me ere my journey's end. 
 
 [To them a Servant with Ozmyn ; Ozmyn Icneels. 
 
 Aben. [To Selin.] It is enough, my promise makes you free; 
 Resign your bonds, and take your liberty. 
 
 Ozm. Sir, you are just, and welcome are these bands; 
 'Tis all th' inheritance a son demands. 
 
 Selin. Your goodness, O my Ozmyn, is too great; 
 I am not weary of my fetters yet: 
 Already, when you move me to resign, 
 23 I feel 'em heavier on your feet than mine. 
 
 [Enter another Soldier or Servant. 
 
 Sold. A youth attends you in the outer room, 
 Who seems in haste, and does from Ozmyn come. 
 
 Aben. Conduct him in. — 
 
 Osm. Sent from Benzayda, I fear, to me. 
 
 To them Benzayda, in the habit of a man. 
 
 Bens. My Ozmyn here! 
 
 Ozm. Benzayda! 'tis she I 
 Go, youth, I have no business for thee here; [To hir. 
 
 Go to th' Albayzin, and attend me there. 
 I'll not be long away; I pr'ythee go. 
 By all our love and friendship 
 
 Jicnz. Ozmvn, no: 
 
 18(5. off] QqK. ///) SsM. 
 20. [EnterJ SsM. gqF omit. g2Q:j also omit [or Servant].
 
 106 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 30 r did not take on mc this bold disguise 
 
 For ends so low, to cheat your watchmen's eyes. 
 When I attempted this, it was to do 
 An action to be envied ev'n by you; 
 But you, alas, have been too diligent, 
 And what I purpos'd fatally prevent! 
 Those chains, which for my father I would bear, 
 I take with less content, to find you here; 
 Except your father will that mercy show, 
 That I may wear 'em both for him and you. 
 40 Ahen. I thank thee, Fortune! Thou hast, in one hour. 
 Put all I could have ask'd thee in my pow'r. 
 My own lost wealth thou giv'st not only back, 
 But driv'st upon my coast my pirate's wrack. 
 
 Helin. With Ozmyn's kindness I was griev'd before. 
 But yours, Benzayda, has undone me more. 
 
 Ahen. [To Soldier.] Go fetch new fetters, and the daughter bind. 
 
 Ozm. Be just at least, sir, tho' you are not kind: 
 Benzayda is not as a pris'ner brought, 
 But comes to suffer for another's fault. 
 50 Abcn. Then, Ozmyn, mark, that justice which I do, 
 I, as severely, will exact from you: 
 The father is not wholly dead in me; 
 Or you may yet revive it, if it be. 
 Like tapers new blown out, the fumes remain. 
 To catch the light and bring it back again. 
 Benzayda gave you life, and set you free; 
 For that, I will restore her liberty. 
 
 Osm. Sir, on my knees I thank you. 
 
 Aben. Ozmyn, hold; 
 
 One part of what I purpose is untold: 
 60 Consider, then, it on your part remains, 
 
 When I have broke, not to resume your chains. 
 Like aji indulgent father, I have paid 
 All debts which you, my prodigal, have maile. 
 Now you are clear, break off your fond design, 
 Kenounce Benzayda, and be wholly mine. 
 
 Osm. Are these the terms? Is this the liberty? 
 Ah, sir, how can you so inhuman be? 
 My duty to ray life I will prefer; 
 But life and duty must give place to her. 
 70 Aben. Consider what you say, for, with one breath, 
 You disobey my will, and give her death. 
 
 Osm. Ah, cruel father, what do you propose! 
 Must I then kill Benzayda, or must lose? 
 I can do neither; in this wretched state. 
 The least that I can suffer is your hate; 
 And yet that 's worse than death — ev 'n while I sue, 
 
 49. fault] fau't QqF.
 
 PART II, ACT IV, SCENE I 107 
 
 And choose your hatred, I could die for you. 
 Break quickly, heart, or let my blood be spilt 
 By my own hand, to save a father's guilt. 
 80 Benz. Hear me, my lord, and take this wretched life, 
 To free you from the fear of Ozmyn's wife, 
 I beg but what with ease may granted be, 
 To spare your son, and kill your enemy; 
 Or, if my death's a grace too great to give, 
 Let me, my lord, without my Ozmyn live. 
 Far from your sight and Ozmyn's let me go, 
 And take from him a care, from you a foe. 
 
 Ozm. How, my Benzayda ! Can you thus resign 
 That love which you have vow'd so firmly mine? 
 90 Can you leave me for life and liberty? 
 
 Bens. What I have done will show that I dare die; 
 But I'll twice suffer death, and go away, 
 Eather than make you wretched by my stay: 
 By this my father's freedom will be won; 
 And to your father I restore a son. 
 
 Selin. Cease, cease, my children, your unhappy strife, 
 Selin will not be ransom'd by your life. 
 
 Barbarian, thy old foe defies thy rage; [To Aben 
 
 Turn from their youth thy malice to my age. 
 100 Bern. Forbear, dear father, for your Ozmyn's sake; 
 Do not such words to Ozmyn's father speak. 
 
 Ozm. Alas, 'tis counterfeited rage; he strives 
 But to divert the danger from our lives: 
 For I can witness, sir, and you might see, 
 How in your person he eonsider'd me. 
 He still dcclin'd the combat where you were; 
 And you well know it was not out of fear. 
 
 Benz. Alas, my lord, where can your vengeance fall? 
 Your justice will not let it reach us all. 
 110 Selin and Ozmyn both would suff'rers be; 
 And punishment's a favor done to me. 
 If we are foes, since you have pow'r to kill, 
 'Tis gen'rous in you not to have the will; 
 But, are we foes? Look round, my lord, and see; 
 Point out that face which is your enemy. 
 Would you your hand in Selin's blood embrue? 
 Kill him unarm'd, who, arm'd, shuun'd killing you? 
 Am I your foe? Since you detest my line. 
 That hated name of Zegry I resign: , 
 
 120 For you, Benzayda will herself disclaim ; 
 Call me your daughter, and forget my name. 
 
 Selin. This virtue would even savages subdue; 
 And shall it want the pow'r to vanquish you? 
 
 Ozm. It has, it has; I read it in his eyes; 
 'Tis now not anger, 'tis but shame denies; 
 A shame of error that great spirits find,
 
 108 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 Which keeps down virtue struggling in the mind. 
 
 Aben. Yes, I am vanquished! The fierce conflict's past, 
 And shame itself is now o'ercome at last. 
 130 Twas long before my stubborn mind was won; 
 But, melting once, I on the sudden run; 
 Nor can I hold my headlong kindness more 
 Than I could curb my cruel rage before. 
 
 [Buns to Benz., and embraces her. 
 Benzayda, 'twas your virtue vanquish'd me; 
 That could alone surmount my cruelty. 
 
 [Buns to Selin, and unbinds him. 
 Forgive me, Selin, my neglect of you; 
 But men, just waking, scarce know what they do. 
 Ozm. O father! 
 Benz. Father! 
 
 Aben. Dare I own that name! 
 
 Speak, speak it often, to remove my shame. [Th^y all embrace him. 
 
 140 O Selin, O my children, let me go! 
 
 I have more kindness then I yet can show. 
 For my recov'ry I must shun your sight ; 
 Eyes us'd to darkness cannot bear the light. 
 
 [He runs in, they following him. 
 
 SCENE II.— The Alhayzin. 
 
 Almanzor, Abdelmelech, Soldiers. 
 
 Almans. 'Tis war again, and I am glad 'tis so; 
 Success shall now by force and courage go. 
 Treaties are but the combats of the brain, 
 Where still the stronger lose, and weaker gain. 
 
 Abdelm. On this assault, brave sir, which we prepare, 
 Depends the sum and fortune of the war. 
 Encamp'd without the fort the Spaniard lies, 
 And may, in spite of us, send in supplies. 
 Consider yet, ere we attack the place, 
 10 What 'tis to storm it in an army's face. 
 
 Almans. The minds of heroes their own measures are; 
 They stand exempted from the rules of war. 
 One loose, one sally of the hero's soul, 
 Does all the military art control: 
 While tim'rous wit goes round, or fords the shore, 
 He shoots the gulf, and is already o'er; 
 And, when th' enthusiastic fit is spent, 
 Looks back amaz'd at what he underwent. 
 
 [An alarm within. Exeunt. 
 
 Elder Almanzor and Abdelmelech with their Soldiers. 
 Abdelm. They fly, they fly; take breath and charge again. 
 
 138. O father] Qq. O my father F. 
 3. combats] QqF. combat SsM.
 
 PART II, ACT IV, SCENE II 109 
 
 20 Almans. Make good your entrance, and bring up more men. 
 I fear'd, brave friend, my aid had been too late. 
 
 Abdelm. You drew us from the jaws of certain fate. 
 At my approach 
 
 The gate was open, and the drawbridge down; 
 But, when they saw I stood, and came not on, 
 They charg'd with fury on my little band. 
 Who, much o'erpower'd, could scarce the shock withstand. 
 
 Almanz. Ere night we shall the whole Albayzin gain. 
 But see, the Spaniards march along the plain 
 30 To its relief; you, Abdelmelech, go 
 
 And force the rest, while I repulse the foe. [Exit Almanzor. 
 
 Enter Abdalla, and some few Soldiers, tclio seem fearful. 
 
 Abdal. Turn, cowards, turn; there is no hope in flight; 
 You yet may live, if you but dare to fight. 
 Come, you brave few, who only fear to fly; 
 We're not enough to conquer, but to die. 
 
 Abdelm. No, prince, that mean advantage I refuse; 
 'Tis in your pow'r a nobler fate to choose. 
 Since we are rivals, honor does command 
 We should not die but by each other's hand. 
 40 Retire; and, if it prove my destiny [To his men. 
 
 To fall, I charge you let the prince go free. 
 
 [The Soldiers depart on both sides. 
 
 Abdal. O, Abdelmelech, that I knew some way 
 This debt of honor which I owe to pay! 
 But fate has left this only means for me, 
 To die, and leave you Lyndaraxa free. 
 
 Abdelm. He, who is vanquish'd and is slain, is blest: 
 The wretched conqueror can ne'er have rest; 
 But is reserv'd a harder fate to prove. 
 Bound in the fetters of dissembled love. 
 50 Abdal. Now thou art base, and I deserve her more; 
 Without complaint I will to tlcath adore. 
 Dar'st thou see faults, and yet dost love pretend? 
 I will ev'n Lyndaraxa's crimes defend. 
 
 Abdelm. Maintain her cause, then, better than thy own, 
 Than thy ill-got and worse-defended throne. 
 
 [They fight, Abdalla falls. 
 
 Abdelm. Now ask your life. 
 
 Abdal. 'Tis gone; that busy thing, ^ 
 
 The soul, is packing up, and just on wing, > 
 
 Like parting swallows, when they seek the spring. J 
 
 Like them, at its appointed time, it goes, 
 60 And flies to countries more unknown than those. 
 
 Enter Lyndaraxa hastily, sees them, and is going out again. 
 
 Abdelm. [Stopping her.] No, you shall stay, and see a sacrifice. 
 Not offer'd by my sword, but by your eyes.
 
 110 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 rrom those he first ambition's poison drew, 
 
 And swcll'd to empire for the love of you. 
 
 Accursed fair! 
 
 Thy comet-blaze portends a prince's fate; 
 
 And suflf 'ring subjects groan beneath thy weight. 
 
 Abdal. Cease, rival, cease! 
 I would have forc'd you, but it wonnot be; 
 70 I beg you now, upbraid her not for me. 
 
 You, fairest, to my memory be kind! [To Lyndak. 
 
 Lovers like me your sex will seldom find. 
 When I usurp 'd a crown for love of you, 
 I then did more than, dying, now I do. 
 I 'm still the same as when my love begun ; ^ 
 And, could I now this fate foresee or shun, > 
 
 Would yet do all I have already done. J [Dies. 
 
 [She puts her handkerchief to her eyes. 
 
 Abdelm. Weep on, weep on, for it becomes you now; 
 These tears you to that love may well allow. 
 80 His unrepenting soul, if it could move "] 
 
 .Upward, in crimes, flew spotted with your love; (■ 
 And brought contagion to the blest above. J 
 
 Lyndar. He's gone, and peace go with a constant mind! 
 His love deserv'd I should have been more kind; 
 But then your love and greater worth I knew : 
 I was unjust to him, but just to you. 
 
 Abdelm. I was his enemy, and rival too, 
 Yet I some tears to his misfortunes owe: 
 You owe him more; weep then, and join with me: 
 90 So much is due ev'n to humanity. 
 
 Lyndar. Weep for this wretch, whose memory I hate! 
 Whose folly made us both unfortunate! 
 Weep for this fool, who did my laughter move! 
 This whining, tedious, heavy lump of love! 
 
 Abdelm. Had fortune favor'd him, and frown'd on me, ^ 
 I then had been that heavy fool, not he : >- 
 
 Just this had been my fun'ral elegy. J 
 
 Thy arts and falsehood I before did know. 
 But this last baseness was conceal'd till now; 
 100 And 'twas no more than needful to be known ; 
 I could be cur'd by such an act alone. 
 My love, half blasted, yet in time would shoot; 
 But this last tempest rends it to the root. 
 
 Lyndar. These little piques, which now your anger move, 
 Will vanish, and are only signs of love. 
 Y^'ou've been too fierce; and, at some other time, 
 I should not with such ease forgive your crime: 
 But, in a day of public joy, like this, 
 I pardon, and forget whate'er's amiss. 
 
 6.S. amWtion's^ Q1Q2Q3Q4P. amJ)itious Q5 SsM. 
 88. misfortunes] Qq. misfortune F SsM.
 
 PAET II, ACT IV, SCENE II 111 
 
 110 Abdelm. These arts have oft prcvail'd, but must no more: 
 The spell is ended, and th' enchantment o'er. 
 You have at last destroy'd, with much ado, 
 That love which none could have destroy'd, but you. 
 My love was blind to your deluding art; 
 But blind men feel, when stabb'd so near the heart. 
 
 Lyndar, I must confess there was some pity due; 
 But I coneeal'd it out of love to you. 
 
 Abdelm. No, Lyndaraxa ; 'tis at last too late; 
 Our loves have mingled with too much of fate. 
 120 I would, but cannot now, myself deceive: 
 O that you still could cheat, and I believe! 
 
 Lyndar. Do not so light a quarrel long pursue: 
 You grieve your rival was less lov'd than you. 
 'Tis hard, when men of kindness must complain! 
 
 Abdelm. I'm now awake, and cannot dream again. 
 
 Lyndar. Yet hear 
 
 Abdelm. No more; nothing my heart can bend: 
 
 That queen you scorn'd you shall this night attend. 
 Your life the king has pardon'd for my sake; 
 But on your pride I some revenge must take. 
 130 See now th' effects of what your arts design'd! 
 Thank your inconstant and ambitious mind. 
 'Tis just that she who to no love is true 
 Should be forsaken and contcmn'd like you. 
 
 Lyndar. All arts of injur'd women I will try: 
 First I will be reveng'd; and then I'll die. 
 But, like some falling tow'r 
 Whose seeming firmness does the sight beguile, 
 So hold I up my nodding head awhile, 
 Till they come under; and reserve my fail, 
 140 That with my ruins I may reach 'em all. 
 
 Abdelm. Conduct her hence. [Exit Lyndar, guarded. 
 
 Enter a Soldier. 
 
 Sold. Almanzor is victorious without fight; 
 The foes retreated when he came in sight. 
 Under the walls, this night, his men are drawn, 
 And mean to seek the Spaniard with the dawn. 
 
 Abdelm. The sun's declin'd: 
 Command the watch be set without delay, 
 And in the fort let bold Benducar stay. — 
 
 I'll haste to court, where solitude I'll fly, [Aside. 
 
 150 And herd, like wounded deer, in company. 
 But 0, how hard in passion to remove, 
 \Vhen I nmst shun myself to 'scape from love! [Exit. 
 
 148. And in, etc! SsM insert [Exit Soldier] after this line and omit 
 [Aside] after I lie next. The text follows QqF. 
 101. is] (iqV. a SsM.
 
 112 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 SCENE 111.— The Alhambra, or a Gallery. 
 
 ZuLEMA, Hamet. 
 
 Hamet. I thought your passion for the queen was dead, 
 Or that your love had with your hopes been fled. 
 
 Ztd. "Twas like a fire within a furnace pent; 
 I smother'd it, and kept it long from vent; 
 But, fed with looks, and blown with sighs so fast, 
 It broke a passage thro' my lips at last. 
 
 Hamet. Where found you confidence your suit to Hiovef 
 Our broken fortunes are not fit to love. 
 Well; you declar'd your love — what follow'd then? 
 10 Zul. She look'd as judges do on guilty men, 
 When big with fate they triumph in their dooms, 
 And smile before the deadly sentence comes. 
 Silent I stood, as I were thunderstrook; 
 Condemn'd and executed with a look. 
 
 Hamet. You must, with haste, some remedy prepare: 
 Now you are in, you must break thro' the snare. 
 
 Zul. She said she would my folly yet conceal; 
 But vow'd my next attempt she would reveal. 
 
 Hamet. 'Tis dark; and in this lonely gallery, 
 20 (Remote from noise, and shunning every eye,) 
 One hour each evening she in private mourns. 
 And prays, and to the circle then returns. 
 Now, if you dare, attempt her passing by. 
 
 Zul. These lighted tapers show the time is nigh. 
 Perhaps my courtship will not be in vain: 
 At least, few women will of force complain. 
 
 At the other end of the Gallery, enter Almanzor and Esperanza. 
 
 Hamet. Almanzor, and with him 
 The favorite slave of the sultana queen. "^ 
 
 Zul. Ere they approach, let us retire unseen, >■ 
 30 And watch our time when they return again : J 
 Then force shall give, if favor does deny; 
 And, that once done, we'll to the Spaniards fly. 
 
 [Exeunt Zxih. and Hamet. 
 
 Almanz. Now stand; th' apartment of the queen is near, 
 And from this place your voice will reach her ear. 
 
 [Esperanza goes out. 
 
 SONG, IN TWO PARTS 
 
 I. 
 
 He. Bow unhappy a lover am I, 
 
 While I sigh for my Phyllis in vain; 
 All my hopes of delight 
 Are another man's right, 
 
 Who is happy, while I am in pain! 
 
 13. thunderstrook] Q1Q2Q3. thunder-struck Q4Q5F SsM.
 
 PART II, ACT IV, SCENE III 113 
 
 II. 
 40 She. Since her honor allows no relief. 
 
 But to pity the pains which you hear, 
 'lis the best of your fate, 
 (In a hopeless estate,) 
 
 To give o'er, and betimes to despair. 
 
 III. 
 
 He. I have tried the false medicine in vain; 
 For I wish what I hope not to win: 
 From without, my desire 
 Has no food to its fire; 
 
 But it burns and consumes me ivithin. 
 
 IV. 
 
 50 She. Yet at least 'tis a pleasure to I'now 
 
 That you are not unhappy alone: 
 For the nymph you adore 
 
 Is as wretched, and more; ^ 
 
 And accounts all your suff'rings her own. 
 
 V. 
 
 He. ye gods, let me suffer for both; 
 
 At the feet of my Phyllis I'll lie: 
 I'll resign up my breath. 
 And take pleasure in death. 
 
 To be pitied by her when I die. 
 
 VI. 
 
 60 She. What her honor denied you in life. 
 
 In her death she will give to your love. 
 
 Such a flame as is true 
 
 After fate will renew. 
 
 For the souls to meet closer above. 
 
 Enter Esperanza again, after the Song. 
 
 Almanz. Accept this diamond, till I can present 
 Something more worthy my acknowledgment. 
 And now farewell : I will attend, alone, 
 Her coming forth; and make my suff'rings known. 
 
 [Exit Esperanza. 
 [^o/w.] A hollow wind comes whistling thro' that door, 
 70 And a cold shivering seizes me all o'er; 
 
 My teeth, too, chatter with a sudden fright: 
 These are the raptures of too fierce delight, 
 The combat of the tyrants, Hope and Fear; 
 Which hearts, for want of field-room, cannot bear. 
 I grow impatient; — this, or that's the room: — 
 
 54. accounts] QqF. .counts SsM.
 
 114 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 I'll meet her; — now, methinks, I hear her come. 
 
 [He goes to the door; the Ghost of his Mother mc«ts him. 
 He starts back: the Ghost stands in the door. 
 
 Well mayst thou make thy boast, whate'er thou art! 
 
 Thou art the first e'er made Almanzor start. 
 
 My legs 
 80 Shall bear me to thee in their own despite : "^ 
 
 I'll rush into the covert of thy night, > 
 
 And pull thee backward, by thy shroud, to light; J 
 
 Or else I 'II squeeze thee, like a bladder, there, 
 
 And make thee groan thyself away to air. {The Ghost retires. 
 
 So, art thou gone! Thou canst no conquest boast: 
 
 I thought what was the courage of a ghost. — 
 
 The grudging of my ague yet remains; 
 
 My blood, like icicles, hangs in my veins. 
 
 And does not drop. — Be master of that door; 
 90 We two will not disturb each other more. 
 
 I err'd a little, but extremes may join; 
 
 That door was hell's, but this is heav'n's and mine. 
 
 [Goes to the other door, and is met again by the Ghost. 
 
 Again! By heav'n, I do conjure thee, speak! 
 
 What art thou, spirit? and what dost thou seek? 
 
 [The Ghost eomes on softly after the conjuration; and 
 Almanzor retires to the middle of the stage. 
 Ghost. I am the ghost of her who gave thee birth; 
 
 The airy shadow of her mold'ring earth. 
 
 Love of thy father me thro' seas did guide; 
 
 On seas I bore thee, and on seas I died. 
 
 I died ; and for my winding-sheet a wave 
 100 I had, and all the ocean for my grave. 
 
 But when my soul to bliss did upward move, 
 
 I wander'd round the crystal walls above ; 
 
 But found th' eternal fence so steepy high, ^ 
 
 That, when I mounted to the middle sky, > 
 
 I flagg'd, and flutter'd down, and could not fly. J 
 
 Then, from the battlements of the heav'nly tow'r, 
 
 A watchman angel bid me wait this hour; 
 
 And told me, I had yet a task assign'd, 
 
 To warn that little pledge I left behind ; 
 110 And to divert him, ere it were too late, 
 
 From crimes unknown, and errors of his fate. 
 
 Almanz. [Boicing.] Speak, holy shade; thou parent-form, speak on! i 
 
 Instruct thy mortal-elemented son ; I 
 
 For here I wander, to myself unknown. J 
 
 But O, thou better part of heav'nly air. 
 
 Teach me, kind spirit, (since I'm still thy care,) 
 
 My parents' names: 
 
 82. thv shroud] 01020."?. the shrniid O-IOSF. 
 
 85. art thou] Q(]F. .thou art SsM. 
 
 103. steepy] Q1Q203Q4. steeply Q5P SsM.
 
 PART II, ACT IV, SCENE 111 115 
 
 If I have yet a father, let me know 
 
 To whose old age my humble youth must bow, 
 120 And pay its duty, if he mortal be, 
 
 Or adoration, if a mind like thee. 
 
 Ghost. Then, what 1 may, 1^11 tell.— 
 
 From ancient blood thy father's lineage springs, 
 
 Thy mother's thou deriv'st from stems of kings, 
 
 A Christian born, and born again that day, 
 
 When sacred water wash'd thy sins away; 
 
 Yet, bred in errors, thou dost misimploy 
 
 That strength heav'n gave thee, and its flock destroy. 
 Almam. By reason man a godhead may discern, 
 130 But how he would be worship'd cannot learn. 
 
 Ghost. Heav'n does not now thy ignorance reprove, 
 
 But warns thee from known crimes of lawless love. 
 
 That crime thou know'st, and, knowing, dost not shun, 
 
 Shall an unknown and greater crime pull on: 
 
 Btft if, thus warn'd, thou leav'st this cursed place, 
 
 Then shalt thou know the author of thy race. 
 
 Once more I'll see thee; when my charge is done, 
 
 Far hence, upon the Mountains of the Moon, 
 
 Is my abode; where heav'n and nature smile, 
 140 And strew with flowers the secret bed of Nile. 
 
 Blest souls are there refin'd, and made more bright. 
 
 And, in the shades of heav'n, prepar'd for light. [Exit Ghost. 
 
 Almam. O heav'n, how dark a riddle's thy decree. 
 
 Which bounds our wills, yet seems to leave 'em free! 
 
 Since thy foreknowledge cannot be in vain. 
 
 Our choice must be what thou didst first ordain. 
 
 Thus, like a captive in an isle confin'd, 
 
 Man walks at large, a pris'ner of the mind: 
 
 Wills all his crimes, while heav'n th' indictment draws, 
 150 And, pleading guilty, justifies the laws. — 
 
 Let fate be fate; the lover and the brave 
 
 Are rank'd, at least, above the vulgar slave. 
 
 Love makes me willing to my death to run; 
 
 And courage scorns the death it cannot shun. 
 
 Enter Almahide with a taper. 
 
 Almah. My light will sure discover those who talk. — 
 Who dares to interrupt my private walk? 
 
 Almanz. He, who dares love, and for that love must die, 
 And, knowing this, dares yet love on, am I. 
 
 Almah. That love which you can hope, and I can pay, 
 160 May be rccciv 'd and giv 'n in open day: 
 
 137. Once . . . thee; when . . . done,] QqF. with some varia- 
 tions of imnctiiation : Q1CJ4 place colon after IIkc and comma after dune; 
 Q- and Cy.', place commas after thee and done; U."> places a colon after thee 
 and a semicolon after done; F places a semicolon after thee and a period 
 after dune. SsM read : Once . . . thee ; then . . . done.
 
 116 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 My praise and my esteem you had before; 
 And you have bound yourself to ask no more. 
 
 Almans. Yes, I have bound myself; but will you take 
 The forfeit of that bond which force did make? 
 
 Almah. You know you are from recompense debarr'd; 
 But purest love can live without reward. 
 
 Almanz. Pure love had need be to itself a feast; 
 For, like pure elements, 'twill nourish least. 
 
 Altnah. It therefore yields the only pure content; 
 170 For it, like angels, needs no nourishment. 
 To eat and drink can no perfection be; 
 All appetite implies necessity. 
 
 Almans. 'Twere well if I could like a spirit live; 
 But do not angels food to mortals give? 
 What if some daemon should my death foreshow, 
 Or bid me change, and to the Christians go ; 
 Will you not think I merit some reward, 
 When I my love above my life regard? 
 
 Almah. In such a case your change must be allow'd: 
 180 I would myself dispense with what you vow'd. 
 
 Almanz. Were I to die that hour when I possess, 
 This minute should begin my happiness. 
 
 Almah. The thoughts of death your passion would remove; 
 Death is a cold encouragement to love! 
 
 Almanz. No; from my joys I to my death would run, 
 And think the business of my life well done: 
 But I should walk a discontented ghost. 
 If flesh and blood were to no purpose lost. 
 
 Almah. You love me not, Almanzor; if you did, 
 190 You would not ask what honor must forbid. 
 
 Almanz. And what is honor but a love well hid? 
 
 Almah. Yes, 'tis the conscience of an act well done. 
 Which gives us pow'r our own desires to shun; 
 The strong and secret curb of headlong will; 
 The self-reward of good, and shame of ill. 
 
 Almanz. These, madam, are the maxims of the day, 
 When honor's present, and when love's away. 
 The duty of poor honor were too hard. 
 In arms all day, at night to mount the guard. 
 200 Let him, in pity, now to rest retire; 
 
 Let these soft hours be watch'd by warm desire. 
 
 Almah. Guards, who all day on painful duty keep. 
 In dangers are not privileg 'd to sleep. 
 
 Almanz. And with what dangers are you threaten'd here? 
 Am I, alas! a foe for you to fear? 
 
 See, madam, at your feet this enemy; [Kneels. 
 
 Without your pity and your love I die. 
 
 175. dwmnn^ Q1Q2Q.SQ4. demon Q.5P Ss=M. 
 182. shouUn Q1Q2Q:{Q4F. fthall Q5 SsM. 
 193. desires] Q1Q2Q:?Q4. desire Q.'F. 
 
 }
 
 PART II, ACT IV, SCENE III 117 
 
 Almah. Else, rise, and do not empty hopes pursue; 
 Yet think that I deny myself, not you. 
 210 Almanz. A happiness so nigh I cannot bear: 
 My love's too fierce, and you too killing fair. 
 I grow enrag'd to see such excellence ! '^ 
 
 If words, so much disorder'd, give offense, >- 
 My love's too full of zeal to think of sense. J 
 Be you like me; dull reason hence remove, 
 And tedious forms, and give a loose to love. 
 Love eagerJy ; let us be gods to-night ; 
 And do not, with half yielding, dash delight. 
 
 Almah. Thou strong seducer, opportunity! 
 220 Of womankind, half are undone by thee I 
 Tho' I resolve I will not be misled, 
 I wish I had not heard what you had said! 
 I cannot be so wicked to comply; 
 And, yet, am most unhappy to deny! 
 Away! 
 
 Almanz. I will not move me from this place: 
 I can take no denial from that face! 
 
 Almah. If I could yield, — but think not that I will, — 
 You and myself I in revenge should kill; 
 For I should hate us both, when it were done, 
 230 And would not to the shame of life be won. 
 
 Almanz. Live but to-night, and trust to-morrow's mind: 
 Ere that can come, there's a whole life behind. 
 Methinks already crown'd with joys I lie, 
 Speechless and breathless, in an ecstasy! 
 Not absent in one thought: I am all there; 
 Still close, yet wishing still to be more near. 
 
 Almah. Deny your own desires; for it will be 
 Too little now to be denied by me. 
 Will he who does all great, all noble seem, 
 240 Be lost and forfeit to his own esteem? 
 'ft^ill he who may with heroes claim a place 
 Belie that fame, and to himself be base? 
 Think how august and godlike 3'ou did look, 
 When my defense, uiibrib'd, you undertook; 
 But, when an act so brave you disavow, 
 How little, and how mercenary now ! 
 
 Almanz. Are, then, my services no higher priz'dt 
 And can I fall so low to be despis'd? 
 
 Almah. Yes; for whatever may be bought, is low; 
 250 And you yourself, who sell yourself, are so. 
 Remember the great act you did this day : 
 How did your love to virtue then give way ! 
 When you gave freedom to my captive lord. 
 That rival who possess'd what you ador'd, — 
 
 210. nicjh] Q1Q2Q:5Q4. hicjh Qf.F SsM. spoiling the sense. 
 222. had said] Qig4Q5F. 7iaie said QiiQct SsM.
 
 118 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 Of such a (Iced what price can there be made? 
 
 Think well; is that an action to be paid? 
 
 It was a miracle of virtue shown; 
 
 And wonders are with wonder paid alone. 
 
 And would you all that secret joy of mind 
 260 Which great souls only in great actions find, 
 
 All that, for one tumultuous minute lose? 
 
 Almanz. I would that minute before ages choose. 
 
 Praise is the pay of Ileav'n for doing good; 
 
 But love's the best return for flesh and blood. 
 
 Almah. You've mov'd my heart so much, I can deny 
 
 No more; but know, Almanzor, I can die. 
 
 Thus far my virtue yields; if I have shown 
 
 More love than what I ought, lot this atone. [Going to stab herself. 
 
 Almans. Hold, hold! 
 270 Such fatal proofs of love you shall not give: 
 
 Deny me; hate me; both are just, — but live! 
 
 Your virtue I will ne'er disturb again ; 
 
 Nor dare to ask, for fear I should obtain. 
 
 Almah. 'Tis gen'rous to have conquer'd your desire; 
 
 You mount above your wish, and lose it higher. 
 
 There's pride in virtue, and a kindly heat; 
 
 Not feverish, like your love, but full as great. 
 
 Farewell ; and may our loves hereafter be 
 
 But image-like, to heighten piety. 
 280 Almam. 'Tis time I should be gone! 
 
 Alas! I am but half converted yet; 
 
 All I resolve, I with one look forget; 
 
 And, like a lion whom no arts can tame. 
 
 Shall tear ev'n those who would my rage reclaim. [Exetmt severally. 
 
 [ZuLEMA and Hamet watch Almanzor; and when 
 
 he is gone, go in after the Queen. 
 
 Enter Abdelmelech and Lyndaraxa. 
 
 Lyndar. It is enough, you've brought me to this place: 
 Here stop and urge no further my disgrace. 
 Kill me; in death your mercy will be seen. 
 But make me not a captive to the queen. 
 
 Abdelm. 'Tis therefore I this punishment provide: 
 290 This only can revenge me on your pride. 
 Prepare to suffer what you shun in vain; 
 And know, you now are to obey, not reign. 
 Enter Almahide, shrieTcing; her hair loose; she runs over the stage. 
 
 Alnmh. Help, help, O heav'n, some help! 
 
 Enter Zulema and Hamet. 
 Zul. Make haste before, 
 
 And intercept her passage to the door. 
 
 256. to he paid] Qq. F omits he. 
 
 286. further] Q1Q2Q:}Q4. farther Q5F.
 
 PART II, ACT IV, SCENE III 119 
 
 Abdelm. Villains, what act aro you attempting here! 
 Almah. 1 thank thee, heav'n! some succor does appear. 
 
 [As Abdelmelecii is going to help the Queen, 
 Lyndaraxa pulls out his sicord, and holds it. 
 Abdelm. With what ill fate my good design is curst! 
 Zul. We have no time to think; dispatch him first. 
 Abdelm. O for a sword! 
 
 [They maJce at Abdelmelech; he goes off at one 
 door, while the Queen escapes at the other. 
 300 Zul. Euin'd! 
 
 Hamet. Undone! 
 
 Lyndar. And which is worst of all, 
 
 He is escap'd. 
 
 Zul. I hear 'em loudly call. 
 
 Lyndar. Your fear will lose you; call as loud as they: 
 I have not time to teach you what to say. 
 The court will in a moment all be here; 
 But second what I say, and do not fear. 
 Call help; run that way; leave the rest to me. 
 
 IZuL. and Hamet rct're, and within cry "Help!" 
 
 Enter, at several doors, the King, Abenamar, Selix, Ozmyn, Almanzor, 
 with Guards attending Boabdelix. 
 
 Boab. What can the cause of all this tumult be? 
 And what the meaning of that naked sword? 
 
 Lyndar. I'll tell, when fear will so much breath afford. 
 310 The queen and Abdelmelech — 'twill not out — 
 Ev'n I, who saw it, of the truth yet doubt, 
 It seems so strange. 
 
 Almans. Did she not name the queen? 
 
 Haste; speak. 
 
 Lyndar. How dare I speak what I have seen!. 
 With Hamet and with Zulcma I went, 
 To pay both theirs and my acknowledgment 
 To Almahide, and by her mouth implore 
 Your clemency, our fortunes to restore. 
 We chose this hour, which we believ'd most free, 
 When she retir'd from noise and company. 
 320 The antechamber pass'd, we gently knock'd, 
 
 (Unheard it seems,) but found the lodgings lock'd. 
 In duteous silence while we waited there. 
 We first a noise, and then long whispers hear; 
 Yet thought it was the queen at pray'rs alone, 
 Till she distinctly said: '"If this were known, 
 My love, what shame, what danger would ensue! 
 Yet I," — and sigh'd, — "could venture more for you!" 
 Boab. O heav'n, what do I hear! 
 
 301. He is escap'd] Q3. Q1Q2Q4Q5F omit is.
 
 120 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 Ahnanz. Let her go on. '^ 
 
 Lyndar. "And how," then miirmurVl in a bigger tone >■ 
 330 Another voice, "and how should it be known? J 
 
 This hour is from your court attendants free; 
 The king suspects Almanzor, but not me." 
 
 Zul. [At the door.] I find her drift; Hamet, be confident; 
 Second her words, and fear not the event. 
 
 ZuLEMA and Hamet enter. The King embraces them. 
 Boab. Welcome, my only friends: behold in me, 
 
 kings, behold th' effects of clemency! 
 See here the gratitude of pardon'd foes ! 
 That life I gave 'em, they for me expose ! 
 
 Hamet. Tho' Abdelmelech was our friend before; 
 340 When duty call'd us, he was so no more. 
 
 Almanz. Damn your delay: you torturers, proceed! 
 
 1 will not hear one word but Almahide. 
 
 Boab. When you, within, the traitor's voice did hear, 
 What did you then? 
 
 Zul. I durst not trust my ear; 
 
 But, peeping thro' the keyhole, I espied 
 The queen, and Abdelmelech by her side: 
 She on the couch, he on her bosom lay; "1 
 
 Her hand, about his neck, his head did stay, ?■ 
 And from his forehead wip'd the drops away. J 
 350 Boab. Go on, go on, my friends, to clear my doubt; 
 I hope I shall have life to hear you out. 
 
 Zul. What had been, sir, you may suspect too well; 
 What follow'd, modesty forbids to tell: 
 Seeing what we had thought beyond belief, 
 Our hearts so swell'd with anger and ^^ith grief. 
 That, by plain force, we strove the door to break. 
 He, fearful, and with guilt, or love, grown weak. 
 Just as we enter'd, scap'd the other way; 
 Nor did th' amazed queen behind him stay. 
 360 Lyndar. His sword, in so much haste, he could not mind; 
 But left this witness of his crime behind. 
 
 Boab. O proud, ingrateful, faithless womankind I 
 How chang'd, and what a monster am I made! 
 My love, my honor, ruin'd and betray'd ! 
 
 Almanz. Your love and honor! Mine are ruin'd worse: 
 Furies and hell! What right have you to curse? 
 Dull husband as you are. 
 What can your love, or what your honor be? 
 I am her lover, and she's false to me. 
 370 Boab. Go; when the authors of my shame are found. 
 Let 'em be taken instantly, and bound. 
 
 340. When . . . more] Qq. F reads : When duty call'd, he was our 
 friend no more. There Is no evidence that this alteration is due to Dryden 
 himself.
 
 PAKT II, ACT IV, SCENE III 121 
 
 They shall be punish'd as our laws require: 
 
 'Tis just that flames should be condemn'd to fire. 
 
 This with the dawn of morning shall be done. 
 
 Aben. You haste too much her execution. 
 Her condemnation ought to be def err'd ; 
 With justice, none can be condemn'd unheard. 
 
 Boab. A formal process tedious is, and long; 
 Besides, the evidence is full and strong. 
 380 Lyndar. The law demands two witnesses; and she 
 Is cast, (for which heav'n knows I grieve,) by three. 
 
 Ozm. Hold, sir! Since you so far insist on law, 
 We can from thence one just advantage draw: 
 That law which dooms adulfresses to die, 
 Gives champions, too, to slander 'd chastity. 
 
 Almanz. And how dare you, who from my bounty live. 
 Intrench upon my love's prerogative? 
 Your courage in your own concernments try; 
 Brothers are things remote, while I am by. 
 390 Ozm. I knew not you thus far her cause would own. 
 And must not suffer you to fight alone; 
 Let two to two in equal combat join; 
 You vindicate her person, I her line. 
 
 Lyndar. Of all mankind, Almanzor has least right 
 In her defense, who wrong'd his love, to fight. 
 
 Almam. 'Tis false: she is not ill, nor can she be; 
 She must be chaste, because she's lov'd by me. 
 
 Zul. Dare you, what sense and reason prove, deny? 
 
 Almam. When she's in question, sense and reason lie. 
 400 Zul. For truth, and for my injur'd sovereign, 
 What I have said, I will to death maintain. 
 
 Ozm. So foul a falsehood whoe'er justifies 
 Is basely born, and like a villain lies. 
 In witness of that truth, be this my gage. 
 
 [Tal-es a ring from his finger. 
 
 JIamct. I take it; and despise a traitor's rage. 
 
 Boah. The combat's yours. — A guard the lists surround; 
 Then raise a scaffold in th' ineompass'd ground. 
 And, by it, piles of wood; in whoso just fire. 
 Her champions slain, th' adult'ress shall expire. 
 410 Abcn. We ask no favor, but what arms will yield. 
 
 Boab. Choose, then, two equal judges of the field: 
 Next morning shall decide the doubtful strife. 
 Condemn th' unchaste, or quit the virtuous wife. 
 
 Almanz. But I am both ways curst: 
 For Almahide must die, if I am slain; 
 Or for my rival I the conquest gain. [Exeunt. 
 
 384. to die] Qq. do die F.
 
 122 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 ACT V. SCENE I. 
 
 Almanzor solus. 
 
 I have outfae'd myself; and justified, 
 What I knew false, to all the world beside. 
 She was as faithless as her sex could be; 
 And, now I am alone, she's so to me. 
 She's faH'n! and now where shall we virtue find? 
 She was the last that stood of womankind. 
 Could she so holily my flames remove. 
 And fall that hour to Abdelmelech's love? 
 Yet her protection I must undertake ; 
 10 Not now for love, but for my honor's sake, 
 That mov"d me first, and must oblige me still: 
 My cause is good, however hers be ill. 
 I'll leave her, when she's freed; and let it be 
 Her punishment, she could be false to me. 
 
 To him Abdelmelech, guarded. 
 
 Abdelm. Heav'n is' not heav'n, nor are there deities; 
 There is some new rebellion in the skies. 
 All that was good and holy is dethron'd. 
 And lust and rapine are for justice own'd. 
 
 Almanz. 'Tis true; what justice in that heav'n can be, 
 20 Which thus affronts me with the sight of thee? 
 W^hy must I be from just revenge debarr'd? 
 Chains are thy arms, and prisons are thy guard: 
 The death thou di'st may to a husband be 
 A satisfaction; but 'tis none to me. 
 My love would justice to itself afford; 
 But now thou creep'st to death, below my sword. 
 
 Abdelm. This threat'ning would show better were I free. 
 
 Almanz. No; wert thou freed, I would not threaten thee; 
 This arm should then — but now it is too late! 
 30 I could redeem thee to a nobler fate. 
 As some huge rock. 
 
 Rent from its quarry, does the waves divide, 
 So I 
 
 Would souse upon thy guards, and dash 'em wide: 
 Then, to my rage left naked and alone, 
 Thy too much freedom thou shouklst soon bemoan ; 
 Dar'd like a lark that, on the open plain 
 Pursued and cuff"d, seeks shelter now in vain ; 
 So on the ground wouldst thou expecting lie, 
 40 Not daring to afford me victory. 
 
 But yet thy fate's not ripe; it is decreed, 
 Before thou di'st, that Almahidc be freed. 
 
 15. are there] Q1Q2Q3Q4. is there Q5F.
 
 PART II, ACT V, SCENE II 123 
 
 My honor first her danger shall remove, 
 
 And then revenge on thee my injur'd love. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 [SCEXE II] 
 
 The Scene changes to the Vivarambla, and appears fill'd with Spec- 
 tators; a Scaffold hung with black, etc. 
 
 Enter the Quken, guarded, with Esperanza. 
 
 Almah. See how the gazing people crowd the place, 
 All gaping to be fill'd with my disgrace. [A shout within. 
 
 That shout like the hoarse peals of vultures rings, 
 When over fighting fields they beat their wings. 
 Let never woman trust in innocence, 
 Or think her chastity its own defense. 
 Mine has betray'd me to this public shame. 
 And virtue, which I serv'd, is but a name. 
 
 Esper. Leave then that shadow, and for succor fly 
 10 To Him we serve, the Christians' Deity. 
 Virtue's no god, nor has she power divine : 
 But He protects it, who did first enjoin. 
 Trust then in Him; and from His grace implore 
 Faith to believe what rightly we adore. 
 
 Almah. Thou Pow'r unknown, if I have err'd, forgive I 
 My infancy was taught what I believe. 
 But if thy Christians truly worship thee, 
 Let me thy Godhead in thy succor see: 
 So shall thy justice in my safety shine, 
 20 And all my days, which thou shalt add, be thine! 
 
 Enter the King, Abenamar, Lyndaraxa, Benzayda: then Abdelmelech 
 guarded; and after him Selin and Alabez, as Judges of the Field. 
 
 Boab. You judges of the field, first take your place. — 
 The accusers and aceus'd bring face to face. 
 Set guards, and let the lists be open'd wide; 
 And may just heav'n assist the juster side! 
 
 Almah. What! not one tender look, one passing word? 
 Farewell, my much unkind, but still lov'd lord! 
 Your throne was for my humble fate too high, 
 And therefore heav'n thinks fit that I should die. 
 My story be forgot, when I am dead, 
 30 Lest it should fright some other from your bed; 
 And, to forget me, may you soon adore 
 Some happier maid, — yet none could love you more. 
 But may you never think me innocent, 
 
 4.'}. ><h(iU\ QnF. must SsM. 
 
 SCENK II.l Not marktd in QqF. 
 
 10. Chriitiann'] Chrixtiotm Q<|F- Christian's Ss^r. The plural form bclti^r 
 suits the sense here; Ijesides, it was tlie regular, though not quite uniform, 
 usage of Drydcn's time to insert tlie apostrophe in the singular i)ossessive. us 
 at present, but to omit it In the plural form.
 
 124 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 Lest it should cause you trouble to repent. 
 
 Boah. 'Tis pity so much beauty should not live; {Aside. 
 
 Yet I too much am injur'd, to forgive. [Goes to his seat. 
 
 Trumpets: then enter tico Moors, hearing two nal'ed swords before the 
 accusers Zulema and Hamet, wJio follow them. The Judges scat 
 themselves ; the Queen and Abdelmelech are led to the Scaffold. 
 
 Alabes. Say for what end you thus in arms appear; 
 What are your names, and what demand you here ? 
 
 Zul. The Zegrys' ancient race our linage claims; 
 40 And Zulema and Hamet are our names. 
 Like loyal subjects in these lists we stand, 
 And justice in our king's behalf demand. 
 
 Hamet. For whom, in witness of what both have seen, 
 Bound by our duty, we appeach the queen 
 And Abdelmelech of adultery. 
 
 Zul. Which, like true knights, we will maintain, or die. 
 
 Alabez. Swear on the Alcoran your cause is right, 
 And Mahomet so prosper you in fight. 
 
 [They touch their foreheads with the Alcoran, and bow. 
 
 Trumpets on the other side of the Stage; two Moors, as before, with 
 bare swords before Almanzor and Ozmyn. 
 
 Selin. Say for what end you thus in arms appear; 
 50 What are your names, and what demand you here? 
 
 Almam. Ozmyn is his, Almanzor is my name; 
 We come as champions of the queen's fair fame. 
 
 Osm. To prove these Zegrys, like false traitors, lie; 
 Which, like true knights, we will maintain, or die. 
 
 Selin. [To Almah.] Madam, do you for champions take these two, 
 By their success to live or die? 
 
 Almah. I do. 
 
 Selin. Swear on the Alcoran your cause is right; 
 And Mahomet so prosper you in fight. [They hiss the Alcoran. 
 
 [Ozmyn and Benzayda embrace, and take leave in dumb 
 show; while Lyndaraxa speaks to her brothers. 
 
 Lyndar. If you o'ercome, let neither of 'em live, 
 60 But use with care the advantages T give: 
 One of their swords in fight shall useless be; 
 The bearer of it is suborn'd by me. [She and Benzayda retire. 
 
 Alabez. Now, principals and seconds, all advance. 
 And each of you assist his fellow's ahance. 
 
 Selin. The wind and sun we equally divide; 
 So, let th' event of arms the truth decide. 
 The chances of the fight, and every wound. 
 The trumpets, on the victor's part, resound. 
 
 39. linage} Q1Q4Q5F. lineage Q2Q3 SsM. 
 
 [bare swords] Qq. [naked swords] F. 
 
 rto her brothers] QqF. [to her brother] SsM. 
 
 59. of 'em] Q1Q2Q3Q4. of them Q.5F. 
 
 61 fight} Q2Q3Q4Q5F. sight Ql, by a misprint.
 
 PAKT II, ACT V, SCENE II 125 
 
 [The trumpets sound; Almanzob and Zulema meet and -fight; 
 OzMYN and Hamet. After some passes, the suord of Ozmyn 
 breaks; he retires, defending himself, and is wounded; the 
 Zegrys' Trumpets sound their advantage. Almanzor, in the 
 meantime, drives Zulema to the farther end of the Stage, 
 till, hearing the Trumpets of the adverse Party, he looks back, 
 and sees Ozmyn's misfortune ; he makes at Zulema just as 
 Ozmyn falls, in retiring, and Hamet is thrusting at him. 
 Hamet. \To Ozmyn, thrusting.] Our difference now shall soon 
 determined be. 
 70 Almanz. Hold, traitor, and defend thyself from me. 
 
 [Hamet leaves Ozmyn (who cannot rise), and both he and 
 Zulema fall on Almanzor, and press him; he retires, and 
 Hamet, advancing first, is run thro' the body, and falls. The 
 Queen's Trumpets sound. Almanzor pursues Zulema. 
 Lyndar. I must make haste some remedy to find: — 
 Treason, Almanzor, treason! Look behind. 
 
 [Almanzor looks behind him to see who calls, and Zulema takes 
 the advantage, and wounds him; the Zegrys' Trumpets sound; 
 Almanzor turns upon Zulema, and wounds him; he falls. 
 The Queen's Trumpets sound. 
 Almanz. Now triumph in thy sister's treacherj. [Stabbing him. 
 
 Zul. Hold, hold! I have enough to make me die, 
 But, that I may in peace resign my breath, 
 I must confess my crime before my death. 
 Mine is the guilt; the queen is innocent; 
 I lov'd her, and, to compass my intent, 
 Us'd force, which Abdelmelech did prevent. 
 80 The lie my sister forg'd; but, O! my fate 
 Comes on too soon, and I repent too late. 
 Fair queen, forgive; and let my penitence 
 
 Expiate some part of [Bies. 
 
 Almah. Ev'n thy whole offense! 
 
 Almanz. [To the Judges.] If aught remains in the sultana's cause, 
 I here am ready to fulfil the laws. 
 
 Selin. The law is fully satisfied, and we 
 Pronounce tiie queen and Abdelmelech free. 
 Abdelm. Ileav'n, thou art just! 
 
 [The Judges rise from their seats, and go before Almanzor to 
 the Queen's Scaffold; he unbinds the Queen and Abdel- 
 melech; they all go off, the People shouting, and the Trum- 
 pets sounding the while. 
 Boab. Before we pay our thanks, or show our joy, 
 CO Let us our needful charity employ. 
 Some skilful surgeon speedily be found, 
 T' apply fit remedies to Ozmyn's wound. 
 
 Bcnz. [Running to OzM.] Tliat be my charge: my linon I will tear; 
 Wash it with tears, and bind it with my hair. 
 
 Ozm. With how much pleasure I my pains endure, 
 
 }
 
 126 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 And bless the wound which causes such a cure ! 
 
 [Exit OzM. led by Benz. and Aben. 
 Boab. Some from the place of combat bear the slain. 
 Next Lyndaraxa's death I should ordain: 
 But let her, who thirf mischief did contrive, 
 100 For ever banish'd from Granada live. 
 
 Lyndar. [Aside.] Thou shouldst have punish'd more, or not at all: 
 By her thou hast not ruin'd, thou shalt fall. 
 The Zegrys shall revenge their branded line, 
 Betray their gate, and with the Christians join. 
 
 [Exit Lyndaraxa tvith Alabez ; the bodies 
 of her Brothers are borne after her. 
 AlmanzOr, Almahide, Esperanza, reenter to the King. 
 
 Almah. The thanks thus paid, which first to heav'n were due, 
 My next, Almanzor, let me pay to you: 
 Somewhat there is, of more concernment too, 
 Which 'tis not fit you should in public know. 
 First let your wounds be dress'd with speedy care, 
 110 And then you shall th' important secret share. 
 
 Almanz. Whene'er you speak, 
 Were my wounds mortal, they should still bleed on; 
 And I would listen till my life were gone: 
 My soul should ev'n for your last accent stay, ^ 
 And then shoot out, and with such speed obey, V 
 It should not bait at heav'n to stop its way. J [Exit Almanz. 
 
 Boab. [Aside.] 'Tis true, Almanzor did her honor save, 
 But yet what private business can they have? 
 Such freedom virtue will not sure allow; 
 120 I cannot clear my heart, but must my brow. 
 
 [He approaches Almahide. 
 Welcome, again, my virtuous, loyal wife; 
 Welcome to love, to honor, and to life! 
 
 [Goes to salute her, she starts bade. 
 
 You seem 
 
 As if you from a loath'd embrace did go! "^ 
 
 Almah. Then briefly 1 will speak, (since you must know >- 
 What to the world my future acts will show:) J 
 
 But hear me first, and then my reasons weigh. 
 'Tis known how duty led me to obey 
 My father's choice ; and how I since did live, 
 130 You, sir, can best your testimony give. 
 
 How to your aid I have Almanzor brought, 
 When by rebellious crowds your life was sought; 
 Then, how I bore your causeless jealousy 
 (For I must speak), and after set you free, 
 When you were pris'ner by the chance of war: 
 These, sure, are proofs of love. 
 
 115 shoot] Q1Q20S04. shout Qr,F SsM. spoiling the sense. 
 1^5' I icm Q1Q2Q3Q4. icill I Q5F SsM. 
 135. by] Q1Q2Q3Q4. in Q5F SsM.
 
 PART II, ACT V, SCENE III 127 
 
 Boab. I grant they are. 
 
 Almah. And could you then, O cruelly unkind! 
 So ill reward such tenderness of mind? 
 Could you, denying what our laws afford 
 1^ The meanest subject, on a traitor's word. 
 Unheard, condemn, and suffer me to go 
 To death, and yet no common pity show! 
 
 Boab. Love filFd my heart ev'n to the brim before; 
 And then, with too much jealousy, boil'd o'er. 
 
 Almah. Be "t love or jealousy, 'tis such a crime, 
 That I'm forewarn'd to trust a second time. 
 Know, then, my pray'rs to heav'n shall never cease. 
 To crown your arms in war, your wars with peace; 
 But from this day I will not know your bed: 
 150 Tho' Almahide still lives, your wife is dead; 
 And with her dies a love so pure and true. 
 It could be kill'd by nothing but by you. [Exit Almah. 
 
 Boab. Yes; you will spend your life in pray'rs for me, 
 And yet this hour my hated rival see. 
 She might a husband's jealousy forgive; 
 But she will only for Almanzor live. 
 It is resolv'd: I will myself provide 
 That vengeance which my useless laws denied; 
 And, by Almanzor's death, at once remove 
 160 The rival of my empire, and my love. [Exit BoAB. 
 
 [SCENE III] 
 
 Enter Almahide, led by Almanzor, and foUow'd by Esperanza; she 
 
 speaks, cnt'ring. 
 
 Almah. How much, Almanzor, to your aid I owe, 
 "LTnable to repay, I blush to know; 
 Yet, forc'd by need, ere I can clear that score, 
 I, like ill debtors, come to borrow more. 
 
 Almanz, Your new commands I on my knees attend: 
 I was created for no other end. 
 Born to be yours, I do by nature serve. 
 And, like the lab'ring beast, no thanks deserve. 
 
 Almah. Yet first your virtue to your succor call, 
 10 For in this hard command you'll need it all. 
 
 Almanz. I stand prepar'd; and, whatsoe'er it be. 
 Nothing is hard to him who loves like me. 
 
 Almah. Then know, I from your love must yet implore 
 One proof: — that you would never see me more. 
 
 Almanz. \Siartinri bark.] I must confess. 
 For this last stroke I did no guard provide; 
 I could suspect no foe was near that side. 
 From winds and thick'ning clouds we thunder fear, 
 
 Scene HI.] QqF SsM indicate no change of scene, but I. Ill makes it evi- 
 dent that one has occurred.
 
 128 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 None dread it from that quarter which is clear; 
 20 And I would fain believe, 'tis but your art 
 To shew 
 You knew where deepest you could wound my heart. 
 
 Almah. So much respect is to your passion due, 
 That sure I could not practice arts on you. 
 But, that you may not doubt what I have said, 
 This hour 1 have renounc'd my husband's bed: 
 Judge, then, how much my fame would injur'd be. 
 If, leaving him, I should a lover see! 
 
 Almanz. If his unkindness have deserv'd that curse, 
 30 Must I, for loving well, be punish'd worse? 
 
 Almah. Neither your love nor merits I compare. 
 But my unspotted name must be my care. 
 
 Almanz. I have this day established its renown. 
 
 Almah. Would you so soon what you have rais'd throw down? 
 
 Almanz. But, madam, is not yours a greater guilt, 
 To ruin him who has that fabric built f 
 
 Almah. No lover should his mistress' pray'rs withstand. 
 Yet you contemn my absolute commaml. 
 
 Almanz. 'Tis not contempt, 
 40 When your command is issued out too late : 
 'Tis past niy pow'r, and all beyond is fate. 
 I scarce could leave you, when to exile sent; 
 Much less, when now recall'd from banishment: 
 For if that heat your glances cast were strong. 
 Your eyes, like glasses, fire, when held so long. 
 
 Almah. Then, since you needs will all my weakness know, 
 I love you; and so well, that you must go. 
 I am so much oblig'd, and have withal 
 A heart so boundless and so prodigal, 
 50 I dare not trust myself, or you, to stay. 
 
 But, like frank gamesters, must forswear the play. 
 
 Almanz. Fate, thou art kind to strike so hard a blow; 
 I am quite stunn'd, and past all feeling now. 
 Yet — can you tell me you have pow'r and will 
 To save my life, and, at that instant, kill! 
 
 Almah. This, had you stay'd, you never must have known; 
 But, now you go, I may with honor own. 
 
 Almanz. But, madam, I am fore'd to disobey: 
 In your defense, my honor bids me stay. 
 60 I promis'd to secure your life and throne, 
 
 And, heav'n be thank'd, that work is yet undone. 
 
 Almah. I here make void that promise which you made, 
 For now I have no farther need of aid. 
 That vow which to my plighted lord was giv'n 
 I must not break, but may transfer to heav'n. 
 I will with vestals live : 
 
 66. vestals] Qq. rossals F.
 
 PART II, ACT V, SCENE III 129 
 
 There needs no guard at a religious door; 
 Few will disturb the praying and the poor. 
 
 Almanz. Let me but near that happy temple stay, 
 70 And thro' the grates peep on you once a day; 
 To faniish'd hope I would no banquet give: 
 I cannot sterve, and wish but just to live. 
 Thus, as a drowning man 
 Sinks often, and does still more faintly rise, 
 With his last hold catching whate'er he spies; 
 So, fall'n from those proud hopes I had before, 
 Your aid I for a dying wretch implore. 
 
 Almah. I cannot your hard destiny withstand, 
 BOABDELiN, and Guards above. 
 But slip, like bending rushes, from your hand. 
 80 Sink all at once, since you must sink at last. 
 
 Almanz. Can you that last relief of sight remove, 
 And thrust me out the utmost line of love! 
 Then, since my hopes of happiness are gone, 
 Denied all favors, I will seize this one. [Catches her hand, and kisses it. 
 
 Boab. My just revenge no longer I'll forbear: 
 I've seen too much; I need not stay to hear. [Descends. 
 
 Almanz. As a small show'r 
 To the parch'd earth does some refreshment give, 
 So, in the strength of this, one day I'll live: 
 90 A day — a year — an age — for ever now ; 
 
 [Betwixt each word he Jcisses her hand 
 by force; she struggling. 
 I feel from every touch a new soul flow. [She snatches her hand away. 
 My hop'd eternity of joy is past! 
 'Twas insupportable, and could not last. 
 Were heav'n not made of less, or duller joy, 
 'Twould break each minute, and itself destroy. 
 
 Enter King and Guards, below. 
 
 Boab. This, this, is he for whom thou didst deny 
 To share my bed. — Let 'em together die. 
 Almah. Hear me, my lord. 
 
 Boab. Your flatt'ring arts are vain: 
 
 Make haste and execute what I ordain. [To Guards. 
 
 100 Almanz. Cut piecemeal in this cause, 
 From every wound I should new vigor take, 
 And every limb should new Almanzors make. 
 
 [He puts himself before the Queen ; the 
 Guards attack him, with the King. 
 Enter Abdelmelech. 
 
 Abdelm. [To the King.] What angry god, to exercise his spite, 
 Has arm'd your left hand, to cut off your right? 
 
 [The King turns, and the fight ceases. 
 
 72. stcrvc] Ql. starve y2g3y4y5F SsM.
 
 130 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 Haste not to give, but to prevent a fate; 
 
 The foes are entered at the Elvira gate: 
 
 False Lyndaraxa has the town betray'd, 
 
 And all the Zegrys give the Spaniards aid. 
 
 Boab. O mischief, not suspected nor foreseen! 
 110 Abdelm. Already they have gain"d the Zacatin, 
 
 And thence the Vivarambla place possess'd, 
 
 While our faint soldiers scarce defend the rest. 
 
 The Duke of Arcos does one squadron head, 
 
 The next by Ferdinand himself is led. 
 
 Almah. Now, brave Almanzor, be a god again; 
 
 Above our crimes and your own passions reign. 
 
 My lord has been by jealousy misled. 
 
 To think I was not faithful to his bed. 
 
 I can forgive him, tho' my death he sought, 
 120 For too much love can never be a fault. 
 
 Protect him, then; and what to his defense 
 
 You give not, give to clear my innocence. 
 
 Almanz. Listen, sweet heav'n, and all ye blest above, 
 
 Take rules of virtue from a mortal love! 
 
 You've rais'd my soul; and if it mount more high, 
 
 'Tis as the wren did on the eagle fly. 
 
 Yes, I once more will my revenge neglect; 
 
 And whom you can forgive, I can protect. 
 
 Boab. How hard a fate is mine, still doom'd to shame! 
 130 I make occasions for my rival's fame! 
 
 [Exeunt. An alarm within. 
 
 [SCENE IV] 
 
 Enter Ferdinand, Isabel, Don Alonzo d'Aguilar; Spaniards 
 and Ladies. 
 
 K. Ferd. Already more than half the town is gain'd, 
 But there is yet a doubtful fight maintain'd. 
 
 Alonz. The fierce young king the enter'd does attack, 
 And the more fierce Almanzor drives 'em back. 
 
 K. Ferd. The valiant Moors like raging lions fight; 
 Each youth encourag'd by his lady's sight. 
 
 Q. Isabel. I will advance Avith such a shining train 
 That Moorish beauties shall oppose in vain; 
 Into the press of clashing swords we'll go, 
 10 And, where the darts fly thickest, seek the foe. 
 
 K. Ferd. May heav"n, which has inspir'd this gen'rous thought, 
 Avert those dangers you have boldly sought! 
 Call up more troops ; the women, to our shame, 
 "Will ra\-ish from the men their part of fame. 
 
 [Exeunt Isabella and Ladies. 
 
 105. Haste . . . ■ fate] QqF. Omitted in SsM. 
 
 Scene IV.] QqF SsM again fail to note a necessary change of scene.
 
 PAET II, ACT V, SCENE IV 131 
 
 Enter Aldbez, and Jcisses the King's hand. 
 
 Alabez. Fair Lyndaraxa, and the Zegry line, 
 Have led their forces with your troops to join: 
 The adverse part, which obstinately fought. 
 Are broke, and Abdelmelech jiris'ner brought. 
 
 E. Ferd. Fair Lyndaraxa and her friends shall find 
 20 Th' effects of an oblig"d and grateful mind. 
 
 Alabez. But, marching by the Vivarambla place, 
 The combat carried a more doubtful face: 
 In that vast square the Moors and Spaniards met, 
 Where the fierce conflict is continued yet; 
 But with advantage on the adverse side, 
 Whom fierce Almanzor does to conquest guide. 
 
 K. Ferd. With my Castilian foot I '11 meet his rage ; 
 
 [Is going out: shouts within are heard: 
 "Victoria! Victoria!" 
 But these loud clamors better news presage. 
 
 Enter the Dule of Arcos and Soldiers; their Swords drawn 
 and bloody. 
 
 D. Arcos. Granada now is yours; and there remain 
 30 No Moors but such as own the pow'r of Spain. 
 
 That squadron which their king in person led, 
 
 We charg'd, but found Almanzor in their head: 
 
 Three several times we did the Moors attack, 
 
 And thrice with slaughter did he drive us back. 
 
 Our troops then shrunk; and still we lost more ground, 
 
 Till from our queen we needful succor found: 
 
 Her guards to our assistance bravely flew. 
 
 And with fresh vigor did the fight renew. 
 
 At the same time 
 40 Did Lyndara.xa with her troops appear, 
 
 And, while we charg'd the front, ingag'd the rear; 
 
 Then fell the king, slain by a Zegry's hand. 
 
 K. Ferd. How could he such united force withstand! 
 
 D. Arcos. Discourag'd with his death, the Moorish pow'rs 
 
 Fell back, and, falling back, were press'd by ours ; 
 
 But as, when winds and rain together croAvd, 
 
 They swell till they have burst the bladder'd cloud; 
 
 And first the lightning, flashing deadly clear, 
 
 Flies, falls, consumes, ere scarce it does appear, — i 
 
 50 So, from his shrinking troops, Almanzor flew; 
 
 Each blow gave wounds, and with each wound he slew: 
 
 His force at once I envied and admir'd. 
 
 And rushing forward, where my men retird, 
 
 41. ingar/'d] 0102030."). rnfjnci'd F. Two pages of toxt arc here omitted 
 in Q4, in which {in the Harvard Lilirary copy i the pages run l.'{.'{. IMti. 1.S7. etc. 
 
 49. ere scarce it does appear] Q1Q2Q3. Q") destroys meter hy omitting 
 scarce; F restores meter by reading before it does appear. SsM read 
 kills ere it does appear.
 
 } 
 
 132 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 Advanc'd alone. 
 
 K. Ferd. You hazarded too far 
 
 Your person, and the fortune of the war. 
 
 C Arcos. Already both our arms for fight did bare, 
 
 Already held 'em threat'ning in the air, 
 
 When heav'n (it must be heav'n) my sight did guide 
 
 To view his arm, upon whose wrist I spied 
 60 A ruby cross in diamond bracelets tied; 
 
 And just above it, in the brawnier part, 
 
 By nature was engrav'd a bloody heart. 
 
 Struck with these tokens, which so well I knew, 
 
 And stagg'ring back, some paces I withdrew: 
 
 He follow'd, and suppos'd it was my fear; 
 
 When, from above, a shrill voice reach'd his ear: — 
 
 "Strike not thy father!" — it was heard to cry. 
 
 Aniaz'd, and casting round his wond'ring eye, 
 
 He stopp'd; then, thinking that his fears were vain, 
 70 He lifted up his thund'ring arm again. 
 
 Again the voice withheld him from my death: 
 
 "Spare, spare his life," it cried, "who gave thee breath!" 
 
 Once more he stopp'd; then threw his sword away; 
 
 "Blest shade," he said, "I hear thee, I obey 
 
 Thy sacred voice;" then, in the sight of all, 
 
 He at my feet, I on his neck did fall. 
 K. Ferd. O blest event! 
 B. Arcos. The Moors no longer fought; 
 
 But all their safety by submission sought : 
 
 Meantime my son grew faint with loss of blood, 
 80 And on his bending sword supported stood; 
 
 Yet, with a voice beyond his strength, he cried: 
 
 "Lead me to live or die by Almahide." 
 
 2f. Ferd. I am not for his wounds less griev'd than you; 
 
 For, if what now my soul divines prove true, 
 
 This is that son whom in his infancy 
 
 You lost, when by my father forc'd to fly. 
 
 D. Arcos. His sister's beauty did my passion move 
 
 (The crime for which I suflfer'd was my love.) 
 
 Our marriage known, to sea we took our flight: 
 90 There, in a storm, Almanzor first saw light. 
 
 On his right arm a bloody heart was grav'd, 
 
 (The mark by which, this day, my life was sav'd:) 
 
 The bracelets and the cross his mother tied 
 
 About his wrist, ere she in childbed died. 
 
 How we were captives made, when she was dead. 
 
 And how Almanzor was in Afric bred. 
 
 Some other hour you may at leisure hear, 
 
 For see, the queen in triumph does appear. 
 
 84. proved Q1Q2Q3. vroves Q.5F. 
 95. captives] QqF. captive SsM.
 
 PAET II, ACT V, SCENE IV 133 
 
 Enter Queen Isabel, Lyndaraxa, Ladies, Moors and Span- 
 iards mix'd as Guards; Abdelmelech, Abenamar, Selin, 
 Pris'ners. 
 
 E. Ferd. [Embracing Q. Isabel.] All stories which Granada's con- 
 quest tell 
 100 Shall celebrate the name of Isabel. 
 
 Your ladies, too, who in their country's cause 
 Led on the men, shall share in your applause; 
 And, for your sakes, henceforward I ordain, 
 No lady's dow'r shall question'd be in Spain. 
 Fair Lyndaraxa, for the help she lent, 
 Shall, under tribute, have this government. 
 
 Abdelm. O heav'n, that I should live to see this dayl 
 
 Lyndar. You murmur now, but you shall soon obey. 
 I knew this empire to my fate was ow'd; 
 110 Heav'n held it back as long as e'er it could. 
 
 For thee, base wretch, I want a torture yet — [To Abdelm. 
 
 I'll cage thee; thou shalt be my Bajazet, 
 
 I on no pavement but on thee will tread; 
 
 And, when I mount, my foot shall know thy head. 
 
 Abdelm. [Stabbing her with a poniard.] This first shall know thy 
 heart. 
 
 Lyndar. O! I am slain! 
 
 Abdelm. Now, boast thy country is betray'd to Spain. 
 
 K. Ferd. Look to the lady! — Seize the murderer! 
 
 Abdelm. [Stabbing himself.] I'll do myself that justice I did her. 
 Thy blood I to thy ruin'd country give, [To Lyndar. 
 
 120 But love too well thy murther to outlive. 
 Forgive a love, excus'd by its excess. 
 Which, had it not been cruel, had been less. 
 Condemn my passion, then, but pardon me. 
 And think 1 murder'd him who murder'd thee. [Dies. 
 
 Lyndar. Die for us both; I have not leisure now; 
 A crown is come, and will not fate allow; — 
 And yet 1 feel something like death is near. 
 My guards, my guards — 
 Let not that ugly skeleton appear! 
 130 Sure Destiny mistakes; this death's not mine; 
 She dotes, and meant to cut another line. 
 
 Tell her I am a queen but 'tis too late; 
 
 Dying, 1 charge rebellion on my fate. 
 
 Bow down, ye slaves [To the Moors. 
 
 Bow quickly down, and your submission show. — [They boiv. 
 
 I'm pleas'd to taste an empire ere I go. [Dies. 
 
 Selin. She's dead, and here her proud ambition ends. 
 
 Aben. Such fortune still such black designs attends. 
 
 K. Ferd. Kemove those mournful objects from our eyes, 
 140 And see perform'd their funeral obsequies. [The bodies carried of. 
 
 118. I'll do] QqF. / do SsM.
 
 134 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 Enter Almanzor and Almahide, Ozmyn and Benzayda; Al- 
 MAHiDE brought in a chair; Almanzoe led betwixt Soldiers. 
 Isabel salutes Almahide in dumb show. 
 
 D. Arcos. [Presenting Almanzor to the King.^ See here that son 
 whom I with pride call mine ; 
 And who dishonors not your royal line. 
 
 K. Ferd. I'm now secure, this scepter, which I gain, 
 Shall be continued in the pow'r of Spain; 
 Since he, who could alone my foes defend. 
 By birth and honor is become my friend; 
 
 Yet I can own no joy, nor conquest boast, [To Almanz. 
 
 While in this blood I see how dear it cost. 
 
 Almanz. This honor to my veins new blood will bring; 
 IbO Streams cannot fail, fed by so high a spring. 
 But all court customs I so little know 
 That I may fail in those respects I owe. 
 I bring a heart which homage never knew; 
 Yet it finds something of itself in you : 
 Something so kingly that my haughty mind 
 Is drawn to yours, because 'tis of a kind. 
 
 Q. Isabel. And yet that soul which bears itself so high. 
 If fame be true, admits a sovereignty. 
 This queen, in her fair eyes, such fetters brings 
 160 As chain that heart which scorns the pow'r of kings. 
 
 Almah. Little of charm in these sad eyes appears; 
 If they had any, now 'tis lost in tears. 
 A crown and husband ravish'd in one day! 
 Excuse a grief I cannot choose but pay. 
 
 Q. Isabel. Have courage, madam; heav'n has joys in store 
 To recompense those losses you deplore. 
 
 Almah. I know your God can all my woes redress; 
 To him I made my vows in my distress: 
 And what a misbeliever vow'd this day, 
 
 179 Tho' not a queen, a Christian yet shall pay. 
 
 Q. Isabel. [Embracing her.] That Christian name you shall re- 
 ceive from me. 
 And Isabella of Granada be. 
 
 Bens. This blessed change we all with joy receive; 
 And beg to learn that faith which you believe. 
 
 Q. Isabel. With reverence for those holy rites prepare; 
 And all commit your fortunes to my care. 
 
 K. Ferd. [To Almah.] You, madam, by that crown you lose, may 
 gain. 
 If you accept a coronet of Spain, 
 Of which Almanzor's father stands possess'd. 
 
 180 Q. Isabel. [To Almah.] May you in him, and he in you, be blest I 
 Almah. I owe my life and honor to his sword; 
 
 But owe my love to my departed lord. 
 
 Almanz, Thus, when 1 have no living force to dread, 
 Fate finds me enemies amongst the dead.
 
 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 135 
 
 I'm now to conquer ghosts, and to destroy 
 
 The strong impressions of a bridal joy. 
 
 Almah. You've yet a greater foe than these can be: 
 
 Virtue opposes you, and modesty. 
 
 Almans. From a false fear that modesty does grow, 
 190 And thinks true lovo, because 'tis fierce, its foe. 
 
 'Tis but the wax whose seals on virgins stay: 
 
 Let it approach love's fire, 'twill melt away. 
 
 But I have liv'd too long; I never knew, 
 
 When fate was conquer'd, I must combat you. 
 
 I thought to climb the steep ascent of love; 
 
 But did not think to find a foe above. 
 
 'Tis time to die, when you my bar must be. 
 
 Whose aid alone could give me victory; 
 
 Without, 
 200 I'll pull up all the sluices of the flood, 
 
 And love, within, shall boil out all my blood. 
 
 Q. Isabel. Fear not your love should find so sad success. 
 
 While I have pow'r to be your patroness. 
 
 I am her parent now, and may command 
 
 So much of duty as to give her hand. [Gives him Almahide's hand. 
 Almah. Madam, I never can dispute your pow'r, 
 
 Or as a parent, or a conqueror ; 
 
 But, when my year of widowhood expires, 
 
 Shall yield to your commands and his desires. 
 210 Almanz. Move swiftly, sun, and fly a lover's pace; 
 
 Leave weeks and months behind thee in thy race! 
 
 E. Ferd. Meantime, you shall my victories pursue, 
 
 The Moors in woods and mountains to subdue. 
 
 Almanz. The toils of war shall help to wear each day, 
 
 And dreams of love shall drive my nights away. 
 
 Our banners to th' Alhambra's turrets bear; 
 
 Then, wave our conqu'ring crosses in the air, 
 
 And cry, with shouts of triumph: "Live and reign, 
 
 Great Ferdinand and Isabel of Spain!" 
 
 209. commands] QqF. command SsM.
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 They who have best succeeded on the stage 
 Have still conform'd their genius to their age. 
 Thus Jonson did mechanic humor show, 
 When men were dull, and conversation low. 
 Then comedy was faultless, but 'twas coarse: 
 Cob"s tankard was a jest, and Otter's horse. 
 And, as their comedy, their love was mean; 
 Except, by chance, in some one labor'd scene 
 Which must atone for an ill-written play. 
 
 10 They rose, but at their height could seldom stay. 
 
 Fame then was cheap, and the first comer sped; 
 And they have kept it since, by being dead. 
 But, were they now to write, when critics weigh 
 Each line, and ev'ry word, throughout a play, 
 None of 'em, no, not Jonson in his height. 
 Could pass, without allowing grains for weight. 
 Think it not envy, that these truths are told; 
 Our poet's not malicious, tho" he's bold. 
 'Tis not to brand 'em, that their faults are shown, 
 
 20 But, by their errors, to excuse his own. 
 
 If love and honor now are higher rais'd, 
 'Tis not the poet, but the age is prais'd. 
 Wit's now arriv'd to a more high degree; 
 Our native language more refin'd and free. 
 Our ladies and our men now speak more vdt 
 In conversation, than those poets writ. 
 Then, one of these is, consequently, true; 
 That what this poet writes comes short of you, 
 And imitates you ill, (which most he fears,) 
 
 30 Or else his writing is not worse than theirs. 
 Yet, tho' you judge (as sure the critics will) 
 That some before him writ with greater skill, 
 In this one praise he has their fame surpass'd. 
 To please an age more gallant than the last. 
 
 136
 
 DEFENSE 
 
 OF 
 
 THE EPILOGUE 
 
 OR 
 
 An Essay on the Dramatic Poetry 
 
 Of the Last Age 
 
 The promises of authors that they will write again are, in effect, 
 a threafning of their readers with some new impertinence; and 
 they who perform not what they promise will have their pardon on easy 
 terms. Tis from this consideration that I could be glad to spare you 
 the trouble, which I am now giving you, of a postscript, if I were not 
 oblig'd, by many reasons, to write somewhat concerning our present 
 plays, and those of our predecessors on the English stage. The truth 
 is, I have so far ingag'd myself in a bold epilogue to this play, ^vherein 
 I have somewhat tax'd the former writing, that it was necessary for me 
 
 10 either not to print it, or to show that I could defend it. Yet I would 
 so maintain my opinion of the present age, as not to be wanting in 
 my veneration for the past: I would ascribe to dead authors their just 
 praises in those things wherein they have excell'd us; and in those 
 wherein we contend with them for the preeminence, I would acknowl- 
 edge our advantages to the age, and claim no victory from our wit. 
 This being what I have propos'd to myself, I hope I shall not be 
 thought arrogant when I inquire into their errors. For we live in an 
 age so sceptical that, as it determines little, so it takes nothing from 
 antiquity on trust; and I profess to have no other ambition in this 
 
 20 essay than that poetry may not go backward, when all other arts and 
 sciences are advancing. Whoever censures me for this inquiry, let 
 him hear his character from Horace: 
 
 Ingcniis non ille favct, plauditque sepultis, 
 Nostra sed imp\ignat ; nos nostraque lividus odit. 
 
 He favors not dead wits; but hates the living. 
 
 It was upbraided to that excellent poet that he was an enemy to the 
 
 Thp DEFnxsE OF thk Epiloguf, is omitted from Q4 and sul>soquont oditions, 
 and from some copies of Q8 (spo liritiyh Mimrum Ciitnlofiiic) ; in i>tlior o<ipies 
 of Q'.i (as in that at the Harvard Lil)rar.v) it is rotainiHi. witli tfio omission of 
 two passages censuring Ben .Jonson : (a) from p. 140. 1. 10. / cast my eyes 
 through p. 141, 1. 4;{, so atiiall a vnmpnss; and (b) from p. 142, 1. 7. / think 
 tlirougli p. 1412, 1. 11, iti .Ifinsiin. (Tlie piece had lieen torn out from the 
 Harvard copy of Q2, tl;e only one a<cessil)le to the editor.) 
 
 5. postscript] Q.'}. preface Ql. probably by an oversight on Dryden's part. 
 
 137
 
 138 THE CONQUEST OF GKANADA 
 
 writings of his predecessor Lucilius, because he had said, Lucilium lutu- 
 lentum ftuere, that he ran muddy; and that he ought to have retrench'd 
 from his satires many unnecessary verses. But Horace makes Lucilius 
 himself to justify him from the imputation of envy, by telling you that 
 he would have done the same, had he liv'd in an age which was more 
 refin'd : 
 
 Si foret hoc nostrum fato delapsus in cevum, 
 Detraheret sibi multa, recideret oinne quod ultra 
 Perfectum traheretur, &c. 
 
 10 And, both in the whole course of that satire, and in his most ad- 
 mirable Epistle to Augustus, he makes it his business to prove that an- 
 tiquity alone is no plea for the excellency of a poem ; but that, one 
 age learning from another, the last (if we can suppose an equality of 
 wit in the writers) has the advantage of knowing more and better than 
 the former. And this, I think, is the state of the question in dispute. 
 It is therefore my part to make it clear, that the language, wit, and 
 conversation of our age are improv'd and refin'd above the last; and 
 then it will not be difBcult to infer that our plays have receiv'd some 
 part of those advantages. 
 
 20 In the first place, therefore, it will be necessary to state, in general, 
 what this refinement is, of which we treat; and that, I think, will not 
 be defin'd amiss: An improvement of our Wit, Language, and Con- 
 versation; or an alteration iii them for the better. 
 
 To begin with Language. That an alteration is lately made in ours, 
 or since the writers of the last age (in which I comprehend Shak- 
 spere, Fletcher, and Jonson), is manifest. Any man who reads those 
 excellent poets, and compares their language with what is now written, 
 will see it almost in every line. But that this is an improvement of 
 the language, or an alteration for the better, will not so easily be 
 
 30 granted. For many are of a contrary opinion, that the English tongue 
 was then in the height of its perfection; that from Jonson's time to 
 ours it has been in a continual declination, like that of the Eomans 
 from the age of Virgil to Statius, and so downward to Claudian; of 
 which, not only Petronius, but Quintilian himself so much complains, 
 under the person of Secundus, in his famous dialogue De Causis Cor-' 
 ruptce Eloquentice. 
 
 But, to shew that our language is improv'd, and that those people 
 have not a just value for the age in which they live, let us consider in 
 what the refinement of a language principally consists: that is, either 
 
 40 in rejecting such old words, or phrases, which are ill sounding, or im- 
 proper; or in admitting new, which are more proper, more sounding, 
 and more significant. 
 
 The reader will easily take notice that, when I speak of rejecting 
 improper words and phrases, I mention not such as are antiquated by 
 custom only, and, as I may say, without any fault of theirs; for in this 
 case the refinement can be but accidental; that is, when the words and 
 phrases which are rejected happen to be improper. Neither would I 
 
 1. lutulentum] Q3. luculentum Ql. 
 8. Detraheret] Q1Q3. Detereret SsM. 
 recideret] Q3 SsM. recederet Ql.
 
 DEFENSE OF THE EPILOGUE 139 
 
 be understood, when I speak of impropriety in language, either A\holly 
 to accuse the last age, or to excuse the present, and least of all myself; 
 for all writers have their imperfections and failings; but I may safely 
 conclude, in the general, that our improprieties are less frequent and 
 less gross than tlieirs. One testimony of this is undeniable, that we 
 are the first who have observ'd them; and, certainly, to observe errors 
 is a great step to the correcting of them. But, malice and partiality 
 set apart, let any man who understands English read diligently the 
 works of Shakspere and Fletcher, and I dare undertake that he will 
 10 find in every page either some solecism of speech, or some notorious 
 flaw in sense; and yet these men are reverenc'd, when we are not for- 
 given. That their wit is great, and many times their expressions 
 noble, envy itself cannot deny. 
 
 Neque ego ilUs detrahere ausim 
 Hcereniem capiti multa cum laude coronam. 
 
 But the times were ignorant in which they liv'd. Poetry was then, if 
 not in its infancy among us. at least not arriv'd to its vigor and ma- 
 turity. Witness the lameness of their plots; many of which, especially 
 those which they writ first (for even that age refin'd itself in some 
 
 20 measure), were made up of some ridiculous, incoherent story, which in 
 one play many times took up the business of an age. I suppose I need 
 not name Pericles, Prince of Tyre, nor the historical plays of Shak- 
 spere; besides many of the rest, as The Winter's Tale, Love's Labor 
 Lost, Measure for Measure, which were either grounded on impossibili- 
 ties, or at least so meanly written, that the comedy neither caus'd your 
 mirth, nor the serious part your concernment. If I would expatiate on 
 this subject, I could easily demonstrate that our admir'd Fletcher, who 
 writ after him, neither understood correct plotting, nor that which they 
 call the decorum of the stage. I would not search in his worst plays 
 
 80 for examples: he who will consider his Philaster, his Humorous Lieu- 
 tenant, his Faithful Shepherdess, and many others which I could name, 
 will find them much below the applause which is now given them. He 
 will see Philaster wounding his mistress, and afterwards his boy, to 
 save himself; not to mention the Clown, who enters immediately, and 
 not only has the advantage of the combat against the hero, but diverts 
 you from your serious concernment, with his ridiculous and absurd 
 raillery. In his Rtimorous Lieutenant you find his Demetrius and 
 Leontius staying in the midst of a routed army, to hear the cold mirth 
 of the Lieutenant; and Demetrius afterwards appearing with a pistol 
 
 40 in his hand, in the next age to Alexander the Great. And for his Shep- 
 herd, he falls twice into the former indecency of wounding women. 
 But these absurdities which those poets committed may more properly 
 be calld the age's fault than theirs. For, besides the want of educa- 
 tion and learning (which was their particular unhappiness), they 
 wanted the benefit of converse. But of that I shall speak hereafter, in 
 a place more proper for it. Their audiences knew no better, and there- 
 fore were satisfied with what they brought. Those who call theirs the 
 golden age of poetry have only this reason for it, that they were then 
 content with acorns, before they knew the use of bread; or that aXtj 
 
 1. in language] QIQX ot language SsMK.
 
 140 THE CONQUEST OF GKANADA 
 
 Spuos was become a proverb. They had many Avho admir'd them, and 
 few who blam'd them; and certainly a severe critic is the greatest help 
 to a good wit: he does the office of a friend, while he designs that of 
 an enemy J and his malice keeps a poet within those bounds which the 
 luxurianey of his fancy would tempt him to overleap. 
 
 But it is not their plots which I meant principally to tax; I was 
 speaking of their sense and language; and I dare almost challenge any 
 man to show me a page together which is correct in both. As for Ben 
 Jonson, I am loth to name him,because he is a most judicious writer; yet 
 10 he very often falls into these errors: and I once more beg the reader's 
 pardon for accusing him or them. Only let him consider that I live in 
 an age where m.y least faults are severely censur'd; and that I have no 
 way left to extenuate my failings, but my showing as great in those 
 whom we admire: 
 
 Ccedimus, inque vicem pncbcmus crura sagittis. 
 
 I cast my eyes but by chance on Catiline; and in the three or four first 
 
 pages, found enough to conclude that Jonson writ not correctly. 
 
 T-et Iho Ions-hid seeds 
 Of treason, in thee, now shoot forth in deeds 
 20 Ranker llian liorror. 
 
 In reading some bombast speeches of Macbeth, which are not to be un- 
 derstood, he us'd to say that it was horror; and I am much afraid that 
 this is so. 
 
 Thy parricide late on thy only son. 
 
 After his mother, to make empty way 
 
 For thy last wickei:! nuptials, worse than they 
 
 That blaze that act of thy incestuous life, 
 
 Which gain'd thee at once a daughter and a wife. 
 
 The sense is here extremely perplex'd; and I Uoubt the word they is 
 30 false grammar. 
 
 And be free 
 Not heaven itself from thy impiety. 
 
 A syiichijs'is, or ill-placing of words, of which Tully so much complains 
 
 in oratory. 
 
 The waves and dens of beasts could not receive 
 The bodies that those souls were frighted from. 
 
 The preposition in the end of the sentence; a common fault with him, 
 and which I have but lately observ'd in my own writings. 
 
 What all the several ills that visit earth. 
 40 I'laguo, famine, tire, could not reach unto, 
 
 The sword nor surfeits, let thy fury do. 
 
 Here are both the former faults: for, besides that the preposition iinto 
 is plac'd last in the verse, and at the half period, and is redundant, 
 there is the former synchysis in the words "the sword nor surfeits," 
 which in construction ought to have been plac'd before the other. 
 Catiline says of Cethegus, that for his sake he would 
 
 11. or them] Q1Q3. of them SsMK. 
 
 13. my shoirimj] Q1Q3. hij showint/ SsMK. 
 
 15. crura] Q3. cura Ql. 
 
 16. first] Ql. last SsMK.
 
 DEFENSE OF THE EPILOGUE 141 
 
 Go on upon the gods, kiss lightning, wrest 
 The engine from the Cyclops, and give fire 
 At face of a full cloud, and stand his ire. 
 
 To "go on upon" is only to go on twice. To '"give fire at face of a 
 
 full cloud' was not understood in his own time; "and stand his ire," 
 
 besides the antiquated word ire, there is the article his, which makes 
 
 false construction: and giving fire at the face of a cloud is a perfect 
 
 image of shooting, however it came to be known in those days to 
 
 Catiline. 
 
 10 Others there are. 
 
 Whom onvy to the State draws and pulls on. 
 
 For contumelies receiv'd ; and such are sure ones. 
 
 Ones, in the plural number: but that is frequent with him; for he says, 
 not long after, 
 
 Caesar and Crassus, If they be ill men, 
 Are mighty ones. 
 
 Such men, they do not succor more the cause, &c. 
 
 They redundant. 
 
 Tho' heav'n should speak with all his wrath at once, 
 20 We should stand upright and unfeard. 
 
 Eis is ill syntax with heaven; and by unfear'd he means unafraid: 
 words of a quite contrary signification. 
 
 The ports are open. 
 
 He perpetually uses ports for gates; which is an affected error in 
 him, to introduce Latin by the loss of the English idiom; as in the 
 translation of Tully's speeches he usually does. 
 
 Well-placing of words, for the sweetness of pronunciation, was not 
 known till Mr. Waller introduc'd it; and, therefore, 'tis not to be 
 wonder'd if Ben Jonson has many such lines as these: 
 
 30 But being bred up in his father's needy fortunes ; 
 
 Brought up in 's sister's prostitution, &c. 
 
 But meanness of expression one would think not to be his error in 
 a tragedy, which ought to be more high and sounding than any other 
 kind of poetry; and yet, amongst many others in Catiline, I find these 
 four lines together: 
 
 ■"o^ 
 
 So Asia, thou art cruelly even 
 With us. for all the blows thee given ; 
 When we. whose virtues couquer'd thee, 
 Thus by thy vices ruin'd be. 
 
 40 Be there is false English for are ; tho' the rime hides it. 
 
 But I am willing to close the book, partly out of veneration to the 
 author, partly out of weariness to pursue an argument which is so 
 fruitful in so small a compass. And what correctness, after this, can be 
 
 2S. 'tis\ Ql. it is SsMK. 
 
 30, .31. Hut vrostitittion, etc.] Not printed as verse in Qi 
 
 SsK ; as verse in M. 
 
 34. many] gi. Omitted in SsMK.
 
 142 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 expected from Shakspere or from Fletcher, who wanted that learning 
 and care which Jonson had? I will, therefore, spare my own trouble 
 of inquiring into their faults; who, had they liv'd now, had doubtlesa 
 written more correctly, I suppose it will be enough for me to aflirm 
 (as I think I safely may), that these, and the like errors, which I 
 tax'd in the most correct of the last age, are such into which we do not 
 ordinarily fall. I think few of our present writers would have left 
 behind them such a line as this: 
 
 Contain your spirit in more stricter bounds. 
 
 10 But that gross way of two comparatives was then ordinary, and 
 therefore more pardonable in Jonson. 
 
 As for the other part of refining, which consists in receiving new 
 words and phrases, I shall not insist much on it. 'Tis obvious that we 
 have admitted many, some of which we wanted, and therefore our lan- 
 guage is the richer for them, as it would be by importation of bullion. 
 Others are rather ornamental than necessary; yet, by their admission, 
 the language is become more courtly, and our thoughts are better dress'd. 
 These are to be found scatter'd in the writers of our age, and it is not 
 my business to collect them. They who have lately written with most 
 
 20 care have, I believe, taken the rule of Horace for their guide; that is, 
 not to be too hasty in receiving of words, but rather to stay till custom 
 has made them familiar to us: 
 
 Qucni pcnC'i arbitriiim est, et jus, et norma loquendi. 
 
 For I cannot approve of their way of refining who corrupt our 
 English idiom by mixing it too much with French: that is a sophistica- 
 tion of language, not an improvement of it; a turning English into 
 French, rather than a refining of English by French. We meet daily 
 with those fops who value themselves on their traveling, and pretend 
 they cannot express their meaning in English, because they would put 
 
 30 off to us some French phrase of the last edition; without considering 
 that, for aught they know, we have a better of our own. But these are 
 not the men who are to refine us; their talent is to prescribe fashions, 
 not words: at best, they are only serviceable to a writer, so as Ennius 
 was to Virgil. He may aurum ex stercore colHgere: for 'tis hard if, 
 amongst many insignificant phrases, there happen not something worth 
 preserving; tho' they themselves, like Indians, know not the value of 
 their own commodity. 
 
 There is yet another way of improving language, which poets 
 especially have practic'd in all ages; that is, by applying receiv'd words 
 
 40 to a new signification; and this, I believe, is meant by Horace, in that 
 precept which is so variously construed by expositors: 
 
 Dixeris egregie, notum si caUida rertum 
 Rcddidcrii junctura novum. 
 
 And in this way he him-self had a particular happiness; using all the 
 
 13. 'Tis] Q1Q3. It is SsMK. 
 
 38. yet another way] Ql. another way yet Q3.
 
 DEFENSE OF THE EPILOGUE 143 
 
 tropes, and particularly metaphors, with that grace which is observable 
 in his Odes, where the beauty of expression is often greater than that 
 of thought; as in that one example, amongst an infinite number of 
 others, Et vultus nimium lubricus aspici. 
 
 And therefore, tho' he innovated little, he may justly be call'd a 
 great refiner of the Roman tongue. This choice of words, and 
 height'ning of their natural signification, was observ'd in him by the 
 writers of the following ages; for Petronius says of him, Et Horatii 
 curiosa felicitas. By this graffing, as I may call it, on old words, has 
 
 10 our tongue been beautified by the three fore-mention'd poets, Shak- 
 spere, Fletcher, and Jonson, whose excellencies I can never enough 
 admire; and in this they have been follow'd especially by Sir John 
 Suckling and Mr. Waller, who refin'd upon them. Neither have they 
 who now succeed them been wanting in their endeavors to adorn our 
 mother tongue; but it is not so lawful for me to praise my living 
 contemporaries, as to admire my dead predecessors. 
 
 I should now speak of the refinement of Wit ; but I have been so 
 large on the former subject that I am forc'd to contract myself in this. 
 I will therefore only observe to you that the wit of the last age was 
 
 20 yet more incorrect than their language. Shakspere, who many times 
 has written better than any poet in any language, is yet so far from 
 writing wit always, or expressing that wit according to the dignity of 
 the subject, that he writes, in many places, below — the dullest writers of 
 ours, or of any precedent age. Never did any author precipitate him- 
 self from such heights of thought to so low expressions, as he often 
 does. He is the very Janus of poets; he wears almost everywhere two 
 faces; and you have scarce begun to admire tho one, ere you despise 
 the other. Neither is the luxuriance of Fletcher, (which his friends 
 have tax'd in him,) a less fault than the carelessness of Shakspere. 
 
 30 He does not well always; and, when he does, he is a true Englishman 
 — he knows not when to give over. If he wakes in one scene, he com- 
 monly slumbers in another; and, if he pleases you in the first three 
 acts, he is frequently so tir'd with his labor that he goes heavily in the 
 fourth, and sinks under his burden in the fifth. 
 
 For Ben Jonson, the most judicious of poets, he always writ prop- 
 erly, and as the character rcquir"d ; and I will not contest farther with 
 my friends who call that wit: it being very certain that even folly 
 itself, well represented, is wit in a larger signification ; and that there 
 is fancy as well as judgment in it, tho' not so much or noble: because, 
 
 40 all poetry being imitation, that of folly is a lower exercise of fancy, 
 tho' perhaps as difiicult as the other; for 'tis a kind of looking down- 
 ward in the poet, and representing that part of mankind which is below 
 him. 
 
 In these low characters of vice and folly lay the excellency of that 
 inimitable writer; who, when at any time he aim'd at wit in the stricter 
 sense, that is, sharpness of conceit, was forc'd either to borrow from 
 
 1. pmtiriilnrlt/] QIQ."?. particular SsMK. 
 
 14. ir/io now .lucrccd] Qiy.S. uho siiccccdnl SsMK. 
 
 10. mil (U'ltl prrilrcrs.iiirs] i}l. iy.i omits dead. 
 
 24. or of dill/] <}Uy.i. SsMK omit of. 
 
 25. hciqhi.s QIQ-S- hriolit SsMK. 
 4G. cither] Ql. Omitted in Q3.
 
 144 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 the ancients, as to my knowledge he did very much from Plautus; or, 
 when he trusted himself alone, often fell into meanness of expression. 
 Nay, he was not free from the lowest and most groveling kind of wit, 
 which we call clenches, of which Every Man in his Humor is infinitely 
 full; and, which is worse, the wittiest persons in the drama speak 
 them. His other comedies are not exempted from them. Will you give 
 me leave to name some few? Asper, in which character he personates 
 himself (and he neither was nor thought himself a fool), exclaiming 
 against the ignorant ju<lges of the age, speaks thus: 
 
 10 How monstrous and detested is 't, to see 
 
 A fellow that has neither art nor brain 
 Sit like an Aristarchus, or stark-ass, 
 Taking men's lines, with a tobacco face, 
 In snuff, &c. 
 
 And presently after: 
 
 I mar'le whose wit 'twas to put a prologue in yond sackbut's mouth. They 
 might well think he would be out of tune, and yet you'd play upon him too. 
 
 Will you have another of the same stamp? 
 
 O, I cannot abide these limbs of satin, or rather Satan. 
 20 But it may be you will object that this was Asper, Macilente, or 
 Carlo Buffone: you shall, therefore, hear him speak in his own person, 
 and that in the two last lines, or sting of an epigram. 'Tis inscrib'd 
 to Fine Grand, who, he says, was indebted to him for many things 
 which he reckons there; and concludes thus: 
 
 Forty things more, dear Grand, which you know true. 
 For which, or pay me quickly, or I'll pay you. 
 
 This was then the mode of wit, the vice of the age, and not Ben 
 Jonson's; for you see, a little before him, that admirable wit. Sir Philip 
 Sidney, perpetually playing with his words. In his time, I believe, it 
 
 30 ascended first into the pulpit, where (if you will give me leave to clench 
 too) it yet finds the benefit of its clergy; for they are commonly the 
 first corrupters of eloquence, and the last reform'd from vicious oratory; 
 as a famous Italian has observ'd before me, in his Treatise of the 
 Corruption of the Italian Tongue; which he principally ascribes to 
 priests and preaching friars. 
 
 But, to conclude with what brevity I can, I will only add this, in 
 the defense of our present writers, that, if they reach not some excel- 
 lencies of Ben Jonson (which no age, I am confident, ever shall), yet at 
 least they are above that meanness of thought which I have tax'd, and 
 
 40 which is frequent in him. 
 
 That the wit of this age is much more courtly, may easily be prov'd 
 by viewing the characters of gentlemen which were written in the last. 
 First, for Jonson: Truewit, in The Silent Wojnan, was his masterpiece; 
 and Truewit was a scholar-like kind of man, a gentleman with an allay 
 of pedantry, a man who seems mortified to the world by much reading. 
 The best of his discourse is drawn, not from the knowledge of the town, 
 but books; and, in short, he would be a fine gentleman in an university. 
 Shakspere show'd the best of his skill in his Mercutio; and he said 
 
 6. exempted] Q1Q3. exempt SsMK.
 
 DEFENSE OF THE EPILOGUE 145 
 
 himself that he was forcVl to kill him iu the third act, to prevent being 
 kill'd by him. But, for my part, I cannot find he was so dangerous a 
 person : I see nothing in bim but what was so exceeding harmless, that 
 he might liave liv'd to the end of the play, and died in his bed, without 
 offense to any man. 
 
 Fletcher's Don John is our only bugbear; and yet I may affirm, 
 without suspicion of flattery, that he now speaks better, and that his 
 character is maintain'd with much more vigor in the fourth and fifth 
 acts than it was by Fletcher in the three former. I have always 
 
 10 acknowledg'd the wit of our predecessors, with all the veneration which 
 becomes me; but, I am sure, their wit was not that of gentlemen; there 
 was ever somewhat that was ill-bred and clownish in it, and which 
 confess'd the conversation of the authors. 
 
 And this leads me to the last and greatest advantage of our writing, 
 which proceeds from conversation. In the age wherein those poets liv'd 
 there was less of gallantry than in ours; neither did they keep the best 
 company of theirs. Their fortune has been much like that of Epicurus, 
 in the retirement of his gardens; to live almost unknown, and to be 
 celebrated after their decease. I cannot find that any of them were 
 
 20 conversant in courts, except Ben Jonson; and his genius lay not so 
 much that way, as to make an improvement by it. Greatness was not 
 then so easy of access, nor conversation so free, as now it is. I cannot, 
 therefore, conceive it any insolence to affirm, that, by the knowledge and 
 pattern of their wit who writ before us, and by the advantage of our 
 own conversation, the discourse and raillery of our comedies excel what 
 has been written by them. And this will be denied by none but some 
 few old fellows who value themselves on their acquaintance with the 
 Blackfriars; who, because they saw their plays, would pretend a right 
 to judge ours. The memory of these grave gentlemen is their only plea 
 
 30 for being wits. They can tell a story of Ben Jonson, and perhaps have 
 had fancy enough to give a supper in Apollo, that they might be 
 call'd his sons; and, because they were drawn in to be laugh'd at in 
 those times, they think themselves now sufficiently intitled to laugh at 
 ours. Learning I never saw in any of them; and wit no more than they 
 could remember. In short, they were unlucky to have been bred in an 
 unpolish'd age, and more unlucky to live to a refin'd one. They have 
 lasted beyond their own, and are cast behind ours; and, not contented 
 to have known little at the age of twenty, they boast of their ignorance 
 at threescore. 
 
 40 Now, if any ask me whence it is that our conversation is so much 
 refin'd, I must freely, and without flattery, ascribe it to the court; and, 
 in it, particularly to the king, whose example gives a law to it. His 
 own misfortunes and the nation's afforded him an opportunity which 
 is rarely allow'd to sovereign princes, I mean of traveling, and being 
 conversant in the most polish'd courts of Europe; and, thereby, of 
 cultivating a spirit which was form'd by nature to receive the impres- 
 sions of a gallant and generous education. At his return, he found a 
 
 10. were] QIQ."}. had been SsMK. 
 
 ;U. in Ajjollo] QIQ:?. in the Apollo SsMK. 
 
 40. any] Ql(j:j. they SsMK.
 
 146 THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA 
 
 nation lost as much in barbarism as in rebellion; and, as the excellency 
 of his nature forgave the one, so the excellency of his manners reform'd 
 the other. The desire of imitating so great a pattern first waken'd the 
 dull and heavy spirits of the English from their natural reserv'dness ; 
 loosen'd them from their stiff forms of conversation, and made them 
 easy and pliant to each other in discourse. Thus, insensibly, our way 
 of living became more free; and the fire of the English wit, which was 
 before stifled under a constrain'd, melancholy way of breeding, began 
 first to display its force, by mixing the solidity of our nation with the 
 
 10 air and gaiety of our neighbors. This being granted to be true, it 
 would be a wonder if the poets, whose work is imitation, should be the 
 only persons in three kingdoms who should not receive advantage by 
 it; or, if they should not more easily imitate the wit and conversation 
 of the present age than of the past. 
 
 Let us therefore admire the beauties and the heights of Shakspere, 
 without falling after him into a carelessness, and (as I may call it) a 
 lethargy of thought, for whole scenes together. Let us imitate, as we 
 are able, the quickness and easiness of Fletcher, without proposing him 
 as a pattern to us, either in the redundancy of his matter, or the incor- 
 
 20 rectness of his language. Let us admire his wit and sharpness of con- 
 ceit; but let us at the same time acknowledge that it was seldom so 
 fix'd, and made proper to his characters, as that the same things might 
 not be spoken by any person in the play. Let us applaud his scenes of 
 love; but let us confess that he understood not either greatness or 
 perfect honor in the parts of any of his women. In fine, let us allow 
 that he had so much fancy as, when he pleas'd, he could write wit; but 
 that he wanted so much judgment as seldom to have written humor, or 
 describ'd a pleasant folly. Let us ascribe to Jonson the height and 
 accuracy of judgment in the ordering of his plots, his choice of char- 
 
 30 acters, and maintaining what he had chosen to the end: but let us not 
 think him a perfect pattern of imitation, except it be in humor; for 
 love, which is the foundation of all comedies in other languages, is 
 scarcely mention'd in any of his plays; and for humor itself, the poets 
 of this age will be more wary than to imitate the meanness of his 
 persons. Gentlemen will now be entertain'd with the follies of each 
 other; and, tho ' they allow Cob and Tib to speak properly, yet they 
 are not much pleas'd with their tankard, or with their rags: and, surely, 
 their conversation can be no ""est to them on the theater, when they 
 would avoid it in the street. 
 
 40 To conclude all, let us render to our predecessors what is their due, 
 without confining ourselves to a servile imitation of all they writ; and, 
 without assuming to ourselves the title of better poets, let us ascribe to 
 the gallantry and civility of our age the advantage which we have above 
 them; and to our knowledge of the customs and manners of it, the 
 happiness we have to please beyond them. 
 
 3. vaken'd] Q1Q3. awakened SsMK. 
 22 characters] Q1Q3. character SsMK.
 
 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 A COMEDY 
 
 Quicquid sum ego, quamvis 
 
 Infra Lucili censum ingenlumque, tamen me 
 Cum magnis vixissc, invita fatcbitur usque 
 Jnvidia, et fragili qucercns illidcre dentem, 
 Offendel solido. 
 
 Horace, Satires, II. i. 74-78.
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED 
 
 MEN 
 
 POLYDAMAs, Usurper of Sicily. 
 Leonidas, the rightful Prince, unMown. 
 Argaleon, favorite to Polydamas. 
 HErxMOGENES, foster father to Leonidas. 
 EuBULus, his friend and companion. 
 Rhodophil, captain of the guards. 
 Palamede, a courtier. 
 [Straton, servant to Palamede.] 
 
 WOMEN 
 
 Palmyra, daughter to the Usurper. 
 Amalthea, sister to Argaleon. 
 DoRALicE, wife to Rhodophil. 
 Melantha, an affected lady. 
 Philotis, woman to Melantha. 
 Beliza, woman to Doralice. 
 Artemis, a court lady. 
 
 SCENE— Sicily. 
 
 [Stuaxon, etc.] Not in QqF SsM.
 
 TO 
 
 THE RIGHT HONORABLE 
 
 THE 
 
 EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 My Lord, 
 I HUMBLY dedicate to your Lordship that poem of which you were 
 pleas'd to appear an early patron, before it was acted on the stage. I 
 may yet go farther, with your permission, and say that it receiv'd 
 amendment from your noble hamls ere it was fit to be" presented. You 
 may please likewise to remember with how much favor to the author, 
 and indulgence to the play, you ccmniended it to the view of his 
 Majesty, then at Windsor, and, by his approbation of it in writing, 
 made way for its kind reception on the theater. In this dedication, 
 
 10 therefore, I may seem to imitate a custom of the ancients, who ofifer'd 
 to their gods the firstlings of the flock, which I think they call'd ver 
 sacrum, because they help'd 'em to increase. I am sure, if there be 
 anything in this play wherein I have rais'd myself beyond the ordinary 
 lowness of my comedies, I ought wholly to acknowledge it to the favor 
 of being admitted into your Lordship's conversation. And not only I, 
 who pretend not to this way, but the best comic writers of our age will 
 join with me to acknowledge that they have copied the gallantries of 
 courts, the delicacy of expression, and the decencies of behavior, from 
 your Lordship, with more success then if they had taken their models 
 
 20 from the court of France. But this, my Lord, will be no wonder to the 
 world, which knows the excellency of your natural parts, and those 
 you have acquir'd in a noble education. That which with more reason 
 I admire, is that, being so absolute a courtier, you have not forgot 
 either the ties of friendship, or the practice of generosity. In my 
 little experience of a court (which, I confess, I desire not to improve), 
 I have found in it much of interest, and more of detraction. Few 
 men there have that assurance of a friend, as not to be made ridiculous 
 by him when they are absent. There are a middling sort of courtiers, 
 who become happy by their want of wit; but they supply that want by 
 
 30 an excess of malice to those who have it. And there is no such 
 persecution as that of fools: they can never be considerable enough to 
 
 19. then] Q1. than Q2Q.3F. Similar variants occur later, but are not 
 recorded in these notes. 
 
 149
 
 150 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 be talk'd of themselves; so that they are safe only in their obscurity, 
 and grow mischievous to witty men by the great diligence of their envy, 
 and by being always present to represent and aggravate their faults. 
 In the meantime, they are forc'd, when they endeavor to be pleasant, to 
 live on the otfals of their wit whom they decry; and either to quote it 
 (which they do unwillingly), or to pass it upon others for their 
 own. These are the men who make it their business to chase wit from 
 the knowledge of princes, lest it should disgrace their ignorance. And 
 this kind of malice your Lordship has not so much avoided, as sur- 
 
 10 mounted. But if by the excellent temper of a royal master, always 
 more ready to hear good than ill; if by his inclination to love you; if 
 by your own merit and address; if by the charms of your conversation, 
 the grace of your behavior, your knowledge of greatness, and habitude 
 in courts, you have been able to preserve yourself with honor in 
 the midst of so dangerous a course; yet at least the remembrance of 
 those hazards has inspir'd you with pity for other men, who, being of 
 an inferior wit and quality to you, are yet persecuted for being that 
 in little, which your Lordship is in great. For the quarrel of those 
 people extenfls itself to anything of sense; and if I may be so vain to 
 
 20 own it, amongst the rest of the poets, has sometimes reach'd to the 
 very borders of it, even to me. So that, if our general good fortune 
 had not rais'd up your Lordship to defend us, I know not whether 
 anything had been more ridiculous in court than writers. 'Tis to your 
 Lordship's favor we generally owe our protection and patronage; and 
 to the nobleness of your nature, which will not suffer the least shadow 
 of youT wTt to be contemn'd in other men. You have been often pleas'd 
 not only to excuse my imperfections, but to vindicate what was tolerable 
 in my writings from their censures; and, what I never can forget, you 
 have not only been careful of my reputation, but of my fortune. You 
 
 30 have been solicitous to supply my neglect of myself; and to overcome 
 the fatal modesty of poets, which submits them to perpetual wants, 
 rather then to become importunate with those people who have the 
 liberality of kings in their disposing, and who, dishonoring the bounty 
 of their master, suffer such to be in necessity, who endeavor at least 
 to please him; and for whose entertainment he has generously pro- 
 vided, if the fruits of his royal favor were not often stopp'd in other 
 hands. But your Lordship has given me occasion not to complain of 
 courts whilst you are there. I have fooind the effects of your mediation 
 in all my concernments; and they were so much the more noble in you, 
 
 40 because they were wholly voluntary. I became your Lordship's (if I 
 may venture on the similitude) as the world was made, without knowing 
 him who made it; and brought only a passive obedience to be your 
 creature. This nobleness of yours 1 think myself the rather oblig'd to 
 own, because otherwise it must have been lost to all remembrance; for 
 you are endued with that excellent quality of a frank nature, to forget 
 the good which you have done. 
 
 But, my Lord, I ought to have consider'd that you are as great a 
 
 14. Tiare] F. having Qq, probalily by a misprint. 
 28. never can] Qq. can never F.
 
 DEDICATION 151 
 
 judge as you are a patron; and that, in praising you ill, I shall incur 
 a higher note of ingratitude then that I thought to have avoided. I 
 stand in need of all your accustom'd goodness for the dedication of 
 this play; which, tho' perhaps it be the best of my comedies, is yet so 
 faulty that I should have fear'd you for my critic, if I had not, with 
 some policy, given you the trouble of being my protector. Wit seems 
 to have lodg'd itself more nobly in this age than in any of the former; 
 and people of my mean condition are only writers because some of the 
 nobility, and your Lordship in the first place, are above the narrow 
 
 10 praises which poesy could give you. But let those who love to see them- 
 selves exceeded encourage your Lordship in so dangerous a quality; 
 for my own part, I must confess that I have so much of self-interest 
 as to be content with reading some papers of your verses, without 
 desiring you should proceed to a scene or play; w4th the common 
 prudence of those who are worsted in a duel, and declare they are 
 satisfied, when they are first wounded. Your Lordship has but another 
 step to make, and. from the patron of wit, you may become its tyrant ; 
 and oppress our little reputations with more ease then you now protect 
 them. But these, my Lord, are designs which T am sure you harbor 
 
 20 not, any more then the French king is contriving the conquest of the 
 Swissers. 'Tis a barren triumph, which is not worth your pains; and 
 would only rank him amongst your slaves, who is already, 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 Your Lordship's 
 
 Most obedient and most 
 
 Faithful servant, 
 
 John Dryden. 
 
 1. shall] QqF. should SsM.
 
 } 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 Lord, how reform'd and quiet we are grown, 
 Since all our braves and all our wits are gone! 
 Fop corner now is free from civil war; 
 White wig and vizard make no longer jar. 
 France, and the fleet, have swept the town so clear 
 That we can act in peace, and you can hear. 
 [Those that durst tight are gone to get renown. 
 And those that durst not, blush to stand in town.] 
 'Twas a sad sight, before they march'd from home, 
 
 10 To see our warriors in red waistcoats come, 
 
 With hair tuck'd up, into our tiring-room. 
 But 'twas more sad to hear their last adieu: 
 The women sobb'd, and swore they would be true; 
 And so they were, as long as e'er they could, "| 
 
 But powerful guinea cannot be withstood, ?• 
 
 And they were made of playhouse flesh and blood. J 
 Fate did their friends for double use ordain; ^ 
 In wars abroad they grinning honor gain, >■ 
 
 And mistresses for all that stay maintain. J 
 
 20 Now they are gone, 'tis dead vacation here, 
 
 For neither friends nor enemies appear. 
 Poor pensive punk now peeps ere plays begin, 
 Sees the bare bench, and dares not venture in; 
 But manages her last half-crown with care, 
 And trudges to the Mall, on foot, for air. 
 Our city friends so far will hardly come; 
 They can take up with pleasures nearer home, 
 And see gay shows and gaudy scenes elsewhere; 
 For we presume they seldom come to hear. 
 
 Prologue. In the Covent Garden Drollery, a small miscellany printed in 
 1672. are found versions of the prologue and epilogue to Marriage a la Mode 
 that differ considerably from those included in the early editions of the play. 
 These versions were probably published without Dryden's sanction, and may 
 have been obtained from the actors' recitation in the theater. Variants 
 taken from them are marked Cgd. 
 
 1. ue are] Qq. are ice F Cgd SsM. 
 
 4. White wig . . . make] QqF. White Wig and Vi::zard-Masks Cgd. 
 
 5. hare] QqF. hath Cgd. 
 
 7,8. Those . . . toivn] Found only in Cgd. 
 
 9. march'd] QqF. nent Cgd. 
 
 18. they] QqF. the Cgd. 
 
 23. venture] QqF. renter Cgd. 
 
 24. last] QqF. Omitted in Cgd. 
 26. come] QqF. roam Cgd. 
 
 28. and gaudy] QqF. uith gaudy Cgd. 
 
 29. For we presume] QqF. For 'tis prcstim'd Cgd. 
 
 152
 
 PROLOGUE. 153 
 
 30 But they have now ta'en up a glorious trade, 
 
 And cutting Morecraft struts in masquerade. 
 There's all our hope, for \vc shall show to-day 
 A masking ball, to recommend our play; 
 Nay, to endear 'em more, and let 'em see 
 We scorn to come behind in courtesy, 
 Well follow the new mode which they begin. 
 And treat 'em with a room, and couch within: 
 For that's one way, howe'er the play fall short, 
 T' oblige the town, the city, and the court. 
 
 31. cutting . . . struts'\ QqF. cunning . . . strut Csd. 
 
 32. There's . . . to-day] QqP. Here's . . . to do Cgd. 
 
 34. endear 'em . . . let 'em] QqF. indear them, , . , let them Cgd. 
 
 37. treat 'cm] QqF. treat them Cgd. 
 
 38. fall] QqF. falls Cgd. 
 
 39. T' oblige] QqF. To oblige Cgd SsM.
 
 Marriage d la Mode was first printed in 1673; other quarto editions 
 followed in 1691 and 1698. These quartos are cited as Ql, Q'2, Q3. Q3 
 was printed from Q2 (see notes on p. 160, 1. 218; p. 173, 1. 353), and the 
 Folio ot 1701 (F) from Ql (see notes on p. 167, 1. 68; p. 190, 11. 120, 
 125). Ql furnishes the only authentic text.
 
 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 ACT I 
 
 Walks near the Court. 
 
 Enter Doralice and Beliza. 
 
 Dor. Beliza, bring the lute into this arbor; the -nalks are empty: 
 I would try the song the Princess Amalthea bade me learn. 
 
 [They go in, and sing. 
 
 I. 
 
 Why should a foolish marriage vow, 
 
 Which long ago was made, 
 Oblige us to each other noiv, 
 
 }Vhe7i passion is dccay'd? 
 We lov'd, and we lov'd, as long as we could, 
 
 Till our love was lov'd out in us both; 
 But our marriage is dead, when the pleasure is fled: 
 Xo 'Twas pleasure first made it an oath. 
 
 n. 
 
 If I have pleasures for a friend. 
 
 And farther love in store. 
 What icrong has he whose joys did end, 
 
 And tvho could give no more? 
 'Tis a madness that he should he jealous of me, 
 
 Or that 1 should bar him of another: 
 For all we can gain, is to give ourselves pain. 
 
 When neither can hinder the other. 
 
 Enter Palamede, f?i riding habit, and hears the Song. Eeent&r 
 
 Doralice and Beliza. 
 
 Bel. Madam, a stranger. 
 20 Dor. I did not think to have had Mitnesses of my bad singing. 
 
 Pala. If I have err'd, madam, I hope you'll pardon the curiosity of 
 a stranger; for I may well call myself so, after five years' absence from 
 the court. But you have freed me from one error. 
 
 Dor. What's that, I beseech you? 
 
 Fala. I thought good voices and ill faces had been inseparable; 
 and that to be fair, and sing well, had been only the privilege of 
 angels. 
 
 155
 
 156 MAEEIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Dor. And how many more of these fine things can you say to me? 
 
 Pala. Very few, madam; for if I should continue to see you some 
 30 hours longer, you look so killingly that I should be mute with wonder. 
 
 Dor. This will not give you the reputation of a wit with me. You 
 traveling monsieurs live upon the stock you have got abroad, for the 
 first day or two : to repeat with a good memory, and apply with a good 
 grace, is all your wit; and, commonly, your gullets are sew'd up, like 
 cormorants. When you have regorg'd what you have taken in, you are 
 the leanest things in nature. 
 
 Pala. Then, madam, I think you had best make that use of me; let 
 me wait on you for two or three days together, and you shall hear all 
 I have learnt of extraordinary in other countries; and one thing which 
 40 I never saw till I came home, that is, a lady of a better voice, better 
 face, and better wit, than any I have seen abroad. And, after this, if 
 I should not declare myself most passionately in love with you, I should 
 have less wit than yet you think I have. 
 
 Dor. A very plain and pithy declaration. I see, sir, you have been 
 traveling in Spain or Italy, or some of the hot countries, where men 
 come to the point immediately. But are you sure these are not words 
 of course? For I would not give my poor heart an occasion of com- 
 plaint against me, that I engag'd it too rashly, and then could not bring 
 it off. 
 50 Pala. Your heart may trust itself with me safely; I shall use it 
 very civilly while it stays, and never turn it away without fair warning 
 to provide for itself. 
 
 Dor. First, then, I do receive your passion with as little considera- 
 tion, on my part, as ever you gave it me, on yours. And now see what 
 a miserable wretch you have made yourself ! 
 
 Pala. Who, I miserable? Thank you for that. Give me love 
 enough, and life enough, and I defy Fortune. 
 
 Dor. Know then, thou man of vain imagination, know, to thy utter 
 confusion, that I am virtuous. 
 60 Pala. Such another word, and I give up the ghost. 
 
 Dor. Then, to strike you quite dead, know that I am married too. 
 
 Pala. Art thou married? O thou damnable virtuous woman! 
 
 Dor. Yes, married to a gentleman; young, handsome, rich, valiant, 
 and with all the good qualities that will make you despair and hang 
 yourself. 
 
 Pala. Well, in spite of all that, I'll love you. Fortune has cut us 
 
 out for one another; for I am to be married within these three days; 
 
 married, past redemption, to a young, fair, rich, and virtuous lady; and 
 
 it shall go hard but I will love my wife as little, as I perceive you do 
 
 70 your husband. 
 
 Dor. Eemember, I invade no propriety: my servant you are only 
 till you are married. 
 
 Pala. In the meantime, you are to forget you have a husband. 
 
 Dor. And you, that you are to have a wife. 
 
 Bel. [Aside, to her Lady.] O madam, my lord's just at the end of 
 the walks: and, if you make not haste, will discover you. 
 
 Por. Some other time, new servant, we'll talk further of the prem-
 
 ACT I 157 
 
 ises; in the meanwhile, break not my first commandment, that is, not to 
 follow me. 
 80 Fala. But where, then, shall I find you again? 
 
 Dor. At court. Yours for two days, sir. 
 
 Pala. And nights, I beseech you, madam. 
 
 [Exit DoRALiCE and Beliza. 
 
 Pala. Well, I'll say that for thee, thou art a very dext'rous execu- 
 tioner; thou hast done my business at one stroke. Yet I must marry 
 another — and yet I must love this; and if it lead me into some littlo 
 inconveniences, as jealousies, and duels, and death, and so forth — yet, 
 while sweet love is in the case, Fortune, do thy worst, and avaunt, 
 mortality! 
 
 Enter Ehodophil, who seems spealing to one %cithin. 
 
 Eho. Leave 'em with my lieutenant, while I fetch new orders from 
 90 the king. How? Palamede! [Sees Palamede. 
 
 Fala. Ehodophil! 
 
 Eho. Who tliought to have seen you in Sicily? 
 
 Pala. Who thought to have found the court so far from Syracuse? 
 
 Eho. The king best knows the reason of the progress. But, answer 
 me, I beseech you, what brought you home from travel ? 
 
 Pala. The commands of an old rich father. 
 
 Eho. And the hopes of burying him? 
 
 Pala. Both together, as you see, have prevailed on my good-nature. 
 
 In few words, my old man has already married me; for he has agreed 
 
 100 with another old man, as rich and as covetous as himself; the articles 
 
 are drawn, and I have given my consent, for fear of being disinherited; 
 
 and yet know not what kind of woman I am to marry. 
 
 Eho. Sure your father intends you some very ugly wife, and has a 
 mind to keep you in ignorance till you have shot the gulf. 
 
 Pala. I know not that; but obey I will, and must. 
 
 Eho. Then I cannot choose but grieve for all the good girls and 
 courtesans of France and Italy. They have lost the most kind-hearted, 
 doting, prodigal humble servant, in Europe. 
 
 Pala. All I could do, in these three years I stay'd behind you, was 
 110 to comfort the poor creatures for the loss of you. But what's the 
 reason that, in all this time, a friend could never hear from you? 
 
 Eho. Alas, dear Palamede, I have had no joy to write, nor indeed 
 to do anything in the world to please me. The greatest misfortune 
 imaginable is fall'n upon me. 
 
 Pala. Pr'ythee, what's the matter? 
 
 Eho. In one word, I am married: wretchedly married; and have 
 been, above these two years. Yes, faith, the devil has bad power over 
 me, in spite of my vows and resolutions to the contrarj'. 
 
 Pala. I find you have sold yourself for filthy lucre; she's old, or ill 
 120 condition'd. 
 
 Eho. No; none of these: I'm sure she's young; and, for her humor, 
 she laughs, sings, and dances eternally; and, which is more, we never 
 quarrel about it, for I do the same.
 
 158 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Fala. You're very unfortunate indeed. Then the case is plain, she 
 is not handsome. 
 
 Eho. A great beauty too, as people say. 
 
 Pala. As people say? Why, you should know that best yourself. 
 
 Eho. Ask those who have smelt to a strong perfume two years 
 together, what's the scent. 
 130 Pala. But here are good qualities enough for one woman. 
 
 Eho. Aye, too many, Palamede. If I could put 'em into three or 
 four women, I should be content. 
 
 Pala. O, now I have found it! You dislike her for no other reason 
 but because she's your wife. 
 
 Eho. And is not that enough? All that I know of her perfections 
 now, is only by memory. I remember, indeed, that about two years ago 
 I lov'd her passionately; but those golden days are gone, Palamede. 
 Yet I lov'd her a whole half year, double the natural term of any mis- 
 tress; and think, in my conscience, I could have held out another 
 140 quarter, but then the world began to laugh at me, and a certain shame 
 of being out of fashion seiz'd me. At last, we arriv'd at that point, 
 that there was nothing left in us to make us new to one another. Yet 
 still I set a good face upon the matter, and am infinite fond of her 
 before company; but when we are alone, we walk like lions in a room; 
 she one way, and I another. And we lie with our backs to each other, 
 so far distant as if the fashion of great beds was only invented to keep 
 husband and wife sufficiently asunder. 
 
 Pala. The truth is, your disease is very desperate; but, tho' you 
 cannot be cur'd, you may be patch'd up a little: you must get you a 
 150 mistress, Rhodophil. That, indeed, is living upon cordials; but, as fast 
 as one fails, you must supply it with another. You're like a gamester 
 who has lost his estate; yet, in doing that, you have learn'd the advan- 
 tages of play, and can arrive to live upon 't. 
 
 Eho. Truth is, I have been thinking on 't, and have just resolv'd 
 to take your counsel; and, faith, considering the damn'd disadvantages 
 of a married man, I have provided well enough for a poor humble 
 sinner that is not ambitious of great matters. 
 
 Pala. What is she for a woman? 
 
 Eho. One of the stars of Syracuse, I assure you: young enough, 
 160 fair enough; and, but for one quality, just such a woman as I would 
 wish. 
 
 Pala. O friend, this is not an age to be critical in beauty. When 
 we had good store of handsome women, and but few chapmen, you 
 might have been more curious in your choice; but now the price is 
 cnhanc'd upon us, and all mankind set up for mistresses, so that poor 
 little creatures, without beauty, birth, or breeding, but only impudence, 
 go off at unreasonable rates. And a man, in these hard times, snaps at 
 'em, as he does at broad-gold; never examines the weight, but takes 
 light or heavy, as he can get it. 
 
 127. that hest] Qq. iest that F. 
 
 139. and think] QqF. and I think SsM. 
 
 141. that point Q1Q2F. the point QS. 
 
 160. would] QqF. could SsM.
 
 ACT I 159 
 
 170 Bho. But my mistress has one fault, that's almost unpardonable; 
 for, being a town-lady, without any relation to the court, yet slie thinks 
 herself undone if she be not seen there three or four times a day, with 
 the Princess Amalthea. And, for the king, she haunts and watches him 
 so narrowly in a morning that she prevents even the chymists, who beset 
 his chamber, to turn their mercury into his gold. 
 
 Pala, Yet, hitherto, methinks, you are no very unhappy man. 
 
 Blio. With all this, she's the greatest gossip in nature; for, besides 
 
 the court, she's the most eternal visitor of the town; and yet manages 
 
 her time so well that she seems ubiquitary. For my part, I can compare 
 
 180 her to nothing but the sun ; for, like him, she takes no rest, nor ever 
 
 sets in one place, but to rise in another. 
 
 Pala. I confess, she had need be handsome, with these qualities. 
 
 Eho. No lady can be so curious of a new fashion, as she is of a 
 new French word: she's the very mint of the nation; and, as fast as 
 any bullion comes out of France, coins it immediately into our language. 
 
 Fala. And her name is 
 
 Hho. No naming; that's not like a cavalier. Find her, if you can, 
 by my description ; and I am not so ill a painter that I need write the 
 name beneath the picture. 
 190 Pala. Well, then, how far have you proceeded in your love? 
 
 Mho. 'Tis yet in the bud, and what fruit it may bear I cannot tell; 
 for this insufferable humor, of haunting the court, is so predominant 
 that she has hitherto broken all her assignations with me, for fear of 
 missing her visits there. 
 
 Pala. That's the hardest part of your adventure. But, for aught 
 I see, fortune has us'd us both alike: I have a strange kind of mistress 
 too in court, besides her I am to marry. 
 
 liho. You have made haste to be in love, then; for, if I am not 
 mistaken, you are but this day arriv'd. 
 200 Pala. That's all one: I have seen the lady already who has charm'd 
 me; seen her in these walks, courted her, and receiv'd, for the first time, 
 an answer that does not put me into despair. 
 
 To them Argaleon, Amalthea, Artemis. 
 
 I'll tell you at more leisure my adventures. The walks fill apace, I 
 see. Stay, is not that the young lord Argaleon, the king's favorite? 
 
 Bho. Yes, and as proud as ever, as ambitious, and as revengeful. 
 
 Pala. How keeps he the king's favor with these qualities? 
 
 Eho. Argalcon's father help'd him to the crown: besides, he gilds 
 over all his vices to the king; and, standing in the dark to him, sees all 
 his inclinations, interests, and humors, which he so times and soothes, 
 210 that, in effect, he reigns. 
 
 Pala. Hia sister Amalthea, who, I guess, stands by him, seems not 
 to be of his temper. 
 
 170. mistress] QqF here, as often, print mintris; mistress, bowcvcr, 
 also occurs. 
 
 17J. tltcrv] Q(]. Omitted in F. 
 
 ISO. her to nothi)ujl g(|. 1o her nothinsj F. 
 
 205. and as proud] Q1Q2F. QS omits and.
 
 160 MAERIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Eho. O, she's all goodness and generosity. 
 
 Arga. Ehodophil, the king expects you earnestly. 
 
 Sho. 'Tis done, my lord, what he commanded: I only waited his 
 return from hunting. Shall I attend your lordship to him? 
 
 Arga. No; I go first another way. [Exit hastily, 
 
 Pala. He seems in haste, and discompos'd. 
 
 Amah [To Eho. after a short whisper.] Your friend? Then he 
 220 must needs be of much merit. 
 
 liho. When he has kiss'd the king's hand, I know he'll beg the 
 honor to kiss yours. Come, Palamede. 
 
 [Exeunt Eho. and Pala., bowing to Amal. 
 
 Arte. Madam, you tell me most surprising news. 
 
 Amal. The fear of it, you see. 
 Has discompos'd my brother; but, to me. 
 All that can bring my country good is welcome. 
 
 Arte. It seems incredible, that this old king, 
 Whom all the world thought childless, 
 Should come to search the farthest parts of Sicily, 
 230 In hope to find an heir. 
 
 Amal. To lessen your astonishment, I will 
 Unfold some private passages of state 
 Of which you yet are ignorant. Know, first, 
 That this Polydamas, who reigns, unjustly 
 Gain'd the crown. 
 
 Arte. Somewhat of this I have confus'dly heard. 
 
 Alam. I'll tell you all in brief: Theagenes, 
 Our last great king, 
 
 Had, by his queen, one only son, an infant 
 240 Of three years old, call'd, after him, Theagenes. 
 The general, this Polydamas, then married; 
 The public feasts for which were scarcely past, 
 When a rebellion in the heart of Sicily 
 Call'd out the king to arms. 
 
 Arte. Polydamas 
 
 Had then a just excuse to stay behind. 
 
 Amal. His temper was too warlike to accept it. 
 He left his bride, and the new joys of marriage, 
 And follow'd to the field. In short, they fought, 
 The rebels were o'ercome; but in the fight 
 250 The too bold king receiv'd a mortal wound. 
 When he perceiv'd his end approaching near. 
 He call'd the general, to whose care he left 
 His widow queen, and orphan son; then died. 
 
 Arte. Then false Polydamas betray'd his trust? 
 
 Amal. He did; and with my father's help, for which 
 Heav'n pardon him, so gain'd the soldiers' hearts 
 That in few days he was saluted king: 
 And, when his crimes had impudence enough 
 
 / 218 Pala. He seems . . . discompos'd.] QIF. Omitted in Q2Q3. 
 ' 233! yet are] QqF. are yet SsM.
 
 ACT I 161 
 
 To bear the eye of day, 
 260 He march'd his army back to Syracuse. 
 But see how heav'n can punish wicked men, 
 In granting their desires. The news was brought him, 
 That day he was to enter it, that Eubulus, 
 Whom his dead master had left governor, 
 Was fled, and with him bore away the queen, 
 And royal orphan; but, what more amaz'd him, 
 His wife, now big with child, and much detesting 
 Her husband's practices, had willingly 
 Accompanied their flight. 
 270 Arte. How 1 admire her virtue! 
 
 Amal. What became 
 
 Of her, and them, since that, was never known; 
 Only, some few days since, a famous robber 
 Was taken with some jewels of vast price, 
 W'hich, when they were deliver'd to the king. 
 He knew had been his wife's ; with these, a letter, 
 Much torn and sullied, but which yet he knew 
 To be her writing. 
 
 Arte. Sure, from hence he learn'd 
 
 He had a son? 
 
 Amal. It was not left so plain: 
 
 The paper only said, she died in childbed; 
 280 But when it should have mention'd son or daughter, 
 Just there it was torn off. 
 
 Arte. Madam, the king. 
 
 To them Polydamas, Argaleon, Guard, and Attendants. 
 
 Arga. The robber, tho' thrice rack'd, confess'd no more. 
 But that he took those jewels near this place. 
 
 Poly. But yet the circumstances strongly argue 
 That those for whom I search are not far off. 
 
 Arga. I cannot easily believe it. 
 
 Arte. No, 
 
 You would not have it so. [Aside. 
 
 Poly. Those I employ'd have, in the neighboring hamlet, 
 Amongst the fishers' cabins, made discovery 
 290 Of some young persons, whose uncommon beauty, 
 And graceful carriage, make it seem suspicious 
 Thoy are not what they seem : I therefore sent 
 The captain of my guards, this morning early, 
 With orders to secure and bring 'em to me. 
 
 Enter Rhodophil and Palamede. 
 O, here he is. Have you perform'd my will? 
 
 Elio. Sir, those whom you commanded me to bring 
 Are waiting in the walks. 
 
 Poly. Conduct 'em hither. 
 
 291. HiaAre] QIF. makes Q2Q3.
 
 162 MAEEIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Mho. First, give me leave 
 To beg your notice of this gentleman. 
 300 Poly. He seems to merit it. His name and quality? 
 
 Eho. Palamede, son to lord Cleodemus of Palermo, 
 And new return'd from travel. 
 
 [Palamede approaches, and Tcneels to hiss the King's hand. 
 
 Poly. You are welcome. 
 
 I knew your father well, he was both brave 
 And honest; we two once were fellow-soldiers 
 In the last civil wars. 
 
 Fala. I bring the same unquestion'd honesty 
 And zeal to serve your Majesty ; the courage 
 You were pleas'd to praise in him, 
 Your royal prudence, and your people's love, 
 310 Will never give me leave to try, like him, 
 In civil wars; I hope it may in foreign. 
 
 Poly. Attend the court, and it shall be my care 
 To find out some employment worthy you. 
 
 Go, Rhodophil, and bring in those without. {Exeunt Eho. and Pala. 
 Ehodophil returns again immediately, and with him enter Hermogenes, 
 
 Leonidas, and Palmyra. 
 Behold two miracles! [Loolcing earnestly on Leon, and Palmyra. 
 
 Of different sexes, but of equal form: 
 So matchless both that my divided soul 
 Can scarcely ask the gods a son or daughter. 
 For fear of losing one. If from your hands, 
 320 You powers, I shall this day receive a daughter, 
 Argaleon, she is yours; but if a son. 
 Then Amalthea's love shall make him happy. 
 
 Arga. Grant, heav'n, this admirable nymph may prove 
 That issue which he seeks! 
 
 Amal. Venus Urania, if thou art a goddess, 
 Grant that sweet youth may prove the prince of Sicily! 
 
 Poly. Tell me, old man, and tell me true, from whence FTo Her. 
 Had you that youth and maid? 
 
 Her. From whence you had 
 
 Your scepter, sir: I had 'em from the gods. 
 330 Poly. The gods then have not such another gift. 
 Say who their parents were. 
 
 Her. My wife, and I. 
 
 Arga. It is not likely, 
 A virgin of so excellent a beauty 
 Should come from such a stock. 
 
 Amal. Much less, that such a youth, so sweet, so graceful, 
 Should be produc'd from peasants. 
 
 Her. Why, nature is the same in villages. 
 And much more fit to form a noble issue, 
 
 301. to lord] QIF. to the lord Q2Q3. 
 
 302. You^rc] SsM. You're QqF, causing defoctivf meter. 
 332, 333. It is . . . beauty} One line in QqF SsM.
 
 ACT I 163 
 
 Where it is least corrupted. 
 340 I'oly. He talks too like a man that knew the world, 
 To have been long a peasant. But the rack 
 Will teach him other language. Hence with him! 
 
 [As the Guards arc carrying him away, his peruke falls off. 
 Sure I have seen that face before. Hermogenes! 
 'Tis he, 'tis he, who fled away with Eubulus, 
 And with my dear Eudoxia? 
 
 Her. Yes, sir, 1 am Hermogenes! 
 And if to have been loyal be a crime, 
 I stand prepar'd to suffer. 
 
 Poly. If thou wouldst live, speak quickly, 
 350 What is become of my Eudoxia? 
 
 Where is the queen and young Theagenes? 
 Where Eubulus? and which of these is mine? 
 
 [Pointing to Leon, and Palm. 
 
 Her. Eudoxia is dead, so is the queen; 
 The infant king, her son, and Eubulus. 
 
 Poly. Traitor, 'tis false. Produce 'em, or 
 
 ^^^'■- Once more 
 
 I tell you, they are dead; but leave to threaten, 
 For you shall know no further. 
 
 Poly. Then prove indulgent to my hopes, and be 
 My friend for ever. Tell me, good Hermogenes, 
 360 Whose son is that brave youth? 
 
 Her. Sir, he is yours. 
 
 Poly. Fool that I am! thou see'st that so I wish it, 
 And so thou fiatter'st me. 
 
 Her. By all that's holy! 
 
 Poly. Again. Thou canst not swear too deeply.^ 
 Yet hold, I will believe thee. — Yet I doubt. 
 
 Her. You need not, sir. 
 
 Arga. Believe him not; he sees you credulous. 
 And would impose his own base issue on you, 
 And fix it to your crown. 
 
 Amal. Behold his goodly shape and feature, sir; 
 370 Methinks he much resembles you. 
 
 Arga. I say, if you have any issue here. 
 It must be that fair creature; 
 By all my hopes I think so. 
 
 Amal. Yes, brother, I believe you by your hopes. 
 For they are all for her. 
 
 Poly. Call the youth nearer. 
 
 Her. Leonidas, the king would speak with you. 
 
 Poly. Come near, and be not dazzled with the splendor. 
 And greatness of a court. 
 
 Leon. I need not this incouragement ; 
 3<i0 I can fear nothing but the gods. 
 
 368. to] Q1Q2F. o;i QZ. 
 «?77. the] Qig2F. Q3 omits.
 
 164 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 And, for this glory, after I have seen 
 The canopy of state spread wide above 
 In the abyss of heaven, the court of stars, 
 The blushing morning, and the rising sun. 
 What greater can I see? 
 
 Foly. This speaks thee born a prince; thou art thyself 
 
 [Embracing him. 
 That rising sun, and shalt not see on earth 
 A brighter then thyself. — All of you witness, 
 That for my son I here receive this youth, 
 
 390 This brave, this but I must not praise him further, 
 
 Because he now is mine. 
 
 Leon. I wonnot, sir, believe [Kiieeling. 
 
 That I am made your sport ; 
 For I find nothing in myself but what 
 Is much above a scorn. I dare give credit 
 To whatsoe'er a king, like you, can tell me. 
 Either I am, or will deserve to be, your son. 
 
 Arga. I yet maintain it is impossible 
 This young man should be yours; for, if he were, 
 Why should Hermogenes so long conceal him, 
 400 When he might gain so much by his discovery? 
 
 Her. I stay'd a \^hi]e to make him worthy, sir, 
 Of you. But in that time I found [To the King. 
 
 Somewhat within him which so mov'd my love, 
 I never could resolve to part with him. 
 
 Leon. You ask too many questions, and. are [To Arga. 
 
 Too saucy for a subject. 
 
 Arga. You rather over-act your part, and are 
 Too soon a prince. 
 
 Leon. Too soon you '11 find me one. 
 
 Foly. Enough, Argaleon! 
 410 I have declar'd him mine; and you, Leonidas, 
 Live well with him I love. 
 
 Arga. Sir, if he be your son, I may have leave 
 To think your queen had twins. Look on this virgin; 
 Hermogenes would enviously deprive you 
 Of half your treasure. 
 
 Her. Sir, she is my daughter, 
 
 I could, perhaps, thus aided by this lord, 
 Prefer her to be yours; but truth forbid 
 I should procure her greatness by a lie! 
 
 PoJy. Come hither, beauteous maid. Are you not sorry 
 420 Your father will not let you pass for mine? 
 
 Palm. I am content to be what heav'n has made me. 
 
 Poly. Could you not wish yourself a princess then? 
 ' Palm. Not to be sister to Leonidas. 
 
 401. 402. I stay'd . . . you] One line in QqF. SsM make a hemistich 
 of Of you.
 
 ACT II 165 
 
 Foly. Why, my sweet maid? 
 
 Palm. Indeed I cannot tell; 
 
 But I could be content to be his handmaid. 
 
 Arga. 1 wish 1 had not seen her. [Aside. 
 
 Palm. I must weep for your good fortune; [To Leon. 
 
 Pray, pardon me, indeed I cannot help it. 
 Leonidas, — ^alas! I had forgot, 
 430 Now I must call you prince, — but must I leave you? 
 
 Leon. 1 dare not speak to her; for, if I should, 
 I must weep too. [Aside. 
 
 Poly. No, you shall live at court, sweet innocence, 
 And see him there. Hermogenes, 
 Tho' you intended not to make me happy, 
 Yet you shall be rewarded for th' event. 
 Come, my Leonidas, let 's thank the gods; 
 Thou for a father, I for such a son. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Leon and Palm. 
 
 Leon. My dear Palmyra, many eyes observe me, 
 440 And I have thoughts so tender, that I cannot 
 In public speak 'em to you. Some hours hence 
 I shall shake off these crowds of fawning courtiers, 
 And then [Exit Leon. 
 
 Palm. Fly swift, you hours, you measure time for me in vain, 
 Till you bring back Leonidas again. 
 Be shorter now; and, to redeem that wrong. 
 When he and I are met, be twice as long! [Exit. 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Melantha and Philotis. 
 
 Phil. Count Ehodophil 's a fine gentleman indeed, madam; and, 
 I think, deserves your affection. 
 
 Mel. Let me die but he 's a fine man ; he sings and dances en 
 frangois, and writes the billets-doux to a miracle. 
 
 Phil. And those are no small talents, to a lady that understands 
 and values the French air as your ladyship does. 
 
 Mel. How charming is the French air, and what an itourdi bete 
 
 is one of our untravel'd islanders! When he would make his court to 
 
 me, let me die but he is just .lEsop's ass, that would imitate the courtly 
 
 10 French in his addresses; but, instead of those, comes pawing upon 
 
 me, and doing all things so mal a droitly. 
 
 Phil. 'Tis great pity Ehodophil 's a married man, that you may 
 not have an honorable intrigue with him. 
 
 Mel. Intrigue, Philotis! that 's an old phrase; I have laid that 
 word by; amour sounds better. But thou art heir to all my cast words, 
 as thou art to my old wardrobe. 0, Count Ehodophil! Ah mon chcr! 
 I could live and die with him. 
 
 434. there] Qq. here F.
 
 166 MAEEIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Enter Palamede and a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Sir, this is 1117 lady. 
 
 Fala. Then this is she that is to be divine, and nymph, and god- 
 20 dess, and with whom I am to be desperately in love. {Bows to her, 
 delivering a letter.'] This letter, madam, which I present you from 
 your father, has given me both the happy opportunity, and the bold- 
 ness, to kiss the fairest hands in Sicily. 
 
 Mel. Came you lately from Palermo, sir? 
 
 Fala. But yesterday, madam. 
 
 Mel. [Reading the letter.] Daughter, receive the hearer of this 
 letter, as a gentleman whom I have chosen to make you happy. [O 
 Venus, a new servant sent me! and let me die but he has the air of a 
 galant homme!] His father is the rich lord Cleodemus, our neighbor: 
 30 / suppose you 'II find nothing disagreeable in his person or his con- 
 verse; both which he has improved by travel. The treaty is already con- 
 cluded, and I shall be in town within these three days; so that you 
 have nothing to do but to obey your careful father. 
 
 [To Pala.] Sir, my father, for whom 1 have a blind obedience, 
 has commanded me to receive your passionate addresses; but you must 
 also give me leave to avow, that I cannot merit 'em from so accom- 
 plish'd a cavalier. 
 
 Pala. I want many things, madam, to render me accomplish'd; 
 and the first and greatest of 'em is your favor. 
 40 Mel. Let me die, Philotis, but this is extremely French; but yet 
 Count Ehodophil. — A gentleman, sir, that understands the grand 
 monde so well, who has haunted the best conversations, and who 
 (in short) has voyag'd, may pretend to the good graces of any lady. 
 
 Pala. [Aside.] Heyday! Grand monde! conversation! voyag'd! 
 and good graces! 1 find my mistress is one of those that run mad 
 in new French words. 
 
 Mel. I suppose, sir, you have made the tour of France; and, having 
 
 seen all that 's fine there, will make a considerable reformation in 
 
 the rudeness of our court: for let me die, but an unfashion'd, un- 
 
 50 travel'd, mere Sicilian, is a bete; and has nothing in the world of an 
 
 honnete homme. 
 
 Pala. I must confess, madam, that 
 
 Mel. And what new minouets have you brought over with you? 
 Their minouets are to a miracle! and our Sicilian jigs are so dull and 
 sad to 'em! 
 
 Pala. For minouets, madam 
 
 Mel. And what new plays are there in vogue? And who danc'd 
 best in the last grand ballet? Come, sweet servant, you shall tell 
 me all. 
 60 Pala. [Aside.] Tell her all? Why, she asks all, and will hear 
 nothing. — To answer in order, madam, to your demands 
 
 Mel. I am thinking what a happy couple we shall be! For you 
 
 29. galant homme] SsM. gallant homme QqP. 
 43. any] QqF. a SsM. 
 
 47, 53. 54, 50. tour, minouets] In italics in QqF. SsM omit italics here, 
 but retain them for grand monde, bien tournd, and other French words.
 
 ACT II 167 
 
 shall keep up your correspondence abroad, and everything that 's new 
 writ, in France, and fine, I mean all that 's delicate, and bien tourn^, 
 we will have first. 
 
 Pala. But, madam, our fortune 
 
 Mel. I understand you, sir; you '11 leave that to me. For the 
 manage of a family, I know it better then any lady in Sicily. 
 
 Pala. Alas, madam, we 
 
 70 Mel. Then, we will never make visits together, nor see a play, but 
 always apart; you shall be every day at the king's leve, and 1 at the 
 queen's; and we will never meet but in the drawing-room. 
 
 Phil. Madam, the new prince is just pass'd by the end of the 
 walk. 
 
 Mel. The new prince, say'st thou? Adieu, dear servant; I have not 
 made my court to him these two long hours. O, 'tis the sweetest 
 
 prince! so obligcant, charmant, ravissaiit, that Well, I '11 make 
 
 haste to kiss his hands, and then make half a score of visits more, 
 and be with you again in a twinkling. 
 
 [Exit running, with Phil. 
 go Pala. [solus.] Now Heaven, of th^ mercy, bless me from this 
 tongue! It may keep the field against a whole army of lawyers, and 
 that in their own language, French gibberish. Tis true, in the daytime, 
 'tis tolerable, when a man has field-room to run from it; but to be 
 shut up in a bed with her, like two cocks in a pit, humanity cannot 
 support it. I must kiss all night in my own defense, and hold her 
 down, like a boy at cuffs; nay, and give her the rising blow every 
 time she begins to speak. 
 
 Filter Rhodophil. 
 
 But here comes Ehodophil. 'Tis pretty odd that my mistress should so 
 much resemble his: the same newsmonger, the same passionate lover 
 
 90 of a court, the same But hasta, since I must marry her, I '11 say 
 
 nothing, because he shall not laugh at my misfortune. 
 
 liho. Well, Palamede, how go the affairs of love? You 've seen 
 your mistress? 
 
 Pala. I have so. 
 
 Mho. And how, and how? Has the old Cupid, your father, chosen 
 well for you? Is he a good woodman? 
 
 Pala. She 's much handsomer then I could have imagin'd: in 
 short, I love her, and will marry her. 
 
 £ho. Then you are quite off from your otiicr mistress? 
 ICO Pala. You are mistaken; I intend to love 'em both, as a reason- 
 able man ought to do: for, since all women have their faults and im- 
 perfections, 'tis fit that one of 'em should help out t'other. 
 
 68. menaRp] SsM. mennaqe QIF (no italics), niannage Q2Q3 (no italics). 
 
 71. leve] U1Q2K, with italics, leve Q3, with italics, levee SsM.without 
 italics. 
 
 7:5. bin Q1Q2F. Q3 omits. 
 
 77. obligcant, charmaut, ravissant] QqF omit the italics, which are 
 supplied l)V SsM. 
 
 HV,. tinii] Qql''. Omitted by SsM. 
 
 00. hir, ril] Qr|F. hrr. I'll SsM 
 
 90. other] (,»1(JL'K. old QX 
 
 102. t'othtr\ (.J11J2F. ihv father Q3. the other SsM.
 
 168 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Hho. This •v\-ere a blessed doctrine, indeed, if our wives would 
 hear it; but they 're their own enemies. If they would puffer us but 
 now and then to rnake excursions, the benefit of our variety would 
 be theirs; instead of one continued, lazy, tir'd love, they would, in their 
 turns, have twenty vigorous, fresh, and active loves. 
 
 Pala. And I would ask any of 'em, whether a poor narrow brook, 
 half dry the best part of the year, and running ever one way, be to 
 110 be compar'd to a lusty stream that has ebbs and flows? 
 
 Eho. Aye, or is half so profitable for navigation? 
 
 Enter Doralice, walking hy, and reading. 
 
 Pala. Ods my life, Ehodophil, will you keep my counsel? 
 
 Bho. Yes; where 's the secret? 
 
 Pala. There 'tis: [Shoioing Dor.] I may tell you, as my friend, 
 sub sigillo, &c., this is that very numerical lady with whom I am in 
 love. 
 
 Eho. [Aside.} By all that 's virtuous, my wife! 
 
 Pala. You look strangely. How do you like her? Is she not very 
 handsome ? 
 120 Kho. [Aside.'] Sure he abuses me. \^To him'] — Why the devil do 
 you ask my judgment? 
 
 Pala. You are so dogged now, you think no man's mistress hand- 
 some but your own. Come, you shall hear her talk too; she has wit, 
 I assure you. 
 
 Eho. [Going bacfe.] This is too much, Palamede. 
 
 Pala. [Pulling him forward.] Prethee do not hang back so. Of an 
 old tried lover, thou art the most bashful fellow! 
 
 Dor. [^Looking wp.] Were you so near, and would not speak, dear 
 husband ? 
 130 Pala. [Aside.] Husband, quoth a! I have cut out a fine piece of 
 work for myself. 
 
 Eho. Pray, spouse, how long have you been acquainted with this 
 gentleman? 
 
 Dor. Who? I acquainted with this stranger? To my best 
 knowledge, I never saw him before. 
 
 Enter Melantha at the other end. 
 
 Pala. [Aside.] Thanks, Fortune, thou hast help'd me. 
 
 Eho. Palamede, this must not pass so. I must know your mistress 
 a little better. 
 
 Pala. It shall be your own fault else. Come, I '11 introduce you. 
 140 Eho. Introduce me! Where? 
 
 Pala. There. To my mistress. 
 
 [Pointing to Melantha, who swiftly passes over the stage. 
 
 Eho. Who? Melantha! O heavens, I did not see her. 
 
 Pala. But I did: I am an eagle where I love; I have seen her 
 this half hour. 
 
 107. lovrs] QqF. lorers SsM. 
 
 126. [forward] Q1Q2F. [forwards] Qo.
 
 ACT II 169 
 
 Dor. [Aside.'\ I find he )ias wit, he has got off so readily; but it 
 would anger nic, if he should love Melantha. 
 
 Rho. [Aside.] Now, 1 could e'en wish it were my wife he lov'd; 
 I find lie's to be married to my mistress. 
 
 Pala. Shall 1 run after, and fetch her back again, to present you 
 150 to her? 
 
 Eho. No, you need not; I have the honor to have some small 
 acquaintance with her. 
 
 Pala. [Aside.] O Jupiter! what a blockhead was I, not to find 
 it out! My wife, that must be, is his mistress. I did a little suspect 
 it before. Well, I must marry her, because she 's handsome, and 
 because I hate to be disinherited for a younger brother, which I am 
 sure I shall be, if I disobey; and yet I must keep in with Rhodophil, 
 because I love his wife. — [To Riio.] I must desire you to make my 
 excuse to your lady, if I have been so unfortunate to cause any mis- 
 160 take; and, withal, to beg the honor of being known to her. 
 
 Eho. O, that 's but reason. Hark you, spouse, pray look upon 
 this gentleman as my friend ; wlioni, to my knowledge, you have never 
 seen before this hour. 
 
 Dor. I 'm so obedient a wife, sir, that my husband's commands 
 shall ever be a law to me. 
 
 Enter Melantha again, hastily, and runs to embrace Doralice. 
 
 Mel. O, my dear, 1 was just going to pay my devoirs to you; I 
 
 had rot time this morning, for making my court to the king, and our 
 
 new prince. Well, never nation was so happy, and all that, in a young 
 
 prince; and he 's the kindest person in the world to me, let me die if 
 
 170 he is not. 
 
 Dor. He has been bred up far from court, and therefore 
 
 Mel. That imports not. Tho' he has not seen the grand monde, 
 and all that, let me die but he has the air of the court, most absolutely. 
 
 Pala. But yet, madam, he 
 
 Mel. 0, servant, you can testify that I am in his good graces. 
 Well, I cannot stay long with you, because I have promis'd him this 
 
 afternoon to But hark you, my dear, I 'II tell you a secret. 
 
 [ Whispers to DoR. 
 
 Eho. [Aside.] The devil 's in me, that I must love this woman. 
 
 Pala. [Aside.] The devil 's in me, that I must marry this woman. 
 jgO Mel. [Eaising her voice.] So the prince an<l I — But you must 
 make a secret of this, my dear; for I would not for the world your 
 husband should hear it, or my tyrant, there, that must be. 
 
 Pala. [Aside.] Well, fair impertinent, your whisper is not lost, we 
 hear you. 
 
 Dor. I understand then that 
 
 Mel. I "11 tell you, my dear, the prince took me by the hand, and 
 press'd it d la dcrobee, because the king was near, made the doux yciix 
 to me, and, in suitte, said a thousan(l gallantries, or let me die, my 
 dear. 
 19Q Dor. Then I am sure you 
 
 147. c'cn^ QqF. crcn SsM. 
 
 188. in suittej QqK. ensuitc SsM.
 
 170 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Mel. You are mistaken, my dear. 
 
 Dor. "What, before I speak? 
 
 Mel. But I know your meaning. You think, my clear, that I as- 
 sum'd something of fiertc into my countenance, to rehute him; but, 
 quite contrary, I regarded him, — I know not how to express it in our 
 dull Sicilian language, — d'un air enjouc ; and said nothing but d d'autres, 
 a d'autres, and that it was all grimace, and would not pass upon me. 
 Enter Artemis: Melantha sees her, and runs away from Doralice. 
 [To Artemis.] My dear, I must beg your pardon, I was just making a 
 loose from Doralice, to pay my respects to you. Let me die, if I ever 
 200 pass time so agreeably as in your company, and if I would leave it for 
 any lady's in Sicily. 
 
 Arte. The Princess Amalthea is coming this way. 
 
 Enter Amalthea: Melantha runs to her. 
 
 Mel. O, dear madam! I have been at your lodgings, in my new 
 galeehe, so often, to tell you of a new amour, betwixt two persons 
 whom you would little suspect for it, that let me die if one of my 
 coach-horses be not dead, and another quite tir'd, and sunk under 
 the fatigue. 
 
 Amal. O, Melantha, I can tell you news; the prince is coming 
 this way. 
 210 Mel. The prince? O sweet prince! He and I are to — and I 
 forgot it. — Your pardon, sweet madam, for my abruptness. Adieu, 
 my dears. Servant, Rhodophil. Servant, servant, servant all. 
 
 [Exit running. 
 
 Amal. Rhodophil, a word with you. [Whispers. 
 
 Dor. [To Pala.] Why do you not follow your mistress, sir? 
 
 Fala. Follow her? Why, at this rate she '11 be at the Indies 
 within this half hour. 
 
 Dor. However, if you can't follow her all day, you '11 meet her at 
 night, I hope? 
 
 Fala. But can you, in charity, suffer me to be so mortified, without 
 
 220 affording me some relief? If it be but to punish that sign of a husband 
 
 there, that lazy matrimony, that dull insipid taste, who leaves such 
 
 delicious fare at home, to dine abroad on worse meat, and to pay dear 
 
 for 't into the bargain. 
 
 Dor. All this is in vain. Assure yourself, I will never admit of any 
 visit from you in private. 
 
 Pala. That is to tell me, in other words, my condition is desperate. 
 
 Dor. I think you in so ill a condition that I am resolv'd to pray 
 
 for you, this very evening, in the close walk behind the terrace; for 
 
 that's a private place, and there I am sure nobody will disturb my de- 
 
 230 votions. And so, good night, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Fala. This is the newest way of making an appointment I ever 
 
 195. a d'autres] SsM. ad autre QqP. 
 
 203 204. lnfloinri3 . . . galeehe] QqF. lodgino . . . calCche SsM. 
 
 •>04' amour] QIF have italics, which are omitted in Q2Q3 SsM. 
 
 217. all (lain Q1Q2F. tn-fhiy Q.S. 
 
 219. so] Q1Q2F. Omitted by Q3. 
 
 222. and to pay] QqF. and ijay SsM.
 
 ACT II 171 
 
 heard of. Let women alone to contrive the means; I find we are but 
 dunces to 'em. Well, I will not be so profane a wretch as to interrupt 
 her devotions; but, to make 'em more effectual, I '11 down upon my 
 knees, and endeavor to join my own with 'cm. [Exit. 
 
 Amal. [To Rho.] I know already they do not love each other; 
 and that my brother acts but a forc'd obedience to the king's com- 
 mands; so that, if a quarrel should arise betwixt the prince and him, 
 I were most miserable on both sides. 
 240 Eho. There shall be nothing wanting in me, madam, to prevent bo 
 sad a consequence. 
 
 Enter the King, Leoxidas; the King whispers Amalthea. 
 
 [To himself.] I begin to hate this Palamede, because he is to marry 
 my mistress: yet break with him I dare not, for fear of being 
 quite excluded from her company. 'Tis a hard case, when a man must 
 go by his rival to his mistress; but 'tis, at worst, but using him like a 
 pair of heavy boots in a dirty journey; after I have fould him all 
 day, I '11 throw him off at night. [Exit. 
 
 Amal. [To the King.] This honor is too great for me to hope. 
 
 Foly. You shall this hour have the assurance of it. 
 250 Leonidas, come hither; you have heard, 
 I doubt not, that the father of this princess 
 Was my most faithful friend, while I was yet 
 A pri%ate man; and, when I did assume 
 This crown, he serv'd me in that high attempt. 
 You see, then, to what gratitude obliges me; 
 Make your addresses to her. 
 
 Leon. Sir, I am yet too young to be a courtier; 
 I should too much betray my ignorance 
 And want of breeding to so fair a lady. 
 2flO Amal. Your language speaks you not bred up in desarts, 
 But in the softness of some Asian court, 
 Where luxury and ease invent kind words 
 To cozen tender virgins of their hearts. 
 
 Poly. You need not doubt, 
 But in what words soe'er a prince can offer 
 His crown and person, they will be receiv'd. 
 You know my pleasure and you know your duty. 
 
 Leon. Yes, sir, I shall obey, in what I can. 
 
 Poly. In what you can, Leonidas? Consider, 
 270 He 's both your king and father, who commands you. 
 Besides, what is there hard in my injunction? 
 
 Leon. 'Tis hard to have my inclination forc'd. 
 I would not marry, sir; and, when I do, 
 I hope you '11 give me freedom in my choice. 
 
 Poly. View well this lady, 
 Whose mind as much transcends her beauteous face 
 As that excels all others. 
 
 247. flOxit] QIF. Omitted by Q2Q3. 
 254. that] QqF. the SsM.
 
 172 MAKKIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Amal. My beauty, as it ne'er could merit love, 
 So neither can it beg: and, sir, you may 
 280 Believe that what the king has oifer'd you 
 I should refuse, did I not value more 
 Your person then your crown. 
 
 Leon. Think it not pride, 
 
 Or my new fortunes, swell me to contemn you ; 
 Think less, that I want eyes to see your beauty; 
 And, least of all, think duty wanting in me 
 T' obey a father's will. But 
 
 Poly. But what, Leonidas? 
 
 For I must know your reason ; and be sure 
 It be convincing too. 
 
 Leon. Sir, ask the stars, 
 
 Which have impos'd love on us, like a fate, 
 290 Why minds are bent to one, and fly another. 
 Ask why all beauties cannot move all hearts; 
 For tho' there may 
 
 Be made a rule for color, or for feature. 
 There can be none for liking. 
 
 Foly. Leonidas, you owe me more 
 Then to oppose your liking to my pleasure. 
 
 Leon. I owe you all things, sir; but something, too, 
 I owe myself. 
 
 Poly. You shall dispute no more; I am a king, 
 300 And I will be obey'd. 
 
 Leon. You are a king, sir, but you are no god; 
 Or, if you were, you could not force my will. 
 
 Poly. [Aside.] But you are just, you gods; O, you are just, 
 In punishing the crimes of my rebellion 
 With a rebellious son! 
 Yet 1 can punish him, as you do me. — 
 Leonidas, there is no jesting with 
 My will: I ne'er had done so much to gain 
 A crown, but to be absolute in all things. 
 310 Amal. O, sir, be not so much a king as to 
 Forget you are a father: soft indulgence 
 Becomes that name. Tho' nature gives you pow'r 
 To bind his duty, 'tis with silken bonds: 
 Command hira, then, as you command yourself; 
 He is as much a part of you, as are 
 Your appetite and will, and those you force not. 
 But gently bend, and make 'em pliant to your reason. 
 
 Poly. It may be I have us'd too rough a way. 
 Forgive me, my Leonidas ; I know 
 320 I lie as open to the gusts of passion. 
 As the bare shore to every beating surge: 
 I will not force thee now; but I intreat thee. 
 Absolve a father's vow to this fair virgin;
 
 ACT II 173 
 
 A vow, which hopes of having such a son 
 First caus'd. 
 
 Leon. Show not my disobedience by your pray rs; 
 For I must still deny you, tho' I now 
 Appear more guilty to myself, than you: 
 I have some reasons, which I cannot utter, 
 330 That force my disobedience; yet I mourn 
 
 To death, that the first thing you e'er injoin'd me, 
 Should be that only one command in nature 
 Which I could not obey. 
 
 Poly. I did descend too much below myself, 
 When I intreated him. — Hence, to thy desart! 
 Thou 'rt not my son, or art not fit to be. 
 
 Amah Great sir, I humbly beg you, make not me [Eneelinf, 
 
 The cause of your displeasure. I absolve 
 Your vow; far, far from me be such designs; 
 340 So wretched a desire of being great 
 By making him unhappy. You may see 
 Something so noble in the prince his nature. 
 As grieves him more not to obey, then you, 
 That you are not obey'd. 
 
 Foly. Then, for your sake, 
 
 I'll give him one day longer, to consider 
 Not to deny; for my resolves are firm 
 As fate, that cannot change. [Exeunt King and Amal. 
 
 Leon. And so are mine. 
 
 This beauteous princess, charming as she is, 
 Could never make me happy ; I must first 
 350 Be false to my Palmyra, and then wretched. 
 But, then, a father's anger! 
 Suppose he should recede from his own vow. 
 He never would permit me to keep mine. 
 
 Enter Palmyra; Argaleon following her, a little after. 
 See, she appears! 
 
 I '11 think no more of anything but her. 
 Yet I have one hour good ere I am wretched. 
 But, O! Argaleon follows her! So night 
 Treads on the footsteps of a winter's sun. 
 And stalks all black behind him. 
 
 Palm. O, Leonidas, 
 
 360 (For 1 must call you still by that dear name,) 
 Free me from this bad man. 
 
 Leon. I hope he dares not be injurious to you. 
 
 Arga. I rather was injurious to myself. 
 Then her. 
 
 342. prinrr his] QqF. priitrc's SsM. 
 
 35:{. uouiii] giF. uiu ir2(y.i. 
 
 3.^0. hour oooil \ (j(|K. </<)nil hour SsM. 
 360. bi/\ gig:iF. g:i omits.
 
 174 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Leon. That must be judg'd, when I hear what you said. 
 
 Arga. I think you need not give yourself that trouble: 
 It concern'd us alone. 
 
 Leon. You answer saucily, and indirectly: 
 What interest can you pretend in her? 
 370 Arga. It may be, sir, I made her some expressions 
 Which I would not repeat, because they were 
 Below my rank, to one of hers. 
 
 Leon. What did he say. Palmyra? 
 
 Fahn. I'll tell you all. First, he began to look, 
 And then he sigh'd, and then he look'd again; 
 At last, he said my eyes wounded his heart : 
 And, after that, he talk'd of flames and fires, 
 And such strange words that I believ'd he conjur'd. 
 
 Leon. O my heart ! Leave me, Argaleon. 
 380 Arga. Come, sweet Palmyra, 
 
 I will instruct you better in my meaning: 
 You see he would be private. 
 
 Leon. Go yourself, 
 
 And leave her here. 
 
 Arga. Alas, she's ignorant, 
 
 And is not fit to entertain a prince. 
 
 Leon. First learn what's fit for you; that's to obey. 
 
 Arga. I know my duty is to wait on you. 
 A great king's son, like you, ought to forget 
 Such mean converse. 
 
 Leon. What? a disputing subject? 
 Hence, or my sword shall do me justice on thee. 
 390 Arga. Yet I may find a time [Going. 
 
 Leon. What's that you mutter, — 
 
 [Going after Mm. 
 To find a time? 
 
 Arga. To wait on you again — 
 [Softly.'\ In the meanwhile I'll watch you. 
 
 [Exit, and watches during the scene, 
 
 Leon. How precious are the hours of love in courts! 
 In cottages, where love has all the day, 
 Full, and at ease, he throws it half away. 
 Time gives himself, and is not valued, there; 
 But sells at mighty rates each minute, here: 
 There, he is lazy, unemploy'd, and slow; 
 Here, he's more swift ; and yet has more to do. 
 400 So many of his hours in public move 
 That few are left for privacy and love. 
 
 Palm. The sun, methinks, shines faint and dimly, here; 
 Light is not half so long, nor half so clear: 
 But, O! when every day was yours and mine. 
 How early up! what haste he made to shine! 
 
 Leon. Such golden days no prince must hope to see, 
 Whose ev'ry subject is more blest then he,
 
 ACT II 175 
 
 Palm. Do you remember, when their tasks were done, 
 How all the youth did to our cottage run? 
 410 While winter winils were whistling loiul without, 
 Our cheerful liearth was circled round about: 
 With strokes in ashes maids their lovers drew; 
 And still you fell to me, and I to you. 
 
 Leon. When love tiid of my heart possession take, 
 I was so young, my soul was scarce awake: 
 I cannot tell when first I thought you fair; 
 But suck'd in love, insensibly as air. 
 
 Palm. I know too well when first my love began, 
 When, at our wake, you for the chaplet ran: 
 420 Then I was made the lady of the May, 
 And, with the garland, at the goal did stay: 
 Still, as you ran, I kept you full in view ; 
 I hop'd, and wish'd, and ran, methought, for you. 
 As you came near, I hastily did rise. 
 And streteh'd my arm outright, that held the prize. 
 The custom was to kiss whom I should crown; 
 You kneel'd, and in my lap your head laid down: 
 I blush'd, and blush'd, and did the kiss delay; 
 At last my subjects forc'd me to obey: 
 430 But, when I gave the crown, and then the kiss, 
 
 I scarce had breath to say: "Take that, — and this." 
 
 Leon. I felt, the while, a pleasing kind of smart; 
 The kiss went, tingling, to my very heart. 
 When it was gone, the sense of it did stay ; ~| 
 The sweetness cling"d upon my lips all day, V 
 Like drops of honey, loth to fall away. J 
 
 Palm. Life, like a prodigal, gave all his store 
 To my first youth, and now can give no more. 
 You are a prince; and, in that high degree, 
 440 No longer must converse with humble me. 
 
 Leon. 'Twas to my loss the gods that title gavej 
 A tyrant's son is doubly born a slave: 
 He gives a crown ; but, to prevent my life 
 From being happy, loads it with a wife. 
 
 Palm. Speak quickly; what have you resolv'd to do? 
 
 Leon. To keep my faith inviolate to you. 
 He threatens me with exile, and with shame, 
 To lose my birthright, and a prince his name; 
 But there's a blessing whicli he did not mean, 
 450 To send me back to love and you again. 
 
 Palm. Why was not I a princess for your sake? 
 But heav'n no more such miracles can make: 
 And, pince that cannot, this must never be; 
 You shall not lose a crown for love of me. 
 
 43.'5. The] QriF. That SsM. 
 
 very] QUJ'JK. q:{ omits. 
 448. prince liis\ (jql-". prince's SsM.
 
 176 MAKRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Live happy, and a nobler choice pursue; 
 I shall complain of fate, but not of you. 
 
 Leon. Can you so easily without me live? 
 Or could you take the counsel which you give? 
 Were you a princess, would you not be true? 
 460 Palm. I would; but cannot merit it from you. 
 
 Leon. Did you not merit, as you do, my heart, 
 Love gives esteem, and then it gives desert. 
 But if I basely could forget my vow. 
 Poor helpless innocence, what would you do? 
 
 Palm. In woods, and plains, where first my love began, 
 There would I live, retir'd from faithless man: 
 I'd sit all day within some lonely shade. 
 Or that close arbor which your hands have made: 
 I'd search the groves, and ev'ry tree, to find 
 470 Where you had earv'd our names upon the rind : 
 Your hook, your scrip, all that was yours, I'd keep, 
 And lay 'em by me when I went to sleep. 
 Thus would I live: and maidens, when I die. 
 Upon my hearse white true-love-knots should tie ; 
 And thus my tomb should be inscrib'd above: 
 Here tlie forsaken virgin rests from love. 
 
 Leon. Think not that time or fate shall e'er divide 
 Those hearts, which love and mutual vows have tied. 
 But we must part ; farewell, my love. 
 
 Palm. Till when? 
 
 480 Leon. Till the next age of hours we meet again. 
 Meantime — we may. 
 
 When near each other we in public stand, 
 Contrive to catch a look, or steal a hand : 
 Fancy will every touch and glance improve, 
 And draw the most spirituous parts of love. 
 Our souls sit close and silently within, 
 And their own web from their own intrals spin; 
 And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, 
 That, spider-like, we feel the tender'st touch. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IIL SCENE L 
 
 Enter Rhodophil, meeting Doralice and Artemis; Rhodophil and 
 
 DoRAMCE embrace. 
 
 Bho. My own dear heart ! 
 
 Dor. My own true love! [She starts bacJc.] I had forgot myself to 
 be so kind ; indeed, I am very angry with you, dear ; you are come home 
 an hour after you appointed: if you had stay'd a minute longer, I was 
 just considering whether I should stab, hang, or drown myself. 
 
 [Embracing Mm. 
 
 487. intrals] QqF. entrails SsM.
 
 ACT in, SCENE I 177 
 
 Elio. Nothing but the king's business could have hinder'd me; and 
 I was so vex'd that I was just laying down my commission, rather then 
 have fail'd my dear. [Kissing her hand. 
 
 Arte. Why, this is love as it should be betwixt man and wife: such 
 10 another couple would bring marriage into fashion again. But is it 
 always thus betwixt you ? 
 
 Eho, Always thus! This is nothing. I tell you, there is not such a 
 pair of turtles in all Sicily; there is such an eternal cooing and kissing 
 betwixt us that indeed it is scandalous before civil company. 
 
 Dor. Well, if I had imagin'd I should have been this fond fool, I 
 would never have married the man I lov'd : I married to be happy, and 
 have made myself miserable by over-loving. Nay, and now my case is 
 desperate; for I have been married above these two years, and find 
 myself every day worse and worse in love: nothing but madness can be 
 20 the end on 't. 
 
 Arte. Doat on, to the extremity, and you are happy. 
 
 Dor. He deserves so infinitely much, that, the truth is, there can 
 be no doating in the matter; but, to love well, I confess, is a work 
 that pays itself. 'Tis telling gold, and, after, taking it for one's pains. 
 
 Eho. By that I should be a very covetous person; for I am ever 
 pulling out my money and putting it into my pocket again. 
 
 Dor. O dear Rhodophil! 
 
 Eho. O sweet Doralice! [Embracing each other. 
 
 Arte. [Aside.'] Nay, I am rcsolv'd, I'll never interrupt lovers: I'll 
 30 leave 'em as happy as I found 'em. [Steals aicay. 
 
 Eho. [Looking up.] What, is she gone? 
 
 Dor. Yes; and without taking leave. 
 
 Rho. [Parting from her.] Then there's enough for this time. 
 
 Dor. Yes, sure, the scene's done, I take it. 
 [They walk contrary ways on the stage; he, with his hands in his 
 pockets, whistling; she singing a dull melancholy tune. 
 
 Eho. Pox o' your dull tune, a man can't think for you. 
 
 Dor. Pox o' your damn'd whistling; you can neither be company to 
 me yourself, nor leave me to the freedom of my own fancy. 
 
 Eho. Well, thou art the most provoking wife ! 
 
 Dor. Well, thou art the dullest husband, thou art never to bo 
 40 provok'd. 
 
 Eho. I was never thought dull till I married thee; and now thou 
 hast made an old knife of me; thou hast whetted me so long, till I 
 have no edge left. 
 
 Dor. I see you are in the husband's fashion; you reserve all your 
 good humors for your mistresses, and keep your ill for your wives. 
 
 Eho. Prethee leave me to my own cogitations; I am thinking over 
 all my sins, to find for which of them it was I married thee. 
 
 Dor. Whatever your sin was, mine's the punishment. 
 
 Eho. My comfort is, thou art not immortal; and, when that blessed, 
 
 8. have fail'd] Qq. fail F. 
 
 ir{. all] QqF. SsM omit. 
 
 29. / am] QIF. I'm Q2Q.3. 
 
 34. (stage direction), (pockets] SsM. [pocket] Q<jF, prolialily l>,v a mis- 
 print. 
 
 47. it was] QlQ2r'\ Q.T omits,
 
 178 MAREIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 50 that divine day comes, of thy departure, I'm resolv'd I'll make one 
 holiday more in the almanac for thy sake. 
 
 Dor. Aye, you had need make a holiday for me, for I am sure you 
 have made me a martyr. 
 
 Eho. Then, setting my victorious foot upon thy head, in the first 
 hour of thy silence (that is, the first hour thou art dead, for I despair 
 of it before) I will swear by thy ghost, an oath as terrible to me as 
 Styx is to the gods, never more to be in danger of the banes of 
 matrimony. 
 
 Bor. And I am resolv'd to marry the very same day thou diest, if 
 60 it be but to show how little I'm concern'd for thee. 
 
 Mho. Prethee, Doralice, why do we quarrel thus a-days? Ha? This 
 is but a kind of heathenish life, and does not answer the ends of 
 marriage. If I have err'd, propound what reasonable atonement may 
 be made before we sleep, and I shall not be refractory; but withal 
 consider I have been married these three years, and be not too tyrannical. 
 
 Dor. What should you talk of a peace abed, when you can give no 
 security for performance of articles? 
 
 EJio. Then, since we must live together, and both of us stand upon 
 our terms, as to matter of dying first, let us make ourselves as merry as 
 70 we can with our misfortunes. 
 
 Why, there's the devil on 't! If thou couldst make my enjoying 
 thee but a little less easy, or a little more unlawful, thou shouldst see 
 what a termagant lover I would prove. I have taken such pains to 
 enjoy thee, Doralice, that I have fancied thee all the fine women in the 
 town, to help me out. But now there's none left for me to think on, my 
 imagination is quite jaded. Thou art a wife, and thou wilt be a wife, 
 and I can make thee another no longer. {Exit Rho. 
 
 Dor. Well, since thou art a husband, and wilt be a husband, I'll try 
 if I can find out another. 'Tis a pretty time we women have on 't, to 
 80 be made widows while we are married. Our husbands think it reasonable 
 to complain, that we are the same, and the same to them, when we have 
 more reason to complain that they are not the same to us. Because they 
 cannot feed on one dish, therefore we must be starv'd. 'Tis enough that 
 they have a sufiicient ordinary provided, and a table ready spread for 
 'em: if they cannot fall to, and eat heartily, the fault is theirs; and 
 'tis pity, methinks, that the good creature should be lost, when many a 
 poor sinner would be glad on 't. 
 
 Enter Melantha and Artemis to her. 
 
 Mel. Dear, my dear, pity me, I am so chagrin to-day, and have had 
 the most signal affront at court! I went this afternoon to do my devoir 
 
 51, 52. holiflny] SsM. holy-day QqF. 
 
 56. thy] QIF. the Q2Q.3. 
 
 57. in danger] Q1Q2F. in the danger Q3. 
 60. be but to] QIP. Q2Q3 omit but. 
 
 64. shall] QqF. vill SsM. 
 
 66. What] QIF. Why Q2Q3. 
 
 69. to viatter] Q1Q2F. to the matter Q3. to ^natters SsM. 
 
 72. less easy] QqF. SsM omit less. 
 
 or a] Q1Q2F. or but a Q3. 
 74. in] QqF. of SsM. 
 38, chagrin] QqF have no italics, which are added by SsM,
 
 ACT III, SCENE I 179 
 
 90 to Princess Amalthea, found her, convers'd with her, and help'd to make 
 her court some half an hour; after which, she went to take the air, 
 chose out two ladies to go with her that came in after me, and left me 
 most barbarously behind hor. 
 
 Arte. You are the less to be pitied, Melantha, because you subject 
 yourself to these affronts by coming perpetually to court, where you 
 have no business nor employment. 
 
 Mel. I declare, I had rather of the two be raillied, nay, mal traitee 
 at court, then be deified in the town; for, assuredly, nothing can be so 
 ridicule as a mere town lady. 
 100 Dor. Especially at court. How I have seen 'em crowd and sweat in 
 the drawing-room, on a holiday night; for that's their time to swarm 
 and invade the presence! O, how they catch at a bow, or any little 
 salute from a courtier, to make show of their acquaintance! And, 
 rather then be thought to be quite unknown, they court'sy to one an- 
 other; but they take true pains to come near the circle, and press and 
 peep upon the princess, to write letters into the country how she was 
 dress'd, while the ladies that stand about make their court to her with 
 abusing them. 
 
 Arte. These are sad truths, Melantha; and therefore I would e'en 
 110 advise you to quit the court, and live either wholly in the town, or, if 
 you like not that, in the country. 
 
 Dor. In the country! Nay, that's to fall beneath the town, for they 
 live there upon our offals here. Their entertainment of wit is only the 
 remembrance of what they had when they were last in town ; they live 
 this year upon the last year's knowledge, as their cattle do all night by 
 chewing the cud of what they eat in the afternoon. 
 
 Mel. And they tell, for news, such unlikely stories! A letter from 
 
 one of us is such a present to 'em that the poor souls wait for the 
 
 carrier's-day with such devotion that they cannot sleep the night before. 
 
 120 Arte. No more then I can, the night before I am to go a journey. 
 
 Dor. Or I, before I am to try on a new gown. 
 
 Mel. A song that's stale here will be new there a twelvemonth 
 hence; and if a man of the town by chance come amongst 'em, he's 
 reverenc'd for teaching 'em the tune. 
 
 Dor. A friend of mine, who makes songs sometimes, came lately out 
 of the west, and vow'd he was so put out of count'nance with a song of 
 his; for, at the first country gentleman's he visited, he saw three tailors 
 cross-legg'd upon the table in the hall, who were tearing out as loud as 
 ever they could sing, 
 
 130 After the pangs of a desperate lover, &c. 
 
 And all that day he heard nothing else but the daughters of the house, 
 and the maids, humming it over in every corner, and the father 
 whistling it. 
 
 Arte. Indeed, 1 have observ'd of myself, that when I am out of 
 
 07. raillied] raillvVl QqF. with italics, rallied SsM, without italics. 
 
 ll.*?. there] QqF. Omittod hy SsM. 
 
 11.5. the last] giQ'JF. Q.S omits the. 
 
 131. all that day he heard nothiny] gqF. that all dai/ he heard of nothing SsM,
 
 180 MAEEIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 town but a fortnight, I am so humble that I would receive a letter from 
 my tailor or mercer for a favor. 
 
 Mel. When I have been at grass in the summer, and am new come 
 up again, methinks I'm to be turn'd into ridicule by all that see me; 
 but when I have been once or twice at court, I begin to value myself 
 140 again, and to despise my country acquaintance. 
 
 Arte. There are places where all people may be ador'd, and we 
 ought to know ourselves so well as to choose 'em. 
 
 Dor. That's very true; your little courtier's wife, who speaks to 
 the king but once a month, need but go to a town lady, and there she 
 may vapor and cry, "The king and I," at every word. Your town lady, 
 who is laugh'd at in the circle, takes her coach into the city, and there 
 she's call'd Your Honor, and has a banquet from the merchant's wife, 
 whom she laughs at for her kindness. And as for my finical cit, she 
 removes but to her country house, and there insults over the country 
 150 gentlewoman that never comes up, who treats her with frumity and 
 custard, and opens her dear bottle of miraiilis beside, for a gill glass 
 of it at parting. 
 
 Arte. At last, I see, we shall leave Melantha where we found her; 
 for, by your description of the town and country, they are become more 
 dreadful to her then the court, where she was affronted. But you forget 
 we are to wait on the Princess Amalthea. Come, Doralice. 
 
 Dor. Farewell, Melantha. 
 
 Mel. Adieu, my dear. 
 
 Arte. You are out of charity with her, and therefore I shall not 
 160 gi^6 your service. 
 
 Mel. Do not omit it, I beseech you; for I have such a tender for 
 the court, that I love it ev'n from the drawing-room to the lobby, and 
 can never be rebutee by any usage. But hark you, my dears; one thing 
 I had forgot, of great concernment. 
 
 Dor. Quickly then, we are in haste. 
 
 Mel. Do not call it my service, that's too vulgar; but do my haise- 
 mains to the Princess Amalthea; that is spirituelle ! 
 
 Dor. To do you service, then, we will prendre the carrosse to court, 
 
 and do your baise-mains to the Princess Amalthea, in your phrase 
 
 170 spirituelle. [Exeunt Artemis and Doralice. 
 
 Entsr Philotis, with a paper in her hand. 
 
 Mel. O, are you there, minion? And, well, are not you a most 
 precious damsel, to retard all my visits for want of language, when you 
 know you are paid so well for furnishing me with new words for my 
 daily conversation? Let me die, if I have not run the risk already to 
 speak like one of the vulgar, and if I have one phrase left in all my 
 store, that is not thridbare et use, and fit for nothing but to be thrown 
 to peasants. 
 
 Phil. Indeed, madam, I have been very diligent in my vocation; 
 
 138. I'm] Q1Q2F. I am Q3. 
 150. frumity] Q1Q2F. furmity Q3 SsM. 
 
 161. tender] QqF. without italics, tendre SsM, with italics. Similarly 
 below, p. 208, 1. 101 and p. 209, 1. 155.
 
 ACT III, SCENE I 181 
 
 but you have so drain'J all the French plays and romances that they 
 180 are not able to supply you with words for your daily expenses. 
 
 Mel. Drain'd? What a word's there! Epuise, you sot you. Come, 
 produce your morning's work. 
 
 Phil. 'Tis here, madam. [SJiows the paper. 
 
 Mel. O, my Venus! fourteen or fifteen words to serve me a whole 
 day! Let me die, at this rate I cannot last till night. Come, read your 
 works. Twenty to one, half of 'em will not pass muster neither. 
 
 Phil. Sottises. [Beads. 
 
 Mel. Sottises: bon. That's an excellent word to begin withal; as, 
 for example, he or she said a thousand sottises to me. Proceed. 
 190 Phil. Figure: as, what a figure of a man is there! Naive, and 
 naivete. 
 
 Mel. Naive! as how? 
 
 Fhil. Speaking of a thing that was naturally said, it was so naive; 
 or, such an innocent piece of simplicity, 'twas such a naivete. 
 
 Mel. Truce with your interpretations. Make haste. 
 
 Phil. Foible, chagrin, grimace, embarrasse, double entendre, 
 equivoque, eclaircissement, suite, bcvue, fagon, panchant, coup d'ctourdi, 
 and ridicule. 
 
 Mel. Hold, hold; how did they begin? 
 200 Phil. They began at sottises, and ended en ridicule. 
 
 Mel. Now give me your paper in my hand, and hold you my glass, 
 while I practice my postures for the day. [Melantha laughs in the 
 glass.] How does that laugh become my face? 
 
 Phil. Sovereignly well, madam. 
 
 Mel. Sovereignly? Let me die, that's not amiss. That word shall 
 not be yours; I'll invent it, and bring it up myself; my new point gorget 
 shall be yours upon 't. Not a word of the word, I charge you. 
 
 Phil. I am dumb, madam. 
 
 Mel. That glance, how suits it with my face? 
 
 [Looking in the glass. 
 210 Phil. 'Tis so languissant! 
 
 Mel. Languissant! That word shall be mine too, and my last 
 Indian gown thine for 't. That sigh? [Looks again. 
 
 Phil. 'Twill make many a man sigh, madam. 'Tis a mere incendiary. 
 
 Mel. Take my gimp petticoat for that truth. If thou hast more of 
 these phrases, let me die but I could give away all my wardrobe, and go 
 naked for 'em. 
 
 Phil. Go naked? Then you would be a Venus, madam. O Jupiter! 
 what had I forgot? This paper was given me by Rhodophil's page. 
 
 Mel. lEeading the letter.] Beg the favor from you. Gratify my 
 
 220 passion — so far assignation — in the grotto — behind the terrace — clock 
 
 this evening. Well, for the billets-doux there's no man in Sicily must 
 
 dispute with Rhodophii ; they are so French, so gallant, and so tcndre, 
 
 180. expenses] QqF. expense SsM. 
 186. of 'em] QlQliF. of thrm Q8 SsM. 
 
 190. Figure : as, vhat a figure] SsM. QqF have italics for the first figure, 
 but not for the second. 
 
 196. cnibarrassi''] SsM. omliarrasse QqF. 
 213. 7nany] QqF. Omitted by SsM.
 
 182 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 that 1 cannot resist the temptation of the assignation. Now go you 
 away, Philotis; it imports me to practice what I shall say to my 
 servant when I meet him, [Exit Philotis.] 
 
 "Rhodophil, you'll wonder at my assurance to meet you here; — let me 
 die, I am so out of breath with coming that I can render you no reason 
 of it." — Then he will make this repartee: "Madam, I have no reason to 
 accuse you for that which is so great a favor to me." — Then I reply: 
 230 "But why have you drawn me to this solitary place? Let me die, but I 
 am apprehensive of some violence from you." — Then says he: "Solitude, 
 
 madam, is most fit for lovers; but by this fair hand" "Nay, now I 
 
 vow you're rude, sir. O fie, fie, fie; I hope you'll be honorable?" — 
 "You'd laugh at me if I should, madam." — "What do you mean to throw 
 me down thus? Ah me! ah! ah! ah!" 
 
 E7iter PoLYDAMAs, Leonidas, and Guards. 
 
 O Venus! The king and court. Let me die, but I fear they have 
 found my foible, and will turn me into ridicule. [Exit, running. 
 
 Leon. Sir, I beseech you. 
 
 Foly. Do not urge my patience. 
 
 Leon. I'll not deny, 
 240 But what your spies inform'd you of is true: 
 I love the fair Palmyra ; but I lov'd her 
 Before I knew your title to my blood. 
 
 Enter Palmyra, guarded. 
 
 See, here she comes, and looks, amidst her guards, 
 Like a weak dove under the falcon's gripe. 
 
 heav'n, I cannot bear it. 
 
 Foly. Maid, come hither. 
 
 Have you presum'd so far as to receive 
 My son's affection? 
 
 Palm. Alas, what shall I answer? To confess it 
 Will raise a blush upon a virgin's face; 
 250 Yet I was ever taught 'twas base to lie. 
 
 Poly. You've been too bold, and you must love no more. 
 
 Palm. Indeed I must; I cannot help my love: 
 
 1 was so tender when I took the bent 
 That now I grow that way. 
 
 Poly. He is a prince, and you are meanly born. 
 
 Leon. Love either finds equality, or makes it: 
 Like death, he knows no difference in degrees. 
 But plains and levels all. 
 
 Palm. Alas! I had not render'd up my heart, 
 260 Had he not lov'd me first; but he preferr'd me 
 Above the maidens of my age and rank; — 
 Still shunn'd their company, and still sought mine. 
 I was not won by gifts, yet still he gave; 
 
 224. what I shall say] QqP. what to say SsM. 
 
 235. ah! ah! ah!] QIP, without exclamation points, ha, ha, ha, Q2Q3. 
 
 247. affection] QqF. affections SsM.
 
 ACT III, SCENE I 183 
 
 And all his gifts, tho' small, yet spoke his love. 
 He pick'd the earliest strawberries in woods. 
 The cluster'd filberds, and the purple grapes; 
 He taught a prating stare to speak my name; 
 And, when he found a nest of nightingales, 
 Or callow linnets, he would show 'em me, 
 270 And let me take 'em out. 
 
 Poly. This is a little mistress, meanly born, 
 Pit only for a prince his vacant hours, 
 And then, to laugh at her simplicity. 
 Not fix a passion there. Now hear my sentence. 
 
 Leon. Remember, ere you give it, 'tis pronounc'd 
 Against us both. 
 
 Foly. First, in her hand 
 
 There shall be plac'd a player's painted scepter, 
 And, on her head, a gilded pageant crown: 
 Thus shall she go, 
 280 With all the boys attending on her triumph; 
 That done, be put alone into a boat, 
 With bread and water only for three days; 
 So on the sea she shall be set adrift, 
 And who relieves her, dies. 
 
 Palm. 1 only beg that you would execute 
 The last part first. Let me be put to sea ; 
 The bread and water for my three days' life 
 I give you back, I would not live so long; 
 But let me scape the shame. 
 
 Leon. Look to me, piety; 
 
 290 And you, O gods, look to my piety! 
 
 Keep me from saying that which misbecomes a son, 
 But let me die before I see this done. 
 
 Poly. If you for ever will abjure her sight, 
 I can be yet a father; she shall live. 
 
 Leon. Hear, O you pow'rs! is this to be a father? 
 I see 'tis all my happiness and quiet 
 You aim at, sir; and take 'em: 
 I will not save ev'n my Palmyra's life 
 At that ignoble price; but I'll die with her. 
 300 Palm. So had I done by you, 
 
 Had fate made me a princess. Death, methinks, 
 
 Is not a terror now : 
 
 He is not fierce, or grim, but fawns, and soothes me. 
 
 And slides along, like Cleopatra's aspic, 
 
 Off 'ring his service to my troubled breast. 
 
 264. spoke] QqF. spake SsM. 
 2G6. ftlberils] (JqF. filberts SsM. 
 
 the purple] QIF. Q2Q:i omit the. 
 272. prince his] QqF. prince's SsM. 
 289, 290. But let . . . pit/.i/) g(il" SsM arrange as follows: 
 
 Palm. But let me scape the shame. 
 
 Leon. Look to iitc, piety; and you, gods, look to my piety.
 
 184 MAKRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Leon. Begin what you Lave purpos'd when you please; 
 Lead her to scorn, your triumph shall be doubled. 
 As holy priests 
 
 In pity go with dying malefactors, 
 310 So will I share her shame. 
 
 Poly. You shall not have your will so much; first part 'em. 
 Then execute your office. 
 
 Leon. No; I'll die 
 
 In her defense. [Brans his sword. 
 
 Palm. Ah, hold, and pull not on 
 
 A curse, to make me worthy of my death : 
 Do not by lawless force oppose your father, 
 Whom you have too much disobey'd for me. 
 
 Leon. Here, take it, sir, and with it pierce my heart : 
 
 [Presenting his sword to his father upon his knees. 
 You have done more, in taking my Palmyra. 
 You are my father; therefore I submit. 
 320 Poly. Keep him from anything he may design 
 Against his life, whilst the first fury lasts; 
 And now perform what I commanded you. 
 
 Leon. In vain; if sword and poison be denied me, 
 I'll hold my breath and die. 
 
 Palm. Farewell, my lost Leonidas; yet live, 
 I charge you, live, till you believe me dead. 
 I cannot die in peace, if you die first; 
 If life's a blessing, you shall have it last. 
 
 Poly. Go on with her, and lead him after me. 
 
 Enter Argaleon hastily, with Heemogenes. 
 
 330 Arga. I bring you, sir, such news as must amaze you, 
 And such as will prevent you from an action 
 Which would have render'd all your life unhappy. 
 
 [Hermogenes kneels. 
 
 Poly. Hermogenes, you bend your knees in vain; 
 My doom's already past. 
 
 Her. I kneel not for Palmyra, for I know 
 She will not need my pray'rs; but for myself: 
 With a feign'd tale I have abus'd your ears, 
 And, therefore, merit death; but since, unforc'd, 
 I first accuse myself, I hope your mercy. 
 
 Poly. Haste to explain your meaning. 
 
 Her. Then, in few words, Palmyra is your daughter. 
 
 Poly. How can I give belief to this impostor? 
 He who has once abus'd me often may. 
 I'll hear no more. 
 
 Arga. For your own sake, you must. 
 
 340 
 
 310. icill I] QqF. I viU SsM. 
 
 321. whilst] QqF. while SsM. 
 
 325. lost] SsM. last QqF, probably a misprint. 
 
 .S43. has once] Q1Q2F. once has Q3.
 
 ACT III, SCENE I 185 
 
 Her. A parent's love, for I confess my crime, 
 Mov'd me to say Loonidas was yours; 
 But, when 1 heard Palmyra was to die. 
 The fear of guiltless blood so stung my conscience, 
 That I resolv'd, ev"n with my shame, to save 
 350 Your daughter's life. 
 
 roly. But how can I be certain, but that interest, 
 Which mov'd you firet to say your sou was mine, 
 Does not now move you too, to save your daughter? 
 
 Her. You had but then my word; I bring you now 
 Authentic testimonies. Sir, in short, 
 
 [Delivers on his knees a jewel, and a letter. 
 If this will not convince you, lot me suffer. 
 
 PoJy. I know this jewel well; 'twas once my mother's, 
 
 \ Looking first on the jewel. 
 Which, marrying, 1 presented to my wife. 
 And this, O this is my Eudocia's hand. 
 360 I Reads.] This was the pledge of love given to Eudocia, 
 H ho, dying, to her young Palmyra leaves it; 
 And this, when you, my dearest lord, receive, 
 Own her, and think on me, dying Eudocia. 
 
 Take it; "tis well there is no more to read. [2'o Arga. 
 
 My eyes grow full, and swim in their own light. [He embraces Palm. 
 
 Palm. I fear, sir, this is your intended pageant. 
 You sport yourself at poor Palmyra's cost; 
 But if you tl'ink to make me proud. 
 Indeed 1 cannot be so. 1 was born 
 370 With humble thoughts, and lowly, like my birth. 
 A real fortune could not make me haughty, 
 Much less a feign'd. 
 
 Poly. This was her mother's temper. 
 
 I have too much deserv'd thou shouldst suspect 
 That I am not thy father; but my love 
 Shall henceforth show I am. Behold my eyes, 
 And see a father there begin to flow : 
 This is not feign'd, Palmyra. 
 
 Palm. I doubt no longer, sir; you are a king, 
 And cannot lie: falsehood's a vice too base 
 380 To find a room in any royal breast. 
 I know, in spite of my unworthiness, 
 I am your child ; for when you would have kill'd me, 
 Methought I lov'd you then. 
 
 Arga. Sir, we forget the Prince Leonidas; 
 His greatness should not stand neglected thus. 
 
 Poly. Guards, you may now retire. Give him his sword. 
 And leave him free. 
 
 Leon. Then the first use I make of liberty 
 
 .355. (stage direction), land a letter) QqF. SsM omit a. 
 .'{57. this jeirel] Q1B\ the jewel Q2U3. 
 384. forget] QIF. forgot Q-JQ."..
 
 186 MAEEIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Shall be, with your permission, mighty sir, 
 390 To pay that reverence to which nature binds me. 
 
 [Kneels to Hermogenes. 
 
 Arga. Sure you forget your birth, thus to misplace 
 This act of your obedience; you should kneel 
 To nothing but to heav'n, and to a king. 
 
 Leon. I never shall forget what nature owes, 
 Nor be asham'd to pay it; tho' my father 
 Be not a king, I know him brave and honest, 
 And well deserving of a worthier son. 
 
 Poly. He bears it gallantly. 
 
 Leo7i. Why would you not instruct me, sir, before, [To Her. 
 
 400 Where I should place my duty? 
 
 From which if ignorance have made me swerve, 
 I beg your pardon for an erring son. 
 
 Palm. I almost grieve I am a princess, since 
 It makes him lose a crown. 
 
 Leon. And next, to you, my king, thus low I kneel, 
 T' implore your mercy; if in that small time 
 I had the honor to be thought your son 
 I paid not strict obedience to your will, 
 I thought, indeed, I should not be eompell'd, 
 410 But thought it as your son ; so, what I took 
 In duty from you, I restor'd in courage; 
 Because your son should not be forc'd. 
 
 Poly. You have my pardon for it. 
 
 Leon. To you, fair princess, I congratulate 
 Your birth; of which I ever thought you worthy: 
 And give me leave to add, that I am proud 
 The gods have pick'd me out to be the man 
 By whose dejected fate yours is to rise; 
 Because no man could more desire your fortune, 
 420 Or franklier part with his, to make you great. 
 
 Palm. I know the king, tho' you are not his son, 
 Will still regard you as my foster brother, 
 And so conduct you downward from a throne. 
 By slow degrees, so unperceiv'd and soft. 
 That it may seem no fall: or, if it be. 
 May fortune lay a bed of down beneath you! 
 
 Poly. He shall be rank'd with my nobility. 
 And kept from scorn by a large pension giv"n him. 
 
 Leon. You are all great and royal in your gifts; [Boicing. 
 
 430 But at the donor's feet I lay 'em down: 
 Should I take riches from you, it would seem 
 As I did want a soul to bear that poverty 
 To which the gods design'd my humble birth; 
 And, should I take your honors without merit, 
 It would appear I wanted manly courage 
 To hope 'em, in your service, from my sword. 
 
 Poly. Still brave, and like yourself.
 
 ACT III, SCENE II 187 
 
 The court shall shine this night in its full splendor, 
 
 And celebrate this new discovery. 
 140 Ai'galeon, lead my daughter. As we go, 
 
 I shall have time to give her my commands. 
 
 In which you are concern'd, [Exeunt all but Leonidas. 
 
 Leon. Methinks, I do not want 
 
 That huge long train of fawning followers, 
 
 That swept a furlong after me. 
 
 'Tis true I am alone; 
 
 So was the Godhead, ere he made the world. 
 
 And better serv'd himself, then serv'd by nature. 
 
 And yet I have a soul 
 450 Above this humble fate. I could command, 
 
 Love to do good, give largely to true merit, 
 
 All that a king should do; but, tho' these are not 
 
 My province, I have scene enough within, 
 
 To exercise my virtue. 
 
 All that a heart so fix *d as mine can move. 
 
 Is that my niggard fortune starves my love. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 Palamede and Doralice meet: she, with a hook in her hand, seems to 
 
 start at sight of him. 
 
 Dor. 'Tis a strange thing that no warning will serve your turn, and 
 that no retirement will secure nie from your impertinent addresses! Did 
 not I tell you that I was to be private here at my devotions? 
 
 Pala. Yes; and you see I have observ'd my cue exactly: I am come 
 to relieve you from them. Come, shut up, shut up your book; the man's 
 come who is to supply all your necessities. 
 
 Dor. Then, it seems, you are so impudent to think it was an 
 assignation? This, I warrant, was your lewd interpretation of my 
 innocent meaning. 
 10 Pala. Venus forbid that I should harbor so unreasonable a thought 
 of a fair young lady, that you should lead me hither into temptation. I 
 confess, I might think indeed it was a kind of honorable challenge, to 
 meet privately without seconds, and decide the difference betwixt the 
 two sexes; but heaven forgive me, if I thought amiss. 
 
 Dor. You thought too, I'll lay my life on 't, that you might as well 
 make love to me, as my husband does to your mistress. 
 
 Fala. I was so unreasonable to think so too. 
 
 Dor. And then you wickedly infcrr'd that there was some justice in 
 
 the revenge of it; or, at least, but little injury for a man to endeavor 
 
 20 to enjoy that which he accounts a blessing, and which is not valued as it 
 
 ought by the dull possessor. Confess your wickedness; did you not 
 
 think so? 
 
 4.'):{. scene \QIF. xcrn Q2Q:?. 
 
 (scene headinci) fat siKht] QqF. [at the sight] SsM. 
 
 2(». accounts] QqF. cutiuts SsM.
 
 188 MAERIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Pala. I confess I was thinking so, as fast as I could; but you think 
 so much before me, that you will let me think nothing. 
 
 Dor. 'Tis the very thing that I design'd ; I have forestall'd all your 
 arguments, and left you without a word more, to plead for mercy. If 
 
 you have anything farther to offer, ere sentence pass Poor animal, I 
 
 brought you hither only for my diversion. 
 
 Pala. That you may have, if you'll make use of me the right way; 
 30 but I tell thee, vvoman, I am now past talking. 
 
 Dor. But it may be I came hither to hear what fine things you could 
 say for yourself. 
 
 Pala. You would be very angry, to my knowledge, if I should lose 
 so much lime to say many of 'om.— By this hand you would! 
 
 Dor. Fie, Palamede, I am a woman of honor. 
 
 PaJa. I see you are; you have kept touch with your assignation: 
 and, before we part, you shall find that I am a man of honor. — Yet I 
 have one scruple of conscience 
 
 Dor. I warrant you Avill not want some naughty argument or other, 
 40 to satisfy yourself. — I hope you are afraid of betraying your friend? 
 
 Pala. Of betraying my friend! I am more afraid of being betray'd 
 by you tu my friend. You women now are got into the way of telling 
 first yourselves: a man who has any care of his reputation will be loth 
 to trust it with you. 
 
 Dor. O, you charge your faults upon our sex! You men are like 
 cocks; you never make love, but you clap your wings, and crow when 
 you have done. 
 
 Pala. Nay, rather you women are like hens; you never lay but you 
 
 cackle an hour after, to discover your nest. — But I'll venture it for once. 
 
 50 Dor. To convince you that you are in the wrong, I'll retire into the 
 
 dark grotto to my devotion, and make so little noise that it shall be 
 
 impossible for you to find me. 
 
 Pala. But if I find you 
 
 Dor. Aye, if you find me. — But I'll put you to search in more 
 corners then you imagine. [She runs in, and he after her. 
 
 Enter Rhodophil and Melantha. 
 
 Mel. Let me die, but this solitude, and that grotto, are scandalous; 
 I'll go no further; besides, you have a sweet lady of your own. 
 
 Eho. But a sweet mistress, now and then, makes my sweet lady so 
 much more sweet. 
 60 Mel. 1 hope you will not force me? 
 
 Sho. But I will, if you desire it. 
 
 Pala. [Within.] Where the de%il are you, madam? 'Sdeath, I begin 
 to be weary of this hide and seek. If you stay a little longer, till the 
 fit's over, I'll hide in my turn, and put you to the finding me. [He 
 enters, and sees Rhodophil aiid Melantha.] How! Rhodophil and my 
 mistress ! 
 
 Mel. My servant to apprehend me! This is stirprenant au dernier. 
 
 Eho. I must on; there's nothing but impudence can help me out. 
 
 64. linding me] QIF. finding of me Q2Q3.
 
 ACT III, SCENE II 189 
 
 Pala. Rhodopbil, how came you hither in so good company? 
 70 Kho. As you sec, Palamede; an effect of pure friendship; I was 
 not able to live without you. 
 
 Pala. But what makes my mistress with you? 
 
 liho. Why, I heard you were here alone, and could not in civility 
 but bring her to you. 
 
 Mel. You'll pardon the effects of a passion which I may now avow 
 for you, if it transported me beyond the rules of hienscance. 
 
 Pala. But who told you I was here? They that told you that may 
 tell you more, for aught I know. 
 
 Eho. O, for that matter, we had intelligence. 
 80 Pala. But let me tell you, we came hither so very privately that you 
 could not trace us. 
 
 liho. Us! What us? You are alone. 
 
 Pala. Us! The devil's in me for mistaking — me, I meant. Or us, 
 that is, you are me, or I you, as we are friends: that's us. 
 
 Dor. Palamede, Palamede! [Within. 
 
 Eho. I should know that voice; who's within there, that calls you? 
 
 Pala. Faith, I can't imagine; I believe the place is haunted. 
 
 Dor. Palamede, Palamede, all cocks hidden. [Within. 
 
 Pala. Lord, Lord, what shall I do? Well, dear friend, to let you 
 90 see I scorn to be jealous, and that I dare trust my mistress with you, 
 take her back, for I would not willingly have her frighted, and I am 
 resolv'd to see who's there; I'll not be daunted with a bugbear, that's 
 certain. — Prethee dispute it not, it shall be so; nay, do not put me to 
 swear, but go quickly. There's an effect of pure friendship for you now. 
 
 Enter Doralice, and lools amaz'd, seeing them. 
 
 Eho. Doralice! I am thunderstruck to see you here. 
 
 Pala. So am I; quite thunderstruck! Was it you that call'd me 
 within? (I must be impudent.) 
 
 Eho. How came you hither, spouse? 
 
 Pala. Aye, how came you hither? And, which is more, how could 
 100 you be here without my knowledge? 
 
 Dor. [To her husband.] O, gentleman, have I caught you i' faith! 
 Have I broke forth in ambush upon you ! I thought my suspicions would 
 prove true. 
 
 Eho. Suspicions! this is very fine, spouse! Prethee, what sus- 
 picions? 
 
 Dor. O, you feign ignorance. Why, of you and Melantha; here have 
 I stay'd these two hours, waiting with all the rage of a passionate, loving 
 wife, but infinitely jealous, to take you two in the manner; for hither I 
 was certain you would come. 
 110 Eho. But you are mistaken, spouse, in the occasion; for we came 
 hither on purpose to find Palamede, on intelligence he was gone before. 
 
 80. very] Q1Q2F. Q.3 omits. 
 87. the plarr] Q1Q2F. Ihat plncr Q.!. 
 
 94. effect of pure friendship for you now] Ql. QCQ."} omit now. F omits 
 for you. SsM read effort for effect. 
 107. these] Q1Q2K. this Q3. 
 111. on purpose] Q1Q2F ; on the purpose Q3.
 
 190 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Fala. I'll be hang'd then, if the same party who gave you intelli- 
 gence I was here did not tell your wife you would come hither. Now I 
 smell the malice on 't on both sides. 
 
 Dor. Was it so, think you? Nay, then, I'll confess my part of the 
 malice too. As soon as ever I spied my husband and Melantha come 
 together, I had a strange temptation to make him jealous in revenge; 
 and that made me call "Palamede, Palamede!" as tho' there had been an 
 intrigue between us. 
 120 Mel. Nay, I avow, there was an apparence of an intrigue between 
 us too. 
 
 Pala. To see how things will come about! 
 
 Bho. And was it only thus, my dear Doralice? [Embraces. 
 
 Dor. And did I wrong n'own Rhodophil with a false suspicion? 
 
 [Embracing him. 
 
 Pala. [Aside.] Now am I confident we had all four the same design. 
 'Tis a pretty odd kind of game this, where each of us plays for double 
 stakes: this is just thrust and parry with the same motion; I am to get 
 his wife, and yet to guard my own mistress. But I am vilely suspicious 
 that, while I conquer in the right wing, I shall be routed in the left ; for 
 130 both our women will certainly betray their party, because they are each 
 of them for gaining of two, as well as we ; and I much fear, 
 
 If their necessities and ours were known. 
 
 They have more need of two, then we of one. 
 
 [Exeunt, embracing one another. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 Enter Leonidas, musing; Amalthea, following him. 
 
 Amal. Yonder he is; and I must speak, or die; 
 And yet 'tis death to speak: yet he must know 
 I have a passion for him, and may know it 
 "With a less blush; because to offer it 
 To his low fortunes, shows I lov'd before 
 His person, not his greatness. 
 
 Leon. First scorn'd, and now commanded from the court! 
 The king is good; but he is wrought to this 
 By proud Argaleon's malice. 
 10 What more disgrace can love and fortune join 
 T' inflict upon one man? I cannot now 
 Behold my dear Palmyra: she, perhaps, too. 
 Is grown asham'd of a mean ill-plac'd love. 
 
 Amal. [Aside.] Assist me, Venus, for I tremble when 
 I am to speak, but I must force myself. 
 
 [To him.] Sir, I would crave but one short minute with you, 
 And some few words. 
 
 Leon. [Aside.] The proud Argaleon's sister! 
 
 120. avow] QIF. vow Q2Q3. 
 
 apparence] Ql. appearance Q2Q3F SsM. 
 
 123. [Embraces] QqF. [Embrace] SsM. 
 
 124. n'oicn] SsM. none QqF. 
 
 125. am I] QIF. / am Q2Q3 SsM.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE I 191 
 
 Amal. [Aside] Alas! it will not out; sliamc stops my mouth. 
 [To him.] Pardon my error, sir; I was mistaken, 
 20 And took you for another. 
 
 Leon. [Aside.] In spite of all his guards, I'll see Palmyra; 
 Tho' meanly born, I have a kingly soul yet. 
 
 Amal. [Aside.] I stand upon a precipice, where fain 
 I would retire, but love still thrusts me on: 
 Now I grow bolder, and will speak to him. 
 [To him.] Sir, 'tis indeed to you that I would speak, 
 And if 
 
 Leon. O, you are sent to scorn my fortunes: 
 Your sex and beauty are your privilege; 
 
 But should your brother 
 
 30 Amal. Now he looks angry, and I dare not speak. 
 I had some business with you, sir, 
 But 'tis not worth your knowledge. 
 
 Leon. Then 'twill be charity to let me mourn 
 My griefs alone, for I am much disorder'd. 
 
 Amal. 'Twill be more charity to mourn 'em with you: 
 Heav'n knows I pity you. 
 
 Leo7i. Your pity, madam, 
 
 Is generous, but 'tis unavailable. 
 
 Amal. You know not till 'tis tried. 
 Your sorrows are no secret; you have lost 
 40 A crown, and mistress. 
 
 Leon. Are not these enough? 
 
 Hang two such weights on any other soul. 
 And see if it can bear 'em. 
 
 Amal. More; you are banish'd, by my brother's means, 
 And ne'er must hope again to see your princess ^ 
 Except as pris'ners view fair walks and streets. 
 And careless passengers going by their grates, 
 To make 'em feel the want of liberty. 
 But, worse then all, 
 
 The king this morning has injoin'd his daughter 
 50 T' accept my brother's love. 
 
 Leon. Is this your pity? 
 
 You aggravate my griefs, and print 'em deeper, 
 In new and heavier stamps. 
 
 Amal. 'Tis as physicians show the desperate ill, 
 T' indear their art by mitigating pains 
 They cannot wholly cure. When you despair 
 Of all you wish, some part of it, because 
 Unhop'd for, may be grateful; and some other 
 
 Leon. What other? 
 
 Amal. Some other may 
 
 [Aside.] My shame again has sciz'd me, and I can go 
 
 19. [To him.] Not in QqF SsM. 
 
 22. vet] QqF. SsM omit. 
 
 56. you wish] Q1Q2F. ^ou^■ wish Q3.
 
 192 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 60 No farther. 
 
 Leon. These often failing sighs and interruptions 
 Make me imagine you have grief like mine: 
 Have you ne'er lov'd? 
 
 Amul. 1? never! [Aside] 'Tis in vain: 
 
 I must despair in silence. 
 
 Leon. You come as I suspected, then, to mock, 
 At least observe my griefs. Take it not ill 
 That I must leave you. [7s going. 
 
 Amal. You must not go with these unjust opinions. 
 Command my life and fortunes: you are wise; 
 70 Think, and think well, what I can do to serve you. 
 
 Leon. I have but one thing in my thoughts and wishes: 
 If, by your means, I can obtain the sight 
 Of my ador'd Palmyra; or, what's harder, 
 
 One minute's time, to tell her I die hers — [She starts bach. 
 
 I see I am not to expect it from you; 
 Nor could, indeed, with reason. 
 
 Amal. Name any other thing! Is Amalthea 
 So despicable, she can serve your wishes 
 In this alone? 
 
 Leon. If I should ask of heav'n, 
 
 80 I have no other suit. 
 
 Amal. To show you, then, I can deny you nothing, 
 Tho' 'tis more hard to me then any other, 
 Yet I will do 't for you. 
 
 Leon. Name quickly, name the means! speak, my good angel! 
 
 Amal. Be not so much o'erjoy'd; for, if you are, 
 I'll rather die then do 't. This night the court 
 Will be in masquerade: 
 You shall attend on me; in that disguise 
 You may both see and speak to her, 
 90 If you dare venture it. 
 
 Leon. Yes; were a god her guardian. 
 And bore in each hand thunder, I would venture. 
 
 Anmh Farewell, then; two hours hence I will expect you: 
 My heart's so full that I can stay no longer. [Exit. 
 
 Leon. Already it grows dusky: I'll prepare 
 With haste for my disguise. But who are these? 
 
 Enter Hermcgenes and Eubulus. 
 
 "Her. 'Tis he; we need not fear to speak to him. 
 Euh. Lconidas. 
 
 Leon. Sure I have known that voice. 
 
 Her. You have some reason, sir: 'tis Eubulus, 
 100 Who bred you with the princess; and, departing, 
 Bequeath'd you to my care. 
 
 61. failing sighs] QIF. failings, sighs Q2Q3. 
 
 87. masquerade] Italics in Qq ; no italics in F SsM. 
 
 98. Leonidas.] QqF. Leonidas? SsM.
 
 ACT TV, SCENE I 193 
 
 Leon. My foster father! let my knees express 
 My joys for your returu! [Kneeling. 
 
 Eub. Else, sir; you must not kneel. 
 
 Leon. E'er since you left me, 
 
 I have been wand'ring in a maze of fate, 
 Led by false fires of a fantastic glory, 
 And the vain luster of imagin'd crowns. 
 But, all ! why would you leave me ? or how could you 
 Absent yourself so long? 
 110 Eub. I'll give you a most just account of both: 
 And something more I have to tell you, wliich 
 1 know must cause your wonder; but this place, 
 Tho' almost hid in darkness, is not safe. 
 
 Already I discern some coming towards us [Torches appear. 
 
 "With lights, who may discover me. Hermogenes, 
 Your lodgings are hard by, and much more private. 
 
 Her. There you may freely speak. 
 
 Leon. Let us make haste; 
 
 For some affairs, and of no small importance. 
 Call me another way. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Palamede and Ehodophil, with Vizor-Masks in their Hands, and 
 
 Torches before 'em. 
 
 220 Pala. We shall have noble sport to-night, Rhodophil; this masque- 
 rading is a most glorious invention. 
 
 Eho. 1 believe it was invented first by some jealous lover, to discover 
 the haunts of his jilting mistress; or, perhaps, by some distress'd servant, 
 to gain an opportunity with a jealous man's wife. 
 
 Pala. No, it must be the invention of a woman, it has so much of 
 subtilty and love in it. 
 
 Eho. I am sure 'tis extremely pleasant; for to go unknown is the 
 next degree to going invisible. 
 
 Pala. What with our antique habits and feign'd voices: "Do you 
 130 know- me?" and, "I know you," methinks we move and talk just like so 
 many overgrown puppets. 
 
 Mho. Masquerade is only vizor-mask improv'd ; a height'ning of the 
 same fashion. 
 
 Pala. No, masquerade is vizor-mask in debauch, and I like it the 
 better for 't: for, with a vizor-mask, we fool ourselves into courtship, 
 for the sake of an eye that glanc'd, or a hand that stole itself out of the 
 glove sometimes, to give us a sample of the skin; but in masquerade 
 there is nothing to be known, she's all terra incognita; and the bold dis- 
 coverer leaps ashore, and takes his lot among the wild Indians and sal- 
 
 112. Arnoir] QIF. now Q2Q?.. 
 
 (Enter I'ala.mkde. Ptc. ] Here SsM insert Scene II. But the mention of 
 torches just above shows that the action is continuous. QqF. though they 
 number the scenes of this plav, here make no division. 
 
 12S. noino invisible] QIF. jo invinihlc Q2Q."?. 
 
 120. uilh our antique] QnF\ except that Qo reads tcithout by an obvious 
 misprint, tvith our antic SsM.
 
 194 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 140 vages, without the vile consideration of safety to his person, or of 
 beauty or wholesomeness in his mistress. 
 
 Enter Beliza. 
 
 Eho. Beliza, what make you here? 
 
 Bel. Sir, my lady sent me after you, to let you know she finds her- 
 self a little iudispos'd; so that she cannot be at court, but is retir'd to 
 rest in her own apartment, where she shall want the happiness of your 
 dear embraces to-night. 
 
 £ho. A very fine phrase, Beliza, to let me know my wife desires to 
 lie alone. 
 
 Fala. I doubt, Rhodophil, you take the pains sometimes to instruct 
 150 your wife's woman in these elegancies. 
 
 Eho. Tell my dear lady, that since I must be so unhappy as not to 
 wait on her to-night, I will lament bitterly for her absence. 'Tis true 
 I shall be at court, but I will take no divertisement there; and when I 
 return to my solitary bed, if I am so forgetful of my passion as to sleep, 
 I will dream of her; and, betwixt sleep and waking, put out my foot 
 towards her side, for midnight consolation; and, not finding her, I will 
 sigh, and imagine myself a most desolate widower. 
 
 Bel. I shall do your commands, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Eho. [Aside.] She's sick as aptly for my purpose, as if she had con- 
 160 triv'd it so. Well, if ever woman was a help-meet for man, my spouse is 
 so; for within this hour I receiv'd a note from Melantha, that she would 
 meet me this evening in masquerade, in boy's habit, to rejoice with me 
 before she enter'd into fetters; for I find she loves me better then 
 Palamede only because he's to be her husband. There's something of 
 antipathy in the word marriage to the nature of love: marriage is the 
 mere ladle of affection, that cools it when 'tis never so fiercely boiling 
 over. 
 
 Pala. Dear Rhodophil, I must needs beg your pardon ; there is an 
 occasion fall'n out vvhich I had forgot: I cannot be at court to-night. 
 170 Eho. Dear Palamede, I am sorry we shall not have one course to- 
 gether at the herd ; but I find your game lies single : good fortune to 
 you with your mistress. [Exit. 
 
 Pala. He has wish'd me good fortune with his wife; there's no sin in 
 this then, there's fair leave given. Well, I must go visit the sick; I can- 
 not resist the temptations of my charity. what a difference will she 
 find betwixt a dull resty husband, and a quick vigorous lover! He sets 
 out like a carrier's horse, plodding on, because he knows he must, with 
 the bells of matrimony chiming so melancholy about his neck, in pain 
 till he's at his journey's end; and, despairing to get thither, he is fain 
 180 to fortify imagination with the thoughts of another woman: I take heat 
 after heat, like a well-breath'd courser, and — But hark, what noise is 
 that? Swords! [Clashing of swords within.] Nay, then, have with 
 you. [Exit Pala. 
 
 1.50. icoiiwn] Q1Q2F. women Q3. 
 
 160. a help-meet] Qq. F omits a. a help-mate SsM. 
 ior man] Q1Q2F. for a man Q3.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE II 195 
 
 Reenter Palamede, icitli Ehodophil; and Doralice in 
 
 marl's habit. 
 
 Bho. Friend, your relief was very timely; otherwise I had teen 
 oppress'd. 
 
 Pala. What was the quarrel? 
 
 EJio. What I did was in rescue of tliis youth. 
 
 Pala. What cause could he give 'em ? 
 
 Dor. The cause was notliiug but only the common cause of fighting 
 90 in masquerades : they were drunk, and I was sober. 
 
 Eho. Have they not hurt you? 
 
 Dor. No; but I am exceeding ill with the fright on 't. 
 
 Pala. Let's lead him to some place where he may refresh himself. 
 
 Eho. Do you conduct him then. 
 
 Pala. [Aside.] How cross this happens to my design of going to 
 Doralice; for I am confident she was sick on purpose that I should visit 
 her! Hark you, Ehodophil, could not you take care of the stripling? 1 
 am partly engag'd to-night. 
 
 Bho. You know I have business; but come, youth, if it must be so. 
 100 Dor. [To Rho.] No, good sir, do not give yourself that trouble; I 
 shall be safer and better picas'd with your friend here. 
 
 Eho. Farewell, then ; once more I wish you a good adventure. 
 
 Pala. Damn this kindness! Now must I be troubled with this 
 young rogue, and miss my opportunity with Doralice. 
 
 [Exit Eho. alone; Pala. with Dor. 
 
 SCENE IT 
 
 Enter Polydamas. 
 
 Poly. Argaleon counsel'd well to banish him; 
 He has I know not what 
 
 Of greatness in his looks, and of high fate, 
 That almost awes me; but I fear my daughter, 
 Who hourly moves me for him ; and I mark'd, 
 She sigh'd when I but nam'd Argaleon to her. 
 But see, the maskers: hence, my cares, this night! 
 At least take truce, and find me on my pillow. 
 
 Enter the Princess in masquerade, tvith Ladies. At the other 
 end, Argaleon and Gentlemen in masquerade ; tlicn Leox- 
 IDAS leading Amalthea. The King sits. A Dance. After 
 the Dance. 
 
 Amah [To Leon.] That's the princess; 
 10 I saw the habit ere she put it on. 
 
 Leon. I know her by a thousand other signs; 
 
 184. very] QqF. Omitted bv Ss;M. 
 
 190. and 1] QqF. as I SsM. 
 
 197. the] Q1Q2F. this Q3. 
 
 3. of high] Q1Q2F. high of Q:i.
 
 196 MAKRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 She cannot hide so much divinity: 
 
 Disguis'd, and silent, yet some graceful motion 
 
 Breaks from her, and shines round her like a glory. [Goes to Palmyra 
 
 Amal. Thus she reveals herself, and knows it not: 
 Like love's dark lantern, I direct his &teps, 
 And yet he sees not that which gives him light. 
 
 Palm, [To Leon.] I know you; but, alas, Leonidas, 
 Why should you tempt this danger on yourself? 
 20 Leon. Madam, you know me not, if you believe 
 I would not hazard greater for your sake. 
 But you, I fear, are chang'd. 
 
 Palm. No, I am still the same; 
 
 But there are many things became Palmyra 
 Which ill become the princess. 
 
 Leon. I ask nothing 
 
 Which honor will not give you leave to grant : 
 One hour's short audience, at my father's house, 
 You cannot sure refuse me. 
 
 Palm. Perhaps I should, did I consult strict virtue; 
 But something must be given to love and you. 
 30 When would you I should come? 
 
 Leon. This evening, with the speediest opportunity. 
 I have a secret to discover to you. 
 Which will surprise and please you. 
 
 Palm. 'Tis enough. 
 
 Go now; for we may be observ'd and known. 
 I trust your honor; give me not occasion 
 To blame myself, or you. 
 
 Leon. You never shall repent your good opinion. 
 
 [Kisses her hand, and Exit, 
 
 Arga. I cannot be deceiv'd; that is the princess: 
 One of her maids betray'd the habit to me. 
 40 But who was he with whom she held discourse? 
 'Tis one she favors, for he kiss'd her hand. 
 Our shapes are like, our habits near the same; 
 She may mistake, and speak to me for him. 
 I am resolv 'd ; I '11 satisfy my doubts, 
 Tho' to be more tormented. 
 
 SONG 
 
 I. 
 
 Whilst Alexis lay press' d 
 
 In her arms he lov'd best, 
 With his hands round her neck, and his head on her breast, 
 "Ee found the fierce pleasure too hasty to stay, 
 50 And his soul in the tempest just flying away. 
 
 19. tJiis'i Q1Q2F. the Q3.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE III 197 
 
 II. 
 
 When Ccclia saw this, 
 
 With a sigh and a kiss, 
 
 She cried: "0 my dear, I am robb'd of my bliss! 
 
 'Tis unkind to your love, and unfaithfully done, 
 
 To leave me behind you, and die all alone." 
 
 III. 
 
 The youth, the' in haste, 
 A7id breathing his last. 
 
 In pity died slowly, while she died more fast; 
 Till at length she cried: "Now, my dear, now let us go; 
 60 Now die, my Alexis, and I will die too!" 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thus intranc'd they did lie, 
 
 Till Alexis did try 
 
 To recover new breath, that again he might die: 
 
 Then often they died; but the more they did so. 
 
 The nymph died more quick, and the shepherd more slow. 
 
 Another Dance. After it, Argaleon reenters, and 
 stands by the Princess. 
 
 Palm. \To Arga.] Leonidas, what means this quick return? 
 
 Arga. O heav'n! 'tis what I fear'd. 
 
 Palm. Is aught of moment happen'd since you went? 
 
 Arga. No, maJam; but I understood not fully 
 70 Your last commands. 
 
 Palm. And yet you answer'd to 'em. 
 
 Retire; you are too indiscreet a lover: 
 I'll meet you where I promis'd. [Exit. 
 
 Arga. O my curst fortune! What have I discover'd! 
 But I will be revcng'd. [Whispers to the King. 
 
 Poly. But arc you certain you are not deceiv'd? 
 
 Arga. Upon my life. 
 
 Poly. Her honor is concern'd. 
 
 Somewhat I'll do; but I am yet distracted, 
 And know not where to fix. I wish'd a child, 
 And heav'n, in anger, granted my request. 
 80 So blind we are, our wishes are so vain, 
 
 That what we most desire proves most our pain. [Exeu7it omnes. 
 
 SCENE III 
 
 An Eating-house. Bottles of Wine on the tabic. Palamede, 
 and DORALICE in Man's Habit. 
 
 Dor. [Aside.] Now cannot I find in my heart to discover myself, 
 tho' 1 long he should know nio. 
 
 6G. [To Abga.] Omitted In Q3.
 
 198 MAEEIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Pala. I toll thee, boy, now I have seen thee safe, I must be gone: 
 I have no leisure to throw away on thy raw conversation; I am a person 
 that understand batter things, I. 
 
 Dor. Were I a woman, O how you'd admire me ; cry up every word 
 I said, and screw your face into a submissive smile; as I have seen 
 a dull gallant act wit, and counterfeit pleasantness, when he whispers 
 to a great person in a playhouse; smile, and look briskly, when the other 
 10 answers, as if something of extraordinary had pass'd betwixt 'em, when, 
 heaven knows, there was nothing else but: "What a clock does your 
 lordship think it is?'' And my lord's repertee is: " 'Tis almost park- 
 time:" or, at most: "Shall we out of the pit, and go behind the scenes 
 for an act or two?' And yet such fine things as these would be wit in a 
 mistress's mouth. 
 
 Pala. Aye, boy; there's dame Nature in the ease: he who cannot 
 find wit in a mistress deserves to find nothing else, boy. But these are 
 riddles to thee, child, and I have not leisure to instruct thee ; I have af- 
 fairs to dispatch, great affairs; I am a man of business. 
 20 Dor. Come, you shall not go: you have no affairs but what you 
 may dispatch here, to my knowledge. 
 
 Pala. I find now, thou art a boy of more understanding then I 
 thought thee; a very lewd wicked boy. O' my conscience, thou wouldst 
 debauch me, and hast some evil designs upon my person. 
 
 Dor. You are mista'Kcn, sir; I would only have you show me a more 
 lawful reason why you would leave me, then I can why you should not, 
 and I '11 not stay you ; for I am not so young but I understand the 
 necessities of flesh and blood, and the pressing occasions of mankind, as 
 well as you. 
 30 Pala. A very forward and understanding boy! Thou art in great 
 danger of a page's wit, to be brisk at fourteen, and dull at twenty. But 
 I'll give thee no further account; I must, and will go. 
 
 Dor. My life on 't, your mistress is not at home. 
 
 Pala. This imp will make me very angry. — I tell thee, young sir, 
 she is at homo, and at home for me; and, which is more, she is abed for 
 me, and sick for me. 
 
 Dor. For you only? 
 
 Pala. Aye, for me only. 
 
 Dor. But how do you know she's sick abed? 
 40 Pala. She sent her husband word so. 
 
 Dor. And are you such a novice in love, to believe a wife's message 
 to her husband? 
 
 Pala. Why, what the devil should be her meaning else? 
 
 Dor. It may be, to go in masquerade, as well as you; to observe your 
 haunts, and keep you company without your knowledge. 
 
 Pala. Nay, I '11 trust her for that. She loves me too well to disguise 
 herself from me. 
 
 Dor. If I were she, I would disguise on purpose to try your wit; 
 and come to my servant like a riddle: "Eead me, and take me." 
 
 fi. understand] QqF. vnderifnnda SsM. 
 16. there's dame Xatiire] QqF. there dame Xature's SsM.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE Til 199 
 
 50 Pala. I could know her in any shape. My good genius would 
 prompt me to find out a handsome woman: there's something in her that 
 woiiM attract me to her without my knowledge. 
 
 Dor. Then you make a loadstone of your mistress? 
 
 Pala. Yes, and I carry steel about me which has been so often 
 touch'd that it never fails to point to the north pole. 
 
 Dor. Yet still my mind gives me that you have met her disguis'd 
 to-night, and have not known her. 
 
 Pala. This is the most pragmatical conceited little fellow; he will 
 needs understand my business better then myself. I tell thee, once more, 
 60 thou dost not know my mistress. 
 
 Dor. And I tell you once more, that I know her better then you do. 
 
 Pala. The boy's resolv'd to have the last word. I find I must go 
 without reply. [Exit. 
 
 Dor. Ah mischief, I have lost him with my fooling. Palamede, 
 Palamede! 
 
 ne returns. She plucks off her peruke, and puts it on again 
 
 when he knows her. 
 Pala. O heavens! Is it you, madam? 
 
 Dor. Now, where was your good genius, that would prompt you to 
 find me out? 
 
 Pala. Why, you see I was not decciv'd ; you yourself were my good 
 70 genius. 
 
 Dor. But where was the steel that kncAV the loadstone? Ha? 
 Pala. The truth is, madam, the steel has lost its virtue: and, there- 
 fore, if you please, we'll new touch it. 
 
 Enter Ehodophil, and Melantha in Boy's habit. Ehodophil 
 sees Palamede kissing Doralice's Itand. 
 
 Eho. Palamede again! Am I fall'n into your quarters? What? 
 Ingaging with a boy? Is all honorable? 
 
 Pala. O, very honorable on my side. I was just chastising this 
 young villain; he was running away without paying his share of the 
 reckoning. 
 
 Bho. Then I find I was dceeiv'd in him. 
 80 Pala. Yes, you are decciv'd in him ; 'tis the archest rogue, if you 
 did but know him. 
 
 Mel. Good Ehodophil, let us get off a la derobee, for fear I should 
 be discover'd. 
 
 Bho. There's no retiring now; I warrant you for discovery. Now 
 have I the oddest thought, to entertain you before your servant's face, 
 and he never the wiser; "t will be the prettiest juggling trick, to cheat 
 him when he looks upon us. 
 
 Mel. This is the strangest caprice in you. 
 
 Pala. [To DORALICE.] This Ehodophil 's the unluckiest fellow to 
 
 ni. in ho] QqF. Omitted in SsM. 
 
 .^4. carry stall QUi^F. carry a steel Q.i. 
 
 72. has] Qll'\ hath Q2Q:!. 
 
 88. caprico) Q(iK have italics, wliich ari' omitted in SsM.
 
 200 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 90 me! This is now the second time he has barr'd the dice when we were 
 just ready to have nick'd him; but if ever I get the box again — 
 
 Dor. Do you think he will not know me? Am I like myself? 
 
 Pala. No more then a picture in the hangings. 
 
 Dor. Nay, then he can never discover me, now the wrong side of the 
 arras is turn'd towards him. 
 
 Pala. At least, 't will be some pleasure to me to enjoy what free- 
 dom I can while he looks on; I will storm the outworks of matrimony 
 even before his face. 
 
 Eho. What wine have you there, Palamede? 
 100 Pala. Old Chios, or the rogue 's damn'd that drew it. 
 
 Eho. Come — to the most constant of mistresses! That, I believe, is 
 yours, Palamede. 
 
 Dor. Pray spare your seconds; for my part I am but a weak 
 brother. 
 
 Pala. Now, to the truest of turtles! That is your wife, Rhodophil, 
 that lies sick at home in the bed of honor. 
 
 Eho. Now let 's have one common health, and so have done. 
 
 Dor. Then, for once, I"ll begin it. Hero's to him that has the fairest 
 lady of Sicily in masquerade to-night! 
 110 Pala. This is suc-h an obliging health, I'll kiss thee, dear rogue, for 
 thy invention. [Kisses her. 
 
 Eho. He, who has tliis lady, is a happy man, without dispute. 
 [Aside.] I'm most concern'd in this, I am sure. 
 
 Pala. Was it not well found out, Rhodophil? 
 
 Mel. Aye, this was bien trouve indeed. 
 
 Dor. [To Melantha.] I suppose I shall do you a kindness, to en- 
 quire if you have not been in France, sir? 
 
 Mel. To do you service, sir. 
 
 Dor. O, monsieur, vot valet bien humble. [Saluting her. 
 
 120 Mel. Voire esclave, monsieur, de tout mon cceur. 
 
 [Eeturning the salute. 
 
 Dor. I suppose, sweet sir, you are the hope and joy of some thriving 
 citizen, who has pinch'd himself at home, to breed you abroad, where 
 you have learnt your exercises, as it appears, most awkwardly, and are 
 return'd, with the addition of a new-lae'd bosom and a clap, to your good 
 old father, who looks at you with his mouth, while you spout French 
 with your man monsieur. 
 
 Pala. Let me kiss thee again for that, dear rogue. 
 
 Mel. And you, I imagine, are my young master, whom your mother 
 durst not trust upon salt water, but left you to be your own tutor at 
 180 fourteen, to be very brisk and cntreprenant, to endeavor to be de- 
 bauch'd ere you have learnt the knack on 't, to value yourself upon a 
 clap before you can get it, and to make it the height of your ambition 
 to get a player for your mistress. 
 
 110, 120. vot . . . Votr&l QqF. votre . . . votre SsM. 
 126. man monsieur] Q1Q2F SsM ; Q1Q2F print both words in italics ; 
 SsM. neither of them, mon monsieur Q3, with both words in italics. 
 i:n. on't] QqP. of it SsM.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE III 201 
 
 Hho. [Embracing Melantha.] O dear young bully, thou hast tickled 
 him uith a reperiee, i' faith. 
 
 Mel. You are one of those that applaud our country plays, where 
 drums, and trumpets, and blood, and wounds, are wit. 
 
 Eho. Again, my boy? Let me kiss thee most abundantly. 
 
 Dor. You are an admirer of the dull French poetry, which is so 
 
 140 thin that it is the very leaf-gold of wit, the very wafers and whipp'd 
 
 cream of sense, for which a man opens his mouth and gapes, to swallow 
 
 nothing. And to be an admirer of such profound dulness, one must be 
 
 endow'd with a great perfection of impudence and ignorance. 
 
 Pala. Let me embrace thee most vehemently. 
 
 Mel. I'll sacrifice my life for French poetry. [Advancing. 
 
 Dor. I'll die upon the spot for our country wit. 
 
 Hho. [To Melantha.] Hold, hold, young Mars! Palamede, draw 
 back your hero. 
 
 Paid. 'Tis time; I shall be drawn in for a second else at the wrong 
 150 weapon. 
 
 Mel. O that I were a man, for thy sake! 
 
 Dor. You'll be a man as soon as I shall. 
 
 Enter a Messenger to Ehodophil. 
 Mess. Sir, the king has instant business with you. 
 I saw the guard drawn up by your lieutenant. 
 Before the palace gate, ready to march. 
 
 Eho. 'Tis somewhat sudden; say that I am coming. 
 
 [Exit Messenger. 
 Now, Palamede, what think you of this sport? 
 This is some sudden tumult; will you along? 
 
 Pala. Yes, yes, I will go ; but the devil take me if ever I was less 
 160 in humor. Why the pox could they not have stay'd their tumult till to- 
 morrow ? Then I had done my business, and beer ready for 'em. Truth 
 is, I had a little transitory crime to have committed first; and I am the 
 worst man in the world at repenting, till a sin be throughly done. But 
 what shall we do with the two boys? 
 
 Eho. Let them take a lodging in the house, till the business be over. 
 Dor. What, lie with a boy? For my part, I own it, I cannot endure 
 to lie with a boy. 
 
 Pala. The more 's my sorrow, I cannot accommodate you with a 
 better bedfellow. 
 170 Mel. Let me die, if I enter into a pair of sheets with him that hates 
 the French. 
 
 Dor. Pish, take no care for us, but leave us in the streets. I war- 
 rant you, as late as it is, I'll find my lodging as well as any drunken 
 bully of "em all. 
 
 Eho. [Aside.] I'll fight in more revenge, and wreak my passion 
 On all that spoil this hopeful assignation. 
 Pala. I'm sure we fight in a good quarrel: 
 Rogues may pretend religion, and the laws; 
 But a kind mistress is tiie Good Old Cause. [Exeunt. 
 
 16.">. Let Ihcm] QIF. Let 'rm t22Q:i. 
 
 17!) Good Old Cause] Italics in (JqF, not in SsM.
 
 202 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 SCENE IV 
 
 [In the house of Hermogenes.] 
 Enter Palmyra, Eubulus, Hermogenes. 
 
 Palm. You tell me wonders; that Leonidas 
 Is Prince Theagenes, the late king's son. 
 
 Eub. It seem'd as strange to him, as now to you, 
 Before I had convinc'd him ; but, besides 
 His great resemblance to the king his father, 
 The queen his mother lives, secur'd by me 
 In a religious house, to whom, each year, 
 I brought the news of his increasing virtues. 
 My last long absence from you both was caus'd 
 10 By wounds, which in my journey I receiv'd. 
 When set upon by thieves; I lost those jewels. 
 And letters which your dying mother left. 
 
 Eerm. The same he means, which since, brought to the king, 
 Made him first know he had a child alive: 
 'Twas then my care of Prince Leonidas 
 Caus'd me to say he was the usurper's son; 
 Till after, forc'd by your apparent danger, 
 I made the true discovery of your birth. 
 And once more hid my prince's. 
 
 Enter Leonidas. 
 
 20 Leon. Hermogenes, and Eubulus, retire; 
 
 Those of our party whom I left without 
 
 Expect your aid and counsel. [Exeunt amho. 
 
 Palm. I should, Leonidas, congratulate 
 
 This happy change of your exalted fate; 
 
 But, as my joy, so you my wonder move. 
 
 Your looks have more of business then of love; 
 
 And your last words some great design did show. 
 Leon. I frame not any to be hid from you. 
 
 You, in my love, all my designs may see; 
 30 But what have love and you design'd for me? 
 
 Fortune, once more, has set the balance right; 
 
 First, equal'd us in lowness; then, in height. 
 
 Both of us have so long, like gamesters, thrown, 
 
 Till fate comes round, and gives to each his own. 
 
 As fate is equal, so may love appear: 
 
 [ScKXE I VI QqF Ss^vr do not indicate the place of this scone. But Leonidas 
 has obtained from I'almyra (p. 196 1. 2(\) an audience at his father's 
 house, which she is now granting him. The mention of an inner room 
 (p. 204 1. 115) shows that we are no longer in the tcalks near the court. 
 
 14. knoir he] QlQ2r. knoir thai he Q.3. 
 
 21. /] QIF. ue Q2Q:;.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE IV 203 
 
 Tell me, at least, what I must hope, or fear. 
 
 Falm. After so many proofs, how can you call 
 My love in doubt? Fear nothing, and hope all. 
 Think what a prince, with honor, may receive, 
 40 Or I may give, without a parent's leave. 
 
 Leon. You give, and then restrain the grace you show- 
 As ostentatious priests, when souls they woo, ' 
 Promise their heav'n to all, but grant to few. 
 Bu* do for me, what 1 have darVl for you. 
 I did no argument from duty bring: 
 Duty's a name, and love's a real thing. 
 
 Palm. Man's love may, like wild torrents, overflow; 
 Woman's as deep, but in its banks must go. 
 My love is mine, and that I can impart; 
 50 But cannot give my person with my heart. 
 Leon. Your love is then no gift: 
 For, when the person it does not convey, 
 'Tis to give gold, and not to give the key. 
 Palm. Then ask my father. 
 Leon. He detains my throne; 
 
 Who holds back mine, will hardly give his own. 
 Palm. What then remains? 
 
 Leon. That I must have recourse 
 
 To arms, and take my love and crown by force. 
 Hermogenes is forming the design; 
 And with him all the brave and loyal join. 
 60 Palm. And is it thus you court Palmyra's bed? 
 Can she the murd'rer of her parent wed? 
 Desist from force: so much you well may give 
 To love, and me, to let my father live. 
 
 Leon. Each act of mine my love to you has shown; 
 But you, who tax my want of it, have none. 
 You bid mc part with you, and let him live; 
 But they should nothing ask, who nothing give. 
 
 Palm. I give what virtue, and what duty can, 
 In vowing ne'er to wed another man. 
 70 Leon. You will be forc'd to be Argaleon's wife. 
 Palm. I'll keep my promise, tho' I lose my life. 
 Leon. Then you lose love, for which we both contend; 
 For life is but the means, but love 's the end. 
 Palm. Our souls shall love hereafter. 
 
 ■^^o"- I much fear ^ 
 
 That soul, which could deny the body here K 
 
 To taste of love, would be a niggard there. J 
 
 Palm. Then 'tis past hope: our cruel fate, I see, 
 Will make a sad divorce 'twixt you and me. 
 For, if you force employ, by heav'n I swear, 
 80 And all blest beings, 
 
 Leon. Your rash oath forbear. 
 
 Palm. I never
 
 204 ' MARKtAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Leon. Hold once more. But yet, as he 
 
 Who scapes a dang'rous leap looks back to see; 
 So I desire, now I am past my fear. 
 To know what was that oath you meant to swear. 
 
 Palm. I meant, that if you hazarded your life, 
 Or sought my father's, ne'er to be your wife. 
 
 Leon. See now. Palmyra, how unkind you prove! 
 Could you, with so much ease, forswear my love? 
 
 Palm. You force me with your ruinous design. 
 90 Leon. Your father's life is more your care then mine. 
 
 Palm. You wrong me: 'tis not, tho' it ought to be; 
 You are my care, heav'n knows, as well as he. 
 
 Leon. If now the execution I delay. 
 My honor, and my subjects, I betray. 
 All is prepar'd for the just enterprise; 
 And the whole city will to-morrow rise. 
 The leaders of the party are within, "^ 
 
 And Eubulus has sworn that he will bring, > 
 To head their arms, the person of their king. J 
 100 Palm. In telling this, you make me guilty too; 
 I therefore .nust discover what I know: 
 What honor bids you do, nature bids me prevent; 
 But kill me first, and then pursue your black intent. 
 
 Leon. Palmyra, no; you shall not need to die; 
 Yet I'll not trust so strict a piety. 
 Within there! 
 
 Enter Eubulus. 
 
 Eubulus, a guard prepare; 
 Here, I commit this pris'ner to your care. 
 
 [Kisses Palmyra's hand, then gives it to Eubulus. 
 Palm. Leonidas, I never thought these bands 
 Could e'er be giv'n me by a lover's hands. 
 110 Leon. Palmyra, thus your judge himself arraigns; [Kneeling. 
 
 He, who impos'd these bonds, still wears your chains: 
 When you to love or duty false must be, 
 Or to your father guilty, or to me, 
 
 These chains, alone, remain to set you free. [Noise of swords clashing. 
 Poly. [ Within.] Secure these, first : then search the inner room, 
 Leo7i. From whence do these tumultuous clamors come? 
 
 Enter Hermogenes, hastily. 
 
 Herm. We are betray'd; and there remains alone 
 This comfort, that your person is not known. 
 
 99. their king] Q1Q2F. the king Q3. 
 
 100. make tne] QqF. 7nay be SsM. 
 
 105. I'll] QIF. / icill Q2Q3. 
 
 111. bonds] QIF. hands Q2Q3 SsM.
 
 ACT V 205 
 
 Enter the King, Argaleon, Rhodophil, Palamede, Guards; 
 some, like citizens, as prisoners. 
 
 Poly. What mean these midnight consultations here, 
 120 Where I like an unsummon'd guest appear? 
 
 Leon. Sir 
 
 Arga. There needs no excuse; 'tis understood; 
 
 You were all watching for your prince's good. 
 
 Poly. My reverend city friends, you are well met! 
 On what great work were your grave wisdoms set? 
 Which of my actions were you scanning here? 
 What French invasion have you found to fear? 
 
 Leon. They are my friends; and come, sir, with intent 
 To take their leaves, before my banishment. 
 
 Poly. Your exile in both sexes friends can find; 
 130 I see the ladies, like the men, are kind. [Seeing Palmyra. 
 
 Palm. Alas, I came but [Kneeling. 
 
 Poly. Add not to your crime 
 
 A lie: I'll hear you speak some other time. 
 How? Eubulus! Nor time, nor thy disguise. 
 Can keep thee undiscover'd from my eyes. 
 A guard there! seize 'em all. 
 
 £ho. Yield, sir; what use of valor can be shown? 
 
 Pala. One, and unarm'd, against a multitude? 
 
 Leon. O for a sword! 
 
 [He reaches at one of the Guards' halberds, and is seiz'd behind. 
 I wonnot lose my breath 
 In fruitless pray'rs; but beg a speedy death. 
 140 Palm. O spare Leonidas, and punish me! 
 
 Poly. Mean girl, thou want'st an advocate for thee. 
 Now the mysterious knot will be untied ; 
 Whether the young king lives, or where he died : 
 To-morrow's dawn shall the dark riddle clear. 
 Crown aU my joys, and dissipate my fear. [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 ACT V 
 
 Palamede, Straton. Palamede with a letter in his hand. 
 
 Pala. This evening, say'st thou? Will they both be here? 
 
 Stra. Yes, sir, both my old master, and your mistress's father. The 
 old gentlemen ride hard this journey; they say it shall be the last time 
 they will see the town; and both of 'em are so pleas'd with this mar- 
 riage which they have concluded for you, that I am afraid they will live 
 some years longer to trouble you, with the joy of it. 
 
 Pala. But this is such an unreasonable thing, to impose upon me 
 
 110. these] F. this Qq. l>v an ovidcnt misprint. 
 138. ironnot] SsM. tc'iini QIK. trn'iit Q1.>Q3. 
 (SritAToN] Q<\F. ISritATd] SsM. 
 3. gentlemen ride] QIF. (jcntlcinan rid Q2Q3.
 
 206 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 to be married to-morrow; 'tis hurrying a man to execution -without 
 giving him time to say his pray'rs. 
 10 Stra. Yet, if I might advise you, sir, you should not delay it; for 
 your younger brother comes up with 'em, and is got already into their 
 favors. He has gain 'd much upon my old master by finding fault with 
 innkeepers' bills, and by starving us, and our horses, to show his frugal- 
 ity; and he is very well with your mistress's father, by giving him re- 
 ceipts for the spleen, gout and scurvy, and other infirmities of old age. 
 
 Pala. I'll rout him and his country education. Pox on him, I re- 
 member him before I travel'd: he had nothing in him but mere jockey; 
 us'd to talk loud, and make matches, and was all for the crack of the 
 field. Sense and wit were as much banish'd from his discourse, as they 
 20 are when the court goes out of town to a horse race. Go now and pro- 
 vide your master's lodgings. 
 
 Stra. I go, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Pala. It vexes me to the heart, to leave all my designs with Doralice 
 unfinish'd; to have flown her so often to a mark, and still to be bobb'd 
 at retrieve. If I had but once enjoy'd her, tho' I could not have satisfied 
 my stomach with the feast, at least I should have relish'd my mouth a 
 
 little; but now 
 
 Enter Philotis. 
 
 P7ji7. O, sir, you are happily met ; I was coming to find you. 
 
 Pala. From your lady, I hope. 
 30 Phil. Partly from her; but more especially from myself. She has 
 just now receiv'd a letter from her father, with an absolute command 
 to dispose herself to marry you to-morrow. 
 
 Pala. And she takes it to the death? 
 
 Phil. Quite contrary. The letter could never have come in a more 
 lucky minute; for it found her in an ill humor with a rival of yours, 
 that shall be nameless, about the pronounciation of a French word. 
 
 Pala. Count Rhodophil? never disguise it, I know the amour. But 
 I hope you took the occasion to strike in for me? 
 
 Phil. It was my good fortune to do you some small service in it: 
 40 for your sake I discommended him all over, — clothes, person, humor, be- 
 havior, everything; and, to sum up all, told her it was impossible to find 
 a married man that was otherwise; for they were all so mortified at 
 home with their wives' ill humors that they could never recover them- 
 selves to be company abroad. 
 
 Pala. Most divinely urg'd! 
 
 Phil. Then I took occasion to commend your good qualities ; as the 
 sweetness of your humor, the comeliness of your person, your good mien, 
 your valor; but, above all, your liberality. 
 
 Pala. I vow to Gad I had like to have forgot that good quality in 
 50 myself, if thou hadst not remember'd me on "t. Here are five pieces for 
 thee. 
 
 Phil. Lord, you have the softest hand, sir! It would do a woman 
 
 14. receipts^ QqF. recipes SsM. 
 
 2.5. Mt] QqF. Omitted in SsM. 
 
 37. amour] Italics in QqF, not in SsM. 
 
 50. on't] QqF. of it SsM.
 
 ACT V 207 
 
 good to touch it: Count Rhodophirs is not half so soft; for I remember 
 I felt it once, when he gave me ten pieces for my new-year's-gift. 
 
 Pala. O, I understand you, madam; you shall find my hand as soft 
 again as Count RhodophiFs. There are twenty pieces for you. The 
 former was but a retaining fee; now I hope you'll plead for me. 
 
 Phil. Your own merits speak enough. Be sure only to ply her with 
 
 French words, and I'll warrant you'll do your business. Here are a list 
 
 60 of her phrases for this day: use 'em to her upon all occasions, and foil 
 
 her at her own weapon; for she 's like one of the old Amazons, — she'll 
 
 never marry, except it be the man who has first conquer'd her. 
 
 Pala. I'll be sure to follow your advice; but you'll forget to further 
 my design. 
 
 Phil. What, do you think 111 be ungrateful? — But, however, if you 
 distrust my memory, put some token on my finger to remember it by. 
 That diamond there would do ailmirably. 
 
 Pala. There 'tis; and I ask your pardon heartily for calling your 
 memory into question: I assure you I'll trust it another time, without 
 70 putting you to the trouble of another token. 
 
 Enter Palmyra and Artemis. 
 Art. Madam, this way the prisoners are to pass; 
 Here you may see Leonidas. 
 
 Palm. Then here I'll stay, and follow him to death. 
 
 Enter ^Melaxtiia, hastily. 
 
 Mel. O, here 's her highness! Now is my time to introduce myself, 
 and to make my court to her in my new French phrases. Stay, let me 
 read my catalogue — suite, figure, chagrin, naivete, and ''let me die" for 
 the parenthesis of all. 
 
 Pala. [Aside.^ Do, persecute her; and I'll persecute thee as fast in 
 thy own dialect. 
 80 Mel. Madam the princess! Let me die, but this is a most horrid 
 spectacle, to see a person who makes so grand a figure in the court, with- 
 out the suite of a princess, and entertaining your chagrin all alone. — 
 [Aside.] Naivete should have been there, but the disobetlient word 
 would not come in. 
 
 Palm. What is she, Artemis? 
 
 Art. An impertinent lady, madam ; very ambitious of being known 
 to your highness. 
 
 Pala. [To Melantha.] Let me die, madam, if I have not waited you 
 here these two long hours, without so much as the suite of a single 
 90 servant to attend me: entertaining myself with my own chagrin, till I 
 had the honor to see your ladyship, who are a person that makes so con- 
 siderable a figure in the court. 
 
 Mel. Truce with your douceurs, good servant ; you see I am address- 
 ing to the princess; pray do not embarrass me. — Embarrass me! what a 
 
 02. the iiinn] Q1Q2F. a nidii ()'■',. 
 
 81, 92. figure] no ital. in g^F SsM. So on n. Ii08, 1. 108 ; p. 216, II. 465, 
 46G, 467. 
 
 8."?. [Aside] F. Omitted in ()<{. 
 91. In srr] Q(\P. of sctinr/ Ss.M. 
 94. 1o] giQ2F. Oniitti'd in (f,.
 
 208 MAERIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 delicious French wortl do you make me lose upon you too! [To the 
 Princess.] Your highness, madam, uill please to pardon the h6vue 
 which I made, in not sooner finding you out to be a princess: but let 
 me die if this eclaircissement, which is made this day of your quality 
 
 does not ravish me; and give me leave to tell you 
 
 100 Pala. But first give me leave to tell you, madam, that I have so 
 great a tender for your person, and such a panchant to do you service, 
 that 
 
 Mel. What, must I still be troubled with your sottises? (There 's 
 another word lost that I meant for the princess, with a mischief to you!) 
 But your highness, madam 
 
 Pala. But your lactyship, madam 
 
 Enter Leonidas, guarded and led over the stage. 
 
 Mel. Out upon him, how he looks, madam ! Now he 's found no 
 prince, he is the strangest figure of a man; how could I make that coup 
 d'etourdi to think him one? 
 110 Palm. Away, impertinent! — my dear Leonidas! 
 
 Leon. j\ty dear Palmyra! 
 
 Palm. Death shall never part us; 
 
 My destiny is yours. [He is led off, she follows. 
 
 Mel. Impertinent ! O, I am the most unfortunate person this day 
 breathing: that the princess should thus rompre en visiere, without occa- 
 sion. Let me die, but I'll follow her to death, till I make my peace. 
 
 Pala. [Holding her.] And let me die, but I '11 follow you to the in- 
 fernals, till you pity me. 
 
 Mel. [Turning ioicards him angrily.'] Aye, 'tis long of you that this 
 malheur is falln upon me; your impertinence has put me out of the 
 120 good graces of the princess, and all that, which has ruin'd me. and all 
 that, and therefore let me die, but I'll be reveng'd, and all that. 
 
 Pala. Fagon, fagon, you must and shall love me, and all that; for 
 my old man is coming up, and all that; and I am dcsespcre an dernier, 
 and will not be disinherited, and all that. 
 
 Mel. How durst you interrupt me so mat a propos, when you knew I 
 W'as addressing to the princess? 
 
 Pala. But why would you address yourself so much a contretemps 
 then? 
 
 Mel. Ah, mal peste! 
 130 Pala. Ah, j' enrage! 
 
 Phil. Padoucissez vous, de grace, madame; vous etes bien en colere 
 pour peu de chose. Vous n'entendez pas la raillerie galante. 
 
 Mel. A d'auires, a d'autres: he mocks himself of me, he abuses me. 
 Ah me unfortunate! [Cries. 
 
 Phil. You mistake him, madam, he does but accommodate his phrase 
 to your refin'd language. Ah qiCil est un cavalier accompli! Pursue 
 your point, sir [To him. 
 
 Pala. Ah qu'il fait beau dans ces bocages; [Singing.] Ah que le 
 del donne un beau jour! There I was with you, with a minouet. 
 
 110-112. Airni/ pourx^ QqF arrango as vorso : SsM print as prose. 
 
 133. A d'autres] SsM. Ad' autrcs Qq. Ad autres F.
 
 ACT V 209 
 
 140 Mel. Let me die now, but this singing is fine, and extremely French 
 in him. [Laughs.^ But then, that he should use my own words, as it 
 were in contempt of me, I cannot bear it. [Crying. 
 
 Pala. Ces beaux sejours, ccs doux ramages [Singing. 
 
 Mel. Ces beaux sejours, ces doux ramages; [Singing after him.] 
 Ces beaux sejours nous invitent a Vamour! Let me die, but he sings 
 en cavalier, and so humors the cadence! [Laughing. 
 
 Pala. Vois, ma Climene, vois sous ce chene [Singing again.] 
 S' entrebaiser ces oiseaux amoureux ! Let me die now, but that was fine. 
 Ah, now, for three or four brisk Frenchmen, to be put into masking 
 150 habits, and to sing it on a theater, how witty it would be! And then 
 to dance helter skelter to a chanson a boire : Toute la terre, toute la 
 terre est a moil What's matter tho' it were made, and sung, two or 
 three years ago in cabarets, how it would attract the admiration, es- 
 pecially of every one that's an ^veille! 
 
 Mel. Well ; I begin to have a tender for you ; but yet, upon condi- 
 tion, that — when we are married, you 
 
 [Pal. sings, ichile she spealcs. 
 
 Phil. You must drown her voice: if she makes her French condi- 
 tions, you are a slave for ever. 
 
 Mel. First, will you engage — that 
 
 160 Pala. Fa, la, la, la, &c. [Louder. 
 
 Mel. Will you hear the conditions? 
 
 Pala. No; I will hear no conditions! T am resolv'd to win you en 
 frangois: to be very airy, with abundance of noise, and no sense. Fa, 
 la, la, la, &c. 
 
 Mel. Hold, hold; I am vanquish'd with your gaite d'esprit. I am 
 yours, and will be yours, sans nulle reserve, ni condition. And let me die, 
 
 if 1 do not think myself the happiest nymph in Sicily. My dear 
 
 French dear, stay but a minuite, till I raccommode myself with the 
 
 princess; and then I am yours, jusqu'd la mort. Allons done. 
 
 [Exeufit Mel. Phil. 
 170 Pala. [Solus, fanning himself with his hat.] I never thought before 
 that wooing was so laborious an exercise ; if she were worth a million, 
 I have deserv'd her; and now, methinks too, with taking all this pains 
 for her, I begin to like her. 'Tis so ; I have known many who never 
 car'd for hare nor partridge, but those they caught themselves would 
 cat heartily: the pains, and the story a man tells of the taking of 'em, 
 makes the meat go down more pleasantly. Besides, last night I had a 
 sweet dream of her, and, gad, she I have once dream'd of, I am stark 
 mad till I enjoy her, let her be never so ugly. 
 
 Enter Doralice. 
 
 Dor. Who 's that you are so mad to enjoy, Palamede? 
 180 Pala. You may easily imagine that, sweet Doralice. 
 
 Dor. More easily then you think I can. I met just now with a cer- 
 tain man who came to you with letters from a certain old gentleman. 
 
 l.'.n. uiJI ;/oi/l QqF. i/nu will SsM. 
 
 10i>. uiiuuiluj UiiF, with italics, minute SsM, with italics.
 
 210 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 yclip'd your father; ^vhereby I am given to understand that to-morrow 
 you are to take au oath in the church to be grave henceforward, to go 
 ill-dress'd and slovenly, to get heirs for your estate, and to dandle 'em 
 for your diversion; and, in short, that love and courtship are to be no 
 more. 
 
 Pala. Now have I so much shame to be thus apprehended in the 
 manner, that I can neither speak nor look upon you; I have abundance 
 190 of grace in me, that I find. But if you have any spark of true friend- 
 ship in you, retire a little with me to the next room that has a couch or 
 bed in 't, and bestow your charity upon a poor dying man! A little 
 comfort from a mistress, before a man is going to give himself in mar- 
 riage, is as good as a lusty dose of strong-water to a dying male- 
 factor: it takes away the sense of hell and hanging from him. 
 
 Dor. No, good Palamede, I must not be so injurious to your bride. 
 "Tis ill drawing from the bank to-day, when all your ready money is 
 payable to-morrow. 
 
 Pala. A wife is only to have the ripe fruit that falls of itself; but 
 200 a wise man will always preserve a shaking for a mistress. 
 
 l)o>: But a wife for the first quarter is a mistress. 
 
 Pala. But when the second comes 
 
 Dor. When it does come, you are so given to variety that you would 
 make a wife of me in another quarter. 
 
 Pala. No, never, except I were married to you : married people can 
 never oblige one another; for all they do is duty, and consequently there 
 can be no thanks. But love is more frank and generous then he is 
 honest; he 's a liberal giver, but a cursed paymaster. 
 
 Dor. I declare I will have no gallant; but, if I would, he should 
 
 210 never be a married man ; a married man is but a mistress's half-servant, 
 
 as a clergyman is but the king's half-subject. For a man to come to me 
 
 that smells o' th' wife! 'Slife, I would as soon wear her old gown after 
 
 her, as her husband. 
 
 Pala. Yet 'tis a kind of fashion to wear a princess' cast shoes; you 
 see the country ladies buy 'em, to be fine in them. 
 
 Dor. Yes, a princess' shoes may be worn after her, because they 
 keep their fashion, by being so very little us'd; but generally a married 
 man is the creature of the world the most out of fashion: his behavior 
 is dumpish; his discourse, his wife and family; his habit so much neg- 
 220 lected, it looks as if that were married too; his hat is married, his peru'Ke 
 is married, his breeches arc married; and, if we could look within his 
 breeches, we should find him married there too. 
 
 Pala. Am I then to be discarded for ever? Pray do but mark how 
 terrible that word sounds. For ever! It has a very damn'd sound, 
 Doraliee. 
 
 101. a little irith mr to the 7irxt room thnt 7ia.s] QqF. with me a little 
 into the next room, that hath SsM. 
 
 192. poor] QqF. Omitted by SsM. 
 
 193. in] Q1Q2F. into Q3. 
 
 212. o' th' uife] QqF. of the wife SsM. 
 
 214, 216. princess'] princess Q1Q2. princess's Q."F SsM, 
 
 220. if that] Q1Q2F. if it Q.'i. 
 
 224. terrible] QqF. Omitted by SsM.
 
 ACT V 211 
 
 Dor. Aye, for ever! It sounds as hellishly to nic, as it can do to 
 you, but there 's no help for 't. 
 
 Pala. Yet, if we had but once enjoy'd one another ! But then, once 
 only is worse then not at all : it leaves a man with such a ling'ring 
 230 after it. 
 
 Dor. For aught I know, 'tis better that we have not ; we might upon 
 trial have lik'd each other less, as many a man and woman that have 
 lov'd as desperately as we, and yet, when they came to possession, have 
 sigh'd anil cried to themselves: "Is this all?" 
 
 Pala. Tliat is only, if the servant were not found a man of this 
 world; but if, upon trial, we had not lik'd each other, we had certainly 
 left loving; and faith, that's the greater happiness of the two. 
 
 Dor. 'Tis better as 'tis; we have drawn off already as much of our 
 love as would run clear; after possessing, the rest is but jealousies, and 
 240 disquiets, and quarreling and piecing. 
 
 Fala. Nay, after one great quarrel, there's never any sound piecing; 
 the love is apt to break in the same place again. 
 
 Dor. T declare I would never renew a love; that's like him who 
 trims an old coach for ten years together; he might buy a new one better 
 cheap. 
 
 Pala. Well, madam, I am convinc'd, that 'tis best for us not to have 
 enjoy'd; but gad, the strongest reason is, because I can't help it. 
 
 Dor. The only way to keep us new to one another, is never to enjoy, 
 as they keep grapes, by hanging 'em upon a line; they must touch 
 250 nothing, if you would preserve 'em fresh. 
 
 Pala. But then they wither, and grow dry in the very keeping; 
 however, I shall have a warmth for you, and an eagerness every time I 
 see you; and, if I chance to outlive Melantha 
 
 Dor. And if I chance to outlive Rhodophil 
 
 Pala. Well, I'll cherish my body as much as I can, upon that hope. 
 'Tis true, I would not directly murder the wife of my bosom; but to kill 
 her civilly, by the way of kindness, I'll put as fair as another man. 
 I'll begin to-morrow night, and be very wrathful with her; that's 
 resolv'd on. 
 260 Dor. Well, Palamede, here's my hand, I'll venture to be your second 
 wife, for all your threat'nings. 
 
 Pal^. In the meantime I'll watch you hourly, as I would the ripe- 
 ness of a melon; and I hope you'll give me leave now and then to look 
 on you, and to see if you are not ready to be cut yet. 
 
 Dor. No, no, that must not be, Palamede, for fear the gardener 
 should come and catch you taking up the glass. 
 
 Enter Rhodophil. 
 
 Rho. [Aside.] Billing so sweetly! Now T am confirm'd in my sus- 
 picions; I must put an end to this, ere it go further. \To Doralice.] 
 
 Cry you mercy, spouse, I fear I have interrupted your recreations. 
 
 2r,7. fair] QIF. fair Qi2. for Q:\. 
 200. cnnic nnil] Qq. Oinittcd in F. 
 1<ik\»;i\ (^IQL'K. a iakiutj g."?. 
 2G0. yiiu iinrcij] (^1Q2F. your mercy Q.">.
 
 212 MARKIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 270 Dor. What recreations? 
 
 Eho. Nay, no excuses, good spouse; I saw fair hand convey'd to lip, 
 and press'd, as tho' you had been squeezing soft wax together for an 
 indenture. Palamede, you and I must clear this reckoning: why would 
 you have seduc'd my wife? 
 
 Fala. Why would you have debauch'd my mistress? 
 
 Eho. What do you think of that civil couple that play'd at a game 
 call'd hide and seek, last evening, in the grotto? 
 
 Pala. What do you think of that innocent pair who made it their 
 
 pretense to seek for others, but came, indeed, to hide themselves there? 
 
 280 Eho. All things consider'd, I begin vehemently to suspect, that the 
 
 young gentleman I found in your company last night, was a certain 
 
 youth of my acquaintance. 
 
 Pala. And I have an odd imagination that you could never have 
 suspected my small gallant, if your little villainous Frenchman had not 
 been a false brother. 
 
 Eho. Farther arguments are needless. Draw off; I shall speak to 
 you now by the way of hilho. [Claps his hand to his sword. 
 
 Pala. And I shall answer you by the way of Dangerfield. 
 
 {Claps his hand on his. 
 
 Dor. Hold, hold; are not you two a couple of mad fighting fools, to 
 290 cut one another's throats for nothing? 
 
 Pala. How for nothing? He courts the woman I must marry. 
 
 Eho. And he courts you, whom I have married. 
 
 Dor. But you can neither of you be jealous of what you love not. 
 
 Eho. Faith, I am jealous, and that makes me partly suspect that I 
 love you better then I thought. 
 
 Dor. Pish! A mere jealousy of honor. 
 
 Eho. Gad, I am afraid there's something else in 't; for Palamede 
 has wit, and, if he loves you, there's something more in ye then I have 
 found : some rich mine, for aught I know, that I have not yet discover'd. 
 300 Pala. 'Slife, what's this? Here's an argument for me to love 
 Melantha ; for he has lov'd her, and he has wit too, and, for aught I 
 know, there may be a mine ; but, if there be, I am resolv'd I'll dig for 't. 
 
 Dor. [To Rhodophil.] Then I have found my account in raising 
 your jealousy. O! "tis the most delicate sharp sauce to a cloy'd stomach; 
 it will give you a new edge, Rhodophil. 
 
 Eho. And a new point too, Doralice, if I could be sure thou art 
 honest. 
 
 Dor. If you are wise, believe me for your own sake. Love and 
 religion have but one thing to trust to; that's a good sound faith. 
 310 Consider, if I have play'd false, you can never find it out by any 
 experiment you can make upon me. 
 
 Eho. No? Why, suppose I had a delicate screw'd gun; if I left 
 her clean, and found her foul, I should discover, to my cost, she had 
 been shot in. 
 
 288. [hand] QqF. [hands] SsM. 
 294. and that] QqF. and this SsM. 
 
 that I] Q1Q2P. Q^ omits that. 
 2fl7. there's] Q1Q2F. there is Q3. 
 298. in ye] Q1Q2F. in you Q3.
 
 ACT V 213 
 
 Dor. But if you left her clean, and found her only rusty, you \Yould 
 discover, to your shame, she was only so for want of shooting. 
 
 Pala. Rhodophil, you know me too well to imagine I speak for 
 fear; and therefore, in consideration of our past friendship, I will tell 
 you, and bind it by all things holy, that Doralice is innocent. 
 320 Eho. Friend, I will believe you, and vow the same for your 
 Melantha; but the devil on 't is, how we shall keep 'em so. 
 
 Pala. What dost think of a blessed community betwixt us four, for 
 the solace of the women, and relief of the men? Methinks it would be 
 a pleasant kind of life: wife and husband for the standing dish, and 
 mistress and gallant for the dessert. 
 
 Eho. But suppose the wife and the mistress should both long for 
 the standing dish, how should they be satisfied together? 
 
 Pala. In such a case they must draw lots; and yet that would not 
 do neither, for they would both be wishing for the longest cut. 
 330 Eho. Then I think, Palamede, we had as good make a firm league, 
 not to invade each other's propriety. 
 
 Pala. Content, say I. From henceforth let all acts of hostility cease 
 betwixt us; and that, in the usual form of treaties, as well by sea as by 
 land, and in all fresh waters. 
 
 Dor. I will add but one proviso, that whoever breaks the league, 
 either by war abroad, or by neglect at home, both the women shall 
 revenge themselves by the help of the other party. 
 
 Eho. That's but reasonable. Come away, Doralice ; I have a great 
 temptation to be sealing articles in private. 
 3-10 Pala. Hast thou so? [Claps him on the shoulder. 
 
 ' ' Fall on, Macduff, 
 And curst be he that first cries: 'Hold, enough.'"' 
 
 Enter Polydamas, Palmyra, Artemis, Argaleox: after thon, 
 EUBULUS and Hermoge-Xes, guarded. 
 
 Palm. Sir, on my knees I beg you. 
 
 Poly. Away, I'll hear no more. 
 
 Palm. For my dead mother's sake; you say you lov'd her, 
 And tell me I resemble her. Thus she 
 Had begg'd. 
 
 Poly. And thus had I denied her. 
 
 Palm. You must be merciful. 
 
 Arga, You must be constant. 
 
 Poly. Go, bear 'em to the torture ; you have boasted 
 350 You have a king to head you; I would know 
 To whom I must resign. 
 
 Eub. This is our recompense 
 
 321. ice shall keep 'cm] QqF. shall tec keep them SsM. 
 
 320. the mistress] QqF. SsM omit the. 
 
 'i2U. cut] F. out Qq, probably by a mere misprint. 
 
 .3.31. propriety] QIF. property Q2Q3. 
 
 333. as by Uind] Qq. as land F SsM. 
 
 .335. but one] Q1Q2F. Q3 omits but. 
 
 3.30. by nr<jlrrt\ QqF. SsM omit by. 
 
 347. had J] QqF. / had SsM.
 
 214 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 For serving thy dead queen. 
 
 Ecrm. And education 
 
 Of thy daughter. 
 
 Arga. You are too modest, in not naming all 
 His obligations to you: why did you 
 Omit his son, the Prince Leonidas? 
 
 Poly. That imposture 
 I had forgot; their tortures shall be doubled. 
 
 Herm. You please me; I shall die the sooner. 
 360 Eub. No; could 1 live an age, and still be rack'd, 
 
 I still would keep the secret. [As they are going of. 
 
 Enter Leonidas, guarded. 
 
 Leon. O, whither do you hurry innocence! 
 If you have any justice, spare their lives; 
 Or, if I cannot make you just, at least 
 I'll teach you to more purpose to be cruel. 
 
 Palm. Alas, what does he seek! 
 
 Leon. Make me the object of your hate and vengeance! 
 Are these decrepid bodies, worn to ruin, 
 Just ready of themselves to fall asunder, 
 370 And to let drop the soul, — 
 
 Are these fit subjects for a rack and tortures? 
 
 Where would you fasten any hold upon 'em? 
 
 Place pains on me; united fix 'em here; 
 
 I have both youth, and strength, and soul to bear 'em; 
 
 And, if they merit death, then I much more, 
 
 Since 'tis for me they suffer. 
 
 Herm. Heav'n forbid 
 
 We should redeem our pains, or worthless lives. 
 By our exposing yours. 
 
 Liib. Away viith us. 
 
 Farewell, sir: I only sufi'er in my fears for you. 
 380 Arga. So much concern'd for him? Then my suspicion's true. [Aside. 
 
 [Whispers the King. 
 
 Palm. Hear yet my last request for poor Leonidas, 
 Or take my life with his. 
 
 Arga. [To the King.] Rest satisfied, Leonidas is he. 
 
 Poly. I am amaz'd. What must be done? 
 
 Arga. Command his execution instantly: 
 Give him not leisure to discover it ; 
 He may corrupt the soldiers. 
 
 Poly. Hence with that traitor, bear him to his death: 
 Haste there, and see my will perform'd. 
 390 Leon. Nay, then, I'll die like him the gods have made me. 
 
 Hold, gentlemen, I am [Argaleon stops his mouth. 
 
 Arga. Thou art a traitor; 'tis not fit to hear thee. 
 
 .",52. thy] QIF. Ihc Q2Q3. 
 
 378, 379. lii/ our . . . xir] In QqF SsM, Hermocrenos's speech closes 
 with an hemistich, and the words Away . . . sir form one line.
 
 ACT V 
 
 215 
 
 Leon. I say, I am the 
 
 Arga. So; gag him, and lead him off. 
 
 [Getting loose a little. 
 [Again stopping his mouth. 
 
 Leonidas, Hermogenes, Eubulus, led off; Polydamas and Argaleon 
 
 follow. 
 
 Palm. Duty and love, by turns, possess my soul, 
 And struggle for a fatal victory. 
 I will discover he's the king: — ah, no! 
 That will perhaps save him; 
 But then I am guilty of a father's ruin. 
 400 What shall I do, or not do? Either way 
 I must destroy a parent, or a lover. 
 Break heart ; for that's the least of ills to rae, 
 And death the only cure. [Swoons. 
 
 Arte. Help, help the princess. 
 
 liho. Bear her gently hence, 
 
 Where she may have more succor. [She is borne off ; Arte, follows her. 
 
 [Shouts within, and clashing of swords. 
 
 Pala. What noise is that? 
 
 Enter Amalthea, running. 
 
 Amal. O, gentlemen, if you have loyalty, 
 Or courage, show it now ! Leonidas 
 Broke on the sudden from his guards, and snatching 
 A sword from one, his back against the scaffold, 
 410 Bravely defends himself, and owns aloud 
 
 He is our long-lost king; found for this moment. 
 But, if your valors help not, lost for ever. 
 Two of his guards, mov'd by the sense of virtue, 
 Are turn'd for him, and there they stand at bay 
 Against an host of foes. 
 
 Eho. Madam, no more; 
 
 We lose time; my command, or my example, 
 May move the soldiers to the better cause. 
 
 You'll second me? [To Pala. 
 
 Pala. Or die with you: no subject e'er can meet 
 420 A nobler fate then at his sovereign's feet. [Exeiint. 
 
 [Clashing of sicords within, and shouts. 
 
 Enter Leonidas, Riiodophil, Palamede, Eubulus, Hermogenes, and 
 their Party, victorious; Polydamas and Argaleon, disarmed. 
 
 Leon. That I survive the dangers of this day, 
 Next to the gods, brave friends, be yours the honor; 
 And let heav'n witness for me that my joy 
 Is not more great for this my right restor'd, 
 Than 'tis, that I have power to recompense 
 
 399. / am] QqF. I'm SsM. 
 
 404, 405. Bear . . . succor] QqF SsM arrange : 
 
 Bear tier ycntly hence, where she may 
 
 Hare more succor. 
 412. valors help] QqF. valour helps SsM. 
 421. this] QqF. the SsM.
 
 216 MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Your loyalty and valor. Let mean princes, 
 Of abject souls, fear to reward great actions; 
 I mean to show, 
 
 That whatsoe'er subjects, like you, dare merit, 
 430 A king, like me, dares give. 
 
 Eho. You make us blush, we have deserv'd so little. 
 
 Pala. And yet instruct us how to merit more. 
 
 Leon. And as I would be just in my rewards, 
 So should I in my punishments; these two. 
 This, the usurper of my crown, the other 
 Of my Palmyra's love, deserve that death 
 Which both designed for me. 
 
 Foly. And we expect it. 
 
 Arga. I have too long been happy, to live wretched. 
 
 Poly. And I too long have govern'd, to desire 
 440 A life without an empire. 
 
 Leon. You are Palmyra's father; and as such, 
 Tho' not a king, shall have obedience paid 
 From him who is one. Father, in that name. 
 All injuries forgot, and duty own'd. [Embraces him. 
 
 Poly. O, had I known you could have been this king, 
 Thus godlike, great and good, I should have wish'd 
 T' have been dethron'd before. 'Tis now I live. 
 And more then reign; now all my joys flow pure, 
 Unmix'd with cares, and undisturb'd by conscience. 
 
 Entei- Palmyra, Amaltiiea, Artemis, Doralice, and Melantha. 
 
 450 Leon. See, my Palmyra comes, the frighted blood 
 Scarce yet recall'd to her pale cheeks, 
 Like the first streaks of light broke loose from darkness, 
 And dawning into blushes! [To Poly.] Sir, you said 
 Your joys were full. O, would you make mine so! 
 I am but half restor'd without this blessing. 
 
 Poly. The gods, and my Palmyra, make you happy. 
 As you make me! [Gives her hand to Leonidas. 
 
 Palm. Now all my prayers are heard: 
 
 I may be dutiful, and yet may love. 
 Virtue and patience have at length unravel'd 
 460 The knots which fortune tied. 
 
 Mel. Let me die, but I'll congratulate his majesty. How admirably 
 well his royalty becomes him ! Becomes ! That is lui sied. but our 
 damn'd language expresses nothing. 
 
 Pala. How? Does it become him already? 'Twas but just now you 
 said he was such a figure of a man. 
 
 Mel. True, my dear, when he was a private man he was a figure; 
 but since he is a king, methinks he has assum'd another figure: he looks 
 so grand, and so august! [Going to the King. 
 
 454. icere Q1Q2F. are Q3. 
 
 465. such] Q1Q2F. Omitted by Q3.
 
 ACT V 217 
 
 Pala. Stay, stay; I'll present you when it is more convenient. I 
 
 470 find I must get her a place at court; and when she is once there, she 
 
 can be no longer ridiculous; for she is young enough, and pretty enough, 
 
 and fool enough, and French enough, to bring up a fashion there to be 
 
 affected. 
 
 Leon. [To Rhodophil.] Did she then lead you to this brave attempt? 
 [To Amaltiiea.] To you, fair Amalthea, what I am, 
 And what all these, from me, we jointly owe: 
 First, therefore, to your great desert we give 
 Your brother's life; but keep him under guard 
 Till our new power be settled. What more grace 
 480 He may receive, shall from his future carriage 
 Be given, as he deserves. 
 
 Arga. I neither now desire, nor will deserve it; 
 My loss is such as cannot be repair'd, 
 And, to the wretched, life can be no mercy. 
 
 Leon. Then be a prisoner always: thy ill fate 
 And pride will have it so. But since in this I cannot, 
 Instruct me, generous Amalthea, how 
 A king may serve you. 
 
 Amal. I have all I hope. 
 
 And all I now must wish ; I see you happy. 
 490 Those hours I have to live, which heav'n in pity 
 Will make but few, I vow to spend with vestals: 
 The greatest part in pray'rs for you ; the rest 
 In mourning my unworthiness. 
 Press me not farther to explain myself; 
 'Twill not become me, and may cause you trouble. 
 
 Leon. [Aside.] Too well I understand her secret grief, 
 But dare not seem to know it. — Come, my fairest; [To Palmyra. 
 
 Beyond my crown, 1 have one joy in store. 
 To give that crown to her whom I adore. [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 477. we oivc] QIF. Q2 omits tee. I (jive Q?>. 
 
 494. not farther] Q1Q2F. 710 farther Q.3. not further SsM. 
 
 495. i/oit] QqF fcjsM read i/our, which was probably originally a misprint.
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 Thus have my spouse and I infoi-m'd the nation, 
 
 And led you all the way to reformation ; 
 
 Not with dull morals, gravely writ, like those 
 
 Which men of easy phlegm with care compose — 
 
 (Your poets of stiff words and limber sense, 
 
 Born on the confines of indifference;) 
 
 But by examples drawn, I dare to say, 
 
 From most of you who hear and see the play. 
 
 There are more Ehodophils in this theater, 
 10 More Palamedes, and some few wives, I fear. 
 
 But yet too far our poet would not run ; 
 
 Tho' 'twas well offer'd, there was nothing done; 
 
 He would not quite the women's frailty bare, 
 
 But stripp'd 'em to the waist, and left 'em there: 
 
 And the men's faults are less severely shown, 
 
 For he considers that himself is one. 
 
 Some stabbing wits, to bloody satire bent. 
 
 Would treat both sexes with less compliment ; 
 
 Would lay the scene at home ; of husbands tell, 
 20 For wenches taking up their wives i' th' Mell; 
 
 . And a brisk bout, which each of them did want, 
 
 Made by mistake of mistress and gallant. 
 
 Our modest author thought it was enough 
 
 To cut you off a sample of the stuff. 
 
 He spar'd my shame, which you, I'm sure, would not, 
 
 For you were all for driving on the plot: 
 
 Epilogue] See note on Prologue, p. 152. 
 5. poets] F Cgd SsM. poeVs Qq. 
 
 7. examples] QqF. example Cgd. 
 
 8. hear and see] QqF. see and hear Cgd. 
 
 i:?. women's frailfu] SsM. woman's frailty QqF. teamen faulty Cgd. 
 
 14. stripp'd] Q]Q2F C?d SsM. strip Q3. 
 
 'em . . 'em] QqF. them . . . them Cgd SsM. 
 
 15. are] QqF. tccrc Cgd. 
 
 17. hent] QqF. lent Cgd. 
 
 18. treat] QqF. fret Cgd. 
 
 19. husbands] QqF. husband Cgd. 
 21. each] QqF. Omitted in Cgd. 
 26. were] QqF. are Cgd. 
 
 218
 
 30 
 
 EPILOGUE 219 
 
 You sigh'd when I came in to break the sport, 
 And set your teeth when each design fell short. 
 To wives and servants all good wishes lend, 
 But the poor cuckold seldom finds a friend. 
 Since, therefore, court and town will take no pity, 
 I humbly cast myself upon the city. 
 
 .31. court and toiin] QqF. town, nor court Cgd. 
 32. I] QqF. Cgd.
 
 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 OR 
 
 THE WORLD WELL LOST 
 
 A TRAGEDY 
 WRITTEN IN IMITATION OP SHAKSPERE'S STYLE 
 
 Facile est verbum aliquod ardens (ut ita dicam) notare, 
 idque restinctis aniworum incendiis irridcre. 
 
 Cicero, Orator, 27.
 
 All for Lo\'E was first printed in 1678; other quarto editions fol- 
 lowed in 1692 and 1696. These quartos are cited as Q1Q2Q3. The 
 Folio of 1701 (F) was printed from Q3, and Q3 from Q2; Ql furnishes 
 the only authentic text. For illustrations of this fact see notes on p. 
 231, 1. 21; p. 244, 1. 216-; p. 253, U. 96, 122; p. 267, 11. 206-10; p. 297, 
 1. 323.
 
 TO 
 
 THE RIGHT HONORABLE 
 
 THOMAS, EARL OF DANBY 
 
 VISCOUNT LATIMER, AND BARON OSBORNE OF KIVETON, IN YORKSHIRE 
 
 LORD HIGH TREASURER OF ENGLAND 
 
 ONE OF HIS majesty's MOST HONORABLE PRIVY COUNCIL 
 
 and knight of the most noble order of 
 the garter, &c. 
 
 My Lord, 
 The gratitude of poets is so troublesome a virtue to great men that you 
 are often in danger of your own benefits: for you are threaten'd with 
 some epistle, and not suffer'd to do good in quiet, or to compound for 
 their silence whom you have oblig'd. Yet, I confess, I neither am nor 
 ought to be surpris'd at this indulgence; for your Lordship has the same 
 right to favor poetry which the great and noble have ever had. 
 Carmen amat, quisquis carmine digna gerit. 
 
 There is somewhat of a tie in nature betwixt those ■who are born 
 10 foJsjP'orthy actions, and those who can transmit them to posterity; and 
 tho' ours be much the inferior part, it comes at least within the verge 
 of alliance; nor are we unprofitable members of the commonwealth, when 
 we animate others to those virtues which we copy and describe from you. 
 'Tis indeed their interest, who endeavor the subversion of govern- 
 ments, to discourage poets and historians; for the best which can happen 
 to them is to be forgotten. But such who, under kings, are the fathers 
 of their country, and by a just and prudent ordering of affairs preserve 
 it, have the same reason to cherish the chroniclers of their actions, as 
 they have to lay up in safety the deeds and evidences of their estates; 
 20 for such records are their undoubted titles to the love and reverence of 
 after ages. Your Lordship's administration has already taken up a con- 
 siderable part of the English annals; and many of its most happy years 
 are owing to it. His Majesty, the most knowing judge of men, and the 
 best master, has acknowledg'd the ease and benefit he receives in the 
 incomes of his treasury, which you found not only disorder'd, but 
 exhausted. All things were in the confusion of a chaos, without form or 
 method, if not reduc'd beyond it, even to annihilation; so that you had 
 not only to separate the jarring elements, but (if that boldness of 
 expression might be allow'd me) to create them. Your enemies had so 
 
 223
 
 224 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 embroil'd the management of your office that they look'd on your ad- 
 vancement as the instrument of your ruin. And, as if the clogging of 
 the revenue, and the confusion of accounts, which you found in your 
 entrance, were not sufficient, they added their own weight of malice to 
 the public calamity, by forestalling the credit which should cure it. Your 
 friends on the other side were only capable of pitying, but not of aiding 
 you; no farther help or counsel was remaining to you, but what was 
 founded on yourself; and that indeed was your security; for your dili- 
 gence, your constancy, and your prudence, wrought more surely within, 
 
 10 when they were not disturb'd by any outward motion. The highest virtue 
 is best to be trusted with itself; for assistance only can be given by a 
 genius superior to that which it assists; and 'tis the noblest kind of 
 debt, when we are only oblig'd to God and nature. This then, my Lord, 
 is your just commendation, that you have wrought out yourself a way to 
 glory, by those very means that were design'd for your destruction : you 
 have not only restor'd, but advanc'd the revenues of your master, without 
 grievance to the subject; and, as if that were little yet, the debts of the 
 exchequer, which lay heaviest both on the crown and on private persons, 
 have by your conduct been establish'd in a certainty of satisfaction. An 
 
 20 action so much the more great and honorable, because the case was with- 
 out the ordinary relief of laws; above the hopes of the afflicted, and 
 beyond the narrowness of the treasury to redress, had it been manag'd 
 by a less able hand. 'Tis certainly the happiest, and most unenvied part 
 of all your fortune, to do good to many, while you do injury to none; to 
 receive at once the prayers of the subject, and the praises of the prince; 
 and, by the care of your conduct, to give him means of exerting the 
 chiefest (if any be the chiefest) of his royal virtues, his distributive 
 justice to the deserving, and his bounty and compassion to the wanting. 
 The disposition of princes towards their people cannot better be dis- 
 
 30 cover'd than in the choice of their ministers; who, like the animal spirits 
 betwixt the soul and body, participate somewhat of both natures, and 
 make the communication which is betwixt them. A king, who is just 
 and moderate in his nature, who rules according to the laws, whom God 
 made happy by forming the temper of his soul to the constitution of his 
 government, and who makes us happy, by assuming over us no other 
 sovereignty than that wherein our welfare and liberty consists; a prince, 
 I say, of so excellent a character, and so suitable to the wishes of all 
 good men, could not better have convey'd himself into his people's appre- 
 hensions, than in your Lordship 's person ; who so lively express the same 
 
 40 virtues, that you seem not so much a copy, as an emanation of him. 
 Moderation is doubtless an establishment of greatness; but there is a 
 steadiness of temper which is likewise requisite in a minister of state; 
 so equal a mixture of both virtues that he may stand like an isthmus 
 betwixt the two encroaching seas of arbitrary power and lawless anarchy. 
 The undertaking would be difficult to any but an extraordinary genius, 
 to stand at the line, and to divide the limits; to pay what is due to the 
 great representative of the nation, and neither to inhance, nor to yield 
 up, the undoubted prerogatives of the crown. These, my Lord, are the 
 
 29. letter he] QqF. he letter SsM.
 
 DEDICATION 225 
 
 proper virtues of a noble Englishman, as indeed they are properly Eng- 
 lish virtues; no people in the world being capable of using them, but 
 we who have the happiness to be born under so equal, and so well-pois'd 
 a government; — a government which has all the advantages of liberty 
 beyond a commonwealth, and all the marks of kingly sovereignty without 
 the danger of a tyranny. Both my nature, as I am an Englishman, and 
 my reason, as I am a man, have bred in me a loathing to that specious 
 name of a republic; that mock appearance of a liberty, where all who 
 have not part in the government are slaves ; and slaves they are of a 
 
 10 viler note than such as are subjects to an absolute dominion. For no 
 Christian monarchy is so absolute, but 'tis circumscrib'd with laws; but 
 when the executive power is in the law-makers, there is no farther check 
 upon them; and the people must suffer without a remedy, because they 
 are oppress'd by their representatives. If I must serve, the number of 
 my masters, who were born my equals, would but add to the ignominy 
 of my bondage. The nature of our government, above all others, is 
 exactly suited both to the situation of our country, and the temper of 
 the natives; an island being more proper for commerce and for defense, 
 than for extending its dominions on the Continent ; for what the valor 
 
 20 of its inhabitants might gain, by reason of its remoteness, and the 
 casualties of the seas, it could not so easily preserve: and, therefore, 
 neither the arbitrary power of one, in a monarchy, nor of many, in a 
 commonwealth, could make us greater than we are. 'Tis true that vaster 
 and more frequent taxes might be gather'd when the consent of the 
 people was not ask"d or needed; but this were only by conquering abroad 
 to be poor at home; and the examples of our neighbors teach us that they 
 are not always the happiest subjects whose kings extend their dominions 
 farthest. Since therefore we cannot win by an offensive war, at least 
 a land war, the model of our government seems naturally contriv'd for 
 
 30 the defensive part; and the consent of a people is easily obtain'd to 
 contribute to that power which must protect it. Felices nimium, iona si 
 sua norint, Angligence! And yet there are not wanting malcontents 
 amongst us, who, surfeiting themselves on too much happiness, would 
 persuade the people that they might be happier by a change. 'Twas 
 indeed the policy of their old forefather, when himself was fallen from 
 the station of glory, to seduce mankind into the same rebellion with him 
 by telling him he might yet be freer than he was; that is, more free 
 than his nature would allow, or (if I may so say) than God could make 
 him. We have already all the liberty which freeborn subjects can enjoy, 
 
 40 and all beyond it is but license. But if it be liberty of conscience which 
 they pretend, the moderation of our Church is such that its practice 
 extends not to the severity of persecution ; and its discipline is withal 
 so easy that it allows more freedom to dissenters than any of the sects 
 would allow to it. In the meantime, what right can be pretended by 
 these men to attempt innovations in Church or State? Who made them 
 the trustees, or (to speak a little nearer their own language) the keepers 
 of the liberty of England? If their call be extraordinary, let them 
 convince us by working miracles; for ordinary vocation they can have 
 
 33. among8t'\ Qq. among FSs'M. 
 
 45. innoiationa] QqF. innoiation SsM.
 
 226 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 none, to disturb the government under which they were born, and which 
 protects them. He who has often chang'd his party, and always has 
 made his interest the rule of it, gives little evidence of his sincerity for 
 the public good; 'tis manifest he changes but for himself, and takes the 
 people for tools to work his fortune. Yet the experience of all ages 
 might let him know that they who trouble the waters first have seldom 
 the benefit of the fishing; as they who began the late rebellion enjoy'd 
 not the fruit of their undertaking, but were crush'd themselves by the 
 usurpation of their own instrument. Neither is it enough for them to 
 
 10 answer that they only intend a reformation of the government, but not 
 the subversion of it: on such pretenses all insurrections have been 
 founded; 'tis striking at the root of power, which is obedience. Every 
 remonstrance of private men has the seed of treason in it; and discourses 
 which are couch'd in ambiguous terms are therefore the more dangerous, 
 because they do all the mischief of open sedition, yet are safe from the 
 punishment of the laws. These, my Lord, are considerations which I 
 should not pass so lightly over, had I room to manage them as they 
 deserve; for no man can be so inconsiderable in a nation, as not to have 
 a share in the welfare of it; and if he be a true Englishman, he must 
 
 20 at the same time be fir'd with indignation, and revenge himself as he 
 can on the disturbers of his country. And to whom could I more fitly 
 apply myself than to your Lordship, who have not only an inborn, but an 
 hereditary loyalty? The memorable constancy and sufferings of your 
 father, almost to the ruin of his estate for the royal cause, were an 
 earnest of that which such a parent and such an institution would produce 
 in the person of a son. But so unhappy an occasion of manifesting your 
 own zeal, in suffering for his present Majesty, the providence of God, 
 and the prudence of your administration, will, I hope, prevent; that, as 
 your father's fortune waited on the unhappiness of his sovereign, so your 
 
 30 own may participate of the better fate which attends his son. The 
 relation which you have by alliance to the noble family of your lady 
 serves to confirm to you both this happy augury. For what can deserve 
 a greater place in the English chronicle than the loyalty and courage, 
 the actions and death, of the general of an army, fighting for his prince 
 and country? The honor and gallantry of the Earl of Lindsey is so 
 illustrious a subject that 'tis fit to adorn an heroic poem; for he was 
 the protomartyr of the cause, and the type of his unfortunate royal 
 master. 
 
 Yet after all, my Lord, if I may speak my thoughts, you are happy 
 
 40 rather to us than to yourself; for the multiplicity, the cares, and the 
 vexations of your imployment have betray'd you from yourself, and 
 given you up into the possession of the public. You are robb'd of your 
 privacy and friends, and scarce any hour of your life you can call your 
 own. Those who envy your fortune, if they wanted not good nature, 
 might more justly pity it ; and when they see you wateh'd by a crowd 
 of suitors, whose importunity 'tis impossible to avoid, would conclude, 
 with reason, that you have lost much more in true content than you have 
 gain'd by dignity; and that a private gentleman is better attended by a 
 
 — — ... . — 
 
 11. pretenses] QqF. pretence SsM.
 
 DEDICATION 227 
 
 single sen-ant, than your Lordsliip with so clamorous a train. Pardon 
 me, my Lonl, if I speak like a philosopher on this subject; the fortune 
 which makes a man uneasy cannot make him happy ; and a wise man 
 must think himself uneasy when few of his actions are in his choice. 
 
 This last consideration has brought me to another, and a very season- 
 able one for your relief; which is that while I pity your want of leisure, 
 I have impertinently detain'd you so long a time. I have put oif my 
 own business, which was my dedication, till 'tis so late that I am now 
 asham'd to begin it; and therefore I will say nothing of the poem which 
 10 I present to you, because I know not if you are like to have an hour 
 which, with a good conscience, you may throw away in perusing it; and 
 for the author, I have only to beg the continuance of your protection to 
 him, who is. 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 Your Lordship's most oblig'd, 
 
 Most humble, and most 
 
 Obedient servant, 
 
 John Deyden.
 
 PEEFACE 
 
 The death of Antony and Cleopatra is a subject -which has been 
 treated by the fjreatest wits of our nation, after Shakspere; and by all so 
 variously that their example has given me the confidence to try myself in 
 tills bow of Ulysses amongst the crowd of suitors; and, witlial, to take 
 my own measures, in aiming at the mark. I doubt not but the same 
 motive has prevail'd with all of us in this attempt; I mean the excel- 
 lency of the moral: for the chief persons representod were famous pat- 
 terns of unlawful love; and their end accordingly was unfortunate. All 
 reasonable men have long since concluded that the hero of the poem 
 
 10 ought not to be a character of perfect virtue, for then he could not, 
 without injustice, be made unhappy; nor yet altogether wicked, because 
 he could not then be pitied. I have therefore steer'd the middle course; 
 and have drawn the character of Antony as favorably as Plutarch, 
 Appian, and Dion Cassius would give me leave; the like I have observ'd 
 in Cleopatra. That which is wanting to work up the pity to a greater 
 heighth was not afforded me by the story; for the crimes of love which 
 tlioy both committed were not occasion'd by any necessity, or fatal igno- 
 rance, but were wholly voluntary; since our passions are, or ought to be, 
 within our power. The fabric of the play is regular enough, as to the 
 
 20 inferior parts of it; and the unities of time, place, and action more 
 exactly observ'd, than perhaps the English theater requires. Particularly, 
 the action is so much one that it is the only of the kind without episode, 
 or underplot ; every scene in the tragedy conducing to the main design, 
 and every act concluding with a turn of it. The greatest error in the 
 contrivance seems to be in the person of Octavia ; for, tho' I might use 
 the privilege of a poet, to introduce her into Alexandria, yet I had not 
 enough consider 'd that the compassion she mov'd to herself and children 
 was destructive to that which I reserv'd for Antony and Cleopatra; 
 whose mutual love, being founded upon vice, must lessen the favor of 
 
 80 the audience to them, when virtue and innocence were oppress'd by it. 
 And, tho' I justified Antony in some measure, by making Octavia's 
 departure to proceed wholly from herself; yet the force of the first 
 machine still remain'd; and the dividing of pity, like the cutting of a 
 river into many channels, abated the strength of the natural stream. 
 But this is an objection which none of my critics have urg'd against me; 
 and therefore I might have let it pass, if I could have resolv'd to have 
 been partial to myself. The faults my enemies have found are rather 
 cavils concerning little and not essential decencies, which a master of the 
 ceremonies may decide betwixt us. The French poets, I confess, are 
 
 1. Antoni('\ Q1Q2 regularly print Anfhnny in the preface, Antony in the 
 text of the play. Q.'JF regularly prirt Anihony in both preface and plaj*. 
 
 229
 
 230 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 strict observers of these punctilios: they would not, for example, have 
 sutFer'd Cleopatra and Octavia to have met; or, if they had met, there 
 must only have pass'd betwixt them some cold civilities, but no eagerness 
 of repartee, for fear of offending against the greatness of their char- 
 acters, and the modesty of their sex. This objection I foresaw, and at 
 the same time contemn'd; for I judg'd it both natural and probable that 
 Octavia, proud of her new-gain'd conquest, would search out Cleopatra 
 to triumph over her; and that Cleopatra, thus attack'd, was not of a 
 spirit to shun the encounter: and 'tis not unlikely that two exasperated 
 
 10 rivals should use such satire as I have put into their mouths; for, after 
 all, tho' the one were a Roman, and the other a queen, they were both 
 women. 'Tis true, some actions, tho' natural, are not fit to be repre- 
 sented; and broad obscenities in words ought in good manners to be 
 avoided: expressions therefore are a modest clothing of our thoughts, 
 as breeches and petticoats are of our bodies. If I have kept myself 
 within the bounds of modesty, aJl beyond it is but nicety and affecta- 
 tion; which is no more but modesty deprav'd into a vice. They betray 
 themselves who are too quick of apprehension in such cases, and leave 
 all reasonable men to imagine worse of them, than of the poet. 
 
 20 Honest Montaigne goes yet farther: Nous ne sommes que ceremonie; 
 la ceremonie nous emporte, et Jaisso7is la substance des choses. Nous 
 nous tenons aux branches, et abandonnons le tronc et le corps. Nous 
 avons appris aux dames de rougir, oyans seulement nommer ce qu'elles 
 ne craignent aucunement a faire: nous n'osons appeller a droict nos 
 membres, et ne craignons pas de les employer a toute sorte de debauche. 
 La ceremonie nous defend d'exprimer par paroles les choses licites et 
 naturelles, et nous Ten croyons; la raison nous defend de n'en faire point 
 d'illicites et mauvaises, et pcrsonne ne Ven croid. My comfort is that by 
 this opinion my enemies are but sucking critics, who would fain be 
 
 30 nibbling ere their teeth are come. 
 
 Yet, in this nicety of manners does the excellency of French poetry 
 consist; their heroes are the most civil people breathing; but their good 
 breeding seldom extends to a word of sense. All their wit is in their 
 ceremony; they want the genius which animates our stage; and therefore 
 'tis but necessary, when they cannot please, that they should take care 
 not to offend. But as the civilest man in the company is commonly the 
 dullest, so these authors, while they are afraid to make you laugh or cry, 
 out of pure good manners make you sleep. They are so careful not to 
 exasperate a critic that they never leave him any work ; so busy with the 
 
 40 broom, and make so clean a riddance, that there is little left either for 
 censure or for praise: for no part of a poem is worth our discommend- 
 ing, where the Avhole is insipid; as when we have once tasted of pall'd 
 wine, we stay not to examine it glass by glass. But while they affect 
 to shine in trifles, they are often careless in essentials. Thus, their 
 Hippolytus is so scrupulous in point of decency that he will rather 
 expose himself to death than accuse his stepmother to his father; and 
 my critics I am sure will commend him for it: but we of grosser appre- 
 hensions are apt to think that this excess of generosity is not practicable, 
 
 3. only have] QqF, have only SsM.
 
 PREFACE 231 
 
 but with fools and madmen. This was good manners with a vengeance; 
 and the audience is like to be much concern'd at the misfortunes of this 
 admirable horo; but take Ilippolytus out of his poetic fit, and I suppose 
 he would think it a wiser part to set the saddle on the right horse, and 
 choose rather to live with the reputation of a plain-spoken, honest man, 
 than to die with the infamy of an incestuous villain. In the meantime 
 "we may take notice that where the poet ought to have preserv'd the char- 
 acter as it was deliver'd to us by antiquity, when he should have given 
 us the picture of a rough young man, of the Amazonian strain, a jolly 
 
 10 huntsman, and both by his profession and his early rising a mortal 
 enemy to love, he has chosen to give him the turn of gallantry, sent him 
 to travel from Athens to Paris, taught him to make love, and transform'd 
 the Hippolytus of Euripides into Monsieur Ilippolyte. I should not have 
 troubled myself thus far with French poets, but that I find our Chedreux 
 critics wholly form their judgments by them. But, for my part, I 
 desire to be tried by the laws of my own country; for it seems unjust 
 to me that the French should prescribe here till they have conquer'd. 
 Our little sonneteers, who follow them, have too narrow souls to judge 
 of poetry. Poets themselves are the most proper, tho' I conclude not 
 
 20 the only critics. But till some genius as universal as Aristotle shall 
 arise, one who can penetrate into all arts and sciences, without the 
 practice of them, I shall think it reasonable that the judgment of an 
 artificer in his own art should be preferable to the opinion of another 
 man; at least where he is not brib'd by interest, or prejudic'd by malice. 
 And this, I suppose, is manifest by plain induction: for, first, the crowd 
 cannot De presum'd to have more tlian a gross instinct of what pleases 
 or displeases them. Every man will grant me this; but then, by a 
 particular kindness to himself, he draws his own stake first, and will be 
 distinguish'd from the multitude, of which other men may think him 
 
 30 one. But, if I come closer to those who are allow'd for witty men, 
 either by the advantage of their quality, or by common fame, and affirm 
 that neither are they qualified to decide sovereignly concerning poetry, I 
 shall yet have a strong party of my opinion; for most of them severally 
 will exclude the rest, eitiier from the number of witty men, or at least 
 of able judges. But here again they are all indulgent to themselves; 
 and every one who believes himself a wit, that is, every man, will pre- 
 tend at the same time to a right of judging. But to press it yet farther, 
 there are many witty men, but few poets; neither have all poets a taste 
 of tragedy. And this is the rock on whioh they are daily splitting. 
 
 40 Poetry, which is a picture of nature, must generally please; but 'tis not 
 to be understood that all parts of it must please every man ; therefore is 
 not tragedy to be ju<lg"d by a witty man, whose taste is only confin'd to 
 comedy. Nor is every man who loves tragedy a sufficient ju<lge of it; 
 he must understand the excellencies of it too, or he will only prove a 
 blind a<lniirer, not a critic. From hence it comes that so many satires 
 on poets, and censures of their writings, fly abroad. Men of pleasant 
 conversation (at least esteemed so), and indued with a trifling kind of 
 
 21. arine, one ir/iol Ql. Q2Qr!F omit one. 
 2.">. induction} QqF. inilurtions SsM. 
 44. cxccllencicn] QqF. cjccellcncas SsM.
 
 232 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 fancy, perhaps holp'd out with some smattering of Latin, are ambitious 
 to distinguish themselves from the herd of gentlemen, by their poetry: 
 
 Barns enim ferme sensus communis in ilia 
 Fortuna. 
 
 And is not this a wretched affectation, not to be contented with what 
 fortune has done for them, and sit down quietly with their estates, but 
 they must call their wits in question, and needlessly expose their naked- 
 ness to public view? Not considering that they are not to expect the 
 same approbation from sober men which they have found from their 
 
 10 flatterers after the third bottle? If a little glittering in discourse has 
 pass'd them on us for witty men, where was the necessity of undeceiving 
 the world? Would a man who has an ill title to an estate, but yet is in 
 possession of it; would he bring it of his own accord, to be tried at 
 Westminster? We who write, if we want the talent, yet have the excuse 
 that we do it for a poor subsistence; but what can be urg'd in their 
 defense, who, not having the vocation of poverty to scribble, out of mere 
 wantonness take pains to make themselves ridiculous? Horace was cer- 
 tainly in the right, where he said that no man is satisfied with his own 
 condition. A poet is not pleas 'd, because he is not rich; and the rich 
 
 20 are discontented, because the poets will not admit them of their number. 
 Thus the case is hard with writers; if they succeed not, they must 
 starve; and if they do, some malicious satire is prepar'd to level them 
 for daring to please without their leave. But while they are so eager to 
 destroy the fame of others, their ambition is manifest in their concern- 
 ment; some poem of their own is to be produc'd, and the slaves are to 
 be laid flat with their faces on the ground, that the monarch may appear 
 in the greater majesty. 
 
 Dionysius and Nero had the same longings, but with all their power 
 they could never bring their business well about. 'Tis true, they pro- 
 
 30 claim'd themselves poets by sound of trumpet; and poets they were, 
 upon pain of death to any man who durst call them otherwise. The 
 audience had a fine time on 't, you may imagine; they sate in a bodily 
 fear, and look'd as demurely as they could: for 'twas a hanging matter 
 to laugh unseasonably; and the tyrants were suspicious, as they had 
 reason, that their subjects had 'em in the wind; so, every man, in his 
 own defense, set as good a face upon the business as he could. 'Twas 
 known beforehand that the monarchs were to be crown 'd laureats ; but 
 when the shew was over, and an honest man was suffer'd to depart 
 quietly, he took out his laughter Avhich he had stifled, with a firm reso- 
 
 40 lution never more to see an emperor's play, tho' he had been ten years 
 a-making it. In the meantime the true poets were they who made the 
 best markets, for they had wit enough to yield the prize with a good 
 grace, and not contend with him who had thirty legions. They were 
 sure to be rewarded, if they confess'd themselves bad writers, and that 
 was somewhat better than to be martyrs for their reputation. Lucan's 
 example was enough to teach them manners; and after he was put to 
 death, for overcoming Nero, the emperor carried it without dispute for 
 
 32. sate] QqF. sat SsM.
 
 PKEFACE 233 
 
 the best poet in his dominioiis. No man ^vas ambitious of that grinning 
 honor; for if he heard the malicious trumpeter proclaiming his name 
 before his betters, he knew there was but one way with him. Maecenas 
 took another course, and we know he was more than a great man, for 
 he was witty too; but, finding himself far gone in poetry, which Seneca 
 assures us was not his talent, he thought it his best way to be well with 
 Virgil and with Horace ; that at least he might be a poet at the second 
 hand; and we see how happily it has succeeded with him; for his own 
 bad poetry is forgotten, and their panegyrics of him still remain. But 
 
 10 they who should be our patrons are for no such expensive ways to fame; 
 they have much of the poetry of Mascenas, but little of his liberality. 
 They are for persecuting Horace and Virgil, in the persons of their 
 successors; (for such is every man who has any part of their soul and 
 fire, tho' in a less degree). Some of their little zanies yet go farther; 
 for they are persecutors even of Horace himself, as far as they are able, 
 by their ignorant and vile imitations of him; by making an unjust use 
 of his authority, and turning his artillery against his friends. But how 
 would he disdain to be copied by such hands! I dare answer for him, 
 he woulil bo more uneasy in their company than he was with Crispinus, 
 
 20 their forefather, in the Holy Way; and would no more have allow'd 
 them a place amongst the critics, than he would Demetrius the mimic, 
 and Tigellius the buffoon: 
 
 Demetri, teque, TigeXli, 
 
 Discipulorutn inter juheo plorare cathedras. 
 
 With what scorn would he look down on such miserable translators, 
 who make dogg"rel of his Latin, mistake his meaning, misiipply his 
 censures, and often contradict their own? He is fix'd as a landmark to 
 set out the bounds of poetry: 
 
 Saxum antiquum, ingens, — 
 
 30 Limes agro positus, litem ut discerneret arvis. 
 
 But other arms than theirs, and other sinews arc requir'd to raise the 
 weight of such an author; and when they would toss him against their 
 enemies : 
 
 Genua labant, gelidus concrevit frigore sanguis. 
 Tum lapis ipse, viri vacuum per inane volutus, 
 Nee spatium evasit totum, nee pertulit ictum. 
 
 For my part, I would wish no other revenge, either for myself, or 
 the rest of the poets, from this riming judge of the twelvepcnny gal- 
 lery, this legitimate son of Sternhold, than that he would subscribe his 
 40 name to his censure, or (not to tax lym beyond his learning) set his 
 mark; for, should he own himself publicly, and come from behind the 
 lion's skin, they whom he condemns would be thankful to him, they 
 whom he praises would choose to be conderan'd; and the magistrates 
 whom he has elected would modestly withdraw from their employment, 
 
 12. Thei/ arc . . . 8uccc8.<iors] Qq. They are for procuring them- 
 selves nputiiliini in ihr pcrxons of their .shctcssois F. 
 
 32. ar/'iiiint their encniicn] QqF. against enemies SsM. 
 35. volutus] yqF. volatus SsM.
 
 234 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 to avoid the scandal of his nomination. The sharpness of his satire, 
 next to himself, falls most heavily on his friends, and they ought never 
 to forgive him for commending them perpetually the wrong way, and 
 sometimes by contraries. If he have a friend whose hastiness in writing 
 is his greatest fault, Horace would have taught him to have "minc'd the 
 matter, and to have call'd it readiness of thought, and a flowing fancy; 
 for friendship will allow a man to christen an imperfection by the name 
 of some neighbor virtue : 
 
 Vellem in amicitia sic crraremus ; ci isti 
 10 Errori novien virtus posuisset honcstum. 
 
 But he would never have allow'd him to have call'd a slow man hasty, 
 or a hasty writer a slow drudge, as Juvenal explains it: 
 
 Canibus pigris, scahieque vetusta 
 
 Levibus, et siccce lambentibus ora lucerncB, 
 Nomen erit, Pardus, Tigris, Leo; si quid adhuc est 
 Quod fremit in terris violentius. 
 
 Yet Lucretius laughs at a foolish lover, even for excusing the imper- 
 fections of his mistress: 
 
 Nigra /leXixpoos est, immunda et fcetida aKoc-/ios. 
 20 Balba loqui non quit, rpavXi^ei; muta pudens est, &e. 
 
 But to drive it ad Mthiopem cygnum is not to be indur'd. I leave 
 him to interpret this by the benefit of his French version on the other 
 side, and without farther considering him than I have the rest of my 
 illiterate censors, whom I have disdain'd to answer, because they are not 
 qualified for judges. It remains that I acquaint the reader that I have 
 endeavor'd in this play to follow the practice of the ancients, who, as 
 Mr. Eymer has judiciously observ'd, are and ought to be our masters. 
 Horace likewise gives it for a rule in his Art of Poetry: 
 
 Vos exempJaria Grceca 
 
 30 Nocturna vcrsatc manu, vcrsate diurna. 
 
 Yet, tho' their models are regular, they are too little for English 
 tragedy; which requires to be built in a larger compass. I could give 
 an instance in the (Edipus Tyrannus, which was the masterpiece of 
 Sophocles; but I reserve it for a more fit occasion, which I hope to have 
 hereafter. In my style, I have profess 'd to imitate the divine Shak- 
 spere; which that I might perform more freely, I have disincumber 'd 
 myself from rime. Not that I condemn my former way, but that this 
 is more proper to my present purpose. I hope I need not to explain 
 myself, that I have not copied my author servilely: words and phrases 
 40 must of necessity receive a change in succeeding ages; but 'tis almost 
 a miracle that much of his language remains so pure ; and that he who 
 began dramatic poetry amongst us, untaught by any, and as Ben Jonson 
 tells us, without learning, should by the force of his own genius perform 
 so much that in a manner he has left no praise for any who come after 
 him. The occasion is fair, and the subject would be pleasant to handle 
 the difference of styles betwdxt him and Fletcher, and wherein, and how
 
 PREFACE 235 
 
 far they are both to be imitated. But since I must not be over-confident 
 of my own performance after him, it will be prudence in me to be 
 silent. Yet I hope I may affirm, and without vanity, that, by imitating 
 him, I have excell'd myself throughout the play; and particularly, that 
 I prefer the scene betwixt Antony and Ventidius in the first act to 
 anything which I have written in this kind.
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 What flocks of critics hover here to-day, l 
 
 As vultures wait on armies for tiieir prey, V 
 
 All gaping for the carcass of a play! J 
 
 With croaking notes they bode some dire event, 
 
 And follow dying poets by the scent. 
 
 Ours gives himself for gone; y' have watch'd your time! 
 
 He fights this day unarm'd, — without his rime; — 
 
 And brings a tale which often has been told; 
 
 As sad as Dido's; and almost as old. 
 
 10 Ilis hero, whom you wits his bully call. 
 
 Bates of his mettle, and scarce rants at all: 
 He's somewhat lewd ; but a well-meaning mind ; 
 Weeps much; fights little; but is wondrous kind. 
 In short, a pattern, and companion fit, 
 For all the keeping Tonies of the pit. 
 I could name more: a wife, and mistress too; "] 
 Both (to be plain) too good for most of you: V 
 The wife well-natur'd, and the mistress true. J 
 Now, poets, if your fame has been his care, 
 
 20 Allow him all the candor you can spare. 
 .A brave man scorns to quarrel once a day; 
 Like Hectors, in at every petty fray. 
 Let those find fault whose wit 's so very small, 
 They've need to show that they can think at all; 
 Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow ; 
 He who would search for pearls must dive below. 
 Fops may have leave to level all they can; 
 As pigmies would be glad to lop a man. 
 Half-wits are fleas; so little and so light, 
 
 30 We scarce could know they live, but that they bite. 
 But, as the rich, when tir'd with daily feasts, 
 For change, become their next poor tenant's guests; 
 Drink hearty draughts of ale from plain brown bowls, 
 And snatch the homely rasher from the coals: 
 So you, retiring from much better cheer. 
 For once, may venture to do penance here. 
 And since that plenteous autumn now is past. 
 Whose grajies and peaches have indulg 'd your taste. 
 Take in good part, from our poor poet's board, 
 
 40 Such rivel'd fruits as winter can afford. 
 
 237
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED 
 
 Mark Antony. 
 Ventidius, his General. 
 DoLABELLA, his Friend. 
 Alexas, the Queen's Eunuch. 
 Serapion, Priest of Isis. 
 [Myris], another Priest. 
 Servants to Antony. 
 
 Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt. 
 OCTAViA, Antony's Wife. 
 
 J ' f Cleopatra's Maids. 
 
 Antony's two little Daughters. 
 
 SCENE — A lexandria. 
 
 [Myris] Not named in QqF. Cf. p. 239.
 
 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 OR 
 
 THE WORLD WELL LOST 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene, the Tcmpie of Isis. 
 
 Enter Serapiox, Myris, Priests of Isis. 
 
 Scrap. Portents and prodigies are grown so frequent, 
 That they have lost their name. Our fruitful Nile 
 Flow'd ere the wonted season, with a torrent 
 So unexpected, and so wondrous fierce. 
 That the wild deluge overtook the haste 
 Ev'n of the hinds that watch'd it; men and beasts 
 Were borne above the tops of trees, that grew 
 On th' utmost margin of the water-mark. 
 Then with so swift an ebb the flood drove backward, 
 10 It slipp'd from underneath the scaly herd: 
 Here monstrous phocse panted on the shore ; 
 Forsaken dolphins there, with their broad tails, 
 Lay lashing the departing waves: hard by 'em, 
 Sea horses flound'ring in the slimy mud, 
 Toss'd up their heads, and dash'd the ooze about 'em. 
 
 Enter Alexas behind them. 
 
 Myr. Avert these omens, Heav'n ! 
 
 Scrap. Last night, between the hours of twelve and one, 
 In a lone aisle o' th' temple while I walk'd, 
 A whirlwind rose, that, with a violent blast. 
 20 Shook all the dome: the doors around me clapp'd; 
 The iron wicket, that defends the vault 
 Where the long race of Ptolemies is laid, 
 Burst open, and disclos'd the mighty dead. 
 From out each monument, in order plac'd, 
 An armed ghost starts up: the boy-king last 
 Rear'd his inglorious head. A peal of groans 
 Then follow'd, and a lamentable voice 
 Cried: "Egypt is no more!" My blood ran back. 
 
 1. are] Qqf. have SsM. 2r,. starts] F. start Qq. 
 
 239
 
 240 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 My shaking knees against each other knock"d ; 
 30 On the cold pavement down I fell intranc'd, 
 And so unfinish'd left the horrid scene. 
 
 Alex. [Showing himself.} And dream'd you this? or did invent the 
 story, 
 To frighten our Egyptian boys withal, 
 And train 'em up, betimes, in fear of priesthood? 
 
 Serap. My lord, I saw you not, 
 Nor meant my words should reach your ears; but what 
 I utter'd was most true. 
 
 Alex. A foolish dream, 
 
 Bred from the fumes of indigested feasts, 
 And holy luxury. 
 
 Serap. I know my duty: 
 
 40 This goes no farther. 
 
 Alex. 'Tis not fit it should ; 
 
 Nor would the times now bear it, were it true. 
 All southern, from yon hills, the Eoman camp 
 Hangs o'er us black and threat'ning, like a storm 
 Just breaking on our heads. 
 
 Serap. Our faint Egyptians pray for Antony; 
 But in their servile hearts they own Octavius. 
 
 Myr. Why then does Antony dream out his hours, 
 And tempts not fortune for a noble day. 
 Which might redeem what Aetium lost? 
 50 Alex. He thinks 'tis past recovery. 
 
 Serap. Yet the foe 
 
 Seems not to press the siege. 
 
 Alex. O, there's the wonder. 
 
 Maecenas and Agrippa, who can most 
 With Caesar, are his foes. His wife Octavia, 
 Driv'n from his house, solicits her re\enge; 
 And Dolabella, who was once his friend, 
 Upon some private grudge, now seeks his ruin : 
 Yet still war seems on either side to sleep. 
 
 Serap. 'Tis strange that Antony, for some days past. 
 Has not beheld the face of Cleopatra ; 
 60 But here, in Isis' temple, lives retir'd. 
 
 And makes his heart a prey to black despair. 
 
 Alex. 'Tis true; and we much fear he hopes by absence 
 To cure his mind of love. 
 
 Serap. If he be vanquish 'd. 
 
 Or make his peace, Egypt is doom'd to be 
 A Roman province; and our plenteous harvests 
 Must then redeem the scarceness of their soil. 
 While Antony stood firm, our Alexandria 
 Rival'd proud Rome (dominion's other seat), 
 And Fortune striding, like a vast Colossus, 
 70 Could fix an equal foot of empire here. 
 
 Alex. Had I my wish, these tyrants of all nature.
 
 ACT I 241 
 
 Who lord it o'er mankind, should perish, — perish, 
 Each by the other's sword; but, since our will 
 Is lamely follow'd by our pow'r, Ave must 
 Depend on one; with him to rise or fall. 
 
 Serap. How stands the queen affected? 
 
 Alex. O, she dotes, 
 
 She dotes, Serapion, on this vanquished man, 
 And winds herself about his mighty ruins; 
 Whom would she yet forsake, yet yield him up, 
 80 This hunted prey, to his pursuers' hands. 
 
 She might preserve us all: but 'tis in vain — 
 This changes my designs, this blasts my counsels, 
 And makes me use all means to keep him here, 
 Whom I could wish divided from her arms. 
 Far as the earth's deep center. Well, you know 
 The state of things; no more of your ill omens 
 And black prognostics; labor to confirm 
 The people's hearts. 
 
 Enter Yentidius, talking aside with a Gentleman of Antony's. 
 
 Serap. These Romans will o'erhear us. 
 
 But, who's that stranger? By his warlike port, 
 90 His fierce demeanor, and erected look, 
 He's of no vulgar note. 
 
 Alex. O, 'tis Ventidius, 
 
 Our emp'ror's great lieutenant in the East, 
 Who first show'd Rome that Parthia could be conquer'd. 
 When Antony return'd from Syria last, 
 He left this man to guard the Roman frontiers. 
 
 Serap. You seem to know him well. 
 
 Alex. Too well. I saw him in Cilicia first. 
 When Cleopatra there met Antony: 
 A mortal foe he was to us, and Egypt. 
 100 But, — let me witness to the worth I hate, — 
 A braver Roman never drew a sword; 
 Firm to his prince, but as a friend, not slave. 
 He ne'er was of his pleasures; but presides 
 O'er all his cooler hours, and morning counsels: 
 In short, the plainness, fierceness, rugged virtue, 
 Of an old true-stamp'd Roman lives in him. 
 His coming bodes I know not what of ill 
 To our aflfairs. Withdraw, to mark him better; 
 And I'll acquaint you why I sought you here, 
 110 And what's our present work. 
 
 [They withdraw to a corner of the stage; and Yentidius, 
 with the other, comes forwards to the front. 
 
 Vent. Not see him, say you? 
 
 I say, I must, and will. 
 
 Gent. He has commanded. 
 
 On pain of death, none should approach his presence.
 
 242 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 Vent. I bring him news will raise his drooping spirits, 
 Give him new life. 
 
 Gent. He sees not Cleopatra. 
 
 Vent. Would he had never seen her! 
 
 Gent. He eats not, drinks not, sleeps not, has no use 
 Of anything, but thought ; or, if he talks, 
 "Tis to himself, and then 'tis perfect raving: 
 Then he defies the world, and bids it pass; 
 120 Sometimes he gnaws his lip, and curses loud 
 The boy Octavius; then he draws his mouth 
 Into a scornful smile, and cries, "Take all. 
 The world's not worth my care." 
 
 Vent. Just, just his nature. 
 
 Virtue's his path; but sometimes 'tis too narrow 
 For his vast soul; and then he starts out wide, 
 And bounds into a vice, that bears him far 
 From his first course, and plunges him in ills: 
 But, when his danger makes him find his fault, 
 Quick to observe, and full of sharp remorse, 
 130 He censures eagerly his own misdeeds. 
 Judging himself with malice to himself, 
 And not forgiving what as man he did. 
 Because his other parts are more than man. — 
 He must not thus be lost. [Alexas and the Priests come forward. 
 
 Alex. You have your full instructions, now advance; 
 Proclaim your orders loudly. 
 
 Serap. Eomans, Egyptians, hear the queen's command. 
 Thus Cleopatra bids : let labor cease ; 
 To pomp and triumphs give this happy day, 
 140 That gave the world a lord: 'tis Antony's. 
 Live, Antony; and Cleopatra live! 
 Be this the general voice sent up to heav'n, 
 And every public place repeat this echo. 
 
 Vent. [Aside.] Fine pageantry! 
 
 Serap. Set out before your doors 
 
 The images of all your sleeping fathers. 
 With laurels crown'd; with laurels wreathe your posts. 
 And strow with flow'rs the pavement; let the priests 
 Do present sacrifice; pour out the wine. 
 And call the gods to join with you in gladness. 
 150 Vent. Curse on the tongue that bids this general joy! 
 Can they be friends of Antony, who revel 
 When Antony's in danger? Hide, for shame, 
 You Romans, your great grandsires' images. 
 For fear their souls should animate their marbles, 
 To blush at their degenerate progeny. 
 
 Alex. A love, which knows no bounds to Antony, 
 Would mark the day with honors, when all heaven 
 Labor'd for him, when each propitious star 
 Stood wakeful in his orb, to watch that hour.
 
 ACT I 243 
 
 160 And shed his better influence. Her own birthday 
 
 Our queen neglected, like a vulgar fate, 
 
 That pass'd obscurely by. 
 
 Vent. Would it had slept, 
 
 Divided far from his; till some remote 
 
 And future age had call'd it out, to ruin 
 
 Some other prince, not him ! 
 
 Alex. Your emperor, 
 
 Tho' grown unkind, would be more gentle than 
 
 T' upbraid my queen for loving him too well. 
 
 Vent. Does the mute sacrifice upbraid the priest? 
 
 He knows him not his executioner. 
 170 O, she has deck"d his ruin with her love, 
 
 Le(i him in golden bands to gaudy slaughter, 
 
 And made perdition pleasing; she has left him 
 
 The blank of what he was. 
 
 I tell thee, eunuch, she has quite unmann'd him: 
 
 Can any Koman see, and know him now. 
 
 Thus alter'd from the lord of half mankind, 
 
 Unbent, unsinew'd, made a woman's toy, 
 
 Shrunk from the vast extent of all his honors, 
 
 And eramp'd within a corner of the world? 
 180 Antony! 
 
 Thou bravest soldier, and thou best of friends! 
 
 Bounteous as nature; next to nature's God! 
 
 Couldst thou but make new worlds, so wouldst thou give 'em, 
 
 As bounty were thy being: rough in battle. 
 
 As the first Romans, when they went to war; 
 
 Yet, after victory, more pitiful 
 
 Than all their praying virgins left at home! 
 
 Alex. Would you could add, to those more shining virtues. 
 
 His truth to her who loves him. 
 
 Vent. Would I could not! 
 
 190' But wherefore waste I precious hours with thee? 
 
 Thou art her darling mischief, her chief engine, 
 
 Antony's other fate. Go, tell thy queen, 
 
 Ventidius is arriv'd, to end her charms. 
 
 Let your Egyptian timbrels play alone, 
 
 Nor mix effeminate sounds with Eoman trumpets. 
 
 You dare not fight for Antony; go pray. 
 
 And keep your coward's holiday in temples. 
 
 [Exeutit Alexas, Serapion. 
 
 Enter a second Gentleman of M. Antony. 
 2 Getit. The emperor approaches, and commands. 
 
 [Enter a second, etc.] QqF SsM read I Reenter the (Jentlemnn of M. 
 Antony], except that Q3F, by a misprint, substitute Gcntlcmrn for Ocntle- 
 inan. This must be a mistake, as is shown by the followlnj;: speech headings, 
 and by the fact that the Gentleman mentioned at I. 88 has never left the 
 stage.
 
 244 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 On pain of death, that none presume to stay. 
 200 1 Gent. I dare not disobey him. [Going out with the other. 
 
 Vent. Well, I dare. 
 
 But I'll observe him first unseen, and find 
 Which way his humor drives: the rest I'll venture. [Withdraws. 
 
 Enter Antony, icalking tcith a disturb'd motion before 
 
 he speaks. 
 
 Ant. They tell me, "tis my birthday, and I'll keep it 
 With double pomp of sadness. 
 'Tis what the day deserves which gave me breath. 
 Why was I rais'd the meteor of the world. 
 Hung in the skies, and blazing as I travel 'd, 
 Till all my fires were spent; and then cast downward, 
 To be trod out by Caesar? 
 
 Kent. [Aside.] On my soul, 
 210 'Tis mournful, wondrous mournful! 
 
 Ant. Count thy gains. 
 
 Now, Antony, wouldst thou be born for this? 
 Glutton of fortune, thy devouring youth 
 Has starv'd thy wanting age. 
 
 Vent. [Aside.] How sorrow- shakes him! 
 
 So, now the tempest tears him up by th' roots. 
 And on the ground extends the noble ruin. 
 
 Ant. [Having thrown himself down.] Lie there, thou shadow of an 
 emperor ; 
 The place thou pressest on thy mother earth 
 Is all thy empire now: now it contains thee; 
 Some few days hence, and then "twill be too large, 
 220 When thou 'rt contracted in thy narrow urn. 
 Shrunk to a few cold ashes; then Octavia 
 (For Cleopatra will not live to see it), 
 Octavia then will have thee all her own. 
 And bear thee in her widow VI hand to CsGsar; 
 Caesar will weep, the crocodile will weep, 
 To see his rival of the universe 
 
 Lie still and peaceful there. I '11 think no more on 't. — 
 Give me some music; look that it be sad: 
 
 216. Lie there, etc.] FSsM work confusion hy making the twelve lines 
 beginning here a continuation of the speech of Ventidliis. The mistake arose 
 from a misinterpretation of the stage direction in Q1Q2, where the words 
 Ant. having thrown himself doicn, instead of being bracketed in the margin, 
 are placed between the lines of text, to mark the l>eginning of Antony's 
 speech Q,3 moves them to t)ie margin, so that Ventidius's speech seems to 
 continue through 1. 240, and to be followed by a short speech by the same 
 person. The printer of F retained the stage direction as in Q.3 : but. noticing 
 the difficulty, made a new speech by Antony begin with the words Give me 
 gome music (1. 228). Queerly enough, the passage is printed correctly in 
 Salntsbury's reprint of Scott's Introduction to the play (Ss. v. 309).
 
 ACT I 245 
 
 I'll soothe my melancholy, till I swell, 
 230 And burst myself Avith sighing. — [Soft music. 
 
 'Tis somewhat to my humor. Stay, I fancy 
 I'm now turn'd wild, a commoner of nature; 
 Of all forsaken, and forsaking all, 
 Live in a shady forest's sylvan scene; 
 Stretch'd at my length beneath some blasted oak, 
 I lean my head upon the mossy bark. 
 And look just of a piece as I grew from it; 
 My uncomb'd locks, matted like mistletoe. 
 Hang o'er my hoary face; a murm'ring brook 
 240 Runs at my foot. 
 
 Vent. Methinks I fancy 
 
 Myself there too. 
 
 Ant. The herd come jumping by me. 
 And, fearless, quench their thirst, while I look on. 
 And take me for their fellow-citizen. 
 More of this image, more; it lulls my thoughts. [Soft music again. 
 
 Vent. I must disturb him; I can hold no longer. [Stands before him. 
 
 Ant. [Starting iip.] Art thou Vcntidius? 
 
 Vent. Are you Antony? 
 
 I'm liker what I was than you to him 
 I left you last. 
 
 .471-^. I 'm angry. 
 
 Vent. So am I. 
 
 Ant. I would be private: leave me. 
 
 Ve7it. Sir, I love you, 
 
 250 And therefore will not leave you. 
 
 Ant. Will not leave me! 
 
 Where have you learnt that answer? Who am I? 
 
 Vent. My emperor; the man I love next heaven. 
 If I said more, I think 'twere scarce a sin : 
 Y ' are all that 's good, and godlike. 
 
 Ant. All that's wretched. 
 
 You will not leave me then? 
 
 Vent. 'Twas too presuming 
 
 To say I would not ; but I dare not leave you : 
 And, 'tis unkind in you to chide me hence 
 So soon, when I so far have come to see you. 
 
 Ant. Now thou hast seen mc, art thou satisfied? 
 260 For, if a friend, thou hast beheld enough; 
 And, if a foe, too much. 
 
 Vent. [Weeping.] Look, emperor, this is no common dew. 
 I have not wept this forty year; but now 
 My mother comes afresh into my eyes; 
 I cannot help her softness. 
 
 Ant. By heav'n, he weeps! poor good old man, ho weeps! 
 
 254. godlike] god-like SsM. good-like QqF.
 
 246 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 The big round drops course one another down 
 The furrows of his cheeks. — Stop 'em, Ventidius, 
 Or I shall blush to death: they set my shame, 
 270 That caus'd 'em, full before me. 
 
 Vent. I'll do my best. 
 
 Ant. Sure there 's contagion in the tears of friends: 
 See, I have caught it too. Believe me, 'tis not 
 Por my own griefs, but thine. — Nay, father! 
 
 Vent. Emperor. 
 
 Ant. Emperor! Why, that "s the style of victory; 
 The conqu'ring soldier, red with unfelt wounds. 
 Salutes his general so : but never more 
 Shall that sound reach my ears. 
 
 Vent. I warrant you. 
 
 Ant. Actium, Actium! O! — 
 
 Vent. It sits too near you. 
 
 Ant. Here, here it lies; a lump of lead by day, 
 280 And, in my short, distracted, nightly slumbers. 
 The hag that rides my dreams. 
 
 Vent. Out with it; give it vent. 
 
 Ayit. Urge not my shame. 
 
 1 lost a battle. 
 
 Vent. So has Julius done. 
 
 Ant. Thou favor'st me, and speak'st not half thou think'st; 
 For Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly: 
 But Antony 
 
 Vent. Nay, stop not. 
 
 Ant. Antony, — 
 
 Well, thou wilt have it, — like a coward, fled, 
 Fled while his soldiers fought; fled first, Ventidius. 
 Thou long'st to curse me, and I give thee leave. 
 290 I know thou cam'st prepar'd to rail. 
 
 Ve7it. I did. 
 
 Ant. I'll help thee. — I have been a man, Ventidius. 
 
 Vent. Yes, and a brave one; but 
 
 Ant. I know thy meaning. 
 
 But I have lost my reason, have disgrac'd 
 The name of soldier, with inglorious ease. 
 In the full vintage of my flowing honors, 
 Sate still, and saw it press'd by other hands. 
 Fortune came smiling to my youth, and woo'd it, 
 And purple greatness met my ripen'd years. 
 When first I came to empire, I was borne 
 300 On tides of people, crowding to my triumphs; 
 The wish of nations; and the willing world 
 Receiv'd me as its pledge of future peace; 
 I was so great, so happy, so belov'd, 
 Fate could not ruin me; till I took pains. 
 And work'd against my fortune, chid her from me.
 
 ACT T 247 
 
 And turn'd her loose; yet still she came again. 
 My careless days, and my luxurious nights, 
 At length have wearied her, and now she 's gone, 
 Gone, gone, divorc'd for ever. Help me, soldier, 
 310 To curse this madman, this industrious fool, 
 Who labor'd to be wretched: prytliee, curse me. 
 
 Vent. No. 
 
 Ant. Why? 
 
 Vent. You are too sensible already 
 
 Of wliat y' have done, too conscious of your failings; 
 And, like a scorpion, whipp'd by others first 
 To fury, sting yourself in mad revenge. 
 I would bring balm, and pour it in your wounds, 
 Cure your distemper'd mind, and heal your fortunes. 
 
 Ant. I know thou wouldst. 
 
 Vent. I will. 
 
 Ajit. Ha, ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Vent. You laugh. 
 
 Ant. I do, to see oflScious love 
 
 320 Give cordials to the dead. 
 
 Vent. You would be lost, then? 
 
 Ant. I am. 
 
 Vent. I say you are not. Try your fortune. 
 
 Ant. I have, to th' utmost. Dost tliou think me desperate, 
 Without just cause? A^o, when I found all lost 
 Beyond repair, I hid me from the world, 
 And learnt to scorn it here ; which now I do 
 So heartily, I think it is not worth 
 The cost of keeping. 
 
 Vent. Caesar thinks not so: 
 
 He'll thank you for the gift he could not take. 
 You would be kill'd, like Tully, would you? Do, 
 330 Hold out your throat to Caesar, and die tamely. 
 
 Ant. No, I can kill myself; and so resolve. 
 
 Vent. I can die with you too, when time shall serve; 
 But fortune calls upon us now to live. 
 To fight, to conquer. 
 
 Ant. Sure thou dream 'st, Ventidius. 
 
 Vent. No ; 'tis you dream ; you sleep away your hours 
 In desperate sloth, miscall'd philosophy. 
 Up, up, for honor's sake; twelve legions wait you, 
 And long to call you chief: by painful journeys 
 I led 'em, patient both of heat and hunger, 
 340 Down from the Parthian marches to the Nile. 
 'Twill do you good to see their sunburnt faces, 
 Their scarr'd cheeks, and ehopp'd hands: there 's virtue in 'em. 
 They'll sell those mangled limbs at dearer rates 
 Than yon trim bands can buy. 
 
 Ant. Where left you them?
 
 248 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 Vent. I said in Lower Syria. 
 
 A7it. Bring 'em hither; 
 
 There may be life in these. 
 
 J'ent. They will not come. 
 
 Ant. Why didst thou mock my hopes with promis'd aids, 
 To double my despair? They're mutinous. 
 
 y'ent. Most firm and loyal. 
 
 Ant. Yet they will not march 
 
 350 To succor me. O trifler! 
 
 Vent. They petition 
 
 You would make haste to head 'em. 
 
 Ant. I'm besieg'd. 
 
 Ve7it. There 's but one way shut up. How came I hither 1 
 
 A7it. I will not stir. 
 
 Vent. They would perhaps desire 
 
 A better reason. 
 
 Ant. I have never us'd 
 
 My soldiers to demand a reason of 
 My actions. Why did they refuse to march? 
 
 Vent. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. 
 
 Ant. What was 't they said? 
 
 Vent. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. 
 360 Why should they fight indeed, to make her conquer, 
 And make you more a slave? to gain you kingdoms. 
 Which, for a kiss, at your next midnight feast, 
 You'll sell to her? Then she new-names her jewels, 
 And calls this diamond such or such a tax; 
 Each pendant in her ear shall be a province. 
 
 Ant. Ventidius, I allow your tongue free license 
 On all my other faults; but, on your life. 
 No word of Cleopatra : she deserves 
 More worlds than I can lose. 
 
 Ve7it. Behold, you pow'rs, 
 
 370 To whom you have intrusted humankind! 
 See Europe, Afric, Asia, put in balance. 
 And all weigh'd down by one light, worthless woman! 
 I think the gods are Antonies, and give, 
 Like prodigals, this nether world away 
 To none but wasteful hands. 
 
 A7it. You grow presumptuous. 
 
 Vent. I take the privilege of plain love to speak. 
 
 Ant. Plain love! plain arrogance, plain insolence! 
 Thy men are cowards; thou, an envious traitor; 
 Who, under seeming honesty, hast vented 
 380 The burden of thy rank, o'erflowing gall. 
 O that thou wert my equal; great in arms 
 As the first Caesar was, that I might kill thee 
 Without a stain to honor! 
 
 Vent. Y'ou may kill me;
 
 ACT I 249 
 
 You have done moro already, — call'd nie traitor. 
 
 Ant. Art thou not one? 
 
 Vent. For showing you yourself, 
 
 Which none else durst have done? But had I been 
 That name, which I disdain to speak again, 
 I needed not have sought your abject fortunes, 
 Come to partake your fate, to die with you. 
 390 What hinder'd me t' have led my conqu'ring eagles 
 To fill Oetavius' bands? I could have been 
 A traitor then, a glorious, happy traitor, 
 And not have been so call'd. 
 
 Ant. Forgive me, soldier; 
 
 I've been too passionate. 
 
 Vent. You thought mo false ; 
 
 Thought my old age betray'd you. Kill mo, sir; 
 Pray kill me; yet you need not, your unkindness 
 Has left your sword no work. 
 
 Ant. I did not think so; 
 
 I said it in my rage : pr'ythee forgive me. 
 Why didst thou tempt my anger, by discovery 
 400 Of what I would not hear? 
 
 Vent. No prince but you 
 
 Could merit that sincerity I us'd, 
 Nor durst another man have ventur'd it ; 
 But you, ere love misled your wand'ring eyes. 
 Were sure the chief and best of human race, 
 Fram'd in the very pride and boast of nature; 
 So perfect that the gods, who form'd you, wonder'd 
 At their own skill, and cried: '"A lucky hit 
 Has mended our design." Their envy hinder'd, 
 Else you had been immortal, and a pattern, 
 410 When heav'n would work for ostentation sake, 
 To copy out again. 
 
 Ant. But Cleopatra — 
 
 Go on; for I can bear it now. 
 
 Vent. No more. 
 
 Ant. Thou dar'st not trust my passion, but thou may'st; 
 Thou only lov'st, the rest have flatter'd me. 
 
 Ve7it. Heav'n's blessing on your heart for that kind word! 
 May I believe you love me? Speak again. 
 
 Ant. Indeed I do. Speak this, and this, and this. [Hugging him. 
 Thy praises were unjust; but I'll deserve 'em. 
 And yet mend all. Do with me what thou wilt; 
 420 Lead me to victory! thou know'st the way. 
 
 Vent. And, — will you leave this 
 
 Ant. Pr'ythee, do not curse her, 
 
 And I will leave lier ; tlio', heav'n knows, I love 
 
 410. ostentation] QqF. ostentation's SsM.
 
 250 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 Beyond life, conquest, empire, all but honor; 
 But I will leave her. 
 
 Vent. That's my royal master; 
 
 And shall we fight? 
 
 Ant. I warrant thee, old soldier, 
 
 Thou shalt behold me once again in iron ; 
 And at the head of our old troops, that beat 
 The Parthians, cry aloud: "Come, follow me!" 
 
 Vent. O, now I hear my emperor! in that word 
 430 Octavius fell. Gods, let me see that day. 
 And, if I have ten years behind, take all: 
 I'll thank you for th' exchange. 
 
 Ant. O Cleopatra! 
 
 Ve7it. Again? 
 
 A7it. I've done: in that last sigh, she went. 
 
 Cfesar shall know what 'tis to force a lover 
 From all he holds most dear. 
 
 Vent. Methinks, you breathe 
 
 Another soul: your looks are more divine; 
 You speak a hero, and you move a god. 
 
 Ant. O, thou hast fir'd me; my soul 's up in arms, 
 And mans each part about me. Once again 
 440 That noble eagerness of fight has seiz'd me; 
 That eagerness with which I darted upward 
 To Cassius' camp: in vain the steepy hill 
 Oppos'd my way; in vain a war of spears 
 Sung round my head, and planted all my shield; 
 I won the trenches, while my foremost men 
 Lagg'd on the plain below. 
 
 Ve7it. Ye gods, ye gods. 
 
 For such another hour! 
 
 Aiit. Come on, my soldier! 
 
 Our hearts and arms are still the same: I long 
 Once more to meet our foes ; that thou and I, 
 450 Like time and death, marching before our troops. 
 May taste fate to 'em; mow 'em out a passage, 
 
 And, ent'ring where the foremost squadrons yield, 
 
 Begin the noble harvest of the field. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Cleopatra, Iras, and Alexas. 
 
 Cleo. What shall I do, or whither shall I turn? 
 Ventidius has o'ercome, and he will go. 
 Alex. He goes to fight for you. 
 
 425. soldier,] QqF. soldier. SsM. 
 
 444. all] QqF. on SsM. 
 
 447. hour] Q1Q2. honour Q3FSsM.
 
 ACT II 251 
 
 Cleo. Then he would see me, ere he went to fight. 
 Flatter me not : if once he goes, he 's lost. 
 And all my hopes destroy'd. 
 
 Alex. Does this weak passion 
 
 Become a mighty queen? 
 
 Cleo. I am no queen : 
 
 Is this to be a queen, to be besieg'd 
 By yon insulting Roman, and to wait 
 10 Each hour the victor's chain? These ills arc small; 
 For Antony is lost, and I can mourn 
 For nothing else but him. Now come, Octavius, 
 I have no more to lose! prepare thy bands; 
 I"m fit to be a captive: Antony 
 Has taught my mind the fortune of a slave. 
 
 Iras. Call reason to assist you. 
 
 Cleo. I have none. 
 
 And none would have : my love 's a noble madness. 
 Which shows the cause descrv'd it. Moderate sorrow 
 Fits vulgar love, and for a vulgar man : 
 20 But I have lov"d with such transcendent passion, 
 I soar'd, at first, quite out of reason's view, 
 And now am lost above it. — No, I'm proud! 
 'Tis thus: would Antony could see me now! 
 Think you he would not sigh, tho' he must leave mc? 
 Sure he would sigh; for he is noble-natur'd. 
 And bears a tender heart : I know him well. 
 Ah, no, I know him not ; I knew him once, 
 But now 'tis past. 
 
 Iras. Let it be past with you: 
 
 Forget him, madam. 
 
 Cleo. Never, never, Iras. 
 
 30 He once was mine; and once, tho' now 'tis gone, 
 Leaves a faint image of possession still. 
 
 Alex. Think him unconstant, cruel, and ungrateful. 
 
 Cleo. I cannot: if I could, those thoughts were vain. 
 Faithless, ungrateful, cruel tho' he be, 
 I still must love him. [Enter Charmion. 
 
 Now, what news, my Charmion? 
 Will he be kind? and will he not forsake me? 
 Am I to live, or die? — nay, do I live? 
 Or am I dead? for when he gave his answer, 
 Fate took the word, and then I liv'd or died. 
 40 Char. I found him, madam 
 
 Cleo. A long speech preparing! 
 
 If thou bring'st comfort, haste, and give it mc. 
 For never was more need. 
 
 Ira-f. I know he loves you. 
 
 vnconstant] QqF. inconstant SsM.
 
 252 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 Cleo. Had he been kind, her eyes had told me so, 
 Before her tongue could speak it: now she studies, 
 To soften what he said; but give me death, 
 Just as he sent it, Charmion, undisguis'd, 
 And in the words he spoke. 
 
 Char. I found him, then, 
 
 Incompass'd round, I think, with iron statues; 
 So mute, so motionless his soldiers stood, 
 50 While awfully he cast his eyes about, 
 
 And ev'ry leader's hopes or fears survey'd: 
 Methought he look'd resolv'd, and yet not plcas'd. 
 When he beheld me struggling in the crowd, 
 He blush'd, and bade make way. 
 
 Alex. There's comfort yet. 
 
 Char. Ventidius fix'd his eyes upon my passage 
 Severely, as he meant to frown me back. 
 And sullenly gave place: I told my message. 
 Just as you gave it, broken and disorder'd; 
 I number 'd in it all your sighs and tears; 
 60 And while I mov'd your pitiful request, 
 That you but only begg'd a last farewell. 
 He fetch'd an inward groan; and ev'ry time 
 I nam'd you, sigh'd, as if his heart were breaking, 
 But shunn'd my eyes, and guiltily look'd down: 
 He seem'd not now that awful Antony, 
 Who shook an arm'd assembly with his nod; 
 But, making show as he would rub his eyes, 
 Disguis'd and blotted out a falling tear. 
 
 Cleo. Did he then weep? And was I worth a tear? 
 70 If what thou hast to say be not as pleasing. 
 Tell me no more, but let me die contented. 
 
 Char. He bid me say, he knew himself so well, 
 He could deny you nothing, if he saw you; 
 And therefore 
 
 Cleo. Thou wouldst say, he would not see mel 
 
 Char. And therefore begg'd you not to use a power, 
 W^hich he could ill resist; yet he should ever 
 Eespect you, as he ought. 
 
 Cleo. Is that a word 
 
 For Antony to use to Cleopatra? 
 O that faint word, respect! how I disdain it! 
 80 Disdain myself, for loving after it! 
 
 He should have kept that word for cold Octavia. 
 Respect is for a wife : am I that thing, 
 That dull, insipid lump, without desires, 
 And without pow'r to give 'em? 
 
 Alex, You misjudge; 
 
 You see thro' love, and that deludes your sight; 
 Aa, what is straight, seems crooked thro' the water:
 
 ACT II 253 
 
 But I, who bear my reason undisturb'd, 
 Can see this Antony, this dreaded man, 
 A fearful slave, who fain would run away, 
 80 And shuns his master's eyes: if you pursue him, 
 My life on 't, he still drags a chain along. 
 That needs must clog his flight. 
 
 Cleo. Could I believe thee! — 
 
 Alex. By cv'ry circumstance I know he loves. 
 True, he 's hard press' d, by int'rest and by honor; 
 Yet he but doubts, and parleys, and easts out 
 Many a long look for succor. 
 
 Cleo. He sends word, 
 
 He fears to see my face. 
 
 Alex. And would you morel 
 
 He shows his weakness who declines the combat, 
 And you must urge your fortune. Could he speak 
 100 More plainly? To my ears, the message sounds: 
 "Come to my rescue, Cleopatra, come; 
 Come, fiee me from Ventidius; from my tyrant: 
 See me, and give me a pretense to leave him!" 
 I hear his trumpets. This way he must pass. 
 Please you, retire a while; I'll work him first. 
 That he may bend more easy. 
 
 Cleo. You shall rule me; 
 
 But all, I fear, in vain. [Exit with Chaemion and Iras. 
 
 Alex. I fear so too; 
 
 Tho' I conceal'd my thoughts, to make her bold; 
 But 'tis our utmost means, and fate befriend it! [Withdraws. 
 
 Enter Lictors with Fasces, one hearing the Eagle; then enter 
 Antony with Ventidius, follow'd by other Commanders. 
 
 110 Ant. Octavius is the minion of blind chance, 
 
 But holds from virtue nothing. 
 
 Vent. Has he courage? 
 
 Ant. But just enough to season him from coward. 
 
 O, 'tis the coldest youth upon a charge. 
 
 The most deliberate fighter! if he ventures 
 
 (As in Illyria once they say he did, 
 
 To storm a town), 'tis when he cannot choose; 
 
 When all the world have fix'd their eyes upon him; 
 
 And then he lives on that for seven years after; 
 
 But, at a close revenge he never fails. 
 120 Vent. I heard you challeng'd him. 
 
 Ant. I did, Ventidius. 
 
 What think'st thou was his answer? 'Twas so tame! — 
 
 He said, he had more ways than one to die; 
 
 I had not. 
 
 96. look] Ql. lookt Q2. look't Q3. look'd F. 
 122. than one to] Q1Q2. than to Q3F.
 
 254 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 Vent. Poor! 
 
 Ant. He has more ways than one; 
 
 But he would choose 'em all before that one. 
 
 Fent. He first would choose an ague, or a fever. 
 
 Ant. No; it must be an ague, not a fever; 
 He has not ^Yarmth enough to die by that. 
 
 Vent. Or old age and a bed. 
 
 Ant. Aye, there's his choice, 
 
 He would live, like a lamp, to the last wink, 
 130 And crawl upon the utmost verge of life. 
 
 Hercules! Why should a man like this, 
 
 Who dares not trust his fate for one great actiop. 
 Be all the care of heav'n? Why should he lord it 
 O'er fourscore thousand men, of whom each one 
 Is braver than himself? 
 
 Vent. You conquer 'd for him : 
 
 Philippi knows it ; there you shar'd with him 
 That empire which your sword made all your own. 
 
 Ant. Fool that I was, upon my eagle's wings 
 
 1 bore this wren, till I was tir'd with soaring, 
 140 And now he mounts above me. 
 
 Good heav'ns, is this, is this the man who braves me? 
 Who bids my age make way? Drives me before him, 
 To the world's ridge, and sweeps me off like rubbish? 
 
 Vent. Sir, we lose time; the troops are mounted all. 
 
 Ant. Then give the word to march: 
 I long to leave this prison of a town. 
 To join thy legions; and, in open field. 
 Once more to show my face. Lead, my deliverer. 
 
 Enter Alexas. 
 
 Alex. Great emperor, 
 150 In mighty arms renown'd above mankind. 
 But, in soft pity to th' oppress'd, a god; 
 This message sends the mournful Cleopatra 
 To her departing lord. 
 
 Vent. Smooth sycophant! 
 
 Alex. A thousand wishes, and ten thousand prayers. 
 Millions of blessings wait you to the wars; 
 Millions of sighs and tears she sends you too. 
 And would have sent 
 As many dear embraces to your arms. 
 As many parting kisses to your lips; 
 160 But those, she fears, have wearied you already. 
 
 Vent. [Aside.] False crocodile! 
 
 Alex. And yet she begs not now, you would not leave her; 
 That were a wish too mighty for her hopes. 
 Too presuming for her low fortune, and your ebbing love; 
 That were a wish for her more prosp'rous days,
 
 ACT II 255 
 
 Her blooming beauty, and your growing kinilness. 
 
 Ant. [Aside.] Well, I must man it out! What would the queen? 
 
 Alex. First, to these noble warriors, who attend 
 Your daring courage in the chase of fame 
 170 (Too daring, and too dang 'reus for her quiet), 
 She humbly recommends all she holds dear. 
 All her own cares and fears, — the care of you. 
 
 Vent. Yes, witness Actium. 
 
 Ant. Let him speak, Ventidius. 
 
 Alex. You, when his matchless valor bears hini forward, 
 With ardor too heroic, on his foes, 
 Fall down, as she would do, before his feet; 
 Lie in his way, and stop the paths of death: 
 Tell him, this god is not invulnerable; 
 That absent Cleopatra bleeds in him; 
 180 And, that you may remember her petition. 
 She begs you wear these trifles, as a pawn. 
 Which, at your wish'd return, she will redeem 
 
 [Giles jewels to the Commanders, 
 
 With all the wealth of Egypt: 
 This to the great Ventidius she presents, 
 Whom she can never count her enemy. 
 Because he loves her lord. 
 
 Vent. Tell her, I'll none ou't; 
 
 I'm not asham'd of honest poverty; 
 Not all the diamonds of the Ilast can bribe 
 Ventidius from his faith. I hope to see 
 190 These and the rest of all her sparkling store, 
 Where they shall more deservingly be plac'd. 
 
 Ant. And who must wear "em then? 
 
 Vent. The wrong'd Octavia. 
 
 Ajit. You might have spar'd that word. 
 
 Vent. And he that bribe. 
 
 Ant. But have I no remembrance? 
 
 Alex. Yes, a dear one; 
 
 Your slave the queen — 
 
 Ant. My mistress. 
 
 Alex. Then your mistress; 
 
 Your mistress would, she says, have sent her soul, 
 But that you had long since ; she humbly begs 
 This ruby bracelet, set with bleeding hearts 
 
 (The emblems of her own), may bind your arm. [Presenting a bracelet. 
 200 Vent. Now, my best lord, in honor's name, I ask you, 
 For manhood's sake, and for you own dear safety, 
 Touch not these poison'd gifts. 
 Infected by the sender; touch 'em not; 
 Myriads of bluest plagues lie underneath "em. 
 And more than aconite has dipp'd the silk. 
 
 Ant. Nay, now you grow too cynical, Ventidius:
 
 256 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 A lady's favors may be worn with honor. 
 What, to refuse her bracelet! On my soul, 
 When I lie pensive in my tent alone, 
 210 'Twill pass the vvak:fu hours of winter nights. 
 To tell these pretty I eads upon my arm. 
 To count for every one a soft embrace, 
 A melting kiss at such and such a time: 
 And now and then the fury of her love. 
 When And what harm's in this? 
 
 Alex. None, none, my lord, 
 
 But what's to her, that now 'tis past for ever. 
 
 Ant. [Going to tie it.] We soldiers are so awkward — help me tie it. 
 
 Alex. In faith, my lord, we courtiers too are awkward 
 In these affairs: so are all men indeed; 
 220 Ev'n I, who am not one. But shall I speak? 
 
 Ant. Yes, freely. 
 
 Alex. Then, my lord, fair hands alone 
 
 Are fit to tie it; she who sent it can. 
 
 Vent. Hell, death! this eunuch pander ruins you. 
 You will not see her? 
 
 [Alexas whispers an Attendant, who goes ovt. 
 
 Ant. But to take my leave. 
 
 Vent. Then I have wash'd an Ethiop. Yare undone; 
 Y'are in the toils; y'are taken; y'are destroy'd: 
 Her eyes do Caesar's work. 
 
 Ant. You fear too soon. 
 
 I'm constant to myself : I know my strength ; 
 And yet she shall not think me barbarous neither, 
 230 Born in the depths of Af ric : I'm a Roman, 
 Bred to the rules of soft humanity. 
 A guest, and kindly us'd, should bid farewell. 
 
 Veiit. You do not know 
 How weak you are to her, how much an infant; 
 You are not proof against a smile, or glance; 
 A sigh will quite disarm you. 
 
 Ant. See, she comes! 
 
 Now you shall find your error. Gods, I thank you : 
 I form'd the danger greater than it was, 
 And now 'tis near, 'tis lessen'd. 
 
 Vent. Mark the end yet. 
 
 Enter Cleopatra, Charmion, and Iras. 
 
 240 Ant. Well, madam, we are met. 
 
 Cleo. Is this a meeting? 
 
 Then we must part? 
 
 Ant. We must. 
 
 Cleo. Who says we must? 
 
 225. Y'are] QqF. You're SsM. 
 231. to] QqF. in SsM.
 
 ACT II 257 
 
 Ant. Our own hard fates. 
 
 Cleo. We make those fates ourselves. 
 
 Ant. Yes, we have made 'em; we have lov'd each other 
 Into our mutual ruin. 
 
 Cleo. The gods have seen my joys with envious eyes; 
 I have no friends in heav'n; and all the world 
 (As 'twere the bus'ness of mankind to part us) 
 Is arm'd against my love: ev 'n you yourself 
 Join with the rest; you, you are arm'd against me. 
 250 Ant. I will be justified in all I do 
 To late posterity, and therefore hear me. 
 If I mix a lie 
 
 With any truth, reproach me freely with it ; 
 Else, favor me with silence. 
 
 Cleo. You command me, 
 
 And I am dumb. 
 
 Vent. I like this well: he shows authority. 
 
 Ant. That I derive my ruin 
 From you alone 
 
 Cleo. O heav'ns! I ruin you! 
 
 Ant, You promis'd me your silence, and you break it 
 260 Ere I have scarce begun. 
 
 Cleo. W^ell, I obey you. 
 
 Ant. When I beheld you first, it was in Egypt, 
 Ere Caesar saw your eyes; you gave me love, 
 And were too young to know it ; that I settled 
 Your father in his throne, was for your sake; 
 I left th' acknowledgment for time to ripen. 
 Caesar stepp 'd in, and with a greedy hand 
 Pluck'd the green fruit, ere the first blush of red, 
 Yet cleaving to the bough. He was my lord, 
 And was, beside, too great for me to rival ; 
 270 But I deserv'd you first, tho' he enjoy'd you. 
 When, after, I beheld you in Cilicia, 
 An enemy to Rome, I pardon'd you. 
 
 Cleo. 1 clear'd myself 
 
 Ant. Again you break your promise. 
 
 I lov'd you still, and took your weak excuses, 
 Took you into my bosom, stain'd by Caesar, 
 And not lialf mine: I went to Egypt with you. 
 And hid me from the bus'ness of the world. 
 
 Shut out enquiring nations from ray sight, ' *• 
 
 To give whole years to you. 
 2S0 Vent. [Aside.l Yes, to your shame b« "t spoken. 
 
 Ant. How I lov'd. 
 
 261, 262. When . first, Egypt eyca ; 
 
 love,] So punctuated la Q1Q2. Q.3F place only a comma after 
 eyes. SsM alter the sense by placing a period after Egypt and retaining the 
 •omma after cyca.
 
 258 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 Witness, ye days and nights, and all your hours. 
 That danc'd away with down upon your feet. 
 As all your bus'ness were to count my passion! 
 One day pass'd by, and nothing saw but love; 
 Another came, and still 'twas only love: 
 The suns were wearied out with looking on, 
 And I untir'd with loving. 
 I saw you ev'ry day, and all the day; 
 And ev'ry day was still but as the first, 
 290 So eager was I still to see you more. 
 
 Vent. 'Tis all too true. 
 
 Ant. Fulvia, my wife, grew jealous. 
 
 As she indeed had reason ; rais'd a war 
 In Italy, to call me back. 
 
 Vent. But yet 
 
 You went not. 
 
 Ant. While within your arms I lay. 
 
 The world fell mold'ring from my hands each hour, 
 And left me scarce a grasp — I thank your love for 't. 
 
 Vent. Well push'd: that last was home. 
 
 Cleo. Yet may I speak 'i 
 
 Ant. If I have urg'd a falsehood, yes; else, not. 
 Your silence says, I have not. Fulvia died 
 308 (Pardon, you gods, with my unkindness died); 
 To set the world at peace, I took Octavia, 
 This Caesar's sister; in her pride of youth. 
 And flow'r of beauty, did I wed that lady. 
 Whom blushing I must praise, because I left her. 
 You callM; my love obey'd the fatal summons: 
 This rais'd the Koman arms; the cause was yours, 
 I would have fought by land, where I was stronger; 
 You hinder'd it: yet, when I fought at sea, 
 Forsook me fighting; and (O stain to honor! 
 31) O lasting shame!) I knew not that I fled; 
 But fled to follow you. 
 
 Vent. What haste she made to hoist her purple sails! 
 And, to appear magnificent in flight. 
 Drew half our strength away. 
 
 Ant. All this you caus'd. 
 
 And would you multiply more ruins on me? 
 This honest man, my best, my only friend, 
 Has gather'd up the shipwrack of my fortunes; 
 Twelve legions I have left, my last recruits, 
 And you have watch'd the news, and bring your eyes 
 ?20 To seize them too. If you have aught to answer. 
 
 Now speak, you have free leave. ^ 
 
 AJex. [Aside.] She stands confounded: 
 
 Despair is in her eyes. 
 
 281. your hours] QqF. ye hours SsM.
 
 ACT II 259 
 
 Vent. Now lay a sigh i' th' way to stop his passage: 
 Prepare a tear, and bid it for his legions; 
 'Tis like they shall be sold. 
 
 Cleo. How shall I plead my cause, when you, my judge, 
 Already have condemn'd me? Shall I bring 
 The love you bore me for my advocate? 
 That now is turn'd against me, that destroys me; 
 330 For love, once past, is at the best forgotten; 
 But oft'ner sours to hate: 'twill please my lord 
 To ruin me, and therefore I'll be guilty. 
 But, could I once have thought it would have pleas'd you, 
 That you would pry, with narrow searching eyes, 
 Into my faults, severe to my destruction. 
 And watching all advantages with care, 
 That serve to make me wretched ? Speak,- my lord, 
 For I end here. Tho' I deserve this usage, 
 Was it like you to give it? 
 
 Ant. O, you wrong me, 
 
 340 To think I sought this parting, or desir'd 
 
 To accuse you more than what will clear myself. 
 And justify this breach. 
 
 Clco. Thus low I thank you; 
 
 And, since my iunocence will not offend, 
 I shall not blush to own it. 
 
 Vent. After this, 
 
 I think she '11 blush at nothing. 
 
 Cleo. You seem griev'd 
 
 (And therein you are kind), that Caesar first 
 Enjoy'd my love, tho' you deserv'd it better: 
 I grieve for that, my lord, much more than you; 
 For, had I first been yours, it would have sav'd 
 350 My second choice: I never had been his. 
 
 And ne'er had been but yours. But Caesar first. 
 You say, possess'd my love. Not so, my lord: 
 He first possess'd my person; you, my love: 
 Caesar lov'd me; but I lov'd Antony. 
 If I endur'd him after, 'twas because 
 I judg'd it due to the first name of men; 
 And, half constrain'd, I gave, as to a tyrant, 
 What he would take by force. 
 
 Vent. O Siren! Siren! 
 
 Yet grant that all the love she boasts were true, 
 360 Has she not ruin'd youf I still urge that, 
 The fatal consequence. 
 
 Cleo. The consequence indeed, 
 
 For I dare challenge him, my greatest foe, 
 To say it was design'd : 'tis true, I lov'd you. 
 And kept you far from an uneasy wife, — 
 
 338. deaerie] QqF. deserved SsM.
 
 260 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 Such Fulvia was. 
 
 Yes, but he'll say, you left Octavia for me; — 
 And can you blame me to receive that love. 
 Which quitted such desert, for worthless me? 
 How often have I wish'd some other Caesar, 
 370 Great as the first, and as the second young, 
 Would court my love, to be ref us 'd for you ! 
 
 Vent. Words, words; but Actium, sir; remember Actium, 
 Cleo. Ev'n there, I dare his malice. True, I counsel'd 
 To fight at sea; but I betray'd you not. 
 I fled, but not to the enemy. 'Twas fear; 
 Would I had been a man, not to have fear'd! 
 For none would then have envied me your friendship. 
 Who envy me your love. 
 
 Ant. We're both unhappy; 
 
 If nothing else, yet our ill fortune parts us. 
 880 Speak; would you have me perish by my stay? 
 
 Cleo. If, as a friend, you ask my judgment, go; 
 If, as a lover, stay. If you must perish — 
 'Tis a hard word — but stay. 
 
 Vent. See now th' effects of her so boasted love! 
 She strives to drag you down to ruin with her; 
 But, could she scape without you, 0, how soon 
 Would she let go her hold, and haste to shore. 
 And never look behind ! 
 
 Cleo. Then judge my love by this. [Giving Antony a writing. 
 
 Could I have borne 
 390 A life or death, a happiness or woe, 
 
 From yours divided, this had giv'n me means. 
 
 Ant. By Hercules, the writing of Octavius! 
 I know it well: 'tis that proscribing hand. 
 Young as it was, that led the way to mine, 
 And left me but the second place in murder. — 
 See, see, Ventidius! here he offers Egypt, 
 And joins all Syria to it, as a present; 
 So, in requital, she forsake my fortunes. 
 And join her arms with his. 
 
 Cleo. And yet you leave me! 
 
 400 You leave me, Antony; and yet I love you, 
 Indeed I do: I have refus'd a kingdom; 
 That's a trifle; 
 
 For I could part with life, with anything. 
 But only you. O let me die but with you! 
 Is that a hard request? 
 
 Ant. Next living with you, 
 
 'Tis all that heav'n can give. 
 
 Alex. [Aside.] He melts; we conquer. 
 
 Cleo. No; you shall go: your int'rest calls you hence; 
 
 393. proscribing] Ql. prescribing Q2Q3F.
 
 ACT II 
 
 261 
 
 Yes; your dear interest pulls too strong for these 
 Weak arms to hold you here. 
 
 Go ; leave me, soldier 
 410 (For you're no more a lover): leave me dying: 
 Push me, all pale and panting, from your bosom, 
 And, when your march begins, let one run after. 
 Breathless almost for joy, and cry: "She's dead." 
 The soldiers shout; you then, perhaps, may sigh, 
 And muster all your Roman gravity: 
 Yentidius chides; and straight your brow clears up, 
 As I had never been. 
 
 Ant. Gods, 'tis too much; 
 
 Too much for man to bear. 
 
 Cleo. What is 't for me then, 
 
 A weak, forsaken woman, and a lover? — 
 420 Here let me breathe my last: envy me not 
 This minute in your arms: I'll die apace. 
 As fast as e'er I can, and end your trouble. 
 
 Ant. Die! rather let me perish; loosen'd nature 
 Leap from its hinges, sink the props of heav'n. 
 And fall the skies, to crush the nether world! 
 My eyes, my soul, my all! 
 
 Vent. And what's this toy, 
 
 In balance with your fortune, honor, fame? 
 
 Ant. What is 't, Yentidius? — it outweighs 'em all; 
 "Why, we have more than conquer'd Ca?sar now: 
 430 ^ly queen's not only innocent, but loves me. 
 This, this is she, who drags me down to ruin! 
 But, could she scape without me, with what haste 
 Would she let slip her hold, and make to shore, 
 And never look behind ! 
 
 Down on thy knees, blasphemer as thou art, 
 And ask forgiveness of wrong'd innocence. 
 
 Vent. I'll rather die, than take it. Will you go? 
 
 Ant. Go! whither? Go from all that's excellent! 
 Faith, honor, virtue, all good things forbid 
 That I should go from her, who sets my love 
 Above the price of kingdoms. Give, you gods, 
 Give to your boy, your Ca;sar, 
 This rattle of a globe to play withal. 
 This gewgaw world, and put him cheaply off: 
 I'll not be pleas'd with less than Cleopatra. 
 
 Cleo. She's wholly yours. ;My heart's so full of joy, 
 That I shall do some wild extravagance 
 Of love, in public; and the foolish world, 
 Which knows not tenderness, will think me mad. 
 
 [Takes his hand. 
 
 [Embraces her. 
 
 417, 41S. .Is 7 . . . mc 1hen^. In QqFSsM Antony's speech Is made 
 one complete line, Cleopatra's specctics dose and begin with hemisticbs. 
 440. Slic's] F. j!>7ic Qq, probably by a mere misprint.
 
 ^62 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 450 Vent. O women! ■women! women! all the gods 
 
 Have not such pow'r of doing good to man, 
 
 As you of doing harm. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. Our men are arm'd. 
 
 Unbar the gate that looks to Cfesar's camp: 
 
 I would revenge the treachery he meant me; 
 
 And long security makes conquest easy. 
 
 I 'm eager to return before I go ; 
 
 For all the pleasures I have known beat thick 
 
 On my remembrance. — How I long for night ! 
 That both the sweets of mutual love may try, 
 460 And once triumph o'er Caesar ere we die. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III 
 
 At one door enter Cleopatra, Charmion, Iras, and Alexas, a Train of 
 Egyptians; at the other, Antony and Romans. The entrance on 
 hoth sides is prepafd by music; the trumpets first sounding on 
 Antony's part: then answer' d by timbrels, ^c, on Cleopatra's. 
 Charmion and Iras hold a laurel wreath betwixt them. A 
 Dance of Egyptians. After the ceremony, Cleopatra crowns 
 Antony. 
 
 Ant. 1 thought how those white arms would fold me in. 
 And strain me close, and melt me into love; 
 So, pleas'd with that sweet image, I sprung forwards, 
 And added all my strength to every blow. 
 
 Cleo. Come to me, come, my soldier, to my arms! 
 You've been too long away from my embraces; 
 But, when I have you fast, and all my own. 
 With broken murmurs, and with amorous sighs, 
 I'll say you were unkind, and punish you, 
 10 And mark you red Avith many an eager kiss. 
 
 Atit. My brighter Venus! 
 
 Cleo. O my greater Mars! 
 
 Ant. Thou join'st us well, my love! 
 Suppose me come from the Phlegrsean plains. 
 Where gasping giants lay, cleft by my sword. 
 And mountain-tops par'd off each other blow. 
 To bury those I slew. Eeceive me. goddess! 
 Let Caesar spread his subtile nets, like Vulcan; 
 In thy embraces I would be beheld 
 By heav'n and earth at once; 
 
 460. And once triumph o'er Ccesar ere ice diel Q2Q3F. Ql omits ere. 
 And triumph once, etc. SsM. 
 
 15. jxtr'd] QqF. paired SsM. 
 
 17. subtile] Ql. subtle Q2Q.'?FSsM. QqF have commas after both nets 
 and Vulcan; SsM injure the sense by putting a semicolon after nets and 
 retaining the comma after Vulcan.
 
 ACT III 263 
 
 20 And make their envy what they meant their sport. 
 Let those who took us blush ; I would love on 
 With awful state, regardless of their frowns, 
 As their superior god. 
 There's no satiety of love in thee: 
 Enjoy'd, thou still art new; perpetual sjjring 
 Is in thy anns; the ripen'd fruit but falls, 
 And blossoms rise to fill its empty place; 
 And I grow rich by giving. 
 
 Enter Ventidius, aitd stands apart. 
 
 Alex. O, now the danger's past, your general comes! 
 30 lie joins not in your joys, nor minds your triumphs; 
 But, with contracted brows, looks frowning on, 
 As envying your success. 
 
 Ant. Now, on my soul, he loves me; truly loves me: 
 He never flatter'd me in any vice, 
 But awes me with his virtue : ev'n this minute 
 Methinks he has a right of chiding me. 
 Lead to the temple: I'll avoid his presence; 
 
 It checks too strong upon me. [Exeunt the rest. 
 
 [As Antony is going, Ventidius pulls liim by the robe. 
 
 Vent. Emperor! 
 
 Ant. [Looking back.] 'Tis the old argument; I pr'ythee, spare me. 
 40 Vent. But this one hearing, emperor. 
 
 Ant. Let go 
 
 My robe; or, by my father Hercules 
 
 Vent. By Hercules his father, that's yet greater, 
 I bring you somewhat you would wish to know. 
 
 Ant. Thou see'st we are observ'd; attend me here, 
 And I'll return. [Exit, 
 
 Vent. I'm waning in his favor, yet I love him; 
 I love this man, who runs to meet his ruin ; 
 And sure the gods, like me, are fond of him: 
 His virtues lie so mingled .with his crimes, 
 50 As would confound their choice to punish one, 
 And not reward the other. 
 
 Enter Antony. 
 
 Ant. We can conquer. 
 
 You see, without your aid. 
 We have dislodg'd their troops; 
 They look on us at distance, and, like curs 
 Scap'd from the lion's paws, they bay far off, 
 And lick their wounds, and faintly threaten war. 
 Five thousand Romans, with their faces upward, 
 Lie breathless on the plain. 
 
 Vent. 'Tis well; and he, 
 
 42. IIcrcuh8 his] QqF. Hercules' SsXI.
 
 264 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 Who lost 'em, could have spar'd ten thousand more. 
 60 Yet if, by this advantage, you could gain 
 An easier peace, while Caesar doubts the chance 
 Of arms 
 
 Ant. O, think not on 't, Ventidius! 
 
 The boy pursues my ruin; he'll no peace: 
 His malice is considerate in advantage. 
 O, he's the coolest murderer! so stanch, 
 He kills, and keeps his temper. 
 
 Vent. Have you no friend 
 
 In all his army, who has power to move him? 
 Maecenas, or Agrippa, might do much. 
 
 Ant. They're both too deep in Casar's interests. 
 70 We'll work it out by dint of sword, or perish. 
 
 Vent. Fain I would find some other. 
 
 Arit. Thank thy love. 
 
 Some four or five such victories as this 
 Will save thy farther pains. 
 
 Vent. Expect no more; Caesar is on his guard: 
 I know, sir, you have conquer'd against odds; 
 But still you draw supplies from one poor town, 
 And of Egyptians : he has all the world. 
 And, at his back, nations come pouring in 
 To fill the gaps you make. Pray think again. 
 80 Ant. Why dost thou drive me from myself, to search 
 For foreign aids? to hunt my memory, 
 And range all o'er a waste and barren place, 
 To find a friend? The wretched have no friends. — 
 Yet I had one, the bravest youth of Rome, 
 Whom Caesar loves beyond the love of women: 
 He could resolve his mind, as fire does wax; 
 From that hard rugged image melt him down. 
 And mold him in what softer form he pleas'd. 
 
 Vent. Him would I see; that man of all the world; 
 90 Just such a one we want. 
 
 Ant. He lov'd me too; 
 
 I was his soul; he liv'd not but in me: 
 We were so clos'd within each other's breasts, 
 The rivets were not found that join'd us first. 
 That does not reach us yet: we were so mix'd. 
 As meeting streams, — both to ourselves were lost; 
 We were one mass; we could not give or take. 
 But from the same; for he was I, I he. 
 
 Vent. [Aside.] He moves as I would wish him. 
 
 Ant. After this, 
 
 I need not tell his nUme: 'twas Dolabella. 
 100 Vent. He's now in Caesar's camp. 
 
 Ant. No matter where, 
 
 78. back] Qq. beck FSsM.
 
 ACT III 265 
 
 Since he 's no longer mine. He took unkindly 
 
 That I forbade him Cleopatra's sight, 
 
 Because I fear'd he lov'd her: he confess 'd 
 
 He had a warmth, which, for my sake, he stifled; 
 
 For 'twere impossible that two, so one, 
 
 Should not have lov'd the same. When he departed. 
 
 He took no leave; and that confirm'd my thoughts. 
 
 Vent. It argues that he lov'd you more than her, 
 Else he had stay'd; but he perceiv'd you jealous, 
 110 And would not grieve his friend: I know he loves you. 
 Ant. I should have seen him, then, ere now. 
 Vent. Perhaps 
 
 He has thus long been lab 'ring for your peace. 
 Ant. Would he were here! 
 
 Vent. Would you believe he lov'd you? 
 
 I read your answer in your eyes, you would. 
 Not to conceal it longer, he has sent 
 A messenger from Caesar's camp, with letters. 
 Ant. Let him appear. 
 Vent. I'll bring him instantly. 
 
 [Exit Ventidius, and reenters immediately icith Dolabella. 
 Ant. 'Tis he himself! himself, by holy friendship! 
 
 [Runs to embrace Mm. 
 Art thou return'd at last, my better half? 
 120 Come, give me all myself! Let me not live. 
 If the young bridegroom, longing for his night, 
 Was ever half so fond. 
 
 Dola. I must be silent, for my soul is busy 
 About a nobler work : she's new come home, 
 Like a long absent man, and wanders o'er 
 Each room, a stranger to her own, to look 
 If all be safe. 
 
 Ant. Thou hast what's left of me; 
 
 For I am now so sunk from what I was, 
 Thou find'st me at my lowest water-mark. 
 130 The rivers that ran in, and rais'd my fortunes, 
 Are all dried up, or take another course: 
 What I have loft is from my native sjiring; 
 I've still a heart that swells, in scorn of fate. 
 And lifts me to my banks. 
 
 Dola. Still you are lord of all the world to me. 
 Ant. Why, then I yet am so; for thou art all. 
 If I had any joy when thou wert absent, 
 I grudg'd it to myself; mcthought I robb'd 
 Thee of thy part. But, O my Dolabella! 
 140 Tliou hast beheld me other than I am. 
 
 Hast thou not seen my morning chambers fill'd 
 With scopter'd slaves, who waited to salute me? 
 With eastern monarchs, who forgot tiic sun,
 
 266 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 To ■worship my uprising? Menial kings 
 Ran coursing up and down my palace yard, 
 Stood silent in my presence, watch'd my eyes, 
 And, at my least command, all started out. 
 Like racers to the goal. 
 
 Dola. Slaves to your fortune. 
 
 Ant. Fortune is Caesar's now; and what am I? 
 150 Vent, Wlmt you have made yourself; I will not flatter. 
 
 Ant. Ls this friendly done? 
 
 Dola. Yes; when his end is so, I must join with him; 
 Indeed I must, and yet you must not chide; 
 Why am I else your friend? 
 
 Ant. Take heed, young man, 
 
 How thou upbraid'st my love: the queen has eyes, 
 And thou too hast a soul. Canst tnou remember, 
 When, swell'd with hatred, thou beheld'st her first, 
 As accessary to thy brother's death? 
 
 Dola. Spare my remembrance; 'twas a guilty day, 
 160 And still the blush hangs here. 
 
 Ant. To clear herself, 
 
 For sending him no aid, she came from Egypt. 
 Her galley down the silver Cydnos row'd, 
 The tackling silk, the streamers wav'd with gold; 
 The gentle winds were lodg'd in purple sails: 
 Her nymphs, like Nereids, round her couch were plac'd; 
 Where she, another sea-born Venus, lay. 
 
 Dola. No more; I would not hear it. 
 
 Ant. O, you must! 
 
 She lay, and leant her cheek upon her hand, 
 And cast a look so languishingly sweet, 
 170 As if, secure of all beholders' hearts, 
 
 Neglecting she could take 'em: boys, like Cupids, 
 Stood fanning with their painted wings the winds 
 That play'd about her face: but if she smil'd, 
 A darting glory seem'd to blaze abroad. 
 That men's desiring eyes were never wearied, 
 But hung upon the object. To soft flutes 
 The silver oars kept time; and while they play'd. 
 The hearing gave new pleasure to the sight; 
 And both to thought. 'Twas heav'n, or somewhat more: 
 180 For she so charm'd all hearts that gazing crowds 
 Stood panting on the shore and wanted breath 
 To give their welcome voice. 
 Then, Dolabella, where was then thy soul? 
 Was not thy fury quite disarm'd with wonder? 
 Didst thou not shrink behind me from those eyes. 
 And whisper in my ear: "O tell her not 
 That I accus'd her of my brother's death?" 
 
 145. Ran] Q1Q2. Run Q3F.
 
 ACT III 267 
 
 Dola. And should my weakness be a plea for yours? 
 Mine was an age when love might be excus'd, 
 190 When kindly warmth, and when my springing youth 
 
 Made it a debt to nature. Yours 
 
 Vent. Speak boldly. 
 
 Vours, he would say, in your declining age, 
 When no more heat was left but what you forc'd, 
 When all the sap was needful for the trunk, 
 When it went down, — then you constrain 'd the course, 
 And robb'd from nature, to supply desire; 
 In you (I would not use so harsh a word) — 
 But 'tis plain dotage. 
 Ant. Ha! 
 
 Dola. 'Twas urg'd too home. 
 
 But yet the loss was private that I made; 
 200 "Twas but myself I lost: I lost no legions; 
 I had no world to lose, no people's love. 
 Ant. This from a friend? 
 
 Dola. Yes, Antony, a true one; 
 
 A friend so tender, that each word I speak 
 Stabs my own heart, before it reach your ear. 
 O, judge me not less kind, because I chide! 
 To Cajsar I excuse you. 
 
 Ant. O ye gods! 
 
 Have I then liv'd to be excus'd to Csesar? 
 Dola. As to your equal. 
 
 Ant. Well, he's but my equal: 
 
 210 While I wear this, he never shall be more. 
 Dola. I bring conditions from him. 
 Ant. Are they noble? 
 
 Methinks thou shouldst not bring 'em else; yet he 
 Is full of deep dissembling; knows no honor 
 Divided from his int'rest. Fate mistook him; 
 For nature meant him for an usurer: 
 He's fit indeed to buy, not conquer kingdoms. 
 
 Vent. Then, granting this, 
 What pow'r was theirs who wrought so hard a temper 
 To honorable terms? 
 
 Ant. It was my Dolabella, or some god. 
 220 Dola. Nor I, nor yet Maecenas, nor Agrippa: 
 They were your enemies; and I, a friend, 
 
 198. But -tis] QqF. 'Tis hut SsM. 
 
 20(5-10. O ye . . . from him] Ql. Q2 garbles the passage as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 Ant. O ye gods! 
 
 Have I then liv'd to be excus'd to CcrsarT 
 
 r)olla. As to your CQual: 
 
 While I UTar this, he never shall be more. 
 
 Delia. / bring conditions from him. 
 
 Q.'iF retain the same arranj,'('nu'nt, but restore something like sense by 
 omittinB the second Dolla. This passage is perhaps siilVu-ient proof that 
 Dryden devoted no attention to the proofreading of the text of this play after 
 the publication of the first edition.
 
 2G8 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 Too weak alone; vet "twas a Eoman's deed. 
 
 Ant. "Twas like a Roman done: show me that man, 
 Who has preserv'd my life, my love, iny honor; 
 Let me but see his face. 
 
 Vent. That task is mine, 
 
 And, Heav'n, thou know'st how pleasing. [Exit Ventidius. 
 
 Dola. You'll remember 
 
 To whom you stand oblig'd? 
 
 A7it. When I forget it. 
 
 Be thou unkind, and that's my greatest curse. 
 My queen shall thank him too. 
 
 Dola. I fear she will not. 
 
 230 Ant. But she shall do 't. The queen, my Dolabella! 
 Hast thou not still some grudgings of thy fever? 
 
 Dola. I would not see her lost. 
 
 Ant. When I forsake her, 
 
 Leave me my better stars! for she has truth 
 Beyond her beauty. Caesar tempted her, 
 At no less price than kingdoms, to betray me ; 
 But she resisted all: and yet thou chid'st me 
 For loving her too well. Could I do so? 
 
 Dola. Yes; there's my reason. 
 
 Reenter Ventidius, with Octavia, leading Antony's two little 
 
 Daughters. 
 
 Ant. Where! — Octavia there! [Starting hacTc. 
 
 Vent. What, is she poison to you? — a disease? 
 240 Look on her, view her well, and those she brings: 
 Are they all strangers to your eyes? has nature 
 No secret call, no whisper they are yours? 
 
 Dola. For shame, my lord, if not for love, receive 'em 
 With kinder eyes. If you confess a man. 
 Meet 'em, embrace 'em, bid 'em welcome to you. 
 Your arms should open, ev'n without your knowledge. 
 To clasp 'em in; your feet should turn to wings. 
 To bear you to 'em; and your eyes dart out. 
 And aim a kiss, ere you could reach the lips. 
 250 Ant. I stood amaz'd, to think how they came hither. 
 
 Vent. I sent for 'em ; I brought 'em in, unknown 
 To Cleopatra's guards. 
 
 Dola. Yet are you cold? 
 
 Octav. Thus long I have attended for my welcome; 
 Which, as a stranger, sure I might expect. 
 Who am I? 
 
 Ant. Caesar's sister. 
 
 Octav. That's unkind. 
 
 Had I be»n nothing more than Caesar's sister, 
 
 253. / have] Qq. have I F.
 
 ACT III J69 
 
 Know, I had still remain'd in Ca?sar's camp: 
 But your Octavia, your much injur'd wife, 
 Tho' banish'd from your bed, driv'n from your house, 
 260 In spite of Caesar's sister, still is yours. 
 
 'Tis true, I have a heart disdains your coldness, 
 
 And prompts me not to seek what you should offer; 
 
 But a wife's virtue still surmounts that pride: 
 
 I come to claim you as my own; to show 
 
 My duty first ; to ask, nay beg, your kindness. 
 
 Your hand, my lord; "tis mine, and I will have it. [Talcing his hand. 
 
 Vent. Do, take it; thou deserv'st it. 
 
 T)ola. On my soul, 
 
 And so she does: she's neither too submissive. 
 Nor yet too haughty; but .so just a mean 
 270 Shows, as it ought, a wife and Roman too. 
 
 Ant. I fear, Octavia, you have begg'd my life. 
 
 Octav. Begg'd it, my lord? 
 
 Ant. Yes, begg'd it, my ambassadress; 
 
 Poorly and basely begg'd it of your brother. 
 
 Octav. Poorly and basely I could never beg: 
 Nor could my brother grant. 
 
 Ant. Shall I, who, to my kneeling slave, could say, 
 "Rise up. and be a king; " shall I fall down 
 And cry: "Forgive me, Caesar!" Shall I set 
 A man, my equal, in the place of Jove, 
 280 As he could give me being? No; that word, 
 "Forgive," would choke me up, 
 And die upon my tongue. 
 
 Dola. You shall not need it. 
 
 Ant. I will not need it. Come, you've all betray'd me: 
 My friend too ! to receive some vile conditions. 
 My wife has bought me, with her prayers and tears; 
 And now I must become her branded slave. 
 In every peevish mood, she will upbraid 
 The life she gave: if I but look awry. 
 She cries: "I'll tell my brother." 
 
 Octav. My hard fortune 
 
 290 Subjects me still to your unkind mistakes. 
 But the conditions I have brought are such 
 You need not blush to take: I love your honor, 
 Because 'tis mine; it never shall be said, 
 Octavia's husband was her brother's slave. 
 Sir, you are free; free, ev'n from her you loathe; 
 For, tho' my brother bargains for your love, 
 Makes me the price and cement of your peace, 
 I have a soul like yours; I cannot take 
 Your love as alms, nor beg what I deserve. 
 300 I'll tell my brother we are reconcil'd; 
 
 He shall draw back his troops, and you shall march
 
 270 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 To rule the East: I may be dropp'd at Athens; 
 No matter where. I never will complain, 
 But only keep the barren name of wife, 
 And rid you of the trouble. 
 
 Vent. Was ever such a strife of sullen honor! 
 Both scorn to be oblig'd. 
 
 Dola. O, she has toueh'd him in the tendcr'st part; 
 See how he reddens with despite and shame, 
 310 To be outdone in generosity! 
 
 Vent. See how he winks ! how he dries up a tear 
 That fain would fall! 
 
 Ant. Octavia, I have heard you, and must praise 
 The greatness of your soul ; 
 But cannot yield to what you have propos'd: 
 For I can ne'er be conquer'd but by love; 
 And you do all for duty. You would free me. 
 And would be dropp'd at Athens; was 't not so? 
 
 Octav. It was, my lord. 
 
 Ant. Then I must be oblig'd 
 
 320 To one who loves me not ; who, to herself. 
 May call me thankless and ungrateful man: — 
 I'll not endure it; no. 
 
 Vent. I'm glad it pinches there. [Aside. 
 
 Octav. Would you triumph o'er poor Octavia's virtue? 
 That pride was all I had to bear me up; 
 That you might think you ow'd me for your life, 
 And ow'd it to my duty, not my love. 
 I have been injur'd, and my haughty soul 
 Could brook but ill the man who slights my bed. 
 330 Ant. Therefore you love me not. 
 
 Octav. Therefore, my lord, 
 
 I should not love you. 
 
 Ant. Therefore you would leave me? 
 
 Octav. And therefore I should leave you — if I could. 
 
 Dola. Her soul's too great, after such injuries. 
 To say she loves; and yet she lets you see it. 
 Her modesty and silence plead her cause. 
 
 Ayit. O Dolabella, which way shall I turn? 
 I find a secret yielding in my soul; 
 But Cleopatra, who would die with me, 
 Must she be left? Pity pleads for Octavia; 
 340 But does it not plead more for Cleopatra? 
 
 Vent. Justice and pity both plead for Octavia; 
 For Cleopatra, neither. 
 
 One would be ruin'd with you ; but she first 
 Had ruin 'd you : the other, you have ruin 'd. 
 And yet she would preserve you. 
 
 335. plead] Q1Q2. pleads Q3F.
 
 ACT III 271 
 
 In everything their merits are unequal. 
 
 Ant. O, my distracted soul! 
 
 Octav. Sweet heav'n compose it! 
 
 Come, come, my lord, if I can pardon you, 
 Methinks you should accept it. Look on these; 
 350 Are they not yours? or stand they thus neglected. 
 As they are mine? Go to him, children, go; 
 Kneel to him, take him by the hand, speak to him; 
 For you may speak, and he may own you too, 
 Without a blush; and so he cannot all 
 His children: go, I say, and pull him to me. 
 And pull him to yourselves, from that bad woman. 
 You, Agrippina, hang upon his arms; 
 And you, Autonia, clasp about his waist: 
 If he will shake you off, if he will dash you 
 360 Against the pavement, you must bear it, children; 
 For you are mine, and I was born to suffer. 
 
 {IJcre the Children go to him, i^c. 
 
 Vent. Was ever sight so moving! Emperor! 
 
 Dola. Friend! 
 
 Octav. Husband ! 
 
 Both Child. Father! 
 
 Ant. I am vanquish 'd: take me, 
 
 Octavia; take me, children; share me all. [Embracing them. 
 
 I've been a thriftless debtor to your loves, 
 And run out much, in riot, from your stock; 
 But all shall be amended. 
 
 Octav. O blest hour! 
 
 Dola. O happy change ! 
 
 Vent. My Joy stops at my tongue; 
 
 But it has found two channels here for one, 
 370 And bubbles out above. 
 
 Ant. [To Octav.] This is thy triumph; lead me where thou wilt; 
 Ev'n to thy brother's camp. 
 
 Octav. All there are yours. 
 
 Enter Alexas hastily. 
 Alex. The queen, my mistress, sir, and yours- 
 
 Ant. 'Tis past.— 
 
 Octavia, you shall stay this night : to-morrow, 
 Ca?sar and we are one. 
 
 [Exit, leading Octavia; Dolabella and the Children follow. 
 
 Vent. There's news for you; 
 
 37.3-74. 'Tis past . . . to-mnrrnir']. Printed as one lino in QqF. 
 375-78. There's . . . hii.'<lr\. I'lintid as follows in QqF : 
 Ven. There's nexrs for yuu ; run, 
 My officious eiiiiuch. 
 
 Be sure to be the first ; haste forward: 
 Haste, my dear euitueh. haste. 
 The arranRcment adopted in the text is in part that of Taul Meyer, 
 Mcirisehe Unterauchungcn Ubcr den lilattkvera John Drydcna, llalle a. S. 
 1897 ; p. 56.
 
 272 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 Run, my officious eunuch, 
 
 Be sure to be the first; haste forward: haste, 
 
 My dear eunuch, haste. [Exit. 
 
 Alex. This downright fighting fool, this thick-skull'd hero, 
 380 This blunt, unthinking instrument of death. 
 
 With plain dull virtue has outgone my wit. 
 
 Pleasure forsook my early'st infancy; 
 
 The luxury of others robb'd my cradle. 
 
 And ravish 'd thence the promise of a man. 
 
 Cast out from nature, disinherited 
 
 Of what her meanest children claim by kind. 
 
 Yet greatness kept me from contempt: that's gone. 
 
 Had Cleopatra follow'd my advice. 
 
 Then he had been betray'd who now forsakes. 
 390 She dies for love ; but she has known its joys : 
 
 Gods, is this just, that I, who knows no joys. 
 
 Must die, because she loves? 
 
 E7iter Cleopatra, Charmion, Iras, Train. 
 
 madam, I have seen what blasts my eyes! 
 Octavia's here! 
 
 Cleo. Peace with that raven 's note. 
 
 1 know it too ; and now am in 
 The pangs of death. 
 
 AJex. You are no more a queen; 
 
 Egypt is lost. 
 
 Cleo. What tell'st thou me of Egypt? 
 My life, my soul is lost! Octavia has him! — 
 
 fatal name to Cleopatra's love! 
 
 400 My kisses, my embraces now are hers; 
 
 While I But thou hast seen my rival ; speak, 
 
 Does she deserve this blessing? Is she fair? 
 Bright as a goddess? and is all perfection 
 Confin'd to her? It is. Poor I was made 
 Of that coarse matter which, when she was finish'd, 
 The gods threw by for rubbish. 
 
 Alex. She's indeed, 
 
 A very miracle. 
 
 Cleo. Death to my hopes, 
 
 A miracle! 
 
 Alex. [Bowing.] A miracle; 
 
 1 mean of goodness; for in beauty, madam, 
 410 You make all wonders cease. 
 
 Cleo. I was too rash: 
 
 Take this in part of recompense. But, 0! [Giving a ring. 
 
 387. kept] Qq. keeps F. 
 
 391. knows] Q1Q2. know Q3FSsM. 
 
 406 rubbish] QqF close a line here and make the following speeches or 
 Alexas and Cleopatra hemistichs. The arrangement adopted in the text 
 seems a slight improvement.
 
 ACT III 273 
 
 I fear thou flatter'st me. 
 
 Char. She comes! she's here! 
 
 Iras. Fly, madam, Caesar's sister! 
 
 Cleo. Were she the sister of the thund'rer Jove, 
 And bore her brother's lightning in her eyes, 
 Thus would I face my rival. 
 
 Meets OcTAViA xvith A^entidius. Octavia bear.s up to her. Their Trains 
 
 come up on either side. 
 
 Octav. I need not ask if you are Cleopatra ; 
 Your haughty carriage 
 
 Cleo. Shows I am a queen: 
 
 Nor need I ask you, who you are. 
 
 Octav. A Eoman: 
 
 420 V name, that makes and can unmake a queen. 
 
 Cleo. Your lord, the man who serves me, is a Roman. 
 
 Octav. He was a Roman, till he lost that name, 
 To be a slave in Egypt; but I come 
 To free him thence. 
 
 Cleo. Peace, peace, my lover's Juno. 
 
 When he grew weary of that household clog, 
 lie chose my easier bonds. 
 
 Octav. I wonder not 
 
 Your bonds are easy; you have long been practical 
 In that lascivious art. He's not the first 
 For whom you spread your snares: let Ca;sar witness, 
 430 Cleo. I lov'd not Ca;sar; 'twas but gratitude 
 I paid his love. The worst your malice can, 
 Is but to say the greatest of mankind 
 Has been my slave. The next, but far above him 
 In my esteem, is he whom law calls yours. 
 But whom his love made mine. 
 
 Octav. [Comiufj tip close to her.] I would view nearer 
 That face, which has so long usurped my right, 
 To find th' inevitable charms that catch 
 Mankind ^^o sure, that ruin'd my dear lord. 
 
 Cleo. O, you do well to search; for had you known 
 440 But half these charms, you had not lost his heart. 
 
 Octav. Far be their knowledge from a Roman lady, 
 Far from a modest wife! Shame of our sex. 
 Dost thou not blush to own those black endearments, 
 That make sin pleasing? 
 
 Cleo. You may blush, who want 'em. 
 
 If bounteous nature, if indulgent heav'n 
 Have giv'n me charms to please the bravest man. 
 Should I not thank 'em? Should I be asham'd, 
 And not be proud? I am, that he has lov'd me; 
 And, when I love not him, heav"n change this face 
 450 For one like that. 
 
 Oclav. Thou lov'gt him not so well.
 
 274 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 Cleo. I love him better, aud deserve him more. 
 
 Octav. You do not; cannot: you have been his ruin. 
 Who made him cheap at Eome, but Cleopatra? 
 Who made him scorn'd abroad, but Cleopatra? 
 At Actium, who betray'd him? Cleopatra. 
 Who made his children orphans, and poor me 
 A wretched widow? only Cleopatra. 
 
 Cleo. Yet she wlio loves him best is Cleopatra. 
 If you have suffer'd, I have suffer'd more. 
 460 You bear the specious title of a wife 
 
 To gild your cause and draw the pitying world 
 To favor it: the world contemns poor me; 
 For I have lost my honor, lost my fame, 
 And stain'd the glory of my royal house, 
 And all to bear the branded name of mistress. 
 There wants but life, and that too I would lose 
 For him I love. 
 
 Octav. Be 't so, then; take thy wish. [Exit cum suis. 
 
 Cleo. And 'tis my wish. 
 Now he is lost for whom alone I liv'd. 
 470 My sight grows dim, and every object dances, 
 And swims before me, in the maze of death. 
 My spirits, while they were opposed, kept up; 
 They could not sink beneath a rival's scorn: 
 But now she's gone, they faint. 
 
 Alex. Mine have had leisure 
 
 To recollect their strength, and furnish counsel, 
 To ruin her, who else must ruin you. 
 
 Cleo. Vain promiser! 
 
 Lead me, my Charmion; nay, your hand too, Iras. 
 My grief has weight enough to sink you both. 
 Conduct me to some solitary chamber, 
 480 And draw the curtains round; 
 
 Then leave me to myself, to take alone 
 My fill of grief: 
 
 There I till death will his unkindness weep; 
 
 As harmless infants moan themselves asleep. [Exettnt. 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Antony, Dolabella. 
 
 Dola. Why would you shift it from yourself, on me? 
 Can you not tell her you must part? 
 
 Ant. I cannot. 
 
 I could pull out an eye, and bid it go, 
 And t' other should not weep. O, Dolabella, 
 
 462. contemns] QqF. condemns SsM.
 
 ACT IV 275 
 
 How many deaths are in this word, "Depart!" 
 I dare not trust my tongue to tell her so : 
 One look of hers would thaw me into tears, 
 And I should melt, till I were lost again. 
 
 Dola. Then let Ventidius; 
 10 He's rough by nature. 
 
 Ant. O, he'll speak too harshly; 
 
 He'll kill her with the news: thou, only thou. 
 
 Dola. Nature has cast me in so Poft a mold, 
 That but to hear a story, feign'd for pleasure. 
 Of some sad lover's death, moistens my eyes, 
 And robs me of my manhood. I should speak 
 So faintly, with such fear to grieve licr heart. 
 She'd not believe it earnest. 
 
 Ant. Therefore, — therefore 
 
 Thou only, thou art fit. Think thyself me; 
 And when thou speak'st (but let it first be long), 
 20 Take off the edge from every sharper sound. 
 And let our parting be as gently made. 
 As other loves begin: wilt thou do this? 
 
 Dola. What you have said so sinks into my soul. 
 That, if I must speak, I shill speak just so. 
 
 Ant. I leave you then to your sad task: farewell. 
 I sent her word to meet you. [Goes to the door, and comes back. 
 
 I forgot; 
 Let her be told, I'll make her peace with mine : 
 Her crown and dignity shall be prcserv'd, 
 
 If I have pow'r with Ca-sar. O, be sure 
 
 30 To think on that. 
 
 Dola. Fear not, I will remember. 
 
 [Antony goes again to the door, and comes hack. 
 
 Ant. And tell her, too, how much I was consfrain'd; 
 I did not this, but with extremest force: 
 Desire her not to hate my memory, 
 For I still cherish hers; insist on that. 
 
 Dola. Trust me, I'll not forget it. 
 
 Ant. Then that's all. [Goes out, and niurns again. 
 
 Wilt thou forgive my fondness this once more? 
 Tell her, tho' we shall never meet again, 
 If I should hear she took another love, 
 The news would break my heart. — Now I must go; 
 40 For every time I have return'd, I feel 
 
 My soul more tender; and my next command 
 
 Would be, to bid her stay, and ruin both. [Exit. 
 
 Dola. Men are but children of a larger growth; 
 Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, 
 And full as craving too, and full as vain; 
 
 44. appetites] Qq. appetite's F.
 
 276 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 And yet the soul, shut up in her dark room, 
 Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees nothing; 
 But, like a mole in earth, busy and blind, 
 Works all her folly up, and easts it outward 
 50 To the world's open view: thus I discover'd, 
 And blam'd the love of ruin'd Antony; 
 Yet wish that I were he, to be so ruin'd. 
 
 Enter Ventidius above. 
 
 Vent. Alone, and talking to himself? eoncern'd too? 
 Perhaps my guess is right; he lov'd her once, 
 And may pursue it still. 
 
 Dola. O friendship! friendship! 
 
 Ill canst thou answer this; and reason, worse: 
 LTnfaithful in th' attempt; hopeless to win; 
 And, if I win, undone: mere madness all. 
 And yet th' occasion's fair. What injury 
 60 To him, to wear the robe which he throws by? 
 
 Ve7it. None, none at all. This happens as I wish, 
 To ruin her yet more with Antony. 
 
 Enter Cleopatra, talking with Alexas; Charmion, Iras, on the other 
 
 side. 
 
 Dola. She comes! Wliat charms have sorrow on that face! 
 Sorrow seems pleas'd to dwell with so much sweetness; 
 Yet, now and then, a melancholy smile 
 Breaks loose, like lightning in a winter's night. 
 And shows a moment's day. 
 
 Vent. If she should love him too! her eunuch there'. 
 That porc'pisce bodes ill weather. Draw, draw nearer, 
 70 Sweet devil, that I may hear. 
 
 Alex. Believe me; try 
 
 [DOLABELLA ffoes ovcr to Charmion and Iras; 
 
 seems to talk with them. 
 To make him jealous; jealousy is like 
 A polish'd glass held to the lips when life's in doubt; 
 If there be breath, 'twill catch the damp, and show it. 
 
 Cleo. I grant you, jealousy's a proof of love, 
 But 'tis a weak and unavailing med'cine; 
 It puts out the disease, and makes it show. 
 But has no pow 'r to cure. 
 
 Alex. 'Tis your last remedy, and strongest too: 
 And then this Dolabella, who so fit 
 80 To practice on? He's handsome, valiant, young. 
 And looks as he were laid for nature's bait. 
 To catch weak women's eyes. 
 He stands already more than half suspected 
 Of loving you: the least kind word or glance 
 You give this youth will kindle him with love;
 
 ACT IV 277 
 
 Then, like a burning vessel set adrift, 
 You'll send him down amain before the wind, 
 To fire the heart of jealous Antony. 
 
 Cleo. Can I do this? Ah, no; my love's so true, 
 90 That I can neither hide it where it is, 
 
 Nor show it where it is not. Nature meant me 
 A wife; a silly, harmless, household dove. 
 Fond without art, and kind without deceit; 
 But fortune, that has made a mistress of me, 
 Has thrust me out to the wide world, unfurnish'd 
 Of falsehood to be happy. 
 
 Alex. Force yourself. 
 
 Th' event will bo, your lover will return, 
 Doubly desirous to possess the good 
 Which once he fear'd to lose. 
 
 Cleo. I must attempt it ; 
 
 100 But O, with what regret! [Exit Alexas. She comes up to Dolabella. 
 
 Vent. So, now the scene draws near; they're in my reach. 
 
 Cleo. [To DoLA.] Discoursing with my women! might not I 
 Share in your entertainment? 
 
 Char. You have been 
 
 The subject of it, madam. 
 
 Cleo. How! and how? 
 
 Iras. Such praises of your beauty! 
 
 Cli'o. Mere poetry. 
 
 Your Koman wits, your Callus and Tibullus, 
 Have taught you this from Cytheris and Delia. 
 
 Dola. Those Koman wits have never been in Egypt; 
 Cytheris and Delia else had been unsung: 
 
 110 I, who have seen had I been born a poet. 
 
 Should choose a nobler name. 
 
 Cleo. You flatter me. 
 
 But, 'tis your nation's vice: all of your country 
 Are flatterers, and all false. Your friend's like you. 
 I'm sure, he sent you not to speak these words. 
 
 Dola. No, madam ; yet he sent me 
 
 Cleo. Well, he sent you 
 
 Dola. Of a less pleasing errand. 
 
 Cleo. How less pleasing? 
 
 Less to yourself, or me? 
 
 Dola. Madam, to both. 
 
 For you must mourn, and I must grieve to cause it. 
 
 Cleo. You, Charmion, and your fellow, stand at distance. — 
 
 120 [Aside.] Hold up, my spirits. Well, now your mournful matter; 
 
 For I'm prepar'd, perhaps can guess it too. 
 
 Dola. I wish you would; for 'tis a thankless oflSce, 
 To tell ill news; and I, of all your sex, 
 Most fear displeasing you. 
 
 Cleo. Of all your sex,
 
 278 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 I soonest could forgive you, if you should. 
 
 Fent. Most delicate advances! Woman! woman! 
 Dear, damn'd, inconstant sex! 
 
 Cleo. In the first place, 
 
 I am to be forsaken; is 't not so? 
 
 Do la. I wish I could not answer to that question. 
 130 Cleo. Then pass it o'er, because it troubles you: 
 I should have been more griev'd another time. 
 
 Next, I'm to lose my kingdom Farewell, Egypt ! 
 
 Yet, is there any more ? 
 
 Dola. Madam, I fear 
 
 Your too deep sense of grief has turn'd your reason. 
 
 Cleo. No, no, I'm not run mad; I can bear fortune: 
 And love may be expell'd by other love, 
 As poisons are by poisons. 
 
 Dola. You o'erjoy me, madam. 
 To find your griefs so moderately borne. 
 140 You've heard the worst ; all are not false like him. 
 
 Cleo. No; heav'n forbid they should. 
 
 Dola. Some men are constant. 
 
 C!eo. And constancy deserves reward, that's certain. 
 
 Dola. Deserves it not; but give it leave to hope. 
 
 Fent. I'll swear, thou hast my leave. I have enough: 
 But how to manage this! Well, I'll consider. [Exit. 
 
 Dola. I came prepar'd 
 To tell you heavy news; news, Avhich I thought 
 Would fright the blood from your pale cheeks to hear: 
 But you have met it with a cheerfulness 
 150 That makes my task more easy; and my tongue, 
 Which on another's message was employ'd, 
 Would gladly speak its own. 
 
 Cleo. Hold, Dolabella. 
 
 First tell me, were you chosen by my lord? 
 Or sought you this employment? 
 
 Dola. He piek'd me out; and, as his bosom friend, 
 He charg'd me with his words. 
 
 Cleo. The message then 
 
 I know was tender, and each accent smooth, 
 To mollify that rugged word, "Depart." 
 
 Dola. O, you mistake: he chose the harshest words; 
 160 With fiery eyes, and with contracted brows, 
 He coin'd his face in the severest stamp; 
 And fury shook his fabric, like an earthquake; 
 He heav'd for vent, and burst like bellowing ^tna. 
 In sounds scarce human — "Hence, away for ever: 
 Let her begone, the blot of my renown. 
 And bane of all my hopes! 
 
 126. Woman! woman!] QqF. Women! icomen! SsM.
 
 ACT IV 279 
 
 [All the time of this speech, Cleopatra seems more 
 and more concerned, till she sinks quite down. 
 
 Let her be driv'n, as far as men can think, 
 From man's commerce! she'll poison to the center." 
 Cleo. O, I can bear no more! 
 170 Dola. Help, help! — O wretch! O cursed, cursed wretch! 
 What have I done! 
 
 Char. Help, chafe her temples, Iras. 
 
 Iras. Bend, bend her forward quickly. 
 Char. Heav 'n be prais 'd, 
 
 She comes again. 
 
 Cleo. O, let him not approach me. 
 Why have you brought me back to this loath'd being, 
 Th' abode of falsehood, violated vows. 
 And injur'd love? For pity, let me go; 
 For if there be a place of long repose, 
 I'm sure I want it. My disdainful lord 
 Can never break that quiet ; nor awake 
 180 The sleeping soul, with holloing in my tomb 
 
 Such words as fright her hence. Unkind, unkind ! 
 
 Dola. [Kneeling.] Believe me, 'tis against myself I speak; 
 That sure deserves belief; I injur'd him: 
 My friend ne'er spoke those words. O had you seen 
 How often he came back, and every time 
 With something more obliging and more kind. 
 To add to what he said; what dear farewells; 
 How almost vanquish'd by his love he parted, 
 And lean'd to what unwillingly he left! 
 190 I, traitor as I was, for love of you 
 
 (But what can you not do, who made me false!) 
 I forg'd that lie; for whose forgiveness kneels 
 This self-accus'd, self-punish'd criminal. 
 
 Cleo. With how much ease believe we what we wish! 
 Rise, Dolabella; if you have been guilty, 
 I have contributed, and too much love 
 Has made me guilty too. 
 
 Th' advance of kindness which I made was feign'd, 
 To call back fleeting love by jealousy; 
 200 But 'twould not last. O, rather let me lose, 
 Than so ignobly trifle with his heart! 
 
 Dola. I find your breast fenc'd round from human reach. 
 Transparent as a rock of solid crystal ; 
 Seen thro', but never picrc'd. My friend, my friend ! 
 What endless treasure hast thou thrown away; 
 And scatter'd, like an infant, in the ocean, 
 Vain sums of wealth, which none can gather thence! 
 Cleo. Could you not beg 
 
 183. deserves] QqF. desires SsM.
 
 280 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 An hour's admittance to his private ear? 
 210 Like one, who wanders thro' long barren wilds, 
 And yet foreknows no hospitable inn 
 Is near to succor hunger, eats his fill, 
 Before his painful march : 
 So would I feed a while my famish'd eyes 
 Before we part ; for I have far to go. 
 If death be far, and never must return. 
 
 Ventidius luiih Octavia, lehind. 
 
 Vent. Prom hence you may discover — O, sweet, sweet! 
 Would you indeed? The pretty hand in earnest? 
 
 Dola. I will, for this reward. — [Takes her ha7id.] Draw it not back, 
 220 'Tis all I e'er will beg. 
 
 Vent. They turn upon us. 
 
 Octav. What quick eyes has guilt! 
 
 Vent. Seem not to have observ'd 'em, and go on. 
 
 They enter. 
 
 Dola. Saw you the emperor, Ventidius? 
 
 Vent. No. 
 
 I sought him; but I heard that he was private. 
 None with him but Hipparchus, his freedman. 
 
 Dola. Know you his bus'ness? 
 
 Vent. Giving him instructions. 
 
 And letters to his brother Cffisar. 
 
 Dola. Well, 
 
 He must be found. 
 
 [Exeunt Dolabella and Cleopatra.. 
 
 Octav. Most glorious impudence! 
 
 Vent. She look'd, methought, 
 230 As she would say: "Take your old man, Octavia; 
 Thank you, I'm better here." Well, but what use 
 Make we of this discovery? 
 
 Octav. Let it die. 
 
 Ve7it. 1 pity Dolabella ; but she 's dangerous : 
 Her eyes have pow'r beyond Thessalian charms, 
 To draw the moon from heav'n; for eloquence, 
 The sea-green Sirens taught her voice their flatt'ry; 
 And, while she speaks, night steals upon the day, 
 Unmark'd of those that hear. Then she 's so charming, 
 Age buds at sight of her, and swells to youth: 
 240 The holy priests gaze on her when she smiles; 
 And with heav'd hands, forgetting gravity. 
 They bless her wanton eyes: even I, who hate her. 
 With a malignant joy behold such beauty; 
 And, while I curse, desire it. Antony 
 
 212-13. 7s near . . . march] So arranged by SsM. QqF read : 
 
 Is near to succor hunger. 
 Eats Ms fill, before his painful march.
 
 ACT IV 281 
 
 Must needs have some remains of passion still, 
 Which may ferment into a worse relapse, 
 If now not fully cur'd. I know, this minute, 
 With Ca;sar he 's endeavoring her peace. 
 
 Octav. You have prevail'd. But, for a farther purpose, 
 
 [Walks off. 
 250 I'll prove how he will relish this discovery. 
 
 What, make a strumpet's peace! it swells my heart: 
 It must not, sha' not be. 
 
 Vent. His guards appear. 
 
 Let me begin, and you shall second me. 
 
 Enter Antony. 
 
 Ant. Octavia, I was looking you, my love: 
 What, are your letters ready? I have givn 
 My last instructions. 
 
 Octav. Mine, my lord, are written. 
 
 Ant. Ventidius! [Drawing Titm aside. 
 
 Vent. My lord? 
 
 Ant. A word in private. — 
 
 When saw you Dolabella? 
 
 Vent. Now, my lord, 
 
 He parted hence; and Cleopatra with him. 
 2<i0 Ant. Speak softly. — "Twas by my command he went, 
 To bear my last farewell. 
 
 Vent. [Aloud. \ It look'd indeed 
 Like your farewell. 
 
 Ant. ]\Iore softly. — My farewell? 
 
 What secret meaning have you in those words 
 Of ' ' my farewell ? ' ' He did it by my order. 
 
 Vent. [Aloud.] Then he obey'd your order. I suppose 
 You bid him do it with all gentleness. 
 All kindness, and all love. 
 
 Ant. How she mourn 'd, 
 
 The poor forsaken creature! 
 
 Vent. She took it as she ought; she bore your parting 
 270 As she did Caesar's, as she would another's. 
 Were a new love to come. 
 
 Ant. [Aloud.] Thou dost belie her; 
 Most basely and maliciously belie her. 
 
 l''ent. I thought not to displease you ; I have done. 
 
 Octav. [Coming up.] You seem disturb'd, my lord. 
 
 Ant. A very trifle. 
 
 Eetire, my love. 
 
 Vent. It was indeed a trifle. 
 
 He sent 
 
 Ant. [Angrily.] No more. Look how thou disobey'st me; 
 Thy life shall answer it. 
 
 Octav. Then 'tis no tiillc.
 
 282 ALL FOE LOVfi 
 
 Ve7it. [To OCTAV.] 'Tis less; a very nothing: you too saw it, 
 As well as I, and therefore 'tis no secret. 
 280 Ant. She saw it! 
 
 Vent. Yes: she saw young Dolabella 
 
 Ant. Young Dolabella! 
 
 Vent. Young, I think him young, 
 
 And handsome too; and so do others think him. 
 But what of that? He went by your command. 
 Indeed 'tis probable, with some kind message; 
 For she receiv'd it graciously; she smil'd; 
 And then he grew familiar with her hand, 
 Squeez'd it, and worried it with ravenous kisses; 
 She blush'd, and sigh'd, and smiFd, and blush'd again; 
 At last she took occasion to talk softly, 
 290 And brought her cheek up close, and lean'd on his; 
 At which, he whisper'd kisses back on hers; 
 And then she cried aloud that constancy 
 Should be rewarded. 
 
 Octav. This I saw and heard. 
 
 Ant. What woman was it, whom you heard and saw 
 So playful with my friend? Ivlot Cleopatra? 
 
 Vent. Ev'n she, my lord. 
 
 Ant. My Cleopatra? 
 
 Vent. Your Cleopatra; 
 Dolabella's Cleopatra; 
 Every man's Cleopatra. 
 300 A7it. Thou li'st. 
 
 Vent. I do not lie, my lord, 
 
 Is this so strange? Should mistresses be left, 
 And not provide against a time of change? 
 You know she 's not much us"d to lonely nights. 
 
 Ant. I'll think no more on 't. 
 I know 'tis false, and see the plot betwixt you. 
 You needed not have gone this way, Octavia. 
 What harms it you that Cleopatra 's just? 
 She 's mine no more. I see, and I forgive: 
 Urge it no farther, love. 
 
 Octav. Are you concern 'd, 
 
 310 That she 's found false? 
 
 A7it. I should be, were it so; 
 
 For, tho' tis past, I would not that the world 
 Should tax my former choice, that I lov'd one 
 Of so light note; but I forgive you both. 
 
 Vent. What has my age deserv'd, that you should think 
 I would abuse your ears with perjury? 
 If heav'n be true, she 's false. 
 
 Ant. Tho' heav'n and earth 
 
 Should witness it, I'll not believe her tainted. 
 
 Vent. I'll bring you then a witness
 
 Act IV 2dd 
 
 rrom hell, to prove her so. — Nay, go not back; 
 
 [Seeing Alexas, just ent'ring, and starting back. 
 320 For stay you must and shall. 
 
 Alex. What means my lord? 
 
 Vent. To make you do what most you hate, — speak truth. 
 You are of Cleopatra's private counsel, 
 Of her bed-counsel, her lascivious hours; 
 Are conscious of each nightly change she makes, 
 And watch her, as Chaldaeans do the moon. 
 Can tell what signs she passes thro', what day. 
 
 Alex. My noble lord! 
 
 Vent. My most illustrious pander. 
 
 No fine set speech, no cadence, no turn'd periods. 
 But a plain homespun truth, is what I ask: 
 330 I did, myself, o'erhear your queen make love 
 To Dolabella. Speak; for I will know, 
 By your confession, what more pass'd betwixt 'em; 
 How near the bus'ness draws to your employment; 
 And when the happy hour. 
 
 Ant. Speak truth, Alexas; whether it offend 
 Or please Ventidius, care not. Justify 
 Thy iujur'd queen from malice: dare his worst. 
 
 Octav. [Aside.] See how he gives him courage! how he fears 
 To find her false! and shuts his eyes to truth, 
 340 Willing to be misled ! 
 
 Alex. As far as love may plead for woman's frailty, 
 Urg'd by desert and greatness of the lover. 
 So far, divine Octavia, may my queen 
 Stand ev'n excus'd to you for loving him 
 Who is your lord: so far, from brave Ventidius, 
 May her past actions hope a fair report. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis well, and truly spoken: mark, Ventidius. 
 
 Alex. To you, most noble emperor, her strong passion 
 Stands not excus'd, but wholly justified. 
 350 Her beauty's charms alone, without her crown. 
 From Ind and Meroe drew the distant vows 
 Of sighing kings; and at her feet were laid 
 The scepters of the earth, expos'd on heaps, 
 To choose where she would reign : 
 She thought a Roman only could deserve her, 
 And, of all Romans, only Antony; 
 And, to be less than wife to you, disdain'd 
 Their lawful passion. Ant. 'Tis but truth. 
 
 Alex. And yet, tho' love, and your unmatch'd desert, 
 360 Have drawn her from the due regard of honor. 
 At last heav'n open'd her unwilling eyes 
 To see the wrongs she offer'd fair Octavia, 
 Whose holy bed she lawlessly usurp'd. 
 
 303. lawlessly] Ql. laicfuUy Q2Q3F.
 
 284 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 The sad effects of this improsperous war 
 Confirm'd those pious thoughts. 
 
 Vent. [Aside.] O, wheel you there? 
 
 Observe him now; the man begins to mend, 
 And talk substantial reason. Fear not, eunuch ; 
 The emperor has giv'n thee leave to speak. 
 
 Alex. Else had I never dar'd t' offend his ears 
 370 With what the last necessity has urg'd 
 On my forsaken mistress; yet I must not 
 Presume to say, her heart is wholly alter'd. 
 
 Ant. No, dare not for thy life, I charge thee dare not 
 Pronounce that fatal word ! 
 
 Octav. [Aside.] Must I bear this? Good heav"n, afford me patience. 
 
 Vent. On, sweet eunuch; my dear half -man, proceed. 
 
 Alex. Yet Dolabella 
 Has lov'd her long; he, next my godlike lord, 
 Deserves her best; and should she meet his passion, 
 380 Rejected, as she is, by him she lov'd 
 
 Ant. Hence, from my sight! for I can bear no more: 
 Let furies drag thee quick to hell; let all 
 The longer damn'd have rest ; each torturing hand 
 Do thou employ, till Cleopatra comes; 
 Then join thou too, and help to torture her! 
 
 [Exit Alexas, thrust out by Antony. 
 
 Octav. 'Tis not well, — 
 Indeed, my lord, 'tis much unkind to me, 
 To show this passion, this extreme concernment. 
 For an abandon'd, faithless prostitute. 
 390 Ant. Octavia, leave me; I am much disorder 'd: 
 Leave me, I say. 
 
 Octav. My lord! 
 
 Ani. I bid you leave me. 
 
 Vent. Obey him, madam; best withdraw a while. 
 And see how this will work. 
 
 Octav. Wherein have I offended you, my lord. 
 That I am bid to leave you? Am I false, 
 Or infamous? Am I a Cleopatra? 
 Were I she. 
 
 Ease as she is, you would not bid me leave you; 
 But hang upon my neck, take slight excuses, 
 400 And fawn upon my falsehood. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis too much, 
 
 Too much, Octavia; I am press'd with sorrows 
 Too heavy to be borne; and you add more: 
 I would retire, and recollect what 's left 
 Of man within, to aid me. 
 
 382-83. let all The longer damn'd have rest] Ql. Omitted by Q2Q3F, 
 possibly by Dryden's own direction.
 
 ACT IV 285 
 
 Octav. You would mourn, 
 
 In private, for your love, who has betray'd you. 
 
 You did but half return to me: your kinc'ness 
 
 Linger'd behind with her. I hear, my lord. 
 
 You make conditions for her, 
 
 And would include her treaty. Wondrous proofs 
 410 Of love to me ! 
 
 Ant. Arc you my friend, Ventidius? 
 
 Or are you turn'd a Dolabella too, 
 
 And let this Fury loose? 
 
 Vent. O, be advis'd. 
 
 Sweet madam, and retire. 
 
 Octav. Yes, I will go; but never to return. 
 
 You shall no more be haunted with this Fury. 
 
 My lord, my lord, love will not always last, 
 
 When urg'd with long unkindness and disdain : 
 
 Take her again, whom you prefer to me; 
 
 She stays but to be call'd. Poor cozen'd man! 
 420 Let a feign'd parting give her back your heart. 
 
 Which a feign'd love first got ; for injur'd me, 
 
 Tho' my just sense of wrongs forbid my stay, 
 
 My duty shall be yours. 
 
 To the dear pledges of our former love. 
 
 My tenderness and care shall be transferr'd. 
 
 And they shall cheer, by turns, my widow'd nights: 
 
 So, take my last farewell; for I despair 
 
 To have you whole, and scorn to take you half. [Exit. 
 
 Vent. I combat heav'n, which blasts my best designs: 
 430 My last attempt must be to win her back; 
 
 But O! I fear, in vain. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. Why was I fram'd with this plain, honest heart, 
 
 Which knows not to disguise its griefs and weakness, 
 
 But bears its workings outward to the world? 
 
 I should have kept the mighty anguish in. 
 
 And forc'd a smile at Cleopatra's falsehood: 
 
 Octavia had believ'd it, and had stay'd. 
 
 But I am made a shallow-forded stream. 
 
 Seen to the bottom: all my clearness scorn'd, 
 440 And all my faults expos 'd! See where he comes 
 
 Enter Dolabella. 
 
 Who has profan'd the sacred name of friend, 
 
 And worn it into vileness! 
 
 With how secure a brow, and specious form. 
 
 He gilds the secret villain ! Sure that face 
 
 Was meant for hone.sty; but heav'n mismatch 'd it, 
 
 And furnish'd treason out with nature's pomp, 
 
 To make its work more easy. 
 
 Dola. O niv friend !
 
 286 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 Ant. Well, Dolabella, you perforra'd my message? 
 
 Dola. I did, unwillingly. 
 
 Ant. Unwillingly? 
 
 450 Was it so hard for you to bear our parting? 
 You should have wish'd it. 
 
 Dola. Why? 
 
 Ant. Because you love me. 
 
 And she received my message with as true, 
 With as unfeign'd a sorrow as you brought it? 
 
 Dola. She loves you, ev'n to madness. 
 
 Ant. O, I know it. 
 
 You, Dolabella, do not better know 
 How much she loves me. And should I forsake 
 This beauty? This all-perfect creature? 
 
 Dola. I could not, were she mine. 
 
 Ant. And yet you first 
 
 Persuaded me: how come you alter'd since? 
 460 Dola. I said at first I was not fit to go: 
 I could not hear her sighs, and see her tears. 
 But pity must prevail: and so, perhaps. 
 It may again with you; for I have promis'd, 
 That she should take her last farewell: and, see, 
 She comes to claim my word. 
 
 Enter Cleopatra. 
 
 Ant. False Dolabella! 
 
 Dola. What 's false, my lord? 
 
 Ant. Why, Dolabella 's false, 
 
 And Cleopatra 's false; both false and faithless. 
 Draw near, you well-join'd wickedness, you serpents, 
 Whom I have in my kindly bosom warm'd, 
 470 Till I am stung to death. 
 
 Dola. My lord, have I 
 
 Deserv'd to be thus us'd? 
 
 Cleo. Can heav'n prepare 
 
 A newer torment? Can it find a curse 
 Beyond our separation? 
 
 Ant. Yes, if fate 
 
 Be just, much greater: heav'n should be ingenious 
 In punishing such crimes. The rolling stone. 
 And gnawing vulture, were slight pains, invented 
 When Jove was young, and no examples known 
 Of mighty ills; but you have ripen 'd sin 
 To such a monstrous growth, 'twill pose the gods 
 480 To find an equal torture. Two. two such! — 
 O, there 's no farther name, — two such! to me. 
 To me, who lock'd my soul within your breasts. 
 Had no desires, no joys, no life, but you. 
 
 456. How much, etc.] The editor again follows Meyer (op. cit., p. 56) 
 in rearranging the lines.
 
 ACT IV 287 
 
 When half the globe was mine, I gave it you 
 In dowry with my heart ; I had no use, 
 No fruit of all, but you ! a friend and mistress, 
 Was what the world could give. O Cleopatra! 
 O Dolabella ! how could you betray 
 This tender heart, which, with an infant fondness, 
 490 Lay lull'd betwixt your bosoms, and there slept. 
 Secure of injur'd faith? 
 
 Dola. If she has wrong 'd you, 
 
 Heav'n, hell, and you, revenge it. 
 
 Ant. If she wrong 'd me! 
 
 Thou wouldst evade thy part of guilt; but swear 
 Thou lov'st not her. 
 
 Dola. Not so as I love you. 
 
 Ant. Not so? Swear, swear, I say, thou dost not love her. 
 
 Dola. No more than friendship will allow. 
 
 Ant. No more? 
 
 Friendship allows thee nothing: thou art perjur'd — 
 And yet thou didst not swear thou lov'dst her not; 
 But not so much, no more. O trifling hypocrite, 
 500 Who dar'st not own to her, thou dost not love. 
 Nor own to me, thou dost! Ventidius heard it; 
 Octavia saw it. 
 
 Cleo. They are enemies. 
 
 Ant. Alexas is not so: he, he confess 'd it; 
 He, who, next hell, best knew it, he avow'd it. 
 [To Dola.] Why do I seek a proof beyond yourself? 
 You, whom I sent to bear my last farewell. 
 Return 'd, to plead her stay. 
 
 Dola. What shall I answer? 
 
 If to have lov'd be guilt, then I have sinn'd; 
 But if to have repented of that love 
 510 Can wash away my crime, I have repented. 
 Yet, if I have offended past forgiveness. 
 Let not her suffer: she is innocent. 
 
 Cleo. Ah, what will not a woman do, who loves? 
 What means will she refuse, to keep that heart 
 Where all her joys are plac'd? 'Twas I encourag'd, 
 'Twas I blew up the fire that scorch'd his soul. 
 To make you jealous, and by that regain you. 
 But all in vain ; I could not counterfeit : 
 [n spite of all the dams, my love broke o'er 
 f)20 And drown'd my heart again: fate took th' occasion; 
 And thus one minute's feigning has destroy'd 
 My whole life's truth. 
 
 Ant. Thin cobweb arts of falsehood; 
 
 402. If she tcronr/'d wr.'] QqF hnvp only a comma after tlu-sc words; 
 SsM insert the ex<'lamatlon point. SsM insert has after she. 
 ■IDS. lov'dst] QqF. lov'st SsM.
 
 288 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 Seen, and broke thro' at first. 
 
 Bola. Forgive your mistress. 
 
 Cleo. Forgive your friend. 
 
 Ant. You have con vine M yourselves. 
 
 You plead each other's cause: what witness have you, 
 That you but meant to raise my jealousy? 
 
 Cleo. Ourselves, and heav'n. 
 
 Ant. Guilt witnesses for guilt. Hence, love and friendship! 
 You have no longer place in human breasts; 
 530 These two have driv'n you out. Avoid my sight ! 
 I would not kill the man whom I have lov'd. 
 And cannot hurt the woman; but avoid me: 
 I do not know how long I can be tame; 
 For, if I stay one minute more, to think 
 How I am wrong'd. my justice and revenge 
 Will cry so loud within me that my pity 
 Will not be heard for either. 
 
 Vola. . Heav 'n has but 
 
 Our sorrow for our sins ; and then delights 
 To pardon erring man : sweet mercy seems 
 540 Its darling attribute, which limits justice; 
 As if there were degrees in infinite. 
 And infinite would rather want perfection, 
 Than punish to extent. 
 
 Ant. I can forgive 
 
 A foe; but not a mistress and a friend. 
 Treason is there in its most horrid shape. 
 Where trust is greatest ; and the soul resign'd, 
 Is stabb'd by its own guards: I'll hear no more; 
 Hence from my sight, for ever! 
 
 Cleo. How? for ever? 
 
 I cannot go one moment from your sight, 
 550 And must I go for ever? 
 
 My joys, my only joys, are center'd here: 
 W^hat place have I to go to? My own kingdom? 
 That I have lost for you. Or to the Romans? 
 They hate me for your sake. Or must I wander 
 The wide world o'er, a helpless, banish'd woman, 
 Banish'd for love of you; banish'd from you? 
 Aye, there 's the banishment I 0, hear me ; hear me, 
 With strictest justice: for I beg no favor; 
 And if I have offended you, then kill me, 
 560 But do not banish me. 
 
 Ant. I must not hear you. 
 
 I have a fool within me takes your part; 
 But honor stops my ears. 
 
 Cleo. For pity hear me! 
 
 Would you cast off a slave who followed you? 
 
 531. / have lov'd] SsM. / lov'd QqF.
 
 ACT V 289 
 
 Who crouch'd beneath your spurn? — He has no pity! 
 See, if he gives one tear to my departure^ 
 One look, one kind farewell: O iron heart! 
 Let all the gods look down, and judge betwixt us, 
 If he did ever love! 
 
 Ant. No more: Alexas! 
 
 Dola. A perjur'd villain! 
 
 Ant. [To Cleo.] Your Alexas; yours. 
 
 570 Cleo. O, 'twas his plot; his ruinous design, 
 T' ingage you in my love by jealousy. 
 Hear him; confront him with me; let him speak. 
 
 Ant. I have; I have. 
 
 Cleo. And if he clear me not 
 
 Ant. Your creature! one who hangs upon your smiles! 
 Watches your eye, to say or to unsay, 
 Whate'er you please ! I am not to be mov'd. 
 
 Cleo. Then must we part? Farewell, my cruel lord! 
 Th' appearance is against me; and I go, 
 Unjustified, for ever from your sight. 
 580 How I have lov'd, you know ; how yet I love, 
 My only comfort is, I know myself: 
 I love you more, ev'n now you are unkind, 
 Than when you lov'd me most ; so well, so truly 
 I'll never strive against it ; but die pleas'd, 
 To think you once were mine. 
 
 Ant. Good heav'n, they weep at parting. 
 Must I weep too? that calls "em innocent. 
 I must not weep; and yet I must, to think 
 
 That I must not forgive. 
 
 590 Live, but live wretched; 'tis but just you should, 
 Who made me so: live from each other's sight; 
 Let me not hear you meet. Set all the earth, 
 And all the seas, betwixt your sunder'd loves: 
 "View nothing common but the sun and Fkies. 
 Now, all take several ways; 
 
 And each your own sad fate, with mine, deplore; 
 
 That you were false, and I could trust no more. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 ACT V 
 
 Cleopatra, Charmion, Iras. 
 
 Char. Be juster, heav'n; such nrtue punish'd thus, 
 Will make us think that chance rules all above. 
 And shuflies, with a random hand, the lots 
 Which man is forc'd to draw. 
 
 Cleo. I could tear out these eyes, that gain'd his heart. 
 And had not pow'r to keep it. O the curse
 
 290 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 Of doting on, ev'n when I find it dotage! 
 Bear witness, gods, you heard 4iim bid me go ; 
 You, whom he mock'd with imprecating vows 
 
 10 Of promis'd faith! I'll die; I will not bear it. 
 
 You may hold me [She pulls out her dagger, and they hold her. 
 
 But I can keep my breath; I can die inward, 
 And choke this love. 
 
 Enter Alexas. 
 
 Iras. Help, Alexas, help! 
 
 The queen grows desperate; her soul struggles in her 
 With all the agonies of love and rage, 
 And strives to force its passage. 
 
 Cleo. Let me go. 
 
 Art thou there, traitor! — O, 
 
 for a little breath, to vent my rage! 
 
 Give, give me way, and let me loose upon him. 
 20 Alex. Yes, I deserve it, for my ill-tim'd truth. 
 
 Was it for me to prop 
 
 The ruins of a falling majesty? 
 
 To place myself beneath the mighty flaw. 
 
 Thus to be crush'd, and pounded into atoms, 
 
 By its o'erwhelming weight? 'Tis too presuming 
 
 For subjects to preserve that wilful pow'r, 
 
 Which courts its own destruction. 
 
 Cleo. I would reason 
 
 More calmly with you. Did not you overrule, 
 
 And force my plain, direct, and open love, 
 30 Into these crooked paths of jealousy? 
 
 Now, what 's th' event? Octavia is remov'd; 
 
 But Cleopatra 's banish'd. Thou, thou villain, 
 
 Hast push'd my boat to open sea; to prove. 
 
 At my sad cost, if thou canst steer it back. 
 
 It cannot be; I'm lost too far; I'm ruin'd : 
 
 Hence, thou imposter, traitor, monster, devil! — 
 
 1 can no more: thou, and my griefs, have sunk 
 Me down so low, that I want voice to curse thee. 
 
 Alex. Suppose some shipwrack'd seaman near the shore, 
 40 Dropping and faint, with climbing up the cliff, 
 If, from above, some charitable hand 
 Pull him to safety, hazarding himself, 
 To draw the other's weight ; would he look back. 
 And curse him for his pains? The case is yours; 
 But one step more, and you have gain'd the heighth. 
 
 Cleo. Sunk, never more to rise. 
 
 Alex. Octavia 's gone, and Dolabella banish'd. 
 Believe me, madam, Antony is yours. 
 His heart was never lost, but started, off 
 
 39. shipwrack'd seaman] QqF. shipwrecked seamen SsM.
 
 ACT V 291 
 
 50 To jealousy, love's last retreat and covert; 
 Where it lies hid in shades, watchful in silence, 
 And list'ning for the sound that calls it back. 
 Some other, any man ("tis so advanc'd), 
 May perfect this unfinish'd work, which I 
 (Unhappy only to myself) have left 
 So easy to his hand. 
 
 Cko. Look well thou do 't; else- 
 
 Alex. Else, w^hat your silence threatens. — Antony 
 Is mounted up the Pharos, from whose turret 
 He stands surveying our Egyptian galleys, 
 60 Engag'd with Cajsar's fleet. Now death or conquest! 
 If the first happen, fate acquits my promise; 
 If we o'ercome, the conqueror is yours. [A distant shout within. 
 
 Char. Have comfort, madam: did you mark that shout? 
 
 [Second shout nearer. 
 
 Iras. Hark! they redouble it. 
 
 Alex. 'Tis from the port. 
 
 The loudness shows it near: good news, kind heavens! 
 
 Cleo. Osiris make it so ! 
 
 Enter Serapion. 
 
 Scrap. Wlicre, where 's the queen? 
 
 Alex. How frightfully the holy coward stares. 
 As if not yet recover"d of th' assault, 
 When all his gods, and, what 's more dear to him, 
 70 His offerings, were at stake. 
 
 Serap. O horror, horror! 
 
 Egypt has been; our latest hour is come: 
 The queen of nations, from her ancient seat, 
 Is sunk for ever in the dark abyss: 
 Time has unroll'd her glories to the last, 
 And now clos'd up the volume. 
 
 Cleo. Be more plain: 
 
 Say whence thou com'st ; tho' fate is in thy face, 
 Which from thy haggard eyes looks wildly out. 
 And threatens ere thou speak'st. 
 
 Serap. I came from Pharos; 
 From viewing (spare me, and imagine it) 
 80 Our land's last hope, your na\y 
 
 Cleo. Vanquish 'd? 
 
 Serap. No : 
 
 They fought not. 
 
 Cleo. Then they fled. 
 
 Serap. Xor that. I saw, 
 
 With Antony, your well-appointed fleet 
 Row out; and thrice he wav'd his hand on high, 
 And thrice with cheerful cries they shouted back: 
 'Twas then false Fortune, like a fawning strumpet,
 
 292 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 About to leave the bankrupt prodigal, 
 With a dissembled smile would kiss at parting, 
 And flatter to the last ; the well-tim 'd oars 
 Now dipp'd from every bank, now smoothly run 
 go To meet the foe; and soon indeed they met. 
 But not as foes. In few, we saw their caps 
 On either side thrown up; th' Egyptian galleys 
 (Receiv'd like friends) pass'd thro', and fell behind 
 The Eoman rear: and now, they all come forward. 
 And ride within the port. 
 
 Cleo. Enough, Serapion: 
 
 I've heard my doom. — This needed not, you gods: 
 When I lost Antony, your work was done; 
 'Tis but superfluous malice. Where 's my lord? 
 How bears he this last blow? 
 100 Serap. His fury cannot be express 'd by words. 
 Thrice he attempted headlong to have fall'n 
 Full on his foes, and aim'd at Caesar's galley: 
 Withheld, he raves on you; cries, he 's betray'd. 
 
 Should he now find you 
 
 Alex. Shun him; seek your safety, 
 
 Till you can clear your innocence. 
 
 Clco. I'll stay. 
 
 Alex. You must not; haste you to your monument, 
 While I make speed to Caesar. 
 
 Clco. CsBsar! No, 
 
 I have no business with him. 
 
 Alex. I can work him 
 
 To spare your life, and let this madman perish. 
 110 Cleo. Base fawning wretch! wouldst thou betray him tool 
 Hence from my sight! I will not hear a traitor; 
 'Twas thy design brought all this ruin on us. 
 Serapion, thou art honest; counsel me: 
 But haste, each moment 's precious. 
 
 Serap. Eetire; you must not yet see Antony. 
 He who began this mischief, 
 
 'Tis just he tempt the danger; let him clear you: 
 And, since he ofi'er'd you his servile tongue, 
 To gain a poor precarious life from Csesar, 
 120 Let him expose that fawning eloquence. 
 And speak to Antony. 
 
 Alex. O heavens! I dare not; 
 
 I meet my certain death. 
 
 Cleo. Slave, thou deserv'st it. — 
 
 Not that I fear my lord, will I avoid him; 
 I know him noble: when he banish'd me, 
 And thought me false, he scorn"d to take my life; 
 But I'll be justified, and then die with him. 
 Alex. O pity me, and let me follow you.
 
 ACT V 293 
 
 Cleo. To Jeath, if thou stir hence. Speak, if thou canst, 
 Now for thy life, which basely thou wouldst save; 
 130 While mine I prize at this. Come, good Scrapion. 
 
 [Exeunt Cleopatra, Serapion, Charmion, Iras. 
 
 Alex. O that I less could fear to lose this being, 
 Which, like a snowball in my coward hand, 
 The more 'tis grasp'd, the faster melts away. 
 Poor reason ! what a wretched aid art thou ! 
 For still, in spite of thee, 
 These two long lovers, soul and body, dread 
 Their final separation. Let me think: 
 What can I say, to save myself from death? 
 No matter what becomes of Cleopatra. 
 140 Ant. [Within.] Which way? where? 
 
 Vent. [Within.] This leads to th' monument. 
 
 Alex. Ah me; I hear him; yet I'm unprepar'd: 
 My gift of lying 's gone; 
 
 And this court devil, which I so oft have rais'd, 
 Forsakes me at my need. I dare not stay; 
 Yet cannot far go hence. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Antony and Ventiditjs. 
 
 Ant. happy Caesar; thou hast men to lead: 
 Think not 'tis thou hast conquer'd Antony; 
 But Eome has conquer'd Egypt. I'm betray 'd. 
 Vent. Curse on this treach'rous train! 
 150 Their soil and heav'n infect 'em all with baseness: 
 And their young souls come tainted to the world 
 With the first breath they draw. 
 
 A7it. Th' original villain sure no god created; 
 lie was a bastard of the sun, by Nile, 
 Ap'd into man ; with all his mother's mud 
 Crusted about his soul. 
 
 Vent. The nation is 
 
 One universal traitor; and their queen 
 The very spirit and extract of 'em all. 
 Ant. Is there yet left 
 160 A possibility of aid from valor? 
 
 Is there one god unsworn to my destruction? 
 
 The least unmortgag'd hope? for, if there be, 
 
 Mcthinks I cannot fall beneath the fate 
 
 Of such a boy as Caesar. 
 
 The world's one half is yet in Antony ; 
 
 And from each limb of it that 's litwM away, 
 
 The soul comes back to me. 
 
 Vent. There yet remain 
 
 Three legions in the town. The last assault 
 Lopp'd off the rest: if death be your design — 
 170 As I must wish it now — these are sufficient
 
 294 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 To make a heap about us of dead foes, 
 An honest pile for burial. 
 
 Ant. They're enough. 
 
 We'll not divide our stars; but, side by side, 
 Fight emulous, and with malicious eyes 
 Survey each other's acts. So, every death 
 Thou giv'st, I'll take on me, as a just debt. 
 And pay thee back a soul. 
 
 Vent. Now you shall see I love you. Not a word 
 Of chiding more. By my few hours of life, 
 180 I am so pleas'd with this brave Roman fate, 
 That I would not be Cfpsar, to outlive you. 
 When we put off this flesh, and mount together, 
 I shall be shown to all th' ethereal crowd: 
 "Lo, this is he who died with Antony!'' 
 
 Ant. Who knows, but we may pierce thro' all their troops. 
 And reach my veterans yet? 'Tis worth the 'tempting, 
 T' o'erleap this gulf of fate, 
 And leave our wond'ring destinies behind. 
 
 Enter Alexas, trembling. 
 
 Vent. See, see, that villain! 
 190 See Cleopatra stamp'd upon that face. 
 
 With all her cunning, all her arts of falsehood! 
 
 How she looks out thro' those dissembling eyes ! 
 
 How he has set his count'nance for deceit. 
 
 And promises a lie, before he speaks! 
 
 Let me dispatch him first. [Drawing. 
 
 Alex. O spare me, spare me! 
 
 Ant. Hold; he 's not worth your killing. On thy life, 
 (Which thou may'st keep, because I scorn to take it,) 
 No syllable to justify thy queen; 
 Save thy base tongue its office. 
 
 Alex. Sir, she 's gone, 
 
 200 Where she shall never be molested more 
 By love, or you. 
 
 Ant. Fled to her Dolabella ! 
 Die, traitor! I revoke my promise! die! [Going to l-ill him, 
 
 Alex. O hold! she is not fled. 
 
 Ant. She is: my eyes 
 
 Are open to her falsehood ; my whole life 
 Has been a golden dream of love and friendship; 
 But, now I wake, I'm like a merchant, rous'd 
 From soft repose, to see his vessel sinking, 
 And all his wealth cast o'er. Ingrateful woman! 
 Who follow'd me, but as the swallow summer, 
 
 188. wond'ring] Ql. wand'rinp Q2Q3FSsM. 
 
 19.S. he has set] Ql. he sets Q2Q3FSsM, to the injury of the meter. 
 
 208. o'er. Ingrateful] QqF. over. Ungrateful SsM.
 
 ACT V 295 
 
 210 Hatching her young on^s in my kindly beams, 
 Singing her flatfries to my morning wake: 
 But, now my winter comes, she spreads her wings, 
 And seeks the spring of Casar. 
 
 Alex. Think not sor 
 
 Her fortunes have, in all tilings, mix'd with yours. 
 Had she betray'd her naval force to Rome, 
 How easily might she have gone to Cajsar, 
 Secure by such a bribe! 
 
 Vent. She sent it first, 
 
 To be more welcome after. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis too plain; 
 
 Else would she have appear'd, to clear herself. 
 220 Alex. Too fatally she has: she could not bear 
 To be accus'd by you; but shut herself 
 Within her monument; look'd down and sigh'd; 
 While, from her unchang'd face, the silent tears 
 Dropp'd, as they had not leave, but stole their parting. 
 Some undistinguish'd words she inly murmur'd; 
 At last, she rais'd her eyes; and, with such looks 
 As dying Lucrece cast 
 
 Ant. My heart forebodes 
 
 Vent. All for the best: go on. 
 
 Alex. She snatch 'd her poniard. 
 
 And, ere we could prevent the fatal blow, 
 230 Plung'd it within her breast ; then turn'd to me : 
 "Go, bear my lord," said she, "my last farewell; 
 And ask him if he yet suspect my faith." 
 More she was saying, but death rush'd betwixt. 
 She half pronounc'd your name with her last breath. 
 And buried half within her. 
 
 Vent. Heav'n be prais'd! 
 
 Ant. Then art thou innocent, my poor dear love? 
 And art thou dead? 
 
 O those two words! their sound should be divided: 
 Hadst thou been false, and died; or hadst thou liv'd, 
 240 And hadst been true. — But innocence and death! 
 This shows not well above. Then what am I, 
 The murderer of this truth, this innocence! 
 Thoughts cannot form themselves in words so horrid 
 As can express my guilt! 
 
 Vent. Is 't come to this? The gods have been too gracious; 
 And thus you thank 'em for 't! 
 
 Ant. [To Alex.] Why stay'st thou here? 
 Is it for thee to spy upon my soul. 
 And see its inward mourning? Get thee hence; 
 Thou art not worthy to behold what now 
 250 Becomes a Roman emperor to perform. 
 
 Alex. [Aside.] He loves her still:
 
 296 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 His grief betrays it. Good! the joy to find 
 
 She 's yet alive, completes the reconcilement. 
 
 I"ve sav'd myself, and her. But, O! the Romans 1 
 
 Fate comes too fast upon my wit, 
 
 Hunts me too hard, and meets me at each double. [Exit. 
 
 Vent. Would she had died a little sooner, tho', 
 Before Octavia went ; you might have treated : 
 Now 'twill look tame, and would not be receiv'd. 
 260 Come, rouse yourself, and let 's die warm together. 
 
 Ant. I will not fight: there 's no more work for war. 
 The bus'ness of my angry hours is done. 
 
 Vent. Caesar is at your gates. 
 
 Aiit. Why, let him enter; 
 
 He 's welcome now. 
 
 Vent. What lethargy has crept into your soul? 
 
 Ant. 'Tis but a scorn of life, and just desire 
 To free myself from bondage. 
 
 Vent. Do it bravely. 
 
 Ant. I will; but not by fighting. O, Ventidius! 
 What should I fight for now? My queen is dead. 
 270 I was but great for her ; my pow 'r, my empire, 
 Were but my merchandise to buy her love; 
 And conquer'd kings, my factors. Now she "s dead, 
 
 Let Caesar take the world 
 
 An empty circle, since the jewel 's gone 
 
 Which made it worth my strife: my being 's nauseous; 
 
 For all the bribes of life are gone away. 
 
 Vent. Would you be taken? 
 
 Ant. Yes, I would be taken; 
 
 But, as a Roman ought, — dead, my Ventidius: 
 For I'll convey my soul from Ctesar's reach, 
 280 And lay down life myself. 'Tis time the world 
 Should have a lord, and know whom to obey. 
 We two have kept its homage in suspense. 
 And bent the globe on whose each side we trod, 
 Till it was dinted inwards. Let him walk 
 Alone upon 't: I'm weary of my part. 
 My torch is out; and the world stands before me, 
 Like a black desart at th' approach of night: 
 I'll lay me down, and stray no farther on. 
 
 Vent. I could be griev'd, 
 290 But that I'll not outlive you: choose your death; 
 For, I have seen him in such various shapes, 
 I care not which I take: I'm only troubled 
 The life I bear is worn to such a rag, 
 
 257, 258. Would . . . vent;'] So punctuated in QqF ; SsM place an 
 exclamation point after tho' and a comma after tcent. 
 
 284. dinted] Qq. dented FSsM. 
 
 292. troubled] QqP have no punctuation after tliis word ; SsM insert a 
 comma.
 
 ACT V 297 
 
 'Tis scarce worth giving. I could wish, indeed, 
 
 We threw it from us with a better grace; 
 
 That, like two lions taken in the toils. 
 
 We might at least thrust out our paws, and wound 
 
 The hunters that inclose us. 
 
 A7it. I have thought on 't. 
 
 Ventidius, you must live. 
 
 Vent. I must not, sir. 
 
 300 Ant. Wilt thou not live, to speak some good of me? 
 To stand by my fair fame, and guard th' approaches 
 From the ill tongues of men? 
 
 Vent. Who shall guard mine. 
 
 For living after you? 
 
 Ant. Say, I command it. 
 
 Vent. If we die well our deaths will speak themselves, 
 And need no living witness. 
 
 Ant. Thou hast lov'd me. 
 
 And fain I would reward thee. I must die; 
 Kill me, and take the merit of my death. 
 To make thee friends with Caesar. 
 
 Vent. Thank your kindness, 
 
 ^ou said I lov'd you ; and in recompense, 
 310 You bid me turn a traitor. Did I think 
 
 You would have us'd me thus? — that I should die 
 With a hard thought of you? 
 
 Ant. Forgive me, Roman. 
 
 Since I have heard of Cleopatra's death, 
 My reason bears no rule upon my tongue. 
 But lets my thoughts break all at random out. 
 I've thought better; do not deny me twice. 
 
 Vent. By heav'n I will not. 
 Let it not be t' outlive you. 
 
 Ant. Kill me first, 
 
 And then die thou; for "tis but just thou serve 
 320 Thy friend, before thyself. 
 
 Vent. Give me your hand. 
 
 We soon shall meet again. Now, farewell, emperor! [Embrace. 
 
 Methinks that word's too cold to be my last : 
 Since death sweeps all distinctions, farewell, friend! 
 
 That's all 
 
 I will not make a bus'ness of a trifle; 
 
 And yet I cannot look on you, and kill you; 
 
 Pray turn your face. 
 
 Ant. I do: strike homo, be sure. 
 
 Vent. Home as my sword will reach. [Kills himself. 
 
 Ant. O. thou mistak'st; 
 
 297. at leant] Ql. at lant Q2Q.3FSSM. 
 
 323. all] Ql. OmittPd by Q2Q3F. 
 
 327. lioine, be nurc] Ql. home sure Q2Q3F.
 
 298 ALL FOE LOVE 
 
 That wound was none of thine; give it me back: 
 330 Thou robb'st me of my death. 
 
 Vent. I do indeed ; 
 
 But think 'tis the first time I e'er deceiv'd you, 
 
 If that may plead my pardon. And you, gods, 
 
 Forgive me, if you wdll; for I die perjur'd, 
 
 Kather than kill my friend. [Dies. 
 
 Ant. Farewell! Ever my leader, ev'n in death I 
 
 My queen and thou have got the start of me, 
 
 And I'm the lag of honor. — Gone so soon? 
 
 Is Death no more? He us'd him carelessly, 
 
 With a familiar kindness: ere he knock'd, 
 340 Ran to the door, and took him in his arms, 
 
 As who should say: "Y'are welcome at all hours, 
 
 A friend need give no warning." Books had spoil'd him; 
 
 For all the learn'd are cowards by profession. 
 
 'Tis not worth 
 
 My farther thought; for death, for aught I know. 
 
 Is but to think no more. Here's to be satisfied. [Foils on his sword. 
 
 I've miss'd my heart. O unperforming hand! 
 
 Thou never couldst have err'd in a worse time. 
 
 My fortune jades me to the last ; and death, 
 350 Like a great man, takes state, and makes me wait 
 
 For my admittance. [Trampling within. 
 
 Some, perhaps, from Caesar : 
 
 If he should find me living, and suspect 
 
 That I play'd booty with my life! I'll mend 
 
 My work, ere they can reach me. [Bises upon his Tcnees. 
 
 Enter Cleopatra, Charmion, Iras. 
 
 Cleo. Where is my lord? where is he? ' 
 
 Char. There he lies, 
 
 And dead Ventidius by him. 
 
 Cleo. My fears wore prophets; I am come too late. 
 O that accurst Alexas! [Eims to him. 
 
 Ant. Art thou living? 
 
 Or am I dead before I knew, and thou 
 360 The first kind ghost that meets me? 
 
 Cleo. Help me seat him. 
 
 Send quickly, send for help! [They place him in a chair. 
 
 Ant. I am answer 'd. 
 
 We live both. Sit thee down, my Cleopatra: 
 I'll make the most I can of life, to stay 
 A moment more with thee. 
 
 Cleo. How is it with you? 
 
 Ant. 'Tis as with a man 
 
 Removing in a hurry; all pack'd up, 
 But one dear jewel that his haste forgot; 
 
 329. none] QqF. not SsM.
 
 ACT V 299 
 
 And he, for that, returns upon the spur: 
 So I come back, for thee. 
 370 Cleo. Too long, you heav'ns, you have been cruel to me: 
 Now show your mended faith, and give me back 
 His fleeting life! 
 
 A7it. It will not be, my love; 
 
 I keep my soul by force. 
 Say but thou art not false. 
 
 Cleo. 'Tis now too late 
 
 To saj' I'm true: I'll prove it, and die with you. 
 Unknown to me, Alexas feign'd my death: 
 Which when I knew, I hasted to prevent 
 This fatal consequence. My fleet betray'd 
 Both you and me. 
 
 Ant. And Dolabella 
 
 Cleo. Scarce 
 
 380 Estoem'd before he lov'd; but hated now. 
 
 Ant. Enough: my lifes not long enough for more. 
 Thou say'st thou wilt come after: I believe thee; 
 Pur I can now believe whate'er thou say'st, 
 That we may part more kindly. 
 
 Cleo. 1 will come: 
 
 Doubt not, my life, I'll come, and quickly too : 
 Ca;sar shall triumph o'er no part of thee. 
 
 Ant. But grieve not, while thou stay'st, 
 My last disastrous times: 
 Think we have had a clear and glorious day; 
 390 And heav'n did kindly to delay the storm. 
 
 Just till our close of ev'ning. Ten years' love, 
 And not a moment lost, but all improv'd 
 To th' utmost joys, — what ages have we liv'd! 
 And now to die each other's; and, so dying, 
 While hand in hand we walk in groves below, 
 Whole troops of lovers' ghosts shall flock about us, 
 And all the train be ours. 
 
 Cleo. Your words are like the notes of dying swans, 
 Too sweet to last. Were there so many hours 
 00 For your unkindness, and not one for love? 
 
 Ant. No, not a minute. — This one kiss — more worth 
 Than all I leave to Caesar. [Dies. 
 
 Cleo. O tell me so again, 
 And take ten thousand kisses for that word. 
 My lord, my lord! speak, if you yet have being; 
 Sigh to me, if you cannot speak ; or cast 
 
 370. you heav'iifil QqF. pe hcarcna SsM. 
 
 379. ticarcc]. Joined to the following line in QqF : the text follows SsM. 
 387. stay'st,] QqF have no punctuation after this word ; SsM Insert 
 the comma. 
 
 :ui.s. suans] Q1Q2. aican Q3F. 
 400. Hi'jh] tiqF. iiign SsM.
 
 300 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 One look! Do anything that shows you live. 
 
 Iras. He's gone too far to hear you; 
 And this you see, a lump of senseless clay, 
 410 The leavings of a soul. 
 
 Char. Eeniember, madam, 
 
 He charg'd you not to grieve. 
 
 Cleo. And I'll obey him. 
 
 I have not lov'd a Eoman, not to know 
 What should become his wife; his Avife, my Charmion! 
 For 'tis to that high title I aspire; 
 And now I'll not die less. Let dull Octavia 
 Survive, to mourn him dead: my nobler fate 
 Shall knit our spousals with a tie too strong 
 For Roman laws to break. 
 
 Iras. Will you then die? 
 
 Cleo. Why shouldst thou make that question? 
 420 Iras. Caesar is merciful. 
 
 Cleo. Let him be so 
 
 To those that want his mercy: my poor lord 
 Made no such cov'nant with him, to spare me 
 When he was dead. Yield me to Caesar's pride? 
 What! to be led in triumph thro' the streets, 
 A spectacle to base plebeian eyes; 
 While some dejected friend of Antony's, 
 Close in a corner, shakes his head, and mutters 
 A secret curse on her who ruin'd him! 
 I'll none of that. 
 
 Char. Whatever you resolve, 
 430 I'll follow, ev'n to death. 
 
 Iras. 1 only fear'd 
 
 For you; but more should fear to live without you. 
 
 Cleo. Why, now, 'tis as it should be. Quick, my friends. 
 Dispatch ; ere this, the town's in CaBsar's hands : 
 My lord looks down concern'd, and fears my stay. 
 Lest I should be surpris'd; 
 Keep him not waiting for his love too long. 
 You, Charmion, bring my crown and richest jewels; 
 With 'em, the wreath of victory I made 
 (Vain augury!) for him, who now lies dead: 
 440 You, Iras, bring the cure of all our ills. 
 
 Iras. The aspics, madam? 
 
 Cleo. Must I bid you twice? [Exeunt Charmion and Iras. 
 
 'Tis sweet to die, when they would force life on me; 
 To rush into the dark abode of Death, 
 And seize him first; if he be like my love, 
 He is not frightful, sure. 
 We're now alone, in secrecy and silence; 
 And is not this like lovers? I may kiss 
 These pale, cold lips; Octavia does not see me:
 
 ACT V 301 
 
 And, O! 'tis botfcr far to have him tlius, 
 450 Than see him in her arms. — O, welcome, welcome! 
 
 Enter Chakmion, Iras. 
 
 Char. What must be done? 
 
 Clco, Short ceremony, friends; 
 
 But yet it must be decent. First, this laurel 
 Shall crown my hero's head: he fell not basely, 
 Nor left his shield behind him. Only thou 
 Couldst triumph o'er thyself; and thou alone 
 Wert worthy so to triumph. 
 
 Char. To what end 
 
 These ensigns of your pomp and royalty? 
 
 Cleo. Dull that thou art! why, 'tis to meet my love; 
 As when I saw him first, on Cydnos' bank, 
 60 All sparkling, like a goddess: so adorn"d, 
 I'll find him once again; my second spousals 
 Shall match my first in glory. Haste, haste, both, 
 And dress the bride of Antony. 
 
 Char. 'Tis done. 
 
 Cleo. Now seat me by my lord. I claim this place; 
 For I must conquer Ca?sar too, like him, 
 And win my share o' th' world. Hail, you dear relics 
 Of my immortal love ! 
 O let no impious hand remove you hence, 
 But rest for ever here ! Let Egypt give 
 470 His death that peace which it denied his life. 
 Eeach me the casket. 
 
 Iras. Underneath the fruit 
 
 The aspic lies. 
 
 Clco. [tutting aside the leaves.'] Welcome, thou kind deceiver I 
 Thou best of thieves; who, with an easy key. 
 Dost open life, and, unperceiv'd by us, 
 Ev'n steal us from ourselves; discharging so 
 Death's dreadful office, better than himself; 
 Touching our limbs so gently into slumber, 
 That Death stands by, deceiv'd by his own image, 
 And thinks himself but Sleep. 
 
 Scrap. [JVithin.] The queen, where is she? 
 480 The town is yielded, Cffisar's at the gates. 
 
 Cleo. He comes too late t' invade the rights of death. 
 Haste, bare my arm, and rouse the serpent's fury. 
 
 [Holds out her arm, and dratcs it hack. 
 Coward flesh, 
 
 Wouldst thou conspire with Caesar to betray me. 
 As thou wert none of mine? I'll force thee to 't, 
 And not be sent by him, 
 
 471-72. Underneath . . . lies.] So arrangod in SsM ; ono lim^ in 
 QqF.
 
 302 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 But bring myself, my soul to Antony. 
 
 [Turns aside, and then shows her arm bloody. 
 Take hence; the work is done. 
 
 Scrap. [Within.] Break ope the door, 
 
 And guard the traitor well. 
 
 Char. The next is ours. 
 
 490 Iras. Now, Charmion, to be worthy 
 
 Of our great queen and mistress. [They apply the aspics. 
 
 Cleo. Already, death, I feel thee in my veins: 
 I go with such a will to find my lord. 
 That we shall quickly meet. 
 A heavy numbness creeps thro' every limb. 
 And now 'tis at my head: my eyelids fall. 
 And my dear love is vanish'd in a mist. 
 Where shall I find him, where? O turn me to him. 
 And lay me on his breast! — Csesar, thy worst; 
 500 Now part us, if thou canst. [Dies. 
 
 [Iras siiiTcs down at her feet, and dies; Charmton 
 stands behind her chair, as dressing her head. 
 
 Enter Serapion, two Priests, Alexas hound, Egyptians. 
 
 Two Priests. Behold, Serapion, 
 
 What havoc death has made! 
 
 Serap. 'Twas what I fear 'd. — 
 
 Charmion, is this well done? 
 
 Char. Yes, 'tis well done, and like a queen, the last 
 Of her great race: I follow her. [SinJcs down; dies. 
 
 Alex. 'Tis true. 
 
 She has done well : much better thus to die. 
 Than live to make a holiday in Rome. 
 
 Serap. See, 
 See how the lovers sit in state together, 
 As they were giving laws to half mankind! 
 510 Th' impression of a smile, left in her face. 
 
 Shows she died pleas'd with him for whom she liv'd, 
 
 And went to charm him in another world. 
 
 Caesar's just ent'ring : grief has now no leisure. 
 
 Secure that villain, as our pledge of safety, 
 
 To grace th' imperial triumph. Sleep, blest pair. 
 
 Secure from human chance, long ages out. 
 
 While all the storms of fate fly o'er your tomb ; 
 
 And fame to late posterity shall tell, 
 
 No lovers liv'd so great, or died so well. [Exeunt. 
 
 497. vanish'd'\ QqP. vanquished SsM. 
 
 .500. (stac/e direction), two Priests]. 2. Triests QqF. Priest SsM. QqF 
 print the foliowing speecti as one line ; SsM arrange as above. 
 
 507-08. See, See how] QqF read See, see how, etc., as one line; SsM 
 boldly restore meter by omitting one see.
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 Poets, like disputants, when reasons fail, 
 Have one sure refuge left — and that's to rail. 
 Fop, coxcomb, fool, are thunder'd thro' the pit; 
 And this is all their equipage of wit. 
 We wonder how the devil this diff'rence grows, 
 Betwixt our fools iu verse, and yours in prose: 
 For, 'faith, the quarrel rightly understood, 
 'Tis civil war with their own flesh and blood. 
 The threadbare author hates the gaudy coat; 
 
 10 And swears at the gilt coach, but swears afoot: 
 For 'tis observ'd of every scribbling man. 
 He grows a fop as fast as e'er he can ; 
 Pranes up, and asks his oracle, the glass, 
 If pink or purple best become his face. 
 For our poor wretch, he neither rails nor prays;' 
 Nor likes your wit just as you like his plays; 
 He has not yet so much of Mr. Bayes. 
 He docs his best ; and if he cannot please, 
 Would quietly sue out his utU of ease. 
 Yet, if he might his own grand jury call. 
 By the fair sex he begs to stand or fall. 
 Let Caesar's power the men's ambition move, 
 But grace you him who lost the world for level 
 Yet if some antiquated lady say, 
 The last age is not copied in his play; 
 Heav'n help the man who for that face must drudge. 
 Which only has the wrinkles of a judge. 
 Let not the young and beauteous join with those; 
 For, should you raise such numerous hosts of foes, 
 
 30 Young wits and sparks he to his aid must call ; 
 
 'Tis more than one man's work to please you all. 
 
 20 

 
 THE 
 
 SPANISH FRIAR 
 
 OK 
 
 THE DOUBLE DISCOVERY 
 
 Ut melius 2^ossfs fallere, sume togam. 
 Martial, viii. 48. 8. 
 
 — Alterna revisens 
 Lusit, et in solido rursus fortuna locavit. 
 Virgil, ^neid, xi. 426, 427. 
 
 Written by Jolin Drydcn, servant to bis Majesty.
 
 The Spanish Friar was first printed in 1681 ; other quarto editions 
 followed in 1686, 1600, and 1695. These quartos are cited as Ql, Q2, Q3, 
 Q4. Ql furnishes the authoritative text; later variants, with exceptions 
 noted below, are due merely to the printer. Q3 was printed from Q2 (see 
 notes on p. 319, 1. 153; p. 322, 1. 256; p. 361, 1. 173); Q4 was printed 
 from Q3 (see notes on p. 316, 1. 57; p. 332, 1. 4; p. 362, 1. 198); and 
 the Folio of 1701 (F) was printed from Ql (see notes on p. 321, 1. 243; 
 p. 345, 1. 23; p. 382, 1. 387). Q3 adds to the text four passages of some 
 importance; see notes on p. 332, 1. 4; p. 339, 1. 27; p. 345, 1. 23; p. 358, 
 1. 21. As the first two passages contain violent anti-Catholic satire, and 
 Dryden was already a Catholic in 1690, the date of Q3, it is at least 
 doubtful whether the lines were written by the poet himself. If they 
 are by him, they were probably suppressed on the publication of Ql, and 
 later restored from a stage copy.
 
 TO 
 
 THE RIGHT HONORABLE 
 JOHN 
 
 LORD HAUGHTON 
 
 My Lord, 
 When I first design'd this play, I found, or thought I found, somewhat 
 so moving in the serious part of it, and so pleasant in the comic, as 
 might deserve a more than ordinary care in both; accordingly I us'd the 
 best of my endeavor in the management of two plots, so very different 
 from each other, that it was not, perhaps, the talent of every writer to 
 have made them of a piece. Neither have I attempted other plays of 
 the same nature, in my opinion, with the same judgment, tho' with like 
 success. And tho' many poets may suspect themselves for the fondness 
 
 10 and partiality of parents to their youngest children, yet I hope I may 
 stand exempted from this rule, because I know myself too well to be 
 ever satisfied with my own conceptions, which have seldom reach'd to 
 those ideas that I had within me; and consequently, I presume I may 
 have liberty to judge when I write more or less pardonably, as an 
 ordinary marksman may know certainly when he shoots less wide at 
 what he aims. Besides, the care and pains I have bestow'd on this, 
 beyond my other tragi-comedies, may reasonably make the world con- 
 clude, that either I can do nothing tolerably, or that this poem is not 
 much amiss. Few good pictures have been finish'd at one sitting; 
 
 20 neither can a true just play, which is to bear the test of ages, be 
 produe'd at a heat, or by the force of fancy, without the maturity of 
 judgment. For my own part, I have both so just a diffidence of myself, 
 and so great a reverence for my audience, that I dare venture nothing 
 without a strict examination ; and am as much asham'd to put a loose 
 indigested play upon the public, as I should be to offer brass money in 
 a payment; for tho' it should be taken (as it is too often on the stage), 
 yet it will be found in the second telling; and a judicious reader will 
 discover, in his closet, that trashy stuff whose glittering deceiv'd him 
 in the action. I have often heard the stationer sighing in his shop, and 
 
 30 wishing for those hands to take off his melancholy bargain which clapp'd 
 its performance on the stage. In a playhouse everything contributes 
 to impose upon the judgment ; the lights, the scenes, the habits, and, 
 above all, the grace of action, which is commonly the best where there 
 is the most need of it, surprise the audience, and cast a mist upon their 
 understandings; not unlike the cunning of a juggler, who is always 
 
 307
 
 308 THE SPANISH FEIAR 
 
 staring us in the face, and overwhelming us with gibberish, only that 
 he may gain the opportunity of making the cleaner conveyance of his 
 trick., But these false beauties of the stage are no more lasting than 
 a rainbow; when the actor ceases to shine upon them, when he gilds 
 them no longer with his reflection, they vanish in a twinkling. I have 
 sometimes wonder'd, in the reading, what was become of those glaring 
 colors which amaz'd me in Busf<y d'Amhois upon the theater; but when 
 1 had taken up what I suppos'd a fallen star, I found I had been 
 eozen'd with a jelly; nothing but a cold, dull mass, which glitter'd no 
 
 10 longer than it was shooting; a dwarfish thought, dress'd up in gigantic 
 words, repetition in abundance, looseness of expression, and gross 
 hyperboles; the sense of one line expanded prodigiously into ten; and, 
 to sum up all, uncorrect English, and a hideous mingle of false poetry 
 and true nonsense; or, at best, a scantling of wit, which lay gasping 
 for life, and groaning beneath a heap of rubbish. A famous modern 
 poet us"d to sacrifice every year a Statins to Virgil's manes; and I have 
 indignation enough to burn a d'Amhois annually, to the memory of 
 Jonson. But now, my Lord, I am sensible, perhaps too late, that I have 
 gone too far ; for I remember some verses of my own Maximin and 
 
 20 Almanzor which cry vengeance upon me for their extravagance, and 
 which I wish heartily in the same fire with Statius and Chapman. All 
 I can say for those passages, which are, I hope, not many, is, that I 
 knew they were bad enough to please, even when I writ them; but I 
 repent of them amongst my sins; and, if any of their fellows intrude 
 by chance into my present writings, I draw a stroke over all those 
 Dalilahs of the theater; and am resolv'd I will settle myself no reputa- 
 tion by the applause of fools. 'Tis not that I am mortified to all 
 ambition, but I scorn as much to take it from half-witted judges, as I 
 should to raise an estate by cheating of bubbles. Neither do I discom- 
 
 30 mend the lofty style in tragedy, which i^ naturally pompous and mag- 
 nificent; but nothing is truly sublime that is not just and proper. If 
 the ancients had judg'd by the same measures which a common reader 
 takes, they had concluded Statius to have written higher than Virgil, for, 
 
 Quw superimposito moles gcminata colosso 
 
 carries a more thund'ring kind of sound than • 
 
 lityre, tu patulce recuhans sub tegmine fagi: 
 
 yet Virgil had all the majesty of a lawful prince, and Statius only the 
 blust'ring of a tyrant. But when men affect a virtue which they cannot 
 reach, they fall into a vice which bears the nearest resemblance to it. 
 40 Thus an injudicious poet who aims at loftiness runs easily into the 
 swelling puffy style, because it looks like greatness. I remember, when 
 I was a boy, I thought inimitable Spenser a mean poet, in comparison 
 of Sylvester's Bubartas, and was rapt into an ecstasy when I read these 
 lines: 
 
 38. cannot reach} QqF. cannot easi'iti reach Ss^IK, 
 
 39. to it] QIF. of it Q2Q3Q4.
 
 DEDICATION 309 
 
 Now, \Yhen the winter's keener breath began 
 To crystallize the Baltic ocean; 
 To glaze the lakes, to bridle up the floods, 
 And periwig with snow the baldpate woods. 
 
 I am much deceiv'd if this be not abominable fustian, that is, thoughts 
 and words ill-sorted, and without the least relation to each other; yet I 
 dare not answer for an audience, that they would not clap it on the 
 stage: so little value there is to be given to the common cry, that noth- 
 ing but madness can please madmen, and a poet must be of a piece with 
 
 10 the spectators, to gain a reputation with them. But, as in a room 
 contriv'd for state the height of the roof should bear a proportion to 
 the area; so, in the height'nings of poetry, the strength and vehemence 
 of figures should be suited to the occasion, the subject, and the persons. 
 All beyond this is monstrous: 'tis out of nature, 'tis an excrescence, 
 and not a living part of poetry. I had not said thus much, if some 
 young gallants, who pretend to criticism, had not told me that this tragi- 
 comedy wanted the dignity of style; but, as a man who is charg'd with a 
 crime of which he thinks himself innocent is apt to be too eager in his 
 own defense; so perhaps I have vindicated my play with more partiality 
 
 20 than I ought, or than such a trifle can deserve. Yet, whatever beauties 
 it may want, "tis free at least from the grossness of those faults I 
 mention'd: what credit it has gaiii'd upon the stage, I value no farther 
 than in reference to my profit and the satisfaction I had in seeing it 
 represented with all the justness and gracefulness of action. But, as 'tis 
 my interest to please my audience, so 'tis my ambition to be read. That 
 I am sure is the more lasting and the nobler design; for the propriety 
 of thoughts and words, which are the hidden beauties of a play, are but 
 confus'dly judg'd in the vehemence of action: all things are there beheld 
 as in a hasty motion, where the objects only glide before the eye, and 
 
 30 disappear. The most discerning critic can judge no more of these silent 
 graces in the action than he who rides post thro' an unknown country 
 can distinguish the situation of places, and the nature of the soil. The 
 purity of phrase, the clearness of conception and expression, the boldness 
 maintain'd to majesty, the significancy and sound of words, not strain'd 
 into bombast, but justly elevated; in short, those very words and 
 thoughts which cannot be chang'd but for the worse, must of. necessity 
 escape our transient view upon the theater; and yet, without all these, a 
 play may take. For, if either the story move us, or the actor help the 
 lameness of it with his performance, or now and then a glittering beam 
 
 40 of wit or passion strike thro' the obscurity of the poem, any of these 
 are sufiicient to effect a present liking, but not to fix a lasting admira- 
 tion; for nothing but truth can long continue; and time is the surest 
 judge of truth. I am not vain enough to think I have left no faults in 
 this which that touchstone will not discover ; neither, indeed, is it pos- 
 sible to avoid them in a play of this nature. There are evidently two 
 actions in it; but it will be clear to any judicious man that with half 
 
 44. u-ill not] QIF. wit not Q2. ivit iriU not Q?,Qi.
 
 310 THE SPANISH PRIAR 
 
 the pains I could have rais'd a play from either of them; for this time 
 I satisfied my own humor, which was to tack two plays together, and to 
 break a rule for the pleasure of variety. The truth is, the audience are 
 grown weary of continued melancholy scenes; and I dare venture to 
 prophesy that few tragedies, except those in verse, shall succeed in this 
 age, if they are not lighten 'd with a course of mirth ; for the feast is 
 too dull and solemn without the fiddles. But how difficult a task this is, 
 will soon be tried; for a several genius is requir'd to either way; and, 
 without both of 'em, a man, in my opinion, is but half a poet for the 
 
 10 stage. Neither is it so trivial an undertaking to make a tragedy end 
 happily; for 'tis more difficult to save than 'tis to kill. The dagger and 
 the cup of poison are always in a readiness; but to bring the action to 
 the last extremity, and then by probable means to recover all, will 
 require the art and judgment of a writer, and cost him many a pang 
 in the performance. 
 
 And now, my Lord, I must confess that what I have written looks 
 more like a Preface than a Dedication; and, truly, it was thus far my 
 design, that I might entertain you with somewhat in my own art which 
 might be more worthy of a noble mind than the stale exploded trick of 
 
 20 fulsome panegyrics. 'Tis difficult to write justly on anything, but almost 
 impossible in praise. I shall therefore waive so nice a subject; and only 
 tell you that, in recommending a Protestant play to a Protestant patron, 
 as I do myself an honor, so I do your noble family a right, who have 
 been always eminent in the support and favor of our religion and 
 liberties. And if the promises of your youth, your education at home, 
 and your experience abroad, deceive me not, the principles you have 
 embrac'd are such as will no way degenerate from your ancestors, but 
 refresh their memory in the minds of all true Englishmen, and renew 
 their luster in your person; which, my Lord, is not more the wish than 
 
 30 it is the constant expectation of your Lordship 's 
 
 Most obedient, 
 
 Faithful servant, 
 
 John Dryden. 
 
 9. of 'em] QIF. of them Q2Q3Q4.
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 Now, luck for us, and a kind hearty pit; 
 
 For he, who pleases, never fails of wit: 
 
 Honor is yours; 
 
 And you, like kings, at city-treats bestow it; 
 
 The writer kneels, and is bid rise a poet ; 
 
 But you are fickle sovereigns, to our sorrow; 
 
 You dub to-day, and hang a man to-morrow: 
 
 You cry the same sense up, and down again. 
 
 Just like brass money once a year in Spain : 
 10 Take you i' th' mood, whate'er base metal come, 
 
 You coin as fast as groats at Bromingam: 
 
 Tho' 'tis no more like sense, in ancient plays, 
 
 Than Eome's religion like St. Peter's days. 
 
 In short, so swift your judgments turn and wind. 
 
 You cast our fleetest wits a mile behind. 
 
 "Twere well your judgments but in plays did range, 
 
 But ev'n your follies and debauches change 
 
 With such a whirl, the poets of your age 
 
 Are tir'd, and cannot score 'em on the stage; 
 23 Unless each vice in shorthand they indite, 
 
 Ev'n as notch'd prentices whole sermons write. 
 
 The heavy Hollanders no vices know, 
 
 But what they us'd a hundred years ago ; 
 
 Like honest plants, where they were stuck, they grow 
 
 They ciieat, but still from cheating sires they come; 
 
 They drink, but they were christen'd first in mum. 
 
 Their patrimonial sloth the Spaniards keep. 
 
 And Philip first taught Philip how to sleep. 
 
 The French and we still change; but here's the curse, 
 30 They change for better, and we change for worse; 
 
 They take up our old trade of conquering. 
 
 And we are taking theirs, to dance and sing: 
 
 Our fathers did for change to France repair. 
 
 And they for change will try our English air. 
 
 As children, when they throw one toy away, 
 
 Straight a more foolish gewgaw comes in play: 
 
 So we, grown penitent, on serious thinking, 
 
 Leave whoring, and devoutly fall to drinking. 
 
 17. ev'n] QIF. e'en Q2Q.3Q4. Similar variants occur lator, but are not 
 recorded in tlu'se notes. 
 
 20. inditt] QqF. indict SsM. 
 
 3U 
 
 }
 
 312 THE SPANISH FRIAR 
 
 Scouring the watch grows out-of -fashion wit: 
 40 Not we set up for tilting in the pit, 
 
 Where 'tis agreed by bullies, chicken-hearted, 
 To fright the ladies first, and then be parted. 
 A fair attempt has twice or thrice been made. 
 To hire night-murth'rers, and make death a trade. 
 When murther's out, what vice can we advance? 
 Unless the new-found pois'ning trick of France: 
 And, when their art of ratsbane we have got, 
 By way of thanks, we '11 send 'em o 'er our Plot.
 
 THE SPANISH FRIAR
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 Leonora, Queen of Aragon. 
 Teresa, Woman to Leonora. 
 Elvira, Wife to Gomez. 
 
 torrismond. 
 
 Bertran. 
 
 Alphonso. 
 
 Lorenzo, Ms Son. 
 
 Raymond. 
 
 Pedro. 
 
 Gomez. 
 
 Dominic, the Spanish Friar. 
 
 [SCENE— ^Sara^'ossa.] 
 
 [Scene, etc.] Not iu QqF SsM. Cf. p. 324, 1. 371.
 
 THE 
 
 SPANISH FEIAR 
 
 OR 
 
 THE DOUBLE DISCOVERY 
 ACT I 
 
 Alphonso, Pedro meet, with Soldiers on each side, Drums, ^c. 
 
 Alph. Stand: give the word. 
 
 Fed. The Queen of Aragon. 
 
 Alph. Pedro? — how goes the night? 
 
 Fed. She wears apace. 
 
 Alph. Then welcome daylight; we shall have warm work on 't. 
 The Moor will 'gage 
 His utmost forces on this next assault, 
 To win a queen and kingdom. 
 
 Fed. Pox o' this lion way of wooing, tho'. 
 Is the queen stirring yet? 
 
 Alph. She has not been abed, but in her chapel 
 10 All night devoutly watch'd, and brib'd the saints 
 With vows for her deliverance. 
 
 Fed. 0, Alphonso, 
 
 I fear they come too late! Her father's crimes 
 Sit heavy on her, and weigh down her prayers. 
 A crown usurp'd; a lawful king depos'd, 
 In bondage held, debarr'd the common light ; 
 His children murther'd, and his friends destroy'd, — • 
 What can we less expect then what we feel, 
 And what we fear will follow? 
 
 Alph. Heav'n avert it! 
 
 Fed. Then heav'n must not be heav'n. Judge the event 
 20 By what has pass'd. Th' usurper joy'd not long 
 His ill-got crown! — 'Tis true, he died in peace, — 
 Unriddle that, ye pow'rs! — but left his daughter, 
 Our present queen, ingag'd, upon his deathbed, 
 
 [ALPnnxso, Pedro] QhF. SsM insert o»u/. 
 
 17. thru] Ql. tliini (Jli(J.'5Q4F. Tlic mxmo variation occurs often later, 
 but Is left unrecorded in these notes. Tho spelling then is almost confined 
 to Ql. 
 
 315
 
 316 THE SPANISH FRIAR 
 
 To marry with young Bertran, whose curst father 
 Had help'd to make him great. 
 Hence, you well know, this fatal war arose; 
 Because the Moor Abdalla, with whose troops 
 Th' usurper gain'd the kingdom, was refus'd; 
 And, as an infidel, his love despis'd. 
 30 Alph. Well, we are soldiers, Pedro; and, like lawyers, 
 Plead for our pay. 
 
 Fed. A good cause would do well tho ' : 
 
 It gives my sword an edge. You see this Bertrau 
 Has now throe times been beaten by the Moors: 
 What hope we have, is in young Torrismond, 
 Your brother's son. 
 
 Alph. He's a successful warrior, 
 
 And has the soldiers' hearts; upon the skirts 
 Of Aragon our squander 'd troops he rallies. 
 Our watchmen, from the tow'rs, with longing eyes 
 Expect his swift arrival. 
 40 Ped. It must be swift, or it will come too late. 
 
 Alph. No more. Duke Bertran. 
 
 Enter Bertran attended. 
 
 Bert. Relieve the sentries that have wateh'd all night. 
 [To Ped.] Now, colonel, have you dispos'd your men. 
 That you stand idle here? 
 
 Ped. Mine are drawn off. 
 
 To take a short repose. 
 
 Bert. Short let it be: 
 
 For, from the Moorish camp, this hour and more, 
 There has been heard a distant humming noise, 
 Like bees disturb'd and arming in their hives. 
 What courage in our soldiers? Speak! What hope? 
 50 Ped. As much as when physicians shake their heads, 
 And bid their dying patient think of heav'n. 
 Our walls are thinly mann'd; our best men slain; 
 The rest, an heartless number, spent with watching. 
 And harass'd out with duty. 
 
 Bert. Good night all, then. 
 
 Ped. Nay, for my part, 'tis but a single life 
 I have to lose. I'll plant my colors down 
 In the mid-breach, and by 'em fix my foot; 
 Say a short soldier's pray'r, to spare the trouble 
 Of my few friends above; and then expect 
 60 The next fair bullet. 
 
 Alph. Never was known a night of such distraction : 
 Noise so confus'd and dreadful; justling crowds. 
 That run, and know not whither; torches gliding, 
 
 57. mid-breach] Q1Q2F. vud-hrancli Q3Q4.
 
 ACT I 317 
 
 Like meteors, by each other in the streets. 
 
 Ped. I met a reverend, fat, old gouty friar, 
 With a paunch swoln so high, his double chin 
 Might rest upon 't; a true son of the Church; 
 Fresh-color'd, and well thrives on his trade. 
 Come putEng with his greasy baldpate choir, 
 70 And fumbling o'er his beads in such an agony. 
 He told 'em false, for fear. About his neck 
 There hung a wench, the label of his function, 
 Whom he shook off, i' faith, methought, unkindly. 
 It seems the holy stallion durst not score 
 Another sin before he left the world. 
 
 Enter a Captain. 
 
 Capt. To arms, my lord, to arms! 
 From the Moors' camp the noise grows louder still: 
 Rattling of armor, trumpets, drums, and atabals; 
 And sometimes peals of shouts that rend the heav'ns, 
 80 Like victory: then groans again, and bowlings, 
 Like those of vanquish'd men; but every echo 
 Goes fainter off, and dies in distant sounds. 
 
 Bert. Some false attack: expect en t' other side. 
 One to the gunners on St. Jago's tow'r; bid 'cm, for shame, 
 Level their cannon lower. On my soul. 
 They're all corrupted with the gold of Barbary, 
 To carry over, and not hurt the Moor. 
 
 Enter second Captain. 
 
 2 Capt. My lord, here's fresh intelligence arriv'd. 
 Our army, led by valiant Torrismond, 
 90 Is now in hot engagement with the Moors; 
 'Tis said, within their trenches. 
 
 Bert. I think all fortune is rcserv'd for him! — 
 He might have sent us word, tho'; 
 And then we could have favor'd his attempt 
 With sallies from the town. — 
 
 Alph. It could not be: 
 
 We were so close block'd up, that none could peep 
 Upon the walls and live. But yet 'tis time: — 
 
 Bert. No, 'tis too late; I will not hazard it: 
 On pain of death, let no man dare to sally. 
 100 Ped. [Aside.] O envy, envy, how it works within him! 
 How now? what moans this show? 
 
 Alph. 'Tis a procession. 
 
 The queen is going to the great cathedral. 
 To pray for our success against the Moors. 
 
 Ped. Very good: she usurps the throne, keeps. the old king in prison, 
 
 G7. iipott't] QqF. upon it SsM,
 
 no 
 
 318 THE SPANISH FEIAR 
 
 and at the same time is praying for a blessing. O religion and roguery, 
 how they go together! 
 
 A Procession of Priests and Choristers in white, with tapers, followed iy 
 the Queen arid ladies, goes over the Stage: the Choristers singing. 
 
 Look down, ye blest above, look down. 
 
 Behold our weeping matrons' tears. 
 
 Behold our tender virgins' fears. 
 And with success our armies crown. 
 
 Look down, ye blest above, look down: 
 
 0, save us, save us, and our state restore! 
 For pity, pity, pity, we implore: 
 
 For pity, pity, pity, we implore. 
 
 [The Procession goes off; and shout within. Then 
 Enter Lorenzo, who kneels to Alphonso. 
 
 Bert. [To Alph.] A joyful cry; and see your son Lorenzo. 
 Good news, kind heav'n! 
 
 Alph. [To Lor.] O welcome, welcome! is the general safe? 
 How near our army? When shall we be succor'd? 
 Or, are we succor'd? Are the Moors remov'd? 
 120 Answer these questions first, and then a thousand more; 
 Answer 'em all together. 
 
 Lor. Yes, when I have a thousand tongues, I will. 
 The general's well; his army too is safe, 
 As victory can make 'em. The Moors' king 
 Is safe enough, I warrant him, for one. 
 At dawn of day our general cleft his pate. 
 Spite of his woolen nightcap: a slight wound; 
 Perhaps he may recover. 
 
 Alph. Thou reviv'st me. 
 
 Ped. By my computation now, the victory was gain'd before the 
 130 procession was made for it; and yet it will go hard but the priests will 
 make a miracle on 't. 
 
 Lor. Yes, faith; we came like bold intruding guests, 
 And took 'em unprepar'd to give us welcome. 
 Their scouts we kill'd, then found their body sleeping; 
 And as they lay confus'd, we stumbled o'er 'em. 
 And took what joint came next, arms, heads, or legs, 
 Somewhat undecently. But when men want light. 
 They make but bungling work. 
 
 Bert. I '11 to the queen, 
 
 And bear the news. 
 
 Fed. That's young Lorenzo's duty. 
 
 140 Bert. I'll spare his trouble. 
 
 This Torrismond begins to grow too fast; 
 [Aside.] He must be mine, or ruin'd.
 
 ACT I 319 
 
 Lor. Pedro, a word: — [TFTiwper.] 
 
 ^Exit Bertban. 
 
 Alph. How swift he shot away! I find it stung him, 
 In spite of his dissembling. 
 [To Lor.] How many of the enemy are slain? 
 
 Lor. Troth, sir, we were in haste, and could not stay 
 To score the men we kill'd; but there they lie: 
 Best send our women out to take the tale; 
 
 There's circumcision in abundance for 'em. [Turns to Pedro again. 
 
 150 Alph. How far did you pursue "em? 
 
 Zior. Some few miles. 
 
 [To Ped.] Good store of harlots, say you, and dog-cheap? 
 
 Pedro, they must be had, and speedily; 
 
 I've kept a tedious fast. [Whisper again. 
 
 Alph. When will he make his entry? He deserves 
 Such triumphs as were giv'n by ancient Kome : 
 Ha, boy, what say'st thou? 
 
 Lor. As you say, sir, that Rome was very ancient. 
 
 [To Ped.] I leave the choice to you; fair, black, tall, low, 
 Let her but have a nose, — and you may tell her, 
 160 I'm rich in jewels, rings, and bobbing pearls, 
 Pluck'd from Moors' ears. Alph. Lorenzo. 
 
 Lor. Somewhat busy 
 
 About affairs relating to the public. 
 
 [To Ped.] A seasonable girl, just in the nick now. 
 
 [Trumpets within. 
 
 Fed. I hear the general's trumpets. Stand and mark 
 How he will be receiv'd; I fear, but coldly. 
 There hung a cloud, methought, on Bertran's brow. 
 
 Lor. Then look to see a storm on Torrismond's; 
 Looks fright not men. The general has seen Moors 
 With as bad faces; no dispraise to Bertran's. • 
 
 Ped. 'Twas rumor'd in the camp, he loves the queen, 
 170 Lor. He drinks her health devoutly. 
 
 Alph. That may breed 
 
 Bad blood 'twixt him and Bertran. 
 
 Fed. Yes, in private. 
 
 But Bertran has been taught the arts of court. 
 To gild a face with smiles, and leer a man to ruin. 
 O, here they come. 
 
 Enter Toebismond and Officers on one side, Bertran attended on the 
 other; they embrace, Bertran bowing low. 
 
 Just as I prophesied. 
 
 Lor. Death and hell, he laughs at him! — in 's face too. 
 
 153. I've] Q1P\ / have Q2Q3Q4. 
 
 160. I'm] QqF. I am SsM. 
 
 164. trumpets] QqF. trumpet SsM. 
 
 172. 'twiJdt] QqF. betwixt SsM. 
 
 176. in '8] QqF. in hia SsM.
 
 320 THE SPANISH FEIAR 
 
 Fed. O, you mistake him; 'twas an humble grin, 
 The fawning joy of courtiers and of dogs. 
 
 Lor. [Aside.] Here ai-e nothing but lies to be expected: I'll e'en go 
 180 lose myself in some blind alley, and try if any courteous damsel will 
 think me worth the finding. [Exit. 
 
 Alph. Now he begins to open. 
 
 Bert. Your country rescued, and your queen reliev'd, — 
 A glorious conquest, noble Torrismond ! 
 The people rend the skies with loud applause, 
 And heav'n can hear no other name but yours. 
 The thronging crowds press on you as you pass. 
 And with their eager joy make triumph slow. 
 Torr. My lord, I have no taste 
 190 Of popular applause; the noisy praise 
 Of giddy crowds, as changeable as winds; 
 Still vehement, and still without a cause; 
 Servants to chance, and blowing in the tide 
 Of swoln success, — but, veering with its ebb. 
 It leaves the channel dry. 
 
 Bert. So young a stoic! 
 
 Torr. You wrong me, if you think I'll sell one drop 
 Within these veins for pageants; but, let honor 
 Call for my blood, and sluice it into streams: 
 Turn Fortune loose again to my pursuit, 
 200 And let me hunt her thro' embattled foes. 
 In dusty plains, amidst the cannons' roar. 
 There will I be the first. 
 
 Bert. I'll try him farther. [Aside. 
 
 Suppose .th ' assembled states of Aragon 
 
 Decree a statue to you, thus inscrib'd: 
 
 "To Torrismond, who freed his native land." 
 
 Alph. [To Fed.] Mark how he sounds and fathoms him, to find 
 The shallows of' his soul! 
 
 Bert. The just applause 
 
 Of godlike senates is tlie stamp of virtue, 
 Which makes it pass unquestion'd thro' the world. 
 210 These honors you deserve; nor shall my suffrage 
 Be last to fix 'em on you. If refus'd. 
 You brand us all with black ingratitude: 
 For times to come shall say: "Our Spain, like Rome, 
 Neglects her champions after noble acts, 
 And lets their laurels wither on their heads." 
 
 Torr. A statue, for a battle blindly fought. 
 Where darkness and surprise made conquest cheap! 
 Where virtue borrow'd but the arms of chance. 
 
 193. Servants] QqF. Servant SsM. 
 
 206, 207. Mark . . . soul] so arranged in QqF, SsM injure the 
 meter by putting to find at the beginning of line 207. 
 217- vi(f(le] QqF. make SsM.
 
 ACT I 321 
 
 And struck a random blow! 'Twas fortune's work, 
 220 And fortune take the praise! 
 
 Bert, Yet happiness 
 
 Is the first fame. Virtue without success 
 Is a fair picture shown by an ill light; 
 But lucky men are favorites of heaven : 
 And whom should kings esteem above heaven's darlings? 
 The praises of a young and beauteous queen 
 Shall crown your glorious acts. 
 
 Fed. [To Alph.] There sprung the mine. 
 
 Torr. The queen ! that were a happiness too great ! 
 Nam'd you the queen, my lord? 
 
 Bert. Yes: you have seen her, and you must confess, 
 230 A praise, a smile, a look from her is worth 
 The shouts of thousand amphitheaters. 
 She, she shall praise you, for I can oblige her: 
 To-morrow will deliver all her charms 
 Into my arms, and make her mine for ever. 
 Why stand you mute? 
 
 Torr. Alas! I cannot speak. 
 
 Bert. Not speak, my lord! How were your thoughts employ'd? 
 Torr. Nor can I think, or I am lost in thought. 
 Bert. Thought of the queen, perhaps? 
 
 Torr. Why, if it were, 
 
 Heav'n may be thought on, tho' too high to climb. 
 240 Bert. O, now I find where your ambition drives! 
 You ought not think of her. 
 
 Torr. So I say too, 
 
 I ought not ; madmen ought not to be mad ; 
 But who can help his frenzy? 
 
 Bert. Fond young man! 
 
 The wings of your ambition must be clipp'd. 
 Your shamefac'd virtue shunn'd the people's praise. 
 And senate's honors: but 'tis well we know 
 "What price you hold yourself at. You have fought 
 With some success, and that has seal'd your pardon. 
 Torr. Pardon from thee! O, give me patience, heav'n! 
 250 Thrice-vanquish'd Bertran, if thou dar'st, look out 
 Upon yon slaughter 'd host, that field of blood ; 
 There seal my pardon, where thy fame was lost. 
 Fed. He's ruin 'd, past redemption! 
 Alph. [To Torr.] Learn respect 
 
 To the first prince o' th' blood. 
 
 . Bert. 0, let him rave! 
 
 I'll not contend with madmen. 
 
 222. ghnun] QIF. Hhcim Q2Q3Q4. 
 
 241. not think] QqF. not to think SsM. 
 
 243. his] QIF. their Q2Q3Q4. 
 
 254. 0' th' blood] QqF, of the Hood SsM,
 
 322 THE SPANISH FEIAE 
 
 Ton. I have clone: 
 
 I know, 'twas madness to declare this truth: 
 And yet, 'twere baseness to deny my love. 
 'Tis true, my hopes are vanishing as clouds; 
 Lighter then children's bubbles blown by winds: 
 260 My merit's but the rash results of chance; 
 My birth unequal; all the stars against me: 
 Pow'r, promise, choice, the living and the dead; 
 Mankind my foes; and only love to friend: 
 But such a love, kept at such awful distance, 
 As, what it loudly dares to tell, a rival 
 Shall fear to whisper there. Queens may be lov'd, 
 And so may gods; else why are altars rais'd? 
 Why shines the sun, but that he may be view'd? 
 But, O! when he's too bright, if then we gaze, 
 270 'Tis but to weep, and close our eyes in darkness. {Exit. 
 
 Bert. 'Tis well ; the goddess shall be told, she shall. 
 Of her new worshiper. [Exit, 
 
 Fed. So, here 's fine work ! 
 
 He has supplied his only foe with arms 
 For his destruction. Old Penelope's tale 
 Inverted; h' has unravel'd all by day 
 That he has done by night. — What, planet-struck! 
 
 Alpli. I wish I were; to be past sense of this! 
 
 Fed. Would I had but a lease of life so long. 
 As till my flesh and blood rebell'd this way, 
 280 Against our sovereign lady: mad for a queen? 
 
 With a globe in one hand, and a scepter in t' other? 
 A very pretty moppet ! 
 
 Alph. Then to declare his madness to his rival! 
 His father absent on an embassy; 
 Himself a stranger almost; wholly friendless! 
 A torrent, rolling down a precipice, 
 Is easier to be stopp'd, then is his ruin. 
 
 Fed. 'Tis fruitless to complain; haste to the court; 
 Improve your interest there for pardon from the queen. 
 290 Alph. Weak remedies; but all must be attempted. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 
 Lor. AYell, I am the most unlucky rogue! I have been ranging over 
 half the town, but have sprung no game. Our women are worse infidels 
 then the Moors: I told 'em I was one of their knight-errants that 
 
 2.56. 't nas] QIF. 't uerc Q2Q3Q4. 
 
 260. refiHlts] QqF. result SsM. 
 
 265. tell, a rivul] Qq (no punctuation after rival), tell, a rival, F. 
 tell a rival, SsM. 
 
 275. h' has] QqF. he has SsM. 
 
 [Enter Lorenzo] SsM here mark Scene II, without warrant from QqF. 
 The place represented remains unchanged. 
 
 289. there] QIF. Omitted by Q2Q3Q4. 
 
 293. of their] Qq. of the FSsM.
 
 ACT I 323 
 
 deliver'd them from ravishment; and I think in my conscience that's 
 their quarrel to me. 
 
 Fed. Is this a time for fooling? Your cousin is run honorably mad 
 in love with her majesty; he is split upon a rock, and you, who are in 
 chase of harlots, are sinking in the main ocean. I think, the devil's in 
 the family. [Exit. 
 
 300 Lor. [Solus.] My cousin ruin'd, says he! hum, not that I wish my 
 kinsman's ruin; that were unchristian: but, if the general's ruin'd, I am 
 heir; there's comfort for a Christian! Money I have; I thank the 
 honest Moors for 't ; but I want a mistress. I am willing to be lewd; 
 but the tempter is wanting on his part. 
 
 Enter Elvira vcil'd. 
 
 Eh. Stranger! Cavalier! — will you not hear me? you Moor-killer, 
 you matador! 
 
 Lor. Meaning me, madam? 
 
 Elv. Face about, man! you a soldier, and afraid of the enemy! 
 
 Lor. [ Aside. '\ I must confess, I did not expect to have been charg'd 
 310 fkst: I see souls will not be lost for want of diligence in this devil's 
 reign. [To her.'\ Now, Madam Cynthia behind a cloud, your will ami 
 pleasure with me? 
 
 Elv. You have the appearance of a cavalier; and if you are as 
 deserving as you seem, perhaps you may not repent of your adventure. 
 If a lady like you well enough to hold discourse with you at first sight, 
 you are gentleman enough, I hope, to help her out with an apology, and 
 to lay the blame on stars, or destiny, or what you please, to excuse the 
 frailty of a woman? 
 
 Lor. O, I love an easy woman! there's such ado, to crack a thick- 
 320 shell'd mistress; we break our teeth, and find no kernel. 'Tis generous in 
 you, to take pity on a stranger, and not to suffer him to fall into ill 
 hands at his first arrival. 
 
 Elv. You may have a better opinion of me then I deserve ; you have 
 not seen me yet ; and, therefore, I am confident you are heart-whole. 
 
 Lor. Not absolutely slain, I must confess; but I am drawing on 
 apace: you have a dangerous tongue in your head, I can tell you that; 
 and if your eyes prove of as killing metal, there's but one way with me. 
 Let me sec you, for the safeguard of my honor; 'tis but decent the 
 cannon should be drawn down upon me before I yield. 
 330 Elv. What a terrible similitude have you made, colonel, to shew 
 that you are inclining to the wars? I could answer you with another in 
 my profession: suppose you were in want of money, would you not be 
 glad to take a sum upon content in a seal'd bag, without peeping? — 
 but, however, I will not stand with you for a sample. [Lifts up her veil. 
 
 Lor. What eyes were there! how keen their glances! you do well 
 to keep 'em veil'd; they are too sharp to be trusted out o' th' scabbard. 
 
 204. that '8] QqF. that is SsM. 
 
 301. general 'e] QqF. general is SsM. 
 
 303. for 't] QqF. for it SsM. 
 
 327. there 's] QqF. there is SsM. 
 
 336. 0' th' acaibard] QqF. of the scabbard SsM.
 
 324 THE SPANISH FEIAR 
 
 Elv. Perhaps now, you may accuse my forwardness; but this day 
 of jubilee is the only time of freedoia I have had; and there is nothing 
 so extravagant is a prisoner, when he gets loose a little, and is imme- 
 340 diately to return into his fetters. 
 
 Lor. To confess freely to you, madam, I was never in love with less 
 then your whole sex before; but now I have seen you, I am in the direct 
 road of languishing and sighing; and, if love goes on as it begins, for 
 aught -I know, by to-morrow morning you may hear of me in rime and 
 sonnet. I tell you truly, I do not like these symptoms in myself. Per- 
 haps I may go shufflingly at first ; for I was never before walk'd in 
 trammels; yet 1 shall drudge and moil at constancy, till I have worn 
 off the hitching in my pace. 
 
 Elv. O, sir, there are arts to reclaim the wildest men, as there are 
 350 to make spaniels fetch and carry: chide "em often, and feed 'em seldom. 
 Now 1 know your temper, you may thank yourself, if you are kept tu 
 hard meat. — You arc in for years, if you make love to me. 
 
 Lor. I hate a formal obligation with an Anno Domini at end on 't; 
 there may be an evil meaning in the word years, call'd matrimony. 
 
 Elv. I can easily rid you of that fear: I wish I could rid myself 
 as easily of the bondage. 
 
 Lor. Then you are married? 
 
 Elv. If a covetous, and a jealous, and an old man be a husband. 
 
 Lor. Three as good qualities for my purpose as I could wish : nov/ 
 aco love be prais'd! 
 
 Enter Elvira's Duenna, and tvhispers to her. 
 
 Elv. [Aside.] If I get not home before my husband, I shall be 
 ruin'd. [To him.] 1 dare not stay to tell you where. Farewell! — Could 
 I once more [Exit. 
 
 Lor. This is unconscionable dealing; to be made a slave, and not 
 know whose livery 1 wear. Who have we yonder? 
 
 Enter Gomez,. 
 
 By that shambling in his walk, it should be my rich old banker, Gomez, 
 whom I knew at Barcelona. As I live, 'tis he! — [To Gomez.] What, old 
 Mammon here! 
 
 Gom. How! young Beelzebub? 
 370 Lor. What devil has set his claws in thy haunches, and brought thee 
 hither to Saragossa? Sure he meant a farther journey v>ith thee. 
 
 Gom. I always remove before the enemy: when the Moors are ready 
 to besiege one town, I shift quarters to the next; I keep as far from 
 the infidels as I can. 
 
 Lor. That's but a hair's-breadth at farthest. 
 
 Gom. Well, you have got a famous victory; all true subjects are 
 pverjoy'd at it. There are bonfires decreed; and the times had not been 
 -hard, my billet should. Jiave liurat...too... _ . 
 
 Lor. I dare say for thee, thou hast such a respect for a single billet, 
 
 364. not hnoic] QqF. know not SsM. 
 
 377, 8"^ the] Q1Q2F. and if the Q3Q4, an' the SsM.
 
 ACT I 325 
 
 380 thou woultlst almost have thrown on thyself to save it; thou art for 
 saving everything but thy soul. 
 
 Gom. Well, well, you'll not believe me generous, till I carry you to 
 the tavern, and crack half a pint with you at my own charges. 
 
 Lor. No; I'll keep thee from hanging thyself for such an extrava- 
 gance; and, instead of it, thou shalt do mc a mere verbal courtesy. I 
 bavc just now seen a most incomparable young lady. 
 
 Gom. "Whereabouts did you see this most incomparable young lady? 
 [Aside.] My mind misgives mc plaguily. 
 
 Lor. Here, man, just before this corner-house. Pray heaven it 
 390 prove no bawdyhouse. 
 
 Gom. [Aside.] Pray heaven he does not make it one! 
 
 Lor. What dost thou mutter to thyself? Hast thou anything to 
 say against the honesty of that house? 
 
 Gom. Not I, colonel; the walls are very honest stone, and the timber 
 very honest wood, for aught I know; but for the woman, I cannot say, 
 till I know her better. Describe her person, and, if she live in this 
 quarter, I may give you tidings of her. 
 
 Lor. She's of a middle stature, dark color'd hair, the most bewitch- 
 ing leer with her eyes, the most roguish cast! her cheeks are dimpled 
 400 when she smiles, and her smiles would tempt an hermit. 
 
 Gom. [Aside.] I am dead, I am buried, I am damnM. — -Go on — 
 colonel — have you no other marks of her? 
 
 Lor. Thou hast all her marks; but that she has an husband, a 
 jealous, covetous old hunks. Speak! canst thou tell me news of her? 
 
 Gom. Yes; this news, colonel, that you have seen your last of her. 
 
 Lor. If thou help'st me not to the knowledge of her, thou art a 
 cireumcis'd Jew. 
 
 Gom. Circumcise me no more then I circumcise you. Colonel Her- 
 nando. Once more, you have seen your last of her. 
 410 Lor. [Aside.] I am glad he knows mc only ])y that name of Hernando, 
 by which I went at Barcelona ; now he can tell no tales of me to my 
 father. — [To him.] Come, thou wert ever good-natur'd, when thou couldst 
 get by 't. Look here, rogue; 'tis of the right damning color: thou art 
 not proof against gold, sure! — Do not I know thee for a covetous 
 
 Gom. Jealous old hunks? those were the marks of your mistress's 
 husband, as I remember, colonel. 
 
 Lor. [Aside.] O, the devil! What a rogue in understanding was I, 
 not to find him out sooner! 
 
 Gom. Do, do, look sillily, good colonel ; 'tis a decent melancholy 
 420 after an absolute defeat. 
 
 Lor. Faith, not for that, dear Gomez ; but 
 
 Gom. But — no pumping, my dear colonel. 
 
 Lor. Hang pumping! I was — thinking a little upon a point of 
 gratitude. We two have been long acquaintance; I know thy merits, 
 
 40."?. hut that she has an husband] QqF. SsM omit that and read a 
 for an. 
 
 413. hii 7] QqF. hi/ it SsM. 
 
 423. / was—ihinkhi'(j] QqF. SsM omit tlir dash.
 
 326 THE SPANISH FRIAE 
 
 and can make some interest. Go to; thou wert born to authority; I'll 
 make thee Alcaide, Mayor of Saragossa. 
 
 Gom. Satisfy yourself; you shall not make me what you think, 
 colonel. 
 
 Lor. Faith, but I will; thou hast the face of a magistrate already. 
 430 Gom. And you would provide me with a magistrate's head to my 
 magistrate's face; I thank you, colonel. 
 
 Lor. Come, thou art so suspicious upon an idle story! — That woman 
 I saw, I mean that little, crooked, ugly woman, for t' other was a lie, — 
 is no more thy wife, — as I '11 go home with thee and satisfy thee imme- 
 diately, my dear friend. 
 
 Gom. I shall not put you to that trouble; no, not so much as a 
 single visit; not so much as an embassy by a civil old woman, nor a 
 serenade of twinkledum twirikledum under my windows; nay, I will 
 advise you, out of my tenderness to your person, that you walk not near 
 440 yon corner-house by night ; for, to my certain knowledge, there are 
 blunderbusses planted in every loophole, that go off constantly of their 
 own accord, at the squeaking of a fiddle, and the thrumming of a 
 guitar. 
 
 Lor. Art thou so obstinate? Then I denounce open war against 
 thee; Fll demolish thy citadel by force; or, at least, I'll bring my whole 
 regiment upon thee; my thousand red locusts, that shall devour thee in 
 free quarter. — Farewell, wrought nightcap, [Exit. 
 
 Gom. Farewell, Buff. Free quarter for a regiment of red-coat 
 locusts? I hope to see 'em all in the Red Sea first! — But O, this 
 450 Jezebel of mine! I'll get a physician that shall prescribe her an ounce 
 of camphire every morning, for her breakfast, to abate incontinency. 
 She shall never peep abroad, no, not to church for confession ; and, for 
 never going, she shall be condemn'd for a heretic. She shall have stripes 
 by Troy weight, and sustenance by drachms and scruples: nay, I'll have 
 a fasting almanac printed on purpose for her use, in which 
 
 No Carnival nor Christmas shall appear, 
 
 But Lents and Ember weeks shall fill the year. [Exit, 
 
 ACT II 
 
 SCENE I. — The Queen's Antechamber. 
 
 Alphonso, Pedro. 
 
 Alph. When saw you my Lorenzo? 
 
 Fed. 1 had a glimpse of him ; but he shot by me 
 Like a young hound upon a burning scent; 
 He's gone a-harlot-hunting. 
 
 Alph. His foreign breeding might have taught him better. 
 
 Fed. 'Tis that has taught him this. 
 "What learn our youth abroad, but to refine 
 
 447, 448. quarter] QqF. quarters SsM.
 
 ACT II, SCENE 1 327 
 
 The homely vices of their native land? 
 Give me an honest homespun country clown 
 10 Of our own growth ; his dulness is but plain, 
 But theirs embroider'd ; they are sent out fools, 
 But come back fops. 
 
 Alph. You know what reasons urg'd me; 
 
 But, now I have accomplish'd my designs, 
 I should be glad he knew 'em. His wild riots 
 Disturb my soul; but they would sit more close, 
 Did not the threaten'd downfall of our house. 
 In Torrismond, o'erwhelm my private ills. 
 
 Enter Bertran, attended, and whispering tvith a Courtier, aside. 
 
 Bert. I would not have her think he dar'd to love her; 
 If he presume to own it, she's so proud, 
 20 He tempts his certain ruin. 
 
 Alph. [To Ped.] Mark how disdainfully he throws his eyes on us. 
 Our old imprison'd king wore no such looks. 
 
 Ped. O would the general shake off his dotage 
 To the usurping queen, 
 And reinthrone good venerable Sancho! . 
 I'll undertake, should Bertran sound his trumpets. 
 And Torrismond but whistle thro' his fingers. 
 He draws his army off. 
 
 Alph. I told him so; 
 
 But had an answer louder then a storm. 
 30 Ped. Now, plague and pox on his smock-loyalty! 
 I hate to see a brave bold fellow sotted. 
 Made sour and senseless, turn'd to whey by love; 
 A driveling hero, fit for a romance. 
 O, here he comes! what will their greeting be? 
 
 Enter Torrismond, attended: Bertran and he meet and justle. 
 
 Bert. Make way, my lords, and let the pageant pass. 
 
 Tor. I make my way, where'er I see my foe; 
 But you, my lord, are good at a retreat. 
 I have no Moors behind me. 
 
 Bert. Death and hell! 
 
 Dare to speak thus when you come out again! 
 40 Tor. Dare to provoke me thus, insulting man! 
 
 Enter Teresa. 
 
 Ter. My lords, you are too loud so near the queen; 
 You, Torrismond, have much offended her. 
 
 23. 24. O would . . . qucen\. Printed as one line In QqF ; perhaps 
 the <llvlsl<)n should be made after yencral instead of after dotage. QqF read 
 th' unurpiiif/. 
 
 ^4. (ircitiiKi] QqF. (jrcciwijit SsM. 
 
 39. Dare, etc.] QqF print qiiestidii marks after this line and the next.'
 
 328 THE SPANISH FRIAE 
 
 'Tis her command you instantly appear, 
 To answer your demeanor to the prince. 
 
 [Exit Teresa; Bertran with his company follow her. 
 
 Tor. O Pedro, O Alphonso, pity me! 
 A grove of pikes. 
 
 Whose polish'd steel from far severely shines. 
 Are not so dreadful as this beauteous queen. 
 
 Alph. Call up your courage timely to your aid, 
 50 And, like a lion, press'd upon the toils, 
 
 Leap on your hunters. Speak your actions boldly; 
 There is a time when modest virtue is 
 Allow'd to praise itself. 
 
 Fed. Heart! you were hot enough, too hot, but now; 
 Your fury then boil'd upward to a foam; 
 But since this message came, you sink and settle. 
 As if cold water had been pour'd upon you. 
 
 Tor. Alas! thou know'st not what it is to love! 
 When we behold an angel, not to fear 
 60 Is to be impudent.— No, I'm resolv'd; 
 Like a led victim, to my death I'll go, 
 And, dying, bless the hand that gave the blow. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 The Scene draws, and shews the Queen sitting in state; Bertran stand- 
 ing next her; then Teresa, ^c. She rises, and comes to the front. 
 
 Qu. Leonora. [To Bert.] I blame not you, my lord; my father's will, 
 Your own deserts, and all my people's voice, 
 Have plac'd you in the view of sovereign pow'r. 
 But I would learn the cause, why Torrismond, 
 Within my palace walls, within my hearing. 
 Almost within my sight, affronts a prince 
 Who shortly shall command him. 
 
 Bert. He thinks you owe him more then you can pay; 
 And looks as he were lord of humankind. 
 
 Enter Torrismond, Alphonso, Pedro. Torrismond bows low, then lools 
 earnestly on the Queen, and keeps at distance. 
 
 10 Ter. Madam, the general.- 
 
 Qu. Let me view him well. 
 
 My father sent him early to the frontiers; 
 I have not often seen him ; if I did. 
 He pass'd unmark'd by my unheeding eyes. 
 
 60. 7 'm] QqF. I am SsM, to the detriment of the meter. 
 [Scene II] A new scene evidently begins at this point, though SsM do not 
 indicate the fact. The early editions do not number the scenes.
 
 ACT II, SCENE II 329 
 
 But where 's the fierceness, the disdainful pride, 
 
 The haughty port, the fiery arrogance? 
 
 By all these marks, this is not, sure, the man. 
 
 Bert. Yet this is he who fill'd your court with tumult. 
 Whose fierce demeanor, and whose insolence, 
 The patience of a god could not support. 
 20 Qu. Name his offense, my lord, and he shall have 
 Immediate punishment. 
 
 Bert. 'Tis of so high a nature, should I speak it, 
 That my presumption then would equal his. 
 
 Qu. Some one among you speak. 
 
 Fed. [Aside.'\ Now my tongue itches. 
 
 Qu. All dumb! On your allegiance, Torrismond, 
 By all your hopes, I do command you, speak. 
 
 Tor. [Eneeli7ig.] seek not to convince me of a crime, 
 Which I can ne 'er repent, nor can you pardon ; 
 Or, if you needs will know it, think, O think, 
 30 That he who, thus commanded, dares to speak. 
 Unless commanded, would have died in silence. 
 But you adjur"d me, madam, by my hopes! 
 Hopes I have none, for I am all despair; 
 Friends I have none, for friendship follows favor; 
 Desert I've none, for what I did was duty: 
 O that it were! — that it were duty all! 
 
 Qu. Why do you pause? Proceed. 
 
 Tor. As one, condemn'd to leap a precipice. 
 Who sees before his eyes the depth below, 
 40 Stops short, and looks about for some kind shrub 
 
 To break his dreadful fall, — so I 
 
 But whither am I going? If to death. 
 He looks so lovely sweet in beauty's pomp, 
 He draws me to his dart. 1 dare no more. 
 
 Bert. He "s mad, beyond the cure of hellebore. 
 Whips, darkness, dungeons, for this insolence. 
 
 Tor. Mad as I am, yet I know when to bear. 
 
 Qu. You 're both too bold. You, Torrismond, withdraw. 
 I'll teach you all what 's owing to your queen. — 
 50 For you, my lord, — 
 
 The priest tomorrow was to join our hands; 
 I'll try if I can live a day without you. 
 So, both of you depart, and live in peace. 
 
 Alph. Who knows which way she points? 
 Doubling and turning, like an hunted hare; — 
 Find out the meaning of her mind who can. 
 
 Fed. Who ever found a woman's? back\'\ard and forward, the whole 
 sex in every word. In my conscience, when she was getting, her mother 
 was thinking of a riddle. [Exeunt all but the Queen and Teresa. 
 
 43. bcnutu'K] QIF. hcauttous Q2Q3Q-1.
 
 330 THE SPANISH FEIAR 
 
 50 Qu. Haste, my Teresa, haste, and call him back. 
 
 Ter. Whom, madam? 
 
 Qu. Him. 
 
 Ter. Prince Bertran? 
 
 Qu. Torrismond; 
 
 There is no other he. 
 
 Ter. [Aside.] A rising sun. 
 Or I am much deceiv'd. _[Exit Teresa. 
 
 Qu. A change so swift what heart did ever feel! 
 It rush'd upon me like a mighty stream, 
 And bore me, in a moment, far from shore. 
 I've lov'd away myself; in one short hour 
 Already am I gone an age of passion. 
 Was it his youth, his valor, or success? 
 70 These might, perhaps, be found in other men: 
 'Twas that respect, that awful homage paid me, 
 That fearful love which trembled in his eyes 
 And with a silent earthquake shook his soul. 
 But, when he spoke, what tender words he said! 
 So softly, that, like flakes of feather'd snow, 
 They melted as they fell. 
 
 Enter Teresa with Torrismond. 
 
 Ter. He waits your pleasure. 
 
 Qu. 'Tis well; retire. [Aside.] O heavens, that I must speak 
 
 So distant from my heart! 
 
 [To Tor.] How now! What boldness brings you back again? 
 80 Tor. 1 heard 'twas your command. 
 
 Qu. A fond mistake. 
 
 To credit so unlikely a command; 
 And you return, full of the same presumption, 
 T' affront me with your love! 
 
 Tor. If 'tis presumption for a wretch condemn'd 
 To throw himself beneath his judge's feet: 
 A boldness, more then this, I never knew; 
 Or, if I did, 'twas only to your foes. 
 
 Qu. You would insinuate your past services, 
 And those, I grant, were great; but you confess 
 90 A fault committed since that cancels all. 
 
 Tor. And who could dare to disavow his crime, 
 When that, for which he is accus'd and seiz'd. 
 He bears about him still! My eyes confess it; 
 My every action speaks my heart aloud: 
 But, O the madness of my high attempt 
 Speaks louder yet ! and all together cry, 
 I love and I despair. 
 
 Qu. Have you not heard, 
 
 94. every] Q1Q2Q3F. very Q4.
 
 ACT II, SCENE II 331 
 
 My father, with his dying voice, bequeath'd 
 My crown and me to Bertran? And dare you, 
 100 A private man, presume to love a queen? 
 
 Tor. That, that 's the wound! I see you set so high 
 As no desert or services can reach. 
 Good heav'ns, why gave you me a monarch's soul, 
 And crusted it with base plebeian clay? 
 Why gave you me desires of such extent, 
 And such a span to grasp 'em? Sure, my lot 
 By some o'erhasty angel was misplac'd 
 
 In fate's eternal volume! But I rave. 
 
 And, like a giddy bird in dead of night, 
 110 Fly around the fire that scorches me to death. 
 
 Qu. Yet, Torrismond, you 've not so ill deserv'd, 
 But I may give you counsel for your cure. 
 
 Tor. I cannot, nay, I wish not to be cur'd. 
 
 Qu. [Aside.] Nor I, heav'n knows! 
 
 -. ^^.^- There is a pleasure, sure, 
 
 In being mad, which none but madmen know! 
 
 Let me indulge it; let me gaze for ever! 
 
 And, since you are too great to be belov'd, 
 
 Be greater, greater yet; and be ador'd. 
 
 Qu. These are the words which I must only hear 
 120 From Bertran 's mouth; they should displease from you: 
 
 I say they should; but women are so vain. 
 
 To like the love, tho' they despise the lover. 
 
 Yet, that I may not send you from my sight 
 
 In absolute despair — I pity you. 
 
 Tor. Am I then pitied! I have liv'd enough I 
 
 Death, take me in this moment of my joy; 
 
 But, when my soul is plung'd in long oblivion, 
 
 Spare this one thought! let me remember pity. 
 
 And, so deceiv 'd, think all my life was blest. ' 
 130 ^"- What if I add a little to my alms? 
 
 If that would help, I could cast in a tear 
 
 To your misfortunes. — 
 
 Tor A tear! You have o'erbid all my past sufferings, 
 And all my future too! 
 
 Q^- "Were I no queen — 
 Or you of royal blood 
 
 Tor. What have I lost by my forefather's fault! 
 Why was not I the twentieth by descent 
 From a long restive race of droning kings? 
 Love! what a poor omnipotence hast thou, 
 140 When gold and titles buy thee? 
 
 Qu. [Sighs.] O, my torture! 
 
 Tor. Might I presume,— but O, I dare not hope 
 That sigh was added to your aims for me!
 
 332 THE SPANISH FEIAK 
 
 QiL I give you leave to guess, and not forbid you 
 To make the best construction for your love: 
 Be secret and discreet ; these fairy favors 
 Are lost, when not conceal 'd. — Provoke not Bertran. — 
 Retire: I must no more but this, — Hope, Torrismond. [Exit, 
 
 Tor. She bids me hope; O heav'ns, she pities me! 
 And pity still foreruns approaching love, 
 150 As lightning does the thunder! Tune your harps, 
 Ye angels, to that sound; and thou, my heart, 
 Make room to entertain thy flowing joy. 
 
 Hence, all my griefs and every anxious care; 
 
 One word, and one kind glance, can cure despair. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Chamber. A Table and Wine set out. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 
 Lor. This may hit; 'tis more then barely possible; for friars have 
 free admittance into every house. This jacobin whom I have sent to 
 is her confessor; and who can suspect a man of such reverence for a 
 pimp? I'll try for once; I'll bribe him high; for commonly none love 
 money better then they who have made a vow of poverty. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. There 's a huge, fat, religious gentleman coming up, sir. He 
 
 says he 's but a friar, but he 's big enough to be a pope; his gills are 
 
 as rosy as a turkey cock; his great belly walks in state before him, like 
 
 an harbinger; and his gouty legs come limping after it: never was such 
 
 10 a tun of devotion seen. 
 
 Lar. Bring him in, and vanish. [Exit Servant 
 
 Enter Father Dominic. 
 
 Lor. Welcome, father. 
 
 Dom. Peace be here: I thought I had been sent for to a dying 
 man; to have fitted him for another world. 
 
 Lor. No, faith, father, I was never for taking such long journeys. 
 Eepose yourself, I beseech you, sir, if those spindle legs of yours will 
 carry you to the next chair. 
 
 Dom. I am old, I am infirm, I must confess, with fasting. 
 
 Lor. 'Tis a sign, by your wan complexion and your thin jowls, 
 
 20 father. Come — to our better acquaintance: — here 's a sovereign remedy 
 
 for old age and sorrow. [Drinlcs. 
 
 Dom. The looks of it are indeed alluring: I'll do you reason. 
 
 [Drinks. 
 
 4. pimpf] After this word Q3Q4 insert: The Church, ihcy say, is an in- 
 dulgent mother. 
 
 ■ for once'\ After these words Q3Q4 insert : how indulgent she will he to a 
 carnal son of hers.
 
 ACT ir, 8CENE III 333 
 
 Lor. Is it to your palate, father? 
 
 Dom. Second thoughts, they say, are best: I'll consider of it once 
 again. \Drinlcs.] It has a most delicious flavor with it. Gad forgive 
 me, 1 have forgotten to drink your health, son; I am not us'd to be so 
 unmannerly. [Drinks a<jain. 
 
 Lor. No, I'll be sworn, by what I see of you, you are not: To 
 
 the bottom; — I warrant him a true churchman. — Now, father, to our 
 30 business: 'tis agreeable to your calling; I intend to do an act of charity. 
 
 Dom. And I love to hear of charity; 'tis a comfortable subject. 
 
 Lor. Being in the late battle, in great hazard of my life, I recom- 
 mended my person to good Saint Dominic. 
 
 Dom. You could not have pitch 'd upon a better; he 's a sure card; 
 I never knew him fail his votaries. 
 
 Lor. Troth, 1 e'en made bold to strike up a bargain with him, that 
 if I scap'd with life and plunder, I would present some brother of his 
 order with part of the booty taken from the infidels, to be employ'd in 
 charitable uses. 
 40 Dom. There you hit him; Saint Dominic loves charity exceedingly; 
 that argument never fails with him. 
 
 Lor. The spoils were mighty; and I scorn to wrong him of a 
 farthing. To make short my story; I enquir'd among the jacobins for 
 an almoner, and the general fame has pointed out your reverence as 
 the worthiest man: — here are fifty good pieces in this purse. 
 
 Dom. How, fifty pieces? 'tis too much, too much, in conscience. 
 
 Lor. Here, take 'em, father. 
 
 Dom. No, in troth, I dare not; do not tempt me to break my vow of 
 poverty. 
 50 Lor. If you are modest, I must force you ; for I am strongest. 
 
 Dom. Nay, if you compel me, there 's no contending; but will you 
 set your strength against a decrepit, poor, old man? [Takes the Purse.] 
 As I said, 'tis too great a bounty; but Saint Dominic shall owe you 
 another scape: I'll put him in mind of you. 
 
 Lor. If you please, father, we will not trouble him till the next 
 battle. But you may do me a greater kinr'ness, by conveying my prayers 
 to a female saint. 
 
 Dom. A female saint! good now, good now, how your devotions jump 
 with mine! I always lov'd the female saints, 
 6' Lor. I mean, a female, mortal, married-woman saint. Look upon 
 the superscription of this note; you know Don Gomez his wife. 
 
 [Gives him a letter. 
 
 Dom. Who? Donna Elvira? I think I have some reason; I am her 
 ghostly father. 
 
 Lor. I have some business of importance with her, which I have 
 communicated in this paper; but her husband is so horribly given to be 
 jealous 
 
 36. e'en] QqF. also SsM. 
 
 37. scnii'd] (in. 'gcnp'd V. escaped SsM, 
 01. GfJiiicz hix] QqV. Gomez 's SsM.
 
 334 THE SPANISH FRIAE 
 
 Bom. Ho, jealous? he 's the very quintessence of jealousy; he keeps 
 no male creature in his house; and from abroad he lets no man come 
 near her. 
 70 Lor. Excepting you, father. 
 
 Dam. Me, I grant you ; I am her director and her guide in spiritual 
 affairs; but he has his humors with me too; for t' other day he call'd me 
 false apostle. 
 
 Lor. Did he so? that reflects upon you all; on my word, father, that 
 touches your copyhold. If you would do a meritorious action, you might 
 revenge the Church's quarrel. — My letter, father 
 
 Bom. Well, so far as a letter, I will take upon me; for what can I 
 refuse to a man so charitably given? 
 
 Lor. If you bring an answer back, that purse in your hand has a 
 80 twin brother, as like him as ever he can look; there are fifty pieces lie 
 dormant in it, for more charities. 
 
 Bom. That must not be; not a farthing more, upon my priesthood. 
 But what may be the purport and meaning of this letter? That, I con- 
 fess, a little troubles me. 
 
 Lor. No harm, I warrant you. 
 
 Bom. Well, you are a charitable man ; and I'll take your word : my 
 comfort is, I know not the contents; and so far I am blameless. But 
 an answer you shall have; tho' not for the sake of your fifty pieces 
 more : I have sworn not to take them ; they shall not be altogether fifty. 
 90 — Your mistress — forgive me, that I should call her your mistress, I 
 meant Elvira — lives but at next door: I'll visit her immediately; but not 
 a word more of the nine-and-forty pieces. 
 
 Lor. Nay, I'll wait on you down stairs. — Fifty pounds for the pos- 
 tage of a letter! to send by the Church is certainly the dearest road in 
 Christendom. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Chamber. 
 Gomez, Elvira. 
 
 Gom. Henceforth I banish flesh and wine: I'll have none stirring 
 within these walls these twelve months. 
 
 Elv. I care not ; the sooner I am starv'd, the sooner I am rid of 
 wedlock. I shall learn the knack to fast a-days; you have us'd me to 
 fasting nights already. 
 
 Gom. How the gipsy answers me! O, 'tis a most notorious hilding! 
 
 Elv. [Crying.] But was ever poor innocent creature so hardly dealt 
 with, for a little harmless chat? 
 
 Gom. O the impudence of this wicked sex! Lascivious dialogues are 
 10 innocent with you? 
 
 Elv. Was it such a crime to enquire how the battle pass'd? 
 
 Gom. But that was not the business, gentlewoman: you were not 
 
 91. Elvira — lives] SsM. Elvira, lives Q1Q2F. Elvira, she lives Q3Q4. 
 4. a-days] Q2Q3Q4. a days QIF. o' daijs SsM
 
 ACT II, SCENE IV 335 
 
 asking news of a battle pass'd; you were engaging for a skirmish that 
 ■was to come. 
 
 Elv. An honest woman would be glad to hear that her honor was 
 safe, and her enemies were slain. 
 
 Gom. [In her tone.] And to ask, if he were wounded in your de- 
 fense; and, in case he were, to offer yourself to be his chirurgeon; — 
 then, you diil not describe your husband to him for a covetous, jealous, 
 2U rich old hunks. 
 
 Elv. No, I need not; he describes himself sufficiently; but, in what 
 dream did I do this? 
 
 Gom. You walk'd in your sleep, with your eyes broad open, at 
 noon of day; and dreamt you were talking to the foresaid purpose with 
 one Colonel Hernando 
 
 Elv. Who, dear husband, who? 
 
 Gom. What the devil have I said? You would have farther informa- 
 tion, would you? 
 
 Elv. No; but my dear little old man, tell me now, that I may avoid 
 30 hira for your sake. 
 
 Gom. Get you up into your chamber, cockatrice; and there immure 
 yourself; be confin'd, I say, during our royal pleasure. But, first, down 
 on your marrowbones, upon your allegiance, and make an acknowledg- 
 ment of your offenses; for I will have ample satisfaction. 
 
 [Pulls her down. 
 
 Elv. I have done you no injury, and therefore I'll make you no 
 submission: but I'll complain to my ghostly father. 
 
 Gom. Aye, there 's your remedy; when you receive condign punish- 
 ment, you run with open mouth to your confessor; that parcel of holy 
 guts and garbidge: Ke must chuckle you and moan you; but I'll rid my 
 40 hands of his ghostly authority one day, — [Enter Dominic] — and make 
 
 him know he 's the son of a [-Sees him.] So; no sooner conjure, 
 
 but the devil 's in the circle. — 
 
 Dom. Son of a what, Don Gomez? 
 
 Gom. Why, a son of a church; I hope there 's no harm in that, 
 father? 
 
 Dom. I will lay up your words for you till time shall serve; and 
 to-morrow I enjoin you to fast, for penance. 
 
 Gom. [Aside.] There's no harm in that; she shall fast too: fasting 
 saves money. 
 50 Dom. [To Ely.] What was the reason that I found you upon your 
 knees, in that unseemly posture? 
 
 Gom. [Aside.] O horrible! to find a woman upon hor knees, he says, 
 is an unseemly posture; there 's a priest for you! 
 
 Elv. [To Dom.] I wish, father, you would give me an opportunity 
 of entertaining you in private: I have somewhat upon my spirits that 
 presses mo exceedingly. 
 
 Dom [Aside.] This goes well: — Gomez, stand you at distance, — 
 
 57. at dislancc] QqF. at a distance SsM.
 
 60 
 
 336 THE SPANISH FKIAK 
 
 farther yet, — stand out of earshot; — I have somewhat to say to your 
 wife in private. 
 
 Gom. [Aside.] Was ever man thus priest-ridden? Would the steeple 
 of his church were in his belly: I am sure there 's room for it. 
 
 Elv. I am asham'd to acknowledge my infirmities; but you have 
 been always an indulgent father, and therefore I will venture to — and 
 yet 1 dare not! 
 
 Dom. Nay, if you are bashful; — if you keep your wound from the 
 knowledge of your surgeon 
 
 Elv. You know my luisband is a man in years; but he "s my hus- 
 band, and therefore I shall be silent; but his humors are more intol- 
 erable then his age; he 's grown so froward, so covetous, and so jealous, 
 70 that he has turn'd my heart quite from him; and, if I durst confess it, 
 has forc'd me to cast my affections on another man. 
 
 Dom. Good: — hold, hold; I meant abominable. [Aside] Pray 
 
 heaven this be my colonel! 
 
 Elv. I have seen this man, father, and have incourag'd his ad- 
 dresses; he 's a young gentleman, a soldier, of a most winning carriage: 
 and what his courtship may produce at last, I know not; but I am 
 afraid of my own frailty. 
 
 Dom. [Aside.] "Tis he, for certain; — she has sav'd the credit of my 
 function, by speaking first ; now must I take gravity upon me. 
 80 Go)P. [Aside.] This whispering bodes me no good, for certain; 
 but he has me so plaguily under the lash that I dare not interrupt him. 
 
 Dom. Daughter, daughter, do you remember your matrimonial vow? 
 
 Elv. Yes, to my sorrow, father, I do remember it ; a miserable 
 woman it has made me: but you know, father, a marriage vow is but a 
 thing of course, which all women take when they would get a husband. 
 
 Dom. A vow is a very solemn thing; and 'tis good to keep it — but, 
 notwithstanding, it may be broken upon some occasions. — Have you 
 striven with all your might against this frailty? 
 
 Elv. Yes, I have striven ; but I found it was against the stream. 
 90 Love, you know, father, is a great vow-maker; but he 's a greater vow- 
 breaker. 
 
 Dom. 'Tis your duty to strive always; but, notwithstanding, when 
 we have done our utmost, it extenuates the sin. 
 
 Gom. I can hold no longer. Now, gentlewoman, you are con- 
 fessing your enormities; I know it, by that hypocritical downcast look. 
 Enjoin her to sit bare upon a bed of nettles, father; you can do no less, 
 in conscience. 
 
 Dom. Hold your peace; are you growing malapert? will you force 
 me to make use of my authority? Your wife 's a well-dispos'd and a 
 100 virtuous lady; I say it, in verba sacerdotis. 
 
 Elv. I know not what to do, father; I find myself in a most des- 
 perate condition ; and so is the colonel, for love of me. 
 
 Dom. The colonel, say you! I wish it be not the same young gen- 
 
 60. Tie •«] Q1Q2Q3F. he is Q4. 
 
 99. and a virtuous] QqF. and virtuous SsM,
 
 ACT II, SCENE IV 337 
 
 tleman I know. "Tis a gallant young man, I must confess, worthy of 
 any lady's love in Christendom; in a lawful way, I mean: of such a 
 charming behavior, so bewitching to a woman's eye, and, furthermore, 
 so charitably given; by all good tokens, this must be my Colonel Her- 
 nando. 
 
 Eiv. Aye, and my colonel too, father: I am overjoy'd! — and are 
 110 you then acquainted with him? 
 
 Dom. Acquainted with him! why, he haunts me up and down; and, 
 I am afraid, it is for love of you; for he press'd a letter upon me, 
 within this hour, to deliver to you. I confess I receiv'd it, lest he should 
 send it by some other; but with full resolution never to put it into your 
 hands. 
 
 Elv. O dear father, let me have it, or I shall die! 
 
 Goin. Whispering still! A pox of your close committee! I'll listen, 
 I'm resolv'd. [S/ea's nearer. 
 
 Dom. Nay, if you are obstinately bent to see it, — use your discre- 
 
 120 tion; but, for my part, I wash my hands on 't. — What make you list'ning 
 
 there? Get farther off; I preach not to thee, thou wicked eavesdropper. 
 
 Elv. I'll kneel down, father, as if I were taking absolution, if you'll 
 but please to stand before me. 
 
 Dom. At your peril be it, then. I have told you the ill conse- 
 quences; ct liberavi cnimam mcnm. — Your reputation is in danger, to 
 say nothing of your soul. Notwithstanding, when the spiritual means 
 have been applied, and fail, in that case the carnal may be us'd. — You 
 are a tender child, you are, and must not be put into despair; your 
 heart is as soft and melting as your hand. 
 
 [He stroJces her face, takes her by the hand, and gives 
 the letter.] 
 130 Com. Hold, hold, father, you go beyond your commission; palming 
 is always held foul play amongst gamesters. 
 
 Dom. Thus good intentions are misconstrued by wicked men; you 
 will never be warn'd till you are excommunicate. 
 
 Gom. [Aside.] Ah, devil on him; there 's his hold! If there were 
 no more in excommunication then the Church's censure, a wise man would 
 lick his conscience whole with a wet finger; but, if I am excommunicate, 
 I am outlaw'd, and then there 's no calling in my money. 
 
 Elv. [Rising.] I have read the note, father, and will send him an 
 answer immediately; for I know his lodgings by his letter. 
 140 Dom. I understand it not, for my part; but I wish your intentions 
 be honest. Remember that adultery, tho' it be a silent sin, yet it is a 
 crying sin also. Nevertheless, if you believe absolutely he will die, unless 
 you pity him, to save a man's life is a point of charity; and actions of 
 charity do alleviate, as I may say, and take off from the mortality of tha 
 
 117. irhiipering still] Qq print these words as a stage direction; F cor. 
 rects the error. 
 
 118. I'm] Q1Q2F. / am Q3Q4. 
 120. on 71 QqF. of it SsM. 
 
 »na^cl Q(iF. makes SsM, spoiling llie sense. 
 127. fail] g2 SsM. fails Q1Q:{Q4F. 
 137. and then there's no] QqF. and there is no SsM.
 
 338 THE SPANISH FRIAR 
 
 sin. Farewell, daughter. — Gomez, cherish your virtuous wife; and there- 
 upon 1 give you my benediction. [Goi7ig. 
 
 Gom. Stay; I'll conduct you to the door, — that I may be sure you 
 steal nothing by the way. Friars wear not their long sleeves for noth- 
 ing. — O, 'tis a Judas Iscariot. [Exit after the Friar. 
 150 Elv. This friar is a comfortable man! He will understand nothing 
 of the business, and yet does it all. 
 
 Pray, Avives and virgins, at your time of need, 
 
 For a true guide, of my good father's breed. [Exit. 
 
 ACT III 
 
 SCENE I.— The Street. 
 Lorenzo m Friar's Habit, meeting Dominic. 
 
 Lor. Father Dominic, Father Dominic; why in such haste, man'? 
 
 Dom. It should seem, a brother of our order. 
 
 Lor. No, faith, I am only your brother in iniquity; my holiness, like 
 yours, is mere outside. 
 
 Dom. What! my noble colonel in metamorphosis! On what occasion 
 are you transform'd? 
 
 Lor. Love, almighty love; that which turn'd Jupiter into a town 
 bull, has transform'd me into a friar. I have had a letter from Elvira, 
 in answer to that I sent by you. 
 10 Dom. You see I have deliver'd my message faithfully; I am a friar 
 of honor, where I am engag'd. 
 
 Lor. O, I understand your hint; the other fifty pieces are ready to 
 be condemn'd to charity. 
 
 Dom. But this habit, son! this habit! 
 
 Lor. 'Tis a habit that in all ages has been friendly to fornication: 
 you have begun the design in this clothing, and I '11 try to accomplish 
 it. The husband is absent, that evil counselor is remov'd, and the sov- 
 ereign is graciously dispos'd to hear my grievances. 
 
 Dom. Go to, go to; I find good counsel is but thrown away upon you. 
 20 Fare you well, fare you well, son! Ah! 
 
 Lor. How! will you turn recreant at the last cast? You must along 
 to countenance my undertaking: we are at the door, man. 
 
 Dom. Well, I have thought on 't, and I will not go. 
 
 Lor. You may stay, father, but no fifty pounds without it; that was 
 only promis'd in the bond: "But the condition of this obligation is 
 Buch, that if the above-nam'd father, Father Dominic, do not well and 
 faithfully perform" 
 
 Dom. Now I better think on 't, I will bear you company; for the 
 reverence of my presence may be a curb to your exorbitancies. 
 30 Lor. Lead up your myrmidon, and enter. [Exeunt. 
 
 [Lorenzo in Friar's Habit] QqF. [Enter Lorenzo in a Friar's Habit] 
 
 SsM. 
 
 29. presencel QqF. person SsM.
 
 ACT III, SCENE II 339 
 
 SCENE XL— Elvira's Chamber. 
 
 Enter Elvira. 
 
 Elv. He 'II come, that 's certain; young appetites are sharp, and 
 seklom need twice bidding to such a banquet! — Well, if I prove frail, 
 as I hope I shall not till I have compass 'd my design, never woman had 
 such a husband to provoke her, such a lover to allure her, or such a con- 
 fessor to absolve her. Of what am I afraid, then? Not my conscience, 
 that 's safe enough; my ghostly father has given it a dose of church 
 opium, to lull it. Well, for soothing sin, I'll say that for him, he 's a 
 chaplain for any court in Christendom. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo and Dominic. 
 
 O, Father Dominic, what news? — How, a companion with you! What 
 10 game have you in hand, that you hunt in couples? 
 
 Lor. [Lifting up his hood.] I'll shew you that immediately. 
 
 Elv. O, my love! 
 
 Lor. My life! 
 
 Elv. My soul! \Thcy cmhrace. 
 
 Dom. I am taken on the sudden with a grievous swimming in my 
 head, and such a mist before my eyes, that I can neither hear nor see. 
 
 Elv. Stay, and I'll fetch you some comfortable water. 
 
 Bom. No, no; nothing but the open air will do me good. Ill take 
 
 a turn in your garden; but remember that I trust you both, and do not 
 
 20 wrong my good opinion of you. [Exit Dominic. 
 
 Elv. This is certainly the dust of gold which you have thrown in 
 the good man's eyes, that on the sudden he cannot see; for my mind 
 misgives me, this sickness of his is but apocryphal. 
 
 Lor. 'Tis no qualm of conscience, I'll be sworn. You see, madam, 
 'tis interest governs all the world. He preaches against sin; why? be- 
 cause he gets by 't. He holds his tongue; why? because so much more 
 is bidden for his silence. 
 
 Elv. And so much for the friar. 
 
 Lor. O, those eyes of yours reproach me justly, that I neglect the 
 30 subject which brought me hither. 
 
 Elv. Do you consider the hazard I have run to see you here? If 
 you do, methinks it should inform you that I love not at a common rate. 
 
 Lor. Nay, if you talk of considering, let us consider why we are 
 alone. Do you think the friar left us together to tell beads? Love is a 
 kind of penurious god, very niggardly of his opportunities: he must 
 
 [ScKNE 11] QqF do not Indicate a new scene, reading merely Enter EUiia 
 in hrr < 7in»i/ifr. The form in the text is Jaken from SsM. 
 
 2(1. hii 't\ QqF. Iti/ it SsM. 
 
 27. niloirr] ,\fter tlii.s <^■{<H add: 'Tis }>iit i)irinp a man hi.<t price, (iiid 
 principles of Church are boiiijht off as easily as ihcy are in State: no man 
 will he a rofuic fur nothiiii/. but cinHjtensdiitin tinist he iiitnh , so inucli tjold 
 for so rtniih hoiustii; inid ih<n ii cliurtliniiin trill hrciil; the rules of chess, 
 for the hin/k hislioii irill slap into tlic ufiitc. and the irhitc into the black, 
 tcithout cinisiderintj uluthir the remiire he lauful. 
 
 35. of penurious\ (jl(.^2(.j;iF. of u penurious Q4.
 
 340 THE SPANISH FRIAR 
 
 be watch'd like a hard-hoartcd treasurer; for he bolts out on the sud- 
 den, and, if you take him not in the nick, he vanishes in a twinkling. 
 
 Elv. Why do you make such haste to have done loving me? You 
 men are all like watches, wound up for striking twelve immediately; but 
 40 after you are satisfied, the very next that follows, is the solitary sound 
 of single one. 
 
 Lor. How, madam! do you invite me to u feast, and then preach 
 abstinence? 
 
 Elv. No, I invite you to a feast where the dishes are serv'd up in 
 order; you are for making a hasty meal, and for chopping up your enter- 
 tainment, like an hungry clown. Trust my management, good colonel, 
 and call not for your dessert too soon : believe me, that which comes last, 
 as it is the sweetest, so it cloys the soonest. 
 
 Lor. 1 perceive, madam, by your holding me at this distance, that 
 50 there is somewhat you expect from me: what am I to undertake, or 
 suffer, ere I can be happy? 
 
 Elv. I must first be satisfied, that you love me. 
 
 Lor. By all that 's holy! by these dear eyes! 
 
 Elv. Spare your oaths and protestations; I know you gallants of 
 the time ha\-e a mint at your tongue's end to coin them. 
 
 Lor. You know you cannot marry me; but, by heavens, if you v/erc 
 in a condition 
 
 Elv. Then you would not be so prodigal of your promises, but Jiave 
 the fear of matrimony before your eyes. In few words, if you love me, 
 60 as you profess, deliver me from this bondage, take me out of Egypt, and 
 I'll wander with you as far as earth, and seas, and love, can carry us. 
 
 Lor. 1 never was out at a mad frolic, tho" this is the maddest I ever 
 undertook. Have with you, lady mine; I take you at your word; and, if 
 you are for a merry jaunt, I'll try for once who can foot it farthest. 
 There are hedges in summer, and barns in winter, to be found ; I with 
 my knapsack, and you with your bottle at your back; we'll leave honor 
 to madmen, and riches to knaves; and travel till we come to the ridge 
 of the world, and then drop together into the next. 
 
 Elv. Give me your hand, and strike a bargain. 
 
 [He takes her hand, and Icisscs it. 
 70 Lor. In sign and token whereof, the parties interchangeably, and 
 so forth. — When should I be weary of sealing upon this soft wax? 
 
 Elv. heavens! I hear my husband's voice. 
 
 Enter Gomez. 
 
 Gom. Where are you, gentlewoman? there 's something in the wind, 
 I'm sure, because your woman would have run up stairs before me; but 
 I have seeur'd her below, with a gag in her chaps. — Now, in the devil's 
 name, what makes this friar hei'e again? I do not like these frequent 
 conjunctions of the flesh and spirit ; they are boding. 
 
 41. of single one] Qq. of a sinple one F. of a single — one! SsM, 
 59. In fcic] QqF. In a few SsM. 
 66. ice'll] QqF. kc uill SsM,
 
 ACT III, SCENE II 341 
 
 Elv. Go hence, good father; my husband, you see, is in an ill 
 humor, and I would not have you witness of his folly. 
 
 [Lorenzo going. 
 gQ Gom. [Eicnning to the door.] By your reverence's favor, hold a 
 little; I must examine you something better, before you go. Hiday! who 
 have we here? Father Dominic is shrunk in the wetting two yards 
 and a half about the belly. What are become of those two timber logs 
 that he us'd to wear for legs, that stood strutting like the two black posts 
 before a door? I am afraid some bad body has been setting him over 
 a fire in a great cauldron, and boil'd him down half the quantity, for a 
 receipt. This is no Father Dominic, no huge overgrown abbey-lubber ; 
 this is but a diminutive sucking friar. As sure as a gun, now. Father 
 Dominic has been spawning this young slender antichrist. 
 90 Elv. [Aside.] He will be found, there 's no prevention. 
 
 Gom. Why does he not speak? What! Is the friar possess'd with 
 a dumb devil? If he be, I shall make bold to conjure him. 
 
 Elv. He 's but a novice in his order, and is injoin'd silence for a 
 penance. 
 
 Gom. A novice, quotha! you would make a novice of me too, if you 
 could. But what was his business here? Answer me that, gentle- 
 woman, answer me that. 
 
 Elv. What should it be, but to give me some spiritual instructions? 
 
 Gom. Very good; and you are like to edify much from a dumb 
 100 preacher. This will not pass; I must examine the contents of him a 
 little closer. O thou confessor, confess who thou art, or thou art no 
 friar of this world! — [lie comes to Lorenzo, who struggles with him; 
 his habit flies open, and discovers a sword; Gomez starts hack.] — As 
 1 live, this is a manifest member of the Church Militant. 
 
 Lor. [Aside.] I am discover'd; now, impudence be my refuge. — Yes, 
 faith, 'tis I, honest Gomez; thou seest I use thee like a friend; this is 
 a familiar visit. 
 
 Gom. W'hat! Colonel Hernando turn'd a friar; who could have sus- 
 pected you for so much godliness? 
 110 Lor. E'en as thou seest, I make bold here. 
 
 Gom. A very frank manner of proceeding; but I do not wonder at 
 your visit, after so friendly an invitation as I made you. Marry, I hope 
 you will excuse the blunderbusses for not being in readiness to salute 
 you; but let me know your hour, and all shall be mended another time. 
 
 Lor. Hang it, I hate such ripping up of old unkindness: I was upon 
 the frolic this evening, and came to visit thee in masquerade. 
 
 Gom, Very likely; and not finding me at home, you were forc'd to 
 toy away an hour with my wife, or so. 
 
 Lor. Right ; thou speakest my very soul. 
 120 Gom. Why, am not I a friend, then, to help you out? You would 
 have been fumbling half an hour for this excuse. — But, as I remember, 
 
 87. receipt] (JqF. recipe SsM. 
 ]()!». for] liiiy^l'. of y3Q4Ss>r. 
 1211. „ friend. Ihn,] (.)U>2I-\ Ihcu a friend Q.'^Q4. 
 
 1J0U out] QqF. thee out SsM, to the detriment of the sense.
 
 342 THE SPANISH FEIAR 
 
 you promis'd to storm my citadel, and bring your regiment of red 
 locusts upon me for free quarter: I find, colonel, by your habit, there 
 are black locusts in the world, as \yc11 as red. 
 
 Elv. [Aside.] When comes my share of the reckoning to be call'd 
 for? 
 
 Lor. Give me thy hand; thou art the honestest, kind man! I uas 
 resolv'd I would not out of thy house till I had seen thee. 
 
 Gout. No, in my conscience, if I had stay'd abroad till midnight. 
 130 But, colonel, you and I shall talk in another tone hereafter; I mean, in 
 cold friendship, at a bar, before a judge, by the way of plaintiff and 
 defendant. Your excuses want some grains to make 'em current: hum 
 and ha will not do the business. — There 's a modest lady of your ac- 
 quaintance, she has so much grace to make none at all, but silently to 
 confess the power of Dame Nature Avorking in her body to youthful 
 appetite. 
 
 Elv. How he got in I know not, unless it were by virtue of his habit. 
 
 Gom. Aye, aye, the virtues of that habit are known abundantly. 
 
 Elv. I could not hinder his entrance, for he took mo unprovided. 
 140 Gom, To resist him. 
 
 Elv. I'm sure he has not been here above a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Gom. And a quarter of that time would have serv'd the turn. O 
 thou epitome of thy virtuous sex! Madam Messalina the second, retire 
 to thy apartment: I have an assignation there to make with thee. 
 
 Elv. I am all obedience. — [Exit Elvira. 
 
 Lor. I find, Gomez, you are not the man I thought you. We may 
 meet before we come to the bar, we may; and our differences may be 
 decided by other weapons then by lawyers' tongues. In the meantime, 
 no ill treatment of your wife, as you hope to die a natural death, and 
 KO go to hell in your bed. Bilbo is the word, remember that, and 
 tremble. [He 's going out. 
 
 Enter Dominic. 
 
 Dam. Where is this naughty couple? Where are you, in the name 
 of goodness? My mind misgave me, and I durst trust you no longer 
 with yourselves: here will be fine work, I'm afraid, at your next con- 
 fession. 
 
 Lor. [Aside.] The devil is punctual, I see; he has paid me the 
 shame he ow'd me; and now the friar is coming in for his part too. 
 
 Dom,. [Seeing Gom.] Bless my eyes! What do I see? 
 
 Gom. Why, you see a cuckold of this honest gentleman's making; I 
 160 thank him for his pains. 
 
 Dom. 1 confess, I am astonish'd! 
 
 Gom. What, at a cuckoldom of your own contrivance! Your head- 
 piece, and his limbs, have done my business. — Nay, do not look so 
 strangely; remember your own words: "Here will be fine work at your 
 next confession." What naughty couple were they whom you durst not 
 trust together any longer? — when the hypocritical rogue had trusted 'em 
 
 12.3. quarter] QqF. quarters SsM. 
 ' 150. in] QqF. on SsM.
 
 ACT III, SCENE II 343 
 
 a full quarter of an hour; and, by the way, horns will sprout in less 
 time than mushrooms. 
 
 Dom. Beware how you accuse one of my order upon light sus- 
 170 picions. The naughty couple that I meant, were your wife and you, 
 whom I left together with great animosities on both sides. Now, that 
 was the occasion, mark me, Gomez, that I thought it convenient to re- 
 turn again, and not to trust your enrag'd spirits too long together. You 
 might have broken out into revilings and matrimonial warfare, which 
 are sins; and new sins make work for new confessions. 
 
 Lor. [Aside.] Well said, i' faith, friar; thou art come off thyself, 
 but poor I am left in limbo. 
 
 Gom. Angle in some other ford, good father, you shall catch no 
 gudgeons here. Look upon the prisoner at the bar, friar, and inform 
 180 the court what you know concerning him; he is arraign'd here by the 
 name of Colonel Hernando. 
 
 Dom. What colonel do you mean, Gomez? I see no man but a 
 reverend brother of our order, whose profession I honor, but whose per- 
 son I know not, as I hope for paradise. 
 
 Gom. No, you are not acquainted with him, the more 's the pity; 
 you do not know him, under this disguise, for the greatest cuckold-maker 
 in all Spain. 
 
 Dom. O impudence! O rogue! villain! Nay, if he be such a 
 man, my righteous spirit rises at him! Does he put on holy garments 
 ^^ for a cover-shame of lewdness? 
 
 Gom. Yes, and he 's in the right on "t, father: when a swingeing 
 sin is to be committed, nothing will cover it so close as a friar's hood; 
 for there the devil plays at bo-peep; puts out his horns to do a mis- 
 chief, and then shrinks 'em back for safety, like a snail into her shell. 
 
 Lor. [Aside.'\ It's best marching off, while I can retreat with honor. 
 There 's no trusting this friar's conscience; he has renounc'd me already 
 more heartily then e'er he did the devil, and is in a fair way to prose- 
 cute mo for putting on these holy robes. This is the old church-trick; 
 the clergy is ever at the bottom of the plot, but they are wise enough 
 ^'W to slip their own necks out of the collar, and leave the laity to be 
 fairly hang'd for it. [Exit. 
 
 Gom. Follow your leader, friar; your colonel is troop'd off, but he 
 had not gone so easily, if I durst have trusted you in the house behind 
 me. Gather up your gouty legs, I say, and rid my house of that huge 
 body of divinity. 
 
 Dom. I expect some judgment should fall upon you, for your want 
 of reverence to your spiritual director: slander, covetousness, and jealousy 
 will weigh thee down. 
 
 Gom. Put pride, hypocrisy, and gluttony into your scale, father, 
 210 and you shall weigh against me: nay, and sins come to be divided once, 
 the clergy puts in for nine parts, and scarce leaves the laity a tithe. 
 
 170. meant] QIF. mrnn Q2Q3Q4. 
 
 191. iiici)t(j< i)i(j\ suiiul<ji)i(j giUliQ."!!". stcinyiny Q4SsM, spoiling the 
 sense. 
 
 210. and sins] QqF. an' sins SsM.
 
 344 THE SPANISH FRIAR 
 
 Dom. How (larest thou reproach the tribe of Levi? 
 
 Gom. Marry, because you make us laymen of the tribe of Tssachar. 
 You make asses of us, to bear your burthens. When we are young, you 
 put panniers upon us with your church discipline; and when we are 
 grown up, you load us with a wife: after that, you procure for other 
 men, and then you load our wives too. A fine phrase you have amongst 
 you to draw us into marriage; you call it — settling of a man; just as 
 when a fellow has got a sound knock upon the head, they say he 's 
 220 settled: marriage is a settling blow indeed. They say everything in the 
 world is good for something ; as a toad, to suck up the venom of the 
 earth; but I never knew what a friar Avas good for, till your pimping 
 show'd me. 
 
 Dom. Thou shalt answer for this, thou slanderer; thy offenses be 
 upon thy head. 
 
 Gom. I believe there are some offenses there of your planting. 
 [Exit Dominic] Lord, Lord, that men should have sense enough to set 
 snares in their warrens to catch polecats and foxes, and yet — 
 
 Want wit a priest-trap at their door to Jay, 
 230 For holy vermin that in houses prey. [Exit Gomez. 
 
 SCENE Ul.—A Bedchamber. 
 
 Queen, Teresa. 
 
 Ter. You are not what you were, since yesterday; 
 Your food forsakes you, and your needful rest; 
 You pine, you languish, love to be alone; 
 Think much, speak little, and, in speaking, sigh: 
 When you see Torrismond, you are unquiet. 
 But, when you see him not, you are in pain. 
 
 Qu. O let 'em never love who never tried ! 
 They brought a paper to me to be sign'd ; 
 Thinking on him, I quite forgot my name; 
 
 10 And writ, for Leonora, Torrismond. 
 I went to bed, and to myself I thought 
 That I would think on Torrismond no more; 
 Then shut my eyes, but could not shut out him. 
 I turn'd, and tried each corner of my bed, 
 To find if sleep were there, but sleep was lost. 
 Fev'rish, for want of rest, I rise, and walk'd, 
 And, by the moonshine, to the windows went; 
 There, thinking to exclude him from my thoughts, 
 I east my eyes upon the neighboring fields, 
 
 20 And, ere I was aware, sigh'd to myseif: 
 "There fought my Torrismond." 
 
 212. d^irest] Qq. dar'st FSsM. 
 
 218. settUvf/ of a] Q1Q2F. settluuj a Q3Q4. 
 
 16. rise QqF. rose SsM.
 
 ACT III, SCENE III 345 
 
 Ter. What hinders you to take the man you love I 
 The people will be glad, the soldiers shout, 
 And Bertran, tho ' repining, will be aw M. 
 
 Qu. I fear to try new love, 
 As boys to venture on the unknown ice, 
 That crackles underneath 'em while they slide. 
 O, how shall I describe this growing ill! 
 Betwixt my doubt and love, methinks I stand 
 30 Alt 'ring, like one that waits an ague fit; 
 And yet, would this were all! 
 
 Ter. What fear you more? 
 
 Qii. I am asham'd to say, 'tis but a fancy. 
 At break of day, when dreams, they say, are true, 
 A drowsy slumber, rather then a sleep, 
 SeizM on my senses, with long watching worn : 
 Methought I stood on a wide river's bank, 
 Which I must needs o'erpass, but knew not how; 
 When, on a sudden, Torrismond appear'd. 
 Gave me his hand, and led me lightly o'er, 
 40 Leaping and bounding on the billows' heads. 
 Till safely we had reach'd the farther shore. 
 
 Ter. This dream portends some ill which you shall scape. 
 Would you see fairer visions? Take this night 
 Your Torrismond within your arms to sleep; 
 And, to that end, invent some apt pretense 
 To break with Bertran: 'twould be better yet. 
 Could you provoke him to give you th' occasion, 
 And then to throw him oflf. 
 
 Enter Bertran a1 a distance. 
 
 Qn. IMy stars have sent him; 
 
 For, see, he comes. How gloomily he looks! 
 50 If he, as 1 suspect, have found my love. 
 His jealousy will furnish him with fury,_ 
 And mo with means to ])art. 
 
 Bert. [Aside.] Shall 1 upbraid her? Shall I call her false? 
 If she be false, 'tis what she most desires. 
 My genius whispers me: "Be cautious, Bertran! 
 Thou walk'st as on a narrow mountain's nei-k, 
 A dreadful height, with scanty room to tread." 
 
 Qu. Wh'it bus'ness have you at the court, my lord? 
 
 Bert. What bus'ness, madam? 
 
 Qu. Yes, my Lord, what bus'ness? 
 
 00 Tis somewhat, sure, of weighty consequence, 
 
 2.'3. soldiers shout] Q2Q3Q4. soldier shout QIF, probably a mere mis- 
 print. 
 
 After shout Q3Q4 insert : 
 
 The old kin(/'8 party trill despair to find 
 
 A prince ivhosc coura<jc can support the throne.
 
 80 
 
 346 THE SPANISH FRIAR 
 
 That brings you here so often, anil unsent for. 
 
 Bert. [Aside.] 'Tis what I fcar'd; her words are cold enough 
 
 To freeze a man to death. May I presume 
 
 To speak, and to complain? 
 
 Qu. They who complain to princes think 'em tame: 
 What bull dare bellow, or what sheep dares bleat 
 Within the lion's den? 
 
 Bert. Yet men are suffer'd to put heav'n in mind 
 Of promis'd blessings; for they then are debts. 
 1Q Qu. My lord, heav'n knows its own time when to give; 
 But you, it seems, charge me with breach of faith! 
 
 Bert. I hope I need not, madam; 
 But as, when men in sickness ling 'ring lie. 
 They count the tedious hours by months and years; 
 So, every day deferr'd, to dying lovers. 
 Is a whole age of pain! 
 
 Qu. What if I ne'er consent to make you mine? 
 My fathers promise ties me not to time; 
 And bonds without a date, they say, are void. 
 
 Bert. Far be it from nie to believe you bound; 
 Love is the freest motion of our minds: 
 O, could you see into my secret soul. 
 There you might read your own dominion doubled, 
 Both as a queen and mistress. If yon leave me, 
 Know I can die, but dare not be displeas'd. 
 
 Qu. Sure you affect stupidity, my lord ; 
 Or give me cause to think, that, when you lost 
 Three battles to the Moors, you coldly stood 
 As unconcern'd as now. 
 
 Bert. I did my best; 
 
 90 Fate was not in my power. 
 
 Qu. And with the like tame gravity you saw 
 A raw young warrior take your baflled work 
 And end it at a blow. 
 
 Bert. I humbly take my leave; but they, who blast 
 Your good opinion of me, may have cause 
 To know I am no coward. [He is going. 
 
 Qu. Bertran, stay, 
 
 [Aside.] This may produce some dismal consequence 
 To him whom dearer than my life I love, 
 [To him.] Have I not manag'd my contrivance well, 
 IQO To try your love, and make you doubt of mine? 
 
 Bert. Then, was it but a trial? 
 Methinks I start as from some dreadful dream, 
 And often ask myself if yet I wake. 
 
 66. hull dare^ QqF. Tyull dares SsM. 
 
 sheep dares] Q1Q2F. sheep dare Q3Q4. 
 83. you mujht] QqF. might you SsM. 
 98. xchotn] Q1Q2F. who Q3Q4.
 
 ACT III, SCENE III 347 
 
 [Aside.] This turns too quick to be without design; 
 I'll sound the bottom of 't, ere I believe. 
 
 Qu. I find your love, and would reward it too, 
 But anxious fears solicit my weak breast. 
 I fear my people's faith; 
 
 That hot-mouth'd beast that bears against the curb, 
 110 Hard to be broken even by lawful kings, 
 But harder by usurpers. 
 
 Judge then, my lord, with all these cares oppress'd, 
 If I cau think of love. 
 
 Bert. Believe me, madam. 
 
 These jealousies, however large they spread, 
 Have but one root, the old imprison 'd king; 
 Whose lenity first pleas'd the gaping crowd; 
 But when long tried, and found supinely good. 
 Like ^sop's Log, they leapt upon his back. 
 Your father knew 'em well; and when he mounted, 
 120 He rein'd 'em strongly, and he spurr'd them hard: 
 And, but he durst not do it all at once, 
 He had not left alive this patient saint. 
 This anvil of affronts, but sent him hence 
 To hold a peaceful branch of palm above, 
 And hymn it in the choir. 
 
 Qu. You've hit upon the very string which, touch'd, 
 Echoes the sound, and jars within my soul; 
 There lies my grief. 
 
 Bert. So long as there 's a head, 
 Thither will all the mounting spirits fly; 
 130 Lop that but off, and then 
 
 Qu. My virtue shrinks from such an horrid act. 
 
 Bert. This 'tis to have a virtue out of season. 
 Mercy is good, a very good dull virtue; 
 But kings mistake its timing, and are mild 
 When manly courage bids 'em be severe: 
 Better be cruel once then anxious ever. 
 Kemove this threat'ning danger from your crown, 
 And then securely take the man you love. 
 
 Qu. [Walking aside.] Ha! let me think of that:— The man I lovef 
 140 'Tis true, this murther is the only means 
 That can secure my throne to Torrismond : 
 Nay, more, this execution, done by Bcrtran, 
 Makes him the object of the people's hate. 
 
 Bert. [A.<iide.] The more she thinks, 'twill work the stronger in her. 
 
 Qu. [Aside.] How eloquent is mischief to persuade! 
 Few are so wicked, as to take delight 
 
 104. ttirris] Q(|F. turn '« SsM. 
 
 12(1. fiiJtirr'd them] QlQi>F. nuurr'd •cm Q;?Q4. 
 
 12.">. thr rhnir] thr quire QqF. a choir SsM. 
 
 131. awl Qui-', o SsM.
 
 348 THE SPANISH FEIAR 
 
 In crimes unprofitable, nor do I: 
 If then I break divine and human laws, 
 No bribe but love could gain so bad a cause. 
 150 Bert. You answer nothing! 
 
 Qu. 'Tis of deep concernment, 
 
 And I a woman, ignorant and weak: 
 I leave it all to you; think, what you do, 
 You do for him I love. 
 
 Bert. [Aside.] For him she loves? 
 
 She nam'd not me; that may be Torrisniond, 
 Whom she has thrice in private seen this day; 
 Then I am fairly caught in my own snare. 
 
 I'll think again. Madam, it shall be done. 
 
 And mine be all the blame. [Exit. 
 
 Qu. O that it were! I would not do this crime, 
 160 And yet, like Heav'n, permit it to be done. 
 The priesthood grossly cheat us with free will: 
 
 Will to do what, but what Heaven first decreed? 
 Our actions then are neither good nor ill. 
 
 Since from eternal causes they proceed; 
 Our passions, fear and anger, love and hate. 
 Mere senseless engines that are mov'd by fate; 
 Like ships on stormy seas, without a guide, 
 Toss'd by the winds, and driven by the tide. 
 
 Enter Torrismond. 
 
 Tor. Am I not rudely bold, and press too often 
 170 Into your presence, madam? If I am 
 
 Qu. No more, lest 1 should chide you for your stay: 
 Where have you been? and how could you suppose 
 That I could live these two long hours without you? 
 
 Tor. O words, to charm an angel from his orb! 
 Welcome, as kindly showers to long-parch'd earth! 
 But I have been in such a dismal place. 
 Where joy ne'er enters, which the sun ne'er cheers, 
 Bound in with darkness, overspread with damps; 
 Where I have seen (if I could say I saw) 
 180 The good old king, majestic in his bonds, 
 
 And, 'midst his griefs, most venerably great : 
 
 By a dim winking lamp, which feebly broke 
 
 The gloomy vapors, he lay stretch'd along 
 
 Upon the unwholesome earth, his eyes fix'd upward; 
 
 And ever and anon a silent tear 
 
 Stole down, and trickled from his hoary beard. 
 
 Qu. O heaven, what have I done! My gentle love. 
 Here end thy sad discourse, and, for my sake, 
 Cast off these fearful melancholy thoughts. 
 
 161. cheat] Q1Q2F. cheats Q3Q4.
 
 ACT III, SCENE III 349 
 
 190 Tor. My heart is withcr'd at that piteous sight, 
 As early blossoms are with eastern blasts: 
 He sent for me, and, while I rais'd his head, 
 He threw his aged arms about my neck; 
 And, seeing that I wopt, he press'd me close: 
 So, leaning check to cheek, and eyes to eyes, 
 We mingled tears in a dumb scene of sorrow. 
 
 Qu. Forbear; you knov/ not how you wound my soul. 
 
 Tor. Can you have grief, and not have pity too? 
 He told me, when my father did return, 
 200 He had a wondrous secret to disclose: 
 
 He kiss'd me, bless'd me, nay, he call'd me son; 
 He prais'd my courage; pray'd for my success: 
 He was so true a father of his country, 
 To thank me for defending ev'n his foes, 
 Because they were his subjects. 
 
 ^M. If they be. 
 
 Then what am I? 
 
 Tor. The sovereign of my soul, my earthly heaven. 
 
 Qu. And not your queen? 
 
 Tor. You are so beautiful. 
 
 So wondrous fair, you justify rebellion ; 
 210 As if that faultless face could make no sin, 
 But heaven, with looking on it, must forgive. 
 
 Qu. The king must die, he must, my Torrismond, 
 Tho' pity softly plead within my soul; 
 Yet he must die, that I may make you great, 
 And give a crown in dowry with my love. 
 
 Tor. Perish that crown — on any head but yours! 
 
 0, recollect your thoughts! 
 
 Shake not his hourglass, when his hasty sand 
 Is ebbing to the last: 
 220 A little longer, yet a little longer, 
 
 And nature drops him down, without your sin; 
 Like mellow fruit, without a winter storm. 
 
 ^M. Let me but do this one injustice more. 
 His doom is past ; and, for your sake, he dies. 
 
 Tor. Would you, for me, have done so ill an act, 
 And will not do a good one! 
 
 Now, by your joys on earth, your hopes in heaven, 
 O spare this great, this good, this aged king; 
 And spare your soul the crime! 
 
 Q^- The crime's not mine; 
 
 230 Twas first propos'd, and must be done, by Bertran, 
 Fed with false hopes to gain my crown and me; 
 
 1, to inhanco his ruin, gave no leave, 
 
 But barely bade him think, and then resolve. 
 
 Tor. In not forbidding, you command the crime : 
 Think, timely think, on the last dreadful dav,
 
 350 THE SPANISH FEIAE 
 
 How will you treniblo, tliorc to stand expos'd, 
 And foremost, in the rank of guilty ghosts, 
 That must be doom'd for murther! think on murther: 
 That troop is plac'd apart from common crimes; 
 240 The danin'd themselves start wide, and shun that band, 
 As far more black and more forlorn then they. 
 
 Qu. 'Tis terrible! It shakes, it staggers me; 
 I knew this truth, but I repell'd that thought. 
 Sure there is none but fears a future state; 
 And, when the most obdurate swear they do not. 
 Their trembling hearts belie their boasting tongues. 
 
 Enter Teresa. 
 
 Send speedily to Bertran; charge him strictly 
 Not to proceed, but wait my farther pleasure. 
 
 Ter. Madam, he sends to tell you, 'tis perform'd. [Exit 
 
 250 ■^'^^' "^^^ thousand plagues consume him! Furies drag him! 
 Fiends tear him! Blasted be the arm that strook, 
 The tongue that order'd ! — only she be spar'd. 
 That hinder'd not the deed! O where was then 
 The power that guards the sacred lives of kings? 
 Why slept the lightning and the thunderbolts, 
 Or beat their idle rage on fields and trees. 
 When vengeance call'd 'em here? 
 
 Qu. Sleep that thought too; 
 
 'Tis done, and, since 'tis done, 'tis past recall; 
 And, since 'tis past recall, must be forgotten. 
 260 Tor. O, never, never shall it be forgotten! 
 High heaven will not forget it; after- ages 
 Shall with a fearful curse remember ours; 
 And blood shall never leave the nation more! 
 
 Qu. His body shall be royally interr'd. 
 And the last funeral pomps adorn his hearse; 
 I will myself (as I have cause too just) 
 Be the chief mourner at his obsequies; 
 And yearly fix on the revolving day 
 The solemn marks of mourning, to atone 
 270 And expiate my offenses. 
 
 Tor. Nothing can. 
 
 But bloody vengeance on that traitor's head, — 
 Which, dear, departed spirit, here I vow. 
 
 Qu. Here end our sorroAvs, and begin our joys: 
 Love calls, my Torrismond; tho' hate has rag'd, 
 And rul'd the day, yet love will rule the night. 
 The spiteful stars have shed their venom down. 
 
 And now the peaceful planets take their turn. 
 
 , . „ , ^ 
 
 251. strook] QqF. struck SsM. 
 
 250. must] Q1Q2F. 't must 0SQ4. ' . 
 
 270. offenses] QqF. offence SsM, Injuring the rdeter.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE I 351 
 
 This deed of Bertran's has rcmov'd all fears, 
 
 And giv'n me just occasion to refuse Mm. 
 280 What hinders now but that the holy priest 
 
 In secret join our mutual vows? and then 
 
 This night, this happy night, is yours and mine. 
 
 Tor. Be still, my sorrows; and be loud, my joys. 
 
 Fly to the utmost circles of the sea. 
 
 Thou furious tempest, that hast toss'd my mind, 
 
 And leave no thought but Leonora there. — 
 
 What's this I feel, aboding in my soul. 
 
 As if this day were fatal? Be it so; 
 
 Fate shall but have the leavings of my love: 
 290 My joys are gloomy, but withal are great. 
 
 The lion, the' he see the toils are set. 
 
 Yet, pinch'd with raging hunger, scours away, 
 
 Hunts in the face of danger all the day; 
 
 At night, with sullen pleasure, grumbles o'er his prey. J {Exeunt. 
 
 ..} 
 
 ACT IV 
 SCENE I. — Before Gomes his Door. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo, Dominic, and two Soldiers at a distance. 
 
 Bom. I'll not wag an ace farther: the whole world shall not bribe 
 me to it; for my conscience will digest these gross enormities no longer. 
 
 Lor. How, thy conscience not digest 'em! There's ne'er a friar in 
 Spain can show a conscience that comes near it for digestion. It 
 digested pimping, when I sent thee with my letter; and it digested 
 perjury, when thou swor'st thou didst not know me: I'm sure it hag 
 digested me fifty pound of as hard gold as is in all Barbary. Pr'ythee, 
 why shouldst thou discourage fornication, when thou knowest thou lovest 
 a sweet young girl? 
 10 Dom. Away, away; I do not love 'em; — faugh; no — [Spits.'] — I do 
 not love a pretty girl you are so waggish! [Spits again. 
 
 Lor. Why, thy mouth waters at the very mention of them. 
 
 Bom. You take a mighty pleasure in defamation, colonel; but I 
 Monder what you find in running restless up and down, breaking your 
 brains, emptying your purse, and wearing out your body with hunting 
 after unlawful game. 
 
 Lor. Why, there's the satisfaction on 't. 
 
 Bom. This incontinency may proceed to adultery, and adultery to 
 murther, and murther to hanging; and there's the satisfaction on 't. 
 
 2S7. nhnrliug] QqF. a hodiny SsM. 
 
 28!>. but /Kue] giQ2F. have but Q3Q4. 
 
 291. see] QqF. hccx SsM. 
 
 S. TTifj-e '8] QqF. T/icre ».s SsM. 
 
 7. pound] Qq. pouuda FSsM.
 
 352 THE SPANISH FEIAR 
 
 20 Lor. I'll not hang alone, friar: I'm resolv'd to peach thee before 
 thy superiors for what thou hast done already. 
 
 Dom. I'm resolv'd to forswear it, if you do. Let me advise you 
 better, colonel, then to accuse a churchman to a churchman: in the 
 common cause we are all of a piece; we hang together. 
 
 Lor. [Aside.'\ If you don't, it were no matter if you did. 
 
 Bom. Nay, if you talk of peaching, I'll peach first, and see whose 
 
 oath will be believ'd; I'll trounce you for offering to corrupt my 
 
 honesty, and bribe my conscience: you shall be summon'd by an host of 
 
 paritors; you shall be sentenc'd in the spiritual court; you shall be 
 
 30 excommunicated; you shall be outlaw'd; and 
 
 [Here Lorenzo talces a purse, and plays with it, and at last lets 
 the purse fall chinl^ing on the ground, which the Friar eyes. 
 [In another tone.] I say, a man might do this now, if he were maliciously 
 dispos'd, and had a mind to bring matters to extremity: but, considering 
 that you are my friend, a person of honor, and a worthy good charitable 
 man, I would rather die a thousand deaths then disoblige you. 
 
 [Lorenzo talces up the purse, and pours it into the Friar's sleeve. 
 Nay, good sir; nay, dear colonel; O Lord, sir, what are you doing now! 
 I profess this must not be: without this I would have serv'd you to the 
 uttermost; pray, command me. A jealous, foul-mouth'd rogue this 
 Gomez is; I saw how he us'd you, and you mark'd how he us'd me too. 
 O, he's a bitter man; but we'll join our forces; ah, shall we, colonel? 
 40 we'll be reveng'd on him with a witness. 
 
 Lor. But how shall I send her word to be ready at the door? for I 
 must reveal it in confession to you that I mean to carry her away this 
 evening, by the help of these two soldiers. I know Gomez suspects you, 
 and you will hardly gain admittance. 
 
 Dom. Let me alone; I fear him not. I am arm'd with the authority 
 of my clothing: yonder I see him keeping sentry at his door. Have you 
 never seen a citizen, in a cold morning, clapping his sides, and walking 
 forward and backward a mighty pace before his shop? But I'll gain 
 the pass in spite of his suspicion; stand you aside, and do but mark 
 50 how I accost him. 
 
 Lor. If he meet with a repulse, we must throw off the fox's skin, 
 and put on the lion's. Com.e, gentlemen, you'll stand by me? 
 Sol. Do not doubt us, colonel. 
 
 [They retire all three to a corner of the stage; Dominic 
 goes to the door where Gomez stands. 
 Dom. Good even, Gomez; how does your wife? 
 
 Gom. Just as you would have her; thinking on nothing but her dear 
 colonel, and conspiring cuckoldom against me. 
 
 Dom. I dare say, you wrong her; she is employing her thoughts 
 how to cure you of your jealousy. 
 Gom. Yes, by certainty. 
 60 Dom. By your leave, Gomez; I have some spiritual ad^^ce to impart 
 to her on that subject. 
 
 55. j/ou would] QqF. you'd SsM.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE I 353 
 
 Gom. You may spare your instructions, if you please, father; she 
 has no farther need of them. 
 
 Doyn. How, no need of them! Do you speak in riddles? 
 
 Gom. Since you will have me speak plainer, — she has profited so 
 well already by your counsel that she can say her lesson without your 
 teaching. Do you understand me now? 
 
 Dom. I must not neglect my duty, for all that; once again, Gomez, 
 by your leave. 
 70 Gom. She's a little indispos'd at present, and it will not be con- 
 venient to disturb her. 
 
 [Dominic ofers to go hy liim, but t' other stands before him,. 
 
 Dom. Indispos'd, say you? 0, it is upon those occasions that a 
 confessor is most necessary; I think it was my good angel that sent me 
 hither so opportunely. 
 
 Gom. Aye, whose good angels sent you hither, that you best know, 
 father. 
 
 Dom. A word or two of devotion will do her no harm, I'm sure. 
 
 Gom. A little sleep will do her more good, I'm sure. You know, 
 she disburthen'd her conscience but this morning to you. 
 SO Dom. But, if she be ill this afternoon, she may have new occasion 
 to confess. 
 
 Gom. Indeed, as you order matters with the colonel, she may have 
 occasion of confessing herself every hour. 
 
 Dom. Pray, how long has she been sick? 
 
 Gom. Lord, you will force a man to speak: why, ever since youi 
 last defeat. 
 
 Dom. This can be but some light indisposition; it will not last, and 
 I may see her. 
 
 Gom. How, not last! I say, it will last, and it shall last; she shall 
 90 be sick these seven or eight days, and perhaps longer, as I see occasion. 
 What? I know the mind of her sickness a little better then you do. 
 
 Dom. I find, then, I must bring a doctor. 
 
 Gom. And he'll bring an apothecary, with a chargeable long bill of 
 ana's: those of my family have the grace to die cheaper. In a word. 
 Sir Dominic, we understand one another's business here: I am resolv'd 
 to stand like the Swiss of my own family, to defend the entrance; you 
 may mumble over your pater nosters, if you please, and try if you can 
 make my doors fly open, and batter down my walls with bell, book, and 
 candle; but I am not of opinion that you are holy enough to commit 
 100 miracles. 
 
 Dom. Men of my order are not to be treated after this manner. 
 
 Gom. I would treat the Pope and all his cardinals in the same 
 manner, if they oflfer'd to see my wife without my leave. 
 
 Dom. I excommunicate thee from the Church, if thou dost not open; 
 there's promulgation coming out. 
 
 Gom. And I excommunicate you from my wife, if you go to that : 
 there's promulgation for promulgation, and bull for bull ; and so I 
 
 71. [f other] QqF. [the other] SsM. 
 87. light] QqF. slight SsM.
 
 354 THE SPANISH FEIAE 
 
 leave you to recreate yourself with the end of an old song : "And sorrow 
 came to the old friar." [Exit. 
 
 Lorenzo comes to him, 
 
 110 Lor. I will not ask you your success; for I overheard part of it, 
 and saw the conclusion. I find we are now put upon our last trump; 
 the fox is earth'd, but I shall send my two terriers in after him. 
 
 Sold. I warrant you, colonel, we'll unkennel him. 
 
 Lor. And make what haste you can to bring out the lady. What 
 say you, father? Burglary is but a venial sin among soldiers. 
 
 Dom. I shall absolve them, because he is an enemy of the Church. — 
 There is a proverb, I confess, which says that dead men tell no tales; 
 but let your soldiers apply it at their own perils. 
 
 Lor. What, take away a man's wife, and kill him too? The wicked- 
 120 ness of this old villain startles me, and gives me a twinge for my own 
 sin, tho' it come far short of his. Hark you, soldiers, be sure you use 
 as little violence to him as is possible. 
 
 Dom. Hold a little; I have thought better how to secure him, wdth 
 less danger to us. 
 
 Lor. O miracle, the friar is grown conscientious! 
 
 Dom. The old king, you know, is just murther'd, and the persons 
 that did it are unknown; let the soldiers seize him for one of the 
 assassinates, and let me alone to accuse him afterwards. 
 
 Lor. I cry thee mercy with all m.y heart, for suspecting a friar of 
 130 the least good nature; what, would you accuse him wrongfully? 
 
 Dom. I must confess, 'tis wrongful, quoad hoc, as to the fact itself; 
 but 'tis rightful, quoad hunc, as to this heretical rogue, whom we must 
 dispatch. He has rail'd against the Church, which is a fouler crime than 
 the murther of a thousand kings. Omne majus continet in se minus: 
 he that is an enemy to the Church, is an enemy unto heaven; and he 
 that is an enemy to heaven would have kill M the king if he had been 
 in the circumstances of doing it; so it is not wrongful to accuse him. 
 
 Lor. I never knew a churchman, if he were personally offended, but 
 
 he would bring in heaven by hook or crook into his quarrel. Soldiers, 
 
 140 do as you were first order'd. {Exeunt Soldiers. 
 
 Dom. What was 't you order'd 'em? Are you sure it's safe, and 
 not scandalous? 
 
 Lor. Somewhat near your own design, but not altogether so mis- 
 chievous. The people are infinitely discontented, as they have reason ; 
 and mutinies there are, or will be, against the queen: now I am content 
 to put him thus far into the plot, that he should be secur'd as a traitor; 
 but he shall only be prisoner at the soldiers' quarters; and when I am 
 out of reach, he shall be releas'd. 
 
 Dom. And what will become of me then? for when he is free, he 
 150 will infallibly accuse me. 
 
 110. ask you your] Q1Q2F. ask y«ur QSQ4, 
 
 121. cornel QqF- comes SsM. 
 
 139. or crook] Q1Q2F. or by crook Q3Q4. '
 
 ACT IV, SCENE I 355 
 
 Lor. Why then, father, you must have recourse to your infallible 
 church remedies; lie impudently and swear devoutly, and, as you told 
 me but now, let him try whose oath will be first believ'd. Retire, I hear 
 'em coming. [They withdraw. 
 
 Enter the Soldiers, with Gomez struggling o,i their backs. 
 
 Gom. Help, good Christians! help, neighbors! my house is broken 
 open by force, and I am ravish'd, and am like to be assassinated! 
 What do you mean, villains? \\ill you carry me away, like a pedler's 
 pack, upon your backs? will you murther a man in plain daylight? 
 
 1 Soldier. No; but we'll secure you for a traitor, and for being in 
 160 a plot against the State. 
 
 Gom. Who, I in a plot! O Lord! O Lord! I never durst be in a 
 plot. Why, how can you in conscience suspect a rich citizen of so much 
 wit as to make a plotter? There are none but poor rogues, and those 
 that can't live without it, that are in plots. 
 
 2 Soldier. Away with him, away with him. 
 
 Gom. O my gold! my wife! my wife! my gold! As I hope to be 
 sav'd now, I know no more of the plot than they that made it. 
 
 [They carry him of, and exeunt. 
 
 Lor. Thus far have we sail'd with a merry gale, and now we have 
 
 the Cape of Good Hope in sight; the trade wind is our own, if we can 
 
 170 but double it. [He looks out. — Aside.] Ah, my father and Pedro stand 
 
 at the corner of the street with company; there's no stirring till they 
 
 are past! 
 
 Enter Elvira with a casket. 
 
 Eh. Am I come at last into your arms? 
 
 Lor. Fear nothing; the adventure's ended, and the knight may 
 carry off the lady safely. 
 
 Elv. I'm so overjoy'd, I can scarce believe I am at liberty; but 
 stand panting, like a bird that has often beaten her wings in vain 
 against her cage, and at last dares hardly venture out, tho' she sees it 
 open. 
 180 Dom. Lose no time, but make haste while the way is free for you; 
 and thereupon I give you my benediction. 
 
 Lor. 'Tis not so free as you suppose; for there's an old gentleman 
 of my acquaintance that blocks up the passage at the corner of the 
 street. 
 
 Dom. What have you gotten there under your arm, daughter? 
 Somewhat, I hope, that will bear your charges in your pilgrimage. 
 
 Lor. The friar has an hawk's eye to gold and jewels. 
 
 Elv. Here's that will make you dance without a fiddle, and provide 
 
 better entertainment for us then hedges in summer, and barns in winter. 
 
 190 Here's the very heart, and soul, and life-blood of Gomez; pawns in 
 
 l')C). <iin like] QqF. SsM omit am. 
 
 187. an] QqF. a SsM. 
 
 190. life-blood] Q1Q2F. life and blood Q3Q4.
 
 356 THE SPANISH FEIAR 
 
 abundance, okl gold of widows, and new gold of prodigals, and pearls 
 and diamonds of court ladies, till the next bribe helps their husbands to 
 redeem 'em. 
 
 Bom. They are the spoils of the wicked, and the Church endows you 
 with 'em. 
 
 Lor. And, faith, we'll drink the Church's health out of them. But 
 all this while I stand on thorns. Pr'ythee, dear, look out, and see if the 
 coast be free for our escape; for I dare not peep, for fear of being 
 known. 
 
 [Elvira goes to loolc, and Gomez comes running 
 in upon her: she shrieks out. 
 
 200 Gom. Thanks to my stars, I have recover'd my own territories. — 
 What do I see? I'm ruin'd! I'm undone! I'm betray 'd! 
 
 Dom. [Aside.] What a hopeful enterprise is here spoil'd! 
 
 Gom. O, colonel, are you there? and you, friar? nay, then I find how 
 the world goes. 
 
 Lor. Cheer up, man, thou art out of jeopardy; I hoard thee crying 
 out just now, and came running in full speed, with the wings of an 
 eagle, and the feet of a tiger, to thy rescue. 
 
 Gom. Aye, you are always at hand to do me a courtesy, with your 
 eagle's feet, and your tiger's wings. And what were you here for, friar? 
 210 Dom. To interpose my spiritual authority in your behalf. 
 
 Gom. And why did you shriek out, gentlewoman? 
 
 Elv. "Twas for joy at your return. 
 
 Gom. And that casket under your arm, for what end and purpose? 
 
 Elv. Only to preserve it from the thieves. 
 
 Gom. And you came running out of doors 
 
 Elv. Only to meet you, sweet husband. 
 
 Gom. A fine evidence summ'd up among you; thank you heartily; 
 you are all my friends. The colonel was walking by accidentally, and 
 hearing my voice, came in to save me; the friar, v.ho was hobbling the 
 220 same way too, accidentally again, and not knowing of the colonel, I 
 warrant you, he comes in to pray for me; and my faithful wife runs 
 out of doors to meet me, with all my jewels under her arm, and shrieks 
 out for joy at my return. But if my father-in-law had not met your 
 soldiers, colonel, and deliver 'd me in the nick, I should neither have 
 found a friend nor a friar here, and might have shriek 'd out for joy 
 myself, for the loss of my jewels and my wife. 
 
 Do7n. Art thou an infidel? Wilt thou not believe us? 
 
 Gom. Such churchmen as you would make any man an infidel. Get 
 you into your kennel, gentlewoman ; I shall thank you within-doors for 
 230 your safe custody of my jewels and your own. 
 
 [He thrusts his wife off the stage. 
 As for you, Colonel Huffcap, we shall try before a civil magistrate, who 's 
 the greater plotter of us two, I against the State, or you against the 
 petticoat. 
 
 Lor. Nay, if you will complain, you shall for something. 
 
 [Beats him.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE II 357 
 
 Gom. Murther, murther! I give up the ghost! I am destroy'd! 
 Help, murther, murther! 
 
 Dom. Away, colonel; let us fly for our lives: the neighbors are 
 coming out with forks and fire-shovels and spits and other domestic 
 weapons; the militia of a whole alley is rais'd against us. 
 240 Lor. This is but the interest of my debt, master usurer; the prin- 
 cipal shall be paid you at our next meeting. 
 
 Dom. Ah, if your soldiers had but dispatch'd him, his tongue had 
 been laid asleep, colonel; but this comes of not following good counsel; 
 ah [Exeunt Lorenzo and Friar severally. 
 
 Gom. I'll be reveng'd of him, if I dare; but he's such a terrible 
 fellow that my mind misgives me ; I shall tremble when I have him 
 before the judge. Ail my misfortunes come together. I have been 
 robb'd, and cuckolded, and ravish'd, and beaten, in one quarter of an 
 hour; my poor limbs smart, and my poor head aches: aye, do, do, smart 
 250 limb, ache head, and sprout horns; but I"ll be hang'd before I'll pity 
 you. You must needs be married, must ye? There's for that — [Beats 
 his own head] — And to a fine young, modish lady, must ye? There's for 
 that too; and, at threescore, you old, doting cuckold! Take that remem- 
 brance. A fine time of day for a man to be bound prentice, when he 
 
 is past using of his trade; to set up an equipage of noise, when he has 
 most need of quiet; instead of her being under covert-baron, to be under 
 covert-feme myself; to have my body disabled, and my head fortified; 
 and lastly, to be crowded into a narrow box with a shrill treble, 
 
 That with one blast thro' the whole house does bound, 
 260 And first taught speaking trumpets how to sound. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE U.—The Court. 
 Enter Raymond, Alphonso, Pedro. 
 
 Raym. Are these, are these, ye powers, the promis'd joys, 
 With which I flatter'd my long, tedious absence. 
 To find, at my return, my master murther'd? 
 O that I could but weep, to vent my passion ! 
 But this dry sorrow burns up all my tears. 
 
 Alph. Mourn inward, brother; 'tis observ'd at court 
 Who weeps, and who wears black; and your return 
 Will fix all eyes on every act of yours, 
 To see how you resent King Sancho's death. 
 10 Kaym. What generous man can live with that constraint 
 Upon his soul, to bear, much less to flatter, 
 A court like this! Can I soothe tj'ranny? 
 Seem pleas'd to see my royal master murther'd, 
 His crown usurp'd, a distaff in the throne, 
 A council made of such as dare not speak, 
 And could not, if they durst; whence honest men 
 
 TA't. I am] QIK. I'm Q2Qr',(H. 
 iJ5H. int<)\ QIQ'-'F. in (i'.'AiA.
 
 358 THE SPANISH FEIAE 
 
 Banish themselves, for shame of being there: 
 A government that, knowing not true wisdom. 
 Is scorn'd abroad, and lives on tricks at home? 
 20 Alph. Virtue must be thrown off; 'tis a coarse garment, 
 Too heavy for the sunshine of a court. 
 
 Eaym. Well then, I will dissemble, for an end 
 So great, so pious, as a just revenge: 
 You'll join with me? 
 
 Alph. No honest man but must. 
 
 Fed. What title has this queen, but lawless force? 
 And force must pull her down. 
 
 Alph. Truth is, I pity Leonora's case; 
 Forc'd, for her safety, to commit a crime, 
 Which most her soul abhors. 
 30 Eaym. All she has done, or e'er can do, of good, 
 This one black deed has damn'd. 
 
 Fed. You'll hardly gain your son to our desigii. 
 
 Eaym. Your reason for 't? 
 
 Fed. I want time to unriddle it: 
 
 Put on your t'other face, the queen approaches. 
 
 Enter the Queen, Bertran, and Attendants. 
 
 Eaym. And that accursed Bertran 
 Stalks close behind her, like a witch's fiend. 
 Pressing to be employ'd ; stand, and observe them. 
 
 Qu. [To Bert.] Buried in private, and so suddenly! 
 It crosses my design, which was t' allow 
 40 The rites of funeral fitting his degree. 
 With all the pomp of mourning. 
 
 Bert. It was not safe: 
 
 Objects of pity, when the cause is new. 
 Would work too fiercely on the giddy crowd : 
 Had Cassar's body never been expos'd, 
 Brutus had gain'd his cause. 
 
 Qu. Then, was he lov'd? 
 
 Bert. 0, never man so much, for saintlike goodness. 
 
 Fed. [Aside.} Had bad men fear'd him, but as good men lov'd him, 
 He had not yet been sainted. 
 
 Qu. I wonder how the people bear his death. 
 50 Bert. Some discontent there are; some idle murmurs. 
 
 Fed. How, idle murmurs! Let me plainly speak: 
 The doors are all shut up; the wealthier sort. 
 With arms across, and hats upon their eyes, 
 Walk to and fro before their silent shops; 
 
 21. court] Q8Q4 here add: 
 
 Yet I have seen even there an honest man. 
 
 That is, as honest as a court can hear; 
 
 For courtiers are to be accounted good, 
 
 When they arc not the last and worst of men. 
 ^^. r allow] QqF. to allow SsM. 
 50. discontent Ql. discontents Q2Q3Q4FRsM.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE It 359 
 
 Whole droves of lenders crowd the bankers' doors 
 To call in money; those who have none mark 
 Where money goes; for, when they rise, 'tis plunder: 
 The rabble gather round the man of news, 
 And listen with their mouths; 
 60 Some tell, some hear, some judge of news, some make it; 
 And he, who lies most loud, is most believ'd. 
 Qu. This may be dangerous. 
 
 Raym. [Aside.] Pray heaven it may! 
 
 Bert. If one of you must fall, 
 Self-preservation is the first of laws; 
 And if, -when subjects are oppress'd by kings, 
 They justify rebellion by that law, 
 As well may monarchs turn the edge of right 
 To cut for them, when self-defense requires it. 
 Qu. You place such arbitrary power in kings, 
 70 That I much fear, if I should make you one, 
 You'll make yourself a tyrant; let these know 
 By what authority you did this act. 
 
 Bert. You much surprise me, to demand that question: 
 But, since truth must be told, 'twas by your own. 
 
 Qu. Produce it; or, by heaven, your head shall answer 
 The forfeit of your tongue. 
 
 Eaym. [Aside.] Brave mischief towards. 
 
 Bert. You bade me. 
 Qu. When, and where? 
 
 Bert. No, I confess, you bade me not in words; 
 The dial spoke not, but it made shrcwil signs, 
 80 And pointed full upon the stroke of murther: 
 Yet this you said. 
 
 You were a woman, ignorant and weak, 
 So left it to my care. 
 
 Qu. What, if I said 
 
 I was a woman, ignorant and weak. 
 Were you to take th' advantage of my sex, 
 Anl play the devil to tempt me? You contriv'd, 
 You urg'd, you drove me headlong to your toils; 
 And if, much tir'd, and frighted more, I paus'd, 
 Were you to make my doubts your own commission? 
 90 Bert. This 'tis to serve a prince too faithfully; 
 Who, free from laws himself, will have that done. 
 Which, not perform'd, brings us to sure disgrace; 
 And, if perform'd, to ruin. 
 
 Qu. Tliis 'tis, to counsel things that are unjust; 
 First, to debauch a king to break his laws 
 (Which are his safety), and then seek protection 
 From him you have cndangcr'd; but just Heaven, 
 When sins are judg'd, will damn the tempting devil 
 More deep than those he tempted.
 
 360 THE SPANISH FRIAR 
 
 100 Bert. If princes not protect their ministers, 
 What man will dare to serve them? 
 
 Qu. None will dara 
 
 To serve them ill, when they are left to laws; 
 But, when a counselor, to save himself, 
 Would lay miscarriages upon his prince, 
 Exposing him to public rage and hate; 
 O, 'tis an act as infamously base. 
 As, should a common soldier skulk behind 
 And thrust his general in the front of war: 
 It shews he only serv'd himself before, 
 110 And had no sense of honor, country, king. 
 But center'd on himself, and us'd his master 
 As guardians do their wards, with shows of care, 
 But with intent to sell the public safety. 
 And pocket up his prince. 
 
 Fed. [Aside.] Well said, i' faith; 
 
 This speech is e'en too good for an usurper. 
 
 Bert. I see for whom I must be sacrific'd; 
 And, had I not been sotted with my zeal, 
 I might have found it sooner. 
 
 Qm. From my sight! 
 
 The prince who bears an insolence like this 
 120 Is such an image of the powers above 
 As is the statue of the thund'ring god. 
 Whose bolts the boys may play with. 
 
 Bert. Unreveng M 
 
 I will not fall, nor single. [Exit cum suis. 
 
 Qu. [To Raymond, who kisses her hand.] Welcome welcome! 
 I saw you not before; one honest lord 
 Is hid with ease among a crowd of courtiers. 
 How can I be too grateful to the father 
 Of such a son as Torrismond? 
 
 Eaym. His actions were but duty. 
 
 Qu. Yet, my lord, 
 
 All have not paid that debt like noble Torrismond; 
 130 You hear how Bertran brands me with a crime, 
 Of which, your son can witness, I am free. 
 I sent to stop the murther, but too late; 
 For crimes are swift, but penitence is slow: 
 The bloody Bertran, diligent in ill. 
 Flew to prevent the soft returns of pity. 
 
 Eaym. O cursed haste, of making sure a sin! 
 Can you forgive the traitor? 
 
 Qn. Never, never: 
 
 'Tis written here in characters so deep. 
 
 That seven years hence (till then should I not meet him), 
 140 And in the temple then, I'll drag him thence, 
 Ev'n from the holv altar to the block.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE II 361 
 
 Raym. [Aside.'\ She's fir'd, as I would wish her; aid me, Justice, 
 As all my ends are thine, to gain this point, 
 Ana ruin both at once. — [To her.] It wounds, indeed. 
 To bear affronts too great to be forgiven. 
 And not liave power to punish; yet one way 
 There is to ruin Bertran. 
 
 Qu. O, there's none; 
 
 Except an host from heaven can make such haste 
 To save my crown as he will do to seize it. 
 150 You saw, he came surrounded with his friends, 
 And knew, besides, our army was remov'd 
 To quarters too remote for sudden use. 
 
 Maym. Yet you may give commission 
 To some bold man, whose loyalty you trust, 
 And let him raise the train-bands of the city. 
 
 Qu. Gross feeders, lion talkers, lamblike fighters. 
 
 Raym. You do not know the virtues of your city, 
 What pushing force they have; some popular chief. 
 More noisy than the rest, but cries "Halloo," 
 160 And, in a trice, the bellowing herd come out; 
 The gates are barr'd, the ways are barricudoed, 
 And ' ' One and all ' ' 's the word ; true cocks of th ' game, 
 That never ask for what, or whom, they fight ; 
 But turn 'em out, and shew 'em but a foe. 
 Cry ' ' Liberty ! ' ' and that 's a cause of quarrel. 
 
 Qu. There may be danger in that boist'rous rout: 
 Who knows, when fires are kindled for my foes, 
 But some new blast of wind may turn those flames 
 Against my palace walls? 
 
 Raym. But still their chief 
 
 170 Must be some one whose loyalty you trust. 
 
 Qu. And wlio more proper for that trust t'nen you, 
 Whose interests, tho' unknown to you, are mine? 
 Alphonso, Pedro, haste to raise the rabble; 
 He shall appear to head 'em. 
 
 Raym. [Asid« to Alph. atid Ped.] First seize Bertran, 
 And then insinuate to them, that I bring 
 Their lawful prince to place upon the throne. 
 
 Alph. Our lawful prince! 
 
 Raym. Fear not; I can produce him. 
 
 Fed. [To Alph.] Now wc want 
 
 Your son Lorenzo: what a mighty faction 
 180 Would he make for us of the city wives, 
 
 With: "O dear husband, my sweet honey husband, 
 
 162. of th' oame] QqF. o' the game SsM. 
 
 173. Alphonso] QIF. In Q2Q:{Q4 this word bpcomes a speech-heading. 
 178, 179. Now . . . fiiiHon] The te.xt follows y3Q4. Tho words are 
 arranged as one line in CJl(j21•'^^sM, to the detriment of the meter.
 
 362 THE SPANISH FRIAR 
 
 Won't you be for the colonel? If you love me, 
 
 Be for the colonel; O he's the finest man!" [Exeunt Alphonso, Pedro. 
 
 Eaym. [Aside.] So, now we have a plot behind the plot. 
 She thinks, she's in the depth of my design. 
 And that it 's all for her; but time shall show 
 She only lives to help me ruin others, 
 And last, to fall herself. 
 
 Qu. Now, to you, Raymond: can you guess no reason 
 190 Why I repose such confidence in you? 
 You needs must think 
 
 There's some more powerful cause then loyalty: 
 Will you not speak, to save a lady's blush? 
 Must I inform you, 'tis for Torrismond 
 That all this grace is shown? 
 
 Eaym. [Aside.] By all the powers, worse, worse then what I fear'd! 
 
 Qu. And yet, what need I blush at such a choice? 
 I love a man whom I am proud to love. 
 And am well pleas'd my inclination gives 
 200 What gratitude would force. O pardon me; 
 I ne 'er was covetous of wealth before, 
 Yet think so vast a treasure as your son 
 Too great for any private man's possession; 
 And him too rich a jewel, to be set 
 In vulgar metal, or for vulgar use. 
 
 Eaym. Arm me with patience, heaven! 
 
 Qu- How, patience, Raymond? 
 
 What exercise of patience have you here? 
 What find you in my crown to be contemn'd; 
 Or in my person loath'd? Have I, a queen, 
 210 Pass'd by my fellow-rulers of the world. 
 
 Whose vying crowns lay glittering in my way. 
 As if the world were pav'd with diadems? 
 Have I refus'd their blood, to mix with yours, 
 And raise new kings from so obscure a race 
 Fate scarce knew where to find them, when I call'd? 
 Have I heap'd on my person, crown, and state, 
 To load the scale, and weigh'd myself with earth. 
 For you to spurn the balance? 
 
 Eaym. Bate the last, and 'tis what I would say: 
 220 Can I, can any loyal subject, see 
 
 With patience, such a stoop from sovereignty. 
 
 An ocean pour'd upon a narrow brook? 
 
 My zeal for you m.ust lay the father by. 
 
 And plead my country's cause against my son. 
 
 What tho' his heart be great, his actions gallant. 
 
 186. it 's] QqF. 't is SsM. 
 194. 2/w.s/] QqF. Jiceil SsM. 
 198. u-}wm] Q1Q2F. nho Q3Q4.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE II 363 
 
 He wants a crown to poise against a crown, 
 
 Birth to match birth, and power to balance power. 
 Qu. All these 1 have, and these I can bestow; 
 
 But he brings worth and virtue to my bed; 
 230 And virtue is the wealth which tyrants want: 
 
 I stand in need of one Mhose glories may 
 
 Eedeeni my crimes, ally me to his fame, 
 
 Dispel the factions of my foes on earth, 
 
 Disarm the justice of the powers above. 
 
 Eaym. The people never will endure this choice. 
 Qu. If I endure it, what imports it you? 
 
 Go, raise the ministers of my revenge. 
 
 Guide with your breath this whirling tempest round, 
 
 And see its fury fall where I design. 
 240 At last a time for just revenge is given; 
 
 Revenge, the darling attribute of heaven: 
 
 But nuin, unlike his Maker, bears too long; 
 
 Still more expos'd, the more he pardons wrong; 
 
 Great in forgiving, and in suffering brave; 
 
 To be a saint, he makes himself a slave. [Exit Queen. 
 
 Eaym. [tioliis.] Marriage with Torrisinond! it must not be, 
 
 By heaven, it must not be! or, if it be, 
 
 Law, justice, honor, bid farewell to earth. 
 
 For heaven leaves all to tyrants. 
 
 Enter Torrismond, tr/to kneels to him. 
 
 250 Tor. O, ever welcome, sir! 
 
 iiut doubly now! You come in such a time. 
 
 As if propitious fortune took a care 
 
 To swell my tide of joys to their full height, 
 
 And leave me nothing farther to desire. 
 
 Eaym. I hope, 1 come in time, if not to mabe, 
 
 At least to save your fortune and your honor. 
 
 Take heed you steer your vessel right, my son; 
 
 This calm of heaven, this mernuiid's melody, 
 
 Into an unseen whirlpool draws you fast, 
 260 And, in a moment, sinks you. 
 
 Tor. Fortune cannot, 
 
 And fate can scarce; I've made the port already, 
 
 And laugh securely at the lazy storm 
 
 That wanted wings to reach me in the deep. 
 
 Your pardon, sir; my duty calls me hence; 
 
 I go to find my queen, my earthly go<ldess. 
 
 To whom 1 owe my hopes, my life, my love. 
 
 Eaym. You owe her more, perhaps, than you imagine; 
 
 Stay, I command you stay, and hear me first. 
 
 This hour's the very crisis of your fate; 
 270 Your good or ill, your infamy or fame,
 
 364 THE SPANISH FEIAE 
 
 And all the color of your life, depends 
 On this important now. 
 
 Tor. I see no danger; 
 
 The city, army, court, espouse my cause, 
 And, more then all, the queen, with public favor, 
 Indulges my pretensions to her love. 
 
 Raym. Nay, if possessing her can make you happy, 
 'Tis granted, nothing hinders your design. 
 
 Tor. If she can make me blest? She only can; 
 Empire, and wealth, and all she brings beside, 
 280 Are but the train and trappings of her love: 
 The sweetest, kindest, truest of her sex, 
 In whose possession years roll round on years. 
 And joys, in circles, meet new joys again; 
 Kisses, embraces, languishing, and death. 
 Still from each other to each other move. 
 To crown the various seasons of our love; — 
 And doubt you if such love can make me happy? 
 
 Eaym. Yes; for I think you love your honor more. 
 
 Tor. And what can shock my honor in a queen? 
 290 Eaym. A tyrant, an usurper? 
 
 Tor. Grant she be; 
 
 When from the conqueror we hold our lives, 
 We yield ourselves his subjects from that hour; 
 For mutual benefits make mutual ties. 
 
 Eaym. Why, can you think I owe a thief my life, 
 Because he took it not by lawless force? 
 What if he did not all the ill he could? 
 Am I oblig'd by that t' assist his rapines, 
 And to maintain his murthers? 
 
 Tor. Not to maintain, but bear 'em unreveng'd. 
 300 Kings' titles commonly begin by force, 
 
 Which time wears off, and mellows into right; 
 So power, which in one age is tyranny. 
 Is ripen 'd in the next to true succession: 
 She's in possession. 
 
 Eaym. So diseases are : 
 
 Should not a ling'ring fever be remov'd, 
 Because it long has rag'd within my blood? 
 Do I rebel, when 1 would thrust it out? 
 What, shall I think the world was made for one, 
 And men are born for kings, as beasts for men, 
 310 Not for protection, but to be devour'd? 
 Mark those who dote on arbitrary power, 
 And you shall find 'em either hot-brain'd youth, 
 Or needy bankrupts, servile in their greatness, 
 And slaves to some, to lord it o'er the rest. 
 
 297. V assist] QqF. to assist SsM.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE II 365 
 
 baseness, to support a tyrant throne, 
 
 And crush your freeborn brethren of the world! 
 Nay, to become a part of usurpation; 
 To espouse the tyrant's person and her crimes, 
 And, on a tyrant, get a race of tyrants, 
 320 To be your country's curse in after ages. 
 
 Tor. I see no crime in her whom I adore, 
 Or, if I do, her beauty makes it none: 
 Look on me as a man abandon'd o'er 
 To an eternal lethargy of love; 
 To pull, and pinch, and wound me, cannot cure. 
 And but disturb the quiet of my deatli. 
 
 Bay in. O virtue, virtue! what art thou become. 
 That men should leave thee for that toy, a woman, 
 Made from the dross and refuse of a man! 
 330 Heaven took him sleeping when he made her too; 
 Had man been waking, he had ne'er consented. 
 Now, son, suppose 
 
 Some brave conspiracy were ready form'd, 
 To punish tyrants, and redeem the land, 
 Could you so far belie your country's hope. 
 As not to head the party? 
 
 2'or. How could my hand rebel against my heart? 
 
 Eaym. How could your heart rebel against your reason? 
 
 Tor. No honor bids me fight against myself; 
 340 The royal family is all extinct, 
 
 And she who reigns bestows her crown on me : 
 
 So must I be ungrateful to the living. 
 
 To be but vainly pious to the dead. 
 
 While you defraud your offspring of their fate. 
 
 Eaym. Mark who defraud their offspring, you or I? 
 For know, there yet survives the lawful heir 
 Of Sancho's blood, whom when I shall produce, 
 I rest assur'd to see you pale with fear, 
 And trembling at his name. 
 ■^^ Tor. He must be more then man, who makes me tremble. 
 
 1 dare him to the field, with all the odds 
 Of justice on his side, against my tyrant: 
 Produce your lawful prince, and you shall see 
 How brave a rebel love has made your son. 
 
 Eaym. Read that; 'tis with the royal signet sign'd. 
 And given me by the king, when time should serve, 
 To be perus'd by you. 
 
 Tor. YEcads.] "I, the King. 
 My youngest and alone surviving son, 
 Reported dead, t' escape rebellious rage, 
 3gQ Til! hnppior times shall call his courage forth, 
 
 328. men] Q.-jF. man S.sM,
 
 366 THE SPANISH FKIAE 
 
 To break my fetters, or revenge my fate, 
 I will that Raymond educate as his, 
 
 And call him Torrismond " 
 
 If I am he, that son, that Torrismond, 
 The world contains not so forlorn a wretch! 
 Let never man believe he can be happy! 
 For, when I thought my fortune most secure. 
 One fatal moment tears me from my joys; 
 And when two hearts were join'd by mutual love, 
 370 The sword of justice cuts upon the knot, 
 And severs 'em for ever. 
 
 Eaym. True, it must. 
 
 Tor. O cruel man, to tell me that it must! 
 If you have any pity in your breast. 
 Redeem me from this labyrinth of fate, 
 And plunge me in my first obscurity. 
 The secret is alone between us two ; 
 And tho' you would not hide me from myself, 
 
 yet be kind, conceal me from the world. 
 And be my father still! 
 
 380 Eaym. Your lot's too glorious, and the proof's too plain. 
 Now, in the name of honor, sir, I beg you, 
 (Since 1 must use authority no more,) 
 On these old knees, I beg you, ere I die. 
 That I may see your father's death reveng"d. 
 
 Tor. Why, 'tis the only business of my life; 
 My order's issued to recall the army, 
 And Bertran's death resolv'd. 
 
 Eaym. And not the queen's? O, she"s the chief offender! 
 Shall justice turn her edge within your hand? 
 390 No, if she scape, you are yourself the tyrant. 
 And murtherer of your father. 
 
 Tor. Cruel fates! 
 
 To what have you reservd me? 
 
 Eaym. Why that sigh? 
 
 Tor. Since you must know,— but break, O break, my heart. 
 Before I tell my fatal story out! — 
 Th' usurper of my throne, my house's ruin! 
 The murtherer of my father, is my wife! 
 
 Eaym. O horror, horror! After this alliance. 
 Let tigers match with hinds, and wolves with sheep, 
 And every creature couple with his foe. 
 400 How vainly man designs, when heaven opposes! 
 
 1 bred you up to arms, rais'd you to power. 
 Permitted you to fight for this usurper, 
 Indeed to save a crown, not hers, but yours. 
 All to make sure the vengeance of this day, 
 
 387. death] QqF. death's SsM. 
 
 398, ivolves] Q3Q4. wolfa QIF. woolvea Q2,
 
 ACT V, SCENE I 367 
 
 Which even this day has ruin 'd. One more question 
 
 Let me but ask, and I have done for ever: 
 
 Do you yet love the cause of all your woes, 
 
 Or is she grown (as sure she ought to be) 
 
 More odious to your sight than toads and adders? 
 410 Tor. O there's the utmost malice of my fate, 
 
 That I am bound to hate, and born to love! 
 
 Raym. No more! — Farewell, my much-lamented king! 
 
 [Aside.] I dare not trust him with himself so far, 
 
 To own him to the people as their king. 
 
 Before their rage has finish 'd my designs 
 
 On Bertran and the queen; but in despite, 
 
 Ev'n of himself, I'll save him. [Exit. 
 
 Tor. 'Tis but a moment since I have been king. 
 
 And weary on 't already; I'm a lover, 
 420 And lov'd, possess: yet all these make mo wretched. 
 
 And heav'n has giv'n me blessings for a curse. 
 
 With what a load of vengeance am I prcss'd, 
 
 Yet, never, never, can I hope for rest ; 
 
 For when my heavy burthen I remove. 
 
 The weight falls down, and crushes her I love. [Exit. 
 
 ACT V 
 
 SCENE l.—A Bedchamber. 
 
 Enter Torrismond. 
 
 Tor. Lovfc, justice, nature, pity, and revenge, 
 Have kindled up a wildfire in my breast, 
 And I am all a civil war within! 
 
 Enter Queen and Teresa, at a distance. 
 
 My Leonora there! 
 
 Mine! is she mine? my father's murtherer mine? 
 
 that 1 could, with honor, love her more. 
 
 Or hate her less, with reason! See, she weeps! 
 Thinks me unkind, or false, and knows not why 
 
 1 thus estrange my person from her bed! 
 
 10 Shall I not tell her? — No; 'twill break her heart; 
 
 She'll know too soon her own and my misfortunes. [Exit. 
 
 Qu. He's gone, and I am lost; didst thou not see 
 His sullen eyes? how gloomily they glanc'd? 
 He look 'd not like the Torrismond I lov'd. 
 
 Ter. Can you not guess from whence this change proceeds! 
 
 Qu. No: there's the grief, Teresa: O, Teresa! 
 Fain would I tell thee what I feel within. 
 But shame and modesty have tied my tongue! 
 Yet, I will tell, that thou may 'st weep with me. —
 
 368 THE SPANISH FRIAK 
 
 20 How tlear, how sweet his first embraces were! 
 With what a zeal he join'd liis lips to mine! 
 And suck'd my breath at every word I spoke, 
 As if he drew his inspiration thence : 
 While both our souls came upward to our mouths, 
 As neighboring monarchs at their borders meet ; 
 I thought — O, no; "tis false! I could not think; 
 'Twas neither life nor death, but both in one. 
 
 Ter. Then, sure his transports were not less than yours. 
 
 Qu. More, more! for, by the high-hung tapers' light, 
 30 I could discern his cheeks were glowing red, 
 His very eyeballs trembled with his love, 
 And sparkled thro' their casements humid fires; 
 He sigh'd, and kiss'd; breath 'd short, and would have spoke, 
 But was too fierce to throw away the time; 
 All he could say was "love"' and '"Leonora."' 
 
 Ter. How, then, can you suspect him lost so soon? 
 
 Qu. Last night he flew not with a bridegroom"s haste, 
 Which eagerly prevents the pointed hour: 
 I told the clocks, and watch'd the wasting light, 
 40 And listen'd to each softly-treading step. 
 In hope 'twas he; biit still it was not he. 
 At last he came, but with such alter'd looks, 
 So wild, so ghastly, as if some ghost had met him: 
 All pale and speechless, he survey'd me round; 
 Then, with a groan, he threw himself abed, 
 But far from me, as far as he could move, 
 And sigh'd, and toss'd, and turn'd, but still from me. 
 
 Ter. What, all the night? 
 
 ^w- Even all the livelong night. 
 
 At last, (for, blushing, I must tell thee all,) 
 50 I press'd his hand, and laid me by his side; 
 
 He pull'd it back, as if he touch'd a serpent. 
 
 With that I burst into a flood of tears, 
 
 And ask'd him how I had offended him. 
 
 He answer 'd nothing, but with sighs and groans; 
 
 So, restless, pass'd the night; and, at the dawn. 
 
 Leapt from the bed and vanish'd. 
 
 Ter. Sighs and groans, 
 
 Paleness and trembling, all are signs of love; 
 
 He only fears to make you share his sorrows. 
 
 Qu. I wish 'twere so; but love still doubts the worst; 
 60 My heavy heart, the prophetess of woes. 
 
 Forebodes some ill at hand: to soothe my sadness. 
 
 Sing me the song which poor Olympia made 
 
 When false Bircno left her. — 
 
 ■28. vot less] Q1Q2F. vn Inta 0.304. 
 
 :12. casemciitx'] OqF. casmiciifx Ss. casements' M, 
 
 38. pointed] QqF. appointed SsM,
 
 ACT V, SCENE I 369 
 
 A SONG 
 
 I. 
 Farewell, migrate fid traitor! 
 
 Farewell, my perjur'd swain! 
 Let never injur'd creature 
 
 Believe a mart again. 
 The pleasure of possessing 
 Surpasses all expressing, 
 jQ But 'tis too short a blessing. 
 
 And love too long a pain. 
 
 II. 
 'Tis easy to deceive us, 
 
 In pity of your pain; 
 But when we love, you leave us, 
 
 To rail at you in vairi. 
 Before we have descried it, 
 There is no bliss beside it; 
 But she, that once has tried it, 
 
 Wi'd never love again. 
 
 III. 
 IQ The passion you pretended, 
 
 Was only to obtain; 
 But when the charm is ended. 
 
 The charmer you disdain. 
 Tour love by ours we measure. 
 Till we have lost our treasure; 
 But dying is a pleasure. 
 When living is a pain. 
 
 Be'enter Torrismond. 
 
 Tor. Still she is here, and still I cannot speak; 
 But wander, like some discontented ghost 
 90 That oft appears, Ijiit is forbid to talk. [Going again. 
 
 Qu. O Torrismond, if you resolve my death. 
 You need no more but to go hence again : 
 Will you not speak? 
 
 Tor. I cannot. 
 
 Qu. Speak! speak! 
 
 Your anger would be kinder than your silence. 
 
 Tor. O! 
 
 Qu. Do not sigh, or tell me why you sigh. 
 
 Tor. Why do I live, ye powers? 
 
 Qu. Why do I live to hear you speak that wonl ? 
 Some black-mouth'd villain has dcfam'd my virtue. 
 
 [A SONG] Q<iF. Ss.M omit A.
 
 370 THE SPANISH FEIAR 
 
 Tor. No, no! Pray let me go. 
 
 Qu. [Kneeling.^ You shall not go! 
 
 100 By all the pleasures of our nuptial bed, 
 If ever I was lov 'd, tho' now I'm not, 
 By these true tears, which, from my wounded heart, 
 Bleed at my eyes 
 
 Tor. Eise! • 
 
 Qu,. I will never rise; 
 
 I cannot choose a better place to die. 
 
 Tor. O! I would speak, but cannot. 
 
 Qu. [Rising.^ Guilt keeps you silent, then; you love nio not: 
 What have I done, ye powers, what have I done? 
 To see my youth, my beauty, and my love. 
 No sooner gain 'd, but slighted and betray 'd ; 
 110 And, like a rose, just gather 'd from the stalk, 
 But only smelt, and cheaply thrown aside. 
 To wither on the ground. 
 
 Tcr. For heaven's sake, madam, moderate your passion! 
 
 Qu. "Why nam 'st thou heav 'n ? there is no heaven for me. 
 Despair, death, hell, have seiz'd my tortur'd soul! 
 When I had rais'd his groveling fate from ground 
 To pow 'r and love, to empire and to me ; 
 When each embrace was dearer than the first ; 
 Then, then to be contemn'd; then, then thrown off! 
 120 It calls me old, and wither'd, and deform'd, 
 
 And loathsome ! O ! what woman can bear ' ' loathsome ' ' ? 
 
 The turtle flies not from his billing mate. 
 
 He bills the closer; but ungrateful man. 
 
 Base, barbarous man, the more we raise our love. 
 
 The more we pall, and cool, and kill his ardor. 
 
 Racks, poison, daggers, rid me but of life; 
 
 And any death is welcome. 
 
 Tor. Be witness, all ye powers that know my heart, 
 I would have kept the fatal secret hid ; 
 130 But she has conquer 'd, to her ruin conquer 'd: 
 Here, take this paper, read our destinies; 
 Yet do not; but, in kindness to yourself. 
 Be ignorantly safe. 
 
 Qu. No! give it me, 
 
 Even tho' it be the sentence of my death. 
 
 Tor. Then see how much unhappy love has made us. 
 O Leonora ! O ! 
 
 We two were born when sullen planets reign'd; 
 When each the other's influence opposM, 
 And drew the stars to factions at our birth. 
 140 better, better had it been for us, 
 
 That we had never seen, or never lov'd! 
 
 125. cool, and A-fH] QqF. kill, and cool SsM, 
 139. -factions] QqF. faction SsM,
 
 ACT V, SCENE I 371 
 
 Qu. There is no faith in heaven, if heaven says so; 
 You dare not give it. 
 
 Tor. As unwillingly, 
 
 As I would reach out opium to a friend 
 
 Who lay in torture, and desir'd to die. [Gives the paper. 
 
 But now you have it, spare my sight the pain 
 Of seeing what a world of tears it cost you. 
 Go silently enjoy your part of grief, 
 And share the sad inheritance with me. 
 150 Qu. I have a thirsty fever in my soul ; 
 
 Give me but present ease, and let me die. [Exeunt Queen and Teresa. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 
 Lor. Arm, arm, my lord! the city bands are up. 
 Drums beating, colors flying, shouts confus'd; 
 All clust'ring in a heap, like swarming hives, 
 And rising in a moment. 
 
 Tor. With design 
 
 To punish Bertran, and revenge the king; 
 'Twas order'd so. 
 
 Lor. Then you 're betray M, my lord. 
 
 'Tis true, they block the castle kept by Bertran, 
 But now they cry: "Down with the palace, fire it, 
 160 Pull out th' usurping queen!" 
 
 Tor. The queen, Lorenzo! durst they name the queen? 
 
 Lor. If railing and reproaching be to name her. 
 
 Tor. O sacrilege! say quickly, who commands 
 This vile, blaspheming rout? 
 
 Lor. I'm loth to tell you; 
 
 But both our fathers thrust 'em headlong on. 
 And bear down all before 'em. 
 
 Tor. Death and hell! 
 
 Somewhat must be resolv'd, and speedily. 
 How say'st thou, my Lorenzo? dar'st thou be 
 A friend, and once forget thou art a son, 
 170 To help me save the queen? 
 
 Lor. [Asidc.'\ Let me consider: 
 
 Bear arms against my father? He begat me; 
 That's true; but for whose sake did he beget me? 
 For his own, sure enough: for me he knew not. 
 O! but says Conscience: "Fly in Nature's face?" — 
 But how, if Nature fly in my face first? 
 Tffen Nature's the aggressor; let her look to 't. — 
 He gave me life, and he may take it back: — 
 No, that's boys' play, say I. 'Tis policy 
 
 147. it C0Ht\ Q1Q2F. 'UriU coxt Q3Q4. it rosl.s SsM. 
 
 155. 156. ^yith . . . kino] Ono lino In QqV : text follows SsM. 
 
 177. me] Q1Q2F. my Q3Q4. 
 
 178. 'Tia policy] QqF SsM place these words at the beginning of the next 
 Une.
 
 372 THE SPANISH FEIAE 
 
 For son and father to take different sides: 
 180 For then, lands and tenements commit no treason. 
 
 [To Tor.] Sir, upon mature consideration, I have found my father to 
 be little better than a rebel, and therefore, I'll do my best to secure 
 hira. for your sake; in hope, you may secure him hereafter for my sake. 
 
 Tor. Put on thy utmost speed to head the troops, 
 Which every moment I expect t' arrive; 
 Proclaim me, as I am, the lawful king: 
 I need not caution thee for Raymond's life, 
 Tho' I no more must call him father now. 
 
 Lor. [Aside.] How! not call him father? 
 190 I see preferment alters a man strangely; 
 
 This may serve me for a use of instruction, to cast off my father when 
 I am great. JNIethought, too, he call'd himself the lawful king; intimat- 
 ing sweetly that he knows what 's what with our sovereign lady. 
 Well, if I rout my father, as I hope 
 In heaven I shall, I am in a fair way 
 To be a prince of the blood. 
 
 Farewell, general ; I '11 bring up those that shall try what mettle there 
 is in orange tawny. [Exit. 
 
 Tor. [At the door.] Haste, there; command the guards be all 
 drawn up 
 200 Before the palace gate. — By heaven, I'll face 
 This tempest, and deserve the name of king! 
 O Leonora, beauteous in thy crimes, 
 Never were hell and heaven so match'd before! 
 Look upward, fair, but as thou look'st on me; 
 
 Then all the blest will beg that thou may 'st live, 
 
 And even my father's ghost his death forgive. [Exit. 
 
 ■ SCENE II. — The Palace Yard. Drums and Trumpets within. 
 
 Enter Raymond, Alphonso, Pedro, and their Party. 
 
 Raym. Now, valiant citizens, the time is come 
 To show your courage, and your loyalty. 
 You have a prince of Sancho's royal blood, 
 The darling of the heavens, and joy of earth; 
 When he's produc'd, as soon he shall, among you, 
 Speak, what will you adventure to reseat him 
 Upon his father's throne? 
 
 Omn. Our lives and fortunes. 
 
 Raym. What then remains to perfect our success. 
 But o'er the tyranfs guards to force our way? 
 
 179. For son^ QqF. ^or a son SsM, spoilins tho meter. 
 
 181. Sir, upon, etc.] From here on SsM print the speeches of Lorenzo 
 in this scene as prose. QqF print them as verse. They are really, as the 
 text shows, prose mingled with a few lines of irregular verse, 
 
 191. a use] Q1Q2F. an ukc Q3Q4, 
 
 197. /'"] QqF. / icill SsM,
 
 ACT V, SCENE II 373 
 
 iQ Omn. Lead on, lead on. [Brums and Trumpets on the other side. 
 Enter TORRISMOND and his Party: as they are going to fight, he speaks. 
 
 Tor. [To his.] Hold, hold your arms. 
 
 Eaym. [To his.] Eetire. 
 
 Alph. What means this pause? 
 
 Ped. Peace; nature works within them. 
 
 [Tor. and Eaym. go apart. 
 
 Tor. How comes it, good old man, that we two meet 
 On these harsh terms? Thou very reverend rebel; 
 Thou venerable traitor, in whose face 
 And hoary hairs treason is sanctified, 
 And sin's black dye seems blanch 'd by age to virtue! 
 
 Eaym. What treason is it to redeem my king, 
 And to reform the State? 
 
 Tor. That's a stale cheat; 
 
 The primitive rebel, Lucifer, first us'd it, 
 20 And was the first reformer of the skies. 
 
 Eaym. W'hat, if I see my prince mistake a poison, 
 Call it a cordial? Am I then a traitor. 
 Because I hold his hand, or break the glass? 
 
 Tor. How dar'st thou serve thy king against his will? 
 
 Eaym. Because 'tis then the only time to serve him. 
 
 Tor. 1 take the blame of all upon myself; 
 Discharge thy weight on mo. 
 
 Eaym. 0, never, never! 
 
 Why, 'tis to leave a ship, toss'd in a tempest, 
 Without the pilot's care. 
 
 Tor. I '11 punish thee; 
 
 30 By heaven, I will, as I would punish rebels. 
 Thou stubborn loyal man! 
 
 Eaym. First let me see 
 
 Her punish'd, who misleads you from your fame; 
 Then burn me, hack me, hew me into pieces. 
 And I shall die well pleas'd. 
 
 Tor. Proclaim my titl^ 
 
 To save the effusion of my subjects' blood; 
 And thou shalt still 
 
 Be as my foster father, near my breast, 
 And next my Leonora. 
 
 Eaym. That word stabs me. 
 
 You shall be still plain Torrismoud with me; 
 40 Th' abetter, partner (if you like that name), 
 The husband of a tyrant; but no king, 
 Till you deserve that title by your justice. 
 
 Tor. Then farewell, pity; I will be obey'd. 
 [To the People.] Hear, you mistaken men, whose loyalty 
 
 11. [Tor. and Raym. go apart] QqF. [Ai.rnoNso and Pedko go apart] 
 35, 3G. To 8aic . . . still] One line in QqF; text follows SsM.
 
 374 THE SPANISH FRIAR 
 
 Runs headlong into treason! See your prince! 
 In me behold your murther'd Sancho's son; 
 Dismiss your arms, and I forgive your crimes. 
 
 Rayvi. Believe him not; he raves; his words are loose 
 As heaps of sand, and scattering, wide from sense. 
 50 You see he knows not me, his natural father; 
 But, aiming to possess th' usurping queen, 
 So high he's mounted in his airy hopes. 
 That now the wind is got into his head, 
 And turns his brains to frenzy. 
 
 Tor. Hear me yet: 
 
 I am 
 
 Eaym. Fall on, fall on, and hear him not; 
 But spare his person, for his father's sake. 
 
 Fed. Let me come; if he be mad, I have that shall cure him. 
 There's no surgeon in all Aragon has so much dexterity as I have at 
 breathing of the temple vein. 
 60 Tor. My right for me! 
 
 Saym, Our liberty for us! 
 
 Omn. Liberty, liberty! 
 
 As they are ready to fight, enter Lorenzo and his Party. 
 
 Lor. On forfeit of your lives, lay down your arms. 
 
 Alph. How, rebel, art thou there? 
 
 Lor. Take your rebel back again, father mine: the beaten party are 
 rebels to the conquerors. I have been at hardhead with your butting 
 citizens; I have routed your herd; I have dispers'd them; and now they 
 are retreated quietly, from their extraordinary vocation of fighting in 
 the streets, to their ordinary vocation of cozening in their shops. 
 
 Tor. [To Raym.] You see 'tis vain contending with the truth; 
 70 Acknowledge what I am. 
 
 Raym. You are my king: would you would be your own! 
 But, by a fatal fondness, you betray 
 Your fame and glory to th' usurper's bed: 
 Enjoy the fruits of blood and parricide, 
 Take your own crown from Leonora's gift. 
 And hug your father's murtherer in your arms. 
 
 Enter Queen and Teresa; Women. 
 
 Alph. No more; behold the queen. 
 
 Raym. Behold the basilisk of Torrismond, 
 That kills him with her eyes. I will speak on; 
 80 My life is of no further use to me: 
 
 I would have chaffer 'd it before for vengeance ; 
 Now let it go for failing. 
 
 Tor. [Aside.] My heart sinks in me while I hear him speak, 
 
 54, 55. He^r . . . am] One line in QqF SsM. 
 57. Let me, etc.] This speech is printed as verse in QqF. 
 64. Take yoiir, etc.] This speech and the next by Lorenzo are printed as 
 vfrse in OqP.
 
 ACT V, SCENE II 375 
 
 And every slacken'd fiber drops its hold, 
 Like nature letting down the springs of life; 
 So much the name of father awes me still. 
 Send off the crowd; 
 
 For you, now I have conquer'd, I can hear 
 With honor your demands. 
 90 Lor. [To Alph.] Now, sir, who proves the traitor? My conscience 
 is true to me; it always whispers right when I have my regiment to 
 back it. [Exeunt omncs prceter Tor., Eaym., Leon. 
 
 Tor. O Leonora, what can love do more? 
 I have oppos'd your ill fate to the utmost; 
 Combatted heaven and earth to keep you mine; 
 And yet at last that tyrant Justice! O 
 
 Qu. 'Tis past, 'tis past, and love is ours no more; 
 Yet I complain not of the powers above; 
 They made m' a miser's feast of happiness, 
 100 And could not furnish out another meal. 
 
 Now, by yon stars, by heaven, and earth, and men, 
 By all my foes at once; I swear, my Torrismond, 
 That to have had you mine for one short day, 
 Has cancel'd half my mighty sum of woes! 
 Say but you hate me not. 
 
 Tor. I cannot hate you. 
 
 Eaym. Can you not? Say that once more, 
 That all the saints may witness it against you. 
 
 Qu. Cruel Eaymond! 
 Can he not punish me, but he must hate? 
 110 O, 'tis not justice, but a brutal rage, 
 
 Wliich hates tli' offender's person with his crimes! 
 I have enough to overwhelm one woman. 
 To lose a crown and lover in a day: 
 Let pity lend a tear when rigor strikes. 
 
 Haijm. Then, then you should have thought of tears and pity, 
 When virtue, majesty, and hoary age. 
 Pleaded for Sancho's life. 
 
 Qu. My future days shall be one whole contrition: 
 A chapel will I build, with large endowment, 
 120 Where every day an hundred aged men 
 
 Shall all hold up their wither'd hands to heaven, 
 To pardon Sancho's death. 
 
 Tor. See, Raymond, see; she makes a large amends. 
 Sancho is dead; no punishment of her 
 Can raise his cold stiff limbs from the dark grave; 
 
 88, 89. For . . . demands] One line In QqF. 
 99. m 'a] QcjF. mc a SsM. 
 101. bu hdirtn] QIQ-F- "'i'/ heaven Q3Q4. 
 
 105. Sou but, etc.] This and the two following lines are arrnnRed as In 
 QqF. SsM mnke one line of Can . . . auintn. No arrangement can 
 make roKular meter of tlie passage. 
 
 115. uf tears] Qig'2F. on tears Q.'iQ4.
 
 376 THE SPANISH FEIAR 
 
 Nor can his blessed soul look down from heaven, 
 Or break th' eternal sabbath of his rest, 
 To see with joy her miseries on earth. 
 
 Raym. Heaven may forgive a crime to penitence, 
 130 For heaven can judge if penitence be true; 
 
 But man, who knows not hearts, should make examples, 
 Which, like a warning piece, must be shot off. 
 To fright the rest from crimes. 
 
 Qu. Had I but known that Sancho was his father, 
 I would have pour'd a deluge of my blood. 
 To save one drop of his. 
 
 Tor. Mark that, inexorable Raymond, mark! 
 'Twas fatal ignorance that caus'd his death. 
 
 Eaym. What if she did not know he was your father 1 
 140 She knew he was a man, the best of men; 
 
 Heaven 's image double-stamp 'd, as man and king. 
 
 Qu. He was, he was, ev'n more than you can say; 
 But yet 
 
 Eaym. But yet you barbarously murther'd Mm. 
 
 Qu. He will not hear me out! 
 
 Tor. Was ever criminal forbid to plead? 
 Curb your ill-manner 'd zeal. 
 
 Eaym. Sing to him, siren; 
 
 For I shall stop my ears. Now mince the sin. 
 And mollify damnation with a phrase; 
 150 Say, you consented not to Sancho's death, 
 But barely not forbade it. 
 
 Qu. Hard-hearted man, I yield my guilty cause; 
 But all my guilt was caus'd by too much love. 
 Had I for jealousy of empire sought 
 Good Sancho's death, Sancho had died before. 
 'Twas always in my power to take his life; 
 But interest never could my conscience blind. 
 Till love had cast a mist before my eyes. 
 And made me think his death the only means 
 160 Which could secure my throne to Torrismond. 
 
 Tor. Never was fatal mischief meant so kind, 
 For all she gave has taken all away. 
 Malicious pow'rs! is this to be restor'd? 
 'Tis to be worse depos'd than Sancho was. 
 
 Eaym. Hcav"n has restor'd you, you depose yourself. 
 O, when young kings begin with scorn of justice. 
 They make an omen to their after reign, 
 And blot their annals in the foremost page! 
 
 Tor. No more; lest you be made the first example, 
 170 To show how I can punish. 
 
 Eaym. Once again: 
 
 Let her be made your father's sacrifice. 
 And after make me hers.
 
 ACT V, SCENE II 377 
 
 Tor. Condemn a wife! 
 
 That were to atone for parricide with murther! 
 
 Eaym. Then let her be divorc'd: we'll be content 
 With that poor scanty justice; let her part. 
 
 Tor. Divorce! that's worse than death, 'tis death of love. 
 
 Qu. The sou! and body part not with such pain, 
 As I from you; but yet 'tis just, my lord: 
 I am th' accurst of heaven, the hate of earth, 
 180 Your subjects' detestation, and your ruin; 
 And therefore fix this doom upon myself. 
 
 Qu. Yes, I can wish it, as the dearest proof. 
 
 Tor. Heav'n! Can you wish it? To be mine no more! 
 And last, that I can make you of my love. 
 To leave you blest, I would be more accurst 
 Than death can make me; for death ends our woes. 
 And the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene: 
 But I would live without you, to be wretched long; 
 And hoard up every moment of my life, 
 190 To lengthen out the payment of my tears. 
 
 Till ev'n fierce Raymond, at the last, shall say: 
 "Now let her die, for she has griev'd enough." 
 
 Tor. Hear this, hoar this, thou tribune of the people! 
 Thou zealous, public bloodhound, hear, and melt ! 
 
 Eaym. [Aside.'] I could cry now; my eyes grow womanish, 
 But yet my heart holds out. 
 
 Qu. Some solitary cloister will I choose. 
 And there with holy virgins live immur'd : 
 Coarse my attire, and short shall bo my sleep, 
 200 Broke by the melancholy midnight bell. 
 Now, Eaymond, now be satisfied at last: 
 Fasting and tears, and penitence and prayer. 
 Shall do dead Sancho justice every hour. 
 
 Eaym. [Aside.] By your leave, manhood! [Wipes his eyes. 
 
 Tor. He weeps! now he's vanquish 'd. 
 
 Eaym. No ! 'Tis a salt rheum that scalds my eyes. 
 
 Qu. If he were vanquish'd, I am still unconquer'd. 
 I'll leave you in the height of all my love, 
 Ev'n when my heart is beating out its way. 
 And struggles to you most. 
 210 Farewell, a last farewell! My dear, dear lord, 
 
 Kemember me! Speak, Raymond, will you let him? 
 
 Shall he remember Leonora's love. 
 
 And shed a parting tear to her misfortunes? 
 
 Eaym. [Almost crying.] Yes, yea, he shall; pray go. 
 
 182. Can . . . itf . . . more!] Q1Q2Q3F. Q4 places exclama- 
 tion points after both it and more; SsM place a comma after it and a ques- 
 tion mark after more. 
 
 204. he's] QqF. he is SsM, making meter Impossible. 
 
 208. itn] yiU2Q3F. hh Q4.
 
 378 THE SPANISH FRIAR 
 
 Tor. Now, by my soul, she shall not go: why, Raymond, 
 Her every tear is worth a father's life. 
 Come to my arms, come, my fair penitent! 
 Let us not think what future ills may fall, 
 But drink deep draughts of love, and lose 'em all. 
 
 [Exit ToRRiSMOND with the Queen. 
 220 Eaym. No matter yet, he has my hook within him. 
 Now let him frisk and flounce, and run and roll. 
 And think to break his hold. He toils in vain; 
 This love, the bait he gorg'd so greedily. 
 Will make him sick, and then I have him sure. 
 
 Enter Alphonso and Pedro. 
 
 Alph. Brother, there's news from Bertran; he desires 
 Admittance to the king, and cries aloud 
 This day shall end our fears of civil war. 
 For his safe conduct he entreats your presence. 
 And begs you would be speedy. 
 
 Baym. Tho' I loathe 
 
 230 The traitor's sight, I'll go. Attend us here. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Gomez, Elvira, Dominic, with Officers, to make the Stage as full 
 
 as possible. 
 
 Fed. Why, how now, Gomez? what mak'st thou here with a whole 
 brotherhood of city bailiffs? Why, thou lookest like Adam in Paradise, 
 with his guard of beasts about him. 
 
 Gom. Aye, and a man had need of them, Don Pedro; for here are 
 the two old seducers, a wife and priest — that's Eve and the serpent — at 
 my elbow. 
 
 Vom. Take notice how uncharitably he talks of churchmen. 
 
 Gom. Indeed, you are a charitable belswagger! My wife cried out: 
 ' ' Fire, fire ! ' ' and you brought out your church buckets, and call 'd for 
 240 engines to play against it. 
 
 Alph. I am sorry you are come hither to accuse your wife; her 
 education has been virtuous, her nature mild and easy. 
 
 Gom. Yes! she's easy with a vengeance; there's a certain colonel 
 has found her so. 
 
 Alph. She came a spotless virgin to your bed. 
 
 Gom. And she's a spotless virgin still for me — she's never the worse 
 for my wearing, I'll take my oath on 't. I have liv'd with her with all 
 the innocence of a man of threescore, like a peaceable bedfellow as 
 I am. — 
 250 Elv. Indeed, sir, I have no reason to complain of him for disturbing 
 of my sleep. 
 
 232. lookest] Ql. look'st Q2Q3Q4F SsM. 
 235. that '8] Q1Q2Q3K. that is Q4. 
 241. are] QqF. have SsM.
 
 ACT V, SCENE 11 379 
 
 Dom, A fine commendation you have given yourself; the Church did 
 not marry you for that. 
 
 Fed. Come, come, your grievances, your grievances. 
 
 Dom. Why, noble sir. 111 tell you. 
 
 Gom. Peace, friar! and let me speak first. I am the plaintiff. Sure 
 you think you are in the pulpit, where you preach by hours. 
 
 Dom. And you edify by minutes. 
 
 Gom. Where you make doctrines for the people, and uses and 
 260 applications for yourselves. 
 
 Fed. Gomez, give way to the old gentleman in black. 
 
 Gom. No; the t' other old gentleman in black shall take me if I do; 
 I will speak first! Nay, I will, friar! For all your verbum sacerdotis, 
 I'll speak truth in few words, and then you may come afterwards, and 
 lie by the clock as you use to do. For, let me tell you, gentlemen, he 
 shall lie and forswear himself with any friar in all Spain ; that's a bold 
 word now. 
 
 Dom. Let him alone; let him alone; I shall fetch him back with a 
 circzimbendibus, I warrant him. 
 270 J Ink. Well, what have you to say against your wife, Gomez? 
 
 Gom. Why, I say, in the first place, that I and all men are married 
 for our sins, and that our wives are a judgment; that a bachelor cobbler 
 is a happier man than a prince in wedlock; that we are all visited with 
 a household plague, and "Lord have mercy upon us" should be written 
 on all our doors. 
 
 Dom. Now he reviles marriage, which is one of the seven blessed 
 sacraments. 
 
 Gom. 'Tis liker one of the seven deadly sins: but make your best 
 on 't, 1 care not; 'tis but binding a man neck and heels, for all that. 
 280 But, as for my wife, that crocodile of Nilus, she has wickedly and 
 traitorously conspir'd the cuckoldom of me, her anointed sovereign lord; 
 and, with the help of the aforesaid friar, whom heaven confound, and 
 w^ith the limbs of one Colonel Hernando, cuckold-maker of this city, 
 devilishly contriv'd to steal herself away, and under her arm feloniously 
 to bear one casket of diamonds, pearls, and other jewels, to the value 
 of 30,000 pistoles. Guilty, or not guilty? How say'st thou, culprit? 
 
 Dom. False and scandalous! Give me the book. I'll take my 
 corporal oath point-blank against every particular of this charge. 
 
 Elv. And so will I. 
 280 Dom. As I was walking in the streets, telling my beads, and praying 
 to myself, according to my usual custom, I heard a foul outcry before 
 Gomez his portal; and his wife, my penitent, making doleful lamenta- 
 tions: thereupon, making what haste my limbs would suffer me, that 
 are crippled with often kneeling, I saw him spurning and fisting her 
 
 203. y'd!/ . . . friar! For . . . nacfrdotis.] QqF place an oxcla- 
 matioD point after friar, begin for with a small letter, and place a comma 
 after sacerdotis; SsM place a comma after friar and a full stop after 
 sacerdotis. 
 
 28U. pistf.lcs] SsM. pistols QqF. So on p. :<S1>, 1. 380. 
 4(/i/'.i/l g2g:!g4K. .suks/ gi. Saye.it Ss^l. 
 
 292. Gomez hisl QqF. Uomez's SsM.
 
 380 THE SPANISH FEIAR 
 
 most unmercifully; whereupon, using Christian arguments with him to 
 desist, he fell violently upon me, without respect to my sacerdotal orders, 
 push'd me from him, and turn'd me about with a finger and a thumb, 
 just as a man would set up a top. "Mercy!" quoth I. "Damme!" quoth 
 he; and still continued laboring me, till a good-minded colonel came by, 
 300 whom, as heaven shall save me, I had never seen before. 
 
 Gom. O Lord! Lord! 
 
 Dom. Aye, and "O lady! lady" too! I redouble my oath, I had 
 never seen liim. Well, this noble colonel, like a true gentleman, was 
 for taking the weaker part, you may be sure — whereupon this Gomez 
 flew upou him like a dragon, got him down, the devil being strong in 
 him, and gave him bastinado on bastinado, and buffet upon buffet, which 
 the poor meek colonel, being prostrate, suffer'd with a most Christian 
 patience. 
 
 Gom. Who? he meek? I'm sure I quake at the very thought of 
 310 him; why, he's as fierce as Rodomont ; he made assault and battery upon 
 my person, beat me into all the colors of the rainbow; and every word 
 this abominable priest has uttcr'd is as false as the Alcoran. But if 
 you want a thorough-pac'd liar, that will swear thro' thick and thin, 
 commend me to a friar. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo, who comes behivd the Company, and stands at his 
 Father's hack unseen, over against Gomez. 
 
 Lor. [Aside.] How now! What's here to do? My cause a-trying, as 
 I live, and that before my own father. Now fourscore take him for an 
 old bawdy magistrate that stands like the picture of Madam Justice, 
 with a pair of scales in his hand, to w-eigh lechery by ounces! 
 
 Alph. Well — but all this while, who is this Colonel Hernando? 
 320 Gom. He's the first begotten of Beelzebub, with a face as terrible 
 as Demogorgon. [Lorenzo peeps up over Alphonso's head, and stares 
 at Gomez.] No! I lie, I lie. He's a very proper, handsome fellow! well 
 proportion'd, and clean shap'd, with a face like a cherubin. 
 
 Fed. What, backward and forward, Gomez? Dost thou hunt counter? 
 
 Alph. Had this colonel any former design upon your wife; for, if 
 that be prov'd, you shall have justice. 
 
 Gom. [Aside.] Now I dare speak; let him look as dreadfully as he 
 will. I say, sir, and I will prove it, that he had a lewd design upon 
 her body, and attempted to corrupt her honesty. [Lorenzo lifts up his 
 330 fist clench\l at him.] 1 confess my wife was as willing — as himself; 
 and, I believe, 'twas she corrupted him; for I have known him formerly 
 a very civil and modest person. 
 
 Elv. You see, sir, he contradicts himself at every word; he's plainly 
 mad. 
 
 Alph. Speak boldly, man! and say what Ihou wilt stand by: did he 
 strike thee? 
 
 299. till] QqF. until SslSI. 
 
 306. on] QqF. upon SsM. 
 
 313. thorough-pac'd] QIF. ihyouuh-poc',! Q2Q3Q4. 
 
 321. [peeps up over] QqF. [peeps over] SsM.
 
 ACT V, SCENE TI 381 
 
 Gom. I will speak boldly; he struck me on the face before my own 
 threshold, that the very walls cried shame on him. 
 
 [Lorenzo holds tip again, 
 
 'Tis true, I gave him provocation, for the man's as peaceable a 
 340 gentleman as any is in all Spain. 
 
 Dom. Now the truth comes out in spite of him. 
 
 Fed. I believe the friar has bcMitch'd him. 
 
 Alph. For my part, I see no wrong that has been offer'd him. 
 
 Gom. How? no wrong? why, ho ravish'd me with the help of two 
 soldiers, carried me away vi et armis, and would have put me into a 
 plot against the government. [Lorenzo liolds up again. 
 
 I confess, I never could endure the government, because it was 
 
 tyrannical; but my sides and shoulders are black and blue, as I can 
 
 strip and shew the marks of 'em. [Lorenzo again. 
 
 350 But that might happen, too, by a fall that I got yesterday upon the 
 
 pebbles. [All laugh. 
 
 Dom. Fresh straw, and a dark chamber; a most manifest judgment! 
 there never comes better of railing against the Church. 
 
 Gom. Why, what will you have me say? I think you'll make me 
 mad : truth has been at my tongue's end this half-hour, and I have not 
 power to bring it out, for fear of this bloody-minded colonel. 
 
 Alph. What colonel? 
 
 Gom. Why, my colonel: I mean, my wife's colonel, that appears 
 there to me like my malus genius, and terrifies me. 
 360 Alph. [Turniyig.] Now you are mad indeed, Gomez; this is my son 
 Lorenzo. 
 
 Gom. How? your son Lorenzo! it is impossible. 
 
 Alph. As true as your wife Elvira is my daughter. 
 
 Lor. What, have I taken all this pains about a sister? 
 
 Gom. No, you have taken some about me ; I am sure, if you are 
 her brother, my sides can show the tokens of our alliance. 
 
 Alph. [To Lor.] You know I put your sister into a nunnery, with 
 
 a strict command not to see you, for fear you should have wrought upon 
 
 her to have taken the habit, which was never my intention; and, conse- 
 
 370 quently, I married her without your knowledge, that it might not be in 
 
 your power to prevent it. 
 
 Elv. You see, brother, I had a natural affection to you. 
 
 Lor. What a delicious harlot have I lost! Now, pox upon me, for 
 being so near akin to thee! 
 
 Elv. However, we are both beholding to Friar Dominic; the Church 
 is an indulgent mother, she never fails to do her part. 
 
 Dom. Heaven! what will become of me? 
 
 Gom. Why, you are not like to trouble heaven; those fat guts were 
 never made for mounting. 
 
 338. 0)1 him] QqF. to hivi SsXI. 
 
 347. neicr could] QqF. could never SsM. 
 
 35S. not] QIF. no Q2Q3Q4. 
 
 3.50. and] QqF. SsM omit. 
 
 37.5. hcholdiufj] QIF. beholden Q2Q3Q4. 
 
 377. Heaven:] QqF. Hcavena I SsM.
 
 382 THE SPANISH FKIAR 
 
 380 Lor. I shall make bold to disburtlien him of my hundred pistoles, to 
 make him the lighter for his journey: indeed, 'tis partly out of con- 
 science, that I may not be accessory to his breaking his vow of poverty. 
 
 Alph. I have no secular power to reward the pains you have taken 
 •with my daughter; but I shall do 't by proxy, friar: your bishop's my 
 friend, and is too honest to let such as you infect a cloister. 
 
 Gom. Aye, do, father-in-law, let him be stripp'd of his habit, and 
 die-order 'd. — I would fain see him walk in quirpo, like a cas 'd rabbit, 
 without his holy fur upon his back, that the world may once behold the 
 inside of a friar. 
 390 1)071}. Farewell, kind gentlemen; I give you all my blessing before 
 I go. — jMay your sisters, wives, and daughters, be so naturally lewd, that 
 they may have no occasion for a devil to tempt, or a friar to pimp 
 for 'em. [Exit, with a rabble pushing him. 
 
 Enter Torrismonb, Leonora, Bertram, Eaymond, Teresa, ^c. 
 Tor. He lives! he lives! my royal father lives! 
 Let every one partake the general joy. 
 Some angel with a golden trumpet sound: 
 "King Sancho lives!" and let the echoing skies 
 From pole to pole resound: "King Sancho lives!" 
 
 Bertran, O! no more my foe, but brother; 
 400 One act like this blots out a thousand crimes. 
 
 Bert. Bad men, when 'tis their interest, may do good. 
 
 1 must confess, I counsel'd Sancho's murther; 
 And urg'd the queen by specious arguments : 
 But still, suspecting that her love was chang'd, 
 I spread abroad the rumor of his death. 
 
 To sound the very soul of her designs. 
 Th' event, you know, was answering to my fears; 
 She threw the odium of the fact on me, 
 And publicly avow'd her love to you. 
 410 Eaym. Heaven guided all, to save the innocent. 
 Bert. I plead no merit, but a bare forgiveness. 
 Tor. Not only that, but favor. Sancho's life. 
 Whether by virtue or design preserv'd, 
 Claims all within my power. 
 
 Qu. My prayers are heard; 
 
 And I have nothing farther to desire, 
 But Sancho's leave to authorize our marriage. 
 
 Tor. O! fear not him! pity and he are one; 
 So merciful a king did never live; 
 Loth to revenge, and easy to forgive. 
 420 But let the bold conspirator beware. 
 
 For heaven makes princes its peculi:a care. [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 isZ do 't] QqF. do it SsM. 
 
 387. quirpo] QIF. querpo Q2Q3Q4. cuerpo SsM.
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 BY A FRIEKD OF THE AUTHOR 'S 
 
 There's none, I'm sure, who is a friend to love, 
 But will our Friar's cliaraetcr approve: 
 The ablest spark among you sometimes needs 
 Such pious help for charitable deeds. 
 Our Church, alas! (as Rome objects) does want 
 These ghostly comforts for the falling saint: 
 This gains them their whore-converts, and may be 
 One reason of the growth of Popery. 
 So Mahomet's religion came in fashion, 
 10 By the large leave it gave to fornication. 
 
 Fear not the guilt, if you can pay for 't well; 
 
 There is no Dives in the Roman hell : 
 
 Gold opens the strait gate, and lets him in; 
 
 But want of money is a mortal sin. 
 
 For all besides you may discount to heaven, 
 
 And drop a bead to keep the tallies even. 
 
 How are men eozen'd still with shows of good! 
 
 The bawd's best mask is the grave friar's hood. 
 
 Tho' vice no more a clergyman displeases 
 
 20 Than iloctors can be thought to hate diseases; 
 'Tis by your living ill that they live well. 
 By your debauches their fat paunches swell. 
 'Tis a mock war between the priest and devil; 
 When they think fit, they can be very civil. 
 As some, who did French counsels most advance, 
 To blind the world, have rail'd in print at France, 
 Thus do the clergy at your vices bawl, 
 That with more ease they may engross them all. 
 By damning yours, they do their own maintain; 
 
 30 A churchman's godliness is always gain: 
 
 Hence to their prince they will superior be; 
 
 And civil treason grows church loyalty. 
 
 They boast the gift of heaven is in their power; 
 
 Well may they give the god they can devour! 
 
 Still to the sick and dead their claims they lay; 
 
 For 'tis on carrion that the vermin prey. 
 
 Nor have they less dominion on our life; 
 
 AuTiion's] Q1Q2F. Author Q3Q4. 
 1. I'm] Q2Q3Q4SsM. I'am QIF.
 
 384 THE SPANISH FEIAE 
 
 They trot the husbaml, and they pace the wife. 
 Rouse up, you cuckolds of the northern elir.ies, 
 40 And Jearn from Sweden to prevent such crimes. 
 
 Unman the Friar, and leave the holy drone -\ 
 To hum in his forsaken hive alone; W 
 
 He'll work no honey when his sting is gone. J 
 Your wives and daughters soon will leave the cells, 
 When they have lost the sound of Aaron's bells.
 
 THE REHEARSAL
 
 On the early editions of The Behcarsal, 
 see Introduction, page xxxii.
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 We might \\ell call this short mock-play of ours 
 A posy made of weeds instead of flowers; 
 Yet such have been presented to your noses, 
 And there are such, I fear, who thought 'em roses. 
 Would some of 'em were here, to see, this night, 
 What stuff it is in which they took delight. 
 Here, brisk, insipid blades, for wit, let fall 
 Sometimes dull sense; but oft'ner, none at all: 
 There, strutting heroes, with a grim-fac'd train, 
 
 10 Shall brave the gods, in King Cambyses' vein. 
 For (changing rules, of late, as if men writ 
 In spite of reason, nature, art, and wit) 
 Our poets make us laugh at tragedy. 
 And with their comedies they make us cry. 
 Now, critics, do your worst, that here are met; 
 For, like a rook, I have hedg'd in my bet. 
 If you approve, I shall assume the state 
 Of those highflyers whom I imitate: 
 And justly too; for I will shew you more 
 
 20 Than ever they vouchsaf'd to shew before: 
 I will both represent the feats they do. 
 And give you all their reasons for 'em too. 
 Some honor to me will from this arise. 
 But if, by my endeavors, you grow wise. 
 And what was once so prais'd you now despise; 
 Then I'll cry out, swcH'd with poetic rage, 
 'Tis I, John Lacy, have reform 'd your stage.
 
 THE ACTOES' NAMES 
 
 [MEN] 
 
 Bayes. 
 Johnson. 
 
 Smith. 
 
 Two Kings of Brentford. 
 
 Prince Pretty-man. 
 
 Prince Volscius. 
 
 Gentleman-Usher. 
 
 Physician. 
 
 Drawcansir. 
 
 General. 
 
 Lieutenant General. 
 
 Cordelio. 
 
 Tom Thimble. 
 
 Fisherman. 
 
 Sun. 
 
 Thunder. 
 
 Players. 
 
 Soldiers. 
 
 Two Heralds. 
 
 Four Cardinals. 
 
 Mayor. 
 
 Judges. 
 
 Sergeants at Arms. 
 
 WOMEN 
 
 Amaryllis. 
 
 Chloris. 
 
 Parthenope. 
 
 Pallas. 
 
 Lightning. 
 
 Moon. 
 
 Earth. 
 
 Attendants of Men and Women. 
 
 SCENE— Brentford.
 
 THE EEHEAESAL 
 ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 Johnson and Smith. 
 
 Johns. Honest Frank ! I 'm glad to see thee with all my heart : how 
 long hast thou been in town? 
 
 Smi. Faith, not above an hour: and, if I had not met you here, I 
 bad gone to look you out; for I long to talk with you freely, of all the 
 strange new things we have heard in the country. 
 
 Johns. And, by my troth, I have long'd as much to laugh with you 
 at all the impertinent, dull, fantastical things we are tir'd out with here. 
 
 Smi. Dull and fantastical! That's an excellent composition. Pray, 
 what are our men of business doing? 
 10 Johns. I ne'er enquire after 'em. Thou know'st my 'humor lies 
 another way. I love to please myself as much, and to trouble others as 
 little as I can: and therefore do naturally avoid the company of those 
 solemn fups, who, being incapable of reason, and insensible of wit and 
 pleasure, are always looking grave, and troubling one another, in hopes 
 to be thought men of business. 
 
 Smi. Indeed, I have ever observ'd that your grave lookers are the 
 dullest of men. 
 
 Johris. Aye, and of birds, and beasts too : your gravest bird is an 
 owl, and your gravest beast is an ass. 
 20 Smi. Well; but how dost thou pass thy time? 
 
 Johns. Why, as I use to do; eat and drink as well as I can, have a 
 she-friend to be private with in the afternoon, and sometimes see a play: 
 where there are such things, Frank, such hideous, monstrous things, tUat 
 it has almost made me forswear the stage, and resolve to apply myself 
 to the solid nonsense of your pretenders to business, as the more 
 ingenious pastime. 
 
 Smi. I have beard, indeed, you have had lately many new plays, and 
 our country wits commend 'em. 
 
 Johns. Aye, so do some of our city wits too; but they are of the 
 30 new kind of wits. 
 
 Smi. New kind? What kind is that? 
 
 Johns. Why, your blade, your frank persons, your drolls; fellows 
 that scorn to imitate nature, but are given altogether to elevate and 
 surprise. 
 
 Smi. Elevate, and surprise? Pr'ythee make me understand the 
 meaning of that. 
 
 Johns. Nay, by my trotb, that's a bard matter; I don't understand 
 
 38y
 
 390 
 
 THE EEHEAESAL 
 
 that myself. 'Tis a phrase they have got among them, to express their 
 no-meaning by. I'll tell you, as well as I can, what it is. Let me see; 
 40 'tis fighting, loving, sleeping, riming, dying, dancing, singing, crying; 
 and everything but thinking and sense. 
 
 Mr. Bayes passes o'er the stage, 
 
 Bayes. Your most obsequious, and most observant, very servant, sir. 
 
 Johns. Godso, this is an author; I'll fetch him to you. 
 
 Smi. Nay, pr'ythee let him alone. 
 
 Johns. Nay, by the Lord, I'll have him. [Goes after hiin.] Here 
 he is. I have caught him. Pray, sir, for my sake, will you do a favor 
 to this friend of mine? 
 
 Bayes. Sir, it is not within my small capacity to do favors, but 
 receive 'em ; especially from a person that does wear the honorable title 
 50 you are pleas 'd to impose, sir, upon this Sweet sir, your servant. 
 
 Smi. Your humble servant, sir. 
 
 Johns. But wilt thou do me a favor, now? 
 
 Bayes. Aye, sir. What is't? 
 
 Johns. Why, to tell him the meaning of thy last play. 
 
 Bayes. How, sir, the meaning? Do you mean the plot? 
 
 Johns. Aye, aye; anything. 
 
 Bayes. Faith, sir, the intrigo's now quite out of my head; but I 
 have a new one, in my pocket, that I may say is a virgin; 't has never 
 yet been blown upon. I must tell you one thing: 'Tis all new wit; and, 
 60 tho ' I say it, a better than my last : and you know well enough how 
 that took. In fine, it shall read, and write, and act, and plot, and shew, 
 aye, and pit, box, and gallery, i 'gad, with any play in Europe. This 
 morning is its last rehearsal, in their habits, and all that, as it is to be 
 acted ; and if you and your friend will do it but the honor to see it in its 
 virgin attire; tho', perhaps, it may blush, I shall not be asham'd to 
 
 discover its nakedness unto you. 1 think it is o' this side. 
 
 [Puts his hand in his pocket. 
 
 Johns. Sir, I confess I am not able to answer you in this new way; 
 but if you please to lead, I shall be glad to follow you ; and I hope my 
 friend will do so too. 
 70 Smi. Aye, sir, I have no business so considerable as should keep me 
 from your company. 
 
 Bayes. Yes, here it is. No, cry you mercy: this is my book of 
 Drama Commonplaces, the mother of many other plays. 
 
 Johns. Drama Commonplaces! Pray what's that? 
 
 Bayes. Why, sir, some certain helps that we men of art have found 
 it convenient to make use of. 
 
 Smi. How, sir, help for wit? 
 
 Bayes. Aye, sir, that's my position. And I do here aver, that no 
 man yet the sun e'er shone upon has parts sufficient to furnish out a 
 80 stage, except it be with the help of these my rules. 
 
 Johns. What are those rules, I pray? 
 
 Bayes. Why, sir, my first rule is the rule of transversion, or regula
 
 ACT I, SCENE II 391 
 
 duplex: changing verse into prose, or prose into verse, alternative as you 
 please. 
 
 Smi. How's that, sir, by a rule, I pray? 
 
 Bayes. Why, thus, sir; nothing more easy when understood: I take 
 
 a book in my hand, either at home, or elsewhere, for that's all one; if 
 
 there be any wit iu't, as tiiere is no book but has some, I transverse it; 
 
 that is, if it be prose, put it into verse, (but that takes up some time;) 
 
 90 if it be verse, put it into prose. 
 
 Johns. Methinks, Mr. Bayes, that putting verse into prose should be 
 call'd transprosing. 
 
 Bayes. By my troth, a very good notion, and hereafter it shall be so. 
 
 ami. Well, sir, and what d'ye do with it then? 
 
 Bayes. Make it my own. 'Tis so alter'd that no man can know it. 
 My next rule is the rule of record, and by way of table-book. Pray 
 observe. 
 
 Johns. Well, we hear you: go on. 
 
 Bayes. As thus. I come into a coffee-house, or some other place 
 100 where witty men resort: I make as if I minded nothing; (do you mark?) 
 but as soon as any one speaks, pop I slap it down, and make that, too, 
 my own. 
 
 Johns. But, Mr. Bayes, are not you sometimes in danger of their 
 making you restore, by force, what you have gotten thus by art? 
 
 Bayes. No, sir; the world's unmindful: they never take notice of 
 these things. 
 
 ISmi. But pray, Mr. Bayes, among all your other rules, have you no 
 one rule for invention? 
 
 Bayes. Yes, sir, that's my third rule that I have here in my pocket. 
 110 <S'mi. What rule can that be? 
 
 Bayes. Why, sir, when I have anything to invent, I never trouble 
 my head about it, as other men do; but presently turn o'er this book, 
 and there I have, at one view, all that Persius, Montaigne, Seneca's 
 Tragedies, Horace, Juvenal, Claudian, Pliny, Plutarch 's Lives, and the 
 rest, have ever thought upon this subject; and so, in a trice, by leaving 
 out a few words, or putting in others of my own, the business is done. 
 
 Johns. Indeed, Mr. Bayes, this is as sure and compendious a way of 
 wit as ever I heard of. 
 
 Bayes. Aye, sirs, when you come to write yourselves, o' my word 
 120 you'll find it so. But, gentlemen, if you make the least scruple of the 
 efficacy of these my rules, do but come to the playhouse, and you shall 
 judge of 'em by the effects. 
 
 ami. We'll follow you, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 [SCENE II] 
 Enter three Players upon the Stage. 
 
 1 Play. Have you your part perfect? 
 
 2 Play. Yes, I have it without book; but I do not understand how 
 it is to be spoken. 
 
 3 Play. And mine is such a one as I can't guess for my life what
 
 392 THE KEHEARSAL 
 
 humor I'm to be in: whether angry, melancholy, merry, or in love. I 
 don't know what to make on't. 
 
 1 [Play.] Phoo! The author will be here presently, and he'll tell us 
 all. You must know, this is the new way of writing; and these hard 
 things please forty times better than the old plain way. For, look you, 
 
 10 sir, the grand design upon the stage is to keep the auditors in suspense; 
 for to guess presently at the plot and the sense tires 'em before the end 
 of the first act: now, here, every line surprises you, and brings in new 
 matter. And, then, for scenes, clothes, and dancing, we put 'em quite 
 down, all that ever went before us: and these are the things, you know, 
 that are essential to a play. 
 
 2 Play. AVell, I am not of thy mind; but, so it gets us money, 'tis 
 no great matter. 
 
 Enter Bayes, Johnson, and Smith. 
 
 Bayes. Come, come in, gentlemen. Y'are very welcome, Mr. a 
 
 Ha' you your part ready? 
 
 20 1 Play. Yes, sir. 
 
 Bayes. But do you understand the true humor of it? 
 1 Play. Aye, sir, pretty well. 
 
 Bayes. And Amarillis, how does she do? Does not her armor be- 
 come her? 
 
 3 Play. O, admirably! 
 
 Bayes. I'll tell you, now, a pretty conceit. What do you think I'll 
 make 'em call her anon, in this play? 
 
 Smi. "What, I pray? 
 
 Bayes. Why, I'll make 'em call her Armarillis, because of her 
 EO armor: ha, ha, ha. 
 
 Johns. That will be very well, indeed. 
 
 Bayes. Aye, it's a pretty little rogue; she is my mistress. I knew 
 her face would set off armor extremely; and, to tell you true, I writ 
 that part only for her. Well, gentlemen, I dare be bold to say, without 
 vanity, I'll shew you something, here, that 's very ridiculous, i'gad. 
 
 [Exeunt Players. 
 
 Johns. Sir, that we do not doubt of. 
 
 Bayes. Pray, sir, let's sit down. Look you, sir, the chief hinge of 
 this play, upon which the whole plot moves and turns, and that causes 
 the variety of all the several accidents, which, you know, are the thing 
 40 in nature that make up the grand refinement of a play, is, that I sup- 
 pose two kings to be of the same place: as, for example, at Brentford; 
 for I love to write familiarly. Now the people, having the same rela- 
 tions to 'em both, the same affections, the same duty, the same obedience, 
 and all that, are divided among themselves in point of devoir and in- 
 terest, how to behave themselves equally between 'em: these kings dif- 
 fering sometimes in particular; tho', in the main, they agree. (I know 
 not whether I make myself well understood.) 
 
 Johns. I did not observe you, sir: pray say that again. 
 Bayes. Why, look you, sir, (nay, I beseech you, be a little curious 
 50 in taking notice of this, or else you'll never understand my notion of 
 the thing,) the people being embarrass'd by their equal ties to both,
 
 ACT I, SCENE 11 393 
 
 and the sovereigns concern'd in a reciprocal regard, as well to their 
 own interest as the good of the people; may make a certain kind of 
 a you understand me upon which, there does arise several dis- 
 putes, turmoils, heart-burnings, and all that In fine, you'll appre- 
 hend it better when you see it. [Exit, to call the Players. 
 Smi. I find the author will be very much oblig'd to the players, if 
 they can make any sense of this. 
 
 Enter Bayes. 
 
 Bayes. Now, gentlemen, I would fain ask your opinion of one thing. 
 60 I have made a prologue and an epilogue, which may both serve for 
 either: (do you mark?) nay, they may both serve too, i'gad, for any 
 other play as well as this. 
 
 Smi. Very well. That's indeed artificial. 
 
 Bayes. And I would fain ask your judgments, now, which of them 
 would do best for the prologue? For, you must know, there is, in 
 nature, but two ways of making very good prologues. The one is by 
 
 civility, by insinuation, good language, and all that, to a in a 
 
 manner, steal your plaudit from the courtesy of the auditors: the 
 other, by making use of some certain personal things, which may keep 
 70 a hank upon such censuring persons, as cannot otherways, a-gad. in 
 nature, be hinder'd from being too free with their tongues. To which 
 end, my first prologue is, that I come out in a long black veil, and a 
 great huge hangman behind me, with a furr'd cap, and his sword 
 drawn; and there tell 'em plainly, that if, out of good nature, thoy 
 will not like my play, why i'gad, Til e'en kneel down, and he shall cut 
 my head off. Whereupon they all clapping a 
 
 ISmi. But, suppose they do not. 
 
 Bayes. Suppose! Sir, you may suppose what you please; I have 
 nothing to do with your suppose, sir, nor am not at all mortified at it; 
 
 80 not at all, sir; i'gad, not one jot. Suppose, quoth a! 
 
 [Wallcs away. 
 
 Johns. Phoo! Pr'ythee, Bayes, don't mind what he says: he's a 
 fellow newly out of the country; he knows nothing of what's the 
 relish, here, of the town. 
 
 Bayes. If I writ, sir, to please the country, I should have follow'd 
 the old plain way; but I write for some persons of quality, and peculiar 
 friends of mine, that understand what fiame and power in writing is: 
 and they do me the right, sir, to approve of what I do. 
 
 Johns. Aye, aye, they will clap, I warrant you; never fear it. 
 
 Bayes. I'm sure the design's good: that cannot be denied. And 
 90 then, for language, i'gad, I defy 'em all, in nature, to mend it. Be- 
 sides, sir, I have printed above a hundred sheets of paper, to insinuate 
 the plot into the bo.xes: and withal, have appointed two or three dozen 
 of my friends, to be ready in the pit, who, I'm sure, will clap, and so the 
 rest, you know, must follow; and then pray, sir. what becomes of your 
 suppose? Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 Johns. Nay, if the business be so well laid, it cannot miss. 
 
 Bayes. I think so, sir: and therefore would choose this for the
 
 394 THE EEHEAESAL 
 
 prologue. For, if I could engage 'em to clap, before they see the play, 
 you kuow 'twould be so much the bettor; because then they were engag'd: 
 100 for, let a man write never so well, there are, nowadays, a sort of per- 
 sons they call critics, that, i'gad, have no more wit in 'em than so many 
 hobby-horses; but they'll laugh you, sir, and find fault, and censure 
 things that, a-gad, I'm sure they are not able to do themselves. A sort 
 of envious persons, that emulate the glories of persons of parts, and 
 tliink to build their fame by calumniating of persons that, i'gad, to my 
 knowledge, of all persons in the world are, in nature, the persons that 
 do as much despise all that, as a In fine, I '11 say no more of 'em. 
 
 Johns. Aye, aye, you have said enough of 'em in conscience: I'm 
 sure more than they'll ever be able to answer. 
 110 Bayes. Why, I'll tell you, sir, sincerely, and bona fide; were it not 
 for the sake of some ingenious persons, and choice female spirits, that 
 have a value for me, I would see 'em all haug'd before I would e'er more 
 set pen to paper; but let 'em live in ignorance like ingrates. 
 
 Johns. Aye, marry! that were a way to be reveng'd of 'em indeed: 
 and, if I were in your place, now, I would do it. 
 
 Bayes. No, sir; there are certain ties upon me, that I cannot be 
 disingag'd from; otherwise, I would. But pray, sir, how do you like 
 my hangman? 
 
 tSmi. By my troth, sir, I should like him very well. 
 120 Bayes. Aye, but how do you like it? (for I see you can judge.) 
 Would you have it for the prologue, or the epilogue? 
 
 Johns. Faith, sir, it's so good, let it e'en serve for both, 
 
 Bayes. No, no; that won't do. Besides, I have made another. 
 
 Johns. WHiat other, sir? 
 
 Bayes. Why, sir, my other is Thunder and Lightning. 
 
 Johns. That's greater: I'd rather stick to that, 
 
 Bayes. Do you think so? I'll tell you then; tho ' there have 
 been many witty prologues written of late, yet I think you'll say this is 
 a non pareillo: I'm sure nobody has hit upon it yet. For here, sir, I 
 130 make my prologue to be dialogue: and as, in my first, you see I strive 
 to oblige the auditors by civility, by good nature, and all that ; so, in 
 this, by the other way, in terrorem, I choose for the persons Thunder 
 and Lightning. Do you apprehend the conceit? 
 
 Johns. Phoo, pox! Then you have it cock-sure. They'll be hang'd 
 before they'll dare affront an author that has 'em at that lock, 
 
 Bayes. 1 have made, too, one of the most delicate, dainty similes 
 in the whole world, i'gad, if I knew but how to apply it. 
 
 Smi. Let's hear it, I pray you, 
 
 Bayes. 'Tis an allusion to love: 
 
 140 So boar and sow, when any storm is nigh, 
 
 Snuff up, and smell it gath'ring in the sky: 
 Boar beckons sow to trot in chestnut groves, 
 And there consummate their unfinish'd loves. 
 Pensive in mud they wallow all alone. 
 And snort, and gruntle to each other's moan. 
 How do you like it now, ba?
 
 ACT I, SCENE II 395 
 
 Johns. Faith, 'tis extraordinary fine : and very applicable to Thun- 
 der and Lightning, methinks, because it speaks of a storm. 
 
 Bayes. I'gad, and so it does, now I think on't. Mr. Johnson, I 
 150 thank you; and I'll put it in profecto. Come out, Thunder and 
 Lightning. 
 
 Enter Thunder and Lightning. 
 
 Thun. I am the bold Thunder. 
 
 Bayes. Mr. Cartwright, pr'ythee speak a little louder, and with a 
 hoarser voice. "I am the bold Thunder?" Pshaw! speak it me in a 
 voice that thunders it out indeed: "I am the bold Thunder." 
 
 Thun. I am the bold Thunder. 
 Light. The brisk Lightning, L 
 
 Bayes. Nay, you must be quick and nimble. 
 "The brisk Lightning, I." That's my meaning. 
 
 160 Thnn. I am the bravest Hector of the sky. 
 
 Light. And I, fair Helen, that made Hector die. 
 
 Thun. I strike men down. 
 
 Light. I fire the town. 
 
 Thun. Let the critics take heed how they grumble, 
 
 For then begin I for to rumble. 
 Light. Let the ladies allow us their graces. 
 
 Or I '11 blast all the paint on their faces, 
 And dry up their peter to soot. 
 Thun. Let the critics look to't. 
 170 Light. Let the ladies look to't. 
 Thun. For Thunder will do't. 
 Light. For Lightning will shoot. 
 Thun. I'll give you dash for dash. 
 Light. I '11 give you flash for flash. 
 
 Gallants, I'll singe your feather. 
 Thun. I '11 thunder you together. 
 
 Both. Look to't, look to't; we'll do't, we'll do't: look to't, we'll 
 do't. [Twice or thrice repeated. 
 
 [Exeunt ambo. 
 Bdyes. That's all. 'Tis but a flash of a prologue; a droll. 
 180 Smi. 'Tis short, indeed; but very terrible. 
 
 Bayes. Aye, when the simile is in, it will do to a miracle, i'gad. 
 Come, come; begin the play. 
 
 Entar First Player, 
 
 1 Play. Sir, Mr. Ivory is not come yet; but he'll be here presently, 
 he's but two doors off. 
 
 Bayes. Come then, gentlemen, let's go out and take a pipe of 
 tobacco. [Exeunt.
 
 396 THE KEHEAESAL 
 
 ACT II. SCENE I. 
 
 Bayes, Johnson, and Smith. 
 
 Bayes. Now, sir, because I'll do nothing here that ever was done 
 before [Spits. 
 
 Smi. A very notable design for a play, indeed. 
 
 Bayes. Instead of beginning with a scene that discovers something 
 of the plot, I begin this with a whisper. 
 
 Smi. That's very new. 
 
 Bayes. Come, take your seats. Begin, sirs. 
 
 Enter Gentleman-Usher and Physician. 
 
 Phys. Sir, by your habit, I should guess you to be the gentleman- 
 usher of this sumptuous place. 
 10 ZJsh. And, by your gait and fashion, I should almost suspect you rule 
 the healths of both our noble kings, under the notion of physician. 
 
 Phys. You hit my function right. 
 
 ZJsh. And you mine. 
 
 Phys. Then let's imbrace. 
 
 Ush. Come then. 
 
 Phys. Come. 
 
 Johns. Pray, sir, who are those two so very civil persons. 
 
 Bayes. Why, sir, the gentleman-usher and physician of the two 
 Kings of Brentford. 
 20 Johns. But how comes it to pass, then, that they know one an- 
 other no better? 
 
 Bayes. Phoo! That's for the better carrying on of the intrigue. 
 
 Johns. Very well. 
 
 Phys. Sir, to conclude, — 
 
 Smi. What, before he begins? 
 
 Bayes. No, sir; you must know they had been talking of this a 
 pretty while without. 
 
 Smi. Where? In the tiring-room? 
 
 Bayes. Why aye, sir. He's so dull! Come, speak again. 
 
 30 Phys. Sir, to conclude, the place you fill has more than amply 
 exacted the talents of a wary pilot, and all these threat'ning storms 
 which, like impregnant clouds, do hover o'er our heads (when they once 
 are grasp'd but by the eye of reason), melt into fruitful showers of 
 blessings on the people. 
 
 Bayes. Pray mark that allegory. Is not that good? 
 
 Johns. Yes; that grasping of a storm with the eye is admirable. 
 
 Phys. But yet some rumors great are stirring; and if Lorenzo 
 should prove false (as none but the great gods can tell), you then per- 
 haps would find, that [Whispers.
 
 ACT II, SCENE 1 397 
 
 40 Bayes. Now tlicy whisper. 
 
 IJsh. Alone, do you say? 
 
 Phys. No; attended with the noble [Whis'pers. 
 
 Vsh. Who, he in gray? 
 
 Fhys. Yes; and at the head of [Whispers. 
 
 Bayes. Pray mark. 
 
 Ush. Then, sir, most certain, 'twill in time appear 
 These are the reasons that inducM 'em to 't: 
 First, he [Whispers. 
 
 Bayes. Now t'other whispers. 
 
 50 Ush. Secondly, they [Whispers. 
 
 Bayes. He's at it still. 
 
 Ush. Thirdly, and lastly, both he, and they [Whispers. 
 
 Bayes. There they both whisper. [Exeunt whispering. 
 
 Now% gentlemen, pray tell me true, and witliout flattery, is not this a 
 very odd beginning of a play? 
 
 Johns. In troth, I think it is, sir. But why two kings of the same 
 place? 
 
 Bayes. Why? Because it's new; and that's it I aim at. I despise 
 your Jonson, and Beaumont, that borrow'd all they writ from Nature: 
 60 I am for fetching it purely out of my own fancy, I. 
 
 Smi. But what think you of Sir .Tohn Suckling, sir? 
 
 Bayes. By gad, I am a better poet than he. 
 
 iSmi. Well, sir; but pray why all this whispering? 
 
 Bayes. Why, sir (besides that it is new, as I told you before), 
 because they are suppos'd to be politicians; and matters of state ought 
 not to be divulg'd. 
 
 iSmi. But then, sir, why 
 
 Bayes. Sir, if you'll but respite your curiosity till the end of the 
 fifth act, you'll find it a piece of patience not ill roeompens'd. 
 
 [Goes to the door. 
 70 Johns. How dost thou like this, Frank? Is it not just as I told 
 thee? 
 
 Smi. Why, I did never, before this, see anything in nature, and all 
 that (as Mr. Bayes says), so foolish, but I could give some guess at 
 what mov'd the fop to do it; but this, I confess, does go beyond my 
 reach. 
 
 Johns. Why, 'tis nil alike: Mr. Wintershall has inform'd me of 
 this play before. And I'll tell thee, Frank, thou shalt not see one scene 
 here, that either properly ought to come in, or is like anything thou 
 canst imagine has ever been the practice of the world. And then, when 
 80 he comes to what he calls good language, it is, as I told thee, very 
 fantastical, most abominably dull, and not one word to the purpose, 
 
 ijmi. It does surprise me, I am sure, very much.
 
 398 THE KEHEAESAL 
 
 Johns. Aye, but it won't do so long: by that time thou hast seen a 
 play or two that I'll shew thee, thou wilt be pretty well acquainted with 
 this now kind of foppery. 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 Enter the two Kings, hand in hand. 
 
 Bayes. These are the two Kings of Brentford; take notice of their 
 style: 'twas never yet upon the stage; but, if you like it, I could make 
 a shift, perhaps, to shew you a whole play, written all just so. 
 
 1 King. Did you observe their whisper, brother king? 
 
 2 King. I did; and heard besides a grave bird sing 
 That they intend, sweetheart, to play us pranks. 
 
 Bayes. This, now% is familiar, because they are both persons of the 
 same quality. 
 
 Smi. 'Sdeath, this would make a man spew. 
 
 10 1 King. If that design appears, 
 I'll lug 'em by the ears 
 Until I make 'em crack. 
 2 King. And so will I, i'fack. 
 
 1 King. You must begin, mon foi. 
 
 2 King. Sweet sir, pardonnez moi. 
 
 Bayes. Mark that: I makes 'em both speak French, to shew their 
 breeding. 
 
 Johns. O, 'tis extraordinary fine. 
 
 2 King. Then, spite of fate, we'll thus combined stand; 
 2Q And, like true brothers, walk still hand in hand. 
 
 [Exeunt Beges. 
 
 Johns. This is a very majestic scene indeed. 
 
 Bayes. Aye, 'tis a crust, a lasting crust for your rogae critics, i'gad: 
 I would fain see the proudest of 'em all but dare to nibble at this; 
 i'gad, if they do, this shall rub their gums for 'em, I promise you. It 
 was I, you must know, writ the play I told you of, in this very style: 
 and shall 1 tell you a very good jest? i'gad, the players would not act 
 it. Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 Smi. That's impossible. 
 
 Bayes. I'gad, they would not, sir. Ha, ha, ha. They refus'd it, 
 30 i 'gad, the silly rogues. Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 Johns. Fie, that was rude. 
 
 Bayes. Rude! i'gad, they are the rudest, uncivilest persons, and all 
 that, in the whole world: i'gad, there's no living with 'em. I have 
 written, Mr. Johnson, I do verily believe, a whole cartload of things 
 every whit as good as this, and yet, I vow to gad, these insolent rascals 
 have turn'd 'em all back upon my hands again. 
 
 Johns. Strange fellows indeed.
 
 ACT II, SCENE III 399 
 
 Svii. But pray, Mr. Bayes, how came these two kings to know of 
 this whisper? For, as I remember, they were not present at it. 
 40 Bayes. No, but that's the actors' fault, and not mine; for the kings 
 should (a pox take 'em) have popp'd both their heads in at the dcor, 
 just as the other went off. 
 
 Smi. That, indeed, would ha' done it. 
 
 Bayes. Done it! Aye, i'gad, these fellows are able to spoil the best 
 things in Christendom. I'll tell you, Mr. Johnson, I vow to gad, I have 
 been so highly disoblig'd by the peremptoriness of these fellows, that I 
 am resolv'd, hereafter, to bend all my tlioughts for the service of the 
 Nursery, and mump your proud players, i'gad. 
 
 SCENE III 
 
 Enter Prince Pretty-man. 
 
 Fret. How strange a captive am I grown of late! 
 Shall I accuse my love, or blame my fate? 
 My love, I cannot; that is too divine: 
 And against fate what mortal dares repine? 
 
 Enter Cloris. 
 
 But here she comes. 
 
 Sure 'tis some blazing comet, is it not? [Lies down. 
 
 Bayes. Blazing comet! Mark that. I'gad, very fine. 
 
 Fret. But I am so surpris'd with sleep, I cannot speak the rest. 
 
 [Sleeps. 
 
 Bayes. Does not that, now, surprise you, to fall asleep just in the 
 10 nick? His spirits exliale with the heat of his passion, and all that, and 
 swop falls asleep, as you see. Now, here, she must make a simile. 
 
 Smi. Where's the necessity of that, Mr. Bayes? 
 
 Bayes. Because she 's surpris 'd. That 's a general rule : you must 
 ever make a simile when you are surpris'd; 'tis the new way of writing. 
 
 Chloris. As some tall pine, which we on Etna find 
 
 T'have stood the rage of many a boist'rous wind, 
 Feeling without, that flames within do play. 
 Which would consume his root and sap away; 
 He spreads his worsted arms unto the skies, 
 20 Silently grieves, all pale, repines and dies: 
 
 So, shrouded up. your bright eye disappears. 
 Break forth, bright scorching sun, and dry my tears. [Exit. 
 
 Bayes. I am afraid, gentlemen, this scene has made you sad; for 
 I must confess, when I writ it, I wept myself. 
 
 Smi. No, truly, sir, my spirits are almost exhal'd too, and I am 
 likelier to fail asleep.
 
 400 THE EEHEAESAL 
 
 Prince Pretty-man starts up, and says — 
 
 Fret. It is resolv'd. [Exit. 
 
 Smi. Mr. Bayos, may one be so bold as to ask you a question, now, 
 and you not be angry? 
 
 30 Baycs. O Lord, sir, you may ask me what you please. I vow to gad, 
 you do me a great deal of honor: you do not know me, if you say 
 that, sir. 
 
 Smi. Then, pray, sir, what is it that this prince here has resolv'd in 
 his sleep? 
 
 Baycs. Why, I must confess, that question is well enough ask'd, for 
 one that is not acquainted with this new way of writing. But you must 
 know, sir, that, to outdo all my fellow-writers, whereas they keep their 
 intrigo secret till the very last scene before the dance; I now, sir, do you 
 mark me a 
 
 40 Smi. Begin the play, and end it, without ever opening the plot 
 at all? 
 
 Bayes. I do so, that's the very plain troth on't: ha, ha, ha; I do, 
 i'gad. If they cannot find it out themselves, e'en let 'em alone for 
 Bayes, I warrant you. But here, noAV, is a scene of business: pray 
 observe it; for I dare say you'll think it no unwise discourse this, nor ill 
 argued. To tell you true, 'tis a debate I overheard once betwixt tAvo 
 grand, sober, governing persons. 
 
 SCENE TV 
 Enter Gentleman-TJ slier and Physician. 
 
 Ush. Come, sir; let's state the matter of fact, and lay our heads 
 together. 
 
 Phys. Right : lay our heads together. I love to be merry some- 
 times; but when a knotty point comes, I lay my head close to it. with a 
 pipe of tobacco in my mouth, and then I whew it away, i' faith. 
 
 Bayes. I do just so, i'gad, always. 
 
 Ush. The grand question is, whether they heard us whisper? Which 
 I divide thus: into when they heard, what they heard, and whether they 
 heard or no. 
 
 10 Johns. Most admirably divided, I swear. 
 
 TJsh. As to the when; you say just now: so that is answer'd. Then, 
 for what; why, what answers itself: for what could they hear, but what 
 we talk'd of? So that, naturally, and of necessity, we come to the last 
 question, videlicet, whether they heard or no? 
 
 Smi. This is a very wise scene, Mr. Bayes. 
 
 Bayes. Yes; you have it right; they are both politicians. I writ 
 this scene for a pattern, to shew the world how men should talk of 
 busioess,
 
 ACT II, SCENE V iOl 
 
 Johns. You have done it exceeding well, indeed. 
 20 Bayes. Yes, I think this will do. 
 
 Phys. Well, if they heard us whisper, they'll turn us out, and nobody 
 else will take us. 
 
 Ush. Nobody else will take us. 
 
 Smi. Not for politicians, I dare answer for it. 
 
 Fhys. Let's then no more ourselves in vain bemoan : 
 
 We arc not safe until we them unthrone. 
 Vsh. 'Tis right: 
 
 And, since occasion now seems debonair, 
 
 I'll seize on this, and you shall take that chair. 
 
 [They draw their swords, and sit down in 
 the two great chairs upon the stage. 
 
 30 Bayes. There's now an odd surprise ; the whole state's turn'd quite 
 topsy-turvy, without any putlior or stir in the whole world, i 'gad. 
 
 Johns. A very silent change of government, truly, as ever I heard of. 
 
 Bayes. It is so. And yet you shall see me bring 'em in again, by 
 and by, in as odd a way every jot. 
 
 [The Usurpers march out flourishing their swords. 
 
 Enter Shirley. 
 
 Shir. Hey ho, hey ho: what a change is here! Hey day, hey day! 
 I know not what to do, nor what to say. [Exit. 
 
 Smi. But pray, sir, how came they to depose the kings so easily? 
 
 Bayes. Why, sir, you must know, they long had a design to do it 
 before; but never could put it in practice till now: and, to tell you true, 
 40 that's one reason why I made 'em whisper so at first. 
 
 Smi. O, very well: now I'm fully satisfied. 
 
 Bayes. And then, to shew you, sir, it was not done so very easily 
 neither; in this next scene you shall see some fighting. 
 
 Smi. O, ho: so then you make the struggle to be after the business 
 is done? 
 
 Bayes. Aye. 
 
 Smi. 0, I conceive you: that is very natural. 
 
 SCENE V 
 
 Enter four men at one door, and four at another, with their swords 
 
 drawn. 
 
 1 Soldier. Stand. Who goes there? 
 
 2 Sol. A friend. 
 
 1 Sol. What friend? 
 
 2 Sol. A friend to the house. 
 
 X Sol, J'all on. [They all hUl one another. Music strikes.
 
 402 THE EEHEAESAL 
 
 Bayes. Hold, hold. [To the music. It ceaseth. 
 
 Now here's an odd surprise: all these dead men you shall see rise up 
 presently, at a certain note that I have made, in effaiit flat, and fall 
 a dancing. Do you hear, dead men? Eemember your note in effaut flat. 
 10 Play on. [To the music. 
 
 Now, now, now. [The music flay his note, and the dead 
 
 Lord, O Lord! men rise; but cannot get in order. 
 Out, out, out! Did ever men spoil a good thing so? No figure, no ear, 
 no time, nothing? You dance worse than the angels in Harry the Eight, 
 or the fat spirits in The Tempest, i'gad. 
 
 1 Sol. Why, sir, 'tis impossible to do anything in time, to this tune. 
 Bayes. O Lord, Lord! impossible? Why, gentlemen, if there be 
 
 any faith in a person that's a Christian, I sate up two whole nights in 
 composing this air, and apting it for the business: for, if you observe, 
 20 there are two several designs in this tune; it begins swift, and ends 
 slow. You talk of time, and time; you shall see me do 't. Look you 
 now. Here I am dead. [Lies down flat on his face. 
 
 Now mark my note in effaut flat. Strike up, music. 
 Now. [As he rises up hastily, he tumhles and falls doivn again. 
 
 Ah. gadsookers, I have broke my nose. 
 
 Johns. By my troth, Mr. Bayes, this is a very unfortunate note of 
 yours, in effaut flat. 
 
 Bayes. A plague of this damn'd stage, with your nails, and your 
 tenter-hooks, that a man cannot come to teach you to act, but he must 
 30 break his nose, and his face, and the divel and all. Pray, sir, can you 
 help me to a wet piece of brown paper? 
 
 tSmi. No indeed, sir; I don't usually carry any about me. 
 
 2 Sol. Sir, I'll go get you some within presently. 
 
 Bayes. Go, go then ; I '11 follow you. Pray dance out the dance, and 
 
 1 '11 be with you in a moment. Eemember you four that you dance like 
 horsemen. [Exit Bayfs. 
 
 They dance the dance, hut can malce nothing of it. 
 1 Sol. A devil! let's try this no more: play my dance that Mr. 
 Bayes found fault with. [Dance, and exeunt. 
 
 Smi. What can this fool be doing all this while about his nose? 
 40 Johns. Pr'ythee, let's go see. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IIL SCENE L 
 Bayes with a paper on his nose, and the tico gentlemen. 
 
 Bayes. Now, sir, this I do, because my fancy in this play is to end 
 every act with a dance. 
 
 Smi. Faith, that fancy is very good, but I should hardly have broke 
 my nose for it, tho'. 
 
 Johns. That fancy, I suppose, is new too. 
 
 Bayes. Sir, all my fancies are so. I tread upon no man's heels; but 
 make my flight upon my own wings, I assure you. As, now, this next
 
 ACT III, SCENE I 403 
 
 scene, some perhaps will say it is not very necessary to the plot: I grant 
 it; what then? I meant it so. But then it's as full of drollery as ever 
 10 it can hold : 'tis like an orange stuck with cloves, as for conceit. Come, 
 where are you? This scene will make you die with laughing, if it be 
 well acted : it is a scene of sheer wit, without any mixture in the world, 
 i'gad. [Beads — 
 
 "Enter Prince Pretty-man, and Tom Thimble, his tailor." 
 
 This, sirs, might properly enough be call'd a prize of wit ; for you shall 
 see 'em come in upon one another snip snap, hit for hit, as fast as can 
 be. First one speaks, then presently t'other's upon him slap, with a 
 repartee ; then he at him ag;iin, dash with a new conceit : and so eter- 
 nally, eternally, i'gad, till they go quite off the stage. 
 
 [Goes to call the Flayers. 
 
 Smi. What a plague does this fop mean by his snip snap, hit for 
 20 hit, and dash? 
 
 Johns. Mean? Why, he never meant anything iu'a life: what djst 
 talk of meaning for? 
 
 Enter Bates. 
 
 Bayes. Why don't you come in? 
 
 Enter Prince Pretty-man and Tom Thimble. 
 
 Pret. But pr'ythee, Tom Thimble, why wilt thou needs marry? If 
 nine tailors make but one man; and one woman cannot be satisfied with 
 nine men: what work art thou cutting out here for thyself trow we? 
 
 Bayes. Good. 
 
 Thim. Why, an't please your Highness, if I can't make up all the 
 work I cut out, I shan't want journeymen to help me, I warrant you. 
 
 30 Bayes. Good again. 
 
 Pret. I am afraid thy journeymen, tho ', Tom, won't work by the 
 day, but by the night. 
 
 Bayes. Good still. 
 
 Thim. However, if my wife sits but cross-legg'd, as I do, there will 
 be no great danger: not half so much as when I trusted you for your 
 coronation suit. 
 
 Bayes. Very good, i'faith. 
 
 Pret. Why, the times then liv'd upon trust ; it was the fashion. You 
 would not be out of time, at such a time as that, sure: a tailor, you 
 40 know, must never be out of fashion. 
 
 Bayes. Right. 
 
 Thim. I'm sure, sir, I made your clothes in the court fashion, for 
 you never paid me yet.
 
 404 THE EEHEAESAL 
 
 Bayes. There's a bob for the court. 
 
 Fret. Why, Tom, thoii art a sharp rogue when thou art angry I 
 sec: thou pay'st me now, methinks. 
 
 Thivi. Aye, sir, in your own coin: you give me nothing but words. 
 
 Bayes. Admirable, before gad. 
 
 Fret. Well, Tom, I hope shortly I shall have another coin for thee; 
 50 for now the wars come on, I shall grow to be a man of metal. 
 
 Bayes. O, you did not do that half enough. 
 Johns. Methinks he does it admirably. 
 
 Bayes. Aye, pretty well; but he does not hit me in't: he does not 
 top hiis part. 
 
 Thim. That's the way to be stamp'd yourself, sir. I shall see you 
 come home, like an angel for the king's evil, with a hole bor'd thro' 
 you. [Exeunt. 
 
 Bayes. That's very good, i'f aith : ha, ha, ha. Ha, there he has hit 
 it up to the hilts, i'gad. How do you like it now, gentlemen? Is not 
 50 this pure wit? 
 
 Smi. 'Tis snip snap, sir, as you say; but, methinks, not pleasant, 
 nor to the purpose, for the play does not go on. 
 
 Bayes. Play does not go on? I don't know what you mean: why, is 
 not this part of the play? 
 
 Umi. Yes, but the plot stands still. 
 
 Bayes. Plot stand still! Why, what a devil is the plot good for, 
 but to bring in fine things? 
 
 Smi. O, I did not know that before. 
 
 Bayes. No, I think you did not: nor many things more that I am 
 70 master of. Now, sir, i'gad, this is the bane of all us writers: let us 
 soar never so little above the common pitch, i'gad, all's spoil'd ; for the 
 vulgar never understand us; they can never conceive you, sir, the excel- 
 lency of these things. 
 
 Johns. 'Tis a sad fate, I must confess; but you write on still? 
 
 Bayes. Write on? Aye, i'gad, I warrant you. 'Tis not their talk 
 shall stop me: if they catch me at that lock, I'll give 'em leave to hang 
 me. As long as I know my things to be good, what care I what they 
 say? What, they are gone, and forgot the song! 
 
 Smi. They have done very well, methinks, here's no need of one. 
 80 Bayes. Alack, sir, you know nothing; you must ever interlard your 
 plays with songs, ghosts, and idols, if you mean to a 
 
 Johns. Pit, box, and gallery, Mr. Bayes. 
 
 Bayes. I'gad, sir, and you have nick'd it. Hark you, Mr. Johnson, 
 you know I don 't flatter, a-gad, you have a great deal of wit. 
 
 Johns. O Lord, sir, you do me too much honor. 
 
 Bayes. Nay, nay, come, come, Mr. Johnson, i'facks this must not be 
 said, amongst us that have it. I know you have wit by the judgment 
 vou make of this play; for that's the measure I go by: my play is my
 
 ACT III, SCENE II 405 
 
 touchstone. When a man tells me such a one is a person of parts ; " Is 
 00 he so?" say I. What do I do, but bring him presently to see this play. 
 If he Likes it, I know what to think of him; if not, your most humble 
 servant, sir, I '11 no more of him, upon my word, I thank you. I am 
 clara voyant, a-gad. Now here we go on to our business. 
 
 SCENE II 
 Enter the two Usurpers, hand i)i hand. 
 
 Ush. But what's become of Volscius the great? 
 
 His presence has not grac 'd our court of late. 
 Phys. I fear some ill, from emulation sprung, 
 
 Has from us that illustrious hero wrung. 
 
 Bayes. Is not that majestical? 
 
 Smi. Yes, but who a devil is that Volscius? 
 
 Bayes. Why, that's a prince I make in love with Parthenope. 
 
 ami. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Enter Cordelio. 
 
 Cor. My lieges, news from Volscius the prince. 
 10 TJsh. His news is welcome, whatsoe'er it be. 
 
 Smi. How, sir, do you mean that? Whether it be good or bad? 
 
 Bayes. Nay, pray, sir, have a little patience : godsookers, you '11 
 spoil all my play. Why, sir, 'tis impossible to answer every impertinent 
 question you ask. 
 
 Umi. Cry you mercy, sir. 
 
 Cor. His Highness, sirs, commanded me to tell you 
 That the fair person whom you both do know, 
 Despairing of forgiveness for her fault, 
 In a deep sorrow, twice she did attempt 
 20 Upon her precious life; but, by the care 
 Of standers-by, prevented was. 
 
 Umi. 'Sheart, what stuff's here! 
 
 Cor. At last, 
 
 Volscius the great this dire resolve embrac'd: 
 His servants he into the country sent, 
 And he himself to Piccadille went. 
 Where he's inform'd, by letters, that she's dead! 
 
 TJsh. Dead! is that possible? Dead! 
 
 Thys. O ye gods ! {Exeunt. 
 
 30 Bayes. There's a smart expression of a passion; O ye gods! That's 
 one of my bold strokes, a-gad. 
 
 Smi. Yes; but who is the fair person that's dead? 
 Bayes. That you shall know anon.
 
 406 THE BEHEAESAL 
 
 Smi. Nay, if we know it at all, "tis well enough. 
 
 Baycs. Perhaps you may find too, by and by, for all this, that she's 
 not dead neither. 
 
 Smi. Marry, that's good news: I am glad of that with all my heart. 
 
 Bayes. Now, here's the man brought in that is suppos'd to have 
 kill'd her. [-4 great shout tvithin. 
 
 Enter Amarillis with a book in her hand and Attendants. 
 
 40 Ama. What shout +riumphant's that? 
 
 Enter a Soldier. 
 
 Sol. Shy maid, upon the river brink. 
 Near Twick'nam town, the assassinate is ta'en. 
 
 Ama. Thanks to the powers above, for this deliverance. 
 I hope its slow beginning will portend 
 A forward exit to all future end. 
 
 Bayes. Pish, there you are out; to all future end? No, no; to all 
 future end; you must lay the accent upon end, or else you lose the 
 conceit. 
 
 Johns. Indeed the alteration of that accent does a great deal, Mr. 
 50 Bayes. 
 
 Baycs. 0, all in all, sir: they are these little things that mar, or set 
 you off a play. 
 
 Smi. I see you are very perfect in these matters. 
 
 Bayes. Aye, sir; I have been long enough at it to know something. 
 
 Enter Soldiers dragging in an old -fisherman. 
 
 Ama. Villain, what monster did corrupt thy mind 
 T 'attack the noblest soul of humankind? 
 Tell me who set thee on. 
 
 Fish. Prince Pretty-man. 
 
 Ama. To kill whom? 
 60 Fish. Prince Pretty-man. 
 
 Ama. What, did Prince Pretty-man hire you to kill Prince Pretty- 
 man? 
 
 Fish. No; Prince Volscius. 
 
 Ama. To kill whom? 
 
 Fish. Prince Volscius. / 
 
 Ama. W^hat, did Prince Volscius hire you to kill Prince Volscius? 
 
 Fish. No; Prince Pretty-man. 
 
 Ama. So, drag him hence, 
 
 Till torture of the rack produce his sense. [Exeunt, 
 
 70 Bayes. Mark how I make the horror of his guilt confound his intel- 
 lects; for that's the design of this scene. 
 
 Smi, I see, sir, you have a several design for every scene. 
 Bayes. Aye; that's my way of writing: and so I can dispatch you, 
 sir, a whole play, before another man, i'gad, can make an end of his
 
 ACT III, SCENE II 407 
 
 plot. So, now enter Prince Pretty-man in a rage. Where the devil is 
 he? Why Pretty-man? why when, I say? fie, fie, fie, fie; all 's marr'd, 
 I vow to gad, quite marr'd. 
 
 Enter Pretty-man, 
 
 Phoo, pox! you are come too late, sir: now you may go out again, if 
 
 you please. I vow to gad, Mr. a 1 would not give a button for 
 
 80 my play, now you have done this. 
 
 Fret. What, sir? 
 
 Bayes. What, sir? 'Slife, sir, you should have come out in choler, 
 rous upon the stage, just as the other went off. Must a man be eternally 
 telling you of these things? 
 
 Johns. Sure this must be some very notable matter that he's so 
 angry at. 
 
 Umi. I am not of your opinion. 
 
 Bayes. Pish! come, let's hear your part, sir. 
 
 90 
 
 Pret. Bring in my father, why d'ye keep him from me? 
 Altho ' a fisherman, he is my father : 
 Was ever son yet brought to this distress. 
 To be, for being a son, made fatherless? 
 O, you just gods, rob me not of a father: 
 The being of a son take from me rather. [Exit. 
 
 Smi. Well, Ned, what think you now? 
 
 Johns. A devil, this is worst of all. Pray, Mr. Bayes, what's the 
 meaning of this scene? 
 
 Bayes. O, cry you mercy, sir: I purtest I had forgot to tell you. 
 Why, sir, you must know that, long before the beginning of this play, 
 100 this prince was taken by a fisherman. 
 
 iSmi. How, sir, taken prisoner? 
 
 Bayes. Taken prisoner! Lord, what a question's there! Did ever 
 any man ask such a question? Taken prisoner! Godsookers, he has put 
 the plot quite out of my head, with this damn'd question. What was I 
 going to say? 
 
 Johns. Nay, the Lord knows: I cannot imagine. 
 
 Bayes. Stay, let me see; taken: O, 'tis true. Why, sir, as I was 
 going to say, his Highness here, the prince, was taken in a cradle by a 
 fisherman, and brought up as his child. 
 110 Umi. Indeed? 
 
 Bayes. Nay, pr'ythee hold thy peace. And so, sir, this murder 
 being committed by the river side, the fisherman, upon suspicion, was 
 seiz'd; and thereupon the prince grew angry. 
 
 iSmt. So, so; now 'tis very plain. 
 
 Johns. But, Mr. Bayes, is not that some disparagement to a prince, 
 to pass for a fisherman's son? Have a care of that, I pray. 
 
 Bayes. No, no, no; not at all; for 'tis but for a while: I shall fetch 
 him off again, presently, you shall see.
 
 120 
 
 408 THE EEHEAKSAL 
 
 Enter Pretty-man and Thimble. 
 
 Pret. By all the gods, I'll set the world on fire 
 Bather than let 'em ravish hence my sire. 
 Thim. Brave Pretty-man, it is at length reveal'd. 
 That he is not thy sire who thee conceal'd. 
 
 Bayes. Lo" you now, there he's off again. 
 
 Johns. Admirably done i'faith. 
 
 Bayes. Aye, now the plot thickens very much upon us. 
 
 Pret. What oracle this darkness can evince? 
 
 Sometimes a fisher's son, sometimes a prince. 
 It is a secret, great as is the world; 
 In which I, like the soul, am toss 'd and hurl 'd. 
 15Q The blackest ink of fate, sure, was my lot; 
 
 And, when she writ my name, she made a blot. lExit. 
 
 Bayes. There's a blust'ring verse for you now. 
 
 Smi. Yes, sir; but pray, why is he so mightily troubled to find he 
 is not a fisherman's son? 
 
 Bayes. Phoo! That is not because he has a mind to be his son, but 
 for fear he should be thought to be nobody's son at all. 
 
 Smi. Aye, that would trouble a man, indeed. 
 
 Bayes. So, let me see: "Enter Prince Volseius, going out of town." 
 
 Smi. I thought he had been gone to Piccadille. 
 14C Bayes. Yes, he gave out so; but that was only to cover his design. 
 
 Johns. What design? 
 
 Bayes. Why, to head the army that lies conceal'd for him in 
 Knightsbridge. 
 
 Johns. I see here is a great deal of plot, Mr. Bayes. 
 
 Bayes. Yes, now it begins to break; but we shall have a world of 
 more business anon. 
 
 Enter Prince VoLScius, Cloris, Amarillis, and Harry with a riding- 
 cloak and boots. 
 
 Ama. Sir, you are cruel, thus to leave the town. 
 And to retire to country solitude. 
 
 Clo. We hop'd this summer that we should at least 
 150 Have held the honor of your company. 
 
 Bayes. Held the honor of your company! Prettily express'd! Held 
 the honor of your company! Godsookers, these fellows will never take 
 notice of anything. 
 
 Johns. I assure you, sir, I admire it extremely; I don't know what 
 he does. 
 
 Bayes. Aye, aye, he's a little envious; but 'tis no great matter. 
 Come. 
 
 Ama. Pray let us two this single boon obtain, 
 
 That you will here with poor us still remain.
 
 ACT HI, SCENE il 409 
 
 180 Before your horses come, pronounce our fate, 
 
 For then, alas, I fear 'twill be too late. 
 
 Bayes. Sad ! 
 
 Vols. Harry, my boots; for I'll go rage among 
 My blades encamp'd, and quit this urban throng. 
 
 Smi. But pray, Mr. Bayes, is not this a little difficult, that you were 
 saying e'en now, to keep an army thus conceal 'd in Knightsbridge? 
 
 Bayes. In Knightsbridge? Stay. 
 
 Johns. No, not if the innkeepers be his friends. 
 
 Bayes. His friends! Aye, sir, his intimate acquaintance; or else, 
 170 indeed, I grant it could not be. 
 
 Smi. Yes, faith, so it might be very easily. 
 
 Bayes. Nay, if I do not make all things easy, i'gad, I'll give you 
 leave to hang me. Now you would think that he is going out of town ; 
 but you shall see how prettily I have contriv'd to stop him presently. 
 
 Smi. By my troth, sir, you have so amaz'd me, I know not what to 
 think. 
 
 Enter Parthenope. 
 
 Vols. Bless me! How frail are all my best resolves! 
 
 How, in a moment, is my purpose chang'd ! 
 
 Too soon I thought myself secure from love. 
 IgO Fair madam, give me leave to ask her name 
 
 Who does so gently rob me of my fame? 
 
 For I should meet the army out of town, 
 
 And, if I fail, must hazard my renown. 
 Par. j\Iy mother, sir, sells ale- by the town walls. 
 
 And me her dear Parthenope she calls. 
 Vols. Can vulgar vestments high born beauty shroud? 
 Thou bring 'st the morning pieturM in a cloud. 
 
 Bayes. The morning pictur'd in a cloud! A, gadsookers, what a 
 conceit is there! 
 
 190 Par. Give you good ev"n, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Vols. O inauspicious stars! that I was born 
 
 To sudden love, and to more sudden scorn ! 
 Ama. Claris. How! Prince Volscius in love? Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 [Exeunt laughing. 
 
 Smi. Sure, Mr. Bayes, we have lost some jest here, that tlicy laugh 
 at so. 
 
 Bayes. Wliy, did you not observe? He first resolves to go out of 
 tow^n, and then, as he is pulling on liis boots, falls in love. Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 Smt. O, 1 did not observe: that, indeed, is a very good jest. 
 
 Bayes. Here, now, you shall see a combat betwixt love and honor. 
 200 An ancient author has made a whole play on "t; but I have dispatch'd 
 it all in this scene.
 
 410 THE KEIIEAESAL 
 
 VoLSCius sits doicn. 
 
 Vols. How has my passion made me Cupid's scoff! 
 This hasty boot is on, the other off, 
 And sullen lies, with amorous design 
 To quit loud fame, and make that beauty mine. 
 My legs, the emblem of my various thought. 
 Shew to what sad distraction I am brought. 
 Sometimes, with stubborn honor, like this boot, 
 My mind is guarded, and resolv'd to do 't: 
 210 Sometimes, again, that very mind, by love 
 
 Disarmed, like this other leg does prove. 
 
 Johns. What pains Mr. Bayes takes to act this speech himself! 
 iimi. Aye, the fool, I see, is mightily transported with it. 
 
 Vols. Shall I to honor or to love give way? 
 
 "Go on," cries Honor; tender Love says, "Nay:" 
 Honor, aloud, commands: "Pluck both boots on;" 
 But softer Love does whisper: "Put on none." 
 What shall I do? What conduct shall I find 
 To lead me thro' this twilight of my mind? 
 220 For as bright day with black approach of nigh 
 
 Contending, makes a doubtful puzzling light; 
 So does my honor and my love together 
 Puzzle me so, I can resolve for neither. 
 
 [Exit icith one hoot on and the other of. 
 
 Johns. By my troth, sir, this is as difficult a combat as ever I saw, 
 and as equal; for 'tis determin'd on neither side. 
 
 Bayes. Aye, is't not, i'gad, ha? Eor, to go off hip hop, hip hop, 
 upon this occasion, is a thousand times better than any conclusion in the 
 world, i'gad. But, sirs, you cannot make any judgment of this play, 
 because we are come but to the end of the second act. Come, the dance. 
 
 [Dance. 
 
 230 Well, gentlemen, you'll see this dance, if I am not mistaken, take very 
 
 well upon the stage, when they are perfect in their motions, and all that. 
 
 Sim. 1 don't know 'twill take, sir; but I am sure you sweat hard 
 
 for 't. 
 
 Bayes. Aye, sir, it costs me more pains, and trouble, to do these 
 things, than almost the things are worth. 
 
 Smi. By my troth, I think so, sir. 
 
 Bayes. Not for the things themselves, for I could write you, sir, 
 forty of 'em in a day; but, i'gad, these players are such dull persons, 
 that, if a man be not by upon every point, and at every turn, i'gad, 
 240 they'll mistake you, sir, and spoil all. 
 
 Enter a Player. 
 
 What, is the funeral ready? 
 Play. Yes, sir.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE I 411 
 
 Bayes. And is the lance fill'd with wine? 
 
 Flay. Sir, 'tis just now a doing. 
 
 Bayes. Stay then; I"ll do it myself. 
 
 Smi. Come, let 's go with him. 
 
 Bayes A match. But, Mr. Johnson, i'gad, I am not like other 
 persons; they care not what becomes of their things, so they can but get 
 money for 'em: now, i'gad, when 1 write, if it be not just as it should 
 250 be, in every circumstance, to every particular, i'gad, I am not able to 
 endure it, I am not myself, I'm out of my wits, and all that; I'm the 
 strangest person in the whole world. For what care I for my money? 
 i'gad, I write for fame and reputation. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT rV. SCENE I. 
 Bayes, and the two gentlemen. 
 
 Bayes. Gentlemen, because I would not have any two things alike 
 in this play, the last act beginning with a witty scene of mirth, I make 
 this to begin with a funeral. 
 
 Smi. And is that all your reason for it, Mr. Bayes? 
 
 Bayes. No, sir; I have a precedent for it too. A person of honor, 
 and a scholar, brought in his funeral just so; and he was one, let me tell 
 you, that knew as well what belong'd to a funeral, as any man in 
 England, i'gad. 
 
 Johns. Nay, if that be so, you are safe. 
 jQ Bayes. I'gad, but I have another device, a frolic, -vrhieh I think yet 
 better than all this; not for the plot or characters (for, in my heroic 
 plays, I make no difference as to those matters), but for another con- 
 trivance. 
 
 ami. What is that, I pray? 
 
 Bayes. Why, I have design'd a conquest, that cannot possibly, i'gad, 
 be acted in less than a whole week: and I'll speak a bold word, it shall 
 drum, trumpet, shout, and battle, i'gad, with any the most warlike 
 tragedy we have, either ancient or modern. 
 
 Johns. Aye, marry, sir; there you say something. 
 
 29 Smi. And pray, sir, how have you order'd this same frolic of yours? 
 Bayes. Faith, sir, by the rule of romance. For example: they 
 
 divide their things into three, four, five, six, seven, eight, or as many 
 tomes as they please: now, I would very fain know, what should hinder 
 me from doing the same with my things, if I please. 
 
 Johns. Nay, if you should not be master of your own works, 'tis 
 very hard. 
 
 Bayes. That is my sense. And therefore, sir, whereas every one 
 makes five acts to one play, what do me I, but make five plays to one 
 plot: by which means the auditors have every day a new thing. 
 
 30 Johns. Most admirably good, i'faith! and must certainly take, 
 because it is not tedious. 
 
 Bayes. Aye, sir. I know that; there's the main point. And then, 
 upon Saturday, to make a close of all (for I ever begin upon a
 
 412 THE EEHEAKSAL 
 
 Monday), I make you, sir, a sixth play, that sums up the whole matte? 
 to "em, and all that, for fear they should have forgot it. 
 
 Johns. That consideration, Mr. Bayes, indeed, I think, will be very 
 necessary. 
 
 Smi. And when comes in your share, pray, sir? 
 
 Bayes. The third week. 
 40 Johns. I vow, you'll get a world of money. 
 
 Bayes. Why, faith, a man must live: and if you don't, thus, pitcb 
 upon some new device, i'gad, you'll never do it, for this age (take it o' 
 my word) is somewhat hard to please. There is one pretty odd passage, 
 in the last of these plays, which may be executed two several ways, 
 wherein I 'd have your opinion, gentlemen. 
 
 Johns. Well, what is't I 
 
 Bayes. Why, sir, I make a male person to be in love with a female. 
 
 iSmi. Do you mean that, Mr. Bayes, for a new thing? 
 
 Bayes. Yes, sir, as I have order'd it. You shall hear. He having 
 50 passionately lov 'd her thro ' my five whole plays, finding at last that 
 she consents to his love, just after that his mother had appear'd to him 
 like a ghost, he kills himself. That's one way. The other is, that she 
 coming at last to love him, with as violent a passion as he lov'd her, she 
 kills herself. Now my question is, which of these two persons should 
 suffer upon this occasion? 
 
 Johns. By my troth, it is a very hard case to decide. 
 
 Bayes. The hardest in the world, i'gad; and has puzzled this pate 
 very much. WHiat say you, Mr. Smith ? 
 
 Smi. W'hy, truly, Mr. Bayes, if it might stand with your justice, I 
 eO should now spare 'em both. 
 
 Bayes. I'gad, and I think ha why then, I'll make him hinder 
 
 her from killing herself. Aye, it shall be so. Come, come, bring in the 
 funeral. 
 
 Filter a funeral, with the two Usurpers and attendants. 
 
 Lay it down there: no, here, sir. So, now speak. 
 
 K. Ush. Set down the funeral pile, and let our grief 
 
 Eeceive, from its embraces, some relief. 
 K. Phys. Was't not unjust to ravish hence her breath, 
 
 And, in life's stead, to leave us naught but death? 
 
 The world discovers now its emptiness, 
 70 And, by her loss, demonstrates we have less. 
 
 Bayes. Is not that good language now? Is not that elevate? It's 
 my non ultra, i'gad. You must know they were both in love with her. 
 
 ami. With her? with whom? 
 
 Bayes. Why, this is Lardella's funeral. 
 
 Smi. Lardella! Aye, who is she? 
 
 Bayes. Why, sir, the sister of Drawcansir; a lady that was drown'd 
 at sea, and had a wave for her winding-sheet.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE I 413 
 
 K. Ush. Lardella, O Lardella, from above, 
 Behold the tragic issue of our love. 
 Pity us, sinking under grief and pain, 
 For thy being cast away upon the main. 
 
 Bayes. Look you now, you see I told you true. 
 
 Smi. Aye, sir, and I thank you for it, very kindly. 
 
 Bayes. Aye, i'gad, but you will not have patience; honest Mr. 
 
 -a you will not have patience. 
 
 Johns. Pray, Mr. Bayes, who is that Drawcansirl 
 
 Bayes. Why, sir, a fierce hero, that frights his mistress, snubs up 
 kings, baffles armies, and does what he will, without regard to good 
 manners, justice, or numbers. 
 ^ Johns. A very pretty character. 
 
 Smi. But, Mr. Bayes, I thought your heroes had ever been men of 
 great humanity and justice. 
 
 Bayes. Yes, they have been so; but, for my part, I prefer that one 
 quality of singly beating of whole armies, above all your moral virtues 
 put together, i'gad. You shall see him come in presently. Zookers, why 
 don't you read the paper? {To the Players. 
 
 K. Phys. O, cry you mercy. [Goes to take the paper. 
 
 Bayes. Pish! Nay, you are such a fumbler. Come, I'll read it 
 myself. [Takes a paper from of the coffin. 
 
 100 Stay, it's an ill hand, I must use my spectacles. This, now, is a copy of 
 verses, which I make Lardella compose, just as she is dying, with design 
 to have it pinn'd on her cofiin, and so read by one of the usurpers, who 
 is her cousin. 
 
 iSmi. A very shrewd design that, upon my word, Mr. Bayes. 
 
 Bayes. And what do you think I fancy her to make love like, here, 
 in the paper? 
 
 Smi. Like a woman: what should she make love like? 
 
 Bayes. 0' my word, you are out tho', sit- i'gad you are. 
 
 Smi. "What then? Like a man? 
 110 Bayes. No, sir; like a bumblebee. 
 
 Smi. I confess, that I should not have fancied. 
 
 Bayes. It may be so, sir. But it is, tho ', in order to the opinion 
 of some of your ancient philosophers, v.ho held the transmigration of 
 the soul. 
 
 Smi. "Very fine. 
 
 Bayes. I '11 read the title. To my dear com, King Phys. 
 
 Smi. That's a little too familiar with a king, tho', sir, by your 
 favor, for a bumblebee. 
 
 Bayes. Mr. Smith, for other things, I grant your knowledge may 
 120 be above me; but, as for poetry, give me leave to say, I understand that 
 better: it has been longer my practice; it has indeed, sir. 
 
 Smi. Your servant, sir. 
 
 Bayes. Pray mark it: [Eead^. 
 
 "Since death my earthly part will thus remove, 
 I '11 come a bumblebee to your chaste love. 
 With silent wings I '11 follow you, dear couz;
 
 .) 
 
 414 THE EEHEAKSAL 
 
 Or else, before you, in the sunbeams buzz. 
 ■ And when to melancholy groves you come, ^ 
 
 An airy ghost, you'll know me by my hum; L 
 
 .cQ For sound, being air, a ghost does well become." J 
 
 Smi. [After a pause.] Admirable! 
 Bayes. "At night, into your bosom I will creep, 
 
 And buzz but softly if you chance to sleep: 
 Yet, in your dreams, I will pass sweeping by, 
 And then, both hum and buzz before your eye." 
 Johns. By my troth, that's a very great promise. 
 Smi. Yes, and a most extraordinary comfort to boot. 
 Bayes. "Your bed of love from dangers I will free; 
 But most, from love of any future bee. 
 140 And when, with pity, your heartstrings shall crack, 
 
 With empty arms I '11 bear you on my back. ' ' 
 Smi. A pick-a-pack, a pick-a-pack. 
 
 Bayes. Aye, i'gad, but is not that tuant now, ha? Is it not tuant? 
 Here's the end: 
 
 ' ' Then, at your birth of immortality, 
 
 Like any winged archer, hence I'll fly. 
 
 And teach you your first flutt 'ring in the sky. 
 
 Johns. O rare! It is the most natural, refin'd fancy this, that ever 
 
 I heard, I'll swear. 
 
 150 Bayes. Yes, I think, for a dead person, it is a good enough way of 
 
 making love; for, being divested of her terrestrial part, and all that, she 
 
 is only capable of these little, pretty, amorous designs that are innocent, 
 
 and yet passionate. Come, draw your swords. 
 
 K. Phys. Come, sword, come sheathe thyself within this breast, 
 
 That only in Lardella's tomb can rest. 
 K. Ush. Come, dagger, come, and penetrate this heart, 
 
 "Which cannot from Lardella's love depart. 
 
 Enter Pallas. 
 
 Pal. Hold, stop your murd'ring hands 
 At Pallas 's commands: 
 jgO For the supposed dead, O kings. 
 
 Forbear to act such deadly things. 
 
 Lardella lives: I did but try 
 
 If princes for their loves could die. 
 
 Such celestial constancy 
 
 Shall by the gods rewarded be: 
 
 And from these funeral obsequies 
 
 A nuptial banquet shall arise. 
 
 [The coffin opens, and a banquet is discovered. 
 
 Bayes. Now it's out. This is the very funeral of the fair person 
 •which Volscius sent word was dead, and Pallas, you see, has turn'd it 
 170 into a banquet. . , •
 
 ACT IV, SCENE I 415 
 
 Johns. By my troth, now, that is new, and more than I expected. 
 
 Bayes. Yes, I knew this would please you; for the chief art in 
 poetry is to elevate your expectation, and then bring you off some 
 extraordinary way. 
 
 K. Vsh. Resplendent Pallas, we in thee do find 
 The fiercest beauty, and a fiercer mind: 
 And since to thee Lardella's life we owe. 
 We'll supple statues in thy temple grow. 
 K. Phys. Well, since alive Lardella's found, 
 180 Let, in full bowls, her health go round. 
 
 [The iivo Usurpers take each of them a boivl in their hands, 
 K. Vsh. But Where's the wine? 
 Pal. That shall be mine. 
 
 Lo, from this conquering lance, 
 Does flow the purest wine of France: 
 
 [Fills the howls out of her lance. 
 And, to appease your hunger. I 
 Have, in my helmet, brought a pie: 
 Lastly, to bear a part with these. 
 Behold a buckler made of cheese. [Vanish Pallas. 
 
 Enter Drawcansir. 
 
 K. Phys. What man is this that dares disturb our feast? 
 190 Draw. He that dares drink, an<l for that drink dares die. 
 And, knowing this, dares yet drink on, am 1. 
 
 Johns. That is as much as to say, that tho' he would rather die 
 than not drink, yet he would fain drink for all that too. 
 Bayes. Right; that's the conceit on 't. 
 Johns. 'Tis a marvelous good one, I swear. 
 
 K. Vsh. Sir, if you please, we should be glad to know 
 
 How long you here will stay, how soon you'll go. 
 
 Bayes. Is not that now like a well-bred person, i'gad? So modest, 
 so gent ! 
 200 Smi. 0, very like. 
 
 Draw. You shall not know how long I here will stay; 
 But you shall know I'll take my bowls away. 
 [Snatches the bowls out of the Icings' hands, and drinks 'cm off. 
 
 Smi. But, Mr. Bayes, is that too modest and gent? 
 Bayes. No, i'gad, sir, but it's great. 
 
 K. Vsh. Tho', brother, this grum stranger be a clown. 
 
 He'll leave us, sure, a little to gulp down. 
 Draw. Whoe'er to gulp one drop of this dares think, 
 I'll stare away his very pow'r to drink. 
 
 [The two kings sneak off the stage, with their attendants.
 
 416 THE REHEARSAL 
 
 I drink, I huff, I strut, look big and stare; 
 210 And all this I can do, because I dare. [Exit, 
 
 Smi. I suppose, Mr. Bayes, this is the fierce hero you spoke of. 
 
 Bayes. Yes; but this is nothing: you shall see him, in the last act, 
 win above a dozen battles, one after another, i'gad, as fast as they can 
 possibly be represented. 
 
 Johns. That will be a sight worth seeing, indeed. 
 
 jS?)j?. But pray, Mr. Bayes, why do you make the kings let him use 
 'em so scurvily? 
 
 Bayes. Phoo! That is to raise the character of Drawcansir. 
 
 Johns. O' my word, that was well thought on. 
 220 Bayes. Now, sir, I'll shew you a scene indeed; or rather, indeed, 
 the scene of scenes. 'Tis an heroic scene. 
 
 Smi. And pray, sir, what is your design in this scene? 
 
 Bayes. Why, sir, my design is Roman clothes, gilded truncheons, 
 forc'd conceit, smooth verse, and a rant: in fine, if this scene does not 
 
 take, i'gad, I'll write no more. Come, come in, Mr. a nay, come 
 
 in as many as you can. Gentlemen, I must desire you to remove a 
 little, for I must fill the stage. 
 
 Smi. Why fill the stage? 
 
 Bayes. O, sir, because your heroic verse never sounds well, but 
 230 when the stage is full. 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 Enter Prince Pretty-man and Prince Volscius. 
 
 Nay, hold, hold; pray by your leave a little. Look you, sir, the 
 drift of this scene is somewhat more than ordinary: for I make 'em 
 both fall out because they are not in love with the same woman. 
 
 Smi. Not in love? You mean, I suppose, because they are in love, 
 Mr. Bayes? 
 
 Bayes. No, sir; I say not in love: there's a new conceit for you. 
 Now, speak. 
 
 Pret. Since fate. Prince Volscius, has found out the way 
 For our so long'd-for meeting here this day, 
 10 Lend thy attention to my grand concern. 
 
 Vols. I gladly would that story of thee learn; 
 But thou to love dost. Pretty-man, incline : 
 Yet love in thy breast is not love in mine. 
 
 Bayes. Antithesis! thine and mine. 
 
 Pret. Since love itself's the same, why should it be 
 Diff 'ring in you from what it is in me? 
 
 Bayes. Reasoning; i'gad, I love reasoning in verse. 
 
 Vols. Love takes, chameleon-like, a various dye 
 From every plant on which itself does lie.
 
 ACT IV, SCENE II dl7 
 
 2*^ Bayes. Simile! 
 
 Fret. Let not thy love the course of nature fright: 
 Nature does most in harmony delight. 
 
 Vols. How weak a deity would nature prove, 
 Contending with the pow'rful God of Love? 
 
 Bayes. There's a great verse! 
 
 Vols. If incense thou wilt offer at the shrine 
 Of mighty Love, burn it to none but mine. 
 Her rosy lips eternal sweets exhale; 
 And her bright flames make all flames else look pale. 
 
 30 
 
 Bayes. I'gad, that is right. 
 
 Fret. Perhaps dull incense may thy love suflSce; 
 But mine must be ador'd with sacrifice. 
 All hearts turn ashes which her eyes control: 
 The body tiiey consume as well as soul. 
 
 Vols. My love has yet a power more divine; 
 Victims her altars burn not, but refine: 
 Amidst the flames they ne'er give up the ghost, 
 But, with her looks, revive still as they roast. 
 In spite of pain and death, they're kept alive: 
 ^^ Her fiery eyes makes 'em in fire survive. 
 
 Bayes. That is as well as I can do. 
 
 Vols. Let my Parthenope at length prevail. 
 
 Bayes. Civil, i'gad. 
 
 Fret. I'll sooner have a passion for a whale; 
 In whose vast bulk, tho ' store of oil dotli lie. 
 We find more shape, more beauty in a fly. 
 
 Smi. That's uncivil, i'gad. 
 
 Bayes. Yes; but as far a f etch 'd fancy, tho', i'gad, as ever you sa^w. 
 
 Vols. Soft, Pretty-man, let not thy vain pretense 
 50 Of perfect love defame love's excellence. 
 Parthenope is sure as far above 
 All other loves, as above ail is love. 
 
 Bayes. Ah! I'gad, that strikes me. 
 
 Fret. To blame my Chloric, gods would not pretend. 
 
 Bayes. Now uiurk. 
 
 Vols. Were all gods join'd, they could not hope to mend 
 My better choice; for fair Parthenope, 
 Gods would, themselves, un-god themselves to see.
 
 418 THE KEHEAESAL 
 
 Hayes. Now the rant's a coming. 
 
 60 Fret. Durst any of the gods be so uncivil, 
 I'd make that god subscribe himself a devil. 
 
 Bayes. Ah, godsookers, that's well writ! 
 
 Vols. Could'st thou that god from heav'n to earth translate, 
 He could not fear to want a heav'nly state. 
 Parthenope, on earth, can heav'n create. 
 
 Prct. Chloris does heav'n itself so far excel, 
 She can transcend the joys of heav'n in hell. 
 
 Bayes. There's a bold flight for you now! 'Sdeath, I have lost my 
 
 peruke. Well, gentlemen, this is that I never yet saw anyone could 
 
 70 write, but myself. Here 's true spirit and flame all thro ', i 'gad. So, 
 
 so; pray clear the stage. [He puts 'em off the stage. 
 
 Johns. But, Mr. Bayes, pray why is this scene all in verse? 
 
 Bayes. O, sir, the subject is too great for prose. 
 
 Smi. "Well said, i' faith; I'll give thee a pot of ale for that answer: 
 'tis well worth it. 
 
 Bayes. Come, with all my heart. 
 
 "I'll make that god subscribe himself a devil." 
 That single line, i' gad, is worth all that my brother poets ever writ. 
 So, now let down the curtain. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V 
 
 Bayes, and the two Gentlemen. 
 
 Bayes. Now, gentlemen, I will be bold to say, I"ll shew you the 
 greatest scene that ever England saw: I mean not for words, for those 
 I do not value; but for state, shew, and magnificence. ■ In fine, I'll 
 justify it to be as grand to the eye every whit, i' gad, as that great scene 
 in Harry the Eight, and grander too, i' gad ; for, instead of two bishops, 
 I have brought in two other cardinals. 
 
 The curtain is drawn up, and the tivo usurping Icings appear in 
 state, with the four cardinals, Prince Pretty-man, Prince 
 VoLscius, Amarillis, Chloris, Parthenope, ^c; before 
 them, heralds and sergeants at arms with maces. 
 
 Smi. Mr. Bayes, pray what is the reason that two of the cardinals 
 are in hats, and the other in caps? 
 
 Bayes. Why, sir, because By gad, I won't tell you. 
 
 XO Smi. I ask your pardon, sir. 
 
 K. Vsh. Now, sir, to the business of the day. 
 
 Vols. Dread, sovereign lords, my zeal to you must not invade my 
 duty to your son; let me intreat that great Prince Pretty-man first do 
 speak: whose high preeminence, in all things that do bear the name of 
 good, may justly claim that privilege.
 
 ACT V 419 
 
 Pret. Koyal father, upon my knees I beg 
 That the illustrious Volscius first be heard. 
 
 Bayes. Here it begins to unfold: you may perceive, now, that he is 
 his son. 
 20 Johns. Yes, sir; and we are very much beholden to you for that 
 discovery. 
 
 Vols. That preference is only due to Amarillis, sir. 
 
 Bayes. I'll make her speak very well, by and by, you shall see. 
 
 Ama. Invincible sovereigns . [Soft rmisic. 
 
 K. TJsh. But stay, what sound is this invades our ears? 
 K. Phys. Sure, 'tis the music of the moving spheres. 
 Pret. Behold, with wonder, yonder comes from far 
 A godlike cloud, and a triumphant car, 
 
 In which our two right kings sit one by one, 1 
 
 30 With virgin vests, and laurel garlands on. L 
 
 K. Vsh. Then, brother Phys, 'tis time that we were gone. J 
 
 {The tivo Usurpers steal out of the throne, and go away. 
 
 Bayes. Look you now, did not I tell you that this would be as easy 
 a turn as the other? 
 
 Smi. Yes, faith, you did so; tho', I confess, I could not believe you; 
 but you have brought it about, I see. 
 
 [The two right Kings of Brentford descend in the clouds, singing, 
 in white garments; and three fiddlers sitting before them, in 
 green. 
 
 Bayes. Now, because the two right kings descend from above, I 
 make 'em sing to the tune and style of our modern spirits. 
 
 1 King. Haste, brother king, we are sent from above. 
 
 2 King. Let us move, let us move: 
 40 Move to remove the fate 
 
 Of Brentford's long-united state. 
 
 1 King. Tara, tara, tara, full east and by south, 
 
 2 King. We sail with thunder in our mouth. 
 In scorching noonday, whilst the traveler stays. 
 
 Busy, busy, busy, busy, we bustle along; 
 Mounted upon warm Pho-bus his rays, 
 Thro ' the heavenly throng, 
 Haste to those 
 
 Who will feast us, at night, with a pig's pettitoes. 
 50 1 King. And we'll fall with our pate 
 
 In an olio of hate. 
 2 King. But now supper's done, the ser\itors try, 
 Like soldiers, to storm a whole half-moon-pie. 
 
 1 King. They gather, they gather hot custard in spoons; 
 Alas, I must leave these half-moons. 
 And repair to my trusty dragoons.
 
 420 THE KEHEAKSAL 
 
 2 King. stay, for you need not as yet go astray; 
 The tide, like a friend, has brought ships in our way. 
 And on their high ropes we will play. 
 60 Like maggots in filberds, we '11 snug in our shell, 
 We'll frisk in our shell. 
 
 We'll firk in our shell. 
 And farewell. 
 
 1 King. But the ladies have all inclination to dance, 
 And the green frogs croak out a coranto of France. 
 
 Bayes. Is not that pretty, now? The fiddlers are all in green. 
 Smi. A.je, but they play no coranto. 
 
 Johns. No, but they play a tunc, that's a great deal better. 
 Bayes. No coranto, quoth a! That's a good one, with all my heart, 
 70 Come, sing on. 
 
 2 King. Now mortals that hear 
 
 How we tilt and career. 
 With wonder will fear 
 The event of such things as shall never appear. 
 
 1 King. Stay you to fulfill what the gods have decreed. 
 
 2 King. Then call me to help you, if there shall be need. 
 1 King. So firmly resolv 'd is a true Brentford king 
 
 To save the distress 'd, and help to 'em bring. 
 That ere a full pot of good ale you can swallow, 
 80 He's here with a whoop, and gone with a holla. 
 
 [Bayes fillips his finger, and sings after 'em. 
 
 Bayes. "He's here with a whoop, and gone with a holla." This, sir, 
 you must know, I thought once to have brought in with a conjurer. 
 
 Johns. Aye, that would have been better. 
 
 Bayes. No, faith, not when you consider it : for thus 'tis more 
 compendious, and does the thing every whit as well. 
 
 JS7ni. Thing! What thing? 
 
 Bayes. Why, bring 'em down again into the throne, sir: what thing 
 would you have? 
 
 Smi. Well; but, methinks, the sense of this song is not very plain. 
 
 90 Bayes. Plain? Why, did you ever hear any people in clouds speak 
 
 plain? They must be all for flight of fancy, at its full range, without 
 
 the least check or control upon it. When once you tie up spirits and 
 
 people in clouds to speak plain, you spoil all. 
 
 Smi. Bless me, what a monster's this! 
 
 [The two "kings light out of the clouds, and step into the throne. 
 
 1 King. Come, now to serious counsel we'll advance. 
 
 2 King. I do agree; but first, let's have a dance. - 
 
 Bayes. Eight. You did that very well, Mr. Cartwright.. "But first, 
 let's have a dance." Pray remember that ; be sure ybu dp it always just 
 so: for it must be done as if it were the effect of thought and pre- 
 100 meditation. "But first, lef s have a dance." Pray remember that.
 
 ACT V 421 
 
 Smi. Well, I can hold no longer, I must gag this rdgue; there's no 
 induring of him. 
 
 Johns. No, pr"ythce make use of thy patience a little longer: let's 
 see the end of him now. [Dance a grand dance. 
 
 Bayes. This, now, is an ancient dance, of right belonging to the 
 kings of Brentford ; and since deriv M, with a little alteration, to the 
 Inns of Court. 
 
 An Alarm. Enter two Heralds. 
 
 1 King. What saucy groom molests our privacies? 
 
 1 Her. The army's at the door, and in disguise; 
 110 Desires a word with both your majesties: 
 
 2 Her. Having from Knightsbridge hither march 'd by stealth. 
 2 King. Bid 'em attend awhile, and drink our health. 
 
 Smi. How, Mr. Bayes, the army in disguise? 
 
 Bayes. Aye, sir, for fear the usurpers might discover them that went 
 out but just now. 
 
 Smi. Why, what if they had discover'd them? 
 Bayes. Why then they had broke this design. 
 Smi. That's true, indeed. I did not think of that. 
 
 1 King. Here, take five guineas for those warlike men. t 
 
 128 2 King. And here's five more; that makes the sum just ten. > 
 1 Her. We have not seen so mucli the Lord knows when. J 
 
 [Exeunt Heralds. 
 1 King. Speak on, brave Amarillis. 
 Ama. Invincible sovereigns, blame not my modesty, 
 
 If at this grand conjuncture [Drum beats behind the stage. 
 
 1 King. What dreadful noise is this that comes and goes? 
 
 Enter a soldier tcith his sword draivn. 
 
 Sold. Haste hence, great sirs, your royal persons save, 
 For the event of war no mortal knows: 
 The army, wrangling for the gold you gave, 
 
 First fell to words, and then to handy-blows. [Exit. 
 
 130 2 King. O dangerous estate of sovereign pow'r! 
 Obnoxious to the change of every hour. 
 1 King. Let us for shelter in our cabinet stay: 
 
 Perhaps these threat 'ning storms may pass away. 
 
 [Exeutit. 
 
 Johns. But, Mr. Bayes, did not you promise us, just now, to make 
 Amarillis speak very well? 
 
 Bayes. Aye, and so she would have done, but that they hindcr'd her. 
 Smi. How, sir? Whether you would or no? 
 
 Bayes. Aye, sir; the plot lay so tliat, I vow to gad, it was not to 
 be avoided. 
 140 Smi. Marry, that was hard. 
 
 Johns. But, pray, who hinder'd her?
 
 422 THE EEHEAESAL 
 
 Bayes. Why, the battle, sir, that's just coming in at door. And 
 I'll tell you now a strange thing: tho' I don't pretend to do more 
 than other men, i' gad. 111 give you both a whole week to guess how 
 I'll represent this battle. 
 
 Svii. I had rather be bound to fight your battle, sir, I assure you. 
 
 Bayes. Why, there's it now: fight a battle? There's the common 
 
 error. I knew presently where I should have you. Why, pray, sir, do 
 
 but tell me this one thing: can you think it a decent thing, in a battle 
 
 150 before ladies, to have men run their swords thro ' one another, and 
 
 all that? 
 
 Johns. No, faith, 'tis not civil. 
 
 Bayes. On the other side; to have a long relation of squadrons here, 
 and squadrons there: what is that but a dull prolixity? 
 
 Johns. Excellently reason'd, by my troth! 
 
 Bayes. Wherefore, sir, to avoid both those indecorums, I sum up my 
 
 whole battle in the representation of two persons only, no more : and yet 
 
 so lively, that, I vow to gad, you would swear ten thousand men were 
 
 at it, really engag'd. Do you mark me? 
 
 160 Smi. Yes, sir; but I think I should hardly swear, tho', for all that. 
 
 Bayes. By my troth, sir, but you would, tho', when you see it: for 
 I make 'em both come out in armor, cap-a-pie, with their swords drawn, 
 and hung with a scarlet ribbon at their wrists, (which, you know, re- 
 presents fighting enough,) each of 'em holding a lute in his hand. 
 
 Smi. How, sir, instead of a buckler? 
 
 Bayes. O Lord, Lord! instead of a buckler? Pray, sir, do you 
 ask no more questions. I make 'em sir, play the battle in recitativo. 
 And here's the conceit. Just at the very same instant that one sings, 
 170 the other, sir, recovers you his sword, and puts himself in a warlike 
 posture : so that you have at once your ear entertain 'd with music and 
 good language, and your eye satisfied with the garb and accouterments 
 of war. is not that well? 
 
 Johns. Aye, what would you have more? He were a devil that 
 would not be satisfied with that. 
 
 )Smi. I confess, sir, you stupify me. 
 
 Bayes. You shall see. 
 
 Johns. But, Mr. Bayes, might not we have a little fighting, for I 
 love those plays where they cut and slash one another, upon the stage, 
 180 for a whole hour together. 
 
 Bayes. Why, then, to tell you true, I have eontriv'd it both ways. 
 But you shall have my recitativo first. 
 
 Enter, at several doors, the General, and Lieutenant General. 
 arm 'd cap-a-pie, with each of them a lute in his hand, and 
 his sword drawn, and hung with a scarlet ribbon at his 
 wrist. 
 
 Lieut. Gen. Villain, thou liest. 
 Gen. Arm, arm, Gonsalvo, arm; what ho? 
 The lie no flesh can brook, I trow.
 
 ACT V 423 
 
 Lieut. Gen. Advance, from Acton, with the musketeers. 
 Gen. Draw down the Chelsea curiasiers. 
 Lieut. Gen. The band you boast of, Chelsea curiasiers, 
 Shall, in my Putney pikes, now meet their peers. 
 190 Gen. Chiswickians, aged, and renown'd in fight, 
 Join with the Hammersmith brigade. 
 Lieut. Gen. You 'II find my Mortlake boys will do them right, 
 
 Unless by Fulham numbers overlaid. 
 Gen. Let the left wing of Twiek 'nam foot advance 
 
 And line that eastern hedge. 
 Lieut. Gen. The horse I raia'd in Petty France 
 Shall try their chance, 
 And scour the meadows, overgrown with sedge. 
 Gen. Stand: give the word. 
 200 Lieut. Gen. Bright sword. 
 Gen. That may be thine, 
 
 But 'tis not mine. 
 Lieut. Gen. Give fire, give fire, at once give fire, 
 
 And let those recreant troops perceive mine ire. 
 Gen. Pursue, pursue; they fly 
 
 That first did give the lie. [Exeunt. 
 
 Bayes. This, now, is not improper, I think, because the spectators 
 know all these towns, and may easily conceive them to be within the 
 dominions of the two Kings of Brentford. 
 210 Johns. Most exceeding well design'd ! 
 
 Bayes. How do you think I have contriv'd to give a stop to this 
 battle? 
 
 Smi. How? 
 
 Bayes. By an eclipse: which, let me tell you, is a kind of fancy 
 that was yet never so much as thought of, but by myself, and one person 
 more, that shall be nameless. Come, come in, Mr. a 
 
 Enter Lieutenant General. 
 
 Lieut. Gen. What midnight darkness does invade the day, 
 And snatch the victor from his conquer'd prey? 
 Is the sun weary of this bloody fight, 
 220 And winks upon us with his eye of light? 
 
 'Tis an eclipse. This was unkind, O moon. 
 
 To clap between me and the sun so soon. 
 
 Foolish eclipse! thou this in vain hast done; 
 
 My brighter honor had eclips'd the sun. 
 
 But now behold eclipses two in one. [Exit. 
 
 Johns. This is an admirable representation of a battle, as ever I 
 saw. 
 
 Bayes. Aye, sir. But how would you fancy now to represent an 
 eclipse? 
 230 ^ini. Why, that's to be suppos'd.
 
 424 'THE 1{EHEA6SAL 
 
 Bayes. Suppos'dl Aye, you are ever at your suppose: ha, ha, ha. 
 Why you may as well suppose the whole play. No, it must come in 
 upon the stage, that's certain; but in some odd way, that may delight, 
 amuse, and all that. I have a conceit for 't that I am sure is new, and, 
 I believe, to the purpose. 
 
 Johns. How's that? 
 
 Bayes. "Why, the truth is, I took the first hint of this out of a 
 dialogue, between Phoebus and Aurora, in The Slighted Maid: which, 
 by my troth, was very pretty ; tho ', I think, you '11 confess tliis is a little 
 240 better. 
 
 Johns. No doubt on't, Mr. Bayes. 
 
 Bayes. But, sir, you have heard, I suppose, that your eclipse of the 
 moon is nothing else but an interposition of the earth between the sun 
 and moon: as likewise your eclipse of the sun is caus'd by an interloca- 
 tion of the moon betwixt the earth and sun? 
 
 Smi. I have heard so, indeed. 
 
 Bayes. Well, sir; what do me I, but make the earth, sun, and moon, 
 
 come out upon the stage, and dance the hey hum? And, of necessity, by 
 
 the very nature of this dance, the earth must be sometimes between the 
 
 250 sun and the moon, and the moon between the earth and sun; and there 
 
 you have both your eclipses. That is new, i' gad, ha? 
 
 Johns. That must needs be very fine, truly. 
 
 Bayes. Yes, there is some fancy in't. And then, sir, that there 
 may be something in it of a joke, I make the moon sell the earth a 
 bargain. Come, come out, eclipse, to the tune of Tom Tyler. 
 
 Enter Luna. 
 
 Luna. Orbis, O Orbis, 
 
 Come to me thou little rogue Orbis. 
 
 Enter the Earth. 
 
 Orh. What calls Terra Firma, pray? 
 L^ina. Luna, that ne'er shines by day. 
 260 Orb. What means Luna in a veil? 
 Luna. Luna means to shew her tail. 
 
 Enter Sol. 
 
 Sol. Fie, sister, fie; thou mak'st mc muse, 
 Dery, dery down, 
 To see thee Orb abuse. 
 Luna. I hope his anger "twill not move; 
 Since I did it out of love. 
 
 Hey down, dery down. 
 Orh. Where shall I thy true love know, 
 Thou pretty, pretty Moon? 
 270 Luna. To-morrow soon, ere it be noon, 
 
 On Mount Vesuvio. [Bis. 
 
 Sol. Then I will shine.
 
 ACT V 425 
 
 Orh. And I will be fine. 
 
 Luna. And we will drink nothing but Lipary wine. 
 
 Omnes. And we, 4'C- 
 
 Bayes. So, now, vanish eclipse, and enter t'other battle, and fight. 
 Here now, if I am not mistaken, you will see fighting enough. 
 
 A battle is foiujht between foot and great hobbyhorses. At 
 last, Drawcansir comes in, and kills 'em all on both sides. 
 All this while the battle is fighting, Bayes is telling them 
 when to shout, and sliouls with 'em. 
 
 Draw. Others may boast a single man to kill; 
 But I the blood of thousands daily spill. 
 280 Let petty kings the names of parties know: 
 
 Where'er I come, I slay both friend and foe. 
 The swiftest horsemen my swift rage controls, 
 And from their bodies drives their trembling souls. 
 If they had wings, and to the gods could fly, 
 I would pursue, and beat 'em thro' the sky; 
 , And make proud Jove, with all his thunder, see 
 
 This single arm more dreadful is than he. [Exit. 
 
 Bayes. There's a brave fellow for you now, sirs. I have read of yonr 
 Hector, your Achilles, and a hundred more; but I defy all your histories, 
 290 and your romances too, i' gad, to shew me one such conqueror as this 
 Drawcansir. 
 
 Johns. I swear, I think you may. 
 
 Smi. But, Mr. Bayes, how shall all these dead men go off, for I 
 see none alive to help 'em? 
 
 Bayes. Go off! why, as they came on; upon their legs: how should 
 they go off? Why, do you think the people do not know they are not 
 dead? He is mighty ignorant, poor man; your friend here is very silly, 
 Mr. Johnson, i' gad, he is. Come, sir, I'll show you go off. Else, sirs, 
 and go about your business. There's go off for you. Hark you, Mr. 
 300 Ivory. Gentlemen, I'll be with you presently. [Exit. 
 
 Johns. Will you so? Then we'll be gone. 
 
 Smi. Aye, pr'ythee let's go, that we may preserve our hearing. One 
 battle more would take mine quite away. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Bayes and Flayers. 
 
 Bayes. Where are the gentlemen? 
 
 1 Play. They are gone, sir. 
 
 Bayes. Gone! 'Sdeath, this last act is best of all. I'll go fetch 'era 
 
 again. [Exit. 
 
 3 Play. Stay, here's a foul piece of paper of his. Let's see what 
 
 'tis. [Beads. 
 
 3JQ "The Argument of the Fifth Act. 
 
 "Chloris, at length, being sensible of Prince Pretty-man's passion, 
 consents to marry him ; hut, just as they are going to church. Prince Pretty-
 
 426 THE KEHEARSAL 
 
 man meeting, by chance, with old Joan the chandler's widow, and remetn- 
 b 'ring it was she that first brought him acquainted with Chloris, out of a 
 high point of honor, breaks off his match with Chloris, and marries old 
 Joan. Upon which, Chloris, in despair, drowns herself; and Prince 
 Pretty-man, discontentedly, walks by the river side. ' ' 
 
 1 Play. Pox on't, this will never do; 'tis just like the rest. Como, 
 let's be gone. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Bayes. 
 
 S20 Bayes. A plague on 'em both for me, they have made me sweat to 
 run after 'era. A couple of senseless rascals, that had rather go to 
 dinner than see this play out, with a pox to 'em. What comfort has a 
 
 man to write for such dull rogues? Come Mr. a "Where are you, 
 
 sir? Come away quick, quick. 
 
 Enter Players again. 
 
 Play. Sir, they are gone to dinner. 
 
 Bayes. Yes, I know the gentlemen are gone; but I ask for the 
 players. 
 
 Play. Why, an't please your worship, sir, the players are gone to 
 dinner too. 
 330 Bayes. How! Are the players gone to dinner? 'Tis impossible: 
 the players gone to dinner! I' gad, if they are, I'll make 'em know 
 what it is to injure a person that does 'em the honor to write for 'em, 
 and all that. A company of proud, conceited, humorous, cross-grain'd 
 persons, and all that. I ' gad, I '11 make 'em the most contemptible, 
 despicable, inconsiderable persons, and all that, in the whole world, for 
 this trick. I' gad, I'll be reveng'd on 'em; I'll sell this play to the 
 other house. 
 
 Play. Nay, good sir, don't take away the book; you'll disappoint 
 the town, that comes to see it acted here, this afternoon. 
 340 Bayes. That's all one. I must reserve this comfort to myself, my 
 book and I will go together, we will not part, indeed, sir. The town! 
 Why, what care I for the town? I' gad, the town has us'd me as 
 scurvily as the players have done; but I'll be reveng'd on them too: T 
 will both lampoon and print 'em too, i 'gad. Since they will not admit 
 of my plays, they shall know what a satirist I am. And so farewell to 
 this stage for ever, i'gad. [Exit. 
 
 1 Play. What shall we do now? 
 
 2 Play. Come then, let's set up bills for another play. We shall 
 lose nothing by this, I warrant you. 
 
 350 1 Play. I am of your opinion. But, before we go, let's see Haynes 
 and Shirley practice the last dance; for that may serve for another 
 play. 
 
 2 Play. I'll call 'em: I think they are in the tiring-room. 
 
 The dance done. 
 
 1 Play. Come, come; let's go away to dinner. [Exeunt omnes.
 
 10 
 
 21 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 The play is at an end, but where's the plot? 
 That circumstance our poet Bayes forgot; 
 And we can boast, the' 'tis a plotting age, 
 No place is freer from it than the stage. 
 The ancients plotted, tho', and strove to please 
 With sense that might be understood with ease; 
 They every scene with so much wit did store 
 That who brought any in, went out with more: 
 But this new way of wit does so surprise, 
 Men lose their wits in wond'ring where it lies. 
 If it be true that monstrous births presage 
 The following mischiefs that afflicts the age. 
 And sad disasters to the State proclaim; 
 Plays, without head or tail, may do the same. 
 Wherefore, for ours, and for the kingdom's peace, 
 May this prodigious way of writing cease. 
 Let's have, at least, once in our lives, a time 
 When we may hear some reason, not all rime: 
 We have these tea years felt its influence; 
 Pray let this prove a year jf prose and sense.
 
 NOTES 
 
 Many of the following notes arc taken from Sir Walter Scott, whoso 
 edition of Dryden, first published in 1808, has become an English classic. 
 The text printed in Professor Saintsbury's revision of Scott's edition (London 
 and Edinbargh, 1882-93) has been used as a basis, but it has often been cor- 
 rected or abbreviated. When a note is taken from Scott with no change 
 whatever, It Is enclosed In quotation marks and his name is added. When 
 Scott's note has been modified by the omission, alteration, or addition of 
 even a single word, quotation marks are retained, but the name is enclosed 
 in brackets [Scott]. The same notation is used for the comments taken 
 from other critics, notably Professor Saintsbury (in the same edition) and 
 Professor Ker (in Essays of John Dryden, Oxford, 1900). Occasional refer- 
 ence is made to Malone's edition of The Critical and Miscellaneous Prose 
 Works of John Dryden, London, 1800 ; and to the Globe edition of Dryden, 
 edited by Christie. 
 
 The system of reference is as follows : the numbers ordinarily go in 
 pairs, in which the first (in heavier type) stands for the page, the second 
 for the line on that page. Thus 74, 59 = page 74, line 59; v. n. 74, 59 = see 
 note on 74, 59 ; v. 74, 59, n. = see 74, 59, and note. 
 
 The following abbreviations, as well as those in universal use, are em- 
 ployed in the following notes and in the footnotes to the text 
 Cgd.—Covent Garden Drollery, 1672. 
 .P. = Folio edition of Dryden's Comedies, Tragedies, and Operas, 
 
 1701. 
 K. = (except in notes on The Rehearsal) Professor Ker's edition 
 
 of Essays of John Dryden. 
 M. = Mermaid edition of dramas by Dryden, edited by Professor 
 Saintsbury, London and New York, 1904. 
 Jfc8.= New Court f!onf/s and Poems, by R. V. Gent, 1672. 
 N. E. D. = A'ch; English Dictionary. 
 
 Q.= Early quarto edition of play printed in this volume; see pp. 
 
 2, 148, 222, ;J0(), 472, xxxli. 
 88. = Scott-Saintsbury edition of Dryden. 
 Wd. = Westminster Drollery, the Second Part, 1672. 
 
 On [A.], [K.], and [N.], in notes on The Rehearsal, see p. 472. 
 
 429
 
 THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 
 
 For general information on The Conquest of Granada, see Introduction, 
 pp. xxiv-xxvli. Tlie title-pages of this and of the other plays in this volnme 
 are not literally reproduced from those in the early editions, but are adapted 
 from them. Dryden's Vlrgilian motto refers to his undertaking a work "as 
 far above the ordinary proportion of the stage, as that is beyond the common 
 words and actions of human life." (v. 8, 9, 45-2.) His own translation 
 of It is:— 
 
 A larger scene of action is display'd ; 
 
 And, rising hence, a greater work is weigh'd. 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 8, The Duke. "James, Duke of York, afterwards James II." Scott. 
 
 22. Personal valor. "Although the valor of the unfortunate James II 
 seems to have sunk with his good fortune, there is no reason 
 to question his having merited the compliment in the text. 
 The Duke of Buckingham, in his memoirs, has borne witness 
 to the intrepidity with which he encountered the dangers of 
 his desperate naval actions with the Dutch." [Scott.] 
 Acknowledging. Conscious of Indebtedness. 
 
 C 4. Your valor. "When General Lockhart commanded the troops of 
 the Protector in Flanders, the Duke of York was a volunteer 
 in the Spanish army, and was present at the defeat which the 
 latter received before Dunkirk, June 14, 1658." [Scott.] 
 
 30. Success. Outcome. 
 
 45. And if, since that memorable day. The day was that of the defeat 
 
 of the Dutch off Lowestoft, June 3, 1665. 
 5, 10. A surprise. The reference is to the events of 1667, when a Dutch 
 
 fleet entered the Thames, sailed up the Medway, and burned 
 
 three English men-of-war. 
 11. Furcw Caudinw. The reference is to the famous defeat of the 
 
 Romans by the Samnites In B. C. 321. 
 19. A just historian. Dryden had only recently (August, 1670) 
 
 received the posts of Poet Laureate and Historiographer Royal. 
 
 ESSAY OF HEROIC PLAYS 
 
 7, 32. For heroic plays, etc. Dryden's account of the topic is not com- 
 
 plete ; for further details see Introduction, pp. xiv-xix, and the 
 references there given. 
 
 8, 11. Just. "I. e. regular." Ker. 
 
 31. Le donne, etc. 
 
 Of loves and ladies, knights and arms, I sing. 
 Of courtesies, and many a daring feat. {Rose's Translation.) 
 35. Love and valor ought to be the subject of it. 
 
 "The practice and theory of Tasso show how the classical 
 form of Epic had been generally modified by the influence of 
 
 430
 
 NOTES 431 
 
 the romances. Homer and Amadis are both authorities for 
 the right conduct of Epic. Tlie Accadcmia della Crusca went 
 further and said there was no difference between Romance and 
 Epic, except that the latter was tedious (Difeaa dell' Orlando 
 FurtOHO, 1584)." Ker. 
 35,86. Both these Sir ^yiUianl Davenunt had beoun to shadow, etc. Com- 
 pare the following passage in Davenant's Preface to Oondibert: 
 
 "In the choice of these objects (which are as seamarlis to 
 direct the dangerous voyage of life) I thought fit to follow 
 the rule of coasting maps, where the shelves and rocks are 
 describ'd as well as the safe channel ; the care being equal 
 how to avoid as to proceed." (Davenant, Works, 1673, p. 6.) 
 
 This whole Essay of Heroic Plays, as we shall see, owes 
 much to this Preface to Gondibcrt and to Ilobbes's Anaicer to 
 it (printed in the same volume). 
 40. As the ancients call'd it, one entire and great action. The phrase 
 goes back to Aristotle's Poetics, chapter vl, but in Dryden's 
 time had become a mere commonplace of criticism. 
 9, 8. That it ourjht, etc. The passage in Italics is a summary of Dav- 
 enant's Ideas in his Preface to Oondibert, not a direct quotation 
 from him. 
 12, 13. Thus lie takes the image of an heroic poem from the drama. 
 
 "I cannot discern by any help from reading, or learned 
 men (who have been to me the best and briefest indexes of 
 books), that any nation hath in representment of great actions 
 (either by heroics or dramatics) digested story into so pleasant 
 and instructive a method as the English by their drama : and 
 by that regular species (though narratively and not in dia- 
 logue) I have drawn the body of an heroic poem ; In which I 
 did not only observe the symmetry, proportioning five books to 
 five acts, and cantos to scenes (the scenes having their number 
 ever governed by occasion), but all the shadoicings, happy 
 strokes, secret graces, and even the drapery, which together 
 make the second beauties, I have (I hope) exactly followed." 
 (Davenant, op. cit., p. 7.) 
 25. A'oH enim, etc. From Petronius, Satyricon, 118. After minis- 
 teria Dryden has omitted ct fabulosum sententiarum tormentum. 
 "h'ov actual events should not be recounted In verse, — some- 
 thing that historians do far better; but, through digressions, 
 and the interpositions of the gods, the free spirit should be 
 urged on, so that the prophesying of an inspirod mind may 
 appear in the poem, rather than the accuracy of a scrupulous 
 discourse, controlled by witnesses." 
 
 "This is quoted by almost every critic of the Epic Poem: 
 by Sir R. I'anshawe, in his translation of Camoens, by St. 
 Evremond, Rapin, Bossu, &c., also by Coleridge, Biographia 
 Literaria, c. 14." Keb. 
 30. Ltican. "Lucan, who chose to write the greatest actions that 
 ever were allowed to be true (which, for fear of contemporary 
 witnesses, obliged him to a very close attendance upon fame), 
 did not observe that such an enterprise rather beseemed an 
 historian then a poet. . . . 
 
 "I have been thus hard to call him to account for the 
 choice of his argument, not merely as it was story, but because 
 the actions he recorded were so eminent, and so near his time,
 
 432 NOTES 
 
 that lie could not assist Truth with such ornaments as poets, 
 for useful pleasure, have allowed her, lest the feigned com- 
 plexion might render the true suspected." (Davenant, op. 
 at., p. 2.) 
 
 Lucan's poem, llie Phar.ialia. treats of the civil wars be- 
 tween Csesar and I'onipey. 
 
 32. Sting of an epigram. Dryden has already contemptuously referred 
 to "the jerk or sting of an epigram" In his Account of the 
 Ensuing Poem prefixed to Annus Mirabili.'i (1007). In his con- 
 ' demnation of them he was undoubtedly influenced by Dav- 
 
 enant, who classes "conceits, things that sound like the knacks 
 or toys of ordinary epigrammatists," among the peculiarities 
 of a style falsely accounted wit by young men. (Davenant, 
 op. cit., p. 9.) Cf. 144, 22, n. 
 
 40. The oracle of Appius, etc. v. Lucan. Phar-'^alin, v. e4f ; vi. 507f. 
 
 42. For my part, etc. Here Dryden replies to an argument of 
 Davenant, of which only two sentences need be quoted : 
 
 "But Tasso, though he came late into the world, must have 
 his share in that critical war which never ceases among the 
 learned, and he seems most unfortunate, because his errors, 
 which are derived fiom the ancients, when examined, grow 
 in a great degree excusable in them, and by being his admit 
 no pardon. Such are his council assembled in heaven, his 
 witches' expeditions through the air, and enchanted woods 
 inhabited with ghosts." (Davenant, op. cit.. p. ,3.) 
 
 Dryden's object is, of course, to justify his adoption of the 
 supernatural machinery rejected by Davenant. 
 lO, 6. And if any man, etc. This is a direct reply to Hobbes : 
 
 "There are some that are not pleased with fiction, unless it 
 be bold not only to exceed the work, but also the possibility of 
 nature : they would have impenetrable armors, inchanted 
 castles, invulnerable bodies, iron men, flying horses, and a 
 thousand other such things, which ai"e easily figured by them 
 that dare. Against such I defend you [Davenant] (without 
 assenting to those that condemn either Homer or Virgil) by 
 dissenting only from those that think the beauty of a poem 
 consisteth in the exorbitancy of the fiction. For as truth is 
 the bound of historical, so the resemblance of truth is the 
 utmost limit of poetical liberty. In old time amongst the 
 heathen such strange fictions and metamorphoses were not so 
 remote from the articles of their faith as they are now from 
 '"ours, and therefore were not so unpleasant. Beyond the actual 
 works of nature a poet may now go, but beyond the conceived 
 possibility of nature never." (Op. cit., p. 25.) 
 
 17. Incorporeal suhstances. "All other names are but insignificant 
 sounds ; and those of two sorts. One, when they are new, 
 and yet their meaning not explained by definition. . . . An- 
 other, when men make a name of two names whose signifi- 
 cations are contradictory and inconsistent ; as this name, an 
 incorporeal body, or (which is all one) an incorporeal sub- 
 stance, and a great number more." (Hobbes, Leviathan, part I, 
 chap. 4.) 
 31. Mr. Cowley's verses before Gondibert. These begin as follows in 
 the Davenant folio of 1073 : 
 
 Methinks heroic poesy till now
 
 NOTES 433 
 
 Like some fantastic fairyland did show ; 
 Gods, devils, nymphs, witches, and giants' race, 
 And all but man, in man's chief work had place. 
 Thou, like some worthy knight, with sacred arms 
 Dost drive the monsters thence, and end the charms ; 
 Instead of these, dost men and manners plant. 
 The things which that rich soil did chiefly want : 
 Yet cv'n thy mortals do their gods excel. 
 Taught by thy Muse to fight and love so well. 
 Drydon's admiration for Cowley declined much with 
 advancing years, as the following passage will sufliciently 
 illustrate : 
 
 "I look'd over the darling of my youth, the famous Cowley: 
 there I found . . . the points of wit, and quirks of epigram, 
 even in the Daiidcis, a heroic poem, which is of an opposite 
 nature to those puerilities; but no elegant turns either on the 
 word or on the thought." (Discourse concerning Satire, Ss. 
 xiii, 116, 117.) 
 39. And if that be the most noble, etc. This passage is such a com- 
 monplace, despite its contradiction of Aristotle, who (Poetics, 
 xxvi) gives the preference to tragedy, that citation of authori- 
 ties is almost superfluous. But perhaps the following from 
 Davenant. whom Dryden is here alternately following and 
 combating, may be worth quotation : 
 
 "Having confessed that the desire of fame made me a 
 writer, I must declare why in my riper age I chose to gain 
 it more especially by an heroical poem, and the heroic being 
 by most allowed to be the most beautiful of poems, I shall not 
 need to decide the quarrels of poets about the degrees of 
 excellence in poesj'. . . . 
 
 "In my despair of reducing the minds of common men, I 
 have not confessed any weakness of poesy in the general 
 science, but rather inferred the particular strength of the 
 heroic, which hath a force that over-matches the infancy of 
 such minds as are not enabled by degrees of education; but 
 there are lesser forces in other kinds of poesy, by which they 
 may train and prepare their understandings." (Op. cit., 
 pp. 12, 18.) 
 44. Segnius, etc. Horace, Ars Poet. 180, 181. "Less keenly are our 
 spirits stirred by what drops into the ears, than by what is 
 placed before the trustworthy eyes" (Lonsdale and Lee's trans- 
 lation). 
 11, 1. To those icho object, etc. Here Dryden contradicts an opinion 
 advanced in his Essag of Dramatic Poesy (1668), where 
 Xeander, representing Dryden himself, says: "I must acknowl- 
 edge . . . that the French have reason to hide that part of 
 the action which would occasion too much tumult on the stage, 
 and to choose rather to have it made known by narration to 
 the audience." (Ss. xv. S?,(i.) 
 10. The poet is, then, etc. Compare, in An Essay of Dramatic 
 Poesy: "Indeed, the indecency of tumults is all which can be 
 objected against fighting : for why may not our imagination 
 as well suffer itself to be deluded with the probability of It, 
 as with any other thing in the play?" (Ss. xv. :{;{6.) 
 12. The Red Bull. This was a theater of an inferior sort both before
 
 434 NOTES 
 
 the closing of the theaters and after the Restoration. Two 
 passages from Pcpys' Diary may illustrate its later reputation : 
 March 23, 1661. "To the Red Bull (where I had not 
 been since plays come up again), up to the tireing-room, 
 where strange the confusion and disorder that there is among 
 them in fitting themselves, especially here, where the clothes 
 are very poore, and the actors but common fellows." 
 
 October 30, 1662. "I would not forget . . . Thos. Killi- 
 grew's way of getting to see plays when he was a boy. He 
 would go to the Red Bull, and when the man cried to the 
 boys : 'Who will go and l)e a devil and he shall see the play 
 for nothing? then would he go in, and be a devil upon the 
 stage, and so get to see plays." 
 
 On April 25, 1664, Pepys saw a prize fight at the Red Bull. 
 29. CalprenSdc. v. Introduction, p. xv. Professor Ker a'tly quotes 
 Boileau : 
 
 Tout a I'humeur gasconne en un auteur gascon ; 
 Calpren&de et Juba parlent du m&me ton. 
 
 (L'Art Po6tiqtie, iii 129, 130.)] 
 
 39. Oivo/?a/3€s etc. lUad, 1 225. ''Thou heavy with wine, that hast 
 
 the eyes of a dog, but the heart of a stag !" 
 
 40. Arjfjioftopo^ etc. Ihid. 231. "Prince that dost devour thy people !" 
 43. "EAkcto etc. IMd. 191. "lie drew from the sheath the mighty 
 
 sword." 
 12, 3. 'AAA', etc. IMd. 287, 288. "But this man wishes to excel all 
 others ; he wishes to rule all, and to be prince over all." 
 6. Honoratum, etc. Ars Poet. 120-122. "If you once more introduce 
 on the stage illustrious Achilles, he must appear as one rest- 
 less, passionate, inexorable, keen of soul ; he must say law 
 was not made for the like of him, appealing to the sword 
 alone" (Lonsdale and Lee's translation). 
 14. Tenya, etc. Gerusalemme Liherata, \. 43. 
 
 Here let him come in all his pomp of state ; 
 I place my proud foot on the ground, and wait 
 His unfearod presence and his scorned decree ; 
 Sharp arms shall be our only jurors. Fate 
 Sole arbitress, and foemen flock to see 
 The sportful drama played, — a deep, deep tragedy. 
 
 Wiffen's translation. 
 18. The point of honor. "Most of the Spanish plays turn on the 
 Point of Honor, and the French and English imitated them. 
 Compare The Adventures of Five Hours, act v : 
 
 Don Henrique. Why, were not you, Antonio, fighting 
 with him? 
 Were you not doing all you could to kill him? 
 
 Don Antonio. Henrique, 'tis true ; but, finding in my 
 breast 
 An equal strife 'twixt honor and revenge, 
 I do, in just compliance with them both. 
 Preserve him from your sword, to fall by mine. 
 
 Don Carlos. Brave man, how nicely he does honor 
 weigh ! 
 Justice herself holds not the scales more even." [Ker.] 
 See Dodsley's Old English Plays, ed. Hazlitt, xv. 309, and 
 compare The Rehearsal, pp. 409, 410, 199-225.
 
 NOTES 435 
 
 25. Cyrus and Oroondates. See Introduction, pp. xiv, xv. Oroon- 
 dates is the hero of Calprenfede's Cassandre. 
 
 37. Ben Jonson's Cetheyus, etc. Dryden is here writing from 
 memory. In Jonson's Catiline it is Catiline himself who 
 threatens to look Cicero dead (act IV, sc. ii) ; Cethegus offers 
 to liiil all the senate (act IV, sc. lii) ; the threat of destroying 
 nature is divided between Catiline, Cethegus, and Curius (act 
 III, sc. iii). Drj-den's defense is a lame one; the rant of 
 Catiline and Cethegus, unliice that of Almanzor, is meant to 
 arouse contempt, not admiration. 
 
 13, 15. With a xcord. " 'Una voce, qua Quirites eos pro milltibus appel- 
 
 larat.' Suetonius, Julius, 70." Kek. 
 
 22. Duke of Guise. "Cf. Mciiioiies de feu Monsieur Ic Due de Guise, 
 Paris, IGGS (edited l)y the Sicur do Sainctyon, his secretary; 
 the time of the history is from Nov. 1647 to Ap. 1(J48). 
 The Eloge describes his courage : 'Toute la Noblesse du 
 Royaume de Naples i'a vu avec etonnement luy resister presque 
 seul, et percer I'epee ft la main tout ce qui s'opposoit aux 
 efforts de son courage. ... II brava les vents et la mer, et 
 luy quatrieme dans une felouque m<:>prisa toute une Flotte 
 ennemie pour aller sccourir ses amis.' These Memoirs were 
 translated into English (1669)." Keb. 
 
 31. Ast opere, etc. Incorrectly from Horace, Ars Poet. 360: Verum 
 operi longo fas est obrepere somnum. "However, it is allow- 
 able, if in a long work sleep steals over a writer" (Lonsdale 
 and Lee's translation). 
 
 TEXT. 
 
 14. Mrs. Ellen Gwyn. This actress, famous as the mistress of 
 
 Charles II, created the part of the virtuous Almablde. 
 1. T'other house's. The Conquest of Granada was acted by the 
 King's Company, at the Theater Royal, in Drury Lane. The 
 Duke's Company, the rival organization, played at the Dorset 
 Garden Theater. In the latter company Nokes was a leading 
 actor. Christie states, without citing his authority : "The 
 borrowing of the jest of broad-brimmed hat and waist-belt 
 from Nokes and the other house ... is said to refer to a 
 caricature of French dress by Nokes at the Duke of York's 
 Theater, during the visit of the Duchess of Orleans and her 
 suite to England, in May, 1670." 
 19. Two the best comedians of the age. For this and the following 
 
 references the editor has found no explanation. 
 33. To like. As to like. [Sai.ntsbi'Ry.] 
 17,1, 2. Thus in, etc. Leigh in The Censure of the Rota remarks, quite 
 unjustly, that these two opening lines "agree as ill, as if one 
 were a Moor, and the other a Spaniard." 
 10. The flying skirmish of the darted cane. "The 'juego de caiJas' or 
 djereed." S-iintsbury. 
 Byrcn speaks of 
 
 Many au active deed 
 With saber keen, or blunt jerreed. 
 (Bride of Ahydos, stanza vlii, 11. 237, 238.) 
 and informs us in a note : "The jerreed is a game of blunt 
 javelins, animated and graceful." 
 IM, 29. Oinnets. Jennet, small Spanish horse.
 
 19. 
 
 74. 
 
 95. 
 
 
 100. 
 
 ai. 
 
 1(17. 
 
 iSit, 
 
 234. 
 
 436 NOTES 
 
 .10. Launch'd. Pierced. 
 
 Gl. Mirador. "A parapeted balcony, or rather look-out, usual ii 
 
 Ili.'ipano-Mauresque houses." Saintsbury. 
 70. Escapade. In its original meaning of fling or ganihol of a horse. 
 The word comes from the Spanish, through the French, and 
 Dryden may well have found it in his French source. 
 73. ^yhat after pass'd. Hemistichs, or broken lines, are common in 
 Dryden's heroic plays, and are found also in Absalom and 
 Achitophel. As I'rofessor Collins remarks in a note on line 87 
 of that poem (in his edition of The Satires of Dryden, London, 
 1905), they are probably introduced in imitation of Virgil's 
 practice. Dryden abandoned them as his taste became more 
 mature : thus he used them In some selections from Virgil 
 translated for Sylvw, a volume of miscellany poems published 
 in 1685, but laid them aside in his complete translation of 
 Virgil published in 1697. In the Dedication of the JEneis 
 published with the latter work, he writes : "I have shunn'd 
 hemistichs, not being willing to imitate Virgil to a fault, like 
 Alexander's courtiers, who affected to hold their necks awry, 
 because he could not help it." (Ss. xiv. 223.) 
 Ventanna. Spanish ventaiia, a window. 
 Prevent. Anticipate, get before. 
 Atabals. Kettledrums. 
 Ought. Owed; an archaism. 
 
 Heav'n sake. The final -s of the genitive is sometimes omitted 
 before a word beginning with s, especially before sake. See 
 Jespersen, Groirth and Structure of tlic English Language, 
 § 186. Cf. 249, 410. 
 23, 246. Xcriff. "The still reigning royal family of Morocco." Saints- 
 bury. 
 275. Precarious. Suppliant, supplicating. 
 
 25, 361. Zambra. Velasquez' Spanish Dictionary defines this as : "A 
 
 Moorish festival or feast, attended with dancing and music." 
 Here it is evidently used for a dance alone. 
 
 26, 26, 27. I'ate . . . above. Settle remarks : "Which last two lines if he 
 
 can show me any sense or thought in, or anything but bom- 
 bast and noise, he shall make me believe every word in his 
 observations on Morocco sense." (Reflections, etc., 16S7, p. 53.) 
 Settle's censure is liere quite as unjust as it is ill-natured. 
 29. And lost the tale, and took 'em by the great. Lost count and 
 took them wholesale. 
 
 27, 78. Our triumphs. "Triumphs over us." Saintsburt. 
 
 31, 241. While we to purpose can be foes. So QqF SsM, but the sense 
 would suggest an emendation to, till ice to purpose can be foes. 
 
 35, 170. Upon liking. Compare : 
 
 The royal soul . . 
 
 Came but a while on liking here. 
 
 Threnodia Augustalis, 150, 153. 
 On this Scott comments : "To engage on liking ... is to 
 take a temporary trial of a service, or business, with license to 
 quit it at pleasure." 
 
 36. Song. In a miscellany entitled Westminster Drollery; or, A 
 
 Choice Collection of the Newest Songs and Poems. 1671, this 
 song is twice printed, once under the title .4 Song at the King's 
 House, and again under the title A Vision. The former text
 
 NOTES 437 
 
 supplies the following variants: (199) Which none but Love, 
 for; (203) Whilst; (204) Floicers, that; (205) bright Vir- 
 gins; (207) temple . . . shady; (211) that languish; 
 (213) can my bliss and you; (214) lovely shade; (220) For 
 rather then; (224) And yet, Thus, thus, she cry'd; (229) / 
 fancy I had done; (231) Whilst; (232) / must ease. The 
 latter text supplies the following variants: (199) M'hich Jove 
 for none; (207) white shoulders; (208) nor too; (210) 
 ev'ry part; (213) tcill you; (214) by Jove this lonesome 
 shade; (221) she spoke mcthought ; (231) your scorn. 
 41, 402,403. "That minute, etc. The quotation marks before these lines 
 in QqF are evidently meant to emphasize them, or to point 
 them out as suitable for quotation. 
 
 44, 11. The people, etc. On this passage Settle remarks: 
 
 "A very pretty allusion, contrary to all sense or reason. 
 Torrents, I take it, let 'em wind never so much, can never 
 return to their former course, unless he can suppose that foun- 
 tains can go upwards, which is impossible ; nay more, in the 
 foregoing page he tells us so too ; a trick of a very unfaithful 
 memory : 
 
 liut can no more then fountains upwards flow. 
 Which of a torrent, which signifies a rapid stream, is much 
 more impossible. Besides, if he goes to quibble, and say that 
 't is possible by art water may be made return, and the same 
 water run twice in one and the same channel ; then he quite 
 confutes what he says : for 't is by being opposed that it runs 
 into its former course ; for all engines that make water so 
 return, do it by compulsion and opposition. Or, if he means 
 a headlong torrent for a tide, which would be ridiculous, yet 
 they do not wind [Settle prints ye do not write] in volumes 
 but come fore-right back (if their upright lies straight to 
 their former course), and that by opposition of the sea-water, 
 that drives 'em back again." (Ibid., pp. 80, 81.) 
 
 The criticism is, as usual, captious and unjust. Dryden 
 merely gives a description of a flooded river returning to its 
 former bed. 
 
 45, 27. Theirs restore. The grammar is peculiar, the verb being attracted 
 
 into the plural by the preceding possessive. 
 
 46, GG. Age sets to fortune. Sets to means engages in play with: Com- 
 
 pare, in the prologue to Dryden's Secret Love: 
 
 Then, for his sake, ne'er stint your own delight ; 
 Throw boldly, for he sets to all that write. 
 
 (Ss. ii. 423.) 
 
 So the purport of this somewhat obscure passage seems to be : 
 
 "Age gambles (methodically) against fortune, while youth 
 
 risks all on one bold throw." 
 
 47, 45. Expect. Wait for. 
 
 49. Song. This song is also printed in Westminster Drollery, 1071, 
 
 under the title, A Song at the King's House; cf. n. 30. That 
 text repeats the last line in each stanza, and also furnishes 
 the following variants: (129) heart burns; (132) mine eyes; 
 (133) sweet dream; (135) Then I sigh; (136) being rival; 
 (140) and ever. 
 
 50, 194. Not in fault. The I of fault was not pronounced in Dryden's 
 
 time, so that the rhyme with bought is correct. The modern
 
 438 NOTES 
 
 pronunciation is in conformity to an "etymological" spelling. 
 Dr. Johnson writes in his Dictionary (1755) : "The I is some- 
 times sounded and sometimes mute. In conversation it Is 
 generally suppressed." Cf. 106, 49, footnote. 
 51, 221. Benzayda. The name is pronounced in this play sometimes as 
 three syllables, sometimes as four. See, for example, 53, 277 
 (where the spelling Benzaiida occurs in Ql) and 83, 67. 
 56, 416. From out their palaces. That is : frotn outside their palaces ; 
 the construction is peculiar. 
 
 419. If not, etc. Cf. The Rehearsal, 413, 414, 124-147. 
 
 431. Equal. Just, impartial. 
 
 58, 29. Oblige, In New England this word is still often pronounced so 
 
 as to rime with siege. Cf. 63, 89, 90. 
 
 59, Scene II. The early editions indicate no change of scene. Ap- 
 
 parently, but not certainly, the place shifts to the house of 
 Abenamar. Compare note on Scene III, p. 61. 
 
 OO, 85. Retrenchment. A retrenchment is "a work constructed within 
 another, to prolong the defense of the position when the enemy 
 has gained possession of the outer work." (Vi'ehstei-'s Inter- 
 national Dictionary.) 
 
 61. Scene III. Again the early editions indicate no change of scene ; 
 
 perhaps the place was meant to be the same throughout the 
 act. 
 
 6JJ, 48. Desert. The rime with part was correct according to the pro- 
 nunciation of Dryden's time. 
 
 63, 107. Where'er I go, etc. This passage may have been suggested by 
 
 Shakspere, Coriolanus, III. iii 117-124. Lines 109, 110 are 
 ridiculed in The Rehearsal, 415, 201, 202. 
 
 64, 124. Thou dar'st, etc. Ridiculed in The Rehearsal, 415, 207, 208. 
 
 129. As some fair tulip, etc. This simile is parodied in The Rehearsal, 
 399, 15-22. Boabdelin observes Mr. Bayes's rule : "You must 
 ever make a simile when you are surpris'd." 
 
 Leigh remarks in The Censure of the Rota: "This tulip 
 that could hear the wind sing its epicedium after it was dead, 
 you may be sure grew nowhere but in a poet's garden." 
 
 65, 109. Still. Always. 
 
 192. Hardly. With difficulty. 
 
 66, 213. Your sight. The sight of you. 
 
 231. On another's hand. "i. e. for another's advantage." Saintsbury. 
 249. Still. Continually. 
 
 67, 269, 270. It teas your fault, etc. Dryden seems to have been impressed 
 
 by the absurdity of this couplet and to have canceled it in the 
 second edition. It was restored in the third edition, whether 
 by his wish or not it is hard to say. 
 yO, 19. When forty comes, etc. Born in 1631, Dryden was thirty-nine at 
 the time this play was produced. The passage is evidently 
 meant to be humorous. 
 
 25. This year's delay. This apparently alludes to the lapse of a year 
 
 since the production of Tyrannic Love, Dryden's last play, 
 despite a contract that he had made to write three dramas a 
 year for the King's Company, in which he was a shareholder. 
 Cf. n. 394, 116. 
 
 26. The women were away. Nell Gwyn had given birth to Charles 
 
 Beauclerk, her son by Charles II, on May 8, 1670, some time
 
 NOTES 439 
 
 before the production of The Conquest of Granada. Other 
 actresses were apparently absent for similar reasons. 
 
 71. Stimuloa, etc. "Emulous valor gave the stimulus." Dryden al- 
 
 ludes, of course, to his own efforts to surpass the earlier part 
 of his own play. 
 
 7)6, 13. Vizard-mask. The vizard-mask, vizor-mask, or vizard was in 
 public places a mark of a courtesan ; hence the word became 
 a cant term for one. Cf. 152, 4 ; 193, 1.32 f. In a procla- 
 mation by Queen Anne for the reformation of the stage, Janu- 
 ary 17, 1704, occurs the clause : "That no woman be allowed 
 or presume to wear a vizard-mask in either of the theaters." 
 (Ashton, Social Life in the Reiyn of Queen Anne, New York, 
 1883, p. 255.) 
 
 74, 51. Assures. Probably a mere mistake in grammar, made to gain a 
 
 rime. Verbal plurals in -s are found, however, in the English 
 
 dialects. The idiom may be ridiculed in The Rehearsal, 417, 40. 
 
 53. Tertia. "A regiment of infantry." Saintsbuey. The editor has 
 
 been unable to verify this definition. 
 
 77, 21. Wliat neic, etc. Cf. The Rehearsal, 421, 12S, 
 
 35. Curst be their leaders, etc. The following speeches reflect the 
 views of the high-flying Tory party to which Dryden belonged, 
 and show the satiric power which ten years later reached per- 
 fection in Absalom and Achitophel. The line "They keep 
 the people's purses in their hands" is of course applicable 
 only to English conditions." 
 
 78, 76. Haste, etc. Cf. The Rehearsal, 421, 126-129. 
 
 79, 128. So two kind turtles, etc. This simile is parodied in The 
 
 Rehearsal, .194, 140-145. To justify It, Dryden quotes from 
 "Virgil" in the margin of the second and third quartos : Solique 
 sedent in maryine ripw. Soli cantare periti. Arcades. The 
 second of these phrases is from Ecloyue x. 32, 33 ; the first 
 may he Dryden's own invention, — at all events it is not found 
 in Virgil. 
 132. Dropping. Dripping. 
 
 80, 154. Fearful. Cf. 109, 31 (stage direction), n. 
 
 81, 212. Rakes up. "Not in the usual sense of 'stirring up,' but in that 
 
 of 'rakes the ashes over,' 'banks up.' " [Saintsbury.] 
 »4, 86. Faults. V. n. 50, 194. 
 
 86, 17. Hyena. "Hiena. A subtle Beast like a Wolf, having a main and 
 
 hair on his body, counterfeiting the voice of a man ; in the 
 night it will call shepherds out of their houses, and kill them ; 
 he is sometime Male and sometime Female." H[enry] C[ock- 
 eram]. The English Dictionary, ed. 11, London, 1658, part 3. 
 18. The weeping crocodile, "Crocodile . . .Having eaten the 
 body of a man it will weep over the head, but in fine eat head 
 also ; thence came the Proverb, She shed Crocodile tears, viz. 
 feigned tears." Ibid. 
 Cf. 244, 225, and. In Shakspere : 
 
 Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, 
 
 Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester's show 
 
 Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile 
 
 With sorrow snares relenting passengers. 
 
 2 Henry VI, III. 1. 224-227. 
 
 87, 49. Lets. Hindrances. 
 59. Alferez. Ensign.
 
 440 NOTES 
 
 90, 7. Still. Always. 
 
 91, 39. Thei/ be. As Leigh remarks in The Censure of the Rota, Dryden 
 
 here uses an idiom that he condemns in Jonson. v. 141, 40. 
 9*, 80. Calenture. A kind of tropical fever, accompanied by delirium. 
 The word is of Spanish origin, through the French, and Dry- 
 den may well have found it in one of his sources. For 
 parallel passages Saintsbury refers to Wordsworth's Brothers 
 and Heine's Seegespenst. 
 105. Spite of myself, etc. This passage is parodied in The Rehearsal, 
 416, 209, 210. Dryden, in the second and third quartos, 
 defends it by citing in the margin Virgil's phrase possunt 
 quia posse videntur (Mneid, v. 231), "They are able, because 
 they seem to be able." 
 
 93, 14. The (iross-dauh'd landscape. At this time the figure had the 
 
 charm of novelty, since painted scenery of a sort approaching 
 our own had first been used in Davenant's Siege of Rhodes. 
 V. Introduction, p. xvii ; 8, 6. 
 25. You ! etc. Before this line SsM insert the stage-direction, sighing 
 and going off. Before the next line they similarly insert, 
 approaching him. 
 
 94, 61. Bright, etc. "Crystal is a bright stone and clear, with watery 
 
 colour. Men trowe that it is of snow or ice made hard in 
 space of many years." Steele^ Mediicval Lore from Bartholo- 
 mew Anglicus, London, 1905, p. 37. 
 Fault. V. n. 50, 194. 
 
 May Turnus' fate, etc. v. ^ncid, xii, 938f. 
 
 Libration. The word refers to any motion like that of a balance 
 before coming to rest. Probably no definite metaphor is 
 intended here. 
 In revenge. In compensation, to make up for it. 
 Fault. V. n. 50, 194. 
 (stage direction). Fearful. Timid, timorous, as in All for Love, 
 
 253, 89, and often in Shakspere. 
 Attend. Await. 
 
 / am the ghost, etc. Cf. The Rehearsal, 412, 76, 77. 
 Since thy, etc. Cf. 348, 161, n. 
 Who dares, etc. Cf. The Rehearsal, 415, 189. 
 To comply. As to comply. 
 lis, 279. But image-like, etc. "The reference seems to be to the excuse 
 for image-worship, — that the images are not intended to be 
 directly adored, but merely to fix and stimulate the devotion 
 of the worshiper." [Saintsbury.] 
 120, 341. Damn your delay, etc. Admirably parodied by Fielding : 
 D — n your delay, you trifler, are you drunk, ha? 
 I will not hear one word but Huncamunca. 
 
 The Tragedy of Tragedies, II. x. 10, 11. 
 12a, 37. Dar'd like a lark. To dare larks is "to catch them by produc- 
 ing terror through the use of mirrors, scarlet cloth, a hawk, 
 etc., so that they lie still till a net is thrown over them." 
 (Webster's International Dictionary.) 
 128, 51. Frank gamesters. Frank here has the sense of generous, lavish. 
 Such a gamester must cease playing or become bankrupt. The 
 Hew English Dictionary quotes from Etherege : "Lose it all 
 like a frank gamester on the square." (The Man of Mode, 
 V. i.) 
 
 96, 
 
 136. 
 
 
 144. 
 
 97, 
 
 192. 
 
 103, 
 
 114. 
 
 IOC. 
 
 49. 
 
 lOO, 
 
 31 
 
 113, 
 
 67. 
 
 114, 
 
 95. 
 
 115, 
 
 145. 
 
 
 156. 
 
 117. 
 
 22.3
 
 NOTES 441 
 
 130, 126. 'Tis as the wren, etc. v. n. 254. 139. 
 
 7. / will advance, etc. This passage most unfortunately escaped 
 satire in The Rehearsal. 
 133, 115. Stabbiiu/ her. Cf. 139, 32, n. 
 
 135, 208. But. uhcii, etc. Dryden seems to have modeled the conclusion of 
 
 his play on that of Corneille's Cid (1636). In that drama the 
 heroine, Chimene, at the instance of the King of Spain and of 
 the Infanta, consents to accept the hand of her lover Rod- 
 riguo, who has been forced by honor to meet her father in a 
 duel, and who has killed him. Kodrigue, however, must await 
 her a year, which he is to spend in combat with the Moors. 
 
 136, 6. Cob's tankard, etc. "The characters alluded to arc Cob, the 
 
 water-bearer, in Every Man in his Humor, and Captain Otter, 
 in Epicwne; or. The Silent Woman, whose humor it was to 
 christen his drinking cups by the names of Horse, Bull, and 
 Bear." Scott. 
 
 DEFENSE OF THE EPILOGUE 
 
 On this essay as a whole, see Introduction, p. xxxi. 
 
 137, 23. Inocniis, etc. Horace, Epistles, II. i. 88, 89. 
 
 138, 1. LucUium luttilentuin ftiicre. Horace, Satires, I. x. 50. 
 
 7. Si forct, etc. Horace, Satires, I. x. 68-70. In the second line 
 detrahcret is incorrectly quoted for dctcreret. "Yet he also, 
 had fate put off his days to our age, would rub out many a 
 line, and prune all that exceeded a perfect finish" (Lonsdale 
 and Lee's translation). 
 
 11. Epistle to Augustus. Epistles, II. i. 
 
 34. Quintilian. "i. e.- in the Dialogue De Oratoribus, which was 
 sometimes ascribed to Quintilian, and regarded as the book 
 of which he speaks in Inst. vi. iproaemium) and viii. 6. 76: 
 'Sed de hoc satis quia eundem locum plenius in eo libro quo 
 causas corruptte cloquentiiB roddebamus tractavimus.' " [Ker.] 
 This Dialogue is now ascribed, with some hesitation, to 
 Tacitus. 
 13d, 10. Some solecism, etc. In Dryden's time historical English grammar 
 was an unknown science. Nor had it made much progress 
 in 1808, when Scott wrote the following quaint note : 
 
 "In mitigation of the censure which must be passed on 
 our author for this hasty and ill-considered judgment, let us 
 remember the very inaccurate manner in which Shakspere's 
 plays were printed in the early editions." 
 
 Yet Malone in 1800 had already given the true explana- 
 tion : "These notorious flaus in sense, I conceive, will be 
 found only by those who are not well acquainted with the 
 phraseology of Shakspere's time, as undoubtedly our author 
 was not when he wrote this piece." 
 
 14. Nequv cijo, etc. Horace, Satires, I. x. 48, 49, with a change of 
 illi to illis. "Nor would I venture to pluck from his brows the 
 crown that is fixed there with so much glory" {Lonsdale and 
 Lee's translation). 
 
 21. / suppose, etc. Scott's note has again a quaint flavor : 
 
 "Mr. Malone has Judiciously remarked that Dryden seems 
 to have been ignorant of the order in which Shakspere wrote 
 his plajs; and there will be charity in believing that he was
 
 442 NOTES 
 
 not intimately acquainted with those he so summarily and 
 unjustly censures." 
 
 32. He will see, etc. v. Philaster. IV. ill, iv. Cf. 288, 531, 5.32. 
 
 Yet Dryden seems to fail into the same "indecency" in this 
 very play ; v. 133, 115. 
 
 35. Direrts you, etc. In Dryden's own tragi-comedies the two ele- 
 ments arc kept fairly separate, not, as often in the Elizabethan 
 dramatists, mingled in the same scene. On this whole question, 
 cf. Introduction, pp. xxii, 1-lii. 
 
 37. You find his Demetrius, etc. v. The Humorous Lieutenant, II. ii ; 
 IV. iv. Dryden himself commits even a worse absurdity when, 
 in The Indian Emperor, ho attributes chivalric gallantry to the 
 natives of Mexico. Similarly, in The Indian Queen, by Dry- 
 den and Howard, the Indians of Mexico and Peru wage land 
 campaigns against each other, despite all geographical 
 obstacles. Scott's note on this subject is much to the point : 
 "In these criticisms, we see the effects of the refinement 
 which our stag? had now borrowed from the French. It is 
 probable that, in the age of heroic plays, any degree of dull- 
 ness, or extravagance, would have been tolerated in the 
 dialogue, rather than an offense against the decorum of the 
 scene." 
 
 40. And for his Shepherd, etc. v. The Faithful Shepherdess, III. i ; 
 IV. iv. 
 
 49. Content with acorns. "Acorns are part of the stock of the 
 Golden Age. Compare Virgil, Georgics, i. 7, 8 : 
 
 Liber et alma Ceres, vestro si munere tellus 
 Chaoniam pingui glandem mutavit arista." 
 
 Ker. 
 
 aX(9 Spvos. "Cicero, ad. Att. ii. 19 : 'Dices fortasse "dig- 
 
 nitatis dXis tamquam hpv6<;: saluti, si me amas, consule." ' 
 'Enough of oak,' as the ancients said when they grew tired of 
 acorns." Ker. 
 140, 15. Cwdimus, etc. Persius, iv. 42. Dryden's translation is : 
 Thus others we with defamations wound, 
 While they stab us ; and so the jest goes round. 
 16. Three or four first pages. The mistake of last for first, originally 
 made by Malone, has been copied in the modern editions ; see 
 footnote. As a matter of fact, the quotations which follov^ 
 are nearly all from the early pages of Catiline. The first three 
 and the fifth {What all, etc.) are from the monologue of the 
 ghost of Sylla with which the tragedy opens. 
 
 28. Qain'd. Incorrectly quoted for Jonson's got. 
 
 29. Doubt. Suspect, as often in Dryden and his contemporaries. 
 
 33. Synchysis. "Cicero discusses the placing of words in Orator, 
 
 c. 44f ; crvyT^ucris is not found in this ccntext, but is used 
 
 in his letters, e. g. avy^vcnv litterularum, Att. vi. 9." 
 Ker. 
 
 35. The leaves, etc. From a speech of Cethegus early in the first 
 act of Catiline. Waves is incorrectly quoted for Jonson's 
 maics, probably a printer's error due to Dryden's hasty hand- 
 writing. 
 
 37. The preposition in the end of the sentenee, etc. "He [Dryden] 
 accordingly, on a revision, corrected this inaccuracy in every 
 sentence of his Essay of Dramatic Poesy in whkli it occurred."
 
 NOTES 448 
 
 [Malone.] The revision came between the first edition of the 
 Essay (1668) and the second (1684). See Ss and K for notice 
 of such variants. 
 40. Plague. Incorrectly quoted for .Jonson's plagues. 
 141, 1. Go on upon, etc. This and the following quotation are from the 
 second long speech of Catiline, near the opening of the 
 tragedy. It seems useless to defend .lonson from Dryden's 
 strictures, which may lie answered by any one who has studied 
 Shakspere in a modern annotated edition. {Oo on upon, for 
 example, is easily seen, without the assistance of Scott's note, 
 to mean ;jo on af/ainst.) Dryden's remarks, however, make U3 
 understand the rapid changes that had taken place in English 
 in the si.^ty years that intervened between Catiline and The 
 Conquest of (Jianada. They are probably greater than those 
 that have occurred between Dryden's time and our own. In 
 the fixing of modern English usage Dryden's own part is by 
 no means insignificant. 
 
 Dryden himself apparently recognized the blunder he had 
 made, for in the third edition (1678) of The Conquest of 
 Granada he omits most of these strictures on Jonson. See 
 footnote, p. 137. 
 11. Pulls. Incorrectly quoted for Jonson's puts. 
 
 13. Ones, in the plural niintbir. I'rofessor Ker points out (vol. i, 
 
 p. :V2) that Dryden changed amongst the great ones in the 
 first edition of An Essay of Dramatic Poesy to amongst great 
 persons in the second. 
 
 14. Wanted. Lacked. 
 
 15. Cwsar, etc. Catiline, IV. ii (speech of Cicero). 
 17. Such men, etc. Ibid. IV. i (near close). 
 
 19. Tho' heav'n, etc. Ibid, (same scene, earlier) ; Dryden omits a 
 few words after once. 
 
 21. Vnfear'd. In Elizaljethan English fear is common as an active 
 verb, in the sense of frighten. 
 
 23. The ports are open. Ibid. IV, ii (speech of Cicero). Malone 
 remarks : "Ports for gates ... is found in many of our 
 ancient writers, and is yet the common language of Scotland." 
 
 28. Mr. Waller, etc. Dryden had praised Waller in similar fashion 
 in the Epistle Dedicatory of The Rival Ladies (1664) : "nut 
 the excellence and dignity of it [rime] were never fully known 
 till Mr. Waller taught it; he first made writing easily an art; 
 first showed us to conclude the sense most commonly in dis- 
 tichs, which, in the verse of those before him, runs on for 
 so many lines together, that the reader is out of breath to 
 overtake it." (K. i. 7; Ss. ii. 1.37.) Waller's fame as a 
 reformer of English poetry became a commonplace In the 
 eighteenth century, only to be cruelly overthrown in the nine- 
 teenth. 
 
 .30. But being, etc. Ibid. IV. ii (speech of Cicero). Jonson's text 
 reads: But being bred in 's, etc. 
 
 36. So Asia, etc. These lines conclude the chorus after the first act 
 of Catiline. Jonson's text reads, art thou cru'tly (I. .■?6) and 
 virtue (1. .38). 
 
 40. Be, etc. Cf. 91, .39, n. 
 14se, '2:i. Quern prnrn, etc. Horace, Ars Poet. 72. "The lord and arbiter 
 and rigliiful legislator of language" (Lonsdale and Lee'a trans- 
 lation).
 
 444 NOTES 
 
 24. / cannot approve, etc. Dryden himself has been accused of a 
 fondness for Gallicisms. The subject is exhaustively treated 
 In a thesis by Professor A. Beljame, Quce e Oallicis verbis in 
 Anijlicam Unfjuam Johannes Dryden introduxerit (Paris, 1881). 
 Professor Beljame concludes that Dryden played no small part 
 in the naturalizing of French words during the Restoration 
 period. 
 
 34. Aurum, etc. "Gather gold from dung." 
 
 42. Dixctis, etc. Horace, Ars Poet. 47, 48. "You will express your- 
 self excellently well, if by a curious combination you make a 
 familiar word seem original" {Lonsdale and Lee's translation). 
 
 143, 4. Et vultus, etc. Horace, Odes, I. xix. 8. "Her face, too dazzling- 
 
 dangerous to behold" (Ibid.). 
 8. Et Horatii, etc. Petronius, Sat. 118. "Horace's felicity gained by 
 diligence." 
 38. 'Wit in a larger signification. The following passages from the 
 preface to Annus Mirabilis may explain Dryden's idea of "wit, 
 in a larger signification," which, as Professor Ker points out, 
 is practically equivalent to poetical genius. "Wit writing 
 . . . is no other than the faculty of imagination in the 
 writer . . . which searches over all the memory for the 
 species or ideas of those things which it designs to represent. 
 IV'it Written is that which is well defin'd, the happy result of 
 thought, or product of imagination." (K. i. 14; Ss. ix. 95,96.) 
 
 144, 4. Clenches. Puns, plays on words. Dryden expresses similar 
 
 detestation of them in An Essay of Dramatic Poesy. (K. i. 
 31; Ss. XV. 286.) 
 10. How monstrous, etc. The lines are from the induction to Every 
 Man out of his Humor. "To talie in snuff" means "to take 
 offense." There is a similar clench in Shakspere : 
 And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
 A pouncet box, which ever and anon 
 He gave his nose and took't away again ; 
 Who therewith angry, when it next came there, 
 Took it in snuff. 
 
 1 Henry IV, I. iii. 37-41. 
 16. / mar'le, etc. Ibid., spoken by Carlo Buffone. Dryden a few 
 lines below seems to assign the quotation to Macilente. Jonson 
 has he'd (1. 3) in place of he tcould. 
 19. O, I cannot, etc. Also spoken by Carlo Buffone : see Every Man 
 
 out of His Humour, IV. iv. 
 22. Sting of an epigram. Here Dryden refers to the last couplet of 
 
 Jonson's epigram. Cf. n. 9, 32. 
 33. A famous Italian, etc. Professor Ker, in an excellent note on 
 this passage, fails to identify the "famous Italian," but shows 
 that conceits had really made their way into pulpit oratory. 
 48. He said himself, etc. One could wish that this anecdote were 
 authentic, but there seems to be no other evidence for it. 
 
 145, 6. Fletcher's Don John. v. Introduction, p. xxxiii. 
 
 28. Blackfriars. One of the most famous theaters of "the former 
 age." At it several of Jonson's plays were first produced. 
 
 31. In Apollo. "The Apollo was Ben Jonson's favorite clubroom in 
 the Devil Tavern. The custom of adopting his admirers and 
 imitators, by bestowing upon them the title of son, is often 
 alluded to in his works. In Dryden's time the fashion had
 
 NOTES 445 
 
 so far changed Ihat the poetical progeny of old Ben seem to 
 have Incurred more ridicule than honor by this aml)itious 
 distinction. Oldwit, in Shadwcll's play called Bury Fair, is 
 described as 'a paltry old-fasliioued wit and punner of the 
 last age, that pretends to have been one of Ren Jonson's sons, 
 and to have seen plays at the Blacltfriars.' " Scott. 
 
 Oldwit himself says, in the first scene of the play men- 
 tioned : "I myself, simple as I stand here, was a wit In the 
 last age : I was created Ren Jonson's son in tlie Apollo. 
 . . . I was a critic at Rlacicfriars ; but at Cambridge, none 
 so great as I with Jack Cleveland. But Tom Randolph and 
 I were hand and glove." 
 
 Among other noted "sons" of Ben Jonson, besides Cleve- 
 land and Randolph, were Brome, Cartwright, Sucliling, Her- 
 rick, and Howell. 
 14C, 24. Greatness or perfect honor. Compare Introduction, pp. xs.vi\-xx[i..
 
 MARKIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 Malone dates the flrst production of Marriaye d la Mode in May, 1672. 
 Tlie opening lines of ttie prologue, he argues, "allude to the equipment of 
 the fleet which afterwards engaged the Dutch off Southwold Bay, May l.'8th, 
 1672" {Prose Works of John Drydcn, I. i. 106). The play is mentioned in 
 the Term Catalogue for Trinity Term, 1673, which was licensed for the 
 press on June 16. 
 
 The time of action of this tragi-comedy is two days or a trifle less ; the 
 place is confined to a single town in Sicily. 
 
 For general information on Marriage a la Mode, see Introduction, pp. 
 xxxiii-xxxv. 
 
 Dryden's quotation from Horace on his title-page means : "Be I what I 
 may, though far below Lucilius in station and genius, yet, that I have lived 
 with the great, Envy can never deny, though fain she would, and while 
 seeking to fix her tooth on something fragile, will meet with what is solid" 
 (Lonsdale and Lee's translation). By it he hints at his intimacy with 
 Rochester, of which he boasts In his dedication. 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 140. The Earl of Rochester. "The patron whom Dryden here ad- 
 
 dresses was the famous John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1647- 
 80), the wittiest, perhaps, and most dissolute, among the 
 witty and dissolute courtiers of Charles II. It is somewhat 
 remarkable, and may be considered as a just judgment upon 
 the poet, that he was, a few years afterwards, waylaid and 
 severely beaten by bravos whom Lord Rochester employed to 
 revenge the share which Dryden is supposed to have had In 
 the Essay upon Satire. That occurrence Is a striking Illus- 
 tration of the inutility, as well as meanness, of Ill-applied 
 praise ; since even the eulogy of Dryden, however liberally 
 bestowed and beautifully expressed, failed to save him from 
 the most unmanly treatment at the hands of the worthless and 
 heartless object on whom it was wasted. It is melancholy to 
 see Dryden, as may be fairly inferred from his motto, piqueing 
 himself on being admitted into the society of such men as 
 Rochester, and enjoying their precarious favor. It would seem, 
 however, that this dedication was very favorably received by 
 Rochester, since a letter of Dryden's to that nobleman is still 
 extant (v. Ss. xviii. 91-96), in which he acknowledges a flat- 
 tering return of compliment from his lordship in exchange for 
 it." [Scott.] 
 
 The quarrel between Dryden and Rochester that resulted 
 in the assault to which Scott here alludes was, briefly, as 
 follows : At some time after the production of Marriage a la 
 Mode, probably not before 1677, (since Dryden, In 1678, seems 
 to be replying to a recent attack,) the fickle nobleman made 
 slighting allusions to Dryden in his Trial of the Poets for the 
 'Bays and his Allusion to the Tenth Satire of the First Book 
 
 446
 
 NOTES 447 
 
 of Horace; see Introduction, p. xxxv, n. 3, and nn. 231, 30 ; 
 3434, 13. Dryden, In return, ridiculed Rochester in his preface 
 to All for Love (1678), terming him, for example, a "riming 
 judge of the twolvepenny gallery" (233, 38). In the mean- 
 time, another nobleman, the Earl of Mulgrave, a patron of 
 Dryden and an enemy of Rochester, had written (according 
 to his own account, in 1675) an Essay upon Satire, in which 
 he ridiculed Rochester unsparingly. This piece became public 
 property in November, 1679, when it was circulated anony- 
 mously, since it was the custom of noble lampooners to hide 
 the authorship of their productions. (Rochester himself fol- 
 lowed this practice ; v. 233, 37-43.) Public opinion attributed 
 the piece to Dryden, who may possibly have given Mulgrave 
 some help in his worli. (Much later, in 1717, Mulgrave stated 
 that Dryden was "not only innocent, but ignorant, of the 
 whole matter ;" these words may refer either to the poem as 
 a whole, or to the attack on Rochester contained in It ; see 
 note in DryOcn's Poetical Works, Boston, 1908. pp. 90.'5, 906.) 
 In revenge for the fancied insult, Rochester had Dryden set 
 upon and beaten by hired rnlBans, in Rose Street, Covent 
 Garden, on the evening of December 18, 1679, as he was 
 returning from Will's Coffee-House. Though a reward was offered 
 for the discovery of the offenders, or their employer, no one was 
 ever brought to justice for the crime ; Rochester's guilt, how- 
 ever, is made practically certain by a passage in one of his 
 letters : see ^lalone, I. 1. 134. Such was the low state of Eng- 
 lish public morals that Dryden's misfortune created amusement 
 rather than sympathy. I-'ven Mulgrave. who had been the occa- 
 sion of this cowardly assault, referred to it with no touch of 
 indignation in his Essay on Poetry, first published in 1682 : 
 The Laureate here [in satire] may justly claim our praise, 
 Crown'd by Mac Flecknoc with immortal bays ; 
 Tho' prals'd and punish'd for another's rimes, 
 His own deserve as great applause sometimes. 
 In his Discourse Concernituj Satire (1692) Dryden shows 
 his dislilco to the memory of his former patron ; v. Ss. xlii. 5. 
 17. They have copied, etc. Cf. The Rehearsal, 391, 96-106. 
 150, 17. Are yet persecuted, etc. "When this play was acted for the flnt 
 time in 1672. But about 1675, Rochester contrived to give 
 such offense as even 'the excellent temper of his royal mas- 
 ter' was unable to digest. This was by writing a lampoon 
 called The Insipids, in which the person and character of 
 Charles are treated with most merciless and irreverent sever- 
 ity. It begins thus : 
 
 Chaste, pious, prudent, Charles the Second, 
 
 The miracle of thy Restoration 
 May like to that of quails be reckoned, 
 
 Rained on the Israelitish nation ; 
 The wlshed-for blessini;, from heaven sent. 
 Became their curse and punishment. 
 For this satiric effusion the author was banished from the 
 Court." [Scott.] 
 
 The editor has been unable to verify the statements in this 
 note. The Insipids is printed without comment in Poems on 
 Affairs of State, ed. 5, London, 1703, vol. I, part I, pp. 149-
 
 448 NOTES 
 
 154. In the same volume, p. 171, occurs a still viler lampoon, 
 headed On Kiny Chariot, by the Earl of Rochester; For which 
 he was banish'd the Court, axd tiirn'd Mountebank. This note 
 may be tbe origin of Scott's statement. 
 19. To own it. As to own it. 
 
 TEXT 
 IS'Z. rnoLOGPE. This was spoken, as Cgd informs us, "by Mr. 
 
 Heart ;" that is, Hart, the chief actor in the King's Compaay. 
 He took the part of Palamede in this drama ; in The Con- 
 quest of GraiKidd he played Almanzor. 
 
 4. Vizard, v. n. 72, 13. 
 
 5. France, etc. England was now in alliance with France against 
 
 Holland. 
 
 18. Grinninii honor. '-Falstaff. I like not such grinning honor as 
 Sir Walter hath. Give me life, which if I can save, so; if 
 not, honor comes unlook'd for, and there's an end." 1 Henry 
 IV, V. iii. G2-65. Cf. 233, 1. 
 
 24. Half-crown. The price of admission to the pit. 
 
 2.5. The Mall. Cf. 218, 20, n. 
 
 26. So far will hardly come. The Theater Royal was burnt on 
 January 2.5, 1G72. The King's Company thereupon moved 
 to the old house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, which had formerly 
 been occupied by their rivals the Duke's Company, but had 
 been abandoned b.v them in November, 1671, on the com- 
 pletion of a new theater at Dorset Garden. (See Percy Fitz- 
 Gerald, A New History of the Enylisli Stage, i. 137 ; R. W. 
 Lowe, Thomas Betterton, p. 117.) 
 153, 30. They. The members of the Duke's Company. 
 
 31. Cutting Morccruft- "In the conclusion of Beaumont and 
 Fletcher's play of The l<cornful Lady, Morecraft, an usurer, 
 turns a cutter, or, as we now say, a buck. Dryden seems 
 to allude to Ravenscroft's play of The Citizen turned Oentle- 
 vian, a transmigration somewhat resembling that of cutting 
 Morecraft. This play was now acting by the Duke's Com- 
 pany in Dorset Gardens, which, from its situation, says Mr. 
 Malone, v.as much frequented by citizens, as here insinuated." 
 Scott. 
 
 Scott here adopts a conjecture of Malone (I. i. 107), which 
 does not seem convincing. The reference is more probably to 
 some revival of The Scornful Lady, of which record has been 
 lost. According to Langbaine, Ravenscroft's Citi.::en turned 
 Gentleman was a combination of Moliere's Bourgeois Gentil- 
 homme with Monsieur dc Pourceaugnac. 
 
 155. Walks near the Court. Apparently the action remains in some 
 
 part of these walks throughout the play, except in act IV, 
 scenes iii and iv. Except for the former of these scenes, no 
 further indication of the place of action is given in the early 
 editions. 
 3. Why should, etc. This song is also printed in New Court 8ongs 
 and Poems, hy R. Y., Gent., 1672. That text furnishes the fol- 
 lowing variants: (12) further joys; (14) can give; (17) 
 When all; (18) And neither. 
 
 156, 33. To repeat tvith a good memory. Cf. 150, 4-7. 
 
 158, 168. Broad-gold. After tbe introduction of guineas in 1663, the twenty- 
 shilling pieces of the preceding reigns, which were broader and
 
 NOTES 449 
 
 thinner than the new milled coinage, were called broad-pieces 
 or broad-gold. They were much subject to mutilation by 
 clipping. 
 
 159, 174. Prcienis. Anticipates, comes before, as often in Dryden's time. 
 178. Miinufjcs. It is hard to say whether the sense is husband, econo- 
 mize, or simply handle, make use of. 
 Amalthea. Professor J. W. Tupper, in an article on The I'clation 
 of the Heroic Play to the Romances of Beaumont and Fletcher, 
 points out the resemblance in character between Amalthea 
 and the "lovelorn maidens" of the earlier dramatists, such as 
 Aspatia in The Maid's Tragedy and Euphrasia in Philaster. 
 (Publications of the Modern Lanyuayc Association of America, 
 1905, vol. XX, pp. 610-612.) 
 206. How keeps, etc. The scene now begins to pass from prose into 
 a sort of irregular verse. Some of the following speeches have 
 a rhythmical turn, which, however, is not indicated in the 
 early editions until lino 22:?. 
 
 103, 342. Hence ivith him! etc. On this whole scene compare The Re- 
 hearsal, 40(>, 41-70. 
 345. Eudoxia. This name later (185, 359, 360, 303) appears as 
 
 Eudocia. 
 356. Leave to threaten. Leave off threatening. 
 
 165, Melantiia. The following passage from CoUey Gibber's Apology 
 
 (quoted by Scott) may give an idea of what the part of 
 Melantha could become in the hands of a fine actress : 
 
 "What found most employment for her [Mrs. Mountfort's] 
 whole various excellence at once, was the part of Melantha, 
 in Marriage a la Mode. Melantha is as finished an imperti- 
 nent as ever fluttered in a drawing-room, and seems to con- 
 tain the most complete system of female foppery that could 
 possibly be crowded into the tortured form of a fine lady. 
 Her language, dress, motion, manners, soul, and body, are in 
 a continual hurry to be something more than is necessary or 
 commendable. And though I doubt it will be a vain labor, to 
 offer you a just likeness of Mrs. Mountforfs [Gibber's spell- 
 ing is Monfort] action, yet the fantastic impression is still 
 so strong in my memory, that I cannot help saying some- 
 thing, though fantastically, about it. The first ridiculous 
 airs that break from her are upon a gallant, never seen 
 before, who delivers her a letter from her father, recommend- 
 ing him to her good graces, as an honorable lover. Here now 
 one would think she might naturally shew a little of the sex's 
 decent reserve, though never so slightly covered ! No, sir ; 
 not a tittle of it ; modesty is the virtue of a poor-souled 
 country gentlewoman ; she is too much a court lady to be 
 under so vulgar a confusion ; she reads the letter, therefore, 
 with a careless, dropping lip, and an erected brow, humming 
 it hastily over, as if she were impatient to outgo her father's 
 commands, by making a complete conquest of him at once ; 
 and that the letter might not embarrass her attack, crack ! 
 she crumbles it at once into her palm, and pours upon him 
 her whole artillery of airs, eyes, and motion ; down goes her 
 dainty, diving body to the ground, as if she were sinking 
 under the conscious load of her own attractions ; then launches 
 Into a flood of fine language and compliment, still playing her
 
 450 NOTES 
 
 chest forward in fifty falls and risings, like a swan upon 
 waving water; and, to complete her impatience, she is so 
 rapidly fond of her own wit, that she will not give her lover 
 leave to praise it : silent assenting bows, and vain endeavors 
 ■ to speak, are all the share of the conversation he is admitted 
 
 to, which, at last, he is relieved from by her engagement to 
 r half a score visits, which she swims from him to make, with 
 
 a promise to return In a twinkling. 
 
 "If this sketch has color enough to give you any near 
 conception of her, I then need only tell you, that throughout 
 the whole character, her variety of humor was every way 
 proportionable ; as, indeed, in most parts that she thought 
 worth her care, or that had the least matter for her fancy 
 to work upon, I may justly say that no actress, from her 
 own conception, could have heightened them with more lively 
 strokes of nature." 
 
 Apology, ed. 4, London, 1756, i. 124-126. 
 Gibber's description of Mrs. Mountfort in another character 
 is also of interest to students of Dryden : 
 
 "Nor was her humor limited to her sex ; for, while her 
 shape permitted, she was a more adroit pretty fellow than is 
 usually seen upon the stage. Her easy air, action, mien, and 
 gesture quite changed from the quoif to the cocked hat and 
 cavalier in fashion. People were so fond of seeing her a 
 man, that when the part of Bayes in The Rehearsal had for 
 some time lain dormant, she was desired to take it up, which 
 I have seen her act with all the true, coxcombly spirit and 
 humor that the sufficiency of the character required." (Ibid., 
 p. 124.) 
 
 166, 42, 44. Monde. QqF read mond. It is hard to decide how far the spell- 
 
 ing of Melantha's French words in the original editions should 
 be corrected by modern standards. In some cases (as 169, 
 188; 200, 120) it seems to indicate her imperfect or affected 
 pronunciation. 
 
 167, 82. French gibberish. "French gibberish, compounded of English, 
 
 Latin, and French, kept its place in English law, especially 
 
 in reports, till the beginning of the eighteenth century." 
 
 [Saintsbury.] 
 168 115. Numerical. In the sense of identical, as often at this time. 
 169.' 188. In suitte. The reading of QqF may be a misprint, but is more 
 
 likely an indication of Melantha's imperfect pronunciation of 
 
 French. 
 
 174, 402. Faint and dimly. "Very often, when two or more adverbs are 
 
 placed together, the adverbial termination ly is only appended 
 to the last." Schmidt, Shakespeare-Lexicon, 1875, p. 1419. 
 
 175, 413. Still. Always. 
 
 178, 51, 52. Holiday. As the holy-day of the early editions shows, the 
 
 composition of this word was more obvious in Dryden's time 
 than at present. 
 57. The banes of matrimony. Doubtless used with a. punning inten- 
 tion, as Saintsbury suggests. 
 
 179, 130. After the pangs, etc. A song by Dryden himself, in An Evening's 
 
 Lore, a play acted in 1668, four years before Marriage a la 
 Mode. v. Ss. iii. 290. 
 181, 213. Mere. Absolute.
 
 NOTES 451 
 
 186, 391. Sure you, etc. This high-flying loyalty is probably not meant to 
 be wholly ridiculous. 
 394. / ttever, etc. Cf. The Rehearsal, 407, 89-94. 
 187, 443. Mcthdnka, etc. Here we have Almanzor's spirit "transprosed" 
 Into blank verse. 
 7. To think. As to think. 
 190 120. Apparence. Not a misprint, but a token of Melantha's Frenchified 
 pronunciation. 
 124. ti' oicn. The form may have arisen from an incorrect division 
 of mine own; or the n may be a jocose, baby-talk prefix. In 
 either case, compare nuncle, Noll, Melly. 
 
 103, 129. Antique hahits. The words antique and antic, were confused in 
 
 Dryden's time, and it is hard to say which meaning is in- 
 tended in this place. 
 
 132. Vizor-mask. v. n. 72, 13. 
 
 137. In masquerade there is nothing to be known. "The domino 
 being a complete disguise. ' Saintsbdry. 
 
 104, 142. What make you here? What are you doing hereV Cf. 337, 120, n. 
 145. Want. In the sense of laek; cf. 273, 444, n; 288, 542. 
 
 176. Resty. In the sense of sluygish, not restive in our usual sense. 
 Shakspere has "resty sloth" (Cymhcline, III. vl. 34). 
 106. Song. This song is printed also in Coient Garden Drollery, 
 
 1072; Aeif Court Sonys and Poems, 1672; and Westminster 
 Drollery, the Second Part, 1G72. Ncs reads While in 1. 46. 
 Cgd and Wd read whilst in 1. 58. and did (for died) in 11. 
 64, 65. 
 100, 59, 61. Tell thee . . . tell you. Palamede uses the familiar or 
 contemptuous singular pronoun ; Doralice the plural. Below, 
 Palamede changes his tone and his pronoun; cf. 207, 299, n. 
 SJOO, 90. Barr'd the dice. Declared the throw void. :Nick, just below, 
 means to win against another player, in the game of hazard. 
 119, 120. Vot valet . . . Votrd csclave. The spelling of the early 
 editions may be meant to suggest the slovenly pronunciation of 
 Doralice and the affected pronunciation of Mclantha. 
 201, 134. Thou hast tickled him with a repertee. Compare Mr. Baycs's 
 enthusiasm for his own work in The Rfhearsal, 403, 14-18. Ss. 
 and M. correct repertee of the early editions to repartee. 
 136. You are, etc. A bit of satire on the critics of the heroic plays. 
 
 Cf. 11, 1-15. 
 139. You are, etc. Dryden here makes Doralice a mouthpiece for his 
 own critical opinions. This scene gives some notion of the 
 general nature of literary argument in the Restoration period. 
 165. Let them take, etc. There is here some resemblance to a scene 
 (act I, sc. ill) in Dryden's The Rival Ladies (v. Ss. 11. 
 162, 163). 
 179. Good Old Cause. This, in English political parlance, was the 
 cause of the Puritan or Commonwealth party. Compare : 
 The Good Old Cause reviv'd. a plot requires. 
 Plots, true or false, are necessary things. 
 To raise up commonwealths, and ruin kings. 
 
 Absalom and Achitophcl, 82-84. 
 Cf. n. 250, 452. 
 805, 123. My reverend city friends, etc. The city of London was the strong- 
 hold of the party opposed to King Charles II. The following 
 lines contain a reference to the popular belief, sufficiently well
 
 462 NOTES 
 
 founded, that Charles II was plotting to subvert English 
 liberties l)y the aid of Louis XIV. 
 5806, 24. To have floicn her so often to a mark. To fly to a mark means 
 to mark down, to observe the lighting place of game. Compare 
 in Dryden's King Arthur: 
 
 O, still thou think'st to fly a fool to mark. 
 
 (Ss. viii. 168.) 
 Bohh'd. Cheated, fooled. 
 S!07, 59. Here are a list of Iter phrases. Note the plural form of the verb, 
 affected by the plural phrases. 
 
 208, 133. He mocks himself of me. "Melantha, like some modern cox- 
 
 combs, uses the idiom as well as the words of the French 
 language." Scott. 
 138. Ah qu'il fait heau, etc. "This is a real French song of the period. 
 It is to be found in Wckerlin's Echos dii Temps Passe, ii. 42. 
 It should read : Cc beau scjoitr nous invite a I'amour. But 
 Dryden no doubt took it, as well as Vols ma Climene, from the 
 Bourgeois Gentilhomme, V. vi. cinqui&me entree. Toute la terre 
 I have not yet traced." Saintsbury. 
 
 209, 146. Humors. Falls in with, adapts himself to. 
 
 5815$, 287. Bilbo. Sword, originally one from Bilbao in Spain. 
 
 288. Dangerfleld. "A dramatic bully, whose sword and habit became 
 proverbial. 'This gentleman, appearing with his mustaccios 
 according to the Turkish manner, Cordubee hat, and strange 
 out-of-the-way clothes, just as if one had been dressed up to 
 act Captain Dangerfleld in the play,' etc. Life of Sir Dudley 
 Korth." Scott. The editor has been unable to verify this 
 note. 
 308. // you are tcise, etc. Hartmann remarks that this passage sug- 
 gests similar expressions in Moli^re, as the philosophy of 
 Lisette in L'Ecole des Maris, I. ii. (Einfluss Moliere's auf 
 Dryden's Komisch-Dramatische Dielitungen. Leipzig, 1885, 
 p. 28.) 
 312. Screw'd gun. This seems to mean a gun with rifled bore, though 
 the editor has been unable to find a similar use of the words. 
 
 213, 341. Fall on, etc. The quotation is, of course, Macbeth V. viii. 33, 34, 
 inexactly reproduced. 
 
 215, 406. O, gentlemen, etc. This scene has been regarded as the model of 
 the deposition of the two Kings of Brentford. Cf. The 
 Rehearsal, 401, 21-34. 
 
 5B18 -Epilogue. This epilogue is evidently spoken by Rhodophil. In 
 
 Cgd it is said to be "by Mr. Moon," that is, Mohun, who took 
 the part of Rhodophil. Mohun was, next to Hart (v. n. 153, 
 Prologue), the leading tragic actor of the King's Company. 
 In The Conquest of Granada he played Abdelmelech. 
 20. /' th' Men. The Mall (printed Mell in QqF, according to the 
 pronunciation) is a broad promenade in St. James Park, 
 London. Cf. 153, 25. The passage is probably a hit at some 
 contemporary play. 
 32. The city. The wives of the city merchants were conventionally 
 regarded as the lawful prey of men of society.
 
 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 For general ioformation on All for Lore, see Introductioyi, pp. sliii, 
 xlvi-xlix. 
 
 Dryden aims his Latin motto, "Easy Is it to remark some glowing word 
 (if I may use the expression), and to laugh at it when the fires of the mind 
 are quenched." at the same fastidious critics whom he attacks in his Preface. 
 Here he has omitted two unessential words of his original. 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 /S/S3. Thomas, Earl of Danhy, etc. "The person to whom these high 
 
 titles now belonged, was Sir Thomas Osborne, a l)aronet of 
 good family, and decayed estate ; part of which had been lost 
 in the royal cause. He was of a bold, undaunted character, 
 and stood high for the prerogative. Hence he was thought 
 worthy of being sworn into the Privy Council during the 
 administration of the famous Cabal ; and when that was dis- 
 solved by the secession of Shaftesbury and the resignation of 
 Clifford, he was judged a proper person to succeed the latter as 
 Lord High Treasurer. He was created Earl of Danby, and 
 was supposed to be deeply engaged in the attempt to new- 
 model our Constitution on a more arbitrary plan ; having been 
 even heard to say, when sitting in judgment, that a new 
 proclamation from the Crown was superior to an old Act of 
 Parliament. 
 
 "In December, 1678, he was impeached by a vote of the 
 House of Commons, and in consoquence, notwithstanding the 
 countenance of the king, was deprived of all his offices, and 
 finally committed to the Tower, where he remained for more 
 than four years. Tie was liberated in 1684, survived the Revo- 
 lution, was created Duke of Leeds, and died in 1712. His 
 character was of the most decided kind ; he was fertile in 
 expedients, and had always something new to substitute for 
 those which failed ; a faculty highly acceptable to Charles, who 
 loved to be relieved, even were it but in idea, from the labor of 
 business, and the pressure of difficulty." [Scott.] 
 
 Early in 1678, Danby had been party to an arrangement by 
 ■which Charles II was to receive sums of money from Louis XIV 
 as the price of preventing a "war with France. These negotia- 
 tions he disapproved, conducting them only by the express order 
 of the king, whose written approval appeared on the letters 
 brought up as evidence against him. The House of Commons, 
 however, refused to admit that this plea excused the minister's 
 conduct, thereby going far towards establishing the principle 
 that no minister can exculpate himself by pleading obedience to 
 the commands of his sovereign. Dryden apparently refers to 
 this transaction in a passage of The t'panish Friar; v. 300, 
 100-114. His language there, insinuating that Danby was 
 "infamously base" in'i)leading the royal sanction for his acts. 
 Is in disagreeable contrast to his present panegyric. 
 
 453
 
 454 NOTES 
 
 8. Carmen, etc. Claudlan, xxiii. 6 : "Everyone loves poetry, who 
 does deeds worthy of poetry." 
 324. 17. TJir dchts of the exvhcuucr. Tubllc credit hod boon sVinken by 
 the stop of payments in exchequer in 1G72, on the recom- 
 mendation of Clifford, in order to secure money for the war 
 against Holland. Danby, on the other hand, was, in Hume's 
 words, "a fru2;al minister, and by his application and industry 
 . . . brought the revenue into tolerable order." 
 !82S, 5. A comvionucaUh, etc. In a note on his translation of Persius, 
 Dryden writes : "Brutus freed the Roman people from the 
 tyranny of the Tarquins, and chang'd the form of the govern- 
 ment into a glorious commonwealth" (Ss. xiii, 255). Authors 
 of the seventeenth century found no difficulty in combining 
 enthusiasm for republican Rome with a practical loyalty to 
 monarchical institutions. 
 
 31. Felices, etc. "O English, too happy, if they but knew their own 
 
 blessings." The phrase is adapted from Virgil's, O fortunatos 
 
 nimium, sua si bona noiint, Agricolas! (Georgics, ii. 458, 459). 
 
 !3$S6, 2. lie u-Jio has often chang'd, etc. This sentence may be aimed at 
 
 Shaftesbury. 
 
 35. The Earl of Lindsey. "The Earl of Lindsey was general in chief 
 for King Charles I at the breaking out of the Civil War. As 
 an evil omen of the royal cause, he was mortally wounded and 
 made prisoner at the battle of Edgehill, the very first which 
 was fought betwixt the king and parliament. His son Mon- 
 tague Bertie, Earl of Lindsey, was a sufferer in the same 
 cause. The Earl of Danby was married to the Lady Bridget, 
 the second daughter of that nobleman." [Scott.] 
 
 Danby was once a suitor for the hand of his distant 
 cousin, Dorothy Osborne, who rejected him, and later married 
 Sir William Temple. A passage from one of her letters to 
 Temple is of interest in this connection : 
 
 "I was told by one (who pretends to know him very well) 
 that nothing tempted my cousin Osborne to marry his lady 
 (so much) as that she was an carl's daughter; which me- 
 thought was the prettiest fancy, and had the least of sense in 
 it, of any I had heard on, considering that it was no addition 
 to her person, that he had honour enough before for his for- 
 tune, and how little it is in this age, — if it be anything in a 
 better, — which for my part I am not well satisfied in." Let- 
 ters from Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple, cd Parry, 
 London, 1888, p. 127. 
 5820, 8. All reasonable men, etc. This doctrine goes back to Aristotle. 
 Poetics, xiii. 
 
 17. Necessity, or fatal ignorance. This doctrine is continually 
 implied, though not expressly mentioned, by Rymer, whom 
 Dryden probably had in mind when he wrote this passage, 
 though there is no verbal correspondence between the two 
 authors. Cf. Tragedies of the Last Age, 1692, p. 21. On 
 Dryden's relations with Rymer, see Introduction, pp. xliii-xlvi. 
 
 33. Machine. A contrivance for the sake of effect in a play or other 
 literary work. 
 S830, 12. 'Tis true, some actions, etc. Cf. Rymer, op. cit., p. 65. 
 
 20. Honest Montaigne, etc. Essais, 1. ii, c. 17, De la Presumption. 
 
 31. Yet, in this nicety of manners, etc. Cf. 12, 18-30.
 
 NOTES 455 
 
 44. Their Hippolytus, etc. The reference is to the PMdre of Racine, 
 which had appeared in 1677. 
 
 231, 13. The Hippolytus of Euripides. Euripides's Hippolytus is one of 
 
 Rymer's stock illustrations of ancient tragedy. 
 14. Chedreux critics. "Chedrcux was the name of the fashionable 
 periwigs of the day, and appears to have been derived from 
 their maker. A French pemiquier, in one of Shadwell's 
 comedies, says : 'You talke o' de Chedreux ; he is no bodee to 
 mee. Dere is no man can travallle vid mee ... If dat foole 
 Chedreux make de peruke like mee, I vil be hanga' (Bury Fair, 
 1.11)." [Scott.] 
 
 Professor Ker refers to a passage in Etherege : 
 
 Emilia. He [Sir Fopling] wears nothing but what are 
 originals of the most famous hands in Paris. 
 Sir Foplinfj. You are in the right, madam. 
 Lady Townley. The suit? 
 Sir Fopling. Barroy. 
 
 • *■••• 
 
 Dorimant. The periwig? 
 Sir Fopling. Barroy. 
 
 The Man of Mode, III. 11. 
 30. But, if I come closer, etc. In the passage that follows Dryden 
 attacks his former patron. Lord Rochester, to whom he had 
 dedicated Marriage a la Mode, but who had later ridiculed 
 him in his Trial of the Poets for the Bays and his Allusion to 
 the Tenth Hatire of the First Book of Horace. These poems 
 may be found in Anderson's British Poets, vi. 410, 415. Cf. 
 Introduction, p. xxxv, n. 3 and n. 14J> (Rochester). 
 46. Fly abroad. Rochester's poems were circulated in manuscript. 
 
 232. 3. Rarus enim, etc. Juvenal, vlii. 73, 74 : "For a sense of pro- 
 
 priety [or Dryden might prefer to say, 'common sense'] is 
 rather infrequent in that station of life." 
 17. Horace, etc. v. Satires, I. i. 1-3. 
 
 42. They had wit enough, etc. Compare Bacon, Apothegms, no. 160: 
 "There was a philosopher that disputed with Adrian the 
 Emperor, and did it but weakly. One of his friends that had 
 been by, afterwards said to him : 'Methinks you were not like 
 yourself, last day, in argument with the emperor ; I could 
 have answered better myself.' 'Why,' said the philosopher, 
 'would you have me contend with him that commands thirty 
 legions?' " Works, ed. Spedding, Boston, 1860, xiil. 361. 
 5433, 1. That grinning honor. Cf. 152, 18, n. 
 
 23. Demetri, etc. Horace, Satires, I. x. 1)0, 91 : "You, Demetrius and 
 Tigellius, I bid go weep amidst the chairs of your pupils." 
 The lines are from the very satire of which Rochester made a 
 "vile imitation." 
 29. Saxum, etc. Virgil, .^neid, xii. 897, 898. Dryden's translation is: 
 An antique stone he saw, the common bound 
 Of neighb'ring fields, and barrier of the ground. 
 34. Genua, etc. IMd., 905-907. Dryden translates: 
 
 His knocking knees are l)ent beneath the load, 
 And shiv'ring cold congeals his vital blood. 
 The stone drops from his arras, and. falling short 
 For want of vigor, mocks his vain effort. 
 39. Stvrnhold. The old version of the Psalms by Sternhold, Hopkins,
 
 456 NOTES 
 
 and others (first published complete in 1562), is elsewhere 
 ridiculed by Dryden : 
 
 This unpolish'd, rugged verse, I chose. 
 As fittest for discourse, and nearest prose ; 
 For while from sacred truth I do not swerve, 
 Tom Sternhold's, or Tom Shadwell's rimes will serve. 
 
 Reliyio Laid, 453-456. 
 Poor slaves in meter, dull and addle-pated. 
 Who rime below ev'n David's Psalms translated. 
 Ahsalom and Achitophel, Part II, 402, 403. 
 a34, 1. The scandal of his nomination. Rochester's Allusion concludes : 
 I loathe the rabble ; 'tis enough for me 
 If Sedley, Shadwell, Shephard, Wycherley, 
 Godolphin, Butler, Buckhurst, Buckingham, ^ 
 And some few moi-e, whom I omit to name, L 
 Approve my sense : I count their censure fame I 
 9. Tellem, etc. Horace, Satires, I. iii. 41, 42 : "Would to heaven 
 we could make the like mistakes in friendship, and that sujh 
 errors had a fair name given them by right feeling" (Lonsdale 
 and Lee's translation). 
 13. Canibus, etc. Juvenal, viii. 34-37 : "Lazy curs, hairless from 
 inveterate mange, and licking the edges of a dry lamp, have 
 for names, 'Panther,' 'Tiger,' 'Lion,' — or if there be anything 
 else which roars with greater fury in the world" (J. D. Lewis's 
 translation). Dryden probably refers to Rochester's lines in his 
 Allusion: 
 
 Of all our modern wits, none seem to me ~) 
 Once to have touch'd upon true comedy, y 
 But hasty Shadwell and slow Wycherley. J 
 Of Dryden himself Rochester wrote in the same piece : 
 Five hundred verses every morning writ 
 Prove him no more a poet than a wit. 
 19. Nigra, etc. Lucretius, iv. 1160, 1164. Dryden's translation is ; 
 The sallow skin is for the swarthy put, 
 And love can make a slattern of a slut. 
 She stammers : O, what grace in lisping lies ! 
 If she says nothing, to be sure she's wise. 
 21. Ad ^thiopem cijgnum. Juvenal, viii. 33. This (without the ad) 
 comes just before the passage previously quoted from Juvenal. 
 The satirist exclaims : "We call an Ethiopian a swan !" 
 29. Vos exemplaria Qrwca, etc. Ars Poet. 268, 269 : "But do you, 
 my friends, study diligently night and day the Greek models" 
 (Lonsdale and Lee's translation). 
 33. Oedipus Tyrannus. Dryden wrote his own CEdipus, in partnership 
 with Lee, in this same year, 1678. The English authors, fol- 
 lowing the example of Corneille, made their play of "a larger 
 compass" than "the masterpiece of Sophocles" by the addition 
 of an underplot in which love is the central interest. v. 
 Introduction, pp. xlix, 1. 
 46. The difference of styles, etc. This subject Dryden later treated 
 in his essay On the Grounds of Criticism in Tragedy, inserted 
 in his preface to Troilus and Cressida (1679). 
 5837, 11. Bates of his mettle, etc. Cf. Introduction, p. xlvii. 
 
 15. Tonies. Tony was a cant term for simpleton, as well as a con- 
 traction for Antony. Hence Goldsmith's choice of the name
 
 NOTES 457 
 
 Tony Lumpkin for the familiar character in She Stoops to 
 Conquer. 
 29. Half-wits, etc. Cf. 231, 30f. 
 240, 52. Who can most. The absolute use of can is probably an affecta- 
 tion of archaism on Dryden's part, though the editor has not 
 been able to find any exact Elizabethan parallel. But compare : 
 Thou little wotest what this right hand can. 
 
 SrE.\.SEU, Faerie Quceiic, II. iii. 16. 
 On archaisms in this play, cf. 248, 354, n ; 250, 442, n ; 
 284, 387, n. 
 X43, 160. His better influence. Influence is here used in the sense usual in 
 Shakspere : "the power exerted by celestial bodies on terres- 
 trial or other celestial bodies" (Schmidt). Compare: 
 Reason thus with life : 
 If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing 
 That none but fools would keep : a breath thou art, 
 Servile to all the skyey influences. 
 
 Measure for Measure, III. i. 6-9. 
 5244, 225. The crocodile icill weep. v. n. 86, 18. 
 
 5846, 267. The big round drops, etc. Compare : 
 
 The big round tears 
 Cours"d one another down his Innocent nose 
 In piteous chase. 
 
 As You Like It, II. i. 38-40. 
 
 5847, 'MO. Marches. Boundaries. 
 
 5848, 354. Us'd. Accustomed. Archaisms are very frequent in this drama ; 
 
 cf. 240, 52, n ; 250, 442, n ; 284, 387, n. 
 381. O tltat, etc. Drydcn here attributes to Antony, as he had to his 
 Moorish heroes, the ideas of honor prevalent in his own day. 
 
 5849, 410. For ostentation sake. Cf. 22, 234, n. 
 
 5850, 437. You speak, etc. Pope may have remembered this line when he 
 
 wrote in his translation of the Iliad (iii. 208) the line: 
 She moves a goddess, and she looks a queen. 
 442. Steepy. This word, which occurs twice in Shakspere, is probably 
 a conscious archai.sm with Dryden ; cf. 240, 52, n ; 248, 
 354, n ; 284, 387, n. 
 
 451. May taste fate to 'em. "Act as their tasters in fortune." Saints- 
 
 bury. 
 
 452. And, cnfring, etc. The rimed couplet at the close of the scene is 
 
 in imitation of the Elizabethan fashion. Cf. 201, 178, 
 179 ; 2«2, 459, 460 ; 274, 483, 484 ; 289, 596, 597 ; 302, 
 518, 519 ; 326, 456, 457 ; 332, 153, 154 ; etc. 
 
 5851, 26. And bears a tender heart. Compare : "He bears too great a 
 
 mind" (Julius Cwsar, V. i. 113). 
 
 5853. 89. Fearful. Cf. 109, 31 (stage direction), n. 
 
 5854, 139. / bore this wren. In the Kinder- und Hausmarehen of the 
 
 l)rothors Grimm, no. 171, is found the story of how the wren 
 outwitted the eagle. The birds agreed to choose as their king 
 the one who should fly the highest. The eagle flew almost to 
 heaven, and was proclaimed king by the birds beneath. Then 
 the wren came out of the breast feathers of the eagle, where 
 it had been concealed, and. not being tired, flew to heaven 
 itself and claimed the victory. This story is first found entire 
 in a collection of beast fables that the Rabbi Baradji (or 
 Barachja) Nikdani (or Ilannakdan) composed in the Hebrew
 
 458 NOTES 
 
 languago during the second half of the thirteenth centary. 
 The rabbi's book was first printed at Mantua in 1557, and in 
 1661 was republished at Prague, together with a Latin trans- 
 lation by the Jesuit Melchior Ilanel. It seems unliljely, how- 
 ever, that Dryden knew Ilanel's work; he probably borrowed 
 from oral folklore, or from some Intermediate literary source. 
 He makes a like reference in The Conquest of Oranada, 
 130, 126. 
 
 Apparently a similar fable was known in classical antiquity. 
 Aristotle writes : "The wren ... is a good provider and 
 cunning, and is called eUer and Icing; wherefore they say 
 even the eagle makes war on it" {Historia Animalium, ix. 
 11,5). And Pliny states : "Dissident . . . aquila; et trochi- 
 lus, si credimus, quoniam rex appellatur avium" (Hist. Nat., 
 X. 74). 
 
 For this note the editor is indebted to the kindness of 
 Professor J. A. Walz of Harvard University. 
 161. Crocodile. Cf. 86, 18, n. 
 
 164. Too presuming, etc. This line is unmetrical. It might have been 
 better to print the first two words as an hemistich. 
 >860, 401. / have refus'd a kingdom. Contrast with this the faithlessness 
 of Shakspere's Cleopatra : 
 
 Cleo. Most kind messenger, 
 Say to great Caesar this : in deputation 
 I kiss his conqu'ring hand. Tell him, I am prompt 
 To lay my crown at 's feet, an'd there to kneel. 
 Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear 
 The doom of Egypt. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra, III. siii. 73-78. 
 26a, 17. Like Vulcan. The reference is, of course, to the familiar story in 
 
 Odyssey, vlii. 266-.366. 
 a63, 24. There's no satiety, etc. There is an obvious reminiscence of 
 Shakspere : 
 
 Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
 Her infinite variety. Other women cloy 
 The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry 
 Where most she satisfies, for vilest things 
 Become themselves in her, that the holy priests 
 Bless her when she is rlggish. 
 
 lUd. 11. li. 240-245. 
 J866, 144. Menial kings, etc. 
 
 "Ant. Approach there ! Ah, you kite ! Now, gods and devils ! 
 Authority melts from me. Of late, when I cried 'Ho!' 
 Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth. 
 And cry 'Your will?' Have you no ears? I am 
 Antony yet. 
 
 Ihid. III. xiii. 89-93. 
 "The same idea which bursts from Shakspere's Antony in 
 a transport of passion, is used by Dryden's hero. The one is 
 goaded by the painful feeling of lost power; to the other, 
 absorbed in his sentimental distresses, it only occurs as a sub- 
 ject of melancholy, but not of agitating reflection." Scott. 
 168. She lay, etc. Here Dryden comes into direct rivalry with Shak- 
 spere :
 
 NOTES 459 
 
 Enobarbus. The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, 
 Burn'd on the water. The poop was beaten gold ; 
 Purpie the sails, and so perfumed that 
 
 The winds were love-sick with them. The oars were silver. 
 Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made 
 The water which they beat to follow faster. 
 As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, 
 It beggar'd all description : she did lie 
 In her pavilion — cloth-of-gold of tissue — 
 O'er-picturing that Venus where we see 
 The fancy outwork nature. On each side her 
 Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
 With divers-color'd fans, whose wind did seem 
 To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, 
 And what they undid did. 
 
 Ayiippa. O, rare for Antony ! 
 
 Enobarbus. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, 
 So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes. 
 And made their bends adornings. At the helm 
 A seeming mermaid steers ; the silken tackle 
 Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands. 
 That yarely frame the office. From the barge 
 A strange invisible perfume hits the sense 
 Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
 Her people out upon her ; and Antony, 
 Enthron'd i' the market-place, did sit alone. 
 Whistling to the air, which, but for vacancy. 
 Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too. 
 And made a gap in nature. 
 
 Ibid. II. li. 196-223. 
 Scott's judgment on these two passages is interesting as 
 coming from a time when Dryden, though not a model for the 
 younger generation of poets, was still for conservative critics 
 the third name In English literature. To-day few writers 
 would agree with Scott and still fewer dare to express their 
 agreement. 
 
 "In judging betwixt these celebrated passages, we feel 
 almost afraid to avow a preference of Dryden, founded partly 
 upon the easy flow of the verse, which seems to soften with 
 the suliject, but chiefly upon the beauty of the language and 
 imagery, which is flowery without diflfusiveness, and rapturous 
 without hyperbole. I fear Shakspere cannot be exculpated 
 from the latter fault ; yet I am sensible, it is by sifting his 
 beauties from his conceits that his imitator has been enabled 
 to excel him." (Ss. v. 312, 313.) 
 )S67, 209. \yhile I near this. Antony here points to his head. There Is 
 probably a reminiscence of Shakspere : 
 
 Polonius. Take this from this, if this be otherwise. 
 
 Ilamlct, II. ii. 156. 
 
 5C70, 317. And you do all for duty. Here the tradition of the heroic plays 
 
 is especially plain. Duty, as distinguished from honor, Antony 
 
 hates ; he will be bound only by love. 
 
 27)4, 301. Mho knows no joys. The text of the first two quartos is probably 
 
 correct. Similar constructions are common in Shakspere ; as,
 
 460 NOTES 
 
 "To make me proud that jests" (Love's Labor's Lost, V. li. 
 66). See Abbott. Sliakcapeariati Grammar, § 247. 
 «78, 444. Want. Used here, as often in Shakspere, in the sense of lack. 
 X76, 69. That porc'pisce bodes HI weather. Porc'pisce is a variant form 
 of porpoise (porous piscia). According to a common supersti- 
 tion, the porpoise "bodes ill weather." 
 
 "When porpoises and whales spout about ships at sea, 
 storms may be expected. — Porpoises in harbour indicate coming 
 storm. — When porpoises swim to windward, foul weather will 
 ensue within twelve hours. — Dolphins, as well as porpoises, 
 when they come about a ship and sport and gambol on the 
 surface of the water, betoken a storm : hence they are regarded 
 as unlucky omens by sailors." R. Inwards, Weather Lore, 
 ed. 3, London, 1898, p. 171. 
 
 Professor Saintsbury in his note on this passage misinter- 
 prets porc'pisce as porcupine, an animal that does not seem 
 to be connected with foul weather. (Aside from this, the fat 
 Alexas may be appropriately called a porpoise, but his resem- 
 blance to a porcupine is hard to trace.) His reference to 
 Gubernatis (Zoological Mythology, ii, 12, 13) is misleading. 
 Gubernatis merely states, without citing authority, that the 
 hedgehog presages wind and rain ; and gives a reference to 
 Altrovandi, to show that dreaming of a icild boar is an omen 
 of tempest. 
 
 For this note the editor is again indebted to Professor 
 J. A. Walz of Harvard University. 
 $S79, 1G8. Commerce. The accent falls on the second syllable, as in both 
 
 instances of the word in verse in Shakspere. 
 S£80, 210. Like one, etc. The word like is here apparently used in the sense 
 of as. This idiom, though now regarded as a vulgarism, is 
 found elsewhere in Dryden (Astrwa Redux, 1. 211), and Is also 
 supported by the authority of some good writers both before 
 and after his time. 
 238. Then she's so charming, etc. Again a reminiscence of Shakspere. 
 Cf. n. 203, 24. 
 iSSl, 258. Vent. Now, my lord, etc. Ventidius in this scene seems to aban- 
 don his part of straightforward soldier and to acquire something 
 of lago's craft. 
 itHfi, 299. Every 7nan's Cleopatra. "Imitated, or rather copied, from Shak- 
 spere : 
 
 Don John. I came hither to tell you ; and, circum- 
 stances short'ned, for she has been too long a-talking of, 
 the lady is disloyal. 
 
 Claudio. Who? Hero? 
 
 Don John. Even she; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, 
 every man's Hero. 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing, III. ii. 105-110." Scott. 
 J884, 387. Much. This adverbial use of the word is an archaism on Dry- 
 den's part ; cf. 240, 52, n ; 248, 354, n ; 250, 442, n. 
 J687, 491. Secure of injured faith. The meaning is, of course, "safe from 
 any breach of confidence." Compare : 
 
 Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash. 
 
 Titus Andronicus, II. 1. 3. 
 5888, 530. Avoid my sight! Leave my sight. Compare: "Pray you, avoid 
 the house" (Coriolanus, IV. v. 25).
 
 NOTES 461 
 
 532. And cannot hurt the icoman. Cf. 139, 32, d. 
 542. ^yant. Cf. 273, 444, n. 
 289, 564. Spurn. I'robably here used In the literal sense of kick. Compare : 
 
 the spurns 
 That patient merit of the unworthj' takes. 
 
 Hamlet, III. i. 73, 74. 
 S69i, 71. Eyypt has been. A Latinism ; compare : 
 
 Fuimus Troes, fuit Ilium et ingens 
 Gloria Teucrorum. 
 
 JEneid, ii. 325, 32(5. 
 29ifi, 96. This needed not. This was not necessary. Probably felt by 
 Dryden as an archaism. Compare : "There needs no such 
 apology" (Richard III, III. vii. 104). 
 J893, 154. He teas a bastard of the sun, etc. The Idea may be explained by 
 a passage (11. 565-572) of Dryden's translation of the first 
 book of Ovid's Metamorphoses: 
 
 Thus when the Nile from Pharian fields is fled. 
 And seeks, with ebbing tides, his ancient bed. 
 The fat manure with heav'nly fire is warm'd ; 
 And crusted creatures, as in wombs, are form'd : 
 These, when they turn the glebe, the peasants find ; 
 Some rude, and yet unfinish'd in their kind ; 
 Short of their limbs, a lame imperfect birth ; 
 One half alive, and one of lifeless earth. 
 155. Ap'd into wan. The phrase apparently means, "transform'd into 
 an apish resemblance of man." But no similar use of ape is 
 recorded in N. E. D. 
 295, 223. Her unchang'd face. The adjective is here accented on the nega- 
 tive prefix. Cf. 345, 26. 
 297, 299. Ventidiiis, you must live. The use of pronouns in the following 
 passage is worthy of study. Ventidius always uses the respect- 
 ful and formal you. Antony uses first you and then the 
 familiar and affectionate thou. Cf. 199, 59, n ; 341, 120, n ; 
 390, 52, n. 
 898, 353. That I play'd booty with my life! To play booty is "to allow 
 one's adversary to win at cards at first, in order to induce 
 him to continue playing and victimize him afterwards" 
 (Webster's International Dictionary). Antony's meaning is 
 that Caesar will suspect him of a sham attempt at suicide, in 
 order to win compassion from the conqueror. 
 361. Sold quickly, etc. In this verse the pause between the two 
 speakers supplies the place of an unaccented syllable. In 
 Shakspere an accented syllable, or even a whole foot, is some- 
 times omitted in the same manner ; see Abbott, Shakspearian 
 Grammar, § 506. Cf. 37T, 205, n. 
 299, 387, 388. But yrieve not, while thou stuy'st. My last disastrous times. 
 Retaining the punctuation of the early editions, stay might 
 be taken as meaning wait for, but this hardly suits the con- 
 text. It seems easier to follow SsM and make times the object 
 of yrieve, which is used in the rather uncommon sense of 
 yriere for; and to interpret stay as tarry, linger. Compare, 
 in Dryden's Aureny-Zebc, " 'Tis little to confess, your fate I 
 grieve" (Ss. v. 258). 
 S9)S, 505. Hhe has done well. Dryden, by a fine stroke of art. makes even 
 the coward Alexas pay trilmte to Cleopatra's nobility of soul.
 
 462 NOTES 
 
 303, 17. Mr. Hayes, v. 404, 405, 86-93. 
 
 10. irn'f of ease. N. E. D. defines this as "a certificate of discharge 
 
 from cmpjoymcnt." Dryden writes similarly in the epilogue to 
 
 The Wild Gallant (revived) : 
 
 Things well considered, 'tis so hard to make 
 A comedy which should the knowing take, 
 That our dull poet, in despair to please, 
 Does humbly beg, by me, his writ of case. 
 
 And in the first prologue to The Adventures of Five Hours, 
 
 by Sir Samuel Tuke, are the lines : 
 
 But if, through his ill conduct or hard fate. 
 This foreign plot (like that of eighty-eight.) 
 Should suffer shipwreck in your narrow seas. 
 You'll give your modern poet his writ of ease ; 
 For, by th' example of the King of Spain, 
 He resolves ne'er to trouble you again. 
 
 Dodsley's Old English Plays, ed. Hazlitt, xv. 191.
 
 THE SPANISH FEIAR 
 
 The Spanish Friar was probably acted late in 1680 or early in 1G81 ; it 
 was first printed in the latter year, being entered in the Term Catalogue for 
 Trinity Term. The play, with its strongly anti-Catholic bias, indicates a 
 temporary estrangement of the author from the Court and from the Duke of 
 York's party. In his dedication Dryden speaks of "recommending a Protest- 
 ant play to a Protestant patron." Scott accounts for this defection by sup- 
 posing that Dryden was involved in, or at any rate influenced by, the dis- 
 grace of his patron Lord Mulgrave, to whom he had dedicated Aurcny-Zebe. 
 (Ss. i. 195-198; compare Introduction, pp. xli, xlii.) But Mulgrave was 
 apparently a consistent partisan of the Duke of York ; and in November, 
 1679, upon the removal of the Duke of Monmouth (the rival of the Duke 
 of Y'ork) from the place of governor of Hull, was rewarded with the gift 
 of that position (Luttrell, Brief Historical Relation, Oxford, 1857, vol. i, p. 
 27). Furthermore, Mulgrave's disgrace, which is said to have been caused 
 by pretending courtship to the Lady Anne, daughter of the Duke of York, 
 apparently did not occur until November, 1682 (Ibid. p. 236). Hence in 
 writing The Spanish Friar Dryden was certainly not influenced by any sym- 
 pathy with Mulgrave. 
 
 One might even propose a directly contrary theory. Dryden's reputed 
 authorship of Mulgrave's Essay on Satire, which was handed about in manu- 
 script late in 1679, was the cause of the Rose-Alley ambuscade of December 
 18, 1679, to which he may refer in the prologue to The Spanish Friar: 
 V. 312, 43, 44; n. 149 [Rochester). This cowardly assault brought Dryden 
 not sympathy, but ridicule. The Spanish Friar, then, may possibly indicate the 
 poet's revulsion of feeling against Mulgrave and his party. But probably this 
 supposition is too far-fetched, and we must be content to ascribe Dryden's 
 anti-Catholic zeal to disgust at the irregular payment of his pension, or to 
 accept, without deeper analysis, the following statement by Scott, which 
 is of course not affected by the refutation of his further supposition, referred 
 to above : "The truth seems to be that Dryden partook in some degree of the 
 general ferment which the discovery of the Popish Plot had excited ; and we 
 may easily suppose him to have done so without any impeachment to his 
 
 monarchical tenets, since at the first opening of the Plot the 
 
 chiefs of the royal party joined in the cry" (Ss. vi. 397). 
 
 At all events, Dryden's estrangement from the Court, whether real or 
 apparent, was so marked that he was charged by a royalist pamphleteer with 
 being an adherent of Shaftesbury (Ss. i. 198; ix. 438, 439; Christie. In Globe 
 edition of Dryden, p. 123). Some lines in the play itself, apparently 
 directed against the Whig mob of London (see 3(>1, 157-169), indicate the 
 injustice of this accusation. Only a few months later the poet triumphantly 
 proved his loyalty by his great satire Absalom and Achituphcl, published in 
 November, 1681. 
 
 The Spanish Friar was prohibited by James II. Malone gives an inter- 
 esting note on a revival of it after the Revolution : 
 
 "The Queen was probably extremely fearful of any piece beln^r 
 
 introduced on the stage that might admit of a political application to her 
 own time, in consequence of the distress she had suffered a few years be- 
 
 463
 
 464 NOTES 
 
 fore at the rpprescntatlon of The i?panis]i Friar, which she ordered to be 
 performed in June, 1G8!), it being the first play she went to see. Of her 
 confusion and distress on that occasion a particular account is given in the 
 following curious letter, written by Daniel Finch, second Earl of Notting- 
 ham, which seems to have been formerly in the possession of Oldys, and has 
 been printed by Sir John Dalrymple, from a copy furnished by Dr. Percy, 
 Lord Bishop of Dromore. It does not appear to whom the letter was addressed : 
 
 " "The only day her Majesty gave herself the diversion of a play, and 
 that on which she designed to see another, has furnished the town with 
 discourse for near a month. The choice of the play was The Spanish Friar, 
 the only play forbid by the late K[ing]. Some unhappy expressions, among 
 which those that follow, put her in some disorder, and forced her to hold 
 up her fan, and often look behind her, and call for her palatine and hood, 
 and anything she could next thinli of ; while those who were in the pit 
 before her turned their heads over their shoulders, and all in general directed 
 their looks towards her, whenever their fancy led them to make any appli- 
 cation of what was said. In one place, where the Queen of Aragon is going 
 to church in procession, 'tis said by a spectator : "Very good ; she usurps the 
 throne, keeps the old king in prison, and at the same time is praying for a 
 blessing on her army." [v. 317, 31S, 104, 105.] And when said: "That 't is 
 observ'd at court, who weeps, and who wears black for good King Sancho's 
 death," 't is said: "Who is that, that can flatter a court like this? Can I 
 soothe tyranny? seem pleas'd to see my royal master murther'd ; his crown 
 usurp'd ; a distaff in the throne?" [v. 357, 6-14.] And: "What title has this 
 queen, but lawless force? and force must pull her down. [v. 358, 25,26.] — 
 Twenty more things are said, which may be wrested to what they were 
 never designed : but, however, the observations then made furnished the 
 town with talk, till something else happened, which gave it much occasion 
 for discourse.' " {Prose Works of John Drtjden, I, i. 214, 215.) 
 
 Scott tells us, on the authority of a contemporary satire, The Revolter 
 (1687), that the satire on the Catholic Church was so severe in the first 
 edition of The Spanish Friar that it had to be mitigated in succeeding edi- 
 tions (Ss. i. 203; vi. 399). Collation of the early copies proves this state- 
 ment to be baseless ; in fact the third and fourth editions contain passages, 
 not found earlier, that deepen the satire : see footnotes on 332, 4 ; 339, 27. 
 Professor Saintsbury's interpretation of first edition as first representation 
 is prohibited by the language of the passage Scott quotes from The Revolter. 
 
 The unity of place is fairly well observed in The Spanish Friar, since all 
 the scenes occur in the one city of Saragossa. The unity of time is not 
 so strictly regarded : a night passes between act II and act III, or perhaps 
 between the second and third scenes of act III, another between act IV and 
 act V. The unity of action is patently neglected in this tragi-comedy : see 
 Introduction, pp. xlix-lii. 
 
 The skilful combination of the comic with the tragic plot of The Spanish 
 Friar won warm praise from critics of the eighteenth century school, notably 
 Addison (Spectator, No. 267), Johnson (Life of Dry den), and Scott. Por- 
 tions of Scott's introduction to the drama may be quoted as illustrating both 
 this view of the play and his own courtly style of criticism : 
 
 "The Spanish Friar is one of the best and most popular of our 
 
 poet's dramatic efforts. The plot is, as Johnson remarks, particularly happy, 
 for the coincidence and coalition of the tragic and comic plots 
 
 "The comic part, as it gives the first title to the play, seems 
 
 to claim our first attention. Indeed, some precedence is due to it In an- 
 other point of view ; for, though the tragic scenes may be matched in All
 
 NOTES 465 
 
 for Love and elsewhere, The Spanish Friar contains by far the most 
 
 happy of Dryden's comic effusions. It has, comparatively speaking, this 
 high claim to commendation, that, although the intrigue is licentious, ac- 
 cording to the invariable license of the age, the language is, in general, free 
 from the extreme and disgusting coarseness which our author too fre- 
 quently mistook for wit, or was contented to substitute in its stead. The 
 liveliness and even brilliancy of the dialogue shows that Dryden, from the 
 stores of his imagination, could, when he pleased, command that essential 
 requisite of comedy ; and that, if he has seldom succeeded, it was only be- 
 cause he mistook the road, or felt difficulty in traveling it. The character of 
 Dominic is of that broadly ludicrous nature which was proper to the old 
 comedy. It would be difficult to show an ordinary conception more fully 
 brought out. He is, like Falstaff, a compound of sensuality and talent, finely 
 varied by the professional traits with which it suited the author's purpose to 
 adorn his character 
 
 "The tragic part of The Spanish Friar has uncommon merit. The open- 
 ing of the drama, and the picture of a besieged town in the last extremity, 
 is deeply impressive, while the description of the noise of the night attack, 
 and the gradual manner in which the intelligence of its success is communi- 
 cated, arrests the attention, and prepares expectation for the appearance of 
 the hero, with all the splendor which ought to attend the principal char- 
 acter in tragedy. The subsequent progress of the plot is liable to a capital 
 objection, from the facility with which the queen, amiable and virtuous, as 
 we are bound to suppose her, consents to the murder of the old dethroned 
 
 monarch The gallant, virtuous, and enthusiastic character of 
 
 Torrismond must be allowed, in some measure, to counterbalance that of 
 his mistress, however unhappily he has placed his affections. But the real 
 excellence of these scenes consists less in peculiarity of character, than in 
 the vivacity and power of the language, which, seldom sinking into vulgarity 
 or rising into bombast, maintains the mixture of force and dignity best 
 adapted to the expression of tragic passion. Upon the whole, as the comic 
 part of this play is our author's masterpiece in comedy, the tragic plot may 
 be ranked with his very best efforts of that kind, whether in Don Sebastian 
 or All for Love" (Ss. vi. 395, 39G, 398, 399). 
 
 On the other hand, Professor Saintsbury probably comes nearer the gen- 
 eral verdict of readers of our own time when he writes : 
 
 "Elvira is an impudent and unattractive adulteress, Lorenzo a common- 
 place rake. The tragic parts are uninteresting to a degree, the queen being 
 both bloodthirsty and inconsequent, and Torrismond a vacillating shilly- 
 shally. No minor part redeems the play, and its merit depends almost wholly 
 on its presumed merits of construction and on the Friar. The former, though 
 not inconsiderable, are more technically than really interesting. The latter, 
 good in his way, is little more than a blended reminiscence of Falstaff and 
 Fletcher's Lopez [in The Spaiiish Curate], both very much degraded" (Ss. 
 vi. 401). 
 
 In these sweeping assertions Professor Saintsbury lays his finger on 
 Dryden's central weakness as a dramatist, his lack of a sympathetic under- 
 standing of human character, which he attempts to supply by a careful de- 
 velopment of accepted types. Dryden's success is greater or less according 
 as he succeeds in disguising his shallowness of conception by his technical 
 skill. Compare Introduction, pp. lili, liv. 
 
 805. Dryden's quotation from Martial should begin. Qua possis melius 
 
 fallerc. "That you may be able to cheat the better, assume 
 the gown."
 
 466 NOTES 
 
 Dryden's own translation of his motto from Virgil is as 
 follows : 
 
 Good unexpected, evils unforeseen, 
 Appear by turns, as fortune shifts the scene : 
 Some, rais'd aloft, come tumbling down amain ; 
 Then fall so hard, they bound and rise again. 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 307, Johiij Lord Haughton. "John Holies, Lord Haughton, eldest son 
 
 of the Earl of Clare. He succeeded to his father, was created 
 Marquis of Clare, and died 1711." [Scott.] 
 
 27. Telling. Counting. 
 
 31. In a playhouse, etc. This may have been suggested by the fol- 
 lowing passages from Rymer : 
 
 "A distinction is to be made between what pleases natu- 
 rally in itself, and what pleases upon the account of machines, 
 actors, dances and circumstances which are merely accidental 
 to the tragedy." (The Tragedies of the Lust Age, 1G92, p. 6.) 
 "Whatever defect may be in Amintor and Melantius, Mr. 
 Hart and Mr. Mohun are wanting in nothing. To these we 
 owe for what is pleasing In the scene, and to this scene we 
 may impute the success of The Maid's Tragedy." (Hid. pp. 
 138, 139. i 
 
 308, 7. Bussy d'Ambois. A tragedy by George Chapman (1559? — 1634). 
 
 Dryden's strictures have not found favor with later critics. 
 See Ward, English Dramatic Literature, ed. 2, ii. 419, 420. 
 Professor Ker states that D'Urfey "says he saw Bussy acted 
 by Hart about 1675." 
 
 In a translation of Boileau's Art of Poetry, published in 
 1683, made by Sir William Soamcs, and revised and adapted to 
 English conditions by Dryden, occurs the triplet : 
 
 Your bully poets, bully heroes write ; 'j 
 
 Chapman in Bussy d'Ambois took delight, S- 
 
 And thought perfection was to huff and tight. J 
 
 (Ss. XV. 240.) 
 9. Cozen'd with a jelly. Scott cites a line from Dryden's (Edipus: 
 "The shooting stars end all in purple Jellies" (Ss. vi. 159). 
 The following excerpt from Webster's International Dictionary 
 explains the origin of the superstition referred to : 
 
 "NosTOC. A genus of alg.-c 
 
 "Nostoc commune is found on the ground, and is ordinarily 
 not seen ; but after a rain it swells up Into a conspicuous 
 jelly-like mass, which was formerly supposed to have fallen 
 from the sky, whence the popular names, fallen star and star 
 jelly." 
 15. A famous modern poet, etc. "Andrea Navagero, (in Latin A'ow- 
 gerius,) a noble Venetian and celebrated Latin poet, who died 
 in 1529, was accustomed, as Strada informs us in his Pro- 
 lusiones Acadcmicw (lib. ii. prol. 5), on the anniversary of 
 his birthday, to burn the works of Martial; at the same time 
 informing those friends whom he invited to an entertainment 
 on the occasion, that this was a sacrifice to the manes of 
 Virgil, an author for whom he had a high admiration : but 
 Balzac, who also mentions this circumstance, says with more
 
 NOTES 467 
 
 probability, that Martial was sacrificed by Navagero to the 
 manes of Catullus. 1 have nowhere met with an account 
 exactly corresponding with that mentioned by our author. 
 Navagero indeed, having read to a party of his friends some 
 Latin verses which he had composed, and being told by them 
 that his lines had much of the air of Statiux, whose poetry 
 he held in great contempt, was so exasperated that he threw 
 them into the fire. (ProL Acarl. ut supr.) iJr.vden seems to 
 have confounded the two anecdotes. Strada, however, was 
 probably his authority, the line which he has quoted as a 
 specimen of the style of Statins, (the first line of his poem 
 entitled Equus Domitiani) being also quoted in the same pro- 
 lusion, as characteristical of that poet." (Malone, ii. .'jO, ~yl.) 
 If Drydcn has really borrowed from Strada, as seems prob- 
 able, It is the only instance of his use of that author. Con- 
 fusion ot the two anecdotes was easy, since the poems that 
 Navagero burnt in vexation were called Sylvw, like the work 
 of Statius that he disliked. Rapin, with whom Dryden was 
 familiar, gives this anecdote in the same form as Balzac ; see 
 his Reflexions sur la Poeliquc, ii. 31, in Ocuires, Amsterdam, 
 1709, vol. ii. p. 188. — The editor has been unable to locate 
 the anecdote In Balzac. 
 
 19. Maximin. The tyrant in Dryden's Tyrannic Love. 
 
 29. Bubbles. Dupes, gulls. 
 
 34. QucE superimposito, etc. Statius, Silvw, I, i. I : "What mass 
 doubled by a colossus placed upon it? — " 
 
 3G. Titure, tu, etc. Virgil, Eclogues, i. 1. Dryden translates: 
 Beneath the shade which beechen boughs diffuse, 
 you, Tit'rus, entertain your sylvan Muse. 
 
 43. Sylvester's Dubartas. The translation of Du Bartas his Divine 
 Weekcs and Workcs by Josuah Sylvester (1.5G.3-1618) has been 
 published by Grosart in the Chertsci/ Worthies Library. 1880. 
 The passage quoted by Dryden is from the Fourth Part of 
 the First day of the II. Weekc, 11. 184-187. Grosarfs text 
 reads : 
 
 But when the Winter's keener breath began 
 To crystallize the Boltike Ocean, 
 To glaze the Lakes, and bridle up the Flouds, 
 And perriwig with wool the baldepate Woods. 
 In his revision of Soames's translation of Boileau's Art 
 of Poetry Dryden again refers to Sylvester : 
 Yet noisy bumbast carefully avoid. 
 Nor think to raise, tho' on I'harsalia's plain, 
 Millions of mourniuy viountains of the slain: 
 Nor, with Dubartas, bridle up the floods, 
 And periwig with wool the baldpate woods." 
 
 (Ss. XV. 227.) 
 
 309, 2G. The propriety of thoufjhis and words. Compare Dryden's earlier 
 words: "The definition of wit (which has been so often 
 attempted, and ever unsuccessfully by many poets) is only 
 this: That it is a propriety of thoughts and words; or, in 
 other terms, thoughts and words elegantly adapted to the 
 subject" (The Author's Apology for Heroic Poetry and
 
 468 NOTES 
 
 Poetic License, [nefaced to 'J'lic Stole of Innocence; Ss. v. 
 124). 
 
 310. 5. Except those in verse. That is, heroic plays. 
 
 10. Neither is it so tririal (in undertaking, etc. In his Preface 
 to Troilus and Cressida, published only two years before, 
 Dryden, following Aristotle, had written of "that inferior sort 
 of tragedies, which end with a prosperous event." (Ss. vl. 264.) 
 
 TEXT 
 
 311, 11. Bromingam. Birmingham was noted at the time for its coinage 
 
 of ba'se money. Hence its name, under various forms, of 
 which this is one (v. N. E. D. under Brummagem), became a 
 slang term for counterfeit, and has so continued until the 
 present day. 
 21. yotclt'd. y. E. D. explains as "having unevenly or closely cropped 
 hair," and cites parallel passages. Scott comments : "It was 
 anciently a part of the apprentice's duty not only to carry 
 the family Bible to church, but to take notes of the sermon 
 for the edification of his master or mistress." 
 3158, 39. Scouring. Running over and dispersing. 
 
 43. A fair attempt, etc. The reference is probably to the assault on 
 Dryden himself in Rose Alley on December 18, 1679 (v. n. 
 149 (Rochester) and to the murder of Sir Edmund Berry 
 Godfrey in October, 1678. 
 46. The new-found pois'ning trick of France. The Chamhrc Ardente 
 had been in session in 1679-80, investigating the Voisin and 
 other notorious poisoning cases. 
 Our Plot. The Topish Plot. 
 Squander'd. Scattered. Compare : 
 
 And other ventures he hath, squander'd abroad. 
 
 (The merchant of Venice, I. iii. 21, 22.) 
 Colonel. Here three syllables ; cf. 302, 182, n. 
 By my computation, etc. Dryden loses no opportunity of express- 
 ing his hostility to priests. 
 Score. Count. 
 Tale. Count. 
 Merit's. Perhaps merits should be substituted, though the 
 
 apostrophe is found is QqF. 
 Penelope's. Apparently to be pronounced here as three syllables. 
 Want. v. 273, 444, n. 
 
 Who have we yonderf The form icho as object of a verb Is 
 common in Shakspere and is the regular usage in modern 
 spoken English ; see Abbott, Shakespearian Grammar, § 274 ; 
 Sweet, New English Grammar, § 1086. 
 370. Thee. Cf. n. 341, 120. 
 
 377. And the times, etc. In the early editions of Shakspere and Is 
 the regular spelling of the conditional particle ; most modern 
 editors substitute an. 
 3545, 422. Pumping. So QqF. If the text is correct, it must mean that 
 Gomez does not wish to have Lorenzo question him. Pimping 
 would suit the context better. 
 3S86, 451. Camphire. Camphor. 
 
 456. No Carnival, etc. Cf. sr.O, 4.52, n. 
 
 
 48. 
 
 316, 
 
 37. 
 
 
 43. 
 
 318. 
 
 129. 
 
 319, 
 
 147. 
 
 
 148. 
 
 3*^», 
 
 260. 
 
 
 274. 
 
 383, 
 
 ."503. 
 
 3a4, 
 
 365.
 
 NOTES 469 
 
 329, 27. Convince. Prove guilty. 
 330 72. Fearful, v. 109, 31, n. 
 
 3358.' 145. These fairy favom, etc. "Alluding to the common superstition, 
 that the continuance of the favors of fairies depends upon the 
 receiver's secrecy : 'This is fairy gold, boy, and 't will prove so. 
 Up with 't, keep it close. Home, home, the next way. We 
 are lucky, boy ; and to be so still requires nothing but secrecy.' 
 Winter's Tale, III. iii. 127-130." [Scott.] 
 
 334. 91. At next door. Note the apparent omission of the article. In 
 
 Middle p:nglish this was combined with at, forming atte ; then, 
 with the general loss of final c, at alone remained. Cf. 422, 
 142. 
 
 5. Nights. Adverbial genitive, not plural. 
 
 6. Hilding. Hussy. 
 
 335, 33. Murroichoncs. Knee bones. 
 
 42. The devil 's in the circle. A reference to the circle that a con- 
 jurer draws around himself before beginning his incantations. 
 337, 120. What wake yoii? What are you doing? what are you up to? 
 Cf. 194, 142; 340, 7G ; 3TS, 231. 
 127. Fail. Means may be construed either as a singular or as a 
 plural ; the use of the two constructions in one sentence, how- 
 ever, suggests a misprint. 
 130. With a wet finger. With great ease. 
 
 339, 27. (footnote) 'Tis hut, etc. Dryden employs the same figure from 
 
 the game of chess in his controversy with Stillingflcet : "His 
 example of praying daily for the dead shew'd his opinion at the 
 bottom ; but his not publicly owning that be did so, has prov'd 
 him little better than a black bishop who has enter'd privately 
 into the white one's walk." (Ss. xvii. 230.) 
 
 340, C2. / never teas out. "At a loss, baffled." [Saixtsbury.] 
 7tJ. What makes, etc. Cf. 337, 120, n. 
 
 341, 81. Who have ice here. Cf. 324, 365, n. 
 
 120. IJclp you out. In this dialogue Lorenzo uses the singular pro- 
 noun, in a jovial, mock-friendly fashion ; Gomez, naturally, 
 never adopts it. Cf. 199. 59 n ; 297, 299, n ; 390, 52. n. 
 3458, 14G. / find, etc. In this speech Lorenzo changes his tone, adopting 
 the ceremonious you. 
 
 And sins. Cf. 324, 377, n. 
 
 The tribe of Issachar. "Issachar is a strong ass couching down 
 between two burdens." (Genesis xlix. 14.) 
 
 The unknoicn ice. Cf. 295. 223, n. 
 
 What bull dare sheep dares. The shift of construction 
 
 from subjunctive to indicative may be intentional with Drydea. 
 
 If then, etc. The rimed couplet is used for emphasis. 
 
 The priesthood, etc. The following passage illustrates Dryden's 
 fondness for argument in verse. (Cf. Introduction, p. xxvi ; 
 The Conquest of Granada. 99, 100, 71-134; 102-1O4, 70-180; 
 The Rehearsal, 400, 1-18; 41(), 15-17.) On such occasions he 
 is sure to drop into rime. In The State of Innocence, act IV 
 (Ss. v. 152-156), there is a long rimed argument between 
 Adam, Raphael, and Gabriel, on this same question of free will. 
 Compare also 115, 143-150. 
 350, 245. Obdurate. Pronounced here obdu'ratc. 
 
 343, 
 
 210. 
 
 344, 
 
 213. 
 
 345, 
 
 26. 
 
 34G, 
 
 00. 
 
 34M. 
 
 148, 
 
 
 161
 
 470 
 
 NOTES 
 
 354. 
 
 128. 
 
 
 133. 
 
 355. 
 
 166. 
 
 351, 287. Ahoding. On the use of abode in the sense of the more common 
 hode, compare : 
 
 This tempest, 
 Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded 
 The sudden breach on 't. 
 
 (Henry Till, I. i. 92-94.) 
 3558. 59. Yes, by certainty. "This retort brings out the proper sense of 
 jealousy {suspicion of rivalry), which is often lost or for- 
 gotten." Saintsbury. 
 353, 73. Anf/cls. A play on the use of angel in the sense of a gold coin. 
 Cf. 404, 56, n. 
 
 94. Ana's. "[Greek &j/d (used distributively).] (Med.) Of each; 
 
 an equal quantity ; as, wine and honey, ana 3ij. that Is, of 
 wine and honey, each, two ounces." (Webster's International 
 Dictionary.) 
 
 95. Sir Dominic. Sir, as a translation of the Latin dominus, was 
 
 colloquially applied to the clergy, often, as here, with a shade 
 of contempt. Compare Chaucer's : 
 
 This swete preest, this goodly man, sir John. 
 (Canterbury Tales, B 4010.) 
 Assassinates. Assassins. The word occurs also in (Edipus, by 
 
 Dryden and Lee. (Ss. vi. 217.) 
 He has rail'd, etc. The political satire is obvious. 
 my gold, etc. Imitated from Shaksperc : 
 
 My daughter ! O my ducats ! O my daughter ! 
 Fled with a Christian I O my Christian ducats ! 
 Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my daughter ! 
 
 (The Merchant of Venice, IL viii. 15-17.) 
 357, 256. Under covert-baron, etc. A married woman is called in law a 
 feme covert, and is said to be under covert-baron. Gomez 
 jocosely coins the phrase under covert-feme. 
 359, 79. Shreicd. It is hard to say whether the word is here used in the 
 sense of evil, mischievous, or in that of cunning, artful; both 
 these senses are found in Shakspere. 
 3«0, 100. If princes, etc. These lines apparently refer to the circumstances 
 attending the impeachment of the Ean of Danby. v. n. 223 
 (Danby). 
 361, 157. You do not knoic, etc. Here again is a vein of political satire, 
 
 directed at the Whig mob of London ; cf. p. 463. 
 36$S, 182. Colonel. In Dryden's time this word was sometimes pronounced 
 as three syllables, sometimes as two ; v. N. E. D. and cf. 316, 
 43, n. In the following line Dryden may possibly have in- 
 tended the familiar abbreviation coll. 
 363, 240. At last, etc. Dryden gives emphasis to his sententious moraliz- 
 ing by reverting to rime ; cf. n. 348, 161. 
 36S, 38. Prevents. Anticipates, comes before. 
 
 Pointed. Appointed. Used again by Dryden in his translation 
 of The Ninth Ode of the First Book of Horace, line 32, in 
 which passage also, however, the Scott-Saintsbury edition 
 (xii. 363) wrongly prints appointed. 
 39. Told the clocks. Counted the strokes of the clocks. 
 59. Doubts. Suspects; cf. 140, 29, n. 
 37*, 198. Orange tawny. "Apparently the uniform of the 'city bands.'" 
 Saintsbury.
 
 NOTES 471 
 
 374, 59. Breathing of the temple reiv.. To breathe a vein is to lance It 
 so as to let blood. 
 65. At hardhead. This apparently refers to a primitive sport In 
 which two men butt against each other to decide whose head 
 Is the harder. In The Hind and the Panther (part ii, line 
 443; Ss. X. 177) Dryden has the line: 
 
 Both play at hardhead till they break their brains. 
 
 377, 205. 'So! 'Tis, etc. The pause after no compensates metrically for 
 
 the omission of a syllable, ("f. a!>8, :!(il, n. 
 
 378, 2:58. Bclsuayycr. "A swaggering gallant or bully; a whoremonger, 
 
 pimp." (N. E. D.) 
 
 379, 2G0. Circtinihendihiin. A roundabout method. This is the first instance 
 
 of the word cited in Is'. E. I). Dryden may have coined the 
 
 expression, l)ut more probably took it from contemporary 
 
 slang. 
 274. A household phif/ue. "A red cross, with the words, 'Lord have 
 
 mercy upon us,' w»ss placed, during the great plague, upon the 
 
 houses visited by the disease." Scott. 
 280. Crocodile of Silus. Cf. n. Sii, 18. 
 
 380, 29'J. Laborinfj. Belaboring. 
 
 310. Rodomont. A boasting hero in the Orlando Furioso of Ariosto 
 and the Orlando Innamoratu of Boiardo. Spelled Rhodomont 
 in the early editions. 
 
 312-314. But if friar. If the reading of Q2Q3Q4 were adopted, 
 
 these lines might be arranged metrically as follows, giving 
 an irregular jingling couplet at the close of Gomez's speech : 
 But if you want a through-pac'd liar. 
 That will swear 
 
 Thi"o' thick and thin, commend me to a friar. 
 321. Demofjorf/on. One may borrow Saintsbury's note upon this word 
 as used by Dryden in another connection : "Demogorgon, one 
 of the more esoteric and apocryphal deities of mythology, has 
 not much propriety here, except as supplying a name of excel- 
 lent sound." (Ss. xi. 389.) Gomez is of course searching 
 for a word that shall be more terrible than Oorgon. 
 3858, 387. In quirpo. In body ; that is, in his underclothes. 
 
 Cas'd. Skinned. Compare : "We '11 make you some sport with 
 the fox ere we case him." (All's Well that Ends Well, III. vi. 
 110,111.) 
 408. Fact. Crime, as always in Shakspere. 
 383, 23, 24. Devil: civil, v. 418, GO, Gl, n. 
 
 34. Well may, etc. A fling at transubstantiation. 
 384^ 40. And learn, etc. There is a similar allusion in Oldham's Satires 
 upon the Jesuits. (Satire ii ; Poetical Works, London, 1854, 
 p. 103.)
 
 THE EEIIEARSAL 
 
 On the history of Thr nchcnrf!aJ, see Iniroiluc1io)i, pp. xxxi, xxxii. 
 The text of the picseiit edition has lieen formed by a collation of 
 Arbor's reprint (London, 1S08) with the first edition '1G72). Spelling and 
 punctuation are here modernized in the same way as for Dryden. On later 
 editions of the play see Iniroduction, p. xxxii, n. 3. The present notes give 
 such additions to the text as appear in the third edition (1675) ; but usually 
 do not record minor variations of text between the first and third, or between 
 the third and sixth (1G92) editions. The editions of 1072, lG7.j, and 1692 
 are here cited as Ql, Qo, Q6 ; collectively, as Qq. The intermediate quartos 
 were not accessible to the present editor. Scene headings and similar matter 
 supplied l)y the present editor (v. pp. 3,SS, 391) are inclosed in brackets. 
 Actus and scccna of the original edition have been changed into act and 
 scene; on p. 41S scwna i has been omitted. The division into scenes of acts 
 II, III, IV is retained from Qq. 
 
 In 1701 a seventh edition of The Rehearsal appeared, containing some 
 trifling --explanatory notes," only four in all. (The editor has used the 
 copy owned by the Harvard College Library.) In 1704 the l)ookseller Briscoe 
 issued a Kei/ to The Rehearsal. (The copy that the editor has used is 
 incorporated in The Second VoJumc of Miscellaneous icorks written hy 
 Georye, late Duke of JiuckitKjhnin, London, 1705.) Briscoe represents, proba- 
 bly as a mere literary device, that he obtained his material from an old 
 gentleman of his acquaintance. The Information contained in this Key was 
 frequently reprinted in the form of footnotes to later editions of The Re- 
 hearsal. Of these the editor has examined that contained in the edition of 
 Buckingham's works published in 1775. Towards the close of the eighteenth 
 century Bishop Percy prepared a key to The Rehearsal, which was never 
 published, but a copy of which is preserved in the British Museum. From 
 this I'rofessor Arber drew much material for his reprint, besides adding 
 occasional notes of his own. From these various sources the following notes 
 are largely compiled. (Bishop Percy's work could be used only so far as 
 reprinted by Professor Arber.) References to contemporary plays have 
 been verified when possible. Notes taken from Professor Arber are signed 
 with his name, which has been enclosed in brackets in case the original 
 form of expression has been in any way altered. The same notation is 
 adopted for the notes taken from the Key of 1704 or from the 1775 edition. 
 In cases where these authorities have merely furnished a reference to an old 
 play, the fact is indicated by an A, K, or N in brackets after the note. 
 
 In the Barton Collection at the Boston Public Library there is an inter- 
 leaved copy of the third edition of The Rehearsal (1675) that once belonged 
 to Narcissus Luttrell. It is inscribed iVar. Luttrell : His Book 1682, and 
 contains many manuscript notes in his hand. With one exception, however 
 (v. n. 408, 159), these add nothing to the material contained in the Key 
 of 1704. 
 387, 2. Posy. Bouquet. 
 
 10. King Cambyses' vein. The allusion is of course to Shakspere : 
 "Fal.'itaff. Give me a cup of sack to make my eyes look red, 
 that it may be thought I have wept ; for I must speak in 
 passion, and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein" {1 Henry 
 
 472
 
 NOTES 473 
 
 IV, II. iv. 422-42G). Shakspere In his turn is ridiculing an 
 old play by Thomas Preston, published in 1570, A Lament- 
 able Traijedie mixed full of plc.sant viirth, containiny the 
 Life of Cambines King of Percia. It may be remarked that 
 Shakspere here uses passion in the sense of violent sorrow, 
 and that the author of this prologue misunderstands him. 
 
 16. For, like a rook, etc. A rook is a sharper. To hedge in a bet 
 is to bet on both sides of a bargain, so as to be certain of 
 winning. If the critics laugh at his bombast. Lacy has 
 gained his object ; if they are foolish enough to take him 
 seriously, he will turn tragic actor. 
 
 27. John Ldcij. Lacy was one of the best comic actors of the 
 period, and a dramatist as well as an actor. lie created the 
 part of Mr. Bayes ; cf. Introduction, p. xxxii, n. 4. 
 389, 18. Aye. Here, and generally throughout the play, the original 
 editions read /. 
 
 33. To elevate and surprise. Cf. 11, l-l.'i. 
 89U, 41. Mr. Bayes. On Mrs. Mountfort in this part, see n. 105. 
 
 52. Wilt thou. .Johnson often addresses Bayes with the singular 
 pronoun, rather from contempt than from familiarity. 
 
 61,62. In fine Europe. "The usual language of the Honorable 
 
 F^dward Howard, Esq., at the rehearsal of his plays." Key, 
 1704. 
 
 62. I'yud. Here, and throughout the play, the original editions 
 read / yud. 
 
 80. These my rules. The Kty of 1704 refers to the opening lines of 
 Dryden's prologue to Secret Love; or. The Maiden Queen: 
 
 I. 
 He who writ this, not without pains and thought 
 From French and English theaters has brought 
 Th' cxactest rules by which a play is wrought : 
 
 IL 
 The unities of action, place, and time ; 
 The scenes unbroken ; and a mingled chime 
 Of .Tonson's humor with ("orncille's rime. 
 
 82. Tlie rule of iransrcrsion. "Gerard Langbaine, in his Account 
 of the English Dramatic Poets, 1601, p. 169, noticing Dryden"s 
 
 Secret Lore; or, The Maiden Queen, says: "I cannot 
 
 pass by his making use of Bayes's art of transversing, as any 
 one may observe by comparing the fourth stanza of his first 
 prologue with the last paragraph of the preface to Ibrahim.' 
 
 "The title of this work is as follows : 'Ibrahim. Or the 
 Illustrious liassa. An excellent new Romance. The whole 
 Work in fourc I'arts. Written in French by Monsieur de 
 iScudcry. And now Englished by Hk.vry Cogan, gent. London 
 1652.' The paragraph referred to runs thus : 
 
 " "Behold, reader, that which I had to say to you, hut what 
 defense soever I have imployed, I know that it is of works 
 of this nature, as of a place of war, where, notwithstanding 
 all the care the engineer hath brought to fortify it, there 
 is always some weak part found, which he hath not dreamed 
 of, and whereby it is assaulted ; but this shall not surprise
 
 474 NOTES 
 
 me ; for as I have not forgot that I am a man, no more 
 have I forgot that I am subject to err." 
 
 "This is thus versified in the fourth stanza of the same 
 prologue. 
 
 IV. 
 "Plays are like towns, which, howe'er fortified 
 By engineers, have still some weaker side 
 By the o'er-seen defendant unespied." 
 
 [Arber.] 
 391, 112. Presently. Immediately. 
 
 113. All iliut Pcr.sius, etc. This grotesque passage probably has 
 some foundation in fact. Dryden, in his Essay of Dramatic 
 Poesy, devotes a paragraph to the formal division of a play 
 into protasis, epitasis, catastasis, and catastrophe, which he 
 ascril)es to Aristotle (v. Ss. xv. 30:i, :!04 ; Ker, i. 44-46, 294). 
 The division really goes back only to Scaliger's Poetics. The 
 passage is so long, and the agreement with Scaliger so close, 
 that one can hardly suppose Dryden to be quoting from 
 memory alone. It is a natural inference that Dryden had 
 transferred the passage from Scaliger to his commonplace 
 book, without noting the name of the author, and that on 
 coming to use it he carelessly ascribed it to Aristotle, the 
 fount of all dramatic criticism. 
 110. Aye, sirs, etc. Q3 here reads simply : Sirs, if you make the 
 least scrirple, etc. The line omitted is expanded later ; v. n. 
 aSKS, 85. 
 39^ 32. She is my mistress. "The part of Amaryllis was acted by Mrs. 
 Ann Reeves, who, at that time, was kept by Mr. Bayes." 
 Key, 1704. 
 
 This passage is expanded in Q3 in such a way as to make 
 Mr. Bayes more ludicrous : 
 
 Bayes. Aye, it's a pretty little rogue; I knew her face would 
 
 set off armor extremely : and, to tell you true, I write 
 
 that part only for her. You must know she is my mistress. 
 
 Johns. Then I knov>- another thing, little Bayes, that thou 
 
 hast had her, V gad. 
 Boyes. "No, i' gad, not yet ; but I'm sure I shall, for I have 
 
 talk'd bawdy to her already. 
 Johns. Hast thou, faith? Pr'ythee how was that? 
 Bayes. Why, sir, there is in the French tongue a certain 
 criticism, which, by the variation of the masculine adjec- 
 tive instead of the feminine, makes a quite different sig- 
 nification of the word : as, for example, ?»a vie is my life ; 
 but if before vie you put man instead of ma. you make it 
 bawdy. 
 Johns. Very true. 
 
 Bayes. Now, sir, I, having observ'd this, set a trap for her 
 the other day in the tiring-room ; for this, said I : "Adieu, 
 Icl esperansa de ma rie;" which, i' gad, is very pretty. 
 To which she answer'd, I vow, almost as prettily, every 
 jot, for, said she : Son;/€z a ma rie, mounsieur." Where- 
 upon I presently snapp'd this upon her : "Xon, non, madam. 
 — soncjes vous a mon,'' by gad, and nam'd the thing directly 
 to her.
 
 NOTES 475 
 
 Smi. This is one of the richest stories, Mr. Bayes, that ever 
 
 I heard of. 
 Bayes. Aye, let me alone, i' gad, when I get to 'em ; I'll 
 
 nick 'em, I warrant you. But I'm a little nice; for you 
 
 must icnow, at this time, I am kept by another woman, 
 
 in the city. 
 Sini. How kept? foi* what? 
 
 Bayed. Why, for a beau (jcrson ; I am, i'sackins. 
 Smi. Nay, then we shall never have done. 
 Bayes. And the rogue is so fond of me, Mr. Johnson, that 
 
 I vow to gad, I know not what to do with myself. 
 Johns. Do with thyself! no; I wonder how thou canst make 
 
 a shift to hold out, at this rate. 
 Bayes. O devil, I can toil like a horse ; only sometimes it 
 
 makes me melancholy : and then I vow to gad, for a whole 
 
 day together I am not able to say you one good thing if 
 
 it were to saite my life. 
 Smi. That we do verily believe, Mr. Bayes. 
 Bayes. And that's the only thing, i' gad, which mads me 
 
 in my amours ; for I'll tell you, as a friend, Mr. Johnson, 
 
 my acquaintances, I hear, begin to give it out that I am 
 
 dull : now I am the farthest from it in the whole world, 
 
 1' gad ; but only, forsooth, they think I am so, because I 
 
 can say nothing. 
 Johns. Phoo, pox, that's ill-natur'dly done of 'em. 
 Bayes. Aye gad, there's no trusting o' these rogues ; but — 
 
 a — come, let's sit down. Look you, sirs, the chief hinge, 
 
 etc." 
 
 Mrs. Reeve (the correct form of her name) played the part 
 of Philotis in Maniaye a la Mode and of Esperanza in The 
 Conquest of Granada. The phrase hcl esperansa de ma vie 
 of course alludes to the latter part. 
 41. Two kin<js, etc. "Supposed to be the two brothers, the King and 
 the Duke." [Key, 1704.] Cf. n. 411, 5. Brentford is a 
 market town seven miles southwest of London. 
 393, GO. For either. After these words Q3 inserts : "that Is, the pro- 
 logue for the epilogue, or the epilogue for the prologue." 
 C3. Artificial. Here, as regularly in eighteenth century criticism, 
 and even in Scott (cf. Introduction, p. xxxiv) this word means 
 artful, well-contrived, artistic. 
 71. To which end, etc. "See the two prologues to The Maiden 
 Queen." Key, 1704. 
 
 The parody of Secret Love; or, The Maiden Queen is close 
 enough for the purposes of satire. The prologue to that play 
 is divided Into two parts, the close of the first of which, and 
 the opening of the second, are as follows. (The triplet im- 
 mediately preceding the lines quoted has already been cited, 
 in n. 390, 82.) 
 
 V. 
 And with that art you make approaches now ; 
 Such skilful fury in assaults you show, 
 That every poet without shame may bow.
 
 476 NOTES 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ours Ihereforo huml)ly would attend your doom, 
 If, soldlor-Iike, he may have terms to come 
 With flying colors and with beat of drum. 
 The Prologue (joes out, and stays u-hile a tune is play'd, after 
 tchich he returns again. 
 
 Second Prologl'e. 
 
 I had forgot one half, I do protest, 
 And now am sent again to speak the rest. 
 He bows to every great and noble wit ; "^ 
 But to the little Hectors of the pit [■ 
 
 Our poet's sturdy, and will not submit. J 
 
 (Ss. ii. 422, 423.) 
 91. 7 have printed, etc. "There were printed papers given the 
 audience before the acting The Indian Emperor, telling them 
 that it was the sequel of The Indian Queen, part of which 
 play was written by Mr. Bayes, etc." Key, 1704. See Intro- 
 duction, pp. xs, xxi ; Ss. ii. 321, 322. 
 394, 100,101. Persons .... i' gad. "Person, i' gad, I vow to gad, and all 
 that is the constant style of Failer in The M'ild Gallant, for 
 which take this short speech, instead of many : 
 
 " 'Failer. Really, madam, I look upon you as a person of 
 such worth, and all that, that I vow to gad I honor you of 
 all persons in the world ; and tbo' I am a person that am 
 inconsiderable in the world, and all that, madam, yet for a 
 person of your worth and excellency I would — ' " Key^ 1704. 
 Cf. Ss. ii. 62. 
 116. There are certain ties upon me. "He contracted with the King's 
 Company of actors in the year 1668, for a whole share, to 
 write them four plays a year." Key, 1704. 
 
 Malone in his Life of Dryden (pp. 71-78) shows that 
 Dryden contracted to write three plays a year for a share and 
 a quarter, and that he never fulfilled the terms of this con- 
 tract. 
 129. I make my prologue to he dialogue. This device Dryden adopted 
 
 for The Wild Gallant and The Rival Ladies. 
 140. So hoar and soio, etc. For the passage parodied, v. 79, 128 
 f. [K.l 
 391, 151. Enter Thunder and Lightning. 
 
 Song in Dialogue. 
 Evening. I am an evening dark as night, .Tack-with-the-lan- 
 
 tern bring a light. 
 Jack. Whither, whither, whither? [Within. 
 
 Evening. Hither, hither, hither. 
 Jack. Thou art some prattling echo of my making. 
 Evening. Thou art a foolish fire, by thy mistaking: 
 I am the Evening that creates thee. 
 Enter Jack in a hlack suit horder'd with gloicworms, a 
 coronet of shaded beams on his head, over it a paper lantern 
 with a candle in 't. 
 
 Jack. My lantern and my candle waits thee. 
 Evening. Those flageolets that we heard play, 
 Are reapers who have lost their way ;
 
 NOTES 477 
 
 They play, they sing, thoy dance a round : 
 Lead them up, here's fairy ground. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Let the men ware the ditches ; 
 Maids, loolf to your breeches. 
 We'll scratch them with l)riars and thistles: 
 When the flageolets cry, 
 We are a-dry ; 
 Pond water shall wet their whistles. 
 
 [Exeunt Evening, Winds, and Jack. 
 SiK R. Stapylton, The SUyhtcd Maid, 1663, act III, pp. 48, 
 49. [K.] 
 
 Dryden speaks slightingly of this play in his prologue to 
 Charles Davenant's Ciiee, Ss. x. 330 ; and In A Parallel of 
 Poetry and Paintiny, Ss. xvii. 325. Cf. 424, 238, n. 
 168. Peter. A cosmetic of some sort. 
 
 183. Mr. Ivory. "Abraham Ivory had formerly been a considerable 
 actor of women's parts, but afterwards stupified himself so 
 far, with drinking strong waters, that, before the first acting 
 of this farce, he was fit for nothing but to go of errands ; for 
 which, and mere charity, the company allowed him a weekly 
 salary." Key, 1704. 
 390, 5. / heyin this with a uhiaper. 
 
 ''Drake Sen. Draw up our men, 
 And in low whispers give our orders out. 
 
 Davenant, The Playhouse to be Let, act III, entry vi. 
 "See The Amorous Prince, page 20, 22, 39, 69, where you 
 will find all the chief commands and directions are given in 
 whispers." Key, 1704. 
 
 The Amorous Prince is a comedy by Aphra Behn. The 
 references above may be found in Pearson's reprint of her 
 Plays, Histories, and Novels, London, 1871, vol. iv, pp. 278, 
 280, 296, 316. Cf. also The Conquest of Granada, «4, 117. 
 18. Physician. Ql reads physicians. 
 
 397, 58. / despise, etc. A reference to the epilogue of The Conquest of 
 
 Granada, Part II (p. 136), and perhaps one cause of Dryden's 
 Defense of the Epilogue. 
 76. Mr. Wintcrshall. Spelled Winiershull in Ql. "Mr. William 
 WintershuU was a most excellent, judicious actor, and the 
 best instructor of others ; he died in July, 1679." Key, 1704. 
 Wintershall played the part of Selin in The Conquest of 
 Granada, and of Polydamas in Marriage a la Mode. 
 
 398, 85. This new kind of foppery. Q3 here adds the following passage : 
 
 Smi. Pox on't, but there's no pleasure in him: he's too 
 
 gross a fool to be laugh'd at. 
 Enter Bayes. 
 Johns. I'll swear, Mr. Bayes, you have done this scene most 
 
 admirably ; tho" I must tell you, sir, it is a very difficult 
 
 matter to pen a whisper well. 
 Bayes. Aye, gentlemen, when you come to write yourselves, 
 
 o' my word, you'll find it so. 
 Johns. Uave a care of what you say, Mr. Bayes, for Mr.
 
 478 NOTES 
 
 Smith there, I assure you, has written a great many fine 
 things already. 
 Baycs. Has he, i'sackins? Why then pray, sir, how do you 
 
 do when you write. 
 Slid. Faith, sir, for the most part I am in pretty good 
 
 health. 
 Bayes. No, but I mean, what do you do when you write. 
 Snii. I take pen, ink, and paper, and sit down. 
 Bayes. Now 1 write standing ; that's one thing : and then 
 
 another thing is, with what do you prepare yourself? 
 Siiii. Prepare myself! what the devil does the fool mean? 
 Bayes. Why, I'll tell you, new, what I do. If I am to 
 write familiar things, as sonnets to Armida and the like, 
 I make use of stew'd prunes only ; but when I have a 
 grand design in hand, I ever take physic and let blood ; 
 for. when you would have pure swiftness of thought and 
 fiery flights of fancy, you must have a care of the pensive 
 part. In fine, you must purge the belly. 
 Snii. Ey my troth, sir, this is a most admirable receipt for 
 
 writing. 
 Bayes. Aye, 't is my secret ; and, in good earnest, I think, 
 
 one of the best I have. 
 Smi. In good faith, sir, and that may very well be. 
 Baycs. May be, sir? I' gad, I'm sure on't : expcrto credo 
 Roberto. But I must give you this caution by the way, 
 be sure you never take snufif when you write. 
 Smi. Why so, sir? 
 
 Bayes. Why, it spoil'd me once, 1' gad, one of the sparkishest 
 plays in all England. But a friend of mine at Gresham 
 College has promis'd to help me to some spirit of brains, 
 and, i' gad, that shall do my business. 
 On this passage the following notes are of interest : 
 If I am to write familiar tilings, etc. 
 "This humorous account of Mr. Bayes's management of 
 himself is a banter upon Mr. Dryden's practice, which is 
 alleged to have been much as here represented." Notes, 1775. 
 A letter from Dryden to .Jacob Tonson (Ss. xviii. Ill) gives 
 incidental evidence of Dryden's taste for stewed plums. For 
 "sonnets to Armida," compare n. 404, 77. 
 Be sure you never take snuff, etc. 
 "He was a great taker of snuff, and made most of it him- 
 self." Key, 1704. 
 
 On the more particular references in the closing lines the 
 editor can find no light. 
 14. Mon foi. Purposely incorrect for ma foi. 
 
 16. / makes 'em. So Ql and Q3, probably for humorous effect ; 
 Q6 reads make. Professor Jespersen remarks (Growth and 
 Structure of the English Language, % 198) that this is the 
 oldest instance of this vulgarism that be has noted. 
 24. It was I, etc. The following lines are somewhat expanded in 
 Q3 and Q6 : 
 
 It was I, you must know, that have written a whole play 
 just in this very same style, but it was never acted yet. 
 Johns. How so?
 
 NOTES 479 
 
 Bayes. I" gad, I can hardly toll you for laughing, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 it is so pleasant a story, ha, ha, ha ! 
 Bmi. What is't V 
 
 Bayes. I' gad, the players refus'd to act it, ha, ha, ha ! 
 8mi. That's impossible. 
 Bayes. 1" gad they did it, sir ; point blank refus'd it, I' gad ; 
 
 ha, ha, ha ! 
 Johns. Fie, that was rude. 
 399, 48. Nursery. This was a theater erected under a patent issued by 
 Charles 11 in 1664 "for the makcing upp and supplying of a 
 company for acting of playes, and instructing boyes and 
 gyrlcs in the art of playing, to bee in the nature of a Nur- 
 sery, from time to time to be removed to the said two severall 
 theatres abovementioned (that is, those of the King's Com- 
 pany and of the Duke's Company], which said company shall 
 bee called by the name of a Nursery" (Hhakespeare iSociety's 
 Papers, vol. iii, 1847, p. 167). The patent adds: "We doe 
 expressly hereby prohibite that any obscene, scandalous, or 
 offensive passages be brought upon the stage, but such onely 
 shalbe there had and used, as may consist with harmeless 
 and inoffensive delights and recreations." The Nursery stood 
 in Golding (later Golden) Lane, near the Barbican. It was 
 much ridiculed by the wits of the time. Dryden selected it 
 as the scene of the enthronement of Shadwell as king of "all 
 the realms of Nonsense ;" see Mac Flecknoe. 
 
 Mump your proud players, i' <jad. Q."? here makes the fol- 
 lowing addition : "So ; now Prince l*retty-man comes in and 
 falls asleep, making love to his mistress, which, you know, 
 was a grand intrigue in a late play, written by a very honest 
 gentleman, a knight." 
 
 A note in the Key of 1704 states that the late play was 
 "The Lost Lady, by Sir Robert Stapleton." The Lost Lady 
 (London, 1639) was really written by Sir William Berkeley 
 (to whom it is ascribed in the list of Plays named in this Key, 
 published with the Key of 1704) and is included in the 
 twelfth volume of Ilazlitt's edition of Dodsley's Old En<jlish 
 Plays. The above note is apparently Incorrect in asserting 
 that the play was ridiculed in The Rehearsal, but some 
 ground for the statement may be discovered. Lysicles, the 
 hero of the drama, has lost his mistress by a foul murder, 
 and now does nightly reverence to her tomb. At the opening 
 of act I, sc. li, he enters to her tomb, and then apparently 
 remains in the background during the conversation of two 
 minor characters : perhaps he is supposed to sleep before his 
 beloved's remains. 
 
 The true object of satire is probably indicated in the fol- 
 lowing note : 
 
 "Bishop I'ercy states that this addition alludes to Quercr 
 por solo Querer: To Love only for Love's Sake: a dramatlck 
 
 romance written in Spanish by Don Antonio [Hurtado] 
 
 de Mendoza, 102;?, paraphrased in English, anno 1654,' by Sir 
 R. Fanshawe, 'during his conflnemcnt to Tankersly Park in 
 Yorkshire, by Oliver, after the battle of Worcester, in which 
 he was taken prisoner, serving Ills Majesty (whom God pre-
 
 480 NOTES 
 
 serve) as Secretary of State.' Printed London 1671. 4to. 
 
 "Bishop Percy thinks the passage had in view is this, in 
 act I, p. 20. 
 
 "Felisbravo, the young king of Persia, traveling in search 
 of Zelidaura, Queen of Tartaria (whom, it seems, he had 
 never seen) retires into a wood to shun the noontide heat, 
 and taking out his mistress's picture, thus rants : 
 
 "Fel. If sleep invade me strongly, that may sever 
 
 My life some minutes from me, my love never. 
 
 But 'tis impossible to sleep, we know. 
 
 Extended on the rack : if that be so, 
 
 [Takes out the picture. 
 
 Dumb larum, come thou forth ; eloquent mute. 
 
 For whom high heav'n and earth commence a suit ; 
 
 O angel-woman, fair hermaphrodite ! 
 
 The moon's extinguisher ! the noonday's night ! 
 
 How could so small a sphere hold so much day? 
 
 sleep ! now, now, thou conquer'st me — but stay : 
 That part thou conquer'st, I'll not own for mine. 
 Tempest I seek, not calm : if the day's thine, 
 Thou quell'st my body, my love still is whole : 
 
 1 give thee all of that which is not soul. 
 
 And, since in lodgings from the street Love lies. 
 Do thou, and spare not, quarter in my eyes 
 A while ; I, harb'ring so unwelcome guest 
 (As men obey thy brother Death's arrest) 
 Not as a lover, but a mortal — 
 
 [He falls asleep icith the picture in his hand. 
 Ris. He's fall'n asleep, so soon? What frailty is? 
 More like a husband then a lover, this. 
 If lovers take such sleeps, what shall I take. 
 Whom pangs of love, nor honor's trumpets wake? 
 
 [Risaloro falls asleep." 
 [Arber.] 
 In line 7 of the verse. Professor Arber, apparently following 
 the original edition, reads Of Angel-woman, and, in the next 
 line. Moon-days. 
 13. That's a general rule. Boabdelin and Lyndaraxa observe this 
 rule in The Conquest of Granada, 64, 120; 111. 1.36. 
 
 "This rule is most exactly observed in Dryden's Indian 
 Emperor, act IV, scene iv (Ss. ii. 386). Upon a sudden and 
 unexpected misfortune, Almeria thus expresses her surprise 
 and concern : 
 
 All hopes of safety and of love arc gone : 
 As when some dreadful thunderclap is nigh. 
 The winged fire shoots swiftly thro' the sky. 
 Strikes and consumes, ere scarce it does appear. 
 And by the sudden ill. prevents the fear : 
 Such is my state in this amazing woe. 
 It leaves no pow'r to think, much less to do." 
 Bishop Percy. [Aeber.] 
 15. As some tall pine, etc. Cf. 64, 129-135. [K.] 
 22. Dry my tears. After these words Q3 adds the following passage:
 
 NOTES 481 
 
 • Johns. Mr. Bayes, mothinks this simile wants a little appli- 
 cation too. 
 Bayes. No, faith ; for it alludes to passion, to consuming, to 
 dying, and all that ; which, you know, are the natural 
 effects of an amour. But I'm afraid this scene has made 
 you sad, etc. 
 400, 27. It is resoU'd. Q3 here adds : "Bayes. That's all." 
 
 4. With a pipe of tohaceo, etc. Q3 here substitutes : "with a snuff- 
 box in my hand, and then I feague it away, i'faith." (Fcague 
 = beat, drive.) Cf. n. 398, 85. 
 7. The (jrand question is, etc. In Q.3 this speech is expanded into 
 the following dialogue : 
 Ush. The grand question is, whether they heard us whisper : 
 
 which I divide thus. 
 Phys. Yes, it must be divided so indeed. 
 
 Smi. That's very complaisant, I swear, Mr. Bayes, to be of 
 another man's opinion, before he knows what it is. 
 
 Bayes. Nay, I bring in none, here, but well-bred persons, I 
 assure you. 
 
 Ush. I divided the question into when they heard, what 
 they heard, and whether they heard or no. 
 
 The whole passage ridicules Dryden's fondness for scholastic 
 logic. Cf. 416, 17 ; 348, 161, n. 
 16. Yes, you have it right, etc. In Q3 this speech also is expanded 
 into a dialogue : 
 Bayes. Aye, you have it right : they are both politicians. 
 
 Ush. Pray then to proceed in method; let me ask you that 
 
 question. 
 Phys. No, you'll answer better; pray let me ask it you. 
 Ush. Your will must be a law. 
 Phys. Come then, what is it I must ask? 
 
 Sini. This politician, I perceive, Mr. Bayes, has somewhat 
 
 a short memory. 
 Bayes. Why, sir, you must know that t'other is the main 
 
 politician, and this is but his pupil. 
 
 Ush. You must ask me whether they heard us whisper. 
 Phys. Well, I do so. 
 Ush. Say it then. 
 
 Smi. Iley day! here's the bravest work Ihat ever I saw. 
 Johns. This is mighty methodical ! 
 
 Bayes. Aye, sir, that's the way : 't is the way of art ; there 
 is no other way, i' gad, in business. 
 
 Phys. Did tbey hear us whisper? 
 
 JJah. Why, truly, I can't tell ; there's much to be said upon 
 the word whisper. To whisper in Latin is susurrare, 
 which is as much as to say, to speak softly ; now, if 
 they heard ps speak softly, they beard us whisper : but 
 then cumes in the quomodo, the how ; how did they bear 
 us whisper? Why, as to that, there are two ways: the
 
 482 NOTES 
 
 one, by chance, or accident ; the other, on purpose, that 
 
 is, with design to hear us whisper. 
 rityn. Nay, If they heard us that way, I'll never give 'em 
 
 physic more. 
 Ush. Nor I e'er more will walk abroad before 'em. 
 
 Baycs. Pray mark this, for a great deal depend [s] upon 
 
 it, towards the latter end of the play. 
 Smi. I suppose, that's the reason why you brought in this 
 
 scene, Mr. Bayes. 
 Bayes. Partly it was, sir ; but, I confess, I was not un- 
 willing, besides, to shew the world a pattern, here, how 
 men should talk of business. 
 401, 19. Exceeding. So Ql ; Arber prints exceedingly. 
 
 30. There's now an odd surprise, etc. "Such easy turns of state 
 are frequent in our modern plays, where we see princes de- 
 throned, and governments changed, by very feeble means, and 
 on slight occasions ; particularly in Marriage a la Mode, a play 
 writ since the first publication of this farce. Where (to pass 
 by the dullness of the state part, the obscurity of the comic, 
 the near resemblance Leonidas bears to our Prince Pretty- 
 man, being sometime[s] a king's son, sometimes a shepherd's; 
 and not to question how Amalthea comes to be a princess, 
 her brother, the king's great favorite, being but a lord) 't is 
 worth our while to observe how easily the fierce and jealous 
 usurper is deposed, and the right heir placed on the throne : 
 as it is thus related by the said imaginary princess : 
 
 [Here there follows a quotation from Marriage a la Mode, 
 215, lOG-415.] 
 
 "This shows Mr. Bayes to be a man of constancy, and firm 
 to his resolution, and not to be laughed out of his own 
 method, agreeable to what he says in the nest act, 'As long 
 as I know my things are good, what care I what they say?'" 
 Key, 1704 ; cf. 404, 77, 78, n. The usurpation and subsequent 
 loss of power of Abdalla, in The Conquest of Granada, are 
 almost as "easy turns of state" as that mentioned in Marriage 
 a la Mode. 
 
 The notes to the 1701 edition also identify Leonidas and 
 Prince Pretty-man. Their resemblance makes it practically 
 certain that the author of The Rehearsal was acquainted 
 with Marriage a la Mode; cf. Introduction, pp. xxxiii, sxxiv. 
 36. / knoio not what to do, nor xchat to say. 
 
 (a) Ormasdes. I know not what to say, nor what to think ! 
 I know not Avhen I sleep, or when I wake ! 
 
 Sir William Killigrew, Ormasdes; or. Lore and Friend- 
 ship, 1666, act V. 
 
 (b) Cleareus. I know not what to resolve, nor what to say. 
 Sir William Killigrew, Pandora; or. The Concerts, 166G, 
 
 act V. 
 
 (c) Pandora. My doubts and fears my reason does dismay, 
 I know not what to do. nor what to say. 
 
 IMd, act V. [K.] 
 
 After this speech Q3 adds the following passage ;
 
 NOTES 483 
 
 Johns. Mr. Bayes, in my opinion, now, that gentleman 
 
 might have said a little more upon this occasion. 
 Bayes. No, sir, not at all ; for I iinderwrit his part, on pur- 
 pose to set off the rest. 
 Johns. Cry you mercy, sir. 
 40)e, 8. Effaut. The old name for the note F. 
 14. Harry the Eight. Cf. 418, 4, n. 
 
 25. / have broke my nose. This incident is a survival of an earlier 
 draft of TIte Rehearsal, of which Davenant was the hero. 
 Davenant's loss of his nose was a subject of satire at the 
 time. See Introduction, p. xxxi, n. 2. 
 35. Like horsemen. After this speech Q3 adds the following line : 
 iSwi77i. Like horsemen! what a plague can that be? 
 6. Sir, all my fancies, etc. The following passage, as far as the 
 entrance of Prince Pretty-man, appears in a considerably 
 altered form in Q3 : 
 
 Bayes. Sir. all my fancies are so. I tread upon no man's 
 heels, but make my flight upon my own wings, 1 assure you. 
 Now, here comes in a scene of sheer wit, without any mix- 
 ture in the whole world, i 'gad, between Prince Pretty-man 
 and his tailor : it might properly enough be eall'd a prize 
 [i. e. prize-fight] of wit, for you shall see 'em come in upon 
 one another snip snap, hit for hit, as fast as can be. First 
 one speaks ; then presently t' other's upon him, slap, with 
 a repartee ; then he at him again, dash with a new conceit ; 
 and so eternally, eternally, 1' gad, till they go quite ofif the 
 stage. 
 
 [Goes to call the players. 
 Smi. What a plague does this fop mean by his snip snap, 
 
 hit for hit, and dash? 
 Johns. Mean! why, he never meant anything in 's life: what 
 dost talk of meaning for? 
 Enter Bayes. 
 Bayes. Why don't you come in? 
 
 Enter Prince Pretty-man and Tom Thimble. 
 
 This scene will make you die with laughing, if it be well 
 acted, for 't is as full of drollery as ever it can hold. 'Tis 
 like an orange stuli'd with cloves, as for conceit. 
 Pret. But pr'ythee, etc. 
 40S), 14. Prince Pretty-man, and Tom Thimble. "Failer and Bibber his 
 tailor in The Wild Gallant." Key, 1704. See The Wild 
 Gallant, I. i (Ss. ii. i'..">-;j7). 
 29. Want. Lack. 
 
 42. Pin sure, etc. "Nay, if that be all, there's no such haste : the 
 courtiers are not so forward to pay their debts." The Wild 
 Gallant, I. ii (Ss. ii. 46). [K.] 
 
 Clothes. Ql reads cluath; Q3 and Qti read cinaths. 
 404, 45. Why, Tom, etc. After this speech Q3 inserts the following : 
 
 Bayes. There's pay upon pay ! as good as ever was written, 
 i' gad ! 
 53. He does not top his part. "A great word with Mr. Edward 
 
 Howard." Key, 1704. 
 56. An angel fur the king's evil. A gold coin hung about the neck 
 as a charm against scrofula. Cf. 353, 75, n.
 
 484 NOTES 
 
 1 1 . 
 
 ^y|lat care I iPhat they say? "Referring to Mr. Dryden's obsti- 
 nate adherence to some things in his plays, in opposition to 
 the sound judgment of all unprejudiced critics. See an in- 
 stance of this noticed in the note [to 401, 30]." Notes, 
 1775. 
 
 Dryden was really sensitive to the criticism of men whoso 
 judgment he respected. See for instance his relations with Rymer 
 (Introduction, pp. xliii-xlvi) and his tribute to Sir George 
 Mackenzie (Introduction, p. xlii). 
 
 After they sayf Q.3 expands the text as follows : 
 
 What, are they gone, without singing my last new song? 
 'S bud, would it were in their bellies. I'll tell you, Mr. 
 Johnson, if I have any skill in these matters, I vow to gad 
 this song is peremptorily the very best that ever yet was 
 written : you must know, it was made by Tom Thimble's 
 first wife after she was dead. 
 Smi. How, sir, after she was dead? 
 Bayes. Aye, sir, after she was dead. Why, what have you 
 
 to say to that? 
 Johns. Say? Why, nothing: he were a devil that had any- 
 thing to say to that. 
 Bayes. Right. 
 
 Smi. How did she come to die, pray, sir? 
 Bayes. Phoo ! that's no matter ; by a fall : but here's the 
 conceit, that upon his knowing she was kill'd by an acci- 
 dent, he supposes, with a sigh, that she died for love of 
 him. 
 Johns. Aye, aye, that's well enough : let's hear it, Mr. Bayes. 
 Bayes. 'Tis to the tune of : "Farewell, fair Armida, on seas, 
 and in battles, in bullets," and all that. 
 
 SONG 
 
 In swords, pikes, and bullets, 'tis safer to be, 
 
 Than in a strong castle, remoted from thee : 
 
 My death's bruise pray think you gave me, tho' a fall 
 
 Did give it me more, from the top of a wall ; 
 
 For then if the moat on her mud would first lay, 
 
 And after before you my body convey. 
 
 The blue on my breast when you happen to see. 
 
 You'll say, with a sigh, there's a true blue for me. 
 
 Ha, rogues ! when I am merry, I write these things as 
 fast as hops, i'gad ; for, you must know, I am as pleasant a 
 debauchee as ever you saw ; I am, i'faith. 
 Smi. But, Mr. Bayes, how comes this song in here? for, 
 
 methinks, there is no great occasion for it. 
 Bayes. Alack, sir, you know nothing ; you must ever inter- 
 lard your plays with songs, ghosts, and dances, if you 
 mean to — a — 
 
 On this song the Key of 1704 gives the following note : 
 "In swordSj pikes, and bullets, etc. In igiitation of this: 
 
 "On seas, and in battles, thro' bullets and fire, 
 The danger is less than in hopeless desire ;
 
 NOTES 485 
 
 My death's wound you gave me, the' far off I bear 
 My fall from your sight, not to cost you a tear ; 
 But if the kind Hood on a wave would convey, 
 And under your window my body would lay ; 
 When the wound on my breast you happen to see, 
 You'll say, with a sigh : 'It was given by me.' 
 
 "This is the latter part of a song made by Mr. Bayes on 
 the death of Captain Digby, son of George, Earl of Bristol, 
 who was a passionate admirer of the Duchess Dowager of 
 Richmond, called by the author Armida : he lost his life in 
 a sea-fight against the Dutch, the 28th of May, 1G72." 
 
 The song parodied, and an answer to it in the same meter, 
 occur, without indication of authorship, in two miscellanies 
 published in 1672, Covent Garden Drollery and Xew Court 
 Songs and Poems, by R. V. Gent. They have been assigned to 
 Dryden on the somewhat scanty evidence of this passage in 
 The Rehearsal. Covent Garden Drollery gives the name as 
 Arminda, and Xew Court Songs as Arnieda. The second stanza 
 is as quoted above, with some small variations of text. 
 82. Pit, box, and gallery. Cf. 390, 61, 62, n. 
 405, 9. My lieges, etc. 
 
 Alberto. Curtius, I've something to deliver to your ears. 
 
 [Whispers. 
 Curtius. Anything from Alberto is welcome. 
 A. Behn, The Amorous Prince, III. ii. [K.] 
 400, 41. Shy maid. This speech is arranged as prose in Qq. 
 
 49. Indeed, etc. This speech and the following are omitted in Q3. 
 55. Villain, etc. In illustration of this passage Professor Arber 
 cites the following from Sir R. Stapylton, The Slighted Maid, 
 1663, act iii, pp. 46, 47 : 
 
 Decio. Now you shall tell me who play'd at cards with you. 
 
 Pyramena. None but ray Lord Iberio and I play'd. 
 
 Dec. Who waited? 
 
 Py. Nobody. 
 
 Dec. No page ? 
 
 Py. No page. 
 
 Dec. No groom? 
 
 Py. No groom ; I tell you nobody. 
 
 Dec. What, not your woman? 
 
 /'(/. Not my woman, lack 
 
 IIow your tongue runs ! 
 
 The passage ridiculed is more likely Marriage d la Mode, 
 162, lCf3, 328-342. 
 70. Mark, etc. In Q3 this speech reads : "Mark how I make the 
 horror of his guilt confound his intellects, for he's out at 
 one and t' other ; and that's the design of this scene." 
 
 407, 76. M'hy when, I say. When, as often in Shakspere, is here rather 
 
 an exclamation of impatience than a real interrogative. 
 89. Ihing in my father, etc. v. n. 401, 30; cf. 1S<S. ."?04-397. 
 
 408, 146. Enter Prince Volscius, etc. The following passage parodies a 
 
 scene (act IV, sc. 11) of The English Muunsiciir, by the Hon.
 
 486 NOTES 
 
 James Howard, 1674, of which a considerable portion is here 
 
 reproduced : 
 
 Enter Comely in a riding garb, with his servant. 
 
 Comely. Let my horses be brought ready to the door, for 
 I'll go out of town this evening. [Exit servant. 
 
 Enter Welbukd. 
 
 Wei. Why, how now Comely, booted and spurr'd? 
 
 Comely. Marry, am I. 
 
 Wei. For how long? 
 
 Comely. Why, for this seven years, for aught I know ; I am 
 
 weary of this town and all that's in 't : as for women, I 
 
 am in love with none, nor never shall ; I find I have a 
 
 pretty strong defense about my heart against that folly. 
 
 O, here comes the ladies very opportunely for me 
 
 Enter Lady Wealthy and two other ladies. 
 to take my leave of 'em. 
 
 L. Weal. Mr. Comely, your servant — what, in a riding garb? 
 
 Comely. A dress fitting for a country journey, madam. 
 
 L. Weal. Why, can you ever leave this town? 
 
 Comely. That I can truly, madam, within this hour. 
 
 L. Weal. I can't believe it. 
 
 Comely. Were't not uncivil to get up a' horseback before 
 you, I would convince you straight : nay, I did think I 
 should be wonder'd at by you all, as much as an owl is 
 amongst birds. Very like now if I were in love with any 
 one of you three, tho' I were on horseback, a kind look 
 might dismount me again ; but I thank fate I ne'er had 
 that perpetration of the heart ; yet a disease, as malignant 
 and as catching as the plague — and reigns as the plague 
 does, altogether in London. So that for my future health I'll 
 retire into the country for air, and there hunt and hawk, 
 eat and drink so sound, that I will never dream of a 
 woman, or any part about her. — This resolution of mine 
 has made me turn poet ; therefore, before I go, you shall 
 hear a song call'd my farewell to London and women. 
 Boy, sing the song. 
 
 THE SONG 
 
 I. 
 Ladies, farewell, I must retire, 
 Tho' I your faces all admire. 
 
 And think you heavens in your kinds, 
 Some for beauties, some for minds : 
 If I stay, and fall in love, 
 One of these heavens hell would prove. 
 II. 
 
 Could I know one, and she not know it. 
 Perhaps I then might undergo it ! 
 
 But if the least she guess my mind, 
 
 Straight in a circle I'm confln'd : 
 By this I see, who once doth dote, 
 Must wear a woman's livery coat.
 
 NOTES 487 
 
 III. 
 
 Therefore this danger to prevent, 
 And still to keep my heart's content. 
 
 Into the country I'll with speed. 
 
 With hounds and hawks my fancy feed ! 
 Both safer pleasures to pursue. 
 Then staying to converse with you. 
 
 L. Weal. Now, Mr. Comely, would I give the world to see 
 you soundly in love after this farewell song of yours to 
 all women ; I have heard the healthiest persons, when 
 once they fall into a fever, are most distemper'd. 
 
 Comely. Lady, faith you'll never see me so ; perhaps you 
 may hear, when I am in the country, that I am in love 
 with my hounds if they run well ; but as for falling in 
 love with woman, whenever I do I'll sell all my estate and 
 purchase Bedlam to have it to myself, for 'twill be a house 
 fit for no other kind of madmen. 
 
 Comely. Now I'll away ; a country lite 
 
 Shall be my mistress and my wife. 
 
 iHe's yoing off in haste, and meets William, o 
 
 clown, and Elsbeth Pritty, aiid stops. 
 
 William. Pray, gentleman. Is not this the place where the king 
 
 and the queen do walk? Thou art the first man Elsbeth and 
 
 I have met with since we came to this huge town, that wear 
 
 boots like our gentlemen in Wiltshire. 
 
 Comely. And did you two come to town only to see the king 
 
 and queen? 
 M'iUiam. No, no, we came about this maiden's vather's will. 
 Comely. And what's this maid's name? 
 
 William. Wouse, man, one would a' thought thou hadst been 
 a better schollard then to have ask'd her name before 
 mine. 
 Comely. Cry mercy, friend, what's thy name? 
 M'illiam. Friend dost call me? How canst tell I'm thy 
 friend before thou know'st my name: I am call'd [Wil- 
 liam] by all the folk that know me in Wiltshire. 
 Comely. Honest William, then, what's this damsel's name? 
 William. Why, her cursen name is Elsba ; her next name to 
 
 that, I wouse, is Pritty. 
 Comely. [Aside.] By all the charms of beauty, a name as 
 fit for her, as if Nature had chrlsten'd her, and were her 
 godmother as well as mother. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Servant. Sir, 'twill be too late for your worship to go out 
 of town to-nif-'ht. 
 
 Comely. I think so too, set up my horses : what sudden fate 
 hath chang'd my mind ! I feel my heart so restless now 
 as if it ne'er knew rest. Sure I'm in love ; yet how I 
 should find that who never was before I A man that's 
 sick of a disease he never had, knows not what 'tis til! 
 the physician proves it ; yet I'm acquainted with my new
 
 488 NOTES 
 
 distemper, as if I had lingcr'd in 't this twelve months. 
 How finely shall I be laugh'd at now, if the cause of my 
 staying in town be once discover'd ; I that have taken the 
 liberty all my lifetime to jeer at people's being in 
 love. [K.] 
 159. That you iiill here, etc. Luttrell cites: 
 
 And leaves poor mo defenseless here alone. 
 The Indian Emperor, V. il (Ss. ii. 405). 
 400, 1S5. Parthenope she calls. After these words Q3 adds the following : 
 Hayes. Now, that's the Parthenope I told you of. 
 Johns. Aye, aye, i' gad you are very right. 
 187. Thou, hring'st the morning pictur'd in a cloud. 
 
 Mustapha. I bring the morning pictur'd in a cloud. 
 
 Davexant, The Siege of Rhodes, Part I, entry ii. [K.] 
 Mustapha is bringing in the fair lanthe, veiled ; hence his 
 "conceit." 
 193. Prince Volscius in love? 
 
 Comely. Come, come, you all know me well enough, and yet 
 
 I tell you, I am plaguily alter'd since you saw me last. 
 L. ^Yeal. Why, what's the matter? 
 Comely. I am, a pox on 't ! — I am, a plague on 't ! — I am in 
 
 love. 
 L. ^Veal. In love! — what, Mr. Comely, in love? 
 Comely. Nay, nay, nay, come begin the laugh, and let it not 
 last above three hours; that's all I ask. [They laugh a 
 great while.] Well, have you done? 
 All ladies. No, not by a great deal. [They laugh on. 
 
 Comely. I must have patience till you have. 
 
 L. Weal. I warrant 'tis some mimping country gentlewoman. 
 Comely. No, 'tis a country farmer's daughter. 
 
 James Howard, The English Mounsieur, IV. ii. [K.] 
 198. O, I did not, etc. Q3 expands this speech into the following 
 dialogue : 
 
 Smi. Well, and where lies the jest of that? 
 Bayes. Ha? [Turns to Johnson. 
 
 Johns. Why, in the boots: where should the jest lie? 
 Bayes. V gad, you are in the right: it does [turns to Smith] 
 lie in the boots. — Your friend and I know where a good 
 jest lies, tho' you don't, sir. 
 Smi. Much good do 't you, sir. 
 
 Bayes. Here, now, Mr. Johnson, you shall see a combat, etc. 
 200. An ancient author, etc. "Sir William Davenant's play of Love 
 and Honor." Key, 1704. See Introduction, p. xvi. 
 410, 201. Volscius sits down. Q3 expands this into : "Volscius sits 
 doicn to pull on his boots; Bayes stands by and overacts the 
 part as he speaks it." Q3 also makes the interruption by 
 Johnson and Smith fall after the fourth line of Volscius's 
 speech and changes the next stage direction to : "Goes out 
 hopping with one hoot on and the other off." 
 215. "Qo on," cries Honor, etc. "But Honor says not so." 
 
 Davenant, The Siege of Rhodes, Part I, entry ili. [K.] 
 Professor Arber, probably following Bishop Percy, cites the
 
 NOTES 489 
 
 following closer parallels, of which the editor has been able to 
 verify only the second : 
 
 (a) J'elishraro. 
 
 Love and Honor pull two ways; 
 
 And I stand doubtful which to take : 
 "To Arabia," Honor says; 
 
 Love says : "No, thy stay here make." 
 SiK R. Fan.siiawe, Translation of Querer por solo Querer. 
 Cf. n. 39!*, 48. 
 
 (b) Enter I'ALLADILS softUj, reading two letters. 
 Pall. 1 stand betwixt two minds I what's best to do? 
 
 This bids me stay, this spurs me on to go. 
 
 Once more let our impartial eyes peruse 
 
 Both t' one and t' other : both may not prevail. 
 My Lord, 
 
 Prize not your honor so much as to disprize her that 
 honors you, in choosing rather to meet death in the field then 
 Pulchrella iti her desires. Give my affection leave once more 
 to dissuade you from trying conquest with so unequal a foe; 
 or if a combat must be tried, make a bed of roses the field, 
 and me your enemy. The interest I claim in you is sufficient 
 ivarrant to my desires, ivhich according to the place they 
 find in your respects, confirm me either the happiest of all 
 ladies, or make me the most unfortunate of all women. 
 
 PL'LCUBELLA. 
 
 A charm too strong for honor to repress. 
 
 AIus. A heart too poor for honor to possess. 
 
 Pall. Honor must stoop to vows. — But what says this? 
 [Reads the other letter.] 
 My Lord, 
 
 The hand that guides this pen, being guided by the ambi- 
 tion of your honor and my own affection, presents i/ou with 
 the wishes of a faithful servant, ivho desires not to buy your 
 safety with the hazard of your reputation. Go on with cour- 
 age, and know, Pantheu shall pertake with you in either 
 fortune: if conquer'd, my heart shall he your monument, to 
 preserve and glorify your honor'd ashes; if a conqueror, my 
 tongue shall be your herald to proclaim you the champion of 
 our SCI. and the phanix of your own; honor'd by all, equai'd 
 by few, belov'd by none more dearly then 
 
 Your own 
 
 Pa.ntuea. 
 
 I sail betwixt two rocks! What shall I do? 
 
 What marble melts not if Pulchrella woo? 
 
 Or what hard-hearted car can be so dead, 
 
 As to be deaf, if fair I'anthea plead? 
 
 Whom shall 1 please? Or which shall I refuse? 
 
 Pulchrella sues, and fair Panthea sues; 
 
 I'ulchrella melts me with her lovesick tears. 
 
 But brave Panthea batters down my ears 
 
 With love's petar ; Pulcbrella's breast encloses 
 
 A soft affection wrapp'd in beds of roses, 
 
 But in the rare I'anthea's noble lines 
 
 True worth and honor with affection joins.
 
 490 ^OTfiS 
 
 1 stand even-balanc'd, doubtfully oppress'd 
 
 Beneath the burthen of a bivious breast. 
 
 When I peruse my sweet Pulchrella's tears, 
 
 My blood grows wanton, and I plunge in fears ; 
 
 But when I read divine Panthea's charms, 
 
 1 turn all fiery, and I grasp for arms. 
 
 Who ever saw, when a rude blast outbraves 
 
 And thwarts the swelling tide, how the proud waves 
 
 Rock the dronch'd pinnace on the sea-green breast 
 
 Of frowning Amphitrite, who, oppress'd 
 
 Betwixt two lords, not knowing which V obey. 
 
 Remains a neuter in a doubtful way. 
 
 So toss'd am I, bound to such strait confines. 
 
 Betwixt I'ulchrella's and Panthea's lines : 
 
 Both cannot speed ; but one that must prevail. 
 
 I stand even-pois'd ; an atom turns the scale. 
 
 F. QuARLEs, The Virgin Widotc, act III (vol. Ill, pp. 
 302, 303, of Grosart's reprint). 
 As Quarles died in 1G44 and his play was published in 
 
 1649, one may doubt whether the author of The Rehearsal had 
 
 it in mind when writing. 
 22G. Aye, is 't not, etc. Q3 expands this speech of Bayes into the 
 
 following passage : 
 
 Bayes. Aye, is 't not, now, i'gad, ha? For to go off hip hop, 
 hip hop, upon this occasion, is a thousand times better 
 than any conclusion in the world, i'gad. 
 
 Johns. Indeed, Mr. Bayes, that hip hop in this place, as you 
 say, does a very great deal. 
 
 Bayes. O, all in all, sir ; they are these little things that 
 mar or set you off a play : as I remember once, in a play 
 of mine, I set off a scene, i'gad, beyond expectation, only 
 with a petticoat and the bellyache. 
 
 Smi. Pray, how was that, sir? 
 
 Bayes. Why, sir, I contriv'd a petticoat to be brought in 
 upon a chair (nobody knew how) into a prince's chamber, 
 whose father was not to see it, that came in by chance. 
 
 Juhns. God's my life, that was a notable contrivance indeed. 
 
 Smi. Aye, but, Mr. Bayes, how could you contrive the belly- 
 ache? 
 
 Bayes. The easiest 1' th' world, i'gad. I'll tell you how : 1 
 made the prince sit down upon the petticoat, no more 
 than so, and pretended to his father that he had just then 
 got the bellyache : whereupon his father went out to call 
 a physician, and his man ran away with the petticoat. 
 
 Smi. Well, and what follow'd upon that? 
 
 Bayes. Nothing ; no earthly thing, I vow to gad. 
 
 Johns. O' my word, Mr. Bayes, there you hit it. 
 
 Bayes. Yes, it gave a world of content. And then I paid 
 'em away besides, for it made 'em all talk bawdy ; ha, ha, 
 ha : beastly, downright bawdry upon the stage, i'gad, ha, 
 ha. ha ; but with an infinite deal of wit, that I must say. 
 
 Joints. That, aye that, we know well enough, can never 
 fail you.
 
 NOTES 491 
 
 bayea. No, I'gad, can't it. Come, bring in the dance. 
 
 [Ex^it to call 'em. 
 Smi. Now the dovil take thee for a silly, confident, unnatural, 
 fulsome rogue. 
 
 Enter Bavks and I'laijcns. 
 Baycs. Pray dance well before these gentlemen : you are 
 commonly so lazy, but you should be light and easy, ta, ta, ta. 
 [All the while they dance, Bayes puts 'em out with 
 teaching 'em.] 
 Well, gentlemen, you'll see this dance, if I am not deceiv'd, 
 take very well upon the stage, when they are perfect in 
 their motions, and all that. 
 
 This Insertion ridicules a situation at the beginning of 
 the fourth act of Dryden's The Assiynation, which was acted 
 in 1672 and published the next year. If we substitute 
 viaskiny-habit for petticoat, the description here given of 
 Dryden's work is almost literally exact. [K.] 
 
 411, 253. For fame and reputation. Q.3 reads simply for reputation. 
 
 5. A person of honor, etc. "Col. Henry Howard, son of Thomas, 
 Earl of Berkshire, made a play called The United Kingdoms, 
 which began with a funeral, and had also two kings in it. 
 This gave the duke a just occasion to set up two kings iu 
 Brentford, as t is generally believed, though others are of 
 opinion that his grace had our two brothers in his thoughts. 
 It was acted at the Cockpit in Drury Lane, soon after the 
 Restoration ; but miscarrying on the stage, the author had 
 the modesty not to print it, and therefore the reader cannot 
 reasonably expect any particular passages of it. Others say 
 that they are Boabdelin and Abdalla, the two contending 
 kings of Granada." IKey, 171)4. J 
 
 In a note on the next scene the 1701 edition identifies the 
 two usurpers with "the two kings in Granada." 
 IG. It shall drum, etc. "These are Mr. Dryden's words in his preface 
 to The Conquest of Granada.'' Notks, 1775. 
 
 The lines would do for a parody of a paragraph in Dry- 
 den's Essay of Heroic Plays; v. 11, 1-15. Felix Lindner, in 
 his edition of The Rehearsal, Heidelberg, 1904, cites the fol- 
 lowing note from an eighteenth century key that depends 
 mainly on Briscoe's : "The usual language of the Honorable 
 Edward Howard, Esq., at the rehearsal of his plays." This 
 seems only a mistaken repetition of the note on 3J>0, (51, G2. 
 21. The rule of romance, etc. This passage is a slight additional 
 proof of the close relation between the heroic plays and the 
 iutermiuahle French romances. Cf. Introduction, pp. xiv f. 
 
 27, 28. And therefore what do me J. Q3 expands these lines as 
 
 follows : "And then, sir, this contrivance of mine has some- 
 thing of the reason of a play in it too ; for as everyone makes 
 you five acts to one play, what do me 1," etc. 
 
 On this speech of Bayes, Arber quotes from Bishop I'ercy : 
 "This is intended to ridicule the absurd custom of writing 
 plays in several parts, as The t:>icge of Rhodes, Parts I and 
 II; |Thonias| Killigri'w's Ilcllamira, I and II; Thoinaso, I 
 and II; Ciciliu ninl i'toi inda, 1 and II, etc.; but is prin-
 
 492 NOTES 
 
 cipally leveled at The Conquest of Granada in two parts; 
 which is properly but one play of ten acts, neither the plot 
 nor characters being complete or intelligible in either without 
 the other." A note to the 1775 ed. mentions also The Indian 
 Queen and its sequel The Indian Emperor; see Introduction, 
 pp. XX, xxi. 
 41>6, 39. The third week. According to the custom of the time, the 
 author received the profits of the third day. 
 44. Which may be executed two several uays. So Q3 ; Ql reads to 
 
 in place of two. Cf. 423, 181, n. 
 49. He having passionately lov'd her, etc. The reference, as Bishop 
 rercy indicates, is doubtless to The Conquest of Granada, 
 115-118, 155-284. In the play Mr. Bayes, as he promises, 
 has taken Mr. Smith's advice, and made Almanzor hinder 
 Almahide from killing herself. The passage may really be 
 inspired by some of Dryden's conversation about his own 
 work. 
 76. A lady that icas drotcn'd at sea, etc. v. 114, 95-100. [K.] 
 413, 86. Draiccansir. A parody on Almanzor. Cf. 5, 21-43. 
 
 124. Since death, etc. This ridicules a speech of Berenice, the faith- 
 ful wife of the tyrant Maximin, to her lover Porphyrius, in 
 Dryden's Tyrannic Love, act III (Ss. ill. 418, 419). The 
 dialogue is so fine an example of Restoration tragic virtue 
 that it is worth quoting entire : 
 Ber. 1 hate this tyrant, and his bed I loathe ; 
 But, once submitting, I am tied to both : 
 Tied to that honor which all women owe, 
 Tho' not their husband's person, yet their vow. 
 Something so sacred in that bond there is, 
 That none should think there could be aught amiss ; 
 And if there be, we should in silence hide 
 Those faults, which blame our choice, when they are spied. 
 Par. But, since to all the world his crimes arc known. 
 And by himself the civil war's begun. 
 Would you th' advantage of the fight delay. 
 If, striking first, you were to win the day? 
 Ber. I would like Jews upon their Sabbath fall ; 
 
 And, rather than strike first, not strike at all. 
 Por. Against yourself you sadly prophesy : 
 
 You either this divorce must seek, or die. 
 Ber. Then death from all my griefs shall set me free. 
 Por. And would you rather choose your death, than me? 
 
 Ber. My earthy part 
 
 Which is my tyrant's right, death will remove; 
 I'll come all soul and spirit to your love. 
 With silent steps I'll follow you all day; 
 Or else, before you, in the sunbeams play : 
 I'll lead you thence to melancholy groves. 
 And there repeat the scenes of our past loves. 
 At night, I will within your curtains peep; 
 With empty arms embrace you while you sleep : 
 In gentle dreams I often will be by. 
 And sweep along before your closing eye. 
 All dangers from your bed I will remove,
 
 NOTES 493 
 
 But guard it most from any future love; 
 And when at last, in pity, you will die, 
 I'll watch your birth of immortality : 
 Then, turtle-like, I'll to my mate repair, 
 And teach you your first flight in open air. 
 [Exit Berenice.] [K.] 
 Compare also 5C, 419-426. 
 
 414, 168. NoiCj it 's out, etc. For this and the next two speeches Q3 sub- 
 
 stitutes the following passage : 
 
 Bayes. So, take away the coffin. Now it's out. This is the 
 very funeral of the fair person which Volscius sent word 
 was dead ; and i'allas, you see, has turn'd it into a banquet. 
 
 8mi. Well, but where is this banquet? 
 
 Bayes. Nay, look you, sir, we must first have a dance, for 
 joy that LardcIIa is not dead. Pray, sir, give me leave to 
 bring in my things properly at least. 
 
 8mi. That, indeed, I had forgot : I ask your pardon. 
 
 Bayes. O, d'ye so, sir? I am glad you will confess yourself 
 once in an error, Mr. Smith. 
 
 Dance. 
 
 415, 182. That shall be mine, etc. After this speech of Pallas Q3 adds the 
 
 following : 
 
 Bayes. There's the banquet. Are you satisfied now, sir? 
 
 Johns. By my troth, now. that is new, and more than I 
 
 expected. 
 Bayes. Yes, I knew this would please you, for the chief art 
 in Doetry is to elevate your expectation, and then bring 
 you off some extraordinary way. 
 183. Lo, from this conqiieiinij lance, etc. This speech ridicules a 
 scene (act III, sc. v) in The Villain, a tragedy by Thomas 
 Porter, first published in 1663. The play is a poor produc- 
 tion, the plot of which is in some ways reminiscent of Othello. 
 The scene here satirized is practically independent of the 
 main action. The following quotation (from ed. 3, 16t)4) 
 omits only the final half-page and a few coarse lines. 
 
 Enter Host and his Wikk. 
 Host. Nay, prithee weep not, chuck : I'll warrant thee 
 
 There's nobody will take the house off their hands. 
 
 Now we have left it. 
 Wife. But what an inhuman dog to turn us out. 
 
 Just when these blades were come to town ! 
 
 O the tearing customers we should have had I 
 Host. No matter, no matter, God's precious. 
 
 They cannot hinder me my standing on the king's 
 ground. 
 
 And we will vent our merchandise here. 
 
 In spite of their noses: set down the table, chuck; 
 
 There, there, so, lay the stools under it. 
 
 Pox, let's be merry for all this, chuck. 
 
 Hang sorrow, care will kill a cat. 
 Wife. Truly. husl)and. I believe that's the reason 
 
 Ours died this morning. 
 Host. Away, woman, away '-
 
 494 
 
 NOTES 
 
 Sings. 
 
 When as King Pcppin rul'd in France, 
 
 A king of wondrous might, 
 lie that could the coranto dance, 
 Was straightways made a Isnight. 
 If any pass this way, I'm sure they'll stop, 
 For here's man's meat, and woman's meat ; 
 Thou for the men, and I for the women. 
 At the sign of St. Anthony's pig. 
 ^Vifc. But why have you chang'd the sign we had before? 
 
 St. Lewis is as much respected in this country. 
 Host. Aye, but you know the prodigal child thrust out of 
 
 Doors, kept company with pigs, good wife, and sows. 
 Wife. 'Tis true, and with hogs, good husband, and hogs. 
 Host. Away, thou cockatrice : peace, here's company. 
 Enter Coligni, D'Elpeche, Marianb, Lamarch, Francibel. 
 
 Sings. 
 
 Please you, monsieurs, entertain 
 
 The damoisels ye bring ; 
 Here's cheer, there ne'er was such in Spain, 
 
 And wine would fox a king. 
 
 Here's capons that from Bruges came 
 
 In post f6r expedition. 
 And veal so white, that none in Gant 
 
 Can come in competition. 
 
 Here's sallet mystic savor has, 
 
 As mystic as the color ; 
 A lover being put to grass 
 
 Pick'd It against love's dolor. 
 
 Here's vin de bon, vin de Champagne, 
 
 And vin de Celestine, 
 And here is that they call Bouru, 
 
 Which to love's sports incline. 
 
 Sa, sa, monsieurs, what have you a mind to? 
 Col. Odd's my life, gentlemen, here is the bravest 
 Fellow I ever read of in all my travels ; 
 Pray, friend, what show do you represent? 
 Host. Show, sir? 
 Col. Aye, show, sir; does that offend you? Uds fish, 
 I care not a fart an you be offended at show, sir. 
 What do you wear that in your hat for, sir, 
 If it be not for a show, sir, ha? 
 Host. Why, for a sign, sir. 
 Col. For a sign? Why, are you the post? 
 Ha, ha, ha, ha. a very good jest; 
 
 Did not I put a very good jest upon him. gentlemen? 
 Host. Yes, you did, a very good jest ; ha, ha, ha, 'twas a 
 very good 
 J^st i' faith, gentlemen.
 
 NOTES 
 
 195 
 
 Col Why so it was, sir, for all your sneering. 
 Host. Why, so i thought, sir ; 'tis very strange you will be so 
 Angry without cause. 
 Franc. So, so, gentk-meu, my brother's taken up. 
 D'Eip. Aye, aye, let him alone, let's mark 'em. 
 
 Col. Why, sir, without a cause? I was angry at something; 
 1 was angry at a post, and there you have it again, 
 Ha, ba, ha, ha. 
 Host. I'm glad you are pleas'd again, 
 
 For I find your wits riding post, ha, ha, ha, ha. 
 Col. A pig, a pig, ha, ha, ha. 
 Host. 'Tis the sign of the pig, and I'm the master of the 
 
 Cabaret, which shall give you most excellent content. 
 Col. Say'st thou so, honest fellow? 
 
 Faith, thou art a very merry honest fellow ; 
 Sisters, I'll treat you and these gentlemen 
 At this cabaret he talks of. Prethee, honest friend, 
 Where is this cabaret? for I long to be in a cabaret. 
 Host. Why here, sir, sit down at this table, 
 And call for what you will. 
 D'Elp. How's this, how's this? 'Sdeath, are you one of 
 Urganda's 
 Squires? Pray, friend, when shall the meat 
 And wine come? 
 Lamar. From Tripoli on a broomstick. 
 Host. I'ray, gentlomfii, binder me not the custom of the 
 young gallant ; 
 Entreat but these ladies to sit down, and break my 
 
 head if you be not 
 Well-treated — I'll desire no favor. 
 Col. Nor no money neither, I hope, sir. 
 Host. Truly I won't ; if you be not pleas'd above expectation. 
 Ne'er trust one again of my profession. 
 D'Elp. Faith, ladies, this may prove worth our curiosity; 
 Come, w'e will sit down. 
 Mar. What you please, sir. 
 Col. That's my good sister : come, come, 
 La convert, la convert. 
 Lamar. This begins to look like something : he's bravely stuff'd, 
 I'll warrant you, he is so well hung. 
 Col. Now, sir, a cold breast of your delicate white veal. 
 Host. Here you have it, sir. 
 
 Col. Nay, nay, and a sallet, good sir, a sallet. 
 Host. Well, sir, I must untruss a point. 
 Col. How, sir, to give us a sallet? Why have you been at 
 grass? 
 D'Elp. Why d'ye want a boil'd sallet, monsieur? 
 Lamar. Before St. Lewis, an excellent trimming. 
 
 I'll ha' my next suit, that I go into the campaign with, 
 Trimm'd all with sausages. 
 Mar. 'Twill make many a hungry soldier aim at you. 
 Col. Well thought on, i' faith, sir. 
 
 Come, friend, a dish of sausages ; a dish of sausages.
 
 49U 
 
 NOTES 
 
 Host. 
 
 Franc. 
 D'Elp. 
 
 Host. 
 
 B'Elp. 
 
 Host. 
 D'Elp. 
 
 Col. 
 
 Host. 
 
 Col. 
 
 Host. 
 
 Col. 
 Jlosi. 
 
 Col. 
 
 Host. 
 Col. 
 
 Host. 
 
 D'Elp. 
 Col. 
 
 D'Elp. 
 
 Col. 
 
 Lamar. 
 
 Franc. 
 
 Mar. 
 
 Col. 
 
 Why look you, sir, this gontleman only mistook 
 The placing ; these do better in a belt. 
 A strange fellow this. 
 
 Aye, is it not? Come, sir, wine we see you have: 
 Prethee let's taste the best. 
 That you shall, sir. 
 If you'll hear music and a song with 't, 
 I'm ready : you shall want nothing here. 
 Sin(/s. 
 
 Ye may tipple, and tipple, and tipple, all out. 
 Till ye bailie the stars, and the sun face about. 
 
 Away with your drunken song ; have you nothing 
 
 Fitter to please the ladies? 
 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 Come away with it then. 
 
 Host sings. 
 Most excellent, i'faith I Here's to thee, honest fellow. 
 With all my heart : nay, stay a little, this is very 
 
 good wine. 
 Here's to thee again — hark, you honest fellow, 
 Let me speak with you aside. 
 
 D'ye count here by pieces, or d'ye treat by the head? 
 I'll treat by the head, sir, if you please ; 
 A crown a head, and you shall have excellent cheer. 
 Wine as much as you can drink. 
 That's honestly said : you know my father, friend ; 
 'Tis Monsieur Cortaux. 
 
 Yes, sir, the famous scrivener here of Tours. 
 Well, treat us very well ; I'll see thee paid, 
 ^ay, sir, I'll see myself paid, I'll warrant you, 
 Before you and I part. 
 
 I do mean it so, honest friend, but prethee 
 Speak not a word to the gentlemen, for then 
 You quite disgrace, sir, your most humble servant. 
 Mum, a word to the wise is enough. 
 Come, come, friend, where's the capon of Bruges 
 You last spoke of? 
 
 Here at hand, sir ; wife, undo my helmet : 
 This, sir, is my crest. 
 
 A very improper one for a married man. 
 Yes, faith and troth, he should have had horns, ha, 
 
 ha, ha ! 
 Here's to ye, noble captain, a very good jest, 
 As I am a gentleman. 
 I thank you, sir ! 
 Methinks you are melancholy, sir ! 
 Not I, sir, I can assure you : ladies, how 
 Like ye the sport? an odd collation, but well contriv'd. 
 The contrivance is all in all. 
 
 What makes my brother kneel ; look, look, sister. 
 Here's a health to our noble Colonel ; 
 Gentlemen, ye see 'tis a good one !
 
 MOTES 
 
 ■197 
 
 189. 
 195. 
 
 
 201. 
 
 
 202. 
 
 « 
 
 '207. 
 
 416, 
 
 209. 
 
 213, 
 
 214. 
 
 
 223. 
 
 
 17. 
 
 417, 
 
 40. 
 
 
 56. 
 
 Col. 
 
 D'Elj). 
 Host. 
 
 Lamar. 
 DElp. 
 
 Host. 
 
 Franc. 
 D'Elp. 
 
 Host. 
 
 D'Elp. 
 
 D'Elp. Yes, and a large one, but if both drink it, 
 How shall we lead your sisters home? 
 No matter, hem: here 'tis, gentlemen, super naculum ; 
 Come, come, a tansy, sirrah, quickly. 
 Il'as pos'd ye there, mine host. 
 That's as time shall try, look ye here, sir : 
 The lining of my cap is good for something. 
 Faith, this was unlook'd for. 
 
 'Slish, I think all his apparel is made of commendable 
 Stuff: has he not gingerbread shoes on? 
 No, truly, sir, 'tis seldom call'd for in a tavern ; 
 But if ye call'd for a dish of pettitoes, 'twere 
 But plucking off my wife's buskins. 
 AVe'll rather believe than try. 
 Could you procure these ladies a dish of cream. 
 Sir, this will shew your masterpiece ! 
 'Tis the only weapon I fight at : look ye, 
 Gentlemen, the thunder has melted my sword in tne 
 
 scabbard ; 
 But 'tis good, taste it. 
 
 Th'ast my verdict to be the wonder of hosts ; 
 Shalt have a patent for 't if I have any 
 Power at court. [K.] 
 ^Vhat man is this, etc. Cf. 113, 15G-158. [K. ] 
 'Tis a marvellous good one, etc. After this speech Q3 adds the 
 following : 
 
 Bayes. Now there are some critics that have advis'd me to 
 put out the second dare, and print must in the place on't ; 
 but, i'gad, I think 't is better thus a great deal. 
 Johns. Whoo I a thousand times. 
 Baijcs. Go on then. 
 
 A note to the 1775 ed. states : "The passage last cited 
 from The Conquest of Granada was at first wrote : 
 
 'He who dares love and for that love dares die,' 
 but was afterwards amended to must die." But the reading 
 must is already found in the lirst edition; the note is prob- 
 ably a mere inference from the text of The Rehearsal. 
 You shall not know, etc. Cf. C3, 109, 110. [K.] 
 My holds. Q3 reads your boicls. 
 Whoe'er, etc. Cf. 04, 124-128. [K.] 
 / drink, etc. Cf. 93, 105, 106. [K.] 
 
 As fast represented. Q3 reads : "As fast as they can 
 
 possible come upon the stage." 
 Roman clothes. Omitted In Q3. 
 / lore reasoning in verse. Cf. 348, 161, n. 
 Eyes makes. Cf. 74, 51, n. 
 Were all gods join'd, etc. 
 
 Alaximin. Thou li'st : — there's not a god inhabits there. 
 But for this Christian would all heav'n forswear. 
 Ev'n Jove would try more shapes her love to win, "i 
 And In new birds and unknown beasts would sin ; l 
 At least. If Jove could love like Maximln. J 
 
 Tyrannic Love, II. Hi (Ss. ill. 407). [K.]
 
 498 NOTES 
 
 418, 60. Diiisf any, etc. 
 
 (a) Maximin. Somo god now, if he dares, relate what's past ; 
 
 Say but he's dead, that god shall mortal be. 
 Ihid. I. i (Ss. ill. 393). [K.] 
 
 (b) Max. Provoke my rage no farther, lest I be 
 
 Reveng'd at once upon the gods and thee. 
 Ihid. I. i (Ss. Hi. 395). [K.] 
 
 (c) Max. What had the gods to do with me or mine? 
 
 Ihid. V (Ss. iii. 463). [K.] 
 60, 61. Uiiciril: devil. For the rime compare the form divil (402, 30) ; 
 the same rime is found in 383, 23, 24. 
 62. Ah, godsookers, etc. After this speech Q3 adds the stage-direc- 
 tion, "Scratching his head, his peruke falls off." 
 72. But, Mr. Bayes, etc. Q3 expands this speech into the following 
 passage : 
 
 Johns. I wonder how the coxcomb has got the knack of writ- 
 ing smooth verse thus. 
 Bmi. Why, there's no need of brain for this ; 't is but scan- 
 ning the labors on [so Q6 ; Q3 reads in'\ the finger: but 
 Where's the sense of it? 
 Johns. O, for that, he desires to be excus'd : he is too proud 
 a man to creep servilely after sense, I assure you. But 
 pray, Mr. Bayes, why is this scene all in verse? 
 
 On the last of these speeches the Key of 1704 refers to 
 lines in the prologue of Dryden's Tyrannic Love (Ss. iii. 383) : 
 
 Poets, like lovers, should be bold and dare ; 
 
 They spoil their business with an over-care ; 
 
 And he who servilely creeps after sense. 
 
 Is safe, but ne'er will reach an excellence. 
 
 Dryden defends this in his preface to the play (Ss. iii. 
 381) as an imitation of Horace's serpit humi tutus, etc. 
 (Ars Poet. 28). 
 73. The subject is too great for prose, v. 7, 1-31 ; cf. Introduction, 
 pp. xxiii, xxiv, xxx. xxxi. 
 4. That great scene in Harry the Eight. The trial scene (act II, 
 sc. iv) in Henry VIII was always noted for its spectacular 
 effect, and Davenant's revival of the play in 1663 was par- 
 ticularly magnificent. Downes writes : "This play, by order 
 of Sir William Davenant, was all new-clothed in proper habits. 
 The king's was new, all the lords, the cardinals, the bishops, 
 
 the doctors, proctors, lawyers, tip-staves, new scenes 
 
 Every part, by the great care of Sir William, being exactly per- 
 formed, it being all new clothed and new scenes, it continued 
 acting fifteen days together with general applause." (Roscius 
 Anglicanus, ed. Knight, 1886, p. 24.) See also Introduction, 
 p. XX, n. 3.— The form eight (cf. fift, sixt) was often used as 
 an ordinal numeral in the seventeenth century. 
 6. / have brought in two other cardinals. Q3 reads / bring in here 
 
 four cardinals. 
 9. / won't tell you. After these words Q3 adds: "Your country 
 friend, sir^ grows so troublesome !" 
 11. Now sir, etc. After this speech Q3 adds one by the Kin^ 
 Physician : "Speak, Volscius."
 
 NOTES 199 
 
 419, 25. What sound is this invades our cars? 
 
 Alphunso. What various noises do mine oars invade. 
 And have a consort of confusion made? 
 
 Davena.nt, The Sicuc of Rhodes, I'art I, entry i. [K.l 
 35. Tlie two right Kings of Brentford, etc. 
 
 Nakar and Damilcar descend in clouds, and sing. 
 Hakar. Hark, my Damilcar, we are call'd helow ! 
 Dam. Let us go, let us go ! 
 Go to relieve the care 
 Of longing lovers in despair ! 
 Nakar. Merry, merry, merry, we sail from the east, 
 Half tippled at a rainbow feast. 
 Dam. In the bright moonshine while winds whistle loud, 
 Tivy, tivy, tivy, we mount and we fly, 
 All racking along in a downy white cloud : 
 And lest our leap from the sky should prove too far. 
 We slide on the back of a new-falling star. 
 Nakar. And drop from above 
 In a jelly of love ! 
 Dam. But now the sun's down, and the element's red. 
 The spirits of fire against us make head ! 
 Nakar. They muster, they muster, like gnats in the air : 
 Alas : I must leave thee, my fair ; 
 And to my light horsemen repair. 
 Dam. O stay, for you need not to fear 'em (o-night; 
 
 The wind is for us, and blows full in their sight: 
 
 And o'er the wide ocean we fight 1 
 
 Like leaves in the autumn our foes will fall down; 
 
 And hiss in the water 
 
 Nakar. But their men lie securely intrench'd in a cloud, 
 Both. And hiss in the water and drown ! 
 
 And a trumpeter-hornet to battle sounds loud. 
 Dam. Now mortals that spy 
 How we tilt in the sky. 
 With wonder will gaze ; 
 
 And fear such events as will ne'er come to pass! 
 Nakar. Stay you to perform what the man will have done. 
 Dam. Then call me again when the battle is won. 
 Both. So ready and quick is a spirit of air 
 To pity the lover, and succor the fair. 
 That, silent and swift, the little soft god 
 Is here with a wish, and is gone with a nod. 
 
 The clouds part; Nakar ^les up, and Damilcar down. 
 Tyrannic Love, act IV (Ss. iii. 421, 422). [K.] 
 49. Pettitoes. Professor Arbor by a misprint here reads Pretty-toes. 
 4S80, 81, 82. This / thought once to have brought in with a con- 
 jurer. Such is really the case with the passage just quoted 
 from Tyrannic Love. [K.] 
 421. lis. That's true, etc. Q3 omits this speech. 
 
 125. What dreadful noise, etc. Cf. 77, 21. [K.] 
 
 126. Haste hence, etc. Cf. 78. 76-79. [K.] 
 
 After this speech Q3 adds the following : 
 Bayes. Is not that now a pretty kind of a stanza, and a 
 handsome come-off"^
 
 500 NOTES 
 
 45858, 142. At door. Cf. 334, 01, n. 
 
 148. Presenilii. Immediately. 
 
 149. Can you think it a decent thintj, etc. For Dryden's views on 
 
 theatrical decorum, see 11, 1-1.5, and An Essay of Dramatic 
 Poesy (Ss. XV. 323-327, 336-338). Cf. Introduction, pp. xvi!, 
 xxiii. 
 156. / sum up my whole battle, etc. "There needs nothing more to 
 explain the meaning of this battle than the perusal of the 
 first part of The Sieye of Rhodes, which was performed in 
 recitative music by seven persons only, and the passage out of 
 The Playhouse to he Let." Key, 1704. 
 
 Quotations from 71w Sieyc of Rhodes are given in nn. 422, 
 184 ; 423, 187. 
 
 In Davenanfs Playhouse to he Let, act IV, entry ill con- 
 cludes with a song having the following chorus : 
 Now rigid war Is come, and peace is gone ; 
 Fear governs us, and jealousy the throne. 
 Ambition hath our chiefs possessed ; 
 All now are wak'd, all are alarm'd : 
 The weary know not where to rest, 
 Nor dare the harmless be unarm'd. 
 
 A stage direction follows : 
 
 "After this song a warlike air is play'd. to which succeeds 
 a martial dance, perform'd by four Peruvians, arm'd with 
 glaives, who enter severally from opposite sides of the wood, 
 and express by their motions and gestures the fury of that 
 civil war, which, by the ambition of the younger brother, has 
 engag'd their country, and then depart in pursuit of each 
 other." 
 
 Entry iv then opens with the following stage-direction : 
 
 "A symphony, consisting of four tunes, prepares the change 
 of the scene, which represents a great Peruvian army put to 
 flight by a small body of Spaniards. This object is produc'd 
 in pursuance of the main argument, for the Spaniards having 
 first bred an amazement in the natives by the noise and fire 
 of their guns, and having afterwards subverted the elder Inca 
 by assisting the younger, did in a short time attain the 
 dominion over both by conquest." 
 164. Represents fighting enough. Q3 concludes Bayes's speech with 
 these words, and adds the following passage : 
 Johns. Aye, aye ; so much, that, if I were in your place, I 
 
 would make 'em go out again without ever speaking one 
 
 word. 
 Bayes. No, there you are out, for I make each of 'em hold a 
 
 lute in his hand. 
 181. / have contriv'd it both ways. Cf. 412, 43-55. The recitativo 
 fashion is a parody of Davenant, and the fighting, of Dryden. 
 
 After this speech Q3 adds the following passage : 
 Johns. Aye, now you are right : there is nothing then can 
 
 be objected against it. 
 Bayes. True : and so, I'gad, I'll make it, too, a tragedy in a 
 
 trice. 
 
 On this the Key of 1704 gives the following note :
 
 NOTES 501 
 
 "Aglaurn [by Sir .Tolin Suckling] and The Vestal Virgin 
 [by Sir Rot)ert Howard] arc so contrived by a little altcratioa 
 towards the latter end of them, that they have been acted both 
 ways, either as tragedies or comedies." 
 
 Sir William Killigrew's Pandora, after failing as a tragedy, 
 was remodeled into a comedy. 
 184. Arm, arm, etc. ''The Sic<je of Rhodes begins thus : 
 
 Admiral. Arm, arm, Villerius, arm !" Key, 1704. 
 423, 187. Draw doun the Chelsea curiasiers. 
 
 (a) "The third entry in TIic Siege of Rhodes is thus: 
 Solyman. I'yrrhus, draw up our army wide ! 
 
 Then from the gross two strong reserves divide ; 
 
 And spread the wings ; 
 As if we were to fight, 
 In the lost Uhodians' sight, 
 
 With all the western kings! 
 Each wing with .Janizaries line ; 
 The right and left to Ilaly's sons assign. 
 
 The gross to Zangiban. 
 The main artillery 
 With Mustapha shall be : 
 
 Bring thou the rear, we lead the van." Notes, 177.5. 
 
 (b) "At the bosinning of entry r is : 
 Mustai^ha. I'oiut well the cannons and play fast '. 
 
 Their fury is too hot to last. 
 That rampire shakes, they fly into the town. 
 Pyrrhus. March up with those reserves to that redoubt! 
 
 Faint slaves! the .Tanizaiies reel! 
 
 They bend, they bend ! and seem to feel 
 The terrors of a rout. 
 Musta. Old Zanger halts, and reinforcement lacks ! 
 Pyr. March on ! 
 
 Musta. Advance those pikes, and charge their backs !" 
 
 [Arber, from K.] 
 
 (c) Drake Junior. More pikes ! more pikes ! to reinforce 
 That squadron, and repulse the horse. 
 
 The Playhouse to he Let, act III, entry vi. [K. ] 
 
 196. Petty France. This, as shown by Ogilby's map of London. 1<'>77. 
 reproduced in Besant's London in the Time of the Stuarts, 
 was a street in London near Moorflelds. 
 45J4. 2.'!.S. The Slighted Maid. By Sir Robert Stapylton ; cf. n. 3!».". loL 
 The Key of 1704 refers to the following extract from act \' 
 of the play (pp. 80-83, ed. 1603) : 
 
 Enter Aurora in a black veil hclow. 
 Song in dialogue. 
 Aur. Phcpbus? 
 Phah. Who calls the world's great light? 
 
 Aur. Aurora, that abhors the night. 
 Phah. Why docs Aurora from her cloud 
 To drowsy Phcrbus cry so loud? 
 Aur. Put on thy beams; rise (no regard 
 To a young goddess, that lies hard 
 In th' old man's bosom?) rise for shame, 
 And shine mv cloud into a llarae.
 
 602 
 
 NOTES 
 
 Phwb. 
 Aur, 
 
 Phab. 
 Aur. 
 
 Phab. 
 
 Attr. 
 
 Phab. 
 
 Aur. 
 
 Ph(Bt\ 
 
 Aur. 
 Phab 
 
 Aur. 
 
 Phwb. 
 
 Oblige me not beyond my pow'r, 
 I must not rise before my hour. 
 Before thy hour? Look down, and see, 
 In vain the Persian kneels to thee, 
 And I (mock'd by the glimm'ring shade) 
 A sad mistake in Naples made ; 
 Like I'liny, I had lost my life, 
 If I had been a mortal wife. 
 Thou cam'st too near the burning mount 
 Vesuvio ? 
 
 Upon thy account, 
 For I took clouds of smoke and fire, 
 (Which here from Vulcan's court expire,) 
 For morning-streaks, blue, white, and red. 
 That rouse me from cold Tithon's bed. 
 
 [Phoebus enters with his bcauia on. 
 Charge not upon me for a crime. 
 That I stay'd th' utmost point of time. 
 Before I would put off my bays. 
 And on Naples shed my rays, 
 Where such a mischief they have done. 
 As will make Venus hate the sun, 
 Discovering to Vulcan's eye 
 Where she and JIars embracing lie. 
 I'm sorry Mars and Venus had 
 Such privacy ; but I am glad 
 That Phoebus does at last appear 
 To shine away Aurora's fear. 
 What frighted thee? 
 
 I know not what : 
 But thou know'st all; what noise is that? 
 
 [Within Vulcan roars out: "No work, rogues?" 
 'Tis Vulcan, in a greater heat 
 Than th' irons by his Cyclops beat : 
 He makes the horror of that noise. 
 Teaching and knocking his great boys, 
 From hamm'ring out Jove's thunder, set 
 To file and polish Vulcan's net. 
 Which he'll catch Mars and Venus in. 
 What now? [Laughing within. 
 
 To huigh the smiths begin : 
 At furious Vulcan halting off. 
 To measure his wife's bed, they scoflf. 
 I'll leave the place ; I can no more 
 Endure the laughter than the roar. 
 
 [Tuning ivithin. 
 Ilark, they record ; they'll sing anon : 
 'Tis time for I'hoebus to be gone ; 
 For when such lyric asses bray. 
 The God of Music cannot stay. 
 
 [Exeunt Phoebus and AnnoRA. 
 The Cyclop.^' song (within). 
 Cry our ware, sooty fellows 
 Of the forge and the bellows ;
 
 NOTES 508 
 
 Has Jove any oaks to rend? 
 Has Ceres sickles to mend? 
 Wants Neptune a water-fork? 
 All these are the Cyclops' work ; 
 But to wiredraw iron rods, 
 To file nets to catch the gods. 
 What can make our fingers so fine? 
 Drink, drink, wine, Lipari wine. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Smoke, smoke breeds the tisic ; 
 Wine, wine's the best physic ; 
 For every Cyclop a full can. 
 Our terms run thus : 
 Some wine for us, 
 Or no net for our Master Vulcan. 
 241. Xo doubt, etc. Here Q3 expands the test somewhat: 
 
 Johns. No doubt on "t, Mr. Bayes ; a great deal better. 
 
 [Bayks hufjs JoHXSox, then turns to S.mith. 
 Dayes. Ah dear rogue ! But — a — sir ; you have heard, I 
 suppose, etc. 
 254. Joke. After this word Q3 continues : "I bring 'em in all singing, 
 and make, etc." 
 Sell the earth a barfjain. ScUiny baryains was a sort of 
 low buffoonery which Dryden stigmatizes among the sins of 
 Shadwell in his comedies; see Mac Flecknue, 1. 181. .\s 
 Christie explains in his note (Globe edition, p. 150) it "was 
 a trick of answering innocent questions with.. coarse words." 
 See the following note. 
 2G1. Luna means, etc. After this speech Q3 adds : 
 "Bai/es. There's the bargain." 
 
 Enter Sol. Q3 adds "to the tune of Robin Hood." 
 272. Then I will shine. Q3 adds, "to the tunc of Trenchmorc." 
 425, 275. And wc, etc. After this speech Q3 adds the following passage : 
 
 [.Is they danec the hey, B.vve.s sycaks. 
 Bayes. Now the earth's before the moon ; now the moon's 
 
 before the sun : there's the eclipse again. 
 Smi. He's mightily taken with this, I see. 
 Johns. Aye ; 't is so extraordinary, how can he choose. 
 288, 280. / hare read hundred more. For these words Q3 sub- 
 stitutes: "You may talk of your Hectors and Achilles, and 
 I know not who." 
 298. 7'// show you yo off. Q'J reads: "I'll show you how they shall 
 go off." 
 
 "Valeria, daughter to Maximin. having killed herself for 
 the love [ofj I'orphyrius. when she was to be carried off by 
 the bearers, strikes one of them a box on the ear, and speaks 
 to him thus : 
 
 Hold; are you mad? You damn'd confounded dog! 
 1 am to rise, and si)eak the epilogue [Ss. iii. 4(57)." 
 
 Kky. 17(»4. 
 308. Stay, here's, etc. Q3 expands this speech into the following 
 passage : 
 
 1 Play. What shall we do, now he Is gone away? 
 
 2 Play. Why, so much the better ; then let's go to dinner.
 
 504 NOTES 
 
 3 Play. Staj', here's a foul piece of paper of his. Let's see 
 
 what 't is. 
 3 or -i I'lotj. Aye, aye : come let's hear it. 
 
 After the reading of the paper, Q3 adds : 
 "This will never do : 't is itist like the rest. Come, let's be 
 gone." i 
 
 426, 318. 1 riay. Pox on 't, etc. For tfiis speech Q3 substitutes : 
 
 Most of the Play. Aye, pox on 't, let's go away. 
 
 324. Enter Players again. For this Q3 substitutes, -Enter Siaye- 
 
 kecper" [i. e. janitor], and of course changes the following 
 speech-headings from Play, to Stage. 
 
 325. Sir, they arc gone to dinner. Arber quotes from Bishop Percy : 
 
 "About the time of the Restoration and for some years after, 
 the fashionable hour of dining was twelve o'clock, and the 
 play began at three." He then adds : •'The Rehearsal is 
 therefore supposed to take place in the morning." Cf. 390, 
 62 f. 
 
 The statement that the play began at three is based on a 
 notice published with the 16.58 edition of Davenant's Cruelty 
 of the Spaniards in Peru. Drydon's prologue for the produc- 
 tion of The Wild Gallant in 16G3 (Ss. ii. 29) shows that the 
 time of beginning was then half past three. 
 
 33-9. Toicn. Q3 reads company. 
 
 340. That's all one. This and the following three speeches are some- 
 what altered in Q3 : 
 
 Bayes. That's all one. I must reserve this comfort to my- 
 self : my play and I shall go together, we will not part 
 indeed, sir. 
 
 Stage. But what will the town say, sir? 
 
 Bayes. The town ! why, what care I for the town ? I' gad, 
 the town has us'd me as scurvily as the players have done ; 
 but I'll be reveng'd on them too, for I'll lampoon 'em all. 
 And since they will not admit of my plays, they shall know 
 what a satirist I am. And so farewell to this stage, i' gad, 
 forever. [Exit Bayes. 
 
 Enter Players. 
 
 1 Play. Come then, let's set up bills for another play. 
 
 2 Play. Aye, aye ; we shall lose nothing by this, I warrant 
 
 you. 
 1 Play. I am of your opinion. But, before we go, let's see 
 Haynes and Shirley practice the last dance, for that may 
 serve us another time. 
 
 427, 12. That afflicts. The relative in Shakspcre frequently takes a 
 
 singular verb, even though the antecedent be plural ; see 
 Abbott, A Shakespearian Grammar, § 247.
 
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