^>TC THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE DRAMATICK WORKS O F PHILIP MASSINGEL IN FOUR VOLUMES. VOL I. T^f 82JI0W jLDlTAlf.ARd T O jiaorciae am 41 tn >{ T J O 'i v '/M'JrJ /y &&***. '/r/./779- THE DRAMATICK WORKS O F PHILIP MASSINGER COMPLETE, IN FOUR VOLUMES. HVIS1D AND COHICTII, WITH NOTES CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY, BY JOHN MONCK MASON, Efq. TO WHICH ARE ADDED, REMARKS AND OBSERVATIONS OF VARIOUS AUTHORS CRITICAL REFLECTIONS ON THE OLD ENGLISH DRAMATICK WRITERS; A SHORT ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF MASSINGER, INSCRIBED TO DR. S. JOHNSON. VOLUME THE FIRST. LONDON: Printed for T. DAVIES, in Russel-Street ; T. PAYNE and SON, at the Mews-Gate; L. DAVIS, in Holbourn ; J. NICHOLS, Red-Liov Passage; T. EVANS, in the Strand; W. DAVIS, in Piccadilly; and H. PAYNE, in Pall-Mall. M DCCLXXIX.f.* !! ! PREFACE. ^38 THE dramatic Productions of the Age of Shakefpeare have long afforded me a fa- vourite Amufement ; charmed with the fublime Conceptions, the natural Sentiments, the poeti- cal Diction, and the flowing Numbers of the Writers of that Period, nay, even with the ro- mantic Incidents of their ancient Stories, they ap- pear to me more amuling and more natural, than the concealed Princes, diffracted Mothers, and critical Difcoveries, which in general form the uninterefting Plots of our modern Tragedies, (I perufe them repeatedly with undiminished Sa- tisfaction ;) yet, notwithftanding my Partiality "> for this Kind of Reading, and fome Pains I had ^> taken to gratify it, I never heard of Majfinger K till about two Years ago, when a Friend of i mine, whu knew my Inclination, fent me a Copy of his Works, from whence I received Jthat high Degree of Pleafure, which they cannot fail to give to every Reader of Tafte and Feel- ing. It is flrange, that a Writer of fuch evident H Excellence mould be fo little known ; and re- ^ main for a Century in a State of Obfcurity, <* from which even a modern Edition of his Works & has failed to redeem him ; but that Edition, it mult be confeffed, did not merit a very favour- Vol. I. a 414967 it PREFACE. able Reception from the Publick ; the Editor, who feems to have pofleflcd but a fmall Share either of Judgment or Attention, having re- tained in the Text a Number of Blunders which appear at firft Sight, and the Amendments in many Places, are as obvious as the Errors had it required much Labour to inveftigate either, the Talk of publifhing the prefent Edition would never have fallen to my Lot ; but, having con- tracted a Habit of rectifying in the Margin the Miftakes that I difcover in any Book before me, thefe Emendations of Mqfftnger were made as I read him, and intended for my private Satisfac- tion only ; they happened, however, to be feen accidentally by two of my Friends, who expref- fed their Approbation of them in very flattering Terms, and joined in requefting that I would fuffer them to be printed : -I had not in Truth the Vanity to fuppofe, that Corrections made in this curlbry Manner could be worthy of the Prefs, but in Deference to their Judgment I gave them to the Public. As the whole of MaJJitiger's Plays, and one Half at leaft of thofe oiShakefpeare and Fletcher, were published whilft. the Authors were living, it is furprifing they mould be handed down in fo depraved a State, that Induftry, Learning, and Genius, have hitherto been in vain exerted to reftore them : it gives us Room to fufpect, that, content with prefent Profit and prefent Ap- plaufe, they but little regarded the Sentiment* of Pofterity ; yet, it is generally fuppofed, that Perfons of elevated Genius look forward to Im- mortality, and confider future Fame as their no- blefr. Reward. Notwithftanding the Labours of PREFACE. ill MefTrs. ThecbaU, Seward and Sympfon, their joint Edition of Beaumont and Fletcher is almoil as incorrect as that of Majfinger\ j nor have even the eminent Abilities of John/on produced a perfect Edition of Shakefpeare ; tho' ailifted by the Sa- gacity of Five preceding Editors, * and by ma- ny judicious Obfervations that have, at Times , been published, on particular Parts of that ini- mitable Poet; he has left many PafTages in his Edition that ftill require Correction, and in others has too readily admitted Amendments, where Explanation only was necefTary ; yet, if we confider the univerlal Erudition of this ex- traordinary Man, the Vigour of his Undemand- ing, the Strength of his Imagination f, and his accurate Knowledge of the Englifh Language, it muft be confefled, that there is no other Per- fon of the prefent Age fb thoroughly qualified for that Talk there is one Qualification, how- ever,' in which I fufpect that John/on was defici- ent, and from which, had he pofYefTed it, he muft have derived a material Advantage ; the. Qualification I mean, is an intimate Acquain- % A correct and much improved Edition of Beaumont and Fletcher was published very lately. D. * Rowe, Pope, Theobald, Hanmer and Warburton. f I confider imagination as one of the Qualities which it is requifitean Editor of Shakefpeare fhould poffefs ; for with* out Imagination it will be impoflible for him to form an Idea of feme of that Poet's fublimcft Flights, and he cannot ex- plain what he does not conceive. One of the meft learned and ingenious Men of this Age has published an Edition of Shakefpeare, but being totally devoid exf poetical Imagination, and applying thofe Talents to Verfe which Nature had confi- ned to Profc, he not only failed in the Attempt, but expofed himfelf to the fair ridicule of Perfons whofe Abilities were inferior to his own. a t, iv PREFACE. tance with the Writings of the other dramatic Poets of Shake/pearls Age ; * for contemporary Author.* are Comments on each other ; and there are many PafTages in our ancient Writers, that, feparately considered, appear erroneous, which, when compared with the other Productions of that Period, are found agreeable to the received Ufage and Language of the Time. The Sup- position, that John/on was not thoroughly conver- iant with the Writers contemporary with Shake- Jpeare, is founded on this Circumftance, that al- tho' we find frequent Quotations in his Dictio- nary, from Blackmore, UE/f range, and other Au- thors of no great Estimation, there is not a fins gle Quotation in that Work either from Majfin- ger, or Beaumont and Fletcher, though they are clearly entitled to the higheit Form amongit the classical Writers of the EngJiJh Language ; and might juftly be considered as better Authority than even Shakefpeare himfelf, for the proper Ufe of any Word or Expression ; being more correct and grammatical than he is, and appear- ing to have had a more competent Knowledge of other Languages, which gave them a more accu- rate Idea of their own. Had John/on fhidied the Works of thefe Writers with more Atten- tion, it would have contributed not only to im- prove his Shakefpeare, but his Dictionary alfo. With Refpect to the general Merit of Maf- finger, I (hall add but little to what has been faid in the Eflay prefixed to the former Edition, and attributed to Mr. Colt nan ; nor mall I attempt * That fuppof.-d defect has been amply fupplied in the laft Edition of fwnfoC% Sbakejptar*, by tAi\. St: evens and others. D. PREFACE. v to point out and enlarge upon, the many fub- lime and beautiful Paflages that may be found interfperfed through the whole of thefe Plays. The Readers of Taiie will difcover thefe Beau- ties without a Prompter, and he who has none, will never acquire it from the (light Admonitions which Notes can convey : It is not, indeed, from certain brilliant Paflages, that we mould judge of the Merit of dramatic Compofitions. ThatA/^%- ger's, take them for all in all, are more excel- lent than thole of any Writer that has appeared fince his Time, will readily be admitted : but I will go farther, and venture to aflert, that none of his own contemporary Writers, in that gol- den Age of dramatic Poetry can clearly be pre- ferred to him, Shakefpeare and Beaumont and Fletcher excepted. Between him and Jonfon no juft Comparifon can be drawn, their .Manners of Writing are fo entirely different. The ini- mitable * Doings of Jonfon in the Fox, the Al~ chemift, and Silent Woman, and alfo in the Co- medy of Every Man in his Humour, which is not inferior to any of the Three, will be admired to the End of Time, whilft his Tragedies will be forgotten, or received with Difguft, the Poet being loft in the pedantic Tranflator. Maffnger is as far above the Level of Shirley, as he is below that of Shakefpeare ; and thofe who mall join with me in adjudging the Preference to Beaumont and Fletcher, mult at the fame Time acknow- ledge, that fome of Mqffingers Compofitions are equal to the beft of theirs. * The Fox, the Alchemijl and Silent TVoman, Done by Ben 'Jonfon, and outdone by no Man. a 3 vi PREFACE. There is one particular Excellence indeed in which Majjinger iurpafles not only Fletcher but even Shakcfpeare himfelf; I mean the general Harmony of" his Numbers ; he cannot boaft of that boundlefs Variety, that diicriminating Power of Exprefllon, which enabled Shakefpeare to appropriate, as it were, a peculiar Language to his principal Characters ; but in theeafy Flow of natural yet elevated Di&ion, Mqffinger, in my Judgment, has hitherto been unequalled *. It is in this very Talent that our modern Wri- ters of Tragedy are particularly efficient : their conftrained, unnatural Verification no more re- fembles the eafy, poetic Numbers of Majjinger, than the aukwardftrutting of a Perfon upon Stilts does the elegant Motions of a graceful Dancer. The Progrels and Decline of that admirable Stile of Writing, are equally remarkable. It owes its Being to Shakefpeare, the Poet of Nature ; arrived in a fhort I ime to its full Perfection ; was adopted by every dramatic Writer of the Ag with Succefs proportioned to their reipedlive Anilities, and continued to flourifh from the Middle of Queen Elizabeth's Reign to that of Charles I. when it began to decline, and has now for fome Years been entirely difcarded.---That a Manner of Writing of fuch manifeft Excellence, fo expreffive, io poetical, fo adapted to the Ge- nius of the Englifh Language, fo according with * I mean with Refpeft to the general Tenor of his Wri. tings j for there are fome particular Paflages in Shakefpeare, is which he furpafles every other Poet in his peculiar Excel- lence. PREFACE. vii the Feelings of the human Heart, mould, after it had been eftablifhed for a Series of Years, be totally loft, and give Place to a Jargon the moft unnatural, jejune and infipid that Words can compofe ; and that this Jargon mould become ib univerfally in XJ{e with every Tragic Writer in thefe Days of Refinement, that it is fcarcely poflible to diftinguifti, by Stile alone, the Pro- ductions of any one of them from thofe of ano- other, is one of thofe ftrange Revolutions in Tafte, for which no fatisfactory Caufe can be amgned. It would be unjuft to impute it to a general Deficiency of Genius in our Writers, for iome of them undoubtedly are not devoid of it. The Author of the Eflay prefixed to thefe Plays, attributes it in fome Meafure to the Difufe of Blank Verfe in moil: of our modern Compofi- tions, Tragedy excepted ; but I mould fuppole it to be principally occafioned by that violent Admiration of the French Theatre, which has prevailed for many Years in the famionable World. Our Writers naturally endeavoured to imitate what they found fo much admired, and with a Degree of Succefs which we have Reafon to deplore, have adopted from the French not only the dull Regularity of their Plots, but the wearifome Monotony of their Verification : In moft of our Tragedies, the Imitation is lb glaring, that they have loft the Appearance of ori- ginal Compofitions, and are written in the Tone and fettered Stile of Tranflation, not in that free and vigorous Language, in which thofe who pof- fefs any Spark of poetic Fire, exprefs their Na- tive, genuine Conceptions. There may be, per- a 4 viii preface; haps, a few of tlicfe Pieces that do not juftly fall under this general Cenfure ; and there is one I mult, particularly except from it, I mean the Tragedy of Braganza, in which we find a Rich- D f$ of poetical Diction, and that Harmony of Numbers, which we look for in vain in the other Productions of the Time. -I will venture to ai- fert, that if the true dramatic Melody mail he re- vived in our Days, it will owe its Revival to the Author of Braganza, and the public Voice will confirm this Opinion, whenever" the Lawof Lorn* bardy mall find its Way to the Stage. Though T have expreffed my Approbation of MaJ/ingers Excellencies, I do not mean to rcpre- fent him as a faultlefs Writer : it mull: be con- ferred, that, in common with the other great Poets of his Age, he has his grofs Expreffions, and his Scenes of Buffoonery : but this -1 conii- der as rather the Vice of the Times than of the Authors ; they neceifarily accommodated them- felves to the Tafte of the Audience, who would probably have difrelimed the mod elegant En- tertainment they could have fet before them, had not fome of the Dimes been larded with Ri- baldry. When Men of Genius and of delicate Feelings concurred in playing the Fool, it is a Proof that Foolery was much in Repute. The Reader will alio difcover in Mafjinger a few, and but a few, grammatical Inaccuracies, which ha- ving arifen from Inattention only, might have been ealily corrected ; but I confider it as Part of the Duty of an Editor, to diiHnguifh between the Inadvertencies of the Author, and the Blun- ders of the Printer : he mould fpare no Pains to PREFACE. k rectify the latter, but the former he Ihould leave as he finds them, I shall conclude this Preface, which has far exceeded the Bounds I propoled to it, with a fhort Account of the Manner in which this Edi- tion is conducted. I have admitted into the Text all my own Amendments, in Order that thofe who, purfu- ing Dr. Johnjons Advice in his excellent Preface to Shake/pear e 9 may wifh on the firft Perufal of thjfe Plavs, to give free Scope to their Fancy and their Feelings, and without turning aiide to ver- bal Criticilm, may read them in that which ap- pears to me the molt perfect State ; but, for the Satisfaction of more critical Readers, or of the fame Readers on a iecond Perufal, I have direc- ted that the Words rejected by me ihould be in- ferted in the Margin. Where any Doubts can arife concerning the Juftnefs of a Correction, I have afligned the Reafon for it ; but where they deviate but little from the Text, and the Propriety of them is ib evident, that it muft be acknowledged the Mo- ment they are fuggefted, I have not infultcd the Understandings of the Readers by enlarging upon them. There is another confiderable Improvement in this Edition, for which I expect no Degree of Credit, though it tends as materially to the Explanation of the Author as more confpicuous Emendations ; I mean the Reformation of ths- x PREFACE. Pointing, which in the former Edition is ex tremely faulty : but the Merit of this Edition, in that RefpecT:, can only be known by comparing it with tiie others, and if any Reader fhall take that Trouble, he has more Curiofity than I fhould have in his Place. J have not, however, attended to trifling Errors, or rectified the falie Pointing, unlefs where it eflentially affected the Senfe. I have continued in this Edition the Effay on our old Dramatic Writers, becaufe it is very well written ; and a fhort Account of MaJJingers Life, is undertaken by one who, I doubt not, will execute that tafk with Care and Fidelity ; no Obfervations of the former Editor's are omitted, that could ei- ther contribute to the Information of the Rea^ ders, or to his own Reputation ; but where his Remarks were undoubtedly erroneous, I have not inferted them, merely to enjoy the Triumph of refuting him. Thofc who delight in long Annotations, and Comparifons with Paflages ap- parently fimilar in other Writers, will be much dhTatisfied with this Edition, in which they will find but a few fhort Notes, and thofe merely ex- planatory ; but to gratify their Inclinations, I could have made that a Labour, which was meant for an Amufement ; which would indeed have been contrary to my own Judgment, who have always confidered an unneceflary Note, as an offenfive Interruption, and have never recei- ved any real Satisfaction from comparative Quo- tations ; I have therefore ftruck out many iuch, that I found in the former Edition, where the PREFACE. xi Editor, mifled by a {ingle Word, has likened PafTages that were not like at all. It was not originally my Intention to give any Name to this Edition ; but it is fuggefted to me that an anonymous Publication would not an- fwer the Purpofe of refcuing this ancient Bard from Oblivion ; and that a Name, though un- known in the literary World, would contribute to attract the Curiofity of the Public : On this Confideration, I have ventured to enter the Lifts as a Candidate for inferior Fame, as Dr. John/on writes it, and without any fanguine Expectations of Applaufe : yet I flatter myfelf, that this Edition of Mqffinger will be found more correct, (and Corrednefs is the only Merit it pretends to) than the beft of thofe which have as yet been publiihed of any other ancient dramatic Writer. To Edward Tighe, Efq; by whofe Perfua- fion it was publiihed, this Edition is Dedicated by his moft lincere Friend and humble Servant, J. Monck Mason. Critical Reflections O N TH Old Englijh Dramatic Writers ; AND PARTICULARLY MAS S I N G E R. ADDRESSED TO DAVID G A RRI C K, Efq; CRITICAL REFLECTIONS ON THE Old Enpliflj Dramatick Writers. i to DAVID GAR RICK, Efq; S I R, IT is not unnatural to imagine that, on the firft Glance of your Eye over the Adver- tiiement of a new Pamphlet, addrefled to your* felf, you are apt to feel fome little Emotion ; that you beftow more than ordinary Attention on the Title, as it {lands in the News-paper, and take Notice of the Name of the Publisher. Is it Compliment or Abuie ? One of thefe being determined, you are perhaps eager to be fatis- fied, whether fome coarfe Hand has laid on En- comiums with a Trowel, or fome more elegant Writer, (fuch as the Author of The Affor, for Inftance) has done Credit to himfelf and you by his Panegyrick ; or, on the other Hand, whe- ther any offended Genius has employed thofe. Talents againft you, which he is ambitious of xvi Critical Reflections on the exercifing in the Service of your Theatre ; or ibme common Scribe has taken your Character, as he would that of any other Man or Woman, or Minifter, or the King, if he durir, as a popu- lar Topick of Scandal. Be not alarmed on the prefent Occafion ; nor, with that Confcioufnefs of your own Merit, fo natural to the Celebrated and Eminent, indulge yourfelf in an Acquiefcence with the Juftice of ten thoufand fine Things, which you may fup- pofe ready to be faid to you. No private Satire or Panegyrick, but the general Good of the Re- publick of Letters, and of the Drama in parti- cular, is intended. Though Praife and Di praife ftand ready on each Side, like the VefTels of Good and Evil on the right and left Hand of jfupiter, I do not mean to dip into either : Or, if I do, it mail be, like the Pagan Godhead him-* felf, to mingle a due Proportion of each. Some- times, perhaps, I may find Fault, and fome- times beftow Commendation : But you muft not expect to hear of the Qiiicknefs of your Concep- tion, the JufHce of your Execution, the Exprei- fion of your Eye, the Harmony of your Voice, or the Variety and Excellency of your Deport- ment ; nor mail you be malicioufly informed that you are fhorter than B any, leaner thanSjw;;, and lefs a Favourite of the Upper Gallery than I Food- ward or Shuter. The following Pages are deftined to contain a Vindication of the Works of MaJ/inger; one of our old dramatick Writers, who very leldom falls much beneath Shakeffeare himielf, and lometimes almoft rifes to a proud Rivalfhip of Old English Drama tick Writers, xvli his chiefefr. Excellencies. They are meant too as a laudable, though faint, Attempt to refcue thefe admirable Pieces from the too general Ne- glect, which they now labour under, and to re- commend them to the Notice of the Publick. To whom then can fuch an EfTay be more pro- perly infcribed than to you, whom that Publick leems to have appointed, as its chief Arbiter De- liciarum, to prefide over the Amuiements of the Theatre ? But there is alfo, by the bye, a pri- vate Reafon for addreffing you. Your honeft Friend Dazy'es, who, as is faid of the provident Comedians in Holland, fpends his Hours of Va- cation from the Theatre in his Shop, is, too well acquainted with the Efficacy of your Narre at the Top of a Play-bill, to omit an Opportu- nity of prefixing it to a new Publication ; ho- ping it may prove a Charm to draw in Purcha- sers, like the Head of Shahefpeare on his Sign. My Letter too being anonymous, your Name at the Head will more than compenfate for the Want of mine at the End of it : And our above-mentioned Friend is, no Doubt, too well verfed in both his Occupations, not to know the Confequence of Secrecy in a Bookfeller, as well as the Neceffity of concealing from the Publick many Things that pafs behind the Curtain. There is perhaps no Country in the World more Subordinate to the Power of Fafhion than our own. Every Whim, every Word, every Vice, every Virtue, in its Turn, becomes the Mode, and is followed with a certain Rage of Approbation for a Time. The favourite Stile in Vol. I. b xviii Critical Reflections on the all the polite Arts, and the reigning Tafte in Letters, are as notorioufly Objects of Caprice as Architecture and Drefs. A new Poem, or No- vel, or Farce, are as inconiiderately extolled or decried as a RufF or a Chlnefe Rail, a Hoop or a Bow Window. Hence it happens, that the Publick Tafte is often vitiated : Or if, by Chance, it has made a proper Choice, becomes partially attached to one Species of Excellence, and remains dead to the Senfe of all other Merit, however equal or fuperior. I think I may venture to afTert, with a Con- fidence, that on Reflection it will appear to be true, that the eminent Clafs of Writers, who flourished at the Beginning of this Century, have almoft entirely fuperfeded their illuftrious Prede- ceffors. The Works of Congreve, Vanburgh, Steele, Addifon, Pope, Swift, Gay, &c. &c. are the chief Study of the Million : I fay, of the Million, for as to thofe few, who are not only familiar with all our own Authors, but are alio converfant with the Ancients, they are not to be circumfcribed by the narrow Limits of the Fa- fhion. Shakefpeare and Milton feem to ftand alone, like firft-rate Authors, amid the general Wreck of old Engli/h Literature. Milton perhaps owes much of his prefent Fame to the generous La- bours and good Tafte of Addifon. Shakefpeare has been tranfmitted down to us with fuccellive Glo- ries ; and you, Sir, have continued, or rather increafed, his Reputation. You have, in no ful- fome Strain of Compliment, been itiled the belt. Commentator on his Works : But have you not, . like other Commentators, contracted a narrow, excluiive, Veneration of your Author ? Has not Old English Dramatick Writers, xix the Contemplation of Shakefpearc's Excellencies, almolt dazzled and extinguished your Judgment, when directed to other Objects, and made you blind to the Merit of his Contemporaries ? Under your Dominion, have not Beaumont and Fletcher, nay even Jon forty fufTered a Kind of theatrical Dilgrace ? And has not poor Mq/fngcr, whole Cauie I have now undertaken, been permitted to languish in Obfcurity, and remained almoft en- tirely unknown. To this perhaps it may be plaufibly anfwer- ed, nor indeed without fome Foundation, that many of our old Plays, though they abound with Beauties, and are raifed much above the humble Level of later Writers, are vet, on feve- ral Accounts, unfit to be exhibited on the mo- dern Stage ; that the Fable, inftead of being rai- fed on probable Incidents in real Life, is gene- rally built on fbme foreign Novel, and attended with romantick Circumftances ; that the Con- duct of thefe extravagant Stories is frequently uncouth, and infinitely offennve to that drama- tick Correclnefs preicribed by late Criticks, and practifed, as they pretend, by the French Wri- ters ; and that the Characters, exhibited in our old Plays, can have no pleafing Effect on a mo- dern Audience, as they are io totally different from the Manners of the prefent Age. These, and fuch as thefe, might once have appeared reafonable Objections : But you, Sir, of all Perfons, can urge them with the leafr. Grace, iince your Practice has fo fully proved their Iniufficiencv. Your Experience mull have b 2 xx Critical Reflections on the taught yon, that when a Piece has any ftriking Beauties, they will cover a Multitude of Inac- curacies ; and that a Play need not be written on the fevered Plan, to pleafe in the Reprefen- tation. The Mind is foon familiarized to Irre- gularities, which do not fin againft the Truth of Nature, but are merely Violations of that hVit Decorum, of late io earneftly infifted on. What patient Spectators are we of the In contingencies that confefledly prevail in our darling Shakefpeare I What critical Catcall ever proclaimed the Inde- cency of introducing the Stocks in the Tragedy of Lear? How quietly do we feeGIo/ter take his imaginary Leap from Dover Cliff! Or, to give a ftronger Infrance of Patience, with what a phi- lofophical Calmnefs do the Audience doze over the tedious, and uninterefting, Love-fcenes, with which the bungling Hand of Tate has coarfely pieced and patched that rich Work of Shake- fpeare ! To inftance further from Shahfpeare himfelf, the Grave-diggers in Hamlet (not to mention Polonius) are not only endured, but ap- plauded ; the very Nurfe in Romeo and Juliet is allowed to be Nature ; the TranfacYions of a whole Hiftory are, without Offence, begun and completed in lefs than three Hours ; and we are agreeably wafted by the Chorus, or oftener with- out ib much Ceremony, from one End of the World to another. It is very true, that it was the general Prac- tice of our old Writers, to found their Pieces on fome foreign Novel ; and it feemed to be their chief Aim to take the Story as it flood, with all its appendant Incidents of every Complexion, and throw it into Scenes. This Method was, to Old English Dramatick Writers, xxi be fure, rather inartificial, as it at once over- loaded and embarraffed the Fable, leaving it def- titute of that beautiful dramatick Connection, which enables the Mind to take in all its Cir- cumftances with Facility and Delight. But I am flill in Doubt, whether many Writers, who come nearer to our own Times, have much mended the Matter. What with their Plots, and Double-plots, and Counter-plots, and Un- der-plots, the Mind is as much perplexed to piece out the Story, as to put together the difr jointed Parts of our ancient Drama. The Co- medies of Congreve have, in my Mind, as little to boafr of Accuracy in their Conitruction, as the Plays of Shakefpeare ; nay, perhaps, it might be proved that, amidft. the molt open Violation of the lefler critical Unities, one Point is more Steadily purfued, one Character more uniformly fhewn, and one grand Purpofe of the Fable more evidently accomplished in the Productions of $hakejpeare than of Congreve, These Fables (it may be further objected) founded on romantick Novels, are unpardonably wild and extravagant in their Circumftances, and exhibit too little even of the Manners of the Age in which they were written. The Plays too are in themlelves a Kind of heterogeneous Compolition ; fcarce any of them being, ltriclly fpeaking, Tragedy, Comedy, or even Tragi- co^ medy, but rather an indigefted Jumble of every Species thrown together, This Charge muft be cohfefled to be true : But upon Examination it will, perhaps, be found b a xxii Critical Reflections on the of lcfs Confequcnce than is generally imagine d Thefe Dramatick Tales, for ib we may belt itile fuch Plays, have often occasioned much Pleafure to the Reader and Spectator, which could not poflibly have been conveyed to them by any other Vehicle. Many an interefti ng Story, which, from the Diverfity of its Circumftances, cannot be regularly reduced either to Tragedy or Comedy, yet abounds with Character, and con- tains feveral affecting Situations : And why fuch a Story mould lofe its Force, dramatically rela- ted and afiifted by Reprefentation, when it plea- fes, under the colder Form of a Novel, is diffi- cult to conceive. Experience has proved the Ef- fect of fuch Fictions on our Minds; and con- yinceq! us, that the Theatre is not that barren Ground, wherein the Plants of Imagination will not flourim. The Tempefl, The Midfummer Night's Dream, The Merchant of Venice, As 7~ou Like It, Twelfth Night, The Faithful Shepherdefs of Fletcher, (with a much longer Lift that might be added from Shakeffeare, Beaumont and Fletcher, and their Contemporaries, or immediate Succeflbrs) have moil of them, within all our Memories, been ranked among the moft popular Entertain- ments of the Stage. Yet none of thefe can be denominated Tragedy, Comedy, or Tragi-Co- medy. The Play-Bills, I have obferved, cauti- oufly ftile them Plays : And Plays indeed they are, truly fuch, if it be the End of Plays to de- light and inftruct, to captivate at once the Ear, the Eye, and the Mind, by Situations forcibly conceived, and Characters truly delineated. There is one Circumftance in Dramatick Po- etry, which, I think, the chaftifed Notions of Old English Dramatick Writers, xxiii our modern Criticks do not permit them furfici- ently to coniider. Dramatick Nature is of a more large and liberal Quality, than they are willing to allow. It does not confift merely in the Reprefentation of Real Characters, Charac- ters acknowledged to abound in common Life ; but may be extended alfo to the Exhibition of imaginary Beings. To Create, is to be a Poet indeed ; to draw down Beings from another Sphere, and endue them with iuitable Paffions, Affections, Difpofitions, allotting them at the fame Time proper Employment ; to body forth, by the Powers of Imagination, the Forms of 'Things unknown, and to give to airy Nothing a lo- cal Habitation and a Name, furely requires a Ge- nius for the Drama equal, if not fuperior, to the Delineation of Perfonages in the ordinary Courfe of Nature. Shakefpeare in particular is univer- fally acknowledged never to have foared fo far above the Reach of all other Writers, as in thole Inftances, where he feems purpofely to have tranfgrefled the Laws of Criticifm. He appears to have difdained to put his free Soul into Cir^ cumfcription and Confine, which denied his extra- ordinary Talents their full Play, nor gave Scope to the Boundleffnefs of his Imagination. His Witches, Gholts, Fairies, and other imaginary Beings, fcattered through his Plays, are ib many glaring Violations of the common Table of Dra- matick Laws. What then mall we fay ? Shall we confefs their Force and Power over the Soul, fhall we allow them to be Beauties of the moll exquilite Kind, and yet infift on their being ex- punged ? And why ? except it be to reduce the Flights of an exalted Genius, by fixing the Stan-. b 4 xxiv Critical Reflections on the dard of Excellence on the Practice of inferior Writers, who wanted Parts to execute fuch great Dcfigns ; or to accommodate them to the nar- row Ideas of fmall Criticks, who want Souls large enough to comprehend them ? Our Old Writers thought no Perfonage what- ever, unworthy a Place in the Drama, to which they could annex what may be called a Sclty ; that is, to which they could allot Manners and Em- ployments peculiar to itfelf. The fevereit of the Ancients cannot be more eminent for the con- itant Prefervation of Uniformity of Character, than Shahjpeare ; and Shake/peare, in no Inftance, fupports his Characters with more Exactnefs, than in the Conduct of his ideal Beings. The Ghoft in Hamlet is a mining Proof of this Ex cellence. But, in Confequence of the Cuftoxn of tra- cing the Events of a Play minutely from a No- vel, the Authors were fometimes led to reprefent a mere human Creature in Circumitances not quite confonant to Nature, of a Difpoiition ra- ther wild and extravagant, and in both Cafes more efpecialjy repugnant to modern Ideas. This Jadeed required particular Indulgence from the Spectator, but it was an Indulgence, which fel- dom miffed of being amply repaid. Let the Writer but once be allowed, as a neceflary Da- tum, the Poffibility of any Character's being pla- ced in fuch a Situation, or pofTeit of fo peculiar a Turn of Mind, the Behaviour of the Charac- ter is perfectly natural. Shake fpcare\ though the Child of Fancy, feldom or never dreft up a com- Old English Dramatick Writers, xxv mon Mortal in any other than the modeir. Drefs of Nature: But many mining Characters in the Plays of Beaumont and Fletcher are not fo well grounded on the Principles of the human Heart ; and yet, as they were fupported with Spirit, they were received with Applaufe. Shylcck's Contract, with the Penalty of the Pound of Flefh, though not Sha&ejpeare 9 s own Fiction, is perhaps rather improbahle ; at leaf! it would not be regarded as a happy Dramatick Incident in a modern Play ; and yet, having once taken it for granted, how beautifully, nay, how naturally, is the Charac- ter fuftained ! Even this Objection therefore, of a Deviation from Nature, great as it may feem, will be found to be a Plea infufficient to excufe the total Exclufion of our ancient Dramatifts from the Theatre. Shahfpeare, you will readily allow, poneft Beauties more than neceflary to redeem his Faults ; Beauties that excite our Ad- miration, and obliterate his Errors. True. But did no Portion of that divine Spirit fall to the Share of our other Old Writers ? And can their Works be fupprefTed, or concealed, without In- juilice to their Merit ? One of the heft and moft pleafing Plays in MaJJinger, and which, we are told, was origi- nally received with general Approbation, is cal-r led The Picture. The Fiction, whence it takes its Title, and on which the Story of the Play is grounded, may be collected from the fol- lowing fhort Scene. Mathias, a Gentleman of Bohemia, having taken an affecting Leave of his Wife Sophia, with a Refolution of ferving in the King of Hungary 's Army againft the Turks, is xxvi Critical Reflections on the left alone on the Stage, and the Play goes on, as follows : Math. I am ftrangely troubled : Yet why mould I nourifh A Fury here, and with imagin'd Food ? Having no real Grounds on which to raife A Bjilding of Sufpicion fhe ever was, Or enn be f'alfe hereafter ? I in this But foolifhly inquire the Knowledge of A future Sorrow, which, if I find out, My pivfent Ignorance were a cheap P^chafe, 1 Tho' with my Lofs of Being. I have already Dealt with a Friend of mine, a general Scholar, One deeply read in Nature's hidden Secrets, And (tho' with much Unwillingnefs) have won him To do as much as Art can to relblve me My Fate that Follows To my Willi he's come, Enter Baptifta. Julio Baptifta, now I may affirm Your Promife and Performance walk together ; And therefore, without Circumftance, to the Point, Inftruct me what I am. Bapt. I could wifh you had Made Trial of my Love fome other Way. Math. Nay, this is from the Purpofe. Bapt. It you can Proportion your defire to any Mean, I do pronounce you happy : I have found, By certain Rules of Art, your matchlefs Wife Is to this prefent Hour from all Pollution Free and untainted. Math. Good. Bapt. In Pveafon therefore You mould fix here, and make no farther Search Of what may fall hereafter. Math, O Baptifta ! 'Tis not in me to matter fo my Paflions ; Old English Dramatick Writers, xxvii I mufl know farther, or you have made good But half your Promife. While my Love flood by, Holding her upright, and my Pretence was A Watch upon her, her Defires being met too With equal Ardour from me, what one Proof Could fhe give of her Conltancy, being untempted ? But when 1 am abfent, and my coming back Uncertain, and thofe wanton Heats in Women Not to be quench'd by lawful Means, and fhe The abfolute Difpofer of herfclf, Without Controul or Curb ; nay more, invited By Opportunity and all ftrong Temptations, If then fhe hold out Bapt. As no doubt me will. Math. Thofe Doubts mult be made Certainties, Bap~ tijla, By your Aflurance, or your boafted Art Deferves no Admiration. How you trifle , And play with my Affliction ! I'm on The Rack, till you confirm me, Bapt. Sure, Mat bias, I am no God, nor can I dive into Her hidden Thoughts, or know what her Intents are; That is deny'd to Art, and kept conceal'd E'en from the Devils themfelves : They can but guefs, Out of long Obfervation, what is likely ; But pofitively to foretcl that this mail be, You may conclude impoflible ; ail I can I will do for you. When you arediflant from her A thou land Leagues, as if you then were with her, You (hall. know truly when (he is folicited, And how far wrought on. Math. I defire no more. Bapt. Take then this little Model of Sophia, With more than human Skill limn'd to the Life ; Each Line and Lineament of it in the Drawing So punctually. obferv'd, that, had it Motion, In lo much 'twere herfelf. Math. It is indeed An admirable Piece ; but if it have not xxviii Critical Reflections on the < Some hidden Virtue that I cannot guefs at, In what can it advantage me ? llipt. I'll inftruct you. Carry it ftill about you, and as oft As you defire to know how flic's affected, With curious Eyes perule it : While it keeps The Figure it now has, entire and perfect, She is not only innocent in Fact, But unattempted ; but if once it vary From the true Form, and what's now White and Red Incline to Yellow, reftmoft confident She's with all Violence courted, but unconquer'd. But if it turn all Black, 'tis an Allurance The Fort, by Compoution or Surprize, Jfs fore'd, or with her free Confent furrender'd. Nothing can be morcfantaftick, or more in the extravagant Strain of the Italian Novels, than this Fiction : And yet the Play, railed on it, is extremely beautiful, abounds with af- fecting Situations, true Character, and a faith- ful Representation of Nature. The Story, thus opened, proceeds as follows : Mathias departs, accompanied by his Friend, and ferves as a Vo- lunteer in the Hungarian Army againit the 'Turks, A complete Victory being obtained, chiefly by Means of his Valour, he is brought by the Ge- neral to the Hungarian Court, where he not only receives many Honours from the King, but cap- tivates the Heart of the Queen ; whofe Pafiion is not fo much excited by his known Valour or perfonal Attractions, as by his avowed Conftancy to his Wife, and his firm AfTurance of her reci- procal Affection and Fidelity to him. Thefe Circumftances touch the Pride, and raife the Envy of the Queen. She refolves, therefore, to deftroy His conjugal Faith by giving up Her Old English Dramatick Writers, xxix Own, and determines to make Him a defperate Offer of Her Perfon ; and, at the fame Time, under Pretence of Notice of Mathias his being detained for a Month at Court, She difpatches two debauched young Noblemen to tempt the Virtue of Sophia. Thefe Incidents occafion feve- ral affecting Scenes both on the Part of the Huf- band and Wife. Mathlas (not with an unnatu- ral and untheatrical Stoicifm, but with the live- lied Senfibility) nobly withstands the Tempta- tions of the Queen. Sophia, tho' moll: virtu- oufly attached to her Huiband, becomes uneafy at the feigned Stories, which the young Lords recount to her of his various Gallantries at Court, and in a Fit of Jealoufy, Rage, and Refentment, makes a momentary Refolution to give up her Honour. While me is fuppofed to be yet under the Dominion of this Refolution, occurs the following Scene between the Huiband and his Friend : Mathias and Baptifla. Bapt* We are in a defperate Straight ; there's no Evafion, Nor Hope left to come off, but by your yielding To the Neceffity ; you muft feign a Grant To her violent Pamon, or Math. What, my Baptifta ? Bapt. We are but dead elfe. Math. Were the Sword now heav'd up, And my Neck upon the Block, I would not buy An Hour's Reprieve with the Lofs of Faith and Virtue, To be made immortal here. Art thou a Scholar, Nay, almoft without a Parallel, and yet fear To die, which is inevitable ? You may urge The many Years that by the Courfe of Nature We may travel in this tedious Pilgrimage, xxx Critical Reflections on the And hold it as a Blefling, as it is, When Innocence is our Guide ; yet know, Baptifla, Our Virtues are preferr'd before our Years, By the Great Judge. To die untainted in Our Fame and Reputation is the greatelr. ; And to lofe that, can we defire to live ? Or mall I, for a momentary Pleafure, Which foon comes to a Period, to all Times Have Breach of Faith and Perjury remembred In a flill living Epitaph ? No, Baptifla, Since my Sophia will go to her Grave Unfpotted in her Faith, I'll follow her W^ith equal Loyalty : but look on this, Your own great Work, your Mafterpiece, and then She being ftill the fame, teach me to alter. Ha ! fure I do not fleep ! or, if I dream, [The Piciure altered. This is a terrible Virion ! I will clear My Eyefight, perhaps Melancholy makes me See that which is not. Bapt. It is too apparent. I grieve to look upon't ; befldes the Yellow, That docs afiure (he's tempted, there are Lines Of a dark Colour, that difperfe themfelves O'er every Miniature of her Face, and thofe Confirm Math. She is turn'd Whore. Bapt. I muft not fay fo. Yet, as a Friend to Truth, if you will have me Interpret it, in her Confent and Wifh.es, She's falfe, but not in Fact yet. Math. Fad! Bapfifia? Make not yourfelf a Pander to her Loofenefs, In labouring to palliate what a Vizard Of Impudence cannot cover. Did e'er Woman In her Will decline from Chafrity, but found Means To give her hot Lull full Scope ? It is more Polliblc in Nature for grofs Bodies Descending of themfelves, to hang in the Air, Or with my iingle Arm to underprop Old English Dramatick Writers, xxxi A falling Tower ; nay, in its violent Courfe To flop the Light'ning, than to Hay a Woman Hurried by two Furies, Lull: and Falfehood, In her full Career to Wickedncfs. Bapt. Pray you, temper The Violence of your Pafllon. Math. In Extremes Of this Condition, can it be in Man To ufe a Moderation ? I am thrown From a fteep Rock headlong into a Gulph Of Mifery, and find myfelf pad Hope, In the fame Moment that I apprehend That I am falling. And this, the Figure of My Idol, few Hours fince, while me continued In her Perfection, that was late a Mirror, In which I faw miraculous Shapes of Duty, Staid Manners, with all Excellency a Hufband Could wiih in a chafte Wife, is on the fudden Turn'd to a magical Glafs, and does prefentj Nothing but Horns and Horror. Bapt. You may yet (And 'tis the belt Foundation) build up Comfort On your own Goodnefs. Math, No, that hath undone me, For now I hold my Temperance a Sin Worfe than Excefs, and what was Vice a Virtue. Have I refus'd a Queen, and fuch a Queen ( Whofe ravifhing Beauties at the firfl Sight had tempted A Hermit from his Beads, and chang'd his Prayers To amorous Sonnets,) to preferve my Faith Inviolate to Thee, with the Hazard of My Death with Torture, fince me could inflict No lefs for my Contempt, and have I met Such a Return from Thee ? I will not curfe Thee, Nor for thy Falfehood rail againfl the Sex ; 'Tis poor, and common ; I'll only with wife Men Whilper unto myfelf, howe'er they feem, Nor prefent, nor pad Times, nor the Age to come Hath heretofore, can now, or ever ihali Produce one conftant Woman. xxxii Critical Reflections on the Bapt. This is more Than the Satyrifts wrote againfl: 'em. Math, There's no Language That can exprefs the Poiibn of thcfe Afpicks, Thefe weeping Crocodiles, and all too little That hath been faid againfl 'em. But I'll mould My Thoughts into another Form, and if She can outlive the Report of what I've done, This Hand, when next me comes within my Reach, Shall be her Executioner. The Fiction of The Picture being firft. allowed, the mod rigid Critick will, I doubt not, confefs, that the Workings of the human Heart are accu- rately fet down in the above Scene. The Play is not without many others, equally excellent, both before and after it ; nor in thole Days, when the Power of Magick was fo generally be- lieved, that the fevereft Laws were folemnly enacted againfl: Witches and Witchcraft, was the Fiction fo bold and extravagant, as it may feem at prefent. Hoping that the Reader may, by by this Time, be ibmewhat reconciled to the Story, or even interefted in it, I will venture to fubjoin to the long Extracts I have already made from this Play one more Speech, where The Pic- ture is mentioned very beautifully. Math'ws ad- dreffes himfelf to the Queen in thefe Words : Math. To flip once Is incident, and excus'd by human frailty ; But to fall ever, damnable. We were both Guilty, I grant, in tendering our Affection, But, as I hope you will do, I repented. When we are grown up to Ripenefs, our Life is Like to this Picture. While we run A conitant Race in Goodnefs, it retains Thcjult Proportion. But the Journey being Old English Dramatick Writers, xxxiii Tedious, and fweet Temptations in the Way, That may in fome Degree divert us from The Road that we put forth in, e'er we end Our Pilgrimage, it may, like this, turn Yellow, Or be with Blacknefs clouded. But when we Find we have gone affray, and labour to Return unto our never-failing Guide Virtue, Contrition (with unfeigned Tears, The Spots of Vice wafh'd off) will foon reftore it To the firft Purenefs. These feveral Paffages will, I hope, be thought by the judicious Reader to be written in the free Vein of a true Poet, as well as by the exact Hand of a faithful Difciple of Nature. If any of the above Arguments, or, rather, the uncommon Excellence of the great Writers themfelves, can induce the Critick to allow the Excurfions of Fancy on the Theatre, let him not fuppofe that he is here advifed to fubmit to the Perverfion of Nature, or to admire thofe who overleap the modeft Bounds, which fhe has prefcribed to the Drama. I will agree with him, that Plays, wherein the Truth of Dramatick Character is violated, can convey neither Initruction nor De- light. Shakefpeare, Jonfon, Beaumont and Fletcher, Mafjinger, &c. are guilty of no fuch Violation. Indeed the heroick Nonfenfe, which over-runs the Theatrical Productions of Dryden *, Howard, * Nobody can have a truer Veneration for the Poetical Ge- nius of Dryden^ than the Writer of thefe Reflections , but furely that Genius is no where fo much cbfcured, notwith- standing fome tranfient Gleams, as in his Plays; of which He had Himfelf no great Opinion, fince the only Plea He ever urged in their Favour, was, that the Town had received widi Applaufe Plays equally bad. Nothing, perhaps, buKtJis Vol,. I. C xxxiv Critical Reflections on the and the other illuftrious Prototypes of Bayes in the Rehearfal, muft nauieate the mcft indulgent Spectator. The temporary Rage of falle Tafte may perhaps betray the Injudicious into a foolifli Admiration of fuch Extravagance for a (hort Pe- riod : But how will thele Plays ftand the Brunt of critical Indignation, when the Perfonages of the Drama are found to refemble no Characters in Nature, except, perhaps, the difordered In- habitants of Bedlam? If then it muft. be confefTed both from Reafon and Experience, that we can not only endure, but attend with Pleafure to Plays, which are al- moit. merely Dramatick Representations of ro- mantick Novels ; it will furely be a further In- ducement to recur to the Works of our Old Wri- ters, when we find among them many Pieces written on a feverer Plan ; a Plan, more accom- modated to real Life, and approaching more nearly to the modern Ufage. The Merry Wives of Windfor of Shakefpeare, The Fox, The Alchymijl, The Silent JVoman, Every Man in his Humour of Jonfon, The New JVay to pay Old Debts, the City Madam of MaJJinger, &c, &c. all urge their Claim for a Rank in the ordinary Courfeof our Winter Evening Entertainments, not only clear of every Objection made to the above-mentioned Species abfurd Notion of Heroick Plays, could have carried the im mediate SuccefTors to the Old Clafs of Writers into fuch ri- diculous Contradictions to Nature. That I may not appear fingular in my Opinion of Drydea's Dramatick Pieces, I muft beg Leave to refer the Reader to tht Rambler, No. 125, where that judicious Writer has produced divers Inftances from Dry- den 's Plays, firfficient (to ufe the Rambler s own Language) U aivaken the moji torpid RiJtbiUty. Old English Dramatick Writers, xxxr of Dramatick Composition, but adhering more ftriclly to ancient Rule6, than mofl of our later Comedies. In Point of Character, (perhaps the mofl ef- fential Part or* the Drama) our Old Writers far trarifcend the Moderns. It is furely needlefs, in Support of this Opinion, to recite a long lift of Names, when the Memory of every Reader muft fuggefl them to himfelf. The Manners of many of them, it is true, do not prevail at prefent. What then ? Is it difplealing or uninflru&ive to lee the Manners of a former Age pafs in Review before us ? Or is the Mind undelighted at recal- ling the Characters of our Anceflors, while the Eve is confeffedly gratified at the Sight of the Actors drefl in their antique Habits ? Moreover, Fafhion and Cuflom are fo perpetually fluctua- ting, that it mult be a very accurate Piece indeed, and one quite new and warm from the Anvil, that catches the Damon or Cynthia of this Mi- nute. Some Plays of our latefl and moil fafhi- onable Authors are grown as obfolete in this Par- ticular, as thofe of the firfl Writers ; and it may with Safety be affirmed, that Bobadil is not more remote from modern Character, than the ever* admired and every-where-to-be-met-with Lord Foppington. It may, alfo, be further considered, that mofl of the befl Characters in our old Plays, are not merely fugitive and temporary. They are not the fudden Growth of Yeflerday or To-- day, fure of fading or withering To-morrow ; but they were the Delight of pafl Ages, flill con- tinue the Admiration of the prefent, and (to ufe the Language of true Poetry) c 3 xxxvi Critical Reflections on the -To Ages yet unborn appeal, Andlateit Times th' eternal Nature feel. The Actor. There is one Circumftance peculiar to the Dramatick Tales, and to many of the more re- gular Comedies of our old Writers, of which it is too little to fay, that it demands no Apology. It deferves the higheft Commendation, fince it hath been the Means of introducing the molt ca- pital Beauties into their Compolitions, while the fame Species of Excellence could not poiiibly enter thofe of a later Period. I mean the Poetical Stile of their Dialogue. Molt Na- tions, except our own, have imagined mere Prole, which, with Moiieres Bourgeois Gent/1- homme, the meaneft of us have talked from our Cradle, too little elevated for the Language of fhe Theatre. Our Neighbours, the French, at this Day write moit of their Plays, Comedies as well as Tragedies, in Rhime ; a Gothick Practice, which our own Stage once admitted, but long ago wifely rejected. The Grecian Iambick was more happily conceived in the true Spirit of that elegant and magnificent Simplicity, which cha- racterized the Tafre of that Nation. Such a Meafure was well accommodated to the Expref- fions of the Mind, and though it refined indeed on Nature, it did not contradict it. In this, as well as in all other Matters of Literature,, the Ufage of Greece was religioufly obferved at Rome. Phiutus, in his rich Vein of Humour, is nume- rous and poetical. The Comedies of 'Terence, though we cannot agree to read them after Bi- Old English Dramattck Writers, xxxvii fhop Hare, were evidently not written without Regard to Meafure; which is the invincible Rea^ fon, why all Attempts to render them into downright Profe have always proved, and ever muft prove, unfuccefsful ; and if a faint Effort, now under Contemplation, to give a Vernon of them in familiar Blank Verfe (after the Manner of our Old Writers, but without a fervile Imita- tion of Them) mould fail, it muft, I am confi- dent, be owing to the Lamenefs of the Execu- tion. The ILngliJh Heroick Meafure, or, as it is commonly called, Blank Verfe, is perhaps of a more happy Conflruclion, even than the Gre- cian Iambick ; elevated equally, but approach- ing nearer to the Language of Nature, and as well adapted to the Expremon of Comick Hu- mour, as to the Pathos of Tragedy. The mere modern Critick, whofe Idea of- Blank Verfe is perhaps attached to that empty Swell of Phrafeology, fo frequent in our late Tragedies, may conlider thefe Notions as the Ef- fect of Bigotry to our old Authors, rather than the Refult of impartial Criticifm. Let fuch an one carefully read over the Works of thofe Wri- ters, for which I am an Advocate. There he will feldom or ever find that Tumour of Blank Verfe, to which he has been fo much accuftom- ed. He will be furprifed with a familiar Dig- nity, which, though it rifes fomewhat above or- dinary Converfation, is rather an Improvement . than Perverfion of it. He will foon be convin- ced, that Blank Verfe is by no Means appropri- ated folely to the Buikin, but that the Hand of a Mafter may mould it to whatever Purpoles he c 1 xxxvhi Critical Reflections on the pleafes ; and that in Comedy, it will not only admit Humour, but heighten and embellifh it. Inftances might be produced without Number. It mutt however be lamented, that the Modern Trngick Stile, free, indeed, from the mad Flights of Drydettj and his Contemporaries, yet departs equally from Nature. I am apt to think it is in great Meafure owing to the almoft total Exclu- sion of Blank Verfe from all modern Compofi- tions. Tragedy excepted.' The common Uie of an Elevated Diction in Comedy, where the Wri- ter was often, of Neceflity, put upon expreffing the molt ordinary Matters, and where the Sub- ject demanded him to paint the moil ridiculous Emotions of the Mind, was perhaps one of the chief Caufes of that eafy Vigour, fo confpicuous in the Stile of the old Tragedies. Habituated to Poetical Dialogue in thofe Compofitions, wherein They were obliged to adhere more ftrictly to the Simplicity of the Language of Na- ture, the Poets leaint, in thofe of a more raifed Species, not to depart from it too wantonly. They were well acquainted alfo with the Force as well as Elegance of their Mother-Tongue, and chofe to uie iuch Words as may be called Natives of the Language, rather than to harmo- ' nize their Verles, and agonize the Audience with Latin Terminations. Whether the refined Stile of Addifons Cato, and the flowing Verification of Rowe firft occafiuned this Departure from an- cient Simplicity, it is difficult to determine : but it is too true, that Southerne was the laft of our Dramatick Writers, who was, in any Degree, poiieft of that magnificent Plainnefs, which is the genuine Drels of Nature ; though indeed the Plays of Rowe are more fimple than any cf Old English Dramatick; Writers, xxxix his Succeffbrs. It mufl not however be diflem- bled in this Place, that the Stileof our Old Wri- ters is not without Faults ; that They were apt to give too much into Conceits ; that they often puriued an allegorical Train of Thoughts too far ; and were fometimes betrayed into forced, unnatural, quaint, or gigantick Exprefiions. In the Works of Shakefpeare himfelf, every one of thefe Errors may be found ; yet it may be fafely aflerted, that no other Author, ancient or mo- dern, has exprefled himfelf on fuch a Variety of Subjects, with more Eafe, and in a Vein more truly poetical, unlefs, perhaps, we mould except Homer-. Of which, by the bye, the deepen 1 Cri- tick, molt converfant with Idioms and Dialects, is not quite a competent Judge. I would not be underftood, by what I have here laid of Poetical Dialogue, to object to the Uie of Profe, or to infinuate that our modern Comedies are the worfe for being written in that Stile. It is enough for me, to have vindicated the Ufe of a more elevated Manner among our Old Writers. I am well aware that moil Parts of Faljlaff, Ford, Benedick, Maholio, &c. . are written in Profe ; nor indeed would I counfel a modern Writer to attempt the Ufe of Poetical Dialogue in a mere Comedy : A Dramatick Tale, indeed, checquered, like Life itfelf, with various Incidents, ludicrous and affecting, if written by a mafterly Hand, and fomewhat more feverely than thole above-mentioned, would, I doubt not, ftill be received with Candour and Applaufe. The Public would be agreeably furprifed with the Revival of Poetry on the Theatre, and the Opportunity of employing all the belt Perfor- c 4 xl Critical Reflections on the mers, ferious as well as comick, in one Piece, would render it ftill more likely to make a favou- rable Impreflion on the Audience. There is a Gentleman, not unequal to luch a Tafk, who who was once tempted to begin a Piece of this Sort ; but, I fear, he has too much Love of Eafe and Indolence, and too little Ambition of lite- rary Fame, ever to complete it. But to conclude : Have I, Sir, been wafting all this Ink and Time in vain ? Or may it be hoped, that you will extend fome of that Care to the reft of our Old Authors, which you have fo often lavifhed on many a worfe Writer, than the moft inferior of thofe here recommended to You ? It is cer- tainly your Intereft to give Variety to the Pub- lick Tafte, and to diverfify the Colour of our Dramatick Entertainments. Encourage new Attempts; but do Juftice to the Old! The Theatre is a wide Field. Let not one or two Walks of it alone be beaten, but lay open the Whole to the Excurftons of Genius ! This, per- haps, might kindle a Spirit of Originality in our modern Writers for the Stage; who might be tempted to aim at more Novelty in their Com- poiitions. when the Liberality of the Popular Tafte rendered it lets hazardous. That the Nar- rovvnefs of theatrical Criticilm might be enlarged I have no Doubt. Refled, for a Moment, on the uncommon Succefs of Romeo and Juliet , and Every Man in his Humour! and then tell me, whether there are not many other Pieces of as ancient a Date, which, with the proper Curtail- ments and Alterations, would produce the fame Old English Dramatick Writers. xli Effect? Has an induitrious Hand been at the Pains to fcratch up the Dunghill of Drydetfs Am- phitryon for the few Pearls that are buried in it, and lhall the rich Treafures of Beaumont and Fletcher, Jonfon, and Majjinger, lie (as it were) in the Ore, untouched and dilregarded ? Reform your Lift of Plays ! In the Name of Burbage, 'Taylor, and Betterton, I conjure you to it ! Let the Veteran Criticks'once more have the Satis- faction of feeing The Maid's Tragedy, Philajler, King and no King, &c. on the Stage! Reftorc Fletcher s Elder Brother to the Rank unjuftly ufurped by Cibbers Love makes a Man ! and fince you have wifely denfted from giving an annual Affront to the City, by acting The London Cue- holds on Lord Mayor's Day, why will you not pay them a Compliment, by exhibiting The City Madam of Majjinger on the fame Occalion } If after all, Sir, thefe Remonltrances mould prove without Effect, and the Merit of the great Authors mould plead- with You in vain, i will here fairly turn my Back upon you, and addrefs myfelf to the Lovers of Dramatick Compontions in general. They, I am fure, will peruie thofe Works with Pleafure in the Clofet, though they lofe the Satisfaction of feeing them reprefented on the Stage : Nay, fhould They, together with You, concur in determining that fuch Pieces are unfit to be acted, You, as well as They, will, I am confident, agree that fuch Pieces are, at leaft, very worthy to be read. There are many Modern Compontions, feen with Delight at the Theatre, which ficken on the Tafte in the Perufal ; and the honeit Country Gentleman, who has not been prefent at the Reprefentation, lxii Critical Reflections on the wonders with what his London Friends have been fo highlv entertained, and is as much perplexed at the Town-manner of Writing as Mr. Smith in The Rehear/at. The Excellencies of our Old Writers are, on the contrary, not confined to Time and Place, but always bear about them the Evidences of true Genius. MaJJinger is perhaps the leaft known, but not the lead meritorious of any of the old Clafs of Writers. His Works declare him to be no mean Proficient in the fame School. He pofleffes all the Beauties and Blemifhes common to the Writers of that Age. He has, like the reft of them, in Compliance with the Cuftom of the Times, ad- mitted Scenes of a low and grofs Nature, which might be omitted with no more Prejudice to the Fable, than the BufFoonry in Venice Preferred. For his few Faults he makes ample Atonement. His Fables are, moft of them, affecting ; his Characters well conceived, and ftrongly lupport- ed ; and his Diction, flowing, various, elegant, and manly. His two Plays, revived by Better* ton, The Bondman and The Roman Adlor, are not, I think, among the Number of his beft. The Duke of Milan, The Renegado, The Picture, The Fatal Dowry, The Maid of Honour, A New Way to pay Old Debts, The Unnatural Combat, The Guar- dian, The City Madam, are each of them, in my Mind, more excellent. He was a very popular Writer in his own Times, but fo unaccountably, as well as unjuftly, neglected at prefent, that the accurate Compilers of a Work, called The Lives of the Poets, publifhed under the learned Name of the late Mr. Theophilus Gibber, have not fo much as mentioned him. He is, however, take him Old English Dramatick Writers, xliii for all in all, an Author^ whofe Works the intel- ligent Reader will perufe with Admiration: And, that I may not be fuppofed to withdraw my Plea for his Ad million to the Modern Stage, I (hall conclude thefe Reflections with one more Speci- men of his Abilities ; fubmitting it to all Judges of Theatrical Exhibitions, whether the moil mafterly Actor would not here have an Opportu- nity of difplaying his Powers t Advantage. The Extract I mean to fubjoin is from the laft Scene of the firft Act of "The Duke cf Milan. ~M Sforza, having efpoufed the Caufe of the King of France againfr. the Emperor, on the King^s De- feat", is advifed by a Friend, to yield himielf up to the Emperor's Discretion. He confents to this Mcafure, but provides for his Departure in the following Manner ; Sfor, Stay you Francifco. You fee how things Hand with me? Fran. To my Grief : And if the Lois of my poor Life could be A Sacrifice, to reftore them as they were, J willingly would lay it down. Sfor. I think fo ; For I have ever found you true and thankful, Which makes me love the building I have raifed. In your Advancement ; and repent no Grace, I have confer'd upon you : And, believe me, Tho' now Iihould repeat my Favours to you, 1 he Titles I have given you, and the Means - Suitable to your Honours ; that I thought ytSH' , Worthy my Sifter, and my family, And in my Dukedom made you ne>;t myfelf ; It is not to upbraid you ; but to tell you I find you're worthy of them, in your love And Service to me. xliv Critical Reflections on the Fran. Sir, I am your Creature ; And any Shape that you would have me wear, I gladly will put on. Sfor. Thus, then, Francifco; I now am to deliver to your truft A weighty Secret, of fo ftrange a Nature, And 'twill, I know, appear fo monftrous to you, That you will tremble in the Execution, As much as I am tortur'd to command it : For 'tis a Deed fo horrid, that but to hear it, Would flrike into a Ruffian fleih'd in Murthers, Or an obdurate Hangman, foft Compaflion ; And yet, Francifco (of all Men the deareft, And from me mod deferving) fuch my State And ftrange Condition is, that Thou alone Muft know the fatal Service, and perform it. Fran. Thefe Preparations, Sir, to work a Stranger, Or to one unacquainted with your Bounties, Might appear ufeful ; but, to Me, they are Needlefs Impertinencies .: For I dare do Whate'er You dare command. Sfor. But thou muft fwear it. And put into thy Oath, all Joys, or Torments That fright the Wicked, or confirm the Good : Not to conceal it only (that is nothing) But, when foe 'er my Will fhall fpeak, ftrike now ! To fall upon't like Thunder. Fran. Minifter The Oath in any Way, or Form you pleafe, I (land refolv'd to take it. Sfor. Thou muft do, then, What no malevolent Star will dare to look on, It is fo wicked : For which, Men will curfe Thee For being the Inftrument ; and the bleft Angels Forfake Me at my Need for being the Author: For 'tis a Deed of Night, of Night, Francifco, In which the Memory of all good Actions, We can pretend to, fhall be buried quick : Or, if we be remember'd, i: fhall be To fright Pofterity by our Example, Old English Dramatick Writers. xlv That have outgone all Precedents of Villains That were before us ; and fuch as fucceed, Tho' taught in Hell's black School, fhall ne'er come near us. Art thou not fhaken yet ? Fran. I grant you move me : But to a Man confirm'd Sfor. I'll try your Temper : What think you of my Wife ? Fran. As a Thing facred : To whofe fair Name, and Memory, I pay gladly Thefe Signs of Duty: [Kneels* Sfor. Is me. not an Abftract Of all that's rare, or to be wifh'd in Woman ? Ft;an. It were a Kind of Blafphemy to difpute it : But to the Purpofe, Sir. Sfor. Add too her Goodnefs, Her Tendernefs of I me, her Care to pleafe me, Herunfufpected Chaftity, ne'er equal'd, Her Innocence, her Honour O I am loft In the Ocean of her Virtues and her Graces, When I think of them. Fran. Now I find the End Of all your Conjurations : There's fome Service To be done for this fweet Lady. If me have Enemies That ihe would have remov'd Sfor. Alas ! Francifco, , Her greateft Enemy is her greatefl Lover ; Yet, in that Hatred, her Idolator. One Smile of hers would make a Savage tame ; One Accent of that Tongue would calm the Seas, Tho' all the Winds at once ftrive there for Empire. " Yet I, for whom me thinks all this too little, Should I mifcarry in this prefent Journey, (From whence it is all Number. to a Cypher, I ne'er return with Honour) by thy Hand Muft have her murther'd... Fran. Murther'd ! She that loves fo, And fo deferves to be belov'd again ? And I, who fometimes you were pleas'd to favour, Pick'd out the Initrument ? xlvi Critical Reflections, tic* Sfor. Do not fly off: What is decreed, can never be retailed* J Tis more than Love to Her, that marks her out A wifh'd Companion to me, in both Fortunes : And ftrong Affurance of thy zealous Faith, That gives up to thy Truft a Secret* that Racks mould not have forc'd from me. O Frantifco^ There is no Heav'n without Her ; nor a Hell Where She refides. I afk from her but Juftice, And what I would have paid to Her, had Sicknefs* Or any other Accident divore'd Her purer Soul from her unfpotted Body. The flavifh Indian Princes, when they die, Are chearfully attended to the Fire By the Wife, and Slave, that living they lov'd beft, To do them Service in another World : Nor will I be lefs honour'd, that love more* And therefore trifle not, but in thy Looks Exprefs a ready Purpofe to perform What I command ; or, by Marcelia's Soul, This is thy lateft Minute. Fran. 'Tis not Fear Of Death, but Love to you, makes me embrace it. But, for mine own Security, when 'tis done, What Warrant have I } If you pleafe to fign one, I fhall, tho' with Unwillingnefs and Horror, Perform your dreadful Charge. Sfor. I will, Francifco : But ftill remember, that a Prince's Secrets Are Balm, conceal'd; but Poifon, if difcover'd. I may come back ; then this is but a Trial To purchafe thee, if it were poffible, A nearer Place in my Affection but I know thee honeft. Fran. 'Tis a Character I will not part with. Sfor, I may live to reward it* [Exeunt, / I SOME ACCOUNT O F T H E LIFE O F PHILIP MASSINGER. THE LIFE O F PHILIP MASSINGER- THOUGH Mdffinger\ Claim to art emU nent Rank amongft the Englim Drama- tick Writers has never been contested, and the Criticks have placed him immediately after Sbakejpeare, B. Jonfon^ Beaumont and Fletcher; notwithftanding we have certain Evidence that his Plays were much applauded in their Re- prefentation, and warmly commended by co- temporary Writers, yet fuch . has been the unaccountable Fate of this excellent Author, that the Name of Mqffinger, till within thefe twenty Years, has been funk in Obfcurity, and almoft buried in Oblivion. None of our Stage Poets, from the Reftoration to the Be- ginning of his prefent Majefry's Reign, have taken the lcaft Notice of him 01 his Writings *. Vol. I. d The * In the Year 1751 Propofals were printed for a new Edition of Majjuigcr'% Works with Notes and Obfcrvations in 1 The LIFE of The Silence of Dryden is not to be accounted for on any Principle of Reafon or Juftice. But indeed the Man who could treat Shirley with fuch Contempt as to rank him with the Dunces. of his Macfleckno, might wiilk to ftifle the Memory of a Writer, who was as much fuperior to him in Dramatick Excellence, as Dryden himfelf was above all other Writers of his Time, in the Vigour, Harmony and Va- riety of his Numbers. Mr. Rowe has paid Maffingeravery great Com- pliment indeed, but it mufi be granted that it is at the Expence of his own Candour and Honefty. In his Tragedy of the Fair Penitent, he con- defcended to fteal the Plot, Characters,, and fometimes the Sentiments of the Fatal Dow- ry. But this Conduct was as weak as if was unfair; for a fmall Acknowledgement of his Obligations to the original Author would not only have faved him from the Difgrace of a fhameful Detection, but have made that a,. legal Prize which is now an Act of Piracy. We* are told indeed, that Rowe lived in the Days of literary filching ; when Plagiarifm was a fafhionable Trick amongft Authors. Such an in five Volumes i2mo, at the moderate Price of Two Shil- lings and Sixpence per Volume, but the Sublcviption went on i'o llowly that the Project was dropt. * It was the Fafhion with the Wits of the laft Age to conceal the Places from whence they took their Hints or their Subjects. Goldfmitb\ Life of Parnell. Excufe PHILIP MASSINGER. 11 Excufe I think ought no more to be admitted in the Courts of Parnaffus, than a Robber's jus- tifying his Thefts by the great Number of his Aflbciates and Companions, would be al- lowed to be a good Plea in Wejlminfler Hall or at the Old Bailey. The little that can be known of MaJJinger, I have principally gleaned from the fcanty Materials which Antony Wood, in his Athena Oxonienjes, and Mr. Langbaine in his Lives of the Dramatick Poets, have afforded me. That curious and laborious Searcher into Hiftory, Biography and Antiquities, Mr. John Oldys, m his MS. Notes on Langbaine's Poets, has point- ed out lome Miftakes of both thefe Authors reflecting MaJJinger, and has fometimes fug- gefted Matter of Intelligence not unworthy of Notice. To Mr. Reed of Staples Inn I am in- debted for the frank Communication of thefe MS. Notes, a complete Lift of the various Editions of Mqffingers Plays, and feveral ufeful Hints relating to him and his Works. Philip Majinger, the Son of* Philip Majin- ger, a Servant belonging to the Family of Pembroke, was born at Salijbury in the Year 1584. He was entered a Commoner at St. * I cannot guefs from what Information Oldys in his MS. Notes gives the Chrijiian Name of Arthur to Ma/finger's Fa- ther; nor why he ihould reproach Wood for calling him Philip ; iince MaJJinger himlelf, in the Dedication of the Bondman to the Karl of Montgomery, fays exprefsly that hi Father Philip MaJJinger lived and died in the Service of the Honourable Home of Pembroke. d 2 Albans lii the LIFE of Albari \y Hall, Oxford, in the ieventeenth Year of his Age, in 1601 ; where, though encourage d in his Studies by the Earl of Pembroke, yet, fays Wood, he applied his Mind more to Poetry and Romances for ahout four Years or more than to Logick and Philofophy, which he ought to have done, as he was patronized to that End. By fty.ling Ma/finger's Father a Servant, IVood did not, I fuppoie, intend to convey any Mark of Degradation, or any other Meaning than that he was a Gentleman of the Earl of Pem- broke Retinue. It is certain that, in the Year 1597, he was employed hy that Nohleman as a Meffenger on no trifling Butinefs to Queen Eli- zabeth, whofe Character would admit of nothing unimportant or infignirlcant in her Service. A- mongft the Sydney Papers, published hy Collins, there is "a Letter of Rowland IVhite, Efq; to Sir Robert Sydney, in which he acquaints him that Mr. Mafinger was newly come from the Earl of Pembroke with Letters to the Queen for his Lordfhip's Leave of Ablencc on St. George's- Day. This carries a coniiderable Proof that the Bearer of Letters to Elizabeth , on a Matter perhaps which me thought important, was no mean Perfon ; for no Monarchever exacted from the Nobility in general, and the Officers of State in particular, a more rigid and fcrupulous Com- pliance to fhited Order than this Princefs. A different Relation of Maffmger\ College Education is gi\ en hy Langbaine: He informs us, that MaJ/inger's Father was a Gentleman be- longing PHILIP MASSINGER. liii longing to the Earl of Montgomery*, in whofe Service, after having lived many Years, he * Langbaine has committed a Mi {lake rcfpe&irig the Title of Montgomery, which did not belong to the Family 'of Pem- broke till the Deceafe of William Earl of Pembroke, who died 1630. Clarendon, in his Character of Philip Earl of Mont- gomery, who was afterwards Patron to Maffinger, informs us that he was very young when 'JamesX. came to the Crown ; that he was taken with Lord Herbert 's Comlinefs of Perfon, and his Skill in Riding and Hunting; and that after be- flowing many Honours upon him, he created him in 1605, Earl of Montgomery. But Clarendon perhaps did not know the real Caui'e of Lord Herbert's Advancement. The Be- lla viour of the' Scots to the EngliJI) on J tunes' % Acceilion to the Throne of England was generally obnoxious and much relented. At a Meeting of Engli/h and Scotch Gentlemen, at a Horfe Race near Croyden, a fudden Quarrel arofe between them, occafioned by one Mr. Ramfays flriking Philip Lord Herbert in the Face with a Switch. The Englifo would have lb far refented this Affront, as to have made inflantly a national Quarrel of the Matter; and one Gentleman, Mr.. Pinchbeck, rode about the Field with a Dagger in his Hand, crying out, * Let us break our Fajl with them here^ and dine -with them in London? But Herbert not relenting this contumacious Behaviour of Ramfay, the King was fo charm- ed with his peaceable Difpofition, that he made him a Knight, a Baron, a Vifcount and an Earl, all in one Day. Ojbome, from whom I tranferibe this, and who lived during thefe TranfaftionSj intimates, that Herbert's Cowardice pre- vented not only that Day from being fatal to the Scots, but ever after through all England. The Mother of Herbert, the renowned Coimtefs of Pembroke, to whom Sir Philip Sydney, hsr Brother, dedicated his Arcadia, tore her Hair when fhe heard the News of her Son's Pifhonour. It is certainly more probable, that King "James ihould raife Her- bert to the Title of Earl for this paciflck Behaviour, which prevented a national Quarrel, than that he fhould confer that Honour upon him merely for his handfeme Face ; more elpecially as he was never lulpc&ed lo be a Minion of "James. d 3 died ; liv fbe LIFE of died ; that he beftowed a liberal Education on his Son, fending him to the Univerfity of Ox- ford at the Age of Eighteen, in 1602, where he clofely purfued his Studies in Alban Hall for three or four Years. The Accounts of Wood and Langbalne are fo contradictory, that it is impofiible to reconcile them. Nor can we, perhaps, decide perempto- rily which of thefe Guides we fhould follow. Both were diligent Inveftigators of Truth, and both we fhould imagine to be equally capable of getting fuch Materials as were fufficient to authenticate their Narratives. But, after feri- oufly balancing their Merits, I believe the Rea- der will be inclined to juftify my preferring the Authority of Wood to Langbalne. The for- mer lived nearer the Times of Mqffinger than the latter ; he was constantly refident at Oxford, and had the beft Opportunities to know in what Manner the Students then profecuted their Studies. Befldes, it was a Practice familiar to our ancient Nobility, to patronize and educate the Children of Gentlemen who formed their ^Retinue. The illuftrious Houfe of Pembroke I believe has ever diftinguifhed itfelf by the Love and Encouragement of the fine Arts ; Shakefpeare\ and Beaumont and Fletcher *s Works, and many other Books of Poetry, dedicated to the Family of Herbert, give an irrefragable Proof of their generous Difpofition to favour and reward the Followers of the Mufes. Wood PHILIP MASSINGER. lv J Food fays that MaJJmger was fent to Oxford in 1 60 1 ; but according to Langbaine he was not there before 1602. This feeming Diffe- rence may be eafily reconciled ; for the Year then began and ended according to that Mode of Reckoning which took place before the Al^ teration of the Style by Act of Parliament William Earl of Pembroke fucceeded his Fa- ther Henry, who died January 19, 1601. MaJJlnger muir. then, agreeably to Woocfs Ac- count, have been fupported at the Univerfity by the Generofity of this Nobleman. But it feems, our Author's Application to the more iuperficial, though alluring Studies of Poetry and Romances, fruftrated the Intention of his Patron, and difqualified him from receiving a Degree; to obtain which, an Application to Logick and Philofophy was abfolutely necefla- ly ; as the Candidate for that Honour mult pais through an Examination in both before he can obtain it. A Degree conferred upon a Scholar by an Univerfity is, in our Days, held a diftinguimed Mark of Merit ; and in thole Times of fevere Difcipline and ftrict Application to Learning, I fuppofe it was efteemed a neceflary Appendage to him, who was ambitious to rile either in Church or State ; and perhaps it was thought byPerfons of the graver Caft, a Kind of Dif- grace in a Scholar to quit his College without that Proof of Approbation. This fame Earl of d 4 Pembroke >i The LIFE of Pembroke feems to have exacted that Stamp of Merit from William Brown, the Author of Britannia's Paftorals, who was educated at Ex- eter College, Oxford, much about the fame Time our Majfinger refided there. From Wood we learn, that Brown left the Univeriitv before he had taken an Academical Degree, and retired to the Inner Temple, London: That lie return- ed feveral Years after, viz. in 1624, to his College with * Robert Dormer, his Pupil. On the 25th of March, in the fame Year, Brown received Pcrmiflion to be actually created M. A. although the Degree was not conferred upon him till the November following: After he had left College with his Pupil he was gladly received into the Family of William Earl of Pembroke, who had a great Refpcfffor him, and there he made his Fortune fo well thai he pur chafed anFflate -(- Maffinger flayed at the Univerfity of Oxford three or four Years, and then it feems he fet put for London, as if impatient to improve him- felf in the Converfation of the eminent Wits and Poets in that Metropolis : And now com- menced the JKxtl of his Misfortunes, as well as his Fame. I can find no Trace of the pre* cife Time when he began to write for the Stage. The Oxford Hijlorian, I have fo often quoted, * Robert Dormer afterwards Earl of Carnarvon \ he mar- ried Lady Sophia Herbert, Sifter of the Earl of Pembroke, and was killed at the Battle of Najeby, fighting for Charles the Firft. -j~ Wood's Athena, Vol. I. fays, PHILIP MASSINGER. lvii fays, indeed, that after throwing himfelf out in fhort EfTays, he ventured to try his Abilities in the writing of Plays : but what thefe EfTays were, whether Interlude, Mafque, Song, or any other Entertainment of the Stage, we are left to con- jecture. The Vir gin Martyr was, I believe, one of our Author's firft Pieces which he wrote in 'Conjunction with Decker, and is far inferior to any of his other Productions. The Plot and Machinery are very extravagant ; and the Play- is difgraced by vulgar Dialogue and vile Qbfce- nity, Faults which cannot fairly be laid to Maf- /mger's Charge, who, though occasionally licen- tious, is never fo orfenlive and diigufting. Wood and Langbaine agree, that MaJJinger s Dra- matick Pieces were approved ; but whatever might be their Succefs, he ibon experienced the unhappy Confequences of difobliging his Patron the Earl of Pembroke. This Nobleman's Cha- racter is drawn at large by the copious and elo- quent Pen of Lord Clarendon ; who Styles him one of the worthier!: and befl: beloved Men of the Age in which he lived. ' He was a Man, fays the noble Hiftorian, who converted with Per- fons of the moll: pregnant Parts and Understand- ing ; and to fuch, who needed Support or En- couragement, if fairly recommended, he was very liberal. How comes it to pafs, that Maf- Jinger, who was born in the Family of Herbert, and bred at the Univerfity of Oxford, at the Ex- pence of this amiable Man, ihould be fo totally neglected, as it appears from himfelf that he really was ? It MH The L I F E of It is moft probable, tbnt our Author's acting in Oppohtion to the Intention of his Pa- tron, and leaving the Univerfity without his Permiflion, was the leading Cauie of that low Dependence and Straitnefs of Circumftances which he laments ib paffionately in almoft all his Applications to the great Men, whofe Pa- tronage he feems rather to have implored than folicited. It mil ft hurt a generous Mind to read the aU moft fervile Supplications and humiliating Acknowledgements with which moft of his Dedications abound. In the Epiftle dedica- tory of his excellent Tragedy the Duke of Mi/an, he f intreats Lady Catherine Stanhope to fuffer the Examples of more knowing and experienced fVr iters to plead his Pardon for addrefjing his Play to her, the rather, as his Misfortunes have left him no other Courfe to purfue.' He frankly acquaints Sir Robert Wifeman * that he had but faintly fub^ fifed if he had not eft en tafed of his Bounty. The like Acknowledgement of munificent Favour he makes to Sir Francis Folianby f, and Sir Tho- mas Bland. In fhort, the fame Language, though fomewhat varied, runs through the greateft Part of his Addreffes to his Patrons. The queru- lous and petitionary Style is peculiar to Ma/fin- ger above all other Writers. When we read the complimentary Epiftles pf this Author's Cotemporaries, many of whom * Dedication of the Great Duke of Florence. f Dedication of the Maid of Honour. were PHILIP MASSINGER. lis were diftinguiihed for Wit and Learning, and fome of them Perfons of fuperior Rank, abound- ing with the fullefh Approbation of his Merit, and extolling the Force and Grandeur of his Genius, we are at a Lofs to account for fuch a Man's unhappy Condition and dependent Si- tuation. What the Profits were which accrued to him from the Reprefentation of his Plays, cannot now be afcertained ; That the Dramatic Poets were entitled to One Third Night's Profits in the Days of Elizabeth and James the Firft* I believe is not generally known, but can be au- thenticated from a Prologue of Decker to one of his Plays. -f * The Progrefs of Liberality is flow; though after the Re- iteration, fome Plays were a&ed Twenty or Thirty Nights without Interruption, and particularly Drydens Sir Martin Marr-All\ yet the Poets could not obtain more than the Pro- fits of one Night, till the latter End of the laft Century, when, upon the great Succefs of a Play of Southern, I believe it was Oroanoko, the Author obtained the Favour of two Nights: But, in Juftice to the Actors, 1 muft obferve, that befurc the Enlarging the Number of Benefits in Favour of Authors, the Latter received the whole Money taken on their Benefit Night without any Deduction for Charges; Downes, in his Rofcius Anglicanus, acquaints us, that Shadvueil re- ceived for his Third Night of the Squire of Alfatia, 130I ; which, fays Downes, was the greateft Receipt they ever had at that Houfe, (Drury Lane) in fingle Prices. A few Years after Oroonoko was a&ed, Rovue, by the Succefs of one of his Tragedies, had the Honour to increafe the Poets Nights to the Number of Three; fince that Time the Li- berality of feveral Managers has frequently gone farther than the ftated Rule, by giving four, and, 1 believe, fome- times five Nights to very fuccefsful Plavs. -j- If this be not a good Play the Devil's in it. 25s lx The LIFE of It is not Praife is fought for now, but Pence, Though drop d from greafy apron d Audience ; Clap d may he be with Thunder, that plucks Bavs With fuch foul Hands, and with fquint Eyes does gaze On Pallas' Shield, not caring though he gains A cramd third Night, what Filth drops from his brains. But we know how precarious the Benefit Kights of Authors often are, even in this liberal Age, for by a ftrange Peryerfenefs of Fortune, wc fee the Boxes lets frequented, when an Au- thor's Pains and Merit ought to be rewarded, than at other Times. * Towards the Beginning of the lafl Century the Tafle for Plays became fo univerfal, that the Number of Theatres, as Mr. Steevens allures me from the MSS. of Rymer the Hiilorio- grapher, amounted to no lefs than twenty three.* So many rival Theatres muft have confidera- bly diminished the Profits of them all. And though ibme of them, fuch as the Black Friars, the Globe, the Phoenix^ the PJayhouie in Salifbury * Before the Act which limited the Number of Theatres in 1736, we had in London no lefs than fix regular The- atres The Playhoufes of Drury Lane, Covcnt Garden, Lin- coln's Inn Fields, the King's Theatre, the little Theatre in the Haymarket, and Goodman s Fields, were all open at one Time and exhibited Plays, Operas, &c. befides a Playhoufe m James Street, called the Slaughter Houfc, and another in Vil- tiers Street, York Buildings ; there was a Third at IVindmill Hill, and another at May Fair ; and in many of the great Taverns of this Metropolis, particularly the Devil Tavern, Temple Bar, Plays were occafionally acted. Court, PHILIP MAS SINGER. 1x1 Court, and the Cock Pit, were more efleemed and frequented by the better Sort of People than the others ; yet from the Smallnefs of the Price paid for the beft Seat, which was Haifa Crown, we cannot fuppofe, that the Sum Total taken at One of theie Theatres, upon an Average, amounted to more than about 25 or 30/.* From this Eftimation we may fairly conclude, that it was impoffible for Mqffinger to acquire a competent Income from the Reprefentation of his Plays. What Prefents his Dedications pro- duced we cannot eafily conjecture; but from the precarious Circumftances of the Poet, it is reafonable to fuppofe that they were rather fcanty than generous. Nor could the Printer afford a large Sum for the Copy of a Play confifting of ten Sheets, which he fold at the Price of Six Pence. This Information I learn from fome Lines of W, B. to Mqjfinger, on his "Bondman. 'Tis granted for yourTwelve Pence you did fit, And fee and hear, and underjiood not vet ; f The $ From the Diary of Edivard Allen, a celebrated Ator, who founded a College at Dulwicb, in the Reign of King 'James the Firft, we find that the whole Amount of Money taken at the Acting of a Play at his own Theatre, called The Fortune, was no more than 3I. and a few Shillings ; the Diary fays, indeed that the Audience was very (lender. \ This feems to be a much valued Compliment which was frequently paid to our old Dramatic Authors. Beau- wmA tells B, Jatifm in fome verfes in praife of his Ca- taHne, that he was fo deep in fenfe he would not be under- ftood in three Ages An unhappy Panegyrick for a Dra- matic VVntcr, wnoft* worlt Fault mult \a Obfcuritv. ' Dr. Ixii ttt LIFE of The Author in a Chriftian Pity, takes Care of your Good, and prints it for your Sake?, That fuch as will but venture Six Pence more, May know what they but faw and heard before* I am inclined to believe that * Shakefpearc, as afharing Aclor, gained more Money than any of his brother Poets did by the Profits of their Plays". Though Beaumont and Fletcher were the Sons of Men dignified in the Church and the Law, and confequently fuperior to Indigence ; yet I do not find that they rejected any lucrative Ad- vantages they could acquire by their Writings. It was a Cuftom, fays Langbatne, with Fletcher, after he had written the three firft Acts of a Play, to fhew them to the Actors, and make Terms with them for the whole. Without any other Refource but his Pen, and furrounded as he was with many Inconve- niences, Maffinger might indeed be permitted to complain, that his Misfortunes obliged him to write for the Stage. But however mean the Gratifications which he obtained from his Patrons, and however fmall * Dr. Percy, in an Appendix to the Firft Volume of his Rc- licks of Ancient Poetry, quotes, from Green's Groat's JVorth of Wit, a Paflage which will tend to confirm what I have conjectured of Shakefpeare's Share as an Adtor. A Player is- introduced in this Pamphlet of Green, boafting that his Share in Stage Apparel would not be foid for Two Hun- dred Pounds. the PHILIP MASSINGER. hriii the Profits were which arofe from the Acting and Printing of his Plays, he was by no means wanting to himfelf ; he was not remifs in pur- iuing his Intereft, or flow in making known his Pretenfions. He applied to fuch noble Lords and Ladies as were allied by Birth or Marri- age to the Pembroke Family, andJaid Claim to their Favour on Account of his Father's Con- nections with that noble Houfe. The Earl of Montgomery being accidentally at the Reprefentation of the Bondman, and openly approving it, furnimad the Author with a fair Pretence to dedicate that Play to his Lordihip. The Beginning of his'Addrefs is remarkable, and we may guefs from it that the Dedicator had made fome fruitlefs Attempts to be introduced to the Earl. However I could never arrive at the Happlnefs to be made known to your Lordfip, a Defire born with me, to make a 'Tender of all Duties and Services to the noble Family of the Herberts, defended to me as an Inheritance from my dead Father, Philip Maflinger : many Tears he happily /pent in the Ser- vice of your honourable Houfe, and died a Servant fit. This claim to Patronage and Protection is here plainly, though modeitly, infinuated. What Favour he afterwards experienced from this Nobleman during the Life of his Brother Wil- liam Earl of Pembroke, concerning whom Mafjln- B er > lxiv the LIFE of ger always obferves the moft profound Silence, cannot now be known: But when, by the Death of the * latter, the Earl of Montgomery acquired the Title and Eftate of Pembroke, there is reafon to fuppofe that our Author's uneafy Circum- flances were happily relieved, for in a Copy of Verfes written by him on the Death of Charles Lord Herbert, the Earl's Son, he addreffed him not only as his lingular good Lord, but his Pa- tron. He likewife hints in a Prologue to the Play of the Very Woman, that he had revived and altered that Piece in Obedience to the Com- mand of his Patron : By command He undertook this Talk, nor could it fland With his low Fortune, to refufe to do What by his Patron he was call'd unto : For whofe Delight and yours, we hope with Care He hath revived it. It is not improbable, that the Refentment of the Herbert Family to Maffinger, which proceeded from the Offence given to William Earl of Pem- broke, and was merely Perfonal, expired with that Nobleman. That our Author was happy in the Acquaint- ance of Men diftinguimed by Superiority of Rank, and efteemed for their Virtues, is un- queflionable. If Dramatic Hiftory -f had not > * William Earl of Pembroke, *o the great Regret of the Public, died April 10th, 1630. \ Langbaine'% Lives of the Poets. told PHILIP MASSINGER. lxt told us that he was heloved for his Modefty, Candour, Affability, and other amiable Qualities of the Mind, the Teftimonies of Sir AJion Cock- aine, Sir Henry Mcore, Sir "Thomas Jay, of For d, May, Shirley and many Others,would have proved laiting and honourable Records of the Good- nefs of his Mind and the Extent of his Genius. The Epithets of Addrefs conferred on our Author by his Panegyrifh are remarkably af* fectionate, beloved, much ejleemed, dear, worthy, deferving, honour d, long known and long loved Friend y convey the Sentiments of Majfingers Admirers and Friends with an honeft Warmth, worthy of him and the Congratulators. The general Approbation given by the Pub- lic to the Plays which were produced by the united Efforts of Beaumont and Fletcher, tempted many other Dramatic Writers to follow their Example, and to commence joint Traders in Wit, but not with equal Fortune. Thefe twin Stars of Dramatic Poetry were fo well match'd in Abilities, fo uniform in flrength of Sentiment, Brilliancy of Fancy, Elegance of Diction, Variety of Character, and Oeconomy of Plot, that the moid critical Reader could not pretend to determine \^J|re Beaumont began or where Fletcher ended. But the Public might be eafiiy convinced, that this Mode of uniting different Capacities in the joint Fabrication of a Play, was a hazar- dous Undertaking, which fuited very few Wri- Vol. I. e ters txvi ft LIFE o/ ters, and indeed fcarce any but the great Origi- nals themfelves. The unequal Powers of Genius generally produced an heterogenous Offspring, for in no Part of Compofition did the Partners affimilate or harmonize. The whole Work was at beft a Piece of tawdry Patchwork, and of as many Colours as the Patriarch's Coat : The Elements of Matter in Chaos were not more difiimilar and difcordant than the feparate Scenes of thefe hand-in-hand Writers.* !uia Corpore in Uno Frigida pugnabant ctdidis, humentiaficcis, Mollla cum duris, fine ponder e habentia pondus. I have dwelt the longer upon this awkward and ridiculous Partnership in Wit, becaufe our MaJJi?iger fuffered greatly by the Practice. The mixing his fine Ore with foreign Drofs, gave a Credit to his Allies which they did not merit, at the fame Time that his own pure Metal was debafed below its genuine Standard. In this Cenfure I do not mean to include "Nathaniel Field, who affifted our Author in writing his Fatal Dowry ; the comic Scenes of this Writer cannot eafily be feparated from MaJJingers. We * I know of but one Comedy written fince the Times of Beaumont and Fletcher, where the Wit, Fancy, and Hu- mour of two Authors unite fo happily, that the Texture of the Whole may be fuppofed to be woven by one Hand : ThetReader will eafily guefs I mean the Clandejtine Marriagt* PHILIP MASSINGER. lxvii We are told indeed that Majjinger joined with Fletcher in the Writing of a few Plays. Hap* py mould we be to difcover the Dramatick Pieces in which thefe eminent Writers exerted their mutual Talents; for they were almofl: equally matched, and equally capable to earn . the Reward of fuperior Merit. But for this interefting Fact, we have no other Proof than the vague Teitimony of Sir Ajlon Cockaine * g who, in a profaick Copy of Verfes, addrelTed to^the Publiihers of Beaumont and Fletcher, calls upon them to point out which Plays thole Au- thors wrote jointly, and which feparately, and to diftinguifh the Pieces which the united Mufes of Fletcher and Majjinger produced. But this was no more than meer Hearfay ; for Sir AJlorfs Authority was founded, according to Langbaine, upon fomething which he had heard in Con- verfation from one who was Fletcher $ intimate Friend ; we cannot therefore rely on the Truth of this Story. Sir Afton Cockaine was well acquainted with Ma/finger, who would, in all probability, have communicated to his Friend, a Circumftance which was fo honourable to himfelf. * To Mr. Humphrey Mofty and Mr. Humphrey Robin/op,, In the large Book of Plays you late did print In Beaumont and in Fletcher's Name ; why in't Did you not Juftice ? Give to each his due ? For Beaumont of thofe many writ but few : And Majjinger in other few; the main Being lweet IlTues of fweet Fletcher'**, Brain. But how come I (you afk) fo much to know ? Fletcher's chief bofom Friend * inform'd me fo. * Mr. Charles Ctton y Author of Virgil Travejlie. e 2 We ixviU fhi h IF C 0/ We can find no Footfteps of any Intimacy or Acquaintance between Shakefpeare and Maf- Jinger ; though the latter iccms to have much admired the Works of the former, whom he frequently imitated, and ibmetimes, indeed, he has little more than tranferibed him. But Shakefpeare was older than our Poet by twenty Years, and before Maffinger could poflibly be known to the Publick, the Father of the Eng/i/Ij Drama enjoyed that happy Affluence, which enabled him to ipend the greateft Part of his Time at his beloved Stratford upon Avon ; from whence he returned occaiionallv to the Metropolis, to viiit his old Friends, and to ex- hibit lome new Work which his Leifurc in the Country had tempted him to write for the Stage *. But we cannot fo eafily account for Ben Jon- fons Silence refpecling our Author, who out- lived Jonfon only two Years. He, who was fo ready to praife or ceniUre all who fubmitted to, or queftioned his Authority, has not once men- tioned the Man, who after Shakefpeare, Beau- mont, and Fletcher, and himfelf, was the moil diftinguifhed Name in Dramatick Poetry. But this Poet Critick, in Proportion as the Faculties of his Mind decayed, leems to have been more urgent in his Claims to fuperior *T\va.\.Sbcikefpetirc wrote for the Stage till the Year 1614, two Years before his Death, has been proved by Mr. Malonn iu a very laborious and well eftablifhed Acrount of the feveral /Eras when his Plavs were a&ed. Vide laft Edit, of JohnjWi Shakefpeare, 10 Vol. Svo. Merit ; PHILIP MASSINGER. lxix Merit ; and the publick Voice not according with his own, it rendered him more petulant, prefumptuous, and peevifh. He valued himfelf much upon his Tragick Style, which was his worft Species of Composition. His Difappoint- ment of Succefs \i\Sejcimts> did not prevent him from writing his beloved Cata/ine, as I think my Lord Dorfet feme where ftyles it. The ill Fate of this Play feems to have hurt his Mind, and damped his Genius. For nothing which he produced afterwards, if we except ibrhe Scenes of an imperfect Piece, called the Sad Shepherd, is worth reading. Tradition informs us, that he wrote his Bartholomew Fair, to revenge the Infult offered to Cat aline. But that Comedy does no Honour to his Memory ; nor to that Publick, who could endure luch Scenes of vile Ribaldry, low Humour, and vulgar Dialogue. Such a Man, ruffled in his Temper, and difgufted with the World, would not temperately bear ib fuccefsful a Rival as Majjinger, who, in Dra- matick Poetry, was equal to himfelf, and great- ly iuperior to his two adopted Heirs, Ran- dolph and Cartwright. yon/on was, beyond all Controverfy, a Man of considerable Abilities. He was an excellent Scholar, and the firft Writer who taught the life of critical Learning in Dramatic Compo- iition. His Humour, though confined to Cha- racters of the loweft Clafs, was genuine ; and in the Conduct of his Scenes, he approached nearer to the Simplicity of the Ancients than any Play Wright of his own Times; but his e 3 . Subjects Ixx The LIFE of Subjects were often ill. chofen ; and though his Portraits were correctly defigned, his Colour- ing was dry and unpleafant, his Wit was fa- shionable, and his Satire local. His Reputation has funk in Proportion as Shakefpeare has been known and admired. The unlimited Obedience to his Stage Laws, which fonfon exacted, not only from the People at large, but from his contemporary Authors, whether Inferiors or Equals, was, in his own Age, often difputed with Warmth, and rejecl> cd with Indignation. Who can forbear fmiling at the extravagant and abfurd Commendations beftowed upon this Man by Selden, Beaumont, Randolph, Chapman, Cartwnght, and others, his Admirers and Flat- terers ? His Son Randolph thus approaches his poeti* cal Parent, with the moll profound and reve** rential Awe : When my Mufe upon obedient Knees Afks not a Father's Bleffing, let her leefe The Fame of her Adoption ; 'tis a Curfe I wilh her, 'caufe I cannot think a worfe ! That his other Son, Cartwnght, mould pre^ fer Jon/on and Fletcher to Shakefpeare, and even ridicule the Humour of the matchlefs Bard, can be attributed to nothing but a bad Tafte, or the grofTeft Partiality, That PHILIP MASSINGER. lxxi That MqJJinger fcorned to bow the Knee to this felf-elected Monarch, may be proved, I think, from fome Lines in his Prologue to the Bafhful hover, ' Let others, building on their Merit, fay Y'are in the wrong, if you move not that way Which they prefcribe you ; as you were bound to learn Their Maxims, but incapable to difcern 'Tvvixt Truth and Falfehood.' This is the conftant Language of Jonfon, in his Inductions, Prologues, and Epilogues. He will not permit the Audience to decide for themfelves ; he allures them that his Play is good, and they ought to approve it. In the Epilogue to Cynthia s Revels, he fwears to the Excellence of his Workmanmip. I'll only fpeak what I have heard him fay, By 'tis good, and if you like't you may. When the Practice of adopting poetical OfF- fpring firft began, may be with more Rea- dinels conjectured than afcertained. jfonfon, who was as much delighted with an implicit Homage to his Nod of Authority, as ever beau- tiful Woman was charmed with the Number of her Adorers, was, I believe, the Parent of this whimfical Cuftom. Ben was not a little fond of the Delights which flow from focial Plea- fure, and loved the brilk Circulation of the Glafs. Some peculiar Rite muft have followed the Chriftening of the poetical Brat, who, it is likely, paid the Tribute of a fumptuous Dinner, and fome Gallons of Sack, to his Revered Pa- e 4 rent, lxxii the LIFE of rent, for the much defired Bleffing of Adop- tion. It were to be wifhed, that the Circum- stances attending this ParnafTian Ceremony, had been handed down to us, and fet forth as ex- plicitly as the celebrated Leges Convivales, or Club Laws of Jonfon, hung up in the Apollo, at the Devil Tavern. * In Imitation of Ben's Method of creating Heirs of Genius, other Poets claimed an equal Right of railing up poetical Offspring : Chap- man adopted Nath. Field, and what may be thought fomewhat furprizing, Richard Brome t the Servant and Amanuenjis of jfonfon, chofe for his Parent, Decker, the avowed Antagonift, of his Matter. Let us hear what Father Decker fays to his Son Brome, in a congratulatory Poem on his Northern Lafs. To my Son Brome on his Lafs. Which then of both mall I commend ? Or thee that art my Son and Friend, Or her by thee begot ? Majfinger was, I believe, the lair, of thefe poetical Parents ; James Shirley was the Off- spring of his Choice ; and with Mr. Dry den %. Leave, I will be bold to fay, he was not un- * In the Beginning of the Reign of Charles the Firft, or forne Time after, this Society was eftablilhed by Ben Jon- Jon, and all the Members who compofed it were called his Sons; Dr. Motley, afterwards Bifhop of Winthtjle> , and many Perfons of Rank, and Merit, thought themlelves ho- noured to be adopted into the Number of thefe jolly Afio- ciates at the Devil Tavern. worthy PHILIP MASSINGER, lxxiii worthy to be chofen Succeflbr to a Man of the moft approved Dramatical Abilities. As I have given the whole Poem, written by the Father to his adopted Heir, in its proper Place, I ihall only quote here two Lines, which may ferve to prove Mq/fingers Opinion of his Child's Abilities. To his Son James Shirley, on his Minerva, &c. Thou art my Son, in that my Choice is fpoke; Thine, with thy Father's Mufe, ftrikes equal Stroke. Here we fee the modeil: Man, on this Occa- sion, throwing off his ufual Referve, and af- fuming a Dignity conformable to his Merit. Amongfl the Friends of Majjlnger, I muft not forget to name Jofeph Baylor , a very emi- nent Comedian ; who, in a Copy of Verfes, complimented him on the great Succefs of his Roman AElor, a Play in which 'Taylor reprefent- ed the principal Character. In his Addrefs, he ftyles the Poet his long known and loved Friend, Philip Ma//inger. Gof, in fome Latin Verfes, which he wrote upon the fame Play, celebrates the Merit of the Author and the Player. Ecce Philipinte, celebrata Tragaedia, Mufae, Quam Rofeus Britonum Rofcius egit, adeft, Semper fronde ambo vireant Parnaflide, &c. Taylor xlxiv The LIFE of Taylor reprefented the Part of Hamlet, origi- nally ; from the Remembrance of whole Action in that Character, Sir William Davenant is laid to have taught Betterton to perform Wonders. Taylor ! s Name is to be found in the Lift of Actors in Shakefpeare 's and Beaumont and Fletcher's Plays. After having lived above forty Years the Admiration of the Publick, in a Variety of principal Characters, he was unhappily reduced to a State of Indigence. It was his Misfortune to furvive the profperous Days of the Theatre, which the breaking out of the civil Wars in 1640, caufed to be (hut up till the Reftoration of Charles II. a Period of twenty Years. This excellent Actor died very poor, at Richmond, in Surry, about the Year 1655. MaJJtnger did not live to feel the Miferies of that civil Conteft, which deftroyed the Go- vernment of this Kingdom, in Church and State ; he was happy in not feeing the Times of Confufion and Tumult, which though they affect all Ranks of Society, are moil: un- friendly to the Mufes. Had he furvived, he might, perhaps, have fhared the Fate of Tay- lor ; or have been reduced, like his Son Shirley, to earn his Livelihood by teaching Grammar *, MaJJinger died in March 1640, according to our prefent Mode of reckoning, or 1639 agreea- * Shirley died during the Rage of the great Fire of Lon- Johy in 1666. The Terror and Fright which he and his Wife fufferec! from this dreadful Conflagration, precipitated the Death of both. able PHILIP MASSINGER. Ixxv ble to that Style which then prevailed. Wood and Langbaine both agree in the Manner of his Death ; he went to bed in good Health, and was found dead in the Morning, in his own Houfe, on the Bankfide, Southwark. The Come- dians paid a juft Tribute to their deceafed Friend by attending him to his Grave. He was buried about the Middle of the Church-yard, belonging to St. Saviour's Church, commonly called the Bull-head Church-yard. Sir AJlon Cockaine, in an Epitaph which I here tranfcribe from his Poems, published in 1659, acquaints us, that Majfinger was buried in the fame Grave with Fletcher. An Epitaph on Mr. John Fletcher, and Mr. Philip Majfinger, who lay both buried in one Grave, in St. Mary Overys, Church, in South- ivark *, In the fame Grave was Fletcher buried, here Lies the Stage Poet, Philip Majfinger ; Plays they did write together, were great Friends, And now one Grave includes them in their ends. So whom on Earth nothing could part, beneath Here in their Fame they lie, in fpight of Death. After what has been faid of our Author, by the Editor, in his elegant Preface, and by the judicious Writer of the Eflay on our Engljb * The Regifter of that Church, according to Oldys, in his MS. Notes on Langbaine\ Life of Majjinger, records that he was buried in one of the four Church Yards belong- ing to the Bullhead. Dramatick Ixxvi The LIFE of Dramatick Poets, it may be thought fuperflu- ous, as well as impertinent in me, to add any Thing farther upon the Subject. Notwithftanding, I hope I mail be pardoned if I endeavour to point out fome Peculiarities which diftinguim this Writer from his Con- temporaries. The Plots oiMajjinger, like thofe of all our old Dramatifts, are borrowed from furprizing Tales, and ftrange Adventures, from wild Romances and entertaining Novels, or from old Chronicles and well known Hiftory. In the conducting of his Fable, he is confidently and invariably at- tentive. It is not his Cuftom, in Imitation of Beau- mont and Fletcher, to write two or three Acts of a Play with uncommon Energy, and after exciting Expectation, and promising Delight, to difappoint the Reader, by unpardonable Neglect, or an utter Defertion of the Fable. I will not pretend to fay, that thefe valuable Au- thors are always and equally deficient in work- ing up the Cataftrophes of their Plays ; but I will appeal to their moft partial Readers, if they are not often mame fully forgetful and in- dolent, where the Union of Genius and Judg- ment is molt required *. * I have either read or been informed that it was gene- rally Mr. Fletcher's Practice, after he had finilhed three Atts of a Play, to fhew them to the Attors ; and after they had agreed upon Terms, he huddled up the two laft with- out that proper Care which which was requifite. Langba'me's Poets, p. 144. In PHILIP MASSINGER. lxxvii In MaJJitiger, Nature and Art are (o happily connected, that the one never feems to coun- teract the other, and in whatever Rank he may- be placed by the Criticks, yet this Praife cannot be refufed him, that his Genius operates equally in every Part of his Compolition ; for the Powers of his Mind are impartially diftufed through his whole Performance ; no Part is purpofely de- graded to Infipidity, to make another more fplendid and magnificent ; one Act of a Play is not impoverished to enrich another. All the Members of the Piece are cultivated and dif- pofed as Plot, Situation, and Character require. The Editor very juftly obferves, that Majfin- ger excels Shakefpeare himfelf in an eafy con- stant flow of harmonious Language ; nor mould it be forgotten, that the Current of his Style is never interrupted by harm, and obfcurePhrafe- ology, or overloaded with figurative Expref- fion. Nor does he indulge in the wanton and licentious Ufe of mixed Modes in Speech ; he is never at a Lofs for proper Words to cloath his Ideas. And it mull: be faid of him with Truth, that if he does not always rife to Shakef- peare s Vigour of Sentiment, or Ardor of Ex- preflion, neither does he fink like him into mean Quibble, and low Conceit. There is a Difcrimination in the Characters of Ma/finger, by which they are varied as dis- tinctly as thole of Shakefpeare. The Hero, the Statel'man, the Villain, the Fop, the Coward, the Man of Humour, and the Gentleman, fpeak a Lan- Ixxviii The LIFE of a Language appropriated to their feveral Per- ibnages. Sometimes he takes Pleafure in fmoothing the Features of a Villain, and concealing his real Character, till his Wickednefs breaks out into Action; nor is this Peculiarity in our Au- thor effected by any conftrained or abrupt Con- duct, but ftrictly conformable to Dramatick Truth, and the Oeconomy of his Fable. Fran- eifco, in the Duke of Milan, affumes, during the firft Act, fuch a Face of Honefty and Fidelity, that the Reader muft be furprized, though not mocked at the Change of his Behaviour in the fecond Ad. The Villains of Majfinger are not Monfters of Vice, who fin merely from the Delight they feel in the Practice of Wickednefs. Francifco, like Dr. Toung's Zanga, *, carries his Refentment beyond the Limits of his Provo- cation ; but a Sifter difhonoured, is, by an Ita- lian, fuppofed to be a fufficient Caufe for pur- filing the deepeft Revenge. So Montr eviile, in the unnatural Combat, imothers his Rage for the Injuries he had received from Malefort, with whom he lives in great Familiarity, and the higheft feeming Warmth of Friendship, till he gains an Opportunity, towards the Clofe of the Play, to glut his Appetite of Revenge, by ra- vifhing Maleforfs Daughter, and upbraiding him at the fame Time with the Wrongs which he had fuffered from him. * In the Tragedy of the Revenge, Francifco has fome Features not unlike thofe of the Moor. And 1 cannot help thinking, that Young had read the Duke of Milan, and bor- rowed a few Hints from that Tragedy. Majjinger, PHILIP MASSINGER. lxxhc Mqjjinger is equally fkilful in producing Co- mick and Tragick Delight ; his Characters in both Styles are {tamped by the Hand of Na- ture. Eubulus, in the Picture, is as true a Por- trait of honeft Freedom, fhrewd Obfervation, and lingular Humour, as Shakefpeare* s jEnobar- bus, in Antony and Cleopatra. Durazzo, in the Guardian, is inferior to no Character of agreea- able Singularity in any Author. Joyous in Si- tuations of the utmoft Peril, he is an impartial Lover of Valour, in Friend or Foe ; he par- dons the Follies of Youth, by a generous Re- collection of his own. Durazzo forgives every Thing but Cowardice of Spirit and Meannels of Behaviour ; a more animated and picturefque Defcription of Field Sports than that given by Durazzo is not to be found in any Author. MaJJinger does not ufe the Agency of Fools, who in Shakefpeare 's Management produce fuch admirable Scenes of Delight ; Graculo and Hi- lario in the Duke of Milan and the Piclure feem to partake fomething of the Spanifh Graciofo and the Engli/Ii Clown ; and are employed by our Author as Chorufles to conduct his Plots. That Mqjjinger was no mean Scholar every Reader of Tafte will difcern; his Knowledge in Mythology, and Hiftory antient and modern, appears to have been exteniive ; nor was he a mere Smatterer in Logic, and Philofophy, though Wood informs us that he did not apply himlelf to the Study of thefe Sciences when he was at the University. That he was very con- verfant with the Greek and Roman Claffics, his frequent Ixxx The LIFE of frequent Allufions to poetical Fable, and his interweaving fome of the choiceir. Sentiments of the beft antient Writers in his Plays, fuffi- ciently demonftrate. What he borrowed from the Claries he paid back with Intereft, for he dignified their Sentiments by giving them a new Luftre ; while Jonfon, the fuperftitious Ido- later of the Antients, deforms his Style by affected Phrafeology and verbal Tranflation; his Knowledge was unaccompanied by true Judgment and Elegance of Tafte, and in the Incorporation of foreign Sentiments with his own, he underftood not the Means to enrich his Compofition by artfully borrowing from the dead Languages. It was a Fault common to our old Dramatic Writers, in defcribing the Manners of differ- ent Nations, to forget what Painters call the Coftume; if they laid their Plots in France , Spain, Italy, Germany, or 'Turkey, the Characters were merely JLngliJh, and the Cuftoms, Fa- fhions, Follies, and Vices of our great Metro- polis were fure to be introduced, though the Poet had laid his Scene in Rome or Confiantinople. This Incongruity in national Manners runs through Shakefpeare, B. Jonfon, and Beaumont and Fletcher, as well as MaJJingcr. But though, in the Conduct of the Drama, this was a great Impropriety, the Public, I believe, fuffered no Injury from it. The reigning Enormities and falhionable Follies of the Times, were cenfured, perhaps, with greater Freedom, when the Scene was PHILIP MASSINGER. lxxxi was laid at Venice, than if it had been placed in London. Although the Dramatic Poet is the moft pleafing, he is at the fame Time the moil pun- gent Moralift; and a more powerful Reformer of Vice and Folly than the profeft Satirift himfelf. What are the folemn Sermons of Se- neca, the laughing Reproofs of Horace and the grave Declamations of Juvenal, when compared with the deep Reflections of the melancholy Cardenes,* and the poignant Strictures of a mad Pinion or a diftracted hear ? Seneca dazzles the Reafon, Horace amufes the Fancy, Juvenal alarms the Paffions, but Shakefpeare and Mqffin- ger warm and refine the Heart. Mqffinger, though inferior in pointed Satire to Shakefpeare, feizes every Opportunity to crufri rifing Folly, and repel incroaching Vice. When this Author lived, Luxury in Eating and Finery in Drefs univerfally prevailed, to the molt enormous Excefs. Theie Perverfions of natural Appetite and decent Cuilom he combat- ed with an uncommon Ardor of Refentment, and. applied to them the Force of Ridicule wherever he fairly met them. In his City Madam he at- tacks the Pride, Extravagance, and Affectation of the Citizens and their Wives ; he fixes the Boundaries between the gay Splendors of a Court, and the ibber Cuftoms of the City. The Ci- * A Character in the Play cf the Very Woman. Vol. I. f tizens Ixxxii The LIFE of tizens, by an awkward Imitation of Court Gai- etieshave always rendered themfelves Ridicu- lous. But this is not all In abandoning their own primitive Way of Living, they have loft that Influence which can only be preferved by Induftry, Wealth, Oeconomy, Simplicity, and Plainneis of Manners. MaJJinger does not, like Shake fpeare and Jonfon > fport with Cowardice and Effeminacy ; h<* eonfiders them not only as Defects of Character but as Stains of Immorality: Romonfs Reproof to Noval, a Coward and a Fop, is lingular and bitter. As if thou e'er wert angry But with thy Taylor, and yet that poor Shred Can bring more to the making up of a Man Then can be hoped from thee Thou art his Creature, And did he not each Morn create thee, Thou'dft ftink and be forgotten. I'll not change One Syllable more with, thee, until thou bring Some Teftimony under good Men's Hands Thou art a Chriftian, I iufpect thee flrongly, And will be fatisfied. Fatal Dowry, Act II. But, befides the occaiional Cenfure which Majfinger paffed upon the growing Vices of the Times in which he lived he aimed at higher Game. He boldy attacked the Faults of Minifters and of Kings themfelves. He pointed PHILIP MASSINGER. lxxxiii pointed his Arrows againft Carr and Bucking- ham^ againft James and Charles the Firft. The pufilanimous Temper of James expofed him to the Scorn of all Europe, and rendered him contemptible in the Eyes of his own Subjects; The warlike Spirit of the Nation was fubdued by the Cowardice of the Prince, He was call- ed upon by the Voice of his People, and by his Parliament, to affift his Son-in-Law, Fre- derick, the Elector Palatine, and King of Bohemia, againft the Emperor Ferdinand, who deprived him at laft of the beft Part of his Do- minions* James, inftead of furnifhing Troops to Frederick, contented himfelf with fending Ambafladors to the Aujirian Court, the Futi- lity of which Conduct was ridiculed upon the Stage at Brujells* Majfinger, though from the general Tenor of his Writings, he appears to have been a firm Friend of Monarchy, and warmly attached to Government in Church and State, was not a Favourer of Arbitrary Power, or inclined to put an implicit Faith in the Word of Kings ; he was averfe from embracing the Doctrines of Paf- five Obedience and Non-Refiftance *, fo much * The Conduit of Bi and Fletcher fo far as it refpe&s the Duty which Subjects owe to Kings, deferves Notice : They preach up the nioft Unreferved Submiiiion to Princes, and zealoufly maintain The Right Divim of Kings to govern Wrong. Vet they make no Scruple of plotting againft, and deftroy- ing tyrannical Princes. Vide The Maid's Tragedy. f 2 incui- lxxxiv The LIFE of inculcated by James, in his Speeches to Parlia- ment, and his Court Divines in their Sermons. Majfinger was a good Subject, but not like other Poets, his Contemporaries, a flavifh Flatterer of Power, and an Abettor of defpo- tick Principles. Our Poet, in his Play of the Maid of Hon- our, under the Characters of Roberto, King" of Sicily, and Fulgentio his Favourite, undoubtedly drew the Portraits of fames and his Minion, Carr or Buckingham, or perhaps both. The Duke of Urbino, by his Ambaffador, craves the Affiftance of the King of Sicily. Roberto pleads in his Rcfufal, the Injuftice of the Duke's Caufe. James too, would not own the Title of his Son-in-Law to Bohemia, though he was chofen by the free Votes of the Eflates of that Kingdom ; nor would he permit him to receive the Honours due to his high Rank, from pretended Scruples of Confcience or Mo- tives of Honour. Bertoldo, from many fpi- rited Arguments, urges the King to grant the Duke the requefted Aid. The following Speech will, I believe, confirm my Conjecture of the Sicilian Prince's P^efemblance to our Bri- ti/h Monarch. May you live long * 'The King of Peace ; fo you deny not us The Glory of the War ; let not our Nerves * Rex Pacifcus was a Title that James affe&ed, and was highly pleated with. Shrink PHILIP MASSINGER. lxxxv Shrink up with Sloth, nor for Want of Em- ployment Make younger Brothers Thieves : *Tis their Sword, Sir, Muft fow and reap their Harveft. If Examples May move you more than Arguments, look on England, The Emprefs of the European IJles, Unto whom alone ours yields Precedence : When did fie flour ifi fo as whenjfje was 'The Mijirefs of the Ocean ? Her Navies Putting a Girdle round about the World. When the Iberian quaked, her Worthies nam d% And the fair Fleur de Lis grew palefet by The RedRofe and the White f Let not our Armour Hungup, or our unrigg d Armada make us Ridiculous to the late poor Snakes, our Neighbours, Warmd in our Bofoms ; and to whom again We may be terrible; while we fpend our Hours Without Variety, connn'd to Drink, Dice, Cards, or Whores. When this animated Speech was firft deliver- ed by the Actor, 1 cannot doubt but that it was heard by the Audience with Rapture, and uni- verfally applauded. The Poet fpoke the genuine Senfeof the Nation. James, unhappily for him- felf and his Posterity, inftead of giving free Li- berty to the generous Spirit of his Subjects, and indulging the favourite Paffion of the Nation in the brilk Profecution of a foreign War, by which he might have gained their Love and fecured their Allegiance, cherifhed the Cockle of Difcontent and Sedition, which broke out f 3 with lxxxvi the LIFE of with Violence in the Reign of his SuccefTor, and caufed the Ruin of the King and Kingdom. Of Fulgentio, King Roberto's Favourite, Ber- toldo fpeaks with the utmoft Contempt: Let him keep his Smiles For his State Catamite. Though James was fuppofed to be averfe from the Fair Sex, and was unfuipected of any Intrigue with Women, yet he was extremely folicitous to gratify the amorous Paffions of hia two great Favourites, Somerfei and Buckingham. To forward the former's Marriage with the Countefs of EJfex, he undertook to prove the Neceflity of a Divorce between her and the Earl her Hulband, propter frigiditatem. Many learned Arguments did he make, and feveral obfcene Expreflions did he ufe, in the Profecu-. tion of this unkingly Bufinefs. But if we may credit Sir Edward Peyton, James carried his Complaifance to his Minion Buckingham ftill farther, even to a fhameful Degree of Pan- darifm, " The King entertained Sir John Crofts and his Daughter, a beautiful Lafs, at Newmarket, that Buckingham might have the eaiier Means to vitiate her. And one Mrs. Dorothy Gawdry be- ing a rare Creature, the King carried Bucking- ham to Culford, that he might have his Will of her : But Sir Nicholas Bacon's Sons and Pey- ton himfelf, contrived to fecure the Lady from the King and Buckingham's bafe Intentions *," * Peyton's divine Cataftrophc of the Stuarts, In PHILIP MASSIN-GER. Ixxxvli In the fame Play of the Maid of Honour, King Roberto, willing to fecond the Paffions of his favourite Fulgentio, employs his Influence to for- ward his Match with Camiola. For that Pur- pofe, he fends her a Ring by the Minion himielf ; but the Lady treats Fulgentio with that proper Contempt which his Chara&er de- fer ves : Camiola. Excufe me, Sir, if I Deliver Reafons, why upon no Terms I'll marry you. Fulgentio. Come, your wife Reafons. Cam. Such as they are, pray you take them: Firft, I am doubtful whether you are a Man; Since for a Shape, trimd up in Lady's DreJJing^ You might pafs for a Woman *. Now I love I'odealon Certainties \ and for the Fairnefs Of your Completion, which you think will take me, *Ihe Colour I mufl tell you in a Man y Is weak and faint. Then as you are a Courtier, A graced one too, I fear you have been too for- ward. And fo much for your Perfon, Rich you arc, Dev'liih rich, as 'tis reported, and furely have The Aids ofSatan's little Fiends to get it : And what is got upon his Back, mufl be Spent, you know where. * I have feen Somerfet and Buckingham labour to reicm- b!e Ladies in the Effeminacy of their Dreffings ; though in whorifh Looks and wanton Geftures, they exceeded any Part of Womankind, my Converfation did cope withall. OJborne's Memoirs of James I. f 4 But lxxxviii The LIFE of But MaJJinger did not confine his Cenfure to perfonal Defects or Vices in the Prince and his Minifters. He extended his Satire to an open Attack upon Mal-adminiftration, and the Abuies of Government. The Admirers of the two firfr, Stuarts, Charles and James, will confefs, that though they af- fected to defpife, yet they greatly dreaded, and cordially hated Parliaments ; AfTemblies that were obnoxious to them, becaufe they endea- voured to fix proper Bounds to their Power, and inquired rigoroufly into national Grievan- ces. During their Reigns, Patents, Monopo- lies, Lpans, and Benevolences, were the Abufes "univerfally exclaimed againft:. All thefe raged in full Force, when the Dread of a Houfe of Commons was withdrawn. In the Emperor of the Eafi, a Play acted by the Command of Charles I. Maffinger vindicates the Caufe of the Nation againft unjuft and exorbitant Impofitions, and the JSxcefies of regal and minifterial Authority. A Scene between the Projectors and Pulcheria, the Guardian of the Kingdom, in whofe Character I think he intended a Compliment to the Memory of Queen Elizabeth, gave the Author an Opportunity to fpeak the public Senfe upon the Stage : Pulchena. Projector, I treat firft Of you and your Difciples ; you roar out, All is the Kings ; his IVHFs above his Laivs x And that fit Tributes are too gentle Yokes For PHILIP MASSINGER. lxxxix For his poor Subjects ; whifperlng in his Ear, If they would have his Fear, no Man fhould dare To bring a Sallad from his Country Garden Without the paying Gabel ; kill a Hen Without Excife; or if he defire To have his Children or his Servants wear Their Heads upon their Shoulders, you affirm In Policy, 'tis fit the Owner fhould Pay for them by the Poll ; or if the Prince Want a certain Sum, he may command a City Impossibilities ; and for Nonperformance, Compel /it to fubmit to any Fine His Officers fhall impofe, &c. The Reader of public , Tran factions, during the whole Reign of 'James, and the greateft Part of Charles I. will acknowledge the Juftice of MaJJingcr* s Cenfure. I fhall only obferve, that the City of London was frequently the Object of courtly Impoiition and arbitrary Taxation. From the Authority of Camden, in his An- nals of James I. we learn, that that Mo- narch, in the Year 1620, demanded of the City of London Twenty Thoufand Pounds. As there was no legal Pretence for the Tax, the Citizens did not entirely complv with the royal Mandate ; but willingly, as the fame Author affures us, gave the King Ten Thou- fand Pounds. But enough on this Subject. In a peculiar Strain of Eloquence, and mofl pathetick Art of Perfuafion, Majinger equals, if not excells, all Dramatick Writers, ancient and xc the LIFE cf and modern ; whether he undertakes the De- fence of injured Virtue, avenges the Wrongs of iuffering Beauty, or pleads the Caufe of infulted Merit ; would he footh, by gentle Infi- nuation, or prevail by Strength of Argument, and the Irradiations of Truth ! Does he ar- raign, fupplicate, reproach, threaten or con- demn ! He is equally powerful, victorious and triumphant. What are all the laboured Defences of the Stage, when compared to Pa- ris'* eloquent Vindication of icenical Exhibition before the Roman Senate, in the Tragedy of the Roman Attor f Would the Reader feel the Ef- fects of filial Piety, in its moif amiable and en- thufiaftick Excefs, Jet him read Charolois plead- ing in Behalf of his dead Father, and claiming a Right to his Body, by giving up his own in Exchange, in the Fatal 'Dowry. The fame Charolois, j unifying himfelf from the Charge of Cruelty, in putting to Death an adulterous Wife, exhibits a frill ftrongcr Proof of that inimitable Art, which our Author fo perfectly enjoyed, to move the Paffions, by an irreiiflible. Stream of eloquent and pathetick Language. Maffinger is the avowed Champion of the Fair Sex. He lived at a Time when the Spirit of Chivalry, which owed its Inflitution to the Honours due to the beautiful Part of the Crea- tion, was not quite extinguished. And however the Excefles of Knight Errantry may be ridicul- ed, there is fomething noble in the Idea of pro- tecting Beauty in Difhefs, and refcuing female Innocence from OpprefTion. Our Author always rifes above himfelf, when he defcribes Beauty and PHILIP MASSINGER. xci and its Effects. When a fine Woman is the Sub- ject, his Verfes run with a fweet Fervour, and pleafing Rapidity ; like Milton, when ruminat- ing on the divine Verfes of Homer and other fublime Poets, Majfingers Ideas when feeding, on his favourite Subject. Voluntary move Harmonious Numbers. The Females of Beaumont and Fletcher are for the moil Part violent in their Pafiions, ca- pricious in their Manners, licentious, and even, indecent in their Language, Mqffmger's Fair Ones are cafr in a very dif- ferent Mold ; they partake juif fo much of the male Virtues, Conftancy and Courage, as to render their feminine Qualities more amiable and attractive. Four of our Author's Plays are profefTedly written in Honour of the Fair Sex, The Bond- man, the Bajhful Lover, the Picture, and the Maid of Honour, are fo many beautiful Wreaths, compofed of the choiceft poetical Flowers, and offered on the Shrine of Beauty. I have been tempted by my Veneration for this admirable Writer, to go greater Lengths than I intended, in the Inveitigation of his pe- culiar Excellencies. Majjinger,t\\t more he is read will certainly be more eiteemed and approved,for no Author will better bear the itricteft Exami- nation ; the enjoying the Beauties of this Wri- fcj will be attended, perhaps, with fome little Mur- xcii The LIFE of Murmuring and Self-upbraiding ; Surprize will be accompanied with Indignation, and Delight with Regret; moil: Readers will lament the having had fuch a noble Treaiure within their Reach, without having once looked upon its Luftre ; and in Proportion as their Negligence has been, will be the Profufion of their Praife and Admiration ! Though it mufl: be granted, that Mqffinger, in Compliance with the Times in which he lived, and in Conformity to the Practice of contemporary Writers, did occasionally pro- duce low Characters, and write Scenes of li- centious and reprehensible Dialogue ; yet we mull: remember to his Honour, that he never iports with Religion by prophane Rants or idle Jefting ; nor does he once infult the Clergy, by petulant Witticifm or Common-place Abufe. ^* T O Dr. SAMUEL JOHNSON, I i THIS LIFE of MASSINGER, Is mofl refpe&fully infcribed, As a fmall but fincere Tribute To his liberal and extenfive Learning; His great and uncommon Genius; And his univerfal and active Benevolence ; By his much obliged And moll obedient Servant, THOMAS DAVIES. Speedily will be delivered^ PROPOSALS For Printing by Subfcription, MISCELLANIES, By the WRITER of MA S SI N G ER's Life, IN TWO VOLUMES OCTAVO; CONSISTING OF NOTES and OBSERVATIONS on feveral PLAYS O F SHAKESPEARE; With a Critical REVIEW of his CHARACTERS, And thofe of many eminent DRAMATIC POETS, As reprefented on the Stag t By Mr. G A R R I C K, And ether celebrated COMEDIANS? With Akicdow of AUTHORS, ACTORS, cVc> Sec- VERSES T O Mr. PHILIP MASSINGEL The Author's Friend to the Reader. (Verses prefixed to the Bondman.) THE Printer's Hafte calls on; I muft not drive My Time pafc Six, though I begin at Five. One Hour I have intire, and 'tis enough, Here are no Gipfie Jiggs *, no Drumming Stuff, Dances, or other Trumpery to delight, Or take, by common Way, the common Sight j The Author of this Poeniy as he dares To ftand th' aiifterelt Cenfure; fo he cares As little what it is, his own beft Way Is to be Judge, and Author of his Play : It is his Knowledge makes him thus fecure; Nor does he write to pleafe,- but to indure. -j- And (Reader) if you have difburs'd a Shilling,' To fee this worthy Story/ and are willing To have a large Increafe ; (If rul'd by me) You may a Merchant, and a Poet be : Tis granted for your Twelve- Pence you did fity And fee, and hear, and understand, not yet. * Gipfie Jiggs The Writer had in his Mind a Comedy of Middlcton'% called the Gipjies^ in which there is Abundance of Singing and Dancing. f But to indare He does not wifh to pleafe for a Day and then to be forgotten, but to lait for Ages. D. Vol. I. g The *cviii VERSES TO The Author (in a Chriftian Pity) takes Care of your Good,, and prints it for your Sakes, That fuch as will but venture Sixpence more, May know what they but faw and heard before : Twill not be Money loft. If they can read (There's all the Doubt now) but your Gains exceed If you can underfland, and you're made Free of the freeft, and the nobleft Trade ; And in the Way of Poetry y now-a-days, Of aH that are call'd Works, the beft are Plavs. W. B, Upon this Work * of his beloved Friend the Author, I A M fnapt alreadv and may go my Way ; The Poet Critick's come, I hear him fay This Youth's mrftook, the Author's Work's a Play, He could not mifs-it, he will ftrait appear At fuch a Bait ; 'twas laid on purpofe there To take the Vermin,, and I have him here. Sirrah I you will be nibbling ; a fmall Bit, A Syllable when you're in the hungry Fit Will ferve to Hay the Stomach of your Wit, Fool, Knave r what worfe, for worfe cannot deprave thee; And were the Devil inftantly to have thee, Thou canft not inftance fuch a Work to fave thee, *Mongft all the Ballets which thou doft compofe, And what thou ftileft thy Poems, ill as thofc, And void of Rhime and Realon, thy worfe Profe : ' Yet like a rude Jack-fauce in Poefie, With Thoughts unbleft and Hands unmannerly, Ravifliing Branches from Jpolb's Tree ; * The Suite of Milan, Thou Mr. P. MASSINGER. xcix Thou mak'ft a Garland for thy Touch unfit, And boldly deck'tf thy pig-brain'd Sconce with it, As if it were the fupreme Head of Wit : The blamelefs Mufes, who do not allow That reverend Order to each vulgar Brow, Whole finful Touch profanes the holy Bough: Hence, {hallow Prophet, and admire the Straine Of thine own Pen, or thy poor Cope-mate's Vein ; This Piece two curious is for thy coarfe Braine."-f Here Wit rh6re fortunate is join'd with Art, And that moft facred Frenzy bears a Part Infus'd by Nature in the Poet's Heart. Here may the puny Wits themfelv. s direct, Here may the wifeft find what to afFecx, And Kings may learn their proper Dialect; On then dear Friend, thy Pen thy Name {hall fpread,- And mould'it thou write, while thou malt not be ready The Mufe muft labour, when thy Hand is dead. W. B. J To his dear Friend the Author,- on the Roman Actor.- I AM no great Admirer of the Plays, Poets, or Adtors, that ate now-a-days ; Yet, in this- Work of thine, methinks, I fee Sufficient Reafon for Idolatrv. f Who this fliarp Satire is pointed at cannot pofitively be provedFrom the third Line of" the firft Triplet I fliould imagine B* Jo?ifon, was certainly intended. The Author's Work's a Play, and the Author's Play is a Work, were ExpreiEons frequently fcfed for and againft B. Jon/on. I 'Tis the Opinion of Mr. Reed, that the Initials W. B. Hand for William Bic'm>i 1 the Author ot Britannia's Paftorals. I fee no Reafon to think otherwife, except tjiat Ben Jonfen, whom tr.B. feems to attack all through this Poem, had greatly cele- brated Brozvn*s Paftorals ; but indeed Jonfon was fo capricious in his Temper that we muft not fuppolc him to be very conlhmt in his Friendlhips. 2). g 2 Each c Verses to Each Line thou haft taught C^tcsar, is as high As he could fpeak, when grov'ling Flattery, And his own Pride (forgetting Heaven's Rod) By his Edicts ftil'd himfelf great Lord and God. By thee, again the Laurel crowns his Head ; And, thus reviv'd, who can affirm him dead ? Such Power lies in this lofty Strain as can Give Swords and Legions, to Domitian : And when thy Paris pleads in the Defence Of Actors, every Grace, and Excellence Of Argument for that Subjed:, are by thee Contracted in a fweet Epitome. Nor do thy Women the tir'd Hearers vex With Language no way proper to their Sex. Juft like a cunning Painter thou let'ft fall Copies more fair than the Original. I'll add but this i From all the modern Plays The Stage hath lately borne, this wins the Bays. And if it come to Trial, boldly look To carry it clear, thy Witnefs being thy Book. T. Jay. In Philip pi Massingeri, Poet* Ekgantijf. Ac t o r e m Ro manum, typis excufum. EC C E Philippine, celebrata Tragsedia Mufae Quam Rofeus Britonum Rofcius egit, adeft. Semper, fronde ambo vireant Parnaflide, femper Liber ab invidiam dentibus efto, Liber. Crebra papyrivori fpernas incendia pati Thus, Vaenum expofiti tegmina futa libri : Nee metuas raucos, Momorum Sybila, rhoncos, Tarn bardus nebulo li tamen ullus, erit. Nam toties feftis, actum, placufle Theatris Quod liquet, hoc, Cufum, crede, placebit, opus. Tho. GoFF. To Mr. P. MASSINGER, d fyhis deferring Friend, Mr, Philip Massinger, upon his Tragedy, the Roman Actor, PARIS, the belt of Actors in his Age, Acts yets, and fpeaks upon our Roman Stage Such Lines by thee, as do not derogate {State. From Rome's proud Heights, and her then learned Nor great Demitian's Favour ; nor th' Embraces Of a fair Emprefs, nor thofe often Graces Which from th' applauding Theatres were paid To his brave Action, nor his Ames laid In the Flaminian Way, where People ftrew'd His Grave with Flow'rs, and Martial's Wit beftowM A lading Epitaph ; not all thefe fame Do add lb much Renown to Paris' Name, As this that thou prefent'it, his Hiftory, So well to us. For which, in Thanks, would he (If that his Soul, as thought Pythagoras, *> Coirid into any of our Actors pafs) Life to thefe Lines by Action gladly give Whofe Pen fo well has made his Story live, Tho May.* Upon Mr, Massinger his Roman Actor. TO write, is grown fo common in our Time That ev'ry one, who can but frame a Rhime, However monftrous, gives himfeif that Praife Which only he mould claim, that may wear Bays, By their Applaufe whofe Judgments apprehend The Weight, and Truth, of what they dare commend; In this befotted Age, Friend, 'tis thy Glory That here thou hail: out-done the Roman Story, * May tranflated Lucan into Englifli Verfe, and was a Candi- date for the Office of Poet Laureat with Sir William Davenanf. He wrote feveral Plays ; his Latin Supplement to J^uca?i is much admired by the learned. D. g 3 Pomi* cii -VERSES TO Domitian's Pride ; his Wife's Lull unabated, , In Death ; with Paris, merely were related Without a Soul, until thy abler Pen Spoke them, and made them fpeak, nay adt again In fuch a Height, that here to know their Deeds, He may become an Actor, that but reads. John Forde. * ) LONG 'ST thou to fee proud Casfar fct in State, His Morning Greatnefs, or his Evening Fate, With Admiration here behold him fall, And yet out-live his Tragick Funeral : For 'tis a Queftion whether Caefars Glory Rofeto its Height before, or in this Story, Or whether Paris, in Domitian's Favour, Were more exalted, than in this thy Labour. Eacn Line fpeaks him an Emperor, ev'ry Phrafe; Crowns thy defcrving Temples with the Bays, So that reciprocally both, agree : Thou liv'lt in him, and he furvives in thee. Robert HARVEy t To Fis long knozun and loved Friend, Mr. Phili? M a s s i n c e r, upon his Roman Actor. IF that my Lines, ^cing plac'd before thy Book, Could make it fell, or alter but a Look Of fome four Cenfurer, who's apt to fay, No one in thefe Times can produce a Play Worthy his reading, fince of late, 'tis true, The old accepted are more than the new : Or, could I on fame Spark o'the Court work fo, To make him fpeak no more than he doth know ; * John Forde was the Author of 'Th Pity She's a Whore, 3 Tragedy, and fevcral other Dramatick Pieces. Not Mr. P. MASSING ER. c# Not borrowing from his flatt'ring flatter'd Friend What to difpraife, or wherefore to commend : Then (gentle Friend) I mould not blufh to be Rank'd 'mongft thofe worthy ones, which here I fee Ufhering this Work ; but why I write to thee Is, to profefs our Love's Antiquity, Which to this Tragedy mult give my Tefl, Thou haft made many good, but this thy beft Joseph Taylor. * To my honoured Friend, Mqfter Philip M as singer, upon his Renegado, 1630, DABBLERS in Poetry, that onely can Court this weak Lady or that Gentleman, With fome loofe Witt in Rime ; Others that fright the Time Into Belief, with mighty Words that tear A PalTage through the Ear ; Or nicer Men, That through a Perfpedtive will fee a Play, And ufe it the wrong Way, (Not worth thy Pen) Though all their Pride exalt 'em, cannot be Competent Judges of thy Lines or thee. I muft confefs I have no Publick Name To refcue Judgement, no Poetick Flame To drefs thy Mufe with Praifc, And Phcebus his owne Bayes ; Yet I commend this Poem, and dare tell The World I lik'd it well ; And if there be A Tribe who in their Wifdoms dare accufc This Offspring of thy Mufe, Let them agree Jofcph Taylor was a very celebrated Comedian. He afted the Cfcaraaer oi Fan's in the Play he fo amply commends. D. 7, ter oi Paris in the Plaj g 4 Con- civ VERSESTO Confpire one Comedy, and they will fay, ** 'Tis eafier to Commend, then Make a Play." James Shirley, To his worthy Friend Mqjler Philip Massinger^ on his Play calld the Renegado. TH E Bofom of a Friend cannot breath forth A flattYing Phrafe to fpeak the noble Worth Of him that hath lodg'd in his honeit Breaft, So large a Title : I, among the reft That honour thee do only feem to praife. Wanting the Flow'rs of Art, to deck that Bays Merit has crown'd thy Temples with. Know, Friend | Though there are fome, who merely do commend To live i' th' World's Opinion, fuch as can Cenfure with Judgement, no fuch Piece of Man, Makes up my Spirit; where Defert does live, There will I plant my Wonder, and there give My beft Endeavours to build up his Story That truly merits. I did ever glory To behold Virtue rich ; though cruel Fate In fcornful Malice boes beat low their State That belt deferve ; when others, that but know Onlv to (cribble, and no more, oft grow Great in their Favours, that would ieem to be Patrons of Wit, and modeft Poefy : Yet, with your abler Friends, let me fay this, Many may ftrive to equal you, but mifs Of your fair Scope ; this Work of yours Men may *!Throw in the Face of Envy, and then fay To thofe, that are in great Mens Thoughts more blelt^ Imitate this, and call that Work your bell:. Yet wife Men, in this, and too often, err, When they their Love before the Work prefer. If I mould fay more, fome may blame me for't, Seeing your Merits fpeak you, not Report. Daniel Lakyn. "10 Mr. P. MASSINGER, cv To his worthy Friend, Mr. Philip Massinger^ upon his Tragi-Comedy, ftiled, the Picture. MEthinks I hear fome bufy.Critick fay, Who's this that fingly ufhers in this Play? 'Tis Boldnefs, I confefs, and yet perchanee It may be conftru'd Love, not Arrogance. I do not here upon this Leaf intrude By praifing one, to wrong a Multitude. Nor do I think, that all "are ty'd to be (Forc'd by my Vote) in the fame Creed with me, Each Man hath Liberty to judge : Free Will, At his own Pleafure to fpeak Good, or I'll. But yet your Mufe already's known fo well Her worth will hardly find an Infidel,. Ir^ere fr^e hath drawn a Picture, which fnall lie Safe for all future Times to practice by; Whate'er mail follow are but Copies, fome Preceding Works were Types of this to come, 'Tis your own lively Image, and fets forth, When we are Duft, the Beauty of your Worth, He that fhall duly read, and not advance Ought that is here, betrays his Ignerance. Yet whofoe'er beyond Defert commends, Errs more by much than he that reprehends ; For Praife mifplaced, and Honour fet upon A worthlefs Subject, is Detraction. I cannot fm fo here ? unlefs I went About, to ilyle you only Excellent. Apollo's Gifts are not confln'd alone To your Difpofe, he hath more Heirs than one, And fuch as do derive from his blcit Hand A large Inheritance in the Poet's Land, As well as you ; nor are you I allure Alyfelf fo envious, but you can endure [knQwn, To hear their Praife, whofe Worth long fmce was And juitly too prefer'd before your own, I know cvi VFRSES TO I know you'd take it for an Injury, (And 'tis a well-becoming Modefty) To be parallcl'd with Beaumont, or to hear Your Name by fome too partial Friend writ near Unequal'd Jonlbn ; being Men whole Fire, At Diftancc, and with Rev'rence, you admire* Do fo, and you (hall find your Gain will be Much more, by yielding them Priority, Than with a Certainty of Lois to hold A foolifh Competition : 'tis too bold A Tafk, and to be fliun'd ; nor mall mv Praife, With too much Weight ruin what it would raiie. Thomas Jay. * To my worthy Friend, Mr. Philip Massing er, upon his 'L'ragi-Comedy, called the Emperor of tlx East. SUFFER, my Friend, thefe Lines to havethcGrace, That they may be a Mole on Venus' Face. There is no Fault about thy, Book, but this ; And it will fhew how fair tfry Emperor is. Thou more than Poet ! our Mercury, that art Apollo's MefTenger, and do'ft impart Hisbeft Expreffions to our Ears, live long To purify the flighted Englifh Tongue, That both the Nymphs of Tagus and of Po, May not henceforth defpife our Language fo. Nor could they do it, if they e'er had ften The matchlefs Features of the Fairy Queen ; * Sir Thomas Jay's Eulogium isvery lingular and is widely differ- ent from any that 1 ever read Molt Writers of Commendatory Verfes facrifice all Authors, the Living and the Dead, on the Shrine of their Favourite Ido! But Sir Thomas is fo far from gratifying the Vanity of his Friend, that he puts him in Mind of his Inferiority to Beaumont and Jon/on However we may in this differ from the Knight's Opinion, his Lines are an evident Proof of his own Integrity and Majfinger's Modefty. >. Read Mr. P. MASSINGER. cvii Read Jonfon, Shakefpear, Beaumont, Fletcher, or Thy neat-limned Pieces, ikilful Maffinger. Tho known, all the Caitilians muft confefs Vego de Carpio thy Foil, and blefs His Language can tranflate thee, and the fine Italian Wits, yield to this Work of thine. Were old Pythagoras alive again, In thee he might find Reaibn to maintain His Paradox, that Souls by Tranfmigration In divers Bodies make their Habitation : And more, that all Poetick Souls yet known. Are met in thee, contracted into one. This is a Truth, not an Applaufe : I am One that at fartheft Diftance view thy Flame, Yet may pronounce, that, were Apollo dead, In thee his Poefy might all be read. Forbear thy Modefty ; thy Emperor's Vein Shall live admir'dj when Poets mail complain It is a Pattern of too high a Reach, And what great Phoebus might the Mufes teach, Let it live, therefore, and I dare be bold To fay, it with the World mall not grow old. Aston Cockaine, A Friend to the Author, and Well-w'iflder to the Reader. WH O with a liberal Hand, freely beftows His Bounty, on all Comers, and yet knows No Ebb, nor formal Limits, but proceeds Continuing his hofpitable Deeds, With daily Welcome mail advance his Name Beyond the Art of Flattery ; with fuch Fame, May yours (dear Friend) compare. Your Mule hath Moit bountiful, and I have often feen [been, The willing Seats receive fuch as have fed, And rifen thankful ; yet were fome milled By cviii VERSES TO Bv Nicety, when this fair Banquet came (o I allude) their Stomachs were to blame, Becaufe that excellent, iharp, and poignant SaucQ Was wanting, they arofe without due Grace, Lo ! thus a i'econd Time he doth invite you : Be your own Carvers, and it may delight you. John Clavell, . ' ' ' ' ' ' j To my true Friend and Kinfman, Phili p Massingir. IT A K E not upon Trull, nor am I led By an implicit Faith : what I have read With an impartial Cenfure I dare crown With a deferv'd Applaufe, howe'er cry'd down JBy fuch whofe Malice will not let 'em be Equal to any Piece limn'd forth by thee. Contemn their poor Detraction, and ftill write Poems like this, that can endure the Light, And Search of abler Judgements. This will raife Thy Name ; the other's Scandal is thy Praife. This, oft perus'd by grave Wits, fhall live long, Not die as foon as pait the Actor's Tongue, (The Fate of nighter Toys) and I mufl fay, 'Tis not enough to make a pafling Play, In a true Poet : Works that mould endure, Muft have a Genius in 'em, ftrong as pure. And fuch is thine, Friend : nor mail Time devour 'JThe well-form'd Features of thy Emperor. William Singleton. To my worthy Friend the Author, upon his Tragi-* Comedy, the Maid of Honour, WA S not thy Emperor enough before For thee to give, that thou doit give us more ? I would be juft, but cannot : that I know I did not flander, this I fear I do. But Mr. P. M A S S I N G E L cix But pardon me, if I offend : Thy Fire Let equal Poets praifc, while I admire. If any fay that I enough have writ, They are thy Foes, and envy thee thy Wit. Believe not them, nor me; they know thy Lines Deferve Applaufe, but fpeak againit their Minds. I, out of Juftice, would commend thy Play, But (Friend, forgive me) 'tis above my Way. One Word, and I have done (and from my Heart Would I could fpeak the whole Truth, not the Part) Becaufe 'tis thine ; it henceforth will be faid, Not the Maid of Honour, but the Honour'd Maid. ASTON COCKAINE.* To the ingenious Author, Majler Philip Massinger, on his Comedy, called, A New Way to Pay Old Debts. ? r T^ I S a rare Charity, and thou could'lt not A So proper to the Time have found a Plot : Yet whilft you teach to pay, you lend, the Age We Wretches live in ; that to come, the Stage The thronged Audience that was thither brought Invited by your Fame, and to be taught This Leffbn. All are grown indebted more, And when they look for Freedom ran in Score. It was a cruel Courtefy to call, In Hope of Liberty, and then, enthral. The Nobles are your Bondmen, Gentry, and All befides thofc that did not underfland. * Sir AJlon CockaineWiis the Friend, Companion and Patron of the Dramatick Poets who lived in the Reign of Charles the Firft ; his Regard for Maffingcr induced him to write feveral Copies of Verfes in his Praife, befides his Epitaph. From hisfocial Manner of Living we may reasonably conjecture that he was an agreeable and pleaiant Companion but his o.ni Poems and Plays do not contain anv ftrong marks of Genius or Taite, D. They ex VERSES fd They were no Men of Credit, Bankrupts born,- Fit to be trufted with no Stock, but Scorn* You have more wifely credited to fuch^ That though they cannot pay, can value much. I am your Debtor too, but to my Shame, Repay you nothing back, but your own Fame. Henry Moody.* Miles* To his Friend /^Author.- YO U may remember how you chid me, when I rank'd you equal with thofe glorious Men Beaumont and Fletcher : If you love not Praife,, You muft forbear the publishing of Flays.- The crafty Mazes of the cunning Plot, The polinYd Phrafe, the fweet Expreflions, got Neither by Theft, nor Violence ; the Conceit Frefh and unfullied ; all is of Weight, Able to make the captive Reader know I did but Juftice when I plac'd you fo* A fhamefae'd Bluming would become the Brow Of fome weak Virgin Writer, we allow, To you a Kind of Pride ; and there where mod Should blufh at Commendations, you ihould boafh If any think I flatter, let him look Off from my idle Trifles on thy Book, Thomas Jay. Miles* To Mr. Philip Massinger, my much ejleemW Friend s on his Great Duke of Florence. ENJOY thy Laurel ! 'tis a noble Choice, 1 Not by the Suffrages of Voice Procur'd : but by a Conqueft fo atchiev'd, As that thou hail at full reliev'd Almofl * Sir Henry Moocjy was the Friend of Mafjingcr, but his Vcrfes contift ot nothing but a String of pitiful Puns upon the Title of the Play. D, Mr. P. MASSINGER. cxi Almoft neglected Poetry, whofe Bavs (Sully'd by childiih thirft of Praife) Wither'd into a Dullnefs of Defpair, s Had not thy later Labour (Heir Unto a former Induftry) made known This Work, which thou may'ft call thine own, So rich in Worth, that th' Ignorant may grudge To find true Virtue is become their Judge. George Donne, To the deferving Memory of this worthy Work *, and tlit Author Mr, Philip Massinger. ACTION gives many Poems Right to live ; This Piece gave Life to Action ; and will give For State, and Language, in each Change of Age, To Time, Delight ; and Honour to the Stage. Should late Prefcription fail which fames that Seat, This Pen might ftyle The Duke of Florence Great. Let many write : let much be printed, read, And cenfur'd : Toys; no fooner hatch'd than dead. Here, without Blufh to Truth of Commendation, Is prov'd, how Art hath out-gone Imitation. John Ford, * The Great Duke of Florence. Thefe Commendatroy Verfes are for the greateft'Part more re- markable for Zeal and Affection to the Author, whom thev ce ie- brare, than for Art of Compofition or Vigour of Genius in the Writer! : However it muft be confefled that //'. 7?'s Triplets are fprightly and very fatirical, and May's Commendation of the Ro- man Aftor is written with fome Poetical Spirit. Sir Thomas Jay* Panegyricks are more judicioufly conceived, as well as more har- inonioutly exprefled, than any of the Poems in Honour of IvLvji-.- gcr. Amongft the many Applaudtrs of the Kenan A8er r Gu,f alone has done Jufrice to the Merit of Toy/or*} Repre fen ration of Paris: He indeed has bellowed a joint Wreath upon the Au- thor and the Aclor : The reft feem to have proudly overlooked this great Comedian's Merit Nay fome cf them have wantonly iu.mniated a Deficiency of Abilities in the Aelor to do Juiiice lo hS Author. Z>. A LIST of the OLD EDITIONS of Massinger's Plays. i r T" , HE Virgin Martyr, X T. aded by the Servants of the Revels, 4to 16224 4to 1651, 4to 1661. Decker joined in this Play. 2 The Duke of Milan, T; aded at Black Fryars, 4to 1623, 4to 1638. 3 The Bondman, an antient Story, aded at the Cockpit, Drury Lane, \to 1624, 4to 1638, 8vo 1 719- 4 The Roman Actor, T. aded at Black Fryers, 4to 1629, 8vo 1722. 5 The Renegado, T. C. aded at the Globe and Black Fryers, t\XO 1630. 6 The Picture, T. C. acted at the Globe and Black Fryers 4to 1630. t 7 The Emperor of the East, T. C. acted at the Globe and Black Fryers, 4to 1632. 8 The Maid of Honour, aded at the Pbcenix, Drury Lane, 4 to 1632. 9 The Fatal Dowry, T. acted at Black Fryers, \\o 1632. Nathaniel Field 'join- ed in this Tragedy. to A new way to pay old debts, C. aded at the Pbcenix, Drury Lane, 4to 1633. 11 The Great Duke of Flo- rence, a comical Riftory, acted at the Pbcenix, Drury Lane, \Xo 1636. 12 TheUNNATURALCoMBAT, T. aded at the Globe, 4to 1639. 13 The Bashful Lover, C. acted at Black Fryers, 8vo 1655. 14 The Guardian, a comi- cal Hiltory, adted at Black Fryers, 8vo 1655. 15 A Very Woman: or the Prince of Tare nt, T. C. aded at Black Fryers, 8vo 1655. 16 The Old Law : of a New Way to Please Yow, C aded at Salifbury Houfe, 4*0 1656. Tbomas Middieton and William Rozvlcy joined in this Play. 17 TheCiTY Madam, C. acted at Black Fryers, \X.Q 1659. In a Lift of Dramatick Authors, printed at the End of the fecond Volume of Cibber's Life, under the Article Mafjingcr, I find the following Obferva- tion : Mr. MuJ/mger, I believe, was Author of feveral other Dramatic Pieces ; one I have feeu in Manulciipt, which I am afiured was acted, by the proper Quotations ; the Title runs thus, Believe as yuu Lift Wl men by Mr. M"Jfi" ; with the following Licence : This Play called Believe as you Lift, may be Acled this 6th of May, \6$\. Henry Herbert. I believe this to be a Tranfcript from Chetwood, the Prompter, w ho wrote the Lives of the Aclors, Pubhfhcd 1744. AntonyWood afcribesto Maf/mger the Powerful Favourite, or the Life of Sejanus, Pnhlifhed in 1628. But this Work, w,~s originally written in French by Peter Matthieu; Wood Avas perhaps deceived by the Initials P. M. in the Tiile Page, which might induce him to place ii to our Author. Hov.xvei we can- nol pcetcttf) u> fay who was the Tranfiatoi-. U. THE P I C T U R E. TRAGI-COME'DY. t 6 My Honoured and Selected Friends of *r H E Noble Society of the Inner Temple; T T may be objetled, my not infer ibing their Nantes, or * Title's, to whom I dedicate this Poem,proceedeth either from my Diffidence of their Affetlion to me, or their Un- willingnefs to bepublified the Patrons of a Trifle. To fuch asjhall make fo Jlricl an Inquifition of me, I truly anjwer^ Tht Play, in the Prefentment, found fuch a general Appro- bation, that it gave me affurance of their Favour to whofe Protection it is nowfiicred; and they have profeffed they fofincerely allow of it, and the Maker, that 'they would have freely granted that in the Publication, which , for fome Reafons I denied myfelf One, and that is a main one ; I had rather enjoy fas I have done) the real Proofs of their Friend/trip; than Mountebank-like boafi their Numbers ' in a Catalogue. Accept it, noble Gentlemen, as a Confir- mation of his Service, who hath nothing elfe to ajfureyoU} and witnefs to the World hojju much hejiands engaged for your fo frequent Bounties, and in your charitable Opinion of me believe, that you nozv may, and ever Jhall command, Your Servant, Philip Massinger. A 2 Dramatis Perfonae. Ladiflaus, King of Hungary, Enbulus, an old Counsellor. Ferdinand, General of the Army. Mat hi as, a Knight of Bo- hemia. Ubaldo, TTwo wild Cour- Ricardo, 3 tiers. Hilario, Servant to Sophia, Julio Baptifta, a great Scholar. Honor ia, the Queen. Acanthe, a Maid of Honour* Sophia, Wife to Mathias. Corifca, Sophia's Woman. Six Mafquers. Six Servants to the Queen. Attendants. The Original Attors* Robert Benfield. John Lewin. Richard Sharpe. Joseph Taylor. Thomas Pollard. Eylardt Swanstqne* John Shanuke. William Pen. John Thomson. Alexander Goffe* John Hunnieman. William Trigger THE P I C T U R E. A TRUE HUNGARIAN HISTORY. i " * ' . i !! ' ' i . ' i ' i ' i i - . i . A C T I, S C E N E I. JLntcr Mathias in Armour, Sophia in a riding Suit, Co- rifca, Hjlario, with other Servants, Mathias, SINCE we muftpart, Sophia, to pafs further Is not alone impertinent, but dangerous. We are not diltant from the Turkijh Camp Above five Leagues, and who knows but fome Party Of his Timariots, that fcour the Country, May fall upon us ? be now, as thy Name Truly interpreted, hath ever fpoke thee, Wife, anddifcreet, and to thy Underltanding Marry thy conftant Patience,. Soph, You put me, Sir, To the utmoft Trial of it. Math, Nay, no Melting ; Since the Neceflity that now feparates us, We have long fince difputed, and the Reafons Forcing me to it, too oft wafh'd in Tears. I grant that you in Birth were far above me, And great Men, my Superiors, Rivals for you ; But mutual Confent of Heart, as Hands Join'd by true Love, hath made us one, and equal : A3 6 THEPCTURE, Nor is it in me mere Defire of Fame, Or to be cry'd up by the publick Voice For a brave Soldier, that puts on my Armour ; Such airy Tumours take not me. You know How narrow our Demeans are, and what is more^ Having as yet no Charge of Children on us. We hardly can fubfift. Soph. In you alone, Sir, I have all Abundance. Matk. For my Mind's Content, In your own Language I could anfwer you ; You have been an obedient Wife, a right one ; And to my Power, though ftiort of your Defert, I have been ever an indulgent Hufband. We have long enjoy'd the Sweets of Love, and though Not to Satiety, or Loathing, yet We muft not live fuch Dotards on our Pleafures, As ftill to hug them to the certain Lofs Of Profit and Preferment. Competent Means Maintains a quiet Bed ; Want breeds Diflention, Even in good Women. Soph, Have you found in me, Sir, Any Diftafte ; or Sign of Difcontent, For want of what's fuperfluous ? Math. No, Sophia ; Nor malt thou ever have Caufe to repent Thy conftant Courfe in Goodnefs ; if Heaven bleis My honeft Undertakings. 'Tis for thee That I turn Soldier, and put forth, Deareft, Upon this Sea of Action as a Factor, To trade for rich Materials to adorn Thy noble Parts and ihew 'em in full Luftre. I blufh that other Ladies, lefs in Beauty And outward Form (but in the Harmony Of the Soul's ravifhing Mufic, the fame Age Not to be nam'd with thee) mould fo out-fhine thee\ In Jewels and Variety of Wardrobes ; Wjiile you (to whofe fweet Innocence both Indies Compar'd are of no Value) wanting thefe Pafs unregarded. THE PICTURE. 7 Soph. If I am fo rich, or In your Opinion fo, why fhould you borrow Additions for me ? Math. Why ! I mould be cenfur'd Of Ignorance, poffemng fuch a Jewel Above all Price, if I forbear to give it The beft of Ornaments. Therefore, Sophia, In few Words know my Pleafure, and obey me, As you have ever done- To your Difcretion J leave the Government of my Family, And our poor Fortunes, and from thefe command Obedience to you as to myfelf : To the utmoft of what's mine live plentifully ; And ere the Remnant of our Store be fpent, With my good Sword, I hope, I ihall reap for you A Harveft in fuch full Abundance, as Shall make a merry Winter. Soph. Since you are not To be diverted, Sir, from what you purpofe, All Arguments to ftay you here are ufelefs. Go when you pleafe, Sir: Eyes, I charge you wafte nqj^ One Drop of Sorrow, look you hoard all up Till in my widow'd Bed I call upon you, But then be fure you fail not. You bleft Angels, Guardians of human Life ! I at this Inftant Forbear t'invoke you : at our Parting, 'twere To perfonate Devotion. My Soul {Sfrali go along with you, and when you are Circled with Death and Horror, feek and find you ; And then I will not leave a Saint unfu'd to For your Protection, To tell you what I will do in your Abfence, would mew poorly ; My Actions Ihall fpeak for me ; 'twere to doubt you, To beg I may hear from you where you are ; You cannot live obfcure, nor Ihall one Poll By Night, or Day, pafs unexamin'd by me. If I dwell long upon your Lips, confider After this Feaft the griping Faft that follows, And it will be excufable ; Pray turn from me. 411 that I can is fpoken. [*// Sophia. A 4 S THE PICTURE. Math. Follow your Miftrefs. Forbear your Wi&es for me ; let me find 'em At mv Return, in your prompt Will to ferve her. Hil For my Part, Sir, I will grow lean with Study To make her merry, Corif. Though you are my Lord, Yet being her Gentlewoman, by my Place I may take my leave ; your Hand, or if you pleafe To have me fight fo high, I'll not be coy, Bur ftand a tip-toe for't. Math. O ! farewell, Girl. Hil. A Kifs, well begg'd, Corifca. Corif. 'Twas my fee ; Jove, how he melts ! I cannot blame my Lady's Unwillingneis to part with fuch Marmelade Lips, There will be fcramblmg for 'em in the Camp ; And were it not for my Honefty, I cou'd wiih now I were his leiger Landrefs, I would find Soap of mine own, enough to wafh his Linen, Or I would itrain hard for't. Hil. How the Mammet twitters ! Come, come, my Lady flays for us. Corif. Would I had been Her Ladyfhip the la-ft Night. Hil. No more of that, Wench. {Exeunt Hilario and Corifca, Math. I am ftrangely troubled : Yet why I mould nourim A Fur}- here, and with imagin'd Food ? Having no real Grounds on which to raife A Building of Sufpicion fhe ever was, Or can be falfe hereafter ? I in this But fooliihly inquire the Knowledge of A future Sorrow, which, if I find out, My prefent Ignorance were a cheap Purchafe, Though with my lofs of Being. I have already Dealt with a Friend of mine, a general Scholar, One deeply read in Nature's hidden Secrets, And (though with much Unwillingnefs) have won him THE PICTURE, $ To do as much as Art can to refolve me ^ly Fate that follows To my wifh he's come, Enter Baptifta. Julio Baptijla, now I may affirm Your Promife and Performance walk together ; And therefore, without Circumftance, to the Point, Inftruct. me what I am. Bapt. I could wifh you had ^lade Trial of my Love fome other Way. Math. Nay, this is from the Purpofe. Rapt. If you can, Proportion your Defire to any Mean, I do pronounce you happy : I have found, By certain Rules of Art, your matchlefs Wife Is to this prefent Hour from all Pollution Free and untainted. Math. Good. Bapt. In reafon therefore You mould fix here, and make no farther Search Of what may fall hereafter. Math. O Baptifta ! 5 Tis not in me to matter fo my Paffions ; I muft know farther, or you have made good But half your Promife. While my Love flood by, Holding her upright, and my Prefence was A Watch upon her, her Delires being met too With equal Ardour from me, what one Proof Could flie give of her Conftancy, being untempted ? But when I am abfent, and my coming back Uncertain, and thofe wanton Heats in Women Not to be quench'd by lawful Means, andfhe The abfolute Difpofer of herfelf, Without Controul or Curb ; nay more, invited By Opportunity and all ftrong Temptations, If then fhe hold out Bapt. As no doubt me will. Math. Thofe Doubts muft be made Certainties, Baptijla, u> THE PICTURE. By your Aflurance, or your boafted Art Peferves no Admiration. How you trifle And play with my Affliction ! I'm on The rack, till you confirm me. Baft. Sure, Mat bias, I am no God, nor can I dive into Her hidden Thoughts, or know what her Intents are ; Thax is deny'd to Art, and kept conceal'd E'en from the Devils themfelves : They can but guefs, Out of long Obfervation, what is likely; But pofitively to foretel that this mall be You may conclude impoflible ; all I can I will,do for you, when your are diflant from her A thoufand Leagues, as if you then were with her ; You fhall know truly when me is folicited, And how far wrought on. Math. I defire no more. Bapt. Take then this little Model of Sophia, With more than human Skill limn'd to the Life; Each Line and Lineament of it in the Drawing So punctually obferved, that, had it Motion, In fo much 'twere herfelf. Math. It is, indeed, An admirable Piece ; but if it have not Some hidden Virtue that I cannot guefs at, In what can it advantage me ? Bapt. I'll inftruct you ; Carry it ftill about you, and as oft As you defire to know how ftie's affected, With curious Eyes perufe it: While it keeps The Figure it now has intire and perfect, She is not only innocent in Fact, But unattempted ; but if once it vary From the true Form, and what's now white and red Incline to yellow, reft mod confident She's with all Violence courted, but unconquer'd. But if it turn all black, 'tis an Aflurance The Fort, by Compofition or Surprize, Is forc'd, or with her free Confent, furrender'd, THE PICTURE, i% Math. How much you have engag'd me for this Fa-? vour, The Service of my whole Life fhall make good. Bapt. We will not part fo ; I'll along with you, And it is needful with the rifing Sun The Armies meet; yet ere the Fight begin, In fpite of Oppofition I will place you In the Head of the Hungarian General's Troop, And near his Perfon. Math. As my better Angel You fhall direcl: and guide me. Bapt. As we ride I'll tell you more. Math. In all things I'll obey you. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Enter Ubaldo and Ricardo. J Ric. When came the Poft ? Ubal. The laft Night. Ric. From the Camp ? Ubal. Yes, as 'tis faid, and the Letter writ and fign'd By the General Ferdinand. Ric. Nay, then fans queftion It is of Moment. Ubal. k concerns the Lives Of two great Armies ( Ric. Was it chearfully < Received by the King ? Ubal. Yes, for being aflured The Armies were in View of one another; Having proclaimed a public Faft and Prayer iFor the good Succefs, he difpatch'd a Gentleman Of his Privy Chamber to the General, With abfolute Authority from him To try the Fortune of a Day. Ric, No doubt then The General will come on, and fight it bravely. Heaven profper him : This military Art i% THE PICTURE I grant to be the noblcft of Profeffions ; And yet (I thank my Stars for't) I was never Inclin'dto learn it, mice this bubble Honour, 3 (Which is indeed the Nothing Soldiers fight for, With the Lofs of Limbs or Life) is in my Judgment Too dear a Purchafe. JJbal. Give me our Court-warfare ; The Danger is not great in the Encounter Of a fair Miftrefs. Ric. Fair and found together Do verv well, Waldo. But fuch are With Difficulty to be found out ; and when they know Their Value, priz'd too high. By thy own Report Thou waft at Twelve a Gamefter, and fince that Studied all Kinds of Females, from the Night-trader I'the Street, with certain Danger to thy Pocket, To the great Lady in her Cabinet, That fpent upon thee more in Cullifes, To flrengthen thy weak Back, than would maintain Twelve Flanders Mares, and as many running Horfes i Befides Apothecaries and Chirurgeons Bills, Paid upon all Occafions, and thofe frequent. UbaL You talk, Ricardo, as if yet you were A Novice in thofe Myfleries. Ric. By no means ; My Doctor can afiure the contrary, I lofe no Time. I have felt the Pain and Pleafure, As he that is a Gamefter, and plays often, Muft fometimes be a Lofer. Ubal. Wherefore then Do you envy me ? V3T 3 This Bubble Honour. In fpeaking of Honour , Majjinger feems to have had Sbahjheare in his Eye : Thus, in Asyou like it y Seeking the Bubble, Reputation, Even in the Cannon's Mouth. And in Faljaff'i Catechifui. See the Fifft Part of Henry IV. A3 5. Scene 2. THE PICTURE. t% Ric. It grows not from my Want, Nor thy Abundance, but being as I am The likelier Man, and of much more Experience, My good Parts are my Curfes : There's no Beauty But yields ere it be fummon'd ; and as Nature Had fign'd me the Monopolies of Maidenheads, There's none can buy till I have made my Market i Satiety cloys me : As I live, I would part with Half my Eftate, nay, travel o'er the World, To find that only Rkanix in my Search That could hold out againft me. UbaL Be not rap't fo : You may fpafe that Labour, as me is a Woman^ What think you of the Queen ? Ric. I dare not aim at The Petticoat royal ; that is flill excepted i Yet were fhe not my King's, being the Abftract Of all that's rare, or to be wiftYd in Woman, To write her in my Catalogue, having enjoy'd her, I would venture my Neck to a Halter. But we talk f impoffibilities ; as irie hath a Beauty Would make old Neflor young, fuch Majefty Draws forth a Sword of Terror to defend it* As would fright Paris, though the Queen of Love Vow'd her belt Furtherance to him, UbaL Have you obferv'd x The Gravity of her Language mix'd with Sweetncfs f . Ric. Then, at what Diitance fhe referves herfelf When the King himfelf makes his Approaches to her I UbaL As me were flill a Virgin : and his Life But one continued Wooing, Ric* She well knows Her Worth, and values it, UbaL And fo far the King is Indulgent to her Humours, that he forbears The Duty of a Hufband, but when fhe calls for't. Ric. All his Imaginations and Thoughts Are buried in her ; the loud Noife of War Cannot awake him. UbaL At this very Inflant, ft THE PICTURE) When both his Life and Crown are at the Stakcy He only fludics her Content, and when She's pleas'd to fhew herfclf, Mufic and Mafques Are with all Care and Cod provided for her. Ric. This Night fhe promis'd to appear. TJbal. You may believe it by the Diligence of the King,- As if he were her Harbinger. Enter Ladiflaus, Eubulus, and Attendants with Perfumes* Ladif. Thefe Rooms Are not perfum'd, as we directed. Eub. Not, Sir ! I know not what you would have ; I am fure the Smoak Coft treble the Price of the whole Week's Provifion Spent in your Majefty's Kitchens. Ladif. How ! I fcom Thy grofs Comparifon. When Honoria, Th' Amazement of the prefent Time, and llnvy Of all fuceeding Ages, does defcend To fanc"lify a Place, and in her Prefence Makes it a Temple to me, can I be Too curious, much lefs Prodigal, to receive her ? But that the Splendour of her Beams of Beauty Hath ftruck thee blind. Eub. As Dotage hath done you. Ladif. Dotage, O Blafphemy ! is it in me To ferve her to her Merit ? Is Ihe not The Daughter of a King ? Eub. And you the Son Of ours I take it ; by what Privilege elfe Do you reign over us ? For my Part, I know not Where the Difparity lies. Ladif. Her Birth, old Man, Old in the Kingdom's Service which protects thee, Is the leaft Grace in her : And though her Beauties Might make the Thunderer a Rival for her, They are but fupcrficial Ornaments, And faintly fpeak her. From her heavenly Mind, Were all Antiquity and Fiction loft, T H E V I C T U R E. *5 Our modern Poets could not in their Fancy But fafhion a Minerva far tranfcending TV imagin'd one, whom Homer only dream't of : But then add this, fhe's mine, mine Eubulus : And though fhe knows one Glance from her fair Eyej Mult make all Gazers her Idolaters, She is fo fparing of their Influence, That to fhun Superftition in others, She fhoots her powerful Beams only at me. And can I then, whom me defires to hold Her kingly Captive above all the World, Whpfe Nations and Empires if fhe pleas'd She might command as Slaves, but gladly pay The humble Tribute of my Love and Service ? Nay, if I faid of Adoration to her, I did not err. Eub. Well, fince you hug your Fetters, In Love's Name wear 'em. You are a King, and that Concludes you wife. Your Will a powerful Reafon, Which we that are foolifh Subjects mult not argue. And what in a mean Man I fhould call Folly, Is in your Majefty remarkable Wifdom. But for me I fubfcribe. Ladif. Do, and look up, Upon this Wonder. Loud Mufick, Honoria in State under a Canopy, her Yraht born up by Sylvia and Acanthe, Ric. Wonder ! It is more, Sir. UbaL A Rapture, an Aftonifhment. Ric, What think you, Sir ? Eub. As the King thinks, that is the fureft Guard We Courtiers ever lie at. Was ever Prince So drown'd in Dotage ? Without Spectacles I can fee a handfome Woman, and fhe is fo : But yet to Admiration look not on her. Heaven, how he fawns ! and as it were his Duty, With what allured Gravity fhe receives it ! Her Hand again ! O fhe at length vouchfafcs i6 THE PICTUUi Her Lip, and as he had fuck'd Nectar from ftrj How he's exalted ! Women in their Natures Affedr. Command, but this Humility In a Hufband and a King, marks her the Way To abfolute Tyranny. So, Juno's plac'd In Jove's Tribunal, and like Mercury (Forgetting his own Greatnefs) he attends ]For her employments* She prepares to fpeakj What Oracles fhall we hear now ? Hon, That you pleafe, Sir, With fuch Affurances of Love and Favour, To grace your Handmaid, but in being yours, Sir^ A matchlefs Queen, and one that knows herfelf fo$ Binds me in Retribution to deferve The Grace conferr'd upon me. Ladif. You tranfcend ; In all Things excellent ; and it is my Glory, (Your Worth weigh 'd truly) to depofe myferf From abfolute Command, furrendering up My Will and Faculties to your Difpofure : And here I vow, not for a Day or Year, But my whole Life, which I wifh long, to ferve you j That whatfoever I in Juftice may Exad: from thefe my Subjects, you from me May boldly challenge. And when you require it, In Sign of my Subjection, as your Vaflal, Thus I will pay my Homage. Hon, O forbear, Sir, Let not my Lips envy my Robe : On them Print your Allegiance often. I defire No other Fealty. Ladif. Gracious Sovereign, Boundlefs in Bounty ! Eub. Is not here fine fooling ? He's queftionlefs bewitch'd. Would I were gelt, So that would difenchant him. Though I forfeit My Life for it I mull: fpeak. By your good Leave, Sir, I have no Suit to you, nor can you grant one, Having no Power. You are like me, a Subject/ Her more than ferene Majefty being prefent. THE PICTURE; 17 And I muft tell you, 'tis ill Manners in you, Having depos'd yourfelf, to keep your Hat on, And not ftand bare as we do, being no King* Bat a fellow Subject with us. Gentlemen Ufhers, It does belong to your Place ; fee it reform'd ; He has given away his Crown, and cannot challenge The Privilege of his Bonnet. Ladif. Do not tempt me. Eub. Tempt you, in what? In following your Ex- ample ? If you are angry, queftion me hereafter, As Ladijiaus fhould do Eubulus, On equal Terms. You were of late my Sovereign, But weary of it, I now bend my Knee To her Divinity, and defire a Boon From her more than Magnificence* Hon. Take it freely. Nay, be not mov'd, for our Mirth Sake let us hear him* Eub. 'Tis but to aik a Queition : have you ne'er read The Story of Semiramis and Ninus f Hon. Not as I remember. Eub. I will then inftrud; you* And 'tis to the Purpofe. This Ninus was a King, And fuch an impotent loving King, as this was, But now he's none. This Ninus (pray you obferve me) Doted on this Semiramis, a Smith's Wife, (I muft confefs, there the Comparifon holds not, You are a King's Daughter, yet, under your Correction, Like her, a Woman) this AJjyrian Monarch, (Of whom this is a Pattern) to exprefs His Love and Service, feated her, as you are, In his regal Throne, and bound by Oath his Nobles, Forgetting all Allegiance to himfelf, One Day to be her Subjects, and to put In Execution whatever me . Pleas'd to impofe upon 'em. Pray you command him To minifter the like to us, and then You mall hear what follow'd. Ladif. Well, Sir, to vour Story. Vol. I. B 18 THE PICTURE Eub. You have no Warrant, ftand by ; let me kno\# Your Pleafure, Goddefs. Hon. Let this Nod allure yon. Eub. Goddefs-like, indeed ; as I live a pretty Idol \ She knowing her Power, wifely made Ufe of it ; And fearing his Inconftancy, and Repentance Of what he had granted (as in Realbn, Madam, You may do his) that he might never have Power to recall his Grant, or queftion her For her ihort Government, inftantly gave Order To have his Head (truck off. Ladif. Is't poffible ? Eub. The Story fays fo, and commends her Wifdorrt For making Ufe of her Authority : And it is worth your Imitation, Madam ; He loves Subjection, and you are no Queen, Unlefs you make him feel the Weight of it. You are more than all* the World to him, and that,*' He may be true- to you, and notfeek Change, When his Delights are fated, 'mew him up In fome clofc Prifon, if you let him live, (Which is no Policy) and there diet him As you think fit to feed your Appetite r Since there ends his Ambition. Ubal. Devilifh Counfel. Ric. The King's amaz'd. Ubal. The Queen appears too, full Of deep Imaginations ; Eubulus Hath put both to it. G^r 6 Tou are more than all the World to him, and that He may be Foe to you. This is the reading of all the old Copies, but moil certainly falfe. It ought to be Tou are more than all the World to him, and that He may be fo to yon. If the Amendments propofed were admitted, the PaflTage would nor be Senle. Eubulus propofes to mew him up, not only in onicr to fecure Iter Affeftions to him, but his to her. True is evidently the right Kead.ns/. M. M. THE PICTURE. t* ioV. Now me feems refolv'd : v i long to know the Iffue. [Honoria defcendsi Hon. Give me Leave* Dear Sir, to reprehend you for appearing Perplex'd with what this old Man, out of Envy Of your unequall'd Graces fhower'd upon me* Hath in his fabulous Story faucily Apply'd to me; Sir* that you only nourifh One Doubt, Honoria dares abufe the Power With which fhe is inverted by your Favour* Or that Ihe ever can make Ufe of it To the Injury of you the great BeftOwer, Takes from your Judgment* It was your Delight To feek me with more Obfequioufnefs* Than I defired ; and flood it with my Duty Not to receive what you were pleas'd to offer ? I do but act the Part you put upon me, And though you make me perfonate a Queen, And you my Subject, when the Play, your Pleafure^ Is at a Period. I am what I was ' Before I enter'd, frill your humble Wife, And you my royal Sovereign. Ric. Admirable ! Hon. I have heard of Captains taken more with Danger! Than the Rewards, and if in your Approaches To thofe Delights which are your own, and freely To heighten your Defire, you make the PafTage Narrow and difficult, fhall I prefcribe you ? Or blame your Fondnefs ? Or can that fwell me Beyond my juft Proportion ? UbaL Above Wonder. Ladif. Heaven make me thankful for fuch Goodnefs* Hon. Now, Sir, The State I took to fatisfy your Pleafure, I change to this Humility ; and the Oath You made to me of Homage, I thus cancel* And feat you in your own. Ladif. I am tranfported Beyond myfelf. Hon. And now to your wife Lordfhip, B2 o THE PICTURL Am I prov'd a Semiramis t Or hath My Ninus, as malicioufly you made him, Caufe to repent th' Excefs of Favour to me, Which you call Dotage ? Ladif. Anfwer, Wretch. Eub. I dare,. Sir*. And fay, however the Event may plead In your Defence, you had a guilty Caufe ;. Nor was it Wifdom in you (I repeat it) To teach a Lady, humble in herfelf, With the ridiculous Dotage of a Lover, To be ambitious. Hon. Eubulus, I am fo, . 'Tis rooted in me, you miitake my Temper. I do profefs myfelf to be the molt Ambitious of my Sex, but not to hold Command over my Lord, fuch a proud Torrent! Would fink me in my Wifhes ; not that I Am ignorant how much I can deferve, And may with Juftice challenge. Eub. This I look'd for ; After this feeming humble, Ebb, I knew A gufhing Tide would follow. Hon. By my Birth, And liberal Gifts of Nature, as of Fortune^ From you, as Things beneath me, I expect What's due to Majefly, in which I am A Sharer with your Sovereign. Eub. Good again ! Hon. And as* I am moft eminent in Place,. In all my Actions I would appear fo. Ladif. You need not fear a Rival. Hon. I hope not ; And till 1 find one, I difdain to know What Envy is* Ladif. You are above it, Madam. Hon. For Beauty without Art, Difcourfe, and free r 7 For Beauty without Art, Difcourfe azdfree, &c. Thefe laft Words arc improperly arranged, we mould read For Beauty vjitbokt A,t y and Difcourfe fat from AffeHation. M. M. THE PICTURE. 21 From Affectation, with what Graces clfe Can in the Wife and Daughter of a King Be wifh'd, I dare prefer myfelf. Eub. As I Blulh for you, Lady, Trumpet your own Praifes ! * This fpoken by the People had been heard With Honour to you ; does the Court afford No Oil-tongu'd Parafite, that you are forc'd To be your own grofs Flatterer ? Ladif. Be dumb, Thou Spirit of Contradiction. Hon. The Wolf But barks againfl the Moon, and I contemn it. The Mafque you promis'd. A Horn. Enter a ?oJl. Ladif. Let 'em enter. How I Eub. Here's one, I fear, unlook'd for. Ladif. From the Camp ? Tojl. The General, victorious in your Fortune, Kifles your Hand in this, Sir, Ladif. That great Power, Who at his Pleafure does difpofe of Battles, Be ever prais'd for't. Read, Sweet, and partake it : The Turk is vanquifh'd, and with little Lofs Upon our Part, in which our Joy is doubl'd. Eub. But let it not exalt you ; bear it, Sir, With Moderation, and pay what you owe for't, Ladif. I underftand thee, Eubulus. I'll not now Inquire Particulars. Our Delights defeTr'd, With Rev'rence to the Temples : there we'll tender fcf- 8 As I Blujk ftryou, Lady, trumpet your onion Praifes- Mr. Dodjley, in his Collection of Old Plays, reads this Paflage thus : As I Blujhforyou, Lady, trumpet notyour own Praife. I think that the old Reading fhould ftand. He means, that (he her* felf having loft all Senfe of Shame, he undertakes to blufh for her j gnd therefore ironically bids her proceed. ' 3 % ^ THE PICTURE, Our Soul's Devotions to his dread Might, Who edg'd our Swords, and taught us how to fight. [Exeunt omnes^ End of the Firjl M. ACT It S C E N E I, Enter Hilario, Corifca. Hil. i \T O U like my Speech ? J Corif. Yes, if you give it Action In the Delivery. Hil. If! 1 pity you. I have play'd the Fool before ; this is not the firft Time, Nor fhall be, I hope, the laft. Corif. Nay,- 1 think fo too. Hil. And if I put her not put of her Dumps with Laughter, I'll make her howl for Anger. Corif Not too much Of that, good Fellow Hilario. Our fad Lady Hath drank too often of that bitter Cup, A pleafant one muft reflore her. With what Patience Would lhe endure to hear of the Death of my Lord ; - That merely out of doubt he may mifcarry, Afflicts herfelf thus ? Hil. Urn; 'tis a Queftion A Widow only ca# refolve. There be fome That in their Hufband's Sicknefs have wept Their Pottle of Tears a Day ; but being once certain At Midnight he was dead, have in the Morning Dry'd up their Handkerchiefs, and thought no more on't, Corif. Tulh, fhe is none of that Race ; if her Sorrow Be not true and perfect, I againft my Sex Will take my Oath, Women ne'er wept in earneft, She has made herfelf a Prifoner to her Chamber, Dark as a Dungeon, in which no Beam THE PICTURE. 23 Of Comfort enters. She admits no Vifits ; Eats little, and her nightly Mufick is Of Sighs and Groans, tun'd to fnch Harmony Of feeling Grief, that I, againft my Nature, Am made one of the Concert. This Hour only iShe takes the Air, a Cuftom every Day She folemnly obferves, with greedy Hopes, From fome that pafs by, to receive Aflurancc Of the Succels and Safety of her Lord. Now, if that your Device will take ML Ne'er fear it : I am provided cap-a-pee, and have My Properties in Readinefs. Sophia zvtthin. Bring my Veil, there. Corif. Be gone, I hear her coming. HiL If I do not Appear, and, what's more, appear perfect, hifs me. [Exit Hilario. Enter Sophia, Soph, I was flatter'd once, I was a Star, but now Turn'd a prodigious Meteor ; and, like one, Hang in the Air between my Hopes and Fears, And every Hour (the little Stuff burnt out That yields a waning Light to dying Comfort) I do expedt my Fall, and certain Ruin. * In wretched Things more wretched is Delay; 9 And Hope, a Parafite to me, being unmalk'd, Appears more horrid than Defpair, and my Piftradtion worfe than Madnefs. E'en my Prayers, When with molt Zeal fent upward, are pull'd down With ftrong imaginary Doubts and Fears, C^r 9 In wretched Things more wretched is Delay. This, I think mould be read, To wretched Things, &e. This Alteration is unneceflary, by wretched Things MaJHngcr means *ot unhappy People but unfortunate Event$. M. M. B4 4 THE PICTURE, And in their fudden Precipice o'erwhelm me. Dreams and fantaftick Vifions walk the Round About my widow'd Bed, and every Slumber Broken with loud Alarms : Can thefe be then But fad Prefages, Girl ? Corif You make 'emfo, And antedate a Lofs lhall ne'er fall on you. Such pure Affection, fuch mutual Love, A Bed, and undenTd on either Part, A Houfe without Contention, in two Bodies One Will and Soul, like to the Rod of Concord Killing each other, cannot be fhort-liv'd, Or end in Barrennefs. If all thefe, dear Madam, (Sweet in your Sadnefs) mould produce no Fruit, Or leave the Age no Models of yourfelves, To witnefs to Pofterity what you were, Succeeding Times, frighted with the Example, But hearing of your Story, would inftrut Their faireft Iflue to meet fenfually, Like other Creatures, and forbear to raife True Love, or Hymen, Altars. Soph* O Cor if c a ! I know thy Reafons are like to thy Wifhes, And they are built upon a weak Foundation, To raife me Comfort. Ten long Days are pafl, Ten long Days, my Corif a, fince my Lord Eml^rk'd himfelf upon a Sea of Danger, In his dear Care of me. And if his Life Had not been fliipwreck'd on the Rock of War, His Tendernefs of me (knowing how much I languifli for his Abfence) had provided Some trufty Friend from whom I might receive Afllirance of his Safety. Corif. Ill News, Madam, Arc Swallow-wing'd,but what's good walks on Crutches; With Patience expect it ; and ere long, No doubt, you lhall hear from him. THE PICTURE, 25 A Sow-gelded s Horn blown. A Pofl. 10 Soph, Ha ! What's that ? Corif. The Fool has got a Sow-gelder's Horn, [Afide. A Port, as I take it, Madam. Soph. It makes this Way ftill, Nearer and nearer. Corif. From the Camp, I hope. Enter Hilario, with long white Hair and Beard, in an antick Armour, one zvith a Horn before him. Soph. The Mefl'enger appears, and in ftrange Armour. Heaven, if it be thy Will ! Hil. It is no Boot To flrive ; our Horfes tir'd, let's walk on Foot, And that the Caflle which is very near us, To give us Entertainment, may ibon hear us, Blow luftily, my Lad, and drawing nigh, Afk for a Lady which is clep'd Sophy. ll jo A Sow -getter's Horn blown. A Pofl. I have here followed the old Copies, not chufing to make ny ab* folute Alteration, though the Pafl'age is evidently corrupt : { take it Jhould be as follows ; A Sow-geldcr* s-Horn blown. Sopb. Ha ! What's that > .^ Corif. The Fool has got a Sow-gelder*s Horn. 4 \faficle. A Poft, as "I take it, Madam. Sopb. It makes this Way ftill, Nearer and nearer. Corif. From the Camp, I hope. If Corifca had told her Miftrefs, that the Fool had got a Sow getter's Horn, the would not fo readily have believed that he came from the Camp ; nor does there feem to be any Neceffity for a Pojl to be mentioned at all, when the Horn is blown. I imagine in the written Copy there was not Room for the Tranfcriber to write it in the fame Line, and therefore he placed it over the Word Horn, which pccafioned this Miftake in the Printing. II This emandation is evidently right, as all the reft of this ridicu- lous Speech is in Rhyme, wfe fhould without doubt read Sophy, in- stead of Sophia. *$ THE PICTURE. Corif. He names you, Madam. Hil. For to her I bring, Thus clad in Arms, News of a pretty Thing, By Name Afathias. Soph. From my Lord ? O Sir ! I am Sophia, that Mathias* Wife. So may Mars favour you in all your Battles, As you with Speed unload me of the Burthea I labour under, till I am confirm'd Both where and how you left him. Hil. If thou art, As I believe, the Pigfney of his Heart, Know he's in Health, and what's more, full of Glee ; And fo much I was will'd to fay to thee. Soph. Have you no Letters from him ? Hil. No, mere Words. In the Camp we ufe no Pens, but write with Swords ; Yet as I am enjoin'd, by Word of Mouth I will proclaim his Deeds from North to South ; But tremble riot while I relate the Wonder, Though my Eyes like Lightning mine, and my Voice thunder. Soph. This is fome counterfeit Bragart. Corif. Hear him, Madam. Hil. The Rear march'd firft, which follow'd by theVan, And wing'd with the Battalion, no Man Durfl ftay to fhift a Shirt, or loufe himfelf ; Yet ere the Armies join'd, that hopeful Elf, Thy dear, thy dainty Duckling, bold Mathias t Advanc'd, and ftar'd like Hercules or Golias. A hundred thoufand Turks (it is no Vaunt) Affail'd him ; every one a Termagant : But what did he then ? with his keen-edge Spear He cut, and carbonaded 'em : Here and there Lay Legs and Arms ; and, as 'tis faid truly Of Bevis, fome he quarter'd all in three. Soph. This is ridiculous. Hil. I muft take Breath : Then, like a Nightingale, I'll fing his Death. Soph. His Death ! THE PICTURE, 27 HiL I .am out. Corif. Recover, Dunder-head, HiL How he efcap'd, I ihould have fung, not dy'd ; For, though a Knight, when I faid fo, I ly'd ! Weary he was, and fcarce could (land upright, And looking round for fome courageous Knight To refcue him, as one perplex'd in Woe, He call'd to me, Help | help, Hilario ! My valiant Servant, help. Corif. He has fpoil'd all. Soph. Are you the Man of Arms ? Then I'll make bold To take off your martial Beard ; you had Fool's Hair Enough without it. Slave ! how durft thou make Thy Sport of what concerns me more than Life, In fuch an antick Faihion ? Am I grown Contemptible to thofe I feed ? You, Minion, Had a Hand in it too, as it appears, Your Petticoat ferves for Bafes to this Warriour. Corif. We did it for. your Mirth. Hit. For myfelf, I hope, I have fpoke like a Soldier. Soph. Hence, you Rafcal. I never but with Reverence name my Lord, And can I hear it by thy Tongue prophan'd, And not correct thy Folly ? But you are Transform'd, and turn'd Knight-errant ; take your Courfe And wander where you pleafe ; for here I vow By my Lord's Life (an Oath I will not break) Till his Return, or Certainty of his Safety, My Doors are fhut againft thee. [Exit Sophia. Corif. You have made A fine Piece of Work on't : How do you like the Qua- You had a foolifh Itch to be an Aftor, [lity ? And may now ftroll where you pleafe. HiL Will you buy my Share ? Corif. No, certainly, I fear I have already Too much of mirie own : I'll only, as a Damfel, 12 The Quality means here, the Calling, or JVofeflion. M. M. *8 THE PICTURE. (As the Book fays) thus far help to difarm you ; And fo, dear Don Quixote, taking my Leave, I leave you to your Fortune. [Exit Corifca. Hil. Have I fweat My Brains out for this quaint and rare Invention, And am I thus rewarded ? I could turn Tragedian, and roar now, but that I fear T would get me too great a Stomach, having no Meat: To pacify Colon, * what will become of me ? I cannot beg in Armour, and fleal I dare not : My End muft be to ftand in a Corn Field, And fright away the Crows, for Bread and Cheefe, Or find fome hollow Tree in the Highway, And there, until my Lord return, fell Switches. No more Hilario, but Dolorio now : I'll weep my Eyes out, and be blind of Purpofe To move Compaffion ; and fo I vanifli. [Exit Hilario* SCENE II. Enter Eubulus, Ubaldo, Ricardo, and others; Eub. Are the Gentlemen fent before^ as it was order'd By the King's Direction, to entertain The General ? Ric. Long fince; they by this have met him, And given him the Bienvcnue, Eub. I hope I need not Inftrucl: you in your Parts, \Jbal. How! us, my Lord? fear not ; we know our Diftances ad Degrees, To the very Inch, where we are to falute him, Ric, The State were miferable, if the Court had none Of her own Breed, familiar with all Garbs. Gracious in England, Italy, Spain or France, With Form and Punctuality to receive Stranger EmbafTadors. For the General, He's a mere Native, and it matters not Which Way we do accoft him. ij Colon is the great Gut. M. 3/, THE PICTURE. a 9 Vbal Tis great Pity That fuch as fit at the Helm provide no better For the training up of the Gentry. In my Judgment An Academy erected, with large Penfions To fuch as in a Table could fet down The Congees, Cringes, Poftures, Methods, PJirafes, Proper to every Nation Ric. O, it were An admirable Piece of Work* Ubal. And yet rich Fools Throw away their Charity on Hofpitalsy For Beggars and lame Soldiers, and ne'er Itudy The due Regard to Compliment and Courtlhip, Matters of more Import, and are indeed The Glories of a Monarchy. Eub. Thefe, no doubt, Are State Points, Gallants, I confefs ; but fure, Our Courts need no Aids this Way, fince it is A School of nothing elfe. There are fome of you Whom I forbear to name, whofe coining Heads Are the Mint of all new Fafhions, that have done More Hurt to the Kingdom by fuperfluous Bravery^ Which the foolifti Gentry imitate, than a War, Or a long Famine ;. all the Treafure, by This foul Excefs, is got into the Merchant's, Embroiderer's, Silkman's, Jeweller's, Taylor's Hands, And the third Part of the Land too, the Nobility Engroffing Titles only. Ric. My Lord, you are bitter. Enter a Servant, [A ^trumpet. Serv. The General is alighted, and now enter'd* Ric. Were he ten Generals, I am prepar'd, And know what I will do. Eub. Pray you what, Ricardo f Ric. I'll fight at Compliment with him* UbaL I'll charge home too. Rub. And that's a defperate Service, if you come off well. 3 o the Picture; Enter Ferdinand, Mathias, Baptifta, two Captains* Ferd. Captain, command the Officers to keep The Soldier as he march'd in Rank and File, Till they hear farther from me. Eub. Here's one fpeaks In another Key : This is no canting Language Taught in your Academy. Ferd. Nay, I will prefent you To the King myfelf. Math. A Grace beyond my Merit. Ferd* You undervalue what I cannot fefi Too high a Price on. Eub. With a Friend's true Heart I gratulate your Return. Ferd. Next to the Favour Of the great King, I am happy in your Friendfhip'.? Ubal. By Courtfhip; coarfe on both Sides* Ferd. Pray you receive This Stranger to your Knowledge, or* my Credit, At all Parts he defervesit. Eub. Your Report Is a ftrong AfTurance to me. Sir, moft welcome. Math: This faid by you, the Reverence of your Agtf Commands me to believe it. Ric. This was pretty. But fecond me now. I cannot floop too low To do your Excellence that due Obfervance Your Fortune claims. Eub. He ne'er thinks on his Virtue; Ric, For, being, as you are, the Soul of Soldiers, And Bulwark of Bellona. Ubal. The Protection Both of the Court and King. . Ric. And the fole Minion Of mighty Mars. Ubal. One that with Juftice may Increafe the Number of the Worthies. Eub. Hoy day ! T H E P I C T U R E. %l Ric. It being impomble in my Arms to circle Such giant Worth. Ubal. At Diftance we prefume To kifs your honour'd Gauntlet. Eub. What Reply now Can he make to this Foppery ? Ferd. You have faid, Gallants, fo much, and hitherto done fo little* That, till I learn to fpeak, and you to do, I mult take Time to thank you. Eub. As I live, Anfwer'd as I could wifli. How the Fops gape now ! Ric. This was harfh, and fcurvy. Ubal. We will be reveng'd When he comes to court the Ladies, and laugh at him# Eub. Nay, do your Offices, Gentlemen, and conduct The General to the Prefence* Ric. Keep your Order. UbaL Make Way fqr the General. [Exeunt all but EubuluS* Eub. What wife Man, That with judicious Eyes looks on a Soldier* But muft confefs that Fortune's Swing is more O'er that Profeffion, than all Kinds elfe Of Life purfu'd by Man ? They, in a State, Are but as Chirurgeons to wounded Men, E'en defp'rate in their Hopes ; while Pain and Ariguilh Make them blafpheme, and call in vain for Death ; Their Wives and Children kifs the Chirurgcon's Knees, Promife him Mountains, if his faving Hand Reftore the tortur'd Wretch to former Strength. But when grim Death, by ALfculapius* Art, Is frighted from the Houfe, and Health appears In fanguine Colours on the rick Man Face, All is forgot ; and afking his Reward, He's paid with Curfes, often receives Wounds From him whofe Wounds he cur'd ; fo Soldiers, Though of more Worth and Ufe, meet the fame Fate, As it is too apparent. I have obferv'd When horrid Mars, the Touch of whofe rough Hn.^d 5 i THfi PICTURE. With Palfies fhakes a Kingdom, hath put orf His dreadful Helmet, and with Terror fills The Place where he, like an unwelcome Guefty Refolves to revel ; how the Lords of her, like The Tradcfman, Merchant, and litigious Pleader, (And fuch like Scarabs bred i' th' Dung of Peace) In Hope of their Protection, humbly offer Their Daughters to their Beds, Heirs to their Service, And wafti with Tears their Sweat, their Duft, their Scars i But when thofe Clouds of War that menae'd A bloody Deluge to th' affrighted State, Are by their Breath difpers'd, and overblown^ And Famine, Blood, and Death, Beilonds Pages, Whipp'd from the quiet Continent to Thrace ; ** Soldiers, that like the foolifti Hedge Sparrow To their own Ruin hatch this Cuckow Peace, Are ftraight thought burdenfome, fince want of Means, Growing for want of Adtion, breeds Contempt, And that, the worft of Ills, falls to their Lot, ' Their Service with the Danger foon forgot. Enter a Servant. Serv. The Queen, my Lord, hath made Choice of this Room, To fee the Mafque. Eub. I'll be a Looker on, My dancing Days are paft. Loud Mufick as they pafs, a Song in the Praife ofPFar 4 , Ubaldo, Ricardo, Ladiflaus, Ferdinand, and Ho- noria,Mathias, Sylva, Acanthe, Baptilta, and others. Lahf. This Courtefy To a Stranger, my Honoria, keeps fair Rank 03r M Whipp'd from the quiet Continent to Thrace. Majpnger is here miftaken, for T/jrace is upon the Continent. Mafinger probably krew as well as the Editor that Part of Thrace was on the Coatinent ; but the Thracian Archipelago, which wa dedicated to Man, is compofed of Iflands. M. M. THE PICTURE. 33 With all your Rarities. After your Travel Look on our Court Delights ; but firft from your Relation, with erected Ears I'll hear The Mulick of your War, which muft be fweet, Ending in Victory. Ferd. Not to troub4e Your Majefties with Defcription of a Battle, Too full of Horror for the Place, and to Avoid Particulars, which ftiould I deliver, I muft trench longer on your Patience than My Manners will give Way to ; in a Word, Sir, It was well fought on both Sides, and almofl With equal Fortune, it continuing doubtful Upon whofe Tents plum'd Victory would take Her glorious Stand : Impatient of Delay, With the Flower of our prime Gentlemen, I charg'd Their main Battalia, and with their AffiitaHcc Broke in ; but when I was almofl aflur'd That they were routed, by a Stratagem Of the fubtil Turk, who opening his grofs Body, And rallying up his Troops on either Side, I found myfelf fo far engag'd, (for I Muft not conceal my Errors) that I knew not Which Way with Honour to come off. Eub. I like A General that tells his Faults, and is not Ambitious to engrofs unto himfelf All Honour, as fome have, in which, with Juflice, They could not claim a Share. Ferd* Being thus hemm'd in, Their Scymitars rag'd among us, and my Horfe Kill'd under me, I every Minute loo k'd for An honourable End, and that was all My Hope could fafhion to me ; circl'd thus Wkfc Death and Horror, as one fent from Heaven, This Man of Men, with ibme choice Horle that follow'd His brave Example, did purfue the Track His Sword cut for 'em, and, but that I fee him Already blufh to hear what, he being prefent, Vol. I. C 3 4 THE PICTURE, I know would wifh unfpoken, I mould fay, Sir, By what he did, we boldly may believe All that is writ of Hetlor. Math. General, Pray, fpare thefe (Irange Hyperboles. Eub. Do not bluih To hear a Truth ; here are a Pair of Monfieurs, Had they been in your Place, would have run away, And ne'er chang'd Countenance. Ubal. We have your good Word ftill. Eub. And mall while you deferve it. Lad'if. Silence : on. Ferd. He, as I faid, like dreadful Lightning thrown From Jupiter % Shield, difpers'd the armed Gire With which I was environed ; Horfe and Man Shrunk under his ftrong Arm : More, with his Looks Frighted, the Valiant lied, with which encourag'd, My Soldiers (like young Eaglets preying under s The Wings of their fierce Dam) as if from him They took both Spirit and Fire, bravely came on. By him I was remounted, and infpir'd With treble Courage ; and fuch as fled before, Boldly made head again ; and, to confirm 'em, Itfuddenly was apparent, that the Fortune Of the Day was ours ; each Soldier and Commander Perform'd his Part ; but this was the great Wheel By which the lefler mov'd, and all Rewards And Signs of Honour ; as the Civic Garland, The mural Wreath, the Enemy's prime Horfe, With the General's Sword, and Armour, (the old Ho- nours With which the Romans crown'd their feveral Leaders) To him alone are proper. Ladif. And they fhall Defervedlv fall on him. Sit ; 'tis our Pleafure. Ferd. Which I mult ferve, not argue. Hon. You are a Stranger, But, in your Service for the Kins, a Native. 3- l 5 In the UnxaiuralComhat, MaJHnger has this fame Smile again. Act 1. Scene 1. THE PICTURE, 3j And, tho* a free Queen, I am bound in Duty To cherim Virtue whereibe'er I tind it : This place is yours. Matk, It were Prefumption in me To fit fo near you. Hon. Not having Our Warrant* Ladif. Let the Mafkers enter : By the Preparation, 'Tis a French Brawl, an apifh Imitation Of what you really perform in Battle ; And Pallas bound up in a little Volume, Apollo, with his Lute attending on her, Serve for the Induction. \j$ on g an & Dance* Enter the two Boys, one With his Lute, the other like Pallas* A Song in the Praife of Soldiers, efpecially being victorious i the Song ended, the King goes on* 16 Song by Pallas* Though we contemplate to exprefs The Glory of your Happinefs, That, by your powerful Arm, have been So true a Viclor, that no Sin Could ever taint you with a Blame To leffen your deferved Fame* Or> though we contend to Jet Tour JVorth in the full Height, or get Celejlial Singers crown 1 'd with Bays, With Flour ijhes to drejs your Praife : Tou know your Coxqueft; but your Story Lives in your triumphant Glory, Ladif Our Thanks to all. To the Banquet that's prepar'd to entertain 'em : What would my belt Honor ia ? >6 I don't think Maffmger excels in writing Songs ; there are none to be found in rheie Plays rha: have any Decree of' Merit, and :evy that are even intelligible. 37. M. . c 2. 3 6 THE PICTURE. Hon. May it pleafe Mv King, that I, who, by his Suffrage, ever 1 1 avc had Powci to command, may now entreat An Honour from him. Lndif. Why mould you defire What is your own ? Whate'er it be, you are TheMiftrefsof it. Hon, I am happy in Your Grant : My Suit, Sir, is, that your Commanders* Efpecially this Stranger, may, as I In my Discretion mall think good, receive What's due to their Deferts. Ladif. What you determine Shall know no Alteration. Eub. The Soldier Is like to have good Ufage, when he depends Upon her Pleafure : Are all the Men fo bad, That, to give Satisfaction, we muft have A Woman Treafurer. Heaven help all. Hon. With you, Sir, I will begin, and, as in my Efteem You are mo'ft eminent, expect to have What's fit for me to give, and you to take ; The Favour in the quick Difpatch being double. Go fetch my Cafket, and with Speed. [Exit Acanthe. Rub. The Kingdom Is very bare of Money, when Rewards Iliue from the Queen's Jewel-houfe. Give him Gold And Store, no Queftion the Gentleman wants it. Good Madam, what fhall he do with a Hoop Ring, And a Spark of Diamond in it ? Tho' you took it Enter Acanthe. (For the greater Honour) from your Majefty's Finger^ 'Twill not increafe the Value. He muft purchafe Rich Suits, the gay Caparilbn of Courtfhip, Revel, and Feaft, which, the War ended, is A Soldier's Glory ; and 'tis fit that Way Your bounty mould provide for him. THE PICTURE. 37 Hon. You are rude, And by your narrow Thoughts proportion mine. What I will do now, mail be worth the Envy Of Cleopatra. Open it, fee here [Honoria defends* The Lapidary's Idol. Gold is Tram, And a poor Salary fit for Grooms ; wear thefe As fludded Stars in your Armour, and make the Sun Look dim with jealoufy of a greater Light Than his Beams gild the Day with : when it is Expos'd to View, call it Honoria % Gift, The Queen Honoria 's Gift, that loves a Soldier ; And, to give Ornament and Luflre to him, Parts freely with her own. Yet, not to take From the Magnificence of the King, I will Difpenfe his Bounty too, but as a Page To wait on mine ; for other Ufes take A hundred thoufand Crowns ; your Hand, dear Sir, And this fhall be thy Warrant. [Takes off the King's Signet, Eub. I perceive I was cheated in this Woman : Now me is F th' giving Vein to Soldiers, let her be proud, And the King doat, fo ihe go on, I care not. [Afide. Hon. This done, our Pleafure is, that all Arrears Be paid unto the Captains, and their Troops, With a large Donative to increafe their Zeal For the Service of the Kingdom. Eub. Better ft/ill; Let Men of Arms be us'd thus : If they do not Charge defperately upon the Cannon's Mouth, Tho' the Devil roar'd, and fight like Dragons, hang me. Now they may drink Sack; but fmall Beer, with a Paff- port To beg with as they travel, and no Money, Turns their red Blood to Butter-milk. Hon. Are you pleas'd, Sir, With what I have done ? Ladif. Yes, and thus confirm it With this Addition of mine own : You have, Sir, C 3 414967 38 THE PICTURE, hrom our lov'd Queen received fome Recompencc For your Life hazarded in the late Action ; And, that we may follow her great Example In chcrifhing Valour, without Limit afk What you from us can wifh. Math. If it be true, Dread Sir, as 'tis affirm'd, that every Soil, Where he is well, is to a valiant Man His natural Country; Reafon may afTure me I fhould fix here, where Bleffings beyond Hope, From you, the Spring, like Rivers flow unto me. If Wealth were my Ambition, by the Queen I am made rich already, to the Amazement Of all that fee, or fhall hereafter read The Story of her Bounty ; if to fpend The Remnant of my Life in Deeds of Arms, No Region is more fertile of good Knights, From whom my Knowledge that Way may be better'd, Than this your warlike Hungary ; if Favour, Or Grace in Court could take me, by your Grant, Far, far beyond my Merit, I may make In yours a free Election ; but, alas ! Sir, I am not mine own, but by, my Defl iny (Which I cannot refift) fore'd to prefer My Country's Smoke, before the glorious Fire With which your Bounties warm me. All I afk, Sir, Though I cannot be ignorant it muft relifh Of foul Ingratitude, is your gracious Licence For my Departure. Ladif. Whither ? Math. To my own Home ; Sir, My own Poor home ; which will at my Return Grow rich by your Magnificence. I am here But a Body without a Soul ; and, till I find it In the Embraces of my conftant Wife, and, to fet off that Conftancy, In her Beauty and matchlefs Excellencies without a Rival, I am but half myfelf. Hon. And is fhe then So chafle and fair as you infer ? THE PICTURE.- % Math, O, Madam, Tho' it, mult argue Weaknefs in a rich Man, ' To Ihow his Gold before an armed Thief, And I, in praiiing of my Wife, but feed The Fire of Luft in others to attempt her ; Such is my full-fail'd Confidence in her Virtue, Tho' in my Ab fence Ihe were now befieg'd By a flrong Army of lafcivious Wooers, (And every one more expert in his Art, Than thofe that tempted chafte Penelope ;) Tho' they rais'd Batteries by prodigal Gifts, By amorous Letters, Vows made for her Service, With all the Engines wanton Appetite Could mount to (hake the Fortrefs of her Honour ; Here, here is my Aflurance Ihe holds out, [KiJJes the Picture. And is impregnable. Hon. What's that ? Math. Her fair Figure. Ladif. As I live, an excellent Face ! Hon. You have feen a better. Ladif. I ! ne'er, except yours ; nay, frown not, fwcet- eft; The Cyprian Queen, compar'd to you, in my Opinion, is a Negro. As you order'd, I'll fee the Soldiers paid ; and in my Abfence Pray you ufe your powerful Arguments, to Hay This Gentleman in our Service. Hon. I will do My Part. Ladif. On to the Camp. [Exeunt Ladiflaus, Ferdinand, Eubulus, Baptifta, Captains. Hon. I am full of Thoughts. And fomething there is here I muftgive Form to, Tho' yet an Embrion : you, Signiors, Have no Bufinefs with the Soldier, as I take it, You are for other Warfare ; quit the Place, But be within call. C4 4 o THE PICTURE, Ric. Employment, on my Life, Boy. UbaL If it lie in our Road, we are made for ever. [Exeunt Ubaldo, Ricardo. Hon. You may perceive the King is no Way tainted With the Difeafe of Jealoufy, fince he leaves me Thus private with you. Math. It were in him, Madam, A Sin unpardonable, to diftruft fuch Purencfs, Tho' I were an Adonis, Hon. I prefume He neither does, nor dares : And yet the Story Delivered of you by the General, With your heroic Courage (which finks deeply Into a knowing Woman's Heart) befides Your promifing Prefence, might beget fome Scruple In a meaner Man : But more of this hereafter ; I'll take another Theme now, and conjure you By the Honours you have won, and by the Love- Sacred to your dear Wife, to anfwer truly To what I lhall demand. Math, You need not ufe Charms to this Purpofe, Madam. Hon. Tell me then, Being yourfelf aflur'd 'tis not in Man To fully with one Spot th' immaculate Whitenefs Of your Wife's Honour, if you have not fince The Gordian of your Love was ty'd by Marriage, Play'd falfe with her ? Math. By the Hopes of Mercy, never. Hon. It may be, not frequenting the Converfe Of handfome Ladies, you were never tempted, And foyour Faith's untried yet. Math. Surely, Madam, I am no Woman Hater ; I have been Received to the Society of the beft And faireit of our Climate, and have met with No common Entertainment, yet ne'er felt The lead Heat that Way. Hon. Strange ! and do you think ftil), Tl?e Earth can fhow no Beauty that can drench THE PICTURE. 4I In Lethe all Remembrance of the Favour You now bear to your own ? Math. Nature muft find out Some other Mould to fafhion a new Creature Fairer than her Pandora, ere I prov:e Guilty, or in my Wifhes or my Thoughts, To my Sophia* Hon. Sir, confider better ; Not one in our whole Sex ? Math. I am conftant to My Rcfolution. Hon. But, dare you Hand The Oppofition, and bind yourfelf By Oath for the Performance ? Math. My Faith elfe Had but a weak Foundation. Hon. I take hold Upon your Promife, and enjoin your Stay For one Month here Math. I am caught. Hon. And if I do not Produce a Lady in that Time that mall Make you confefs your Error, I fubmit Myfelf to any Penalty you mail pleafe T' impofe upon me : In the mean Space, write To your chafte Wife, acquaint her with your Fortune ; The Jewels that were mine you may fend to her, For better Confirmation, I'll provide you Of trufty Meflengers : But how far diftant is me ? Math. A Day's hard Riding. Hon. There's no retiring ; I'll bind you to your Word. Math. Well, fince there is No Way to fhun it, I will ftand the Hazard, And inftantly make ready my Difpatch : Till then, I'll leave your Majcfty. [Exit Mathias. Hon. How I burft With Envy, that there lives, befidcs myfelf, One fair and loyal Woman ; 'twas the End Of my Ambition, to be recorded 4 i THE PICTURE. The only Wonder of the Age ; and fhall I Give Way to a Competitor ? Nay more, To add to my Affliction, the Aflurances That I plac'd in my Beauty have deceiv'd me : I thought one amorous Glance of mine could bring All Hearts to my Subje&ion ; but this Stranger, Unmov'd as Rocks, contemns me. But I cannot Sit down fo with my Honour : I will gain A double Victory, by working him To my Defire, and taint her in her Honour, Or lole myfelf. I have read, that fome Time Poifon Is ufeful ; to fupplant her, I'll employ With any Coit, Ubaldo and Ricardo, Two noted Courtiers, of approved Cunning In all the Windings of Luft s Labyrinth ; And in corrupting him, I will outgo Nero's Poppaea : If he fhut his Ears Againft my Syren Notes, I'll boldly fwear Uljjfes lives again ; or that I have found A frozen Cynic, cold in fpite of all Allurements ; one, whom Beauty cannot move, Nor fofteft Blandifhments entice to Love. [Exit Honoria. End of the Second J8, ACT III. SCENE I. Enter Hilario. THIN, thin Provifion ! I am dieted Like one fet to watch Hawks ; and to keep me waking, My croaking Guts make a perpetual 'Lamm. Here I ftand Centinel ; and, tho' I fright Beggars from my Lady's Gate, in Hope to have A greater Share, I find my Commons mendjiot. I look'd this Morning in my Glafs, the River ; THE PICTURE. 43 And there appear'd a Fifh, call'd a Poor John, Cut with a lenten Face in my own Likenefs ; And it feem'd to fpeak, and fay, Good-mcrrow, CoufinI No Man comes this Way but has a Fling at me : A Chirurgeon palling by, afk'd, at whac Rate I would fell myfelf ? I anfwered, For what Ufe ? To make, faid he, a living Anatomy, And fet thee up in our Hall, for thou art tranfparent Without DifTe&ion : and indeed he had Reafon ; For I am fcour'd with this poor Porridge to nothing. They fay that Hunger dwells in the Camp ; but till My Lord returns, or certain Tidings of him, ' He will not part with me. But Sorrow's dry, And I mull drink howfoever. Enter Ubaldo, and Ricardo, Guide. Guide. That is her Caflle,' Upon my certain Knowledge. Ubal. Our Horfes held out To my Defire. I am afire to be at it. Rk. Take the Jades for thy Reward ; before I part hence, S I hope to be better carried. Give me the Cabinet : So, leave us now. Guide. Good Fortune to you, Gallants. [Exit Guide. Ubal, Being joint Agents in a Defign, of Truft too, For the Service of the Queen and our own Pleaiure, Let us proceed with Judgment. Ric. If I take not This Fort at the firft Affault, make me an Eunuch, So I may have precedence. Ubal. On no Terms. We are both to play one Prize ; he that works beft I' the fearching this Mine, fhall car.y it Without Contention. Ric. Make you your Approaches As I directed. Ubal. I need no Inftrudtion ; I work not on your Anvil. I'll give Fire 44 THE PICTURE. Wirh mine own Linftock ; if the Powder be dank, The Devil rend the Touch-hole. Who have we here ? What Skeleton's this ? Ric. A Ghoft ; or the Image of Famine. Where doft thou dwell ? Nil. Dwell, Sir ? My Dwelling is I'th' Highway. That goodly Houfe was once My Habitation ; but I am banifhed, And cannot be call'dHome, till News arrive Of the good Knight Mathias. Rk. If that will Reftore thee, thou art fafe. Ubal. We come from him, With Prefents to his Lady. Nil. But, are you fure He is in Health ? Rk. Never fo well : Conduct us To the Lady. UiL Tho' a poor Snake, I will leap Out of my Skin for Joy. Break, Pitcher, break ; And Wallet, late my Cupboard, I bequeath thee To the next Beggar ; thou red Herring, fwim To the Red Sea again. Methinks I am already Knuckle deep in the Flefh-pots; and, tho' waking, dream Of Wine and Plenty. Ric. What's the Myflery Of this ftrange Paflion ? HiL My Belly, Gentlemen, Will not give me leave to tell you. When I have brought you To my Lady's Prcfcnce, I am difenchanted. There you mail know all. Follow : If I outftrip you, Know I run for my Belly. >UbaL A mad Fellow. [Exeunt. THE PICTURE. 45 SCENE II. Enter Sophia, Corifca. Soph. Do not again delude me. Corif. If I do, fend me a grazing with my Frier Hilario. I flood, as you commanded, in the Turret Obferving all that pafs'd by : And even now I did difcern a Pair of Cavaliers, For fuch their Outnde fpoke them, with their Guide, Difmounting from their Horfes ; they faid fomething To our hungry Centinel, that made him caper And frifk i' th' Air for Joy : And, to confirm this, See, Madam, they're in View-, Enter Hilario, Ubaldo, Ricardo. Hil. News from my Lord ! Tidings of Joy ! thefe are no Counterfeits, But Knights indeed. Dear Madam, lign my Pardon, Tha 1 ; I may feed again, and pick up my Crumbs : I have had a long Fall of it. Soph. Eat, I forgive thee. Hil. O comfortable Words ! Eat, I forgive thee ! And, if in this I do not foon obey you, And ram in to the Purpofe, biliet me again I' th' Highway. Butler and Cook be ready, For I enter like a Tyjrant. [Exit Hilario. Ubal. Since mine Eyes Were never happy in fo fweet an Object, Without Inquiry, I prefume you are The Lady of the Houfe, and do falute you. Ric. This Letter, with thefe Jewels, from your Lord, Warrant my Boldnefs, Madam. Ubal. In being a Servant To fuch rare Beauty, you muft needs deferve ThisCourtefy from a Stranger. [To Corifca. Salutes her. 46 THE PICTURE. Ric. You are ftill Before-hand with me. Pretty one, I defcend To take the Height of your Lip ; and, if I mifs In the Altitude, hereafter, if you pleafe, 1 will make Ufe of my Jacob's Staff. [Sophia having in the Interim read the Letter , and opend the Cajket. Corif. Thefe Gentlemen Have certainly had good Breeding, as it appears By their neat Kiffing, they hit me fo pat on the Lips At the firft Sight. Soph. Heaven, in thy Mercy, make me Thy thankful Handmaid, for this boundlefs Blcfling, In thy Goodnefs (hower'd upon me. Ubal. I do not like This fimple Devotion in her ; it is feldom Pra&is'd among my Miftrefies. Ric, Or mine. Would they kneel to I know not who, for the Poffeffion Of fuch incftimable Wealth, before They thank'd the Bringers of it ? The poor Lady Does want Initruction ; but I'll be her Tutor, And read her another Leflbn. . Soph. If I have Shown Want of Manners, Gentlemen, in my Slownefs To pay the Thanks I owe you for your Travel, To do my Lord and me (howe'er unworthy Of fuch a Benefit) this noble Favour : Impute it, in your Clemency, to the Excefs Of Joy that overwhelmed me. Ric. She fpeaks well. Ubal. Polite and courtly. Soph. And howe'er it may Increafe th' Offence, to trouble you with more Demands touching my Lord, before I have Invited you to tafte fuch as the Coarfencfs Of my poor Houfe can offer ; pray you connive On my weak Tendernefs, tho' 1 intreat To learn from you fomething he hath, it may be, In his Letter left unmention'd. THE PICTURE. 47 Ric. I can only Give you Affurance that he is in Health, Grac'd by the King and Queen. Ubal. And in the Court With Admiration look'd on. Ric. You mult therefore Put off thefe Widow's Garments, and appear Like to yourfelf. Ubal. And entertain all Pleafures Your Fortune marks out for you. Ric. There are other Particular Privacies, which on Occafion I will deliver to you. Soph. You oblige me To your Service ever. Ric. Good ! your Service ; mark that. Soph. In the mean Time, by your Acceptance make My ruftic Entertainment reliih of The Curioufnefs of the Court. Ubal. Your Looks, fweet Madam, Cannot but make each Diih a Feaft. Soph. It fhall be Such, in the Freedom of my Will to pleafe you. I'll ihew the Way : This is too great an Honour From fuch brave Guefls, to me fo mean an Hoftefs. [Exeunt* SCENE III. Enter Acanthe to four or five zmth Vizards. Acan. You know your. Charge; give it Action, and expect Rewards beyond your Hopes. i Viz. If we but eye 'em, They are ours, I warrant you. 2 Viz. May we not afk why We are put upon this ? Acan. Let that (top your Mouth, And learn more Manners, Groom. 'Tis upon the Hour 48 THE PICTURE, In which they ufe to walk here : When you have 'em In your Tower, with Violence carry them to the Place Where I appointed : There I will expect you. Be bold and careful. [Exit Acanthe. Enter Mathias and Baptifta. i Viz, Thefc are they. 2 Viz. Are you fure ? i Viz. Am I fure I am myfelf ? 2, Viz. Seize on him ftrongly ; if he have but Means To draw his Sword, 'tis ten to one we fmart for't. Take all Advantages. Math. I cannot guefs What her Intents are ; but her Carriage was As I but now related. Bapt. Your Aflu ranee In the Conftancy of your Lad)', is the Armour That mud defend you. Where's the Picture ? Math. Here, And no Way alter 'd. Bapt. If me be not perfect, There is no Truth in Art. Math* By this, I hope, She hath receiy'd my Letters. Bapt. Without Qucftion. Thefe Courtiers are rank Riders, when they arc To viiit a handlbme Lady. Math. Lend me your ear. One Piece of her Entertainment will require Your deareft Privacy. i Viz. Now they ftand fair, Upon 'em. Math. Villains ! i Viz. Stop their Mouths. We come not To try your Valours. Kill him, if he offer To open his Mouth. We have you. 'Tis in vain To make Rcfiftance. Mount 'em, and away. [_Exeunt. THE PICTURE. 49 SCENE IV. Enter Servants with Lights, Ladiilaus, Ferdinand, Eu- bulus. Ladif. 'Tis late. Go to' your Reft : But do not envy The Happinefs I draw near to. Eub. If you enjoy it The moderate Way, the Sport yields, I confefs, A pretty Titillation ; but too much oft Will bring you on your Knees. In my younger Days I was myfelf a Gamefter ; and I found By fad Experience, there is no fuch Soaker As a young fpongy Wife ! fhe keeps a thoufand Horfe Leeches in her Box, and the Thieves will fuck out Both Blood and Marrow ! I feel a Kind of Cramp In my Joints, when I think on't. But it may be Queens, And fuch a Queen as yours is, has th\ Art Ferd. You take Leave To talk, my Lord. Ladif. He may, lince he can do nothing. Eub. If you fpend this Way too much of your royal Stock, Ere long we may be Puefellows. Ladif. The Door fliut ! Knock gently ; harder. So, here comes her Woman. Take off my Gown. Enier Acanthe. Acan. My Lord, the Queen by me This Night defires your Pardon. Ladif. How, Acanthe I I come by her Appointment ; 'twas her Grant f ; The Motion was her own. Acan. It may be, Sir ; But by her Doctors fhe is fince advis'd, For her Health's Sake, to forbear. Vol. I. D 5 c THE PICTURE. Eub. I do not like This phyfical Letchery ; the old downright Way Is worth a Thoufand of 't. Ladif Prithee, Acantbe, Mediate for me. Eub. G the Fiends of Hell ! Would any Man bribe his Servant, to make Way To his own Wife ? If this be the Court State, Shame fall on fuch as ule it. Aran. By this Jewel, This Night I dare not move her ; but to-morrow I will watch all Occafion. Ladif. Take this, To be mindful of me. [Exit Acantlie. Eub. 'Slight, I thought a King Might have taken up any Woman at the. King's Price ; And mull he buy his own, at a dearer Rate Than a Stranger in a Brothel ? Ladif. What is that You mutter, Sir ? Eub. No Treafon to your Honour : I'll fpeak it out, tho' it anger you : If you pay for Your lawful Pieaiure, in fome Kind, great Sir, What do you make the Queen ? Cannot you clicket Without a Fee? or when ihe has a Suit for you to grant? Ferd, O hold, Sir ! Ladif. Off with his Head. Eub. Do when you pleafe ; you but blow out a Taper That would light your Underilanding, and in Care oft Is burnt down to the Socket. Be as you are, Sir, An abfolute Monarch : It did fhew.more King-like In thofe libidinous Gefars, that compell'd Matrons and Virgins of all Ranks to bow Unto their rav'nous Lufts ; and did admit Of more Excufe than I can urge for vou, That Have yourfelf to th' imperious Humour Of a proud Beauty. Ladif. Out of my Sight. Fj'.b. I will, Sir, . Give Way to jour furious PafHon : But when Realbn THE PICTURE. 51 Hath got the better of it, I much hope The Counfel that offends now, will deferve Your royal Thanks. Tranquillity of Mind Stay with you, Sir. I do begin to doubt There's fomething more in the Queen's Strangenefs than Is yet difclos'd ; and I'll find it out, Or lofe my felt in the Search. [Exit Eubulus, Ferd. Sure he is honeft, And from your Infancy hath truly ferv'd you : Let that plead for him, and impute this Harfhnefs To the Frowardnefs of his Age. Ladif. I am much troubled, And do begin to dagger. Ferdinand, good Night ! To-morrow vifit us. Back to our own Lodgings. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Enter Acanthe, the vizarded Servants, Mathias, Baptifra. Jean, You have done bravely. Lock this in that - Room, [They carry off Baptifta. There let him ruminate ; I'll anon unhood him : The other muft flay here. As foon as I Have quit the Place, give him the Liberty And Ufe of his Eyes ; that done, difperfe yonrfelves As privately as you can : But, on your Lives, - No Word of what hath pafs'd. [Exit Acanthe. 1 Viz. If I do, fell My Tongue to a Tripe Wife. Come, unbind his Arms; You are now at your own Difpofure, and however We us'd you roughly, I hope you will find here Such Entertainment as will give you Caufe To thank us for the Service : and lb we leave you. \_Exeunt Servants* Math, If I am in a Prifon, 'tis a neat one. What OEdipus can rcfolve this Riddle ? Ha ! I never gave juft Caufe to any Man Balely to plot againft my Ljf e . But what is D 2 &1 THE PICTURE. Become of my true Friend ? for him I fuffer More than myfelf. Acan. Remove that idle Fear ; [From behind. He's -(life as you arc. Math. Whofoe'er thou art, , For him I thank thee. I cannot imagine Where I mould be : Tho' I have read the Table Of Errant-knighthood, ftufFd with the Relations Of magical Enchantments ; yet I am not So fottilhly credulous to believe the Devil Hath that Way Power. Ha ! Mufic ! Mufic above. A Song of Pleafure. *i The blufting Rofe and purple Flower, Let grozv too long, are fooneft blajled. Dainty Fruits, though fweet, will four , And rot in Ripenefs, left unt a/led. Tet here is one more fweet than thefe ; The more you tafle, the more Jhe'llpleafe. Beauty, tho' inched with Ice, Is a Shadow chafe as rare : * Then how much thofe Sweets entice, That have If ue full as fair ! F,arth cannot yield from all her Prowers, One equal for Dame Venus' Bowers. A Song too ! Certainly be it he or fhe That owns this Voice, it hath not been acquainted With much Affliction. Whofoe'er you are That do inhabit here, if you have Bodies, And are not mere aerial Forms, appear, 7 This Song puts me in Mind of Stv(/i's Love-Song, Cupid, fprcad thy purple Pinions, Sweetly waving o'er my Hcad y &c. and fcems to have as little Meaning in it. M. M. THE PICTURE, $$ Enter Honoria, mqfk'd. And make me know your End with me. Mofl ftrange ! What have I conjur'd up ? Sure, if this be A Spirit, 'tis no damn'd one ! What a Shape's here ! Then with what Majefty it moves ! if Juno Were now to keep her State among the Gods, And Hercules to be made again her Gueft, She could not put on a more glorious Habit, Tho' her Handmaid, Iris, lent her various Colours, Or old Oceanus ravilh'd from the deep All Jewels fhipwreck'd in it. As you have Thus far made known yourfelf, if that your Face Have not too much Dignity about it For mortal Eyes to gaze on, perfect what You have begun, with Wonder and Amazement To my aftonifh'd Senfes. How ! the Queen ! [Kneels. [Sbe pulls off her Majk. Hon. Rife, Sir, and hear my Reafons, in Defence . Of the Rape (for lb you may conceive) which I By my Instruments made upon you. You, perhaps, May think what you have fuffer'd for my Lull Is a common Practice with me ; but I call Thofe ever-lhining Lamps, and their great Maker, As Wltneffes of my Innocence : I ne'er look'd on A Man but your belt fell", on whom I ever (Except the King) vouchfaf 'd an Eye of Favour. Math. The King, indeed, and only fuch a King, Deferves your Rarities, Madam ; and, but he, 'Twerc giant-like Ambition in anv, In his Wifhes only, to prefume to tafte The Nectar of your KhTes ; or to feed His Appetite with that Ambrofia, due And proper to a Prince ; and, what binds more, A lawful Hufband. For myfelf, great Queen, I am a Thing obfeure, disfurnifh'd of All Merit that can raife me higher than In my mofl humble Thankfulneis for your Bonntv, D 1 THE PICTURE. To hazard my Life for you, and that Way I am mod ambitious. Hon, I defirc no more Than what you promife. If you dare expofe Your Life, as you profefs, to do me Service, How can it better be employ'd than in Preferving mine ? which only you can do, And muft do with the Danger of your own. A defperate Danger too ! If private Men Can brook no Rivals in what they affect, But to the Death purfue fuch as invade What Law makes their Inheritance ; the King, To whom you know I am dearer than his Crown, His Health, his Eyes, his After-hopes, with all His prefent Bleffings, muft fall on that Man Like dreadful Lightning, that is won by Prayers, Threats, or Rewards, to flain his Bed, or make His hop'd-for IfTue doubtful. Math. If you aim At what I more than fear 37-011 do, the Reafons Which you deliver, fhould in Judgment rather Deter me, than invite a Grant, with my Allured ruin. Hon, True, if that you were Of a cold Temper, one whom Doubt, or Fear, In the moft horrid Forms they could put on, Might teach to be ingrateful. Your Denial To me that have defer v'd fo much, l8 is more, If it can have Addition. Math, I know not What your Commands are. Hon, Have you fought fo well Among arm'd Men, yet cannot guefs what Lifts You are to enter, when you are in private With a willing Lady ? One, that to enjoy Your company, this Night deny'd the King Accefs to what's his own. If you will prefs me To fpeak in plainer Language 18 That is, more than Ingratitude. M, M. THE PICTURE. $$ Math* Pray you, forbear ; I would I did not underfland too much Already. By your Words I am inftructed To credit that, which, not confirm 'd by you, Had bred Sufpicion in me of Untruth, Tho' an Angel had affirm'd it. But fuppofe That, cloy'd with Happinels (which is ever built On virtuous Chaftity) in the Wantonnefs Of Appetite, you defire to make Trial Of the falfe Delights propos'd by vicious Luft ; Among ten thouland, every Way more able And apter to be wrought on, fuch as owe you Obedience, being your Subjects, why mould you Make Choice of me, a Stranger ? Hon. Tho' yet Reafon Was ne'er admitted in the Court of Love, I'll yield you one unanfwerable. As I urg'd In our laft Conference, you have A pretty promising Prefence ; but there are Many in Limbs and Feature, who may take That Way the Right-hand File of you : Befides, Your May of Youth is paft, and the Blood fpent By Wounds (tho' bravely taken) render you Difabled for Love's Service ; and that Valour Set off with better Fortune, which, it may be, Swells you above your Bounds, is not the Hook That hath caught me, good Sir : I need no Champion With his Sword, to guard my Honour or my Beauty ; In both I can defend myfelf, and live My own Protection. Math. If thefe Advocates, The belt that can plead for me, have no Power ; What elle can you find in me, that may tempt you, With irrecoverable Lofs unto yourfelf, To be a Gainer from me ? Hon. You have, Sir, A Jewel of fuch matchlefs Worth and Luftre, As does difdain Comparifon, and darkens D 4 56 THEPICTURE. All that is rare in other Men ; and that I mu ft or win or leflen. Math, You heap more Amazement on me ! What am I poffefs'd of That you can covet ? Make me underftand it, If it have a Name. Hon. Yes, an imagin'd one ; But is in Subflance nothing, being a Garment Worn out of Fafhion, and long fince given o'er By the Court and Country ; 'tis your Loyalty, And Conftancy to your Wife; 'tis that I dote on, And does deferve my Envy ; and that Jewel, Or by fair play or foul, I mull win from you. Math. Thefe are mere Contraries. If you love me, Madam, For my Conftancy, why feek you to deftroy it ? If my keeping it, preferves me worth your Favour, Or, if it be a Jewel of that Value, As you with labour'd Rhetoric would perfuade me, What can you ftake againft it ? Hon. A Queen's Fame, And equal Honour. Math. So, whoever wins, Both mall be Lofers. Hon. That is what I aim at. Yet on the Dye I lay my Youth, my Beauty, This moift Palm, this foft Lip, and thofe Delights Darknefs lhould only judge of ! Do you find 'em Infectious in the Trial, that you ftart As frighted with their Touch ? Math. Is it in Man To refill fuch ftrong Temptations ? Hon. He begins To waver. [Apde. Math. Madam, as you are gracious, Grant this ftiort Night's Deliberation to me ; And, with the rifing Sun, from me you mall Receive full Satisfaction. Hon. Tho' Extremes Hate all Delay, I will deny you nothing ; THE PICTURE. 57 This Key will bring you to your Friend ; you are both fafe : And all Things ufeful that could be prepar'd For one I love and honour, wait upon you. Take Counfel of your Pillow, fuch a Fortune As with Affection's fwifteit Wings flies to you, Will not be often tender'd. [Exit Honoria. Math, How my Blood Rebels ! I now could call her back and yet There's fomething flays me : If the King had tender'd Such Favours to my Wife, 'tis to be doubted They had not been refus'd : But, being a Man, I mould not yield firft, or prove an Example For her Defence of Frailty. By this, fans Queflion, She's tempted too ; and here I may examine [Looks on the Pitiure, How fhe holds out. She's flill the fame, the fame Pure Cryftal Rock of Chaftity ! Perifh all Allurements that may alter me ! The Snow Of her fvveet Coldnefs, hath extinguilhed quite The Fire that but even now began to flame : And I, by her confirm'd, Rewards, nor Titles, Nor certain Death from the refufed Queen, Shall fhake my Faith ; fince I refolve to be Loyal to her, as fhe is true to me. [Exit Mathias. Enter Ubaldo, Ricardo. Ubal, What we fpake on the Volley l 9 begins to work, We have laid a good Foundation. Ric, Build it up, Or elfe 'tis nothing : You have by Lot the Honour Of the firft Affault ; but, as it is conditional, Obferve the Time proportion'd ; 111 not part with My Share in the Achievement ; when I whittle, Or hem, fall off. 9 On the Volley. A literal Tranflation of the French Phrafe a la wk'e, which fignifies at random, or inconfidcratdy. M. M. 5 S THE PICTURE, Enter Sophia. Ubal. She comes. Stand by, I'll watch * My Opportunity. Soph. I find myfelf Strangely diffracted with the various Stones, Now well, now ill, then doubfully, by my Guefts Deliver'd of my Lord : And like poor Beggars That in their Dreams find Treafure, by Reflection Of a wounded Fancy make it queftionable Whether they fleep, or not ; yet tickl'd with Such a fantaftick Hope of Happinefs, Wilh they may never wake : In fome fuch Meafure r Incredulous of what I fee and touch, As 'twere a fading Apparition, I Am Hill perplex'd, and troubled ; and when moft Confirm'd 'tis true, a curious Jealoufy To be allured, by what Means, and from whom, Such a Mafs of Wealth was firft deierv'd, then gotten, Cunningly fteals into me. I have practis'd, For my certain Refolution, with thefe Courtiers > Promising private Conference to either. And at this Hour, if in Search of the Truth, I hear, or fay, more than becomes my Virtue, Forgive me, my Mathias. Ubal. Now I make in. Madam, as you commanded, I attend Your Pleafure. Soph. I muft thank you for the Favour. Ubal. I am no ghoftly Father ; yet if you have Some Scruples, touching your Lord, you would be re- folv'd of, I am prepar'd. Soph. But will you take your Oath, To anfwer truly ? Ubal. On the Hem of your Smock if you pleafe, A Vow I dare not break, it being a Book I would gladly fwear on. THE PICTURE. 59 Soph* To fpare, Sir, that Trouble, I'll take your Word ; which in a Gentleman Should be of equal Value. Is my Lord, then, In fuch Grace with the Queen ? Ubal. You ihould beft know, By what you have found from him, whether he can Deferve Grace or no. Soph. What Grace do you mean ? UbaL That fpecial Grace (if you'll have it) He laboured fo hard for between a Pair of Sheets On your Wedding Night, when your Ladyfhip Loft you know what. Soph. Fie, be more modeft, Or I muft leave you. UbaL I would tell a Truth As cleanly as I could, and yet the Subject Makes me run out a little. Soph. You would put now A foolim Jealoufy in my Head, my Lord Hath gotten a new Miftrefs. UbaL One, a hundred : But under Seal I fpeak it ; I prefume Upon your Silence, it being for your Profit ; They talk of Hercules' Back for fifty in a Night, * 'Twas well ; but yet to yours he was a Pidler : Such a Soldier, and a Courtier never came To Aula regalis, the Ladies run mad for him, And there is fuch Contention among 'em Who fhall engrofs him wholly, that the like Was never heard of. ft$T 20 They talk of Hercules' Bad for fifty in a Night, Tivas ivell t &c. Thi Freedom of Language, I am afraid, will be apt to difpleafe many of MaJJinger's Readers; who, perhaps, will think that fuch Scenes had better have been quite omitted : But as that would not be confident with my Plan, I fhall urge in Defence, that it was the Vice of the Age he lived in ; and that Majfinger was, perhaps, obli- ged more from Neceffity than Inclination, to comply with the Tafte of his Audience, in order to fecure his Pieces a favourable Recep- tion. 60 THEPICTURE. Soph. Are they handfome Women ? VbaU Fie, no, coarfe Mammets, and what's worfe-, they are old too, Some fifty, fome threefcore, and they pay dear for't, Believing, that he carries a powder in his Breeches Will make 'em young again ; and thefe fuck fhrewdly. Ric. Sir, I mud fetch you off. \JVh]jlks. Ubal. I could tell you Wonders Of the Cures he has done, but a Bufinefs of Import Calls me away, but, that difpatch'd, I will Be with you prefently. [Hefteps afide. Soph. There is fomething more In this than bare Sufpicion. Ric. Save you, Lady : Now you look like yourfelf ! I have not look'd on A Lady more compleat, yet have feen a Madam Wear a Garment of this Fafhion, of the fame Stuff too, One juft of your Dimenfions ; fat the wind there, Boy ? Soph. What Lady, Sir? Ric. Nay, nothing; and methinjes I mould know this Ruby : Very good ; 'tis the fame. This Chain of orient Pearl, and this Diamond too, Have been worn before ; but much Good may they do you; Strength to the Gentleman's Back, he toil'd hard for 'em Before he got 'em. Soph. Why ? How were they gotten? [Ubaldo hems. Ric. Not in the Field with his Sword, upon my Life, He may thank his clofe Stillet too. Plague upon it ; Run the Minutes, fo fall ? Pray excufe my Manners ; I left a Letter in my Chamber Window, Which I wouldnot have feen on any Terms ; Fie on it, Forgetful as I am ; but I'll ftraight attend you. [RicardoT?^ afide. Soph. This is ftrange ; his Letters faid thefe Jewels were Prefented him by the Queen, as a Reward For his good Service, and the Trunks of Clothes That followed them this lafl Night, withHafte made up By his Direction. THE PICTURE. 61 Enter Ubaldo. Ubal. I was telling you Of Wonders, Madam. Soph. If you are fo fkilful, Without Premeditation anfwer me. Know you this Gown, and thefe rich Jewels ? Ubal. Heaven ! How Things will come out ! But that I mould offend you, And wrong my more than noble Friend, Your Hufband, (for we are fworn Brothers) in the Dif- covery Of his neareft Secrets, I could Soph. By the Hope of Favour That you have from me, out with it. Ubal. 'Tis a potent Spell, I cannot refift ; why I will tell you, Madam, And to how many feveral Women you are Beholding for your Bravery. This was The Wedding Gown of Paulina, a rich Strumpet, Worn but a Day, when fhe married old Gonzage, And left off trading. Soph. O my Heart ! Ubal. This Chain Of Pearl was a great Widow's that invited Your Lord to a Mafque, and the Weather proving foul, He lodg'd in her Houfe all Night, and merry they were ; But how he came by it I know not. Soph. Perjur'd Man ! Ubal. This Ring was Julietta's ; a fine Piece, But very good at the Sport. This Diamond Was Madam Acanthes, given him for a Song Prick'd in a private Arbour, as fhe faid, (When the Queen afk'd for it,) and fhe heard him fing too, And danc'd to his Hornpipe, or there are Liars abroad. There are other Toys about you The fame Way purchafs'd ; but parallelled 61 THEPICTURE. With thefe, not worth the Relation. You are happy in a Hufband ; never Man Made better Ufe of his Strength ; would you have him wafle His Body away for nothing ? If he holds out, There's not an embroidered Petticoat in the Court But mall be at your Service. Soph. I commend him : It is a thriving Trade ; but pray you leave me A little to myielf. Ubal. You may command Your Servant, Madam. She's flung unto the Quick, Lad. Ric. I did my Part ; if this work not, hang me ; Let her fleep as well as me can to-night, to-morrow We'll mount new Batteries. Ubal. And till then leave her. [Exeunt Ubaldo, Ricardo. Soph. You Powers, that take into your Care the Guard. Of Innocence, aid me ; for I am a Creature So forfeited to Defpair, Hope cannot fancy A Ranfom to redeem me ; I begin To waver in my Faith, and make it doubtful, Whether the Saints that were canoniz'd for Their Holinefs of Life, fin'd not in fecret, Since my Mathias is fail'n from his Virtue In fuch an open Fafhion. Could it be eife, That fuch a Hufband, fo devoted to me, So vow'd to Temperance ; for lafcivions Hire, Should proflitute himfelf to common Harlots, Old and deform'd too ! Was it for this he left me ! And on a feign'd Pretence for want of Means To give me Ornament ? Or to bring Home Difeafes to me ? Suppofe thefe are falfe And luftful Goats, if he were true and right, Why flays he fo long from me, being made rich, And that the only Reafon why he left me ? No, he is loft ; and fhall I wear the Spoils, And Salaries of Lufl ? They cleave unto me Like NejJ'us' poifon'd Shirt. No, in my Rage I'll tear 'em off, and from my Body walh THE PICTURE. 63 The Venom with my Tears. Have I no Spleen, Nor Anger of a Woman ? Shall he build Upon my Ruins, and I, unreveng'd, Deplore his Falfehood ? No, with the fame Tram For which he had difhonour'd me, I'll purchafe A juft Revenge. I am not yet fo much In Debt to Years, nor fo misfhap'd, that all Should fly from my Embraces. Chaftity, Thou oniy art a Name, and I renounce thee; I'm now a Servant to Voluptuoufnefs ; Wantons of all Degrees and Fafhions, welcome ; You ihall be entertain'd ; and, if I ftray, Let him condemn himfelf that led the Way. [Exit, End of the Third A3. ACT IV. S C E N E I. Enter Mathias and Baptifla. Bapt. \T7E are in a defperate Strait; there's no V V Evafion, Nor Hope left to come off, but by your yielding To the Neceffity ; you mufl feign a Grant To her violent Pafiion, or Math. What, my Bapt ijia ? Bapt. We are but dead elfe. Math. Were the Sword now heav'd up, And my neck upon the Block, I would not buy An Hour's Reprieve with the Lofs of Faith and Virtue To be made immortal here. Art thou a Scholar, Nay, almoft without a Parallel, and yet fear To die, which is inevitable ? You may urge The many Years that, by the Courfe of Nature, We may travel in this tedious Pilgrimage, And hold it as a Bleffing, as it is, W T hen Innocence is our Guide ; yet know,- Bap! i/Ia, Our Virtues are preferr'd before our Years, 64 THE PICTURE. By the great Judge. To die untainted in Our Fame and Reputation is the greateft ; And to lofe that, can we dcfire to live ? Or mall I, for a momentary Pleafure, Which foon comes to a Period, to all Times Have breach of Faith and Perjury, remembered In a ftill living Epitaph ? No, Baptifta, Since my Sophia will go to her Grave, Unfpotted in her Faith, I'll follow her With equal Loyalty ; but look on this, Your own great Work, your Mafter-piece, and then, She being full the fame, teach me to alter. Ha ! fure I do not fleep ! or, if I dream, [The Piclure altered. This is a terrible Virion ! I will clear My Eyeflght ; perhaps melancholy makes me See that which is not. Bapt. It is too apparent. I grieve to look upon't ; befides the yellow, That does afTure ine's tempted, there are Lines Of a darkColour, that diiperfe themfelves O'er every Miniature of her Face, and thofe Confirm Math. She is turn'd whore. Bapt. I muft not fay fo. Yet, as a Friend to Truth, if you will have mc Interpret it, in her Confent and Wiflies She's falfe, but not in Fad: yet. Math. Fact! Baptifta? Make not yourfelf a Pander to her Loofenefs, In labouring to palliate what a Vizard Of Impudence cannot cover. Did e'er Woman In her Will decline from Chaftity, but found Means To give her hot Lull: full Scope ? It is more Impofiible in Nature for grofs Bodies, Descending of themfelves, to hang in the Air, Or with my fingle Arm to underprop A falling Tower ; nay, in its violent Courfe To flop the Lightning, than to Hay a Woman THEPICTURE. 65 Hurried by two Furies, Luft and Faliehood, In her full Career to Wickednels. Bapt. Pray you, temper The Violence of your Paflion. Math. In Extremes Of this Condition, can it be in Man To ufe a Moderation ? I am thrown From a fleep Rock headlong into a Gulph Of Mifery, and find myfelf pafl Hope, In the fame Moment that I apprehend That I am falling, and this, the Figure of My Idol, few Hours fince, while fhe continued In her Perfection, that was late a Mirror, In which I faw miraculous Shapes of Duty, Staid Manners, with all Excellency a Hufband Could wifh in a chafte Wife, is on the fudden Turn'd to a magical Glafs, and does prefent Nothing but Horns and Horror. Bapt* You may yet (And 'tis the bell: Foundation,) build up Comfort On your own Goodnefs. Math. No, that hath undone me ; For now I hold my Temperance a Sin Worfe than Excefs, and what was Vice a Virtue. Have I refus'd a Queen, and fuch a Queen ( Whofe ravifhing Beauties at the firft Sight had tempted A Hermit from his Beads, and chang'd his Prayers To amorous Sonnets,) to preferve my Faith Inviolate to thee, with the Hazard of My Death with Torture, fince me could inflict No lefs for my Contempt, and have I met Such a Return from thee ? I will not curfe thee, Nor for thy Falfehood rail againfl tbe Sex ; 'Tis poor, and common ; I'll only with wife Men, Whifper unto myfelf, howe'er they feem ; Nor prefent, nor pafl Times, nor the Age to come, Hath heretofore, can now, or ever fhall Produce one conftant Woman. Vol. I. E 66 THE PICTURE. Bapt. This is more Than the Satyrifts wrote againft 'cm. Math. There's no Language That can exprefs the Poifon of thefe Afpicks, Thefe weeping Crocodiles, and all too little That hath been faid againft 'em. But I'll mould My Thoughts into another Form, and, if She can outlive the Report of what I have done, This Hand, when next me comes within my Reach, Shall be her Executioner. Enter Honoria. Bapt. The Queen, Sir. Hon. Wait our Command at Diftance ; Sir, you too have Free Liberty to depart. \ Bapt. I know my Manners, And thank you for the Favour. \Exlt Baptifta. Hon. Have you taken Good Reft in your new Lodgings ? I expedt now Your refolute Anfwer; but advife maturely Before I hear it. Math. Let my Actions, Madam, For no Words can dilate my Joy, in all Vou can command, with Chearfulnefs to ferve you, Afllire your Highnefs ; and in Sign of my Submimon, and Contrition for my Error, My Lips, that but the laft Night ihunn'd the Touch Of yours as Poifon, taught Humility now, Thus on your Foot, and that too great an Honour For fuch an Undeferver, feal my Duty. A cloudy Mift of Ignorance, equal to Cimmerian Darknefs, would not let me fee then, What now with Adoration and Winder, With Reverence I look up to : But thofe Fogs Difpers'd and fcatter'd by the powerful Beams With which yourfelf, the Sun of all Perfection, Vouchfafe to cure my Blindnefs, like a Suppliant As low as I can kneel, I humbly beg What you once pleas'd to tender. THE PICTURE, 67 Hon. This is more Than I could hope ; what find you fo attractive Upon my Face, in fo fhort Time to make This fudden Metamorphofis ? Pray you, rife ; I, for your late Neglect, thus fign your Pardon. Aye, now you kifs like a Lover, and not as Brothers Coldly falute their Sifters. Math. I am turn'd All Spirit and Fire. Hon. Yet, to give fome Allay To this hot Fervour, 'twere good to remember The King, whofe Eyes and Ears are every where, With the Danger too that follows, this dilcover'd. Math. Danger ! A Bugbear, Madam ; let me ride once Like Phaeton in the Chariot of your Favour, And I contemn Jove's Thunder : Tho' the King In our Embraces flood a Looker on, His Hangmen too, with ftudied Cruelty, ready To drag me from your Arms, it fhould not fright me From the enjoying that, a (ingle Life is Too poor a Price for : O, that now all Vigour Of my Youth were recollected for an Hour, That my Defire might meet with yours, and draw The Envy of all Men in the Encounter Upon my Head ! I mould but we lofe Time; Be gracious, mighty Queen. Hon. Paufe yet a little : The Bounties of the King, and, what weighs more, Your boafled Conftancy to your matchlefs Wife, Should not foon be fhaken. Math. The whole Fabric, When I but look on you, is in a Moment O'erturn'd and ruin'd, and, as Rivers lofe Their Names, when they are fwallow'd by the Ocean, In you alone all Faculties of my Soul Are wholly taken up, my Wife and King At the beft as Things forgotten. Hon. Can this be ? I have gain'd my End now. [Ajlde. E 2 63 THE PICTURE. Math* Wherefore ftay you, Madam ? Hon. In my Consideration, what a Nothing Man's Conltancy is! Math. Your Beauties make it fb In me, iweet Lady. Hon. And it is my Glory : I could be cov now as you were, but I Am of a gentler Temper ; howfoever, And in a juft Return of what I have fuffer'd In your Difdain, with the fame Meafure grant me Equal Deliberation : I ere long Will vifit you again, and when I next Appear, as conquer 'd by it, Slave-like, wait On my triumphant Beauty. [Exit Honoria. Math. What a Change Is here beyond my Fear ! but by thy Falfehood, Sophia, not her Beauty, is it deny'd me To fin but in my Wifhes. What a Frown In Scorn, at her Departure, me threw on me ? I am both Ways loft ; Storms of Contempt and Scorn Are ready to break on me, and all Hope Of Shelter doubtful : I can neither be Difloyal, nor yet honefl ; I ftand guilty On either Part ; at the worft, Death will end all, And he mud be my Judge to right my Wrong, Since I have lov'd too much, and liv'd too long. [Exit Mathias. SCENE II. Enter Sophia fola, with a Book and a Note. Soph. Nor Cuftom nor Example, nor vaft Numbers Of fuch as do offend, make lefs the Sin. For each particular Crime a ftrict Account Will be exacted ; and that Comfort which ThcDamn'd pretend, (Fellows in Mifery) ^ Takes nothing from their Torments ; every one Muitfuffer in himlelf the Meafure of THEPICTURE. 69 His Wickednefs. If fo, as I muft grant, It being unrefutable in Reafon, Howe'er my Lord offend, it is no Warrant For me to walk in his forbidden Paths : What Penance then can expiate my Guilt For my Confent (tranfported then with Paflion) To Wantonnefs ? The Wounds I give my Fame Cannot recover his ; and, though I have fed Thefe Courtiers with Promifes and Hopes, I am yet in Fadt untainted ; and I trull My Sorrow for it, with my Purity And Love to Goodncfs for itfelf, made powerful, Tho' all they have alleged prove true or falfe, Will be fuch Exorcifms as fhall command This Fury, Jealoufy, from me. What I have Determin'd touching them, I am refolv'd To put in Execution. Within there ! Where are my noble Guefts ? Enter Hilario, Corifca, with other Servants, Hil. The elder, Madam, Is drinking by himfelf to your Ladyfhip's Health In Mufkadine and Eggs ; and, for a Rafher To draw his Liquor down, he hath got a Pye Of Marrow-bones, Potatoes and Eringos, With many fuch Ingredients; and 'tis faid He hath fent his Man in Poll to the next Town, For a Pound of Ambergrife, and half a Peck Of Fifties call'd Cantharides. Cor if. The younger Prunes up himfelf, as if this Night he were To adt a Bridegroom's Part ; but to what Purpofe, I am Ignorance itfelf. Soph. Continue fo. Let thofe Lodgings be prepar'd as this directs you, [Gives a Paper. And fail not in a Circumftance, as you Refpeft my Favour. 3 7 o THE PICTURE. 1 Serv. We have our Instructions. 2 Serv, And pun&ually will follow 'em. [Exeunt Sewants, Enter Ubaldo. Hit. Madam, here comes The Lord Ubaldo, Ubal. Pretty one, there's Gold To buy thee a new Gown ; and there's for thee : Grow fat, and fit for Service. I am now, As I mould be, at the Height, and able to Beget a Giant. O my better Angel, In this you (hew your Wifdom, when you pay The Letcher in his own Coin ; lhall you fit puling, Like a patient Grizzle, and be laugh'd at ? No, This is a fair Revenge, lhall we to it ? Soph. To what, Sir ? Ubal. The Sport you promis'd. Soph, Could it be done with Safety ? UbaL I warrant you ! I am found as a Bell, a tough Old Blade, and Steel to the Back, as you mall find mt In the Trial on your Anvil. Soph. So ; but how, Sir, Shall I fatisfy your Friend, to whom, by Promife, I am equally engag'd ? Ubal. I mult confefs, The more the merrier ; but, of all Men living, Take Heed of him ; you may fafer run upon The Mouth of a Cannon when it is unlading, And come off colder. Soph. How ! is he not wholefome ? Ubal. Wholefome ! I'll tell you for your Good ; he is A Spital of Difeafes, and indeed More loathfome and infectious ; the Tub is His weekly Bath : He hath not drank this feven Years, Before he came to your Houfe, but Compofitions Of Saflafras and Guaicum, and dry Mutton's His daily Portion ; name what Scratch foevcr THE PICTURE. 71 Can be got by Women, and the Surgeons will refolvc you, At this Time or at that, Ricardo had it. Soph, Blefs me from him. Ubal. 'Tis a good Prayer, Lady. It being a Degree unto the Pox Only to mention him ; if my Tongue burn not, hang me, When I but name Ricardo* Soph. Sir, this Caution Alufl be rewarded. Ubal. I hope I have marr'd his Market. But when ? Soph. Why, prefently ; follow my Woman, She knows where to conduct you, and will iervc To-night for a Page. Let the Waiftcoat I appointed, With the Cambrick Shirt perfum'd, and the rich Cap, Be brought into his Chamber. Ubal. Excellent Lady ! And a Caudle too in the Morning. Corif. I will fit you. {Exeunt Ubaldo and Corifca. Enter Ricardo. Soph. So hot on the Scent ! Here comes the other Beagle. Ric. Take Purfe and all. Hil. If this Company would come often, I mould make a pretty Term on't. Soph. For your Sake I have put him off; he only begg'd a Kifs ; I gave it, and fo parted. Ric. I hope better, He did not touch your Lip ? Soph. Yes, I aflure you. There was no Danger in it ? Ric. No ! eat prefently Thefe Lozenges, of forty Crowns an Ounce, Or you are undone. Soph. What is the Virtue of 'em ? E 4 72 THE PICTURE. jR/V. They are Prefervativcs againft flinking Breath, Rifing from rotten Lungs. Soph, If fo, your Carriage Of fuch dear Antidotes, in my Opinion, May render yours fufpected. Ric. Fie, no, I ufe 'em When I talk with him, I mould be poifon'd elfe. But I'll be free with you. He was once a Creature It may be of God's making, but long fince He is turn'd to a Druggift's Shop ; the Spring and Fall Hold all the Year with him ; that he lives, he owes To Art, not Nature ; ihe has giv'n him o'er. He moves, like the Fairy King, on Screws and Wheels Made by his Doctor's Recipes, and yet ftill They are out of Joint, and every Day repairing : He has a Regiment of Whores he keeps At his own Charge in a Lazar-houfe : But the beft is, There's not a Nofe among 'em. He's acquainted With the Green Water ; and the Spitting Pill's Familiar to him. In a frofty Morning You may thrufl him in a Pottle-pot, his Bones Rattle in his Skin, like Beans tofs'd in a Bladder. If he but hear a Coach, the Fomentation, The Friction with Fumigation cannot fave him Trom the Chin-evil. In a Word, he is Not one Difeafe, but all : Yet, being my Friend, I will forbear his Character ; for I would not Wrong him in your Opinion, Soph. The beft is, The Virtues you beftow on him to me, Are Myfteries I know not : But, however, I am at your Service. Sirrah, let it be your Care T' unclothe the Gentleman, and with Speed : Delay Takes from Delight. Ric. Good, there's my Hat, Sword, Cloak A Vengeance on thefe Buttons ; off with my Doublet, I dare mow my Skin, in the Touch you will like it better; Prithee cut my Codpiece-point, and for this Service, When I leave them off, they are thine. Hit. I take your Word, Sir, THE PICTURE. 73 Ric. Dear Lady, (lay not long. Soph, I may come too foon, Sir. Ric. No, no, I am ready now. Hil. This is the Way, Sir. \_Exeunt Hilario and Ricardo. Soph. Iwas much to blame to credit their Reports Touching my Lord, that fo traduce each other, And with fuch virulent Malice, tho' I prefume They are bad enough ; but I have ftudied for 'em A Way for their Recovery. [The Noife of clapping a Door, Ubaldo above in his Shirt, Ubal. What doit thou mean, Wench ? Why doft thou fhut the Door upon me ? Ha ! My Clothes are ta'en away too ! mall I ftarve here ? Is this my Lodging ? I am fure the Lady talk'd of A rich Cap, a perfum'd Shirt, and a Waiftcoat ; But here is nothing but a little frefh Straw, A Petticoat for a Coverlet, and that torn too ; And an old Woman's Biggen for a Night-cap. Enter Corifca to Sophia. 'Slight, 'tis a Prifon, or a Pig- fly e. Ha ! The Windows grated with Iron, I cannot force 'em/ And, if I leap down here, I break my Neck ; I am betray'd. Rogues ! Villains ! let me out ; I am a Lord, and that's no common Title, And fhall I be us'd thus ? Soph, Let him rave, he's fad ; I'll parley with him at Leifure. Ricardo entering zvith a great Noife below y as fallen. Ric, Zoons, have you Trap-doors ? Soph, The other Bird's i' th' Cage too, let him flutter. Ric* Whither am I fall'n ? Into Hell ! Ubal. Who makes that Noife there ? Help me, if thou art a Friend. 74 THE MCT V R E. Ric. A Friend ! I am where I cannot help myfelf ; let me fee thy Face. Ubal. How, Ricardo ! prithee, throw me Thy Cloak, if thou canft, to cover me, I am almoft Frozen to Death. Ric. My Cloak ! I have no Breeches ; I am in my Shirt, as thou art ; and here's nothing For myfelf but a Clown's caft-ofT Suit. Ubal. We are both undone. Prithee, roar a little Madam I Enter Hilario in Ricardo'j Suit. Ric. Lady of the Houfe ! Ubal. Grooms of the Chamber ! Ric. Gentlewomen ! Milkmaids ! UbaL Shall we be murder'd ? Soph. No, but foundly punifh'd, To your Deferts. Ric* You are not in earneft, Madam ? Soph. Judge as you find, and feel it; and now hear What I irrevocably purpofe to you. Being receiv'd as Guefts into my Houfe, And with all it afforded entertain'd, You have forgot all hofpitable Duties, And with the Defamation of my Lord, Wrought on my Woman-weaknefs, in Revenge Of his Injuries, as you fafhion'd 'em to me, To yield my Honour to your lawlefs Lufl. Hil. Mark that, poor Fellows. Soph. And fo far you have Tranfgrefs'd againflthe Dignity of Men, Who ihould, bound to it by Virtue, Hill defend Chafle Ladies' Honours, that it was your Trade To make 'em infamous : But you are caught In your own Toils, like luftful Beafts, and therefore Hope not to find the Ufage of Men from me ; Such Mercy you have forfeited, and (hall fuffer Like the moll flaviih Women. Ubal. How will you ufe us ? THE PICTURE. 75 Soph. Eafe and Excefs in Feeding made you wanton ; A Pleurify of ill Blood you muft let out. By Labour, and fpare Diet, 21 that Way got too, Or perifh with Hunger. Reach him up that DiftafF With the Flax upon it, tho' no Omphale, Nor you a fecond Hercules, as I take it ; As you fpin well at my Command, and pleafe me, Your Wages, in thecoarfeit Bread and Water,- Shall be proportionable. Ubal. I willftarve firft. Soph* That's as you pleafe. Ric. What will become of me now ? Soph. You mail have gentler Work ; I have oft ob- ferv'd You were proud to mew the Finenefs of your Hands, And foftnefs of your Fingers ; you ihould reel well What he fpins, if you give your Mind to it, as I'll force you. Deliver him his Materials. Now you know Your Penance, fall to work, Hunger will teach you ; And fo, as Slaves to your Luft, not me, I'll leave you. [Exeunt Sophia and Servants. Ubal. I fhall fpin a fine Thread out now. Ric. I cannot look On thefe Devices, but they put me in Mind Of Rope-makers. Hil. Fellow, think of thy Talk, Forget fuch Vanities, my Livery there Will ferve thee to work in. Ric. Let me have my Clothes yet ; I was bountiful to thee. Hil. They are pad: your Wearing, And mine, by Promife, as all thefe can witnefs ; You have no Holidays coming, nor will I work While thefe and this lafts ; and fo when you pleafe You may fhut up your Shop Windows. [Exit Hilario. si That is, by Labour. M. M. 76 THE PICTURE. Ubal. I am faint, And mull He down. Ric. I am hungry too, and cold curfed Women. Ubal. This comes of our Whoring. But let us reft as well as we can to-night, But not o'er-flecp ourfelves, left we fall to-morrow. [They draw the Curtains* SCENE III. Enter Ladiflaus, Honoria, Eubulus, Ferdinand, Acar. the, Attendants, Hon. Now you know all, Sir, with the Motives wh;* 1 fore'd him to my Lodging. Ladif. I deli re No more fuch Trials, Lady. Hon. I prefume, Sir, You do not doubt my Chaftity. Ladif. I would not ; But thefe are ftrange Inducements. Rub. By no Means, Sir. Why, tho' he were with Violence feiz'd upon, And ftill detain'd ; the Man, Sir, being no Soldier, Nor us'd to charge his Pike, when the Breach is openy There was no Danger in't : You mull conceive, Sir, Being religious, fhe chofe him for a Chaplain To read old Homilies to her in the Dark ; She's bound to it by her Canons. Ladif. Still tormented With thy Impertinence ? Hon. By yourfelf, dear Sir, I was ambitious only to overthrow His boafted Conftancy in his Content, But for Fadl I contemn him ; I was never Unchafle in Thought ; I laboured to give Proof What Power dwells in this Beauty you admire fo ; And, when you fee how foon it hath transform'd him, THE PICTURE. 77 And with what Superftition he adores it, Determine as you pleafe. Ladif. I will look on This Pageant ; but Hon. When vou' have feen and heard, Sir, The Paffages which I myfelf difcover'd, And could have kept conceal'd, had I meant bafely, Judge as you pleafe. Ladif Well, I'll obferve the Iflue. Eub. How had you took this, General, in your Wife ? Ferd. As a ftrange Curiofity ; but Queens Are privileg'd above Subjects, "and 'tis fit, Sir. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Enter Mathias and Baptifta. Bapt. You are much alter'd, Sir, fince the laft Night When the Queen left you, and look chearfully, Your Dulnefs quite blown over. Math. I have feen a Virion, This Morning makes it good, and never was In fuch Security as at this Inftant, Fall what can fall : And when the Queen appears, Whofe fhorteft Abfence now is tedious to me, Obferve th' Encounter. Enter Honoria to Mathias. (Ladiflaus, Eubulus, Fer- dinand, Acanthe, with others enter above. Bapt. She already is Enter'd the Lifts. Math. And I prepar'd to meet her. Bapt. I know my Duty. Hon. Not fo, you may ftay now As a Witnefs of our Contract. Bapt. I obey In all Things, Madam. 78 THE PICTURE. Hon. Where's that Reverence, Or rather fuperftitious Adoration, Which, Captive-like, to my triumphant Beauty You paid laft Night ? No humble Knee ? nor Sign Of vafial Duty ? Sure this is the Foot To whofe proud Cover, and then happy in it, Your Lips were glu'd ; and that the Neck then offer'd To witnefs your Subjection to be trod on : Your certain Lofs of Life in the King's Anger Was then too mean a Price to buy my Favour ; And that falfe Glow-worm Fire of Conflancy To your Wife, extingumVd by a greater Light Shot from our Eyes ; and that, it may be, (being Too glorious to be look'd on) hath depriv'd you Of Speech and Motion : But I will take off A little from the Splendor, and defcend From my own Height, and in your Lownefs hear you Plead as a Suppliant. Math, I do remember I once faw fuch a Woman. Hon. How ! Math. And then She did appear a moft magnificent Queen ; And what's more, virtuous, tho' fomewhat darkened With Pride and Self-opinion. Eub. Call you this Courrihip ? Math. And me was happy in a royal Hufband, Whom Envy could not tax, unlefs it were For his too much Indulgence of her Humours. Eub. Pray you, Sir, obferve that Touch, 'tis to the Purpofe ; I like the Play the better for't. Math. And ihe liv'd Worthy her Birth and Fortune ; you retain yet Some Part of her angelical Form ; but when Envy to the Beauty of another Woman Inferior to hers, (one ihe never Had feen, but in her Picture) had difpers'd Infection thro' her Veins, and Loyalty THE PICTURE. 79 (Which a great Queen as flic was, mould have nourinYd) Grew odious to her Hon. I am Thunderftruck. Math. And Lull:, in all the Bravery it could borrow From Majefty, howe'er difguis'd, had took; Sure Footing in the Kingdom of her Heart, (Once the Throne of Chaftity,) how in a Moment All that was gracious, great, and glorious in her, And won upon all Hearts ; like feeming Shadows, Wanting true Subftance, vaniih'd. Hon. How his Reafons Work on my Soul ! Math. Retire into yourfelf. Your own Strengths, Madam, flrongly mann'd with Virtue ; And be but as you were, and there's no Office So bafe, beneath the Slavery that Men Impofe on Beafts, but I will gladly bow to. But as you play and juggle with a Stranger, Varying your Shapes like Thetis, tho' the Beauties Of all that are by Poets' Raptures painted Were now in you united, you fhould pafs Pitied by me perhaps, but not regarded* Eub. If this take not, I am cheated. Math. To flip once, Is incident, * a andexcus'd by human Frailty ; But to fall ever, damnable. We were both Guilty, I grant, in tendering our Affection ; But, as I hope you will do, I repented. When we are grown up to Ripenefs, our Life is Like to this Picture. Whilj we run A conftant Race in Goodncfs, it retains The juit Proportion. But the Journey being Tedious, and fweet Temptations ia the Way, That may in fome Degree divert us from The Road that we put forth in, e'er we end Our Pilgrimage, it may, like this, turn Yellow, 2 That is, is incident to human frailtv, and rendered cxcufable by it. M. M. So THE PICTURE. Or be with Blacknefs clouded. But when we Find we have gone aftray, and labour to Return unto our never-failing Guide, Virtue ; Contrition (with unfeigned Tears, The Spots of Vice waih'd off) will foon rcftore it To the firft Purenefs. Hon. I am difenchanted : Mercy, O Mercy, Heavens ! [Kneels* Ladif. I am ravifh'd with What I have feen and heard. Ferd. Let us defcend, and hear The reft below. Eub. This hath fall'n out beyond My Expectation. [X^O' defend. Hon. How have I wander'd Out of the Tract of Piety ! and milled By overweaning Pride, and Flattery Of fawning Sycophants, (the Bane of Greatnefs) Could never meet till now a Paffenger, That in his Charity would fet me right, Or ftay me in my Precipice to Ruin ! How ill have I return'd your Goodnefs to me ! Enter the King and others. The Horror in my Thought of it turns me Marble. But if it may be yet prevented : O Sir, What can I do to ihew my Sorrow, or, With what Brow afk your Pardon ? Ladif. Pray you rife. Hon. Never, till you forgive me, and receive Unto your Love and Favour a chang'd Woman. My State and Pride turn'd to Humility, henceforth Shall wait on your Commands, and my Obedience Steer'd only by your Will. Ladif. And that will prove A fecond and a better Marriage to me.- All is forgot. Hon. Sir, I muft not rife yet, Till with a free Confeffion of a Crime, THE PICTURE. 8 i Unknown to you yet, a following Suit, Which thus I beg, be granted. Ladif. I melt with you. *Tis pardon'd, and confirm'd thus. Hon. Know then, Sir, In Malice to this good Knight's Wife, 1 pracT^s'd Vbaldo and Ricardo to corrupt her. Bapt. Thence grew the Change of the Picture. Hon. And how far They have prevail'd I am ignorant. Now, if you, Sir, For the Honour of this good Man, may be intreated To travel thither, it being but a Day's Journey, To fetch 'em off Ladif. We will put on to-night. Bapt. I, If you plcafe, your Harbinger. Ladif. I thank you. Let me embrace you in my Arms, your Service Done on the Turk, compared with this, weighs nothing. Math. I am Hill your humble Creature. Ladif. My true Friend. Ferd. And fo you are bound to hold him. Eub. Such a Plant, Imported to your Kingdom and here grafted Would yield more Fruit, than all the idle Weeds That fuck up your Rain of Favour. Ladif. In my Will I'll not be wanting. Prepare for our Journey. In Act be my Honoria now, not Name, And to all after Times preferve thy Fame. [Exeunt. End of the Fourth M* Vol. I. U THE PICTURE, ACTV. SCENE I. Sophia, Corifca, and Hilario. Soph. A R E they then fo humble ? Hil. XV Hunger and hard Labour Have tan? d 'em, Madam ; at firft they bcllow'd Like Stags ta'en in a Toil, and would not work For Sullennefs, but when they found without it There was no Eating, and that to flarve to Death Was much againft their Stomachs, by Degrees, Againft their Wills, they fell to it. Corif. And now feed on The little Pittance you allow, with Gladnefs. Hil. I do remember that they ftopp'd their Nofes At the Sight of Beef and Mutton, as coarfe feeding For their fine Palates ; but now their Work being ended, They leap at a Barley Cruft, and hold Cheefe parings, With a Spoonful of pall'd Wine pour'd in their Water. For Feftival-exceedings. Corif. When I examine My Spinfter's Work, he trembles like a Trentice, And takes a Box on the Ear when I fpy Faults And Botches in his Labour, as a Favour From a curft Miftrefs. Hil. The other too reels well For his Time ; and if your Ladyfhip would pleafe To fee 'em for your Sport, fince they want airing, It would do well in my Judgment, you (hall hear Such a hungry Dialogue from 'em. Soph. But fuppofe, When they are out of Prifon they Ihould grow Rebellious ? Hil. Never fear't ; I'll undertake To lead 'em out by the Nofe with a coarfe Thread Of the one's fpinning, and make the other reel after, And without Grumbling; and when you are weary of Their Company, as cafily return 'em. THE PICTURE. 83 Corif. Dear Madam, it will help to drive away Your Melancholy. Soph. Well, on this Aflbrance, I am content ; bring 'em hither. Hil. I will do it In ftately Equipage. [Exit Hilario. Soph. They have confefTed then They were fet on by the Queen to taint me in My Loyalty to my Lord ? Corif. 'Twas the main Caufe That brought 'em hither. Soph. I am glad I know it ; And as I have begun, before I end I'll at the Height revenge it ; let us flep afide ; They come, the Object's fo ridiculous, In Spight of my fad Thoughts I cannot but Lend a fore'd Smile to grace it. Enter Hilario, Ubaldo fpinning, Ricardo reeling* Hil. Come away, Work as you go, and lofe no Time, 'tis precious, You'll find it in your Commons. Ric. Commons, call you it ! The Word is proper ; I have graz'd fo long Upon your Commons, I am almoft Itarv'd here. Hil. Work harder, and they fhall be better'd, Vbal Better'd? Worfer they cannot be : Would I might lie Like a Dog under her Table and ferve for a Footftool, So I might have my Belly full of that Her Iceland Cur refufes, Hil. How do you like Your Airing ? Is it not a Favour ? Ric. Yes; Jult fuch a one as you ufe to a Brace of Greyhounds, When they are led out of their Kennels to fcumber ; But our Cafe is ten Times harder, we have nothing In our Bellies to be vented : If you will be F 2 84 THE PICTURE. An honcft Yeoman Phewterer, 2 3 feed us firft, And walk us after. Hil. Yeoman Phewterer ! Such another Word to your Governor, and you go Supperlefs to Bed for't. Ubal. Nay even as you pleafe. The comfortable Names of Breakfaft, Dinner, Collations, Supper, Beverage, are Words Worn out of our Remembrance. Ric. O for the Steam Of Meat in a Cook's Shop. Ubal. I am fo dry, I have not Spittle enough to wet my Fingers When I draw my Flax from my Diftaff. Ric, Nor I Strength To raife my Hand to the Top of my Reeler. Oh ! I have the Cramp all over me. Hil. What do you think Were beft to apply to it ? A Cramp-flone, as I take it, Were very ufeful. Ric. Oh ! no more of Stones, We have been us'd too long like Hawks already. Ubal. We are not fo high in our Flefh now to need ca fling, We will come to an empty Fid. Hil. Nav that you fhall not. So ho, Birds, how the Eyaflas fcratch and fcramble ! Take Heed of a Surfeit; do not ca ft your Gorges : This is more than I have Commimon for ; be thankful. Soph. Were all that ftudy the Abufe of Women Us'd thus, the City would not fwarm with Cuckolds, Nor fo many Tradefmen break. Corif. Pray you appear now And mark the Alteration. Hil. To your Work, My Lady is in Prefence ; fhew your Duties Exceeding well. Soph. How do your Scholars profit ? 23 A Pl.cwterer, or Fewterer, means a Dog-kccper. Jf. .1/. THE PICTURE. 8$ Hil. Hold up your Heads demurely. Prettily For young Beginners. Cor if. And will do well in Time If they be kept in Awe. Ric. In Awe ! I am fure I quake like an Aipen Leaf. JJbal. No Mercy, Lady ? Ric. Nor Intermiffion r Soph. Let me fee your Work. Fie upon't what a Thread's here ! a poor Cobler's Wife Would make a finer tofow a Clown's rent Startup; ** And here you reel as you were drunk. Ric. I am fure it is not with Wine. Soph. O, take Heed of Wine ; Cold Water is far better for your Healths, Of which I am very tender ; you had foul Bodies, And muft continue in this phyfical Diet, Till the Caufe of your Difeafe be ta'en away, For fear of a Relapfe, and that is dangerous; Yet I hope already that you are in fome Degree recovered, and that Way to refolve me Anfwer me truly ; nay, what I propound Concerns both, nearer ; what would you now give, If your Means were in your Hands, to lie all Night With a frefti and handfome Lady ? Ubal. How ! a Lady ? ! I am pafs'd it, Hunger with her Razor Hath made me an Eunuch. Ric. For a Mefs of Porridge, Well fopp'd with a Bunch of Radifh and a Carrot, 1 would fell my Barony ; but for Women, oh ! No more of Women, (not a Doit for a Doxy) After this hungry Voyage. 4 A Startup is PartofaMan'sDrefs; the fameExprefiion occurs in Fletcher's Faithful Shepbcrdefi. Mr. Percy \\v the Glotfary annex- ed to his ancient Ballads, fays it was a Bulkin laced before, aad worn by Rufticks. M. M. F3 86 THE PICTURE. Soph. Thefe are truly Good Symptoms ; let them not venture too much in the" Air Till they are weaker. Ric. This is Tyranny. Ubal. Scorn upon Scorn. Soph. You were fo In your malicious Intents to mc, Enter a Servant. And therefore 'tis but Juflice What's the Bufinefs ? Serv. My Lord's great Friend, Signior BaptiJIa, Madam, Is newly lighted from his Horfe, with certain Aflurance of my Lord's Arrival. Soph. How ! And (land I trifling here ? Hence with the Mungrels To their feveral Kennels, there let them howl in private, I'll be no farther troubled. [Exeunt Sophia and Servant. Ubal. O that ever I faw this Fury ! Ric. Or look'd on a Woman But as a Prodigy in Nature ! Hil. Silence, No more of this. Corif. Methinks you have no Caufe To repent your being here. Hil. Have you not learnt, When your 'States are fpent, your feveral Trades to live by, And never charge the Hofpital ? Corif. Work but tightly, And we will not ufe a Dim-clout in the Houfe But of your fpinning. Ubal. O ! I would this Hemp Were turn'd to a Halter. Hil. Will you march ? Ric. A foft one, Good General, I befeech you. THE PICTURE. 87 Ubal. I can hardly Draw my Legs after me. Hil. For a Crutch you may ufe Your Diitaff, a good Wit makes Ufe of all Things. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Enter Sophia and Baptifta. Soph, Was he jealous of me ? Bapt. There's no perfect Love Without fome Touch oft, Madam. Soph, And my Picture, Made by your dcv'lifh Art, a Spy upon My Actions ? I never fat to be drawn, Nor had you, Sir, Commiflion for't. Bapt. Excufe me ; at his earneit Suit I did it. Soph. Very good : Was I grown lb cheap in his Opinion of me ? Bapu The profperous Events that crown'd his For- tunes May qualify the Offence. Soph, Good ! the Event's *5 The Sanctuary Fools and Madmen fly to, When their rafli and defperate Undertakings thrive well ; But good and wife Men are directed by Grave Counfels, and with fuch Deliberation Proceed in their Affairs, that Chance has nothing To do with 'em. Howfoe'er, take the Pains, Sir, To meet the Honour (in the King and Queen's Approaches to my Houfe,) that breaks upon me, I will expect them with my beft of Care. 25 C3" Sophia. Rood the Events. This is the Reading of all the old Editions, and is followed by Mr. Dodfley ; but I think we ought to read Soph. Good ! the Event's, &e. F 4 88 THE PICTURE. Bapt. To entertain fuch royal Guefts. Soph. I know it. [Exit Baptifla. Leave that to me, Sir. What mould move the Queen, So given to Eafe and Pleafure, as Fame fpeaks her, To fuch a Journey ? Or work on my Lord To doubt my Loyalty ? Nay, more, to take For the Refolution of his Fears, a Courfe That is by holy Writ deny'd a Chriftian ? 'Twas impious in him, and perhaps the Welcome He hopes in my Embraces may deceive His Expectation. The Trumpets fpeak The King's Arrival. Help a Woman's Wit now, To make him know his Fault and my juit Anger. [Exit Sophia. SCENE the loft. Loud Mufick. Enter Ladiflaus, Mathias, Eubulus, Ho- noria, Ferdinand, Baptifla, Acanthe, with Attendants, Eub. Your Majefty mufl be weary. Hon. No, my Lord, A willing Mind makes a hard Journey eafy. Math. Not Jove) attended on bv Hermes, was More welcome to the Cottage of Philemon And his poor Baucis than your gracious Self, Your matchlefs Queen, and all your royal Train Are to your Servant and his Wife, Ladif. Where is me ? Hon. I long to fee her as my now loved Rival. Eub. And I to have a Smack at her ; ('tis a Cordial To an oid Man, better than Sack and a Toaft ^Before he goes to Supper.) Math. Ha ! is my Houfe turn'd To a Wildernefs ? Nor Wife nor Servants ready With all Rites due to Majefty, to receive Such unexpected BlefHngs ? you aflur'd me Of better Preparation ; hath not Th' Excefs of Joy tranfported her beyond Her Understanding ? THE PICTURE. S 9 Bapt. I now parted from her And gave her your Directions. Math. How fhall I beg Your Majefties' Patience ? Sure my (Family's drunk, Or by fome Witch, in Envy of my Glory, A dead Sleep thrown upon 'em. Enter Hilario and Servants. i Serv. Sir. Math. But that The facred Piefence of the King forbids it, My Sword mould make a MafTacre among you. Where is your Miflrefs ? Hil. Firft, you are welcome home, Sir ; Then know, fhe fays file's lick, Sir. There's no Notice Taken of my Bravery. Math. Sick at fuch a Time ! It cannot be ; tho' me were on her Death-bed, And her Spirit even now departed, here ftandthey Could call it back again, and in this Honour Give her a fecond Being : Bring me to her ; I know not what to urge, or how to redeem This Mortgage of her Manners. [Exeunt Mathias and Hilario. Eub. There's no Climate In the World, I think, where one Jade's Trick or other Reigns not in Women. Ferd. You were ever bitter Againft the Sex. Ladlf. This is very ftrange, Hon. Mean Women Have their Faults as well as Queens. Ladif. O fhe appears now. Enter Mathias and Sophia. Math. The Injury that you conceive I have done yj; Difpute hereafter, and in your Perverfenefs Wrong not yourfelf and me. 9 o THE PICTURE, Soph, I am pafs'd my Childhood, And need no Tutor. Math. This is the great King, To whom I am engag'd till Death for all I (land poffefs'd of. Soph. My humble Roof is proud, Sir, To be the Canopy of fo much Greatnefs Set off with Goodnefs. Ladif. My own Praifes flying In fuch pure Air as your fweet Breath, fair Lady. Cannot but pleafe me. Math. This is the Queen of Queens, In her Magnificence to me. Soph. In my Duty I kifs her Highnefs' Rbe; Hon. You (loop too low To her whofe Lips would meet with yours. Soph. Howe'er It may appear prepoft'rous in Women So to encounter, 'tis your Pleafure, Madam, And not my proud Ambition Do you hear, Sir, Without a magical Picture, in the Touch I find your Print of clofe and wanton Kifles On the Queen's Lips. Math. Upon your Life be filent. And now falute thefe Lords. Soph. Since you'll have me, You fhall fee, I am experienced at the Game, And can play it tightly. You are a brave Man, Sii . And do deferve a free and hearty Welcome. Be this the Prologue to it. Rub. An old Man's Turn Is ever laft in Kifling. I have Lips too, Howe'er cold ones, Madam. Soph. I will warm 'em With the Fire of mine. Eub. And fo me has, I thank you ; I fhall fleep the better all Night for't. Math. You exprefs The Boldnefs of a wanton Courtezan, THE PICTURE. 91 And not a Matron's Modefty ; take up, Or you are difgrac'd for ever. Soph. How ! with luffing Feelingly as you taught me ? Would you have me Turn my Cheek to 'cm, as proud Ladies ufe To their Inferiors, as if they intended Some Bufinefs mould be whifper'd in their Ear, And not a Salutation ? What I do, I will do freely ; now I am in the Humour, I'll fly at all : Are there any more ? Math. Forbear, Or you will raife my Anger to a Height That will defcend in Fury. Soph. Why ? You know How to refolve yourfelf what my Intents are, By the Help of Mephoftophilos, and your Picture. Pray you, look upon't again. I humbly thank The Queen's great Care of me while you were abfent. She knew how tedious 'twas for a young Wife, And being for that Time a Kind of Widow, To pafs away her melancholy Hours Without good Company, and in Chanty therefore Provided for me ; out of her own Store She cull'd the Lords Ubaldo and Rkardo, Two principal Courtiers for Ladies' Service, To do me all good Offices ; and as fuch Employ'd by her, I hope I have receiv'd And entertain'd 'em ; nor mail they depart Without the Effect arifing from the Caufe That brought 'em hither. Math. Thoudoftbelyethyfelf: I know that in my Abfence thou wert honeft, However now turn'd Monfter. Soph. The Truth is We did not deal like you, in Speculations On cheating Pictures ; we knew Shadows were No Subftances, and actual Performance The bell AfTurance. I will bring 'em hither, To make good in this Prefence fo much for me. Some Minutes Space I beg your Majeures' Pardon.- 92 T H E P I C T U R E. You arc mov'd ; now champ upon this Bit a little, Anon you ihall have another. Wait me, Hilar io. [Exeunt Sophia and hlihn \ Ladif. How now ? turn'd Statue, Sir ? Math. Fly, and fly quickly, From this curfed Habitation, or this Gorgon Will make you all as I am. In her Tongue Millions of Adders hifs, and every Hair Upon her wicked Head a Snake more dreadful Than that Tifiphon threw on Athamas y Which in his Madnefs forc'd him to difmember His proper IfTue. O that ever I Repos'd my Truft in Magick, or believ'd j Impoffibilities ! or that Charms had Power To fink and fearch into the bottomlefs Hell Of a falfe Woman's Heart ! Eub. Thefe are the Fruits Of Marriage ; an old Batchelor as I am, And, what's more, will continue fo, is not troubled With thefe fine Fagaries. Ferd. Till you are refolv'd, t6 Sir, Forfake not Hope. Bapt. Upon my Life, this is Difiimulation. Ladif. And it fuits not with Your Fortitude and Wifdom, to be thus Tranfported with your Paffion. Hon. You were once Deceiv'd in me, Sir, as I was in you ; Yet the Deceit pleas'd both. Math. She hath confefs'd all. What further Proof ihould I aik ? Hon. Yet remember The Diftance that is interpos'd*between A Woman's Tongue and her Heart, and you muft grant You build upon no Certainties. *6 Rrfolvtd means here convinced. M. M. THE PICTURE. 95 Enter Sophia, Corifca, Hilario, Ubaldo, and Ricardo, as before. Eub. What have we here ? Soph. You mult come on, and mew yourfelves. UbaL The King ! Ric. And Queen too ! Would I were as far under the Earth As I am above it. UbaL Some Poet will From this Relation, or in Verfe or Profe, Or both together blended, render us Ridiculous to all Ages. Ladif. I remember This Face, when it was in a better Plight ; Are not you Ricardo t Hon. And this Thing, I take it, Was once Ubaldo. UbaL I am now I know not what. Ric. We thank your Majefty for employing us To this fubtle Circe. Eub. How, my Lord, turn'd Spinfter ! Do you work by the Day, or by the Great ? Ferd. Is your Theorbo Turn'd to a DiftafT, Signior ? and your Voice* With which you chanted Room for a lujiy Gallant, Tun'd to the Note of Lacryma? ? Eub. Prithee tell me, For I know thou art free, how often, and to the Purpofe, Have you been merry with this Lady ? Ric. Never, never. Ladif. Howfoever you mould fay fo, for your Credit, Being the only Court Bull. UbaL O that ever I faw this kicking Heifer ! Soph. You fee, Madam, How I have cur'd your Servants, and what Favours They with their rampant Valour have won from me. You may, as they are phyfick'd, I prefume, 94 THEPICTURE. Truft a fair Virgin with 'em ; they have learn'd Their feveral Trades to live by, and paid nothing But Cold and Hunger for 'em, and may now Set up for themfelves, for here I give 'em over. And now to you, Sir, why do you not again Perufe your Pidture, and take the Advice Of your learned Confort ? Thefe are the Men, or none, That made you, as the Italians fay, a Beco. Math, I know not which Way to entreat your Par- don, Nor am I worthy of it, my Sophia. My belt Sophia, here before the King, The Queen, thefe Lords, and all the Lookers on, 1 do renounce my. Error, and embrace you, As the great Example to all After-times, For fuch as would die chafte and noble Wives, With Reverence to imitate* Soph. Not fo, Sir. I yet hold off. However I have purg'd My doubted Innocence, the foul Afperfions, In your unmanly Doubts caft on my Honour, Cannot fo foon be wafh'd off. Rub. Shall we have More Jiggobobs yet ? Soph. When you went to the Wars I fet no Spy upon you, to obferve Which Way you wander 'd, tho' our Sex by Nature Is fubjed: to- Sufpicions and Fears ; My Confidence in your Loyalty freed me from 'em. But, to deal as you did 'gainft your Religion, With this Enchanter to furvey my Actions, Was more than Woman's Weaknefs ; therefore know, And 'tis my Boon unto the King, I do Defire a Separation from your Bed ; For I will fpend the Remnant of my Life In Prayer and Meditation. Math. O take Pity Upon my weak Condition, or I am More wretched in your Innocence, than if I had found you guilty. Have you fhewn a Jewel THE PICTURE, 95 Out of the Cabinet of your rich Mind To lock it up again ? She turns away. Will none fpeak for me ? Shame and Sin hath robb'd me Of the Ufe of my Tongue. Ladif Since you have conquer'd, Madam, You wrong the Glory of your Victory If you ufe it not with Mercy. Ferd, Any Penance You pleafe to impofe upon him, I dare warrant He will gladly fuffer. Eub. Have I liv'd to fee But one good Woman, and mall we for a Trifle Have her turn Nun ? I will firft pull down the Cloyfter. To the old Sport again, with a good Luck to you : 'Tis not alone enough that you are good, We muft have fome of the Breed of you : Will you deftroy The Kind, and Race of Goodnefs ? I am converted. And afk your Pardon, Madam, for my ill Opinion Againfl the Sex ; and mew me but two fuch more, I'll marry yet, and love 'em. Hon, She that yet Ne'er knew what 'twas to bend but to the King, Thus begs Remimon for him. Soph. O dear Madam, Wrong not your Greatnefs fo. Omnes. We all are Suitors. Vbal. I do deferve to be heard among the reft. Ru\ And we have fufTer'd for it. Soph. I perceive There's no Refiitance : But fuppofe I pardon What's paft, who can fecure me he'll be free From Jealoufy hereafter ? Math, I will be My own Security : Go, ride where you pleafe ; Feaft, revel, banquet, and make Choice with whom ; I'll fet no Watch upon you ; and, for Proof of it, Thiscurfed Picture I furrender up To the confuming Fire. 9 6 THE PICTURE. Bapt. As I abjure The Practice of my Art. Soph. Upon thefe Terms lam reconcil'd; and for thefe that have paid The Price of their Folly, I defire your Mercy. Ladlf. At your Requeft they have it. Ubal. Hang all Trades now. Ric, I will find a new one, and that is to live honefL Hil, Thefe are my Fees. UbaL Pray you, take 'em with a Mifchief. Ladif. So, all ends in Peace now. And, to all married Men be this a Caution, Which they ihould duly tender as their Life, Neither to doat too much, nor doubt a Wife. [Exeunt Omnes* The Reader will find fome judicious Remarks on this excel- lent Play, in the Eflay prefixed to this Edition. M. M. End of The Picture. THE VIRGIN-MARTYR, T R A G E D Y. Acted in the Year 163 1, by His Majesty's Servants, with great Applaufe, WRITTEN BY PHILLIP MASSINGER, AND THOMAS DECKER* Vol. I. G Dramatis Perfonae. D.oclesian, , Em 5 of RoME> MaxiMinus, J r A King of Pwtus. A King of Epire. A King of Macedon. Safritius, Governor of Gefarea. Theophilus, a zealous Perfecutor of the Chriftians. Sempronius, Captain of Sapritius's Guards. Antoninus, Son to Sapritius. Macrinus, Friend to Antoninus. Harpax, an Evil Spirit, following Theophilus in the Shape of a Secretary. Artemia, Daughter to Dioclesian. Caliste, J Daughters to Theophilus. Christeta, J Dorothea, the Virgin Martyr. Angelo, a Good Spirit, ferving Dorothea in the Ha- bit of a Page. A British Slave. Hercius, a Whoremafter, 1 c -^ c t^ i i r Servants to Dorothea, Spungius, a Drunkard, J A Prieft to Jupiter. Officers and Executioners. THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. A C T I. S C E N E I. Enter Theophilus and Harpax. Theophilus. 1 ; GO M E to Qefarea to-night ? Harpax, Moll true, Sir. Theoph. The Emperor in Perfon ? Harp. Do I live > Theoph. 'Tis wond'rous ftrange ! The Marches of great Princes, Like to the Motions of prodigious Meteors, Are Step by Step obferv'd ; and loud-tongu'd Fame The Harbinger to prepare their Entertainment : And, were it poffible fo great an Army, Tho'cover'd with the Night, could be fo near, The Governor cannot be fo unfriended Among the many that attend his Perfon, But, bv fome fecret Means, he mould have Notice Of C fo tar? Ang. For Blood of Grapes you fold the Widow's, Food, And ftarving them 'tis Murder : What this but Hell ? Hircius your Name, and goatiih is your Nature ; You fnatch the Meat out of the Prifoner's Mouth, To fatteri Harlots : Is not this Hell too ? No Angel, but the Devil, waits on you. Spun. Shall I cut his Throat ? Hir, No; better burn him, for I think he is a Witch j but footh, footh him. Spun. Fellow Angelo, true it is, that falling into the Company of wicked He-chriftians, for my Part 1 Hir. And She-ones, for my Part, we have 'em fwim in Shoals hard by. Spun. We mu ft confefs, I took too much out of the pot ; and he of t'other hollow Commodity. Hir. Yes, indeed, we laid lill on both of us ; we co- zen'd the Poor ; but 'tis a common Thing ; many a one, that counts himfelf a better Chriftian than we two, has done it, by this Light. Spun. But pray, fweet Angeb, play not the Tell-tale to my Lady ; and, if you take us creeping into any of thefc Moufe-holcs of Sin any more, let Cats flea off our Skins. Hir. And put nothing but the poifon'd Tails of Rats into thofe Skins. THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. izi Aug. Will you difhopour her fweet Charity, Who fav'd you from the Tree of ]Death and Shame ? Hir. Would I were pang'd rather than thus be told of my Faults. Spun. She took us, 'tis true, from the Gallows ; yet I hope fhe will not bar Yeomen Sprats to have their jSwing. Ang. She /comes, beware and mend. Hir, Let's break his Neck, and bid him mend. Enter Dorothea. Dor. Have you my Meffages fent to the Poor, Deliver'd with good Hands, not robbing them. Of any Jot was theirs. Spun. Rob 'em, Lady ? I hope neither my Fellow nor I am Thieves. Hir. Deliver'd with good Hands, Madam ; elfe let me never lick my Fingers more when I eat butter *d Fim. Dor, Who cheat the Poor, and from them pluck their Alms, Pilfer from Heav'n, and there are Thunderbolts From thence to beat them ever. Do not lie ; Were you both faithful, true Diftributers ? Spun. Lie, Madam P What Grief is it to fee vol* turn Swaggerer, and give yqur poor-minded ralcally Servants the Lie, Dor. I'm glad you do not ; if thofe wretched People Tell you they pine for Want of any Thing, Whifper but to mine Ear, and you ihall furnifh them. Hir. Whifper ? Nay, Lady, for my Part, Til cry whoop. Ang. Play no more, Villains, with fo good a Lady ; For, if you do Spun. Are we Chriftians ? Hir. The foul Fiend friap all Pagans for me. Ang. Away, and once more mend. Spun. Tak'ft us for Botchers ? in THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Hir. A Patch, a Patch. [Exeunt Spun, and Hir. Dor. My Book and Taper. Ang. Here, moft holy Miftrefs. Dor. Thy Voice fends forth fuch Muflc, that I never Was ravifh'd with a more celeftial Sound. Were every Servant in the World like thee, So full of Goodnefs, Angels would come down To dwell with us : Thy Name is Angelo, And like that Name thou art ; get thee to Reft, Thy Youth with too much Watching is opprcft. Ang. No, my dear Lady ! I could weary Stars, And force the wakeful Moon to lofe her Eyes By my late Watching, but to wait on you. When at your Prayers you kneel before the Altar, Methlnks I'm ringing with fome Quire in Heaven^ So bleft I hold me in your Company : Therefore, my molt lov'd Miftrefs, do not bid Your Boy, fo ferviceable, to get hence ; For then yqu break his Heart. Dor. Be nigh me ftill, then ; In Qolden Letters down I'll fet that Day, Which gave thee to me. Little did I hope To meet fuch Worlds of Comfort in thyfelf ; This little, pretty Body, when I, coming Forth of the Temple, heard my Beggar-boy, 'i/ly fweet-fae'd, go#ly Beggar-boy, crave an Alms, Which with glad Hand I gave, with lucky Hand ; And, when I took thee Home, my moft chafte Bofom Methought, was fill'd with no hot wanton Fire, But with a holy Flame, mounting fince higher, On Wings of Cherubims, than it did before. Ang. Proud am I, that my Lady's modeft Eye So likes fo poor a Servant. Dor. I have offer'd Handfuls of Gold but to behold thy Parents. I would leave Kingdoms, were I Queen of fome, To dwell with thy good Father ; for, the Son Bewitching me fo deeply with his Prcfence, He that begot him muft do't ten Times more. THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 123 I pray thee, my fwcet Boy, mew me thy Parents ; Be not afham'd. Ang. I am not : I did never Know who my Mother was ; but, by yon Palace, Fill'd with bright heav'nly Courtiers, I dare aflure you, And pawn thefe Eyes upon it, and this Hand, My Father is in Heaven ; and, pretty Miftrefs, If your illuftrious Hour-glafs fpend his Sand No worfe than yet it doth, upon my Life, You and I both mall meet my Father there, And he fhall bid you welcome. Dor. A bleffed Day ! We all long to be there, but lofe the Way, [Exeunt,, SCENp II. Macrinus^ Friend to Antoninus, enters, being met by Theophilus and Harpax. Theoph. Sun, God of the Day, guide thee, Macrinus ! Mac. And thee, Theophilus ! Theoph. Gaddeft thou in fuch Scorn ? I call my Wifh back. Mac. I'm in Hafte. Theoph. One Word, Take the leaft Hand of Time up : Stay. Mac. Be Brief. Theoph. As Thought : I prithee tell me,good Macrinus t How Health and our fair Princefs lay together This Night, for you can tell ; Courtiers have Flics That buz all News unto them. Mac. She flept but ill. Theoph. Double thy Curtfey ; how does Antoninus ? Mac. Ill ; well ; ftraight ; crooked ; I know not how. Theoph. Once more; r'jThy Head is full of Windmills : when doth the Pripccfs. I2 4 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Fill a Bed full of Beauty, and beflow it On Antoninus, on the Wedding-night ) Mac* I know not. Theoph. No ? Thou art the Manufcript, Where Antoninus writes down all his Secrets. Jionefl Macrinus, tell me. Mac. Fare you well, Sir ! [Exit. Harp. Honefly is fome Fiend, and frights him hence ; And many Courtiers love it not, TJ:eoph. What Piece Of this State-wheel (which winds up Antoninus) Is broke, it runs fo jarringly ? The Man Is from himfelf divided ; O, thou, the Eye By which I Wonders fee, tell me, my Harpax, What Gadfly tickles fo this Macrinus, That, flinging up the Tail, he breaks thus from me, Harp. Oh? Sir ! his Brain-pan is a Bed of Snakes, Whofe Stings fhoot thro* his Eye-balls, whofe pois'nous Spawn Ingenders fuch a Fry of fpeckjed Villainies, That, unlefs Charms more ftrong than Adamant, Be us'd, the Roman Angel's 9 Wings mall melt, And Cafar\ Diadem be from his Head Spurn'd by bafe Feet ; the Laurel which he wears, (Returning Victor) be enforc'd to kifs (That which it hates) the Fire. And can this Ram, This Antoninus-engme, being made ready To fo much Mifchief, keep a fteady Motion } His Eyes and Feet, you fee, give ftrange Affaults. Thcoph. Pm turn'd a Marble Statue at thy Language, Which printed is in fuch crabbed Characters, It puzzles all my Reading : What i* th' Name Of Pluto, now is hatching ? Harp. This, Macrinus, The Line is, upon which Love-errands run 'Twixt Antoninus and thatGhoft of Woman, 9 As Angels were no Part of the Pagan Theology, thi% fliould certainly be Augel, from the Italian Augelle^ which means a Bird, *Tke Allufion is to the Roman Eagle. M. M. THE ViRGlN-MARTVft, 125 The bloodlefs Dorothea, who in Prayer And Meditation (mocking all your Gods) Drinks up her Ruby Colour : Yet Antoninus Plays the Endymion to this pale-fac'd Moon, Courts her, leeks to catch her Eyes. Theoph. And what of this ? Harp, Thefe are but creeping Billows, Not got to Shore yet : But if Dorothea Fall on his Bofom, and be fir'd with Love, (Your coldeft Women do To) had you Ink Brew'd from th' infernal Styx, not all that Blackneft Can make a Thing fo foul, as the Difhonours, Difgraces, Buffetings, and moft bafe Affronts Upon the bright Artemia, Star of Court, Great C^far's Daughter. Theoph. Now I conftrue thee* Harp. Nay, more ; a Firmament of Clouds* being flll'd With Jove's Artillery fhot down at once, To dam your Gods in Pieces, cannot give, With all thofe Thunderbolts, fo deep a Blov* To the Religion there, and Pagan Lore, As this ; for Dorothea hates your Gods, And, if me once blaft Antoninus 1 s Soul, Making it foul like hers, Oh ! the Example Theoph, Eats thro' Co/area's Heart like liquid Poifon-. Have I invented Tortures to tear Chriftians, To fee but which, could all that feel Hell's Torment? Have Leave to Hand aloof here on Earth's Stage, They would be mad, 'till they again defcended, Holding the Pains moft horrid of fuch Souls, May-games to thofe of mine. Hath this my Hand Set down a Chriftian's Execution In fuch dire Poftures, that the very Hangman Fell at my Foot dead, hearing but their Figures ? And fhall Macrinus and his Fcllow-mafqueE Strangle me in a Dance ? Harp. No ; on ; I hug thee, For drilling thy quick Brains in this rich Plot i 2 6 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Of Tortures 'gainft thefe Chriftians : On ; I hug thee ' Theoph, Both hug and holy me ; to tj^is Dorothea Fly thou and I in Thunder. Harp, NotforKiugdoms , . Pil'd upon Kingdoms : There's a Villain'Page . Waits on her, whom I would not fjer the World Hold Traffick with ; I do fo hate his Sight, That, mould I look on him I muft fink down. Theoph, I will not lofe thee then, her to confound : None but this Head with Glories fhal^bc crownM. Harp, Oh ! mine, own as I would wifh thee. [Exeunt i Enter Dorothea, Macrinus, and Angelo. Dor, My trufty Angelb, with that curious Eye Of thine, which ever waits upon my Bufinefs, I prithee watch thofe my ftill-negligent Servants^ That they perform my Will, in what's enjoin'd them To th' Good of others ; elfe will you find them Flies' Not lying ftill, yet in them no Good lies*: Be careful, dear Boy ! Ang, Yes, my fweet Miftrets. [.Exit.' Dor, Now, Sir, you may go on.- Mac, I then muft ftudy A new Arithmetick, to fum up the Virtues Which Antoninus gracefully become. There is in him fo much Man, fo much Goodnefs, So much of Honour, and of all Things elfe, Which makes our Being excellent, that from his Store He can enough lend others ; yet, much taken from him, The Want mall be as little, as when Seas Lend from their Bounty, to fill up their Poornefs Of needy Rivers. * Dor, Sir ; he is more indebted To you for Praife, than you to him that owes it. Mac, If Queens, viewing his Prefents paid to the Whitenefs Of your chafte Hand alone, mould be ambitious But to be Partners -in their num'rous Shares, This he counts nothing : Could you fee main Armies v THE VIRGIN-MARTYR,' , 127 Make Battles in the Quarrel of his Valour. That 'tis the beft, the trueft, this were nothing ; TheGreatnefs-of his State, his Father's Voice And Arm, owing Cafarea, he ne'er boafts of; The Sun-beams which the Emperor throws upon him, Shine there but as in Water, and gild him - 1 *" Not with one Spot of Pride : No, deareft Beauty ! All thefe, heap'd up together in one Scale, Cannot weigh down- the Love he bears to you, Being put into the other. Dor. Could Gold buy you To fpeak thus for a Friend, yeu, Sir, are worthy Of more than I will number ; *and this your Language Hath Power to win upon another Woman, 'Top of whofe Heart the Feathers of this World Are gayly ftuck : but all which firft foxx named, And now this laft, his Love to me, are nothing. Mac. You make me a fad Meiienger; but himfclf p Enter Antoninus. Being come in Perfon, mall, I hope, hear from you Mufickmore pleafing. , Anton. Has your Ear, Macrinus, Heard none, then ? . Mac. None I like. Anton. But can. there be In fuch a noble Cafket, wherein lies Beauty and Chaftity in their full PerfectionSj A rocky Heart, killing with Cruelty A Life that's proftrated beneath your Feet ? Dor. I'm guilty of a Shame I yet ne'er knew, Thus to hold Parley with you ; pray, Sir, pardon. Anton* GTood Sweetnefs, you now have it, and mail go : Be but fo merciful, before your wounding me With fuch a mortal Weapon as Farezvel, To let me murmur to your Virgin Ear, What I was loth to lay on any Tongue ' But. this mine own. US THE VlRGIN-MARf V& Dor. If one immodeft: Accent Fly out, I hate you everlaftingly. Anton. My true Love dares not db iU Mac. Hermes infpire thee i They whifpering below, enter above Sapfitius, ftatber to Antoninus, and Governor of Caefarea ; with him Ar- temia the Princefs, Theophilus, Spunglus and Hir- cius. Spun. So, now, do you fee our Work is done ; the Fifti you angle for is nibbling at the Hook, and therefore untrufs the Cod-piece-point of our Reward, no mat- ter if the Breeches of Confcience fall about our Heels. Theoph. The Gold you earn is here ; dam up your Mouths, and no Words of it. Hir. No ; nor no Words from you of too much damning neither. I know Women fell themfelve9 daily^ and are hackney'd out for Silver ; why may not we, then, betray a fcurvy Miftrefs for Gold ? Spun. She fav'd us from the Gallows, and, only to keep one Proverb from breaking his Neck, we'll hang her. Theoph. 'Tis well done ; go, go, y' are my fine white Boys* Spun. If your red Boys, 'tis well known more ill- favoured Faces than ours are painted* Sap. Thofe Fellows trouble us< Theoph. Away, away ! Hir. I to my fweet Placket. Spun. And I to my full Pot, [Exeunt. Anton. Come, let me tune you : Glaze not thus your Eyes With felf-love of a vow'd Virginity, Make every Man your Glafs : You fee our Sex Do never murder Propagation ; We all defire your fweet Society, And if you bar me from it, you do kill me, And of my Blood are guilty. Arttm O bafe Villain ! TtlE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 129 Sap. Bridle your Rage, fvveet Princefs ! Anton. Could not my Fortunes (Kcar'd higher far than yours) be worthy of you ; Methinks my dear Affection makes you mine. Dor. Sir, for vour Fortunes, were they Mines of Gold, ;, He that I love is richer ; and for Worth, You are to him lower than any Slave Is to a Monarch. Sap. So infolent, bafe Chriftian ? Dor. Can I, with wearing out my Knees before him, Get, you but be his Servant, you mall boait You're equal to a King. Sap. Confufion on thee, For playing thus the lying Sorcerefs ! Anton* Your Mocks are great ones; none beneath the Sun Will I be Servant to* On my Knees I beg it, Pity me, wondrous Maid ! Sap, I curfe thy Bafenefs ! Thecph. Often to more. Dor. O kneel not, Sir, to me I Anton. This Knee is Emblem of an humbled Heart; That Heart which tortur'd is with your Difdain, Jultly for fcorning others ; even this Heart, To which for Pity fuch a Princefs fues, As in her Hand offers me all the World, Great Ccjar'i Daughter. Artemi Slave ! thou lieft. Anton. Yet this ^s Adamant to her, that melts to you In Drops of Blood. Tbeopb. A very Dog ! Anton. Perhaps 'Tis my Religion makes you knit the Brow ; Yet be you mine, and ever be your own : I ne'er will fcrew your Confcience from that Power On which you Chriftiana lean. Sap. I can no longer Vol. I. I j 5 o THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Fret out my Life with weeping at thee, Villain : Sir- rah ! Would, when I got thee, the high Thund'rer's Hand Had ft ruck thee in the Womb. Mac. We are betrayed. Artem. Is that your Idol , Tray tor, which thou kneel'fl to, Trampling upon my Beauty ? Theopb. Sirrah ! Bandog ! Wilt thou in Pieces tear our Jupiter For her ? Our Mars for her ? Our Sol for her ? A Whore ? A Hell-hound ? In this Globe of Brains, Where a whole World of Furies for fuch Tortures Have fought (as in a Chaos) which fhould exceed, Thefe Nails mall grubbing lie from Skull to Skull, To find one horrider than all,, for you, You three. Artem. Threaten not, but itrike, quick Vengeance flies Into thy Bofom, Caitiff! here all Love dies. [Exeunt. Anton. O ! I am thunderftruck ! We're both o'erwhelm'd. Macrin. With one high-raging Billow. Dor. You a Soldier, And fink beneath the Violence of a Woman ! Anton. A Woman ? A wrong'd Princefs ! from fucU a Star Blading with Fires of Hate, what can be look'd for, But tragical Events ? My Life is now The Subject of her Tyranny. Dor. That Fear is bafe, Of Death, when that Death doth but Life difplaee % Out of her Houfe of Earth ; you only dread The Stroke, and not what follows when you're dead ; There is the Fear, indeed : Come, let your Eyes Dwell where mine do, you'll fcorn their Tyrannies. t * the virgin-Mart Yk. 13* Enter belozv, Artemia, Sapritius, Theophilus, a Guards Angclo comes, and is clofe 'by Do roth ea* Artem. My Father's Nerves putVigour in mine Arm* And I his Strength mufl ufe; becaufe I once Shed Beams or Favour on thee, and, with the Lion, 10 Play'd with thee gently, when thou ilruck'ft my Heart, I'll not infulton a bafe, humbled Prey, By ling'ring out thy Terrors ; but with one Frown Kill thee. Hence with 'em to Execution. Seize him, but let ev'n Death itfelf be weary In tort'rinp- hen I'll change thole Smiles to Shrieks, Give the Fool, what fhe's proud of, Martyrdom ; In Pieces rack that Bawd too. Sap. Albeit the Reverence I owe our Gods, and you, are in my Bofonij Torrents lb ftrong, that Pity quite lies drown'd From faving this young Man : Yet, when I fee What Face Death gives him, and that a Thing within me Saith, 'tis my Son, I'm fore'd to be a Man$ And grow fond of his Life, which thus I beg* Artem. And I deny. Anton. Sir, you difhonour me, To fue for that which I diiclaim to have; I fhall more Glory in my Sufferings gain, Than you in giving Judgment ; fince I offer My Blood up to your Anger i Nor do I kneel To keep a wretched Life of mine from Ruin : Preferve this Temple, builded fair as yours is, xt 10 With the Lion, means like the Lion. Mi Mi i Preferve this Temple, luild It fair as yours is. As this Line ftands, Antoninus'* Requeft is, not merely that Arte- mia fhoul.i preferve Dorothea^ bat that (he Humid raiie her to a De- gree of Splendour equal to her own. The Abfurdity of fuppofing that he fliould makf* this Reqileir to a Pfincefs, who had condemned him to Death, in Favour of her Rival, made me fuppofe that there muftbe an Errour in thisPaflage, and fuggefted the Amendment. M. M I 2 1^2 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. And Crfir never went in greater Triumph, Than I fliall to the Scatfokl. Artem. Are you fo brave, Sir ? Set forward to his Triumph, and letthofe two Go curfing along with him. Dor. No, but pitying, (F/>r my Part, I) that you lofe ten Times more ify tort'ring me, than I that dare your Tortures : Thro' all the Army of my Sins, I've even Labour'd to break, and cope with Death to th' Face. The Vifage of a Hangman frights not me ; The Sight of Whips, Racks, Gibbets, Axes, Fires, Are Scaffoldings by which my Soul climbs up To an eternal Habitation. Theopk. Csejars imperial Daughter, hear me fpeak ! Let not this Chriftian Thing, in this her Pageantry Of proud deriding both our Gods and Cccjar, Build to hcrfelf a Kingdom in her Death ; Go, laughing from us ; no ; her bittcreft Torment Shall be, to feel her Constancy beaten down, The Bravery of her Refolution lie Batter'd, by th' Argument, into fjch Pieces, That fhe again mall (on her Belly) creep To kifs the Pavements of our Panim Gods. Artem. How to be done ? Theoph. I'll fend my Daughters to her ; And they mall turn her rocky Faith to Wax ; Elfe fpit at me, let me be made your Slave, And meet no Roman's, but a Villain's Grave. Artem. Thy Priibner let her be, then ; and, Sapritius! Your Son, and that ,2 be yours, Death mail be lent To him that fuffers them, by Voice or Letters, To greet each other. Rifle her Eitate ; Chriftians to Beggary brought, grow defperate. Dor. Still on the Bread of Poverty let me feed. [Exeunt all but Angclo. i Meaning Maerinns, whom before fie had called a Bawd. M. M. THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 13$ Ang. O ! my admired Miftrt-fs ! quench not out The holy Fires within you, tho' Temptations Show'r down upon you : Clafp thine Armour on : Fight well ; and thou flialt fee, after thcfe Wars, Thy Head wear Sun-beams, and thy Feet touch Stars. Enter Hircius and Spungius. i//V. How now, Angelo: how is it! Wnat Thread fpins that Whore Fortune upon her Wheel now I Spun. Come/la, Come/la, poor Knave ! Hit: Com aporte vou y com a port e vou, me petit Garfon. Spun, Me partha me Comrade, my Half-inch of Man's Fleih, how run the Dice of this cheating World, ha ? Aug* Too well on your Sides ; you are hid in Gold o'er Head and Ears. Hit: We thank our Fates, the Sign of the Gingle- boys hangs at the Doors of our Pockets. Spun. Who would think, that we coming forth of the Arfe, as it were, or fag End of the World, mould yet fee the Golden Age when io little Silver is ilirring ? Hir. Nay, who can fay any Citizen is an Afs, tor loading his own Back with Money till his Soul cracks again, only to leave his Son like a gilded Coxcomb be- hind him ? Will not any Fool take me for a wife Man now, feeing me draw out of the Pit of my Trcafury this little God with his Belly full of Gold ? Spun. And this full of the fame Meat out of my Ambrey. M Ang. That Gold will melt to Poifon. Spun. Poifon ! would it would, whole Pints for Healths fhall down my Throat. Hir. Gold Poifon ! there is never a Shc-thrafher in Cdforea, that lives on the Flail of Moncv, will call it io. Ang. Like Slaves you fold your Souls for golden Drofs, Bewitching her to Death, who ftept between You and the Gallows. 3 A northern Phrafe, and fignifies a Cupboard. M, M. I 3 i 3 4 THE VIRGIN-M ART Y R. Spun. It was an cafy Matter to fave us, fhe being fo well back'd. Hir. The Gallows and we fell out ; fo fhe did but part us. Ang. TheMifcry of that Miittvfs is mine own ; She beggar'd, I left wretched. Hir. I can but let my Nofe drop in Sorrow, with wet Eyes for her. Spun, The Petticoat of her Eftate is unlaced I con- fefs. Hir. Yes, and the Smock of her Charity is now all to Pieces, Aug. For Love you bear to her, for fome good Turns Done you by me, give me one Piece of Silver. Hir. How ! a Piece of Silver ! if thou werr an Angel of Gold, I would not put thee into white Money, unlefs I weighed thee ; and I weigh thee not a Rufh. Spun. A Piece of Silver ! I never had but two Calves in my Life, and thofe my Mother left me ; I will rather part from the Fat of them, than from a Miiltard-token^ Worth of Argent. Hir. And lb, fweetNit ! we crawl from thee. Spun. Adieu, Demi-dandiprat, adieu ! Ang. Stav, one Word yet; you now are full of Gold Hir. I would be forry my Dog were fo full of the Pox. Spun. Or any Sow of mine of the Meazles either. Ang. Go, go ! y' are Beggars both j you are not worth that Leather on your Feet. Hir. Away, away, Boy ! Spun, Page, you do nothing but fet Patches on the Soles of your Jefts. Ang, I'm glad I try'd your Love, which (fee !) I want not fo long as this is jfuil. Both. And (o long as this fo long as this. Hir, Spungii'.s ! you are a Pickpocket. Spun, Hircius ! thou haft nimb'd fo long, as not fo much Money is left, as will buy 3 Lpufe. THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 13$ 7lir. Thou art a Thief, and thou lieft in that Gut thro* which thy Wine runs, if thou deniefl it. Spun. Thou lieft deeper than the Bottom of mine en- raged Pocket, if thou affronteft it. An/. JNo Blows, no bitter Language ; all your Gold gone ? Spun* Can the Devil creep into one's Breeches ? Hir. Yes, if his Horns once get into the Cod-piece. Aug. Come, fighnot^ I fo little am in Love With that whofe Lofs kills you, that, (fee) 'tis yours ; All yours : Divide the Heap in equal Share, So you will go along with me to Prifon, And in our Miftrcfs' Sorrows bear a Part : Say, will you ? Both: Will we ?., Spun. If ihe were going to Hanging, no Gallows fhould part us. Hir. Let us both be turn'd into a Rope of Onions if we do. Ang. Follow me, then : Repair your bad Deeds paft; Happy are Men when their belt Deeds are laft. Spun. True, Mailer Angela I Pray, Sir, lead the Way. [Exit Ang. Hir. Let him lead that Way, but follow thou me this Way. Spun. I live in a Gaol ? Hir* Away and fhift for ourfelves : She'll do well enough there ; for Prifoners are more hungry after Mutton, than Catchpoles after Prifoners. Spun. Let her flarve then if a whole Gaol will not 11 her Belly. [Exemt. End of the Second Acf. u 136 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR, ACT III. SCENE I. Enter Sapritius, Theophilus, Prieft,Califte, d Hir, The Gold ? we put that into a Scrivener's Hands, and he hath cozened us. Spun. And therefore, I pray thee, Angelo, if thou hall another Purfe, let it be confiscate, and brought to De- valtation. jkg. Are you made all of Lies ? I know which Way Your guilt-winged Pieces flew ; I will no more Be mock'd by you : Be forry for your Riots, Tame your wild Flelh by Labour : Eat the Bread Got with hard Hands : Let Sorrow be your Whip, To draw Drops of Repentance from your Heart. When I read this Amendment in your Eyes, You lhall not want ; till then, my Pity dies. [Exit* THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. tji $pun. Is it not a Shame, that this fcurvy Puerilis fliould give us Leflbns ? Hir. I have dwelt, thou know'ft, a long Time in the Suburbs of Confcience, and they are ever bawdy ; but now my Heart ihall take a Houfe within the Walls of Honefty. Enter Harpax, aloof. Spun. O you Drawers of Wine ! draw me no more to- the Bar of Beggary ; the Sound of Score a Pottle of Sack is worfc than the Noife of a fcoldirtg Oyfter- wench, or two Cats incorporating. Harp. This muft not be I do not like when Con- fcience Thaws; keep her frozen ftill : How now, my Maf- ters ? Dejected ? drooping? drown'd in Tears ? Cloathes torn ? Lean, and ill colour'd ? fighing ? Where's the Whirl- wind Which raifeth all thefe Mifchiefs ? I have feen you Drawn better on't. O ! but a Spirit told me You both would come to this, when you thiuft Yourfelves into the Service of that Lady Who ihortly now muft die. Where's now her Praying? What Good got you by wearing out your Feet, To run on fcurvy Errands to the Poor, And to bear Money to a Sort of Rogues, And loufy Prifoners ? Hir. Pox on 'em, I never profper'd fince I did it. Spun. Had I been a Pagan ftill, I could not have fpit white for Want of Drink ; but come to any Vintner now, and bid him truft me, becaufe I turn'd Chriftian, and he cries, Pho ! Harp. Y'are rightly ferv'd ; before that peevim Lady Had to do with you, Women, Wine and Money Flow'd in Abundance with you, did it not ? ' Hir. Oh I thofe Days ! thofe Days ! K 4 152 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Harp. Beat not your Breads, tear not your Hair irf Madnefs, Thofe Days fhall come again, be rul'd by me ; And better, mark me, better. Spun. I have feen you, Sir L as I take it, an Afiten dant on the Lord Theophilus. Harp. Yes, yes ; in Shew his Servant : But hark hither ! Take heed no Body Hflcnsr Spun. Not a Moufe flirs. Harp. I am a Prince difguis'd. Hir. Difguis'd ? how ? drunk ? Harp. Yes, my fine Boy ! I'll drink too, and bz drunk ; I am a Prince, and any Man by me, (Let him but keep my Rules) mall foon grow rich, Exceeding rich, moft infinitely rich ; He that ihall ferve me, is not ftarv'd from Pleafure$ As other poor Knaves are ; no, take their Fill. Spun. But that, Sir ! we're fo ragged Harp. You'll fay you'd ferve me. Hh\ Before any Mailer under the Zodiac. Harp. For Cloathes no Matter ; I've a Mind to both* And one Thing I like in you ; now that you fee The Bonfire of your Lady's State burnt out, You give it over, do you not ? Hr. Let her be hang'd I Spun. And pox'd I Harp. Why, now ye 're mine t Come, let my Bofom touch you. Spun. We have Bugs, Sir I Harp. There's Money j fetch your Clothes home - There's for you. Hir. Avoid, Vermin ! give over our Miftrefs ! a Maa cannot profper worfe, if he ferve the Devil. Harp. How ? the Devil ! I'll tell you what now of the Devil : He's no fuch horrid Creature ; cloven-footed, Black, Saucer-ey'd, his Noitrils breathing Fire,- As thefe lying CbrUtians make him*. Both., No h THE VlkGIN-M ART Y fc. 153 Harp, He's more loving to Man, than Man to Man is. Hir. Is he fo ? Would we two might come acquain- ted with him ! Harp. You mall : He's a wondrous good Fellow, loves a Cup of Wine, a Whore, any Thing; if you have Money, it's ten to one but I'll bring him to feme Tavern or other to you* Spun. I'll befpeak the beft Room in the Houfe for him. Harp. Some People he cannot endure". Hit: We'll give him no fuch Caufe. Harp. He hates a civil Lawyer, as a Soldier doe'i Peace* Spun. How a Commoner ? t5 Harp. Loves him from the Teeth outward. Spun. Pray, my Lord and Prince, let me encounter you with one foolifti Queflion : Doth the Devil eat any Mace in his Broth ? Harp. Exceeding much, when his burning Fever takes him ; and then he hath the Knuckles of a Bailiff boiled to his Breakfaft. Hir. Then, my Lord ! he loves a Catchpole, doth he not ? Harp. As a Bear-ward doth a Dog. A Catchpole * he hath fworn, if ever he dies, to make a Serjeant his Heir, and a Yeoman his Overfeer, Spun. How if he come to any great Man's Gate, will the Porter let him come in, Sir ? Harp. Oh ! he loves Porters of great Men's Gates, becauie they are ever fo near the Wicket. Hir. Do not they whom he makes much on, for a'U his ftroaking their Cheeks, lead hellilh Lives under him ? Harp. No, no, no, no; he will be damn'd before he hurts any Man : Do but you (when you are throughly acquainted with him) afk for any Thing, fee if it doth not come. 6 That is^ a eogimou Lawyer. M. M. i 5 4 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Spun. Any Thing? Harp. Call for a delicate rare Whore, ftie is brought you. Hir. Oh ! my Elbow itches . Will the Devil keep the Door ? Harp. Be drunk as a Beggar, he helps you home ? Spun. O my fine Devil ! fome Watchman, I warrant; I wonder who is his Conftable. Harp. Will you lwear, roar, fwagger ? he claps you Hir. How ? on the Chaps ? Harp. No, on the Shoulder ; and cries, O, my brave Boys ! Will any of you kill a Man ? Spun. Yes, yes ; I, I. Harp. What is his Word? hang! hang! 'tis no- thing : Or flab a Woman ? Hir. Yes, yes ; I, I. Harp. Here is the worft Word he gives you ; a Pox on't, goon. Hir. O inveigling Rafcal ! I am ravifh'd. Harp. Go, get your Clothes; turn up your Glafs of Youth, And let the Sands run merrily ; nor do I care From what a lavifh Hand your Money flies, So you give none away to feed Beggars Hir., Hang 'em. Harp. And to the fcrubbing Poor* Hr. I'll fee 'em hang'd firft. Harp. One Service you mufl do me; Both. Any Thing. Harp. Your Miftrefs Dorothea, ere fhe fuffers, Is to be put to Tortures : Have you Hearts To tear her into Shrieks ? To fetch her Soul Up in the Pangs of Death, yet not to die? Hir. Suppofe this the, and that I had no Hands, here's my Teeth. Spun. Suppofe this flie, and that I had no Teeth, here's my Nails. Hir* But will not you be there, Sir ? THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 155 Harp. No, not for Hills of Diamonds > the GrancJ Mailer Who fchools her in the Chriftian Difcipline, Abhors my Company : Should I be there, You'd think all Hell broke loofe, we mould fo quarrel; Ply you this Bufinefs ; he, who her Flelh fpares, Is loft, and in my Love never more mares. [Exit. Spun. Here's a Matter, you Rogue ! Hir. Sure he cannot choofe but have a horrible Num- ber of Servants. [Exeunt* End of the Third M* A C T IV. S C E N E I. A Bed thrufl out, Antoninus upon it Jick, with Phficiant about him ; Sapritius and Macrinus. Sapritius. o YOU, that are half Gods, lengthen that Life r Their Deities lend us, turn o'er all the Volumes 0f your myfterious jEfculapian Science, 3" 1 7 O you, that are half Gods, lengthen that Life Their Deities lend us, v5V. MaJJingcr, in his Duke of Milan, ha3 a Paflage that bears a great Sjmilhude to this, which I have here fet down. -O you earthy Gods, You fecond Natures, that from your great Matter (Who join'd the Limbs of torn Hypolitus, And drew upon himfelf the Thunderer's Envy) Are taught thofe hidden Secrets that reftore To Life Death- wounded Men, you have aPatieat On whom t' exprefs the Excellence of Art, Will bind e'en Heaven your Debtor, though it pleafcs To make your Hands the Organs of a Work The Saints will fmile to look on, and good Angela Clap their celellial Wing9 to give it Plaudits. Act V. Sce.ve II. 156 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. T' increafe the Number of this young Man's Days ? And, for each Minute of his Time prolong'd Your Fee fliall be a Piece of Roman Gold, With Gefar's Stamp, fuch as he fends his Captains When in the Wars they earn well : Do but fave him,- And, as he's half myfelf, be you all mine. DoR. What Art can do, we promife : Phyfick's Hand As apt is to deftroy as to preferve, If Heav'ri make not the Med'cine : All this while Our Skill hath Combat held with this Difeafe ; But 'tis fo arm'd, and a deep Melancholy, To fuch ,8 in Part with Death, we are in Fear The Grave mud mock our Labours. Mac* I have been His Keeper in this Sieknefs, with fuch Eyes As I have feen my Mother watch o'er me ; And, from that Obfervation, fure I find It is a Midwife mufl deliver him. Sap, A Midwife ! Is he with Child ? Mac* Yes, with Child; And will, I fear, lofe Life, if by a Woman He is not brought to Bed : Stand by his Pillow* Some little while, ahd in his broken Slumbers, Him fhall you hear crV out on Dorothea ; And, when his Arms fly open to catch her; Clofing together, he falls fail afleep, Pleas'dwith Embracings of her airy Form. Phyficians but torment him : His Difeafe Laughs at their gibberifh Language ; let him hear The Voice of Dorothea, nay, but the Name, He Harts up with high Colour in his Face. She, or none, cures him And how that can be (The Princefs' ftricl: Command barring that Happinefs) To me impoffible feem6. v Sap. To me it fliall not ; I'll be no Subject to the greateit Qtfar Was ever crown'd with Laurel, rather than ceafe To be a Father. [Exit* Mac* Silence, Sir ! he wakes. Jnton* Thou kill'ft me Dorothea ! Oh, Dorothea I *8 That U f to fych a Degree \ fo ranch. M* M* THE VIRGIN-MARTYR, 157 Mac. She's here : enjoy her. Anton, Where ?*s Why do you mock me ? Age on my Head hath ftuck no white Hairs yet 5 Yet Pro an old Man, a fond doating Fool, Upon a Woman. I, to buy her Beauty, (Truth, I am bewitched) offer my Life, And me, for my Acquaintance, hazards hers | Yet, for our equal Sufferings, none holds out A Hand of Pity. Docl. Let him have fome Mufick, Anton. Hell on your fiddling ! Docl. Take again your Bed, Sir ; Sleep is a fovereign Phyfick. Anton. Take an Afs's Head, Sir ; Confufion on your Fooleries ! your Charms ! Thou ftinking Clyfter-pipe ; where's the God 'of Reft, Thy Pills, and bafe Apothecary-drugs, Threaten'd to bring to me ? Out, you Impoftors ! Quackfalving, cheating Mountebanks ! Your Skill Is, to make found Men fick, and fick Men kill. Mac. Oh, be yourfelf, dear Friend ! Anton. Myfelf, Macrinus f How can I be myfelf, when I am mangled Into a thoufand Pieces ? Here moves my Head, But where' my Heart ? Where-ever that lies dead. Enter Sapritius, dragging in Dorothea by the Hair ; An- gelo attending. Sap. Follow me, thou damn'd Sorcerefs ! Call up thy Spirits ! And, if they can, now let them r ro"n my Hand IJntwine thefe witching Hairs. Anton. I am that Spirit : Or, if I be not, (were you not my Father) One made of Iron fhould hew that Hand in Pieces That fo defaces this fweet Monument Of my Love's Beauty. Sap. Art thou fick > Anton. To Death. Sap. Wouldft thou recover ? i 5 $ THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Anton. Would I live in Blifs ? Sap. And do thine Eyes fhoot Daggers at that Man That brings thee Health ? Anton. It is not in the World. Sap. It's here. Ant. To Treafurc, by Enchantment lock'd tn Caves asleep as Hell, am I as near. Sap. Break that enchanted Cave ; enter, and rifle The Spoils thy Luft hunts after : I defcend To a bafe Office, and become thy Pander In bringing thee this proud Thing. Make her thy Whore; Thy Health lies here : If fhe deny to give it, Force it : Imagine thou aflault'ft a Town's Weak Wall ; to't, 'tis thine own, beat but this down* Come, and unfeen be Witnefs, to this Battery How the coy Strumpet yields. *9 Boa. Shall the Boy flay, Sir? Sap. No Matter for the Boy : Pages are us'd To thefe odd bawdy Shufflings ; and indeed Are thofe little young Snakes in a Fury's Head, Will fting worfe than the great Ones. Let the Pimp flay.. [Exeunt ajide. Dor. Oh ! Guard me, Angels ! What Tragedy mull begin now ? Anton. When a Tyger Leaps into a tim'rous Herd, with rav'nous Jaws, Being Hunger-ftarv'd, what Tragedy then begins ? Dor. Death : I am happy fo ', you hitherto Have flill had Goodnefs ipher'd within your Eyes, Let not that Orb be broken. 2 u 19 Comt, and unfeen he IVitnefs, to this Battery How t)x coy Strumpet yields. Thefe two Lines are addreffed to Macrinus and the Doftor. *L M. what Tragedy then begins ?\ Dor. Death: I am happy fo ; you hitherto Have fl ill had Goodnefs /par* d -within your Eyes, Let 710 1 that Orb be broken. Th Word Orb in this laft Line proves that we fhould read Jpher'd inftead of fpar'd; the latter, indeed, made the Pafiage Nonfenfe, which is now very poetical. M. M. THE VIRGIN- MARTYR. 159 Aug. Fear not, Miftrefs : If he dare offer Violence, we two Are ftrong enough for fuch a fickly Man, Dor. What is your horrid Purpofe, Sir ? your Eye pears Danger in it. Anton. I muft Dor. What? Sap. Speak it out, Anton. Climb that fvveet virgin Tree. Sap. Plague o' your Trees ! Anton. And pluck that Fruit which none, I think, e'er tailed. Sap. A Soldier, and Hand fumbling fo ! Dor. Oh, kill me ! [Kneels. And Heav'n will take it as a Sacrifice : But, if you play the Ravifher, there is A Hell to fwallow you. Sap. Let her fwallow thee, Anton. Rife For the Roman Empire, Dorothea, I would not wound thine Honour. Pleafures forc'4 Are unripe Apples ; four, not worth the Plucking : Yet, let me tell you, 'tis my Father's Will, That I mould feize upon you, as my Prey ; Which I abhor, as much as the blacked Sin The Villainy of Man did ever ad:. [Sapritius breaks in, and Macrinus, Ang. Die happy for this Language ! Sap. Die a Slave, A blockifh Idiot. Mac. Dear Sir ! vex him not. Sap. Yes, and vex thee too ; both, I think, are Geld- ings 1 Cold, phlegmatick Baftard ! thou'rt no Bra,t of mine ; One Spark of me, when I had Heat like thine, By this had made a Bonfire. A tempting Whore, For whom thou'rt mad, thruft ev'n into thine Arms, And ftand'fl thou puling ? Had a Taylor feen her At this Advantage, he, with hiscrofs Capers Had ruffled her by this : But thou malt curfe Thy Dalliance ; and here, before her Eyes, x6o THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Tear thy Flefh in Pieces, when a Slave In hot Luft bathes himfelf, and gluts thofe Pleafures* Thy Nicenefs durfl not touch. Call out a Slave. You, Captain of our Guard, fetch a Slave hither. Anton, What will you do, dear Sir ? Sap. Teach her a Trade, which many a one would learn In lefs than half an Hour, to play the Whore. Jlnter a Slave. Mac. A Slave is come : What now ? Sap. Thou haft Bones and Flelh Enough to ply thy Labour. From what Country Wert thou ta'en Prifoner, here to be our Slave ? Slave. From Britain. Sap. In the Weftern Ocean .? Slave. Yes. Sap. An Ifland > Slave. Yes. Sap. I'm fitted : Of all Nations Our Roman Swords e'er conquer'd, none comes near The Briton for true Whoring. Sirrah ! Fellow ! What wouldft'thou do to gain thy Liberty ? Slave. Do ? Liberty ? Fight naked with a Lion ; Venture to pluck a Standard from the Heart Of an arm'd Legion : Liberty ? I'd thus Beftride a Rampire, and Defiance fpit I' th' Face of Death ; then, when the Batt'ring-ram Were fetching his Career backward, to pafh Me with his Horns to Pieces : To make my Chains off, And that I could not do't but by thy Death, Stoodft thou on this dry Shore, I on a Rock Ten Pyramids high, down would I leap to kill thee Or die myfelf. What is for Man to do I'll venture on to be no more a Slave. Sap. Thou fhalt, then, be no Slave ; for I will fet thee Upon a Piece of Work is fit for Man, Brave for a Briton : Drag that Thing afide And ravifti her, THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. z6t Slave. And ravifh her ? Is this your manly Service ? A Devil fcorns to do it ; 'tis for a Beaft, A Villain, not a Man. I am, as yet, But half a Slave ; but, when that Work is paft, A damned whole one, a black ugly Slave, The Slave of all bafe Slaves : Do't thyfelf, Roman f 'Tis Drudgery fit for thee. Sap. He's bewitch'd too : Bind him, and with a Baftinado give him, Upon his naked Belly, two hundred Blows. Slave. Thou art more Slave than I. [Exit, carried inl Dor. That Power fupernal, on whom waits my Soul, Is Captain o'er my Chaftity. Anton. Good Sir, give o'er. The more you wrong her, yourfelPs vex'd the more. Sap. Plagues light on her and thee !-*-Thus downl throvf. Thy Harlot, thus by th'Hair, nail her to Earth. Call in ten Slaves, let every one difcover What Lull defires, and furfeit here his Fill. Call in ten Slaves. Ang. They're come, Sir, at your call. Sap. Oh, oh ! [Faffs downi Enter Theophilus. "theopb. Where is the Governor ? Anton. There's my wretched Father. Theoph. My Lord Sapritius He's not dead ? *-My Lord, That Witch there Anton. 'Tis no Roman Gods can ftrike Thefe fearful Terrors. 0,thou happy Maid { Forgive this wicked Purpofe of my Father. Dor. I do. Theopk. Gone, gone ; he's pepper'd. 'Tis thou Haft done this Acl: infernal. Dor. Heaven pardon you ! And if my Wrongs from thence pull Vengeance down, I can no Miracles work, yet from my Soul Pray to thofe Pow'rs I ferve, he may recover. Vol. I. L i6z THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Theoph. He ftirs Help ! Raife him up. My Lord ! Sap. Where am I ? Theoph. One Cheek is blafted. Sap. Blafted ? Where's the Lamia That tears my Entrails ? I'm bewitch'd Seize on her. Dor. I'm here ; do what you pleafe. Theoph. Spurn her to the Bar. Dor. Come, Boy ! being there, more near to Heav'n we are. Sap. Kick harder ; go out, Witch. [Exeunt. Anton. O bloody Hangman ! thine own Gods give thee Breath ! Each of thy Tortures is my feveral Death. [Exit. SCENE II. Enter Harpax, Hircius, and Spungius. Harp. Do you like my Service now ? Say, am not I A Mailer worth Attendance ? Spun. Attendance ? I had rather lick clean the Soles of your dirty Boots, than wear the richeft Suit of any infected Lord, whofe rotten Life hangs between the two Poles. Hir. A Lord's Suit ! I would not give up the cloak of your Service, to meet the Splay-foot Eftate of any left-ey'd Knight above the Antipodes ; becaufe they are unlucky to meet. Harp. This Day I'll try your Loves to me ; 'tis only But well to ufe the Agility of your Arms. Spun. Or Legs, I am lufty at them. Hir. Or any other Member that hath no Legs. Spun. Thou'lt run into fome Hole. Hir. If I meet one that's more than my Match; and that I cannot Hand in their Hands, I muft and will creep on my Knees. Harp. Hear me, my little Team of Villains, hear me, I cannot teach you Fencing with thefe Cudgels, Yet you mull ufe them ; lay them on but ibundlv ; That's all. THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 163 Hir. Nay, if we come to mauling once, phoh ! Spun. But what Walnut-tree is it we muft beat ? Harp. Your Miftrefs. Hir. How ! my Miftrefs ? I begin to have a Chrif* tian's Heart made of fweet Butter ; I melt, I cannot ftrike a Woman. Spun. Nor I, unlefs me fcratch ; beat my Miftrefs I Harp. Y'are Coxcombs, filly Animals. Hir. What's that ? Harp. Drones, AfTes, blinded Moles, that dare notthruft Your Arms out to catch Fortune ; fay, you fall off, It muft be done : You are converted Rafcals, And, that once fpread abroad, why, every Slave Will kick you, call you motly Cfiriftians, And half-fac'd Chriftians. Spun. The Guts of my Conference begin to be of Whitleatheri Hir. 1 doubt me, I fliall have no fweet Butter in me* Harp. Deny this, and every Pagan whom you meet, Shall forked Fingers thruft into your Eyes. Hir. If we be Cuckolds. Harp. Do this, and every God the Gentiles bow to, Shall add a Fathom to your Line of Years. Spun. A hundred Fatfhom ; I defire no more. Hir. I defire but one Inch longer. Harp. The Senators will, as you pafs along, Clap you upon your Shoulders with this Hand, And with this Hand give you Gold: When you are deac^ Happy that Man fliall be, can get a Nail, The paring, nay, the Dirt under the Nail Of any of you both, to fay this Dirt Belonged to Spungius or Hircius. Spun. They iliall not want Dirt under my Nails, I will keep them long of Purpofe, for now my Fingers itch to be at her. Hr. The firft Thing I do, I'll take her over the Lips. Spun. And I the Hips, we may ftrike any where. Harp. Yes, any where. Hir. Then I know where I'll hit her. L 2 i64 THE VlRGlN-MARTYR. Harp. Profper, and be mine own ; Hand by, I mufl not, To fee this done ; great Bufinefs calls me hence : He's made can make her curfe his Violence. [Jw7. Spun. Fear it not, Sir! her Ribs mail be balled. Hir. I'll come upon her with rounce, robble-hobble, and thwick-thwack thirley bouncing. Enter Dorothea, led Prifoner, a Guard attending ; a Hang- man with Cords, infome ugly Shape, fets up a Pillar in the Middle of the Stage; Sapritius and Theophilus^/, An- gelo by her. Sap. According to our Roman Cuftoms, bind! That Chriflian to a Pillar. Theoph. Infernal Furies \ Could they into my Hand thruft all their Whips To tear thy Flefli, thy Soul, 'tis not a Torture Fit to the Vengeance I fhould heap on thee, For Wrongs done me ; me ! for flagitious Facia By thee done to our Gods : Yet (fo it ftand To great Gajarea's Governor's high Pleafure) -Bow but thy Knee to Jupiter, and offer Any flight Sacrifice ; or do but fwear JBy Gefar's Fortune, and be free. Sap. Thou (halt. Dor. Not for all Cajar y % Fortune, were it chain'd To more Worlds than are Kingdoms in the World, And all thofe Worlds drawn after him : I defy Your Hangman ; you now fhew me whither to fly. Sap. Are her Tormentors ready ? Ang. Shrink not, dear Miflrefs ! Spun, and Hir. My Lord, we are ready for the Bu. 4 - finefs. Lor. You two ! whom I like fofter'd Children fed,, And lengthen 'd out your ftarved Life with Bread : You be my Hangmen ? Whom, when up the Ladder Death hal'd you to be flrangled, I fetch 'd down, Cloth'd you, and warm'd you t You two. my Torment tors ? THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. i6 s Both. Yes, we. Dor. Divine Powers pardon me ! Sap. Strike. [Theyjlrike at her : Angelo kneeling, holds her faji. Theoph. Beat out her Brains. Dor. Receive me, you bright Angels ! Sap. Falter, Slaves \ Spun. Fafler ? I am out of Breath, I am fure : If I were to beat a Buck, I can flrike no harder. * Hir. O, mine Arms ! I cannot lift 'em to my Head. Dor. Joy above Joys ! are my Tormentors weary In tort'ring me ? And in my Sufferings I fainting in no Limb ! Tyrants, ftrike home, And feall your Fury full. Theoph. Thefe Dogs are Cuts, [Comes from his Seat. Which fnarl, yet bite not. See, my Lord, her Face Hath more bewitching Beauty than before : Proud Whore, fhe Smiles ; cannot an Eye flart out With thefe ? Hir. No, Sir, nor the Bridge of her Nofe fall ; 'tis full of Iron Work. Sap. Let's view the Cudgels ; are they not Counter- feit ? Ang. There fix thine Eye flill ; thy glorious Crown mufl come Not from foft Pleafure, but by Martyrdom. There fix thine Eye flill ; when we next do meet, Not Thorns, but Rofes fhall bear up thy Feet : There fix thine Eye flill. [Exit* Enter Harpax, fneaking. Dor. Ever, ever, ever. Theoph. We're mock'd ; thefe Bats have Power to fell down Giants, yet her Skin is not fcar'd. Sap. What Rogues are thefe ? Theoph. Cannot thefe force a Shriek ? [Beats them. Spun. Oh ! a Woman has one of my Ribs, and now five more are broken. 166 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Tkeoph, Cannot this make her roar ? [Beats t'other ; be roars. Sap. Who hir'd thcfe Slaves ? What are the)' ? Spun, We ferv'd that noble Gentleman, there : He entie'd us to this dry-beating : Oh ! for one half Pot. Harp, My Servants ? Two bafe Rogues, and fome- times Servants To her, and for that Caufe forbear to hurt her. Sap, Unbind her, hang up thefe. Theoph. Hang the two Hounds on the next Tree. Hir, Hang us ? Mailer Harpax, what a Devil, mall we be thus us'd ? Harp. What Bandogs but you two would worry a Woman ? YourMiflrefs ! I but clapt 3^011, you flew on. Say I mould get your Lives, each rafcal Beggar Would, when he met you, cry out, Hell-hounds ! Traitors ! Spit at you, fling Dirt at you, and no Woman Ever endure your Sight : 'Tis your bed Courfe Now, had you fecret Knives, to flab yourfelves ; But, fince you have not, go and be hang'd. Hir. I thank you. Harp. 'Tis your bell Courfe. Theoph. Why ilay they trifling here ? To Gallows drag them bv the Heels ; away. Spun. By the Heels ? No, Sir ! we have Legs to do us that Service. Hir. I, I, if no Woman can endure my Sight, away with me. Harp. Difpatch them. Spun. The Devil difpatch thee. Sap. Death this Day rides in Triumph, Theophilus, See this Watch made away too. Theoph. My Soul thirfls for it ; Come, I myfelf the Hangman's Part could play. Dor. O haiten me to my Coronation Day ! [Exeunt* THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 167 SCENE III. Enter Antoninus, Macrinus, and Servants* Anton, Is this the Place, where Virtue is to fuffer ? And heavenly Beauty, leaving this bafe Earth, To make a glad Return from whence it came ? Is it Macrinus t [A Scaffold thruji forth, Mac, By this Preparation, You well may reft aflur'd, that Dorothea This Hour is to die here. . . Anton, Then with her dies The AbftracT: of all Sweetnefs that's in Woman ; Set me down, Friend ! that, ere the Iron Hand Of Death clofe up mine Eyes, they may at once Take my laft Leave both of this Light and her : For, fhe being gone, the glorious Sun himfelf To me's Cimmerian Darknefs. Mac, Strange Affection ! Cupid once more hath chang'd his Shafts with Death, And kills, inftead of giving Life. Anton. Nay, weep not ; Tho' Tears of Friendfhip be a fov'reign Balm, On me they're caft away : It is decreed That I mufbdie with her ; our Clue of Life Was fpun together. Mac. Yet, Sir, 'tis my Wonder, That you, who, hearing only what fhe fuffers, Partake of all her Tortures, yet will be, To add to your Calamity, an Eye-witnefs Of her laft tragic Scene, which muft deeper pierce, And make the Wound more defperate. Anton, Oh, Macrinus ! 'Twould linger out my Torments elfe, not kill me; Which is the End I aim at : being to die too, What Inftrument more glorious can I wifh for, Than what is made fharp by my conftant Love And true Affection : It maybe, the Duty L 4 168 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. And loyal Service, with which I purfu'd her, And feal'd it with my Death, will be remember'd Among her blefled Actions ; and what Honour Can I defire beyond it ? Enter a Guard, bringing in Dorothea ; a Head/man before her, followed by Theophilus, Sapritius, and Harpax. Anton. See ! ihe comes ; How fweet her Innocence appears ! more like To Heav'n itfelf, than any Sacrifice That can be offer'd to it. By my Hopes Of Joys hereafter, the Sight makes me doubtful In my Belief ; nor can I think our Gods Are good, or to be ferv'd, that take Delight In Off'rings of this Kind ; that, to maintain Their Pow'r, deface the Mafter-piece of Nature Which they themfelves come fhort of : She afcends, And every Step raifes her nearer Heaven. What God foe'er thou art, that muft enjoy her, Receive in her a boundlefs Happinefs ! Sap. You are to blame to let him come abroad. Mac. It was his Will ; And we were left to ferve him, not command him, Anton. Good Sir, be not offended; nor deny My laft of Pleafures in this happy Object, That I fliall ere be bleft with. Theoph. Now, proud Contemner Of us, and of our Gods, tremble to think, It is not in the Pow'r thou ferv'ft to fave thee. Not all the Riches of the Sea, increas'd By violent Shipwrecks, nor th' unfearch'd Mines, Mammon's unknown Exchequer, fliall redeem thee : And therefore, having firft with Horror weigh 'd What 'tis to die, and to die young, to part with AH Pleafures and Delights ; laflly, to go Where all Antipathies to Comfort dwell ; Furies behind, about thee, and before thee, And, to add to Affli&ion, the Remembrance Of the Eljfian Joys thou mightft have tailed^ THE VIRGIN-MARTYL 169 Hadft thou not turn'd Apoftate to thofe Gods That fo reward their Servants, let Defpair Prevent the Hangman's Sword, and on this Scaffold Make thy firfl Entrance into Hell. Anton, She fmiles Unmov'd, by Mars, as if fhe were aflur'd Death, looking on her Conftancy, would forgot The Ule of his inevitable Hand. Theopb. Derided too ? Dilpatch I fay. Dor. Thou Fool ! That glorieft in having Power to ravifh A Trifle from me I am weary of : What is this Life to me ? Not worth a Thought ; Or, if to be efteem'd, 'tis that I lofe it To win a better : Ev'n thy Malice ferves To me but as a Ladder to mount up To fuch a Height of Happinefs, where I mail Look down with Scorn on thee and on the World ; Where circled with true Pleafures, plac'd above The Reach of Death or Time, 'twill be my Glory To think at what an eafy Price I bought it. There's a perpetual Spring, perpetual Youth. 81 Nojoint-benumming Cold, nor fcorching Heat, Famine nor Age, having any Being there. Forget, for Shame, your Tempe ; bury in Oblivion, your feign'd Hefperian Orchards : The Golden Fruit, kept by the watchful Dragon, Which did require a Hercules to guard it, Compar'd with what grows in all Plenty there, Deferves not to be nam'd. The Pow'r I ferve Laughs at your happy Arable, or the Elyjian Shades ; for he hath made his Bow'rs Better in deed than you can fancy yours, Anton. O, take me thither with you ! Dor. Trace my Steps, And be aflur'd you lhall. (f* 21 TJjere's a perpetual Spring, perpetual youth^ lie. This fliort but fine Defcription of Elyfium is equal, if not fuperiof, to any given by the ancient Poets, 170 THE VIRGIN-M ARTYR. Sap, With my own Hands I'll rather flop that little Breath is left thee, And rob thy killing Fever. Theoph, By no Means ; Let him go with her : do, fedue'd young Man, And wait upon thy Saint in Death ; do, do : And, when you come to that imagin'd Place, That Place of all Delights pray you, obferve me, And meet thofe curfed Things I once called Daughter*, Whom I have fent as Harbingers before you, If there be any Truth in your Religion, In Thankfulnefs to me, that with Care haften Your Journey thither, pray fend me lbme Small Pittance of that curious Fruit you boaft of. Anton, Grant that I may go with her, and I will. Sap, Wilt thou, in the 1 ait Minute, damn thyfelf? 'Theoph The Gates to Hell are open. Dor, Know, thou tyrant ! Thou Agent for the Devil thy great Matter ! Tho' thou art molt unworthy to talle of it, I can, and will. Enter Angelo, in the Angel's Habit. Harp. Oh ! Mountains fall upon me, Or hide me in the Bottom of the Deep ; Where Light may never find me ! Theoph. What's the Matter ? Sap, This is prodigious, and confirms her Witchcraft, Theoph, Harpax, my Harpax, fpeak ! Harp. I dare not ftay : Should I but hear her once more, I were loft. Some Whirlwind fnatch me from this curfed Place, To which compar'd, and with what now I fuffer, Hell's Torments are fweet Slumbers ! [Exit Harpax. Sap, Follow him. Theoph. He is diftracled, and I muft not lofe him. Thy Charms upon my Servant, curfed Witch, Give thee a fhort Reprieve. Let her not die Till my Return. [Exeunt Sap. and Theoph. THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 171 Anton. She minds him not : What Object Is her Eye fix'd on ? Mac. I fee nothing. Anton. Mark her. Dor. Thou glorious Minifter of the Power I ferve ! (For thou art more than mortal) is't for me, Poor Sinner, thou art pleas'd a while to leave Thy heavenly Habitation, and vouchfaf ft (Tho' glorify'd) to take my Servant's Habit? For, put off thy Divinity, fo look'd My lovely Angeb. Ang. Know, I'm the fame ; And ftill the Servant to your Piety. Your zealous Prayers, and pious Deeds firft won me (But 'twas by his Command to whom you fent them) '- To guide your Steps. I try'd your Charity, When in a Beggar's Shape you took me up, And cloth'd my naked Limbs, and after fed (As you believ'd) my famifh'd Mouth. Learn all, By your Example, to look on the Poor With gentle Eyes ; for in fuch Habits, often, Angels defire an Alms. I never left you, Nor will I now ; for I am fent to carry Your pure and innocent Soul to Joys eternal, Your Martyrdom once furTer'd ; and before it, Afk any Thing from me, and reft aflur'd You mail obtain. Dor. I am largely paid For all my Torments : fince I find fuch Grace, Grant that the Love of this young Man to me, In which he languifheth to Death, may be Chang'd to the Love of Heaven. Ang. I will perform it; And in that Inftant when the Sword fets free Your happy Soul, his fhall have Liberty. Is there aught elfe ? Dor. For Proof that I forgive My Perfecutor, who in Scorn defir'd To tafte of that moft facred Fruit I go to ; i 7 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. After my Death, as fent from me, be pleas 'd To give, him of it. Ang. Willingly, dear Miftrefs ! Mac. I am amaz'd. Anton. I feel a holy Fire, That yields a comfortable Heat within me : I am quite alter'd from the Thing I was ; See ! I can ftand, and go alone ; thus kneel To heav'nly Dorothea, touch her Hand With a religious Kifs. "Enter Sapritius and Theophilus. Sap. He is well now ; But will not be drawn back. Theoph. It matters not ; We can difcharge this Work without his Help* But fee your Son. Sap, Villain! Anton. Sir, I befeech yon, Being fo near our Ends, divorce us not. Theoph. I'll quickly make a Separation of 'em : Haft thou aught elfe to fay ? Dor. Nothing, but blame Thy Tardinefs in fending me to reft ; My Peace is made with Heaven, to which my Soul Begins to take her Flight : Strike, O ! ftrike quickly; And, tho' you are unmov'd to fee my Death, Hereafter, when my Story ihall be read, As they were prefent now, the Hearers ftiall Say this of Dorothea, with wet Eyes, She liv'd a Virgin, and a Virgin dies. [Her Headjlruck off. Anton. O, take my Soul along to wait on thine ! Mac. Your Son finks too. [Antoninusj/tfif. Sap. Already dead > Theoph. Die all That are of, or favour this accurfed Seel: : I triumph in their Ends, and will raife up A Hill of their dead Carcafles to o're-look The. Pyrenean Hills, but I'll root out THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 173 Thefe fuperftitious Fools, and leave the World No Name of Chriftian. [Loud Mufick : Exit Angelo, having firfl laid hit Hand upon their Mouths, Sap. Ha ! heavenly Mufick ! Mac. 'Tis in the Air. Theoph. Illufions of the Devil, Wrought by fome Witch of her Religion That fain would make her Death a Miracle : It frights not me. Becaufe he is your Son, Let him have Burial ; but let her Body Be caft forth with Contempt in fome Highway, And be to Vultures and to Dogs a Prey. [Extant. End of the Fourth Ail. ACTV. SCENE I. Enter Theophilus in his Study. Books about him, Theophilus. J' S'T Holiday, O Cafar ! that thy Servant (Thy Provoft to fee Execution done n thefe bafe Chriitians in Cafarea ) Should now want Work ? Sleep thefe Idolaters, That none are ftirring ? As a curious Painter , [Rifes. When he has made fome honourable Piece, Stands off, and with a fearching Eye examines. Each Colour, how 'tis fweeten'd ; and then hugs Himfelf for his rare Workmanship. So here [He fits. Will I my Drolleries, and bloody Landfcapes (Long pafl wrapt up) unfold, to make me merry With Shadows, now I want the Subftances. [Takes a Book. My Mufter-book of Hell-hounds : Were the Chriltians* Whofe Names (land here, alive and arm'd, not Rome: Could move upon her Hinges. What I've done, i 7 4 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Or fhall hereafter, is not out of Hate To poor tormented Wretches ; no, I'm carry'd With Violence of Zeal and Streams of Service I owe our Roman Gods. Great Britain what ? A thoufand Wives with Brats fucking their Breads^ Had hot Irons pinch'd 'em off, and thrown to Swine ; g * And then their flefliy Back-parts, hew'd with Hatchets, Wereminc'd and bak'd in Pies to feed flarv'd Chriftians* Ha ! ha ! Again, again, Eajl- Angles, Oh, Eajl-Angle s Bandogs (kept three Days hungry) worried A thoufand Britijh Rafcals, ftied up fat, Of Purpofe flfipped naked and difarm'd. I could outftare a Year of Suns and Moons, To fit at thefe fweet Bull-baiting-s, fo I Could thereby but one Chriflian win to fall In Adoration to my Jupiter* Twelve hundred Eyes bor'd with Augres out Oh ! Eleven thoufand Torn by wild Beafls : Two hundred ramm'd i' th' Earth To th* Armpits, and full Platters round about 'em, But far enough from reaching : Eat, Dogs, ha ! ha ! ha I [Herijes. Turn, all thefe Tortures are but Fillipings, Flea-bitings : I, before the Deftinies Enter Angelo, with a Bajket, filled with Fruit and Fhzvefs. My Bottom did wind up, would flefh myfelf Once more upon fome one remarkable Above all thele : This Chriflian Slut was well, A pretty one ; but let fuch Horror follow The next I feed with Torments, that when Rome Shall hear it, her Foundation at the Sound May feel an Earthquake. How now ? [A Concert, *% A thoufand Wives tvitb Brats fucking their Brcafs y Had hot Irons finch'' d 'em off) and thro-ivn to Swine. Thefe two Lines are not grammatical, but that fcems to be owing to the inadvertency of the Author. M, M. THE VIRGIN-MARTYR, iff Ang. Are you amaz'd, Sir ? So great a Roman Spirit! And doth it tremble ? Theoph. How cam'fl thou in ? To whom thy Bufinefs ? Ang. To you ; ' I had a Miftrefs, late fent hence by you Upon a Bloody Errand ; You intreated That, when fhe came into that bleffed Garden Whither (lie knew (he went, and where (now happy) She feeds upon all Joy, (he would fend to you Some of that Garden : Fruit and Flowers, which here, To .have her promife fav'd, are brought by me, 'Theoph. Cannot I fee this Garden ? Ang, Yes, if the Mailer \ - Will give you Entrance. [Angelo vanijketh* Theoph. 'Tis a tempting Fruit, And the moft bright-cheek'd Child I ever view'd ; Sweet-fmelling, goodly Fruit : What Flowers arc thele ? In Diockjian's Gardens, the moft beauteous, Compar'd with thefe, are Weeds : Is it not February? The fecond Day (he died : Froft, Ice, and Snow Hang on the Beard of Winter : Where's the Sun That gilds this Summer ? Pretty, fweet Boy, fay, In what Country (hall a Man find this Garden ? My delicate Boy, gone ! vanimed ! Within there Julianus and Geta Enter two Servants. Both. My Lord. Theoph. Are my Gates (hut ? i Serv. And guarded. Theoph. Saw you not a Boy ? 2 Serv. Where ? Theoph. Here he entered, a young Lad ; a thou (and Bleffings danc'd upon his Eyes; a fmooth fac'd glorious Thing, that brought this Bafkct. i Serv. No, Sir ! [Exeunt. 176 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Theoph. Away but be in Reach, if my Voiqe calls you. No ! vaniih'd, and not feen ! Be thou a Spirit Sent from that Witch "to mock me, I am fure This is eflential, and, howe'er it grows, Will tafle it. [Eats. Harp. Ha, ha, ha, ha I [Harpax within. Theoph. So good ! I'll have fome more fure. Harp. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! great liquorifh Fool ! Theoph. What art thou ? Harp. AFiiberman. Theoph. What doft thou catch ? Harp. Souls, Souls ; a Filb call'd Souls, Enter a Servant* Theoph. Getaf i Serv. My Lord. Harp. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! \Withtn* Theoph. What infolent Slave is this dares laugh at me ? Or what is it the Dog grins at ? i Serv. I neither know, my Lord, at what, nor whom ; for there is none without, but my Fellow Julianus> and he is making a Garland for Jupiter. Theoph. Jupiter ! All within me is not well ; And yet not rick. Harp. Ha, ha, ha, ha | [Lauder. Theoph. What's thy Name, Slave ? Harp. Go look. [At one End. i Serv. 'Tis Harpax' Voice. Theoph. Harpax ! Go, drag the Caitiff to my Foot, That I may flamp upon him. Harp. Fool, thou lyeft ! [At the other End. i Serv. He's yonder, now, my Lord. Iheoph. Watch thou that End, Wbilft I make good this. Harp, Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha I [At ikt Middle* THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 167 Theoph. He is at Barli-break, and the laft Couple are now in Hell : 2 3 Search for him All this Ground, methinks, is bloody, And pav'd with thoufands of thole Chriftians' Eyes 3 Theoph. He is at Barli-break, and the lajl Couple are now in Hell. There are feveral Alliens in thefe Plays of MaJUnger, and fome in thofe of hi3 cotemporary Writers, to the ancient Paltime of Bar- li-break ; but as there are many Parts of the Country in which this Sport is not now in Ufe, thefe Allufions will no longer be generally underftood : I fliould therefore fuppofe that it would not be unac- ceptable to the Readers, to be furnifhed with a poetical Defcription of it, written by the famous Sir Philip Sidney, the mod diflinguifhed Character of his Time, for Valour, and every elegant Accomplilh- ment. It is taken from the Song of Lanwn, in the Firft Book of the Arcadia, where he relates the Pailion of Claius and Strephon for the beautiful Urania. But glad Defire, his late embofom'd Gueft, Yet but a Babe, with Milk of Sighs Be * nurft ; (* Strephon, Defire, the more hefuck'd, more fought the Breaft, As Dropfy-folk {till drink to be athirft ; Till one Fair Ev'n, an Hour ere Sun did reft, Who then in Lion's Cave did enter firft ; By Neighbours pray 'd, fie f went abroad, thereby {-f Urania, A Barley-break herfweet, iwift Feet to try. Never the Earth on his round Shoulders bare A Maid train'd up from high or low Degree, That in her Doings better could compare Mirth, with Refpeft ; few Words, with Courtefy ; A carelefs Comelinefs, with comely Care ; Self-guard, with Mildnefs j Sport, with Majefty ; Which made her yield to deck the Shepherds' Band, And, ftill believe me, Strcphon was at Hand. Afield they go, where many Lookers be, And thou feek-forrow Claius them among ; Indeed, thou faidft it was thy Friend to fee, Strcphon, whofe Abfenfe feem'd unto thee long, While, moft with her, he lefs did keep with thee, No, no, it was in Spite of Wifdom's Song, Which Abfence wifii'd ; Love play'd a Vittor's Psrt, The heavy Love-loadftone drew thy Iron Heair. Vol. I. M i63 THE VIRGIN-MARTTR. Whom I have tortur'd, and they flare upon me. What was this Apparition ? Sure he had A Shape angelical : Mine Eyes (tho* dazzl'd And daunted at firft Sight) tell me, it wore A Pair of glorious Wings ; yes, they were Wings ! And hence he flew : "Tis vanifhed. Jupiter, For all my Sacrifices done to him, Never once gave me Smiles. How can Stones fmile ? Or Wooden Image laugh ? \_Mufuk.~\ Ha ! I remember Such Mufick gave a Welcome to mine Ear, Then Couples three be ftraight allotted there ; They of both Ends, the Middle two, do fly ; The two that, in Mid-fpace, Hell called were, Muft ftrive, with waiting Foot and watching Eye, To catch of them, and them to Hell to bear, That they, as well as they, may Hell fupply ; - Like fome that feek to falve their blotted Name Will others blot, till all do talte of Shame. There you may fee, foon as the Middle two Do coupled, towards either Couple make, They, falfe and fearful, do their Hands undo ; Brother his Brother, Friend doth Friend forfake, Heeding himfelf, cares not how Fellow do, But of a Stranger mutual Help doth take ; As perjur'd Cowards in Adverfity, With Sight of Fear from Friends to Friend do fly. Thefe Sports Shepherds devifed, fuch Faults to fliew. Gcron, tho'old, yet gamefome, kept one End With Co/ma ; for whofe Love Pas paft in Woe Fair Nous with Pas the Lot to Hell did fend ; Pas thought it Hell while he was Cofma fro ; At other End Uran did Strcpbon lend Her happy-making Hand, of whom one Look From Nous and Cofma all their Beauty took. The Play began ; Pas durft not Cofma chafe, But did intend, next Bout, with her to meet ; So he with Nous to Gcron turn'd their Race, With whom to join fad ran Urania fweet ; But light-legg'd Pas had got the middle Space; Geran ftrove hard, but aged were his Feet, And therefore finding Force now faint to be, He thought grey Hairs afforded Subtlety. . THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 169 When the fair Youth came to me : 'Tis in the Air, Or from fome better : a Power divine, Thro' my dark Ign'rance on my Soul does fhine, And makes me fee a Confcience all ftain'd o'er, Nay, drown'd and damn'd forever in Chriftian Gore. Harp. Ha, ha, ha ! [PVithin* Theoph, Again ? What dainty Relilh on my Tongue This Fruit hath left ! Some Angel hath me fed ; If fo toothfome, I will be banqueted. [Eats another* And fo, when Pas 1 Hand reached him to take, The Fox on Knees and Elbows tumbled down ; Pas could not flay, but over him did rake, And crown'd the Earth with his firft-touching Crown ; His Heels, grown proud, did feem at Heav'n to (hake ; But Nous, that flipp'd from Pas, did catch the Clown ; So, laughing all, yet, Pas to eafe fome deal, Germ with Uran were condemn'd to Hell. Lamon then proceeds to defcribe the various Incidents of a fecond Bout. Sir John Suckling alfo has given the following Defcription f this Paflime with allegorical Perfonages. Love, Reafon, Hate did once befpeak Thfee Mates t& play at Barky-break , Love Folly took ; and Reafon Fancy ; And Hate conforts with Pride, fo dance they : Love coupled laft, and fo it fell That Love and Folly were in Hell. They break ; and Love would R eafon meet, But Hate was nimbler on her Feet ; Fancy looks for Pride, and thither Hies, and they two hug together ; Yet this new coupling ftill doth tell That Love and Folly were in Hell. The refl do break again, and Pride Hath now got Reafon on her Side ; Hate and Fancy meet, and (land tJntouch'd by Love in Folly's Hand ; Folly was dull, but Love ran well, So Love and Folly were in Hell. M. M M 2 j 7 o THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Enter Harpax in a fearful Shape, Fire fiajhing out of the Study. Harp. Hold ! Theoph. Not for C-efar. Harp. But for me thou malt. Theoph. Thou art no Twin to him that laft was here. Ye Powers ! whom my Soul bids me reverence, Guard me ! What art thou ? Harp. I'm thy Mailer. Theoph. Mine ? Harp. And thou my everlafting Slave : That Harpax, Who Hand in Hand hath led thee to thy Hell, Ami. Theoph. Avaunt ! Harp. I will not : Caft thou down That Bafket with the Things in't, and fetch up What thou halt fwallow'd, and then take a Drink, Which I mall give thee, and I'm gone. Theoph, My Fruit ; Does this offend thee ? fee I Harp. Spit it to th' Earth, And tread upon it, or I'll piece-meal tear thee. Theoph. Art thou with this affrighted ? See ! here's more. [Flowers.'] Harp. Fling them away, I'll take thee elfe, and hang thee In a contorted Chain of Ificles F th' frigid Zone : Down with them. Theoph. At the Bottom One Thing I found not yet. [A Crofs of Flowers. Harp. Oh ! I am tortur'd. Theoph. Can this do't ? Hence ! thou Fiend infernal ! hence ! Harp. Clafp fv.piters Image, and away with that. Theoph. At thee I'll fiing that Jupiter ; for, methinks, I ferve a better Mailer : He now checks me For murd'ring my two Daughters, put on by thee, By thy damn'd Rhet'rick did I hunt the Life THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 171 Of Dorothea, the holy Virgin-martyr. She is not angry with the Axe, nor me, But fends thefe Prefents to me[; and I'll travel O'er Worlds to find her, and from her white Hand Beg a Forgivenefs. Harp. No ; I'll bind thee here. Theoph. I ferve a Strength above thine : This fmall Weapon, Methinks, is Armour hard enough. Harp. Keep from me. [Sinks a little. Theoph. Art polling to thy Centre ? Down, Hell- hound ! down ; Me haft thou loft ; that Arm, which hurls thee hence, Save me, and fet me up the ftrong Defence In the fair Chriftian's Quarrel ! Enter Angelo. Aug. Fix thy Foot there ; Nor be thou fliaken with a Ctefar's Voice, Tho' thoufand Deaths were in it ; and I then Will bring thee to a River, that fhall wafh Thy bloody Hands clean and more white than Snow ; And to that Garden where thefe bleft Things grow ; And to that martyr'd Virgin, who hath fent That heavenly Token to thee; fpread this brave Wing, And ferve, than Cefar, a far greater King. [Exit. Theoph. It is, it is fome Angel Vaniih'd again ! Oh, come back, ravifhing Boy ! bright MefTenger ! Thou haft (by thefe mine Eyes fix'd on thy Beauty) JHumin'd all my Soul : Now look I back On my black Tyrannies, which, as they did Out-dare the bloodieft, thou, bleft Spirit, that leadft me, Teach me what I mult do, and, to do well, That my laft At the belt may parallel. [Exit. M i 172 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. SCENE II. Enter Dioclefian, Maximinns, the Kings of Epire, Pon- tus, and Macedon, meeting Anemia ; Attendants. Artem. Glory and Conqucfl flill attend upon Triumphant Cafar ! Diocle. Let thy Wifh, fair Daughter, Be equally divided ; and hereafter Learn thou to know and rev'rence Maximinus, Whofe Power, with mine united, make one Cwfar. Max. But that I fear 'twould be held Flattery, The Bonds confider'd in which we fland tied, As Love, and Empire, I mould fay, till now I ne'er had feen a Lady I thought worthy To be my Miflrefs. Artem. Sir, you mew yourfelf Both Courtier and Soldier : But take heed, Take heed, my Lord ! tho' my dull-pointed Beaut)*, Stain'd by a harfh Refufal in my Servant, Cannot dart forth fuch Beams as may inflame you, You may encounter fuch a powerful one, That with a pleafing Heat will thaw your Heart, Tho' bound in Ribs of Ice. Love flill is Love, His Bow and Arrows are the fame. Great Julius, That to his Succeflbrs left the Name of Cxfar, Whom War could never tame, that with dry Eyes Beheld the large Plains of Pharfalia, covcr'd With the dead Carcafles of Senators And Citizens of Rome, when the World knew No other Lord but him, ftruck deep in Years too, (And Men grey-hair'd forget the Lulls of Youth) After all this, meeting fair Cleopatra, A Suppliant too ; the Magick of her Eye, E'en in his Pride of Conqueft took him Captive $ Nor are you more fecure. THE VIRGIN-MARTYR, 173 Max. Were you deform'd, (But by the Gods you are molt excellent) Your Gravity and Difcretion would o'ercome me ; And I mould be more proud in being a Prifoner To your fair Virtues, than of all the Honours, Wealth, Title, Empire, that my Sword hath purchas'd. Deocle. This meets my Wifhes : Welcome it, Artemia, With outftretch'd Arms, and ftudy to forget That Antoninus ever was ; thy Fate Referv'd thee for this better Choice, embrace it. Epire. This happy Match brings new Nerves to give Strength To our continu'd League. Diode. Hymen himfelf Will blefs this Marriage, which we'll folemnize In the Prefencc of theie Kings. Pontus. Who reft moil happy, To be Eyewitnefles of a Match that brings Peace to the Empire. Diocle. We much thank your Loves : But where's Sapritius, our Governor, And our mbft zealous Provoft, good Theophilus ! If ever Prince were bleft in a true Servant, Or could the Gods be Debtors to a Man, Both they, and we, (land far engag'd to cherifli His Piety and Service. Artem. Sir, the Governor Brooks fadly his Son's Lois, altho'he turn'd Apoftate in Death ; but bold Tbeopbilus, Who, for the fame Caufe, in my Prefence, feal'd His holy Anger on his Daughters' Hearts : Having with Tortures firit try'd to convert her, Dragg'd the bewitching Chriftian to the Scaffold, And law her lofe her Head. Diocle. He is all worthy. And from his own Mouth I would gladly hear The Manner how fhe fuffer'd. Art em. 'Twill be deliver'd With fuch Contempt and Scorn (I know his Nature) M 4. i 7 4 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. That rather 'twill beget your Highnefs' Laughter, Than the lead Pity. Enter Theophilus, Sapritius, and Macrinus. Diocle. To that End I would hear it. Artem. He comes. With him the Governor. Diocle. O Sapritius, I am to chide you for your Tendernefs ; But yet, remembering that you are a Father, I will forget it. Good 'theophilus, I will fpeak with you anon. Nearer your Ear. [To Sapritius. Theoph. By Antoninus' Soul, I do conjure you, And, tho' not for Religion, for his Friendfhip, Without demanding what's the Caufe that moves me, Receive my Signet ; by the Power of this, Go to my Prifons, and releafe all Chriftians That are in Fetters there by my Command. Mac. But what ihall follow ? Theoph. Hafte then to the Port ; You there Ihall find two tall Ships ready rigg'd, In which embark the poor diftre fTed Souls, And bear them from the Reach of Tyranny. Enquire not whither you are bound, the Deity That they adore will give you profp'rous Winds, And make your Voyage fuch, and largely pay Your Hazard, and your Travel. Leave me here ; There is a Scene that I mull: act alone. Hafte, good Macrinus ; and the great God guide you ! Mac. I'll undertake't : There's fomething prompts me to it ; 'Tis to fave innocent Blood, a faint-like Act ; And to be merciful has never been By mortal Men themfelves efteem'd a Sin. [Exit Mac. Diocle. You know your Charge. Sap. And will with Care obferve it. Diocle. For I profefs, he is not Cafar\ Friend, That fheds a Tear for any Torture that THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 175 A Chriftian fuffers, Welcome, my beft Servant ! My careful zealous Provoft ! thou haft toil'd To fatisfy my Will, tho' in Extremes : I love thee for't ; thou art firm Rock, no Changeling. Prithee deliver, and for my Sake do it, Without Excefs of Bitternefs, or Scoffs, Before my Brother and thefe Kings, how took The Chriftian her Death ? Theoph. And fuch a Prefence, . Tho' every private Head in this large Room Were circled round with an Imperial Crown, Her Story will deferve, it is fo full Of Excellence and Wonder. Diode. Ha ! How's this ? Theoph. O ! mark it, therefore, and with that Atten- tion, As you would hear an EmbafTy from Heaven By a wing'd Legate ; for, the Truth deliver'd, Both how, and what, this bleffed Virgin fuffer'd ; And Dorothea but hereafter nam'd, You will rife up with Rev'rence ; and no more, As Things unworthy of your Thoughts, remember What the canoniz'd Spartan Ladies were, Which lying Greece fo boafts of. Your own Matrons, Your Roman Dames, whofe Figures you yet keep As holy Relicks, in her Hiftory Will find a fecond Urn : 2 * Gracchus' Cornelia ; Paulina, that, in Death defir'd to follow Her Hufband Seneca; nor Brutus' Portia That fwallow'd burning Coals to overtake him, Tho' all their feveral Worths were given to one, With this is to be mention'd. Max. Is he mad ? Diode. Why, they did die, Theophilus, and boldly ; This did no more. 24 This Paflage, as printed, in the old Edition, is nonfenfe; it ihould Jdc pointed thus : * 1 Gracchus'* Cornelia} Paulina, that, in Death, defir'd to follow Her Hulband Seneca ; nor Brutus' Portia, &c. M. M. i 7 6 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Theoph. They, out of Defperation, Or for vain Glory of an After-name, Parted with Life : This had not mutinous Sons, As the ram Gracchi were ; nor was this Saint A doating Mother, as Cornelia was : This loft no Hufband, in whofe Overthrow Her Wealth and Honour funk ; no Fear of Want Did make her Being tedious ; but, aiming At an immortal Crown, and in his Caufe Who only can beftow it, who fent down Legions of minift'ring Angels to bear up Her fpotlefs Soul to Heav'n ; who entertain'd it With choice celeftial Mufick, equal to The Motion of the Spheres, fhe, u n com pell 'd, Chang 'd this Life for a better. My Lord Saprifius, You at her Death were prefent ; did you e'er hear Such ravifhing Sounds ? Sap. Yet you faid then 'twas Witchcraft And devilifli Illufions. Theoph. I then heard it With finful Ears, and belch'd out blafphemous Words Againft his Deity which then I knew not, Nor did believe in him. Diode. Why, doft thou now ? Or dar'ft thou, in our Hearing ? Theoph. Were my Voice As loud as is his Thunder, to be heard Thro' all the World, all Potentates on Earth Ready to burft with Rage, fhould they but hear it ; Tho* Hell, to aid their Malice lent her Furies, Yet I would fpeak, and fpeak again, and boldly, I am a Chriftian, and the Powers you worfhip But Dreams of Fools and Madmen. Max. Lay Hands on him. Diocle. Thou twice a Child ! (for doting Age fo makes thee) Thou couldfl not elfe, thy Pilgrimage of Life Being almoft paft thro', in this laft Moment, Deftroy whate'er thou haft done good, or great ; Thy Youth did Promife much ; and, grown a Man, THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 177 Thou mad'ft it good, and with Increafe of Years Thy Anions (till better'd : As the Sun, Thou didft rife glorioufly, keepft a conftant Courfe In all thy Journey ; and now, in the Evening, When thou fhouldft pafs with Honour to thy Reft, Wilt thou fall like a Meteor? Sap. Yet confefs That thou art mad, and that thy Tongue and Heart Had no Agreement. Max. Do ; no Way is left, elfe, To fave thy Life, Tbeopbilus. Diode. But, refufe it, Deitruction as horrid, and as fudden, Shall fall upon thee, as if Hell flood open, And thou wert finking thither. 1'heopk. Hear me, yet; Hear for my Service paft. Artem. What will he fay ? Theoph. As ever I deferv'd your Favour, hear mc, And grant one Boon ; 'tis not for Life I fue; Nor is it fit that I, that ne'er knew Pity To any Chriftian, being one myfelf, Should look for any ; no, I rather beg The utmoft of your Cruelty ; I ftand Accomptable for thoufand Chriftians' Deaths : And, were it poffible that I could die A Day for every one, then live again To be again tormented, 'twere to me An eafy Penance, and I fhould pafs thro' A gentle cleanfing Fire ; but, that deny'd me, It being beyond the Strength of feeble Nature, My Suit is, you would have no Pity on me. In mine own Houfe there are a thoufand Engines Of ftudied Cruelty, which I did prepare For miferable Chriftians ; let me feel, As the Sicilian did his brazen Bull, The horridit you can find, and I will fav, In death, that you. are merciful. 178 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. Diode, Defpair not : In this thou ftialt prevail go fetch 'em hither : [Some go for the Rack, Death fhall put on a thoufand Shapes at once, And fo appear before thee ; Racks, and Whips, Thy Flefh, with burning Pincers torn, fhall feed He Fire that heats them ; and, what's wanting to The Torture of thy Body, I'll fupply In punifhing thy Mind. Fetch all the Chriftians That are in Hold ; and here, before his Face, Cut 'em in Pieces. Theoph. 'Tis not in thy Power It was the firft good Deed I ever did ; They are remov'd out of thy Reach ; howe'er I was determin'd for my Sins to die, I firft took Order for their Liberty, And flill I dare thy worft. Diode. Bind him, I fay ; Make every Artery and Sinew crack ; He that makes him give the loudefl Shriek, Shall have ten thoufand Drachmas : Wretch ! I'll force thee To curfe the Power thou worfhiplt : Theoph. Never, never. No Breath of mine fhall e'er be fpent on him, [They torture hinu But what fhall fpeak his Majefly or Mercy : I'm honour'd in my Sufferings Weak Tormentors- More Tortures, more alas ! you are unfkilful For Heav'n's Sake more : My Breafl is yet untorn : Here purchafe the Reward that was propounded. The Irons cool, here are Arms yet, and Thighs ; Spare no Part of me. Max. He endures beyond The SufTrance of a Man. Sap. No Sigh nor Groan, To witnefs he hath Feeling. Diode. Harder, Villains ! THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 179 Enter HarpaX. Harp. Unlefs that he blafpheme, he's loft for ever : If Torments ever could bring forth Defpair, Let thefe compel him to it : Oh me ! My ancient Enemies again ? [Falls dozvn. Enter Dorothea in a white Robe, Crowns upon her Robe, a Crown upon her Head, lead in by the Angel ; Antoninus, Califte, and Chrifteta following, all in white, but lefs glo- rious ; the Angel zvith a Crown for him. Theoph. Moft glorious Vifion ! Did e'er fo hard a Bed yield Man a Dream So heavenly as this ? I am confirm 'd, Confirm'd, you bleffed Spirits, and make Hafte To take that Crown of Immortality You offer to me ; Death, till this bleffed Minute, I never thought thee flow-pac'd ! nor would I Haften thee now, for any Pain I fuffer, But that thou keepft me from a glorious Wreath, Which, thro' this ftormy Way, I would creep to, And humbly kneeling with Humility wear it. Oh ! now I feel thee : Bleffed Spirits ! I come, And, witnefs for me all thefe Wounds and Scars, I die a Soldier in the Chriftian Wars. [Dies. Sap. I've feen thoufands tortur'd, but ne'er yet A Conflancy like this. Harp. I am twice damn'd. Ang. Hafte to thy Place appointed, curfed Fiend ! In Spite of Hell, this Soldier's not thy Prey, 'Tis I have won, thou that hath loll, the Day. [Exit Angelo. Diode. I think the Centre of the Earth be crackt, [The Devil finks zvith Thunder and Lightning. Yet I (tend flill unmov'd, and will go on ; THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. 180 The Perfecution that is here begun, Thro* all the World with Violence fliall run. [Flour/Jh. Exeunt. There is not much to be faid in Favour of this Play, which I con- fider as the worft in this Collection. The Subject is unpleafing ; the Incidents unnatural ; and the fupernatural Agents that are introdu- ced to bring them about, afluming merely the characters of Men, are deftitute of the Singularity, Wildnefs and Fancy, which renders thofe fictitious Beings fo enchanting, which are raifedby the magical Pen of Sbakefpcare : the Scenes between Hira'us and Spungim are detefta- ble ; replete with Ribaldry of the moft abominable Kind, without any Tincture of Wit or Humour : yet perhaps it is to thofe that the Piece was indebted for the Applaufe it received on its Reprelenta- tion. The firft Act, however, is well written ; and there are many poetical Paffages difperfed through the Reft of the ferious Parts of it ; yet, even in thefe, the Language is unequal; and I think it is not dif- ficult to diftinguiih the Hand of Decker from that of MaJJlngcr. I wifh I was authorized to pronounce with Certainty, that all the Co- inick Scenes were the Production of the former. End of The Virgin Martyr. ?. THE DUKE OF MILAN. TRAGEDY. As it hath been often Acted by His Majesty's Servants, at the Black-Friars, in the Year 1623. WRITTEN BY PHILLIP MASSINGER, Gent. T O The Right Honourable, and much efteemedforher High Birth, but more admired for her Virtue, The Lady Katherine Stanhope, Wife to P h i l i p Lord Stanhope, Baron of Shelford. MADAM,. /F I were not tnoji ajfured that Works of this Nature have found both Patronage and Protection amongjl the great* ejl Princes of Italy, and are. at this Day cherijhed by Perfons mqfl eminent in our Kingdom, IJJiould not prefume to offer thefe my weak and imperfeU Labours at the Altar of your Favour. Let the Example of others, more knowing, and more experienced in this Kindnefs (if my Boldnefs offend) plead my Pardon, and the rather fmce there is no ether Means left me, my Misfortunes having ca/l me on this Courfe) to publijh to the World (if it hold the leajl good Opinion of me) that I am ever your Ladyjhifs Creature* Vouchfafe, therefore, with the ne- ver-failing Clemency of your Noble Difpojition, not to contemn the tender of his Duty, who while he is, will ever be An humble Servant to your Ladyfliip, and yours, Philip M a s s i n g e r Vol. I. N Dramatis Perfonse. Ludovico Sforza, Duke of Milan. Signior Francisco, his efpecial Favourite, c ' > Lords of his Council. JStephano, 5 Pescara, a Marquis, and Friend to Sforza. Graccho, a Creature of Mariana^ Sifter to Sforza. Charles, the Emperor. Hernando, "] Medina, I Captains to the Emperor. Alphonso, J Marcelia, the Dutchefs, Wife to Sforza* Isabella, Mother to Sforza. Mariana, Wife to Francisco, and Sifter to Sforza. Eugenia, Sifter to Francisco. Two Pofts, a Beadle, Waiters, Mutes, THE DUKEofMILAN,* ACT I. SCENE I. Scene, a public Palace in Pifa Graccho, Jovio, and Giovanni, with Flaggons. Graccho, T ^ A K E every Man his Flaggon : give the Oath To all you meet : I'm this Day the State-drunkard \ (fm fure againft my Will) And if you find A Man, at ten, that's fober, he's a Traitor, And, in my Name, arreft him. Jov. Very good, Sir : But, fay he be a Sexton ? Grae. If the Bells Ring out of Tune, as if the Street were burning, And he cry, 'tis rare Mufick ; bid him flcep : 'Tis a Sign he has took his Liquor ; and, if you meet An Officer preaching of Sobriety, fl3" * I {hall not give any further Account of the tale in genera!, than that it greatly refembles the famous one of Herod and Mariamne. Sforta the Duke of Milan is drawn as ram, uxorious, and jealou9 f and Marceiia his Wife as beautiful, proud and refentful. Sforza&fc* obliges the Emperor Charles V. as Hero,l had done Otlavivs, and was obliged to pay his Compliments in Peifon to make his Peace. During his Abfence, he leaves the fame Charge with Franifco, his Favourite, to cut off his Wife, that Herod did; and Marcclia difcovers it, in the fame Manner with Marianne. Some other Circum dance* are differ rent ; and the modern Play of that Name is more uniform and confif* tent than this, but in my Opinion has not fo many fine independent Paflages. N i 180 THE DUKE OF MILAN. Unlefs he read it in Geneva 1 Print, Lay him by the Heels. Jd6i But think you 'tis a Fault To be found fober ? Grac. It is Capital Treafon ; Or, if you mitigate it, let fuch pay Forty Crowns to the Poor : But give a Penfion To all the Magistrates you find finging Catches Or their Wives dancing; for the. Courtiers reeling, ' And the Duke himfelf, (I dare not fay diftemper'd, But kind, and in his tott'ring Chair caroufing) They do the Country Service. If you meet One that eats Bread, a Child of Ignorance, And bred- up in the Darknefs of no drinking, Againft his Will, you may initiate him, In the true Pofturc ; tho' he die in the taking 'His Drench it ikills not : what's a private Man For th' publick Honour ? We've nought elle to think on. And fo, dear Ifnends, Copartners in my Travels, Drink hard ; arid let the Health run thro* the City, Until it reel again, and with me cry Long live the Dutchefs ! Enter Tiberio and Stephano. Jov. Here are two Lords ; what think you ? Shall we give the Oath to them ? Grac'. Fie! no : I" know them, You need not fwear 'erfr; your Lord, by his Patent, Stands bound to take his Roufe. Long live the Dutchefs ! [Exeunt Graccho and Jovio. Steph. The Caufe of this ? But Yefterday the Court Wore the fad Livery of Diftruft and Fear ; No fmile, not in a "Buffoon to be feen Or common Jefier : The Great Duke himfelf Had Sorrow in his Face; which, waited on By his Mother, Sifter, and his fairefl Dutchefs, Difperfed a filent Mourning thro' all Milan ; 2 Alluding to the fpirituous Liquor fo called. M, M. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 1S1 As if fome great Blow had been given the State, Or were at leafi expected. Tib. Stephano, I know, as you are noble, you are honeft, And capable of Secrets of more Weight Than now I mail deliver. If that Sforza, The prefent Duke, (tho' his whole Life hath been But one continu'd Pilgrimage thro' Dangers, Affrights, and Horrors, which his Fortune, guided By his ftrong Judgment, Hill hath overcome) Appears now ihaken, it deferves no Wonder : All that his Youth hath labour'd for, the Harveft Sown by his Induftry, ready to be reap'd too, Being now at Stake ; and all his Hopes confirm'd, Or loft for ever. Steph. Lknow no fuch Hazard : His Guards are ftrong, and Jdire : His Coffers full; The People well affedted ; and io wifely His provident Care hath wrought, that tho' War rages In moll: Parts of our Weftern World, there is No Enemy near us. Tib. Dangers, that we fee To threaten Ruin, are with Eafe prevented ; But fhotb flrike deadly, that come unexpected ; The Lightning is far off, yet, foon as feen, We may behold the terrible Effects That it produceth. But Pll help your Knowledge, And make his Caufe of Fear familiar to you. The Wars, fo long continued between The Emperor Charles, and Francis the French King Have int'refted, in either's Caufe, the mod Of the Italian Princes ; Among which, Sforza, As one of greateft Power, was ibught by both ; But with AiTurance having one his Friend, The other liv'd his Enemy. Step. 'Tis true ; And 'twas a doubtful Choice. Tib. But he, well knowing And hating too, (it feems)-the Spaniflj Pride, Lent his Ailiftance to the King of France : N 2 t8z THE DUKE OF MILAN. Which hath fo far incens'd the Emperor, That all his Hopes and Honours are cmbark'd With his great Patron's Fortune. Steph. Which (lands fair, For aught I yet can hear. Tib. But mould it change, The Duke's undone. They have drawn to the Field Two Royal Armies, full of fiery Youth ; Of equal Spirit to dare, and Power to do : So near intrench'd, that 'tis beyond all Hope Of Human Counfel they can e'er be fever'd Until it be determin'd by the Sword, Who hath the better Caufe : For the Succefs Concludes the Victor innocent and the Vanquifh'd Molt miferably guilty. How uncertain The Fortune of the War is, Children know ; And, it being in Sufpenfe, on whofe fair Tent Wing'd Victory will make her glorious Stand, You cannot blame the Duke tho' he appear Perplex'd and troubled. Steph. But why, then, In fuch a Time when every Knee mould bend For the Succefs and Safety of his Perfon, Are thefe loud Triumphs ? In my weak Opinion, They are unfeafonable, Tib. I judge fo too ; But only in the Caufe to be excus'd ; It is the Dutchefs' Birth-day, once a Year Solemniz'd, with all Pomp and Ceremony ; In which the Duke is not his own but hers. Nay, every Day indeed he is her Creature, For never Man fo doted : But to tell The tenth Part of his Fondnefs to a Stranger, Would argue me of Fiction. Steph. She's, indeed, A Lady of moft exquifite Form, Tib. She knows it, And how to prize it. Steph. I ne'er heard her tainted, Jn any Point of Honour. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 183 Tib, On my Life, She's conftant to his Bed, and well deferves His largcft Favours. But, when Beauty is Stampt on great Women (great in Birth and Fortune, And blown by Flatt'rers greater than it is) 'Tis feldom unaccompany'd with Pride; Nor is me that Way free : Prefuming on The Duke's Affedtion and her own Defert, She bears herfelf with fuch a Majefty, Looking with Scorn on all, as Things beneath her ; That Sforza's Mother, (that would lofe no Part Of what was once her own ;) nor his fair Sifter, (A Lady too, acquainted with her Worth) Will brook it well ; and howfoc'er their Hate Is fmother'd for a Time, 'tis more than fear'd, It will at length break out. Steph, He, in whofe Pow'r it is, Turn all to th' befl ! Tib, Come, let us to the Court, We there mall fee all Bravery, and Coft, That Art can boaftof. Steph, I'll bear you Company. [Exeunt* SCENE. II. Scene changes to the Court, "Enter Francifco, Ifabella, and Mariana. Mart. I will not go ; I fcorn to be a Spot In her proud Train. Ijab. Shall I, that am his Mother, Be fo indulgent as to wait on her That owes me Duty ? . Fran, 'Tis done to the Duke And not to her. And, my fweet Wife, remember, And, Madam, if you pleafe, receive my Counfel, As Sforza is your Son, you may command him ; And, as a Sifter, you may challenge from him N 4 i$4 THE DUKE OF MILAN. A Brother's Love and Favour : But, this granted, Confider he's the Prince, and you his Subjects ; And not to queftion or contend with her Whom he is pleas'd to honour. Private Men Prefer their Wives ; and ftiall he, being a Prince, And bleft with one that is the Varadife Of Sweetnefs, and of Beauty, to whofe Charge The Stock of Women's Goodnefs is given up, Not ufe her like herfelf? Ifab, You're ever forward To ling her Praifes. Mart, 'Others are as fair ; I'm fure as noble. Fran. I detract from none, In giving her what's due. Were fhe deform'd, Yet being the Dutchefs, I (land bound to fervc her ; But, as ihe is, to admire her. Never Wife Met with a purer Heat her Hufband's Fervour; A happy Pair, one in the other bleft! She confident in herfelf, he's wholly hers, And cannot feek for change : and he fecure That 'tis not in the Power of Man to tempt her. And therefore, to conteft with her, that is The ftronger and the better Part of him, Is more than folly. You know him of a Nature Not to be play'd with; and, mould you forget To obey him as your Prince he'll not remember The Duty that he owes you, Ifab. ^Tis but Truth: Come, clear our Brows, and let us to the Banquet ; But not to ferve his Idol. Mart. I ihall do What may become the Sifter of a Prince ; But will not ftoop beneath it. Fran, Yet, be wife ; Soar not too high to fall ; but ftoop to rife, [Exeunt. THE DUKE OF MI LAN". 185 SCENE III. Enter three Gentlemen fet ting forth a Banquet. 1 Gent. Quick, quick, for Love's Sake ! let the Court put on Her choicer!: Outfide : Coft and Bravery Be only thought of. 2 Gent. All that may be had To pleafe the Eye, the Ear, Tafte, Touch, or Smell, Are carefully provided. . 3 Gent. There's a Mafque : Have you heard what's the Invention ? 1 Gent. No Matter : It is intended for the Dutchefs' Honour ; And if it give her glorious Attributes, As die molt fair, molt virtuous, and the reft, 'Twill pleafe the Duke. They come. 3 Gent. All is in Order. Enter Tiberio, Stephano, Francifco, Sforza, Marcelia, Ifabella, Mariana, and Attendants* Sfor. You are the Miftrefs of the Fcaft Sit here,. O my Soul's Comfort i and when Sforza bows Thus low to do you Honour, let none think The meanest Service they can pay my Love, But as a fair Addition to thofe Titles They ftand pofTeft of. Let me glory in My Happinefs, and mighty Kings look pale With Envy, while I triumph in mine own. O Mother, look on her ! Sifter, admire her ! And, fince this prefent Age yields not a Woman Worthy to be her fecond, borrow of Times paft.: And let Imagination help ' 3 And let Imagination , &c. This Paflage is fomewhat embarrafled, but the Senfe of it is this ; That tho' in fafhioning in their Minds the Phcenix of Perfe&ion they fhould be atTifted by a Recolleclion of the mod boafted Ladies of Antiquity, they muft llill xronfefs that Perfection was to be found in MantUa only. M. M, iS6 THE DUKE OF MILAN. Of thofe canoniz'd Ladies Sparta boafts of, And, in her Greatnefs, Rome was proud to owe, To Fafliion, and yet ftill you muft confefs, The Vhoenix of Perfection ne'er was feen, But in my fair Marcelia. Fran. She's, indeed, The Wonder of all Times. Tib. Your Excellence, (Tho' I confefs you give her but her own) Enforces her Modefty to the Defence OfafweetBlufli. Sfor. It need not, my Marcelia ; When moft I ftrive to praife thee, I appear A poor Detractor : For thou art indeed So perfect both in Body and in Mind, That, but to fpeak the leaft Part to the Height, Would afk an Angel's Tongue ! and yet then end In filent Admiration ! Ifab. You ftill court her, As if fhe were a Miftrefs, not your Wife. Sfor. A Miftrefs, Mother ? She is more to me, And ev'ry Day deferves more to be fu'd to. Such as are cloy'd with thofe they have embrac'd, May think their wooing done. No Night to me But is a bridal one, where Hymen lights His Torches frefh and new ; and thofe Delights, Which are not to be cloth'd in airy Sounds, Enjoy'd beget Defires as full of Heat And jovial Fervour, aswhenfirft I tafted Her Virgin Fruit : Bleft Night ! and be it number'd Amongft thofe happy ones, in which a Bleffing Was, by the full Confent of all the Stars Conferr'd upon Mankind. Marc. My worth ieft Lord ! 4 4 My wortbicft Lord! #3" Milton fecms to have copied this in his ParadifeLqfi. Eve fays to Adam, O Sole in whom my Thoughts find all Repofe, " My Glory, my Perfe&ioo." Boek 5. V. 28, THE DUKE OF MILAN. 187 The only Object I behold with Pleafure ! My Pride, my Glory ! in a Word, my all ! Bear Witnefs, Heaven, that I efteem myfelf In nothing worthy of the meaneft Praife You can beftow, unlefs it be in this, That in my Heart I love and honour you. And, but that it would fmell of Arrogance, To fpeak my ftrong Defire and Zeal to ferve you, I then could fay, thefe Eyes yet never faw The rifing Sun, but that my Vows, and Prayers Were fent to Heav'n for the Profperity And Safety of my Lord : Nor have I ever Had other Study but how to appear Worthy your Favour ; and that my Embraces Might yield a fruitful Harveft of Content For all your noble Travel, in the Purchafe Of her that's ftill your Servant ; by thefe Lips, (Which, pardon me, that I prefume to kifs ) . Sfor. O Sweet, for ever fwear ! Marc. I ne'er will feek Delight, but in your Pleafure ; and defire, When you are fated with all earthly Glories, And Age and Honours make you fit for Heaven, That one Grave may receive us, Sfor. Tis believ'd, Believ'd, my blefr. One. Man. How fhe winds herfelf Into his Soul ! \Ajide* Sfor. Sit all. Let others feed On thofe grofs Cates, while Sforza banquets with Immortal Viands ta'en in at his Eyes. I could live ever thus. Command the Eunuch To fing the Ditty that I laft compofed, Enter Pofl. In Praife of my Marcella. From whence ? Pofl. From Pavia, my dread Lord. Sfor, Speak, is all loll ? Pojl. The Letter will inform you. iS8 THE DUKE OF MILAN. Fran. How his Hand fhakes, As he receives it ! \_Ajide, Marl. This is Tome Allay To his hot Paflion. \Af\de, Sfor. Tho' it bring Death, I'll read it. May it pleafe your Excellence to underfland, that the very Hour I wrote this, I heard a bold Defiance delivered by a Herald from the Emperor, which was cheerfully re- ceived by the King of France. The Battle being ready to join, and the Van-guard committed to my Charge, in- forces me to end abruptly. Tour Highnefss Servant, Gafpero, Ready to join ? By this, then, I am nothing; Or my Eftate lecure. Marc My Lord ! Sfor, To doubt, Is worfe than to have loft ; and to defpair, Is but to antedate thofe Miferies That mnft fall on us; all my Hopes depending, Upon this Battle's Fortune. In my Soul, Methinks, there fhould be that imperious Power, By fupernatural, not ufual Means, T' inform me what I am. The Caufe confider'd, Why mould I fear ? The French are bold and ftrong, Their Numbers full, and in their Councils wife : But then, the haughty Spaniard is all Fire, Hot in his Executions ; fortunate In his Attempts ; married to Victory : Aye, there it is that makes me. Fran. Excellent Lady, This Day was dedicated to your Honour ; One Gale of your fweet Breath will eafily Difperfe thefe Clouds : and, but yourlelf, there's none That dare fpeak to him. Marc. I will run the Hazard. My Lord ! THE t>UKE OF MILAN. 189 Sfor. Ha ! Pardon me, Marcelia; I am troubled And ftand uncertain, whether I am Matter Of aught that's worth the owning. Marc. I am yours, Sir ; And I have heard you fwear, I being fafe, There was no Lofs could move you. This Day, Sir, Is by your Gift made mine : Can you revoke A Grant made to Marcelia ? Your Marcelia ? For whofe Love, nay, whofe Honour, gentle Sir, (All deep Defigns, and State-affairs deterr'd) Be, as you purpos'd, merry. Sfor. Out of my Sight, 5 And all Thoughts that may ftrangle Mirth forfake me. Fall what can fall> I dare the worit of Fate ; Tho' the Foundation of the Earth mould fhrink, The glorious Eye of Heaven lofe his Splendor ; Supported thus, I'll ftand upon the Ruins, And feek for new Life here Why are you fad ? No other Sports ? By Heav'n he's not my Friend, That wears one Furrow in his Face. I was told There was a Mafque. Fran. They wait your Highnefs' Pleafure, And when you pleafe to have it. Sfor. Bid 'em enter : Come, make me happy once again, I am rap't, 'Tis not to-day, to-morrow, or the next, But all my Days, and Years, lhall be employ'd To do thee Honour. Marc. And my Life to ferve you. [A Hon:. Sfor. Another Poft ? Go hang hini, hang him. . Ifay; I will not interrupt my prefent Pleafures, Altho' his Meflage mould import my Head : Hang him, I fay. 5 Out of my Sight, &c. He is here fuppofed to throw away the Letter, to which ti>efe Words are addreffed. M. M. 190 THE DUKE OF MILAN. Marc, Nay, good Sir, I am pleas'd To grant a little Intermiflion to you ; Who knows but he brings News we wifli to hear, To heighten our Delights. Sfor. As wife as fair. Enter another PoJ!. From Gafpero ? PoJ}. That, was my Lord* Sfor. How, dead ? Pojt. With the Delivery of this, and Prayers, To guard your Excellency from certain Dangers, He ceas'd to be a Man. Sfor. All that my Fears Could fafhion to me, or my Enemies wifh, Is fall'n upon me. Silence that harm Mufick : 'Tis now unfeafonable. A tolling Bell, As a fad Harbinger to tell me, that This pamper'd Lump of Flefh muft feaft the Worms ; Is fitter for me 1 am lick. Marc, My Lord ? Sfor. Sick to Death, Marcelia. Remove Thefe Signs of Mirth; they were ominous, and but ufher'd Sorrow and Ruin. Marc. Blefs us, Heaven ! I fab. My Son ! Marc, What fudden Change is this ? Sfor. All leave the Room ; I'll bear alone the Burden of my Grief, And muft admit no Partner. I am yer Your Prince, where's your Obedience > Stay, Marcelia', I cannot be (b greedy of a Sorrow In which you muft not {hare. Marc. And chearfully I will liiftain my Part Why look you pale ? Where is that wonted Conftancy, and bunige, That clar'd the worft of Fortune ? Where vi Stated, To whom all Dangers that fright common Men, Appear'd but panick Terrors ? Why do you eye mr THE DUKE OF MILAN. i 9 i With fuch fix'd Looks ? Love, Counfel, Duty, Service, May flow from me, not Danger. Sfor, O Marcelia ! It is for thee I fear : For thee, thy Sforza Shakes like a Coward ; for myfelf, unmov'd I could have heard my Troops were cut in Pieces, My General (lain ; and he, on whom my Hopes Of Rule, of State, of Life, had their Dependence, The King of France, my greateft Friend, made Priibner To fo proud Enemies. Marc, Then you have juft Caufe To fhew you are a Man. Sfor, All this were nothing, Tho' I add to it, that 1 am ailur'd, For giving Aid to this unfortunate King, The Emperor incens'd lays his Command On his victorious Army, flefh'd with Spoil, And bold of Conqueft, to march upagainft me, And fcize on my Eftates : Snppole that done too 5 The City tak'n, the Kennels running Blood, The ranfack'd Temples falling on their Saints : My Mother, in my Sight, tofs'd on their Pikes, And Sifter ravifh'd ; and myfelf bound faft In Chains, to grace their Triumph ; or what elfe An Enemy's Infolence could load me with, I would be Sforza ftill. But, when I think That my Marcelia (to whom, all thefe Are but as Atoms to the greateft Hill) Muft fuffer in my Caufe ; and for me fuffer ! All earthly Torments, nay, ev'n thofe the Damn'd Howl for in Hell, are gentle Strokes, compar'd To what I feel, Marcelia, Marc, Good Sir, have Patience : I can as well partake your adverfe Fortune, As I thus long have had an ample Share In your Profperity. 'Tis not in the Power Of Fate to alter me : For while I am, In fpight of it, I'm yours. Sfor, But were that Will, To be fo, fore'd, Marcelia f and I live i 9 2 THE DUKE OF MILAN. To fee thofe Eyes I prize above my own, Dart Favours (tho' compel I'd) upon another ? Or thofe fweet Lips (yielding immortal Nectar) Be gently touch'd by any but myfclf ? Think, think, Marcelia, what a curfed Thing I weie, beyond Exprcffion. Marc, Do not feed Thofe jealous Thoughts : the only Blefling that Heav'n hath beftow'd on us, more than on Beads, Is, that 'tis in our Pleafure when to die. Befides, were I now -in another's Power, There are fo many Ways to let out Life, I would not live, for one fhort Minute, his; I was born only yours, and I will die fo. Sfor. Angels reward the Goodnefs of this Woman : Enter Francifco. All I can pay is nothing. \Afide.~\ Why uncall'd for ? Fran. It is of Weight, Sir, that makes me thus prefs Upon your Privacies. Your conftant Friend, The Marquis of Pefcara, tired with Hafte, Hath Bufinefs that concerns your Life and Fortunes, And with Speed, to impart. Sfor. Wait on him hither. [Exit Francifco. And, Deareft, to thy Clofet: Let thy Prayer* Affift my Councils. Marc. To fpare Imprecations Againftmyfelf, without you I am nothing. [.v//Marcelia. Sfor. The Marquis of Pefcara ? a great Soldier -, And, tho' he ferv'd upon the adverfe Party, Ever my conftant Friend. Enter Francifco and Pefcara- Fran. Yonder he walks, Full of fad Thoughts. Pefc. Blame him not, good Francifco, He hath much Caufe to grieve. Would I might end ia t And not add this, to fear. THE DUKE OF JillLAN. 193 * Sfbr. My dear Pefcara ! A Miracle in thefe Times ! a Friend, and happy, Cleaves to a falling Fortune. Pefc. If it were As well in my weak Power, in Act to raife it, As 'tis to bear a Part of Sorrow with you ; You then fhould have juft Caufe to fay, Pefcara Look'd not upon your State, but on your Virtues, When he made Suit to be writ in the Lift Or thofe you favour'd. But my Hafte forbids All Compliment : Thus, then, Sir, to the Purpofe. The Caule that, unattended, brought me hither, Was not to tell you of your Lofs, or Danger ; (For Fame hath many Wings to bring ill Tidings, And I prefume you've heard it) but to give you Such friendly Counfel, as, perhaps, may make Your fad Difafter lefs. Sfor. You are all Goodnefs, And I give up myfelf to be difpos'd of, As in your- Wifdom you think fit. Pefc* Thus, then, Sir. To hope you can hold out againft the Emperor, Were flatt'ring yourfelf, to your Undoing : Therefore, the fafeft Courfe that you can take, Is, to give up yourfelf to his Difcretion Before you be compell'd ; for, reft aflur'd, A voluntary Yielding may find Grace, And will admit Defence, at leaft Excufe : But, mould you linger doubtful, till his Powers Have feiz'd your Perfon and Eftates per Force, You muft expect Extremes. Sfor. I underftand you ; And I will put your Conhfel into Aft, And fpeedily. J. only will take order For fome domeftical Affairs, that do Concern me nearly, and with the next Sun Ride with you In the mean time, my beft Friend, Pray take your Reft. Vol. I. O i 9 4 THE DUKE OF MILAN. Pefc, Indeed, I've travell'd hard, And will embrace your Counfel. [Exit Pefcara. Sfor. With all Care, Attend my noble Friend. Stay you, Francifco, You fee how Things Hand with me ? Fran, To my Grief : And if the Lofs of my poor Life could be A Sacrifice to reftorc them as they were, I willingly would lay it down. Sfor, I think fo ; For I have ever found you true and thankful, Which makes me love the Building I have rais'd In your Advancement ; and repent no Grace, I have conferr'd upon you : And, believe me, Tho' now I mould repeat my Favours to you, The Tides I have given you, and the Means Suitable to your Honours : That I thought you Worthy my Siller and my Family, And in my Dukedom made you nextmyfelf ; It is not to upbraid you ; but to tell you I find you're worthy of them, in your Love And Service to me. Fran. Sir, I am your Creature ; And any Shape, that you would have me wear I gladly will put on. Sfor, Thus, then, Francifco ; I now am to deliver to your Truft A weighty Secret, 6 of fo flrange a Nature, And 'twill, I know, appear fo monflrous to you, That you will tremble in the Execution, As much as I am tortur'd to command it : For 'tis a Deed fo horrid, that, but to hear it, Would ftrike into a Ruffian flem'd in Murthers, Or an obdurate Hangman, foft Compaflion j C^f" 6 / ntnv am to deliver to your Trufi A 'weighty Secret, The Manner of S/orza breaking his Mind to Francifco, in the en- fuing Scene, with refpecl: to Marcelia, is finely painted, and has a ftrange Mixture of Cruelty and Reflection, Delicacy and Madnefs, THE DUKE OF MILAN. i 95 And yet, Francifio (of all Men the deareft, And from me moft deferving) fuch my State And ftrange Condition is, that thou alone Mult know the fatal Service, and perform it. Fran. Thefe Preparations, Sir, to work a Stranger,. Or to one unacquainted with your Bounties, Might appear uieful ; but to me they are Needlefs Impertinencies : For I dare do Whate'er you dare command. Sfor. But thou muft fwear it, And put into thy Oath all Joys or Torments That fright the Wicked, or confirm the Good : Not to conceal it only (that is nothing) But, whenfoe'er my Will mall {pcak } Jirike now ; To fall upon't like Thunder. Fran. Minifter The Oath in any Way, or Form you pleafe, I ftand refolv'd to take it. Sfor. Thou muft do, then, What no malevolent Star will dare to look on, It is fo wicked : For which Men will curfe thee For being the Inftrument ; and the bleft Angels Forfake me at my Need for being the Author : For 'tis a Deed of Night, of Night, Francifco, In which the Memory of all good Actions We can pretend to, mall be buried quick : Or, if we be remember'd, it fhall be To fright Pofterity by our Example, That have outgone all Precedents of Villains That were before us ; and fuch as fucceed, Tho' taught in Hell's black School, lhall ne'er come near us. Art thou not fhaken yet ?. Fran. I grant you move me : But to a Man confirm'd Sfor. I'll try your Temper : What think you of my Wife ? Fran* As a Thing facred : O z i 9 6 THE DUK OF MILAN. To whofe fair Name and Memory I pay gladly Thefe Signs of Duty. [Kneels* Sfor. Is fhe not the Abftract Of all that's rare, or to be wifh'd in Woman ? Fran, It were a Kind of Blafphemy to difpute it ; i But to the Purpofe, Sir. Sfor. Add to her Goodnefs, Her Tendernefs of me, her Care to pleafe me ; Her unfufpetted Chaftity, ne'er equaU'd ; Her Innocence, her Honour O I am loft In the Ocean of her Virtues and her Graces When I think of them. Fran. Now I find the End Of all your Conjurations : There's fome Service To be done for this fweet Lady. If fhe have Enemies That me would have remov'd Sfor. Alas ! Francifco, Her greateft Enemy is her greateft. Lover ; Yet, in that Hatred, her Idolater. One Smile of her's would make a Savage tame ; One Accent of that Tongue would calm the Seas, Tho' all the Winds at once ftrove there for Empire. Yet I, for whom fhe thinks all this too little, Should I rnifcarry in this prefent Journey, (From whence it is all Number to a Cypher, I ne'er return with Honour) by thy Hand Muft have her murther'd. Frar., Murther'd ! She that loves fo, And fo deferves to be belov'd again ? And I, who fometimes you were pleas'd to favour, Pick'd out the Inftrument ? Sfor. Do not fly off: What is decreed can never be recall'd ; 'Tis more than Love to her, that marks her out A wifh'd Companion to me in both Fortunes : And ftrong Aflbrance of thy zealous Faith, That gives up to thy Truft a Secret that Racks mould not have forc'd from jne O Frantifo, There is no Heav'n without her ; nor a Hell, Where me rcfides. I aft. from her but Juftice, THE DUKE OF MILAN. 197 And what I would have paid to her, had Sicknefs, Or any other Accident, divorc'd Her purer Soul from her unfpotted Body. The ilaviih Indian Princes when /they die, Are cheerfully attended to the Fire By the Wife and Slave that living they lov'd beft, To do them Service in another World : Nor will I be lefs honour'd, that love more. And therefore trifle not, but in thy Looks Exprefs a ready Purpofe to perform What I command ; or, by Marcelia's Soul, This is thy lateft Minute* Fran, 'Tis not Fear Of Death, but Love to you, makes me embrace it* But for mine own Security, when 'tis done, What Warrant have I ? If you pleafe to fign one^ I mall* tho' with Unwillingnefs and Horror, Perform your dreadful Charge. Sfor* I will, Francifco : But ftill remember that a Prince's Secrets Are Balm, conceal'd ; but Poifon if difcover'd* I may come back ; then this is but a Trial To purchafe thee, if it were poffible, A nearer Place in my Affection but I know thee honeft. Fran, 'Tis a Character I will not part with. Sfor. I may live to reward it* * [Exeunt* 7 This Scene is fo exquifitely written, that I (ball venture to re- queft that the Reader will compare it with one of the molt admired Scenes in Shahfpeare ; I mean that between King John and Hubert , Without fearing that this Comparifon will lower their Idea of Majfm- gtr\ Abilities, M. M, End of the Firfi M. O3 198 THE DUKE OF MILAN* A C T II. S C E N E I. Scene, A Court belonging to the Palace. Enter Tiberio and Stephano. Stephano. TJOW? left the Court ? 1 JL 'fib. Without Guard or Retinue Fitting a Prince. Steph. No Enemy near to force him To leave his own Strengths, yet -deliver up Himfelf, as 'twere, in Bonds, to the Difcretion Of him that hates him ? 'Tis beyond Example. You never heard the Motives that induc'd him To this itrange Courfe ? Tib. No, thole are Cabinet Councils, And not to be communicated, but To fuch as are his own and fure.^ Alas ! We fill up empty Places, and in publick Are taught to give our Suffrages to that Which was before determin'd ; and are fafe (o. Signior Francifco (upon whom alone His abiblute Power is with all Strength conferr'd, During his Abfence) can with Eafe refolve you : To me, they're Riddles. Steph. Well, he mail not be My OEdipus ; I'll rather dwell in Darknefs. But, my good Lord Tiberio, this Francifco Is, on the fudden, flrangely rais'd. Tib. O Sir, He took the thriving Courfe : He had a Sifter, A fair one too, with whom (as it is rumour'd) The Duke was too familiar ; but fhe, caft off (What Promifes foever pall between them) THE DUKE OF MILAN. 199 Upon the Sight of this 8 forfook the Court, And iince was never feen. To fmother this, (As Honours never fail to purchafe Silence) francifco firfl was grac'd, and Step by Step Is rais'd up to this Height. Steph. But how is his Abfence borne ? Tib. Sadly, it feems, By the Dutchefs ; for, flnce he left the Court, For the molt Part {he hath kept her private Chamber* No Vifitants admitted. In the Church, She h.ath been feen to pay her pure Devotions, Seafon'd with Tears ; and lure her Sorrow's true, Or deeply counterfeited. Pomp, and State, And Bravery's call: off; and me, that lately Rival'd Poppa a in her varied Shapes, Or the ^Egyptian Queen ; now, widow-like, In fable Colours (as 9 her Hufband's Dangers Strangled in her the Ufe of any Pleafurej Mourns for his Abfence. Steph. It becomes her Virtue, And does confirm what was reported of her. Tib. You take it right : but, on the other Side, The Darling of his Mother, Mariana, As there were an Antipathy between Her and the Dutchefs' Paffions ; and as She'd no Dependence on her Brother's Fortune, She ne'er appear'd fo full of Mirth. Steph. Tis flrange. . Enter Graceho, with Fiddlers. But fee her Favourite ; and accompany'd, To your Report. Grac. You lhall fcrape, and I'll fing A fcurvy Ditty to a fcurvy Tune, Repine who dares. 8 That is, the prefent Dutchefs. M. Mi 9 ^j means hererfij/,andi9frequent!yufed foin thefe Plays. M. M. O 4 200 THE DUKE OF MILAN. F'idL But, if we mould offend, The Dutchefs having filcnc'd us : And thefe Lords Stand by to hear us Grac. They, in Name, are Lords ; But I am one in Power : And, for the Dutchefs, But yefterday we were merry for her Pleafure, We now'll be for my Lady's. Tib. Signior Graccbo f Grac. A poor Man, Sir, a Servant to the Princefs : But you're great Lords and Counfellors of State, Whom I Itand bound to reverence. Tib. Come, we know You are a Man in Grace. Grac. Fye ! no : I grant, I bear my Fortunes patiently ; fcrve the Princefs, And have Accefs at all Times to her Clofet, Such is my Impudence ! when your grave Lordfhips Are Matters of the Modefly to attend Three Hours, nay fometimes four ; and then bid wait Upon her the next Morning. Steph. He derides us. Tib. Pray you what News is flirring ? You know all. Grac. Who, I ? Alas ! I've no Intelligence At Home nor abroad : I only fometimes guefs The Change of the Times ;: I mould aik of your Lord- Ihips Who are to keep their Honours, who to lofe 'em ; , Whom the Dutchefs fmil'd on laft, or on whom frown'd, You only can refolve me. We poor Waiters Deal (as you fee) in Mirth, and foolim Fiddles : It is our Element ; and could you tell me What Point of State 'tis that I am commanded To mutter up this Mufick, on mine Honetty, You would much befriend me. Steph. Sirrah ! you grow faucv. Tib. And would be laid by th' Heels. Grac. Not by your Lordfhips, Without a fpecial Warrant ; look to your own Stakes ; Were I committed, here come thofe would bail me ; Perhaps, we might change Places too. THE DUKE OF MILAN. aot Enter Ifabella and Mariana. lib. The Princefs We mull be patient. Stepk. There's no contending. Tib. See, the informing Rogue ! Steph. That we mould ftoop To fuch a Muihroom ! Mart. Thou dofl miftake ; they durft not Ufe the leaft Word of Scorn, altho' provok'd, To any Thing of mine. Go, get you Home, And to your Servants, Friends, and Flatterers, number How many Defcents you're noble : Look to your Wives too ; The fmooth-chin'd Courtiers are abroad. Tib. No Way to be a Freeman ? {Exeunt Tib. and Steph. Grac. Your Excellence hath the beft Gift to difpatch Thefe Arras Pictures of Nobility, I ever read of. Man. I can fpeak fometimes. Grac. And cover fo your bitter Pills with Sweetnefs Of princely Language to forbid Reply, They're greedily fwallow'd. Ijab. But to the Purpofe, Daughter, That brings us hither I Is it to beitow A Vifit on this Woman, that, becaufe She only would be thought truly to grieve The Abfence and the Dangers of my Son Proclaims a general Sadneis ? Mari. If to vex her May be interpreted to do her Honour, . She mall have many of 'em > to I'll make Ufe Of my fhort Reign : My Lord now governs all ; And (he fhall know, that, her Idolater, My Brother, being not by now to protect her, I am her Equal. i Referring to If my Son were here, And would endure this, may a Mother's Curfe Purfue, and overtake him i Fran, O forbear ! In me he's prefent, both in Power and Will ; And, Madam, I much grieve, that, in his Abfence, There mould arife the leafl Diftafte to move you I It being his principal, nay, only Charge, To have you in his Abfence ferv'd and honour'd, As when himfelf perform'd the willing Office. Mart. This is fine, i'Faith. -Grac. I would I were well off. [Afifo. Fran. And therefore, I befeech you, Madam, frown not (Till moll unwittingly he hath deferv'd it) On your poor Servant ; to your Excellence J ever was and will be fuch, and lay The Duke's Authority, trufted tome, With Willingnefs at your Feet. Marl* O bafe ! Ifab. We're like To have an equal Judge ! Fran. But, mould I find That you are touch'd in any Point of Honour, Or that the leaft Neglect is fall'n upon you, J then fland up a Prince. FidU Without Reward, Pray you difmifs us. [Afide. Grac. Would I were five Leagues hence ! \Jfidc* Fran. I will be partial to none ; not to myfelf : Be you but pleas'd to mew me my Offence ; Or, if you hold me in your good Opinion, Name thofe that have offended you. Ifab. lam one ; And I will juftify it. Marl. Thou art a bafe Fellow To take her Part. Fran. Remember, fhe's the Dutchefs. Marc. But us'd with more Contempt, than if I were A Peafaiu's Daughter ; baited, and hooted at, 206 THE DUKE OF MILAN. Like to a common Strumpet ; with loud Noifes Forc'd from my Prayers : and my Private Chamber (Which, with all Willingnefs I would make my Prifon, During the Abfence of my Lord) deny'd me. But if he e'er return ~ Fran. Were you an Actor In this lewd Comedy ? Mart. I, marry was I ; And will be one again. Ifah. I'll join with her, Tho' you repine at it. Fran. Think not, then, I fpeak, (For I ftand bound to Honour, and to ferve you ;) But that the Duke, that lives in this great Lady, For the Contempt of him in her, commands you To be clofe Priibners. Ifab. Mariana, Prifoners ? Fran. Bear them hence ; This is your Charge, my Lord Tiber io 9 And, Stephano, this is yours. Marc. I am not cruel, But pleas'd they may have Liberty. Ifab. Pleas'd, with a Mifchief ! Mart. I'll rather live in any loathfome Dungeon, Than in a Paradife, at her Intreaty ; And, for you, Upftart. Steph. There is no contending. fib. What mall become of thefe ? Fran. See them well whipp'd, As you will anfwer it. Tib. Now, Signior Graccho, What's become of your Greatnefs ? Grac. I preach Patience, And muft endure my Fortune. Fid. I was never yet At fuch a huntf-up, nor was fo rewarded. [Exeunt all but Francifco and Marcelia. Fran. Let them firft know themfelves, and how you are To be ferv'd and honour'd ; which when they confefs, THE DUKE OF MILAN. a 7 You may again receive them to your Favour : And then it will mew nobly. Marc. With my Thanks The Duke mall pay you his, if he return To blefs us with his Prefence. Fran. There is nothing That can be added to your fair Acceptance ; That is the Prize, indeed ; k AU elfe are Blanks, And of no Value. As in virtuous Actions, The Undertaker finds a full Reward, Altho' conferr'd upon unthankful Men ; So, any Service done to fo much Sweetnefs, (However dangerous) and fubjecl; to An ill Conftruttion) in your Favour finds A whVd, and glorious End. Marc. From you, I take this As loyal Duty ; but, in any other, It would appear grofs Flattery. Fran, Flattery, Madam ! You are fo rare and excellent in all Things, And rais'd fo high upon a Rock of Goodnefs, That Vice can never reach you ; who but looks on This Temple built by Nature to Perfection, But muff bow to it ? and out of that Zeal JSTot only learn to adore it, but to love it ? Marc, Whither will this Fellow ? Fran. Pardon therefore, Madam, If an Excefs in me of humble Duty, Teach me to hope (and tho' it be not in The Pow'r of Man to merit fuch a Bleffing) My Piety, for it is more than Love, May find Reward. Marc. You have it in my Thanks: And, on my Hand, I am pleafed that you fhall take A full PofTeffion of it. But, take Heed That you fix here, and feed no Hope beyond this; If you do, 'twill prove fatal. Fran. Be it Death, And Death with Torments Tyrants ne'er found out ; Yet I mufi: fay I love you. 208 THE DUKE OF MILAN. Marc. As a Subje