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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

AT   LOS  ANGELES 


THE 


PLAYS 


OF 


PHILIP     MASSINGER 


VOLUME    IL 


7  »1 


THE 

PLAYS 

OF 

PHILIP    MASSINGER, 

IN  FOUR  VOLUMES. 
WITH  NOTES  CRITICAL  AND  EXPLANATORY, 

By  W.   GIFFORD,   Esq. 


UAUD  TAMEK  INVIDEAS  VATI  QUEM  PULPITA  PASCUNT. 


THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

VOLUME  THE  SECOND. 

CONTAINING 

THE  BONDMAN. 

THE  RENEGADO. 

THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  IX)VE. 

THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 


LONDON: 

PRINTED  FOR  G.  AND  W.  NICOI,  ;  F.  C.  AND  J.  RIVINGTON  J  CADELL 
AND  DAVIES;  LONGMAN  AND  CO.;  LACKINGTON  AND  CO.; 
J.  BARKER  ;  WHITE  AND  COCHRANE;  R.  H.  EVANS  ;  J.  MURRAY; 
J.  MAWMAN;    J.  FAULDER,  AND  R.  BALDWIN; 

jE^  W,  Bvimer  and  Co,  Cleveland-Row,  St.  Jame$^$. 


1813. 

29283 


V,2 


THE 


BONDMAN. 


VOL.  II. 


•B 


1'he  Bondman.]  Hitherto  we  hare  had  no  clae  to  guide  us  in 
ascertaining  the  true  date  of  these  dramas.  The  fortunate  dis- 
covery of  Sir  Henry  Herbert's  Office-book  enables  us,  from  this 
period,  to  proceed  with  every  degree  of  certainty. 

The  Bundmnn  was  allowrd  by  the  Master  of  the  Revels,  and 
performed  at  the  Cockpit  in  Drury  Lane,  on  the  third  of  De- 
cember, 1623.  It  was  printed  in  the  following  year,  and  again 
in  1638.  This  last  edition  is  full  of  errors,  which  I  have  been 
enabled  to  remove  by  the  assistance  of  the  first  copy,  for  which 
I  am  indebted  to  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Malone. 

This  ancient  story  (for  so  it  is  called  by  Massinger)  is  founded 
on  the  life  of  Tiraoleon  the  Corinthian,  as  recorded  by 
Plutarch.  The  revolt  and  subsequent  reduction  of  the  slaves  to 
their  duty,  is  taken  from  Herodotus,  or,  more  probably,  from 
Justin,*  who  repeats  the  tale.  The  tale,  however,  more  espe- 
cially the  catastrophe,  is  trifling  enough,  and  does  little  honour 
to  those  who  invented,  or  those  who  adopted  it;  but  the  beau- 
tiful episode  here  founded  upon  it,  and  which  is  entirely  Mas- 
singer's  own,  is  an  inimitable  piece  of  art. 

This  is  one  of  the  few  plays  of  Massinger  that  have  been  re- 
vived since  the  Restoration.  In  1660  it  was  brought  on  the 
stage  by  Betterten,  then  a  young  man,  who  played,  as  Downes 
the  prompter  informs  us,  the  part  of  Pisander,  for  which 
nature  had  eminently  qualifiied  him.  It  was  again  performed  at 
Drury  Lane  in  1719,  and  given  io  the  press  with  a  second  title 
of  Love  and  Liherty^  and  a  few  insignificant  alterations  ;  and  in 
1779  a  modification  of  it  was  produced  by  Mr.  Cumberland,  and 
played  for  a  few  nights  at  Covent  Garden,  but,  as  it  appears, 
with  no  extraordinary  encouragement.    It  was  not  printed. 

*  It  may,  indeed,  be  taken  from  an  account  of  Russia  in  Purchas's  Pilgrims,  a 
book  that  formed  the  delight  of  our  ancestors.  There  it  is  said,  that  the  Boiards 
of  Noviorogod  reduced  their  slaves,  who  had  seized  the  town,  by  the  whip,  just 
as  the  Scythians  are  said  to  have  done  theirs. 


TO 

The  Right  Honourable,  my  singular  good  Lord, 

PHILIP   EARL   OF   MONTGOMERY, 

KNIGHT  OF  THE  MOST  NOBLE  ORDER  OF 
THE  GARTER,  &c. 

RIGHT  HONOURABLE, 

llOWEVER  I  could  never  arrive  at  the  happiness  to  be 
made  known  to  your  lordshsip,  yet  a  desire,  born  with  me,  to 
make  a  tender  of  all  duties  and  service  to  the  noble  family  of 
the  Herberts,  descended  to  me  as  an  inheritance  from  my  dead 
father,  Arthur  Massinger*  Many  years  he  happily  spent  in 
the  service  of  your  honourable  house,  and  died  a  servant  to  it; 
leaving  hisf  to  be  ever  most  glad  and  ready,  to  be  at  the  com- 
mand of  all  such  as  derive  themselves  from  his  most  honoured 
master,  your  lordship's  most  noble  father.  The  consideration 
of  this  encouraged  me  (having  no  other  means  to  present  my 
humblest  service  to  your  honour)  to  shroud  this  trifle  under 
the  wings  of  your  noble  protection ;  and  I  hope,  out  of  the 
clemency  of  your  heroic  disposition,  it  will  find,  though  per- 
haps not  a  welcome  entertainment,  yet,  at  the  worst,  a  gra- 
cious pardon,  When  it  was  first  acted,  your  lordship's  liberal 
suffrage  taught  others  to  allow  it  for  current,  it  having  re- 
ceived the  undoubted  stamp  of  your  lordship's  allowance :  and 
if  in  the  perusal  of  any  vacant  hour,  when  your  honours  more 
serious  occasions  shall  give  you  leave  to  read  it,  it  answer,  in 
your  lordship's  judgment,  the  report  and  opinion  it  had  upon 
the  stage,  J  shall  esteem  my  labours  not  ill  employed,  and, 
while  I  live,  continue 

the  humeblst  of  those  that 

truly  honour  your  lordship, 

PHILIP  MASSINGER, 

*  My  dead  father,  Arthur  Massinger.']  So  reads  the  first  edi- 
tion. Tiie  modern  editors  follow  the  second,  which  has  Philip 
Massinger.     See  the  Introduction. 

+  Leaving  his  to  be  ever  most  glad,  &c.]  So  it  stands  in  both 
the  old  quartos,  and  in  Coxeter.  Mr.M.  Mason,  without  autho- 
rity,  and  indeed  without  reason,  inserts  son  after  his:  but  the 
dedication,  as  given  by  him,  and  his  predecessor  after  the  second 
quarto,  is  full  of  errors. 

*  B2 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

Timoleoti,  the  general,  ofCoxmih. 

Archidamus,  prcetor  ojf  Syracusa. 

Diphilus,  a  senator  o/^Syracusa. 

Cleon,  a  fat  impotent  lord. 

MaruUo,  the  Bondman  (i.  e.  Pisander,  a  gentle^ 

man  o/' Thebes  ;  disguised  as  a  slave.) 
Poliphron,  Jriend  to  Marullo  ;  also  disguised  as  a 

slave. 
Leosthenes,  a  gentleman  o/*Syracusa,  enamoured  of 

Cleora. 
Asotus,  a  foolish  lover,  and  the  son  of  Cleon. 
Timagoras,  the  son  o/"  Archidamus. 

Cimbno,   3 
A  Gaoler. 

C\Qor2it  daughter  of  Axch\di2LV[i\is, 

Corisca,  a  proud  wanton  lady,  wife  to  Cleon. 

Olympia,  a  rich  widow. 

Timandra,  slave  to  Cleora  (i.  e.  Statilia  sister  to 

Pisander.) 
Zanthia,  slave  to  Corisca. 

Other  Slaves,  Soldiers,  Officers,  Senators. 

SCENE,  Syracuse,  and  the  adjacent  country. 


THE 

BONDMAN. 


ACT  I.     SCENE  I. 

The  Camp  o/'Timoleon,  near  Syracuse. 
Enter  Timagoras  and  Leosthenes. 

Timag.  Why  should  you  droop,  Leosthenes,  or 
despair 
My  sister's  favour?  What,  before,  you  purchased 
By  courtship  and  fair  language,  in  these  wars 
(For  from  her  soul  you  know  she  loves  a  soldier) 
You  may  deserve  by  action. 

Leost.  Good  Timagoras, 
When  I  have  said  my  friend,  think  all  is  spoken 
That  may  assure  me  yours;  and  pray  you  believe, 
The  dreadful  voice  of  war  that  shakes  the  city, 
The  thundering  threats  of  Carthage,  nor  their 

army 
Raised  to  make  good  those  threats,  affright  not 

me. — 
If  fair  Cleora  were  confirm'd  his  prize. 
That  has  the  strongest  arm  and  sharpest  sword, 
I'd  court  Bellona  in  her  horrid  trim, 
As  if  she  were  a  mistress;  and  bless  fortune, 
That  offers  my  young  valour  to  the  proof. 
How  much  I  dare  do  for  your  sister's  love. 
But,  when  that  I  consider  how  averse 
Your  noble  father,  great  Archidamus, 

VOL.  II.  *  C 


6  THEBONDMAN. 

Is,  and  hath  ever  been,  to  my  desires, 
Reason  may  warrant  me  to  doubt  and  fear, 
What  seeds  soever  I  sow  in  these  wars 
Of  noble  courage,  his  determinate  will 
May  blast,  and  give  my  harvest  to  another, 
That  never  toil'd  for  it. 

Timag.  Prithee,  do  not  nourish 
These  jealous  thoughts;  I  am  thine,  (and  pardon 

me, 
Though  I  repeat  it,)  thy  Timagoras,* 
Thar,  for  thy  sake,  when  the  bold  Theban  sued, 
Far-famed  Pisander,  for  my  sister's  love. 
Sent  him  disgraced  and  discontented  home. 
I  wrought  my  father  then;  and  I,  that  stopp'd  not 
In  the  career  of  my  affection  to  thee, 
When  that  renowned  worthy,  that,  brought  with 

him^ 
High  birth,  wealth,  courage,  as  fee'd  advocates 
To  mediate  for  him  ;  never  will  consent 
A  fool,  that  only  has  the  shape  of  man, 
Asotus,  though  he  be  rich  Cleon's  heir, 
Shall  bear  her  from  thee. 

Leost,  In  that  trust  I  love.^ 

■ (a«rf  pardon  me. 

Though  I  repeat  it,)  thy  Timagoras,]  So  the  old  copies.  What 
induced  the  modern  editors  to  make  nonsense  of  the  passage, 
and  print  mi/  Leosthenes,  I  cannot  even  guess. 

*  JVhen  that  renowned  -worthy,  that,  brought  with  him}  In  this 
line  Mr.  M.  Mason  omits  the  second  that,  which,  he  says, 
"  dcstroj'S  both  sense  and  metre."  The  reduplication  is  en- 
tirely in  Massinger's  manner,  and  assuredly  destroys  neither. 
With  respect  to  the  sense,  that  is  enforced  by  it;  and  no  very 
exquisite  ear  is  required,  to  perceive  that  the  metre  is  im. 
proved. — How  often  will  it  be  necessary  to  observe,  that  our 
old  dramatists  never  counted  their  syllables  on  their  fingers? 

'  Leost.  In  that  trust  I  lovd.]  Love  is  the  reading  of  both 
the  quartos.  In  the  modern  editions  it  is  unnecessarily  altered 
to  live. 


THE    BONDMAi^.  7 

Timag,  Which  never  shall  deceive  you. 
Enter  Marullo,    - 

Mar.  Sir,  the  general, 
Tiuioleon,  by  his  trumpets  hath  given  warning 
For  a  remove. 

Timag.  'Tis  well ;  provide  my  horse. 

Mar.  I  shall,  sir.  [Exit. 

Leost.  This  slave  has  a  strange  aspect. 

Timag.  Fit  for  his  fortune;  'tis  a  strong-limb'd 
knave : 
My  father  bought  him  for  my  sister's  litter. 

0  pride  of  women  !  Coaches  are  too  common — 
They  surfeit  in  the  happiness  of  peace, 

And  ladies  think  they  keep  not  state  enough, 
If,  for  their  pomp  and  ease,'*  they  are  not  born 
In  triumph  on  men's  shoulders. 

Leost.  Who  commands 
The  Carthaginian  fleet  ? 

Timag.  Cisco's  their  admiral, 
And  'tis  our  happiness  ;  a  raw  young  fellow, 
One  never  train'd  in  arms,  but  rather  fashion'd 
To  tilt  with  ladies'  lips,  than  crack  a  lance ; 
Ravish  a  feather  from  a  mistress'  fan, 
And  wear  it  as  a  favour.    A  steel  helmet, 
Made  horrid  with  a  glorious  plume,  will  crack 
His  woman's  neck. 

♦  If,  for  their  pomp  and  ease,  &ig.]    Mr.  Gilchrist  thinks  (and 

1  helieye,  rightly)  that  Massinger,  who  evidently  regarded  the 
duke  of  Buckingham  with  no  favourable  eye,  here  reflects  on 
the  use  of  sedan-chairs,  which  he  first  introduced,  from  Spain, 
about  this  period.  They  were  carried,  as  Massinger  says,  "  on 
mens'  shoulders,''  and  the  novelty  provoked  no  small  displea. 
sure  against  the  favourite,  who  in  thus  employing  his  servants, 
was  charged,  by  the  writers  of  those  times,  with  "  degrading 
Englishmen  into  slaves  and  beasts  of  burden^  to  gratify  his  in- 
ordinate vanity." 

*   C  2 


8  THE   BONDMAN. 

Leost.  No  more  of  him. — The  motives, 
That  Corinth  gives  us  aid  ? 

Timag.  The  common  danger  ; 
For  Sicily  being  afire,  she  is  not  safe  : 
It  being  apparent  that  ambitious  Carthage, 
That,  to  enlarge  her  empire,  strives  to  fasten 
An  unjust  gripe  on  us  that  live  free  lords 
Of  Syracusa,  will  not  end,  till  Greece 
Acknowledge  her  their  sovereign. 

Leost.  I  am  satisfied. 
What  think  you  of  our  general  ? 

Timag.  He's  a  man  {Trumpets  within. 

Ofstrange and  reserved  parts;  but  a  great  soldier.' 
His  trumpets  call  us,  I'll  forbear  his  character : 
To  morrow,  in  the  senate-house,  at  large 
He  will  express  himself. 

Leost.  I'll  follow  you.  [Ej;eunt, 


SCENE    II. 

'Syracuse.     A  Room  in  Cleon's  House. 
Enter  Cleon,  Corisca,  «wfi?  Gracculo. 

Coris.  Nay,  good  chuck. 

Cleon.  I've  said  it ;  stay  at  hom^ : 
I  cannot  brook  your  gadding ;  you're  a  fair  one, 
Beauty  invites  temptations,  and  short  heels 
Are  soon  tripp'd  up. 

Coris.  Deny  me  !  by  my  honour, 

5  Timag.  He's  a  man 

Of  strange  and  reserved  parts,  but  a  great  soldier.^  Strange 
tignifies  here  distant.     M.  Mason. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  know  the  meaning  of  distant  parts, 
unless  it  be  remote,  or  foreign  parts.  Massinger,  however,  is 
clear  enough;  strange  and  reserved^  in  his  language,  meanSf 
strangely  (i.  e.  singularly)  reserved.  ♦ 


THE   BONDMAN.  9 

You  take  no  pity  on  me.    I  shall  swoon 

As  soon  as  you  are  absent ;  ask  my  man  else, 

You  know  he  dares  not  tell  a  Jie. 

Grac.  Indeed, 
You  are  no  sooner  out  of  sight,  but  she 
Does  feel  strange  qualms;  then  sends  for  her 

young  doctor, 
Who  ministers  physic  to  her  on  her  back, 
Her  ladyship  lying  as  she  were  entranced  : 
(I've  peep'd  in  at  the  keyhole,  and  observed 

them :) 
And  sure  his  potions  never  fail  to  work. 
For  she's  so  pleasant  in  the  taking  them, 
She  tickles  again. 

Coris.  And  all's  to  make  you  merry. 
When  you  come  home. 

Cleon.  You  flatter  me ;  I  am  old, 
And  wisdom  cries.  Beware! 

Coris.  Old  !  duck.    To  me 
You  are  a  young  Adonis. 

Grac.  Well  said,  Venus ! 
I  am  sure  she  Vulcans  him.  v  [Aside. 

Coris.  I  will  not  change  thee 
For  twenty    boisterous  young    things  without 

beards. 
These  bristles  give  the  gentlest  titillations. 
And  such  a  sweet  dew  flows  on  them,  it  cures 
My  lips  without  pomatum.    Here's  a  round  belly ! 
'Tis  a  down  pillow  to  my  back ;  I  sleep 
So  quietly  by  it :  and  this  tunable  nose. 
Faith,  when  you  hear  it  not,  affords  such  music, 
That  I  curse  all  night-tiddlers. 

Grae.  This  is  gross. 
Not  finds  she  flouts  himr!  [Aside. 

Coris.  As  I  live,  I  am  jealous. 

Ckon.  Jealous  of  me,  wife? 


10  T  H  E   B  O  N  D  M  A  N. 

Coris.  Yes ;  and  I  have  reason ; 
Knowing  how  lusty  and  active  a  man  you  are. 

Cleon.  Hum,  hum ! 

Grac.  This  is  no  cunning  quean  !  ^  'slight,  she 
will  make  him 
To  think  that,  like  a  stag,  he  has  cast  his  horns, 
And  is  grown  young  again.  \Aside. 

Coris.  You  have  forgot 
AVhat  you  did  in  your  sleep,  and,  when  you  waked, 
Call'd  for  a  caudle. 

Grac.  It  was  in  his  sleep  ; 
For,  waking,  I  durst  trust  my  mother  with  him. 

\_Asi(k. 

Cofis.  I  long  to  see  the  man  of  war :  Cleora, 
Archidamus'  daughter,  goes,  and  rich  Olympia ; 
I  will  not  miss  the  show. 

Cleon,  There's  no  contending  : 
For  this  time  I  am  pleased,  hut  I'll  no  more  on't. 

\_E.veunt. 

*  Grac.  This  is  no  cunning  quean  /]  In  our  author's  time,  as 
is  justly  observed  by  Warburton,  "  the  negative,  in  common 
speech,  was  used  ironically  to  express  the  excess  of  a  thing." 
Thus,  in  t/ie  Roman  Actor  : 

"  This  is  no  flattery !" 

And  again,  in  the  City  Madam: 

"  Here's  no  gross  flattery  I  Will  she  swallow  this  ?" 

and  in  a  tliousand  other  places. 


THE   BONDMAN.  11 

SCENE    III. 

The  Same.    The  Senate-house. 

Enter  Archidamus,  Cleon,  Diphilus,  Olym- 
piA,  CoRiscA,  Cleora,  ffwfi?  Zanthia. 

Archid.  So  careless  we  have  been,  my  noble 
lords, 
In  the  disposing  of  our  own  affairs, 
And  ignorant  in  the  art  of  government, 
That  now  we  need  a  stranger  to  instruct  us. 
Yet  we  are  happy  that  our  neighbour  Corinth, 
Pitying  the  unjust  gripe  Carthage  would  lay 
On  Syracusa,  hath  vouchsafed  to  lend  us 
Her  man  of  men,  Timoleon,  to  defend 
Our  country  and  our  liberties. 

Diph.  'Tis  a  favour 
We  are  unworthy  of,  and  we  may  blush 
Necessity  compels  us  to  receive  it. 

Archid,  O  shame !  that  we,  that  are  a  populous 
nation. 
Engaged  to  liberal  nature,  for  all  blessings 
An  island  can  bring  forth ;  \\'e,  that  have  limbs. 
And  able  bodies ;  shipping,  arms,  and  treasure. 
The  sinews  of  the  war,  now  we  are  call'd 
To  stand  upon  our  guard,  cannot  produce 
One  fit  to  be  our  general. 

Cleon.  I  am  old  and  fat ; 
I  could  say  something,  else. 

Archid.  We  must  obey 
The  time  and  our  occasions ;  ruinous  buildings, 
Whose  bases  and  foundations  are  infirm, 
Must  use  supporters :  we  are  circled  round 


12  THE   BONDMAN. 

With  danger;  o'er  our  heads,  with  sail-stretch*d 

wings, 
Destruction  hovers,'  and  a  cloud  of  mischief 
Ready  to  break  upon  us ;  no  hope  left  us 
That  may  divert  it,  but  our  sleeping  virtue,   > 
Roused  up  by  brave  Timoleon. 

Cleon.  When  arrives  he? 

Diph.  He  is  expected  every  hour. 

Aixhid,  The  braveries 
Of  Syracusa,  among  whom  my  son, 
Timagoras,  Leosthenes,  and  Asotus, 
Your  hopeful  heir,  lord  Cleon,  two  days  since 
Rode  forth  to  meet  him,  and  attend  him  to 
The  city  ;  every  minute  we  expect 
To  be  bless'd  with  his  presence. 

[Skouts  within ;  then  a  flourish  of  trumpets. 

Cleon.  What  shout's  this  ? 

Diph.  'Tis  seconded  with  loud  music. 

ArchixL  Which  confirms 
His  wish'd-for  entrance.    Let  us  entertain  him 
With  all  respect,  solemnity,  and  pomp, 
A  man  may  merit,  that  comes  to  redeem  us 
From  slavery  and  oppression. 

Cleon.  I'll  lock  up 
My  doors,  and  guard  my  gold :  these  lads  of 

Corinth 
.Have  nimble  fingers,  and  I  fear  them  more. 
Being  within  our  walls,  than  those  of  Carthage; 
They  are  far  off. 

7  o'er  our  heads,  ■with  saii.stretch'd  wings, 

,  Destruction  hovers,  &c.]    Sec  Vol.  I.  p.  141. 

*  Archid.  The  braveries 

Of  Syracusa,  &c.]  i.  e.  the  yonng  nobility,  the  gay  and 
fashionable  gallants  of  the  city.  Thus  Clerimont,  in  his  de- 
scription of  Sir  Amorous  La-Foole,  observes  that  "  he  is  one 
of  the  braveries,  though  he  be  none  of  the  wits."  The  Silent 
Woman. 


THE   BONDMAN.  ij 

A7xhtd.  And,  ladies,  be  it  your  care 
To  welcome  him  and  his  followers  with  all  duty  : 
For  rest  resolved,  their  hands  and  swords  must 

keep  you 
In  that  full  height  of  happiness  you  live; 
A  dreadful  change  else  follows. 

[Exeunt  ArchidamuSy  Cleon,  and  Diphilus, 

Olymp,  We  are  instructed. 

Coris.    I'll  kiss   him  JTor   the   honour   of  my 
country, 
With  any  she  in  Corinth.^ 

Olymp.  Were  he. a. courtier, 
I've  sweatmeat  in  my  closet  shall  content  him, 
Be  his  palate  ne'er  so  curious. 

Coris^  And,  if  need  be, 
I  have  a  couch  and  a  banqueting-house  in  my 

orchard, 
Where  many  a  man  of  honour*  has  not  scorn'd 
Te  spend  an  afternoon. 

Olymp.  These  men  of  war, 

5  Coris.  I'll  kiss  him  for  the  honour  of  my  country, 
With  any  she  in  Corinth.]     The  reputation  of  the  Corinthian 
ladies  stood  high  among  the  ancients  for  gallantry ;  and  to  this 
Corisca  alludes. 

*  Coris.  And  if  need  be, 
I  have  a  couch  and  a  banqueting-house  in  my  orchard. 
Where  many  aman  of  honour  &c.]]  Our  old  plays  are  full  of 
allusions  to  these  garden-houses,  which  appear  to  have  been 
often  abused  to  the  pur[)oses  of  debauchery.  A  very  homely  pas- 
sage from  Stubbes's  Anatomic  of  Abuses,  1599,  will  make  ail  this 
plain  :  "  In  the  suberbes  of  the  citie,  they  (the  women)  have 
gardens  either  paled  or  walled  round  about  very  high,  with  their 
barbers  and  bowers  fit  for  the  purpose ;  and  lest  they  might  be 
espied  in  these  open  places,  they  have  their  banqueting-houses, 
with  galleries,  turrets,  and  what  not,  therein  sumjjtuoiisly 
erected  ;  wherein  they  may,  and  doubtless  do,  many  of  them, 
play  the  filthy  persons."  See  too,  the  City  Madam.  I  need  not 
observe  that  the  poet,  like  his  contemporaries,  gives  the  eus- 
toms,  &c.  of  his  native  land  to  his  foreign  scene.  He  speaks, 
indeed,  of  Syracuse ;  bat  he  thinks  only  of  London,   See  p.  34. 


14  THE   BONDMAN. 

As  I  have  heard,  know  not  to  court  a  lady. 
They  cannot  praise  our  dressings,  kiss  our  hands, 
Usher  us  to  our  litters,  tell  love-stories, 
Commend  our  feet  and  legs,  and  so  search  up- 
wards ; 
A  sweet  becoming  boldness  !  they  are  rough. 
Boisterous,  and  saucy,  and  at  the  first  sight 
Ruffle   and  touzc  us,  and,   as   they   find    their 

stomachs, 
Fall  roundly  to  it. 

Coris.  'Troth,  I  like  them  the  better  : 
I  can't  endure  to  have  a  perfumed  sir 
Stand  cringing  in  the  hams,  licking  his  lips 
Like  a  spaniel  over  a  furmenty-pot,  and  yet 
Has  not  the  boldness  to  come  on,  or  offer 
What  they  know  we  expect. 

Olymp.  We  may  commend 
A  gentleman's  modesty,  manners,  and  fine  lan- 
guage. 
His  singing,  dancing,  riding  of  great  horses, 
The  wearing  of  his  clothes,  his  fair  complexion; 
Take  presents  from  him,  and  extol  his  bounty : 
Yet,   though  he  observe,   and  waste  his  estate 

upon  us,'^ 
If  he  be  staunch,^  and  bid  not  for  the  stock 

*  and  -waste  his  state  upon  i«,]    Every  where 

the  modern  editors  print  this  word  with  the  mark  of  elision,  as 
if  it  were  contracted  from  estate :  but  it  is  not  so  :  state  is  the 
genuine  word,  and  is  used  by  all  our  old  poets,  and  by  Massinger 
himself,  in  many  hundred  places,  where  we  should  now  write 
and  print  estate.  1  may  incidentally  observe  here,  that  many 
terms  which  are  now  used  with  a  mark  of  elision,  and  supposed 
to  have  suffered  an  aphaeresis,  are  really  and  substantially  per- 
fect. In  some  cases,  the  Saxon  prefix  has  been  corrupted  into  a 
component  part  of  the  word,  and  in  others,  prepositions  have 
been  added  in  the  progress  of  refinement,  for  the  sake  of  eu- 
phony, or  metre  ;  but,  generally  speaking,  the  simple  term  is 
the  complete  one. 

<  i/^e  6e  gtaancb,  &c.]    I  don't  think  that  staunch  can  bs 


THE    BONDMAN.  15 

That  we  were  born  to  traffic  with ;  the  truth  is. 
We  care  not  for  his  company. 
Coris.  Musing,  Cleora? 

sense  in  this  passage  ;  \Te  should  probably  read  siarch'd,  that  is 
precise,  formal,     M.Mason. 

This  is  a  singular  conjecture.  Let  the  reader  peruse  again 
Olympia's  description,  which  Is  that  of  a  complete  gentleman  ; 
and  then  say  what  there  is  of  starched,  formal,  or  precise,  in  it. 
Staunch  is  as  good  a  word  as  she  could  have  chosen,  and  is  here 
used  in  its  proper  sense  for  steady,  firm,  full  of  integrity  :  and 
her  meaning  is,  "  if,  with  all  the  accomplishments  of  a  fine  gen- 
tleman, he  possesses  the  fixed  principles  of  a  man  of  honour,  and 
does  not  attempt  to  debauch  us,  he  is  not  for  our  purpose." 

When  I  wrote  this,  I  had  not  seen  the  appendix  which  issubjoined 
to  some  copies  ofthe last  edition.  Mr. M.Mason  has  there  revised 
his  note,  and  given  his  more  mature  thoughts  on  the  subject : 
"  On  the  first  consideration  of  this  passage,  I  did  not  apprehend 
that  the  word  staunch  could  import  any  meaning  that  would 
render  it  intelligible,  and  I  therefore  amended  the  passage  by 
reading  j^arcA'rf  instead  of  staunch  ;  but  1  have  since  found  a 
similar  acceptation  of  that  word  in  Jonson's  Silent  Woman, 
where  Truewit  says :  '  If  your  mistress  love  valour,  talk  of  your 
sword,  and  be  frequent  in  the  mention  of  quarrels,  though  you 
be  staunch  in  fighting.'  This  is  one  of  the  many  instances  that 
may  be  produced  to  prove  how  necessary  it  is  for  the  editor  of 
any  ancient  dramatic  writer,  to  read  with  attention  the  other 
dramatic  productions  of  the  time." 

I  participate  in  Mr.  M.  Mason's  self-congratulations  on  this 
important  discovery,  and  will  venture  to  suggest  another,  still 
more  important,  which  appears  to  have  eluded  his  researches : 
it  is  simply — *'  the  necessity  for  the  editor  of  any  ancient  dra- 
matic writer  to  read  with  attention  that  dramatic  writer  himself." 

But  what,  after  all,  docs  Mr.  M.  Mason  imagine  that  he  has 
found  out?  and  what  is  the  sense  which  he  would  finally  affix 
to  staunch?  these  are  trifles  which  he  has  omitted  to  mention,  I 
can  discover  nothing  from  his  long  note,  but  that  he  misunderstands 
Jonson  now,  as  he  misunderstood  Massinger  before.  Each  of 
these  great  poets  uses  the  word  in  its  proper  and  ordinary  sense: 
"  Though  you  be  staunch  in  fighting,"  says  Truewit,  (i.  e.  really 
brave,  and  consequently  not  prone  to  boasting,)  "  yet,  to  please 
your  mistressj  you  must  talk  of  your  sword,"  &c. 


16  THE   BONDMAN. 

Olymp.  She's  studying  how  to  entertain  these 
strangers, 
And  to  engross  them  to  herself. 

Clto.  No,  surely  ; 
I  will  not  cheapen  any  of  their  wares, 
Till  you  have  made  your  market ;  you  will  buy, 
I  know,  at  any  rate. 

Coris.  She  has  given  it  you. 

Olymp.  No  more ;  they  come  :  .  the  first  kiss 
for  this  jewel. 

Flourish  of  U^umpets.  Enter  Timagoras,  Leos- 
THENEs,  AsoTUs,  TiMOLEON  iH  Uack,  led  in  by 
Archidamus,  DiPHiLus,  aw^Cleon;  followed 
by  Marullo,  Gracculo,  Cimbrio,  and  other 
Slaves. 

Archid.  It  'is  your  seat :  which,  with  a  general 
suffrage,  [Offering  Timoleon  the  state.* 

As  to  the  supreme  magistrate,  Sicily  tenders,* 
And  prays  Timoleon  to  accept. 

Timol.  Such  honours 
To  one  ambitious  of  rule*  or  titles, 

*  Offering  Timoleonihe  state.]  The  state  was  a  raised  platform, 
on  which  was  placed  a  chair  with  a  canopy  over  it.  The  word 
occurs  perpetually  in  our  old  writers.  It  is  used  by  Dryden, 
but  seems  to  have  been  growing  obsolete  while  he  was  writing  : 
in  the  brst  edition  of  Mac  Fleckno,  the  monarch  is  placed  on  a 
state;  h\  the  subsequent  ones,  he  is  seated  like  his  fellow  kings, 
on  a  throne :  it  occurs  also,  and  I  believe  for  the  last  time,  in 
Swift :  "  As  she  atfected  not  the  grandeur  of  a  state  with  a 
canopy,  she  thought  there  was  no  offence  in  an  elbow  chair." 
Hist,  of  John  Bull,  c.  i. 

*  As  tu  the  supreme  magistrate^  Sicily  tenders^]  For  Sicily  ^  th« 
old  copies  have  surely.  The  emendation^  which  is  a  very  happy 
one,  was  made  by  Coxeter. 

*  such  honours 

To  one  ambitious  of  rule,  &c.]  Massinger  has  here  finely  drawn 


THE   BONDMAN.  17 

Whose  heaven  on  earth  is  placed  in  his  command. 
And  absolute  power  o'er  others,  would  with  joy, 
And  veins  swollen  high  with  pride,  be  entertain'd. 
They  take  not  me  ;  for  I  have  ever  loved 
An  equal  freedom,  and  proclaim'd  all  such 
As  would  usurp  on  others'  liberties,' 
Rebels  to  nature,  to  whose  bounteous  blessings 
All  men  lay  claim  as  true  legitimate  sons  : 
But  such  as  have  made  forfeit  of  themselves 
By  vicious  courses,  and  their  birthright  lost, 
'Tis  not  injustice  they  are  mark'd  for  slaves, 
To  serve  the  virtuous.    For  myself,  I  know 
Honours  and  great  employments  are  great  bur- 
thens, 
And  rnust  require  an  Atlas  to  support  them. 
He  that  would  govern  others,  first  should  be 
The  master  of  himself,  richly  endued 
With  depth  of  understanding,  height  of  coiirage, 
And  those  remarkable  graces  which  I  dare  not 
Ascribe  unto  myself. 

A r chid.  Sir,  empty  men 
Are  trumpets  of  their  own  deserts  ;  but  you, 
That  are  not  in  opinion,  but  in  proof, 
Really  good,  and  full  of  glorious  parts. 
Leave  the  report  of  what  you  are  to  fame  ; 
Which,  from  the  ready  tongues  of  all  good  men, 
Aloud  proclaims  you. 

the  character  of  I'imoleon,  and  been  very  true  to  history.  He 
was  descended  from  one  of  the  noblest  families  in  Corinth,  lored 
his  country  passionately,  and  discovered  upon  all  occasions  a 
sinj^ular  humanity  of  temper,  except  against  tyrants  and  bad  men. 
He  was  an  excellent  captain;  and  as  in  his  youth  he  had  all  the 
maturity  of  age,  in  age  he  had  all  the  fire  and  courage  of  the 
most  ardent  youth.     Coxeter. 

7  Js  -would  usurp  on  others'  liberties^']  So  the  first  quarto ; 
the  second,  which  the  modern  editors  follow,  has,  another's 
liberties.  In  the  preceding  line,  for  proclaim'd,  Mr.  M.  Mason 
arbitrarily  reads,  proclaim:  an  injudicious  alteration. 


18  THE    BONDMAN. 

Diph,  Besides,  you  stand  bound, 
Having  so  large  a  field  to  exercise 
Your  active  virtues  offer'd  you,  to  impart 
Your  strength  to  such  as  need  it. 

Timol.  'Tis  confess'd  : 
And,  since  you'll  have  it  so,  such  as  I  am, 
For  you,  and  for  the  liberty  of  Greece, 
I  am  most  ready  to  lay  down  my  life : 
But  yet  consider,  men  of  Syracusa, 
Before  that  you  deliver  up  the  power. 
Which  yet  is  yours,  to  me, — to  whom  'tis  given  ; 
To  an  impartial  man,  with  whom  nor  threats. 
Nor  prayers,  shall  prevail ;  for  I  must  steer 
An  even  course. 

Archid.  Which  is  desired  of  all. 

Timol.    Timophanes,    my   brother,    for   whose 
death 
I  am  tainted  in  the  world, '  and  foully  tainted ; 

'  Tmol.  Timophanes,  my  brother,  for  whose  death 
I  am  tainted  in  the  world,  &c.]  Timoleon  had  an  elder  brother, 
called  Timophanes,  whom  he  tenderly  loved,  as  he  had  demon- 
strated in  a  battle,  in  which  he  coTered  him  with  his  body,  and 
saved  his  life  at  the  great  danger  of  his  own  ;  but  his  country 
was  still  dearer  to  him.  That  brother  having  made  himself 
tyrant  of  it,  so  black  a  crime  gave  him  the  sharpest  affliction. 
He  made  use  of  all  possible  means  to  bring  him  back  to  his  duty: 
kindness,  friendship,  aflfection,  remonstrances,  and  even  menaces. 
But,  finding  all  his  endeavours  ineffectual,  and  that  nothing 
could  prevail  upon  an  heart  abandoned  io  ambition,  he  caused 
his  brother  to  be  assassinated  in  his  presence  [no ;  not  in  his 
presence^  by  two  of  his  friends  and  intimates,  and  thought, 
that  upon  such  an  occasion,  the  laws  of  nature  ought  to  give 
place  to  those  of  his  country.     Coxeter. 

Coxeter  has  copied  with  sufficient  accuracy, the  leading  traits 
of  Timoleon's  character,  from  the  old  translation  of  Plutarch's 
Lives.  With  Plutarch,  indeed,  Timoleon  appears  to  be  a  favou- 
'tite,  and  not  undeservedly.  In  an  age  of  great  men,  he  was 
eminently  conspicuous :  his  greatest  praise,  however,  is,  that 
he  profited  by  experience,  and  suffered  the  wild  and  savage 
enthusiasm  of  his  youth  to  mellow  into  a  steady  and  rational 


THE   BONDMAN.  19 

In  whose  remembrance  I  have  ever  worn, 
In  peace  and  war,  this  livery  of  sorrow, 
Can  witness  for  mc  how  much  I  detest 
Tyrannous  usurpation.    With  grief, 
I  must  remember  it ;  for,  when  no  persuasion 
Could  win  him  to  desist  from  his  bad  practice. 
To  change  the  aristocracy  of  Corinth 
Into  an  absolute  monarchy,  I  chose  rather 
To  prove  a  pious  and  obedient  son 
To  my  country,  my  best  mother,'  than  to  lend 
Assistance  to  Timophanes,  though  my  brother, 
That,  like  a  tyrant,  strove  to  set  his  foot 
Upon  the  city's  freedom. 

Timag.  'Twas  a  deed 
Deserving  rather  trophies  than  reproof. 

Leost.  And  will  be  still  remember'd    to  your 
honour. 
If  you  forsake  not  us. 

lore  of  liberty.  The  assassination  of  his  brother,  which  sat 
heavy  on  his  soul,  taught  him  "  that  an  action  should  not  only" 
(it  is  Plutarch  who  speaks)  "  be  just  and  laudable  in  itself,  but 
the  principle  from  which  it  proceeds,  firm  and  immoveable ;  in 
order  that  our  conduct  may  hare  the  sanction  of  our  own  ap- 
probation.'' 

It  is  impossible  to  read  a  page  of  his  latter  history,  without 
seeing  that  prudence  was  the  virtue  on  which  he  chiefly  relied 
for  fame  :  prodigies  and  portents  forerun  all  his  achievements ; 
part  of  which  he  undoubtedly  fabricated,  and  all  of  which  he  had 
the  dexterity  to  turn  to  his  account :  but  he  was  not  only  indebted 
to  prudence  for  fame,  but  for  tranquillity  also;  since,  when  he 
had  given  victory  and  peace  to  the  Syracusans,  he  wisely  declined 
returning  to  Greece,  where  proscription  or  death  probably 
awaited  him  ;  and  chose  to  spend  the  remainder  of  his  days  at 
Syracuse.  Those  days  were  long  and  happy  ;  and  when  he  died 
he  was  honoured  with  a  public  funeral,  and  the  tears  of  a  peo- 
ple whom  he  had  saved. 

9  To  my  cauntryy  my  best  mother,]  In  this  expression,  Timo- 
leon  allu  jes  to  the  conduct  of  his  natural  mother,  who  would 
never  see  him  after  the  assassination  of  his  brother,  and  always, 
as  Corn.  Nepos  informs  us,  called  him  f rat ricidam,  impiumque. 


20  THE   BONDMAN. 

Diph.  If  you  free  Sicily 
From  barbarous  Carthage'  yoke/  it  will  be  said. 
In  him  you  slew  a  tyrant. 

Archid.  But,  giving  way 
To  her  invasion,  not  vouchsafing  us 
That  fly  to  your  protection,  aid  and  comfort, 
'Twill  be  believed,  that,  for  your  private  ends, 
You  kill'd  a  brother. 

Timol.  As  I  then  proceed, 
To  all  posterity  may  that  act  be  crown'd 
With  a  deserved  applause,  or  branded  with 
The  mark  of  infamy  !—  Stay  yet ;  ere  I  take 
This  seat  of  justice,  or  engage  myself 
To  fight  for  you  abroad,  or  to  reform 
Your  state  at  home,  swear  all  upon  my  sword, 
And  call  the  gods  of  Sicily  to  witness 
The  oath  you  take,  that  whatsoe'er  I  shall 
Propound  for  safety  of  your  commonwealth, 
Not  circumscribed  or  bound  in,  shall  by  you 
Be  willingly  obey'd. 

Archid.  Diph.  Cleon.  So  may  we  prosper, 
As  we  obey  in  all  things ! 

Timag.  Leost.  Asot.  And  observe 
All  your  commands  as  oracles  ! 

Timol.  Do  not  repent  it.  [Takes  the  state, 

Olymp.  He  ask'd  not  our  consent. 

Coris.  He's  a  clown,  I  warrant  him. 

Olymp.   I  offer'd  myself  twice,  and   yet   the 
churl 
Would  not  salute  me. 


■  Diph.  Jf  you  free  Sicily, 

From  barbarous  Carthage'  yoke,  &c.]  This  speech  and  the  next 
are  literally  from  Plutarch.  Massinger  has  in  this  instance 
adhered  more  closely  to  his  story  than  usual;  for,  to  confess 
the  truth,  it  cannot  be  said  of  him,  that  his  historical  plays  are 
<(  more  authentic  than  the  chronicles''! 


THEBONDMAN.  21 

Coris.  Let  him  kiss  his  drum  ! 
1*11  save  my  lips,  I  rest  on  it.' 

Olymp,  He  thinks  women 
No  part  of  the  republic. 

Coris.  He  shall  find 
We  are  a  commonwealth. 

Cleo,  The  less  your  honour. 

Jimol.  First,  then,  a  word  or  two,  but  without 
bitterness, 
(And  yet  mistake  me  not,  I  am  no  flatterer,) 
Concerning  your  ill  government  of  the  state  ; 
In  which  the  greatest,  noblest,  and  most  rich, 
Stand,  in  the  first  file,  guilty. 

Cleon.  Ha !  how's  this  ? 

Timol.  You  have  not,  as  good  patriots  should 
do,  studied 
The  public  good,  but  your  particular  ends; 
Factious  among  yourselves,  preferring  such 
To  offices  and  honours,  as  ne'er  read 
The  elements  of  saving  policy  ; 
But  deeply  skill'd  in  all  the  principles 
That  usher  to  destruction. 

Leost,  Sharp  ! 

J  mag.  The  better. 

Timol.  Your  senate-house,  which  used  not  to 
admit 
A  man,  however  popular,  to  stand 
At  the  helm  of  government,  whose.youth  was  not 
Made  glorious  by  action  ;  whose  experience, 
Crown'd  with  gray  hairs,   gave   warrant  to  his 
counsels, 

*  I'll  save  my  lips,  I  rest  on  it,]  I  am  fixed,  determined,  on  it ; 
a  metaphor  taken  from  play,  where  the  highest  stake  theparties 
were  disposed  to  Y»iHture,  was  called  tlie  rtst.  To  appropriate 
this  term  to  any  particular  game,  as  is  bumetiraes  done,  is  ex- 
tremely incorrect;  since  it  was  anciently  applied  to  cards,  to 
dice,  to  buwis,  in  short  to  any  amusement,  of  chance,  where 
money  was  wagered,  or,  to  us  ■  a  phrase  ol  the  times^  set  up. 

VOL.   II.  *  D 


22  T  H  E  B  O  N  D  M  A  N. 

Heard  and  received  with  reverence,  is  now  fiird 
With  green  heads,  that  determine  of  the  state 
Over  their  cups,  or  when  their  sated  lusts 
Aflford  them  leisure ;  or  supplied  by  those 
Who,  rising  from  base  arts  and  sordid  thrift, 
Are   eminent  for   their'  wealth,  not  for   th«ir 

wisdom : 
Which  is  the  reason  that  to  hold  a  place 
In  council,  which  was  once  esteem'd  an  honour, 
And  a  reward  for  virtue,  hath  quite  lost 
Lustre  and  reputation,  and  is  made 
A  mercenary  purchase. 

Timag.  He  speaks  home. 

Leost.   And  to  the  purpose. 

Timol.  From  whence  it  proceeds. 
That  the  treasure  of  the  city  is  engross'd 
By  a  few  private  men,  the  public  coffers 
Hollow  with  want;  and  they,  that  will  not  spare 
One  talent  for  the  common  good,  to  feed 
The  pride  and  bravery  of  their  wives,  consume, 
In  plate,  in  jewels,  and  superfluous  slaves, 
What  would  maintain  an  army. 

Coi^is.  Have  at  us  ! 

Olymp^  We  thought  we  were  forgot. 

Cleo.  But  it  appears, 
You  will  be  treated  of. 

Timol.  Yet,  in  this  plenty, 
And  fat  of  peace,  your  young  men  ne'er  were 

train'd 
In  martial  discipline ;  and  your  ships  unrigg'd, 
Rot  in  the  harbour :  no  defence  prepared, 
But  thought  unuseful ;  as  if  that  the  gods. 
Indulgent  to  your  sloth,  had  granted  you 
A  perpetuity  of  pride  and  pleasupe, 

'  Are  emtMent  for  their  wealth,  not  for  their  •wisdom  :]  I  have 
inserted  their  from  the  invaluable  first  quarto :  it  strcngtheng 
andcompletes  the  verse. 


THE   BONDMAN.  «9 

No  change  fear'd  or  expected.  Now  you  find 
That  Carthage,  looking  on  your  stupid  sleeps, 
And  dull  security,  was  invited  to 
Invade  your  territories. 

Archid.  You  have  made  us  see,  sir, 
To  our  shame,  the  country's  sickness :  now,  from 

you, 
As  from  a  careful  and  a  wise  physician, 
We  do  expect  the  cure. 

Timol.  Old  fester'd  sores 
Must  be  lanced  to  the  quick,  and  cauterized  ; 
Which  born  with  patience,  after  I'll  apply 
Soft   unguents.      For   the   maintenance  of  the 

war, 
It  is  decreed  all  monies  in  the  hand 
Of  private  men,  shall  instantly  be  brought 
To  the  public  treasury. 
Timag.  This  bites  sore. 
Clean.  The  cure 
Is  worse  than  the  disease;  I'll  never  yield  to't: 
What  could  the  enemy,  though  victorious, 
Inflict  more  on  us  ?  All  that  my  youth  hath  toil'd 

for. 
Purchased  with  industry,  and  preserved  with  care. 
Forced  from  me  in  a  moment  1 

Diph.  This  rough  course 
Will  never  be  allow'd  of. 

Timol.  O  blind  men! 
If  you  refuse  the  first  means  that  is  offer'd 
To  give  you  health,  no  hope's  left  to  recover 
Your  desperate  sickness.     Do  you  prize  your 

muck 
Above  your  liberties  ;  and  rather  choose 
To  be  made  bondmen,  than  to  part  with  that 
To  which  already  you  are  slaves  .'*  Or  can  it 
Be  probable  in  your  flattering  apprehensions, 
You  can  capitulate  with  the  conquerors, 

*  DS 


S4  THE  BONDMAN. 

And  keep  that  yours  which  they  come  to  possess, 
And,  while  you  kneel  in  vain,  will  ravish  from 

you? 
— But  takeyour  own  ways ;  brood  upon  your  gold. 
Sacrifice  to  your  idol,  and  preserve 
The  prey  entire,  and  merit  the  report 
Of  careful  stewards  :  yield  a  just  account 
To  your  proud  masters,  who,  with  whips  of  iron, 
Will  force  you  to  give  up  what  you  conceal. 
Or  tear  it  from  your  throats :  adorn  j'our  walls 
With  Persian  hangings  wrought  of  gold  and  pearl ; 
Cover  the  floors,  on  which  they  are  to  tread. 
With  costly  Median  silks?  perfume  the  rooms 
With  cassia  and  amber,  where  they  are 
To  feast  and  revel ;  while,  like  servile  grooms. 
You  wait  upon  their  trenchers :  feed  their  eyes 
With  massy  plate,  until  your  cupboards  crack 
With  the  weight  that  they  sustain  ;  set  forth  your 

wives 
And  daughters  in  as  man}^  varied  shapes 
As  there  are  nations,  to  provoke  their  lusts, 
And  let  them  be  embraced  before  your  eyes, 
The  object  may  content  you!  and,  to  perfect 
Their  entertainment,  offer  up  your  sons. 
And  able  men,  for  slaves ;  while  you,  that  are 
Unfit  for  labour,  are  spurn'd  out  to  starve, 
Unpitied,  in  some  desert,  no  friend  by. 
Whose  sorrow  may  spare  one  compassionate  tear. 
In  the  remembrance  of  what  once  you  were.      ' 

Leost.  The  blood  turns. 

Timag.  Observe  how  old  Cleon  shakes, 
As  if  in  picture  he  had  shown  him  what 
He  was  to  suffer. 

Coris.  I  am  sick  ;  the  man 
Speaks  poniards  and  diseases. 

Olymp.  O  my  doctor ! 
I  never  shall  recover. 


THE  BONDMEN.  25 

Cleo.  [coming  forward.']  If  a  virgin, 
Whose  speech  was  ever  yet  usher'd  with  fear; 
One  knowing  modesty  and  humble  silence 
To  be  the  choicest  ornaments  of  our  sex, 
In  the  presence  of  so  many  reverend  men 
Struck  dumb  with  terror  and  astonishment, 
Presume  to  clothe  her  thought  in  vocal  sounds, 
Let  her  find  pardon.  First  to  you,  great  sir, 
A  bashful  maid's  thanks,  and  her  zealous  prayers 
Wing'd  with  pure  innocence,  bearing  them  to 

heaven. 
For  all  prosperity  that  the  gods  can  give 
To  one  whose  piety  must  exact  their  care. 
Thus  low  I  offer. 

Timol.  'Tis  a  happy  omen. 
Rise,  blest  one,  and  speak  boldly.  On  my  virtue, 
I  am  thy  warrant,  from  so  clear  a  spring 
Sweet  rivers  ever  flow. 

Cleo,  Then,  thus  to  you, 
My  noble  father,  and  these  lords,  to  whom 
I  next  owe  duty  :  no  respect  forgotten 
To  you,  my  brother,  and  these  bold  young  men, 
(Such  I  would  have  them,)  that  are,  or  should 

be, 
The  city's  sword  and  target  of  defence. 
To  all  of  you  I  speak;  and,  if  a  blush 
Steal  on  my  cheeks,  it  is  shown  to  reprove 
Your  paleness,  willingly  I  would  not  say. 
Your  cowardice  or  fear:  Think  you  all  treasure 
Hid  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  or  shipwreck'd 
In  Neptune's  wat'ry  kingdt)m,  can  hold  weight, 
When  liberty  and  honour  fill  one  scale. 
Triumphant  Justice  sitting  on  the  beam  ? 
Or  dare  you  but  imagine  that  your  gold  is 
Too  dear  a  salary  for  such  as  hazard 
Their  blood  and  lives  in  your  defence?  For  mc, 
An  ignorant  girl,  bear  witness,  heaven  !  so  far 


id  THE    BONDMAN. 

I  prize  a  soldier,  that,  to  give  him  pay, 
With  such  devotion  as  our  flamens  offer 
Their  sacrifices  at  the  holy  altar, 
I  do  lay  down  these  jewels,  will  make  sale 
Of  my  superfluous  wardrobe,  to  supply 
The  meanest  of  their  wants. 

lLai/s  down  her  jewels,  S^c. ;  the  rest  follow  her 
example. 

Timol.  Brave  masculine  spirit  ! 

Diph.  We  are  shown,  to  our  shame,  what  we 
in  honour 
Should  have  taught  others. 

Archid.  Such  a  fair  example 
Must  needs  be  follow'd. 

Timag.  Ever  my  dear  sister. 
But  now  our  family's  glory  ! 

Leost.  Were  she  deform'd, 
The  virtues  of  her  mind  would  force  a  stoic 
To  sue  to  be  her  servant, 

Cleon.  I  must  yield  ; 
And,  though  my  heart-blood  part  with  it,  I  will 
Deliver  in  my  wealth. 

Asot.  I  would  say  something; 
But,  the  truth  is,  I  know  not  what. 

Timol.  We  have  money  ; 
And  men  must  now  be  though  on. 

Archid.  We  can  press 
Of  labourers  in  the  country,  men  inured 
To  cold  and  heat,  ten  thousand. 

Diph,  Or,  if  need  be. 
Enrol  our  slaves,  lusty  and  able  varlets. 
And  fit  for  service. 

Cleon.  They  shall  go  for  me  ; 
I  will  not  pay  and  fight  too. 

Cleo.  How  !  your  slaves  ? 

O  stain  of  honour! Once  more,  sir,  your 

paidon ; 


THE   BONDMAN.  27 

And,  to  their  shames,  let  me  deliver  what 
I  know  in  justice  you  may  speak. 

Timol.  Most  gladly  : 
I  could  not  wish  my  thoughts  a  better  organ 
Than  your  tongue,  to  express  them 

Cleo.  Are  you  men  ! 
(For  ag^may  qualify,  though  not  excuse, 
The  backwardness  of  these,)  able  young  men  I 
YeJt,  now  your  country's  liberty's  at  the  stake. 
Honour  and  glorious  triumph  made  the  garland* 
For  such  as  dare  deserve  them ;  a  rich  feast 
Prepared  by  Victory,  of  immortal  viands. 
Not  for  base  men,  but  such  as  with  their  swords 
Dare  force  admittance,  and  will  be  her  guests :' 
And  can  you  coldly  suffer  such  rewards 
,To  be  proposed  to  labourers  and  slaves  ? 
While  you,  that  are  born  noble,  to  whom  these, 
Valued  at  their  best  rate,  are  next  to  horses. 
Or  other  beasts  of  carriage,  cry  aim  !  * 

*  Yet^  now  your  country's  liberty's  at  the  stake. 
Honour  and  glorious  triumph  made  the  garland]  Mr.  M.Mason 
has  improred  these  lines,  in  his  opinion,  by  omitting  the  article 
in  the  first>  and  changing  the  in  the  second,  into  a.  These  arc 
very  strange  liberties  to  take  with  an  author,  upon  caprice,  or 
blind  conjecture. 

^  While  you cry  aim  ! 

Like  idle  lookers  ore,]  Coxeter,  who  seems  not  to  have  under- 
stood the  expression,  gave  the  incorrect  reading  of  the  second 
quarto,  cry,  Ay  me  !  which,  after  all,  was  nothing  more  than  an 
accidental  disjunction  of  the  last  word  ("aytnej  at  the  press. 
Mr.  M.  Mason  follows  him  in  the  text,  but  obserres,  in  a  note, 
that  we  should  read  cry  aim.  There  is  no  doubt  of  it;  and  so 
it  is  distinctly  given  in  the  first  and  best  copy.  The  expression  is 
so  common  in  the  writers  of  Massinger's  time,  and,  indeed,  in 
Massinger  himself,  that  it  is  difficult  to  say  how  it  could  ever 
be  misunderstood.  The  phrase,  as  Warburtou  observes.  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor^  Act  II.  sc.  iii.  was  taken  from  archery: 
*'  When  any  one  had  challenged  another  to  shoot  at  the  batts, 
the  standers-by  used  to  say  one  to  the  other.  Cry  ahn^  i.  e  ac- 
cept the  challenge.''  Steevens  rejects  this  explanation,  which, 
in  fact,  has  neither  truth  nor  probability  to  recoramed  it ;  and 


$8  THEBONDMAN. 

Like  idle  lookers  on,  tiU  their  proud  worth 
Make  them  become  your  masters ! 

Jimol.  By  my  hopes, 
There's  fire  and  spirit  enough  in  this  to  make 
Thersites  valiant. 

Cleo.  No  ;  far,  far  be  it  from  you  : 
Let  these  of  meaner  quality  contend 

adds :  "  It  seems  to  hare  been  the  office  of  the  aim-cryer,  io  give 
notice  to  the  arcAer  when  he  was  within  a  proper  distance  of  his 
mark,"  &c.  Here  this  acute  critic  has  fallen,  with  the  rest  of 
the  commentators,  into  an  error.  Aim .'  for  so  it  should  be 
printed,  and  not  cry  aim,  was  always  addressed  to  the  person 
about  to  shoot :  it  was  an  hortatory  exclamation  of  the  by- 
standers, or,  as  Massinger  has  it,  of  the  idle  lookers  on,  intended 
for  his  encouragement.  But  the  mistake  of  Steevens  arises  from 
his  confounding  cry  aim  !  vi'\i)\  give  aim.  To  cry  aim!  as  I  have 
already  observed,  was  to  encourage  ;  to  give  aim,  was  to  direct, 
and  in  these  distinct  and  appropriate  senses  the  words  perpe- 
tually occur.  There  was  no  such  office  as  aim-cryer,  as  asserted 
above ;  the  business  of  encouragement  being  abandoned  to  such 
of  the  spectators  as  chose  to  interfere  :  to  that  of  direction,  in- 
deed, there  was  a  special  person  appointed.  Those  who  cried 
aim  !  stood  by  the  archers ;  he  who  gave  it,  was  stationed  near 
the  butts,  and  pointed  out,  after  every  discharge,  how  wide,  or 
how  short,  the  arrow  fell  of  the  mark.  A  few  examples  will 
make  all  this  clear : 

"  It  ill  becomes  this  presence  to  cry  aim  ! 

*'  To  these  ill  tuned  repetitions."  King  John, 

i.  e.  to  encourage. 

*'  Before  his  face  plotting  his  own  abuse, 

*'  To  which  h.\m%Q\i  gives  aim : 

**  While  the  broad  arrow  yith  the  forked  head, 

*•  Misses  his  brows  but  narrowly."  A  Mad  Worldmy  Masters, 
L  e.  directs. 

*'  Now  to  be  patient were  io  play  the  pander 

"  To  the  viceroy's  base  embraces,  and  cry  aim  ! 

*'  While  he  by  force,''  &c.  The  Renegado, 

i.  c.  encourage  them. 

"  This  way  I  toil  in  vain,  and  give  bat  aim 

"  Th  infamy  and  ruin  ;  he  will  fall, 

"  My  blessing  cannot  stay  him.''  The  Roaring  Girl. 

i.  e.  direct  them. 

**— Standyng  rather  in  his  window  to — crye  aitne  !  than  help- 


THEBONDMAN.  26 

Who  can  endure  most  labour;  plough  the  earth, 
And  think  they  are  rewarded  when  their  sweat 
Brings  home  a  fruitful  harvest  to  their  lords; 
Let  them  prove  good  artificers,  and  serve  you 
For  use  and  ornament,  but  not  presume 
To  touch  at  what  is  noble.    If  you  think  them 
Unworthy  to  taste  of  those  cates  you  feed  on, 
Orwearsuch  costly  garments,  will  you  grant  them 
The  privilege  and  prerogative  of  great  minds, 
Which  you  were  born  to  ?  Honour  won  in  war, 
And  to  be  styled  preservers  of  their  country, 
Are  titles  fit  for  free  and  generous  spirits. 
And  not  for  bondmen  :  had  I  been  born  a  man, 
And  such  ne'er-dying  glories  made  the  prize 
To  bold  heroic  courage,  by  Diana, 
I  would  not  to  my  brother,  nay,  my  father. 
Be  bribed  to  part  with  the  least  piece  of  honour 
I  should  gain  in  this  action  ! 

Timol,  She's  inspired, 
Or  in  her  speaks  the  genius  of  your  country. 
To  fire  your  blood  in  her  defence :  I  am  rapt 

yng  any  waye  to  part  the  frayc."     Fenton's  Tragical  Discourses. 
i.  e.  to  encourage. 

"  I  myself  gaw  aim  thus,— -Wide,  four  bows  !  short,  three  and 
a  half."     Middleton's  Spanisli  Gypsie. 
i.  e.  directed. 

Again : 

<«  I  would  bid 

**  The  rest  weep  on,  while  I  give  aim  to  tears, 

*'  And  mark  who  grieve  most  deep  at  my  foul  actions." 

And,  still  more  explicitly, 

*'  I  am  the  mark,  sir ;  I'll  give  aim  to  you, 

**  And  tell  how  near  you  shoot. "  White  Devil, 

I  should  apologize  for  the  length  of  this  note,  and  the  number 
of  quotations  (so  contrary  to  my  usual  practice)  were  it  not  that 
I  flatter  myself  the  distinct  and  appropriate  meaning  of  these  two 
phrases  is  ascertained  by  them,  and  fully  and  finally  established. 


so  THE   BONDMAN. 

With  the  imagination.    Noble  maid, 
Timoleon  is  your  soldier,  and  will  sweat 
Drops  of  his  best  blood,  but  he  will  bring  home 
Triumphant  conquest  to  you.    Let  me  wear 
Your  colours,  lady  ;  and  though  youthful  heats,' 
That  look  no  further  than  your  outward  form, 
Are  long  since  buried  in  me;  while  I  live, 
I  am  a  constant  lover  of  your  mind. 
That  does  transcend  all  precedents. 

Cleo.  Tis  an  honour,  [Gives  her  scarf. 

And  so  I  do  receive  it. 


Let  me  "wear 


Your  colour Sy  lady ;  and  though  youthful  heats, 

That  look  no  further  than  your  outward  form,  • 

Are  long  since  buried  in  me :  while  I  live, 

I  am,  &c.]  This  is  evidently  copied  from  that  much  contested 
speech  of  Othello,  Act  I.  sc.  iii. :  "  I  therefore  beg  it  not,"  &c. 
as  is  the  following  passage,  in  the  Fair  Maid  of  the  Inn: 

**  Shall  we  take  our  fortune  ?  and  while  our  cold  fathers, 
**  In  whom  long  since  their  youthful  heats  were  dead, 
"  Talk  much  of  Mars,  serve  under  Venus'  ensigns, 
"  And  seek  a  mistress?" 

And  as  this  shows  how  Shakspeare's  contemporaries  understood 
the  lines,  it  should,  I  think,  with  us,  be  decisive  of  their  mean- 
ing. The  old  reading,  with  the  alteration  of  one  letter  by 
Johnson,  stands  thus : 

*' I  therefore  beg  it  not 

*'  To  please  the  palate  of  my  appetite  ; 

'*  Nor  to  comply  with  heat,  the  young  affects 

**  In  me  defunct,  and  proper  satisfaction,"  &c. 

The  admirers  of  Shakspeare  cannot  but  recollect  with  dismay, 
the  prodigious  mass  of  conjectural  criticism  which  Steevens  has 
accumulated  on  this  simple  passage,  as  well  as  the  melancholy 
presage  with  which  it  terminates ;  that,  after  all,  "  it  will  pro- 
bably prove  a  lasting  source  of  doubt  and  controversy."  I 
confess  I  see  little  or  rather  no  occasion  for  either  ;  nor  can  I 
possibly  conceive  why,  after  the  rational  and  unfoiced  explana- 
tion of  Johnson,  the  worthless  reveries  of  Theobald,  Toilet,  &c. 
were  admitted. — Affects  occur  incessantly  in  the  sense  of  passions, 
affections :  young  affects  are  therefore  perfectly  synonymous 
with  youthful  heats:    Othello,  like  Timoleon,  was  not  an  old 


THE   BONDMAN.  SI 

Coris,  Plague  upon  it ! 
She  has  got  the  start  of  us  :  I  could  even  burst 
With  envy  at  her  fortune. 

Olymp.  A  raw  young  thing ! 
We  have   too  much  tongue  sometimes,  our  hus- 
bands say,  — 
And  she  outstrip  us ! 

Leost.  I  am  for  the  journey. 

Timag.    May  all  diseases  sloth  and  letchery 
bring, 
Fall  upon  him  that  stays  at  home ! 

Archid.  Though  old, 
1  will  be  there  in  person. 

man,  though  he  had  lost  the  fire  of  youth ;  the  critics  might 
therefore  have  dismissed  that  concern  for  the  lady,  which  they 
have  so  delicately  communicated  for  the  edification  of  the  rising 
generation. 

I  hare  said  thus  much  on  the  subject,  because  I  observe,  that 
the  numerous  editions  of  Shakspeare  now  preparing,  lay  claim 
to  patronage  on  the  score  of  religiously  following  the  iQxt  of 
Steevens.  I  am  not  prepared  to  deny  that  this  is  the  best  which 
has  hitherto  appeared  ;  though  I  have  no  difficulty  in  affirming 
that  (hose  will  deserve  well  of  the  public,  who  shall  bring 
back  some  readings  which  he  has  discarded,  and  reject  others 
which  he  has  adopted.  In  the  present  instance,  for  example, 
his  text,  besides  being  unwarranted,  and  totally  foreign  from 
the  meaning  of  his  author,  can  scarcely  be  reconciled  either  to 
grammar  or  sense. 

I  would  wish  the  future  editors  of  Shakspeare  to  consider, 
whether  he  might  not  have  given  affect  in  the  singular,  (this 
also  is  used  for  passion,*)  to  correspond  with  heat ;  and  then  th« 
lines  may  be  thus  regulated  : 

"  Nor  to  comply  with  heat,  (the  young  affect's 
"  In  me  defunct^)  and  proper  satisfaction." 

*  See  an  elegy  on  the  death  of  sir  Thomas  Wyatt,  by  lord 
Surrey : 

**  An  eye  whose  judgment  no  affect  could  blinde 
**  Friends  to  allure,  and  foes  to  reconcile,  &c." 

EUiSy  Vol.  11.  54. 


52  THE   BONDMAN. 

Diph.  So  Willi: 
Methinks  1  am  not  what  I  was;  her  words 
Have  made  me  younger,  by  a  score  of  years, 
Than  I  was  when  I  came  hither. 

Cleon.  I  am  still 
Old  Cleon,  fat  and  unwieldy ;  I  shall  never 
Make  a  good  soldier,  and  therefore  desire 
To  be  excused  at  home. 

Asot.  'Tis  my  suit  too : 
I  am  a  gristle,  and  these  spider  fingers 
Will  never  hold  a  sword.    Let  us  alone 
To  rule  the  slaves  at  home  :  I  can  so  yerk  them — 
But  in  my  conscience  I  shall  never  prove 
Good  justice  in  the  war. 

Ttmol.  Have  your  desires ; 
You  would  be  burthens  to  us,  no  way  aids. — 
Lead,  fairest,  to  the  temple ;  first  we'll  pay 
A  sacrifice  to  the  gods  for  good  success  : 
For  all  great  actions  the  wish'd  course  do  run, 
That  ar^,  with  their  allowance,  well  begun. 

[^Exeunt  all  hut  Mar.  Grac.  and  Cimb. 

Mar,  Stay,  Cimbrio  and  Gracculo. 

Cimb,  The  business  ? 

Mar.  Meet  me  to  morrow  night  near  to  the 
grove, 
Neighbouring  the  east  part  of  the  city. 

Grac.  Well. 

Mar.  And  bring  the  rest  of  our  condition 
with  you : 
I've  something  to  impart  may  break  our  fetters, 
If  you  dare  second  me. 

Cimb.  We'll  not  fail. 

Grac.  A  cart- rope 
Shall  not  bind  me  at  home. 

Mar.  Think  on't,  and  prosper.  \_Exeunt, 


THE    BONDMAN.  3^ 

* 
ACT   II.    SCENE   I. 

TJie  Same.    A  Room  in  Archidamus's  House. 

-Ew/er  Archipamus,  Timagoras,  Leosthenes, 
with  gorgets  ;  and  M aru  l lo. 

Ajxhid.  So,  so,  'tis  well :  how  do  I  look  ? 

Mai\  Most  sprightfully. 

Archid.  I  shrink  not  in  the  shoulders  ;  though 
I'm  old 
I'm  tough,  steel  to  the  back  ;  I  have  not  wasted 
My  stock  of  strength  in  featherbeds :  here's  an 

arm  too ; 
There's  stuff  in't,  and  I  hope  will  use  a  sword 
As  well  as  any  beardless  boy  of  you  all. 

Timag.  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  sir,  so  well  prepared 
To  endure  the  travail  of  the  war. 

Archid.  Go  to,  sirrah  ! 
I  shall  endure,  when  some  of  you  keep  your  cabins, 
For  all  your  flaunting  feathers  ;  nay,  Leosthenes, 
You  are  welcome  too,'  all  friends  and  fellows  now. 

Leost.  Your  servant,  sir. 

Archid.  Pish  !  leave  these  compliments, 
They  stink  in  a  soldier's  mouth ;  I  could  be  merry, 
For,  now  my  gown's  off,  farewell  gravity  !' 


nay,  Iieosthenei, 


You  are  welcome  too,  &c.]  It  should  be  remembered  that  Ar- 
chidamns  is,  with  great  judgment,  represented  in  the  first  scene, 
as  averse  to  the  marriage  of  Leosthenes  with  his  daughter. 

*  For,  now  my  gown's  off,  farewell  gravity  /]  This  is  said  to  have 
been  a  frequent  expression  with  the  great  but  playful  lir 
Thomas  More,  who  was  nerer  so  happy  as  when  he  shook  off  the 
pomp  of  office.    Fuller  tells  a  similar  story  of  lord  Burleigh. 


34  THE   BONDMAN. 

And  must  be  bold  to  put  a  question  to  you, 
Without  offence,  I  hope. 

Least,  Sir,  what  you  please. 

Archid.  And  you  will  answer  truly? 

Timag,  On  our  words,  sir. 

Archid.  Go  to,  then :  I  presume  you  will  confess 
That  you  are  two  notorious  whoremasters — 
Nay,  spare  your  blushing,  I've  been  wild  myself, 
A  smack  or  so  for  physic  does  no  harm  ; 
Nay,  it  is  physic,  if  used  moderately  : 
But  to  lie  at  rack  and  manger 

Least.  Say  we  grant  this, 
For  if  we  should  deny't,  you'll  not  believe  us, 
What  will  you  infer  upon  it  ? 

Archid.  What  you'll  groan  for, 
I  fear,  when  you  come  to  the  test.     Old  stories 

tell  us, 
There's  a  month  call'd  October,*  which  brings  in 
Cold  weather;  there  are  trenches  too,  'tis  rumour'd, 
In  which  to  stand  all  night  to  the  knees  in  water, 
In  gallants  breeds  the  toothach ;  there's  a  sport 

too. 
Named  lying  per due^  do  you  mark  me  ?  'tis  a  game 
Which  you  must  learn  to  play  at :  now  in  these 
seasons, 

* ■ Old  stories  tell  us, 

There's  a  month  called  October,  &c.]  This  pleasant  old  maa 
forgets  that  he  is  talking  of  Sicily,  where  October  is  the  most 
delightful  month  of  the  year.  All  our  old  poets  lored  and 
thought  only  of  their  country.  Whatever  region  was  the  sub- 
ject, England  was  the  real  theme:  their  habits,  customs,  pecu- 
liarities were  all  derived  from  thence.  This,  though  it  must 
condemn  them  as  historians,  may  save  them  as  patriots :  and, 
indeed,  it  is  not  much  to  be  regretted  that  they  should  oyerlook 
manners,  with  which  they  were  very  imperfectly  acquainted,  in 
favour  of  those  with  which  they  were  hourly  conversant — at 
least  it  would  be  ungrateful  in  us,  who  profit  so  much  by  their 
minute  descriptions,  to  be  offended  at  their  disregard  of  ''  tbf 
proper  iostumi" 


THE   BONDMAN,  55 

And  choice  variety  of  exercises, 
(Nay,  I  come  to  you,)  and  fasts,  not  for  devotion. 
Your  rambling   hunt-smock  feels  strange  alte- 
rations ; 
And,  in  a  frosty  morning,  looks  as  if 
He  could  with  ease  creep  in -a  pottle-pot, 
Instead  of  his  mistress'  placket.    Then  he  curses 
The  time  he  spent  in  midnight  visitations  ; 
And  finds  what  he  superfluously  parted  with, 
To  be  reported  good  at  length,  and  well  breathed,* 
If  but  retrieved  into  his  back  again,* 
Would  keep  him  warmer  than  a  scarlet  waistcoat, 

Enter  Diphilus  and  Cleora. 

Or  an   armour  lined    with    fur — O   welcome! 

welcome ! 
You  have  cut  off  my  discourse  ;  but  I  will  perfect 
My  lecture  in  the  camp. 

Diph.  Come,  we  are  stay'd  for ; 
The  general's  afire  for  a  remove, 
And  longs  to  be  in  action. 

Archid.  'Tis  my  wish  too. 
We  must  part — nay,  no  tears,  my  best  Cleora ; 
I  shall  melt  too,  and  that  were  ominous. 
Millions  of  blessings  on  thee  !  All  that's  mine 
I  give  up  to  thy  charge ;  and,  sirrah,  look 

[7b  Marullo, 
You  with  that  care  and  reverence  observe  her. 
Which  you  would  pay  to  me. — A  kiss;  farewell, 
girl! 

•  To  be  reported  good ^  at  length,  and  -well  breath'd,']  at  lengthj 
which  completes  the  verse,  is  carelessly  dropt  by  both  the  editors. 

*  If  but  retrieyed  into  his  back  again^l  This  (with  the  ex- 
ception of  But  iff  for  Ifbutj  which  I  am  accountable  for)  is  the 
reading  of  the  second  qnarto  ;  the  first  reads : 

*'  But  if  retain'd  into  his  lack  again.** 


36  THE   BONDMAN. 

Diph,  Peace  wait  upon  you,  fair  one  ! 

[E.veunt  Archidamus,  Dipkilus,  mid  Marullo, 

Timag.  'Twere  impertinence 
To  wish  you  to  be  careful  of  your  honour, 
That  ever  keep  in  pay  a  guard  about  you 
Of  faithful  virtues:  farewell! — Friend,  I  leave  you 
To  wipe  our  kisses  off;  I  know  that  lovers 
Part  with  more  circumstance  and  ceremony  : 
Which  I  give  way  to.  {E.vit. 

Leost.   'Tis  a  noble  favour. 
For  which  I  ever  owe  you.    We  are  alone ; 
But  how  I  should  begin,  or  in  what  language    /,< 
Speak  the  unwilling  word  of  parting  from  you, 
I  am  yet  to  learn. 

Cleo.  And  still  continue  ignorant ; 
For  I  must  be  most  cruel  to  myself, 
If  I  should  teach  you. 

Leost.  Yet  it  must  be  spoken. 
Or  you  will  chide  my  slackness.   You  have  fired 

me 
With  the  heat  of  noble  action  to  deserve  you  ; 
And  the  least  spark  of  honour  that  took  life 
From  your  sweet  breath,  still  fann'd  by  it  and 

cherish'd. 
Must  mount  up  in  a  glorious  flame,  or  I 
Am  much  unworthy. 

Cleo.  May  it  not  burn  here,* 
And,  as  a  seamark,  serve  to  guide  true  lovers, 
Toss'd  on  the  ocean  of  luxurious  wishes. 
Safe  from  the  rocks  of  lust  into  the  harbour 
Of  pure  affection?  rising  up  an  ekample 

*  May  it  not  burn  hcre^"]  In  the  former  edition,  Coxeter'* 
reading  {yet)  was  adopted.  1  am  now  persuaded,  with  Mr, 
Waldron,  that  the  old  copies  are  right,  liere  means,  in  Syra- 
cuse, and  not,  as  I  supposed,  in  the  breast  of  Leosthcnes :  the 
object  of  Cleora's  transient  wish  is  to  detain  her  lover  from  th« 
war. 


THE   BONDMAN.  57 

Which  aftertimes  shall  witness,  to  our  glory, 
First  took  from  us  beginning. 

Leost.  'Tis  a  happiness 
My  duty  to  my  country,  and  mine  honour 
Cannot  consent  to  ;  besides,  add  to  these, 
It  was  your  pleasure,  fortified  by  persuasion. 
And  strength  of  reason,  for  the  general  good, 
That  I  should  go. 

Cleo.  Alas  !  I  then  was  witty 
To  plead  against  myself;  and  mine  eye,  fix'd 
Upon  the  iiill  of  honour,  ne'er  descended 
To  look  into  the  vale  of  certain  dangers. 
Through  which  you  were  to  cut  your  passage  to  it. 

Leost.  I'll  stay  at  home,  then. 

Cleo.  No,  that  must  not  be; 
For  so,  to  serve  my  own  ends,  and  to  gain 
A  petty  wreath  myself,  I  rob  you  of 
A  certain  triumph,  which  must  fall  upon  you. 
Or  Virtue's  turn'd  a  handmaid  to  blind  Fortune. 
How  is  my  soul  divided  !   to  confirm  you 
In  the  opinion  of  the  world,  most  worthy 
To  be  beloved,  (with  me  you're  at  the  height. 
And  can  advance  no  further,)  I  must  send  you 
To  court  the  goddess  of  stern  war,  who,  if 
She  see  you  with  my  eyes,  will  ne'er  return  you. 
But  grow  enamour'd  of  you. 

Leost.  Sweet,  take  comfort ! 
And  what  I  offer  you,  you  must  vouchsafe  me 
Or  I  am  wretched.    All  the  dangers  that 
I  can  encounter  in  the  war,  are  trifles  ; 
My  enemies  abroad  to  be  contemn'd : 
The  dreadful  foes,  that  have  the  power  to  hurt  me, 
I  leave  at  home  with  you. 

Cleo.  With  me ! 

Leost.  Nay,  in  you. 
In  every  part  about  you,  they  arc  arm'd 
To  fight  against  me. 

VOL.  II,  ♦  £ 


38  THE   BONDMAN, 

Cleo.  Where? 

Least.  There's  no  perfection 
That  you  are  mistress  of,  but  musters  up 
A  legion  against  me,  and  all  sworn 
To  my  destruction. 

Cleo.  This  is  strange  ! 

Leost.   But  true,  sweet ; 
Excess  of  love  can  work  such  miracles  ! 
Upon  this  ivory  forehead  are  intrench'd 
Ten  thousand  rivals,  and  these  suns  command 
Supplies  from  all  the  world,  on  pain  to  forfeit 
Their  comfortable  beams ;  these  ruby  lips, 
A  rich  exchequer  to  assure  their  pay  : 
This  hand,  Sibylla's  golden  bough  to  guard  them 
Through  hell,  and  horror,  to  the  Elysian  springs  ; 
Which  who'll  not  venture  for?  and,  should  I  name 
Such  as  the  virtues  of  your  mind  invite^ 
Their  numbers  would  be  infinite. 

Cleo.  Can  you  think 
J  may  be  tempted  ? 

Leost.  You  were  never  proved.* 
For  me,  1  have  conversed  with  you  no  further 
Than  would  become  a  brother.     I  ne'er  tuned 
Loose  notes  to   your   chaste  ears;    or  brought 

rich  presents 
For  my  artillery,  to  batter  down 
The  fortress  of  your  honour ;  nor  endeavour'd 
To  make  your  blood  run  high  at  solemn  feasts, 
With  viands  that  provoke  ;  the  speeding  philtres  : 
I  work'd  no  bawds  to  tempt  you  ;   never  practised 
The  cunning  and  corrupting  arts  they  study, 
That  wander  in  the  wild  maze  of  desire; 

*  Leost.  You  "Were  never  proved.]  The  whole  of  this  scene  is 
eminently  beautiful  ;  yet  I  cannot  afoid  recommending  to  the 
reader's  particular  notice  the  speech  which  follows.  Its 
rhythm  is  so  perfect,  that  it  drops  on  the  ear  like  the  sweetest 
melody. 


THE    BONDMAN.  39 

Honest  simplicity  and  truth  were  all 

The  agents  I  employ'd  ;  and  when  I  came 

To  see  you,  it  was  with  that  reverence 

As  I  beheld  the  altars  of  the  gods  : 

And  Love,  that  came  along  with  me,  was  taught 

To  leave  his  arrows  and  his  torch  behind, 

Quench'd  in  my  fear  to  give  offence. 

Cleo.  And  'twas 
That  modesty  that  took  me,  and  preserves  me. 
Like  a  fresh  rose,  in  mine  own  natural  sweetness; 
Which,  sullied  with  the  touch  of  impure  hands, 
Loses  both  scent  and  beauty. 

Leost.  But,  Cleora, 
When  I  am  absent,  as  I  must  go  from  you> 
(Such  is  the  cruelty  of  my  fate,)  and  leave  you, 
Unguarded,  to  the  violent  assaults 
Of  loose  temptations ;  when  the  memory 
Of  my  so  many  years  of  love  and  service 
Is  lost  in  other  objects  ;  when  you  are  courted 
By  such  as  keep  a  catalogue  of  their  conquests. 
Won  upon  credulous  virgins ;  when  nor  father 
Is  here  to  owe  you,  brother  to  advise  you,* 
Nor  your  poor  servant  by,  to  keep  such  off. 
By  lust  instructed  how  to  undermine. 
And  blow  your  chastity  up ;  when  your  weak 

senses. 
At  once  assaulted,  shall  conspire  against  you, 
And  play  the  traitors  to  your  soul,  your  virtue ; 
How  can  you  stand  ?    'Faith,  though  you  fall, 
and  I 


•  when  nor  father 


Is  here  to  owe  j/ow,  brother  to  adrise  yoM,]  Owe  (i.  e.  own) 
is  the  reading  of  both  thfe  quartos;  and  is  e?idently  right.  The 
property  of  Cleora  was  in  the  father :  this  is  distinguished  from 
the  only  right  the  brother  had ; — to  advise.  The  modern  editors, 
not  comprehending  this,  sophisticate  the  text,  and  print — hre 

in  3vp#>  iinti  I 


to  awe  you 

*E2 


40  THE   BONDMAN. 

The  judge,  before  whom  you  then  stood  accused, 
I  should  arquit  you. 

Ctco.  Will  you  then  confirm 
That  love  and  jealousy,  though  of  different  natures, 
Mast  of  necessity  be  twins;  the  younger 
Created  only  to  defeat  the  elder, 
And  spoil  him  of  his  birthright  ?*  'tis  not  well. 
But  being  to  part,  I  will  not  chide,  I  will  not; 
Nor  with  one  syllable  or  tear,  express 
How  deeply  1  am  wounded  with  the  arrows 
Of  your  distrust:  but  when  that  you  shall  hear, 
At  your  return,  how  I  have  born  myself, 
And  what  an  austere  penance  I  take  on  me, 
To  satisfy  your  doubts ;  when,  like  a  Vestal, 
I  shevv  you,  to  your  shame,  the  fire  still  burning. 
Committed  to  my  charge  by  true  affection,      J 
The  people  joining  with  you  in  the  wonder  ; 
When,  by  the  glorious  splendour  of  my  sufferings. 
The  prying  eyes  of  jealousy  aie  struck  blind. 
The  monster  too  that  feeds  on  fears,  e'en  starv'd 
For  want  of  seeming  matter  to  accuse  me; 
Expect,  Leosthenes,  a  sharp  reproof 
From  my  just  anger. 

Leost.  What  will  you  do? 

Cleo.  Obey  me, 
Or  from  this  minute  you  are  a  stranger  to  me ; 
And  do't  without  reply.     All-seeing  sun. 
Thou  witness  of  my  innocence,  thus  I  close 
Mine  eyes  against  thy  comfortable  light, 
'Till  the  return  of  this  distrustful  man  ! 
Now  bind  them  sure; — nay,  do't:    [//e  hinds  her 

eyes  with  her  scarj\\  If,  unconipell'd, 
I  loose  this  knot,  until  the  hands  that  made  it 

♦  And  spoil  him  of  his  birthright  ?]  This  is  a  happy  allusion 
to  the  history  of  Jacob  and  Esau.  It  is  the  more  so,  for  being 
void  of  all  profaneness;  to  which,  indeed,  Massingcr  had  nu 
tendency. 


THE   BONDMAN.  41 

Be  pleased  to  untie  it,  may  consuming  f)lagues 
Fall  heavy  on  me  !  pray  you  guide  me  to  your  lips* 
This  kiss,  when  you  come  hack,  shall  be  a  virgin 
To  bid  you  welcome  ;  nay,  I  have  not  done  yet : 
I  will  continue  dumb,  and,  you  once  gone, 
No  accent  shall  come  from   me.     Now  to  my 

chamber. 
My  tomb,  if  you  miscarry  :  there  I'll  spend 
My  hours  in  silent  mourning,  and  thus  much 
Shall  be  reported  of  me  to  my  glory. 
And  you  confess  it,  whether  I  live  or  die. 
My  chastity  triumphs  o'er  your  jealousy.  lEa^eunt, 


S  C  E  N  E  II. 

The  same.     A  Room  in  Cleon's  House. 
Enter  Asotus,  driving  in  Gracculo. 

Asot.  You  slave  !  you  dog !  down,  cur. 

Grac.  Hold,  good  young  master, 
For  pity's  sake  ! 

Asot.  Now  am  I  in  my  kingdom  : — 
Who  says  I  am  not  valiant  ?  I  begin 
To  frown  again  :  quake,  villain  ! 

Grac,  So  I  do,  sir; 
Your  looks  are  agues  to  me. 

Asot.  Are  they  so,  sir  ! 
'Slight,  if  I  had  them  at  this  bay  that  flout  me, 
And  say  I  look  like  a  sheep  and  an  ass,  I'd  make 

them 
Feel  that  I  am  a  lion. 

Grac.  Do  not  roar,  sir, 
As  you  are  a  valiant  beast :  but  do  you  know 
Why  you  use  me  thus  ? 

Asot.  I'll  beat  thee  a  little  more 


42  THE   BONDMAN. 

Then  study  for  a  reason.     O  !  I  have  it : 
One  brake  a  jest  on  me,  and  then  I  swore, 
(Because  I  durst  not  strike  him,)  when  I  came 

home, 
That  I  would  break  thy  head. 

Grac.  Plague  on  his  mirth  ! ' 
I  am  sure  I  mourn  for't. 

Asot.  Remember  too,  I  charge  you, 
To    teach    my   horse    good   manners   yet;    this 

morning, 
As  I  rode  to  take  the  air,  the  untutor'd  jade 
Threw  me,  and  kick'd  me.  [Aside, 

Grac.  I  thank  him  for't. 

Asot.  What's  that  ? 

Grac.  I  say,  sir,  I  will  teach  him  to  hold  his 
heels, 
If  you  will  rule  your  fingers. 

Asot.  I'll  think  upon't. 

Gi'ac.  I  am  bruised  to  jelly  :  better  be  a  dog, 
Than  slave  to  a  fool  or  coward.  [Aside. 

Asot.  Here's  my  mother. 

Enter  Corisca  and  Zanthia. 

She  is  chastising  too :  how  brave  we  live, 

That  have  our  slaves  to  beat,  to  keep  us  in  breath 

When  we  want  exercise  ! 

Coris.  Careless  harlotry,  [Striking  her. 

Look  to't ;  if  a  curl  fall,  or  wind  or  sun 
Take  my  complexion  off,  I  will  not  leave 
One  hair  upon  thine  head. 

^  Grac.  Plague  on  Ms  mirth.]  This  is  marked  as  a  side  speech 
by  the  modern  editors;  it  is  spoken,  howeyer,  to  Asotus: 
and  alludes  to  what  he  calls  a,  Jest  in  the  preceding  line.  It  it 
worth  observing  that  the  editor  of  the  second  quarto  frequently 
varies  the  exclamations  of  the  first,  and  always  for  the  worse  : 
thus  Plague  !  is  uniformly  turned  into  P— « .'  Cozeter  and  Mr. 
M.  Mason  follow  him. 


THE   BONDMAN.  43 

Grac.  Here's  a  second  show 
Of  the  family  of  pride  !  [Aside, 

Coris    Fie  on  these  'Wars  ! 
I'm  starv'd  for  want  of  action;  not  a  gamester  left 
To  keep  a  woman  play.     If  this  world  last 
A  little  longer  with  us,  ladies  must  study 
Some  new-found  mystery  to  cool  one  another, 
We  shall  burn  to  cinders  else.   I  have  heard  there 

have  been 
Such  arts  in  a  long  vacation;  would  they  were 
Reveal'd  to  me  !   they  have  made  my  doctor,  too, 
Physician  to  the  army  :  he  was  used 
To  serve  the  turn  at  a  pinch  ;  but  I  am  now 
Quite  unprovided. 

Asot.  My  mother-in-law  is,  sure, 
At  her  devotion. 

Coris.  There  are  none  but  our  slaves  left, 
Nor  are  they  to  be  trusted.    Some  great  women. 
Which  I  could  name,  in  a  dearth  of  visitants. 
Rather  than  be  idle,  have  been  glad  to  play 
At  small  game  ;  but  I  am  so  queasy-stomach'd. 
And  from  my  youth  have  been  so  used  to  dainties, 
I  cannot  taste  such  gross  meat.     Some  that  are 

hungry 
Draw  on  their  shoemakers,  and  take  a  fall 
From  such  as  mend  mats  in  their  galleries ; 
Or  when  a  tailor  settles  a  petticoat  on, 
Take  measure  of  his  bodkin;  fie  upon't! 
*Tis  base ;  for  my  part,  I  could  rather  lie  with 
A  gallant's  breeches,  and  conceive  upon  them, 
Than  stoop  so  low. 

Asot.  Fair  madam,  and  my  mother. 

Coris.  Leave  the  last  out,  it  smells  rank  of  the 
country. 
And  shews  coarse  breeding  ;  your  true  courtier 

knows  not 
His  niece,  or  sister,  from  another  woman, 


44  THE   BONDMAN. 

If  she  be  apt  and  cunning. — I  could  tempt  now 
This  fool,  but  he  will  be  so  long  a  working  ! 
Then  he's  my  husband's  son  : — the  fitter  to 
Supply  his  v/ants  ;  I  have  the  way  already, 
I'll  try  if  it  will  take. — When  were  you  with 
Your  mistress,  fair  Cleora  ? 
Asot.  Two  days  sithence ; 
But  she's  so  coy,  forsooth,  that  ere  I  can 
Speak  a  penn'd  speech  I  have  bought  and  studied 

for  her, 
Her  woman  calls  her  away. 

Coris.  Here's  a  dull  thing  ! 
But  better  taught,  I  hope. — Send  off  your  man.. 
Asot.  Sirrah,  begone. 
Grac.  This  is  the  first  good  turn 
She  ever  did  me.  [AsidCj  and  exit. 

Coris.  We'll  have  a  scene  of  mirth  ; 
I  must  not  have  you  shamed  for  want  of  practice. 
I  stand  here  for  Cleora,  and,  do  you  hear,  minion. 
That  you  may  tell  her  what  her  woman  should  do, 
Repeat  the  lesson  over  that  I  taught  you. 
When  my  young  lord  came  to  visit  me :  if  you 
miss 

In  a  syllable  or  posture 

Zant.  I  am  perfect. 

Asot.  Would  I  were  so !  I  fear  I  shall  be  out. 
Coris.  If  you  are,  I'll  help  you  in.  Thus  I  walk 
musing: 
Vou  are  to  enter,  and,  as  you  pass  by. 
Salute  my  woman ; — he  but  bold  enough, 
You'll  speed,  I  warrant  you.     Begin. 

Asot.  Have  at  it 

Save  thee,  sweet  heart !  a  kiss. 

Zant.  Venus  forbid,  sir, 
I  should  presume  to  taste  your  honour's  lips 
Before  my  lady. 
Coris,  This  is  well  on  both  parts. 


THEBONDMAN.  ,     45 

Asot.  How  does  thy  lady  ? 

Zant.  Happy  in  your  lordship, 
As  oft  as  she  thinks  on  you. 

Cor  is.  "N^ery  good  ; 
This  wench  will  learn  in  time. 

Jsot.  Does  she  think  of  me  ? 

Zant.  O,  sir!    and   speaks  the  best  of  you ; 
admires 
Your  wit,  your  clothes,  discourse;  and  swears, 

but  that 
You  are  not  forward  enough  for  a  lord,  you  were 
The  most  complete  and  absolute  man, — I'll  show 
Your  lordship  a  secret. 

Asot.  Not  of  thine  own? . 

Zant.  O !  no,  sir, 
Tis  of  my  lady  :  but,  upon  your  honour, 
You  must  conceal  it. 

Asof.  By  all  means. 

Za?it.  Sometimes 
I  lie  with  my  lady,  as  the  last  night  I  did  ; 
She  could  not  say  her  prayers  for  thinking  of  you  : 
Nay,  she  talk'd  of  you  in  her  sleep,  and  sigh 'd  out, 
O  sweet  Asotus,  sure  thou  art  so  backzvard. 
That  I  must  ravish  thee  !  and  in  that  fervour 
She  took  me  in  her  arms,  threw  me  upon  her, 
Kiss'd  me,  and  hugg'd  me,  and  then  waked,  and 

wept,  » 

Because  'twas  but  a  dream. 

Coris.  This  will  bring  him  on. 
Or  he's  a  block. — A  good  girl  ! 

Asot.  I  am  mad. 
Till  I  am  at  it. 

Zant.  Be  not  put  off,  sir, 
With,  Awayy  I  dare  not  ;—/ie,  you  art  inunodest ; — 
My  brothers  up;— My  father  uiil  hear. — Shoot 

home,  sir. 
You  cannot  miss  the  mark. 


46  THE    BONDMAN. 

Asot.  Tliere's  for  thy  counsel. 
This  is  the  fairest  interlude — if  it  prove  earnest, 
I  shall  wish  I  were  a  player. 

Coris.  Now  my  turn  comes. — 
I  am  exceeding  sick,  pray  you  send  my  page 
For  young  Asotus,  I  cannot  live  without  him  ; 
Pray  him  to  visit  me  ;  yet,  when  he's  present, 
I  must  be  stransre  to  him. 

Asot.  Not  so,  you  are  caught : 
Lo,  whom  you  wish  ;  behold  Asotus  here  ! 

Coris.  You  wait  well,  minion ;  shortly  I  shall 
not  speak 
My  thoughts  in  my  private  chamber,  but  they 

must 
Lie  open  to  discovery. 

Asot,  'Slid,  she's  angry. 

Zant.  No,no,sir,  she  but  seems  so.  To  her  again. 

Asot.  Lady,  I  would  descend  to  kiss  your  hand, 
But  that  'tis  gloved,  and  civet  makes  me  sick  ; 
And  to  presume  to  taste  your  lip  's  not  safe. 
Your  woman  by. 

Coris.  I  hope  she's  no  observer 
Of  whom  I  grace.  [Zanthia  looks  on  a  book. 

Asot.  She's  at  her  book,  O  rare  !     [Kisses  her. 

Coris.  A  kiss  for  entertainment  is  sufficient ; 
Too  much  of  one  dish  cloys  me. 

Asot.  I  would  serve  in 
The  second  course ;  but  still  I  fear  your  woman. 

Coris.  You  are  very  cautelous.* 

[Zanthia  seems  to  sleep. 

*Corfs.  You  arevery  cautelous.]  This  word  occurs  continually 
In  the  sense  of  wary,  suspicious,  orer-circumspect,  &c. 
"  This  cannot  be  Brisac,  that  worthy  gentleman, 
"  He  is  too  prudent,  and  too  cautelous:^*  The  Elder  Brother. 
yet  Mr.  M.  Mason  chooses  to  displace  it  for  cautious,  which, 
besides  being  a  feebler  expression,  has  the  further  recommenda- 
tion o(  spoiling  the  metre.    I  cannot  avoid  subjoining,  that  this 


THE    BONDMAN.  .    47 

Asot.  'Slight,  she's  asleep  ! 
'Tis  pity  these  instructions  are  not  printed  ; 
They  would  sell  well  to  chambermaids.    'Tis  no 

time  now 
To  play  with  my  good  fortune,    and  your  fa^ 

vour ; 
Yet  to  be  taken,  as  they  say  : — a  scout. 
To  give  the  signal  when  the  enemy  comes, 

\_Ejcit  Zanthia. 
Were  now  worth  gold. — She's  gone  to  watch. 
A  waiter  so  train'd  up  were  worth  a  million 
To  a  wanton  city  madam. 

Coris.  You  are  grown  conceited.' 

Asot.  You  teach  me.  Lady,  now  your  cabinet — 

Coris.  You  speak  as  it  were  yours. 

Asot.  When  we  arc  there, 
I'll  shew  you  my  best  evidence.         {Seizing  her, 

Coris.  Hold  !  you  forget, 
I  only  play  Cleora's  part. 

Asot,  No  matter, 
Now  we've  begun,  let's  end  the  act. 

Coris.  Forbear,  sir ; 
Your  father's  wife  ! 

Asot.  Why,  being  his  heir,  I  am  bound, 
Since  he  can  make  no  satisfaction  to  you, 
To  see  his  debts  paid. 

and  the  preceding  scene  are  most  negligently  giren  by  both  the 
editors ;  scarcely  a  single  speech  being  without  a  misprint  or 
an  omission. 

7  Coris.  You  are  grown  conceited.]  i.  e  facetious,  witty  :  so 
in  Ram  Alley  or  Merry  Tricks. 

Throate.  What  brought  you  hither  ? 

Boat.  Why,  these  small  legs. 

TkToate,  You  are  conceited^  sir. 


4d  THE    BONDMAN. 


Re-enter  Za.'sthia  running. 

Zant.  Madam,  my  lord  ! 

Coris.  Fall  off: 
I  must  trifle  with  the  time  too,  hell  confound  it! 

Asot.  Plague  on  his"  toothless  chaps  !   he  can- 
not do't 
Himself,  yet  hinders  such  as  have  good  stomachs. 

Enter  Cleon. 

Cleon.  Where  are  you,  wife?  I  fain  would  go 
abroad, 
But  cannot  find  my  slaves  that  bear  my  litter ; 
I  am  tired.    Your  shoulder,  son ; — nay,  sweet, 

thy  hand  too : 
A  turn  or  two  in  the  garden,  and  then  to  supper. 
And  so  to  bed. 

Asot,  Never  to  rise,  I  hope,  more.  [A^ide. 

[Ea^euni. 

SCENE  ni. 
A  Grove  near  the  Walls  of  Syracuse.     . 

Enter  Marullo  and  To livhrot^.   A  Table  set 
out  with  wine^  S^c. 

Mar.  'Twill  take,  I  warrant  thee. 

Poliph.  You  may  do  your  pleasure  ; 
But,  in  my  judgment,  better  to  make  use  of 
The  present  opportunity. 

Mar.  No  more. 

Poliph.  1  am  silenced. 

Mar,  More  wine  ;  prithee  drink  hard,  friend, 
And  when  we're  hot,  whatever  I  propound, 


THE   BONDMAN.  4^ 


Enter  Cimbrio,  Gracculo,  and  other  Slaves. 

Second  with  vehemence. — Men  of  your  words,  all 

welcome  ! 
Slaves   use   no   ceremony ;    sit  down,   here's  a 
health. 
Poliph.   Let  it  run   round,  fill  every  man  his 

glass. 
Grac.  We  look  for  no  waiters  ; — this  is  wine  ! 
Mar.  The  better. 
Strong,  lusty  wine :  drink  deep,  this  juice  will 

make  us 
As  free  as  our  lords.  [Drinks. 

Grac.  But  if  they  find  we  taste  it, 
We  are  all  damn'd  to  the  quarry  during  life, 
Without  hope  of  redemption. 

Mar.  Pish  !  for  that 
We'll  talk  anon  :  another  rouse  ! '  we  lose  time  ; 

[Drinks. 
When  our  low  blood's  wound  up  a  little  higher, 
I'll  offer  my  design  ;  nay,  we  are  cold  yet ; 
These  glasses  contain  nothing : — do  me  right, 

[Takes  the  bottle. 
As  e'er  you  hope  for  liberty.  'Tis  done  bravely  ; 
How  do  you  feel  yourselves  now  ? 

Cimb.  I  begin 
To  have  strange  conundrums  in  my  head. 

Grac.  And  1 
To  loath  base  water :  I  would  be  hang'd  in  peace 

now. 
For  one  month  of  such  holidays. 

Mar.  An  age,  boys, 
And  yet  defy  the  whip;  if  you  are  men,' 
Or  dare  believe  you  have  souls. 

another  rouse !]    Another  full  glass. 


another  bumper.    See  the  Duke  of  Milan,  Vol.  1.  p.  239. 


50  THE   BONDMAN. 

Cimb.  We  are  no  brokers. 
Grac.  Nor  \vhores,  whose  marks  are  out  of 
their  mouths,  they  have  none  ;' 
They  hardly  can  get  salt  enough  to  keep  them 
From  stinking  above  ground. 
Mar.  Our  lords  are  no  gods — 
Gi^ac.  They  are  devils  to  us,  I  am  sure. 
Ma7\  But  subject  to 
Cold,  hunger,  and  diseases. 

Grac,   In  abundance. 
Your  lord   that   feels  no  ach  in  his   chine   at 

twenty. 
Forfeits  his  privilege  ;  how  should  their  surgeons 

build  else, 
Or  ride  on  their  footcloths  ? 

Mar.  Equal  Nature  fashion'd  us 
All  in  one  mould.   The  bear  serves  not  the  bear. 
Nor  the  wolf  the  wolf;  'twas  odds  of  strength  in 

tyrants. 
That  pluck'd  the  first  link  from  the  golden  chain 
With  which  that  Thing  of  Things*  bound  in 

the  world. 
Why  then,  since  we  are  taught,  by  their  examples,. 
To  love  our  liberty,  if  not  command, 
Should    the    strong   serve   the  weak,   the   fair, 

deform'd  ones  ? 
Or  such  as  know  the  cause  of  things,  pay  tribute 
To  ignorant  fools  ?  All's  but  the  outward  gloss, 
And  politic  form,  that  does  distinguish  us. — 
Cimbrio,  thou  art  a  strong  man  ;  if,  in  place 

'  Grac.  Nor  whores,  whose  marks  are  out  of  their  mouths,  they 
have  none ;]  They  have  none  ;  is  omitted  both  by  Coxeter 
and  M.  Mason. 

*  That  Thing  of  Things]  A  literal  translation,  as  Mr.  M. 
Mason  observes,  ef  Ens  Entium.  I  know  not  where  Pisander 
acquired  his  revolutionary  philosophy  :  his  golden  chain,  per- 
haps, he  found  in  Homer. 


THE   BONDMAN.  51 

Of  carrying  burthens,  thou  hadst  been  train'd  up 
In  martial  discipline,  thou  might'st  have  proved 
A  general,  fit  to  lead  and  fight  for  Sicily,  ^ 
As  fortunate  as  Timoleon. 

Cimb.  A  little  fighting 
Will  serve  a  general's  turn. 

Mar.  Thou,  Gracculo, 
Hast  fluency  of  language,  quick  conceit ; 
And,  I  think,  cover'd  with  a  senator's  robe, 
Formally  set  on  the  bench,  thou  wouldst  appear 
As  brave  a  senator. 

Grac.  Would  I  had  lands, 
Or  money  to  buy  a  place  !  and  if  I  did  not 
Sleep  on  the  bench  with  the  drowsiest  of  them, 

play  with  my  chain. 
Look  on  my  watch,  when  my  guts  chimed  twelve, 

and  wear 
A  state  beard,  with  my  barber's  help,  rank  with 

them 
In  their  most  choice  peculiar  gifts  ;  degrade  me, 
And  put  me  to  drink  water  again,  which,  now 
I  have  tasted  wine,  were  poison  I 

Mar.  'Tis  spoke  nobly. 
And  like  a  gownman  :  none  of  these,  I  think  too, 
But  would  prove  good  burghers. 

Grac.  Hum  !  the  fools  are  modest ; 
I  know  their  insides :  here's  an  ill-faced  fellow, 
(But  that  will  not  be  seen  in  a  dark  shop,) 
If  he  did  not  in  a  month  learn  to  outswear, 
In  the  selling  of  his  wares,  the  cunning'st  trades- 
man 
In  Syracuse,  I  have  no  skill.    Here's  another, 
Observe  but  what  a  cozening  look  he  has  ! — 
Hold  up  thy  head,  man  ;  if,  for  drawing  gallants 
Into  mortgages  for  commodities,'  cheating  keirs 


if,  for  drawing  gallants 


Into  mortgages  for  commodities,  &c.]  i.  e.  for  wares,  of  which 


52  THE   BONDMAN. 

With  your  new   counterfeit  gold  thread,'  and 

gumm'cl  velvets, 
He  does  not  transcend  all  that  went  before  him. 
Call  in  bis  patent :  pass  the  rest ;  they'll  all  make 
Sufficient  beccos,  and,  with  their  brow-antlers, 
Bear  up  the  cap  of  maintenance. 

Mar.  Is't  not  pity,  then, 
Men  of  such  eminent  virtues  should  be  slaves? 

Cimb.  Our  fortune. 

Mar.  'Tis  your  folly ;  daring  men 
Command  and  make  their  fates.     Say,  at  this 

instant, 
I  mark'd  you  out  a  way  to  liberty ; 
Possess'd  you  of  those  blessings,  our  proud  lords 
So  long  have  surfeited  in  ;  and,  what  is  sweetest. 
Arm  you  with  power,  by  strong  hand  to  revenge 
Your  stripeSj  your  unregarded  toil,  the  pride 
The  insolence  of  such  as  tread  upon 
Your  patient  sufferings;  fill  your  famish'd  mouths 
With  the  fat  and  plenty  of  the  land  ;  redeem  you 

the  needy  l)orrower  made  what  he  could  :  *'  First,  here's  young 
master  Rash  ;  he's  in  for  a  coumtoditi/  of  brown  paper  and  old 
ginger,  ninescore  and  seventeen  pounds  ;  of  which  he  made  five 
marks  ready  money  :"!  Measurejor  Measure.  This  is  ridiculous 
enough ;  and,  indeed,  our  old  writers  are  extremely  pleasant 
on  the  heterogeneous  articles,  which  the  usurers  of  their  days 
forced  on  the  necessity  of  the  tlioughtless  spendthrift,  in  lieu  of 
the  money  for  which  he  had  rashly  signed.  Fielding  has  imi. 
tated  them  in  his  ili/xer,  without  adding  much  to  their  humour; 
and  Foote,  in  tfie  Minor,  has  servilely  followed  his  example. 
The  spectators  of  those  scenes  probably  thought  that  the  wri- 
ters had  gone  beyond  real  life,  and  drawn  on  imagination  for 
their  amusement :  but  transactions  (not  altogether  proper,  per- 
haps, to  be  specified  here)  have  actually  taken  place  in  our  own 
times,  which  leave  their  boldest  conceptions  at  an  humble  dis- 
tance ;  and  prove  beyond  a  doubt,  that,  in  the  arts  of  raising 
-money,  the  invention  of  the  most  fertile  poet  must  yield  to  that 
of  the  meanest  scrivener. 

'   fVith  your  counterfeit  gold  thready  i^c.'}     See  the  New  Way 
to  Paj/  Old  Debts,  Vol.  IV. 


THE   BONDMAN.  $$i 

From  the  dark  vale  of  servitude,  and  seat  you 
Upon  a  })ill  of  happiness ;  what  would  you  do 
To  purchase  this,  and  more  ? 

Grac.  Do!  anything: 
To  burn  a  church  or  two,  and  dance  by  the  hght 

on't, 
Were  but  a  May-game. 

Pol/pk.  I  have  a  father  living ; 
But,  if  the  cutting  of  his  throat  could  work  this, 
He  should  excuse  me. 

Cimb.  'Slight !   I  would  cut  mine  own. 
Rather  than  miss  it ;  so  I  might  but  have 
A  taste  on't,  ere  I  die. 

Mar.  Be  resolute  men  ; 
You  shall  run  no  such  hazard,  nor  groan  under 
The  burthen  of  such  crying  sirs. 

Cimb.  The  means  ? 

Grac.  I  feel  a  woman's  longing. 

Poliph.  Do  not  torment  us 
With  expectation. 

Mar.  Thus,  then :  Our  proud  masters. 
And  all  the  able  freemen  of  the  city, 
Are  gone  unto  the  wars 

Poliph.  Observe  but  that. 
,  Mar.  Old  men,  and  such  as  can  make  no  re- 
sistance. 
Are  only  left  at  home 

Grac,  And  the  proud  young  fool. 
My  master — if  this  take,  I'll  hamper  him. 

Mar,  Their  arsenal,  their  treasure,  's  in  our 
power. 
If  we  have  hearts  to  seize  them.  If  our  lords  fall 
In  the  present  action,  the  whole  country's  ours: 
Say  they  return  victorious,  we  have  means 
To  keep  the  town  against  them  ;  at  the  worst, 
To  make  our  own  conditions.    Now,  if  you  dare 
Fall  on  their  daughters  and  their  wives,  break  up 

VOL.  II.  F  * 


54  THE    BONDMAN. 

Their  iron  chests,  banquet  on  their  rich  beds, 
And  carve  yourselves  of  all  delights  and  pleasures 
You  have  been  barr'd  from,  with  one  voice  cry 

with  me, 
Liberty  !  liberty  ! 

All.  Liberty  !  liberty  ! 

Mar.  Go  then,   and  take  possession  :  use  all 

freedom ; 
But  shed  no  blood.  [Ejceunt  Slaves.'] — So,  this  is 

well  begun ; 
But  not  to  be  commended,  till't  be  done.   [Exit, 


ACTin.     SCENE  L 

The  same.    A  Gallery  in  Archidamus's  House. 

£«^erMARULLO  «W6?TlMANDRA. 

Mar.  Why,    think   you   that   I   plot   against 
myself?* 
Fear  nothing,  you  are  safe  :  these  thick-skinn'd 

slaves, 
I  use  as  instruments  to  serve  my  ends, 
Pierce  not  my  deep  designs  ;  nor  shall  they  dare 
To  lift  an  arm  against  you. 

Timarid.  With  your  will. 
But  turbulent  spirits,  raised  beyond  themselves 
With  ease,  are  not  so  soon  laid  ;  they  oft  prove 
Dangerous  to  him  that  call'd  them  up. 

Mar.  'Tis  true, 
In  what  is  rashly  undertook.     Long  since 

♦  Mar.  Why,  think  you  that  I  plot  agiiist  myself?]  The  plot 
opens  here  with  wonderful  address,  and  the  succeeding  confer- 
ence, or  rather  scene,  betwen  Pisander  and  Cleora,  is  inimitably 
beautiful. 


THE    BONDMAN.  65 

I  have  consider'd  seriously  their  natures, 
Proceeded  with  mature  advice,  and  know 
I  hold  their  will  and  faculties  in  more  awe 
Than  I  can  do  my  own.  Now,  for  their  license, 
And  riot  in  the  city,  I  can  make 
A  just  defence  and  use:  it  may  appear  too 
A  politic  prevention  of  such  ills 
As  might,  with  greater  violence  and  danger, 
Hereafter  be  attempted ;  though  some  smart  for't, 
It  matters  not: — however,  I'm  resolved  ; 
And  sleep  you  with  security.  Holds  Cleora 
Constant  to  her  rash  vow? 

Timand.  Beyond  belief; 
To  me,  that  see  her  hourly,  it  seems  a  fable. 
By  signs  I  guess  at  her  commands,  and  serve  them 
With  silence  ;  such  her  pleasure  is,  made  known 
By  holding  her  fair  hand  thus.  She  eats  little, 
Sleeps  less,  as  I  imagine ;  once  a  day 
I  lead  her  to  tl)is  gallery,  where  she  walks 
Some  half  a  dozen  turns,  and,  having  offer'd 
To  her  absent  saint  a  sacrifice  of  sighs, 
She  points  back  to  her  prison. 

Mai\  Guide  her  hither. 
And  make  her  understand  the  slaves'  revolt; 
And,  with  your  utmost  eloquence,  enlarge 
Their  insolence,  and  rapes  done  in  the  city 
Forget  not  too,  I  am  their  chief,  and  tell  her 
You  strongly  think  my  extreme  dotage  on  her. 
As  I'm  Marullo,  caused  this  sudden  uproar^ 
To  make  way  to  enjoy  her. 

Timand.  Punctually 
I  will  discharge  my  part.  [Exit. 


66  THE    BONDMAN. 


Enter  Poltphron. 

Poliph.  O,  sir,  I  sought  you : 
You've  miss'd  t\ye  best'  sport !    Hell,  I  think's 

broke  loose ; 
There's  such  variety  of  all  disorders, 
As  leaping,  shouting,  drinking,  dancing,  whoring, 
Among  the  slaves ;  answer'd  with  crying,  howling, 
By  the  citizens  and  their  wives;  such  a  confu- 
sion, 
In  a  word,  not  to  tire  you,  as  I  think, 
The  like  was  never  read  of. 

Mar.  I  share  in 
The  pleasure,  though  I'm  abisent.     This  is  sorae 
Revenge  for  my  disgrace. 

Poliph.  But,  sir,  I  fear. 
If  your  authority  restrain  them  not, 
They'll  fire  the  city,  or  kill  one  another. 
They  are  so  apt  to  outrage ;  neither  know  I 
Whether  you  wish  it,  and  came  therefore  to 
Acquaint  you  with  so  much. 

Mar.  I  will  among  them  ; 
But  must  not  long  be  absent. 

Poliph,  At  your  pleasure.  [Ea.'eunt. 

SCENE  II. 

The  same.     A  Room  in  the  same. 

Shouts  within.  Enter  Cljeora  aw^/Timandra. 

Timand.    They*  are  at  our  gates:    my  heart! 
affrights  and  horrors 

*  You've  miss'd  the  best  sport  /]  Best^  which  is  not  in  Coxeter 
or  M.  Mason,  is  only  found  in  the  first  edition ;  it  seems  neces- 
sary to  the  metre. 


THE  BONDMAN.  57 

Increase  each  minute.  No  way  left  to  save  us, 
No  flattering  hope  to  comfort  us,  or  means, 
But  miracle,  to  redeem  us  from  base  lust 
And  lawless  rapine  !  Are  there  gods,  yet  suffer 
Such  innocent  sweetness  to  be  made  the  spoil 
Of  brutish  appetite?  or,  since  they  decree 
To  ruin  nature's  masterpiece,  of  which 
They  have  not  left  one  pattern,  must  they  choose, 
To  set  their  tyranny  off,  slaves  to  pollute 
The  spring  of  chastity,  and  poison  it 
With  their  most  loath'd  embraces  ?  and,  of  those, 
He  that  should  offer  up  his  life  to  guard  it, 
Marullo,  curs'd  Marullo,  your  own  bondman, 
Purchased   to  serve  you,  and  fed  by  your  fa- 
vours ? — 
Nay,  start  not :  it  is  he;  he,  the  grand  captaia 
Of  these  libidinous  beasts,  that  have  not  left 
One  cruel  act  undone,  that  barbarous  conquest 
Yet  ever  practised  in  a  captive  city, 
He,  doating  on  your  beauty,  and  to  have  fellows 
In  his  foul  sin,  hath  raised  these  mutinous  slaves, 
Who  have  begun  the  game  by  violent  rapes 
Upon  the  wives  and  daughters  of  their  lords  : 
And  he,  to  quench  the  fire  of  his  base  lust, 
By  force,  comes  to  enjoy  you — do  not  wring 
Your  innocent  hands,  'tis  bootless  ;  use  the  means 
That  may  preserve  you.  'Tis  no  crime  to  break 
A  vow  when  you  are  forced  to  it ;  shew  your  face, 
And  with  the  majesty  of  commanding  beauty, 
Strike  dead  his  loose  affections  :  if  that  fail, 
Give  liberty  to  your  tongue,  and  use  entreaties; 
There  cannot  be  a  breast  of  flesh  and  blood, 
Or  heart  so  made  of  flint,  but  must  receive 
Impression  from  your  words  ;  or  eyes  so  stern, 
But,  from  the  clear  reflection  of  your  tears, 
Must  melt,  and  bear  them  company.  Will  you 
not 


58  THE   BONDMAN. 

Do  these  good  offices  to  yourself?  poor  I,  then, 
Can  only  weep  your  fortune  :  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Marullo,  speaking  at  the  door. 

Mar.  He  that  advances 
A  foot  beyond  this,  comes  upon  my  sword  : 
You  have  had  your  ways,  disturb  not  mine. 

Timand.  Speak  gently, 
Her  fears  may  kill  her  else. 

Mar.  Now  Love  inspire  me  1 
Still  shall  this  canopy  of  envious  night 
Obscure  my  suns  of  comfort?  and  those  dainties 
Of  purest  white  and  red,  which  I  take  in  at 
My  gready  eyes,  denied  my  famish'd  senses  ? — 
The  organs  of  your  hearing  yet  are  open  ; 
And  you  infringe  no  vow,  though  you  vouchsafe 
To  give  them  warrant  to  convey  unto 
Your  understanding  parts,  the  story  of 
A  tortured  and  despairing  lover,  whom 
Not  fortune  but  affection  marks  your  slave  : — 
Shake  not,  best  lady  I  for  believ't,  you  are 
As  far  from  danger  as  I  am  from  force  : 
All  violence  I  shall  offer,  tends  no  further 
Than  to  relate  my  sufferings,  which  I  dare  not 
Presume  to  do,  till,  by  some  gracious  sign. 
You  shew  you  are  pleased  to  hear  me. 

Timand.  If  you  are. 
Hold  forth  your  right  hand. 

[Cleora  holds  forth  her  right  hand. 

Mar.  So,  'tis  done;  and  I 
With  my  glad  lips  seal  humbly  on  your  foot. 
My  soul's  thanks  for  the  favour  :  I  forbear 
To  tell  you  who  I  am,  what  wealth,  what  honours 
I  made  exchange  of,  to  become  your  servant : 
And,  though' I  knew  worthy  Leosthenes 
(For  sure  he  must  be  worthy,  for  whose  love 


THE    BONDMAN.  ^  59 

You  have  endured  so  much)  to  be  my  rival; 
.  When  rage  and  jealousy  counsell'd  me  to  kill  him, 
Which  then  I  could  have  done  with  much  more 

ease, 
Than  now,  in  fear  to  grieve  you,  I  dare  speak  it, 
Love,  seconded  with  duty,  boldly  told  me 
The  man  I  hated,  fair  Cleora  favour'd: 
And  that  was  his  protection.  [Cleora  bows, 

Timand.  See,  she  bows 
Her  head  in  sign  of  thankfulness. 

Mar.  He  removed  by 
The  occasion  of  the  war,  (my  fires  increasing 
By  being  closed  and  stopp'd  up,)  frantic  affection 
Prompted  me  to  do  something  in  his  absence, 
That  might  deliver  you  into  my  power, 
Which  you  see  is  effected:  and,  even  now, 
When  my  rebellious  passions  chide  my  dulness, 
And  tell  me  how  much  I  abuse  my  fortunes, 
Now  it  is  in  my  power  to  bear  you  hence, 

[Cleora  starts. 
Or  take  my  wishes  here,  (nay,  fear  not,  madam. 
True  love's  a  servant,  brutish  lust  a  tyrant,) 
I  dare  not  touch  those  viands  that  ne'er  taste  well. 
But  when  they're  freely  oifer'd  :  only  thus  much, 
Be  pleased  I  may  speak  in  my  own  dear  cause. 
And  think  it  worthy  your  consideration, 
(I  have  loved  truly,  cannot  say  deserved, 
Since  duty  must  not  take  the  name  of  merit,  ^ 
That  I  so  far  prize  your  content,  before 
All  blessings  that  my  hope  can  fashion  to  me, 
That  willingly  I  entertain  despair^.-i  j^'ac 
And,  for  your  sake,  embrace  it :  for  I  know. 
This  opportunity  lost,  by  no  endeavour 
The  like  can  be  recover'd.     To  conclude. 
Forget  not,  that  I  lose  myself  to  save  you  : 
For  what  can  I  expect  but  death  and  torture, 
The  war  being  ended  ?  and,  what  is  a  task 


60  1  IX  rj    a  v>>\  u  x\i  n.  xn. 

Would  trouble  Hercules  to  undertake, 

I  do  deny  you  to  myself,  to  give  you, 

A  pure  unspotted  present,  to  my  rival. 

I  have  said  :   If  it  distase  not,  best  of  virgins, 

Reward  my  temperance  with  some  lawful  favour, 

Though  you  contemn  my  person. 

[Cleora  kneels,  then  pulls  off  her  glove,  and 
offers  her  hand  to  Marullo. 
Timand.  See,  she  kneels ; 
And  seems  to  call  upon  the  gods  to  pay 
The  debt  she  owes  your  virtue :  to  perform  which, 
As  a  sure  pledge  of  friendship,  she  vouchsafes  you 
Her  fair*  right  hand. 

Alar.  I  am  paid  for  all  my  sufferings. 
Now,   when  you  please,   pass    to   your   private 

chamber  : 
My  love  and  duty,  faithful  guards,  shall  keep  you 
From  all  disturbance ;  and  when  you  are  sated 
With  thinking  of  Leosthenes,  as  a  fee 
Due  to  my  service,  spare  one  sigh  for  me. 

[^Exeunt.     Cleora  makes  a  low  courtesy  as  site 
goes  off.  ' 


SCENE  HI. 

The  same,     A  Room  in  Cleon's  House. 

Enter  Gracculo,  lea(Ung  Asotus  in  an  ape's 
habit,  with  a  chain  about  his  neck ;  Zanthia  in 
Corisca's  clothes,  she  bearing  up  her  train, 

Grac.  Come  on,  sir. 

Asot.  Oh  ! 

Grac.  Do  you  grumble  ?  you  were  ever 

•  Her  fair  right  hand."]    I  have  inserted  fair  from  the  first 
quarto :  the  ^l^quent  editions  dropt  it. 


THE   BONDMAN.  61 

A  brainless  ass ;  but  if  this  hold,  T  '11  teach  ^ou 
To  come  aloft  and  do  tricks  like  an  ape. 
Your  morning's  lesson  :  if  you  miss — 
Asot.  O  no,  sir. 

Grac,  What  for  the  Carthaginians  ?     \^Asotus 
makes  moppes.]  A  good  beast.' ' 
What  for  ourself,  your  lord  ?  [Dances.]  Exceeding 

well." 
There's  your  reward.  {Gwes  him  an  apple.] — Not 
kiss  your  paw  !    So,  so,  fjo. 
Zant.  Was  ever  lady,  the  first  (Jayof  her  honour, 
So  waited  on  by  a  wrinkled  crone?  She  looks  now, 

^  Grac.  What  for  the  Carthaginians  ?  [Asotus  makes  moppesJ] 
For  this  word,  which  signifies  that  quick  and  grinning  motion 
of  the  teeth  and  lips  which  apes  make  when  thay  are  irritated, 
and  which  is  found  in  both  the  copies,  the  modern  editors,  in 
kindness  to  their  readers,  I  suppose,  have  mouths :  indeed  they 
do  not  seem  to  have  understood  th  e  humour  of  this  scene, 
which,  in  both,  especially  in  Mr.  M.  Mason,  is  most  negligently 
printed. 

'  What  for  ourself,  your  lord  f  ]  H.ere  Asotus  must  be  sup- 
posed to  come  aloft,  i.  e.  to  leap,  or  rather  tumble,  in  token  of 
obedience.  Our  ancestors  certainly  cKcelled  us  in  the  educa- 
tion which  they  bestowed  on  their  animals.  Banks's  horse  far 
surpassed  all  that  have  been  brought  up  in  the  academy  of  Mr. 
Astley  ;  and  the  apes  of  these  days  are  mere  clowns  to  their 
progenitors.  The  apes  of  Massinger's  time  were  gifted  with  a 
pretty  smattering  of  politics,  and  philosophy.  The  widow  Wild 
had  one  of  them  :  *'  He  would  come  over  for  all  my  friends, 
but  was  the  dogged'st  thing  to  my  enemies !  he  would  sit  upon 
his  tail  before  them,  and  frown  like  John-a-napes  when  the  pope 
is  named.''  The  Parson''s  Wedding.  Another  may  be  found  in 
Ram  Alley: 

"  Men  say  you've  trick's;  remember,  noble  captain, 
'*  You  skip  when  I  shall  shake  my  whip.     Now,  sir, 
"  What  can  you  do  for  the  great  Turk  ? 

What  can  you  do  for  the  pope  of  Rome  ? 

Lo! 

He  stirreth  not,  he  moveth  not,  he  waggeth  not. 
'*  What  c^n  you  do  for  the  town  of  Geneva,  sirrah  ? 

["  Captain  holds  up  his  hand,"  S(c. 

t 


62'  THE   BOND  MAN. 

Without  her  painting,  cuHing,  and  perfumes, 
Like  the  last  day  of  January;  and  stinks  worse 
Thau  a  hot  brache   in    the    dogdays.     Further 

off! 
So — stand  there  like  an  image  ;  if  you  stir, 
Till,  with  a  quarter  of  a  look,  I  call  you, 
You  know  what  follows. 

Coris.  O,  what  am  I  fallen  to  ! 
But  'tis  a  punishment  for  my  lust  and  pride, 
Justly  return'd  upon  me. 

Grac.  How  dost  thou  like 
Thy  ladyship,  Zanthia? 

Zant.  Very  well  ;  and  bear  it 
With  as  much  state  as  your  lordship. 

Grac.  Give  me  thy  hand  : 
Let  us,  like  conquering  Romans,  walk  in  triumph,* 
Our  captives  following;    then  mount  our  tri- 
bunals, 
And  make  the  slaves  our  footstools. 

Zant.  Fine,  by  Jove  ! 
Are  your  hands  clean,  minion  ? 

Coris.  Yes,  forsooth. 

Zant.  Fall  off  then. 
So !  now  come  on ;  and,  having  made  your  three 

duties 

Down,  I  say — are  you  stiff  in  the  hams  ? — now 

kneel. 
And  tie  our  shoe :  now  kiss  it,  and  be  happy. 

Grac.  This  is  state,  indeed  ! 

Zant.  It  is  such  as  she  taught  me  ; 
A  tickling  itch  of  greatness,  your  proud  ladies 

•  Grac.  Give  me  thy  hand : 

Let  us,  like  conquering  Romans,  walk  in  triumph^"]  Gracculo 
speaks  in  the  spirit  of  prophecy  ;  for  the  conquering  Romans  were 
at  this  time  struggling  with  their  neighbours  for  a  few  misera* 
ble  huts  to  hide  their  heads  in  ;  and  if  any  captives  followed^  or 
rather  preceded,  their  triumphs^  it  was  a  herd  of  stolen  beeves. 


THE   BONDMAN.  63 

Expect  from  their  poor  waiters :  we  liave  changed 

parts ; 
She  does  what  she  forced  me  to  do  in  her  r^ign, 
And  I  must  practise  it  in  mine. 
Grac.  'Tis  justice: 

0  !  here  come  more. 

Enter  Cimbrio,  Cleon,  Poliphron,   and 
Olympia. 

Cimb.  Discover  to  a  drachma. 
Or  I  will  famish  thee. 

Clean,  O  !   I  am  pined  already. 

Cimb.  Hunger  shall  force  thee  to  cut  off  the 
brawns 
From  thy  arms  and  thighs,  then  broil  them  on 

the  coals 
For  carbonadoes. 

Poliph.  Spare  the  old  jade,  he's  founder'd. 

Grac.  Cut  his  throat  then, 
And  hang  him  out  for  a  scarecrow. 

Poliph.  You  have  all  your  wishes 
In  your  revenge,  and  I  have  mine.     You  see 

1  use  no  tyranny  :  when  I  was  her  slave, 
She  kept  me  as  a  sinner,  to  lie  at  her  back 

In  frosty  nights,  and  fed  me  high  with  dainties, 
Which    still   she   had   in    her    belly   again  ere 

morning ; 
And  in  requital  of  those  courtesies, 
Having  made  one  another  free,  we  are  married  : 
And,  if  you  wish  us  joy,  join  with  us  in 
A  dance  at  our  wedding. 

Grac.  Agreed ;  for  I  have  thought  of 
A  most  triumphant  one,  which  shall  express 
We  are  lords,  and  these  our  slaves. 

Poliph.  But  we  shall  want 
A  woman. 


64  THE    BONDMAN. 

Grac.  No,  here's  Jane-of-apes  shall  serve;' 
Carry  your  body  swimming. — Where's  the  music? 
Poliph.   I  have  placed  it  in  yon  window. 
Grac,  Begin  then  sprightly. 

[Music,  and  then  a  dance. 

Enter  Marullo  behind. 

Poliph.  Well  done  on  all  sides  !  I  have  prepared 
a  banquet ; 
Let's  drink  and  cool  us. 

Grac.  A  good  motion. 

Cimb.  Wait  here ; 
You  have  been  tired  with  feasting,  learn  to  fast 
now. 

Grac.  I'll  have  an  apple  for  jack,  and  may  be 
some  scraps 
May  fall  to  your  share.    . 

[Exeunt  Grac.  Zant.  Cimb.  Poliph.  and  Olymp. 

Coris.  Whom  can  we  accuse 
But  ourselves,  for  what  we  suffer  ?  Thou  art  just, 
Thou  all-creating  Power  !  and  misery 
Instructs  me  now,  that  yesterday  acknowledged 
No  deity  beyond  my  lust  and  pride. 
There  is  a  heaven  above  us,  that  looks  down 
With  the  eyes  of  justice,  upon  such  as  number 
Those  blessings  freely  given,  in  the  accompt 
Of  their  poor  merits  :  else  it  could  not  be. 
Now  miserable  I,  to  please  whose  palate 
The  elements  were  ransack'd,  yet  complain'd 
Of  nature,  as  not  liberal  enough 
In  her  provision  of  rarities 
To  sooth  my  taste,  and  pamper  my  proud  flesh, 
Should  wish  in  vain  for  bread. 

*  Grac.  No^  /lere's  Jane-of-apes  shall  serve ;]  Meaning  Co- 
riiica:  he  plays  upon  Jack-an-apes,  the  name  he  had  given  to 
Asotus. 


THE   BONDMAN.  6S 

Clean.  Yes,  I  do  wish  too, 
For  what  I  fed  my  dogs  with. 

Coris:  I,  that  forgot 
I  was  made  of  flesh  and  blood,  and  thought  the 

silk 
Spun  by  the  diligent  worm  out  of  their  entrails, 
Too  coarse  to  clothe  me,  and  the  softest  down 
Too  hard  to  sleep  on ;  that  disdain'd  to  look 
On  virtue  being  in  rags,  that  stopp'd  my  nose 
At  those  that  did  not  use  adulterate  arts 
To  better  nature;  that  from  those  that  served  me 
Expected  adoration,  am  made  justly 
The  scorn  of  my  own  bond^'^oman 

u4sot.   I  am  punish'd, 
For  seeking  to  cuckold  mine  own  natural  father : 
Had  I  been  gelded  then,  or  used  myself 
Like  aman,I  had  not  been  transform'd,  and  forced 
To  play  an  overgrown  ape. 

Clean.  I  know  I  cannot 
Last  long,  that's  all  my  comfort.  Come,  I  forgive 

both  : 
'Tis  in  vain  to  be  angry  ;  let  us,  therefore, 
Lament  together  like  friends. 

Alar.  What  a  true  mirror 
Were  this  sad  spectacle  for  secure  greatness  ! 
Here  they,  that  never  see  themselves,  but  in 
The  glass  of  servile  flattery,  nright  behold 
The  weak  foundation  upon  which  they  build 
Their  trust  in  human  frailty.    Happy  are  those, 
That  knowing,  in  their  births,  they  are  subject  to 
Uncertain  change,  are  still  prepared,  and  arm'd 
For  either  fortune  :   a  rare  principle, 
And    with    much    labour,    learn'd    in    wisdom's 

school ! 
For,  as  these  bondmen,  by  their  actions,  shew 
That  their  prosperity,  like  too  large  a  sail 
For  their  small  bark  of  judgment,  sinks  them  with 


66  THE    BONDMAN. 

A  fore-right  gale  of  liberty,  ere  they  reach 
The  port  they  long  to  touch  at :  so  these  wretches. 
Swollen  with  the  false  opinion  of  their  worth, 
And  proud  of  blessings  left  them,  not  acquired ; 
That  did  believe  they  could  with  giant  arms 
Fathom  the  earth,  and  were  above  their  fates, 
Those  borrow'd  helps,  that  did  support  them,^ 

vanish'd, 
Fall  of  themselves,  and  by  unmanly  suffering, 
Betray  their  proper  weakness,  and  make  known 
Their  boasted  greatness  was  lent,  not  their  own. 

Cleon.  O  for  some  meat !  they  sit  long. 

Coris.  We  forgot. 
When    we    drew    out    intemperate    feasts    till 

midnight ; 
Their  hunger  was  not  thought  on,   nor  their 

watchings; 
Nor  did  we  hold  ourselves  served  to  the  height. 
But  when  we  did  exact  and  force  their  duties 
Beyond  their  strength  and  power. 

Asot.  We  pay  for't  now  i 
I  now  could  be  content  to  have  my  head 
Broke  with  a  rib  of  beef,  or,  for  a  coffin. 
Be  buried  in  the  dripping-pan. 

Re-enter    Poliphron,    Cimbrio,    Gracculo, 
Zanthia,  «w^Olympia,  drunk  and  quarrelling^ 

Cimb.  Do  not  hold  me : 
Not  kiss  the  bride! 

Poliph.  No,  sir. 

Cimb.  She's  common  good, 
And  so  we'll  use  her. 

Grac.  We'll  have  nothing  private. 

Mar.  [coming forward.^  Hold! 

Zant.  Here's  MaruUo. 

Olymp.  He's  your  chief. 


THE   BONDMAN.  67 

Cimb.  We  are  equals  ; 
I  will  know  no  obedience. 

Grac.  Nor  superior — 
Nay,  if  you  are  lion  drunk,  I  will  make  one ; 
For  lightly  ever  he  that  parts  the  fray, 
Goes  away  with  the  blows.'' 

Mar.  Art  thou  mad  too  ? 
No  more,  as  you  respect  me. 

PoUph.  I  obey,  sir. 

Mar.  Quarrel  among  yourselves  ! 

Cimb.  Yes,  in  our  wine,  sir, 
And  for  our  wenches. 

Grac.  How  could  we  be  lords  else  ? 

Mar,  Take  heed  ;    I've   news  will  cool  this 
heat,  and  make  you 
Remember  what  you  were. 

Cimb.  How! 

Mar.  Send  off  these, 
And  then  I'll  tell  you.         [Zanthia  beats  Corisca. 

Olymp.  This  is  tyranny, 
Now  she  offends  not. 

Zant.  'Tis  for  exercise, 
And  to  help  digestion.     What  is  she  good  for 

else? 
To  me,  it  was  her  language. 

Mar.  Lead  her  off. 
And  take  heed,  madam  minx,  the  wheel  may 
turn. 

*  Fur  lightly  ever  he  that  parts  tht  fray 
Goes  away  with  the  i/oiu*.]    Lightly  is  commonly,  usually ;  s 
in  the  New  Inn  : 

Beau.  What  insolent  half-witted  things,  these  are 
Lat.  So  are  all  smatterers,  insolent  and  impudent; 
They  lightly  go  together. 
Again,  in  the  Fox: 

" I  knew  'twould  take; 

"  For  lightly,  they  that  use  themselves  most  license, 
**  Are  still  most  jealous." 


68  THE   BONDMAN. 

Go  to  your  meat,  and  rest;  and  from  this  hour 
Remember,  he  that  is  a  lord  to  day, 
IVIay  be  a  slave  to  morrow. 

Ckon.  Good  morality  ! 
[E.reunt  Clean,  Asot.  Zant.  Olymp.  and  Coris, 

Cimb.  But  what  would  you  impart? 

Mar    What  mubt  invite  you 
To  stand  upon  your  guard,  and  leave  your  feast- 
ing; 
Or  but  imagine  what  it  is  to  be 
Most  miserable,  and  rest  assured  you  are  so. 
Our  nias;ers  are  victorious. 

All    no\v\ 

Mar.   Within 
A  day's  march  of  the  city,  flesh'd  with  spoil, 
And  proud  of  conquest;   the  armado  sunk, 
The  Carthaginian  admiral,  hand  to  hand, 
Slain  by  Leosthenes. 

Cimb.  I  feel  the  whip 
Upon  my  back  already. 

Grac.  Every  man 
Seek  a  convenient  tree,  and  hang  himself. 

Poliph.    Better  die  once,    than   live    an  age 
to  suffer 
New  tortures  every  hour. 

Cimb.  Say,  we  submit, 
And  yield  us  to  their  mercy? — 

Mar.  Can  you  flatter 
Yourselves  with  such  false  hopes  ?  Or  dare  you 

think 
That  your  imperious  lords,  that  never  fail'd 
To  punish  with  severity  petty  slips 
In  your  neglect  of  labour,  may  be  won 
To  pardon  those  licentious  outrages 
Which  noble  enemies  forbear  to  practise 
Upon  the  conquer'd  ?  What  have  you  omitted, 
That  may  call  on  their  just  revenge  with  horror, 


T  If  E   BON  D  M  k^N."  69 

And  studied  cruelty?  we  have  gone  too  far 
To  think  now  of  retiring;  in  our  courage, 
And  daring,'  lies  our  safety  :  if  you  are  not 
Slaves  in  your  ahject  minds,  as  in  your  fortunes, 
Since  to  die  is  the  worst,  better  expose 
Our  naked  breasts  to  their  keen  swords,  and  sell 
Our  lives  with  the  most  advantage,  than  to  trust 
In  a  forestall'd  remission,  or  yield  up 
Our  bodies  to  the  furnace  of  their  fury, 
Thrice  heated  with  revenge. 

Grac.  You  led  us  on. 

Cimh.  And  'tis  but  justice  you  should  bring 
us  off. 

Grac.  And  we  expect  it. 

Mar.  Hear  then,  and  obey  me  ; 
And  I  will  either  save  you,  or  fall  with  you. 
Man  the  walls  strongly,  and  make  good  the  ports: 
Boldly  deny  their  entrance,  and  rip  up  ''.., 

Your  grievances,  and  what  compeli'd  you  to 
This  desperate  course  :  if  they  disdain  to  hear 
Of  composition,  we  have  in  our  powers 
Their  aged  fathers,  children,  and  their  wives. 
Who,  to  preserve  themselves,  must  willingly 
Make  intercession  for  us.  Tis  not  time  now 
To  talk,  but  do  :  a  glorious  end,  or  freedom, 
Is  now  proposed  us ;  stand  resolved  for  eitlier. 
And,  like  good  fellows,  live  or  die  together. 

\Exmnt. 


in  our  courage^ 


••'  —  —    -0-7 
And  daring,  lies  our  safety  .]     The  o^  copies  read  during 

but  it  is  an  evident  misprint.  .  j  «n  //O  r^  . 


VOL.  II. 


*  G 


70  THE   BONDMAN. 


SCENE   IV. 

The    Country    near    Syracuse,       The    Camp    of 
Timoleon, 

Enter  Leostiienes  awc^Timagoras. 

Timag.  I  am  so  far  from  envy,  I  am  proud 
You  have  outstripp'd  me  in  the  race  of  honour. 
O  'twas  a  glorious  day,  and  bravely  won  ! 
Your  bold  performance  gave  such  lustre  to 
Timoleon's  wise  directions,  as  the  army 
Rests  doubtful,  to  whom  they  stand  most  engaged 
For  their  so  great  success. 

Leost.  The  gods  first  honour'd, 
The  glory  be  the  general's ;  'tis  far  from  me 
To  be  his  rival, 

Timag.  You  abuse  your  fortune, 
To  entertain  her  choice  and  gracious  favours 
With  a  contracted  brow;  plumed  Victory 
Is  truly  painted  with  a  cheerful  look, 
Equally  distant  from  proud  insolence, 
And  base  dejection. 

Leost.  O,  Timagoras, 
You  only  are  acquainted  with  the  cause 
That  loads  my  sad  heart  with  a  hill  of  lead  ; 
Whose  ponderous  weight,  neither  my  new-got 

honour. 
Assisted  by  the  general  applause 
The  soldier  crowns  it  with,*  nor  all  war's  glories. 
Can  lessen  or  remove :  and,  would  you  please. 
With  fit  consideration,  to  remember 

♦  The  soldier  crowns  it  with^  This  is  a  much  better  reading 
than  the  sophistication  of  the  modern  editors,  the  soldiers  croioUf 
kc. 


THE   BONDMAN.  71 

How  much  I  wrong'd  Cleora's  innocence 

With    my  rash    doubts;    and  what   a   grievous 

penance 
She  did  impose  upon  her  tender  sweetness, 
To  pluck  away  the  vulture,  jealousy, 
That  fed  upon  my  liver;    you  cannot  blame  me, 
But  call  it  a  fit  justice  on  myself, 
Though  I  resolve  to  be  a  stranger  to 
The  thought  of  mirth  or  pleasure. 

Timag.  You  have  redeem'd 
The  forfeit  of  your  fault  with  such  a  ransom 
Of  honourable  action,  as  my  sister 
Must  of  necessity  confess  her  sufferings, 
Weigh'd  down  by  your  fair  merits ;  and,  when 

she  views  you, 
Like  a  triumphant  conqueror,  carried  through 
The  streets  of  Syracusa,  the  glad  people 
Pressing  to  meet  you,  and  the  senators 
Contending  who  shall  heap  most  honours  on  you ; 
The  oxen,  crown'd  with  garlands,  led  before  you, 
Appointed  for  the  sacrifice  ;  and  the  altars 
Smoaking  with  thankful  incense  to  the  gods : 
The  soldiers  chanting  loud  hymns  to  your  praise, 
The  windows  fiU'd  with  matrons  and  with  virgins, 
Throwing  upon  your  head,  as  you  pass  by, 
The  choicest  flowers,  and  silently  invoking 
The  queen  of  love,  with  their  particular  vows, 
To  be  thought  worthy  of  you ;  can  Cleora 
(Though,  iu  the  glass  of  self-love,  she  behold 
Her  best  deserts)  but  with  all  joy  acknowledge, 
What  she  endured  was  but  a  nc.ble  trial 
You  made  of  her  afl^ection  ?  and  her  anger. 
Rising irom^^our  too  amorous cares,'sooudrench'd 

In  Lethe,  and  forgotten. 

s  Rising  from  your  too  amorous  cares,]    Tbe  old  copies  read 
tares,  an  error  ol  the  press,  for  cares.     Coxeter,  Qowever, 

*  G2 


72  THE    BONDMAN. 

Leost.  If  those  glories 
You  so  set  forth  were  mine,  they  might  plead  for 

me; 
But  I  can  lay  no  claim  to  the  least  honour 
Which  you,  with  foul  injustice,  ravish  from  her. 
Her  beauty  in  me  wrought  a  miracle. 
Taught  me  to  aim  at  things  beyond  my  power, 
Which  her  perfections  purchased,  and  gave  to  me 
From  her  free  bounties ;  she  inspired  me  with 
That  valour  which  I  dare  not  call  mine  own ; 
And,  from  the  fair  reflexion  of  her  mind, 
M}''  soul  received  the  sparkling  beams  of  courage. 
She,  from  the  magazine  of  her  proper  goodness, 
Stock'd  me  with  virtuous  purposes  ;  sent  me  forth 
To  trade  for  honour;  and,  she  being  the  owner 
Of  the  bark  of  my  adventures,  I  must  yield  her 
A  just  account  of  all,  as  fits  a  factor. 
And,  howsoever  others  think  me  happy, 
And  cry  aloud,  I  have  made  a  prosperous  voyage  ; 
One  frown  of  her  dislike  at  my  return. 
Which,  as  a  punishment  for  my  fault,  I  look  for. 
Strikes  dead  all  comfort. 

Timag.  Tush  !  these  fears  are  needless  ; 
She  cannot,  must  not,  shall  not,  be  so  cruel. 
A  free  confession  of  a  fault  wins  pardon, 
But,  being  seconded  by  desert,  commands  it. 
The  general  is  your  own,  and,  sure,  my  father 
Repents  his  harshness  ;  for  myself,  I  am 
Ever  your  creature. — One  day  shall  be  happy 
In  your  triumph,  and  your  marriage. 

Leost.  May  it  prove  so. 
With  her  consent  and  pardon. 

Timag.  Ever  touching 

printed  it  earSy  "which,  being  without  any  meaning,  was  cor- 
rected at  random  by  Mr.  M.  Mason  '\nio  fears.  The  correction 
was  not  amiss  ;  but  the  genuine  word  is  undoubtedly  that  which 
I  have  giTen. 


THE   BONDMAN.  73 

On  that  harsh  string  !    She  is  your  own,  and  you 
Without  disturbance  seize  on  what's  your  due. 


ACT  IV.    SCENE  I, 

Syracuse.     A  Room  in  Archidamus's  House. 

Enter  Marullo  and  Timandra. 

Mar.  She  has  her  health,  then? 

Timand.  Yes,  sir;  and  as  often 
As  I  speak  of  you,  lends  attentive  ear 
To  all  that  I  deliver;  nor  seems  tired. 
Though  I  dwell  long  on  the  relation  of 
Your  sufferings  for  her,  heaping  praise  on  praise 
On  your  unequall'd  temperance,  and  command 
You  hold  o'er  your  affections. 

Mar.  To  my  wish : 
Have  you  acquainted  her  with  the  defeature* 
Of  the  Carthaginians,  and  with  what  honours 
Leosthenes  comes  crown*d  home  with  ? 

Timand.  With  all  care. 


*  Have  you  acquainted  her  with  the  defeature]  The  modern 
editors  removed  this  word  in  favour  of  defeat^  and,  doubtless, 
applauded  their  labour ;  it  happens,  however,  as  in  most  cases 
where  they  have  interposed,  that  they  might  have  spared  it  al. 
together ;  for  the  words  are  the  same,  and  used  indiscriminately 
by  our  old  writers  :  "  Desfaictc,"  says  Cotgrave,  "  a  defeat^  or 
defeature;"  and,  in  the  secondpartoi  his  Dictionary,  he  rerbally 
repeats  the  explanation.  There  is  much  strange  conjecture  on 
this  word,  in  the  last  act  oUhe  Comedy  of  Errors :  I  wonder  that 
none  of  the  commentators  should  light  upon  its  meaning; — but 
it  was  too  simple  for  their  apprehension.  It  occurs  more  than 
once  in  Daniel,  in  the  same  sense  as  in  the  text. 


74  THE   BONDMAN. 

Mar,  And  how  does  she  receive  it  ? 

TimamL  As  I  sruess, 
With  a  seeming  kind  of  joy ;  but  yet  appears  not 
Transported,  or  protK^ot'his  happy  fortune. 
But  when  I  tell  her  of  >he  certain  ruin 
You  must  encounter  witliJit  their  arrival 
lu  Syracusa,  and  tliat  death,  with  torments, 
Must  fall  upon  you,  which  you  yet  repent  not, 
Esteeming  it  a  glorious  martyrdom. 
And, a  reward  of  pure  unspotted  love, 
Preserved  in  the  white  robe  of  innocence, 
Though   she   were    in    your   power ;    and,    still 

spurr'd  on 
By  insolent  lust,  you  rather  chose  to  suffer 
The  fruit  uutasted,  for  whose  glad  possession 
You  have  call'd  on  the  fury  of  your  lord, 
Than  that  she  should  be  grieved,  or  tainted  in 
Her  reputation 

Mar.  Doth  it  work  compunction  ? 
Pities  she  my  misfortune  ? 

Timand.  She  express 'd 
All  signs  of  sorrow  which,  her  vow  observed, 
Could  witness  agrieved  heart.  At  the  first  hearing. 
She  fell  upon  her  face,  rent  her  fair  hair, 
Her  hands  held  up  to  heaven,  and  vented  sighs, 
In  which  she  silently  seem'd  to  complain 
Of  heaven's  injustice. 

Mar.  'Tis  enough  :  wait  carefully, 
And,  on  all  watch'd  occasions,  continue 
Speech  and  discourse  of  me  :  'tis  time  must  work 
her. 

Timand.  I'll  not  be  v/anting,  but  still  strive  to 
serve  you.  \E,xit. 


THE   BONDMAN.  75 


Enter  Poliphron. 

Mar.  Now,  Poliphron,  the  news? 

Poliph.  The  conquering  army 
Is  within  ken. 

Mar.  How  brook  the  slaves  the  object? 

Poliph.  Cheerfully   yet ;    they  do   refuse  no 
labour, 
And  seem  to  scoff  at  danger;  'tis  your  presence 
That  must  confirm  them  :  with  a  full  consent 
You  are  chosen  to  relate  the  tyranny 
Of  our  proud  masters ;  and  what  you  subscribe  to, 
They  gladly  will  allow  of,  or  hold  out 
To  the  last  man. 

Mar.  I'll  instantly  among  them. 
If  we  prove  constant  to  ourselves,  good  fortune 
Will  not,  I  hope,  forsake  us. 
:^ Poliph,  T\s  our  best  refuge.  [Exeunt, 


SCENE    II. 

Before  the  Walls  o/"  Syracuse. 

Enter  Timoleon,   Archidamus,   Diphilus, 
Leosthenes,  Timagoras,  and  Soldiers. 

Timol.  Thus  far  we  are  return'd  victorious; 

crown'd 
With  wreaths  triumphant,  (famine,  blood,  and 

death, 
Banish'd  your  peaceful  confines,)  and  bring  home 
Security  and  peace.    'Tis  therefore  tit 
That  such  as  boldly  stood  the  shock  of  war, 
And  with  the  dear  expense  of  sweat  and  blood 
Have  purchased  honour,  should  with  pleasure  reap 


73  THE   BONDMAN.. 

The  harvest  of  their  toil :  and  we  stand  bound, 
Out  of  the  first  file  of  the  best  deservers, 
(Though  all  must  be  consider'd  to  their  merits,) 
To  think  of  you,  Lensthenes,  that  stand, 
And  worthily,  most  dear  in  our  esteem, 
-For  your  heroic  valour. 

Archid.  When  I  look  on 
The  labour  of  so  many  men  and  ages, 
This  well-built  city,  not  long  since  design'd 
To  spoil  and  rapine,  by  the  favour  of 
The  gods,  and  you,  their  ministers,  preserved, 
I  cannot,  in  my  height  of  joy,  but  offer 
These  tears  for  a  glad  sacrifice. 

Diph.  Sleep  the  citizens  ? 
Or  are  they  overwhelm'd  with  the  excess 
Of  comfort  that  flows  to  them  ? 

Leost.  We  receive 
A  silent  entertainment. 

Timag,  I  long  since 
Expected  that  the  virgins  and  the  matrons. 
The  old  men  striving  with  their  age,  the  priests, 
Carrying  the  images  of  their  gods  before  them, 
Should  have  met  us  with  procession. — Ha  !  the 

gates 
Are  shut  against  us  ! 

Archid.  And,  upon  the  walls, 
Arm'd  men  seem  to  defy  us  1 

Enter  abo^ce,  out  he  TV  alls  ^  Marullo,  Poliphron, 
CiMERio,  Gracculo,  and  other  Slaves. 

,  Diph.  I  should  know 
These  faces  :  they  are  our  slaves. 

Timag,  The  mystery,  rascals  ! 
Open  the  ports,  and  play  not  with  an  anger 
That  will  consume  you. 

Timol.  This  is  above  wouder. 


THE    BONDMAN.  77 

Archid.  Our  bondmen  stand  against  us  ! 

Grac    Some  such  things 
We  were  in  man's  remembrance.    The  slaves  are 

turn'd 
Lords  of  the  town,  or  so— nay,  be  not  angry  : 
Perhaps,  upon  good  terms,  giving  security 
You  will  be  quiet  men,  we  may  allow  you 
Some  lodgings  in  our  garrets  or  outhouses  : 
Your  great  looks  cannot  carry  it. 

Cimb.  The  truth  is. 
We've  been  bold   with  your  wives,  toy'd  with 
your  daughters 

Leost.  O  my  prophetic  soul ! 

Grac.  Rifled  your  chests. 
Been  busy  with  your  wardrobes. 

Timag.  Can  we  endure  this  ? 

Leo^t.  O  my  Cleora  ! 

Grac.  A  caudle  for  the  gentleman ; 
He'll  die  o'  the  pip  else. 

Tiniag.  Scorn 'd  too  !  are  you  turn'd  stone  ? 
Hold  parley  with  our  bondmen  !  force  our  en- 
trance. 
Then,  villains,  expect 

Timol.  Hold !  You  wear  men's  shapes, 
And  if,  like  men,  you  have  reason,  shew  a  cause 
That  leads  you  to  this  desperate  course,  which 

^i'y     must  end 
In  your  destruction. 

Grac.  That,  as  please  the  Fates  ; 
But  we  vouchsafe Speak,  captain. 

Timag.  Hell  and  furies  ! 
.  Archid.   Bay'd  by  our  own  curs! 

Cimb.  Take  heed  you  be  not  worj'ied. 

Poliph.  We  are  sharp  set. 

Cimb.  And  sudden. 

Mar.  Briefly  thus,  then, 
Since  I  must  speak  for  all— Your  tyranny 


78  THE  BONDMAN. 

Drew  us  from  our  obedience.  Happy  those  times 
When  lords  were  styled  fathers  of  families, 
And  not  imperious  masters !  when  they  number'd 
Their  servants  almost  equal  with  their  sons, 
Or  one  dearree  beneath  them  !  when  their  labours 
Were  cherish'd  and  rewarded,  and  a  period 
Set  to  their  sufferings;  when  they  did  not  press 
Their  duties  or  their  wills,  beyond  the  power 
And  strength  of  their  performance  !  all  things 

order'd 
With  such  decorum,  as'  wise  lawmakers, 
From  each  well-govern 'd  private  house  derived 
The  perfect  model  of  a  commonwealth. 
Humanity  then  lodged  in  the  hearts  of  men, 
And  thankful  masters  carefully  provided 
For  creatures  wanting  reason.    The  noble  horse, 
That,  in  his  fiery  youth,  from  his  wide  nostrils 
Neigh'd  courage  to  his  rider,  and  brake  through 
Groves  of  opposed  pikes,  bearing  his  lord 
Safe  to  triumphant  victory ;  old  or  wounded, 
Was  set  at  liberty,  and  freed  from  service. 
The  Athenian  mules,  that  from  the  quarry  drew 
Marble,  liew'd  for  the  temples  of  the  gods, 
The  great  work  ended,  were  dismiss'd,  and  fed 
At   the  pubHc   cost;    nay,   faithful    dogs  have 

found 
Th^ir  sepulchres  ;  but  man,  to  man  more  cruel, 
Appoints  no  end  to  the  sufferings  of  his  slave ; 
Since  pride  stepp'd  in  and  riot,  and  o'ertunrd 
This  goodly  frame  of  concord,  teaching  masters 
To  glory  in  the  abuse  of  such  as  are 


7  With  such  decorum  as  xeise  laxomakersf']  Asy  in  this  passage, 
has  the  force  of  that.    M.  Mason. 

Or  rather,  there  is  an  ellipsis  of  that,  as  usual.  Some  of  the 
incidents  mentioned  in  this  speech,  Massinger  derived  from 
Plutarch. 


THE   BONDMAN.  79 

Brought   under   their   command ;  who,    grown 

unuseful, 
Are  less  esteem'd  than  beasts. — ^This  you  have 

practised, 
Practised  on  us  with  rigour;  this  halh  forced  us 
To  shake  our  heavy  yokes  off;  and,  if  redress 
Of  these  just  grievances  be  not  granted  us, 
We'll  right  ourselves,  and  by  strong  hand  defend 
What  we  are  now  possess'd  of. 

Gi^ac,  And  not  leave 
One  house  unfired. 

Cimb.  Or  throat  uncut  of  those 
We  have  in  our  power. 

Poiiph.  Nor  will  we  fall  alone ; 
You  shall  buy  us  dearly. 

Timag.  O  the  gods  ! 
Unheard-of  insolence  ! 

TimoL  What  are  your  demands? 

Mar.  A  general  pardon*  first,  for  all  offences 
Committed  in  your  absence.    Liberty 
To  all  such  as  desire  to  make  return 
Into  their  countries;  and,  to  those  that  stay, 
A  competence  of  land  freely  allotted 
To  each  man's  proper  use,  no  lord  acknowledged  : 
Lastly,  with  your  consent:,  to  choose  them  wives 
Out  of  your  families. 

Timag.  Let  the  city  sink  first. 

Leost  And  ruin  seize  on  all,  ere  we  subscribe 
To  such  conditions. 

Archid,  Carthage,  though  victorious, 
Could  not  have  forced  more  from  us. 

'  Mar.  A  general  pardon^  &c.]  It  is  evident,  from  the  unrea- 
sonable nature  of  these  dcmauds,  that  Pisander  does  not  wish 
them  to  be  accepted.  The  last  article,  indeed,  has  a  relVrence 
to  himself,  but  he  seems  do&irous  of  preyiously  trying  the  for- 
tune of  arms.  See,  howerer,  the  next  scene,  and  his  defence, 
in  the  last  act. 


80  THE   bondman: 

Leost.  Scale  the  walls ; 
Capitulate  after. 

Timol.  He  that  wins  the  top  first, 
Shall  wear  a  mural  wreath.  [Ejceujvt. 

Mar.  Each  to  his  place.    [Flourish  and  alarms. 

Or  death  or  victory  1  Charge  them  home,  and 

ffear  not.  [Ex'eunt  Marullo  and  Slaves, 

Re-enter  TiMOLEo^,  Archidamus,  and  Senators, 

Timol,  We  wrong  ourselves,  and  we  are  justly 
punish'd, 
To  deal  with  bondmen,  as  if  we  encounter'd 
An  equal  enemy. 

Archid.  They  fight  like  devils; 
And  run  upon  our  swords,  as  if  their  breasts 
Were  proof  beyond  their  armour. 

Re-enter  Leosthenes  and  Timagoras. 

Timag.  Make  a  firm  stand. 
The  slaves,  not  satisfied  they  have  beat  us  off, 
Prepare  to  sally  forth. 

Timol.  They  are  wild  beasts. 
And  to  be  tamed  by  policy.    Each  man  take 
A  tough  whip  in  his  hand,  such  as  you  used 
To  punish  them  with,  as  masters:  in  your  looks 
Carry  severity  and  awe ;  'tv/ill  fright  them 
More  than  your  weapons.    Savage  lions  fly  from 
The  sight  of  fire  ;  and  these,  that  have  forgot 
That  duty  you  ne'er  taught  them    with  your 

swords. 
When,  unexpected,  they  behold  those  terrors 

9  [Flourish  and  alarms.]  Flourish  and  arms,  says  Mr.  M. 
Mason^  after  Coxeter.  No  degree  of  nonsense  could  tempt  him 
to  conbuit  the  old  copies. 


THE   BONDMAN.  ai^ 

Advanced  aloft,  that  they  were  made  to  shake  at, 
'Twill  force  them  to  remember  what  they  are, 
And  stoop  to  due  obedience. 
Archid.  Here  they  come. 

Enter,  from  the  City,  Cimbrio,  Gracculo,  and 
other  Slaves. 

Cimh.  Leave  not  a  man  alive ;  a  wound's  but 
a  flea-biting, 
To  what  we  sufFer'd,  being  slaves.  i 

Grac.  O,  my  heart ! 
Cimbrio,  what  do  we  see  ?  the  whip!  our  masters  !* 

Timag.  Dare  you  rebel,  slaves ! 

\The  Senators  shake  their  whips,  the  Slaves 
throxv  axvay  their  zveapons,  and  run  off, 

Cimh.  Mercy  !  mercy  I  where 
Shall  we  hide  us  from  their  fury  ? 

Grac.  Fly,  they  follow. 
O,  we  shall  be  tormented  ! 

Timol.  Enter  with  them, 
But  yet  forbear  to  kill  them  :  still  remember 
They  are  part  ofyour  wealth;  and  being  disarm*d, 
There  is  no  danger. 

Archid.  Let  us  first  deliver 
Such  as  they  have  in  fetters,  and  at  leisure 
Determine  of  their  punishment. 

Least.  Friend,  to  you 
I  leave  the  disposition  of  what's  mine  : 

*  Cimbrio,  "what  do  toe  see  ?  the  -whip  !  our  masters  /]  "  O  most 
lame  and  impotent  conclusion !"  Surely  Massinger  was  not  so 
strictly  bound  to  the  literal  relation  of  this  foolish  adventure, 
but  that  he  might  have  given  it  a  little  probability,  if  it  were 
only  to  maintain  the  decorum  of  his  action,  and  the  interest  of 
his  under-plot.  He  sometimes  deviates  from  his  authorities  with 
fewer  prospects  of  advantage  than  were  here  opened  to  him. 


82  THE   BONDMAN. 

I  caimot  think  I  am  safe  without  your  sister, 
She  is  only  worth  my  thought ;  and,  till  I  see 
What  she  has  suffer'd,  T  am  on  the  rack, 
And  Furies  my  tormentors.  [Ej'eunt. 


SCENE  III. 

Syracuse.     A  Room  in  Archidamus's  House. 
Enter  Marullo  and Timan bra. 

Mar.  I  know  I  am  pursued  ;  nor  would  I  fly, 
Although  the  ports  were  open,  and  a  convoy 
Ready  to  bring  me  off:  the  baseness  of 
These  villains,  from  the  pride  of  all  my  hopes, 
Hath  thrown  me  to  the  bottomless  abyss 
Of  horror  and  despair:  had  they  stood  tirm, 
I  could  have  bought  Cleora's  free  consent 
With  the  safety  of  her  father's  life,  and  brother's ; 
And  forced  Leosthenes  to  quit  his  claim, 
And  kneel  a  suitor  for  me.^ 

Timand.  You  must  not  think 
What  might  have  been,  but  what  must  now  be 

practised, 
And  suddenly  resolve. 

*  And  kneel  a  suitor  for  me.'}  This  is  the  reading  of  all  the 
old  copies,  and  is  andoubtedly  genuiue  ;  yet  the  modern  editors, 
by  an  obliquity  of  reasoning  into  which  1  cannot  enter,  choose 
to  f  ary  the  expression,  and  print, 

kneel  a  suitor  to  me  ! 

Is  it  not  evident  "  to  any  formal  capacity,"  that  Pisander  means 
If  my  designs  had  succeeded,  I  would  not  only  have  com- 
pelled Leosthenes  to  ranounce  his  pretensions  to  Cleora,  but 
even  to  entreat  h^r  father  and  brother  to  give  her  to  me;  -w^hat 
|S  there  in  this  that  requires  altoratioii,  especially  into  nonsense  ? 
for  Leosthenes  couid  hare  nothing  to  ask  of  Pisaud«r. 


THE   BONDMAN.  83 

Mar.  All  my  poor  fortunes 
Are  at  the  stake,  and  I  must  run  the  hazard. 
Unseen,  convey  me  to  Cleora's  chamber ; 
For  in  her  sight,  if  it  were  possible, 
I  would  be  apprehended :  do  not  enquire 
The  reason  why,  but  help  me.   [Knocking  within. 

Timand.  Make  haste, — one  knocks. 

\^Exit  Marullo, 
Jove  turn  all  to  the  best ! 

Enter  Leosthenes. 

You  are  welcome,  sir. 

Leost.  Thou  giv'st  it  in  a  heavy  tone. 

Timand.  Alas  !  sir, 
We  have  so  long  fed  on  the  bread  of  sorrow, 
Drinking  the  bitter  water  of  afflictions, 
Made  loathsome  too  by  our  continued  fears, 
Comfort's  a  stranger  to  us. 

Leost.  Fears  !  your  sufferings : — ' 
For  which  I  am  so  overgone  with  grief, 
I  dare  not  ask,  without  compassionate  tears, 
The  villain's  name  thar  robb'd  thee  of  thy  honour : 
For  being  train'd  up  in  chastity's  cold  school, 
And  taught  by  such  a  mistress  as  Cleora, 
'Twere  impious  in  me  to  think  Timandra 
Fell  with  her  own  consent. 

Timand.  How  mean  you,  fell,  sir  ? 
I  understand  you  not. 

Leost.  I  would  thou  did'st  not. 
Or  that  I  could  not  read  upon  thy  face, 
In  blushing  characters,  the  story  of 
Libidinous  rape  :  confess  it,  for  you  stand  not 

'  Leost.  Ftars !  your  sufferings: — ]  The  character  of  Leos« 
thenes  is  everywhere  preserved  with  great  nicety.  His  jealoas 
disposition  breaks  out  in  this  scene  with  peculiar  beauty. 


14  THE    BONDMAN; 

Accountable  for  a  sin,  against  whose  strength 
Your  o'ermatch'd  innocence  could  make  no  re- 
sistance ; 
Under  which  odds,  I  know,  Cleora  fell  too, 
Heaven's  help  in  vain  invoked  ;  the  amazed  sun 
Hiding  his  face  behind  a  mask  of  clouds, 
Nor  daring  to  look  on  it !   In  her  sufferings 
All  sorrow's  comprehended:  whatTimandra, 
Or  the  city,  has  endured,  her  loss  consider'd, 
Deserves  not  to  be  named. 

Timand.  Pray  you,  do  not  bring,  sir, 
In  the  chimeras  of  your  jealous  fears, 
New  monsters  to  affright  us. 

Leost.  O,  Timandra, 
That  I  had  faith  enough  but  to  believe  thee ! 
I  should  receive  it  with  a  joy  beyond 
Assurance  of  Elysian  shades  hereafter, 
Or  all  the  blessings,  in  this  life,  a  mother  - 

Could  wish  her  children  crown'd  with  —  but  X 

must  not 
Credit  impossibilities;  yet  I  strive 
To  find  out  that  whose  knowledge  is  a  curse, 
And  ignorance  a  blessing.    Come,  discover 
What  kind  of  look  he  had  that  forced  thy  lady, 
(Thy  ravisher  I  will  enquire  at  leisure,) 
That  when,  hereafter,  I  behold  a  stranger 
But  near  him  in  aspect,  I  may  conclude, 
Though  men  and  angels  should  proclaim   him 

honest. 
He  is  a  hell  bred  villain. 

Timand.  You  are  unworthy 
To  know  she  is  preserved,  preserved  untainted  : 
Sorrow,  but  ill  bestow'd,  hath  only  made 
A  rape  upon  her  comforts  in  your  absence. 
Come  forth,  dear  madam.  [Leads  in  Cleora. 

Least.  Ha!  [Kneels. 

Timand.  Nay,  she  deserves 


THE   BONDMAN.  85 

The  bending  of  your  heart;    that,   to  content 

you, 
Has  kept  a  vow,  the  breach  of  which  a  Vestal, 
Though  the  infringing  it  had  call'd  upon  her 
A  living  funeral,'*  must  of  force  have  shrunk  at. 
No  danger  could  compel  her  to  dispense  with 
Her  cruel  penance,  though  hot  lust  came  arm'd 
To  seize  upon  her  ;  when  one  look  or  accent 
Might  have  redeem'd  her. 

Leost.  Might !  O  do  not  shew  me 
A  beam  of  comfort,  and   straight  take  it  from 

me. 
The  means  by  which  she  was  freed  ?  speak,  O 

speak  quickly ; 
Each  minute  of  delay's  an  age  of  torment; 

0  speak,  Timandra. 

Timand.  Free  her  from  her  oath  ; 
Herself  can  best  deliver  it. 

Leost.  O  blest  office  !  [Unbinds  her  eyes. 

Never  did  galley-slave  shake  off  his  chains. 
Or  look'd  on  his  redemption  from  the  oar, 
With  such  true  feeling  of  delight,  as  now 

1  find  myself  possess'd  of. — Now  I  behold 
True  light  indeed  ;  for,  since  these  fairest  stars, 
Cover'd  with  clouds  of  your  determinate  will, 
Denied  their  influence  to  my  optic  sense. 

The  splendour  of  the  sun  appear'd  to  me 
But  as  some  little  glimpse  of  his  bright  beams 

♦  Though  the  infringing  it  had  caWd  vpon  her 

A  living  funeral,  &c.]  The  poet  alludes  to  the  manner  in 
which  the  Vestals,  who  had  broken  their  tow  of  chastity,  were 
punished.  They  had  literally  a  living  funeral^  being  plunged 
alive  into  a  subterraneous  cavern,  of  which  the  opening  was  im- 
mediately closed  upon  them,  and  walled  up.  The  confusion  of 
countries  and  customs  may  possibly  strike  the  critical  reader  ; 
but  of  this,  as  I  have  already  observed,  our  old  dramatists  were 
cither  not  aware  or  not  solicitous. 

VOL.  II.  *  H 


85  THE   BONDMAN. 

Convey'd  into  a  dungeon,  to  remember 

The  dark   inhabitants  there,    how  much   they 

wanted.' 
Opfen  these  long  shut  lips,  and  strike  mine  ears 
With  music  more  harmonious  than  the  spheres 
Yield  in  their  heavenly  motions :  and  if  ever 
A  true  submission  for  a  crime  acknowledged, 
May  find  a  gracious  hearing,  teach  your  tongue, 
In  the  first  sweet  articulate  sounds  it  utters, 
To  sign  my  wish'd-for  pardon. 

Cleo.  I  forgive  you. 

Leost.  How  greedily  I  receive  this  !  Stay,  best 
lady. 
And  let  me  by  degrees  ascend  the  height 
Of  human  happiness  !  all  at  once  deliver'd, 
The  torrent  of  my  joys  will  overwhelm  me  : — 
So!  now  a  little  more;  and  pray  excuse  me. 
If,  like  a  wanton  epicure,  I  desire 
The  pleasant  taste  these  cates  of  comfort  yield 

me. 
Should  not  too  soon  be  swallow'd.  Have  you  not, 
By  your  unspotted  truth  I  do  conjure  you 
To  answer  truly,  sufFer'd  in  your  honour, 
By  force,  I  mean,  for  in  your  will  1  free  you, 
Since  I  left  Syracusa  ? 

Cleo.  I  restore 
This  kiss,  so  help  me  goodness !  which  I  borrow'd. 
When  1  last  saw  you.' 


to  remember 


The  dark  inhabitants  there,  ho-w  much  they  wanted."]  In  this 
beautiful  passage,  remember  is  used  for  cause  to  remember,  in 
which  sense  it  frequently  occurs  in  our  old  writers.  So  Beau- 
mont and  Fletcher : 

*'  Croc.  Do  you  remember 
**  Her  to  come  after  you,  that  she  may  behold 
**  Her  daughter's  charity."  The  Sea  Voyage. 

^  Cleo.  I  restore 
This  kiss,  so  help  me  goodness  !  which  I  borrow'df 


THE  BONDMAN.  tT 

Leost.  Miracle  of  virtue! 
One  pause  more,  I  beseech  you  :  I  am  like 
A  man  v/hose  vital  spirits  consumed  and  wasted 
With  a  long  and  tedious  fever,  unto  whom 
Too  much  of  a  strong  cordial,  at  once  taken, 
Brings  death,  and  not  restores  him.  Yet  I  cannot 
Fix  here ;  but  must  enquire  the  man  to  whom 
I  stand  indebted  for  a  benefit, 
Which  to  requite  at  full,  though  in  this  hand 
I  grasp  all  sceptres  the  world's  empire  bows  to, 
Would  leave  me  a  poor  bankrupt.    Name  him, 

lady ; 
If  of  a  mean  estate,  I'll  gladly  part  with 
My  utmost  fortunes  to  him  ;  but  if  noble, 
In  thankful  duty  study  how  to  serve  him ; 
Or  if  of  higher  rank,  erect  him  altars,  >, 

And  as  a  god  adore  him. 

Cleo.  If  that  goodness. 
And  noble  temperance,  the  queen  of  virtues, 
Bridling  rebellious  passions,  to  whose  sway, 
Such  as  have  conquer'd  nations  have  lived  slaves, 
Did  ever  wing  great  minds  to  fly  to  heaven. 
He,  that  preserved  mine  honour,  may  hope  boldly 
To  fill  a  seat  among  the  gods,  and  shake  off 
Our  frail  corruption. 

Leost.  Forward. 

When  I  last  saw  you.]   This  is  a  modest  imitation  of  Shaki- 
peare : 

"  Now  by  the  jealous  queen  of  heayen,  that  kiss 
"  I  carried  from  thee,  dear  ;  and  my  true  lip 
"  Hath  virgin'd  it  e'er  since."  Coriolanui. 

There  is  a  pretty  contrast  to  the  jealousy  of  Leosthenes,  in  the 
Coronation. 

Arcadius.  **  Thou  art  jealous  now: 
Come,  let  me  take  the  kiss  I  gaie  thee  last: 
I  am  so  confident  of  thee,  no  lip 
Hath  ravished  it  from  thine !" 

♦H2 


88  THE   BONDMAN. 

Cleo.  Or  if  ever 
The  Powers  above  did  mask  in  human  shapes, 
To  teach  mortality,  not  by  cold  precepts 
Forgot  as  soon  as  told,  but  by  examples, 
To  imitate  their  pureness,  and  draw  near 
To  their  celestial  natures,  I  believe 
He's  more  than  man. 

Leost.  You  do  describe  a  wonder. 
Cleo.  Which  vi^ill  encrease,  when  you  shall  un- 
derstand 
He  was  a  lover. 

Leost.  Not  yours,  lady  ? 
Cleo.  Yes ; 
Loved  me,  Leosthenes  ;  nay,  more,  so  doted, 
(If  e'er  affections  scorning  gross  desires 
May  without  wrong  be  styled  so,)  that  he  durst 

not. 
With  an  immodest  syllable  or  look. 
In  fear  it  might  take  from  me,  whom  he  made 
The  object  of  his  better  part,  discover 
I  was  the  saint  he  sued  to. 
Leost,  A  rare  temper  V 

Cleo.    I  cannot  speak  it  to  the  worth :    all 
praise 
I  can  bestow  upon  it  will  appear 
Envious  detraction.    Not  to  rack  you  further, 
Yet  make  the  miracle  full,   though,  of  all  men. 
He  hated  you,  Leosthenes,  as  his  rival, 
So  high  yet  he  prized  my  content,  that,  knowing 
You  were  a  man  1  favour'd,  he  disdain'd  not, 
Against  himself,  to  serve  you. 

Leost.  You  conceal  still 
The  owner  of  these  excellencies. 

7  A  rare  temper!]    The  old  copies  read  tempter:  corrected 
by  Mr.  M.  Mason. 


THE   BONDMAN.  89 

Cleo.  'Tis  Marullo, 
My  father's  bondman. 

Leost.  Jia,  ha,  ha ! 

Cleo.  Why  do  you  laugh  ? 

Leost.  To  hear  the  labouring  mountain  of  your 
praise 
Deliver'd  of  a  mouse. 

Cleo.  The  man  deserves  not 
This  scorn,  I  can  assure  you. 

Leost.  Do  you  call 
What  was  his  duty,  merit? 

Cleo.  Yes,  and  place  it 
As  high  in  my  esteem,  as  all  the  honours 
Descended  from  your  ancestors,  or  the  glory. 
Which  you  may  call  your  own,  got  in  this  action, 
In  which,  I  must  confess,  you  nave  done  nobly; 
And  I  could  add,  as  I  desired,  but  that 
I  fear  'twould  make  you  proud. 

Leost.  Why,  lady,  can  you 
fie  won  to  give  allowance,  that  your  slave 
Should  dare  to  love  you  ? 

Cleo.  The  immortal  gods 
Accept  the  meanest  altars,'  that  are  raised 

*  Cleo.  The  immortal  gods, 

Accept  the  meanest  altars^  &C.1   Milton's  invocation  on  the 
opening  of  Paradise  Lost  is  not  unlike  this. 

"  And  chiefly  thou,  O  spirit,"  &c.     Coxeter. 
I  cannot  discover  much  likeness  in  the  two  quotations;  the 
author  had  Horace  in  his  thoughts : 

Immunis  aram  si  tetigit  manus, 
Non  sumptuoso  blandior  hoslia 
Mollirit  aversos  penates 
Farre  pioy  saliente  mica. 
A  beautiful  passage,  which  the  critics,  with  Dacier  and  Sanadon 
at  their  head,  strangely  maintain  to  be  ironical.    I  believe  that 
Horace  was  perfectly  sincere.    The  lessons  of  piety  are  so  con- 
sonant to  human  feelings,  that  very  frequently  those  who  do 
not  experience  their  full  influence  themselves,  earnestly  and 
honeitly  labour  to  impress  them  upon  others. 


90  THE    BONDMAN. 

By  pure  devotions  ;  and  sometimes  prefer 
An  ounce  of  frankincense,  honey  or  milk, 
Before  whole  hecatombs,  or  Sabasan  gums, 
Offer'd  in  ostentation. — Are  you  sick 
Of  your  old  disease  ?  I'll  fit  you.  [Aside. 

Leost.  You  seem  moved. 

Cleo.    Zealous,    I    grant,   in   the   defence   of 
virtue. 
Why,  good  Leosthenes,  though  I  endured 
A  penance  for  your  sake,  above  example  ; 
I  have  not  so  far  sold  myself,  I  take  it, 
To  be  at  your  devotion,  but  1  may 
Cherish  desert  in  others,  where  I  find  it. 
How  would  you  tyrannize,  if  you  stood  possess'd 

of 
That  which  is  only  yours  in  expectation, 
That  now  prescribe  such  hard  conditions  to  me? 

Leost.  One  kiss,  and  I  am  silenced. 

Cleo.  I  vouchsafe  it ; 
Yet,  I  must  tell  you  'tis  a  favour  that 
MaruUo,  when  I  was  his,  not  mine  own, 
Durst  not  presume  to  ask  :  no ;  when  the  city 
Bow'd  humbly  to  licentious  rapes  and  lust, 
And  when  I  was,  of  men  and  gods  forsaken, 
Deliver'd  to  his  power,  he  did  not  press  me 
To  grace  him  with  one  look  or  syllable. 
Or  urged  the  dispensation  of  an  oath 
Made  for  your  satisfaction  : — the  poor  wretch, 
Having  related  only  his  own  sufferings, 
And  kiss'd  my  hand,  which  I  could  not  deny 

him, 
Defending  me  from  others,  never  since 
Solicited  my  favours. 

Leost.  Pray  you,  end  : 
The  story  does  not  please  me. 

Cleo.  Well,  take  heed 
Of  doubts  and  fears  ;— for  know,  Leosthenes, 


THE   BONDMAN.  91 

A  greater  injury  cannot  be  offer'd 
To  innocent  chastity,  than  unjust  suspicion. 
I  love  Marullo's  fair  mind,  not  his  person  ; 
Let  that  secure  you.    And  I  herCfcommand  you, 
If  I  have  any  power  in  you,  to  stand 
Between  him  and  all  punishment,  and  oppose 

His  temperance  to  his  folly  ;  if  you  fail 

No  more  ;  I  will  not  threaten.  [Edit, 

Leost.  What  a  bridge 
Of  glass  I  walk  upon,  over  a  river 
Of  certain  ruin,  mine  own  weighty  fears 
Cracking  what  should  support  me  !  and  those 

helps,  ^ 

Which  confidence  lends  to  others,  are  from  me 
Ravish'd  by  doubts,  and  wilful  jealousy.    [Exit, 


SCENE   IV. 

Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Timagoras,  Cleon,  Asotus,  Corisca, 
aWOlympia. 

Cleon.  But  are  you  sure  we  are  safe  ? 

Timag,  You  need  not  fear ; 
They  are  all  under  guard,  their  fangs  pared  off: 
The  wounds  their  insolence  gave  you,  to  be  cured 
With  the  balm  of  your  revenge. 

Asot,  And  shall  I  be 
The  thing  I  was  born,  my  lord  ? 

Timag.  The  same  wise  thing. 
'Slight,    what  a  beast   they  have  made  thee! 

Africk  never 
Produced  the  like. 

Asot.  I  think  so  :— nor  the  land 


92  THEBONDMAR. 

Where  apes  and  monkeys  grow,  like  crabs  and 

walnuts, 
On  the  same  tree.    Not  all  the  catalogue 
Of  conjurers  or  wise  women  bound  together 
Could  have  so  soon  transform'd  me,  as  my  rascal 
Did  with  his  whip  ;  for  not  in  outside  only, 
But  in  my  own  belief,  I  thought  myself 
As  perfect  a  baboon 

Timag.  An  ass  thou  wert  ever. 

Asot»  And  would  have  given  one  leg,  with  all 
my  heart, 
For  good  security  to  have  been  a  man 
After  three  lives,  or  one  and  twenty  years, 
Though  I  had  died  on  crutches. 

Cleon.  Never  varlets 
So  triumph'd  o'er  an  old  fat  man  :  I  was  famish'd. 

Timag.  Indeed  you  are  fallen  away. 

Asot.  Three  years  of  feeding 
On  cuUises  and  jelly,  though  his  cooks 
Lard  all  he  eats  with  marrow,  or  his  doctors 
Pour  in  his  mouth  restoratives  as  he  sleeps. 
Will  not  recover  him. 

Timag.  But  your  ladyship  looks 
Sad  on  the  matter,  as  if  you  had  miss'd 
Your  ten-crown  amber  possets,  good  to  smooth 
The  cutis,  as  you  call  it,  and  prepare  you 
Active,  and  high,  for  an  afternoon's  encounter 
With  a  rough  gamester,  on  your  couch.   Fie  on't ! 
You  are  grown  thrifty,  smell  like  other  women ; 
The  college  of  physicians  have  not  sat, 
As  they  were  used,  in  counsel,  how  to  fill 
The  crannies  in  your  cheeks,  or  raise  a  rampire 
With  mummy,  ceruses,  or  infants'  fat. 
To  keep  off  age  and  time. 

Coris.  Pray  you,  forbear ; 
I  am  an  alter'd  woman. 

Timag,  So  it  seems ; 


THE   BONDMAN.  93 

A  part  of  your  honour's  ruff  stands  out  of  rank 
too. 

Coris.  No  matter,  I  have  other  thoughts. 

Ttmag.  O  strange  ! 
Not  ten  days  since  it  would  have  vex'd  you  more 
Than  the  loss  of  your  good  name  :  pity,  this  cure 
For  your  proud   itch  came  no  sooner  !  Marry, 

Olympia 
Seems  to  bear  up  still. 

Olymp.  I  complain  not,  sir  ; 
I  have  borne  my  fortune  patiently. 

Ttmag,  Thou  wert  ever 
An  excellent  bearer ;  so  is  all  your  tribe. 
If  you  may  choose  your  carriage. 

Enter  Leosthenes  and  Diphilus  with  a  Guard. 

How  now,  friend  ' 
Looks  our  Cleora  lovely  ? 

Leost.  In  my  thoughts,  sir. 

Timag.  But  why  this  guard  ? 

Diph,  It  is  Timoleon's  pleasure: 
The  slaves  have  been  examin'd,  and  confess 
Their  riot  took  beginning  from  your  house  ; 
And  the  first  mover  of  them  to  rebellion. 
Your  slave  Marullo.       [Eaximt  Diph.  and  Guard. 

Leost.  Ha !  I  more  than  fear. 

Timag.  They  may  search  boldly. 

Enter  Timandra,  speaking  to  the  Guard  within, 

Timand.  You  are  unmanner'd  grooms. 
To  pry  into  my  lady's  private  lodgings ; 
There's  no  MaruUos  there.  4 


94  THE   BONDMAN. 


Re-enter  Diphilus,  and  Guard  with  Marullo. 

Timag.  Now  I  suspect  too. 
Where  found  you  him  ? 

Diph.  Close  hid  in  your  sister's  chamber. 

Timag.  Is  that  the  villain's  sanctuary  ? 

Leost.  This  confirms 
All  she  delivered,  false. 

Timag.  But  that  I  scorn 
To  rust  my  good  sword'  in  thy  slavish  blood, 
Thou  now  wert  dead. 

Mar.  He's  more  a  slave  than  fortune 
Or  misery  can  make  me,  that  insults 
Upon  unweapon'd  innocence. 

Timag.  Prate  you,  dog  ! 

Mar.    Curs  snap  at  lions  in  the  toil,  whose 
looks 
Frighted  them,  being  free. 

Timag.  As  a  wild  beast, 
Drive  him  before  you. 

Mar.  O  divine  Cleora  ! 

Leost.  Dar'st  thou  presume  to  name  her  ? 

Mar.  Yes,  and  love  her ; 
And  may  say,  have  deserved  her. 

Timag,  Stop  his  mouth, 
Load  him  with  irons  too. 

[Exit  Guard  with  Marullo. 

Clean.  I  am  deadly  sick 
To  look  on  him. 

Asot.  If  he  get  loose,  I  know  it, 
I  caper  like  an  ape  again  :  I  feel 
The  whip  already. 

9  To  rust  my  good  sword  &c.]  Good^  which  completes  the 
metre,  is  only  found  in  the  first  quarto :  the  modern  editors 
follow  the  second,  which  abounds  in  similar  omissions,  almost 
beyond  credibility. 


'       THE  BONDMAN.  95 

Ttmand.  This  goes  to  my  lady.  [^Exit. 

Timag,  Come,  cheer  you,  sir;  we'll  urge  his 
punishment 
To  the  full  satisfaction  of  your  anger. 

Leost.  He   is  not  worth  my   thoughts.      No 
corner  left 
In  all  the  spacious  rooms  of  my  vex'd  heart, 
But  is  fiU'd  with  Cleora :  and  the  rape 
She  has  done  upon  her  honour,  with  my  wrong, 
The  heavy  burthen  of  my  sorrow's  song.  [Exeunt. 


T  ACT  V.    SCENE   I. 

The  same,     A  Room  in  Archidamus's  House. 
Enter  Archidamus  and  Cleora. 

Archid.  Thou  art  thine  own  disposer.     Were 

his  honours 
And  glories  centupled,  as  I  must  confess, 
Leosthenes  is  most  worthy,  yet  I  will  not. 
However  I  may  counsel,  force  affection. 

Cleo.  It  needs  not,  sir ;  I  prize  him  to  his  worth, 
Nay,  love  him  truly  ;  yet  would  not  live  slaved 
To  his  jealous  humours:  since,  by  the  hopes  of 

heaven, 
As  I  am  free  from  violence,  in  a  thought 
I  am  not  guilty. 

Archid.  'Tis  believed,  Cleora; 
And  much  the  rather,  our  great  gods  be  praised 

for't ! 
In  that  I  find,  beyond  my  hopes,  no  sign  ^ 
Of  riot  in  my  house,  but  all  things  ordcr'd, 
As  if  I  had  been  present. 


96  THE  BONDMAN. 

Cleo.  May  that  move  you 
To  pity  poor  Marullo ! 

Archid.  'Tis  my  purpose 
To  do  him  all  the  good  I  can,  Cleora ; 
But  this  offence,  being  against  the  state, 
Must  have  a  public  trial.    In  the  mean  time, 
Be  careful  of  yourself,  and  stand  engaged 
No  further  to  Leosthenes,  than  you  may 
Come  off  with  honour ;  for,  being  once  his  wife, 
You  are  no  more  your  own,  nor  mine,  but  must 
Resolve  to  serve,  and  suffer  his  commands. 
And  not  dispute  them : — ere  it  be  too  late, 
Consider  it  duly.    I  must  to  the  senate.      [Exit. 

Cleo.  I  am  much  distracted  :  in  Leosthenes, 
I  can  find  nothing  justly  to  accuse. 
But  his  excess  of  love,  which  I  have  studied 
To  cure  with  more  than  common  means ;  yet  still 
It  grows  upon  him.    And,  if  I  may  call 
My  sufferings  merit,*  I  stand  bound  to  think  on 
MaruUo's  dangers — though  I  save  his  life,     , 
His  love  is  unrewarded  : — I  confess. 
Both  have  deserved  me  ;  yet,  of  force,  must  be 
Unjust  to  one ;  such  is  my  destiny. — 

Enter  Timandra. 

How  now  !  whence  flow  these  tears  ? 
Timand.  I  have  met,  madam, 

'  My  sufferings  merit]  So  it  stood  in  every  edition  prerious  to 
that  of  Mr.  M.  Mason,  who  reads,  his  sufferings  merit.  It  is  evi- 
dent that  he  mistook  the  sense  of  the  passage.  Three  lines 
below,  he  reads,  after  Coxeter,  indeed,  yet  of  force  I  must  be — 
the  pronoun,  which  injures  both  the  measure  and  the  rhyme,  is 
not  in  the  old  copies :  but  these  are  not  the  only  errors  in  this 
short  speech,  which  disgrace  the  modern  editions.  This  confer- 
ence with  Cleora  is  managed  with  singular  art,  and  effect,  on 
the  part  of  Timandra. 


THE   BONDMAN.  97 

An  object  of  such  cruelty,  as  would  force 
A  savage  to  compassion. 

Cleo.  Speak,  what  is  it  ? 

Timand.  Men  pity  beasts  of  rapine,  if  o*cr- 
match'd, 
Though  baited  for  their  pleasure;    but  these 

monsters, 
Upon  a  man  that  caa  make  no  resistance, 
Are  senseless  in  their  tyranny.  Let  it  be  granted, 
Marullo  is  a  slave,  he's  still  a  man ; 
A  capital  offender,  yet  in  justice 
Not  to  be  tortured,  till  the  judge  pronounce 
His  punishment. 

Cleo.  Where  is  he  ? 

Timand.  Dragg'd  to  prison 
With  more  than  barbarous  violence ;  spum'd  and 

spit  on 
By  the  insulting  officers,  his  hands 
Pinion'd  behind  his  back;  loaden  with  fetters: 
Yet,  with  a  saint-like  patience,  he  still  offers 
His  face  to  their  rude  buffets. 

Cleo.  O  my  grieved  soul ! — 
By  whose  command  ? 

Timand.  It  seems,  my  lord  your  brother's, 
For  he's  a  looker-on  :  and  it  takes  from 
Honour'd  Leosthenes,  to  suffer  it. 
For  his  respect  to  you,  whose  name  in  vain 
The  grieved  wretch  loudly  calls  on. 

Cleo.  By  Diana, 
'Tis  base  in  both  ;  and  to  their  teeth  I'll  tell  them 
That  I  am  wrong'd  in't.  [Going  Jorth, 

Timand.  What  will  you  do  ? 

Cleo.  In  person 
Visit  and  comfort  him. 

Timand.  That  will  bring  fuel 
To  the  jealous  fires  which  burn  too  hot  already 
In  lord  Leosthenes. 


98  THE  BONDMAN. 

Cleo»  Let  them  consume  him  ! 
I  am  mistress  of  myself.  Where  cruelty  reigns, 
There  dwells  nor  love,  nor  honour.  [Exit, 

Timand.  So !  it  works. 
Though  hitherto  I  have  run  a  desperate  course 
To  serve  my  brother's  purposes,  now  'tis  fit 

-Ew^fr  Leosthenes  aWTiMAGORAS. 

I  study  mine  own  ends.     They  come  : — assist 

me 
In  these  my  undertakings,  Love's  great  patron, 
As  my  intents  are  honest! 
Leost,  'Tis  my  fault:' 

*    Leost.  'Tis  my  fault : 

Distrust  of  others  springs,  Timagorasy 
From  diffidence  in  ourselves:]  My  fault,  i.  e.  my  misfortune. 
That  the  word  ancientiy  had  this  meaning,  I  could  prore  by 
many  examples ;  one,  however,  will  be  thought  sufi&ciently  dc- 
cisiTe: 

"  Bawd.  You  are  lit  into  my  hands,  where  you  are  like  to 
live. 

Marina.  The  more  my  fault. 
To  scape  his  hands,  where  I  was  like  to  die." 

Pericles y  Act.  IV.  sc.  iii. 
This  too  will  ascertain,  beyond  a  doubt,  the  meaning  of  Shal- 
low, which  Steevens  evidently  mistook,  and  Mr.  Malone  deli- 
vered with  some  degree  of  hesitation  : 

"  Slen.  How  does  your  fallow  greyhound,  sir  ?  I  heard  say, 
he  was  out-run  on  Cotsale. 

Page.  It  could  not  be  judg'd,  sir. 

Slen.  You'll  not  confess,  you'll  not  confess. 

Slial.  That  he  will  not; — 'tis  your  yizu/^, 'tis  jour  fault  :'—' 
•Tis  a  good  dog." 

Poor  Slender  is  one  of  Job's  comforters,  as  they  say;  he 
persists  in  reminding  Page,  who  evidently  dislikes  the  subject, 
of  his  defeat:  hence  the  good-natured  consolation  of  Shallow  : 
"*'  He  needs  not  confess  it,  cousin  ; — you  wereunfortimate,  sir  ; 
your  loss  must  be  attributed  to  accident,  for  your  dog  is  a  good 
dog." 


THE   BONDMAN.  99 

Distrust  of  other  springs,  Timagoras, 
From  diffidence  in  ourselves :  but  I  will  strive, 
With  the  assurance  of  my  worth  and  merits, 
To  kill  this  monster,  jealousy. 

Timag.  'Tis  a  guest. 
In  wisdom,  never  to  be  entcrtain'd 
On  trivial  probabilities ;  but,  when 
He  does  appear  in  pregnant  proofs,  not  fashion*d 
By  idle  doubts  and  fears,  to  be  received  : 
They  make  their  own  horns  that  are  too  secure, 
As  well  as  such  as  give  them  growth  and  being 
From  mere  imagination.     Though  I  prize 
Cleora's  honour  equal  with  mine  own, 
And  know  what  large  additions  of  power 
This  match  brings  to  our  family,  I  prefer 
Our  friendsliip,  and  your  peace  of  mind  so  far 
Above  my  own  respects,  or  hers,  that  if 
She  hold  not  her  true  value  in  the  test, 
'Tis  far  from  my  ambition,  for  her  cure 
That  you  should  wound  yourself. 

Timand.  This  argues  for  me.  [Aside. 

Timag,  Why  she  should  be  so  passionate  for  a 
bondman. 
Falls  not  in  compass  of  my  understanding, 
But  for  some  nearer  interest :  or  he  raise 
This  mutiny,  if  he  loved  her,  as,  you  say. 
She  does  confess  he  did,  but  to  enjoy, 
By  fair  or  foul  play,  what  he  ventured  for, 
To  me's  a  riddle. 

Leost.  Pray  you,  no  more ;  already 
I  have  answered  that  objection,  in  my  strong 
Assurance  of  her  virtue. 

Timag.  'Tis  unfit  then, 
That  I  should  press  it  further. 

Timand.  Now  I  must 
Make  in,  or  all  is  lost. 

[Ruslies forward  diilractedli/. 


100  THE  BONDMAN. 

Timag.  What  would  Timandra? 

Leost.  How  wild  she  looks  !  How  is  it  with  thy 
lady? 

Timag.  Collect  thyself,  and  speak. 

Timand.  As  you  are  noble, 
Have  pity,  or  love  piety.' — Oh  ! 

Leost,  Take  breath. 

Timag.  Out  with  it  boldly. 

Timand.  O,  the  best  of  ladies, 
I  fear,  is  gone  for  ever. 

Leost.  Who,  Cleora  ? 

Timag.  Deliver,  how  ?  'Sdeath,  be  a  man,  sir ! — 
-  Speak. 

Timand.  Take  it  then  in  as  many  sighs  as  words, 
My  lady 

Timag.  What  of  her  ? 

Timand.  No  sooxier  heard 
Marullo  was  imprison'd,  but  she  fell 
Into  a  deadly  swoon. 

Timag.  But  she  recover'd  : 
Say  so,  or  he  will  sink  too;  hold,  sir;  fie  ! 
This  is  unmanly. 

Timand.  Brought  again  to  life, 
But  with  much  labour,  she  awhile  stood  silent, 
Yet  in  that  interim  vented  sighs,  as  if 
They  labour'd,  from  the  prison  of  her  flesh. 
To  give  hergrieved  soul  freedom.  On  the  sudden, 
Transported  on  the  wings  of  rage  and  sorrow, 
She  flew  out  of  the  house,  and,  unattended, 
Enter'd  the  common  prison. 

Leost.  This  confirms 
What  but  before  I  fear'd. 

Timand.  There  you  may  find  her ; 
And,  if  you  love  her  as  a  sister 

J  Have  pity,  or  love  piety. — ]  So  the  old  copies  :  the  modern 
editors  here,  as  almost  everywhere  else,  corrupt  this  last  word, 
and  feebly  read.  Have  pity,  or  love  pity. 


THE   BONDMAN.  loi 

Ttmag.  Damn  her  ! 

Timand,  Or  you  respect  her  safety  as  a  lover, 
Procure  Marullo's  liberty. 

Timag.  Impudence 
Beyond  expression ! 

Leost.  -Shall  I  be  a  bawd 
To  her  lust,  and  my  dishonour  ? 

Timand.  She'll  run  mad,  else, 
Or  do  some  violent  act  upon  herself: 
My  lord,  her  father,  sensible  of  her  sufferings, 
Labours  to  gain  his  freedom. 

Leost.  O,  the  devil ! 
Has  she  be  witch 'd  him  too? 

Timag.  I'll  hear  no  more. 
Come,  sir,  we'll  follow  her ;  and  if  no  persuasion 
Can  make  her  take  again  her  natural  form, 
Which  by  lust's  powerful  spell  she  has  cast  ofl^ 
This  sword  shall  disenchant  her. 

Leost.  O  my  heart-strings ! 

[Ej^eunt  Leosthenes  and  Timagoras. 

Timand.  I  knew  'twould  take.    Pardon  me,  fair 
Cleora, 
Though  I  appear  a  traitress ;  which  thou  wilt  do. 
In  pity  of  my  woes,  when  I  make  known 
My  lawful  claim,  and  only  seek  mine  own.  [Ed'it. 


SCENE    II. 

A  Prison.     Marullo  discovered  in  chains. 

Enter  Cleora  and  Gaoler. 

Cleo.  There's  for  your  privacy.    SUj,  unbind 

his  hands. 
Gaol.  I  dare  not,  madam. 
Cleo.  1  will  buy  thy  danger  • 
VOLi  II.  *  I 


10£  THE   BONDMAN. 

Take  more  gold; — do  not  trouble  me  with  thanks, 
I  do  suppose  it  done.  [Eiit  Gaoler. 

Mar.  My  better  angel 
Assumes  this  shape  to  comfort  me,  and  v/isely ; 
Since,  from  the  choice  of  all  celestial  figures, 
He  could  not  take  a  visible  form  so  full 
Of  glorious  sweetness.  [Kneels. 

Cleo.  Rise.    I  am  flesh  and  blood, 
And  do  partake  thy  tortures. 

Mar.  Can  it  be, 
That  charity  should  persuade  you  to  descend 
So  far  from  your  own  height,  as  to  vouchsafe 
To  look  upon  my  sufferings  ?  How  I  bless 
My  fetters  now,  and  stand  engaged  to  fortune 
For  my  captivity — no,  my  freedom,  rather  ! 
For  who  dare  think  that  place  a  prison,  which 
You  sanctify  with  your  presence?  or  believe, 
Sorrow  has  power  to  use  her  sting  on  him, 
That  is  in  your  compassion  arm'd,  and  made 
Impregnable,  though  tyranny  raise  at  once 
All  engines  to  assault  him  ? 

Cleo.  Indeed  virtue. 
With  which  you  have  made  evident  proofs  that 

vou 
Are  strongly  fortified,  cannot  fall,  though  shaken 
With  the  shock  of  fierce  temptations;  but  still 

triumphs 
In  spite  of  opposition.    For  myself, 
I  may  endeavour  to  confirm  your  goodness, 
(A  sure  retreat,  which  never  will  deceive  you,) 
And  with  unfeigned  tears  express  my  sorrow 
For  what  I  cannot  help. 

Mar.  Do  you  weep  for  me  ! 
O,  save  that  precious  balm  for  nobler  uses  : 
I  am  unworthy  of  the  smallest  drop. 
Which,  in  your  prodigality  of  pity, 
You  throw  away  on  me.    Ten  of  these  pearls 


THE   BONDMAN.  jos 

Were  a  large  ransom  to  redeem  a  kingdom 
From  a  consuming  plague,  or  stop  heaven's  ven- 
geance, 

Call'd  down  by  crying  sins,  though,  at  thatinstant, 
In  dreadful  flashes  falling  on  the  roofs 
Of  bold  blasphemers.    I  am  justly  punish'd 
For  my  intent  of  violence  to  such  pureness ; 
And  all  the  torments  flesh  is  sensible  of, 
A  soft  and  gentle  penance. 

Cko.  Which  is  ended 
In  this  your  free  confession. 

Enter  Leosthenes  awfl?TiMAGORAS  hthind. 

Leost.  What  an  object 
Have  I  encountered  ! 

Timag,  I  am  blasted  too : 
Yet  hear  a  little  further. 

Mar.  Could  I  expire  now, 
These  white  and  innocent  hands  closing  my  eyes 

thus, 
'Tvvere  not  to  die,  but  in  a  heavenly  dream 
To  be  transported,  without  the  help  of  Charon, 
To  the  Elysian  shades.    You  make  me  bold ; 
And,  but  to  wish  such  happiness,  I  fear. 
May  give  offence. 

Cko.  No;  for  believe't,  Marullo, 
You've  won  so  much  upon  me,  that  I  know  not 
That  happiness  in  my  gift,  but  you  may  chal- 
lenge. 

Leost.  Are  you  yet  satisfied  ? 

Cko.  Nor  can  you  wish 
But  what  my  vows  will  second,  though  it  were 
Your  freedom  first,  and  then  in  me.  full  power 
To  make  a  second"  tender  of  myself, 
And  you  receive  the  present.    By  this  kiss, 

•I« 


104  THE    BONDMAN. 

From  me  a  virgin  bounty/  I  will  practise 

All  arts  for  your  deliverance;  and  thatpurchasc/1, 

In  what  concerns  your  further  aims,  1  speak  itj, 

Do  not  despair,  but  hope 

\Timagoras  and  Leosthenes  comt  foi^ard. 

Timag,  To  have  the  hangman, 
When  he  is  married  to  the  cross,  in  scorn 
To  say,  Gods  give  you  joy  ! 

Leost,  But  look  on  me, 
And  be  not  too  indulgent  to  your  folly ; 
And  then,  but  that  grief  stops  my  speech,  imagine 
What  language  I  should  use. 

Cleo.  Against  thyself: 
Thy  malice  cannot  reach  me. 

Timag.  How? 

Cleo.  No,  brother. 
Though  you  join  in  the  dialogue  to  accuse  me: 
What  I  have  done,  I'll  justify  ;  and  these  favours. 
Which,  you  presume,  will  taint  me  in  my  honour. 
Though  jealousy  use  all  her  eyes  to  spy  out 
One  stain  in  my  behaviour,  or  envy 
As  many  tongues  to  wound  it,  shall  appear 
My  best  perfections.  For,  to  the  world, 
I  can  in  my  defence  allege  such  reasons, 
As  my  accusers  shall  stand  dumb  to  hear  them ; 
When  in  his  fetters  this  man's  worth  and  virtues. 
But  truly  told,  shall  shame  your  boasted  glories. 
Which  fortune  claims  a  share  in. 

Timag,  The  base  villain 
Shall  never  live  to  hear  it.         [Draws  his  sword. 

Cleo.  Murder!  help! 
Through  me,  you  shall  pass  to  him. 


By  this  kiss, 


From  me  a  virgin  bounty,]  i.  e.  to  Pisander,  for  she  had 
giren  one  to  Leosthenes  before.  See  p.  41.  Both,  indeed, 
■were  virgin  kisses. 


THE    BONDMAN.  105 


Enter  Arcdhidamus,  Diphilus,  awJ  Officers. 

Archid,  What's  the  matter  ? 
On  whom  is  your  sword  drawn  ?  are  you  a  judge  ? 
Or  else  ambitious  of  the  hansinan's  office. 
Before  it  be  design'd  you  ?— You  are  bold,  too  ; 
Unhand  my  daughter. 

Leost,  She's  my  valour's  prize. 

Archid.  With  her  consent,  not  otherwise.  You 
may  urge 
Your  title  in  the  court;  if  it  prove  good, 
Possess  her  freely. — Guard  him  safely  ofp  too. 

Timag.  You'll  hear  me,  sir? 

Archid.  If  you  have  aught  to  say, 
Deliver  it  in  public ;  all  shall  find 
A  just  judge  of  Timoleon. 

Diph.  You  must 
Of  force  now  use  your  patience. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Ttmagoras  and  Leosthenes. 

Timag,  Vengeance  rather ! 
Whirlwinds  of  rage  possess  me :  you  are  wrong*d 
Beyond  a  Stoic  sufferance  ;  yet  you  stajid 
As  you  were  rooted. 

Leost.  I  feel  something  here. 
That  boldly  tells  me,  all  the  love  and  service 
I  pay  Cleora  is  another's  due, 
And  therefore  cannot  prosper. 

Timag.  Melancholy; 
Which  now  you  must  not  yield  to. 

Leost,  'Tis  apparent : 
In  fact  your  sister's  innocent,  however 
Changed  by  her  violent  will. 

Timag.  If  you  believe  so. 
Follow  the  chase  still ;  and  in  open  court 
Plead  your  own  interest :  We  shall  find  the  judge 
Our  friend,  I  fear  not. 


106  THE    BONDMAN. 

Leost.  Something  I  shall  say, 

But  what 

Timag.  Collect  yourself  as  we  walk  thither. 

[E^veutif, 

SCENE  III. 

The  Court  of  Justice. 

Enter  Timoleon,  Archidamus,  Cleora,  and 
Officers. 

Timol.  'Tis  wonderous  strange !  nor  can  it  fall 
within 
The  reach  of  my  belief,  a  slave  should  be 
The  owner  of  a  temperance  which  this  age 
Can  hardly  parallel  in  freeborn  lords, 
Or  kings  proud  of  their  purple. 

Archid  'Tis  most  true ; 
And,  though  at  first  it  did  appear  a  fable, 
All  circumstances  meet  to  give  it  credit; 
Which  works  so  on  me,  that  I  am  compell'd 
To  be  a  suitor,  not  to  be  denied, 
He  may  have  equal  hearing. 

Cleo.  Sir,  you  graced  me 
With  the  title  of  your  mistress ;'  but  my  fortune 
Is  so  far  distant  from  command,  that  I 
Lay  by  the  power  you  gave  me,  and  plead  humbly 
For  the  preserver  of  my  fame  and  honour. 
And  pray  you,  sir,  in  charity  believe, 

*  Cleo.  Sir^  you  graced  me 

With  the  title  of  your  mistress;']  This  alludes  to  the  request  in 
the  first  act,  that  he  might  be  permitted'/o  -wear  her  colours.  In 
those  days  of  gallantry,  I  mean  those  of  Massinger,  notj  of 
Timoleon,  to  wear  a  lady's  colours,  that  is,  a  scarf,  or  a  riband, 
taken  from  her  person  was  to  become  her  anthorizcd  champion 
and  servant.  See  p.  30. 


THE    BONDMAN.  107 

-.  t « 

That,  since  I  had  ability  of  speech, 

My  tongue  has  been  so  much  inured  to  truth, 

I  know  not  how  to  lie. 

Timol.  I'll  rather  doubt 
The  oracles  of  the  gods,  than  question  what 
Your  innocence  delivers  ;  and,  as  far 
As  justice  and  mine  honour  can  give  way, 
He  shall  have  favour.  Bring  him  in  unbound: 

[Exeujit  Officers. 
And   though  Leosthenes   may   challenge    from 

me. 
For  his  late  worthy  service,  credit  to 
All  things  he  can  allege  in  his  own  cause, 
Marullo,  so,  I  think,  you  call  his  name, 
Shall  find  I  do  reserve  one  ear  for  bim, 

Enter   Cleon,   Asotus,   Diphilus,   Olympia, 
and  CoRiscA. 

To  let  in  mercy.    Sit,  and  take  your  places; 
The  right  of  this  fair  virgin  first  determined, 
Your  bondmen  shall  be  censured.* 

Cleon.  With  all  rigour, 
We  do  expect, 

Coris,  Temper'd,  I  say,  with  mercy. 

Enter  at  one  door  Leosthenes  cwrfTiMAOORAS  ; 
at    the  other,   Officers    with  Marullo,   and 

TiMANDRA. 

TinioL  Your  hand,  Leosthenes:  I  cannot  doubt, 

•  Tour  bondmen  shall  be  censured.]  i.  e.  judged.  To  prcfent 
the  necessity  of  recurring  to  this  word,  about  which  more  than 
sufficient  has  been  written,  it  may  be  proper  to  obscnrc,  that 
our  ancestors  used  censure  precisely  as  we  now  do  judgment : 
sometimes  for  a  quality  of  the  mind,  and,  sometimes  for  »  judi- 
cial determination. 


108  THE   BONDMAN. 

You,  that  have  been  victorious  in  the  war, 
Should,  in  a  combat  fought  with  words,  come  off 
But  with  assured  triumph. 

Leost.  My  deserts,  sir, 
If,  without  arrogance,  I  may  style  them  such, 
Arm  me  from  doubt  and  fear. 

Timol.  'Tis  nobly  spoken. 
Nor  be  thou  daunted  (howsoe'er  thy  fortune 
Has  mark'd  thee  out  a  slave)  to  speak  thy  merits  : 
For  virtue,  though  in  rags,  may  challenge  more 
Than  vice,  set  off  with  all  the  trim  of  greatness. 

Mar,  I  had  rather  fall  under  so  just  a  judge. 
Than  be  acquitted  by  a  man  corrupt. 
And  partial,  in  his  censure. 

Archid.  Note  his  language  ; 
It  relishes  of  better  breeding  than 
His  present  state  dares  promise. 

Timol.  I  observe  it. 
Place  the  fair  lady  in  the  midst,  that  both, 
Looking  with  covetous  eyes  upon  the  prize 
They  are  to  plead  for,  may,  from  the  fair  object, 
Teach  Hermes  eloquence. 

Leost.  Am  I  fallen  so  low  ?' 
My  birth,   my  honour,   and,  what's  dearest  to 

me, 
My  love,  and,  witness  of  my  love,  my  service. 
So  undervalued,  that  I  must  contend 
With  one,  where  my  excess  of  glory  must 
Make  his  o'erthrow  a  conquest  ?  Shall  my  fulness 
Supply  defects  in  such  a  thing,  that  never 

7  ^m  I  fallen  so  low,  Sfc]    From  Ovid,  as  Mr.  Gilchrist  ob- 
serres : 

Demit  hotiorem 

JEmulns  Ajaci,  non  est  tenuisse  superbum 
Si  licet  hoc  ingens,  quidquid  speravit  Ulysses, 
Itte  tulit  pretiumjam  nunc  certaminis  Aiijus 
Quo  cum  victus  erit  mecum  certasseferetur. 

Met.  Lib.  xiii. 


THE    BONDMAN.  109 

Knew  any  thing  but  want  and  emptiness, 
Give  him  a  name,  and  keep  it  sucli,  from  this 
Unequal  competition?  If  my  pride, 
Or  any  bold  assurance  of  my  worth, 
Has  pluck'd  this  mountain  of  disgrace  upon  me, 
I  am  justly  punish'd,  and  submit ;  but  if 
I  have  been  modest,  and  estcem'd  myself 
More  injured  in  the  tribute  of  the  praise. 
Which  no  desert  of  mine,  prized  by  self-love, 
Ever  exacted,  may  this  cause  and  minute 
For  ever  be  forgotten  !  I  dwell  long 
Upon  mine  anger,  and  now  turn  to  you, 
Ungrateful  fair  one;  and,  since  you  are  such, 
'Tis  lawful  for  me  to  proclaim  myself. 
And  what  I  have  deserved. 

Cleo.  Neglect  and  scorn 
From  me,  for  this  proud  vaunt. 

Leost,  You  nourish,  lady. 
Your  own  dishonour  in  this  harsh  reply, 
And  almost  prove  what  some  hold  of  your  sex, 
You  are  all  made  up  of  passion  :  for,  if  reason 
Or  judgment  could  find  entertainment  with  you, 
Or  that  you  would  distinguish  of  the  objects 
You  look  on,  in  a  true  glass,  not  seduced 
By  the  false  light  of  your  too  violent  will, 
I  should  not  need  to  plead  for  that  which  you, 
With  joy,    should    offer.     Is  my   high  birth  a 

blemish? 
Or  does  my  wealth,  which  all  the  vain  expense 
Of  women  cannot  waste,  breed  loathing  in  you? 
The    honours    I    can    call    mine    own,    thought 

scandals  ? 
Am  I  deform'd,  or,  for  my  father's  sins, 
Mulcted  by  nature?  If  you  interpret  these 
As  crimes,  'tis  fit  I  should  yield  up  myself 
Most  miserably  guilty.    But,  perhaps, 
(Which  yet  I  would  not  credit,)  you  have  seen 


no  THE   BONDMAN. 

This  gallant  pitch  the  bar,  or  bear  a  burthen 

Would  crack  the  shoulders  of  a  weaker  bondman; 

Or  any  other  boisterous  exercise, 

Assuring  a  strong  back  to  satisfy 

Your  loose  desires,  insatiate  as  the  grave. 

Cleo.  You  are  foul-mouth'd. 

Archid.  Ill-manner'd  too. 

Leost.  I  speak 
In  the  way  of  supposition,  and  entreat  you. 
With  all  the  fervour  of  a  constant  lover, 
That  you  would  free  yourself  from  these  asper- 
sions. 
Or  any  imputation  black-tongued  slander 
Could  throw  on  your  unspotted  virgin  whiteness  : 
To  which  there  is  no  easier  way,  than  by 
Vouchsafing  him  your  favour ;  him,  to  whom. 
Next  to  the  general,  and  the  gods  and  fautors,* 
The  country  owes  her  safety. 

T'lmag,  Are  you  stupid  ? 
'Slight,  leap  into  his  arms,  and  there  ask  pardon — 
Oh  !  you  expect  your  slave's  reply ;  no  doubt 
We  shall  have  a  fine  oration:  I  will  teach 
My  spaniel  to  howl  in  sweeter  language, 
And  keep  a  better  method. 

Archid.  You  forget 
The  dignity  of  the  place. 

Diph.  Silence ! 

Timol.  \to  Marullo.]  Speak  boldly. 

Mar.  'Tis  your  authority  gives  me  a  tongue, 
I  should  be  dumb  else;  and  I  am  secure, 

*  Next  to  the  general,  and  the  gods  and  fautors,]  So  read  both 
the  quartos  :  the  modern  editors  not  knowing  what  to  make  of 
the  gods  and  fautors,  (which,  in  the  lant^uage  of  the  author, 
means  the  favouring  gods,)  accommodate  the  line  to  their  own 
conceptions  with  wonderous  facility,  and  read : 
Next  to  the  general,  and  to  the  gods, 
Alas,  for  Massinger ! 


THE    BONDMAN.  m 

I  cannot  clothe  my  thoughts,  and  just  defence, 
In  such  an  ahject  phrase,  but  'twill  appear 
Equal,  if  not  above  my  low  condition. 
I  need  no  bornbast  language,  stolen  from  such 
As  make  nobility  from  prodigious  terms 
The  hearers  understand  not ;  I  bring  with  mc 
No  wealth  to  boast  of,  neither  can  I  number 
Uncertain  fortune's  favours  with  my  merits; 
I  dare  not  force  affection,  or  presume 
To  censure  her  discretion,  that  looks  on  me 
As  a  weak  man,  and  not  her  fancy's  idol. 
How  I  have  loved,  and  how  much  1  have  sufFer'd, 
And  with  what  pleasure  undergone  the  burthen 
Of  my  ambitious  hopes,  (in  aiming  at 
The  glad  possession  of  a  happiness, 
The  abstract  of  all  goodness  in  mankind 
Can  at  no  part  deserve,)  with  my  confession 
Of  mine  own  wants,  is  all  that  can  plead  for  me. 
But  if  that  pure  desires,  not  blended  with 
Foul  thoughts,  that,  like  a  river,  keeps  his  course, 
Retaining  still  the  clearness  of  the  spring 
From  whence  it  took  beginning,  may  bethought 
Worthy  acceptance  ;  then  I  dare  rise  up. 
And  tell  this  gay  man  to  his  teeth,  I  never 
Durst  doubt  her  constancy,  that,  like  a  rock, 
Beats  off  temptations,  as  that  mocks  the  fury 
Of  the  proud  waves ;  nor,  from  my  jealous  fears, 
Question  that  goodness  to  which,  as  an  altar 
Of  all  perfection,  he  that  truly  loved 
Should  rather  bring  a  sacrifice  of  service, 
Than  raze  it  with  the  engines  of  suspicion : 
Of  which,  when  he  can  wash  an  ^thiop  white, 
Leosthenes  may  hope  to  free  himself; 
But,  till  then,  never. 

Timag.  Bold,  presumptuous  villain  ! 

Mar.  I  will  go  further,  and  make  good  upon 
him, 


112  THE    BONDMAN. 

I*  the  pride  of  all  his  honours,  birth,  and  fortunes, 
He's  more  unworthy  than  myself. 

Leost.  Thou  liest. 

Timag,    Confute   him  with  a  whip,   and,  the 
doubt  decided, 
Punish  him  with  a  halter. 

Mar.  O  the  gods  ! 
My  ribs,  though  made  of  brass,  cannot  contain 
My  heart,  swollen  big  with  rage.     The  lie  !— a 

whip  ! — 
Let  fury  then  disperse  these  clouds,  in  which 
I  long  have  march'd  disguised  ;'  [Throws  off  his 

disguise.}  that,  when  they  know 
Whom   they  have  injured,  they  may  faint  with 

horror 
Of  my  revenge,  which,  wretched  men  !  expect, 
As  sure  as  fate,  to  suffer. 

Leost.  Ha!  Pisander! 

Timag.  'Tis  the  bold  Theban  ! 

Asot.  There's  no  hope  for  me  then : 
I  thought  I  should  have  put  in  for  a  share. 
And  born  Cleora  from  them  both  ;  but  now, 
This  stranger  looks  so  terrible,  that  I  dare  not 
So  much  as  look  on  her. 

Pisan.  Now  as  myself. 
Thy  equal  at  thy  best,  Leosthenes. 
For  you,  Timagoras,  praise  heaven  you  were  born 
Cieora's  brother,  'tis  your  safest  armour. 
But  I  lose  time, — The  base  lie  cast  upon  me, 
I  thus  return  :  Thou  art  a  perjured  man. 
False,  and  perfidious,  and  hast  made  a  tender 
Of  love  and  service  to  this  lady,  when 

9  Let  fury  then  dispel  se  the  clouds  iri  which 

I  long  have  march'd  disguised ;]  The  old  copies  read  mask'd  ; 
but  this  seems  so  unworthy  of  the  author,  that  I  have  not 
scrupled  to  place  the  other  word  (march'd)  in  the  text.  I  believe 
that  Massinger  had  the  first  i£neid  io  his  thoughts. 


THE    BONDMAN.  115 

Thy  soul,  if  thou  hast  any,  can  bear  witness. 
That  thou  wert  not  thine  own:  for  proof  of  this, 
Look  better  on  this  virgin,  and  consider, 
This  Persian  shape  laid  by,*  and  she  appearing 
In  aGreekish  dress,  such  as  when  firstyou  saw  her. 
If  she  resemble  not  Pisander's  sister, 
One  call'd  Statiiia? 

Leost.  'Tis  the  same  !  My  guilt 
So  chokes  my  spirits,  I  cannot  deny 
My  falsehood,  nor  excuse  it. 

Pisan,  This  is  she, 
To  whom  thoit  wert  contracted  :  this  the  lady, 
That,  when  thou  wert  my  prisoner,  fairly  taken 
In  the  Spartan  war,  that,  begg'd  thy  liberty. 
And  with  it  gave  herself  to  thee,  ungrateful ! 

Statu.  No  more,  sir,  I  entreat  you  :  I  perceive 
True  sorrow  in  his  looks,  and  a  consent 
To  make  me  reparation  in  mine  honour; 
And  then  I  am  most  happy. 

Pisan.  The  wrong  done  her. 
Drew  me  from  Thebes,  with  a  full  intent  to  kill 

thee : 
But  this  fair  object  met  me  in  my  fury, 
And  quite  disarm 'd  me.  Being  denied  tohave  her. 
By  you,  my  lord  Archidamus,  and  not  able 
To  live  far  from  her;  love,  the  mistress  of 
All  quaint  devices',  prompted  me  to  treat 
With  a  friend  of  mine,  who,  as  a  pirate,  sold  me 
For  a  slave  to  you,  my  lord,  and  gave  my  sister, 
As  a  present,  to  Cleora. 

TimoL  Strange  meanders! 

»  This  Persian  shape  laid  %,]  i.  e.  the  dress  of  a  Persian 
»lare,  which  Statiiia  had  assumed,  with  the  name  of  Tmiandra. 
Shape  is  a  term  borrowed  from  the  tiring-room  of  the  theatres. 
In  the  list  of  dramatis  personse  prefixed  to  the  I  ngm  Martyr, 
Harpax  is  said  to  be,  "  an  efil  spirit  following  1  heophilus  m 
the  sfiape  (habit)  of  a  secretary." 


114  THE    BONDMAN. 

Pisan.  There  -how  I  bare  myself,  needs  no 
relation  : 
But,  if  so  far  descending  from  the  height 
Of  my  then  flourishing  fortunes,  to  the  lowest 
Condition  of  a  man,  to  have  means  only 
To  feed  my  eye  with  the  sight  of  what  I  honour'd; 
The  dangers  too  I  underwent,  the  sufferings; 
The  clearness  of  my  interest,  may  deserve 
A  noble  recompense  in  your  lawful  favour ; 
Now  'tis  apparent  that  Leosthenes 
Can  claim  no  interest  in  you,  you  may  please 
To  think  upon  my  service. 

Cleo.  Sir,  my  want 
Of  power  to  satisfy  so  great  a  debt. 
Makes  me  accuse  my  fortune;  but  if  that,    ■ 
Out  of  the  bounty  of  your  mind,  you  think 
A  free  surrender  of  myself  full  payment, 
I  gladly  tender  it. 

Archid.  With  my  consent  too. 
All  injuries  forgotten. 

Timag.  I  will  study, 
In  my  future  service,  to  deserve  your  favour, 
And  good  opinion. 

Leost,  Thus  I  gladly  fee. 
This  advocate  to  plead  for  me.     [Kissing  Siatilia, 

Pisan.  You  will  find  me 
An  easy  judge.  When  I  have  yielded  reasons 
Of  your  bondmen's  falling  off  from  their  obe- 
dience, 
Then  after,  as  you  please,  determine  of  me. 
I  found  their  natures  apt  to  mutiny 
From  your  too  cruel  usage,  and  made  trial 
How  far  they  might  be  wrought  on ;  to  instruct 

you 
To  look  with  more  prevention  and  care 
To  what  they  may  hereafter  undertake 
Upon  the  like  occasions.  The  hurt's  little 


THE    BONDMAN.  |f5 

They  have  committed  ;  nor  was  ever  cure, 

But  with  some  pain,  effected.  I  confess, 

In  hope  to  force  a  grant  of  fair  Cleora, 

I  urged  them  to  defend  the  town  against  you ; 

Nor  had  the  terror  of  your  whips,  but  that 

I  was  preparing  for  defence  elsewhere, 

So  soon  got  entrance:'  In  this  I  am  guilty; 

Now,  as  you  please,  your  censure. 

Timol.  Bring  them  in  ; 
And,    though   you've   given  me   power,    I  do 

entreat 
Such  as  have  undergone  their  insolence, 
It  may  not  be  offensive,  though  I  study 
Pity,  more  than  revenge. 

Coris.  'Twill  best  become  you. 

Cleon.  I  must  consent. 

Asot.  For  me,  I'll  find  a  time 
To  be  revenged  hereafter. 

Enter  Gracculo,  Cimbrio,  Poliphron,  Zan- 
THiA,  and  the  other  Slaves,  with  halters  about 
their  necks. 

Grac.  Give  me  leave  ; 
1*11  speak  for  all. 

TimoL  What  canst  thou  say,  to  hinder 
The  course  of  justice? 

Grac.  Nothing. — You  may  see 
We  are  prepared  for  hanging,  and  confesi 
We  have  deserved  it:  our  most  humble  suit  is. 
We  may  not  twice  be  executed. 

■  Nor  had  the  terror  of  your  whips,  but  that 

I  was  preparing  for  dtjence  elsewhere^ 

So  soon  got  entrance  .]  I  am  pleased  with  this,  because  it 
looks  as  if  the  author  was  sensible  of  the  improbability  of  the 
circtimstance  It  is,  indeed,  the  only  defective  part  of  this 
beautiful  story.  See  p.  81. 


116  THE    BONDMAN. 

Timol,  Twice! 
How  mean'st  thou  ? 

Grac,  At  the  gallows  first,  andafter  in  a  ballad 
Sung  to  some  villainous  tune.     There  are  ten- 
groat  rhymers 
About  the  town,  grown  fat  on  these  occasions. 
Let  but  a  chapel  fall,  or  a  street  be  fired,' 
A  foolish  lover  hang  himself  for  pure  love, 

'  Let  but  a  chapel  fall,  or  a  street  be  fired,  &c.]  There  is 
much  good  humour,  as  well  as  truth,  in  these  remarks.  They 
are,  it  must  be  confessed,  strangely  out  of  time,  and  still  more 
strangely  out  of  place ;  but  the  readers  of  our  old  dramatists 
must  be  prepared,  as  they  have  more  than  once  been  reminded, 
to  overlook  such  anomalies. 

Much  of  the  wit,  and  more  perhaps  of  the  interest,  of  our  old 
dramas,  is  irretrievably  lost  through  our  ignorance  of  collateral 
circumstances.  A~  thousand  temporary  allusions  are  received 
with  indifference,  or  perhaps  escape  us  altogether,  which  excited 
the  strongest  sensations  of  pleasure  and  pain  in  the  bosoms  of 
our  ancestors.  This  play  was  performed  for  the  first  time 
December  3d,  1623;  and  on  the  24th  of  October,  in  the  same 
year,  a  chapel^  or,  as  the  continuator  of  Stow  calls  it,  a  cha7nbei; 
Jell  down  *'  in  Hunsdon  House,  in  the  Black  Fryars,  where  was 
assembled  above  three  hundred  men,  women,  and  youths,  to 
hear  a  Romane  Catholique  priest  preach,  in  which  foil  was 
slaine  the  preacher,  and  almost  one  hundred  of  his  auditory,  and 
well  nigh  as  many  more  hurt ''  Immediately  after  this,  follows 
an  article  oijiring  a  street:  "  Wednesday  the  12th  of  November, 
1623,  one  of  the  warehouses  of  sir  W.  Cockayne,"  (a  name 
familiar  to  Massinger,)  "  knight,  alderman  of  London,  in 
Broad  Street,  tookj?/e  in  the  evening,  and  ceased  not  till  two 
o'  the  clock  the  next  morning,  in  which  space  it  burnt  his  whole 
house,  and  three  of  his  neighbours'  houses,  to  the  great  danger 
and  damage  of  many  neere  inhabitants,''  &c.  Annales,  p.  1035, 
ed.  1631. 

These  apposite  references,  for  which  I  am  indebted  to  Mr. 
Gilchrist,  prove,  I  think,  that  the  tragicel  events  in  Gracculo's 
speech  were  not  the  suggestions  of  fancy.  The  foolish  /brer,  who 
hung  himself^or  pure  love^  was  perhaps  beneath  the  notice  of  the 
Chronicler;  but  I  suspect  that,  if  we  could  have  recourse  to  the 

d d  ditties  of  the  day,  we  should  find  his  melancholy  story 

to  be  no  less  real  than  the  other  unfortunate  occurrences. 


THE    BONDMAN.  117 

Or  any  such  like  accident,  and,  before 

They  are  cold  in  their  graves,  some  damn'd  ditty'i 

made, 
Which  makes  their  ghosts  walk.— Let  the  state 

take  order 
For  the  redress  of  this  abuse,  recording 
'Twas  done  by  my  advice,  and,  for  my  part, 
I'll  cut  as  clean  a  caper  from  the  ladder, 
As  ever  merry  Greek  did. 

Timol.  Yet  I  think 
You  would  shew  more  activity  to  delight 
Your  master  for  a  pardon. 

Grac.  O  \  I  would  dance, 
As  I  were  all  air  and  fire.  \Caper$. 

Timol.  And  ever  be 
Obedient  and  humble  ? 

Gi^ac,  As  his  spaniel. 
Though  he  kick'd  me  for  exercise ;  and  the  like 
I  promise  for  all  the  rest. 

Timol.  Rise  then,  you  have  it. 

All  the  Slaves.  Timoleon  !  Timoleon! 

Timol.  Cease  these  clamours. 
And  now,  the  war  being  ended  to  our  wishes. 
And  such  as  went  the  pilgrimage  of  love, 
Happy  in  full  fruition  of  their  hopes, 
*Tis  lawful,  thanks  paid  to  the  Powers  divine, 
To  drown  our  cares  in  honest  rairth  and  wine. 

*  Massinger  ncyer  writes  with  more  effect,  than  when  he  com- 
bines his  own  fancy  with  somewhat  of  real  history.  In  this 
case,  the  reader  will  not  expect  that  the  history  should  proceed 
in  a  regular  order,  or  without  the  admission  of  foreign  incidents, 
or  that  it  should  maintain  to  the  end,  the  commanding  interest 
with  which  it  begins.  It  is  enough  for  Massinger  if  he  can 
secure  attention  at  the  outset,  through  the  remembrance  of  som« 
important  event,  and  if,  under  cover  of  this,  he  can  prepare  th« 
part  which  imagination  is  to  supply.  It  is  on  these  principles  he 
has  proceeded  in  tht  Bondman^  and  prodaced  a  piece  which, 

VOL.  II.  *  K 


118  THE    BONDMAN. 

with  a  few  exceptions,  is  at  once  stately  and  playful,  impressiTe 
and  tender.  He  matures  the  love  under  cover  of  the  history  ; 
till  at  length  the  interest  changes,  and  the  history  becomes  sub« 
ordinate  to  the  love. 

The  characters  are  drawn  with  much  variety  and  interest ; 
the  modest  gravity  and  self-command  of  Timoleon  well  agree 
with  the  ancient  descriptions  of  the  man,  from  whose  mouth 
nihil  unquam  insolens,  neque  gloriosum  exiit ;  and  our  admiration 
of  the  heroic  Pisander,  who  cannot  appear  in  his,  proper  cha- 
racter till  towards  the  conclusion,  is  skilfully  excited  by  early 
notices  apparently  incidental,  of  his  great  powers  of  body,  his 
language,  sentiments,  &c.  far  above  his  supposed  condition. 
His  signal  temperance,  the  charm  which  wins  the  pure  Cleora, 
is  well  contrasted  with  the  unreasonable  distrust  and  jealousy 
of  Leosthenes,  who,  however,  observes,  with  much  self-corn- 
placency,  while  he  mars  his  own  happiness  by  his  impatience, 
that  women  have  but  little  judgment,  and  are  mostly  made  up 
of  passion  !  It  may  be  remarked  here,  that  Massinger  seems 
fond  of  punishing  his  men  for  undue  suspicions  and  alarms  in 
matters  of  love  ;  and  that  this  is  one  of  the  methods  which  he 
takes  to  exalt  the  character  of  his  females,  and  to  exhibit,  as  in 
Cleora,  the  complete  ascendence  of  chastity  over  jealousy.  Other 
marks  of  his  accustomed  management  appear  in  this  play.  He 
is  fond  of  fulfilling  expressions  in  a  sense  not  intended  by  the 
speakers.  Timagoras  unconsciously  says  that  Pisander  was 
"  bought  for  his  sister's  service ;"  and  Archidamus  bids  him  treat 
her  with  particular  "  care  and  reverence,"  the  very  circumstance 
which  gains  her  aflfections.  In  the  Duke  of  Milan  too,  Sforza 
and  Marcelia,  wish  that,  after  a  life  of  unvaried  happiness,  "  one 
grave  may  receive  them  ;"  and  they  are  buried  together,  after 
she  has  fallen  by  his  hand.  He  is  fond  of  reserving  some  injured 
person,  whose  late  appearance  may  justify  what  has  been  done, 
and  hasten  the  conclusion  of  the  plot.  He  reserves  Statilia  for 
the  sake  of  vindicating  Pisander,  and  reminds  us  of  Eugenia, 
whose  wrongs  explain  thcTcngeance  of  Francisco,  lie  is  also 
fond  of  throwing  his  lovers  into  difhcultiei,  by  confessing  their 
attachment,  while  those  who  are  interested  in  opposing  it,  listen 
from  behind.  Cleora  precipitates  her  expressions  of  kindness 
for  Pisander,  that  her  family  may  be  enraged  at  the  discovery. 
And  a  similar  contrivance  will  by  and  by  strike  the  reader,  in  the 
plot  of  the  Rencgado,  where  Donusa  and  Vitelli  are  overheard 
by  Asambeg  and  Mustapha.  * 

The  comic  characters  are  not  w  ithout  their  merit,  always 
excepting  the  licentiousness  which  stains  them ;  licentiousness, 
however,  which,  fortunately,  is  neither  spirited  nor  attractive. 
The  slaves  turned  masters,  "  fret  their  hour"  in  their  new  dig- 


THE    BONDMAN.  119 

nity,  with  becoming  insolence.  It  is  a  fine  stroke  of  nature 
which  Plautus  has  given  to  one  of  his  slaves:  suddenly  growing 
rich,  and  laying  the  plan  of  his  future  enjoyments,  he  deter- 
mines to  have  slaves  of  his  own  :  • 

'    ■        domutn  instruam,  agram,  cedis,  mancipia. 

Rudens^  Act.  IV.  sc.  ii. 
If  Massinger  is  to  be  suspected  of  political  allusions,  this  play 
betrays  him.     The  character  of  Gisco  the  admiral  does  not  suit 
him,  but  agrees  very  well  with  the  duke  of  Buckingham  : 

*'  a  raw  young  fellow, 

"  One  never  train'd  in  arms,  but  rather  fashion'd 
"  To  tilt  with  ladies'  lips,  than  crack  a  lance,''  &c. 
The  "  green  heads  that  determine  of  the  state  over  their  cups,'* 
&c.  were  now  in  possession  of  all  power,  and  playing  their 
wildest  schemes.  And  towards  the  end  of  the  rejgn  of  James, 
(the  date  of  this  play,)  it  might  well  be  said,  by  the  friends  to 
the  safety  of  their  country  : 

"  in  this  plenty 

"  And  fat  of  peace,  your  young  men  ne'er  were  train'd 
"  In  martial  discipline ;  and  your  ships  unrigg'd, 

"  Rot  in  the  harbour.'' • 

One  of  those  friends  of  his  country  was  Massinger ;  and  it  is 
hardly  possible  to  point  out,  in  any  writer  ancient  or  modern, 
a  finer  strain  of  patriotism  amidst  the  public  danger,  than  that 
which  animates  the  last  scene  of  the  first  act. 


THE 


RENEGADO. 


The  Renegado.]  This  Tragi-Comedy,  for  so  Massingcr  terms 
it,  appears,  from  the  Office-book  of  the  Master  of  the  Revels, 
to  have  been  first  produced  on  the  stage.  April  17th,  1624:  it 
was  not  given  to  the  public  till  several  years  after ;  the  entry, 
in  the  Stationer's  Register,  bearing  date  March  6th,  1629-30. 

The  story,  though  wild  and  extravagant,  is  not  all,  perhaps, 
invention  ;  the  pirates  of  Tunis  and  Algiers  ravaged  the  northern 
coasts  of  the  Mediterranean  at  pleasure  ;  and  the  Spanish  and 
Italian  writers  of  those  days  are  full  of  adventures  similar  to 
this  before  us  ;  some  of  which  were  undoubtedly  founded  in 
fact. 

The  language  and  ideas  of  this  play  are  strictly  Catholic  ; 
notwithstanding  which,  it  seems  to  have  been  a  favourite  with 
the  public ;  and  even  the  modest  author  speaks  of  its  merits 
with  some  degree  of  complacency.  It  was  not,  however,  re- 
printed. 

It  is  said,  in  the  title-page,  to  have  been  "  often  acted  by  the 
Queen's  Majesties  Servants,  at  the  private  Play-house  in  Drury 
Lane."  After  the  death  of  queen  Anne,  in  1618,  (as  Mr.  Malone 
informs  me,)  the  players  at  this  house  were  called,  the  Lady 
Elizabeth's  Servants,  (i.  e.  James's  daughter,  then  married  to  the 
Palsgrave,)  although  s^e  was  not  in  England  :  but  after  the 
marriage  of  Charles,  they  took  the  nanve  of  the  Queen's  Servants; 
i.  c.  of  Henrietta  Maria.  The  denomination,  therefore,  in  the 
title-page  of  the  old  play,  alludes  to  the  time  of  its  publication, 
and  not  to  that  of  its  "  allowance ;"  when,  as  it  appears  from 
the  first  edition  of  the  Bondman,  1624,  the  players  were  still  in 
possession  of  the  former  appellation. 


To 

The  Right  Honourable 

GEORGE   HARDING, 

BARON  BERKELEY,  OF  BERKELEY  CASTLE,  AND 
KNIGHT  OF  THE  HONOURABLE  ORDER  OF  THE 
BATH.* 

MY  GOOD   LORD, 

10  be  honoured  for  old  nubilitj/,  or  hereditary  titles,  is 
not  alone  proper  to  yourself,  but  to  some  few  of  your  rank^ 
who  may  challenge  the  like  privilege  with  you:  but  in  our 
age  to  vouchsafe  (as  you  have  often  done)  a  ready  hand  to 
raise  the  dejected  spirits  of  the  contemned  sons  of  the  Muses ; 
such  as  would  not  suffer  the  glorious  fire  of  poesy  to  be 
zeholly  extinguished,  is  so  remarkable  and  peculiar  to  yoiir 
lordship,  that  with  a  full  vote  and  suffrage,  it  is  acknow- 
ledged that  the  patronage  and  protection  of  the  dramatic 
poem,  is  yours,  and  almost  without  a  rival.  I  despair  not 
therefore f  but  that  my  ambition  to  present  my  service  in  this 
kind,  may  in  your  clemency  meet  with  a  gentle  interpretation, 
Confirm  it,  my  good  lord,  in  your  gracious  acceptance  of  this 
trifle  ;  in  which,  if  I  were  not  confident  there  are  some  pieces 
worthy  the  perusal,  it  should  have  been  taught  an  humbler 
flight ;  and  the  writer,  your  countryman,  never  yet  madg 
happy  in  your  notice  and  favour,  had  not  made  this  an  ad- 
vocate to  plead  for  his  admission  among  such  as  are  wholly 
and  sincerely  devoted  to  your  service.  I  may  live  to  tender 
my  humble  thankfulness  in  some  higher  strain ;  and  till  then, 
comfort  myself  with  hope^  that  you  descend  from  your  height 
to  receive 

Your  honour's  commatided  servant, 

PHILIP  MASSING  ER, 

*  He  was  made  a  knight  of  the  Bath  at  the  creation  of  Charles 
Prince  of  Wales,  November  4th,  1616:  three  years  after  he 
succeeded  his  grandfather,  Henry,  eleventh  lord  Berkeley. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiE.     ACTORS'  NAMES. 


Asambcg,  mceroi/  o/'Tunis,         John  Blanye 
Mustapha,  basha  0/ Aleppo,        John  Sumner. 
Vitelli,  «  Venetian  gentlemaUy 

disguised  as  a  merchant^  Mich.  Bowyer. 

Francisco,  a  Jesuit,  Wm.  Reignalds. 

Antonio  Grimaldi,  the  Re- 

NEGADO,  Wm.  Allen. 

Carazie,  an  eunuch,  Wm.  Robins. 

Gazet,  ser*oant  to  Vitelli;  Ed.  Shakerley, 

Aga. 
Capiaga, 
Janizaries. 
Master. 
Boatswain. 
Sailors. 
A  Gaoler.     Turks. 

Donusa,  niece  to  Amurath,  Ed.  Rogers. 

Paulina,  sister  to  Vitelli,  Theo.  Bourne* 

Manto,  servant^o  Donusa, 

SC ENE,  Tim'is. 


THE 

RENEGADO. 


ACT  I.     SCENE  I. 

A  Street  near  the  Bazar. 

Enter  Y 11 -EtLi  and  Gazet. 

Vitel.  You  have  hired  a  shop,  then? 

Gaz.  Yes,  sir ;  and  our  wares, 
Though  brittle  as  a  maidenhead  at  sixteen, 
Are  safe  unladen  ;  not  a  crystal  crack'd, 
Or  China  dish  needs  soldering ;  our  choice  pic- 
tures, 
As  they  came  from  the  workman,  without  blemish: 
And  I  have  studied  speeches  for  each  piece, 
And,  in  a  thrifty  tone,  to  sell  them  off, 
Will  swear  by  Mahomet  and  Jermagant,* 

'  Will  swear  by  Mahomet  and  Termagant,]  Dr.  Percy,  in  bis 
remarks  on  the  ancient  ballad  of  King  Estmere,  says,  that 
Termagant  is  the  name  given  by  the  authors  of  the  old  romances 
to  the  god  of  the  Saracens :  and  as  he  was  generally  represented 
as  a  very  furious  being,  the  word  Termagant  was  applied  to  any 
person  of  a  turbulent  outrageous  disposition,  though  at  present 
it  is  appropriated  to  the  female  sex.     M.  Mason. 

I  have  retained  a  part  of  this  note,  though  there  is  little  in  it. 
Our  zealous  ancestors,  who  were  somewhat  of  sir  Andrew's  way 
of  thinking,  and  cordially  disposed  to  beat  the  I  urks  like  dogs, 
for  being  Mahomedans,  innocently  charged  them  with  deities 
whom  they  never  acknowledged.  Termagant,  whether  derived 
from  the  Saxon,  or  (which,  in  this  case,  is  nearly  the  same) 
from  the  Latin,  cannot  possibly  be  a  Saracenic  divinity ;  the 


126  THE    RENEGADO. 

That  this  is  mistress  to  the  great  duke  of  Florence, 
That,  niece  to  old  king  Pepin,  and  a  third, 
An  Austrian  princess  by  her  Roman  nose, 
Howe'er  my  conscience  tells  me  they  are  figures 
Of  bawds  and  common  courtezans  in  Venice. 

Vitel.  You  make  no  scruple  of  an  oath,  then  ? 

Gaz.  Fie,  sir! 
'Tis  out  of  my  indentures  ;  I  am  bound  there. 
To  swear  for  my  master's  profit,  as  securely 
As  your  intelligencer'  must  for  his  prince, 
That  sends  him  forth  an  honourable  spy, 
To  serve  his  purposes.     And,  if  it  be  lawful 
In  a  Christian  shopkeeper  to  cheat  his  father, 
I  cannot  find  but  to  abuse  a  Turk 
In  the  sale  of  our  commodities,  must  be  thought 
A  meritorious  work. 

Vitel.  I  wonder,  sirrah, 
What's  your  religion  ? 

Gaz.  Troth,  to  answer  truly, 
I  would  not  be  of  one  that  should  command  me 
To  feed  upon  poor  John,'  when  I  see  pheasants 

word  was  originally  used,  I  suppose,  as  an  attribute  of  the 
Supreme  Being  of  the  Saxons,  a  people  little  less  odious  to  ouf 
romance  writers,  than  the  Saracens,  and  sometimes  confounded 
with  them. 

*  I  am  bound  there,  / 

To  swear  for  my  master's  profit,  as  securely 

As  your  intelligencer^  &c.]  Here  is,  probably,  an  allusion  to 
the  celebrated  definition  of  an  ambassador,  by  sir  Henry 
Wotton :  "  An  honest  man  appointed  to  lye  abroad  for  the  good 
of  his  country."  A  definition,  by  the  bye,  which  cost  him  dear, 
for  sir  Henry,  not  satisfied  with  entertaining  his  countrymen, 
would  needs  translate  his  wit  into  Latin,  for  the  amusement  of 
foreigners.  Lye,  which  was  then  the  term  for  lodge  or  dwell, 
made  a  tolerable  pun ;  but  mcntiendum,  into  which  it  was  turned, 
had  neither  humour  nor  ambiguity  in  it,  and  sorely  scandalized 
the  corps  diplomatic. 

'  To  feed  upon  poor  John,]  Poor  John,  Mr.  Malone  says,  ii 
bake,  dried  and  salted. 


THE   RENEGxlDO.  127 

And  partridges  on  the  table  :  nor  do  I  like 
The  other,  that  allows  us  to- eat  flesh 
In  Lent,  though  it  be  rotteti,  rather  than  be 
Thought  superstitious  ;  as  your  zealous  cobler, 
And  learned  botcher,  preach  at  Amsterdam, 
Over  a  hotchpotch.*    I  would  not  be  confined 
In  my  belief:    when   all  your  sects   and  sec- 
taries 
Are  grown  of  one  opinion,  if  I  like  it, 
I  will  profess  myself, — in  the  mean  time, 
Live  I  in  Enfgland,  Spain,  France,  Rome,  Geneva, 
I'm  of  that  country's  faith. 

Vifel.  And  what  in  Tunis  ? 
Will  you  turn  Turk  here  ? 

Gaz.  No ;  so  I  should  lose 
A  collop  of  that  part  my  Doll  enjoin'd  me 
To  bring  home  as  she  left  it :  'tis  her  venture, 
Nor  dare  I  barter  that  commodity, 
Without  her  special  warrant. 

Vitel.  You  are  a  knave,  sir: 
Leaving  your  roguery,  think  upon  my  business, 
It  is  no  time  to  fool  now. 

Remember  where  you  are  too  :  though  this  mart- 
time 

*  — as  your  zealous  cobler, 

And  learned  botcher^  preach  at  Amsterdam^ 

Over  a  hotchpotch.]  The  religious  troubles  of  Holland,  in  the 
16th  century,  arose  principally  from  the  Anabaptists.  There 
was  an  insurrcetion  at  Amsterdam,  headed  by  a  tailor,  a  disciple 
of  John  of  Leyden,  (the  Munster  king,)  himself  a  tailor  :  but, 
indeed,  the  toleration  allowed  to  religious  sects  of  all  denomi- 
nations, had,  about  this  time,  filled  Amsterdam  with  fana'ics 
from  every  country  in  Europe.  To  this  aggregation  of  zealots, 
there  arc  perpetual  allusions  in  our  old  writers.  Thus  Shirley  : 
'•  Well,  if  I  li?e,  I  will  to  Amsterdam,  and  add  another 
schism  to  the  two  hundred  four  score  and  odd."  Gentleman  of 
Venice.  And  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  :  '•  I  am  a  schoolmaster, 
sir,  and  would  fain  confer  with  you  about  erecting  four  new  sects 
of  religion  at  Amsterdam."     The  Fair  Maid  of  the  Inn, 


128  THE    RENEGADO. 

We  are  allow'd  free  trading,  and  with  safety, 
Temper  your  tongue^  and  meddle  not  with  the 

Turks, 
Their  manners,  nor  religion. 

Gaz.  Take  you  heed,  sir, 
What  colours  you  wear.     Not  two  hours  since, 

there  landed 
An  English  pirate's  whore,  with  a  green  apron,* 
And,  as  she  walked    the  streets,  one   of  their 

muftis, 
We  call  them  priests  at  Venice,  with  a  razor 
Cuts  it  off,  petticoat,  smock  and  all,  and  leaves 

her 
As  naked  as  my  nail ;  the  young  fry  wondering 
What  strange  beast  it  should   be.     I  scaped  si 

scouring 

My  mistress's  busk  point,  of  that  forbidden  co- 
lour. 
Then  tied  my  codpiece  ;  had  it  been  discover'd, 
I  had  been  capon'd. 

Vitel.  And  had  been  well  served. 
Haste  to  the  shop,  and  set  my  wares  in  order, 
1  will  not  long  be  absent. 

Gaz.  Though  I  strive,  sir, 
To  put  off  melancholy,  to  which  you  are  ever 
Too  much  inclined,  it  shall  not  hinder  me, 
With  my  best  care,  to  serve  you.  [Exit. 

Enter  Francisco. 

Vitel.  I  believe  thee. — 
O  welcome,  sir  1  stay  of  my  steps  in  this  life, 


s  toith  a  green  apron^'\  It  1110111(1  be  observed, 

that  this  colour  is  appropriated  solely  to  the  descendants  of 
Mahomet.  To  "  land  at  Tunis,"  or  any  other  town  professing 
the  Mahometan  religion,  in  a  green  dress,  at  this  day,  Mrould 
perhaps  cost  the  unwary  stranger  his  life. 


THE    RENEGADO.  129 

And  guide  to  all  my  blessed  hopes  hereafter. 
What  comforts,  sir?  Have  your  endeavours  pros- 

per'd  ? 
Have  we  tired  Fortune's  malice  with  our  suffer- 
ings ? 
Is  she  at  length,  after  so  many  frowns. 
Pleased  to  vouchsafe  one  cheerful  look  upon  us? 
Fran.  You  give  too  much  to  fortune  and  your 
passions. 
O'er  winch  a  wise  man,  if  religious,  triumphs. 
That  name  fools  worship ;   and  those  tyrants, 

which 
We  arm  against  our  better  part,  our  reason, 
May  add,  but  never  take  from  our  afflictions. 

Vitel.  Sir,  as  I  am  a  sinful  man,  I  cannot 
But  like  one  suffer. 

Fran,  I  exact  not  from  you 
A  fortitude  insensible  of  calamity, 
To  which  the  saints  themselves  have  bow'd  and 

shown* 
They  are  made  of  flesh  and  blood ;  all  that  I 

challenge. 
Is  manly  patience.  Will  you,  that  were  train'd  up 
In  a  religious  school,  where  divine  maxims, 
Scorning  comparison  with  moral  precepts, 
Weredaily  taughtyou,  bearyourconstancy'strial, 
Kot  like  Vitelli,  but  a  village  nurse, 
With  curses  in  your  mouth,  tears  in  your  eyes  ? — 
How  poorly  it  shows  in  you. 

Vitel.  I  am  school'd,  sir. 
And  will  hereafter,  to  my  utmost  strength. 
Study  to  be  myself. 

Fran.  So  shall  you  find  me 
Most  ready  to  assist  you  ;  neither  have  I 
Slept  in  your  great  occasions  :  since  I  left  you, 

and  shown]    So  the  old  copy :  the  modera 


editors  read,  and  shew. 


130  THE    RENEGADO. 

I  have  been  at  the  viceroy's  court,  and  press'd, 
As  far  as  they  allow,  a  Christian  entrance  ; 
And  something  I  have  learn'd,  that  may  concern 
The  purpose  of  this  journey. 

Vitel.  Dear  sir,  what  is  it  ? 

Fran.    By  the    command    of  Asambeg,    the 
viceroy, 
The  city  swells  with  barbarous  pomp  and  pride, 
For  the  entertainment  of  stout  Mustapha, 
The  basha  of  Aleppo,  who  in  person 
Comes  to  receive  the  niefcc  of  Amurath, 
The  fair  Donusa,  for  his  bride.  ^ 

Vitel.  I  find  not 
How  this  may  profit  us. 

Fran,  Pray  you  give  me  leave. 
Among  the  rest  that  wait  upon  the  viceroy, 
Such  as  have,  under  him,  command  in  Tunis, 
Who,  as  you've  often  heard,  are  all  false  pirates, 
I  saw  the  shame  of  Venice,  and  the  scorn 
Of  all  good  men,  the  perjured  Renegado, 
Antonio  Grimaldi. 

Vitel.  Ha!  his  name 
Is  poison  to  me. 

Fran.  Yet  again  ? 

Vitel.  I  have  done,  sir. 

Fran.  This  debauch'd  yillain,  whom  we  ever 
thought 
(After  his  impious  scorn  done,  in  St  Mark's, 
To  me,  as  I  stood  at  the  holy  altar) 
The  thief  that  ravish'd  your  fair  sister  from  you, 
Tiie  virtuous  Paulina,  not  long  since. 
As  I  am  truly  given  to  understand, 
Sold  to  the  viceroy  a  fair  Christian  virgin 
On  whom,  maugre  his  fierce  and  cruel  nature, 
Asambeg  dotes  extremely, 

Vitel.  'Tis  my  sister : 
It  must  be  she,  my  better  angel  tells  me 


THE    RENEGADO.  131 

'Tis  poor  Paulina.     Farewell  all  disguises  ! 
I'll  show,  in  my  revenge,  that  I  am  noble, 

Fi^an.  You  are  not  mad  ? 

Vitel.  No,  sir;  my  virtuous  anger 
Makes  every  vein  an  artery ;  I  feel  in  me 
The  strength  of  twenty  men  ;  and,  being  arm'd 
With  my  good  cause,  to  wreak'  wrong'd  inno- 
cence, 
I  dare  alone  run  to  the  viceroy's  court, 
And  with  this  poniard,  before  his  face, 
Dig  out  Grimaldi's  heart. 

Fran.  Is  this  religious  ? 

Vitel.  Would  you  have  me  tame  now?  Can  I 
knaw  my  sister 
Mew'd  up  in  his  seraglio,  and  in  danger 
Not  alone  to  lose  her  honour,  but  her  soul ; 
The  hell-bred  villain  by  too,  that  has  sold  both 
To  black  destruction,  and  not  haste  to  send  him 
To  the  devil,  his  tutor  ?  To  be  patient  now, 
Were,  in  another  name,  to  play  the  pander 
To  the  viceroy's  loose  embraces,  and  cry  aim !' 
While  he,  by  force  or  flattery,  compels  her 
To  yield  her  fair  name  up  to  his  foul  lust, 
And,  after,  turn  apostata  to  the  faith 
That  she  was  bred  in. 

Fran.  Do  but  give  me  hearing, 
And  you  shall  soon  grant  how  ridiculous 
This  childish  fury  is.  A  wise  man  never 
Attempts  impossibilities;  'tis  as  easy 
For  any  single  arm  to  quell  an  army. 
As  to  effect  your  wishes.  We  come  hither 


7  —  '  to  wreak  •wrong  d  innocencef]  i.  e.  to  rerenge ; 

$0  in  the  Fatal  Doivry^  Vol.  III. 

"  But  there's  a  heaven  above,  from  whose  just  wreak 
"No  mists  of  policy  can  hide  offenders.'' 

• and  cry  aim!]  Sanction  or  encoarage.  See  the 

Bondman^  p.  27. 


1S«  THE    RENEGADO. 

To  learn  Paulina's  fate,'  and  to  redeem  her: 
Leave  your  revenge  to  heaven.     1  oft  have  told 

you 
Of  a  relic*  that  I  gave  her,  which  has  power, 
If  we  may  credit  holy  men's  traditions, 
To  keep  the  owner  free  from  violence : 
This  on  her  breast  she  wears,  and  does  preserve 
The  virtue  of  it,  by  her  daily  prayers. 
So,  if  she  fall  not  by  her  own  consent, 
Which  it  were  sin  to  think,  I  fear  no  force. 
Be,  therefore,  patient ;  keep  this  borrow'd  shape, 
Till  time  and  opportunity  present  us 
With  some  fit  means  to  see  her ;  which  perform'd» 
I'll  join  with  you  in  any  desperate  course 
For  her  delivery. 

ViteL  You  have  charm'd  me,  sir. 
And  I  obey  in  all  things  :  pray  you,  pardon 
The  weakness  of  my  passion. 

Faan.  And  excuse  it. 
Be  cheerful,  man  ;  for  know  that  good  intents 
Are,  in  the  end,  crown'd  with  as  fair  events. 

[^Exeunt, 

9  To  learn  Paulina^s  fate,]  The  old  copy  re&ds  faith  ;  the  al- 
teration, which  seems  judicious,  was  made  by  Mr.  M.  Mason. 

■  — — /  oft  have  told  you 

Of  a  relic  that  I  gave  her,  &c.]  I  hare  already  observed,  that 
the  language  of  this  play  is  Catholic  :  the  idea,  however,  of  the 
power  of  relics,  in  the  preservation  of  chastity,  may  be  found 
in  many  old  romances  and  books  of  knight-errantry,  which  were 
undoubtedly  familiar  to  Massinger. 


THE   RENEGADO.  133 

SCENE    II. 

A  Room  in  Donusa^j  Palace, 
Enter  DoNvsAf  Manto,  and  Carazie. 

Don.  Have  you  seen  the  Christian  captive, 
The  2:reat  basha  is  so  enamour'd  of? 

Mant.  Yes,  an  it  please  your  excellency, 
I  took  a  full  view  of  her,  when  she  was 
Presented  to  him. 

Don.  And  is  she  such  a  wonder, 
As  'tis  reported  ? 

Mant.  She. was  drown'd  in  tears  then, 
Which  took  much  from  her  beauty  ;  yet,  in  spite 
Of  sorrow,  she  appear'd  the  mistress  of 
Most  rare  perfections;  and,  though  low  of  stature, 
Her  well-proportion'd  limbs  invite  affection : 
And,  when  she  speaks,  each  syllable  is  music 
That  does  enchant  the  hearers :  but  your  high- 
ness,' 
That  are  not  to  be  parallell'd,  I  yet  never 
Beheld  her  equal. 

Don.  Come,  you  flatter  me ; 
But  I  forgive  it.    We,  that  are  born  great, 
Seldom  distaste' our  servants,  though  they  give  us 

* but  your  highness,"}  i.  e.  except  your 

highness,  &c.  In  the  next  line  the  modern  editors  had  so  trans- 
posed the  words,  as  to  make  it  downright  prose :  it  is  now  re- 
formed. 

3  Jf^e,  that  are  born  great. 

Seldom  distaste  our  servants,  though  they  give  us 

More  than  we  can  pretend  to.]  i.  e.  dislike;  in  which  sense  the 

VOL.  II.  L  * 


134  THE   RENE  G  ADO. 

More  than  we  can  pretend  to.     I  have  heard 
That  Christian  ladies  live  with  much  more  freedom 
Than  such  as  are  born  here.    Our  jealous  Turks, 
Never  permit  their  fair  wives  to  be  seen, 
But  at  the  public  bagnios,  or  the  mosques, 
And,  even  then,  veil'd  and  guarded.    Thou,  Ca- 

razie, 
Wert  born  in  England ;  M'hat*s  the  custom  there, 
Among  your  women  ?  Come,  be  free  and  merry  : 
I  am  no  severe  mistress  ;  nor  hast  thou  met  with 
A  heavy  bondage. 

Car.  Heavy  !  I  was  made  lighter 
By  two  stone  weight,  at  least,  to  be  fit  to  serve 

you. 
But  to  your  question,  madam;  women  in  England, 
For  the  most  part,  live  like  queens.    Your  coun- 
try ladies  '^ 
Have  liberty  to  hawk,  to  hunt,  to  feast. 
To  give  free  entertainment  to  all  comers. 
To  talk,  to  kiss ;  there's  no  such  thing  known 

there 
As  an  Italian  girdle.  Your  city  dame. 
Without  leave,  wears  the  breeches,  has  her  hus- 
band 
At  as  much  command  as  her  prentice;  and,  if 

need  be. 
Can  make  him  cuckold  by  her  father's  copy. 
Don.  But  your  court  lady  ? 
Car.  She,  I  assure  you,  madam, 
Knows  nothing  but  her  will ;  must  be  allow'd 


word  frequently  occurs.    Thus  Shirley,  in  the  Epilogue  to  Lffoc   \ 
in  a  Maze:  I 

*' he  desires  that  you 

^^  Should  not  distaste  his  muse,  because  of  late 
"  Transplanted,"  &c. 


THE   RENEGADO.  135 

Her  footmen,  her  caroch,*  lier  ushers,  pages. 
Her  doctor,  chaplains ;  and,  as  I  have  heard, 
They're  grown  of  late  so  learn'd,  that  they  main- 
tain 
A  strange  position,  which  their  lords,  with  all 
Their  wit,  cannot  confute. 

Don.  What's  that,  I  prithee  ? 

Car,  Marry,  that  it  is  not  only  fit,  but  lawful, 
Yqur   madam    there,    her  much  rest  and  high 

feeding 
Duly  consider'd,  should,  to  ease  her  husband, 
Be  allow'd  a  private  friend  :  they  have  drawn  a 

bill 
To  this  good  purpose,  and,  the  next  assembly, 
Doubt  not  to  pass  it. 

Don.  We  enjoy  no  more. 
That  are  o'  the  Othoman  race,  though  our  religion 
Allows  all  pleasure.     I  am  dull :  some  music. 
Take  my  chapines  *  off.     So,  a  lusty  strain. 

\^A  galliard.    Knocking  within. 
Who  knocks  there  ? 

[Manto  goes  to  the  door,  and  returns. 

Mant.  'Tis  the  basha  of  Aleppo, 
Who  humbly  makes  request  he  may  present 
His  service  to  you. 

Don.  Reach  a  chair.  'We  must 


♦  Her  footmen^  her  caroch,  her  ushers^  Pf^g^Sil  If  the  reader 
rould  have  a  promising  specimen  of  what  can  be  done  by  a  nice 
ear  in  editing  an  ancient  poet,  let  him  cast  an  eye  on  this  line, 
as  it  stands  in  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason : 

Her  footmen,  her  coach,  her  ushers,  her  pages, 
tum-ti-ti,  tum-ti-ti,  &c.    Dactylics,  a  little  lame. 

5  Take  my  chapines  off^  Chapines  (Spanish,  and  not  Italian, 
as  the  commentators  on  Shakspeare  assert)  are  a  kind  of  clogs 
with  thick  cork  soles,  which  the  ladies  wear  on  their  shoes 
when  they  go  abroad.  They  are  mentioned  by  most  of  our  old 
dramatists. 

•L2 


136  THE   RENEGADO. 

Receive  him  like  ourself,  and  not  depart"  with 
One  piece  of  ceremony,  state,  and  greatness. 
That  may  beget  respect  and  reverence 
In  one  that's  born  our  vassal.    Now  admit  him. 

Enter  Mustapha  ;  he  puts  off  his  yellozv  pmitofles. 

Miista.  The  place  is  sacred  ;  and  I  am  to  enter 
The  room  where  she  abides,  with  such  devotion 
As  pilgrims  pay  at  Mecca,  when  they  visit 
The  tomb  of  our  great  prophet,  [^Kneels, 

Don.  Rise  ;  the  sign 

\Carazie  takes  up  the  pantofles. 
That  we  vouchsafe  your  presence. 

Musta.  May  those  Powers 
That  raised  the  Othoman  empire,  and  still  guard  it,. 
Reward  your  highness  for  this  gracious  favour 
You  throw  upon  your  servant !  It  hath  pleased 
The  most  invincible,  mightiest  Amurath, 
(To  speak  his  other  titles  would  take  from  him 
That  in  himself  does  comprehend  all  greatness,) 
»To  make  me  the  unworthy  instrument 
Of  his  command.    Receive,  divinest  lady, 

[Delivers  a  letter. 
This  letter,  sign'd  by  his  victorious  hand, 
And  made  authentic  by  the  imperial  seal. 
There,  when  you  find  me  mention'd,  far  be  it  from 

you 
To  think  it  my  ambition  to  presume 
At  such  a  happiness,  wliich  his  powerful  will, 
From  his  great  mind's  magnificence,notmy  merit, 


• and  no^  depart  wVA  &c.]    To  depart 

and  part  were  anciently  synonymous.    Thus  Jonson  : 
"  He  that  depaits  with  his  own  honesty 
"  For  vulgar  praise,  doth  it  too  deariy  buy."    Epig.  i&i 


y 


THERENEGADO.  137 

Hath  shower'd  upon  me.     But,  if  3'our  consent 
Join  with  his  good  opinion  and  allowance; 
To  perfect  what  his  favours  have  begun, 
I  shall,  in  my  obsequiousness  and  duty. 
Endeavour  '  to  prevent  all  just  complaints, 
Which  want  of  will  to  serve  3'ou  may  call  on  me. 

Don.  His  sacred  majesty  writes  here,  that  your 
valour 
Against  the  Persian  hath  so  won  upon  him, 
That  there's  no  grace  or  honour  in  his  gift, 
Of  which  he  can  imagine  you  unworthy; 
And,  what's  the  greatest  you  can  hope,  or  aim  at, 
It  is  his  pleasure  you  should  be  received 
Into  his  royal  family — provided, 
For  so  far  I  am  unconfined,  that  I 
Affect  and  like  your  person.     I  expect  not 
The  ceremony  which  he  uses  in 
Bestowing  of  his  daughters  and  his  nieces  : 
As  that  he  should  present  you  for  my  slave, 
To  love  you,  if  you  pleased  me;  or  deliver 
A  poniard,  on  my  least  dislike,  to  kill  you. 
Such  tyranny  and  pride  agree  not  with 
My  softer  disposition.     Let  it  suffice. 
For  my  first  answer,  that  thus  far  I  grace  you : 

{Gives  him  her  hand  to  kiss. 
Hereafter,  some  time  spent  to  make  enquiry 
Of  the  good  parts  and  faculties  of  your  mind, 
You  shall  hear  further  from  me. 

Must  a.  Though  all  torments 
Really  suifer'd,  or  in  hell  imagined 

7  I  shall  in  my  obsequiousness  and  duty 
Endeavour  &c.]  This,  and  what  follows,  are  pretty  correct 
specimens  of  the  manner  in  which  the  great  oficers  of  the  state 
are  still  said  to  pay  their  addresses  to  the  princesses  of  the  im- 
perial family.  The  age  of  Massinger  produced  many  good  his- 
tories of  the  Turks :  he  follows  them,  however,  by  starts  only, 
for  in  none  of  his  plays  are  the  manners  of  different  coantries 
so  mingled  and  confounded  as  in  this. 


138  THE   RENEGADO. 

By  curious  fiction,  in  one  hour's  delay 
Are  wholly  comprehended  ;  I  confess 
That  I  stand  hound  in  duty,  not  to  check  at 
Whatever  you  command,  or  please  to  impose, 
For  trial  of  my  patience. 

Don.  Let  us  find 
Some  other  subject ;  too  much  of  one  theme  cloys 

me : 
Is't  a  full  mart? 

Musta.  A  confluence  of  all  nations 
Are  met  together:  there's  variety,  too, 
Of  all  that  merchants  traffic  for. 

Don.  I  know  not — 
I  feel  a  virgin's  longing  to  descend 
So  far  from  my  own  greatness,  as  to  be, 
Though  not  a  buyer,  yet  a  looker  on 
Their  strange  commodities. 

Musta.  If  without  a  train 
You  dare  be  seen  abroad,  I'll  dismiss  mine. 
And  wait  upon  you  as  a  common  man, 
And  satisfy  your  wishes. 

Don.  I  embrace  it. 
Provide  my  veil;  and^  at  the  postern  gate. 
Convey  us  out  unseen.     I  trouble  you. 

Musta.  It  is  my  happiness  you  deign  to  com- 
mand me.  [Exeunt, 


SCENE    III. 

The  Bazar.  ■ 

Gazet  in  his  Shop;     Francisco  and  Vitelli 
walking  before  it. 

Gaz.  What  do  you  lack?'    Youi  choice  China 
*  What  do  you  lack  f  &c.l  Gazet  adopts  the  identical  language 


THERENEGADO.  139 

dishes,  your  pure  Venetian  crystal  of  all  sorts,  of 
all  neat  and  new  fashions,  from  the  mirror  of 
the  madam,  to  the  private  utensil  of  her  cham- 
bermaid ;  and  curious  pictures  of  the  rarest  beau- 
ties of  Europe  :  What  do  you  lack,  gentlemen  ? 
Fran.  Take  heed,  I  say  ;  howe'er  it  may  appear 
Impertinent,  I  must  express  my  love. 
My  advice,  and  counsel.  You  are  young,  Vitelli,' 
And  may  be  tempted  ;  and  these  Turkish  dames, 
CLike  English  mastiffS;  that  increase  their  fierce- 
ness 
By  bei  ng  chain'd  up, )  from  the  restraint  of  freedom, 
If  lust  once  fire  their  blood  from  a  fair  object, 
Will  run  a  course  the  fiends  themselves  would 

shake  at, 
To  enjoy  their  wanton  ends. 

Vitel.  Sir,  you  mistake  me  : 
I  am  too  full  of  woe,  to  entertain 
One  thought  of  pleasure,  though  all  Europe's 

queens 
Kneel'd  at  my  feet,  and  courted  me  ;  much  less 
To  mix  with  such,  whose  difference  of  faith 
Must,  of  necessity,  (or  I  must  grant 
Myself  neglectful  of  all  you  have  taught  me,) 
Strangle  such  base  desires. 

Fran.  Be  constant  in 
That  resolution  ;  I'll  abroad  again. 
And  learn,  as  far  as  it  is  possible. 


which  Massinger  heard  every  day  in  passing  the  streets  of  Lon. 
don.  The  expression  was  so  common,  that  our  old  dramatists 
characterize  the  citizens  by  it.  Thus  in  Philaster^  the  Captain 
frequently  exclaims  to  the  shop-keepers  who  had  taken  arms, 
*'  Come,  my  dear  what-dO'youJacks  J  &c. 

'  You  are  young,  Vitelli,]    I  hare  added  the 

name,  which  seems  to  hare  dropt  out  at  the  press,  to  complete 
the  verse.- 


J40  THE   RENEGADO. 

What  may  concern  Paulina.     Some  two  hours 
Shall  bring  me  back.  [E.vit. 

Vitel.  All  blessings  wait  upon  you  1 

Gaz.  Cold  doings,   sir?    a  mart   do  you   call 
this?  'slight! 
A  pudding-wife,  or  a  witch  with  a  thrum  cap, 
That  sells  ale  underground  to  such  as  come 
To  know  their  fortunes  in  a  dead  vacation, 
Have,  ten  to  one,  more  stirring. 

Vitel.  We  must  be  patient. 

Gaz,  Your  seller  by  retail  ought  to  be  angry, 
But  when  he's  fingering  money. 

JEJw/er  Grimaldi,  Master,  Boatswain,  Sailors,  and 

Turks. 

Vitel.  Here  are  company 

Defend  me,  my  good  angel,  [seeing  Giimaldi.']   I 

behold 
A  basilisk ! 

Gaz.  What  do  you  lack  ?  what  do  you  lack  ? 
pure  China  dishes,  clear  crystal  glasses,  a  dumb 
mistress  to  make  love  to?  What  do  you  lack, 
gentlemen  ? 

Grim.  Thy  mother  for  a  bawd;  or,  if  thou  hast 
A  handsome  one,  thy  sister  for  a  whore ; 
Without  these,  do  not  tell  me  of  your  trash, 
Or  I  shall  spoil  your  market. 

Vitel.  —0\d  Grimaldi! 

Grim.  'Zounds,  wherefore  do  we  put  to  sea,  or 
stand 

The  raging  winds,  aloft,  or  p upon 

The  foamy  waves,  when  they  rage  most ;  deride 
The  thunder  of  the  enemy's  shot,  board  boldly 
A  merchant's  ship  for  prize^  though  we  behold 
The  desperate  gunner  ready  to  give  fire, 
And  blow 'the  deck  up  ?  wherefore  shake  we  off 


THE    RENEGADa  141 

Those  scrupulousragsof  charity  and  conscience, 
Invented  only  to  keep  churchmen  warm, 
Or  feed  the  hungry  mouths  of  famish'd  beggars; 
But,  when  we  touch  the  shore,  to  wallow  in 
All  sensual  pleasures? 

Mast.  Ay,  but,  noble  captain, 
To  spare  a  little  for  an  after-clap, 
Were  not  improvidence. 

Grim.  Hang  consideration  ! 
When  this  is  spent,  is  not  our  ship  the  same. 
Our  courage  too  the  same,  to  fetch  in  more  ? 
The  earth,  where  it  is  fertilest,  returns  not 
More  than  three  harvests,  while  the  glorious  sun 
Posts  through  the  zodiac,  and  makes  up  the  year: 
But  the  sea,  which  is  our  mother,  (that  embraces 
Both  the  rich  Indies  in  her  outstretch'd  arms,) 
Yields  every  day  a  crop,  if  we  dare  reap  it. 
No,  no,  my  mates,  let  tradesmen  think  of  thrift, 
l|    And  usurers  hoard  up  ;  let  our  expense 
'     Be,  as  our  comings  in  are,  without  bounds. 
We  are  the  Neptunes  of  the  ocean, 
And  such  as  traffic  shall  pay  sacrifice 
Of  their  best  lading  ;  I  will  have  this  canvass 
Your  boy  wears,  lined  with  tissue,  and  the  cates 
You  taste,  serv'd  up  in  gold : — Though  we  carouse 
The  tears  of  orphans  in  our  Greekish  wines, 
The  sighs  of  undone  widows  paying  for 
The  music  bought  to  cheer  us,  ravish'd  virgins 
To  slavery  sold,  for  coin  to  feed  our  riots. 
We  will  have  no  compunction. 

Gaz.  Do  you  hear,  sir  ? 
We  have  paid  for  our  ground. 

Grim.  Hum  1 

Gaz.  And  hum,  too  ! 
*    For  all  your  big  words,  get  you  further  off, 
And  hinder  not  the  prospect  of  our  shop, 
Or 


142  THE   RENEGADO. 

Grim.  What  will  you  do  ? 

Gaz»  Nothing,  sir — but  pray 
Your  worship  to  give  me  handsel. 

Grim.  [Seizing  him.l    By  the  ears, 
Thus,  sir,  by  the  ears.  .  . 

Mast.  Hold,  hold  !  ^ 

Vitel.  You'll  still  be  prating. 

Grim.  Come,  let's  be  drunk ;  then  each  man  to 
his  whore. 
'Slight,  how  do  you  look  ?  you  had  best  go  find 

a  corner 
To  pray  in,  and  repent :  do,  do,  and  cry ; 
It  will  shew  fine  in  pirates.  [Exit, 

Mast.  We  must  follow, 
Or  he  will  spend  our  shares. 

Boatsw.  I  fought  for  mine. 

Mast.  Nor  am  I  so  precise  but  I  can  drab  too  : 
We  will  not  sit  out  for  our  parts. 

Boatsw.  Agreed.  [Exeunt  Mast.  Boatsw.  Sailors. 

Gaz.  The  devil  gnaw  off  his  fingers !    If  he 
were 
In  London,  among  the  clubs,  up  went  his  heels, 
For  striking  of  a  prentice.* — What  do  you  lack  ? 
What  do  you  lack,  gentlemen? 

» If  he  were 

In  London i  among  the  clubs,  up  went  his  keels ^ 
For  striking  of  a  prentice.^  The  police  of  the  city  seems  to 
have  been  wretchedly  conducted  at  this  time,  when  private  in- 
juries were  left  to  private  redress,  and  public  brawls  composed 
by  the  interference  of  a  giddy  rabble.  Erery  house,  at  least 
every  shop,  was  furnished  with  bludgeons,  with  which,  on  the 
slightest  appearance  of  a  fray,  the  inhabitants  armed  themselves, 
and  rushed  in  swarms  to  the  scene  of  action.  From  the  petu- 
lance of  the  young  citizens,  who  then  mixed  little  with  the  gen- 
try, and  the  real  or  aflfected  contempt  in  which  the  latter  pro- 
fessed to  hold  them,  subjects  of  contention  were  perpetually 
arising :  the  city  signal  for  reinforcements,  was  a  cry  of 
"  clubs,  clubs !"  and  the  streets  were  instantly  filled  with  armed 


THE   RENEGADO.  143 

1  Turh.  I  wonder  how  the  viceroy  can  endure 
The  insolence  of  this  fellow. 

2  Turk,  He  receives  profit 

From  the  prizes  he  brings  in ;  and  that  excuses 
Whatever  he  commits.     Ha !  what  are  these  ? 

Enter  Mustapha  with  Donusa  veiled. 

1  Turk.  They  seem  of  rank  and  quality ;  ob- 
serve them. 
Gaz.  What  do  you  lack  ?  see  what  you  please 
to  buy; 
Wares  of  all  sorts,  most  honourable  madona. 
Vitel.  Peace,  sirrah,  make  no  noise ;  these  are 
not  people 
To  be  jested  with. 

Don.  Is  this  the  Christians'  custom. 
In  the  venting  their  commodities  ? 

Musta.  Yes,  best  madam. 
But  you  may  please  to  keep  your  way,  here's 

nothing 
But  toys  and  trifles,  not  worth  your  observing. 
Don.  Yes,  for  variety's  sake :  pray  you,  shew, 
us,  friend. 
The  chiefest  of  your  wares. 

Vitel.  Your  ladyship's  servant; 
And  if,  in  worth,  or  title  you  are  more, 
My  ignorance  plead  my  pardon  ! 

apprentices.  To  this  curious  system  of  preserving  the  peace, 
our  old  dramatists  have  frequent  allusions.  Thus,  in  Decker's 
Honest  Whore,  where  a  mercer  is  struck,  his  servant  exclaims : 
*' 'Sfoot,  clubs!  clubs!  prentices,  down  with  them!  ah  you 
rogues,  strike  a  citizen  in  his  shop!"  Again,  in  Green's  Tu 
Quoque,  Staines  says ; 

"  Sirrah !  by  your  outside  you  seem  a  citizen, 
*'  Whose  coxcomb  I  were  apt  enough  to  break, 
*'  But  for  the  law.    Go,  you're  a  prating  Jack; 
*'  Nor  is't  your  hopes  of  crying  out  for  clubs, 
"  Can  save  you  from  my- chastisement." 


144  THE  RENEGADO. 

Don.  He  speaks  well. 

Vitcl.  Take  down  the  looking-glass.     Here  is 
a  mirror 
Steel'd  so  exactly,  neither  taking  from 
Nor  flattering  the  object  it  returns 
To  the  beholder,  that  Narcissus  might 
(And  never  grow  enamour'd  of  himself) 
View  his  fair  feature  in't. 

Don.  Poetical,  too  1 

Vitel.  Here  China  dishes  to  serve  in  a  banquet, 
Though  the  voluptuous  Persian  sat  a  guest. 
Here  crystal -glasses,  such  as  Ganymede 
Did  fill  with  nectar  to  the  Thunderer, 
When  he  drank  to  Alcides,  and  received  him 
In  the  fellowship  of  the  gods ;  true  to  the  owners  :^ 
Corinthian  plate,  studded  with  diamonds, 
Conceal'd  oft  deadly  poison  ;  this  pure  metal 
So  innocent  is,  and  faithful  to  the  mistress 
Or  master  that  possesses  it,  that,  rather 
Than  hold  one  drop  that's  venomous,  of  itself 
It  flies  in  pieces,  and  deludes  the  traitor. 

Don.  How  movingly  could  this  fellow  treat 
upon 


*  Here  crystal  glasses- true  to  the  owners :  &c.]    This, 

and  what  follows,  is  a  correct  account  of  the  notion  once  en- 
tertained, respecting  the  effect  of  poison  on  Venice  glasses  ;  a 
circumstance  which  wonderfully  increased  their  value.  It  may 
be  added,  that  the  chief  manufactory  for  glass  was  at  this  time, 
in  the  vicinity  of  that  city.  Mr.  Gilchrist  adds  from  Stow,  that 
**  the  first  making  of  Venice  glasses  in  England,  began  at  the 
Crotched  Fryars  in  London,  about  the  beginning  of  the  raigne 
of  Queen  Elizabeth,  by  one  Jacob  Venaline,  an  Italian." 
These,  I  suspect,  were  not,  like  the  genuine  ones,  true  to  the 
owners.  There  is  an  allusion  in  this  spc'ech  to  a  beautiful  paa^ 
sage  in  Juvenal : 

. nulla  aconita  hibuntur 

Fictilibus;  tunc  ilia  time,  cum  pocula  sumes 
Gemmata,  et  iato  Setinum  ardcbit  in  aitro.  Sat.  x. 


THE    RENEGADO.  145 

A  worthy  subject,  that  finds  such  discourse 
To  grace  a  trifle  ! 

Vitel.  Here's  a  picture,  madam  ; 
The  masterpiece  of  Michael  Angelo, 
Our  great  Italian  workman  ;  here's  another, 
So  perfect  at  all  parts,  that  had  Pygmalion 
Seen  this,  his  prayers  had  been  made  to  Venus 
To  have  given  it  life,  and  his  carved  ivory  image 
By  poets  ne'er  remember'd.     They  are,  indeed, 
The  rarest  beauties  of  the  Christian  world. 
And  no  where  to  be  equall'd. 

Don.  You  are  partial 
In  the  cause  of  those  you  favour  ;  I  believe 
I  instantly  could  shew  you  one,  to  theirs 
Not  much  inferior. 

Vitel.  With  your  pardon,  madam, 
I  am  incredulous. 

Don.  Can  you  match  me  this? 

[Lifts  her  veil  hastily* 

Vitel.  What  wonder  look  I  on !  I'll  search  above, 
And  suddenly  attend  you.  [Exit, 

Don.  Are  you  amazed  ? 
I'll  bring  you  to  yourself.  [Throws  down  the  glasses, 

Musta.  Ha!  what's  the  matter? 

Gaz.  My  master's  ware  ! — Weare  undone  ! — O 
strange ! 
A  lady  to  turn  roarer,  and  break  glasses  !' 
'Tis  time  to  shut  up  shop  then. 

Musta.  You  seem  moved  ; 
If  any  language  of  these  Christian  dogs 
Have  caird  your  anger  on,  in  a  frown  shew  it. 
And  they  arc  dead  already. 

Don,  The  offence 

^  A  lady  to  turn  roarer,  and  break  glasses.'^  A  roarer  was  the 
cant  term  for  what  we  now  call  a  blusterer,  or  bully.  Thus 
Gazet,  in  the  third  act,  says  to  Grimaldi  in  his  state  of  refor- 
mation : 

NmVf  you  do  not  roar,  sir. 


146  THE    RENEGADO. 

Looks  not  so  far.  The  foolish,  paltry  fellow, 
Shew'd  me  some  trifles,  and  demanded  of  me, 
For  what  I  valued  at  so  many  aspers, 
A  thousand  ducats.     I  confess  he  moved  me; 
Yet  I  should  wrong  myself,  should  such  a  beggar 
Receive  least  loss  from  me. 

Musta.  Is  it  no  more  ? 

Don.  No,  I  assure  you.  Bid  him  bring  his  bill 
To  morrow  to  the  palace,  and  enquire 
For  one  Donusa ;  that  word  gives  him  passage 
Through  all  the  guard :  say,  there  he  shall  receive 
Full  satisfaction.  Now,  \vhen  you  please. 

Musta.  I  wait  you.    [Exeunt  Musta.  and  Don* 

1  Turk.  We  must  not  know  them. — Let's  shift 
off,  and  vanish.  [Ej:eunt  Turks. 

Gaz.  The  swine's-pox  overtake  you  !  there's  a 
curse 
For  a  Turk,  that  eats  no  hog's  flesh. 

Re-enter  Vitelli. 

Vitel.  Is  she  gone  ? 

Gaz.  Yes ;  You  may  see  her  handy  work. 

Vitel.  No  matter. 
Said  she  aught  else  ? 

Gaz.  That  you  should  wait  upon  her. 
And  there  receive  court  payment ;  and,  to  pass 
The  guards,  she  bids  you  only  say  you  come 
To  one  Donusa. 

Vitel.  How  !  Remove  the  wares ; 
Do  it  without  reply.  The  sultan's  niece  ! 
I  have  heard,  among  the  Turks,  for  any  lady 

♦  [Exeunt  Musta.  and  Don.]  Nothing  can  exceed  the  negli- 
gence with  which  the  exits  and  entrances  are  marked  by  Mr,  M. 
Mason  :  in  this  placehe  giyes  a  speech  to  the  Turks,  after  send- 
ing them  off  the  stage ! 


THE    RENEGADO.  U7 

To  shew  her  face  bare,  argues  love,  or  speaks 
Herdeadly hatred.  Whatshouldlfear?  myfortune 
Is  sunk  so  low,  there  cannot  fall  upon  me 
Aught  worth  my  shunning.  I  will  run  the  hazard  : 
She  may  be  a  means  to  free  distress'd  Paulina — 
Or,  if  offended,  at  the  worst,  to  die 
Is  a  full  period  to  calamity.  [Exeunt, 


ACT   II.    SCENE   I. 

A  Room  in  Donusa*s  Palace. 
Enter  Carazie  and  Man  to. 

Car.  In  the  name  of  wonder,  Manto,  what  hath 
my  lady 
Done  with  herself,  since  yesterday  ? 

Mant.  I  know  not. 
Malicious  men  report  we  are  all  guided 
In  our  affections  by  a  wandering  planet: 
But  such  a  sudden  change  in  such  a  person, 
May  stand  for  an  example,  to  confirm 
Their  false  assertion. 

Car.  She's  now  pettish,  froward  ; 
Music,  discourse,  observance,  tedious  to  her. 

Mant.  She  slept  not  the  last  night;  and  yet 
prevented 
The  rising  sun,'  in  being  up  before  him  : 
Call'd  for  a  costly  bath,  then  will'd  the  rooms 
Should  be  perfumed  ;  ransack'd  her  cabinets 

'  Mant.  She  slept  not  the  last  night ;  and  yet  prey  cnted 

The  rising  sun^]  Massinger  explains  himself :  but  the  expres- 

»n  is  from  the  Psalms;  "  Mine  eyes  prevent  the  night-watches." 


8I0D 


•* 


148  THE    RflNEGADO.      . 

For  her  choice  and  richest  jewels,*  and  appears  now 
Like  Cynthia  in  full  glory,  waited  on 
By  the  fairest  of  the  stars. 

Car.  Can  you  guess  the  reason, 
Why  the  aga  of  the  janizaries,  and  he 
That  guards  the  entrance  of  the  inmost  port, 
Were  call'd  before  her  ? 

Mant.  They  are  both  her  creatures. 
And  by  her  grace  preferr'd  :  but  I  am  ignorant 
To  what  purpose  they  were  sent  for. 

Enter  Donusa. 

Car.  Her  she  comes, 
Full  of  sad  thoughts  :  we  must  stand  further  off. 
What  a  frown  was  that ! 

Mant,  Forbear. 

Car.  I  pity  her. 

Don  What  magic  hath  transform'd  me  from 
myself  ? 
Where  is  my  virgin  pride?  how  have  I  lost 
My  boasted  freedom  ?  what  new  fire  burns  up 
My  scorched  entrails;  what  unknown  desires 
Invade,  and  take  possession  of  my  soul, 
All  virtuous  objects  vanished  ?  I,  that  have  stood' 
The  shock  of  fierce  temptations,  stopp'd  mine  ears 
Against  all  Syren  notes  lust  ever  sung. 
To  draw  my  bark  of  chastity  (that  with  wonder 
Hath  kept  a  constant  and  an  honour'd  course) 

*  For  her  choice  and  richestj^czuf/*,]  This  is  modernized  by 
Coxeterand  Mr.  M.Mason,  into  choicest^  nc/iW^ jewels :  althogh 
the  frequent  recurrence  of  the  expression  might  have  taught  them 
caution  on  the  subject ;  it  is  found  again  in  this  yery  play : 
•*'  Adorned  in  her  choice  and  richest  jewels."  Act  V.  sc.  iii, 
7  J,  that  have  stood  &c.]  This  fine  speech,  as  it  has  been 
hitherto  given  in  all  the  editions,  is  absolute  nonsense.  I  have 
ventured  to  reform  the  pointing  altogether,  and  to  insert  that 
before  have,  which  is  the  greatest  liberty  I  have  yet  taken  with 
the  old  copy. 


THE    RENEGADO.  149 

Into  the  gulf  of  a  deserved  ill-fame, 

Now  fall  unpitied  ;  and,  in  a  moment, 

With  mine  own  hands,  dig  up  a  grave  to  bury 

The  monumental  heap  of  all  my  years, 

Employ'd  in  noble  actions.    O  my  fate  ! 

— But  there  is  no  resisting.    I  obey  thee, 

Imperious  god  of  love,  and  willingly 

Put  mine  own  fetters  on,  to  grace  thy  triumph  : 

'Twere  therefore  more  than  cruelty  in  thee, 

To  use  me  like  a  tyrant.    What  poor  means 

Must  I  make  use  of  now  !  and  flatter  such. 

To  whom,  till  I  betray'd  my  liberty, 

One  graciops  look  of  mine  would  have  erected 

An  altar  to  my  service  !  How  now,  Manto ! — 

My  ever  careful  woman  ;  and  Carazie, 

Thou  hast  been  faithful  too. 

Ca7\  I  dare  not  call 
My  life  mine  own,  since  it  is  yours,  hut  gladly 
Will  part  with  it,  whene'er  you  shall  command  me; 
And  think  I  fall  a  martyr,  so  my  death 
May  give  life  to  your  pleasures. 

Mcmt.  But  vouchsafe 
To  let  me  understand  what  you  desire 
Should  be  effected  ;  I  will  undertake  it, 
And  curse  myself  for  cowardice,  if  I  paused 
To  ask  a  reason  why. 

Don.  I  am  comforted 
In  the  tender  of  your  service,  but  shall  be 
Confirm'd  in  my  full  joys,  in  the  performance. 
Yet,  trust  me,  I  will  not  impose  upon  you 
But  what  you  stand  engaged  for  to  a  mistress, 
Such  as  I  have  been  to  you.    All  I  ask. 
Is  faith  and  secrecy. 

Car.  Say  but  you  doubt  mc. 
And,  to  secure  you,  I'll  cut  out  my  tongue; 
I  am  libb'd  in  the  breech  already. 

VOL.  II.  •  M 


150  THE   RENEGAbO. 

Mant.  Do  not  hinder 
Yourself,  by  these  delays. 

Don.  Thus  then  I  whisper 
Mine  own  shame  to  you. — Othat  I  should  blush 
To  speak  what  I  so  much  desire  to  do  ! 
And,  further — [IVhispers,  aiiduses  vehement  action. 

Mant.  Is  this  all? 

Don.  Think  it  not  base; 
Although  I  know  the  office  undergoes 
A  coarse  construction. 

Car.  Coarse  !   'tis  but  procuring  ; 
A  smock  employment,   which  has  made  more 

knights, 
In  a  country  I  could  name,  than  twenty  years 
Of  service  in  the  field. 

Don,  You  have  my  ends. 

Mant.  Which  sa}^  yoH  have  arrived  at :  be  not 
wanting  ^ 

To  yourself,  and  fear  not  us. 

Car»  I  know  my  burthen ; 
I'll  bear  it  with  delight. 

Mant.  Talk  not,  but  do.  {^Exeunt  Car.  and  Mant, 

Don.  O  love,  what  poor  shifts  thou  dost  force 
us  to  !  [Exit. 

SCENE  IT. 

A  Court  in  the  Same. 
Enter  Aga,  Capiaga,  and  Janizaries. 

Aga,  She  was  ever  our  good  mistress,  and  our 
'  maker. 
And  should  we  check  at  a  little liazard  for  her, 
We  were  unthankful. 

Cap,  I  dare  pawn  my  head, 


THE    RENEGADO.  151 

'Tis  some  disguised  minion  of  the  court, 
Sent  from  great  Amurath,  to  learn  from  her 
The  viceroy's  actions. 

Aga.  That  concerns  not  us ; 
His  fall  may  be  our  rise  :  whate'er  he  be, 
He  passes  through  my  guards. 

Cap.  And  mine — provided 
He  give  the  word. 

Enter  Vi telle. 

Vitel.  To  faint  now,  being  thus  far, 
Would  argue  me  of  cowardice, 

Aga.  Stand:  the  word; 
Or,  being  a  Christian,  to  press  thus  far. 
Forfeits  thy  life, 

Vitel.  Donusa,  • 

Aga.  Pass  in  peace.  [Exeunt  Aga  and  Janizaries. 

Vitel.  What  a  privilege  her  name  bears  ! 
'Tis  wondrous  strange  !  If  the  great  officer, 
The  guardian  of  the  inner  port,  deny  not — 

Cap.  Thy  warrant :  Speak,  or  thou  art  dead. 

Vitel.  Donusa. 

Cap.  That  protects  thee ; 
Without  fear  enter.  So : — discharge  the  watch. 
[^Exeunt  Vitelli  and  Capiaga, 


SCENE m. 

An  outer  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Carazie  and  Manto. 

Car.  Though  he  hath  past  the  aga  and  chief 
porter, 
This  cannot  be  the  man. 

*  M  2 


152  THE    RENEGADO. 

Mant.  By  her  description, 
I  am  sure  it  is. 

Car.  O  women,  women, 
What  are  you  ?  A  great  lady  dote  upon 
A  haberdasher  of  small  wares  ! 

Mant,  Pish  \  thou  hast  none. 

Car.  No ;  if  I  had,  I  might  have  served  the 
turn : 
This  'tis  to  want  munition,  when  a  man 
Should  make  a  breach,  and  enter. 

Enter  Vitelli. 

ManL  Sir,  you  are  welcome  : 
Think  what  'tis  to  be  happy,  and  possess  it. 

Car.  Perfume  the  rooms  there,  and  make  way. 
Let  music  • 

With  choice  notes  entertain  the  man  the  princess 
Now  purposes  to  honour.* 

Vitel.  I  am  ravish'd.  [ExeunL 


SCENE  IV. 

A  Room  of  State  in  the  same.     A  table  setforthf 
with  jewels  and  bags  of  money  upon  it. 

Loud  music.     Enter  Don  us  a,  (followed  by 
Carazie,)  and  takes  her  seat, 

Don.  Sing  o'er  the  ditty  that  I  last  composed 
Upon  my  love-sick  passion  :  suit  your  voice 

•     Car.  Perfume  the  rooms  there,  and  make  way.  Let  music 
With  choice  notes  entertain  the  man  the  princess 
Now  purposes  to  honour.^    These  lines  are  thus  arranged  by 
Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason : 

Car.  Per/ume  the  rooms  there,  and  make  way. 


THE    RENEGADO.  153 

To   the  music  that's   placed   yonder,  we   shall 

liear  you 
With  more  delight  and  pleasure. 

Car.  I  obey  you.  [Song. 

During  the  song,  enter  Manto  andVnELLu 

Vitel  Is  not  this  Tempe,  or  the  blessed  shades, 
Where  innocent  spirits  reside?  or  do  I  dream, 
And  this  a  heavenly  vision?  Howsoever, 
It  is  a  sight  too  glorious  to  behold, 
For  such  a  wretch  as  I  am. 

Car.  He  is  daunted. 

Mant,  Speak  to  him,  madam ;  cheer  him  up,  or 
you 
Destroy  what  you  have  built. 

Car.  Would  I  were  furnish'd 
With  his  artillery,  and  if  I  stood 
Gaping  as  he  does,  hang  me.  [Aside. 

[Exeunt  Carazie  and  Manto, 

Vitel.  That  I  might 
Ever  dream  thus  !  [Kneels. 

Don.  Banish  amazement : 
You  wake ;  your  debtor  tells  you  so,  your  debtor. 
And,  to  assure  you  that  I  am  a  substance,' 
And  no  aerial  figure,  thus  I  raise  you. 
Why  do  you  shake?  mysoft  touch  brings  noague  ; 
No  biting  frost  is  in  this  palm  ;  nor  are 


Let  music's  choice  notes  entertain  the  man, 
The  princess  now  purposes  to  honour. 
The  reader  may  coosider  whether  it  was  worth  while  to  so- 
phisticate the  old  copy,  for  the  sake  of  prodacing  three  lines  of 
barbarous  prose. 

9  And  to  assure  you  that  I  am  a.  substance,]  The  omission  of 
the  article  by  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason  utterly  destroys 
the  metre. 


154  THE  RENEGADO. 

My  looks  like  to  the  Gorgon's  head,  that  turn* 
Men  into  statues  ;  rather  they  have  power, 
Or  I  have  been  abused,  where  they  bestow 
Their  influence,  (let  me  prove  it  truth  in  you,) 
To  give  to  dead  men  motion. 

Vitel.  Can  this  be  ? 
May  I  believe  my  senses?  Dare  I  think 
I  have  a  memory,  or  that  you  are 
That  excellent  creature  that  of  late  disdained  not 
To  look  on  my  poor  trifles? 

Don.  I  am  she. 

Vitel.  The  owner  of  that  blessed  name,  Donusa, 
Which,  like  a  potent  charm,  although  pronounced 
By  my  profane,  but  much  unworthier,  tongue, 
Hath  brought  me  safe  to  this  forbidden  place, 
Where  Christian  yet  ne'er  trod? 

Don.  I  am  the  same. 

Vitel.  And  to  what  end,  great  lady — pardon  me. 
That  I  presume  to  ask,  did  your  command 
Command  me  hither?  Or  what  am  I,  to  whom 
You  should  vouchsafe  you  favours;  nay,  your 

angers  ? 
If  any  wild  or  uncollected  speech, 
Offensively  deliver'd,  or  my  doubt 
Of  your  unknown  perfections,  have  displeased 

you, 
You  wrong  your  indignation  to  pronounce, 
Yourself,  my  sentence :  to  have  seen  you  only, 
And  to  have  touch'd  that  fortune-making  hand, 

that   turn]    Mr.  M.   Masou 


reads,  that  turns:  but  he  mistakes  the  government  of  the  verb, 
which  is  not  Gorgon  ahead,  but  looks,  as  is  sufficiently  clear  from 
what  follows.  1  must  obserTe  here,  (what  has  probably  already 
occurred  to  the  reader,)  that  Massinger  is  too  apt,  in  the  words 
of  hon(  st  Dogberry,  to  let  his  writing  and  reading  appear  when 
there  is  no  need  of  such  vanity.  Not  only  Vitelli,  but  Donusa  and 
all  her  court  appear  as  familiar  with  the  heatheumythology,  ai 
Ovid  himself. 


THE    RENEGADO.  ISS 

Will  with  delight  weigh  down  all  tortures,  that 
A  flinty  hangman's  rage  could  execute, 
Or  rigid  tyranny  command  with  pleasure. 
Don,  How  the  abundance  of  good  flowing  to 
thee, 
Is  wrong'd  in  this  simplicity  I  and  these  bounties. 
Which  all  our  Eastern  kings  have  kneel'd  in  vain 

for, 
Do,  by  thy  ignorance,  or  wilful  fear, 
Meet  with  a  false  construction  !   Christian,  know 
(For  till  thou  art  mine  .by  a  nearer  name. 
That  title,  though  abhorr'd  here,  takes  not  from 
Thy  entertainment)  that  'tis  not  the  fashion 
Among  the  greatest  and  the  fairest  dames 
This  Turkish  empire  gladly  owes' and  boM'^s  to. 
To  punish  where  there's  no  offence,  or  nourish 
Displeasures  against  those,  without  whose  mercy 
They  part  with  all  felicity.  Prithee,  be  wise, 
And  gently  understand  me ;  do  not  force  her. 
That  ne'er  knew  aught  but  to  command,  nor  e'er 

read 
The  elements  of  affection,  but  from  such 
As  glad4y  sued  to  her,  in  the  infancy 
Of  her  new-born  desires,  to  be  at  once 
Importunate  and  immodest. 

Fit  el.  Did  I  know. 
Great  lady,  your  commands ;    or,  to  what  pur- 
pose 
This  personated  passion  tends,  (since  'twere 
A  crime  in  me  deserving  death,  to  think 
It  is  your  own,)  I  should,  to  make  you  sport, 

*  T/iis  Turkish  empire  gladly  owes  andbows  to,"]  Though  nothing 
is  more  common  in  our  old  writers,  than  the  use  of  this  word 
(owe)  in  the  sense  of  possess,  yet  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason 
invariably  corrupt  it  into  own  I  have  already  noticed  this ; 
and,  for  the  future,  shall  content  myself  with  silently  restoring 
the  genuine  reading. 


1S6  THE    RENEGADO. 

Take  any  shape  you  please  t'impose  upon  me; 
And  with  joy  strive  to  serve  you. 

Don.  Sport !  Thou  art  cruel, 
If  that  thou  canst  interpret  my  descent 
From  my  high  birth  and  greatness,  but  to  be 
A  part,^  in  which  I  truly  act  myself: 
And  I  must  hold  thee  for  a  dull  spectator, 
If  it  stir  not  affection,  and  invite 
Compassion  for  my  sufferings.  Be  thou  taught 
By  my  example,  to  make  satisfaction 
For  wrongs  unjustly  offer'd.  Willingly 
I  do  confess  my  fault;  I  injured  thee 
In  some  poor  petty  trifles:  thus  I  pay  for 
The  trespass  I  did  to  thee.     Here — receive 
These  bags,  stufTd  full  of  our  imperial  coin ; 
Or,  if  this  payment  be  too  light,  take  here 
These  gems,  for  which  the  slavish  Indian  dives 
To  the  bottom  of  the  main  :  or,  if  thou  scorn 
These  as  base  dross,  which  take  but  common  minds, 
But  fancy  any  honour  in  my  gift, 
Which  is  unbounded  as  the  sultan's  power, 
And  be  possest  of  it. 

Vitel.  I  am  overwhelm'd 
With  the  weight  of  happiness  you  throw  upon  me : 
Nor  can  it  fall  in  my  imagination. 
What  wrong  you  e'er  ha  ve  done  me  ;*  and  much  less 
How,  like  a  royal*  merchant,  to  return 
Your  great  magnificence. 


but  to  be 


A  partake.']  i.  e.fo6enoMmgw»oref^c»  a  fictitious  character; 
alluding  to  his  terming  hpr  passion  personated,  or  played. 

4  What  wrong  you  e'er  have  done  me ;]  The  old  copy  reads, 
IVIiat  wrong  I  e'er  have  done  you.  This  transposition  of  pronouns, 
for  which  I  am  answerable,  seems  absolutely  necessary  to  make 
sense  of  the  passage. 

*  How,  like  a  royal  merchant,  to  return 
Your  great  magnificence.]  We  are  not  to  imagine  the  word 
roi/al  to  be  only  a  ranting  epithet.—- In  the  thirteenth  century, 


THE    RENEGADO.  I6l 

Don.  They  are  degrees, 
Not  ends,  of  my  intended  favours  to  thee. 
These  seeds  of  bounty  I  yet  scatter  on 
A  glebe  I  have  not  tried  : — but,  be  thou  thankful; 
The  harvest  is  to  come. 

ViteL  What  can  be  added 
To  that  which  I  already  have  received, 
I  cannot  comprehend. 

Doti.  The  tender  of 
Myself.    Why  dost  thou  start  ?  and  in  that  gift, 
Full  restitution  of  that  virgin  freedom 
Which  thou  hast  robb'd  me  of.  Yet,  I  profess, 
I  so  far  prize  the  lovely  thief  that  stole  it, 
That,  were  it  possible  thou  couldst  restore 
What  thou  unwittingly  hast  ravish'd  from  me, 
I  should  refuse  the  present. 

ViteL  How  I  shake 
In  my  constant  resolution!  and  my  flesh. 
Rebellious  to  my  better  part,  now  tells  me. 
As  if  it  were  a  strong  defence  of  frailty, 
A  hermit  in  a  desert,  trencl/d  with  prayers, 
Could  not  resist  this  battery. 

Don.  Thou  an  Italian, 
Nay  more,  I  know't,  a  natural  Venetian, 
Such  as  are  courtiers  born  to  please  fair  ladies. 
Yet  come  thus  slowly  on  ! 

Vitel.  Excuse  me,  madam  : 
What  imputation  soe'er  the  world 
Is  pleased  to  lay  upon  us,  in  myself 
I  am  so  innocent,  that  I  know  not  what  *tis 
That  I  should  offer. 

the  Venetians  were  masters  of  the  sea ;  the  Sanudos,  the  Jos- 
tiniani,  the  Grimaldi,  &c.  all  merchants^  erected  principalities  in 
several  places  of  the  Archipelago,  (which  their  descendants  en. 
joyed  for  many  generations,)  and  thereby  became  truly  and 
properly  royal  merchants:  which,  indeed,  was  the  title  generally 
given  them  all  over  Europe.  Warburton. 


158  THE  RENEGADO. 

Don.  By  instinct  I'll  teach  thee, 
And  with  such  ease  as  love  makes  me  to  ask  it. 
When  a  young  lady  wrings  you  by  the  hand,  thus. 
Or  with  an  amorous  touch  presses  your  foot, 
Looks  babies  in  your  eyes,  plays  with  your  locks, 
Do  not  you  find,  without  a  tutor's  help, 
What  'tis  she  looks  for  ? 

Vitel.  I  am  grown  already 
Skilful  in  the  mystery. 

Don,  Or,  if  thus  she  kiss  you, 
Then  tastes  your  lips  again [Kisses  him. 

Vitel.  That  latter  blow 
Plas  beat  all  chaste  thoughts  from  me. 

Don.  Say,  she  points  to 
Some  private  room  the  sunbeams  never  enter, 
Prov-oking  dishes  passing  by,  to  heighten 
Declined  appetite,  active  music  ushering 
Your  fainting  steps,  the  waiters  too,  as  born  dumb, 
Not  daring  to  look  on  you. 

[Ejcitj  inviting  him  to  follow. 

Vitel.  Though  the  devil 
Stood  by,  and  roar'd,  I  follow :  Now  I  find 
That  virtue's  but  a  word,  and  no  sure  guard, 
If  set  upon  by  beauty  and  reward.  [Exit» 


SCENE  V. 

A  Hall  in  Asambeg's  Palace,  , 

Enter  Aga,  Capiaga,  Grimaldi,  Master, 
Boatswain,  and  Sailors. 

Aga.  The  devil's  in  him,  I  think. 
Grim,  Let  him  be  damn'd  too. 
I'll  look  on  him,  though  he  stared  as  wild  as  hell ; 


THE  RENEGADO.  159 

Nay,  I'll  go  near*  to  tell  him  to  his  teeth, 

If  he   mends   not  suddenly,  and   proves   more 

thankful, 
We  do  him  too  much  service.     Were't  not  for 

shame  now, 
I  could  turn  honest,  and  forswear  my  trade ; 
Which,  next  to  being  truss'd  up  at  the  mainyard 
By  some  low  country  butterbox,  I  hate 
As  deadly  as  I  do  fasting,  or  long  grace 
When  meat  cools  on  the  table. 

Cap.  But  take  heed  ; 
You  know  his  violent  nature. 

Grim.  Let  his  whores 
And  datamites  know't !  I  understand  myself, 
And  how  unmanly  'tis  to  sit  at  home. 
And  rail  at  us,  that  run  abroad  all  hazards, 
If  every  week  we  bring  not  home  new  pillage, 
For  the  fatting  his  seraglio. 

^w^er  AsAMBEG,  MusTAPHA,  and  Attendants^ 

Aga.  Here  he  comes. 

Cap.  How  terrible  he  looks  ! 

Grim,  To  such  as  fear  him. 
The  viceroy,  Asambeg!  were  he  the  sultan's  self 
'He'll  let  us  know  a  reason  for  his  fury ; 
Or  we  must  take  leave,  without  his  allowance, 
To  be  merry  with  our  ignorance. 

Asam.  Mahomet's  hell 
Light  on  you  all !  You  crouch  and  cringe  now: — 
Where 

*  Nay,  I'll  go  near  to  tell  him  to  his  teeth^    This  is  a  coUo- 

quial  phrase,  and  means,  /  am  not  unlikely,  I  ivill  not  scruple 

tnuch^  to  tell  him  to  his  teeth ; — the  modern  editors,  compre- 

heodiug  neither  the  sense,  nor  the  measure  of  the  line,  read, 

Nay^  Til  go  nearer  to  tell  him  to  his  teeth  / 


160  THE  RENEGADO. 

Was  the  terror  of  my  just  frowns,  when  you 

suffered 
Those  thieves  of  Malta,  almost  in  our  harhour, 
To  board  a  ship,  and  bear  her  safely  off, 
While  you  stood  idle  lookers  on  ? 

Aga.  The  odds 
In  the  men  and  shipping,  and  the  suddenness 
Of  their  departure,  yielding  us  no  leisure 
j^^To  send  forth  others  to  relieve  our  own, 
Deterr'd  us,  mighty  sir. 

Asam.  Deterr'd  you,  cowards  \ 
How  durst  you  only  entertain  the  knowledge 
Of  what  fear  was,  but  in  the  not  performance  ' 
Of  our  command  ?  In  me  great  Amurath  spake; 
My  voice  did  echo  to  your  ears  his  thunder, 
And  will'd  you,  like  so  many  sea-born  tritons, 
Arm'd  only  with  the  trumpets  of  your  courage, 
To  swim  up  to  her,  and,  like  remoras 
Hanging  upon  her  keel,  to  stay  her  flight, 
Till  rescue,  sent  from  us,  had  fetch Vl  you  off. 
You  think  you're  safe  now.   Who  durst  but  dis- 
pute it. 
Or  make  it  questionable,  if,  this  moment, 
I  charged  you,  from  yon  hanging  cliff,  that  glasses 
His  rugged  forehead  in  the  neighbouring  lake. 
To  throw  yourselves  down  headlong  r  or,  like 

faggots, 
To  fill  the  ditches  of  defended  forts. 
While  on  your  backs  we  march'd  up  to  the  breach? 

Grim.  That  would  not  I. 

Asam.  Ha  ! 

Grim.  Yet  I  dare  as  much 
As  any  of  the  sultan's  boldest  sons. 
Whose  heaven  and  hell  hang  on  his  frown  ar 

smile, 
His  warlike  janizaries. 

Asam,  Add  one  syllable  more, 


THE   RENEGADO.  l^I 

Thou  dost  pronounce  upon  thyself  a  sentence  ' 
That,  earthquake-like,  will  swallow  thee. 

Grim.  Let  it  open, 
I'll  stand  the  hazard :  those  contemned  thieves. 
Your  fellow-pirates,  sir,  the  bold  Maltese, 
Whom  with  your  looks  you  think  to  quell,  at 

Rhodes 
Laugh'd  at  great  Solyman's  anger :  and,  if  treason 
Had  not  delivered  them  into  his  power. 
He  had  grown  old  in  glory  as  in  years. 
At  that  so  fatal  siege  ;  or  risen  with  shame, 
His  hopes  and  threats  deluded. 

Asam.  Our  great  prophet ! 
How  have  I  lost  my  anger  and  my  power ! 

Grim.  Find  it,  and  use  it  on  thy  flatterers, 
And    not   upon   thy    friends,   that  dare   speak 

truth. 
These  knights  of  Malta,  but  a  handful  to 
Your  armies,  that  drink'  rivers  up,  have  stood 
Your  fury  at  the  height,  and  with  their  crosses 
Struck  pale  your  horned  moons;'  these  men  of 

Malta, 
Since  I  took  pay  from  you,  I've  met  and  fought 

with 
Upon  advantage  too ;  yet,  to  speak  truth. 
By  the  soul  of  honour,  I  have  ever  found  them 
As  provident  to  direct,  and  bold  to  do, 
As  any  train'd  up  in  .your  discipline, 
Ravish'd  from  other  nations. 

^  Your  armies  that  drink  rivers  «/>,]  Injudiciously  altered  by 
Mr.  M.  Mason,  to  drank  rivers  up. 

*  ■  and  roitk  their  crosses 

Struck  pale  your  horned  moons ;]  This  elegant  allusion  to  the 
impress  of  the  Maltese  and  Turkish  standards,  is  beautifully  Ta« 
ried  in  the  Knight  of  Malta,  by  Fletcher: 

''  And  all  their  silver  crescents  then  I  saw, 
*'  Like  falling  meteors  spent,  and  set  for  ever 
"  Under  the  cross  of  Malta." 


162  THE    RENEGADO. 

Musta.  I  perceive 
The  lightning  in  his  fiery  looks ;  the  cloud 
Is  broke  already.  [Aside, 

Grim.  Think  not,  therefore,  sir. 
That  you  alone  are  giants,  and  such  pigmies 
You  war  upon. 

Asam.  Villain  !  I'll  make  thee  know 
Thou  has  blasphemed  the  Othoman  power,  and 

safer, 
At  noonday,  might'st  have   given   fire   to  St. 

Mark's, 
Your  proud  Venetian  temple. — Seize  upon  him  ; 
I  am  not  so  near  reconciled  to  him. 
To  bid  him  die ;  that  were  a  benefit 
The  dog's  unworthy  of.  To  our  use  confiscate 
All  that  he  stands  possessed  of;  let  him  taste 
The  misery  of  want,  and  his  vain  riots, 
Like  to  so  many  walking  ghosts,  affright  him, 
Where'er  he  sets  his  desperate  foot.     Who  is't 
That  does  command  vou  ? 

Grim.  Is  this  the  reward 
For  all  my  service,  and  the  rape  I  made 
On  fair  Paulina? 

Asam.  Drag  him  hence  : — he  dies, 
That  dallies  but  a  minute. 

[Grimaldi  is  dragged  off,  his  head  covered. 

Boatsw.  What's  become  of 
Our  shares  now,  master  ?    . 

Mast.  Would  he  had  been  born  dumb  ! 
The  beggar's  cure,  patience,  is  all  that's  left  us. 
[Exeunt  Master,  Boatswain,  ard  Sailors. 

Musta.  'Twas   but   intemperance    of  speech, 
excuse  him  ; 
Let  me  prevail  so  far.    Fame  gives  him  out 
For  a  deserving  fellow. 

Asam.  At  Aleppo, 
I  durst  not  press  you  so  far  ;  give  me  leave 


THE   RENEGADO.  163 

To  use  my  own  will,  and  command  in  Tunis ; 
And,  if  you  please,  my  privacy. 

Miista.  I  will  see  you, 
When  this  high  wind's  blown  o'er.  [Exit, 

Asam.  So  shall  you  find  me 
Ready  to  do  you  service.     Rage,  now  leave  me; 
Stern  looks,  and  all  the  ceremonious  forms 
Attending  on  dread  majesty,  fly  from 
Transformed  Asambeg.    Why  should  I  hug 

[Pulls  out  a  key. 
So  near  my  heart,  what  leads  me  to  my  prison  ; 
Where    she  that    is   inthrall'd,    commands    her 

keeper. 
And  robs  me  of  the  fierceness  I  was  born  with  ? 
Stout  men  quake  at  my  frowns,  and,  in  return, 
I  tremble  at  her  softness.     Base  Grimaldi 
But  only  named  Paulina,  and  the  charm 
Had  almost  choak'd  my  fury,  ere  I  could 
Pronounce  his  sentence.  Would,  when  first  I  saw 

her, 
Mine  eyes  had  met  with  lightning,  and,  in  place 
Of  hearing  her  enchanting  tongue,  the  shrieks 
Of  mandrakes  had  made  music  to  my  slumbers! 
For  now  I  only  walk  a  loving  dream, 
And,  bu.t  to  my  dishonour,  never  wake ; 
And  yet  am  blind,  but  when  I  see  the  object, 
And  madly  dote  on  it.     Appear,  bright  spark 

[Opetis  a  ^oor  ;  Paulina  comes  forth. 
Of  all  perfection  !  a,ny  simile 
Borrow'd  from  diamonds,  or  the  fairest  stars, 
To  help  me  to  express  how  dear  I  prize 
Thy  unmatch'd  graces,  will  rise  up,  and  chide  me 
For  poor  detraction. 

Paul.  I  despise  thy  flatteries  : 
Thus  spit  at  them,  and  scorn  them ;  and  being 

arm'd 
In  the  assurance  of  my  innocent  virtue, 


164  THE   RENEGADO.      * 

I  stamp  upon  all  doubts,  all  fears,  all  tortures, 
Thy  barbarous  cruelty,    or,   what's   worse,    thy 

dotage, 
The  worthy  parent  of  thy  jealousy, 
Can  shower  upon  me. 

Asam,  If  these  bitter  taiints 
Ravish  me  from  myself,  and  make  me  think       ^' 
My  greedy  ears  receive  angelical  sounds; 
How  would  this  tongue,  tuned  to  a  loving  note, 
Invade,  and  take  possession  of  my  soul, 
Which  then  I  durst  not  call  mine  own ! 

Paul.  Thou  art  false, 
Falser  than  thy  religion.    Do  but  think  me 
Something  above  a  beast,  nay  more,  a  monster 
Would  fright  the  sun  to  look  on,  and  then  tell  me. 
If  this  base  usage  can  invite  affection? 
If  to  be  mewed  up,  and  excluded  from 
Human  society  ;  the  use  of  pleasures; 
The  necessary,  not  superfluous  duties 
Of  servants,  to  discharge  those  offices 
I  blush  to  name — 

Asam.  Of  servants  !   Can  you  think 
That  I,  that  dare  not  trust  the  eye  of  heaven 
To  look  upon  your  beauties;  that  deny 
Myself  the  happiness  to  touch  your  pureness, 
Will  e'er  consent  an  eunuch,  or  bought  handmaid. 
Shall  once  approach  you? — There  is  something 

in  you 
That  can  work  miracles,  or  I  am  cozen'd ; 
Dispose  and  alter  sexes,  to  my  wrong. 
In  spite  of  nature.    I  will  be  your  nurse, 
Your  woman,  your  physician,  and  your  fool ; 
Till,  with  your  free  consent,  which  I  have  vow'd 
Never  to  force,  you  grace  me  with  a  name 
That  shall  supply  all  these. 

Paul.  What  is  it  ? 

Asam.  Your  husband. 


THE   RENEGADO.  165 

Paul,  My  hangman,  when  thou  pleasest. 

Asam,  Thus  I  guard  me 
Against  your  further  angers.  [Leads  her  to  the  door. 

Paul.  Which  shall  reach  thee, 
Though  I  were  in  the  centre. 

[Asambeg  closes  the  door  upon  her^  and  locks  it, 

Asam.  Such  a  spirit, 
In  such  a  small  proportion,  I  ne'er  read  of, 
Which  time  must  alter:  Ravish  her  I  dare  not; 
The  magic  that  she  wears  about  her  neck, 
I  think,  defends  her  : — this  devotion  paid 
To  tliis  sweet  saint,  mistress  of  my  sour  pain, 
'Tis  fit  I  take  mine  own  rough  shape  again.    S^Exit. 


SCENE    VI. 
A  Street  near  Donusa's  Palace, 
Enter  Francisco  and  Gazet. 

Fran,  I  think  he's  lost. 

Gaz.  'Tis  ten  to  one  of  that ; 
I  ne'er  knew  citizen  turn  courtier  3'et, 
But  he  lost  his  credit  though  he  saved  himself. 
Why,  look  you,  sir,  there  are  so  many  lobbies. 
Out-offices,  and  dispartations  here,' 

9  Out-nfficcsy  and  dispartations  here,"]  I  have  already  observed 
that  there  is  but  one  edition  of  this  play,  which  reads  in  this 
place,  dispute  actions :  the  error  was  detected  at  the  press,  and 
exchanged  unfortunately  for  another,  disputations ;  which  is  the 
reading  of  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason.  I  have  examined  several 
copies,  but  can  find  no  further  correction  :  dispartatiou,  which  is 
here  adopted,  is  the  conjectural  amendment  of  Mr.  Davies,  who 
says,  that  it  signifies  "  separate  apartments  ;"  if  it  be  so,  it  is 
■well ;  at  any  rate  it  is  better  than  the  old  reading,  which  sig- 
nifies nothing.  A  friend,  to  whom  I  shewed  the  passage,  is  in- 
clined to  think  that  the  genuine  word  was  disparations,  from  the 

VOL.  11.  *   N 


166  THE   RENEGADO. 

Behind  these  Turkish  hangings,  that  a  Christian 
Hardly  gets  off  but  circumcised. 

Enter  Vitelli  i^ichli/  habited,  Carazie,  a7id 
Manto. 

Fran.  I  am  troubled, 
Troubled  exceedingly.     Ha  !  what  are  these  ? 
Gaz.  One,   by  his  rich  suit,   should  be  some 
French  embassador : 
For  his  train,  I  think  they  are  Turks. 
Fran.  Peace  !  be  not  seen. 
Car.  You  are  now  past  all  the  guards,  and, 
undiscover'd. 
You  may  return. 

Vitel.  There's  for  your  pains  ;  forget  not 
My  humblest  service  to  the  best  of  ladies. 

Mant.  Deserve  her  favour,  sir,  in  making  haste 
For  a  second  entertainment. 

\^E.veunt  Carazie  and  Manto. 
Vitel.  Do  not  doubt  me; 
I  shall  not  live  till  then. 

Gaz.  The  train  is  vanish'd  : 
They  have  done  him  some  good  office,  he's  so  free 
And  liberal  of  his  gold. — Ha!  do  I  dream, 
Or  is  this  mine  own  natural  master  ? 

Fran.  'Tis  he  : 
But  strangely  metamorphosed. — You  have  made, 

sir, 
A  prosperous  voyage ;  heaven  grant  it  be  honest, 
I  shall  rejoice  then,  too. 

Gaz.  You  make  him  blush. 
To  talk  of  honesty  : — you  were  but  now 
In  the  giving  vein,  and  may  think  of  Gazet, 
Your  worship's  prentice. 

Latin  disparata. — I  leave  the  whole  to  the  reader ;  obserring 
only,  that  disparates  (distinctions,  differences)  often  occurs  in 
onr  old  law  books. 


THERENEGADO.  \67 

Vitel.  There's  gold  :  be  thou  free  too, 
And  master  of  my  shop,  and  all  the  wares 
We  brought  from  Venice. 

Gaz.  Rivo  !  then.* 

Vitel.  Dear  sir. 
This  place  affords  not  privacy  for  discourse ; 
But  I  can  tell  you  wonders :  my  rich  habit 
Deserves  least  admiration  ;  there  is  nothing 
That  can  fall  in  the  compass  of  your  wishes, 
Though  it  were  •to  redeem  a  thousand  slaves 
From  the  Turkish  gallies,  or,  at  home,  to  erect 
Some  pious  work,  to  shame  all  hospitals, 
But  I  am  master  of  the  means. 

Fran.  HTis  strange. 

Vitel.  As  I  walk,  I'll  tell  you  more. 

Gaz.,  Pray  you,  a  word,  sir ; 
And  then  I  will  put  on  :  I  have  one  boon  more. 

Vitel.  What  is't  ?  speak  freely. 

Gaz.  Thus  then  :*  As  I  am  master 
Of  your  shop  and  wares,  pray  you  help  me  to 

some  trucking 
With  your  last  she-customer;  though  she  crack 

my  best  piece, 
I  will  endure  it  with  patience. 

Vitel.  Leave  your  prating. 

Gaz,  I  may:  you  have  been  doing;  we  will 
do  too. 

*  Gat.  RiTO !]  This  interjection  (corrupted,  perhaps,  from 
the  Spanish  rio  !  which  is  figuratively  used  for  a  large  quantity 
of  liquor)  is  frequently  introduced  by  our  old  poets,  and  gene- 
rally  as  an  incitement  to  boisterous  mirth  and  revelry. 

*  Gaz.  Thus  then :  As  I  am  master  &c.]  This  poor  ribaldry 
is  introduced  to  "  set  on  some  quantity  of  barren  spectators  to 
laugh,"  and  'tis  to  be  regretted;  for  the  rest  of  the  act  has  areiii 
of  genuine  poetry  running  through  it,  which  would  not  debase 
the  noblest  compositions  of  the  times.  I  suppose  that  Massio- 
ger's  excuse  must  be  that  of  a  much  greater  man,  sic  vivitur, 

*  N2 


168  THE   RENEGADO. 

Fran.  I  am  amazed,  yet  will  not  blame  nor 
chide  you, 
Till  you  inform  me  further:  yet  must  say, 
They  steer  not  the  right  course,  nor  traffic  well, 
That  seek  a  passage  to  reach  heaven  through  hell. 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I. 

A  Room  in  Donusa's  Palace. 
Entei'  DoNUSA  and  Manto. 

Don.  When  said  he  he  would  come  again  ? 

Mant.  He  swore, 
Short  minutes  should  be  tedious  ages  to  him, 
tTntil  the  tender  of  his  second  service; 
So  much  he  seem'd  transported  with  the  first. 

Don.  I  am  sure  1  was.    I  charge  thee,  Manto, 
tell  me. 
By  all  my  favours,  and  my  bounties,  truly, 
Whether  thou  art  a  virgin,  or,  like  me. 
Hast  forfeited  that  name? 

Mant.  A  virgin,  madam,' 
At  my  years!    being  a  waiting-woman,  and   in 

court  too  ! 
That  were  miraculous.    I  so  long  since  lost 

'  A  virgin,  madam,  &c]  Manto  had  been  studying  modesty 
in  the  Maid's  Tragedy,  from  which  too  much  of  this  dialogue 
is  borrowed.  In  the  conclusion  of  her  speech,  as  Davies  re- 
marks, there  is  an  allusion  to  Quartilla :  Junonem  meam  iratam 
habeamt  it  unquam  me  meminerim  virginemfuisse. 


THE   RENEGADO.  169 

That  barren  burthen,  I  almost  forget 
That  ever  I  was  one. 

Doti.  And  could  thy  friends 
Read  in  thy  face,  thy  maidenhead  gone,  that  thou 
Hadst  parted  with  it? 

Mant.  No,  indeed  :  I  past 
For  current  many  years  after,  till,  by  fortune, 
Long  and  continued  practice  in  the  sport 
Blew  up  my  deck  ;  a  husband  then  was  found  out 
By  my  indulgent  father,  and  to  the  world 
All  was  made  whole  again.    What  need  you  fear, 

then, 
That,  at  your  pleasure,  may  repair  your  honour, 
Durst  any  envious  or  malicious  tongue 
Presume  to  taint  it  ? 

Enter  Cauazie. 

Don.  How  now  ? 

Car,  Madam,  the  basha 
Humbly  desires  access. 

Don.  If  it  had  been 
My  neat  Italian,  thou  hadst  met  my  wishes.  - 
Tell  him  we  would  be  private. 

Car.  So  I  did. 
But  he  is  much  importunate. 

Mant.  Best  dispatch  him  ; 
His  lingering  here  else  will  deter  the  other 
From  making  his  approach. 

Don.  His  entertainment 
Shall  not  invite  a  second  visit.     Go; 
Say  we  are  pleased. 

Enter  Mustapha. 

Must.  All  happiness — — 
Don,  Be  sudden. 


170  THE   RENEGADO. 

'Twas  saucy  rudeness  in  you,  sir,  to  press 
On  my  retirements  ;  but  ridiculous  folly 
To  waste  the  time,  that  might  be  better  spent, 
In  complimental  wishes. 

Car.  There's  a  cooling 
For  his  hot  encounter  !  [Aside. 

Don,  Come  you  here  to  stare? 
If  you  have  lost  your  tongue,  and  use  of  speech, 
Resign  your  government ;  there's  a  mute's  place 

void 
In  my  uncle's  court,  I  hear ;  and  you  may  work  me, 
To  write  for  your  preferment. 

Musta,  This  is  strange  ! 
I  know  not,  madam,  what  neglect  of  mine 
Has  call'd  this  scorn  upon  me. 

Don.  To  the  purpose 

My  will's  a  reason,  and  we  stand  not  bound 
To  yield  accouut  to  you. 

Musta.  Not  of  your  angers  : 
But  with  erected  ears  I  should  hear  from  you 
The  story  of  your  good  opinion  of  me, 
Confirm'd  by  love  and  favours. 

Don.  How  deserved  ? 
I  have  considered  you  from  head  to  foot. 
And  can  find  nothing  in  that  wainscot  face,' 
That  can  teach  me  to  dote;  nor  am  I  taken 
With  your  grim  aspect,  or  tad-pole-like  com- 
plexion. 
Those  scars  you  glory  in,  I  fear  to  look  on ; 
Aad  had  much  rather  hear  a  merry  tale. 
Than  all  your  battles  won  with  blood  and  sweat, 
Though  you  belch  forth  the  stink  too  in  the 

service. 
And  swear  by  your  mustachios  all  is  true. 
You  are  yet  too  rough  for  me :  purge  and  take 

physic. 
Purchase  perfumers,  get  me  some  French  tailor 


THE  RENEGADO.  171 

To  new- create  you ;  the  first  shape  you  were 

made  with 
Is  quite  worn  out :  let  your  barber  wash  your 

face  too, 
You  look  yet  like  a  bugbear  to  fright  children; 
Till  when  I  take  my  leave — Wait  me  Carazie. 

[Ed'unt  Donusa  and  Carazie. 

Musta.  Stay  you,  my  lady's  cabinet-key. 

\_Se\zes  Manto. 

Mant.  How's  this,  sir? 

Musta,  Stay,  and  stand  quietly,  or  you  shall 
fall  else, 
Not  to  firk  your  belly  up,  flounder-like,  but  never 
To  rise  again.     Offer  but  to  unlock 
These  doors  that  stop  your  fugitive  tongue,  (ob- 
serve me,) 
And,  by  my  fury,  I'll  fix  there  this  bolt 

[Draws  his  scimitar. 
To  bar  thy  speech  for  ever.    So  1  be  safe  now  ; 
And  but  resolve  me,  not  of  what  I  doubt, 
But  bring  assurance  to  a  thing  believed. 
Thou  makest  thyself  a  fortune  ;  not  depending 
On  the  uncertain  favours  of  a  mistress, 
But  art  thyself  one.     I'll  not  so  far  question 
My  judgment  and  observance,  as  to  ask 
Why  I  am  slighted  and  contemn'd  ;  but  in 
Whose  favour  it  is  done  ?  I,  that  have  read 
The  copious  volumes  of  all  women's  falsehood, 
Commented  on  by  the  heart-breaking  groans 
Of  abused  lovers ;  all  the  doubts  wash'd  off 
With  fruitless  tears,  the  spider's  cobweb  veil 
Of  arguments  alleged  in  their  defence. 
Blown  off  with  sighs  of  desperate  men,  and  they 
Appearing  in  their  full  deformity; 
Know  that  some  other  hath  displanted  me, 
With  her  dishonour.     Has  she  given  it  up? 
Confirm  it  in  two  syllables. 

Mant,  She  has. 


172  THE   REN  EG  ADO. 

Musta,  I  cherish  thy  confession  thus,  and  thus  ; 

\Gi'oes  her  jewels. 
Be  mine.    Again  I  court  thee  thus,  and  thus: 
Now  prove  but  constant  to  my  ends. 

Mant.  By  all 

Musta.    Enough ;  I  dare  not  doubt  tiiee. — O 
land  crocodiles, 
Made  of  Egyptian  slime,  accursed  women  ! 
But  'tis  no  time  to  rail — come,  my  best  Manto. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE  II. 

A  Street, 
Enter  Vitelli  and  Francisco. 

Vitel.  Sir,  as  you  are  my  confessor,  you  stand 
bound 
Not  to  reveal  whatever  I  discover 
In  that  religious  way  :  nor  dare  I  doubt  you. 
Let  it  suffice  you  have  made  me  see  my  follies, 
And  wrought,  perhaps,  compunction ;  for  I  would 

not 
Appear  an  hypocrite.    But,  when  you  impose 
A  penance  on  me  beyond  flesh  and  blood 
To  undergo,  you  must  instruct  me  how 
To  put  off  the  condition  of  a  man  : 
Or,  if  not  pardon,  at  the  least,  excuse 
My  disobedience.     Yet,  despair  not,  sir  ; 
For,  though  I  take  mine  own  way,  I  shall  do 
.Something  that  may  hereafter,  to  my  glory, 
Speak  me  your  scholar. 

Fran.  I  enjoin  you  not 
To  go,  bi^t  send. 

Vitel,  That  were  a  petty  trial ; 
Not  worth  one,  so  long  taught,  and  exercised. 


THE   RENEGADO.  17S 

Under  so  grave  a  master.    Reverend  Francisco, 
My  friend,  my  father,  in  that  word,  my  all ! 
Rest  confident  you  shall  hear  something  of  me, 
That  will  redeem  me  in  your  good  opinion; 
Or  judge  me  lost  for  ever.    Send  Gazet 
(She  shall  give  order  that  he  may  have  entrance) 
To  acquaint  you  with  my  fortunes.  \_Exit, 

Fran.  Go,  and  prosper. 
Holy  saints  guide  and  strengthen  thee !  however, 
As  thy  endeavours  are,  so  may  they  find 
Gracious  acceptance. 

Enter  Gazet,  and  Grimaldi  in  rags.* 

Gaz.  Now,  you  do  not  roar,  sir ; 
You  speak  not  tempests,  nor  take  ear-rent  from 
A  poor  shop-keeper.  Do  you  remember  that,  sir  ? 
I  wear  your  marks  here  still. 

Fran.  Can  this  be  possible  ? 
All  wonders  are  not  ceased  then. 

Grim.  Do,  abuse  me, 
Spit  on  me,  spurn  me,  pull  me  by  the  nose, 
Thrust  out  these  fiery  eyes,  that  yesterday 
Would  have  look'd  thee  dead. 

Gaz.  O  save  me,  sir !  ' 

G7im.  Fear  nothing. 
I  am  tame  and  quiet ;  there's  no  wrong  can  force 

me 
To  remember  what  I  was.    I  have  forgot 
I  e'er  had  ireful  fierceness,  a  stcel'd  heart. 
Insensible  of  compassion  to  others; 
Nor  is  it  fit  that  I  should  think  myself 
Worth  mine  own  pity.    Oh  ! 

♦  E7Uer  Gazet,  and  Grimaldi  in  rags.]  Mr.  M.  Mason  reads, 
Enttr  Gazet  and  Grimaldi,  in  rags.  But  Gazet  had  just  been  en- 
riched by  his  master,  and,  as  be  says  himself,  was  in  prosperous 
circumstances.  It  must  be  as  it  is  here  giTen  from  the  old  copy. 


174  THE   RENEGADO. 

Fran.  Grows  this  dejection 
From  his  disgrace,  do  you  say? 

Gaz.  Why,  he's  cashier'd,  sir; 
His  ships,  his  goods,  his  livery-punks,  confis- 
cate : 
And  there  is  such  a  punishment  laid  upon  him  !— 
The  miserable  rogue  must  steal  no  more, 
Nor  drink,  nor  drab. 

Fran.  Does  that  torment  him  ? 

Gaz.  O,  sir. 
Should  the  state  take  order  to  bar  men  of  acres 
From  these  two  laudable  recreations, 
Drinking    and    whoring,    how    should    panders 

purchase, 
Or  thrifty  whores  build  hospitals?  'Slid  !  if  I, 
That,  since  I  am  made  free,  may  write  myself 
A  city  gallant,  should  forfeit  two  such  charters, 
I  should  be  stoned  to  death,  and  ne'er  be  pitied 
By  the  liveries  of  those  companies. 

Fran.  You'll  be  whipt,  sir, 
If  yoQ  bridle  not  your  tongue.    Haste  to  the 

palace. 
Your  master  looks  for  you. 

Gaz.  My  quondam  master. 
Rich  sons  forget  they  ever  had  poor  fathers ; 
In  servants  'tis  more  pardonable  :  as  a  companion, 
Or  so,  I  may  consent :  but,  is  there  hope,  sir. 
He  has  got  me  a  good  chapwoman  ?  pray  you, 

write 
A  word  or  two  in  my  behalf. 

Fran.  Out,  rascal ! 

Gaz.  I  feel  some  insurrections, 

Fran.  Hence  ! 

Gaz.  I  vanish.  \Exit, 

Grim.  Why  should  I  study  a  defence  or  coni^ 
fort, 
In  whom  black  guilt  and  misery,  if  balanced, 


THE   RENEGADO.  175 

I  know  not  which  would  turn  the  scale  ?  look 

upward 
I  dare  not;  for,  should  it  but  be  believed 
That  I,  died  deep  in  hell's  most  horrid  colours,' 
Should  dare  to  hope  for  mercy,  it  would  leave 
No  check  or  feeling  in  men  innocent, 
To  catch  at  sins  the  devil  ne'er  taught  mankind 

yet. 
No  !  I  must  downward,  downward ;  though  re- 
pentance 
Could  borrow  all  the  glorious  wings  of  grace, 
My  mountainous  weight  of  sins  would  crack  their 

pinions. 
And  sink  them  to  hell  with  me. 

Fran.  Dreadful !  Hear  me, 
Thou  miserable  man. 

Grim.  Good  sir,  deny  not 
But  that  there  is  no  punishment  beyond 
Damnation. 

Enter  Master  aiid  Boatswain. 

Master,  Yonder  he  is ;  I  pity  him. 

Boatsw.  Take  comfort,  captain ;  we  live  still 

to  serve  you. 
Grim.  Serve  me  !  I  am  a  devil  already :  leave 
me — 
Stand  further  ofif,  you  are  blasted  else !  I  have 

heard 
Schoolmen  affirm*  man's  body  is  composed 


/  haxe heard 


Schoolmen  affirm  man's  body  is  composed 

Of  the  four  elements ;]  Grimaldi  and  sir  Toby  had  evidentlf 
Studied  under  the  same  masters:  the  latter  introduces  his  phi. 
losophy  more  naturally,  but  the  grave  application  of  it  by  the 
former,  is  an  improTcment.  Seriously,  the  conclusioo  of  this 
speech  is  Tery  noble. 


176  THE   RENE  GAi.  O. 

Of  the  four  elements ;  and,  as  in  league  together 
They  nourish  life,  so  each  of  them  affords 
Liberty  to  the  soul,  when  it  grows  weary 
Of  this  fleshy  prison*  Which  shall  I  make  choice 

of? 
The  fire  ?  no  ;*  I  shall  feel  that  hereafter, 
The  earth  will  not  receive  me.     Should  some 

whirlwind 
Snatch  me  into  the  air,  and  I  hang  there. 
Perpetual  plagues  would  dwell  upon  the  earth; 
And  those  superior  bodies,  that  pour  down 
Their  cheerful  influence,  deny  to  pass  it, 
Through  those  vast  regions  I  have  infected. 
The  sea  ?  ay,  that  is  justice  :  there  I  plough V]  up 
Mischief  as  deep  as  hell :  there,,  there,  I'll  hide 
This  cursed  lump  of  clay.    May  it  turn  rocks. 
Where  plummet's  v/eight  could  never  reach  the 

sands, 
And  grind  the  ribs  of  all  such  barks  as  press 
The  ocean's  breast  in  my  unlawful  course  ! 
I  haste  then  to  thee ;  let  thy  ravenous  womb. 
Whom  all  things  else  deny,  be  now  my  tomb  ! 

Master.  Follow  him,  and  restrain  him. 

[Exit  Boatswa'uu 

Fran.  Let  this  stand 
For  an  example  to  you.    I'll  provide 
A  lodging  for  him,  ajid  apply  such  cures 
To  his  wounded  conscience,  as  heaven  hath  lent 

me. 
He's  now  my  second  care ;  and  my  profession 
Binds  me  to  teach  the  desperate  to  repent, 
As  far  as  to  confirm  the  innocent.  [^Exeunt, 

®  The  fire  ?  no ;]  Tire  must  be  read  as  a  dissyllable ;  I  sus- 
pect, however,  that  there  -was  originally  an  interjection  before 
no,  which  was  dropt  at  the  press. 


r^^^Z  IlENEGADO.  177 


SCENE  III. 

A  Room  in  Asambes:'s  Palace, 


'& 


Enter  Asambeg,  Mustapha,  Aga,  and 
Capiaga. 

Asam.  Your  pleasure  ? 

Musta.  'Twill  exact  your  private  ear  ; 
And,  when  you  have  received  it,  you  will  think 
Too  many  know  it. 

Asam.  Leave  the  room  ;  but  be 
Within  our  call. —        [E.vennt  Aga,  and  Capiaga. 
•  Now,  sir,  what  burning  secret 
(With  which,  it  seems,  you  are  turn'd  cinders) 

bring  you. 
To  quench  in  my  advice  or  power  ? 

Musta.  The  fire 
Will  rather  reach  you. 

Asam.  Me! 

Musta.  And  consume  both ; 
For  'tis  impossible  to  be  put  out, 
But  with  the  blood  of  those  that  kindle  it ; 
And  yet  one  vial  of  it  is  so  precious, 
In  being  borrow'd  from  the  Othoman  spring, 
That  better  'tis,  I  think,  both  we  should  perish, 
Than  prove  the  desperate  means  that  must  re- 
strain it 
From  spreading  further. 

Asam.  To  the  point,  and  quickly : 
These  winding  circumstances  in  relations, 
Seldom  environ  truth. 

Musta.  Truth,  Asambeg ! 

Asam.  Truth,  Mustapha.    I  said  it,  and  add 
more. 


178  THE   RENE  GAD  O. 

You  touch  upon  a  string  that,  to  my  ear, 
Does  sound  Donusa. 

Musta.  You  then  understand 
Who  'tis  I  aim  at. 

Asam.  Take  heed,  Mustapha  ; 
Remember  what  she  is,  and  whose  we  are : 
'Tis  her  neglect,  perhaps,  that  you  complain  of; 
And,  should  you  practise  to  revenge  her  scorn. 
With  any  plot  to  taint  her  in  her  honour, 

Must.  Hear  me. 

Asam.  I  will  be  heard  first, — there's  no  tongue 
A  subject  owes,  that  shall  out-thunder  mine. 

Musta.  Well,  take  your  way. 

Asam.  I  then  again  repeat  it ; 
If  Mustapha  dares  with  malicious  breath. 
On  jealous  suppositions,  presume 
To  blast  the  blossom  of  Donusa's  fame, 
Because  he  is  denied  a  happiness 
Which  men  of  equal,  nay,  of  more  desert, 
Have  sued  in  vain  for 

Musta.  More  ! 

Asam,  More.    'Twas  I  spake  it. 
The  basha  of  Natolia  and  myself 
Were  rivals  for  her;  either  of  us  brought 
More  victories,  more  trophies,  to  plead  for  us 
To  our  great  master,  than  you  dare  lay  claim 

to ; 
Yet  still,  by  his  allowance,  she  was  left 
To  her  election  :  each  of  us  owed  nature 
As  much  for  outward  form  and  inward  worth. 
To  make  way  for  us  to  her  grace  and  favour, 
As  you  brought  with  you.    We  were  heard,  re- 
pulsed ; 
Yet  thought  it  no  dishonour  to  sit  down 
With  the  disgrace,  if  not  to  force  affection 
May  merit  such  a  name. 

Musta,  Have  you  done  yet  ? 


THE   RENEGADO.  179 

Asam.  Be,  therefore,  more  than  sure  the  grownd 
on  which 
You  raise  your  accusatiou,  may  admit 
No  undermining  of  defence  in  her  : 
For  if,  with  pregnant  and  apparent  proofs, 
Such  as  may  force  a  judge,  more  than  inclined, 
Or  partial  in  her  cause,  to  swear  her  guilty, 
You  win  not  me  to  set  off  your  belief; 
Neither  our  ancient  friendship,  nor  the  rites 
Of  sacred  hospitality,  to  which 
I  would  not  offer  violence,  shall  protect  you  : 
— Now,  when  you  please. 

Musta.  I  will  not  dwell  upon 
Much  circumstance;  yet  cannot  but  profess, 
With  the  assurance  of  a  loyalty 
Equal  to  yours,  the  reverence  I  owe 
The  sultan,  and  all  such  his  blood  makes  sacred ; 
That  there  is  not  a  vein  of  mine,  which  yet  is 
Unemptied  in  his  service,  but  this  moment 
Should  freely  open,  so  it  might  wash  off 
The  stains  of  her  dishonour.    Could  you  think, 
Or,  though  you  saw  it,  credit  your  own  eyes, 
That  she,  the  wonder  and  amazement  of 
Her  sex,  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  empire. 
That  hath  disdain'dyou,  slighted  me,  and  boasted 
A  frozen  coldness,  which  no  appetite 
Or  height  of  blood  could  thaw  ;  should  now  so  far 
Be  hurried  with  the  violence  of  her  lust, 
As,  in  it  burying  her  high  birth,  and  fame. 
Basely  descend  to  fill  a  Christian's  arms ; 
And  to  him  yield  her  virgin  honour  up. 
Nay,  sue  to  him  to  take  it  ? 

Asam.  A  Christian ! 

Musta.  Temj)er 
Your  admiration : — and   what   Christian,    think 

you  ? 
No  prince  disguised,  no  man  of  mark,  nor  honour; 


IgO  THE  RENEGADO. 

No  daring  undertaker  in  our  service, 

But  one,  whose  lips  her  foot  should  scorn  to  touch ; 

A  poor  mechanic  pedlar. 

Asam.  He  1 

Must  a.  Nay,  more  ;  i 

Whom  do  you  think  she  made  her  scout,  nay  bawdf 
To  find  him  out,  but  me  ?  What  place  make  choice 

of 
To  wallow  in  her  foul  and  loathsome  pleasures, 
But  in  the  palace  ?  Who  the  instruments 
Of  close  conveyance,  but  the  captain  of 
Your  guard,  the  aga,  and  that  man  of  trust, 
The  warden  of  the  inmost  port  ? — I'll  prove  this  : 
And,  though  I  fail  to  shew  her  in  the  act. 
Glued  like  a  neighing  gennet  to  her  stallion, 
Your  incredulity  shall  be  convinced 
With  proofs  I  blush  to  think  on. 

Asam.  Never  yet 
This  flesh  felt  such  a  fever.    By  the  life 
And  fortune  of  great  Amurath,  should  our  prophet 
(Whose  name  1  bow  to)  in  a  vision  speak  this, 
'Twouldmakeme  doubtful  of  my  faith! — Lead  on; 
And, when  my  eyes  and  ears  are,  like  yours,  guilty, 
My  rage  shall  then  appear  ;  for  1  will  do 
Something — but  what,  1  am  not  yet  determin'd. 

[^Exeunt. 

S  C  E  N  E  IV. 

An  outer  Room  in  Donusa's  Palace. 

Enter  Carazie,  Manto,  and  Gazet  gaily 
dressed. 

Car.  They  are  private  to  their  wishes  r 
Mant.  Doubt  it  not. 

Gaz.  A  pretty  structure  this  !  a  court  do  you 
call  it  ? 


THE   RENEGADO.  181 

Vaulted    and   arch'd !     O,    here   has  been   old 

jumbling 
Behind  this  arras. 

Car.  Prithee  let's  have  some  sport 
With  this  fresh  codshead. 

Mant.  I  am  out  of  tune, 
But  do  as  you  please. — My  conscience! — tush! 

the  hope 
Of  liberty  throws'  that  burthen  off;  I  must 
Go  watch,  and  make  discovery.  \Aside^  and  exit. 

Car.  He  is  musing, 
And  will  talk  to  himself;  he  cannot  hold  : 
The  poor  fool's  ravish'd. 

Gaz.  I  am  in  my  master's  clothes, 
They  fit  me  to  a  hair  too ;  let  but  any 
Indifferent  gamester  measure  us  inch  by  inch, 
Or  weigh  us  by  the  standard,  I  may  pass  : 
I  have  been  proved  and  proved  again  true  metal. 

Car.  How  he  surveys  himself  ! 

Gaz.  I  have  heard,  that  some 
Havefooledthemselvesat  court  into  good  fortunes, 
That  never  hoped  to  thrive  by  wit  in  the  city, 
Or  honesty  in  the  country.    If  I  do  not 
Make  the  best  laugh  at  me,  I'll  weep  for  myself. 
If  they  give  me  hearing  :  'tis  resolved — I'll  try 
What  may  be  done.    By  your  favour,  sir,  I  pray 

you, 
Were  you  born  a  courtier  ? 

Car,  No,  sir;  why  do  j'ou  ask? 

Gaz.  Because  I  thought  that  none  could  be^ 
prefeir'd,  W- 

But  such  as  were  begot  there. 

Car.  O,  sir  !  many  ; 
And,  howsoe'er  you  are  a  citizen  born, 

7  Ofl'Aertp  throws,  &c,]  So  the  old  copy.  The  modern  editors 
read,  does  throw,  which  destroys  the  metrcj  not  only  of  thi»  but 
of  the  two  subsequent  lines. 

VOL,  II.  *  O 


183  THE  RENEGADO. 

Yet  if  your  mother  were  a  handsome  woman, 
And  ever  long'd  to  see  a  masque  at  court,* 
It  is^an  even  lay,  but  that  you  had 
A  courtier  to  your  father  ;  and  I  think  so, 
You  bear  yourself  so  sprightly. 

Gaz.  It  may  be ; 
Bur  pray  you,  sir,  had  I  such  an  itch  upon  me 
To  change  my  copy,  is  there  hope  a  place 
May  be  had  here  for  money  ? 

Car.  Not  without  it, 
That  I  dare  warrant  you. 

Gaz.  I  have  a  pretty  stock, 
And  would  not  have  my  good  parts  undiscover'd  ; 
What  places  of  credit  are  there  ? 

Car.  There's  your  beglerbeg.' 

Gaz.  By  no  means  that ;  it  comes  too  near  the 
beggar, 
And  most  prove  so,  that  come  there. 

Car,  Or  your  sanzacke.* 

Gaz,  Sauce-jack  !  fie,  none  of  that.* 

Car.  Your  chiaus.' 

'  if  your  mother  were  a  handsome  woman, 

And  ever  long'd  to  see  a  masque  at  court, 3  It  should  be  re* 
membered  that  Carazie  was  born  in  England,  and  that  he  ad- 
dresses a  Venetian;  the  consequences  of  masques,  &c.  were 
therefore  as  inlelligible  to  the  one,  as  familiar  to  the  other.  It 
is  not  always  that  so  good  a  plea  can  be  offered  for  the  author's 
allusions ;  for,  to  confess  the  truth,  the  habits  and  manners  of 
different  countries  are,  in  some  of  these  scenes,  as  I  have  said 
before,  most  cruelly  confounded. 

9  Car.  There's  your  beglerbeg.]  i.  e,  chief  governor  of  ft 
proTince. 

■  Car.  Or  j/oMr  sanzacke.  J    GoTcrnor  of  a  city. 

*  Gaz.  Sauce-jack  !  Jie,  none  of  that.]  The  pleasantry  of  Gatet 
is  not  very  conspicuous  for  its  humour ;  the  modern  editors  how- 
ever have  contrived  to  cloud  it:  they  read,  Saucy  Jack ! 

^  Car.  Your  chiaus.]  An  officer  in  the  Turkish  court,  who 
performs  the  duty  of  an  usher;  aUo  an  ambassador  to  foreign 
princes  and  states.    Coxcteb. 


THE   RENEGADO.  185 

Gaz.  Nor  that. 

Car.  Chief  gardener. 

Gaz.  Out  upon't! 
'Twill  put  me  in  mind  my  mother  was  an  herb- 
woman. 
What  is  your  place,  I  pray  you  ? 

Car.  Sir,  an  eunuch. 

Gaz.  An  eunuch !  very  fine,  i'faith ;  an  eunuch  ! 
And  what  are  your  employments? 

Cor?'.*  Neat  and  easy : 
In  the  day,  I  wait  on  my  lady  when  she  eats, 
Carry  her  pantofles,  bear  up  her  train ; 
Sing  her  asleep  at  night,  and,  when  she  pleases, 
I  am  her  bedfellow. 

Gaz.  Howl  her  bedfellow? 
And  lie  with  her? 

Car.  Yes,  and  lie  with  her. 

Gaz.  O  rare ! 
I'll  be  an  eunuch,  though  I  sell  my  shop  for't, 
And  all  my  wares. 

Car.  It  is  but  parting  with 
A  precious  stone  or  two  :  I  know  the  price  on't. 

Gaz.  I'll  part  with  all  my  stones ;  and,  when  I 
am 

An  eunuch,  I'll  so  toss  and  touse  the  ladies 

Pray  you  help  me  to  a  chapman. 

Car.  The  court  surgeon 
Shall  do  you  that  favour. 

Gaz,  I  am  made !  an  eunuch  ! 

♦  Car.  Neat  and  easy:"]  I  hare  taken  thig  from  Gazet,  to 
whom  it  has  hitherto  been  allotted,  and  given  it  to  Carazie. 
The  old  copy  has  no  mark  of  interrogation  after  easy,  which 
•eems  to  prore  that  the  words  originally  belonged  to  him. 


♦03 


184  THE  RENEGADO. 


Enter  Manto. 

Mant,  Carazie,  quit  the  room. 
Car.  Come,  sir;  we'll  treat  of 
Your  business  further. 

Gaz.  Excellent !  an  eunuch  1  \JEiXeunf, 


SCENE    V. 

An  inner  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Donusa  and  Vitelli. 

Vitel.  Leave  mc,  or  I  am  lost  again :  no  prayers. 
No  penitence,  can  redeem  me. 

Don.  Am  I  grown 
Old  or  deform'd  since  yesterday  ? 

Vitel.  You  are  still, 
(Although  the  sating  of  your  lust  hath  sullied 
The  immaculate  whiteness  of  your  virginbeauties,) 
Too  fair  for  me  to  look  on:  and,  though  purcness, 
The  sword  with  which  you  ever  fought  and  con- 

quer'd, 
Is  ravish'd  from  you  by  unchaste  desires, 
You  are  too  strong  for  flesh  and  blood  to  treat 

with, 
Though  iron  grates  were  interposed  between  us. 
To  warrant  me  from  treason. 

Don.  Whom  do  you  fear? 

Vitel.  That  human  frailty   I  took  from   my 
mother. 
That,  as  my  youth  increased,  grew  stronger  on  me ; 
That  still  pursues  me,  and,  though  once  recover'd. 
In  scorn  of  reason,  and,  what's  more,  religion, 
Again  seeks  to  betray  me. 


THE   RENEGADO.  185 

Don.  If  you  mean,  sir, 
To  my  embraces,  you  turn  rebel  to 
The  laws  of  nature,  the  great  queen  and  motber 
Of  all  productions,  and  deny  allegiance, 
Where  you  stand  bound  to  pay  it. 

Vitel.  I  will  stop 
Mine  ears  against  these  charms,  whicb,  if  Ulysses 
Could  live  again,  and  hear  this  second  Syren, 
Though  bound  with  cables  to  his  mast,  his  ship  too 
Fasten'd  witb  all  her  anchors,  this  enchantment 
Would  force  him,  in  despite  of  all  resistance, 
To  leap  into  the  sea,  and  follow  her; 
Although  destruction,  with  outstretch'd  arms. 
Stood  ready  to  receive  him. 

Don.  Gentle  sir, 
Though  you  deny  to  hear  me,  yet  vouchsafe 
To  look  upon  me :  though  I  use  no  language. 
The  grief  for  this  unkind  repulse  will  print 
Such  a  dumb  eloquence  upon  my  face, 
As  will  not  only  plead  but  prevail  for  me. 

Vitel.  I  am  a  coward.   I  will  see  and  hear  you, 
The  trial,  else,  is  nothing ;  nor  the  conquest. 
My  temperance  shall  crown  me  with  hereafter, 
Worthy  to  be  remember'd.    Up,  my  virtue  ! 
And  holy  thoughts  and  resolutions  arm  me 
Against  this  fierce  temptation  I  give  me  voice 
Tuned  to  a  zealous  anger,  to  express 
At  what  an  over-value  I  have  purchased 
The  wanton  treasure  of  your  virgin  bounties  ; 
Thai,  in  their  false  fruition,  heap  upon  me 
Despair  and  horror. — That  I  could  with  that  ease 
Redeem  my  forfeit  innocence,  or  cast  up 
The  poison  I  received  into  my  entrails. 
From  the  alluring  cup  of  your  enticements. 
As  now  I  do  deliver  back  the  price 

[Returns  thejavc 
And  salary  of  your  lust-!  or  thus  unclothe  we 


186  THE  RENEGADO: 

Of  sin's  gay  trappings,  the  proud  livery 

[Throws  off  his  cloak  and  doublet. 
Of  wicked  pleasure,  which  but  worn  and  heated 
jWith  the  tire  of  entertainment  and  consent, 
Like  to  Alcides'  fatal  shirt,  tears  off 
Our  flesh  and  reputation  both  together. 
Leaving  our  ulcerous  follies  bare  and  open 
To  all  malicious  censure  ! 
Don.  You  must  grant, 
If  you  hold  that  a  loss  to  you,  mine  equals, 
If  not  transcends  it.     If  you  then  first  tasted 
That  poison,  as  you  call  it,  I  brought  with  me 
A  palate  unacquainted  with  the  relish 
Of  those  delights,  which  most,  as  I  have  heard, 
Greedily  swallow ;  and  then  the  offence, 
If  my  opinion  may  be  believed, 
Is  not  so  great :  howe'er,  the  wrong  no  more. 
Than  if  Hippolitus  and  the  virgin  huntress 
Should  meet  and  kiss  together. 

Vitel.  What  defences 
Can  lust  raise  to  maintain  a  precipice 

Enter  Asambeg  and  Mustapha,  abo've. 

To  the  abyss  of  looseness ! — but  affords  not 
The  least  stair,  or  the  fastening  of  one  foot. 
To  reascend  that  glorious  height  we  fell  from. 

Musta,  By  Mahomet,  she  courts  him  ! 

[Donusa  kneels* 

Asam.  Nay,  kneels  to  him  ! 
Observe,  the  scornful  villain  turns  away  too, 
As  glorying  in  his  conquest. 

JDon.  Are  you  marble? 
If  Christians  have  mothers,  sure  they  share  in 
The  tigress'  fierceness;  for,  if  you  were  owner 
Of  human  pity,  you  could  not  endure 
A  princess  to  kneel  to  you,  or  look  on 


THE   RENEGADO.  187 

These  falling  tears  which  hardest  rocks  would 

soften, 
And  yet  remain  unmoved.     Did  you  but  give 

me 
A  taste  of  happiness  in  your  embraces, 
That  the  remembrance  of  the  sweetness  of  it 
Might  leave  perpetual  bitterness  behind  it  r 
Or  shew'd  me  what  it  was  to  be  a  wife, 
To  live  a  widow  ever  ? 

Asam,  She  has  confest  it ! 

Seize  on  him,  villains. 

Enter  Capiaga  and  Aga,  with  Janizaries. 

O  the  Furies  ! 
[E.veunt  Asavibeg  and  Mustapha  above. 

Don.  How ! 
Are  we  betray 'd? 

Vitel.  The  better ;  I  expected 
A  Turkish  faith. 

Do7i.  Who  am  I,  that  you  dare  this? 
'Tis  I  that  do  command  you  to  forbear 
A  touch  of  violence, 

Aga.  \ye,  already,  madam, 
Have  satisfied  your  pleasure  further  than 
We  know  to  answer  it. 

Cap.  Would  we  were  well  off ! 
W^e  stand  too  far  engaged,  I  fear. 

Don.  For  us  ? 
We'll  bring  you  safe  off:  who  dares  contradict 
What  is  our  pleasure  ? 

Rc'Cnter  Asambeg  and  Mustapha,  below. 

Asam.  Spurn  the  dog  to  prison. 
I'll  answer  you  anon. 


158  THE   RENEGADO. 

Vitel.  What  punishment 
Soe'er  I  undergo,  I  am  still  a  Christian. 

[E.vit  Guard  with  Viielii, 

Do?i.  What  bold  presumption's  this  ?    Under 
what  law 
Am  I  to  fall,  that  set  my  foot  upon 
Your  statutes  and  decrees  ? 

Musta.  The  crime  committed, 
Our  Alcoran  calls  death. 

Don.  Tush  !  who  is  here, 
That  is  not  Amurath's  slave,  and  so,  unfit 
To  sit  a  judge  upon  his  blood  ? 

Asam.  You  have  lost, 
And  shamed  the  privilege  of  it ;  robb'd  me  too 
Of  my  soul,  my  understanding,  to  behold 
Your  base  unworthy  fall  from  your  high  virtue. 

Don.  I  do  appeal  to  Amurath. 

Asam.  We  will  offer 
No  violence  to  your  person,  till  we  know 
His  sacred  pleasure  ;  till  when,  under  guard 
You  shall  continue  here, 

Don.  Shall! 

Asam.  I  have  said  it. 

Don.  We  shall  remember  this. 

Asam.  It  ill  becomes 
Such  as  are  guilty,  to  deliver  threats 
Against  the  innocent.  [The  Guard  leads,  off  Do- 

nusa.'] — I  could  tear  this  flesh  now, 
But  'tis  in  vain ;   nor  must  I  talk,  but  do. 
Provide  a  well-mann'd  galley  for  Constantinople: 
Such  sad  news  never  came  to  our  great  master. 
As  he  directs,  we  must  proceed,  and  know 
No  will  but  his,  to  whom  what's  ours  we  owe. 

[E.reunt» 


THE    RENEGADO.  189 

ACT  IV.    SCENE  I. 

A  Room  in  Grimaldi's  House. 
Enter  Master  and  Boatswain. 

Mast.  He  does  begin  to  eat  ? 

Boatsxo.  A  little,  master; 
But  our  best  hope  for  his  recovery  is,  that 
His  raving  leaves  him  ;  and  those  dreadful  words, 
Damnation  and  despair,  with  which  he  ever 
Ended  all  his  discourses,  are  forgotten. 

J/tf*f.  Thisstrangerisamostreligiousmansure; 
And  I  am  doubtful,  whether  his  charity 
In  the  relieving i)f  our  wants,  or  care 
To  cure  the  wounded  conscience  of  Grimaldi, 
Deserves  more  admiration. 

Boatsw.  Can  yon  guess 
What  the  reason  should  be,  that  we  never  mention 
The  church,  or  the  high  altar,  but  his  melancholy 
Grows  and  increases  on  him  ? 

Mast.  I  have  heard  him, 
When  he  gloried  to  profess  himself  an  atheist, 
Talk  often,  and  with  much  delight  and  boasting, 
Of  a  rude  prank  he  did  ere  he  turn'd  pirate; 
The  memory  of  which,  as  it  appears. 
Lies  heavy  on  him. 

Boatsw.  Pray  you,  let  me  understand  it. 

Mast.  Upon  a  solemn  day,  when  the  whole  city 
Join'd  in  devotion,  and  with  barefoot  steps 
Pass'd  to  St.  Mark's,  the  duke,  and  the  whole 

signiory, 
Helping  to  perfect  the  religious  pomp 
With  which  they  were  received;  whenall  men  else 


150  THE    RENEGADO. 

Were  full  of  tears,  andgroan'd  beneath  the  weight 

Of  past  offences,  of  whose  heavy  burthen 

They  came  to  be  absolved  and  freed ;  our  captain. 

Whether  in  scorn  of  those  so  pious  rites 

He  had  no  feeling  of,  or  else  drawn  to  it 

Out  of  a  wanton,  irreligious  madness, 

(I  know  not  which,)  ran  to  the  holy  man, 

As  he  was  doing  of  the  work  of  grace,* 

And    snatching  from  his  hands  the  sanctified 

means, 
Dash'd  it  upon  the  pavement. 

Boatsw.  How  escaped  he, 
It  being  a  deed  deserving  death  with  torture  ? 

Mast.  The  general  amazement  of  the  people 
Gave  him  leave  to  quit  the  temple,  and  a  gondola, 
Prepared,  it  seems,  before,  brought  him  aboard; 
Since  m  hich  he  ne'er  saw  Venice.     The  remem- 
brance 
Of  this,  it  seems,  torments  him  ;  aggravated 
With  a  strong  belief  he  cannot  receive  pardon 
For  this  foul  fact,  but  from  his  hands,  against 

whom 
It  was  committed. 

Boatsw.  And  what  course  intends 
His  heavenly  physician,  reverend  Francisco, 
To  beat  down  this  opinion  ? 

Mast.  He  promised 
To  use  some  holy  and  religious  fineness,' 

*  As  he  "was  doing  of  the  work  of  grace  ^  &c.]  This  is  a  reve- 
rential description  of  the  elevation  of  the  host ;  and  could  only 
be  written  by  a  man  on  whom  that,awful  act  of  pious  daring 
had  made  a  deep  and  lasting  impression. 

•  To  me  some  holy  and  religious  fineness,]  i.  e.  subtile  and 
ingenious  device.  Coxrter,  whose  ideas  of  harmony  were  never 
paiailelled,  unless  by  those  of  Mr.  M.  Mason,  corrupted  this 
into  fneise,  ihough  the  Liie  was  reduced  to  absolute  prose  by 
it.  Ma«»ii)ger  Xuew  no  such  word;  the  introduction  ofwMcti, 


THE    RENEGADO.  191 

To  this  good  end  ;  and,  in  the  mean  time,  charged 

me 
To  keep  him  dark,  and  to  admit  no  visitants  : 
But  on  no  terms  io  cross  him.  Here  he  comes. 

Enter  Grimaldi,  with  a  book  J 

Ginm.  For  theft,  he  that  restores  treble  the 

value, 
Makes  satisfaction ;  and,  for  want  of  means 
To  do  so,  as  a  slave  must  serve  it  out. 
Till  he  hath  made  full  payment.     There's  hope 

left  here. 
Oh  !  with  what  willingness  would  I  give  up 
My  liberty  to  those  that  I  have  pillaged  ; 
And  wish  thenumbersof  my  years,  though  wasted 
In  the  most  sordid  slavery,  might  equal 
The  rapines  I  have  made ;  till,  with  one  voice, 
My  patient  sufferings  might  exact,  from  my 
Most  cruel  creditors,  a  full  remission. 
All  eye's  loss  with  an  eye,  limb's  with  a  limb : 
A  sad  account ! — yet,  to  find  peace  within  here, 
Though  all  such  as  1  have  maim'd  and  dismcm- 

ber'd 
In  drunken  quarrels,  or  o'ercome  with  rage, 

is  justly  reprobated  by  Johnson,  as  wholly  unnecessary.  But, 
indeed,  in  all  times,  our  language  has  been  over-run  and  debased 
by  fantastic  terms, 

"  Which  sweet  Philisides  fetch'd  of  late  from  France.*' 
The  word  occurs,  in  its  natural  sense,  in  the  Devil's  an  Ass: 

" you'll  mar  all  with  your Jineness  f 

Here,  too,  Mr.  Sympson  proposes  to  read^nesse  /  whileWhalley, 
who  properly  rejects  his  amendment,  explains  the  original  word, 
by  "  shyness,  or  coyness;''  to  which  it  bears  not  the  slightest 
affinity. 

'  with  a  book.]  The  book  was  a  Tcry  proper 

one  for  Grimaldi :  from  his  references,  it  appears  to  be  the 
Bible, 


19«  THE    RENEGADO. 

When  they  were  given  up  to  my  power,  stood 

here  now, 
And  cried  for  restitution  ;  to  appease  them, 
I  would  do  a  bloody  justice  on  myself: 
Pull  out  these  eyes,  that  guided  me  to  ravish 
Their  sight  from  others ;  lop  these  legs,  that  bore 

me 
To  barbarous  violence ;  with  this  hand  cut  off 
This  instrument  of  wrong,  till  nought  were  left 

me 
But  this  poor  bleedinglimbless  trunk,  which  gladly 
I  would  divide  among  them.— Ha!  what  think  I 

Enter  Francisco  i««  copCj  like  a  Bishop, 

Of  petty  forfeitures  !  In  this  reverend  habit, 
All  that  I  am  turn'd  into  eyes,  I  look  on 
A  deed  of  mine  so  fiend-like,  that  repentance, 
Though  with  my  tears  I  taught  the  sea  new  tides, 
Can  never  wash  off:  all  my  thefts,  my  rapes. 
Are  venial  trespasses,  compared  to  what 
I  offer'd  to  thai  shape,  and  in  a  place  loo, 
Where  I  stood  bound  to  kneel  to't.         [Kneels, 

Fran.  'Tis  forgiven : 
I  with  his  tongue,  whom,  in  these  sacred  vestments, 
With  impure  hands  thou  didst  offend,  pronounce 

it. 
I  bring  peace  to  thee ;  see  that  thou  deserve  it 
In  thy  fair  life  hereafter. 

Grim.  Can  it  be  ! 
Dare  I  believe  this  vision,  or  hope 
A  pardon  e'er  may  find  me  ? 

Fran.  Purchase  it 
By  zealous  undertakings,' and  no  more 
'Twill  be  remembered. 

Grim.  What  celestial  balm  [Rises. 

I  feel  now  pour'd  into  my  wounded  conscience ! 


T,HE   RENEGADG.  193 

What  penance  is  there  I'll  not  undergo, 
Though  ne'er  so  sharp  and  rugged,  with  more 

pleasure 
Than  flesh  and  blood  e'er  tasted  !  shew  me  true 

Sorrow, 
Arm'd  with  an  iron  whip,  and  I  will  meet 
The  stripes  she  brings  along  with  her,  as  if 
They  were  the  gentle  touches  of  a  hand 
That  comes  to  cure   me.     Can  good  deeds  re- 
deem me? 
I  will  rise  up  a  wonder  to  the  world. 
When  I  have  given  strong  proofs  how  I  amalter'd. 
I,  that  have  sold  such  as  profess'd  the  faith 
That  I  was  born  in,  to  captivity, 
Will  make  their  number  equal,  that  I  shall 
Deliver  from  the  oar;  and  win  as  many 
By  the  clearness  of  my  actions,  to  look  on 
Their  misbelief,  and  loath  it.     I  will  be 
A  convoy  for  all  merchants  ;  and  thought  worthy 
To  be  reported  to  the  world,  hereafter, 
The  child  of  your  devotion  ;  nurs'd  up. 
And  made  strong   by   your  charity,    to   break 

through 
All  dangers  hell  can  bring  forth  to  oppose  me. 
Nor  am  I,  though  my  fortunes  were  thought 

desperate, 
Now  you  have  reconciled  me  to  myself, 
So  void  of  worldly  means,  but,  in  despite 
Of  the  proud  viceroy's  wrongs,  I  can  do  some- 
thing 
To  witness  of  my  change  :  when  you  please,  try 


' I  can  do  something 

To  -witness  cf  my  change  :  when  you  please^  try  me,  &c.]  The 
reader  must  be  convinced,  long  ere  this,  that  the  modern  edi- 
tions of  Massinger  offer  a  very  inadequate  representation  of  hii 
works.    Numerous  as  the  errors  pointed  oat  are,  a  still  greater 


194  THE   RENEGADO. 

And  I  will  perfect  what  you  shall  enjoin  me, 
Or  fall  a  joyful  martyr. 
Fran.  You  will  reap 
The  comfort  of  it ;  live  yet  undiscover'd, 
And  with  your  holy  meditations  strengthen 
Your  Christian  resolution  :  ere  long, 
You  shall  hear  further  from  me.  \E.vit» 

Grim.  I'll  attend 
All  your  commands  with  patience ; — come,  my 

mates, 
I  hitherto  have  lived  an  ill  example, 
And,  as  your  captain,  led  you  on  to  mischief; 
But  now  will  truly  labour,  that  good  men 
May  say  hereafter  of  me,  to  my  glory, 
(Let  but  my  power  and  means  hand  with  my 

will,') 
His  good  endeavours  did  weigh  down  his  ill. 

[Exeunt, 

Re-enter  Francisco,  in  his  usual  habit. 

Fran.  This  penitence  is  not  counterfeit:  how- 
soever. 
Good  actions  are  in  themselves  rewarded. 
My  travail's  to  meet  with  a  double  crown. 
If  that  Vitelli  come  off  safe,  and  prove 
Himself  the  master  of  his  wild  affections — 

nnmber  hare  been  corrected  in  silence :  of  these  the  source  is 
generally  obvious;  here,  however,  is  one  for  which  no  motive 
can' be  assigned ;  it  is  a  gratuitous  and  wanton  deviation  from 
the  original,  that  no  degree  of  folly  can  justify,  no  excess  of 
negligence  account  for  : — In  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason  the 
passage  stands  thus — 

I  can  (to  something 
To  prove  that  I  have  power,  when  you  please  try  me! 

9  (Lrt  but  my  power  and  means  hand  with  my  will))]    i.  e.  g9 
kand  in  hand,  co-operate  with  my  will. 


THE  RENEGADO.  195 


Enter  Gazet. 

O,  1  shall  have  iutelligence  ;  how  now,  Gazet, 
Why  these  sad  looks  and  tears  ? 

Gaz.  Tears,  sir  !  I  have  lost 
My  worthy  master.     Your  rich  heir  seems  ta 

mourn  for 
A  miserable  father,  your  young  widow. 
Following  a  bedrid  husband  to  his  grave, 
Would  have  her  neighbours  think  she  cries  and 

roars, 
That  she  must  part  with  such  a  goodman  Do- 
nothing  ; 
When  'tis,  because  he  stays  so  long  above  ground. 
And  hinders  a  rich  suitor. — All's  come  out,  sir. 
We  are  smoak'd  for  being  coney-catchers :  my 

master 
Is  put  in  prison  ;  his  she-customer 
Is  under  guard  too;  these  are  things  to  weep  for: — 
But  mine  own  loss  consider'd,  and  what  a  fortune 
I  have  had,  as  they  say,  snatch'd  out  of  my  chops, 
Would  make  a  man  run  mad. 
Fran.  I  scarce  have  leisure, 
I  am  so  wholly  taken  up  with  sorrow 
For  my  loved  pupil,  to  enquire  thy  fate; 
Yet  I  will  hear  it. 

Gaz.  Why,  sir,  I  had  bought  a  place, 
A  place  of  credit  too,  an  I  had  gone  through 

with  it ; 
I  should  have  been  made  an  eunuch  :  there  wat 

honour 
For  a  late  poor  prentice  !  when,  upon  the  sudden, 
There  was  such  a  hurlyburly  in  the  courc, 
That  I  was  glad  to  run  away,  and  carry 
The  price  of  my  office  with  me. 
Fran,  Is  that  all? 


196  THE    REN  EG  ADO. 

You  have  made  a  saving  voyage :  we  must  think 

now, 
Though  not  to  free,  to  comfort  sad  Vitclli ; 
My  grieved  soul  suffers  for  him. 

Gaz.  I  am  sad  too  ; 
But  had  I  been  an  eunuch 

Fran,  Think  not  on  it.  [Exeunt, 

SCENE  II. 

A  Hall  in  Asambeg's  Palace. 

Enter  Asambeg  ;  he  unlocks  a  door,  and  Paulina 
comes  forth. 

Asam.   Be   your  own   guard  :    obsequiousness 
and  service 
Shall  win  you  to  be  mine.     Of  all  restraint 
For  ever  take  your  leave,  no  threats  shall  awe  you, 
No  jealous  doubts  of  mine  disturb  your  freedom. 
No  fee'd  spies  wait  upon  your  steps:  your  virtue. 
And  due  consideration  in  yourself 
Of  what  is  noble,  are  the  faithful  helps 
I  leave  you,  as  supporters,  to  defend  you 
From  falling  basely. 

Paul.  This  is  wondrous  strange  : 
Whence  flows  this  alteration  ? 

Asam.  From  true  judgment ; 
And  strong  assurance,  neither  grates  of  iron, 
Hemm'd  in  with  walls  of  brass,   strict  guards, 

high  birth, 
The  forfeiture  of  honour,  nor  the  fear 
Of  infamy  or  punishment,  can  stay 
A  woman  slaved  to  appetite,  from  being 
False,  and  unworthy- 

Paul.  You  are  grown  satirical 


THE   REN  EG  A  DO.  197 

Against  our  sex.    Why,  sir,  I  durst  produce 

Myself  in  our  defence,  and  from  you  challenge 

A  testimony  that's  not  to  be  denied, 

All  fall  not  under  this  unequal  censure. 

I,  that  have  stood  your  flatteries,  your  threats. 

Born  up  against  your  fierce  temptations  ;  scorn 'd 

The  cruel  means  you  practised  to  supplant  me,* 

Having  no  arms  to  help  me  to  hold  out. 

But  love  of  piety,  and  constant  goodness  ; 

If  you  are  unconfirmVl,  dare  again  boldly, 

Enter  into  the  lists,  and  combat  with 

All  opposites  man's  malice  can  bring  forth 

To  shake  me  in  my  chastity,  built  upon 

The  rock  of  my  religion. 

Asam.  I  do  wish 
I  could  believe  you ;  but,  when  I  shall  shew  you 
A  most  incredible  example  of 
Your  frailty,  in  a  princess,  sued  and  sought  to 
By  men  of  worth,  of  rank,  of  eminence  ;  courtetf 
y^  happiness  itself,  and  her  cold  temper 
Approved  by  many  years;  yet  she  to  fall, 
Fall  from  herself,  her  glories,  nay,  her  safety, 
Into  a  gulf  of  shame  and  black  despair; 
I  think  you'll  doubt  yourself,  or,  in  beholding 
Her  punishment,  for  ever  be  deterr'd 
From  yielding  basely. 

Paul.  I  would  see  this  wonder; 
'Tis,  sir,  my  first  petition. 

Asam.  And  thus  granted : 
Above,  you  shall  observe  all.  \Exit  Paulina. 

Enter  Mustapha. 

Musta.  Sir,  I  sought  you. 
And  must  relate  a  wonder.    Since  I  studied, 

• to  supplant  we,]    A  Latinism— to  trip  up,  to  orer- 

throw,  &c. 

VOL.  II,  -       ♦  P 


I 


198  THERENEGADO. 

And  knew  what  man  was,  I  was  never  witness 
Of  such  invincible  fortitude  as  this  Christian 
Shews  in  his  sufferings  :  all  the  torments  that 
Wecouldpresenthim  with,  to  frighthis  constancy, 
Confirm'd,  not  shook  it;  and  those  heavy  chains, 
That  eat  into  his  flesh,  appear'd  to  him 
Like  bracelets  made  of  some  loved  mistress' hairs 
We  kiss  in  the  remembrance  of  her  favours. 
I  am  strangely  taken  with  it,  and  have  lost 
Much  of  my  fury. 

Asam.  Had  he  suffer'd  poorly. 
It  had  call'don  my  contempt;  but  manly  patience, 
And  all-commanding  virtue,  wins  upon 
An  enemy.    I  shall  think  upon  him. — Ha  1 

Enter  Aga,*  with  a  black  box. 

So  soon  return'd  !  This  speed  pleads  in  excuse 
Of  your  late  fault,  which  I  no  more  remember. 
What's  the  grand  signior's  pleasure  ? 

Aga.  'Tis  enclosed  here. 
The  box  too  that  contains  it  may  inform  you 
How  he  stands  affected  :  I  am  trusted  with 
Nothing  but  this,  On  forfeit  of  your  head, 
She  must  have  a  speedy  trial. 

Asam.  Bring  her  in 

*  Enter  Aga,]  I  sappose  the  reader  will  be  inclined  to  ex- 
claim with  Asambeg,  "  So  soon  return'd  !"  for  from  Tunis  to 
Constantinople  is  an  interval  humane  commodum.  I  have  neither 
entered,  nor  proposed  to  enter,  into  any  disquisitions  on  the 
preservation  of  the  unities  of  time  and  place,  which  must  be  a 
work  of  absolute  supererogation  in  criticizing  an  author  who 
totally  forgot  or  disregarded  them.  Massinger  is  not  more  ir- 
regular than  his  contemporaries ;  indeed  he  is  less  so  than  most 
of  them  ;  but,  in  all  cases,  I  am  persuaded  that  he  followed  his 
story,  without  entertaining  much  anxiety  as  to  the  time  which 
it  might  occupy,  or  the  rarious  changes  of  situation  which  it 
might  require. 


THE   RENE  GAD  O,  199 

In  black,  as  to  her  funeral :  [Ei'it  Aga.'\    'tis  the 

colour 
Her  fault  wills  her  to  wear,  and  which,  in  justice, 
I  dare  not  pity.    Sit,  and  take  your  place : 
However  in  her  life  she  has  degenerated, 
May  she  die  nobly,  and  in  that  confirm 
Her  greatness  and  high  blood  ! 

Solemn  music.  Re- enter  the  Aga,  xvith  the  Capiaga 
leading  iti  Donusa  in  black,  her  train  born  up 
by  Carazie  and  Manto.  A  Guard  attending, 
Vavliv A  enters  above, 

Musta.  I  now  could  melt — 
But  soft  compassion  leave  me. 

Mant.  I  am  affrighted 
With  this  dismal  preparation.  Should  the  enjoying 
Of  loose  desires  find  ever  such  conclusions, 
All  women  would  be  Vestals. 

T>on.  That  you  clothe  me 
In  this  sad  livery  of  death,  assures  me 
Your  sentence  is  gone  out  before,  and  I 
Too  late  am  call'd  for,  in  my  guilty  cause 

To  use  qualification  or  excuse 

Yet  must  I  not  part  so  with  mine  own  strengths,' 
But  borrow,  from  my  modesty,  boldness,  to 
Enquire  by  whose  authority  you  sit 
My  judges,  and  whose  warrant  digs  my  grave 
In  the  frowns  you  dart  against  my  life  ? 

Asam.  See  here, 
This  fatal  sign  and  warrant !  This,  brought  to 
A  general,  fighting  in  the  head  of  his 

^  Yet  must  I  not  part  so  with  mine  own  strengths,]  The  modern 
editors  read  strength^  which  does  not  convey  Massinger's  mean. 
ing,  and,  indeed,  is  scarcely  sense  in  this  place  :  but  they  did 
not  understand  the  word.  Strengths  are  castles,  strong  places, 
and  metaphorically  defences,  as  here. 

*  P2 


200  THE    RENEGADO. 

Victorious  troops,  ravishes  from  bis  hand 
His  even  then  conquering  sword;  this,  shewn  unto 
The  sultan's  brothers,  or  his  sons,  delivers 
His  deadly  anger;  and,  all  hopes  laid  by, 
Comniandsthem  to  prepare  themselves  for  heaven; 
Which  would  stand  with  the  quiet  of  your  soul, 
To  think  upon,  and  imitate. 

Don.  Give  me  leave 
A  little  to  complain  ;  first,  of  the  hard 
Condition  of  my  fortune,  which  may  move  you, 
Though  not  to  rise  up  intercessors  for  me, 
Yet,  in  remembrance  of  my  former  life, 
(This  heingthe  first  spot  tainting  mine  honour,) 
To  be  the  means  to  bring  me  to  his  presence ; 
And  then  I  doubt  not,  but  I  could  allege 
Such  reasons  in  mine  own  defence,  or  plead 
So  humbly,  (my  tears  helping,)  that  it  should 
Awake  his  sleeping  pity. 

Asam.  'Tis  in  vain. 
If  you  have  aught  to  say,  you  shall  have  hearirtg ; 
And,  in  me,  think  him  present. 
'   Don,  I  would  thus  then 

First  kneel,  and  kiss  his  feet;  and  after,  tell  him 
How  long  I  had  been  his  darling ;  what  delight 
My  infant  years  afforded  him  ;  how  dear 
He  prized  his  sister  in  both  bloods,  my  mother: 
That  she,  like  him,  had  frailtj^,  that  to  me 
Descends  as  an  inheritance;  then  conjure  him, 
By  her  blest  ashes,  and  his  father's  soul, 
The  sword  that  rides  upon  his  thigh,  his  right 

hand 
Holding  the  sceptre  and  the  Othoman  fortune, 
To  have  compassion  on  me. 

Asam.  But  suppose 
(As  I  am  sure)  he  would  be  deaf,  what  then 
Could  you  infer? 

Don,  1,  then,  would  thus  rise  up, 


THE   RENEGADO.  jgioi 

And  to  his  teeth  tell  him  he  was  a  tyrant, 

A  most  voluptuous  and  insatiable  epicure 

In  his  own  pleasures;  which  he  hugs  so  dearly, 

As  proper  and  peculiar  to  himself, 

That  he  denies  a  moderate  lawful  use 

Of  all  delight  to  others.     And  to  thee, 

Unequal  judge,  I  speak  as  much,  and  charge  thee, 

But  with  impartial  eyes  to  look  into 

Thyself,  and  then  consider  with  what  justice 

Thou  canst  pronounce   my    sentence.    Unkind 

nature, 
To  make  weak  women  servants,  proud  men  masters! 
Indulgent  Mahomet,  do  thy  bloody  laws 
Call  my  embraces  with  a  Christian  death, 
Having  my  heat  and  May  of  youth,  to  plead 
In  my  excuse?  and  yet  want  power  to  punish 
These  that,  with  scorn, break  through  thy  cobweb 

edicts. 
And  laugh  at  thy  decrees  ?  To  tame  their  lusts 
There's  no  religious  bit :  let  her  be  fair. 
And  pleasing  to  the  eye,  though  Persian,  Moor, 
Idolatress,  Turk,  or  Christian,  you  are  privileged, 
And  freely  may  enjoy  her.    At  this  instant, 
I  know,  unjust  man,  thou  hast  in  thy  power 
A  lovely  Christian  virgin  ;  thy  offence 
Equal,  if  not  transcending  mine:   why,  then, 
(We  being  both  guilty,)  dost  thou  not  descend 
From  thatusurp'd  tribunal,  and  with  me 
Walk  hand  in  hand  to  death? 

Asam.  She  raves  ;  and  we 
Lose  time  to  hear  her :  Read  the  law. 

Don.  Do,  do ; 
I  stand  resolved  to  suffer. 

Aga.  [reads.]  If  any  virgin,  of  wfuit,  degree,  or 
quality  soever,  born  a  natural  Turk,  shall  be  con- 
victed of  corporal  looseness,  and  incontinence  with  oj^y 


202  THE    RENEGADO. 

Christian^  she  is,  hy  the  decree  of  our  great  prophet ^ 
Mahomet y  to  lose  her  head. 

Asam.  Mark  that,  then  tax  our  justice  ! 

Aga.  Ever  provided,  That  if  she,  the  said  offender, 
by  any  reasons,  arguments,  or  persuasion,  can  win 
and  prevail  with  the  said  Christian  offending  with  her, 
to  alter  his  religion,  and  marry  her,  that  then  the 
winning  of  a  soul  to  the  Mahometan  sect,  shall  acquit 
her  from  all  shame,  disgrace,  and  punishment  xvhat- 
soever. 

Don.  I  lay  hold  on  that  clause,  and  challenge 
from  you 
The  privilege  of  the  law. 

Must.  What  will  you  do  ? 

Don.  Grant  me  access  and  means,  I'll  under- 
take V 
To  turn  this  Christian  Turk,  and  marry  him : 
This  trial  you  cannot  deny. 

Must  a.  O  base  ! 
Can  fear  to  die  make  you  descend  so  low 
From  your  high  birth,  and  brand  the  Othoman 

line 
With  such  a  mark  of  infamy  ? 

Asam.  This  is  worse 
Than  the  parting  with  your  honour.  Better  suifer 
Ten  thousand  deaths,  and  without  hope  to  have 
A  place  in  our  great  prophet's  paradise, 
Than  have  an  act  to  aftertimes  remember'd, 
So  foul  as  this  is. 

Musta.  Cheer  your  spirits,  madam  ; 
To  die  is  nothing,  'tis  but  parting  with 
A  mountain  of  vexations. 

Asam.  Think  of  your  honour : 
In  dying  nobly,  you  make  satisfaction 
For  your  offence,  and  you  shall  live  si  story 
Of  bold  heroic  courage. 


THE  RENEGADO.  203 

Don.  You  shall  not  fool  me 
Out  of  ray  life :  I  claim  the  law,  and  sue  for 
A  speedy  trial ;  if  I  fail,  you  may 
Determine  of  me  as  you  please. 

Asam.  Base  woman  ! 
But  use  thy  ways,  and  see  thou  prosper  in  them ; 
For,  if  thou  fall  again  into  my  power. 
Thou  shalt  in  vain,  after  a  thousand  tortures, 
Cry  out  for  death,  that  death  which  now  thou 

fliest  from. 
Unloose  the  prisoner's  chains.    Go,  lead  her  on, 
To  try  the  magic  of  her  tongue.     1  follow : 

[E.veunt  all  but  Asambeg, 
I'm  on  the  rack — descend,  my  best  Paulina. 

[Exit  with  Paulina. 

SCENE   III. 

A  Room  in  the  Prison. 

Enter  Francisco  and  Gaoler. 

Fran.  I  come  not  empty-handed ;  I  will  pur- 
chase 
Your  favour  at  what  rate  you  please.     There's 
gold. 

Gaol.  'Tis  the  best  oratory.    I  will  hazard 
A  check  for  your  content.— Below,  there  ! 

Vitel.  [below.]  Welcome  ! 
Art  thou  the  happy  messenger,  that  brings  me 
News  oFmy  death? 

Gaol.  Your  hand.  [Pluch  up  Vitelli. 

Fran.  Now,  if  you  please, 
A  little  privacy. 

Gaol.  You  have  bought  it,  sir  ; 
Enjoy  it  freely.  [Exit, 

Fran,  O,  my  dearest  pupil ! 


204  THE   RENEGADQ. 

Witness  these  tears  of  joy,  I  never  saw  you, 
'Till  now,  look  lovely  ;  nor  durst  I  ever  glory 
In  the  miud  of  any  man  I  had  built  up 
With  the  hands  of  virtuous  and  religious  precepts, 
Till  this    glad   minute.     Now   you   have    made 

good 
My  expectation  of  you.    By  my  order. 
All  Roman  Caesars,  that  led  kings  in  chains,  ^ 
Fast  bound  to  their  triumphant  chariots,  if 
Compared  with  that  true  glory  and  full  lustre 
You  now  appear  in  ;  all  their  boasted  honours. 
Purchased  v/ith  blood  and  wrong,  would  lose  their 

names, 
And  be  no  more  remember'd  ! 

Vitel.  This  applause, 
Confirm'd  in  your  allowance,  joys  me  more 
Than  if  a  thousand  full-cramm'd  theatres 
Should  clap  their  eager  hands,  to  witness  that 
The  scene  I  act  did  please,  and  they  admire  it. 
But  these  are,  father,  but  beginnings,  not 
The  ends,  of  my  high  aims.     1  grant,  to  have 

master'd 
The  rebel  appetite  of  iiesh  and  blood, 
Was  far  above  my  strength  ;  and  still  owe  for  it 
To  that  great  Power  that  lent  it :  but,  when  I 
Shall  make't  apparent  the  grim  looks  of  Death 
Affright  me  not,  and  that  I  can  put  off 
The  fond  desire  of  life,  (that,  like  a  garment, 
Covers  and  clothes  our  frailty,')  hastening  to 
My  martyrdom,  as  to  a  heavenly  banquet, 
To  which  I  was  a  choice  invited  guest ; 
Then  you  may  boldly  say,  you  did  not  plough, 
Or  trust  the  barren  and  ungrateful  sands 
With  the  fruitful  grain  of  your  religious  counsels. 

Fran.  You  do  instruct  your  teacher.    Let  the 
sun 
Of  your  clear  life,  that  lends  to  good  men  light. 


THERENEGADO.  «05 

But  set  as  gloriously  as  it  did  rise, 

(Tl)oygli  sometimes  clouded,)  you  may  write  nil 

ultra 
To  human  wishes. 

Viul.  I  have  almost  gain'd 
The  end  o'  the  race,  and  will  not  faint  or  tire  now. 

Re-enter  Gaoler  'ivith  Aga. 

T 

^^a.  Sir,  by  your  leave, — nay,  stay  iiot,*  [/o 
the  Gaoler r  who  goes  out.']  I  bring  comfort. 
The  vicerov,  taken  with  the  constant  bearins: 
Of  your  afflictions  ;  and  presuming  too 
You  will  not  change  your  temper,  does  command 
Your  irons  should  be  ta'en  off.    [Theif  take  off 

his  i7^ons.']  Now  arm  yourself 
With  your  old  resolution ;  suddenly 
You  shall  be  visited.    You  must  leave  the  room 

too, 
And  do  it  without  reply. 

Fran.  There's  no  contending  : 
Be  still  thyself,  my  son. 

\_Exeunt  Aga  and  Francisco. 
Vittl.  'Tis  not  in  man 

Enter  T>os\5SA,Jolloxced at  a  distance  by  Asam- 

BEG,  MUSTAPHA,  d«(/PAULINA. 

To  change  or  alter  me. 

Faul.  Whom  do  I  look  on  ? 
My  brother  ?  'tis  he ! — but  no  more,  my  tongue ; 
Thou  wiit  betray  all.  [Mide, 

Asam.  Let  us  hear  this  temptress  : 
The  fellow  looks  as  he  would  stop  his  pars 
Against  her  powerful  spells. 

♦ nay^  stay  no^,]    So  the  old  cppf 

reads.     Coxeter  and  M.  Masoa  read,  stare  not ;  but  they  did 
not  see  that  thi?  was  addressed  to  the  Gaoler. 


Q06  THE    RENE  GAD  O. 

Paul.  He  is  undone  else.  [Aside. 

Vitel.    I'll  stand  the   encounter — charge   me 
home. 

Do?i.  I  come,  sir,  ^  {^Bows  herself. 

A  beggar  to  you,  and  doubt  not  to  find 
A  good  man's  charity,  which  if  you  deny, 
You  are  cruel  to  yourself;  a  crime  a  wise  man 
(And  such  I  hold  you)  would  not  willingly 
Be  guilty  of:  nor  let  it  find  less. welcome, 
Though  I,  a  creature  you  contemn,  now  shew 

The  way  to  certain  happiness ;  nor  think  it 
Imaginary  or  fantastical, 
And  so  not  worth  the  acquiring,  in  respect 
The  passage  to  it  is  nor  rough  nor  thorny ; 
No  steep  hills  in  the  way  which  you  must  climb  up, 
No  monsters  to  be  conquer'd,  no  enchantments 
To  be  dissolved  by  counter  charms,  before 
You  take  possession  of  it. 

Vitel.  What  strong  poison 
Is  wrapp'd  up  in  these  sugar'd  pills  ? 

Don.  My  suit  is, 
That  you  would  quit  your  shoulders  of  a  burthen, 
Under  whose  ponderous  weight  you  wilfully 
Have  too  long  groan'd,  to  cast  those  fetters  off, 
With  which,  with  your  own  hands,  you  chain  your 

freedom  : 
Forsake  a  severe,  nay,  imperious  mistress. 
Whose  service  does  exact  perpetual  cares, 
Watchings,  and  troubles;  and  give  entertainment 
To  one  that  courts  you,  whose  least  favours  are 
Variety,  and  choice  of  all  delights 
Mankind  is  capable  of. 

Vitel.  You  speak  in  riddles. 
What  burthen,  or  what  mistress,  or  what  fetters, 
Are  those  you  point  at  ? 

Don.  Those  which  your  religion, 


THE   RENE  G  ADO.  207 

The  mistress  you  too  long  have  served,  compels 

you* 
To  bear  with  slave-like  patience. 

Vitel.  Ha! 

Paul.  How  bravely 
That  virtuous  anger  shews  ! 

Don,  Be  wise,  and  weigh' 
The  prosperous  success  of  things ;  if  blessings 
Are  donatives  from  heaven,   (which,  you  must 

grant, 
Were  blasphemy  to  question,)  and  that 
They  are  call'd  down  and  pour'd  on  such  as  are 
Most  gracious  with  the  great  Disposer  of  them. 
Look  on  our  flourishing  empire,  if  the  splendor, 
The  majesty,  and  glory  of  it  dim  not 
Your  feeble  sight ;  and  then  turn  back,  and  see 
The  narrow  bounds  of  yours,  yet  that  poor  rem- 
nant 
Rent  in  as  many  factions  and  opinions 
As  you  have  petty  kingdoms ; — and  then,  if 
You  are  not  obstinate  against  truth  and  reason. 
You  must  confess  the  Deity  you  worship 
Wants  care  or  power  to  help  you. 

Paul.  Hold  out  now,  <^  {  <'  f 

And  then  thou  art  victorious.  [Aitde. 

Asam.  How  he  eyes  her  ! 

Musta.  As  if  he  would  look  through  her. 

compels  you]  Coxeter  dropt 


the  last  word  at  the  press.  Mr.  M.  Mason  omits  it  of  course, 
though  the  passage  is  not  sense  without  it.  In  the  next  speech^ 
for  that  virtuous  anger,  he  reads  the  &c.  There  are  other 
errors  and  omisisions,  which  are  here  rectified  and  supplied. 

^  Don.  Be  wise,  and  weigh  &c.]  Part  of  this  speech  is  taken, 
but  with  great  skill,  from  Minucius  Felix ;  indeed  it  was  the 
leading  argument,  and  constantly  directed,  for  the  two  first  ages 
of  the  church,  against  the  Christians ;  after  the  Reformation,  the 
church  of  Rome  took  it  up,  and  pointed  it  with  equal  propriety, 
and,  indeed,  with  equal  success,  against  the  Protestants. 


m  THE  RENEGADO. 

Asam.  His  eyes  flame  too, 
As*  threatening  violence. 

Vitel.  But  that  I  know 
The  devil,  thy  tutor,  fills  each  part  about  thee. 
And  that  I  cannot  play  the  exorcist 
To  dispossess  thee,  unless  I  should  tear 
Thy  body  limb  by  limb,  and  throw  it  to 
The  Furies,  that  expect  it ;  I  would  now 
Pluck  out  that  wicked  tongue,  that  hath  bias* 

phemed 
The  great  Omni  potency,  at  whose  nod 
The  fabric  of  the  world  shakes.    Dare  you  bring 
Your  juggling  prophet  in  comparison  with 
That  most  inscrutable  and  infinite  Essence, 
That  made  this  All,  and  comprehends  his  work ! — - 
The  place  is  too  profane  to  mention  him 
Whose  only  name  is  sacred/    O  Donusa  ! 
How  much,  in  my  compassion,  I  suffer, 
That  thou,  on  whom  this  most  excelling  form, 
And  faculties  of  discourse,"  beyond  a  woman, 
Were  by  his  liberal  gift  conferred,  shouldst  still 
Remain  in  ignorance  of  him  that  gave  it ! 
I  will  not  foul  my  mouth  to  speak  the  sorceries 
Of  your  seducer,  his  base  birth,  his  whoredoms, 
Jiis  strange  impostures  ;  nor  deliver  how 
He  taught  a  pigeon  to  feed  in  his  ear. 
Then  made  his  credulous  followers  believe 

7  The  place  is  too  profane  to  mention  him 

Whose  only  name  is  sacred.}  i.  e.  whose  name  is  the  sole 
or  only  one  that  is  sacred :  a  mode  of  expression  frequently 
^optcd  by  our  old  writers. 

'  And  faculties  o/' discourse,]  i.e.  of  reason.  See  Vol.  I.  p. 
148.  It  is  to  be  regretted,  that  so  just  and  noble  a  speech  as 
this  assuredly  i!>,  should  be  debased  by  the  insertion  of  the  con- 
temptible fable  with  which  it  concludes  :  that  fable,  howeTer, 
was  graTcly  delivered  by  contemporary  historians  and  divines ; 
^assinger,  therefore,  though  he  may  perhaps  be  arraigned  for 
vant  of  taste,  cannot  fairly  be  charged  with  over- credulity-. 


tHEi    RENEGADO.  ^Od 

It  was  an  angel,  that  instructed  him 
In  the  framing  of  his  Alcoran — pray  you,  mark 
me. 

Asam.  These  words  are  death,  werehe  in  nought 
else  guilty. 

Vitel,  Your  intent  to  win  me' 
To  be  of  your  belief,  proceeded  from 
Your  fear  to  die.    Can  there  be  strength  in  that 
Religion,  that  suffers  us  to  tremble 
At  that  which  every  day,  nay  hour,  we  haste  to  ? 

Don,  This  is  unanswerable,  and  there's  some- 
thing tells  me 
I  err  in  my  opinion. 

Vitel.  Cherish  it, 
It  is  a  heavenly  prompter ;  entertain 
This  holy  motion,  and  wear  on  your  forehead 
The  sacred  badge  he  arms  his  servants  with  ;* 
You  shall,  like  me,  with  scorn  look  down  ui>t)tv 
All  engines  tyranny  can  advance  to  batter 
Your  constant  resolution.  Then  you  shall 
Look  truly  fair,  when  your  mind's  pureness  an- 
swers 
Your  outward  beauties. 

Don.  I  came  here  to  take  you, 
But  I  perceive  a  yielding  in  myself 
To  be  your  prisoner. 

Vitel.  'Tis  au  overthrow. 
That  will  outshine  all  victories.  O  Donusa, 
Die  in  my  faith,  like  me ;  and  'tis  a  marriage 

•  Vitel.  Your  intent  to  win  me]  A  hemistich  preceding  this, 
is  lost ;  it  was  probably  an  ejaculatory  remark  from  Paalina. 

» Qtid  viear  on  your  forehead 

The  sacred  badge  he  arms  his  servants  -with  ;]  This  is  a  peri- 
phrasis of  baptism,  familiar  to  the  Catholic  \rriters.  It  majr 
neither  be  unamusing,  nor  uninstructive,  for  the  reader  to  com- 
p!ire  this  sc«ne  with  the  third  act  of  the  Virgin-Martyr :  he  Will 
fiad  many  passages  strikingly  similar. 


m 


210  THE    RENEGADO. 

At  which  celestial  angels  shall  be  waiters,         | 
And  such  as  have  been  sainted  welcome  us; 
Are  you  confirm'd  r 

Don.  I  would  be;  but  the  means 
That  may  assure  me? 

Vitel.  Heaven  is  merciful, 
And  will  not  suffer  you  to  want  a  man 
To  do  that  sacred  office,  build  upon  it. 

Don.  Then  thus  I  spit  at  Mahomet. 

Asam.  [coming forward^]  Stop  her  mouth  : 
In  death  to  turn  apostatal  I'll  not  hear 
One  syllable  from  any. — Wretched  creature  ! 
With  the  next  rising  sun  prepare  to  die. — 
Yet,  Christian,  in  reward  of  thy  brave  courage, 
Be  thy  faith  right  or  wrong,  receive  this  favour ; 
In  person  I'll  attend  thee  to  thy  death: 
And  boldly  challenge  all  that  1  can  give, 
But  what's  not  in  my  grant,  which  is — to  live. 

[E.veunt. 


ACT  V.    SCENE  I. 

A  Room  in  the  Prison. 

Enter  y lii-LLi  and  ¥nAi!i CISCO. 

Fran,  You  are  wondrous  brave**  and  jocund. 
•    Vitel.  Welcome,  father. 

Should  I  spare  cost,  or  not  wear  cheerful  looks 
Upon  my  wedding  day,  it  were  ominous, 
And  shew'd  I  did  repent  it ;  which  I  dare  not, 

*  Fran.  You  are  wondrous  brave  and  Jocund.']  i.  e.  as  has  been 
already  observed,  richly,  splendidly  apparelled. 


THE    RENEGADO.  211 

It  being  a  marriage,  howsoever  sad 
In  the  first  ceremonies  that  confirm  it, 
That  will  for  ever  arm  me  against  fears, 
Repentance,  doubts,  or  jealousies,  and  bring 
Perpetual  comforts,  peace  of  mind,  and  quiet 
To  the  glad  couple. 

Fran.  I  well  understand  you ; 
And  my  full  joy  to  see  you  so  resolved 
Weak  words  cannot  express.     What  is  the  hour 
Design'd  for  this  solemnity? 

Vitel.  The  sixth: 
Something  before  the  setting  of  the  sun, 
We  take  our  last  leave  of  his  fading  light. 
And  with  our  soul's  eyes  seek  for  beams  eternal. 
Yet  there's  one  scruple  with  which  I  am  much 
Perplex'd  and  troubled,  which  I  know  you  can 
Resolve  me  of. 

Fran.  What  is't  ? 

Vitel.  This,  sir;  my  bride, 
Whom  I  first  courted,  and  then  won,  not  with 
Loose  lays,  poor  flatteries,  apish  compliments, 
But  sacred  and  religious  zeal,  yet  wants 
The  holy  badge  that  should  proclaim  her  fit 
For  these  celestial  nuptials  :  willing  she  is, 
I  know,  to  wear  it,  as  the  choicest  jewel, 
On  her  fair  forehead  ;  but  to  you,  that  well 
Could  do  that  work  of  grace,  I  know  the  viceroy 
Will  never  grant  access.  Now,  in  a  case 
Of  this  necessity,  I  would  gladly  learn, 
Whether,  in  me,  a  layman,  without  orders, 
It  may  not  be  religious  and  lawful, 
As  we  go  to  our  deaths,  to  do  that  oflfice? 

Fran.    A  question  in  itself  with  much  ease 
answer'd : 
Midwives,  upon  necessity,  perform  it; 
And  knights  that,  in  the*  Holy  Land,  fought  for 
The  freedom  of  Jerusalem,  when  full 


212  THE    RfiNEGADO. 

Of  sweat  and  enemies'  blood,  have  made  their 

helmets' 
The  fount,  out  of  which  with  their  holy  hands 
They  drew  that  heavenly  liquor :  'twas  approved 

then 
By  the  holy  church,  nor  must  I  think  it  now, 
In  you,  a  work  less  pious. 

Vitel.  You  confirm  me ;  ' 
I  will  find  a  way  to  do  it.  In  the  mean  time, 
Your  holy  vows  assist  me  ! 

Fran.  They  shall  ever 
Be  present  with  you. 

Vitel,  You  shall  see  me  act 
This  last  scene  to  the  life. 

Fran.  And  though  now  fall. 
Rise  a  bless'd  martyr. 

Vitel.  That's  my  end,  my  all.  [Exeunt, 


SCENE   II. 

A  Street, 
JEJw/er  Grim^ldi,  Master,  Boatswain,  fl;?2f/ Sailors. 

Boatsxo.  Sir,  if  you  slip  this  opportunity. 
Never  expect  the  like. 

Mast.  With  as  much  ease  now 
We  may  steal  the  ship  out  of  the  harbour,  captain, 
As  ever  gallants,  in  a  wanton  bravery. 
Have  set  upon  a  drunken  constable. 
And  bore  him  from  a  sleepy  rug-go wn'd  Watch  : 
Be  therefore  wise. 

^  Have  made  their  helmets  &c.]  There  is  an  instance  of  this 
in  Tasso,  and,  probably,  the  particular  one  which  the  poet  had 
in  view :  the  observation,  however,  as  a  general  one,  is  per- 
fectly just,  and  consonant  with  history. 


THE   RENEGADO.  215 

Grim.  I  must  be  honest  too. 
And  you  shall  wear  that  shape,  you  shall  observe 

nie, 
If  that  you  purpose  to  continue  mine. 
Think  you  ingratitude  can  be  the  parent 
To  our  unfeign'd  repentance?  Do  1  owe 
A  peace  within  here,  kingdoms  could  not  purchase, 
To  my  religious  creditor,  to  leave  him 
Open  to  danger,  the  great  benefit 
Never  remembered  !  no  ;  though  in  her  bottom 
We  could  stow  up  the  tribute  of  the  Turk  ; 
Nay,  grant  the  passage  safe  too;  I  will  never 
Consent  to  weigh  an  anchor  up,  till  he, 
That  only  must,  commands  it. 

Boatsw.  This  religion 
Will  keep  us  slaves  and  beggars. 

Mast.  The  fiend  prompts  me 
To  change  my   copy:    plague  upon't!   we  arc 

seamen ; 
What  have  we  to  do  with't,  but  for  a  snatch  or  so, 
At  the  end  of  a  long  Lent?* 

Enter  Francisco. 

Boatsxv.  Mum  :  see  who  is  here. 

Grim,  My  father ! 

Fran.  My  good  convert.     I  am  full 
Of  serious  business  which  denies  me  leave 
To  hold  long  conference  with  you :  only  thus 

much 
Briefly  receive ;  a  day  or  two,  at  the  most, 

♦  At  the  end  of  a  long  Lent  ?]  Massinger  alludes  to  the  custom 
which  all  good  Catholics  had  (and,  indeed,  still  have)  of  con- 
fessing themseUes  at  £aster.  Good-Friday  and  Easter  Sunday 
are  almost  the  only  days  on  which  the  French  and  Italian  saiiorii 
ever  think  of  repairing  to  a  confessional. 
VOL.  U,  *    Q 


214  THE   RENEGADO. 

Shall  make  me  fit  to  take  my  leave  of  Tunis, 
Or  give  me  lost  for  ever. 

Grim.  Days  nor  years, 
Provided  that  my  stay  may  do  you  service, 
But  to  me  shall  be  minutes. 

Fran.  I  much  thank  you : 
In  this  small  scroll  you  may  in  private  read 
What  my  intents  are ;  and,  as  they  grow  ripe, 
I  will  instruct  you  further:  in  the  mean  time 
Borrow  your  late  distracted  looks  and  gesture ; 
The  more  dejected  you  appear,  the  less 
The  viceroy  must  suspect  you. 

Grim.  I  am  nothing, 
But  what  you  please  to  have  me  be. 

Fran.  Farewell,  sir. 
Be  cheerful,  master,  something  we  will  do, 
That  shall  reward  itself  in  the  performance; 
And  that's  true  prize  indeed. 

Mast.  I  am  obedient. 

Boatsxv.  And  I :  there's  no  contending. 

[Edeunt  Grim.  Mast.  Boatsw.  and  Sailors, 

Fran.  Peace  to  you  all ! 
Prosper,  thou  Great  Existence,  my  endeavours, 
As  they  religiously  are  undertaken, 
And  distant  equally  from  servile  gain. 

Enter  Paulina,  Carazie,  and^lAisTO. 

Or  glorious  ostentation  ! — I  am  heard, 
In  this  blest  opportunity,  which  in  vain 
I  long  have  waited  for.     I  must  shew  myself. 
O,  she  has  found  me !  now  if  she  prove  right, 
All  hope  will  not  forsake  us. 

Paul.  Further  off;  , 
And  iu  that  distance  know  your  duties  too. 
You  were  bestow'd  on  me  as  slaves  to  serve  me, 


THE    RENEGADO.  215 

And  not  as  spies  to  pry  into  my  actions, 
And  after,  to  betray  me.    You  shall  find 
If  any  look  of  mine  be  unobserved, 
I  am  not  ignorant  of  a  mistress'  power, 
And  from  whom  I  receive  it. 

Car.  Note  this,  Man  to, 
The  pride  and  scorn  with  which  she  entertains  us, 
Now  we  are  made  her's  by  the  viceroy's  gift ! 
Our  sweet  condition'd  princess,  fair  Donusa, 
Rest  in  her  death  wait  on  her !  never  used  us 
With  such  contempt.    I  would  he  had  sent  me 
To  the  gallies,  or  the  gallows,  when  he  gave  me 
^    To  this  proud  little  devil. 
■     Mant.  I  expect 

All  tyrannous  usage,  but  I  must  be  patient ; 
And  though,  ten  times  a  day,  she  tears  these  locks, 
Or  makes  this  face  her  footstool,  'tis  but  justice. 
Paul.  'Tis  a  true  story  of  my  fortunes,  father. 
My  chastity  preserved  by  miracle. 
Or  your  devotions  for  me ;  and,  believe  it. 
What  outward  pride  soe'er  I  counterfeit, 
Or  state,  to  these  appointed  to  attend  me, 
I  am  not  in  my  disposition  alter'd. 
But  still  your  humble  daughter,  and  share  with 

you 
In  my  poor  brother's  sufferings : — all  hell's  tor- 
ments 
Revenge  it  on  accurs'd  Grimaldi's  soul, 
That,  in  his  rape  of  me,  gave  a  beginning 
To  all  the  miseries  that  since  have  folio w'd  ! 
Fran.  Be  charitable,  and  forgive  him,  gentle 
daughter.  • 

(He's  a  changed  man,  and  may  redeem  his  fault 
In  his  fair  life  hereafter.    You  must  bear  too 
Your  forced  captivity,  for  'tis  no  better. 
Though  you  wear  golden  fetters,  and  of  liim, 
Whom  de^thaffrights  not,  learn  to  hold  out  nobly. 
"'■*■'■  ♦  Q2 


L 


215  THE   REN  EG  A  DO. 

Paul.  You  are  still  the  same  good  counsellor. 

Fran»  And  who  l^nows, 
(Since  what  above  is  purposed,  is  inscrutable,) 
But  that  the  viceroy's  extreme  dotage  on  yoa 
May  be  the  parent  of  a  happier  birth 
Than  yet  our  hopes  dare  fashion.    Longer  con- 
ference 
May  prove  unsafe  for  you  and  me ;  however 
(Perhaps  for  trial)  he  allows  you  freedom. — 

[Deliven  a  paper. 
From  this  learn  therefore  what  you  mustattenjpt, 
Though  with  the  hazard   of  yourself:  heaven 

guard  you, 
And  give  Vitelli  patience  !  then  I  doubt  not 
But  he  will  have  a  glorious  day,  since  some 
Hold  truly, — such  as  suffer,  overcome.    lEa^eunt 


SCENE   III. 

A  Hall  in  Asambeg's  Palace, 
Enter  Asameeg,  Mustapha,  Aga,  and  Capiaga. 

Asam»  What  we  commanded,  see  perform 'd; 
and  fail  not 
In  all  things  to  be  punctual. 

Aga.  We  shall,  sir.     [Ejceunt  Aga  and  Capiaga. 

Musta.  'Tis  strange,  that  you  should  use  such 
circumstance 
To  a  delinquent  of  so  mean  condition. 

Asam.  Had  he  appeared  in  a  more  sordid  shape 
Tlian  disguised  greatness  ever  deign'd  to  mask  in, 
The  gallant  bearing  of  his  present  fortune 
Aloud  proclaims  him  noble. 

Musta.  If  you  doubt  him 
To  be  a  man  built  up  for  great  employments, 


THE   RENEGADO.  '217 

And,  as  a  cunning  spy,  sent  to  explore 

The  city's  strength,  or  weakness,  you  by  torture 

May  force  him  to  discover  it. 

Asam.  That  were  base  ; 
Nor  dare  I  do  such  injury  to  virtue 
And  bold  assured  courage ;  neither  can  I 
Be  won  to  think,  but  if  I  should  attempt  it, 
I  shoot  against  the  moon.    He  that  hatn  stood 
The  roughest  battery,  that  captivity 
Could  ever  bring  to  shake  a  constant  temper; 
Despised  the  fawnings  of  a  future  greatness, 
By  beauty,  in  her  full  perfection,  tender'd ; 
That  hears  of  death  as  of  a  quiet  slumber, 
And  from  the  surplusage  of  his  own  firmness, 
Can  spare  enough  of  fortitude,  to  assure 
A  feeble  woman  ;  will  not,'  Mustapha, 
Be  alter'd  in  his  soul  for  any  torments 
We  can  afflict  his  body  with. 

Musta.  Do  your  pleasure  : 
I  only  otfer'd  you  a  friend's  advice, 
But  without  gall  or  envy  to  the  man 
That  is  to  suffer.    But  what  do  you  determine 
Of  poor  Grimaldi  ?  the  disgrace  call'd  on  him, 
I  hear,  has  run  him  mad. 

Asam.  There  weigh  the  difference 
In  the  true  temper  of  their  minds.    The  one, 
A  pirate,  sold  to  mischiefs,  rapes,  and  all 
That  make  a  slave  relentless  and  obdurate, 
Yet,  of  himself  wanting  the  inward  strengths 
That  should  defend  him,  sinks  beneath  compassion 
Or  pity  of  a  man  :  whereas  this  merchant, 

J  Afteble  woman  ;  will  not,  Miistaphoy]  For  wof,  the  old  copy 
reads  now.  Instead  of  correcting  this  palpabl«  error  of  the 
press,  the  modern  editors  add  to  it  a  -word  ol  no  authority,  and 
thus  produce  a  verse  of  surprising  harmony : 

A  feeble  woman  ;  will  now,  Mustapha,  neTer. 


21$  THE   RENEGADO. 

Acquainted  only  with  a  civil*  life  ; 
Arm'd  in  himself,  intrench'd  and  fortified 
With  his  own  virtue,  valuing  life  and  death 
At  the  same  price,  poorly  does  not  invite 
A  favour,  but  commands  us  do  him  right ; 
Which  unto  him,  and  her  we  both  once  honoured 
As  a  just  debt,  I  gladly  pay; — they  enter. 
Now  sit  we  equal  hearers. 

*  Acquainted  onlt/ with  a  cixil  life  ;^  Civil,  in  Massinger,  as 
well  as  in  his  contemporaries,  alludes  to  the  political  regulations, 
customs,  and  habits,  of  the  city,  as  distinguished  from  the  court ; 
sometimes,  indeed,  it  takes  a  wider  range,  and  comprises  a  de- 
gree of  civilization  or  moral  improvement,  as  opposed  to  a  state 
of  barbarism,  or  pure  nature. 

Wherever  civil  occurs  in  Shakspeare,  Steevens  interprets,  or 
rather  misinterprets,  it  by  "  grave,  solemn,  decent,"  &c.  That 
it  sometimes  bears  those  meanings  cannot  be  denied,  but  then 
it  is  always  in  reference  to  citizenship,  or  to  that  state  of  orderly 
society  which  is  swayed  by  wise  and  well-balanced  institutions : 
in  its  abstract  sense  it  would  frequently  have  no  meaning,  or  at 
least,  none  that  was  worthy  of  Shakspeare  :  e.  g. 

''  You,  lord  archbishop, — 
*'  Whose  see  is  by  a  civil  peace  maintain'd." 

Second  Part  of  Henri/  IV. 
That  is,  (says  Steevens,)  a  "  grave  and  decent"  peace.  What  is 
that  ? 
Again : 

'*  Why  should  this  desert  silent  be  ? 

*'  For  it  is  unpeopled  ?  No : 
*'  Tongues  I'll  hang  on  every  tree, 

"  That  shall  civil  sayings  show."  As  you  like  it. 

"  That  is,  grave  and  solemn  sayings !"    No,  surely :  sayings 
collected  from  an  intercourse  with  civil  life. 


THE   RENEGADO.  219 

A  dreadful  music.  Enter  at  one  door,  the  Aga, 
Janizaries,  Vitelli,  Francisco,  «//</ Gazet  ; 
at  the  other,  Donusa,  (her  train  born  up),  Pau- 
lina, Carazie,  a?id  Manto. 

Musta.   I  shall  hear 
And  see,  sir,  without  passion;  my  wrongs  arm  me. 
Vitel.  A  joyful  preparation!  To  whose  bounty 
Owe  we  our  thanks  for  gracing  thus  our  hymen? 
The  notes,  though  dreadful  to  the  ear,  sound  here 
As  our  epithalamium  were  sung 
By  a  celestial  choir,  and  a  full  chorus 
Assured  us  future  happiness.    These  that  lead  me 
Gaze  not  with  wanton  eyes  upon  my  bride. 
Nor  for  their  service  are  repaid  by  me 
With  jealousies  or  fears;  nor  do  they  envy 
My  passage  to  those  pleasures  from  which  death 
Cannot  deter  me.    Great  sir,  pardon  me: 
Imagination  of  the  joys  I  haste  to 
Made  me  forget  my  duty  ;  but  the  form 
And  ceremony  past,  I  will  attend  you, 
And  Avith  our  constant  resolution  feast  you  ; 
Not  with  coarse  cates,  forgot  as  soon  as  tasted, 
But  such  as  shall,  while  you  have  memory. 
Be  pleasing  to  the  palate. 

Fran.  Be  not  lost 
In  what  you  purpose.  [Exit, 

Gaz.  Call  you  this  a  marriage  ! 
It  diifers  little  from  hanging;  I  crj'  at  it. 

Vitel.  See,  where  my  bride  appears  !  in  what 
full  lustre  ! 
As  if  the  virgins  that  bear  up  her  train 
Mad  long  contended  to  receive  an  honour 
Above  their  births,  in  doing  her  this  service. 
Nor  comes  she  fearful  to  meet  those  dcligiits. 
Which,  once  past  o'er,  immortal  pleasures  follow. 
I  need  not,  therefore,  comfort  or  encourage 


220  THE    RENEGADO. 

Her  forward  steps ;  and  I  should  oiFer  wrong 
To  her  mind's  fortitude,  should  I  but  ask 
How  she  can  brook  the  rough  high-going  sea, 
Over  whose  foamy  back  our  ship,  well  rigg'd 
With  hope  and  strong  assurance,  must  transport 

us. 
Nor  will  I  tell  her,  when  we  reach  the  haven, 
Which   tempests   shall   not  hinder,   what  loud 

welcome 
Shall  entertain  us;  nor  commend  the  place, 
To  tell  whose  least  perfection  would  strike  dumb 
The  eloquence  of  all  boasted  in  story, 
Though  join'd  together. 

Don.  'Tis  enough,  my  dearest, 
I  dare  not  doubt  you  ;  as  your  humble  shadow, 
Lead  where  you  please,  I  follow. 

Vitel.  One  suit,  sir. 
And  willingly  I  cease  to  be  a  beggar; 
And  that  you  may  with  more  security  hear  it, 
Know,  'tis  not  life  I'll  ask,  nor  to  defer 
Our  deaths,  but  a  few  minutes. 

Asam.  Speak  ;  'tis  granted. 

Vitel.  We  being  now  to  take  our  latest  leave, 
And  grown  of  one  belief,  I  do  desire 
1  may  have  your  allowance  to  perform  it, 
But  in  the  fashion  which  we  Christians  use 
Upon  the  like  occasions. 

Asam.  'Tis  allow'd  of. 

Vitel.  My  service :    haste,  Gazet,  to  the  next 
spring. 
And  bring  me  of  it. 

Gaz.  Would  I  could  as  well 
Fetch  you  a  pardon ;  I  would  not  run  but  fly. 
And  be  here  in  a  moment.  [Exit. 

Musta.  What's  the  mystery 
Of  this?  discover  it. 

Vitel.  Great  sir,  I'll  tell  you. 


THE    REKEGADO.  221 

Each  country  hath  its  own  peculiar  rites: 
Some,  when  they  are  to  die,  drink  store  of  wine, 
Which,  pour'd  in  liberally,  does  oft  beget 
A  bastard  valour,  with  which  arm'd,  they  bear 
The  not- to-be  declined  charge  of  death 
With  less  fear  and  astonishment:  others  take 
Drugs  to  procure  a  heavy  sleep,  that  so 
They  may  insensibly  receive  the  means 
That  casts  them  in  an  everlasting  slumber; 
Others 

Re-enter  Gazet,  with  water. 

O  welcome  I 

Jsam.  Now  the  use  of  yours  ? 

Vitel.  The  clearness  of  this  is  a  perfect  sign 
Of  innocence':  and  as  this  washes  off 
Stains  and  pollutions  from  the  things  we  wear; 
Thrown  thus  upon  the  forehead,  it  hath  power 
To  purge  those  spots  that  cleave  upon'  the  mind, 

[Sprinkles  it  on  her  face. 
If  thankfully  received. 

Asam.  'Tis  a  strange  custom. 

Vitel.  How  do  you  entertain  it,  my  Donusa  ? 
Feel  you  no  alteration,  no  new  motives. 
No  unexpected  aids,  that  may  confirm  you 
In  that  to  which  you  were  inclined  before? 

Don.  I  am  another  woman  ; — till  this  minute 
I  never  lived,  nor  durst  think  how  to  die. 
How  long  have  I  been  blind  !  yet  on  the  sudden, 
By  this  blest  means,  I  feel  the  films  of  error 
Ta'en  from  my  soul's  eyes.    O  divine  physician  ! 
That  hast  bestow'd  a  sight  on  me,  which  Death, 
Though  ready  to  embrace  me  in  his  arms, 

' that  cleave  upon  the  tnindyl    So  the 

old  copy :  the  modem  editors,  with  as  little  judgment  as  neces- 
sity, read,  cleave  unto  the  mind. 


222  THE    RENE  GAD  O. 

Cannot  take  from  me':  let  me  kiss  the  hand 
That  did  this  miracle,  and  seal  my  thanks 
Upon  those  lips  from  whence  these  sweet  words 

vanish'd, 
That  freed  me  from  the  cruellest  of  prisons, 
Blind  ignorance  and  misbelief.    False  prophet ! 
Impostor  Mahomet ! 

Asam.  I'll  hear  no  more, 
You  do  abuse  my  favours  ;  sever  them  : 
Wretch,  if  thou  hadst  another  life  to  lose, 
This  blasphemy  deserved  it; — instantly 
Carry  them  to  their  deaths. 
,   Vitel.  We  part  now,  blest  one, 
To  meet  hereafter  in  a  kingdom,  where 
Hell's  malice  shall  not  reach  us. 

Paul.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 

Asa7n.  What  means  my  mistress  ? 

Paul.  Who  can  hold  her  spleen, 
When  such  ridiculous  follies  are  presented. 
The  scene,  too,  made  religion  ?  O,  my  lord, 
How  from  one  cause  two  contrary  effects 
Spring  up  upon  the  sudden  \ 

Asam.  This  is  strange. 

Paul.  That  which  hath  fool'd  her  in  her  death, 
wins  me, 
That  hitherto  have  barr'd  myself  fron)  pleasure, 
To  live  in  all  delight. 

Asam.  There's  music  in  fhis. 

Paul.  I  now  will  run  as  fiercely  to  your  arms 
As  ever  longing  woman  did,  born  high 
On  the  swift  wings  of  appetite. 

Vitel.  O  devil ! 

Paul.  Nay,  more ;  for  there  shall  be  no  odds 
betwixt  us, 
I  will  turn  Turk.' 

•  I  will  turn  Turk. 
Gaz    Most  of  your  tribe  do  so. 
When  they  begin  in  whore.^     To  turn  Turk,  was  a  figuratire 


THE   REN  EG  ADO.  223 

Gaz.  Most  of  your  tribe  do  so, 
When  they  begin  in  whore.  \_Aside, 

Asam.   You  are  serious,  lady  ? 

Paul.  Serious  ! — but  satisfy  me  in  a  suit 
That  to  the  work!  may  witness  that  I  have 
Some  power  upon  you,  and  to  morrow  challenge 
VVhatever's  in  my  gift ;  for  I  will  be 
At  your  dispose. 

Gaz.  That's  ever  the  subscription 
To  a  (lamn'd  whore's  false  epistle.  \Aside, 

Asam.  Ask  this  hand, 
Or,  if  thou  wilt,  the  heads  of  these.    I  am  rapt 
Beyond  myself  with  joy.  Speak,  speak,  what  is  it  ? 

Paul.  But  twelve  short  hours  reprieve  for  this 
base  couple. 

Asam.  The  reason,  since  you  hate  them? 

Paul.  That  I  may 
Have  time  to  triumph  o'er  this  wretched  woman. 
I'll  be  myself  her  guardian  ;  I  will  feast, 
Adorned  in  her  choice  and  richest  jewels  : 
Commit  him  to  what  guards  you  please.     Grant 

this, 
I  am  no  more  mine  own,  but  yours. 

Asam.  Enjoy  it ; 
Repine  at  it  who  dares  :  bear  him  safe  off 
To  the  black   tower,   but  give   him  all   things 

useful : 
The  contrary  was  not  in  your  request  ? 

PauL  I  do  contemn  him. 

JDo7i,  Peace  in  death  denied  me ! 

expression  for  a  change  of  condition,  or  opinion.  It  should  be 
observed,  that  Gazet  wantonly  perverts  the  phrase,  which  is 
used  in  its  literal  acceptation  by  Paulina. 

»  • /  will  be 

At  your  dispose.]  Mr.  M.  Mason,  for  no  other  reason,  as 
appears,  than  that  of  spoiling  the  metre,  alters  this  to   - 
— —  I  will  be 

At  your  disposal. 


1^4     .         THE   RENEGADO. 

Paul  Thou  shalt  not  go  in  liberty  to  thy  grave; 
For  one  night  a  sultana  is  my  slave. 

Must  a   A  terrible  little  tyranness  ! 

j4sam.  No  more ; 
Her  will  shall  be  a  law.     Till  now  ne'er  happy  ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. 

•  A  Street. 

JEw/erFRAN  cisco,.Gr  I  MA  LDT,  Master,  Boatswain, 
and  Sailors. 

Grim.  Sir,  all  things  are  in  readiness;  the  Turks, 
That  seized  upon  my  siiip,  stow'd  under  hatches; 
My  men  resolved  and  cheerful.    Use  but  means 
To  get  out  of  the  ports,*  we  M'ill  be  ready 
To  bring  you  aboard,  and  then  (heaven  be  but 

pleased) 
This,  for  the  viceroy's  fleet ! 

Fran.  Discharge  your  parts ; 
In  mine  I'll  not  be  wanting:  Fear  not,  master; 
Something  will  come  along  to  fraught  your  bark, 
That  you  will  have  just  cause  to  say  you  never  ^ 
Made  such  a  voyage. 

Must.  We  will  stand  the  hazard. 

Fran.  What's  the  best  hour  ? 

Boatsw.  After  the  second  watch. 

Fran.  Enough ;  each  to  his  charge. 

Grim.  We  will  be  careful.  [Exeunt. 

*  To  get  out  of  the  ports,]  i.  e.  the  gata  of  the  city.     Se^ 
Vol.  I.  p.  8. 


THE    RENEGADO.  225 


SCENE    V. 

A  Room  in  Asambeg's  Palace. 

Enter  Paulina,  Donusa,  Carazie,  and 
Manto. 

Paul.  Sit,  madam,  it  is  fit  that  I  attend  you; 
And  pardon,  I  beseech  you,  my  rude  language, 
To  which  the  sooner  you  will  be  invited. 
When  you  shall  understand,  no  way  .was  left  me 
To  free  you  from  a  present  execution, 
But  by  my  personating  that  which  never 
My  nature  was  acquainted  with. 

Don,  I  believe  you. 

Paul.  You  will,  when  you  shall  understand  I 
may 
Receive  the  honour  to  be  known  unto  you 
By  a  nearer  name : — and,  not  to  rack  you  further. 
The  man  you  please  to  favour  is  my  brother; 
No  merchant,  madam,  but  a  gentleman 
Of  the  best  rank  in  Venice. 

Don.  I  rejoice  in't ; 
But  what's  this  to  his  freedom  r  for  myself, 
Were  he  well  off,  I  were  secure. 

Paul.  I  have 
A  present  means,  not  plotted  by  myself, 
But  a  religious  man,  my  confessor, 
That  may  preserve  all,  if  we  had  a  servant 
Whose  faith  we  might  rely  on. 

Don.  She,  that's  now 
Your  slave,  was  once  mine;  had  I  twenty  lives, 
I  durst  commit  them  to  her  trust. 

Mant.  O  madam  ! 
I  have  been  false, — forgive  me  :  I'll  redeem  it 


226  THE    RENEGADO. 

By  any  thing,  however  desperate, 
You  please  to  impose  upon  me. 

Paul.  Troth,  these  tears, 
I  think,  cannot  be  counterfeit ;  I  believe  her, 
And,  if  you  please,  will  try  her. 

Don.  At  your  peril; 
There  is  no  further  danger  can  look  towards  me. 

Paul.  This  only  then — canst  thou  use  means 
to  carry 
This  bake-meat  to  Vitelli? 

Mant.  With  much  ease ; 
I  am  familiar  with  the  guard;  beside, 
It  being  known  it  was  I  that  betray 'd  him,* 
My  entrance  hardly  will  of  them  be  question'd. 

Paul.  About  it  then.  Say,  that  'twas  sent  to 
him 
From  his  Donusa ;  bid  him  search  the  midst  of  it, 
He  there  shall  find  a  cordial. 

Mant.  What  I  do 
Shall  speak  my  care  and  faith.  [Exit. 

Don.  Good  fortune  with  thee  ! 

Paul,  You  cannot  eat  r 

Don.  The  time  we  thus  abuse 
We  might  employ  much  better. 

Paul.  I  am  glad 
To  hear  this  from  you.  As  for  you,  Carazic, 
If  our  intents  do  prosper,  make  choice,  whether 
You'll  steal  away  with  your  two  mistresses. 
Or  take  your  fortune. 

Car.  I'll  be  gelded  twice  first ; 
Hang  him  that  stays  behind. 

Paul.  I  wait  you,  madam. 

*  It  being  known  it  was  I  that  betrayed  him,]  Besides  making 
several  petty  alterations  in  this  line,  Coxeter  subjoined  him  to 
it,  which  is  not  found  in  the  old  copy.  This  is  retained,  as 
cither  that  or  you  seems  necessary  to  complete  the  seose  :  his 
imaginary  improTements  I  haTC  remoTcd. 


THE    RENEGADO.  227 

Were  but  my  brother  oflF,  by  the  command 

Of  the  doting  viceroy  there's  no  guard  dare  stay 

me ; 
And  I  will  safely  bring  you  to  the  place, 
Where  we  must  expect  him. 

Don.  Heaven  be  gracious  to  us  !        [Exeunt, 


S  C  E  N  E  VI. 

A  Room  in  the  Black  Tower. 

Enter  Vitelli,  Aga,  and  Guards  at  the  door, 

Vitel.  Paulina  to  fall  off  thus  !  'tis  to  me 
More  terrible  than  death,  and,  like  an  earthquake, 
Totters  this  walking  building,  such  I  am ; 
And  in  my  sudden  ruin  would  prevent, 
By  choaking  up  at  once  my  vital  spirits, 
This  pompous  preparation  for  my  death. 
But  I  am  lost;*  that  good  man,  good  Francisco, 
Deliver'd  me  a  paper,  which  till  now 
I  wanted  leisure  to  peruse.         [Reads  the  Paper, 

Aga.  This  Christian 
Fears  not,  it  seems,  the  near  approaching  sun, 
Whose  second  rise  he  never  must  salute. 

Enter  Manto  with  the  baked-meat. 

1  Guard.  Who's  that  ? 

2  Guard.  Stand. 
Aga.  Manto  ! 

Mant.  Here's  the  viceroy's  ring, 
Gives  warrant  to  my  entrance  ;  yet  you  may 
Partake  of  any  thing  1  shall  deliver. 

»  But  I  am  lost  j]  i.  e.  I  forget  myself. 


22S  THE    RENEGADO. 

'Tis  but  a  present  to  a  dying  man. 

Sent  from  the  princess  that  must  suffer  with  him. 

Aga.  Use  your  own  freedom. 

Mant.  I  would  not  disturb  ' 

This  his  last  contemplation. 

ViteL  O,  'tis  well! 
He  has  restored  all,  and  I  at  peace  again 
With  my  Paulina. 

Mant.  Sir,  the  sad  Donusa, 
Grieved  for  your  sufferings,  more  than  for  her 

own, 
Knowing  the  long  and  tedious  pilgrimage 
You  are  to  take,  presents  you  with  this  cordial, 
Which  privately  she  wishes  you  should  taste  of; 
And  search  the  middle  part,  where  you  shall  find 
Something  that  hath  the  operation  to 
Make  death  look  lovely. 

Vitel  I  will  not  dispute 
What  she  commands,  l)ut  serve  it.  \^Exit» 

Aga.  Prithee,  Man  to. 
How  hath  the  unfortunate  princess  spent  this 

night. 
Under  her  proud  new  mistress  r 

Mant.  With  such  patience 
As  it  o'ercomes  the  other's  insolence. 
Nay,  triumphs  o'er  her  pride.  My  muchhaste  now 
Commands  me  hence  ;   but,  the  sad  tragedy  past, 
I'll  give  you  satisfaction  to  the  full 
Of  all  hatk  pass'd,  and  a  true  character 
Of  the  proud  Christian's  nature.  \_Exit. 

Aga.  Break  the  watch  up ; 
What  should  we  fear  i'the  midst  of  our'  own 

strengths? 
Tis  but  the  basha's  jealousy.    Farewell,  soldiers. 

[^Exeunt. 

'  What  should  •wefear  in  the  midst  of  our  oijon  strengths  ?  &c.]  i.  e. 
our  own  lortresses.    Seep.  199. 


THE   RENEGADO.  229 

SCENE  VII. 

An  upper  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Vitelli  xoith  the  baked-meat. 

Vitel.  There's  something  more  in  this  than 
means  to  cloy 

A  hungry  appetite,  which  I  must  discover. 

She  will'd  me  search  the  midst:  thus,  thus  I 
pierce  it. 

— Ha  !  what  is  this  ?  a  scroll  bound  up  in  pack- 
thread ! 

What  may  the  mystery  be?  [Reads, 

■  Son,  let  down  this  packthread  at  the  west  window 
of  the  castle.  By  it  you  shall  draw  up  a  ladder  of 
ropeSf  by  which  you  may  descend:  your  dearest 
Donu^a  with  the  rest  of  your  friends  belozv  attend 
you.    Heaven  prosper  you  / 

0  best  of  men  !  he  that  gives  up  himself 
To  a  true  religious  friend,  leans  not  upon 
A  false  deceiving  reed,  but  boldly  builds 
Upon  a  rock  ;  which  now  with  joy  I  find 
In  reverend  Francisco,  whose  good  vows, 
Labours,  and  watchings,  in  my  hoped-for  free- 
dom, 

Appear  a  pious  miracle.    I  come, 

1  come  with  confidence ;  though  the  descent 
Were  steep  as  hell,  I  know  I  cannot  slide. 
Being  call'd  down  by  such  a  faithful  guide. 

[E,vit. 


VOL.  ir.  *  R 


2S0  THE   RENEGADO. 

SCENE    VIIT. 

A  Room  in  Asambeg's  Palace. 
Enter  Asambeg,  Mustapha,  «w^  Janizaries. 

Asam.  Excuse  me,  Mustapha,  though  this  night 
to  me 
Appear  as  tedious  as  that  treble  one 
Was  to  the  world,  when  Jove  on  fair  Alcmena 
Begot  Alcides.    Were  you  to  encounter 
Those  ravishing  pleasures,  which  the  slow-paced 

hours 
(To  me  they  are  such)  bar  me  from,  you  would, 
With  your  continued  wishes,  strive  to  imp* 
New  feathers  to  the  broken  wings  of  time, 
And  chide  the  amorous  sun,  for  too  long  dalliance 
In  Thetis'  watery  bosom. 

Musta.  You  are  too  violent 
In  your  desires,  of  which  you  are  yet  uncertain  ; 
Having  no  more  assurance  to  enjoy  them, 
Than  a  weak  woman's  promise,  on  which  wise  men 
Faintly  rely. 

Asam.  Tush  !  she  is  made  of  truth  ; 


to  imf) 


New  feathers  to  the  broken  wings  of  time,']  To  imp,  says  the 
compiler  of  the  Faulconer's  Dictionary,  "  is  to  insert  a  feather 
into  the  wing  of  a  hawk,  or  other  bird,  in  the  place  of  one  that 
is  broken."  To  this  practice  our  old  writers,  who  seem  to  haye 
been,  in  the  language  of  the  present  day,  keen  sportsmen,  per- 
petually allude.  There  is  a  passage  in  Tomkis's  AlbumaxaVf 
-which  would  be  admireJ  even  in  tht  noblest  scents  ofShakspeare : 

*'  How  slow  the  day  slides  on  !  when  we  desire 
*'  Time's  haste,  he  secerns  to  lose  a  match  with  lobsters; 
*'  And  when  we  wish  him  stay,  hp  imps  his  wings, 
**  Withjeathers  plumed  with  thought !" 


THE   RENEGADO.  231 

And  what  she  says  she  will  do,  holds  as  firm 
As  laws   in   brass,  that   know  no  change :     [A 

chamber  shot  off.^]    What's  this  ? 
Some  new  prize  brought  in,  sure — 

Enter  Aga  hastily. 

Why  are  thy  looks 
So  ghastly  ?  Villain,  speak  ! 

Aga.  Great  sir,  hear  me. 
Then  after,  kill  me : — we  are  all  betray'd. 
The  false  Grimaldi,  sunk  in  your  disgrace, 
With  his  confederates,  has  seized  his  ship, 
And  those  that  guarded  it  stow'd  under  hatches. 
With   him   the    condemn'd    princess,    and    the 

merchant, 
That,  with  a  ladder  made  of  ropes,  descended 
From  the  black  tower,  in  which  he  was  enclosed. 
And  your  fair  mistress 

Asam.  Ha  ! 

Aga.  With  all  their  train. 
And  choicest  jewels,  are  gone  safe  aboard  : 

5  A  chamber  shot  off'.]  Such  is  the  marginal  direction  in  the 
old  copy.  The  modern  editors,  in  kindness  to  their  readers' 
ignorance,  have  considerately  expunged  the  word  chamber^ 
and  inserted  piece  (it  should  have  been  great  gun)  in  its  place. 
Yet  a  little  -while,  and  we  shall  happily  purge  our  language  of 
every  unfashionable  expression.  Chambers  occur  continiially  in 
our  old  writers ;  they  are,  as  Mr.  Malone  says,  small  pieces 
of  ordnance,  such  as  arc  still  fired  in  the  Park  on  rejoicing 
days.  From  the  marginal  diroction,  it  seems  as  if  the  theatres, 
in  our  author's  time,  were  provided  with  one  or  more  of  these 
pieces :  and  indeed,  it  appears  from  Jonson's  Execration  upon 
Vulcan,  that  the  Globe  playhouse  was  set  on  fire  by  the  dis- 
charge of  this  holiday  artillery : 

" the  Globe,  the  glory  of  the  Bank, 

*'  I  saw  with  two  poor  chambers  taken  in, 

"  And  razed,  ere  thought  could  urge,  this  might  have  been.'* 

*R2 


232  THE   RENEGADO. 

Their  sails  spread  forth,  and  with  a  fore-right 

gale' 
Leaving  our  coast,  in  scorn  of  all  pursuit, 
As  a  farewell,  they  shewM  a  broadside  to  us/ 

Asam.  No  more. 

Musta.  Now  note  your  confidence  ! 

Asam.  No  more. 
O  my  credulity !  I  am  too  full 
Of  grief  and  rage  to  speak.    Dull,  heavy  fool  1 
Worthy  of  all  the  tortures  that  the  frown 
Of  thy  incensed  master  can  throw  on  thee, 

*  and  with  a  fore-right  gale]    The  old 

copy  has  aforcgale.  Mr.  M.  Mason  saw  that  the  measure  was 
defective,  and  proposed  to  read  a  right  fore-gale.  I  prefer  the 
lection  which  I  have  inserted  in  the  text,  as  it  is  a  common 
expression,  and  has  indeed  been  already  used  by  the  poet  him- 
self.   Thus,  in  the  Bondman  : 

**  —  ■—  sink  him  with 

*'  A/ore-right  gale  of  liberty." 

f  As  a  farewell,  they  shew'd  a  broadside  to  us.2  I  take  this  op- 
portunity of  observing,  that  our  old  dramatic  writers  were  ex- 
tremely well  acquainted  with  nautical  terms ;  this  was  owing 
to  the  avidity  with  which  voyages  were  read  by  all  descriptiorts 
of  people.  Great  eflFects  were  then  produced  by  small  means, 
and  created  a  wonderful  interest  in  the  public  mind :  the  writers, 
too,  of  thes«  popular  works  entered  into  them  with  their  whole 
soul,  and  gave  a  fullness  and  precision  to  their  narratives 
which  are  not  always  to  be  found  in  those  of  the  present  day. 
I  know  not  how  I  have  been  drawn  on  so  far ;  but  I  meant  to 
say  that,  from  some  cause  or  other,  (perhaps  from  what  I  last 
hinted  at,) maritime  language  is  not  so  generally  understood  now 
us  it  was  two  centuries  ago.  There  is  scarcely  a  nautical  ex- 
pression in  Shakspeare  which  is  not  illustrated  into  obscurity,  or 
misinterpreted.  With  respect  to  the  expression  which  gave 
rise  to  these  remarks,  I  shall  only  observe,  (not  to  puzzle  the 
reader  with  terms  which  he  would  perhaps  ill-understand,)  that 
to  shew  a  broadside  to  an  enemy,  argues  the  highest  degree  of 
confidence  and  security;  and  is  here  adduced  with  great  pro. 
priety  to  prove  that  the  fugitives  thought  themselves  out  of  the 
danger  of  pursuit. — They^ore  up  in  the  wind;  which  checked 
their  course. 


THE   RENEGADO.  Q33 

Without  one  man's  compassion!    I  will  hide 
This  head  among  the  desarts,  or  some  cave 
Fill'd  with  my  shame  and  me ;  where  I  alone 
May  die  without  a  partner  in  my  moan.  [E.veunt,' 

^  The  quantity  of  action  in  this  play  is  the  very  cause  of  the 
forced  contrivances  which  are  to  be  found  in  it :  yet,-however 
extravagant  in  its  plan,  or  improbable  in  its  conduct,  it  contains 
many  beautiful  sentiments  and  interesting  situations.  There  was 
no  such  call  for  some  of  the  licentiousness  which  stains  it. 
After  all,  its  conclusion  is  favourable  to  the  cause  of  virtue. 
The  final  influencc^of  truth  is  seen  in  the  conversion  of  Donusa; 
and  the  force  of  conscience  in  the  reclaiming  of  V^itelli  and  the 
Renegado.  Massinger  seems  to  have  pleased  himself  with  the 
discrimination  of  their  repentance,  ActV.  sc.  iii. ;  and  it  may 
be  remarked  in  general,  that  when  his  plots  are  unhappy,  or 
his  action  confused,  he  makes  amends  by  the  superior  care 
bestowed  on  certain  of  his  characters. 

The  Renegado  is  described  as  impious,  atheistical,  sacrilegi- 
ous, vindictive,  licentious,  and  cruel.  Accordingly,  his  remorse 
is  of  a  violent  nature.  He  is  abject  and  forlorn,  despairs  of  the 
power  of  heaven  itself  to  save  him,  and  appears  frantic  with 
imaginations  of  horror.  He  is  superstitious  too,  (a  true  mark  of 
nature  thus  agitated,)  arfd  will  only  be  comforted  if  he  can 
atone  to  the  holy  man  in  person  whose  administration  of  the 
sacred  rites  he  had  profaned.  And  when  this  is  dexterously 
contrived  by  Francisco,  his  protestations  of  penance  are  as 
tumultuously  uttered  as  they  are  gloomily  conceived.  Inflic- 
tions the  most  severe  shall  be  his  pleasures ;  the  stripes  of  iron 
whips,  but  gentle  touches  of  a  saving  hand ;  and  his  whole 
lif«,  one  continued  atonement  to  his  native  faith,  which  he  had 
renounced. 

The  recovery  of  the  tender  but  misguided  Vitelli  is  of  a  dif- 
ferent kind.  At  first  he  is  pleased  with  the  success  of  his  pursuit, 
talks  lightly  of  virtue,  and  is  resolved  to  proceed  with  his  in. 
dulgence.  But  he  is  soon  checked  by  the  appearance  of  his  con- 
fessor, acknowledges  his  error,  earnestly  asks  forgiveness,  avows 
the  struggle  between  his  passions  and  his  duty,  but  promises 
submission,  and  keeps  his  promise.  In  his  conference  with 
Donusa  (an  impressive  scene)  he  shews  himself  superior  to  the 
enticements  which  yet  he  deeply  feels;  and  the  satisfaction  of 
conscience,  now  secure  from  a  relapse,  gives  him  constancy  in 
prison,  and  amid  the  prospect  of  death.  He  rises  to  a  sacred 
vehemence  in  favour  of  his  religion;  and  converts  Donusa  herself. 


2S4  THE   RENEGADO. 

This  incident,  though  but  slightly  managed,  reminds  us  of  the 
Virgin-Martyr^  and  in  both  plays  we  may  observe  a  similar  use 
of  religious  terms  and  ecclesiastical  questions,  which,  with  the 
language  and  events  of  the  Roman  Martyrologies,  seem  to  be 
familiar  to  Massinger. 

The  Jesuit  is  represented  in  a  manner  highly  flattering  to  his 
order.  Pious,  sagacious,  charitable,  disinterested,  and  without 
ostentation,  he  watches  over  the  welfare  of  his  charge,  and 
directs  all  the  proceedings  to  the  desired  conclusion. 

The  Turkish  characters  are  not  ill-drawn.  The  women  are 
TFanton,  capricious,  and  stick  at  nothing  to  accomplish  their 
ends.  The  men  are  shrewd  and  interested,  haughty  and  violent, 
and  of  course  become  alternately  fawning  and  ferocious. 

The  chief  lesson  to  be  drawn  from  this  play  is,  to  be  on 
our  guard  against  the  effects  of  vicious  habits.  Gross  sins  make 
repentance  a  terror.  The  return  to  duty  is  most  easy  and  con- 
soling, when  the  departure  from  it  has  been  neither  long  nor 
■wilful : 

— — —  brece  sit  quod  turf  iter  audei. 


THE 


PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE 


Thb  Pahliamekt  of  Love.]  A  Comedy  of  this  name  was 
entered  on  the  books  of  the  Stationers'  Company,  June  29, 
1660  ;  and  a  manuscript  play  so  called,  and  said  to  be  written 
by  W.  Rowley,  was  in  the  number  of  those  destroyed  by  Mr. 
Warburton's  servant.  I  suspect  this  to  be  the  drama  before  us. 
It  is,  beyond  all  possibility  of  doubt,  the  genuine  work  of 
Massinger.,  and  was  licensed  for  the  stage  by  Sir  H.  Herbert  on 
the  3d  of  June,  1624.  I  have  already  mentioned  my  obligations 
to  Mr.  Malone  for  the  use  of  the  manuscript,  with  permission 
to  insert  it  in  the  present  Edition,  of  which  it  forms  no  incon. 
siderable  ornament:  it  is  here  given  with  the  most  sorupulous 
fidelity,  not  a  word,  not  a  syllable,  being  altered  or  omitted, 
except  in  one  or  two  instances,  where  the  inadvertence  of  the 
old  copyist  had  occasioned  a  palpable  blunder,  of  which  the  re- 
medy was  as  certain  as  the  discovery  was  easy. 

It  would  not  have  required  much  pains,  or  the  exertion  of  much 
ingenuity,  to  supply  most  of  the  chasms  occasioned  by  the  defect 
of  the  manuscript,  which  are  here  pointed  out  by  short  lines: 
but  it  seemed  the  safer  method  to  present  them  as  they  stood. 
The  reader  may  now  be  confident  that  all  is  genuine,  and  exer- 
cise his  skill  in  filling  up  the  vacant  spaces,  in  a  manner  most 
consonant  to  his  own  opinion  of  the  drift  of  the  author.  He 
must  not  flatter  himself  with  the  hope  of  further  aids ;  for  unless 
another  manuscript  of  this  play  should  be  discovered,  (of  which 
there  is  little  probability,)  no  subsequent  researches  will  add  an 
iota  to  what  is  now  before  him.  Such,  unfortunately,  is  the  de- 
cayed state  of  the  present,  that  with  every  precaution  which  the 
most  anxious  concern  could  suggest,  it  crumbled  under  the  in- 
spection :  a  repetition,  therefore,  of  my  labours,  which  I 
scarcely  think  will  be  lightly  undertaken,  will  produce  nothing 
but  disappointment;  since  many  lines,  and  fragments  of  lines, 
which  are  faithfully  copied  in  the  succeeding  pages,  will  be 
found  in  it  no  more. 

I  cannot  entertain  a  doubt  but  that  this  curious  relic  will 
be  perused  with  uncommon  interest;  at  least,  with  all  that  per- 
fect novelty  can  give :  since  it  is  highly  probable,  that  not  a 
single  line  of  it  has  been  read  by  any  person  now  in  existence. 

The  plot  is  founded  upon  those  celebrated  Courts  or  Parlia- 
ments of  Love,  said  to  be  holden  in  France  during  the  twelfth, 
thirteenth,  and  fourteenth  centuries,  for  the  discussion  of  amor- 
ous questions,  and  the  distribution  of  rewards  and  punishments 
among  faithful  and  perfidious  lovers. 

Ihe  origin  of  these  institutions  is  due  to  the  lively  imagina- 
tion of  the  Troubadours  :  petty  discussions  on  points  of  gallan- 
try,  which  probably  took  place  between  them  and  their  mis. 
tresses,  arc  magnified,  in  their  romantic  writings,  into  grave  and 
solemn  debates,  managed  with  all  the  form  and  ceremony  of 


provincial  coancils,   by  the  most  distinguished  personages  of 
both  sexes. 

In  their  tales  this  does  not  look  amiss :  when  the  whole  busi- 
ness of  the  world  is  love,  every  thing  connected  with  it  assumes 
an  air  of  importance;  but,  unfortunately,  these  rercries  of  a 
warm  fancy  have  found  admittance  into  general  history,  where 
the  improbability  and  folly  of  them  become  instantly  apparent. 
Nothing,  in  short,  can  be  more  mean  and  absurd  than  the  causes 
proposed  for  judgment,  except,  perhaps,  it  be  the  sentences  of 
this  motley  tribunal. 

In  France,  the  existence  of  these  Parliaments  has  been  discussed 
with  much  warmth.  Monsieur  de  Chasteuil,  a  Proven9al,  and 
therefore  interested  in  the  honour  of  his  country,  collected 
from  the  Troubadours  and  their  followers  a  number  of  anecdotes 
on  the  subject,  which  he  moulded  into  a  consistent  and  enter- 
taining narrative:  it  wanted,  however,  the  foundation  of  truth, 
and  was  controverted  in  all  its  parts  by  Monsieur  de  Haitze. 
The  question  is  of  little  interest  to  us :  those,  however,  who 
feel  any  degree  of  curiosity  on  the  subject,  may  consult  the 
Abbe  de  Sade,*  who  has  stated  the  arguments  on  both  sides 
with  that  candour  and  perspicuity  which  are  visible  in  every 
page  of  his  entertaining  work. 

De  Sade  himself,  though  he  laughs  at  the  pretensions  of  the 
Troubadours,  is  yet  inclined  to  think  that  Courts  or  Parliaments 
of  Love  were  sometimes  held;  though  not  with  the  state  and 
formality  ascribed  to  them  by  the  historians  of  Provence.  He 
mentions  a  celebrated  one  at  Troycs,  where  the  countess  of 
Champagnef  presided  ;  and  he  gives  a  few  of  the  arrets,  or  de- 
crees, which  emanated  from  it :  these  are  still  more  frivolous 
than  those  of  the  Troubadours,  and  in  no  age  of  the  world  could 
have  been  received  without  derision  and  contempt. 

After  all,  the  reality  of  these  tribunals  was  not  doubted  in 
Massinger's  time,  nor  in  the  ages  preceding  it :  he  had  therefore 
eufficient  authority  for  his  fable.  Add  too,  that  he  has  given  the 
establishment  a  dignity  which  renders  its  decisions  of  importance. 
A  da7ne  de  chateau  issuing  her  ridiculous  arrets  (for  so  they  were 
styled)  excites  little  notice  ;  but  a  great  and  victorious  monarch 
sitting  in  judgment,  attended  by  his  peers,  and  surrounded  with 
all  the  pomp  of  empire,  is  an  imposing  object.  Nor  are  the 
causes  selected,  altogether  unworthy  of  the  tribunal :  it  is  not  a 
miserable  question,  "  whether  lovers  must  needs  be  jealous," 
*'  whether  love  can  consist  with  matrimony"  J  &c.  which  is  to 

•  MSmcires pour  la  Fie  de  Fratigois  Petrarque,  Tom  II.  notes,  p.  44. 

t  Mr.  Godwin  says — "  the  queen  of  Franee ;"  but  he  seems  to  have  posted 
thrr  ugh  de  Sade,  as  Yorick  and  his  pupil  did  through  Europe — "  at  a  prodigious 
late.'*^ 

J  Memoires  pour  la  Fit  de  Petrarque,  Tom  II.  notes,  p.  60. 


be  heard  ;  bnt  injuries  of  a  scrions  nature,  and  which  can  only 
be  redressed  by  a  court  of  this  peculiar  kind.  In  a  word,  a 
Parliament  of  Love,  if  ever  respectable,  is  only  so,  as  convoked 
in  this  delightful  drama. 

As  the  list  of  the  dramatis  personae  is  destroyed,  we  are 
reduced  to  guess  at  the  period  in  which  the  supposed  events  of 
this  drama  took  place  :  luckily,  there  is  not  much  room  for  de- 
liberation, since  the  king's  speech,  on  his  first  appearance,  con- 
fines it  to  Charles  VIII.  That  monarch  led  his  army  into  Italy 
on  the  6th  of  October  1494,  and  entered  Naples  in  triumph  on 
the  20th  of  February  in  the  following  year:  thus,  says  Mf-zerai, 
"  in  four  months  this  young  king  marched  through  all  Italy, 
was  received  every  whereas  their  sovereign  lord,  without  using 
any  force,  only  sending  his  harbingers  to  mark  out  his  lodgings, 
and  conquered  the  whole  kingdom  of  Naples,  excepting  only 
Brindes,  in  fifteen  days." 

Charles  was  the  gayest  monarch  that  ever  sat  upon  the  throne 
of  France :  he  was  fond  of  masques,  revels,  dances,  and  the 
society  of  the  ladies,  to  a  culpable  degree;  Massinger,  therefore, 
could  not  have  found  a  fitter  prince -for  the  establishment  of  a 
Parliament  of  Love.  During  a  treaty  with  Lodowick  Sforza, 
(father  of  Francis  Duke  of  Milan,)  on  which  the  security  of  his 
conquests  in  a  great  measure  depended,  he  was  so  impatient  to 
return  to  his  favourite  amusements,  that  he  broke  throujjh  all 
restraint,  and  before  any  of  its  stipulations  were  put  in  execu- 
tion, "  went  away,'' continues  the  honest  historian,"  to  dance, 
masquerade,  and  make  love.''  liy  this  precipitation  he  lost  all 
the  fruit  of  his  victories;  for  Sforza  did  not  perform  one  article 
of  the  treaty. 

This  play  was  acted  at  the  Cockpit  in  Drary  Lane.  I  have 
been  sparing  of  my  observations,  being  desirous  (as  far  as  was 
consistent  with  my  plan)  that*  it  might  enjoy  the  reader'i 
undivided  attention. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS, 

AS  FAR  AS  THEY  APPEAR  IN  THE  REMAINING 
SCENES  OF  THIS  PLAY. 

CharTes  VIII.  king  o/* France. 

Duke  of  Orleans. 

Duke  of  Nemours. 

Chamont,  a  nobleman  ;  once  guardian  to  Bellisantr 

Philamour,  7  ,, 

Lafort,       '  l^ounsellors. 

Montrose,  a  noble  gentleman,  in  love  with  BelllsanU 

Cleremond,  in  love  with  Leonora. 

Clarindore,  1 

Perigot,       >wild  courtiers. 

Novall,        3 

Dinant,  physician  to  the  court. 


Bellisant,  a  noble  lady. 

Lamira,  wife  to  Chamont. 

Beaupr6,  {supposed  Calista,)  wife  to  Clarindore. 

Leonora. 

Clarinda,  wfe  to  Dinant* 

Other  Courtiers,  Priest,  Officers,  Servants,  S^c, 

SCENE,  Paris,  and  the  adjacent  country. 


THE 

PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE 


ACT   I.   SCENE   IV. 

A  Room  in  Bellisant's  House. 

Enter  Chamont  and  Bellisant. 

Cham,     ----------- 

I  did*  discharge  the.  trust  imposed  upon  me, 
Being  your  guardian. 

Bell.  'Tis  with  truth  acknowledged. 

Cham.  The  love  I  then  bore  to  you,  and  desire 
To  do  you  all  good  offices  of  a  friend. 
Continues  with  me,  nay,  increases,  lady ; 
And,  out  of  this  assurance,  I  presume, 

*  I  did^  &c.]  Here  the  fragment  begins.  It  is  not  possible  to 
say  how  much  of  this  act  is  lost,  as  the  manuscript  is  not  paged  ; 
but,  perhaps,  two  or  three  scenes.  One  must  have  taken  place 
between  Chamont  and  Beaupre,  in  which  the  latter  disclosed  her 
history  ;  another,  perhaps,  between  Cleremond  and  Leonora ; 
the  assemblage  of  the  "  guests"  at  Bellisant's  house  probably 
formed  a  third,  and  the  present  conference,  in  which  she  quite 
her  guests,  io  attend  on  Chamont,  may  be  the  fourth.  The 
reader  will  please  to  observe,  that  all  this  is  conjecture,  and 
given  for  nothing  more.  To  facilitate  references,  it  is  necessary 
to  fix  on  some  determinate  number:  the  ultimate  choice,  how- 
ever, is  of  no  great  moment,  though  I  flatter  myself  it  cannot 
be  far  from  the  truth.  Very  little  of  this  scene  appears  to  ba 
lost ;  Chamont  is  here,  perhaps,  in  his  first  speech. 


242     THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

What,  from  a  true  heart,  I  shall  now  deliver, 
Will  meet  a  gentle  censure. 

Bell.  When  you  speak, 
Whate'er  the  subject  be,  I  gladly  hear. 

Cham.  To  tell  you  of  the  greatness  of  your  state, 
And  from  what  noble  stock  you  are  derived, 
Were  but  impertinence,  and  a  common  theme. 
Since  you  well  know  both.  What  I  am  to  speak  of, 
Touches  you  nearer  ;  therefore,  give  me  leave 
To  say,  that,  howsoever  your  great  bounties, 
Continual  feasting,  princely  entertainments, 
May  gain  you  the  opinion  of  some  few 
Of  a  brave  generous  spirit,  (the  best  harvest 
That  you  can  hope  for  from  such  costly  seed,) 
You  cannot  yet,  amongst  the  multitude, 
(Since,  next  unto  the  princes  of  the  blood, 
The  eyes  of  all  are  fix'd  on  you,)  but  give 
Some  wounds,which  will  not  close  without  a  scar. 
To  your  fair  reputation,  and  good  name; 
In  suffering  such  a  crew  of  riotous  gallants, 
Not  of  the  best  repute,  to  be  so  frequent 
Both  in  yourhouse  and  presence:  this,'tis  rumour'd. 
Little  agrees  with  the  curiousness'  of  honour. 
Or  modesty  of  a  maid. 

Bell.  Not  to  dwell  long 
Upon  my  answer,  I  must  thank  your  goodness. 
And  provident  care,  that  have  instructed  me 
What  my  revenues  are,  by  which  I  measure 
How  far  I  may  expend ;  and  yet  I  find  not 
That  I  begin  to  waste ;  nor  would  I  add 
To  what  I  now  possess.    I  am  myself; 
And  for  my  fame,  since  I  am  innocent  here, 
This,  for  the  world's  opinion ! 

Cham.  Take  heed,  madam. 

*  Little  agrees  with  the  curiousness  of  honour^']  i.  e.  the  paoc- 
tilious  nicety  of  honour  :  in  this  sense  the  word  often  occurs. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      243 

That  [world'sj'opinion,  which  you  slight,  confirms 
This  lady  for  immodest,  and  proclaims 
Another  for  a  modest ;  whereas  the  first 
Ne'er  knew  what  loose  thoughts  were,  and  the 

praised  second 
Had  never  a  cold  dream. 

Bell    I  dare  not  argue  : 
But  what  means  to  prevent  this  ? 

Cham.  Noble  marriage. 

Bell.  Pardon  me,  sir ;  and  do  not  think  I  scorn 
Your  grave  advice,  which  I  have  ever  followed, 

Though  not  pleased  in  it. • 

Would  you  have  me  match  with  wealth?  I  need 

it  not : 
Or  hunt  for  honour,  and  increase  of  titles  ? 
In  truth,  I  rest  ambitious  of  no  greater 
Than  what  my  father  left.     Or  do  you  judge 
My  blood  to  run  so  high,  that  'tis  not  in 
Physic  to  cool  me  ?  I  yet  feel  no  such  heat : 
But  when,  against  my  will,  it  grows  upon  me, 
I'll  think  upon  your  counsel. 

Cham.  If  you  resolve,  then. 
To  live  a  virgin,  you  have     -     -     -     - 
To  which  you  may  retire,  and  ha-     -     -     - 

To     - 

In     - 

And  live  cont-     -     -     - 

Bell.  What  proof 
Should  I  give  of  my  continence,  if  I  lived 
Not  seen,  nor  seeing  any  ?    Spartan  Helen, 
Corinthian  Lais,  or  Rome's  Messaline, 
So  mew'd  up,  might  have  died  as  they  were  born, 
By  lust  ontempted :  no,  it  is  the  glory 
Of  chastity  to  be  tempted,  tempted  home  too, 

J  That  [world's]  opinion,  which  you  slight,  &c.]  I  hare  ven- 
tured to  complete  the  metre  by  inserting  the  word  between 
brackets,  which  was  probably  orerlooked  by  the  transcriber. 


244     THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

The  honour  else  is  nothing !  I  would  be 
The  first  example  to  convince,  for  liars, 
Those  poets,  that  with  sharp  and  bitter  rhymes 
Proclaim  aloud,  that  chastity  has  no  being, 
But  in  a  cottage  :  and  so  confident 
I  am  in  this  to  conquer,  that  I  will 
Expose  myself  to  all  assaults  ;  see  masques, 
And  hear  bewitching  sonnets ;  change  discourse 
With  one  that,  for  experience,  could  teach  Ovid 
To  write,  a  better  way,  his  Art  of  Love  : 
Feed  high,  and  take  and  give  free  entertain- 
ment. 
Lend  Cupid  eyes,  and  new  artillery, 
Deny  his  mother  for  a  deity  ; 
Yet  every  burning  shot  he  made  at  me, 
Meeting  with  my  chaste  thoughts,  should  lose 

their  ardour ; 
Which  when  I  have  o'ercome,  malicious  men 
Must,  to  their  shame,  confess  'its  possible, 
For  a  young  lady,  (some  say  fair,)  at  court, 
To  keep  her  virgin  honour. 

Cham,  May  you  prosper 
In  this  great  undertaking !  I'll  not  use 
A  syllable  to  divert  you :  but  must  be 
A  suitor  in  another  kind. 

Bell.  Whate'er  it  be, 
'Tis  granted. 

Cham.  It  is  only  to  accept 
A  present  from  me. 

Bell.  Call  you  this  a  suit? 
'Cham.  Come  in,  Calista. 

Enter  Beau  pre,  disguised  as  a  Moorish  Slave, 

This  is  one  I  would 
Bestow  upon  you. 
BelL  'Tis  the  handsomest. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      245 

I  e'er  saw  of  her  country  ;  she  liath  neither 
Thick  lips,  nor  rough  curl'd  hair. 

Cham.   Her  manners,  lady, 
Upon  my  honour,  hetter  iier  good  shape  : 
She  speaks  our  language  too,  for  being  surprised 
In  Barbary,  she  was  bestow'd  upon 
A  pirate  of  Marseilles,*  with  whose  wife 
She  lived    five    years,  and   learn'd   it;    there   I 

bought  her, 
As  pitying  her  hard  usage ;  if  you  please 
To  make  her  yours,  you  may. 

Bell.   With  many  thanks. 
Come  hither,  pretty  one  ;  fear  not,  you  shall  find 

me 
A  gentle  mistress. 

Beau.  With  my  care  and  service, 
I'll  study  to  preserve  you  such. 

BclL  Well  answered. 
Come,  follow  me ;  we'll  instantly  to  court, 
And  take  my  guests  along. 

Cham.  They  wait  you,  madam,  [Exeunt, 


S  C  E  N  E  V. 

A  State-room  in  the  Palace. 

Flourish.    Efiter  Charles,  Orleans,  Nemours, 
Philamour,  aw6?  Lafort. 

Char,  What   solitude   does   dwell   about  our 
court ! 
Why  this  dull  entertainment?  Have  I  march'd 
Victorious  through  Italy,  enter  d  Rome, 

*  J  pirateofMa.Tse\\les,]  Marseilles  herey  i&  in  tie  l/nnalural 
Combat,  is  a  trissyllable. 

VOL.   II.  *    S 


246     THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Like  a  triumphant  conqueror,  set  my  foot 
Upon  the  neck  of  Florence,  tamed  the  pride 
Of  the  "Venetians,  scourged  those  petty  tyrants. 
That     -     •      -      -      -      den  of  the  vvorJd,  to  be 
-     -     -     -     home,  nay,  my  house  nej^lected  ' 
(New  Speaker,)     -     -     -     the  courtiers  would 
appear 
------     therefore  they  presumed 

(New  Speaker.)     -     -     -     -     the  ladies,  sir, 

------     that  glad  time 

---------    the  choice. 

Enter  Bellisant,    Leonora,    Lamira,    Cla- 

RINDA,   ChAMONT,    MoNTROSE,    ClEREMOND, 

Clarindore,    PerigoT;    Novall,  and  other 
Courtiers. 

Phil,  Here  they  come. 

Ladies.  All  happiness  to  your  majesty  ! 

Courtiers.  And  victory  sit  ever  on  your  sword  ! 

Char.  Our  thanks  to  all. 
But  wherefore  come  you  in  divided  troops, 
As  if  the  mistresses  would  not  accept 
Their    servants'  guardship,*    or    the    servants, 

slighted. 
Refuse  to  offer  it  ?  You  all  wear  sad  looks  : 

5  But  wherefore  come  you  in  divided  troops, 
As  ij  the  laistresscs  would  not  accept  ^ 

Their  ierv a,uts'  guaidship,  &c.3  Servant  and  mistress,  as  I  have 
alreadj  observed,  signified,  in  the  language  of  Massinger's  time, 
a  lover  and  the  object  of  his  affection.  Let  me  now  call  the 
reader's  attention  to  the  exquisite  melody  of  this  speech  : 
nothing  is  forced,  nothing  is  inverted ;  plainness  and  simplicity 
are  all  the  aids  of  which  the  poet  has  availed  himself,  yet  a  more 
perfect  specimen  of  flowing,  elegant,  and  rhythmical  raodulation 
is  not  to  be  found  in  the  English  language.  The  sprightliness, 
energy,  and  spirit  which  pervade  the  remainder  of  this  scene  ar« 
Mrorthy  of  all  praise. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      247 

On  Perigot  appears  not  that  blunt  mirth 
Which  his  face  used  to  promise  ;  on  Montrose 
There  hangs  a  heavy  dulness  ;  Cleremond 
Droops  e'en  to  death,  and  Clarindore  hath  lost 
Much  of  his  sharpness;  nay,  these  ladies  too, 
Wliose  sparkling  eyes  did  use  to  fire  the  court 
With  various  inventions  of  delight, 
Part  with  their  splendour.     What's  the  cause  ? 

from  whence 
Proceeds  this  alteration  ? 

Perl.  I  am  troubled 
With  the  toothach,  or  with  love,  I  know  not 

whether ; 
There  is  a  worm  in  both.  [Aside, 

Clarin.  It  is  their  pride. 

Bell.  Or  your  unworthiness. 

Cler.  The  honour  that 
The  French  dames  held  for  courtesy,  above 
All  ladies  of  the  earth,  dwells  not  in  these, 
That  glory  in  their  cruelty. 

Leon.  The  desert 
The  chevaliers  of  France  were  truly  lords  of, 
And  which  your  grandsires  really  did  possess, 
At  no  part  you  inherit. 

Bell.  Ere  they  durst 
Presume  to  offer  service  to  a  lady, 
In  person  they  perform'd  some  gallant  acts 
The  fame  of  which  prepared  them  gracious  hear- 
ing, 
Ere  they  made  their  approaches  :  what  coy  she, 

then, 
Though  great  in  birth,  not  to  be  parallell'd 
For  nature's  liberal  bounties,  both  set  off 
With  fortune's  trappings,  wealth;  but,  with  de- 
light, 
Gladly  acknowledged  such  a  man  her  servant. 
To  whose  heroic  courage,  and  deep  wisdom, 

*  S  2 


248      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

The  flourishing    commonwealth,    and    thankful 

.     king, 
Confess'd  themselves  for  debtors  ?  Whereas,  now, 
If  you  have  travelled  Italy,  and  brought  home 
Some  remnants  of  the  language,  and  can  set 
Your  faces  iusomestrangeand  ne'er  seen  posture, 
Dance  a  lavolta,*  and  be  rude  and  saucy  ; 
Protest,  and   swear,  and  damn,    (for  these   are 

acts 
That  most  think  grace  them,)  and  then  view 

yourselves 
In  the  deceiving  mirror  of  self-love. 
You  do  conclude  there  hardly  is  a  woman 
That  can  be  worthy  of  you. 

Mont,  We  would  grant 
We  are  not  equal  to  our  ancestors 
In  noble  undertakings,  if  we  thought,  - 
In  us  a  free  confession  would  persuade  you. 
Not  to  deny  your  own  most  wilful  errors  : 
And  where  you  tax  us'  for  unservice,  lady, 
I  never  knew  a  soldier  yet,  that  could 
Arrive  into  your  favour:  we  may  suffer 
The  winter's  frost,  and  scorching  summer's  heat. 
When  the  hot  lion's  breath  singeth  the  fields, 
To  seek  out  victory  ;  yet,  at  our  return, 
Though  honour'd  in  our  manly  wounds,  well  taken, 
You  say  they  do  deform  us,  and  the  loss 
Of  much  blood  that  way,  renders  us  unfit 
To  please  you  in  your  chambers. 

Clati/i.  I  must  speak 
A  little  in  the  general  cause  :  Your  beauties 

*  Dance  a  lavolta,]  For  this  dance  (for  which  the  courtiers 
of  England  as  well  as  of  France  were  indebted  to  Italy)  see  the 
Great  Duke  of  Florence. 

7  And  where  i/ou  tax  us,  «&c.]  Where  is  used  for  whereas  :  a 
practice  so  common  with  Massinger,  and  indeed  with  all  our  old 
writers,  that  it  is  unnecessary  to  produce  any  example  of  it. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      249 

Are  charms  that  do  enchant  so     -     -     -     - 

Kno\v'inc(  that  we  are  fastened  in  your  toils; 
In  which  to  struggle,  or  strive  to  hreak  out, 
Increases  the  captivity.    Never  Circe, 
Sated  with  such  she  purposed  to  transform, 
Or  cunning  Siren,  for  whose  fatal  music 
Nought  but  the  hearer's  death  could  satisfy, 
Knew  less  of  pity.    Nay,  I  dare  go  further,* 
And  justify  your  majesty  hath  lost 
More  resolute  and  brave  courageous  spirits 
In  this  same  dull  and  languishing  fight  of  love. 
Than  e'er  your  wars  took  from  you. 

Char,  No  reply  : 

This  is  a  cause  we  will  determine  of, 
And  speedily  redress :  Tamed  Italy, 
With  fear,  confesses  me  a  warlike  king, 
And  France  shall  boast  I  am  a  prince  of  love. 
Shall  we,  that  keep  perpetual  parliaments 
For  petty  suits,  or  the  least  injury 
Offer'd  the  goods  or  bodies  of  our  subjects, 
Not  study  a  cure  for  the  sickness  of  the  niiud. 
Whose  venomous  contagion  hath  infected 
Our  bravest  servants,  and  the  choicest  beauties 
Our  court  is  proud  of?  These  are  wounds  require 
A  kingly  surgeon,  and  the  honour  worthy 
By  us  to  be  accepted. 

Phil,  It  would  add 
To  the  rest  of  your  great  actions. 

'  Nay^  I  dare  go  further,  SfC,"]  A  passage  very  similar  to  thii 
occurs  in  the  Little  French  Lawyer : 

**  I  have  heard  that  some  of  our  late  kings 

"  For  the  lie,  wearing  of  a  mistress'  favours, 

"  Have  lost  as  many  gallant  gentlemen 

"  As  might  have  met  the  Great  Turk  in  the  fi«Id, 

"  With  confidence  of  a  glorious  victory." 


250      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Laf.  But  the  means 
Most  difficult,  1  fear. 

Cham.  You  shall  do  more,  sir, 
If  you  perform  this,  than  I  e'er  could  read 
The  sons  of  Saturn,  that  by  lot  divided 
The  government  of  the  air,  the  sea,  and  hell. 
Had  spirit  to  undertake. 

Char.  Why,  this  more  fires  me; 
And  now  partake  of  my  design.    With  speed 
Erect  a  place  of  justice  near  the  court. 
Which  we'll  have  styled,  the  Parliament  of 

Lo  V  E : 
Here  such  whose  humble  service  is  not  consider'd 
By  their  proud  mistresses,  freely  may  complain; 
And  shall  have  hearing  and  redress. 

Nov.  O  rare ! 

Peri.  I  like  this  well. 

Char.  And  ladies  that  are  wrong'd 
By  such  as  do  profess  themselves  their  servants, 
May  cite  them  hither,  and  their  cause  deliver'd 
Or  by  their  own  tongues,  or  feed  advocates, 
Find  sudden  satisfaction. 

Nov.  What  a  rascal 
Was  I  to  leave  the  law !  I  might  have  had 
Clients  and  clients.    Ne'er  was  such  a  time 
For  any  smooth-chinn'd  advocate. 

Peri.  They  will  get  the  start 
Of  the  ladies'   spruce  physicians,   starve  their 

chaplains, 
Thonofh  never  so  well  timber'd. 

Char.  'Tis  our  will, 
Nor  shall  it  be  disputed.    Of  this  court, 
Or  rather,  sanctuary  of  pure  lovers, 
My  lord  of  Orleans,  and  Nemours,  assisted 
By    the    messieurs   Philamour  and   Lafort,  arc 
judges. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      251 

You  have  worn  Venus's  colours  from  your  youth. 
And  cannot,  therefore,  but  be  sensible 
Of  all  her  mysteries:  what  you  shall  determine, 
In  the  way  of  penance,  punishment,  or  reward, 
Shall     -     -     -    the  trial ;  a  month  we  grant  you 
-------     amours,  which  expired, 

-  -     -     -  make  your  complaints,  and  be  assured 

-  -     -     impartial  hearing ;  this  determined, 
------     rest  of  our  affairs.      \^Ej:'eunt. 


ACT   IL    SCENE   L 

A  Room  in  Clarindore's  House, 
Enter  Clarindore,  Montrose,  Perigot,  and 

NOVALL. 

Peri.  I  do  not  relish 
The  last  part  of  the  king's  speech,  though  I  was 
Much  taken  with  the  first. 

iVow.  Your  reason,  tutor  ? 

Peri.  Why,  look  you,  pupil;  the  decree,  that 
women 
Should  not  neglect  the  service  of  their  lovers, 
But  pay  them  from  the  exchequer  they  were  born 

with. 
Was  good  and  laudable  ;  they  being  created 
To  be  both  tractable  and  tactable. 
When  they  are  useful :  but  to  have  it  order'd, 
All  women  that  have  stumbled  in  the  dark, 
Or  given,  by  owl-light,  favours,  should  complain. 
Is  most  intolerable  :  I  myself  shall  have, 
Of  such  as  trade  in  the  streets,  and  scaped  my 
pockets. 


252      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Ot  progress  laundresses,  afid  marketwomen, 
Whtn  t)ie  king's  pleasure's  known,  a  thousand 
bills    ^  a 

Prefe.rr'd  against  nie. 

Clarin.  Tliis  is  out  of  season  : 
Novhing  to  madam  Bellisant,  that,  in  public, 
Hath  so  inveigh'd  against  us. 

Nov.  She's  a  Fuiy, 
I  dare  no  more  attempt  her. 

Feri.  ril  not  venture 
To  change  six  words  with  her  for  half  her  state, 
Or  stay,  till   she  be   trimm'd,'  from    wine  and 

women, 
For  any  new  monopoly. 

Mont,  1  will  study 
How  to  forget  her,  shun  the  tempting  poison 
Her  looks,  and  magic  of  discourse,  still  oifer,1 
And  be  myself  again  :  since  there's  no  hope, 
'Twere  madness  to  pursue  her. 

Peri.  There  are  madams 
Better  brought  up,  'tis  thought,  and  wives  that 

dare  not 
Complain  in  parliament ;    there's  safe  trading, 

pupil : 
And,  when  she  finds  she  is  of  all  forsaken. 
Let  my  lady  Pride  repent  in  vain,  and  mump, 
And  envy  others'  markets. 

Clarin.  May  I  ne'er  prosper 
But  you  are  three  of  tlie  most  fainting  spirits,    . 
That  ever  I  conversed  with!  You  do  well 


9  Or  stay,  till  she  be  trimm'd,  from  wine  and  iiomen,]  This  word 
is  very  iri^iistinct  in  the  manusctipt ;  1  copied  it  with  my  best 
care,  but  still  doubt  whcthor  it  be  the  one  given  by  the  author. 
Tamed,  has  been  proposed  to  me;  but  this  recedes  too  far  from 
the  MS.  After  all,  the  expression  admits  of  a  sense,  which 
suits  the  context— till  she  be  trimm'd,  may,  without  much  vio- 
lence to  the  language,  mean — till  she  be  in  the  humour. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.     253 

To    talk   of  progress   laundresses,    punks,    and 

beggars ; 
The  wife  ot  some  rich  tradesman  with  three  teeth, 
And  twice  sonanv  hairs  : — truck  with  old  ladies, 
That  nature  hath  given  o'er,  that  owe  their  doctors 
For  an  artificial  life,  that  are  so  frozen. 
That  a  sound   plague   cannot   thaw  them  ;  but 

despair, 
I  give  you  over:  never  hope  to  take 
A  velvet  petticoat  up,  or  to  commit 
With  an  Italian  cutwork  smock,  when  torn  too. 
J^Iont.  And  what  liopes  nourish  you? 
Clarin.  Troth,  mine  are  modest. 
I  am  only  confident  to  win  the  lady 
You  dare  not  look  on,  and  now,  in  the  height 
Of  her  contempt  and  scorn,  to  humble  her. 
And  teach  her  at  what  game  her  mother  play'd, 
When  she  was  got;  and,  cloy'd  with  those  poor 

toys, 
As  I  find  her  obedient  and  pleasing, 
1  may  perhaps  descend  to  marry  her:  \}'ii 

Then,  with  a  kind  of  state,  I  take  my  chair,*    '' 
Command  a  sudden  muster  of  my  servants. 
And,  after  two  or  three  majestic  hums, 
It  being  known  all  is  mine,  peruse  my  writings. 
Let  out  this  manor,  at  an  easy  rate. 
To  such  a  friend,  lend  this  ten  thousand  crowns, 
For  the  redemption  of  his  mortgaged  land, 
Give  to  each  by-blow  I  know  mine,  a  farm. 
Erect     ------     this  in  conse-     -     - 

Thatpleased  me  in  my  youth,  butnow  grown  stale. 
These  things  first  ordered  by  me,  and  confirmed 

*  Then^  with  a  kind  of  state,  I  take  my  chair,  S)C.]  This  is  imi- 
tated from  the  soliloquy  of  Malrolio,  in  Twelfth  Night;  which 
is  itself  ail  iinitatiou  of  the  reverie  of  Alnascbar,  in  the  Jrabian 
Nii>hts  Entertainment. 


254      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

By  Bellisant,  my  wife,  I  care  not  much 
If,  out  of  her  own  lands,  I  do  assign  her 
Some  pretty  jointure. 

Peri.  Talk'st  thou  in  thy  sleep  ? 

Nov.  Or  art  thou  mad  ? 

Clarin.  A  little  elevated 
With  the  assurance  of  my  future  fortune  : 
Why  do  you  stare  and  grin  ?  I  know  this  must  be. 
And  I  will  lay  three  thousand  crowns,  within 
A  month  I  will  effect  this. 

Mont.  How ! 

Clarin.  Give  proof 
I  have  enjoy'd  fair  Bellisant,  evident  proof 
I  have  pluck'd  her  virgin  rose,  so  long  preserved^ 
Not,  like  a  play-trick,  with  a  chain  or  ring' 
Stolen  by  corruption,  but,  against  her  will, 
Make  her  confess  so  much. 

Mont.  Impossible. 

Clarin.  Then  the  disgrace  be  mine,  the  profit 
yours. 
If  that  you  think  her  chastity  a  rock 
Not  to  be  moved  or  shaken,  or  hold  me 
A  flatterer  of  myself,  or  overweener, 
Let  me  pay  for  my  foolery. 

Peri.  I'll  engage  -■ 

Myself  for  a  thousand.  'i 

Nov.  I'll  not  out  for  a  second. 

Mont.  I  would  gladly  lose  a  third  part  for 
assurance 
No  virgin  can  stand  constant  long. 

Clariii.  Leave  that 
To  the  trial :  let  us  to  a  notary, 
Draw  the  conditions,  see  the  crowns  deposited, 

*  Notf  like  a  play-trick,  tcith  a  chain  or  ring 

Stolen  by  corrvption,  &c.]  Here  is  an  allusion,  perhaps,  to 
the  bracelet  of  Imogen  :  the  trick,  however,  of  which  Clarin- 
dore  speaks,  is  found  in  many  of  our  eld  dramas. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      255 

And  then  I  will  not  cry,  St.  Dennis  for  me!' 
But — Love,  blind  archer,  aid  me  ! 

Peri.  Look  you  thrive; 
I  would  not  be  so  jeer'd  and  hooted  at, 
As  you  will  be  else. 

Clarin.  I  will  run  the  hazard.  [Exeunt. 


S  C  E  N  E  IL 

A  Room  in  Leonora's  House, 

Enter  Leonora  and  a  Servant. 

.  Serv.   He  will  not  be  denied. 

Leon.  Slave,  beat  him  back. 
I  feed  such  whelps! 

Serv.  Madam,  I  rattled  him, 
Rattled  him  home. 

Leon.  Rattle  him  hence,  you  rascal, 
Or  never  see  me  more. 

Enter  Cleremond. 

Serv.  He  comes  :  a  sword  I 
What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  Shall  I  cry  murder, 
Or  raise  the  constable  ? 

Leon.  Hence,  you  shaking  coward  ! 

Scr>v,  I  am  glad  I  am  so  got  off :  here's  a  round 
sum  [Looking  at  his  money. 

For  a  few  bitter  words !  Be  not  shook  off,  sir ; 
I'll  see  none  shall  disturb  you.  [Exit, 

Cler.  You  might  spare 
These  frowns,  good  lady,  on  me;  they  are  useless, 
I  am  shot  through  and  through  with  your  disdain, 

' St.  Dennis  for  me  !]    The  war- cry 

•f  the  French  soldiers. 


256      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

And  on  my  heart  the  darts  of  scorn  so  thick, 
That  there's  no  vacant  place  left  to  receive 
Another  wound  ;  their  multitude  is  grown 
My  best  defence,  and  do  conlirm  me  that 
You  cannot  hurt  me  further. 

Leon.  Wert  thou  not 
Made  up  of  impudence,  and  slaved  to  folly. 
Did  any  drop  of  noble  blood  remain 
In  thy  lustful  veins, hadst  thou  or  touch,  or  relish, 
Of  modesty,  civility,  or  manners. 
Or  but  in  thy  deformed  outside  only 
Thou  didst  retain  the  essence  of  a  man, 
-------so  many     -     -     - 

And  loathing  to  thy  person,  thou  wouldst  not 
Force  from  a  blushing  woman  that  rude  language, 
Thy  baseness  first  made  me  acquainted  with. 

Cler.  Now  saintlike  patience  guard  me  ! 

Leon.  I  have  heard 
Of  mountebanks,  thattoventtheirdrugs  and  oils, 
Have  so  enured  themselves  to  poison,  that 
They  could  digest  a  venom'd  toad,  or  spider. 
Better  than  wholesome  viands :  in  the  list 
Of  such  I  hold  thee;  for  that  bitterness 
Of  speech,  reproof,  and  scorn,  by  her  delivered 
"Whom  thou  proCessest  to  adore,  and  shake  at. 
Which  would  deter  all  mankind  but  thyself, 
Do  nourish  in  thee  saucy  hopes,  with  pleasure. 

Cler.  Hear  but  my  just  defence. 

Leon.  Yet,  since  thou  art 
So  spaniel-like  affected,  and  thy  dotage 
Increases  from  abuse  and  injury, 
That  way  I'll  once  more  feast  thee.     Of  all  men 
I  ever  saw  yet,  in  my  settled  judgment, 
Spite  of  thy  barber,  tailor,  and  perfumer. 
And  thine  adulterate  and  boriow'd  helps. 
Thou  art  the  ugliest  creature ;  and  when  trimm'd  up 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      9.S1 

To  the  height,  as  thou  imagin'st,  in  mine  eyes, 
A  leper  with  a  clap-dish,  (to  give  notice 
He  is  infectious,)*  in  respect  of  thee, 
Appears  a  youg  Adonis. 

Cler,  You  look  on  me 
In  a  false  glass,  madam. 

Leon.  Then  thy  dunghill  mind, 
Suitable  to  the  outside,  never  yet 
Produced  one  gentle  thought,  knowing  her  want 
Of  faculties  to  put  it  into  act. 
Thy  courtship,  as  absurd  as  any  zany's, 
After  a  practised  manner  ;  thy  discourse. 


♦  A  leper  tvitk  a  clap^dish^  (to  give  notice 

He  is  infectiousyj]  This  explains  the  origin  of  the  custom, 
to  which  our  old  writers  have  such  frequent  allusions. 

The  leprosy  was  once  Tery  common  here ;  this  the  writers  on 
the  subject  properly  attribute  to  the  want  of  linen,  of  fresh 
meat  and  vegetables,  and  above  all,  to  the  sloth  in  which  the 
poor,  in  winter,  vegetated  in  their  most  filthy  hovels.  Our  old 
poets  seldom  mention  a  leper,  without  noticing,  at  the  same 
time,  his  constant  accompaniments,  the  cup  and  clapper.  Thus 
Henryson  : 

"  Thus  shalt  thou  go  begging  fro  hous  to  hous, 
''  With  cuppe  and  clapper^  like  a  Lazarous." 

Testament  of  Cresseide, 
The  clapper  was  not,  as  some  imagine,  an  instrument  solely 
calculated  for  making  a  noise  ;  it  was  simply  the  cover  of  the 
cup  or  dish^  which  the  poor  wretch  opened  and  shut  with  a 
loud  clap,  at  the  doors  of  the  well-disposed.  Cleanliness  and  a 
wholesome  diet  have  eradicated  this  loathsome  disease  amongst 
us  ;  but  it  still  exists  in  many  parts  of  the  continent,  where  I 
have  seen  little  communities  of  the  infected,  begging  by  the  road 
side  with  a  clap-dish,  which  they  continue  to  strike,  as  for- 
merly, on  the  appearance  of  a  traveller.  In  England  the  clap,- 
dish  was  impudently  assumed  by  vagrants,  sturdy-beggars,  &c. 
who  found  it  (as  Farquhar  says  of  the  title  of  captain)  "  con- 
venient for  travelling,"  as  the  terror  or  pity  which  the  sound 
of  it  excited  was  well  calculated  to  draw  contributions  from 
the  public. 


258      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Though  full  of  bombast  phrase,  never  brought 

matter 
Worthy  the  laughing  at,  much  less  the  hearing. — 
But  I  grow  weary  ;   for,  indeed,  to  speak  thee, 
Thy  ills  I  mean,  and  speak  them  to  the  full. 
Would  tire  a  thousand  women's  voluble  tongues, 
And  twice  so  many  lawyers' — for  a  farewell, 
I'll  sooner  clasp  an  incubus,  or  hug 
A  fork'd-tongued  adder,  than  meet  thy  embraces, 
Which,  as  the  devil,  I  fly  from. 

Cler.  Now  you  have  spent 
The  utmost  of  your  spleen,  I  would  not  say 
Your  malice,  set  oif  to  the  height  with  fiction, 
Allow  me  leave,  (a  poor  request,  which  judges 
Seldom  deny  unto  a  man  condemn'd,) 
A  little  to  complain :  for,  being  censured, 
Or  to  extenuate,  or  excuse  my  guilt, 
Were  but  to  wash  an  Ethiop.  How  oft,  with  tears, 
When  the  inhuman  porter  has  forbid 
My  entrance  by  your  most  severe  commands. 
Have  these  eyes  wash'd  your  threshold  !   Did 

there  ever 
Come  novelty  to  Paris,  rich  or  rare. 
Which  but  as  soon  as  known  was  not  presented, 
Howe'er  with    frowns    refused?     Have    I   not 

brought 
The  braveries  of  France*  before  your  window, 
To  fight  at  barriers,  or  to  break  a  lance. 
Or,  in  their  full  career,  to  take  the  ring,* 


'  The  brareries  of  France,']     See  the  Bondman,  p.  12. 

*  In  their  full  career  to  take  the  ring,']  For  tliis  amusement 
we  are  probably  indebted  to  the  French.  As  long  as  it  conti- 
nued in  vogue  it  was  attended  with  no  inconsiderable  degree  of 
parade,  and  usually  made  a  part  of  those  magniticent  spectacles 
given  on  public  occasions.  A  ring  of  a  very  small  diameter, 
was  Suspended  by  a  string  from  a  kind  of  gibbet,  of  which  the 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      259 

To  do  you  honour?  and  then,  being  refused 
To  speak  my  grief,  my  arms,  my  impresses, 
The  colours  that  I  wore,  in  a  dumb  sorrow 
Express'd  how  much  I  sufFer'd  in  the  rigour 
Of  your  displeasure. 

Leon.  Two  months  hence  I'll  have 
The 

Cler.  Stay,  best  madam, 
I  am  growing  to  a  period. 

Leon.  Pray  you  do ; 
I  here  shall  take  a  nap  else,  'tis  so  pleasing. 

Cler.  Then  only  this  :  the  voice  you  now  con- 
temn, 
You  once  did  swear  was  musical;  you  have  met 

too 
These  lips  in  a  soft  encounter,  and  have  brought 
An  equal  ardour  with  you  :  never  lived 
A  happier  pair  of  lovers.    I  confess, 
After  you  promised  marriage,  nothing  wanting 
But  a  few  days  expired,  to  make  me  happy, 
My  violent  impatience  of  delay 
Made  me  presume,  and  with  some  amorous  force, 
To  ask  a  full  fruition  of  those  pleasures 
Which  sacred  Hymen  to  the  world  makes  lawful, 
Before  his  torch  was  lighted ;  in  this  only, 
You  justly  can  accuse  me. 

horizontal  beam  moved  on  a  swivel.  At  this  the  competitors 
ran  with  their  spears  couched,  with  loose  reins,  and  as  the 
public  regulations  have  it, "  as  much  speed  as  the  horses  have," 
The  object  was  to  carry  off  the  ring  on  the  point  of  the  spear, 
which  was  light,  taper,  and  adapted  to  the  purpose.  It  was  of 
diflScult  attainment,  for  from  an  account  of  a  match  made  by 
King  Edward  VI.  seventeen  against  seventeen,  of  which  he 
has  left  a  description,  it  appears  that  "  in  one  hundred  and 
twenty  courses  the  ring  was  carried  off  but  three  times.  King 
Ed-ward's  Journal^  p.  26.  The  victor  was  usually  rewarded 
with  a  ring  set  with  precious  stones,  and  bestowed  by  the  I^dy 
•f  the  Day. 


250      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Leo.  Dar'st  thou  think 
That  this  offence  can  ever  find  a  pardon. 
Unworthy  as  thou  art ! 

Cler.  But  you  most  cruel, 
That,  in  your  studied  purpose  of  revenofe, 
Cast  hoth  divine  and  human  laws  hehiiid  you, 
And  only  see  their  rigour,  not  tlieir  mercy. 
Offences  of  foul  shape,  hy  holy  writ 
Are  warranted  remission,  provided 
That  the  delinquent  undergo  the  penance 
Imposed  upon  him  by  his  confessor: 
But  you,  that  should  be  mine,  and  only  can 
Or  punish  or  absolve  me,  are  so  far 
From  doing  me  right,  that  you  disdain  to  hear 
me. 

Leon.  Now  I  may  catch  him  in  my  long-wish'd 
toils ; 
My  hate  help  me  to  work  it!  [^Aside.l — To  what 

purpose, 
Poor  and  pale  spirited  man,  should  I  expect 
From  thee  the  satisfaction  of  a  wrong, 
Compared  to  which,  the  murder  of  a  brother 
Were  but  a  gentle  injury? 

Cler.  Witness,  heaven, 
All  blessings  hoped  by  good  men,  and  all  tortures 
The  wicked  shake  at,  no  saint  left  uns>vorn  by, 
That,  uncompell'd,  I  here  give  up  myself 
Wholly  to  your  devotion :  if  I  fail 
To  do  whatever  you  please  to  command, 
To  expiate  my  trespass  to  your  honour, 
So  that,  the  task  perform'd,  you  likewise  swear. 
First  to  forgive,  and  after  marry  me. 
May  I  endure  more  sharp  and   lingering  tor- 
ments 
Than  ever  tyrants  found  out!  may  my  friends 
With  scorn,  not  pity,  look  upon  my  sufferings, 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      261 

And  at  my  last  gasp,  in  the  place  of  hope, 
Sorrow,  despair,  possess  me  I 

Leon.  You  are  caught, 
Most  miserable  fool,  but  fit  to  be  so  ;— 
And  'tis  but  justice  that  thou  art  delivered 
Into  her  power  that's  sensible  of  a  wrong, 
And  glories  to  revenge  it.     Let  me  study 
What  dreadful  punishment,  worthy  my  fury, 
I  shall  inflict  upon  thee;  all  the  malice 
Of  injured  women  help  me!  Death?   that's  no- 
thing, 
'Tis,  to  a  conscious  wretch,  a  benefit, 
And  not  a  penance ;  else,  on  the  next  tree. 
For  sport's  sake  I  would  make  thee  hang  thyself. 

Ckr.  What  have  I  done  ? 

Leon.  What  cannot  be  recall'd. 
To  row  for  seven  years  in  the  Tarkish  gallies  ? 
A  flea-biting !  To  be  sold  to  a  brothel. 
Or  a  common  bagnio  ?  that's  a  trifle  too  ! 
-     -     -     -     FurieS;     ------ 

The  lashes  of  their  whips  pierce  through  th« 

mind. 
I'll  imitate  them  : — I  have  it  too. 

Cler.  Remember 
You  are  a  woman. 

Leon.  I  have  heard  thee  boast. 
That  of  all  blessings  in  the  earth  next  me, 
The  number  of  thy  trusty,  faithful  friends. 
Made  up  thy  happines:  out  of  these,  I  charge 

thee, 
And  by  thine  own  repeated  oaths  conjure  thee, 
To  kill  the  best  deserver.     Do  not  start ; 
I'll  have  no  other  penance.    Then  to  practise. 
To  fmd  some  means  he  that  deserves  thee  best, 
By  undertaking  something  others  fly  from  : 
This  done,  I  am  thine. 
Cler.  But  hear  me. 

VOL.  II,  *  T 


262     THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Leon.  Not  a  syllable  : 
And  till  then,  never  see  me.  \Eiit, 

Cler.  I  am  lost, 
Foolishly  lost  and  sunk  by  mine  own  baseness : 
I'll  say  only, 

With  a  heart-breaking  patience,  yet  not  rave, 
Better  the  devil's  than  a  woman's  slave.     [Exit. 


SCENE  IIL 

A  Room  in  Bellisant's  House. 
Enter  Clarindore  and  Beaupre. 

Clarin.  Nay,  prithee,  good  Calista— 

Beau.  As  I  live,  sir, 
She  is  determined  to  be  private,  and  charged  me, 
Till  of  herself  she  broke  up  her  retirement. 
Not  to  admit  a  visitant. 

Clarin.  Thou  art  a  fool, 
And  I  must  have  thee  learn  to  know  thy  strength ; 
There  never  was  a  sure  path  to  the  mistress, 
But  by  her  minister's  help,  which  I  will  pay  for : 

[Gives  her  his  purse. 
But  yet  this  is  but  trash  ;  hark  in  thine  ear — 
By  Love !  1  like  thy  person,  and  will  make 
Full  payment  that  way  ;  be  thou  wise. 

Beau.  Like  me,  sir  ! 
One  of  my  dark  complexion  ! 

Clarin.  I  am  serious  : 
The  curtains  drawn,  and  envious  light  shut  out, 
The  soft  touch   heightens  appetite,  and  takes 

more 
Than  colour,  Venus*  dressing,  in  the  day  time, 
But  never  thought  on  in  her  midnight  reveb. 
Come,  I  must  have  thee  mine. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      253 

Beau.  But  how  to  serve  you  ? 

Clarin.    Be  speaking  still  my  praises  to  thy  lady, 
How  much  I  love  and  languish  for  her  bounties  : 
You  may' remember'  too,  how  many  madams 
Are  rivals  for  me,  and,  in  way  of  caution, 
Say  you  have   heard,   when   I  was  wild,   how 

dreadful 
My  name  was  to  a  profess'd  courtezan. 
Still  asking  more  than  she  could  give — 

Enter  Bellisaxt- 

Beau.  My  lady ! 

Bell.  Be  within  call : — 

[Aside,  to  the  Set^ants  within. 
How  now,  Clarindore, 
Courting  my  servant !  Nay,  'tis  not  my  envy — 
You  now  express  yourself  a  complete  lover, 
That,  for  variety's  sake,  if  she  be  woman, 
Can  change  discourse  with  any. 

Clarin,  All  are  foils 
I  practise  on,  but  when  you  make  me  happy 
In  doing  me  that  honour:  I  desired 
To  hear  her  speak  in  the  Morisco  tongue; 
Troth,  'tis  a  pretty  language. 

Bell.   Yes,  to  dance  to  : — 
Look  to  those  sweetmeats.  [Exit  Beauprt, 

Clarin.  How  !  by  heaven,  she  aims 
To  speak  with  me  in  private  I  [Aside* 

Bell.  Come,  sit  down  ; 
Let's  have  some  merry  conference. 

Clarin.  In  which           -     -     -     - 
It 

'  You  mny  remember  toOy\  i.  e.  put  her  in  mind.     S©«  fit 
Bondman,  p.  86. 

•T2 


264     THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

That  my  whole  life  employ'd  to  do  you  service, 
At  no  part  can  deserve. 

Bell.  If  you  esteem  it 
At  such  a  rate,  do  not  abuse  my  bounty, 
Or  comment  on  the  granted  privacy,  further 
Than  what  the  text  may  warrant ;  so  you  shall 
Destroy  what  I  have  built. 

Clarin.  I  like  not  this.  \_Aside, 

Bell.  This  new  erected  Parliament  of  Love, 
It  seems,  has  frighted  hence  my  visitants : 
How  spend  Montrose  and  Perigot  their  hours? 
Novall  and  Cleremond  vanish'd  in  a  moment ; 
I  like  your  constancy  yet. 

Clarin.  That's  good  again  ;    • 
She  hath  restored  all :  \^Aside.'\  — Pity  them,  good 

madam  ; 
The  splendour  of  your  house  and  entertainment, 
Enricli'd  with  all  perfections  by  yourself, 
Is  too,  too  glorious  for  their  dim  eyes : 
You  are  above  their  element;  modest  fools, 
That  only  dare  admire  !  and  bar  them  from 
Comparing  of  these  eyes  to  the  fairest  flowers, 
Giving  you  Juno's  majesty,  Pallas'  wit, 
Diana's  hand,  and  Thetis'  pretty  foot ; 
Or,  when  you  dance,  to  swear  that  Venus  leads 
The  Loves  and  Graces  from  the  Idalian  green, 
And  such  hyperboles  stolen  out  of  playbooks. 
They  would  stand  all  day  mute,  and,  as  you  were 
Some  curious  picture  only  to  be  look'd  on, 
Presume  no  further. 

Bell.  Pray  you,  keep  your  distance, 
And  grow  not  rude. 

Clarin.  Rude,  lady  !  manly  boldness 
Cannot  deserve  that  name  ;  I  have  studied  you, 
And  love  hath  made  an  easy  gloss  upon 
The  most  abstruse  and  hidden  mysteries 
Which  you  may  keep  conccal'd.     You  well  may 
praise 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      a6$ 

A  bashful  suitor,  that  is  ravish'd  with 

A  feather  of  your  fan,  or  if  he  gain 

A  riband  from  your  shoe,  cries  out.  Nil  ultra! 

Bell.  And  what  would  satisfy  you^* 

Clarin.  Not  such  poor  trifles, 
I  can  assure  you,  lady.    Do  not  I  see 
You  are  gamesome,  young,  and  active  ?  that  you 

love 
A  man  that,  of  himself,  comes  boldly  on,- 
That  will  not  put  your  modesty  to  trouble. 
To  teach  him  how  to  feed,  when  meat's  before  him  ? 
Thatknowsthatyouarefleshand  blood,  a  creature, 
And  born  with  such  affections,  that,  like  me, 
Now  I  have  opportunity,  and  your  favour. 
Will  not  abuse  my  fortune?  Should  I  stand  now 
Licking  my  fingers,  cry  Ah  me  !  then  kneel, 
And  swear  you  were  a  goddess,  kiss  the  skirts 
Of  your  proud  garments,  when  I  were  gone,  T 

am  sure 
I  should  be  kindly  laugh'd  at  for  a  coxcomb ; 
The  story  made  the  subject  of  your  mirth. 
At  your  next  meeting,  when  you  sit  in  council, 
Among  the  beauties. 

Bell.  Is  this  possible  ? 
All  due  respect  forgotten  j 

Clarin.  Hang  respect ! 
Are  we  not  alone  ?    See,  I  dare  touch  this  hand, 
And  without  adoration  unglove  it. 
A  spring  of  youth  is  in  this  palm ;  here  Cupid, 
The    moisture    turn'd    to   diamonds,  heads  his 

arrows : 
The  far-famed  English  Bath,  or  German  Spa, 
One  drop  of  this  will  purchase.    Shall  this  nectar 
Run  useless,  then,  to  waste  ?  or  -  -  -  these  lips, 
That  open  like  the  morn,  breathing  perfumes 
On  such  as  dare  approach  them,  be  untouch'd? 
They  must — nay,  'tis  in  vain  to  make  resistance, — 


$:6e     THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE, 

Be  often  kiss'd  and  tasted  : — You  seem  angry 
At     -     -     -     I  have  displeased  you. 

Bell  [to  the  Servants  within.]  -     -     -     -     - 
And  come  prepared,  as  if  some  Africk  monster, 
By  force,  had  broke  into  my  house. 

Enter  Servants  with  drawn  swords. 

Clarin.  How's  this  ? 

Beil.  Circle  him  round  with  death,  and  if  he 
stir. 
Or  but  presume  to  speak,  till  I  allow  it, 
His  body  be  the  navel  to  the  wheel. 
In  which  your  rapiers,  like  so  many  spokes. 
Shall  meet  and  fix  themselves. 

Clarin,  Were  I  off  with  life. 
This  for  my  wager  !  [Aside, 

Btll.   Villain,  shake  and  tremble 
At  my  just  anger!  Which,  of  all  my  actions. 
Confined  in  virtuous  limits,  hath  given  life 
And  birth  to  this  presumption?   Hast  thou  ever 
Observed  in  me  a  wanton  look  or  gesture. 
Not  suiting  with  a  virgin  ?  Have  I  been 
Prodigal  in  my  favours,  or  given  hopes. 
To  nourish  such  attempts?  swear,  and  swear  truly. 
What  in  thy  soul  thou  think'st  of  me. 

Clarin.  As  of  one 
Made  up  of  chastity;  and  only  tried, 
Which  I  repent,  what  this  might  work  upon  you. 

Bell.  The  intent  deserves  not  death;  but,  sirrah, 
know 
'Tis  in  my  power  to  look  thee  dead. 

Clarin.  Tis  granted. 

Bell.  I  am  not  so  cruel ;  yet,  for  this  insolence, 
Forbear  my  house  for  eve»  :  if  you  are  hot, 
You,  ruliian-likc,  may  force  a  parting  kiss, 
As  from  a  common  gamester. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      267 

Clarin.  I  am  cool : — 
She's  a  virago.  [Aside. 

Bell.  Or  you  may  go  boast, 
How  bravely  you  came  on,  to  your  companions ; 
I  will  not  bribe  your  silence :  no  reply. — 
Now  thrust  him  headlong  out  of  doors,  and  see 
He  never  more  pass  my  threshold.  \_Exit, 

Clarin.  This  comes  of 
My  daring  :  all  hell's  plagues  light  on  the  proverb 
That  says,  Faint  heart but  it  is  stale. 

Serv.  Pray  you  walk,  sir, 
We  must  shew  you  the  way  else. 

Clarin.   Be  not  too  officious. 
I  am  no  bar*  for  you  to  try  your  strength  on. — 
Sit  quietly  by  this  disgrace  I  cannot : 
Some  other  course  I  must  be  forced  to  take, 
Not  for  my  wager  now,  but  honour's  sake. 

[Exeunf. 


ACT   HL     SCENE   L 

A  Room  in  Chamont's  House, 

Enter  Chamont,  PERrooTy  Novall,  Dinant, 
Lamiba,  and  Clarinda. 

Peri.  'Twas  prince-like  entertainment. 
Cham.  You  o'erprize  it. 

Din.  Your  cheerful  looks  made  every  dish  a 
feast, 
And  'tis  that  crowns  a  welcome. 
Lam.  For  my  part, 

'  I  am  no  bar /or  you  to  try^  your  strength  ««.]  Alluding  to 
the  threats  of  the  servants  "  to  quoit  him  down  stairs."  Pitch- 
ing the  bar  is  still  a  gam©  at  which  the  riutics  tri/  thcinirength. 


268      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

I  hold  society  and  honest  mirth 
The  greatest  hlessing  of  a  civil  life. 

Cla.  Without  good  company,  indeed,  all  dainties 
Lose  their  true  relish,  and,  like  painted  grapes, 
Are  only  seen,  not  tasted. 

Nov.  By  this  light. 
She  speaks  well  too  !   I'll  have  a  fling  at  her: 
She  is  no  fit  electuary  for  a  doctor: 
A  coarser  julap  may  well  cool  his  worship  ; 
This  cordial  is  for  gallants,  [Jside. 

Chmn.  Let  me  see, 
The  night  groM'sold :  pray  you  often  be  my  guests. 
Such  as  dare  come  unto  a     -     -     -     table. 
Although  not  crack'd  with  curious  delicates, 
Have  liberty  to  command  it  as  their  own  : 
I  may  do  the  like  with  you,  when  you  are  married. 

Peri.  Yes,  'tis  likely. 
When  there's  no  forage  to  be  had  abroad. 
Nor  credulous  husbands  left  to  father  children 
Of  bachelors' begetting  ;  when  court  wives 
Are  won  to  grant  variety  is  not  pleasing, 
And  that  a  friend  at  a  pinch  is  useless  to  them, 
I--------     but  till  then 

Cham.  You  have  a  merry  time  oft; 

But  we  forget  ourselves : — Gallants,  good  night. 
Good  master  doctor,  when  your  leisure  serves. 
Visit  my  house ;  when  we  least  need  their  art. 
Physicians  look  most  lovely. 

l)in.  All  that's  in  me. 
Is  at  your  lordship's  service.    Monsieur  Perigot, 
Monsieur  Novall,  in  what  I  may  be  useful, 
pray  you  command  me. 

Nov.  We'll  wait  on  you  home. 

Din.  By  no  means,  sir;  good  night. 

[E^reunt  all  but  Novall  and  Perigot^ 

Nov.  The  knave  is  jealous. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      269 

Peri.   'Tis  a  disease  few  doctors  cure  them- 
selves of. 

iVbiJ,  I  would  he  were  my  patient ! 

PeTi.  Do  but  practise 
To  get  his  wife's  consent,  the  way  is  easy. 

Nov.  You  may  conclude  so;  for  myself,  I  grant 
I  never  was  so  taken  with  a  woman, 
Nor  ever  had  less  hope. 

Peri   Be  not  dejected  ; 
Follow  but  my  directions,  she's  your  own : 
I'll  set  thee  in  a  course  that  shall  not  fail. — 
I  like  thy  choice;  but  more  of  that  hereafter: 
Adultery  is  a  Safe  and  secret  sin  ; 
The  purchase  of  a  maidenhead  seldom  quits 
The  danger  and  the  labour:  build  on  this, 
He  that  puts  home  shall  find  all  women  coming, 
The  frozen  Bellisant  ever  excepted. 
Could  you  believe  the  fair  wife  of  Chamont, 
A  lady  never  tainted  in  her  honour, 
Should,  at  the  first  assault,  (for  till  this  night 
I  never  courted  her,)  yield  up  the  fort 
That  she  hath  kept  so  long  ? 

JVov.  'Tis  wondrous  strange. 
What  winning  language  used  you? 

Peri.  Thou  art  a  child  ; 
'Tis  action,  not  fine  speeches,  take  a  woman. 
Pleasure's  their  heaven ;  and  he  that  gives  as- 
surance 
.That  he  hath  strength  to  tame  their  hot  desires, 
Is  the  prevading  orator  :  she  but  saw  me 
Jump  over  six  join'd  stools,  and  after  cut 
Some  forty  capers ;  tricks  that  never  miss,' 

tricks  that  never  misSf  &c.] 


"  He,  indeed,  danced  well 

*'  A  turn  o'  the  toe,  with  a  lofty  trkk  or  two, 

<*  To  argue  nitnblcness  and  a  strong  back, 

<'  Will  go  far  with  a  madam.''    The  Custom  oftke  Country^ 


270      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

In  a  magnificent  masque,  to  draw  the  eyes 

Of  all  tlie  beauties  in  the  court  upon  me, 

But  straight  she  wrung  my  hand,  trod  on  my  toe, 

And  said  my  mistress  could  not  but  be  happy 

In  such  an  able  servant.    1  replied 

Bluntly,  I  was  ambitious  to  be  hers; 

And  she,  nor  coy  nor  shy,  straight  entertain'd  me : 

I  begg'd  a  private  meeting,  it  was  granted. 

The  time  and  place  appointed. 

Nov.  But  remember, 
Chamont  is  your  friend. 

Peri.  Now  out  upon  thee,  puisne  ! 
As  if  a  man  so  far  e'er  loved  that  title, 
But 'twas  much  more  delight  and  tickling  to  him. 
To  hug  himself,  and  say,  This  is  my  cuckold  ! 

Nov.  But  did  he  not  observe  thee  ? 

Peri.  Though  he  did. 
As  I  am  doubtful,  I  will  not  desist; 
The  danger  will  endear  the  sport. 

Enter  Clarixdore. 

Nov.  Forbear ; 
Here's  Clarindore. 

Peri.  We  will  be  merry  with  him ; 
I  have  heard  his  entertainment.     Join  but  with 

me. 
And  we  will  jeer  this  self-opinion'd  fool 
Almost  to  madness. 

Nov.  He's  already  grown 
Exceeding  melancholy,  and  some  say 
That's  the  first  step  to  frenzy. 

Peri.  I'll  upon  him. — 
Save  you,  good  monsieur!  no  reply?  grown  proud 
Of  your  success?  it  is  not  well     -     -     -     - 

Clar.  Tis  come  out;  these  goslings 
Have  heard  of  my    -----    -^ 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      271 

Nov.  We  grarulate, 
Though  we  pay  for't,  your  happy  entrance  to 
The  certain  favours,  nay,  the  sure  possession, 
Of  madam  Bellisant. 

Clarin,  The  young  whelp  too! — 
*Tis  well,  exceeding  well. 

Peri.  'Tis  so,  with  you,  sir; 
But  bear  it  modestly,  faith  it  will  become  you: 
And  being  arrived  at  such  a  lordly  revenue, 
As  this  your  happy  match  instates  you  with,    ^ 
Two  thousand  crowns  from  me,  and  from  NovalF, 
Though  we  almost  con/ess  the  wager  lost, 
Will  be  a  small  addition. 

Nov.  You  mistake  him  ; 
Nor  do  I  fear,  out  of  his  noble  nature. 
But  that  he  may  be  won  to  license  us 
To  draw  our  venture. 

Clarin,  Spend  your  frothy  wits, 
Do,  do;  you  snarl,  but  hurt  not. 

Nov.  O,  give  leave 
To  losers  for  to  speak. 

Peri.  'Tis  a  strange  fate 
Some  men  are  born  to,  and  a  happy  star 
That  reign'd  at  your  nativity  !  it  could  not  be 

else, 
A  lady  of  a  constancy  like  a  rock. 
Not  to  be  moved,  and  held  impregnable. 
Should  yield  at  the  first  assault ! 

Nov.  'Tis  the  reward 
Of  a  brave  daring  spirit. 

Peri.  Tush!  we  are  dull; 
Abuse  our  opportunities. 

Clay^in.  Have  you  done  yet? 

Peri.  When  he  had  privacy  of  discourse,  he 
knew 
How  to  use  that  advantage;  did  he  stand 


272      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Fawning,  and  crouching  ?  no ;  he  ran  up  boldly, 
Told  her  what  she  was  born  to,  ruffled  her, 
Kiss'd  her,  and  toused  her  : — all  the  passages 
Are  at  court  already  ;  and,  'tis  said,  a  patent 
Is  granted  him,  if  any  maid  be  chaste, 
Forhim  to  humble  her,  and  a  new  name  given  him, 
The  scornful-virgin  tamer. 

Clarin.   I  may  tame 
Your  buffoon  tongues,  if  you  proceed. 

Nov.  No  anger. 
I  have  heard  that  Bellisant  was  so  taken  with 
Your  manly  courage,  that  she  straight  prepared 

you 
A  sumptuous  banquet. 

Peri.  Yet  his  enemies 
Report  it  was  a  blanket. 

Nov.  Malice,  malice ! 
She  was  shewing  him  her  chamber  too,  and  call'd 

for 
Perfumes,  and  cambric  sheets. 

Peri.  When,  see  the  luck  on't ! 
Against  her  will,  her  most  unmannerly  grooms. 
For  so  'tis  rumour'd,  took  him  by  the  shoulders, 
And  thrust  him  out  of  doors,  ' 

Nov.  Faith,  sir,  resolve  us  ; 
How  was  it  ?  we  would  gladly  know  the  truth, 
To  stop  the  mouth  of  calumny. 

Clarin.  Troth,  sir,  I'll  tell  you  : 
One  took  me  by  the  nose  thus, — and  a  second 
Made  bold  with  me  thus^but  one  word  more, 

you  shall 
Feel  new  expressions — and  so,  my  gentle  boobies, 
Farewell,  and  be  hang'd  !  [Exit. 

Nov.  We  have  nettled  him. 

Peri.  Had  we  stung  him  to  death,  it  were  but 
justice, 
An  overweening  braggard  ! 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.       27^ 

Nov.  This  is  nothing 
To  tlie  doctor's  wife. 

Peri  Come,  we'll  consult  of  it, 
And  suddenly. 

Nov.  I  feel  a  woman's  longing- 
Till  I  am  at  it. 

Peri  Never  fear;  she's  thine  own,  boy. 

[Ej:eunL 

SCENE    IL 

A  Street, 

Enter  Cleremond. 

Cler.  What  have  my  sins  been,  heaven?  yet 
thy  great  pleasure 
Must  not  be  argued.     Was  VvTetch  ever  bound 
On  such  a  black  adventure,  in  which  only 
To  wish  to  prosper  is  a  greater  curse 
Than  to-----     ----     me 

Of  reason,  understanding,  and  true  judgment. 

'Twere  a  degree  of  comfort  to  myself 

I  were  stark  mad  ;  or,  like  a  beast  of  prey, 

Prick'd  on  by  griping  hunger,  all  my  thoughts 

And  faculties  were  wholly  taken  up 

To  cloy  my  appetite,  and  could  look  no  further: 

But  I  rise  up  a  new  example  of 

Calamity,  transcending  all  before  me; 

And  I  should  gild  my  misery  with  false  comforts, 

If  I  compared  it  with  an  Indian  slave's, 

That,  with  incessant  labour  to  search  out 

Some  unknown  mine,  dives  almost  to  the  centre ; 

And,  if  then  found, not  thank'dof  his  proud  master. 

But  this,  if  put  into  an  equal  scale 

Withmyunparallell'd  fortune,  will  weigh  nothing; 

For  from  a  cabinet  of  the  choicest  jewels 


274      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

That  mankind  e'er  was  rich  in,  whose  least  gem 

All  treasure  of  the  earth,  or  what  is  hid 

In  Neptune's  watery  lx)som,  cannot  purchase, 

I  must  seek  out  the  richest,  fairest,  purest, 

And  when  by  proof  'tis  known  it  holds  the  value, 

A  soon  as  found  destroy  it.     O  most  cruel! 

And  yet,  when  I  consider  of  the  many 

That  have  profess'd  themselves  my  friends,  and 

vow'd 
Their  lives  were  not  tlieir  own,  when  my  en- 
gagements 
Should  summon  them  to  be  at  my  devotion, 
Not  one  endures  the  test ;  I  almost  grow 
Of  the  world's  received  opinion,  that  holds 
Friendship  but  a  mere  name,  thatbinds  no  further 
Than  to  the  altar* — to  retire  with  safety,  r 
Here  comes  Montrose. 

Enter  Montrose  and  Beaupre. 

What  sudden  joy  transports  him  ? 
I  never  saw  man  rapt  so. 

Mon.  Purse  and  all. 
And  'tis  too  little,  though  it  were  cramm'd  full 
With  crowns  of  the   sun.'     O  blessed,  blessed 

paper  ! 
But  made  so  by  the  touch  of  her  fair  hand. 
What  shall  I  answer?  Say,  I  am  her  creature. 
Or,  if  thou  canst  find  out  a  word,  that  may 


that  binds  no  further 


Than  to  the  altar — ]  An  allusion  to  the  saying  of  Pericles,  that 
he  would  support  the  interests  of  his  friend  /asx^*  '?«/*oi;,  a.s  far  as 
the  altar  ;  i.  e.  as  far  as  his  respect  for  the  gods  would  gire  him 
leave.     Clercmond  is,  at  once,  absurd  and  impious. 

*  crowns  of  the  sun.]  See  Vol.  I.  p.  133. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.       275 

Express  subjection  in  an  humbler  style, 
Use  it,  I  prithee;  add  too,  her  commands 
Shall  be  with  as  much  willingness  pef*fbrm'd, 
As  I  in  this  fold,  this,  receive  her  favours. 

Beau.  1  shall  return  so  much. 

Mont.  And  that  two  hours 
Shall  bring  me  to  attend  her. 

Beau.  With  all  care 
And  circumstance  of  service  from  yourself, 
I  will  deliver  it. 

Mont.  I  am  still  your  debtor.     [^Exit  Beaiipre. 

Cler.  I  read  the  cause  now  clearly  ;  I'll  slip  by  : 
For  though,  even  at  this  instant,  he  should  prove 
Himself,  which  others'  falsehood  makes  me  doubt, 
That  constant  and  best  friend  I  go  in  quest  of, 
It  were  inhuman  in  their  birth  to  strangle 
His  promising  hopes  of  comfort. 

Mont.  Cleremond 
Pass  by  me  as  a  stranger !  at  a  time  too 
When  I  am  fill'd  with  such  excess  of  joy, 
So  swollen  and  surfeited  with  true  delight. 
That  had  I  not  found  out  a  friend,  to  whom 
I  might  impart  them,  and  so  give  them  vent, 
In  their  abundance  they  would  force  a  passage. 
And  let  out  life  together  1  Prithee,  bear, 
For  friendship's  sake,  a  part  of  that  sweet  burthen 
Which  I  shrink  under;  and  when  thou  hast  read 
Fair  Bellisant  subscribed,  so  near  my  name  too, 
Observe  but  that, — thou  must,  with  me,  confess. 
There  cannot  be  room  in  one  lover's  heart  - 
Capacious  enough  to  entertain 
Such  multitudes  of  pleasures. 

Cler,  I  joy  with  you. 
Let  that  suffice,  and  envy  not  your  blessings ; 
May  they  increase  !  Farewell,  friend. 

Mont.  How  !  no  more  ? 
By  the  snow-white  hariS  that  writ  these  characters. 


«76     THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

It  is  a  breach  to  courtesy  and  manners, 
So  coldly  to  take  notice  of  his  good, 
Whom  you  call  friend!  Seefurther:  hereshe  writes 
That  she  is  truly  sensible  of  my  sufferings, 
And  not  alone  vouchsafes  to  call  me  servant, 
But  to  employ  me  in  ^  cause  that  mnch 
Concerns  her  in  her  honour;  there's  a  favour! 
Are  you  yet  stupid? — and  that,  two  hours  hence, 
She  does  expect  me  in  the  private  walks 
Neighbouring  the  Louvre  :  cannot  all  this  move 

you? 
I  could  be  angry.     A  tenth  of  these  bounties 
But  promised  to  j'ou  from  Leonora, 
To  witness  my  affection  to  my  friend, 
In  his  behalf,  had  taught  me  to  forget  • 
All  mine  own  miseries, 

Cler.  Do  not  misinterpret 
This  coldness  in  me  ;  for  alas  !  Montrose, 
I  am  a  thing  so  made  up  of  affliction, 
So  every  way  contemn'd,  that  I  conclude 
My  sorrows  are  infectious  ;  and  my  company, 
Like  such  as  have  foul  ulcers  running  on  them, 
To  be  with  care  avoided.    May  your  happiness, 
.In  the  favour  of  the  matchless  Bellisant,  « 

Hourly  increase  !  and — my  best  wishes  guard  you  J- 
'Tis  all  that  I  can  give. 

Mont,  You  must  not  leave  me. 

Cler,  Indeed  I  must  and  will;  mine  own  en- 
gagements 
Call  me  away. 

Mont.  What  are  they  ?  I  presume 
There  cannot  be  a  secret  of  that  weight, 
You  dare  not  trust  me  with ;    and  should  you 

doubt  me, 
I  justly  might  complain  that  my  affection 
Js  placed  unfortunately. 

Cler.  1  know  you  are  hoaest ; 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      277 

And  this  is  such  a  business,  and  requires 

Such  sudden  execution,  that  it  cannot 

Fall  in  the  compass  of  your  will,  or  power, 

To  do  me  a  friend's  office.    In  a  word, 

On  terms  that  near  concern  me  in  mine  honour, 

I  am  to  fight  the  quarrel,  mortal  too, 

The  time  some  two  hours  hence,  the  place  ten 

miles 
Distant  from  Paris  ;  and  when  you  shall  know 
I  yet  am  unprovided  of  a  second. 
You  will  excuse  my  sudden  parting  from  you. 
Farewell,  Montrose  ! 

Mont.  Not  so ;  I  am  the  man 
Will  run   the  danger  with  you;  and  must  tell 

you, 
That,  while  I  live,  it  was  a  wrong  to  seek 
Another's  arm  to  second  you.    Lead  the  way ; 
M3'  horse  stands  ready. 

Cle7\  I  confess  'tis  noble, 
For  you  to  offer  this,  but  it  were  base 
In  me  to  accept  it. 

Mont.  Do  not  scorn  me,  friend. 

Cler,  No;  but  admire  and  honour  you;  and 
from  that 
Serious  consideration,  must  refuse 
The  tender  of  your   aid.     France   knows   you 

valiant. 
And  that  you  might,  in  single  opposition, 
Fight  for  a  crown ;  but  millions  of  reasons 
Forbid  me  your  assistance.    You  forget 
Your  own  designs ;  being,  the  very  minute 
I  am  to  encounter  with  mine  enemy, 
To  meet  your  mistress,  such  a  mistress  too. 
Whose  favour  you  so  many  years  have  sought : 
And  will  you  then,  when  she  vouchsafes  access, 
Kay  more,  invites  you,  check  at  her  fair  ofJer? 
Or  shall  it  be  repeated,  to  my  shame, 

VOL,  II.  -  U  * 


278      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

For  my  own  ends  I  robb'd  you  of  a  fortune 

Princes  might  envy?  Can  you  even  hope 

She  ever  will  receive  you  to  her  presence. 

If  you  neglect  her  now?— Be  wise,  dear  friend, 

And,  in  your  prodigality  of  goodness. 

Do  not  undo  yourself.    Live  long  and  happy, 

And  leave  me  to  my  dangers. 

Mont.  Cleremond, 
I  have  with  patience  heard  you,  and  considerM 
The  strength  of  your  best  arguments ;  weigh'd 

the  dangers 
I  run  in  mine  own  fortunes :  but  again, 
When  I  oppose  the  sacred  name  of  friend 
Against  those  joys  I  have  so  long  pursued, 
Neither  the  beauty  of  fair  Bellisant, 
Her  wealth,  her  virtues,  can  prevail  so  far. 
In  such  a  desperate  case  as  this,  to  leave  you. — 
To  have  it  to  posterity  recorded. 
At  such  a  time  as  this  I  proved  true  gold, 
And  current  in  my  friendship,  shall  be  to  me 
A  thousand  mistresses,  and  such  embraces 
As  leave  no  sting  behind  them  ;  therefore,  on: 
I  am  resolved,  unless  you  beat  me  otF, 
I  will  not  leave  you. 

Cler,  Oh  !  here  is  a  jewel 
Fit  for  the  cabinet  of  the  greatest  monarch  I 
But  I  of  all  men  miserable 

Mont.  Come,,  be  cheerful ; 
Good  fortune  will  attend  us. 

Cler»  That,  to  me, 
To  have  the  greatest  blessing,  a  true  friend, 
Should  be  the  greatest  curse  ! — Be  yet  advised. 

Mont.  It  is  in  vain. 

Cler.  That  e'er  I  should  have  cause 
To  wish  you  had  loved  less ! 

Mont.  The  hour  draws  on  : 
We'll  talk  more  as  we  ride. 

Cler.  Of  men  most  wretched  !  \fixeunt. 


tHE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      279 

SCENE  III. 
A  Room  in  Bellisant's  House. 
^    Enter  Bellisant  and  Beau  pre. 

Bell.  Nay,  pray  you,  dry  your  eyes,  or  your 
sad  story, 
Whose  every  accent  still,  methinks,  I  hear, 
'Twas  with  such  passion,  and  such  grief  deli  ver'd, 
Will  make  mine  bear  your's  company.    All  my 

fear  is. 
The  rigorous  repulse  this  worst  of  men, 
False,  perjured  Clarindore — I  am  sick  to  name 

him — 
Received  at  his  last  visit,  will  deter  him 
From  coming  again. 

Beau.  No ;  he's  resolved  to  venture  ; 
And  has  bribed  me,  with  hazard  of  your  anger^ 
To  get  him  access,  but  in  another  shape:' 
The  time  prefix'd  draws  near  too. 

Bell.  'Tis  the  better*  [Knocking  within. 

One  knocks. 

Beau.  I  am  sure  'tis  he. 

Bell.  Convey  him  in ; 
But  do  it  with  a  face  of  fear:-        [E.vit  BeauprL 

I  cannot 
Resolve  yet  with  what  looks  to  entertain  him. 
You  Powers  that  favour  innocence,  and  revenge 
W^rongs  done  by  such  as  scornfully  deride 
Your  awful  names,  inspire  me  !  [JValks  aside, 

but  in  another  shape :]  i.  e.  at 


has  been  before  observed,  in  another  dress. 

•Us 


280      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 


Re-enter  Beau  pre  tvith  Clarindore  disguised. 

Beau.  Sir,  I  hazard 
My  service,  in  this  action. 

Clarin.  Thou  shalt  live 
To  be  the  mistress  of  thyself  and  others, 
If  that  my  projects  hit :  all's  at  the  stake  now  ; 
And  as  the  die  falls,  I  am  made  most  happy, 
Or  past  expression  wretched. 

Bell.  Ha !  who's  that  ? 
What  bold  intruder  usher  you?  This  rudeness  1 — 
From  whence?  what  would  he? 

Beau.  He  brings  letters,  madam, 
As  he  says,  from  lord  Chamont. 
Clarin.  How  her  frowns  fright  me  ! 
Bell.  From  lord  Chamont  ?  Are  they  of  such 
import. 
That  you,  before  my  pleasure  be  enquired, 
Dare  bring  the  bearer  to  my  private  chamber?' 
No  more  of  this  :  your  packet,  sir? 

Clarin.  The  letters 
Deliver'd  to  my  trust  and  faith  are  writ 
In  such  mysterious  and  dark  characters. 
As  will  require  the  judgment  of  your  soul. 
More  than  your  eye,  to  read  and  understand  them. 
Bell.  What  riddle's  this?  [Discovering  Clarin.] 
— Ha  !  am  I  then  contemn'd  ? 
Dare  you  do  this,  presuming  on  my  soft 
And  gentle  nature  ? — Fear  not,  I  must  shew 
A  seeming  anger.  [Aside  to  Beaiipri.} — What  new 

boist'rous  courtship, 
After  your  late  loose  language,  and  forced  kiss, 
Come  you  to  practise?  I  know  none  beyond  it. 
If  you  imagine  that  you  may  commit 
A  rape  in  mine  own  house,  and  that  my  servant^ 
Will  stand  tame  lookers  on 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.       281 

Clar'm.  If  I  bring  with  me 
One  thought,  but  of  submission  and  sorrow, 
Or  nourish  any  hope,  but  that  your  goodness 
May  please  to  sign  my  pardon,  may  I  perish 
In  your  displeasure !  which,  to  me,  is  more 
Than  fear  of  hell  hereafter,    I  confess, 
The  violence  I  offered  to  your  sweetness, 
In  my  presumption,  with  lips  impure, 
To  force  a  touch  from  yours,  a  greater  crime 
Than  if  I  should  have  mix'd  lascivious  flames 
With  those  chaste  fires  that  burn  at  Dian's  altar. 
That  'twas  a  plot  of  treason  to  your  virtues, 
To  think  you  could  be  tempted,  or  believe 
You  were  not  fashion'd  in  a  better  mould. 
And  made  of  purer  clay,  than  other  women. 
Since  you  are,  then,  the  phoenix  of  your  time, 
And  e'en  now,  while  you  bless  the  earth,  partake 
Of  their  angelical  essence,  imitate 
Heaven's  aptness  to  forgive,  when  mercy's  sued 

for. 
And  once  more  take  me  to  your  grace  and  favour. 

Bell.  What  charms  are  these  !    What  an  en- 
chanting tongue ! 
What  pity  'tis,  one  that  can  speak  so  well, 
Should,  in  his  actions,  be  so  ill! 

Beau.  Take  heed, 
Lose  not  yourself. 

Bell.  So  well,  sir,  you  have  pleaded. 
And  like  an  advocate,  in  your  own  cause. 
That,  though  your  guilt  were  greater,  I  acquit  you, 
The  fault  no  more  remember'd ;  and  for  proof. 
My  heart  partakes  in  my  tongue,  thus  seal  your 
pardon ;  {Kisses  him, 

And  with  this  willing  favour  (which  forced  from 

me, 
CaU'd  on  my  anger)  make  atonement  with  you. 


283      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Claji?i.  If  I  dream  wow,  O,  may  I  never  wake, 
But  slumber  thus  ten  ages  ! 

Bell,  Till  this  minute, 
You  ne'er  to  me  look'd  lovely. 

Clarin.  How  ! 

Bell.  Nor  have  I 
E'er  seen  a  man,  in  my  opinion,  worthy 
The  bounty  I  vouchsafe  you  ;  therefore  fix  here, 
And  make  me  understand  that  you  can  bear 
Your  fortune  modestly. 

Clar'in.  I  find  her  coming  : 
This'  kiss  was  but  the  prologue  to  the  play, 
And  not  to  seek  the  rest,  were  cowardice. 
Help  me,dissimulation!  [Aside.] — Pardon, madam, 
Though  now,  when  I  should  put  on  cheerful  looks, 
In  being  blest  with  what  I  durst  not  hope  for, 
I  change  the  comic  scene,  and  do  present  you 
With  a  most  tragic  spectacle. 

Bell.  Heaven  avert 
This  prodigy  !  What  mean  you  ? 

Clarin.  To  confirm. 
In  death,  how  truly  I  have  loved.     I  grant 
Your  favours  done  me,  yield  this  benefit, 
As  to  make  M'ay  for  me  to  pass  in  peace 
To  my  long  rest ;  what  I  have  tasted  from  you. 
Informs  me  only  of  the  much  I  want : 
For  in  your  pardon,  and  the  kiss  vouchsafed  me, 
You  did  but  point  me  out  a  fore-right  way 
To  lead  to  certain  happiness,  and  then  will'd  me 
To.  move  no  further.  Pray  you,  excuse  me,  there- 
fore. 
Though  I  desire  to  end  a  lingering  torment. 
And,  if  you  please,  with  your  fair  hand,  to  make  me 
A  sacrifice  to  your  chastity,  I  will  meet 
The  instrument  you  make  choice  of,  with  mor^ 
fervour 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      283 

Than  ever  Csesar  did,  to  hug  the  mistress, 

He  doated  on,  plumed  Victory  :  but  if  that 

You  do  abhor  the  office,  as  too  full 

Of  cruelty,  and  horror,  yet  give  leave, 

That,  in  your  presence,  I  myself  may  be 

Both  priest  and  offering.  [Draws  his  sword. 

Bell.  Hold,  hold,  frantic  man  ! 
The  shrine  of  love  shall  not  be  bathed  in  blood. 
Women,  though,  fair,  were  made  to  bring  forth 

men. 
And  not  destroy  them  ;  therefore,  hold,  I  say  ! 
I  had  a  mother,  and  she  look'd  upon  me 
As  on  a  true  epitome  of  her  youth  : 
Nor  can  1  think  I  am  forbid  the  comfort 
To  bring  forth  little  models  of  myself, 
If  heaven  be  pleased  (my  nuptial  joys  perform 'd) 
To  make  me  fruitful. 

Clarin.  Such  celestial  music 
Ne'er  blest  these  ears.  O!  you  have  argued  better 
For  me,  than  I  could  for  myself. 

Bell.  For  you  ! 
What,  did  I -give  you  hope  to  be  my  husband  ? 

Clarin.  Fallen  off  again  !  [Jside. 

Bell.  Yet  since  you  have  given  sure  proof 
Of  love  and  constancy,ril  unmask  those  thoughts, 
That  long  have  been  conceal'd  ;  I  am  yours,  but 

how  ? 
In  an  honourable  way, 

Clari7i.  I  were  more  than  base, 
Should  I  desire  voii  otherwise. 

Bell.  True  affection 
Needs  not  a  contract ;  and  it  were  to  doubt  me, 
To  engage  me  further  ;  yet,  my  vow  expired. 
Which  is,  to  live  a  virgin  for  a  year, 
Challenge  my  promise. 

Clarin.  For  a  year  !  O,  madam ! 
Play  not  the  tyranness;  do  not  give  me  hopes. 


284     THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

And  in  a  moment  change  them  to  despair. 

A  year  !  alas,  this  body,  that's  all  lire, 

If  you  refuse  to  quench  it  with  your  favour, 

Will  in  three  days  be  cinders  ;  and  your  mercy 

Will  come  too  late  then.  Dearest  lady,  marriage 

Is  but  a  ceremony  ;  and  a  hurtful  vow 

Is  in  the  breach  of  it  better  commended, 

Than  in  the  keeping.     O  !  I  burn,  I  burn ; 

And  if  you  take  not  pity,  I  must  fly 

To  my  last  refuge.  \Offers  to  stab  himself. 

Bell.  Hold !  Say  I  could  yield 
This  night,  to  satisfy  you  to  the  full. 
And  you  should  swear,  until  the  wedding  day, 
To  keep  the  favours  I  now  grant  conceal'd ; 
You  would  be  talking. 

Clarin.  May  my  tongue  rot  out,  then ! 

BelL  Or   boast   to  your  companions  of  your 
conquest. 
And  of  my  easiness. 

Clarin.  I'll  endure  the  rack  first. 

Bell.  And,   having  what  you   long   for,   cast 
me  off, 
As  you  did  madam  Eeaupr6. 

Clarin.  May  the  earth 
First  gape,  and  swallow  me  ! 

Bell.  I'll  press  you  no  further. 
Go  in,  your  chamber's  ready  ;  if  you  have 
A  bedfellow,  so :  but  silence  I  enjoin  you, 
And  liberty  to  leave  you  when  I  please  ; 
I  blush,  if  you  reply. 

Clarin.  Till  now  ne'er  happy  !  [Exit. 

Beau.  What  means  your  ladyship? 

Bell.  Do  not  ask,  but  do 
As  I  direct  you  :  though  as  yet  we  tread 
A  rough  and  thorny  way,  faint  not ;  the  ends 
I  hope  to  reach  §hall  make  a  large  amends. 

\Exeunty 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.       285 

ACT  IV.    SCENE  I, 

A  Room  in  Dinant's  House^ 

Enter  Novall  and  Dinant. 

D'm,  You  are  welcome  first,  sir ;    and   that 
spoke,  receive 
A  faithful  promise,  all  that  art,  or  long 
Experience,  hath  taught  me,  shall  enlarge 
Themselves  for  your  recovery. 

Nov.  Sir,  I  thank  you, 
As  far  as  a  weak,  sick,  and  unable  man 
Has  power  to  express  ;  but  what  wants  m  my 

tongue. 
My  hand  (for  yet  my  fingers  feel  no  gout) 
Shall  speak  in  this  dumb  language. 

[Gives  him  his  purse^ 

Din.  You  are  too  magnificent. 

Nov.  Fie  !  no,  sir ;  health  is,  sure,  a  precious 
jewel, 
We  cannot  buy  it  too  dear. 

Din.  Take  comfort,  sir ; 
I  find  not,  by  your  urine,  nor  your  pulse, 
Or  any  outward  symptom,  that  you  are 
In  any  certain  danger. 

Nov.  Oh  !  the  more  my  fear : 
Infirmities  that  are  known  are     -     -     -     cured^ 
But  when  the  causes  of  them  are  conceal'd, 
As  these  of  mine  are,  doctor,  they  prove  mortal; 
Howe'er,  I'll  not  forget  you  while  I  live, 
Do  but  your  parts. 

J^in,  Sir,  they  are  at  your  service. 


286     THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

I'll  give  you  some  preparatives,  to  instruct  me 
Of  your  inward  temper;  then,  as  I  find  cause, 
Some  gentle  purge. 

Nov,  Yes,  I  must  purge  ;  I  die  else : 
But  where,  dear  doctor,  you  shall  not  find  out. 
This  is  a  happy  entrance,  may  it  end  well ! 
I'll  mount  your  nightcap,  Doddipol.  [Aside, 

Din.  In  what  part, 
(We  are  sworn  tojsecrecy,  and  you  must  be  free,) 
Do  you  find  your  greatest  agony  ? 

Nov.  Oh  !  I  have 
Strange  motions  on  the  sudden;villainous  tumours, 
That  rise,  then  fall,  then  rise  again  ;  oh,  doctor  ! 
Not  to  be  shewn  or  named. 

Din.  Then,  in  my  judgment. 
You  had  best  leave  Paris:  choose  some  fresher  air; 
That  does  help  much  in  physic. 

Nov,  By  no  means. 
Here,  in  your  house,  or  no  where,  you  must  cur© 

me : 
The  eye  of  the  master  fats  the  horse  ;  and  when 
His  doctor's  by,  the  patient  may  drink  wine 
In  a  fit  of  a  burning  fever  :  for  your  presence 
Works    more   than    what   you   minister.     Take 

physic. 
Attended  on  by  ignorant  grooms,  mere  strangers 
To  your  directions,  I  must  hazard  li-fe. 
And  you  your  reputation  !  whereas,  sir, 
I  hold  your  house  a  college  of  your  art. 
And  every  boy  you  keep,  by  you  instructed, 
A  pretty  piece  of  a  Galenist :  then  the  females. 
From  your  most  fair  wife  to  your  kitchen  drudge, 
Are  so  familiar  with  your  leari\ed  courses. 
That,  to  an  herb,  they  know  to  make  thin  broth  ; 
Or,  when  occasion  serves,  to  cheer  the  heart. 
And  such  ingredient  I  shall  have  most  need  of, 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      287 

How  many  cocks  o'  the  game  make  a  strong 

cullis, 
Or  pheasant's  egojs  a  caudle. 

Din.  I  am  glad 
To  hear  you  argue  with  such  strength. 

Enter  C  l  a  ii  i  n  d  a  ,  and  whispers  D  i  n a  n  t , 

Nov.  A  flash,  sir  : 
But  now  I  feel  my  fit  again. — She  is 
Made  up  of  all  perfection  ;  any  danger 
That  leads  to  the  enjoying  so  much  sweetness 
Is  pleasure  at  the  height :  I  am  ravish'd  with 
The  mere  imagination.    Oh  happiness  ! —  [Aside. 

Din.  How's  this !  One  from  the  duke  Nemours  ? 
•    Cla.  Yes,  sir. 

Din.  'Tis  rank  ; 
The  sight  of  my  wife  hath  forced  him  to  forget 
To  counterfeit :  [Aside.] — I  now  guess  at  your 

sickness, 
And  if  I  fit  you  not 

Cia.  The  gentleman  stays  you. 

Din.  I  come  to  him  presently ;  in  the  meau 
time,  wife. 
Be  careful  of  this  monsieur:  nay,  no  coyness, 
You  may  salute  him  boldly;  his  pale  lips 
Enchant  not  in  the  touch. 

Nov.  Her's  do,  I'm  sure. 

Din.  Kiss  him  again. 

Cla.  Sir,  this  is  more  than  modest. 

Din.  Modest !  why,  fool,  desire  is  dead  in  him ; 
Call  it  a  charitable,  pious  work, 
If  it  refresh  his  spirits.  • 

Nov.  Yes,  indeed,  sir. 
I  find  great  ease  in  it. 

Din.  Mark  that !  and  would  you 
Deny  a  sick  man  comfort?  meat's  agaiustj 


2Q8      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

---,--     physic,  must  be  granted  too, 
-     -     -     -     wife     -     -     -     -     you  shall,  ^ 

In  person,  wait  on  him  ;  nay,  hang  not  off, 
I  say  you  shall :  this  night,  with  your  own  Ivands, 
I'll  have  you  air  his  bed,  and  when  he  eats 
Of  what  you  have  prepared,  you  shall  sit  by  him, 
And,  with  some  merry  chat,  help  to  repair 
Decayed  appetite ;  watch  by  him  when  he  slum- 
bers ; 
Nay,  play  his  page's  part :  more,  I  durst  trust  you. 
Were  this  our  wedding  day,  you  yet  a  virgin, 
To  be  his  bedfellow  ;  for  well  I  know 
Old  Priam's  impotence,  or  Nestor's  hernia  is 
Herculean  activeness,  if  but  compared 
To  his  debility  :  put  him  to  his  oath, 
He'll  swear  he  can  do  nothing, 

Nov.  Do  !  O  no,  sir ; 
I  am  past  the  thought  of  it. 

Din.  But  how  do  you  like 
The  method  I  prescribe  ? 

Nov,  Beyond  expression : 
Upon  the  mere  report  I  do  conceive 
Hope  of  recovery. 

Cla.  Are  you  mad  ? 

JDin.  Peace,  fool. 
This  night  you  shall  take  a  cordial  to  strengthen 
Your  feeble   limbs: — 'twill  cost  ten  crowns   a 
draught. 

Nov.  No  matter,  sir. 

Din.  To  morrow  you  shall  walk 
To  see  my  garden  ;  then  my  wife  shall  shew  you 
The  choice  rooms  of  myhouse;  when  you  are  weary ,^ 
Cast  yourself  on  her  couch. 

Nov,  Oh,  divine  doctor  1 
"What  man  in  health  would  not  be  sick,  on  purpose 
To  be  your  patient? 

Din.  Come,  sir,  to  your  chamber; 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      289 

And  now  I  understand  where  your  disease  lies, 
(Nay,  lead  him  by  the  hand,)  doubt  not  I'll  cure 
you.  lE.reunt. 

SCENE    II. 

An  open  part  of  the  Country  near  Paris, 

Enter  Cleremond  and  Montrose. 

Cler,  This  is  the  place. 

Mo7it.  An  even  piece  of  ground, 
Without  advantage  ;  but  be  jocund,  friend  ; 
The  honour  to  have  entered  first  the  field, 
However  we  come  off,  is  ours.* 

Cler.  I  need  not, 
So  well  I  am  acquainted  with  your  valour, 
To  dare,  in  a  good  cause,  as  much  as  man, 
Lend  you  encouragement;  and  should  I  add. 
Your  power  to  do,  which  Fortune,  howe'er  blind, 
Hath  ever  seconded,  I  cannot  doubt 
But  victory  still  sits  upon  your  sword, 
And  must  not  now  forsake  you. 

Mont.  You  shall  see  me 
Come  boldly  up ;  nor  will  I  shame  3'our  cause, 
By  parting  with  an  inch  of  ground  not  bought 
With  blood  on  my  part. 

Cler.  'Tis  not  to  be  question*d  : 
That  which  I  would  entreat,  (and  pray  you  grant 
it,) 

♦TAc  honour  to  have  enter' djirst  thejield, 

Hoiccver  zoe  come  of)  is  ours.^  Thus  Fletcher : 
*'  Cler.  I'm  first  in  the  field,  that  honour's  gain'dofoursidc; 
**  Pray  heaven,  I  may  get  off  as  honourably  !" 

The  Little  French  Lawyer. 
It  is  observable,  that  several  of  the  names  which  occur  in  the 
Parliament  of  Love  are  found  also  in  Fletcher's  play;  thoogh 
their  plots  have  nothing  in  common. 


290     THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Is,  that  you  would  forget  your  usual  softness, 
Your  foe  being  at  your  mercy  ;  it  hath  been 
A  custom  in  you,  which  I  dare  not  praise, 
Having  disarm'd  your  eneni}'^  of  his  sword, 
To  tempt  your  fate,  by  yielding  it  again  ; 
Then  run  a  second  hazard. 

Mont,  When  we  encounter 
A  noble  foe,  we  cannot  be  too  noble. 

Cler.  That  I  confess ;    but  he  that's  now  to 
oppose  you, 
1  know  for,an  archvillain  ;  one  that  hath  lost 
All  feeling  of  humanity,  one  that  hates 
Goodness  in  others,  'cause  he's  ill  himself; 
A   most    ungrateful    wretch,    (the    name's    too 

gentle, 
All  attributes  of  wickedness  cannot  reach  him,) 
Of  whom  to  have  deserved,  beyond  example. 
Or  precedent  of  friendship,  is  a  wrong 
Which  only  death  can  satisf}^ 

Mont.  You  describe 
A  monster  to  me. 

Cler.  True,  Montrose,  he  is  so. 
Afric,  though  fertile  of  strange  prodigies. 
Never  produced  his  equal !  be  wise,  therefore'y 
And  if  he  fall  into  your  liands,  dispatch  him  : 
Pity  to  him  is  cruelty.    The  sad  father. 
That  sees  his  son  stung.by  a  snake  to  death. 
May,  with  morejustice,  stay  his  vengeful  hand, 
And  let   the  worm*  escape,  than  you  vouchsafe 

him 
A  minute  to  repent :  for  'tis  a  slave 

5  And. let  the  \TOrm  escape^"]  i.  e.  the  snake  mentioned  in  the' 
preceding  line.  Worm,  which  is  pure  Saxon,  was  once  the 
general  term  for  all  reptiles  of  the  serpent  kind  ;  indeed,  it  i? 
still  so,  in  many  parts  of  England.  The  word  occurs  so  fre- 
quently in  this  sense,  among  the  writers  of  Massinger's  tioie^ 
that  it  appears  unnecessary  to  produce  instances  of  it. 


THE  PARLIAMENJ  OF  LOVE.     29 1 

So  sold  to  hell  and  mischief;  that  a  traitor 
To  his  most  lawful  prince,  a  church-robber, 
A  parricide,  who,  when  his  garners  are 
Cramm'd  with  the  purest  grain,  suffers  his  parents, 
Being  old,  and  weak,  to  starve  for  want  of  bread  ; 
Compared  to  him,  are  innocent. 

Mont.  I  ne'er  heard 
Of  such  a  cursed  nature;  if  long-lived, 
He  would  infect  mankind  :  rest  you  assured. 
He  finds  from  me  small  courtesy. 

Cler.  And  expect 
As  little  from  him  :  blood  is  that  he  thirsts  for. 
Not  honourable  wounds. 

Mont.  I  w^ould  I  had  him 
Within  my  sword's  length  ! 

Cler.  Have  thy  wish  :  Thou  hast ! 

[Cleremond  draws  his  sword. 
Nay,  draw  thy  sword,  and  suddenly;  I  am 
That  monster,  temple-robber,  parricide, 
Ingrateful  wretch ;  friend-hater,  or  what  else 
Makes  up  the  perfect  figure  of  the  devil, 
Should  he  appear  like  man.     Banish  amazement, 
And  call  thy  ablest  spirits  up  to  guard  thee. 
From  him  that's  turn'd  a  Fury.    I  am  made 
Her  minister,  Avhose  cruelty  but  named, 
"Would  with  more  horror  strike  the  pale-cheek'd 

stars, 
Than  all  those  dreadful  words  which  conjurers  use. 
To  fright  their  damn'd  familiars.  Look  not  on  me 
As  I  am  Cleremond  ;  I  have  parted  with 
The  essence  that  was  his,  and  entertain'd 
The  soul  of  some  fierce  tigress,  or  a  wolf's 
New-hang'd  for  human  slaughter,  and  tis  fit : 
I  could  not  else  be  an  apt  instrument 
To  bloody  Leonora. 

Mont.  To  my  knowledge 
I  never  wrong'd  her. 


292     THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Cler.  Yes,  in  being  a  friend 
To  me  she  hated,  my  best  friend  ;  her  malice 
Would  look  no  lower:— and  for  being  such, 
By  her  commands,  Montrose,  I  am  to  kill  thee. 
Oh,  that  thou  hadst,  like  others,  been  all  words, 
And  no  performance  I  or  that  thou  hadst  made 
Some  little  stop  in  thy  career  of  kindness ! 
Why  wouldst  thou,  to  confirm  the  name  of  friend, 
Despise  the  favours  of  fair  Bellisant, 
And  all  those  certain  joys  that  waited  for  thee  ? 
Snatch  at  this  fatal  offer  of  a  second, 
Which  others  fled  from  ? — 'Tis  in  vain  to  mourn 

now, 
When  there's   no   help ;    and    therefore,   good 

Montrose, 
Rouse  thy  most  manly  parts,  and  think   thou 

stand'st  now 
A  champion  for  more  than  king  or  country ; 
Since,  in  thy  fall,  goodness  itself  must  suffer. 
Remember  too,  the  baseness  of  the  wrong 
-     -     -     friendship  ;  let  it  Q<\^t  thy  sword, 
And  kill  compassion  in  thee  ;  and  forget  not 
I  will  take  all  advantages :  and  so, 
Without  reply,  have  at  thee  ! 

\They fight.    Ckremondfalls^ 
Mont.  See,  how  weak 
An  ill  cause  is  !  you  are  already  fallen: 
What  can  you  look  for  now  ? 

Cler.  Fool,  use  thy  fortune  : 
And  so  he  counsels  thee,  that,  if  we  had 
Changed  places,  instantly  would  have  cut  thy 

throat. 
Or  digg'd  thy  heart  out. 
Mont.  In  requital  of 
That  savage  purpose,  I  must  pity  you ; 
Witness  these  tears,  not  tears  of  joy  for  conquest, 
Eut  of  true  sorrow  for  your  misery. 


THE  PARLTAMENT  OF  LOVE.      293 

Live,  O  live,  Cleremond,  and,  like  a  man, 
Make  use  of  reason,  as  an  exorcist 
To  cast  this  devil  out,  that  does  abuse  you  ; 
This  fiend  of  false  affection. 

Cler.  Will  you  not  kill  me? 
You  are  then  more  tyrannous  than  Leonora. 
An  easy  thrust  will  do  it :  you  had  ever 
A  charitable  hand  ;  do  not  deny  me, 
'  For  our  old  friendship's  sake  :  no  !  will't  not  be? 
There  are  a  thousand  doors  to  let  out  life  ; 
You  keep  not  guard  of  all :  and  I  shall  find, 
By  falling  headlong  from  some  rocky  cliff, 
Poison,  or  fire,  that  long  rest  which  your  sword 
Discourteously  denies  me.  [Exit, 

Mont.  I  will  follow; 
'  And  something  I  must  fancy,  to  dissuade  him 
From  doing  sudden  violence  on  himself: 
That's  now  my  only  aim  ;  and  that  to  me. 
Succeeding  well,  is  a  true  victory.  [Exit. 


SCENE  IIL 

Paris.     An  outer  Room  in  Chamont's  House. 
Enter  Chamont  disgztised,  andT>in aut. 

Din.  Your  lady  tempted  too  ! 

Cham.  And  tempted  home ; 
Summon'd  to  parley,  the  fort  almost  yielded, 
Had  not  I  stepp'd  in  to  remove  the  siege  : 
But  I  have  countermined  his  works,  and  if 
You  second  me,  will  blow  the  letcher  up, 
And  laugh  to  see  him  caper. 

Din.  Any  thing : 
Command  me  as  your  servant,  to  join  with  you  ; 

VOL.  II.  X 


294      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

All  ways  are  honest  we  take,  to  revenge  us 
On  these  lascivious  monkies  of  the  court, 
That  make  it  their  profession  to  dishonour 
Grave  citizens'  wives  ;  nay,  those  of  higher  rank^ 
As  'tis,  in  your's,  apparent.    My  young  ramhler, 
That  thought  to  cheat  me  witha  feign'd  disease, 
I  have  in  the  toil  already  ;  I  have  given  him. 
Under  pretence  to  make  him  high  and  active, 
A  cooler  : — I  dare  warrant  it  will  yield 
Rare  sport  to  see  it  work ;  I  would  your  lordship 
Could  be  a  spectator. 

Cham.  It  is  that  I  aim  at : 
And  might  I  but  persuade  you  to  dispense 
A  little  with  your  candour,*  and  consent 
To  make  your  house  the  stage,  on  which  we'll 

act 
A  comic  scene  ;  in  the  pride  of  all  their  hopes. 
We'll  shew  these  shallow  fools  sunk-eyed  despair, 
And  triumph  in  their  punishment. 

Din.  My  house, 
Or  whatsoever  else  is  mine,  shall  serve 
As  properties  to  grace  it. 

Cham.  In  this  shape,  then. 
Leave  me  to  work  the  rest. 

Din,  Doubt  not,  my  lord. 
You  shall  find  all  things  ready.  [E.vit. 

Enter  Peri  got. 

Cham.  This  sorts  well 
With  my  other  purposes.     Perigot !  to  my  wish. 
Aid  me,  invention  I 

Peri.  Is  the  quean  fallen  off? 
I  hear  not  from  her  ? — 'tis  the  hour  and  place 

•  With  your  candour,]    i.  «.  honour;    See  th  Guardian* 
k.  ui.  S.  1. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.       295 

That  she  appointed. 

What  have  we  here?  This  fellow  has  a  pimp's  face, 

And  looks  as  if  he  were  her  call,  her  fetcli 

With  me  ? 

Cham,  Sir,  from  the  party, 
The  lady  you  should  truck  with,  the  lord's  wife 
Your  worship  is  to  dub,  or  to  make  free 
Of  the  company  of  the  horners. 

Peri.  Fair  Lamira? 

Cham.  The  same,  sir. 

Pei'L  And  how,  my  honest  squire  oMaraesr'  I  sec 
Thou  art  of  her  privy  council. 

Cham.  Her  grant  holds,  sir. 

Peri.  O  rare  !   But  when? 

Cha7n.   Marry,  instantly. 

Peri.  But  where  ? 

Cham.  She  hath  outgone  the  cunning  of  awoman, 
In  ordering  it  both  privately  and  securely  : 
You  know  Dinant,  the  doctor? 

Peri.  Good. 

Cham.  His  house 
And  him  she  has  made  at  her  devotion,  sir. 
Nay,  wonder  not;  most  of  these  empirics 
Thrive  better  by  connivance  in  sucli  cases, 
Than   their  lame  practice :    framing  some  dis- 
temper. 
The  fool,  her  lord 

Peri.  Lords  may  be  what  they  please; 
I  question  not  their  patent- 

Cham.  Hath  conseuted. 
That  this  night,  privately, she  shall  takeaclyster^ 
Which  he  believes  the  doctor  ministers. 
And  never  thinks  of  you. 

Peri.  A  good  wench  still. 

^  And  koW)  my  honest  squire  o'  dames  ?]  See  the  Emperor  of  the 
East. 

*X2 


296      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Cham.  And  there,  without  suspicion- 

Peri.  Excellent  I 
I  make  this  lord  my  cuckold  ? 

Cham.  True  ;  and  write 
The  reverend  drudging  doctor,  my  copartner, 
And  fellow  bawd :  next  year  we  will  have  him 

warden 
Of  our  society. 

Peri.  There  !  there  !  I  shall  burst, 
I  am  so  swollen  with  pleasure  ;  no  more  talking, 
Dear  keeper  of  the  vaulting  door ;'  lead  on. 

Cham,  Charge  you  as  boldly. 

Peri.  Do  not  fear ;  I  have 
A  staff  to  taint,  and  bravely.' 


'  Dear  keeper  of  the  vaulting  door;]  To  keep  the  door^ 
was  one  of  the  thousand  synonyuis  of  a  bawd  or  pander.  To 
this  the  distracted  Othello  alludes  in  his  passionate  speech  to 
Emilia : 

*'        —— you,  mistress, 

**  That  have  the  office  opposite  to  saint  Peter, 
"  And  keep  the  gate  of  hell !'' 

•  Peri.  Do  not  fear  ;  I  have 

A  staff  to  taint,  and  bravelj/.]  This  is  a  very  uncommon  word 
in  its  present  appjicaiion ;  nor  can  T  be  certain  that  I  compre- 
hend its  precise  meaning.  To  break  a  staff  or  spear,  in  the  tilts 
and  tournaments  of  our  ancestors,  was  an  honourable  achieve- 
ment; but  then  (as  appears  from  "  the  Ordinances  made  by  the 
carl  of  Worcester,  constable  of  England  in  1466,  and  renewed 
in  1562")  it  was  to  be  done  in  a  particular  manner,  and  "as  it 
ought  to  bee  broken."  How  a  spear  ought  to  be  broken,  is  not 
said  ;  nor  was  the  information  perhaps  necessary  at  the  time.  It 
seems,  however,  that  it  should  be  as  near  the  middle  as  possible; 
for,  if  it  were  within  a  foot  of  the  coronel  or  extremity,  it  was 
then  **  to  bee  adjudged  as  no  speare  broken,  but  a  fayre 
attaint."  Nugce  Antiques,  Vol.  I.  p.  4.  I  meet  with  the  word  in 
Every  Man  out  of  His  Humour^  the  only  place,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  work  just  quoted,  where  1  recollect  ever  to  have 
seen  it :  and  there,  too,  it  is  used  in  a  derogatory  sense,  *'  He 
has  a  good  riding  face,  and  he  can  sit  a  horse  well  j  he  will  taint 
a  staflF  well  at  tilt." 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      ^97 

Cham,  Save  the  splinters, 
If  it  break  in  the  encounter. 
Feri.  Witty  rascal !  [Exeunt. 


S  C  E  N  E  IV. 

A  Room  in  Bellisant's  House. 
Enter  Clarindore,  Bellisant,  and  Beaupre. 

Clarin.  Boast  of  your  favours,  madam  ! 

Bell.  Pardon,  sir. 
My  fears,  since  it  is  grown  a  general  custom. 
In  our  hot  youth,  to  keep  a  catalogue 
Of  conquests  this  way  got;  nor  do  they  think 
Their  victory  complete,  unless  they  publish. 
To  their  disgrace,  that  are  made  captives  to  them, 
How  far  they  have  prevail'd. 

Clarin.  I  would  have  such  rascals 
First  gelded,  and  then  hang'd. 

Bell.  Remember  too,  sir. 
To  what  extremities  your  love  had  brought  you  ; 
And,  since  I  saved  your  life,  I  may,  with  justice. 
By  silence  charge  you  to  preserve  mine  honour; 
Which,  howsoever  to  my  conscious  self 
I  am  tainted,  foully  tainted,  to  the  world 
I  am  free  from  ail  suspicion. 

Clarin.  Can  you  think 
I'll  do  myself  that  wrong  ?  although  I  had 
A  lawyer's  mercenary  tongue,  still  moving, 
.     -     _     -le  this  precious  carcanet,  these  jewels, 
-     -     of  your  magnificence,  would  keep  me 
A  Pythagorean,  and  ever  silent. 
No,  rest  secure,  sweet  lady ;  and  excuse 
My  sudden  and  abrupt  departure  from  you ; 


298     THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

And  if  the  fault  makes  forfeit  of  your  grace, 
A  quick  return  shall  ransome  and  redeem  it. 

Bell.  Be  mindful  of  your  oaths. 

\JValks  aside  xvith  BeaupvL 

Clarin.  I  am  got  off, 
And  leave  the  memory  of  them  behind  me. 
Now,  if  I  can  find  out  my  scoffing  gulls, 
Novall  and  PeVigot,  besides  my  wager, 
Which  is  already  sure,  I  shall  return 
Their  bitter  jests,   and  wound  them  with    ray 

tongue. 
Much  deeper  than  my  sword.   Oh  !  but  the  oaths 
I  have  made  to  the  contrary,  and  her  credit, 
Of  which  T  should  be  tender: — tush  !   both  hold 
With  me  an  equal  value.    The  wise  say, 
That  the  whole  fabric  of  a  woman's  lighter 
Than  wind  or  feathers  :   what  is  then  her  fame  r 
A  kind  of  nothing  ; — not  to  be  preserved 
With  the  loss  of  so  much   money  :  'tis  sound 

doctrine, 
And  I  will  follow  it,  [Exit, 

Bell.  Prithee,  be  not  doubtful ; 
Let  the  wild  colt  run  his  course. 

Beau.   I  must  confess 
I  cannot  sound  the  depth  of  what  you  purpose. 
But  I  much  fear— — 

Bell.  That  he  will  blab ;  I  know  it. 
And  that  a  secret  scalds  him  :  that  he  suffers 
Till  he  hath  vented  what  I  seem  to  wish 
He  should  conceal;  — but  let  him,  I  am  arm'd 
for't,  [Exeunt, 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      295 

S  C  E  N  E  V. 

A  Room  in  Din  ant's  House. 

Enfe?'  CuAMOJUT,  Dinant,  Lamiua,  Claeinda, 
and  Servants. 

Cham.    For   Perigot,  he's   in   the    toil    ne'er 

doubt  it.  ' 

O,  had  you  seen  how  liis  veins  swell'd  with  hist, 
When  I  brought  him  to  the  chamber !  how  he 

gloried, 
And  stretch'd  his  limbs,  preparing  them  foraction  ; 
And,  taking  me  to  be  a  pander,  told  me 
'Twas  more  delight  to  have  a  lord  his  cuckold, 
Tban  to  enjoy  my  lady  ! — there  I  left  him 
In  contemplation,  greedily  expecting 
Lamira's  presence;  but,  instead  of  her, 

I  have  prepared  him  other  visitants. 

You  know  what  you  have  to  do  ? 

1  Serv.  Fear  not,  my  lord. 

He  shall  curvet,  I  warrant  him,  in  a  blanket. 

2  Serv.  We'll  discipline  himwith  dog-whips,  and 

take  off 
His  rampant  edge. 

Cham.  His  life;  save  that — remember, 
You  cannot  be  too  cruel. 

Din.  For  his  pupil. 
My  wife's  Inamorato,  if  cold  weeds, 
Removed  but  one  degree  from  deadly  poison. 
Have  not  forgot  their  certain  operation, 
You  shall  see   his  courage  cool'd  ;  and  in  that 

temper, 
Till  he  have  howl'd  himself  into  my  pardon, 
I  vow  to  keep  him. 


300      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Nov.  [zvithi?t.~\lio,  doctor!  master  doctor! 
jDiw. The  game's  afoot;   we  will  let  slip:  con- 
ceal 
Yourselves  a  little.      .       {^Exeunt  all  but  Dinant, 

Enter  Novall. 

Nov.  Oh  !  a  thousand  agues 
Play  at  barley-break  in  my  bones ;  my  blood's  a 

pool 
On  the  sudden  frozen,  nnd  the  isicles 
Cut  every  vein  :  'tis  here,  there,  every  where ; 
Oh  dear,  dear,  master  doctor  ! 

Din.  I  must  seem 
Not  to  understand  him ;  'twill  increase  his  tor- 
ture.—  [Aside. 
How  do  you,  sir?  has  the  potion  wrought  ?  do 

you  feel 
An  alteration  r  have  your  swellings  left  you  ? 
Is  your  blood  still  rebellious? 

Nov.  Oh,  good  doctor, 
I  am  a  ghost!  I  have  nor  flesh,  nor  blood, 
Nor  heat,  nor  warmth,  about  me. 

Din.  Do  not  dissemble ; 
I  know  you  are  high  and  jovial. 

Nov.  Jovial!  doctor; 
No,  I  am  all  amort,  as  if  I  had  lain 
Three  days  in  my  grave  already. 

Din.  I  will  raise  you : 
For,  look  you,  sir,  you  are  a  liberal  patient, 
Nor  must  I,  while  you  can  be  such,  part  with  you  ; 
'Tis  against  the  laws  of  our  college.     Pray  you, 

mark  me  ; 
I  have  with  curiosity  consider'd 
Your  constitution  to  be  hot  and  moist, 
And  that  at  your  nativity  Jupiter 
AndVenuswere  in  conjunction,  whence  it  follows^ 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      301 

By  necessary  consequence,  you  must  be 
A  most  insatiate  letcher. 

Nov.  Oh  !  I  have  been, 
1  have  been,  I  confess ;  but  now  I  cannot 
Think  of  a  woman. 

Din.  For  your  health  you  must,  sir, 
Both  think,  and  see,   and  touch ;  you're  but  a 
deg.d  man  else. 

Nov.  That  way,  I  am  already. 

Dill.  You  must  take. 
And  suddenly,  ('tis  a  conceal'd  receipt,) 
^  buxom,  juicy  wench. 

Nov.  Oh  !  'twill  not  down,  sir; 
I  have  no  swallow  for't. 

Din.  Now,  since  I  would 
Have  the  disease  as  private  as  the  cure, 
,   (For  'tis  a  secret,)  I  have  wrought  my  wife 
I     To  be  both  physic  and  physician, 

To  give  you  ease  : — will  you  walk  to  her  ? 

Nov.  Oh  !  doctor, 
I  cannot  stand ;  in  every  sense  about  me 
I  have  the  palsy,  but  my  tongue. 

Dill,  Nay  then, 
You  are  obstinate,  and  refuse  my  gentle  offer; 
Or  else  'tis  foolish  modesty  :— Come  hither, 
[    Come,  my  Clarinda, 

Re-enter  Clauinda. 

'tis  not  common  courtesy ; 
Comfort  the  gentleman. 

Nov.  This  is  ten  times  worse. 

Cham,  [within.']  He  does  torment  him  rarely. 

Din.  She  is  not  coy,  sir. 
What  think  you,  is  not  this  a  pretty  foot, 
And  a  clean  instep  ?  I  will  leave  the  calf 


\ 


3b2      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

For  you  to  find  and  judge  of:  here's  a  hand  too  ; 
Try  it,  the  palm  is  moist;  the  youthful  blood 
Runs  strong  in  every  azure  vein  :  the  face  too 
Ne'er  knew  the  help  of  art;  and,  all  together, 
May  serve  the  turn,  after  a  long  sea-voyage. 
For  the  captain's  self. 

JSlov.  I  am  a  swabber,  doctor, 
A  bloodless  swabber;  have  not  strength  enough 
To  cleanse  her  poop. 

Din.  Fie!  you  shame  yourself, 
And  the  profession  of  your  rutting  gallants, 
That  hold  their  doctors'  wives  as  free  for  them,* 
As  some  of  us  do  our  apothecaries'  1 

JSfov.  Good  sir,  no  more. 

Din.  Take  her  aside;  cornuteme; 
I  give  you  leave  :  what  should  a  quacksalve 
A  fellow  that  does  deal  with  drugs,  as  I  do. 
That  has  not  means  to  give  her  choice  of  gowns, 
Jewels,  and  rich  embroidered  petticoats,- 
Do  with  so  fair  a  bedfellow?  she  being  fashion'd 
To  purge  a  rich  heir's  reins,  to  be  the  mistress 
Of  a  court  gallant?  Did  you  not  tell  her  so? 
^Nov.  I  have  betray'd  myself!  I  did,  I  did. 

Din.  And  that  rich  merchants,  advocates,  and 
doctors, 
Howe'er  deserving  from  the  commonwealth, 
On  forfeit  of  the  city's  charter,  were 
Predestined  cuckolds  ? 

Nov.  Oh,  some  pity,  doctor  ! 
I  was  an  heretic,  but  now  converted. 
Some  little,  little  respite  ! 

Din.  No,  you  town-bull ; 
-     -     -     -venge  all  good  men's  wrongs. 
And  now  will  play  the  tyrant.     To  dissect  thee, 
Eat  thy  flesh  off  with  burning  corrosives, 
Or  write  with  aquafortis  in  thy  forehead, 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      303 

4 

Thy  last  intent  to  wrong  my  bed,  were  justice; 
And  to  do  less  were  foolish  pity  in  me: 
I  speak  it,  ribald  ! 

AW.   Perigot  !  Perigot ! 
Woe-  to  thy  cursed  counsel. 

Re-enter  Chamont  ajid  Lamira. 

Cham.  Perigot ! 
Did  he  advise  you  to  this  course? 
^     Nov.  He  did. 

Cham.  And  he  has  his  reward  for't. 

Peri,  [zmthin.]  Will  you  murder  me  ! 

JServ.  [within.]  Once  more,  aloft  with  him. 

Feri.  [within.']  Murder!  murder!  murder! 

Re-Enter  Servants,  with  Peuigot  in  a  blanket, 

Cham.  What  conceal'd  bake- meats  have  you 
there  ?  a  present  ? 
Is  it  goat's  flesh  ?  It  smells  rank. 

1  Serv.  We  have  had 
Sweet  work  of  it,  my  lord. 

2  Serv,  I  warrant  you  'tis  tender, 

It  wants  no  cooking  ;  yet,  if  you  think  fit, 
We'll  bruise  it  again. 

Peri,  As  you  are  Christians,  spare  me  I 
I  am  jelly  within  already,  and  without 
Embroidered  all  o'er  with  statute  lace.* 
What  would  you  more  ? 

Nov.  My  tutor  in  the  gin,  too ! 

*  Embroidered  all  o'er  with  statute  lace.^  Meaning,  I  beliere, 
that  his  skin  was  so  torn,  that  it  hung  down  in  stripes  like  the 
narrow  worsted  laces  allowed  by  statute.  There  is  a  passage  in 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  which  appears  to  snpport  the  sense 
giren  here.''  "  Jag  him,  gentlemen,"  says  the  Captain.  **  I'll 
have  him  cut  to  the  kell,  then  down  the  seams.  O  for  s 
whip  to  make  him  ^a//ooM  /cces/"  Philaster.  The  expression 
pccurs  in  Shirley :  ''  We  were  of  your  acquaintance  once,  slr^ 


304      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

This  is  some  comfort :  he  is  as  good  as  drench'd  ;^ 
And  now  we'll  both  be  chaste. 

Cham.  What,  is't  a  cat 
You  have  encounter'd,  monsieur,you  are  scratch'd 

so  ? 
My  lady,  sure,  forgot  to  pare  her  nails, 
Before  your  soft  embraces. 

Din.  He  has  ta'en  great  pains  ; 
What  a  sweat  he's  in  ! 

Cham.  O  !  he's  a  master-dancer. 
Knows  how  to  caper  into  a  lady's  favour : 
One  lofty  trick  more,  dear  monsieur. 

Nov.  That  I  had 
.  But  strength  enough  to  laugh  at  him  !  blanketted 

like  a  dog. 
And  like  a  cut-purse  whipt !  I  am  sure  that  now, 
He  cannot  jeer  me. 

Peri.  May  not  a  man  have  leave 
To  hang  himself  ? 

Cham.  No  ;  that  were  too  much  mercy. 
Live  to  be  wretched  ;  live  to  be  the  talk 
Of  the  conduit,  and  the  bakehouse.^   I  will  have 

thee 
Pictured  as  thou  art  now,  and  thy  whole  story 
Sung  to  some  villainous  tune  in  a  lewd  ballad  ; 
And  make  thee  so  notorious  to  the  world. 
That  boys  in  the  streets  shall  hoot  at  thee  :  come, 
Lamira, 

when  we  sold  garters  and  statute  lace."  Doubtful  Heir,  Here 
it  evidently  means  some  coarse  manufactory.  In  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth  many  sumptuary  laws  passed.  Among  the  rest,  one, 
in  1571,  for  obliging  all  but  the  nobility  and  people  of  fortune, 
to  wear  statute  caps,  i.  e.  caps  of  wool,  knit  aud  drest  in  Eng- 
land, upon  penalty  of  ten  groats. 

*  He  is  as  good  as  drench'd ;]  i.  e.  as  impotent  as  if,  like  me, 
he  had  been  physicked  by  Dinant. 

3  Oftht  conduit,  and  the  bakehouse.]  These,  in  the  age  of 
Massinger,  were  the  general  redezvous  of  gossips  of  both 
gexcs :  they  are  still  so,  in  most  country  towns. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      $05 

And  triumph  o'er  him Dost  thou  see  this  lady, 

My  wife,  whose  honour  foolishly  thou  thought'st 
To  undermine,  and  make  a  servant  to 
Thy  brutish  lusts,  laughing  at  thy  affliction  ? 
And,  as  a  sign  she  scorns  thee,  set  her  foot 
Upon  thy  head  ?  Do  so  : — 'Sdeath !  but  resist, 
Once  more  you  caper. 

Feri.  I  am  at  the  stake, 
And  must  endure  it. 

Cham.  Spurn  him,  too. 

Lam.  Troth,  sir, 
I  do  him  too  much  grace. 

Cham.  Now,  as  a  schoolboy 
Does  kiss  the  rod  that  gave  him  chastisement, 
To  prove  thou  art  a  slave,  meet,  witii  thy  lips, 
This  instrument  that  corrects  thee.   ' 

Peri.  Have  you  done  yet  ? 

Din.  How  like  a  pair  of  crest-fallen  jades  they 
look  now  ! 

Cla.  They  are  not  worth  our  scorn. 

Peri.  O  pupil,  pupil  1 

Nov.   Tutor,   I  am  drench'd:  let  us  condole 
together. 

Cham.  And  where's  the  tickling  itch  now,  my 
dear  monsieur, 
To  say.  This  lord's  my  cuckold!—!  am  tired  : 
That  we  had  fresh  dogs  to  hunt  them ! 

Enter  Clartndore. 

Clarin.     -     -     -     -     - 

-     -     -     -     I  am  acquainted  with  the  story ; 
The  doctor's  man  has  told  me  all. 

Di/i.  Upon  them. 

Peri.    Clarindore  !    worst  of  all: — for  him  to 
know  this, 
Is  a  second  blanketting  to  me, 


a06      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVEv 


Nov.  I  again 
Am  drench'd  to  look  on  him. 

Clar'm.  How  is't  ?  nay,  bear  up  ; 
You  that  commend  adultery,  I  am  glad 
To  see  it  thrive  so  well.    Fie,  Perigot! 
Dejected  ?  Haply  thou  wouldst  have  us  think, 
This  is  the  first  time  that  thou  didst  curvet. 
And  come  aloft  in  a  blanket.     By  St.  Dennis  ! 
Here  are  shrewd  scratches  too  ;  but  nothing  to- 
A  man  of  resolution,  whose  shoulders 
Are  of  themselves  armour  of  proof,  against 
A  bastinado,  and  will  tire  ten  beadles. 

Peri,  Mock  on  ;  know  no  mercy. 

Clarin,  Thrifty  young  men  ! 
What  a  charge  is  saved  in  wenching !   and  'tis 

timely 

A  certain  wager  of  three  thousand  crowns 
Is  lost,  and  must  be  paid,  my  pair  of  puppies : 
The  coy  dame,  Bellisant,  hathstoop'd  !  bear  wit- 
ness 
This  chain  and  jewels  you  have  seen  her  wear. 
The  fellow,  that  her  grooms  kick'd  down  the  stairs^ 
Hath  crept  into  her  bed ;  and,  to  assure  you 
There's  no  deceit,  she  shall  confess  so  much, 
I  have  enjoy 'd  her. 

Cham.  Are  you  serious  ? 

Clarin.  Yes,  and  glory  in  it. 

Cham.  Nay  then,  give  over  fooling. • 

Thou  liest,  and  art  a  villain,  a  base  villain. 
To  slander  her. 

Clarin.  You  are  a  lord,  and  that 
Bids  me  forbear  you  ;  but'I  will  make  good 
Whatever  I  have  said. 

Cham.  I'll  not  lose  time 
To  change  words  with  thee.    The  king  hath  or- 

dain'd 
A  Parliament  of  Love  to  right  her  wrongs. 
To  which  I  summon  thee.   .  [Exit. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.       SO? 

Clarin.   Your  worst :    I  care  not. — Farewell, 
babions !  [jEavY. 

JDin.  Here  was  a  sudden  clianore  ! 
Nay,  you  must  quit  my  house :  shog  on,  kind 

patient, 
And,  as  you  like  my  physic,  when  you  are 
Rampant  again,  you  know  I  have  that  cancoolyou. 
Nay,  monsieur  Perigot,  help  your  pupil  off  too, 
Your  counsel  brought  him  on.    Ha  !  no  reply  ? 
Are  you  struck  dumb?  If  you  are  wrong'd,  com- 
plain. 
Peri.  We  shall  find  friends  to  right  us. 
Din.  And  I  justice, 
The  cause  being  heard;  I  ask  no  more.    Hence  \ 
vanish !  -  [Eveuni, 


ACT  V.    SCENE   L 

A  Coui^t  of  Justice. 
Enter  Chamo^Tj  Philamoub,  and  Lafort. 

Phil.  Montrose  slain  !  and  by  Cleremond  I 

Cham.  'Tis  too  true. 

Lqf.  Butwondrousstrange,  that  any  difference, 
Especially  of  such  a  deadly  nature, 
Should  e'er  divide  so  eminent  a  friendship. 

Phil.  The  miracle  is  greater,  that  a  lady, 
His  most  devoted  mistress,  Leonora, 
Against  the  usual  softness  of  her  sex. 
Should  with  such  violence  and  heat  pursue 
Her  amorous  servant ;  since  I  am  iuform'd 


508      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

That  he  was  apprehended  by  her  practice,* 
And,  when  he  comes  to  trial  for  his  life. 
She'll  rise  up  his  accuser. 

Cham,  So  'tis  rumour'd  : 
And  that's  the  motive  that  young  Clereraond 
Makes  it  his  humble  suit,  to  have  his  cause 
Decided  in  the  Parliament  of  Love; 
For  he  pretends  the  bloody  quarrel  grew 
From  grounds  that  claim  a  reference  to  that  place : 
Nor  fears  he,  if  you  grant  him  equal  hearing, 
But,  with  unanswerable  proof,  to  render 
The  cruel  Leonora  tainted  with 
A  guilt  beyond  his. 

Laf.  The  king  is  acquainted 
Already  with  the  accident ;  besides, 
He  hath  vouchsafed  to  read  divers  petitions 
Preferr'd  on  several  causes ;  one  against 
Monsieur  IXinant,  his  doctor,  by  Notall ; 
A  second,  in  which  madam  Bellisant 
Complains  'gainst  Ciarindore  ;  there  is  a  bill  too. 
Brought  in  by  Perigot,  against  your  lordship; 
All  which,  in  person,  he  resolves  to  hear, 
Then,  as  a  judge,  to  censure.     [A  flourish  within. 

Phil.  See  the  form  ! 
Choice  musick  ushers  him. 

Cham.  Let  us  meet  the  troop, 
And  mix  with  them. 

Phil.  'Twill  poize  your  expectation.    [^Exeunt. 

♦  That  he  was  apprehended  by  her  practice,]  i.  e.  by  her  arti- 
fice. This  word  is  frequently  found  in  Massingcr,  and  his  con- 
temporaries, in  the  sense  of  an  insidious  trick,  or  stratagem. 
The  circumstance  of  Leonora  instigating  her  lover  to  murder 
his  friend,  and  then  giving  him  up  to  justice,  is  adopted,  with 
some  variatioDS,  from  Marston's  Dutch  Courtezan. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      309 


Loud  music.  Enter  Charles  folloxced  h}}  Or- 
leans, Nemours,  Chamont,  La  fort,  and 
Philamour.  a  Vx\z%\.unth  the  image  of  Cvpinz 
then  enter  Cleremond,  Clarindore,  Peri- 
goTjNovalLjBellisant,  Leonora,  Beau  pre, 
Lamira,  Clarinda,  and  Officers.  Moxtrose 
is  brought  forward  on  a  bier,  and  placed  before 
the  bar. 

Char.  Let  it  not  seerti  a  wonder,  nor  beget 
An  ill  ophiion  in  this  fair  assembly, 
That  here  I  place  this  statue;   'tis  not  done. 
Upon  the  forfeit  of  our  grace,  that  yoii 
Sliould,  with  a  superstitious  reverence. 
Fall  down  and  worship  it:  nor  can  it  be 
Presumed,  we  hope,  young  Charles,  that  justly 

holds 
The  honour'd  title  of  most  Christian  King, 
Would  ever  nourish  such  idolatrous  thoughts. 
'Tis  rather  to  instruct  deceived  mankind. 
How  much  pure  Love,  that  has  his  birth  in  heaven, 
And  scorns  to  be  received  a  guest,  but  in 
A  noble  heart  prepared  to  entertain  him, 
Is,  by  the  gross  misprision  of  weak  men, 
Abused  and  injured.  That  celestial  lire, 
Which  hieroglyphically  is  described 
In  this  his  bow,  his  quiver,  and  his  torch. 
First  warin'd  their  bloods,  and  after  gave  a  name 
To  the  old  heroic  spirits:  such  as  Orpheus, 
That  drew  men,  differing  little  then  from  beasts, 
To  civil  government;  or  famed  Alcides, 
The  tyrant-queller,  that  refused  the  plain 
And  easy  path  leading  to  vicious  pleasures. 
And  ending  in  a  precipice  deep  as  hell. 
To  scale  the  ragged  cliff,'  on  whose  firm  top 

5  To  scale  the  ragged  cliffs,']  This  expressirc  epithet  is  from 
Scripture,  as  are  many  of  Massinger's.  See  Is.  c.  ii.  t.  21« 
vol.  II.  *  Y 


510      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Virtue  and  Honour,  crown'd  with  wreaths  of  stars, 
Did  sit  triumphant.     But  it  will  he  answer'd, 
(The  world  decaying  in  her  strength,)  that  now 
We  are  not  equal  to  those  ancient  times, 
And  therefore  'twere  impertinent  and  tedious 
To  cite  more  precedents  of  that  reverend  age, 
But  rather  to  endeavour,  as  we  purpose, 
To  give  encouragement,  by  reward,  to  such 
As  with  their  best  nerves  imitate  that  old  good- 
ness ; 
And,  with  severe  correction,  to  reform 
The  modern  vices.  —Begin  ;  read  the  bills. 

Peri,  Let  mine  be   first,  my  lord  ;    'twas  first 
preferr'd. 

Bell.  But  till  my  cause  be  heard,  our  whole  sex 
suffers — 

Off.  Back  !  keep  back,  there  ! 

Nov,  Prithee,  gentle  officer, 
Handle  me  gingerly,  or  I  fall  to  pieces, 
Before  I  can  plead  mine. 

Peri.  I  am  bruised     -     -     - 

Omnes.  Justice  1  justice  ! 

Char.  Forbear  these  cliamours,  you  shall  all  be 
heard  : 
And,  to  confirm  I  am  no  partial  judge. 

By  lottery  decide  it  f  here's  no  favour. 

Whose  bill  is  first,  Lafort  ?  [the  names  are  drawni] 

Laf.  'Tis  Cleremond's. 

Char.  The  second  ? 

Laf.  Perigot's  ;  the  third  Novall's. 

Nov.  Our  cases  are  both  lamentable,  tutor. 

PeH.  And  I  am  glad  they  shall  be  heard  toge- 
ther; 
We  cannot  stand  asunder. 

•  By  lottery  decide  it ;] 

"  Let  high.sighted  tyranny  range  on, 

"  Till  each  man  drop  by  lottery .^^    Julius  Ccesar. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      31 1 

Char.  What's  the  last  ? 

Laf.  The  injured  lady  Bellisant's. 

Char.  To  the  first,  then  ; 
And  so  proceed  in  order. 

Phil.  Stand  to  the  har.      \Cler.  comes  forward, 

Leon.  Speak,  Cleremond,  thy  grief,  as  I  will 
mine. 

Peri.  A  confident  little  pleader  !  were  I  in  case, 
I  would  give  her  a  double  fee. 

Nov.  So  would  I,  tutor. 

Off.  Silence  !   silence  ! 

Cler.  Should  I  rise  up  to  plead  my  innocence, 
Though,  with  the  favour  of  the  court,  I  stood 
Acquitted  to  the  world,  yea,  though  the  wounds 
Of  my  dead  friend,  (which,  like  so  many  mouths 
With  bloody  tongues,  cry  out  aloud  against  me,) 
By  your  authority,  were  closed  ;  yet  here, 
A  not  to  be  corrupted  judge,  my  conscience, 
Would  not  alone  condemn  me,  but  inflict 
Such  lingering  tortures  on  me,  as  the  hangman, 
Though  witty  in  his  malice,  could  not  equal. 
I  therefore  do  confess  a  guilty  cause. 
Touching  the  fact,  and,  uncompeird,  acknowledge 
Myself  the  instrument  of  a  crime  the  sun, 
Hiding  his  face  in  a  thick  mask  of  clouds, 
As  frighted  with  the  horror,  durst  not  look  on. 
But  if  your  laws  with  greater  rigour  punish 
Such  as  invent  a  mischief,  than  the  organs 
By  whom  'tis  put  in  act,  (they  truly  being 
The  first  great  wheels  by  which  the  lesser  move,) 
Then  stand  forth,  Leonora;  and  I'll  prove._ 
The  white  robe  of  my  innocence  tainted  with 
But  one  black  spot  of  guilt,  and  even  that  one 
By  thy  hand  cast  on  me ;  but  thine,  died  o'er. 
Ten  times  in  grain,  in  hell's  most  ugly  colours. 

Leon.  The  fellow  is  distracted ;   see  how  he 
raves ! 

*  Y2 


512      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Now  as  I  live,  if  detestation  of 

His  baseness  would  but  give  me  leave,  I  should 

Begin  to  pity  him. 

Ckr.  Frontless  impudence, 
And  not  to  be  replied  to  !  Sir,  to  you. 
And  these  subordinate  ministers  of  yourself, 
I  turn  my  speech  :  to  her  I  do  repent 
I  e'et  vouchsafed  a  syllable.     My  birth' 
Was  noble  as  'tis  ancient,  nor  let  it  relish 
Of  arrogance,  to  say  my  father's  care, 
With  curiousness  and  cost,  did  train  me  up 
In  all  those  liberal  qualities  that  commend 
A  gentleman  :  and  when  the  tender  down 
Upon  my  chin  told  me  I  was  a  man, 
I  came  to  court ;  there  youth,  ease,  and  example, 
First  made  me  feel  the  pleasing  pains  of  love  : 
And  there  I  saw  this  woman ;  saw,  and  loved  her 
With  more  than  common  ardour :  for  that  deity, 


My  birth 


Was  noble  as  'tis  'ancient^  &c.]  Sir  H.  Herbert  (for  Mr. 
Malone  supposes  this  to  be  the  presentation  copy,  and  to  have 
remained  in  his  hands)  has  taken  several  liberties  with  this  play. 
In  some  places,  where  the  expressions  appeared  too  free,  he  has 
drawn  his  pea  through  them  ;  in  others,  he  has  struck  out  lines, 
under  the  idea,  perhaps,  of  compressing  the  sense,  kindly  sup- 
plying a  connecting  word  or  two  from  his  own  stores;  and  in 
others,  he  has  been  content  with  including  the  objectionable 
passages  between  brackets.  In  the  latter  there  is  not  much 
harm,  but  the  former  is  a  sore  evil  :  for  as  I  do  not  deem  very 
highly  of  Sir  Henry's  taste,  nor  indeed  of  his  judgment,  the 
endeavours  to  recover  the  genuine  text  from  the  blot  spread 
over  it,  has  been  attended  with  a  very  considerable  degree  of 
trouble  ;  it  has,  however,  been  generally  successful. 

If  I  thought  that  innovations,  hazarded  without  knowledge 
to  direct  them,  could  be  objects  of  curiosity,  I  would  give  the 
reader  this  speech  as  it  stands  iu  the  new  version : — but  it  is  not 
worth  his  care.    1803. 

I  am  now  enabled  to  speak  with  certainty  respecting  the 
hand-writing  of  the  MS.  The  fortunate  discovery  of  the  cor- 
rected copy  of  the  Duke  of  Milan  proves  it  to  be  Massinger's. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.       313 

(Such  our  affection  makes  him,)   whose  dread 
power 

-  -     -     -     the  choicest  arrow,  headed  with 
Not  loose  but  loyal  flames,  which  aim'd  at  me, 
Who  came  with  greedy  haste  to  meet  the  shaft, 

-  -     -     -ing,  that  my  captive  heart  was  made 
-----'--     Love's  divine  artillery, 

-  -     -     -     preserved     -     -     -     no  relation.  " 
But  the  shot  made  at  her  was  not,  like  mine. 
Of  gold,  nor  of  pale  lead  that  breeds  disdain  ; 
Cupid  himself  disclaims  it :  I  think  rather. 

As  by  the  sequel  'twill  appear,  some  Fury 
From  burning  Acheron  snatch'd  a  sulphur  brand. 
That  smoak'd  with  hate,  the  parent  of  red  murder, 
And  threw  it  in  her  bosom.    Pardon  mc. 
Though  I  dwell  long  upon  the  cause  that  did 
Produce  such  dire  effects;  and,  to  omit. 
For  your  much  patience'  sake,  the  cunning  trap 
In  which  she  caught  me,  and,  with  horrid  oaths, 
Embark'd  me  in  a  sea  of  human  blood, 
I  come  to  the  last  scene 

Leon.  'Tis  time;  for  this 
Grows  stale  and  tedious. 

Cler,  When,  I  say,  she  had. 
To  satisfy  her  fell  rage,  as  a  penance, 
Forced  me  to  this  black  deed,  her  vow,  too,  given, 
That  I  should  marry  her,  and  she  conceal  me  ; 
When  to  her  view  I  brought  the  slaughter'd  body 
Of  my  dear  friend,  and  labodr^d  with  my  tears 
To  stir  compunction  in  her,  aided  too 
By  the  sad  object,  which  might  witness  for  me, 
At  what  an  over-rale  I  had  made  purchase 
Of  her  long-wish'd  embraces;  then,  great  sir, — 
But  that  I  had  a  mother,  and  there  may  be 

Some  two  or  three  of  her sex  less  faulty, 

I  should  affirm  she  was  the  perfect  image 


314      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Of  the  devil,  her  tutor,  that  had  left  hell  empty. 
To  dwell  in  wicked  woman. 

Leon.  Do ;  rail  on. 

Cler.  For  not  alone  she  gloried  in  mysuiFerings, 
Forswore  what  she  had  vow'd,  refused  to  touch 

me, 
Much  less  to  comfort  me,  or  give  me  harbour; 
But,  instantly,  ere  I  could  recollect 
My  scatter'd  sense,  betray'd  me  to  your  justice, 
Which  I  submit  to ;  hoping,  in  your  wisdom. 
That  as,  in  me,  you  lop  a  limb  of  murder, 
You  will,  in  her,  grub  up  the  root.  I  have  said,  sir. 

Leon.  Muchjl confess,  butmuchtolittlepurpose. 
And  though,  with  your  rhetorical  flourishes, 
You  strive  to  gild  a  rotten  cause,  the  touch 
Of  reason,  fortified  by  truth,  deliver'd 
From  my  unletter'd  tongue,  shall  shew  it  dust; 
And  so  to  be  contemn'd:  You  have  trimm'd  up 
All  your  deservings,  should  I  grant  them  such, 
With  more  care  than  a  maiden  of  threescore 
Does  hide  her  wrinkles,  which,  if  she  encounter 
The  rain,  the  wind,  or  sun,  the  paint  wash'd  off. 
Are  to  dim  eyes  discover'd.    I  forbear 
The  application,  and  in  a  plain  style 
Come  roundly  to  the  matter.    Tis  confess'd, 
This  pretty,  handsome,  gentleman,  (for  thieves 
Led  to  the  gallows  are  held  proper  men. 
And  so  I  now  will  call  him,)  would  needs  make 

me 
The  mistress  of  hi&i  thoughts  ;  nor  did  I  scorn, 
For  truth  is  truth,  to  grace  him  as  a  servant. 
Kay,  he  took  pretty  ways  to  win  me  too, 
F'or  a  court  novice ;  every  year  1  was 
His  Valentine,  and,  in  an  anagram. 
My  name  worn  in  his  hat ;  he  made  me  banquets^ 
As  if  he  thought  that  ladies,  like  to  flies, 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      315 

Were  to  be  caught  with  sweetmeats ;  quartell'd 

with 
My  tailor,  if  my  gown  were  not  the  first 
Of  that  edition  ;  beat  my  shoemaker, 
If  the  least  wrinkle  on  my  foot  appear'd. 
As  wronging  the  proportion  ;  and,  in  time, 
Grew  bolder,  usher'd  me  to  masques,  and    -  -  - 
Or  else  paid  him  that  wrote  them  ;     -     -     - 
With  such  a  deal  of  p-     -----     - 

And  of  good  rank,  are  taken  with  such  gambols  : 
In  a  word,  I  was  so ;  and  a  solemn  contract 
Did  pass  betwixt  us ;  and  the  day  appointed, 
That  should  make  our  embraces  warrantable, 
And  lawful  to  the  world:  all  tbings  so  carried, 
As  he  meant  nought  but  honourable  love. 

Char.  A  pretty  method. 

Phit.  Quaintly,  too,  deliver'd. 

Leon.  But,  when  he  thought  me  sure,  he  then 
gave  proof 
That  foul  lust  lurk'd  in  the  fair  shape  of  love; 
For,  valuing  neither  laws  divine,  nor  human, 
His  credit,  nor  my  fame,  with  violence  born 
On  black-sail'd  wings  of  loose  and  base  desires, 
As  if  his  natural  parts  had  quite  forsook  him, 
And  that  the  pleasures  of  the  marriage  bed 
Were  to  be  reap'd  with  no  more  ceremony 
Thau  brute  beasts  couple, — I  yet  blush  to  speak  it, 
He  tempted  me  to  yield  my  honour  up 
To  his  libidinous  twines  ;  and,  like  an  atheist, 
Scoii'd  at  the  form  aud  orders  of  the  church  ; 
Nor  ended  so,  but,  being  by  me  reproved, 
He  oifer'd  violence ;  but  was  prevented. 

Char.  Note,  a  sudden  change. 

Laf.   'Twas  foul  in  Cleremond. 

Xeow.  I,  burning  then  with  a  most  virtuous  anger. 
Razed  from  my  heart  the  memory  of  his  name, 


316      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Heviled,  and  spit  at  him  ;  and  knew  'twas  justice 
That  I  should  take  those  deities  he  scorn'd, 
Hymen  and  Cupid,  into  my  protection, 
And  be  the  instrument  of  their  revenge  : 
And  so  I  cast  him  off,  scorn'd  his  submission, 
His  poor  and  childish  whinings,  will'd  my  servants 
To  shut  my  gates  against  him  :  but,  when  neither 
Disdain,  hate,  nor  contempt,  coukl  free  me  from 
His  loathsome  importunities,  (and  fired  too, 
To  wreak  mine  injured  honour,)  I  took  gladly 
Advantage  of  his  execrable  oaths 
To  undergo  what  penance  I  enjoin'd  him  ; 
Then,  to  the  terror  of  all  future  ribalds, 
That  make  no  difference  between  love  and  lust, 
Imposed  this  task  upon  him.    I  have  said,  too : 
Now,  when  you  please,  a  censure. 

Char.  She  has  put 
The  judges  to  their  whisper. 

Nov.   What  do  you  think  of  these  proceedings, 
tutor? 

Peri.  The  truth  is, 
I  like  not  the  severity  of  the  court ; 
Would  I  were  quit,  and  in  an  hospital, 
I  could  let  fall  my  suit ! 

Nov.  'Tis  still  your  counsel. 

Char.  We  are  resolved,  and  with  an  equal  hand 
Will  hold  the  scale  of  justice;  pity  shall  not 
Rob  us  of  strength  and  will  to  draw  her  sword, 
Nor  passion  transport  us  :  let  a.  priest 
And  headsman  be  in  readiness; — do  you  start, 
To  hear  them  named  ?  Some  little  pause  we  grant 

you, 
To  take  examination  of  yourselves, 
What  either  of  you  have  deserved,  'and  why 
These  instruments  of  our  power  are  now  thought 

useful ;  \ 

You  shall  hear  more,  anon. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.       317 

Cler.  I  like  not  this.  [Aside. 

Leon.  A  dreadful  preparation  !  I  confess 
It  shakes  my  confidence.  [Aside, 

Clarin.  I  presumed  this  court 
Had  been  in  sport  erected  ;  but  now  find, 
With  sorrow  to  the  strongest  hopes  I  built  on, 
That  'tis  not  safe  to  be  the  subject  of 
The     -     -     -     of  kings. 

(New  Speake?\)  To  the  second  cause. 

ZaJ'.  -     -     -     Perigot's. 

Nov.  Nay,  take  me  along  too ; 
And,  since  that  our  complaints  differ  not  much, 
Dispatch  us  both  together.    I  accuse 
This  devilish  doctor. 

Feri.  I,  this  wicked  lord. 

Nov.  'Tis  known  I  was  an  able,  lusty  man, 
Fit  to  get  soldiers  to  serve  m\'^  king 
And  country  in  the  wars  ;  and  howsoever 
'Tis  said  I  am  not  valiant  of  myself, 
I  was  a  striker,  one  that  could  strike  home  too; 
And  never.did  beget  a  girl,  though  drunk. 
To  make  this  good,  I  could  produce  brave  boys, 
That  others  father,  twigs  of  mine  own  grafting, 
That  loved  a  drum  at  four,  and  ere  full  ten. 
Fought  battles  for  the  parish  they  were  born  in ; 
And  such  by-blows,  old  stories  say,  still  proved 
Fortunate  captains:  now,  whereas,  injustice, 
I  should  have  had  a  pension  from  the  state 
For  my  good  service,  this  ingrateful  doctor, 
Having  no  child,  and  never  like  to  have  one. 
Because,  in  pity  of  his  barrenness, 
I  plotted  how  to  help  him  to  an  heir. 
Has,  with  a  drench,  so  far  disabled  me, 
That  the  great  Turk  may  trust  me  with  his  virgins. 
And  never  use  a  surgeon.    Now  consider, 
If  this  be  not  hard  measure,  and  a  wrong  to 
Little  Dan  Cupid,  if  he  be  the  god 


SIS      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Of  coupling,  as  'tis  said  ;  and  will  undo, 
If  you  give  way  to  this,  all  younger  brothers 
That  carry  their  revenue  in  their  breeches. — 
Have  I  not  nick'd  it,  tutor?  [Aside  to  Peri. 

Peri.  To  a  hair,  boy  : 
Our  bills  shall  pass,  ne'er  fear  it.    [Aside.^ — For 

my  case. 
It  is  the  same,  sir  ;  my  intent  as  noble 
As  was  my  pupil's. 

Cham.  Plead  it  not  again,  then  : 
It  takes  much  from  the  dignity  of  the  court 
But  to  give  audience  to  such  things  as  these. 
That  do,  in  their  defence,  condemn  themselves. 
And  need  not  an  accuser.     To  be  short,  sir, 
And  in  a  language  as  far  from  obsceneness. 
As  the  foul  cause  will  give  me  leave,  be  pleased 
Toknowthusmuch:  Thishungry  pair  of  flesh-flies, 
And  most  inseparable  pair  of  coxcombs, 
Though  born  of  divers  mothers,  twins  in  baseness. 
Were  frequent  at  my  table,  had  free  welcome, 
And  entertainment  fit  for  better  men  j 
In  the  return  of  which,  this  thankful  monsieur 
Tempted  my  wife,  seduced  her,  at  the  least 
To  him  it  did  appear  so ;  which  discover'd. 
And  with  what  treacheries  he  did  abuse 
My  bounties,  treading  underneath  his  feet 
All  d\\e  respect  of  hospitable  rights. 
Or  the  honour  of  my  family  ;  though  the  intent 
Deserved  a  stab,  and  at  the  holy  altar, 
I  borrow'd  so  much  of  your  power  to  right  me^ 
As  to  mak^  him  caper. 

Din.  For  this  gallant,  sir, 
I  do  confess  I  cool'd  him,  spoil'd  his  rambling ; 
Would  all  such  as  delight  in  it,  were  served  so  ! 
And  since  you  are  acquainted  with  the  motives 
That  did  induce  me  to  it,  I  forbear 
A  needless  repetition. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.       319 

Cham.  'Tis  not  worth  it. 
The  criminal  judge  is  lEitter  to  take     -     -    - 
Of  pleas  of  this  base  nature.    Be    -     -     -     - 
An  injured  lady,  for  whose  wrong     -     -     -     - 
I  see  the  statue  of  the  god  of  love 
Drop  down  tears  of  compassion,  his  sad  mother, 
And  fair-chcek'd  Graces,  that  attend  on  her, 
Weeping  for  company,  as  if  that  all 
The  ornaments  upon  the  Paphian  shrine 
Were,  with  one  gripe,  by  sacrilegious  hands, 
Torn  from  the  holy  altar :   'tis  a  cause,  sir, 
That  justly  may  exact  your  best  attention  ; 
Which  if  you  truly  understand  and  censure, 
You  not  alone  shall  right  the  present  times, 
But  bind  posterity  to  be  your  debtor. 
Stand  forth,  dear  madam  : — 

[Bellisant  comes  forward* 
Look  upon  this  face, 
Examine  every  feature  and  proportion, 
And  you  with  me  must  grant,    this  rare  piece 

finish'd, 
Nature,  despairing  e'er  to  make  the  like, 
Brake  suddenly  the  mould  in  which  'twas  fashion'd. 
Yet,  to  increase  your  pity,  and  call  on 
Your  justice  with  severity,  this  fair  outside 
Was  but  the  cover  of  a  fairer  mind. 
Think,  then,  what  punishment  he  must  deserve. 
And  justly  suffer,  that  could  arm  his  heart 
With  such  impenetrable  flinty  hardness. 
To  injure  so  much  sweetness. 

Clarin.  I  must  stand 
The  fury  of  tliis  tempest,  which  already 
Sings  in  my  ears. 

Bell.  Great  sir,  the  too  much  praise 
This  lord,  my  guardian  once,  has  shovver'd  upon 

me, 
Could  not  but  spring  up  blushes  in  my  cheeks. 


il20      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

If  grief  had  left  me  blood  enough  to  speak 

My  humble  modesty  :  and  so  far  I  am 

From  being  litigious,  that  though  I  were  robb'd 

Of  my  whole  estate,  provided  my  fair  name 

Had  been  unwounded,  I  had  now  been  silent, 

But  since  the  wrongs  I  undergo,  if  smother'd, 

Would  injure  our  whole  sex,  I  must  lay  by 

My  native  bashfulness,  and  put  on  boldness, 

Fit  to  encounter  with  the  impudence 

Of  this  bad  man,  that  from  his  birth  hath  been 

So  far  from  nourishing  an  honest  thought, 

That  the  abuse  of  virgins  was  his  study, 

And  daily  practice.    His  forsaking  of 

His  wife,  distressed  Beaupr6 ;  his  lewd  wager 

With  these,  companions  like  himself,  to  abuse  me; 

His  desperate  resolution,  in  my  presence, 

To  be  his  own  assassin  ;  to  prevent  which. 

Foolish  compassion  forced  me  to  surrender 

The  life  of  life,  my  honour,  I  pass  over: 

I'll  only  touch  his  foul  ingratitude. 

To  scourge  which  monster,  if  your  laws  provide 

not 
A  punishment  with  rigour,  they  are  useless. 
Or  it  the  sword,  the  gallows,  or  the  wheel, 
Be  due  to  such  as  spoil  us  of  our  goods  ; 
Perillus'  brazen  bull,  the  English  rack, 
The  German  pincers,  or  the  Scotch  oil'd-boots, 
1  houghjoin'd  together,  yet  come  short  of  torture, 
To  their  full  merit,  those  accursed  wretches. 
That  steal  our  reputations,  and  good  names. 
As  this  base  villain  has  done  mine  : — Forgive  me. 
If  rage  provoke  me  to  uncivil  language; 
The  cause  requires  it.    Was  it  not  enough 
That,  to  preserve  thy  life,  I  lost  my  honour, 
-     -     '     -    in  recompense  of  such  a  gift 
-----    publish  it,  to  my  disgrace*? 
------     whose  means,  unfortunate  I, 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      321 

Whom,  hut  of  late,  the  city,  nay,  all  France, 
I     Durst  bring  in  opposition  for  chaste  life, 
With  any  woman  in  the  Christian  world. 
Am  noA\^  become  a  by-word,  and  a  scorn, 
In  mine  own  country. 

Char.  As  I  live,  she  moves  me. 
Is  this  true,  Clarindore  ? 

Nov.  Oh  !  'tis  very  true,  sir; 
He  bragg'd  of  it  to  me. 

Peri.  And  me. 
Nay,  since  we  must  be  censured,  we'll  give  evi- 
dence ; 
'Tis  comfort  to  have  fellows  in  affliction : 
You  shall  not  'scape,  fine  monsieur. 
Clarin.  Peace,  you  dog-bolts  ! — 
Sir,  I  address  myself  to  you,  and  hope 
You  have  preserved  one  ear  for  my  defence. 
The  other  freely  given  to  my  accuser : 
This  lady,  that  complains  of  injury, 
^    If  she  have  any,  was  herself  the  cause 

That  brought  it  to  her;  for  being  young,  and  rich, 
And  fair  loo,  as  you  see,  and  from  that  proud, 
She  boasted  of  her  strength,  as  if  it  were  not 
In  the  power  of  love  to  undermine  the  fort 
On  which  her  chastity  was  strongly  raised  : 
I,  that  was  bred  a  courtier,  and  served 
Almost  my  whole  life  under  Cupid's  ensigns, 
Could  not,  injustice,  but  interpret  this 
As  an  affront  to  the  great  god  of  love. 
And  all  his  followers,  if  she  were  not  brought 
To  due  obedience  :  these  strong  reasons,  sir. 
Made  me  to  undertake  her.     How  I  woo'd. 
Or  what  I  swore,  it  skills'  not;  (since  'tis  said. 
And  truly,  Jupiter  and  Venus  smile 
At  lovers'  perjuries  ;)  to  be  brief,  she  yielded, 

*  It  skills  not ;]  It  signifies  not.     See  Vol.  I.  p.  239. 


322      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

And  I  enjoy'd  lier:  if  this  be  a  crime, 
And  all  such  as  offend  this  pleasant  way 
Are  to  be  punish'd,  I  am  sure  you  would  have 
Few  followers  in  the  court:  you  are  young  your- 
self, sir. 
And  what  would  you  in  such  a  cause? 

Laf.  Forbear. 

Phil.  You  are  rude  and  insolent. 

ClariTL  Good  words,  gentle  judges. 
I  have  no  oil'd  tongue ;  and  1  hope  my  bluntness 
Will  not  offend. 

Chm\  But  did  you  boast  your  conquest 
Got  on  this  lady  ? 

Clarhi.  After  victory ; 
A  little  glory  in  a  soldier's  mouth 
Is  not  uncomely  ;  love  being  a  kind  of  war  too : 
And  what  I  did  achieve,  was  full  of  labour 
Ashis  that  winsstrong  towns,  and  merits  triumphs. 
I  thought  it  could  not  but  take  from  my  honour, 
(Besides  the  wager  of  three  thousand  crowns 
Made  sure  by  her  confession  of  my  service,) 
If  it  had  been  conceal'd. 

Char.  Who  would  have  thought 
That  such  an  impudence  could  e'er  have  harbour 
In  the  heart  of  any  gentleman  ?  In  this, 
Thou  dost  degrade  thyself  of  all  the  honours 
Thy  ancestors  left  thee,  and,  in  thy  base  nature, 
'Tis  too  apparent  that  thou  art  a  peasant. 
Boast  of  a  lady's  favours  !  this  confirms 
Thou  art  the  captain  of  that     -     -     -     - 
That  glory  in  their  sins,  and     -     -     -     -     - 
With  name  of  courtship ;  such  as  dare  bely 
Great  women's  bounties,  and  repuls'd  and  scorn'd, 
Commit  adultery  with  their  good  names, 
And  never  touch  their  persons.    I  am  sorry. 
For  your  sake,  madam,  that  I  cannot  make 
Such  reparation  for  you  in  your  honour 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      323 

As  I  desire  ;  for,  if  I  should  compel  him 
To  marry  you,  it  were  to  him  a  blessing, 
To  you  a  punishment;  he  being  so  unvv^orthy: 
I  therefore  do  resign  my  place  to  you ; 
Be  your  ovvQ  judge;  whate'er  you  shall  deter- 
mine, 
By  my  crown,  I'll  see  perforni*d. 

Clarin.  I  am  in  a  fine  case, 
To  stand  at  a  woman's  mercy.  [Aside: 

Bell.  Then-thus,  sir: 
I  am  not  bloody,  nor  bent  to  revenge ; 
And  study  his  amendment,  not  his  ruin : 
Yet,  since  you  have  given  up  your  power  tome. 
For  punishment,  I  do  enjoin  him  to 
Marry  this  Moor. 

Clarin,  A  devil  !  hang  me  rather. 

Char.  It  is  not  to  be  alter'd. 

Clarin.  This  is  cruelty 
Beyond  expression,     -     -     I  have  a  wife. 

Cham.  Ajy  too  good  for  thee.  View  her  well, 
And  then,  this  varnish  from  her  face  wash'd  off, 
Thou  shalt  find  Beaupr^. 

Clarin.  Beaupr^ ! 

Bell.  Yes,  his  wife,  sir. 
But  long  by  him  with  violence  cast  oif : 
And  in  this  shape  she  served  me  ;  all  my  studies 
Aiming  to  make  a  fair  atonement  for  her, 
To  which  your  majesty  may  now  constrain  him. 

Clarin.  It  needs  not ;  I  receive  her,  and  ask 
pardon 
Of  her  and  you. 

Bell.  On  both  our  parts  'tis  granted. 
This  was  your  bedfellow,  and  fill'd  your  arms, 
When  you  thought  you  embraced  me :  I  am  yet 
A  virgin ;  nor  had  ever  given  consent, 
In  my  chaste  house,  to  such  a  wanton  passage, 
But  that  I  knew  that  her  desires  were  lawful. — 


S24      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

But  now  no  more  of  personated  passion  : 

This  is  the  man  I  loved,  [pointing  to  the  bier.}  that 

I  loved  truly, 
HoM'ever  I  dissembled;  and,  with  him, 
Dies  all  affection  in  me.    So,  great  sir. 
Resume  your  seat. 

Char.  An  unexpected  issue. 
Which  I  rejoice  in.    Would  'twere  in  our  power 
To  give  a  period  to  the  rest,  like  this, 
And  spare  our  heavy  censure  !  but  the  death 
Of  good  Montrose  forbids  it.    Cleremond, 
Thou  instantly  shall  marry  Leonora ; 
Which  done,  as  suddenly  thy  head  cut  off. 
And  corpse  interred,  upon  thy  grave  I'll  build 
A  room  of  eight  feet  square,  in  which  this  lady, 
For  punishment  of  her  cruelty,  shall  die 
An  anchoress. 

Leo?i.  I  do  repent,  and  rather 
Will  marry  him,  and  forgive  him. 

Clarin.  Bind  her  to 
Her  word,  great  sir;  Montrose  lives  ;  this  a  plot 
To  catch  this  obstinate  lady. 

Leo)i.  I  am  glad 
To  be  so  cheated. 

Mont,  [rises from  the  bier.]     -     -     -     lady, 
-     -     -     -     -     -     deceived ;  do  not  repent 

Your  good  opinion  of  me  when  thought  dead. 
Nor  let  not  my  neglect  to  wait  upon  3^ou, 
Considering  what  a  business  of  import 
Piverted  me,  be  thought  unpardonable. 

Bell.  For  my  part  'tis  forgiven ;  and  thus  I  seaf 

Char.  Nor  are  we  averse 
To  your  desires ;  may  you  live  long,  and  happy  I 

Nov.  Mercy  to  us,  great  sir. 

Pei^i.  We  Mill  become 
Chaste  and  reform'd  men. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE.      325 

Cham,  and  Din.  We  both  are  suitors, 
On  this  submission,  for  your  pardon,  sir. 

Char.  Which  we  in  part  will  grant :  but,  to  deter 
Others,  by  their  example,  from  pursuing 
Unlawful  lusts,  that  think  adultery 
A  sport  to  be  oft  practised ;  fix  on  them 
Two  satyrs'  heads ;  and  so,  in  capital  letters 
Their  foul  intents  writ  on  their  breasts,  we'll 

have  them 
Led  thrice  througli  Paris ;  then,  at  the  court  gate. 
To   stand  three  hours,  where  Clarindore  shall 

make 
His  recantation  for  the  injury 
Done  to  the  lady  Bellisant ;  and  read 
A  sharp  invective,  ending  with  a  curse 
Against  all  such  as  boast  of  ladies'  favours : 
Which  done,  both  truly  penitent,  my  doctor 
Shall  use  his  best  art  to  restore  your  strength, 
And  render  Perigot  a  perfect  man.-— — 
So  break  we  up  Love's  Parliament,  which,  we 

hope, 
Being  for  mirth  intended^  shall  not  meet  with 
An  HI  construction  ;  and  if  then,  fair  ladies^ 
You  please  to  apprcoe  it,  we  hope  you'll  invite 
Your  friends  to  see  it  often,  with  delight. 

[Exeunt^ 

'fair  ladies,}  After  tins,  the 


manuscript  adds,  "  and  gracious  sp';ctators,"  which,  as  a  foolish 
interpolation,  I  have  dropped. 

*  This  is  a  beautiful  fragment,  and  is  every  where  strongly 
marked  with  Massingcr's  manner;  the  same  natural  flow  of 
poetry,  the  same  unforced  structure  of  his  lines,  and  easy  fall  of 
period;  the  same  fond  use  of  mythology;  and,  what  is  more 
convincing  than  all  the  rest,  the  same  intimate  and  habitual 
reference  to  his  own  thoughts  and  expressions  elsewhere.  I  wish 
it  could  be  added  that  there  are  no  marks  of  licentiousness : 
the  only  consolation  for  the  uneasiness  occasioned  by  it  is, 
that  proper  punishments  are  at  last  inflicted  on  the  offenders ; 

VOL.  II.       .  *  Z 


3-26      THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

and  wc  hail  the  moral,  which  aims  at  the  suppression  of  ^^  un- 
lawful lusts." 

As  to  the  history  connected  with  it,  it  is  very  slender ; 
Charles  talks  of  his  conquests  in  Italy;  but  his  chief  business 
is  to  decree  the  "  Parliament  of  Loye,"  After  this  be  disap- 
pears, and  various  gallantries  take  place,  which  are  only  meant 
to  create  employment  for  the  court,  and  are  adjudged  by  hira 
in  the  last  act. 

The  principal  point  of  curiosity  is  the  chivalrous  institution 
of  courts,  where  '*  disdained  lovers"  and  "  wronged  ladies" 
Blight  seek  redress  of  amorous  grievances.  And  this  is  already 
enquired  into  by  the  Editor. 

The  characters  are  lively  and  amusing ;  but  in  Montrose  it 
seems  to  have  been  Massinger's  intention  to  describe  the  united 
force  of  love  and  friendship.  He  is  both  lofty  and  tender,  and 
possesses  a  sort  of  unconscious  greatness,  which  shews  itself  in 
disinterested  and  magnanimous  actions  rather  than  in  words. 
We  tremble  for  him  in  the  conversation  preceding  the  combat 
•with  Cleremond,  and  are  at  length  made  happy  with  the  suc- 
cess of  the  device  whicli  induces  the  reluctant  Bellisant  to  con- 
fcH  her  lore. 


THE 

ROMAN  ACTOR 


f 


♦  Z2 


iTnE  Roman  Actor.]  This  Tragedy  was  licensed  by  Sir  II. 
Herbert,  October  11th,  1626,  and  given  to  the  press  in  1629. 

The  plot  is  founded  on  the  life  of  Domitian,  as  recorded  by 
Suetonius,  Dio,  and  others.  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason  say 
that  the  poet  has  been  very  true  to  history  ;  but  they  say  it,  as 
usual,-  without  knowledge:  ho  has,  as  in  the  Duke  of  Milan ^ 
adopted  a  few  leading  circumstances,  and  had  recourse  to  hi* 
invention  for  the  rest. 

This  Play  was  successful  in  the  representation  ;  and  appears  to 
hare  been  well  received  by  the  critics  of  those  times,  since  it  is 
preceded  by  commendatory  copies  of  verses  from  Ford,  Harvey, 
May,  Taylor,  and  others.  Taylor,  an  admirable  actor,  who 
played  the  part  of  Paris,  calls  it  "  the  best  of  many  good  ;"  and 
Massinger  himself  dzclares,  that  "  he  ever  held  it  as  the  most 
perfect  birth  of  his  Minerva."*  The  judgment  of  an  author  is 
not  always  io  be  taken  upon  his  own  works.  He  has  his  par- 
tialities and  his  prejudices,  and,  like  other  parents,  sees  beauties 
which  are  not  immediately  apparent  to  an  indifferent  spectator. 
The  Roman  Actor,  though  a  very  excellent  piece,  will  scarcely 
be  ranked  at  this  day  above  the  Unnatural  Combat^  the  Duke  of 
Milan,  or  the  Bondman. 

This  Tragedy  was  revived  by  Bettcrton,  who  took  for  himself 
the  part  of  Paris,  in  which  he  was  highly  celebrated.  It  was 
again  brought  on  the  stage,  with  a  few  trifling  alterations,  in 
1722,  but  I  know  not  with  what  success.  The  old  title  page 
says,  that  it  had  been  "  divers  times  acted,  with  good  allowance, 
at  the  private  Play-house  in  the  Black  Friars,  by  the  King's 
Majesty's  servants." 

*  Too  much  stress  has  Ijeen  laid  on  this  expression  ;  it  is  proper,  in  adverting 
to  it,  to  c»siUcr  how  few  dramatic  pieces  Massinger  had  produced,  when  it  was 
uied. 


TO 

My  much  honoured  and  most  true  Friends, 

Sir  PHILLIP  KNYVET,  Knt.  and  Bart. 

AND  TO 

Sir  THOMAS  JEAY.  Knt. 
THOMAS    BELLINGHAM, 

OF  NEWTIMBER,  IN  SUSSEX,  ESQ. 

JTlOW  much  1  acknowledge  myself  hound  for  your  so  many* 
and  extraordinary  favours  conferred  upon  me,  as  far  as  it 
is  in  my  power,  posterity  shall  take  notice:  I  were  most 
unworthy  of  such  noble  friends,  if  I  should  not,  with  all 
thankfulness,  profess  and  own  them.  In  the  composition  of 
this  Tragedy  you  were  my  only  supporters,  and  it  being  now 
by  your  principal  encouragement  to  be  turned  into  the  world, 
it  cannot  walk  safer  than  uttder your  protection.  It  hath 
been  happy  in  the  [suffrage  of  some  learned  and  judicious 
gentlemen  when  it  was  presented,  nor  shall  they  find  cause,  I 
hope,  in  the  perusal,  to  repent  them  of  their  good  opinion  of 
it.  If  the  gravity  and  height  of  the  subject  distaste  such  as 
are  only  ajffected  with  jigs  and  ribaldry,  (as  I  presume  it 
will,)  their  condemnation  of  me  and  my  poem,  can  no  way 
offend  me :  my  reason  teaching  me,  such  malicious  and  igno- 
rant detractors  deserve  rather  contempt  than  satisfaction.  I 
ever  held  it  the  most  perfect  birth  of  my  Minerva ;  and 
therefore  in  justice  of er  it  to  those  that  have  best  deserved  of 
me  ;  who,  1  hope,  in  their  courteous  acceptance  will  render 
it  worth  their  receiving,  and  ever,  in  their  gentle  construction 
of  my  imperfections,  believe  they  may  at  their  pleasure  dispose 
of  him,  that  is  wholly  and  sincerely 

devoted  to  their  service, 

PHILIP  MJSSINGEB,. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiE.      ACTORS'  NAMES. 

Domitiaiius  Caesar,  J.  Lowin.* 

Paris,  the  roman  actor,  J.  Taylor. 

JElius  Lamia,         -n  T.  Pollard.    ' 

Junius  Rusticus,    (  „.„^..^»  ^oh.  Benfield. 

Palphurius  Sura,    l''''''^''^'^  W.  Patiicke. 
Fulcinius,               ^ 

Partbenius,  C^s^ifsfreedman.  R.  Sharpe. 

Aretiiius,  Caesar's  spy^  E.  Swaiistone, 
Stephanos,t  Domitilla'syreet/w^w. 

JEsopus,      l^/^..^^,  R.Robinson. 

Latinus,      jP^'^y^'^'*^  C.  GreviUe. 

Philargus,  a  rich  miser  i  father  to 

Partbenius,  A.  Smith. 
Ascletario,  an  astrologer. 

EntdTu's,  \oonmrators,  ^iZo^^Ti^ 

Domitia,  wife  qflEAms  Lamia,      J.  Tompson. 
Dcmitilla,  cousin-german  /o Caesar,  J .  Hunnieman* 
Julia,  daughter  o/' Titus,  W.  Trigge. 

Caenis,  Vespasian's  concubine,         A.  Gough. 
A  Lady. 

fribunesy  Lictors,  Centurions,  Soldiers,  Hangmen, 
Servants,  Captives* 

SCENE,  Rome. 


•  John  Lowi/ty  &c.]  All  that  is  known  of  this  excellent  actor 
(as  well  as  of  most  of  those  who  follow)  is  collected  with  great 
care  by  Mr.  Maloiie,  and  inserted  in  his  Historical  View  of  the 
English  Stage ;  to  which  I  refer  the  reader. 

+  Stephanos.']  So  Massinger  spells  his  name ;  it  should,  how- 
CTcr,  be  Stephanos. 

\  George  Vernon  and  James  Home  have  no  characters 
assigned  tkem  in  the  list  of  persons  presented  ;  probably  they 
played  Sejeias  and  Entellus,  whose  names  have  not  hitherto 
been  given  among  the  dramatis  personae;  though  they  appeal^ 
iu  the  second  scene  of  the  l^st  act, 


THE 
ROMAN    ACTOR. 


A  C  T  I.    S  C  E  N  E   I. 

The  Theatre. 
JSnier  "Paris,  Lati^vSj  and  MsoFus, 

JEsop.  What  do  we  act  to  clay  ? 

Lat.  Agave's  frenzy, 
With  Pentheus'  bloody  end. 

Par,  It  skills  not  what  ;* 
The  times  are  didl,  and  all  that  we  receive 
Will  hardly  satisfy  the  day's  expense. 
The  Greeks,  to  whom  we  owe  the  first  invention 
Both  of  the  buskin'd  scene,  and  humble  sock, 
'That  reign  in  every  noble  family, 
Declaim  against  us  :  and  our  theatre," 

*  Par.  It  skills  not]  i.  e.  matters  not.     So  in  the  Custom  of 

the  Countrj/  : 

*' Some  pursue 

*'  The  murderer  ;  yet  if  he  scape,  it  skills  not ; 
*'  Were  I  a  prince,  I  would  reward  him  for't." 

* and  our  theatre, 

Great  Pompey's  work,  &c.]  The  old  copy  reads  ampMlhcatrrf 
for  which  I  haTC  taken  the  liberty  to  substitute  theatre.  Mas. 
singer  could  not  be  ignorant  that  the  former  was  not  "  the  work 
of  Pompey ;''  nor  that  a  building  appropriated  solely  to  com. 
bats  of  gladiators,  wild  beasts,  &c.  was  not  properly  adapted  to 
the  scenical  exhibitions  of  Paris  and  his  associates.    Not  to 


332         THE   ROMAN  ACTOR. 

Great  Ponipey's  work,  that  hath  given  full  delight 
Both  to  the  eye  afid  ear  of  fifty  thousand 
Spectators  in  one  day,  as  if  it  were 
Some  unknown  desart,  or  great  Rome  unpeopled, 
Is  quite  forsaken. 

Lat.  Pleasures  of  worse  natures 
Are  gladly  entertained  ;  and  they  that  shun  us, 
Practise,  in  private,  sports  the  stews  would  blush 

at. 
A  litter  born  by  eight  Liburnian  slaves, 
To  buy  diseases  from  a  glorious  strumpet, 
The  most  censorious  of  our  Roman  gentry, 
Nay,  of  the  garded  robe,'  the  senators, 
Esteem  an  easy  purchase. 

Par.  Yet  grudge  us,* 
That  with  delight  join  profit,  and  endeavour 
To  build  their  minds  up  fair,  and  on  the  stage 
Decipher  to  the  life  what  honours  wait 
On  good  and  glorious  actions,  and  the  shame 

insist  that  the  icork  for  which  Pompey  was  so  celebrated,  was  a 
theatre,  (as  we  learn  from  Tacitus  and  others,)  I  would  just  ob- 
serve, that  the  redundancy  of  the  old  reading  furnishes  no  slight 
proof  that  the  confusion  of  terms  did  not  arise  from  the  poet, 
but  his  transcriber. 

What  Massinger  says  of  the  theatre,  is  applied  by  Addison, 
in  his  letter  from  Rome,  to  the  Coliseo  : — 

**  ■ which  nnpeopled  Rome, 

*'  And  held  uncrowded  nations  in  its  womb." 

'  Nay  of  the  garded  robe,']  i.  e.  the  laced  or  bordered  robe. 
—The  Laticlaxus.     M.  Mason. 
•♦  Paris.  Yet  grudge  us, 

That  with  delight  join  profit,  &c.]  Paris  here  applies,  plea- 
santly enough  to  himself,  what  was  said  of  a  very  different 
character : 

Hos  inter  sumptus,  sestertia  QuintilianOf 
Ut  tnultum,  duo  suj^cient. 

On  the  whole,  it  is  amusing  to  hear  him  and  his  associates  talk 
iu  the  high  moral  strain  of  Seneca  and  Juvenal, 


THE   ROMAN  ACTOR.  333 

That  treads  upon  the  heels  of  vice,  the  salary 
Of  six  sestertii. 

JEsop.  For  the  profit,  Paris, 
And  mercenary  gain,  they  are  things  beneath  us ; 
Since,  while  you  hold  your  grace  and  power  with 

Caesar, 
We,  from  your  bounty,  find  a  large  supply, 
Korean  one  thought  of  want  ever  approach  us. 

Pa?\  Our  aim  is  glory,  and  to  leave  our  names 
To  aftertime. 

Lat.  And,  would  they  give  us  leave, 
There  ends  all  our  ambition. 

JEsop.  We  have  enemies. 
And  great  ones  too,  I  fear.    'Tis  given  out  lately. 
The  consul  Aretinus,  Cesar's  spy. 
Said  at  his  table,  ere  a  month  expired, 
For  being  gall'd  in  our  last  comedy. 
He'd  silence  us  for  ever. 

Par.  I  expect 
No  favour  fl'om  him  ;  my  strong  Aventine"  is, 
That  great  Domitian,  whom  we  oft  have  cheer  d 
In  his  most  sullen  moods,  will  once  return. 
Who  can  repair,  with  ease,  the  consul's  ruins, 

Lat.  Tis  frequent  in  the  city,'  he  hath  sub- 
dued 
The  Catti  and  the  Daci,  and,  ere  long, 
The  second  time  will  enter  Rome  in  triumph. 

' my  strong  Aventine]  i.  e.  my 

security,  my  defence.  The  Aventine  was  a  post  of  great 
strength.  It  is  used  in  the  same  metaphorical  sense  by  others 
of  our  old  dramatists.    Thus  Fletcher: 


Ferrand's  fled, 


*'  And  with  small  strength,  into  the  castle's  tower, 
"  The  only  Aventine  that  now  is  left  him." 

2'Ae  Double  Marriage. 

*  Lat.  'Tis frequent  in  the  citi/f\    A  Latinism  j   'tis  common, 
currently  reported,  &c. 


554.         THE   ROMAN  ACTOR. 


Enter  two  Lictors. 

Par.  Jove  hasten  it  ?  With  us  ? — I  now  believe 
The  consul's  threats,  ^sopus. 

1  Lict.  You  are  summon'd 
To  appear  to  clay  in  senate. 

2  Lict.  And  there  to  answer 
What  shall  be  urged  against  you. 

Par.  We  obey  you. 
Nay,droop  not,  fellows;  innocence  should  be  bold. 
We,  that  have  personated  in  the  scene 
The  ancient  heroes,  and  the  falls  of  princes. 
With  loud  applause  ;  being  to  act  ourselves. 
Must  do  it  with  undaunted  confidence. 
Whate'er  our  sentence  be,  think  'tis  in  sport : 
And,  though  condemn'd,  let's  hear  it  without 

sorrow. 
As  if  we  were  to  live  again  to  morrow,' 

1  Lict.  'Tis  spoken  like  yourself. 

E}2ter  jElius  Lamia,  Junius  Rusticus,  ajul 
Palphurius  Sura. 

Zam.  Whither  goes  Paris? 

1  Lict.  He's  cited  to  the  senate. 

Lat.  I  am  glad  the  state  is 
So  free  from  matters  of  more  v/eight  and  troubtcj^ 
That  it  has  vacant  time  to  look  on  us^ 

.  .a 

7  ^s  if  tee  were  to  live  again  to  morrow.^  This  line  is  wholly 
oinittedby  Mr.  M.  Mason  !  To  aculpable  negligence,  this  "  moil 
accurate  of  editors"  joins  a  gross  ignorance  of  history.  He  rcads^ 
just  below,  Enter  JElius^  Lamia,  Junius  Rusticus,  Palphurius,  and 
Sura  !  He  has  not  oven  the  excuse  of  being  misled  by  Coxeter 
here,  for  the  copulative  between  Palphurius  and  Sura  is  bii  owft 
i^igeuious  additioA.  ■  ■>'^ 


THE'  ROMAN   ACTOR.  535 

Par.  Tliat  reverend  place,  in  which  the  affairs 
of  kings 
And  provinces  were  determined,  to  descend 
To  the  censure  of  a  hitter  word,  or  jest, 
Dropp'd  from  a  poet's  pen !  Peace  to  your  lordships  I 
We  are  glad  that  you  are  safe. 

[Exeunt  Lictors,  Paris,  LatinuSy  and  JEsopus^ 

Lam.  What  times  are  these  ! 
To  what  's  Rome  fallen  !  may  we,  being  alone, 
Speak  our  thoughts  freely  of  the  prince  and  state. 
And  not  fear  the  informer? 

Rust,  Noble  Lamia, 
So  dangerous  the  age  is,  and  such  bad  acts 
Are  practised  every  where,  we  hardly  sleep, 
Nay,  cannot  dream  with  safety.'    All  our  actions 
Are  call'd  in  question  ;  to  be  nobly  born 
Is  now  a  crime ;  and  to  deserve  too  well. 
Held  capital  treason.    Sons  accuse  their  fathers, 
Fathers  their  sons  ;  and,  but  to  win  a  smile 
From  one  in  grace  at  court,  our  chastest  matrons*' 
Make  shipwreck  of  their  honours.  To  be  virtuous 
Is  to  be  guilty.    They  are  only  safe 
That  know  to  sooth  the  prince's  appetite, 
And  serve  his  lusts. 

Sut^a.  'Tis  true  ;    and  'tis  my  wonder, 
That  two  sons  of  so  different  a  nature 
Should  spring  from  good  Vespasian*    We  had  a, 

Titus, 
Styl'd,  justly,  "  the  Delight  of  all  Mankind," 
Who  did  esteem  that  day  lost  in  his  life. 
In  which  some  one  or  other  tasted  not 
Of  his  magnificent  bounties.    One  that  had 
A  ready  tear,  when  he  was  forced  to  sign 
The  death  of  an  offender  :  and  so  far 

^  In  this  speech,  as  well  as  in  some  of  those  that  follow, 
Massinger  had  Sejanus  in  ricw.  He  frequently  treads  very 
plosely  on  Jonson's  hceli. 


336  THE   ROMAN   ACTOR. 

From  pride,  that  he  disdain'd  not  the  converse 
Even  of  the  poorest  Roman. 

Lam.  Yet  his  brother, 
Domitian,  that  now  sways  the  power  of  things,' 
Is  so  inclined  to  blood,  that  no  day  passes 
In  which  some  are  not  fasten'd  to  tlie  hook, 
Or  thrown  down  from  theGemonies.*  Hisfreedmen 
Scorn  the  nobility,  and  he  himself. 
As  if  he  were  not  made  of  flesh  and  blood. 
Forgets  he  is  a  man. 

Rust.  In  his  young  years, 
He  shew'd  what  he  would  be  when  grown  to 

ripeness : 
His  greatest  pleasure  was,  being  a  child, 
With  a  sharp-pointed  bodkin  to  kill  flies, 
Whose  rooms  now  men  supply.    For  his  escape 
In  the  Vitellian  war,  he  raised  a  temple 
To  Jupiter,  and  proudly  placed  his  figure 
In  the  bosom  of  the  god  :  and,  in  his  edicts, 
He  does  not  blush,  or  start,  to  style  himself 

9  Domitian,  that  now  swa^s  the  power  of  things,]  A  Latinisra 
—that  now  sways  the  world,  rervm  potestas. 

'  Or  thrown  down  from  the  Geraonies.]  For  this  pure  and 
classical  expression,  the  modern  editors  have  foolishly  substi^ 
tuted. 

Or  thrmonfrom  the  Tarpeian  rock  ! 

I  say  foolishly,  because,  from  their  impertinent  alteration,  they 
appear  to  take  the  fastening  to  the  hook,  and  the  throwing  from 
the  Gemonies  to  be  modes  of  execution :  whereas  they  were 
expressions  of  indignity  to  the  sufferer  after  death.  The  Ge- 
monies {Scalce  GemoniceJ  were  abrupt  and  rugged  precipices  on 
the  Afentine,  where  the  bodies  of  state  criminals  were  flung, 
and  whence,  after  they  had  been  exposed  to  the  insults  of  the 
rabble,  they  were  dragged  to  the  Tiber,  which  flowed  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill. 

I  have  already  obscrrcd,  that  Massinger  is  only  known  to 
those  who  read  him  in  the  old  editions,  and  every  page,  and 
every  line  of  Coxctcr  and  Mr.  M.  Mason,  support  and  confirm 
the  observation. 


THE   ROMAN   ACTQR.  337 

(As  if  the  name  of  emperor  were  base) 
Great  Lord  and  God  I/omitian. 

Sui^a.  I  have  letters 
He's  on  his  way  to  Rome,  and  purposes 
To  enter  with  ail  glory.     The  flattering  senate 
Decrees  him  divine  honours  ;  and  to  cross  it, 
"Were  death  with  studied  torments  : — formypart,*- 
I  will  obey  the  time  ;  it  is  in  vain 
To  strive  against  the  torrent. 

Rust.  Let's  to  the  curia, 
And,  though  unwillingly,  give  our  suffrages, 
Before  we  are  compell'd. 

Lam.  And  since  we  cannot 
AVith  safety  use  the  active,  let's  make  use  of 
The  passive  fortitude,  with  this  assurance, 
That  the  state,  sick  in  hini,  the  gods  to  friend,' 
Though  at  the  worst,  will  now  begin  to  mend. 

[Kveunt. 


for  my  party 


J  Villi  obey  the  time  ;  it  is  in  vain 

To  strive  against  the  torrent.']  Massinger  has  confounded  th$ 
character  of  Sura  with  that  of  Crispus.  It  is  needless,  however, 
to  dwell  on  such  inaccuracies,  since  none  will  consult  the  dra- 
matic poet  for  the  true  characters  of  those  eventful  times.  la 
the  preceding  speech,  he  represents  Domitian  as  delighting 
*'  to  kill  flies  in  his  childhood."  This  is  directly  in  the  face  of 
history.  Suetonius  says  that  he  began  his  reign  with  killing  flics. 
His  childhood  was  sufficiently  innocent. 

»    . .  the  gods  to  friend,]  i,  e.  <rv»  Ssok,  with  the 

protection  of  heaven  :  a  very  common  expression  in  our  old 
poets.    Thus  Spenser : 

*'  So  forward  on  his  way,  with  God  tofriendf 
''  He  passed  forth-—— 


538    THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

SCENE  11. 

A  Room  in  Lamia's  House ^ 
Enter  Domitia  and  Parthenius. 

Dom,  To  me  this  reverence  1 

Parlh.  1  pay  it,  lady, 
As  a  debt  due  to  her  that's  Cesar's  mistress : 
For  understand  with  joy,  he  that  commands 
All  that  the  sun  gives  ^-armth  to,  is  your  servant; 
Be  not  amazed,  but  fit  you  to  your  fortunes. 
Think  upon  state  and  greatness,  and  the  honours 
That  wait  upon  Augusta,  for  that  name, 
Erelong,  comes  to  you: — still  you  doubt  your 
vassal —  [Presents  a  letter. 

Rut,  when  you've  read  this  letter,  writ  and  sign'd 
With  his  imperial  hand,  you  will  be  freed 
From  fear  and  jealousy  ;  and,  I  beseech  you, 
When  all  the  beauties  of  the  earth  bow  to  you, 
And  senators  shall  take  it  for  an  honour. 
As  I  do  now,  to  kiss  these  happy  feet;      [^Kneels* 
When  every  smile  you  give  is  a  preferment. 
And  you  dispose  of  provinces  to  your  creatures. 
Think  on  Parthenius. 
'    Dom.  Rise.     I  am  transported, 
And  haVdly  dare  believe  what  is  assured  here. 
The  means,  my  good  Parthenius,  that  wrought 

Cassar, 
Our  god  on  earth,  to  cast  an  eye  of  favour 
Upon  his  humble  handmaid  ? 
I     Parth,  What,  but  your  beauty? 
When  naturc^ramed  you  for  her  masterpiece. 
As  the  pure  abstract  of  all  rare  in  woman, 
She  had  no  other  ends  but  to  design  y^m 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  359 

To  the  most  eminent  place.    I  will  not  say 
(For  it  would  smell  of  arrogance,  to  insinuate 
The  service  I  have  done  you)  with  what  zeal 
I  oft  have  made  relation  of  your  virtues, 
Or  how  I've  sung  your  goodness,  or  how  Caesar 
Was  fired  with  the  relation  of  your  story: 
I  am  rewarded  in  the  act,  and  happy 
In  that  my  project  prosper'd. 

Dom.  You  are  modest ; 
And  were  it  in  my  power,  I  would  be  thankful. 
If  that,  when  I  was  mistress  of  myself, 
And,  in  my  way  of  youth,  pure  and  untainted,* 
The  emperor  had  vouchsafed  to  seek  my  favours, 
I  had  with  joy  given  up  my  virgin  fort, 
At  the  first  summons,  to  his  soft  embraces  : 
But  I  am  now  another's,  not  mine  own. 
You  know  I  have  a  husband : — for  my  honour, 
I  would  not  be  his  strumpet;  and  how  law 
Can  be  dispensed  with  to  become  his  wife, 
To  me's  a  riddle. 

Parth.  I  can  soon  resolve  it: 
When  power  puts  in  his  plea  the  laws  are  silenced. 
The  world  confesses  one  Rome,  and  one  Caesar, 
And  as  his  rule  is  infinite,  his  pleasures 
Are  unconfined  ;  this  syllable,  his  will^ 
Stands  for  a  thousand  reasons. 

Dom.  But  with  safety, 
Suppose  I  should  consent,  how  can  I  do  it? 
My  husband  is  a  senator,  of  a  temper 
Not  to  be  jested  with. 

E72ter  Lamia^ 

PflrM.  As  if  he  durst 

♦  And  in  my  way  of  youth,  pure  and  untainted^y  S^q  a  Fery, 
IF  man.  Vol.  IV. 


310-        THE   ROMAN  ACTOR. 

Be  Caesar's  rival j — here  he  comes;  with  ease 
I  will  remove  this  scruple. 

Lam.  How  !  so  private  ! 
My  own  house  made  a  brothel !    \Aside7\ — Sir, 

how  durst  you, 
Though  guarded  with  your  power  in  court,  and 

greatness, 
Hold  conference  with  my  wife?  As  foryou,  minion, 
I  shall  hereafter  treat 

Parth.  You  are  rude  and  saucy. 
Nor  know  to  whom  you  speak. 

Lam.  This  is  fine,  i'faith  1 
Is  she  not  my  wife? 

Farth.  Your  wife  !  But  touch  her,  that  respect 
forgotten 
That's  due  to  lier  whom  mightiest  Caesar  favours. 
And  think  what  'tis  to  die.    Not  to  lose  time, 
She's  Csesar's  choice  r  it  is  sufficient  honour 
You  were  his  taster  in  this  heavenly  nectar; 
But  now  must  quit  the  office. 

Lam.  This  is  rare  ! 
Cannot  a  man  be  master  of  his  wife  W 

Because  she's  young  and  fair,  without  a  patent  35' 
I  in  my  own  house  am  an  emperor,  A. 

.  And  will  defend  what's  mine.    Where  are  my 
knaves  ? 
If  such  an  insolence  escape  unpunlsh'd 

Parth.   In  yourself,  Lamia,— Caesar  hath  forgot 
To  use  his  power,  and  I,  his  instrument, 
In  whom,  though  absent,  his  authority  speaks, 
dHave  lost  my  faculties  I  [Stamps, 

Enter  a  Centurion  with  Soldiers, 

Lam.  The  guard  !  why,  an\  I 
Design'd  for  death?  ....  ♦ 


■  f^ 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.         341 

Dom.  As  you  desire  my  favour, 
Take  not  so  rough  a  course. 

Parth.  All  your  desires 
Are  absolute  conimancls:    Yet  give  me  leave 
To  put  the  will  of  Ctesar  into  act. 
Here's  a  bill  of  divorce  between  your  lordship 
And  this  great  lady  :  if  yo:j  refuse  to  sign  it, 
And  so  as  if  you  did  it  uncompelfd, 
Won  to't  by  reasons  that  concern  yourself, 
Her  honour  too  untainted,  here  are  clerks, 
Shall  in  your  best  blood  write  it  new,  till  torture 
Compel  you  to  perform  it. 

Lam.  Is  this  legal?* 

Parth.  Monarchs  that  dare  not  do  unlav/ful 
things,  » 

Yet  bear  them  out,  are  constables,  not  kings. 
Will  you  dispute  ? 

Lam.  I  know  not  what  to  urge 
Against  myself,  but  too  much  dotage  on  her, 
Love,  and  observance. 

Parth.  Set  it  under  your  hand. 
That  you  are  impotent,  and  cannot  pay 

*  Lara.  Is  this  legal? 

Parth.  Monarchs,  that  dare  not  do  unlawful  things,']  In  Coxeter 
and  Mr.  M.  Mason's  editions  these  lines  are  thus  printed  : 

Lam.  Is  this  legal? 

New  works  that  dare  not,  S^c. 

On  which  the  latter  says :  '*  I  considered  this  passage  for  som« 
time  as  irretrievable,  for  there  is  a  mistake  not  only  in  the 
words,  but  in  the  person  also  to  whom  they  are  attributed ;" 
and  he  proceeds  with  great  earnestness  and  grarity  to  rectify 
the  mistake.  All  this  "  consideration"  might  have  been  saved 
by  a  glance  at  the  old  copies,  which  read  precisely  as  I  have 
given  it.  True  it  is,  that  Coxeter  found  the  nonsense  which 
they  have  printed,  in  the  quarto;  but  the  error  seems  to  havo 
been  quickly  discovered  and  removed,  since  it  occurs  but  in 
one  of  the  numerous  copies  which  [  have  had  occasion  to  con^ 
suit. 

VOL.  II.  *  Aa 


342         THE   ROMAN  ACTOR. 

The  duties  of  a  husband ;  or,  that  you  are  mad  ; 
Rather  than  want  just  cause,  we'll  make  you  so. 
Dispatch,  you  know  the  danger  else  ; — deliver  it, 
Nay,  on  your  knee.— Madam,  you  now  are  free, 
And  mistress  of  yourself. 

Lam.  Can  you,  Domitia, 
Consent  to  this  ? 

Dom.  'T would  argue  a  base  mind 
To  live  a  servant,  when  I  may  command. 
I  now  am  Caesar's  :  and  yet,  in  respect        ?  -soii 
I  once  was  yours,  when  you  come  to  the  palkce, 
Provided  you  deserve  it  in  your  service. 
You  shall  find  me  your  good  mistress.'^  Wait  me, 

Parthenius ; 
And  now  farewell,  poor  Lamia  ! 

[E^veunt  all  but  Lamia. 

Lam.  To  the  gods 
I  bend  my  knees,  (for  tyranny  hath  banish'd 
Justice  from  men,)  and  as  they  would  deserve 
Their  altars,  and  our  vows,  humbly  invoke  them, 
That  this  my  ravish'd  wife  may  prove  as  fatal 
To  proud  Domitian,  and  her  embraces 
Afford  him,  in  the  end,  as  little  joy 
As  wanton  Helen  brought  to  him  of  Troy !  [E^vit, 

*  You  shall  jind  me  your  good  mistress.]  That  is,  your  patrO' 
ness.  This  was  the  language  of  the  times,  and  is  frequently- 
found  in  our  old  writers:  it  occurs  again  in  the  dedication  to 
the  Emperor  of  the  East, 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  315 

SCENE  III.      . 

The  Curia  or  Senate-house, 

Enter  lActoTs,  Aretinus,  Fulctnius,  Rusticus, 
Sura,  Paris,  Latinus,  «w^yEsopus. 

Aret.  Fathers  conscript/  may  this  our  meeting 
be 
Happy  to  Csesar  and  the  commonwealth  1 

Lict.  Silence  ! 

Aret.  The  purpose  of  this  frequent  senate 
Is,  first,  to  give  thanks  to  the  gods  of  Rome, 
That,  for  the  propagation  of  the  empire. 
Vouchsafe  us  one  to  govern  it,  like  themselves. 
In  height  of  courage,  depth  of  understanding, 
And  all  those  virtues,  and  remarkable  graces, 
Which  make  a  prince  most  eminent,  our  Domitian 
Transcends  the  ancient  Romans  :  I  can  never 
Bring  his  praise  to  a  period.     What  good  man, 
That  is  a  friend  to  truth,  dares  make  it  doubtful. 
That  he  hath  Fabius'  staidness,  and  the  courage 
Of  bold  Marcellus,  to  whom  Hannibal  gave 
The  style  of  Target,  and  the  Sword  of  Rome?; 
But  he  has  more,  and  every  touch  more  Roman; 
As  Pompey's  dignity,  Augustus'  state, 
Antony's  bounty,  and  great  Julius'  fortune, 
With  Cato's  resolution.     I  am  lost 
In  the  ocean  of  his  virtues  :  in  a  word. 
All  excellencies  of  good  men  meet  in  him, 
But  no  part  of  their  vices. 

7  Aret.  Fathers  conscript,  &c.]  The  customary  form  of 
.opening  the  debate :  it  occurs  in  Jonson's  Catiluic.  Frequent 
senate,  which  is  found  in  the  next  speech,  is  a  L^tinism  for  a  full 
bouse. 

♦  Aa2 


344  THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

Rust,  This  is  no  flattery! 

Sura.     Take  heed,  you'll  be  observed. 

Aret.  'Tis  then  most  fit 
That  we,  (as  to  the  father  of  our  country,' 
Like   thankful  sons,   stand   bound   to  pay   true 

service 
For  all  those  blessings  that  he  showers  upon  us,) 
Should  not  connive,  and  see  his  government 
Depraved  and  scandalized  by  meaner  men, 
That  to  his  favour  and  indulgence  owe 
Themselves  and  being. 

Par,  Now  he  points  at  us. 

Aret.  Cite  Paris,  the  tragedian. 

Par.  Plere. 

Aret.  Stand  forth. 
In  thee,  as  being  the  chief  of  thy  profession, 
I  do  accuse  the  quality  of  treason,' 
As  libellers  against  the  state  and  Caesar. 

Par.    Mere   accusations  are   not   proofs,   my 
lord ; 
In  what  are  we  delinquents? 

Aret.  You  are  they 
That  search  into  the  secrets  of  the  time, 
And,  under  feign'd  names,  on  the  stage,  present 
Actfons  not  to  be  touch'd  at ;  and  traduce 
Persons  of  rank  and  quality  of  both  sexes, 
And,  with  satirical,  and  bitter  jests, 
Make  even  the  senators  ridiculous 
To  the  plebeians. 

'  That  tee,  (as  to  the  father  &c.]  We  should  certainly  read 
kAo  instead  of  as.     M.Mason. 

There  is  an  ellipsis  of  -wh*  :  but  the  text  is  right. 

9  In  thce^  as  being  the  chief  of  thy  profession, 

I  do  accuse  the  quality  of  treason.]  Quality.,  though  used  in  a 
general  sense  for  any  occupation,  calling,  or  condition  of  life, 
yet  seems  more  peculiarly  appropriated,  by  our  old  writerSj  to 
that  of. a  player.    ^q&  the  Picture  ;  y o\.  l\L 


THE   ROMAN   ACTOR.        345 

Par.  If  I  free  not  myself, 
And,  in  myself,  the  rest  of  my  profession, 
From  these  false  fmputations,  and  prove 
That  they  make  that  a  libel  which  the  poet 
Writ  for  a  comedy,  so  acted  too  ; 
It  is  but  justice  that  we  undergo 
The  heaviest  censure. 

Aret.  Are  you  on  the  stage, 
You  talk  so  boldly  ? 

Par.  The  whole  world  being  one, 
This  place  is  not  exempted  ;  and  I  am 
So  confident  in  the  justice  of  our  cause. 
That  I  could  wish  C'jesar,  in  whose  great  name 
All  kings  are  comprehended,  sat  as  judge. 
To  hear  our  plea,  and  then  determine  of  us, — 
If,  to  express  a  man  sold  to  his  lusts. 
Wasting  the  treasure  of  his  time  and  fortunes 
In  wanton  dalliance,  and  to  what  sad  end 
A  wretch  that's  so  given  over  does  arrive  at; 
Deterring  careless  youth,  by  his  example. 
From  such  licentious  courses  ;  laying  open 
The  snares  of  bawds,  and  the  consuming  arts 
Of  prodigal  strumpets,  can  deserve  reproof; 
Why  are  not  all  your  golden  principles. 
Writ  down  by  grave  philosophers  to  instruct  us 
To  choose  fair  virtue  for  our  guide,  not  pleasure, 
Condemn'd  unto  the  fire  ? 

Sura.  There's  spirit  in  this. 

Par.  Or  if  desire  of  honour  was  the  base 
On  which  the  building  of  the  Roman  empire 
Was  raised  up  to  this  height;  if,  to  inflame 
The  noble  youth  with  an  ambitious  heat 
T'  endure  the  frosts  of  danger,  nay,  of  death, 
To  be  thought  worthy  the  triumphal  wreath 
B}'  glorious  undertakings,  may  deserve 
Jleward,  or  favour  from  the  commonwealth; 
Actors  may  put  in  for  as  large  a  share 


34(5         THE    ROMAN   ACTOR. 

As  all  the  sects  of  the  philosophers  : 

They  with  cold  precepts*  (perhaps  seldom  read) 

Deliver,  what  an  honourahle  thing  I 

The  active  virtue  is:  but  does  that  fire 

The  blood,  or  swell  the  veins  with  emulation, 

To  be  both  good  and  great,  equal  to  that 

Which  is  presented  on  our  theatres? 

Let  a  good  actor,  in  a  lofty  scene, 

Shew  great  Alcides  honour'd  in  the  sweat 

Of  his  twelve  labours  ;  or  a  bold  Camillus, 

Forbidding  Rome  to  be  redeem'd  with  gold 

From  the  insulting  Gauls;  or  Scipio, 

After  his  victories,  imposing  tribute 

On  conquer'd  Carthage  :  if  done  to  the  life, 

As  if  they  saw  their  dangers,  and  their  glories, 

And  did  partake  with  them  in  their  rewards, 

All  that  have  any  spark  of  Roman  in  them, 

The  slothful  arts  laid  by,  contend  to  be 

Like  those  they  see  presented. 

Rust.  He  has  put 
The  consuls  to  their  whisper.' 

I*ar.  But,  'tis  urged  :. 

That  we  corrupt  youth,  and  traduce  superiors.) 

*  They  with  cold  precepts,  &c.]  This  is  judiciously  expanded 
from  Horace : 

Segnius  irritant  animos,  demissa  per  aurcmy 
Quatn  quae  sunt  oculis  subjectajidelibus,  et  quae 
Ipse  sibi  tradit  spectator. 

*  Rust.  He  has  put  &c.]  Massinger  never  scruples  to  repeat 
himself.  We  have  just  had  this  expression  in  the  Parliament  of 
Love  : 

" she  has  put 

"  The  judges  to  their  whiper." 
The  learned  reader  will  discover  several  classical  allusions  in  the 
ensuing  speech,  and,  indeed,  in  every  part  of  this  drama  :  these  I 
have  not  always  pointed  out;  though  I  would  observe,  in 
justice  to  Massinger,  that  they  are  commonly  made  with  skill 
and  effect,  aud  without  that  affectation  of  litcratare  elsewhere 
BO  noticeable. 


THE   ROMAN   ACTOR.  347 

When  do  we  bring  a  vice  upon  the  stage, 
That  does  go  off  unpunish'd  ?  Do  we  teach, 
By  the  success  of  wicked  undertakings, 
Others  to  tread  in  their  forbidden  steps? 
We  shew  no  arts  of  Lydian  panderism, 
Corinthian  poisons,  Persian  flatteries, 
But  mulcted  so  in  the  conclusion,  that 
Even  those  spectators  that  were  so  inclined, 
Go  home  changed  men.  And,  for  traducing  such 
That  are  above  us,  publishing  to  the  world 
Their  secret  crimes,  we  are  as  innocent 
As  such  as  are  born  dumb.    When  we  present 
An  heir,  tliat  does  conspire  against  the  life 
Of  his  dear  parent,  numbering  every  hour  , 

He  lives,  as  tedious  to  him  ;  if  there  be,^ 
Among  the  auditors,  one  whose  conscience  tells 

him 
He  is  of  the  same  mould, — we  cannot  help  it. 
Or,  bringing  on  the  stage  a  loose  adulteress. 
That  does  maintain  the  riotous  expense 
Of  him  that  feeds  her  greedy  lust,  yet  suffers 
The  lawful  pledges  of  a  former  bed 
To  starve  the  while  for  hunger ;  if  a  matron, 
However  great  in  fortune,  birth,  or  titles, 
Guilty  of  such  a  foul  unnatural  sin. 
Cry  out,  Tis  writ  for  me, — we  cannot  help  it. 
Or,  when  a  covetous  man's  exprcss'd,  whose  wealth 
Arithmetic  cannot  number,  and  whose  lordships 
A  falcon  in  one  day  cannot  fly  over; 
Yet  he  so  sordid  in  his  mind,  so  griping. 
As  not  to  afford  himself  the  necessaries 
To  maintain  life;  if  a  patrician, 
(Though  honour'd  with  a  consulship,)  find  himself 
Touch'd  to  the  quick  in  this, — we  cannot  help 

IT. 

Or,  when  we  show  a  judge  that  is  corrupt. 
And  will  give  up  his  sentence,  as  he  favours 


MS      THE  roma:n  actor. 

The  person,  not  the  cause ;  saving  the  guilty, 
If  of  his  faction,  and  as  oft  condemning 
The  innocent,  out  of  particular  spleen; 
If  any  in  this  reverend  assembly, 
Nay,  even  yourself,  my  lord,  that  are  the  image 
Of  absent  Cassar,  feel  something  in  your  bosom 
That  puts  you  in  remembrance  of  things  past. 
Or  things  intended, — 'tis  not  in  us  to  help  it. 
I  have  said,  my  lord  :  and  now,  as  you  find  cause, 
Or  censure  us,  or  free  us  with  applause, 

I^at.  Well  pleaded,  on  my  life  !  I  never  saw 
bim 
Act  an  orator's  part  before. 

JEsop.  We  might  have  given 
Ten  double  fees  to  Regulus,  and  yet 
Our  cause  deliver'd  worse.  [A  shout  within. 

Enter  Parthenius. 

Aret,  What  shout  is  that? 

Parth.  Caesar,  our  lord,  married  to  conquest,  is 
Return'd  in  triumph. 

FuL  Let's  all  haste  to  meet  him. 

Aret.    Break  up  the  court ;  we  will  reserve  to 
him 
The  censure  of  this  cause. 

AH.  Long  life  to  Cspsar!  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV. 

77^6  Appi'oach  to  the  Capitol, 

Enter  Julia,  C^nis,  DomitillAjcWDomitia. 

Canis.  Stand  back — the  place  is  mine. 
Jul  Yours  !  Am  X  not 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  349 

Great  Titus'  daughter,  and  Domitian's  niece? 
Dares  any  claim  precedence? 

C(enis.   I  was  more : 
The  mistress  of  your  father,  and,  in  his  right, 
Claim  duty  from  you. 

Jul.  I  confess,  you  were  useful 
To  please  his  appetite. 

Dom.  To  end  the  controversy, 
For  ril  have  no  contending,  I'ii  be  bold 
To  lead  the  way  myself. 

Domitil.  You,  minion  ! 

Dom.  Yes ; 
Andall,  ere  long,  shall  kneel  to  catch  my  favours. 

Jul.  Whence  springs  this  flood  of  greatness? 

Dom.  You  shall  know 
Too  soon,  for  your  vexation,  and  perhaps 
Repent  too  late,  and  pine  with  envy,  when 
You  see  whom  Caisar  favours. 

Jul.  Observe  the  sequel. 

Enter  Captains  with  laurels^  Domtttan  in  his 
triumphant  chariot,  Parthenius,  Paris,  Lati- 
Nus,  and  tEsopus,  met  by  ARETi]>fus,  Sura, 
Lamia,  Rusticus^  Fulcinius,  Soldiers,  and 
Captives. 

Cces.  As  we  now  touch  the  height  of  human 

Riding  in  triumph  to  the  capitol, 
Let  these,  whom  this  victorious  arm  hath  made 
The  scorn  of  fortune,  and  the  slaves  of  Rome, 
Taste  the  extremes  of  misery.    Bear  them  off 
To  the  common  prisons,  and  there  let  them  prove 
How  sharp  our  ax  es  are. 

[E.veunt  Soldiers  xcith  Captives, 
Rust.  A  bloody  entrance !  [^side, 

CiEs,  To  tell  you  you  are  happy  in  your  prince, 


350  THE   ROMAN   ACTOR. 

Were  to  distrust  your  love,  or  my  desert ; 
And  either  were  distasteful :  or  to  boast 
How  much,  not  by  my  deputies,  but  myself, 
I  have  enlarged  the  empire ;  or  what  horrors 
The  soldier,  in  our  couduct,  hath  broke  through. 
Would  better  suit  the  mouth  of  Plautus'  braggart, 
Than  the  adored  monarch  of  the  world. 

Sura.  This  is  no  boast!  [Aside. 

Cces.  When  I  but  name  the  Daci, 
And  gray-eyed  Germans,  whom  I  have  subdued, 
The  ghost  of  Julius  will  look  pale  with  envy, 
And  great  Vespasian's  and  Titus'  triumph, 
(Truth  must  take  place  of  father  and  of  brother,) 
Will  be  no  more  remember'd.    I  am  above 
All  honours  you  can  give  me ;  and  the  style 
Of  Lord  and  God,  which  thankful  subjects  give 

me. 
Not  my  ambition,  is  deserved, 

^ret.  At  all  parts 
Celestial  sacrifice  is  fit  for  C«csar, 
In  our  acknowledgment. 

Cces.  Thanks,  Aretinus ; 
Still  hold  our  favour.     Now,  the  god  of  war, 
And  famine,  blood,  and  death,  Bellona's  pages, 
Banish'd  from   Rome  to   Thrace,   in   our  good 

fortune. 
With  justice  he  may  taste  the  fruits  of  peace, 
Whose  sword  hath  plough'd   the   ground,  and 

reap'd  the  harvest 
Of  your  prosperity.     Nor  can  I  think 
That  there  is  one  among  you  so  ungrateful, 
Or  such  an  enemy  to  thriving  virtue. 
That  can  esteem  the  jewel  he  holds  dearest, 
Too  good  for  Csesar's  use. 

Sura.  All  we  possess — 

Zani.  Our  liberties — 

Ful,  Our  children — 


THE  ROMAN   ACTOR.         351 

Par.  Wealth — 

Aret.  And  throats, 
Fall  willingly  beneath  his  feet. 

Rust,  Base  flattery  ! 
What  Roman  can  endure  this  !  [Aside, 

CtEs.  This  calls^  on 
My  love  to  all,  which  spreads  itself  among  you. 
The  beauties  of  the    time  !    [seeing  the  ladies.^ 

Receive  the  honour 
To  kiss  the  hand  which,  rear'd  up  thus,  holds 

thunder; 
To  you  'tis  an  assurance  of  a  calm. 
Julia,  my  niece,  and  Casnis,  the  delight 
Of  old  Vespasian  ;  Domitilla,  too, 
A  princess  of  our  blood. 

Rust»  'Tis  strange  his  p|ide 
Affords  no  greater  courtesy  to  ladies 
Of  such  high  birth  and  rank. 

Sura.  Your  wife's  forgotten. 

Lam.  No,  she  will  be  remember'd,  fear  it  not; 
She  will  be  graced,  and  greased. 

Cces.  But,  when  I  look  on 
Divine  Domitia,  methinks  we  should  meet 
(The  lesser  gods  applauding  the  encounter) 
As  Jupiter,  the  Giants  lying  dead 
On  the  Phlegraean  plain,  embraced  his  Juno. 
Lamia,  it  is  your  honour  that  she's  mine. 

Lam,  You  are  too  great  to  be  gainsaid. 

Ca^s.  Let  all 
That  fear  our  frown,  or  do  affect  our  favour. 
Without  examining  the  reason  why, 

3  This  calls  &c.]  This  passage  is  so  strangely  pointed  in  the 
modern  editions,  that  it  clearly  appears  to  have  been  misun. 
(lerstood.    They  read, 

77m  calls  on 

My  love  to  all^  which  spreads  itself  amovg  you, 

The  beauties  of  the  time.   Receive  &e. 


352         THE   ROMAN   ACTOR. 

Salute  her  (by  this  kiss  I  make  it  good) 
With  the  title  of  Augusta. 

Dom    Still  your  servant.  !' 

All.    Long    live   Augusta,    great    Domitian's 
empress! 

C(es.  Paris,  my  hand. 

Par.  [kiss'mg  it.l  The  gods  still  honour  Csesar! 

CcEs.  The  wars  are  ended,  and,  our  arms  laid 
by, 
We  are  for  soft  delights.    Command  the  poets .'> 
To  use  their  choicest  and  most  rare  invention, 
To  entertain  the  time,  and  be  you  careful         C 
To  give  it  action  :  we'll  provide  the  people      I. ' 
Pleasures  of  all  kinds. — My  Domitia,  think  not 
I  flatter,  though  thus  fond. — On  to  the  capitol; 
'Tis  death  to  him  that  wears  a  sullen  brow. 
This  'tis  to  be  a  monarch,  when  alone 
He  can  command  all,  but  is  awed  by  none. 


ACT  II.     SCENE  I. 

A  State  Room  in  the  Palace, 
Enter  Philargus  in  ragSj  cw^  Parthenius. 

Phil.  !My  son  to  tutor  m^!    Know  your  obe^ 
dience. 
And  question  not  my  will. 

Parth,  Sir,  were  I  one. 
Whom  want  compel  I'd  to  wish  a  full  possession 
Of  what  is  yours  ;  or  had  I  ever  numljer'd* 


or  had  I  ever  number'd 


Your  years^l    This  was  accounted  a  high  degree  of  unna- 
taralncss  and  impiety  among  all  nations:  patrios  in<iuircre  in 


THE  ROMAN   ACTOR.         353 

Your  years,  or  thought  you  lived  too  long,  with 

reason 
You  then  might  nourish  ill  opinions  of  me; 
Or  did  the  suit  that  I  prefer  to  you 
Concern  myself,  and  aim'd  not  at  your  good, 
You  might  deny,  and  I  sit  down  with  patience, 
And  after  never  press  you. 

Phil.  In  the  name  of  Pluto, 
What  would'st  thou  have  me  do  ? 

Parth.  Right  to  yourself; 
Or  suffer  me  to  do  it.    Can  you  imagine 
This  nasty  hat,  this  tatter'd  cloak,  rent  shoe, 
This  sordid  linen,  can  become  the  master 
Of  your  fair  fortunes  ?  whose  superfluous  means. 
Though  I  were  burthensome,  could  clothe  you  in 
The  costliest  Persian  silks,  studded  with  jewels, 
The  spoils  of  provinces,  and  every  day 
Fresh  change  of  Tyrian  purple. 

Phil.  Out  upon  thee  ! 
My  monies  in  my  coffers  melt  to  hear  thee. 
Purple!  hence,  prodigal!  Shall  I  make  my  mercer, 
Or  tailor  heir,  or  see  my  jeweller  purchase  ? 
No,  I  hate  pride. 

Parth.  Yet  decency  would  do  well. 
Though,  for  your  outside,  you  will  not  be  alter'd, 
Let  me  prevail  so  far  yet,  as  to  win  you 
Not  to  deny  your  belly  nourishment; 
Neither  to  think  you'vefeasted,when*tiscramm'd 
With  mouldy  barley-bread,  onions  and  leeks. 
And  the  drink  of  bondmen,  water. 

Phil.  Wouldst  thou  have  me 
Be  an  Apicius,  or  a  Lucullus, 
And  riot  out  my  state  in  curious  sauces  ? 


annos  is  reckoned  by  Ovid  among  the  prominent  causes  which 
provoked  Jupiter  to  destroy  the  old  world  by  a  deJuge.  Se« 
p.  347. 


554         THE   ROMAN  ACTOR. 

Wise  nature  with  a  little  is  contented  ; 
And,  following  her,  my  guide,  I  cannot  err. 

Parth.  Butyou  destroy  her  in  your  want  of  care 
(I  blush  to  see,  and  speak  it)  to  maintain  her 
In  perfect  health  and  vigour;  when  you  suffer, 
Frighted  with    the  charge  of   physic,  rheums, 

catarrhs, 
The  scurf,  ach  in  your  bones,  to  grow  upon  you. 
And  hasten  on  your  fate  with  too  much  sparing : 
When  a  cheap  purge,  a  vomit,  and  good  diet. 
May  lengthen  it.    Give  me  but  leave  to  send 
The  emperor's  doctor  to  you. 

Phil.  I'll  be  borne  first, 
Half  rotten,  to  the  fire  that  must  consume  me  !' 
His  pills,  his  cordials,  his  electuaries, 
His  syrups^  julaps,  bezoar  stone,  nor  his 
Imagined  unicorn's  horn,  comes  in  my  belly  ;    ^ 
My  mouth  shall  be  a  draught  first,  'tis  resolved. 
No ;  I'll  not  lessen  my  dear  golden  heap. 
Which,  every  hour  increasing,  does  renew 
My  youth  and  vigor;  but,  if  lessen'd,  then, 
Then  my  poor  heart-strings  crack.    Let  me  en} 

And  brood  o'er't,  while  I  live,  it  being  my  life, 
My  soul,  my  all :  but  when  I  turn  to  dust, 
And  part  from  what  is  more  esteem'd,  by  me,   \ 
Than  all  the  gods  Rome's  thousand  altars  smoke  to, 
Inherit  thou  my  adoration  of  it, 
And,  like  me,  serve  my  idol.  [E.rit. 

Parth.  What  a  strange  torture 
Is  avarice  to  itself!  what  man,  that  looks  on 
Such  a  penurious  spectacle,  but  must 
Know  what  the  fable  meant  of  Tantalus, 
Or  the  ass  whose  back  is  crack'd  with  curious 

viands,  <njiq  ^/fj  snomc  LhO 

Yet  feeds  on  thistles.   Some  cburse  I  must  take, 
To  make  my  father  know  what  cruelty 
He  uses  on  himself. 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR..        355 


E72t€r  Paris. 

Par.  Sir,  with  your  pardon, 
I  make  bold  to  enquire  the  emperor's  pleasure; 
For,  being  by  him  commanded  to  attend, 
Your  favour  may  instruct  us  what's  his  will 
Shall  be  this  night  presented. 

Parth.  My  loved  Paris, 
Without  my  intercession,  you  well  know, 
You  may  make  your  own  approaches,  since  his  ear 
To  you  is  ever  open. 

Par.  I  acknowledge 
His  clemency  to  my  weakness,  and,  if.ever 
I  do  abuse  it,  lightning  strike  me  dead  ! 
The  gracfe  he  pleases  to  confer  upon  me, 
(Without  boast  I  may  say  so  much,)  was  never 
Em  ploy  *d  to  wrong  the  innocent,  or  to  incense 
His  fury. 

Parth.  'Tis  confess'd  :  many  men  owe  you 
Forprovinces  they  ne'er  hoped  for;  and  theirlives, 
Forfeited  to  his  anger: — you  being  absent, 
I  could  say  more. 

Par.  You  still  are  my  good  patron  ; 
And,  lay  it  in  my  fortune  to  deseive  it, 
You  should  perceive  the  poorest  of  your  clients 
To  his  best  abilities  thankful, 

Parlh.  I  believe  so. 
Met  you  my  father?  . 

Par,  Yes,  sir,  with  much  grief. 
To  see  him  as  he  is.    Can  nothing  work  him 
To  be  himself? 

Parth.  O,  Paris,  'tis  a  M'eight 
Sits  heavy  here  ;  and  could  this  right  hand's  loss 
Remove  it,  it  should  off:  but  he  is  deaf 
To  all  persuasion. 

Par.  Sir,  with  your  pardon, 


556         THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

I'll  offer  my  advice  :  I  once  observed. 

In  a  tragedy  of  ours,*  in  which  a  Uiurder 

Was  acted  to  the  life,  a  guilty  hearer, 

Forced  by  the  terror  of  a  wounded  conscience. 

To  make  discovery  of  that  which  torture  ^ 

Could  not  wrin^  from  him.    Nor  can  it  appear 

Like  an  impossibility,  but  that 

Your  father,  looking  on  a  covetous  man 

Presented  on  the  stage,  as  in  a  mirror, 

May  see  his  own  deformity,  and  loath  it.  '' 

Now,  could  you  but  persuade  the  emperor 

To  see  a  comedy  we  have,  that's  styled 

The  Cure  of  Ax;arice,  and  to  command 

Your  father  to  be  a  spectator  of  it, 

He  shall  be  so  anatomized  in  the  scene. 

And  see  himself  so  personated,  the  baseness 

Of  a  self-torturing  miserable  wretch 

Truly  described,  tliat  I  much  hope  the  object 

Will  work  compunction  in  him. 

Parth.  There's  your  fee  ; 
I  ne'er  bought  better  counsel.  Bayou  in  readiness, 
I  will  effect  the  rest. 

Par.  Sir,  when  you  please ; 
We'll  be  prepared  to  enter.^Sir,  the  emperor. 

{Exit. 

*  Enter  Cms  A^,  Aretinus,  and  Guard. 
CcEs.  Repine  at  us ! 

'  -■  /  once  observed, 

In  a  tragedj  of  ours,  &c.j 

*' I  have  heard, 

<<  That  guilty  creatures,  sitting  at  a  play, 

*'  Have  by  the  very  cuuning  of  the  scene 

*'  Been  struck  so  to  the  soul,  that  presently 

*'  They  have  proclaim'd  their  malefactions; 

*'  For  murder,  though  it  have  no  tongue,  Mill  speak 

"  With  most  miraculous  organ."  Hamlet.  -i 

•  Enter  C^SAR,  &c.]  Coxcter  seldom  attempts  to  specify  (Inr 


THE   ROMAN   ACTOR.         557 

Aret.  'Tis  more,  or  my  informers, 
That  keep  strict  watcli  upon  him,  are  deceived 
In  their  intelligence:  there  is  a  list 
Of  malcontents,  as  Junius  Rusticus, 
Palphurius  Sura,  and  this  iElius  Lamia, 
That  murmur  at  your  triumphs,  as  mere  pageants ; 
And,  at  their  midnight  meetings,  tax  your  justice, 
(For  so  I  style  what  they  call  tyranny,) 
For  P^etus  Thrasca's  death,  as  if  in  him 
Virtue  herself  were  murder'd  :  nor  forget  they 
Agricola,  who,  for  his  service' done 
In  the  reducing  Britain  to  obedience, 
They  dare  affirm  to  be  removed  with  poison ; 
And  he  compell'd  to  write  you  a  coheir 
With  his  daughter,  that  his  testament  might  stand. 
Which,  else,  you  had  made  void.  Then  your  much 

love 
To  Julia  your  niece,  censured  as  incest, 
And  done  in  scorn  of  Titus,  your  dead  brother; 
But  the  divorce  Lamia  was  forced  to  sign 
To  her  you  honour  with  Augusta's  title, 
Being  only  named,  they  do  conclude  there  was 
A  Lucrece  once,  a  Collatine,  and  a  Brutus ; 
But  nothing  Roman  left  now  but,  in  you, 
The  lust  of  Tarquin. 

Cces.  Yes,  his  fire,  and  scorn 
Of  such  as  think  that  our  unlimited  power  ' 
Can  be  confined.    Dares  Lamia  pretend 
An  interest  to  that  which  I  call  mine; 
Or  but  remember  she  was  ever  his, 

place  of  action  without  falling  into  error  ;  and  Mr.  ^I.  Mason, 
who,  in  despite  of  his  "  accuracy,"  labours,  like  Falstaff,  under 
*'  the  malady  of  not  marking,"  constantly  and  closely  follows 
him.  They  call  this  "  Scene  the  second,"  and  change  the 
ground  "  from  a  chamber  to  a  palace  ;"  notwithstanding  that 
the  emperor  enters  while  Paris  is  yet  speaking,  and  Parthenius 
continues  on  the  stage. 

VOL.  II.  *  B  b 


358         THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

That's  now  in  our  possession  ?  Fetch  him  hither. 

[E.vit  Guard. 
I'll  give  him  cause  to  wish  he  rather  had 
Forgot  his  own  name,  than  e'er  mention'd  her's. 
Shall  we  be  circumscribed  ?  Let  such  as  cannot 
By  force  make  good  their  actions,  though  wicked, 
Conceal,  excuse,  or  qualify  their  crimes  ! 
What  our  desires  grant  leave  and  privilege  to, 
Though  contradicting  all  divine  decrees, 
Or  laws  confirm'd  by  Romulus  and  Numa, 
Shall  be  held  sacred. 

j4?^et.  You  should,  else,  take  from 
The  dignity  of  Ctesar. 

Cces.  Am  I  master 
Of  two  and  thirty  legions,  that  awe 
All  nations  of  the  triumphed  world. 
Yet  tremble  at  our  frown,  to  yield  account 
Of  what's  our  pleasure,  to  a  private  man  ! 
Rome  perish  first,  and  Atlas's  shoulders  shrink, 
Heaven's  fabric  fall,  (the  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars 
Losing  their  light  and  comfortable  heat,) 
Ere  I  confess  that  any  fault  of  mine 
May  be  disputed  ! 

Jlret,  So  you  preserve  your  power, 
As  you  should,  equal  and  omnipotent  here, 
With  Jupiter's  above. 

[Parthenius  kneeling,  whispers  Caesar 

Cces.  Thy  suit  is  granted, 
Whate'erit  be,  Parthenius,  for  thy  service 

Done  to  Augusta. Only  so  r  a  trifle : 

Command  him  hither.    If  the  comedy  fail 
To  cure  him,  I  will  minister  somethmg  to  him 
That  shall  instruct  him  to  forget  his  gold, 
And  think  upon  himself. 

Parth.  May  it  succeed  well, 
Since  my  intents  are  pious  !  [Exit, 

Cces.  We  are  resolved 


THE   ROMAN   ACTOR.         359 

What  course  to  take ;  and,  therefore,  Aretinus, 
Enquire  no  further.    Go  you  to  my  empress, 
And  say  I  do  entreat  (for  she  rules  him 
Whom  all  men  else  obey)  she  would  vouchsafe 
The  music  of  her  voice  at  yonder  window, 
When  I  advance  my  hand,  thus.     I  will  blend 

[E.vit  Aretinus, 
My  cruelty  with  some  scorn,  or  else  'tis  lost. 
Revenge,  when  it  is  unexpected,  falling 
With  greater  violence;  and  hate  clothed  in  smiles, 
Strikes,  and  with  horror,  dead  the  wretch  that 

comes  not 
Prepared  to  meet  it.— 

Re-enter  Guard  with  Lamia. 

Our  good  Lamia,  welcome. 
So  much  we  owe  you  for  a  benefit. 
With  willingness  on  your  part  confcrr'd  upon  us, 
That  'tis  our  study,  we  that  would  not  live 
Engaged  to  any  for  a  courtesy. 
How  to  return  it. 

Lam.  'Tis  beneath  your  fate 
To  be  obliged,  that  in  your  own  hand  grasp 
The  means  to  be  magnificent  • 

CcBS.  Well  put  off; 
But  yet  it  must  not  do:  the  empire.  Lamia, 
Divided  equally,  can  hold  no  weight. 

If  balanced  with  your  gift  in  fair  Domitia 

You,  that  could  part  with  all  delights  at  once, 
The  magazine  of  rich  pleasures  being  contain'd 
In  her  perfections, — uncompell'd,  deliver'd 
As  a  present  fit  for  Caesar.     In  your  eyes, 
With  tears  of  joy,  not  sorrow,  'tis  confirm'd 
You  glory  in  your  act. 

Lam.  Derided  too ! 
Sir,  this  is  more — 

♦  B  b3 


560        THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

Cas.  More  than  I  can  requite ; 
It  is  acknowledged,  Lamia.    There's  no  drop 
Of  melting  nectar  I  taste  from  her  lip, 
But  yields  a  touch  of  immortality 
To  the  blest  receiver ;  every  grace  and  feature, 
Prized  to  the  worth,  bought  at  an  easy  rate, 
If  purchased  for  a  consulship.     Her  discourse 
So  ravishing,  and  her  action  so  attractive. 
That  I  would  part  with  all  my  other  senses, 
Provided  I  might  ever  see  and  hear  her. 
The  pleasures  of  her  bed  I  dare  not  trust 
The  winds  or  air  with  ;    for   that  would  draw 

down, 
In  envy  of  my  happiness,  a  war 
From  all  the  gods,  upon  me. 

Lam    Your  compassion 
To  me,  in  your  forbearing  to  insult 
On  my  calamity,  which  you  make  your  sport, 
Would  more  appease  those  gods  you  have  pro- 
voked. 
Than  all  the  blasphemous  comparisons 
You  sing  unto  her  praise. 

Do  MIT  I A  appears  at  the  window. 

Cces.  I  sing  her  praise  ! 
'Tis  far  from  my  ambition  to  hope  it; 
It  being  a  debt  she  only  can  lay  down. 
And  no  tongue  else  discharge. 

\^He  raises  his  hand.    Music  above. 

Hark!  I  think,  prompted 

With  my  consent  that  you  once  more  should 

hear  her. 
She  does  begin.    An  universal  silence 
Dwell  on  this  place  !    'Tis  death,  with  lingering 

torments, 
To  all  that  dare  disturb  her. — 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.         361 


A  SOXG  by  DOMITIA. 

— ^Who  can  hear  this. 
And  fall  not  down  and  worship  ?  In  my  fancy, 
Apollo  being  judge,  on  Latmos'  hill 
Fair-hair'd  Calliope,  on  her  ivory  lute, 
(But  something  short  of  this,)  sung  Ceres'  praises, 
And  grisly  Pluto's  rape  on  Proserpine. 
The  motions  of  the  spheres  are  out  of  time,' 
Her  musical  notes  but  heard.     Say,  Lamia,  say, 
Is  not  her  voice  angelical  ? 

Lam.  To  your  ear: 
But  I,  alas  !  am  silent. 

Cces.  Be  so  ever. 
That  without  admiration  canst  hear  her  f 
Malice  to  my  felicity  strikes  thee  dumb, 
And,  in  thy  hope,  or  wish,  to  repossess 
What  I  love  more  than  empire,  I  pronounce  thee 
Guiltyof  treason. — Offwith  his  head!  doyoustare? 
By  her  that  is  my  patroness,  Minerva, 
Whose  statue  I  adore  of  all  the  gods. 
If  he  but  live  to  make  reply,  thy  life 
Shall  answer  it  ! 

\The  Guard  leads  off  Lamia,  stopping  his  mouth. 
My  fears  of  him  are  freed  now  ; 
And  he  that  lived  to  upbraid  me  with  my  wrong. 
For  an  offence  he  never  could  imagine, 

7  The  motions  of  the  spheres  are  out  ^lime,J  For  time,  Mr.  M. 
Mason  chooses  to  read,  tune.  In  this  capricious  alteration  he  is 
countenanced  by  some  of  the  commentators  on  Shakspeare,  who, 
as  well  as  himself,  might  have  spared  their  pains ;  since  it  ap. 
pears  from  numberless  examples  that  the  two  words  were  once 
synonymous.  Time,  however,  was  the  more  ancient  and  com- 
mon term  :  nor  was  it  till  long  after  the  age  of  Massinger,  that 
the  use  of  it,  in  the  sense  of  harmony,  was  entirely  superseded 
by  that  of  tune. 


362         THE   ROMAN   ACTOR. 

In  wantonness  removed. — Descend,  my  dearest ; 

Plurality  of  husbands  shall  no  more 

Breed  doubts  or  jealousies  in  you:  l^Eai'it  Dom, 

above.']  'tis  dispatched, 
And  with  as  little  trouble  here,  as  if 
I  had  kill'd  a  fly. 

Enter  Domitia,  ushered  in  by  Aretinus,   her 
train  born  up  by  Julia,  Cjenis,   end  Domi- 

tlLLA. 

Now  you  appear,  and  in 
That  glory  you  deserve  !  and  these,  that  stoop 
To  do  you  service,  iu  the  act  much  honour'd  ! 
Julia,  forget  that  Titus  was  thy  father; 
Cffinis,  and  Domitilla,  ne'er  remember 
Sabinus  or  Vespasian.     To  be  slaves 
To  her  is  more  true  liberty,  than  tolive 
Parthian  or  Asian  queens.     As  lesser  stars, 
Tliat  wait  on  Phoebe  in  her  full  of  brightness, 
Compared  to  her,  you  are.    Thus,  thus  I  seat  you 
By  Caesar's  side,  commanding  these,  that  once 
Were  the  adored  glories  of  the  time, 
To  witness  to  the  world  they  are  your  vassals, 
At  your  feet  to  attend  you. 
Dom.  'Tis  your  pleasure,. 
And  not  my  pride.     And  yet,  when  I  consider- 
That  I  am  yours,  all  duties  they  can  pay 
I  do  receive  as  circumstances  due 
To  her  you  please  to  honour. 

Re-enter  Pauthenius  xvith  Philargus. 

Parth.  Cajsar's  will 
Commands  you  hither,  nor  must  you  gainsay  it. 

Phil.  Lose  time  to  see  an  interlude!  must  I 
pay  too, 
For  my  vexation  ? 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  363 

Parth,  Not  in  tlie  court: 
It  is  the  emperor  s  chari^e. 
'  Phil,  I  shall  endure 
My  torment  then  tiie  better. 

Cces    Can  ir  be 
This  sordid  ttiina;,  Parthenius,  is  thy  father? 
No  actor  can  express  him  :   1  had  held 
The  fiction  for  impossible  in  the  scene, 
Had  I  not  seen  the  substance. — Sirrah,  sit  still, 
And  give  attention  ;  if  you  but  nod, 
You  sleep  for  ever. — Let  them  spare  the  prologue. 
And  all  the  ceremonies  proper  to  ourself, 
And  come  to  the  last  act — there,  where  the  cure 
By  the  doctor  is  made  perfect.  The  swift  minutes 
Seem  years  to  me,  Domitia,  that  divorce  thee 
From  my  embraces :  my  desires  increasing 
As  they  are  satisfied,  all  pleasures  else 
Are  tedious  as  dull  sorrows.  Kiss  me  again: 
If  I  now  wanted  heat  of  youth,  these  fires. 
In  Priam's  veins,  would  thaw  his  froaen  blood, 
Enabling  him  to  get  a  second  Hector 
For  the  rlefence  of  Troy. 

Dom.  You  are  wanton  ! 
Pray  you,  forbear.  Let  me  see  the  play. 

Ctes.  Begin  there. 

Enter  Parts,  like  a  doctor  of  physic,  and  iEsopus  : 
Latin  us  iV  bi^ought  forth  asleep  in  a  chairs  a  key 
in  his  mouth, 

iEsop.  O  master  doctor,  he  is  past  recovery  ; 
A  lethargy  hath  seized  him  ;  and,  however 
His  deep  resemble  death,  his  watchful  care 
To  guard  that  treasure  he  dares  make  no  use  of 
Works  strongly  in  his  soul. 

Par.  fVhat's  that  he  holds 
So  fast  betzvten  his  teeth  ? 


364>  THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

JEsop.  Tlie  key  that  opens 
His  iron  chests,  cramiiid  with  accursed  gold, 
Rusty  with  long  impriso7iment.    There's  no  duty 
In  me,  his  son,  nor  confidence  i?i  friends, 
That  can  persuade  him  to  deliver  up 
That  to  the  trust  of  any. 

Phil.  He  is  the  wiser  : 
We  were  fashion'd  in  one  mould. 

.'Esop.  He  eats  with  it ; 
And  when  devotion  calls  him  to  the  temple 
Of  Mammon,*  whom,  of  all  the  gods,  he  kneels  to. 
That  held  thus  still,  his  orisons  are  paid: 
Nor  will  he,   though   the  wealth    of  Rome  were 

pawnd 
For  the  restoring  oft,  for  one  short  hour 
Be  won  to  part  with  it. 

Phil.  Still,  still  myself! 
And  if  like  me  he  love  his  gold,  no  pawn 
Is  good  security. 

Par.  ril  try  if  I  can  force  it 

It  will  not  be.  His  avaricious  mind, 
Like  men  in  rivers  drowned,  make  him  gripe  fast, 
To  his  last  gasp,  what  he  in  Ife  held  dearest ; 
And,  if  that  it  were  possible  in  nature, 
Would  carry  it  with  him  to  the  other  world. 

Phil.  As  I  would  do  to  hell,  rather  than  leave  it, 

^sop.  Is  he  not  dead  ? 

Par.  Long  since  to  all  good  actioiis. 
Or  to  himself,  or  others,  for  which  wise  men 
Desire  to  live.  You  may  with  safety  pinch  him, 
Or  under  his  nails  stick  needles,  yet  he  stirs  not ; 
Anxious  fear  to  lose  what  his  soul  doats  on. 
Renders  his  flesh  insensible.  fVe  must  use 
Some  means  to  rouse  the  sleeping  faculties 

•  Of  Mammon  &c.]  There  seems  a  want  of  judgment  in  the 
introduction  of  Mammon,  (a  deity  unknown  to  the  Romans^) 
when  Plutus  would  have  serred  the  turn  as  welL 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  3^5 

Of  his  mind;    there  lies   the  lethargy.     Take  a 

trumptt^ 
And  blow  it  into  his  ears  ;  'tis  to  no  purpose  ; 
The  roaring  noise  of  thunder  caiinot  wake  him : — 
And  yet  despair  not ;  I  have  one  trick  left  yet, 

iEsop.  What  is  it  ? 

Par.  /  will  cause  a  fearful  dream 
To  steal  into  his  fancy,  and  disturb  it 
With  the  horror  it  brings  with  it,  a?id  so  free 
His  body's  organs. 

Dom.  'Tis  a  cunninj^  fellow  ; 
If  he  were  indeed  a  doctor,  as  the  play  says,* 
He   should  be  sworn  my  servant ;    govern  my 

slumbers, 
And  minister  to  me  waking. 

Par.  If  this  fail,  [A  chest  brought  in. 

ril  give  him  o'er.  So ;  with  all  violejice 
Rend  ope  this  iron  chest,  for  here  his  life  lies 
Bound  up  in  fetters,  and  in  the  defence 
Of  what  he  values  higher,  'twill  retujm, 
And f  II  each  vein  and  artery. — Louder  yet ' 


Take  a  trumpet 


And  blow  it  in  his  ears  ;  'tis  to  no  purpose ;] 

Qui  vix  cornicines  exaudiet,  atque  tubarum 
Concentus.  Jut.  Sat.  z. 

AndJonson  : 

"  Sir,  speak  out : 

"  Yo»  may  be  louder  yet ;  a  cuWerin 

*'  Discharged  into  his  ear,  would  hardly  bore  it."  THe  Fot. 

*  If  he  jcere  indeed  a  doctor,  as  the  play  says,]  Indted,  which 
completes  the  Terse,  is  omitted  by  buth  the  modern  editors;  at 
are  many  other  words  in  this  little  interlude,  which  1  have 
silently  brought  back.  Doinitia  adds,  "  He  should  bi-  sicorn  my 
sfriant."  This  was  less  a  Roman  than  an  English  custom.  Jn 
Alassinger's  time  the  attendants  ol' the  great,  who  were  Biain. 
tamed  in  considerable  uuoibers,  took  an  oath  of  Jidelity  oa  their 
•ntraoce  into  olhce. . 


3^  THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

— *Tis  open,  and  already  he  begins 
To  stir  ;  mark  with  what  trouble, 

[Latinus  stretches  himself. 

Phil.  As  you  are  Ccesar, 
Defend  this  honest,  thrifty  man !  they  are  thieves, 
And  come  to  rob  him. 

Parth.  Peace!  the  emperor  frowns. 

Par.  So  ;  now  pour  out  the  bags  upon  the  table  ; 
Remove  his  jewels,  and  his  bonds. — Again,   - 
Ring  a  second  golden  peal.  His  eyes  are  open ; 
He  stares  as  he  had  seen  Medusas  head. 
And  were  turn'd  marble. — Once  more. 

Lat.  Murder  !  murder  ! 
They  come  to  murder  me.     My  son  in  the  plot  ? 
Thou  worse  than  parricide  !  if  it  be  death 
To  stiike  thy  father^  s  body,  can  all  tortures 
The  Furies  in  hell  practise,  be  sufficient 
For  thee,  that  dost  assassinate  my  soul  ? — 
My  gold !  my  bonds  I  my  jewels  I  dost  thou  envy 
My  glad  possession  of  them  for  a  day  ; 
Extinguishing  the  taper  of  my  life 
Consumed  unto  the  snuff ; 

Par.  Seem  not  to  mind  him. 

Lat.  Have  I,  to  leave  thee  rich,  denied  myself 
The  joys  of  human  being ;  scraped  and  hoarded 
A  mass  of  treasure,  which  had  Solon  seen. 
The  Lydian  Crccsus  had  appeared  to  him 
Poor  as  the  beggar  Irus  ?  And  yet  I, 
Solicitous  to  inci^ease  it,  when  my  entrails 
Were  clemm'd^  with  keeping  a  perpetual  fast, 

'  Were  clemm'd  •with  keeping  a  perpetual  fast,']  To  be  clemm'd, 
not  clamni'd,  (as  Steevens  quotes  it  from  the  miserable  text  of 
Coxeter  and  M.  Mason,)  is  to  have  the  entrails  shrunk  up  with 
hunger,  so  as  to  cling  together :  thus  Marston  ; 

*'  Now  lions  half'clemmd  entrails  roar  for  food.'' 

Antonio  and  Mellida, 


THE   ROMAN  ACTOR.  367 

Was  deaf  to  their  loud  windy  cries,  as  fearing. 

Should  I  disburse  one  penny  to  their  use. 

My  heir  might  curse  me.    And,  to  save  expense 

In  outward  ornaments,  I  did  expose 

My  ?iaked  body  to  the  winter's  cold, 

And  summer'' s  scorching  heat :  nay,  when  diseases 

Grew  thick  upon  me,  and  a  little  cost 

Had  purchased  my  recovery,  I  chose  rather 

To  have  my  ashes  closed  up  in  my  urn. 

By  hastiiig  on  my  fate,  than  to  diminish 

The  gold  my  prodigal  son,  while  I  am  living, 

Carelessly  scatters. 

^sop.  JVould  you'd  dispatch  and  die  once  /' 
Your  ghost  should  feel  in  hell,  that  is  my  slave 
Which  was  your  master, 

Phil.  Out  upon  thee,  varlet ! 
Par.  And  what  then  follows  all  your  carke  and 
caring, 
And  self- affliction  9  When  your  starved  trunk  is 
Turned  to  forgotten  dust,  this  hopeful  youth 
Urines  upon  your  monumefit,  ne'er  remembering 
How  much  for  him  you  suffer'' d;  and  then  tells, 
To  the  companions  of  his  lusts  and  riots. 
The  hell  you  did  endure  on  earth,  to  leave  him 
Large  means  to  be  an  epicure,  and  to  feast 

Metaphorically,  to  be  starved.  Thus  Jonson  :  "  Hard  is  their 
fate,  when  the  valiant  must  either  beg  or  demy  Again,  **  I 
cannot  eat  stones  and  turf:  What !  will  he  clem  mc  and  my  fol- 
lowers ?  ask  him,  an  he  will  clem  mc."     Poetaster. 

'  iEsop.  Would  yovHd  Ail-patch  and  die  once  /]  This  line  is  in- 
correctly given  in  both  the  modern  editions.  Coxeter  dropt  a 
word,  and  M.  Mason  inserted  one  at  random,  which  spoiled  at 
once  the  measure  and  the  sense.    He  reads, 

Would  you  dispatch  and-dit  at  once. 

Once  is  used  by  Massinger,  and  his  contemporaries,  for  final, 
that  is,  once  for  all. 


568         THE   ROMAN  ACTOR. 

His  senses  all  at  once,  a  happiness 

You  never  granted  to  yourself.    Your  gold,  then, 

Got  with  vexation,  and  preserved  with  trouble, 

Maintains  the  public  stews,  panders,  and  ruffians. 

That  quaff  damnations  to  your  memory,* 

For  living  so  long  here, 

Lat.  It  will  be  so  ;  I  see  it — 
O,  that  I  could  redeem  the  time  thafs  past  ! 
I  would  live  and  die  like  myself ;    and  make  true 

use 
Of  what  my  industry  purchased. 

Par.  Covetous  men, 
Having  one  foot  in  the  grave,  lament  so  ever  : 
But  grant  that  I  by  art  could  yet  recover 
Your  desperate  sickness,  lengthen  out  your  life 
A  dozen  of  years  ;  as  I  restore  your  body 
To  perfect  health,  will  you  with  care  endeavour 
To  rectify  your  mind  ? 

Lat.  I  should  so  live  then. 
As  neither  my  heir  should  have  just  cause  to  think 
I  lived  too  long,  for  beirg  close- handed  to  hifn, 
Or  cruel  to  myself 

Par.  Have  your  desii'es. 
Phoe'bus  assistiJig  me,  I  will  repair 
The  ruiii'd  building  of  your  health ;  and  think  not 
You  have  a  son  that  hates  you  ;  the  truth  is. 
This  means,  with  his  consent,  I  practised  on  you 
To  this  good  end :  it  being  a  device, 
In  you  to  shew  the  Cure  of  Avarice. 

[Exeunt  Paris,  Latinus,  and  JEsopus. 

Phil.  An  old  fool,  to  be  guli'd  thus  1   had  he 
died 

.    ♦  That  quaff  damnations  to  your  memory,  &c.]  Thus  Pope  : 

*'  At  best,  it  falls  to  some  ungracious  son, 

"  Who  cries,  my  father's  d d,  and  all's  my  own  1'' 


THE   ROMAN  ACTOR.         369 

As  I  resolve  to  do,  not  to  be  alter'd, 
It  had  gone  off  twanging. 

C^s.  How  approve  you,  sweetest, 
Of  the  matter  and  the  actors  ? 

Dom.  For  the  subject,* 
I  like  it  not;  it  was  filch'd  out  of  Horace. 
— Nay,  I  have  read  the  poets : — but  the  felloW 
That  play'd  the  doctor,  did  it  well,  by  Venus; 
He  had  a  tuneable  tongue,  and  neat  delivery : 
And  yet,  in  my  opinion,  he  would  perform 
A  lover's  part  much  better.     Prithee,  Caesar, 
For  I  grow  weary,  let  us  see,  to  morrow, 
Iphis  and  Anaxarete. 

Cas.  Any  thing 
For  thy  delight,  Domitia  ;  to  your  rest. 
Till  I  come  to  disquiet  you  :   wait  upon  her. 
There  is  a  business  that  I  must  dispatch, 
And  I  will  straight  be  with  you. 

[Exeunt  Aret.  Dom,  Julia,  Ccenis,  and  Domtil. 

Parth.  Now,  my  dread  sir, 
Endeavour  to  prevail. 

Cees.  One  way  or  other 
We'll  cure  him,  never  doubt  it.  Now,  Philargus, 
Thou  wretched  thing,  hast  thou  seen  thy  sordid 

baseness, 
And  but  observed  what  a  contemptible  creature 
A  covetous  miser  is  ?  Dost  thou  in  thyself 
Feel  true  compunction,  with  a  resolution 
To  be  a  new  man  ? 

PliiL  This  crazed  body's  Caesar's  ; 
But  for  my  mind 

CcEs,  Trifle  not  with  my  anger. 

*  Dom.  Tor  the  subject y 

I  like  it  not ;  it  •wasjilch'd  out  of  Horace.']  I  differ  from  Domitia. 
There  is  uncommon  spirit  and  beauty  in  this  little  interlude. 
The  outline  indeed,  as  the  lady  observes,  is  from  Horace  ;  bat 
it  is  filled  up  with  a  masterly  pencil. 


570         THE   ROMAN  ACTOR. 

Canst  thou  make  good  use  of  what  was  now 

presented ; 
And  imitate,  in  thy  sudden  change  of  life, 
The  miserable  rich  man,  that  express'd 
What  thou  art  to  the  life  ? 

Phil.  Pray  you,  give  me  leave 
To  die  as  I  have  lived.    I  must  not  part  with 
My  gold  ;  it  is  my  life :  I  am  past  cure. 

CcBs.  No;  by  Minerva,  thou  shalt  never  more 
Feel  the  least  touch  of  avarice.  Take  him  hence, 
And  hang  him  instantly.     If  there  be  gold  in 

hell, 
Enjoy  it : — thine  here,  and  thy  life  together, 
Is  forfeited. 
Phil.  Was  I  sent  for  to  this  purpose  ? 
Parth.   Mercy   for   all   my   service ;    CaBsar, 

mercy ! 
C(Bs.  Should  Jove  plead  for  him,  'tis  resolved 
he  dies, 
And  he  that  speaks  one  syllable  to  dissuade  me ; 
And  therefore  tempt  me  not.    It  is  but  justice  : 
Since  such  as  wilfully  would  hourly  die. 
Must  tax  themselves,  and  not  my  cruelty. 

\Exeunt, 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I. 

A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Julia,  Domitilla,  fl?w^ Stephanos. 

Jul.  No,  Domitilla;  if  you  but  compare 
What  I  have  suffered  with  your  injuries, 
(Though  great  ones,  I  confess,)  they  will  appear 
Like  molehills  to  Olympus. 


THE   ROMAN  ACTOR.  17I 

Domitil.  You  are  tender 
Of  your  own  wounds,  which  makes  you  lose  the 

feeling 
And  sense  of  mine.    The  incest  he  committed 
With  you,  and  publicly  profess'd,  in  scorn 
Of  what  the  world  durst  censure,  may  admit 
Some  weak  defence,  as  being  borne  headlong  to  it, 
But  in  a  manly  way,  to  enjoy  your  beauties : 
Besides,  won  by  his  perjuries,  that  he  would 
Salute  you  with  the  title  of  Augusta, 
Your  faint  denial  show'd  a  full  consent. 
And  grant  to  his  temptations.    But  poor  I, 
That  would  not  yield,  but   was  with  violence 

forced 
To  serve  his  lusts,  and  in  a  kind  Tiberius 
At  Capreie  never  practised,  have  not  here 
One  conscious  touch  to  rise  up  ray  accuser; 
I,  in  my  will,  being  innocent. 

Steph.  Pardon  me, 
Great  princesses,  though  I  presume  to  tell  you, 
Wasting  your  time  in  childish  lamentations. 
You  do  degenerate  from  the  blood  you  spring 

from : 
For  there  is  something  more  in  Rome  expected 
From  Titus'  daughter,  and  his  uncle's  heir. 
Than  womanish  complaints,  after  such  wrongs 
Which  mercy  cannot  pardon.    But,  you'll  say, 
Your  hands  are  weak,  and  should  you  but  at- 
tempt 
A  just  revenge  on  this  inhuman  monster. 
This  prodigy  of  mankind,  bloody  Domitiau 
Hath  ready  swords  at  his  command,  as  well 
As  islands  to  confine  you,  to  remove 
His  doubts,  and  fears,  did  he  but  entertain 
The  least  suspicion  you  contrived  or  plotted 
Against  his  person. 


372  THE   ROMAN  ACTOR. 

Jul.  'Tis  true,  Stephanos  ; 
The  legions  that  sack'd  Jerusalem, 
Under  my  father  Titus,  are  sworn  his, 
And  I  no  more  remember'd. 

Domitil.  And  to  lose 
Ourselves  by  building  on  impossible  hopes, 
Were  desperate  madness. 

Steph.  You  conclude  too  fast. 
One  single  arm,  whose  master  does  contemn 
His  own  life,  holds  a  full  command  o'er  his, 
Spite  of  his  guards.'    I  was  your  bondman,  lady, 
And  you  my  gracious  patroness ;  my  wealth 
And  liberty  your  gift ;  and,  though  no  soldier. 
To  whom  or  custom  or  example  makes 
Grim  death  appear  less  terrible,  I  dare  die 
To  do  you  service  in  a  fair  revenge  : 
And  it  will  better  suit  your  births  and  honours 
To  fall  at  once,  than  to  live  ever  slaves 
To  his  proud  empress,  that  insults  upon 
Your  patient  sufferings.    Say  but  you,  Go  on  ! 
And  I  will  reach  his  heart,  or  perish  in 
The  noble  undertaking. 

Domitil.  Your  free  offer 
Confirms  your  thankfulness,  which  I  acknow- 
ledge 
A  satisfaction  for  a  greater  debt 
Than  what  you  stand  engaged  for ;  but  I  must 

not, 
Upon  uncertain  grounds,  hazard  so  grateful 
And  good  a  servant.     The  immortal  Powers 
Protect  a  prince,  though  sold  to  impious  acts, 

*  One  single  arm,  whose  master  does  contemn 
His  own  life,  holds  ajull  command  o'er  his^ 
Spite  of  his  guards.]    The  same  thought  is  expressed  with 
more  energy  in  the  Fatal  Dowry : 

*'  I  am  desperate  of  my  life,  and  command  your'i.'' 


THE    ROMAN   ACTOR.  :i73 

And  seem  th  slumber,  t"i!th!lV6kH^^'<tfritt^^^  '' 
Awake  their  justice";  but  then,  looking  down, 
And  witli  impartial  eyes,  on  his  contempt 
Of  all  religion,  and  moral  goodness, 
They,  in  their  secret  judgments,  do  determine 
To  leave  him   to  his  wickedness,  which  sinks 

him, 
When  he  is  most  secure/ 

Jul.  His  cruelty 
Increasing  dail}'^,  of  necessity 
Must  render  him  as  odious  to  his  soldiers, 
Familiar  friends,  and  freedmen,  as  it  hath  done 
Already  to  the  senate  :  then  forsaken 
Of  his  supporters,  and  grown  terrible 
Even  to  himself,  and  her  he  now  so  doats  on, 
We  may  put  into  act  what  now  with  safety 
W^e  cannot  whisper.  '•'*'  ' 

Steph.  I  am  still  prepared 
To  execute,  when  you  please  to  command  me : 
Since  I  am  confident  he  deserves  much  more 
That  vindicates  his  country  from  a  tyrant,* 
Than  he  that  saves  a  citizen. 

Enter  Cjeh is. 

Jul.  O,  here's  Casnis. 

Domitil.' Whence  come  vou  ? 

Cmnis.  From  the  empress,  who  seems  moved 

7  A  noble  sentiment,  beautifully  expressed.  How  much  su- 
perior are  these  manly  and  rational  observations,  to  th«  slarish 
maxims  found  in  Hamlet,  the  Maid's  Rtveiige,  &c.?  It  is  true, 
they  are  derived  from  a  purer  code  than  any  with  which 
Domftilla  was  acquainted  ;  but  which,  however,  was  not  more 
open  to  Massinger  than  to  his  contemporaries. 

• from  a  tyrant,]  The  old  copies  read 

t'lrannie.  I  have  not  removed  Coxeter's  emendation  from  the 
text ;  though  it  seems,  by  no  means,  necessary. 

VOL.  II,  Co* 


574         THE    ROMAN   ACTOR. 

In  that  you  wait  no  better.  Her  pride's  grown 
To  such  a  height,  that  she  disdains  the  service 
Of  her  own  women ;  and  esteems  herself 
Neglected,  when  the  princesses  of  the  blood, 
On  every  coarse  employment,  are  not  ready 
To  stoop  to  her  commands. 

Domitil.  Where  is  her  Greatness  ? 

Ccenis.  Where  you  would  little  think  she  could 
descend 
To  grace  the  room  or  persons. 

Jul.  Speak,  where  is  she  ? 

Ccenis.  Among  the  players ;    where,  all  state 
laid  by, 
She  does  enquire  who  acts  this  part,  who  that,j 
And  in  what  habits  ?  blames  the  tirewomen 
For  want  of  curious  dressings;-^ and,  so  taken 
She  is  with  Paris  the  tragedian's  shape,'  j  . 

That  is  to  act  a  lover,  I  thought  once 
She  would  have  courted  him. 

Domitil.  In  the  mean  time  ,.> 

How  spends  the  emperor  his  hours  ?  p 

C(Enis.  As  ever 
He  hath  done  heretofore ;  in  being  cruel 
To  innocent  men,  whose  virtues  he  calls  crimes. 
And,  but  this  morning,  if't  be  possible. 
He  hath  outgone  himself,  having  condemn'd, 
At  Aretinus  his  informer's  suit, 
Palphurius  Sura,  and  good  Junius  Rusticus, 
Men  of  the  best  repute  in  Rome  for  their 
Integrity  of  life ;  no  fault  objected. 
But  that  they  did  lament  his  cruel  sentence 
On  Psetus  Thrasea,  the  philosopher, 
Their  patron  and  instructor,  . 


and  so  taken 


She  is  with  Paris  the  tragedian's  shape,]  See  p.  38. 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  37S 

Steph.  Can  Jove  see  this, 
And  hold  his  thunder  ! 

Doniitil.  Nero  and  Caligula 
Only  commanded  mischiefs  ;  but  our  Cassar 
Delights  to  see  them. 

Jul.  What  we  cannot  help, 
We  may  deplore  with  silence. 

Ccenis.  We  are  call'd  for 
By  our  proud  mistress. 

Domitil.  We  awhile  must  suffer. 

Steph.  It  is  true  fortitude  to  stand  firm  against 
All  shocks  of  fate,  when  cowards  faint  and  die 
In  fear  to  suffer  more  calamity.  \Ejt;mnt, 


SCENE   II. 

Another  Room  in  the  smne. 
Enter  C^sar  and  Pabthenius. 

Cces.  They  are  then  In  fetters  ? 

Parth.  Yes,  sir,  but 

Cces.  But  what  ? 
I'll  have  thy  thoughts ;  deliver  them. 

Parth,  I  shall,  sir  : 
But  still  submitting  to  your  god-like  pleasure, 
Which  cannot  be  instructed 

Cces.  To  the  point. 

Parth.  Nor  let  your  sacred  majesty  believe 
Your  vassal,  that  with  dry  eyes  looked  upon 
His  father  dragg'd  to  dea'th  by  your  command, 
Can  pity  these,  that  durst  presume  to  censure 
What  you  decreed. 

Cces.  Well;  forward. 

Parth.  'Tis  my  zeal 

*  Cc2 


37.6         THE   ROMAN   ACTOR..^ 

Still  to  preserve  your  clemency  admired,  "^      "^ 
Temper'd  with  justice,  that  emboldens  me         A 
To  offer  my  advice.    Alas!   I  know,  sir. 
These  bookmen,  Rusticus  and  Palphurius  Sura, 
Deserve  all  tortures  :  yet,  in  my  opinion, 
They  being  popular  senators,  and  cried  up 
With  loud  applauses  of  the  multitude,  7" 

For  foolish  honesty,  and  beggarly  virtue, 
'T would  relish  more  of  policy,  to  have  them 
Made  away  in  private,  with  what  exquisite  tor- 
;]*.'        nients 
You  please, — it  skills  not, — than  to  have  them 

drawn 
To  the  Degrees*  in  public  ;  for  'tis  doubted 
That  the  sad  object  may  beget  compassion 
In  the  giddy  rout,  and  cause  some  sudden  uproar 
That  may  disturb  you. 

CcES.  Hence,  pale-spirited  coward  ! 
Can  we  descend  so  far  beneath  ourself. 
As  or  to  court  the  people's  love,  or  fear 
Their  worst  of  hate  ?    Can  they,  that  are  as  dust 
Before  the  whirlwind  of  our  will  and  power, 
Add  any  moment  to  us  ?  Or  thou  think. 
If  there  are  gods  above,  or  goddesses. 
But  wise  Minerva,  that's  mine  own,  and  sure. 
That  they  have  vacant  hours  to  take  into        ill 
Their  serious  protection,  or  care. 
This  many-headed  monster?    Mankind  lives    jQ 
In  few,  as  potent  monarchs,  and  their  peers;  }if 
And  all  those  glorious  constellations 
Thfit  do  adorn  the  firmament,  appointed, 

1 
*  To  t/ie  Degrees,  d-c]    To  the  Scalie  Geirtonice^  mentioned 
before  (p.  336.)  Coxeter  printed  Decrees  ;  but  the  old  copy 
reads  as  aboTC.    The  word  is  used  by  Jonson  :  j 

*'  Their  bodies  thrown  into  the  Gemonics,  '      , 

*'  The  expulsed  Apicata  finds  them  there  ; 
"  Whom  whea  she  s»w  lie  spread  on  the  Pfgrefs,"  &c. 


THE   ROMAN  ACTOR*  Zll 

Like  grooms,  with  their  bright  influence  to  attend 
The  actions  of  kings  and  emperors, 
They  being  the  greater  wheels  that  move  the  lesal*' 
Bring  forth  those  condemn'd  wretches; — [E.vitk 

Parthe7iius.'\ — let  me  see 
One  man  so  lost,  as  but  to  pity  them. 
And  though  there  lay  a  million  of  souls 
Imprison'd  in  his  flesh,  my  hangmen's  hooks 
Should  rend  it  off,  and  give  them  liberty.-         *  i\ 
Caesar  hath  said  it. 

i2e-€WiferPARTHENius,a;i//iARETiNUS,«wrfGM«r.J;^ 
ETecutioners  dragging  in  Junius  Rustic  us.' 
and  Palphurius  Sura,  bound  back  to  back,     ■'■'^ 

Aret.  'Tis  great  Ca-'sar's  pleasure,  '  ^^] 

That  with  fix'd  eyes  you  carefully  observe 
The  people's  looks.     Charge  upon  any  man 
That  with  a  sigh  or  murmur  does  express 
A  seeming  sorrow  for  these  traitors'  deaths.. 
You  know  his  will,  perform  it.      *         ^^^'^j' 

Cces.  A  good  bloodhound, 
And  fit  for  my  employments. 

Sura.  Give  us  leave 
To  (lie,  fell  tyrant. 

JRust.  For,  beyond  our  bodies, 
Thou  hast  no  power. 

Cois.  Yes  ;  I'll  afflict  your  souls, 
And  force  them  groaning  to  the  Stygian  lake, 
Prepared  for  such  to  howl  in,  that  blaspheme 
The  power  of  princes,  that  are  gods  on  earth. 
Tremble  to  think  how  terrible  the  dream  is 
After  this  sleep  of  death. 

Rust,  To  guilty  men 
It  may  bring  terror;  not  to  us,  that  know 
What  'tis  to  die,  well  taught  by  his  example 


378  THE   ROMAN  ACTOR. 

For  whom  we  suffer.    In  my  thought  I  see 
The  substance  of  that  pure  untainted  soul 
Of  Thrasea,  our  master,  made  a  star, 
That  with  Txielodious  harmony  invites  us  , 
(Leaving  this  dunghill  Rome,  made  hell  by  thee) 
To  trace  his  heavenly  steps,  and  lill  a  sphere 
Above  yon  crystal  canopy. 

Cces.  Do  invoke  him 
With  all  the  aids  his  sanctity  of  life 
Have  won  on  the  rcM'arders  of  his  virtue  ; 
They  shall  not  save  you. — Dogs,  do  you  grin? 
torment  them. 
[The  Executioners  torment  them,  they  still  smiling. 
So,  take  a  leaf  of  Seneca  now,  and  prove 
If  it  can  render  you  insensible 
Of  that  which  but  begins  here.    Now  an  oil, 
Drawn  from  the  Stoic's  frozen  principles. 
Predominant  over  fire,  were  useful  for  you. 

Again,  again.    You  trifle.    Not  a  groan ! 

Is  my  rage  lost  ?  What  cursed  charms  defend 

them ! 
Search  deeper,  villains.  Who  looks  pale,  or  thinks 
That  I  am  cruel } 

Aret.  Over-merciful : 
*Tis  all  your  weakness,  sir, 

Parth.  I  dare  not  shew 
A  sign  of  sorrow ;  yet  my  sinews  shrink, 
The  spectacle  is  so  horrid.  [Aside. 

Cues.  I  was  never 
O'ercomc  till  now.    For  my  sake  roar  a  little, 
And  shew  you  are  corporeal,  and  not  turn'd 
Aerial  spirits. — Will  it  not  do?  By  Pallas, 
It  is  unkindly  done  to  mock  his  fury 
Whom  the  world  styles  Omnipotent !  I  am  tor-.- 

tured 
In  their  want  of  feeling  torments.  Marius*  story. 


THE   ROMAN  ACTOR.  579 

That  does  report  him  to  have  sat  unmoved, 
When  cunning  surgeons  ripp'd  his  arteries 
And  veins,  to  cure  his  gout,  compared  to  this. 
Deserves  not  to  be  named.    Are  they  not  dead  ? 
If  so,  we  wash  an  iEthiop. 

Sura.  No;  we  live. 
^        Rust.  Live  to  deride  thee,  our  calm  patience 
I  treading 

Upon  the  neck  of  tyranny.    Tiiat  securely, 
As  'twere  a  gentle  slumber,  we  endure 
Thy  hangman's  studied  tortures,  is  a  debt 
We  owe  to  grave  philosophy,  that  instructs  us 
The  flesh  is  but  the  clothing  of  the  soul, 
Which  growing  out  of  fashion,  though  it  be 
Cast  off,  or  rent,  or  torn,  like  ours,  'tis  then, 
Being  itself  divine,  in  her  best  lustre. 
But  unto  such  as  thou,  that  have'  no  hopes 
Beyond  the  present,  every  little  scar, 
The  want  of  rest,  excess  of  heat  or  cold. 
That  does  inform  them  only  they  are  mortal,       ; 
Pierce  through  and  through  them. 

Cas.  We  will  hear  no  more. 

Rust.  This  only,  and  I  give  thee  warning  of  it : 
Though  it  is  in  tliy  will  to  grind  this  earth 
As  small  as  atoms,  they  thrown  in  the  sea  too, 
They  shall  seem  re-collected  to  thy  sense: — 
And,  when  the  sandy  building  of  thy  greatness 
Shall  with  its  own  weight  totter,  look  to  see  me 
As  I  was  yesterday,  in  my  perfect  shape; 
For  I'll  appear  in  horror. 

Cas.  By  my  shaking 
I  am  the  guilty  man,  and  not  the  judge, 
Drag  from  my  sight  these  cursed  ominous  wizards, 
That,  as  they  are  now,  like  to  double-faced  Janus, 

that  have  no  hopes]    Cozeter  and 


M.  Mason  very  incorrectly  read,  that  hast  nu  hopes. 


380  THE   ROMAN   ACTOR. 

Which  way  soe'er  I  look,  are  Furies  to  me. 
Away  with  them !  first  shew  them  death,  then 
leave  .  xm^ 

No  memory  of  their  ashes.    I'll  mock  Fate.     "  *  > 
[E.reunt  Ej^ecutioners  with  Rusticus  and  Sura.' 
Shall  words  fright  him  victorious  armies  circle  ? 
No,  no;  the  fever  does  begin  to  leave  me; 

Enter  Domitia,  Julia,  aiid  Cents  ;  Stephanos 
following. 

Or,  were  it  deadly,  from  this  living  fountain 
I  could  renew  the  vigour  of  my  youth. 
And  be  a  second  Virbius."    O  my  glory  ! 
My  life  !  command  !*  my  all ! 
Dom*  As  you  to  me  are. 

[E?nbracing  and  kissing. 
I  heard  you  were  sad ;    I  have  prepared    you 

sport 
Will  banish  melancholy.     Sirrah,  Cassar, 
(I  hug  myself  for't,)  I  have  been  instructing  '' i 
The  players  how  to  act ;  and  to  cut  off 
All  tedious  impertinence,  have  contracted 
The  tragedy  into  one  continued  scene.  ii 

IT 

'  \^Ex€unt  Executioners  wiih  Rusticus  and  Sura.]  After  Sura, 
Coxeter  and  M.  Mason  add,  Stephanos  fullimifig.  This  sending 
a  man  out  before  he  comes  in,  is  another  instance  of  the  sur- 
prising attention  which  Massinger  experienced  from  the  former 
editors.    The  quarto  reads  as  it  stands  here. 

4  And  be  h  second  Virbius.]  The  name  given  to  Hippolytus 
after  he  was  restored  to  life  by  jEsculapius.  He  was  so  called, 
say  the  critics,  quod  inter  viros  bis  fuerit.  See  i/te  ^neidy  lib. 
vii.  T.  765. 

''  My  life!  command!  my  all !]  i.e.  my  power!  myall!  This 
is  the  reading  of  the  old  copies,  and  undoubtedly  genuine  :  the 
modern  editors  (i  know  not  why)  choose  to  resiCi,  My  li/'e  f 
command  my  all!  which  the  reply  of  Domitia  proves  to  be  rank 
nonsense. 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  381 

I  have  the  art  oft,  and  am  taken  more 

With  my  abiHty  that  way,  than  all  knowledge 

I  have  but  of  thy  love. 

C(Es.  Thou  art  still  thyself. 
The  sweetest,  wittiest, 

Dom.  When  we  are  abed  .^ 

I'll  thank  your  good  opinion.  Thou  shalt  see       f 
Such  an  Iphis  of  thy  Paris  !'r — and,  to  humble 
The  pride  of  Domitilla,  that  neglects  me, 
(Howe'er  she  is  your  cousin,)  I  have  forced  her 

To  play  the  part  of  Anaxarete k 

You  are  not  offended  with  it  ?  ^t 

Cccs,  Any  thing 
That  does  content  thee  yields  delight  to  me: 
My  faculties  and  powers  are  thiu«. 

Dom.  I  thank  you  : 
Prithee  let's  take  our  places.     Bid  them  enter 
Without  more  circumstance.  ^ 

,-^ 
After  a  short  Jlourish,  enter  Paris  as  Iphis. 

How  do  you  like/ 
That  shape?'  methinks  it  is  most  suitable  V 

To  the  aspect  of  a  despairing  lover  \\ 

The  seeming  late-fallen,  conterfeited  tears 
That  hang  upon  his  cheeks,  was  my  device.        ^^ 

*  • —  Thou  shalt  see 

Such  an  Iphis  of  thy  Paris !  &c.]  The  story  of  Iphis  and 
Anaxarete  is  beautifully  told  by  Ovid,  in  the  fourteenth  book 
of  his  Metamorphosis,  (v.  698,  ct  seq.)  to  which  I  refer  the  reader, 
a3  it  is  too  long  to  be  extracted.  Massinger  has  followed  bis 
leader  pari  passu  ;  and  indeed  the  elegance  and  spirit  which  he 
has  infused  into  these  little  interludes,  cannot  be  too  highly 
commended. 

7 How  do  you  like 

That  shape?]  the  Roman  actors  played  in  masks,  one  of 
^'hich  Domilia  calls  a  shape.     M.  Mason. 

Xhat  a  mask  was  called  a  shajie  I  never  heard  before.    The 

."    ,i\-M-l>-     <-.}:.      .-.^    .,";lIi-..£   tiU:>JU     <..:.j. 


582  THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

.  Cces.  And  all  was  excellent, 

Dom.  Now  hear  him  speak. 

Iphis.  That  she  is  fair,  (and  that  an  epithet 
Too  foul  to  express  her,)  or  descended  nobly. 
Or  rich,  or  fortunate,  are  certain  truths 
In  which  poor  Iphis  glories.     But  that  these 
Perfections,  in  no  other  virgin  found, 
Abused,  should  nourish  cruelty  and  pride 
In  the  divinest  j4niuvarete, 
Is,  to  my  love- sick,  languishing  soul,  a  riddle; 
And  with  more  difficulty  to  be  dissolvd. 
Than  that  the  monster  Sphinx,  from  the  steep  rocJCf 
Offer  d  to  (Edipus.     Imperious  Love, 
As  at  thy  ever-flaming  altars  Iphis, 
Thy  never -tired  votary,  hath  presented, 
With  scalding  tears,  whole  hecatombs  of  sighs. 
Preferring  thy  power,  and  thy  Paphian  mother'* s. 
Before  the  Thunderer'' s,  Neptune's,  or  Pluto's 
(That,  after  Saturn,  did  divide  the  world, 
And  had  the  swdy  of  things,  yet  were  compelled 
By  thy  inevitable  shafts  to  yield, 
Andfght  under  thy  ensigns)  be  auspicious 
To  this  last  trial  of  my  sacrifice 
Of  love  and  service  ! 

Dom.  Does  he  not  act  it  rarely? 
Observe  with  what  a  feeling  he  delivers 
His  orisons  to  Cupid;  I  am  rapt  with't. 

Iphis.  And  from  thy  never- emptied  quiver  take 
A  golden  arrow^  to  transfix  her  hearty 


fact  is,  that  slia^e  is  a  theatrical  word,  and,  in  the  language  of 
the  property-man,  means,  as  has  beexi  already  observed,  th« 
whole  of  the  dress. 

'  And  xeith  more  d\Uiculty  to  he  dissolv'd,]     So  the  old  copies. 
Coxeter  and  M.  Mason  read  solved.    See  Vol.  I.  p.  321. 

*       Iphis.  And  from  thy  fi  ever. emptied  quiver  take 
A  golden  arrow,  &c.]  For  this  expression,  which,  like  afe^ 
others,  occurs  somewhat  too  frequently,  see  Vol.  I.p.  19. 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  38S 

And  force  her  lone  like  me  ;  or  cure  my  wound 
JV'uh  a  leaden  one,  that  may  beget  in  me 

Hate  and forgetfulness  ofzvhafs  now  my  idol .-  ^ 

But  I  call  back  my  prayer  ;  I  have  blasphemed 
In  my  rash  wish  :  'tis  I  that  am  umvorthy  ; 
But  she  all  merit,  and  may  injustice  challenge. 
From  the  assurance  of  her  excellencies^ 
Not  love  but  adoration.  Vet,  bear  witness^ 
All-knowing  Powers  I  I  bring  along  with  me. 
As  faithful  advocates  to  make  intercession, 
A  loyal  heart  with  pure  and  holy  flames, 
IVith  the  foul  fires  of  lust  never  polluted. 
And,  as  I  touch  her  threshold,  which  with  tears. 
My  limbs  benumb' d  with  cold,  I  oft  have  washed. 
With  my  glad  lips  I  kiss  this  earth,  grozvn  proud 
TVith  frequent  favours  from  her  delicate  feet. 

Dom.  By  CiEsar's  life  he  weeps !  and  I  forbear 
Hardly  to  keep  him  company. 

Iphis.  Blest  ground,  thy  pardon, 
If  I  profane  it  with  forbidden  steps. 
I  must  presume  to  knock — and  yet  attempt  it 
TVith  such  a  trembling  reverence,  as  if  ^ 

My  hands  [were  nozvj  held  up  for  crpiatlon 

*  My  hands  [were  now]  held  up  for  expiation]  I  am  very 
doubtful  of  the  genuineness  of  this  line.  Of  the  old  copies  of 
this  tragedy  (of  which  there  is  but  one  edition)  some  read, 

My  handi  held  up,  or  expiation, 
and  others, 

My  hands  held  up,  for  expiation. 
It  is  evident,  from  the  comma,  that  there  is  an  error  somewhere, 
which  was  discovered  at  the  press,  and  attempted  to  be  removed : 
but  as  it  has  happened  more  than  once  in  these  plays,  only  ex- 
changed for  another.  My  addition  is  harmless  :  but  11"  I  could 
have  ventured  so  far,  I  should  have  read, 

My  hands  held  up  in  prayer,  or  expiation, 

To  &c. 
As  the  line  stands  in  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason,  it  is  impos- 
Jible  to  read  it  as  verse,  or  any  thing  like  verse. 


364  THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

To  the  incensed  gods  to  spare  a  kingdom.  \^ 

Within  there,  ho  !  something  divine  come  forth        \\ 
To  a  distressed  mortal.  \ 

^. 
Enter  Latinus  as  a  Porter.  .\ 

1 

Port.  Ha  I  Who  knocks  there  ? 

Dom.  What  a  churlish  look  this  knave  has ! 

Port.  Is'' t you,  sirrah?  \^ 

Are  you  come  to  pule  and  whine  ?   Avaunt,  and 

quickly  ; 
Dog-whips  shall  drive  you  hence,  else.  \\ 

Dom.  Churlish  devil !  ;^,f.^^ 

But  that  I  should  disturb  the  scene,  as  I  live^  \Al^ 
I  would  tear  his  eyes  out.  .  AVs'^t 

Cces.  'Tis  in  jest,  Domitia.  •    "■ 

Dom.  I  do  not  like  such  jesting  :  ifhe  were  not 
A  flinty -hearted  slave,  he  could  not  use   ,  vj^meH 
One  of  his  form  so  harshly.  How  the  toad  swells 
At  the  other's  sweet  humility  !  \  ^y 

Cxs.  'Tis  his  part:  \ 

Let  them  proceed.  \\ 

Dom.  A  rogue's  part  will  ne'er  leave  him.        *^ 

Iphis.  As  you  have,  gentle  sir,  the  happiness 
{When  you  please)  to  behold  the  figure  of 
The  masterpiece  of  nature,  limnd  to  the  life. 
In  more  than  human  Anaxarete, 
Scorn  not  your  servant,  that  with  suppliant  hands 
Takes  hold  upon  your  knees,  conjuring  you,         "^  ***** 
As  you  are  a  man,  and  did  not  suck  the  milk 
Of  wolves,  and  tigers,  or  a  mother  of 
A  tougher  temper,  use  some  means  these  eyes. 
Before  they  are  wept  out,  may  see  your  lady.,  -'^ 

Will  you  be  gracious,  sir?  •'* 

Port.  Though  I  lose  my  place  for  t, 
I  fan  hold  out  no  longer^ 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  385 

Dam.  Now  he  melts,  >^".  ^^^ 

There  is  some  little  hope  he  may  die  honest. 
Port.  Madam  ! 

Enter  Domitilla  as  Anaxarete. 

Anax.  Who  calls  ?  JVhat  object  have  we  here  f  * 
Dom.  Your  cousin  keeps  her  proud  state  still ; 
I  think 
I  have  fitted  her  for  a  part. 

Anax.  Did  I  not  charge  thee 
I  ne'er  might  see  this  thing  more  ? 

I  phis.   £  am^  indeed^ 
What  thing  you  please;    a  worm   that  you  may 

tread  on  : 
Lower  I  cannot  fall  to  shew  my  duty, 
Till  your  disdain  hath  digg'd  a  grave  to  coxier  \ 

This  body  with  forgotten  dust ;  and,  when 
I  know  your  sentence,  cruellest  of  women  I 
ril,  by  a  willing  death,  remove  the  object 
That  is  an  eyesore  to  you. 

Anax.  Wretch,  thou  darst  not :  ; 

That  were  the  last  and  greatest  service  to  me 
Thy  doting  love  could  boast  of     What  dullj^ool 
But  thou  could  nourish  any  flattering  hope,        „^,y 
One  of  my  height  in  youth,  in  birth  and  fort  une,    \ 
Could  e'er  descejul  to  look  upon  thy  lowness,        >     n 
Much  less  consent  to  make  my  lord  of  one  •» 

Td  not  accept,  though  offered  for  my  slave  ?  ' 

My  thoughts  stoop  not  so  low. 

Dom.  There's  her  true  nature  : 
No  personated  scorn.  *       .  " 

Anax.  I  wrong  my  worth,  '^' 

Or  to  exchan<j;e a  syllable  or  look 
With  one  so  far  beneath  me. 

l)}\\\s.*Yet  take  heed, 
Take  heed  of  pride,  and  curiously  consider,  >i, 


S8^  THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

Hffio  brittle  the  foundation  is,  on  which 

You  labour  to  advance  it,     Niobe, 

Proud  of  her  numerous  issue,  durst  contemn 

Latonas  double  burthen  ;  but  whatfollozc'd  f 

She   was  left  a  childless  mot  her y  and  mourn  d  to 

marble. 
The  beauty  you  overprize  so,  time  or  sickness 
Can  change  to  loatfid  deformity  ;  your  wealth 
The  prey  of  thieves  ;  queen  Hecuba,  Troyfred^ 
Ulysses'  bondwoman ;'  but  the  love  I  bring  you 
Nor  time,  nor  sickness,  violent  thieves,  nor  fate, 
Can  ravish  from  you, 

Dom.  Could  the  oracle 
Give  better  counsel ! 
'  Iphis.  Say,  will  you  relent  yet. 
Revoking  your  decree  that  I  should  die  ? 
Or,  shall  I  do  what  you  command  ?  resolve  ; 
I  am  impatient  of  delay. 


'Queen  Hecuba,  Troyjired, 


Ulysses'  bondwoman  ;]  These  two  half-lines  are  entirely  mis- 
placed, and  should  not  be  inserted  here  ;  they  afterwards  occur 
ill  the  second  volume,  to  which  passage  they  belong.  M.  Ma&ox. 
This  is  the  most  unaccountable  notion  that  ever  was  taken 
up.  The  Roman  Actor  was  not  only  written  but  printed  many 
years  before  t/ie  Emperor  of  the  East;  how,  then,  could  any 
lines  or  •'  half  lines"  be  inserted  into  it  from  a  piece  which  was 
not  yet  in  existence!  It  required  Mr.  M.  Mason's  own  words  to 
convince  me  that  he  could  range  through  Massinger,  even  in  his 
desultory  way,  without  discovering  his  propensity  to  repeat 
himself;  which  is  so  obtrusive  as  to  form  one  of  the  most  cha- 
racteristic traits  of  his  manner.  With  respect  to  the  two  half 
lines,  they  are  where  they  should  be,  and  are  referred  to  in  the 
verse  which  follows.  It  may  amuse  the  reader  to  see  this  [i*as- 
sage  as  "  it  occurs  again.''! 

''  You  are  read  in  story,  call  to  your  remembi'ance 

"  What  the  great  Hector's  mother,  Ilccuba, 

*'  Was  to  Ulysses,  Ilium  sack'd."  ^ 

"The  identity  may  admit  of  some  question but  enough  of  this 

deplorable  folly. 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  387 

An  ax.  Dispatch  then  : 
I  shall  look  on  your  tragedy  unmo^oed, 
Peradventure  laugh  at  it ;  for  it  will  prove 
A  comedy  to  me. 

Dom.  O  devil !  devil! 

Iphis.  Then  thus  I  take  my  last  leave.     All  the 
curses 
Of  lovers  Jail  upon  you ;  and,  hereafter, 
When  any  man,  like  me  contemned,  shall  study. 
In  the  anguish  of  his  soul,  to  give  a  name 
To  a  scornful,  cruel  mistress,  let  him  oily 
Say,  This  most  bloody  woman  is  to  me, 

As  Anaxarete  was  to  wretched  Iphis  1 

Now  feast  your  tyrannous  mind,  and  glory  in 
The  ruins  you  have  made :  for  Hymen's  bands. 
That  should  have  made  us  one,  this  fatal  halter 
For  ever  shall  divorce  us :  at  your  gate. 
As  a  trophy  of  your  pride  and  my  affliction, 
Til  presently  hang  myself. 

Dom.    Not  for  the  world  — 

[Starts  from  her  seat. 
Restrain  him,  as  you  love  your  lives  ! 

Cas.  Why  are  you 
Transported  thus,  Domitia?  'tis  aplay; 
Or,  grant  it  serious,  it  at  no  part  merits 
This  passion  in  you. 

Par.  I  ne'er  purposed,  madam, 
To  do  the  deed  in  earnest;  though  I  bow 
To  your  care  and  tenderness  of  me. 

Dom.  Let  me,  sir. 
Entreat  your  pardon  ;  what  I  saw  presented, 
Carried  me  beyond  myself. 

CiES.  To  your  place  again, 
And  see  what  follows. 

Dom.  No,  I  am  familiar 
With  the  conclusion ;  besides,  upon  the  sucjden 
i  feci  myself  much  indisposed. 


388  THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

Cas.  To  bed  then ; 
I'll  be  thy  doctor. 

Aret.  There  is  something  more 
In  this  than  passion, — which  I  must  find  out, 
Or  my  intelligence  freezes. 

Dom.  Come  to  me,  Paris, 
To  morrow,  for  your  reward. 

[E.veunt  all  but  Domitilla  and  Stephanos, 

Sleph.  Patroness,  hear  me  ; 
Will  you  not  call  for  your  share  ?  Sit  down  with 

this, 
And,  the  next  action,  like  a  Gaditane'  strumpet, 
I  shall  look  to  see  you  tumble  ! 

Domitil.  Prithee  be  patient. 
I,  that  have  suffer'd  greater  wrongs,  bear  this;' 
And  that,  till  my  revenge,  my  comfort  is. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  IV.      SCENE    I. 

A  Rootn  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Parthenius,  Julia,  Domitilla,  and 

CiENIS.  ^ 

Parth.  Why,  'tis  impossible. — Paris ! 
Jul.  You  observed  not. 
As  it  appears,  the  violence  of  her  passion, 

'  Like  a  Gaditane  strumpet,!  These  "  tumblers,''  who  came 
from  the  neighbourhood  of  the  modern  Cadiz,  are  frequently 
noticed  by  the  Roman  writers,  for  the  indecency  of  their  ges- 
tures: the  dance  which  appears  to  have  so  scandalized  them  was, 
beyond  question,  the  Fandango,  which  is  even  now  sufficiently 
licentious  in  the  remote  parts  of  Spain, 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  389 

When  personating  Iphis,  he  pretended, 
For  your  contempt,  fair  Anaxarete, 
To  hang  himself. 

Parth.  Yes,  yes,  I  noted  that; 
But  never  could  imagine  it  could  work  her 
To  such  a  strange  intemperance  of  affection, 
As  to  doat  on  him. 

Domitil.  By  my  hopes,  I  think  not 
That  she  respects,   though   all   here   saw,    and 

mark'd  it ; 
Presuming  she  can  mould  the  emperor's  will 
Into  what  form  she  likes,  though  we,  and  all 
The  informers  of  the  world,  conspired  to  cross  it. 

Can.  Then  with  what  eagerness,  this  mornings 
urging 
The  want  of  health  and  rest,  she  did  entreat 
Cassar  to  leave  her ! 

Domitil.  Who  no  sooner  absent, 
But  she  calls,  Dxvarf !  (so  in  her  scorn  she  styles 

me,) 
Put  on  my  pantofles  ;  fetch  pen  and  paper  ^ 
I  am  to  write: — and  with  distracted  looks, 
In  her  smock,  impatient  of  so  short  delay 
As  but  to  have  a  mantle  thrown  upon  her, 
Sheseal'd — I  know  not  what,  but  'twas  indorsed^ 
To  my  loved  Paris. 

Jul.  Add  to  this,  I  heard  her 
Say,  when  a  page  received  it,  Let  him  wait  we, 
And  carefully y  in  the  walk  calVd  our  Retreat, 
Where  Casar^  in  his  fear  to  give  offence^ 
Unsentfory  never  enters. 

.  Parth.  This  being  certain, 
(For  these  are  more  than  jealous  suppositions,) 
Why  do  not  you,  that  are  so  near  in  blood. 
Discover  it  ? 

Domitil.  Alas !  you  know  we  dare  not. 
'Twill  be  received  for  a  malicious  practice, 

VOL.  II,  *  D  d 


390         THE   ROMAN  ACTOR. 

To  free  us  from  that  slavery  which  her  pride 
Imposes  on  us.     But,  if  you  would  please 
To  hreak  the  ice,  on  pain  to  be  sunk  ever, 
"We  would  aver  it. 

Parth.  I  would  second  you, 
But  that  I  am  commanded  with  all  speed 
To  fetch  in*  Ascletario  the  Chaldeean  ; 
Who,  in  his  absence,  is  condemn'd  of  treason, 
For  calculating  the  nativity 
Of  Csesar,  with  all  confidence  fortelling, 
In  every  circumstance,  when  he  shall  die 
A  violent  death.     Yet,  if  you  could  approve 
Of  my  directions,  I  would  have  you  speak 
As  much  to  Aretinus,  as  you  have 
To  me  deliver'd  :  he  in  his  own  nature 
Being  a  spy,  on  weaker  grounds,  no  doubt, 
Will  undertake  it ;  not  for  goodness'  sake, 
(With  which  he  never  yet  held  correspondence,) 
But  to  endear  his  vigilant  observings 
Of  what  concerns  the  emperor,  and  a  little 
To  triumph  in  the  ruins  of  this  Paris, 
That  cross'd  him  in  the  senate-house. — 

Enter  Aretinus. 

Here  he  comes, 
His  nose  held  up ;  he  hath  something  in  the  w^ind, 
Or  I  much  err,  already.     My  designs 
Command  me  hence,  great  ladies  ;  but  I  leave 
My  wishes  with  you.  [Exit. 

Aret.  Have  I  caught  your  Greatness 
In  the  trap,  my  proud  Augusta  ! 

Domitil.  What  is't  raps  him? 

Aret.  And  my  fine  Roman  Actor  !  Is't  even  so? 
No  coarser  dish  to  take  your  wanton  palate, 

'  To  fetch  in]  i.  e.  to  seiie ;  a  frequent  expression. 


THE   ROMAN  ACTOR.         391 

Save  that  which,  but  the  emperor,  none  durst 

taste  of! 
'Tis  very  well.     I  needs  must  glory  in 
This  rare  discovery  :  but  the  rewards 
Of  my  intelligence  bid  me  think,  even  now, 
By  an  edict  from  Caesar,  I  have  power 
To  tread  upon  the  neck  of  slavish  Rome, 
Disposing  offices  and  provinces 
To  my  kinsmen,  friends,  and  clients. 

Domitil.  This  is  more 
Than  usual  with  him. 

Jul.  Aretinus  ! 

Aret.  How  ! 
No  more  respect  and  reverence  tendered  to  me, 
But  Aretinus  !  'Tis  confess'd  that  title, 
When  you  were  princesses,  and  commanded  all, 
Had  been  a  favour;  but  being,  as  you  are. 
Vassals  to  a  proud  woman,  the  worst  bondage. 
You  stand  obliged  with  as  much  adoration 
To  entertain  him,  that  comes  arm'd  with  strength 
To  break  your  fetters,  as  tann'd  galley-slaves 
Pay  such  as  do  redeem  them  from  the  oar, 
I  come  not  to  entrap  you ;  but  aloud 
Pronounce  that  you  are  manumized :  and  to  make 
Your  liberty  sweeter,  you  shall  see  her  fall. 
This  empress, — this  Domitia, — what  you  will, — ' 
That  triumph'd  in  your  miseries, 

Domitil.  Were  you  serious. 
To  prove  your  accusation  I  could  lend 
Some  help. 

Ccen.  And  I. 

Jul.  And  I. 

Aret.  No  atom  to  me. — 
My  eyes  and  ears  are  every  where  ;  I  know  all, 
To  the  line  and  action  in  the  play  that  took  her: 
Her  quick  dissi-mulation  to  excuse 
Her  being  transported,  with  her  morning  passion. 
♦Dd2 


i 


392         THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

I  bribed  the  boy  that  did  convey  the  letter, 
And,  having  perused  it,  made  it  up  again  : 
Your  griefs  and  angers  are  to  me  familiar. 
— That  Paris  is  brought  to  her,*  and  how  far 
He  shall  be  tempted. 

Domitil.  This  is  above  wonder. 

Aret.  Mygold  can  work  much  stranger  miracles, 

Than  to  corrupt  poor  waiters.     Here,  join  with 

me —  [Takes  out  a  petition. 

'Tis  a  complaint  to  Cassar.     This  is  that 

Shall  ruin  her,  and   raise  you.    Have  you   set 

your  hands 
To  the  accusation  ? 

Jul.  And  will  justify 
What  we've  subscribed  to. 

CcBn,  And  with  vehemence. 

Domitil.  I  will  deliver  it. 

Aret.  Leave  the  rest  to  me  then. 

Enter  C^esak,  with  hisJGruard. 

Cas,  Let  our  lieutenants  bring  us  victory, 
While  we  enjoy  the  fruits  of  peace  at  home : 
And  being  secured  from  our  intestine  foes, 
(Far  worse  thanforeign  enemies,)  doubts  and  fears. 
Though  all  the  sky  were  hung  with  blazing  me- 
teors. 
Which  fond  astrologers  give  out  to  be 
Assured  presages  of  the  change  of  empires, 
And  deaths  of  monarchs,  we,  undaunted  yet. 
Guarded  with  our  own  thunder,  bid  defiance 
To  them  and  fate ;  we  being  too  strongly  arm'd 
For  them  to  wound  us. 

Aret,  Cassar ! 

5  —  That  Paris  is  brought  to  her,  &c.]  A  line  precedfng  this 
teems  to  have  been  lost  at  the  press  :  the  drift  of  it  is  not  diffi- 
cult to  guess ;  but  I  have  not  meddled  with  the  old  copies. 


THE   ROMAN   ACTOR.         593 

Jul.  As  thou  art 
More  than  a  man — 

Cctn.  Let  not  thy  passions  be 
Rebellious  to  thy  reason — 

Domitil.  But  receive  [Delivers  the  petition. 

This  trial  of  your  constancy,  as  unmoved 
As  you  go  to  or  from  the  capitol, 
Thanks  given  to  Jove  for  triumphs. 

Cas.  Ha! 

Domitil.  Vouchsafe 
A  while  to  stay  the  lightning  of  your  eyes, 
Poor  mortals  dare  not  look  on. 

Aret.  There's  no  vein 
Of  yours  that  rises  with  high  rage,  but  is 
An  earthquake  to  us. 

Domitil.  And,  if  not  kept  closed 
With  more  than  human  patience,  in  a  moment 
Will  swallow  us  to  the  centre. 

Ca?i.  Not  that  we 
Repine  to  serve  her,  are  we  her  accusers. 

Jul.  But  that  she's  fallen  so  low. 

A?'et.  Which  on  sure  proofs 
We  can  make  good. 

Domitil.  And  shew  she  is  unworthy 
Of  the  least  spark  of  that  diviner  fire 
You  have  cotiferr'd  upon  her, 

Cas.  I  stand  doubtful, 
And  unresolved  what  to  determine  of  you. 
In  this  malicious  violence  you  have  offer'd 
To  the  altar  of  her  truth  and  pureness  to  me, 
You  have  but  fruitlessly  labour'd  to  sully 
A  white  robe  of  perfection,  black-mouth'd  envy 
Could  belch  no  spot  on. — But  I  will  put  off 
The  deity  you  labour  to  take  from  me, 
And  argue  out  of  probabilities  v/ith  you, 
As  if  I  were  a  man.    Can  I  believe 
That  she,  that  borrows  all  her  light  from  me. 


394         THE  ROMAN   ACTOR. 

And  knows  to  use  it,  would  betray  her  darkness 
To  your  intelligence ;  and  make  that  apparent, 
Which,  by  her  perturbations  in  a  play. 
Was  yesterday  but  doubted,  and  find  none 
But  you,   that  are  her  slaves,  and  therefore  hate 

her, 
Whose  aids  she  might  employ  to  make  way  for 

her? 
Or  Aretinus,  whom  long  since  she  knew 
Tor  be  the  cabinet  counsellor,  nay,  the  key 
Of  Cassar's  secrets  ?  Could  her  beauty  raise  her 
To  this  unequall'd  height,  to  make  her  fall. 
The  more  remarkable?  or  must  my  desires 
To  her,  and  wrongs  to  Lamia,  be  revenged 
By  her,  and  on  herself,  that  drew  on  both  ? 
Or  she  leave  our  imperial  bed,  to  court 
A  public  actor? 

Aret.  Who  dares  contradict 
These  more  than  human  reasons,  that  have  power 
To  clothe  base  guilt  in  the  most  glorious  shape 
Of  innocence? 

Domitil.  Too  well  she  knew  the  streno-th 
And  eloquence  of  her  patron  to  defend  her, 
And  thereupon  presuming,  fell  securely ; 
Not  fearing  an  accuser,  nor  the  truth 
Produced  against  her,  which  your  love  and  favour 
Will  ne'er  discern  from  falsehood. 

Cas.   VW  not  hear 
A  syllable  more  that  may  invite  a  change 
In  my  opinion  of  her.     You  have  raised 
A  fiercer  war  within  me  by  this  fable, 
Though  with  your  lives  you  vow  to  make  it 

story. 
Than  if,  and  at  one  instant,  all  my  legions 
Revolted  from  me,  and  came  arm'd  against  me. 
Here  in  this  paper  are  the  swords  predestined 
For  my  destruction ;  here  the  fatal  stars. 


THE   ROMAN  ACTOR.  395 

That  threaten  more  than  ruin ;  this  the  Death's 

head 
That  does  assure  me,  if  she  can  prove  false, 
That  I  am  mortal,  which  a  sudden  fever 
Would  pfompt  me  to  believe,  and  faintly  yield  to. 
But  now  in  my  full  confidence  what  she  suffers. 
In  that,  from  any  witness  but  myself, 
I  nourish  a  suspicion  she's  untrue, 
My  toughness  returns  to  me.   Lead  on,  monsters^. 
And,  by  the  forfeit  of  your  lives,  confirm 
She  is  all  excellence,  as  you  all  baseness ; 
Or  let  mankind,  for  her  fall,  boldly  swear 
There  are  no  chaste  wives  now,  nor  ever  were.* 

SCENE    II. 

A  private  Walk  in  the  Gardens  of  the  Palace, 
Enter  Domitia,  Paris,  and  Servants. 

Dom.  Say  we  command,  that  none  presume  to 
dare, 
On  forfeit  of  our  favour,  that  is  life, 
Out  of  a  saucy  curiousness,  to  stand 
Within  the  distance  of  their  eyes  or  ears, 
Till  we  please  to  be  waited  on.  {Exeunt  Servants, 

And,  sirrah, 
Howe'er  you  are  excepted,  let  it  not 
Beget  in  you  an  arrogant  opinion 
Tis  done  to  grace  you. 

Far,  With  my  humblest  service 

•  Or  let  mankind,  for  her  fall,  holdly  twear 

There  are  no  chaste  wives  now,  nor  ever  were.]  The  "  godlike 
Caesar"  forgets  that  the  chastit}/  of  Domitia  h»d  long  eeaaed  to 
be  a  matter  of  doubt. 


S96         THE   ROMAN   ACTOR. 

I  but  obey  your  summons,  and  should  blush  else, 
To  be  so  near  you. 

Dom.  'Twould  become  you  rather 
To  fear  the  greatness  of  the  grace  vouchsafed 

you 
May  overwhelm  you;  and  'twill  do  no  less, 
If,  when  you  are  rewarded,  in  your  cups 
You  boast  this  privacy. 

Par.  That  were,  mightiest  empress, 
To  play  with  lightning. 

Dom.  You  conceive  it  right. 
The  means  to  kill  or  save  is  not  alone 
In  Caesar  circumscribed  ;  for,  if  incensed, 
We  have  our  thunder  too,  that  strikes  as  deadly. 

Far,  '.Twould  ill  become  the  lowness  of  my 
fortune, 
To  question  what  you  can  do,  but  with  all 
Humility  to  attend  what  is  your  will, 
And  then  to  serve  it. 

Dom.  And  would  not  a  secret. 
Suppose  we  should  commit  it  to  your  trust, 
Scald  you  to  keep  it? 

Far.  Though  it  raged  within  me 
Till  I  turn'd  cinders,  it  should  ne'er  have  vent. 
To  be  an  age  a  dying,  and  with  torture, 
Only  to  be  thought  worthy  of  your  counsel,' 
Or  actuate  what  you  command  to  me,' 

'  Onli/  to  be  thought  -worthy  of  your  counsel,]  The  modern 
editors,  who  appear  not  to  have  understood  the  word,  read 
council  for  counsel :  but  the  latter  is  right.  It  means  secrecy,  and 
80  it  is  frequently  used,  not  only  by  Massinger,  but  by  all  the 
writers  of  his  time  : 

*'  But  what  they  did  there  is  counsel  to  me, 
"  Because  they  lay  late  the  next  day."  Old  Ballad. 

See  Vol.  I.  p.  281. 

^  Or  actuate  vshat  you  command  to  me,"]  Here  actuate  is  used 
for  act,  as  act  is  used  by  some  of  our  best  poets,  and  Pope 
^mong  the  rest,  but  with  less  propriety,  for  actuate. 


THE  ROMAN   ACTOR.  357 

A  wretched  obscure  thing,  not  worth  your  know- 
ledge, 
Were  a  perpetual  happiness. 

Dom.  We  could  wish 
That  we  could  credit  thee,  and  cannot  find 
In  reason,  but  that  thou,  whom  oft  I  have  seen 
To  personate  a  gentleman,  noble,  wise. 
Faithful,  and  gainsome,  and  what  virtues  else 
The  poet  pleases  to  adorn  you  with ; 
But  that  (a«  vessels  still  partake  the  odour* 
Of  the  sweet  precious  liquors  they  contain'd) 
Thou  must  be  really,  in  some  degree. 
The   thing   thou   dost    present. — Nay,    do    not 

tremble ; 
"We  seriously  believe  it,  and  presume 
Our  Paris  is  the  volume  in  which  all 
Those  excellent  gifts  the  stage  hath  seen  him 

graced  with. 
Are  curiously  bound  up. 

Par,  The  argument 
Is  the  same,  great  Augusta,  that  I,  acting 
A  fool,  a  coward,  a  traitor,  or  cold  cynic, 
Or  any  other  weak  and  vicious  person. 
Of  force  I  must  be  such.    O,  gracious  madam, 
How  glorious  soever,  or  deform'd, 
I  do  appear  in  the  scene,  my  part  being  ended, 
And  all  my  borrow'd  ornaments  put  off, 
I  am  no  more,  nor  less,  than  what  I  was 
Before  I  enter'd. 

Dom.  Come,  you  would  put  on 
A  wilful  ignorance,  and  not  understand 

(fl*  vessels  still  partake  the  odour 


Of  the  sweet  precious  liquors  they  contain'd)  J 

Quce  semel  est  imbuta  reccns  sercabit  odorem 

Testa  diu.  HoR. 


S98         THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

What  'tis  we  point  at-    Must  we  in  plain  language, 

Against  the  decent  modesty  of  our  sex, 

Say  that  we  love  thee,  love  thee  to  enjoy  thee; 

Or  that  in  our  desires  thou  art  preferr'd, 

And  Caesar  but  thy  second  ?  Thou  in  justice, 

If  from  the  height  of  majesty  we  can 

Look  down  upon  thy  lowness,  and  embrace  it, 

Art  bound  with  fervor  to  look  up  to  me. 

Par.  O,  madam  J  hear  me  with  a  patient  ear, 
And  be  but  pleased  to  understand  the  reasons 
That  do  deter  me  from  a  happiness 
Kings  would  be  rivals  for.    Can  I,  that  owe 
My  life,  and  all  that's  mine,  to  Caesar's  bounties. 
Beyond  my  hopes  or  merits,  shower'd  upon  me, 
Make  payment  for  them  with  ingratitude. 
Falsehood,  and  treason  '.^Though  you  have  a  shape 
Might  tempt  Hippolitus,  and  larger  power 
To  help  or  hurt  than  wanton  Phaedra  had, 
Let  loyalty  and  duty  plead  my  pardon. 
Though  I  refuse  to  satisfy. 

Do7n.  You  are  coy. 
Expecting  I  should  court  you.    Let  mean  ladies 
Use  prayers  and  entreaties  to  their  creatures 
To  rise  up  instruments  to  serve  their  pleasures ; 
Butrfor  Augusta  so  to  lose  herself. 
That  holds  command  o'er  Caesar  and  the  world, 
Were  poverty  of  spirit.    Thou  must — thou  shalt ; 
The  violence  of  my  passion  knows  no  mean. 
And  in  my  punishments,  and  my  rewards, 
I'll  use  no  moderation.    Take  this  only, 
As  a  caution  from  me  ;  threadbare  chastity 
Is  poor  in  the  advancement  of  her  servants, 
But  wantonness  magnificent;  and  'tis  frequent 
To  have  the  salary  of  vice  weigh  down 
The  pay  of  virtue.    So,  without  more  trifling, 
Thy  sudden  answer. 


THE   ROMAN   ACTOR.         399 

Par.  In  what  a  strait  am  I  brought  in  !* 
Alas  !  I  know  that  the  denial's  death  ; 
Nor  can  my  grant,  discover'd,  threaten  more. 
Yet,  to  die  innocent,  and  have  the  glory 
For  all  posterity  to  report,  that  I 
Refused  an  empress,  to  preserve  my  faith 
To  my  great  master;  in  true  judgment,  must 
Show  fairer,  than  to  buy  a  guilty  life 
With  wealth  and  honour.  'Tis  the  base  I  build  on: 
I  dare  not,  must  not,  will  not. 

Dom.  How  !   contemn'd  ? 
Since  hopes,  nor  fears,  in  the  extremes,  prevail  not, 
I  must  use  a  mean.  \_Aside.'\ — Think  who  'tis  sues 

to  thee. 
Deny  not  that  yet,  which  a  brother  may 
Grant  to  a  sister  :  as  a  testimony 

Enter  Caesar,  Aretinus,  Julia,  Domitilla, 

CiENis,  and  a  Guards  behind. 

I  am  not  scorn 'd,  kiss  me  ; — kiss  me  again: 
Kiss  closer.    Thou  art  now  my  Trojan  Paris, 
And  I  thy  Helen. 

Par.  Since  it  is  your  will. 

Cas.  And  I  am  Menelaus  :  but  I  shall  be 
Something  I  know  not  yet. 

Dojti.  Why  lose  we  time 

'  Par.    lu  -what  a  strait  am  I  brought  in !]      Coxcter  and  M. 
Mason  read, 

Oh !  what  a  strait  am  I  brought  in  ! 
This  is,  perhaps,  a  better  mode  of  expression ;  but  we  shoald 
confoaud  all  times,  if  we  thus  modernised  every  phrase  which 
appears  uncouth  to  our  eyes  and  ears:  add  too,  that  similar 
redundancies  are  to  be  found  in  almost  eyery  page  of  our  old 
writers,  and  above  all,  in  Massinger.  An  instance  occurs  just 
below :  - 

of  -which,  if  again 

J  could  be  ignorant  of,  &c.  ' 


400         THE   ROMAN  ACTOR. 

And  opportunity  ?   These  are  but  salads 
To  sharpen  appetite  :  let  us  to  the  feast, 

[Courting  Paris  wantonly. 
Where  I  shall  wish  that  thou  wert  Jupiter, 
And  I  Alcmena  ;  and  that  I  had  power 
To  lengthen  out  one  short  night  into  three, 
And  so  beget  a  Hercules. 

Cas.  [Comes  forward.']  While  Am  phi  trio 
Stands  by,  and  draws  the  curtains. 

Par.  Oh  ! [Falls  on  hisfoce. 

Dom.  Betray 'd  ! 

Ctes.  No  ;  taken  in  a  net  of  Vulcan's  filing, 
Where,  in  myself,  the  theatre  of  the  gods 
Are  sad  spectators,  not  one  of  them  daring 
To  witness,  with  a  smile,  he  does  desire 
To  be  so  shamed  for  all  the  pleasure  that 
You've  sold  your  being  for  !  What  shall  I  name 

thee  ? 
Ingrateful,  treacherous,  insatiate,  all 
Invectives  which,  in  bitterness  of  spirit, 
Wrong'd  men  have  breathed  out  against  wicked 

women, 
Cannot  express  thee  I    Have  I  raised  thee  from 
Thy  low  condition  to  the  height  of  greatness, 
Command,  and  majesty,  in  one  base  act 
To    render   me,    that    was,    before   I   hugg'd 

thee,' 
An  adder,  in  my  bosom,  more  than  man, 
A  thing  beneath  a  beast !    Did  I  force  these 
Of  mine  own  blood,  as  handmaids  to  kneel  to 
Thy  pomp  and  pride,  having  myself  no  thought 
But  ho  w  with  benefits  to  bind  thee  mine ; 

*  To  render  me  that  was,  before  I  hugg'd  thee^]  This  and  the 
two  following  lines  hare  been  hitherto  printed  and  pointed  in 
a  very  unintelligible  manner.  Mr.  M.  Mason  tried  to  reform 
them,  but  failed  :  the  simple  remoTal  of  a  bracket  in  the  old 
copies  restores  them  to  sensle.  — *    - 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  401 

And  am  I  thus  rewarded  !  Not  a  knee, 
Nor  tear,  nor  sign  of  sorrow  for  thy  fault  ?    " 
Break,  stubborn  silence  :    what  canst  thou  al- 
lege 
To  stay  my  vengeance  ? 

Dam.  This.    Thy  lust  compell'd  me 
To  be  a  strumpet,  and  mine  hath  return'd  it 
In  my  intent  and  will,  though  not  in  act, 
To. cuckold  thee.  "^ 

Cas.  O,  impudence  1  take  her  hence. 
And  let  her  make  her  entrance  into  hell, 
By  leaving  life  with  all  the  tortures  that 
Flesh    can  be   sensible   of.     Yet   stay.     What 

power 
Her  beauty  still  holds  o'er  my  soul,  that  wrongs 
Of  this  unpardonable  nature  cannot  teach  me 
To  right  myself,  and  hate  her  1  —  Kill  her.  — 
Hold! 

0  that  my  dotage  should  increase  from  that 
Which  should  breed  detestation  !  By  Minerva, 
If  I  look  on  her  longer,  I  shall  melt. 

And  sue  to  her,  my  injuries  forgot, 

Again  to  be  received  into  her  favour; 

Could  honour  yield  to  it !     Carry  her  to  her' 

chamber; 
Be  that  her  prison,  till  in  cooler  blood 

1  shall  determine  of  her. 

\_E.vit  Guard  'with  Domitia. 

Arct.  Now  step  I  in, 
While  he's  in  this  calm  mood,  for  my  reward. — 
Sir,  if  my  service  hath  deserved — 

Cas.  Yes,  yes  : 
And  I'll  reward  thee.    Thou  hast  robb'd  mc  of 


*  Carry  her  to  her  chamber;  &c.]  Mr.  M.  Mason  reads  my 
chamber,  strangely  enough;  but,  indeed,  this  whole  scene  is 
very  carelessly  given  by  him. 


402  THE  ROMAN   ACTOR. 

All  rest  and  peace,  and  been  the  principal  means 
To  make  me  know  that,  of  which  if  again 
I  could  be  ignorant  of,  I  would  purchase  it 

Re-enter  Guard, 

With  the  loss  of  empire:  Strangle  him;  take  these 

hence  too, 
And  lodge  them  in  the  dungeon.    Could  your 

reason, 
Dull  wretches,  flatter  you  with  hope  to  think 
That  this  discovery,  that  hath  shower'd  upon  me 
Perpetual  vexation,  should  not  fall 
Heavy  on  you?  Away  with  them  l^stop  their 

mouths; 
I  will  hear  no  reply. 

[Exit  Guard  with  Aretinus,  Julia^  Canis, 
and  Domitilla. 
>nr"i  — O,  Paris,  Paris  1 

How  shall  I  argue  with  thee?  how  begin 
To  make  thee  understand,  before  I  kill  thee, 
With  what  grief  and  unwillingness  'tis  forced 

from  me  ? 
Yet,  in  respect  I  have  favour'd  thee,  I'll  hear 
What  thou  canst  speak  to  qualify  or  excuse 
Th}'^  readiness  to  serve  this  woman's  lust ; 
And  wish  thou  couldst  give  me  such  satisfaction, 
As  I  might  bury  the  remembrance  of  it. 
Look  up :  we  stand  attentive. 

Par,  O,  dread  Cassar! 
To  hope  for  life,  or  plead  in  the  defence 
Of  my  ingratitude,  were  again  to  wrong  you. 
I  know  I  have  deserved  death ;  and  my  suit  is, 
That  you  would  hasten  it:  yet,  that  y  our  nighness, 
When  I  am  dead,  (as  sure  I  will  not  live,) 
May  pardon  me,  I'll  only  urge  my  frailty, 
Her  will,  and  the  temptation  of  that  beauty 


THE   ROMAN   ACTOR.         403 

Which  you  could  not  resist.    How  could  poor  J, 

then, 
Fly  that  which  follow'd  me,  and  Caesar  sued  for? 
This  is  all.    And  now  your  sentence. 

Cas.  Which  I  know  not 
How  to  pronounce.    O  that  thy  fault  had  beea 
But  such  as  I  might  pardon  !  if  thou  hadst 
In  wantonness,  like  Nero,  fired  proud  Rome, 
Betray 'd  an  army,  butcher'd  the  whole  senate. 
Committed  sacrilege,  or  any  crime 
The  justice  of  our  Roman  laws  calls  death, 
I  had  prevented  any  intercession, 
And  freely  sign'd  thy  pardon. 

Par.  But  for  this, 
Alas  !  you  cannot,  nay,  you  must  not,  sir; 
Nor  let  it  to  posterity  be  recorded, 
That  Csesar,  unrevenged,  suffer'd  a  wrong, 
Which,  if  a  private  man  should  sit  down  with  it, 
Cowards  would  baffle  him. 

CeES.  With  such  true  feeling 
Thou  arguest  against  thyself,  that  it 
Works  more  upon  me,  than  if  my  Minerva, 
The  grand  protectress  of  my  life  and  empire. 
On  forfeit  of  her  favour,  cried  aloud, 
Caesar,  show  mercy  !  and,  I  know  not  how, 
I  am  inclined  to  it.    Rise.    I'll  promise  nothing; 
Yet  clear  thy  cloudy  fears,  and  cherish  hopes. 
What  we  must  do,  Ave  shall  do  :  we  remember 
A  tragedy  we  oft  have  seen  with  pleasure, 
Call'd  the  False  Serva7it. 

Par.  Such  a  one  we  have,  sir. 

Cas.  In  which  a  great  lord*  takes  to  his  pro- 
tection 

*  Caes.  In  which  a  great  lord^  &c.]  The  modern  editions  gitre 
this  speech  and  the  next  to  Paris.  The  blunder,  which  is  pal- 
pable enough,  oris^inatrd  with  Cuxeter,  and  ''  the  most  accarate'' 
of  all  editors  unfortunately  followed  him. 


404         THE   ROMATfT   ACTOR. 

A  man  forlorn,  giving  him  ample  power 
To  order  and  dispose  of  his  estate 
In's  absence,  he  pretending  then  a  journey  : 
But  yet  with  this  restraint  that,  on  no  terms, 
(This  lord  suspecting  his  wife's  constancy, 
She  having  play'd  false  to  a  former  husband,) 
The  servant,  though  solicited,  should  consent. 
Though   she    commanded   hirti   to   quench   her 
flames. 

Par,  That  was,  indeed,  the  argument. 

Cas.  And  what 
Didst  thou  play  in  it? 

Far.  The  False  Ser'oanty  sir. 

Cas.  Thou  didst,  indeed.    Do  the  players  wait; 
without  ? 

Far.  They  do,  sir,  and  prepared  to  act  the  story 
Your  majesty  mention'd. 

Cas.  Call  them  in.    Who  presents 
The  injured  lord ! 

Enter  JEsopus,  Latinus,  and  a  Lady. 

JEsop,  'Tis  my  part,  sir. 

Cas.  Thou  didst  not 
Do  it  to  the  life  ;  we  can  perform  it  better. 
Off  with  my  robe  and  wreath  :  since  Nero  scorn 'd 

not 
The  public  theatre,  we  in  private  may 
Disport  ourselves.    This  cloak  and  hat,  without 
Wearing  a  beard,  or  other  property, 
Will  fit  the  person. 

^sop.  Only,  sir,  a  foil, 
The  point  and  edge  rebated,  when  you  act. 
To  do  the  murder.    If  you  please  to  use  this, 
And  lay  aside  your  own  sword. 

Cas.  By  no  means. 
In  jest  nor  earnest  this  parts  never  from  mc, 


THE   ROMAN   ACTOR.         405 

We'll  have  but  one  short  scene — That,  where  the 

lady 
In  an  imperious  way  commands  the  servant 
To  be  unthankful  to  his  patron  :  when 
My  cue's  to  enter,  prompt  me  : — Nay,  begin, 
And  do  it  sprightly :  though  but  a  new  actor, 
When  I  come  to  execution,  you  shall  find 
No  cause  to  laugh  at  me. 

Lat.  In  the  name  of  wonder. 
What's  Cassar's  purpose ! 

JEsop.  There"  18  no  contending. 

Cas.  Why,  when?* 

Par.  I  am  arm'd  : 
And,  stood  grim  Death  now  in  my  view,  and  his 
Inevitable  dart  aim-'d  at  my  breast, 
His  cold  embraces  should  not  bring  an  ague 
To  any  of  my  faculties,  till  his  pleasures 
Were  served  and  satisfied ;  which  done,  Nestor's 

years 
To  me  would  be  unwelcome.  [Aside, 

Lady.  Must  we  entreaty 
That  were  born  to  command  ?  or  -court  a  servant. 
That  owes  his  food  and  clothing  to  our  bounty , 
For  that  J  which  thou  ambitiously  shouldst  kneel  for  ? 
Urge  not,  in  thy  e.rcuse,  the  favours  of' 
Thy  absent  lord,  or  that  thou  stand'st  engaged 
For  thy  life  to  his  charity  ;  nor  thy  fears 
Of  what  may  follow,  it  being  in  my  power 
To  mould  him  any  way. 

Par.  As  you  may  me, 
In  what  his  reputation  is  not  wounded, 
Nor  I,  his  creature^  in  my  thankfulness  suffer. 


5  Why,  -when  f]  This  is  marked  by  the  editors  as  an  imperfect 
speech :  it  is,  however,  complete  ;  and  occurs  continually  in  our 
old  dramas,  as  a  mark  of  impatience. 

VOL,  II.  •  E  e 


406         THE   ROMAN   ACTOR. 

/  know  you're  young,  and  fair  ;  be  ^cirtiious  too^ 
And  loyal  to  his  bed,  that  hath  advanced  you 
To  the  height  of  happiness. 

Lady.  Can  my  love-sick  heart 
Be  cured  with  counsel  ?  or  durst  reason  ever 
Offer  to  put  in  an  exploded  plea 
In  the  court  of  Venus  ?    My  desires  admit  not 
The  least  delay  ;  and  therefore  instantly 
Give  me  to  understand  what  I  must  trust  to  : 
For,  if  I  am  refused,  and  not  enjoy 
Those  ravishing  pleasures  from  thee,  I  run  mad  for ^ 
Til  swear  unto  my  lord,  at  his  return, 
(Making  what  I  deliver  good  with  tears,) 
That  brutishly  thou  wouldst  have  forced  from  me 
JVhat  I  make  suit  j or.    And  then  but  imagine 
What   'tis   to   die,   with  these  words,    slave    and 

traitor, 
fVith  burning  corsives*  writ  upon  thy  forehead. 
And  live  preparedfor't. 

Par.  This  he  will  believe 
Upon  her  information,  'tis  apparent ; 
And  then  Tm  nothing :  and  of  two  extremes. 
Wisdom  says,  choose  the  less.  [Aside.] — Rather  than 

fail 
Under  your  indignation,  I  will  yield  : 
This  kiss,  and  this,  confirms  it. 

jEsop.  Now,  sir,  now. 

Cas.  I  must  take  them  at  it  ? 

jEsop.  Yes,  sir;  be  but  perfect. 

Cas.   O  villain  I    thankless  villain ! — I   should 
talk  now  ; 
But  I've  forgot  my  part.    But  I  can  do : 
Thus,  thus,  and  thus  !  [Stabs  Paris. 

'  With  burning  corsives  writ  upon  thy  forehead ^1    See  the  Em- 
peror of  the  East,  Yol.  111.  ' 


THE   ROMAN   ACTOR.         407 

Par.  Oh  !  I  am  slain  in  earnest. 

Cas.  'Tis  true  ;  and  'twas  iny  purpose,  my  good 
Paris : 
And  yet,  before  life  leave  thee,  let  the  honour 
I've  done  thee  in  thy  death  bring  comfort  to 

thee. 
If  it  had  been  within  the  power  of  Csesar, 
His  dignity  preserved,  he  had  pardon'd  thee : 
But  cruelty  of  honour  did  deny  it. 
Yet,  to  confirm  I  loved  thee,  'twas  my  study, 
To  make  thy  end  more  glorious,  to  distinguish 
My  Paris  from  all  others  ;  and  in  that 
Have  shewn  my  pity.    Nor  would  I  let  thee  fall 
By  a  centurion's  sword,  or  have  thy  limbs 
Rent  piecemeal  by  the  hangman's  hook,  however 
Thy  crime  deserved  it:  but,  as  thou  didst  live 
Rome's  bravest  actor,  'twas  my  plot  that  thou 
Shouldst  die  in  action,  and  to  crown  it,  die, 
With  an  applause  enduring  to  all  times. 
By  our  imperial  hand. — His  soul  is  freed 
From  the  prison  of  his  flesh  ;  let  it  mount  upward  ! 
And  for  this  trunk,  when  that  the  funeral  pile 
Hath  made  it  ashes,  we'll  see  it  enclosed 
In  a  golden  urn  ;  poets  adorn  his  hearse 
With  their  most  ravishing  sorrows,  and  the  stage 
For  ever  mourn  him,  and  all  such  as  were 
His  glad  spectators,  weep  his  sudden  death, 
The  cause  forgotten  in  his  epitaph. 

\Sad  music  ;  the  Players  hear  off  Paris' 
body,  Casar  and  the  i^est  following. 


•Ee8 


408  THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

ACT  V.    SCENE  I. 

A  Room  in  the  Palace,  with  an  image  of  Minerva. 

Enter  Parthenius,  Stephanos,  and  Guard, 

Parth.  Keep  a  strong  guard  upon  him,  and 

admit  not 
Access  to  any,  to  exchange  a  word 
Or  syllable  with  him,  till  the  emperor  pleases 
To  call  him  to  his  presence — [Exit  Guard.'] — The 

relation 
That  you  have  made  me,  Stephanos,  of  these  late 
Strange  passions  in  Csesar,  much  amaze  me. 
The  informer  Aretinus  put  to  death 
For  yielding  him  a  true  discovery 
Of  the  empress'  wantonness ;  poorParis  kill'd  first, 
And  now  lamented ;  and  the  princesses 
Confined  to  several  islands  ;  yet  Augusta, 
The  machine  on  which  all  this  mischief  moved, 
Received  again  to  grace  ! 

Steph,  Nay,  courted  to  it : 
Such  is  the  impotence'  of  his  affection! 
Yet,  to  conceal  his  weakness,  he  gives  out 
The  people  made  suitfor  her,  whom  they  hate  more 
Than  civil  war,  or  famine.     But  take  heed, 
My  lord,  that,  nor  in  your  consent  nor  wishes, 
'  You  lend  or  furtherance  or  favour  to 
The  plot  contrived  againsther :  should  she  prove  it. 
Nay,  doubt  it  only,  you  are  a  lost  man. 
Her  power  o'er  doatin^  Ca;sar  being  now 
Greater  than  ever. 

7  Such  is  the  impotence  of  his  affection  /]  i.  e.  the  ungovern- 
ablencsa,  the  uncontrollable  violence.    See  Vol.  I.  p.  174. 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  409 

Parth.  Tis  a  truth  I  shake  at ; 
And,  when  there's  opportunity 

Steph.  Say  but,  Do, 
I  am  yours,  and  sure. 

Parth.  I'll  stand  one  trial  more, 
And  then  you  shall  hear  from  me. 

Steph.  Now  observe 
The  fondness  of  this  tyrant,"and  her  pride. 

[They  stand  aside. 

Enter  C^sar  and  Domitia. 

Cas.  Nay,  all's  forgotten. 

Dom.  It  may  be,  on  your  part. 

Cas.  Forgiven  too,  Domitia: — 'tis  a  favour 
Thatyoushouldwelcomewith  more  cheerful  looks. 
Can  Csesar  pardon  what  you  durst  not  hope  for, 
That  did  the  injury,  and  yet  must  sue 
To  her,  whose  guilt  is  wash'd  off  by  his  mercy,j; 
Only  to  entertain  it  ? 

Dom.  I  ask'd  none  ; 
And  I  should  be  more  wretched  to  receive 
Remission  for  what  I  hold  no  crime. 
But  by  a  bare  acknowledgment,  than  if, 
By  slighting  and  contemning  it,  as  now, 
I  dared  thy  utmost  fury.  Though  thy  flatterers 
Persuade  thee,  that  thy  murders,  lusts,  and  rapes, 
Are  virtues  in  thee  ;  and  what  pleases  Caesar, 
Though  never  so  unjust,  is  right  and  lawful; 
Or  work  in  thee  a  false  belief  that  thou 
Art  more  than  mortal ;  yet  I  to  thy  teeth, 
When  circled  with  thy  guards,  thy  rods,  thy  axes, 
And  all  the  ensigns  of  thy  boasted  power. 
Will  say,  Domitian,  nay,  add  to  it  Caesar, 
Is  a  weak,  feeble  man,  a  bondman  to 
His  violent  passions,  ahd  in  that  my  slave ; 
Nay,  more  my  slave  than  my  affections  made  me 
To  my  loved  Paris, 


410  THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

Cas.  Can  I  live  and  hear  this  ? 
Or  hear,  and  not  revenge  it?  Come,  you  know 
The  strength  that  you  hold  on  me,  do  not  use  it 
With  top  much  cruelty  ;  for  though  'tis  granted 
That  Lydian  Omphale  had  less  command 
O'er  Hercules,  than  you  usurp  o'er  me, 
Reason  may  teach  me  to  shake  off  the  yoke 
Of  my  fond  dotage. 

Dom.  Never;  do  not  hope  it: 
It  cannot  be.     Thou  being  my  beauty's  captive, 
And  not  to  be  redecm'd,  my  empire's  larger 
Than  thine,  Domitian,  wliich  I'll  exercise 
With  rigour  on  thee,  for  my  Paris'  death. 
And,  when  I've  forced  those  eyes,  now  red  with 

fury, 
To  drop  down  tears,  in  vain  spent  to  appease  me, 
I  know  thy  fervour  such  to  my  embraces. 
Which  shall   be,   though  still  kneel'd  for,   still 

denied  thee. 
That  thou  with  languishment  shalt  wish  my  actor 
Did  live  again,  so  thou  mightst  be  his  second 
To  feed  upon  those  delicates,  when  he's  sated.* 

Cas,  O  my  Minerva! 

Dom.  There  she  is,  [Points  to  the  statue.}  in- 
voke her : 
She  cannot  arm  thee  with  ability 
To  draw  thy  sword  on  me,  my  power  being  greater : 
Or  only  say  to  thy  centurions. 
Dare  none  of  you  do  what  I  shake  to  think  on. 
And,  in  this  woman's  death,  remove  the  Furies 
That  every  hour  afflict  me  ? — Lamia's  wrongs, 
When  thy  lust  forced  me  from  him,  are,  in  me. 
At  the  height  revenged ;  nor  would  I  outlive  Paris, 

'  To  feed  upon  those  delicates,  when  he's  sated.]     So  the  old 
copies :  but  the  modern  editors,  laudably  solicitous  for  the  sense, 
aa  well  as  the  metre,  of  their  author,  concur  in  reading, 
To/ted  vpon  those  delicates,  when  he  were  sated/ 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  411 

But  that  thy  love,  increasing  with  my  hate, 
May  add  unto  thy  torments ;  so,  with  all 
Contempt  I  can,  I  leave  thee.  [EiU, 

Cces.  I  am  lost; 
Nor  am  I  Cassar.  When  I  first  betray'd 
The  freedom  of  my  faculties  and  will 
To  this  imperious  Siren,  I  laid  down 
The  empire  of  the  world,  and  of  myself, 
At  her  proud  feet.     Sleep  all  my  ireful  powers ! 
Or  is  the  magic  of  my  dotage  such. 
That  I  must  still  make  suit  to  hear  those  charms 
That  do  increase  my  thraldom  !  Wake,  my  anger! 
For  shame,  break  through  this  lethargy,  and  appear 
With  usual  terror,  and  enable  me. 
Since  I  wear  not  a  sword  to  pierce  her  heart, 
Nor  have  a  tongue  to  say  this.  Let  her  die, 
Though  'tis  done  with  a  fever-shaken  hand, 

[Pulls  out  a  table-book. 
To  sign  her  death.     Assist  me,  great  Minerva, 
And  vindicate  thy  votary  !  [writes]  So;  she's  now 
Among  the  list  of  those  1  have  proscribed, 
And  are,  to  free  me  of  my  doubts  and  fears, 
To  die  to  morrow. 

Steph.  That  same  fatal  book 
Was  never  drawn,  yet,  but  some  men  of  rank 
Were  mark'd  out  for  destruction.  [Exit, 

Parth.  I  begin 
To  doubt  myself. 

Cas.  Who  waits  there  ? 

Parth.  [cojning  forward.]  Caesar. 

Cas.  So  ! 
These,  that  command  arm'd  troops,  quake  at  my 

frowns. 
And  yeta  woman  slights  them.  Where's  the  wizard 
We  charged  you  to  fetch  in  ? 

Parth.  Ready  to  suffer 
What  death  you  please  to  appoint  him. 


412         THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

Cas.  Bring  him  in. 
We'll  question  him  ourself. 

Enter  Tribunes,  a7id  Guard  with  Ascletario. 

Now,  you,  that  hold 
Intelligence  with  the  stars,  and  dare  prefix 
The  day  and  hour  in  which  we  are  to  part 
With  yfe  and  empire,  punctually  foretelling 
The  means  and  manner  of  our  violent  end ; 
As  you  would  purchase  credit  to  your  art, 
Resolve  me,  since  you  are  assured  of  us, 
What  fate  attends  yourself? 

Ascle.  I  have  had  long  since 
A  certain  knowledge,  and  as  sure  as  thou 
Shalt  die  to  morrow,  being  the  fourteenth  of 
The  kalends  of  October,  the  hour  five ; 
Spite  of  prevention,  this  carcass  shall  be 
Torn  and  devour'd  by  dogs  ; — and  let  that  stand 
For  a  firm  prediction. 

Cas.  May  our  body,  wretch. 
Find  never  nobler  sepulchre,  if  this 
Fall  ever  on  thee  !  Are  we  the  great  disposer 
Of  life  and  death,  yet  cannot  mock  the  stars 
In  such  a  trifle?  Hence  with  the  impostor; 
And  having  cut  his  throat,  erect  a  pile, 
Guarded  with  soldiers,  till  his  cursed  trunk 
Be  turn'd  to  ashes :  upon  forfeit  of 
Your  life,  and  thpirs,  perform  it. 

Ascle.  'Tis  in  vain  ; 
When  what  I  have  foretold  is  made  apparent, 
Tremble  to  think  what  follows. 

Cas.  Drag  him  hence, 

[The  Tribunes  and  Guard  bear  off  Ascletario, 
And  do  as  I  command  you.    1  was  never 
Fuller  of  confidence  ;  for,  having  got 
V  The  victory  of  my  passions,  in  my  freedom 


THE   ROMAN   ACTOR.         413 

From  proud  Domitia,  (who  shall  cease  to  live, 

Since  she  disdains  to  love,)  I  rest  unmoved: 

And,  in  defiance  of  prodigious  meteors, 

Chaldeans'  vain  predictions,  jealous  fears 

Of  my  near  friends  and  freedmen,  certain  hate 

Of  kindred  and  alliance,  or  all  terrors 

The  soldiers'  doubted  faith,  or  people's  rage 

Can  bring  to  shake  my  constancy,  I  am  arm'd. 

That  scrupulous  thing  styled  conscience  is  sear'd 

up,  * 

And  I  insensible  of  all  my  actions, 
For  which,  by  moral  and  religious  fools, 
I  stand  condemn'd,  as  they  had  never  been. 
And,  since  I  have  subdued  triumphant  love, 
I  will  not  deify  pale  captive  fear. 
Nor  ill  a  thought  receive  it:  for,  till  thou, 
Wisest  Minerva,  that  from  my  first  youth 
Hast  been  my  sole  protectress,  dost  forsake  me, 
Not  Junius  Rusticus'  threaten'd  apparition,' 
Nor  what  this  soothsayer  but  even  now  foretold, 
Being  things  impossible  to  human  reason. 
Shall  in  a  dream  disturb  me.  Bring  mycouch, there: 
A  sudden  but  a  secure  drowsiness 
Invites  me  to  repose  myself.  [A  couch  brought  in.'\ 

Let  music, 
With  some  choice  ditty,  second  it: — [^Exit  Par- 

thenius.^ — the  mean  time. 
Rest  there,  dear  book,  which  open'd,  when  I  wake, 
[Lays  the  book  under  his  pillow.  * 
Shall  make  some  sleep  for  ever. 

[Alusic  afid  a  song,    Casar  sleeps, 

•  Nor  Junius  Rusticvs'  threaten'd  apparition,*]   See  p,  379. 

*  [Lai/s  the  book  under  his  pillow.]  Nothing  (as  I  have  more 
than  once  had  occasion  to  observe)  can  be  more  careless  than 
the  stage-directions  in  the  modern  editions.  Here  they  both 
make  Caesar  fall  asleep  in  the  midst  of  his  speech,  which,  ncTer- 
theless  they  both  saffer  him  to  continue  ! 


414         TSE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 


He-enter  Parthenius  and  Domitia. 

Dom.  Write  my  name 
In  his  bloody  scroll,  Partheuius !  the  fear's  idle: 
He  durst  not,  could  not. 

Parth.  I  can  assure  nothing  ; 
But  I  observed,  when  you  departed  from  him, 
After  some  little  passion,  but  much  fury. 
He  drew  it  out :  whose  death  he  sign'd,  I  know 

not; 
But  in  his  looks  appear'd  a  resolution 
Of  what  before  he  stagger'd  at.    What  he  hath 
Determined  of  is  uncertain,  but  too  soon 
Will  fall  on  you,  or  me,  or  both,  or  any, 
His  pleasure  known  to  the  tribunes  and  centu- 
rions, 
Who  never  use  to  enquire  his  will,  but  serve  it. 
Now,  if,  out  of  the  confidence  of  your  power, 
The  bloody  catalogue  being  still  about  him, 
As  he  sleeps  you  dare  peruse  it,  or  remove  it. 
You  may  instruct  yourself,  or  what  to  suffer. 
Or  how  to  cross  it. 

JDom,  I  would  not  be  caught 
With  too  much  confidence.    By  your  leave,  sir. 

Ha! 
No  motion ! — you  lie  uneasy,  sir. 
Let  me  mend  your  pillow.     \Takes  away  the  book, 

Parth.  Have  you  it  ? 

Dom.  'Tis  here.' 

Ca's.  Oh! 

Parth.  You  have  waked  him :  softly,  gracious 
niadam. 
While*  we  are  unknown;   and  then  consult  at 
leisure.  [Exeunt. 

softly y  gracious  mada7ny 


While  we  are  unknvwTijI   i.  e.  until  i    a  yery  common   ac- 


THE  ROMAN   ACTOR.         415 


Dreadful  music.  The  Apparitions  o/' Junius  Rus- 
Ticus  awfi?PALPHURius  Sv RA  rise,  wiih  bloody 
szvords  in  their  hands  ;  they  wave  them  over  the 
head  of  Cms AR)  who  seems  troubled  in  his  sleep, 
and  as  if  praying  to  the  image  of  Minerva,  which 
they  scornfully  seize,  and  then  disappear  with  it. 

Cess,  [starting.^  Defend  me,  goddess,  or  this 
horrid  dream 
Will  force  me  to  distraction  !  whither  have 
These  Furies  born  thee?  Let  me  rise  and  follow. 
I  am  bath'd  o'er  with  the  cold  sweat  of  death, 
And  am  deprived  of  organs  to  pursue 
These  sacrilegious  spirits.    Am  I  at  once 
Robb'd  of  my  hopes  and  being?  No,  I  live — 

\^Rises  distractedly. 
Yes,  live,  and  have  discourse,'  to  know  myself 
Of  gods  and  men  forsaken.    What  accuser 
Within  me  cries  aloud,  I  have  deserved  it, 
In  being  just  to  neither?  Who  dares  speak  this? 
Am  I  not  Caesar? — How  !  again  repeat  it  ? 
Presumptuous   traitor,    thou   shalt   die  !-^WTiat 

traitor  ? 
He  that  hath  been  a  traitor  to  himself. 
And  stands  convicted  here.    Yet  who  can  sit 
A  competent  judge  o'er  C'cfisar?  Cajsar.    Yes> 
Cassar  by  Cassar's, sentenced,  and  must  suffer; 

ceptation  of  the  word  in  our  old  writers.    So  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher : 

*'  I  may  be  convey'd  into  your  chamber^  I'll  lie 

*'  Under  your  bed  "while  midnight."    Wit  at  severed  Weapons, 

And  Waller : 

**  Blessings  may  be  repeated  lehile  they  cloy; 
**  But  shall  we  starve  because  fruition's  joy  ?*' 

'  Fe*,  /ire,  a/td  Aave  discoi^rse,]  i.  e.  reason  or  judgment.  Se« 
Vol.  I.  p.  148. 


415  THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

Minerva  cannot  save  him.     Ha  !  where  is  she?* 
Where   is   my   goddess  ?    vanish'd  !    I   am   lost 

theiL 
No  ;  'twas  no  dream,  but  a  most  real  truth, 
That  Junius  Rusticus  and  Palphurius  Sura, 
Although  their  ashes  were  cast  in  the  sea. 
Were  by  their  innocence  made  up  again, 
And  in  corporeal  forms  but  now  appear'd, 
Waving  their  bloody  swords  above  my  head. 
As  at  their  deaths  they  threaten'd.     And  me- 

th  ought, 
Minerva,  ravish'd  hence,  whispered  that  she 
Was,  for  my  blasphemies,  disarm'd  by  Jove, 
And  could  no  more  protect  me.     Yes,  'twas  so, 

[Thunder  and  lightning. 
His  thunder  does  confirm  it,  against  which, 
Howe'er  it  spare  the  laurel,  this  proud  wreath     -^ 

Enter  /Aree  Tribunes. 

Is  no  assurance.  Ha !  come  you  resolved 
To  be  my  executioners? 

1  Trib.  Allegiance 

And  faith  forbid  that  we  should  lift  an  arm 
Against  your  sacred  head. 

2  Trib.  We  rather  sue 
For  mercy. 

3  Trib.  And  acknowledge  that  in  justice 
Our  lives  are  forfeited  for  not  performing 
What  Caesar  charged  us. 


Ha  !  where  is  she  9 


Where  is  my  goddess  ?]  This  attachment  of  Domitian  to  Mi- 
nerra  is  an  historical  fact.  He  chose  her  at  an  early  {)eriod  of 
his  life  for  his  protectress,  multipli'^d  her  statues  to  a  great 
extent,  and  had  always  a  strong  reliance  on  her  favour.  If  the 
reader  wishes  for  more  on  the  subject,  he  may  turn  to  the  edl> 
tor's  translation  of  Juvenal,  Sat.  YII. 


THE  ROMAN  ACTOR.  417 

1  Trib.  Nor  did  we  transgress  it 
In  our  want  of  will  or  care  ;  for,  being  but  men, 
It  could  not  be  in  us  to  make  resistance, 
The  gods  fighting  against  us. 

C(ES.  Speak,  in  what 
Did  they  express  their  anger?  we  will  hear  it, 
But  dare  not  say,  undaunted. 

1  Trib.  In  brief  thus,  sir: 
The  sentence  given  by  your  imperial  tongue, 
For  the  astrologer  Ascletario's  death, 
With  speed  was  put  in  execution. 

Cas,  Well. 

1  Trib.  For,  his  throat  cut,  his  legs  bound,  and 
his  arms 
Pinion'd  behind  his  back,  the  breathless  trunk 
Was  with  all  scorn  dragg'd  to  the  field  of  Mars, 
And  there,  a  pile  being  raised  of  old  dry  wood, 
Smear'd  o'er  with  oil  and  brimstone,  or  what 

else 
Could  help  to  feed  or  to  increase  the  fire, 
The  carcass  was.  thrown  on  it ;  but  no  sooner 
The  stuff,  that  was  most  apt,  began  to  flame, 
But  suddenly,  to  the  amazement  of 
The  fearless  soldier,  a  sudden  flash 
Of  lightning,  breaking  through    the   scattered 

clouds, 
With  such  a  horrid  violence  forced  its  passage, 
And,  as  disdaining  all  heat  but  itself. 
In  a  moment  quench'd  the  artificial  fire: 
And  before  we  could  kindle  it  again, 
A  clap  of  thunder  follovy'd  with  such  noise, 
As  if  then  Jove,  incensed  against  mankind, 
Had  in  his  secret  purposes  determined 
An  universal  ruin  to  the  world. 
This  horror  past,  not  at  Deucalion's  flood 
Such  a  stormy  shower  of  rain  (andyet  that  word  is 
Too  narrow  to  express  it)  was  e'er  seen : 


418  THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

Imagine  rather,  sir,  that  with  less  fury 
The  waves  rush  down  the  cataracts  of  Nile; 
Or  that  the  sea,  spouted  into  the  air 
By  the  angry  Ore,*  endangering  tall  ships 

But  sailing  near  it,  so  falls  down  again. 

Yet  here  the  wonder  ends  not,  but  begins : 
For,  as  in  vain  we  labour'd  to  consume 
The  wizard's  body,  all  the  dogs  of  Rome, 
Howling  and  yelling  like  to  famish'd  wolves. 
Brake  in  upon  us ;  and  though  thousands  were 
Kill'd  in  th'  attempt,  some  did  ascend  the  pile, 
And  with  their  eager  fangs  seized  on  the  carcass. 

Cas.  But  have  they  torn  it  ? 

1  Trib.  Torn  it,  and  devour'd  it. 

Cas,  I  then  am  a  dead  man,  since  all  predictions 
Assure  me  I  am  lost.     O,  my  loved  soldiers. 
Your  emperor  must  leave  you !  yet,  however 
I  cannot  grant  myself  a  short  reprieve, 
I  freely  pardon  you.     The  fatal  hour 
Steals  fast  upon  me :  I  must  die  this  morning 
By  five,'  my  soldiers ;  that's  the  latest  hour 
You  e'er  must  see  me  living. 

1  Trib.  Jove  avert  it ! 
In  our  swords  lies  your  fate,  and  we  will  guard  it. 

Cas.  O  no,  it  cannot  be ;  it  is  decreed 
Above,  and  by  no  strength  here  to  be  altcr'd. 
Let  proud  mortality  but  look  on  Caesar, 
Compass'd  of  late  with  armies,  in  his  eyes 
Carrying  both  life  and  death,  and  in  his  arms 

•  Bg  the  angry  Orc^  A  fabulous  sea  monster,  depicted  on 
most  of  the  marine  charts  of  Massinger'*  time.  The  whale  of 
our  old  Romances. 

*  /  must  die  this  morning, 

By  five,  &c.]  It  may  be  just  necessary,  for  the  sake  of  the 
mere  English  reader,  to  observe  that  Massinger  makes  use  of  the 
Roman  manner  of  computation :  ^ve  in  the  morning^  therefore, 
answers  to  our  eleven  o'clock. 


THE   ROMAN  ACTOR.         419 

Fathoming  the  earth;   that  would  be  styled  a 

God, 
And  is,  for  that  presumption,  cast  beneath 
The  low  condition  of  a  common  man, 
Sinking  with  mine  own  weight. 

1  Trib.  Do  not  forsake 
Yourself,  we'll  never  leave  you. 

2  Ti^ib.  We'll  draw  up 

More  cohorts  of  your  guard,  if  you  doubt  treason. 

Cas.  They  cannot  save  me.  The  offended  gods, 
That  now  sit  judges  on  me,  from  their  envy 
Of  my  power  and  greatness  here,  conspire  against 
me. 

1  Trib.  Endeavour  to  appease  thena. 

Cas.  'Twill  be  fruitless  ; 
I  am  past  hope  of  remission.     Yet,  could  I 
Decline  this  dreadful  hour  of  five,  these  terrors. 
That  drive  me  to  despair,  would  soon  fly  from  me  : 
And  could  you  but  till  then  assure  me—' 

1  Trib,  Yes,  sir ; 
Or  we'll  fall  with  you,  and  make  Rome  the  urn 
In  which  we'll  mix  our  ashes. 

Cas,  'Tis  said  nobly  : 
I  am  something  comforted  :  howe'er,  to  die 
Is  the  full  period  of  calamity.  {^Exeunt. 

*  And  could  you  but  till  then  assure  me. ]  i.  e.  till  five.  Till 

then,  which  is  absolutely  necessary  to  the  sense,  as  well  as  the 
metre,  is  omitted  by  Mr.  M.  Mason, 


420         THE   ROMAN  ACTOR. 

S  C  E  N  E  II. 

Another  Room  in  the  Palace, 

Enter  Parthenius,  Domitia,  Julia,   C;enis, 
DoMiTiLLA,   Stephanos,   Sejeius,  and  En- 

TELLUS. 

Parth.  You  see  we  are  all  condemn'd  ;  there's 
no  evasion ; 
We  must  do,  or  suffer. 

Steph.  But  it  must  be  sudden  ;  ' 

The  least  delay  is  mortal. 

Dom.  Would  I  were 
A  man,  to  give  it  action  ! 

Domitil.  Could  I  make  my  approaches,  though 
my  stature- 
Does  promise  little,  I  have  a  spirit  as  daring 
As  her's  that  can  reach  higher. 

Steph.  I  will  take 
That  burthen  from  you,  madam.    All  the  art  is, 
To  draw  him  from  the  tribunes  that  attend  him  ; 
For,  could  you  bring  him  but  within  my  sword's 

reach. 
The  world  should  owe  her  freedom  from  a  tyrant 
To  Stephanos. 

Sej.  You  shall  not  share  alone 
The  glory  of,  a  deed  that  will  endure 
To  all  posterity. 

Ent.  I  will  put  in 
For  a  part,  myself. 

Parth.  Be  resolv'd,  and  stand  close. 
I  have  conceived  a  way,  and  with  the  hazard 
Of  my  life  I'll  practise  it,  to  fetch  him  hither. 
But  then  no  trifling. 


THE   ROMAN  ACTOR.         421 

Steph.  We'll  dispatch  him,  fear  not : 
A  dead  dog  never  bites. 
Pai^th.  Thus  then  at  all. 

[^Eiit ;  the  rest  conceal  themselves. 

Enter  C^sar  ajid  the  Tribunes. 

Cces.  ^  How  slow-paced  are  these  minutes !   in 
extremes, 
How  miserable  is  the  least  delay! 
Could  I  imp"  feathers  to  the  wings  of  time. 
Or  with  as  little  ease  command  the  sun 
To   scourge  his  coursers  up   heaven's    eastern 

hill, 
Making  the  hour  to  tremble  at,  past  recalling, 
As  I  can  move  this  dial's  tongue  to  six ;' 
My  veins  and  arteries,  emptied  with  fear. 
Would  fill  and  swell  again.    How  do  I  look  "> 
Do  you  yet  see  Death  about  me  ? 

1  Trib,  Think  not  of  him  ; 
There  is  no  danger :  all  these  prodigies 
That  do  aifright  you,  rise  from  natural  causes ; 
And  though  you  do  ascribe  them  to  yourself. 
Had  you  ne'er  been,  liad  happened. 

Cces,  'Tis  well  said. 
Exceeding  well,  brave  soldier.    Can  it  be, 
That  I,  that  feel  myself  in  health  and  strength, 
Should  still  believe  I  am  so  near  my  end. 
And  have  my  guards  about  me  ?  perish  all 
Predictions  !  I  grow  constant  they  are  false, 
And  built  upon  uncertainties. 

1  Trib.  This  is  right ; 
Now  Caesar's  heard  like  Cassar. 


*  Could  I  Xm^p  feathers^  &c.]  See  p.  230. 
9  As  1  can  move  this  diats  tongue  to  six ;]  i.  e*  to  the  hoar  of 
noon;  see  abors,  p.  418. 

VOL.  II.  F  f  ♦ 


422         THE  ROMAN  ACTOR. 

Cces*  We  will  to 
The  camp,  and  having  there  confirm'd  the  soldier 
With  a  large  donative,  and  increase  of  pay, 
Some  shall 1  say  no  more. 

Re-enter  Parthenius. 

Parth,  All  happiness, 
Security,  long  life,  attend  upon 
The  monarch  of  the  world  ! 

Vces.  Thy  looks  are  cheerful. 

Parth.  And  my  relation  full  of  joy  and  wonder. 
Why  is  the  care  of  your  imperial  body, 
My  lord,  neglected,  the  fcar'd  hour  being  past, 
In  which  your  life  was  threaten'd? 

Cces.  Is't  past  five  ? 

Parth.  Past  six,  upon  my  knowledge;  and,  in 
justice, 
Your  clock-master  should  die,  that  hath  deferr'd 
Your  peace  so  long.  There  is  a  post  new  lighted, 
Thatbrings  assured  intelligence,  that  your  legions 
In  Syria  have  won  a  glorious  day. 
And  much  enlarged  your  empire.    I  have  kept 

him 
Conceal'd,  that  you  might  first  partake  the  pleasure 
In  private,  and  the  senate  from  yourself 
Be  taught  to  understand  how  much  the*y  owe 
To  you  and  to  your  fortune. 

Cces.  Hence,  pale  fear,  then  I 
Lead  me,  Parthenius. 

1  Trib.  Shall  we  wait  you  ? 
Cces.  No. 

After   losses    guards   are    useful.     Know    your 
distance.      [E.veunt  Ccesar  and  Parthenius. 

2  Trib.  How  strangely  hopes  delude  men !  as 

I  live, 
The  hoar  is  not  yet  come. 


THE   ROMAN  ACTOR.  423    ' 

1  Trib.  Howe*er,  we  arc 
To  pay  our  duties,  and  observe  the  sequel. 

[E.veutit  Tribunes.    Domitia  and  the  rest 
come  forward. 
Dom,  I  hear  him  coming.    Be  constant. 

Re-enter  C^sar  and  Parthenius. 

Cces.  Where,  Parthenius, 
Is  this  glad  messenger? 

Steph.  Make  the  door  fast. — Here ; 
A  messenger  of  horror. 

Cces.  How!  betray'd? 

Dom.  No ;  taken,  tyrant. 

C(Es.  My  Domitia 
In  the  conspiracy  ! 

Parth.  Behold  this  book. 

Cces.  Nay,  then  I  am  lost.    Yet,  tiiough  I  am 
unarm'd, 
I'll  not  fall  poorly.  [Overthrows  Stephanos, 

Steph.  Help  me. 

Ent.  Thus,  and  thus !  1  rru       ^  l  i- 

Sg.  Are  yiu  so  long  a  falling?  1  ^%  ""«*  '""'• 

Cces.  'Tis  done  basely.  [Fallsy  and  dies, 

Parth.  This  for  my  father's  death. 

Dom.  This  for  my  Paris. 

Jul.  Tills  for  thy  incest. 

Domitil.  This  for  thy  abuse 
Of  Domitiila.  [Thei/  severally  stab  him. 

Tribunes,  [within.l  Force  the  doors  ! 

Enter  Tribunes. 

O  Mars ! 

What  have  you  done  ? 

Parth.  What  Rome  shall  give  us  thanks  for. 
Steph,  Dispatch'd  a  monster. 
,       ♦Ff  2 


424        THE   ROMAN   ACTOR. 

1  Trib.  Yet  he  was  our  prince, 
However  wicked  ;  and,  in  you,  this  murder, — 
Which  whosoe'er  succeeds  him  will  revenge : 
Nor  will  we,  that  serv'd  under  his  command, 
Consent  that  such  a  monster  as  thyself, 
(For  in  thy  wickedness  Augusta's  title 
Hath  quite  forsook  thee,)  thou,  that  wert  the 

ground 
Of  all  these  mischiefs,  shall  go  hence  unpunish'd. 
Lay  hands  on  her.  and  drag  her  to  her  sentence. — 
We  will  refer  the  hearing  to  the  senate. 
Who  may  at  their  best  leisure  censure  you. 
Take  up  his  body  :  he  in  death  hath  paid 
For  all  his  cruelties.    Here's  the  difference  ; 
Good  kings  are  mourn'd  for  after  life  ;  but  ill, 
And  such  as  govern'd  only  by  their  will. 
And  not  their  reason,  unlamented  fall ; 
No  good  man's  tear  shed  at  their  funeral. 

[Ejceunt ;  the  Tribunes  bearing  the  body  ofCcesar^ 

•  In  this  Tragedy  Massinger  seems  to  have  aimed  at  something 
particularly  dignified  and  lofty.  I  do  not  know  that  he  has 
quite  succeeded.  The  failure,  hoTrever,  arises  not  so  much  from 
the  subject  as  the  characters.  The  portrait  of  Domitian,  which 
is  too  disgusting  to  excite  much  interest,  might  hare  been  re- 
lieved by  some  of  those  touches  of  accidental  virtue  which  some- 
times straggled  across  his  vices ;  or  the  vices  themselves  might 
have  been  made  to  enliven  each  other  by  contrast.  History 
would  have  supplied  both  these  resources.  But  Massinger  has 
been  content  to  represent  him  in  the  least  varied  part  of  his  life, 
when  lust  and  cruelty  had  swallowed  up  all  his  faculties,  extin. 
gnished  every  remembrance  of  virtue,  and  reduced  him  to  a 

'  loathsome  mass  of  filth  and  fury.  Now  and  then,  indeed,  we 
meet  with  more  movement  and  interest.    During  the  tortures  of 

»  Rusticus  and  Sura  (the  horror  of  which  reminds  us  oithe  Virgin 
Martyr)  the  force  of  conscience  is  made  to  appear  for  a  moment  j 
and  while  his  assassination  is  preparing,  he  is  fatally  secure, 
then  falls  into  terror  ;  is  confident  once  more,  and  is  presently 
dispatched.  The  characters  of  the  women  are  scarcely  better 
than  that  of  Domitian.  Their  love  is  licentiousness ;  nor  is 
Domitilla,  whose  case  would  have  allowed  it,  sufficiently  distin- 


THE    ROMAN   ACTOR.  495 

guished  from  the  rest.  But  the  vengeance  implored  by  Lamia 
against  his  wife  is  well  conducted.  It  is  aptly  fulfilled  by  her- 
self in  the  progress  of  her  own  debaucheries. 

Indeed  Massinger's  chief  attention  is  bestowed  on  Paris.  In 
his  favour  the  voice  of  history  is  raised  far  above  the  truth ; 
and  in  a  scene  of  extraordinary  animation  he  is  made  to  defend 
himself  and  the  stage^with  all  the  dignity  of  patriotism,  and  the 
intrepidity  of  conscious  rectitude.  Here  we  may  reasonably 
suppose  the  writer  to  have  had  some  nearer  meaning  ;  and  the 
charge  of  Aretinus,  and  the  refutation  of  it,  Act  I.  Sc.  iii.  may 
strengthen  the  suspicion  expressed  in  the  account  given  of  the 
Bondman.  Another  of  these  personal  circumstances  strikes  us 
at  the  very  opening  of  tliis  play.  Paris  had  the  wealth  and  the 
honours  of  Rome  at  his  command,  but  Massinger  had  too  good 
reason  to  complain  that  the  "  times  were  dull,"  and  that  the 
profits  of  his  profession  hardiy  satisfied  "  the  day's  expense.'* 

A  word  must  be  said  of  the  "  episodes,"  as  they  have  been 
termed.  Mr.  M.  Mason  has  pronounced  them  tedious,  and 
Davies  allows  them  to  be  incumbrances.  It  was  their  duty  to 
enquire  whether  the  plot  is  assisted  by  them.  If  they  had  done 
this  with  care,  they  must  have  found  that  the  interlude  ordered 
for  Philargus  is  the  occasion  of  his  death,  and  therefore  con- 
tributes to  the  assassination  of  Domitian  through  the  vengeance 
of  Parthenius,  who  stabs  him  in  the  name  of  his  murdered  father. 
It  also  begins  the  passion  of  Domitia  for  Paris,  and  hastens  the 
catastrophe,  through  her  alienation  from  the  emperor.  The 
other  interludes  promote  the  last  eflFect  only;  but  all  of  them 
are  more  or  less  connected  with  the  main  subject,  which  they 
tend  to  enliven  and  relieve.  The  only  forgetfulness  I  observe, 
is  in  the  last  act.  The  princesses  are  "  confined  to  several 
islands ;"  yet  they  appear  without  further  notice,  and  partake 
in  the  assassination  of  Domitian.  However,  this  is  very  unusual 
with  Massinger,  who  is  generally  exact  in  arranging  his  subject, 
and  accounting  for  the  minutest  incidents  of  it. 

A  word  more  of  the  two  conspirators,  whose  names  have  not 
hitherto  appeared  among  the  dramatis  personae.  Coxeter  had 
referred  the  reader  to  Suetonius  for  the  materials  of  this  play, 
and  asserted  that  Massinger  had  strictly  copied  him.  This  seems 
to  have  satisfied  Mr.  M.  Mason,  who  either  did  not  look  into 
Suetonius,  or,  if  he  did,  was  prudently  silent  about  characters 
which  he  could  not  find.  But  Sejeius  (Sigcrius)  and  Entellus 
are  as  much  historical  persons  as  Parthenius  or  any  other.  They 
are  expressly  mentioned  in  this  very  affair  by  Dio  Cassius,  who 
furnishes  other  particulars  adopted  by  Massinger,  and  not  io  be 
found  in  Suetonius.  The  first  of  them  indeed  he  calls  Sigerus ; 
but  tbe  true  name  has  been  recovered  from  Martial,  who  couples 


425         THE   ROMAN   ACTOR. 

it  with  that  of  Parthenius,  lib.  ir.  70.  If  the  commentator  be 
right,  (or  rather  Grotius,  to  whom  he  refers,)  Sigerius  is  also 
quoted  by  TertuUian  as  a  name  of  boldness:  but  the  edition 
which  I  use  reads,  Stephanis  atque  Fartheniis  audaciores.  At 
all  eyents,  the  passage  informs  us  that  the  actors  in  this  conspi. 
racy  were  long  remembered  in  Rome;  where,  however,  was  no 
want  of  names  eminent  in  this  bloody  way.  Indeed,  insurrec- 
tion was  now  taking  a  wider  range  ;  and  the  Cassii,  the  Nigri, 
and  the  Albini  had  begun  to  eclipse  the  murderous  fame  of  their 
humbler  predecessors. 

If,  as  I  sincerely  hope,  the  reader  lores  to  see  the  pure  and 
peaceful  manners  of  Christianity  amidst  those  scenes  of  treachery 
and  blood,  he  will  be  gratified  with  the  argument  which  led  to 
the  above  allusion  :  Undc  qui  inter  duas  lauros  obsident  C(Bsarem  f 
(It  is  pleasing  to  discover  the  laurels  of  Augustus  at  the  door  of 
¥eTtinax,)Unde qui favcibus  ejus  exprimendis palastricam*exei'cent? 
Unde  qui  armati  palatium  irrumpunt,  omnibus  Stephanis  atque  Par- 
theniis  audaciores  ?  De  Romanis^  nifallor^  id  est,  de  non  Christia- 
nis.    Apol.  ad  Gentes. 

*  This  allusion  is  explained  by  Victor's  account  of  the  murder  of  Commoduat 
al  immisso  validissimo  palastrila  compressisfaucibus  expiraviU 


THE 


GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 


The  Great  Duke  of  Florence.]  "  The  Great  Duke"  was 
licensed  bj  Sir  H.Herbert  "  for  the  Queen's  servants,"  July  5th, 
1627.  This,  Mr.  Malone  conjectures,  with  eyery  appearance 
of  probability,  to  be  the  "  Comical  History"  before  us.  The 
plot,  if  not  Italian,  is  raised,  perhaps,  on  the  slight  materials 
afFordedby  ourold  chroniclers  in  the  life  of  Edgar,  materials  which 
we  have  since  seen  worked  up  by  Mason  into  the  beautiful 
drama  of  Elfrida. 

This  Play  was  not  committed  to  the  press  till  1636,  when  it 
was  preceded  by  two  commendatory  copies  of  verses  by  G. 
Donne  and  J.  Ford.  Though  highly,  and,  indeed,  deservedly, 
popular,  it  was  not  reprinted  :  this  may  be  attributed,  in  some 
measure,  to  the  growing  discontent  of  the  times,  which  per- 
versely tuyfled  aside  from  scenes  like  these,  to  dwell  with  fearful 
anxiety  on  those  of  turbulence  and  blood. 

It  was  acted  "  by  her  Majesty's  servants  at  the  Phoenix,  in 
Drary  Lane  3"  where,  the  title  adds,  it  was  **  oftsn  presented." 


TO 

The  truly  honoured^  and  my  noble  Favourer, 

Sir  ROBERT  WISEMAN,  Knt* 

OF  THORRELL'S-HALL,  IN  ESSEX. 

SIR, 

AS  I  dare  not  be  ungrateful  for  the  many  benefits  you  have 
heretofore  conferred  upon  me,  so  I  have  just  reason  to  fear 
that  my  attempting  this  way  to  make  satisfaction  (in  some 
measure)  for  so  due  a  debt,  will  further  engage  me.  How- 
ever,  examples  encourage  me.  The  most  able  in  my  poor 
quality  have  made  use  of  Dedications  in  this  nature,  to 
make  the  world  take  riotice  (as  far  as  in  them  lay)  who  and 
what  they  were  that  gave  support ment  andproteftion  to  their 
studies,  being  more  willing  to  publish  the  doer,  than  receive 
a  benefit  in  a  comer.  For  myself,  I  will  freely,  and  with  a 
zealous  thankfulness,  acknowledge,  that  for  many  years  I  had 
but  faintly  subsisted,  if  I  had  not  often  tasted  of  your  bounty. 
But  it  is  above  my  strength  and  faculties  to  celebrate  to  the 
desert  your  noble  inclination,  and  that  made  actual,  to  raise 
up,  or,  to  speak  more  properly,  to  rebuild  the  ruins  of  demo- 
lished poesie.  But  that  is  a  work  reserved,  and  will  be,  no 
doubt,  undertaken,  and  finished,  by  one  that  can  to  the  life 
express  it.  Accept,  I  beseech  you,  the  tender  of  my  service, 
and  in  the  list  of  those  you  have  obliged  to  you,  contemn  not 
the  name  of 

Your  true  and  faithful  honour  er, 

PHILIP  MASSINGER. 

*  Sir  Robert  Wiseman  was  the  eldest  son  of  Richard  Wiseman, 
a  merchant  of  London,  who  having  acquired  an  ample  fortune 
retired  into  Essex,  in  which  county  he  possessed  considerable 
estates,  where  he  died  in  1618,  and  was  succeeded  by  Sir 
Robert.  The  friend  of  Massinger  was  the  oldest  of  fourteen 
children,  and  aman  of  an  amiable  character.  He  died  unmarried 
the  11th  May,  1641,  in  his  65th  year.    Gilchrist. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiE. 

Cozimo,*  </M^e  o/"  Florence. 

Giovanni,  nephew  to  the  duke. 

Sanazarro,  the  duke's  favourite. 

Carolo  Charomonte,  Giovanni's  tutor, 

Contarino,  secretary  to  the  duke, 

Alphonso,     -I 

Hippolito,     I  counsellors  of  state, 

Hieronimo,  J 

Calandrino,  a  merry  fellow,  servant  to  Giovanni. 

Bernardo,    -i 

Caponi,        I  servants  to  Charomonte. 

Petruchio,  J 

A  Gentleman. 

Fiorinda,  dutchess  o/'Urbin. 
Lidia,  daughter  to  Charomonte. 
Calaminta,  servant  to  Fiorinda. 
Petronella,  a  foolish  servant  ^o  Lidia. 

Attendants,  Servants,  S^c. 

SCENE,  partly  in  Florence,   and  partly  at  the 
residence  of  Charomonte  in  the  country, 

*  Cozimo,]  Coxeter  spells  this  Cozima,  and  Mr.  M.  Mason 
blindly  follows  him,  as  usual.    It  stands  right  in  the  old  copj. 


THE 

GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE 


ACT  I.    SCENE  I. 

The  Country,    A  Room  in  Charomonte's  House. 
Enter  Charomonte  and  Contarino. 

Char.  You  bring  your  welcome  with  you. 

Cont.  Sir,  I  find  it 
In^every  circumstance. 

Char,  Again  most  welcome. 
Yet,  give  me  leave  to  wish  (and  pray  you,  excuse 

me, 
For  I  must  use  the  freedom  I  was  born  with) 
The  great  duke's  pleasure  had  commanded  you 
To  my  poor  house  upon  some  other  service ; 
Not  this  you  are  design'd  to  :  but  his  will 
Must  be  obey'd,  howe'er  it  ravish  from  me 
The  happy  conversation  of  one 
As  dear  to  me  as  the  old  Romans  held 
Their  household  Lars,  whom*  they  believed  had 

power 
To  bless  and  guard  their  families. 

Cont.  'Tis  received  so 
On  my  part,  signior;  nor  can  the  duke 

*  Their  household  Lars^  whom  thei/  believed  &c.]  Mr.  M.  Mason 
chooses  to  read,  of  his  own  authority, 

Their  Jumsckold  Lars,  who,  thej/  believed,  &c. 


452  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

But  promise  to  himself  as  much  as  may 
Be  hoped  for  from  a  nephew.  And'twere  weakness 
In  any  man  to  doubt,  that  Giovanni,' 
Train'd  up  by  your  experience  and  care 
In  all  those  arts  peculiar  and  proper 
To  future  greatness,  of  necessity 
Must  in  his  actions,  being  grown  a  man, 
Make  good  the  princely  education 
Which  he  derived  from  you. 
Char.  I  have  discharged. 
To  the  utmost  of  my  power,  the  trust  the  duke 
Committed  to  me,  and  with  joy  perceive 
The  seed  of  my  endeavours  was  not  sown 
Upon  the  barren  sands,  but  fruitful  glebe, 
Which  yields  a  large  increase:  my  noble  charge, 
By  his  sharp  wit,  and  pregnant  apprehension, 
Instructing  those  that  teach  him  ;  making  use, 
Not  in  a  vulgar  and  pedantic  form, 
Of  what's  read  to  him,  but  'tis  straight  digested, 
And  truly  made  his  own.  His  grave  discourse, 
In  one  no  more  indebted  unto  years, 
Amazes  such  as  hear  him  :  horsemanship, 
And  skill  to  use  his  weapon,  are  by  practice 
Familiar  to  him  :  as  for  knowledge  in 
Music,  he  needs  it  not,  it  being  born  with  him ; 
All  that  he  speaks  being  with  such  grace  deliver'd, 
That  it  makes  perfect  harmony. 


^  In  any  man  to  doubt  that  Giovanni,]  Giovanni  is  here  used 
as  a  quadrisyllable.  This  is  incorrect,  and  shews  that  Massinger 
had  studied  the  language  in  books  only :  no  Italian  would  or 
could  pronounce  it  in  this  manner.  He  makes  the  same  mistake 
in  the  name  of  the  dutchcss ;  Fiorinda  is  a  trisyllable,  yet  he 
adopts  the  division  of  poor  Calandrino,  and  constantly  pro- 
nounces itFi-o.rin-da;  see  p.  451.  I  observe  the  same  mode  of 
pronunciation  in  Shirley:  in  the  Gentleman  of  Venice,  Giovanni 
is  almost  always  a  quadrisyllable.  Ford,  more  of  a  scholar 
perhaps,  adopts  a  similar  method. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  433 

Cont.  You  describe 
A  wonder  to  me. 

Car.  Sir,  he  is  no  less ; 
And  that  there  may  be  nothing  wanting  that 
May  render  him  complete,  the  sweetness  of 
His  disposition  so  wins  on  all 
Appointed  to  attend  him,  that  they  are 
Rivals,  even  in  the  coarsest  office,  who 
Shall  get  precedency  to  do  him  service ; 
Which  they  esteem  a  greater  happiness, 
Than  if  they  had  been  fashion'd  and  built  up 
To  hold  command  o'er  others. 

Cont.  And  what  place 
Does  he  now  bless  with  his  presence  ? 

Char.  He  is  now 
Running  at  the  ring,*  at  which  he's  excellent. 
He  does  allot  for  every  exercise 
A  several  hour  ;  for  sloth,  the  nurse  of  vices, 
And  rust  of  action,  is  a  stranger  to  him. 
But  I  fear  I  am  tedious,  let  us  pass, 
If  you  please,  to  some  other  subject,  though  I 

cannot 
Deliver  him  as  he  deserves. 

Cont.  You  have  given  him 
A  noble  character. 

Char.  And  how,  I  pray  you, 
(For  we,  that  never  look  beyond  our  villas. 
Must  be  inquisitive,)  are  state  affairs 
Carried  in  court  ?  • 

Cont.  There's  little  alteration ; 
Some  rise,  and  others  fall,  as  it  stands  with 
The  pleasure  of  the  duke,  their  great  disposer. 

Char,  Does  Lodovico  Sanazarro  hold 
Weight,  and  grace  with  him  } 


He  is  now 


Running  at  the  ring,']  See  p.  258. 


434  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Cont,  Every  day  new  honours 
Are  shower'd  upon  him,  and  without  the  envy 
Of  such  as  are  good  men  ;  since  all  confess 
The  service  done  our  master  in  his  wars 
'Gainst  Pisa  and  Sienna  may  with  justice 
Claim  what's  conferr'd  upon  him. 

Char.  'Tis  said  nobly ; 
Forprincesnever  more  make  known  their  wisdom, 
Than  when  they  cherish  goodness  where  they 

find  it: 
They  being  men,  and  not  gods,  Contarino, 
They  can  give  wealth  and  titles,  but  no  virtues; 
That  is  without  their  power.  When  they  advance. 
Not  out  of  judgment,  but  deceiving  fancy, 
An  undeserving  man,  howe'er  set  otf 
With  all  the  trim  of  greatness,  state,  and  power, 
And  of  a  creature  even  grown  terrible 
To  him  from  whom  he  took  his  giant  form. 
This  thing  is  still  a  comet,  no  true  star; 
And  when  the  bounties  feeding  his  false  fire 
Begin  to  fail,  will  of  itself  go  out. 
And  what  was  dreadful,  proves  ridiculous. 
But  in  our  Sanazarro  'tis  not  so. 
He  being  pure  and  tried  gold ;  and  any  stamp 
Of  grace,  to  make  him  current  to  the  world. 
The  duke  is  pleased  to  give  him,  will  add  honour 
To  the  gre^t  bestower ;  for  he,  though  allow'd 
Companion  to  his  master,  still  preserves 
His  majesty  in  full  lustre. 

Cont.  He,  indeed. 
At  no  part  does  take  from  it,  but  becomes 
A  partner  of  his  cares,  and  eases  him. 
With  willing  shoulders,  of  a  burthen  which 
He  should  alone  sustain. 

Char.  Is  he  yet  married  ? 

Cont.  No,  signior,  still  a  bachelor;  howe'er 
It  is  apparent  that  the  choicest  virgin 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  435 

For  beauty,  bravery,  and  wealth,  in  Florence, 
Would,  with  her  parents  glad  consent,  be  won, 
Were  his  affection  and  intent  but  known, 
To  be  at  his  devotion. 

Char,  So  I  think  too. 
But   break   we   off — here   comes   my   princely 
charge. 

Enter  Giovanni  a«£?  Calandrino. 

Make  your  approaches  boldly ;  you  will  find 
A  courteous  entertainment.  \Cont.  kneels. 

■Giov.  Pray  you,  forbear 
My  hand,  good  signior;  'tis  a  ceremony 
Not  due  to  me.  'Tis  fit  we  should  embrace 
With  mutual  arms. 

Cont.  It  is  a  favour,  sir, 
I  grieve  to  be  denied. 

Giov.  You  shall  o'ercome: 
But  'tis  your  pleasure,  not  my  pride,  that  grants 

it." 
Nay,  pray  you,  guardian,  and  good  sir,  put  on : 
How  ill  it  shews  to  have  that  reverend  IiclJ 
Uncover'd  to  a  boy  ! 

Char.  Your  excellence 
Must  give  me  liberty  to  observe  the  distance 
And  duty  that  I  owe  you. 

Giov.  Owe  me  duty  ! 
I  do  profess  (and  when  I  do  deny  it. 
Good  fortune  leave  me !)  you  have  been  to  me 
A  second  father,  and  may  justly  challenge, 
For  training  up  my  youth  in  arts  and  arms, 
As  much  respect  and  service,  as  was  due 
To  him  that  gave  me  life.  And  did  you  know,  sir, 
Or  will  believe  from  me,  how  many  sleeps 
Good  Charomonte  'hath  broken,  in  his  care 
To  build  me  up  a  man,  you  must  confess 


436  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Chiron,  the  tutor  to  the  great  Achilles, 
Compared  with  him,  deserves  not  to  be  named. 
And  if  my  gracious  uncle,  the  great  duke. 
Still  holds  me  worthy  his  consideration, 
Or  finds  in  me  aught  worthy  to  be  loved,  ' 

That  little  rivulet  flow'd  from  this  spring; 
And  so  from  me  report  him. 

Cont.  Fame  already 
Hath  fiU'd  his  highness'  ears  with  the  true  story 
Of  what  you  are,  and  how  much  better'd  by  him. 
And  'tis  his  purpose  to  reward  the  travail 
Of  this  grave  sir,  with  a  magnificent  hand. 
For,  though  his  tenderness  hardly  could  consent 
To  have  you  one  hour  absent  from  his  sight, 
For  full  three  years  he  did  deny  himself 
The  pleasure  he  took  in  you,  that  you,  here, 
From  this  great  master,  might  arrive  unto 
The  theory  of  those  high  mysteries 
Which  you,  by  action,  must  make  plain  in  court. 
'Tis,  therefore,  his  request,  (and  that,  from  him, 
Your  excellence  must  grant  a  strict  command,) 
That  instantly  (it  being  not  five  hours  riding) 
You  should  take  horse  and  visit  him.    These  his 

letters 
Will  yield  you  further  reasons.  [Delivers  a  packet. 

Cal.  To  the  court ! 
Farewell  the  flower,*  then,  of  the  country's  gar- 
land. 
This  is  our  sun,  and  when  he*s  set,  we  must  not 
Expect  or  spring  or  summer,  but  resolve 
For  a  perpetual  winter. 

Char.  Pray  you,  observe 

[Giovanni  reading  the  letters. 
The  frequent  changes  in  his  face. 

♦  Farewell  the  flower,  then,  of  the  country's  garland.]  I  sup- 
pose this  to  be  the  title  of  one  of  those  innumerable  Hvres  bUus 
that  fluttered  about  the  town  in  our  author's  time. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE,  437 

Cont.  As  if 
His  much  unwillingness  to  leave  your  house 
Contended  with  his  duty. 

Char.  Now  he  appears 
Collected  and  resolved. 

Giov.  It  is  the  duke  ! 
The  duke,  upon  whose  favour  all  my  hopes 
And  fortunes  do  depend.    Nor  must  I  check 
At  his  commands  for  any  private  motives 
That  do  invite  my  stay  here,  though  they  arc 
Almost  not  to  be  mastered.    My  obedience, 
In  my  departing  suddenly,  shall  confirm 
I  am  his  highness'  creature ;  yet,  I  hope 
A  little  stay  to  take  a  solemn  farewell 
Of  all  those  ravishing  pleasures  I  have  tasted 
In  this  my  sweet  retirement,  from  my  guardian, 
And  his  incomparable  daughter,  cannot  meet 
An  ill  construction. 

Cont.  I  will  answer  that : 
Use  your  own  will. 

Giov.  I  would  speak  to  you,  sir. 
In  such  a  phrase  as  might  express  the  thanks 
My  heart  would  gladly  pay ;  but 

Char.  I  conceive  you  : 
And  something  I  would  say ;  but  I  must  do  it 
In  that  dumb  rhetoric  which  you  make  use  of; 

For  I  do  wish  you  all 1  know  not  how, 

My  toughness  melts,  and,  spite  of  my  discretion, 
I  must  turn  woman.  [Embraces  Giovanni. 

Cont,  What  a  sympathy 
There  is  between  them  ! 

Cal.  Were  I  on  the  rack, 
I  could  not  shed  a  tear.     But  I  am  mad, 
And,  ten  to  one,  shall  hang  myself  for  sorrow, 
Before  I  shift  my  shirt.     But  hear  you,  sir, 
(I'll  separate  you,)  when  you  are  gone,  what  will 
Become  of  me  ? 

VOL.  II.  G  g^ 


438  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

(Oriov.  Why,  thou  shalt  to  court  with  me. 

{Takes  Char,  aside. 

Cal.  To  see  you  worried  ? 

Cont.  Worried,  Calandrino  ! 

Cal.  Yes,  sir  :  for,  bring  this  sweet  face  to  the 
court, 
There  will  be  such  a  longing  'mong  the  madams, 
Who  shall  engross  it  first,  nay,  fight  and  scratch 

fort, 
That,  if  they  be  not  stopp'd,  for  entertainment 
They'll  kiss  his  lips  off.    Nay,  if  you'll  scape  so. 
And  not  be  tempted  to  a  further  danger. 
These  succubae  are  so  sharp  set,  that  you  must 
Give  out  you  are  an  eunuch. 

Cont.  Have  a  better 
Opinion  of  court-ladies,  and  take  care 
Of  your  own  stake. 

Cal.  For  m.y  stake,  'tis  past  caring. 
I  would  not  have  a  bird  of  unclean  feathers 
,  Handsel  his  lime  twig, — and  so  much  for  him  : 
There's  something  else  that  troubles  me. 

Cont.  What's  that  ? 

Cal.  Why,  how  to  behave  myself  in  court,  and 
tightly. 
I  have  been  told  the  very  place  transforms  men. 
And  that  not  one  of  a  thousand,  that  before 
Lived  honestly  in  the  country  on  plain  salads, 
But  bring  him  thither,  mark  me  that,  and  feed  him 
But  a  month  or  two  with  custards  and  court  cake- 
bread, 
And  he  turns  knave  immediately. — I'd  be  honest ; 
But  I  must  follow  the  fashion,  or  die  a  b«ggar. 

Giov.  And,  if  I  ever  reach  my  hopes,  believe  it, 
We  will  share  fortunes. 

Char.  This  acknowledgement 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  439 


Enter  Lidia. 

Binds  me  your  debtor  ever. — Here  comes  one 
In  whose  sad  looks  you  easily  may  read 
What  her  heart  suffers,  in  that  she  is  forced 
To  take  her  last  leave  of  you. 

Cont.  As  I  live, 
A  beauty  without  parallel ! 

Lid.  Must  you  go,  then, 
So  suddenly  ? 

Giov.  There's  no  evasion,  Lidia, 
To  gain  the  least  delay,  though  I  would  buy  it 
At  any  rate.     Greatness,  with  private  men 
Esteem'd  a  blessing,  is  to  me  a  curse  ; 
And  we,  whom,  for  our  high  births,  they  con- 
clude 
The  only  freemen,  are  the  only  slaves. 
Happy  the  golden  mean !  had  I  been  born 
In  a  poor  sordid  cottage,  not  nurs'd  up 
Wiih  expectation  to  command  a  court, 
I  might,  like  such  of  your  condition,  sweetest. 
Have  ta'en  a  safe  and  middle  course,  and  not. 
As  I  am  now,  against  my  choice,  compell'd 
Or  to  lie  grovelling  on  the  earth,  or  raised 
So  high  upon  the  pinnacles  of  s.atc, 
That  I  must  either  keep  my  height  with  danger, 
Or  fall  with  certain  ruin. 

Lid.  Your  own  goodness 
Will  he  your  faithful  guard. 

Giov,  O,  Lidia  ! 

Cont.  So  passionate  !'  J^Aside, 

Giov.  For,  had  I  been  your  equal, 
I  might  have  seen  and  liked  with  mine  own  eyes, 

'  So  passionate  !]  So  full  of  sorrow,  so  deeply  affected.     la 
this  sense  the  word  perpetually  occurs  ia  our  old  writers. 


440  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

And  not,  as  now,  with  others  ;  I  might  still, 

And  without  observation,  or  envy, 

As  I  have  done,  continued  my  delights 

With  you,  that  are  alone,  in  my  esteem, 

The  abstract  of  society  :  we  might  walk 

In  solitary  groves,  or  in  choice  gardens  ; 

From  the  variety  of  curious  flowers 

Contemplate  nature's  workmanship,  and  wonders: 

And  then,  for  change,  near  to  the  murmur  of 

Some  bubbling  fountain,  I  might  hear  you  sing. 

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

In  my  imagination  conceive 

With  what  melodious  harmony  a  quire 

Of  angels  sing  above  their  Maker's  praises. 

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

Imp*  feathers  to  the  broken  wings  of  time  : — 

And  all  this  I  musl  part  from. 

Cont.  You  forget 
The  haste  imposed  upon  us. 

Giov.  One  word  more. 
And  then  I  come.    And  after  this,  when,  witij 
Continued  innocence  of  love  and  service, 
I  had  grown  ripe  for  Hymeneal  joys, 
Embracing  you,  but  with  a  lawful  flame, 
I  might  have  been  your  husband. 

Lid.  Sir,  I  was, 
And  ever  am,  your  servant;  but  it  was, 
And  'tis,  far  from  me  in  a  thought  to  cherish 
Such  saucy  hopes.    If  I  had  been  the  heir 
Of  all  the  globes  and  sceptres  mankind  bows  to, 
At  my  best  you  had  deserved  me ;  as  I  am, 
Howe'er  unworthy,  in  my  virgin  zeal 
I  wish  you,  as  a  partner  of  your  bed, 
A  princess  equal  to  you  ;  such  a  one 
That  may  make  it  the  study  of  her  life, 

•  Im^/eathers  to  tht  broken  vings  of  time : — ]  See  p.  230. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  441 

With  all  the  obedience  of  a  wife,  to  please  you. 
May  you  have  happy  issue,  and  I  live 
To  be  their  humblest  handmaid  1 

Giov.  I  am  dumb, 
And  can  make  no  reply. 

Cont.  Your  excellence 
Will  be  benighted. 

Giov.  This  kiss,  bathed  in  tears. 
May  learn  you  what  I  should  say. 

Lid.  Give  me  leave 
To  wait  on  you  to  your  horse. 

Char.  And  me  to  bring  you 
To  the  one  half  of  your  journey. 

Giov.  Your  love  puts 
Your  age  to  too  much  trouble. 

Char.  I  grow  young, 
When  most  I  serve  you. 

Cont.  Sir,  the  duke  shall  thank  you.   [Ejceunt, 


SCENE  II. 

Florence.     A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Alphonso,  Hippolito,  and  Hieronimo. 

Jlph.  His  highness  cannot  take  it  ill. 

Hip.  However, 
We  with  our  duties  shall  jex press  our  care 
For  the  safety  of  his  dukedom. 

Hier  And  our  loves 

Enter  Cozimo. 

To  his  person. — Here  he  comes:  present  it  boldly. 
[7%ey  kneel,  Alphonso  tenders  a  paper. 


442  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.   : 

Coz.  What  needs  this  form  ?  We  are  not  grown 
so  proud 
As  to  disdain  familiar  conference 
With  such  as  are  to  counsel  and  direct  us. 
This  kind  -of  adoration  shew'd  not  well 
In  the  old  Roman  emperors,  who,  forgetting 
That  they  were  flesh  and  blood,  would  be  styled 

gods : 
In  us  to  suffer  it,  were  worse.    Pray  you,  rise. 

[Reads, 
Still  the  old  suit !  With  too  much  curiousness 
You  have  too  often  search'd  this  wound,  which 

yields 
Security  and  rest,  not  trouble  to  me. 
For  here  you  grieve,  that  my  firm  resolution 
Continues  me  a  widower ;  and  that 
My  want  of  issue  to  succeed  me  in 
My  government,  when  I  am  dead,  may  breed 
Distraction  in  the  state,  and  make  the  name 
And  family  of  the  Medici,  now  admired, 
Contemptible. 

Hip,  And  with  strong  reasons,  sir. 

Alph.  For,  were  you  old,  and  past  hope  to  beget 
The  model  of  yourself,  we  should  be  silent. 

Hier,  But,  being  in  your  height  and  pride  of 
years, 
As  you  are  now,  great  sir,  and  having,  too. 
In  your  possession  the  daughter  of 
The  deceased  duke  of  Urbin,  and  his  heir. 
Whose  guardian  you  are  made ;  were  you  but 

pleased 
To  think  her  worthy  of  you,  besides  children. 
The  dukedom  she  brings  with  her  for  a  dower 
Will  yield  a  large  increase  of  strength  and  power 
To  those  fair  territories  which  already 
Acknowledge  you  their  absolute  lord. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  443 

Coz.  You  press  us 
With  solid  arguments,  we  grant ;  and,  though 
We  stand  not  bound  to  yield  account  to  any 
Why  we  do  this  or  that,  (the  full  consent 
Of  our  subjects  being  included  in  our  will,)- 
We,  out  of  our  free  bounties,  will  deliver 
The  motives  that  divert'  us.    You  well  know 
That,  three  years  since,  to  our  much  grief,  we  lost 
Our  (lutchess ;  such  a  dutchess,  that  the  world, 
In  her  whole  course  of  life,*  yields  not  a  lady 
That  can  with  imitation  deserve 
To  be  her  second  ;  in  her  grave  we  buried 
All  thoughts  of  woman  :  let  this  satisfy 
For  any  second  marriage.    Now,  whereas 
You  name  the  heir  of  Urbin,  as  a  princess 
Of  great  revenues,  'tis  confessM  she  is  so  : 
But  for  some  causes,  private  to  ourself, 
We  have  disposed  her  otherwise.     Yet  despair 

not; 
For  you,  ere  long,  with  joy  shall  understand, 
That  in  our  princely  care  we  have  provided 
One  worthy  to  succeed  us. 

Enter  Sanazarro. 

Hip,  We  submit, 
And  hold  the  counsels  of  great  Cozimo 
Oraculous. 

Coz,  My  Sanazarro  ! — Nay, 
Forbear  all  ceremony.  You  look  sprightly,  friend, 

1  The  motives  that  divert  us.]  i.  e.  turn  us  aside  from  following 
your  advice. 

»  — that  the  world, 

Ifl  her  whole  course  ol  life,  vJf//^  no*  &c.j  This  is  awkwardly 
expressed,  a  circumstance  most  unusual  with  Massiager ;  but 
seems  to  mean,  in  her  various  excellencies  and  virtues.  It  ia 
Strangely  pointed  in  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Majwu. 


444  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

And  promise  in  your  clear  aspect  some  novel 
That  may  delight  us. 

Sanaz.  O  sir,  I  would  not  be 
The  harbinger  of  aught  that  might  distaste  you  ; 
And  therefore  know  (for  'twere  a  sin  to  torture 
Your  highness'  expectation)  your  vice-admiral, 
By  my  directions,  hath  surprised  the  gallies 
Appointed  to  transport  the  Asian  tribute 
Of  the  great  Turk  ;  a  richer  prize  was  never 
Brought  into  Florence. 

Coz.  Still  my  nightingale, 
Tiiat  with  sweet  accents'  dost  assure  me,  that 
My  spring  of  happiness  comes  fast  upon  me  ! 
Embrace  me  boldly.    I  pronounce  that  wretch 
An  enemy  to  brave  and  thriving  action, 
.That  dares  believe  but  in  a  thought,  we  are 
Too  prodigal  in  our  favours  to  this  man, 
Whose  merits,  though  with  him  we  should  divide 
Our  dukedom,  still  continue  us  his  debtor. 

Hip.  'Tis  far  from  me. 

Alph,  We  all  applaud  it. 

Coz.  Nay,  blush  not,  Sanazarro,  we  are  proud 
Of  what  we  build  up  in  thee;  nor  can  our 
Election  be  disparaged,  since  we  have  not 
Received  into  our  bosom  and  our  grace 

•  Coz.  Still  my  nightingale, 

That  •with  sweet  accents  Ice]  This  seems  ti>-be  from  Jonson : 
**  I  grant  the  linnet,  lark,  and  bull-finch  sing, 
*'  But  best  the  dear  good  angel  of  the  springy 
**  The  nightingale.''* 
Our  old  poets  gire  this  pleasing  office  to  the  nightingale  with 
great  beauty  and  propriety  ;   thus  Sidney  : 
*'  The  nightingale,  so  soon  as  Aprill  bringeth 
*'  Unto  her  rested  sense  a  perfect  waking, 
*'  While  late  bare  earth  proud  of  new  clothing  springeth, 
**  Sings  out  her  woes,"  &c. 
Thfc  Greek  poets,  and  their  echoes,  the  Romans,  usually  gave 
it  to  the  swallow,  and  in  this  too  there  was  propriety. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  445 

A  glorious  lazy  drone/  grown  fat  with  feeding 
On  others'  toil,  but  an  idustrious  bee, 
That  crops  the  sweet  flowers  of  our  enemies, 
And  every  happy  evening  returns 
Loaden  with  wax  and  honey  to  our  hive. 

Sanaz.  My  best  endeavours  never  can  discharge 
The  service  I  should  pay. 

Coz.  Thou  art  too  modest ; 
But  we  will  study  how  to  give,  and  when, 

Enter  Giovanni  and  Contarino. 

Before  it  be  demanded.— — Giovanni ! 
My  nephew  !  let  me  eye  thee  better,  boy. 
In  thee,  methinks,  my  sister  lives  again ; 
For  her  love  I  will  be  a  father  to  thee. 
For  thou  art  my  adopted  son. 

Giov,  Your  servant, 
And  humblest  subject. 

Coz.  Thy  hard  travel,  nephew, 
Requires  soft  rest,  and  therefore  we  forbear, 
For  the  present,  an  account  how  thou  hast  spent 
Thy  absent  hours.  See,  signiors,  see,  our  care, 
Without  a  second  bed,  provides  you  of 
A  hopeful  prince.  Carry  him  to  his  lodgings, 
And,  for  his  further  honour,  Sanazarro, 
With  the  rest,  do  you  attend  him. 

Giov.  All  true  pleasures 
Circle  your  highness ! 

Sanaz.  As  the  rising  sun, 
.       We  do  receive  you. 
1^         Giov.  May  this  never  set, 
But  shine  upon  you  ever ! 

[^Exeunt  Giovanni^  Sanazarro,  Hieronimo, 
Alphonso,  and  Hippolito, 

*  A  glorious  lazy  droncj]  i.  e.  Tain,  empty,  Taunting:  sec 
Vol.  I.  p.  142. 


44(5  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Coz.  Contarino  ! 

Cont.  My  gracious  lord. 

Coz.  What  entertainment  found  you 
From  Carolo  de  Charomonte  ? 

Cont.  Free, 
And  bountiful.  He's  ever  like  himself, 
Noble  and  hospitable. 

Coz.  But  did  m}'^  nephew 
Depart  thence  willingly  ? 

Cant.  He  obey'd  your  summons 
As  did  become  him.     Yet  it  was  apparent, 
But  that  he  durst  not  cross  your  will,  he  would 
Have  sojourn'd  longer  there,  he  ever  finding 
Variety  of  sweetest  entertainment. 
But  there  was  something  else  ;  nor  can  I  blame 
His  youth,  though  with  some  trouble  he  took 

leave 
Of  such  a  sweet  companion. 

Coz.  Who  was  it  ? 

Cont.  The  daughter,  sir,  of  signior  Carolo, 
Fair  Lidia,  a  virgin,  at  all  parts. 
But  in  her  birth  and  fortunes,  equal  to  him. 
The  rarest  beauties  Italy  can  make  boast  of. 
Are  but  mere  shadows  to  her,  she  the  substance 
Of  all  perfection.  And  what  increases 
The  wonder,  sir,  her  body's  matchless  form 
Is  better'd  by  the  pureness  of  her  soul. 
Such  sweet  discourse,  such  ravishing  behaviour, 
Such  charming  language,  such  enchanting  man- 
ners. 
With  a  simplicity  that  shames  all  courtship,* 
Flow  hourly  from  her,  that  I  do  believe 
Had  Circe  or  Calypso  her  sweet  graces. 
Wandering  Ulysses  never  had  reinember*d 
Penelope,  or  Ithaca. 

•  With  a  simplicity  that  shames  all  courtship  J  i,  e.  all  court 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  447 

Coz.  Be  not  rapt  so. 

Cont.  Your  excellence  would  be  so,  had  you 
seen  her. 

Coz.  Take  up,  take  up.' — But  did  your  obser- 
vation 
Note  any  passage  of  affection 
Between  her  and  my  nephew? 

Cont.  How  it  should 
Be  otherwise  between  them,  is  beyond 
My  best  imagination.  Cupid's  arrows 
Were  useless  there ;  for,  of  necessity, 
Their  years  and  dispositions  do  accord  so, 
They  must  wound  one  another. 

Coz.  Umph  !  Thou  art 
My  secretary,  Contarino,  and  more  skill'd 
In  politic  designs  of  state,  than  in 
Thy  judgment  of  a  beauty  ;''  give  me  leave, 
In  this,  to  doubt  it. — Here.  Go  to  my  cabinet, 
You  shall  find  there  letters  newly  received, 
'Touching  the  state  of  Urbin. 

breeding.     Davenant  has  profited  of  these  beautifal  lines,  and 
given  his  interesting  Bertha  many  traits  of  Lidia : 

"  She  ne'er  saw  courts,  yet  courts  could  hare  undone 
''  With  untaught  looks,  and  an  unpractised  heart : 

*'  Her  nets  the  most  prepared  could  never  shun, 
*^  For  nature  spred  them  in  the  scorn  of  art. 

**  She  never  had  in  busic  cities  bin, 

u  Ne'er  warm'd  with  hope,  nor  e'er  alla/d  with  fears; 
**  Not  seeing  punishment,  could  guess  no  sin, 

*'  And  sin  not  seeing,  ne'er  had  use  of  tears. 

**  But  here  her  father's  precepts  gave  her  skill, 
"  Which  with  incessant  business  fiU'd  the  hours  ; 

**  In  spring  she  gather'd  blossoms  for  the  still, 
*'  In  autumn  berries,  and  in  summer  flowers.*' 

'  Coz.  Take  vp,  fake  vp. — ]  i.  e.  stop,  check  yourself:  This 
senseofthe  word,  which  is  not  uncommon,  doesnot  occur  among 
the  numerous  examples  collected  by  Johnson. 


448  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Pray  you,  with  care  peruse  them  :  leave  the  search 

Of  this  to  us. 

Cont.  I  do  obey  in  all  things.  \Edcit, 

Coz,  Lidia  !  a  diamond  so  long  conceal'd, 

And  never  worn  in  court !  of  such  sweet  feature  I 

And  he  on  whom  I  fix  my  dukedom's  hopes 

Made  captive  to  it!  Umph!  'tis  somewhat  strange. 

Our  eyes  are  every  where,  and  we  will  make 

A  strict  enquiry. — Sanazarro  ! 

Re-enter  Sanazabro. 

Sanax.  Sir. 

Cos.  Is  my  nephew  at  his  rest  ? 

Sanaz.  I  saw  him  in  bed,  sir. 

Coz.  'Tis  well ;  and  does  the  princess  Fiorinda, 
Nay,  do  not  blush,  she  is  rich  tjrbin's  heir. 
Continue  constant  in  her  favours  to  you  ? 

Sanaz.  Dread  sir,  she  may  dispense  them  as  she 
pleases ; 
But  I  look  up  to  her  as  on  a  princess 
I  dare  not  be  ambitious  of,  and  hope 
Her  prodigal  graces  shall  not  render  me 
Offender  to  your  highness." 

Coz.  Not  a  scruple. 
He  whom  I  favour,  as  I  do  my  friend, 
*  May  take  all  lawful  graces  that  become  him : 
But  touching  this  hereafter.  I  have  now 
(And  though  perhaps  it  may  appear  a  trifle) 
Serious  employment  for  thee. 

Sanaz.  I  stand  ready 
For  any  act  you  please. 

Coz.  I  know  it,  friend. 

'  Offender  ^0  j/o«r  kighnets.']  Mr.  M.  Mason  roAds  of  ending ; 
the  word  that  I  have  inserted  is  nearer  the  eld  cojiy,  which  ex- 
hibitt,  Offended  to  your  highness. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  449 

Have  you  ne'er  heard  of  Lidia,  the  daughter 
Of  Carolo  Charomonte  ? 

Sanaz.  Him  I  know,  sir. 
For  a  noble  gentleman,  and  my  worthy  friend ; 
But  never  heard  of  her. 

Coz.  She  is  delivered, 
And  feelingly  to  us  by  Contarino, 
For  a  masterpiece  in  nature.  I  would  have  you 
Ride  suddenly  thither  to  behold  this  wonder. 
But  not  as  sent  by  us  ;  that's  our  first  caution  : 
The  second  is,  and  carefully  observe  it, 
That,  thoughyou  are  a  bachelor,  and  endow'd  with 
All  those  perfections  that  may  take  a  virgin. 
On  forfeit  of  our  favour  do  not  tempt  her : 
It  may  be  her  fair  graces  do  concern  us. 
Pretend  what  business  you  think  fit,  to  gain 
Access  unto  her  father's  house,  and,  there, 
Make  full  discovery  of  her,  and  return  me 
A  true  relation : — I  have  some  ends  in  it. 
With  which  we  will  acquaint  you. 

Sanaz.  This  is,  sir, 
An  easy  task. 

Coz.  Yet  one  that  must  exact 
Your  secrecy  and  diligence.     Let  not 
Your  stay  be  long. 

Sanaz.  It  shall  not,  sir. 

Coz.  Farewell, 
And  be,  as  you  would  keep  our  favour,  careful. 


450  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

ACT  II.    SCENE  I. 

The  same.     A  Room  in  Fiorinda's  House. 
Enter  Fiorinda  and  Calaminta. 

FiQr,  How  does  this  dressing  shew  ? 

Calam.  'Tis  of  itself 
Curious  and  rare ;  but,  borrowini^  ornament, 
As  it  does  from  your  grace,  that  deigns  to  were  it, 
Incomparable. 

Fior.  Thou  flatter'st  me. 

Calam.  I  cannot, 
Your  excellence  is  above  it. 

Fior.  Were  we  less  perfect, 
Yet,  being  as  we  are,  an  absolute  princess, 
We  of  necessity  must  be  chaste,  wise,  fair, 
By  our  prerogative  ! — yet  all  these  fail 
To  move  where  I  would  have  them.  How  received 
Count  Sanazarro  the  rich  scarf  I  sent  him 
For  his  last  visit? 

Calam.  With  much  reverence, 
I  dare  not  say  affection.  He  express'd 
More  ceremony  in  his  humble  thanks, 
Than  feeling  of  the  favour ;  and  appear'd 
Wilfully  ignorant,  in  my  opinion. 
Of  what  it  did  invite  him  to. 

Fior.  No  matter ; 
He's  blind  with  too  much  light.*    Have  you  not 

heard 
Of  any  private  mistress  he's  engaged  to  ? 

Calam.    Not  any ;   and  this  does  amaze  me, 
madam, 

•  He's  blind  -with  too  much  light,  ]    Ennobled  by  Milton— 
''  dark  ivitb  ezcesi  of  light." 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  451 

That  he,  a  soldier,  one  that  drinks  rich  wines, 
Feeds  high,  and  promises  as  much  as  Venus 
Could  wish  to  find  from  Mars,   should  in  his 

manners 
Be  so  averse  to  women. 

Fior.  Troth,  I  know  not ; 
He's  man  enough,  and,  if  he  has  a  haunt. 
He  preys  far  off,  like  a  subtle  fox. 

Calam,  And  that  way 
I  do  suspect  him  :  for  I  learnt  last  night, 
When  the  gjreat  duke  went  to  rest,  attended  by 
One  priv  ate  follower,  he  took  horse  ;  but  whither 
He's  rid,  or  to  what  end,  I  cannot  guess  at, 
But  I  will  find  it  out. 

Fior,  Do,  faithful  servant; 

Enter  Calandrino, 

We  would  not  be  abused. — Who  have  we  here  ? 

Calam.  How  the  fool  stares  ! 

Fior,  And  looks  as  if  he  were 
Conning  his  neck-verse. 

Cal.  If  I  now  prove  perfect 
In  my  A  B  C  of  courtship,  Calandrino 
Is  made  for  ever.  I  am  sent — let  me  see. 
On  a  How  d'ye^  as  they  call't. 

Calam.  What  wouldst  thou  say  ? 

Cal,  Let  me  see  my  notes.  These  are  her  lodg- 
ings ;  well. 

Calam.  Art  thou  an  ass  ? 

Cal.  Peace !  thou  art  a  court  wagtail, 

[Looking  on  his  instructions. 
To  interrupt  me. 

Fior.  He  has  given  it  you.  ^ 

Cal.  And  then  say  to  the  illustrious  Fi-o-riU'da — 
I  have  it.  Which  is  she  ? 

Calam.  Why  this;  fop-doodle. 


452  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Cal.  Leave  chattering,  bull-finch ;  you  would 
put  me  out, 
But  'twill  not  do. — Then,  after  you  hwve  made 
Your  three  obeisances  to  her,  kneel,  and  kiss 
The  skirt  of  her  gown. — I  am  glad  it  is  no  worse. 

Calam.  And  why  so,  sir  ? 

Cal.  Because  I  was  afraid 
That,  after  the  Italian  garb,  I  should 
Have  kiss'd  her  backw^ard. 

Calam.  This  is  sport  unlook'd  for. 

Cal.  Are  you  the  princess  ?  ^ 

Yior,  Yes,  sir. 

Cal.  Then  stand  fair, 
For  I  am  choleric  ;   and  do  not  nip 
A  hopeful  blossom.     Out  again  : — Three  low 
Obeisances — 

Fior.  I  am  ready. 

Cal.  I  come  on,  then. 

Calam.  With  much  formality. 

Cal.  Umph !  One,  two,  three. 

[Makes  antic  cu?' testes. 
Thus  far  I  am  right.  Now  for  the  last.  [Kisses  the 

skirt  of  her  gown.]— O,  rare  ! 
She  is  perfumed  all  over  !  Sure  great  women. 
Instead  of  little  dogs,  are  privileged 
To  carry  musk-cats. 

Fior.  Now  the  ceremony 
Is  pass'd,  what  is  the  substance  ? 

Cal.  I'll  peruse 
My  instructions,  and  then  tell  you. — Her  skirt 

kiss'd, 
Inform  her  highness  that  your  lord 

Calam.  Who's  that? 

Cal.  Prince  Giovanni,  who  entreats  your  grace. 
That  he,  with  your  good  favour,  may  have  leave 
To  present  his  service  to  you.     I  think  I  have 

nick'd  it 
For  a  courtier  of  the  first  form. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  453 

Fior.  To  my  wonder. 

Enter  GiovAHJH  I  and  a  Gcnt\em:iii, 

Return  unto  the  prince — but  he  prevents 
My  answer.  Calaminta,  take  him  off; 
And,  for  the  neat  delivery  of  his  message, 
Give  him  ten  ducats :  such  rire  parts  as  yours 
Are  to  be  cherish'd. 

Cal.  We  will  share:   I  know 
It  is  the  custom  of  the  court,  wlien  ten 
Are  promised,  five  is  fair.  Fie!  fie  !  the  princess 
Shall  never  know  it,  so  you  dispatch  me  quickly, 
And  bid  nie  not  come  to  morrow. 

Calam.  Very  good,  sir. 

[Kreunt  Calandrino  and  Calaminta. 

Giov.  Pray  you,  friend, 
Inform  the  duke  I  am  putting  into  act 
What  he  commanded. 

Gent.  1  am  proud  to  be  employ'd,  sir.      [Ei'it. 

Giov.  Madam,  that,  without  warrant,  _I  pre- 
sume 
To  trench  upon  your  privacies,  may  argue 
Rudeness  of  manners ;  but  the  free  access 
Your  princely  courtesy  vouchsafes  to  all 
That  come  to  pay  their  services,  gives  me  hope 
To  find  a  gracious  pardon. 

Fioj\  If  you  please,  not 
To  make  that  an  offence  in  your  construction^ 
Which  I  receive  as  a  large  favour  from  you^ 
There  needs  not  this  apology. 

Giov.  You  continue, 
As  you  were  ever,  the  greatest  mistress  of 
Fair  entertainment, 

Fior.  You  are,  sir,  the  master; 
And  in  the  country  have  learnt  to  outdo 
All  that  in  court  is  practised.  But  why  should  wfc 

VOL.  II.  *  I  i 


454  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Talk  at  such  distance?  You  are  \Velcome,  sir. 
We  have  been  more  familiar,  and  since 
You  will  impose  the  province  (you  should  govern) 
Of  boldness  on  me,  give  me  leave  to  say 
You  are  too  punctual.  Sit,  sir,  and  discourse 
As  we  were  used. 

Giov.  Your  excellence  knows  so  well 
How  to  command,  that  I  can  never  err 
When  I  obey  you. 

Fior.  Nay,  no  mo j'e  of  this, 
l^ou  shall  o'ercome ;  no  more,  I  pray  you,  sir. — 
And  what  delights,  pray  you  be  liberal 
In  your  relation,  hath  the  country  life 
Afforded  you? 

Giov.  All  pleasures,  gracious  madam, 
But  the  happiness  to  converse  with  your  sweet 

virtues. 
I  had  a  grave  instructor,  and  my  hours 
Design'd  to  serious  studies  yielded  me 
Pleasure  with  profit,  in  the  knowledge  of 
What  before  I  was  ignorant  in ;  the  signior, 
Carolo  de  Charomonte,  being  skilful 
To  guide  me  through  the  labyrinth  of  wild  pas- 
sions. 
That  labour'd  to  imprison  my  free  soul 
A  slave  to  vicious  sloth. 

Fior.  You  speak  him  well. 

Giov.  But  short  of  his  deserts.     Then  for  the 
time 
Of  recreation,  I  was  allow'd 
(Against  the  form  foUow'd  by  jealous  parents 
In  Italy)  full  liberty  to  partake 
His  daughter's  sweet  society.  She's  a  -virgin 
Happy  in  all  endowments  which  a  poet 
Could  fancy  in  his  mistress ;  being  herself 
A  scljool  of  goodness,  where  chaste  maids  may 
learn, 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  455 

Without  the  aids  of  foreign  principles, 
By  the  example  of  her  life  and  pureness, 
To  be  as  she  is,  excellent.     I  but  give  you 
A  brief  epitome  of  her  virtues,  whicTi, 
Dilated  on  at  large,  and  to  their  merit, 
Would  make  an  ample  story. 

Fior.  Your  whole  age, 
So  spent  with  such  a  father,  and  a  daughter. 
Could  not  be  tedious  to  you. 

Giov.  True,  great  princess  : 
And  now,  since  you  have  pleased,  to  grant  the 

hearing 
Of  my  time's  expense  in^the  country,  give  me 

leave 
To  entreat  the  favour  to  be  made  acquainted 
What  service,  or  what  objects  in  the  court. 
Have,  in  your  excellency's  acceptance,  proved 
Most  gracious  to  you. 

Fior.  I'll  meet  your  demand. 
And  make  a  plain  discovery.    The  duke's  care  * 
For  my  estate  and  person  holds  the  first 
And  choicest  place :  then,  the  respect  the  courtiers 
Pay  gladly  to  me,  not  to  be  contemn'd. 
But  that  which  raised  in  me  the  most  delight, 
•  (For  I  am  a  friend  to  valour,)  was  to  hear 
The  noble  actions  truly  reported 
Of  the  brave  count  Sanazarro.     I  profess. 
When  it  hath  been,  and  fervently,  deliver'd. 
How  boldly,  in  the  horror  of  a  fight, 
Cover'd  with  fire  and  smoke,  and,  as  if  nature 
Had  lent  him  M'ings,  like  lightning  he  hath  fallen 
Upon  the  Turkish  gallics,  1  have  heard  it 
With  a  kind  of  pleasure,  which  hath  whispcr'd 

to  me. 
This  worthy  must  be  cherish'd. 

Giov.  'Twas  a  bounty 
You  never  can  repent. 

*  I  i  2 


456  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Fior.  I  glory  in  it. 
And  when  he  did  return,  (but  still  with  conquest) 
His  armour  off,  not  young  Antinous 
Appear'd  more  courtly ;  all  the  graces  that 
Render  a  man's  society  dear  to  ladies, 
Like  pages  waiting  on  him ;  and  it  does 
Work  strangely  on  me. 

Giov.  To  divert  your  thoughts, 
Though  they  are  fix'd  upon  a  noble  subject, 
I  am  a  suitor  to  you. 

Fior,  You  will  ask, 
I  do  presume,  what  I  may  grant,  and  then 
It  must  not  be  denied, 
,    Giov.  It  is  a  favour 
For  which  I  hope  your  excellence  will  thank  me. 

Fior.  Nay,  without  circumstance. 

Giov.  That  you  would  please 
To  take  occasion  to  move  the  duke. 
That  you,  with  his  allowance,  may  command 
This  matchless  virgin,  Lidia,  (of  whom 
I  cannot  speak  too  much,)  to  wait  upon  you. 
She's  such  a  one,  upon  the  forfeit  of 
Your  good  opinion  of  me,  that  will  not 
Be  a  blemish  to  your  train. 

Fior.  'Tis  rank  !  he  love's  her  : 
But  I  will  fit  him  with  a  suit.  [^Aside.'] — I  pause  not, 
As  if  it  bred  or  doubt  or  scruple  in  me 
To  do  what  you  desire,  for  I'll  effect  it, 
And  make  use  of  a  fair  and  fit  occasion  ; 
Yet,  in  return,  I  ask  a  boon  of  you. 
And  hope  to  find  you,  in  your  grant  to  me, 
As  I  have  been  to  you. 

Giov.  Command  me,  madam. 

Fior.  'Tis  near  allied  to  yours.  That  you  would 
be 
A  suitor  to  the  duke,  not  to  expose, 
After  so  many  trials  of  his  faith, 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  457 

The  noble  Sanazarro  to  all  dangers, 

As  if  he  were  a  wall  to  stand  the  fury 

Of  a  perpetual  battery  :  but  now 

To  grant  him,  after  his  long  labours,  rest 

And  liberty  to  live  in  court;  his  arms 

And  his  victorious  sword  and  shield  hung  up 

For  monuments. 

Giov.  Umph  ! — I'll  embrace,  fair  princess, 

Enter  Cozimo. 

The  soonest  opportunity.     The  duke  ! 

Coz.  Nay,  blush  not ;  we  smile  on  your  privacy, 
And  come  not  to  disturb  you.     You  are  equals, 
And,  without  prejudice  to  cither's  honours. 
May  make  a  mutual  change  of  love  and  courtship. 
Till  you  are  made  one,  and  with  holy  rites, 
And  we  give  suffrage  to  it. 

Giov.  You  are  gracious. 

Coz.  To  ourself  in  this :  but  now  break  off;  too 
much 
Taken  at  once  of  the  most  curious  viands. 
Dulls  the  sharp  edge  of  appetite.    We  are  now 
For  other  sports,  ia  which  our  pleasure  is 
That  you  shall  keep  us  company. 

Fior,  We  attend  you.  [Exeunt, 


SCENE   II. 

The  Country.    A  Hall  in  Charomonte's  House, 

Enter  Bernardo,  Caponi,  and  Petruchio^ 

Bern,  Is  my  lord  stirring  ? 
Cap.  No  ;    he's  fast. 
^et.  Let  us  take,  then,, 


458  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Our  morning  draught.    Such  as  eat  store  of  beef, 
Mutton,  and  capons,  may  preserve  their  healths 
With  that  thin  composition  call'd  small  beer, 
As,  *tis  said,  they  do  in  England.    But  Italians,  > 
That  think  when  they  have  supp'd  upon  an  olive, 
A  root,  or  bunch  of  raisins,  'tis  a  feast. 
Must  kill  those  crudities  rising  from  cold  herbs, 
With  hot  and  lusty  wines. 

Cap.  A  happiness 
Those  tramontanes'  ne'er  tasted. 

Bern.  Have  they  not 
Store  of  wine  there  ? 

Cap.  Yes,  and  drink  more  in  two  hours 
Thau  the  Dutchmen  or  the  Dane  in  four  and       | 
twecty. 

Pet,  But  what   is't  ?    French  trash,   made   of 
rotten  grapes. 
And  dregs  and  lees  of  Spain,  with  Welsh  me- 

theglin, 
A  drench  to  kill  a  horse!  But  this  pure  nectar, 
Being  proper  to  our  climate,  is  too  fine 
To  brook  the  roughness  of  the  sea  :  the  spirit 

5  Those  tramontanes  ne'er  tasted.'}  i.  e.  those  strangers^  those 
barbarians  :  so  the  Italians  called,  and  still  call,  all  who  live  be- 
yond the  Alps,  ultra  montes.  In  a  subsequent  speech,  the  au- 
thor does  not  forget  to  satirize  the  acknowledged  propensity  of 
his  countrymen  to  drinking :  "  Your  Dane,  your  German,  and 
your  swag-bellied  Hollander,  are  nothing  to  your  Englishmaa." 

If  Caponi,  as  well  as  lago,  be  not,  however,  too  severe  upon  us, 
it  must  be  confessed  that  our  ancestors  were  apt  scholars,  and  soon 
bettered  the  instructions  which  they  received.  Sir  Richard 
Baker,  (as  Mr.  Gilchrist  observes,)  treating  of  the  wars  in  the 
Low-Countries  about  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  says, 
"  Here  it  must  not  be  omitted,  that  the  English  (who,  of  all  the 
dwellers  in  the  northern  parts  of  the  world,  were  hitherto  the 
least  drinkers,  and  deservedly  praised  for  their  sobriety,)  in 
these  Dutch  wars  learned  to  be  drunkards,  and  brought  the  vice 
so  far  to  overspread  the  kingdom,  that  laws  were  fain  to  be 
enactedfor  repressing  it."     Chron,  fol.  p.  382. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  459 

Of  this  begets  in  us  quick  apprehensions, 
And  active  executions;  whereas  their 
Gross  feeding  makes  their  understanding  like  it : 
They  can  fight,  and  that's  their  all.     \^lhey  drink. 

Enter  Sanazarho  and  Servajit. 

Sanaz.  Security- 
Dwells  about  this  house,  I  think  ;  the  gate's  wide 

open, 
And  not  a  servant  stirring.    See  the  horses 
Set  up,  and  clothed. 

Serv.  I  shall,  sir.  [^Ej^it, 

Sanaz.  I'll  make  bold   . 
To  press  a  little  further. 

Bern.  Who  is  this, 
Count  Sanazarro  ? 

Pet.  Yes,  I  know  him.     Quickly 
Remove  the  flaggon. 

Sanaz.  A  good  day  to  you<  friends. 
Nay,  do  not  conceal  your  physic ;  I  approve  it, 
And,  if  you  please,  will  be  a  patient  with  you. 

Pet.  My  noble  lord.  [Drinks. 

«Siz«fl^^.  A  health  to  yours.  [Drinks.']  Well  done  ! 
I  see  you  love  yourselves,  and  I  commend  you ; 
'Tis  the  best  wisdom. 

Pet.  May  it  please  your  honour 
To  walk  a  turn  in  the  gallery,  I'll  acquaint 
My  lord  with  your  being  here.  [Ej'it, 

Sanaz.  Tell  him  I  come 
For  a  visit  only.    'Tis  a  handsome  pile  this.   [E.rit, 

Cap.  Why  here  is  a  brave  fellow,  and  a  right 
one  ; 
Nor  wealth  nor  greatness  makes  him  proud. 

Bern.  There  are 
Too  few  of  them ;  for  most  of  our  new  courtiers, 
(Whose  fathers  were  familiar  with  the  prices 


460  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Of  oil  and  com,  with  when  and  where  to  vent 

them, 
And  left  their  heirs  rich,  from  their  knowledge 

that  way,) 
Like  gourds  shot  up  in  a  night,  disdain  to  speak 
But  to  cloth  of  tissue. 

Enter  Charomonte  in  a  nightgown,  Petruchio 
following. 

Char.  Stand  you  prating,  knaves, 
When  such  a  guest  is  under  my  roof!  See  all 
The  rooms  perfumed.    This  is  the  man  that  carries 
The  sway  and  swing  of  the  court ;  and  I  had  rather 

Preserve  him  mine  with  honest  offices,  than 

But  I'll  make  no  comparisons.  Bid  my  daughter 
Trim  herself  up  totheheight;  I  knowthis  courtier 
Must  have  a  smack  at  her ;  and,  perhaps,  by  his 

place, 
Expects  to  wriggle  further:   if  he  does, 
I  shall  deceive  his  hopes  ;  for  I'll  not  taint 
Myhonour  for  the  dukedom.  Which  way  went  he? 

Cap.  To  the  round  gallery. 

Char.  I  will  entcrtaim  him 
^s  fits  his  worth  and  quality,  but  no  further. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE  IIL 

A  Gallery  in  the  same. 

Enter  Sanazarro. 

Sanaz.  I  cannot  apprehend,  yet  I  have  argued 
All  ways  I  can  imagine,  for  what  reasons 
The  great  duke  does  employ  me  hither;  and, 
What  does  increase  the  miracle,  I  must  render 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  AGl 

A  strict  and  true  account,  at  my  return, 
Of  Lidia,  this  lord's  daughter,  and  describe 
In  what  she's  excellent,  and  where  defective. 
'Tis  a  hard  task :    he  that  will  undergo 
To  make  a  judgment  of  a  woman's  beauty, 
And  see  through  all  her  plasterings  and  paintings, 
Had  need  of  Lynceus'  eyes,  and  with  more  ease 
May  look,  like  him,  through  nine  mud  walls,  thau 

make    ' 
A  true  discovery  of  her.     But  the  intents 
And  secrets  of  my  prince's  heart  must  be 
Served,  and  not  search'd  into. 

Enter  Charomonte. 

Char.  Most  noble  sir. 
Excuse  my  age,  subject  to  ease  and  sloth, 
That  with  no  greater  speed  1  have  presented 
My  service  with  your  welcome. 

Sanaz.  'Tis  more  lit 
That  I  should  ask  your  pardon,  for  disturbing 
Your  rest  at  this  unseasonable  hour. 
But  my  occasions  carrying  me  so  n-sar 
Your  hospitable  house,  my  stay  being  short  too, 
Your  goodness,  and  the  name  of  friend,  which  you 
Are  pleased  to  grace  me  with,  gave  me  assurance 
A  visit  would  not  offend. 

Char.  Offend,  my  lord ! 
I  feel  myself  much  younger  for  the  favour. 
How  is  it  with  our  gracious  master? 

Sanaz.  He,  sir, 
Holds  still  his  wonted  greatness,  and  confesses 
Himself  your  debtor,  for  your  love  and  care 
To  the  prince  Giovanni ;  and  had  sent 
Particular  thanks  by  me,  had  his  grace  known 
The  quick  dispatch  of  what  I  was  desiga'd  to 
"Vfould  have  licensed  me  to  see  you. 


462  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Char,  I  am  rich 
In  his  acknowledgment. 

Sanaz.  Sir,  I  have  heard 
Your  happiness  in  a  daughter. 

Char.  Sits  the  wind  there  ?  [Aside. 

Sanaz.  Fame  gives  her  out  for  a  rare  master- 
piece. 

Char.   'Tis  a  plain  village  girl,   sir,  but  obe- 
dient; 
That's  her  best  beauty,  sir. 

Sanaz.  Let  my  desire 
To  see  her,  find  a  fair  construction  from  you : 
I  bring  no  loose  thought  with  me. 

Char.  You  are  that  way, 
My  lord,  free  from  suspicion.    Her  own  manners, 
Without  an  imposition  from  me, 
I  hope,  will  prompt  her  to  it. 

Enter  Lidia  and  Petronella. 

As  she  is, 
She  comes  to  make  a  tender  of  that  service 
Which  slie  stands  bound  to  pay. 

Sanaz.  With  your  fair  leave, 
I  make  bold  to  salute  you. 

Lid.  Sir,  you  have  it. 

Petron.  I  am  her  gentlewoman,  will  he  not 
kiss  me  too? 
This  is  coarse,  i'faith.        *  [Aside, 

Char.  How  he  falls  off! 

Lid.   My  lord,  though  silence  best  becomes  a 
maid. 
And  to  be  curious  to  know  but  what 
Concerns  myself,  and  with  becoming  distance, 
May  argue  me  of  boldness,  I  must  borrow 
So  much  of  modesty,  as  to  enquire 
Prince  Giovanni's  health. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  463 

Sanaz.  He  cannot  want 
What  you  arp  pleased  to  wish  him. 

Lid.  Would  'twere  so  ! 
And  then  there  is  no  blessing  that  can  make 
A  hopeful  and  a  noble  prince  complete, 
But  should  fall  on  him.    O  !  he  was  our  north  star, 
The  light  and  pleasure  of  our  eyes. 

Sanaz.  Where  am  I  ? 
I  feel  myself  another  thing  !   Can  charms 
Be  writ  on  such  pure  rubies?'  her  lips  melt 
As  soon  as  touch'd  !  Not  those  smooth  gales  that 

glide 
O'er  happy  Araby,  or  rich  Sabaea/ 
Creating  in  their  passage  gums  and  spices, 
Can  serve  for  a  weak  simile  to  express 
The  sweetness  of  her  breath.  Such  a  brave  stature 
Homer  bestow'd  on  Pallas,  every  limb 
Proportion'd  to  it ! 

Char.  This  is  strange. — My  lord ! 

Sanaz.  I  crave  your  pardon,  and  yours,  match- 
less maid, 
For  such  I  must  report  you. 

Petron.  There's  no  notice 
Taken  all  this  while  of  me.  [Aside, 

Sanaz.  And  I  must  add. 
If  your  discourse  and  reason  parallel 

^ Can  charms 

Be  writ  on  such  pure  rubies  ?]  This,  I  believe,  alludes  to  a  yery 
old  opinion,  that  some  sorts  of  gems,  (from  an  inherent  sanctity,) 
could  not  be  profaned,  or  applied  to  the  purposes  of  magic. 
The  notion  took  its  rise  probably  from  some  superstitious  ideas 
respecting  the  precious  stones  employed  in  the  breastplate  of 
the  high-priest  of  the  Jews. 

7  O^er  happy  Araby,]  So  the  quarto.  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M. 
Mason  have  blundered  it  into  prose;  they  read.  O'er  happy 
Arabia !  In  the  New  way  to  pay  old  Debtsy  this  beautiful  simile 
occurs  again. 


464  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

The  rareness  of  your  more  than  human  form, 
You  are  a  wonder. 

Char.  Pray  you,  my  lord,  make  trial : 
She  can  speak,  I  can  assure  you ;  and  that  my 

presence 
May  not  take  from  her  freedom,  I  will  leave  you  : 
For  know,  my  lord,  my  confidence  dares  trust 
her 

Where,  and  with  whom,  she  pleases. If  he  be 

Taken  the  right  way  with  her,  I  cannot  fancy 
A  better  match  ;  and,  for  false  play,  I  know 
The  tricks,  and  can  discern  them. — Petronella. 

Petron.  Yes,  my  good  lord. 

Char.  I  have  employment  for  you. 

[Ea:eunt  Charomonte  and  Petronella. 

Lid.  What's  your  will,  sir? 

Sanaz.  Madam,  you  are  so  large  a  theme  to 
treat  of, 
And  every  grace  about  you  offers  to  me 
Such  copiousness  of  language,  that  I  stand 
Doubtful  which  first  to  touch  at.  If  I  err. 
As  in  my  choice  I  may,  let  me  entreat  you, 
Before  I  do  offend,  to  sign  my  pardon : 
Let  this,  the  emblem  of  your  innocence, 
Give  me  assurance. 

Lid,  My  hand  join'd  to  yours. 
Without  this  superstition,  confirms  it. 
Nor  need  I  fear  you  will  dwell  long  upon  me. 
The  barrenness  of  the  subject  yielding  nothing 
That  rhetoric,  with  all  her  tropes  and  figures, 
Can  amplify.  Yet  since  you  are  resolved 
To  prove  yourself  a  courtier  in  ray  praise, 
As  I'm  a  woman  (and  you  men  afhrm 
Our  sex  loves  to  be  flatter'd)  I'll  endure  it. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  4,65 


Enter  Charomonte  above. 

Now,  when  you  please,  begin. 

Sanaz.  \tunung  from  her.l     Such  Lcetla*s  paps 
were, — 
(Down  pillows  styled  by  Jove,)  and  their  pure 

whiteness 
Shames  the  swan's  down,  or  snow.  No  heat  of  lust 
Swells  up  her  azure  veins  ;  and  yet  I  feel 
That  this  chaste  ice  but  touch'd  fans  fire  in  me. 
Lid.  You  need  not,  noble  sir,  be  thiis  trans- 
ported, 
Or  trouble  your  invention  to  express 
Your  thought  of  me  :  the  plainest  phrase  and 

language 
That  you  can  use,  will  be  too  high  a  strain 
For  such  an  humble  theme. 
Sanaz.  If  the  great  duke 
Made  this  his  end  to  try  my  constant  temper. 
Though  I  am  vanquish'd,  'tis  his  fault,  not  mine : 
For  I  am  flesh  and  blood,  and  have  affections 
Like  other  men.    Who  can  behold  the  temples, 
Or  holy  altars,  but  the  objects  work 
Devotion  in  him  ?  And  I  may  as  well 
Walk  over  burning  iron  with  bare  feet, 
And  be  unscorch'd,  as  look  upon  this  beauty 
Without  desire,  and  that  desire  pursued  too, 
Till  it  be  quench'd  with  the  enjoying  those 
Delights,  which  to  achieve,  danger  is.  nothing, 
And  loyalty  but  a  word. 

Lid.  I  ne'er  was  proud  ; 
Nor  can  find  I  am  guilty  of  a  thought 
Deserving  this  neglect  and  strangeness  from  you : 
Nor  am  I  amorous.' 

•  Nor  am  I  amorous.]     This  vroald  be  a  strange  declaration 
iot  Lidla  to  make;  when  Sanazarro  bad  ••'.id  nothing  to  her  oh 


456  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Sanaz.  Suppose  his  greatness 
Loves  her  himself,  why  makes  he  choice  of  mc 
To  be  his  agent  ?  It  is  tyranny 
To  call  one  pinch'd  with  hunger  to  a  feast, 
And  at  that  instant  cruelly  deny  him 
To  taste  of  what  he  sees.     Allegiance 
Tempted  too  far  is  like  the  trial  of 
A  good  sword  on  an  anvil ;  as  that  often 
Flies  in  pieces  without  service  to  the  owner, 
So  trust  enforced  too  far  proves  treachery, 
And  is  too  late  repented. 

Lid.  Pray  you,  sir, 
Or  license  me  to  leave  you,  or  deliver 
The  reasons  which  invite  you  to  command 
My  tedious  waiting  on  you. 

Char.  As  I  live, 
I  know  not  what  to  think  on't.    Is't  his  pride. 
Or  his  simplicity  ? 

Sanaz.  Whither  have  my  thoughts 
Carried  me  from  myself?  In  this  my  dulness, 
I've  lost  an  opportunity — ■ — 

\Turns  to  her  ;  she  falls  off. 

Lid.  'Tis  true, 
I  was  not  bred  in  court,  nor  live  a  star  there  ; 
Nor  shine  in  rich  embroideries  and  pearl. 
As  they,  that  are  the  mistresses  of  great  fortunes. 
Are  every  day  adona'd  with 

the  subject  of  love ;  these  words,  therefore,  must  be  considered 
'  as  the  begining  of  a  sentence  that  is  left  unfinished,  and  should 
be  printed  thus : 

Nor  am  I  amorous  — -^ M.  Mason. 

However  "  strange  the  declaration'  may  be,  it  is  actually 
made  :  nor  is  there  the  smallest  necessity  for  supposing  the  sen- 
tence to  be  incomplete.  Lidia  simply  means,  I  am  not  apt  to 
be  inflamed  at  first  sight;  and  the  remark  is  perfectly  na- 
tural, in  her  uncertainty  respecting  the  motives  of  Sanazarro's 
conduct. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  467 

Sanaz,  Will  you  vouchsafe 
Your  ear,  sweet  lady  ? 

Lid.  Yet  I  may  be  bold, 
For  my  integrity  and  fame,  to  rank 
With  such  as  are  more  glorious.  Though  I  never 
Did  injury,  yet  I  am  sensible 
When  Tm  contemn'd,  and  scorn'd. 

Sanaz.  Will  you  please  to  hear  me  ? 

Lid.  O  the  difference  of  natures  !  Giovanni, 
A  prince  in  expectation,  when  he  lived  here, 
Stole  courtesy  from  heaven,'  and  would  not  to 


Giovanni  f 


A  prince  in  expectation,  w/itn  he  lived  here, 

Stole  courtesy  from  heaven,  &c.]  This  is  from  Shakspeare, 
and  the  plain  meaning  of  the  phrase  is,  that  the  affability  and 
sweetness  of  Giovanni  were  of  a  heavenly  kind,  i.  e.  more  per- 
fect than  was  usually  found  among  men  ;  resembling  that  divine 
condescension  which  excludes  none  from  its  regard,  and  there- 
fore immediately  derived  or  stolen  from  heaven,  from  whence  all 
good  proceeds.  In  this  there  is  no  impropriety  :  common  usage 
warrants  the  application  of  the  term  to  a  variety  of  actions 
which  imply  nothing  of  turpitude,  but  rather  the  contrary  :  af- 
fections are  stolen — in  a  word,  to  steal,  here,  and  in  many  other 
places,  means  little  else  than  to  win  by  imperceptible  progres- 
sion, by  gentle  violence,  &c. 

I  mention  this,  because  it  appears  to  me  that  the  commeDta- 
tors  on  our  great  poet  have  altogether  mistaken  him: 

*'  And  then  I  stole  all  courtesy  from  heaven, 

"  And  dress'd  myself  in  such  humility, 

'*  That  I  did  pluck  allegiance  from  men's  hearts." 

Hen.  IV.  Part  I.  Act  III.  sc.  ii. 

**  This,"  says  Warburton,  who  is  always  too  refined  for  his  sub- 
ject, "  is  an  allusion  to  the  story  of  Prometheus,  who  stole  fire 
from  thence;  and  as  with  this  he  made  a  man,  so  with  that  Bo- 
lingbroke  made  a  king.''  '  If  there  be  any  allusion  to  the  story, 
(which  I  will  not  deny,)  it  is  of  the  most  remote  and  obscure 
kind  :  the  application  of  it,  however,  is  surely  too  absurd  for  se- 
rious  notice.  Stcevens  supposes  the  meaning  to  be, — *'  I  was  so 
affable,  that  I  engrossed  the  devotion  and  reverence  of  all  men 
to  myself,  and  thus  defrauded  heaven  of  its  worshippers."  Is  heaven 
worshipped  with  "  affability  ?"  or  have  politeness  and  elegance 


458  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

The  meanest  servant  in  my  fathers  house 
Have  kept  such  distance, 

Sanaz.  Pray  you,  do  not  think  me 
Unworthy  of  your  ear;  it  was  your  beauty 
That  turn'd  me  statue.    I  can  speak,  fair  lady. 

Lid.  And  I  can  hear.     The  harshness  of  your 
courtship 
Cannot  corrupt  my  courtesy. 

Sanaz.  VVill  you  hear  me, 
If  I  speak  of  love  ? 

Lid,  Provided  you  be  modest ; 
I  were  uncivil,  else. 

Char.  They  are  come  to  parley  : 
I  must  observe  this  nearer.  [He  retires. 

Sanaz.  You  are  a  rare  one, 
And  such  (but  that  myhaste  commands  me  hence) 
I  could  converse  with  ever.    Will  vou  grace  me 
With  leave  to  visit  you  again  ? 

Lid.  So  you, 
At  your  return  to  court,  do  me  the  favour 
To  make  a  tender  of  my  humble  service 
To  the  prince  Giovanni. 

Sanaz.  Ever  touching 
Upon  that  string  !  [Aside.^  And  will  you  give  mc 

liope 
Of  future  happiness  ? 

Lid.  That,  as  I  shall  find  you  : 
The  fort  that's  yielded  at  the  first  assault 
Is  hardly  worth  the  taking. 

of  manners  such  irresistible  ciiarms,  that,  when  found  bclotr^ 
they  must  of  necessity  "  engross  all  devotion^"  and  exclude  the 
Deity  from  our  thoughts  ? — This  is  not  the  language,  nor  are 
these  the  ideas  of  Shakspeare :  and  it  -would  well  become  the 
critics  to  pause  before  thfey  seriously  disgrace  him  with  such  im*- 
pious  absurdities. 


HE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  459 


Re-enter  Cn/LRouonTEbelow. 

Char.  O,  they  are  at  it. 

Sanaz.  She  is  a  mai^azine  of  all  perfection, 
And  'tis  death  to  part  from  her,  yet  1  must — • 
A  parting  kiss,  fair  maid. 

Lid.  That  custom  grants  you. 

Char,  A  homely  breakfast  does  attend  your 
lordship, 
Such  as  the  place  affords. 

Sanaz.  No  ;  I  have  feasted 
Already  here;  my  thanks,  and  so  I  leave  you: 
I  will  see  you  again. — Till  this  unhappy  hour 
I  was  never  lost,  and  vhat  to  do,  or  say, 
I  have  not  yet  determined.  [Aside^  and  exit. 

Char.  Gone  so  abruptly  ! 
'Tis  very  strange. 

Lid.  Under  your  favour,  sir, 
His  coming  hither  was  to  little  purpose, 
For  any  thing  I  heard  from  him. 

Char.  Take  heed,  Lidia  ! 
T  do  advise  you  with  a  father's  love. 
And  tenderness  of  your  honour;  as  I  would  not 
Have  you  coarse  and  harsh  in  giving  entertain- 
ment. 
So  by  no  means  to  be  credulous  :  for  great  men, 
Till  they  have  gain'd  their  ends,  are  giants  in 
Their  promises,  but,  those  obtain'd,  weak  pigmies 
In  their  performance.    And  it  is  a  maxim 
Allow'd  among  them,  so  they  may  deceive, 
They  may  swear  any  thing ;  for  the  queen  of 

love. 
As  they  hold  constantly,  does  never  punish, 

VOL.  II.  *  K  k 


^70  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OIF  FLORENCE. 

But  smile,  at  lovers'  perjuries.* — Yet  be  wise  too, 
And  when  you  are  sued  to  in  a  noble  way, 
Be  neither  nice  nor  scrupulous. 

Lid.  All  you  speak,  sir, 
I  hear  as  oracles  ;  nor  will  digress 
From  your  directions. 

Char.  So  shall  you  keep 
Your  fame  untainted. 

Lid.  As  I  would  my  life,  sir.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I. 

Florence.     An  ante  Room  in  the  Palace. 

-Ew/cr  Sana ZARRO  flwi/ Servant. 

Sanaz.  Leave  the  horses  with  my  grooms  ;  but 
be  you  careful, 
With  your  best  diligence  and  speed,  to  find  out 
The  prince,  and  humbly,  in  my  name,  entreat 
I  may  exchange  some  private  conference  with 

him 
Before  the  great  duke  know  of  my  arrival. 


•for  the  queen  oflove^ 


As  they  hold  constantly,  does  never  punish, 

But  smile,  at  lovers'  perjuries—] 

Ridet  hoc,  inquam,  Venus  ipsa. 
It  would  be  as  well  if  the  queen  of  lore  had  been  a  little  more 
fastidious  on  this  subject.  Her  facility,  I  fear,  has  done  much 
mischief,  as  lovers  of  all  ages  have  availed  theraselve*  of  it : 
but  she  had  it  from  hex  £ather,  whose  laxity  of  principle  is  well 
known  :  <  -    ii  • 

— — —  perjuria  ridet  amantHm 

Jupiter, 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  47 1 

Serv.  I  haste,  my  lord. 

Sanaz.  Here  I'll  attend  his  cominer : 
And  see  you  keep  yourself,  as  much  as  may  be, 
Conceard  from  all  men  else. 

Serv.  To  serve  your  lordship, 
I  wish  I  were  invisible.  \^Exit. 

Sanaz.  I  am  driven 
Into  a  desperate  strait,  and  cannot  steer 
A  middle  course;  and  of  the  two  extremes 
Which  I  must  make  election  of,  I  know  not 
Which  is  more  full  of  horror.    Never  servant 
Stood  more  engaged  to  a  magnificent  master. 
Than  I  to  Cozimo :  and  all  those  honours 
And  glories  by  his  grace  conferr'd  upon  me, 
Or  by  my  prosperous  services  deserved, 
If  now  I  should  deceive  his  trust,  and  make 
A  shipwreck  of  my  loyalty,  are  ruin'd. 
And,  on  the  other  side,  if  I  discover 
Lidia's  divine  perfections,  all  my  hopes 
In  her  are  sunk,  never  to  be  buoy'd  up : 
For  'tis  impossible,  but,  as  soon  as  seen. 
She  must  with  adoration  be  sued  to, 
A  hermit  at  his  beads  but  looking  on  her, 
Or  the  cold  cynic,  whom  Corinthian  Lais 
(Not  moved  with  her  lust's  blandishments)  call'd 

a  stone, 
At  this  object  would  take  fire.    Nor  is  the  duke 
Such  an  Hippolytus,  but  that  this  Fhasdra, 
But  seen,  must  force  him  to  forsake  the  groves, 
And  Dian's  huntmanship,  proud  to  serve  under 
Venus'  soft  ensigns.    No,  there  is  no  way 
For  me  to  hope  fruition  of  my  ends. 
But  to  conceal  her  beauties ; — and  how  that 
May  be  effected,  is  as  hard  a  task 
As  with  a  veil  to  cover  the  sun's  beams. 
Or  comfortable  light.    Three  years  the  prince 
Lived  in  her  company,  and  Contarino, 
♦KkS 


472  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

The  secretary,  hath  possess'd'  the  duke 

What  a  rare  piece  she  is  -.—  but  he's  my  creature, 

And  may  with  ease  be  frighted  to  deny 

What  he  hath  said  :  and,  if  my  long  experience, 

With  some  strong  reasons  I  have  thought  upon. 

Cannot  o'er-reach  a  youth,  my  practice  yields  mc 

But  little  profit. 

Efiter  Giovanni  with  the  Servant. 

Giov.  You  are  well  return'd,  sir. 

Sanaz.  Leave  us. — [Edit  Servant.^  When  that 
your  grace  shall  know  the  motives 
That  forced  me  to  invite  you  to  this  trouble, 
You  will  excuse  my  manners. 

Giov.  Sir,  there  needs  not 
This  circumstance  between  us.    You  are  ever 
My  noble  friend. 

Sdnaz.  You  shall  have  further  cause 
To  assure  you  of  my  faith  and  zeal  to  serve  you. 
And,  when  I  have  committed  to  your  trust 
(Presuming  still  on  vour  retentive  silence) 
A  secret  of  no  less  importance  than 
My  honour,  nay,  my  head,  it  will  confirm 
What  value  you  hold  with  me. 

Giov.  Pray  you,  believe,  sir. 
What  you  deliver  to  me  shall  be  lock'd  up 
In  a  strong  cabinet,  of  which  you  yourself 
Shall  keep  the  key :  for  here  1  pawn  my  honour, 
Which  is  the  best  security  I  can  give  yet, 
It  shall  not  be  discover'd. 

hath  possess  d  the  duke 


— ^— — -— — —   fniin    |iu93t:33  u  I  «c  nunc 

■  What  a  rare  piece  she  is :']  i.  e.  acquainted,  or  informed.  la 
this  sense  the  word  perpetually  occurs  in  our  old  writers.  Thus 
in  the  City  Nightcap:  "  You,  sirrah,  we  are  possess'dj  were 
their  pander."    Again,  in  the  City  Match: 


*'  She  is  possess'd 

*'  What  streams  of  gold  you  flow  in. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  475 

Sanaz.  This  assurance 
Is  more  than  I  with  modesty  could  demand 
From  such  a  paymaster  ;  but  I  must  be  sudden  : 
And  therefore,  to  the  purpose.  Can  your  Excel- 
lence, 
In  your  imagination,  conceive 
On  what  design,  or  whither,  the  duke's  will 
Commanded  me  hence  last  night  ? 

Giov.  No,  I  assure  you  ; 
And  it  had  been  a  rudeness  to  enquire 
Of  that  I  was  not  calTd  to. 

Sanaz.  Grant  me  hearing, 
And  I  will  make  you  truly  understand 
It  only  did  concern  you. 

Giov.  Me,  my  lord ! 

Sanaz.  You,  in  your  present  state,  and  future 
fortunes ; 
For  both  lie  at  the  stake. 

Giov.  You  much  amaze  me. 
Pray  you,  resolve  this  riddle. 

Sanaz.  You  know  the  duke, 
If  he  die  issueless,  as  yet  he  is, 
Determines  you  his  heir. 

Giov.  It  hath  pleased  his  highness 
Oft  to  profess  so  much. 

Sanaz.  But  say,  he  should 
Be  won  to  prove  a  second  wife,  on  whom 
He  may  beget  a  son,  how,  in  a  moment. 
Will  all  those  glorious  expectations,  which* 
Render  you  reverenced  and  remarkable. 
Be  in  a  moment  blasted,  howe'er  you  are 
His  much-loved  sister's  son  ! 

Giov.  I  must  bear  it 
With  patience,  and  in  me  it  is  a  duty 
That  1  was  born  with ;  and  'twere  much  unfit 
For  the  receiver  of  a  benefit  . 


474  THE  GJ^EAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

To  offer,  for  his  own  ends,  to  prescribe 
Laws  to  the  giver's  pleasure. 

Sanaz.  Sweetly  answer'd, 
And  like  your  noble  self.    This  your  rare  temper 
So  wins  upon  me,  that  I  would  not  live 
(If  that  by  honest  arts  I  can  prevent  it) 
To  see  yQUT  hopes  made  frustrate.  And  but  think 
How  you  shall  be  transform'd  from  what  you  are, 
Should  this  (as  heaven  avert  it !)  ever  happen. 
It  must  disturb  your  peace  :  for  whereas  now, 
Being,  as  you  are,  received  for  the  heir  apparent, 
You  are  no  sooner  seen,  but  wonder'd  at; 
The  signiors  making  it  a  business  to 
Enquire  how  you  have  slept ;  and,  as  you  walk 
The  streets  of  Florence,  the  glad  multitude 
In  throngs  press  but  to  see  you  ;  and,  with  joy, 
The  father,  pointing  with  his  finger,  tells 
His  son,  This  is  the  prince,  the  hopeful  prince. 
That  must  hereafter  rule,  and  you  obey  him. — 
Great  ladies  beg  your  picture,  and  make  love 
To  that,  despairing  to  enjoy  the  substance. — 
And,  but  the  last  night,  when  'twas  only  rumour'd 
That  you  were  come  to  court,  as  if  you  had 
By  sea  past  hither  from  another  w-orld, 
What  general  shouts  and  acclamations  follow'd  ! 
The  bells  rang  loud,  the  bonfires  blazed,  and  such 
As  loved  not  wine,  carousing  to  your  health. 
Were  drunk,  atjd  blush'd  not  at  it.    And  is  this 
A  happiness  to  part  with  ? 

Giov.  I  allow  these 
As  flourishes  of  fortune,  with  which  princes 
Are  often  sooth'd  ;  but  never  yet  esteem'd  them 
For  real  blessings. 

Sanaz.  Yet  all  these  were  paid 
To  what  you  may  be,  not  to  what  you  are  ; 
For  if  the  Great  Duke  but  shew  to  his  servants. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  47l 

A  son  of  his  own,  you  shall,  like  one  obscure, 
Pass  unregarded. 

Giov.  I  confess,  command 
Is  not  to  be  contemn*d,  and  if  my  fate 
Appoint  me  to  it,  as  I  may,  Til  bear  it 
With  willinor  shoulders.     But,  my  lord,  as  yet. 
You've  told  me  of  a  danger  coming  towards  me, 
But  have  not  named  it. 

Sanaz.  That  is  soon  deliver'd. 
Great  Cozimo,  your  uncle,  as  I  more 
Than  guess,  for  'tis  no  frivolous  circumstance 
That  does  persuade  my  judgment  to  believe  it, 
Purposes  to  be  married. 

Giov.  Married,  sir ! 
With  whom,  and  on  what  terms?  pray  you,  instruct 
me. 

Sanaz.  With  the  fair  Lidia. 

Giov.  Lidia ! 

Sanaz.  The  daughter 
Of  signior  Charomonte. 

Giov.  Pardon  me 
Though  I  appear  incredulous ;  for,  on 
My  knowledge,  he  ne'er  saw  her. 

Sanaz.  That  is  granted  : 
But  Contarino  hath  so  sung  her  praises. 
And  given  her  out  for  such  a  masterpiece, 
That  he's  transported  with  it,  sir  : — and  lov^ 
Steals  sometimes  through  the  ear  into  the  heart, 
As  well  as  by  the  eye.    The  duke  no  sooner 
Heard  her  described,  but  I  was  sent  in  post 
To  see  her,  and  return  my  judgment  of  her. 

Giov,  And  what's  your  censure  ? 

Sanaz.  'Tis  a  pretty  creature. 

Giov.  She's  very  fair. 

Sanaz.  Yes,  yes,  I  have  seen  worse  faces. 

Giov.  Her  limbs  are  neatly  form'd. 


4,76  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Sanaz.  She  hath  a  waist 
Indeed  sized  to  love's  wish. 

Giov,  A  delicate  hand  too. 

Sanaz.  Then  for  a  leg  and  foot — 

Giov.  And  there  I  leave  you, 
For  I  presumed  no  further. 

Sanaz.  As  she  is,  sir,  ■ 

I  know  she  wants  no  gracious  part  that  may 
Allure  the  duke  ;  and,  if  he  only  see  her. 
She  is  his  own  ;  he  will  not  be  denied, 
And  then  you  are  lost:  yet,  if  you'll  second  me, 
(As  you  have  reason,  for  it  most  concerns  you,) 
I  can  prevent  all  yet. 

Giov.  I  would  you  could, 
A  noble  way. 

Sanas;.  I  will  cry  down  her  beauties ; 
Especially  the  beauties  of  her  mind, 
As  much  as  Contarino  hath  advanced  them ; 
And  this,  I  hope,  will  breed  forgetfulness, 
And  kill  affection  in  him  :  but  you  must  join 
With  me  in  my  report,  if  you  be  question'd. 

Giov.  I  never  told  a  lie  yet ;  and  1  hold  it 
In  some  degree  blasphemous' to  dispraise 
What's  worthy  admiration :  yet,  for  once, 
I  will  dispraise  a  little,  and  not  vary 
From  your  relation. 

Sanaz.  Be  constant  in  it. 


and  I  hold  it 


In  some  degree  blasphemous]  So  the  word  was  usually  accented 
in  Massinger's  time,  and  with  strict  regard  to  itrGreek  deriva- 
tion.    Thus  Sidney : 

•'  BLasphimous  words  the  speaker  vain  do  prove." 
And  Spenser : 

**  And  therein  shut  up  his  blasphemous  tongue." 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  477 


Enter  Alphonso. 

j^lph.  My  lord,  the  duke  hatli  seen  your  man, 
and  wonders 

Enter  CoziMo,  Hippolito,  Covtari no,  and 
Attendants. 

You  come  not  to  him.    See,  if  his  desire 

To  have  conference  with  you  hath  not  brought 

him  hither 
In  his  own  person  ! 

Coz.  They  are  comely  coursers, 
And  promise  swiftness. 

Cont.  They  are,  of  my  knowledge, 
Of  the  best  race  in  Naples. 

Coz.  You  are,  nephew. 
As  I  hear,  an  excellent  horseman,  and  we  like  it : 
'Tis  a  fair  grace  in  a  prince.   Pray  you,  make  trial 
Of  their  strength  and  speed;  and,  if  you  think 

them  fit 
For  your  employment,  with  a  liberal  hand 
Reward  the  gentleman  that  did  present  them 
From  the  viceroy  of  Naples. 

Giov.  I  will  use 
My  best  endeavour,  sir. 

Coz.  Wait  on  my  nephew. 

[E.veunt  Giovanni^  Jlphonso,  Hippolito,  and 
Attendants. 
Nay,  stay  you,  Contarino  : — be  within  call ; 
It  may  be  we  shall   use  you.    \^Ej:it  Contarino'^ 

You  have  rode  hard,  sir, 
And  we  thank  you  ibr  it :  every  minute  seems 
Irksome,  and  tedious  to  us,  till  you  have 
Made  your  discovery.  Say,  friend,  have  you  seen 
This  phoenix  of  our  age  ? 


478  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Sanaz.  I  have  seen  a  maid,  sir ; 
But,  if  that  I  have  judgment,  no  such  wonder* 
As  she  was  deliver'd  to  you. 

Cox.  This  is  strange. 

Sanaz.  But  certain  truth.    It  may  be,  she  was 
look'd  on 
With  admiration  in  the  country,  sir ; 
But,  if  compared  with  many  in  your  court, 
She  would  appear  but  ordinary. 

Cgz.  Contarino 
Reports  her  otherwise. 

Sajiaz.  Such  as  ne'er  saw  swans. 
May  think  crows  beautiful. 

Coz.  How  is  her  behaviour  ? 

Sanaz.  'Tis  like  the  place  she  lives  in, 

Coz.  How  her  wit, 
Discourse,  and  entertainment? 

Sanaz.  Very  coarse ; 
I  would  not  willingly  say  poor,  and  rude  : 
But,  had  she  all  the  beauties  of  fair  women. 
The  dullness  of  her  soul  would  fright  me  from  he?r.' 

Coz.  You  arc  curious,  sir.  1  know  not  what  to 
think  on't. —  [Aside, 

Contarino ! 

Re-enter  Contarino, 

Cont.  Sir. 

Coz.  Where  was  thy  judgment,  man, 

*  Sanaz.  /  have  seen  a  maid,  sir  ; 
But  if  that  I  have  judgment,  no  such  wonder  &c.]    It  is  too 
much  to  say  tliat  this  simple  thought  is  borrowed ;  and  jet  an 
expression  of  Shakspeare  might  not  improbably  have  hting  on 
Massinger's  mind : 

"  Mir, .  No  wonder,  sir  ; 

**  But,  certainly  a  maid.^'         Tempest. 
The  commentators  have  amassed  a  prodigious  number  of  ex- 
tracts to  illustrate  the  expression :  this  from  Massinger,  how- 
ever, •which  appears  to  me  more  to  the  purpose  than  any  of 
them,  they  have,  as  usual,  overlouked. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCK  479 

To  extol  a  virgin  Sanazarro  tells  me 
Is  nearer  to  deformity  ? 

Sanaz.  I  saw  her, 
And  curiously  perused  her;  and  I  wonder 
That  she,  that  did  appear  to  me,  that  know 
What  beauty  is,  not  worthy  the  observing, 
Should  so  transport  you. 

Cont,  Troth,  my  lord,  I  thought  then 


Coz.  Thought  !  Didst  thou  not  affirm  it? 

Cont.  I  confess,  sir, 
I  did  believe  so  then  ;  but  now,  I  hear 
My  lord's  opinion  to  the  contrary, 
I  am  of  another  faith  ;  for  'tis  not  fit 
That  I  should  contradict  him.    I  am  dim,  sir; 
But  he's  sharp-sighted. 

Sanaz.  This  is  to  my  wish.  [Aside. 

Coz,  We  know  not  what  to  think  of  this  ;  yet 
would  not 

Re-enter  Giovanni,  Hippolito,  and 
Alphonso. 

Determine  rashly  of  it,  [Aside.l — How  do  you  like 
My  nephew's  horsemanship  ? 

Hip,  In  my  judgment,  sir, 
It  is  exact  and  rare. 

Alph,  And,  to  my  fancy. 
He  did  present  great  Alexander  mounted 
On  his  Bucephalus, 

Coz.  You  are  right  courtiers, 
And  know  it  is  your  duty  to  cry  up 
All  actions  of  a  prince. 

Sanaz.  Do  not  betray 
Yourself,  you're  safe  ;  I  have  done  my  part. 

[Aside  to  Giovanni, 

Giov.  I  thank  you  ; 
Nor  will  I  fail. 


480  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Coz.  What's  your  opinion,  nephew, 
Of  the  horses  ? 

Giov.  Two  of  them  are,  in  my  judgment, 
The  best  1  ever  back'd  ;  I  mean  the  roan,  sir. 
And  the  brown  bay :  but  for  the  chesnut-colour'd, 
Though  he  be  full  of  metal,  hot,  and  fiery, 
He  treads  weak  in  his  pasterns. 

Coz.  So :  come  nearer ; 
This  exercise  hath  put  you  into  a  sweat ; 
Take  this  and  dry  it  :*  and  now  I  command  you 
To  tell  me  truly  what's  your  censure  of 
Charomonte's  daughter,  Lidia. 

Giov.  I  am,  sir, 
A  novice  in  my  judgment  of  a  lady  ; 
But  such  as  'tis,  your  grace  shall  have  it  freely. 
I  would  not  speak  ill  of  her,  and  am  sorry. 
If  I  keep  myself  a  friend  to  truth,  I  cannot 
Report  her  as  I  would,  so  much  I  owe 
Her  reverend  father:  but  I'll  give  you,  sir, 
As  near  as  I  can,  her  character  in  little. 
She's  of  a  goodl}?  stature,  and  her  limbs 
Not  disproportion'd  ;  for  her  face,  it  is 
Far  from  deformity  ;  yet  they  flatter  her. 
That  style  it  excellent :  her  manners  are 
Simple  and  innocent;  but  her  discourse 
And  wit  deserve  my  pity,  more  than  praise: 
At  the  best,  my  lord,  she  is  a  handsome  picture, 
And,  that  said,  all  is  spoken. 

Coz.  I  believe  you  ; 
I  ne'er  yet  found  you  false. 

Giov.  Nor  ever  shall,  sir. — 

*  This  exercise  hath  put  you  into  a  sweat: 
Take  this  and  dry  it :]   This  is  from  Shakspeare;  if  he  had 
been  suffered  to  remain  in  quiet  possession  of  it,  the  reader 
•would  have  little  to  regret  on  the  score  of  delicacy  : 

'< He's  fat,  and  seant  of  breath  : 

''      *'  Here,  Hamlet,  take  my  napkin^  rub  thy  brow." 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  481 

Forgive  me,  matchless  Lidia  !  too  much  love, 
And  jealous  fear  to  lose  thee,  do  compel  me, 
Against  my  will,  my  reason,  and  my  knowledge, 
To  be  a  poor  detractor  of  that  beauty, 
Which  fluent  Ovid,  if  he  lived  again. 
Would  want  words  to  express.  \^Aside, 

Coz.  Pray  you,  make  choice  of 
The  richest  of  our  furniture  for  these  horses, 

\To  Sanazarro. 
And  take  my  nephew  with  you ;  we  in  this 
Will  follow  his  directions. 

Giov.  Could  I  find  now 
The  princess  Fiorinda,  and  persuade  her 
To  be  silent  in  the  suit  that  I  moved  to  her, 
All  were  secure. 

Sanaz.   In  that,  my  lord,  I'll  aid  you. 

Coz.  We  will  be  private  ;  leave  us. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Cozimo. 
All  my  studies 
And  serious  meditations  aim  no  further 
Than  this  young  man's  good.    He  was  my  sister's 

son. 
And  she  was  such  a  sister,  when  she  lived, 
I  could  not  prize  too  much ;  nor  can  I  better 
Make  known  how  dear  I  hold  her  memory. 
Than  in  my  cherishing  the  only  issue 
Which  she  hath  left  behind  her.    Who's  that  ? 

Enter  Fiorinda. 
Fior.  Sir. 

Coz.  My  fair  charge!  you  are  welcome  to  us. 
Fior.  I  have  found  it,  sir. 
Coz.  All  things  go  well  in  Urbin. 
Fior.  Your  gracions  care  to  me,  an  orphan,  frees 
me 
From  all  suspicion  that  my  jealous  fears 
Can  drive  into  my  fancy. 


482  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Coz.  The  next  summer, 
In  our  own  person,  we  will  bring  you  thither, 
And  seat  you  in  your  own. 

Fior.  When  you  think  fit,  sir. 
But,  in  the  mean  time,  with  yourhighncss'pardon, 
I  am  a  suitor  to  you. 

Coz.  Name  it,  madam. 
With  confidence  to  obtain  it. 

Fior.  That  you  would  please 
To  lay  a  strict  command  on  Charomonte, 
To  bring  his  daughter  Lidia  to  the  court : 
And  pray  you,  think,  sir,  that  'tis  not  my  purpose 
To  employ  her  as  ^  servant,  but  to  use  her 
As  a  most  wish'd  companion. 

Coz.  Ha  !  your  reason  ? 

Fior.   The  hopeful  prince,  your  nephew,  sir, 
hath  given  her 
To  me  for  such  an  abstract  of  perfection 
In  all  that  can  be  wish'd  for  in  a  virgin, 
As  beauty,  music,  ravishing  discourse, 
Quickness  of  apprehension,  with  choice  manners 
And  learning  too,  not  usual  with  women. 
That  I  am  much  ambitious  (though  I  shall 
Appear  but  as  a  foil  to  set  her  off) 
To  be  by  her  instructed,  and  supplied 
In  what  I  am  defective. 

Coz.  Did  my  nephew 
Seriously  deliver  this  ? 

Fior.  I  assure  your  grace. 
With  zeal  and  vehemency  ;  and,  even  when. 
With  his  best  words,  he  strived  to  set  her  forth, 
(Though  the  rare  subject  made  him  eloquent,) 
He  would  complain,  all  he  could  say  came  short 
Of  her  deservings. 

Coz.  Pray  you  have  patience.         \TFalks  aside. 
This  was  strangely  carried. — Ha!  arc  we  trifled 
with.? 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  483 

.  Dare  they  do  this?  Is  Cozimo's  fury,  that 
Of  late  was  terrible,  grown  contemptible  ? 
Well ;  we  will  clear  our  brows,  and  undermine 
Their  secret  works,  though  they  have  digg*d  like 

moles. 
And  crush  them  with  the  tempest  of  my  wrath 
When  I  appear  most  calm.   He  is  unfit 
To  command  others,  that  knows  not  to  use  it,* 
And  with  all  rigour;  yet  my  stern  looks  shall  not 
Discover  my  intents  ;  for  1  will  strike 

When  I  begin  to  frown. You  are  the  mistress 

Of  that  you  did  demand. 

Fior.  I  thank  your  highness ; 
But  speed  in  the  performance  of  the  grant 
Doubles  the  favour,  sir. 

Coz.  You  shall  possess  it 

Sooner  than  you  expect: 

Only  be  pleased  to  be  ready  when  my  secretary 

Waits  on  you  to  take  the  fresh  air.  My  nephew, 

And  my  bosom  friend,  so  to  cheat  me !  'tis  not 

fair.  [Asidc» 

Re-enter  Giovanni  and  Sanazarro. 

Sanaz.  Where  should  this  princess  be  ?  nor  in 
her  lodgings, 
Nor  in  the  private  walks,  her  own  retreat. 
Which  she  so  much  frequented  ! 

Giov.  By  my  life. 
She's  with  the  duke  !  and  I  much  more  than  fear 
Her  forwardness  to  prefer  my  suit  hath  ruin'd 
What  with  such  care  we  built  up. 

Coz.  Have  you  furnish'd 
Those  coursers,  as  we  will'd  you  ? 

8  ■  that  knows  not  to  use  it,]  i.  e.  his 

command^  authority :  the  expression  is  harsh,  bat  is  not  unconi'* 
inon  in  the  writers  of  Massinger>  time. 


484  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Sanaz.  There's  no  sign 
Of  anger  in  his  looks. 

Giov.  They  are  complete,  sir. 

Coz.  'Tis  well :  to  your  rest.    Soft  sleeps  wait 

on  you,  madam. 

To  morrow,  with  the  rising  of  the  sun. 

Be  ready  to  ride  with  us. — They  with  more  safety 

Had  trod  on  fork-tongued  adders,  than  provoked 

me.  [Aside,  and  e.rit. 

Mor.  I  come  not   to  be  thank'd,  sir,  for  the 
speedy 
Performance  of  my  promise  touching  Lidia  : 
It  is  effected. 

Sanaz.  We  are  undone.  [Aside. 

Fior.  The  duke 
No  sooner  heard  me  with  my  best  of  language 
Describe  her  excellencies,  as  you  taught  me, 
But  he  confirm'd  it. — You  look  sad,  as  if 
You  wish'd  it  were  undone. 

Giov.  No,  gracious  madam, 
I  am  your  servant  for't. 

Fior.  Be  you  as  careful 
For  what  I  moved  to  .you. — Count  Sanazarro, 
Now  I  perceive  you  honour  me,  in  vouchsafing 
To  wear  so  slight  a  favour. 

Sanaz.  'Tis  a  grace 
I  am  unworthy  of. 

Fior.  You  merit  more, 
In  prizing  so  a  trifle.    Take  this  diamond; 
I'll  second  what  I  have  begun ;  for  know, 
Your  valour  hath  so  won  upon  me,  that 
'Tis  not  to  be  resisted  :  I  have  said,  sir. 
And  leave  you  to  interpret  it.  [Exit. 

Sanaz.  This  to  me 
Is  wormwood.    'Tis  apparent  we  are  taken 
In  our  own  noose.    What's  to  be  done? 

Giov,  I  know  not. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  485 

And  *tis  a  punishment  justly  fallen  upon  me, 
For  leaving:  truth,  a  constant  mistress,  that 
Ever  protects  her  servants,  to  become 
A  slave  to  lies  and  falsehood.     What  excuse 
Can  we  make  to  the  duke,  whit  mercy  hope  for, 
Our  packing'  being  laid  open  ? 

Sanaz.  'Tis  not  to 
Be  question'd  but  his  purposed  journey  is 
To  see  fair  Lidia. 

Giov»  And  to  divert  him 
Impossible. 

Sanaz.  There's  now  no  looking  backward. 

Giov.  And  which  way  to  go  on  with  safety,  not 
To  be  imagined. 

Sanaz.  Give  me  leave  :  I  have 
An  embryon  in  my  brain,  which,  I  despair  not. 
May  be  brought  to  form  and  fashion,  provided 
You  will  be  open-breasted. 

Giov,  'Tis  no  time  now. 
Our  dangers  being  equal,  to  conceal 
A  thought  from  you. 

Sanaz,  What  power  hold  you  o'er  Lidia  ? 
Do  you  think  that,  with  some  hazard  of  her  life, 
She  would  prevent  your  ruin  ? 

Giov.  I  presume  so : 
If,  in  the  undertaking  it,  she  stray  not 
From  what  becomes  her  innocence ;  and  to  that 
'Tis  far  from  me  to  press  her :  I  myself 
Will  rather  suffer. 

Sanaz.  'Tis  enough  ;  this  night 
Write  to  her  by  your  servant  Calandrino, 
As  I  shall  give  directions  ;  my  man 

7  Our  packing  bting  laidopen  f]  i.  e.  our  insidious  contrirance, 
our  iniquitous  culIui<ion  to  deceife  the  duke:  so  the  word  ii 
Hsed  by  Shakspeare,  and  others* 


VOL.  1 1. 


LI 


485  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 


Enter  CA-LA'SH'Sii'SOy  fantastically  dressed. 

Shall  bear  him  company.    See,  sir,  to  my  wish 
He  does  appear ;  but  much  transform'd  from  what 
He  was  when  he  came  hither. 

Cal.  I  confess 
I  am  not  very  wise,  and  yet  I  find 
A  fool,  so  he  be  parcel  knave,  in  court 
May  flourish  and  grow  rich. 

Giov.  Calandrino. 

Cal.  Peace! 
I  am  in  contemplation. 

Gio'c,  Do  not  you  know  me  ? 

Cal.  I  tell  thee,  no  ;  on  forfeit  of  my  place, 
I  must  not  know  myself,  much  less  my  father, 
But  by  petition  ;  that  petition  lined  too 
With  golden  birds,  that  sing  to  the  tune  of  profit, 
Or  I  am  deaf. 

Gio*o.  But  you've  your  sense  of  feeling. 

[Offering  to  strike  him. 

Sajjaz.  Nay,  pray  you,  forbear. 

Cal.  I  have  all  that's  requisite 
To  the  making  up  of  a  signior:  my  spruce  ruff, 
My  hooded  cloak,  long  stocking,  and  paned  hose, 
My  case  of  toothpicks,  and  my  silver  fork, 

•  Cal.  I  have  all  that's  requisite 
To  the  making  up  of  a  signior :  my  spruce  ruff^ 
My  hooded  cloak,  long  stocking^  and  paned  hose, 
My  case  o/" toothpicks,  and  my  silver  fork,]  Calandrino  it 
very  correct  in  his  enumeration  of  the  articles  which  in  his  tim« 
made  up  a  complete  signior :  and  which  are  frequently  intro- 
duced with  evident  marks  of  disapprobation  and  ridicule  by  onr 
old  poets.    The  ruff,  cloak,  and  long  stocking,  are  sufficiently 
familiar :  hose  arc  breeches : 

"  Lorenzo,  thou  dost  boast  of  base  renown; 

"  Why,  I  could  whip  all  these,  were  their  hose  down." 

The  Spanish  Tragedy. 
Paned  hose^  are  breeclieg  composed  of  small  sq^uares  or  panneli. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  437 

To  convey  an  olive  neatly  to  my  mouth ;  — 

And,  what  is  all  in  all,  my  pockets  ring 

A  golden  peal.  Othat  the  peasants  in  the  country, 

In  the  former  edition,  I  had  heedlessly  stated  paned  t»  ba 
ribbtd:  which  I  lament,  the  more,  as  it  has  betrayed  that  unsus- 
pecting gentleman,  Mr.  Weber,  into  a  grierons  mistake  : 

*'  Oh !  my  ribs  are  made  of  a  payn'd  hose,  and  they  break." 

Fordy  Tol.  ii.  p.  468» 

To  explain  this,  the  editor  does  me  the  honour  to  take  my 
words  literally  to  himself;  adding,  out  of  his  own  stock,  "  the 
intended  pun  in  the  text  will  be  easily  understood."    It  so  hap- 
pens that  here  is  no  pun,  and,  if  there  were,  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  understand  it.     A  rib  made  of  a  rib  would  not  be  apt 
to  break;  but  a  rib  made  of  patch-work  (which  is  but  another 
name  for  paned  work)  might  be  readily  supposed  to  give  way. 
In  Mr.  Weber's  next  edition  he  will  doubtless  follow  my  ex- 
ample, and  correct  his  meanini^:— While  he  is  on  this  line,  if 
tvill  not  be  much  amiss  in  him  to  read  ^<ij/,  ibr^fa,  as  the  two 
vrords,  especially  ^'  when  taking  olf  skins"  is  spoken  of,  are 
jiot  altogether  synonymous.     While  I  am  on  this  most  grarc 
subject,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  observe  that,  about  this  time, 
the  large  slashed  breeches  oT  a  former  reign  began  to  give  way 
to  others  of  a  closer  make  ;  an  innovation  which  the  old  people 
found  very  inconvenient,  and  of  which  they  complained  with 
some  degree  of  justice,  as  being  very  ill  adapted  to  the  hard 
oak  chairs  and  benches  on  which  they  usually  sat.    Toothpicks^ 
the  next  accompaniment  of  state,  were  recently  imported  from 
Italy,  as  were  forks  ;  the  want  of  which  our  ancestors  supplied, 
as  well  as  they  could,  with  their  fingers.    Thomas  Coryat,  (an  • 
itinerant  buffoon,  with  just  understanding  enough  to  make  him. 
self  \yorth  the  laughing  at,)  claims  th*-  honour  of  introduciug 
the  use  of  forks  into  this  country,  which,  he  says,  he  learned  in 
.  Jtaly — "  where  the  natives,  and  also  most  strangers  that  ara 
ctrtnmorant  there,  doe  alwaies  at  their  meales  use  a  \itt\e/orke, 
■when  they  cut  their  meate,  for  while  with  their  knife,  which  they 
hold  in  one  hand,  they  cut  the  meat  out  of  the  dish,  they  fasteu 
their^urAe,  which  they  hold  in  their  other  hand,  upon  the  sama 
dish."     Cor^at's  Crudities,  i6ll. 

Jonson,  who,  far  more  than  any  of  his  contcmporariet, 
**  caught  the  manners  living  as  they  rose,"  lashes  the  prostitu. 
tion  of  monopolies  in  his  time,  by  making  Meercraft  promisa 
Taiibush  and  Gilthead  to  procure  theo)  grants  for  tlw  aanuf^^c- 

•Lis 


488  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

My  quondam  fellows,  but  saw  me  as  I  am, 
How  they  would  admire  and  worship  me  I 

Giov.  As  they  shall ; 
For  instantly  you  must  thither. 

Cal.  My  grand  signior, 
Vouchsafe  a  beso  la  manoSy^  and  a  cringe 
Of  the  last  edition. 

Giov.  You  must  ride  post  with  letters 
This  night  to  Lidia. 

Cal.  An  it  please  your  grace, 
Shall  I  use  my  coach,  or  footcloth  mule  ? 

Sanaz.  You  widgeon. 
You  are  to  make  all  speed  ;  think  not  of  pomp. 

Giov.  Follow  for  your  instructions,  sirrah, 

CaL  I  have 
One  suit  to  you,  my  gopd  lord. 

Sanaz.  Whatis't? 

Cal.  That  you  would  give  me 
A  subtile  court-charm,  to  defend  me  from 
The  infectious  air  of  the  country. 

turing  of  toothpicks,  a.ni  forks.     What  he  says  of  the  former  i» 
too  long  for  my  purpose  ;  the  latter  are  thus  introduced: 

"  Meer.  Do  yon  hear,  sirs  ? 
**  Have  I  deserved  this  from  you  two,  for  all 
*'  My  pains  at  court  to  get  you  each  a  patent  ? 
,  ''Gilt.  ForAvhat? 

*'  Meer.  Upon  my  project  of  the  forks. 
*'  Gilt.  Forks  !  what  be  they  ? 
**  Meer.  The  laudable  use  of  forks 
*'  Brought  into  custom  here,  as  they  are  in  Italy, 
*'  To  the  sparing  of  napkins."  The  Devil's  an  ^sSk 

9  Cal.  My  grand  signior. 
Vouchsafe  a  beso  las  manos,  &c.3  This  is  the  phrase  in  which 
Calandrino  supposes  his  "  quondam  fellows"  will  address  him. 
1  know  not  whether  it  be  through  ignorance  or  design — but  the 
modern  editors  always  make  their  foreign  scraps  even  more 
barbarouj  than  the  ancient  ones.  There  is  no  occasion  for  this. 
In  Massinger's  time  these  tags  of  politeness  were  in  every  body'* 
juQuthj  and  better  understood  than  they  are  at  this  day. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  489 

Giov.  What's  the  reason  ? 

CaL  Why,  as  this  court-air  taught  me  knavish 
wit, 
By  which  I  am  grown  rich,  if  that  again 
Should    turn  me  fool   and  honest,  vain   hopes 

farewell! 
For  I  must  die  a  beggar. 

Sanaz.  Go  to,  sirrah, 
You'll  be  whipt  for  this. 

Giov.  Leave  fooling,  and  attend  us.    [Exeunt,* 


ACT  IV.    SCENE  L 

The  Country.     A  Hall  in  Charomonte's  House, 

Enter  Charomonte,  and'LiTHA. 

Char.  Daughter,  I  have  observed,  since  the 
prince  left  us, 
(Whose  absence  I  mourn  with  you,)  and  the  visit 
Count  Sanazarro  gave  us,  you  have  nourished 
Sad  and  retired  thoughts,  and  parted  with 
That  freedom  and  alacrity  of  spirit 
With  which  you  used  to  cheer  me. 

Lid.  For  the  count;  sir. 
All  thought  of  him  does  with  his  person  die ; 
But  I  confess  ingenuously,  I  cannot 

'  I  have  restricted  myself  to  as  few  remarks  as  possible  oa 
the  beauties  of  the  author,  but  I  cannot  forbear  observing,  on 
the  present  occasion,  that  the  act  we  have  just  finished,  for  laa. 
guage,  sentiment,  surprising  yet  natural  turns,  and  general  feli- 
city of  conduct,  is  scarcely  to  be  paralleled  iu  any  drama  with 
which  I  am  acquainted. 


450  THE  GREAT  DU^E  OF  FLORENCE. 

So  soon  forget  the  choice  and  chaste  delights. 
The  courteous  conversation  of  the  prince, 
And  without  stain,  I  hope,  afforded  me, 
When  he  made  this  house  a  court. 

Char.  It  is  in  us 
To  keep  it  so  without  him.    Want  we  know  not,^ 
And  ail  we  can  complain  of,  heaven  be  praised 

for't, 
Is  too  much  plenty  j  and  we  will  make  use  of 

Enter  Caponi,  Bernardo,  Petruchio,  and 
other  Servants, 

All  lawful  pleasures. — How  now,  fellows!  when 
Shall  we  have  this  lusty  dance  ? 

Cap.  In  the  afternoon,  sir. 
'Tis  a  device,  I  wis,  of  my  own  making, 
And  such  a  one,  as  shall  make  your  signiorship 

know 
I  have  not  heen  your  butler  for  nothing,  but 
Have  crotchets  in  my  head.  We'll  trip  it  tightly,. 
And  make  my  sad  young  mistress  merry  again, 
Or  III  forswear  the  cellar, 

Bern.  If  we  had 
Our  fellow  Calandrino  here,  to  dance 
His  part,  we  were  perfect. 

Pet.  O!  he  was  a  rare  fellow; 
But  I  fear  the  court  hath  spoil'd  him. 

Cap.  When  I  was  young, 
I  could  have  cut  a  caper  on  a  pinnacle  ; 
But  now  I  am  old  and  wise. — Keep  your  figure 

fair, 
And  follow  but  the  sample  I  shall  set  you. 
The  duke  himself  will  send  for  us,  and  laugh  a^ 

us ; 
And  that  were  credit. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  491 


Enter  Calandrinq. 

Lid.  Who  have  we  here  ? 

Cal.  I  find 
What  was  brawn  in  the  country,  in  the  court 

grows  tender. 
The  bots  on  these  jolting  jades  !  I  am  bruised  to 

jelly. 
A  coach  for  my  money  !  and  that  the  courtezans 

know  well ; 
Their  riding  so,  makes  them  last  three  years  longer 
Than  such  as  are  hacknied. 

Char.  Calandrino  !  'tis  he. 

Cal,  Now  to  my  postures. — Let  my  hand  have 
the  honour 
To  convey  a  kiss  from  my  lips  to  the  cover  of 
Your  foot,  dear  signior. 

Char.  Fie !  you  stoop  too  low,  sir. 

Cal.  The  hem  of  your  vestment,  lady :  your 
glove  is  for  princes ; 
Nay,  I  have  conn'd  my  distances. 

Itid,  'Tis  most  courtly. 

Cap.  Fellow  Calandrino  \ 

Cal.  Signior  de  Caponi, 
Grand  hotelier  of  the  mansion. 

Bern.  How  is't,  man  ?  [Claps  him  on  the  shoulder, 

Cal.  Be  not  so  rustic  in  your  salutations, 
Signior  Bernardo,  master  of  the  accounts. 
Signior  Petruchio,  may  you  long  continue 
Your  function  in  the  chamber ! 

Cap.  When  shall  we  learn 
Such  gambols  in  our  villa? 

Lid.  Sure  he's  mad. 

Char.  'Tis  not  unlike,  for  most  of  such  mush- 
rooms are  so. 
What  news  at  court  ? 


492  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Cat.  Basta!  they  are  mysteries, 
And  nottobe  reveal'd.  With  yourfavour,  signior ; 
I  am,  in  private,  to  confer  awhile 
With  this  signora  :   but  I'll  pawn  my  honour. 
That  neither  my  terse  language,  nor  my  habit, 
Howe'er  it  may  convince,  nor  my  new  shrugs. 
Shall  render  her  enamour'd. 

Char.  Take  your  pleasure  ; 
A  little  of  these  apish  tricks  may  pass, 
Too  much  is  tedious.  \Exit, 

Col.  The  prince,  in  this  paper, 
Presents  his  service.     Nay,  it  is  not  courtly 
To  see  the  seal  broke  open ;    so  I  leave  you.— 
Signiors  of  the  villa,  I'll  descend  to  be 
Familiar  with  you. 

Cap.  Have  you  forgot  to  dance  ? 

Cal.  No,  I  am^better'd. 

Tet.  Will  you  join  with  us  ? 

Cal.  As  I  like  the  project. 
Let  me  warm  my  brains  first  with  the  richest 

grape, 
And  then  I'm  for  you. 

Cap.  Wewill  want  no  wine.  [Exeunt  all  but  Lidia. 

'Lid.   That  this  comes  only  from  the  best  of 
princes, 
With  a  kind  of  adoration  does  command  me 
To  entertain  it;  and  the  sweet  contents 

[Kissing  the  letter. 
That  are  inscribed  here  by  his  hand  must  be 
Aiuch  more  than  musical  to  me.    All  the  service 
Of  my  life  at  no  part  can  deserve  this  favour. 
O  what  a  virgin  longing  I  feel  on  me 
To  unrip  the  seal,  and  read  it !  yet,  to  break 
What  he  hath  fastened,  rashly,  may  appear 
A  saucy  rudeness  in  me. — I  must  do  it, 
(Nor  can  I  else  learu  his  commands,  or  serve 
them,) 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  493 

But  with  such  reverence,  as  I  would  open 
-  Some  holy  writ,  whose  grave  instructions   beat 
down 
Rebellious  sins,  and  teach  my  better  part 
How  to  mount  upward. — So,  [opens  the  letter,]  'tis 

done,  and  I 
With  eagle's  eyes  will  curiously  peruse  it.  [Reads, 

Chaste  Lidia,  the  favours  are  so  great 
On  me  by  you  confer fd^  that  to  entreat 
The  least  addition  to  them,  in  true  sense 
May  argue  me  ofblushless  impudence. 
But,  such  are  7ny  extremes,  if  you  deny 
A  further  grace,  I  must  unpitied  die. 
Haste  cuts  off  circumstance,  As  you' re  admired 
For  beauty,  the  report  of  it  hath  f  red 
The  duke  my  uncle,  and,  I  fear,  youllprove, 
,  .^*  Not  with  a  sacred,  but  unlawful  lone. 

If  he  see  you  as  you  are,  my  hoped  for  light 
Is  changed  into  an  everlasting  night ; 
How  to  prevent  it,  if  your  goodness  Jind, 
You  save  two  lives,  and  me  you  ever  bind, 

The honourer  of' your  virtues,  Giovanni, 

Were  I  more  deaf  than  adders,  these  sweet  charms 
Would  through  my  ears  find  passage  to  my  soul, 
And  soon  enchant  it.    To  save  such  a  prince, 
Who  would  not  perish  ?  virtue  in  him  must  suffer, 
And  piety  be  forgotten.    The  duke's  lust. 
Though  it  raged  more  than  Tarquin's,  shall  not 

reach  me. 
All  quaint  inventions  of  chaste  virgins  aid  me  ! 
My  prayers  are  heard  ;  I  have't.    The  duke  ne*er 

saw  me — 
Or,  if  that  fail,  I  am  again  provided — 
But  for  the  servants ! — They  will  take  what  form 
I  please  to  put  upon  them.    Giovanni, 


494  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Be  safe ;  thy  servant  Lidia  assures  it. 

L<it  mountains  of  afflictions  fall  on  me, 

Their  weight  is  easy,  so  I  set  thee  free.      [Exit 


SCENE   II. 

Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Cozimo,  Giovanni,  Sanazarro,  Chauoi*^ 
MONTE,  and  Attendants. 

Sanaz.  Are  you  not  tired  with  travel,  sir? 

Coz.  No,  no ; 
I  am  fresh  and  lusty. 

Char.  This  day  shall  be  ever 
A  holiday  to  me,  that  brings  my  prince 
Under  my  humble  roof.  \Weeps^ 

Giov.  See,  sir,  my  good  tutor 
Sheds  tears  for  joy. 

Coz.  Dry  them  up,  Charomonte  ; 
And  all  forbear  the  room,  while  we  exchange 
Some  private  words  together. 

Giov.  O,  my  lord. 
How  grossly  have  we  overshot  ourselves ! 

Sanaz.  In  what,  sir  ? 

Giov.  In  forgetting  to  acquaint 
My  guardian  with  our  purpose  :  all  that  Lidia 
Can  do  avails  us  nothing,  if  the  duke 
Find  out  the  truth  from  him. 

Sanaz.  'Tis  now  past  help. 
And  we  must  stand  the  hazard; — hope  the  best,  sir. 
[Exeunt  Giovanni^  Sanazarro,  and  Attendants^ 

Char.  My  loyalty  doubted,  sir  ! 

Coz.  Tis  more.    Thou  hast 
Abused  our  trust,  and  in  a  high  degree 
Committed  treason. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  495 

Char.  Treason  !  *Tis  a"  word 
My  innocence  understands  not.  Were  my  breast 
Transparent,  and  my  thoughts  to  be  discern'd, 
Not  one  spot  shall  be  found  to  taint  the  candour 
Of  my  allegiance:  and  I  must  be  bold 
To  tell  you,  sir,  (for  he  that  knows  no  guilt 
Can  know  no  fear,)  'tis  tyranny  to  overcharge 
An  honest  man ;  and  such,  till  now,  I've  lived, 
And  such,  my  lord,  I'll  die. 

Coz.  Sir,  do  not  flatter 
Yourself  with   hope,  these   great   and   glorious 

words, 
Which  every  guilty  wretch,  as  well  as  you, 
That's  arm'd   with   impudence,    can  with    ease 

deliver. 
And  with  as  full  a  mouth,  can  work  on  us: 
Nor  shall  gay  flourishes  of  language  clear 
What  is  in  fact  apparent. 

Char.  Fact  !   what  fact  ? 
You,  that  know  only  what  it  is,  intsruct  me, 
For  I  am  ignorant. 

Coz.  This,  then,  sir :  We  gave  up. 
On  our  assurance  of  your  faith  and  care, 
Our  nephew  Giovanni,  nay,  our  heir 
In  expectation,  to  be  train'd  up  by  you 
As  did  become  a  prince. 

Char.  And  I  discharged  it  : 
Is  this  the  treason  ? 

Coz.  Take  us  witli  you,  sir.' 
And,  in  respect  we  knew  his  youth  was  prone 
^o  women,  and  that,  living  in  our  court, 
He  might  make  some  unworthy  choice,  before 
His  weaker  judgment  w^s  confirm'd,  we  did 

*  Take  us  with  you^  sir.'\  i.  e.  hear  us  out,  understand  our 
meaning  fully,  before  you  form  your  conclusions:  this  expres- 
sion is  common  to  all  our  old  writers  ;  and,  indeed,  will  befre- 
jjuently  found  in  the  succeeding  pages  of  this  work. 


49^  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORExNCE. 

Remove  him  from  it ;  constantly  presuming, 
You,  with  your  best  endeavours,  rather  would 
Have  quench'd  those  heats  in  him,  than  light  a 

torch, 
As  you  have  done,  to  his  looseness. 

Char.  I !  my  travail 
Is  ill-requited,  sir ;  for,  by  my  soul, 
I  was  so  curious  that  way,  that  I  granted 
Access  to  none  could  tempt  him  ;  nor  did  ever 
One  syllable,  or  obscene  accent,  touch 
His  ear,  that  might  corrupt  him. 

Coz.  No  !  Why,  then, 
With  your  allowance,  did  you  give  free  way 
To  all  familiar  privacy  between 
My  nephew  and  your  daughter  ?  Or  why  did  you 
(Had  you  no  other  ends  in't  but  our  service) 
Read  to  them,  and  together,  as  they  had  been 
Scholars  of  one  form,  grammar,  rhetoric, 
Philosophy,^  story,  and  interpret  to  them 
The  close  temptations  of  lascivious  poets? 
Or  wherefore,  for  we  still  had  spies  upon  you. 
Was  she  still  present,  when,  by  your  advice, 
He  was  taught  the  use  of  his  weapon,  horseman- 
ship, 
Wrestling,  nay,  swimming,  but  to  fan  in  her 
A  hot  desire  of  him  ?   and  then,  forsooth, 
His  exercises  ended,  cover'd  \yith 
A  fair  pretence  of  recreation  for  him, 
(Wh^n  Lidia  was  instructed  in  those  graces 
That  add  to  beauty,)  he,  brought  to  admire  her. 
Must  hear  her  sing,  while  to  her  voice  her  hand 
Made   ravishing    music;    and,   this   applauded, 

dance 
A  light  lavolta  with  her.* 

„  3  Philosophi/,  story,]    For  storif,  the  modem  editors  unneces- 
sarily read  history.   The  two  words  were  anciently  synonymous. 
4  A  light  laYolta  with  her.']    What  the  dance  here  alluded  to 


The  great  duke  of  Florence.  49t 

Char,  Have  you  ended 
All  you  can  charge  me  with  ? 

Coz.  Nor  stopt  you  there, 
But  they  must  unattended  walk  into 
The  silent  groves,  and  hear  the  amorous  birds 
Warbling  their  wanton  notes;  here,  a  sure  shade 
Of  barren  sicamores,  which  the  all-seeing  sun 
Could  not  pierce  through ;  near  that,  an  arbour 

hung 
With   spreading   eglantine ;    there,   a  bubbling 

spring 
Watering  a  bank  of  hyacinths  and  lilies ; 
With  all  allurements  that  could  move  to  lust 
And  could  this,  Charomonte,  (should  I  grant 
They  had  been  equals  both  in  birth  and  fortune,) 
Become  your  gravity  r  nay,  'tis  clear  as  air. 
That  your  ambitious  hopes  to  match  your  daughter 
Into  our  family,  gave  connivance  to  it: 

is,  I  cannot  tell,  nor  can  I  find  an  explanation  of  the  word  in 

any  dictionary.     Coxeter  and  M.  Mason. 

That's  a  pity  !  Dictionaries,  generally  speaking,  are  not  the 
places  to  look  for  terms  of  this  kind,  which  should  besought  in 
the  kindred  writings  of  contemporary  authors.  Lavulta,  (literally, 
the  turn)  was  a  dance  originally  imported,  with  many  others, 
from  Italy.  It  is  frequently  mentioned  by  our  old  writers,  with 
whom  it  was  a  favourite ;  and  is  so  graphically  described  by  Sir 
John  Davics,  in  his  Orchestra,  that  all  further  attempts  to  explaia 
it  must  be  superfluous : 

**  Yet  is  there  one,  the  most  delightful  kind, 

**  A  lofty  jumping,  or  a  leaping  round, 
**  Where,  arm  in  arm,  two  dancers  are  entwin'd, 

**  And  whirl  themselves  in  strict  embracements  boand." 

Our  countrymen,  who  seem  to  be  lineally  descended  from 
Sisyphus,  and  who,  at  the  end  of  every  century,  usually  have 
their  work  to  do  over  again,  after  proudly  importing  from  Ger- 
many the  long-exploded  trash  of  their  own  nurseries,  have  just 
brought  back  from  the  same  country,  and  with  an  equal  degree 
of  exultation,  the  well-known  lavoUa  of  their  grandfathers, 
under  the  mellifluous  name  of  the  -waUz  / 


498  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  ^ORENCfi. 

And  this,  though  not  hi  act,  in  the  intent 
I  call  high  treason. 

Char,  Hear  my  just  defence,  sir; 
And,  though  you  are  njy  prince,  it  will  not  take 

from 
Your  greatness,  to  acknowledge  with  a  blush, 
In  this  my  accusation  you  have  been 
More  sway'd  by  spleen,  and  jealous  suppositions, 
Than  certain  grounds  of  reason.  You  had  a  father, 
(Blest  be  his  memory  ! )  that  made  frequent  proofs 
Of  my  loyalty  and  faith,  and,  would  I  boast 
The  dangers  I  have  broke  through  in  his  service, 
I  could  say  more.    Nay,  you  yourself,  dread  sir, 
"Whenever  I  was  put  unto  the  test, 
Found  me  true  gold,  and  not  adulterate  metal ; 
And  am  I  doubted  now  ? 

Coz.  This  is  from  the  purpose. 

Char.  I  will  come  to  it,  sir  :    Your  grace  well 
knew. 
Before  the  prince's  happy  presence  made 
My  poor  house  rich,  the  chiefest  blessing  wliich 
I  gloried  in,  though  now  it  prove  a  curse. 
Was  an  only  daughter.  Nor  did  you  command  me, 
As  a  security  to  your  future  fears, 
To  cast  her  off:  which  had  you  done,  howe'er 
She  was  the  light  of  my  eyes,  and  comfort  of 
My  feeble  age,  so  far  I  prized  my  duty 
Above  affection,  she  now  had  been 
A  stranger  to  my  care.    But  she  is  fair  ! 
Is  that  her  fault,  or  mine  ?  Did  ever  father 
Hold  beauty  in  his  issue  for  a  blemish  ? 
Her  education  and  her  manners  tempt  too  ! 
If  these  offend,  they  are  easily  removed  : 
You  may,  if  you  think  fit,  before  my  face. 
In  recompense  of  all  my  watchings  for  you, 
With  burning  corrosives  transform  her  to 
An  ugly  leper  ',  and,  this  done,  to  taint 


THE  GUEAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  499 

Her  sweetness,  prostitute  her  to  a  brothel.* 
This  I  will  rather  suffer,  sir,  and  more, 
Than  live  suspected  by  you. 

Coz.  Let  not  passion 
Carry  you  beyond  your  reason. 

Char.  T  am  calm,  sir  ; 
Yet  you  must  give  me  leave  to  grieve  I  find 
My  actions  misinterpreted.    Alas  !  sir, 
Was  Lidia's  desire  to  serve  the  prince 
Call'd  an  offence  ?  or  did  she  practise  to 
Seduce  his  youth,  because  with  her  best  zeal 
And  fervour  she  endeavoured  to  attend  him  ? 
'Tis  a  hard  construction.     Though  she  be  my 

daughter, 
I  may  thus  far  speak  her :  from  her  infancy 
She  was  ever  civil,  her  behaviour  nearer 
Simplicity  than  craft ;  and  malice  dares  not 
Affirm,  in  one  loose  gesture,  or  light  language, 
She  gave  a  sign  she  was  in  thought  unchaste. 
I'll  fetch  her  to  you,  sir ;  and  but  look  on  her 
With  equal  eyes,  you  must  injustice  grant 
That  your  suspicion  wrongs  her. 

Coz.  It  may  be ; 
But  I  must  have  stronger  assurance  of  it 
Than  passionate  words :  and,  not  to  trifle  time, 
As  we  came  unexpected  to  your  house, 
We  will  prevent  all  means  that  may  prepare  her 
How  to  answerthat,with  which  we  cometo charge 

her. 
And  howsoever  it  may  be  received 
As.a  foul  breach  to  hospitable  rites, 
On  thy  allegiance  and  boasted  faith, 
Nay,  forfeit  of  thy  head,  we  do  confine  thee 

5  ...  prostitute  her  to  a  brothel.  ]  Th« 

quarto  reads,  to  a  foa/A^OTwe  brothel.    The  epithet  is  altogether 
idle,  and  destroys  the  metre ;  I  haye  therefore  omitted  it  with-' 
«ut  scruple,  as  an  interpolation. 


00  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 


Close  prisoner  to  thy  chamber,  till  all  doubts 
Are  clear'd,  that  do  concern  us. 

Char.  I  obey,  sir. 
And  wish  your  grace  had  followed  my  herse 
To  my  sepulchre,  my  loyalty  unsuspected, 
Rather  than  now — but  1  am  silent,  sir, 
And  let  that  speak  my  duty.*  [Exit, 

Cos.  If  this  man 
Be  false,  disguised  treachery  ne'er  put  on 
A  shape  so  near  to  truth.    Within,  there ! 

Re-enter  Giovanni  aw^/Sanazarro,  ushering  in 
Petronella.    Calandrino  and  others  setting 
forth  a  Banquet* 

Sanaz.  Sir. 

CojSf.  Bring  Lidia  forth. 

Giox).  She  comes,  sir,  of  jberself, 
To  present  her  service  to  you. 

Coz.  Ha !  This  personage 
Cannot  invite  affection. 

Sanaz.  See  you  keep  state. 

Petron.  I  warrant  you. 

Coz.  The  manners  of  her  miud 
Must  be  transcendent,  if  they  can  defend 
Her  rougher  outside.    May  we  with  your  liking 
Salute  you,  lady  ? 

Petron.  Let  me  wipe  my  mouth,  sir, 
With  my  cambric  handkerchief,  and  then  have 

at  you. 
•    Coz.  Can  this  be  possible  ? 

Sanaz.  Yes,  sir ;  you  will  find  her 
Such  as  I  gave  her  to  you. 

*  This  scene  is  exquisitely  wriften.  \t  must,  hoMvcrer,  be 
confessed,  that  Charamonte's  justification  of  himself  is  less  com- 
plete than  might  be  expected  from  one  who  had  so  good  a  cause 
to  defend. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  501 

Petron.  Will  your  dukeship 
Sit  down  and   eat  some  sugar-plums?  Here's  a 

castle 
Of  march-pane  too;  and  this  quince-marmalade 

was 
Of  my  own  making;  all  sumraM  up  together, 
Did  cost  the  setting  on  :  and  here  is  wine  too. 
As  good  as  e'er  was  tapp'd.     I'll  be  your  taster, 
For  I  know  the  fashion.    [Drinks  all  off.'] — Now 

you  must  do  me  right,  sir; 
You  shall  nor  will  nor  choose. 
Giov.  She's  very  simple. 
Coz.  Simple  !  'tis  worse.     Do  you  drink   thus 

often,  lady  ? 
Petron.  Still  when  I  am  thirsty,  and  eat- when 
I  am  hungry : 
Such  junkets  come  not  every  day.    Once  more 

to  you, 
With  a  heart  and  a  half,  i'faith. 
Coz.  Pray  you,  pause  a  little  ; 
If  I  hold  your  cards,"  I  shall  pull  down  the  side  ; 
1  am  not  good  at  the  game. 

'Petron.  Then  I'll  drink  for  you. 
Coz.  Nay,  pray  you  stay :  I'll  find  you  out  a 
pledge 
That  shall  supply  my  place ;  what  think  you  of 
This  complete  signior?  You  are  a  Juno, 
And  in  such  state  must  feast  this  Jupiter: 
What  think  you  of  him  ? 
Petron.  I  desire  no  better. 
Coz.  Andyouwillundertakethis  service  forme? 
You  are  good  at  the  sport. 
CaL  Who,  I  ?  a  piddler,  sir. 

7  Coz.  Pray  you,  pause  a  little  ; 

IJ  1  hold  your  cardsy  &c.]  See  vol.  i.  p.  160. 

VOL.  II.  *  M  11^ 


502  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE, 

Coz.  Nay,  you  shall  sit  enthroned,  and  eat  and 
drink 
As  you  were  a  duke. 

Cal.  If  your  grace  will  have  me, 
I'll  eat  and  drink  like  an  emperor. 

Coz.  Take  your  place  then  : 

[Calandrino  takes  the  Duke's  chair. 
We  are  amazed. 

Giov.  This  is  gross  :  nor  can  the  imposture 
But  be  discover'd. 

Sanaz.  The  duk€  is  too  sharp-sighted, 
To  be  deluded  thus. 

Cal.  Nay,  pray  you  eat  fair, 
Or  divide,  and  I  will  choose.   'Cannot  you  use 
Your  fork,  as  I  do  ?  Gape,  and  I  will  feed  you. 

[^Feeds  her. 
Gape  wider  yet;  this  is  court-like. 

Petron.  To  choke  daws  with  : 

I  like  it  not. 

Cal.  But  you  like  this  ? 

Petron.  Let  it  come,  boy.  \They  drink, 

Coz.  What  a  sight  is  this  !  We  could  be  angry 
with  you. 
How  much  you  did  belie  her  when  you  told  us 
She  was  only  simple  !   this  is  barbarous  rudeness, 
Beyond"  belief. 

Giov.   I  would  not  speak  her,  sir, 
Worse  than  she  Mas. 

Sanaz,  And  I,  my  lord,  chose  rather 
To  deliver  her  better  parted'  than  she  is. 
Than  to  take  from  her. 

*  Sanaz.  yind  /,  mi/  lord^  chose  rather 

To  deliver  her  better  parted  than  she  i-v,J  i.  e.  gifted  or  endowed 
with  bc-fter /)ar/*,  &c.    See  vol.  i,  p.  40. 

It  seems  to  have  been  the  opiiiioa  ol  Massingcr  and  his  fellow 
dramatists,  that  no  play  could  succeed  without  the  admission  of 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  503 

Enter  Capon  i.with  hisfellmv  Servants  for  the  dance. 

^  Cap.  Ere  I'll  lose  my  dance, 
I'll  speak  to  the  purpose.  I  am,  sir,  no  prologue; 
But  in  plain  terms  must  tell  you,  we  are  provided 
Of  a  lusty  hornpipe. 

Coz.  Prithee,  let  us  have  it, 
For  we  grow  dull. 

Cap.  But  to  make  up  the  medley, 
For  it  is  of  several  colours,  we  must  borrow 
Your  grace's  ghost  here. 

Cat.  Pray  you,  sir,  depose  me  ; 
It  will  not  do  else.    I  am,  sir,  the  engine 

[RiseSy  and  resigns  his  chair. 
By  which  it  moves. 

Petron.  I  will  dance  with  my  duke  too ; 
I  will  not  out. 
Coz.  Begin  then.— [T^ej/  ^awce.]— There's  more 
in  this. 
Than  yet  I  have  discovered.    Some  (Edipus 
Resolve  this  riddle. 
Petron.  Did  I  not  foot  it  roundly.  [Falls, 

Coz.  As  I  live,  stark  drunk  !    away  with  her. 
We'll  reward  you, 

[Ea'eunt  Servants  with  Petronella. 
When  you  have  cool'd  yourselves  in  the  cellar. 

some  kind  of  farcical  interlude  among  the  graver  scenes.  If  tfi« 
dramas  of  our  author  be  intimately  considered,  few  mill  be  found 
without  some  extraneous  mummery  of  this  description  ;  and,  in- 
deed, nothing  but  a  persuasion  Of  the  nature  which  I  hare  just 
mentioned  could  give  birth  to  the  poor  mockery  before  us.  At 
a  trick,  it  is  so  gross  and  palpable,  that  the  duke  could  not 
hare  been  deceived  by  it  for  a  moment ;  (to  do  him  justice,  he 
frequently  hints  his  suspicions;)  and  as  a  piece  of  haniour,  it  is 
so  low,  and  even  disagreeable,  that  I  cannot  avoid  regretting  % 
proper  regard  for  his  characters  had  not  prevented  the  aithor 
from  adopting  it  on  the  present  occasion. 
*  M  m  2 


504  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Cap.  Heaven  preserve  you  ! 

Coz.  We  pity  Charamonte's  wretched  fortune 
In  a  daughter,  nay,  a  monster.   Good  old  man  ! — 
The  place  grows  tedious  ;  our  remove  shall  be    ' 
With  speed  :  we'll  only,  in  a  word  or  two, 
Take  leave,  and  comfort  him. 

Sanaz.  'Twill  rather,  sir, 
Increase  his  sorrow,  that  you  know  his  shame ; 
Your^-race  may  do  it  by  letter. 

Cox.  Who  sign'd  you 
A  patent  to  direct  us  ?  Wait  our  coming, 
In  the  garden. 

Giov.  All  will  out. 

Sanaz.  I  more  than  fear  it. 

[^E.veunt  Giovanni  and  Sanazarro. 

Coz.  These  are  strange  chimeras  to  us  :  wliat 
to  judge  oft, 
Is  past  our  apprehension.    One  command 
Charomonte  to  attend  us.    \^Exit  an  Attendant.'] 

Can  it  be 
That  Contarino  could  be  so  besotted. 
As  to  admire  this  prodigy  !  or  her  father 
To  doat  upon  it !  Or  does  she  personate,' 
For  some  ends  unknown  to  us,  this  rude  be- 
haviour. 
Which,  in  the  scene  presented,  would  appear 
Ridiculous  and  impossible  ? — O,  you  are  welcome. 

— ■ —  or  does  she  personate, 


For  some  ends  unknown  to  us  ? — this  rude  behaviour^ 
Within  the  scene  presented,  would  appear 

Ridiculous  and  impossible  ?J    So  the  old  copy»   Mr.  M.  Mason 
has, 

Or  does  she  personate, 

For  some  ends  unknown  to  us,  this  rude  behaviour. 
Which,  in  the  scene  presented,  would,  &c. 
and  I  have  continued  it;  although  the  old  reading  makes  verj 
good  sense.     To  personate  is  used  here  with  great  propriety, 
for — to  play  a  fictitious  chafacter. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  505 


Enter  Charomonte. 

We  no  w  acknowledge  the  much  wrong  we  did  you 
In  our  unjust  suspicion.    We  have  seen 
The  wonder,  sir,  your  daughter. 

Char.  And  have  found  her 
Such  as  I  did  report  her.    What  she  wanted 
In  courtship,*  was,  I  hope,  supplied  in  civil 
And  modest  entertainment. 

Coz,  Pray  you,  tell  us, 
And  truly,  we  command  you — Did  you  never 
Observe  she  was  given  to  drink? 

Char,  To  drink,  sir  ! 

Coz,  Yes  :  nay  more,  to  be  drunk  ? 

Char.  1  had  rather  see  her  buried. 

Coz.  Dare  you  trust  your  own  eyes,  if  you  find 
her  now 
More  than  distemper'd  ? 

Char.  I  will  pull  them  out,  sir. 
If  your  grace  can  make  this  good.     And  if  you 

please 
To  grant  me  liberty,  as  she  is  I'll  fetch  her, 
And  in  a  moment. 

Coz.  Look  you  do,  and  fail  not, 
On  the  peril  of  your  head. 

Char,  Drunk  ! — She  disdains  it.  [Ejcit, 

Coz,  Such  contrarieties  were  never  read  of. 
Charomonte  is  no  fool ;  nor  can  I  think 
His  confidence  built  on  s^and.    We  are  abused, 
'Tis  too  apparent. 


What  she  uanted 


In  courtship,]  Courtship  is  used  here  for  that  grace  and  ele- 
gance of  behaviour  which  a  retired  gentleman  might  supiJosc  t« 
be  taught  and  practised  at  court. 


505  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 


Re-enter  Charomonte  with  Lidia. 

Lid.  I  am  indisposed,  sir ; 
And  that  life  you  once  tender'd,much  endanger'd 
In  forcing  me  from  my  chamber. 

Char.   Here  she  is,  sir; 
Suddenly  sick,  I  grant  ;  hut,  sure,  not  drunk: 
Speak  to  my  lord  the  duke. 

Lid   AH  is  discover'd.  [Kneels, 

Coz.  Is  this  your  only  daughter? 
.Char.  And  my  heir,  sir  ; 
Nor  keep  I  any  woman  in  my''  house 
(Unless  for  sordid  offices)  but  one 
I  do  maintain,  trimm'd  up  in  her  cast  habits, 
To  make  her  sport :  and  she,  indeed,  loves  wine, 
And  will  take  too  much  of  it;  and,  perhaps,  for 

mirth. 
She  was  presented  to  you, 

Coz.  It  shall  yield 
No  sport  to  the  contrivers.    'Tis  too  plain  now. 
Her  presence  does  confirm  what  Contarino 
Delivered  of  her  ;  nor  can  sickness  dim 
The  splendour  of  her  beauties :  being  herself,  then, 
She  must  exceed  his  praise. 

Lid.  Will  your  grace  hear  me  ? 
I'm  faint,  and  can  say  little. 

Coz.  Here  are  accents 
Whose  every  syllable  is  musical! 
Pray  you,  let  me  raise  you,  and  awhile  rest  here. 
False  Sanazarro,  treacherous  Giovanni! 
But  stand  we  talking ! 

*  Nor  keep  I  any  ■woman  in  my  house ^"l  Coxeter  had  dropt  a 
word  at  the  press,  and  Mr.  M.  Mason  was  reduced  to  guess  what 
it  might  be.  He  failed  as  usual :  luckily  the  mistake  was  of  no 
further  consequi  nee  than  to  shew  with  what  pertinacity  he  per- 
sisted in  not  consulting  the  old  copies. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  507 

Char.  Here's  a  storm  soon  raised. 

Coz.  As  thou  artour  subject,  Charomonte,  swear 
To  act  what  we  command. 

Char.  That  is  an  oath 
I  long  since  took. 

Coz.  Then,  by  that  oath  we  charge  thee, 
Without  excuse,  denial,  or  delay, 
To  apprehend,  and  suddenly,  Sanazarro, 
And  our  ingrateful  nephew.    We  have  said  it. 
Do  it  M'ithout  reply,  or  we  pronounce  thee, 
Like  them,  a  traitor  to  us.    See  them  guarded 
In  several  lodgings,  and  forbid  access 
To  all,  but  when  we  warrant.    Is  our  will 
Heard  sooner  than  obey'd  ? 

Char.  These  are  strange  turns ; 
But  I  must  not  dispute  them.  \^Exit. 

Coz.  Be  severe  in*t. — 
O  my  abused  lenity  !  from  what  height  - 
Is  my  power  fall'ii! 

Lid.  O  me  most  miserable  ! 
That,  being  innocent,  makes  others  guilty. 
Most  gracious  prince 

Coz.  Pray  you  rise,  and  then  speak  to  me. 

Lid.  My  knees  shall  first  be  rooted  in  this  earth. 
And,  Myrrha-like,  Til  grow  up  to  a  tree. 
Dropping  perpetual  tears  of  sorrow,  which 
Harden'd  by  the  rough  wind,  and  turn'd  to  amber, 
Unfortunate  virgins  like  myself  shall  wear; 
Before  I'll  make  petition  to  your  greatness, 
But  with  such  reverence,  my  hands  held  up  thus, 
As  I  would  do  to  heaven.     You  princes  are 
As  gods  on  earth  to  us,  and  to  be  sued  to 
With  such  humility,  as  his  deputies 
May  challenge  from  their  vassals. 

Coz.  Here's  that  form 
Of  language  I  expected;  pray  you,  speak: 
What  is  your  suit  ? 


508  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Lid,  That  you  would  look  upon  me 
As  an  humble  thing,  that  millions  of  degrees 
Is  placed  beneath  you  :  for  what  am  I,  dread  sir, 
Or  what  can  fall  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life, 
That  may  be  worth  your  care,  much  less  your 

trouble? 
As  the  lowly  shrub  is  to  the  lofty  cedar, 
Or  a  molehill  to  Olympus,  if  compared, 
I  am  to  you,  sir.    Or,  suppose  the  prince, 
(Which  cannot  find  belief  in  me,)  forgetting 
The  greatness  of  his  birth  and  hopes,  hath  thrown 
An  eye  of  favour  on  me,  in  me  punish, 
That  am  the  cause,  the  rashness  of  his  youth. 
Shall  the  queen  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  air, 
The  eagle,  that  bears  thunder  on  her  wings, 
In  her  angry  mood  destroy  her  hopeful  young. 
Tor  suffering  a  wren  to  perch  too  near  them  ? 
Such  is  our  disproportion. 
Coz.  With  what  fervour 
She  pleads  against  herself ! 
Lid.  For  me,  poor  maid, 
I  know  the  prince  to  be  so  far  above  me. 
That  my  wishes  cannot  reach  him.    Yet  I  am 
So  much  his  creature,  that,  to  fix  him  in 
Your  wonted  grace  and  favour,  I'll  abjure 
His  sight  for  ever,  and  betake  myself 
To  a  religious  life,  (where  in  my  prayers 
I  may  remember  him,)  and  ne'er  see  man  more, 
But  my  ghostly  father.    Will  you  trust  me,  sir? 
In  truth  I'll  keep  my  word ;  or,  if  this  fail, 
A  little  more  of  fear  what  may  befall  him 
Will  stop  my  breath  for  ever. 

Coz.  Had  you  thus  argued  [Raises  her, 

K%  you  were  yourself,  and  brought  as  advocates 
Your  Health  and  beaut}',  to  make  way  for  you. 
No  crime  of  his  could  put  on  such  a  shape 
But  I  should  look  with  the  eyes  of  mercy  on  it. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  509 

What  would  I  give  to  see  this  diamond 

In  her  perfect  lustre,  as  she  was  before^ 

The  clouds  of  sickness   dimni'd  it!    Yet,   take 

comfort ; 
And,  as  you  would  obtain  remission  for 
His  treachery  to  me,  cheer  your  drooping  spirits, 
And  call  the  blood  again  into  your  cheeks, 
And  then  plead  for  him ;  and  in  such  a  habit 
As  in  your  highest  hopes  you  would  put  on, 
If  we  were  to  receive  you  for  our  bride. 

Lid.  I'll  do  my  best,  sir. 

Coz.  And  that  best  will  be 
A  crown  of  all  felicity  to  me.  [Ejceunt. 


ACTV.    SCENE   I. 

The  same*     An  upper  Chamber  in   Charomonte's 

House. 

Enter  Sanazarro. 

Sanaz.  'Tis  proved  in  me  :  the  curse  of  human 

frailty. 
Adding  to  our  afflictions,  makes  us  know 
What's  good;  and  yet  our  violent  passions  force 

us 
To  follow  what  is  ill.     Reason  assured  me 
It  was  not  safe  to  shave  a  lion's  skin ; 
And  that  to  trifle  with  a  sovereign  was 
To  play  with  lightning:  yet  imperious  beauty, 
Treading  upon  the  neck  of  understanding, 
Compell'd  me  to  put  off  my  natural  shape 
Of  loyal  duty,  to  disguise  myself 
In  the  adulterate  and  cobweb-mask 


510  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Of  disobedient  treachery.    Where  is  now 
My  borrow'd  greatness,  or  the  promised  lives 
Of  following  courtiers  echoing  ray  will?  i 

In  a  moment  vanish'd  !  Power  that  stands  not  on 
Its  proper  base,  which  is  peculiar  only 
To  absolute  princes,  falls  or  rises  with 
Their  frown  or  favour.  The  great  duke,my  master, 
(Who  almost  changed  me  to  his  other  self,) 
No  sooner  takes  his  beams  of  comfort  from  me, 
But  I,  as  one  unknown,  or  unregarded, 
Unpitied  suffer.    Who  makes  intercession 
To  his  mercy  for  me,  now  ?  who  does  remember 
The  service  I  have  done  him  ?  not  a  man  : 
And  such  as  spake  no  language  but  my  lord 
The  favourite  of  Tuscany's  grand  duke. 
Deride  my  madness. —  Ha  !  what  noise  of  horses  ? 
[He  looks  out  at  the  back  window. 
A  goodly  troop  !  This  back  part  of  my  prison 
Allows  me  liberty  to  see  and  know  them. 
Contarino !  yes,  'tis  he,  and  Lodovico  :' 
And  the  dutchess  Fiorinda,  Urbin's  heir, 
A  princess  I  have  slighted  :  yet  I  wear 
Her  favours ;  and,  to  teach  me  what  I  am, 
She  whom  I  scorn'd  can  only  mediate  for  me. 
This  way  she  makes,  yet  speak  to  her  I  dare  not ; 
And  how  to  make  suit  to  her  is  a  task 
Of  as  much  difficulty. — Yes,  thou  blessed  pledge 

[Takes  off  the  ring. 
Of  her  affection,  aid  me!  This  supplies 
The  want  of  pen  and  ink  ;  and  this,  of  paper. 

[Takes  a  pane  of  glass. 
It  must  be  so  ;  and  I  in  my  petition 
Concise  and  pithy. 

'  *  Lodovico ;]  i.  e.  Lodovico  Hippolito. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  511 

SCENE  II. 

The  Court  before  Charomonte's  House, 
EnterCoNTARiyoleadingi7iF\oniNT)A,ALTHOSsOf 

HiPPOLITO,  HiERONIMO,  OTld  CaLAMINTA. 

Fior.  'Tis  a  goodly  pile,  this. 

Hier.  But  better*  by  the  owner. 

Aipk.  But  most  rich 
In  the  great  states  it  covers. 

Fior.  The  duke's  pleasure 
Commands  us  hither. 

Cont.  Which  was  laid  on  us 
To  attend  you  to  it. 

Hip.  Signior  Charomonte, 
To  see  your  excellence  his  guest,  will  think 
Himself  most  happy. 

Fior.  Tie  my  shoe. — [7%e  pane  falls  dotvn.l — 
What's  that  ? 
A  pane  thrown  from  the  window,  no  wind  stirring  ! 

Calam.  And  at  your  feet  too  fall'n : — there's 
something  writ  on't. 

Cont.  Some  courtier,  belike,   would    have   it 
known 
He  wore  a  diamond. 

Calam.  Ha  !  it  is  directed 
To  the  princess  Fiorinda. 

♦  But  better  by  the  ouncr.']  Mr.  M.  Maion  reads  lettered^ 
•which  spoils  the  climax  intended  by  the  author :  to  coiupli'te 
his  emendation,  he  should  have  read,  in  the  next  line, — But 
most  enriched,  &c.  States^  in  the  next  line,  are  statesmen,  men 
of  power,  &c.  a  common  acceptation  of  the  word. 


512  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Fior,  We  will  read  it.  [Reads. 

He,  whom  you  pleased  to  favour,  is  cast  down 
Past  hope  of  rising,  by  the  great  duke's  frowns 
If  by  your  gracious  means,  he  cannot  have 
A  pardon ; — and  that  got,  he  lives  your  slave. 
Of  men  the  most  distressed, 

Sanazarro. 

Of  me  the  most  beloved  ;  and  I  will  save  thee, 
Or  perish  v/ith  thee.     Sure,  thy  fault  must  be 
Of  some  prodigious  shape,  if  that  my  prayers 
And  humble  intercession  to  the  duke 

Enter  Cozimo  and  Charomonte. 

Prevail  not  \rith  him.    Here  he  comes;  delay 
Shall  not  make  less  my  benefit. 

Coz.  What  we  purpose 
Shall  know  no  change,  and  therefore  move  me 

not: 
We  were  made  as  properties,  and  what  we  shall 
Determine  of  them  cannot  be  call'd  rigour, 
But  noble  justice.  When  they  proved  disloyal, 
They  were  cruel  to  themselves.    The  prince  that 

pardons 
The  first  affront  offer'd  to  majesty, 
Invites  a  second,  rendering  that  power 
Subjects  should  tremble  at,  contemptible. 
Ingratitude  is  a  monster,  Carolo, 
To  be  strangled  in  the  birth,  not  to  be  cherish'd. 
Madam,  you're  happily  met  with. 

Fior.  Sir,  I  am  ' 

An  humble  suitor  to  you;  and  the  rather 
Am  confident  of  a  grant,  in  that  your  grace, 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  513 

When  I  made  choice  to  be  at  your  devotion, 
Vow'd  to  deny  me  nothing. 

Coz.  To  this  minute 
We  have  confirmM  it.    What's  your  boon  ? 

Fior.  It  is,  sir, 
That  you,  in  being  gracious  to  your  servant, 
The  ne'er  sufficiently  praised  Sanazarro, 
That  now  under  your  heavy  displeasure  suffers, 
Would  be  good  unto  yourself.    His  services, 
So  many,  and  so  great,  (your  storm  of  fury 
Calm'dbyyourbetterjudgment,)must  inform  you 
Some  little  slip,  for  sure  it  is  no  more, 
From  his  loyal  duty,  with  your  justice  cannot 
Make  foul  his  fairdeservings.  Great  sir,  therefore, 
Look  backward  oh  his  former  worth,  and  turning 
Your  eye  from  his  offence,  what  'tis  I  know  not. 
And,  I  am  confident,  you  will  receive  him 
Once  more  into  your  favour. 

Coz.  You  say  well, 
You  are  ignorant  in  the  nature  of  his  fault ; 
Which  when  you  understand,  as  we'll  instruct  you, 
Your  pity  will  appear  a  charity, 
It  being  conferr'd  on  an  unthankful  man. 
To  be  repented.     He's  a  traitor,  madam, 
To  you,  to  us,  to  gratitude ;  and  in  that 
All  crimes  are  comprehended. 

Fior.  If  his  offence 
Aim'd  at  me  only,  whatsoe'er  it  is, 
Tis  freely  pardon'd. 

Coz.  This  compassion  in  you 
Must  make  the  colour  of  his  guilt  more  ugly. 
The  honours  we  have  hourly  heap'd  upon  him, 
The  titles,  the  rewards,  to  the  envy  of 
The  old  nobility^  as  the  common  people. 
We  now  forbear  to  touch  at,  and  will  only 
Insist  on  his  gross  wrongs  to  you.     You  were 
pleased, 


514  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Forgetting  both  yourself  and  proper  greatness, 
To  favour  him,  nay,  to' court  him  to  embrace 
A  happiness,  which,  on  his  knees,  with  joy 
He  should  have  sued  for.    Who  repined  not  at 
The  grace  you  did  him  ?  yet,  in  recompense 
Of  your  large  bounties,  the  disloyal  wretch 
Makes  you  a  stale ;  and,  what  he  might  be  by 

you 
Scorn*d  and  derided,  gives  himself  up  wholly 
To  the  service  of  another.    If  you  can 
Bear  this  with  patience,  we  must  say  you  have  not 
The  bitterness  of  spleen,  or  ireful  passions 
Familiar  to  women.    Pause  upon  it, 
And  when  you  seriously  have  weigh'd  his  car- 
riage, 
Move  us  again,  if  your  reason  will  allow  it. 
His  treachery  known:  and  then,  if  you  continue 
An  advocate  for  him,  we,  perhaps,  because 
We  would  deny  you  nothing,  may  awake 
Our  sleeping  mercy.     Carolo  ! 

Char.  My  lord.  \They  talk  aside. 

Fior.  To  endure  a  rival  that  were  equal  to  me, 
Cannot  but  speak  my  poverty  of  spirit ; 
But  an  inferior,  more  :  yet  true  love  must  not 
Know  or  degrees,  or  distances.    Lidia  may  be 
As  far  above  me  in  her  form,  as  she 
Is  in  her  birth  beneath  me  ;  and  what  I 
In  Sanazarro  liked,  he  loves  in  her. 
But,  if  I  free  him  now,  the  benefit 
Being  done  so  timely,  and  confirming  too 
My  strength  and  power,  my  soul's  best  faculties 

being 
Bent  wholly  to  preserve  him,  must  supply  me 
With  all  I  am  defective  in,  and  bind  him 
My  creature  ever.    It  must  needs  be  so, 
Nor  will  I  give  it  o'er  thus. 

C'oz.  Does  our  nephew 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  515 

Bear  his  restraint  so  constantly,'  as  you 
Deliver  it  to  us? 

Char.  In  my  judgment,  sir, 
He  suffers  more  for  his  offence  to  you. 
Than  in  his  fear  of  what  can  follow  it. 
For  he  is  so  collected,  and  prepared 
To  welcome  that  you  shall  determine  of  him, 
As  if  his  doubts,  and  fears  were  equal  to  him. 
And  sure  he's  not  acquainted  with  much  guilt, 
That  more  laments  the  telling  one  untruth. 
Under  your  pardon  still,  for  'twas  a  fault,  sir, 
Than  others,  that  pretend  to  conscience,  do 
Their  crying  secret  sins. 

Coz.  No  more ;  this  gloss 
Defends  not  the  corruption  of  the  text : 
Urge  it  no  more. 

[Charomonte  and  the  others  talk  aside. 

Fior.  I  once  more  must  make  bold,  sir. 
To  trench  upon  your  patience.    I  have 
Consider'd  my  wrongs  duly  :  yet  that  cannot 
Divert  my  intercession  for  a  man 
Your  grace,  like  me,  once  favour'd.    I  am  still 
A  suppliant  to  you,  that  you  would  vouchsafe 
The  hearing  his  defence,  and  that  I  may, 
With  3'OHr  allowance,  see  and  comfort  him. 
Then,  having  heard  all  that  he  can  allege 
In  his  excuse,  for  being  false  to  you, 
Censure  him  as  you  please. 

Coz.  You  will  o'ercome  ; 
There's  no  contending  with  you.  Pray  you,  enjoy 
What  you  desire,  and  tell  him,  he  shall  have 
A  speedy  trial ;  in  which,  we'll  forbear 
To  sit  a  judge,  because  our  purpose  is 
To  rise  up  his  accuser. 

5  Coz    Does  our  ntphcw 

Bear  his  restraint  so  constantly,]     i.  e.  with  sach  unshakcM 
patience,  such  immoveable  resolution,  &c. 


516  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Fior.  All  increase 
Of  happiness  wait  on  Cozimo  ! 

[^Ea^eunt  Fiorinda  and  Calaminta. 

Alph.  Was  it  no  more  ? 

Char.  My  honour's  pawn'd  for  it. 

Cont.  I'll  second  you. 

Hip,  Since  it  is  for  the  service  and  tlie  safety 
Of  the  hopeful  prince,  fall  what  can  fall,  I'll  run  ^ 
The  desperate  hazard. 

Hier.  He's  no  friend  to  virtue 
That  does  decline  it. 

\They  all  come  forward  and  kneel, 

Coz.  Ha!  what  sue  you  for? 
Shall  we  be  ever  troubled  ?  Do  not  tempt 
That  anger  may  consume  you. 

Char.  Let  it,  sir: 
The  loss  is  less,  though  innocents  we  perish, 
Than  that  your  sister's  son  should  fall,  unheard, 
Under  your  fury.    Shall  we  fear  to  entreat 
That  grace  for  him,  that  are  your  faithful  servants, 
Which  you  vouchsafe  the  count,  like  us  a  subject  ? 

Coz.  Did  not  we  vow,  till  sickness  had  forsook 
Thy  daughter  Lidia,  and  she  appear'd 
In  her  perfect  health  and  beauty  to  plead  for  him, 
We  were  deaf  to  all  persuasion  ? 

Char.  And  that  hope,  sir, 
Hath  wrought  a  miracle.    She  is  recover'd. 
And,  if  you  please  to  warra.^t  her,  will  bring 
The  penitent  prince  before  you. 

Coz.  To  enjoy 
Such  happiness,  what  would  we  not  dispense  with? 

Alph.  Hip.  Hier,  We  all  kneel  for  the  prince. 

.Cont,  Nor  can  it  starird 
With  your  mercy,  that  are  gracious  to  strangers, 
To  be  cruel  to  your  own. 

Coz.  But  art  thou  certain  / 

I  shall  behold  her  at  the  best  ? 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  517 

Char.  If  ever 
She  was  handsome,  as  it  fits  not  me  to  say  so, 
She  is  now  much  better'd. 

Coz.  Rise ;  thou  art  but  dead, 
If  this  prove  otherwise.    Lidia,  appear, 
And  feast  an  appetite  almost  pined  to  death 
With  longing  expectation  to  behold 
Thy  excellencies :  thou,  as  beauty's  queen, 
Shalt  censure  the  detractors.*    Let  my  nephew 
Be  led  in  triumph  under  her  command; 
We'll  have  it  so;  and  Sanazarro  tremble 
To  think  whom  he  hath  slander'd.    We'll  retire 
Ourselves  a  little,  and  prepare  to  meet 
A  blessing,  which  imagination  tells  us 
We  are^ot  worthy  of:  and  then  come  forth, 
But  with  such  reverence,  as  if  I  were 
Myself  the  priest,  the  sacrifice  my  heart. 
To  offer  at  the  altar  of  that  goodness 
That  must  or  kill  or  save  me.  [Exit» 

Char,  Are  not  these 
Strange  gambols  in  the  duke  ! 

Alph.  Great  princes  have. 
Like  meaner  men,  their  weakness. 

Hip.  And  may  use  it 
Without  control  or  check. 

Cont.  'Tis  fit  they  should ; 
Their  privilege  were  less  else,  than  their  subjects*. 

Hier.  Let  them  have  their  humours;  there's 
no  crossing  them.  [Exeunt, 


thou,  as  beaxtty^s  queetiy 


Shalt  censure  the  detractors.]  Censure,  as  I  hare  already  ob- 
served, is  used  by  our  old  writess,  where  we  should  now  use 
judge,  and  with  the  same  latitude  of  meaning  through  its  varioui 
acceptations. 


VOL.  II. 


Nn 


518  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

SCENE    III. 

A  State-room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Fiorinda,  Sanazarro,  and  Calaminta. 

Sanaz.  And  can  it  be,  your  bounties  should  fall 
down 
In  showers  on  my  ingratitude,  or  the  wrongs 
Your  greatness  should  revenge,  teach  you  to  pity? 
What  retribution  can  I  make,  what  service 
Pay  to  your  goodness,  that,  in  some  proportion, 
May  to  the  world  express  I  would  be  thankful? 
Since  my  engagements  are  so  great,  that  all 
My  best  endeavours  to  appear  your  creature 
Can  but  proclaim  my  wants,  and  what  I  owe 
To  your  magnificence. 

Fior.  All  debts  are  discharged 
In  this  acknowledgment :  yet,  since  you  please 
I  shall  impose  some  terms  of  satisfaction 
For  that  which  you  profess  yourself  obliged  for, 
They  shall  be  gentle  ones,  and  such  as  will  not, 
I  hope,  afflict  you. 

Sanaz.  Make  me  understand. 
Great  princess,  what  they  are,  and  my  obedience 
Shall,  with  all  cheerful  willingness,  subscribe 
To  what  you  shall  command. 

Fior,  I  will  bind  you  to 
Make  good  your  promise.  First,  I  then  enjoin  you 
To  love  a  lady,  that,  a  noble  way. 
Truly  affects  you;  and  that  you  would  take 
To  your  protection  and  care  the  dukedom  j 

Of  Urbin,  which  no  more  is  mine,  but  your's.  ^ 

And  that,  when  you  have  full  possession  of 
My  person  as  my  fortune,  you  would  use  me, 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  519 

Not  as  a  princess,  but  instruct  me  in 

The  duties  of  an  humble  wife,  for  such, 

The  privilege  of  my  birth  no  more  remember'd, 

I  will  be  to  you.    This  consented  to, 

All  injuries  forgotten,  on  your  lips 

I  thus  sign  your  quietus. 

Sanaz.  I  am  wretched, 
in  having  but  one  life  to  be  employ'd 
As  you  please  to  dispose  it.    And,  believe  it, 
If  it  be  not  already  forfeited 
To  the  fury  of  my  prince,  as  'tis  your  gift, 
With  all  the  faculties  of  my  soul  I'll  study, 
In  what  I  may,  to  serve  you. 

Fior,  I  am  happy 

Enter  Giovanni  and  Lidia. 

In  this  assurance.    What  sweet  lady's  this  ? 

Sanaz.  'Tis  Lidia,  madam,  she 

Fior.  I  understand  you. 
Nay,  blush  not ;  by  my  life,  she  is  a  rare  one  ! 
And,  if  I  were  your  judge,  I  would  not  blame  you 
To  like  and  love  her.    But,  sir,  you  are  mine  now  ; 
And  I  presume  so  on  your  constancy, 
That  I  dare  not  be  jealous. 

Sanaz.  All  thoughts  of  her 
Are  in  your  goodness  buried. 

Lid.  Pray  you,  sir, 
Be  comforted  ;  your  innocence  should  not  know 
What  'tis  to  fear;  and  if  that  you  but  look  on 
The  guards  that  you  have  in  yourself,  you  cannot. 
The  duke's  your  uncle,  sir,  and,  though  a  little 
Incensed  against  you,  when  he  sees  your  sorrow, 
He  must  be  reconciled.    What  rugged  Tartar, 
Or  cannibal,  though  bath'd  in  human  gore. 
But,  looking  on  your  sweetness,  would  forget 
*N'n2 


520  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

His  cruel  nature,  and  let  fall  his  weapon, 
Though  then  aim'd  at  your  throat  ? 

Giov.  O  Lidia, 
Of  maids  the  honour,  and  your  sex's  glory  1 
It  is  not  fear  to  die,  but  to  lose  you. 
That  brings  this  fever  on  me.    I  will  now 
Discover  to  you,  that  which,  till  this  minute, 
I  durst  not  trust  the  air  with.    Ere  you  knew 
What  power  the  magic  of  your  beauty  had, 
I  was  enchanted  by  it,  liked,  and  loved  it. 
My  fondness  still  increasing  with  my  years; 
And,  flattered  by  false  hopes,  I  did  attend 
Some  blessed  opportunity  to  move 
The  duke  with  his  consent  to  make  you  mine: 
But  now,  such  is  my  star-cross'd  destiny, 
When  he  beholds  you  as  you  are,  he  cannot 
Deny  himself  the  happiness  to  enjoy  you. 
And  I  as  well  in  reason  may  entreat  him 
To  give  away  his  crown,  as  to  part  from 
A  jewel  of  more  value,  such  you  are. 
Yet,  howsoever,  when  you  are  hiadutchess, 
And  I  am  turn'd  into  forgotten  dust, 
Pray  you,  love  my  memory : — I  should  say  more, 
But  Fm  cut  off. 

Enter   Cozimo,    Charomonte,   Coxtarino, 

HiERONIMO,  HiPPOLITO,  fl«fi^  AlPHONSO. 

Sanaz,  The  duke  !  That  countenance,  once. 
When  it  was  clothed  in  smiles,  shew'd  like  an 

angel's. 
But,  now  'tis  folded  up  in  clouds  of  fury, 
'Tis  terrible  to  look  on. 

Lid.  Sir. 

Coz,  A  while 
Silence  your  musical  tongue,  and  let  me  feats 
My  eyes  with  the  most  ravishing  object  that 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  521 

They  ever  ^azetl  on.    There's  no  miniature 

In  her  fair  face,  but  is  a  copious  theme 

Which  would,  discours'd   at   large   of,   make  a 

volume. 
What  clear  arch'd  brows  !  what  sparkling  eyes  ! 

the  lilies 
Contending  with  the  roses  in  her  cheeks, 
Who  shall  most  set  them  off.    What  ruby  lips! — 
Or  unto  what  can  I  compare  her  neck, 
But  to  a  rock  of  crystal?  every  limb 
Proportion'd  to  love's  wiNh,  and  in  their  neatness 
Add  lustre  to  the  riches  of  her  habit, 
Not  borrow  from  it. 

Lid.   You  are  pleased  to  shew,  sir, 
The  fluency  of  your  language,  in  advancing 
A  subject  much  unworthy. 

Coz.   How  !  unworthy  ? 
By  all  the  vows  which  lovers  offer  at 
The  Cyprian  goddess'  altars,  eloquence 
Itself  presuming,  as  you  are,  to  speak  you, 
Would  be  struck  dumb  ! — And  what  have  you  de- 
served then,  [Giovanni  and  Sanazarro  kneel, 
(Wretches,  you  kneel  too  late,)  that  have  endea- 

vour'd 
To  spout  the  poison  of  your  black  detraction 
On  this  immaculate  whiteness?  was  it  malice 
To  her  perfections  ?  or 

Fior.  Your  highness  promised 
A  gracious  hearing  to  the  count. 

Lid,  And  prince  too  ; 
Do  not  make  void  so  just  a  grant. 

Coz,  Wc  will  not : 
Yet,  since  their  accusation  must  be  urged. 
And   strongly,    ere    their   weak    defence    have 

hearing. 
We  scat  you  here,  as  judges,  to  determine 


522  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Of  yourgross  wrongs,  and  ours.  [Seats  the  Ladies  in 
the  chairs  of  state. ~\  And  now,  remembering 
Whose  deputies  you  are,  be  neither  sway'd 
Or  with  particular  spleen,  or  foolish  pity, 
For  neither  can  become  you. 

Char.  There's  some  hope  yet. 
Since  they  have  such  gentle  judges. 

Coz.  Rise,  and  stand  forth,  then. 
And  hear,  with  horror  to  your  guilty  souls, 
What   we  will  prove   against   you.     Could   this 

princess, 
Thou  enemy  to  thyself,  [7b  Sanazarro.']   stoop  her 

high  flight 
Of  towering  greatness  to  invite  thy  lowness 
To  look  up  to  it,  and  with  nimble  wings 
Of  gratitude  couldst  thou  forbear  to  meet  it? 
Were  her  favours  boundless  in  a  noble  way, 
And  warranted  by  our  allowance,  yet. 
In  thy  acceptation,  there  appear'd  no  sign 
Of  a  modest  thankfulness? 

Fior.  Pray  you  forbear 
To  press  that  further ;    'tis  a  fault  we  have 
Already  heard,  and  pardon'd. 

Coz.  We  will  then 
Pass  over  it,  and  briefly  touch  at  that 
Which  does  concern  ourself,  in  which  both  being 
Equal  offenders,  what  we  shall  speak  points 
Indifferently  at  either.    How  we  raised  thee, 
Forgetful  Sanazarro  !  of  our  gtace. 
To  a  full  possession  of  power  and  honours, 
It  being  too  well  known,  we'll  not  remember. 
And  what  thou  wert,  rash  youth,  in  expectation, 

•  [7b  Giovanni. 
And  from  which  headlong  thou  hast  thrown  thyself. 
Not  Florence,  but  all  Tuscany  can  witness, 
With  admiration.    To  assure  thy  hopes, 


tHE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  523 

We  did  keep  constant  to  a  widowed  bed,  y 
And  did  deny  ourself  those  lawful  pleasures 
Ourabsolute  power  and  height  of  blood  allow'd  us  ; 
Made  both,  the  keys  that  open'd  our  heart's  secrets, 
And  what  you  spake,  btlieved  as  oracles ; 
But  you,  in  recompense  of  this,  to  him 
That  gave  you  all,  to  whom  you  owed  your  being, 
With  treacherous  lies  endeavoured  to  conceal 
This  jewel  from  our  knowledge,  which  ourself 
Could  only  lay  just  claim  to. 

Giox),  'Tis  most  true,  sir. 

Sanaz.  We  both  confess  a  guilty  cause. 

Coz,  Look  on  her. 
Is  this  a  beauty  fit  to  be  embraced 
By  any  subject's  arms?  can  any  tire 
Become  that  forehead,  but  a  diadem  ? 
Or,  should  we  grant  your  being  false  to  us 
Could  be  excused,  your  treachery  to  her, 
In  seeking  to  deprive  her  of  that  greatness 
(Her  matchless  form  consider'd)  she  was  born  to, 
Alust  ne'er  find  pardon.    We  have  spoken,  ladies, 
Like  a  rough  orator,  that  brings  more  truth 
Than  rhetoric  to  make  good  his  accusation; 
And  now  expect  your  sentence. 

[The  Ladies  descend  from  the  state.' 

Lid.  In  your  birth,  sir. 
You  were  mark'd  out  the  judge  of  life  and  death, 
And  we,  that  are  your  subjects,  to  attend, 
With  trembling  fear,  your  doom. 

Fio?\  We  do  resign 
This  chair,  as  only  proper  to  your  self. 

Giov.  And,  since  injustice  we  are  lost,  we  fly 
Unto  your  saving  mercy.  [All  kneeling. 

Sanaz.  Which  sets  off 
A  prince,  much  more  than  rigdur. 

'  The  ladies  descend  from  the  state]  i.  c.  from  the  raised  plat- 
form on  which  the  chairs  were  placed.    See  the  BondmoHy  p.  16. 


524  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

Char.  And  becomes  him, 
When  'tis  express'd  to  such  as  fell  by  weakness, 
That  being  a  twin-born  brother  to  affection, 
Better  than  M^reaths  of  conquest. 

Hitr.  Hip,  Cont.  Alph.    We  all  speak 
Their  language,  mighty  sir. 

Coz.  You  know  our  temper. 
And  therefore  with  more  boldness  venture  on  it: 
And,  would  not  our  consent  to  your  demands 
Deprive  us  of  a  happiness  hereafter 
Ever  to  be  despair'd  of,  we,  perhaps, 
Might  hearken  nearer  to  you;  and  could  wish 
With  some  qualification,  or  excuse. 
You    might  make  less  the  mountains   of  your 

crimes, 
And  so  invite  our  clemency  to  feast  with  you. 
But  you,  that  knew  with  what  impatiency 
Of  grief  we  parted  from  the  fair  Clarinda, 
Our  dutchess,  (let  her  memory  still  be  sacred  !) 
And  with  what  imprecations  on  ourself 
We  vow'd,  not  hoping  e'er  to  see  her  equal, 
Ne'er  to  make  trial  of  a  second  choice. 
If  nature  framed  not  one  that  did  excel  her. 
As  this  maid's  beauty  prompts  us  that  she  does  : — 
And  yet,  with  oaths  then  mix'd  with  tears,  upon 
Her  monument  we  swore  our  eye  should  never 
Again  be  tempted ; — 'tis  true,  and  those  vows 
Are  register'd  above,  something  here  tells  me. — 
Carolo,  thou  heardst  us  swear. 

Char.  And  swear  so  deeply. 
That  if  all  women's  beauties  were  in  this, 
(As  she's  not  to  be  named  with  the  dead  dutchess,) 
Nay,  all  their  virtues  bound  up  in  one  story, 
(Of  which  mine  is  scarce  an  epitome,) 
If  you  should  take  her  as  a  wife,  the  weight 
Of  your  perjuries  would  sink  you.     It  I  durst, 
I  had  told  you  this  before. 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.   625 

Coz.  'Tis  strong  truth,  Carolo  : 
And  yet,  what  was  necessity  in  us, 
Cannot  free  them  from  treason. 

Char.  There's  your  error  ; 
The  prince,  in  care  to  have  you  keep  your  vows 
Made    unto    heaven,   vouchsafed    to    love    my 
daughter.* 

Lid.  He  tokl  me  so,  indeed,  sir. 

Fior.  And  the  count 
Averr'd  as  much  to  me. 

Coz.  You  all  conspire, 
To  force  our  mercy  from  us. 

Char.  Which  given  up, 
To  aftertimes  preserves  you  unforswom :  , 
An  honour,  which  will  live  upon  your  tomb. 
When  your  greatness  is  forgotten. 

Coz.  Though  we  know' 
All  this  is  practice,  and  that  both  are  false: 
Such  reverence  we  will  pay  to  dead  Clarinda, 
And  to  our  serious  oaths,  that  we  are  pleased 
With  our  own  hand  to  blind  our  eyes,  and  not 
Know  what  we  understand.    Here,  Giovanni, 
We  pardon  thee ;  and  take  from  us,  in  this. 
More  than  our  dukedom  :  love  her.    As  I  part 

•  The  prince,  in  care  to  have  you  keep  your  xffW4 
Made  unto  heaven,  vouchsafed  to  lore  my  daughter. '\  This  at- 
tempt to  impose  upon  tjie  great  duke  is  more  deplorable  than 
the  former.  It  has  falsehood  and  improbability  written  on  its 
face :  the  duke  indeed  is  not  dcceiyed  by  it;  but  surely  the  au- 
thor shewed  a  strange  want  of  judgment  in  this  gratuitous 
degradation  of  three  of  his  most  estimable  characters. 

9  Coz.   Though  we  know 

Ail  this  is  practice,]  i.  e.  artifice,  or  insidious  combination. 
So  Shakspeare  : 

t<  This  act  persuades  me 

*<  That  this  remotion  of  the  duke  and  her 

«  Is  practice  only."  King  Lear. 


526  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

With  her,  all  thoughts  of  women  fly  fast  from  us ! 
Sanazarro,  we  forgive  you :  in  your  service 
To  this  princess,  merit  it.    Yet,  let  not  others 
That  are  in  trust  and  grace,  as  you  have  been, 
By  the  example  of  our  lenity, 
Presume  upon  their  sovereign's  clemency. 

Unler  Calandrino  and  Petronella. 

All.  Long  live  great  Cozimo! 

Cal.  Sure  the  duke  is 
In  the  giving  vein,  they  are  so  loud.    Come  on, 

spouse ; 
We  have  heard  all,  and  we  will  have  our  boon  too. 

Coz.  What  is  it? 

Cal.  That  your  grace,  in  remembrance  of 
My  share  in  a  dance,  and  that  I  play'd  your  part. 
When  you  should   have  drunk  hard,  would  get 

this  signior's  grant 
To  give  this  damsel  to  me  in  the  church. 
For  we  are  contracted.     la  it  you  shall  do 
Your  dukedom  pleasure. 

Coz,  How  ? 

Cal.  Why,  the  whole  race 
Of  such  as  can  act  naturally  fools  parts. 
Are  quite  worn  out ;  and  they  that  do  survive, 
Do  only  zany  us:  and  we  will  bring  you. 
If  we  die  not  without  issue,  of  both  sexes 
Such  chopping  mirth-makers,  as  shall  preserve 
Perpetual  cause  of  sport,  both  to  your  grace 
And  your  posterity  ;   that  sad  melancholy 
Shall  ne'er  approach  you. 

Coz.  We  are  pleased  in  it, 

And  will  pay  her  portion.— \Comes forward. 

May  the  passage  prove. 
Of  whafs  presented,  xvorthy  of  your  love 


THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE.  527 

And  favour,  as  was  aini'd;  and  xte  have  all 

That  can  in  compass  of  our  wishes  fall.       [Exeunt.* 

*  It  is  impossible  not  to  be  charmed  with  the  manner  in  which 
this  play  is  written.  The  style  is  worthy  of  the  most  polished 
stage.  It  neither  descends  to  meanness,  nor  affects  a  blustering 
mau;nificence,biit  preserves  an  easy  elevation,  and  a  mild  dignity ; 
and  alfords  an  excellent  model  for  the  transaction  of  dramatic 
business  between  persons  of  high  rank  and  refined  education. 
As  to  the  subject,  it  is,  in  itself,  of  no  great  importance :  but 
this  is  somewhat  compensated  by  the  interest  which  the  principal 
characters  take  in  it,  and  the  connexion  of  love  with  the  views 
of  state. — The  scenes  between  Giovanni  and  Lidia  present  a  most 
beautiful  picture  of  artless  attachment,  and  of  that  unreserved 
innocence  and  tender  simplicity  which  Massinger  describes  in  a 
manner  so  eminently  happy. 

It  is  to  be  wished  that  this  were  all ;  for  the  impression  on  the 
mind  of  the  reader  makes  him  more  than  usually  fearful  of  any 
disturbance  of  his  feelings.  But  in  the  drama,  as  in  life  itself, 
something  will  ever  be  amiss.  The  attractive  manner  in  which 
the  characters  and  their  concerns  are  announced  is  made 
to  change  as  the  plot  advances  to  its  conclusion;  and  in  the 
fourth  act  we  are  grieved  to  see  them 

In  pejus  mere,  ac  retrb  sublapsa  referri. 
The  charm  of  Lidia  is  dissolved  by  the  substitution  of  Petro- 
nella, — a  contrivance  which  is  at  once  mean  and  clumsy,  and  is 
conceived  in  utter  defiance  of  the  general  character  of  Cozimo. 
The  only  way  of  removing  this  objection  was  to  alter  Cozimo 
himself,  together  with  the  delicacy  of  the  subject.  This  is  done 
for  the  sake  of  maintaining  an  unhappy  consistency.  The  duke 
is  compelled  to  forego  his  usual  dignity  and  sdgacity.  He  loses 
the  very  remembrance  of  his  own  motives  of  action,  and  is 
played  upon  by  those  who  are  themselves  sunk  in  our  esteem. 

The  connexion  of  the  plot  with  an  event  in  the  life  of  £dgar 
has  been  mentioned  by  the  Editor.  As  to  Cozimo, some  circum. 
stances  seem  to  point  him  out  as  the  first  grand  duke.  Pisa 
and  Sienna  are  alluded  to  as  recent  acquisitions;  though  Con- 
tarino  is  too  complaisant  in  attributing  the  conquest  to  the  arms 
of  his  master.  There  arc  some  personal  points  which  may  assist 
this  conjecture.  Cozimo  is  addressed  in  a  submissive  manner, 
and  seems  to  be  conscious  that  his  resentment  is  feared  by  those 
around  him  :  and  this  reminds  us  ofthe  man  who  coveted  the  title 
of  King,  and  executed  summary  justice  on  a  son  with  his  own 
hand.    However,  other  circumstances  rather  allude  to  a  period 


528  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 

not  maqh  earlier  than  the  date  of  this  very  play ;  viz.  some  at- 
tempt at  independance  by  the  Pisans,  which  Sanazarro  might 
have  checkfd ;  and  some  benefit  derived  to  Florence  (though 
not  of  the  kind  here  raenfioned)  from  the  dutchy  of  Urbino. 
But  why  a  nephew  was  called  in,  when  a  son  was  not  wanting  to 
either  of  the  Cosmos,  or  why  the  state  of  a  childless  widower 
was  invented  for  the  great  duke,  is  not  so  easy  to  guess :  nor  is 
it  worth  our  while. — The  dramatist  rejects  or  invents  as  he 
pleases ;  and  what  he  chooses  to  adopt  may  be  divided  between 
distant  ages  or  countries.  The  incidents  of  his  arbitrary  story 
are  widely  dispersed,  like  the  limbs  wantonly  scattered  by 
Medea ;  and,  if  ever  to  be  found,  must  be  searched  for  in  places 
i'einote  and  unexpected  : 

Dissipat  in  multis  invenienda  locis. 


END  OF  VOL.   II, 


I.  7  2  1 .  .4  jji 


London :  Printed  by  W.  Bulmer  and  Co, 
Ckveland-Row,  St.  James's. 


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