Part II

.,"

## act ii. sc. 4.

[204] _i.e._, Be placed at the bottom of them, and act as the sole to the shoe.--_Steevens._

[205] The old copy has it, _Enter Have-at-all_; but it is an obvious error of the press.--_Collier._

[206] See note to "The Antiquary" [act i., sc. 1, vol. 13].

[207] A term anciently used in salutation, or rather in drinking. See Selden's notes on the ninth song of Drayton's "Polyolbion," and [Steevens's] notes on "Macbeth," act i. sc. 7, for a particular account of the origin of this phrase.--_Steevens._

[208] [A term in fencing.]

[209] [Cartwright's adoption of the English of a period of which he was evidently very ignorant, has made his character of "The Antiquary" a very tedious and troublesome one. By _intermete_ we are here to understand _intermit_; but there is no such word in early English. _Intermit_ occurs in Coleridge's "Glossary," 1859.]

[210] To do.

[211] [Old copy, _paynant_.]

[212] _Morglay_ was the sword of Bevis of Southampton. It afterwards became a cant word for a sword in general. See "Every Man in his Humour," Act iii. so. 1; also "Every Woman in her Humour," 1609, sig. D 4--

"Had I been accompanied with my toledo or _morglay_."

[213] Pity.

[214] _Now_ complete. The passage requires this explanation, or poor Moth's argument seems to want force, his present hopes being founded on a supposition that all possible discoveries to be made by beating have been already made.

[215] Moth here seems to allude to the following circumstance in the English History: "But uppon the morne followynge, both hostes joyned agayne, and fought egerly: contynuyng whych fyghte, Edrycus espying Edmunde to be at advauntage of wynnyng of the feld, sodaynly pyght a dead mannes hed upon a speare head, and cryed to the host of Englyshmen, _fle, fle, ye Englyshmen, and save youre selfes, lo here is the heade of Edmunde your kinge_."--Fabyan's "Chronicle."

[216] Verstegan, in his "Restitution of Decayed Intelligence," 1634, p. 130, gives the following account of this transaction:--"King Hingistus prepared them a feast; and after the Brittains were well whitled with wine, he fell to taunting and girning at them; whereupon blowes ensued; and the Brittish nobility there present, being in all three hundreth, were all of them slaine; as William of Malmesbury reporteth: though others make the number more, and say that the Saxons had each of them a _seax_ (a kind of crooked knife) closely in his pocket, and that at the watch-word, _Nem cowr seaxes_, which is, _take your seaxes_, they suddainely, and at unwares, slew the Brittaines."

[217] Care not.

[218] Gift.

[219] In spite of.

[220] Always.

[221] A lively spark.

[222] [Old copy, _syren_.] So in "Timon of Athens," act iv. sc. 3--

"The _tub_-fast and the diet."

See a note on that passage, Shakespeare, viii. 409, edit. 1778.--_Steevens._

[223] [Old copy repeats _taking_ after _of_, as it appears, erroneously, since it spoils the sense, and is not essential to the metre, such metre as it is! _By my swear_, by my oath: it is an unusual phrase, but occurs again just below.]

[224] John Dod, a learned and pious divine, born in Cheshire, educated at Jesus College, Cambridge, and afterwards successively minister of Hanwell, Oxfordshire, Fenny Drayton, Leicestershire, Canons Ashby and Fawsley in Northamptonshire, though for a time silenced in each of them. He is commonly called the _Decalogist_, having with Robert Cleaver, another Puritan, written "An Exposition on the Ten Commandments." He died at Fawsley in 1645, aged about ninety years. [For whatever the preceding account may be worth it is retained; but _Dod's blessing_ seems to be merely a whimsical corruption of _God's blessing_.]

[225] This was John Knox, the celebrated reformer in Scotland. See his character in Robertson's "History of Scotland," i. 130.

## ACT V., SCENE I.

SIR THOMAS BITEFIG _as sick_, JANE.

SIR T. Now that I have made even, girl, with heaven, Though I am past the worst, and I perceive My dinner only griev'd me; yet 'cause life's Frail and uncertain, let me counsel thee-- 'Tis good to be beforehand still. First, then, I charge thee, lend no money; next, serve God; If ever thou hast children, teach them thrift; They'll learn religion fast enough themselves. Nay, do not weep, but hearken. When heaven shall Please to call in this weary soul of mine; Ben't idle in expense about my burial: Buy me a shroud--any old sheet will serve To clothe corruption; I can rot without Fine linen; 'tis but to enrich the grave, And adorn stench--no reverence to the dead, To make them crumble more luxuriously. One torch will be sufficient to direct The footsteps of my bearers. If there be Any so kind as to accompany My body to the earth, let them not want For entertainment: prythee, see they have A sprig of rosemary dipp'd in common water, To smell to, as they walk along the streets. Eatings and drinkings are no obsequies. Raise no oppressing pile to load my ashes; But if thou'lt needs b' at charges of a tomb, Five or six foot of common stone, engraved With a good hopeful word, or else a couple Of capital letters filled up with pitch, Such as I set upon my sheep, will serve: State is not meet for those that dwell in dust. Mourn as thou pleasest for me; plainness shows True grief. I give thee leave to do it for Two or three years, if that thou shalt think fit; 'Twill save expense in clothes. And so now be My blessing on thee, and my means hereafter.

JANE. I hope heaven will not deal so rigidly With me, as to preserve me to th' unwelcome Performance of these sad injunctions.

## SCENE II.

_To them_ MEANWELL.

MEAN. Good health unto you, sir.

SIR T. I have the more By reason of the care you took in sending A confessor unto me.

MEAN. I? a confessor? Sure, there is some design, some trick or other Put on you by those men, who never sleep, Unless they've cheated on that day.

SIR T. I hope You do mean your partners my good friends?

MEAN. They ne'er deserve the name of friends; they do Covet, not love. If any came from them, It was some vulture in a holy habit, Who did intend your carcase, not your safety. Indeed I know not of't; I've all this while Appear'd another to you than I am. [_Discloseth himself_. Perhaps you know me now, I'm he whom you Pleas'd to forbid your house--whom Master Credulous Takes leave to style lost man and vagabond.

SIR T. That I forbad you my house, was only In care to my daughter, not in hate to you.

MEAN. That I frequented it without your leave, Was both in love to you and to your daughter: That I have all this while liv'd thus disguis'd, Was only to avert the snare from you, Not to entrap you: that you might not be Blinded by those who, like to venomous beasts, Have only sight to poison; that you might not Ruin your daughter in a compliment.

SIR T. This may b' your plot, and this discovery Feign'd only to secure your own designs; For't cannot sink into me, that they durst Make mirth of my repentance, and abuse My last devotion with a scene of laughter.

MEAN. They dare beyond your thought. When parted this Your confessor?

SIR T. You could not choose but meet him: He is scarce yet at home.

MEAN. If that you dare But venture with me home, I'll almost promise I'll make it plain they've put a trick upon you.

SIR T. Though every step were so much toward my grave, I'd tread them o'er with comfort, that I might Discover this religious villany. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE III.

HEARSAY, SLICER, _and_ SHAPE _in his Confessor's_ _habit_.

HEAR. Come, my good vulture, speak; what prey? what mirth?

SLICER. What income, my dear holiness? what sport?

SHAPE. Give me the chair: imagine me the knight (When I sit down), and (when I stand) the confessor.

[_As he is thus acting_, MEANWELL _and_ SIR THOMAS _discover themselves above_.

Thus I come in peace to thy soul, good son. _'Tis you must give it, father: I am ill,_ _I'm very ill; fit only now for heaven._ _My soul would fain be flying, were't not for_ _A sin or two that clogs her._ But for a sin Or two that clogs her? Take heed; don't, so near Your last deliverance, play the sophister With heaven. A sin or two! why, I've heard say You're wont to screw your wretched tenants up To th' utmost farthing, and then stand upon The third rent-capon. Then he answers me In the small doleful tune of a country wench Examin'd by th' official for the mischance Of a great belly caught at a Whitson-ale:[227] _I could not help it._ Then it is your custom, When you invite, to think your meat laid out, You write your beef disburs'd, are wont to call For the return of't just as for a debt; _True_. That two chimneys ne'er yet smok'd at once In all your buildings. _All most true._ That you Are wont to keep an untouch'd capon, till Corruption makes it able to walk out And visit the barn-door again. I could Say much more, but I had rather have you Come so much nearer pardon, as t' accuse Yourself by your own mouth.

SLICER. How grave the rogue was!

SHAPE. _I'll do't as strictly as mine enemy._

SIR T. I cannot hold: I'll break in as I am, And take my vengeance whilst my fury's hot. [_Above._

MEAN. Repress it, sir, awhile; h' hath but begun.

[_Above._

SHAPE. Then thus he drawls it out, _I do confess_ _I've been addicted to frugality._ Son, do not mince: pray, call it covetousness. Imprimis, _It hath ever been my custom_ _To ride beyond an inn to save my horse-meat._ Item, _When once I had done so, and found_ _No entertainment, I beguil'd the children_ _Of their parch'd peas: my man being left to that_ _We make the emblem of mortality._ What? Grass, you mean? _Or sweet hay, which you please._

HEAR. Methinks this is truly coming to a reckoning. He doth account for's sins with _Item_ so.

SHAPE. Item, _I've often bought a Cheapside custard,_ _And so refresh'd my soul under my cloak,_ _As I did walk the streets._ Cloaking of sins, Although they be but eating sins, I do Pronounce most dangerous. _I find this so,_ _I'd almost lost mine eyes by't, being justled._

SLICER. O thou rich soul of roguery!

SHAPE. _Moreover,_ _I once sung Psalms with servants, where I lodg'd,_ _And took part with 'em in their lovely reliques;_ _Truly my soul did lust, they were temptations._ What! sing that you might eat? It is the sin O' th' brethren, son; but that their reliques are Whole widows' houses.

HEAR. O thou preaching devil!

SHAPE. Item, _I entered into a chandler's shop,_ _And eat my bread in secret, whilst my man_ _Fed on the wholesome steam of candle-suet_, Item, _which grieves me most, I did make bold_ _With the black puddings of my needy tailor:_ _Satan was strong; they did provoke me much._

SIR T. Wretch that I was, to trust my bosom to One so exactly bad that, if the book Of all men's lives lay open to his view, Would meet no sin unpractis'd by himself. I will rush in. [_Above._

MEAN. Good sir, keep close awhile. [_Above._

SHAPE. I see no tears, no penitential tears. _Alas! I cannot weep, mine eyes are pumice:_ _But alms I hope may yet redeem._ Alms given In a large manner, son. _Won't fifty pounds_ _Wipe off my score?_ If doubled, 't may do something. _Can I be sav'd no cheaper? Take this, then,_ _And pray for me_. With that I thus dismiss'd him. Bless'd son, for now I dare pronounce thee bless'd, Being thou'st pour'd thus out thy soul.--The wolf! The wolf! 'Sfoot, peace, we're in the noose; We are betray'd; yon's Meanwell and the knight! Truly he is as good a man as any I ever yet confess'd--don't look that way-- A very honest, charitable man, Full of sincerity and true devotion.

SIR T. Patience itself would now turn furious. Let's for some officers.

[_Exeunt_ SIR THOMAS _and_ MEANWELL.

SHAPE. Discover'd all! Religion is unlucky to me.

HEAR. Man, Perfidious man! there is no trust in thee!

SLICER. I never lik'd this Meanwell; I did always See treachery writ in's forehead. I well hop'd H' had been in prison with his wench.

SHAPE. Leave railing. Along with me. There is left one way more; The cat may yet perhaps light on all four.[228] [_Exeunt._

## SCENE IV.

SIR THOMAS BITEFIG, MEANWELL, CONSTABLE, WATCHMEN.

SIR T. What, gone! Upon my life, they did mistrust.

MEAN. They are so beaten, that they smell an officer, As crows do powder.

SIR T. Watchman, call you forth

The mistress of the house _imprimis_; for

[_Exit_ OFFICER.

They have their lurking-hole near hand most certain.

_Enter_ MOTH _and_ POTLUCK, _as man and wife_.

MOTH. _Denuncio vobis gaudium magnum,_ _Robertus de Tinea electus est in sedem hospitalem,_ _Et assumit sibi nomen Galfridi_. Joy comes to our house: I, Robert Moth, am Chesen into thylk hospital seat, Thylk bason of Joan Potluck, vintner's widow, And do transmue[229] my name to Geffery. New foysons[230] byn ygraced with new titles. Come, buss. [_Kisses her._

POT. Fie! Master Geffery, I swear You make m' asham'd 'fore all this company.

SIR T. Sir, if you be the master of this house, You've harbour'd here a company of cheating Villains we are come to apprehend.

POT. Pray y', look, Search every corner: here's no cheats. I'm sure The house was clear before your worship enter'd.

CON. Make fast the doors, for fear they do escape. Let's in, and ferret out these cheating rake-hells.

[_As the_ WATCHMEN _go in and out about the_ _rooms_, HEARSAY, SLICER, _and_ SHAPE, _mingle themselves with them, being accounted_ _watchmen, and so pass without discovery_.

_Enter_ 1ST WATCHMAN _and_ HEARSAY.

1ST WATCH. 'Tis very certain they are not in the house.

SIR T. They had no time to get away.

HEAR. Why, then, It may be, being they are such cunning fellows, They have the trick of going invisible.

_Enter_ 2D WATCHMAN _and_ SLICER.

2D WATCH. There's no place left unsearch'd but pots and mouseholes.

SLICER. They're either gone or in the house, that's certain.

2D WATCH. That cannot be: the doors were shut, I'm sure, And so they could not get out; the rooms then are All search'd, and so they cannot be within.

SLICER. I'll lay my neck to a farthing, then, they're vanish'd.

HEAR. Sunk like the Queen; they'll rise at Queenhive, sure![231]

_Enter_ CONSTABLE _and other_ WATCHMEN, _and_ SHAPE _among 'em, bringing in_ CREDULOUS _and_ CASTER.

SHAPE. Most certain, these are two of them: for this Old knave, I'll take my oath that he is one.

CON. Confess, confess: where are your other comrades?

CRE. I am as honest as the skin that is Between thy brows.

CON. What skin between my brows? What skin, thou knave? I am a Christian; And, what is more, a constable! What skin?[232]

SIR T. You are mistaken, friends.

CON. I cry you mercy.

SHAPE. The constable may call you anything In the king's name, upon suspicion.

SIR T. We're cheated, friends: these men o' th' ordinary Have gull'd us all this while, and now are gone.

CAS. I am undone! Ne'er let me live, if that I did not think they would gull me. I perceive Fancy doth much: see, how 'tis come to pass!

CRE. Where is my son? God bless, him! Where is Andrew? Pray God they have not taken him along: He hath a perilous wit to be a cheat; H'd quickly come to be his Majesty's taker.

CON. I took one Andrew Credulous this morning In dishonest adultery with a trull; And if he be your son, he is in prison.

CRE. Their villainy, o' my life! Now, as I am A freeman and a grocer, I had rather have Found forty pounds. I pray, go fetch him.

[_Exit_ OFFICER.

SIR T. I'm sorry that your son takes these lewd courses; He is not fit to make a husband of.

CRE. Do not condemn before you hear. I'll warrant, Though he be guilty, yet he's innocent.

MOTH. Hent[233] him, for dern love, hent him; I done drad His visage foul, yfrounc'd[234] with glowing eyne.

HAVE. I come t' excuse my ruder usage of you; I was in drink when that I did it: 'twas The plot of those base knaves, I hear, are gone, To teach me valour by the strength of wine; Naming that courage which was only fury: It was not wilfully.

MOTH. I do not rech One bean for all. This buss is a blive guerdon.[235] Hence carlishnesse yferre. 'Tis a sooth saw, Had I but venged all mine herme, Mine cloak had not been furred half so werme.

_Enter_ OFFICERS _with_ ANDREW, PRISCILLA, _and the_ _four that were taken at the window singing._

CRE. Now, sir, you shall hear all. Come, Andrew, tell me, How cam'st thou hither?

AND. Truly, Master Meanwell Told me that I should meet with Mistress Jane; And there I found her chambermaid!

CRE. D' y' see? Your chambermaid, Sir Thomas! Out, you whore.

AND. Take heed what you say, father; she's my wife.

CRE. I would thou'rt in thy grave, then; 'twere the better Fortune o' th' two.

PRIS. Indeed, this reverend man join'd us i' th' prison.

CHRIS. Marriage is a bond; So no place fitter to perform it in!

SIR T. Send for my daughter hither; we'll know all. What are you, sir?

CHRIS. A workman in the clergy.

CON. Yes, this is one I took at the window singing, With these three other vagrant fellows here.

CHRIS. I was in body there, but not in mind, So that my sin is but inchoately perfect; And I, though in a fault, did not offend; And that for three reasons. First, I did yield Only a kind of unwilling consent. Secondly, I was drawn, as 'twere, by their Impulsive gentleness (mark, sir, I'm strong). Thirdly, I deem'd it not a woman's shambles. Fourthly and lastly, that I sung was only An holy wish. Once more, beloved--

SIR T. Peace! Y' have said enough already. How came you To sing beneath the window?

RIME. Master Hearsay Told us that Master Meanwell was new-married, And thought it good that we should gratify him. And show ourselves to him in a Fescennine.[236]

CRE. That rascal Meanwell was the cause of all: I would I had him here.

SIR T. Why, this is he, Sir Robert Littleworth his son: he hath Disclos'd their villanies; he is no cheat.

MEAN. God save you, Master Credulous; you have Forgotten me, perhaps: I'm somewhat chang'd. You see, your lost man's found; your vagabond Appears at last.

CRE. Go, you are a gibing scab. Leave off your flouting: you're a beardless boy, I am a father of children.

MEAN. And your son Will be so shortly, if he han't ill-luck To vex you more: that hundred pounds you sent To Master Caster, Shape i' th' habit of A country-fellow gull'd you of.

CRE. That rascal! Thou show'st thy wit t' abuse an old man thus: As God shall mend me, I will hamper thee. Thou'st been disguis'd here all this while, thou hast! Would I were bray'd in mine own mortar,[237] if I do not call th' in question the next term, For counterfeiting of the king's subjects. Come away from him, sirrah, come along.

[_Exeunt_ CREDULOUS, ANDREW, _and_ PRISCILLA.

MEAN. There's a trunk they've left behind; I have Seiz'd it for you, so that you'll be no loser.

SIR T. If you can find a way whereby I may Reward this courtesy of yours, I shall Confess myself engaged doubly to you-- Both for the benefit and its requital.

_Enter_ JANE.

MEAN. The appearance of your daughter here suggests Something to ask, which yet my thoughts call boldness.

SIR T. Can she suggest yet any good, that is So expert grown in this flesh-brokery?

MEAN. O, do not blot that innocence with suspicion, Who never came so near a blemish yet, As to be accus'd. To quit you of such thoughts, I did receive a tempting letter from That strumpet that's gone out (as sin is bold To try, even where no hope is); I made promise, But to secure myself, and withal sound Th' affections of young Credulous unto Your virtuous daughter, told him he should meet her, Where I agreed to meet your chambermaid: The blame must all be mine.

SIR T. 'Tis her deliverance. She hath escap'd two plagues, a lustful fool.

MEAN. I dare not challenge her, I do confess, As a reward due to my service; and If you deny her me, assure yourself I'll never draw her from obedience. I will not love her to procure her ruin, And make m' affection prove her enemy.

SIR T. You speak most honestly: I never did Think ill of your intents, but always gave A testimony to your life as large As were your merits. But your fortunes are Unequal; there's the want.

MEAN. What's there defective Love shall supply. True, Master Credulous Is a rich man, but yet wants that which makes His riches useful, free discretion. He may be something in th' eye o' th' world; But let a knowing man, that can distinguish Between possessions and good parts, but view him, And prize impartially, he will be rated Only as chests and caskets, just according To what he holds. I value him as I Would an exchequer or a magazine. He is not virtuous, but well-stor'd: a thing Rather well-victuall'd than well-qualified; And if you please to cast your eye on me, Some moneys will call back my father's lands Out of his lime-twig fingers, and I shall Come forth as gay as he.

SIR T. I'll strive no longer, For fear I seem t' oppose felicity. If she'll give her consent, y' are one.

JANE. It is The voice of angels to me. I had thought Nothing in all the store of nature could Have added to that love wherewith I do Reverence that name, my father, till that you Spoke this.

SIR T. I know your former loves: grow up Into an aged pair, yet still seem young. May you stand fresh, as in your pictures, still, And only have the reverence of the aged. I thank you for your pains, Master Constable: You may dismiss your watch now.

SHAPE. [_Disguised as a Constable._] A pox on't! That, after all this, ne'er a man to carry To prison! Must poor tradesmen be brought out, And nobody clapp'd up?

MEAN. That you mayn't want Employment, friends, take this, I pray, and drink it.

SLICER. [_Disguised._] Sir, when y' are cheated next, we are your servants.

[_Exeunt all but_ SHAPE, HEARSAY, _and_ SLICER.

## SCENE V.

SHAPE, SLICER, HEARSAY.

SHAPE. Lie thou there, watchman. How the knave that's look'd for May often lurk under the officer! Invention, I applaud thee.

HEAR. London air, Methinks, begins to be too hot for us.

SLICER. There is no longer tarrying here: let's swear Fidelity to one another, and So resolve for New England.[238]

HEAR. 'Tis but getting A little pigeon-hole reformed ruff----

SLICER. Forcing our beards into th' orthodox bent----

SHAPE. Nosing a little treason 'gainst the king, Bark something at the bishops, and we shall Be easily receiv'd.

HEAR. No fitter place. They are good silly people; souls that will Be cheated without trouble. One eye is Put out with zeal, th' other with ignorance; And yet they think they're eagles.

SHAPE. We are made Just fit for that meridian. No good work's Allow'd there: faith--faith is that they call for, And we will bring it 'em.

SLICER. What language speak they?

HEAR. English, and now and then a root or two Of Hebrew, which we'll learn of some Dutch skipper That goes along with us this voyage. Now We want but a good wind; the brethren's sighs Must fill our sails; for what Old England won't Afford, New England will. You shall hear of us By the next ship that comes for proselytes. Each soil is not the good man's country only; Nor is the lot his to be still at home: _We'll claim a share, and prove that nature gave_ _This boon, as to the good, so to the knave._ [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[226] Adultery.

[227] See Note to "The Antiquary" [act iv., vol. 13].

[228] [_i.e._, All fours.]

[229] Change.

[230] Plenty, abundance.

[231] The story here alluded to is told in an old play, entitled "The Famous Chronicle of King Edward the first, sir-named Edward Longshankes, with his returne from the holy land. Also the life of Llevellen rebell in Wales. _Lastly, the sinking of Queene Elinor, who sunck at Charing cross, and rose againe at Potters hith, now named Queene-hith._ By George Peele." 4o, 1593, 1599. See also a ballad on the same subject in Evans's "Old Ballads," vol i. p. 237. [Peele's play is, of course, printed in his works by Dyce.]

[232] [The Constable's ideas had become confused, and he thought that _Credulous_, was taxing him with having been circumcised.]

[233] Take hold of him.--_T._

[234] Decorated or adorned [in the forehead or brow.] So in Milton's "Penseroso"--

"Not trick'd and frounc'd as she was wont, With Attic boy to hunt; But kerchief'd in a comely cloud."

--_Steevens_ (_altered_).

[235] Quick reward. [But it may be doubted, perhaps, if Cartwright did not intend _blithe_, _i.e._, glad or joyful.]

[236] _i.e._, A nuptial ditty: from _Fescennia_, or _Fescennium_, a town in Italy, where these kinds of songs were first practised.--_Steevens._

[237] To _bray_, to pound, or grind small--

"I'll burst him, _I will bray_ _His bones, as in a mortar_."

"Except you would _bray_ christendom _in a mortar_, and mould it into a new paste, there is no possibility of a holy war."--_Bacon_. See Johnson's Dictionary, _v._ Bray.

It also means only to _stamp with the feet_: thus in Fortescue's "Foreste of Histories," 1571, fol. 68: "When Apelles his horse was brought into the place the other began to _braie_ and stirre, as is their common usage."--_Collier._

[238] This is intended to ridicule the Puritans of the times, who, on account of the severe censures of the Star Chamber, the greatness of the fines there, the rigorous proceedings to impose ceremonies, the suspending and silencing ministers for not reading in church "The Book of Sports," and other grievances, sold their estates, and settled in _New England_. The emigrations, on these accounts, at length became so general, that a proclamation was put forth in 1635 to stop those who had determined to follow their friends. It is remarkable that amongst those who were actually on shipboard, and prevented by the proclamation from proceeding on their voyage, were the patriot Hampden and his cousin Oliver Cromwell.

THE EPILOGUE

SHAPE. We have escap'd the law, but yet do fear Something that's harder answered--your sharp ear. O, for a present sleight now to beguile That, and deceive you but of one good smile. 'Tis that must free us: th' Author dares not look For that good fortune, to be sav'd by's book. To leave this blessed soil is no great woe; Our griefs in leaving you, that make it so; For if you shall call in those beams you lent, 'Twould ev'n at home create a banishment.

THE LONDON CHANTICLEERS.

_EDITION._

_The London Chaunticleers. A Witty Comoedy, full of Various and Delightfull Mirth. Often Acted with Great applause, and never before Published. London, Printed for Simon Miller, at the Star in St. Pauls Churchyard._ 1659. 4o.

This amusing and peculiar play has never hitherto been re-published from the original edition. It is a performance, as the title-page

## partly intimates, considerably older than the date of publication. Mr

Halliwell ("Dictionary of Old Plays," 1860, p. 144) observes: "This piece is rather an interlude than a play; but it is curious, the characters being London criers.

"From a passage in the prologue we may perhaps infer that the production originally appeared during a visitation of the plague at London, and that it was first presented (the machinery required being simple enough) on some suburban or provincial stage. The metropolis was ravaged by pestilence in 1636, which is a not unlikely date for the composition and original presentation of 'The London Chanticleers.'"

The allusions to old usages, with the mention of many well-known ballads, and of some known no longer, contribute to give the present piece an interest and value of its own.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

HEATH, _a broom-man_. BRISTLE, _a brush-man_. DITTY, _a ballad-man_. BUDGET, _a tinker_. GUM, _a tooth-drawer_. WELCOME, _a host_. BUNG, _a tapster_. FENNETING, _an apple-wench_. CURDS, _a fresh cheese and cream woman_.

PROLOGUE.

The style that banish'd Ovid and his book, And, spite of's laurel made him thunderstrook, Is banish'd from this scene by us; and here Cato may come into the theatre. At our love-tricks none need their eyelids crush, Chaste vestals may look on without a blush: Our cheats do take, if they but time beguile, And all our plot is but to make you smile. You're welcome then to London, which our show, Since you mayn't go to that, has brought to you. Pardon, if we offend you with our noise, 'Tis but an echo of their clamorous voice.

THE LONDON CHANTICLEERS.

## SCENE I.

_Enter_ HEATH, _a broom-man_.

HEATH. Brooms, maids, brooms! Old boots or shoes! Come, buy my brooms!

_You maidens that do cleanse the door,_ _And make a looking-glass o' th' floor,_ _That every night prepare the ground,_ _For Oberon to dance a round,_ _And do expect Queen Mab for you_ _Should drop a tester in a shoe,_ _And would sleep without pinching, come_ _Quickly to me, and buy a broom,_ _That will effect the thing you mean;_ _'Tis a new broom, and will sweep clean._

Come, buy my broom, maids! Maids, did I say? Sure, there are none i' th' city; or, if there be any, they have forsworn my custom. All the brooms I have sold to-day would not sweep half the ground I have gone; and the money I have got will scarce buy ale enough to moisten my mouth after one cry. Sure, all the city are turned dustmen, and the whole corporation are of the company of Grobians. Women sweep their houses with their long coats, and men their shops with their scrubbed beards. There's no use of a besom now but to make rods of and sweep the children's backsides. 'Tis better killing men for eightpence a day, or hanging of 'em for thirteenpence halfpenny apiece, than follow this poor and idle life; 'tis easier canting out, _A piece of broken bread for a poor man_, than singing, _Brooms, maids, brooms: come, buy my brooms!_ I should e'en go hang myself now if I were worth a halter; but who will spend a groat on't, when he may be hanged at free cost? I'll go rob the sheriff, and not leave him enough to hire an executioner for me; steal the judge's gown, that he may not come to the assizes, and poison the jury, that they may not bring me in guilty.

_Enter_ BRISTLE.

BRIS. Buy a save-all, buy a save-all; never more need. Come, buy a save-all! Buy a comb-brush or a pot-brush; buy a flint, or a steel, or a tinder-box.

HEATH. O Bristle, welcome! I perceive by thy merry note, that there's music in thy pocket. What, dost jingle?

BRIS. And I perceive by thy heavy countenance thy purse is light. Dost want coin?

HEATH. Dost thou doubt that? Dost thou not see I'm sober? Do I swear or kick for asking, if I want money?

BRIS. These are infallible signs indeed that thou dost want it.

HEATH. I have been up this two hours, and have not visited one alehouse yet.

BRIS. Nay, I am fully satisfied; but canst thou want money whilst thou hast fingers to tell it?

HEATH. Why, wouldst have 'um made of loadstones, to draw all that comes nigh 'em?

BRIS. Canst thou be poor, and have a tongue Nay, then, 'tis pity but thou shouldst be sent to the Mint thyself, and be stamped into farthings, to be bestowed on beggars! I'd dig to the Antipodes with my nails, but I'd find a mine; and, like the cripple, run up Paul's steeple, but I'd get the silver cock.

HEATH. He had no legs to break if he had fallen, nor weight enough to crack his neck.

BRIS. Nor thou wit enough to be hanged. Thou hadst rather be starved than break open a cupboard, and die a good poor man or an honest beggar, than a rich thief or a gentleman rogue. Thou thinkest it more commendable, I warrant, to be carried in a chair from constable to constable, with a warrant from the churchwardens; that thou art a poor man, and desirest their charity; that thou art willing to work, but art almost starved; hast half a dozen children, the eldest not above three years old, their mother having been dead this eight year; and such pitiful complaints, with as many tears as would drown all the victuals thou eat'st, than ride a mile or two in a cart, with the sheriff attending on thee! Thou believ'st that more may be gotten with a _Good your_ (non-sense) _Worship_ to every Jack than a _Sirrah, deliver your purse_ to the best lord i' th' land; and all this grounded upon that precise axiom, "A little with honesty is better than a great deal with knavery."

HEATH. Thanks, good Bristle, for thy counsel. I mean to be as perfect a pickpocket, as good as ever nipped the judge's bung while he was condemning him. Look to thy purse, Bristle, lest I practise on thee first. The fairies can't creep through a lesser keyhole than I. O, for a dead man's hand now! 'Tis as good as poppy-seed to charm the house asleep; it makes 'um as senseless as itself. Come, shall we turn knight-errants? Name the first adventure. Dost thou know no enchanted castle, no golden ladies in distress or imprisoned by some old giant usurer?

BRIS. Stay a little, Heath. I have a design in my head that will outgo Don Quixote or Palmerin as far as they did the giants they overcame--a trick that shall load us with money without any fear of th' cart.

HEATH. I'll be thy squire, though I fare no better than Sanch Pancha, and am tossed in a blanket.

BRIS. Come, follow me. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE II.

_Enter_ NANCY CURDWELL.

CURD. I have fresh cheese and cream; I have fresh cheese and cream. Heigho! But one suitor yet? Must my sheets lie smooth till I am wrinkled? Nay, then, I see beauty is not a cable-rope, to draw men's hearts after it, nor our mouths a mouse-trap, our tongues a lure, and lips a gin; our hairs are not fishing-lines, nor our noses hooks. These gudgeons will not swallow the bait that hangs there. Nay, we cannot catch these mermen, though our smocks were made of network, and we hung all o'er with looking-glasses. No, no; I see, when these buzzards look after mates, they wink and choose. I think I must have my nose turned into a bill, and write upon it, _Here is a house to be let._ I am but six-and-twenty years old, and that's young enough to play with a baby. O, how like the picture of Charity should I look with two sucklings at my breast!

_Enter_ BUDGET, _a tinker_.

BUD. Have you any work for a tinker? Old brass, old pots, old kettles. I'll mend them all with a tara-tink, and never hurt your metal.--Here she is! Methinks she looks very smug upon me. Now to my 'ration. Most beautiful, fair and virtuous mistress, whose face is a burning-glass, and hath set me on fire. My sugar-plum and stewed-prune lady, whose fine sharp nose, like Cupid's darts, hath pricked me to the heart! Whiter than the curds thou sell'st, softer than the silk thou wearest, milder than the four-shilling beer thou drink'st! Venus, I believe, was a fresh cheese and cream woman, and, letting fall her pail, made the Milky Way, but yet came as far short of thee, my sweet, honey Nancy, as whey of butter-milk or skimmed milk of cream! O, that I were a worm to crawl on that face of thine, or a flea------

CURD. He'd bite me, sure?

BUD. To slip about thy neck. Do not, I pray, tread on me with the foot of disdain, lest thou crush my heart as flat as a pancake.

CURDS. Pray, leave off your suit; I have no mind to marry; I'll always live a virgin.

BUD. What, and lead apes in hell? What pity would it be to see you chained to a monkey!

CURDS. Or tied to you! [_Aside._

BUD. O, do not frown! Each wrinkle is a grave to me, and angry look a death's-head. Do not despise me 'cause I am black and you so white; the moon wears beauty-spots, and the fairest ladies black patches. White petticoats are wrought with black silk, and we put black plums into white puddings.

CURD. But black-and-white ribbons are worn only at burials, never at weddings: and I would be loth my wedding-sheet should be my shroud, and my bed a grave. Therefore, pray, be gone, and come when I send for you.

BUD. Sweet sugar-candy mistress, grant me one thing before you go.

CURD. What is't?

BUD. Give me leave to vouchsafe one kiss on those sweet silken parchment-lips.

CURD. Take your farewell, you shall never kiss 'um again. [_Kisses her_, _and blacks her mouth_.

BUD. Thanks, pudding-pie Nancy. [_Exit._

CURD. Faugh, how he stinks of smoke! Does he think I'll be his trull, and that he shall smutch my face thus with his charcoal nose? No, I'll see him burnt first! Out upon him, beggar, burnt-arse rogue, devil-tinker! I am afraid his ugly looks have soured my cream, and made all my cheese run to whey; but if he come to me again thus, I'll make him blue as well as black.

_Enter_ HANNA JENNITING.

JEN. Come, buy my pearmains, curious John apples, dainty pippins; come, who buys? who buys?

CURD. O sister Hanna, I wanted you just now; here was a tinker had like to have run away with me in his budget; a copper-nosed rogue, brazen-faced rascal!

JEN. But you were even with him? Nay, you are a whisket! I' faith, I see beards are infectious as well as scabbed lips. Salute your apron, and 'twill tell you who you kissed last.

CURD. He has printed a kiss indeed.

JEN. Was he a suitor? Did he woo you with posnets and skillets, and promise you a kettle next Bartholomew fair? And how did you answer him? Did you say, Fly, brass, the devil's a tinker? Or more mildly tell him you could not settle your affections on him? But come, look sprightly. Somebody will stare so long upon the bright sun of our beauties, till they are blinded with beams. Thou knowest, when my mother died, she left us, beside some stringed pence and a granam's groat, seven suitors, whereof all have forsaken us but Graftwell the gardener; and my mother indeed used to say that I was born to be a gardener's wife, as soon as ever I was taken out of her parsley-bed. But 'tis no matter; let 'um go.

CURD. But I wonder, Hanna, that you, having been an apple-woman so long, cannot get a customer for yourself. You might go off for a queen-apple! Come along; the next chapman shall have us at an easy rate. I have fresh cheese, &c.

JEN. Come, buy pippins. [_Exeunt crying._

## SCENE III.

_Enter_ DITTY, _a ballad-man_.

DITTY. Come, new books, new books; newly printed and newly come forth! All sorts of ballads and pleasant books! _The Famous History of Tom Thumb_ and _Unfortunate Jack_,[239] _A Hundred Godly Lessons_, and _Alas, poor Scholar, whither wilt thou go? The second part of Mother Shipton's Prophecies, newly made by a gentleman of good quality_, foretelling what was done four hundred years ago, and _A Pleasant Ballad of a bloody fight seen i' th' air_, which, the astrologers say, portends scarcity of fowl this year. [_Sings a ballad._

_Enter_ BUDGET.

BUD. Have you the _Ballad of the Unfortunate Lover_?

DITTY. No, but I have _George of Green_ or _Chivy Chase_, _Collins and the Devil_, or _Room for Cuckolds_; I have anything but that.

BUD. Have you the _Coy Maid_?

DITTY. I sold that just now; but I have the _Ballad of the London 'Prentice_, _Guy of Warwick_, or _The Beggar of Bethnal Green_.

BUD. What loves-ongs have you? I would have a wooing ballad.

DITTY. I have twenty of them. Look you, here's one, and although I say it myself, as good a one as ever trod upon shoe-leather.

BUD. What is't? Good Ditty, let me hear it.

DITTY. _The honest Milkmaid, or I must not wrong my Dame._

BUD. Have you never a one called _The honest Fresh Cheese and Cream Woman_?

DITTY. I do not remember that; but here is another, you shall hear me sing it.

_Once did I love a maiden fair,_ _Down derry, down, down, down, down derry;_ _With silver locks and golden hair,_ _Down derry, &c.;_ _Her cheeks were like the rose so sweet,_ _Down derry, &c.;_ _Like marble pillars were her feet,_ _Down derry, &c._

How like you this? 'Tis a rare tune, and a very pleasant song.

BUD. I like the song well; but I would have a picture upon it like me.

DITTY. Look you here; here's one as like you as if it had been spit out of your mouth; your nose, eye, lip, chin; sure, they printed it with your face! and the most sweetest ballad that ever I sung--

_My love and I to medley,_ _Upon a time would go:_ _The boatmen they stood ready,_ _My love and I to row;_ _Where we had cakes and prunes,_ _And many fine things mo;_ _But now, alas, she has left me:_ _Fa la, fa lero, lo!_

BUD. This is the ballad I'll have. Come, Ditty, thou shalt teach me to sing it, and I'll pay thee at the next good house. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE IV.

_Enter_ BRISTLE, _like a shoemaker_, _with_ HEATH, _like_ _a butcher_.

HEATH. Slaughter-calf do you say my name shall be?

BRIS. Ay, ay, and mine Vamp.

HEATH. And how do I look now? Like one that was begotten under a butcher's stall, I warrant, and born in a slaughter-house? I know there's never a Kill-cow i' th' city becomes a woollen apron better than I do.

BRIS. Liker a calf than butcher; yet thy sheep's head will be some token thou cam'st from the Butch Row. Have a care thou dost not forget thyself, and talk of brooms instead of fly-flops, and old boots and shoes instead of calves' skins!

HEATH. I am as artificial at the trade as the master o' th' company. I could sell Jupiter, were he a bull again. I am perfectly changed; I never knew Heath the broom-man or the price of a besom, never trafficked with maids o' th' kitchen, or shopboys for old boots and shoes.

BRIS. Nor I for new, for all I'm a shoemaker. But to the design. Stand here; this is the road she walks; if thou fail'st, may thy woollen apron be spun into halters to hang thee in, and a stall be thy gibbet. [_Exit._

HEATH. If I don't act my part well, may I be a changeling indeed, and be begged for the city fool. If she be coy, and by her obstinacy hinder our plot, I'll quarter her out and sell her for cow-beef, make pettitoes of her fingers and trotters of her feet.

_Enter_ CURDWELL.

CURD. I have fresh cheese and cream!

HEATH. Harmonious voice! The Witney singers are but chattering magpies to this melodious nightingale, and the tabor and pipe but as the scraping on a brass pan to this organ; sure, this is the beauty that I must court. If Cupid be not propitious now, I'll cut my brooms into rods, and whip the peevish boy. Lady (for so your beauty styles you), to whom the snow and swan are black, whether thou art a goddess, and come down to punish men, and make them die with love, or a mortal which excellest all goddesses, pity a wounded heart, which can receive no ease from any thing but those eyes from whom it did receive its wounds. There's no nectar or ambrosia but what thy pail affords; the moon would willingly be that the Welshmen wish it, so thou wouldst give it room amongst thy cheeses. Be not unkind, sweet lady; one cruel look will make this place my slaughter-house, and thee the butcher's butcher.

CURD. I dare not trust you, for all your fair words; men of your profession make it a trade to cheat us.

HEATH. I'll be as faithful as thou art fair, and stick as close unto thee as my shirt does to my back on a sweltry sweating day. Come, thou shalt yield, and by yielding conquer me.

CURD. You set upon weak women with your strong compliments, and overcome them, whether they will or no. [_He moves._

HEATH. Move forward; we'll be contracted at the next alehouse, be married to-morrow, and have half a dozen children the next day. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE V.

_Enter_ WELCOME, _a host_.

WEL. Sure, I have slept myself into an owl, and mistake night for day? Can light dawn, and none see the way to my house for a morning's draught? No groats due? Did all my mad lads go sober to bed last night? Such a crime forfeits the city charter. What ho! speak here, sirrah Bung.

_Enter_ BUNG.

BUNG. By and by! Who calls? O master, good morrow to you.

WEL. Why, it is day with thee too, Bung, and I no owl. Speak, prythee; how long is't since thou couldst grope the tap out?

BUNG. O sir, this two hours. I have cut two dozen of toasts, broached a new barrel of ale, washed all the cups and flagons, made a fire i' th' George,[240] drained all the beer out of th' Half-Moon the company left o' the floor last night, wiped down all the tables, and have swept every room. The sun has been up this hour almost.

WEL. Ay, there's an honest soaker; the old blade swills himself i' th' sea all night, and quaffs from th' earth all day, and that makes him have such a ruby face. But what, no customers yet?

BUNG. Not one, sir; our old charwoman, Mary, has not called for her morning's draught yet--she that's the tub for all men's snuffs, and devours me more tappings than would serve to make strong waters for an army.

WEL. Sure, all the beer that was drunk yesterday had poppy in't instead of malt; and people are not yet awake, or else they mistake my house for a prison, and my old lattice for grates. Come, Bung, we'll give ourselves handsel; go, fill's a lusty pot of ale. [_Exit_ BUNG.] This is a precious varlet, and has tricks enou' to furnish all the tapsters between Charing Cross and Fleet Bridge. The sleights of nicking and frothing he scorns as too common, but supplies that defect with little jugs and great glasses, and where he fears a dissolution, brings up his flagon, begins the king's health, and with that decoy draws on another dozen or two, till the whole royal progeny is gone over. He wished it once as numerous as old Priam's was, and another time had like to have been hanged for praying treason, that there were a hundred kings i' th' land, that men might be forced to drink all their healths for fear of displeasing any.

_Re-enter_ BUNG.

BUNG. Here, sir, here's a cup of stinging liquor; it is so thick that you may slice it, and came drivelling out as if the loving vessel had been loth to part with it.

WEL. How? 'tis cold; the rogue has put ice into't instead of toast, or else one of's hundred leger wafers the baker dried for him t'other day in's oven, after his bread was drawn, for the yeast of two barrels. [_Aside._] You rascal, cheat your master?

BUNG. Cry you mercy, good sir; I protest I had forgot who 'twas for, and popped it in before I was aware; but I'll air it for you instantly, if you please.

WEL. No, no, I'll warm't myself, and it shall warm me. Come, here's to all good swallows! So, so, one cup of ale will shroud one better from the cold than all the furs in Russia.

WITHIN. Tapster, where are you? Show's a room here.

BUNG. Anon, anon, sir. You are welcome, gentlemen. Please you, walk into th' George; there's a good fire, and no company. [_Exit._

WEL. To see what luck a handsel will procure! No sooner the cup out of my mouth but another called for! It seems it stayed at me all this while; a dry, shabby host is more absurd than a dumb Exchange. These are some boon fellows, I know; the rogue is so perfect in his lerry.[241] Ditty and's comrades, perhaps; the rascal can never sing well till he has wetted his whistle at my house. He made me set up the sign o' th' Flying Horse for a Pegasus. Budget the tinker, too, is as good at cracking a pot as any, and Bristle the merriest, cunningest whoreson; he sells his traps twopence dearer, only by giving rules how to bait them--for a Dutch mouse, with butter forsooth, or bacon; and then for a Welsh one, toasted cheese is the best.

_Enter_ BUNG _again_.

BUNG. The gentlemen within desire your company.

WEL. What are they?

BUNG. The four churchwardens o' th' parish, that never exceed halfpence apiece at a morning's draught, must have a flagon instead of a black-pot, and fire, toast and nutmeg over and above; nay, sometimes a breakfast too.

WEL. And when they mount so high as a penny, drink at Widow Grunt's--she that has an eleven children, and say they are prodigal, merely out of charity to the poor orphan pigs; but at th' hall, on a court-day, can be as drunk as so many tinkers at Banbury, or nurses at a christ'ning! Pox on 'um, tell 'um I am busy with other company.

BUNG. Nay, sir, they protest they'll have your jug in.[242]

WEL. They shall have me too then, and for once I'll obey their summons; but let 'um expect to pay for all they call for, and therefore for me. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE VI.

_Enter_ GUM, _a tooth-drawer_.

GUM. Have you any corns upon your feet or toes? any teeth to draw? O, for a flood now or a whole year of rain, that every step may be up to the ankles in water, and cover every toe with a corn! May the shoemakers make all their shoes too strait, that they may pinch the sore-toed miser, and at every tread put him in mind of work for the corn-cutter! May the toothache be an hereditary disease, and prove infectious, or so many aldermen be turned into marble that the whole city may get rotten teeth with eating of sugar-plums and sweetmeats at their funerals.

_Enter_ DITTY.

DITTY. _The Seven Wise Men of Gotam_, _a Hundred Merry Tales_, _Scoggin's Jests_, or _A Book of Prayers and Graces for Young Children_.

GUM. What news-books, Ditty? Any proclamations that they must forfeit all their toes that have no corns, or that they must never eat good victuals that have not the toothache? Are red mufflers and slashed shoes come into fashion? They are as sure signs of the ache of teeth and toes as a red lattice of an alehouse.

DITTY. No, truly, Master Gum, I have none of these books, but I have as good. I have very strange news from beyond seas.

GUM. What is't? Do they want corn-cutters or tooth-drawers? prythee, let's hear it.

DITTY. The King of Morocco has got the black jaundice, and the Duke of Westphalia is sick of the swine-pox with eating bacon; the Moors increase daily, and the King of Cyprus mourns for the Duke of Saxony, that is dead of the stone; and Presbyter John is advanced to Zealand; the sea ebbs and flows but twice in four-and-twenty hours, and the moon has changed but once the last month.

GUM. Hold, hold! here's enough to tire the dove's neck, before she gets home.

_Enter_ BUDGET.

BUD. Well, I must strike whilst the iron's hot. Good Vulcan, be assistant, and grant that some spark of love may be kindled in her heart, and that I may with my compliments, as with the bellows of rhetoric, blow the coals of good-will, and with my forked arguments stir up the fire of affection in her! I have been filing my nose and anviling down my chin this two days, and yet just now there was scarce room enough for her sweet lips and mine to meet. She calls me Vulcan and Cyclops, and says I shall be hanged up for the sign of the _Black Boy_. But 'tis no matter. It may be, when she calls me Vulcan, she would have me make her my Venus!

DITTY. Who is this trough that he is about to run away with?

BUD. Well, I'll try both ways.

DITTY. How now, Budget? Can you sing your ballad yet? Come, are you perfect?

BUD. Not yet, Ditty; but is't to the tune o' th' _Bleeding Heart_, do you say?

DITTY. Ay, ay; but what makes you so pale, Budget? There's a cup of ale at mine host Welcome's will make your nose of another colour.

BUD. O Ditty, there is a nail knocked into my heart! It pricks, it pricks.

GUM. Why, if you can't wrench it out, we'll send for a smith.

DITTY. Has Cupid played the joiner with you, then? Who is't he has fastened to your heart with that nail? What metal is she made of, that you cannot hammer her?

BUD. It is the city's beauty!

DITTY. The city's beauty? who's that? One of my lord major's spaniels?

GUM. I knew a bitch of that name was a very pretty dog, and would fetch and carry as nimbly as any porter in the town.

BUD. What, villain, do you make a puppy of me! I'll kick you into glove-dogs, you mongrels, hell-hounds, whelps! [_Kicks them._

DITTY. Hold, good Budget, a jest is but a jest; I spoke but in jest.

GUM. Nor I, indeed, Master Budget.

BUD. Then I kicked you but in jest.

GUM. Ay, ay, sir, we take it so; you must think, if it had been in earnest, though it had been the best man i' th' land, he had kicked his last.

BUD. Had he so, slave?

GUM. Yes, when he had done kicking.

DIT. Good Budget, be pacified, and we'll recompense the injury we have done you with our forwardness to promote your desires and translation out of the circle of love into the wedding-ring.

BUD. Thanks, kind Ditty; walk along with me, and I will show thee the sweet empress of my heart. I am appeased. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE VII.

_Enter_ BRISTLE _and_ JENNITING.

BRIS. Yes, truly, I am one of the gentle craft, though I have got somewhat of the tailor's trade too; some hangers on--fellow-travellers, that I cannot be rid of, though, are still upon my back: they put me to foul shifts sometimes.

JEN. Then you know Crispianus?

BRIS. Yes, he is a saint amongst us, of whose votaries I am one, that each Monday morning liquor his altar with ale, and grease it with bacon.

JEN. So you sacrifice the hog to get the bristles?

BRIS. She knows my name, sure. [_Aside._] But 'tis no matter for him. Hereafter I'll know no saints but thee; be not therefore unkind, but look with a favourable aspect on him that can expect no bad influence from so benign a star.

JEN. You do but flatter me; I am not so good a one as you make me.

BRIS. Now, by Jove, thou art fairer than Calisto (and more like a bear), more divine than Cassiopeia! Do but consider that every sow has a ring, and will not you have one?

JEN. Well, Vamp, you know how to take the length of women's feet.

BRIS. Come, my Jenniting, we will have twins every year.

JEN. Such as shall be christened at Saint James' tide, I warrant!

BRIS. No, no; two boys and so many wenches, that we will furnish the whole city with herb-women and costermongers of our own progeny; there shall not be an apple-wife in the whole country but she shall be ingrafted into some branch of our family: not a day in the whole year shall pass but some tree of our stock shall be set, till we have enough to plant a wilderness and people it. Go, pack up thy treasure; the time flies too fast, but we'll outstrip it. To-night we'll be at a place some ten miles off, where a house ready-furnished waits for thee, with all things necessary for the celebration of our nuptials. I'll fit thee with a pair of shoes; let's see thy foot. It is of the eighteens; thou shalt have a strapping pair. Make haste.

JEN. Thanks, kind Vamp; all that I have is thine. [_Exit._

BRIS. I hope so, or else my plot fails me: if Heath speed with Nancy Curds as well as I have with Hanna Jenniting, we shall make quick work with 'um; we shall fledge ourselves before we fly. Let them husband what we leave 'um as well as they can. [_Exit._

## SCENE VIII.

_Enter_ HEATH _and_ CURDS.

HEATH. Yes, it is a very neat house; 'tis at the, sign of the Bull; 'tis newly covered with calves'-skins, and paved with knuckle-bones. Thou shalt not deny me; we'll be there to-night; and 'tis but three hours' journey. Let me have thy bundles of necessaries an hour hence, and I'll see 'um safe sent before. Thou shalt be the lady o' th' town.

CURDS. I have been one in my days, when we kept the Whitson ale, where we danced _The Building of London Bridge upon wool-packs_[243] and _The Hay_[244] upon a grass-plat, and when we were aweary with dancing hard, we always went to the cushion dance.

HEATH. Ay, we'll have dancing at our wedding too, when the cups of canary have made our heads frisk. O, how we shall foot it, when we can scarce stand, and caper when we are cut in the leg! The first year shall be a leap-year with us.

CURDS. What shall we have at our wedding dinner? We'll be sure of a plum-pudding, that shall be the very flower of the feast.

HEATH. Then a leg of beef shall walk round the table, like a city captain with a target of lamb before it: a snipe, with his long bill, shall be a serjeant, and a capon carry the drumsticks. Thou shalt be lady-general, and pick out the choicest of every dish for thy life-guard.

CURDS. I'll pay them to the full. [_Aside._

HEATH. Till anon good-bye. [_Exit_ HEATH.

_Enter_ BUDGET, DITTY, GUM.

DITTY. Pox o' thy ugly face! ca'st not sing but thou must cry too? Look, there she is; good Gum, hold my shop a little.

BUD. And mine too.

GUM. Now do I look like one of the pillars in the Exchange. [_Exit._

BUD. _Sweet lady, smile on me._

CURDS. [_Aside._] Hissing adders!

BUD. _Now merrily:_ _For if thou frown on me,_ _Sure I shall die._ BOTH. _Sure I shall die, &c._

CURDS. Croaking toads.

BUD. _Thy eyes, like a cockatrice,_ _Kill with a look:_ _They shine like the sun,_ _I'd swear on a book._

CURDS. Away, screech-owls!

BOTH. _I swear on a book, &c._ [_Exit_ CURDS.

BUD. Stay, Ditty, she is deaf, and would not hear though Orpheus played, nor be moved though the stones and trees danced.

DITTY. Give me thy letter then--I'll run after her and deliver it myself.

BUD. Prythee, do, kind-hearted Ditty.

DITTY. O, what a nimble Cupid shall I be! Venus herself will mistake me for her boy.

BUD. I'll wait here till thou returnest.

[_Exit_ DITTY.[245]

## SCENE IX.

_Enter_ BRISTLE _and_ HEATH.

BRIS. What, did she melt easily? Was she pliable?

HEATH. O, like cobbler's wax; she stuck to my fingers: I could hardly get her off, and had much ado to persuade her not to undo herself quite. She would have had me gone home and took all; nay, would have robbed her aunt too, but that I should cheat her sufficiently. This will be the best day's work I have done this many a year.

BRIS. And yet all my rhetoric could scarce persuade you to be wise.

HEATH. I am thy scholar, and thou shalt find I'll prove an apt one. If I am not as perfect at the art as thyself in a short time, may I never be made free, but always steal for others, and be hanged myself.

BRIS. Yet still thou owest thy learning unto me; if I had not been thy master, thou might'st have sat at home now with a cup of cold water and thy precious jewel, a contented mind, wishing thou hadst but money enough to pay a forfeit for being drunk, though thy empty pockets forced thee to be sober.

HEATH. Come, prythee, leave; I myself do now laugh at my former ignorance. Thou hast infused a new soul into me; thou hast played hocus-pocus with me, I think, and juggled Gusmond or country Tom's legerdemain into me. There's not such a change in all the Metamorphosis.

BRIS. And now thou hast[246] bargained with thy whey-faced wench, what hast thou gained by the project? nothing but wit.

HEATH. Yes, a silver bodkin and thimble, and as many curds as would serve the court ladies for a twelvemonth, besides the box laden with all the plate and household stuff that her pitchy fingers could stick to in six years' service, with which I believe she now waits for me at the appointed place. What we can't turn into money we will into ale, and drink it out. Mine host Welcome has a cup of blessed lull.[247]

BRIS. Away, make haste, we'll empty his cellar to-night, and draw his barrels out into our hogshead.

HEATH. I'll outfly the swift. [_Exit_ HEATH.

BRIS. But scarce outgo an owl. This fellow will I so tutor, that he shall rob Mercury himself, surpass Prometheus, and steal the sun from heaven! Filch away Venus's box of beauty, and pawn it to ladies, not to be redeemed but by the golden apple that Paris gave her! Jupiter's thunder, too, and sell it to besieged towns for granadoes!

_Enter_ JENNITING _with a bundle_.

O, here comes my precious Hanna, never so lovely as now, when she brings a bundle along with her! That beauty-spot makes her look fair. Come, my sweeting; every minute was an age till thou camest. But why so wrinkled? Those looks do not become a bride.

JEN. Is there no danger of drowning? I am ready to sink every time I think of the water. I cannot choose but quake ever since I was in the ducking-stool.

BRIS. Never fear it. Thou shalt be Queen o' th' Thames, and command the waves; be crowned with water-cresses, and enrobed in watered grogerum. The Nymphs shall curl thy hair, and Syrens sing thy nuptials. The sea shall drink thy health, till it spews and purges again, and swell with pride, that it can carry thee.

JEN. These lines are strong enough to hold an anchor.

BRIS. Dolphins shall bring musicians on their backs, and spout out cans of beer beyond the conduits on the Mayor's-day.

JEN. We'll have a fish-dinner, too, and the Lady o' th' Lobster shall be Mistress o' th' Feast.

BRIS. Yes, yes; and Triton's trumpet shall echo up each mess, while we sound the bottom of our ocean cups, and drown god Neptune in a sea of wine! But let not your sister Nancy hear of it for your ears. She'll raise a tempest will ship-wreck all our hopes; she'll storm louder than the winds. Meet me here two hours hence with all your tacklings. I'll see this bundle shall be safe. The ruddy sky promises a fair gale; if the winds fail us and blow enviously, we'll blast Æolus. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE X.

_Enter_ DITTY.

DITTY. Well, if ever I carry love-letters again, may they make a love-letter of me; turn my skin to paper, my skull to an inkhorn, and make a pen of my nose; it will be excellent for a fast hand, for it runs continually, and is so moist that it will write without ink! Nay, if ever I thrust myself into wedding businesses again, may a piece of match be my bane; may the bridegroom wring my ears off, hang me in the bride's garter, or drown me in the sack posset; and if he bury me, bestow this threadbare epitaph--

_Here lieth Tom Ditty under this stone,_ _That carried love-letters; reader, go on,--_ _But stay! wouldst thou know the cause of his death?_ _Th' long-winded letter put him out of breath._

The next epistle I carry for Budget, he shall carry himself; I'll not be his post, to be her beating-block too. Pox on's kettledrum! 'tis good for nothing but to call the moon out of an eclipse, and he'll serve for nought neither, but a chimney-sweeper's shadow, or bugbear to fright froward children. I'll have some revenge on him, and deliver him up into her hands. If she do not sufficiently punish him, I'll forgive him.

_Enter_ BUDGET.

DITTY. O, here comes the chimney, the man of soot, the picture of smoke and cinders!

BUD. O Ditty! I see by thy face there's ill news.

DITTY. Ay, pox on't! I was set upon yonder by a company of women, and had like to have been scolded into a cripple for singing _Room for Cuckolds_ t'other day.

BUD. But what said my Nancy? Did she smile, and say that all her denials were maiden's nays? Is she softened, and will she now let me taste her strawberry lips willingly?

DITTY. Yes, and give you cream to 'um too. Why, she is almost mad for you, and has bespoke a place in Bedlam already. If you do not go quickly and recover her, she'll either be turned into a kettle with grief, or melt into bell-metal, that she may be made a posnet of. Nay, and desired me to tell you that if after her transformation she chance ever to come under your hands to be mended, she would desire you to use her gently, and that you should know which was she, she had provided in her will that H. L. may be set on her handle for Nancy Curdwell.

BUD. I will, I will; I'll mend her with sugar-nails and a Naples biscuit-hammer. But is there no way to persuade her to live still a woman? I would be loth to carry my wife at my back, and have one with three legs.

DITTY. If you make haste, you may chance to come before she is quite changed; you may save a leg, perhaps, or an arm of flesh yet; but I believe the most part of her is brass already.

BUD. Good Ditty, go along with me; if she be a pot before I come, I'll weep it full of tears, and then be boiled to death in't. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE XI.

_Enter_ GUM _with the Tinker's budget and Ballad-man's_ _box_.

Any old pots or kettles to mend? Will you buy my ballads? or have you any corns on your feet-toes? Nay, I am Jack-of-all-trades now. Three is a perfect number, and so many I have. Nay, Master Tinker, you kicked me to-day; but since you are so light of your heels, I'll make you walk after your budget before you have it. 'T shall be in trouble presently, not to be delivered without a fee. I'll drink as much ale on the kettle as will fill it; the rest o' th' tools shall go for jugs apiece; and then, Master Ditty, I will be merry with your ballads, too. They must be in lavender a little, and soak. If they will but yield me draughts apiece, I care not, and the box shall serve to score on. But stay, had I not better burn it, to bake the toasts and warm the ale? Hang't! 'tis but engaging the books twopence or a groat deeper, and have some three or four bundles of straws like faggots, and 'twill be _a-la-mode_.

_Enter_ BRISTLE _and_ HEATH _with bundles_. GUM _retires_.

BRIS. She'll say I am a pretty jewel to run away with her cabinet; but 'tis no matter. This box will make me flourish all the year long.

GUM. So, so; here are companions that will help drink the sea dry: mere gulfs or whirlpools, that suck in all that comes nigh 'um.

BRIS. Come, Heath, open thy treasury. What's the first pearl?

GUM. These ale-suckers, too, are a-going to liquor some prize that their lime-twig fingers have seized upon.

HEATH. A pair of silver-handled knives. These, I believe, she made when she lived with my Lady May'ress. Next, a pair of white gloves; these she had at the funeral of a dear friend, for whose sake she meant to be buried in 'um herself; and how would Cerberus take it, to see one come to hell with a dog-skin pair of gloves? A silken garter! This, I warrant it, she had at a wedding, and intended to bestow it on her own bridemaid. Then a pair of scissors----

GUM. Sure, these villains have robbed an haberdasher, and stole a box of small-ware. [_Aside._

HEATH _sings_.

_Come out to the light,_ _Than which thou'rt more bright:_ _This box thee no longer shall harbour._ _'Tis thou that hast made_ _Me o' th' triple trade--_ _A tailor, a sempster, a barber._ _With thee I will shave_ _The barbarian slave,_ _And trim up the youngsters of Poland,_ _Make a jump of Aleppo,_ _Of Friesland a[nd] Joppo,_ _And a stately brave shirt of Holland._

GUM. [_Coming forward_.] Well sung of a woodcock. Come, thou must go have thy pipe tuned at mine host Welcome's; thou art like the glass pipe, that will never whistle but when there's water in't.

HEATH. Ho, ho! What, furniture for a whole fair upon thy back at once? Dressed up just like the wooden boys on haberdashers' stalls.

BRIS. Three strings to thy bow at once? Sure, thou canst not break when thou hast such a triple cord to hold thee.

GUM. A single one, I believe, would spoil your drinking; 'twould tie up your guzzle.

BRIS. But how dar'st thou walk abroad before owl-light? Dost think there's no birds stirring still that will spy out these feathers? Come, off with thy box of poetry, the Muses' warehouse, Calliope's Cabinet. 'Tis ominous to have the string about thy neck. If thou art taken with 'um, thou may'st be condemned to make as many wry mouths as the squeaking owner did, when he last strained and vomited 'um out at Smithfield or Pye Corner.

GUM. O, there's no fear of that, though he that these call master had my neck in a slip. These are Ditty's, and these Budget's; they gave 'um me to hold a little; but I'll carry 'um to the Flying Horse, and change 'um for a cup of Helicon, which will in half an hour make me able to repay the paltry rhymes in heroic verse.

BRIS. Come, shall we join together? we three are able to sponge up all the ale i' th' city, and raise the price of malt.

GUM. A match; as far as these will go, I'm for you.

HEATH. And when they're gone, we'll drink our very shirts out, and then pawn ourselves too. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE XII.

_Enter_ JENNITING _and_ CURDS.

JEN. Was he a butcher, say you?

CURDS. Ay, and called me his pretty lamb and his sweetbread; told me he would meet me here two hours ago, and promised me mountains; but bid me I should not tell you on't.

JEN. They are mere rogues, very jugglers; they have cheated us both. Just so did the shoemaker do to me.

CURDS. He has got my box of milled sixpences and Harry groats: the gilded scissors that were given me for a New Year's gift, and my bodkin and thimble.

JEN. I would they might both feed upon nothing but rotten apples, and be choked with pears!

CURDS. Or a piece of clout be left in the next fresh cheese they eat, and strangle 'um; or a favourable spider drop into the cream, and drown himself, that he may poison them.

_Enter_ DITTY _and_ BUDGET.

DITTY. 'Slife, lose [not] this opportunity; there she is; on, I say, and I'll be your second. I warrant she had been dead before this time, but that she smelt your breath hard by, or else knew by sympathy that you were coming.

BUD. Did the letter work so strangely on her, are you sure? I would not willingly venture my lips for a kiss, or my eyes for a look.

DITTY. Why, I tell thee she was so nigh a dissolution when I left her, that I thought to have found her in a sand-box, or begged by some vintner to keep bottled wine in, before I could return.

BUD. Well, I'll try, though she squeeze me into verjuice, and stamp my bones into small coal, that they may be twice burnt. [_Advances._] O my honeycomb, milksop Nancy, whiter than the powder of chalk, and (like it) able to scour off the dirt of sullied drabs, and paint them with a brightness as glustering as thy own.

CURDS. Out, you sooty goblin, besmeared dolt! dost think I'll couple with a negro, to bring forth magpies, half white and half black? Take me for a bee, to knit at the sound of a brass kettle or frying-pan? Bundle of charcoal, furred crock, dost think I'll hang in thy pot-hook arm? Hence, or I'll beat thee worse than the Bridewell crew does hemp!

DITTY. Ay, ay, read him the same lesson you conned me!

BUD. Sweet Mistress Curds, be not so sour. Good Ditty, stop her mouth.

DITTY. Hold, hold, Nancy! He thought all women like pots of ale, and that tinkers might call for 'um as freely as the finest customer; this crab-tree lecture will teach him better manners hereafter.

JEN. Ay, sister, do not foul your mouth any more with the checker-faced scullion; let him go.

DITTY. Come, then, and shake hands; we'll fine him for's sauciness, and his ransom shall be half a dozen at mine host Welcome's. Come, come, you shall be friends, and I'll perfect the reconciliation with a song.

BUD. Half a dozen! We'll score out all the chalk i' th' house, and make the tapster fetch one o' th' city clerks to sum up the reckoning.

JEN. Come, sister, let's go drink sorrows dry; and a woman's anger should be like jack-weights--quickly up and quickly down. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE XIII.

_Enter_ WELCOME.

WEL. Ay, ay, 'tis the rich face that keeps us from poverty. If the tailor's countenance were in fashion now, and all that had fiery faces were counted comets, what a decay would there be amongst our houses of good fellowship. How our cans would rot and jugs grow musty for want of use! I would the whole city were jugs and cans, that they might never be in good case but when they're full of good liquor. I fear this will be a bad year for all of our profession; salt meats are grown out of fashion, and Lent will be forgotten this year, and, for aught I know, the next Papist that's drunk may make the people condemn it for superstition because he uses it. Forbid, thou who ever art patron of good fellowship!

_Enter_ BUNG.

BUNG. [_To some one within._] I'll be with you presently. Master, can you give me a groat and sixpence for a twopence.

WEL. Who is't for?

BUNG. For a couple of strangers i' th' King's Head; they have sat preaching this two hours over two cans, and called me rogue and rascal for not giving attendance, and setting a chamber-pot for 'um. They've twopence to pay.

WEL. Then thou'dst have me give 'um eightpence to be gone, ha!

BUNG. A groat and twopence for a sixpence, I mean.

WEL. There 'tis; go, be nimble. [_Exit_ BUNG.] We have had but small takings to-day; men have got the squincy or stopping of the throat, I think--they drink so slowly. May it turn to the dropsy, that they may never be weary of drinking, but that every draught may but make room for two more! 'Twill never be a good world while there's any but Welsh taverns, such as sell nothing but ale and tobacco; these French and Spanish ones will be the undoing of us all; men are grown such dottrels, that they had rather give five or six shillings to be drunk, like the Spaniard, with canary, or the Frenchman, with claret, than so many pence to be foxed with their own native beer.

_Enter_ BUNG.

BUNG. O master, master, yonder's Ditty and Budget come in with two doxies! Ditty swears he'll have one of 'um, though she cuckold him the first night, and clap a pair of horns upon his head, that will confine him to his chamber till rutting-time come, and he shed 'um.

WEL. Who are they which they're enamoured so with?

BUNG. The one's Nancy Curds and the other Hanna Jenniting; Ditty and Jenniting are agreed already; now, if you'll go promote Budget's suit, and make a conclusion between him and Curds, the wedding will be kept at our house, and we shall, besides the getting by the victuals, put off the barrel of sour beer by and by. [_Exit._

WEL. Well said, Bung: the crafti'st knave alive! I should be glad to see both Budget and Ditty in the way of multiplying; all their progeny cannot choose but be friends to the black pot, and will be notable tipplers, I warrant 'um, as soon as they come to the sucking-bottle. I'll go myself and contract 'um. [_Exit._

## SCENE XIV.

_Enter_ BRISTLE, HEATH, GUM.

BRIS. Pox o' the ugly baboon! she has got a face like a Bartholomew Fair baby, and a mouth like the whale that swallowed a whole fleet. Her fingers are rolling-pins, and her arms coal-staves! Hang her, what should women do with money, or anything that's good?

HEATH. You say true. If we had let 'um alone, I warrant these boxes had been kept till they were mouldy, visited but once a quarter, and at last bequeathed by will and testament to some silly sober well-wisher of hers in her lifetime.

BRIS. One that never drank above four-shilling beer but once at a christening, and then had like to have got a red nose by it, cannot distinguish between a jug and a flagon, never was in an alehouse, knows not what a bush means, nor ever spent above twopence in his life, and that was upon a prayer-book.

GUM. Your tongues, methinks, run very glib; I wonder they do not screek for want of liquor. What, tapster? attendance here.

BUNG. Anon, anon, sir; I have it in my hand.

_Enter_ TAPSTER.

TAP. You're welcome, gentlemen; here's a cup of the best ale in London.

BRIS. How? gentlemen? untutored slave, saucy villain! Gentlemen? why, sirrah, do I look like a gentleman? I scorn thy terms, and let this kick put thee in mind of better language.

BUNG. Cry you mercy, I mistook you indeed.

HEATH. Sirrah, we'll make you know who you mistake; call one of your master's best customers gentleman!

BUNG. [_To some one outside._] Anon, anon, sir; I'll be with you presently.

BRIS. Sirrah, bid your master come in.

[_Exit_ TAPSTER.

GUM. Come, here's a round to the first inventor of the famous art of drinking.

BRIS. No, no; to the first finder out of the noble art of brewing; for we should be forced to drink water else.

HEATH. To neither; but to the first most commendable alehouse-keeper that sold three cans for twopence; he is the chief benefactor we have. Come, three cans to his health!

GUM, BRIS. A match!

_Enter_ WELCOME, DITTY, BUDGET, JENNITING, CURDS.

WEL. Set you merry, my merry, merry lads; what, do the cans dance nimbly?

HEATH. Yes, but we want a pipe or two; good mine host, let's have some whiff.

WEL. Here's a musician; honest Ditty and Budget too: if they do not make up the consort, they are very much out of tune.

DITTY. O Gum, have we found you out? my box, you slave!

BUD. And my budget!

WEL. Come, set about, set about, my boon companions.

BRIS. A devil on your snout! oatmeal face and tallow-chops, how came you hither with a pox, trow?

HEATH. Look here, Bristle, how like shorn sheep they look. Where shall we run? they have cast me into a fit o' th' shaking palsy.

BRIS. Come, we'll outface 'um.

WEL. Come, sit down, my jovial boys, and roar. This night we'll suck up all the dew.

_Enter_ BUNG, _with tobacco_.

BUNG. Here's a pipe o' th' best tobacco that Christendom affords; it grew under the King of Spain's own window. [_To other customers._] By and by; what do you want, sirs? [_Exit._

DITTY. And I warrant he used to fling pisspots out on't.

WEL. We'll drink ourselves into fish, and eat ourselves into cormorants; we'll not fast, though it be an eve to a surfeiting gawdy day.

HEATH. Is't an eve, say you? pray, what holiday is to-morrow?

WEL. Budget's and Ditty's nuptials. Drink freely; all is paid already, and you are Ditty's guests to-night as well as mine. There sit the brides. You shall not leave my house to-night, that I may be sure of you to-morrow morning at the solemnities; be merry then, and free. I'll pardon you your groats to-morrow, and none shall forfeit but he that is not drunk. [_Exit_ WELCOME.

HEATH, BRIS, GUM. Joy to the brides and bridegrooms!

DITTY. Gentlemen, you may see how quickly a man may be shuffled into a wedding; we liked at first sight, and why should we then defer our joys any longer?

BUD. Like the Spanish, I was beaten into love; but at last have overcome, thanks to mine host, that took my part.

CURDS. And I cheated into a bride; he that stole away my box made up the match between you and me.

BRIS. Is't so, i' faith? then, mistress bride, pray take this box. You know it, I believe, and me too.

HEATH. And you this bundle.

JEN. The thing I was cheated of! Art thou the thief too? O, the very villain!

CURDS. Lay hold of 'um, sweet Budget--the slaves that cheated us in a disguise.

DITTY. Come, what's the matter? we'll have no quarrelling to-night; we forgive all.

GUM. Then your books may be freed for eighteen-pence; that's all they are engaged for yet, and the budget but for two shillings.

DITTY, BUD. We forgive most willing.

DITTY. A porter would not have carried 'um so far for the price.

BRIS. Here's a health to the brides, then, out of an extinguisher. I'll find 'um in mice-traps, brushes, steel and tinder-box all their lifetime.

HEATH. And I with brooms.

GUM. I'll cut their corns for nothing, and draw their teeth for a touch of their lips.

DITTY. Defer that health till to-morrow; in the meanwhile let's have on[e] to the genius of good ale.

OMNES. Begin't, begin't!

DITTY. _Submit, bunch of grapes,_ _To the strong barley ear:_ _The weak vine no longer_ _The laurel shall wear._

BUD. _Sack and all drinks else,_ _Desist from the strife,_ _Ale's th' only aqua vitæ_ _And liquor of life._

ALL TOG. _Then come, my boon fellows,_ _Let's drink it around;_ _It keeps us from th' grave,_ _Though it lays us o' th' ground._

BUD. _Ale's a physician,_ _No mountebank bragger,_ _Can cure the chill ague,_ _Though't be with the stagger._

DITTY. _Ale's a strong wrestler,_ _Flings all it hath met,_ _And makes the ground slippery,_ _Though't be not wet._

OMNES. _But come, my boon, &c._

DITTY. _Ale is both Ceres_ _And good Neptune too;_ _Ale's froth was the sea,_ _From whence Venus grew._

BUD. _Ale is immortal,_ _And be there no stops,_ _In bonny lads quaffing,_ _Can live without hops,_

OMNES. _Then come, my boon fellows,_ _Let's drink it around,_ _It keeps us from th' grave,_ _Though it lays us o' th' ground._

[_All drink._

_Enter_ WELCOME.

WEL. Well said, my whistling birds; 'tis spring with you all the year long, while the ale flourishes. Come, I have provided a supper will tire your teeth; 'tis but a prologue, though, of to-morrow's feast. I hope your appetites need no provocations. It now waits for you, but will not be ready till you concoct it. Come then, cheer up, my buxom girls; the cakes and posset my wife shall provide, and I'll engage myself to be father to you both. Ditty's ballads and his budget shall be cut out into favours and gloves. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[239] See Hazlitt's "Handbook," art. Jack. Only a second part is at present known.

[240] It is well known that in our old inns the various rooms had separate names.

[241] The usual burden of a song.

[242] This points to the custom of the landlord, when he joined any guests at a table, contributing a free jug or bottle.

[243] This saying arose from the duty on wool, levied to defray the cost of rebuilding the bridge (Knight's "London," i. 79). Nancy alludes to a dance so called.

[244] A well-known and often-quoted dance. See the poem by N. Breton, in "England's Helicon," 1600, repr. Collier, p. 222.

[245] Although Budget promises to await Ditty's return, he appears to retire to the back of the stage.

[246] Old copy, _hast thou_.

[247] Ale.

EPILOGUE.

WELCOME _the Host_.

Gentlemen and ladies, I am sent to you, Not to beg cast-by sheets, a shirt or two, Or clouts for th' teeming women, nor bespeak Gossips or guests against the christ'ning week: No off'ring for the married couple. What, then? Only to bid you welcome, gentlemen, Before your parting; and for th' women, beg That, when they travail, you'ld not sit cross-leg. But when their notes are turn'd to childbirth cries, You'd cry good speed to their deliveries; And if our cries have wanted mirth or wit, There's one more left, _We cry you mercy yet!_

THE SHEPHERDS' HOLIDAY.

_EDITION._

_The Shepheards Holy-day. A pastorall tragi-Comoedie._ _Acted before their Majesties at Whitehall by the Queenes_ _Servants. With an Eligie on the death of the most Noble Lady, the Lady Venetia Digby. London, Printed by N. and I. Okes for Iohn Benson.... 1635. 8o._

[This is one of the pieces which Isaac Reed did not retain in the edition of 1780, nor is it in that of 1825. Yet there is no apparent ground for its exclusion.

A piece bearing the same title as Rutter's was written by Sir W. Denny at a later date, and is printed from the original MS. in "Inedited Poetical Miscellanies," 1870.

It seems to be a hypothesis sufficiently plausible to justify a passing notice, in that one of the suppressed printed at the end of the "Private Memoirs of Sir Kinelm Digby," 1827, the intimacy of Digby with a royal personage is described in very warm terms and colours, and that Rutter, who was in Digby's family at one time, may have founded on what came to his ears the episode of Sylvia and Thyrsis in this production.]

[DODSLEY'S PREFACE.]

This author wrote in the reign of Charles the First. He lived with the Earl of Dorset, as tutor to his son, and translated, at the desire of his patron, the Cid of Corneille, a tragi-comedy, in two parts [1640-50, 8o]. It appears, from his dedication of this pastoral to Sir Kenelm Digby, that he lived also with that gentleman for some time, but in what capacity I cannot tell. The plainness and simplicity of this pastoral is commended by Thomas May, author of "The Heir" and "The Old Couple;" and also by Ben Jonson in the following lines--

"I have read And weigh'd your play; untwisted every thread, And know the woof and warp thereof; can tell Where it runs round and even; where so well, So soft, and smooth it handles, the whole piece, As it were, spun by nature off the fleece."

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

THYRSIS, _the lover of Sylvia_. HYLAS, _the lover of Nerina_. MIRTILLUS, _the common lover_. DAPHNIS, _the rich shepherd_. MONTANUS, _an ancient shepherd_. CHARINUS, _father to Nerina_. ALCON, an ancient shepherd. NUNTIUS.

_Chorus of Shepherds._

SYLVIA, _beloved of Thyrsis_. NERINA, _a huntress, beloved of Hylas and of Daphnis_. DORINDA, _enamoured of Daphnis_. DELIA, _a court lady_.

EUARCHUS, _king of Arcady_. EUBULUS, _his councillor_. CLEANDER, _son to Eubulus_. _Attendants._

_The Scene, Arcady._

THE PROLOGUE FOR THE STAGE.

To this fair company I am to say, You're welcome all to a well-meaning play; For such our author made it, with intent To defame none. His muse is innocent: A virgin yet, that has not found the ways Out of foul crimes to raise herself a praise; And therefore she desires you would excuse All bitter strains, that suit a satire muse: And that which so much takes the vulgar ear-- Looseness of speech, which they for jests do hear. She hopes none such are here, therefore she dares Venture this story, purg'd from lighter airs: A piece entire, without or patch or maim, Round in itself, and everywhere the same. And if there be not in't what they call wit, There might have been, had it been thought so fit. A shepherd's muse gently of love does sing, And with it mingles no impurer thing. Such she presents unto your ears and eyes, And yet your Christian freedom not denies Of liking or disliking what you will: You may say this is well, or that is ill, Without dispute; for why should you that pay For what you have, be taught what you should say? Or made to judge by any square or rule, As if you came not to a stage, but school? No, he that made it says, if you will eat, He will not force your stomachs: there's your meat; Which if you like, 'tis well; if not, all's one; There must be difference in opinion. Besides, he's sure, whatever he could wish, Your taste, and not his art, must praise the dish.

The Shepherds' Holiday.

ACTUS I., SCENA I.

THYRSIS, MONTANUS.

THYR. Here in this grove I left her, here amongst These poplars, laurels, and these sycamores, Guilty of her sad loss: and yet behold They do appear as fresh and full of verdure, As when my love, clothed in her clearest looks, Did give them grace and lustre. Why do we, Poor silly men, bred up in cares and fear, The nurse of our religion, stoop to Nature, That only knows to form, not to preserve What she has made; since, careless of her work, She leaves to giddy Fortune the whole power Of ruling us? These senseless trees stand still, And flourish too, and in their pride upbraid My loss to me; but my dear Sylvia being Nature's best piece, made to excuse the rest Of all her vulgar forms, ah me! was left To desolation, till some horrid satyr, Bred in these woods, and furious in his lusts, Made her his prey; and now has carried her Into his dark retirings, or some cave, Where her poor Thyrsis never more shall see her. But I will be reveng'd: this wood, that now Is so bedeck'd with leaves and fresh array, I'll level with the ground, until it be As desolate as I.

MON. Alas, poor shepherd! [_Aside._

THYR. It shall afford no shade to anything, That hither us'd to come for its relief; But henceforth be for ever infamous: That, when some gentle shepherd passes by, And sees this ground rent with the crooked plough: Here, he may say, here 'twas that Sylvia Was lost, and then shall turn another way.

MON. Good Thyrsis, do not make so much of grief, Y' have fed it with too many tears already; Take comfort now.

THYR. What has my present state To do with comfort? If you see the trees Widow'd of leaves, the earth grown hard, and spoil'd Of the green mantles which she wont to wear, You wonder not if winter then appear.

MON. By these we know that season.

THYR. And must I, When she is gone, whose sun-like eyes did cherish An everlasting summer in my life, Feel any spring of joy to comfort me? No, father, grief with me is best in season.

MON. But whilst you mourn thus, who looks to your flock?

THYR. All as the shepherd is, such be his flocks, So pine and languish they, as in despair He pines and languishes; their fleecy locks Let hang disorder'd, as their master's hair, Since she is gone that deck'd both him and them. And now what beauty can there be to live, When she is lost that did all beauty give?

MON. But yet, methinks, for one that is a stranger, Scarce known to any here, but by her name, These plaints are overmuch. Besides, there are In fruitful Arcady as fair as she: I'm sure more rich and wise: make out of them A choice. Nerina is as fair as she, Dorinda's flocks are more than Sylvia's, And carry on their backs more wool than hers.

THYR. Let such base peasants as the gods do hate Admire their wealth and them for what they have, Their bodies' and their souls material Alike of drossy substance are compounded, And can contemplate nothing but the earth. No, Sylvia, whom some better god, perhaps For the reward of my well-tuned pipe, Sent down to me, made up of air and fire; Though since, because I knew not how to use With fair respect a gift so great as she, Has justly reft her from me,--is so much, So great a part of me, that in her absence Amidst my grief I feel some little joy, To see how much of me each minute wasteth, And gives me hope, that when I shall dissolve This earthly substance, and be pure as she (For sure the gods have ta'en her undefil'd), I may enjoy her looks, and though it be Profane to touch a hallowed thing like her, I may adore her yet, and recompense With my religion the proud thoughts I had Once to enjoy her.

MON. See how fond you are T'embrace a shadow, and to leave the substance! The love of Hylas to Nerina has More hopes than yours; though she be young and coy, Yet whilst Nerina is and Hylas too, One time or other they may both have joy.

THYR. May they prove happy in each other's love, And nothing please, but what each other do; For so liv'd Thyrsis and his Sylvia: Whilst Sylvia was, and Thyrsis was her love. Whatever Thyrsis pip'd, pleas'd Sylvia; Thyrsis admir'd whatever Sylvia sung, And both their joys were equal or but one. Well, I can now remember (and it is Some comfort to remember what I moan) That, when our loves began, how first I gaz'd On her, and she was pleas'd that I should look, Till greedily I had devour'd the hook. Love gave me courage then to speak my thoughts, And gave her pity to receive my words, They link'd our hearts together: from that time, Whene'er she saw me strike the furious boar, Though then my case she ru'd, and sigh'd full oft, Yet was she pleas'd to see my victory, And I receiv'd my vigour from her eye. Then would she make me chaplets of the best And choicest flowers, to adorn my head: Which when I wore, methought I did then grasp The empire of the world. But what of that? The more I then enjoy'd of heavenly bliss, The more my present grief and passion is.

MON. Well, Thyrsis, since my words do but renew The story of your grief, I'll leave to use Persuasions to you; for 'tis time, I see, And not my words, must cure your malady. [_Exit._

THYR. That time must put a period to my life, Or else it never will unto my grief: Come, boy, and under this same hanging bough The note, which thou attemper'st to my words, Sing, and be happier than thy master, boy.

1.

BOY. _Shall I, because my love is gone,_ _Accuse those golden darts,_ _Which to a blessed union_ _Struck our two loving hearts,_ _Since fortune, and not love, hath caus'd my moan?_

2.

_No, her pure image I shall prize,_ _Imprinted in my breast,_ _More than the fairest mistress' eyes,_ _That ever swain possessed,_ _Which in eternal bonds my fancy ties._

3.

_Come then, you sharpest griefs, and try_ _If you can pierce my heart,_ _But use, if you would have me die,_ _The best you can of art,_ _To wound a breast so arm'd with constancy._

THYR. Enough: I'll sigh the rest out. Go, my boy, Be careful of thy tender lambs, whilst I Seek out some hidden place to pine and die.

SCENA II.

HYLAS, MIRTILLUS.

Believe, Mirtillus, never any love Was bought with other price than love alone, Since nothing is more precious than itself: It being the purest abstract of that fire Which wise Prometheus first indu'd us with; And he must love that would be lov'd again.

MIR. Why, who can say Mirtillus does not love? Mirtillus, he who has employ'd his youth Ever in service of the fairest nymphs.

HYL. Mirtillus cannot love.

MIR. No, gentle Hylas? This riband and this hair you see me wear, Are they not ensigns of a lover? Say, What shepherdess whom ever swain thought fair, Has not Mirtillus courted, and obtain'd Some favour from. But you will think, because I do not fold my arms, and sigh, and spend The days, the gods have given me to rejoice, In whining passion, walking still alone, Now proud with hopes, then cast down with despair, Unequal to myself in everything, I cannot love. No, Hylas, know I love Dorinda, Chloris, Amarillis, all Whom ever love did to his altars call: And when this mistress frowns, I am content To take another; when that flame is spent By time, or put out by a rival, straight A third supplies her place, perhaps more worthy; If less, because she loves, I'll think her so.

HYL. Alas, Mirtillus! I do pity thee-- Pity the error which thou wander'st in, That think'st thou lov'st, and know'st not what it is.

MIR. Why, what is love, say you, if mine be not?

HYL. I know, Mirtillus, that no lover yet Purchas'd a lasting pleasure without grief; For love has gall in it as well as honey, And so compounded that, whosoe'er will taste The sweets of it, must take the bitter too, Out of both which is made our constancy. You, that embrace the false delights alone, Are a feign'd lover or (more truly) none.

MIR. I know not what you mean by constancy: I'm sure I love the fairest.

HYL. Still you err; For, if you lov'd the fairest, none had been The object of your choice but my Nerina; Nerina, she the glory of these woods, The only subject of all shepherds' song.

MIR. She has her share of beauty with the rest, And I confess she's fit for love as any; But why she only should take up your breast, And shut out all that have a right as good, Whose equal or transcendent beauty pleads As just a title to't as hers can do, I cannot reach the reason, but admire Your faith and (what you praise) your constancy.

HYL. Mirtillus, though I know your stubborn heart Could never entertain a lover's thought, Yet did I think you would have been more tender How you profan'd a name so sacred as Nerina's is, whom never any swain, Nor rural god, nor satyr, though he be Of savage kind, would ever violate: Nerina, in whose form love ever dwells, Attended by the Graces, which do range Themselves in order 'bout her comely face: Whose breasts without are hills of whitest snow, Within, the seat of blameless modesty, Regard of honour and pure chastity; Nor may a loose thought ever harbour there To tempt such lovers as you seem to be: Is it for that you slight her?

MIR. No, I love her As I do others, with whom I compare her. But you, that love with such intemperance, Make of your love a glass, wherein you see Each thing much greater than indeed it is: My love's too cold, you say; but I am sure Yours is too hot for any to endure: A mean, perhaps, 'twixt these I might approve.

HYL. You might, if there were any mean in love.

MIR. But whilst we talk thus, see, the flame has caught you; Your beauteous flame, Nerina, is at hand, Dorinda with her: dare you stay th' encounter?

HYL. No, let's withdraw, and watch her, where she goes.

SCENA III.

NERINA, DORINDA.

Dorinda, I have miss'd the chase to-day, Such is my chance, and he that lodg'd the deer Told me it was the fairest in these woods.

DOR. The gods do love you, sure, that thus have left Your thoughts so free for sport; mine are not so.

NER. Thou art in love, I warrant, art thou not?

DOR. That angry god pursues me in his fury, And forces me to love where I am scorn'd. Hapless Dorinda, why should he despise thee? Many a swain and many a rural god Have sought thy favours, and have sought in vain: Now thou art justly punish'd with disdain.

NER. Trust me, sweetheart, I cannot choose but wonder, To think that one of such a comely grace-- I do not flatter you--could sue to any For love, who are much fitter to be lov'd: Scorn him as much as he does thee; for men Love us no more! when we love them again.

DOR. Ah, good Nerina, you have spoken truth: It may warn other nymphs by my example, How they profess their loves to any man: I am past cure, for[248] he that wounded me Has left me quite disarm'd, and robb'd me of All those defensive arts which men will say Are natural and proper to our sex. I cannot change a face or weep one tear, Or laugh against my will, so violently My fate hath thrust me to this love, that all My faculties confess their weakness; and My flame is got so much above my reach, I cannot put it out, nor smother it.

NER. Alas, poor wench! tell me, who is the man Made up of so much rigid cruelty, That I may shun him wheresoe'er I go.

DOR. Do not you know him?

NER. No.

DOR. I hear he boasts To every shepherd and to every nymph How much I love him.

NER. Then it must be Daphnis.

DOR. Venus forgive me if I do disclose him, But he will do't himself: 'tis he, Nerina.

NER. Daphnis, that wooes my father to win me; He is my daily suitor; now I know How much he owes to pity and to thee; Until he pay that debt, I shall despise him.

DOR. Why, do not you love him as much as I?

NER. Love him! I know no greater misery, Than to love one that's not of human race-- A tiger rather; but a tiger is more mild Than he.

DOR. For love's sake, say not so! He has a manly feature, and does show As much of grace in his comportment as The best of shepherds can; him Titan made Of better clay than he did other men, Although his heart be flint and hardest rock. Yet is his heart so hard, or are my parts Rather unequal to his high deserts? For he can love, I see, since you he loves, And you deserve it. Had he thought me worthy, He would have lov'd me too; but as I am Worthless Dorinda, I am made his scorn, And I had rather be so, than Nerina Should want a servant such as Daphnis is.

NER. Prythee, no more of him: I hate his name As much as I would do the loss of honour, Which he injuriously would rob me of. No, no, Dorinda, if by love I be Enthrall'd to any, Daphnis is not he.

DOR. Why, is there any can deserve you more?

NER. Yes, many, that I could tell how to love Rather than him: for why should I love him, Whilst Hylas lives, and languishes for me? Hylas, who lov'd me in my infancy, And being then a boy, was never well If I was absent; nor indeed was I Content with any but his company. Our flocks still fed together: I on him, And he on me did feed his greedy eyes. Since, though his years have styled him man, he has Continu'd that first love with such respects, So full of innocence and simple truth, That howsoe'er my outward coyness is, My heart within tells me 'tis only his. Ah me! my father! prythee, let's away.

DOR. But Daphnis comes with him: for love's sake, stay!

SCENA IV.

HYLAS, MIRTILLUS, CHARINUS, DAPHNIS.

Pan be as cruel to his flocks and him As he has been to me!

MIR. Go, leave your cursing, And follow her; let me alone with him.

CHAR. Ha! have I found you? Ho! Nerina, stay! Your father calls you; was not that my daughter That made away so fast?

MIR. Who, she that's gone? Believe your eyes no more, they are false to you. Could you take one for her that's nothing like her? 'Twas Chloris went from us.

CHAR. Is't possible?

MIR. 'Tis true.

DAPH. I thought that it had been my love.

CHAR. I durst have sworn that she had been my daughter. What made she here? 'Twill ne'er be otherwise; Young women will be chatting with young men, Whate'er their fathers say. It was not so When I was young--a boy, as you are, shepherds.

MIR. We are not men with him till after fifty.

CHAR. We never durst keep company with women, Nor they with us: each one did carefully Attend his charge. And when the time was come, That we grew ripe in years, and were staid youths, Our fathers would provide us wives: we did not Carve for ourselves, as nowadays they do. But now our children think themselves as wise, Nay, wiser than their fathers, and will rule 'em: They can no sooner peep out of the shell, But they must love, forsooth. I would fain know, Whether 'twere fit a maid should be in love-- I speak now of that skittish girl, my daughter-- Before she ask her father's leave and liking?

DAPH. Tis true, Charinus, 'twere not fit indeed. Who should bestow the daughter but the father?

MIR. But, shepherds, did you never hear that once There was an age, the nearest to the gods: An age we rather praise than imitate; When no man's will nor woman's was enforc'd To any bent but its own motion? Each follow'd nature's laws, and by instinct Did love the fairest, and enjoy their wishes: Love then, not tied to any interest Of blood or fortune, hasten'd to his end Without control, nor did the shepherd number Her sheep that was his choice, but every grace That did adorn her beauteous mind or face. Riches with love then were not valued-- Pure, uncompounded love--that could despise The whole world's riches for a mistress' eyes. Pray tell me, Daphnis--you are young and handsome, The lover of our fairest nymph Nerina-- Would you, for all that fruitful Sicily Can yield, or all the wealth of Persia, Change one poor lock of your fair mistress' hair, Whilst she is yours, and you her shepherd are?

DAPH. Would she were mine, I'd ask no portion.

MIR. Spoke like a lover of the ancient stamp!

CHAR. Son, son, she shall be yours: why, am not I Her father, she my daughter? May not I Bestow her where I please?

MIR. Yes, if she like The man, she will bestow herself, ne'er fear it.

CHAR. What! she bestow herself without my leave? No, no, Mirtillus, you mistake my daughter. I cannot get her once to think of marriage, And truly I do muse to see a wench, That in all other things (although I say it) Has wit at will: can pin her sheep in fold As well as any: knows when to drive them home; And there she can do twenty things as well: Yet when I speak to her of marriage, She turns the head: she'll be a Dryad, she, Or one of those fond nymphs of Dian's train.

MIR. Old man, believe her not, she means not so; She loves to keep the thing for which she is So much belov'd--I mean her maidenhead-- Which, whilst she has, she knows to play the tyrant, And make us slaves unto her scornful looks: For beauty then itself most justifies, When it is courted; if not lov'd, it dies.

CHAR. Well, we will think of this. Come, Daphnis, come, I see you love my daughter, and you only Shall have her; it is I that tell you so, That am her father.

DAPH. Thank you, good Charinus; But I had rather she had told me so. [_Aside._

FOOTNOTES:

[248] [Old copy, _the cure, he_.]

ACTUS II., SCÆNA 1.

THYRSIS, MONTANUS. _To them_ MIRTILLUS.

[THYR.] This day the sun shot forth his beams as fair As e'er he did, and through the trembling air Cool Zephyrus with gentle murmuring Breath'd a new freshness on each tree and plant: My kids are gamesome too, as e'er they were; All show a face of gladness but myself.

MON. And why not you as well by their example?

THYR. Not in this life: here joy would be untimely: The gods reserve for me their comforts in Th' Elysian fields, or else they mock my sorrows.

MON. O, say not so, they're just and pitiful.

THYR. They are, but, father--so I still must call you-- When in the sadness of my soul I ask'd Before the altar of our great Apollo, What should become of me, or where my love, Bright Sylvia, was, whether alive or dead, Why should the oracle reply: _Go home_, _Thou shall enjoy thy Sylvia_?

MON. What more could you Desire to hear?

THYR. Ay, but when greedily I ask'd the time, the answer was, _That day_ _Thou art not Thyrsis, nor she Sylvia._ Then in this life I'm sure it must not be, For I was Thyrsis ever call'd, and she Known by no other name than Sylvia.

MON. It may be, for your importunity You might deserve this answer, or else is it Because the gods speak not their mysteries To be conceiv'd by every vulgar sense? I now remember what Acrisius, The wise and virtuous Acrisius, Was wont to say.

THYR. Why, what said he? Does it concern me aught?

MON. It may do, son; He bid us fly all curiosity, Seeking to know what future time may bring To us, which only gods above do know; And if at any time they do impart This knowledge unto us, it is enwrapp'd In such a mist, as we shall ne'er see through it: Because, said he, we have enough to do With what is present; the celestial powers Would not cut off our hopes, nor multiply Our cares, by showing us our destiny.

THYR. O, this discourse to a despairing lover What comfort does it bring? for heaven's sake, leave it And me; for I am best, I find, alone. Yet stay, there's something that I fain would ask you: You said this circle here about my neck Has so continued from my infancy, When first you took me up.

MON. 'Tis true, that circle Hung loosely then about your neck, which since Is fill'd with it. I left it there, because I saw some letters that were wrought about it.

THYR. And may they not be read?

MON. I think they may: But I could never find so great a clerk As could tell how t' expound the meaning of them.

THYR. My life is nothing but a mystery; That which I was, and that which I shall be, Is equally unknown. Now, if you'll leave me Unto my thoughts, they'll keep me company.

MON. I will; but here is one come to supply me.

_Enter to him_ MIRTILLUS.

MIR. Ay, let me alone.

_Sings._

_He that mourns for a mistress,_ _When he knows not where she is,_ _Let him kiss her shadow fair,,_ _Or engender with the air;_ _Or see, if with his tears he can_ _Swell at an ebb the ocean:_ _Then, if he had not rather die,_ _Let him love none, or all, as I._

This is the doctrine that I ever taught you, And yet you profit not: these scurvy passions Hang on you still. You that are young and active, That may have all our nymphs at your devotion, To live a whining kind of life as this, How ill it does become you!

THYR. True, Mirtillus; And yet I do not envy thee the pleasure Thou hast in thy dispers'd affections.

MIR. You would, if your head were right once; but love-- Your love does make an ass of all your reason.

THYR. Sure, a true lover is more rational Than you, that love at random everywhere.

MIR. I do not think so; all the reason love Has left you to employ in this discourse Will hardly bring me to confess it to you.

THYR. Why, all men's actions have some proper end, Whereto their means and strict endeavours tend: Else there would be nought but perplexity In human life, and all uncertainty.

MIR. Well, what will you infer on this?

THYR. That you, Who know no end at all of wild desire, Must in your wand'ring fancy see this way Leads unto madness, when too late you find That nothing satisfies a boundless mind.

MIR. Ay, but I do confine myself to two Or three at most; in this variety I please myself; for what is wanting in One, I may find it in another.

THYR. No. Not in another; one is the only centre The line of love is drawn to, must have all Perfections in her, all that's good and fair, Or else her lover must believe her so.

MIR. Ay, there's your error, that's the ground of all Your tears and sighs, your fruitless hopes and fears, When she perhaps has not so much t' adorn her As the least grace your thoughts bestow upon her.

THYR. Well, be it so; and yet this fair idea, Which I have fram'd unto myself, does argue Virtue in me; so that, if she be lost, Or dead--ah me! the sad remembrance of My Sylvia causes this--yet I must love, Because the character is indelibly Writ in my heart, and heaven is witness to it.

MIR. Well, I'll no more of this, I'll be converted Rather than call this grief to your remembrance.

THYR. Why, dost thou think I ever shall forget her? Or that where'er I set my careful foot, As in this place, will it not tell me that Here Sylvia and I walk'd hand in hand, And here she pluck'd a flower, and anon She gave it me; and then we kiss'd, and here We mutually did vow each other's love?

MIR. Nay leave, good Thyrsis: I did come to tell you This holiday our royal Prince Euarchus, Being remov'd to his house here near adjoining, Sent to command us to attend his person, With all our sports and wonted merriment, Wherein you always bore the chiefest part. And I have heard ('tis not to make you blush) The princess has commended your rare art And handsome graces, which you gave your music. Come, you must go with us, for Hylas is So far engag'd in love, and near his hopes, He will not stir unless his mistress go.

THYR. Alas, Mirtillus! I have broke my pipe, My sighs are all the music which I now Can make, and how unfit I am t' attend So great an expectation, you may see. Yet give me leave to think on it; at night Perhaps I'll go with you.

MIR. Till then farewell. [_Exit_ THYRSIS. The gentlest youth that ever play'd on pipe, But see, who's here? O, 'tis my other lover, His mistress with him; I will not disturb him.

SCENA II.

NERINA, HYLAS, MIRTILLUS.

NER. Shepherd, I would you'd leave to follow me.

HYL. How can I, sweetest, when my heart is with you?

NER. With me? Then tell me where, and see how soon I shall restore it you.

MIR. O, this is fine! [_Aside._

HYL. It hangs upon your eyes where, being scorch'd With their disdain, and dazzl'd with their lustre, It flies for ease unto your rosy lips. But, beaten thence with many a harsh denial, Fain would it come for better harbour here; But here for ever it must be an exile. For pity then, fair nymph, receive it you; And if you can, teach it the hardness of Your own, and make it marble, as yours is.

MIR. I see he is not such a novice as I took him for; he can tell how to speak. [_Aside._

NER. Well, if my heart be such as you will make it, I am so much the gladder that it is Of strength to be a fence unto my honour.

HYL. In vain a fence is made to guard the sheep, Where no wolf ever came.

NER. What, if within It keep a dog of prey, would they be safe? For my part, I'll not cherish in my breast The man that would undo my chastity.

HYL. Then cherish me, for you best know I never Attempted anything to cast a spot On that white innocence, to which I am A most religious votary.

MIR. More fool you! It may be, if you had, it needed not Ha' come to this. [_Aside._

NER. Yes, yes, you may remember, I blush to tell it you, when first my thoughts Were pure and simple--as I hope they are Still, and will so continue, whilst I fly Such company as you--- I thought you one Whom never any flame impure had touch'd: Then we convers'd without suspect together.

HYL. And am I not so still? why do you now Fly from me thus?

NER. The cause I shall tell you, Since you will not remember; though it be Unfit for me to speak, yet you shall know How just my anger is.

HYL. Ah me most wretched! What have I done?

NER. When tending of my flocks Under the shade of yonder myrtle-tree. Which bears the guilt of your foul misdemeanour, My maid Corisca cried out for my help, Because a bee had stung her in the face: You heard me speak in pity of her smart, A charm my mother taught me, that, being said Close to the place affected, takes away The pain: which gave her ease. But you, uncivil, Turning my courtesy to your vile ends, Feign'd you were stung too, and cried out your lips Had from the same sharp point receiv'd a wound: Pray'd me to say the same charm over there. I charitably lent my help to you, Mistrusting nothing of your purposes, When with ungentle hands you held me fast, And for my thanks gave me a lustful kiss. Canst thou remember this, and yet not blush? O impudence!

HYL. You will excuse the heat Of my desires; still I feel that sting, But dare not ask the cure, nor did I then Do any hurt: but since you think it was A fault, I do repent it, and am sorry I did offend you so.

MIR. Better and better! He'll cry anon, he has already ask'd Forgiveness of her. [_Aside._

NER. Well, shepherd, look You never see me more: I cannot love At all, or if at all, not you: let this Settle your thoughts.

HYL. O, it distracts them more: But since my presence is offensive to you, I must obey, yet, if I thought you would, When I am dead--the martyr of your beauty, Shed one poor tear on my untimely grave, And say that Hylas was unfortunate, To love where he might not be lov'd again, My ashes would find rest. And so farewell: The fairest, but the cruel'st nymph alive!

MIR. What, will you leave her thus?

HYL. I prythee, come, The sentence of my banishment is pass'd, Never to be recall'd.

MIR. Are these the hopes You fed upon? O, what a thing in nature Is a coy woman! or how great a fool The man is that will give her leave to rule! [_Exit_ HYLAS.

SCENA III.

NERINA.

NER. Alas! my Hylas, my beloved soul, Durst she whom thou hast call'd cruel Nerina But speak her thoughts, thou wouldst not think her so; To thee she is not cruel, but to herself: That law, which nature hath writ in my heart, Taught me to love thee, Hylas, and obey My father too, who says I must not love thee. O disproportion'd love and duty, how Do you distract me? If I love my choice, I must be disobedient; if obedient, I must be link'd to one I cannot love. Then either, Love, give me my liberty, Or, Nature, from my duty set me free. [_Exit._

SCENA IV.

DAPHNIS.

DAPH. Nerina, since nor tears nor prayers can move Thy stubborn heart, I'll see what gifts can do: They of my rank, whom most do deem unworthy Of any virgin's love, being rough, and bred To manage the estates our fathers left us, Unskill'd in those hid mysteries, which Love's Professors only know, have yet a way To gain our wishes. First we get the father: He knows our pleasure, and gives his consent. The daughter's eyes being blinded with our gifts, Cannot so soon spy our deformities, But we may catch her too. This Alcon says, A man whom age and observation taught What I must learn; yet though most women be Such as he has deliver'd, my Nerina Seems not to have regard to what I give, But holds me and my gifts both at one rate. What can I hope, then, out of this poor present: A looking-glass which, though within our plains 'Tis seldom seen, yet I have heard in cities They are as common as a lock of wool. However, if she take it, I am happy, So Alcon tells me; and he knows full well (He gave it me) that, whose'er shall look Her face in it, shall be at my dispose. In confidence of this, I will present it, And see my fortune; sure, I must needs speed: My friend, her father, comes along with her. But, O my fate! is not that nymph Dorinda Which keeps them company? Yes, sure, 'tis she; A curse light on her importunity! Her father urges something, and I hope On my behalf; let me observe a little.

SCENA V.

CHARINUS, NERINA, DORINDA, DAPHNIS.

CHAR. And as I oft have told you, I do wish To see you wise.

DOR. Is she not so, Charinus? Does she say anything that's out of reason?

CHAR. Do not tell me of reason; I would hear Of her obedience: therefore I say, be wise, And do as I would have you.

DOR. What would you Have her to do? you see she answers not To contradict you.

CHAR. I will have her answer To what I now demand, that is, to marry Daphnis, and I will have her love him too.

DOR. Love him, Charinus! that you cannot do: Her body you may link i' th' rites of Hymen; Her will she must bestow herself, not you.

DAPH. O, she was born to be a plague unto me. [_Aside._

CHAR. Why should she wish or hope for anything, But what I'd have her wish or hope for only? Come, to be short, answer me, and directly; Are you content to marry Daphnis, say?

NER. What is your pleasure, father?

CHAR. You do not hear, It seems, but what you list; I ask you once Again, if you will marry Daphnis? speak.

NER. Sir, I would marry whom you please to give me; I neither can nor ought to make my choice, I would refer that to you: but you know My inclination never lay to marry.

CHAR. I know you shall do that which I command.

NER. Now heaven forbid that I, who have thus long Vow'd to Diana my virginity, To follow her a huntress in these woods, Should yield myself to the impure delights Of Hymen, and so violate my faith.

CHAR. A fine devotion, is it not? to make A vow, and never ask your father leave! The laws will not permit it to be so.

DOR. The vow, Charinus, is not made to men: The laws have not to do with that which is Seal'd and recorded in the court of heaven.

CHAR. Do not tell me of vows: I'll have her marry, And marry Daphnis: is he not rich and handsome?

DOR. Ah me! I would he were not rich nor handsome: It may be then he would regard my sufferings. [_Aside._

CHAR. No, daughter, do not you believe you can Catch me with shifts and tricks: I see, I tell you, Into your heart.

NER. Alas! I would you did; Then your discourse would tend another way.

CHAR. Yes, you have made a vow, I know, which is, Whilst you are young, you will have all the youth To follow you with lies and flatteries. Fool, they'll deceive you; when this colour fades, Which will not always last, and you go crooked, As if you sought your beauty lost i' th' ground; Then they will laugh at you, and find some other Fit for their love; where, if you do as I Command you, I have one will make you happy.

NER. Ah me most miserable!

DAPH. Now I'll come in, And see what I can do with this my gift.

CHAR. Look now, as if the Fates would have it so, He comes just in the nick of my discourse: Come, use him kindly now, and then you shall Redeem what you have lost--my good opinion.

NER. O most ungrateful chance! how I do hate The sight of him!

DOR. Were it to me he came, How happy would this fair encounter be!

CHAR. Daphnis, you're welcome, very welcome to me, And to my daughter: what is that you have there?

DAPH. A present, which I mean to give my love.

CHAR. See but how true a lover Daphnis is; His hand is never empty when he comes. Welcome him, daughter: look what he has for you.

DAPH. O good Charinus! none must look in it, But she herself to whom it is presented.

CHAR. I am an old man, I, and therefore care not To see my wither'd face and hoary hair: Give it that young thing, she knows what to do with it. Daughter, come hither; use him courteously And kindly too: be sure you take his gift. [_Aside._ Daphnis, I'll leave you both together here; My sheep are shearing, I can stay no longer. [_Exit._

DAPH. Farewell, old man; health to my dearest mistress.

NER. And to you, shepherd.

DOR. Daphnis, am not I Worthy to have a share in your salute?

DAPH. How can I give thee part of that, whereof I have no share myself?

DOR. If you would love There where you are belov'd again, you might Make your content such as you would yourself.

DAPH. If you, Nerina, would vouchsafe to love Him that loves you, and ever will, you might Make your content such as you would yourself.

NER. Shepherd, I oft have wish'd you not to trouble Me and yourself with words: I cannot love you.

DAPH. As oft, Dorinda, have I spoke to you, To leave to trouble me: I cannot love you.

DOR. Will you then slight my love because 'tis offer'd?

DAPH. Will you then slight my love because 'tis offer'd?

NER. Somebody else may love you, I cannot.

DAPH. Somebody else may love you, I cannot.

DOR. O cruel words, how they do pierce my heart!

DAPH. O cruel words, how they do pierce my heart!

NER. How can I help it, if your destiny Lead you to love where you may not obtain?

DAPH. How can I help it, if your destiny Lead you to love where you may not obtain?

DOR. It is not destiny that injures me; It is thy cruel will and marble heart.

DAPH. It is not destiny that injures me; It is thy cruel will and marble heart.

NER. No, Daphnis; 'tis not hardness of my heart, Nor any cruelty that causes this.

DAPH. Then 'tis disdain of me.

NER. Nor is it that: I do not see in Daphnis anything To cause disdain.

DOR. Why do you not reply In those same words to me, malicious Echo?

DAPH. I pray, leave me; I have other business now To trouble me; if you disdain me not, Fair nymph, as you pretend, receive my offer.

NER. What's that?

DAPH. My heart.

DOR. I will, gentle Daphnis.

DAPH. O importunity!

NER. Give her thy heart. She has deserv'd it, for she loves thee Daphnis.

DAPH. First, I would tear it piecemeal here before you.

DOR. O me unfortunate! O cruel man!

NER. Stay, good Dorinda, I'll go with thee; stay.

DAPH. Let her go where she will; behold, sweet saint, This mirror here, the faithful representer Of that which I adore, your beauteous form; When you do see in that how lovely are Your looks, you will not blame my love.

NER. If I refuse it, My father will be angry. [_Aside._] Let me see it. Here, take thy glass again: what ails my head? I know not where I am, it is so giddy: And something like a drowsiness has seiz'd My vital spirits.

DAPH. How do you, love?

NER. Heavy o' th' sudden; I'll go home and sleep.

DAPH. So, let her go, and let this work awhile. She cast an eye upon me as she went, That by its languishing did seem to say, Daphnis, I'm thine; thou hast o'ercome at last. Alcon, th' hast made me happy by thy art [_Exeunt._

ACTUS III, SCENA I.

SYLVIA, DELIA.

Q. _Tell me what you think on earth_ _The greatest bliss?_ A. _Riches, honour, and high birth_. Q. _Ah! what is this?_ _If love be banished the heart,_ _The joy of Nature, not of Art?_

2.

_What's honour worth or high descent?_ _Or ample wealth,_ _If cares do breed us discontent,_ _Or want of health?_ A. _It is the order of the Fates,_ _That these should wait on highest states._

3.

CHORUS. _Love only does our souls refine,_ _And by his skill_ _Turns human things into divine,_ _And guides our will._ _Then let us of his praises sing:_ _Of love, that sweetens everything._

DEL. Madam, you're overheard.

SYL. I care not, Delia. Although my liberty and free discourse Be here denied me, yet the air is common: To it, then, will I utter my complaints, Or to thee, friend, to whom my love will dare To show the secrets of my heart; for others I do not care nor fear, so thou be faithful.

DEL. Madam, I have no life, but what I wish May be employ'd to do your beauty's service; My tongue is rul'd by yours: what you would have It speak, it shall; else further than my thoughts Nothing shall venture that you leave to me: And those my thoughts I'll keep to such restraint, As they shall never come within my dreams, Lest they betray your counsels. This I vow Religiously by----

SYL. Hold, I will not Have thee to swear, nor would I thou shouldst think That I so much suspect thee, as to urge An oath; I know thou hast too much of goodness, That's bred within thee, to betray a trust: And therefore, without further circumstance, I'll let thee know my fortunes, part of which I'm sure th' hast heard already.

DEL. Madam, I have, And wish'd that they had sorted to your wishes.

SYL. I thank thee, Delia; but my evil genius, That has pursu'd my innocence with hate, Brought me from thence, where I had set my heart, Unto this cursed Court which, though it be My place of birth and breeding, I do find Nothing but torment and affliction in it.

DEL. I guess the cause, sweet madam, but that's pass'd And now forgotten: if you clear your looks, Your father will enlarge you, and ne'er think On what you did, but that you are his daughter.

SYL. Alas, my Delia! thou dost mistake, My liberty is of no worth to me, Since that my love, I fear, will ne'er be free: Nor do I care what idle ladies talk Of my departure or my strange disguise, To colour my intents; I am above Their envy or their malice: But for th' unlucky chance that sent to me The over-curious eyes of him I hate-- Thou know'st the man.

DEL. Yes, you mean Cleander, Son to Eubulus, who is now your keeper: What star directed him to find you out?

SYL. His love, forsooth; for so he colour'd his Unseason'd boldness: told me he was not able To want my sight: and so, when every one Had given o'er their strict inquiry of me, He only, with too much officiousness, Observ'd me in the woods, walking alone: And when I would have shunn'd him, which perhaps Had I not done, he had not so well known me: He came and utter'd, as his manner was, His tedious complaints; until at length He brought me with him, making no resistance: And to ingratiate himself the more, He said he would convey me where my father Should have no knowledge of me. I refused it; Willing, however, to be rid of him. And now, you know, it is a full month since I did return to Court, but left my heart Behind me in those fields wherein I joy'd.

DEL. Madam, has not the Court more pleasure in it Than the dull country, which can represent Nothing but what does taste of solitude? 'Twas something else that carried you away.

SYL. 'Tis true, my Delia; for though thou wert Privy to my departure, yet the cause Thou couldst not tell, which I will now unfold; And think I trust my honour in thy hands, And maiden modesty: 'twas love that did it.

DEL. Love, madam! Sure, it is impossible You should find anything there worth your love.

SYL. Thou know'st the shepherds that do dwell about This place which, for their entertainments only, The king my father built, did use to come, As now they do, being sent for unto Court: I ever lik'd their sports, their harmless mirth, And their contentions, which were void of malice, And wish'd I had been born just such an one.

DEL. Your state is better, madam, as you are.

SYL. But I confess the rather, 'cause there was One amongst them of a more comely grace (Though none of them did seem uncomely to me) Call'd Thyrsis; and with him methought I could Draw out my life rather than any other, Such things my fancy then suggested to me: So well he sung, so passionate his love Show'd in his verse, thereto so well express'd, As any one would judge it natural: Yet never felt he flame, till this of me: Often he came, and oft'ner was desir'd Of me; nor did I shame in public there Before my father to commend his graces; Which when I did, the whole Court, as they use, Consented with me, and did strive to make them Greater than I or any else could think them: At last I was surpris'd, I could not help it; My fate with love consenting, so would have it: Then did I leave the Court--I've told thee all.

DEL. 'Tis strange! but, madam, though in that disguise, How could you hope (a stranger) to be lov'd Of him you held so dear?

SYL. I feign'd myself Of Smyrna, and from thence some goats I had And sheep, with them a rich commodity. Near him I bought me land to feed them; he Seem'd glad of it, and thinking me a stranger, Us'd me with such civility and friendship, As one would little look for of a shepherd; And did defend me from the avarice Of the old shepherds, which did think to make A prey of what I had. At length I saw He did address himself with fear to me, Still gazing on me. Knowing my love to him, I easily believ'd he lov'd me too-- For love, alas! is ever credulous-- And though I was resolv'd (having my end, Which was no more than to discourse with him) Never to let him know what flame I felt; Yet when I saw his tears, and heard his vows-- Persuasive speakers for affection-- I could not choose but open to his view My loving heart; yet with this caution, That he should ever bear respect unto My honour and my virgin chastity: Which then he vow'd, and his ambition Never was more than to attain a kiss, Which yet he hardly got. Thou seest, sweet Delia, How willingly I dwell upon this theme. But can'st thou help me, now that I have open'd My wound unto thee?

DEL. Alas! I would I could Invent the way to cure you; I should soon Apply my help: yet, stay, this day it is The shepherds come to Court.

SYL. 'Tis true, they come; But what is that to me, if Thyrsis come not? Or if he come, how shall he know me his, Or I enjoy his company?

DEL. Let me alone to work out that.

SYL. Thou dream'st: thou can'st not do it.

DEL. I'll undertake it; but how shall I know him Without inquiring, which must breed suspicion?

SYL. True, and beware thou ask; the majesty Which sits upon his brow will say 'tis he-- Thyrsis my love. But yet, perhaps, at this time, If I myself not flatter, thou shalt know him By his eyes cast down and folding of his arms, And often sighs that interrupt his words. For if his sorrow wears the liveries Which mine does for his absence, by these signs Thou shalt descry him.

DEL. These are silent marks: Yet will I not despair to find him out.

SYL. But when thou hast, what wilt thou say to him?

DEL. Give me but leave to use my mother-wit. You would be gone together, would you not?

SYL. Thou speak'st my thoughts: do this, and I will crown Thy faith: thou shalt be queen instead of me.

DEL. If you could crown me with your virtues, madam, I should be a queen indeed; in the meantime, As I am Delia, I'll do this business.

SYL. Do it, and when th' hast done, the god of love Reward thee with thine own desires for this.

DEL. Madam, withdraw; I hear your keepers coming. [_Exeunt._

SCENA II.

CLEANDER, EUBULUS.

Sir, you have put a bridle on my passions, And given my soul the liberty it wish'd: I now entreat your pardon for beginning A thing of so great consequence without Leave and advice from you.

EUB. 'Tis well, Cleander, It will behove you then to be reserv'd, And lock this secret up: for 'tis no jesting With kings, that may command our lives and fortunes: You now perceive her, whom we call the princess, To be your sister, and the love you bear her Must be a brother's friendship, not a lover's Passionate heat; but yet she must not know, That I her father am, and you her brother: And trust me, son, had I not seen despair Of life in you, which this love brought you to, I should not have reveal'd what now you know.

CLE. It was a comfort, sir, I do confess, That came in time to rescue me from death, So great her scorn was, and my love so violent.

EUB. Now you're at peace, I hope?

CLE. I am: but if I be too curious in asking where The king's son is, I shall desire your pardon: For, sure, it were injustice to deprive So great a prince of that which he was born to.

EUB. You are too far inquisitive; yet because I have engag'd you in a secret of As great importance, this I will not hide. The king, I told you, when his wife grew near The time of her delivery, sent to know Of our great oracle whether the child should be Female or male, and what should be its fortune.

CLE. What said the oracle? have you the answer?

EUB. It only was imparted unto me, And this it is, which I have never shown To any but the queen. Here take and read it.

_If e'er thy issue male thou live to see,_ _The child thou think'st is thine, thine shall not be;_ _His life shall be obscure: twice shall thy hate_ _Doom him to death. Yet shall he 'scape that fate:_ _And thou shalt live to see, that not long after_ _Thy only son shall wed thy only daughter._

This oracle is full of mystery.

EUB. It is; and yet the king would needs interpret That, should it prove a man-child, 'twas a bastard: And being loth that one not of his blood, As he conceived by this, should be his heir, Told me in private that, if it were male, He would not have it live; yet, fearing most To publish his dishonour and his wife's, He charg'd me not reveal it unto any, But take the child and see it made away, And make the world believe it was still-born.

CLE. And did you so?

EUB. No, for indeed I durst not For anything become a murderer.

CLE. How did you then?

EUB. I went unto the queen, Show'd her the state she was in, and besought her To be as careful of me as I was Of her, and we would work a better end Than she expected. So we both agreed That, if the child she then did labour with Proved to be a male, I should with care conceal The birth of it, and put a female child Instead of it, which I was to look out. It fortun'd that your mother then was ready To be deliver'd of your sister, and Time and good fortune did conspire to save The king's child and to make my daughter princess.

CLE. But what did then become of the young prince?

EUB. The queen protesting to me that it was The king's own child, conjur'd me to preserve it, Which as mine own I could not; for already Many took notice that my child was female, And therefore I was fain to publish her As dead, and buried an empty coffin. I rode forth with the child a full night's journey, With purpose to deliver it to some Plain honest man, that would be careful of it, And not inquisitive to know whose child It was, but give it breeding as his own: When, being frighted with the noise of arms Of some outlawed thieves, that did infest The place, I made all haste I could to 'scape 'em, Considering my charge; for that I knew, If I were taken, though they spar'd my life, The charge I had must needs betray me to The king, and then I could not hope for mercy I laid it down there, cover'd closely o'er, A circle 'bout his neck, wherein was writ--

_Archigenes, son of Euarchus and Eudora_

In characters known only to myself And to the king, in which I us'd to clothe Secret despatches when I writ to him From foreign states, and within the circle I grav'd the king's less seal, which then I kept. Some gold besides and jewels there I left, That, whosoe'er should find him might with that Defray the charge of his education; Howe'er, next day I purposed to return With speed, and carry it to some abode.

CLE. But did the queen know this?

EUB. She did not, Till my return next day: then, when I told her, The child was thence remov'd where I had left him.

CLE. Belike those thieves had carried him away.

EUB. 'Tis probable.

CLE. How could the queen take this So sad a story?

EUB. With such impatience That, being weak before, she shortly died.

CLE. But yet, sir, with your favour, might you not Have made inquiry after him?

EUB. I durst not, For fear of being discover'd. On your life, Take heed how you reveal this.

CLE. I am charm'd.

EUB. Then let us watch my daughter, for I fear The flight she made was for some other end Than for retirement, which she does pretend.

CLE. Henceforth I shall obey her as my princess, And love her as my sister, not my mistress.

EUB. You shall do well: come, let us to the king.

SCENA III.

HYLAS, MIRTILLUS, _Chorus of shepherds and shepherdesses,_ _representing Paris, OEnone, Venus,_ _and the Graces_.

HYL. It was my dream, and I will send it to her; Though I myself by her too cruel sentence Must never see her face.

MIR. What paper's that? Love verses, as I live! What's here? a dream! Nay, I will read 'em: therefore stand aside.

MIRTILLUS _reads_.

_Sleep, thou becalmer of a troubled sprite,_ _Which lead'st my fancy to that sweet delight_ _Wherein my soul found rest when thou didst show_ _Her shadow mine whose substance is not so,_ _Wrap up mine eyes in an eternal night:_ _For since my day springs only from that light,_ _Which she denies me, I account the best_ _Part of my life is that which gives me rest._ _And thou, more hard to be entreated than_ _Sleep to the heated eyes of frantic men;_ _That thou canst make my joys essential_ _Which are but shadows now, be liberal,_ _And outdo sleep; let me not dream in vain,_ _Unless thou mean'st I ne'er shall sleep again._

Alas, poor soul! will she not let thee sleep?

HYL. I knew I should be mock'd, but I'll divert him. [_Aside._ What are those thou hast brought along with thee?

MIR. The masquers, Hylas; these are they must trip it Before the king: dost like their properties?

HYL. What, Paris and OEnone--the old story?

MIR. But newly made, and fashion'd to my purpose; Brought hither to make good my own positions Against the company of puling lovers; Which if I do not, and with good effect, Let me be one myself; and that's a torture Worse than Apollo laid upon the satyr, When the rude villain durst contend with him. Look this way, Hylas; see OEnone here-- The fairest nymph that ever Ida bless'd, Court her departing shepherd, who is now Turning his love unto a fairer object; And for his judgment in variety. See how the sea-born goddess and the Graces Present their darling Helena to him! Be happy in thy choice, and draw a war On thee and thine, rather than set thy heart Upon a stale delight. Do, let her weep, And say thou art inconstant. Be so still; The queen of love commands it: you, that are The old companions of your Paris here, Move in a well-pac'd measure, that may show The goddess how you are content for her Fair sake to leave the honour of your woods; But first let her and all the Graces sing The invitation to your offering.

_Venus and the Graces sing._

_Come, lovely boy, unto my court,_ _And leave these uncouth woods, and all_ _That feed thy fancy with love's gall;_ _But keep away the honey and the sport._ CHORUS. _Come unto me,_ _And with variety_ _Thou shalt be fed, which nature loves and I._

2.

_There is no music in a voice_ _That is but one, and still the same:_ _Inconstancy is but a name_ _To fright poor lovers from a better choice._ CHORUS. _Come then to me, &c._

3.

_Orpheus, that on Eurydice_ _Spent all his love, on others scorn,_ _Now on the banks of Hebrus torn,_ _Finds the reward of foolish constancy._ CHORUS. _Come then to me, &c._

4.

_And sigh no more for one love lost:_ _I have a thousand Cupids here,_ _Shall recompense with better cheer_ _Thy misspent labours and thy bitter cost._ CHORUS. _Come then to me, &c._

_The dance ended, enter a Messenger._

NUN. Shepherds, if you have any pity, come And see a woful spectacle.

MIR. What is't, That can be worth the breaking of our sports?

NUN. The gentle nymph Nerina--

HYL. What of her?

NUN. The last of her: I think see lies a-dying, And calls to speak with you.

HYL. Curse of your follies! Do I live here whilst she is dying there?

MIR. But, shepherd, what disease is't that so soon Could spend his force upon her? she was well This morning, when she made poor Hylas sick.

MON. I know not; I am sent unto the well Of Esculapius to fetch some water For her recovery. I must be gone. [_Exit._

MIR. Shepherds, here let us end. I think we are Perfect in all the rest. This night the king Must see't, resolve on that.

CHORUS. We are all ready.

MIR. Then let's away, and see what will betide This gentle nymph Nerina.

CHORUS. We'll go with you.

SCENA IV.

CHARINUS, NERINA, DORINDA, HYLAS, MIRTILLUS, NUNTIUS.

Hold up thy head, good child: see, he is come. Bring me the water quickly, whilst there is Some life in her. Now chafe her, good Dorinda.

NER. All is in vain, I cannot live; dear father, Farewell. What shepherd's that lies on the ground? Is it not Hylas?

DOR. Yes, it is he, Nerina.

NER. Alas, poor shepherd! 'tis my greatest grief, That I have grieved him; I would beg life For nothing but to make him satisfaction.

MIR. Hylas, what, on the ground! look up and speak: Alas, he's dead!

NER. It cannot be: good father, Let me go to him, and but touch his ear, It may be that my voice may have more virtue.

CHAR. Do what thou wilt, sweetheart: see, my poor child, How charitable she is: being half-dead Herself, she pities others.

MIR. Mark her finesse, How at the brink of death she kisses him, And took this way to mock her simple father: O fine invention! sure, a woman's wit Does never fail her. [_Aside._

NER. Hylas, Hylas, speak, Nerina calls thee! speak to thy Nerina!

MIR. What cannot love do? It revives the dead, He's come to himself again!

HYL. What god is it That has the power to return my soul From the Elysian fields?

MIR. It is no god: A goddess rather, Hylas. 'Tis Nerina, Look where she is!

HYL. Ah! then I do not wonder I cannot die, when my best soul comes to me: Shall we live ever thus?

NER. How fain I would For thy sake, Hylas; but it cannot be: I feel a heavy sleep sit on my head, And my strength fails me; help me, sweet Dorinda, Farewell for ever! O, I die, I die!

HYL. And must I then be call'd to life again, To see my life expire before my face? You Fates, if you will take a ransom for her, Then take my life: but you are sure of that, You'll say, already; for in her one death Two lives are forfeit. Nerina, gentle nymph, The cause why now I live, open these eyes Once more, and I shall flourish like those plants The sun gives life to: else I fall and wither, Leaving behind nought but a worthless stem. Speak to thy Hylas, sweet Nerina, speak.

CHAR. Ah me! my daughter, hadst thou liv'd, perhaps I might have seen thee married to Daphnis, Now we must see thee buried. Ah me!

NER. Hylas!

HYL. She lives! give me some more of that---- That water there, see now she comes again! O gentle Destinies, but spare this thread, And cut a thousand coarser! Speak, Nerina; Give me some comfort, give thy father some, Or else behold three lives fall in thy death.

NER. Ye Fates, that keep th' account of all our days, Add but one minute to my life, that I May quit my soul of those two heavy burthens, Which now oppress it: dry your eyes, good father, Remember that the gods do send us nothing But for our good; and if my journey be Shorter than yours, the less will be my trouble. Will you forgive me, father, that I have not Paid so much duty to you as I ow'd you? Take my good-will, I pray, instead of it.

CHAR. See her good nature. Ay, child, 'tis enough, Thou always wert obedient.

NER. Shall I dare To speak my thoughts, and so discharge my soul Of one load yet?

CHAR. Ay, do, my child; speak freely.

NER. I've heard you say that no sin was so heavy As is ingratitude.

CHAR. Tis true, Nerina. How she remembers what her father said!

NER. Then be not angry, if I now must tell you, That this poor shepherd, whose swoll'n eyes you see Cover'd with tears, for many years now pass'd Has courted me: but still with such a love, So full of truth and gentle services, That should I not requite him with my love, I should be guilty of ingratitude. Therefore, before I die, I pray give leave That he may have my dying heart, which living I still debarr'd him of. Hylas, thy hand! O, stay a little, death: here, take thou mine, And since I cannot live the wife of Hylas, Yet let me die so. Sir, are you content?

CHAR. I am with anything that pleaseth thee.

NER. Tell me, are you so, Hylas?

HYL. O my love, Ask me if I would live amongst the gods, But ask not this. Sir, have we your consent?

CHAR. You have: it is in vain now to deny it. You see, Dorinda, what her vow's come to!

NER. Then let me die, take me into thy arms, Sweet love, you'll see my coffin strew'd with flowers, And you, Dorinda, will you make a garland? I die a virgin, though I die his wife.

DOR. Alas, she's gone!

HYL. She's dead, and do I live?

CHAR. Look to the shepherd there! O my Nerina!

DOR. Vex not her soul, I pray, with often calling; You see she's dead.

CHAR. Then there is no hope left: Pray help us, shepherds, now to bear her hence; You'll come, I hope, to see her in her grave. [_Exeunt._

ACTUS IV., SCENA I.

THYRSIS, DELIA.

Here I am come unto a place where grief, They say, has no abode. In princes' courts, I've heard there is no room for love's laments: For either they enjoy or else forget. Thrice-happy men, to whom love gives such leave! It may be that this place or people may Work so with me, and melt this frozen heart: Ah fool! that can'st believe the change of place Or air can change thy mind; the love thou bear'st Is woven so within thy thoughts, that as Out of this piece thy Sylvia wrought for thee, Thou can'st not take her name forth, but withal Thou must deface the whole: so, Thyrsis, think The wind that here may rise, or heat or rain, Thou may'st avoid, thy love will still remain; And when thou diest, then may it die with thee; Till then resolve to endure thy misery.

_Enter_ DELIA.

DEL. This is the garden which I saw him go to, And that is he; for all the marks she gave me To know him by he bears.

THYR. A heaviness Weighs down my head, and would invite me to Repose myself; I'll take the offer; here I'll rest awhile, for I have need of it.

DEL. How if I be deceived, and this should prove Another man! What then? I can excuse it. He's laid already, and (I fear) asleep; I'll stay until he wake; but then suppose That anybody come, and take me here, What will they think of me? Best wake him. Shepherd! It is a handsome youth: see what a grace Shows itself in his feature--such a face Might take the heart of any lady living, Ay, though she were a princess. Shepherd! what, Not yet? his sleeps are sound.

THYR. Ah Sylvia, [_Speaks in his sleep._ Preserve thy life! O, let me die. Alas! I do but dream. Methought I saw myself Condemn'd to die, and Sylvia, to save me, Offer'd herself, and would needs die for me. 'Twas a sweet shadow: let me court this dream.

DEL. He must not sleep again: shepherd, look up.

THYR. Who envies me this small repose? Indeed I do not often sleep: ha, who are you?

DEL. Sent to thee from thy Sylvia. Shepherd, rise, And follow me.

THYR. Do I dream still! What are you? Came you from heaven, where my Sylvia is, And must I thither? whosoe'er you are, An angel or a fiend, in such a name You come, as I'm conjur'd to follow you: But I must die first. Here is to be with thee.

[_Offers to stab himself._

DEL. Stay, hold thy hand: she lives--thy Sylvia lives To make thee happy, if thou wilt go to her.

THYR. You're habited like those I've seen at court; And courtesy, they say, is ever there, Yet mingled with deceit. If you do mean T' abuse me for your sport, this way will prove Too sad to raise mirth out of. There's no ill That I have done to you or any else, Unless my constancy be here a sin.

DEL. His griefs have made him wild. [_Aside._ I have no time Left me to use persuasions, or to make This truth apparent to you; on my word, You shall be safe; and if you dare believe me, I'll bring you where your love is; follow me.

THYR. Why should I doubt, or fear to go with her? Ill does he call for physic whom the law Has doom'd to die. There's no condition Can prove worse to me than my present one. Pray, lead me where you please; I'm sure of this: To one that's desperate no way's amiss. [_Exeunt._

SCENA II.

EUARCHUS, EUBULUS, CLEANDER, _Attendants_.

All leave the room. Eubulus, I'm resolv'd To hold an easier hand over my daughter Than I was wont: therefore I sent Cleander To bring her to my presence. Though she have Wrong'd her great birth and breeding by her follies, Yet I consider that she is my daughter, And this restraint cannot but harden her In her fond resolutions. Have you sought By all the means you can to sift the cause Of her departure?

EUB. Sir, I have tried By all the ways that fit a subject, to Inquire a truth of one that is his princess.

EUAR. And what have you discover'd?

EUB. Nothing more Than what my son Cleander did before.

EUAR. I have heard his relation: but [I] wonder How for a whole month's time she should abide Within our confines, when so great a search Through all our countries, and loud proclamations, Were made for her recovery.

EUB. 'Tis true. She herein was ingenuous, and confess'd That she foresaw what search would be made for her: Therefore with some about her she had plotted To hire a bark that might convey her hence In a disguise to Smyrna, where she stay'd Till time did fit her, that with safety She might return in habit of a nymph Unto the place where then Cleander found her: But why she left the court she will not tell.

EUAR. I will not force her to't: some little time Perhaps may make discovery of that secret. But unto thee, my faithful councillor (As unto one my heart hath still been open), I will discover what my purpose is In sending for these shepherds to my court.

EUB. I should believe they're sent for to delight Your majesty, as they were wont.

EUAR. No, Eubulus; But for a greater end: I fear my daughter, And therefore I have sent for her to see These sports with purpose to observe her looks. For I suspect she loves some shepherd there.

EUB. It cannot be: she will not stain her birth With such ignoble love; yet I confess, Revolving all the causes of her strange Departure, I could fix on none but that.

EUAR. Well, if she do so, I will let her forth-- Forth of my blood; and whosoe'er he be Whose fortune mark'd him out to be the object Of this her love, shall find Ixion's fate, He shall embrace a shadow. By my life, They both shall die.

EUB. O my gracious lord, Remember she's your daughter!

EUAR. Ay, thou still Dost plead for her, but yet am I her king As well as father; private men respect Their profits and their private interests Of kindred, but the actions of a king To honour and renown must be directed: Consider that, and then thou wilt forget her.

_Enter_ CLEANDER.

Cleander, welcome! how does Calligone? Is she not glad to come unto our presence? Why dost not answer? Art thou frighted, man?

CLE. I know not how to answer anything, Unless your majesty will sign my pardon.

EUAR. Why, what's the matter? speak, and speak it freely.

CLE. Then know, great sovereign, that, when I went As full of joy as speed, with your glad message, I found the princess----

EUAR. What, not dead, I hope?

CLE. Dead to her honour.

EUAR. Ha!

CLE. In short, my lord, I found her walking in the garden with A shepherd--more of him I cannot tell; But she was habited in that attire She wore, when from the woods I brought her home. I slipp'd away, not being seen by them, And if you please to go, perhaps, great sir, You still may find them there.

EUAR. How now, Eubulus, Are my presages true? Shall I then sleep With this disgrace, and let my neighbour princes Mock at my humble fortunes, when they hear The daughter of Euarchus match'd herself With a base shepherd? Go, Eubulus, quickly: Here take my signet; let this be your warrant To put them both to death.

EUB. How! both, my lord?

EUAR. Ay, both.

EUB. Your daughter too?

EUAR. Why do you question me? Have I not said they both shall die: despatch. Let me not see thee till they both be dead. [_Exit._

EUB. What hast thou done! thou rash, inhumane boy? Depriv'd thy father of a child, thyself Of thine own sister, whom but now thou knew'st? Well may the king take that dear life away Which he did never give: I will go tell him I am her father: but I lose my life If I do that, as guilty of a treason. Go, murderer, hadst thou no pity in thee!

CLE. Sir, I do feel so much grief within me For this my act that, if my blood will serve To save her life, I'll make no price of it: Yet could I not imagine that the king Would have been so enrag'd; or if he would, I had no time to think of it before.

EUB. No time! who bid thee hasten to the ruin Of thy poor father and thy family? The messages which come to do us hurt Are speedy; but the good come slowly on.

CLE. But, sir, remember what a strait we're in: It will concern us to invent some way To save my sister, though the shepherd die; He will deserve it for his bold attempt.

EUB. Go, take thy way, whither thou wilt, thyself; That way is best which leads me to my grave. [_Exit._

CLE. What luck is this? This is more haste than speed: I am resolv'd, though my life lie at stake, To stand the fury of th' enraged king: Who knows but he may be as sorry for His sudden act, as I for mine. 'Tis here To save her, though it cost her lover dear. [_Exeunt._

SCENA III.

SYLVIA, THYRSIS.

Nay, stay a little, Thyrsis; we are safe. My wary keepers now are with the king.

THYR. Madam, for my poor self I do not fear; But when I think on you, and how your name And state, that is so eminent, must needs Receive a certain scandal and foul blot If we be seen together, blame me not, Though I do fear or doubt. What cruel fate, Angry with men, that gave us hearts alike And fortunes so asunder? You're a cedar, I a poor shrub, that may look up unto you With adoration, but ne'er reach your height.

SYL. But, Thyrsis, I do love you. Love and death Do not much differ; they make all things equal: The monuments of kings may show for them What they have been; but look upon their dust-- The colour and the weight of theirs and beggars' You'll find the same: and if, 'mongst living men, Nature has printed in the face of many The characters of nobleness and worth, Whose fortune envies them a worthy place In birth or honour, when the greatest men, Whom she has courted, bear the marks of slaves, Love (sure,) will look on those, and lay aside The accidents of wealth and noble blood, And in our thoughts will equal them with kings.

THYR. 'Tis true, divinest lady, that the souls Of all men are alike, of the same substance, By the same Maker into all infus'd; But yet the several matters which they work on-- How different they are, I need not tell you. And as these outward organs give our souls Or more or less room, as they are contriv'd, To show their lustre, so again comes fortune And darkens them, to whom the gods have given A soul divine and body capable Of that divinity and excellence. But 'tis the order of the Fates, whose causes We must not look into. But you, dear madam, Nature and fortune have conspir'd to make The happiest alive.

SYL. Ah me most wretched! What pleasure can there be in highest state, Which is so cross'd in love--the greatest good The gods can tell how to bestow on men?

THYR. Yet some do reckon it the greatest ill, A passion of the mind, form'd in the fancy, And bred to be the worst disease of reason.

SYL. They that think so are such as love excludes: Men full of age or foul deformity. No, Thyrsis, let not us profane that deity: Love is divine, the seed of everything, The cause why now we live, and all the world.

THYR. Love is divine, for if religion Binds us to love, the gods, who never yet Reveal'd themselves in anything to us But their bright images, the fairest creatures Who are our daily objects; loving them, We exercise religion: let us not Be scrupulous or fear; the gods have care Of us and of our piety.

SYL. But take heed: We cannot be too wary. Many things Oppose our wills; yet, if you think it fit, And this night's silence will so favour us, We'll go together: if we quit this country, It is no matter: all the world to me Will be Arcadia, if I may enjoy Thy company, my love.

THYR. No, Sylvia-- Pardon me, dear, if still I call you so-- Enjoy your fortunes; think how much your honour Must suffer in this act! For me, I find, It is enough that I have ever lov'd you: Now let me, at the light of your bright eye, Burn like the bird whose fires renew her nest; I shall leave you behind me to the world, The Phoenix of true love and constancy: Nor is that bird more glorious in her flames, Than I shall be in mine, though they consume me.

SYL. It must not be; for know, my dearest shepherd, I shall not tell one minute after thee; I find my soul so link'd to thine, that death Cannot divide us.

THYR. What then shall we do? Shall we resolve to live thus, till we gaze Our eyes out first, and then lose all our senses In their succession? Shall we strive to leave Our souls breath'd forth upon each other's lips? Come, let us practise: this our envious fates Cannot deny us.

_Enter_ CLEANDER.

CLE. What a sight were this, To meet her father? This would make him mad Indeed, and execute his rage himself. Madam, your father's here!

SYL. Ha, Delia! Cleander, is it thou? then I'm betray'd The second time; but must thy fortune make thee The instrument of my undoing still?

CLE. Shepherd, I will not honour thee so much As to inquire thy name: thou hast done that Thou wilt pay dear for, and I hope thy death Will take away the blot of this disgrace Th' hast laid upon the princess.

THYR. If you do this, You'll make me happy: it was this I look'd for, My trivial acts of life this of my death Will recompense with glory; I shall die To save my princess, and what's more, to save The life of her life, her unspotted honour. Bless'd lady, though you are as innocent And chaste as purest virgins that have yet Seen nothing in a dream to warm their blood, Yet the malicious world, the censuring people, That haste to cast dirt on the fairest things, Will hardly spare you, if it once be known That we were here together. As for me, My life is nothing but variety Of grief and troubles, which with constancy I have borne yet; 'tis time that now I die, Before I do accuse the gods, that have Brought me to this, and so pull on my death A punishment. Will you be merciful, And end me quickly?

CLE. Shepherd, know for this Thy resolution, which in noble bloods I scarce have found, I willingly would grant What thou desir'st. But something must be known Before that time either from you or you.

SYL. I know, Cleander, it is me you aim at: I do confess, this shepherd is my love; For his sake I did leave the court and thee, Unworthy as thou art to be his rival.

CLE. Madam, my duty bids me speak to you, Not as a lover now, but as you are My princess and the daughter of my king. I would not for the world have those desires Which I had then; for, sure, my bolder love Would have transgress'd the limits of all duty, And would have dar'd to tell you that this shepherd Was not a match for great Arcadia's heir, Nor yet one fit for my competitor. 'Tis not his outward feature--which how fair It is, I do not question--that can make him Noble or wise; whereas my birth, deriv'd From ancient kings, and years not far unsuiting Those of your own--to these my education, To you well known, perhaps might make me worthy Of being your servant.

SYL. Can'st thou look on this, This piece, Cleander, and not blush to boast Thy follies thus, seeking to take away From his full virtue? If but this one act Of his appear unto the world, as now It shall; for I'll not shame to publish him, Though I die for it: will it not devour Thy empty glories and thy puff'd-up nothings And (like a grave) will bury all thy honours? Do, take his life, and glory in that act; But, be thou sure, in him thou shalt kill two.

CLE. What mean you, madam?

SYL. Not to live a minute After his death.

CLE. That all the gods forbid!

SYL. No, they command it rather, that have made Our souls but one. Cleander, thou wert wont To be more courteous; and I do see Some pity in thee: if not for pity's sake, Yet for thine own good, spare his life, and take Mine; for thou know'st, when I am dead, this kingdom Thy father will inherit or thyself. 'Tis but the waiting of an old man's death, Who cannot long outlive me: will you do't?

THYR. Sir, you are noble, I do see you are, You lov'd this lady once: by that dear love-- With me it was a conjuration To draw my soul out, whilst I was so happy-- I do beseech you spare her noble life, Her death will sit full heavy on your soul, And in your height of kingly dignities Disturb that head which crowns will give no rest to. To take my life is justice.

SYL. Rather mine; I have offended in first loving him, And now betraying him unto his end.

THYR. Be not so cruel, madam, to yourself And me, to envy me a death so noble. Sir, as you hope your love shall ever prosper, Your great designs, your fights, whate'er they are; As you do hope for peace in your last hour, And that the earth may lightly clothe your ashes, Despatch me quickly, send me to my death.

CLE. A strange contention! Madam, will you please A little to retire: 'tis your honour That I do strive to save, as well as life. Pray, do not cross my purpose; I shall do Something that you may thank me for.

SYL. Cleander, Save but the shepherd, and I'll crown thy merit.

CLE. Will you be pleas'd to enter here?

SYL. But swear That thou wilt save him.

CLE. I shall do my best. I dare not swear; for 'tis not in my power To do what you command.

SYL. But will you swear To let me know of it before he die?

CLE. I will, by heaven.

SYL. Then I take my leave. And, Thyrsis, be thou sure, whatever fate Attends thy life, the same does govern mine: One kiss I must not be denied.

CLE. Fie, madam! How low is this in you?

SYL. Then thus we part, To meet again, I hope.

THYR. Down, stubborn heart, Wilt thou not break yet? In my death I find Nothing that's terrible; but this farewell Presents my soul with all the pains of hell. [_Exeunt._

SCENA IV.

MIRTILLUS, _Chorus of_ SHEPHERDS.

1ST SHEP. I'm sorry that this business went not forward.

2D SHEP. So am not I; we're rid of so much trouble.

1ST SHEP. Yet it is strange the king should send for us, And when we were come, command us to return.

MIR. No, 'tis not strange; it was his will to do so. But if you have an itch of dancing, friends, Next holiday we'll ha't amongst ourselves, And every man shall dance with his own sweetheart: What say you, shepherds? will't not be as well?

1ST SHEP. It will be very fine. But where is Thyrsis?

2D SHEP. Ay, where is he! you went along with him; Where did you leave him?

MIR. Walking in a garden, Where when I came to call him, he was gone.

2D SHEP. It seems he cares not for our company.

MIR. Neither for yours nor any man's besides.

1ST SHEP. He is much alter'd since his love was lost; Methinks he's nothing like the man he was.

MIR. Well then, beware, my friends, how you engage Yourselves in love: he is a fair example. And Hylas too--he's drooping for his mistress: Daphnis is mad, they say; if you've a mind To die or to run mad, then be in love.

2D SHEP. See where he comes, in what a fume he is!

MIR. I do not like his fumes: pray let's away. [_Exeunt._

SCENA V.

DAPHNIS. _To him_ DORINDA.

DAPH. He will not now be found, the traitor. But, Where'er he be, nor heaven nor hell shall save him From my revenge. To take away the life Of that sweet innocent, without whose sight He knew I could not live, and to do this Under the name of friendship! O ye gods! What age can parallel so great a mischief? This is his magic glass, which had the virtue To make her mine, but sent her to the gods. Bless'd soul, I will revenge thy death, and then I'll follow thee myself.

DOR. Daphnis, my, love, Whither so fast?

DAPH. Now, love, deliver me; And must you come to trouble me? Begone! I cannot stay to hear thy tedious follies.

DOR. Were all your vows then made but to abuse me? Are there not pains to punish perjur'd men? And will they not o'ertake you?

DAPH. 'Las, poor fool! The gods do laugh at such slight perjuries As come from lovers.

DOR. Yet it was no conquest To deceive one that would be credulous: A simple maid, that lov'd you!

DAPH. Then I see There is no end of women's reasoning; Or else this might suffice thee--that I cannot, No, nor I will not love thee.

DOR. Never?

DAPH. Never.

DOR. Go, cruel man, and if the god of love Will hear my prayers, thou in thy love shalt thrive, As I in mine: that, when thou art forlorn, Thou may'st remember her thou now dost scorn. [_Exeunt._

ACTUS V., SCENA 1.

HYLAS.

It was the cruel practice of my fate That lifted me unto the height of bliss To make my fall the greater: for no sooner Did I enjoy the love of my Nerina, But in a moment she was taken from me: A love so dearly bought with sighs and tears, So many years spent in the gaining her, And lost in one poor minute! It is better Always to live a miserable life Than once to have been happy. She is dead, And I alive, that cannot live without her. 'Tis fit that I die too; but by what means? By violence? No, that the gods forbid. A ling'ring grief, I need not fear, will kill me, When every day I shall repair, as now, Unto her tomb, and consecrate my tears And tearing sighs unto her blessed ghost. Some pitying god, when I'm dissolv'd away Upon her ashes, will congeal those tears, That they may clothe her dust; whilst some kind shepherd, Passing this way, does write this on her grave--

_See here Nerina, that from Hylas' eyes_ _Fed her fair flame, now in their dew she lies._

Thus I will have it: so the words shall run. [_Exit._

SCENA II.

DAPHNIS, ALCON, NERINA. _To them_ HYLAS, MONTANUS, CHARINUS, MIRTILLUS.

DAPH. It shall not serve thy turn, malicious shepherd, Though thou hast ta'en my love away by tricks, Yet all thy cunning and thy practices Shall not secure thee from my revenge.

ALC. Are these the thanks I have for that rich jewel Which I bestow'd on thee, ungrateful man?

DAPH. Yes, for a poison'd glass--a precious jewel!

ALC. I do confess 'twas poison'd.

DAPH. Do you so! And, to do me a courtesy, you kill'd her.

ALC. Yet hear me, she is not dead; and if she be, I'll pay my life for hers.

DAPH. Be sure thou shalt. But can'st thou hope for such a strong illusion To mock my sense? Did I not see her dead?

ALC. She did appear so: what you thought was death Is but a lethargy; though I profess not To draw the moon down from the sphere she is in, Or make the sun look bloody by my art, Yet am I well-inform'd in everything This glass is made of, and I know th' effects It works, and can discourse 'em.

DAPH. Let me hear them.

ALC. Have patience, and you shall: the glass, you see, Of this rare mirror which I gave you, is Made of a Memphian stone, that has the power To bring a deadly sleep on all the senses: With it, to make th' effects more strong, is mingled The quintessence, extracted in a limbec, Of the torpedo, which has such a quality That if the fisher touch it with his hook, A poison straight will creep through all his veins, Till it benumb his senses. This compounded, And made into a glassy metal, soon Reflects upon the eyes of him that looks in't A sleepy poison, which will stupefy The vital parts. Yet he that gave it me Taught me the cordial water which he us'd To restore spirits and heat unto those vitals; And I have brought it with me for our purpose. What have I wrong'd you now? Or is my present Worthy the thanks you give me?

DAPH. Yet you were To blame, that you'd not tell me this, before I gave it her.

ALC. In that I show'd my love; For I did fear your resolution, Though I were certain of recovering her.

DAPH. And what must now be done?

ALC. Here, where you found me, I saw her laid, and buried in the clothes She wont to wear--her father so would have it. I waited on the funeral with purpose To see the stone laid hollow on her grave, For fear of hurting her.

DAPH. It was well done.

ALC. Here I'll apply my medicine; you shall see Whether I lie or no.

DAPH. Let's lose no time. I long to see my love alive again.

ALC. Then help to lift this stone; see where she lies-- The same Nerina?

DAPH. She is dead, I see.

ALC. Love is still full of fears: give me the water.

DAPH. Here: but take heed it do not spoil her face.

ALC. If she be dead, you need not fear the change Of any colour. What a child is love!

DAPH. The gods, I see, will not let beauty die. She breathes--she stirs--her eyes begin to open As after sleep. O miracle!

ALC. How now? Is she alive? Will you believe your sense? Now I have put her in your hands, be sure You do not let her go, and lose no time. If you give credit to her words, you're lost. What cannot women's words and flatteries Effect with simple lovers? Think on that. Be confident: I'll leave you to your fate.

NER. Ye gods, where am I now? What place is this? What light is this I see? Are the same things Seen in this new world as they are in th' other? Or in the grave do men see waters, trees, As I do now, and all things, as I liv'd? But (sure) I live still. If I do, why then Was I here buried amongst these flowers? Sure, I am dead; but yet I walk and speak, And I have heard that those who once are dead Can never use their voice or action. But who is this I see here? Daphnis, ha! Are you dead too, as well as I?

DAPH. No, sweet; I live to be the servant of Nerina.

NER. Ay, so said Hylas, whilst I liv'd with him.

DAPH. She thinks of Hylas still: what shall I do?

NER. But tell me, Daphnis, in what place am I?

DAPH. In Daphnis' heart you live, and ever did.

NER. And so said Hylas, when we liv'd together.

DAPH. O gods, again! Nerina, think not on him; You must love me.

NER. Must they in this new world, As they have chang'd their lives, so change their loves? I never shall do that.

DAPH. You are deceiv'd: You are not dead.

NER. Not dead? How came I hither then?

DAPH. By my device to keep me company.

NER. But will you not declare how I came hither?

DAPH. Ask me not that; but go along with me.

NER. Stay, shepherd, whither would you have me go?

DAPH. Where love and silence shall befriend us best.

NER. But tell me, Daphnis, was not I once dead?

DAPH. You were; but I, your servant, chang'd that death Into a sleep.

NER. I know not what you mean: Can you change death into a sleep?

DAPH. I can, And did for love of you.

NER. This is a riddle: Pray let me know what you do mean by it?

DAPH. Come with me, and you shall.

NER. Nay, tell me first.

DAPH. Then know, fair shepherdess, that when I saw My love, my services, my gifts, my vows, Did all return to me without your love, I had recourse unto this artifice: A pleasant one of love's invention, Which you may well remember.

NER. What was that?

DAPH. I did present you with a looking-glass.

NER. You did, but what of that?

DAPH. Nothing at all. Pray, go this way with me.

NER. But tell me first.

DAPH. That cast you into this deep lethargy: Such was the magic of it.

NER. To what purpose Did you do this?

DAPH. To make you mine.

NER. Yours, Daphnis? How could you hope that without my consent?

DAPH. My services, I thought, would merit it; Besides, the world, not dreaming but you were Dead and here buried, we two might live Together, without being known to any.

NER. But could you practise tricks on those you love? Now you are paid with your own artifice: For know, there's none that can dispose of me But Hylas, who has long preserv'd my heart; And now my father, whom I did resolve For ever to obey, has made him mine By giving his consent, which had not been But for this trick of yours.

DAPH. Why then it seems You do not love me?

NER. Love you! Know, I had Rather embrace my death again than thee.

DAPH. Then 'tis no time to dally: come along, Or I will force you.

NER. Help me, shepherds, help!

DAPH. Fool! stop your mouth, no human help shall save thee.

_Enter_ HYLAS.

HYL. This is the place where I am come to pay My tears' first sacrifice upon this tomb That glories in the spoils of all my wealth.

NER. Hylas, come help me; see'st thou not that Daphnis Will ravish me?

HYL. Ha! what do I hear? The voice of my Nerina! so she spake When she did live; but now, alas! she's dead. Some devil mocks me with a vision, And voice unto it.

NER. Will you see me ravish'd Before your face? O Hylas! O my love!

HYL. Tis she, it is no vision: hold, ravisher, My love thou canst not take without my life.

_Enter_ MIRTILLUS, MONTANUS, CHARINUS.

MIR. What noise is this?

MON. Some shriek much like a woman's.

NER. O, help my love, Mirtillus!

MIR. Shepherd, hold; Let go this nymph.

DAPH. Or death or victory Shall crown my enterprise.

CHAR. Who makes this outcry?

MIR. Sir, I shall cool you, if you be so hot.

CHAR. My daughter here! was she not buried? Away, foul spirit, away! Let's part these shepherds.

NER. O father, do you think that I am dead? I am alive, as you are; touch me, see.

CHAR. She is alive indeed! How cam'st thou hither?

NER. Daphnis, whom you would have to be my husband, Brought me to this supposed death and grave.

CHAR. By what strange means, Nerina?

NER. By the glass You bid me I should take: he has confess'd To me that it was poison'd.

CHAR. Can it be? Can Daphnis do this? He had little reason.

DAPH. She was a fool to cry; I should ha' pleas'd her Ere this, perhaps.

CHAR. Here, Hylas, take my daughter, For she is thine: you, Daphnis, I did further In all I could, till you would find a trick To put yourself beside her.

NER. I forgive him: For though it was ill-meant, yet did it sort By accident unto my good.

MON. But will Our laws permit a ravisher to live?

HYL. No, no, Montanus: let him live, and envy Our present happiness.

DAPH. Cover, you gods, The world in public ruin, or else show me A way to hide my shame.

MON. What will he do?

MIR. He will go hang himself: what plots he had To fool himself with!

MON. They that practise tricks, Find them as jades, that throw 'em first, then kick 'em, As his has done.

CHAR. Come, shepherds, let's away, And solemnise these nuptials.

MIR. Stay, Montanus, Did the king send for you?

MON. He did.

MIR. And how?

MON. The message came from Thyrsis.

MIR. I'll go with you: 'Tis strange the king should send for you: pray heaven Thyrsis have done no mischief there: he's handsome, Of a good grace and moving eloquence: Perhaps some lady may have taken him Up for herself, and he, I'll lay a wager, Will be so squeamish that, if Sylvia Come in his mind, he ne'er will do her reason, And then her plot will be how to betray him-- Would I were in his place!

MON. I would thou wert, So he were safe.

MIR. I would comply, ne'er fear it; They live a heavenly life of love in court To that which we do here; a mistress there Will satisfy the longings of her lover, And never trouble Hymen for the matter: Then, if they like not, they may look elsewhere.

MON. Thou wilt be punish'd one day for thy mischief.

MIR. The mischief's in my tongue, I ne'er do any.

MON. No, I have heard that Stella was with child By thee, and thou must father it.

MIR. Who--I? Take me at that once--fathering of children, And make me common father of them all! A child's a pretty thing, and I should joy To see one of mine own. I'll tell thee truth, Montanus. By this hand, I never lay With any woman in my life.

MON. How then? You have courted all; who is it that Mirtillus Has not profess'd to love?

MIR. I do confess it, And that is all I could do; for before I could get earnest of any one's love, To whom I made address, even she would say: You have another mistress, go to her, I will not be her stale: and so by this means, Nor this nor that would do me any reason.

MON. You had ill luck, it seems; 'twas not your fault.

MIR. No, for if they would believe me, I did swear I had no other. Pray, Montanus, tell me---- For you have known the several ways of wooing, Which is the best and safest?

MON. O Mirtillus, Grey hairs have put the wilder thoughts of love Out of my head; cold blood and frozen limbs Fright all those heats away, in place of which Discretion and sobriety should come.

MIR. But, I have heard, old men do sometimes love.

MON. They doat, Mirtillus--give it the right name; In old men's bloods Cupid does quench his flames. But as we go, I'll tell thee: not to love At all is best; but if you needs must love, Love one, and seek no further. Thou wilt find Enough of her, if once she prove unkind.

SCENA III.

DAPHNIS, ALCON. _To_ DAPHNIS, DORINDA.

There is no way t' avoid the shame of this. Each shepherd's boy, that sings unto his flock, Will make me the scorn'd subject of his song.

ALC. Had you been sudden, as I counsell'd you, You had not fail'd: but you young men do never Go through with anything.

DAPH. For heaven's sake, Call not that wicked deed to my remembrance. I do repent me that I e'er begun it: I would not for a world have ended it: Nerina's chaste and fair, and I a villain. Leave me, I pray; for something tells me you Did first advise me to this damned act.

ALC. Nay, if you prize my friendship at this rate, I'll leave you to your penance. [_Exit._

DAPH. This old man Is full of malice; nothing troubles him. The ills that he has done fly from his thoughts, And he rejoices that he did them quaintly; I have begun my youth as if I meant To have my age so punish'd as his is.

_Enter_ DORINDA.

Who's this? Dorinda! I have done her wrong: I sued for love to her first, which obtain'd, I stuck disgraces on her; let me ask Forgiveness now, for 'twere too much to hope That she should love one stain'd with such a deed As I have done, so foul and impious.

DOR. Great love, if yet thou art not satisfied With all the wrongs I have sustain'd for thee; My blood, I hope, thy anger will appease, Which thou may'st glut thyself with.

DAPH. Gentle nymph.

DOR. I've been too gentle, do not mock me with't: O Daphnis! is it you? This is not well To mock me thus; your looks, when arm'd with frowns, Gave not my heart so deep a wound as this.

DAPH. I mean no scorn; I come to ask your pardon For what I've done already, not to heap More sins upon my head.

DOR. 'Tis very strange.

DAPH. But true, Dorinda; will you spit upon me? Take your revenge, for I have well deserv'd it.

DOR. But is this serious, Daphnis? O, take heed, Crack not my heart with such a load of grief And scorn, so press'd as this is: if you do, The gods will punish it; for though they have Neglected me thus long, they will revenge Such injuries as these.

DAPH. My many ills Discredit my repentance: if my words Can find no faith with you, believe my tears: Indeed they are not feign'd.

DOR. Even so you look'd When first you stole my heart: but I forgive you, Whate'er become of me, I still must love you.

DAPH. Forgive me first, and then I will begin By my endeavours and true services To deserve something of you, if not love.

DOR. There is not that hard-heartedness in man Which I did think, for he repents, I see. O Daphnis! if thou mean'st not this as scorn, Take me into thine arms, and I will be Thy slave.

DAPH. O, say not so; let me Rather be thine; it will be pride in me To be ambitious of it.

DOR. O my heart! What sudden joy thou strik'st into it now! But yet methinks I fear thou dost not love me.

DAPH. Why should you fear? By Pan, you are to me Whate'er you can imagine; equal--above All that I e'er thought fair; and if you be Content to hide my faults, and take me to Your nuptial bed, which yet I dare not hope-- But if you will, whene'er that day shall come, Th' embraces of my love and me shall be Such, as the Cyprian boy from our abundance Shall take his fires to kindle other hearts, Yet leave with us a flame which we will cherish, And keep alive unto eternity.

DOR. Women are ever credulous--most then, When knowledge of the truth would but afflict them. I dare not now distrust you, though I knew What you have said were false: it has a semblance Of such a pleasing truth: give me thy hand, And take thou mine; whilst we walk thus entwin'd, I shall think Daphnis never was unkind. [_Exeunt._

SCENA IV.

EUBULUS, CLEANDER. _To them_ THYRSIS, SYLVIA.

What, are they dead? is the king's will obey'd?

CLE. No, sir, they live, and Hymen in his bands Has tied them both; the happiest knot that e'er Knit two such equal hearts and loves together. O, I'm ravish'd with the news: my joy Is greater now than if sh' had been the daughter Unto our king, and I had married her.

EUB. I am amaz'd; pray Jove thou be'st not mad.

CLE. Somewhat exalted, sir, beyond myself, But yet not mad. Go, sir, unto the king; Tell him Cleander lives to make him happy.

EUB. Sure, thou wilt come unto thyself anon! Prythee, bethink thee.

CLE. Yes, sir, I do think, And know that I have news to make him live, And you an age yet longer.

EUB. This is strange.

CLE. 'Tis true.

EUB. But what is true?

CLE. 'Tis true, my sister Shall be a queen.

EUB. If she do live, I think She will; but yet you know we were commanded To cut that life off.

CLE. But your hasty son, That came so speedy with a fatal message, Was not so forward now; they both do live, And both are married.

EUB. Jupiter forbid!

CLE. The Fates command it, 'tis their proper work: The shepherd is a prince--your prince and mine, And married to my sister.

EUB. Ha! what's that? Prythee, digest thy troubled thoughts, and tell me What prince is this thou mean'st?

CLE. Archigenes.

EUB. Thou dream'st: it cannot be.

CLE. No? then come forth, You royal pair, and testify yourselves.

_Enter_ THYRSIS _and_ SYLVIA.

SYL. Father, your blessing.

EUB. Ha!

CLE. Nay, I've told all. She knows she is your daughter: look, sir, here; Here we must place our reverence.

EUB. Who's this?

CLE. Not yet? Then look upon this circle, that You know for certain, though you know not him.

EUB. 'Tis it--it is the same: _Archigenes,_ _Son of Euarchus and Eudora_: This is my character, and this my seal.

THYR. Sir, I have heard that by your piety My infant life was sav'd: now by the goodness, Deriv'd from you unto your son, I have Not only found my life, but my content. The sum of all my hopes--this lady here, Without whose love my life had been a torment.

SYL. And I the happiest maid that ever was, Conducted by the power of simple love, Have found, in place of him I thought a shepherd, A princely lover.

EUB. Rise, Calligone: The gods are just, I see, that, favouring My innocence, have brought this match about. But say, Cleander, what fate guided thee To this discovery?

CLE. Sir, should I tell you How many ways I cast to save my sister After the fatal message which I brought, I should be tedious, and keep you from What you do long to hear: in short, I soon Resolv'd to make away this royal shepherd: And knowing that, in this affair, to keep it Secret, despatch was needful, I commanded A servant, of whose faith and courage I Was well-assur'd, to kill him in my presence.

EUB. 'Tis strange thou shouldst be present at a murder.

CLE. 'Twas a necessity was laid upon me, Because I would be sure to see him dead. I bade him choose his death; when manfully He said he car'd not how, so he might die. I knew to strangle him was the readiest way, Which death himself was ready to embrace: This his so noble resolution Did startle me from mine; my servants' hands Trembled for fear, Presaging what a sin they were to act: He bade him be assur'd he would not start. And often call'd him to despatch him quickly.

SYL. What man could have a heart for such a deed, And see his face?

CLE. The prince, before he came To put the fatal twist about his neck, Besought me, as I ever hop'd for peace, I should preserve the princess; this I promis'd, And whatsoever else he would desire. He answered, nothing now, but hasty death; Then stripping off his doublet, I espied With a quick eye this golden circle here, When hastily I bid my servant hold, And let him go. He ask'd me why I stay'd; I told him that about his neck was sacred. He would have rent it off, but I forbad it.

EUB. What did you then?

CLE. Sir, I did well remember What I had heard of th' oracle and you, Which, with the computation of his years, I found agreeing to make up a truth; Which you before assur'd me. Then I ask'd him Whether he would be married to the princess Before he died; he thought that I had mock'd him, And said I practis'd tyranny upon him. Then went I to my sister, and desir'd The same of her. In fine, I saw them both Join hands and hearts together; but the prince Thought this a dream of life, which certain death Would wake him from, until I did assure him Of his great state, and that his love, whom now He thought to be the princess, was my sister; All which I did refer unto your knowledge.

EUB. This day for ever let it holy be, And you, whom love has brought through deep despair Unto the haven of your happiness, Enjoy each other freely. Of you, brave shepherd, But now my prince, I shall inquire anon Where and with whom you liv'd.

THYR. Sir, the shepherd Whom I call father stays without. Montanus His name is, by whose gentle hands (as he Has often told me) I was rescu'd first From cold and death, since under his kind roof Foster'd, and bred as his.

EUB. Go, call him in.

_Enter_ MONTANUS, MIRTILLUS.

You're welcome both; you may applaud your fortune That brought you such a shepherd. Stay all here, Whilst I go to the king. This day will add More years unto his life, when he shall say, No day shone brighter on Arcadia. [_Exit._

MON. We are both come to do our duties to you, I as being sent for, and Mirtillus with me, To celebrate your joys. Within a while, The shepherds and the nymphs will all be here.

THYR. My old companions shall be welcome all, As you are now; I never shall forget Your courtesy nor theirs.

SYL. Nor I the nymphs', Once my dear fellows; but you, Mirtillus, Though you did scorn to love, yet could you sing Well, if you listed of it.

CLE. Can shepherds then Despise that deity which we adore?

MIR. Madam, I reverence it in you, The perfect'st pattern of a constant lover, And in the honour of your nuptials I have a song, which if your grace will hear, 'Twill entertain the time.

SYL. Let it be sung.

_Song._

_Hymen, god of marriage-bed,_ _Be thou ever honoured:_ _Thou, whose torch's purer light_ _Death's sad tapers did affright,_ _And instead of funeral fires_ _Kindled lovers' chaste desires:_ _May their love_ _Ever prove_ _True and constant; let not age_ _Know their youthful heat t' assuage._

_2._

_Maids, prepare the genial bed:_ _Then come, night, and hide that red,_ _Which from her cheeks his heart does burn;_ _Till the envious day return,_ _And the lusty bridegroom say,_ _I have chas'd her fears away,_ _And instead_ _Of virgin-head,_ _Given her a greater good:_ _Perfection and womanhood._

THYR. Thanks, good Mirtillus; this indeed was proper Unto your subject.

MIR. Your thrice-happy match Being but now come to my knowledge, made me Contract myself into a straiter room Than the large subject might afford.

CLE. The king!

_To these_ EUARCHUS, EUBULUS.

EUAR. Although I wonder, yet I do believe thee, My faithful councillor.

EUB. Your majesty Has found me always real; but this truth The oracle's accomplishment will prove, That did foretell their match.

EUAR. Read it, Eubulus, Once more, and then call in my son and daughter.

EUB. _If e'er thy issue male thou liv'st to see,_ _The child thou think'st is thine, thine shall not be._

EUAR. Calligone is not my child; proceed.

EUB. _His life shall be obscure: twice shall thy hate_ _Doom him to death, yet shall he 'scape that fate._

EUAR. 'Tis true, that twice I did command his death, First thinking him a bastard, then a shepherd, For his offence: the gods are just. Go on.

EUB. _And thou shalt live to see, that not long after_ _Thy only son shall wed thy only daughter._

EUAR. This was a riddle ever till this day, Their marriage has made it plain. Eubulus, Call in Archigenes, and call thy daughter, The fair Calligone, that I may pour My blessings on them: and I long to see Those characters thou writ'st about his neck, That I may call him mine.

EUB. See where they are!

EUAR. Archigenes, come nearer, for thou art A stranger yet, although thou be my son. The character is plain, it is the same Eubulus writ to me: ye heavenly powers, Give me a heart that may be large enough T' express my joy for these and thanks to you.

THYR. My royal father--for I am instructed To call you so--if I have done amiss In hasting to this match, I ask your pardon.

SYL. And I for daring to aspire so high Without your leave.

EUAR. Rise both; you have my blessing. But who are these?

THYR. This is the shepherd, sir, Who took me up first, whom till now I call'd Father, and he deserv'd it for his care.

EUAR. Eubulus, this is he; Montanus, is it not?

EUB. He is deliver'd to me for the shepherd, Of whom your majesty may, if you please, Be well-inform'd of all those passages I left untold.

EUAR. Some other time we'll hear them: Let him be well rewarded.

THYR. Sir, these shepherds Are come to entertain your majesty With their devices, as their custom is; In which sometimes, until my fortune chang'd, I bore a part.

EUAR. Let them be feasted all, And study something new to celebrate These nuptials, which I will have proclaim'd Throughout my kingdom: and, Eubulus, see That everything be fitted for their honour. Come, let us to the temple, that we may With holy sacrifice appease the gods, Whose great decrees, though we did strive to hinder, Yet are they now fulfill'd. It is in vain T' oppose the Fates, whose laws do all constrain.

THE EPILOGUE TO THE KING AND QUEEN.

To you, most royal pair, whose lives have brought Virtue in fashion, and the world have taught, That chaste innocuous sports become the stage, No less than civil manners do the age, We dedicate this piece, but yet with fears To have displeas'd so chaste, so tender ears; Which if you free us from, we'll call this play No more the Shepherds', but our Holiday.

FUIMUS TROES: THE TRUE TROJANS

_EDITION._

_Fvimvs Troes, Æneid. 2. The Trve Troianes, Being a Story of the Britaines valour at the Romanes first invasion:_ _Publikely represented by the Gentlemen Students of Magdalen Colledge in Oxford._

_Quis Martem tunicâ tectum adamantinâ_ _Dignè scripserit?_

_London, Printed by I. L. for Robert Allott, and are to be sold at the signe of the Beare in Pauls-Churchyard, 1633. 4o._

INTRODUCTION

Dr Jasper Fisher, a gentleman's son, born in Bedfordshire, and entered a Commoner of Magdalen Hall in 1607, is declared by Wood[249] to be the author of this play. He afterwards took the degrees in arts, became divinity or philosophy reader of Magdalen College; rector of Wilden, Bedfordshire about 1631, and at length doctor of divinity. Besides this play he published some sermons. Oldys in his MSS. notes says he was blind. At what time he died is unknown. The title of this performance does not inform us when it was acted, nor is it spoken of as a republication.[250] Langbaine mentions no other edition but that of 1633, [nor is any other known, or believed to exist].

FOOTNOTES:

[249] "Ath. Oxon.," i. 619.

[250] All the acts close with songs by the Druids; and at the end of

## Act iii. is one in the Scottish dialect. Hence a conjecture has been

hazarded, either that the author was a Scotchman, or that the song was introduced to please King James. If so, the play must have been written and represented before 1625; but there is no evidence that James was ever present when it was performed.--_Collier._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

MERCURY. } FUR. CAMILLUS. } Livius, lib. 5 BRENNUS. }

JULIUS CÆSAR. } C. VOLUSENUS. } Q. LABERIUS, _alias_ LABIENUS. } Q. ATRIUS. } COMIUS ATREBAS. } CASSIBELANUS, _imperator Britannorum_. } Cæsar, Com. de MANDUBRATIUS, _princeps Trinobantum_. } bell. Gall., lib CINGETORIX, } } 4 et 5. CARVILIUS, } _four petty kings_ } TAXIMAGULUS, } _in Kent_. } SEGONAX, } }

{LUD, { ANDROGEUS. } { _his sons_ { TENANTIUS. } {CASSIBELANE. } {NENNIUS. } BELINUS, _a chief nobleman_. } Galfrid HIRILDAS, _nephew to Cassibelane_. } Monumetensis EULINUS, _nephew to Androgeus_. } lib. 4. CRIDOUS, _king of Albania_. } BRITAEL, _king of Demetia_. } GUERTHED, _king of Ordovicia_. }

NAMES FEIGNED.

LANTONUS, } _two druids,_ HULACUS, } _or priests._

LANDORA, } _two ladies_ CORDELLA, } _mentioned._

ROLLANO, _a Belgic_.

_Chorus of five Bards or Poets-Laureate._ _Soldiers, Shipmen, Servants._

FUIMUS TROES: THE TRUE TROJANS.

MERCURY _conducting the ghosts of_ BRENNUS _and_ CAMILLUS[251] _in complete armour, and with swords_ _drawn._

MER. As in the vaults of this big-bellied earth Are dungeons, whips and flames for wicked ghosts; So fair Elysian fields, where spotless souls Do bathe themselves in bliss.[252] Amongst the rest,[253] Two pleasant groves by two sorts are possess'd: One by true lovers crown'd with myrtle boughs, Who hand-in-hand sing pæans of their joy: Brave soldiers hold the second, clad in steel, Whose glittering arms brighten those gloomy shades, In lieu of starry lights. From hence I bring A pair of martial imps,[254] by Jove's decree, As sticklers[255] in their nation's enmity. Furious Camillus, and, thou Briton bold, Great Brennus, sheathe your conquering blades. In vain You threaten death; for ghosts may not be slain.

BREN. From the unbounded ocean and cold climes, Where Charles his wain[256] circles the Northern Pole, I first led out great swarms of shaggy Gauls And big-bon'd Britons. The white-pated Alps, Where snow and winter dwell, did bow their necks To our victorious feet: Rome, proudest Rome, We cloth'd in scarlet of patrician blood, And 'bout your Capitol pranc'd our vaunting steeds, Defended more by geese,[257] than by your gods.

CAM. But I cut short your fury, and my sword Redeem'd the city, making your huge trunks To fat our crows, and dung our Latian fields. I turn'd your torrent to another coast; And what you quickly won, you sooner lost.

MER. Leave these weak brawlings. Now swift time hath spent A Pylian age and more, since you two breath'd, Mirrors of Briton and of Roman valour. Lo, now the black imperial bird doth clasp Under her wings the continent; and Mars, Trampling down nations with his brazen wheels, Fights for his nephews, and hath once more made Britons and Romans meet. To view these deeds I, Hermes, bring you to this upper sky; Where you may wander, and with ghastly looks Incite your countrymen, when night and sleep Conquer the eyes: when weary bodies rest, And senses cease,[258] be furies in their breast. Never two nations better match'd; for Jove Loves both alike. Whence then these armed bands? Mavors[259] for Rome, Neptune for Albion stands.

BREN. Then let war ope his jaws as wide as hell, And fright young babes; my country-folk, more stern, Can outlook Gorgon. Let the Fates transpos'd Hang beaten flags up in the victor's land: Full dearly will each pace of ground be sold, Which rated is at dearest blood, not gold. What! are their ruin'd fanes, demolish'd walls, So soon forgot? Doth Allia yet run clear? Or can three hundred summers slake their fear?

CAM. Arise, thou Julian star, whose angry beams Be heralds to the North of war and death. Let those black calends be reveng'd; those ghosts, Whose mangled sheaths, depriv'd of funeral rites, Made the six hills promise a Cadmus' crop-- Be expiated with a fiery deluge. Jove rules the spheres, Rome all the world beside; And shall this little corner be denied?

MER. Bandy no more these private frowns; but haste, Fly to your parties, and enrage their minds: Till, at the period of these broils, I call And back reduce you[260] to grim Pluto's hall [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[251] Brennus, king or leader of the Transalpine Gauls. He won the battle of Allia against the Romans, and in consequence of it made himself master of their city, which he entered about the year 363 from its foundation, and committed every excess which wanton barbarity could dictate. After continuing there some time, he was defeated and driven out of it by Camillus, then an exile, but created dictator on the occasion.

[252] So Milton, in "Comus," l. 811--

"One sip of this Will _bathe the drooping spirits in delight_ _Beyond the bliss of dreams_."

The thought is much older than Milton, and the following from Chaucer is still more apposite--

"His herte was _bathed in a bath of bliss_."

--"Wife of Bath's Tale."

Chaucer has nearly the same expression in his "Book of Troilus," l. 1, st. 4--

"But ye lovers that _bathen in gladnesse_."

--_Collier._

[253] See Virgil's "Æneid," bk. vi.

[254] "Impyn," says Mr Steevens (note to the "Second Part of Henry IV.," act v. sc. 5), is a Welsh word, and primitively signifies a sprout, a sucker; and by the writers of this period is almost perpetually used for progeny. So in Chaloner's translation of Erasmus's "Praise of Folie," 1549, sig. D 3: "Yet truly more pernicious was he to the common-weale, in leavying so ungracious an _ympe_ as Commodus was," &c.

[255] A _stickler_ was a sidesman to a fencer, so called because he carried a _stick_, wherewith to part the combatants. See Note to "The Ordinary," [xii. 275.]

[256] Seven stars in the constellation Ursa Minor.

[257] After Brennus had taken the city of Rome, he besieged the Capitol, and in the night attempted to scale the ramparts. The attempt was rendered abortive by the cackling of some geese consecrated to Juno, which were kept as sacred birds, and which being heard, gave an alarm to the garrison in time enough to save the place they defended.

[258] Generally speaking, this play was more accurately reprinted by Mr Reed than any other in the whole collection. Nevertheless, several errors crept in some of them from following the blunders of the old copy, although that is not so incorrect as many others of the same date. In a few instances the punctuation was neglected or mistaken, and such was the case with the passage in the text. It is evident that the ghosts of Camillus are to "incite their countrymen when night and sleep conquer the eyes," from scene 7 of act ii., where they work alternately upon Nennius and Cæsar, who are in "night-robes." Till now the wrong pointing obscured the sense. See also act v., scene 2.--_Collier._

[259] _i.e._, Mars.

## ACT I., SCENE I.

DUKE NENNIUS[261] _alone_.

NEN. Methinks I hear Bellona's dreadful voice Redoubled from the concave shores of Gaul: Methinks I hear their neighing steads, the groans Of complimental souls taking their leave: And all the dim and clamorous route which sounds When falling kingdoms crack in fatal flames. Die, Belgics,[262] die like men! Free minds need have Nought but the ground they fight on for their grave: And we are next. Think ye the smoky mist Of sun-boil'd seas can stop the eagle's eye?[263] Or can our wat'ry walls keep dangers out, Which fly aloft, that thus we snorting lie, Feeding imposthum'd humours, to be lanc'd By some outlandish surgeon? As they are now, whose flaming towns (like beacons) Give us fair warning, and e'en gild our spires, Whilst merrily we warm us at their fires. Yet we are next: who, charm'd with peace and sloth, Dream golden dreams. Go, warlike Britain, go, For olive-bough exchange thy hazel-bow: Hang up thy rusty helmet, that the bee May have a hive, or spider find a loom: Instead of soldiers' fare and lodging hard (The bare ground being their bed and table), lie Smother'd in down, melting in luxury: Instead of bellowing drum[264] and cheerful flute, Be lull'd in lady's lap with amorous lute. But as for Nennius, know, I scorn this calm: The ruddy planet at my birth bore sway, (Sanguine) adust my humour; and wild-fire (My ruling element), blood and rage, and choler, Make up the temper of a captain's valour. [_Exit._

## SCENE II.

JULIUS CÆSAR, COMIUS VOLUSENUS, LABERIUS; _Soldiers, with ensign, a two-necked eagle displayed_ _sable, drum, ancient, trumpet. A flourish._

CÆS. Welcome thus far, partners of weal and woe, Welcome, brave bloods! Now may our weapons sleep, Since Ariovist in cock-boat basely flies;[265] Vast Germany stands trembling at our bridge,[266] And Gaul lies bleeding in her mother's lap. Once the Pellæan duke did eastward march,[267] To rouse the drowsy sun, before he rose, Adorn'd with Indian rubies: but the main Bade him retire. He was my type. This day We stand on Nature's western brink; beyond, Nothing but sea and sky. Here is _nil ultra_. Democritus, make good thy fancy; give me More worlds to conquer, which may be both seen And won together. But methinks I ken A whitish cloud kissing the waves, or else Some chalky rocks surmount the barking flood. Comius, your knowledge can correct our eyes.

COM. It is the Britain shore, which ten leagues hence Displays her shining cliffs unto your sight.

CÆS. I'll hit the white.[268] That sea-mark for our ships Invites destruction, and gives to our eye A treacherous beck. Dare but resist, your shore Shall paint her pale face with red crimson gore.

COM. Thus much I know, great Cæsar--that they lent Their secret aid unto the neighbour Gauls; Fostering their fugitives with friendly care: Which made your victory fly with slower wing.

CÆS. That's cause enough. They shall not henceforth range Abroad for war; we'll bring him to their doors. His ugly idol shall displace their gods, Their dear Penates, and in desolate streets Raise trophies high of barbarous bones, whose stench May poison all the rest. I long to stride This Hellespont, or bridge it with a navy, Disclosing to our empire unknown lands, Until the arctic star for zenith stands.

LAB. Then raise the camp, and strike a dreadful march, And unawares pour vengeance on their heads. Be like the winged bolt of angry Jove, Or chiding torrent, whose late-risen stream From mountains' bended top runs raging down, Deflow'ring all the virgin dales.

CÆS. First, let's advise; for soon to ruin come Rash weapons, which lack counsel grave at home.

LAB. What need consulting where the cause is plain?

CÆS. The likeliest cause without regard proves vain.

LAB. Provide for battle, but of truce no word.

CÆS. Where peace is first refus'd, should come the sword.

LAB. But 'tis unlike their self-presuming might Will curbed be with terms of civil right.

CÆS. 'Tis true: yet so we stop the people's cry, When we propose, and they do peace deny. We'll therefore wise embassadors despatch, Parents of love, the harbingers of leagues; Men that may speak with mildness mix'd with courage, Having quick feet, broad eyes, short tongues, long ears, To warn the British court. And further view the ports, fathom the seas, Learn their complotments, where invasion may Be soonest entertain'd. All this shall lie On Volusene, a legate and a spy.

VOL. My care and quickness shall deserve this kindness. Meantime unite, and range your scatter'd troops: Embark your legions at the Iccian shore, And teach Erynnis[269] swim, which crawl'd before. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE III.

CASSIBELANUS, ANDROGEUS, TENANTIUS, BELINUS, _Attendants_.

CAS. Although the people's voice constrains me hold This regal staff, whose massy weight would bruise Your age and pleasures; yet this, nephews, know, Your trouble less, your honour is the same, As if you wore the diadem of this isle. Meanwhile, Androgeus, hold unto your use Our lady-city Troynovant,[270] and all The toll and tribute of delicious Kent; Of which each quarter can maintain a king. Have you, Tenantius, Cornwall's dukedom large, Both rich and strong in metals and in men. I must to Verulam's fenc'd town repair, And as protector for the whole take care.

AND. My heart agrees. Henceforth, ye sovereign cares, State mysteries, false graces, jealous fears, The linings of a crown, forsake my brain: These territories neither are too wide To trouble my content, nor yet too narrow To feed a princely train.

TEN. All thanks I render: your will shall guide ours; With treble-twisted love we'll strive to make One soul inform three bodies, keeping still The same affections both in good and ill. Now am I for a hunting-match. Yon thickets Shelter a boar, which spoil's the ploughman's hope: Whose jaws with double sword, whose back is arm'd With bristled pikes; whose fume inflames the air, And foam besnows the trampled corn. This beast I long to see come smoking to a feast. [_Exit_ TENANTIUS.

BEL. Here comes my Belgic friend, Landora's servant. What news, Rollano, that thy feet so strive To have precedence of each other? Speak! I read disturbed passions on thy brow.

ROL. My trembling heart quivers upon my tongue, That scarce I can with broken sounds vent forth These sad, strange, sudden, dreary, dismal news. A merchant's ship arriv'd tells how the Roman, Having run Gaul quite through with bloody arms, Prepares for you: his navy, rigg'd in bay, Only expects a gale. Farther, they say A pinnace landed from him brings command Either to lose your freedom or your land.

CAS. And dares proud Cæsar back our untam'd surges? Dreads he not our sea-monsters, whose wild shapes Their theatres ne'er yet in picture saw? Come, sirs, to arms! to arms! Let speedy posts Summon our petty kings, and muster up Our valorous nations from the north and west. Androgeus, haste you to the Scots and Picts, Two names which now Albania's kingdom share: Entreat their aid, if not for love, yet fear! For new foes should imprint swift-equal fear Through all the arteries of this our isle. Belinus, thy authority must rouse The vulgar troops within thy[271] special charge. Fire [all] the beacons, strike alarums loud: Raise all the country 'gainst this common foe.

We'll soon confront him in his full career: This news more moves my choler than my fear. [_Exeunt._

ROLLANO _alone_.

ROL. I am by birth a Belgic, whence I fled To Germany for fear of Roman arms: But when their bridge bridled the stately Rhine, I soon return'd, and thought to hide my head In this soft halcyon's nest, this Britain isle. And now, behold, Mars is a-nursing here, And 'gins to speak aloud. Is no nook safe from Rome? Do they still haunt me? Some peaceful god transport me through the air, Beyond cold Thule[272] or the sun's bedchamber, Where only swine or goats do live and reign. Yet these may fight. Place me where quiet peace Hushes all storms; where sleep and silence dwell, Where never man nor beast did wrong the soil, Or crop the first-fruits, or made so much noise As with their breath. But, foolish thoughts, adieu: Now catch I must, or stand or fall with you. [_Exit._

## SCENE IV.

EULINUS, HIRILDAS.

EUL. The court a wardrobe is of living shapes: And ladies are the tissue-spangled suits, Which Nature wears on festival high days. The Court a spring: each madam is a rose. The Court is heaven, fair ladies are the stars.[273]

HIR. Ay, falling stars.

EUL. False echo, don't blaspheme that glorious sex, Whose beauteous rays can strike rash gazers blind.

HIR. Love should be blind.

EUL. Pray leave this cynic humour, whilst I sigh My mistress' praise. Her beauty's past compare: O, would she were more kind, or not so fair! Her modest smiles both curb and kindle love. The court is dark without her: when she rises, The morning is her handmaid, strewing roses. About love's hemisphere. The lamps above Eclipse themselves for shame to see her eyes, Outshine their chrysolites, and more bless the skies Than they the earth.

HIR. Give me her name.

EUL. Her body is a crystal cage, whose pure Transparent mould, not of gross elements Compacted, but th' extracted quintessence Of sweetest forms distill'd; whose graces bright Do live immur'd, but not exempt from sight.

HIR. I prythee, speak her [name].

EUL. Her model is beyond all poets' brains And painters' pencils: all the lively nymphs, Syrens, and Dryads are but kitchen-maids, If you compare. To frame the like Pandore,[274] The gods repine, and nature would grow poor.

HIR. By love, who is't? hath she no mortal name?

EUL. For here you find great Juno's stately front, Pallas' grey eye, Venus her dimpled chin, Aurora's rosy fingers, the small waist Of Ceres' daughter, and Medusa's hair, Before it hiss'd.

HIR. O love, as deaf as thou art blind! Good Eulinus, Call home thy soul, and tell thy mistress' name.

EUL. O strange! what, ignorant still! when as so plainly These attributes describe her? Why, she is A rhapsody of goddesses; the elixir Of all their several perfections. She is (Now bless your ears!) by mortals call'd Landora.

HIR. What! Landora, the Trinobantic lady? How grow your hopes? what metal is her breast?

EUL. All steel and adamant. 'Tis beauty's pride to stain Her lily white with blood of lovers slain, Their groans make music, and their scalding sighs Raise a perfume, and vulture-like she gnaws Their bleeding hearts. No gifts, no learned flattery, No stratagems, can work Landora's battery. As a tall rock maintains majestic state, Though Boreas gallop on the tottering seas, And tilting split his froth out, spurging waves Upon his surly breast; so she resists, And all my projects on her cruel heart Are but retorted to their author's smart.

HIR. Why, then, let scorn succeed thy love: and bravely Conquer thyself, if thou wilt conquer her: Stomachs with kindness cloy'd disdain must stir.

EUL. Most impious thoughts! O, let me rather perish, And loving die, than living cease to love: And when I faint, let her but hear my cry. Ah me! there's none which truly loves, but I.

HIR. O ye cross darts of Cupid! this very lady, This lady-wasp wooes me, as thou dost her, With glances, jewels, bracelets of her hair, Lascivious banquets and most eloquent eyes: All which my heart misconstrues as immodest, It being pointed for another pole. But hence learn courage, coz. Why stand you dumb? Women are women, and may be o'ercome.

EUL. Your words are earwigs to my vexed brain; Like henbane juice or aconite diffus'd, They strike me senseless. My kinsman and Hirildas, to my end; But I'll ne'er call you councillor or friend. Adieu.

HIR. Stay, stay. For now I mean with gentler breath[275] To waft you to your happy landing-place. Seeing this crocodile pursues me flying, Flies you pursuing, we'll catch her by a trick. With promise feign'd I'll 'point a Cupid's stage, But in the night and secret, and disguis'd, Where thou, which art myself, shalt act my part. In Venus' games all cosening goes for art.

EUL. Bless'd be these means, and happy the success! Now 'gin I rear my crest above the moon. And in those gilded books read lectures of The feminine sex. There moves Cassiope, Whose garments shine with thirteen precious stones, Types of as many virtues: then her daughter, Whose beauty without Perseus would have tam'd The monstrous fish, glides with a starry crown: Then just Astrea kembs her golden hair: And my Landora can become the skies As well as they. O, how my joys do swell! He mounted not more proud whose burning throne Kindled the cedar-tops, and quaff'd whole fountains, Fly then, ye winged hours, as swift as thought Or my desires: let day's bright waggoner Fall headlong, and lie buried in the deep, And (dormouse-like) Alcides night outsleep: Good Tethys, quench his beams, that he ne'er rise To scorch the Moors, to suck up honey-dews, Or to betray my person. But prythee, tell what mistress you adore?

HIR. The kind Cordelia, loving and belov'd: Only some jar of late about a favour Made me inveigh 'gainst women. Come away, Our plots desire the night, not babbling day.

EUL. We must give way: here come our reverend bards To sing in synod, as their custom is With former chance comparing present deeds. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE V.

_Chorus of five Bards-Laureate, four Voices, and a_ _Harper; attired._

1. _Song._

1. _At the spring_ _Birds do sing:_ _Now with high,_ _Then low cry._ _Flat, acute;_ _And salute,_ _The sun, born_ _Every morn._

ALL. _He's no bard that cannot sing_ _The praises of the flow'ry spring._

2. _Flora queen,_ _All in green,_ _Doth delight_ _To paint white,_ _And to spread_ _Cruel red_ _With a blue,_ _Colour true._

ALL. _He's no bard, &c._

3. _Woods renew_ _Hunter's hue._ _Shepherd's grey_ _Crown'd with bay,_ _With his pipe_ _Care doth wipe,_ _Till he dream_ _By the stream._

ALL. _He's no bard, &c._

4. _Faithful loves,_ _Turtle-doves,_ _Sit and bill_ _On a hill._ _Country swains_ _On the plains_ _Run and leap,_ _Turn and skip._

ALL. _He's no bard, &c._

5. _Pan doth play_ _Care away._ _Fairies small,_ _Two foot tall,_ _With caps red_ _On their head,_ _Dance around_ _On the ground._

ALL. _He's no bard, &c._

6. _Phillis bright,_ _Cloth'd in white,_ _With neck fair,_ _Yellow hair,_ _Rocks doth move_ _With her love,_ _And make mild_ _Tigers wild._

ALL. _He's no bard that cannot sing_ _The praises of the flow'ry spring._

_2d Song._

_Thus spend we time in laughter,_ _While peace and spring do smile;_ _But I hear a sound of slaughter_ _Draw nearer to our isle._

_Leave then your wonted prattle,_ _The oaten reed forbear;_ _For I hear a sound of battle,_ _And trumpets tear the air._

_Let bagpipes die for want of wind,_ _Let crowd[276] and harp be dumb:_ _Let little tabor come behind:_ _For I hear the dreadful drum._

_Let no birds sing, no lambkins dance,_ _No fountains murmuring go:_ _Let shepherd's crook be made a lance._ _For the martial horns do blow._ [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[260] Bring you back. _Reduco_, Lat.--_Steevens._

[261] _Dux_ Nennius. The leaders of armies are on this account styled Dukes by many of our ancient English translators; as Duke Æneas, Duke Hannibal, &c.--_Steevens._

[262] [Natives of Gallia Belgica, a province comprising the Duchy of Treves, part of Luxembourg, and the departments of the Meuse, Moselle, Meurthe, and Vosges. Hazlitt's "Classical Gazetteer," 1851, p. 71.]

[263] The same turn of thought occurs in Mr Gray's celebrated ode called "The Bard"--

"Think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day?"

--_Steevens._

[264] Imitated from the first speech of Gloster in "King Richard III."

[265] "In bis fuit Ariovistus, qui naviculam deligatam ad ripam nactus ea profugit."--Cæsar "De Bello Gallico," lib. i. s. 53.

[266] See Cæsar "De Bello Gallico," lib, iv., s. 17, for an account of this bridge over the Rhine.

[267] Alexander the Great. Pella was a city of Macedon, where he was born.

[268] A term in archery.

[269] Erynnis is the common name of the sister Furies, but is frequently used by the poets for mischief in general.--_Steevens._

[270] The ancient name of London.

[271] [Old copy, _my_.]

[272] There is no place oftener mentioned by the ancients than _Thule_, nor any one about the situation of which there has been a greater variety of opinions. Sir Robert Sibbald, in the additions to Camden, has given a discourse concerning the _Thule_ of the ancients, in which the sentiments of different writers on this subject are considered, and many of them refuted. Camden supposes _Shetland_ to be the place so often distinguished by the name of _Thule_; and Bishop Gibson appears to agree with him in the conjecture. See Camden's "Britannia." vol. ii. p. 411, edit. 1772.

[273] So in Shakespeare's "King Henry VIII."--

"These are _stars_ indeed, And sometimes _falling ones_."

--_Steevens._

[274] _Pandora_ was a woman formed by Vulcan, with the joint contribution of all the gods, every one of whom bestowed on her some grace or beauty.--_Steevens._

[275] In the old copy the four last letters of _breath_ have dropped out by accident, but they are no doubt rightly restored.--_Collier._

## ACT II, SCENE I.

CASSIBELANUS, CRIDOUS, BRITAEL, GUERTHED, NENNIUS, BELINUS, EULINUS. VOLUSENUS _following_.

CAS. Heavens favour Cridous, fair Albania's king: And Britael, deck'd with the Demetian crown: The same to famous Guerthed, whose command Embraces woody Ordovic's black hills. Legate, you may your message now declare.

VOL. By me great Cæsar greets the Briton state: This letter speaks the rest.

CAS. Then read the rest.

VOLUSENUS _reads_.

"Cæsar, Proconsul of Gallia, to Cassibelane, King of Britain.

Since Romulus' race by will of Jove Have stretch'd their empire wide From Danube's banks (by Tigris swift) Unto Mount Atlas' side: And provinces and nations strong With homage due obey; We wish that you, hid in the sea, Do likewise tribute pay. Submitting all unto our wills For rashly aiding Gaul: And noble lads for hostages Make ready at our call. These granted may our friendship gain; Denied shall work your woe. Now take your choice, whether you'd find Rome as a friend or foe."

CAS. Bold mandates are unwelcome to free princes. Legate, withdraw; you shall be soon despatch'd.

[_Exit_ VOLUSENUS.

CRI. He writes more like a victor than a foe; Whose greatness, risen from subdued nations, Is fasten'd only with fear's slippery knot. Nor can they fight so fierce for wealth or fame, As we for native liberty. With answer rough Bid him defiance. So thinks Cridous.

GUER. Guerthed maintains the same, and on their flesh I'll write my answer in red characters.

BRI. Thou ravenous wolf, imperious monster, Rome, Seven-headed Hydra, know, we scorn thy threats: We can oppose thy hills with mounts as high, And scourge usurpers with like cruelty. And thus thinks Britael.

EUL. Let Cæsar come: our land doth rust with ease, And wants an object, whose resisting power May strike out valorous flashes from her veins. So shadows give a picture life: so flames Grow brighter by a fanning blast. Nor think I am a courtier and no warrior born, Nor love object; for well my poet says:[277] _Militat omnis amans_, each lover is a soldier: I can join Cupid's bow and Mars his lance. A pewter-coat fits me as well as silk. It grieves me see our martial spirits trace The idle streets, while weapons by their side Dangle and lash their backs, as 'twere to upbraid Their needless use. Nor is it glory small They set upon us last, when their proud arms Fathom the land and seas, and reach both poles. On, then; so great a foe, so good a cause, Shall make our name more famous. So thinks Eulinus.

CAS. Then, friends and princes, on this blade take oath,[278] First to your country to revenge her wrongs; And next to me, as general, to be led With unity and courage. [_They kiss the sword._

ALL. The gods bless Britain and Cassibelane.

NEN. Now, royal friends, the heirs of mighty Brute, You see what storm hangs hovering o'er this land, Ready to pour down cataclysms[279] of blood: Let ancient glory then inflame your hearts. Beyond the craggy hills of grim-fac'd Death, Bright Honour keeps triumphant court, and deeds Of martial men live there in marble rolls. Death is but Charon to the fortunate isles; Porter to Fame. What though the Roman, arm'd with foreign spoil, Behind him lead the conquer'd world, and hope To sink our island with his army's weight: Yet we have gods and men and horse to fight, And we can bravely die. But our just cause, Your forward loves, and all our people edg'd With Dardan[280] spirit and the powerful name Of country, bid us hope for victory. We have a world within ourselves, whose breast No foreigner hath unrevenged press'd These thousand years. Though Rhine and Rhone can serve, And envy Thames his never captive stream, Yet maugre all, if we ourselves are true, We may despise what all the earth can do.[281]

CAS. Let's then dismiss the legate with a frown: And draw our forces t'ward the sea, to join With the four kings of Kent, and so affront[282] His first arrival. But, before all, let Our priests and Druids, in their hallow'd groves, Propitiate the gods, and scan events By their mysterious arts. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE II.

EULINUS, HIRILDAS, ROLLANO.

HIR. Well, so: your tongue's your own, though drunk or angry.

ROL. Umh! [_Seals his mouth._

HIR. Speak not a word, upon your life: be dumb.

ROL. Umh! [_Gives him money._

HIR. I'll winch up thy estate. Be Harpocrates.[283]

ROL. Umh!

HIR. Thy fortunes shall be double-gilt. Be midnight.

ROL. Umh!

HIR. An excellent instrument, to be the bawd To his dear lady! But, Rollano, hark; What words, what looks did give my letter welcome?

ROL. Umh!

HIR. Nay, now thy silence is antedated: speak.

ROL. Umh!

HIR. I give thee leave, I say. Speak, be not foolish.

ROL. Then, with your leave, she us'd, upon receipt, No words, but silent joy purpl'd her face; And seeing your name, straight clapp'd it to her heart, To print there a new copy; as she'd say, The words went by her eyes too long a way.

HIR. You told her my conditions, and my oath Of silence, and that only you be used?

ROL. All, sir.

HIR. And that this night----

ROL. Ay, sir.

HIR. You guard the door----

ROL. Ay, sir.

HIR. But I ne'er mean to come.

ROL. No, sir? O wretch! Shall I deceive, when she remains so true?

HIR. No. Thou shalt be true, and she remain deceiv'd. I'll lie, and yet I will not lie. My friend Eulinus, in my shape, shall climb her bed, This is the point. You'll promise all your aid?

ROL. Your servant to command, and then reward.

EUL. We'll draw thee, meteor-like, by our warm favour, Unto the roof and ceiling of the court: We'll raise thee (hold but fast) on fortune's ladder. [_Exit_ ROLLANO. This fellow is a medley of most lewd And vicious qualities: a braggart, yet a coward; A knave, and yet a slave: true to all villany, But false to goodness. Yet now I love him, Because he stands just in the way of love.

HIR. Coz, I commend you to the Cyprian queen, Whilst I attend Diana in the forest: My kinsman Mandubrace and I must try Our greyhounds' speed after a lightfoot hare.

[_Exit_ HIRILDAS.

EUL. O love! whose nerves unite in equal bonds This massy frame! thou cement of the world! By which the orbs and elements agree, By which all living creatures joy to be, And dying live in their posterity. Thy holy raptures warm each noble breast, Sweetly inspiring more soul. Thy delight Surpasses melody, nectar, and all pleasures Of Tempe, and of Tempe's eldest sister, Elysium: a banquet of all the senses! By thy commanding power gods into beasts, And men to gods, are chang'd, as poets say; When sympathy rules, all like what they obey. But love triumphs when man and woman meet In full affection; double vows then fill His sacred shrine. Yet this to me denied More whets my passion: mutual love grows cold. Venus, be thou propitious to my wiles, And laugh at lovers' perjuries and guiles. [_Exit._

## SCENE III.

LANTONUS, HULACUS, _two Druids, in long robes;_ _hats like pyramids, branches of misletoe._

LAN. That souls immortal are, I easily grant; Their future state distinguish'd--joy or pain, According to the merits of this life. But then, I rather think, being free from prison And bodily contagion, they subsist In places fit for immaterial spirits; Are not transfus'd from men to beasts, from beasts To men again--wheel'd round about by change.

HUL. And were it not more cruel to turn out Poor naked souls stripp'd of warm flesh (like land-lords), Bidding them wander? then forsooth imagine Some unknown cave or coast, whither all the myriads Of souls deceas'd are shipp'd[284] and thrust together. Nay, reason rather says, as at one moment Some die, and some are born, so may their ghosts Without more cost serve the succeeding age: For (sure) they don't wear to be cast aside, But enter straight less or more noble bodies, According to desert of former deeds: The valiant into lions; coward minds Into weak hares; th' ambitious into eagles Soaring aloft; but the perverse and peevish Are next indeniz'd[285] into wrinkled apes, Each vice and virtue wearing seemly shapes.

LAN. So you debase the gods' most lively image. The human soul, and rank it with mere brutes, Whose life, of reason void, ends with their sense.

_Enter_ BELINUS.

BEL. Hail to heaven's privy councillors! The king Desires your judgment of these troublesome times.

LAN. The gods foretold these mischiefs long ago.

In Eldell's reign the earth and sky were fill'd With prodigies, strange sights, and hellish shapes: Sometimes two hosts with fiery lances met, Armour and horse being heard amid the clouds: With streamers red now march these airy warriors, And then a sable hearse-cloth wraps up all; And bloody drops speckled the grass, as falling From their deep-wounded limbs: Whilst staring comets[286] shook their flaming hair. Thus all our wars were acted first on high, And we taught what to look for.

HUL. Nature turns stepdame to her brood, and dams Deny their monstrous issue. Saturn, join'd In dismal league with Mars, portends some change. Late in a grove, by night, a voice was heard To cry aloud, _Take heed: more Trojans come!_ What may be known or done, we'll search, and help With all religious care.

BEL. The king and army do expect as much: That powers divine, perfum'd with odours sweet, And feasted with the fat of bulls and rams, Be pleas'd to bless their plots.

LAN. All rites and orisons due shall be perform'd: Chiefly night's empress fourfold honour craves, Mighty in heaven and hell, in woods and waves. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE IV.

CÆSAR, VOLUSENUS, LABERIUS, _Soldiers_.

CÆS. What land, what people, and what answer, show.

VOL. We saw a paradise, whose bosom teems With silver ore, whose seas are paved with pearl, The meadows richly spread with Flora's tapestry; The fields even wonder at their harvest-loads: In crystal streams the scaly nations play, Fring'd all along with trembling poplar trees. The sun in summer, loth to leave their sight, Forgets to sleep, and glancing makes no night. Then, for the men, their stature's tall and big. With blue-stain'd skins and long black dangling hair, Promise a barbarous fierceness. They scarce know, And much less fear our empire's might: but thus Return'd defiance:--

"Cassibelane, King of Britain, to Julius Cæsar,[287] Proconsul of Gallia.

Seeing your empire's great, why should it not suffice? To covet more and more is tyrants' usual guise. To lose what Jove you gave, you'd think it but unjust; You have your answer then; defend this isle we must: Which from the world cut off, and free from her first day, Hath iron more for swords than gold for tribute's pay. If amity and like fear succour to Gaul imparts, Pardon, for this small brook could not divide our hearts. We hope the gods will help, and fortune back our cause, Who take arms but to keep our lives, our wives, and laws. As you from Troy, so we our pedigree do claim: Why should the branches fight when as the root's the same? Despise us not because the sea and north us close: Who can no farther go, must turn upon their foes. Thus rudely we conclude: wage war, or change your will, We hope to use a lance far better than a quill."

CÆS. I grieve to draw my sword against the stock Of thrice-renowned Troy; but they are rude, And must be frighted, ere we shall be friends. Then let's aboard, and (hoisting sails) convey Two legions over; for I long to view This unknown land and all their fabulous rites: And gather margarites[288] in my brazen cap. Nature nor fates can valorous virtue stop.

LAB. Now Cæsar speaks like Cæsar: stronger and stronger, Rise like a whirlwind; tear the mountain's pride; Shake thy brass harness, whose loud clattering may Waken Gradivus[289], where he sleeps on top Of Hæmus, lull'd with Boreas' roaring base, And put to flight this nation with the noise. A fly is not an eagle's combatant. Nor may a pigmy with a giant strive. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE V.

CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS; COMIUS _following. Attendants._

COM. Health and good fortune on Cassibelane 'tend: My love to you and Britain waft me hither To make atonement, ere the Roman leader Bring fire and spoil, and ruin on your heads. No herb can ever grow where once he treads: Nothing withstands his force. Be not too hardy, But buy a friend with kindness, lest you buy His anger dearly.

CAS. Comius, speak no more: he knows our mind.

COM. O, let not rage so blind your judgment, but Prevent with ease the hazard of a war, Of war, a word compos'd of thousand ills. O, be not cruel to yourselves! I'll undertake Without discredit to appease his wrath, If you'll cashier your soldiers, and receive Him like a guest, not like an enemy.

CAS. False-hearted Gaul, dar'st thou persuade e'en me For to betray my people to the sword? Now know I thou art sent for to solicit Our princes to rebel, to learn our strength. Lay hands on him! a spy!

ALL. A spy! a spy! a traitor and a spy!

[_They chain him._

COM. Is this the guerdon[290] of my loving care? You break the laws of nature, nations, friends. But look for due revenge at Cæsar's hand.

CAS. Expect in prison thy revenge. Away with him!

[_Exit_ COMIUS.

Belinus, have you muster'd up our forces?

BEL. Yes, if it please your highness.

CAS. And what are the particulars?

BEL. First Cridous leads from the Albanian realm, Where Grampius' ridge divides the smiling dales, Five thousand horse and twenty thousand foot, Three thousand chariots mann'd. The Brigants come, Deck'd with blue-painted shields, twelve thousand strong; Under the conduct of Demetia's prince March twice three thousand, armed with pelts[291] and glaves;[292] Whom the Silures flank, eight thousand stout, Greedy of fight, born soldiers the first day, Whose grey-goose winged shafts ne'er flew in vain. Then Guerthed, mounted on a shag-hair steed, Full fifteen thousand brings, both horse and foot, Of desperate Ordovicians, whose use is To rush half-naked on their foes, enrag'd With a rude noise of pipes. Your province, bounded with that boiling stream[293] Where Sabrine (lovely damsel) lost her breath, And with curl'd-pated Humber, Neptune's heir, Affords eight thousand cars, with hooks and scythes, And fifty thousand expert men of war; All brave Loëgrians, arm'd with pike and spear; Each nation, being distinguish'd into troops, With gaudy pennons flickering[294] in the air.

Besides these, Kent is up in arms to blunt The edge of their first furious shock.

CAS. We'll now invite them to a martial feast, Carving with falchions, and carousing healths In their lives' moisture.

_Enter_ ANDROGEUS.

Well-returned, Androgeus: Have you obtain'd, or is your suit denied?

AND. Our message told unto the Scots; their king With willing sympathy levies a band, Ten thousand footmen, whose strange appetites Murder and then devour; and dare gnaw and suck Their enemies' bones. Conducted thence, we saw The Pictish court, and friendly entertain'd, Receive eight thousand, whose most ugly shapes, Painted like bears and wolves, and brinded tigers, May kill and stonify without all weapons. More aid they promise, if more need. These forces, Led by Cadallan, hither march with speed.

CAS. 'Tis well, our kings consent for common good. When all are join'd, we shall o'erspread the hills, And soldiers, thicker than the sand on shore, Hide all the landing coasts. Ere next daybreak, The rocks shall answer what the drum doth speak. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE VI.

HULACUS, LANTONUS, _Ministers_.

LAN. That ceremonious fear, which bends the heart Of mortal creatures, and displays itself In outward signs of true obedience, As prayer, kneeling, sacrifice, and hymns, Requires again help from immortal deities, As promise, not as debt. We laud their names: They give us blessings, and forgive our blames. Thus gods and men do barter: what in piety Ascends, as much descends again in pity; A golden chain reaching from heaven to earth.

HUL. And now's the time, good brother, of their aid, When danger's black face frowns upon our state. Away, away, ye hearts and tongues profane! Without devotion mysteries are vain.

[_They kneel, elevate hands thrice._

LAN. Draw near, ye heavenly powers, Who dwell in starry bowers; And ye, who in the deep On mossy pillows sleep; And ye who keep the centre, Where never light did enter; And ye whose habitations Are still among the nations; To see and hear our doings, Our births, our wars, our wooings: Behold our present grief, Belief doth beg relief.

_Both going around say_--

By the vervain and lunary, By fern-seed planetary, By the dreadful misletoe, Which doth on holy oak grow, Draw near, draw near, draw near!

HUL. Help us, beset with danger, And turn away your anger; Help us, begirt with trouble, And now your mercy double: Help us, oppress'd with sorrow, And fight for us to-morrow. Let fire consume the foeman, Let air infect the Roman: Let seas entomb their fury, Let gaping earth them bury: Let fire, and air, and water, And earth, conspire their slaughter.

BOTH. By the vervain, &c. Help us, help us, help us!

LAN. We'll praise then your great pow'r, Each month, each day, each hour; And blaze in lasting story Your honour and your glory. High altars lost in vapour, Young heifers free from labour, White lambs for suck still crying, Shall make your music dying. The boys and girls around, With honeysuckles crown'd; The bards with harp and rhyming, Green bays their brows entwining, Sweet tune and sweeter ditty, Shall chant your gracious pity.

BOTH. By the vervain, &c. We'll praise, we'll praise, we'll praise!

[_The image of the moon: the shrine opens._

HUL. Fix, holy brother, now your prayers on one, Britain's chief patroness: with humble cry Let us invoke the moon's bright majesty. [_They kneel._

LAN. Thou queen of heaven, commandress of the deep, Lady of lakes, regent of woods and deer, A lamp dispelling irksome night, the source Of generable moisture; at whose feet, With garments blue and rushy garlands dress'd, Wait twenty thousand Naiades: thy crescent Brute elephants adore, and man doth feel Thy force run through the zodiac of his limbs. O thou first guide of Brutus to this isle, Drive back these proud usurpers from this isle. Whether the name of Cynthia's silver globe: Or chaste Diana with a gilded quiver: Or dread Proserpina, stern Dis his spouse: Or soft Lucina, call'd in childbed throes, Doth thee delight--rise with a glorious face, Green drops of Nereus trickling down thy cheeks, And with bright horns, united in full orb, Toss high the seas, with billows beat the banks, Conjure up Neptune and th' Æolian slaves; Contract both night and winter in a storm, That Romans lose their way, and sooner land At sad Avernus, than at Albion's strand. So may'st thou shun the dragon's head and tail! So may Endymion snort on Latmian bed! So may the fair game fall before thy bow: Shed light on us, but lightning on our foe!

HUL. Methinks a gracious lustre spreads her brow, And with a nod she ratifies our suit.

WITHIN. Come near, and take this oracle.

LAN. Behold, an oracle flies out from her shrine; Which both the king and state shall see, before We dare unfold it. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE VII.

BRENNUS'S GHOST, NENNIUS _in night-robes_.

BREN. Follow me.

NEN. Follow! what means that word? who art? thy will?

BREN. Follow me, Nennius.

NEN. He names me: sure, it is some friend which speaks. I'll follow thee, though't be through Stygian lakes.

BREN. 'Tis ancient Brennus calls, whose victories Europe and Asia felt, and still record. Dear Nennius, now's the time to steel thy courage; Canst thou behold thy mother captive, then Look back upon thy ancestors, enroll'd Among the worthies who spread wide her fame? First let thy eyeballs pour out poison'd beams, And kill them with disdain, who dare but lift Their hand against her. No: no consul must Boast of her thraldom, and outbrave our walls. I wonder that such impudent owls should gaze Against the splendour of our Briton cliffs: Play thou a second Brennus: let thy lance, Like an Herculean club, two monsters tame, Rome's avarice and pride so come life or death, Let honour have the incense of thy breath. [_Exit._

NEN. Farewell, heroic soul; thou shalt not blush At Nennius' deeds. The smallest drop of fame Is cheap, if death and dangers may it buy. Yet give thy words new vigour to my spirits, And spur the Pegasus of my mounting thoughts. I'll follow thee o'er piles of slaughter'd foes, And knock at Pluto's gate. I come. Come life or death, Honour, to thee I consecrate my breath. [_Exit._

CÆSAR, CAMILLUS'S GHOST _following_.

CAM. Julius, stay here; thy friend Camillus speaks.

CÆS. O thou preserver of our present race! Our city's second founder! what dire fate Troubles thy rest, that thou shouldst trouble mine?

CAM. Only to bid thee fight.

CÆS. Thou shalt not need.

CAM. And bid thee take a full revenge on this-- This nation, which did sack and burn down Rome, Quenching the coals with blood, and kick'd our ashes, Trampling upon the ruins of our state; Then led the Gauls in triumph thorough Greece, To fix their tents beside Euxinus' gulf.

CÆS. Is this that Northern rout, the scourge of kingdoms, Whose names, till now unknown, we judged Gauls-- Their tongue and manners not unlike?

CAM. Gauls were indeed the bulk; but Brennus led (Then brother to the British king) those armies, Back'd with great troops of warlike islanders. To thee belongs to render bad for ill. O, be my spirit doubled in thy breast, With all the courage of three Scipios, Marius and Sylla, that this nation, fierce In feats of war, be forc'd to bear our yoke. [_Exit._

CÆS. So may'st thou sweetly rest, as I shall strive To trace your steps: nor let me live, if I Thence disappointed ever seem to fly. [_Exit._

## SCENE VIII.

CHORUS.

_1st Song._

_Ancient bards have sung_ _With lips dropping honey_ _And a sugar'd tongue,_ _Of our worthy knights:_ _How Brute_[295] _did giants tame,_ _And, by Isis' current,_ _A second Troy did frame:_ _A centre of delights._

_Locrinus'_[296] _eldest son_ _Did drown the furious Hun,_ _But burnt himself with Elstred's love:_ _Leil_,[297] _rex pacificus;_ _Elud_,[298] _judicious,_ _Now heavenly bodies roll above._ _Wise Bladud_[299] _founded hath_ _Both soul and body's bath,_ _Like Icarus he flew:_ _Now first Mulmutius_[300] _wears_ _A golden crown, whose heirs_ _More than half the world subdue._

_2d Song._

_Thou nurse of champions, O thou spring_ _Whence chivalry did flow!_ _Thou diamond of the world's great ring,_ _Thy glorious virtue show:_

_Thou many a lord hast bred,_ _In catalogue of fame read;_ _And still we have_ _As captives brave,_ _As ever Britons led._ _Then dub a dub, dub._ _The armies join, tantara._

_Cassibelane with armour gay_ _And strongly couched lance,_ _His courser white turn'd into bay,_ _On carcases shall prance._ _What a crimson stream the blade_ _Of Nennius' sword hath made!_ _Black Allia's day_ _And Cannæ's fray_ _Have for a third long stay'd._ _Then dub a dub, dub._ _The armies join, tantara._

FOOTNOTES:

[276] [Fiddle.]

[277] Ovid.--_Steevens._

[278] [An usual form in ancient times.]

[279] Deluges.--_Steevens._

[280] [Allusively to the fabled descent of the Britons from the Trojans.]

[281] The same sentiment is introduced by Shakespeare into "King John,"

## act v. sc. 7--

"This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror. But when it first did help to wound itself; Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms. And we shall shock them: nought shall make us rue, If England to itself _do rest but true_."

Again, in the old play of "King John," 1591--

"If England's Peers and People join in one, Nor Pope, nor France, nor Spain can do them wrong."

The same sentiment is in Borde's "Book of the Introduction of Knowledge," sig. A 4: "They (_i.e._, the English) fare sumptiously, God is served in their churches devoutli, but treason and deceit among them is used craftyly, ye more pitie, _for yf they were true wjthin themselfs, thei nede not to feare, although al nations were set against them_, specialli now, consydering our noble prince (_i.e._, Henry VIII.) hath and dayly dothe make noble defences as castels," &c.

[282] See note to "Cornelia," [v. 211.]

[283] A metaphor, from engines by which weights are raised or _winched_ up. Harpocrates was the god of silence.

[284] [Old copy, _slipt_].

[285] I suppose this word is compounded from _denizen_, _i.e._, one made free, and here very licentiously employed.--_Steevens._

[286] So in Milton's "Paradise Lost," bk. ii. l. 706--

"Incens'd with indignation Satan stood Unterrify'd, and like a _comet_ burn'd, That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid _hair_ _Shakes_ pestilence and war."

[287] See the letter printed in Geoffrey of Monmouth's History, bk. iv. c. 2.

[288] Pearls. In 1596 Tho. Lodge published a pamphlet, entitled, "A Margarite of America."

[289] Mars.

"_Gradivumque_ patrem Geticis qui præsidet arvis."

--_Virgil_, _Æneid_, iii. 35.

[290] Reward.

[291] Shields. The author of this play appears to advantage in this and the subsequent catalogues of warriors.--_Steevens._

[292] Broadswords.

[293] The Severn.

[294] Fluttering.

[295] See note to act iii., sc. 5.

[296] See Geoffrey of Monmouth, bk. ii.; the play of "Locrine," [probably by Charles Tylney, and falsely] attributed to Shakespeare; and Evans's "Old Ballads," vol. i.

[297] See Geoffrey of Monmouth, bk. ii. c. 9.

[298] _Ibid._, bk. iii. c. 19.

[299] _Ibid._, bk. ii. c. 10.

[300] Dunwallo Molmutius. See note to act iii. sc. 5. There was an old historical play called "Mulmutius Dunwallo," which in Henslowe's MS. has the date of September 1598 affixed to it; but it must have been written much earlier, as William Rankins, the author of it, had long before repented of his "lewd life," and in 1587 published his "Mirror of Monsters," a puritanical attack on the stage and plays in general.--_Collier._

## ACT III., SCENE I.

_Noise of ships landing, and the battle within._

CÆSAR, VOLUSENUS, LABERIUS, ATRIUS. _Ensign,_ _drums, flags._

CÆS. Our landing cost us dearly, many lives Between the ships and shore being sacrific'd: Our men, with heavy armour clogg'd, and ignorant Of all the flats and shallows, were compell'd To wade and fight, like Tritons, half above, Half under water. Now we surer tread, Though much diminish'd by so many lost. Come on, come on. [_They march and go out._

CASSIBELANUS, CRIDOUS, BRITAEL, GUERTHED, _the four Kings of Kent_, NENNIUS, ANDROGEUS, TENANTIUS, EULINUS, HIRILDAS, BELINUS, ROLLANO. _Ensigns, drum. A march._

CAS. So, let them land. No matter which they choose, Fishes or crows, to be executors. They'll find the land as dangerous as the sea. The nature of our soil won't bear a Roman, As Irish earth doth poison poisonous beasts.[301] On then! charge close, before they gather head.

NEN. Brother, advance. On this side I'll lead up The new-come succours of the Scots and Picts.

[_They march and go out._

CÆSAR, _&c._

CÆS. What, still fresh supplies come thronging from their dens! The nest of hornets is awake. I think Here's nature's shop: here men are made, not born; Nor stay nine tedious months, but in a trice Sprout up like mushrooms at war's thunderclap. We must make out a way. [_Exeunt._

ROLLANO, _armed cap-a-pie_.

ROL. Since I must fight, I am prepar'd to fight! And much inflam'd with noise of trump and drum: Methinks I am turn'd lion, and durst meet Ten Cæsars. Where are all these covetous rogues, Who spoil the rich for gain, and kill the poor For glory? bloodsuckers and public robbers.

[LABERIUS _enters_, ROLLANO _retires, afraid;_ _but being gone out, goes forward_.

ROL. Nay, stay, and brag Rollano did thee kill: Stay, let me flesh my sword, and wear thy spoils.

[LABERIUS _re-enters with an ensign_.

LAB. Come, will ye forsake your ensign, and fall off? I call to witness all the gods, I here Perform my duty. Thou canst not escape.

[ROLLANO _would fly, fights, falls as wounded_.

Now die, or yield thyself!

ROL. I yield, I yield! O, save my life, I yield! I am no Briton, but by chance come hither. I'll never more lift weapon in their quarrel.

LAB. How may I trust your faith?

ROL. Command me anything.

LAB. Lay down your neck. [_Treads on it._ Give up your sword. [_Beats him with it._ Base coward, live: such foes will ne'er do hurt. [_Exit._

_Enter_ EULINUS, ANDROGEUS, BELINUS, _with_ _bloody swords_.

EUL. Rollano! what, at stand? pursue the chase.

ROL. I made their strongest captain fly: this hand, This martial hand, I say, did make him fly.

EUL. Some silly scout!

ROL. He was a match for Cyclops; at each step The ground danc'd, and his nostrils blew the dust: Arm'd as the god of battle pictur'd is.

EUL. What were his looks?

ROL. His brows were like a stormy winter night, When Juno scolding and Mars malcontent Disturb the air. At each look lightning flies; Jove 'gainst the giants needed but his eyes.

EUL. How eloquent is fear!

ROL. So came he stalking with a beam-like spear: I gave the onset, then receiv'd his charge, And next blow cleft his morion:[302] so he flies.

EUL. O, bravely done! here comes a straggling soldier.

_Enter_ LABERIUS.

ROL. 'Tis he, 'tis he. I care not for vain glory; It's sweeter live, than dead to be a story. [_Runs away._

EUL. O valiant coward, stay! There's not a spark Of Briton spirit doth enlive thy corpse. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE II.

NENNIUS _pursuing_.

NEN. Fight, Britons, fight! The day is ours. I'm cloy'd And glutted e'en with slaughter. There some fly, And flying die, and dying mangled lie. I twice broke through the ranks, yet cannot find That vent'rous captain Cæsar, on whose breast I long to try my blade, and prick that bladder Puff'd with ambition and victorious fight.

CÆSAR _enters_.

CÆS. We may confess they come of Trojan kind; An hundred valiant Hectors here we find.

NEN. Fairly encounter'd: let our blades discuss Who hath the justest cause; and on this combat May Victory her equal balance hang.

CÆS. Thou seem'st a worthy prince, and Cæsar's match.

[_They fight, wounds_ NENNIUS _in the head,_ _who staggers; fights, and recovers_ CÆSAR'S _sword fallen, and puts him to flight_.

NEN. Stay, stay! Thou art at home: here's Campus Martius. The Britons, sought for, see thy frighted back: Return, and take possession of our isle, And by thy death be styl'd Britannicus. Leave not thy blade unsheath'd: a tyrant's heart To his own sword a scabbard should impart. Ye senators and gaily-gown'd Quirites, Open the Capitol's ivory gates, and lead Fat bulls with garlands green and gilded horns: Let supplications last for twice ten days: Cæsar returns a victor! Prepare the laureate coach and snow-white steeds, Embroider'd canopy and scarlet gowns: Let altars smoke, and tholes expect our spoils,[303] Cæsar returns in triumph! Basely flies, And leaves his conquest in weak infancy. For had he won this coast, yet many blows Must pass, ere he could pass the Thames; and then, Ere he touch Humber, many nations must Be tam'd; and then, before he Tweed can drink, And climb the craggy rocks of Caledon, A life is spent--yea, many thousand lives. O, my wound rages, and tormented brain Doth labour of a fury, not a Pallas.[304] This blade was steep'd in poison: O, I'm poison'd! Well didst thou fly, or I had made thee taste Thine own provision. Now my wrath and pain With double force shall flow in purple streams. The three infernal ladies with wire whips And speckled snakes shall lackey close my steps, While that I offer hecatombs of men. The Latian shepherd's brood[305] shall ban those stars, Whose glimmering sparks led their audacious pines To lie so far from home in foreign soil. When cedars fall, whole woods are crush'd; nor die Can Nennius private without company.

_Enter_ LABERIUS.

Thou runn'st upon thy death.

LAB. A Roman never daunted was with looks, Else had not Samartane and Lybian bugbears Been captive led in chains.

NEN. But our looks kill. [_Fight._ LABERIUS _falls_. Die, slave, by Cæsar's sword! Thou art his friend. Die as the ransom of his greater ghost; And learn, as well as I, how venom smarts. Be thou my post to the Tartarian prince, And tell him Nennius comes: but first I'll send More of you headlong home, a nearer way Than by the cloudy Alps. [_Exit. A retreat sounded._

## SCENE III.

CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS, LANTONUS.

CAS. Now hot alarums die in fainter notes: Tempestuous night is gone: victorious joy-- As when pale Eos[306] cleaves the eastern fogs, And, blushing more and more, opes half her eye, With holy water sprinkling all the meads, Whose clear reflex serves as her morning glass-- Doth paint with gaudy plumes the chequer'd sky. The only name of victory sounds sweeter Than all mellifluous rhetoric.

LAT. Thanks to Andates,[307] whose power kingdoms feel-- Andates, greatest goddess: in whose train Fear, red-fac'd anger, and confusion's wheel, Murder and desolation run before: But joyful shouts, mirth, olive-budding peace, And laurel-crowned triumph at her back Do pace with stately steps. Thy temple is The earth, where furious monarchs play the priests: Armies of men imbrue thy altar-stones. Thanks also to the trident-shaker's mace,[308] Drawn by two rampant sea-horses, at whose beck The waters wrinkled frown or smoothly smile. But thou, heav'n's diamond, fair Phoebus' sister, Nor Delian dames nor the Ephesian towers Shall blazon more thy praise. Thy influence strong Struck up the sandy ooze, that madding waves Batter'd their ships, and dash'd their bended sails, And with a tempest turn'd them round in scorn.

CAS. But where's the answer which her idol gave? Can you expound the sense?

LAN. Dread sovereign, thus runs the oracle--

_Loud doth the king of beasts roar,_ _High doth the queen of birds soar:_ _But her wings clipp'd soon grow out;_ _Both repent they are so stout._ _Till C. 'gainst C. strike a round,_ _In a perfect circle bound._

The meaning, wrapp'd up in cross doubtful terms, Lies yet thus open. That disastrous fate Must be the prologue to a joyful close. The rest we'll search out, if our skill don't fail.

BEL. Renown'd Cassibelane, might my counsel speak?

CAS. I know thy loyal heart and prudent head, Upon whose hairs Time's child, Experience, hangs A milk-white badge of wisdom; and canst wield Thy tongue in senate and thy hands in field. Speak free, Belinus.

BEL. We forfeit fame and smother victory By idle lingering: the foe discomfited Must needs be much amaz'd; his ships dismember'd, Do piecemeal float upon the waves: the horse, Whose succour he expects, are beaten back By friendly winds: his camp contracted is: A tithe of soldiers left, the rest all slain: His chief munition spent or lost: provision (An army's soul) but what we give, he wants. What then shall hinder to destroy their name? So none again shall venture: but our isle, Rounded with Nereus' girdle, may enjoy Eternal peace.

CAS. I like thy warning; with united stroke Of all our nations we'll his camp beleaguer, Devouring ships and men. But one mischance, My brother's wound (his mortal wound, I fear) Turns all to wormwood. Why were ye dumb, ye idols? No sainted statue did foretell this grief. Come, let's go visit him. You may, lord general, Set Comius free; we love not to insult, But render good for ill. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE IV.

CÆSAR, VOLUSENUS, _&c._

CÆS. Heaven, sea and wind, and all the elements, Conspire to work us harm. Our ships, in Gaul Windbound, at length put forth and come in view, Are toss'd and torn; our navy on the shore With civil discord break each other's planks. The airy rulers are displeas'd; all day Noises and nimble flashes, mix'd with rain, Amaze our soldiers. To make grief full, my daughter's death I hear. When, powerful fortune, will thy anger cease? Never till now did Cæsar fortune fear. Mount Palatine, thou throne of Jove, and ye, Whose lesser turrets pinnacle Rome's head, Are all your deities fled? or was I bold To outgo nature, and our empire stretch Beyond her limits? Pardon, then, my fault. Or do we basely faint? Or is our might Answer'd with like, since Troy 'gainst Troy doth fight? Nor can I write now, _I came over, and_ _I overcame:_ such foes deny such haste.

VOL. The islanders consult, and (sure) intend Some sudden stratagem. And now the scales Poise equal day and night, when rougher seas And stormy Pleiads may our passage stop.

CÆS. Then, sirs, to ship! Compell'd, I leave this land, But to return, if gods do not withstand. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE V.

CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS, LANTONUS. NENNIUS _in a chair_.

NEN. We won the day, and all our foes are fled?

BEL. Yes, noble Nennius, scatter'd on the shore, Thick lay the Latins, and the glutted stream Spews up her dead, whom death hath taught to swim, Though ignorant alive: their flowing blood Made a new red sea. But those few we lost, Sweetly repos'd upon their mother's breast, And, wounded all before, kept in their face A warlike frown.

NEN. Where is false Cæsar's sword, call'd Crocea Mors,[309] Which never hurt but kill'd? Let it be plac'd Within my tomb.

BEL. Here is the fatal blade.

NEN. Death like a Parthian flies, and flying kills; In midst of conquest came my deadly wound. Accursed weapon--more accursed man Who, serpent-like, in poison bathes his sting! Tiber doth breed as venomous beasts as Nile. We scorn such cruel craft. But death draws near, A giddy horror seizeth on my brain. Dear brother, and thou holy priest of heaven, Witness my words; I leave my country free, And die a victor. Thus with lighter wing My purified soul mounts to her first best cause. I long even to behold those glorious cloisters, Where Brutus,[310] great Dunwallo,[311] and his sons, Thrice-noble spirits, walk. Thou mighty enginer of this wondrous globe, Protect this isle, confound all foreign plots: Grant Thames and Tiber never join their channels; But may a natural hate, deriv'd from us, Live still in our long-trailed progeny-- My eyes do swim in death-- Before this land shall wear the Roman yoke, Let first the adamantine axle crack, Which binds the ball terrestrial to her poles, And dash the empty air! let planets drop Their scalding jelly, and, all flame being spent, Entomb the world in everlasting smoke![312] Come faster, Death: I can behold thy grim And ugly jaws with quiet mind. Now, now I hear sweet music; and my spirit flies. [_He dies._

CAS. His breath is gone, who was his country's prop And my right hand. Now only doth he crave To see him laid with honour in the grave. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE VI.

EULINUS, HIRILDAS.

EUL. A mind content, O, 'tis a mind of pearl: A mint of golden thoughts, a heaven on earth! When eager longers meet full-butt their scope, And hopes are actuated beyond hope. So Jason joy'd, the golden fleece obtain'd; So Hercules joy'd, the golden fruit being gain'd; So Venus joy'd the golden ball to hold; So Midas joy'd when he turn'd all to gold. So, and much more, rejoic'd the Phrygian swain, When he convey'd the fairest (except mine), Which air did ever kiss. His brazen keel, Proud of her burden, slic'd the capering brine: The Tritons blew their horns, and sea-gods dance. Before, behind, about his ship they prance: The mermaids skip on high, but to compare Their dangling tresses with her silken hair-- These were but shadows of my bliss. A robe Of pure beatitude wraps me round about, Without a speck or blemish; nor can invention Wish more unto me than I have--Landora. I'm rich, free, learned, honour'd--all in this. Who dares conceive against the female sex But one base thought? Lo, here I stand their champion, And will maintain he is a beast, a devil, Begot between a bitch-wolf and an incubus. Women, all-good, all-perfect and all-gracious, Men-making creatures, angels clad in flesh; Let me adore your name!

HIR. And let me speak Why, Landora loves not you, but me in you.

EUL. But I in you enjoy Landora's love.

HIR. But she enjoys not your love, 'cause unknown.

EUL. No matter, I in you or you in me, So that I still possess my dearest dear. A paltry fancy last night in her bed Turmoil'd my thoughts, which since I shap'd in rhymes. Thus.

HIR. Prythee let's hear: I know thou art turn'd poet.

_The Dream._

Night having drawn the curtain, down I lie By one--for worse Saturnius left the sky. Slumb'ring at last, for love can hardly sleep, Straightways I dream'd, for love doth revels keep, A damsel fair, and fashion'd for delight (Our day-born objects do return at night), With flow'ry chaplet and red velvet gown, Which from her breast was fasten'd along down With rich enamell'd locks, all which one key, Whose bright gold 'bout her silver neck did play, Could open and divorce. A veil most fair (Such whiteness only Paphian doves do wear) With false light did her beauteous front improve; From this arch Cupid shot his darts of love. With gentle strain she took me by the hand (Touches in love do more than tongues command), Then leads me with an amorous smile along: He's easily led whom beauty draws, more strong Than cable ropes. An altar we descry, Where incense-frank[313] and amber fumes did fly In little rolling curls: a reverend priest, With snowy beard waving upon his breast, There kneeling did his eyes in sorrow steep. Whose passionate cry made me, though ignorant, weep. Phlegon's[314] hot breath no sooner licks up dew Than joy had dried those tears; for, lo, I view A circular room, all built with marble clear, The title, nature's storehouse. Most strange here It seem'd: I know not how we came nor whence, Nor any passage saw to get from thence. But O, the rich delight and glorious fire Which dazzled me! no heart can more desire. Here first my guide op'd her spice-breathing door: Ask what thou wilt, this is the ark of store. No vows are here repuls'd, she said. But I, Surpris'd with extreme joy and ecstasy, By chance a scorpion's tail behind her spied: Pity such beauty such a monster hide! Trembling, yet silent, doubtful what to crave; Lo! with a stink and fearful screech this brave And glorious dame doth vanish, and a dart, Which still I quake at, struck me to the heart. But waking I reviv'd, and found in bed Such sovereign balm would cure old Peleus dead.[315]

HIR. Ha, ha! your tedious dream hath made me drowsy. But hark, we must attend the funeral pomp.

## SCENE VII.

_The funeral passes over the stage._ NENNIUS'S _'scutcheon, armour, Cæsar's sword borne._ _Torches, mourners._

CAS. Set down that heavy load with heavier hearts. Could virtuous valour, honourable thoughts, A noble scorn of fortune, pride and death, Myriads of vows and prayers sent to heaven; Could country's love or Britain's genius save A mortal man from sleeping in his grave, Then hadst thou liv'd, great Nennius, and outliv'd The smooth-tongu'd Greek. But we may more envy, And less bewail thy loss, since thou didst fall On honour's lofty field-bed, on which stage Never did worthy act a statelier part. Nor durst pale death approach with cypress sad, Till flourishing bays thy conquering temples clad.

_A Funeral Elegy sung to the Harp._

_Turnus may conceal his name,_ _Nennius had Æneas' fame._ _Hannibal let Afric smother,_ _Nennius was great Scipio's brother._ _Greece, forbear Achilles' story,_ _Nennius had brave Hector's glory._ _Thrush and nightingale, be dumb:_ _Sorrowful songs befit a tomb._ _Turn, ye marble stones, to water:_ _Isis' nymphs forswear all laughter:_ _Sigh and sob upon your bed,_ _Beli's noble son is dead._

_A banquet served over the stage._ ROLLANO, _with a leg_ _of a capon and a tankard of wine._

ROL. I like such slaughtering well of birds and beasts, Which wear no swords, nor shake a fatal pike, When hogsheads bleed, and oxen mangled lie. O, what a world of victuals is prepar'd For sacrifice and feasting! Forty thousand Fat bullocks! then the parks and forests send Full thirty thousand wild beasts, arm'd with horns And dangerous teeth: the main battalion Consists of sheep, an hundred thousand fat: The wings are both supplied with birds and fowls _Sans_ number: and some fish for succours serve-- A goodly army. Troynovant doth smoke, And smells all like a kitchen. The king, princes, And nobles of the land a triumph hold. Music and songs, good cheer and wine; and wine And songs, and music and good cheer. Hei, brave! No more shall barley-broth pollute my throat, But nectar--nectar of the grape's sweet blood. Come, heavenly potion--wine, whose gentle warmth Softens the brain, unlocks the silent tongue; Wit's midwife, and our spirit's vestal priest, Keeping alive the natural heat. A health, A health (to make short work) to all the world! So will it (sure) go round. [_Steals behind._

_The triumphs._ CASSIBELANUS: _four Kings of Kent:_ _three Kings_, CRIDOUS, BRITAEL, GUERTHED; ANDROGEUS, TENANTIUS, HIRILDAS, EULINUS, BELINUS, _take places_.

CAS. Sorrow must doff her sable weeds, and joy Furbish the Court with fresh and verdant colours; Else should we seem ungrateful to the gods. Triumphs must thrust out obsequies; and tilt With tourney, and our ancient sport call'd Troy, Such as Iulus 'bout his grandsire's tomb Did represent; and at each temple's porch, Games, songs, and holy murdering of beasts. [_They sit down._

_A dancing masque of six enters, then the epinicion[316]_ _sung by two bards._

_The Roman eagle, threatening woe,_ _The sea did shadow with her wing;_ _But our goose-quills did prick her so_ _That from the clouds they down her bring._

BOTH. _Sing then_, _ye hills and dales so-so clear,_ _That Iö Pæan all may hear._

_They may us call isles fortunate;_ _They sought for life here, not for fame._ _All yield to them, they to our state:_ _The world knows but our double name._

BOTH. _Sing then, ye streams and woods so-so clear,_ _That Iö Pæan all may hear._

ANDROGEUS _and_ TENANTIUS _play at foils, then_ HIRILDAS _and_ EULINUS _play_.

EUL. 'Twas foully play'd.

HIR. You lie, 'twas fairly hit.

EUL. I'll give a quittance.

HIR. Do your worst, vain braggart.

[_They take swords, fight_, HIRILDAS _slain_.

O, I'm slain.

CAS. Hold, hold! my nephew's slain before my face. Life shall be paid with life.

AND. He shall not die.

CAS. Shall not? your king and uncle says he shall.

EUL. No kingly menace or censorious frown Do I regard. Tanti[317] for all your power! But the compunction of my guilt doth send A shudd'ring chilness through my veins inflam'd. Why do ye stare, ye grisly powers of night? There, there his soul goes: I must follow him.

[_Offers to kill himself: is hindered._

AND. He was provok'd, and did it in defence: And, being my kinsman, shall be judg'd by laws Of Troynovant: such custom claims our court.

CAS. No custom shall bar justice. I command That he appear before us.

AND. Trials are vain when passion sits as judge.

CAS. I'll soon rebate this insolent disdain.

[_Exeunt_ ANDROGEUS, TENANTIUS, _and_ EULINUS.

Let not this dismal chance deface our joy, Most royal friends.

CRI. War being silenced, and envy's rage In hell fast fetter'd, sound we now retreat, That soldiers may regreet their household gods; Their children cling about their armed thighs.

BRI. And place their trophies 'bout their smoky halls; There hang a gauntlet bright, here a stabb'd buckler, Pile up long pikes,[318] and in that corner plant A weighty sword, brandish'd by some centurion: Not he, who ne'er on snaky perils trod, But happy he, who hath them stoutly pass'd: For danger's sauce gives joy a better taste.

GUER. Great monarch, if thy summons call us back, We tender here our service, men and arms, As duty bids and binds.

CAS. Should he return, our province dares him front. So a most kind adieu unto all three.

[_Exeunt_ CRIDOUS, BRITAEL, _and_ GUERTHED.

Cingetorix, Carvilius, Taximagulus, Segonax, I know your faithful love: Kent's fourfold head Will check rash rebels, and as firmly stand As hearty oaks, who bear off Æolus' blows, And with a whistle but deride his force.

[_Exeunt four Kings of Kent._

Burst, gall, and dye my actions in flame-colour! I saw Hirildas fall, and breathe his soul Even in my face; as though hell watch'd a time To crush our pomp and glory into sighs. The conduits of his vital spring being ripp'd, Spurtl'd my robes, soliciting revenge. Belinus, Attach the murderer, and if abettors Deny obedience, then with sword and fire Waste their dominions. For a traitor's sake, Whole towns shall tremble, and the ground shall quake. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE VIII.

ANDROGEUS, TENANTIUS, MANDUBRATIUS.

AND. Shall justice and just Libra ne'er forsake Th' embroider'd belt? no sign of them on earth? Are gods dim-sighted grown, or do they sleep The morning, and carouse the afternoon, That mortal motions tumble thus by chance? Cleave, thou blue marble ceiling, that heaven's king With clearer aim may strike a tyrant's crown, Nor spend his brimstone bullets 'gainst some hill Or innocent pine.

MAN. Your injuries run low; mine break all bounds. My father butcher'd at his lawless will: I banish'd from my lands, depos'd from rule, Owing my life to night and flight.

TEN. I do confess, you may complain aloud, And tear the element with a dolorous note: Call down Astræa from her crystal chair, Or call up Nemesis from the direful deep, To expiate your wrongs. Else would the manes of your father slain In a white sheet come sliding to your bed, And be reveng'd on you. He gave you life; How can you better spend it, than to wreak His death and slaughter? but our case and cause, Brother, is not the same. Eulinus slew His innocent friend, and we defend the fact, With hostile noise drowning law's reverend voice; But murder outcries both. Give me then leave To be a neutral: my young years, unfit For any desperate course, can but complain, The king our uncle doth not use us well. [_Exit._

AND. Usurpers use this method still: at first He as protector slily got the stern, During our nonage: then the commons' voice, Bought with a fawning brow and popular grace, Confirms his regiment;[319] we appointed sharers, With empty titles to beguile our thoughts, Like puppet-lords dress'd up with crown and scarf, Glad that we live and hunt, and reign o'er brutes-- Our uncle is the king who,[320] when he saw His throne establish'd and his foes repuls'd, Grown big with prosperous fortune, proudly spurns All fear of God or man.

MAN. His anger, nurs'd by jealousies, must feed On princes' flesh, who lose both state and life, If they but look awry. A tyrant's growth, Rear'd up by ruins, thence may learn his fall: For whom all fear, he justly feareth all.

AND. In antiphons[321] thus tune we female plaints; But plots and force beseem us. Thus great Cæsar Shall pull him down below us. Thou, Mandubrace, Sure pledges take of our revolt, and quickly Implore his aid, blow up his drooping fire With hopeful terms. But let him stronger come.

MAN. I fly unseen, as charmers[322] in a mist. Grateful revenge, whose sharp-sweet relish fats My apprehensive soul![323] though all were pared off Which doth accrue from fortune, and a man left As barely poor as nature thrust him out; Nay worse--though spirits boil: rage, anger, care, And grief, like wild-horse, tear the affrighted mind; Though wrongs excoriate the heart; yet all is sweeten'd If vengeance have her course. I reck[324] not how; Let commonwealth expire, and owls proclaim Sad desolation in our halls; let heaps Of dust and rubbish epitaph our towns; Let fire and water fight, who first shall spoil This universal frame. From north or south, Revenge, th' art welcome! No sin worse than pity; A tyrant's only physic is phlebotomy. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE IX.

_Chorus._ _1st Song._

_Rejoice, O Britain!_ _Britain, O, rejoice!_ _The stormy cloud pass'd o'er,_ _And only made a noise._ _A clattering sound was heard,_ _And still we felt no wound:_ _Rejoice, rejoice,_ _Thou happy Britons' ground._

_O that sweet Plenides,_ _Eloquent Orone,_ _Were now to chant our victories_ _With a melodious tone;_ _And rousing echo from the dales,_ _With Harmony to sound:_ _Rejoice, rejoice,_ _Thou happy Britons' ground._

_2d Song_

_Gang, ye lads and lasses,_ _Sa wimble and sa wight:_ _Fewl mickle teen betide ye,_ _If ye ligg in this plight._ _Be bonny, buxom, jolly,_ _Trip haydegues[325] belive;_ _And gif night gars the welkin merk,_ _Tom piper do you blive._

_Hidder, eke and shidder,_ _With spic'd sew ycram'd;_ _Sa that unneath thilke borrels_ _May well ne yede, ne stand:_ _As leefe as life do weete it,_ _When timbarins giu sound;_ _Fore harvest gil prankt up in lathe,_ _To loute it low around._[326]

FOOTNOTES:

[301] [An allusion to a belief which is mentioned in many of our early plays. See Dyce's Middleton, iv. 495.]

[302] Helmet.

[303] _i.e._, The roofs of the temples. "De _tholis_ pendent laqueata circum Arma."

[304] Pallas being feigned by the poets to have been bred in Jupiter's brain.

[305] _i.e._, The Romans, who owed their founders, Romulus and Remus, to the care of _Faustulus_, who was shepherd to the tyrant Amulius.--_Steevens._

[306] The goddess of the morning.--_Steevens._

[307] The goddess of revenge. Baxter, in his "Glossary," says she is corruptly so called, and that her true name should be Andrasta.

[308] A mace [here seems to mean a sceptre, but properly stands for a club.]

[309] Geoffrey of Monmouth says, "His (Nennius's) funeral exequies were performed with regal pomp, and Cæsar's sword put into the tomb with him, which he kept possession of when struck into his shield in the combat. The name of the sword was _Crocea Mors_, Yellow Death, as being mortal to everybody that was wounded with it."--Bk. iv. c. 4, Thompson's translation, 1718, p. 102.

[310] By Geoffrey of Monmouth said to be the great grandson of Æneas. After being banished from Italy, on account of accidentally killing his father, he arrived at Britain, to which he gave his own name. He built _Trinovantum_, or London, and dying, left the government of the nation to his sons.

[311] _Dunwallo Molmutius_, son of Cloton, King of Cornwall. After a reign of 40 years he died, and was buried at Trinovantum, near the Temple of Concord.--"Geoffrey of Monmouth," bk. ii. c. 17. [Compare p. 484.]

[312] So in "King Henry IV., Part. II."--

"And darkness be the burier of the dead."

_--Steevens._

[313] Frankincense.--_Steevens._

[314] One of the horses of the Sun.--_Steevens._

[315] Perhaps _Pylius_, _i.e._, Nestor--

"Illius ad tactum Pylius juvenescere possit."

--_Steevens._

[316] The song of triumph.

[317] This expression of contempt I have seen in other ancient writers. It is used in the first scene of Marlowe's "Edward II."--

"As for the multitude, they are but sparks Rak'd up in embers of their poverty; _Tanti_; I'll fan first on the wind," &c.

There is, perhaps, some omission after it, as the line is imperfect, which might explain the meaning of the exclamation.--_Collier._

[318] Old copy, _piles_.

[319] _i.e._, His government, authority. Hitherto it was misprinted--

"Bought with a _frowning_ brow and popular grace."

The right reading is restored from the quarto.--_Collier._

[320] [Old copy, _King. So when._]

[321] Alternate singing.--_Steevens._

[322] _Charmers_ are _enchanters_ or _magicians_. So in "Othello," act iii. sc. 4--

"That handkerchief Did an Egyptian to my mother give; She was a _charmer_, and could almost read The thoughts of people."

And again in "The Two Noble Kinsmen," act v. sc. 4--

"Oh, you heavenly _charmers_, What things you make of us!"

[323] _i.e._, Perceptive, feeling. Falstaff observes that sack makes the mind _apprehensive_, quick, &c.

[324] _I reck not how_ is the true reading: Mr Reed allowed it to stand according to the error of the old copy, _I wreak not how_; but to _reck_ and to _wreak_ are words of a totally different signification. To _reck_ means to _care for_, while to _wreak_ means to _revenge_.

## ACT IV., SCENE I.

CÆSAR, VOLUSENUS, _Attendants_.

CÆS. A story is't or fable that, stern Mars, Thy weight did Romulus' sleepy mother press? Since we, thy brood degenerous, stand at gaze, Charm'd in the circle of a foaming flood, And trail our dastard pikes? Burst, Janus' prison! Roar as thou didst at Troy, drown Stentor's voice By many eighths,[327] which Pindus may re-beat, Which Caucasus may as a catch repeat, And Taurus lough the same:[328] that pigmies small May squeak, it thunders, and dive into burrows. Let the four winds with dreadful clamours sing Thy anger through th' affrighted world. What Lemnian chain shackles our mounting eagle? The moon's round concave is too strait a cage For her advanced pinions.

_Enter_ MANDUBRATIUS,[329] _wounded and bloody, with_ ANDROGEUS'S _young son_.

MAN. If pity can have room in angry breast, Favour a Briton prince, his father slain, His regiment bereft, his dearest blood Drawn by the sword of false Cassibelane, Having got crown, he then struck at my head; Nor can I safely suck my native air. His coz Androgeus also and whole regions In open war withstand his violence, Lo, Albion's aged arms spread wide t'enchain Thee, as her patron, in a true-love knot. Wherefore, dread Cæsar, let thy mercy strike Revengeful fires, and be justly styled, [_Kneels._ Tamer of tyrants. Then fame blows aloud, When valour helps the weak, pulls down the proud.

CÆS. Arise, unhappy prince, our deeds shall show We grant thy suit. Fortune repents at last;

[_To_ VOLUSENUS.

The moon is chang'd, the globe doth to us turn Her shining cheek, and wooes us with a smile.

But what firm signs of faith, what faithful aid, What furtherance, can you give at our arrival?

MAN. See here Androgeus' heir, whose tender age His father ventures, and makes bold with nature To pledge his darling. He and thirty more Of noble lineage shall assure our faith; Besides I pawn my life.

CÆS. Enough. I'll once more cross the seas: For your good more than mine; that happier sky May bless your towns with peace, your fields with plenty; Perpetual spring, in gay perfum'd attire, Sirname your isle the garden of the west.

MAN. Thanks, gracious Cæsar, for this kind acceptance, My knee doth kiss the ground, my lip your knee. Pardon, ye gods, if any haunt our land, Ye nymphs and lares, fawns and sylvans wild, That thus I bring a stranger on our coasts, Whose foreign shape and language may affright Our lazy clowns, and on my country's back Once tread victorious steps. Be pleas'd to view Wrongs now redress'd, neglected first by you.

CÆS. Now, Volusene, Our glorious state, like the noon-pointed sun, When he bestrides the lion's flaming fleece, Doth north-west roll his burning brand, whose fire The ocean's blue lake cannot stop, but flies With brighter blaze to thaw the frozen isles. But how proceeds our preparation?

VOL. Many strong ships are built, five legions arm'd Ready to launch.

CÆS. Blow gently, Africus: Play on our poops. When Hyperion's son Shall couch in west his foam-bedappl'd jades, We'll rise to run our course.

## SCENE II.

EUL. Though Orpheus' harp, Arion's lute, the chimes Whose silver sound did Theban towers raise: Though sweet Urania with her ten-string'd lyre, Unto whose stroke the daily-rolling spheres Dance their just measures, should with tune and tone Tickle my air-bred ear; yet can their notes Those fabulous stones more enter, than my soul. Lead, poppy, slumber, stupefy my heart; But Bedlam grief acts gambols in my brain. The Centaur's wheel, Prometheus' hawk, the vulture Of Tityus, Sisyphus' never-mossy stone, The tale of Danaids' tub and Tantalus' gaping, Are but flea-bitings to my smart. I've slain A kinsman--more, a friend I dearly lov'd: Nay more, no cause provoking, but in rash And hellish choler. I thought my love had cannon-proof been 'gainst A world of injuries; when see, all is split By a small wind. Cursed be thou, my sword, The instrument of fury! cursed hand, Which mad'st the thrust! but most accursed part, Whose ruddy flesh triangular boil'd in flame, Like an Ætnean or Vesuvian salamander! That breast I so could hug, that faithful breast, That snowy white, I with dark sanguine stain'd; And from the wound's red lips his panting heart Did seem to say, Is this a friendly deed? O no, Hirildas: bears can harmless play, Lions can dally, and sheathe up their claws; I only, worst of brutes, kill friends in jest. Why does Androgeus, kindly-cruel, keep Me from their sentence? say, law bids me die; If law should not, I'll make that law myself. Shall ensigns be display'd, and nations rage About so vile a wretch? shall foreign hoofs Kick up our trembling dust, and must a Cæsar Redeem my folly with a kingdom's fall? First may I stop black Cerberus' triple jaws. Die, die! thou hast outliv'd thyself. Thou only, Phoenix of females, still dost bind and bound My runagate spirit in these walls of mud; From thee and for thee 'tis I breathe. Yet how Borrow can I his shape, or use mine own? Odious before, now worse than hell-born goblin, With brand and chains to scare this dove, all quaking 'Twixt wrath and fear. But time may favour win; When hope doth fail, then knife or rope begin. [_Exit._

## SCENE III.

CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS, ROLLANO.

CAS. Wisdom, confirm my sense! what seem'd their number?

ROL. Rising from shore, conjecture might descry A thousand ships with painted prows to pave The briny fields of Neptune; their broad sails Did Nereus canopy, Titan's taper veil. As nations twenty-nine 'gainst Troy built up A floating Delos of a thousand ships, To plough the liquid glass; no frame of Pallas, No crafty Sinon; but those wooden horse Did Troy _dis-Troy_. So Troynovant shall feel Her mother's fate; Achilles comes again, And Pergamus again shall sink in dust; They threaten. [_Exit._

CAS. Wonder! what can their arsenals spawn so fast? Last year his barks and galleys were debosh'd;[330] This spring they sprout again: belike their navy, Like the Lernæan adder, faster grows The more 'tis prun'd. They come their last. Lord deputy, Lead on the present troops, and levy new. 'Twere best, I think, to let him land, lest view Of his huge navy should our commons fright. Retire ourselves to some place of advantage, Entice him from his ships; so cut the veins Which nourish both: enclos'd he cannot 'scape.

BEL. I rather judge, we should oppose his footing, Using the benefit of our natural mound.

CAS. Uncertain 'tis where--when, he makes inroad: To furnish all, unlikely: to neglect Any were dangerous as Pelides' heel, Our shores are large and level: then t' attend His time and leisure would exhaust the state-- Weary our soldiers.

BEL. All places may be strengthen'd more or less, As by last year discretion now may guess. The clifts themselves are bulwarks strong: the shelves And flats refuse great ships: the coast so open, That every stormy blast may rend their cables, Put them from anchor; suffering double war: Their men pitch'd battle, and ships naval fight. For charges 'tis no season to dispute: Spend something or lose all. Shall he maintain A fleet t' enthral us, we detract small costs. When freedom, life and kingdom lie at stake?

CAS. But the assailants are the flower of Italy, Back'd with four hundred Gallic horse, all tried And gallant troops, join'd in one martial body, To give a fuller stroke; when we defendants, Scatter'd along, can weak resistance make; Plainness of ground affording us no shelter.

BEL. For what serve sart and engines, mounds and trenches, But to correct the nature of a plain? A few on firm land may keep out a million Weaken'd by sea, false footing, billows' rage, And pond'rous arms; when as, receiv'd within, He prospers by our spoil: we feed a viper, And malcontents and rebels have a refuge. Nor were it safe to venture all at once; When one fought field being lost, swift ruin runs, And rushing throws down all.

CAS. We know our strength and his; we'll fight in field Some dozen miles from sea. An open theatre Gives lustre to our prowess: to keep him out Supposes fear, not manhood. No, let him march, Till he rouse Death, and stride his future grave.

BEL. Your will commands, and mine obeys. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE IV.

CÆSAR, _&c. Ensign, drum, trumpet, flag, Soldiers,_ _Shipmen. The noise of landing_.

CÆS. The coast is clear; our honour is the goal. In vain doth Tagus' yellow sand obey, Rhine's horned front and nimble Tigris running For wager with the wind, which skims his top; In vain from Ganges to Hesperian Gades, The bounds mark'd out by Jove's two base-born sons[331] Our echo'd name doth sound, if we recoil From hence again not victors. Ye pilots old, who were begot mermaids, Whose element is their sea, bred and brought up In cradles rock'd with storms and wooden walls. Fear not to grapple with the seas. Fear not Their bulks, brave veterans; that extended mass Is not of iron, but can bleed and die: They were not dipp'd in Styx, nor are they giants Or wild poetic Centaurs we assail. Let then this voyage quit out credit lost, And let rage lash on courage. Here's the game; Life may be lost, but (sure) we'll hold fast fame!

[_They march about and go out. The whole_ _battle within._

CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS, _&c., Soldiers_.

CAS. Our first attempt doth prosper: they retiring Scud to the bosom of their fir-tree vaults, And under hatches hide themselves from death. The Cornish band made havoc of their ranks, Like Scythian wolves 'midst of a bleating fold: The jingling lances, rattling chariot-wheels, Madded their horse. The bowmen merrily shot.

BEL. Yet would our tributary kings had succour'd! We are decay'd, they much in number grown, And surely will make head again.

CAS. Fear not; thou know'st I can even with a whistle Hide Kent with glitt'ring arms. More flaming sparkles Paint not a freezing night; nor speckl'd bees Buz not about sweet Hybla's bloomy head. But what need millions, when some thousand serve? O, did my brother live! we'd climb the Alps. Like brave Mulmutius' sons: make Romulus' wolf Howl horror in their streets, and Rome look pale, As when the Punic captain[332] ey'd her walls. [_March out._

CÆSAR, VOLUSENUS, _&c._

CÆS. Are ye the men, who never fought in vain? Who wear Bellona's favours in your scars? Ay, ye are they. What then benumbs our spirits? Our empire from Quirinus' narrow centre Doth circling spread, and finds no brink nor bottom. Titan no later sets nor earlier wakes, Than he beholds our provinces. Why, then, What privilege hath this place? have we or they The Phrygian powers? have they Palladium got? No, no; those gods our capitol keeps with joy; These only have undaunted minds from Troy.

_Enter_ Q. ATRIUS.

What news, good Atrius?

ATRIUS. No good news from Atrius. When ominous earth with shade and cloudy vapours Had darkness doubled, storms began to sound, The dappl'd south, rough-footed Aquilo, Came rushing like two rams, whose steeled horns Dart fiery sparks: the clouds (crush'd) breathe out flames: Thunder and lightning daunt all ears and eyes: The winds and billows strive who loudest roar:

The sky distill'd in rain: his room to fill, Ambitious waves would climb the starry hill. Our ships are batter'd all, some forty sunk.

CÆS. What devil Cacus drags our fortune back![333] Doth she move retrograde, and hoist us up, That we may fall at height? why doth Camillus Each night torment my sleep, and cry revenge? I strive against the stream.

_Enter_ ANDROGEUS, MANDUBRATIUS, _Soldiers_.

AND. Thus join we standards; and resign the keys Of Troynovant with all our warlike forces.

MAN. By me the Trinobants[334] submit, and Cenimagnians, Segontiacs, Ancalites, Bybrocs, and Cassians: Six worthy nations do desire thy guard.

CÆS. All, all shall know our love.

MAN. The tyrant lies on Isis' flow'ry banks, Where a full choir sing of white surplic'd swans. The ford's unlevel belly they have fenc'd With sharp stakes under water.

CÆS. Nor stakes, lakes, fords, nor swords shall check our progress. Those downy swans shall hear more funeral notes. Their kings departed, Nennius dead, whose loss Would tears extort even from pumicean eyes: Had Britain nurs'd but such another champion, They might have stuck their darts on our barr'd gates, And Latium trembled with contrary fates.[335] In what now lies their hope?

MAN. Great numbers still remain: nay, worse, they laugh At death, and boldly trust (as Druids preach) Their souls who die in fight shall live in joy. Hence count they dangers benefits, and die With freedom in their mouth and wilful rage. But let soft mildness wait on women; let Thy wrath ring through the woods in dusty noise, To tell thy coming. No man's built so lofty, But his foundation meets the humble dust; Which undermin'd, how high he pierc'd the clouds, So deep he sinks. Hostile and civil foes shake top and root, As winds invade above and mines below. And so will we.

CÆS. No doubt: this blow shall like an earthquake move The roots and pillars of this sea-clipp'd isle. A cloud of vultures shall attend our camp, And no more shall the fields bear vert, but gules:[336] The grain, engrain'd in purple dye, shall lose His verdant hue. Bones, marrow, human limbs Shall putrifying reek, whose vapour'd slime, Kindl'd on high, may breed long-bearded stars, To tell more mischief, and outbeard Apollo.

MAN. Let's waste no time, lest more unto him flock, As humours glide to guard the wounded member.

CÆS. Atrius, let our ships be drawn on shore, New-rigg'd and mended. I must needs confess him A darling of the gods, under whose colours Stars, winter, sky, and tempests serve in pay, And know both march and skirmish by his drum. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE V.

ROLLANO, EULINUS _hearkening_.

ROL. O my dear lady, hast thou slain thyself? So fairly pure, so kindly chaste, so---- [_Cries._ A Venus and Diana mix'd in one. She ate her meat with studs of pearl, she kiss'd With rubies, and she look'd with diamonds bright. Fish seas, and fowl the air, hunt all the earth, For such another bit, and lose your labour.

EUL. O, why dost thou complain?

ROL. Had she not kill'd herself, no cruel Atropos, No fury could for pity cut her thread. She was the loadstone of all eyes, the whetstone Of all brains, the touchstone of all hearts! she was---- [_Cries._

EUL. O, my presaging thoughts in ugly form Suggest some tragedy. Speak--yet stay awhile; I know thou kill'st with speaking. Be then dumb: Let sound ne'er give those notions airy robes. Yet speak! despatch me; fear's as bad as death. O, could no tongue affirm it! Is she dead?

ROL. My mistress is.

EUL. Wither, ye pleasant gardens, where she trod! White lilies droop, and blasted daisies wink, And weep in pearly dew! blind Vesper mourn; Hang thy cold tears on ev'ry grassy blade! Groan loud, ye woods, and tear your leafy hair! Let wind and hoary frost kill every flow'r; For she is gone who made continual May Let foggy mists envelope sun and stars; For she is gone who made perpetual day. Confounded nature, stand amaz'd; dissolve Thy rolling engines, and unbrace the seas; Fling all into their first disorder'd lump; For thy chief paragon, thy rich masterpiece, The jewel for which thou didst venture all, Is lost, is lost! And can I live to speak it? How died she?

ROL. By a poison'd draught.

EUL. The very word poison infects my breath. Durst thou presume to pass that coral porch? Were not her lips sufficient antidote? Durst thou descend through those close-winding stairs With treacherous intent? How could thy venom Seize on her, and not (sweeten'd) lose his virtue, Or rather vicious quality? may toads, Dragons, and mandrakes be thy gally-pots! This body was a casket for the graces, No cask for poison. With her dies all love. Cupid may break his bow, his arrows burn, Then quench his taper in a flood of tears. Is she dead?

ROL. Or in a long trance?

EUL. She may revive. I'll visit her. Art may prolong her days, Whether she will or no. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE VI.

CHORUS.

1. _Alecto, rising from the lakes_ _Of nights sad empery_,[337] _With knotty bunch of curled snakes_ _Doth lash fair Brittany._

2. _More ghastly monster did not spring_ _From the Hibernian flood:_ _With which Morvidus_[338] _combating,_ _Of foe became his food._

3. _Shall no more shepherds in the shade_ _Sit whistling without care?_ _Shall never spear be made a spade,_ _And sword a ploughing-share?_

4. _Grant, heaven, at last that music loud_ _Of bloody Mars be still:_ _That Britain's virgins in a crowd_ _With hymns the sky may fill!_

_2d Song._

_Nor is Landora's loss_ _The least part of our mournful muse:_ _Jove, Juno for to cross,_ _This Trojan dame for bride did choose._

_Where she doth shine_ _'Bove Guendoline_,[339] _The amazon of her days:_ _And Mercia wise_ _Law to devise._ _O, sound Landora's praise._

_There doth she shine above,_ _Clear as great Delia's horned bow,_ _Bright as the queen of love,_ _To shoot down gentle beams below._ _Sabrina, dare_ _Not to compare_ _With her most splendent rays:_ _A ring the sky_ _A gem her eye._ _O, sound Landora's praise._

FOOTNOTES:

[325] [A sort of rural dance. See a long note in Nares' "Glossary," 1859, and Halliwell's Dictionary, _v._ Haydigee.]

[326] [This is the Scottish song which has led to the unfortunate conjecture that the author was a native of Scotland.]

[327] _i.e._, Octaves, a musical term.

[328] _i.e._, Low as a cow does. The word frequently occurs in Roman poetry. So in Virgil's third Georgic--

"Et vox assensu nemorum ingeminata remugit."

--_Steevens._

[329] _Mandubratius_, Mr Camden observes, is by Eutropius, Bede, and the more modern writers called _Androgeus_, which in the British language signifies _vir malus_, a bad man; a name of infamy fixed on him for having been the first who betrayed his country.--Camden's "Britannia," ii. 327, edit. 1772; Baxter's "Glossary" in _voce_.

[330] _i.e._, Spoiled, rendered unserviceable. See Cotgrave in _voce_ Desbaucher.--_Steevens._

[331] Hercules and Alexander.--_Steevens._

[332] Hannibal.--_Steevens._

[333] Cacus stole the oxen of Hercules, and, that which way they went might not be discovered, drew them backwards into his den.--_Steevens._

[334] See Cæsar's "Commentaries," bk. v. s. 20, 21. The _Trinobantes_ were those who inhabited Middlesex and Essex. The _Cenimagnians_, says Camden, were the same with the Iceni, whose province contained Suffolk, Norfolk, Cambridgeshire, and Huntingdonshire. _Segontiaks_, he thinks, were originally the Belgæ, and places them in the hundred of Holshot, in Hampshire; the _Ancalites_ he calls those who inhabit the hundred of Henley, in Oxfordshire; the _Bybrocks_, that of Bray, in Berkshire; and the _Cassians_ the people of Buckinghamshire, Bedfordshire, and Herefordshire, where the name is still preserved in the hundred of Casbow.

[335]

"_Versis_ lugeret Græcia _fatis_."

--_Steevens._

[336] Terms of heraldry, signifying _green_ and _red_.

[337] [Dominion.]

[338] A tyrant who lost his life in encountering a monster that destroyed great numbers of people on the Irish coast. See Geoffrey of Monmouth, bk. iii. c. 15. The 4o reads _Morindus_.

## ACT V., SCENE I.

CÆSAR, ANDROGEUS, MANDUBRATIUS, &c. _Soldiers_.

CÆS. Thus gain we ground; yet still our foes will fight, Whether they win or lose. With bloody drops Our path is printed: Thames his maiden cheeks Blush with vermillion. Nations crave our league On every side; yet still Cassibelane braves us, Nor will submit.

AND. Not far hence Verulam lies, his chiefest fort: By nature guarded round with woods and fens, By art enclosed with a ditch and rampier: From hence we must dislodge the boar.

MAN. There are but two ways to assail this town, Both which I know. Your parted army must Break through both at once, and so distract His doubtful rescues.

_Enter_ VOLUSENUS, _with_ HULACUS _prisoner_.

HUL. Draw, slaves unwilling; I dare meet my death, And lead my leader.

VOL. You'll repent anon.

HUL. If I do ill; but not for suffering ill.

VOL. Your stoical apathy will relent, I know. This priest I caught within a shady grove, Devoutly kneeling at a broad oak's foot. Now he awaits your doom.

CÆS. What God adore you?

HUL. Him whom all should serve.

CÆS. What's the moon?

HUL. Night's sun.

CÆS. What's night?

HUL. A foil to glorify the day.

CÆS. What most compendious way to happiness?

HUL. To die in a good cause.

CÆS. What is a man?

HUL. An hermaphrodite of soul and body.

CÆS. How differ they in nature?

HUL. The body hath in weight, the soul in length.

CÆS. One question more: What dangers shall I pass?

HUL. Many by land and sea, as steps to glory. Throw Palatine on Æsquiline, on both Heap Aventine, to raise one pyramid for a Chair of estate, where thy advanced head, Among those heroes pictur'd in the stars, Orion, Perseus, Hercules, may consult With Jove himself: but shun the senate-house. March round about the Caspian sea; search out, 'Mong cedars tall, th' Arabian phoenix' nest; Run counter to old Nile, till thou discover His sacred head wrapt up in cloudy mountains; And, rather than work fail, turn Hellespont Out of his channel; dig that isthmus down, Which ties great Afric--shun the senate-house.

_Be Saturn, and so thou shalt not be Tarquin._ _A Brutus strong_ _Repays in fine_ _The brutish wrong_ _To Brutus' line._

CÆS. We'll talk at leisure more. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE II.

CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS, _&c._

CAS. No rampires keep him back: he presses forward, Though every stamp he treads seems to conjure The Fates from their infernal centre. None But he durst be so bold.

BEL. Yes, when Britons lead, and Mandubrace, insulting With naked sword, calls on the lagging soldiers; When fierce Androgeus, with revolted nations, Ushers his army. No way half so quick To ruinate kingdoms as by homebred strife. Thus, while we single fight, we perish all.

CAS. Ay, ay, those treach'rous caitiffs! rebel slaves! O, may their country's heavy curse them sink Below the nine-fold brazen gates of hell! That princock[340] proud!--ah, 'twas a 'scape in policy: I should have slain the whelps with their good sire. Let Britain's climacterical year now run, The series break of seventy kings: nay, let One urn conclude our ashes and the world's. Befall what will, in midst of horror's noise And crackling flames, when all is lost, we'll die With weapons in our hands, and victory scorn: There's none that die so poor as they are born. Faithful Belinus, let a post command The Kentish kings to set upon his fleet, Whilst we here bate. Four thousand charioteers, (Such as did glide upon the Phrygian plains, And (wheeling) double service do perform-- Both horseman's speed and footman's stable strength) Still do remain: with these and flocking voluntaries We'll give him once more battle. Let the captains Enter and hear my charge.

_Enter_ CAPTAINS. _He stands on a throne._

Subjects and fellow-soldiers, we must now try For ancient freedom or perpetual bondage: There is no third choice. The enraged foe (With cruel pride, proud avarice) hath spoil'd From East to West, hunting for blood and gain. Your wives and daughters ravish'd, ransack'd towns, Great bellies ripp'd with lances, sprawling babes, The spouse, about her husband's neck, run through By the same spear. Think on these objects; Then choose them for your lords, who spoil and burn Whole countries, and call desolation peace.[341] Yield, yield, that he, ennobled by our spoils, May climb the capitol with triumphant car; You led, fast-fetter'd, through the staring streets, For city dames to mock your habit strange, And fill their arras-hangings with our story. No: Brennus' ghost forbid! who this night stood Before my eyes, and grimly furious spake: Shall Britain stoop to Roman rods and hatchets, And servile tribute? will ye so defame Your ancestors, and your successors wrong, Heirs but of slavery? O, this day make good The glory of so many ages pass'd I see you are incens'd, and wish to use Your weapons, not your ears.

ALL. To arms, to arms, to arms! we'll fight and die. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE III.

EULINUS _in a nightcap, unbraced. Viol, poynado._[342] _Plays, and sings to the viol._

_So the silver-feather'd swan,_ _Both by death and colour wan,_ _Loves to sing, before she die,_ _Leaving life so willingly._ _But how can I sing a note,_ _When dead hoarseness stops my throat?_ _Or how can I play a stroke,_ _When my heart-strings are all broke?_

Come, guilty night, and with black velvet wings Mantle me round: let melancholic thoughts Hang all my brain with blacks, this darksome grove, My gallery. So, all things suit my mind: Such funeral colours please a gasping heart. I died with thee, Landora, once; now only Some struggling spirits are behind, to be Laid out with most thrift on thy memory. Where shall I first begin my last complaint, Which must be measur'd by my glass of life? At thee, Hirildas, slain in furious mood, By whose help only I enjoy'd my love? Or thee, Landora, dying for his sake, And in thy death including mine? Or at my country's wreck, whose surface torn Doth for my vengeance importune the pole? Or at myself? Ay, there is sorrow's spring. Shall I go wand'ring, lurk in woods unknown (A banish'd hermit), and sigh out my griefs, Teaching the pretty birds to sing, _My dear,_ _My dear Landora?_ There to feed on acorns, Drink the clear fountain, and consume with weeping, Were but an easy life, an easy death: My violent passion must have sudden vent. Refined soul, whose odoriferous light The damned hags stare at, and whining elves, Thinking it heaven in hell, behold my pangs, Pity my dying groans, and be more soft. O, may our shadows mingle; then shall I Envy no more those citizens above, The ambrosian juncates of th' Olympian hall. And all that gorgeous roof. But cowards talk. Come, thou last refuge of a wearisome life. [_Draws his poignard._ A passport to the Elysian land, a key To unlock my griev'd inmate. Lo! I come. O, let this river from my eyes, this stream [_Unbuttons._ From my poor breast, beg favour of thy ghost: O, let this lukewarm blood thy rigour steep, [_Stabs._ And mollify thy adamantine heart. Leander-like, I swim to thee through blood: Be thy bright eyes my Pharos, and conduct me Through the dull night of gloomy Erebus. Flow, flow, ye lively drops, and from my veins Run winding to the ocean of my bliss: Tell her my love, and, if she still shall doubt, Swear that ye came directly from my heart. I stay too long. [_Stabs again._] Sweet lady, give me welcome. Though I shall pass twelve monsters, as the sun, Or twelve Herculean labours on a row, Yet one kind look makes all my labours sweet. Thou fairy queen[343] of the Tartarian court, To whom Proserpine may the apple give, Worthier than she to warm old Pluto's bed; See thy poor vassal welt'ring in his gore. I faint, I faint; I die thy martyr, as I liv'd thy priest: Great goddess, be propitious! sweet Landora-- [_Falls and dies._

## SCENE IV.

_The four Kings of Kent march over the stage. A_ _drum struck up within._ Q. ATRIUS _comes with_ CINGETORIX _prisoner_. ROLLANO _running_; VOLUSENUS _meets him_.

ROL. What shall I do? how shall I 'scape? [_Falls for fear._

VOL. I scorn to take advantage; rise and fight.

ROL. I had rather be kill'd quickly, quickly.

VOL. Then die, as thou desirest. [_Thrusts at him._

ROL. O, let me wink first. [_Bawls aloud._ I shall never endure it. O, O, I am pepper'd and salted!

[_Exit_ VOLUSENUS. ROLLANO _crawls away_.

CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS, _&c._

CAS. O, that base fortune should great spirits damp, And fawn on muddy slaves! That envious fate Should ripen villany with a Syrian dew, And blast sweet virtue with a Syrian flame! A catalogue of mischiefs do concur: Our Briton Hector Nennius dead; our kings, Angry to be refus'd, sit still at home; And then those traitors with their train augment His huge and expert army. Nothing stops him: Rivers nor rampiers, woods nor dangerous bogs. On this side Thames his dismal ensigns shine. Last, Kent's unhappy rulers are at sea O'erthrown, and our men almost spent. Then, general, In desperate pride and valour's scornful rage, Let us run headlong through their armed tents, And make their camp a shambles; so to raise Our lofty tombs upon their slaughter'd heaps.

BEL. Nay, rather first let us parley for peace.

CAS. Ye country gods and nymphs, who Albion love: Old father Neptune: all ye powers divine: Witness my loyal care! If human strength, Courage and policy could a kingdom save, We did our best; but discord, child of hell, Numbers of train-men, and each captain pick'd Out of a province, make us bow or break. In vain we strive, when deities do frown; When destinies push, Atlas himself comes down.

_Enter_ COMIUS.

BEL. No mediator is so fit as Comius: And here's the man.

COM. Do not the dangers which Environ you call for a good conclusion? Which I wish, as friend to both sides.

CAS. No, Comius. There is more behind than Cæsar Hath overrun: our charioteers still drive; Our harness still is worn. Through woods and lakes We'll tire his dainty soldiers; then set fire On towns, and sacrifice ourselves, our wives, Our goods and cattle, in one public flame, That wind may blow our ashes in his face.

COM. So shall dead el'ments curse your causeless fury: Rather conclude some friendly peace.

CAS. Thus far we hear you. If with honour'd terms And royal looks he will accept our faith, We will obey, but never serve.

COM. I'll undertake as much. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE V.

ANDROGEUS, TENANTIUS.

AND. Thus civil war by me and factious broils Deface this goodly land: I am reveng'd; The cause (Eulinus) dead, my anger dies. He is our uncle, and in danger's mouth; Both claim relenting pity. Whom peace made A rampant lion, war hath made a lamb. Cæsar shall not proceed, for private ends, To captivate our isle, whose clamorous curse Doth knock, I know, at heaven's star-nail'd gates: For that Jove's bird, imp'd[344] with our plumes, o'erflew The ocean's wall, to seek her prey in Britain.

TEN. Ay, we have made a rod for our own backs: Fetters of gold are fetters. No gap worse To let destruction in by, than to call A foreign aid who, having seen our weakness, And tasted once the fatness of our land, Is not so easily thrust out as admitted. Such medicine is worse than the malady: Fretting the bowels of our kingdom.

AND. I know their hatred just; and here resign All my birthright to thee, my second self. I must forsake my country's sight, and seek New fortunes with this emperor, in hope To be rais'd up by his now rising wheel.

TEN. O, do not so, dear brother! so to part Were to divide one individual soul. Nor think me so ambitious. I can live A private life, and see a regal crown With no more envy than I see the sun Glitter above me. Let not Lud's two sons Be parted by a sea. I hold your presence At higher price than a whole kingdom's pomp. Keep then your right; like those admired twins, Let us rejoice, mourn, live, and die together.

AND. You shall a sceptre gain.

TEN. And lose a brother.

AND. Bear you the sovereign power of this land.

TEN. A body politic must on two legs stand: I'll bear a part, so to diminish envy.

AND. I must away, and shun the people's eye.

TEN. If to yourself unkind, be kind to me; For my sake stay at home; why will you fly? Think you a stepdame soil gives sweeter sap?

AND. Ay, for trees transplanted do more goodly grow.

TEN. And I'll count men but stocks, when they do so.

AND. I am resolv'd, all troubles brought asleep, To leave you with a parting kiss.

TEN. And by that kiss May I transfuse my soul or quite expire. Brothers have often for a kingdom fought; We strive to lose it. This is holy strife. But here I vow, if e'er that sacred lace Shall gird my temples, Rome must keep her bounds, Or fish for tribute in the dreadful deep.

## SCENE VI.

CÆSAR, MANDUBRATIUS.

AND. Let gracious favour smooth war's rugged brow; Cassibelane will compound; all rage must end. We choose you umpire for a friendly close.

CÆS. It is my glory to end all with peace; And for that cause I Comius sent in haste For to conduct him hither.

TEN. This trump gives warning of the king's approach.

CASSIBELANUS, COMIUS, LANTONUS.

CAS. Fate, and no fault of mine, makes me appear To yield, as far as honour gives me leave.

CÆS. Hail, valorous prince! disdain not this ingrafting Into Rome's empire, whose command encloses The whole Levant, and whose large shadow hides The triple-bounded earth and bellowing seas.

CAS. We shall observe your will, so you impose A league--no yoke. [_They shake hands._

CÆS. Thus we determine: that crown still shall stand: Reign as the total monarch of this isle, Till death unkings you. 'Twere, Androgeus, best You in our train kept honourable place; And let Tenantius wear the royal wreath. You must forgive the towns which did revolt, Nor seek revenge on Trinobants, but let Young Mandubrace possess his father's princedom.

CAS. Be all wrongs drench'd in Lethe.

AND. Pardon my rash attempts.

MAN. Count me your loyal friend.

[CASSIBELANUS _embraces_ ANDROGEUS _and_ MANDUBRATIUS.

CÆS. In sign of league you shall us pledges give, And yearly pay three thousand pound of silver Unto our treasury. So let these decrees Be straight proclaim'd through Troynovant, whose tower[345] Shall be more fairly built at my charge, as A lasting monument of our arrival.

CAS. All shall be done, renowned prince, whose worth, Unparallel'd both as a friend and foe, We do admire. Accept this surcoat, starrified with pearls And diamonds, such as our own shores breed.

CÆS. And you receive this massy cup of gold, Love's earnest and memorial of this day. By this suppose our senate calls you friend.

[_They sit together._

LAN. Now time, best oracle of oracles, Father of truth, the true sense doth suggest Of Dian's answer. The lion and the eagle do design The Briton and the Roman states, whose arms Were painted with those animals; both fierce, Weary at last, conclude: the semicircles, First letters of the leaders' names (we see) Are join'd in true love's endless figure. Both come of Trojan race, both nobly bold, Both matchless captains on one throne behold.

CÆS. Now the Tarpeian rock o'erlooks the world, Her empire bounded only by the ocean; And boundless fame beats on the starry pole. So Danow, crawling from a mountain's side, Wider and deeper grows, and like a serpent Or pyramid revers'd, improves his bigness As well as length; till, viewing countries large, And fed with sixty rivers, his wide mouth On th' Euxine sea-nymph gapes, and fear doth stir, Whether he will disgorge or swallow her.

CAS. Since the great guide of all, Olympus' king, Will have the Romans his viceroys on earth; Since the red fatal eyes of crow-black night Fling their malignant influence on our state; _Since Britain must submit; it was her fame,_ _None but a Julius Cæsar could her tame._

[_While trumpets sound_, ANDROGEUS _and_ TENANTIUS _embracing, take leave. All depart._

## SCENE VII.

CHORUS.

_1st Song._

_Come, fellow-bards, and sing with cheer;_ _Since dreadful alarums we shall no more hear._ _Come, lovely peace, our saint divine,_ _Olive and laurel do love for to twine._ _The Graces and Muses, and nymphs in a round:_ _Let voice beat the air, and feet beat the ground._

_So hell's black image chas'd away,_ _Eos doth dandle the goldy-lock'd day;_ _So, Bruma[346] banish'd all forlorn,_ _Cupid and Flora the spring do adorn:_ _And so, the grim fury of Mars laid in grave,_ _A merrier ending doth friendly peace crave._

_2d Song._

_The sky is glad, that stars above_ _Do give a brighter splendour:_ _The stars unfold their flaming gold,_ _To make the ground more tender:_ _The ground doth send a fragrant smell,_ _That air may be the sweeter:_ _The air doth charm the swelling seas_ _With pretty chirping metre:_ _The sea with rivers' water doth_ _Feed[347] plants and flowers dainty:_ _The planets do yield their fruitful seed,_ _That beasts may live in plenty:_ _The beasts doth give both food and cloth,_ _That men high Jove may honour:_ _And so the world runs merrily round,_ _When peace doth smile upon her._ _O then, then O! O then, then O!_ _This jubilee last for ever:_ _That foreign spite or civil fight_ _Our quiet trouble never._ [_Exeunt._

MERCURY _reducing the ghosts of_ CAMILLUS _and_ BRENNUS.

CAM. How bravely Cæsar pass'd the angry main!

BREN. How bravely was he back repuls'd again!

CAM. How did he wheel his sword in Nennius' face!

BREN. How did he lose his sword, and fly apace!

CAM. How did again his army fill your coast!

BREN. Ay, when our princes did conduct his host.

CAM. How did they pierce through Isis' dangerous flood!

BREN. But made her swell, and bankrupt[348] with their blood.

CAM. Mirror of captains, Julius, still hath won.

BREN. But we may justly brag of two for one.

CAM. Confess, our valorous race hath now repaid The Allian massacre[349] and our city's flame: See how they yield, and yearly tribute pay.

BREN. No, proud dictator, both do weary stand On equal terms: both wish a peaceful league. But if they shall oppress, know, generous spirits Will break this compact, like a spider's web.

MER. Jove's will is finish'd: and, though Juno frown, That no more Trojan blood shall dye the stage, The world's fourth empire Britain doth embrace. The thunder-bearer with a Janus look At once views ruddy morn and cloudy west: Her wings, display'd o'er this terrestrial egg, Will shortly hatch an universal peace; For Jove intends a favour to the world. It now remains that you two martial wights Cease from your braving one another's worth: You must be friends at last. The close is sweet, When, after tumults, hearts and hands do meet. [_Exeunt._

_Nec lusisse pudet, sed non incidere ludum._

FOOTNOTES:

[339] The wife of Locrine. See Geoffrey of Monmouth, bk. ii. c. 4.

[340] A coxcomb, or conceited person. So in "The Emperor of the East,"

## act iv. sc. 1--

"I have a heart, yet As ready to do service for my leg As any _princock_, peacock of you all."

And again, "The Old Law," act iii. sc. 2--

"That wet one has cost many a _princock's_ life."

See also Mr Steevens's note on "Romeo and Juliet," act i. sc. 5.

[341] This sentiment, and many others in the course of the play, are borrowed: it is a translation from a very well known passage in Tacitus: _solitudinem faciunt_, &c.--_Collier._

[342] _i.e._, Poignard, sword. So in "The Return from Parnassus"--

"Strikes his _poynado_ at a button's breadth."

[343] Alluding to Spenser's celebrated poem.--_Steevens._

[344] See note to "Albumazar," [xi. 346.]

[345] The Tower of London, said to have been built by Julius Cæsar.

[346] [The winter solstice.]

[347] The 4o has it--

"The sea with rivers' water doth _The_ plants and flowers dainty."

--_Collier._

[348] Or broken-banked with the flood.

[349] The slaughter made at the battle of Allia, in the year of Rome 363.

THE LOST LADY.

_EDITION._

_The Lost Lady. A Tragy Comedy. Imprinted at London by Jo. Okes, for John Colby, and are to be sold at his Shop, at the Signe of the Holy Lambe on Ludgate-hill. 1639. Folio._

[Sir William Barclay or Berkley was probably related to Sir Richard Barclay, author of "A Discourse of the Felicity of Man," first printed in 1598. He wrote, besides the "Lost Lady," a "Description of Virginia." An account of him will be found in Bliss's edition of Wood's "Athenæ," iii. 1111-12.

"The Lost Lady" was reprinted by Dodsley in 1744, but excluded from the second and third editions of the collection.]

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.[350]

_Men._

LYSICLES. EUGENIO. AGENOR. CLEON. ERGASTO. PHORMIO. PINDARUS. PHYSICIAN.

_Women._

MILESIA. HERMIONE. IRENE. PHILLIDA. ACANTHE.

FOOTNOTES:

[350] [Not in the old copy.]

THE LOST LADY.

## ACT I.

_Enter_ AGENOR, PHYSICIAN.

AGEN. Sir, I hope Lord Lysicles is not yet Retir'd?

PHY. No, sir, he commanded immediate Notice should be given of your coming.

AGEN. I fear my stay at the castle hath made My duty seem unmannerly; but till This minute I had not my despatches from the governor.

PHY. Let it not trouble you: he never shuts his eyes Till all this other world opens theirs; nor Does he sleep then, but with distracted thoughts Labours his fancy, to present him objects That may advance his grief.

AGEN. What may the monstrous cause be?

PHY. It was monstrous indeed. He lost his mistress, Barbarously murder'd by her perfidious uncle: Her urn is in Cirrha, which my lord nightly Visits, and presents it all his contracted Sighs of the fled day; but at his parting Re-assumeth more by thinking she is not: To whose dear memory his tears and griefs Are offered. He's now alone, and the Religious awe which makes our priests retire, Before they do adore th' incensed powers, Is seen in him, who never dares approach Her honoured tomb, till a just contemplation of His loss hath made his sorrow eloquent. See! he comes. If, when he parts, your haste Will license you, I will relate the story Of his unequall'd sufferings.

_Enter_ LYSICLES.

LYS. Do you depart to-night?

AGEN. This hour, my lord.

LYS. I will not wrong you to entreat your care In suddenly delivering these small packets; But lest you should believe they are merely Ceremonious, and so bear any date, I now Inform you, I'm concern'd in nothing nearer. My griefs excepted.

AGEN. I wish your lordship's happiness.

LYS. First, wish me a captivity; for as I am i' th' instant, if Heaven should pour His blessings on me, their quality would alter. Sir, good night. [_Exit._

PHY. Sir, you are sad.

AGEN. He has no heart to joy that can be otherwise, That sees this glorious youth groan under his Harsh fate.

PHY. What a sad accent had each word he uttered?

AGEN. I could not mark them much; but his whole frame Is of such making as if Despair had been The architect. We may wish, [but] not hope, A long life in him.

PHY. Sir, will you now take horse?

AGEN. I should, had you Not promised the original of this Misfortune: and, trust me, it is a bold Curiosity, that makes me search into it; for if The silent presentation hath struck amazement In me, how shall I guard my heart, when sad Disasters violence my passions?

PHY. Thus then in short:-- These noble kingdoms, Thessaly and Sparta, Have, from the time two kings commanded all, Under both titles still been emulous, And jealous of th' advantages which each Suspected might be in the adverse party. This caused a lasting war; but the fierce storm Threaten'd not till the reign of these two kings, Both crowned young, both of an equal age; Both having all the passions of their subjects, Their fears excepted. The ambassadors That should congratulate the new-made kings, As if one spirit had inspired both, Came with this message, little varied-- "That each were joy'd in such an enemy; No more the fearful wisdom of old men Should rust their swords, that fate had given to one Command of all." In short, their forces met, And in ten bloody days none could decide Which had the better cause: The virtues of each prince so prevalent, Fortune was but spectator. To conclude, Urgent affairs at home compell'd each king To leave their armies. Ours committed his To Strimon, father of Prince Lysicles; The Duke of Argos did command the Spartan, Who, swoll'n with the great name of general, Before his king had hardly left the fight Of this great army, draws his forces out, And fac'd us in our trenches. 'Tis not yet Unquestion'd whether fear or policy Made Strimon keep in his: but certainly this, That virtue, sharpen'd by necessity, Procur'd our triumph. Here Lysicles Anticipated years unto his fame, And on the wounds of his brave enemy Did write his story, which our virgins sing. But from this conquest did begin the cause Of all his misery.

AGEN. How from this? unless the king should judge it Too dangerous an honour to be given to one.

PHY. He's lord of so much virtue, He cannot fear it in a subject.

AGEN. And as the common voice reach'd him in Athos, There's none he looks on with [a] greater Demonstration of his love.

PHY. I know not that; but this I am perfect in: His judgment is directed by the king so powerfully, He cannot think his virtues injured, Though many should be nearer in his graces, 'Twould afflict him strangely if any should Be thought to love his prince better than he.

AGEN. Pardon my interruption: pray proceed.

PHY. The duke, defeated, posts unto the Court, Where he design'd unto his dire revenge Th' obscurest path that ever time reveal'd Since her first glass: procures his king to throw Neglects upon him, and to seem in doubt Of his obliged faith. A severe search Is made on his papers, his treasure valued By the public officer, and himself, Twice deprehended in a seeming flight, Calumniated, libell'd, and disgrac'd By his own seeking and belief of others, Who, judging him to be their honour's ruin, First raze his house, and then demand his life As sacrifice unto their brothers, sons, Nephews, and public loss. Sedition Had now the face of piety, which (once Receiv'd as just) can hardly be repell'd. The king with difficulty doth assure his life With promise of his banishment. This he foresaw and sought, and did disguise Himself, in fear of the incensed people: Parts in the night, and partner of his fate Hath his fair niece, who is so innocent She cannot think there is a greater crime Practis'd by men than error, which does make Us seem more vicious than in act we are.

AGEN. I want a perspective for this dark mystery; And but your knowledge doth dissolve my doubts, 'Twould seem a riddle that a gentleman Of his known valour [and his] reputation Should strive to lose both for some secret end, I cannot yet arrive to.

PHY. Sir, you know Revenge doth master all our passions That are not servants to her rage.

AGEN. But how, unfriended, banish'd, the reproach Of traitor fix'd upon him, he could find The way unto't more easy, I am ignorant.

PHY. This story will resolve you. To this Court He comes: is brought to th' king; then with a modest freedom Relates his sufferings; hopes that fame hath taught His story ere his coming, else he should Continue miserable, as believ'd Both by his friends and enemies a traitor. Delivers that he sought protection From him, because none else could vindicate His innocence, which many mothers here, Say'th he, have wept that day when fortune Consulted fate who should be conqueror. You brave lords (say'th he) that were present, did my sword Parley? Did you receive wounds on condition? Were these by compact? All my blood is lost, Since 'tis discredited; what before was spent, Ran in my name, and made that live: but now, Great King, you only repeal my honour's fall By giving death unto your enemy. Our prince resents his fate, confirms him his By a large pension, and too soon entrusts [him] With all his secrets; gives him means to view His forts, which he designs, and learns the strength Of each particular province; and (inform'd Of all) makes his escape, and is received Of the Spartan king with all remonstrances Of love and confess'd service; but before He parted, did that horrid act which Lysicles Must die for.

AGEN. Indeed this story Doth not much concern him, if I mistake not.

PHY. At his arrival here, he left his niece With this design, that, when his plots were ripe, Without suspect he might come to the borders. Hither he comes, and at his entrance is By a base traitorous servant certified Of the great love 'twixt her and Lysicles, The compact of their vows, with divers letters The lovers had exchang'd. He storms and cries, If thou dost love young Lysicles, my hate Shall strike thee dead; thy hand pluck'd back my honour When it was mounting; be constant, and this hand Shall by her death give thee a ling'ring one, And my revenge in thy own house begin. Then with a barbarous unheard-of cruelty Murders his niece, and the same instant flies. Fame had the next sun blown this through the city; His house was searched, the trunk of the dead lady Found in the hall; the head he carried with him, In honour of his cruelty.

AGEN. Sure, he was mad!

PHY. I would say so too, but that I would not Make him less guilty of this inhumanity.

AGEN. What furies govern man! We hazard all Our lives and fortunes to gain hated memories; And in the search of virtue tremble at shadows. But how are you ascertain'd that he did This horrid act?

PHY. He sent the summons of her death By her that had betray'd her; the report Did make her spirits throng unto her heart, And (sure) had kill'd it, had not heaven decreed His hand should be as black as his intent. She begg'd some time for prayer, and retir'd; In her own blood did write her tragedy And parting wishes to her dear betroth'd. Now hear the strangest mistook piety, That ever entered in a virgin's breast, She so much lov'd this barbarous homicide, She would not have him guilty of her death; And therefore with her own hands wounds herself, And as she bled, she writ unto her lord-- At last concludes-- They will not let me make them innocent; I'm call'd unto my death, and I repent My wound, because I would not hurt That which I hope you lov'd. This bloody note Was found the next day in her pocket.

AGEN. And came it to the Lord Lysicles?

PHY. It did; and if you e'er had seen A hundred parents at one time deplore The unexpected deaths of their lost children, The father's sorrow and the mother's tears-- 'Twould emblemise, but not express his grief. Sometimes he shriek'd, as if h' had sent his soul Out in his voice; sometimes stood fix'd, and gaz'd, As if he had no sense of what he saw: Sometimes he'd swoon; and if the memory Of his dear mistress, even i' th' gates of death, Had not pursu'd him, he had certain died. Torment did now give life; at last he drew His sword, and e'er he could be stay'd, did fall Upon the point. This I think did preserve him; For, not[351] being mortal, and he fainting with The loss of blood, had not then strength enough To end himself, until he was persuaded To live, to celebrate her memory; Which nightly he doth do upon her tomb, Whither he now is gone.

AGEN. I have not heard Of such a love as this!

PHY. Nor ever shall Of such a beauty as did cause it. 'Tis late, and I'll not trouble you with her story: When you're at Court, all tongues will speak her merit To your wonder. I'll bring you to your horse. [_Exit._

[ACT I., SCENE 2.]

_The Tomb discovered. Enter_ LYSICLES _with a page_ _and a torch_, [_and then withdraws_.][352] _Enter_ ERGASTO _and_ CLEON.

CLE. And will you marry now?

ERG. Indeed will I.

CLE. And what shall Be done with all those locks of hair you have?

ERG. Why, I'll make buttons of 'em, and had they half The value that I swore they had when I did beg 'em, Rich orient diamonds could not equal them: Some came eas'ly, and some I was forc'd to Dig for in th' mine.

CLE. And your priz'd liberty-- What shall become of that? You swore you would not marry till there were A law established that married men Might be redeem'd, as slaves are.

ERG. I was an ass when I talk'd so: Those damned books of chastity I read In my minority corrupted me; but since I'm practis'd in the world, I find there are No greater libertines than married men. 'Tis true 'twas dangerous, this knot, in the First age, when it was a crime to break vows: But, thanks to Venus, the scene is alter'd, And we act other parts. I'll tell thee The privileges we enjoy when we are married. First, our secrecy is held authentic, which is Assurance will take up any woman At interest, that is not peevish; then th' acquaintance which our wives bring us, to whom at times I carry my wife's commendations; and if their husbands be not at home, I do commend myself.

CLE. For what, I prythee?

ERG. For a good dancer, a good rider, a good ----, anything that I think will please 'em.

CLE. Thou'lt have a damnable conceit of thy wife, by thy knowledge and opinion of all other women, unless you think her a ph[oe]nix.

ERG. 'Twill be my best resolution. But hark in thy ear, rogue: I could be content to think, and wish mine and all for the public good, and wear my horns with as much confidence, as the best velvet-head of 'em all, and paint them in my crest with this inscription _These he deserved for his love to_ _the commonwealth_.

CLE. A rare fame you would purchase!

ERG. A more lasting one than any monument you can repeat the epitaph of; and would it not be glorious to be commemorated as the first founder of the commonalty of undisparaged cuckolds?

CLE. Yes, and prayed for by bastards, that got better fathers than they were destined to by their mothers' marriages.

ERG. And cursed by surgeons that were undone by honest women's practices.

CLE. And this done voluntarily, which you will hardly avoid, though you have a thousand guards to prevent it. I, that have been your playfellow, shall be first suspected, and first banished.

ERG. By Jupiter, never! No, though 'twould preserve a thousand smooth foreheads. If she be honest, your arts cannot alter her; and if otherwise, had I not rather adopt a son of thine than a stranger's? And confess truly, Cleon: would you not for this public benefit be content to sacrifice a sister, that we might love no longer by obligations, but affection; and seeing, liking, and enjoying, finished in a meeting.

CLE. Unless I had means to appropriate one, you cannot suspect but I should wish a title unto all. But what hopes have you of your mistress?

ERG. No airy ones of liking and affection; but mine are built on _terra firma_ already, which her father looks on greedily, and proportions this to that grandchild, to the second this.

CLE. Is he not somewhat startled at the report of thy debauchery? For though your thickset woods and spreading vineyards make excellent shades to keep away the sun--I mean the piercing eye of censure--yet some suspicions common fame will raise.

ERG. Indeed it was my enemy, whilst my elder brother lived.

CLE. But since his death you are altered. I must confess it, for then the slenderness of your annuity allowed you but the election of some one sin: I mean a cherished sin, whilst the others repined, that thought themselves of equal dignity; in time they had their turns, yet singly still: but since your brother's death you have shown yourself a grateful gentleman, and recompensed those that have suffered for you to the full.

ERG. A pretty satire this, to whip boys of nine! Yet still I tell thee, I am another in the opinion of the world.

CLE. Another Heliogabalus thou wouldst be, Hadst thou his power; but by what conjuration can You bring me to think it?

ERG. By reason, which is a spirit will hardly be Rais'd in you; but thus it is. Whilst my brother Liv'd, my wildness was observed by----

CLE. But now you walk in shades, recluse, and shut Up in your coach; your painted liveries Supposed fairies, and she that you were wont to Visit by the name of Madam Ruffiana is now Your aunt. All this I am perfect in, yet cannot Reach the mystery of your suppos'd disguise You say doth mask you.

ERG. Hear me, and be converted. I say I was Observed by those that were nearest in blood to me; And with fear, too, lest the ruin of my Fortune might force them to supply my wants. This caus'd the ague, this the admonitions and Frequent counsels--sometimes severe reproofs, Every one curling himself from any hopes of mine, That would assist me; and those gave largest counsels, That would give nothing else.

CLE. Of this I am yet a sad party and a witness too.

ERG. Since my brother's death, the names of things Are changed; my riots are the bounties of my nature, Carelessness the freedom of my soul: My prodigality, an easiness of mind proportion'd To my fortune. Believe me, Cleon, this poverty Is that which puts a multiplying-glass upon our Faults, and makes 'em swell, and fill the eye; Our crimes cry highest then when they have brought us low.

CLE. I have not known any condemn'd for playing, But for losing.

ERG. True; and let it be thy rule for all things else.

CLE. If this be certain, 'twill be long ere I be reputed virtuous.

ERG. Thou'lt never be, unless it be this way, I prophesy, good Cleon----

CLE. 'Tis a sad story; pray let us leave it. Have you no rivals?

ERG. None present that I can fear, having her Father's firm consent.

CLE. Eugenio, your rival, still continues banish'd.

ERG. And I hope will, till I am full possess'd of Hermione.

CLE. Did you give him cause to draw upon you in th' garrison?

ERG. Nor knew then of any[353] offence, or his pretences, Which his folly look'd I should divine; he met me on the guard, And drew upon me. We had a little scuffle, Were parted, and he banish'd for the insolence.

CLE. Prince Lysicles labours to recall him.

ERG. By all means; he was by in the nois'd battle, saw the Prince cleave this man to the twist,[354] divide a second, Overthrow a third; he is his trumpet.

CLE. His actions need none.

ERG. Wilt thou be happy, Cleon, believe not fame So far, as to make thyself less than another man. There were thousands that served for six sesterces, That did more than both; yet sleep forgotten. 'Tis Now time to meet the ladies on the walk. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ LYSICLES;[355] _kneels to the tomb, and then_ _speaks_.

LYS. I do profane this place, for were my griefs As great as I would boast 'em, I could not live To tell them to the world. Or is the passage which my soul should make, Shut up with sorrow? 'Tis so, and a joy, A hopeful joy, to meet her must give freedom To my sad prisoner, when my hand shall lead This dagger to his heart that parted ours. And heaven, that hear'st this vow, pour on my head Dire thunder, if I shrink in what I promise. And, sacred'st saint, if from thy place of rest, Thou turn'st thy eyes upon thy holy relics, Accept my vows, and pardon me the life Of the curs'd homicide: a full revenge Of thy death and [of] my life's misery Shall make him pay the time he has outliv'd My happiness; and when he is fall'n, Present thyself in all thy glories to me, That my freed soul may owe her liberty To no force, but impatient longing Of re enjoying thee. And, holy tomb, The altar where my heart is nightly offered, Let my wing'd love have passage through thy marble, And fan the sacred ashes, knowing no heat But what he takes from them. So peace and rest Dwell ever with thee. [_Exit._

_Enter_ HERMIONE, IRENE, PHILLIDA, _all veiled_.

IRE. Dear Hermione, pinch me, or I shall sink with laughter.

HER. What said the stranger, Phillida? I did not hear it.

PHIL. Nothing, madam.

HER. Then he did talk by signs, he was long about it. What was't, Irene?

IRE. He long importuned her to show her face, which after many urgings she consented to; and he in recompense made a low reverence to her, and then thanks her for the great favour, and concludes he never did receive so great a one from any woman, since all else have done them with a reference to themselves; but hers was merely goodness, for, before he saw her, he might have suspected her face, handsomely hid, for a piece of beauty, if her virtue would have suffered him to be longer in that error.

PHIL. I would I were a man for his sake.

IRE. So you told him, and he, still courteous for all your anger, promised to give you what you wanted of a man, or teach you how to make one.

HER. Thou wilt never be old, wench, if thou still keep'st this humour.

IRE. Not a sigh older these seven years, if't please Sir Cupid; for he blows our bellows. [_Enter_ ERGASTO _and_ CLEON.] But look, yonder's your servant, there's no starting now; you must stand to't. But before he comes to interrupt us, observe with me, how in that deep band, short cloak, and his great boots, he looks three storeys high, and his head is the garret where he keeps nothing but lists of horse-matches, and some designs for his next clothes.

PHIL. Where is his cellarage?

IRE. He'll show it thee himself, dear Phillida, and thine too, if thou wilt have him! But they make to us!

ERG. Madam, will you honour me and this gentleman with a sight of that which doth enrich the world?

HER. You will not take our excuses, if we should say you find us now with more advantage to our beauties.

ERG. So breaks the morning forth, but the sun's rays are not so quick and piercing as your eyes, for they descend even to our hearts.

IRE. Heaven defend! my heart would tremble, if they should.

ERG. Why, madam?

IRE. See such impieties as are lodged there in a man, and not be struck with horror! 'tis impossible.

ERG. Your wit doth make you cruel. But, madam, I have something to deliver unto you, which your father commanded no ear should hear but yours.

IRE. What have you there, Cleon?

CLE. Verses, madam.

IRE. Whose?

CLE. Of Lord Ergasto's, written in celebration of the fair Hermione.

IRE. Did he buy them, or found them without a father, and has adopted them for his own?

CLE. They are his own.

IRE. Here.

CLE. I pray read them.

IRE. What have I deserved of you, good Cleon, that you should make me read his verses in his own presence? If you think I have not already as ill an opinion of him as I can have, you lose your labour.

CLE. Read them, and I'll assure you you'll find things well said and seriously; and you will alter your opinion of him.

IRE. Pray give them me, I long to be working wonders. [_She reads single words._] _Rubies_, _Pearls_, _Roses_, _Heaven_. Do you not think he has done my cousin a simple favour, comparing of her voice to that of heaven?

CLE. 'Tis his love makes him do it; not finding any thing on earth fit to express her, he searcheth heaven for a similitude.

IRE. Alas! good gentleman, 'tis the first time he ever thought on't; what frequent thunders should I hear, if 'twere as he would have it? Let me counsel you: lay them aside till they have contracted an inch of dust, then with your finger write their epitaph, expressing the mutual quiet they gave men, and received from them; or, as all poisons serve for some use, give them your physician, and let him apply them to his patient for a vomit--this way they may be useful.

CLE. However you esteem them, such an elogy would make you think your glass had not yet flattered you.

IRE. It cannot; I prevent it, and accuse it for not showing the hills of snow, the rubies, and the roses they say have being from me. But stay--heaven opens, and I see a tempest coming; your poet is a prophet.

HER. I'll call an oath to be my witness.

ERG. Madam!

HER. My own fears light upon me, if the night that eves the day of marriage, doth not shut me from the world.

ERG. Why, madam, this intemperance?

HER. 'Tis a just anger.

ERG. If you are angry, madam, with all that love you, there lives none that has more enemies, every eye that looks upon you you must hate.

IRE. Sir Cleon, our friends are engaged; pray let us be o' th' party. What has called up this choler in my sweet cousin? My lord, you have been begging favours.

ERG. Yes, of heaven, that it would furnish me with merits fit to deserve your cousin.

IRE. When it has [been] granted you, return to her, and renew your suit; but if you stay till then, you must get spectacles to see her beauty with.

HER. Why should you hinder your repose and mine? You know I never loved you.

IRE. Then he has no reason to accuse you of inconstancy.

ERG. Why are you fair? or why has my stars enforced me to love nothing else?

IRE. If your love were considerable, what an obligation had your cousin to your stars? Then these remonstrances of yours are impulsive, and not voluntary.

ERG. I cannot tell; but when I seriously direct them to you, I'll swear I am bewitched.

CLE. Madam, this is repugnant to your other virtues, that you should hate a man for loving you. Before he did profess himself your servant, I know you did receive him with indifferency at least. Whence then proceeds your hate?

HER. From his expression of his love.

CLE. A cruel son sprung from so mild a father, if he did urge you to anything, might blast your honour.

IRE. She would not hear him; and as it is, how much does he oblige her? He's now her servant, and would entreat her to let him be her master; a request strangely modest!

CLE. If I were he, I'd take an honourable composition, let her choose whom she pleas'd for husband, and continue her secret servant still.

HER. You are uncivil.

_Enter_ PINDARUS.

CLE. Pardon me, madam, this mirth's a liberty; your cousin doth allow me. Here comes your father.

[PINDARUS _whispers with_ ERGASTO: _he speaks to_ HERMIONE.

PIN. How long is't you have undertaken to be your own disposer?

HER. Sir!

PIN. After my cares had sought you out a man that brings all blessings that the world calls happy, you must refuse him!

HER. Sir, I have taken an oath.

PIN. I know the priest that gave it. Do you not blush, being so young, to know how to distinguish the difference of desires! And this so wildly, that you will put off your obedience rather than lose one that you dare not say hath interest in you; but by my hopes of rest, I'll use the power custom and nature give me to force you to your happiness.

_Enter_ LYSICLES.

LYS. How now, my lord? What miracle can raise a tempest here, where so much beauty reigns?

PIN. My lord, you are not practised in the cares of fathers: I thought to have seen this gentleman my son to-morrow; and she does refuse him. But----

LYS. It must not be; pardon me, virtue, that I begin an act will set a stain upon my blushing brow. Yet I must thorough. Lord Pindarus, my fortunes carry a pardon with them, when they make me err in acts of ceremonial decencies, they have been so heavy and so mighty, they have bent me so low to th' earth, I could not cast my face upwards to hope a blessing; the cause you are perfect in.

PIN. 'Tis a noble sorrow; but your deep melancholy gives it too large a growth.

LYS. Thus all do press it; yet had my grief relation only to myself, I would not part them from; my heart and memory they justly do possess. But my father hath no more issue save myself, for to confer his name and fortunes on.

PIN. Our Greece would mourn if such a glorious stock should end in the most flourishing branch.

LYS. If you do wish it a continuance, 'tis in your power to make it last to ages. Since my Milesia's death, I have not loved a lady equal with your Hermione; in her I hope to lose my swollen misfortunes, and find out a joy that may extinguish them. 'Tis now no time to tell her how much I am her servant; for this lord here, that does pretend to her fair graces, before I had declared myself his rival--perchance you would believe me if I had said, he no way doth deserve her.

PIN. Where you pretend, who can? But heaven, that designed a blessing to my child, it had been pride to hope for, hath made her still averse to his pretences; but giving her the liberty of refusing, I know he is removed.

LYS. Thus then to-morrow I'll wait on you. Ladies, I am your servant. [_Exit._

PIN. My Lord Ergasto, you see with how much candour I have embraced your love; yet, though I do put on a father's strictness in my daughter's presence, I cannot force her to an act whereon for ever will depend her happiness. My house shall still be open to you as my heart. My business calls me, get you home; your servant. [_Exit_ PINDARUS.

CLE. Ergasto, my Lord Ergasto, what, have you left your tongue with your heart?

ERG. Is she not strangely fair?

CLE. You'll not believe me if I should say the contrary.

ERG. D'ye think that there are such faces in Elysium?

CLE. I'm sure many better go t'other way, if they be not marred in the voyage. But do you remember where you are to meet with Phormio?

ERG. Nor anything else; her beauty makes me forget all things that has no reference to it.

CLE. Heyday! if within these two hours you do not forget the cause of this forgetfulness, I'll be an eunuch. What, if the prince should be your rival? I cannot tell, but my Lord Pindarus on a sudden fell from his anger to his daughter to a ceremony to you might be suspected.

ERG. 'Tis a fear that makes me tremble.

CLE. Courage, man! If you have not lost your memory, your remedy is certain. There are more handsome faces will recompense this loss. Let us meet Phormio. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[351] [_i.e._, The _wound_ not being, &c.]

[352] [This is the second scene of Act i., though not so marked. The entrance of Lysicles, with his page and torch, was in dumb-show, the tomb having been apparently placed in the back of the stage while the curtain was drawn.]

[353] [Old copy, _any of_.]

[354] [Fork, Fr. _fourchure_.]

[355] [He must be supposed, from the preceding direction, to have been in the back of the stage.]

## ACT II., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ HERMIONE, IRENE, _and_ PHILLIDA.

IRE. Have you sent for the Egyptian lady?

HER. I have; and she'll be here within this half-hour.

IRE. She speaks our language.

HER. Her father was of Greece a wealthy merchant, and his business enforcing him to leave his country, he married a lady of that place, where he lived, who, excellent in the mystery of divination, hath left that knowledge to her daughter, enriched with thousand other modest virtues, as is delivered to me by those are frequent with her.

IRE. Do you believe what Phillida say'th is the voice of all your friends?

HER. What is't?

IRE. That you shall marry with Prince Lysicles.

PHIL. I heard your uncle say the governor did receive it with all appearances of joy, in hope this match will free him from this deep melancholy: and 'tis determined the next feast joins your hands.

HER. The grave must be my bed then. With what harsh fate doth heaven afflict me, That all those blessings which make others happy Must be my ruin! But if this lady's knowledge Shall inform me that I shall ne'er enjoy Eugenio, Darkness shall seize me, ere [the] tapers light My blushes to the forsworn Hymen's rites.

IRE. Why should you labour your disquiet, cousin? Anticipating thus your knowledge, you will make Your future sufferings present; and so call Lasting griefs upon you, which your hopes might Dissipate, till heaven had made your mind Strong enough to encounter them.

HER. Dear Irene, Our stars, whose influence doth govern us, Are not malignant to us, but whilst we Remain in this false earth. He that hath courage To divest himself of that, removes with it Their powers to hurt him; and injur'd Love, Who sees that fortune would usurp his power, I know will not be wanting. See, the lady

_Enter_ ACANTHE _the Moor_.

Comes! Madam, the excuse that justifies sick men That send for their physician, must beg my pardon, That did not visit you to have this honour. Here you see a virgin that hath long stood The mark of fortune, and now's so full of misery That, though the gods resented what I suffer, Yet I fear that they have plung'd me to extremes, Exceed their own assistance.

MOOR. Fear not their power.

HER. I do not; but their will to help me I must doubt; For those that know no reason of their hate Must fear it is perpetual. And let the ensigns of their wrath fall on me, If e'er by any willing act I have provok'd Their justice. To you now, in whom 'tis said, As in their oracle they speak, I come to know What mighty growth of dangers are decreed me.

MOOR. First, dearest lady, do not think my power Great as my will to serve you; 'tis so weak That, if you should rely on't, I shall seem Cold in your service, when it does not answer What is expected from it. All I know Is but conjectured; for our stars incline, Not force us in our actions. Let me observe your face.

HER. Do, and if yet you are not perfect in Your mysteries, observe mine well; and when you meet A face branded with such a line, conclude It miserable: when an eye that doth Resemble this, teach it to weep betimes, That so being lost, it may not see those miseries Must be its only object. [_The_ MOOR _starts_. Are my misfortunes of that horrid shape That the mere speculation doth affright Those whose compassion only it concerns? I, that must stand the strokes then, what defence Shall I prepare against them? Yet a hope That they be ripen'd now to fall on me, Lightens a desperate joy to my dark soul: For the last dart shall be embrac'd as remedy To cure my former wounds.

MOOR. It is not that; I was surprised in considering I must Partake of all your fortunes; for our ascendants Threaten like danger to us both.

HER. Are then my miseries grown infectious too? Must that be added? Pardon me, gentle lady; this Sad crime I must account amongst my secret faults: I meant no more but to communicate, Not part my sorrows with you.

MOOR. [O,] would you could; with what great willingness Should I embrace a share of what afflicts you? I'd haste to meet and ease you of your fears. Now if to one, whose interest doth force her To advance your hopes, you dare deliver The cause of your disquiet, you shall find a closet, If not a fort, to vindicate your fears.

HER. You shall know all. I have exchang'd my heart With a young gentleman's, now banished His country and my hopes; his rival labours To make me his; my father resolute I should Consent, till fortune chang'd, but lessen'd not My sufferings; for our prince, Lysicles, Ruins me with the honour of his search.

MOOR. Does Eugenio know you love him?

HER. No.

MOOR. Why does he doubt it?

HER. A womanish scorn to have my love reveal'd, Made me receive his declaration of it As an affront unto my honour, and when He came to take his leave, I left him In the opinion I would obey my father.

MOOR. I have heard as much; but [these] contradictions In the prince's actions do amaze me: They say he loves your friend, and labours now For to recall him; and that every night He courts his former flame, hid in the ashes Of his lost mistress.

HER. By this judge how miserable I am? That my malignant stars force them to change Nature and virtue too, that else would shine Unmoved, like the star that does direct The wand'ring seaman. Must then nature change, And will not fortune cease to persecute? Good gods! I will submit to all but breach of faith.

MOOR. They will not hear us, madam, unless we Contribute to their aid our best endeavours. I have thought a way may for a time secure you: You must dissemble with the prince, and seem To love Ergasto. 'Tis not impossible, but he, seeing you Prefer one so far beneath him, may provoke A just neglect from him. Then for Ergasto, Besides the time you gain, there may succeed A thousand ways to hinder his pretence.

HER. Can my heart e'er consent my tongue should say, I am for any other but Eugenio? No, my dear love, though cruel fate hath sever'd My vow'd embraces, yet hath death ice enough To fright all others from them.

MOOR. I see love is a child still; what a trifle Doth now disturb him! You will not get your health At the price of saying you are sick. I know There is another remedy more proportion'd For your disease, but not for you that suffer, Which is this: Tell the prince that you're engag'd, but he That broke with vows and friendship for your love, Will not desist for such suppos'd slight lets; And then your father will force you t' his will.

HER. If the prince leave me, it is most certain He'll use his power to make me take Ergasto.

MOOR. Those that in dangers that do press them nearly, Will not resolve upon some hazard, and Give leave to chance to govern what Our knowledge cannot hinder, must sit still, And wait their preservation from a miracle.

HER. I am determin'd; for knives, fire, and seas Shall lose their qualities, ere fate shall make Me his: and if death cannot be Shunn'd, I will meet it boldly.

_Enter_ IRENE.

IRE. Cousin, the prince is come to see you.

MOOR. Good madam, use some means that I may speak With him before he goes: my heart doth promise I shall do something in your service; and Be sure, when he first speaks of love, seem not To understand him. [_Exit._

## ACT II., SCENE 2.

_Enter_ LYSICLES.

LYS. Madam, I've begg'd leave of your noble father to Offer up myself a servant to your virtues.

HER. It is a grace our family must boast of That you descend to visit those that style Themselves your creatures, made such by your goodness, Which we can only pay by frequent prayers, That your line may last as glorious to Posterity, as your now living fame is.

LYS. Madam, you were not wont by a feign'd praise To scorn those that admire you; or would you Thus insinuate what I should be by telling Me I am, what I must ever aim at?

HER. Were there proportion 'twixt our births, my lord, 'Twould ill become a virgin's mouth to utter, How much you do deserve; that will excuse, When I shall say our Greece ne'er saw your equal.

LYS. I did not think I ever could be mov'd With my own praise; but now my happiness So much depends, that you shall truly think What now you utter of me; that I glory My actions are thus favour'd by your judgment.

HER. We must forget our safeties and the gods, Whose instrument you were of our deliverance, When we are silent of the mighty debt This kingdom owes your courage.

LYS. This declaration of your favouring me will plead My pardon, if I do omit the ceremonial circumstance, Which usually makes way for this great truth I now must utter. Madam, I do love Your virtues with that adoration, That the all-seeing sun does not behold A lady that I love with equal ardour. Our friends, who have most power over us, both Do second my desires of joining us In the sacred tie of marriage.

HER. My lord, I thought at first how ill my words Became a virgin; but give 'em the right sense: They were design'd, which was to speak you truly, Not with a flatt'ring ambition They might engage you to the love of one So far unequal. If I have ever gain'd Anything on your goodness, I'll not lose it By foolishly aspiring to that height You must in honour dispossess me of, When I was seated. Marry you, my lord! The king, our neighbour princes, all good men Must curse me as a stain to those great virtues You're the single lord of. If you speak this to try What easy conquest you can make of all You faintly but pretend to, I'll confess The weakness of our sex would be prouder Only to have the shows of your affection, Than real loves of any they can hope With justice to attain to.

LYS. Whatever I deserve, The gods have largely recompens'd my intent Of doing virtuously, if it hath gain'd so much Upon your goodness as to make a way For my affection.

HER. My lord, I do not understand you.

LYS. Pardon me, dearest lady, if my words Too boldly do deliver what my actions And frequent services should first have smooth'd The way they are to take. My happiness So nearly is concern'd, you shall approve Me for your servant, that I trembling haste, To know what rigours or what joys expect me, But ere you do begin to speak my fate, Know whom you do condemn, or whom make happy: One, that when misery had made so wretched, That it ravished his desires to change, Whose eyes were turned inward on his grief, Pleas'd with no object but what caus'd their tears, Your beauty only rais'd from his dark seat Of circling sorrows, lighting me a hope By you I might receive all happiness, The gods have made, my heart capacious of.

HER. Good my lord, give me leave again to say, I dare not understand you; you are too noble To glory in the conquest of a heart That ever hath admir'd you; and to think You can so far forget your birth and virtue, As to believe me fit to be your wife, Were a presumption that swelling pride Must be the father of, which never yet My heart could be allied to. Continue, prince: Be the example of a constant love, And let not your Milesia's ashes shrink With a new-piercing cold, which they will feel I'th' instant that your heart shall be consenting To any new affection; and give me leave to say, Your mind can ne'er admit a noble love, If it hath banish'd hers your memory.

LYS. Must that be argument of cruelty, Which should be cause of pity? And will you Assume the patronage of envious fortune, By adding torments unto her affliction? Must I be miserable in losing you, Because the gods thought me unworthy her? Did I so easily digest her death, That I want pity, and am thought unworthy Of all succeeding love? Witness my loss Of joys; if sorrow could have kill'd me, I had not lived to show your mercy.

HER. Protect me, virtue! [_Aside._ Pardon me, my lord! I know your griefs How great and just they are, and only meant By mentioning Milesia to confess, How much unworthy I am to succeed her In your affection which, though you bent As low as I durst raise myself to reach, 'Twere now impiety for me to grasp, I being no more my own disposer.

LYS. Ha! what fate hath taken you from yourself?

HER. The Lord Ergasto's importunity; Who, though at first no inclination Of mine made me affect his vows, Hath vanquish'd my determination. I finding nothing in myself deserving The constancy of his affection to me, Besides my father's often urging me To make my choice obeying[356] his commands, And threat'ning misery if I declin'd the least-- Knowing his violent nature, I consented To a contract 'twixt me and the Lord Ergasto.

HER. O, the prophecies of my just[357] fears, how true My heart foretold you! Madam, it cannot be you should affect One that hath no desert but what you give, By making him a part of you. My hopes, Though always blasted, could not apprehend A fear from him. I should be happy yet, If any worthy love shadowed my shame Of being refused by you.

HER. Give not my want of power to serve your grace, The cruel title of refusing you.

Your merits are so great, you may assure yourself Of all you can desire, that's possible To grant, whom thousands worthier than myself Would kneel to. By my life, if my faith were not given, I would Here offer up myself to be dispos'd by you. Though no ambitious pride could flatter me, You could descend to raise me to your height.

LYS. Must this be added to my former griefs That, in the instant you profess to pity What I must suffer in your loss--your virtue, For which I [most] admire you, must exclude My hopes of ever changing your resolves? Yet let my vows gain thus much of you, That for a month you will not marry him; I know your father will not force you to't, For he, not knowing what hath pass'd between you, Consented to this visit.

HER. By all things holy, this I swear to do, Though violent diseases should enclose me, Till the priest join'd our hands; yet, if you please, Let not my father know but he's the cause, I dare not look upon the mighty blessing Your love doth promise.

LYS. May I not know the reason?

HER. That he may know that his unquestion'd power Hath forc'd me to that error which himself And I must ever mourn unpitied.[358]

LYS. Now you throw oil upon the wound you make:

I may be ignorant of all things else, But of my want of merit to deserve I am most perfect in: be happy, lady, He that enjoys you shall not need that prayer-- My father's business calls me.

HER. Let me entreat you, that you'll see a lady, Whose virtue does deserve the honour of Your knowledge.

LYS. What is she?

HER. An Egyptian lady, lately come to Cirrha.

LYS. I have heard of her; they say she knows Our actions pass'd and future.

HER. When you her know, you will believe, That virtue chose that dark inhabitation, To hide her treasure from the envious world, I'll call her to your grace. [Acanthe!]

_Enter_ ACANTHE.

HER. Madam, this is the prince. [_He salutes her._

MOOR. You need not tell me it, though this be the first Time that I saw him since I came to Cirrha, His fame doth make him known to all that are Remotest from him.

LYS. My miseries indeed Have made it great; for all things else I should Be more beholden unto silence than The voice of my most partial friends. Why do you gaze upon me so?

MOOR. Have you Not lately lost a lady that did love you dearly?

LYS. If you do measure time by what I suffer, My undiminish'd grief tells me but now-- But now I lost her; if the sad minutes That have oppress'd me since the fatal stroke, It is an age of torments I have felt.

MOOR. Good sir, withdraw a little, I shall deliver What you believe none knows besides yourself. [_They whisper._

LYS. Most true it is! What god, that heard our vows, Hath told it you? But if your eyes Pierce farther in their secrets than our Weak fancies can give credit to, tell me, If, where she is, she can discern and know My actions?

MOOR. Most perfectly she does, And mourns your loss of faith, that now begin. After so many vows, so many oaths, you would Be only hers, to think of a new choice.

LYS. This may be [a] conspiracy; I'll try It further. [_Aside._

MOOR. Had you been snatch'd from her. And for her sake murder'd, as she for you; Your urn's cold ashes should have hid her fire Of faithful love. Pardon me, my lord, her injur'd spirit inspires me With this boldness.

LYS. I am certain This is no inspiration of the gods; It cannot be she should consent my faith Should be the ruin of my name and memory: Which necessarily must follow, if virtuous love Did not continue it to future ages.

MOOR. Fame of a constant lover will eternise it More than a numerous issue; would you hear Herself express her sorrow?

LYS. If I should desire it, it were impossible.

MOOR. You conclude too fast: if this night you'll come Unto her tomb, you there shall see her.

LYS. Though she bring thunder in her hand, I will not fail to come, And though I cannot credit that your power can procure it, My hopes it should be so will overcome My reason. Ladies, I am your servant. [_Exit._

MOOR. Madam, I cannot stay to know particulars Of what hath pass'd betwixt you and the prince: Only tell me how he relish'd your saying you Were promis'd to Ergasto?

HER. Respects to one I seem'd to have made choice of made him Forbear his character: but shall not I Be punish'd, seeming to prefer one so unworthy Both to Eugenio and this noble prince?

MOOR. The gods give us permission to be false When they exclude us from all other ways Which may preserve our faith. Longer I dare not stay. I am your servant. [_Exeunt severally._

_Enter_ ERGASTO, CLEON, PHORMIO.

ERG. Now we are met, what shall we do to keep us together?

PHOR. Let's take some argument may last an hour of mirth.

CLE. If you'll have Ergasto be of the parley, it must be of the ladies; for he is desperately in love.

PHOR. If the disease grow old in him, I'll pay the physician; but be it so, and let it be lawful to change as often as we will.

ERG. What, the ladies?

PHOR. The discourse of them and themselves too, if we could arrive to it. But what is she you love?

ERG. One that I would sacrifice half my life to have but a week's enjoying of.

PHOR. At these games of love we set all; but the best is, we cannot stake, and there's no loss of credit in the breaking. Cleon, hast thou seen him with his mistress?

CLE. Yes, and he stands gazing on her, as if he were begging of an alms.

PHOR. 'Tis not ill-done; but does he not speak to her?

CLE. Never but in hyperboles; tells her, her eyes are stars, which astronomers should only study to know our fate by.

PHOR. 'Tis not amiss if she have neither of the extremes.

CLE. What do you intend?

PHOR. I mean, neither so ill-favoured as to have no ground for what we say, for there belief will hardly enter; nor so handsome as to have it often spoke to her. For your indifferent beauties are those whom flattery surpriseth, there being so natural a love and opinion of ourselves, that we are adapted to believe that men are rather deceived in us, than abuse us.

ERG. Your limitation takes away much of my answer: but grant all that you say, I have no hope of obtaining my mistress.

PHOR. Then thou hast yet a year of happiness: but why, I prythee?

ERG. She is so deserving, she thinks none worthy of her affections, and so can love none.

PHOR. You have more cause to doubt that she will never affect you, than that already she is not in love: what, a young handsome lady, that carries the flame of her heart in her cheeks, not have yet seen any one to desire? 'Tis impossible.

ERG. I was of your mind, till I had experience of the contrary.

PHOR. Conceit[359] of yourself makes you of the opinion I mentioned. You think 'tis impossible for all men, what you cannot attain to; what arts have you used to gain her?

CLE. He knows none but distilling sighs at the altar of her beauty.

PHOR. If he be subject to that frenzy, I will counsel him to take any trade upon him rather than that of love.

ERG. And do you think there is anything fitter to call down affection than submission?

PHOR. Nothing more opposite; for languishing transports, whinings and melancholy make us more laughed at than beloved of our mistresses--and with reason: for why should we hope to deserve their favours, when we confess we merit not a lawful esteem of ourselves?

CLE. I have known some their mistresses have forsaken, only because they were certain the world took notice they were deeply in love with them.

PHOR. And they did wisely; for, the victory being got, they were to prepare for a new triumph, and not, like your city officers, ride still with the same liveries. Some (I confess) have miscarried in it, but 'twas because their provision of beauty was spent before they came to composition.

ERG. Thou wert an excellent fool in a chamber; if you continue, you'll be so in a comedy. Dost believe thou can'st swagger them out of their loves?

PHOR. Sooner than soften their hearts by my tears; and though a river should run through me, I would seal up my eyes, before a drop should come that way: for our unmanly submissions raise them to that height, that they think we are largely favoured if they hearken to us with contempt.

ERG. 'Tis safer they should do so, than hate us for our insolence.

PHOR. If thou hadst ever been used to talk sense, I should wonder at thee now; why, I should sooner hope to gain a lady after the murder of her family, than after she had an opinion I deserved to be slighted by her.

CLE. 'Fore Venus, he talks with authority. I know not well what he has said; but methinks there is something in it: prythee, let's hearken to him.

PHOR. Do; and if I do not dispossess you of all your opinions, let me be----

ERG. You must deal by enchantment then; for I am resolved to stick to my conclusions.

PHOR. 'Tis the best holdfast your foolish devil has; but strong reasons shall be your exorcism. Tell me first, what is she you love?

ERG. Would I could.

PHOR. Then, for all thy jesting, there's some hope thou art yet in thy wits.

ERG. You mistake me; I mean I could not tell, because no tongue can speak her to her merit.

PHOR. Heyday! if the ballad of the rose and honeycomb do not do it more than she deserves, or almost any woman, let me be condemned to sing the funerals of parrots.

CLE. Would the ladies heard you!

PHOR. They would believe me, though they would be sorry your honours should. But what, this love--has it transformed us all? Cleon, you can tell who 'tis he thus admires?

CLE. Yes, and will; 'tis Hermione, Pindarus his heir.

PHOR. What, Epictetus in a petticoat! She that disputes love into nothing--or, what's worse, a friendship with a woman?

CLE. The same; and I know you'll confess she's deserving.

PHOR. Yes; but the mischief is, she'll ne'er think so of him. If polygamy were in fashion, I would persuade him to marry her, to be governess to the rest; but not till then. Wouldst thou be content to lie with a statue, that will never confess more of love than suffering the effects of thine?

CLE. And have his liberties in the discourse of her friends, that her retiredness may be more magnified.

PHOR. Believe me, Ergasto, these severe beauties, that are to be looked on with the eyes of respect, are not for us: we must have them, that love to be praised more for fair ladies than judicious.

ERG. You mistake me, gentlemen; I choose for myself, not for you.

PHOR. Faith, for that, whoever marries, must sacrifice to fortune; and she, whose wisdom makes her snow to you may be fire to another. Some odd wrinkled fellow, that conquers her with wit, may throw her on her back with reason. Take this from the oracle, that for the general calamity of husbands all women are reputed vicious, and for the quiet of particulars every one thinks his wife the phoenix.

ERG. You have met with rare fortunes.

PHOR. Calumny is so general, that truth has lost her credit. But to th' purpose--what rivals? what hopes?

CLE. A potent rival takes away all: Lysicles does woo her.

PHOR. Good night. I will dispute it no more, whether thou shouldst have her or no; for I now conclude it is impossible.

ERG. I had her father's firm consent before he declared himself.

PHOR. Though thou hadst hers too, be wise, and despair betimes. In this point women are commonwealths, and are obliged to their faiths no farther than the safety and honour of the state is concerned. If thou wert the first example, I would excuse thee for being the first cosened. But stay, who's here?

_Enter_ PHILLIDA _veiled, beckons to_ ERGASTO.

O' my conscience, an embassage from some of your kind mistresses, that would fain take their leaves, before you go to captivity.

ERG. Is't possible?

PHIL. She desires you to see her, and believe that ambition cannot gain more upon her than your affection.

ERG. Take this ring, and this.

PHIL. I dare not, sir.

ERG. I'll pay thy dowry then within this half-hour: I'll wait on her. [_Exit_ PHILLIDA.

CLE. From what part of the town came this fair day in a cloud, that makes you look so cheerfully?

ERG. Alas, gentlemen! I was born to know nothing of love but sighs and despairs. I can be servant to none that can have the election of two.

CLE. Unriddle, unriddle.

ERG. 'Twas the servant of Hermione that came to have me wait upon her lady.

CLE. Phormio, what do you think of this?

PHOR. I won't think at all, for fear I judge amiss. The mazes of a woman are so intricate, no precept can secure us. Yet this I'm resolved on: she will not love you.

CLE. Why sent she for him, then?

PHOR. The devil that advis'd her can tell you: they Will not lose a servant whilst he lives, Though they command him to be murder'd. 'Tis the Woman-art--if they perceive a lover to desist Through fear, distrust, or harsher usage, they Open him the heaven of their beauty in smiles And yielding looks, and with their eyes do melt The ice of doubts their fears contracted: perhaps Prince Lysicles spurs coldly whilst he rides Alone, and you must strain to make him go The faster. Eugenio, too, was servant to your Mistress, and Lysicles and he parted good friends. Should I think all the ways they have to cosen Us, 'twere endless. But I'll along with you, And guess at more. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[356] [In obedience to.]

[357] [Old copy, _unjust_.]

[358] [Dodsley printed _unquitted_.]

[359] [Old copy, _conceites_.]

## ACT III., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ HERMIONE, IRENE; PINDARUS _following_.

PIN. Tell my Lord Lysicles I will attend him in the walks. Where's this Ungrateful child whom the just gods have curs'd So much, they will not let her take the blessings they Do offer?

HER. Here, sir, on Her knees, begging your pardon or your pity.

PIN. Canst thou hope either from my injur'd patience, Vex'd by thy folly into rage and madness? What colour now to cover disobedience? Is Lysicles unworthy? or your knowledge, Does it pierce farther than the eyes of all Into Eugenie's virtues? I tremble, When I think thou may'st have cause To know him to thy shame. Do not confess it! By the just gods, if I do come to know it, I'll sacrifice thee on thy mother's tomb.

HER. What secret sin calls down this punishment? That I should be accused of a fault I dare not hear the sound of. Add not, sir, Suspicions of new crimes unto your rage; The faults I have committed are enough to arm Your justice. Bring me to the tomb, And kill me there; my mother's ghost will smile To see my blood shed to preserve my faith.

PIN. Your faith!

HER. Yes, sir. Nor is my disobedience so swoll'n As you esteem it by your passion: I now obey your general commands, Of doing virtuously in loving him You did applaud whilst my poor brother liv'd.

PIN. But you are not the same; 'twas never meant He should enjoy you if your brother died.

HER. I was not made acquainted with so much; But, strengthen'd by your approbation, Gave up my will to his, and vows to heaven, To know no other man for husband.

PIN. Nor I no child, if you continue thus: Nor will I argue more to make you doubt, I am not resolute in my intents: Alive or dead, I'll give thee to the hands Of Lysicles. [_Exit_ PINDARUS.

HER. Good gods' if you are mov'd with tears, Grant this a trial only of the weak proportion Of virtue you have lent me, not the overthrow.

IRE. How is it, dearest cousin?

HER. As with a martyr, almost as much pleased with Knowledge [of] what I dare to suffer for Eugenio, As griev'd with my affliction. Fortune in her Malice has given me yet a field to exercise My faith and love to him I do adore.

IRE. Whilst you believe you have such cause to grieve, All comforts seem importunate; but yet Prince Lysicles----

HER. But what! Forbear; I fear thy thoughts Are poison, which thou wouldest fain infuse To wound my constancy.

IRE. Sure, there is magic in that mystic name; It could not else divide us from our reason: What law, what faith, can bind us to remove Love of ourselves and reverence to our parents? You must forgive this; your Eugenio, If he were here, must speak as I do now, Granting his love be great as his profession, For that must have reflection on your peace, Not bargaining for his own happiness With the price of the entire destruction Of yours. What is't you fear? Report? It will reproach your being obstinate. Or breach of faith d'you fear? The gods for you have made it not a fault, Proposing such an object as Prince Lysicles.

HER. Who ever had a misery like mine? All that are griev'd have yet the liberty And ease of their complaints, or pitying friends; I am excluded both; for my misfortune Is mask'd with happiness, and if I grieve, Such comforts as we give to those complain Of being too rich, have I--smiles of contempt.

IRE. If it be thus, retire into your reason, And for a time forget your passion. D'you think that all the names of virtue shrink Into the sound of constancy? Must this Make you forget the debt that you do owe Unto your father, friends, and to yourself; Their house's honour and your happiness? Is Lysicles less worthy than his rival?

HER. No more: their virtues, that exceed all other men's, In them are equal.

IRE. But yet their fortune is not?

HER. It is confess'd. Nor ever any man Had juster claim than he against her; Rich in all virtues, that make men desir'd, Her narrow hand excludes him, unwonted to bestow Her treasure there, where an excess of merit Would make her gifts but seem the pay of virtue, Not favours of her partial love.

_Enter_ ACANTHE _the Moor_.

O, you are welcome! Here behold a rock, That stands the shake of the impetuous winds And the swoll'n seas.

MOOR. Have there been any new storms since I went?

HER. O yes; and more endangering songs of Sirens! A flourishing land propos'd, on which I might Have shipwreck'd with delight.

MOOR. I think I understand you.

HER. You must needs: It was Prince Lysicles, presented in his lustre, 'Gainst whom I arm'd the virtues of my friend And my own faith, irresolute to whom The victory should yield. At last I left My heart, the prize to both divided.

MOOR. To both divided!

HER. Yes, the prince hath the adoration of my heart, Eugenio the love.

MOOR. What fires, what seas, must your Eugenio pass, To make him worthy you? Methinks I feel His soul sigh for a trial of his faith.

HER. We both have had satiety of that: But can you bring no comfort? Have the gods Shut up their oracles as well as mercy? Though they will give no ease, they might advise, That we may put off misery by death.

MOOR. They seldom let us know what is to come, That we may still implore their aid to help us: Yet something I can tell; if hope or force Shall make you deviate from your resolve, You are the subject of their hate: or if You measure your or their affection By merit or advantages of fortune, You are the mark of all disasters.

HER. I have complained unjustly of the gods: They favour me so much, they do applaud My resolution for Eugenio. Merit in others! I will close my eyes From the bless'd sun, before they shall take in An object that may startle my firm faith.

MOOR. Be constant, and be happy; when you meet With opposition that may shake your judgment, Remember what affliction 'tis to weep A fault irreparable; and think not Reason can pacify your father's rage; You must oppose your passion unto his, And love will be victorious, being the noblest. To-morrow I will bring more certain counsel. [_Exit._

HER. Where cannot virtue dwell? What a still shade Hath she found out to live securely in, From the attempts of men? Come, my Irene, Though thou hast spoken treason 'gainst my love, Because[360] thine did produce it, I must thank thee. Let's in, and fortify ourselves with some sad tale Of those whose perjur'd loves have made them live Hated, and die most miserable. [_Exit_ HERMIONE.

_Enter_ PHILLIDA.

PHIL. If I should weep, as my lady does, for all the servants I have lost!

IRE. Thou wouldst weep in thy grave, Phillida; yet the worst is, thou wilt lose more within this seven years than thou hast got in ten; for men are changeable, sweet Phillida.

PHIL. And our faces were not, 'twere no matter. They should make haste, or we should overtake them, or prevent them. A commodity of beauty, that would last forty years, would bear a good price, madam.

IRE. By Venus, would it, Phillida! as high as that of honour.

PHIL. But is not my lady a strange woman to weep thus for one servant, when she has another in his place? For my part, I could never find such differences in men--to be sad when I had any.

IRE. And thy word may be taken as soon as any wench's in Greece, or there be slanderers in the world. But she affects constancy.

PHIL. Some ill-favoured woman, that meant to preserve her last purchase, which her want of beauty forfeited, invented that name.

IRE. Thou'rt in the right, Phillida; this inconstancy is a monster without teeth, for it devours none, makes no son wear happy mourning, nor mother childless: and, for my part, I am of opinion that the gods give a blessing to it; for none live happier than those that have greatest abundance of it.

PHIL. What is got by this whining constancy, but the loss of that beauty for one servant, which would procure us the vows, [the] sacrifice, and service of a thousand?

IRE. Enough of this; wert thou with Ergasto?

PHIL. Yes, and told him that my lady sent for him: but to what intent did you make me lie?

IRE. Thou art so good-natured, that thou wilt pardon such a trifle for one reason; but I have two: the first is, I would fain speak with him; the other, knowing my cousin to be in an ill humour, if he press to see her, I hope she will give him such an answer, that he shall never dare to speak to her more.

PHIL. These men have less reason than mice: they would know else how to shift places, and shelter themselves from a storm. If I were a man, and lost the happiness of seeing my mistress two days, I should lose the desire the third. [_Aside._] Do you sigh, madam? You are in love too.

IRE. As far as goes to sighing, but no dying, for their breeches.

PHIL. I'll be your compurgator for the handle of a fan; I know love has brought many into the world, but let out none. Has he pierced you, ha?

IRE. O no, my skin was always proof against his dart; but he once found me laughing, and so thrust it down to my heart.

PHIL. Look to it, though 'tis but a little weapon, yet I have known it make greater swellings than the sting of a bee. Do you long for a man?

IRE. Yes, a husbandman, and let the gods after take care for my children.

PHIL. You'll find enou' to do it: is the Moor still with my lady?

IRE. I left her with her.

PHIL. 'Tis a shame such people should be suffered near the Court.

IRE. Why, prythee?

PHIL. As 'tis, there be so many inquisitive rascals, that we have much ado to keep matters secret; but if in despite of our care they be divulged, we shall be defamed on the Exchanges.

IRE. Thou hast reason, but she is secret as the night she resembles.

PHIL. Is she? I would fain ask her one question: but 'tis no matter: 'tis but taking physic at the worst.

IRE. If thou talk'st a little longer, I shall guess as much as she knows. But who's here?

[ERGASTO, PHORMIO, CLEON, _talking at the door_.

PHOR. Ne'er fright me with the lightning of her eyes; on me she may open or shut her eyes as she please, but my happiness is not at her disposing.

CLE. If thou provest a lover, my next song is begun.

PHOR. I will not deny but I may love her, if she please. But if she be not pleased with my love, if it continue two hours, I'll give her leave to tie me to her monkey.

CLE. Look, Ergasto has found two of the ladies, and has set his face to begin to them.

PHOR. In verse or prose?

CLE. We shall hear, if we draw nearer. A good evening, ladies!

IRE. We thank you, my lords; but if we were superstitious, your company were no good omen.

PHOR. Why, I beseech you?

IRE. Nay, I am no expositor; you come, my lord, to see my cousin Hermione.

ERG. I do, madam, and should be proud to hear I live in her memory.

IRE. Can you doubt it? I'll assure you you do; she's never troubled with anything, but you presently are called into the comparison with it; her teeth cannot ache, but she swears it is almost as great a vexation as your love: if any die, out of her pity to save the tears of a few mourners, she wishes it were you.

ERG. If I heard her desire it, she should quickly have her wish.

IRE. She would be glad on't, o' my conscience, though the scruple, of having you do anything for her sake would trouble her a little; yet I can teach you to make advantage of all this.

PHOR. What advantage, my delicate sweet lady?

IRE. A very great one; for, first, I believe he desires nothing more than to be assured she esteems him for her servant.

PHOR. Right; but does this usage show it?

IRE. Most evidently; for, being thus severe to none else, 'tis manifest she confesseth a power over him, and pays his services with this coin of scorn and contempt, and having her stamp upon't, he is bound to accept it.

CLE. What think you of this, Phormio?

PHOR. A most excellent girl! would she were poor.

CLE. Why poor?

PHOR. She would live rarely by her----

CLE. What?

PHOR. Wit! I would be a good customer.

IRE. 'Twould please you to hear with what arguments she justifies this cruelty, and swears it is not revenge enough for spoiling her good nature.

ERG. I spoil her good nature?

PHOR. Nay, let her go on; I'll hearken an age.

IRE. Yes, you, by suff'ring her undeserved scorn, have bred such a delight and habit of it in her, that she can hardly forbear it when she strives to be complaisant to her best friends; and, to say truth, we are all endangered by such as you, when we see that frowns procure us knees, and kind usage scarce gets us two good-morrows.

PHOR. If ever there were a Sybil at sixteen, this lady is one. By this day, you have a high place in my heart.

IRE. In your heart!

PHOR. Nay, despise it not, you'll find good company there.

IRE. But I love to be alone.

PHOR. And I would fain meet you when you are so. Will you give me leave to speak with your scholar? [HERMIONE _and_ ACANTHE _above_.

IRE. If you be his friend, teach him to be wise.

PHOR. For your sake, I will do all I can. Ergasto, wilt thou be happy? Marry this lady! Wilt thou be revenged on thy proud mistress? Marry her! Wilt thou be sure to father wise children? Do as I bid thee.

ERG. I will deal truly with thee: she has taken my heart out of Hermione's keeping.

PHOR. Be thankful, and bestow it upon her in recompense; she will accept it, doubt not; she has taken such pains to redeem it. Look how she casts her eyes upon thee! She's thine own for ever, and has been long.

ERG. I am desperately in love.

PHOR. Marry, and get out of it; there may be some little straining at the first offer of the present; but if she send not for it before you get home, I'll ne'er trust my eyes more.

[PHILLIDA _steals away_, CLEON _follows_.

ERG. I'll attempt it, let what will follow.

PHOR. Be confident, and prosper.

ERG. Madam, what would you expect from him you had redeemed from captivity?

IRE. The disposing of his liberty.

ERG. 'Tis just; but this may be no great favour to the slave, if his misery be only altered, not lessened.

PHOR. You are little curious! Why do you not ask who this concerns? Well, I'll tell you; you have redeemed Ergasto, and he kneels to know your commands.

[_Whilst he kneels_, HERMIONE _and the_ MOOR _look down from the window_.

MOOR. You may believe her, madam, she loves him; now you may revenge her, persuading you to leave Eugenio, by smiling on Ergasto; 'twill advance your cousin's ends too, if you do as I'll advise you, whilst we descend.

IRE. 'Tis festival to-day, my lords, and so I admit this mirth. But to-morrow, I will tell you, I am no more inclined to love than my cousin Hermione.

ERG. But you can suffer yourself to be beloved?

IRE. I think I can.

PHOR. He'll ask no more, but leave the rest to his respects and services.

IRE. But you consider not whom you may offend in this mirth.

ERG. I'll ne'er consider whom I offend in loving you: I wish her beauty centupled, that my first obligation to you might be leaving her. By this fair hand, I'll never name any but you for mistress.

IRE. I may believe you when time and your actions shall tell it me as well as your words.

PHOR. You wrong your beauty to expect an assurance from time. Ordinary faces require it to perfect the impressions they make; yours strikes like lightning in an instant. If he did not adore you till now, you must attribute it to some fascination; but, his judgment cleared, he will be forced to continue the adoration he has begun.

_Enter_ HERMIONE, MOOR, PHILLIDA, CLEON: _they_ _find_ ERGASTO _kneeling_.

PHOR. Who's that?

ERG. The Moor you heard of.

PHOR. I have a strange capricio of love entered me: I must court that shade.

HER. How now, my lord! Courting another mistress! I see I must lock up my winds, or you will seek the nearest harbour.

ERG. Excluded by your rigour, madam, I was entreating your fair cousin to present my vows.

HER. Was it no more?

ERG. No more! you cannot doubt it, madam. Turn in your eyes upon your beauties and perfections, and they will tell you how impossible it is to lose the empire they have gained upon our hearts and wills. Fortune and want of merit may make me lose the hope of your fair graces, but never so much traitor as to pay homage to any other beauty, or change the resolution I have fixed to be your servant only.

HER. I thank you, sir; my sex will be my pardon if I return not equal thanks. We think, if any manumit, before we license them to part, they do usurp a power is ours by nature. The posture I found you in was more than ordinary courtship gives.

ERG. You might condemn it, had not you been the cause on't. I ne'er think of your name but with a reverence great as I pay the gods; and they allow us bending to their images when we transfer our vows. The fair Irene is worthy all have not the hope of you; but whilst you give me leave to cherish that ambition, I must not own so great an injury as to admit the proffered love of those who are so distant from your merit.

HER. 'Twas unkindly done to undermine me.

ERG. In her presence I will confirm this to you.

HER. You shall oblige me, since she has wronged me; Irene, hark you.

[_They talk in private. After a long whisper,_ _the_ MOOR _strives to go from_ PHORMIO; _he_ _holds her_.

PHOR. In the name of darkness, d'ye think I am not in earnest, that you coy it thus?

MOOR. Forbear; uncivil lord. [_She goes from him._

CLE. Dost thou not see that all the fire is out of the coal? If thou wouldst have it burn, lay thy lips to the spark that's left, and blow it into flame.

PHOR. What wouldst thou have me do?

CLE. Kiss her.

PHOR. Not for five hundred crowns.

CLE. Wouldst lie with her, and not kiss her?

PHOR. Yes, and can give reasons for't, besides experience; and when this act is known--this resolute encounter, rich widows of threescore will not doubt my prowess.

[HERMIONE, IRENE, ERGASTO, _break off their_ _private talk_.

IRE. As I live, he swore all this to me.

HER. Hide thee, inconstant man, thou art so false Thy oaths do serve thee for no other use But to condemn thee, not to get belief: Be gone, and leave to love till thou hast found The way to truth, and let not vanity cozen you To believe that I am mov'd, because you change: A thousand other imperfections Have made me hate thee; yet I chose this way To let thee know't that, deprehended with the Black mark upon thee, thou may'st not dare To trouble me again.

ERG. Madam!

HER. There may be some that for their secret sins The gods will punish, making them love you: Choose amongst them. Irene, I will hope, though she Be credulous, will learn by this how far 'tis safe to trust you.

MOOR. This was well manag'd.

PHOR. What mountain have you pierc'd, That hath sent forth this wind, since I left you?

ERG. I have undone myself for ever.

PHOR. As how?

ERG. I told Hermione I never lov'd Irene.

CLE. Did she hear it?

ERG. O yes! it might have been forsworn else.

CLE. The devil thou hast!

ERG. Ask him; he made me do't.

CLE. What course will you take to redeem your fault?

ERG. A precipice, as being ashamed to live any longer.

PHOR. A halter you shall as soon! Come, come, I'll intercede, and be your surety. Look, she stays to pardon you; down on your knees.

[_She goes away_; PHORMIO _pulls her back_; ERGASTO _kneels, holds up his hands, his cloak_ _over his face_.

PHOR. O my sweet lady! be merciful, like the gods you resemble. They have as often pardon in their hands as thunder; and the truth is, if they will not forgive this fault of inconstancy, they must live alone, or at least without men. This was the last gasp of his dying friendship to her; and now he is entirely yours.

IRE. He has not wronged me.

PHOR. Fie! say not so; that's as great an injury as not pardoning him: he has, and shall come naked to receive his punishment. See, he dares not look for comfort; let him take it in at his ears.

IRE. Pray content yourself with the time you have made me lose, and let me go.

PHOR. Never, till you pardon him.

IRE. I will do anything for my release; if he has offended me, let him learn hereafter to speak truer than he swears; and in time he may get credit.

PHOR. 'Tis enough.

ERG. Is she gone?

PHOR. Yes.

ERG. How did she look?

PHOR. Faith, ashamed; she loved you so well, and sorry she had no reason to love you better.

ERG. 'Tis an excellent lady.

PHOR. If I could make jointures, I would not take this pains for your honour. Cleon, whither slip you?

CLE. After Phillida.

PHOR. And what success?

CLE. Pox on't! these waiting-women will not deal, unless they have earnest in their hands, and I was unprovided.

PHOR. Away, unthrift![361] [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[360] [So for the metre; the old copy and Dodsley, _'cause_.]

[ACT IV., SCENE 1.]

_Enter_ LYSICLES.

LYS. This is the hour powerful Acanthe promis'd I should once more behold my lost Milesia.

Pardon me, Reason, that my wither'd hopes Rebel against thy force; a happiness So mighty is oppos'd unto thy doubts, That I'll divest myself for ever of thee, Rather than not believe impossibles, That bring such comforts to my languish'd soul. Hail, holy treasurer of all the wealth Nature e'er lent the world! be still the envy Of the proud monuments that do enclose The glorious titles of great conquerors. Let no profane air pierce thee but my sighs;

[MILESIA _riseth like a ghost_.

Let them have entrance, whilst my tears do warm Thy colder marble. Ha! what miracle! Are the gods pleas'd to work to ease affliction? The phoenix is created from her ashes, Pure as the flames that made 'em: still the same, The same Milesia! Heaven does confess in this, That she can only add unto thy beauty By making it immortal. Let it be lawful for thy Lysicles To touch thy sacred hand, and with it guide My wandering soul unto that part of heaven Thy beauty does enlighten.

GHOST. Forbear, and hear me. If you approach, I vanish---- Impious, inconstant Lysicles! Cannot This miracle of my reassuming A mortal shape persuade thee there are gods To punish falsehood, that thou still persistest In thy dissembling? Do not I know Thy heart is swoll'n with vows thou hast laid up For thy Hermione? whom thou wouldst persuade Thy narrow heart is capable of love, By mocking of my ashes, and erecting tombs To me, which are indeed but trophies of thy dead Conquer'd love and virtue.

LYS. No more, bless'd shape! I shall not think that thou descendst from heaven, If thou continuest thus in doubt of me; Nor can there be a hell where such forms are. The knowledge how thou com'st here doth disturb me; Yet such a reverence I do owe thy image, That I will lay before thee all my thoughts, Spotless as truth. Then thou shalt tell the shades, How fortune, though it made my love unhappy, Could not diminish it, nor press it one degree From the proud height it was arrived to. How I did nightly pray to this sad tomb, Bringing and taking fire of constant love From the cold ashes. How, when encompass'd With thousand horrors, death had been a rest [from], I did prefer a loath'd life, to revenge myself And her upon the murderer.

GHOST. I shall desire to live if this be true; Nothing can add a comfort where I am, But the assurance of your love. I know Faith is not tied to pass the confines Of this life; yet Hermione's happiness Does trouble me. You'll think I lov'd You living, when (dead) I am jealous of you.

LYS. Milesia, bless'd saint, now I am sure thou art What thou resemblest, and dost know my secret'st thought. But as the gods, of which thou art a part, Are not content with our hearts' sacrifice, Unless our words confess it; hear me then: If my thoughts e'er consented to replant My love, may your dire thunder light Upon my head, and sink it down so low, I may not see thy glories. I confess My words have sacrific'd to deities I ne'er ador'd. Those strains of love My tears and friendship to the best of men, I hope have cancell'd. For my Eugenio I did pretend a love unto Hermione, Who else had sold herself unto the rage Of her offended father. Had you liv'd, You would have pardon'd, when infidelity, But personated, did preserve a faith So holy as theirs was; this is my fault.

GHOST. My glory and my happiness!

LYS. Yet this, as oft I wept as I was forc'd (For his dear cause) to injure sacred love; Yet durst not but decline his severe laws, When my friend's life excus'd the pious error.

GHOST. Did you suspect her, that you conceal'd this from her?

LYS. There is but one Milesia; besides, If true, I meant her fears should aid My false disguise, which her quick-sighted father Would else have pierc'd, who hates Eugenio, And loves no virtue but what shines through wealth.

GHOST. My best, best Lysicles, I am again in love, Thy holy flame doth lend me light to see My closed fires. Why did not fate give me So large a field to exercise my faith? I envy thee this trial, and would be Expos'd to dangers, that have yet no name, That I might meet thy love with equal merit.

LYS. The cause takes all away, and want of power Excuseth what I cannot yet express. But how our loves came to so sad a period, As yet in clouds I have only seen [shown.]

GHOST. My uncle's cruelty and hate of you procur'd our separation.

LYS. But how knew he our loves? Though torment since Have wrung it from me, my joys ever flow'd silent And calm.

GHOST. I know it; but we were betray'd By one that serv'd me, and the doubt's confirm'd By the Moor you spake with yesterday.

LYS. Ha! how came she to know it? She was not here?

GHOST. All that I ever did she's conscious of; And jealous of your love unto Hermione, Did place me here, to search into your thoughts; And now is prouder of this discovery, Than if a crown were added to her [brows].

LYS. To what strange laws does heaven confine itself, That it will suffer them that dare be damn'd To have power over those it has selected? My tears and sacrifice could never gain So much upon its mercy, as to lend Thy happy sight for one faint minute's comfort; Yet those that sell themselves to hell, can force Thy quiet rest for inquisition On innocence. And to what purpose serves Faith and religious secrecy, When magic mocks and frustrates all our vows? This Moor then was confederate with your uncle's passion?

GHOST. She is the cause that I do walk in shades.

LYS. And I will be that she shall walk in hell. With her I will begin, then seek revenge Under the ruins of thy uncle's house. All men that dare to name him, and not curse His memory, shall feel the power Of my despised hate and friendship.

GHOST. My dearest Lysicles, promise to be But temperate in your anger, and I will Discover more than you yet hop'd to know.

LYS. As justice, that's concern'd to punish crimes, I will.

GHOST. Then know I was betray'd. O love! here's company, I must retire. [_Sinks._

_Enter_ PINDARUS _and_ SERVANTS.

PIN. Talking to graves at night, and making love i' th' day? My lord, I nor my daughter have deserved this.

LYS. Pardon me, sir, I could do no less, being to take An everlasting farewell, but give this Visit to her memory. Reserve your censure Till ten days be over, and if I do not Satisfy you, condemn me. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ HERMIONE _and_ PHILLIDA.

HER. [Here,] Philly, take thy lute, and sing the song Was given thee last. [_Exit_ PHILLIDA.

_Song._

_Where did you borrow that last sigh_ _And that relenting groan?_ _For those that sigh, and not for love,_ _Usurp what's not their own._ _Love's arrows sooner armour pierce,_ _Than your soft snowy skin;_ _Your eyes can only teach us love,_ _But cannot take it in._

_The song being ended, re-enter_ PHILLIDA.

PHIL. O madam! call all your sorrows to you, you are Not sad enough to hear the news I bring.

HER. Would it were killing, that my death might end My fears, as my life has my hopes.

PHIL. You mistake me, madam; Eugenio is returned.

HER. Eugenio returned! thou hast reason, Phillida, I should be dead with sorrow: 'tis not fit we hear his name without a miracle. Where is he? Send to bring him hither.

PHIL. He waits on your commands without.

HER. Bring him in. Good gods! If you can suffer me one minute's joy, Give it me now, and let excess of happiness Finish what sorrow cannot. But where's this happiness I fain would dream of? Eugenio is return'd, That I may look on him, and not be his, And call our faiths in vain to aid our loves.

[ACT IV., SCENE 2.]

_Enter_ EUGENIO _and_ PHILLIDA.

EUG. May the gods give you, madam, a content As high as you have power to bestow On those you favour, and then your happiness Will be as great as is your beauty.

HER. O my best lord! you now behold a face Too much acquainted with my sad heart's grief Not to be stain'd with't. Sure, you cannot Know it?--I pray, say you do not--you'll wrong Two things I am most proud of--my just grief And your young love--which could not grow, Nourish'd with such poor heat as now it gives. I have a story that will break your heart When you have heard it, and mine, ere I Deliver it. Prince Lysicles to-morrow marries me, Or I must leave my duty or my life. Forgive me, that I dare to utter this.

EUG. Madam, forbear your tears: they are a ransom Too mighty to redeem the greatest faith The gods were ever witness to. I know Whereto you tend: you would have me untie The knot that bound our loves, and I will do't, Though it be fasten'd to my strings of life. Be happy in your choice: give to his merit What once you promis'd to my perfect love, By which I only did pretend my claim. I do release you, as I know heaven has; Who in his justice cannot have consented To a longer faith in you; you must not be The conquest of a miserable man, O'er whom their cruel'st influences reign.

HER. Some saving power close up my drowned eyes, Which death had long since shut, had not the love And hope of seeing you preserv'd them open. Have I been false for this to all my friends? That you should think I can be so to you? Add not By your suspicions a crime to our misfortune.

EUG. Of you I can have none, but what excuse you: You had made me miserable, had not your faith Yielded to those assaults; as worth and greatness Titles your father's rage; and your own judgment Did shake and raze it. With what disturbed mind Should I have look'd on you my heart ador'd, And love made miserable? Still you weep---- But these are tears your fortune did lay up To ease your misery, had you continued mine. And your suns, clear'd from their last clouds, They will more freely shine on your Lysicles. For myself, my love in his last act shall recompense The injuries 't has done to your repose, By killing me; then must injustice fly, And hale inconstancy along with her, From your fair conquer'd soul they now possess?

HER. O my griefs! Now I perceive the gods decreed you endless, Since they have made him add unto my torment, Whose memory before did make the sharpest glorious. Tears and sighs and groans, farewell. They ne'er were spent but when I fear'd for you; And, you being lost, I have no use of them. Here, take this paper: 'tis the last legacy My love shall ever give you: 'twas design'd When I conceived you worthy. If you Believe her words, whose faith was never lost, though you Ungratefully have flung it off. If so you be not That you accuse me for, you there shall find A story that will punish your suspicion.

[_He reads, and then kneels, and she turns from_ _him._

EUG. You that by powerful prayers have diverted An imminent ruin, inspire me with fit words To appease my injur'd mistress. Hear me: I do not kneel for mercy, but to beg Your leave to die: I must not live, when Pardons make my offence most horrible, and hell Is here without them; take a middle way If you incline to mercy, and forget me.

HER. Rise; this is worse than your doubts were.

EUG.[362] Turn not your face away; would you revenge? Then let my eyes dwell on't. What punishment Can there be greater than for me to see The beauty I have lost by my own fault? Look then upon me.

HER. No, I must yet keep My anger to preserve my honour, and I dare not trust That and my eyes at once, if they behold you.

EUG. Then hear a wretched man, that has outliv'd So much his hopes, he knows not what to wish-- Whether to live or die; yet life for this I only seek, that you may find I shrink not To punish him your justice has condemn'd.

HER. Rise, I can hold out no longer; the bare Sounds of your death dissolve my resolutions; Forget my anger, as I will the cause.

EUG. Never; it shall live here to honour me, Since pity of my love made you decline it: But must----

HER. Yes, the virtuous Lysicles--for his respects to me, Howe'er unhappy, challenged that name-- In your absence labours to marry me: yet death----

EUG. Wretched Eugenio! did thy coward fate Not dare to strike thee, till thou turn'dst thy back? Must I return from banishment to find My hopes are banish'd? Did I for this love virtue, Pursued her rugged paths, when danger made Her horrid to the valiant to be ruin'd By him that is most virtuous? Ye gods, Was envy, malice, fortune impotent To injure me, but you must raise up virtue to suppress Me? If I suffer it, I shall deserve it.

HER. O my Eugenio! we are miserable, Yet must not quarrel, love, to take or give A seeming comfort: go, try all your power Of hate or friendship to undo this match; I'll give you leave to die first--anything, But let not me have so much leave to change, As to believe you think it possible. [_Exeunt._

[ACT IV., SCENE 3.]

_Enter_ LYSICLES _and_ SERVANT.

SER. The physician you sent for waits without.

LYS. Bring him in, and stay in the next room.

_Enter_ PHYSICIAN.

You are welcome: I must employ your trust and secrecy in something that concerns me. You must procure me instantly a powerful poison.

PHY. My lord!

LYS. Nay, no ceremonies of denial. I give you my intents, not to be disputed, but obeyed. I know you walk not frequently in these rough ways; but 'tis not want of knowledge, but your will, makes you decline them.

PHY. My lord, I have observ'd you long, and see you Wear your life like something you would fain Put off. I will not undertake to counsel you, in That your nearest friends have oft attempted Without success: yet, if my life should issue With the words I now will utter, I'll boldly tell Your grace, I will not be a means to cut your Days off, to make mine happy ever.

LYS. I did expect this from you; and to inform you Briefly know, though I do loathe my life, I will Not part with't willingly, till it does serve Me to revenge my wrongs: and to assure you more, I will not use your art against myself. Let Your composition procure the greatest torture Poison can force, for I must use it upon one Our laws cannot condemn; because the circumstance That makes him guilty, cannot be produc'd, but with Expense of time; and my revenge will not Admit it. By my honour, this is the cause.

PHY. If I Were sure your enemies should only try Th' effects of what I can do in your service, The horrid'st tortures treason ever justified, Should not exceed the sufferings of those Should take the poison I can bring you.

LYS. Bring it me instantly; and if the pains of hell Can be felt here, let your ingredients Call them up. If his life were only My aim and end, whilst I do wear this, I'd not implore your aid; But I must set him on the rack, that there He may confess my inquisition justice.

PHY. An hour returns me with your commands Perform'd. Yet I'll observe you farther. [_Aside._

LYS. So, this is the first degree to my revenge, Which I will prosecute, till I have made All that were guilty of my loss of peace, Wash their impiety in their guilty blood. All places where I meet them shall be altars, On which I'll sacrifice the murderers, To appease the spirit of my injur'd mistress: And (the last victim) I will fall myself Upon her sacred tomb, to expiate The crimes I have committed in deferring Justice thus long. This curs'd magician Shall be the first--she did reveal our loves; Milesia said she did; and if it were Her blessed spirit, nothing but truth dwells in't. If it were a phantom rais'd by her foul spells; She pays the fault of her abusing me, Insidiating with my Milesia's form, To search, and then betray my resolution Of serving my best friend. How now!

Enter SERVANT.

SER. Sir, Lord Pindarus would speak with you.

LYS. Where is he? [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[361] [The third act is not divided into scenes in the old copy, nor are the first and second; and it is difficult to fix the point where the second scene should open.]

[362] [Omitted in old copy, but supplied by Dodsley, and in a coeval hand inserted in the copy now used of the original edition.]

## ACT V., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ SERVANT _and_ LYSICLES.

SER. Sir, I have waited, as you commanded, near the house of the Egyptian lady: something is done that disturbs them all, divers run in and out, physicians are sent for: at last, I went in myself, and entered her chamber, found her on her bed almost distracted with torture: cries she is poisoned: curses her jealousy and curiosity, calls upon your name; desires and then forbids you should be sent for.

LYS. But I will come to her confession. Courage, my soul, Let no faint pity hinder thee the joys Thou art receiving; triumph in their sufferings That have attempted thine. Look down, Milesia, Applaud my piety, that snatch'd the sword From sleeping justice to revenge thy death. [_Exit._

SER. What means my lord to be pleas'd with this Sad news? How can this stranger have offended him? I'll follow, learn the issue, and the cause. [_Aside. Exit._

_Enter the_ MOOR _on her bed_, HERMIONE, PHILLIDA, _and_ IRENE. _The bed thrust out._

MOOR. O, O, O gods! If I have merited your hate, You might have laid it on, until my name Had been a word to express full misery, And I had thank'd you, if you had forborne To make his innocence the instrument Of your dire wrath. Hermione, Irene, I have conjur'd my servants not to tell you, When I am dead, who I was: but if Their weakness shall discover't, let it be hid From the best Lysicles: I burn, I burn, And death dares not seize me, frighted With the furies that torment me.

HER. Mysterious powers! Instruct us in the way You would be serv'd, for we are ignorant; Your thunder else would not be aim'd at those, That follow virtue, as it is prescrib'd, Whilst thousand others 'scape unpunished, That violate the laws we are taught to keep.

_Enter_ LYSICLES.

LYS. What mean these sad expressions of sorrow?

HER. O my lord, nature had not made our hearts Capable of pity if we forbear it here: The virtuous Acanthe has been tormented With pains nothing is able to express But her own groans: she fears she's poison'd; Talks of you, of tombs, and of Milesia, And in the midst of all her torture says Her distrust and jealousy deserve a greater punishment.

LYS. And I believe't, nor should you pity her: Those that do trace forbidden paths of knowledge The gods reserve unto themselves, do never do't, But with intent to ruin the believers, And venturers on their art. Something I know O' th' curs'd effects of her commanding magic, And she (no doubt) is conscious to herself Of infinite more mischiefs than are yet reveal'd. I am confident she is fled her country For the ills she has done there, and now The punishment has overta'en her here. And, for her shows of virtue, they are masks To hide the rottenness that lies within, And gain her credit with some dissembled acts Of piety, which levels her a passage To those important mischiefs hell Has employ'd her here to execute.

MOOR. O gods! deny me not a death, since you Have given me the tortures that advance it: If I deserve this, your inflicting hands Do reach unto the shades, lay it on there. Hermione, Irene, is Lysicles yet come?

LYS. Yes, to counsel you to pacify the gods You have offended by your cursed arts: The blessed ghost you sent me to has told me Some sad effects on it, and in her name and cause Have the gods hurl'd this punishment on thy Foul soul, and made my grief, enrag'd to madness, The blessed instrument of thy destruction, Which does but here begin.

MOOR. You then did send The poison with the present I receiv'd?

LYS. Yes, I did; And wonder you durst tempt my just revenge, Unless you did believe, you could confine The revelations of the best spirits Your cursed charms betray'd first, And then enforc'd to leave their happy seats, To perfect the designs your malice labour'd in.

MOOR. What unknown ways have the gods invented To punish me! I feel a torment No tyranny e'er parallell'd, yet must confess An obligation to him that impos'd it. Good gods! If I do bow under your wills, Without repining at your sad decrees, Grant this to recompense my martyrdom, That he that is the author of my sufferings, May never learn his error. Sir, if torments E'er could expiate the crimes we have committed, Mine might challenge your pardon and your pity: I feel death entering me; love the memory Of your Milesia, and forgive----

IRE. Help, help! She dies!

LYS. If it be possible, call life into her for some minutes, her full confession will absolve my justice.

IRE. Bring some water here, she does but swoon. So, chafe her temples----O heavens! What prodigy is here! Her blackness falls away! My lord, look on this miracle; doth not heaven instruct us in pity of her wrongs, that the opinions which prejudice her virtue, should thus be washed away with the black clouds that hide her purer form?

HER. Heaven hath some further ends in this than we Can pierce. More water: she returns to life, And all the blackness of her face is gone.

IRE. Pallas, Apollo, what may this portend? My lord, have you not seen a face like this?

LYS. Yes, and horror seizeth me. Tis the idea Of my Milesia. Impenetrable powers! Deliver us in thunder your intents, And exposition of this metamorphosis.

HER. She stirs

LYS. Hold her up gently. [_He kneels._

MOOR. O, O! Why do you kneel to me?

LYS. Are not you Milesia?

MOOR. Why do you ask?

LYS. O, then you are.

MOOR. My Lysicles, I am by miracle preserv'd; Though, since the gods repent them of their succours, Knowing me unworthy of thy firm constant love, I never thought that death could be a terror, Too long acquainted with the miseries Pursue our lives; but now the apprehension My grave should swallow thee, makes me to welcome it With a heaviness that sinks despairing sinners.

LYS. Pour down your thunder, gods, upon this head, And try if that can make me yet more wretched. Was not her death affliction enough, But you must make me be the murderer? Is this a punishment for adoring her Equal with you, you made so equal to ye? Pardon the fault you forc'd me to commit: So visible a divinity could not be look'd On with less adoration.

MOOR. If e'er I did expect a happier death, May I die loath'd! What funeral pomp Can there be greater than for me to hear, Whilst I yet live, my dying obsequies With so much zeal pronounc'd by him I love?---- Tortures again do seize me.

LYS. Eyes, are you dry, where such an object calls [All] your tears forth! My blood shall supply their[363] place.

MOOR. For heaven's sake, hold his hands. O my best Lysicles, Do not destroy the comforts of my soul; What a division do I feel within me! I am but half-tormented; my soul in spite O' th' tortures of my body, does feel a joy That meets departed spirits in the blest shades.

LYS. What unexpected mischiefs circle me, What arts hath malice, arm'd with fortune, found To make me wretched? Could I e'er have thought A miracle could have restor'd thee to my eyes, That[364] they should, see the joys of heaven in thee? Yet now the height of my affliction is, That they behold thee, guilty of the close Of thine for ever. See, Hermione, The countenance death should put on, when death Would have us throng unto her palaces, And court her frozen sepulchres.

IRE. Sure, she is dead: how pale she is!

LYS. No; she is white as lilies, as the snow That falls upon Parnassus; if the red were here, As I have seen't enthron'd, the rising day would get New excellence by being compared to her: Argos nor Cyprus [nor] Egypt ne'er saw A beauty like to this; let it be lawful for me to usurp So much on death's right, as to take a kiss From thy cold virgin-lips, where he and love Yet strive for empire. The flames that rise from hence Are not less violent, though less pleasing now, Than when she did consent I should receive What now I ravish.

MOOR. Dares not death shut those eyes, where love Hath enter'd once, or am I in the shades Assisted with the ghost of my dear Lysicles?

LYS. She speaks again: good heaven, she speaks again!

HER. You are yet living?

MOOR. And, therefore dying; but, before I go, Let me obtain your pardon for the wrongs My jealousy hath thrown upon your innocence. 'Twas my too perfect knowledge of my want Of merit to deserve, made me doubt yours: I mean your constant love, which I will teach Below, and make them learn again to love Who have died for it.

LYS. Do not abuse your mercy and my grief By asking pardon of your murtherer; But curse your sufferings off on this devoted head, To save the beauty of the world in you.

MOOR. Why should your grief make me repent the joys I ever begg'd of heaven--the knowledge Of your love? Could there be added more Unto my happiness, than to be confirm'd By my own sufferings, how much you did love me, And prosecuted those that desired my ruin? Like Semele I die, who could not take The full God in her arms. I have but one wish more, that I may bear Unto the shades the glorious title of your wife: If I may live so long to hear but this Pronounc'd by Lysicles, I die in peace.

LYS. Hear it, with my vows not to behold The sun rise after you are gone.

MOOR. O, say not so; live, I command you, live; Let your obedience unto this command Show you have lost a mistress.

LYS. Can I hear this and live?

IRE. My lord, our cares will be employed better In seeking to avert this lady's death Than in deploring it.

LYS. You advise well. Run all to the physician: I will myself to Arnaldo, who gave This poison to me. Let me have word sent to the Cypress grove the minute she is dead. [_Exeunt. Draw in the bed._

_Enter_ LYSICLES _meditating_.

LYS. If life be given as a blessing to us, What law compels us to preserve it longer Than we can see a possibility Of being happy by it, but we must expect, Till the same power that plac'd us here, commands A restitution of His gift? This is indeed a rule To make us live, but not live happily. 'Tis true, the slave that frees himself by death, Doth wrong his master; but yet the gods are not Necessitous of us, but we of them. Who then is injur'd if I kill myself? And if I durst to hear their voice, they call Men to some other place, when they remove The gust and taste of this. We should adore, thee, death, If constant virtue, not enforcement, built Thy spacious temples.

_Enter_ EUGENIO.

Welcome, Eugenio, welcome, worthy friend; How long are you arrived?

EUG. Time enough to revenge, though not prevent The injuries you have done me.

LYS. What means my friend?

EUG. I must not hear that name now; you have lost The effects and virtue of it: I come to punish Your breach of faith.

LYS. Is hell afraid my constancy should conquer The mischiefs that are rais'd to swallow me, That it invents new plagues to batter me? By all that's holy, I never did offend my friend-- Not in a thought.

EUG. Those that by breach of vows provoke their justice Do seldom fear profaning of their names; To hide their perjuries will put it on them. You have attempted my Hermione, And forc'd her father to compel her voice Unto your marriage.

LYS. All this I do confess; but 'twas for both your goods, As I will now inform you.

EUG. Hell and furies! Because your specious titles, Your spreading vineyards, and your gilded house Do shine upon our cottage, must our faiths, Which heaven did seal, be cancell'd? 'Twas my virtue Won her fair graces, which still outshine Your flames of vice.

LYS. It hath not light enough to let you see your friend. Gods, could that man have liv'd that dar'd to say Eugenio did suspect his Lysicles? And now in pity you do show him me, That I may fly the world without regret, Not leaving one of worth behind me in it. Be gone, and learn your errors.

EUG. I have done't already. They were trusting you With my life's happiness. Draw, and restore the vows You made Hermione; or I will leave you dead, And tear them from your heart.

LYS. Fond man! thou dost not know how much 'tis in My power to make thee miserable: I could now force thee execute my wish In killing me; and thou wouldst fly the light, When it had show'd thee whom thy rage offended. But till I fall by my own hand, my life Is chain'd unto my honour, which I will wear Upon my sepulchre. Nor must I die, Being guilty of Milesia's murder, For any cause but hers; else were my breast, Since you have wrong'd me, open to your point.

EUG. Can you deny but that you have attempted The faith of my Hermione?

LYS. I can with so strong circumstance of truth Would make you blush for having doubted mine. But he that was my friend, and suspects me, Must attend less satisfaction than a stranger. Proceed, and let your case be both your judge and guide.

EUG. What should I do? I dare not trust my sense, If he should tell me that it does deceive me: Virtue itself would lose her quality Ere he forsook her, and his words do fall Distorted from him; his soul doth labour Under some heavy burden, which my passion Did hinder me from seeing. Sir, forgive, Or take your full revenge; let your own griefs Teach you to pity those are distract with it. I will not rise until you pardon me.

LYS. O my Eugenio, thy kindness hath undone me! My rage did choke my grief, which now did spread Itself over my soul and body. Up, and help To bear me till I fall eternally.

EUG. Who can hear this, and not be turn'd to marble? Good sir, impart your sorrows; I may bring comfort.

LYS. Whilst they were capable, thou didst; but now They are too great and swoll'n to let it in. Milesia, whom you and I supposed dead, By me to-day is poison'd, and lies dying In her torment. Is not this strange?

EUG. What have you said that is not? But heaven avert this last!

LYS. It is too late now; let me beg thy kindness Would do that for me I forbad thy passion.

EUG. What is't?

LYS. Kill me.

EUG. You cannot wish me such an hated office! Call up your reason and your courage to you, Which was not given you only for the wars, But to resist the batteries of fortune. People will say that Lysicles did want Part of that courage fame did speak him lord of, When they shall hear him sunk below her succour.

LYS. You will not kill me then?

EUG. When I believe there is no other means To ease you, I will do't.

LYS. All but death are fled.

EUG. Then draw your sword, and as I lift my arm To sheathe this in your breast, let yours pierce me; On this condition I may do your will.

LYS. I may not for the world. Why should you die?

EUG. See how your passions blind you! Is death An ease or torment? If it be a joy, Why should you envy it your dearest friend?

LYS. Our causes are not equal.

EUG. They will be, when you're dead. How you mistake The laws of friendship, and commit those faults You did accuse me of! I would not live so long To think you can survive your dying friend.

LYS. Eugenio, I am conquered; yet I hope thy kindness Will do that for me which thy sword refuseth. Love thy Hermione: she deserves it. Friend, Leave me alone awhile.

EUG. Your grief's too great for me to trust your life with't: I dare not venture you beyond my help.

WITHIN. Where's Prince Lysicles? Where's Prince Lysicles?

LYS. Hark! I am call'd, the fatal news is come.

[_Draws._

EUG. Fie! how unmanly's this? Can sounds affright you, Which yet you know not whether they do bring Or joys or sorrows? When remedies are despair'd of, You have still leave to die. Perhaps she lives, And you'll exhale her soul into your wounds, And be the death of her you mourn for living.

WITHIN. Where's Prince Lysicles? Where's Prince Lysicles?

EUG. It is the voice of comfort; none would strive To be a sad relator. I'll call him. Holla! Here he is.

_Enter a_ SERVANT.

SER. The strange lady kisses Your hands, my lord: Arnaldo has restored her; She bid me say your sight can only give Perfection to what he has begun.

EUG. Will you die now?

LYS. Softly, good friend: gently let it Slide into my breast; my heart is too narrow yet To take so full a joy in. You're sure this news is true?

SER. Upon my life.

EUG. Why should you doubt it?

LYS. My comforts ever were like winter suns, That rise late and [then] set betimes: set with thick clouds That hide their light at noon. But be this true, And I have life enough to let me see it, I shall be ever happy.

EUG. So, 'tis well; At length his hope hath taught despair to fear. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ MILESIA, HERMIONE, IRENE, PHYSICIAN.

PHY. Madam, my innocence will plead my pardon; I could not guess for whom my lord intended it. The truth is I feared, considering his deep melancholy, he intended to use it on himself, and therefore meant to make him out of love with death, by suffering the pains our souls do feel when they are violenced from us. I had provided antidotes, but could not till this hour learn on whom it was employed. Sure I was, it could be death to none, though full of torment.

MIL. Till I have farther means to thank you, receive this ring.

HER. But, madam, what did poor[365] Hermione deserve, That you should hide yourself from her? Or are you the Milesia that was pleas'd To call me friend? or is she buried By Pallas' temple? Truly, belief and memory, Opposing sense, makes me doubt which to credit.

I wept you dead, the virgins did entomb you: Were we then or no deceiv'd?

MIL. My fair dear friend, you shall know all my story. 'Tis true, my uncle did design my death For loving Lysicles; for, at his coming hither, He charg'd me, by all ties that were between us, To hate him as the ruin of his honour; And yet, for some dark ends I understood not, Resolv'd to leave me here. I swore obedience, But knew not what offence it was to keep An oath so made, till I had seen Lysicles, Which at your house I did, when he came wounded From hunting of the boar. All but his name Appear'd most godlike to me. You all did run To stop his wounds, and I thought I might see My enemy's blood; yet soon did pity seize me, To see him bleed. Thus, love taking the shape Of pity, glided unseen of me into my heart, And whilst I thought myself but charitable, I nurs'd my infant love with milk of pity, Till he grew strong enough to take me prisoner. I found his eyes on mine, and ere I could Remove them, heard him say, he'd thank his fortune For this last wound, if 'twere the cause Of seeing me; then took his leave, But left me speechless that I could not say, My heart, farewell! After this visit our loves Grew to that height that you have heard of.

HER. The groves and temples, and dark shades have heard Them mourn'd and celebrated by your friend.

MIL. I had a servant unsuspected of me, (For none I trusted that observ'd our meetings,) Who[366] guessing by my sighs that love had made them, Betray'd them to my uncle. On Pallas' eve He rush'd into my chamber, his sword drawn, And snatch'd me by the arm. I fell down, But, knowing yet no fault, could beg no pardon. Awhile our eyes did only speak our thoughts; At length out of his bosom he pull'd a paper: It was the contract betwixt my lord and me; And ask'd me if I would avow the hand. Heaven, said I, has approv'd it, and the gods Have chose this way to reunite our houses. Stain of thy kindred's honour, he exclaims, Was there no other man to ease your lust But he that was our greatest enemy? Resolve to die: thy blood shall hide the stains. Of our dishonour.

HER. He could not be so cruel to intend it?

MIL. He was; for leaving me oppress'd with sighs And tears, yet not of sorrow and repentance, But fear that I should leave my dearest servant, Commands his cruel slaves to murder me As I descended; and lest pity should Create remorse, in their obdurate hearts, The lights were all put out. Then hastily My name was heard. I then entreated her That betray'd me to tell them I was coming, And took this time to write unto my lord. She went, but by the way was seiz'd And strangled by those murderers That expected me. My uncle heard Her latest groans; and now the act was pass'd His power to help, he wish'd it were undone: Brings lights to see the body, and perceiv'd The strange mistake. By signs and lifted eyes Confess'd heaven's hand was in't; yet would not leave His revenge here--commands his slaves to change My clothes with hers was slain; then takes the head off, And on the trunk did leave a note which told My death for loving Lysicles, in hope my ruin, Knowing his noble nature, would be his. At midnight quits this town, leaving none behind Were conscious of the fact--immures me in His house; till I escap'd in that disguise I wore when I first came to you.

IRE. Why did You not declare yourself when you came hither?

MIL. You were the cause on't. At my arrival here I heard my Lysicles should marry you, And therefore kept the habit I was in, To search unknown the truth of this report, And practis'd in the private actions Of some near friends, got an opinion I could presage the future. Thus was I Sought by you, thus [I] found the faith Of my dear Lysicles, when at the tomb I did Appear his ghost, and had reveal'd myself, had not The shame of doubting such a faith kept my desires in.

HER. Then he dissembled when he made love to me?

MIL. He did. Forgive it him; 'twas for his friend.

HER. I am sorry for it.

MIL. How, my dear friend?

_Enter_ LYSICLES _and_ EUGENIO.

HER. Nay, it is true. Eugenio and he are of such equal Tempers I shall suspect he has dissembled too.

MIL. O, you are pleasant! Here comes my lord.

LYS. Is there a wish beyond this happiness, When I embrace thee thus? I will not ask Thy story now: it is enough to know That you are living.

MIL. The gods have made this trial in my sufferings, If I deserv'd so great a blessing: I have but one grief left.

LYS. Is that word yet on earth?

MIL. Yes, but it springs from an excessive joy Of finding such admired worth in you. What I hereafter shall do in your service Must wear the name of gratitude, not love.

LYS. No, my Milesia, Mine was the first engagement, and the gods Made thee so excellent to keep on earth Love that was flying hence, finding no object Worthy to fix him here.

HER. No more, Eugenio: if your words could add Expressions to your love, you had not had So much of mine; and after I have tried Your faith so many ways, it would appear Ingratitude, not modesty, to show A mistress' coldness.

EUG. May I believe all advantageous words, Or may I doubt them, seeing they come from you, Who are all truth? I will not speak How undeserving I am of these favours, Because I will not wrong th' election Your gracious pity forceth on your judgment.

LYS. Our joys do multiply; but, my dear friend, I have yet something that will add to yours. My father's call'd to court, and you are left Governor in his place; this, I know, will make Lord Pindarus consent to both your wishes. Your pardon, madam, and when you lie embrac'd With your Eugenio, tell him, if my faith Had not the double tie of friend and mistress, A single one had yielded to the hopes Of the enjoying you. Here comes my lord!

_Enter_ PINDARUS.

O my good lord, I must entreat your pardon For a fault my love unto my friend engag'd me in: Let your consent complete the happiness Of these two perfect lovers; I am confident You ever did approve his virtue: his fortune now Can be no hindrance, since our gracious king, In contemplation of his merits, Hath made him governor in my father's place.

PIN. Most willingly I give it, since I've lost the Hopes of being allied to you: heaven bless you both! Sir, your own love of my Hermione, And yours now, will teach you t' admit An easy satisfaction for the troubles My love unto my child hath thrown upon you.

EUG. You are all goodness, and my services, Ever directed by your will, shall show, Though I can never merit this great honour, I will do nothing shall deprive me of The honour of your love and favour.

PIN. Your virtue promiseth more than I may hear From you. Once more, heaven bless you! If my Lord Ergasto now were satisfied, I shall be at peace; for, having promised My daughter to him, I would not have him Think that by me he's injur'd.

HER. 'Tis in your power, sir, to satisfy him.

PIN. I would do anything.

HER. Persuade my cousin to confess she loves him, Which I do know she does; and he already Has made profession of his unto my prejudice: Nay, blush not, cousin, since you would not allow me This secret as a friend, you may excuse Th' inquisitiveness of a rival.

MIL. This is all truth, my lord, I can assure you.

PIN. Is't possible, Irene, do you love Ergasto?

IRE. Methinks your experience, uncle, should teach you That such a question was not to be ask'd. Well, if I did love[367] him, 'twas 'cause I thought That he lov'd me; but if he does not, I pardon him: for I am certain he Once believ'd it himself.

PIN. If ever love Make any deep impression in you, I am deceiv'd.

IRE. His dart may strike as far into me As into another, for aught you know, uncle.

PIN. You have ill-luck else, niece.

_Enter_ PHORMIO, ERGASTO, CLEON.

PHOR. Nay, it is most certain, the town is full of it: Milesia, I know not how, is alive again: Eugenio is made governor; though you were constant, You can have no longer hopes of Hermione: Therefore let me advise you, make that seem Your own election which'll else be enforcement: Quit your interest in Hermione, and renew Your suit to Irene.

ERG. Observe me.

PIN. Welcome, my lords, do you know this lady?

ERG. Most perfectly, and came to congratulate With the prince for her double recovery.

LYS. I thank you, my lord; and when my friend and you Are reconcil'd, you may assure yourself I am your servant.

ERG. What's in my power to give him satisfaction, He may command.

EUG. Your friendship does it.

PIN. My lord, this reconcilement will make way Unto my pardon: I have not been wanting In my promise to you; but my daughter thinks she Has chosen so well that, without my leave, She hath made herself her own disposer.

ERG. Ages of happiness attend them! If I may hope to gain the graces of the fair Irene, I shall be happy too.

PIN. If I have any power, she shall be yours.

LYS. Let me beg the honour of interceding; your fortunes and conditions are so equal, it were a sin to part you.

PHOR. Pray, sir, let him do it himself: the task is not so hard to require a mediator.

IRE. Have you such skill in perspective?

PHOR. As good as any chiromancer in Egypt, madam.

ERG. He has reason, for I have opened my breast to him, and he has seen my heart, and you enthroned in't.

PHOR. He tells you true, lady.

IRE. Indeed, sir! And pray, what did it look like?

PHOR. Faith, to deal truly, much like the wheel of fortune which, turning round, puts the same persons sometimes at top, sometimes at bottom: but at last love shot his dart thorough the axle-tree, and fixed you regent.

IRE. Well, I have considered, and my cousin's example shall teach me.

ERG. What, in the name of doubt?

IRE. To avoid the infinite troubles you procured her by your fruitless solicitations. D'ye think your tears shall cost me so many tears as they have done her?

PIN. You may excuse them by consenting to your friend's desires.

MIL. Sweet madam, let me obtain this for him. He dies if you deny him.

HER. Dear Irene, perfect the happiness of this day.

IRE. You have great reason to persuade me to take him you abhorred.

HER. I was engaged.

IRE. Well, if any here will pass their words he can continue constant a week, I will be disposed by you.

OMNES. We all will be engaged for him.

IRE. On this condition I admit him to a month's service, and myself to a perpetual servitude.

ERG. I ever shall be yours.

IRE. My father said so, till my mother wept.[368]

EUG. A notable wooing this!

LYS. And as notably finish'd. Let's now unto my father, who expects You, to deliver his commission to you. Come, my Milesia, tell my wounded heart No more her sighs shall wander through the air, Not knowing where to find thee: no more Shall the mistaken tomb of false OEnone Be moist'ned with my tears; yet, since she died To save thy life, her ghost could not expect A cheaper sacrifice. This I'll only add: In memory of us, all lovers shall Repute this day as their great festival.

FOOTNOTES:

[363] [Old copy, _your_.]

[364] [Old copy, _but_.]

[365] [Old copy; _your poor_.]

[366] [Old copy, _and_.]

[367] [Dodsley omitted _love_.]

[368] [Some of the sallies of the fair Irene remind us of Shakespeare's Beatrice.]

FINIS.

Transcriber's Notes:

Simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors were corrected.

Punctuation normalized.

Anachronistic and non-standard spellings retained as printed.

Italics markup is enclosed in _underscores_.

Greek text is transliterated and enclosed in ~tildes~.